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"cii pauca relicti
Jugera ruris erant ; nee fcrtilis ilia juvencis
Nee pecori opportuna seges, nee commoda Eaceho.
Hie rarum tamen in dumis olus, albaque circum
I>ilia, verbenasque premens, veseumquo papaver,
Regum sequabat opes animis."

E. P.


31 West Twenty-third Street







By E p. DUTTON & CO.





The poems of the author of ''Lead, Kind-
ly Light ".need no recommendation to the
pubHc. Wherever the Enghsh language is
spoken, that hymn is a favorite ; it has given
expression and assuagement to thousands
groping in the darkness of spiritual conflict
or of bereavement, who will like to see what
else of the kind the author has produced.
And though there may be nothing with the
same familiar sound and sweet associations,
there is much to repay study, and not a lit-
tle that is worthy to be counted among a
hymn-lover's treasures for evermore.

John Henry Newman is almost coeval with
the century, in the religious history of which
his name will occupy so prominent a place.
The outward facts of his life are few and
quickly told : of his intellectual career only a


brief outline can here be given. He was
born in London, February 21st, 1801 ; he
ent3rcd Trinity College, Oxford, i8i6;was
elected Fellow of Oriel College, 1822 ; received
orders in the English Church, 1824 ; was Vice-
Principal of Alban Hall, under Dr. Whately,
1825-26 ; tutor of Oriel, 1826-32 ; Vicar of
St. Mary's, Oxford and Littlemore, 1828-43 ;*
editor of the " British Critic, " 183^^-41. But
he is best known as the chief-mover in that
great religious upheaval of our age, the final
effects of which none of us will live to trace,
variously known as the "Oxford," the " High
Church" and the "Tractarian Movement,"
— the last and most characteristic of these
names being derived from the celebrated se-
ries of "Tracts for the Times," to which he
v/as much the largest contributor. The clos-
ing one was the famous ' ' No. XC. " an attempt
to reconcile the "XXXIX. Articles" with the
canons and decrees of the Council of Trent,
v/hich roused so much alarm and indignation
as to compel his diocesan to request the dis-
continuance of the series, Newman obeyed,
but under orotest ; and his tendencies became


more and more pronounced, until, by a logi-
cal necessity, in September, 1845, his last
words as an Anglican clergyman were spoken
to a small gafnering of friends and pupils in
his home-chapel at Littlemore, and in the
following October, he was received into the
communion of the Roman Catholic Church.
In 1846, he visited Rome, was admitted to
the priesthood, joined the Oratoiy of St.
Philip Neri, founded a branch thereof in Eng-
gland on his return thither, in 1848, and has
spent most of his life since as the Head of the
Birmingham House, — albeit, in 1852, he
founded the Roman Catholic University at
Dublin, and acted as its Rector until 1858.
He was made Cardinal, May 12th, 1879.

In 1864, he published his " Apologia pro
Vita Sua,'' which gives a history of the devel-
opment of his religious opinions from his
youth up, and furnishes much incidental evi-
dence that his mental and spiritual constitu-
tion was of the sort which seems almost pre-
destined to find its final home in the Roman
fold. He says of his school-days : ' ' My im-
agination ran on unknown influences, on mag-


ical powers and talismans. ... I thought
life might be a dream, or I an angel, and all
this world a deception ; my fellow-angels by a
playful device concealing themselves from me,
and deceiving me with the semblance of a
material world." And again : '• I was very su-
perstitious . . . and used constantly to cross
myself when going into the dark ;'' yet he
could '*m.ake no sort of conjecture" whence
this practice was derived. He also mentions
a ' ' deep imagination, " that he was called to a
celibate life, which took possession of him in
1816, and strengthened his '' feeling of separa-
tion from a visible world. " During his thirty-
six years of residence at Oxford, he was brought
into more or less intimate relations with
Whately, Keble, Pusey, Mozley, the Froudes,
the Wilberforces, etc. He was counted
austere and reserved by some, kindly and gen-
ial by others, — the truth seeming to be that he
was reserved by nature, and especially so with
strangers and antipathetic persons, but knew
how to unbend and be companionable and
delightful to his friends. It is plain that he
exerted a powerful influence upon those admit-


ted to his intimacy ; he had always a devoted
circle of adherents, many of whom preceded
or followed him into the Church of Rome,
notably Faber and Caswall.

