Self Communion
'The
mist
is
resting
on
the
hill;
The
smoke
is
hanging
in
the
air;
The
very
clouds
are
standing
still:
A
breathless
calm
broods
everywhere.
Thou
pilgrim
through
this
vale
of
tears,
Thou,
too,
a
little
moment
cease
Thy
anxious
toil
and
fluttering
fears,
And
rest
thee,
for
a
while,
in
peace.'
'I
would,
but
Time
keeps
working
still
And
moving
on
for
good
or
ill:
He
will
not
rest
or
stay.
In
pain
or
ease,
in
smiles
or
tears,
He
still
keeps
adding
to
my
years
And
stealing
life
away.
His
footsteps
in
the
ceaseless
sound
Of
yonder
clock
I
seem
to
hear,
That
through
this
stillness
so
profound
Distinctly
strikes
the
vacant
ear.
For
ever
striding
on
and
on,
He
pauses
not
by
night
or
day;
And
all
my
life
will
soon
be
gone
As
these
past
years
have
slipped
away.
He
took
my
childhood
long
ago,
And
then
my
early
youth;
and
lo,
He
steals
away
my
prime!
I
cannot
see
how
fast
it
goes,
But
well
my
inward
spirit
knows
The
wasting
power
of
time.'
'Time
steals
thy
moments,
drinks
thy
breath,
Changes
and
wastes
thy
mortal
frame;
But
though
he
gives
the
clay
to
death,
He
cannot
touch
the
inward
flame.
Nay,
though
he
steals
thy
years
away,
Their
memory
is
left
thee
still,
And
every
month
and
every
day
Leaves
some
effect
of
good
or
ill.
The
wise
will
find
in
Memory's
store
A
help
for
that
which
lies
before
To
guide
their
course
aright;
Then,
hush
thy
plaints
and
calm
thy
fears;
Look
back
on
these
departed
years,
And,
say,
what
meets
thy
sight?'
'I
see,
far
back,
a
helpless
child,
Feeble
and
full
of
causeless
fears,
Simple
and
easily
beguiled
To
credit
all
it
hears.
More
timid
than
the
wild
wood-dove,
Yet
trusting
to
another's
care,
And
finding
in
protecting
love
Its
only
refuge
from
despair,
-
Its
only
balm
for
every
woe,
The
only
bliss
its
soul
can
know;
-
Still
hiding
in
its
breast.
A
tender
heart
too
prone
to
weep,
A
love
so
earnest,
strong,
and
deep
It
could
not
be
expressed.
Poor
helpless
thing!
what
can
it
do
Life's
stormy
cares
and
toils
among;
-
How
tread
this
weary
desert
through
That
awes
the
brave
and
tires
the
strong?
Where
shall
it
centre
so
much
trust
Where
truth
maintains
so
little
sway,
Where
seeming
fruit
is
bitter
dust,
And
kisses
oft
to
death
betray?
How
oft
must
sin
and
falsehood
grieve
A
heart
so
ready
to
believe,
And
willing
to
admire!
With
strength
so
feeble,
fears
so
strong,
Amid
this
selfish
bustling
throng,
How
will
it
faint
and
tire!
That
tender
love
so
warm
and
deep,
How
can
it
flourish
here
below?
What
bitter
floods
of
tears
must
steep
The
stony
soil
where
it
would
grow!
O
earth!
a
rocky
breast
is
thine
A
hard
soil
and
a
cruel
clime,
Where
tender
plants
must
droop
and
pine,
Or
alter
with
transforming
time.
That
soul,
that
clings
to
sympathy,
As
ivy
clasps
the
forest
tree,
How
can
it
stand
alone?
That
heart
so
prone
to
overflow
E'en
at
the
thought
of
others'
woe,
How
will
it
bear
its
own?
How,
if
a
sparrow's
death
can
wring
Such
bitter
tear-floods
from
the
eye,
Will
it
behold
the
suffering
Of
struggling,
lost
humanity?
The
torturing
pain,
the
pining
grief,
The
sin-degraded
misery,
The
anguish
that
defies
relief?'
'Look
back
again
-
What
dost
thou
see?'
'I
see
one
kneeling
on
the
sod,
With
infant
hands
upraised
to
Heaven,
A
young
heart
feeling
after
God,
Oft
baffled,
never
backward
driven.
Mistaken
oft,
and
oft
astray,
It
strives
to
find
the
narrow
way,
But
gropes
and
toils
alone:
That
inner
life
of
strife
and
tears,
Of
kindling
hopes
and
lowering
fears
To
none
but
God
is
known.
'Tis
better
thus;
for
man
would
scorn
Those
childish
prayers,
those
artless
cries,
That
darkling
spirit
tossed
and
torn,
But
God
will
not
despise!
We
may
regret
such
waste
of
tears
Such
darkly
toiling
misery,
Such
'wildering
doubts
and
harrowing
fears,
Where
joy
and
thankfulness
should
be;
But
wait,
and
Heaven
will
send
relief.
Let
patience
have
her
perfect
work:
Lo,
strength
and
wisdom
spring
from
grief,
And
joys
behind
afflictions
lurk!
