What is it to commune? It is to lay the veil of custom by, To be all unafraid of truth to talk, Face to face, eye to eye. Not face to face, dear Lord; That is the joy of brighter worlds to be; And yet, Thy bidden guests about Thy board, We do commune with Thee. Behind the white-robed priest Our eyes, anointed with a sudden grace, Dare to conjecture of a mighty guest, A dim beloved Face. And is it Thou, indeed? And dost Thou lay Thy glory all away To visit us, and with Thy grace to feed Our hungering hearts to-day? And can a thing so sweet, And can such heavenly condescension be? Ah! wherefore tarry thus our lingering feet? It can be none but Thee. There is the gracious ear That never yet was deaf to sinner's call; We will not linger, and we dare not fear, But kneel,--and tell Thee all. We tell Thee of our sin Only half loathed, only half wished away, And those clear eyes of Love that look within Rebuke us, seem to say,-- "O, bought with my own blood, Mine own, for whom my precious life I gave, Am I so little prized, remembered, loved, By those I died to save?" And under that deep gaze Sorrow awakes; we kneel with eyelids wet, And marvel, as with Peter at the gate, That we could so forget, We tell Thee of our care, Of the sore burden, pressing day by day, And in the light and pity of Thy face The burden melts away. We breathe our secret wish, The importunate longing which no man may see; We ask it humbly, or, more restful still, We leave it all to Thee. And last our amulet Of precious names we thread, and soft and low We crave for each beloved, or near or far, A blessing ere we go. The thorns are turned to flowers, All dark perplexities seem light and fair, A mist is lifted from the heavy hours, And Thou art everywhere. A FAREWELL. Go, sun, since go you must, The dusky evening lowers above our sky, Our sky which was so blue and sweetly fair; Night is not terrible that we should sigh. A little darkness we can surely bear; Will there not be more sunshine--by and by? Go, rose, since go you must, Flowerless and chill the winter draweth nigh; Closed are the blithe and fragrant lips which made All summer long perpetual melody. Cheerless we take our way, but not afraid: Will there not be more roses--by and by? Go, love, since go you must, Out of our pain we bless you as you fly; The momentary heaven the rainbow lit Was worth whole days of black and stormy sky; Shall we not see, as by the waves we sit, Your bright sail winging shoreward--by and by?