IPS 2364 
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 Copy 1 
 
 i 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
(5. 
 
 ilRGINIA 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 MISS FANNIE h: MARR, 
 
 Author of "Heart Life in Song." 
 
 Thought for the thoughtful, laughter for the gay, 
 Sighs for the sorrowing, prayers for those who pray ; 
 Drea?ns for the drea?ner, help for those who fall, 
 Hope for the hopeless, and kind words for all. 
 
 ^i^PhJf 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 SHERMAN & CO., PRINTERS. 
 
 I 88 I. 
 
 or 
 
(^3 V^ 
 
 copyright 
 By Fannie H. Marr. 
 

 HBeliicateU 
 
 VERY 
 
 IRGINIAN 
 
 ^7.^ 
 
 AND 
 
 Every Friend of Virginia 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 Preface, 
 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 9 
 
 Virginia, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 13 
 
 The State Debt, . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 27 
 
 Pro Honore, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 30 
 
 Memorial Day, . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 34 
 
 My Home, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 35 
 
 The Unequal Combat, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 38 
 
 The Silent Sermon, . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 47 
 
 Before and After Marriac 
 
 'E, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 52 
 
 The Fearful Test, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 54 
 
 The Years, . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 67 
 
 Twilight Thoughts, . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 70 
 
 Heart Wishes, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 72 
 
 Our Treasure, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 74 
 
 Growing Old, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 76 
 
 Echo on Life, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 78 
 
 Longings, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 80 
 
 Optimus, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 82 
 
 Greatness, . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 84 
 
 The Sky, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 86 
 
 October, 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 89 
 
 SCRIBO, 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 91 
 
Vlll 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 The Street Boy, 
 
 The Bereaved Heart, 
 
 FiNEM Respice, . 
 
 The Mourner's Comforters, 
 
 Follow Me, 
 
 Follow Thee, 
 
 At Rest, 
 
 The Master's Call, . 
 
 From Darkness to Light, 
 
 The Ills of Daily Life, 
 
 Daily Duties, 
 
 Lesson of the Vine, . 
 
 Fidelis in Parvo, 
 
 Confirmation, . 
 
 Teach me Thy Way, . 
 
 Spes mea Christus, 
 
 The Breton's Prayer, 
 
 Non Moriar, 
 
 God's Dealings, . 
 
 God's Comforts, 
 
 Children of God, 
 
 Regio Pacis, 
 
 Advent, 
 
 Lenten Hours, . 
 
 Rest, .... 
 
 Old Hymns, 
 
 My Home in the Sky, 
 
 God All in All, 
 
 The Church, 
 
 In Pace, 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 lif^E who love the curious windings 
 Of an ancient tale to trace, 
 f^ Filled with all the mystic learning 
 •I Of a strange, forgotten race; 
 
 Ye who deem that real wisdom 
 
 In the past doth hidden lie, — 
 And the present is but folly, 
 
 Pass me gently, kindly, by. 
 
 For I have not sought in volumes 
 
 Dim and musty with old age, 
 And as quaint as ancient fashions. 
 
 Themes and stories for my page ; 
 I have only tried to gather. 
 
 As in lavish waste they lay. 
 Thoughts and lessons lightly pictured 
 
 On the fresh leaves of to-day. 
 
10 PREFACE. 
 
 Ye who ask for some new doctrine, 
 
 Some new way to think and live ; 
 Ye who seek for other pathway 
 
 Than our God doth wisely give ; 
 Ye who Heaven itself would lower 
 
 Unto mortal heart and mind, 
 Think not in these humble pages 
 
 Teachings new and strange to find. 
 
 For I love the old, worn pathways 
 
 That I know are tried and true ; 
 Our own dead have passed along them 
 
 To the temple wide and new. 
 Other teachings upward leading, 
 
 Other pathways there may be ; 
 But the faith our fathers died in 
 
 Is the only faith for me. 
 
 I have looked on forms grow weary 
 
 With the labors of to-day ; 
 I have seen the feet that falter 
 
 As they clamber o'er life's way; 
 I have known the souls that hunger 
 
 For a word of hope and cheer ; 
 And a cry as Esau's bitter 
 
 Rings forever in my ear. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Care they for the hidden wisdom 
 
 Of a lost and vanished age? 
 For the toiling and the striving 
 
 Of the grandest heathen sage? 
 Ah, they prize no patient gleaning 
 
 Of a knowledge passed away, 
 For they want a rule of action, 
 
 And a precept for to-day. 
 
 Can they learn to walk in pathways 
 
 Wherein footsteps never moved ? 
 Can they hold in heart a doctrine 
 
 If it must to-day be proved ? 
 Life is far too short and hurried. 
 
 Far too near the other side ; 
 Souls that die not need the certain, 
 
 Cling but to the known and tried. 
 
 I am one of you, O People, 
 
 One of your long, toiling train ; 
 I have seen the face of sorrow, 
 
 And walked hand in hand with pain. 
 What I feel that I have needed, 
 
 What I know is tried and true, 
 What is steadfast and unchanging, 
 
 I have brought in song to you. 
 
12 PREFACE. 
 
 And I fain would in these numbers 
 
 Strike with gentle, winsome art, 
 On some chord of tender feeling 
 
 In the people's great, strong heart. 
 That a little child may murmur 
 
 Songs of mine upon his bed, 
 And a weary soul find comfort 
 
 In some word that I have said. 
 
VIRGINIA. 
 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 fffp^J^ timid bird that fears to soar too high, 
 ^JD^ Yet dares not thwart the power that bids her rise ; 
 ^(;jp~' As uttering truths he knows can never dij, 
 
 The slow-tongued prophet whom all hearts despise, 
 Keeps steadfast gaze where men can nothing see, 
 And speaks because he must — I sing of thee. 
 
 As sailor, seeking some small isle, beholds 
 
 Rich, boundless lands as from the waters called ; 
 
 As Newton, searching earth's great law, unfolds 
 That of a universe, and shrinks appalled ; 
 
 So do I view thee, Land of hope and dream, 
 
 Lost in the mighty grandeur of my theme. 
 
 Surely it should the loftiest genius thrill ; 
 
 Surely the tale of glory such as thine. 
 Of valiant deed, and long-borne wrong and ill. 
 
 Could wake a sweeter, stronger voice than mine. 
 
14 VIRGINIA. 
 
 Ah, poor thou art indeed, if none but me 
 Remain of all thou hadst to sing of thee. 
 
 And yet I am not all unworthy ; none 
 
 Of those who did for thee lie down and die, 
 
 E'er honored, worshipped thee through storm and sun, 
 With truer, deeper reverence than I. 
 
 None at thy call for aid would quicker spring, 
 
 None in thy piteous weakness closer cling. 
 
 I love thy fields, and skies, and forests deep, 
 
 Thy rivers, and thy mountains, glens, and vales ; 
 
 I love the very mists that o'er thee creep. 
 
 The winds that compass thee with shrieks and wails. 
 
 And more, the hearts where Honor still survives. 
 
 And still thy grand old spirit, chafing, lives. 
 
 If, as is said, the poet in his lay 
 
 Weaveth his life-blood that his song may live, 
 Surely these lines shall in some memory stay, 
 
 For, with each word, part of myself I give ; 
 And thought must wake to thought, part fit to part, 
 Soul breathe to soul, and heart respond to heart. 
 
 As one of slow and stammering speech is heard 
 In gentle patience for the truth he brings, — 
 
 Not for some brilliant and high-sounding word, — 
 So, though unmusical the voice that sings. 
 
VIRGINIA. 
 
 My theme shall lend a value to my song, 
 
 And turn its harsh to sweet, its weak to strong. 
 
 And if, perchance, the power to win and wear 
 Earth's fame and honor should be found in me, 
 
 As olden knight brought to his lady fair 
 
 His trophies, I would give the whole to thee. 
 
 And sink in nothingness, disowning all, 
 
 If on thy brow the fadeless leaf might fall. 
 
 I. 
 
 Thy wondrous tale begins ere men had braved, 
 Seeking thy shores, the dangers of the sea ; 
 
 Ere History thy regal name had graved 
 A lordly race dwelt peacefully with thee. 
 
 Freedom their royal heritage and pride, 
 
 Born princes of the land they lived and died. 
 
 We know not whence, or when, or how they came, 
 Those wild, untutored, and yet noble men ; 
 
 We know not by what arts they won a claim 
 To forest, river, mountain, dale, and glen. 
 
 Fate writes above their mounds this common lot : 
 
 That once on earth they were — but now are not. 
 
l6 VIRGIxNIA. 
 
 Yet we do know of men that scorned a lie, 
 Of maiden courage that risked life to save ; 
 
 We know that patriot fires glowed hot and high 
 In dusky forms no fetters could enslave. 
 
 How grand the spirits that could win such place 
 
 Amid the annals of the conquering race ! 
 
 As melts the snow beneath the fervid sun, 
 As sink the few and weak before the strong ; 
 
 As falls the hero ere the field is won, 
 
 Or stifled Right o'erpowered by mightier Wrong ; 
 
 As when she finds no place on earth to dwell 
 
 Unyielding Freedom scorns to live — they fell. 
 
 No wigwams dot the plain, no echoing rock 
 
 Sends back the painted warrior's deafening shout ; 
 
 No poisoned dart speeds death's benumbing shock, 
 And yet we may not — cannot blot them out. 
 
 From rugged mount, from river, and from bay, 
 
 Their beauteous names shall never pass away. 
 
 Defeat and failure bring no shame to those 
 Who choose to die as free, not live as slaves ; 
 
 Honors fall on them from their very foes. 
 
 And Freedom guards, with pious trust, their graves. 
 
 Nor can the race be to oblivion hurled 
 
 That gave a Pocahontas to the world. 
 
VIRGINIA. 
 
 II. 
 
 Virginia, queen and princess of the States, 
 The friend of freedom, and oppression's foe ; 
 
 Virginia, on whose footsteps Honor waits, 
 Virginia^ great alike in weal and woe. 
 
 What splendors, like a halo, round thee gleam, 
 
 What grandeur dwells within thy very name ! 
 
 As surely wast thou born to rule and sway 
 
 As she whose proud and queenly name thou bearest ; 
 
 As bright, and purer too than hers, to-day, 
 
 The stainless crown, the peerless star thou wearest. 
 
 O'er willing hearts thou rulest in thy might, 
 
 Thy mandates reason, and thy sceptre right. 
 
 As loving lord bends on his gray-haired wife, 
 A fonder glance than on the maid he wooed. 
 
 Deeming the tried companion of his life. 
 
 Because so proved, more beautiful and good — 
 
 Even so, though worn and hoary thou mayst be, 
 
 The more we love, and prize, and honor thee. 
 
 As children over books of fairy lore 
 
 Turn with an eager, charmed, and wondering gaze, 
 So we entranced still fondly linger o'er 
 
 Romantic tales of fair colonial days. 
 
1 8 VIRGINIA. 
 
 Days of such pomp, magnificence, and show, 
 They seem to us a thousand years ago. 
 
 As some strange tale another age might claim, 
 We read of thy firm constancy and zeal 
 
 For exiled, wandering King, that graved thy name 
 With prouder ones on England's royal seal. 
 
 O days, on which a lingering glow is shed. 
 
 As smile on lips whose warm life-breath hath fled ! 
 
 III. 
 
 As blooming, cultured fields and woodlands wild. 
 And mountain glens, and untilled acres are, 
 
 In loving wisdom, meted out to child 
 By an o'erseeing and paternal care; 
 
 So year by year thy broad degrees of land 
 
 Were portioned out with princely heart and hand. 
 
 Grand, generous Mother of the States thou art. 
 
 Of thy domain, self-sacrificing shorn ; 
 Thy narrowed limits prove ,how large thy heart, 
 
 Their greatness what thou might'st have kept and 
 worn. 
 Their honors are as stars that gem thy crown. 
 Their mightiness a reflex of thine own. 
 
VIRGINIA. 
 
 If ihou, to-day, couldst rule as monarch o'er 
 What in free largess thou hast given away, 
 
 Again as in the fairer days of yore, 
 
 Like wind the trees, mightst thou the nation sway. 
 
 Again might every nerve and sinew brace. 
 
 And guide and leader take thine ancient place. 
 
 The Present with its boasted progress scouts 
 And scoffs at what is reverenced by thee ; 
 
 With cold and unbelieving spirit doubts 
 The holy truths it looks too low to see. 
 
 But there was wisdom in thy stern, old school. 
 
 And glory in the land when thou hadst rule. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Foremost in every just and righteous cause 
 For honor, freedom, truth, and native land. 
 
 Heedless of worldly censure or applause. 
 If at the bar of right thou didst but stand ; 
 
 In every peril, every need, and hour, 
 
 Thou wast, thyself, a great, strong, moving power. 
 
 America had never strife to wage, 
 
 But thou didst fully, nobly bear thy part ; 
 
 Had never burden of her youth or age. 
 
 But thou didst share with true and patient heart. 
 
20 VIRGINIA. 
 
 And hadst through all a mighty pen to write, 
 A head to counsel, and a sword to fight. 
 
 Wherever field was to be held or won, 
 
 Or hardship borne, or right to be maintained, 
 
 Or danger met, or deed of valor done, 
 Or counsel given, or honor, glory gained ; 
 
 Where men were called to front death face to face, 
 
 On land or sea, there was thy rightful place. 
 
 Erase Virginia, and we are of all 
 
 That makes our pride of history bereft ; 
 
 Upon her sacrificing deeds let fall 
 
 Oblivion's curtain, and a blank is left — 
 
 A blank that lowers each head in honest shame, 
 
 A blank of thought, of action, and of name. 
 
 If negligent of gain, she, wiser, threw 
 Her vision o'er another, higher range; 
 
 And if, distrustful of the untried new. 
 
 Was long to choose, and slow in heart to change ; 
 
 She to the known was ever firm and sure. 
 
 And kept through all her bright escutcheon pure ! 
 
VIRGINIA. 
 
 The memory of her fair and princely days 
 
 Is as a treasure hid, a joy untold ; 
 Her history, fame's concentrated rays, 
 
 A heritage her sons are proud to hold. 
 No present ill its lustre can o'ercast, 
 No malice wrest from us our glorious past. 
 
 The airs that fan her hills and sweep her plains 
 Are haunted with the words and deeds of men. 
 
 That sounding o'er life's never-ceasing strains, 
 
 Shall ring through time, as chimes thro* sacred fane. 
 
 And, like a bright aurora, glory flames 
 
 Around her shining galaxy of names. 
 
 Go, search the annals of our country — nay. 
 Ransack the records of a world, — of time ; 
 
 With even scales each lauded action weigh, 
 And find one name in any age or clime, 
 
 That universal voice declares shall be 
 
 Enrolled with Maury, Washington, and Lee. 
 
 As noble son of noble sire looks o'er. 
 
 With quickening, manly pride, the lengthened line 
 Of those who once his name with honor bore, — 
 
 So on each glory-lighted page where shine 
 
22 VIRGINIA. 
 
 Transcendent deeds, one long, fond glance we cast, 
 And, with unconquered hearts, thank God we have a 
 past I 
 
 VI. 
 
 In darkest hour of terror and alarm, 
 
 When North and South stood face to face in strife. 
 And, saddest of all sights, a brother's arm 
 
 Was lifted up to take a brother's life : 
 When Peace with sighs forsook the Western strand. 
 And every evil passion swept the land ; 
 
 Then she, as one whom thought of death elates. 
 Not rash, but weighing well the cost, arose. 
 
 And calmly stood before her sister States, 
 
 With her own form to shield them from the blows. 
 
 With self-forgetting heart, and dauntless crest, 
 
 She stood, and to the foe laid bare her breast. 
 
 When Fairfax green was stained with crimson gore, 
 As in proud silence her first martyr fell. 
 
 There rang, and echoed back from shore to shore. 
 From hill to hill, a loud and fearful knell — 
 
 A knell to many a strong, invading foe. 
 
 As death cried out for death, and blow for blow. 
 
VIRGINIA. 23 
 
 For with that fall the seated rulers shook ; 
 
 A slumbering land from apathy awoke ; 
 The timid and the wavering courage took, 
 
 And arms were nerved for an avenging stroke, 
 And bands were sworn never in peace to rest, 
 Till blood washed out the blood that stained the Southern 
 
 crest ! 
 
 * 
 
 VII. 
 
 Yet even then lips that were hot and young. 
 
 And all impatient of the wise delay, 
 At her the bitter taunt in mockery flung, 
 
 At her — unwont to linger in dismay ; 
 Aye, dared to scoff and jeer at her, who ne'er 
 From death or danger shrank, or quailed with fear. 
 
 Because with prophet eyes that saw the worst. 
 
 Her generous heart turned from the deadly strife. 
 
 Reluctant that her hand should be the first 
 To take, though in defence, a brother's life ; 
 
 And loving peace, would fain have tried the word 
 
 Of right and reason ere she drew the sword. 
 
 But well could she fling back the cruel scorn 
 When, freely dripping from her every pore. 
 
 Ran drops of agony, that swathed her torn 
 And mutilated form with streams of gore ; 
 
24 VIRGINIA. 
 
 When first in field, and last to leave the strife, 
 She, having risked, lost all but name and life. 
 
 May direst woe attend the recreant heart 
 That from our mother State can turn away ; 
 
 May utter blindness seize the eyes that dart 
 Their cold, hard glances on her, day by day ; 
 
 Eternal silence close the lips that dare 
 
 To tarnish, with a breath, her name, her honor fair 
 
 VIII. 
 
 O MEN, within whose youthful veins the blood 
 Of sainted heroes flows, — strong men, who fill 
 
 The places where the dead once bravely stood, — 
 Arise, and as with conscious power ye thrill, 
 
 Your noble heritage and birthright claim. 
 
 Your very names belong to history and fame ! 
 
 Leave to the North her traffic and her trade. 
 And to the powerful West her ore and grain ; 
 
 Let California have her gold unweighed. 
 
 And Texas all her wealth of coast and plain ; 
 
 But cling and hold with patience that can wait, 
 
 And love that never tires to your old State ! 
 
VIRGINIA. 25 
 
 Guard ye her honor well, keep fair her name, 
 Her customs cherish, and her ris^hts maintain ; 
 
 Give her what she from all may justly claim — 
 The love of heart, the work of hand and brain. 
 
 Sons of the great, the noble, and the true. 
 
 Sons of her dead ! Virginia looks to you. 
 
 Say not she is deserted — that she stands 
 Shackled and manacled. Let her but cry 
 
 Aloud to-day, and thrice ten thousand hands 
 
 Would strike for her, ten thousand hearts would die; 
 
 Preferring, like their fathers, death with her 
 
 To all that life, that wealth could give elsewhere. 
 
 For still the hearts that reverence her dead 
 
 With noble, emulating zeal are filled ; 
 And still young feet in Honor's pathway tread, 
 
 And still in memory ring the words that thrilled 
 The spirit of her martyred son who stood 
 Upon her threshold and poured out his blood. 
 
 " State of my heart, my home, my birth ! Thou who 
 Hast nurtured me with more than parent's care, 
 
 I bring thee all that from a child is due, 
 Indissolubly bound thy fate to share j 
 
 Resolved by thee to stand till life is o'er, 
 
 On thee repose when time shall be no more. 
 
 3 
 
26 VIRGINIA. 
 
 " No conflict canst thou wage, no peril know. 
 But shall my conflict and my peril be ; 
 
 Thou canst not into ruin sink so low 
 But in that ruin I will fall with thee ; 
 
 Mourning not that for thee I cease to live, 
 
 But that one life is all I have to give ! "* 
 
 * As for myself, whether in a representative capacity or as a 
 private citizen, my fortunes are indissolubly connected Math Vir- 
 ginia, the land of my birth, and by whom I have been nurtured 
 with more than a parent's care, and on -whose bosom I shall repose 
 when time with me shall be no more, " She shall know no peril 
 but that it shall be my peril, no conflict but that it shall be my con- 
 flict, and there is no abyss of ruin to which she may sink, so low, 
 but that I shall share her fall." — Address of Captain John Q. Marr 
 to the Voters of Fauquier County, Virginia, January i8th, i86i. 
 
THE STATE DEBT. 2/ 
 
 THE STATE DEBT. 
 
 'N the old-fashioned rules of the old-fashioned times, 
 When a good name was better than dollars and 
 
 dimes, 
 iVs plain as the Decalogue down it was laid 
 A man's word must be kept and his debt must be paid. 
 
 But along with some other queer new-fangled ways 
 That with strangers and aliens have come in these days, 
 Is the creed that a man may be honest and yet 
 Keep hold of his cash while he gives up his debt. 
 
 Just as loosening the stones from foundation will make 
 A strong, stately edifice totter and shake, 
 Remove this broad truth from our code, and one day 
 We shall find that our honor has crumbled away. 
 
 Now a debt like a bog is a bad thing, no doubt, 
 Which if a man's in he should try to get out ; 
 And the truth of it is, whoever may say it. 
 There's nought to be done with a debt but to pay it. 
 
 The State like a flourishing business man is. 
 And she pledges her word as a man pledges his ; 
 
28 THE STATE DEBT. 
 
 Has her mortgages, bonds, notes of promise and gold, 
 And her credit, and standing, and name to uphold. 
 
 As a man unawares may sink deep into debt, 
 
 So a State in her finances tangled may get ; 
 
 She may boxrow and tax, she may spend and consume, 
 
 But as sure as there's debt will a paying day come. 
 
 And they say that Virginia, the Princess of States, 
 The swift judgment and doom of the debtor awaits; 
 That the proud '' Old Dominion " a bankrupt will be, 
 As a ship off her reckoning must founder at sea. 
 
 Oh, shame ! with the wealth that she holds in her breast ; 
 With the children who hope on her bosom to rest ; 
 With her lordly domain, tho' narrowed, still vast, 
 And the splendor of glory that brightens her past. 
 
 She hath boastingly said that the strength of her might 
 Was not laid in defences of stone, but in right ; 
 That truth was her weapon, and honor her shield, 
 And her walls were her sons that might die but not 
 yield. 
 
 It matters not now who or what is to blame : 
 Can we save her from ruin, dishonor, and shame? 
 The danger at hand must be met and be braved. 
 No care can rebuild what a prop might have saved. 
 
THE STATE DEBT. 29 
 
 O Virginia ! Virginia ! our glory and pride, 
 
 When the hope from our hearts and our lives had all 
 
 died, 
 With the strength of the drowning, one last effort make, 
 Don't sell your fair honor, don't full-handed break ! 
 
PRO HONORE. 
 
 PRO HONORE.* 
 
 ^^rOD speed you, Sisters ! God who works 
 ^Pl^ By smallest means and ways ; 
 
 f God speed you even in the thought 
 P% That kindles to a blaze 
 The smouldering, patriotic spark, 
 
 And proves that while survives 
 One earnest and devoted heart 
 
 The grand old spirit lives. 
 
 O woman, who hath longed and pined 
 
 For some great thing to do. 
 Whose veins are hot with hidden fire, 
 
 Behold a work for you ! 
 
 * When repudiation was fii-st mentioned, many ladies of Vir- 
 ginia, animated by the spirit of their fathers, desired to band them- 
 selves together in the hope of devising some plan by which the pub- 
 lic debt should be diminished, and the honor of their State preserved. 
 Meetings were held, and, for a time, much enthusiasm prevailed. 
 That their efforts and hopes were futile in no way detracts from the 
 grandeur of their purpose. It was at the dictation of one of these 
 noble ladies that the lines " Pro Honore '' were written, and they 
 are inserted here in testimony of the patriotic and self-denying 
 spirit of Virginia's Hxing daughters. 
 
PRO HONORE. 31 
 
 To you Virginia in her need 
 
 A last appeal would make ; 
 More than her wealth, more than her life — 
 
 Her honor is at stake ! 
 
 Up, woman, to the task ! and shame 
 
 Hearts that at ease repose ! 
 Beneath the burden Israel sank 
 
 Till Deborah arose. 
 Oft when the strong despair and faint 
 
 The feeble plan and do ; 
 And if Virginia's sons can fail, 
 
 Her daughters will be true. 
 
 When from the four years' strife we rose 
 
 Impoverished and bereft, 
 We lifted to the world our heads, 
 
 For honor still was left. 
 But worse than war is peace when more 
 
 From friend than foe we fear, 
 And thrice bereaved are hearts that name 
 
 Virginia with a tear. 
 
 We've toiled, and starved, and struggled with 
 
 Unflagging will and powers ; 
 And we can toil and starve again 
 
 If honor may be ours. 
 
32 PRO HONORE. 
 
 The hands that reared the marble shaft, 
 And wreathed the soldier's grave, 
 
 Are strong to labor for the land 
 Those heroes died to save. 
 
 And with the fair pure name they left 
 
 No shame from us shall blend ; 
 Unsullied it hath come to us, 
 
 Unsullied shall descend. 
 We meet the lion in the way, 
 
 We take the burden huge, 
 We know no v/ord " repudiate," 
 
 We scorn a subterfuge. 
 
 We'll suffer want and poverty, 
 
 We'll lay our hopes aside; 
 And bury in our heroes' graves 
 
 Whate'er is left of pride. 
 But will not yield in peace what was 
 
 Not asked in war by foe ; 
 We cannot give our honor up, 
 
 We cannot sink so low. 
 
 And if with every effort made, 
 
 And every sinew strained. 
 We fold at last our weary hands 
 
 With object unattained, 
 
PRO HONORE. 33 
 
 The iron pen of truth shall write 
 'Twas not that woman quailed. 
 
 Or listless heard Virginia's call, 
 
 But power — not will — that failed. • 
 
MEMORIAL DAY. 
 
 MEMORIAL DAY. 
 
 5|fT^IS the moan of a people, the sigh of a nation, 
 ^?*^ The wailing of spirit, the bowing of head ; . 
 ,|A|^ The device of affection, the yearly oblation, 
 * The bay and the laurel we bring to our dead. 
 
 'Tis the dirge that the years are forever repeating. 
 The hymn Honor chanteth o'er Valor's red grave ; 
 
 'Tis the martial salute, 'tis the soldierly greeting. 
 That, hostile or friendly, brave yield to the brave. 
 
 It is Vigilance holding and binding the scattered, 
 It is Memory's fixed gaze on the lost and the fled ; 
 
 It is Tenderness draping the torn and the shattered, 
 It is Rizpah defending and watching her dead. 
 
 'Tis the soul of the Past that one moment returning, 
 Breathes loudly the words that are echoing yet ; 
 
 'Tis the finger of caution, the whisper of warning. 
 That bids us beware how we ever forget. 
 
 'Tis the pilgrimage sad of hearts worn and dejected 
 To shrines where the proudest uncover and bend ; 
 
 'Tis the monument lasting that Love hath erected. 
 That woman will cherish, and manhood defend. 
 
MY HOME, 35 
 
 MY HOME. 
 
 SIT within my father's home, 
 On acres that have come to me ; 
 
 My proudest heritage their name, 
 My greatest wealth their memory. 
 
 Like every blessing that when gone 
 We higher prize and clearer see, 
 
 Until I sat, as now, alone, 
 
 I knew not what they were to me. 
 
 The memory of their pure, true lives. 
 Like perfume left by perished flowers, 
 
 A softened touch, a sweetness gives, 
 To all my blissful, long-gone hours. 
 
 For underneath this roof are more 
 Than meet the stranger's careless eye; 
 
 Spirits of those who lived of yore. 
 Invisible to him flit by. 
 
 Shadows on walls, steps on the stairs, 
 Traces of loving act and word ; 
 
 Forms in the old familiar chairs. 
 
 Around the hearthstone and the board. 
 
3 6 MY HOME. 
 
 They come, — but not for common ears ; — 
 They pasSj — to stranger hearts unknown ; — 
 
 Seen by the eyes that look through tears, 
 And heard by memory alone. 
 
 house, in which the passer's eyes 
 No grace or loveliness can see. 
 
 In every nook and corner lies 
 
 Some holy, tender thought for me ! 
 
 Home of my fathers ! home where erst 
 Those lived, whose living showed me how 
 
 To live, — who passed the dark tide first, 
 And still are mine, though angels now ! 
 
 1 cannot cast them quite away 
 
 As vestments one no longer wears ; 
 I cannot yield them to decay, 
 Or separate my life from theirs. 
 
 Which way I turn, — each crested hill, 
 
 Each footworn path, each flower, each tree, 
 
 Each morning bright, each twilight still,. 
 Recalls them as of old to me. 
 
 I breathe the airs that round them moved; 
 
 I tread the very paths they trod ; 
 I look upon the scenes they loved, 
 
 And struggle for their heaven and God. 
 
MY HOME. 37 
 
 I dare not stain the name they bore, 
 Or live a life than theirs less pure ; 
 
 I dare not spurn the cross they wore, 
 Or lean upon a hope less sure. 
 
 What though the living, farther cast 
 
 By griefs rough tide, have from me sped ; 
 
 What though my thoughts are in the past ; 
 What though my friends are with the dead : 
 
 I follow my best loved, and keep 
 
 For them my fairest hope and dream ; 
 
 And leave no heart behind to weep 
 For me as I have wept for them. 
 
 I murmur not that friends depart, 
 
 That brightness from my life hath flown ! 
 
 But keep my memories in my heart. 
 And thank my God for every one ! 
 
38 THE UNEQUAL COMBAT. 
 
 THE UNEQUAL COMBAT. 
 
 WOMAN vs. DUST. 
 A VERITABLE HISTORY OF MRS. PEGGY FLAGGARTY. 
 
 Jjl^y'ING half hid in the cosiest place, 
 W!^^ Like a birdling's Dest, at the mountain's base, 
 A Was the little village Connarty ; 
 
 * And there, as the parish records show, 
 Some eighty or ninety years ago, 
 Lived Mistress Peggy Flaggarty. 
 
 As neat a village as ever will be 
 
 In our great broad land, or over the sea, 
 
 Was this same little, thriving Connarty; 
 And the cleanest street, and the cleanest row, 
 And the cleanest house that matron could show, 
 
 Was that of Peggy Flaggarty. 
 
 For Peggy was neater that bran new pin. 
 Or freshly coined gold, or unused tin. 
 
 Indeed it was hard to persuade 
 One's mind that a being who hated and spurned 
 The dust as she did, to that dust should be turned. 
 
 Or out of it ever was made. 
 
THE UNEQUAL COMBAT. 39 
 
 As an infant Peggy never was known 
 To fret or to fume, to whimper or groan, 
 
 Though one might duck or slosh her ; 
 She took to the water, as fish to the tide, 
 She laughed, and she crowed, and only cried 
 
 When the nurse forgot to wash her. 
 
 At the village school no apron so white. 
 No hair so smooth, and no shoes so bright. 
 
 As Peggy's ever were seen. 
 To be sure, without lesson, the poor little lass, 
 Like a fixture, stood at the foot of her class, 
 
 But her books were always clean I 
 
 She would not marry the banker Lee, 
 Nor the talented Watkins — no — not she ! 
 
 For the one left tracks on the floor. 
 And the other went with his collar awry. 
 And his hair and his coat unbrushed ; he would try 
 
 More patience than fell to her store. 
 
 As one might select for its color a rose 
 The neatest man for a husband she chose 
 
 In the neat little village Connarty ; 
 So proper and spotless — so polished and trim, 
 It feasted one's eyes but to look at him 
 
 As he walked with Peggy Flaggarty. 
 
40 THE UNEQUAL COMBAT. 
 
 If it be that the persons in life who succeed 
 Are those of one passion, one idea, one deed, 
 
 She could never by failure be hurt ; 
 For one single passion in fury possessed 
 Her heart, if she had such a thing in her breast, 
 
 And that was— her hatred of dirt 
 
 Hatred! — hate is a passionless word. 
 
 She loathed, she spurned, she despised, she abhorred, 
 
 And for mortal combat she sought it ; 
 Till with that one passion her being imbued, 
 And with deeper than Satan's hatred of good. 
 
 And the cunning of serpent she fought it. 
 
 Like the savage Indian no quarter she showed. 
 No compromise made, no favor bestowed. 
 
 For comfort, ease, kindred, or station. 
 'Twas a hand-to-hand fight of the bitterest strife, 
 'Twas the starved hyena's thirsting for life, — 
 
 It was war to extermination ! 
 
 She fought it from attic to cellar ; from room 
 To room, with water, and brush, and broom, 
 
 With sand, and soap, and lye. 
 A Joan d'Arc, full armed she stood. 
 And fought it from dwelling, from clothes, and food, 
 
 And cheered as she saw it fly. 
 
THE UNEQUAL COMBAT, 4 1 
 
 It was Straighten and smooth, it was polish and rub, 
 It was sweep and wash, — it was scour and scrub, 
 
 Till never a mite of dust. 
 Prowling like vagrant, far and late, 
 Dared into that dwelling immaculate, 
 
 Its hated presence to thrust. 
 
 Or if as bold as the bravest may be, 
 It ventured with rash temerity, 
 
 Out the hold of a neighboring alley. 
 From the vigilant Peggy with dusting pan, 
 And dusting brush and broom, it ran 
 
 Like snow from the sun in the valley. 
 
 Indeed so dextrous and potent was she, 
 
 So cunning and skilled in the highest degree 
 
 (As averred by her father and mother), 
 That if she but softly entered one door, 
 And before her shadow could darken the floor. 
 
 All the dust flew out of the other. 
 
 Such traits, though clothed in ridiculous guise, 
 We may not lightly esteem, or despise, 
 
 If with moderation blended ; 
 For the outward of what is inward will sing, 
 And cleanliness every one knows is a thing 
 
 By the Bible itself commended. 
 
42 THE UNEQUAL COMBAT. 
 
 But for rubbing, and scrubbing, and brushing to be 
 The highest of all we can do or see 
 
 Is only to blind and to fetter ; 
 And a being endowed with a soul and mind, 
 In a life so short and uncertain might find 
 
 Many aims that are nobler and better. 
 
 A dwelling like Peggy's, all shining and bright, 
 As earth in the springtime, is fair to the sight, 
 
 Is a thing of delight, is a treasure. 
 But dearer and happier far is the home. 
 Less spotless perhaps, yet where evermore come 
 
 And dwell, ease, comfort, and pleasure. 
 
 Her children, forbidden to romp or to run. 
 Fast wilted like plants in a cellar grown ; 
 
 And the neighbors, with whispered breath. 
 Shook their heads at the doctor's " Measles and Cough,'' 
 That he feigned to believe had taken them off, 
 
 And said they were scrubbed to death ! 
 
 So anxious was she that no dusty mite 
 On person or habit should ever alight 
 
 That she hurried them into the dust. 
 For Peggy forgot that children, like pigs. 
 Thrive best in the dirt, and extremity digs 
 
 Many graves where the murdered are thrust. 
 
THE UNEQUAL COMBAT. 43 
 
 Her husband, poor man ! — no peace of his life 
 Could he have for his fussing, scrubbing wife, 
 
 Who bothered him night and day. 
 Forbidden to spit, to smoke, or to chew. 
 As spotless and wan as a shadow he grew. 
 
 Till he vanished from earth away. 
 
 Hs * Jri * * * * 
 
 Years passed, — and Peggy herself grew sick. 
 
 And they thought she was dead — but on either cheek 
 
 And lip there lingered a glow. 
 As if the life she had loved were loath 
 To depart, and leave her to dust, forsooth, 
 
 To the dust, her hated foe. 
 
 One doctor avowed she was dead ; one cried 
 That she wasn't ; and who may be found to decide 
 
 When physicians disagree ? 
 But lo ! — a woman who Peggy had known. 
 To the aching of back, and of muscle, and bone, 
 Declared that it might and could be shown. 
 
 And all the world should see. 
 
 So a daub of mud she brought in her hand. 
 And called on a boy at the door to stand. 
 
 And if Peggy should start to head her ; 
 Then spattering the mud on cap and cheek, 
 And ready to run if the corpse should speak, 
 But finding it gave no motion or shriek. 
 
 Said, '' She's dead, — and couldn't be deader !" 
 
44 THE UNEQUAL COMBAT. 
 
 And dead she was — as certainly dead 
 As if o'er her grave whole ages had sped ; 
 
 Dead — stiff — stark — and dummy. 
 Dead as the fields in their wintry rest ; 
 Dead as the hope in a Southerner's breast ; 
 Dead as the years that return no more ; 
 Dead as a nail in any old door; — 
 
 Dead as Egyptian mummy ! 
 
 Now this notable Dame with a prudence and skill 
 That some men might copy — had written her will ; 
 
 Not that a nickel she cared 
 Whether her house was let or sold, 
 Or her kindred treasured or squandered her gold, 
 
 Or how or by whom it was shared. 
 
 But gathering the strength of an obstinate pride. 
 And hating to think that the moment she died 
 
 Her reign would be over and past : — 
 Hating to think that after all 
 As a prey to her deadly foe she should fall 
 
 And Dust should triumph at last : — 
 
 She willed that her body unburied should be, 
 And unfettered by coffin and band left free 
 
 On the hill, or the moorland green ; 
 And the birds might peck, and the beasts might tear 
 The flesh she had guarded with so much care. 
 
 But the bones at least would be clean / 
 
THE UNEQUAL COMBAT. 45 
 
 And as if commanding an unseen host, 
 She threatened the fury of spirit and ghost, 
 
 If into the earth she were thrust ; 
 And declared in her testament, signed and sealed, 
 To the foe of her life she never would yield. 
 
 Never peaceably lie in the dust. 
 
 But the nearest of kin averred that he, 
 
 To such heathenish will, no party would be ; 
 
 And if no coffin, a box 
 Her flesh and her bones together should hold. 
 And /^<?Vbear the brunt of her ghostly scold, 
 
 And take her spiritual knocks. 
 
 So he fastened her tight with plank and nail. 
 And would have interred her, but for the wail 
 
 And howl of her other relations. 
 For Christianly buried beneath the ground. 
 If she was in the dust, more rest had she found 
 
 Than in grudged and overland stations. 
 
 Bandied and tossed from pillar to post. 
 From cellar to barn, the graveless ghost 
 
 Was a terror to young and old. 
 The timorous gave at noon a wide berth 
 To that horrible thing, a corpse above earth, 
 
 And courage forsook the bold. 
 
46 THE UNEQUAL COMBAT. 
 
 But, at last, one man than the others more brave, 
 Declared he would see, and then put in the grave 
 
 What earth receiveth in trust : 
 When lo ! — of the woman who willed as a queen 
 Nothing was left in the box to be seen, 
 
 But only a heap of — dust ! 
 
THE SILENT SERMON. 4/ 
 
 THE SILENT SERMON. 
 
 ^piHE church bells through the city fair were ringing 
 P^ clear and loud, 
 
 fAnd, like a- swelling, surging stream, pressed on 
 an eager crowd, 
 
 With smiles and gala-dress, and self-congratulating look. 
 To worship as each thought was best, with or without a 
 book. 
 
 Deserted were the places where the daily throng resorts, 
 And churches were fast filling up with people of all sorts. 
 
 Some went because the day was fine, — too fine to stay at 
 
 home. 
 And some to while away an hour, or see who else had 
 
 come. 
 
 Some went to view the living plates of Fashion and of 
 
 Ton, 
 And study others' robes that they might learn to shape 
 
 their own. 
 
 Some went to hear the organ, and the singing of the choir, 
 And some to hear a famous man, who spake in words of 
 fire. 
 
48 THE SILENT SERMON. 
 
 Some went o'er plans and schemes of gain to ponder and 
 
 to nod, 
 And some — but they were very few — went up to worship 
 
 God. 
 
 The sweet-toned hymn was softly sung, the opening 
 
 prayer was said, 
 The very latest worshipper along the aisle had sped ; 
 
 The solemn minister had read his text 'mid silence deep. 
 And some prepared to hear the Word, and some pre- 
 pared to sleep. 
 
 Just then there wandered down the street a stranger in 
 the place. 
 
 Who slowly sauntered in the church, with mild, inquir- 
 ing face. 
 
 And up the aisle he took his way — up to the chancel 
 
 rail. 
 But every pew was closed as tight as if with lock and 
 
 nail. 
 
 And listless ears with sudden check on hearing grew 
 
 intent. 
 And eyes that lately wandered were upon the preacher 
 
 bent. 
 
THE SILENT SERMON. 49 
 
 And the preacher, he was preaching about the Man of 
 
 Love, 
 Who for a world in ruin lost came down from heaven 
 
 above. 
 
 Now the stranger's clothes were very plain and homely, 
 
 but yet neat. 
 Of strong, substantial fabric made, for those who labor 
 
 meet. 
 
 And yet he was a man, with all that manhood can 
 
 endow, 
 And bore the royal stamp and seal of God upon his brow. 
 
 And just as much for him as them the blessed Saviour 
 
 died, 
 As much for him the Spirit came a Comforter and Guide. 
 
 Oh, if the Lord of Churches should some Sabbath day 
 come down, 
 
 And walk, as once He walked the earth, a Prince with- 
 out a crown, 
 
 Methinks He might, as that poor man, unheralded and 
 
 unknown, 
 Pass vainly up and down the house men dare to call His 
 
 own. 
 
 5 
 
50 THE SILENT SERMON. 
 
 All up the aisle the stranger walked — all up the sacred 
 
 fane, 
 And then, with wondering look, he turned and paced 
 
 its length again. 
 
 And not a hand was once outstretched that asking heart 
 
 to win. 
 And not a pew-door opened, not a look said, '' Welcome 
 
 in." 
 
 And the preacher, he kept preaching of God, and Christ, 
 
 and Love, 
 And of the brotherhood of man, and one great home 
 
 above. 
 
 Now the stranger had a patient heart ; — he was not hurt 
 
 or vexed ; 
 He neither looked with soaring scorn, nor did he seem 
 
 perplexed ; 
 
 Nor grew his simple-minded faith, as cloud-veiled planet, 
 
 dim, 
 // was marC s temple^ and not GocT s, that had na seat for 
 
 him. 
 
 His keen and watchful eye had seen not distant from the 
 
 door, 
 A large, smooth block of cedar wood, and that he bravely 
 
 bore 
 
THE SILENT SERMON. 5 I 
 
 Back to the church, and through the door, and half way 
 
 up the aisle, 
 And put it down, and sat thereon, with neither frown nor 
 
 smile. 
 
 A dozen doors flew open then with seats but just denied, 
 ''Walk in, walk in; you're welcome, sir," a dozen 
 voices cried. 
 
 But though the tardy courtesy he did not scorn or mock. 
 The sturdy stranger kept his seat, — his own, free seat of 
 block. 
 
 And when was said the last clear word of blessing and of 
 
 love, 
 He bore his improvised seat the wondering crowd above. 
 
 And, honest in the very least, he left it in its place. 
 Heedless alike of pointing hand, and smiling, scorning 
 face. 
 
 And as he saw the minister slow turning stop to scan 
 With curious, wondering look the block and then the 
 unknown man, 
 
 He softly whispered to himself with steady, unmoved 
 
 phiz, 
 "I've preached a sermon here to-day as good and loud 
 
 as his." 
 
52 BEFORE AND AFTER MARRIAGE. 
 
 BEFORE AND AFTER MARRIAGF 
 
 BEFORE. 
 
 ^BpHE waits and listens. Footsteps fall, 
 ^^ She knows they are not his ; 
 
 f She waits and listens for a sound 
 ^ That sweetest music is. 
 He comes, — and with a sudden thrill 
 
 And heart-beat loud and clear, 
 She does not hear, she does not see, 
 
 ^\\t feels that he is near; 
 And coyly lifting to his face 
 
 Her eyes of heavenly blue, 
 She murmurs in love's softest tones, 
 
 ' ' My darling, is it you ? ' ' 
 
 AFTER. 
 
 Again she listens. Footsteps reach 
 And footsteps pass her door ; 
 
 She listens^ but her needle flies 
 More swiftly than before. 
 
BEFORE AND AFTER MARRIAGE. 53 
 
 She hears at length the tread that time 
 
 And cares are nnaking slow, 
 And with a start that sends her chair 
 
 Hard rocking to and fro, 
 Springs to the landing, and with voice 
 
 More shrill than any lute's, 
 She screams above the baluster, 
 
 "Augustus, wipe your boots ! " 
 
54 THE FEARFUL TEST. 
 
 THE FEARFUL TEST. 
 
 ^KS Eastern Despot, frenzied by his power, 
 ^T^ The mighty Fire-king ruled with scathing hand. 
 ''^ The plaything of a child, the willing slave 
 Of happy, peaceful households, and the* kind 
 Dispenser of home comfort was transformed 
 Into a terror-dealing monster, that 
 Like madman at safe distance, mocked and jeered 
 His former keeper. 
 
 Night after night, the iron-throated bells 
 
 Shrieked out their loud alarums. Swords of flame 
 
 Leaped, like the glittering spears of armed men, 
 
 From dwellings, barns, and churches. Slow-earned gains 
 
 Of long and toiling years changed in an hour 
 
 To heaps of worthless ashes. Homeless men 
 
 And helpless women, with no bed but earth, 
 
 No coverlet but the sky, cursed the fell power 
 
 That wrought such ruin. Nights grew terrible. 
 
 Fond mothers wildly clasped their children close, 
 
 As though in dreams they feared the demon's touch ; 
 
 Or, sleepless, watched throughout the laggard hours, 
 
THE FEARFUL TEST. 55 
 
 Lest stifling smoke, and singeing, scorching flames 
 Should waken them. Men walked the streets with sure 
 And ready arms, searching for those who thus 
 Defiance bade to law and order ; for 
 That direful thing, a deadly foe within 
 The garrison, an enemy at home. 
 Was there, and maledictions deep and loud 
 Sounded on every side. 
 
 One night 
 The cry, grown fearfully familiar, rang. 
 Like shriek of unchained demon, loud and shrill 
 On the still air. Pillars of smoke arose. 
 And jetting flames shot from a well-filled barn. 
 A surging mass of angry, scowling men. 
 And terror-stricken women rushed to view 
 The lurid picture. Long and fiery tongues 
 Licked up, unsatisfied, the hoarded grain, 
 And winds waltzed round and round with the red flames 
 From beam to rafter, and from sill to roof. 
 
 But hark ! 
 A cry rings out above the mocking flames. 
 The crash of falling timbers, and the roar 
 Of fanning winds, — a deeper, fiercer cry. 
 A boy is found half hidden in the grass, — 
 Matches and kindlings in his hand. 
 
$6 THE FEARFUL TEST. 
 
 A mob ! God pity him, guilty or not, 
 Who in that fiery, seething caldron falls. 
 Maelstroms of fury, deluges of rage, 
 Burning volcanoes of revenge, what know 
 They of the gentler, softer feeling, — love, 
 And pity, and forgiveness? 
 
 Pity! 
 More pity hath the tiger for his prey, 
 The v/ind for the strong tree that it uproots, 
 The torrent for the house it bears away, 
 The waves for the fair ship and noble crew 
 That they engulf, than hath a frantic mob 
 For its defenceless victim. For with all 
 His culture, all his lofty flights and sweeps, 
 Man is a savage still. Lay but a hand 
 Upon his substance and his gains, and wild 
 As Western Indian will that nature burst, 
 In long-stayed fury, every bond of law. 
 
 Unlike the trembling fawn by captor dragged, 
 The boy quailed not, nor struggled when strong hands 
 Like iron vice upon his shoulder fell 
 And raised him o'er the mass of human heads. 
 Perchance he did not know that punis"hment 
 Treads on the heels of crime. Perchance he could 
 Not think that hearts and faces he had known 
 So long could be so steeled against him as 
 To see in him a felon and arch fiend. 
 
THE FEARFUL TEST. 5/ 
 
 Perchance he had not learned that reasoning man, 
 Blinded by passion, and enraged by loss, 
 Becomes at once accuser, witness, judge. 
 And hangman — aye, a mighty Jupiter, 
 Whose fiery bolts descending, quick and sure, 
 Crush into atoms. Ignorance of ill 
 Oft gives us strength to bear. 
 
 Shouted a voice, 
 '' Are there no trees, no ropes, that you delay? 
 String the young felon up, and when the hawks 
 Have picked his bones. King Fire will be appeased, 
 And we repose in peace." 
 
 " Throw him into the barn his hand hath fired." 
 
 And yet another, "Let us build a fire 
 Before him, and then roast him till the flesh 
 Drops from his bones." 
 
 " Hold ! " cried a voice mighty as moving harp 
 Of Orpheus, for it had a wondrous power 
 Over that fiendish mass. It was the voice 
 Of him whose barn smoking before him cried, 
 With every shooting blaze, and every groan 
 Of falling timber, "Let the guilty die !" 
 " Hold !" said the Judge, " the blazing barn is mine, 
 So is the prisoner : let me have him then. 
 6 
 
58 THE FEARFUL TEST. 
 
 Be Still, good friends; justice, if slow, will come 
 At last to all. Have I not suffered much? 
 Which one of you hath lost this night as I ? 
 Is not the boy justly and fairly mine?" 
 
 What thought moved the good man to speak such words ? 
 
 Did he go back to his own wayward youth ? 
 
 Loomed, like a warning shade, before his eye 
 
 Some fearful midnight hour, when a kind hand 
 
 Had snatched him from a felon's act, and from 
 
 A felon's doom ? Or did he sadly think 
 
 Of a dear son, wandering he knew not where, 
 
 And seeing in that youthful form his own 
 
 Beloved, wished what he meted to this one 
 
 Might measured be to him? Or mutely came 
 
 The pleading, pallid face of the boy's fond 
 
 And widowed mother, and his own, long hid 
 
 Beneath the sod ? What tongue can tell ? There are 
 
 A thousand paths through which kind Mercy leads, 
 
 A thousand chords Compassion's hand may touch. 
 
 As baffled beast, seeing its prey escape, 
 Moves slowly back eyeing it still, with scowl 
 And low and bitter jest, and muttered tones 
 Of half compliance, and dark, sullen looks 
 Of disappointment, the great mass retired. 
 
THE FEARFUL TEST. 59 
 
 And with a firm, kind clasp the Judge's hand 
 Closed o'er the boy's, and drew him to his room, 
 Wl;iere each in silence sat, till every sound 
 Of angry voice had died, and morning's beams 
 Bade crime and guilt skulk with the night away. 
 
 Roused from her slumber by the flying news 
 
 Of closely prisoned and suspected son, 
 
 The mother hastened to the rich man's door, 
 
 Trembling and anxious, as the frantic bird 
 
 Who sees her young borne from her nest away, 
 
 And follows, fluttering round with screams and cries, 
 
 Hovering o'er those she would but cannot save. 
 
 She entered, none forbidding, and pressed on 
 
 Until she silent stood before the Judge, 
 
 And by her son. She did not seek 
 
 To know if he were guilty. When did Love 
 
 Such question ask ? 
 
 ^'What would you have, good woman?" asked the 
 Judge. 
 
 ** The reason you detain so long my son ?" 
 
 '^ My barn was fired last night ; this boy was found 
 Not distant, and with kindlings in his hand. 
 And but for me the men who seized him would, 
 Like savage beasts, have slain him then and there. 
 I pitied his young face and brought him here. 
 Boy, did you fire my barn ?" 
 
6o THE FEARFUL TEST. 
 
 At this the youth's eye flashed, his dark cheek glowed, 
 But was it brazen and defiant guilt, 
 Or indignation at an unjust charge ? 
 
 '' By what right do you question? Does the law 
 
 Require a man to criminate himself; 
 
 Thou knowest in its sight I'm innocent 
 
 Till guilt is proved," and his young, slender arms 
 
 Were folded proudly o'er his breast, as if 
 
 To guard its secret well. 
 
 "The boy at least is brave," murmured the Judge, 
 " And he deserves a chance ; " then said aloud, 
 '* Well, many a man has swung on smaller proof 
 Than that which stands against you. But see here, 
 I will not hand thee over to the men 
 Who, as thou knowest, would have swung thee up 
 Last night ; — nor to the jailer, who may not 
 Have power to keep thee from them ; but thou shalt 
 Remain with me three nights. If in that time 
 The fires continue I will let thee go ; 
 If not, I'll hand thee to the officer, 
 And law may have its course." 
 
 "So let it be," said the wan mother, and 
 " So let it be," echoed the sturdy son. 
 
THE FEARFUL TEST. 6 1 
 
 Slowly the sorrowing mother homeward bent 
 
 Her heavy steps ; her loved and only boy 
 
 Held like a felon under prison bounds 
 
 For shameful crime. Would the Judge keep his word ? 
 
 And could he save him from the angry men 
 
 Whose dark and threatening looks she dared not meet ? 
 
 Long are the hours to those who wait. 
 
 It seemed as if the night, so dreaded once, 
 
 So longed for now, as bearer of some good, 
 
 Would never come. Oh, how she prayed that from 
 
 Each house untenanted the lurid flames 
 
 Might burst, the skies be lighted, and the earth 
 
 Parched up and shrivelled, that her boy might once 
 
 Again be free. But slow or swift, at just 
 
 Its heaven-appointed hour the darkness came. 
 
 Wrapped in its gloom, the patient mother sat 
 
 With straining eyes and ears. But through the calm 
 
 Still night no troubled sound was heard ; no bell 
 
 Tolled on the silent air; no screaming voice 
 
 Wakened the restless sleeper with the cry 
 
 That once had startled her so fearfully, 
 
 Yet which she now would give her life to hear, 
 
 And morning dawned upon her unclosed eye 
 
 Without a fire, — her boy a prisoner still. 
 
 Hope did not leave her ; two more nights remained. 
 But what if they should pass as silent as 
 
62 THE FEARFUL TEST. 
 
 The first ? Of whom could she take counsel ? Who 
 On earth could help when Heaven heard not her prayers ? 
 *' If fires come not for longings or for prayers," 
 Whispered the tempter, " they may rise for hands 
 That place and kindle, and for breath that fans." 
 
 He shall^ he must be saved. How could she lie 
 
 In her soft bed, he in a felon's cell ? 
 
 How could she breathe in peace the glad, free air. 
 
 He in untimely and dishonored grave ? 
 
 When did Love pause for lack of ways and means ; 
 
 Despair gives energy, and all is risked 
 
 In a last throw. Had not the Judge himself 
 
 Pointed a way? The raging fires again 
 
 Should upward dart their lurid spears. 
 
 Her boy again be free ! 
 
 What will not Love for its own do, and dare ? 
 
 It hath crossed seas, pierced dungeon bars, scaled walls, 
 
 Searched camps, laid down its life, and, harder still, 
 
 Stained lips, hands, soiil, with crime to shield its own. 
 
 In the deep stillness of the second night, 
 With stealthy step, and heart that beat so loud 
 She thought it must betray her to the ear 
 Of watcher, did the mother leave her home. 
 And with her own soft hands she placed the fire 
 Beneath a ruined cottage : — with her own 
 
THE FEARFUL TEST. 63 
 
 Warm breath she fanned the tiny spark into 
 A strong, bright flame : — then homeward hied — bur- 
 dened, 
 Alas ! with a new weight — the consciousness 
 Of secret crime. With trembling limbs that scarce 
 Could bear her, and with wildly beating heart, 
 She reached her home, and from the casement watched 
 Until she saw the gleaming of the flames 
 That winked and blinked at her, as if they knew 
 Why they were there. At times, like playful child, 
 They hid ; then leaped in mad, wild frolic round 
 The ivied walls. 
 
 But the whole village slept. What could she do? 
 
 Should she cry out and waken them. Fear sealed 
 
 Her lips. Suspicion rests on him who first 
 
 A murder knows. 
 
 At last, in the far distance, rose the cry, 
 
 So startling to the midnight sleeper, yet 
 
 To the poor mother it but said, " He's free !" 
 
 *' Free !" cried the flames each time they shot aloft. 
 
 *' Free !" thundered crashing timbers, and " He's free !" 
 
 Shrieked the wild winds rushing to fan to life 
 
 The dying flame. "^ Free !" sang the bright star sparks 
 
 Floating in air, or falling to the earth 
 
 In showers of fire. " Free ! free !" she heard until 
 
 Her head swam round, then drooped on nerveless hands, 
 
 And she could hear no more. 
 
64 THE FEARFUL TEST. 
 
 Then came another long and lingering day 
 Of torture, and another night for deeds. 
 Could she repeat her daring act ? Could she 
 Again leave her safe home, and would the gloom 
 Help and befriend her still ? Could she again 
 Blacken her hands, and stain her soul with guilt ? 
 Would not those angry men follow her steps ? 
 Had she not seen them darkly scowl and cast 
 Hard glances at her dwelling as they passed? 
 Oh, would they have less pity upon her 
 Than on her son ? Was there no other way ? 
 
 " It is but once," the wily Tempter said. 
 " On one more night let the red flames arise. 
 Thine is the heart that hath conceived, and thine 
 The hand that hath performed. Thy son shall owe 
 A second life to thee. Haste, lest thy feet 
 Should falter, and thy heart should faint and fail. 
 Haste, that the work this night may be complete, 
 And thou and he escape." 
 
 Again she yielded, and with crouching form. 
 And noiseless steps, and beating heart sped forth 
 Upon her fearful errand ; and again 
 She chose a house untenanted. She could 
 Not fire a dwelling ; could not let her hand 
 Be stained even for him with human gore. 
 
THE FEARFUL TEST. 65 
 
 Again she stooped : — again the fingers white 
 
 Placed the light wood and tiny spark ; 
 
 Again her warm breath fanned the little, struggling gleam 
 
 Until it rose to flame ; and then she turned 
 
 To fly, as strong defiant men have fled 
 
 From the wild powers they have themselves invoked. 
 
 A hand like iron grasped her arm. As if 
 A bullet pierced her heart, knowing her crime 
 Disclosed, that all was lost, she fell, like Saul 
 At Samuel's ghost, with a loud, bitter cry, 
 Upon the ground. 
 
 As on th' unhallowed hand stretched forth to stay 
 The shaken ark. Heaven's wrathful judgment fell, 
 So on the hearts that v/ildly, blindly dare 
 To press in God's domain, and from His hands 
 Wrest the strong, guiding reins, confusion waits. 
 Too fine the chain that links in one grand whole 
 The parts we call events for man's rude touch : 
 Too dim, too short is human sight to scan 
 What reaches far into infinity. 
 Guilt may force Time, and Nature's laws o'erturn 
 To hide its shame, but Innocence should wait, 
 Sublimely patient, God's deliverance. 
 
 It was the Judge's hand that lifted her. 
 The Judge's eye that looked into the face 
 
66 THE FEARFUL TEST. 
 
 That three short nights had seamed and furrowed o'er. 
 Suffering and grief draw deeper lines than Time. 
 
 " What dost thou, woman ? Hath thy brain gone wihl ? 
 
 Know'st thou at but a single call from me, 
 
 The men from whom I snatched thy only son, 
 
 But yesternight, would fiercely fall on thee ? 
 
 Think not thy woman form would save thee ; they 
 
 Would tear thee into atoms: — manlike crime 
 
 Finds manlike punishment ; and long-borne loss 
 
 Hath lashed them into tiger rage 
 
 No single arm can rescue. Thou hast done 
 
 This dark and fearful deed to shield thy son. 
 
 And for it thou mayst go. For it may be 
 
 That I have tried thee too severely, yet 
 
 God knows I meant it not. I would have saved 
 
 You both. Thou and thy son must be far hence 
 
 Before the morning dawn. Great is the love 
 
 Of woman. Thou hast saved thy son, but lost 
 
 Thyself. May he repay in full the love 
 
 That would have kept the brightness of his name 
 
 By tarnishing its own. Fly with the boy 
 
 Whom thou hast saved, perchance, for deeper crime." 
 
 As parent bird long watching 'round the thorns 
 Where prisoned sits her young, beats wild against 
 The cruel spears, seeing them yield at last. 
 Bears on triumphant wing her rescued one, — 
 So on the morn, mother and son had flown. 
 
THE YEARS. 6/ 
 
 THE YEARS. 
 
 Ijpm^LANS fail or prosper, empires rise or fall, 
 ^riShri) And men, like chasing shadows, come and go ; 
 i Hopes bloom or wither, change creeps over all, 
 *^^ And still, with noiseless and unbroken flow, 
 The constant years move on, as tireless feet 
 Of faithful sentinels keep ceaseless beat. 
 
 Move on, commissioned, o'er their varying way, 
 
 Now wreathed with joy, now draped with grief and 
 pain ; 
 
 Now like the dawning of unclouded day. 
 Now like the dripping of December rain ; 
 
 Now with a soothing, now a grinding touch. 
 
 The years that bring, that take away so much. 
 
 They stay not for the pleading hands we raise. 
 They hurry not for our impatient moan ; 
 
 Not swift, not slow, they fill their measured days. 
 Toiling till their ajjpointed work is done ; 
 
 Then in close ranks, perfect and full, they stand. 
 
 Like ripened sheaves that wait the reaper's hand. 
 
6S THE YEARS. 
 
 As some fair ship sails from a princely port, 
 Proud of the costly freight she nobly bears, 
 
 Dips in the eddying waves with gleeful sport, 
 
 But comes not back for longing hearts or prayers, 
 
 So do the years, full freighted, leave our shore. 
 
 Sink in the distance, and return no more. 
 
 As thought on thought grows into volumes wise, 
 Or stone by stone the mighty dome appears; 
 
 As sand by sand the boundless desert lies. 
 The ocean drop by drop, — so years on years. 
 
 Like layers, rising lofty and sublime, 
 
 Form, at the last, grand pyramids of time. 
 
 They are the links of an unending chain 
 
 Whose circling coils reach to the world on high ; 
 
 Bearers of cups unwilling lips must drain. 
 
 Graves, — sunken graves of hopes that could but die. 
 
 Waves of a deep, illimitable sea. 
 
 Beats of the great clock of eternity. 
 
 They have no other than an onward sweep. 
 The years forever coming, going, gone ; 
 
 As planets to their centres steadfast keep. 
 
 Back to the power that sent they faithful run. 
 
 With them, unwittingly, we hurry on. 
 
 Like autumn leaves by mountain torrent borne. 
 
