Class JPS3 2^53- Book IK. Copight}!" COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. Beautiful C|ioug|)ts FROM »X^ John Greenleaf Whittier AND * **-^ "-^-^..^ Oliver Wendell Holmes Arranged by F, W, H. James Pott & Company MCMII f THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, Two Cop4Ea Reosived OCT. m'^WQ^ CnaVBlOHT PNTWV OLfiksX XXa No. COPY B= $^ Copyright, ipo2, by JAMES POTT ^ CO. ^v5^?V/2Vn February 4th. Old friend, kind friend! lightly down Drop time's snowflakes on thy crown! Never be thy shadow less, Never fail thy cheerfulness; Care, that kills the cat, may plough Wrinkles in the miser's brow, Deepen envy's spiteful frown. Draw the mouths of bigots down, Plague ambition's dream, and sit Heavy on the hypocrite, Haunt the rich man's door, and ride In the gilded coach of pride; — Let the fiend pass ! — what can he Find to do with such as thee ? "To My Old Schoo\mz.siQr:'—lVhitHer. 40 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS February ^th. Bind up thy tresses, thou beautiful one, Of brown in the shadow and gold in the sun! Free should their delicate lustre be thrown O'er a forehead more pure than the Parian stone — Shaming the light of those Orient pearls Which bind o'er its whiteness thy soft wreathing curls. Smile— for thy glance on the mirror is thrown, And the face of an angel is meeting thine own! Beautiful creature— I marvel not That thy cheek a lovelier tint hath caught; And the kindling light of thine eye hath told Of a dearer wealth than the miser's gold. « Stanzas."— Whittier, FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES, 41 February 6th. Without is neither gold nor green; Within, for birds, the birch-logs sing; Yet, summer-like, we sit between The autumn and the spring. The one, with bridal blush of rose, And sweetest breath of woodland balm. And one whose matron lips unclose In smiles of saintly calm. " Flowers in Winter." — Whittier. February yth. Ye who have known the sudden tears that flow, — Sad tears, yet sweet, the dews of twilight woe, — When, led by chance, your wandering eye has crossed 42 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Some poor memorial of the loved and lost, Bear with my weakness as I look around On the dear relics of this holy ground, These bowery cloisters, shadowed and serene, My dreams have pictured ere mine eyes have seen. ** Astraea." — Holmes. February 8th. To-day, beneath thy chastening eye, I crave alone for peace and rest. Submissive in thy hand to lie. And feel that it is best. A marvel seems the Universe, A miracle our Life and Death; A mystery which 1 cannot pierce. Around, above, beneath. FBOM WHITTIEB AND H0L3IES. 43 In vain I task my aching brain, In vain the sage's thought I scan; I only feel how weak and vain, How poor and blind, is man. " The Wish of To-day."— Wkittier. February gth. Despite of sneers like these, oh, faithful few, Who dare to hold God's word and wit- ness true. Whose clear-eyed faith transcends our evil time. And, o'er the present wilderness of crime, Sees the calm future, with its robes of green. Its fleece-flecked mountains, and soft streams between, — Still keep the path which duty bids ye tread, 44 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Though worldly wisdom shake the cau- tious head; No truth from heaven descends upon our sphere, Without the greeting of the sceptic's sneer; Denied and mocked at, till its blessings fall, Common as dew and sunshine, over all. " The Peace Convention."— Whittier, February loth. In your dark ages, since ye fell asleep. Much has been done for truth and human kind — Shadows are scattered wherein ye groped blind; Man claims his birthright, freer pulses leap Through peoples driven in your day like sheep ; FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 45 Yet, like your own, our age's sphere of light, Though widening still, is walled around by night; With slow, reluctant eye, the Church has read. Sceptic at heart, the lessons of its Head ; Counting, too oft, its living members less Than the wall's garnish and the pulpit's dress ; World-moving zeal, with power to bless and feed Life's fainting pilgrims, to their utter need. Instead of bread, holds out the stone of creed ; Sect builds and worships where its wealth and pride And vanity stand shrined and deified. 46 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Careless that in the shadow of its walls God's living temple into ruin falls. We need, methinks, the prophet-hero still, Saints true of life, and martyrs strong of will. To tread the land, even now, as Xavier trod The streets of Goa, barefoot, with his bell. Proclaiming freedom in the name of God, And startling tyrants with the fear of hell! Soft words, smooth prophecies, are doubtless well; But to rebuke the age's popular crime. We need the souls of fire, the hearts of that old time! «« The Men of Old."— Whittier. FBOM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 47 February nth. I should have felt more nervous about the late comet if I had thought the world was ripe. But it is very green yet, if I am not mistaken; and besides, there is a great deal of coal to use up, which I cannot bring myself to think was made for nothing. If certain things which seem to me essential to a millennium had come to pass, I should have been fright- ened; but they haven't. "The AvXocrzX:'— Holmes. February 12th. The homesick dreamer's brow is nightly fanned By breezes whispering of his native land, And, on the stranger's dim and dying eye. The soft, sweet pictures of his childhood lie! « At Pennacook."— Whittier. 48 BEAUTIFUL TE0UQHT8 February ijth, O lady! there be many things That seem right fair, below, above ; But sure not one among them all Is half so sweet as love; — Let us not pay our vows alone, But join two altars both in one. " Stanzas." — Holmes, February 14th. If, then, a fervent wish for thee The gracious heavens will heed from me. What should, dear heart, its burden be ? The sighing of a shaken reed — What can I more than meekly plead The greatness of our common need ? God's love — unchanging, pure, and true — The Paraclete white-shining through His peace — the fall of Hermon's dew ! FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 49 With such a prayer, on this sweet day, As thou mayst hear and I may say, I greet thee, dearest, far away ! «« Benedicite." — WhittUr. February i^th. Stranger and pilgrim ! — from that day Of meeting, first and last. Wherever Duty's pathway lay. His reverent steps have passed. The poor to feed, the lost to seek, To proffer life to death, Hope to the erring — to the weak The strength of his own faith. To plead the captive's right; remove The sting of hate from Law ; And soften in the fire of love The hardened steel of War. «• William Forster." — Whittier. 50 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS February i6th. Like some bright spirit sent between The earth and heaven, she seems to lean Wearily on the cloud and rest; And light from her unsullied brow That gloomy cloud is gathering now Along each wreath'd and whitening crest. " The Missionary."— Whiltier. February lyth. I love you all! there radiates from our own A soul that lives in every shape we see; There is a voice, to other ears unknown. Like echoed music answering to its key. The dungeoned captive hath a tale to tell. Of every insect in his lonely cell; FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 51 An^ these poor frailties have a simple tone, That breathes in accents sweet to me alone. " To My Companions." — Holmes. February i8th. Unheard no burdened heart's appeal Moans up to God's inclining ear; Unheeded by His tender eye, Falls to the earth no sufferer's tear. For still the Lord alone is God! The pomp and power of tyrant man Are scattered at His lightest breath. Like chaff before the winnower's fan. "The Legend of St. Uzx\ir—WhitHer. February ipth. reoruary ic^in. Don't flatter yourself that friendship authorizes you to say disagreeable things 52 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS to your intimates. On the contrary, the nearer you come into relation witn a person, the more necessary do tact and courtesy become. Except in cases of necessity, which are rare, leave your friend to learn unpleasant truths from his enemies; they are ready enough to tell them. " The Autocrat." — Holmes, February 20th. Art builds on sand; the works of pride And human passion change and fall; But that which shares the life of God With Him surviveth all. " Wordsworth."— Whittier. February 21st. " Qui vive ! " And is the sentry's cry,— The sleepless soldier's hand, — Are these, — the painted folds that fly FBOM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 53 And lift their emblems, printed high, On morning mist and sunset sky, — The guardians of a land ? No ! If the patriot's pulses sleep, How vain the watch that hirelings keep, — The idle flag that waves, When Conquest, with his iron heel. Treads down the standards and the steel That belt the soil of slaves ! " Qui Vive ! " — Holmes. February 22d. Land of our fathers, in thine hour of need God help thee, guarded by the passive creed! As the lone pilgrim trusts to beads and cowl. When through the forest rings the gray wolfs howl; 54 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS As the deep galleon trusts her gilded prow When the black corsair slants athwart her bow; As the poor pheasant, with his peaceful mien, Trusts to his feathers, shining golden- green. When the dark plumage with the crim- son beak Has rustled shadowy from its splintered peak ; So trust thy friends, whose idle tongues would charm The lifted sabre from thy foeman's arm, Thy torches ready for the answering peal From bellowing fort and thunder- freighted keel ! <' Astraea." — Holmes, FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 55 February 2^d. God's love and peace be with thee, where Soe'er this soft autumnal air Lifts the dark tresses of thy hair! Whether through city casements comes Its kiss to thee, in crowded rooms, Or, out among the woodland blooms, It freshens o'er thy thoughtful face, Imparting, in its glad embrace, Beauty to beauty, grace to grace ! " Benedicite."— Whittier. February 24th. If the wild filly, ** Progress," thou would'st ride, Have young companions ever at thy side; 56 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS But, would'st thou stride the stanch old mare, ** Success," Go with thine elders, though they please thee less. «« Urania." — Holmes. February 2^th. God calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly What He hath given; They live on earth, in thought and deed, as truly As in His heaven. « To my Friend. ' '— Whittier. February 26th. God is Love, saith the Evangel ; and our world of woe and sin Is made light and happy only when a Love is shining in. FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 57 Ye whose lives are free as sunshine, find- ing wheresoe'er ye roam, Smiles of welcome, looks of kindness, making all the world like home. " The Slaves of Martinique." — Whittier. February 2yth. Yet, for this vision of the Past, This glance upon its darkness cast, My spirit bows in gratitude Before the Giver of all good. Who fashioned so the human mind, That, from the waste of Time behind A simple stone, or mound of earth, Can summon the departed forth ; Quicken the Past to life again — The Present lose in what hath been, And in their primal freshness show The buried forms of long ago. As if a portion of that Thought By which the Eternal will is wrought. 58 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Whose impulse fills anew with breath To frozen solitude of Death, To mortal mind were sometimes lent, The mortal musings sometimes sent, To whisper — even when it seems But Memory's phantasy of dreams — Through the mind's waste of woe and sin, Of an immortal origin! «' The Norsemen." — Whittier. February 28th. Trust not the teacher with his lying scroll. Who tears the charter of thy shuddering soul; The God of love, who gave the breath that warms All living dust in all its varied forms. Asks not the tribute of a world like this To fill the measure of His perfect bliss. FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 59 Though winged with life through all its radiant shores, Creation flowed with unexhausted stores Cherub and seraph had not yet enjoyed; For this He called thee from the quicken- ing void I " Urania." — Holmes. MARCH. March ist. The wild March rains had fallen fast and long The snowy mountains of the North among, Making each vale a water-course — each hill Bright with the cascade of some new made rill. " The Departure."— Whiitier. March 2d. So when this fluid age we live in Shall stiffen round my careless rhyme, Who made the vagrant tracks may puzzle The savans of the coming time: And, following out their dim suggestions, Some idly-curious hand may draw 63 64 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS My doubtful portraiture, as Cuvier Drew fish and bird from fin and claw. And maidens in the far-off twilights. Singing my words to breeze and stream, Shall wonder if the old-time Mary Were real, or the rhymer's dream ! " The First Flowers."— Whittier. March jd. The song is hushed. Another moment parts This breathing zone, this belt of living hearts ; Ah, think not thus the parting moment ends The soul's embrace of new-discovered friends. "'KsixAeB. J' —Holmes. Fmm WmTTtEB and holmes. 65 March 4th. My heart was heavy, for its trust had been Abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong; So, turning gloomily from my fellow- men, One summer Sabbath day I strolled among The green mounds of the village burial place; Where, pondering how all human love and hate Find one sad level— and how, soon or late. Wronged and wrong-doer, each with meekened face, And cold hands folded over a still heart. Pass the green threshold of our common grave. 66 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart, Awed for myself, and pitying my race, Our common sorrow, like a mighty wave, Swept all my pride away, and trembling I forgave! " Forgiveness." — Whittier. March ^th. Children of wealth or want, to each is given One spot of green, and all the blue of heaven! Enough, if these their outward shows impart; The rest is thine, — the scenery of the heart. If passion's hectic in thy stanzas glow Thy heart's best life-blood ebbing as they flow, FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 67 If with thy verse thy strength and bloom distil, Drained by the pulses of the fevered thrill; If sound's sweet effluence polarize thy brain, And thoughts turn crystals in thy fluid strain, — Nor rolling ocean, nor the prairie's bloom, Nor streaming cliffs, nor rayless cavern's gloom, Need'st thou, young poet, to inform thy line; Thy own broad signet stamps thy song divine! " Urania." — Holmes. March 6th. Away with weary cares and themes! — Swing wide the moonlit gate of dreams! 