GOING TO CHURCH.

I woke at three; for I was bid

To breakfast with the Dean at nine,

And thence to Church. My curtain slid,

I found the dawning Sunday fine,

And could not rest, so rose. The air

Was dark and sharp; the roosted birds

Cheep'd,‘ Here am I, Sweet; are you there?’

On Avon's misty flats the herds

Expected, comfortless, the day,

Which slowly fired the clouds above;

The cock scream'd, somewhere far away;

In sleep the matrimonial dove

Was crooning; no wind waked the wood,

Nor moved the midnight river-damps,

Nor thrill'd the poplar; quiet stood

The chestnut with its thousand lamps;

The moon shone yet, but weak and drear,

And seem'd to watch, with bated breath,

The landscape, all made sharp and clear

By stillness, as a face by death.

My pray'rs for her being done, I took

Occasion by the quiet hour

To find and know, by Rule and Book,

The rights of love's beloved power.

Fronting the question without ruth,

Nor ignorant that, evermore,

If men will stoop to kiss the Truth,

She lifts them higher than before,

I, from above, such light required

As now should once for all destroy

The folly which at times desired

A sanction for so great a joy.

Thenceforth, and through that pray'r, I trod

A path with no suspicions dim.

I loved her in the name of God,

And for the ray she was of Him;

I ought to admire much more, not less

Her beauty was a godly grace;

The mystery of loveliness,

Which made an altar of her face,

Was not of the flesh, though that was fair,

But a most pure and living light

Without a name, by which the rare

And virtuous spirit flamed to sight.

If oft, in love, effect lack'd cause

And cause effect,‘ twere vain to soar

Reasons to seek for that which was

Reason itself, or something more.

My joy was no idolatry

Upon the ends of the vile earth bent,

For when I loved her most then I

Most yearn'd for more divine content.

That other doubt, which, like a ghost,

In the brain's darkness haunted me,

Was thus resolved: Him loved I most,

But her I loved most sensibly.

Lastly, my giddiest hope allow'd

No selfish thought, or earthly smirch;

And forth I went, in peace, and proud

To take my passion into Church;

Grateful and glad to think that all

Such doubts would seem entirely vain

To her whose nature's lighter fall

Made no divorce of heart from brain.

I found them, with exactest grace

And fresh as Spring, for Spring attired;

And by the radiance in her face

I saw she felt she was admired;

And, through the common luck of love,

A moment's fortunate delay,

To fit the little lilac glove,

Gave me her arm; and I and they

( They true to this and every hour,

As if attended on by Time ),

Enter'd the Church while yet the tower

Was noisy with the finish'd chime.

Her soft voice, singularly heard

Beside me, in her chant, withstood

The roar of voices, like a bird

Sole warbling in a windy wood;

And, when we knelt, she seem'd to be

An angel teaching me to pray;

And all through the high Liturgy

My spirit rejoiced without allay,

Being, for once, borne clearly above

All banks and bars of ignorance,

By this bright spring-tide of pure love,

And floated in a free expanse,

Whence it could see from side to side,

The obscurity from every part

Winnow'd away and purified

By the vibrations of my heart.