The first, a youth, with soul of fire,

Held in his hand a golden lyre ;

Through groves he wandered, and by streams, Playing the music of our dreams.

The second, with a bearded face,
Stood singing in the market-place,
And stirred with accents deep and loud
The hearts of all the listening crowd.

A

gray old man, the third and last, Sang in cathedrals dim and vast, While the majestic organ rolled Contrition from its mouths of gold.

And those who heard the Singers three
Disputed which the best might be ;
For still their music seemed to start
Discordant echoes in each heart.

But the great Master said, “I see
No best in kind, but in degree;

I gave a various gift to each,

To charm, to strengthen, and to teach.

“These are the three great chords of might,

And he whose ear is tuned aright

Will hear no discord in the three,
But the most perfect harmony."

SUSPIRIA

‘AKE them, O Death! and bear away

ΤΑ

Whatever thou canst call thine own!
Thine image, stamped upon this clay,

Doth give thee that, but that alone!

Take them, O Grave! and let them lie
Folded upon thy narrow shelves,

As garments by the soul laid by,
And precious only to ourselves!

Take them, O great Eternity!
Our little life is but a gust

That bends the branches of thy tree,
And trails its blossoms in the dust!

C

HYMN

FOR MY BROTHER'S ORDINATION

HRIST to the young man said: "Yet one

thing more;

If thou wouldst perfect be,

Sell all thou hast and give it to the poor,

And come and follow me!"

Within this temple Christ again, unseen,

Those sacred words hath said,

And his invisible hands to-day have been Laid on a young man's head.

And evermore beside him on his way
The unseen Christ shall move,

That he may lean upon his arm and say, "Dost thou, dear Lord, approve?"

Beside him at the marriage feast shall be,
To make the scene more fair;
Beside him in the dark Gethsemane
Of pain and midnight prayer.

O holy trust! O endless sense of rest!
Like the beloved John

To lay his head upon the Saviour's breast,
And thus to journey on!

THE

BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLÈ

FROM THE GASCON OF JASMIN

ONLY the Lowland tongue of Scotland might Rehearse this little tragedy aright ;

Let me attempt it with an English quill; And take, O Reader, for the deed the will.