68 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Leave free once more the land which teems With wonders and romances! Where thou, with clear discerning eyes, Shalt rightly read the truth which lies Beneath the quaintly masking guise Of wild and wizard fancies. «♦ To My Sister."— Whittier. March yth. Christ's love rebukes no home-love, breaks no tie of kin apart; Better heresy in doctrine, than heresy of heart. " Mary Garvin." — Whittier. March 8th. We have settled when old age begins. Like all Nature's processes, it is gentle and gradual in its approaches, strewed with illusions, and all its little griefs FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 69 soothed by natural sedatives. But the iron hand is not less irresistible because it wears the velvet glove. The button- wood throws off its bark in large flakes, which one may find lying at its foot, pushed out, and at last pushed off by that tranquil movement from beneath, which is too slow to be seen, but too powerful to be arrested. One finds them always, but one rarely sees them fall. So it is our youth drops from us — scales off, sapless and lifeless, and lays bare the tender and immature fresh growth of old age. Looked at collectively, the changes of old age appear as a series of personal insults and indignities, terminating at last in death, which Sir Thomas Browne has called "the very disgrace and igno- miny of our natures." "The A.utocxQ.V^Holmes. 70 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS March gth. Oh, brother man ! fold to thy heart thy brother; Where pity dwells, the peace of God is there; To worship rightly is to love each other, Each smile a hymn, each kindly deed a prayer. Follow with reverent steps the great ex- ample Of Him whose holy work was " doing good"; So shall the wide earth seem our Father's temple, Each loving life a psalm of gratitude. «« Worship."— Whittier. March loth. And Nature's God, to whom alone The secret of the heart is known — The hidden language traced thereon; FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 71 Who from its many cumberings Of form and creed, and outward things, To light the naked spirit brings; Not with our partial eye shall scan — Not with our pride and scorn shall ban The spirit of our brother man ! « Funeral Tree of the Sokokis."— Wkittier. March nth. " Strivest thou in darkness ?— Foes with- out In league with traitor thoughts within; Thy night-watch kept with trembling Doubt And pale Remorse the ghost of Sin? — " Hast thou not, on some week of storm, Seen the sweet Sabbath breaking fair, 72 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS And cloud and shadow, sunlit, form The curtains of its tent of prayer ? "So, haply, when thy task shall end, The wrong shall lose itself in right. And all thy week-day darkness blend With the long Sabbath of the light! " « The Voices."— Whittier, March 12th. What are the great faults of conversa- tion ? Want of ideas, want of words, want of manners, are the principal ones, I suppose you think. I don't doubt it, but I will tell you what I have found spoil more good talks than anything else; long arguments on special points between people who differ on the fundamental principles on which these points depend. No men can have satisfactory relations FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 73 with each other until they have agreed on certain ultimata of belief not to be disturbed in ordinary conversation, and unless they have sense enough to trace the secondary questions depending upon these ultimate beliefs to their source. « The Autocrat." — Holmes. March i^th. Life's changes vex, its discords stun, Its glaring sunshine blindeth, And blest is he who on his way That fount of healing findeth! The shadows of a humbled will And contrite heart are o'er it: Go read its legend — '* Trust in God "- On Faith's white stones before it. "The Well of Loch MsLvee."— IVMllter. 74 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS March 14th. Stream of my fathers ! sweetly still The sunset rays thy valley fill; Poured slantwise down the long defile, Wave, wood, and spire beneath them smile. I see the winding Powow fold The green hill in its belt of gold, And following down its wavy line. Its sparkling waters blend with thine. There's not a tree upon thy side, Nor rock, which thy returning tide As yet hath left abrupt and stark Above thy evening water-mark; No calm cove with its rocky hem. No isle whose emerald swells begem Thy broad, smooth current; not a sail Bowed to the freshening ocean gale; No small boat with its busy oars, Nor gray wall sloping to thy shores; FROM. WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 75 Nor farmhouse with its maple shade, Or rigid poplar colonnade, But lies distinct and full in sight, Beneath this gush of sunset light. « The Merrimack."— Whittier. March i^th. Is not Nature's worship thus Ceaseless ever, going on ? Hath it not a voice for us In the thunder, or the tone Of the leaf-harp faint and small, Speaking to the unsealed ear Words of blended love and fear, Of the mighty Soul of all ? " Mogg Megone." — Whittier. March i6th. Most lives, though their stream is loaded with sand and turbid with allu- 76 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS vial waste, drop a few golden grains of wisdom, as they flow along. Often- times a single cradling gets them all, and after that the poor man's labor is only rewarded by mud and worn pebbles. " Tlie AxAocxdX:*— Holmes. March lyth. In sweet accordancy of praise and love, The singing waters run ; And sunset mountains wear in light above The smile of duty done; Sure stands the promise — ever to the meek A heritage is given ; Nor lose they Earth who, single-hearted, seek The righteousness of Heaven! " The Christian Tourists."— Whittier. FEOM WBITTIER AND HOLMES. Tt March i8th. Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, For rich repiner and household drudge! God pity them both ! and pity us all. Who vainly the dreams of youth recall. For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: "It might have been I " Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies Deeply buried from human eyes ; And, in the hereafter, angels may Roll the stone from its grave away! " Maud Muller."— Whittier. March igth. Come, seek the air; some pictures we may gain Whose passing shadows shall not be in vain: 78 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Not from the scenes that crowd the stranger's soil, Not from our own amidst the stir of toil, But when the Sabbath brings its kind release, And Care lies slumbering on the lap of Peace. The air is hushed; the street is holy ground; Hark! The sweet bells renew their wel- come sound; As one by one awakes each silent tongue. It tells the turret whence its voice is flung. " Urania." — Holmes. March 20th. The eyes of memory will not sleep, — Its ears are open still; FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 79 And vigils with the past they keep Against my feeble will. "The Knight of St. ^o\in:*—Whiitier. March 21st. Gift from the cold and silent Past I A relic to the present cast; Left on the ever-changing strand Of shifting and unstable sand, Which wastes beneath the steady chime And beating of the waves of Time! Who from its bed of primal rock First wrenched thy dark, unshapely block ? Whose hand, of curious skill untaught, Thy rude and savage outline wrought ? « The Norsemen."— Whittier. March 22d. The promise of a fairer morrow, An earnest of the better life to come; 80 BEAUTIFUL THOUGBTS The binding of the spirit broken, The warning to the erring spoken, The comfort of the sad. The eye to see, the hand to cull Of common things the beautiful. The absent heart made glad By simple gift or graceful token Of love it needs as daily food. All own one Source, and all are good! "To A. K."— /^y5?V^?Vn March 2^d, When one of us who has been led by native vanity or senseless flattery to think himself or herself possessed of talent, arrives at the full and final con- clusion that he or she is really dull, it is one of the most tranquilizing and blessed convictions that can enter a mortal's mind. All our failures, our short- comings, our strange disappointments FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES, 81 in the effect of our efforts are lifted from our bruised shoulders, and fall, like Christian's pack, at the feet of that Omnipotence which has seen fit to deny us the pleasant gift of high intelligence, — with which one look may overflow us in some wider sphere of being. « The Autocrat." — Holmes. March 24th. Through heat and cold, and shower and sun Still onward cheerly driving! There's life alone in duty done, And rest alone in striving. But see! the day is closing cool. The woods are dim before us; The white fog of the wayside pool Is creeping slowly o'er us. The night is falling, comrades mine. Our footsore beasts are weary, 82 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS And through yon elms the tavern sign Looks out upon us cheery. The landlord beckons from his door, His beechen fire is glowing; These ample barns, with feed in store, Are filled to overflowing. " The Drovers."— Whittier. March 2^th. As o'er his furrowed fields which lie Beneath a coldly-dropping sky Yet chill with winter's melted snow. The husbandman goes forth to sow ; Thus, Freedom, on the bitter blast The ventures of thy seed we cast, And trust to warmer sun and rain. To swell the germ, and fill the grain. "Seed Time and YLditvQsV— Whittier. March 26th. A lone, stern man. Yet, as sometimes The tempest-smitten tree receives FROM WEITTIEE AND HOLMES. 83 From one small root the sap which climbs Its topmost spray and crowning leaves, So from his child the Sachem drew A life of Love and Hope, and felt His cold and rugged nature through The softness and the warmth of her young being melt. « The Daughter."— Whittier. March 2yth. Winter is past; the heart of Nature warms Beneath the wrecks of unresisted storms; Doubtful at first, suspected more than seen, The southern slopes are fringed with tender green ; On sheltered banks, beneath the dripping eaves, 84 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Spring's earliest nurslings spread their glowing leaves, Bright with the hues from wider pictures won, White, azure, golden, — drift, or sky, or sun; — The snowdrop, bearing on her patient breast The frozen trophy torn from winter's crest ; The violet, gazing on the arch of blue Till her own iris wears its deepened hue; The spendthrift crocus, bursting through the mould Naked and shivering with his cup of gold. " Astraea." — Holmes. March 28th. Tall and erect the maiden stands, Like some young priestess of the wood. FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 85 The free born child of Solitude, And bearing still the wild and rude, Yet noble trace of Nature's hands. Her dark brown cheek has caught its stain More from the sunshine than the rain ; Yet, where her long fair hair is parting, A pure white brow into light is starting; And, where the folds of her blanket sever. Are a neck and bosom as white as ever The foam-wreaths rise on the leaping river. " Mogg Megone." — Whittier. March 2gth. Well speed thy mission, bold Iconoclast! Yet all unworthy of its trust thou art, If, with dry eye, and cold, unloving heart, 86 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Thou tread'st the solemn Pantheon of the Past, By the great Future's dazzling hope made blind To all the beauty, power, and truth, behind. Not without reverent awe shouldst thou put by The cypress branches and the amaranth blooms. Where, with clasped hands of prayer, upon their tombs The effigies of old confessors lie, God's witnesses ; the voices of His will, Heard in the slow march of the centuries still! Such were the men at whose rebuking frown, Dark with God's wrath, the tyrant's knee went down; FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 87 Such from the terrors of the guilty drew The vassal's freedom and the poor man's due. « The Men of Old."— Whittier. March ^oth. Stick to your aim; the mongrel's hold will slip, But only crowbars loose the bulldog's grip; Small as he looks, the jaw that never yields Drags down the bellowing monarch of the fields ! " Urania." — Holmes. March jist. The earth hath felt the breath of spring. Though yet on her deliverer's wing The lingering frosts of winter cling. « Funeral Tree of the Sokokis." — Whittier. APRIL. J April I St. 'Tis springtime on the eastern hills! Like torrents gush the summer rills; Through winter's moss and dry dead leaves The bladed grass revives and lives, Pushes the mouldering waste away, And glimpses to the April day. In kindly shower and sunshine bud The branches of the dull gray wood; Out from its sunned and sheltered nooks The blue eye of the violet looks; The southwest wind is warmly blow- ing. And odors from the springing grass. The pine-tree and the sassafras, Are with it on its errands going. " Mogg Megone." — Whittier. 91 92 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS April 2d. It is as if the pine-trees called me From ceiled room and silent books, To see the dance of woodland shadows, And hear the song of April brooks! »• The First Flowers." — U'hittiir. April ^d. Her tokens of renewing care Hath Nature scattered ever\-where, In bud and flower, and warmer air. " Funeral Tree cf the Sokokis.'"— U'hitti^r. April 4th. There is one very sad thing in old friendships, to every mind that is really moving onward. It is this: That one cannot help using his early friends as the seaman uses the log. to mark his prog- ress. Everv now and then we throw FBO:^ WHITTI£B AXD SOLJIFS. 93 an old schoolmate over the stern with a string of thought tied to him, and look— I am afraid with a kind of luxurious and sanctimonious compassion — to see the rate at which the string reels off, \\'hile he lies there bobbing up and down, poor fellow! and we are dashing along with the white foam and bright sparkle at our bows; — the rullied bosom of prosperity and progress, with a spring of diamonds stuck in it! •' The Autocrat." — Holmes. April ^th. Through vales of grass and meads of tlowers. Our ploughs their furrows made, While on the hills the sun and showers Of changeful April played. "The Com Song." — IVhittUr. 