“O Lord, I have been talking to the people;Thought's wheels have round me whirled a fiery zoneAnd the recoil of my word's airy rippleMy heart unheedful has puffed up and blown.Therefore I cast myself before thee prone:Lay cool hands on my burning brain and press From my weak heart the swelling emptiness.”

“I saw thee ne'er before;I see thee never more;But love, and help, and pain, beautiful one,Have made thee mine, till all my years are done.”

“One of my greatest difficulties in consenting to think of religion was that I thought I should have to give up my beautiful thoughts and my love for the things God has made. But I find that the happiness springing from all things not in themselves sinful is much increased by religion. God is the God of the Beautiful—Religion is the love of the Beautiful, and Heaven is the Home of the Beautiful—-Nature is tenfold brighter in the Sun of Righteousness, and my love of Nature is more intense since I became a Christian—-if indeed I am one. God has not given me such thoughts and forbidden me to enjoy them.”

“When I can no more stir my soul to move, and life is but the ashes of a fire; when I can but remember that my heart once used to live and love, long and aspire- O, be thou then the first, the one thou art; be thou the calling, before all answering love, and in me wake hope, fear, boundless desire.”

“Love me, beloved; Hades and DeathShall vanish away like a frosty breath;These hands, that now are at home in thine,Shall clasp thee again, if thou art still mine;And thou shalt be mine, my spirit's bride,In the ceaseless flow of eternity's tide,If the truest love thy heart can knowMeet the truest love that from mine can flow.Pray God, beloved, for thee and me,That our sourls may be wedded eternally.”

“But words are vain; reject them all— They utter but a feeble part:Hear thou the depths from which they call, The voiceless longing of my heart.”

“Mary MagdaleneWith wandering eyes and aimless zeal, She hither, thither, goes;Her speech, her motions, all reveal A mind without repose.She climbs the hills, she haunts the sea, By madness tortured, driven;One hour's forgetfulness would be A gift from very heaven!She slumbers into new distress; The night is worse than day:Exulting in her helplessness; Hell's dogs yet louder bay.The demons blast her to and fro; She has not quiet place,Enough a woman still, to know A haunting dim disgrace.A human touch! a pang of death! And in a low delightThou liest, waiting for new breath, For morning out of night.Thou risest up: the earth is fair, The wind is cool; thou art free!Is it a dream of hell's despair Dissolves in ecstasy?That man did touch thee! Eyes divine Make sunrise in thy soul;Thou seest love in order shine:- His health hath made thee whole!Thou, sharing in the awful doom, Didst help thy Lord to die;Then, weeping o'er his empty tomb, Didst hear him Mary cry.He stands in haste; he cannot stop; Home to his God he fares:'Go tell my brothers I go up To my Father, mine and theirs.'Run, Mary! lift thy heavenly voice; Cry, cry, and heed not how; Make all the new-risen world rejoice- Its first apostle thou!What if old tales of thee have lied, Or truth have told, thou artAll-safe with Him, whate'er betide Dwell'st with Him in God's heart!”