As gold is tried in the furnace, So He tries the hearts of men; And the dwale and the dross shall… When He tries the hearts of men. And the wood, and the hay, and the…

“A red rose for my helmet, And a word before we part! The rose shall be my oriflamme The word shall fill my heart.” Heart, Heart, Heart of my heart—

The Golden Rose is blowing still, Is growing still, is glowing still… In lonely vale, on lordly hill, The Golden Rose is glowing still;… If only you can find it!

Not what, but WHOM, I do believ… That, in my darkest hour of need, Hath comfort that no mortal creed To mortal man may give;— Not what, but WHOM!

To lift the sombre fringes of the… To open lands long darkened to the… To heal grim wounds, to give the b… Right mightily wrought he. Forth to the fight he fared,

The spikenard was not wasted;— All down the tale of years, The fragrance of that broken alaba… Still clings to Mary’s memory, As clung its perfume sweet unto he…

Great-Heart is dead, they say,— Great-Heart the Teacher, Great-Heart the Joyous, Great-Heart the Fearless, Great-Heart the Martyr,

Bright stars of Faith and Hope, h… Shall shine for us through all the… For all her life was Love, and fe… Touch not the love that never dies… And Death itself, to her, was but

Just do your best, And leave the rest To Him who gave you Life,— And Zeal for Labour,—

('Be christs!'- was one of W. T. Stead’s favourite sayings. Not ‘Be like Christ!’- but– ‘Be christs!’ And he used the word no doubt in its original meaning,- anointed, ordained, chosen....

Lord, when on my bed I lie, Sleepless, unto Thee I’ll cry; When my brain works overmuch, Stay the wheels with Thy soft tou… Just a quiet thought of Thee,

I know! I know!— The ceaseless ache, the emptiness,… The pang of loss,— The strength that sinks beneath so… “—Heedless and careless, still the…

The wind blows shrill along the hi… —Black is the night and cold— The sky hangs low with its weight… And the drifts are deep on the wol… But what care I for wind or snow?

To every man there openeth A Way, and Ways, and a Way. And the High Soul climbs the Hig… And the Low Soul gropes the Low, And in between, on the misty flats…

Hark! The drums! Muffled drums! The long low ruffle of the drums!— And every head is bowed, In the vast expectant crowd, As the Great Queen comes,—