94 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS April 6th. A laugh which in the woodland rang Bemocking April's gladdest bird — A light and graceful form which sprang To meet him when his step was heard — Eyes by his lodge-fire flashing dark, Small fingers stringing bead and shell Or weaving mats of bright-hued bark, — With these the household-god had graced his wigwam well. « The Daughter."— Whittier. April yth. Eternal Truth! Beyond our hopes and fears Sweep the vast orbits of thy myriad spheres ! From age to age while History carves sublime FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 95 On her waste rock the flaming curves of time, How the wild swayings of our planet show That worlds unseen surround the world we know! " Astraea." — Holmes. April 8th. Oh Father, bear with me; my heart Is sick and deathlike, and my brain Seems girdled with a fiery chain, Whose scorching links will never part, And never cool again. Bear with me while I speak — but turn Away that gentle eye, the while — The fires of guilt more fiercely burn Beneath its holy smile; For half I fancy I can see My mother's sainted look in thee. " Mogg Megone." — WhiitUr. 96 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS April gth. Oh, Thou, who in the garden's shade Didst wake Thy weary ones again, Who slumbered at that fearful hour Forgetful of Thy pain; Bend o'er us now, as over them, And set our sleep-bound spirits free, Nor leave us slumbering in the watch Our souls should keep with Thee! '• The Cypress Tree." — Whittier. April loth. That Sacrifice! — the death of Him — The High and ever Holy One! Well may the conscious Heaven grow dim,. And blacken the beholding Sun! The wonted light hath fled away, Night settles on the middle day. FE03I WHITTIJER AND BOLMES. 97 And earthquake from his caverned bed Is waking with a thrill of dread! ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ And shall the sinful heart, alone, Behold unmoved the atoning hour. When Nature trembles on her throne. And Death resigns his iron power ? Oh, shall the heart — whose sinfulness Gave keenness to His sore distress. And added to His tears of blood — Refuse its trembling gratitude ! « The Crucifixion."— Whittier. April nth. We get into a way of thinking as if what we call an "intellectual man " was, as a matter of course, made up of nine- tenths, or thereabouts, of book-learning, and one-tenth himself. But even if he is actually so compounded, he need not BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS read much. Society is a strong solution of books. It draws the vii'tue out of what is best worth reading, as hot water draws the strength of tea-leaves. If 1 were a prince, I would hire or buy a private literary teapot, in which I would steep all the leaves of new books that promised well. The infusion would do for me without the vegetable fibre. " The Autocrat." — Holmes. April 1 2th. Thou, O Most Compassionate! Who didst stoop to our estate. Drinking of the cup we drain, Treading in our path of pain — Through the doubt and mystery. Grant to us thy steps to see. And the grace to draw from thence Larger hope and confidence. FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 99 Show Thy vacant tomb, and let, As of old, the angels sit. Whispering, by its open door: "Fear not! He hath gone before! " "My Bream."— IV^iUier. April ijth. So let it live unfading. The memory of the dead, Long as the pale anemone Springs where their tears were shed, Or, raining in the summer's wind In flakes of burning red. The wild rose sprinkles with its leaves The turf where once they bled ! " The Pilgrim's Vision." — Holmes. April 14th. 'Tis the noon of the springtime, yet never a bird In the wind-shaken elm or the maple is heard ; LqFC. 100 BEAUTIFUL TSOUGETS For green meadow-grasses wide levels of snow, And blowing of drifts where the crocus should blow; Where wind-flower and violet, amber and white, On south-sloping brooksides should smile in the light, O'er the cold winter-beds of their late- waking roots The frosty flake eddies, the ice-crystal shoots ; And, longing for light, under wind- driven heaps, Round the boles of the pine-wood the ground-laurel creeps, Unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of showers. With buds scarcely swelled, which should burst into flowers! FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 101 We wait for thy coming, sweet wind of the south! For the touch of thy light wings, the kiss of thy mouth ; For the yearly evangel thou bearest from God, Resurrection and life to the graves of the sod! " April."— WhittUr, April i^th. Rocked on her breast, these pines and I Alike on Nature's love rely; And equal seems to live or die. Assured that He, whose presence fills With light the spaces of these hills, No evil to His creatures wills, The simple faith remains, that He Will do, whatever that may be. The best alike for man and tree. 102 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS What mosses over one shall grow, What light and life the other know, Unanxious, leaving Him to show. « Summer by the Lakeside.'' — Whittier. April i6ih. When the green earth, beneath the zeph- yr's wing, Wears on her breast the varnished buds of spring; When the loosed current, as its folds uncoil, Slides in the channels of the mellowed soil; When the young hyacinth returns to seek The air and sunshine with her emerald beak; When the light snowdrops, starting from their cells. Hang each pagoda with its silver bells; FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 103 When the frail willow twines her trail- ing bow With pallid leaves that sweep the soil below; When the broad elm, sole empress of the plain, Whose circling shadow speaks a cen- tury's reign, Wreathes in the clouds her regal dia- dem, — A forest waving on a single stem ; — Then mark the poet; though to him un- known The quaint-mouthed titles, such as schol- ars own, See how his eye in ecstasy pursues The steps of Nature tracked in radiant hues; Nay, in thyself, whate'er may be thy fate, 104 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Pallid with toil, or surfeited with state, Mark how thy fancies, with the vernal rose, Awake, all sweetness, from their long repose; Then turn to ponder o'er the classic page. Traced with the idyls of a greener age, And learn the instinct which arose to warm Art's earliest essay, and her simplest form. «« Poetry." — Holmes. April 17th. Nor lack I friends, long-tried and near and dear. Whose love is round me like this atmos- phere, Warm, soft, and golden. For such gifts to me, FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 105 What shall I render, O my God, to Thee ? Let me not dwell upon my lighter share Of pain and ill that human life must bear; Save me from selfish pining; let my heart, Drawn from itself in sympathy, forget The bitter longings of a vain regret. The anguish of its own peculiar smart. Remembering others, as I have to-day. In their great sorrows, let me live alway Not for myself alone, but have a part, Such as a frail and erring spirit may. In love which is of Thee, and which in- deed Thou art! "The Prisoners of NsLples."— IVAi^tier. April i8th. It is a very dangerous thing for a liter- ary man to indulge his love for the ridic- 106 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS ulous. People laugh with him just so long as he amuses them; but if he at- tempts to be serious, they must still have their laugh, and so they laugh at him. " The A.nioct2X:'— Holmes, April igth. Through Thy clear spaces. Lord, of old. Formless and void the dead earth rolled; Deaf to Thy heaven's sweet music, blind To the great lights which o'er it shined; No sound, no ray, no warmth, no breath, — A dumb despair, a wandering death. To that dark, weltering horror came Thy spirit, like a subtle flame, — A breath of life electrical. Awakening and transforming all, Till beat and thrilled in every part The pulses of a living heart. FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 107 Then knew their bounds the land and sea; Then smiled the bloom of mead and tree; From flower to moth, from beast to man, The quick creative impulse ran; And earth, with life from Thee renewed, Was in Thy holy eyesight good. «« Invocation." — Whittier. April 2oth, ''Through the harsh noises of our day A low, sweet prelude finds its way ; Through clouds of doubt, and creeds of fear, A light is breaking, calm and clear. ''That song of Love, now low and far. Ere long shall swell from star to star! That light, the breaking day, which tips The golden-spired Apocalypse! " « The Chapel of the Hermits."— Whittier. 108 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS April 21 St. A track of moonlight on a quiet lake, Whose small waves on a silver-sanded shore Whisper of peace, and with the low winds make Such harmonies as keep the woods awake, And listening all night long for their sweet sake; A green-waved slope of meadow, hovered o'er By angel-troops of lilies, swaying light On viewless stems, with folded wings of white; A slumberous stretch of mountain-land, far seen Where the low westering day, with gold and green, Purple and amber, softly blended, fills FROM WSITTIEB AND HOLMES. 109 The wooded vales, and melts among the hills; A vine-fringed river, winding to its rest On the calm bosom of a stormless sea, Bearing alike upon its placid breast, With earthly (lowers and heavenly stars impressed. The hues of time and of eternity: Such are the pictures which the thought of thee, O friend, awakeneth, — charming the keen pain Of thy departure, and our sense of loss Requiting with the fulness of thy gain. «« In Peace."— Whittier. April 22d. Too young for wisdom's tardy seal, Too old for garlands now; Yet, while the dewy breath of spring no BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Steals o'er the tingling air, And spreads and fans each emerald wing The forest soon shall wear, How bright the opening year would seem, Had I one look like thine. To meet me when the morning beam Unseals these lids of mine! Too long I bear this lonely lot, That bids my heart run wild To press the lips that love me not, To clasp the stranger's child. " The Only Daughter."— i^^^/z^^^j. April 2jd. Friends of my youth ! I must leave you forever, And hasten to dwell in a region un- known: — Yet time cannot change, nor the broad ocean sever. FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. Ill Hearts firmly united and tried as our own. Ah, no! though I wander, all sad and forlorn, In a far distant land, yet shall memory trace, When far o'er the ocean's white surges I'm borne, The scene of past pleasures, — my own native place. " The Exile's Departure." — Whittier. April 24th. Oh, vain the vow, and vain the strife! How vain do all things seem ! My soul is in the past, and life To-day is but a dream ! "The Knight of St. ^ohn."— Whittier. April 2^th. In vain to me the Sphinx propounds The riddle of her sights and sounds; 112 BEAUTIFUL TB0UGBT8 Back still the vaulted mystery gives The echoed question it receives. What sings the brook ? What oracle Is in the pine tree's organ swell ? What may the wind's low burden be ? The meaning of the moaning sea ? The hieroglyphics of the stars ? Or clouded sunset's crimson bars ? I vainly ask, for mocks my skill The trick of Nature's cipher still. " Questions of Life." — Whittier, April 26th. Ah, me! what strains and strophes of unwritten verse pulsate through my soul when I open a certain closet in the an- cient house where I was born! On its shelves used to lie bundles of sweet- marjoram and pennyroyal and lavender and mint and catnip; there apples were stored until their seeds should grow FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 113 black, which happy period there were sharp little milk-teeth always ready to anticipate; there peaches lay in the dark, thinking of the sunshine they had lost, until, like the hearts of saints that dream of heaven in their sorrow, they grew fragrant as the breath of angels. The odorous echo of a score of dead summers lingers yet in those dim recesses. « The KniocxzX."— Holmes. April 2yth. O, soul of the springtime, its light and its breath, Bring warmth to this coldness, bring life to this death ; Renew the great miracle ; let us behold The stone from the mouth of the sepul- chre rolled. And Nature, like Lazarus, rise, as of old ! 114 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Let our faith, which in darkness and coldness has lain, Revive with the warmth and the bright- ness again. And in blooming of flower and budding of tree The symbols and types of our destiny see; The life of the springtime, the life of the whole. And as sun to the sleeping earth love to the soul ! " April." — Whittier. April 28th. Darkly upon our struggling way The storm of human hate is sweeping; Hunted and branded, and a prey, Our watch amidst the darkness keep- ing! FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 115 Oh ! for that hidden strength which can Nerve unto death the inner man! Oh! for thy spirit, tried and true, And constant in the hour of trial, Prepared to suffer, or to do. In meekness and in self-denial. « To the Memory of Thomas Shipley." — Whittier. April 2gth, I am: how little more I know! Whence came I ? Whither do I go ? A centred self, which feels and is; A cry between the silences; A shadow-birth of clouds at strife With sunshine on the hills of life; A shaft from Nature's quiver cast Into the Future from the Past; Between the cradle and the shroud, A meteor's flight from cloud to cloud. «« Questions of Life." — Whittier. 116 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS April ^oth. At last young April, ever frail and fair, Wooed by her playmate with the golden hair, Chased to the margin of receding floods O'er the soft meadows starred with open- ing buds, In tears and blushes sighs herself away. And hides her cheek beneath the flowers of May. « Astxa&z.."— Holmes. MAY. May ist We, dropped the seed o'er hill and plain, Beneath the sun of May, And frightened from our sprouting grain The robber crows away. " The Huskers."— Whittier, May 2d. Still for these I own my debt; Memory, with her eyelids wet. Fain would thank thee even yet! And as one who scatters flowers Where the Queen of May's sweet hours Sits, o'ertwined with blossomed bowers, In superfluous zeal bestowing Gifts where gifts are overflowing, So I pay the debt I'm owing. 119 120 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS To thy full thoughts, gay or sad, Sunny-hued or sober clad, Something of my own I add. " Remembrance." — Whittier. May ^d. Sad Mayflower! watched by winter stars, And nursed by winter gales, With petals of the sleeted spars, And leaves of frozen sails! What had she in those dreary hours, Within her ice-rimmed bay, In common with the wild-wood flowers, The first sweet smiles of May ? Yet, " God be praised! " the Pilgrim said. Who saw the blossoms peer Above the brown leaves, dry and dead, " Behold our Mayflower here! " " The Mayflowers."— Whittier. FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 121 May 4th. Ay, there's a glorious remnant yet, Whose lips are wet at Freedom's foun- tains, The coming of whose welcome feet Is beautiful upon our mountains! Men, who the gospel tidings bring Of Liberty and Love forever, Whose joy is one abiding spring, Whose peace is as a gentle river! " Lines."— Whittier. May ^th. We, like the leaf, the summit, or the wave, Reflect the light our common nature gave. But every sunbeam, falling from her throne. Wears, on our hearts, some coloring of our own: 122 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Chilled in the slave, and burning in the free, Like the sealed cavern by the sparkling sea; Lost, like the lightning in the sullen clod, Or shedding radiance, like the smiles of God; Pure, pale in Virtue, as the star above, Or quivering roseate on the leaves of Love; Glaring like noontide, where it glows upon Ambition's sands, — the desert in the sun; Or soft suffusing o'er the varied scene Life's common coloring, — intellectual green. «* A Metrical Ess2Ly."— Holmes. May 6th. How welcome to our ears, long pained By strife of sect and party noise, FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 123 The brook-like murmur of his song Of nature's simple joys ! The violet by its mossy stone, The primrose by the river's brim, And chance-sown daffodil, have found Immortal life through him. The sunrise on his breezy lake, The rosy tints his sunset brought, World-seen, are gladdening all the vales And mountain-peaks of thought. « Wordsworth." — Whittier. May yth. Thanks for thy gift Of ocean flowers. Born where the golden drift Of the slant sunshine falls Down the green, tremulous walls Of water, to the cool, still coral bowers, 124 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Where, under rainbows of perpetual showers, God's gardens of the deep His patient angels keep; Gladdening the dim, strange solitude With fairest forms and hues, and thus Forever teaching us The lesson which the many-colored skies, The flowers, and leaves, and painted butterflies, The deer's branched antlers, the gay bird that flings The tropic sunshine from its golden wings. The brightness of the human counte- nance, Its play of smiles, the magic of a glance, Forevermore repeat, FROM WHITTIEE AND HOLMES. 125 In varied tones and sweet, That beauty, in and of itself, is good. « To A. K."— Whittier. May 8th. The hills are dearest which our childish feet Have climbed the earliest; and the streams most sweet, Are ever those at which our young lips drank. Stooped to their waters o'er the grassy bank: Midst the cold dreary sea-watch, Home's hearth-light Shines round the helmsman plunging through the night; And still, with inward eye, the traveler sees In close, dark, stranger streets his native trees. " At Pennacook." — Whittier. 126 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS May gth. But whence and why, our trembling souls inquire, Caught these dim visions their awaken- ing fire ? Oh, who forgets when first the piercing thought Through childhood's musings found its way unsought. I AM ; — I LIVE. The mystery and the fear When the dread question — What has BROUGHT ME HERE .? Burst through life's twilight, as before the sun Roll the deep thunders of the morning gun ! " Urania." — Holmes. May loth. Fresh grasses fringe the meadow-brooks, And mildly from its sunny nooks The blue eye of the violet looks. FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 127 And odors from the springing grass, The sweet birch and the sassafras, Upon the scarce-felt breezes pass. « Funeral Tree of the Sokokis."— Whittier. May nth, I find the great thing in this world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving. To reach the port of heaven, we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it, — but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor. " The k^x\.OQ,x^V'— Holmes. May 1 2th. How sweetly on the wood-girt town The mellow light of sunset shone! Each small, bright lake, whose waters still Mirror the forest and the hill. 128 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Reflected from its waveless breast The beauty of a cloudless West, Glorious as if a glimpse were given Within the western gates of Heaven, Left, by the spirit of the star Of sunset's holy hour, ajar I " Pentucket." — Whittier. May ijth. Gray searcher of the upper air! There's sunshine on thy ancient walls — A crown upon thy forehead bare — A flashing on thy waterfalls — A rainbow glory in the cloud, Upon thine awful summit bowed, Dim relic of the recent storm! And music, from the leafy shroud Which wraps in green thy giant form, Mellowed and softened from above. Steals down upon the listening ear, FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 129 Sweet as the maiden's dream of love, With soft tones melting on her ear. The time has been, gray mountain, when Thy shadows veiled the red man's home; And over crag and serpent den, And wild gorge, where the steps of men In chase or battle might not come. The mountain eagle bore on high The emblem of the free of soul ; And midway in the fearful sky Sent back the Indian's battle-cry, Or answered to the thunder's roll. " Mount Agiochook." — Whittier. May 14th. What a comfort a dull but kindly per- son is, to be sure, at times ! A ground 130 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS glass shade over a gas-lamp does not bring more solace to our dazzled eyes than such a one to our minds. «' The AvXocr&V— Holmes. May ijith. To the God of all sure mercies let my blessing rise to-day, From the scoffer and the cruel He hath plucked the spoil away, — Yea, He who cooled the furnace around the faithful three, And tamed the Chaldean lions, hath set His handmaid free! " Cassandra South wick." — Whittier. May 1 6th. See, but glance briefly, sorrow- worn and pale, Those sunken cheeks beneath the wid- ow's veil; FROM WHITTIER AND EOLMES. 131 Alone she wanders where with him she trod, No arm to stay her, but she leans on God. «' \Jrs.n\2,."— Holmes. May lyth. Oh, child of that white-crested mountain whose springs Gush forth in the shade of the cliff- eagle's wings, Down whose slopes to the lowlands thy wild waters shine, Leaping gray walls of rock, flashing through the dwarf pine. From that cloud-curtained cradle so cold and so lone, From the arms of that wintry-locked mother of stone, 132 BEAUTIFUL TH0UGBT8 By hills hung with forests, through vales wide and free, Thy mountain-born brightness glanced down to the sea! No bridge arched thy waters save that where the trees Stretched their long arms above thee and kissed in the breeze. " The Merrimack."— Whittier. May 1 8th. The long night dies: the welcome gray Of dawn we see; Speed up the heavens thy perfect day, God of the free ! " Moloch in State Street."— Whittier. May ipth. Our brains are seventy-year clocks. The Angel of Life winds them up once FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 133 for all, then closes the case, and gives the key into the hand of the Angel of the Resurrection. Tic-tac! tic-tac! go the wheels of thought; our will cannot stop them; they cannot stop themselves; sleep can- not still them ; madness only makes them go faster; death alone can break into the case, and seizing the ever-swinging pen- dulum, which we call the heart, silence at last the clicking of the terrible escape- ment we have carried so long beneath our wrinkled foreheads. " The Autocrat." — Holmes. May 20th. Red as the banner which enshrouds The warrior-dead when strife is done, A broken mass of crimson clouds Hung over the departed sun. 134 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS The shadow of the western hill Crept swiftly down, and darkly still. As if a sullen wave of night Were rushing on the pale twilight. The forest-openings grew more dim, As glimpses of the arching blue And waking stars come softly through The rifts of many a giant limb. Above the wet and tangled swamp White vapors gathered thick and damp, And through their cloudy curtaining Flapped many a brown and dusky wing — Pinions that fan the moonless dun. But fold them at the rising sun! « Metacom." — Whittier. May 2 1 St. Oh ! sacred flowers of faith and hope. As sweetly now as then FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 135 Ye bloom on many a birchen slope, In many a pine-dark glen. Behind the sea-wall's rugged length, Unchanged, your leaves unfold. Like love behind the manly strength Of the brave hearts of old. " The Mayflowers."— Whittier. May 22d. Thoughts of my soul, how swift ye go! Swift as the eagle's glance of fire. Or arrows from the archer's bow. To the far aim of your desire! Thought after thought, ye thronging rise. Like spring-doves from the startled wood, Bearing like them your sacrifice Of music unto God ! « Hymns."— Whittier. 136 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS May 2jd. Did you never in walking the fields, come across a large flat stone, which has lain, nobody knows how long, just where you found it, with the grass forming a little hedge, as it were, close to its edges, — and have you not, in obe- dience to a kind of feeling that told you it had been lying there long enough, in- sinuated your stick or your foot or your fingers under its edge and turned it over as a housewife turns a cake, when she says to herself, " It's done brown enough by this time " ? What an odd relevation, and what an unforeseen and unpleasant surprise to a small community, the very existence of which you had not suspected, until the sudden dismay and scattering among its members produced by your turning the old stone over! «« The K\xiQCX3X."— Holmes. FBOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 137 May 24th. Sons of the best of fathers! will ye falter With all they left ye peril'd and at stake ? Ho! once again on Freedom's holy altar The fire awake ! Prayer-strengthend for the trial, come together, Put on the harness for the moral fight, And, with the blessing of your heavenly Father, Maintain the Right! «« A Summons."— WhUtier. May 2^th. In the darkness as in daylight. On the water as on land, God's eye is looking on us, And beneath us is His hand! 138 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Death will find us soon or later, On the deck or in the cot; And we cannot meet him better Than in working out our lot. « The Fisherman."— Whittier. May 26th. Faith loves to lean on Time's destroying arm, And age, like distance, lends a double charm; In dim cathedrals, dark with vaulted gloom, What holy awe invests the saintly tomb! There pride will bow, and anxious care expand, And creeping avarice come with open hand; The gay can weep, the impious can adore, FBOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 139 From morn's first glimmerings on the chancel floor Till dying sunset sheds his crimson stains Through the faint halos of the irised panes. " Urania." — Holmes. May 2yth. If he hath hidden the outcast, or let in A ray of sunshine to the cell of sin, — If he hath lent Strength to the weak, and, in an hour of need. Over the suffering, mindless of his creed Or home, hath bent, He has not lived in vain, and v^hile he gives The praise to Him, in whom he moves and lives, With thankful heart; 140 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS He gazes backward, and with hope be- fore, Knowing that from his works he never more Can henceforth part. " The Reward,"— Whittier. May 28th. I always believed in life rather than in books. I suppose every day of earth, with its hundred thousand deaths and something more of births, with its loves and hates, its triumphs and defeats, its pangs and blisses, has more of humanity in it than all the books that were ever written, put together. I believe the flowers growing at this moment send up more fragrance to heaven than was ever exhaled from all the essences ever distilled. « The AMiocxzX:'— Holmes. FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES, 141 May 2gth. Why mourn the quiet ones who die Beneath affection's tender eye, Unto their household and their kin Like ripened corn-sheaves gathered in ? O weeper, from that tranquil sod, That holy harvest-home of God, Turn to the quick and suffering,— shed Thy tears upon the living dead! Thank God above thy dear ones' graves, They sleep with Him, — they are not slaves. " Derne."— Whittier. May joth. Take them, O Father, in immortal trust! Ashes to ashes, dust to kindred dust, Till the last angel rolls the stone away. And a new morning brings eternal day! " Pittsfield Cemetery."— Holmes. 142 BEAUTIFUL TS0UGHT8 May J I St. Of all we loved and honored, naught Save power remains — A fallen angel's pride of thought, Still strong in chains. All else is gone ; from those great eyes The soul has fled: When faith is lost, when honor dies, The man is dead! Then, pay the reverence of old days To his dead fame; Walk backward, with averted gaze. And hide the shame! « Ichabod."— WhitHer. JUNE, June I St. All through the long, bright days of June, Its leaves grew green and fair, And waved in hot midsummer's noon Its soft and yellow hair. " The Huskers."— Whittier. June 2d. Dear friends, who read the world aright, And in its common forms discern A beauty and a harmony The many never learn! Kindred in soul of him who found In simple flower and leaf and stone The impulse of the sweetest lays Our Saxon tongue has known, — 145 146 BEAUTIFUL THOUOHTS Accept this record of a life As sweet and pure, as calm and good, As a long day of blandest June In green field and in wood. " Wordsworth."— Whittier. June ^d. There breathes no being but has some pretense To that fine instinct called poetic sense; The rudest savage roaming through the wild, The simplest rustic, bending o'er his child. The infant listening to the warbling bird, The mother smiling at its half-formed word ; The boy uncaged, who tracks the fields at large. The girl, turned matron to her babe-like charge; FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 147 The freeman, casting with unpurchased hand The vote that shakes the turrets of the land; The slave, who, slumbering on his rusted chain, Dreams of the palm-trees on his burning plain ; The hot-cheeked reveler, tossing down the wine. To join the chorus pealing **Auld lang syne." «' A Metrical Essay." — Holmes. June 4th. He loved his friends, forgave his foes ; And, if his words were harsh at times, He spared his fellow-men — his blows Fell only on their crimes. 148 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS He loved the good and wise, but found His human heart to all akin Who met him on the common ground Of suffering and of sin. " My Namesake." — Whittier. June ^th. I love the old melodious lays Which softly melt the ages through, The songs of Spenser's golden days, Arcadian Sidney's silvery phrase, Sprinkling our noon of time with fresh- est morning dew. Yet, vainly in my quiet hours To breathe their marvelous notes I try : I feel them, as the leaves and flowers In silence feel the dewy showers. And drink with glad still lips the blessing of the sky. " Proem." — Whittier, . FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 149 June 6th. Dear to his age were memories such as these, Leaves of his June in life's autumnal breeze ; Such were the tales that won my boyish ear, Told in low tones that evening loves to hear. *' Astraea." — Holmes. June yth. O, for boyhood's time of June, Crowding years in one brief moon, When all things I heard or saw. Me, their master waited for. I was rich in flowers and trees. Humming-birds and honey-bees; For my sport the squirrel played, Plied the snouted mole his spade; For my taste the blackberry cone 150 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Purpled over hedge and stone ; Laughed the brook for my delight Through the day and through the night. Whispering at the garden wall, Talked with me from fall to fall ; Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, Mine the walnut slopes beyond. Mine, on bending orchard trees. Apples of Hesperides! " The Barefoot Boy."— Whittier. June 8th. Father! for Thy holy sake We are spoiled and hunted thus; Joyful, for Thy truth we take Bonds and burthens unto us: Poor, and weak, and robbed of all. Weary with our daily task, That Thy truth may never fall Through our weakness, Lord, we ask. « The Familist's Hymn."— Whittier, FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 151 June gth. Run, if you like, but try to keep your breath ; Work like a man, but don't be worked to death; And with new notions,— let me change the rule, — Don't strike the iron till it's slightly cool. " Urania." — Holmes. June loth. Where, oh where are the visions of morning. Fresh as the dews of our prime ? Gone, like tenants that quit without warning, Down the back entry of time. Where, oh where are life's lilies and roses. Nursed in the golden dawn's smile ? 152 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Dead as the bulrushes round little Moses, On the old banks of the Nile. Where are the Marys, and Anns, and Elizas, Loving and lovely of yore ? Look in the columns of old Adver- tisers, — Married and dead by the score. "Questions and Answers." — Holmes. June nth. Ah, the dead, the unforgot! From their solemn homes of thought, Where the cypress shadows blend Darkly over foe and friend. Or in love or sad rebuke. Back upon the living look. And the tenderest ones and weakest. Who their wrongs have borne the meekest FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 153 Lifting from those dark, still places, Sweet and sad-remembered faces, O'er the guilty hearts behind An unwitting triumph find. « The New Wife and the Old."— Whittier. June 1 2th. I dare not publicly name the rare joys, the infinite delights, that intoxicate me on some sweet June morning, when the river and bay are smooth as a sheet of beryl-green silk, and I run along ripping it up with my knife-edged shell of a boat, the rent closing after me like those wounds of Angels which Milton tells us of, but the seam still shining for many a long rood behind me. " The K\Aozxz.V-- Holmes. June i^th. Then bursts the song from every leafy glade, 154 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS The yielding season's bridal serenade; Then flash the wings returning summer calls Through the deep arches of her forest halls ; The bluebird breathing from his azure plumes The fragrance borrowed where the myrtle blooms; The thrush, poor wanderer, dropping meekly down. Clad in his remnant of autumnal brown; The oriole, drifting like a flake of fire Rent by the whirlwind from a blazing spire; The robin, jerking his spasmodic throat, Repeats, staccato, his peremptory note; The crack-brained bobolink courts his crazy mate, FBOM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 155 Poised on a bulrush tipsy with his weight; Nay, in his cage the lone canary sings, Feels the soft air and spreads his idle wings. " Astraea." — Holmes. June 14th. Thou glorious island of the sea! Though wide the wasting flood That parts our distant land from thee, We claim thy generous blood; Nor o'er thy far horizon springs One hallowed star of fame, But kindles, like an angel's wings, Our western skies in flame! " ^oug:'— Holmes. June i^th. Oh ! when the soul, once pure and high, Is stricken down from Virtue's sky, 156 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS As, with the downcast star of morn, Some gems of light are with it drawn — And, through its night of darkness, play Some tokens of its primal day — Some lofty feelings linger still — The strength to dare, the nerve to meet Whatever threatens with defeat Its all-indomitable will! — But lacks the mean of mind and heart, Though eager for the gains of crime, Oft, at this chosen place and time, The strength to bear this evil part; And, shielded by this very Vice, Escapes from Crime by Cowardice. « Mogg Megone." — Whittier. June 1 6th. Child of the soil, whom fortune sends to range Where man and nature, faith and cus- toms change. FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 157 Borne in thy memory, each familiar tone Mourns on the winds that sigh in every zone. When Ceylon sweeps thee with her per- fumed breeze Through the warm billows of the Indian seas; When, — ship and shadow blended both in one, — Flames o'er thy mast the equatorial sun, From sparkling midnight to refulgent noon Thy canvas swelling with the still mon- soon; When through thy shrouds the wild tornado sings, And thy poor seabird folds her tattered wings. Oft will delusion o'er thy senses steal, 158 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS And airy echoes ring the Sabbath peal ! Then, dim with grateful tears, in long array Rise the fair town, the island-studded bay, Home, with its smiling board, its cheer- ing fire. The half-choked welcome of the expect- ing sire. The mother's kiss, and, still if aught remain. Our whispering hearts shall aid the silent strain. — Ah, let the dreamer o'er the taffrail lean To muse unheeded, and to weep unseen ; Fear not the tropic's dews, the evening's chills. His heart lies warm among his triple hills! " Urania." — Holmes. FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 159 June lyth. While o'er their ashes the starry fold flying Wraps the proud eagle they roused from his nest. Borne on her northern pine, Long o'er the foaming brine Spread her broad banner to storm and to sun; Heaven keep her ever free, Wide as o'er land and sea Floats the fair emblem her heroes have won. " Lexington."— Whittier. June i8th. If one's intimate in love or friendship cannot or does not share all one's in- tellectual tastes or pursuits, that is a small matter. Intellectual companions can be found easily in men and books. 160 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS After all, if we think of it, most of the world's loves and friendships have been between people that could not read nor spell. " The Autocrat," — Hohnes. June ipth. I love thee with a brother's love, I feel my pulses thrill, To mark thy spirit soar above The cloud of human ill. My heart hath leaped to answer thine, And echo back thy words, As leaps the warrior's at the shine And flash of kindred swords! " To W. L. G."— Whittier. June 2oth, Once more the pulse of Nature glows With faster throb and fresher fire. While music round her pathway flows Like echoes from a hidden lyre. FROM WRITTIEB AND HOLMES. 161 And is there none with me to share The glories of the earth and sky ? The eagle through the pathless air Is followed by one burning eye. " From a Bachelor's Private Journal." — Holmes. June 21 St. As lost and void, as dark and cold And formless as that earth of old, — A wondering waste of storm and night. Midst spheres of song and realms of light,— A blot upon Thy holy sky. Untouched, unwarned of thee, am I. O Thou who movest on the deep Of spirits, wake my own from sleep! Its darkness melt, its coldness warm, The lost restore, the ill transform. That flower and fruit henceforth may be Its grateful offering, worthy Thee. " Invocation." — Whittier. 162 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS June 22d. Oh there are times When all this fret and tumult that we hear Do seem more stale than to the sexton's ear His own dull chimes. Ding dong! ding dong! The world is in a simmer like a sea Over a pent volcano, — woe is me All the day long ! « Daily Trials:'— Holmes. June 2jd. Dear listening soul, this transitory scene Of murmuring stillness, busily serene; This solemn pause, the breathing-space of man, The halt of toil's exhausted caravan, FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 163 Comes sweet with music to thy wearied ear; Rise with its anthems to a holier sphere! Deal meekly, gently, with the hopes that guide The lowliest brother straying from thy side; If right, they bid thee tremble for thine own, If wrong, the verdict is for God alone! " Urania." — Holmes. June 24th. Let us then, uniting, bury All our idle feuds in dust. And to future conflicts carry Mutual faith and common trust; Always he who most forgiveth in his brother is most just. "'Lm.ts.''—Whittur. 164 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS June 2^th. Breathed o'er the wanderers of the field, Like their own bridal bower; Yet, saddened by its loveliness, And humbled by its pride, Earth's fairest child they could not bless, — It mocked them when they sighed. " A VoxirzW—Holtms. June 26th. Whate'er his neighbors might endure Of pain or grief his own became; For all the ills he could not cure He held himself to blame. His good was mainly an intent, His evil not of forethought done; The work he wrought was rarely meant Or finished as begun. Ill served his tides of feeling strong To turn the common mills of use; FEOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 165 And, over restless wings a song, His birthright garb hung loose! « My Namesake." — WhittUr. June 2yth. If glorious visions, born for all mankind, The bright auroras of our twilight mind; If fancies, varying as the shapes that lie Stained on the windows of the sunset sky; If hopes, that beckon with delusive gleams. Till the eye dances in the void of dreams; If passions, following with the winds that urge Earth's wildest wanderer to her farthest verge;— If these on all some transient hours be- stow Of rapture tingling with its hectic glow, 166 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Then all are poets; and, if earth had rolled Her myriad centuries, and her doom were told. Each moaning billow of her shoreless wave Would wail its requiem o'er a poet's grave « Voeixy:'— Holmes. June 28th. Our fathers to their graves have gone; Their strife is past — their triumph won; But sterner trials wait the race Which rises in their honored place — A moral warfare with the crime And folly of an evil time. So let it be. In God's own might We gird us for the coming fight. And, strong in Him whose cause is ours In conflict with unholy powers, FROM WHITTIEE AND HOLMES. 167 We grasp the weapons He has given,— The Light, and Truth, and Love of Heaven ! « The Moral Warfare."— Whittier. June 29th. It was in this stillness of the world without and of the soul within that the pulsating lullaby of the evening crickets use-d to make itself most distinctly heard, so that I well remember I used to think the purring of these little creatures, which mingled with the batrachian hymns from the neighboring swamp, was peculiar to Saturday evenings. I don't know that anything could give a clearer idea of the quieting and subduing effect of the old habit of observance of what was consid- ered holy time, than this strange, childish fancy. « The K-qS.ocxz.V —Holmes. 168 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS June joth. Mine ancient Chair! thy wide-embracing arms Have clasped around me even from a boy ; Hadst thou a voice to speak of years gone by, Thine were a tale of sorrow and of joy. Of fevered hopes and ill-foreboding fears, And smile unseen, and unrecorded tears. " To My Companions." — Holmes. JULY. July I St. Sweet is the scene where genial friend- ship plays The pleasing games of interchanging praise; Self-love, grimalkin of the human heart, Is ever pliant to the master's art; Soothed with a word, she peacefully withdraws And sheathes in velvet her obnoxious claws, And thrills the hand that smooths her glossy fur With the light tremor of her grateful purr. But what sad music fills the quiet hall. If on her back a feline rival fall; 171 172 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS And oh, what noises shake the tranquil house, If old Self-interest cheats her of a mouse! " Terpsichore." — Holmes. July 2d. Not he whose utterance now from lips designed The bugle-march of Liberty to wind, And call her hosts beneath the breaking Hght,- The keen reveille of her morn of fight, — Is but the hoarse note of the blood- hound's baying, The wolfs long howl behind the bond- man's flight! O for the tongue of him who lies at rest In Quincy's shade of patrimonial trees, — Last of the Puritan tribunes and the best, — FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES, 173 To lend a voice to Freedom's sym- pathies, And hail the coming of the noblest guest The Old World's wrong has given the New World of the West! " Kossuth." — Whittier. July Jd, Oh Freedom ! if to me belong Nor mighty Milton's gift divine, Nor Marvel's wit and graceful song, Still with a love as deep and strong As theirs, 1 lay, like them, my best gifts on thy shrine! " Proem."— Whittier. July 4th. When Freedom, on her natal day. Within her war-rocked cradle lay, An iron race around her stood, 174 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Baptized her infant brow in blood And, through the storm which round her swept, Their constant ward and watching kept. Then, where our quiet herds repose. The roar of baleful battle rose. And brethren of a common tongue To mortal strife as tigers sprung, And every gift on Freedom's shrine Was man for beast, and blood for wine! "The Moral Warfare."— /^/^zV/?Vn Go, ring the bells and fire the guns, And fling the starry banner out; Shout *' Freedom! '' till your lisping ones Give back their cradle-shout : Let boastful eloquence declaim, Of honor, liberty, and fame; FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES, 175 Still let the poet's strain be heard, With glory for each second word, And everything with breath agree To praise ''our glorious liberty! " " The Prisoner for Debt."— Whittier. July ^th. Oh! speed the moment on When Wrong shall cease— and Liberty, and Love, And Truth, and Right, throughout the earth be known As in their home above. " Clerical Oppressions." — Whittier. July 6th. I think most readers of Shakespeare sometimes find themselves thrown into exalted mental conditions like those pro- duced by music. Then they may drop the book, to pass at once into the region 176 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS of thought without words. We may happen to be very dull folks, you and I, and probably are, unless there is some particular reason to suppose the contrary. But we get glimpses now and then of a sphere of spiritual possibilities, where we, dull as we are now, may sail in vast circles round the largest compass of earthly intelligences. " The Autocrat." — Holmes. July yth. If when an earthquake voice of power, And signs in earth and heaven are showing That, forth, in its appointed hour, The Spirit of the Lord is going! And, with that Spirit, Freedom's light On kindred, tongue, and people break- ing, FBOM WHITTIER AND HOLMES, 111 Whose slumbering millions, at the sight, In glory and in strength are waking! " Pastoral Letter."— Whittier. July 8th. Shun such as lounge through afternoons and eves, And on thy dial write ''Beware of thieves! " Felon of minutes, never taught to feel The worth of treasures which thy fingers steal, Pick my left pocket of its silver dime, But spare the right,— it holds my golden time! " Urania." — Holmes. July gth. If to embody in a breathing word Tones that the spirit trembled when it heard ; 178 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS To fix the image all unveiled and warm, And carve in language its ethereal form, So pure, so perfect, that the lines express No meagre shrinking, no unlaced excess; To feel that art, in living truth, has taught Ourselves, reflected in the sculptured thought; — If this alone bestow the right to claim The deathless garland and the sacred name; Then none are poets, save the saints on high, Whose harps can murmur all that words deny! " Poetry." — Holmes. July lOth. Half hidden in a quiet nook, serene of look and heart. Talking their old times over, the old men sat apart; FB03I WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 179 While, up and down the unhusked pile, or nestling in its shade. At hide-and-seek, with laugh and shout, the happy children played. " The Huskers."— Whittier. July nth. Spirit of Beauty ! let thy graces blend With loveliest Nature all that Art can lend. Come from the bowers where Summer's lifeblood flows Through the red lips of June's half-open rose, Dressed in bright hues, the loving sun- shine's dower; For tranquil Nature owns no mourning flower. Come from the forest where the beech's screen 180 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Bars the fierce noonbeam with its flakes of green; Stay the rude axe that bares the shadowy plains, Stanch the deep wound that dries the maple's veins. " Pittsfield Cemetery."— Holmes. July 1 2th. Still shines the light of holy lives Like star-beams over doubt; Each sainted memory, Christlike, drives Some dark possession out. O friend! O brother! not in vain Thy life so calm and true, The silver dropping of the rain. The fall of summer dew! " William Forster. " — Whittier. FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 181 July ijth. Thou knowest my heart, dear friend, and well canst guess That, even though silent, I have not the less Rejoiced to see thy actual life agree With the large future which I shaped for thee. When, years ago, besides the summer sea, White in the moon, we saw the loncf waves fall Baffled and broken from the rocky wall. That, to the menace of the brawling flood, Opposed alone its massive quietude. Calm as a fate; with not a leaf nor vine Nor birch-spray trembling in the still moonshine 182 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Crowning it like God's peace. I some- times think That night-scene by the sea prophet- ical— (For nature speaks in symbols and in signs, And through her pictures human fate divines) — That rock, wherefrom we saw the billows sink In murmuring rout, uprising clear and tall In the white light of heaven, the type of one Who, momently by Error's host assailed, Stands strong as Truth, in greaves of granite mailed; And, tranquil-fronted, listening over all The tumult, hears the angels say. Well done! " To C. S."— Whittier. FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 183 July 14th. It is a fine thing to be an oracle to which an appeal is always made in all dis- cussions. The men of facts wait their turn in grim silence^ with that slight tension about the nostrils, which the conscious- ness of carrying a ** settler" in the form of a fact or a revolver gives the individ- ual thus armed. When a person is really full of information, and does not abuse it to crush conversation, his part is to that of the real talkers what the instru- mental accompaniment is in a trio or quartette of vocalists. " The Autocrat." — Holmes. July i^th. Good-bye to Pain and Care! I take Mine ease to-day ; 184 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Here where these sunny waters break, And ripples this keen breeze, I shake All burdens from the heart, all weary thoughts away. I draw a freer breath— I seem Like all I see — Waves in the sun — the white-winged gleam Of sea-birds in the slanting beam — And far-off sails which flit before the South wind free. « Hampton Beach." — IVkiltier. July 1 6th. Thanksgiving to the Lord of life!— to Him all praises be. Who from the hands of evil men hath set His handmaid free. FBOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 185 All praise to Him before whose power the mighty are afraid, Who takes the crafty in the snare, which for the poor is laid! «* Cassandra South wick." — Whittier. July lyth. But, like a child in ocean's arms, We strive against the stream, Each moment farther from the shore. Where life's young fountains gleam; — Each moment fainter wave the fields. And wider rolls the sea; The mist grows dark, — the sun goes down, — Day breaks, — and where are we ? " Departed Days." — Holmes. July 1 8th. O, for boyhood's painless play. Sleep that wakes in laughing day. 186 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Health that mocks the doctor's rules, Knowledge never learned of schools, Of the wild bee's morning chase, Of the wild-flower's time and place, Flight of fowl and habitude Of the tenants of the wood; How the tortoise bears his shell, How the woodchuck digs his cell, And the ground-mole sinks his well; How the robin feeds her young. How the oriole's nest is hung; Where the whitest lilies blow, Where the freshest berries grow. Where the ground-nut trails its vine. Where the wood-grape's clusters shine; Of the black wasp's cunning way, Mason of his walls of clay, And the architectural plans Of gray hornet artisans! — For, eschewing books and tasks, FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 187 Nature answers all he asks; Hand in hand with her he walks, Face to face with her he talks, Part and parcel of her joy, — Blessings on the barefoot boy ! « The Barefoot Boy."— Whittier. July igth. These lines may teach, rough-spoken though they be, Thy gentle creed, divinest Charity! Truth is at heart not always as she seems, Judged by our sleeping or our waking dreams. We trust and doubt, we question and believe, From life's dark threads a trembling faith to weave. 188 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Frail as the web that misty night has spun, Whose dew-gemmed awnings glitter in the sun. "Astraea." — Holmes. July 20th. Between me and the hot fields of his South A tremulous glow, as from a furnace- mouth, Glimmers and swims before my daz- zled sight, As if the burning arrows of his ire Broke as they fell, and shattered into light! Yet on my cheek I feel the Western wind, And hear it telling to the orchard trees, And to the faint and flower-forsaken bees, FUOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES, 189 Tales of fair meadows, green with constant streams, And mountains rising blue and cool be- hind, Where in moist dells the purple orchis gleams, And starred with white the virgin's bower is twined. " Pictures."— Whittier. July 21 St. If sometimes in the dark blue eye, Or in the deep red wine. Or soothed by gentlest melody. Still warms this heart of mine, Yet something colder in the blood. And calmer in the brain, Have whispered that my youth's bright flood Ebbs, not to flow again. " An Evening Thought:'— Bolmes. 190 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS July 22d. Our ancient church ! its lowly tower, Beneath the loftier spire, Is shadowed when the sunset hour Clothes the tall shaft in fire; It sinks beyond the distant eye, Long ere the glittering vane, High wheeling in the western sky. Has faded o'er the plain. " Voeiry."— Holmes. July 2^d. Fling, from thy Capitol, Thy banner to the light. And, o'er thy Charter's sacred scroll, For Freedom and the Right, Breathe once again thy vows, unbroken - Speak once again as thou hast spoken. On thy bleak hills, speak out! A WORLD thy words shall hear; FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 191 And they who listen round about, In friendship, or in fear, Shall know thee still, when sorest tried, "Unshaken and unterrified!" " Massachusetts."— Whittier. July 24th. The very flowers that bend and meet, In sweetening others, grow more sweet; The clouds by day, the stars by night, Inweave their floating locks of light; The rainbow. Heaven's own forehead's braid. Is but the embrace of sun and shade. " The Philosopher to his Love." — Hohnes. July 2^th. Beneath the westward-turning eye A thousand wooded islands lie — Gems of the waters! — with each hue Of brightness set in ocean's blue. Each bears aloft its tuft of trees 192 BEAUTIFUL THOUORTS Touched by the pencil of the frost, And, with the motion of each breeze, A moment seen — a moment lost — Changing and blent, confused and tossed, The brighter with the darker crossed, Their thousand tints of beauty glow Down in the restless waves below. And tremble in the sunny skies. As if, from waving bough to bough. Flitted the birds of paradise. " Mogg Megone." — Whittier. July 26th. The lily hath the softest leaf That ever western breeze hath fanned. But thou shalt have the tender flower, So I may take thy hand; That little hand to me doth yield More joy than all the broidered field. " Stanzas." — Holmes. FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 193 July 2yth. Earnest words must needs be spoken When the warm heart bleeds or burns With its scorn of wrong, or pity For the wronged, by turns. "But, by all thy nature's weakness, Hidden faults and follies known, Be thou, in rebuking evil, Conscious of thine own.' «' What the Voice Said."— Whittier. July 28th. When Glory wakes, when fiery spirits leap. Roused by her accents from their tran- quil sleep, The ray that flashes from the soldier's crest. Lights, as it glances, in the poet's breast; — 194 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Not in pale dreamers, whose fantastic lay Toys with smooth trifles like a child at play, But men, who act the passions they in- spire, Who wave the sabre as they sweep the lyre! « Poetry." — Holmes. July 2pth. So must it be; the weaker, wiser race, That wields the tempest and that rides the sea. Even in the stillness of thy solitude Must teach the lesson of its power to thee; And thou, the terror of the trembling wild. Must bow thy savage strength, the mockery of a child! " To a Caged Lion." — Holmes. FBOM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 195 July JOth. The simple tastes, the kindly traits, The tranquil air, and gentle speech. The silence of the soul that waits For more than man to teach. The cant of party, school, and sect. Provoked at times his honest scorn And Folly, in its gray respect. He tossed on satire's horn. But still his heart was full of awe And reverence for all sacred things; And, brooding over form and law, He saw the Spirit's wings! « My Namesake." — Whittier. July J I St. There is a mother-idea in each particu- lar kind of tree, which, if well marked, is probably embodied in the poetry of 196 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS every language. Take the oak, for in- stance, and we find it always standing as a type of strength and endurance. I wonder if you ever thought of the single mark of supremacy which distinguishes this tree from all our other forest trees ? All the rest of them shirk the work of re- sisting gravity; the oak alone defies it. It chooses the horizontal direction for its limbs, so that their whole weight may tell,— and then stretches them out fifty or sixty feet, so that the strain may be mighty enough to be worth resisting. " The KvAocxdA."— Holmes, AUGUST. August I St. Cheerily, then, my little man, Live and laugh, as boyhood can ! Though the flinty slopes be hard, Stubble-speared the new-mown sward. Every morn shall lead thee through Fresh baptisms of the dew ; Every evening from thy feet Shall the cool wind kiss the heat: All too soon these feet must hide In the prison cells of pride. Lose the freedom of the sod, Like a colt's for work be shod. Made to tread the mills of toil. Up and down in ceaseless moil : Happy if their track be found Never on forbidden ground; 199 200 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Happy if they sink not in Quick and treacherous sands of sin. Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy, Ere it passes, barefoot boy ! " The Barefoot Boy."— WhittUr. August 2d. It is enough for such to be Of common, natural things a part, To feel with bird and stream and tree The pulses of the same great heart; But we, from Nature long exiled In our cold homes of Art and Thought, Grieve like the stranger-tended child, Which seeks its mother's arms, and sees but feels them not. « The Daughter."— Whittier, August ^d. Though books on manners are not out of print. FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 201 An honest tongue may drop a harmless hint. Stop not, unthinking, every friend you meet, To spin your wordy fabric in the street; While you are emptying your colloquial pack, The fiend Lumbago jumps upon his back. Nor cloud his features with the unwel- come tale Of how he looks, if haply thin and pale; Health is a subject for his child, his wife. And the rude oifice that insures his life. «« Urania." — Holmes. August 4th. Memory is a net: one finds it full of fish when he takes it from the brook; 202 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS but a dozen miles of water have run through it without sticking. « H: 4: :{: 4c Laughter and tears are meant to turn the wheels of the same machinery of sensibility; one is wind-power, and the other water-power ; that is all. « The KVA.OCXZ.V'— Holmes. August ^th. The hills we climbed, the river seen By gleams along its deep ravine, — All keep thy memory fresh and green. Where'er 1 look, where'er I stray, Thy thought goes with me on my way, And hence the prayer I breathe to-day ! " Benedicite."— Whittier. August 6th. So the o'erwearied pilgrim, as he fares Along life's summer waste, at times is fanned. FROM WHITTIEB AND H0L3IES. 203 Even at noontide, by the cool, sweet airs Of a serener and a holier land, Fresh as the morn, and as the dewfall bland. Breath of the blessed Heaven for which we pray. Blow from the eternal hills! — make glad our earthly way! " Pictures."— Whittier. August yth. Father of all! in Death's relentless claim We read Thy mercy by its sterner name; In the bright flower that decks the solemn bier. We see Thy glory in its narrowed sphere ; In the deep lessons that affliction draws, We trace the curves of Thy encircling laws; 204 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS In the long sigh that sets our spirits free, We own the love that calls us back to Thee! " Pittsfield Cemetery."— Holmes. August 8th. As the large, round disk of day de- clined, a stillness, a solemnity, a some- what melancholy hush came over us all. It was time for work to cease, and for playthings to be put away. The world of active life passed into the shadow of an eclipse, not to emerge until the sun should sink again beneath the horizon. " The A.MiocxdX.'"— Holmes. August pth. There trailed the vine in Summer hours — The tree-perched squirrel dropped . his shell — FROM WHtTTIER AND HOLMES. 205 On velvet moss and pale-hued flow^ers, Woven with leaf and spray, the softened sunshine fell! The Indian's heart is hard and cold — It closes darkly o'er its care, And, formed in Nature's sternest mould, Is slow to feel, and strong to bear. "The Daughter."— W^y^iV/iVr. August lOth. A glimmer of heat was in the air,— The dark green woods were still; And the skirts of a heavy thunder-cloud Hung over the western hill. Black, thick, and vast, arose that cloud Above the wilderness. As some dark world from upper air Were stooping over this. 206 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS At times, the solemn thunder pealed, And all was still again, Save a low murmur in the air Of coming wind and rain. « The Exiles."— Whittier, August nth. See how yon flaming herald treads The ridged and rolling waves, As, crashing o'er their crested heads, She bows her surly slaves ! With foam before and fire behind. She rends the clinging sea. That flies before the roaring wind. Beneath her hissing lee. The morning spray, like sea-born flowers, With heaped and glistening bells. Falls round her fast, in ringing showers, With every wave that swells ; And, burning o'er the midnight deep, FROM WRITTIEB AND HOLMES. 207 In lurid fringes thrown, The living gems of ocean sweep Along her flashing zone. " The Stta.mho2A." —Ilolmes, August I2th, As a cloud of the sunset, slow melting in heaven. As a star that is lost when the daylight is given. As a glad dream of slumber, which wakens in bliss. She hath passed to the world of the holy from this. « A Lament."— Wkittier, August Ijth. For ever as these lines are penned, Still with the thought of thee will blend That of some loved and common friend — 208 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Who in life's desert track has made His pilgrim tent with mine, or strayed Beneath the same remembered shade. And hence my pen unfettered moves In freedom which the heart approves — The negligence which friendship loves. " Ego."— Whittier. August 14th. Sweet image! I have done thee wrong To claim this destined lay ; The leaf that asked an idle song Must bear my tears away. Yet, in thy memory shouldst thou keep This else forgotten strain. Till years have taught thine eyes to weep And flattery's voice is vain; Oh, then, thou fledgling of the nest, Like the long-wandering dove, Thy weary heart may faint for rest. FROM WHITTIER AND HOLMES. 209 As mine, on changeless love; And, while these sculptured lines retrace The hours now dancing by. This vision of thy girlish grace May cost thee, too, a sigh. " The Only Daughter."— ^i?/w«. August I^th. Thine was the seed-time; God alone Beholds the end of what is sown; Beyond our vision, weak and dim, The harvest-time is hid with Him. Yet, unforgotten where it lies, That seed of generous sacrifice. Though seeming on the desert cast. Shall rise with bloom and fruit at last. " The Cross."— Whittier. August 1 6th. New England! proudly may thy chil- dren claim 210 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Their honored birthright by its humblest name! Cold are thy skies, but, ever fresh and clear. No rank malaria stains thine atmosphere; No fungous weeds invade thy scanty soil, Scarred by the ploughshares of unslum- bering toil. Long may the doctrines by thy sages taught, Raised from the quarries where their sires have wrought, Be like the granite of thy rock-ribbed land, — As slow to rear, as obdurate to stand; And as the ice, that leaves thy crystal mine. Chills the fierce alcohol in the Creole's wine. So may the doctrines of thy sober school FliOM WHITTIEK AND HOLMES, 211 Keep the hot theories of thy neighbors cool ! « Urania." — Holmes. August lyth. Men who exercise chiefly those facul- ties of the mind which work independ- ently of the will, poets and artists, for instance, who follow their imagination in the creative movements, instead of keep- ing it in hand as your logicians and prac- tical men do with their reasoning faculty, such men are too apt to call in the me- chanical appliances to help them govern their intellects. " The Autocrat." — Holmes. August 1 8th. Gentlest of spirits ! — not for thee Our tears are shed — our sighs are given : Why mourn to know thou art a free Partaker of the joys of Heaven ? 212 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Finish'd thy work, and kept thy faith In Christian firmness unto death: And beautiful as sky and earth, When Autumn's sun is downward going, The blessed memory of thy worth Around thy place of slumber glowing! « To the Memory of Thomas Shipley."— Whittier. August I()th. White clouds, whose shadows haunt the deep. Light mists, whose soft embraces keep The sunshine on the hills asleep! O, isles of calm! — O, dark, still wood! And stiller skies that overbrood Your rest with deeper quietude! O, shapes and hues, dim beckoning, through FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 213 Yon mountain gaps, my longing view Beyond the purple and the blue, To stiller sea and greener land, And softer lights and airs more bland, And skies — the hollow of God's hand ! Transfused through you, O mountain friend ! With mine your solemn spirit blends, And life no more hath separate ends. "Summer by the Lakeside." — Whittier. August 20th. I confess there are times when I feel like the friend I mentioned to you some time ago. I hate the very sight of a book. Sometimes it becomes almost a physical necessity to talk out what is in the mind before putting anything else into it. It is very bad to have thoughts 214 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS and feelings which were meant to come out in talk, sfn'hr in, as they say of some complaints that ought to show out- wardly. *' The Autocrat." — Holmes. August 2 1 St. He had his share of care and pain, No holiday was life to him; Still in the heirloom cup we drain The bitter drop will swim. Yet Heaven was kind, and here a bird And there a tlower beguiled his way; And. cool, in summer noons, he heard The fountains plash and play. » *« My Namesake." — WkUHer. August 22if. Oh, then, if gleams of truth and light Flash o'er thy waiting mind, Unfolding to thy mental sight FROM WHITTIEB AND EOLMES. 215 The wants of human kind; If brooding over human grief, The earnest wish is known To soothe and gladden with relief An anguish not thine own: Though heralded with naught of fear, Or outward sign, or show: Though only to the inward ear It whispers soft and low; Though dropping, as the manna fell. Unseen, yet from above, Noiseless as dew-fall, heed it well — Thy Father's call of love! "The Call of the Christian."— /^/^iVif^Vf-. August 2^d. I look upon the fair blue skies. And naught but empty air I see; But when I turn me to thine eyes. It seemeth unto me 216 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Ten thousand angels spread their wings Within those little azure rings. « Stanzas." — Holmes. August 24th, I call to mind the summer day, . The early harvest mowing, The sky with sun and clouds at play, And flowers with breezes blowing. I hear the blackbird in the corn, The locust in the haying; And, like the fabled hunter's horn. Old tunes my heart is playing. How oft that day, with fond delay, I sought the maple's shadow, And sang with Burns the hours away, Forgetful of the meadow ! «« Burns."— Whittier. FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 217 August 2^th. And lo! as through the western pines, on meadow, stream and pond. Flamed the red radiance of a sky, set all afire beyond. Slowly o'er the Eastern sea-bluffs a milder glory shone. And the sunset and the moonrise were mingled into one! « The Huskers."— Whittier. August 26th. O gracious Mother, whose benignant breast Wakes us to life, and lulls us all to rest, How thy sweet features, kind to every clime, Mock with their smile the wrinkled front of time! We stain thy flowers, — they blossom o'er the dead: 218 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS We rend thy bosom, and it gives us bread; O'er the red field that trampling strife has torn, Waves the green plumage of thy tasselled corn; Our maddening conflicts scar thy fairest plain. Still thy soft answer is the growing grain. Yet, O our Mother, while uncounted charms Round the fresh clasp of thine embracing arms. Let not our virtues in thy love decay. And thy fond weakness waste our strength away. « The Ploughman." — Holmes. August 2yth. The garden rose may richly bloom In cultured soil and genial air, FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 219 To cloud the light of Fashion's room Or droop in Beauty's midnight hair, In lonelier grace, to sun and dew The sweet-briar on the hillside shows Its single leaf and fainter hue, Untrained and wildly free, yet still a sister rose ! " The Daughter."— Whittier. August 28th. My broken Mirror! faithless, yet be- loved, Thou who canst smile, and smile alike on all. Oft do I leave thee, oft again return, I scorn the siren, but obey the call; I hate thy falsehood, while I fear thy truth. But most I love thee, flattering friend of youth. " To My Companions." — Holmes, 220 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS August 2gth. (^Holmes born, iSog.) Let kindly Silence close again, The picture vanish from the eye, And on the dim and misty main Let the small ripple die. Yet not the less I own your claim To grateful thanks, dear friends of mine. Hang, if it please you so, my name Upon your household line. Let Fame from brazen lips blow wide Her chosen names, 1 envy none: A mother's love, a father's pride, Shall keep alive my own! " My Namesake." — Whittier. August 20th. And thou sad Angel, who so long Hast waited for the glorious token, FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 221 That Earth from all her bonds of wrong To liberty and light has broken — Angel of Freedom ! soon to thee The sounding trumpet shall be given, And over Earth's full jubilee Shall deeper joy be felt in Heaven ! " Lines." — Whittier. August ^ I St. There is nothing that happens, you know, which must not inevitably, and which does not actually, photograph it- self in every conceivable aspect and in all dimensions. The infinite galleries of the Past await but one brief process and all their pictures will be called out and fixed forever. We had a curious illustration of the great fact on a very humble scale. When a certain bookcase, long standing in one place, for which it was built, was BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS removed, there was the exact image on the wall of the whole, and many of its portions. But in the midst of this pic- ture was another, — the precise outline of a map which had hung on the wall before the bookcase was built. We had all forgotten everything about the map until we saw its photograph on the wall. Then we remembered it, as some day or other we may remember a sin which has been built over and covered up, when this lower universe is pulled away from the wall of Infinity, where the wrong-doing stands, self-recorded. " The Autocrat." — Holmes. SEPTEMBER. September ist Is not Thy hand stretched forth Visibly in the heavens, to awe and smite ? Shall not the living God of all the earth, And heaven above, do right ? Woe, then, to all who grind Their brethren of a common - Father down! To all who plunder from the immortal mind Its bright and glorious crown! " Clerical Oppressors." — Whittier. September 2d. Simple in youth, but not austere in age; Calm, but not cold, and cheerful though a sage; 225 226 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Too true to flatter, and too kind to sneer, And only just when seemingly severe ; So gently blending courtesy and art, That wisdom's lips seemed borrowing friendship's heart; Taught by the sorrows that his age had known In others' trials to forget his own. As hour by hour his lengthened day de- clined. The sweeter radiance lingered o'er his mind. Cold were the lips that spoke his early praise. And hushed the voices of his morning days, Yet the same accents dwelt on every tongue, And love renewing kept him ever young. " Extracts from a Medical Poem." — Holmes, FEOM V/HITTIER AND HOLMES. 227 September jd. Lift we the twilight curtains of the Past, And turning from familiar sight and sound Sadly and full of reverence let us cast A glance upon Tradition's shadowy ground, Led by the few pale lights, which, glim- mering round That dim, strange land of Eld, seem dying fast; And that which history gives not to the eye. The faded coloring of Time's tapestry. Let Fancy, with her dream-dipped brush supply. " The Bsisha.h&."—lVAii^ier. September 4th. He must be a poor creature that does not often repeat himself. Imagine the 228 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS author of the excellent piece of advice, "Know thyself," never alluding to that sentiment again during the course of a protracted existence ! Why, the truths a man carries about with him are his tools; and do you think a carpenter is bound to use the same plane but once to smooth a knotty board with, or to hang up his hammer after it has driven its first nail? « The hvAocxaX:'— Holmes. September ^th. Well to suffer is divine; Pass the watchword down the line, Pass the countersign : "Endure." Not to him who rashly dares. But to him who nobly bears. Is the victor's garland sure. " Burial of Barbour."— Whiitier, FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 229 September 6th. The gentle maid, whose azure eye grows dim, While Heaven is listening to her evening hymn; The jeweled beauty, when her steps draw near The circling dance and dazzling chan- delier; E'en trembling age, when Spring's re- newing air Waves the thin ringlets of his silvered hair; — All, all are glowing with the inward flame, Whose wider halo wreathes the poet's name, While, unembalmed, the silent dreamer dies. His memory passing with his smiles and sighs ! " Vottcy:^— Holmes. 230 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS September yth. ( Whittier died^ i8g2.) And now my spirit sighs for home, And longs for light whereby to see, And, like a weary child, would come, O Father, unto Thee ! « The Wish of To-day."— Whittier. September 8th. Farewell! A little time, and we Who knew thee well, and loved thee here One after one shall follow thee As pilgrims through the gate of fear, Which opens on eternity. Yet shall we cherish not the less All that is left our hearts meanwhile; The memory of thy loveliness Shall round our weary pathway smile. Like moonlight when the sun has set — A sweet and tender radiance yet. FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 231 Thoughts of thy clear-eyed sense of duty, Thy generous scorn of all things wrong — The truth, the strength, the graceful beauty Which blended in thy song. Ail lovely things by thee beloved, Shall whisper to our hearts of thee; These green hills, where thy childhood roved — Yon river winding to the sea — The sunset light of autumn eves Reflecting on the deep, still floods, Cloud, crimson sky, and trembling leaves Of rainbow- tinted woods, — These, in our view, shall henceforth take A tenderer meaning for thy sake; And all thou loved'st of earth and sky. Seem sacred to thy memory. " Lucy Hooper." — Whittier. 232 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS September gih. Oh! thou who mournest on thy way, With longings for the close of day; He walks with thee; that Angel kind, And gently whispers ** Be resigned: Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell The dear Lord ordereth all things well! " " The Angel of Patience."— Whitiier. September loth. Nature has placed thee on a changeful tide. To breast its waves, but not without a guide; Yet, as the needle will forget its aim. Jarred by the fury of the electric flame. As the true current it will falsely feel. Warped from its axis by a freight of steel ; So will thy CONSCIENCE lose its balanced truth, FROM WHITTIEE AND HOLMES. 233 If passion's lightning fall upon thy youth ; So the pure effluence quit its sacred hold, Girt round too deeply with magnetic gold. " Urania." — Holmes. September nth. It may not be our lot to wield The sickle in the ripened field; Nor ours to hear, on summer eves. The reaper's song among the sheaves ; Yet where our duty's task is wrought In unison with God's great thought. The near and future blend in one. And whatsoe'er is willed is done! And ours the greatful service whence Comes, day by day, the recompense; S34 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS The hope, the trust, the purpose stayed, The fountain and the noonday shade. " Seed Time and Harvest." — Whittier. September 12th, Why fear the night ? why shrink from Death, That phantom wan ? There is nothing in Heaven or earth beneath Save God and man. Peopling the shadows we turn from Him And from one another; All is spectral and vague and dim Save God and our brother! " My Soul and I."— Whittier. September ijth. Scenes of my youth! awake its slum- bering fire! FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 235 Ye winds of Memory, sweep the silent lyre! Ray of the past, if yet thou canst ap- pear, Break through the clouds of Fancy's waning year; Chase from her breast the thin autumnal snow, If leaf or blossom still is fresh below ! Long have I wandered; the returning tide Brought back an exile to his cradle's side; And as my bark her time-worn flag un- rolled, To greet the land-breeze with its faded fold. So, in remembrance of my boyhood's time, 1 lift these ensigns of neglected rhyme; — 236 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS O more than blest, that, all my wander- ings through, My anchor falls where first my pennons flew! « Toetry. "—Holfms. September 14th. A sound of tumult troubles all the air, Like the low thunders of a sultry sky Far-rolling ere the downright lightnings glare : The hills blaze red with warnings: foes draw nigh Treading the dark with challenge and reply. Behold the burden of the prophet's vision — The gathering hosts — the Valley of Decision, Dusk with the wings of eagles wheel- ing o'er. FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 237 Day of the Lord, of darkness and not light! It breaks in thunder and the whirl- wind's roar! Even so, Father! Let thy will be done — Turn and o'erturn, end what thou hast begun In judgment or in mercy: as for me. If but the least and frailest, let me be Evermore numbered with the truly free Who find thy service perfect liberty! I fain would thank Thee that my mortal life Has reached the hour (albeit through care and pain) When Good and Evil, as for final strife. Close dim and vast on Armageddon's plain ; And Michael and his angels once again 238 BEAUTIFUL THOUGBTS Drive howling back the Spirits of the Night. Oh! for the faith to read the signs aright, And, from the angle of thy perfect sight See Truth's white banner floating on before; And, the Good Cause, despite of venal friends. And base expedients, move to noble ends: See Peace with Freedom make to Time amends, And, though its cloud of dust, the thresh- ing-floor. Flailed by thy thunder, heaped with chaffless grain ! " What of the Day ? "— Whittier. September i^th. As Thine early children. Lord, FROM WHITTIER AND SOLMES. 239 Shared their wealth and daily bread, Even so, with one accord, We, in love, each other fed. Not with us the miser's hoard. Not with us his grasping hand; Equal round a common board. Drew our meek and brother band! " The Familist's Hymn."— WhittUr. September i6th. The Quaker of the olden time! — How calm and firm and true, Unspotted by its wrong and crime, He walked the dark earth through ! The lust of power, the love of gain, The thousand lures of sin Around him, had no power to stain The purity within. 240 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Oh ! Spirit of that early day. So pure and strong and true, Be with us in the narrow way Our faithful fathers knew. Give strength the evil to forsake, The cross of Truth to bear, And love and reverent fear to make Our daily lives a prayer! *' The Quaker of the Olden Time.''— Wkittier. September lyth. Immortal Art! where'er the rounded sky Bends o'er the cradle where thy children lie. Their home is earth, their herald every tongue Whose accents echo to the voice that sung. « Votixyy— Holmes. FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 241 September i8th. Home of our childhood! how affection clings And hovers round thee with her seraph wings ! Dearer thy hills, though clad in autumn brown, Than fairest summits which the cedars crown! Sweeter the fragrance of thy summer breeze Than all Arabia breathes along the seas! The stranger's gale wafts home the exile's sigh, For the heart's temple is its own blue sky! " VotXrj."— Holmes. September igth. As thus into the quiet night the twilight lapsed away. 242 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS And deeper in the brightening moon the tranquil shadows lay ; From many a brown old farmhouse, and hamlet without name, Their milking and their home-tasks done, the merry buskers came. Swung o'er the heaped-up harvest, from pitchforks in the mow, Shown dimly down the lanterns on the pleasant scene below; The growing pile of husks behind, the golden ears before, And laughing eyes and busy hands and brown cheeks glimmering o'er. " The Huskers." — Whittier. September 20th. For that great procession of the un- loved, who not only wear the crown of thorns, but must hide it under the locks FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES, 243 of brown or gray, — under the snowy cap, under the chilling turban, — hide it even from themselves, — perhaps never know they wear it, though it kills them, —there is no depth of tenderness in my nature that Pity has not sounded. Some- where, — somewhere, — love is in store for them, — the universe must not be al- lowed to fool them so cruelly. What infinite pathos in the small, half-uncon- scious artifices by which unattractive young persons seek to recommend them- selves to the favor of those to whom our dear sisters, the unloved, like the rest, are impelled by their God-given instincts! « The ^^l\.ocx^x:'— Holmes. September 21st. Last night, just as the tints of autumn's sky 244 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Of sunset faded from our hills and streams, I sat, vague listening, lapped in twi- light dreams, To the leaf's rustle, and the cricket's cry. Then, like that basket, flush with sum- mer fruit. Dropped by the angels at the Prophet's foot. Came, unannounced, a gift of clustered sweetness. Full-orbed, and glowing with the pris- oned beams Of summery suns, and, rounded to com- pleteness By kisses of the south wind and the dew. Thrilled with a glad surprise, methought I knew The pleasure of the homeward-turning Jew, FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 245 When Eschol's clusters on his shoulders lay, Dropping their sweetness on his desert way. •♦The ¥xmi-Giit."—WhitHer. September 22d. Peace to the ever murmuring race! And when the latest one Shall fold in death her feeble wings Beneath the autumn sun, Then shall she raise her fainting voice And lift her drooping lid. And then the child of future years Shall hear what Katy did. " To an Insect." — Holmes. September 2^d. Life's burdens fall, its discords cease, I lapse into the glad release Of nature's own exceeding peace. 246 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS O, welcome calm of heart and mind! As falls yon fir-tree's loosened rind To leave a tenderer growth behind, So fall the weary years away ; A child again, my head I lay Upon the lap of this sweet day. "Summer by the Lakeside." — Whittier. September 24ih. Arrow-heads must be brought to a sharp point, and the guillotine-axe must have a slanting edge. Something in- tensely human, narrow, and definite pierces to the seat of our sensibilities more readily than huge occurrences and catastrophes. A nail will pick a lock that defies hatchet and hammer. "The Royal George " went down with all her crew, and Cowper wrote an exquisitely simple poem about it; but the leaf that FROM WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 247 holds it is smooth, while that which bears the lines on his mother's portrait is blistered with tears. « The Autocrat."— ^^/w«. September 23th. Oh, Stream of the Mountains ! if answer of thine Could rise from thy waters to question of mine, Methinks through the din of thy thronged banks a moan Of sorrow would swell for the days which have gone. Not for thee the dull jar of the loom and the wheel, The gliding of shuttles, the ringing of steel ; But that old voice of waters, of bird and of breeze. 248 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS The dip of the wild-fowl, the rustling of trees ! " The Merrimack."— Whittier. September 26th. Oh, what are the prizes we perish to win To the first little ''shiner" we caught with a pin! No soil upon earth is so dear to our eyes As the soil we first stirred in terrestrial pies! " lAnQS."— Holmes. September 2yth. Oh ! for the death the righteous die ! An end, like Autumn's day declining. On human hearts, as on the sky, With holier, tenderer beauty shining; As to the parting soul were given The radiance of an opening Heaven! FROM WHITTIEB AND H0L3IE8. 249 As if that pure and blessed light, From off the Eternal altar flowing, Were bathing, in its upward flight. The spirit to its worship going! "To the Memory of Thomas Shipley.'*— JVAitiun September 28th. From spire and barn, looked westerly the patient weather-cocks ; But even the birches on the hill stood motionless as rocks. No sound was in the woodlands, save the squirrel's dropping shell, And the yellow leaves among the boughs, low rustling as they fell. " The Huskers."— Whittier. September 2gth. The meal unshared is food unblest; Thou hoard'st in vain what love should spend; 250 BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS Self-ease is pain; thy only rest Is labor for a worthy end. A toil that gains with what it yields, And scatters to its own increase, And hears, while sowing outward fields, The harvest-song of inward peace. " The Voices."— Whittier. September ^oth. I don't know anything sweeter than this leaking in of Nature through all the cracks in the walls and floors of cities. You heap up a million tons of hewn rocks on a square mile or two of earth which was green once. The trees look down from the hillsides and ask each other, as they stand on tiptoe,— ** What are these people about }" And the small herbs at their feet look up and whisper back, — *'We will go and see." So the FB03I WHITTIEB AND HOLMES. 251 small herbs pack themselves up in the least possible bundles, and wait until the wind steals to them at night and whis- pers, — ** Come with me." Then they go softly within into the great city, — one to a cleft in the pavement, one to a spout on the roof, one to a seam in the marbles over a rich gentleman's bones, and one to the grave without a stone where noth- ing but a man is buried, — and there they grow, looking down on the generations of men from mouldy roofs, looking up from between the less-trodden pave- ments, looking out through iron ceme- tery railings. « The Autocrat."— i/