His life has been an industrious one ; the
list of his published works numbers over thirty
volumes, — theological, historical, polemical,
— among them two works of fiction. They
have a twofold interest, as treating the subject
in hand with great power and brilliancy both
of thought and style, and as milestones mark-
ing the stages by which a mind of no com-
mon order passed from the Anglican to the
Roman faith. In the latter aspect, they may
afford some comfort to all who are alarmed
at the widening flood of materialistic unbe-
lief, as tending to show the presence and pow-
er of the supernatural element in and over
man, and that there will always be intellects,
neither ignorant nor feeble, who can find no
rest nor satisfaction save in a definite, dog-
matic faith.

Comparatively few of Newman's poems were
written after his secession, yet several of those
dated years before show how far he had slid-


den, consciously or not, from his ostensible
standpoint, before he planted himself squarely
on the true one. Both of these classes — not
more than a dozen in all — are necessarily can-
celled in a volume intended chiefly for the
protestant world ; — with all respect for the
faith and taste of others, we must needs exer-
cise the right of selection for ourselves ; it is
possible to be not less reverent in rejection
than in acceptance. Among the latter pro-
ductions, the " Dream ofGerontius "' stands so
pre-eminent in felicity of language and beauty
of thought and imagery, that it is retained
almost entire, notwithstanding its length. A
large latitude is allowable in a work so purely
imaginative ; nor does the doctrine of purga-
xoxy appear in a form that need greatly offend
whomsoever believes in any intermediate
state between the death of the body and the
soul's lEinal entrance upon the perfect bliss of
heaven. The poem's excellence as a whole
may easily atone for some doubtful flights of
fancy. Finally, to show somewhat of the soft-
er and so lo speak, more human side of the
poet's character, a large part of the earlier,


more secular and personal poems, which
could not be classed under the general title
of " Hymns," are given in an Appendix.

The preparation of the volume for the press,
begun with no enthusiam for the task, has
become so truly a labor of love as to justify
the expression of the belief that all who bring
a much smaller measure of the same careful
study to these poems, will be rewarded by the
same ultimate delight in their beauty of
thought and construction. They are instinct
with that spiritual grace and life which are
the heritage and hope of ' ' all who profess
and call themselves Christians."

W. M. L. J.
New York, 1885.



My dear Badeley :

I have not been without apprehen-
sion lest, in dedicating to you a number of
poetical compositions, I should hardly be
making a suitable offering to a member of a
grave profession, which is especially employed
in rubbing off the gloss with which imagina-
tion and sentiment invest matters of every-
day life, and in reducing statements of fact
to their legitimate dimensions. And, besides
this, misgivings have not unnaturally come
over me on the previous question ; viz., wheth-
er, after all, the contents of the volume are
of sufficient importance to make it an accept-
able offering to any friend whatever.

And I must frankly confess, as to the latter
difficulty, that certainly it never would have


occurred to me thus formally to bring togeth-
er under one title effusions which I have ever
considered ephemeral, had I not lately found
from publications of the day, what 1 never sus-
pected before, that there are critics, and they
strangers to me, who think well both of some
of my compositions and of my power of com-
posing. It is this commendation, bestowed
on me to my surprise as well as to my gratifica-
tion, which has encouraged me just now to
republish what I have from time to time writ-
ten ; and if, in doing so, I shall be found, as
is not unlikely, to have formed a volume of
unequal merit, my excuse must be, that I
despair of discovering any standard by which
to discriminate aright between one poetical
attempt and another. Accordingly, I am
thrown, from the nature of the case, whether
I will or no, upon my own judgment, which
biased by the associations of memory and by
personal feelings, and measuring, perhaps,
by the pleasure of verse-making, the worth
of the verse, is disposed either to preserve
them all, or to put them all aside.

Here another contrast presents itself be-


tween the poetical art and the science of law.
Your profession has its detinitive authorities,
its prescriptions, its precedents, and its prin-
ciples, by which to determine the claim of its
authors on public attention ; but what phil-
osopher will undertake to rule matters of
taste, or to bring under one idea or method,
works so different from each other as those of
Homer, ^schylus, and Pindar; of Terence,
Ovid, Juvenal, and Martial ? What court is
sitting, and what code is received, for the sat-
isfactory determination of the poetical preten-
sions of writers of the day ? Whence can we
hope to gain a verdict upon them, except
from the unscientific tribunals of Public
Opinion and of Time ? In Poetry, as in
Metaphysics, a book is of necessity a venture.
And now, coming to the suitableness of
my offering, I know well, my dear Badeley,
how little you will be disposed to criticise
what comes to you from me, whatever be its
intrinsic value. Less still in this case, con-
sidering that a chief portion of the volume
grew out of that Religious Movement which
you yourself, as well as I, so faithfully fol-


lowed from first to last. And least of all,
when I tell you that I wish it to be the poor
expression, long-delayed, of my gratitude,
never intermitted, for the great services which
you rendered to me years ago, by your legal
skill and affectionate zeal, in a serious matter
in which I found myself in collision with the
law of the land. Those services 1 have ever
desired in some public, however inadequate,
way to record ; and now, as time hurries on
and opportunities are few, 1 am forced to ask
you to let me acknowledge my debt to you
as I can, since I cannot as I would.

