Give us that love, dear God, who gave to us To bear His loving name. Give us that sacred speed to keep the step That strikes with His the same. Waves of one tide, this people be! and flow Straight shoreward to Thy will. White as a dove, upon them, now descend Thy Spirit, strong and still. Thy blessings on their future rest and brood, --The brightest, lip can tell,-- In home and heart, in faith and fact, O best Of daily mercy! dwell. With those who summon--trusting it to lead Their feet to walk Christ's way-- The voice of him on whose bowed head, I call The grace of God to-day. ANSWERED. Why did I never sing a song to you? Dearest! To you again, behold the question start. To mine own pulses have I ever sung? Or do I read a rhyme unto my beating heart? WESTWARD. My thoughts like waves creep up, creep on, How patient is the sea! How shall we climb--the tide and I-- Up to the hills and thee? Were waters free as winds, to go Where mood or need might be, They could but find the sky, above The cañon as the sea. THREE FRIENDS. Oh, not to you, my mentor sweet, And stern as only sweetness can, Whose grave eyes look out steadfastly Across my nature's plan, And take unerring measure down Where'er that plan is failed or foiled, Thinking far less of purpose kept Than of a vision spoiled. And tender less to what I am, Than sad for what I might have been; And walking softly before God For my soul's sake, I ween. 'T is not to you, my spirit leans, O grave, true judge! When spent with strife, And groping out of gloom for light, And out of death for life. ---------- Nor yet to you, who calmly weigh And measure every grace and fault, Whose martial nature never turns From right to left, to halt For any glamour of the heart, Or any glow that ever is, Grander than Truth's high noonday glare, In love's sweet sunrises; Who know me by the duller hues Of common nights and common days, And in their sober atmospheres Find level blame and praise. ---------- True hearts and dear! 't is not in you, This fainting, warring soul of mine Finds silver carven chalices, To hold life's choicest wine Unto its thirsty lips, and bid It drink, and breathe, and battle on, Till all its dreams are deeds at last, And all its heights are won. ---------- I turn to _you_, confiding love. O lifted eyes! look trustfully, Till Heaven shall lend you other light, Like kneeling saints--on me. And let me be to you, dear eyes, The thing I am not, till I, too, Shall see as I am seen, and stand At last revealed to you. And let me nobler than I am, And braver still, eternally, And finer, truer, purer, than My finest, purest, be