THEOPHANY EVELYN UNDERHILL Deep cradled in the fringed mow to lie To show the exultant leap and thrust of things THE DWELLING PLACE HENRY VAUGHN What happy secret fountain, Fair shade or mountain, Whose undiscovered virgin glory Boasts it this day, though not in story, Oft to a narrow, homely room, Where thou too hast but the least part, My God, I mean my sinful heart. HEALTH OF BODY DEPENDENT ON SOUL JONES VERY Not from the earth, or skies, Or seasons as they roll, Come health and vigor to the frame, But from the living soul. Is this alive to God, And not the slave to sin? But if disease has touched The spirit's inmost part, In vain we seek from outward things The mind, the heart unchanged, Which clouded e'en our home, The fairest scenes on earth, The mildest, purest sky, For He who formed our frame THE LIGHT FROM WITHIN JONES VERY I saw on earth another light Its beams shone still unclouded on, The sun I once had known had sunk And on I walked, though dark the night, Nor rose his orb by day; As one who by a surer guide 'Twas brighter far than noonday's beam; And lit, as by a lamp from heaven, SONG OF MYSELF WALT WHITMAN From Leaves of Grass I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least, Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself. Why should I wish to see God better than this day? I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then, In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass, I find letters from God dropped in the street-and every one is signed by God's name, And I leave them where they are, for I know that others will punctually come forever and ever. Karshish, the picker-up of learning's crumbs, (This man's flesh He hath admirably made, Breeder in me of what poor skill I boast, Like me inquisitive how pricks and cracks Befall the flesh through too much stress and strain, Whereby the wily vapor fain would slip Back and rejoin its source before the term,— And aptest in contrivance, under God, To baffle it by deftly stopping such: The vagrant Scholar to his Sage at home Sends greeting (health and knowledge, fame with peace) Three samples of true snake-stone-rarer still, One of the other sort, the melon-shaped, (But fitter, pounded fine, for charms than drugs) I have shed sweat enough, left flesh and bone Since this poor covert where I pass the night, And share with thee whatever Jewry yields. In tertians, I was nearly bold to say, And falling-sickness hath a happier cure Than our school wots of: there's a spider here Sprinkled with mottles on an ash-gray back; Take five and drop them . . . but who knows his mind, The Syrian run-a-gate I trust this to? His service payeth me a sublimate Blown up his nose to help the ailing eye. Best wait: reach Jerusalem at morn, There set in order my experiences, Gather what most deserves and give thee all- Scales off in purer flakes, shines clearer-grained, |