We are now, both of us, in the decline of
life ; may that warm attachment which has
lasted between us inviolate for so many years,
be continued, by the mercy of God, to the end
of our earthly course, and beyond it !
I am, my dear Badeley,

Affectionately yours,

J. H. N.
The Oratory,

December 21, iSyb,



The Trance of Time 21

Paraphrase of Isaiah, ch. Ixiv 23

Consolations in Bereavement 26

A Voice from afar 28

The Hidden Ones . 29

A Tlianksgivin J 32

The Brand of Cain 34

Zeal and Love 34

Persecution 35

Zeal and Purity 36

The Gift of Perseverance 37

The Sign of the Cross 38

Bondage 39

The Scars of Sin 40

Angelic Guidance 41

Substance and Shadow 42

Wanderings 43

The Saint and the Hero 44

Private Judgment 45

The Watchman 46




Memory '. 47

The Haven 48

A Word in Season 49

Fair Words 50

Moses 51

The Patient Church 52

Jeremiah 53

Penance 54

The Course of Truth 55

Christmas without Christ 56

Sleeplessness 57

Abraham . 58

The Greek Fathers 59

The Witness 60

The Death of Moses 62

Melchizedek 63

Transfiguration 64

Behind the Veil 65

Judgment 66

Sensitiveness , 67

David and Jonathan 68

Humiliation 69

The Call of David 70

A Blight 72

:Joseph 73

Superstition 74

Isaac 75

Reverses 76

Hope 77



St. Paul at Melita 7&

Warnings 79

Dreams . . . . 80

Temptation 81

Our Future 82

Heathenism 83

Taormini , 84

Sympathy 85

Relics of Saints 86

Day-laborers 87

Warfare 88

Sacrilege 90

Liberalism 91

Declenson 92

The Age to Come 94

External Religion 95

St. Gregory Nazianzen 96

Reverence 98

The Pillar of the Cloud 99

Samaria lOO

Jonah loi

Faith against Sight 103

Desolation I04

Zeal and Patience 105

The Religion of Cain 106

St. Paul 108

Flowers without Fruit 109

Zeal and Meekness no

Vexations in




The Church in Prayer 1 12

The Wrath to Come 113

Pusillanimity 114

James and John 115

Hora Novissima 116

Consolation 1 17

Uzzah and Obed-Edom 1 18

The Gift of Tongues. . . , 119

The Power of Prayer 120

Semita Justorum 121

The Elements . . 122

Judaism 124

Separation of Friends 126

Morning 128

Evening 128

A Hermitage ... 129

Intercession 130

Waiting for the Morning 131

Hymns for Matins, Sunday 133

" 13s

" " Monday 136

*' " Tuesday 137

" " Wednesday 138

*' " Thursday 139

** " Friday 140

" " Saturday 141

Hymns for Lauds, Sunday 143

" 145

" " Monday 146



Kymns for Lauds, Tuesday 148

" " Wednesday 149

•' " Thursday 151

" " Friday 152

" " Saturday 153

Hymn for Prime 154

Hymn for Terce 156

Hymn for Sext 157

Hymn for None 158

Hynms for Vespers, Sunday 159

" " Monday 160

" " Tuesday 162

" " Wednesday 163

" " Thursday 164

«' " Friday 165

" " Saturday 167

Hymn for Compline 168

Hymn for First Vespers, Advent 169

Hymn for Matins " 170

Hymn for Lauds, Advent 17 1

Hymn .for Matins, Transfiguration 173

Hymn for Lauds, " 1 74

Hymn for a Martyr 175

Ethelwald 176

Candlemas 178

Guardian Angel . 179

A Martyr Convert 182

The Two Worlds 184

St. Michael 186

The Dream of Gerontius . . 187



Solitude 235

To F. W. N., on his birthday 236

Nature and Art 240

Snapdragon 244

A Picture 247

My Lady Nature, &c 250

Monks 254

The Winter Flower 258

Home 259

The Isles of Syrens 260

Corcyra * 261

Messina .... 262

Progress of Unbelief 263

The Priestly Office 264

Married and Single 264

The Queen of Seasons. 271

Heathen Greece 274

To Edward Caswall 275



" Felix, qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas,
Atquc metus omnes, et inexorabile fa-^um
Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari ! ''

In childhood, when with eager eyes
The season-measured year I view'd,
All, garb'd in fairy guise,
Pledged constancy of good.

