OPPORTUNITY.

BUT yesterday, but yesterday,

She stood beside our dusty way,

Outreaching for one moment’s space

The key to fortune’s hiding-place.

With wistful meanings in her eyes,

Her radiance veiled in dull disguise,

A moment paused, then turned and fled,

Bearing her message still unsaid.

And we? Our eyes were on the dust;

Still faring on as fare all must

In the hot glare of midday sun

Until the weary way be done.

So, fast and far she sped and flew

Into the depths of ether blue;

And we, too late, make bitter cry,

“Come back, dear Opportunity!”

In vain: the fleet, unpausing wings

Stay not in their bright journeyings;

And sadly sweet as funeral bell

The answer drops, “Farewell! Farewell!”

CHRIST BEFORE PILATE.
A PICTURE.

A DIM rich space, a vault of arching gold,

A furious, shouting rabble pressing near,

A single sentinel to bar and hold

With his one spear.

I see the Roman ruler careless sit

To judge the cause in his accustomed place;

I see the coarse, dull, cruel meanings flit

Across his face.

I see the pitiless priests who urge and rave,

Intent to see the victim sacrificed,

Fearful that scruple or that plea should save—

Where is the Christ?

Not that pale shape which stands amid the press,

In gentle patience uncomplainingly,

Clad in the whiteness of his Teacher’s dress—

That is not he!

That slender flame were easily blown out;

One furious gust of human hate, but one!

One chilling breath of treason or of doubt—

And it were gone!

But thou, O mighty Christ, endurest still;

Quenchless thy fire, fed by immortal breath,

Lord of the heart, Lord of the erring will,

And Lord of Death!

King of the world, thou livest to the end,

Ruling the nations as no other can;

Best comrade, healer, teacher, guide, best friend

And help of man.

I see thee, not a wan and grieving shape,

Facing, like lamb led forth for sacrifice,

The destiny from which is no escape,

With mild, sad eyes,—

But strong and brave and resolute to bear,

Knowing that Death, once conquered, was to be

Thy willing thrall, thy servant grave and fair,

Best help to thee!

The vision changes on the pictured scene;

The pallid Victim fades, and in his place

Comes a victorious, steadfast, glorious mien,

The true Christ’s face.