Of God on the soul, in the deep heart of Heaven
Lives changeless, unchanged: and our morning and

even

Are earth's alternations, not heaven's.

XXXVII.

While he yet

Watch'd the skies, with his thought in his heart; while he set

Thus unconsciously all his life forth in his mind, Summ'd it up, search'd it out, proved it vapour and

wind,

And embraced the new life which that hour had

reveal'd,

Love's life, which earth's life had defaced and conceal'd; Lucile left the tent and stood by him.

Her tread

Aroused him; and, turning towards her, he said : 'O Sœur Seraphine, are you happy?'

'Eugène,

'What is happier than to have hoped not in vain?' She answer'd,' And you?'

'Yes.'

'You do not repent?'

'No.'

Thank heaven!' she murmur'd. He musingly bent His looks on the sunset, and somewhat apart Where he stood, sigh'd, as though to his innermost heart,

'O blessed are they, amongst whom I was not,

'Whose morning unclouded, without stain or spot,

'Predicts a pure evening; who, sun-like, in light 'Have traversed, unsullied, the world, and set bright!

But she in response, 'Mark yon ship far away,

'Asleep on the wave, in the last light of day,

With all its hush'd thunders shut up! Would you know

'A thought which came to me a few days ago,

"Whilst watching those ships?... When the great Ship of Life,

'Surviving, though shatter'd, the tumult and strife Of earth's angry element,-masts broken short, 'Decks drench'd, bulwarks beaten-drives safe into port,

When the Pilot of Galilee, seen on the strand, Stretches over the waters a welcoming hand; 'When, heeding no longer the sea's baffled roar, 'The mariner turns to his rest evermore;

'What will then be the answer the helmsman must give?

"Will it be ... "Lo our log-book! Thus once did we

6

live

In the zones of the South; thus we traversed the seas Of the Orient; there dwelt with the Hesperides; Thence follow'd the west wind; here, eastward we turn'd;

'The stars fail'd us there; just here land we discern'd 'On our lee; there the storm overtook us at last ;

That day went the bowsprit, the next day the mast; 'There the mermen came round us, and there we saw bask

'A siren ?" The Captain of Port will he ask

Any one of such questions? I cannot think so!

But... "What is the last Bill of Health you can

"Not-How fared the soul through the trials she pass'd?

'But-What is the state of that soul at the last?

,

May it be so!' he sigh'd. There! the sun drops, behold!'

And indeed, whilst he spoke all the purple and gold
In the west had turn'd ashen, save one fading strip
Of light that yet gleam'd from the dark nether lip
Of a long reef of cloud; and o'er sullen ravines
And ridges the raw damps were hanging white screens
Of melancholy mist.

'Nunc dimittis!' she said.
O God of the living! whilst yet 'mid the dead
And the dying we stand here alive, and thy days
Returning, admit space for prayer and for praise,
In both these confirm us!

The helmsman, Eugène, 'Needs the compass to steer by. Pray always. Again. 'We two part each to work out Heaven's will: you, I trust,

In the world's ample witness; and I, as I must,

In secret and silence: you, love, fame, await;

Me, sorrow and sickness. We meet at one gate When all's over. The ways they are many and wide, 'And seldom are two ways the same. Side by side May we stand at the same little door when all's done! 'The ways they are many, the end it is one.

'He that knocketh shall enter: who asks shall obtain :

And who seeketh, he findeth. Remember, Eugène!'

She turn'd to depart.

...

Whither? whither ? ' he said. She stretch'd forth her hand where, already outspread On the darken'd horizon, remotely they saw

The French camp-fires kindling.

'O Duc de Luvois,

'See yonder vast host, with its manifold heart 'Made as one man's by one hope! That hope 'tis

your part

'To aid towards achievement, to save from reverse: Mine, through suffering to soothe, and through sick

ness to nurse.

'I go to my work: you to yours.'

XXXVIII.

Whilst she spoke,

On the wide wasting evening there distantly broke
The low roll of musketry. Straightway, anon,
From the dim Flag-staff Battery bellow'd a gun.
'Our chasseurs are at it!' he mutter'd.

Smiled, and pass'd up the twilight.

She turn❜d,

He faintly discern'd

Her form, now and then, on the flat lurid sky
Rise, and sink, and recede through the mists: by and by
The vapours closed round, and he saw her no more.

Nor shall we.

XXXIX.

For her mission, accomplish'd, is o'er. The mission of genius on earth! To uplift, Purify, and confirm by its own gracious gift,

The world, in despite of the world's dull endeavour
To degrade, and drag down, and oppose it for ever.
The mission of genius: to watch, and to wait,
To renew, to redeem, and to regenerate.
The mission of woman on earth! to give birth
To the mercy of Heaven descending on earth.
The mission of woman: permitted to bruise
The head of the serpent, and sweetly infuse,
Through the sorrow and sin of earth's register'd curse,
The blessing which mitigates all: born to nurse,

And to soothe, and to solace, to help and to heal
The sick world that leans on her. This was Lucile.

XL.

A power hid in pathos: a fire veil'd in cloud :

Yet still burning outward: a branch which, though

bow'd,

By the bird in its passage, springs upward again :

Through all symbols I search for her sweetness-in

vain!

Judge her love by her life.

:

For our life is but love In act. Pure was hers and the dear God above, Who knows what His creatures have need of for life, And whose love includes all loves, through much patient strife

Led her soul into peace. Love, though love may be given

In vain, is yet lovely. Her own native heaven
More clearly she mirror'd, as life's troubled dream
Wore away; and love sigh'd into rest, like a stream
That breaks its heart over wild rocks toward the shore
Of the great sea which hushes it up evermore