Classic Poem

Harebell blue, Harebell blue, —
Slender, tender, trembling yet true, —
Let me search thee thoughtfully,
And say what there mine eye may see.

Central pistil stands alone,
Branching out, threefold, from one;
Petals five, still pointing down,
Joined in one blue, expanding crown;
Spikelets five outside are seen,
One for each petal, — spikelets green;
While inside, low down in the cup,
Five crouching stamens, looking up, —
Looking up, yet crouching down,
Shrunken and pale, as if half grown, —
Twisted and tangled in helpless case,
Cling around the pistil's base.
High toward heaven thy bell is swung;
Yet toward earth its mouth is hung.
Thin and frail, the trembling stem
Scarce bears its azure diadem;
The leaves still thinner, and so few,
Look as if little they could do:
Yet milky juice, with constant care,
Fills stem and leaflets everywhere.
Planted in the rifted reck,
Laughing thence at tempest shock;
Silently waving, to and fro,
With all the winds that breathe or blow:
Sunshine, rain, and air, and dew, —
These are thy life, O Harebell blue!

Harebell blue, Harebell blue, —
Lowly, holy, faithful and true, —
Would that the world had eyes to see
All that thy silence tells to me!

Centre of all is God alone; —
God, Who is Threefold, and yet One.
Five books contain the one Law of God;
And His commands, " exceeding broad, "
Spring living from the lifeless page,
And wider grow, from youth to age.
Five are the piercing Wounds, that bled
When Christ kept that Law in our stead;
And that the spikelets five are green,
In this the Church's growth is seen,
For those five streams in Christ that rise
Water all God's Paradise.
Under the Law, in blank dismay,
Our small obedience shrinks away,
Poor, shriveled, helpless, crooked, blind,
Never in self its strength to find:
But clinging to God's Cross alone, —
The Cross, and Him Who hangs thereon.
High toward Heaven grace lifts the head,
Whither our Lord the way hath led:
Yet faith itself God loves to see
Downcast in humility.
The stem and leaves — our hopes and prayers —
How faint and weak, 'mid toils and cares!
Our hopes, how feeble, frail, and thin!
Our prayers, how few and far between!
Yet still God's Word, that " milk sincere, "
Fills them with life-streams everywhere; —
Yet on this frail stem God descends;
Thereon He hangeth His commands;
He gives us Heaven's own changeless hue, —
Gives us His Name, and Nature too.
And faith is quiet, meek, and still,
As harebell on the rocky hill.
No storm can wring therefrom complaints
To God, as from a soul that faints;
Nor shrieks nor roarings, such as rail
When forest giants fight the gate.
And bluebells make no clangor loud,
To wake the wonder of the crowd,
Or draw the easy, wandering eye
Of every curious passer-by:
Faith simply is; and soon is seen,
Decking the Rock with blue and green.

JESUS is our Rock and King;
In His Clefts our fibres cling.
Faith, our root, therein abides;
Therein the Godhead's power resides;
Therefrom Christ's streams of Manhood flow,
Bringing new birth to sons of woe.
Planted in this Eternal Rock,
Laughing thence at tempest shock,
Our whole being Love so fills,
That ever it moves, trembles, and thrills,
With every word, with every breath,
The Spirit breathes, the Spirit saith.
The sunshine of God's glorious face;
The double rain of heavenly grace;
The searching Spirit's nightly dew,
That steeps the dry soul through and through;
The air, whose gentle kiss of love
Gives food that others know not of:
These are the life of all below
That in our Rock do live and grow

Such are the thoughts that come, whene'er
I see thee in the Summer air;
And, for these teachings deep and true,
I love thee well, O Harebell blue!