The one cool joy of all life's broiling day; The one sweet star that gleams where saints have trod; The one clear stream beside the dusty way That leads to God.
PIETY
A quiet garment for eternal wear, Designed above frail fashion's mortal dress, Worked with a web of faith, a woof of prayer, Coloured with love and fair with gentleness.
BLUE SKY
(From the French of Marcel Doran).
O! weary waste of shoreless blue Where weary wing may never rest! O! awful brightness burning through The barrier of the gate of rest! My spirit longs to reach the strand Of sorrow-soothing shadowland.
But what can this poor spirit wear To hide the naked wounds, pain-kissed Beneath the searching, ceaseless glare Of cloudless burning amethyst? Where can the sad grey spirit fly The unrelenting agony?
O! for some shadow-haunted stream Where tired eyes might fall asleep, And in the peace of darkling dream See Sorrow's pageant homeward creep, Feel angel hands with white caress Soothe eyelids dark with heaviness!