MATINS

Good morning, friend! What of the night? Through yonder cloud one shaft of light, Shot from the bow of Hunter Day, Strikes on the world; his hound-winds bay

Down valleys where the wheat and rye Their gold with green of forest vie. Lift up your head! Behold how fair Creation is: The ocean-air

Beats billowing upon the strand Of endless leagues of summer land, And freighted ships of scented bales, Wild blossoms, spread their tinctured sails.

See how God with an artist's grace Gives soul to every flower-face! Beneath His touch a leaf is green, A berry, red! Mark how, between

The captive daisies, come and pass Phalanxes of the guarding grass! The night was dark, you say: wild fears Took shape on torrent-flood of tears;

Dim phantoms of the host of hate Pursued you down the gulfs of fate, Smiting you with their harpy-wings Up steeps of weird imaginings!

My friend! Each in his turn has known Night and her shapes of fear; the stone Of striving Sisyphus has torn All who have dared the mount of Morn:

The tree where Buddha's vision fell Was planted in a pit of hell! No soul has seen its promised land, Who felt not first some Pharaoh's hand —

Behind achievement, stir and stress Of desert-days and wilderness; Learn by the way that Jesu trod How from the brute man grows a god!

Who stands against you in your path May reap with you your aftermath; And less of bitterness than bliss Is stored within a traitor's kiss:

The demon who holds back your soul Will crown you victor at the goal! The bugles blow, the trumpets call, And at their sound the towers fall;

Beleaguered bastions are down Within yon ancient fortressed town: Go up and let each cobbled street Clang back to your triumphant feet!