Love is a beggar, most importunate,
Uncalled he comes and makes his dear demands.
He storms my heart which doth capitulate
And then he asks the homage of my hands.
He claims my eyes, and wistfully they turn,
He craves my lips, half-willingly they yield
Their soft obeisance to his own that burn
With potent passion in the power they wield.
And when, with woman's faith, I give my whole,
I wonder if dear Love doth recognize
That, with it all, unless he claim my soul,
He gives me naught and asks but sacrifice!
For Love, if Love be Love, should wish no dole,

Ah my dear angry Lord,
Since thou dost love, yet strike;
Cast down, yet help afford;
Sure I will do the like.

I will complain, yet praise;
I will bewail, approve;
And all my sour-sweet days
I will lament, and love.

Dear friend, sit down: the tale is long and sad,
And in my faintings I presume your love
Will more comply than help. A lord I had,
And have, of whom some grounds which may improve,
I hold for two lives, and both lives in me.
To him I brought a dish of fruit one day,
And in the middle placed my heart. But he
(I sigh to say)
Looked on a servant, who did know his eye
Better than you know me, or (which is one)
Than I my self. The servant instantly
Quitting the fruit, seized on my heart alone,
And threw it in a font, wherein did fall

Immortal Heat, O let thy greater flame
Attract the lesser to it: let those fires,
Which shall consume the world, first make it tame;
And kindle in our hearts such true desires,
As may consume our lusts, and make thee way.
Then shall our hearts pant thee; then shall our brain
All her invention on thine Altar lay,
And there in hymns send back thy fire again:
Our eyes shall see thee, which before saw dust;
Dust blown by wit, till that they both were blind:
Thou shalt recover all thy goods in kind,
Who wert disseised by usurping lust:

Immortal Love, author of this great frame,
Sprung from that beauty which can never fade;
How hath man parcelled out thy glorious name,
And thrown it on that dust which thou hast made,
While mortal love doth all the title gain!
Which siding with invention, they together
Bear all the sway, possessing heart and brain
(Thy workmanship), and give thee share in neither.
Wit fancies beauty, beauty raiseth wit:
The world is theirs; they two play out the game,
Thou standing by: and though thy glorious name
Wrought our deliverance from th' infernal pit,

Thy lovely cheek, God guard it From th' evil eye! prays Hafiz;
For wrought it hath to-us-ward All manner good, says Hafiz.

Come; 'tis the time of concord And faith-keeping and friendship:
That which hath past between us From mem'ry's book raze, Hafiz.

What though my lip have drunken Thy heart's blood? Take to bloodwit
A kiss, which all thou'st suffered (And more than all) pays, Hafiz.

Nay, who art thou to cherish The hope of her enjoyment?
Upon her skirts no beggar, God wot, the hand lays, Hafiz.

Since ye have banished Beauty from my soul,
I wander in a faint and drear amaze;
Gone are the ancient, the familiar ways,
Strained the fine bonds of sufferance and control.

The utterness of sorrow none can know
Who have one help, assured, tho' distant far;
One fiery love, concentred to a star—
Night should be sombre that such stars may show.

They venture evil that they little guess,
Who hide that shining mercy from our eyes;
What though it mark a dreamer's paradise?
It is a world 'twixt us and nothingness.

O God, our loving Father, help us
Rightly to remember the birth of Jesus,
That we may share in the song of the
Angels, the gladness of the shepherds
And the worship of the wise men.

Close the door of hate and open the
Door of love all over the world.

Deliver us from evil by the blessing
That Christ brings, and teach us
To be merry with clear hearts.

May the Christmas morning make us happy
To be thy children and the Christmas
Evening bring us to our beds with
Grateful thoughts, forgiving, and
Forgiven, for Jesus' sake. Amen.

When the mists of the twilight
Day's glories displace;
Like a delicate veil
O'er a beautiful face:
When the breath of the roses
First mingles with ours;
And the spirit of Love
Is awake 'mid the flowers:
When starlight and twilight
In Night's bosom meet,
Oh, Love hath no moment,
No meeting so sweet!

When a shade of dejection,
Like twilight appears;
And the cheek of affection
Is star-like with tears!
When the voice of emotion
First trembles to prove
Its truth and devotion—
Its passion and love!

The Lord is in his Holy Place
In all things near and far:
Shekinah of the snow-flake, he,
And Glory of the star,
And Secret of the April land
That stirs the field to flowers,
Whose little tabernacles rise
To hold him through the hours.

He hides himself within the love
Of those whom we love best;
The smiles and tones that make our homes
Are shrines by him possessed;
He tents within the lonely heart,
And shepherds every thought;
We find him not by seeking long,—
We lose him not, unsought.

The listening ear doth Sinai hear,