It
asked
for
light,
and
it
is
heard;
God
grants
that
struggling
soul
repose
And,
guided
by
His
holy
word,
It
wiser
than
its
teachers
grows.
It
gains
the
upward
path
at
length,
And
passes
on
from
strength
to
strength,
Leaning
on
Heaven
the
while:
Night's
shades
departing
one
by
one,
It
sees
at
last
the
rising
sun,
And
feels
his
cheering
smile.
In
all
its
darkness
and
distress
For
light
it
sought,
to
God
it
cried;
And
through
the
pathless
wilderness,
He
was
its
comfort
and
its
guide.'
'So
was
it,
and
so
will
it
be:
Thy
God
will
guide
and
strengthen
thee;
His
goodness
cannot
fail.
The
sun
that
on
thy
morning
rose
Will
light
thee
to
the
evening's
close,
Whatever
storms
assail.'
'God
alters
not;
but
Time
on
me
A
wide
and
wondrous
change
has
wrought:
And
in
these
parted
years
I
see
Cause
for
grave
care
and
saddening
thought.
I
see
that
time,
and
toil,
and
truth,
An
inward
hardness
can
impart,
-
Can
freeze
the
generous
blood
of
youth,
And
steel
full
fast
the
tender
heart.'
'Bless
God
for
that
divine
decree!
-
That
hardness
comes
with
misery,
And
suffering
deadens
pain;
That
at
the
frequent
sight
of
woe
E'en
Pity's
tears
forget
to
flow,
If
reason
still
remain!
Reason,
with
conscience
by
her
side,
But
gathers
strength
from
toil
and
truth;
And
she
will
prove
a
surer
guide
Than
those
sweet
instincts
of
our
youth.
Thou
that
hast
known
such
anguish
sore
In
weeping
where
thou
couldst
not
bless,
Canst
thou
that
softness
so
deplore
-
That
suffering,
shrinking
tenderness?
Thou
that
hast
felt
what
cankering
care
A
loving
heart
is
doomed
to
bear,
Say,
how
canst
thou
regret
That
fires
unfed
must
fall
away,
Long
droughts
can
dry
the
softest
clay,
And
cold
will
cold
beget?'
'Nay,
but
'tis
hard
to
feel
that
chill
Come
creeping
o'er
the
shuddering
heart.
Love
may
be
full
of
pain,
but
still,
'Tis
sad
to
see
it
so
depart,
-
To
watch
that
fire
whose
genial
glow
Was
formed
to
comfort
and
to
cheer,
For
want
of
fuel,
fading
so,
Sinking
to
embers
dull
and
drear,
-
To
see
the
soft
soil
turned
to
stone
For
lack
of
kindly
showers,
-
To
see
those
yearnings
of
the
breast,
Pining
to
bless
and
to
be
blessed,
Drop
withered,
frozen
one
by
one,
Till,
centred
in
itself
alone,
It
wastes
its
blighted
powers.
Oh,
I
have
known
a
wondrous
joy
In
early
friendship's
pure
delight,
-
A
genial
bliss
that
could
not
cloy
-
My
sun
by
day,
my
moon
by
night.
Absence,
indeed,
was
sore
distress,
And
thought
of
death
was
anguish
keen,
And
there
was
cruel
bitterness
When
jarring
discords
rose
between;
And
sometimes
it
was
grief
to
know
My
fondness
was
but
half
returned.
But
this
was
nothing
to
the
woe
With
which
another
truth
was
learned:
-
That
I
must
check,
or
nurse
apart,
Full
many
an
impulse
of
the
heart
And
many
a
darling
thought:
What
my
soul
worshipped,
sought,
and
prized,
Were
slighted,
questioned,
or
despised;
-
This
pained
me
more
than
aught.
And
as
my
love
the
warmer
glowed
The
deeper
would
that
anguish
sink,
That
this
dark
stream
between
us
flowed,
Though
both
stood
bending
o'er
its
brink;
Until,
as
last,
I
learned
to
bear
A
colder
heart
within
my
breast;
To
share
such
thoughts
as
I
could
share,
And
calmly
keep
the
rest.
I
saw
that
they
were
sundered
now,
The
trees
that
at
the
root
were
one:
They
yet
might
mingle
leaf
and
bough,
But
still
the
stems
must
stand
alone.
O
love
is
sweet
of
every
kind!
'Tis
sweet
the
helpless
to
befriend,
To
watch
the
young
unfolding
mind,
To
guide,
to
shelter,
and
defend:
To
lavish
tender
toil
and
care,
And
ask
for
nothing
back
again,
But
that
our
smiles
a
blessing
bear
And
all
our
toil
be
not
in
vain.
And
sweeter
far
than
words
can
tell
Their
love
whose
ardent
bosoms
swell
With
thoughts
they
need
not
hide;
Where
fortune
frowns
not
on
their
joy,
And
Prudence
seeks
not
to
destroy,
Nor
Reason
to
deride.
Whose
love
may
freely
gush
and
flow,
Unchecked,
unchilled
by
doubt
or
fear,
For
in
their
inmost
hearts
they
know
It
is
not
vainly
nourished
there.
