Frown on, ye dark and angry clouds;
And, Winter, blow that blast again,
That calls thy wrathful host to pour
Their fury on the wasted plain.

'Tis thus I choose my way to win
To her whose love my bosom warms;
And brighter seems the prize I seek
Seen through the gloom of clouds and storms.

Let colder lovers shrink from these,
And calmly wait for peaceful skies;
Be mine, through toil and pain to win
The beam of Mary's gladdened eyes.

Perhaps she'll value more my love,
Perhaps give more of her's to me,

How shall I guard my soul so that it be
Touched not by thine? And how shall it be brought,
Lifted above thee, unto other things?
Ah, gladly would I hide it utterly
Lost in the dark where are no murmurings,
In strange and silent places that do not
Vibrate when thy deep soul quivers and sings.
But all that touches us two makes us twin,
Even as the bow crossing the violin
Draws but one voice from the two strings that meet.
Upon what instrument are we two spanned?
And what great player has us in his hand?
O song most sweet.

Now Serena, bee not coy;
Since wee frely may enjoy
Sweete imbraces: such delights,
As will shorten tedious nightes.
Thinke that beauty will not stay
With you allwaies, but away,
And that tyrannizing face
That now holdes such perfect grace,
Will both chaing'd and ruined bee;
So fraile is all thinges as wee see,
So subject unto conquering Time.
Then gather Flowers in theire prime,
Let them not fall and perish so;
Nature her bountyes did bestow
On us that wee might use them: And
Tis coldnesse not to understand

In the shadow of the rood
Love and Shame together stood;
Love, that bade Him bear the blame
Of her fallen sister Shame;
Shame, that by the pangs thereof
Bade Him break His heart for Love.

Jesus, Lord God from all eternity,
Whom love of us brought down to shame,
I plead Thy Life with Thee,
I plead Thy Death, I plead Thy Name.

Jesus, Lord God of every living soul,
Thy Love exceeds its uttered fame,
Thy Will can make us whole,
I plead Thyself, I plead Thy Name.

O LOVE is like that glow
From lonely lighthouse poured—
That gleam it doth bestow
On sail and mast and cord,
When shore and ocean are
Unkissed by moon or star,
And Dawn in gloom afar
Still sheathes her golden sword.

My soul, a vessel frail,
Is launched on waters wide,
And in the swooping gale
Must through the surges ride.
But while yon lighthouse there
Makes night and tempest fair,
If Fate my barque upbear,
Let Love be lamp and guide.

The martyred Christ of the working class, the inspired evangel of the downtrodden masses, the world's supreme revolutionary leader,
Whose love for the poor and the children of the poor hallowed all the days of His consecrated life, lighted up and made forever holy the dark tragedy of His death, and gave to the ages His divine inspiration and His deathless name.

Walls for the weary summon him to rest.
But he outside the walls has flung his form
Ravaged by wars. The memory-legions swarm
To lull him. Gentle winds above him weep
For Troy. Power comes to him at last, and yet
Aeneas may not sleep.

For a great love, an unforgotten love,
Beats in his arteries and shakes his soul
With sorrow, till, as silent clouds unroll,
Ethereal, and from a balmy height
Sidonian Dido reaches down to him,
And seals his eyes with night.

Gone—and forever! the grace and glory,
The passionate earth-life sweet and strong—
Good and glee are an old-time story,
Hope and loving have left for long.

How has it failed, the heart's free fountain!
Hand and foot?—alas, was't these
Leaped the chasm, and climbed the mountain,
And held the tiller through stormy seas?

How has it dwarfed, the soul's high stature!
That clasped its darlings of earth and blue—
Knew the divine, or in art or nature,
Loved the lovely, and owned the true.

Spirit fordone! to thy darkening chamber

We have seen thee, O Love, thou art fair; thou art goodly, O Love;
Thy wings make light in the air as the wings of a dove.
Thy feet are as winds that divide the stream of the sea;
Earth is thy covering to hide thee, the garment of thee.
Thou art swift and subtle and blind as a flame of fire;
Before thee the laughter, behind thee the tears of desire;
And twain go forth beside thee, a man with a maid;
Her eyes are the eye of a bride whom delight makes afraid;
As the breath in the buds that stir is her bridal breath: