I. Sprinc

Prophet
TREE of life, blissful tree,
Old as the world, still springing green, Planted, watered by God ; whose fruit Hath year by year fallen about the root,
And century by century ; Grant me that I thy glory unseen At last attain to see !
Chorus of Angels
The flame of our eyes still bideth The fatal tree:
Which God in charge confideth That none may see,
Till ’gainst our light advances A purer ray,
And melts with fervid glances Our swords of day.
Conside- rate lilia agri
quomodo crescunt.
HENRY CHARLES BEECHING 427
Prophet This garden I consider: if not the wise Repute it Paradise, The wise may err and ancient fame be lost ; As Ophir on the swart Arabian coast,— Whence she, of Saba queen, Tn silk raiment and gold, Bearing spices manifold, Not unlike this lily’s purer sheen, Came a weary way to salute Solomon, Fainting to see, and fainted having seen, Such wisdom dazzled from his throne,— Now Ophir lies unknown ; Yet stumbling haply on gold, a man shall say Who feeds his flock by the well, ‘Lo Ophir!’ what if I to-day A like token recover, and tell.
Chorus of Angels The fire of our heart presages (And gins to dim,) That though through ageless ages We wait for him He comes ; our glory retires, And shrinks from strife, Folding in closer fires The Tree of Life.
Prophet Goeth up a mist, To water the ground from the four streams at even ; Wrapt in a veil of amethyst
428
Sinite parvulos, &e,
HENRY CHARLES BEECHING
The trees and thickets wait for Spring to appear, An angel out of heaven,
Bringing apparel new for the new year;
In the soft light the birds
Reset to the loved air the eternal words,
And in the woods primroses peer.
Angel of the Spring He hath seen me with eyes of wonder And named my name, My shield ts riven in sunder, And quencht my flame : My task is done, and rewarded Lf faithfully ; By others now 1s guarded The mystic tree.