LOVE NOT ME.

What, on cold earth, is deep as thou? Is aught?
Love is as deep, Love only is as deep.
Love lavisheth all; yet loseth, lacketh, naught.

Like thee, too, Love can neither pause nor sleep.

Roll on, thou loving River, then! Lift up

Thy waves those eyes, bright with a riotous laughing!

Thou makest me immortal. I am quaffing

The wine of rapture from no earthly cup.

At last thou bearest me, with soothing tone,

Back to thy bank of rosy flowers:

Thanks then, and fare thee well!-enjoy thy bliss alone; And through the year's melodious hours

Echo forever, from thy bosom broad,

All glorious tales that sun and moon be telling;
And woo down to their soundless fountain-dwelling

The holy stars of God!

Translation of JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN.

EDUARD MOERIKE (German).

LOVE NOT ME.

LOVE not me for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face,
Nor for any outward part;
No, nor for my constant heart:

For those may fail, or turn to ill
So thou and I shall sever.

PHILIP, MY KING.

Keep therefore a true woman's eye,
And love me still, but know not why:
So hast thou the same reason still
To doat upon me ever.

PHILIP, MY KING.

For round thee the purple shadow lies
Of babyhood's regal dignities.

Lay on my neck thy tiny hand,

With Love's invisible sceptre laden:

I am thine Esther, to command

Till thou shalt find thy queen-handmaiden,
Philip, my King!

O, the day when thou goest a-wooing,
Philip, my King!

When those beautiful lips are suing,
And, some gentle heart's bars undoing,
Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there
Sittest all glorified! — rule kindly,
Tenderly, over thy kingdom fair ;

I

For we that love, ah! we love so blindly,
Philip, my King!

gaze from thy sweet mouth up to thy brow,

Philip, my King!

Ay! there lies the spirit, all sleeping now,

That may rise like a giant, and make men bow

As to one God-throned amid his peers.

My Saul! than thy brethren higher and fairer Let me behold thee in coming years.

Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer,
Philip, my King –

A wreath, not of gold, but palm. One day,
Philip, my King!

Thou too must tread. as we tread, a way

THE GIFTS OF GOD.

Thorny, and bitter, and cold, and gray;
Rebels within thee, and foes without,

Will snatch at thy crown. But go on, glorious : Martyr, yet monarch! till angels shout,

As thou sit'st at the feet of God victorious,
Philip, the King!"

DINAH MARIA MULOCH.

THE GIFTS OF GOD.

WHEN God at first made man,

Having a glass of blessings standing by,
Let us," said He, "pour on him all we can;
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie,
Contract into a span."

So strength first made a way;

Then beauty flowed; then wisdom, honor, pleasure. When almost all was out, God made a stay, Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure, Rest in the bottom lay.

"For if I should," said He,

66

Bestow this jewel also on my creature,

He would adore my gifts instead of me,

And rest in Nature- not the God of Nature:
So both should losers be.

THE HYMN OF DAMASCENUS.

"Yet let him keep the rest,

But keep them with repining restlessness; Let him be rich and weary — that, at least, If goodness lead him not, yet weariness

May toss him, to my breast."

GEORGE HERBERT.

THE HYMN OF DAMASCENUS.

FROM my lips in their defilement,
From my heart in its beguilement,
From my tongue which speaks not fair,
From my soul stained everywhere-
O my Jesus, take my prayer!

Spurn me not, for all it says:
Not for words, and not for ways,
Not for shamelessness indued!
Make me brave to speak my mood,
I would!

my

Jesus, as

Or teach me, which I rather seek,
What to do and what to speak.

I have sinned more than she

Who, learning where to meet with Thee,
And bringing myrrh the highest priced,
Anointed bravely, from her knee,

Thy blessed feet accordingly

My God, my Lord, my Christ!