Just to give up, and rest
      All on a Love secure,
    Out of a world that’s hard at the best,
      Looking to heaven as sure;
  Ever to hope, through cloud and fear,
  In darkest night, that the dawn is near;
  Just to wait at the Master’s feet—­
  Surely, now, the bitter is sweet.

HYMN OF JOY

TO THE MUSIC OF BEETHOVEN’S NINTH SYMPHONY

  Joyful, joyful, we adore Thee,
    God of glory, Lord of love;
  Hearts unfold like flowers before Thee,
    Praising Thee their sun above. 
  Melt the clouds of sin and sadness;
    Drive the dark of doubt away;
  Giver of immortal gladness,
    Fill us with the light of day!

  All Thy works with joy surround Thee,
    Earth and heaven reflect Thy rays,
  Stars and angels sing around Thee,
    Centre of unbroken praise: 
  Field and forest, vale and mountain,
    Blooming meadow, flashing sea,
  Chanting bird and flowing fountain,
    Call us to rejoice in Thee.

  Thou art giving and forgiving,
    Ever blessing, ever blest,
  Well-spring of the joy of living,
    Ocean-depth of happy rest! 
  Thou our Father, Christ our Brother,—­
    All who live in love are Thine: 
  Teach us how to love each other,
    Lift us to the Joy Divine.

  Mortals join the mighty chorus,
    Which the morning stars began;
  Father-love is reigning o’er us,
    Brother-love binds man to man. 
  Ever singing march we onward,
    Victors in the midst of strife;
  Joyful music lifts us sunward
    In the triumph song of life.

1908.

SONG OF A PILGRIM-SOUL

  March on, my soul, nor like a laggard stay! 
  March swiftly on.  Yet err not from the way
  Where all the nobly wise of old have trod,—­
  The path of faith, made by the sons of God.

  Follow the marks that they have set beside
  The narrow, cloud-swept track, to be thy guide: 
  Follow, and honour what the past has gained,
  And forward still, that more may be attained.

  Something to learn, and something to forget: 
  Hold fast the good, and seek the better yet: 
  Press on, and prove the pilgrim-hope of youth: 
  The Creeds are milestones on the road to Truth.

ODE TO PEACE

I

IN EXCELSIS

  Two dwellings, Peace, are thine. 
    One is the mountain-height,
  Uplifted in the loneliness of light
    Beyond the realm of shadows,—­fine,
  And far, and clear,—­where advent of the night
  Means only glorious nearness of the stars,
  And dawn unhindered breaks above the bars
  That long the lower world in twilight keep. 
  Thou sleepest not, and hast no need of