Hebe.

Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in!
What?--Pour in Strength!
Strength for the struggle through good and ill;
Through good--that the soul may be upright still,
Unspoil'd by riches, unswerving in will,
To walk by the light of unvarnish'd truth,
Up the flower-border'd path of youth;--
Through ill--that the soul may stoutly hold
Its faith, its freedom through hunger and cold,
Steadfast and pure as the true men of old.
Strength for the sunshine, strength for the gloom,
Strength for the conflict, strength for the tomb;
Let not the heart feel a craven fear--
Draw from the fountain deep and clear;
Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in!
Pour in Strength!

Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in!
What--Pour in Truth!
Drink! till the mists that enshroud the soul,
Like sleep's drowsy shadows backward roll,
And show the spirit its radiant goal,
That nought may blind it all its days,
Or tempt it down earth's crooked ways;
Drink! till the soul in the eastern skies
Behold the glorious star arise,
That guides its steps to the promised prize;
Drink! till the strong elixir fire
Each aim of the being with pure desire,
Nerve the courage to dare the world,
Though a thousand scoffers their arrows hurl'd;
Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in!
Pour in Truth!

Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in!
What?--Pour in Love!
To quench the thirst of the longing heart,
Heal all its sorrows with wondrous art,
And freshness and joy to its hopes impart;
To make the blossoms of life expand,
And shed their sweetness on every hand;
To melt the frost of each sullen mood,
Cement the bond of true brotherhood,
Subdue the evil of Time with good,
And join the links which death hath riven
Betwixt this fallen sphere and Heaven,
Raising the soul above the sky
On wings of Immortality.
Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in!
Pour in Love!

Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in!
What?--Pour in Hope!
The soul looks out through the coming years,
Blinded by doubts, and blinded by tears,
Sear'd with the iron of tyrant fears:--
Is there a break in Life's gloomy sky?
Can the heart reach it before it die?
The path is weary, the desert wide,
And Sorrow stalks by the pilgrim's side--
Oh for a draught of Hope's crystal tide
To cheer the parch'd and fainting one,
Until his toilsome race be run,
And the bright mirage fall from the sky,
Displaced by a sweet reality.
Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in!
Pour in Hope!

Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in!
What?--Pour in Faith!
What is Life's fabric, so nobly plann'd,
Its stately dome, and its ramparts grand,
If their foundation rest on the sand,
Ready to shift with Time's ebbing stream,
And melt away like a gorgeous dream?
God! let us trust Thee in very sooth,
Feel that the visions, the dreams of youth,
Its glorious hopes are all based on Truth;--
Thus shall the purpose of Life grow clear;
Love shall be freed from the bondage of fear;
And the soul calmly await the morrow
Untroubled by visions of coming sorrow.
Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in!
Pour in Faith!

Walter R. Cassels

Walter R. Cassels was a British poet and author primarily known for his collection of religious poetry, "Supernatural Religion" published in the late 19th century. Though the work was initially published anonymously, it sparked considerable controversy and debate over its skeptical views on Christianity and the supernatural. Cassels' style is marked by thought-provoking themes and meticulous craftsmanship, placing him among notable literary figures of his time.

Walter R. Cassels

The Sculptor.

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

Father And Son.

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

Under The Sea.

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

Gone.

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

English

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Filled is Life's goblet to the brim;
And though my eyes with tears are dim,
I see its sparkling bubbles swim,
And chant a melancholy hymn
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This goblet, wrought with curious art,
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And as it mantling passes round,
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Last evening's huge lax clouds of turbid white
Grew dark and louring, burthened with the rain
Which that long wind monotonous all night
Swept clashing loud through Dreamland's still domain,

Until my spirit in fatigue's despite
Was driven to weary wakefulness again:
With such wild dirge and ceaseless streaming tears
Died out the last of all my ill-used years.

The morn his risen pure and fresh and keen;
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Above the earth's wide laughter twinkling green.
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The Fires Of God

I

Time gathers to my name;
Along the ways wheredown my feet have passed
I see the years with little triumph crowned,
Exulting not for perils dared, downcast
And weary-eyed and desolate for shame
Of having been unstirred of all the sound
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Through the world's days in suffering and love.

Poor barren years that brooded over-much
On your own burden, pale and stricken years,
Go down to your oblivion, we part
With no reproach or ceremonial tears.
Henceforth my hands are lifted to the touch
Of hands that labour with me, and my heart
Hereafter to the world's heart shall be set
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Time gathers to my name,
Days dead are dark; the days to be, a flame
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Little Messages Of Joy And Hope

I.

Take Heart

Take heart again. Joy may be lost awhile.
It is not always Spring.
And even now from some far Summer Isle
Hither the birds may wing.

II.

Touchstones

Hearts, that have cheered us ever, night and day,
With words that helped us on the rugged way,
The hard, long road of life to whom is due
More than the heart can ever hope to pay
Are they not touchstones, soul-transmuting true
All thoughts to gold, refining thus the clay?

III.

Fortune

Fortune may pass us by:
Follow her flying feet.
Love, all we ask, deny:
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Take heart again and try.
Never say die.

IV

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Heroic Poem In Praise Of Wine

To exalt, enthrone, establish and defend,
To welcome home mankind's mysterious friend
Wine, true begetter of all arts that be;
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Wine the recorder; wine the sagely strong;
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Awake, Ausonian Muse, and sing the vineyard song!

Sing how the Charioteer from Asia came,
And on his front the little dancing flame
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The gilded Thrysus twirling, and the gleam
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He comes; the young renewer of Hellas comes!
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The Meeting

The elder folks shook hands at last,
Down seat by seat the signal passed.
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Half solemnized and half amused,
With long-drawn breath and shrug, my guest
His sense of glad relief expressed.
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The cattle in the meadow-run
Stood half-leg deep; a single bird
The green repose above us stirred.
"What part or lot have you," he said,
"In these dull rites of drowsy-head?
Is silence worship? Seek it where
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Glide soundless over grass and flowers!
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