LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Shelf 3 S W*t 
 
 r_i 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
THE WEB OF LIFE .'. BEING THE SEVENTH 
 VOLUME OF THE LOTUS SERIES .'. PRINTED 
 BY THE PRESS OF CHARLES WELLS MOULTON 
 IN THE CITY OF BUFFALO. 
 MDCCCXCV. 
 
This book is issued in a limited edition 
 OF SIX-HUNDRED copies of which this 
 is no fa 
 
' 
 
 The Web of Lif 
 
 BY 
 
 AUGUSTA COOPER BRISTOL 
 
 y£6i'~&C 
 
 BUFFALO 
 
 CHARLES WELLS MOULTON 
 
 1895 
 
 \ 
 
x\*-» 
 
 
 v% 
 
 Copyright, 1895, 
 By AUGUSTA COOPER BRISTOL. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Web of Life . 
 
 . 9 
 
 Responsibility .... 
 
 13 
 
 Victory . . . . 
 
 . 15 
 
 The Pvxidanthera .... 
 
 18 
 
 "The Old, Old Story." 
 
 . 20 
 
 Confidence . 
 
 21 
 
 What the Roses Said . 
 
 • 23 
 
 Baucis and Philemon 
 
 25 
 
 The Grave of My Dream 
 
 . 29 
 
 From Weakness to Strength . 
 
 32 
 
 A Morning Picture 
 
 . 34 
 
 Faithful Beyond Death . 
 
 38 
 
 My Heart's Mistake . 
 
 . 41 
 
 "The All In All." 
 
 46 
 
 Somewhere . 
 
 . 50 
 
 Voices ...... 
 
 52 
 
 Not For Ourselves 
 
 . 55 
 
 The Higher Unity . 
 
 57 
 
 Life's Day .... 
 
 • 59 
 
 The Difference .... 
 
 66 
 
 The New Time .... 
 
 . 69 
 
 Dying ...... 
 
 70 
 
THE WEB OF LIFE. 
 
THE WEB OF LIFE. 
 
 I WAS weary — more than weary, on a sultry 
 summer morning, 
 As I filled Life's empty shuttle with Duty's iron 
 thread; 
 " Though the sum of my achievement all the world 
 should hold in scorning, 
 If the Over-Soul approveth, I am content " I said. 
 
 If the over and the under and the inner-Soul ap- 
 proveth, — 
 The one encircling Unity, the central All in All, 
 will sing, despite my faintness, for the sake of 
 
 Him who loveth 
 The frail things and the tender, the weak things 
 and the small. 
 
 The golden thread of human love, full well had it 
 been proven; 
 I never have forgotten quite the rainbows that it 
 made; 
 But alas for all the failure of the web when it was 
 woven! 
 The shame of noting, day by day, the glowing 
 colors fade! 
 
iO THE WEB OF LIFE. 
 
 How my spirit flamed within me! In a grand and 
 frantic fashion 
 I tore the mesh, and trampled on the falsely shin- 
 ing thread; 
 Till I rose serene and patient from the ashes of 
 my passion, 
 And flung the heavy shuttle of Reality instead. 
 
 I dallied not for Fancy, and I tarried not for 
 Beauty, 
 And faint as whispering echoes the voice of 
 Pleasure rang; 
 For me — I only cared to hear the clarion of Duty, 
 And work my rhythmic treadles to the trumpet 
 song she sang. 
 
 On that sultry summer morning something held me 
 in its keeping, 
 For a stupor came upon me, and I fancy that I 
 slept, 
 But the web of life went onward in the dreaming 
 and the sleeping, 
 And my weak hands, at the shuttle there rhyth- 
 mic movement kept. 
 
 And I thought celestial voices murmured down the 
 ether spaces, 
 And angel wings came noiselessly and stirred the 
 
THE WEB OF LIFE. H 
 
 And behind a cloud of glory were two loving 
 spirit faces; 
 And their talk with one another was a music, 
 sweet and rare. 
 
 "She endureth and is faithful,'' (low and tenderly 
 they spake it,) 
 "She endureth and is patient, and she maketh no 
 complaint; 
 She knoweth not the tapestry she weaveth; let us 
 take it 
 And unfold it to her vision, for her spirit groweth 
 faint. 
 
 "She asketh not for pity, but her heart delighteth 
 ever 
 In the kindly deed of mercy, and the loving 
 sacrifice; 
 Then let us gather up the somber web of her en 
 deavor, 
 And, in the true celestial light, reveal it to he 
 eyes." 
 
 Then soft they floated downward, and they spread 
 before my vision 
 The web that I had woven, yet had never turned 
 to see; 
 Oh the harpers and the seraphim, who walk the 
 field elysian, 
 That moment must have shouted a song of praise 
 for me, 
 
12 THE WEB OF LIFE. 
 
 A Universe alone could voice my triumph and my 
 gladness : 
 For lo! the work my hand had wrought in heavi- 
 ness and cold, 
 Was not a somber tracery upon a ground of sad- 
 ness, 
 But beds of sweetest bloom, embossed upon a 
 ground of gold. 
 
 And there were living roses, and their golden cen- 
 sers swinging, 
 Were filled with honey-wine, embalming all the 
 summer air; 
 And birds with burnished plumage were among 
 the blossoms singing, 
 And butterflies, on wings of golden flame, were 
 rocking there. 
 
 Then suddenly I wakened with the rapture and 
 the wonder, 
 And Life was glory: — I had read the riddle of its 
 task; 
 For the gold of Love Eternal is around, above, 
 and under, 
 And who or what is Duty but Love's angel in a 
 mask. 
 
RESPONSIBILITY. 
 
 THINK purely, and thy thought shall aid the rose 
 To hold her sweetened breath, shall guaranty 
 The lily's snow, shall filter rain and dew 
 To clearer whiteness, and shall well insure 
 The diamond's light, and luster of the pearl. 
 
 Deal justly in thy every word and act, 
 
 And this — thy dealing— shall eliminate, 
 
 Slowly but sure, from out the universe, 
 
 The serpent's venom, and the insect's sting, 
 
 The earthquake's mumbling threat, the direful 
 
 sweep 
 Of the tornado's wing, and all the dread 
 Perturbance of the star-feet overhead, 
 Slow deviant from their orbed rectitude. 
 
 Live nobly, and the haughty mountain peaks 
 Shall yield acknowledgement, shall slow relax 
 Their ancient caste, and lower their proud heads, 
 In wider Teachings stretch their granite arms, 
 And fraternise in broader unities; 
 The valleys shall arise to meet the hills, 
 Exultant and exalted, with no place 
 
14 
 
 RESPONSIBIL ITY. 
 
 For echo's mockery to testify 
 Of barrier and division. Then take heed 
 O man and woman, to retain and guard 
 The sovereign laws of thine integrity, 
 Drawing the cosmic forces in the train 
 Of thy white royalty, and shaping thus 
 Thine own perfection, mould the destiny 
 And genius of the universe. 
 
VICTORY. 
 
 THERE'S not a law, there's not an art 
 In all the universe complete, 
 With ul ti mates that bring defeat 
 And failure to a loving heart. 
 
 Once, when a summer day was born, 
 I stood before the window pane, 
 And watched, across a daisied plain, 
 
 The grand maternity of Morn. 
 
 The sweetest plaint of early song! 
 
 The freshest birth of crimson bloom! 
 
 Yet, through the brightness stole a gloom, 
 For I was cognizant of wrong. 
 
 I heard the play of forest springs, 
 I saw the lakelets azure roll 
 Sweep landward — and my woman-soul 
 
 Grew conscious of her folded wings. 
 
 And while the earth was glad and free, 
 And glorious with bloom and song, 
 My heart was wild with hunger strong 
 
 For Nature's sweet divinity. 
 
 15 
 
j£ victory. 
 
 " Oh not for woman," I began, 
 " Does Morning lift her golden shield 
 And smile across the daisied field, 
 
 For Nature's brightness is for man. 
 
 " He walks with careless ease her sod, 
 Or day by day, with patient smite, 
 He bends her strength to human might, 
 
 And rules her forces like a god. 
 
 "Till, in his spirit stature brave, 
 
 He claims a universal scope; 
 
 But woman buries every hope, 
 And walks for life around a grave." 
 
 Then, darkly, where the mulberries part, 
 A slowly moving shadow fell, 
 Of him who loves me wise and well, 
 
 And holds me in his honest heart. 
 
 And looking in his earnest eyes, 
 
 Straightway my soul forgot to moan; 
 My higher nature took the throne, 
 
 And claimed the crown of sacrifice. 
 
 And said, in self-forgetful plea, 
 
 "I'll make the narrow place that's given 
 The very vestibule of heaven, 
 
 Because of him who loveth me." 
 
VICTORY. tj 
 
 And then, (Oh wondrous to rehearse !) 
 The humble walls began to rise, 
 And towering upward to the skies, 
 
 They widened to the universe. 
 
 And Nature's wealth came in to me; 
 
 The beautiful in sight and sound 
 
 Flowed my exalted being round, 
 As trophies of a victory. 
 
 Oh grand achievement over fate! 
 O woman soul, least understood, 
 Thou holdest all of human good, 
 
 In thy affection's ultimate. 
 
 For wheresoe'er the path may be, 
 However narrow, low, or small, 
 Love's patient work will conquer all, 
 
 And carve the steps of victory. 
 
THE PYXIDANTHERA. 
 
 SWEET child of April, I have found thy place 
 Of deep retirement. Where the low swamp 
 ferns 
 Curl upward from their sheathes, and lichens creep 
 Upon the fallen branch, and mosses dark 
 Deepen and brighten, where the ardent sun 
 Doth enter with restrained and chastened beam, 
 And the light cadence of the blue-birds song 
 Doth falter in the cedar, — there the Spring, 
 In gratitude hath wrought the sweet surprise 
 And marvel of thy unobtrusive bloom. 
 
 Most perfect symbol of my purest thought, — 
 A thought so close and warm within my heart 
 No words can shape its secret, and no prayer 
 Can breathe its sacred ness — be thou my type, 
 And breathe to one who wanders here at dawn, 
 The deep devotion, which transcending speech, 
 Lights all the folded silence of my heart 
 As thy sweet beauty doth the shadow here. 
 
 So let thy clusters brighten, star on star 
 Of pink and white about his lingering feet, 
 
 18 
 
THE PYXIDANTHERA. 
 
 Till, dreaming and enchanted, there shall pass 
 
 Into his life the story that my soul 
 
 Hath given thee. So shall his will be stirred 
 
 To purest purpose and divinest deed, 
 
 And every hour be touched with grace and light. 
 
 19 
 
"THE OLD, OLD STORY." 
 
 LOVE — a wakened bird is singing, 
 Singing in the early dawn; 
 Singing that the day is coming, 
 
 Singing that the night is gone; 
 And my heart sends back responses 
 To the bird upon the lawn. 
 
 Love — the while I lie and listen, 
 Am I right or am I wrong, 
 
 That two melodies seem ringing 
 Like a song within a song ? — 
 
 One informing all the other 
 With its meanings deep and strong. 
 
 Love — no bird in wood or meadow 
 Ever sang like this before; 
 
 Am I foolish, am I sinful, 
 That I listen and adore ? 
 
 That my life's awakened music 
 Moves responsive, more and more ? 
 
 20 
 
CONFIDENCE. 
 
 MINE, as the blossom is mine, which opes 
 In wonderful bloom by the great highway, 
 Or buds and blushes on orient slopes 
 Where honey-gatherers hum all day; 
 Love's free miracle opens there, 
 Born of the sun and the summer air. 
 
 Though others its beauty and bloom invade, 
 
 It can not disturb my strength and calm; 
 Though they lie all day in its low sweet shade, 
 And press its cheek of odorous balm, 
 I am not robbed of a single part, 
 For the blossom is mine to its golden heart. 
 
 Mine, as the mountain bird is mine, 
 
 When it lifts its wing for an onward flight, 
 And over the valley's emerald line 
 It bears away to a craggy height, 
 Because I love it, I can not bear 
 To fetter the strength that cleaves the air. 
 
 A bird with an eye to meet the sun, 
 A bird with pinions that sweep the skies, 
 
 Should it fold its wings until day is done, 
 To perch by me, — I should lose my prize: 
 
 21 
 
22 CONFIDENCE. 
 
 Though it soar all day in the clear sunshine, 
 I fear no loss, for the bird is mine. 
 
 Mine, as the billow is mine, that leaps 
 To furrow the beach of shining sand, 
 Or with kissing blue lips softly creeps 
 To the silver feet of the waiting strand, 
 Or flings its spray to the rocks above, 
 Strong and true as the heart of love. 
 
 It will swing across the wonderful sea, 
 
 It will break in pearls at another's feet, 
 But I know it will surely come back to me, 
 With the ocean-soul in its passionate beat, 
 And when it comes, there will not be missed 
 A drop of its liquid amethyst. 
 
 Mine, as the rapture of Heaven is mine, 
 
 Because of the generous over-flow, 
 Which runneth forever, without decline, 
 From the heart of God to the world below, 
 And the Over-Life can never be less 
 For its all embracing tenderness. 
 
 As human thought, though narrow and small, 
 
 Is drawn at last to the large and free, 
 As the beauty and strength that ennobles all 
 Can never be less, but more to me, 
 As the soul is heir to a joy divine, 
 So beloved, thy life is mine. 
 
WHAT THE ROSES SAID. 
 
 THIS is what the roses said — 
 One transcendent summer morning, 
 When the light clouds overhead, 
 Heedless of my mortal scorning, 
 Drank the rays of golden red: 
 When the wild birds solemn trill 
 Where the river runneth still, 
 Filled me with a hungry dread; 
 When my life no truth could render 
 For the world's mistaken splendor; 
 When I thought my heart was dead, 
 This is what the roses said. 
 
 " Crimson leaf and pollen gold 
 Born of darkness and the mold ! 
 Every perfect leaf and fruitage 
 Rises from a grave-like rootage, 
 And the strong wild winds that rock us, 
 And the tempest storms that shock us, 
 And the snows upon the lea, 
 All are certain guaranty 
 Of perfection yet to be: 
 
 23 
 
24 WHA T THE ROSES SAID. 
 
 Of a beauty more complete 
 For the shadow at its feet : 
 Greener strength and fairer bloom, 
 Sweeter breathings of perfume, 
 Deep hearts filled with richer balm, 
 May-days more divinely calm, 
 Fairer Teachings into light, 
 Firmer growth, and nobler height. 
 Light and peace, from shade and strife, 
 Is the paradox of life, 
 For one sweet, Eternal Will, 
 In the darkness worketh still." 
 
 This is what the roses said, 
 Shaming all my foolish scorning, 
 That transcendent summer morning 
 When I thought my heart was dead. 
 
BAUCIS AND PHILEMON. 
 
 TWO gods, upon the Phrygian hill, 
 Walked in the ancient summer time, 
 In humble garb and mien, they hid 
 Their majesty sublime. 
 
 The awful music of their lips, 
 
 They set to mortal thought and speech: 
 Full fain they laid their honors by, 
 
 The human heart to reach. 
 
 The glory of their kingly brows 
 They shaded well from mortal ken, 
 
 As weary, hungry travelers, 
 They sought the homes of men, 
 
 In vain, with meek appeal, the gods 
 Essayed the doors of wealth and pride; 
 
 Till, pausing where Philemon sat, 
 With Baucis at his side, 
 
 Their mild request for rest and food, 
 No more with rude disdain was heard; 
 
 The agdd couple greet their guests 
 With kind, and cordial word, 
 
 25 
 
2 6 BA UCIS AND PHILEMON. 
 
 They question not their mean attire, 
 They ask not of their name or race; 
 
 They only read their human need 
 In gesture and in face. 
 
 No longer may they fainting wait 
 For charity's responsive tone: 
 
 The cottage portal backward swings, 
 The gods have found their own. 
 
 Low bending from their regal height, 
 They enter at the humble door; 
 
 They sit and watch the ag£d twain 
 Bring forth their frugal store. 
 
 With tender earnest eyes, they note 
 How eagerly the trembling dame 
 
 Prepares the simple dish of food, 
 And fans the scanty flame. 
 
 How, for each weary guest, she brings 
 A cushion, long preserved with care, 
 
 And places by the earthen plate 
 A desert, fresh and rare;— 
 
 Minerva's olives, apples too, 
 Wild honey and some vintage wine, 
 
 And then with hearty, simple grace, 
 She beckons them to dine. 
 
BAUCIS AND PHILEMON. 
 
 But ever as the wine is poured, 
 The wondering host and hostess note 
 
 The beverage renews itself 
 Within the pitcher's throat! 
 
 Then faint with shame they falter down; 
 
 They kneel in terror and surprise; 
 The gods' celestial royalty 
 
 They dimly recognize. 
 
 And tremblingly, they pray their guests 
 To pardon entertainment rude, 
 
 The meager hut, the scanty fare, 
 The coarse and simple food. 
 
 But lo! the while they kneeling pray, 
 The cottage loft begins to rise, 
 
 The thatch upon the broadening roof 
 Lifts, golden, to the skies, 
 
 The posts to fluted columns turn, 
 The floors of marble stretch away, 
 
 The narrow doors, ornate with gold, 
 Let in the regal day. 
 
 And they who cordial welcome gave, 
 Where others yielded but disdain, — 
 
 Who dared the world-rejected ones 
 To serve, and entertain, — 
 
 27 
 
2 g BA (/CIS AND PHILEMON. 
 
 About their wrinkled brows there fell 
 A glory, fairer than the sun; 
 
 The temple's consecrated priest, 
 And saintly guardian! 
 
 A woman's song is frail to bear 
 The burthen of her deepest thought. 
 
 I may not hope in simple rhyme 
 To speak the word I ought. 
 
 But this I know; — that Life might be 
 As grand a Drama, and sublime 
 
 As ever gods or heroes wrought 
 In all the olden time. 
 
 O men of royal strength and will! 
 
 O loving woman-heart; be wise 
 And fearless, when some truth appears 
 
 In unattractive guise, 
 
 And begs an honest hearing. Smile 
 A welcome on the poor unknown, 
 
 That Life may broaden into light! 
 The gods will know their own. 
 
THE GRAVE OF MY DREAM. 
 
 1 BURIED my beautiful dream — 
 The one true birth of my heart — 
 For I said, "Such luminous gleam 
 And transfiguration, doth seem 
 Too bright for Life's purpose and part. 
 So this birth of my heart 
 Is a transcendent lie! — 
 A freak of soul-art, 
 And must die." 
 
 Then I trampled it down 
 
 With the feet of my passionate will; 
 
 Till it lay so passive and still, 
 Wearing neither a smile nor a frown, 
 
 That I said " It is fit for the grave." 
 So I buried it straight 
 Under purposes great, 
 
 And sowed there the seeds 
 
 Of victorious deeds, 
 And heaped high upon it 
 
 The conquests of years, 
 
 But gave it no tears. 
 
 29 
 
30 
 
 THE GRA VE OF MY DREAM. 
 
 To-day I was weary of strength, 
 
 Was weary of Victory even; — 
 The sweet and miraculous heaven 
 
 Had won me to quiet at length, 
 And I said, " I will pause from the strife, 
 
 It is well in this orient gleam, 
 In the lull of a turbulent life, 
 
 To sit by the grave of my dream.' ' 
 
 Then backward I turned. And behold 
 A rainbow that melted to gold 
 
 Hung o'er! And in place of a tomb, 
 A garden of wonderful bloom! 
 Such bloom! 
 
 Oh the seeds must have dropt 
 From white plumes overhead, 
 White pinions in pity out-spread, 
 White wings brooding soft from above, 
 Drawn downward in love. 
 
 Then the ear of my spirit was open, 
 And lo ! many flowers had a tongue, 
 And softly and sweetly was sung 
 
 Their chant, while the lily-bells swinging, 
 Kept time with a chime 
 
 To the rythmical singing. 
 
 Such music! 
 A whisper and tremblement rare 
 Of sound, in each odorous cup, 
 
THE GRA VE OF MY DREAM. 
 
 31 
 
 That climbing the wavering air, 
 
 Full grandly went up, 
 Like an eagle, majestic and strong; 
 
 While the dawn and the lark were enfolding 
 The soul of the song. 
 
 Such music! 
 Clearer and sweeter it rose and it rose, 
 
 Till the sky that was peaceful and mild 
 
 As the eye of an innocent child, 
 Was filled with the sweetness and strength, 
 
 And over and under the sun, 
 
 The music was one: 
 Up to the heavens and into the heavens, 
 
 Full bravely and strong, 
 Till the song from the grave of my dream, 
 
 Was one with the seraphim's song. 
 
FROM WEAKNESS TO STRENGTH. 
 
 IT is the method of the skies — 
 When we are in the lowest place — 
 To set some star before our eyes, 
 To lure us on to perfect grace. 
 
 Some star of promise we can reach 
 With our weak vision; some reward; 
 
 A human heart, — a human speech — 
 That leads us onward to the Lord. 
 
 Till clean in motive, strong in sight, 
 
 We face that dread Beneficence 
 That bids us choose eternal right 
 
 Without the cherished recompense; — 
 
 Without the human love and light 
 That beckoned forward to the good; 
 
 Through lone pursuit, and single sight, 
 To learn the strength of solitude. 
 
 And he has touched Stylites' hand, 
 Who, earth-deceived, and love-betrayed, 
 
 32 
 
FROM WEAKNESS TO STRENGTH. 
 
 On his lone height can bravely stand, 
 And hold his purpose undismayed. 
 
 Choosing the agony that's born 
 When love and duty disagree, 
 
 Sooner than face his soul's self-scorn, 
 And his own heart's disloyalty. 
 
 33 
 
A MORNING PICTURE. 
 
 MY path, that runneth low and small, 
 With vexing care and petty strife 
 Is narrowed; yet some pictures fall 
 Into my life, 
 
 So heavenly rich, so perfect fair, 
 
 I know no more my poor estate, 
 But walk the hills of upper air 
 With all the great. 
 
 Upon the breezy porch I stayed 
 
 To look and listen, y ester-morn; 
 The southern breezes softly played, 
 Among the corn. 
 
 And all the glossy woodland shook 
 
 As with a tremble of delight, 
 And lilies bowed above the brook 
 Their faces white. 
 
 And white the winged cloud above, 
 And white the clover field below, 
 And wondrous twitterings of love 
 From throats of snow. 
 
 34 
 
A MORNING PICTURE. 35 
 
 A web of beaded silver hung 
 
 Upon the wild fern's tiny plumes, 
 And burnished wings flashed in among 
 The fuchsia blooms. 
 
 And every sound of earth or air, 
 
 Lapsed into sweetness soft and clear; — 
 A subtle blending, rich and rare, 
 That charmed the ear. 
 
 How lightly pulsed my very blood! 
 My being bathed in Beauty's sea! 
 The tide was up, and all the flood 
 Surged over me! 
 
 And in my spirit's ecstasy, 
 
 The barriers of sense and sin 
 Seemed overborne — so heavenly high 
 The tide rushed in! 
 
 " Oh would it might for once he found ! " — 
 
 (My heart in whisperings began,) 
 " This perfectness of sight and sound 
 Sublimed in man." 
 
 When suddenly I turned to look; 
 
 For lo! the Over-Soul had heard 
 My inward murmuring, and took 
 Me at my word. 
 
36 A MORNING PICTURE. 
 
 And there, before the oaken gate, 
 Upon his proud impatient steed 
 He sat — the man of purpose great 
 And daring deed: 
 
 The man of all that troublous time* 
 
 Who measured, with his falcon eye, 
 The stature, and the needs sublime 
 Of Liberty. 
 
 The wind's caressing fingers caught 
 
 The tossing plumage of his hair; 
 How heavenly rich the picture wrought! 
 How perfect fair! 
 
 And passing o'er my weak surprise, 
 
 And bending with a knightly grace, 
 He dropt the starlight of his eyes 
 Into my face. 
 
 And while I faintly faltered down, 
 
 He gently soothed my foolish fear, 
 And smiling on my rustic gown, 
 Spake tender cheer. 
 
 Oh very softly flowed the tones 
 Of melted music from his lips, 
 As sweet as when through mossy stones 
 A brooklet slips. 
 
 *i866 
 
A MORNING PICTURE. 37 
 
 Yet, like an echo from a star, 
 
 A grandeur deified the strain, 
 Like thunder, blending faint and far 
 With dropping rain. 
 
 And graciously, and gently still, 
 
 He took my trembling fingers then, 
 He — the invincible of will, 
 The man of men, 
 
 Who dared in every hour to throw 
 
 Full challenge in Oppression's face, 
 That our America might grow 
 To whiter grace. 
 
 Was not my poor life glorified ? 
 
 For I had touched as brave a hand 
 As ever smote tyrannic pride 
 On sea or land. 
 
 And all so briefly as it passed — 
 
 The morning and the meeting— yet 
 A halo in my life is cast, 
 A picture set, 
 
 And nevermore my heart will pray, 
 
 "Oh would it might for once be fouud; " 
 But joyfully to Nature say, 
 
 "Thy work is crowned.' ' 
 
FAITHFUL BEYOND DEATH. 
 
 O BEAUTIFUL sun, sinking down in the west, 
 Shining low on the sycamore tree, 
 Draw all the dark mountains up over thy breast, 
 That my angel may come unto me, 
 . Leave open a fold 
 Of the crimson and gold, 
 That my angel may come unto me. 
 
 And Night, blessed Night ! with the God- written 
 brow, 
 
 Spread softly thy Ethiope wing: 
 O dark brooding mother, thou knowest it — thou — 
 What the love of an angel can bring 
 To a tired human soul, 
 To a famishing soul, 
 What the love of an angel can bring. 
 
 So light up the shadowy steeps of the skies; 
 
 And the arches all fathomless, mark 
 With stars, that shall watch with their tremulous eyes 
 For the angel that comes with the dark; — 
 With throbbings of light 
 Watch the magical flight 
 Of the angel that comes with the dark. 
 
 38 
 
FAITHFUL BEYOND DEATH. 39 
 
 And wring the red life of thy poppies, O Sleep, 
 
 On my lids in a lethean stream, 
 Till a miracle comes to my soul, and I weep 
 With the ecstasy born of a dream; 
 Till the desolate tomb 
 Of my heart is a-bloom 
 With the rapture and warmth of a dream. 
 
 He comes in my vision ! The pearl tinted light 
 
 Of a glory drops over my heart ! 
 Not Earth with its blackness, nor Heaven with its 
 white, 
 
 Can hold us or keep us apart; — 
 The height, the abyss, 
 Between that world and this 
 Can not hold us or keep us apart. 
 
 And there is a courtesy, sofVning his love, 
 
 That he learned of the seraphs, I know; 
 For he leaveth his dread angel beauty above 
 When he stoopeth to me here below, 
 And human the face 
 That cometh to grace 
 And hallow my vision below. 
 
 Yet I fear, by the angel hoo.d left in his eyes, 
 
 That erringly mortal I seem; 
 But I rest in the gaze that is tender and wise, 
 
 For soul knoweth soul in my dream, 
 
40 FAITHFUL BEYOND DEATH. 
 
 And our lips are not stirred 
 By the sound of a word, 
 For' soul readeth soul in my dream. 
 
 And the clear, mellow depths of his eyes ever show, 
 
 In their look of immeasurable love, 
 That much that is counted as frailty below, 
 Will blossom to virtue above, — 
 That our rootage in pain 
 Brings the fruitage of pain 
 To sweetness and beauty, above. 
 
 And though the red light of the morning will come 
 
 Bringing back the old burden and strife, 
 And my spirit will struggle, though stricken and 
 dumb, 
 
 With the terrible meanings of life, — 
 Though my soul groweth gray 
 All the hours of the day 
 With the terrible lessons of life, — 
 
 Yet Night — brooding mother — will freshen my heart, 
 
 However so withered it seem, 
 Till it pulses with Spring, and the green buddings 
 start 
 
 With a love that is warm in my dream: 
 And the logic of Day 
 Can not turn me away 
 From trusting the truth of my dream. 
 
MY HEARTS MISTAKE. 
 
 I BRAVELY thought to prove within myself, 
 Love was the servant, not the vital law 
 Of my life's purpose; — the sweet incident, 
 That the wide sweeping current of my will 
 Must sometimes overbear, and hold submerged 
 'Neath the full freighted tumult of my thought. 
 As tendril life below the sea-wave's strength. 
 So did my heart soliloquize in song, 
 And under monotones of Saxon strength 
 Hold down its Attic fervor. 
 
 " A glory crowns my life " I said, 
 " A starry charm in two dark eyes 
 That opened under Orient skies, 
 
 And brightens all the path I tread. 
 
 " But should their brightness turn aside, 
 A glory still is left to me, 
 For opal lights are on the sea, 
 
 And stars are out at eventide. 
 
 " And in the golden clasp of Morn, 
 The Day awakens evermore, 
 And if I wait at Nature's door — 
 
 Dark eyes ! — I shall not be forlorn.'' 
 
 4i 
 
42 
 
 MY HEART'S MISTAKE. 
 
 ''There is a voice " (my heart sang on) 
 " That gathers into limpid speech 
 The tidal music of the beach, 
 
 And faint bird-hintings of the Dawn. 
 
 " While through its silver ebb and flow, 
 
 Its sweetly modulated round 
 Of love— there seems to come and go, 
 
 A muffled majesty of sound, 
 
 " As if a god's heroic will 
 Lived latent in that sweet refrain: 
 Yet — should I hear thee not again, 
 
 Rare voice ! — there will be music still. 
 
 11 For gaily, from the oaken spray, 
 The wild bird carols to the Morn, 
 And through the flags of rustling corn 
 
 The happy summer breezes play. 
 
 "While slowly, o'er the meadow lea, 
 And faintly from a far off shore, 
 The ocean-breath brings evermore 
 
 The Titan murmur of the sea. 
 
 " Thus Nature, through all stress and strife, 
 Doth yield her diapason clear 
 And generous to the Poet's ear, 
 
 Her sweetness to the Poet's life. ' ' 
 
MY HEAR T'S MISTAKE. 43 
 
 And thus assured my heart did fold 
 
 Itself to silence and to rest, 
 
 As bird-wings settle in the nest, 
 When all the sunset fades in gold. 
 
 Though Love was blind that summer day, 
 
 It lent all genius to my ear; 
 
 For I— with steady pulse — could hear 
 A rapid step, a mile away; 
 
 Through distant murmur, noise, and talk, 
 O'er all the bustle of the street, 
 One step, amid the thousand feet, 
 
 Struck music from the gravel walk. 
 
 And up the arcade, long and wide, 
 I heard it coming; past the lines 
 Of heavy grape-empurpled vines, 
 
 Until it halted at my side. 
 
 And looking up — a darkness fell 
 Athwart my glory of an hour, 
 That fragile web of fancied power, 
 
 My simple heart had woven well. 
 
 For sudden, from the crimson pride 
 Of darkly shadowed lips, there came 
 Swift words that wrapt my heart in flame; — 
 
 u My love for thee is crucified." 
 
44 MY HEART'S MISTAKE. 
 
 Oh fateful and exultant eyes, 
 In whose star-depths, I sought to trace 
 Some mild misgiving, to efface 
 
 The lightning stroke of my surprise! 
 
 But in their glory, I descried 
 No shadow of a hidden pain, 
 While low the proud lips spake again, 
 
 " My love for thee is crucified." 
 
 What darkness slipt athwart the gold 
 Of setting day, and fixed the bars 
 Of sunset, and the early stars 
 
 In shadows dense and manifold! 
 
 How strangely on the opal wave 
 Fell the swift darkness of his speech, 
 Changing the silver sanded beach 
 
 To the grim aspect of a grave. 
 
 With downward sweep, and open throat, 
 The night-hawk scattered in the grass 
 Harsh dissonance, that seemed to pass 
 
 Into the cricket's chirping note. 
 
 The insect chorus, from the ground, 
 Vibrated with discordant jar, 
 While slowly, from the twilight star 
 
 There came a wave of troubled sound, 
 
MY HEART'S MISTAKE. 45 
 
 That rolled upon the dark sea-tide, 
 Till every murmur of the main 
 Surged inward, with the stern refrain, 
 
 "My love for thee is crucified." 
 
 I questioned not my startled heart: 
 
 While throught the gloom, my spirit wrough 
 A silver channel for her thought, 
 
 And silent — held herself apart. 
 
 Now, on a dim Plutonic throne 
 
 That Fate created in an hour, 
 
 Divested of all fancied power, 
 My soul — still regal — waits alone. 
 
 Alone — an unrelated thing — 
 
 Her clear thought burning on the dark, 
 And glowing like a deathless spark, 
 
 Blown from Love's fast retreating wing. 
 
 Would he reverse his sudden flight — 
 Love— the sweet arbiter of all, — 
 My heart, however low his call, 
 
 Would rise again in song and light, 
 
 And follow where no foot hath trod, 
 Beyond the rosy edge of day, 
 With all things chanting on its way, 
 
 "As God is Love, so Love is God." 
 
-THE ALL IN ALL." 
 
 WITHIN our lives of conscious care, 
 There lies another, fair and sweet; 
 All gracious sanctities are there, 
 
 And trust, and consecration mete; 
 A heaven that lieth not apart, 
 A spirit world within the heart. 
 
 And yet we grope with veiled eyes 
 For that which lieth near at hand; 
 
 Or lift our prayers, with piteous cries, 
 Through darkness, to an unknown land, 
 
 While close beside us runs the way 
 
 That broadens to divinest day. 
 
 I looked upon the summer world, 
 I heard the gladness of her rills, 
 
 I saw her sunset banners furled 
 Upon the shoulders of the hills, 
 
 And looking — in my conscious heart 
 
 I said, " God dwelleth not apart. 
 
 " If, in the ancient days, His feet 
 Pressed fragrance from a garden walk, 
 
 4 6 
 
" THE ALL IN ALL" 
 
 And our frail mother heard His sweet 
 
 And blessed ministry of talk, 
 If she e'er saw His face divine, 
 I hold the privilege as mine." 
 
 "And yet, my eyes are shadowed quite; 
 
 So darkened, that I can not see 
 To read the wondrous law aright 
 
 That draws Him to Humanity. 
 If I can make an Eden place, 
 Perchance He will reveal His face." 
 
 A place of blossoms, perfect fair, 
 With emerald arches reaching wide; 
 
 No common bloom shall open there, 
 But heavenly beauty shall abide. 
 
 He will return to warn and bless, 
 
 Drawn by the law of perfectness. 
 
 And then, from morn till eve, I sought 
 For shrub and blossom, rich and rare; 
 
 From morn till eve, I patient wrought, 
 To make my garden faultless fair: 
 
 The common flower I did uproot, 
 
 And crushed it with a careless foot. 
 
 And soon, it grew a lovely place 
 Of strange and supreme loveliness, 
 
 Where fringe trees, with a mystic grace, 
 Shook in their airy vapor dress, 
 
 47 
 
48 " THE ALL LN ALL." 
 
 And the magnolia's waxen bloom, 
 Through glossy thickets, breathed perfume. 
 
 And near the fountain's circling line, 
 The rich rose spread her leaves apart, 
 
 And dropt her bosom's amber wine 
 Into the lily's open heart; 
 
 And the azalea's pink and snow 
 
 Gave the green light a sunset glow. 
 
 Yet all in vain the thicket's shade, 
 
 The fount, and groves of blooming flame, 
 
 For He whose presence I essayed 
 With yearnings deep — He never came. 
 
 In vain I walked that perfect spot, 
 
 For if He came, I knew it not. 
 
 Then, in a frantic ecstasy 
 
 That would not be o'er-borne, I cried, 
 " I can not win the heavens to me, 
 
 Though all perfection here abide! 
 And since I can not reach so high, 
 I will my own heart satisfy. 
 
 "The little field flowers shall find grace 
 Within my sight; I will not pass 
 
 The meadow blossom, but give place 
 To common blooms of common grass. 
 
 I can not draw the Lord above, 
 
 I'll make a place for human love." 
 
•' THE ALL IN ALL." 
 
 And in the gladness of the thought, 
 
 I sought the azure violet, 
 And buttercups and daisies brought, 
 
 And in the garden border set 
 The crowfoot, and the gentian too, 
 And forest harebells softly blue. 
 
 When lo! A sudden glory fell 
 
 About me, touching all with grace: 
 
 For Love — with magic charm and spell, 
 Had found me working at my place, 
 
 And dropt into my heart the key 
 
 That ope'd the higher life to me. 
 
 And from my vision fled away 
 
 The dark'ning shadows, and I saw 
 
 The rose tree, and the thistle spray, 
 Evolving by divinest law; 
 
 Divinest life and essence ran 
 
 From atom-dust to conscious Man. 
 
 One law of life was everywhere, 
 From starry sphere to blossom seed; 
 
 It moved the sea, it filled the air 
 With vital breath, and I could read 
 
 Eternal Scripture on the stone, 
 
 And I no longer walked alone. 
 
 49 
 
SOMEWHERE. 
 
 SOMEWHERE, await the treasures we have 
 strewn, 
 Which reckless hands and feet have rudely shat- 
 tered; 
 And tenderest love shall gather as its own 
 The wealth thus scattered. 
 
 Somewhere, the tears of broken hearted trust, 
 Of patient sacrifice," and self-submission, 
 
 Shall form the rainbow promise of a just, 
 And full fruition. 
 
 Somewhere, the narrow stepping stones we tread, 
 The steep and terrible ascent of Duty, 
 
 Shall change to velvet terraces, o'er-spread 
 With emerald beauty. 
 
 Somewhere, our human effort of to-day, 
 The faltering outcome of a pure intention, 
 
 Eternity shall hold as brave assay, 
 And true ascension. 
 
 5o 
 
SOMEWHERE. 
 
 51 
 
 O Universal Soul! The finite range 
 
 Of earth and time may dwarf our high endeavor, 
 Yet Life is victory, through the evolving change 
 
 Of Thy forever. 
 
VOICES. 
 
 HEIR of an infinite privilege, with earnest zeal, 
 I sought 
 To gather the true and the beautiful to the glowing 
 forge of thought. 
 
 And there in the vital furnace heat, full patiently 
 
 and long, 
 I changed my wealth, in a human way, to deed and 
 
 simple song. 
 
 Till there came a voice from the world without — 
 
 O very sweet with praise — 
 And the waft that bore it seemed the breath of 
 
 freshly woven bays. 
 
 And my soul was glad for a moment, in that little 
 
 breeze of fame, 
 Though it seemed to darken the purity of the living 
 
 central flame* 
 
 But the heavens, that loved my loyalty, encom- 
 passed me around, 
 
 Till my spirit ear was opened, and I heard the 
 wondrous sound 
 
 52 
 
VOICES. 
 
 53 
 
 Of far majestic voices, beyond the sunset bars, 
 And sweet and mighty utterances between the 
 solemn stars. 
 
 Till, awed to a nobler faithfulness, and humbled 
 
 very low, 
 I wrought again at the forge of thought since God 
 
 would have it so. 
 
 Yet, howe'er weak or imperfect the deed, and the 
 
 rythmic song, 
 I crowned for aye the eternal Right, and branded 
 
 the ancient Wrong. 
 
 When lo, a voice from the world again! and O it 
 
 was dread with blame! 
 The waft that bore it like a breath from poisonous 
 
 ivy came. 
 
 And my soul sank down a moment, bewildered 
 
 with a doubt; 
 And the phantom of misgiving was brooding round 
 
 about. 
 
 But the heavens, that loved my loyalty, unsealed 
 
 my ear again, 
 And I heard the sound of voices, soft and low as 
 
 summer rain. 
 
 A voice through all the emerald spires where 
 meadow grasses grow: 
 
54 
 
 VOICES. 
 
 
 A colloquy between the leaves where summer roses 
 blow. 
 
 A voice from the fairy chamber behind the sea 
 
 shell's lip, 
 And a whisper among the mosses where woodland 
 
 rivulets slip. 
 
