Verses on Various Occasions quotes

There is in stillness oft a magic power To calm the breast, when struggling passions lower;

Touch’d by its influence, in the soul arise Diviner feelings, kindred with the skies. By this the Arab’s kindling thoughts expand, When circling skies enclose the desert sand; For this the hermit seeks the thickest grove, To catch th’ inspiring glow of heavenly love.

As if such shapes and moods, which come and go, Had aught of Truth or Life in their poor show, To sway or judge, and skill to sane or wound. Son of immortal seed, high-destined Man! Know thy dread gift—a creature, yet a cause:

Each mind is its own centre, and it draws Home to itself, and moulds in its thought’s span All outward things, the vassals of its will,

Aided by Heaven, by earth unthwarted still.

I came and saw; and, having seen, Weak heart, I drew offence From thy prompt smile, thy simple mien, Thy lowly diligence.

The Saint’s is not the Hero’s praise;⁠—

This I have found, and learn Nor to malign Heaven’s humblest ways, Nor its least boon to spurn.

Off Cape Ortegal. December 11, 1832.

Faint not, and fret not, for threaten’d woe, Watchman on Truth’s grey height!

Few though the faithful, and fierce though the foe, Weakness is aye Heaven’s might.

Moses was one, but he stay’d the sin Of the host, in the Presence bright; And Elias scorn’d the Carmel din, When Baal would match Heaven’s might.

Time’s years are many, Eternity one, And one is the Infinite;

The chosen are few, few the deeds well done, For scantness is still Heaven’s might.

At Sea. December 18, 1832.

Moses, the patriot fierce, became The meekest man on earth,

To show us how love’s quick’ning flame Can give our souls new birth.

Off Ithaca. December 30, 1832.

Thrice bless’d are they, who feel their loneliness;

To whom nor voice of friends nor pleasant scene Brings aught on which the sadden’d heart can lean; Yea, the rich earth, garb’d in her daintiest dress Of light and joy, doth but the more oppress, Claiming responsive smiles and rapture high;

Off Malta. January 10, 1833.

Time was, I shrank from what was right From fear of what was wrong;

I would not brave the sacred fight, Because the foe was strong.

But now I cast that finer sense And sorer shame aside;

Such dread of sin was indolence, Such aim at Heaven was pride.

So, when my Saviour calls, I rise, And calmly do my best; Leaving to Him, with silent eyes Of hope and fear, the rest.

Many the prayers and gracious deeds, which rose Daily thank-offerings from his pilgrim tent. Yet these, though written in the heavens, are rent From out truth’s lower roll, which sternly shows But one sad trespass at his history’s close, Father’s, son’s, mother’s, and its punishment.

Not in their brightness, but their earthly stains Are the true seed vouchsafed to earthly eyes.

Sin can read sin, but dimly scans high grace, So we move heavenward with averted face, Scared into faith by warning of sin’s pains; And Saints are lower’d, that the world may rise.

When mirth is full and free, Some sudden gloom shall be; When haughty power mounts high, The Watcher’s axe is nigh.

All growth has bound; when greatest found, It hastes to die.

When the rich town, that long Has lain its huts among, Uprears its pageants vast, And vaunts—it shall not last! Bright tints that shine, are but a sign Of summer past.

Perplex’d, I hoped my heart was pure of guile, But judged me weak in wit, to disagree; But now, I see that men are mad awhile, ’Tis the old history—

Truth without a home, Despised and slain, then rising from the tomb.

When first earth’s rulers welcomed home The Church, their zeal impress’d Upon the seasons, as they come, The image of their guest.

Off Monte Pellegrino. June 14, 1833.

Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom Lead Thou me on!

The night is dark, and I am far from home— Lead Thou me on! Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene—one step enough for me.

Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom Lead Thou me on! The night is dark, and I am far from home— Lead Thou me on!

Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene⁠—one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor pray’d that Thou Shouldst lead me on. I loved to choose and see my path, but now Lead Thou me on! I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, Pride ruled my will: remember not past years.

I was not ever thus, nor pray’d that Thou Shouldst lead me on.

I loved to choose and see my path, but now Lead Thou me on!

I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, Pride ruled my will: remember not past years.

Off Sardinia. June 18, 1833.

The world has cycles in its course, when all That once has been, is acted o’er again:⁠—

Not by some fated law, which need appal Our faith, or binds our deeds as with a chain; But by men’s separate sins, which blended still The same bad round fulfil.

Rouse we; let the blithesome cry Of that bird our hearts awaken; Chide the slumberers as they lie, And arrest the sin-o’ertaken.

Hope and health are in his strain, To the fearful and the ailing;

Murder sheathes his blade profane, Faith revives when faith was failing.

And still, though Candlemas be spent And Alleluias o’er,

Mary is music in our need, And Jesus light in store.

There sat a Lady all on the ground, Rays of the morning circled her round, Save thee, and hail to thee, Gracious and Fair, In the chill twilight what wouldst thou there?

Poor is our sacrifice, whose eyes Are lighted from above;

We offer what we cannot keep, What we have ceased to love.

Thou champion high Of Heaven’s imperial Bride, For ever waiting on her eye, Before her onward path, and at her side, In war her guard secure, by night her ready guide!

Oh what a shifting parti-coloured scene Of hope and fear, of triumph and dismay, Of recklessness and penitence, has been The history of that dreary, lifelong fray! And oh the grace to nerve him and to lead, How patient, prompt, and lavish at his need!

O man, strange composite of heaven and earth!

Majesty dwarfed to baseness! fragrant flower Running to poisonous seed! and seeming worth Cloking corruption! weakness mastering power! Who never art so near to crime and shame, As when thou hast achieved some deed of name;—

O man, strange composite of heaven and earth!

Majesty dwarfed to baseness! fragrant flower Running to poisonous seed! and seeming worth Cloking corruption! weakness mastering power!

Who never art so near to crime and shame, As when thou hast achieved some deed of name;—

Not so with us in the immaterial world; But intervals in their succession Are measured by the living thought alone, And grow or wane with its intensity.

And time is not a common property; But what is long is short, and swift is slow, And near is distant, as received and grasped By this mind and by that, and every one Is standard of his own chronology.

And memory lacks its natural resting-points Of years, and centuries, and periods. It is thy very energy of thought Which keeps thee from thy God.

Nor hast thou now extension, with its parts Correlative—long habit cozens thee— Nor power to move thyself, nor limbs to move.

Hast thou not heard of those, who, after loss Of hand or foot, still cried that they had pains In hand or foot, as though they had it still?

So is it now with thee, who hast not lost Thy hand or foot, but all which made up man; So will it be, until the joyous day Of resurrection, when thou wilt regain All thou hast lost, new-made and glorified.

How, even now, the consummated Saints See God in heaven, I may not explicate. Meanwhile let it suffice thee to possess Such means of converse as are granted thee, Though, till that Beatific Vision thou art blind;

For e’en thy purgatory, which comes like fire, Is fire without its light.

His will be done! I am not worthy e’er to see again The face of day; far less His countenance Who is the very sun.

Angels, to whom the willing task is given, Shall tend, and nurse, and lull thee, as thou liest; And Masses on the earth, and prayers in heaven, Shall aid thee at the Throne of the Most Highest.

Farewell, but not for ever! brother dear,

Be brave and patient on thy bed of sorrow; Swiftly shall pass thy night of trial here, And I will come and wake thee on the morrow.