#EnglishWriters
Is there, in you or me, Seed of that poison-tree Which, in its bitter fruiting, bor… Such vintage sore Of red calamity—
God is; God sees; God loves; God knows. And Right is Right;
To lift the sombre fringes of the… To open lands long darkened to the… To heal grim wounds, to give the b… Right mightily wrought he. Forth to the fight he fared,
Profit?—Loss? Who shall declare this good—that i… When good and ill so intertwine But to fulfil the vast design Of an Omniscient Will?—
Pearl Iridescent! Pearl of the se… Shimmering, glimmering Pearl of t… White in the sun-flecked Silver S… White in the moon-decked Silver S… White in the wrath of the Silver…
Great-Heart is dead, they say,— Great-Heart the Teacher, Great-Heart the Joyous, Great-Heart the Fearless, Great-Heart the Martyr,
Warp and Woof and Tangle,— Weavers of Webs are we. Living and dying—and mightier dead… For the shuttle, once sped, is spe… Weavers of Webs are we.
The nations are in the proving; Each day is Judgment Day; And the peoples He finds wanting Shall pass—by the Shadowy Way.
In Christ there is no East or We… In Him no South or North, But one great Fellowship of Love Throughout the whole wide earth. In Him shall true hearts everywhe…
To every man there openeth A Way, and Ways, and a Way. And the High Soul climbs the Hig… And the Low Soul gropes the Low, And in between, on the misty flats…
The sun shone white and fair, This Eastertide, Yet all its sweetness seemed but t… Our souls’ despair; For stricken hearts, and loss and…
Stephen, who died while I stood b… Wrought in his death the making of… Bruised one hard heart to thought… Fitted one fighter for a nobler st… Stephen, the Saint, triumphant an…
Hark! The drums! Muffled drums! The long low ruffle of the drums!— And every head is bowed, In the vast expectant crowd, As the Great Queen comes,—
Unless our Souls win back to Thee… We shall have lost this fight. Yes, though we win on field and se… Though mightier still our might ma… We still shall lose if we win not…
When, with bowed head, And silent-streaming tears, With mingled hopes and fears, To earth we yield our dead; The Saints, with clearer sight,