 A voice from the swaying lilies among the river 
 
 reeds, 
 An oracle faintly sighing up from the root to the 
 
 golden seeds. 
 
 A voice that the swinging butterfly folds under its 
 
 downy wings, 
 And a low, miraculous murmur, from the soul of 
 
 creeping things. 
 
 And the prophecy of the joint refrain, the theme of 
 
 the tiny whole, 
 Was a hint of the infinite value of an earnest human 
 
 soul. 
 
 Thus, saved by the mystic murmurings, from over- 
 pride, or shame, 
 
 I work again, in my simple way, secure from praise 
 or blame. 
 
 And between the voices far and high, and whisper- 
 ings near and low, 
 
 I live for the true and the beautiful, for God would 
 have it so. 
 
NOT FOR OURSELVES. 
 
 WE live not for ourselves. Th' unworthy 
 thought 
 That darkens in the brain, doth not restrain 
 And regulate its passion at our will, 
 But given place, the dread prerogative 
 Of Being holds — a universal life. 
 As one polluted billow, surging back, 
 Sweeping foul offal from offensive shores, 
 Must vitiate the whole retreating main. 
 So doth a wicked impulse dim the tide 
 Of human weal, and darken its advance; 
 So doth a selfish will pervert the race. 
 
 O woman, sitting at the primal springs 
 Of human destiny! Fair genius of 
 Creative and unutterable powers! 
 Appoint the moods and methods of thy heart 
 In loving wisdom, that the coming child 
 May bring to the domain of human life, 
 The sweetness and the majesty which holds 
 The universe in tone. So shall arise 
 A race with royal purposes, and wills 
 
 55 
 
56 NOT FOR OURSELVES. 
 
 
 Of kingly strength, to keep the world in tune. 
 So shall the new earth come — the new heaven dawn, 
 Unheralded, as creeps the life of Spring 
 Into the pulses of a wintry world. 
 
THE HIGHER UNITY. 
 
 OH we have stood on mystic altitudes 
 That dreamed not of the sunshine. He hath 
 
 touched 
 My spirit in that wondrous height of shade, 
 And walked with me through grand cathedral 
 
 glooms 
 Of thought, transcending the factitious sense 
 Of time and space. Full softly, in our white, 
 We stept upon mosaic memories, 
 And on the ruin of a sweet, wild hope, 
 We planted, in the consecrated hush, 
 A flower that fades not in that upper air, 
 Although as frail and delicately fair 
 As ocean mosses, in their deep sea beds. 
 
 And in that dome's wide eloquence of shade, 
 Full often have we stood with arms entwined, 
 With that transparent pallor on our brows, 
 The strong, self conquering gods do ever wear. 
 One thought, one pulse, one eye, we gazed upon 
 The struggle and the tragedy of life, 
 
 57 
 
58 THE HIGHER UNITY. . 
 
 Oh such incomparable spirit-unity, — 
 
 Though but for one brief moment, doth outweigh 
 
 The poor thin sunshine of a common life, 
 
 Its stinted path, and low prudential aim. 
 
LIFE'S DAY. 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 "/"^ HAPPY bee, linger with me in the clover! 
 
 v_y For Day is only begun; 
 Just wait till the bluebell unclaspeth her cover, 
 
 And learn how the secret is done. 
 There's time both for labor and play, little rover, 
 
 'Tis long to the setting of sun. 
 
 " I laugh pretty Rose — for I think it is funny 
 
 That such a sweet bud of May, 
 Will neither reveal, for the love nor the money, 
 
 The secret she foldeth away. 
 But you'll open your heart to me down to its honey, 
 
 Before it is noon of the Day. 
 
 " You lock up your riddle, and will not confess it 
 
 Though buttercups drop you gold; 
 It may be the gay bobolink will express it: — 
 
 He sings what has never been told. 
 He may tangle his song, but I think I shall guess it 
 
 Before the morning is old. 
 
 59 
 
60 LIFE'S DAY. 
 
 " O dark ribbon river ! O low singing river ! 
 
 I'll run with you to the sea, 
 For you have a mystery, too, to deliver: 
 
 I wonder what it can be! 
 The dew-dropping ferns on the marge are a-quiver 
 
 With longing to tell it to me. 
 
 " 'Tis needless to chide with your ripple and singing, 
 
 I'm old enough to be brave; 
 I'll run to the shore, where the glad sea is bringing 
 
 Some wonder in with the wave: 
 The billows are leaping, and there is a ringing 
 
 Of laughter in every cave. 
 
 " You linger too long, pretty stream, by the willow; 
 
 You loiter by mead and lea: 
 There's a shell with a purple lip, down by the billow, 
 
 All filled with a murmur for me. 
 Or ever I lie down to sleep on my pillow, 
 
 I'll learn that song of the Sea. 
 
 " But the earth is so bright, I'll enjoy it at leisure, 
 
 For Day is only begun; — 
 I wish it were noon, — I would have so much treasure! 
 
 There's not much work to be done: 
 There is plenty of time, both for labor and pleasure: 
 
 'Tis long to the setting of sun." 
 
LIFE'S DAY. £l 
 
 NOON. 
 
 O the sweetness of the morning, 
 And the fleetness of the morning! 
 A wave of light and laughter, 
 And the sultry noon is here! 
 All the rapture and the beauty 
 Is transmuted into duty, 
 And Life's patient angel singeth 
 1 ' Persevere ! Persevere ! ' ' 
 
 Hath Nature then bereft me? 
 Hath she won my love and left me ? 
 Did she mock me with a splendor 
 That has faded from the view ? 
 As the child-heart getteth older 
 Is the Heaven-Heart only colder? 
 Is there loss, with no replacement 
 That is more divinely true ? 
 
 Nay, nay! I keep the morning, 
 All the freshness and adorning, 
 The beauty and the radiance, 
 The crimson and the gold, 
 In the precious human treasure 
 Which the heart alone can measure, 
 In the purities and graces 
 
 Which my mother-arms enfold. 
 
62 LIFE'S DAY. 
 
 I hold the Dawn's completeness, 
 In mouths of rosy sweetness, 
 
 In locks that snare the sunbeams, 
 In eyes of April blue. 
 Oh Heaven is ever gracious, 
 And though heart be e'er so spacious, 
 God feeds its yearning vastness 
 With a glory, grand and true. 
 
 While yet the noon-tide lingers, 
 O oft essaying fingers, 
 
 Amend thy poor achievement 
 In this garden of the Lord! 
 Hand, quicken in thy doing! 
 Feet, haste in thy pursuing! 
 Life's chivalry is labor, 
 And action is reward. 
 
 'Tis the scripture that the blossom 
 Hath unfolded from her bosom, 
 The wild bee ever hummeth it 
 The clover blooms among; 
 It is what the roses brought me, 
 And the vanished morning taught me, 
 This sweetly tangled meaning, 
 Bird- wrought into a song. 
 
