No More Learning

My life is like a broken bowl,
A broken bowl that cannot hold
One drop of water for my soul
Or cordial in the searching cold;
Cast in the fire the perished thing,
Melt and remould it, till it be
A royal cup for Him my King:
O Jesus, drink of me!



ADVENT.


This Advent moon shines cold and clear,
These Advent nights are long;
Our lamps have burned year after year,
And still their flame is strong.
"Watchman, what of the night? " we cry,
Heart-sick with hope deferred:
"No speaking signs are in the sky,"
Is still the watchman's word.

The Porter watches at the gate,
The servants watch within;
The watch is long betimes and late,
The prize is slow to win.
"Watchman, what of the night? " but still
His answer sounds the same:
"No daybreak tops the utmost hill,
Nor pale our lamps of flame. "

One to another hear them speak,
The patient virgins wise:
"Surely He is not far to seek,"--
"All night we watch and rise. "
"The days are evil looking back,
The coming days are dim;
Yet count we not His promise slack,
But watch and wait for Him. "

One with another, soul with soul,
They kindle fire from fire:
"Friends watch us who have touched the goal. "
"They urge us, come up higher. "
"With them shall rest our waysore feet,
With them is built our home,
With Christ. " "They sweet, but He most sweet,
Sweeter than honeycomb. "

There no more parting, no more pain,
The distant ones brought near,
The lost so long are found again,
Long lost but longer dear:
Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard,
Nor heart conceived that rest,
With them our good things long deferred,
With Jesus Christ our Best.
We weep because the night is long,
We laugh, for day shall rise,
We sing a slow contented song
And knock at Paradise.
Weeping we hold Him fast Who wept
For us,--we hold Him fast;
And will not let Him go except
He bless us first or last.

Weeping we hold Him fast to-night;
We will not let Him go
Till daybreak smite our wearied sight,
And summer smite the snow:
Then figs shall bud, and dove with dove
Shall coo the livelong day;
Then He shall say, "Arise, My love,
My fair one, come away. "



THE THREE ENEMIES.


THE FLESH.

"Sweet, thou art pale. "
"More pale to see,
Christ hung upon the cruel tree
And bore His Father's wrath for me. "

"Sweet, thou art sad. "
"Beneath a rod
More heavy, Christ for my sake trod
The winepress of the wrath of God. "

"Sweet, thou art weary. "
"Not so Christ:
Whose mighty love of me sufficed
For Strength, Salvation, Eucharist. "

"Sweet, thou art footsore. "
"If I bleed,
His feet have bled: yea, in my need
His Heart once bled for mine indeed. "


THE WORLD.

"Sweet, thou art young. "
"So He was young
Who for my sake in silence hung
Upon the Cross with Passion wrung.