They
know
that
in
a
kindred
breast
Their
long
desires
have
found
a
home,
Where
heart
and
soul
may
kindly
rest,
Weary
and
lorn
no
more
to
roam.
Their
dreams
of
bliss
were
not
in
vain,
As
they
love
they
are
loved
again,
And
they
can
bless
as
they
are
blessed.
O
vainly
might
I
seek
to
show
The
joys
from
happy
love
that
flow!
The
warmest
words
are
all
too
cold
The
secret
transports
to
unfold
Of
simplest
word
or
softest
sigh,
Or
from
the
glancing
of
an
eye
To
say
what
rapture
beams;
One
look
that
bids
our
fears
depart,
And
well
assures
the
trusting
heart.
It
beats
not
in
the
world
alone
-
Such
speechless
rapture
I
have
known,
But
only
in
my
dreams.
My
life
has
been
a
morning
sky
Where
Hope
her
rainbow
glories
cast
O'er
kindling
vapours
far
and
nigh:
And,
if
the
colours
faded
fast,
Ere
one
bright
hue
had
died
away
Another
o'er
its
ashes
gleamed;
And
if
the
lower
clouds
were
grey,
The
mists
above
more
brightly
beamed.
But
not
for
long;
-
at
length
behold,
Those
tints
less
warm,
less
radiant
grew;
Till
but
one
streak
of
paly
gold
Glimmered
through
clouds
of
saddening
hue.
And
I
am
calmly
waiting,
now,
To
see
that
also
pass
away,
And
leave,
above
the
dark
hill's
brow,
A
rayless
arch
of
sombre
grey.'
'So
must
it
fare
with
all
thy
race
Who
seek
in
earthly
things
their
joy:
So
fading
hopes
lost
hopes
shall
chase
Till
Disappointment
all
destroy.
But
they
that
fix
their
hopes
on
high
Shall,
in
the
blue-refulgent
sky,
The
sun's
transcendent
light,
Behold
a
purer,
deeper
glow
Than
these
uncertain
gleams
can
show,
However
fair
or
bright.
O
weak
of
heart!
why
thus
deplore
That
Truth
will
Fancy's
dreams
destroy?
Did
I
not
tell
thee,
years
before,
Life
was
for
labour,
not
for
joy?
Cease,
selfish
spirit,
to
repine;
O'er
thine
own
ills
no
longer
grieve;
Lo,
there
are
sufferings
worse
than
thine,
Which
thou
mayst
labour
to
relieve.
If
Time
indeed
too
swiftly
flies,
Gird
on
thine
armour,
haste,
arise,
For
thou
hast
much
to
do;
-
To
lighten
woe,
to
trample
sin,
And
foes
without
and
foes
within
To
combat
and
subdue.
Earth
hath
too
much
of
sin
and
pain:
The
bitter
cup
-
the
binding
chain
Dost
thou
indeed
lament?
Let
not
thy
weary
spirit
sink;
But
strive
-
not
by
one
drop
or
link
The
evil
to
augment.
Strive
rather
thou,
by
peace
and
joy,
The
bitter
poison
to
destroy,
The
cruel
chain
to
break.
O
strive!
and
if
thy
strength
be
small,
Strive
yet
the
more,
and
spend
it
all
For
Love
and
Wisdom's
sake!'
'O
I
have
striven
both
hard
and
long
But
many
are
my
foes
and
strong.
My
gains
are
light
-
my
progress
slow;
For
hard's
the
way
I
have
to
go,
And
my
worst
enemies,
I
know,
Are
these
within
my
breast;
And
it
is
hard
to
toil
for
aye,
-
Through
sultry
noon
and
twilight
grey
To
toil
and
never
rest.'
'There
is
a
rest
beyond
the
grave,
A
lasting
rest
from
pain
and
sin,
Where
dwell
the
faithful
and
the
brave;
But
they
must
strive
who
seek
to
win.'
"Show
me
that
rest
-
I
ask
no
more.
Oh,
drive
these
misty
doubts
away;
And
let
me
see
that
sunny
shore,
However
far
away!
However
wide
this
rolling
sea,
However
wild
my
passage
be,
Howe'er
my
bark
be
tempest
tossed,
May
it
but
reach
that
haven
fair,
May
I
but
land
and
wander
there,
With
those
that
I
have
loved
and
lost:
With
such
a
glorious
hope
in
view,
I'll
gladly
toil
and
suffer
too.
Rest
without
toil
I
would
not
ask;
I
would
not
shun
the
hardest
task:
Toil
is
my
glory
-
Grief
my
gain,
If
God's
approval
they
obtain.
Could
I
but
hear
my
Saviour
say,
-
"I
know
thy
patience
and
thy
love;
How
thou
hast
held
the
narrow
way,
For
my
sake
laboured
night
and
day,
And
watched,
and
striven
with
them
that
strove;
And
still
hast
borne,
and
didst
not
faint,"
-
Oh,
this
would
be
reward
indeed!'
'Press
forward,
then,
without
complaint;
Labour
and
love
-
and
such
shall
be
thy
meed.'