Spring sang of heaven ; the summer flowers
Bade me gaze on, and did not fade ;
Even suns o'er autumns bowers
Heard my strong wish, and stay'd.



They came and went, the short-Hved four ;
Yet, as their varying dance they wove,
To my young heart each bore
Its own sure claim of love.

Far different now ;^the whirling year
Vainly my dizzy eyes pursue ;
And its fair tints appear
All blent in one dusk hue.

Why dwell on rich autumnal lights,
Spring-time, or winter's social ring ?
Long days are fire-side nights,
Brown autumn is fresh spring.

Then what this earth to thee, my heart ?
Its gifts nor feed thee nor can bless.
Thou hast no owner's part
In all its fleetingness.

The flame, the storm, the quaking ground,
Earth's joy, earth's terror, nought is thine,
Thou must but hear the sound
Of the still voice divine.


O priceless art ! O princely state !

E'en while by sense of change opprest,

Within to antedate
^ Heaven's Age of fearless rest.

Highwood. October, 1827.



O THAT Thou wouldest rend the breadth of sky,
That veils Thy presence from the sons of men !
O that, as erst Thou camest from on high
Sudden in strength, Thou so would'st come

again 1
Track'd out by judgments was Thy fieiy path,
Ocean and mountain withering in Thy wrath !

Then would Thy name — the Just, the Merci-
Strange dubious attributes to human mind —
Appal Thy foes ; and, kings, who spurn Thy

Then, then yould quake to hopeless doom


See, the stout bows, and totters the secure,
While pleasure's bondsman hides his head im-
pure !

Come down ! for then shall from its seven

bright springs
To him who thirsts the draught of life be given;
Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard the

Which He hath purposed for the heirs of

heaven, —
A God of love, guiding with gracious ray
Each meek rejoicing pilgrim on his way.

Yea, though we err, and Thine averted face
Rebukes the folly in Thine Israel done,
Will not that hour of chastisement give place
To beams, the pledge of an eternal sun ?
Yes ! for His counsels to the end endure ;
We shall be saved, our rest abideth sure.

Lord, Lord ! our sins . . . our sins . . . un-
clean are we,
Gross and corrupt; our seeming-virtuous deeds
Are but abominate ; all, dead to Thee,
Shrivel, like leaves when summer's green re-
cedes :


While, like the autumn blast, our lusts arise,
And sweep their prey where the fell serpent lies.

None, there is none to plead with God in

Bracing his lag^rt spirit to the work
Of intercession ; conscience-sprung despair,
Sin-loving still, doth in each bosom lurk.
Guilt calls Thee to avenge ; — Thy risen ire
Sears like a brand, we gaze and we expire.

But now, O Lord, our Father ! we are Thine,
Design and fashion ; senseless while we lay,
Thou, as the potter, with a Hand Divine,
Didst mould Thy vessels of the sluggish clay.
Mark not our guilt, Thy word of wrath recall,
Lo, we are Thine by price. Thy people all 1

Alas for Zion ! 'tis a waste ; — the fair.

The holy place in flames ; — where once our

Kindled the sacrifice of praise and prayer,
Far other brightness gleams from Gentile fires.
Low lies our pride ; — and wilt Thou self-deny
Thy rescuing arm, unvex'd amid Thine Israel's

cry ?
Brighton. September, 182 1.



Death was full urgent with thee, Sister dear,

And startling in his speed ; —
Brief pain, then languor till thy end came
near —

Such was the path decreed,
The hurried road
To lead thy soul from earth to thine own
God's abode.

Death wrought with thee, sweet m_aid, impa-
tiently : —

Yet merciful the haste
That baffles sickness ; — dearest, thou didst

Thou wast not made to taste
Death's bitterness.
Decline's slow-wasting charm, or fever's fierce

Death came unheralded : — but it was well ;

For so thy Saviour bore
Kind witness, thou wast meet at once to dwell

On His eternal shore ;


All warning spared,
For none He gives where hearts are for prompt
change prepared.

Death wrought in mystery ; both complaint
and cure

To human skill unknown : —
God put aside all means, to make us sure
It was His deed alone ;
Lest we should lay
Reproach on our poor selves, that thou wast
caught away.

