Slacken the string, if so it be thy will,
That the sharp arrow leave it not, thereby
Sparing her life, which if it flies is flown.

O Death, for God's sake, be some pity shown!
Restrain within thyself, even at its height,
The cruel wrath which moveth thee to smite

Her in whom God hath set so much of grace. Show now some ruth, if 'tis a thing thou hast ! I seem to see Heaven's gate, that is shut fast, Open, and angels filling all the space About me,-come to fetch her soul whose laud Is sung by saints and angels before God.

DANTE (Trs. by D. G. Rossetti).

JANUARY 24.

TO ADVERSITY.

DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless power,
Thou tamer of the human breast,
Whose iron scourge and torturing hour
The bad affright, afflict the best!
Bound in thy adamantine chain

The proud are taught to taste of pain,

And purple tyrants vainly groan

With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.

Oh! gently on thy suppliant's head,

Dread goddess, lay thy chast'ning hand!

Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad,

Not circled with the vengeful band
(As by the impious thou art seen);

With thundering voice and threatening mien,
With screaming Horror's funeral cry,

Despair and fell Disease and ghastly Poverty:

Thy form benign, O goddess, wear,
Thy milder influence impart,
Thy philosophic train be there

To soften, not to wound my heart.
The gen'rous spark extinct revive,
Teach me to love and to forgive,
Exact my own defects to scan,

What others are to feel and know myself a Man.

THOMAS GRAY.

JANUARY 25.

WEARY of myself, and sick of asking
What I am, and what I ought to be,

At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me
Forwards, forwards o'er the starlit sea.

And a look of passionate desire

O'er the sea and to the stars I send :

'Ye who from my childhood up have calm'd

me,

Calm me, ah, compose me to the end!

'Ah, once more,' I cried, 'ye stars, ye waters,
On my heart your mighty charm renew;
Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you,
Feel my soul becoming vast like you!

From th' intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven,
Over the lit sea's unquiet way,

In the rustling night-air came the answer:

'Wouldst thou be as these are?

Live as they.

'Unaffrighted by the silence round them,

Undistracted by the sights they see,

These demand not that the things without

them

Yield them joy, amusement, sympathy.

And with joy the stars perform their shining, And the sea its long moon-silver'd roll; For self-poised they live, nor pine with noting All the fever of some differing soul. Bounded by themselves, and unregardful In what state God's other works may be, In their own task all their powers pouring, These attain the mighty life you see.' O air-born voice! long since, severely clear, A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear: Resolve to be thyself; and know, that he Who finds himself, loses his misery!

MATTHEW ARNOLD.

JANUARY 26.

[General Gordon died at Khartoum, 1885.]
"This is he

That every man in arms should wish to be."

WHO is the happy warrior? Who is he
That every man in arms should wish to be?
It is the generous spirit, who, when brought
Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought
Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought:
Whose high endeavours are an inward light
That makes the path before him always bright:
Who, with a natural instinct to discern
What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn;
Abides by this resolve, and stops not there,
But makes his moral being his prime care;
Who, doomed to go in company with Pain,
And Fear, and Bloodshed, miserable train!
Turns his necessity to glorious gain;
More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure,
As tempted more; more able to endure,

As more exposed to suffering and distress;
Thence also more alive to tenderness.
Who, if he rise to station of command,
Will rise by open means, and there will stand
On honourable terms, or else retire,

And in himself possess his own desire;
Whose powers shed round him in the
strife,

Or mild concerns of ordinary life,

A constant influence, a peculiar grace;
But who, if he be called upon to face

common

Some awful moment, to which Heaven has joined
Great issues, good or bad, for humankind,

Is happy as a Lover; and attired

.

.

With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired;
He who, though thus endued as with a sense
And faculty for storm and turbulence,
Is yet a Soul whose master-bias leans
To home-felt pleasures and to gentle scenes;
Who, not content that former worth stand fast,
Looks forward, persevering to the last,
From well to better, daily self-surpast:
Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth
For ever, and to noble deeds give birth,
Or he must fall, and sleep without his fame,
And leave a dead unprofitable name—
Finds comfort in himself and in his cause;
And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws
His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause.

W. WORDSWorth.

JANUARY 27.

LET US GO TO BETHLEHEM.

CARRY me, babe! to Bethlehem now,
For I would look on Thee, my God!
Thou art alone my goal,-and Thou,
Thou to that goal the only road.

From my deep slumbers bid me wake, -no evil shall betide me;

Call me,

Give me Thy heavenly hand to guide me, And I shall not heaven's way mistake.

So shall I straight to Bethlehem

go,

Where I shall look on Thee, my God!
Thou art alone my goal,—and Thou,
Thou to that goal the only road.

Though I'm oppressed with want and woe,
Though I am clad in garments torn,
Though I'm a wanderer lost and lorn,
Guide me, my God! where'er I go !
Bring me, I pray, to Bethlehem now,
Where I may look on Thee, my God!
Thou art alone my goal,-and Thou,
Thou to that goal my only road.

ANON.

(Trs. from the Spanish by Sir John Bowring.)