I think that look of Christ might seem to say-- 'Thou Peter! art thou then a common stone Which I at last must break my heart upon, For all God's charge to His high angels may Guard my foot better? Did I yesterday Wash _thy_ feet, my beloved, that they should run Quick to deny me 'neath the morning sun, And do thy kisses, like the rest, betray? The cock crows coldly.--Go and manifest A late contrition, but no bootless fear! For when thy final need is dreariest, Thou shalt not be denied, as I am here, My voice, to God and angels shall attest, '_Because I_ KNOW _this man, let him be clear_.' --_Elizabeth Barrett Browning._ COMFORT. Speak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low. Lest I should fear and fall, and miss Thee so Who art not missed by any that entreat. Speak to me as to Mary at Thy feet-- And if no precious gums my hands bestow, Let my tears drop like amber, while I go In reach of Thy divinest voice complete In humanest affection--thus in sooth, To lose the sense of losing! As a child Whose song-bird seeks the wood for evermore, Is sung to in its stead by mother's mouth; Till, sinking on her breast, love reconciled, He sleeps the faster that he wept before. --_Elizabeth Barrett Browning._ SUBSTITUTION. When some beloved voice that was to you Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly, And silence against which you dare not cry, Aches round you like a strong disease and new-- What hope? what help? what music will undo That silence to your sense? Not friendship's sigh-- Nor reason's subtle count! Not melody Of viols, nor of pipes that Faunus blew-- Not songs of poets, nor of nightingales, Whose hearts leap upward through the cypress trees To the clear moon: nor yet the spheric laws Self-chanted,--nor the angels' sweet All hails, Met in the smile of God. Nay, none of these. Speak THOU, availing Christ! and fill this pause. --_Elizabeth Barrett Browning._ TEARS. Thank God, bless God, all ye who suffer not More grief than ye can weep for. That is well-- That is light grieving! lighter, none befell, Since Adam forfeited the primal lot. Tears! what are tears? The babe weeps in its cot, The mother singing; at her marriage-bell The bride weeps; and before the oracle Of high-famed hills, the poet has forgot Such moisture on his cheeks. Thank God for grace, Ye who weep only! If, as some have done, Ye grope tear-blinded in a desert place, And touch but tombs,--look up! Those tears will run Soon in long rivers down the lifted face, And leave the vision clear for stars and sun. --_Elizabeth Barrett Browning._ CHEERFULNESS TAUGHT BY REASON.