Death urgent as scant of time : — lest, Sister

We many a lingering day
Had sickened with alternate hope and fear,
The ague of delay ;

Watching each spark
Of promise quench'd in turn, till all our sky
was dark.

Death came and went : — that so thy image

Our yearning hearts possess,


Associate with all pleasant thoughts and bright,
With youth and loveliness ;
Sorrow can claim,
Mary, nor lot nor part in thy soft soothing

Joy of sad hearts, and light of downcast eyes !

Dearest thou art enshrined
In all thy fragrance in our memories ;
For we must ever find
Bare thought of thee
Freshen this weary life, while weary life shall

Oxford. April, 1828.


Weep not for me ; —
Be blithe as wont, nor tinge with gloom
The stream of love that circles home,

Light hearts and free !
Joy in the gifts Heaven's bounty lends ;
Nor miss my face, dear friends 1


I still am near ; —
Watching the smiles I prized on earth,
Your converse mild, your blameless mirth ;

Now too I hear
Of whisper'd sounds the tale complete,
Low prayers, and musings sweet.

A sea before
The Throne is spread ; — its pure still glass
Pictures all earth-scenes as they pass.

We, on its shore,
Share, in the bosom of our rest,

God's knowledge, and are blest.
Horsepath. September 2g^ 18 sg.


Hid are the saints of God ; —
Uncertified by high angelic sign ;
Nor raiment soft, nor empire's golden rod

Marks them divine.
Theirs but the unbought air, earth's parent

And the sun's smile beni2:n ;


Christ rears His throne within the secret heart,
From the haughty world apart.

They gleam amid the night,
Chill sluggish mists stifling the heavenly ray ;
Fame chants the while, — old history trims his

Aping the day ;
In vain ! staid look, loud voice, and reason's

Forcing its learned way,
Blind characters ! these aid us not to trace
Christ and His princely race.

Yet not all-hid from those
Who watch to see ; — 'neath their dull guise of

Bright bursting beams unwittingly disclose

Their heaven-wrought birth.
Meekness, love, patience, faith's serene re-
pose ;

And the soul's tutor'd mirth,
Bidding the slow heart dance, to prove her

O'er self in its proud hour.


These are the chosen few,
The remnant fruit of largely-scatter'd grace,
God sows in waste, to reap whom He fore-

Of man's cold race :
Counting on wills perverse, in His clear view

Of boundless time and space,
He waits, by scant return for treasures given,
To fill the thrones of heaven.

Lord ! who can trace but Thou
The strife obscure, 'twixt sin's soul-thralling

And Thy keen Spirit, now quench'd, reviving
now ?

Or who can tell,
Why pardon's seal stands sure on David's

Why Saul and Demas fell ?
Oh ! lest our frail hearts in the annealing

Help, for Thy mercy's sake !
Horsepath. September, 18 2g,



*' Thou in faithfulness hast afflicted me."

Lord, in this dust Thy sovereign voice
First quicken'd love divine ;

I am all Thine, — Thy care and choice,
My ver} - praise is Thine.

I praise Thee, while Thy providence

In childhood frail I trace,
For blessings given, ere dawning sense

Could seek or scan Thy grace ;

Blessings in boyhood's marvelling hour,
Bright dreams, and fancyings strange

Blessings, when reason's awful power
Gave thought a bolder range ;

Blessings of friends, which to my door
Unask'd, unhoped, have come ;

And, choicer still a countless store
Of eager smiles at home.


Yet, Lord, in memory's fondest place

I shrine those seasons sad,
When, looking up, I saw Thy face

In kind austereness clad.

I would not miss one sigh or tear,
Heart-pang, or throbbing brow ;

Sweet was the chastisement severe,
And sweet its memory now.

Yes ! let the fragrant scars abide,

Love-tokens in Thy stead.
Faint shadows of the spear-pierced side

And thorn-encompass'd head.

And such Thy tender force be still,
When self would swerve or stray.
Shaping to truth the froward will
Along Thy narrow way.

Deny me wealth ; far, far remove

The lure of power or name ;
Hope thrives in straits, in weakness love,

And faith in this world's shame.
Oxford. October 20, 18 2g.



I BEAR upon my brow the sign

Of sorrow and of pain ;
Alas ! no hopeful cross is mine,

It is the brand of Cain.

The course of passion and the fret

Of godless hope and fear, —
Toil, care, and guilt, — their hues have set,

And fix'd their sternness there.

Saviour ! wash out the imprinted shame ;

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Online LibraryJohn Henry NewmanHymns → online text (page 1 of 8)