 The rose still faintly bloweth, 
 And her honey balm bestoweth, 
 
LIFE'S DAY. ^ 
 
 And wide the ribbon river 
 
 Floweth downward to the mere; 
 
 And Life is Nature's beauty 
 
 Sublimed to earnest duty, 
 And clear the angel singeth 
 
 1 ' Persevere ! Persevere ! ' ' 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 I fain would rest, while through the sunset arches, 
 
 The evening 6hade 
 Falls softly on the many weary marches 
 
 That I have made. 
 
 Yet, as the tide wave unto orbal forces 
 
 Rolls ever on, 
 So by the Love that shapes our human courses 
 
 My steps are drawn. 
 
 Oh I was in an ecstasy of wonder, 
 
 When morning came, 
 With all the heaven of purple earth lay under, 
 
 And golden flame. 
 
 And yet I murmured not that primal beauty 
 
 Should vanish soon, 
 But welcomed the sublimer birth of duty 
 
 That came with noon. 
 
64 LIFE'S DAY. 
 
 And now— soul-trustful in the meanings taught me 
 
 Of shade and light, 
 I thank Thee, Father, that Thy love hath brought 
 me 
 
 To see the night. 
 
 Into the folded wonder of a blossom 
 
 I looked at dawn, 
 And on the star-bright velvet of its bosom 
 
 God's name was drawn. 
 
 And on the rose leafs veined interlacing, 
 
 On wing of bird, 
 On crystal sea and sky, I spelled the tracing, 
 
 The One Great Word. 
 
 And later — when the gloriole of beauty 
 
 Had fled the noon, 
 And Love had set the trumpet notes of duty 
 
 To perfect tune, 
 
 When Life was one with faith, and earnest labor 
 
 Was one with prayer, 
 And the tried soul had learned to bravely neighbor 
 
 With vexing care, 
 
 I joyed to find the Name had yet a nearer 
 
 And dearer part 
 In life, than Nature; — graven full and learer 
 
 Upon the heart. 
 
LIFE 'S DA Y. 65 
 
 And when the way grew terrible with torrent, 
 
 And tempest gleam, 
 Then brighter shone that universal warrant 
 
 Of Love Supreme. 
 
 And Night's dread glory — calmly comprehended — 
 
 Is still the same; — 
 The awful order of the heavens suspended, 
 
 Reveals the Name. 
 
 O Grand Impress! proclaiming earth and Nature 
 
 A sacred shrine, 
 And yielding science the majestic stature 
 
 Of Truth Divine! 
 
 Life is not then defeatj but triumph rather; 
 
 Not poor or small, 
 But infinitely rich, since thou, my Father, 
 
 Art " All in All." 
 
 Then pass in peace my soul. Though earth re- 
 cedeth, 
 
 Heaven orbs the way, 
 And the starred shadow of the night precedeth 
 
 Life's larger day. 
 
THE DIFFERENCE. 
 
 ONE dwells upon the emerald side 
 Of mountain reaches, dim and grand; 
 Her mansion windows, tall and wide, 
 O'erlook the spacious land. 
 
 The other, in the valley glen, 
 
 From busy sight and sound aloof, 
 
 Lives all secure from worldly ken, 
 So low her cottage roof. 
 
 One moves through all the gazing throng, 
 With changeless, self-reliant grace, 
 
 No heart revealings rise to wrong 
 Her calm and perfect face. 
 
 The other — who is Nature taught 
 
 Disdaineth to be worldly-wise, 
 And lifts the wondrous change of thought 
 
 Into her azure eyes. 
 
 66 
 
THE DIFFERENCE. 67 
 
 One glides in regal loveliness, 
 
 With woven roses for her feet, 
 The other walks in rustic dress, 
 
 Through meadow grasses sweet. 
 
 One lends her ear, full graciously, 
 
 To adulations fervent strain, 
 To Love's pathetic minstrelsy, 
 
 And passionate refrain. 
 
 The other lists, at close of day, 
 The wood-dove planing on the tree, 
 
 The while her little sisters play 
 And gossip at her knee. 
 
 One lays in mine a hand so fair, 
 
 So soft and delicately white, 
 I seem to touch embodied air, 
 
 Or clasp a jewelled light. 
 
 The other lifts a hand to me 
 
 Deep tinted by the golden sun, 
 And on the little palm I see 
 
 The trace of duties done. 
 
 And both unto my heart are more 
 
 Than I can ever think or tell, ' 
 
 The name of one is Isadore, 
 The other, Christabel. 
 
68 THE DIFFERENCE. 
 
 And when my glowing pulses beat 
 The passion throb of earth and time, 
 
 I climb, with eager tireless feet, 
 The mountain reach sublime. 
 
 But when I think of life, and death, 
 And Love's infinitude, 'tis then 
 
 I turn and walk with calmest breath 
 Adown the valley glen. 
 
 And if one soul shall rise with me 
 Eternally, — I know full well 
 
 The angels, by the waveless sea, 
 Will call her Christabel. 
 
THE NEW TIME. 
 
 THE old-time gods are grim and stark; 
 The world-old powers are impotent, 
 To utter mandates; for another voice 
 Sweeps up the echoes of all former time 
 Into diviner fullness, and the earth 
 Bursts the full calyx of her budding prime 
 With long restrained opulence. The sea 
 In happy tides sings pulsing to the shore: 
 The gray and sullen mountains have set free 
 The thunder of their laughter; skies out-pour 
 Their soft miraculous sunshine; tranced vales 
 Spread fresher greenness; and consoling winds, 
 Fraught with magnetic breathings, whisper tales 
 Of a new kingdom, of a power enthroned, 
 With laws henceforth to Nature's order toned, 
 Like moon-led waters, — disciplined yet free, 
 Crowned wisdom of a whole Humanity. 
 
 6 9 
 
DYING. 
 
 TOUCH her forehead— Death! 
 Softly, with thy snowy finger 
 Smooth it down; -* 
 'Twas the world's cold hand of iron 
 
 Carved her frown : 
 Wrong pursued her, and she never 
 
 Quite forgave ; 
 Give her brow a baby smoothness 
 For the grave. 
 
 Kiss her kindly, — Death! 
 She hath never known a mother's 
 
 Sacred care, 
 But the selfishness of others 
 
 Everywhere. 
 So her lips grew thin: — Love's hunger 
 
 Could not cease: — 
 Round them, in this final slumber, 
 
 Into peace. 
 
 Clasp her gently — Death! 
 Lay her shattered form and spirit 
 
 On thy arm. 
 Sublimate her, great Reliever, 
 
 70 
 
DYING. 
 
 With thy calm. 
 Whisper to the wakening angel 
 
 On thy breast, 
 " For the wretched and the weary 
 
 There is rest." 
 
 7i 
 
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