I kissed thy lips, O sweetness of sweetness! And I hardened my heart For fear of my ruin. I blinded my eyes, And my ears I shut, I hardened my heart And my love I quenched. I turned my back On the dream I had shaped, And to this road before me My face I turned. I set my face To the road here before me, To the work that I see, To the death that I shall meet. MUSIC BY CHARLES PHILLIPS There is a hunger in my heart to-night, A longing in my soul, to hear The voice of heaven o’er the noise of earth That doth assail mine ear. For we are exiled children of the skies, Lone and lost wanderers from home ... The stars come out like lamps in windows lit Far, far from where we roam; Like candles lit to show the long late way, Dear kindly beacons sure and bright; But O, the heavy journeying, and O The silence of the night!-- The dark and vasty silences that lie Between the going and the goal! Will not God reach a friendly hand to lift And land my weary soul? Will not God speak a friendly word to me Above the tumult and the din Of earthly things--one little word to hush The voice of care and sin?... He speaks! He answers my poor faltering prayer! He opens heaven’s lattice wide; He bids me bathe my brow in heavenly airs Like to a flowing tide! He calls; He gives unto my famished soul, Unto my eager heart, its meed: He breathes upon me with the breath of song, And O, my soul is freed, And I am lifted up and up, and held A little while--a child, to see The beauties of my Father’s house, which shall No more be shut from me! I SEE HIS BLOOD UPON THE ROSE BY JOSEPH MARY PLUNKETT I see His blood upon the rose And in the stars the glory of His eyes, His Body gleams amid eternal snows, His tears fall from the skies. I see His face in every flower; The thunder and the singing of the birds Are but His voice--and carven by His power Rocks are His written words. All pathways by His feet are worn, His strong heart stirs the ever-beating sea, His crown of thorns is twined with every thorn, His cross is every tree. THE STARS SANG IN GOD’S GARDEN BY JOSEPH MARY PLUNKETT The stars sang in God’s garden; The stars are the birds of God; The night-time is God’s harvest, Its fruits are the words of God. God ploughed His fields at morning, God sowed His seed at noon, God reaped and gathered in His corn With the rising of the moon. The sun rose up at midnight, The sun rose red as blood, It showed the Reaper, the dead Christ, Upon His cross of wood. For many live that one may die, And one must die that many live-- The stars are silent in the sky Lest my poor songs be fugitive.