THE YEARS. 69 
 
 Roll on, O Years, in strong, resistless course ; 
 
 On hearts and lives deep, searing traces make ; 
 Keep of each earthly hope the still, cold corse, 
 
 We hold what ye can never spoil nor take. 
 Sweep on in tears, in bitterness, and blood, 
 Ye can but bear us nearer home and God. 
 
70 TWILIGHT THOUGHTS. 
 
 TWILIGHT THOUGHTS. 
 
 .^_JN my chamber, still and lonely, 
 As the hours glide on I sit ; 
 And my friends and comrades only 
 Are the thoughts that come and flit. 
 
 Change within and change without me, 
 
 Till I ask, Am I the same? 
 I, that had but joy about me, 
 
 And knew sorrow but by name ? 
 
 Are these worn, tear-furrowed features, 
 These trembling fingers mine? 
 
 Can these cold, false-hearted creatures 
 Be my friends of '^auld lang syne?" 
 
 Has this life no glad to-morrow 
 
 Dawning on its weary night ? 
 Or have these eyes by sorrow 
 
 Grown too dim to see the light ? 
 
 I had joys — but they were banished ; — 
 I had hopes — but they are fled ; 
 
 I had dreams — but they have vanished ; — 
 I had friends — but they are dead. 
 
TWILIGHT THOUGHTS. 7 I 
 
 Memory with soft hues hath clad them. 
 
 And she looketh but to weep ; 
 Yet 'tis something to have had them, 
 
 Though I could not hold or keep. 
 
 As the land that hath a story 
 
 Of the men and days that were, 
 Hath a grandeur and a glory, 
 
 That maketh it more fair : 
 
 So the life that's full of tender 
 
 Holy memories of the past, 
 Hath a lustre and a splendor 
 
 That the present can outlast. 
 
 Better light behind than ever 
 
 Brightness on our path should fall ; 
 
 Better have and lose forever 
 Than never have at all. 
 
72 HEART WISHES. 
 
 HEART WISHES. 
 
 ||i||HAT the path of the right to thee ever be clear, 
 ^^'^ That thy feet falter not, nor thy heart sink with 
 fear ; 
 That thy duty and pleasure together may lie, 
 And the end and the aims of thy struggles be high. 
 
 That thy God may be with thee to comfort and bless 
 In thy moments of anguish, of doubt, and distress ; 
 That the thought of His guidance all murmurs may still, 
 And His Presence each void of thy lone spirit fill. 
 
 That the tasks of thy life, though homely they be, 
 
 May grow dear for the Love that hath sent them to 
 
 thee ; 
 That the evil and pain be not thanklessly spurned. 
 But by prayer and by faith into blessings be turned. 
 
 As the depths of the ocean in stillness are kept. 
 Though its surface by tempests and storms may be swept, 
 So under life's seething and turbulent tide, 
 May contentment and peace in thy bosom abide. 
 
HEART WISHES. 73 
 
 As oft when the day hath been gloomy and dun 
 A glory appears with the setting of sun, 
 Even so, though thy life has been clouded and drear, 
 May its closing be peaceful, and happy, and clear. 
 
 And thy crown with its jewels and stars glitter bright 
 For the souls thou hast turned from the darkness to 
 
 light ; 
 And of all that below make the world of thy love 
 May not one e'er be missed from the circle above. 
 
74 OUR TREASURE. 
 
 OUR TREASURE. 
 
 |ip|^AY after day we saw her face 
 ^i§P Fairer and sweeter grow ; 
 iL As eastern sky at morn is rich 
 * With full, resplendent glow : 
 But never thought it was the light 
 Of Heaven that made her face so bright. 
 
 We knew she needed less and less 
 The care that we could give ; 
 
 That fewer, simpler, were the wants 
 Affection might relieve: 
 
 Yet could not see that from our hands 
 
 The care had passed to angel bands. 
 
 As once two men with holden eyes 
 And hearts that mourned their lot, 
 
 Beside their lately risen Lord 
 
 Walked close and knew Him not,— - 
 
 We never knew our angel bright 
 
 Until she vanished from our sight. 
 
OUR TREASURE. 75 
 
 The Treasure is not lost and gone 
 
 That is exalted thus ; 
 The kindly Hand that gave and took 
 
 Is keeping it for us. 
 More dear and precious that it hath 
 The hallowing touch and seal of death. 
 
76 GROWING OLD. 
 
 GROWING OLD. 
 
 KNOW that I am growing old, — 
 I know it — not by the silvery thread 
 
 Creeping along my jetty hair ; 
 Not by the slower, heavier tread, 
 
 Not by the deepened lines of care. 
 
 I know it — not by the duller ear. 
 Not by the meagre, paler cheek ; 
 
 Not by the sadder, dimmer eyes. 
 
 Nor by the voice grown low and weak. 
 
 Nor faded lips, nor heavier sighs. 
 
 I know it by the cold distrust 
 
 That eats away my strong beliefs ; 
 
 I know it by the shorter years, 
 
 The fainter hopes, the deeper griefs, 
 
 And fewer, wilder, bitterer tears. 
 
 I know it by the glance that dwells 
 So tenderly on " Long Ago ;" 
 
 And by the heart that shuddering greets 
 The life that dripples cold and slow. 
 
 As wintry rain on casement beats. 
 
GROWING OLD. // 
 
 I know it by the fewer forms 
 
 That gather round my board and hearth ; 
 And by the more I number o'er 
 
 Of those long passed away from earth, 
 Who wait me on a happier shore. 
 
 O God, my lamp of life put out 
 
 Ere all its sweetness spent and gone. 
 
 It flickers but to show the gloom 
 
 That drapes my dwelling dark and lone, 
 
 My life a wreck, my heart a tomb. 
 
78 ECHO ON LIFE. 
 
 ECHO ON LIFE. 
 
 ^»AY, if life hath grown so weary, 
 PS Hopeless, bitter, that to mend it, 
 1 Not one power of mind remaineth, 
 ■^ Is it. Echo, wrong to end it ? 
 Echo. — Wrong to end it ! 
 
 If some ill I could not parry, — 
 
 (Keener that no heart can share it — ) 
 
 Presses on me sore and heavy. 
 Must I simply try to bear it ? 
 Echo. — Try to bear it ! 
 
 Is it true the spirit willing 
 Finds a ready, sure rewarder? 
 
 That submission smooths life's pathway, 
 And resistance makes it harder? 
 Echo. — Makes it harder ! 
 
 If some duty stern and homely 
 
 Fronts me, makes me daily view it; 
 
 And my spirit loathes and hates it, 
 Must I, Echo, up and do it ? 
 Echo. — Up and do it ! 
 
ECHO ON LIFE. 79 
 
 Will that duty now so irksome, 
 Shading, like a cloud, the present, 
 
 Dulling, dimming, grinding, wearing. 
 By performance grow more pleasant ? 
 Echo. — Grow more pleasant ! 
 
 Should I cease o'er life to ponder, 
 
 Cease to alter or arrange it ? 
 Only present duty doing 
 
 Patiently until God change it? 
 Echo. — Till God change it ! 
 
8o 
 
 LONGINGS. 
 
 LONGINGS. 
 
 i^MW^l'L'L any being treasure up 
 
 ^"™'^^ A single line that I have sung? 
 
 Will words that I have breathed dwell oft 
 And lingeringly on lip and tongue ? 
 Will book of mine be studied much, 
 And soiled with frequent finger touch? 
 
 Will any heart be comforted 
 
 To know that I have mourned and wept ? 
 Will others' drooping faith look up, 
 
 Learning how I through weakness kept, 
 By clinging hold on promise bright, 
 A feeble trust in God and Right ? 
 
 Will craven fears, and cowering doubts. 
 Like midnight phantoms disappear? 
 
 Will daily burdens lighter grow. 
 
 And duty's path become more clear, 
 
 And hope with new, fresh lustre shine, 
 
 At simple truth in verse of mine ? 
 
LONGINGS. 8 1 
 
 Shall I from quiet loneliness 
 
 In distant households dare to claim 
 An honored place? — Will strangers learn 
 
 To breathe in tenderness my name ? 
 And shall I speak to them when Death 
 Hath stilled my heart, and stopped my breath ? 
 
 Then blessed be the suffering keen 
 
 That taught my soul, through grief and pain, 
 
 As bird in darkened room, to sing. 
 Then have I labored not in vain 
 
 In toils too glorious and high 
 
 For praise to win, or gold to buy. 
 
82 OPTIMUS. 
 
 OPTIMUS. 
 
 ^^^pE ask for some great blessing — some 
 SSilS Great good, that in a shower shall come 
 * And fill the empty heart and home ; 
 And all the while we fail to greet 
 The blossoms full of fragrance sweet 
 We daily crush beneath our feet. 
 
 We seek some lofty station, where 
 The panting soul can scarcely bear 
 The breathing of the thin, light air ; 
 Forgetting in our lack of faith 
 The blessing that the humblest hath, 
 The safety of the lowly path. 
 
 We sigh for some vast work to do, 
 
 Some grand achievement, straiige and new, 
 
 A world may wonderingly view ; 
 
 And we who would the highest scale, 
 
 Would with the mightiest prevail. 
 
 In some home duty hourly fail. 
 
 The skies dark mysteries enfold 
 To mortal eyes and ears untold, 
 In secrecy that charms the bold ; 
 
OPTIMUS. 
 
 But he who looks with reverence meet, 
 May find, if he will stoop to greet. 
 As wondrous marvels at his feet. 
 
 O weary heart, and weary eye. 
 With seeking long, and looking high, 
 Thy best doth ever closest lie ; 
 Who hath his race with patience run. 
 Hath nearest, plainest duty done, 
 The best and noblest prize hath won. 
 
 83 
 
84 GREATNESS. 
 
 GREATNESS. 
 
 ^E may be great who proudly rears 
 m^ For coming years strong pyramids; 
 T^ ^ But greater he who hourly builds 
 ''••'' A character by noble deeds. 
 
 He may be wise whose mind is filled 
 With all the wisdom time has given ; 
 
 Who sees and does his duty well, 
 Is wiser in the sight of Heaven. 
 
 It may be grand to deck the walls 
 
 With pictures from creation wrought ; 
 
 Greater it is to line the soul 
 
 With tints and gems of noble thought. 
 
 It may be generous to give 
 
 Our gold and lands to feed the poor ; 
 Who daily offers to his God 
 
 Time, will, and heart, hath given more. 
 
 He may be great who can indite 
 Songs that shall every bosom thrill ; 
 
 He who knows how to make his life 
 A poem grand is greater still. 
 
GREATNESS. 85 
 
 It may be glorious to die 
 
 For truth on scaffold or by stake ; 
 
 More glorious it is to live 
 
 A martyr's life for Jesus' sake. 
 
86 THE SKY. 
 
 THE SKY. 
 
 j^jF all ^^^ mighty volumes filled with rare, 
 
 Deep, guiding knowledge, and to us outspread 
 None is so rich, so varied, or so fair. 
 As that above — unheeded and unread. 
 Of all the marvels that about us lie. 
 No wonder is so wondrous as the sky. 
 
 It is a field where Wisdom hourly gleans 
 
 Full many a precious truth for thoughtful heart, 
 
 A panoramic curtain bright with scenes 
 Of nature's own inimitable art. 
 
 Earth's frescoed dome of ever- varying hue, 
 
 Old as creation, and as morning new. 
 
 Forever o'er us, like God's pitying love. 
 
 So near and yet so far, as our mourned dead ; 
 
 Spotless and fair, as must be all above. 
 Soothing, as gentle hand on sufferer laid ; 
 
 O'erreaching all the world in wide embrace. 
 
 As doth the Father's full, unbounded grace. 
 
 Man portions out the earth — he lays his lines 
 And bounds upon it, — calls it his. As slave 
 
 It silents works fulfilling his designs, 
 
 Giving the more, the more he learns to crave. 
 
THE SKY. ^y 
 
 With despot power he rules it — but the sky — 
 God's glorious gift of beauty to each eye 
 
 That sees, each soul that feels, — the sky is free 
 To all. The lord of acres hath no more 
 
 Inheritance in that grand dome than he 
 Whom mortals shun as poorest of the poor. 
 
 Upon that broad domain — that arch of blue 
 
 He lays no hand — his crimes foul not its hue. 
 
 We need but for a moment lift our eyes — 
 So fixed and bent upon our dwelling-place, — 
 
 And lo ! — upon the canvas of the skies 
 Pictures no artist hand hath skill to trace, 
 
 No spirit can from fancy's realms entice, 
 
 Come without bidding, without toil, or price. 
 
 The clouds and mists that on our sphere have birth, 
 And hide the blue, as doth a veil the face ; 
 
 The storms that wreck and devastate the earth, 
 Leave on the fairer sky no sign or trace. 
 
 Above the raging storms its smiles unriven, 
 
 Serene as souls whose gaze is fixed on heaven. 
 
 The night that earth in sombre darkness clouds, 
 As in the short, sweet death of sleep it lies. 
 
 And all its living, radiant beauty shrouds. 
 Reveals the grander glory of the skies. 
 
88 THE SKY. 
 
 So poverty hath drawn out gifts divine, 
 
 And fortune's frowns made friendship brighter shine. 
 
 The earth is eloquent of man : — his thought, 
 
 His work, his plan, his schemes, his sin, his strife ; 
 
 And, like a monumental stone, is wrought 
 With deep-cut records of his transient life. 
 
 But to the sky the higher task is given, 
 
 To tell of God, and purity, and heaven. 
 
OCTOBER. 
 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 pITH flaming skies of burnished gold, 
 W^Md The shortened days glide calm and sober ; 
 yf^* * And slowly, one by one, unfold 
 «^ The glories of our own October. 
 
 Through ambient airs, now haze, now clear, 
 Like childhood's dreamings, soft and tender, 
 
 The scattered brightness of a year 
 
 Concentrates in one month of splendor. 
 
 A low, sweet hush, a short surcease. 
 
 Seems gentle benediction giving 
 In stillness, like the after-peace 
 
 That crowns the eve of holy living. 
 
 The year grows beautiful with age, 
 
 As faces of the good, revealing, 
 Day after day^ some inner page 
 
 Of nobler thought and purer feeling. 
 
 As soldiers on their last parade, 
 
 The trees their colors flaunt in lightness ; 
 And every wood-crowned hill is made 
 
 Resplendent in autumnal brightness. 
 
90 OCTOBER. 
 
 Like lover loathing to depart, 
 
 The summer back to earth returning, 
 
 Leaves as a pledge of constant heart, 
 His noonday kisses long and burning. 
 
 Spring, like the bud of opening rose, 
 Holds half its sweetness in secretion ; 
 
 But autumn in its splendor shows 
 The higher glory of completion. 
 
 So may our springs with promise glow, 
 Our summers be so wisely meted, 
 
 Our autumn, like the year's, shall show 
 Life's labor perfect and completed. 
 
SCRIBO. 91 
 
 SCRIBO. 
 
 1^ WRITE, — not with the proud desire 
 Of winning gold and name ; 
 I covet not the cares of wealth, 
 The blazonry of fame : 
 I would not change my lot for all 
 The glory man could claim. 
 
 I write, — not that to me is given 
 
 The unrevealed to know ; 
 Or coming issues to declare, 
 
 Or secret things to show; 
 Or climb some height, or pierce some deplh 
 
 Where others dare not go. 
 
 I write, — but not to bring my griefs 
 
 And sufferings to the light ; 
 I'd rather sink them in the gloom 
 
 Of silence and of night ; 
 As men will cover up their wounds, 
 
 Not thrust them into sight. 
 
92 SCRIBO. 
 
 I write, — not as my daily task. 
 Not as my bread and meat ; 
 
 But now and then, as one might seek 
 Refreshment and retreat ; 
 
 And it is like a joy that's rare. 
 Or stolen morsels sweet. 
 
 I write as patient miners have 
 In earth's dark bosom wrought ; 
 
 I write to see what treasures lie 
 Unknown, because unsought ; 
 
 And how, as flash succeeds to flash, 
 Thought follows swift on thought. 
 
 I write as prisoned bird against 
 The wires will chafe and beat ; 
 
 Write as the starving speak and dream 
 Of food they long to eat ; 
 
 Write with life-waste, as letting blood 
 Will cool a fever-heat. 
 
 I write to rest one moment from 
 My weary weight of care ; 
 
 I write to gain new faith and hope. 
 New strength to do and bear ; 
 
 To cheer me with some heavenly truth. 
 To keep at bay despair. 
 
SCRIBO. 
 
 And what if all thus written lies 
 
 Unheeded and unknown ? 
 As sings the forest-bird though near 
 
 May be no listening one ; 
 Or blooms the flower none stoop to pluck, 
 
 My songs shall still go on. 
 
 93 
 
94 THE STREET BOY. 
 
 THE STREET BOY. 
 
 ^/^^^ON'T look, dear lady ; 'tis only a boy: — 
 
 A ragged boy of the street : 
 i He was crushed just now by the iron wheel, 
 ^ As he slipped on the snow and sleet. 
 
 *' He's too mangled for eyes like yours to see ; — 
 
 We'll bear him away to this shed ; 
 He'll not mind the floor, for the pavement has been 
 
 Many times both his pillow and bed." 
 
 And the great rough hands, with a tender touch, 
 
 Passed under the writhing form, 
 And the mass of quivering flesh was raised, 
 
 By a steady, yet gentle arm. 
 
 But she followed him close, — the lady fair, 
 
 Fast followed the sturdy tread. 
 And her silken shawl made a pillow soft 
 
 For the crushed and drooping head. 
 
 Like the clotted plumage of slaughtered bird, 
 
 His hair on his forehead lay ; 
 And the tears of pain on his ghastly cheek 
 
 Were clinging like frozen spray. 
 
THE, STREET BOY. 95 
 
 As the ebb and flow of the ocean tide 
 Came and went the thick, slow breath ; 
 
 And the fluttering heart and pulse kept time 
 To the stealthy tread of death. 
 
 Not the soothing stroke of the lady's hand, 
 
 Nor her accents of pity and love ; 
 Nor her promise of couch, and food, and fire, 
 
 One chord of his spirit could move. 
 
 But when with a voice as sweet as the note 
 
 Of the wind-swept harp she told. 
 With the thrill of its simple, touching power. 
 
 That wonderful story of old, 
 
 His thirsting spirit drank in the words. 
 
 As a withering flower the rain ; 
 And thought, like an uncaged bird, soared high^ 
 
 High over the anguish and pain. 
 
 And the truth of God that is quick and sharp, 
 
 Fast scattered the mists of years ; 
 As after a starless night the gleam 
 
 Of a radiant morning appears. 
 
 *' Did you say that He died, — and died for me ? 
 
 O lady, tell it over and o'er ; 
 It is all so new, and so very strange 
 
 That I never heard of it before. 
 
96 THE STREET BOY. 
 
 '' You say He is here, — then I'll ask him right now 
 
 To wash with His blood every sin ; 
 That when I shall stand at the beautiful gate, 
 
 His angel may bid me come in. 
 
 " Lord Jesus, forgive me and take me to Thee, 
 
 That I wander and sin nevermore ; 
 I am late in the asking because, dear Lord, 
 
 I never heard of Thee before." 
 
 Then followed a silence more fearful and deep 
 
 Than the stillness of midnight air ; 
 And his spirit fled in the mighty strength 
 
 Of that first, last, only prayer. 
 
 For the silence that wrapped that holy place 
 Was more than the presence of death ; 
 
 'Twas the union of soul and God, — 'twas the hush 
 Of the Saviour's pardoning breath. 
 
 And the angel, who, waiting, stands within. 
 Opened wide Heaven's shining door 
 
 To the boy, who, like the penitent thief, 
 Never heard of a Saviour before. 
 
THE BEREAVED HEART. ' 97 
 
 1 
 
 A 
 
 THE BEREAVED HEART. 
 
 iHE even lines had fallen unto me 
 
 In pleasant places j blessings rich and rare, 
 Such as few craving hearts had dared to ask, 
 Fell to my share. 
 
 I had a home, — the Eden of my world, — 
 
 The sweetest, fairest, happiest spot on earth. 
 Love dwelt within it ; — quiet Peace and Joy 
 Sat on its hearth. 
 
 I was not thankless ; — from my heart of hearts 
 Each morn and eve arose the song of praise ; 
 The note of gratitude to Him whose hand 
 So blessed my daySi 
 
 Death had not spared us : — there were vacant chairs 
 
 And silent voices, and deep gaps that told 
 How the bright circle had been broken, but 
 The clasping fold 
 
 Would join again ; and the dark, fearful chasms 
 
 In time would partly close. Love still was there ; 
 Life, though in shadows, was yet sweet and dear, 
 And earth still fair. 
 9 
 
5 THE BEREAVED HEART. 
 
 One night — a night that might have shown among 
 
 All other nights for its deep joy — there came 
 A dark-winged Messenger across my door, 
 And called a name. 
 
 And all the light that made my home so blest 
 
 Went out, as he, its joy, and pride, and head, 
 The stern, cold voice obeying, passed away 
 To join the dead. 
 
 And then I prayed to die : — I, who had clung 
 
 To life so wildly — fiercely — eagerly. 
 But Death, who would not stay his hand for him^ 
 Came not for Me. 
 
 One midnight hour when, like a pictured scene. 
 
 Life swept before my burning, sleepless eye, 
 My unsubmitting heart sent up to God 
 This bitter cry: — 
 
 *' Why am I smitten ? Is there some dark sin 
 
 Upon my soul, forever in Thy view? 
 Have I withheld Thine own ? Or failed to give 
 Thee honor due? " 
 
 And a voice low, yet sweet as music, said : 
 
 " Thou hast not sinned ; nor have I sternly come 
 In wrath and judgment ) but I loved him well. 
 And called him home." 
 
THE BEREAVED HEART. 99 
 
 " And I; — hast Thou for me no thought, no love ? 
 
 Canst Thou, unmoved, my darkened pathway see ? " 
 He said, '* I need awhile thy hand on earth, 
 Live thou for Me. 
 
 ^' Live thou, and show to doubting, scoffing man, 
 
 How I, thy Saviour, can sustain thee well. 
 Live on, — thou hast eternity in which 
 With Me to dwell." 
 
 '^ These little tasks, — what count they in Thy worlds? 
 
 Must I for these stay from the mansions blest ? 
 So many pray to live. Oh, let me join 
 My loved and rest." 
 
 And sternly then the voice replied : '^ They are 
 
 Not fit for heaven, though weary, worn, and tossed, 
 Who ask for death not to be with Me, but 
 Regain their lost." 
 
 Ah, then I felt the love that took away. 
 
 And that which would not give, — love vast and great, 
 And humbly, silently came back to life 
 Content to wait. 
 
100 FINEM RESPICE. 
 
 FINEM RESPICE. 
 
 ';f)S it SO low^ — the place that God 
 
 In tenderest love hath marked for thee? 
 Is it so far from fame's high road, 
 From all thy heart would have it be ? 
 Think what the Lord of Heaven for thee became. 
 And let thy tears forbear for very shame. 
 
 Is it so long, — the path that lies 
 Between thy starting and thy rest ? 
 
 Seek'st thou beneath noon's burning skies 
 The cool, soft shades of evening blest? 
 
 Labor and love make smooth the roughest lot, 
 
 And time is short to him who counts it not. 
 
 Are they so hard, — the tasks that throng, 
 
 Unbidden, daily to thy hand ? 
 Ransomed by blood, wouldst thou among 
 
 The useless, cumbrous idlers stand ? 
 The lord that honoreth most the oftenest asks 
 From tried and faithful servant arduous tasks. 
 
FINEM RESPICE. 10] 
 
 Is it so great,— -the heavy care 
 
 That clogs thy spirit's upward flight, 
 
 And makes of joy a fitful glare, 
 Of life a long and troubled night ? 
 
 Earth's darkness doth heaven's starry splendor show. 
 
 And sweetest comforts between crosses grow. 
 
 Art thou so lonely ?— Beats no heart 
 
 Fondly responsive to thy own ? 
 Dwells the whole world from thee apart ? 
 
 Who walks with God lives not alone. 
 What if no human hand to thee extend, — 
 He who hath Jesus needs no other friend. 
 
 What though thy path be low and long, 
 
 Thy troubles vast, thy labor hard ; 
 What though thou yield below to wrong, 
 
 Will death not bring thee just reward ?— 
 The longer, harder toil the sweeter rest. 
 And paths that end with God are always blest. 
 
I02 THE MOURNERS COMFORTERS. 
 
 THE MOURNER'S COMFORTERS. 
 
 ^ifV^ LILY that mourned for her sister went 
 
 To her pitying friends with sore lament, 
 
 Weeping for one who fell at her side, 
 Stately and fair in her beauty and pride. 
 
 ^'Tell me, sweet Rose, on thy scented track, 
 Canst thou search and bring me my sister back?" 
 
 Said the Rose : '' I've no power to find or to save ; 
 Nought can I do but bloom on her grave." 
 
 " Tree, thou canst look o'er the valley and plain, 
 Say, canst thou bring me my sister again ?" 
 
 But the Leaves with a quiver this low answer made : 
 *' The spot where she rests we only can shade." 
 
 *' Sun, thou hast compassed the earth around, 
 
 Know' St thou the place where my loved may be found ?" 
 
 But the Sun in his glittering splendor said : 
 '* i shine for the living, and not for the dead." 
 
THE MOURNERS COMFORTERS. IO3 
 
 ^'Wind, none can tell whence thou comest or goest ; 
 Is there no path of return that thou knowest?" 
 
 ''Nay," moaned the Wind, ''but softly I sigh 
 
 As 1 sweep o'er the place where the loved ones lie." 
 
 " Time, who so much from our treasures hast borne, 
 Canst thou never the lost to our bosoms return?" 
 
 And Time, with a smile as onward he passed. 
 Said : " Wait, and I'll bear thee to her at last." 
 
104 FOLLOW ME. 
 
 FOLLOW ME. 
 
 Take up thy Cross and Follow Me." 
 
 |AKE up thy cross and follow Me, 
 If thou wouldst my disciple be ; 
 With willing heart behold the road 
 Thy Master and thy Saviour trod ; 
 Nor ever hope a crov/n to wear, 
 If first a cross thou canst not bear. 
 
 Take up thy cross and follow Me ; — 
 A path so low befitteth thee ; 
 So long, so weary, and so rough, 
 'Twill wear thy righteous tatters off; 
 So great, so glorious, and so high, 
 'Twill reach the portals of the sky. 
 
 Take up thy cross and follow Me. 
 Who closest walks doth clearest see 
 The leading footsteps, worn and sore, 
 That pressed thy darkest path before : 
 The marred and stricken form beside, 
 The hands that hold as well as guide. 
 
FOLLOW ME. 
 
 Take up thy cross and follow Me; 
 As Master must the servant be : 
 When earth despised its sovereign King, 
 What will it to His subject bring ? 
 Thy life shall witness to this word, — 
 Thou followest a suffering Lord. 
 
 Take up thy cross and follow Me, 
 If sharer of My throne thou'lt be. 
 Thou wast not promised ease, but strife ; 
 Who wears, must win the crown of life. 
 The cross beneath, the crown above, 
 And over all eternal love. 
 
 105 
 
I06 FOLLOW THEE. 
 
 FOLLOW THEE. 
 
 Lord, I will follow Thee whithersoever Thou goest.— Luke 9:57. 
 
 |ORD, I will follow Thee ; there is 
 No other path for me, 
 From shade of death to light of life, 
 Save that once trod by Thee. 
 The wise men of the earth may strive 
 
 Some other way to see, 
 Some other plan contrive, — I am 
 Content to follow Thee. 
 
 Show but the path, speak but the word, 
 
 Let me Thy footsteps see, 
 And I will press through spirit foes, 
 
 And scoffing worlds to Thee. 
 Through pain and loss, through life and death. 
 
 Through blood, and fire, and sea ; 
 Through lifted cross, and bursting tomb, 
 
 I joy to follow Thee. 
 
 Follow Thee, Lord ! where grief, and sin. 
 
 And death, and strife shall cease? 
 Follow Thee, Lord ! — to life, and bliss. 
 
 And home, and heaven, and peace? 
 
FOLLOW THEE. _ 10/ 
 
 Follow thee, Lord ! — It ever shall 
 
 My highest glory be, 
 The crown of every hope and joy, 
 
 That I may follow Thee! 
 
I08 AT REST. 
 
 AT REST. 
 
 IHOT with benumbing brain, 
 
 In fitful sleep where pallid watchers fear 
 The sudden waking that must bring to her 
 Some new, fresh pain : — 
 
 Not in the still, cold earth, 
 Foul with decay, and with corruption rife, 
 Shut from the light and warmth of love and life, 
 
 And joy and mirth : — 
 
 But in that house and home 
 Where God's own smile makes all the Heaven within. 
 And through whose shining portals death and sin 
 
 May never come. 
 
 With all the blood-saved throng — 
 With all the loved who safely passed before. 
 And sing upon that other, happier shore, 
 
 The new, glad song. 
 
 Forevermore at rest, 
 In the sweet hush and calm of earth-release, 
 In the great stillness of eternal peace. 
 
 On Jesus' breast. 
 
THE MASTERS CALL. IO9 
 
 THE MASTER'S CALL. 
 
 The Master is come, and calleth for thee. — John ii : 28. 
 
 S|pWAKE thee, O sinner, awake from thy sleep ; 
 SK Thy barque hath long drifted on danger's wild 
 m^ deep ; 
 
 ^ The angry winds toss thee, the billows roll high. 
 And lightnings are gleaming athwart the dun sky; 
 But hark ! o'er the pathless, the wide, surging sea, 
 "The Master is come, and calleth for thee." 
 
 Awake thee, O sinner, awake from thy sleep ; 
 Awake thee to wonder, awake thee to weep ; 
 Thy work unbegun, and thy path filled with woes, 
 And the day of thy life drawing swift to its close ; 
 Oh, awake thee to hear the Spirit's sweet plea, — 
 " The Master is come, and calleth for thee." 
 
 Away from His Throne of omnipotent might. 
 From His home of unending, unwaning delight : 
 From His Father's side, from the hosts that adored 
 With the homage of angels their Prince and their Lord; 
 With a love as the universe, boundless and free, 
 " The Master is come, and calleth for thee." 
 
no THE MASTERS CALL. 
 
 He calls thee to break from the Tempter's charmed 
 
 breath ; 
 He calls thee from darkness, from sin, and from death ; 
 He calls thee from slumber, from doubt, and despair, 
 To action, to faith, to hope, and to prayer. 
 He points to the pathway His footsteps once trod. 
 And calls thee to pardon, to peace, and to God. 
 
 Then wake thee, O sinner, awake from thy sleep. 
 Ere the wrath of the Slighted shall over thee sweep ; 
 Lest the day of thy life should be drawn to its close. 
 Ere the one only Refuge thy lost spirit knows ; 
 And thou start from thy slumber in horror to see 
 The Master in judgment stand calling for thee ! 
 
FROM DARKNESS TO LIGHT. 1 1 I 
 
 FROM DARKNESS TO LIGHT. 
 
 "^g^UT of the darkness into the light—" 
 %-;JP Never came word of promise more bright ; 
 i Never came sound more sweet and dear, 
 
 4)/ 
 
 '^'^ To the waiting heart, and the listening ear, 
 Nerving the soul for its onward flight, 
 Than '' Out of the darkness into the light." 
 
 Only the folding of hands and feet, 
 And closing of eyes in slumber sweet ; 
 Only the stopping of painful breath, 
 Only the touch of the hand of Death ; 
 Only the Master's call of might, 
 And " Out of the darkness into the light." 
 
 Out of the shadows of sorrow and care ; 
 Out of the blackness of doubt and despair ; 
 Out of the horrors of constant strife ; 
 Out of the labors and pangs of life ; 
 Out of the reach of foes within. 
 Out of the withering touch of sin : — 
 
12 FROM DARKNESS TO LIGHT. 
 
 Into the fulness of joy and trust ; 
 Into the faith and hope of the just ; 
 Into the calmness of spirit peace ; 
 Into the rest when labors cease ; 
 Into the regions by guilt untrod ; 
 Into the smile and presence of God. 
 
 Watchers, pale watchers, who wearily stand 
 Longing for sight of the better land. 
 Look up from the blackness and gloom to the star 
 Of promise that gleams in the distance afar ; 
 For surely it cometh — the dawning bright, 
 *'Out of the darkness into the light." 
 
THE ILLS OF DAILY LIFE. II3 
 
 THE ILLS OF DAILY LIFE. 
 
 TAKE them as the bitter drops, 
 The sick and suffering need ; 
 The hardy, painful labors that 
 To strong endurance lead ; 
 The distant peals, the sudden flash 
 That rouse to greater speed. 
 
 I take them as the lessons given 
 
 A little child to learn ; 
 The mystic characters from which 
 
 Perplexed and mazed we turn, 
 Until the Master shows us how 
 
 Their meaning to discern. 
 
 I take them as the challenge thrown 
 
 My Leader to declare ; 
 The Saviour's oft-repeated calls 
 
 To labor, or to bear: 
 The answer of some earnest, deep, 
 
 Half-comprehended prayer. 
 
114 THE ILLS OF DAILY LIFE. 
 
 I take them as the daily drill, 
 
 So wearisome and slow. 
 That trains to quick, concerted moves, 
 
 And makes the soldier know 
 How on the blinding battle-field 
 
 To stand against his foe. 
 
 I take them as the Heaven-sent helps 
 To watchfulness and prayer ; 
 
 The ladders reaching up, whereon 
 Descending angels are ; 
 
 The stony altars hourly raised 
 Some sacrifice to bear. 
 
 I take them as a child of God 
 His chastenings fit and meet. 
 
 That draw me closer to His side 
 And keep me at His feet : 
 
 For if His strokes be sharp and keen 
 Yet is His comfort sweet. 
 
 They show His tender faithfulness, 
 
 And loving sympathy, 
 In all the ways through which He leads 
 
 To prove and humble me, 
 And that in every strait and need 
 
 He will sufficient be. 
 
DAILY DUTIES. II5 
 
 DAILY DUTIES. 
 
 |AILY, God to glorify, 
 liiP Daily, on His promise wait ; 
 (A Daily, time to profit by, 
 * Daily, Christ to imitate. 
 
 Daily, duty's path to run. 
 Daily, to bear loss and pain ; 
 Daily, sin and hell to shun. 
 Daily, holiness to gain. 
 
 Daily, soul to guard and save. 
 Daily, flesh to mortify ; 
 Daily, unto Christ to live. 
 Daily, unto sin to die. 
 
 Daily, to pass trial's fire. 
 Daily, passions to subdue ; 
 Daily, virtues to acquire, 
 Daily, struggles to renew. 
 
I 1 6 DAILY DUTIES. 
 
 Daily, to learn wisdom's ways, 
 Daily, to count mercies o'er; 
 Daily, God to love and praise, 
 Daily, Jesus to adore. 
 
LESSON OF THE VINE. I I7 
 
 LESSON OF THE VINE. 
 
 |PTE tender vine that cannot stand alone 
 
 Lays clasping hold of nearest stick and stone ; 
 A) And of their roughness makes a prop and stay, 
 * To help it in its upward, winding way. 
 
 So on the hard, rough task that nearest lies 
 I must take hold if I would upward rise; 
 Must firmly grasp, as clinging vine the stone, 
 The ills that God allows to help me on. 
 
Il8 FIDELIS IN PARVO. 
 
 FIDELIS IN PARVO. 
 
 ^T never may be mine to sway 
 A living multitude, 
 And with a breath lead thousands on 
 That doubting, halting, stood. 
 But I can read the Holy Book 
 
 That some cold heart may move ; 
 Or whisper to a little child 
 The tale of Jesus' love. 
 
 It never may be mine to climb 
 
 Fame's lofty, dazzling height ; 
 And there, with life's warm blood, a name 
 
 Indelibly to write. 
 But I can tread a safer path, 
 
 And higher glory claim, 
 If in the Book of books my God 
 
 Shall write for me a name. 
 
 It never may be mine to rear 
 
 A vast cathedral wall ; 
 Nor fit a costly chancel where 
 
 Rings out the loud, free call. 
 
FIDELIS IN PARVO. 1 19 
 
 But I can strive to make my heart 
 
 A consecrated cell, 
 Where only prayer and praise are heard, 
 
 And Christ may come and dwell. 
 
 It never may be mine to stand 
 
 On scaffold or by stake, 
 And 'mid the jeers of earth and hell, 
 
 Die for my Saviour's sake. 
 But I can witness for my God 
 
 In pathways low and dim ; 
 And through the hotter flames of life 
 
 May bravely live for Him. 
 
 It never may be mine to plan 
 
 A mission grand and broad ; 
 A Godlike scheme, at which the world 
 
 May wonder and applaud. 
 But that which cometh to my hand 
 
 With all my might I'll do ; 
 The servant faithful to his lord 
 
 In smallest things is true. 
 
 As from a distance hill and vale 
 
 Appear one level plain, 
 So to the eye of heaven may be 
 
 The great and small of men. 
 
I20 FIDELIS IN PARVO. 
 
 For but one talent wisely used 
 Our Lord approval gives ; 
 
 And that here offered up by love 
 The God of Love receives. 
 
CONFIRMATION. 121 
 
 CONFIRMATION. 
 
 READY FOR EITHER. 
 
 On some ancient sculpture, the Christian has been represented 
 under the figure of an animal standing midway between die alt.ir 
 and the plough, with this motto, — " Ready for either." 
 
 |^3^0 stand we as with solemn vow 
 ^Si We fealty to our Lord declare ; 
 
 i And don the sacred badge which we 
 ^■^ Before the world and heaven must wear. 
 
 Ready at God's command to work 
 With patient toil His fallow ground ; 
 
 Or at the same behest to lie 
 On sacrificial altar bound. 
 
 For not our own but His we are, 
 And our blest part is to obey ; 
 
 Let Him the work, the path direct 
 Who in the end shall all repay. 
 
122 TEACH ME THY WAY, O LORD. 
 
 TEACH ME THY WAY, O LORD. 
 
 Ps. 86:ii. 
 
 JEACH me Thy way, O Lord ; 
 ^=^^<^^ So many paths appear 
 
 All straight and fair, how can I know 
 The one in which I ought to go 
 Unless Thyself the pathway show? 
 Teach me Thy way, O Lord. 
 
 Teach me Thy way, O Lord ; 
 
 Not other men's, nor mine : 
 In blindness planned, can they be right ? 
 Oh, what if with Thy way in sight 
 I take the one that ends in night ? 
 
 Teach me Thy way, O Lord. 
 
 Teach me thy way, O Lord, 
 
 The path that leads to thee ; 
 The martyr-trod, the wordling's scoff, 
 That may be long, that may be rough, — 
 But surely it will be enough 
 
 If it shall end with Thee, 
 
 With Heaven, and home, and Thee. 
 
SPES MEA CHRISTUS, 1 23 
 
 SPES MEA CHRISTUS. 
 
 HAT though I pass life's crowded mart 
 i^«g^L Of millions upon millions thronging, 
 A weary, silent, lonely heart. 
 
 That finds no answer to her longing,- 
 That heart a sweeter friendship knows, 
 A dearer Friend than earthly love bestows. 
 
 What though no dwelling-place be mine. 
 And houseless, homeless here I wander ; 
 
 What though for earth I rear no shrine. 
 And men despise, and scorn^ and wonder j 
 
 Mine is a home unchanging, fair. 
 
 In that great House where many mansions are. 
 
 What though no treasures here I heap 
 
 Of useless stores that vainly glitter. 
 Where moth and rust their revels keep 
 
 And riches like their owners flitter,—* 
 My treasures are heaped up with zeal 
 Where moth is not, nor thieves break through and steal. 
 
124 SPES MEA CHRISTUS. 
 
 What though my steps be marked with blood, 
 And slow and faint with heavy crosses ; 
 
 What though time sweep a surging flood, 
 And bring me only pains and losses ; 
 
 'Tis for the best : — this well I know, 
 
 Else God, my Father, had not willed it so. 
 
 What though His coming, long delayed, 
 
 Makes dark my path with cloud and blackness ; 
 
 What though He haste not to my aid, 
 He is not slack as men count slackness, 
 
 But patient and long-suffering. 
 
 And will, in His good time, deliverance bring. 
 
 What though I see my strength decay, 
 
 My body to corruption given ; 
 What though the world be swept away, 
 
 And suns and stars to chaos driven : 
 Securely fixed my hopes remain, 
 For Christ) my Saviour, doth forever reign. 
 
THE BRETONS PRAYER. 1 25 
 
 THE BRETON'S PRAYER. 
 
 When the Breton mariner puts to sea, his prayer is, " Keep me, 
 O my God ! my boat is so small, and Thy ocean is so wide." 
 
 wN pathless waters, deep and dark, 
 SP Trembling I launch my fragile bark ; 
 1 So weak my hand, so strong the waves, 
 ■^ So few the saved, so full the graves; — - 
 So small my boat, so wide the sea, 
 
 God, my Father, keep Thou me. 
 
 1 know not what shall safely guide 
 Me o'er the foaming, treacherous tide ; 
 Nor where the rocks and breakers lie^ 
 Nor which is shore, nor which is sky ; 
 So small m} boat, so wide the sea, 
 I dare not sail except with Thee. 
 
 Like famished beast the ocean raves, 
 But Thou art mightier than the waves ; 
 And still my prayers to Thee ascend. 
 And still Thy skies above me bend : — 
 Though small my boat, and wide the sea, 
 Safely I sail, O God, with Thee. 
 
126 NON MORIAR. 
 
 NON MORIAR. 
 
 SHALL not die ; 
 Though with earth's busy throng 
 I pass no more along ; 
 Though in the grave my form shall lie 
 Breathless, it is not I 
 That die. 
 
 I shall not die j 
 I shall begin to live 
 When Death the word doth give. 
 Only the maker of a lie 
 Will tell me it is I 
 
 That die. 
 
 /shall not die : 
 My anguish and my tears, 
 My sins, and doubts, and fears, 
 My weakness and my misery, 
 My griefs and sufferings die. 
 
 Not L 
 
NON MORIAR. 
 
 I cannot die. 
 In me is God's own breath, 
 That giveth life, not death ; 
 And His great throne on high 
 Will sooner fall than I 
 
 Shall die. 
 
 127 
 
128 god's dealings. 
 
 GOD'S DEALINGS. 
 
 ^^j^ LITTLE girl by pleasant toys surrounded, 
 I^yS Without a thought or wish for aught but play, 
 L%.. Sits by a lamp that to her vision bounded, 
 ^ Seems to begin another, longer day : 
 
 And from her room the tender mother calls, 
 Eager to clasp her child ere the deep darkness falls. 
 
 The young ears hear, — the young voice gayly answers ; 
 
 But the play cha7'?ns. No outer voice can break 
 A spell as deep as that of midnight dancers, 
 
 Who till the morn their wild, loud revels make. 
 She will not turn from her own joys away. 
 Nor heart, nor feet the call of anxious love obey. 
 
 Then not in anger, — but with look so tender, 
 So full of that deep, wondrous love within, 
 
 That a new, higher beauty it doth lend her. 
 The parent glides with noiseless footsteps in, 
 
 And with no word she bears the lamp away 
 
 Where child and mother at the eventide should stay. 
 
GOD S DEALINGS. I2g 
 
 The cheerful sport, the happy joy and gladness 
 Gone with the light, the little wayward one 
 
 Turns, with a cry of mingled fear and sadness, 
 
 From the long play whose pleasantness hath flown, 
 
 To the clear ray that gleams beyond her gloom. 
 
 And follows to the patient mother's warm, bright room. 
 
 Even so in tenderness the Father calls us. 
 
 We, clinging to our toys, loath to obey, 
 Heed not, till with a stillness that appalls us. 
 
 Yet with true love. He bears our light away. 
 Then we, afraid, creep from the darkness dim. 
 Following the light that leads our faltering steps to Him ! 
 
130 god's comforts. 
 
 GOD'S COMFORTS. 
 
 In the multitude of the sorrows that I had in my heart, Thy comforts 
 have refreshed my soul, — PS. 94: 19. Prayer Book Version. 
 
 S^N still, deep sufferings that come 
 1^ Some needed truth to teach ; 
 r ^ In hidden anguish that no hand, 
 ^ No balm of earth can reach ; 
 
 In sorrows that no heart can share, 
 In grief that hath no speech: — 
 
 Thy comforts, silent as the dew, — 
 
 Yet mighty to control ; 
 Thy comforts, greater than the tide 
 
 Of earth-born cares can roll ; 
 Thy loving, soothing comforts have 
 
 Refreshed my weary soul. 
 
 No heart can ever understand, 
 
 Can ever feel like Thine ; 
 No spirit can, as Thou, descend 
 
 Into the depths of mine, 
 And share its every bitterness 
 
 With sympathy divine. 
 
god's comforts. 131 
 
 Grief can be deep and great ; and pain 
 
 And sorrows can be keen ; 
 But Thou hast some sweet tenderness 
 
 That always comes between, 
 And a soul-comfort that like wind 
 
 Of heaven, is felt, not seen. 
 
 I count no longer griefs for thought 
 
 Of how much joy they bore ; 
 If great and many they have been. 
 
 Thy comforts have been more. 
 They are as morning mists of earth 
 
 Thy sun is shining o'er. 
 
132 CHILDREN OF GOD. 
 
 CHILDREN OF GOD. 
 
 If children, then heirs ; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ. 
 Rom. 8:17. 
 
 ^g CHILD of God ! What heritage, 
 ^(^ O fainting soul, is thine ! 
 6(k, O spirit, canst thou comprehend 
 ^ Thy destiny divine ? 
 
 Inheritor of life and heaven, 
 
 And joy, and peace, and bliss ! 
 What human fancy could conceive 
 
 A heritage like this ? 
 
 Thy heart could ask, could hope for but 
 
 The lowest place in heaven ; 
 Yet victor palms, and throne, and crown, 
 
 To thee are freely given. 
 
 Not slaves, not strangers, aliens there. 
 But heirs, joint-heirs with Christ ! 
 
 Hath not the very thought for more 
 Than all thy pain sufficed ? 
 
CHILDREN OF GOD. 
 
 What though disease and suffering 
 And weariness be thine ! 
 
 Doth not thy princely heritage 
 In splendor o'er them shine ? 
 
 With title and possession sure, 
 Lift up thy heart and voice ; 
 
 O heir of glory, heir with Christ, 
 Well mayst thou now rejoice ! 
 
 133 
 
134 REGIO PACIS. 
 
 REGIO PACIS. 
 
 Jl^^bBOVE the clouds, by tempest driven, 
 Above the current trains ; 
 Sip.. Beyond the air, and nearer heaven, 
 Unbroken calmness reigns. 
 
 So o'er Time's tempest-breathing air 
 
 The noisy tumults cease ; 
 Above its atmosphere of care 
 
 Is holy, Heavenly peace. 
 
 O troubled soul, thou feel'st the storms 
 Where storms alone have birth; 
 
 Thou seest the clouds in threat' ning forms 
 Because so near the earth. 
 
 The higher, nearer heaven we go, 
 Earth's powers and sounds decrease ; 
 
 Rise to the heights if thou wouldst know 
 The calm of spirit-peace. 
 
ADVENT. 135 
 
 ADVENT. 
 
 sE hath come — He, the long-desired of nations, 
 
 He, the foretold, the typified, the sum, 
 
 -^ilE^. The substance, and the Kinar of all creations, 
 C\[W 
 ^ ^ He, the beginning and the end, hath come. 
 
 Come in the lowly, fleshly garb of mortal, 
 Come in its suffering, poverty, and shame ; 
 
 Come and flung wide the gleaming, Heavenly portal, 
 Come with salvation ringing in His name. 
 
 Come, that the wrath of outraged Heaven allaying, 
 Justice from Him should draw the crimson tide ; 
 
 Come, that, as man, the law of God obeying. 
 The sinner might, through Him, be justified. 
 
 Lo ! what a voice is through creation pealing. 
 Rest to the weary, anthems to the dumb ; 
 
 Peace to the troubled, to the nations healing, 
 
 Joy to the world that Christ, the Lord, hath come. 
 
 Aye, and a greater joy for those remaineth, 
 Whom His first coming lifts above the tomb ; 
 
 Joy that the Bethlehem Babe forever reigneth, 
 Joy to the saints that Christ again shall come. 
 
1 36 ADVENT. 
 
 Long to the waiting He may seem to tarry, 
 And long may earth and hell His hosts assail ; 
 
 Long may His own a burdened spirit carry, 
 But He is true, His promise cannot fail. 
 
 Lo ! He shall come, the heavenly word declareth ; 
 
 Lo ! He shall come, His suffering saints repeat ; 
 Lo ! He shall come, whose Hand the sceptre beareth ; 
 
 Lo ! He shall come, with nations at His feet. 
 
 Lift up, O heavens, your everlasting portals, 
 No longer. Earth, to Mercy's call be dumb ; 
 
 Shout, O redeemed, O doubly blessed mortals, 
 Christ hath come for us, Christ for us shall come / 
 
LENTEN HOURS. I 3/ 
 
 LENTEN HOURS. 
 
 I^I ORROWING hours, when mourning cries 
 1^3 Rend the earth and cleave the skies. 
 
 ^ Humbling hours, when weight of sin 
 Presses sore without, within. 
 
 Warning hours, that passing say, 
 ''Stop and ponder. Watch and pray." 
 
 Solemn hours, when awful word 
 From the Master's lip is heard. 
 
 Gracious hours, in mercy lent, 
 That we may in dust repent. 
 
 Quiet, peaceful hours, away 
 From the cares of every day. 
 
 Helpful hours, that make us see 
 What our inner life should be. 
 
 Friendly hours, that draw the heart 
 ''To a desert place apart." 
 
38 LENTEN HOURS. 
 
 Holy hours for heavenly thought, 
 By the world unknown, unsought. 
 
 Precious hours, of worth unpriced, 
 Blissful hours with God and Christ. 
 
REST. 139 
 
 REST. 
 
 Heb. 4:3. 
 
 ^^pPE know at the end of the pilgrimage blest, 
 
 For the people of God there remaineth a rest, 
 That will come, as the night, at the close of the 
 day, 
 
 When our work is all finished and folded away. 
 
 But the merciful Father who knoweth our frame 
 Remembers our weakness in pity, not blame ; 
 He withholds not one comfort His children to stay, 
 And Christian, dear Christian, there's rest on the way. 
 
 We droop 'neath our burdens of suffering and care. 
 That, if we but brought to Him, Jesus would bear ; 
 We look at the struggle, the strife of each day. 
 And we miss the sweet rest that He gives by the way. 
 
 Our hearts are so slow in His word to believe. 
 So slow His munificent gifts to receive. 
 That we take not in fulness this truth ever blest. 
 We which have believed do now enter our rest. 
 
 For we serve no hard Master of wearisome tasks. 
 Making bitter with bondage the service He asks ; 
 
I40 REST. 
 
 But here, even here, in the conflicts and pains, 
 We may know, we may feel, the sweet '' rest that re- 
 mains." 
 
 There is rest in the taking of God at His word. 
 With the faith of a child by his father assured ; 
 There is rest in the yielding our will to His own, 
 When His ways are all dark, and His reasons unknown. 
 
 There is rest in the looking to Jesus for all. 
 In the clinging to Him, though we stumble and fall ; 
 There is rest in the thought of that wonderful love, 
 That is fitting us here for the glory above. 
 
 There is rest in recalling each step of the way 
 By the which He hath led, though we wandered astray, 
 There is rest in the thought of the bliss of the end, 
 And the triumph of Jesus, our Saviour and Friend. 
 
 Then cheer thee, O Christian, nor doubtingly stand. 
 Like the Israelites, slack to possess their good land ; 
 Let thy heart in its need on this rich comfort stay. 
 That our King, in His bounty, gives rest by the way. 
 
OLD HYMNS. I4I 
 
 OLD HYMNS. 
 
 ^^^^UR dear old hymns ! What memories 
 ^\^j Around them fondly twine ! 
 ^ What tide of recollection swells 
 ^ With each familiar line ! 
 
 We prize them as the full and rich 
 
 Inheritance time brings ; 
 And hear them with the reverence 
 
 We give to holiest things. 
 
 How many a heart hath breathed thro' them 
 
 Its deep, unworded cry ! 
 How many an earth-bound soul been taught 
 
 By them to look on high! 
 
 Treasured thro' life with childhood's scenes, 
 
 And childhood's holy faith, 
 How many a wanderer have they brought 
 
 Back to the heavenward path ! 
 
 The utterances of saintly minds 
 On loftiest theme and thought ; 
 
 Like outer setting of a pearl 
 
 With skill and cunning wrought. 
 
142 OLD HYMNS. 
 
 Those that conceived, the lips that spoke, 
 The hands that wrote, are gone ; 
 
 And yet these stand, more strong and great 
 Than monuments of stone. 
 
 Fair caskets that, like costly gems, 
 Some precious truth contain ; 
 
 Guarded, because themselves are guards. 
 Like truth they must remain. 
 
 The gifts of mind to mind, like rains 
 
 Of heaven that widely fall ; 
 Like God's own free and blessed air. 
 
 The heritage of all. 
 
 Hymns, echoed thro' the fretted vaults 
 
 Of grand Cathedral domes ; 
 Hymns, carolled, like the songs of birds, 
 
 In lowly cottage homes. 
 
 Hymns, that the sated wealthy prize 
 More than their pomp and gold ; 
 
 Hymns, that the weary, struggling poor. 
 Through all their penury, hold. 
 
 Hymns, from the very lowest depths 
 
 Of spirit-suffering wrung ; 
 Hymns of our daily, hourly needs. 
 
 Hymns that our dead have sung. 
 
OLD HYMNS. 1 43 
 
 O Time, that wastes and levels down, 
 
 That overthrows and dims, 
 Forbear to lay thy touch of change 
 
 Upon our dear, old hymns. 
 
 Let coming millions feel the words 
 With which our hearts have burned; 
 
 And feeble, tottering age repeat 
 What youth and childhood learned. 
 
144 MY HOME IN THE SKY. 
 
 MY HOME IN THE SKY. 
 
 pOW sweet is the thought of my home in the sky ! 
 How it comes like the song of a bird wafted by ! 
 ii«. As rest after toil, as the sun after rain, 
 
 As pleasure and ease after sorrow and pain ; 
 As a glimpse of the land to the mariner's eye, 
 So sweet is the thought of my home in the sky ! 
 
 The earth hath its charms; — on its beautiful face 
 The skill and the love of my Father I trace ; 
 It hath wonders that greet me wherever I roam ; 
 It is pleasant and fair ; but it is not my home. 
 It is only the passage-way leading on high. 
 The vestibule plain of my home in the sky. 
 
 The friends that I meet are but sojourners too. 
 
 Are but travellers and pilgrims the world passing through ; 
 
 And those that I walked with have left me and gone, 
 
 And they rest o'er the river, while I journey on. 
 
 And it comforts my spirit to think when I die 
 
 How many will welcome me home in the sky. 
 
 Oh ! little it matters how poor I may be. 
 
 With the wealth of that home kept in safety for me ; 
 
MY HOME IN THE SKY. 145 
 
 And little it matters what land and what gold, 
 What treasures and gems I here gather and hold ; 
 Earth's riches must pass with my life's latest sigh, 
 But death is the gate to my home in the sky. 
 
 I know not how far it may be— it is where 
 
 My Saviour hath promised to go and prepare 
 
 A place for His own— for the ransomed and blessed; 
 
 And the sick shall be well, and the weary shall rest ; 
 
 And never a sorrow, a sin, or a sigh 
 
 Shall dim for a moment that home in the sky. 
 
 Oh ! its beauty and richness can never be said ; 
 
 Its splendors ne'er weary, its glories ne'er fade. 
 
 The brightest of earth is but shadow and night, 
 
 To that home where my God is the centre and light. 
 
 And it waits me — what transport ! what glory to die ! 
 
 It is mine !— Christ hath said it— that home in the sky. 
 
 So I walk o'er the way that is rugged and long, 
 And I light it with hope, and I cheer it with song ; 
 And I gladden my spirit, and comfort my heart, 
 As onward I journey alone and apart, 
 With the thought that will flit as an angel-wing by, 
 At the end is a welcome and home in the sky. 
 
 13 
 
46 GOD ALL IN ALL. 
 
 GOD ALL IN ALL. 
 
 [ESS than the dust beneath my feet am I, 
 
 And nought to me belongs of power or good ; 
 Whatever in me seems of value comes 
 From the eternal, all-pervading God, 
 
 As by the shining of the sun I. see, 
 
 And as without it all is dark and void. 
 
 So only in the Father can I be, 
 
 So only through Him is each power employed. 
 
 I am the keys — His is the Hand that strikes ; 
 
 I am the body — He the living soul ; 
 I am the grafted branch — He is the vine ; 
 
 I am an atom — He the perfect whole. 
 
 I am the reed — He is the wind that bends ; 
 
 I am the clay He fashions in His sight ; 
 I am the stone He carves and chisels out ; 
 
 I am the pen, and He with me doth write. 
 
 With Him is hope — without Him, fell despair ; 
 
 Within Him, peace — without Him, woe and strife ; 
 Without Him, weariness — within Him, rest ; 
 
 Without Him, death — within Him, glorious life. 
 
GOD ALL IN ALL. I47 
 
 Less than the dust beneath my feet am I, 
 And in that dust would I in silence fall ; 
 
 Lie down in depths of utter lowliness, 
 Glad to be nothing, that He may be all ! 
 
148 THE CHURCH. 
 
 THE CHURCH. 
 
 »HE 7nust and will prevail. He who commands 
 
 4S Unnumbered worlds to being, — He who holds 
 I The ocean in the hollow of His hands, — 
 " Whose eye, in one keen piercing glance, beholds 
 
 All time as an extended present, — He, 
 The Eternal God, hath said — and it shall be. 
 
 Apart from Him, the deepest, best-laid scheme 
 Of finite mind must sink and end in nought ; 
 
 Wild and distorted as a maniac's dream, 
 
 Conceived in weakness, and in blindness wrought, 
 
 Springing from chaos back to chaos, — man 
 
 Himself writes failure over every plan. 
 
 The Church, God's purpose from eternity, 
 Fixed as the stars that in their courses move ; 
 
 The compassed presence of Infinity, 
 
 The thought of wisdom, and the act of love, 
 
 Is time's grand, living, breathing mystery, 
 
 That angels from their heights with wonder see. 
 
 Her foes are great and many. Hell hath hurled 
 
 Upon her ramparts, tottering and torn, 
 His strongest, keenest weapons ; and the world 
 
 Her venomed darts of ridicule and scorn ; 
 
THE CHURCH. I49 
 
 But bleedings scarred with cruel blow and taunt, 
 She, unsubdued, still lifts her battered front. 
 
 Stronger than rock, based on the ocean's floor, 
 Assaulted and besieged, she keeps her way; 
 
 While like the waves that vainly beat and roar, 
 Till broken, scattered into harmless spray, 
 
 They backward fall, — even so her proudest foe. 
 
 By his own violence at last lies low. 
 
 The glittering sword, drawn to destroy, but tried 
 
 Her constancy, till like a sun it shone ; 
 Fires kindled to consume but purified. 
 
 And contest strengthened what it would dethrone. 
 Death — terrible and fearful — only brought 
 Quicker the rest, the end for which she fought. 
 
 She needs no help of man. All nature's laws 
 Work with and for her to the same great end ; 
 
 From the one, only source she hourly draws 
 True wisdom to direct, strength to contend. 
 
 Angels, armed sentinels, around her tread, 
 
 Christ is within, and God is overhead. 
 
 Thrice happy we, if our weak hand may plant 
 Her banner in waste places, — if we win 
 
 One soul within her walls of adamant 
 
 From the long, serried ranks of death and sin. 
 
 Who only doth her present conflicts bear 
 
 May in the glory of her triumph share. 
 
150 IN PACE. 
 
 IN PACE. 
 
 My heart is fixed, O God ; my heart is fixed. — Ps. 57 : 7, 
 
 |l^N peace more tranquil than the depths 
 §|§ Of surface-troubled sea ; 
 T^ Peace that no storm can ever break — 
 ^ Since Thou dost give it me, — 
 
 My heart is resting, O my God, 
 For it is fixed on Thee, 
 
 As magnet from the pole-star moved 
 Trembles, and turns, and sways. 
 
 Even so my heart, unsatisfied. 
 Restless and aimless, strays, 
 
 Until on Thee, its only star. 
 Settled and fixed, it stays. 
 
 O blessed Calmer, Comforter, 
 
 O Solacer of pain, 
 Who that hath quaffed the heavenly stream 
 
 Could earthly cisterns drain? 
 Who eaten of the Father's bread 
 
 Return to husks again ? 
 
IN PACE. 151 
 
 On Thy perfections, as on heights 
 Yet iinattained, I dwell ; 
 
 And in the love whose fulness doth 
 All other love excel, 
 
 My heart is happy with a joy 
 Words have no power to tell. 
 
 There is no bliss that comes to me 
 Thou dost not fully share ; 
 
 No bitter cross, no wordless grief 
 Thou wilt not help to bear. 
 
 I cannot rise above Thy aid. 
 Or sink beneath Thy care. 
 
 To weary hearts that rest on Thee 
 Thy tenderest love is shown ; 
 
 And Thou hast many hidden joys 
 And comforts for Thine own, 
 
 And fountains of renewing strength 
 The world has never known. 
 
 I am not lonely, with Thy great, 
 Deep love encircling me ; 
 
 I am not feeble, for Thy power 
 Hath made me strong and free ; 
 
 And I am happy anywhere, 
 And rich if I have Thee. 
 
152 
 
 IN PACE. 
 
 My heart is resting, O my God, 
 
 In sweet security, 
 Where sinner never leaned in vain, 
 
 Nor fear, nor loss can be : 
 My heart is resting, O my God, 
 
 My heart is fixed on Thee. 
 
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