Shine on us, O Morning Star! Help our weeping eyes to see; Never may we deem things are What to us they seem to be; Rise, Thou Dayspring, and afar Bid the shadows flee! Jesu, Thou art swift to bless, Strong to comfort, skilled to heal; Failure is with Thee success, Woe the forerunner of weal; Every stroke is a caress, Every crust a meal. Master, Thou canst raise the dead From the grave, the bed, the bier,[4] Souls astray, forlorn, misled, Buffeted by doubt and fear, Cannot but be comforted When Thou drawest near. Sweeter than the Sunday-bells Banishing all week-day cares, Thine the gracious voice that tells What a Father's love prepares, Leading to salvation's wells Up God's altar-stairs. Lord, Thou art the Master-singer, And Thy song is a recall; Many on life's pathway linger, Many by life's wayside fall, But Thy Heart, the comfort-bringer, Is a Home for all! TYROL: 1882. FOOTNOTES: [4] S. John xi. 43; S. Matt. ix. 25; S. Luke vii. 14. _THE POET._ The poet is the child of God, Who with anointed eye Discerns a sacrament of love In earth and sea and sky, And finds himself at love's behest Constrained to prophesy. Love is of loveliness the root, Love is of life the spring, Love is the sole interpreter Of every lovely thing: This is the burden of his song, Well may the poet sing! A joy-inspired song he sings Because far off he hears A whisper silencing the storm, A laughter through the tears, The music of eternity Beyond the dying years. His song is rapture, for he sees God's loveliness, and we, When with his insight we are blest, Shall share his ecstasy; Oh, come the day when all shall sing As blithe a song as he! Lord Christ, Thou art the King of Love, Thou art the Poet true; The men who would Thy vision share Must learn Thy works to do, All, all shall have the singing heart Whose feet Thy steps pursue! PITZ ORTLER: 1882. _THREE SISTERS._[5] Three fountains clear as crystal spring In one secluded garden-plot; In shade and shelter of one cot Three sister-doves are harbouring. Adown one pathway hand in hand Three Sister-Graces wend their way; I shall not soon forget the day I met with them in fairy land. They _dawned_, I know not how or whence: A halo circling round the head Of each, whereby transfigured They clomb the hill of frankincense. I know not whence or how, they _bloomed_: Each sweeter than the sweetest rose That in the haunted garden grows Where burns the bush still unconsumed. And one is like a rising sun When dewy Morn unveils her eyes; And one is as Minerva wise; And very lily-like is one. And all are dear. I seem to see The weaving of a threefold cord-- To hear a softly whispered word, 'Love makes a unity of three.' FOOTNOTES: