I\./ 
 
 ROSEMARY 
 
 »^^^ AND ^^ 
 
 RVE 
 
 i! 
 
 «t f 6* 
 
 E.K.GORDON 
 
Class JP^ 35 1^ 
 Book '((jj^i T?fc 
 
 Cioip^htN". 
 
 COKYKIGIIT DEPOSIT. 
 
ROSEMARY 
 
 AND 
 
 RUE 
 
 COMPILED BY 
 
 ELEANOR KINZIE GORDON 
 
 'There *s rosemary, that 's for 
 
 remembrance 
 There's rue for you. " 
 
 Shakspere 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 E. P. BUTTON AND COMPANY 
 
 31 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 
 1906 
 
LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
 
 Two Copies Received 
 
 NOV 15 1906 
 
 n Copyright Entry 
 CLASS 7\ XX/.No. 
 COPY B. ' 
 
 763^13 
 
 Copyrighted, 1906 
 
 BY 
 
 ELEANOR KINZIE GORDON 
 
 Published September, 1906 
 
 "Cbe Iknfcfterbocfeer press, IRcw IBorft 
 
VERSES 
 COLLECTED IN LOVING MEMORY OF 
 
 SARAH ALICE GORDON 
 
 BY HER MOTHER 
 
 They are poor 
 That have lost nothing ; they are poorer far 
 Who, losing, have forgotten ; they most poor 
 Of all, who lose and wish they might forget. 
 For life is one, and in its warp and woof 
 There runs a thread of gold that glitters fair 
 And sometimes in the pattern shows most sweet 
 Where there are somber colors. It is true 
 That we have wept. But, oh, this thread of gold! 
 We would not have it tarnish ; let us turn 
 Oft. and look back upon the wondrous web, 
 And when it shineth sometimes we shall know 
 That memory is possession. 
 
 Jean Ingelow. 
 
A PHOTOGRAPH 
 
 This is her shadow, — nothing more; 
 The eyes that wear no smile for mine, 
 
 The silent lips that laughed before, 
 The hair, without its wave and shine, 
 This mask that shows no mark divine. 
 
 How calm, and cold it looks at me; 
 
 Her eyes were full of shade and sun, 
 A look that rippled like the sea, 
 
 Across whose breast the light waves 
 run; 
 
 A gleam, a cloud, a tale begun. 
 
 This is the veil her soul put on 
 To run the weary ways of earth; 
 
 And when her fleeting race was won, 
 She laid it down beside the hearth. 
 
 It is not she that fronts me here 
 
 5 
 
6 TRosemarg anD IRue 
 
 This speechless aspect still and cold: 
 I knew her fair, and sweet, and dear, 
 A clinging girl, with heart of gold. 
 And hands that clasped with tender 
 hold. 
 
 Was it a tender prophecy. 
 
 This slight transparent mould of clay, 
 
 To let the loving round her see 
 
 How soon that soul must flit away, 
 That fluttered, paused, but made no 
 stay? 
 
 Not here, but risen; oh, angel song, 
 Still falling soft on hearts that weep! 
 
 This is the dead whose ashes long 
 Her Master's messengers shall keep, 
 
 Safe in Earth's last undreaming sleep. 
 
 But she who wore this mortal guise 
 Has fled beyond our tearful sight; 
 
 Joyful and strong, serene and wise. 
 She lives upon the hills of light, 
 And waits us on that heavenly height. 
 Rose Terry Cooke. 
 
ALICE 
 
 From the unceasing swell 
 Of the blue, restless waves, 
 
 Inland they bore the lily form 
 Unto those southern graves. 
 
 The sunny Earth's warm breast, 
 Received her peaceful smile, 
 
 From life's short voyage laid to rest 
 Just for a little while. 
 
 O Mother I Death is strong, — 
 But Christ is stronger still ; 
 
 And the Death Angel in his wrath, 
 Does but fulfil His will. 
 
 Who from Earth's fairest things 
 Takes some unstained away, 
 
 To be brought up beside His throne, 
 And dwell with Him alway. 
 
 C. M. Noel. 
 7 
 
IN MEMORIAM 
 
 ** I exhort therefore, that, first of all, * * * 
 prayers be made for all men." — / Timothy^ 
 ii., I. 
 
 O'er land and sea, love follows with 
 
 fond prayers 
 Its dear ones in their troubles, griefs, and 
 cares ; 
 
 There is no spot 
 On which it does not drop this tender 
 
 dew, 
 Except the grave, and there it bids adieu, 
 And prayeth not. 
 
 Why should that be the only place un- 
 
 cheered 
 By prayer, which to our hearts is most 
 endeared. 
 
 And sacred grown? 
 8 
 
TRosemarg anD IRuc 9 
 
 Living, we sought for blessings on their 
 
 head; 
 Why should our lips be sealed when they 
 
 are dead, 
 
 And we alone? 
 
 "Idle?"— "Their doom is fixed?" Ah, 
 
 who can tell? 
 Yet, were it so, I think no harm could well 
 
 Come of my prayer. 
 And oh, the heart, o'erburdened with its 
 
 grief. 
 This comfort needs, and finds therein 
 relief 
 
 From its despair! 
 
 Shall God be wroth because we love them 
 
 still. 
 And call upon His love to shield them 
 from all ill, 
 
 Our dearest, best. 
 And bring them home, and recompense 
 
 their pain. 
 And cleanse their sin, if any sin remain, 
 And give them rest? 
 
lo IRosemavg auD IRuc 
 
 Nay, I will not believe it. I will pray 
 As for the living, for the dead each day. 
 
 They will not grow 
 Less meet for Heaven when followed by 
 
 a prayer 
 To speed them home, like summer- 
 scented air 
 
 From long ago. 
 
 Who shall forbid the heart's desires to 
 
 flow 
 Beyond the limit of the things we know? 
 
 In Heaven above 
 The incense that the golden censers 
 
 bear, 
 Is the sweet perfume from the saintly 
 prayer 
 
 Of trust and love. 
 
UNAFRAID 
 
 A MAID whose loveliness, not yet full 
 
 blown, 
 Wrought every heart to kinship with 
 
 her own; 
 So pure, so sweet, so fair and full of 
 
 grace. 
 She seemed a being of a gentler race, 
 A higher breeding, a more gracious 
 
 mould. 
 No clay commingled with her finest 
 
 gold. 
 
 Oh, fitting that the season of her birth, 
 Was that which gave the Prince of Peace, 
 
 to earth. 
 But when that holy season came again 
 She caught an echo of the joyous strain 
 
 II 
 
12 1Ro0emarg aiiD IRue 
 
 That filled her ears when first from 
 
 Heaven she strayed, 
 
 And smiled, — and rose, — and left us, 
 
 unafraid. 
 
 The Critic. 
 
 IN PARADISE 
 
 How wise and great and glorious, 
 Thy ransomed soul hath grown; 
 Loving as thou art loved by God, 
 Knowing as thou art known. 
 Yet in that world, thou carest still 
 For those thou lov'dst in this: 
 The rich man did in torment, 
 And wilt thou not in bliss? 
 For sitting at thy Saviour's feet, 
 And gazing in His face, 
 Surely thou wilt not there unlearn 
 One gentle human grace. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
A REMEMBRANCE 
 
 To pass through life beloved as few are 
 
 loved, 
 To prove the joys of earth as few have 
 
 proved, 
 And still to keep thy soul's white robe 
 
 unstained. 
 Such is the victory which thou hast 
 
 gained. 
 
 How few like thine the pilgrim feet have 
 
 come 
 Unworn, unwounded to the heavenly 
 
 home. 
 Yet He who guides in sorrow's sorest 
 
 need, 
 As well by pleasant paths His own may 
 
 lead. 
 
 13 
 
14 1?O0cniari2 anD l^ue 
 
 And love that guides where wintry 
 
 tempests beat, 
 To thee was shelter from the summer 
 
 heat. 
 What need for grief to blight or ills annoy 
 The heart whose God was her exceeding 
 
 joy? 
 
 And so that radiant path all sweet and 
 
 pure 
 Found fitting close in perfect peace 
 
 secure ; 
 No haste to go, no anxious wish to stay, 
 No childish terror of the untried way. 
 
 But wrapped in trance of holy thought 
 
 and prayer, 
 Yet full of human tenderness and care, 
 Undimmed its luster, and unchilled its 
 
 love, 
 Thy spirit passed to cloudless light 
 
 above. 
 
 In the far North, where, over frosts and 
 gloom 
 
"Kosemari? aiiD TRue 15 
 
 The midnight skies with rosy brightness 
 
 bloom, 
 There comes in all the year one day 
 
 complete 
 Wherein the sunset and the sunrise 
 
 meet. 
 
 So in the region of thy fearless faith, 
 
 No hour of darkness marked th' ap- 
 proach of death, 
 
 But ere the evening's splendor was 
 withdrawn 
 
 Fair flushed the light along the hills of 
 dawn. 
 
 Eliza Scudder. 
 
A CHOICE 
 
 It must have been for one of us, my own, 
 To drink this cup and eat this bitter 
 
 bread ; 
 Had not my tears upon thy face been 
 
 shed 
 Thy tears had dropt on mine; if I alone 
 Did not walk now, thy spirit would have 
 
 known 
 My loneliness; and did my feet not tread 
 This weary path and steep, thy feet had 
 
 bled 
 For mine, and thy mouth had for mine 
 
 made moan. 
 
 And so it comforts me, yea, not in vain 
 To think of thine eternity 
 To know thine eyes are tearless, though 
 mine weep; 
 
 i6 
 
IRogemaris aiiD IRue 17 
 
 And when this cup's last bitterness I 
 drain, 
 
 One thought shall still its primal sweet- 
 ness keep, — 
 
 Thou had'st the peace, and I the un- 
 dying pain. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
HERE AND THERE 
 
 We sit beside the lower feast to-day, 
 
 She at the higher. 
 Our voices falter as we bend to pray . 
 
 In the great choir 
 Of happy saints she sings and does not 
 tire. 
 
 We break the bread of patience and the 
 wine 
 
 Of tears we share, 
 She tastes the vintage of that glorious 
 Vine, 
 
 Whose branches fair, 
 Set for the healing of all nations are. 
 
 I wonder is she sorry for our pain. 
 
 Or if, grown wise, 
 She wondering smiles, and counts them 
 
 idle, vain, — 
 i8 
 
IRoeemats anO IRuc 19 
 
 These heavy sighs, 
 These longings for her face and happy 
 eyes. 
 
 Smile on then darling. As God wills is 
 best, 
 
 We loose our hold, 
 Content to leave thee to the deeper rest, 
 
 The safer fold, 
 To joys, immortal youth while we grow 
 old. 
 
 Content the cold and wintry day to share, 
 
 The icy wave, 
 And know thee in eternal summer there. 
 
 Beyond the grave, 
 Content to give thee to the Love that 
 gave. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
PRAYER IN SLEEP 
 
 I SAW our darling in my dreams 
 
 As patient, weak, and frail 
 As in those last sweet days before 
 
 She passed beyond the veil. 
 
 And with an anxious questioning 
 
 I thought of all the care, 
 The heavy burden of our life 
 
 God giveth us to bear. 
 
 How can her feebleness sustain 
 This last new stroke of grief ? 
 
 The storm she dreaded breaks at last, 
 God send her some relief ! 
 
 So fervently I prayed for her 
 
 That God would guard and keep 
 
 Her dear heart from the touch of woe: 
 It woke me from my sleep. 
 20 
 
1Ros5cmarg aiiD TRue 21 
 
 Then, I remembered she was gone; 
 
 I knew she was in Heaven 
 Beyond the shadow of the cloud 
 
 That o'er our sky had driven. 
 
 No anxious care need wake for her. 
 
 No grief, no fear, no prayer, 
 There is no trouble that can reach 
 
 'Her gentle spirit there. 
 
 Thank God, who took her safely Home 
 
 Before this sorrow fell ! 
 It loses half its sting for us, 
 
 Since she is shielded well. 
 
 No wish that love can frame for her, 
 Nor hearts most full request, 
 
 But God hath granted to her peace — 
 Heaven's peace: let love find rest. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
HEAVEN 
 
 Beyond these chilling winds and 
 gloomy skies, 
 
 Beyond Death's cloudy portal, 
 There is a land where beauty never dies, 
 
 Where love becomes immortal. 
 
 A land whose life is never dimmed by 
 shade, 
 
 Whose fields are ever vernal, 
 Where nothing beautiful can ever fade, 
 
 But blooms for aye, eternal. 
 
 The City's shining towers we may not 
 see 
 With our dim earthly vision. 
 For Death, the silent warden, keeps the 
 key 
 That ope's the gates elysian. 
 
 22 
 
TRoscmarg an& IRue 23 
 
 But sometimes, when adown the Western 
 sky 
 
 A fiery sunset Hngers, 
 Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly, 
 
 Unlocked by unseen fingers. 
 
 And while they stand a moment half ajar, 
 Gleams from the inner glory 
 
 Stream brightly through the azure vault 
 afar, 
 And half reveal the story. 
 
 Oh, land unknown! Oh, land of love di- 
 vine! 
 Father, all-wise, eternal! 
 Oh, guide these wandering wayworn feet 
 of mine 
 Into those pastures vernal. 
 
 A. W. Priest. 
 
SOMETIME 
 
 Sometime when all life's lessons have 
 
 been learned, 
 And sun and stars forevemiore have set, 
 The things which our weak judgments 
 
 here have spurned. 
 The things o'er which we grieved with 
 
 lashes wet 
 Will flash before us out of life's dark 
 
 night. 
 As stars shine most in deeper tints of 
 
 blue, 
 And we shall see how all God's plans 
 
 were right, 
 And how what seemed reproof was love 
 
 most true. 
 
 And we shall see, how, while we frown 
 and sigh, 
 
 24 
 
IRoBemari? an& IRue 25 
 
 God's plans go on, as best for you and 
 me; 
 
 How, when we called, He heeded not 
 our cry, 
 
 Because His wisdom to the end could see: 
 
 And even as prudent parents disallow 
 
 Too much of sweets to craving baby- 
 hood, 
 
 So God perchance is keeping from us 
 now 
 
 Life's sweetest things, because it seemeth 
 good. 
 
 And if, sometimes, commingled with 
 
 life's wine, 
 We find the wormwood, and rebel and 
 
 shrink, 
 Be sure a wiser hand than yours or 
 
 mine. 
 Pours out this potion for our lips to 
 
 drink. 
 And if some friend you love is lying low 
 Where human kisses cannot reach his 
 face, 
 
26 IRoaemar)? anO IRue 
 
 Oh, do not blame the loving Father so, 
 But wear your sorrow with obedient 
 grace ; 
 
 And you shall shortly know that length- 
 ened breath 
 
 Is not the sweetest gift God sends His 
 friend, 
 
 But that sometimes the sable pall of 
 death 
 
 Conceals the fairest boon His love can 
 send. 
 
 If we could push ajar the gates of life, 
 
 And stand within, and all God's work- 
 ings see, 
 
 We could interpret all this doubt and 
 strife, 
 
 And for each mystery could find a key : 
 
 But not to-day ; then be content poor 
 
 heart ; 
 God's plans, like lilies, pure and white 
 
 unfold ; 
 We must not tear the close-shut leaves 
 
 apart, 
 
IRoseman^ anO IRue 27 
 
 Time will reveal the calyxes of gold. 
 
 And if, with patient toil, we reach the 
 land 
 
 Where tired feet in sandals loose may 
 rest, 
 
 When we shall clearly know and under- 
 stand, 
 
 I think we then will say that " God knew 
 best". 
 
 May Riley Smith. 
 
SOMEWHERE 
 
 How can I cease to pray for thee? Some- 
 where 
 In God's great universe thou art to- 
 day; 
 Can He not reach thee with His tender 
 care? 
 Can He not hear me when for thee I 
 pray? 
 
 What matters it to Him who holds with- 
 in 
 The hollow of His hand all worlds, all 
 space, 
 That thou art done with earthly pain 
 and sin? 
 Somewhere within His ken thou hast 
 a place. 
 
 Somewhere thou livest and hast need of 
 Him; 
 
 28 
 
IRosemari^ aiiD IRue 29 
 
 Somewhere thy soul sees higher heights 
 
 to dimb; 
 And somewhere still there may be 
 
 valleys dim 
 That thou must pass to reach the hills 
 
 sublime. 
 
 Then all the more because thou canst 
 
 not hear 
 Poor human words of blessing, will I 
 
 pray: 
 " true, brave heart, God bless thee, 
 
 wheresoe'er 
 
 In His great universe thou art to-day!" 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
COMMISSIONED 
 
 What can I do for thee, beloved, 
 Whose feet so little while ago 
 Trod the same wayside dust with mine, 
 And now, up paths I do not know, 
 Speed, without sound, or sign? 
 
 What can I do? The perfect life 
 All fresh, and fair, and beautiful, 
 Has opened its wide arms to thee. 
 Thy cup is overbrimmed and full, 
 Nothing remains for me. 
 
 I used to do so many things: 
 Love thee, and chide thee, and caress; 
 Brush little straws from off thy way. 
 Tempering, with my poor tenderness, 
 The heat of thy short day. 
 
 Not much, but very sweet to give, 
 And it is grief of griefs to bear, 
 30 
 
TRoeemare aiiD TRue 31 
 
 That all these ministries are o'er : 
 And thou, so happy, love, elsewhere, 
 Dost need me nevermore. 
 
 And I can do for thee but this — 
 (Working on blindly, knowing not 
 If I may give thee pleasure so) — 
 Out of my own dull, shadowed lot 
 I can arise and go 
 
 To sadder lives, and darker homes, 
 A messenger, dear heart from thee, 
 Who wast on earth a comforter; 
 And say to those who welcome me, 
 "I am sent forth by her." 
 
 Feeling, the while, how good it is 
 To do thy errands thus, and think 
 It may be, in the blue far space, 
 Thou watchest from the Heaven's brink, 
 A smile upon thy face. 
 
 And when the day's work ends with day, 
 And star-eyed Evening, stealing in. 
 Waves her cool hand to flying Noon, 
 
32 TRogemarg anJ) IRue 
 
 And restless, surging thoughts begin 
 Like sad bells out of tune, 
 
 I'll pray: "Dear Lord, to whose great 
 
 love 
 Nor bound, nor limit-line is set, 
 Give to my darling, I implore, 
 Some new sweet joy, not tasted yet, 
 For I can give no more." 
 
 And with the words my thoughts shall 
 
 climb 
 With following feet the heavenly stair 
 Up which thy steps so lately sped. 
 And seeing thee so happy there, 
 Come back, half comforted. 
 
 Susan Cooledge. 
 
PARTING 
 
 What shall I say to thee sweetest, kneel- 
 ing beside thee in tears, 
 
 Knowing that here ends the measure of 
 all thy beautiful years; 
 
 Feeling the death-seal of silence between 
 us henceforth from this day, 
 
 Which of all lovingest things that my 
 heart for thee holds, shall I say? 
 
 Can I beg thee for dear words of parting, 
 
 with eager and passionate breath? 
 Or lament thy so instant translation 
 
 from life, to the marble of death? 
 And if I named all thou art leaving, 
 
 should it be indeed matter of grief. 
 That thou leavest the sowing for reaping, 
 
 the seed, for the full-ripened sheaf? 
 
 3 33 
 
34 IRoscmar^ anD IRuc 
 
 But what hast thou left then, dear 
 
 sleeper, of all that the soul counteth 
 
 worth,— 
 Opening thine eyes upon Heaven, as 
 
 they closed on the gladness of 
 
 earth ? 
 Thou art gone from this flower-crowned 
 
 brightness to God's glowing garden 
 
 above, 
 Gone from our poor anxious loving, to 
 
 infinite riches of love. 
 
 No shadow of death on thy pathway, 
 no river in struggle to cross. 
 
 No anguish, or trial of parting, no mo- 
 ment to picture a loss; 
 
 But in one happy instant the angel 
 who carries the golden key 
 
 Hath unlocked the wonderful portals, 
 and opened all Heaven to thee. 
 
 Oh, mystic, unspeakable glory ! I hnger 
 and listen outside, 
 
 Though I catch but in echo the faintest, 
 the joy of the un-swelling tide; 
 
IRosemari^anOlRue 35 
 
 But I know thou art there with the har- 
 pers on the banks of the crystal sea, 
 
 And knowing such things, beloved, I can 
 say but one thing to thee. 
 
 See, I place in thy hands these lilies, 
 like those that the angel brought 
 
 For the day of Annunciation, and I 
 have but this one glad thought ; 
 
 Pressing my kisses down on thy death- 
 sweet face, I say, 
 
 " From my heart of hearts, my darling, 
 I give thee joy, to-day." 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
CHRISTUS CONSOLATOR 
 
 Beside the dead I knelt in prayer, 
 And felt a presence as I prayed; 
 
 Lo, it was Jesus standing there; 
 He smiled: "Be not afraid." 
 
 ** Lord, Thou hast conquered Death we 
 know; 
 
 Restore again to life" I said, 
 ** This one who died an hour ago. " 
 
 He smiled: "She is not dead. " 
 
 "Asleep then, as Thyself did'st say; 
 
 Yet Thou canst lift the lids that keep 
 Her prisoned eyes from ours away." 
 
 He smiled: " She doth not sleep. " 
 
 " Nay then, tho' haply she do wake, 
 And look upon some fairer dawn, 
 
 Restore her to our hearts that ache." 
 He smiled: " She is not gone. " 
 36 
 
•Roscmars anO TRuc 37 
 
 " Alas, too well we know our loss, 
 Nor hope again our joy to touch, 
 
 Until the stream of Death we cross." 
 He smiled: " There is no such. " 
 
 " Yet our beloved seem so far, 
 
 The while we yearn to feel them near, 
 Albeit with Thee we trust they are." 
 
 He smiled: "And I am here." 
 
 "Dear Lord, how shall we know that 
 they 
 Still walk unseen with us and Thee, 
 Nor sleep, nor wander far away?" 
 He smiled: "Abide in Me." 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
HOLY TEARS 
 
 Yes, thou may'st weep, for Jesus shed 
 
 Such tears as thou art shedding now, 
 When for the Hving or the dead 
 
 Sorrow lay heavy on His brow. 
 He sees thee weep yet doth not blame 
 
 The weakness of thy flesh and heart, 
 Thy human nature is the same, 
 
 As that in which He took a part. 
 He knows its weakness, for He felt 
 
 The crushing power of pain and woe, 
 How body, soul, and spirit melt 
 
 And faint beneath the stunning blow. 
 Turn thee to Him, to Him alone, 
 
 For all that our poor lips can say 
 To soothe thee, broken-hearted one. 
 
 Would fail to comfort thee to-day. 
 We will not speak to thee, but sit 
 
 In prayreful silence by thy side; 
 38 
 
!Ro6emarB an& IRue 39 
 
 Grief has its ebbs and flows — 'tis fit 
 Our love should wait the ebbing tide. 
 
 Jesus Himself will comfort thee 
 In His own time, in His own way. 
 
 And haply more than " two or three' ' 
 Unite in prayer for thee to-day. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 SOME OTHER DAY 
 
 Some day or other I shall surely come 
 
 Where true hearts wait for me; 
 Then let me learn the language of that 
 home, 
 While here on earth I be, 
 Lest my poor lips for want of words be 
 dumb, 
 In that **High Company." 
 
 L. C. MOULTON. 
 
NOT CHANGED, BUT GLORIFIED 
 
 "The trumpet shall sound and the dead 
 shall be raised incorruptible." 
 
 "Not changed, but glorified." Oh, beau- 
 teous language 
 
 For those who weep, 
 Mourning the loss of some dear face 
 departed. 
 
 Fallen asleep. 
 Hushed into silence, never more to 
 comfort 
 
 The hearts of men, 
 Gone, like the silence of another country 
 Beyond our ken. 
 
 Oh, dearest dead, we saw thy white soul 
 shining 
 
 Behind the face 
 Bright with the beauty and celestial 
 glory 
 
 Of an immortal grace. 
 40 
 
1R06cmari2 aiiD IRuc 41 
 
 What wonder that we stumble, faint 
 and weeping, 
 
 And sick with fears, 
 Since thou hast left us all alone with 
 sorrow, 
 
 And blind with tears. 
 
 Can it be possible no words shall welcome 
 
 Our coming feet ? 
 How will it look, that face that we have 
 cherished 
 
 When next we meet? 
 Will it be changed, — so glorified, and 
 saintly 
 
 That we shall know it not? 
 Will there be nothing that will say " I 
 love thee, 
 
 And I have not forgot ? " 
 
 Ah, faithless heart, the same loved face, 
 transfigured, 
 
 Shall meet thee there, 
 Less sad, less wistful, in immortal beauty, 
 
 Divinely fair. 
 
42 "Rogemars aiiD TRue 
 
 The mortal veil, washed pure with many 
 weepings, 
 
 Is rent away. 
 And the great soul that sat within its 
 prison 
 
 Hath found the day. 
 
 In the clear morning of that other coun- 
 try, 
 
 In Paradise, 
 
 With the same face that we have loved 
 and cherished, 
 
 She shall arise. 
 Let us be patient, we who mourn with 
 weeping 
 
 Some vanished face, 
 The Lord has taken but to add more 
 beauty , 
 
 And a diviner grace. 
 
 And we shall find once more beyond 
 earth's sorrows. 
 
 Beyond these skies, 
 In the fair city of the " sure foundations" 
 
 Those heavenly eyes, 
 
IRosemari^ anD IRue 43 
 
 With the same welcome shining through 
 their sweetness 
 
 That met us here, 
 Eyes, from whose beauty God has ban- 
 ished weeping, 
 
 And wiped away the tear. 
 
 Think of us, dearest one, while o'er life's 
 waters 
 
 We seek the land, 
 Missing thy voice, thy touch, and the 
 true helping 
 
 Of thy pure hand, — 
 Till through the storm and tempest, 
 safely anchored, 
 
 Just on the other side. 
 We find thy dear face looking through 
 death's shadows 
 
 Not changed, but glorified. 
 Anonymous. 
 
FAITHFUL LOVE 
 
 They say if our beloved dead 
 
 Should seek the old familiar place, 
 
 Some stranger would be there instead, 
 And they would find no welcome face. 
 
 I cannot tell how it might be 
 
 In other homes — but this I know, 
 
 Could my lost darling come to me 
 That she would never find it so. 
 
 Ofttimes the flowers have come and gone, 
 Ofttimes the winter winds have blown 
 
 The while her peaceful rest went on, 
 And I have learned to live alone. 
 
 Have slowly learned from day to day 
 In all life's tasks to bear my part, 
 
 But whether grave or whether gay, 
 I hide her memory in my heart. 
 44 
 
'R06emacs anD IRue 45 
 
 Fond faithful love has blessed my way, 
 And friends are round me true and 
 tried, 
 
 They have their place; but her's to-day, 
 Is empty as the day she died. 
 
 How would I spring with bated breath 
 And joy too deep for word or sign, 
 
 To take my darling home from death, 
 And once again to call her mine. 
 
 I dare not dream the blissful dream, 
 It fills my heart with wild unrest, 
 
 Where yonder cold white marbles gleam 
 She still must slumber, — God knows 
 best. 
 
 But this I know, that those who say 
 
 Our best beloved could find no place 
 Have never hungered every day 
 
 Through years and years for one sweet 
 face. 
 
 Troy Times. 
 
THE VOICE OF THE DEPARTED 
 
 I SHINE in the light of God, 
 
 His likeness stamps my brow, 
 Through the Valley of Death my feet 
 have trod, 
 
 And I reign in glory now. 
 No breaking heart is here, 
 
 No keen and thrilling pain, 
 No wasted cheek where the frequent tear 
 
 Has rolled and left its stain. 
 
 I have found the heaven of joy, 
 
 I am one of the angel band; 
 To my head a crown is given 
 
 And a harp is in my hand ; 
 I have learned the song they sing 
 
 Whom Jesus hath made free, 
 And the glorious walls on high still ring 
 
 With my new-born melody. 
 46 
 
"Kosemarg ano "Rue 47 
 
 No sin, no grief, no pain, 
 
 Safe in my happy home 
 My fears all fled, my doubts all slain, 
 
 My hour of triumph come. 
 Friends of my mortal years, 
 
 The trusted and the tried. 
 You are walking still in the Valley of 
 Tears, 
 
 But I am at your side. 
 
 Do I forget? Oh, no! 
 
 For Memory's golden chain. 
 Shall bind my heart to the hearts below 
 Till they meet and touch again; 
 Each link is strong and bright. 
 
 And Love's electric chain 
 Flows freely down like a river of light 
 
 To the world from which I came. 
 
 Do you mourn when another star 
 Shines out from the glittering sky? 
 
 Do you weep when the voice of war 
 And the rage of conflict die ? 
 
48 IRosemari^ anD "Rue 
 
 Then why should your tears run down, 
 And your hearts with grief be riven, 
 
 tor another gem in the Saviour's crown, 
 And another soul in heaven? 
 
 The Changed Cross. 
 
SPEAK OF ME 
 
 Do not forget me. I would not my name, 
 
 As a strange language, to your ears be- 
 came 
 
 But seldom uttered, only heard with 
 sighs, 
 
 As harp-string to the moaning wind 
 replies : 
 
 Not so, not so. 
 
 Speak of me when the summer day is 
 
 bright 
 With glorious sunbeams, and the golden 
 
 light 
 Streams through the lattice of my own 
 
 green bower. 
 Let me be there in that rejoicing hour, 
 At least in name. 
 
 4 49 
 
50 •RoeemarB anO IRue 
 
 Speak of me when the twiUght's purple- 
 haze 
 
 Shuts each fair prospect from your ar- 
 dent gaze, 
 
 And turning to the quiet joys of home, 
 
 Sweet memories of departed dear ones 
 come 
 
 To stir the heart. 
 
 Speak of me when in heaven's blue arch 
 
 afar, 
 Shines forth in glory each effulgent star; 
 Say how I loved their luster,- — that my 
 
 name 
 May ever dwell amid their hosts of flame 
 To meet your eyes. 
 
 Speak of me when my own sweet garden 
 
 rose 
 On silent stem in moss-clad beauty 
 
 grows ; 
 I would be linked to all the flowers that 
 
 bloom, 
 Till ye might half forget the empty tomb 
 Where I shall lie. 
 
TRogcmarB and IRue 51 
 
 Speak of me when around the winter 
 
 hearth, 
 Young hearts are cheerful with the 
 
 season's mirth, 
 And strike the soft guitar I loved so well, 
 And let its chords in some old ballad tell 
 A tale of me. 
 
 Speak of me not in sorrow, for you know 
 To what calm skies and gentle streams 
 
 I go; 
 To flowers that fade not through eternal 
 
 spring, 
 All robed in white to wear an angel's 
 
 wing, 
 
 An angel's crown. 
 
 Speak of me then with gladness, not 
 
 with tears. 
 For when have flitted by a few short 
 
 years, 
 Ye, too, shall pass from earthly care and 
 
 pain, 
 And we shall meet in Paradise again, 
 To part no more. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
A HEAVENLY BIRTHDAY 
 
 'Tis your birthday, my precious, my 
 darling ; 
 Or would be, if you were on earth: 
 I know it must still be your birthday, 
 
 Though born to your heavenly birth. 
 I know that the angels are fair, and as 
 sweet, 
 As these fair earthly flowers I entwine; 
 Their love may be perfect and pure and 
 complete, 
 But never more tender than mine. 
 Are you glad in their gladness, my 
 darling ? 
 Do you laugh in your innocent glee ? 
 Or sad in the brightness of heaven 
 In thinking of home and of me? 
 
 In the night when I long for your 
 presence. 
 And water my pillow with tears, 
 When I pray for the touch of your 
 fingers, 
 To comfort my sorrow and fears; 
 So light is the veil that's between us, 
 52 
 
"Rosemarg aiiD IRue 53 
 
 The mother and child are so near, 
 The breath of my soul seems suspended 
 
 Your accents so tender to hear. 
 Oh, my glorified darling, most precious 
 
 Of all the sweet gifts that were mine, 
 I have lent you, not lost you, my 
 darling, — 
 
 Only lent, to the Love that's divine. 
 
 There are moments so sweet and so 
 solemn 
 
 That my soul bursts its prison of pain, 
 And soars to the realm of the spirit, 
 
 And meets my own loved one again ; 
 Then, calm from that saintly com- 
 munion, 
 
 I defy every foe of the world; 
 I scorn every breath of contumely. 
 
 Every shaft by its ignorance hurled. 
 No garments of darkness and mourning 
 
 Should we wear for a spirit like thee. 
 Only solemn thanksgiving, and praises. 
 
 That you from earth's sorrows are free. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
MEMORY 
 
 I HAVE a room whereinto no one enters 
 
 Save I myself alone. 
 There sits a blessed memory on a throne, 
 
 There my life centres. 
 While winter comes and goes — te- 
 dious comer ! 
 
 And while its nip-wind blows ; 
 While bloom the bloodless lily, and 
 warm rose 
 
 Of lavish summer. 
 If any should force entrance, he might 
 see there 
 
 One buried, yet not dead, 
 Before whose face I no more bow my 
 head, 
 
 Or bow my knee there; 
 But often in my worn life's autumn 
 weather 
 
 I watch there with clear eyes, 
 And think how it will be in Paradise, 
 When we 're together. 
 
 Christina Rossettt. 
 54 
 
RESIGNATION 
 
 There is no flock, however watched and 
 tended, 
 
 But one dead lamb is there, 
 There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, 
 
 But has one vacant chair. 
 
 The air is full of farewells to the dying, 
 And mourning, for the dead ; 
 
 The heart of Rachel, for her children 
 crying, 
 Will not be comforted! 
 
 Let us be patient! These severe afflic- 
 tions 
 
 Not from the ground arise. 
 But oftentimes celestial benedictions 
 
 Assume this dark disguise. 
 
 55 
 
56 IRosemari? anD IRiie 
 
 We see but dimly through the mists and 
 vapors ; 
 Amid these earthly damps 
 What seem to us but sad, funereal 
 tapers 
 May be Heaven's distant lamps. 
 
 There is no death ! What seems so is 
 transition ; 
 This life of mortal breath 
 Is but a suburb of the life elysian, 
 Whose portals we call death. 
 
 She is not dead, — the child of our affec- 
 tion. — 
 But gone unto that school 
 Where she no longer needs our poor 
 protection, 
 And Christ alone doth rule. 
 
 In that great cloister's stillness and 
 
 seclusion 
 By guardian angels led, 
 Safe from temptation, safe from sin's 
 
 pollution. 
 
IRosemarg anD IRue 57 
 
 She lives, whom we call dead. 
 Day after day we think what she is doing 
 
 In those bright fields of air; 
 Year after year, her tender steps pur- 
 suing, 
 
 Behold her grown more fair. 
 
 Thus do we walk with her, and keep 
 unbroken 
 The bond which nature gives. 
 Thinking that our remembrance, though 
 unspoken. 
 May reach her where she lives. 
 
 Not as a child shall we again behold her ; 
 
 For when with raptures wild 
 In our embraces we again enfold her, 
 
 She will not be a child ; 
 
 But a fair maiden, in her Father's man- 
 sion, 
 Clothed with celestial grace; 
 
 And beautiful with all the souls' ex- 
 pansion 
 
58 IRosemarg anO IRue 
 
 Shall we behold her face. 
 And though at times impetuous with 
 emotion 
 That will not be suppressed, 
 The swelling heart heaves moaning like 
 the ocean, 
 That cannot be at rest. — 
 
 We will be patient, and assuage the 
 feeling 
 
 We may not wholly stay; 
 By silence sanctifying, not concealing. 
 
 The grief that must have way. 
 
 Henry W. Longfellow. 
 
LONGINGS 
 
 O MY friend, O my dearly beloved, 
 
 Do you feel, do you know, 
 How the times and the seasons are going, 
 
 Are they weary and slow? 
 
 Does it seem to you long — in the 
 heavens — • 
 
 My true, tender mate, 
 Since here we were living together. 
 
 Where dying I wait? 
 
 'Tis three years as we count by the 
 springtimes. 
 
 By the birth of the flowers, 
 What are years — aye eternities even — 
 
 To love such as ours? 
 
 Side by side are we still, though a shadow 
 Between us doth fall,, 
 59 
 
6o IRoscmars anD IRue 
 
 We are parted, and yet we're not parted 
 Not wholly and all. 
 
 For still you are round and about me. 
 
 Almost in my reach, 
 Though I miss the old pleasant com- 
 munion 
 
 Of smile and of speech. 
 
 And I long to hear what you are seeing 
 
 And what you have done, 
 Since the earth faded out from your 
 vision. 
 
 And the heavens begun. 
 
 Since you dropped off the darkening 
 fillet 
 
 Of clay from your sight, 
 And opened your eyes upon glory 
 
 Ineffably bright. 
 
 Though little my life has accomplished, 
 My poor hands have wrought, — 
 
 I have lived what has seemed to be ages 
 In feeling and thought. 
 
TRosemarg anD TRue 6i 
 
 Since our paths grew so narrow, 
 
 So near the unknown, 
 That I turned back from following after, 
 
 And you went on alone. 
 
 For we speak of you cheerfully always 
 
 As journeying on, — 
 Not as one who is dead do we name you. 
 
 We say you are " gone.' ' 
 
 For how could we speak of you sadly, 
 We who watched while the grace 
 
 Of Eternity's wonderful beauty 
 Grew over your face? 
 
 Do we call the star lost that is hidden 
 
 In the great light of morn ? 
 Or fashion a shroud for the young child 
 
 In the night it is bom? 
 
 Yet behold, this were wise to their folly 
 Who mourn, sore distressed, 
 
 When a soul who is summoned — be- 
 lieving. 
 Enters into its rest. 
 
62 TRoscmars ant) IRuc 
 
 And for you, never any more sweetly 
 
 Went to rest, true and deep, 
 Since the first of our Lord's blessed 
 martyrs 
 Having prayed, fell asleep. 
 
 Phcebe Cary. 
 
THOU AND I 
 
 Strange, strange, for thee and me, 
 
 Sadly afar ; 
 Thou, safe beyond above, 
 
 I, 'neath the star; 
 Thou, where flowers deathless spring, 
 
 I, where they fade; 
 Thou, in God's Paradise, 
 
 I, 'mid the shade; 
 
 Thou, where each gale breathes balm, 
 
 I, tempest- tossed ; 
 Thou, where true joy is found, 
 
 I, where 'tis lost; 
 Thou, counting ages thine, 
 
 I, not the morrow; 
 Thou, learning more of bliss, 
 
 I, more of sorrow; 
 63 
 
64 1Ro0emari2 anO IRuc 
 
 Thou, in eternal peace, 
 
 I, 'mid earth's strife; 
 Thou, where care hath no name, 
 
 I, where 't is life; 
 Thou, without need of hope, 
 
 I, where 't is vain; 
 Thou, with wings dropping light, 
 
 I, with time's chain. 
 
 Strange, strange, for thee and me, 
 
 Loved, loving ever; 
 Thou by life's deathless fount, 
 
 I, near death's river; 
 Thou, winning wisdom's lore, 
 
 I, strength to trust; 
 Thou, 'midst the Seraphim, 
 
 I, in the dust. 
 
 Phcebe Cary. 
 
THEIR THOUGHTS AND OUR 
 THOUGHTS 
 
 Six years have faded since she went 
 
 away, 
 Six years for her to live in heavenly 
 
 places, 
 To learn the look of blessed angels' faces, 
 Six years to grow as only angels may. 
 
 I wonder oft what she is doing there 
 By the still waters which forever flow; 
 What mighty secrets she has come to 
 
 know, 
 What graces won, divinely sweet and 
 
 fair. 
 
 I wonder who of those who went before 
 And those who followed on her shining 
 way, 
 5 65 
 
66 TRoacmarg atiD IRue 
 
 She has met there in Heaven's auroral 
 
 day, 
 And if they talk their earth-life o'er and 
 
 o'er? 
 
 I think this very morning they are met, 
 She and one other only three years gone. 
 In some dear place in Heaven secure 
 
 and lone, 
 To talk of things they never can forget. 
 
 For I am sure that naught of their new 
 Hfe, 
 
 Nor grace nor glory that is there re- 
 vealed 
 
 The fountains of past love have ever 
 sealed. 
 
 But these will ever be with sweetness 
 rife. 
 
 I cannot think of them as they are now, 
 Of the new light that shines upon their 
 
 faces, 
 I cannot image forth their angel graces. 
 And I am glad that it is even so. 
 
IRosemarg anD IRue 67 
 
 So we will think of them just as they 
 
 were. 
 Their voices sweet, and all their winning 
 
 ways, 
 And thoughts like these shall help us 
 
 through the days, 
 Until we go to meet them where they are. 
 
 J. W. Chadwick. 
 
I GIVE THEE JOY 
 
 I GIVE thee joy my darling, — 
 Escaped, — set free, set free; 
 
 Thy young Ufe — ^hours of sorrow — 
 Wore on how wearily: 
 
 There is no sorrow yonder, 
 Where Jesus welcomes thee. 
 
 I give thee joy my darling, 
 Thy sleep is calm and sweet, 
 
 And thy bosom heaves no longer 
 With that painful fluttering beat: 
 
 Till the resurrection morning 
 Lie still, O tired feet! 
 
 I give thee joy my darling, 
 The weight is off thy breast; 
 
 This world is dark and stormy, — 
 With Jesus, that is best: 
 68 
 
TRosemarg aiiD IRue 69 
 
 The last tear-drops have fallen, 
 Sweet eyes, now take your rest. 
 
 I give thee joy my darling, 
 See where thy mother stands, 
 
 And watches with rejoicing 
 Those motionless dear hands; 
 
 And thinks of thy dear spirit 
 Among the angel bands. 
 
 I give thee joy my darling, 
 
 I, left here in the night, 
 Can see, beyond the river, 
 
 Thy young brow bathed in light; 
 And on me falls the radiance 
 
 Of thy garments, shining white. 
 
 I give thee joy my darling, 
 
 For Jesus is thy King; 
 And to His blessed presence 
 
 He will all His people bring. 
 There we, one day, together, 
 
 Shall Hallelujah sing. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
WHEN I REMEMBER 
 
 When I remember what a certain haven 
 Your steadfast heart was for my 
 every grief, 
 How for each care and sorrow that op- 
 pressed me, 
 Your voice gave courage, and your 
 smile relief. 
 
 When I remember how you would have 
 shielded 
 My untried spirit from a thought of 
 pain, 
 I, in my desolation growing selfish. 
 From quiet sleep would call you back 
 again. 
 
 Ah, no. You do not sleep — you have 
 awakened 
 
 70 
 
•jRoacmarg aiiD TRue 71 
 
 Unto a life hid from my straining eyes ; 
 In bliss you walk, with other happy 
 
 spirits, 
 That place of rest which we call 
 
 Paradise. 
 
 Have you forgotten in that upper splen- 
 dor, 
 The few bright hours we spent to- 
 gether, here? 
 Can all the blissful joys of heaven 
 render 
 That happy time less real, or less dear? 
 
 Do you ne'er long to leave those Courts 
 of Glory, 
 Just for one look at her who calls in 
 vain ? 
 Will not the Father in His loving mercy. 
 For one blest moment let you back 
 again ? 
 
 Nay, nay, I would not have you see my 
 weakness, — 
 
12 IRoeemarg and IRue 
 
 You, who were always loyal, brave, 
 and strong; 
 I would not have my wild complainings 
 reach you, 
 
 To mar the sweetness of the victor- 
 song. 
 
 'Tis true I, weakly, had well nigh for- 
 gotten 
 Your joy and triumph, in my lonely 
 pain: 
 Oh, Love, believe me, from that happy 
 region, 
 I would not call thee back to earth 
 again! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
THE LOVED AND LOST 
 
 The loved and lost. Why do we call 
 them lost 
 Because we miss them from our on- 
 ward road? 
 
 God's unseen angel o'er our pathway 
 crossed, 
 
 Looked on us all, and loving them the 
 most, 
 Straightway relieved them from life's 
 weary load. 
 
 They are not lost — they are within the 
 door, 
 That shuts out loss, and every hurtful 
 thing — 
 With angels bright, and loved ones gone 
 before, 
 
 73 
 
74 IRoeemars ant> IRue 
 
 In their Redeemer's presence evermore 
 And God, Himself, their Lord, and 
 Judge and King. 
 
 And this, we call "a loss." Oh, selfish 
 
 sorrow 
 Of selfish hearts ! Oh, we of little 
 
 faith ! 
 Let us look round, some argument to 
 
 borrow 
 Why we in patience should await the 
 
 morrow 
 That surely must succeed this night of 
 
 death. 
 
 Ay, look upon this dreary desert path, 
 The thorns, and thistles wheresoe'er 
 we turn, 
 What trials and what tears, what wrongs 
 
 and wrath. 
 What struggles and what strife, the 
 journey hath. 
 They have escaped from these, — and 
 lo ! we mourn. 
 
IRosemare anD IRue 75 
 
 Ask the poor sailor, when the wreck is 
 
 done, 
 Who with his treasure strove the shore 
 
 to reach. 
 While with the raging waves he battled 
 
 on, 
 Was it not joy, when every joy seemed 
 
 gone. 
 To see his loved ones landed on the 
 
 beach? 
 
 A poor wayfarer, leading by the hand 
 A little child, had halted by the 
 well 
 To wash from off her feet the clinging 
 
 sand. 
 And tell the tired boy of thatbrightland, 
 Where, this long journey passed, they 
 longed to dwell. 
 
 When lo! the Lord who many mansions 
 had, 
 Drew near and looked upon the suffer- 
 ing twain, 
 
76 "RosemarB anD "Rue 
 
 Then, pitying spake, "Give me the Httle 
 
 lad. 
 In strength renewed, and glorious beauty 
 clad, 
 r 11 bring him with Me when I come 
 again." 
 
 Did she make answer, selfishly and 
 wrong, 
 Nay, but the woes I feel, he too must 
 share. 
 Or rather, bursting into grateful song, 
 She went her way, rejoicing, and made 
 
 strong 
 To struggle on, since he was freed 
 from care. 
 
 We will do likewise. Death hath made 
 
 no breach. 
 In love and sympathy, in hope and 
 
 trust; 
 No outward sign or sound our ears can 
 
 reach, 
 But there 's an inward spiritual speech, 
 
IRoaemaris anD IRue 77 
 
 That greets us still, though mortal 
 tongues be dust. 
 
 It bids us do the work that they laid 
 down; 
 Take up the song, where they broke 
 off the strain: 
 So, journeying till we reach the heavenly 
 
 town 
 Where are laid up our treasures, and 
 our crown, 
 And our lost loved ones will be found 
 again. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
THY SON LIVETH 
 When back the buds of spring shall come 
 To deck the pleasant lea, 
 How we shall miss the little hands 
 That brought them with such glee. 
 But those small hands have gathered 
 
 flowers 
 That nevermore shall fade, like ( -rs. 
 
 We may not see the sunshine dwell 
 Upon his golden hair, 
 So lovingly it seemed the light 
 Was caught and tangled there, — 
 But yet, a brighter sheen is shed 
 Upon that little golden head. 
 
 When fast across the garden lawn 
 The children rush to play, 
 One little pair of glancing feet 
 78 
 
IRoaemacB anC) IRue 7g 
 
 Will seem so far away; 
 
 But, oh, those little feet have trod 
 
 The very garden of our God ! 
 
 Rev. W. H. Draper. 
 
A CHILD'S DEATH 
 
 Thou touchest us lightly, O God, in 
 our grief; 
 But how rough is thy touch in our 
 prosperous hours. 
 All was bright, but Thou earnest, so 
 dreadful and brief, 
 Like a thunderbolt falling in gardens 
 of flowers. 
 
 My children, my children, they clus- 
 tered all round me. 
 Like a rampart which sorrow could 
 never break through; 
 Each change in their beautiful lives 
 only bound me 
 In a spell of delight which no care 
 could undo. 
 
 80 
 
IRoscmars anD IRue 8i 
 
 But the eldest ! O Father, how glorious 
 he was, 
 With the soul looking out through his 
 fountain-like eyes 
 Thou lovest Thy sole-bom, and had I 
 not cause 
 The treasure Thou gavest me. Father, 
 to prize? 
 
 But the lily-bed lies beaten down by the 
 rain, 
 And the tallest is gone from the place 
 where he grew; 
 My tallest, my fairest, oh, let me com- 
 plain ; 
 For all life is unroofed, and the tem- 
 pests beat through. 
 
 I murmur not, Father, my will is with 
 Thee; 
 I knew at the first that my darling was 
 Thine: 
 
 HadstThou taken him earUer, O Fath- 
 er ! — but see — 
 
82 IRoscmars anO "Rue 
 
 Thou hadst left him so long, that I 
 thought he was mine. 
 
 Thou hast taken the fairest; he was 
 fairest to me ; 
 Thou hast taken the fairest; 't is 
 always Thy way: 
 Thou hast taken the dearest; was he 
 dearest to Thee? 
 Thou art welcome, thrice welcome: — 
 yet woe is the day. 
 
 Thou hast honored my child by the 
 speed of Thy choice 
 Thou hast crowned him with glory 
 o'erwhelmed him with mirth; 
 He sings up in heaven, with his sweet- 
 sounding voice, 
 While I, a saint's mother, am weeping 
 on earth. 
 
 Yet oh, for that voice, which is thrilling 
 through heaven. 
 One moment my ears with its music 
 to slake. 
 
IRosemars an& IRue 83 
 
 Oh, no, not for worlds would I have 
 him regiven. 
 Yet I long to have back what I would 
 not retake. 
 
 I grudge him, and grudge him not. 
 Father, Thou knowest 
 The foolish confusions of innocent 
 sorrow ; 
 It is thus in Thy husbandry, Saviour, 
 Thou sowest 
 The grief of to-day, for the grace of 
 to-morrow. 
 
 Thou art blooming in heaven, my Blos- 
 som, my Pride. 
 And thy beauty makes Jesus and 
 Angels more glad: 
 Saints' mothers have sung when their 
 eldest-born died. 
 Oh, why my own saint, is thy mother 
 so sad? 
 
 Go, go with thy God, with thy Saviour, 
 my child. 
 
84 •Rosemary anD IRue 
 
 Thou art His; I am His; and thy 
 
 sisters are His: 
 But to-day thy fond mother is wild, — 
 To think that her son is an angel in 
 
 bliss. 
 
 Oh, forgive me, dear Saviour, on heaven's 
 bright shore 
 Should I still in my child find a sepa- 
 rate joy? 
 While I lie in the light of Thy face ever- 
 more, 
 May I think heaven brighter because 
 of my boy? 
 
 F. W. Faber. 
 
LENT, NOT LOST 
 
 All is not lost that's passed beyond 
 
 our keeping, 
 Light is not gone though sight be dim 
 
 with weeping; 
 Sweet voices still are sounds of love 
 
 repeating, 
 Though heavy ears scarce catch the tones 
 
 retreating. 
 
 Wave after wave, in endless circles 
 flowing. 
 
 Break on the shore to which our barks 
 are going ; 
 
 Our parted treasures wafted there be- 
 fore us, 
 
 To-morrow's dawn may safely all restore 
 us. 
 
 The gales of heaven, their odorous fresh- 
 ness bringing, 
 
 85 
 
86 IRogemarg ant) IRue 
 
 With swifter speed our battered hulls 
 
 are winging, 
 And clouds that hide the sun from our 
 
 discerning, 
 Quench not the distant beacons steady 
 
 burning. 
 
 Brief is the space that from our loved 
 
 divides us; 
 Thin is the mist that from their haven 
 
 hides us: 
 Soft hands on high are beckoning signals 
 
 holding, 
 White arms wait patient for our hearts 
 
 enfolding. 
 
 There, where from sight our blessed ones 
 
 have vanished. 
 There, where our Father dear, recalls 
 
 His banished, 
 There lies the home that knoweth no 
 
 removing. 
 There lies the love that never needeth 
 
 proving. 
 
IRosemar^ anD IRue 87 
 
 There dawns are pure, and purple lights 
 
 unfading ; 
 On happy brows dull sorrow casts no 
 
 shading; 
 There gentle souls of coming ills are 
 
 fearless, 
 And eyes once drooping, shining now, 
 
 and tearless. 
 
 There all, and always, dwell within His 
 
 keeping. 
 Who, sleepless, careth while our care is 
 
 sleeping: 
 How can we dare to falter in our praying, 
 Their perfect bliss against our sorrow 
 
 weighing ? 
 
 Yes, we must cease unwise and vain 
 complaining ; 
 
 We have but loaned, our title still re- 
 taining; 
 
 Love hath a lien, that time nor death 
 can sever; 
 
 Ours are our own, forever and forever. 
 
A FAREWELL 
 
 Farewell, since nevermore for thee 
 The sun comes up our eastern skies, 
 
 Less bright henceforth shall sunshine be 
 To some fond hearts and saddened 
 eyes. 
 
 There are, who, for thy last long sleep. 
 Shall sleep as sweetly nevermore; 
 
 Shall weep because thou canst not weep, 
 And grieve that all thy griefs are o'er. 
 
 Sad thrift of love, the loving breast 
 
 On which the aching head was thrown 
 Gave up the weary head to rest, 
 But kept the aching for its own. 
 
 R. J. 
 
 88 
 
EVELYN HOPE 
 
 Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead! 
 
 Sit and watch by her side an hour. 
 That is her book-shelf, this her bed; 
 
 She plucked that piece of geranium- 
 flower, 
 Beginning to die, too, in the glass; 
 
 Little has yet been changed, I think: 
 The shutters are shut, no light may pass 
 
 Save two long rays through the hinge's 
 chink. 
 
 Sixteen years old when she died ! 
 
 Perhaps she had hardly heard my 
 name; 
 It was not her time to love ; beside 
 
 Her life had many a hope and aim, 
 Duties enough and little cares, 
 
 And now was quiet, and now astir, 
 89 
 
go 'Rogcmari^ anO IRue 
 
 Till God's hand beckoned unawares, — 
 And her sweet white brow is all of her. 
 
 I have lived (I shall say) so much since 
 then 
 
 Given myself up so many times, 
 Gained me the gains of various men 
 
 Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes; 
 Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope 
 
 Either I missed, or itself missed me: 
 And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope ! 
 
 What is the issue? Let us see ! 
 
 I loved you. Evelyn, all the while : 
 
 My heart seemed full as it could hold; 
 There was place and to spare for the 
 frank young smile 
 And the red young mouth, and the 
 hair's young gold. 
 So hush, — I will give you this leaf to 
 keep; 
 See, I shut it inside the sweet cold 
 hand! 
 
"Rosemary an& "Rue 91 
 
 There, that is our secret; go to sleep ! 
 
 You will wake and remember, and 
 
 understand. 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
WILT THOU FORGET? 
 
 Wilt thou forget me in that other 
 
 sphere, 
 Thou, who hast shared my hfe so long in 
 
 this, — 
 And straight grown dizzy with that 
 
 greater bHss, 
 Fronting heaven's splendor, full, and 
 
 warm, and clear, 
 No longer hold the old embraces dear, 
 When some sweet seraph crowns thee 
 
 with a kiss? 
 Nay, verily ; methinks that thou wouldlst 
 
 miss 
 Some slight small thing that thou hast 
 
 cared for here. 
 I do not dream, that from those ul- 
 timate heights 
 
 Q2 
 
IRoscmarg aiiD IRue 93 
 
 Thou wilt come back to seek me where 
 
 I bide, — 
 But if I follow, patient of thy slights, 
 And if I stand there, waiting by thy side, 
 Surely thy heart with some old thrill will 
 
 stir, 
 And turn thy face toward me, — even 
 
 from her. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
ONE YEAR AGO 
 
 What stars have faded from our sky. 
 What hope unfolded but to die. 
 What dreams, so fondly pondered o'er, 
 Forever lost the hues they wore. 
 How like a death-bell, sad and slow, 
 Tolls through the soul, " one year ago.' ' 
 
 Where is the face we loved to greet, 
 The form that graced the fireside seat. 
 The gentle smile, the winning way, 
 That bless'd our life-path day by day? 
 Where fled those accents, soft and low, 
 That thrilled our hearts " one year ago" ? 
 
 Ah, vacant as the fireside chair, 
 The smile that won, no longer there; 
 From door and hall, from porch and 
 lawn, 
 
 94 
 
'Rosemaris anD "Rue 95 
 
 The echo of that voice is gone; 
 
 And we who Hnger only know 
 
 How much we lost *'one year ago." 
 
 Rt. Rev. A. C. Coxe, D.D. 
 
REMEMBER 
 
 Yet stricken heart, remember, Oh re- 
 member. 
 How, of human days, he Hved the 
 better part: 
 April came to bloom, and never chill 
 December 
 Breathed its killing chills upon the 
 head or heart. 
 
 Doomed to know not winter, — only 
 spring, — a being 
 Trod the flowering April blithely for 
 a while, 
 Took his fill of music, joy of thought, 
 and seeing. 
 Came, and stayed, and went, nor 
 ever ceased to smile. 
 96 
 
•Roscmari^ anC» IRue 97 
 
 Came, and stayed, and went, and now 
 when all is finished 
 You alone have crossed the melan- 
 choly stream; 
 Yours the pang; but his, Oh, his the 
 undiminished, 
 Undecaying gladness, undeparted 
 dream. 
 
 All that life contains of torture, toil, and 
 treason. 
 Shame, dishonor, death, to him were 
 but a name. 
 Here a boy he dwelt, through all the 
 singing season. 
 And ere the day of sorrow departed 
 as he came. 
 
 Stevenson. 
 
IN THIS DIM WORLD 
 
 In this dim world of clouding cares^ 
 We rarely know, till 'wildered eyes 
 See white wings lessening up the skies, 
 
 The angels with us unawares. 
 
 And thou hast stolen a jewel, Death, 
 Shall light thy dark up like a star, 
 A beacon kindly from afar 
 
 Our light of love and fainting faith. 
 
 With our best branch in tenderest leaf 
 We 've strewn the way our Lord 
 
 doth come, 
 And ready for the harvest home, 
 
 His reapers bind our ripest sheaf. 
 
 Our beautiful "bird of light" hath fled. 
 Awhile he sat with folded wings, 
 98 
 
IRosemars anO IRue 99 
 
 Sang round us a few hovering s, 
 Then straightway into Glory sped. 
 
 Through childhood's morning dawn se- 
 rene, 
 He walked between us twain, like 
 
 Love, 
 While in a robe of Hght above, 
 His better angel walked unseen, 
 
 Till life's highway broke bleak and wild; 
 Then lest his starry garments trail 
 In mire, heart bleed and courage fail. 
 
 The angel's arms caught up the child. 
 
 His wave of life hath backward rolled 
 To the great ocean, on whose shore 
 We wander up and down, to store 
 
 Some treasures of the times of old. 
 
 And aye we seek and hunger on 
 For precious pearls, and relics rare 
 Strewn on the sands, for us to wear 
 
 At heart, for love of him that' s gone. 
 
 LOfC. 
 
loo IRoeemat^ and IRue 
 
 Strange glory streams through Hfe's 
 wild rents, 
 And through the open door of Death 
 We see the Heaven that beckoneth 
 
 To the beloved, going hence. 
 
 God's ichor fills the hearts that bleed; 
 The best fruits load the broken bough, 
 And in the wounds our sufferings 
 plough. 
 Immortal Love sows sovereign seed. 
 
 Gerald Massey. 
 
THRENODIA 
 
 Full short his journey was; no dust 
 Of earth unto his sandals clave 
 The weary weight that old men must 
 He bore not to the grave. 
 He seemed a cherub who had lost his way 
 And wandered hither, so his stay 
 With us was short and 't was most meet 
 That he should be no delver in earth's 
 
 clod, 
 Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet. 
 To stand before his God. 
 
 James Russell Lowell. 
 
 lOI 
 
A MOTHER'S PRAYER 
 
 O MY lost darling, in thy new-found 
 
 home, 
 God grant thou hearest not my sobbing 
 
 moan; 
 God grant thou thinkest not on me, 
 
 alone ; 
 Nor longest yet that I to thee shouldst 
 
 come. 
 
 Go, spread thy glittering wings before 
 
 God's throne; 
 Go, veil thy face before the King of 
 
 Kings; 
 But never heed my quivering earthly 
 
 moan. 
 Nor let my sighing thrill thy harp's gold 
 
 strings. 
 
 I02 
 
•Rosemary anC) IRuc 103 
 
 Yet think of me at times. I loved thee 
 so. 
 
 And God is Love, and God alone doth 
 
 know 
 The depth and beauty of my love for 
 
 thee, — 
 My darling, O, my darling, think of me I 
 
 Meta Orred. 
 
THE LOST CHILD 
 
 It was far to go for the little fellow, 
 
 And I think it was dark out there, 
 Away from the sunshine, warm and 
 mellow, 
 That sweetened his earthly air. 
 It was far to go, it was dark I know, 
 And it broke my heart that it should 
 be so. 
 
 The distance between a joy and a joy, 
 
 Or between a star and a star. 
 Some measure like this we may employ, 
 
 Nor measure at last how far. 
 And they were not fleet, they were little 
 
 feet 
 That stumbled beside me in the street. 
 104 
 
•Rosemary aiiD IRue 105 
 
 Oh, little fellow, dear little fellow, 
 Once, where the strange paths crossed 
 
 In magical woods of sunlit-yellow, 
 You, lagging behind, were lost — 
 
 Just a step aside; but I knew that wide 
 
 And terrified look, the day you died ! 
 
 When it is day I can dissemble 
 And cover from sight my care, 
 
 But when it is dark, in tears I tremble, — 
 " What if he be lost out there ? ' ' 
 
 In my troubled sleep, I cower, I weep, 
 
 I am little and lost, and the dark is deep. 
 
 When the ghost moon steals down the 
 mountain hollow 
 To glide through my window bars, 
 I wake and pray to be dead, to follow 
 His stumbles between the stars. 
 
 Fanny Kemble Johnson. 
 
BEATI MUNDO CORDE 
 
 God's Angel passing o'er the world 
 Saw one sweet poem well begun; 
 
 And took it from this world of gloom 
 To finish in an endless sun. 
 
 And though life's song was but half sung, 
 We knew that there, beyond the stars, 
 
 The song will finish at God's feet, 
 And grandest are the final bars. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 io6 
 
GONE 
 
 Another hand is beckoning us, 
 
 Another call is given; 
 And glows once more with angel-steps 
 
 The path which reaches heaven. 
 
 Our young and gentle friend, whose smile 
 Made brighter, summer hours, 
 
 Amid the frosts of autumn time, 
 Has left us with the flowers. 
 
 No paling of the cheek of bloom 
 
 Forewarned us of decay; 
 No shadow, from the Silent Land, 
 
 Fell round our sister's way. 
 
 The light of her young life went down, 
 
 As sinks behind the hill 
 The glory of a setting star, — ■ 
 
 Clear, suddenly, and still. 
 107 
 
io8 TRogemarg anD "Rue 
 
 As pure and sweet her fair brow seemed 
 
 Eternal as the sky; 
 And Hke the brook's long song, her 
 voice, — 
 
 A sound which could not die. 
 
 And half we deemed she needed not 
 The changing of her sphere, 
 
 To give to Heaven a Shining One, 
 Who walked an angel here. 
 
 The blessing of her quiet life 
 
 Fell on us like the dew; 
 And good thoughts, where her footsteps 
 pressed. 
 
 Like fairy blossoms grew. 
 
 Sweet promptings unto kindest deeds 
 
 Were in her very look; 
 We read her face, as one who reads 
 
 A true and holy book; 
 
 The measure of a blessed hymn, 
 To which our hearts could move; 
 
 The breathing of an inward psalm, 
 A canticle of love. 
 
TRosemarg anD TRue 109 
 
 We miss her in the place of prayer, 
 And by the hearth-fire's hght; 
 
 We pause beside her door to hear 
 
 Once more, her sweet "Good-night." 
 
 There seems a shadow on the day 
 Her smile no longer cheers; 
 
 A dimness on the stars of night, 
 Like eyes that look through tears. 
 
 Alone unto our Father's will 
 One thought hath reconciled; 
 
 That He whose love exceedeth ours, 
 Hath taken home His child. 
 
 Fold her, Oh, Father, in Thine arms, 
 
 And let her henceforth be 
 A messenger of love, between 
 
 Our human hearts and Thee. 
 
 Still let her mild rebuking stand 
 Between us and the wrong, 
 
 And her dear memory serve to make 
 Our faith in goodness, strong. 
 
no •Roeemarg aiiD "Rue 
 
 And grant, that she, who trembling 
 here, 
 Distrusted all her powers. 
 May welcome to her holier home, 
 The well-beloved of ours. 
 
 John G. Whittier. 
 
BEYOND THE SHADOW 
 
 Hast thou thought of me at night, dear, 
 When the snow was on the ground, 
 
 And the cold wind moaning past the 
 house 
 With its dreary, wailing sound? 
 
 When the rest were gathered gladly 
 In the cheerful light of home, 
 
 And smiled, and talked of their happy 
 Ufe 
 And of happy years to come ; 
 
 While the storm beat on the window, 
 And its voice was hoarse and loud. 
 Did thy thoughts go away from the 
 smiling friends 
 To visit the friend in her shroud? 
 I II 
 
112 •Rosemary anO IRue 
 
 To one who lay out in the storm, there, 
 Though the snow was on the hill, 
 
 And the rain beat wild on the grave- 
 yard, 
 And her bed was low and chill ? 
 
 She, too, had sat in the firelight. 
 And smiled with a tender grace ; 
 
 Now, let her lie still, in her churchyard 
 chill. 
 With the snow about her face. 
 
 When they sang sweet songs to thee, 
 dear. 
 
 Those friends in the cheerful light. 
 Hast thou thought of the dreary voices 
 
 That murmur across my night ? 
 
 The voice of the night- wind wailing, 
 The voice of the wild bird's cry, 
 
 The sound of the dead leaves falling 
 Where the dead around me lie. 
 
 Thou hast thought of me at night, dear, 
 When the snow was on the hill, 
 
IRosemarij anO IRue 113 
 
 And the firelight danced upon thy face, 
 Though the snow on mine lay chill. 
 
 I have thought of thee at night, dear. 
 Even as thou hast thought of me; 
 
 I come to the quiet haven, — ■ 
 Thou — out on the wintry sea. 
 
 I have thought of thee at night, dear, 
 When the night on earth went down, 
 
 And thou wert out in the cold, dear. 
 And I in the Father's home. 
 
 I, in the quiet city. 
 
 Where the sun shines evermore. 
 Thou, out in the night, with the fading 
 Hght, 
 
 And thy face away from the door. 
 
 I have thought of thee at night, dear. 
 When the angels stood by me. 
 
 And the house was filled with the victor- 
 song 
 And the sound of the crystal sea ; 
 
114 IRoacmarB aiiD "Rue 
 
 For I knew that the songs of sorrow 
 Were the nearest unto thee, 
 
 And the sound of the dreary river 
 Which flows in the dark to the sea. 
 
 We used to talk of the glory, 
 When I, too, stood outside; 
 
 Now I see the King in His beauty, 
 In the far off land abide. 
 
 But half of all His glory 
 
 Had never been told to me, 
 
 Nor the joy of the joyous city 
 Which stands by the crystal sea. 
 
 I have spoken to him at night, dear. 
 When I sat, low down at His feet. 
 
 And the light of His overcoming smile 
 Shone on till it seemed too sweet — 
 
 Too sweet for one so worthless ; 
 
 And I felt it set me free. 
 And free to think of thee, dear, 
 
 For He hath done all for me. 
 
'Rogemarij anD IRue us 
 
 When the earth- wind sounded dreary, 
 
 Far away outside the gate, 
 I have said, " It bloweth chill on her; 
 
 Will she not be home till late?" 
 
 The sun was on the city, 
 
 The sun was on the street, 
 And the light of His smile shone on 
 awhile, 
 
 And His answer sounded sweet; 
 
 He spake in the speech of heaven. 
 Which I may not tell to thee. 
 
 Save this, " I have rest and peace for all 
 Who seek for rest in Me." 
 
 So He thinks of thee at night, dear, 
 When the cold night falls on thee, 
 
 \nd His voice goes down, through storm 
 and sun, 
 "There is rest, dear one, with Me." 
 
 And He' 11 think of thee at night, dear, 
 When the last night cometh down. 
 
ii6 1R06cmari5 anO IRue 
 
 And the cold dew falleth, gleaming 
 In the last gleam of the sun ; 
 
 When the death- wind from the valley 
 Moaneth through the forests dim, 
 
 We will think of thee at night, dear. 
 And thou shalt think of Him. 
 
 B. M. 
 
WOULD I? 
 
 If I could call him back to my empty 
 
 arms and breast 
 And press his cherub head to its wonted 
 
 place of rest, 
 If I could bid his eyes yet their frozen 
 
 lids unseal 
 And for light their mystic fires that 
 
 my dead heart might feel, 
 Would I? 
 
 If I could kiss those lips into life and 
 warmth once more 
 
 And feel their answering thrill as in pre- 
 cious days of yore, 
 
 If I could wake the voice in the little 
 form all still, 
 
 117 
 
ii8 IRosemars anD IRuc 
 
 To feed my starving soul, and with joy 
 my bosom fill, 
 
 Would I? 
 
 If, with his restful hands I could share 
 
 the pulsing life 
 That courses fast through mine, to the 
 
 bitter toil and strife 
 Which rise and frown around increasing 
 
 with our years. 
 As worn and faint we pass through this 
 
 woeful vale of tears, 
 
 Would I? 
 
 If I could bid his feet, that have early 
 
 sought repose, 
 Arise and walk anew this troublous path 
 
 of woes. 
 If I could have him tread yet on thistle 
 
 and on thorn, 
 That mark our weary steps through 
 
 these years that creep forlorn, 
 Would I? 
 
IRosemar^ aiiD IRuc ug 
 
 If I could call him back from realms of 
 
 perfect light 
 To bear the cross of life in this slough 
 
 of sorrow's night, 
 I I could ease my grief by his secrifice 
 
 of bliss, 
 And give his bosom joys of a changeful 
 
 world like this, 
 
 Would I? 
 
 If I could go, unstained and as pure as 
 
 he hath flown 
 To everlasting founts that can alone 
 
 calm sorrow's moan, 
 If 1 could climb the cloud on angel's 
 
 wings above 
 And find my jewel set in the crown of 
 
 perfect Love, 
 
 Would I? 
 
 Walter Clyde. 
 
SUNSHINE AND SHADOW 
 
 He came — the day was dull and dead, 
 
 The skies were cold and gray ; 
 The slanting rain beat on the pane, 
 
 And blurred the tossing bay. 
 But oh, so dear the tender tone, 
 
 His smile so sweet to see. 
 That in my heart the sunlight shone, 
 
 And all was fair to me. 
 
 He's gone — the day is fresh and fair, 
 
 The skies are warm and bright, 
 The robin sings; the blithe bee wings 
 
 O'er fragrant fields his flight. 
 But blurred and dim through tearful eyes 
 
 The sunlit bay I see; 
 For on my heart a shadow lies, 
 
 And all is dark to me. 
 
 " The Manhattan" for August. 
 1 20 
 
WOULD YE BRING THEM BACK? 
 
 Gone to the land of life and light, 
 
 Those whom we loved this fatal year, 
 Risen to mansions fair and bright, 
 Dwelling in God's eternal sight. 
 
 Those whom we held so dear — so dear! 
 
 What have they left us? Memories deep. 
 
 Memories holy, and tender, and true. 
 Yea, were death an endless sleep 
 These would not slumber, these would 
 keep 
 
 Safe from decay the forms we knew. 
 
 Deathless, in God's diviner sphere, 
 Rapt, and serene, our loved ones 
 
 dwell: 
 Complete in the bliss they prayed for 
 
 here, 
 
 121 
 
122 IRoecmnv^ an& TRue 
 
 Perfect in love, in vision clear, 
 Who of their sacred joy can tell? 
 
 Wisdom and truth and peace are theirs ; 
 
 Knowledge that deepens each pass- 
 ing hour, 
 Fruition to faith, and answers to prayers, 
 No conflict of soul, no weary cares 
 
 In that high life of immortal power. 
 
 Shall we demand their return again, 
 Dear as they were, to the strife 
 once more? 
 Call them back to the grief and the pain, 
 Back to the toil, the fret, the stain, 
 Back to the world, from that beautiful 
 shore ? 
 
 No. With the blessed let them be. 
 Safe, and saved in the Saviour's smile, 
 
 Bending to Him the adoring knee; 
 
 Singing to us from the crystal sea, 
 "Here with us in a little while." 
 
 E. B. Russell. 
 
GONE BEFORE 
 
 Gone, gone, — ^but gone before. 
 
 Silent thy name 
 Upon the lips where once 
 
 Its music came. 
 
 Now the sweet cadence falls 
 
 On heavenly air, 
 Angels are sounding those 
 
 Syllables fair. 
 
 Gone, gone, — but gone before. 
 
 No tears can rise, 
 To dim the light of those 
 
 Immortal eyes. 
 
 Nevermore cloud can pass, 
 
 Or stain endure, 
 Upon thy soul redeemed, 
 
 Perfect and pure. 
 123 
 
124 IRoecmar^ an& IRue 
 
 High amid star-like saints 
 
 Radiant and calm, 
 Girded with golden harp, 
 
 Bearing green palm, 
 
 Bend from the battlements 
 
 Thy shining brow; 
 O thou beloved one 
 
 Watch for me now. 
 
 Almost I see thee, thou 
 
 Seemest so high, 
 When I look trustfully, 
 
 Up to God's sky. 
 
 To the pale tender blue 
 
 Rippled all o'er, 
 With the ribbed cloudlets, like 
 
 Sands on a shore. 
 
 Oh, could I drive my bark 
 
 In on that tide. 
 Leap on the golden sands, 
 
 Spring to thy side! 
 
■Rosemary ant> IRue 125 
 
 They who are one in Christ, 
 
 Hid in His heart, 
 Death can not sever, nor 
 
 Hold long apart. 
 
 Soon they clasp hands again, 
 
 All partings o'er, 
 Where the Life-Giver has 
 
 Gone on before. 
 
 Caroline M. Noel. 
 
GONE HOME 
 
 Gone home! Gone home! She lingers 
 
 here no longer 
 
 A restless pilgrim, walking painfully, 
 
 With homesick longing, daily growing 
 
 stronger, 
 
 And yearning visions of the joys to 
 be. 
 
 Gone home! Gone home! Her earnest 
 active spirit, 
 Her very playfulness, her heart of 
 love. 
 The heavenly mansion she doth now 
 inherit, 
 Which Christ made ready ere she 
 went above. 
 
 Gone home! Gone home! The door 
 through which she vanished 
 126 
 
IRosemars anD TRue 127 
 
 Closed with a jar and left us here, 
 alone ; 
 We stand without, in tears and banished, 
 Longing to follow where one loved 
 has gone. 
 
 Gone home! Gone home! Oh, shall we 
 ever reach her, 
 See her again, and know her for our 
 own? 
 Will she conduct us to the heavenly 
 Teacher, 
 And bow beside us, low before His 
 throne ? 
 
 Gone home! Gone home! Oh, human- 
 hearted Saviour 
 Give us a balm to soothe our heavy 
 woe; 
 And, if thou wilt, in tender, pitying 
 favor, 
 Hasten the time when we may rise, 
 and go. 
 
 The Changed Cross. 
 
SOME DAY, SOMEHOW 
 
 "Some day, somehow,' ' the hour is dead 
 
 When I looked into loving eyes 
 And kissed the whispering lips that said 
 
 These words to me. And if the ties 
 Then made are broken; if the breast 
 
 Then warm with life is pulseless now, 
 I still will think that God knows best, 
 
 And that we'll meet some day, some- 
 how. 
 
 Until that time I still will know 
 That, whereso'er in heavenly care 
 
 That pure and radiant soul may go, 
 My thoughts will follow. Everywhere 
 
 I'll hear that voice, so low and sweet. 
 Just as I seem to hear it now; 
 
 r 11 hear the fall of fairy feet, 
 128 
 
IRosemarg aiiD IRue 129 
 
 r 11 hear the words, " some day, some- 
 how." 
 
 Upon the mantelpiece I see 
 
 The picture of a fair sweet face, 
 And though the Hps are sealed to me, 
 
 They speak with more than tender 
 grace. 
 I question not the mystic spell; 
 
 But hark! how clear the accents now. 
 'T is not the language of farewell ; 
 
 'Tis trusting love's "some day, some- 
 how." 
 
 And so I fondly hope 'twill be, 
 
 Not now, but sometime; after life 
 Is finished and eternity 
 
 Dawns on the soul. The toil and 
 strife 
 Of time once ended, then comes rest, 
 
 Such as we do not dream of now ; 
 And then will come to me the best 
 
 Of all, my love, "someday, somehow." 
 Minneapolis Journal, 
 
C: A. M. 
 
 " All in the wild March morning I heard the 
 angels call." — Tennyson. 
 
 She heard the angels call and lo! 
 
 The ties of earth were broken: 
 To us remains a lasting woe, 
 
 Unspeakable, unspoken. 
 To us remains a treasured grief, 
 
 A long, a sacred sadness; 
 To her comes infinite relief, 
 
 A sweet eternal gladness. 
 Oh, Earth, lie lightly on her form, 
 
 So graceful and so slender. 
 Oh, Summer wind. Oh, Winter storm, 
 
 Chant ye, her requiem tender. 
 Oh, stars above her lonely grave. 
 
 Keep vigil ye, unfailing; 
 Oh, River, sob with every wave, 
 
 Bewailing, and bewailing. 
 For kin to all things bright and fair, 
 
 Her regnant beauty made her, 
 130 
 
IRosemar^ auD TRue 131 
 
 And Nature with unwonted care 
 
 Will watch where they have laid her. 
 The birds about the spot will sing 
 
 In early summer mornings, 
 And "dry-voiced insect" voices ring 
 
 In sad Autumnal warnings. 
 And there the sun will softly shine, 
 
 And flowers their perfumes render, 
 And there will fall at even time. 
 
 The day's departing splendor; 
 And there shall we some comfort find. 
 
 And learn that love supernal 
 Has made our human love, though blind, 
 
 The germ of life eternal. 
 
 CROWNED. 
 
 Her course fulfilled, she " fell asleep," 
 Hushed into slumber sweet and deep. 
 
 Oh, rest well earned 
 
 By her, who turned 
 To make her home beneath the Cross, 
 Counting self-chosen ease at loss. 
 
132 1Ro0cmari5 anD IRue 
 
 Fair story of a steadfast life, 
 
 Led in the shade apart from strife. 
 
 Heart calm and pure, 
 
 That would endure 
 God's perfect will unto the end, 
 Knowing the glory to which sorrows 
 
 tend. 
 Where is she now ? Not where the breeze 
 Murmurs among the sheltering trees, 
 
 And shadows pass 
 
 Over the grass, 
 And sea-scents, brought from distant 
 
 waves, 
 Are floating o'er the quiet graves. 
 
 She is on high ; — her eyes have seen 
 The King who had her Saviour been. 
 
 Oh, life fulfilled. 
 
 In rapture stilled. 
 Of Him who led her by the road 
 Of suffering, to be crowned of God. 
 
 Caroline M. Noel. 
 
AT TWILIGHT 
 
 Was it so long ? It seemed so brief a 
 while 
 Since this still hour between the da}^ 
 and the dark 
 Was lightened by a little fellow's smile; 
 
 Since we were wont to mark 
 The sunset's crimson turn to gold, to 
 gray, 
 Content to know that though he loved 
 to roam 
 Care-free among the comrades of his play, 
 Twilight would lead him home. 
 
 A year ago. The well-remembered hail 
 Of happy-hearted children on the 
 green 
 We hear to-night, and see the sunset 
 pale, 
 
 133 
 
134 IRosemar^ anD IRue 
 
 The distant hills between; 
 But when the busy feet shall homeward 
 turn, 
 When little wearied heads shall seek 
 for rest, 
 Where shall you find the weight for 
 which you yearn 
 Ah, tender mother-breast? 
 
 Dear lips that in the twilight hushed and 
 dim 
 Lulled him with murmured fantasies 
 of song ; 
 Dear slender arms, that safely sheltered 
 him. 
 The empty years are long. 
 The night's caressing wind moves bab- 
 bling on, 
 And all the whispered gossip of the firs 
 Is busy with his name who now is gone — 
 My little lad, and hers. 
 
 But if we so, with eager eyes and glad, 
 Looked forward to his coming in the 
 gloom ; 
 
tRoeemarg aiiD IRue 135 
 
 If so our hearts leaped out to meet the 
 lad 
 Whose smile lit all the room, — 
 Shall there not be a Presence waiting 
 thus 
 To still the bitter craving of the quest ? 
 Shall there not be a welcome, too, for us 
 When we go home to rest? 
 
 Yes, God be thanked for this: the ashen- 
 gowned 
 
 Sweet presence of the twilight, and, 
 afar, 
 The strong enduring hills, in beauty 
 crowned 
 With one white steadfast star. 
 A year ago? What, love to us are years? 
 The selfsame twilight, cool and calm 
 and dim, 
 That led him home to us despite our 
 fears, 
 Shall lead us home to him. 
 
 Guy Wetmore Carryl 
 
THE BROKEN FLOWER 
 
 " He shall carry the lambs in His bosom." 
 — Isa. xi, II. 
 
 Oh, bind her hair with roses, 
 
 Wreathe clusters o'er that brow; 
 The sleep where death reposes, 
 
 Has mantled o'er its snow; 
 And joy, and pride, and sorrow, 
 
 Have died from out those eyes, 
 Which gaze on Life's to-morrow, 
 
 And see in Paradise. 
 
 The things we dare not fathom, 
 
 The thoughts we may not know, 
 In all their perfect beauty 
 
 Our darling knoweth now. 
 No dream of sorrow darkling 
 
 May cloud the eye of faith, 
 For shade is lost in lustre. 
 
 And life begins in death. 
 136 
 
IRoeemart? an& IRue 137 
 
 Her hands are meekly folded 
 
 Across her gentle breast, 
 Her fingers twined forever 
 
 For one unbroken rest. 
 And in a dreamless slumber, 
 
 With marbled brow and chill, 
 She lieth, veiled in silence, 
 
 And passionless, and still. 
 
 The white rose nestles softly 
 
 Beside that cold, cold cheek. 
 Which lieth pale and changeless. 
 
 So wan, and pure, and meek. 
 The myrtle's spray is peeping 
 
 From out that golden hair. 
 But ah, the fairest floweret 
 
 Lies crushed and broken there. 
 
 A flower amid the flowerets, 
 
 A pale and broken flower. 
 Now sown in tearful weakness, 
 
 Then raised in wondrous power; 
 Though these shall fade and wither, 
 
 Like rosebuds on the pall. 
 
138 TRogemari^ an& IRuc 
 
 She hears the "come up hither" 
 And blooms beyond them all. 
 
 A lovely star has fallen 
 
 From our terrestial sky, 
 And with a blaze of beauty 
 
 Has swept its glory by. 
 But oh, it gleameth brighter. 
 
 With purer, clearer glow, 
 Amid the shining circlet, 
 
 That binds the thorn-crowned Brow. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
REST IN THE GRAVE 
 
 "Rest in the grave." But rest is for 
 the weary, 
 And his sHght Umbs were hardly girt 
 for toil. 
 Rest is for lives worn out, deserted, 
 dreary, 
 Which have no brightness left for 
 death to spoil. 
 
 We yearn for rest when power and pas- 
 sion wasted 
 Have left to memory nothing but re- 
 gret; 
 He sleeps, while life's best pleasures, all 
 untasted, 
 Had scarce approached his rosy lips 
 as yet. 
 
 139 
 
I40 TRosemarg aiiD TRue 
 
 His childlike eyes held all their craving 
 sweetness, 
 His form was ripening to more per- 
 fect grace, 
 He died with the pathetic incomplete- 
 ness 
 Of Beauty's promise on his pallid face. 
 
 What undeveloped gifts, what powers 
 untasted, 
 Perchance, with him have passed 
 away from earth : 
 What germs of thought, in that young 
 brain arrested. 
 May never grow, and quicken, and 
 have birth. 
 
 We drink the sweets of life, and drink 
 
 the bitter, 
 And Death, to us, would almost seem 
 
 a boon; 
 But why to him, for whom glad Life 
 
 were fitter. 
 Should darkness come, ere day had 
 
 reached its noon ? 
 
TRoeemats anJ) 1Rue 141 
 
 No answer, save the echo of our weeping 
 
 Which from the woodland and the 
 
 moor is heard 
 
 Where, in the spring-time, ruthless 
 
 storm winds sweeping 
 
 Have slain the unblown flower, and 
 
 unfledged bird. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
THE CHILD ETERNAL 
 
 I HEARD their prayers, and kissed their 
 sleepy eyes, 
 And tucked them in all warm from 
 feet to head, 
 To wake again with morning's glad sun- 
 rise, — ■ 
 Then came where he lay dead. 
 On cold still mouth I laid my lips. 
 Asleep he lay, to wake the other side 
 God's door. 
 My other children, mine to love and keep 
 But this one, mine no more. 
 
 Those other children, long to men have 
 grown, — 
 Strange, hurried men, who give me 
 passing thought, 
 142 
 
•Rosemarij anD IRue 143 
 
 Then go their ways. No longer now 
 my own, 
 Without me they have wrought. 
 So, when night comes, and, seeking 
 mothers' knee, 
 Tired childish feet turn home at even- 
 tide, 
 I fold him close, — the child that's left to 
 me. 
 My little lad who died. 
 
 Irene Fowler Brown. 
 
AN ANNIVERSARY 
 
 This was thy heavenly birthday much 
 loved boy 
 Dost thou not wonder at thy parents' 
 
 tears 
 And question why so sad that day 
 appears, 
 Which crowned their darling with un- 
 fading joy? 
 Why do they now their mournful 
 thoughts employ 
 In fondly dwelling on thy few short 
 
 years? 
 For Memory, while she thus the past 
 endears, 
 Blends with the sweet her bitterest 
 alloy. 
 Oh, if a birthday of a life like ours, 
 144 
 
•Rosemary anD TRue 145 
 
 In this dark world of trouble and 
 unrest, 
 Be hailed with gratulations, gifts, and 
 flowers. 
 Should not thine entrance on a life so 
 blest 
 E'en as a sacred jubilee be kept, 
 And not a tear, but tears of joy be 
 wept? 
 
 Charlotte ELLiot. 
 
EPITAPH 
 
 The lamb is gathered into that blest 
 fold 
 Where dangers cannot enter, nor 
 
 alarms, 
 Led by her Shepherd carried in His 
 arms, 
 She passed through earth, scarce tarry- 
 ing to behold 
 The waters still, which near her gently 
 rolled, 
 Or the green pastures decked with 
 
 flowery charms ; 
 But though we thought her sheltered 
 from all harms, 
 This damp, terrestrial climate proved 
 too cold. 
 Her Shepherd watched her drooping, 
 and meanwhile 
 146 
 
IRosemar^ an& IRue 147 
 
 The everlasting arms were underneath; 
 
 Cheered by His voice, encouraged by 
 
 His smile, 
 
 She reached the dark unfathomed gulf 
 
 of death; 
 
 He hushed its waves — then to His fold 
 
 above 
 Wafted safe o'er the object of His love. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 DEAD 
 
 Why should we kiss thy cold dead lips 
 And mourn that thou hast left our 
 sight. 
 
 Are not our souls still in eclipse 
 
 While thine hath found the light? 
 
 I think this is the reason why 
 
 We weep not that we wish thee here, 
 Because to souls with earth laid by, 
 
 Earth's problems are made clear. 
 
148 Koeemari? an& IRue 
 
 But that our hearts yearn longingly 
 To go away with thee to-night 
 
 Out of this old world's mystery 
 Into a new world's light. 
 
 B . E . W. 
 
 MEMORIES 
 
 She is laid in the earth, but her bright 
 
 spirit soars 
 To the regions of bliss, from these 
 
 sorrowful shores. 
 She moved in her beauty, an angel while 
 
 here, 
 And I saw she was formed for a happier 
 
 sphere. 
 
 O, sad are the sighs for my darling I 
 heave. 
 
 And sad are my tears, though 'tis fruit- 
 less to grieve. 
 
 Yet oft, through the dark mists of 
 sorrow I see, 
 
 In fancy, my darling still smiling on me. 
 
IRosemarg anD "Rue 149 
 
 Wherever I go there 's no object I trace, 
 Can turn from my mind her loved form, 
 
 or her face; 
 Nor time can my soul in forgetfulness 
 
 steep ; 
 Her dream-wafted image still smiles 
 
 o'er my sleep. 
 
 In nights calm and clear, 'mid bright 
 
 orbs I try 
 To trace her blest home in the beautiful 
 
 sky; 
 And I gaze on some stars, till in fancy 
 
 I see 
 Her far-shining spirit, still smiling on me 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
REMEMBER 
 
 Remember me when I am gone away, 
 Gone far away into the silent land; 
 When you can no more hold me by 
 the hand, 
 Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay. 
 Remember me when no more day by day 
 You tell me of our future that you 
 
 planned. 
 Only remember me — you understand. 
 
 Yet if you should forget me for a while, 
 And afterwards remember, do not grieve; 
 Better by far you should forget and 
 
 smile. 
 Than to remember, and be sad. 
 
 Christina Rossetti. 
 
 150 
 
A DEATH-BED 
 
 The room was full of angels 
 And she wondered we could not see, 
 That we could not see their shining wings 
 As they floated noiselessly 
 
 Around her bed? 
 
 The room was full of music, 
 Beautiful music she said, 
 And she wondered we could not hear 
 How the holy strains were stealing, 
 How the happy songs were pealing 
 All through the hush and gloom 
 
 Of the silent room. 
 
 And just before the dawning 
 When the darkness of night was o'er. 
 And the night of her suffering life 
 Was ended forevermore 
 In the grey of Ascension mom 
 151 
 
152 IRoscmari? an& IRue 
 
 The angels came again, 
 
 And tenderly they bore her 
 
 For whom they had waited long. 
 
 Watched and waited in heaven, 
 
 Knowing that even here 
 
 She was learning their blessed song. 
 
 So in the grey of the morning 
 
 They bore her soul away 
 
 Beyond the prison bars. 
 
 Beyond the fading stars, 
 
 To the brightness of the day. 
 
 M. E. WiNSLOW. 
 
WATCHING 
 
 He watched her breathing through the 
 night, 
 
 Her breathing soft and low, 
 As in her breast the wave of hfe 
 
 Kept heaving to and fro. 
 
 So silently we seemed to speak, 
 
 So slowly moved about, 
 As we had lent her half our powers 
 
 To eke her living out. 
 
 Our very hopes belied our fears. 
 
 Our fears our hopes belied. 
 We thought her dying when she slept, 
 
 And sleeping when she died. 
 
 For when the morn came dim, and sad, 
 
 And chill with early showers, 
 Her quiet eyelids closed, — she had 
 Another mom than ours. 
 
 Thomas Hood. 
 153 
 
A SONG AND A PRAYER 
 
 A SONG for the girl we love, — 
 
 God love her. 
 A song for the eyes, with their tender 
 
 wile, 
 And the fragrant mouth with its melting 
 
 smile, 
 The rich brown tresses, uncontrolled. 
 That clasp her neck with their tenderest 
 
 hold, 
 And the blossom lips, and the dainty 
 
 chin, 
 And the lily hand, that we try to win, — 
 The girl that we love, — ■ 
 God love her. 
 
 A prayer for the girl we loved, — 
 
 God loved her. 
 
 A prayer for the eyes of the faded light 
 
 154 
 
•Rosemaris an& IRiie 155 
 
 And the cheek whose red rose waned to 
 
 white; 
 And the quiet brow, with its shadow 
 
 and gleam, 
 And the lashes drooped in a long deep 
 
 dream, 
 And the small hands crossed, for the 
 
 church-yard rest, 
 And the roses dead, on her sweet dead 
 breast, — • 
 The girl that we loved, — • 
 God loved her. 
 Frederick Langbridge. 
 
GONE AWAY 
 
 I WILL not ithink of thee as cold and 
 dead 
 Low lying in the grave that I can see ; 
 I would not stand beside when life had 
 fled 
 And left thy body only, there for me. 
 I never saw thee with thy pale arms 
 
 crossed, 
 Or that unbeating heart that was mine 
 
 own, 
 They only told me all that I had lost 
 When from thy breast thy lovely soul 
 had flown. 
 
 Thou wert not that, — -and so I turned 
 away 
 And left the house when other mourn 
 ers stayed 
 
IRosemari? anO TRuc 157 
 
 Nor did I come on that unhappy day, 
 When in the tomb that dreadful 
 thing was laid. 
 To me thou art not dead, — but gone an. 
 hour 
 Into another country fair and sweet, 
 Where thou shalt, by some undiscovered 
 power, 
 Be kept in youth and beauty till we 
 meet. 
 
 Thus I can feel that at some given day 
 I could rejoin thee, — gone awhile be- 
 fore 
 To foreign climes to pass dull weeks 
 away. 
 By wandering on the broad Atlantic 
 shore, 
 Where each long wave that breaks upon 
 the sand 
 Bears thee a message from me waiting 
 here, 
 And every breath Spring breathes across 
 the land 
 
158 IRosemari? aiiD "Rue 
 
 Seems as a sign that thou art Ungering 
 near. 
 
 So I will think of thee, as living there, 
 
 And I will keep thy grave in sweetest 
 
 bloom, 
 
 As if thou gav'st a garden to my care, 
 
 Ere thou departed from our English 
 
 gloom. 
 
 Then when my day is done, and I, too, 
 
 die, 
 
 'T will be as if I journeyed to thy side, 
 
 And when all quiet we together lie, 
 
 We shall not know that we have ever 
 
 died. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
ALONE 
 
 Since she went home 
 The evening shadows linger here, 
 The winter days fill so much of the year, 
 And even summer winds are chill and 
 drear, 
 
 Since she went home. 
 
 Since she went home 
 
 The robin's note has struck a minor 
 
 strain, 
 The old glad songs breathe but a sad 
 
 refrain, 
 And laughter sobs with hidden bitter 
 
 pain 
 
 Since she went home. 
 
 Since she went home 
 
 How still the empty rooms her presence 
 
 blest. 
 
 159 
 
i6o TRoecman? aiiD IRue 
 
 Untouched the pillow that her dear 
 
 head pressed, 
 My lonely heart hath nowhere for its 
 
 rest 
 
 Since she went home, 
 
 vSince she went home 
 
 The long, long days have crept away 
 
 like years. 
 The sunlight has been dimmed with 
 
 doubts and fears. 
 And the long nights have rained in 
 lonely tears, 
 
 Since she went home. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
UNDER THE VIOLETS 
 
 Her hands are cold; her face is white; 
 No more her pulses come and go ; 
 
 Her eyes are shut to life and light; 
 
 Fold the light vesture, snow on snow, 
 And lay her where the violets blow. 
 
 But not beneath a graven stone, 
 To plead for tears with alien eyes; 
 
 A slender cross of wood alone 
 
 Shall say that here a maiden lies 
 
 In peace, beneath the peaceful skies. 
 
 And gray old trees, of hugest limb 
 
 Shall wheel their circling shadows 
 round 
 To make the scorching sunlight dim, 
 That drinks the greenness from the 
 ground. 
 
 11 i6i 
 
i62 IRoecmare aiiD TRue 
 
 And drop their dead leaves on the 
 mound. 
 
 When o'er their boughs the squirrels run, 
 And through their leaves the robins 
 call, 
 
 And, ripening in the autumn sun, 
 The acorns and the chestnuts fall. 
 Doubt not that she will heed them all. 
 
 For her the morning choir shall sing 
 Its matins from the branches high; 
 
 And every minstrel voice of spring 
 That thrills beneath the April sky 
 Shall greet her with its earliest cry. 
 
 When turning round their dial-track, 
 Eastward the lengthening shadows 
 pass. 
 Her little mourners, clad in black, — 
 The crickets, — sliding through the 
 
 grass, 
 Shall pipe for her, an evening mass. 
 
 At last, the rootlets of the trees 
 Shall find the prison where she lies, 
 
IRosemar^ anD IRue 163 
 
 And bear the buried dust they seize, 
 In leaves and blossoms to the skies. 
 So may the soul that warmed it, rise. 
 
 If any, bom of kindlier blood 
 
 Should ask, "What maiden lies be- 
 low?" 
 Say only this: "A tender bud 
 
 That tried to blossom in the snow 
 Lies withered where the violets blow. ' * 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes. 
 
PROSPICE 
 
 Fear death? — ^To feel the fog in my 
 throat 
 The mist in my face, 
 When the snows begin and the blasts 
 denote 
 I am nearing the place, 
 The power of the night, the press of the 
 storm, 
 The post of the foe ; 
 Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a 
 visible form. 
 Yet the strong man must go: 
 For the journey is done and the summit 
 attained, 
 And the barriers fall. 
 Though a battle 's to fight ere the guer- 
 don be gained, 
 The reward of it all. 
 164 
 
IRosemarB anO IRue 165 
 
 I was ever a fighter, so — one fight more, 
 
 The best and the last! 
 I would hate that Death bandaged my 
 eyes and forbore. 
 And bade me creep past. 
 No! let me taste the wh of it, fare 
 like my peers 
 The heroes of old, 
 Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad 
 Life's arrears 
 Of pain, darkness, and cold. 
 For sudden the worst turns the best to 
 the brave. 
 The black minute 's at end. 
 And the elements' rage, the fiend- voices 
 that rave. 
 Shall dwindle, shall blend, 
 Shall change, shall become first a peace 
 out of pain. 
 Then a light, then thy breast, 
 O thou soul of my soul I shall clasp thee 
 again. 
 And with God be the rest] 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
FROM "THELADYOFGARAYE," 
 
 ''Servant of God, well done! They serve 
 
 God best who serve His creatures. 
 When the funeral bell tolls for the dead 
 
 there's nothing left of all that decks 
 
 the scutcheon and the funeral pall 
 Save this. 
 
 The coronet is empty show; the 
 
 strength and loveliness are hid 
 
 below ; 
 The shifting wealth to others hath 
 
 accrued; and learning cheers not 
 
 the grave's solitude. 
 What 's done is what remains. Ah, happy 
 
 they who leave completed tasks of 
 
 love to stay 
 And answer mutely for them, being dead, 
 
 ' Life was not purposeless, tho' life 
 
 be fled.' " 
 
 Mrs. Norton. 
 
 i66 
 
LINKS WITH HEAVEN 
 
 Our God in heaven, from that holy 
 place, 
 To each of us an angel guide has given ; 
 But mothers of dead children have 
 more grace, i 
 
 For they give angels to their God in 
 heaven. 
 
 How can a mother's heart feel cold or 
 weary, 
 I Knowing her dearer self, — safe, shel- 
 tered, warm? 
 How can she feel her road too dark or 
 dreary. 
 Who knows her treasure sheltered 
 from the storm? 
 167 
 
i68 lRo0cmari? an& IRue 
 
 How can she sin? Our hearts may be 
 unheeding, 
 Our God forgot, our holy saints defied. 
 But can a mother hear her dead child 
 pleading, 
 And thrust those little angel hands 
 aside ? 
 
 Those little hands stretched down to 
 draw her ever 
 Nearer to God, by mother-love; we 
 all 
 Are blind and weak, but surely she can 
 never. 
 With such a stake in heaven, fail or 
 fall. 
 
 She knows that when the mighty angels 
 raise 
 
 Chorus in heaven, one little silver tone 
 Is hers forever, that one little praise. 
 
 One happy little voice, is all her own. 
 
 Ah, saints in heaven may pray with 
 earnest will. 
 
IRosemar^ an& IRue 169 
 
 And pity, for their weak and erring 
 
 brothers, 
 Yet there is prayer in heaven, more 
 
 tender still: 
 
 The little children pleading for their 
 
 mothers. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 HOLY INNOCENTS 
 
 They scarcely waked before they slept, 
 They scarcely wept before they 
 
 laughed, 
 They drank indeed, death's bitterest 
 draught ; 
 But all its bitterest dregs were kept 
 And drained by mothers while they wept. 
 
I70 "Roscmari? anD "Rue 
 
 From heaven the speechless infants 
 speak ; 
 "Weep not" (they say), our mothers 
 
 dear, 
 For swords, nor sorrows come not here ; 
 Now we are strong, who were so weak, 
 And all is ours we could not seek. 
 
 We bloom among the blooming flowers, 
 
 We sing among the singing birds ; 
 
 Wisdom we have, who wanted words; 
 
 Here, morning knows not evening hours, 
 
 All 's rainbow here, without the showers. 
 
 And softer than our mother's breast, 
 And closer than our mother's arm, 
 Is here the Love that keeps us warm 
 
 And broods above our happy nest; 
 
 Dear mothers, come, for heaven is best.*' 
 Christina Rossetti. 
 
MOTHER-QUESTIONS 
 
 I CHARGE you, O bright angels of the 
 
 skies, 
 Seeing I am not either strong, or wise, 
 But only a sad mother, strangely lone, 
 And spent with weeping for dear 
 children gone. 
 List to these yearning questions: "How 
 
 they fare? 
 Who guides their feet upon the golden 
 stair? 
 Who leads ail-tenderly each little 
 
 hand? 
 Who lifts them for caress, in that far 
 land? 
 Soothes with soft music, calls them buds 
 
 and flowers, 
 With loving smile and song beguiles the 
 hours? 
 
 171 
 
172 IRosemar^ anD IRue 
 
 And have they missed me?" Ne'er 
 
 do I forget. 
 These eyes are oft with grieving tear- 
 drops wet. 
 So sad, so silent is the nursery floor, 
 No little "patter, patter," evermore; 
 Nor any lispings heard of baby speech, 
 Nor loving kisses mother-love to 
 reach ; 
 I only have green graves, and still, cold 
 
 clay. 
 Where are my darlings, O ye angels say? 
 
ANGELIC ANSWERS 
 
 Safe, happy, blessed, evermor^. 
 
 Be comforted, mother, nor grieve 
 more. 
 Each httle cross-set brow 
 Weareth a star-crown now; 
 
 Ever 'mid fadeless flowers 
 
 Pass they the blissful hours; 
 Often on Jesus' breast 
 Find they their loving rest; 
 
 Often before His feet. 
 
 Scatter their garlands sweet ; 
 
 " Following the Lamb " they go, 
 Nor sorrow ever know. 
 
 O faithless, to suppose 
 One plucks a budding rose, 
 Deems it a moment sweet, 
 173 
 
174 TRosemarg anO IRuc 
 
 Then drops it 'neath the feet. 
 Mortals may fickle prove, 
 Not such thy Saviour's love. 
 
 Nay, having gathered thine 
 
 Up to His arms divine, 
 CChild-love cannot divide) 
 Thy babes are satisfied. 
 
 Seeing that mothers are for blessed using, 
 
 Care, and caresses, — harm, and ill re- 
 fusing. 
 
 Plainly thy babes have better shelter 
 now 
 
 Than thou couldst give in this poor world 
 below. 
 
 But take an angel's word, — Thou 'rt not 
 forgot. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
MOTHER-LOVE 
 
 Ye were mine, flesh and soul mine, O 
 my children ; 
 A portion of myself is torn away. 
 The breath of life seems stifled in our 
 parting, 
 And death-like darkness clouds my 
 lonely way. 
 A chill, sick shudder thrills my yearning 
 bosom, 
 Where nevermore your gentle arms 
 shall twine. 
 The memory of your voices doubles 
 anguish, 
 Your voices, that no longer answer 
 mine. 
 Yet cease my soul, O hush this vain 
 lamenting, 
 
 175 
 
176 IRosemare auD IRuc 
 
 Earth's anguish will not alter Heaven's 
 decree ; 
 In that calm world whose peopling is of 
 angels, 
 Those I called mine still live and 
 wait for me. 
 They cannot re-descend where I lament 
 them, 
 My earth-bound grief no sorrowing 
 angel shares, 
 And in their peaceful, but immortal 
 dwelling, 
 Nothing of me can enter, but my 
 prayers. 
 
 If this be so, then, that I may be near 
 them, 
 Let me still pray, unmunnuring, night 
 and day. 
 God lifts us gently to the world of glory 
 Even by the love we feel for things of 
 clay. 
 Lest in our wayward hearts we should 
 forget Him, 
 
TRosemare aiiD IRue 177 
 
 And forfeit so, the mansion of our rest, 
 He leads our dear ones forth, and bids 
 us seek them 
 In a far distant home among the blest. 
 So we have guides to Heaven's eternal 
 city, 
 And when our wandering feet would 
 backward stray, 
 The faces of our dead arise in brightness, 
 And fondly beckon to the holier way. 
 Tho' mother-love for use is needed not. 
 
 Would 'st have thy nestlings fill thine 
 arms again? 
 
 Yield to a better way to ease thy pain. 
 
 Out in earth's desert, 'mid the weed and 
 thorn, 
 
 Are wailing babes, unsheltered and for- 
 lorn; 
 
 Up from thy vacant chamber ! Ope the 
 door. 
 
 Let stranger babes pass in upon the floor. 
 
 Haste to the shelf, delay not, nor refuse 
 
 The hoarded robes thy children ne'er 
 will use; 
 
178 IRo&cmar^ and l^ue 
 
 With holy song beguile their tears away, 
 Dispel thine own, in infant mirth and 
 
 play ; 
 Be thou their angel in a paradise. 
 Such mother-love divine, — divine its 
 price. 
 
 Mrs. E. B. Browning. 
 
THE SHEPHERD CALLS 
 
 I KNOW in grief like thine, 
 
 How more than vain, 
 All comfort to the 
 
 Stricken heart appears, 
 And, as the bursting cloud 
 
 Must spend its rain, 
 
 So grief its tears. 
 
 I know, that when 
 
 Thy httle darhng's form 
 Had freed the living spirit 
 
 Fettered there, 
 You could not pierce 
 
 Beyond the breaking storm 
 
 In your despair. 
 
 You only knew 
 
 Those precious eyes were dim 
 You only felt 
 
 179 
 
iSo IRoscmarg aiiD IRiie 
 
 Those tiny lips were cold, 
 You only clung 
 
 To what remained of him 
 Beneath the mould. 
 
 You could not see 
 
 The tender hand that caught 
 Your little lamb 
 
 In all its witching charms, 
 You missed him 
 
 From your own, but never thought 
 
 Of Jesus' arms. 
 
 But, young mother 
 
 Look, the gate unbars. 
 And through the darkness 
 
 SmiUng, from the skies, 
 All beaming on you 
 
 Brighter than the stars, 
 
 Your darling's eyes. 
 
 'T is said that when the pastures 
 Down among the Alpine vales 
 Have ceased to feed the flock, 
 
IRosemars anO TRue i8i 
 
 And they must mount 
 Where yet the grass is young 
 
 Far up the rock, 
 The shepherd takes a Httle lamb 
 At play, and lifts him gently 
 
 To his careful breast, 
 And with its tender bleating 
 
 Leads the way for all the rest, 
 That quick the mother 
 
 Follows in the path, 
 Then others go, like men 
 
 Of faith, and hopes. 
 And soon the shepherd 
 
 Gathers all he hath, 
 
 High, on the slopes. 
 And on those 
 Everlasting Hills he feeds 
 The trusting fold, 
 
 In green that never palls. 
 
 Look up! Oh! See, 
 Your little darling leads, 
 The Shepherd calls. 
 
 L. C. MOULTON. 
 
MATER DOLOROSA 
 
 Because of little low-laid heads, all 
 crowned 
 
 With golden hair, 
 Forevermore all fair young brows to me 
 
 A halo wear: 
 I kiss them rev' rently, — alas, I know 
 
 The stains I bear. 
 
 Because of dear but close-shut holy eyes 
 Of heaven's own blue, 
 
 All little eyes do fill my own with tears, 
 Whate'er their hue; 
 
 And motherly I gaze their innocent 
 Clear depths into. 
 
 Because of little pallid lips which once 
 My name did call, 
 
 182 
 
IRoscmarg aiiD TRue 183 
 
 No childish voice in vain appeal, upon 
 
 My ear doth fall. 
 I count it all my joy their joys to share 
 
 And sorrows small. 
 
 Because of little dimpled cherished hands 
 
 Which folded lie, 
 All little hands henceforth to me do have 
 
 A pleading cry; 
 I clasp them as they were small wander- 
 ing birds 
 
 Lured home to fly. 
 
 Because of little death-cold feet, for 
 earth's 
 
 Rough roads unmeet, 
 I 'd journey leagues to save from sin or 
 harm 
 
 Such little feet; 
 And count the lowliest service done for 
 them 
 
 So sacred sweet. 
 
 Mary K. Field. 
 
A LITTLE GRAVE 
 
 Softly, tread softly. A baby's asleep 
 Under the daisies and grass; 
 Over his bosom the violets creep, 
 Ah, but his slumber is tender and deep, 
 Watched by the Father that loveth His 
 
 own. 
 Dear little baby, sleep sweetly to-day, — 
 Rest that is sweeter no baby hath known. 
 
 Softly, tread softly, nor wake from his 
 
 sleep 
 Under the daisies and grass, 
 This little one sleeping with flowers on 
 
 its breast. 
 Knowing of quiet the sweetest and best. 
 Never the sorrowful secrets of life, 
 Never the mystery clinging to death. 
 184 
 
IRosemar^ anO IRuc 185 
 
 For this wee sleeper, — he 's done with 
 
 the strife. 
 Grave, guard him closely your blossoms 
 
 beneath. 
 
 Some mother misses this babe from her 
 
 breast 
 Under the daisies and grass: 
 Often at twilight she hushed it to rest, 
 Singing the songs that a baby loves best. 
 Ah, but the arms of the mother of all 
 Wrappeth the little one close to her 
 
 breast ; 
 Kind Mother Earth, when the night 
 
 shadows fall, 
 Gather us all to your bosom to rest. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
BEST 
 
 Mother, I see you with your nursery 
 
 light 
 Leading your babies all in white 
 
 To their sweet rest: 
 Christ, the Good Shepherd, carries mine 
 to-night, 
 
 And that is best. 
 
 I cannot help tears, when I see them 
 
 twine 
 Their fingers in yours, and their bright 
 curls shine 
 
 On your warm breast; 
 But the Saviour's is purer than yours or 
 mine, — ■ 
 
 He can love best. 
 
 i86 
 
IRoscmari? anO IRue 187 
 
 You tremble each hour because your 
 
 arms 
 Are weak, your heart is wrung with 
 alarms, 
 
 And sore opprest, 
 My darlings are safe, out of reach of 
 harms, 
 
 And that is best. 
 
 You know over yourS may hang even 
 
 now 
 Pain and disease whose fulfilling, slow, 
 
 Naught can arrest; 
 Mine in God's gardens run to and fro, 
 
 And that is best. 
 
 You know that of yours, the feeblest one 
 And dearest, may live long years alone, 
 
 Unloved, unblest; 
 Mine are cherished of saints around God's 
 throne, 
 
 And that is best. 
 
 You must dread for yours, the crime 
 that sears. 
 
i88 TRosemarg anO IRue 
 
 Dark guilt, unwashed by repentant 
 tears, 
 
 And unconfessed; 
 Mine entered spotless on eternal years, — 
 
 How much the best. 
 
 But grief is selfish, and I cannot see 
 
 Always, why I should so stricken be 
 
 More than the rest; 
 
 But I know that as well for them, as for 
 
 me, 
 
 God did the best. 
 
 H. H. 
 
BABES ALWAYS 
 
 *T IS late — in my lone chamber, 
 
 Borne through the echoing hall, 
 I hear the wind's hoarse sobbing, 
 
 The rain-drops plashing fall; 
 And the street-lamp on the ceiling 
 
 Throws many a weird-like form.- 
 Tree-shadows dancing wildly 
 
 To the music of the storm. 
 
 Called I my vigil lonely? 
 
 The door is still and fast: 
 O'er threshold, and o'er carpet, 
 
 No mortal foot has passed; 
 No rustle of white raiment 
 
 Or warm breath stirs the air 
 Yet I speak aloud my greeting: 
 
 "My darlings, are you there?" 
 189 
 
iQo IRoscmare auO IRue 
 
 Not the three who by me kneeHng, 
 
 Said "Our Father" hours ago, — 
 Whose cheeks now dent their pillows 
 
 Like roses upon snow ; 
 They dream not of the graveyard, 
 
 And of the hillocks twain 
 Snow-heaped to-night, — (Lord help me,) 
 
 And dripping with the rain. 
 
 Twelve years, — a manly stripling 
 Our boy, by this had grown. 
 
 Is it four years, or twenty. 
 
 Since I kissed the eyelids down 
 
 Of her whose baby sweetness 
 Was a later gift from God, 
 
 And straightened in the coffin 
 
 Wee feet that never trod? 
 These are not strangers' glances 
 
 That eagerly seek mine; 
 I know the loving straining. 
 
 Of the arms that round me twine. 
 Thou hast kept them babes, O Father. — 
 
 Who not, 'mid heaven's bowers 
 
TRosemarg anO IRue 191 
 
 Learning the speech of angels, 
 
 Forget this home of ours; — 
 Or her who braved Death's anguish 
 
 To win them to her breast; 
 If they fled into the sunshine, 
 
 Free birds from narrow nest, 
 They come to me when longing 
 
 And pain are at their height, 
 To tell me of the safety, the love, and 
 the delight 
 
 Of that eternal dwelling, 
 
 (With our name upon the door) 
 The ring of baby-voices 
 
 Shall gladden evermore; 
 Till 'neath their tender soothing, 
 
 I lift my heart and smile 
 And gather faith and courage. 
 
 To bide my "little while." 
 
 Marion Harland 
 
THE WEEK SHE DIED 
 
 She came and leaned against my tired 
 knee 
 And questioned me of this, and then 
 of that ; 
 Asked if the dark was made to hide the 
 Hght? 
 And if the little stars were round or 
 flat? 
 
 I felt I had so many troubling cares 
 And worried thoughts, that I could 
 not abide 
 Her restless motions, and her tireless 
 tongue ; 
 Ah me, that was the very week she 
 died. 
 
 IQ2 
 
IRosemarg auD TRue 193 
 
 It seems to-night, as silently I sit, 
 
 Nothing would rest me like her lean- 
 ing form; 
 And if she gaily sprang and clasped my 
 neck, 
 I should not think her arms too close 
 and warm. 
 
 I might have answered her more pa- 
 tiently, 
 And borne her noisy glee; oh, I have 
 cried. 
 Thinking of all the things I might have 
 done 
 That would have made her glad, the 
 week she died. 
 
 The snow is cold above her little grave, — 
 Above the little feet and dear young 
 head ; 
 The spring-time sun will warm, and 
 bless, — 
 Alas, alas ! it cannot reach my dead. 
 13 
 
194 1Ro6cmarg anD IRue 
 
 The birds will come and sing their happy 
 notes, 
 
 And grass will green again the valleys 
 
 wide, 
 But ne'er can grass and flowers and 
 
 songs, to me 
 
 Seem what they did before that week 
 
 she died. 
 
 Good Housekeeping. 
 
TIRED MOTHERS 
 
 A LITTLE elbow leans upon your knee, — 
 Your tired knee, that has so much to 
 bear; 
 A child's dear eyes are looking lovingly 
 From underneath a thatch of tangled 
 hair. 
 Perhaps you do not heed the velvet 
 touch 
 Of warm moist fingers, folding yours 
 so tight; 
 You do not prize this blessing over- 
 much, — 
 You almost are too tired to play to- 
 night. 
 
 But ' t is a blessedness. A year ago 
 
 I did not see it as I do to-day, — • 
 We are so dull and thankless; and too 
 slow 
 To catch the sunshine till it slips away. 
 And now it seems surpassing strange to 
 me 
 That while I wore the badge of mother- 
 hood, 
 
 195 
 
196 IRosemarg anD IRue 
 
 I did not kiss more oft, and tenderly, 
 The little child who brought me only- 
 good. 
 
 And if, some night, when you sit down 
 to rest, 
 You miss this elbow from your tired 
 knee, 
 This restless curling head from off your 
 breast, 
 This lisping tongue, that chatters 
 constantly, — 
 If, from your own, the dimpled hands 
 had slipped, 
 And ne'er would nestle in your palm 
 again, — 
 If the white feet into the grave had 
 tripped, 
 I could not blame you for your heart- 
 ache then. 
 
 I wonder so that mothers ever fret 
 At little children clinging to their 
 gown; 
 
TRosemarg anO IRue 197 
 
 Or, that the footprints, when the days 
 are wet, 
 Are ever black enough to make them 
 frown. 
 If I could find a little muddy boot, 
 
 Or cap, or jacket, on my nursery floor, 
 If I could kiss a rosy restless foot. 
 
 And hear its patter in my home once 
 more. 
 
 If I could mend a broken cart to-day. 
 To-morrow make a kite to reach the 
 sky,— 
 There is no woman in God's world could 
 say 
 She was more blissfully content than I. 
 But ah, the dainty pillow next my own 
 Is never rumpled by a shining head ; 
 My singing birdling from its nest is 
 flown ; 
 The little boy I used to kiss is dead. 
 Mrs. Albert H. Smith. 
 
SAFE 
 
 We must not mourn for thee, my broken 
 flower, 
 Purer and dearer than earth's fairest 
 bloom ; 
 Nor weep to think how brief thy fleeting 
 hour 
 Of hope and joy, — a cradle and a 
 
 tomb. 
 Ah, no, for ere one shade of faintest 
 gloom 
 Had dimmed the light of young love's 
 
 cloudless day. 
 The darkness came, our darling passed 
 away. 
 And we are left to mourn her early 
 doom: 
 But not with bitter tears, — for far above 
 
 198 
 
IRosemar^ aiiD IRue 199 
 
 All earthly hopes, around the cross 
 had twined 
 Her helpless heart, in trustfulness and 
 love. 
 And now, all sin and sorrow left be- 
 hind, 
 Safe on her Saviour's breast she waits to 
 
 see 
 Her loved ones come — Oh, darling, who 
 could weep for thee? 
 
 Emma Toke. 
 
THOSE LITTLE FEET 
 
 Those little feet that could not walk 
 Have climbed the golden stair; 
 
 Those silent lips that could not speak 
 Break out in praise and prayer. 
 
 The hands that had such feeble hold 
 
 Now grasp a golden palm; 
 The heart that throbbed with suffering 
 
 Is bathed in endless calm. 
 
 The weary head that could not rest 
 Is crowned with garlands bright; 
 
 Those eyes, of mystery so full, 
 Shine with unclouded light. 
 
 Therefore our Easter morn is glad, 
 
 Because to us was given 
 A Holy Innocent, to yield 
 Unto the Lord of Heaven. 
 
 Caroline M. Noel. 
 200 
 
DEAR LITTLE HANDS 
 
 Dear little hands, I loved them so. 
 And now they are lying under the snow; 
 
 Under the snow, so cold and white, 
 
 I cannot see them or touch them 
 to-night. 
 They are quiet and still at last ; ah me, 
 How busy and restless they used to be! 
 
 But now, they can never reach up 
 through the snow; 
 
 Dear little hands, I loved them so. 
 
 Dear little hands, I miss them so 
 All through the day, wherever I go — 
 All through the night, how lonely it 
 
 seems 
 For no little hands to wake me from 
 dreams ; 
 I miss them all through the weary hours ; 
 
 20I 
 
202 IRosemarg aiiD IRue 
 
 I miss them as others miss sunshine and 
 flowers. 
 Day-time or night-time, wherever I 
 
 go, 
 Dear Httle hands, I miss them so. 
 
 Dear Httle hands they are gone from me 
 
 now. 
 Never again will they rest on my brow, 
 Never again smooth my sorrowful face, 
 Never clasp me in a childish embrace; 
 And now my forehead grows wrinkled 
 
 with care, 
 Thinking of little hands once resting 
 there. 
 But I know in a happier, heav'nlier 
 
 clime. 
 Dear little hands, I will clasp you in 
 mine. 
 
 Dear little hands, when the Master shall 
 
 call, 
 I '11 welcome the summons that comes to 
 us all. 
 
IRoscmars aiiD TRue 203 
 
 When my feet touch the waters so 
 
 dark and so cold, 
 And I catch my first glimpse of the 
 City of Gold, 
 If I keep my eyes fixed on the heavenly 
 
 gate, 
 Over the tide where the white-robed 
 ones wait. 
 Shall I know you, I wonder, among 
 
 the bright bands. 
 Will you beckon me over, oh, dear 
 little hands? 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 THE PITCHER OF TEARS 
 
 There went a widow woman from the 
 
 outskirts of the city. 
 Whose lonely sorrow might have moved 
 the stones she trod to pity. 
 She wandered weeping through the 
 fields, by God and man forsaken, 
 Still calling on the little child the 
 Reaper, Death, had taken. 
 
204 TRogemarij aiiD "Rue 
 
 When lo ! upon a day, she met a white- 
 robed train advancing, 
 And brightly on their golden heads their 
 golden crowns were glancing, 
 Child Jesus led a happy band of little 
 
 ones a-Maying — 
 With flowers of spring, and gems of 
 dew, all innocently playing. 
 Far from the rest the widow sees, and 
 
 flies to clasp her treasure! 
 "What ails thee darling that thou must 
 not take with these thy pleasure ? " 
 ' 'O mother, little mother mine, be- 
 hind the rest I tarry. 
 For see, how heavy with your tears, 
 the pitcher I must carry! 
 If you had ceased to weep for me when 
 
 Jesus went a-Maying, 
 I should have been among the blest, 
 with little Jesus playing. " 
 
 Emily Pfeiffer. 
 
ONLY 
 
 Only a little half- worn shoe, — ^nothing 
 
 more, 
 Only a ragged broken doll on the floor, 
 Only a little empty bed smooth and 
 
 white, 
 Only a pair of blue eyes hid from the 
 
 light. 
 
 Only two busy hands, idle now, 
 
 No little voice to ask "Why?" or 
 
 "How?" 
 Only a tiny golden curl laid away 
 Where only mother's eyes shall look day 
 by day. 
 
 Only a little prayer less at twilight, 
 Only no little face to kiss every night, 
 Only a little name to sob o'er and o'er, 
 Only one little form to clasp nevermore. 
 
 205 
 
2o6 IRoscmarp anD IRiie 
 
 Only a little grave, to tell that she is 
 
 dead, 
 Only a little lily set at the head, 
 Only a little snowwhite stone with her 
 
 name, 
 Dates to tell when she left us, — when she 
 
 came. 
 
 Only a memory, vanished quite from 
 
 the earth. 
 Save the memory in heart who gave her 
 
 birth ; 
 Only this was her little life, — this her 
 
 death, 
 
 A short sweet fragrance, fleeting soon, 
 
 like her breath. 
 
 Anonymous 
 
MEASURING THE BABY 
 
 We measured the riotous baby 
 
 Against the cottage wall; 
 A lily grew at the threshold, 
 
 And the boy was just as tall. 
 A royal tiger-lily 
 
 With spots of purple and gold, 
 And a heart like a jewelled chalice 
 
 The fragrant dew to hold. 
 
 Without, the bluebirds whistled, 
 
 High up in the old roof-trees, 
 And to and fro at the window. 
 
 The red rose rocked her bees; 
 And the wee pink fists of the baby 
 
 Were never a moment still 
 Snatching at shine and shadow 
 
 That danced on the lattice sill. 
 207 
 
ao8 IRoscmars aiiD TRue 
 
 His eyes were as blue as bluebells, 
 
 His mouth like a flower unblown; 
 Two little bare feet like pretty white 
 mice, 
 
 Peeped out from his snowy gown; 
 And we thought, with a thrill of rapture, 
 
 That yet had a touch of pain, 
 When June rolls around with her roses. 
 
 We ' 11 measure the boy again. 
 
 Ah me, in a darkened chamber, 
 
 With the sunshine shut away 
 Through tears that fell like a bitter rain 
 
 We measured the boy to-day. 
 And the little bare feet that were dim- 
 pled. 
 
 And sweet as a budding rose, 
 Lay side by side together 
 
 In the hush of a long repose. 
 
 Up from the dainty pillow 
 
 White as the risen dawn. 
 The fair little face lay smiling 
 
 With the light of Heaven thereon; 
 
IRoecmnt^ atiD IRue 209 
 
 And the dear little hands, like rose-leaves 
 Dropped from the rose, lay still — 
 
 Never to snatch at the sunshine 
 That crept on the shrouded sill. 
 
 We measured the sleeping baby, 
 
 With ribbons white as snow 
 For the shining rosewood casket 
 
 That waited for him below; 
 And out of the darkened chamber 
 
 We went with a childless moan — 
 To the height of the sinless angels, 
 
 Our little one had grown. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
GRANDFATHER'S PET 
 
 This is the room where she slept, 
 
 Only a year ago, — • 
 Quiet and carefully swept, 
 
 Blinds and curtains like snow. 
 There by the bed in the dusty gloom 
 
 She would kneel, with her tiny hands 
 clasped, and pray. 
 Here is the little white rose of a room. 
 
 With the fragrance fled away. 
 
 Nelly, Grandfather's pet, 
 
 With her wise little face, — 
 I seem to hear her yet, 
 
 Singing about the place ; 
 But the clouds roll on, and the streets 
 are drear. 
 And the world seems hard with a 
 bitter doom; 
 
 2IO 
 
IRosemarg anO IRue 211 
 
 And Nellie is shining elsewhere, — and 
 here 
 Is the little white rose of a room. 
 
 Why, if she stood just there. 
 
 As she used to do, 
 With her long light yellow hair, 
 
 And her eyes of blue, — 
 If she stood, I say, at the edge of the bed, 
 
 And ran to my side with a living touch. 
 Though I know she is quiet, and buried, 
 and dead, 
 
 I should not wonder much. 
 
 For she was so young, you know, — 
 
 Only seven years old; 
 And she loved me, — loved me so. 
 
 Though I was grey and old. 
 And her face was so wise, and so sweet 
 to see. 
 And it still looked living when she was 
 dead. 
 As she used to plead for her mother and 
 me. 
 By the side of that very bed. 
 
212 Ikoscmarg an& Kuc 
 
 I wonder, now, if she 
 
 Knows I am standing here, 
 FeeUng wherever she be 
 
 We hold the place so dear? 
 It cannot be that she sleeps too sound, 
 
 Still in her little nightgown dressed, 
 Not to hear my footsteps sound, 
 
 In the room where she used to rest. 
 
 I have felt hard fortune's stings. 
 
 And battled in doubt and strife. 
 And never thought much of things 
 
 Beyond this human life ; 
 But I cannot think that my darling died 
 
 Like great strong men with their 
 
 prayers untrue — 
 Nay, rather she sits at God's own side. 
 
 And sings as she used to do. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
A MOTHER'S PRAYER 
 
 A LITTLE hand within my own 
 
 I hold, 
 More precious 't is, than silver, gems, 
 
 Or gold. 
 
 White, dimpled, soft, it nestles 
 
 'Neath my arm. 
 As if once sheltered there, 'twere safe 
 
 From harm. 
 
 Oh, darling little hand, that clings 
 
 To mine, 
 Oh, loving trustful eyes, that 
 
 Softly shine. 
 
 You look to me for all that love 
 
 Can give, 
 Will look to me as long as both 
 
 Shall live. 
 213 
 
214 IRoaemans aiiD V^ue 
 
 1 feel my great unfitness for 
 
 The task; 
 More patience, Lord, more gentleness 
 
 I ask. 
 
 More love, with which to teach 
 
 Thy love divine. 
 Less faith in my own strength, much 
 more 
 
 In Thine. 
 
 More courage, faith, and hope, to point 
 
 The road, 
 
 The narrow road, and straight, which 
 
 leads 
 
 To God. 
 
 Anonymous 
 
A MOTHER'S OFFERING . 
 
 "Flowers are wanted in Heaven to- 
 day," 
 
 An angel said to me, 
 
 "And we have enough save a few more 
 buds; 
 
 Your Httle bud I would see. ' ' 
 
 I turned me about, and brought forth 
 
 my child; 
 The angel looked in his face and smiled; 
 "There is nothing fairer on high," said 
 
 he, 
 " I will take this bud if it pleaseth thee.' ' 
 I looked at the child, and I thought: 
 
 Alas, 
 Life is ever as brittle as glass, — 
 In manhood as in infancy: 
 215 
 
2i6 IRofiemars ant) TRue 
 
 Some day when my bud doth wider open, 
 Just when for the full-blown flower I 
 
 hope, 
 It may fade and droop and die. 
 Or if not so, yet in coming years 
 (In this sad world, so full of snares), 
 As my flower I stoop to kiss. 
 It may be my lot to weep and start 
 As I see, coiled up in its innocent heart, 
 A serpent, with venomed hiss. 
 It may fall to me, — ah, who can tell? 
 In after years to remember well 
 What the angel asked to-day; 
 And to wish with many and many a 
 
 tear, 
 I had parted that day with my bud so 
 
 dear, 
 And granted my God "His way." 
 
 I will do this now. In the realms on 
 
 high 
 My child shall nevermore sorrow nor 
 
 cry, 
 Mv bud never fade nor fall. 
 
IRoscmare aiiD IRiic 217 
 
 And I will not think of the dreary tomb, 
 I will look above where my flower doth 
 
 bloom, 
 I will have no funeral pall. 
 For this is not Death, with the sombre 
 
 wing,— 
 'Tis but transplanting the dear little 
 
 thing 
 To the garden of my God. 
 Ah me! I shall miss him, that I know, 
 But I will not call this "a cruel blow," 
 Nor say "I have felt the rod." 
 
 So I took my babe to my loving breast, 
 And nursed and soothed and sung him 
 to rest. 
 
 The angel meanwhile smiled. 
 
 "He is sleeping," I said, "let him not 
 
 av/ake, 
 Till the glory of God around him 
 
 break," 
 And I gave him my little child. 
 
2i8 TRosemarg anO IRue 
 
 Then I turned, and bowed my head to 
 
 the ground. 
 I rose, — neither angel nor child I found. 
 
 But I have no fears ; and I love to think 
 Of the lilies above at the fountain's 
 
 brink. 
 And I quiet my heart with the precious 
 
 thought — 
 My child is with God, and can lack for 
 
 naught. 
 And I know that sometime, when God 
 
 doth please, 
 I shall meet him again, 'neath the 
 shadowless trees. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
SUNSHINE 
 
 We called her Sunshine, for her golden 
 hair, 
 Her dove-gray eyes, her rosy lips, all 
 shone 
 And gleamed with radiance, as from orb 
 more fair 
 Than e'en the sun in heaven to look 
 upon. 
 
 There was no dark in all her life; her 
 bliss 
 Was fully bliss; and where her home 
 she made 
 No shadow fell; for, like the sun in this, 
 Her brightness could not bear to look 
 upon the shade. 
 
 Our hearts turned to her, as, till day be 
 gone, 
 
 2T9 
 
220 TRoscmar^ anD IRue 
 
 To the dear sun the eyes of flowers 
 
 are given; 
 She was our sunshine; m ner light we 
 
 shone, 
 As all our earth glows in the light of 
 
 heaven. 
 
 We know the light was over-great for 
 earth 
 Of her pure innocence, and guileless 
 love. 
 Methinks the sun is brighter in yon sky 
 Since our sweet Sunshine dwelleth 
 there above. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
THE CHANGELING 
 
 I HAD a little daughter, 
 
 And she was given to me 
 To lead me gently backward 
 
 To the Heavenly Father's knee, 
 That I, b}^ force of nature, 
 
 Might in some dim wise divine 
 The depth of His infinite patience 
 
 To this wayward soul of mine. 
 
 I know not how others saw her, 
 
 But to me she was wholly fair. 
 And the light of the Heaven she came 
 from 
 
 Still lingered and gleamed in her hair ; 
 For it was as wavy and golden. 
 
 And as many changes took, 
 As the shadows of sun-gilt ripples 
 
 On the yellow bed of a brook. 
 
 221 
 
222 IRogemars an& TRue 
 
 To what can I liken her smihng 
 
 Upon me, her kneeUng lover? 
 How it leaped from her lips to her eye- 
 lids, 
 
 And dimpled her wholly over, 
 Till her outstretched hands smiled also, 
 
 And I almost seemed to see 
 The very heart of her mother 
 
 Sending sun through her veins to me. 
 
 She had been with us scarce a twelve- 
 month 
 
 And it hardly seemed a day. 
 When a troop of wandering angels 
 
 Stole my little daughter away; 
 Or perhaps those heavenly Zingari 
 
 But loosed the hampering strings. 
 And when they had opened her cage- 
 door, 
 
 My little bird used her wings. 
 
 But they left in her stead a changeling, 
 
 A little angel child, 
 That seems like her bud in full blossom 
 
TRoscmare anD IRue 223 
 
 And smiles as she never smiled: 
 When I wake in the morning I see it 
 
 Where she always used to lie, 
 And I feel as weak as a violet 
 
 Alone 'neath the awful sky. 
 
 As weak, yet as trustful also ; 
 
 For the whole year long I see 
 All the wonders of faithful Nature 
 
 Still worked for the love of me ; 
 Winds wander, and dews drip earth- 
 ward. 
 
 Rains fall, suns rise and set, 
 Earth whirls, and all but to prosper 
 
 A poor little violet. 
 
 This child is not mine as the first was, 
 
 I cannot sing it to rest, 
 I cannot lift it up fatherly 
 
 And bless it upon my breast ; 
 Yet it lies in my little one's cradle 
 
 And sits in my little one's chair. 
 And the light of the Heaven she's gone to, 
 
 Transfigures its golden hair. 
 
 James Russell Lowell. 
 
IN HEAVEN 
 
 Silence filled the courts of Heaven, 
 
 Hushed were seraphs' harp and tone, 
 When a little new-born seraph 
 
 Knelt before the Eternal Throne; 
 While its soft white hands were lifted 
 
 Clasped, as if in earnest prayer, 
 And its voice in dove-like murmurs 
 
 Rose like music on the ear. 
 Light from the full fount of Glory 
 
 On his robes of whiteness glistened 
 And the bright-winged seraphs near hirr. 
 
 Bowed their radiant heads and lis 
 tened. 
 
 "Lord, from Thy Throne of Glory here 
 My heart turns fondly to another; 
 
 O Lord, our God, the Comforter, 
 Comfort, comfort, my sweet mother 
 
 Many sorrows hast Thou sent her. 
 Meekly has she drained the cup; 
 
 And the jewels Thou hast lent her 
 224 
 
tRoecmav^ and Vnc 225 
 
 Unrepining yielded up: 
 Comfort, comfort, my sweet mother. 
 
 •'Earth is growing lonely round her; 
 
 Friend and lover hast Thou taken; 
 Let her not, though woes surround her, 
 
 Feel herself by Thee forsaken. 
 Let her think, when faint and weary, 
 
 We are waiting for her here; 
 Let each loss that makes earth dreary 
 
 Make the hope of Heaven more dear. 
 Comfort, comfort, my sweet mother. 
 
 " Thou who once in nature human 
 
 Dwelt on earth a little child, 
 Pillowed on the breast of Woman, 
 
 Blessed Mary, unde filed; 
 Thou who, from the cross of suffering, 
 
 Marked Thy Mother's tearful face, 
 And bequeathed her to Thy loved one 
 
 Bidding him to fill Thy place — 
 Comfort, comfort my sweet mother. 
 " Thou who once, from Heaven descend- 
 ing. 
 
 Tears and woes and conflicts won: 
 Thou who, nature's law suspending, 
 
226 IRosemarg aiiD IRue 
 
 Gav'st the widow back her son: 
 Thou who, at the grave of Lazarus, 
 
 Wept with those who wept their dead : 
 Thou who once in mortal anguish 
 
 Bowed Thine own anointed head — 
 Comfort, comfort, my sweet mother." 
 
 The dove-Uke murmurs died away 
 
 Upon the radiant air, 
 But still the little suppliant knelt 
 
 With hands still clasped in prayer; 
 Still were those mildly-pleading eyes 
 
 Turned to the sapphire throne 
 Till golden harp and angel voice 
 
 Rang forth in mingled tone; 
 And as the swelling numbers flowed, 
 
 By angel voices given, 
 Rich, sweet and clear the anthem rolled 
 
 Through all the courts of Heaven : 
 " He is the widow's God, " it said, 
 
 "Who spared not His own Son." 
 The infant cherub bowed his head, — 
 
 "Thy will, O Lord, be done !" 
 
 The Changed Cross 
 
AFTER THE BURIAL 
 
 Yes, faith is a goodly anchor; 
 
 When skies are sweet as a psalm, 
 At the bows it lolls so stalwart, 
 
 In its bluff, broad-shouldered calm, 
 
 And when over breakers to leeward 
 The tattered surges are hurled, 
 
 It may keep our head to the tempest, 
 With its grip on the base of the world. 
 
 But after the shipwreck, tell me 
 
 What help in its iron thews, 
 Still true to the broken hawser, 
 
 Deep down amid seaweed and ooze ? 
 
 In the breaking gulfs of sorrow, 
 When the helpless feet stretch out, 
 
 And find in the deeps of darkness 
 No footing so solid as doubt; 
 227 
 
228 IRoaemari? anD TRue 
 
 Then better one spar of Memory, 
 One broken plank of the Past, 
 
 That our human heart may cHng to, 
 Though hopeless of shore at last. 
 
 To the spirit its splendid conjectures, 
 To the flesh its sweet despair, 
 
 Its tears o'er the thin-worn locket, 
 With its anguish of deathless hair. 
 
 Immortal ? I feel it and know it, 
 Who doubts it of such as she? 
 
 But that is the pang's very secret, — 
 Immortal away from me 
 
 There 's a narrow ridge in the graveyard 
 Would scarce stay a child in his race. 
 
 But to me and my thought it is wider 
 Than the star-sown vague of Space. 
 
 Your logic, my friend, is perfect; 
 
 Your moral, most drearily true; 
 But since the earth clashed on her 
 coffin 
 
 I keep hearing that, and not you. 
 
1Ro0cmarB anO "Rue 229 
 
 Console if you will, I can bear it; 
 
 'Tis a well-meant alms of breath; 
 But not all the preaching since Adam 
 
 Has made Death other than Death. 
 
 It is pagan, but wait till you feel it, — 
 That jar of the earth, that dull shock 
 
 When the ploughshare of deeper passion 
 Tears down to our primitive rock. 
 
 "Communion in spirit," — forgive me, 
 But I, who am earthly and weak, 
 
 Would give all my incomes from dream- 
 land 
 For a touch of her hand on my cheek. 
 
 That little shoe in the corner. 
 So worn and wrinkled and brown, 
 
 With its emptiness confutes you. 
 And argues your wisdom down. 
 
 James Russell Lowell. 
 
ALL THINGS CAN BE BORNE 
 
 How much the heart may bear, and yet 
 
 not break, 
 How much the flesh may suffer, and 
 
 not die ! 
 I question much if any pain or ache 
 Of soul or body brings our end more 
 
 nigh. 
 Death chooses his own time ; till that is 
 
 sworn 
 All evils may be borne. 
 
 We shrink and shudder at the surgeon's 
 knife, 
 Each nerve recoiling from the cruel steel 
 Whose edge seems searching for the 
 quivering life; 
 Yet to our sense the bitter pangs reveal 
 230 
 
IRoscmaKB anD TRue 231 
 
 That still, although the trembling flesh 
 
 be torn, 
 This also can be borne. 
 
 We see a sorrow rising in our way. 
 And try to flee from the approaching 
 
 ill; 
 
 We seek some small escape, — we weep 
 
 and pray ; 
 But when the blow falls, then our 
 
 hearts are still. 
 Not that the pain is of its sharpness 
 
 shorn. 
 But, that it can he borne. 
 
 We wind our life about another life; 
 We hold it closer, dearer than our 
 own; 
 Anon it faints and falls in deathly strife. 
 Leaving us stunned and stricken and 
 alone. 
 But, ah, we do not die with those we 
 
 mourn ; 
 This also can be borne. 
 
232 lRo0cmari? ano Kuc 
 
 Behold, we live through all things — - 
 famine, thirst. 
 Bereavement, pain; all grief and 
 misery, 
 All woe and sorrow; life inflicts its 
 worst 
 On soul and body, but we cannot die, 
 Though we be sick and tired, and faint 
 
 and worn. 
 Lo! All things can be borne. 
 
 E. A. Allen. 
 
TRUST 
 
 Make a little fence of trust 
 
 Around to-day; 
 Fill the space with loving words, 
 
 And therein stay. 
 Look not through the sheltering bars 
 
 Upon to-morrow ; 
 God will help thee bear what comes, 
 
 If joy or sorrow. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 GOD'S QUIET 
 
 God's great Hereafter lieth bright, 
 
 Beyond Life's valley, Death's abyss; 
 A triumph crowns the perfect right 
 Wherewith that world doth compass 
 this. 
 In silence His Eternity 
 
 Flows round our little isle of life ; 
 There's room for calm in that great sea: 
 With us, for only strife. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 233 
 
PAX DEI 
 
 " With Christ which is far better.'! 
 
 They are gone to be with Jesus, 
 
 We cannot wioh them here ; 
 We would not dim their radiant lot 
 
 With mortal stain or tear. 
 For they are folded safely 
 
 Upon that gentle breast 
 Where many a weary lamb of earth 
 
 Has found eternal rest. 
 
 They are gone to be with Jesus, 
 
 To be in that sweet home 
 Where want, and restlessness, and pain 
 
 Can never, never come. 
 Their steps are with the angels, 
 
 'Mid paths all fair and bright, 
 Where never a stain of sin can fall 
 
 Like shadows on the light. 
 234 
 
IRosemar^ anO IRue 235 
 
 They are gone to be with Jesus; 
 
 So who would wish them back 
 To tread the rugged stones that lie 
 
 In life's uncertain track? 
 Their fears and falls are over, 
 
 Nor falls nor fears were vain, 
 But who would wish those lips to taste 
 
 The bitter cup again? 
 
 Rev. B. Edwardes. 
 
 DO ANY HEARTS ACHE THERE? 
 
 Do any hearts ache there, beyond the 
 peaceful river? 
 Do fond souls wait, with longing in 
 their eyes, 
 For those who come not, will not come 
 forever — 
 For some wild hope whose dawn will 
 never rise? 
 
236 "Roscmarg anO "Rue 
 
 Do any love there still, beyond the silent 
 river, 
 The ones they loved in vain this side 
 its flow? 
 Does the old pain make heart-strings 
 ache and quiver? 
 I shall go home some day, — go home, 
 and know. 
 The hill-tops glitter there, beyond the 
 shining river; 
 The long, glad day, it never turns to 
 night. 
 They must be blest indeed to bear the 
 light forever, — 
 Grief longs for clouds to veil its tears 
 from sight. 
 Are tears transformed to smiles beyond 
 the blessed river? 
 Are pain and passion drowned be- 
 neath its flow? 
 Then we who linger on its hither bank, 
 and shiver, 
 Let us rejoice, — we shall go home, and 
 know. 
 Louise Chandler Moulton. 
 
THEIR JOY 
 
 Do they remember, who have passed 
 Death's portals, 
 The friends they loved on Earth in 
 days gone by, 
 There, in the blessed land of the Im- 
 mortals, 
 The yearning faces left beneath the 
 sky? 
 
 Do they remember in that land of 
 singing 
 The "land of silence" where we lay 
 our dead? 
 That for the joy for them in Heaven 
 ringing 
 For us is mourning, and a grave in- 
 stead? 
 
 237 
 
238 TRogemai's an^ 1Riie 
 
 Have they forgotten Earth's best 
 streams are bitter, 
 Its fairest days have clouds to mar the 
 sky? 
 That e'en our longings for the Land far 
 better 
 Are saddened by the thought that we 
 must die? 
 
 And if remembering, how can they be 
 joyous 
 E'en in the land where sorrow is un- 
 known ? 
 Nor ever hear, amid the heavenly 
 chorus, 
 Earth's heart-breaks mingling their 
 sad undertone ? 
 
 We love enough to spare the loved one 
 trial ; 
 God loves enough to send the needed 
 pain, 
 The cross, the suffering, the self-denial. 
 The earthly loss that brings eternal 
 gain. 
 
IRoscmarg anD IRuc 239 
 
 So it must be that, dwelling there so 
 near Him, 
 Knowing the joy that from our pain 
 must come, 
 Our loved ones wait assured that they 
 shall hear Him 
 In His good time say, "Weary ones, 
 come home. " 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 FOREVER 
 
 Those we love truly never die. 
 Though year by year the sad memorial 
 
 wreath, 
 A ring and flowers, types of life and 
 
 death, 
 Are laid upon their graves. 
 
 For death the pure life saves. 
 
 And life all pure is love, and love can 
 reach 
 
 From Heaven to Earth, and nobler les- 
 sons teach 
 
 Than those bv mortals read. 
 
240 'Roeemaris an& IRuc 
 
 Well-blessed is he who hath a dear one 
 
 dead; 
 A friend he has whose face will never 
 
 change ; 
 A dear communion that will ne'er grow 
 
 strange ; 
 The anchor of a love is death. 
 
 The blessed sweetness of a loving breath 
 Will reach our cheek all-fresh, through 
 
 weary years. 
 For her who died long since, ah, waste 
 
 not tears ! 
 She 's thine unto the end. 
 
 Thank God for one dear friend, 
 
 With faith still radiant with the light of 
 
 truth, 
 Whose love comes laden with the scent 
 
 of youth, 
 Through twenty years of death! 
 
 John Boyle O'Reilly. 
 
SHALL WE KNOW EACH OTHER 
 THERE? 
 
 When we hear the music ringing 
 
 Through the bright celestial dome, 
 When sweet angel voices singing 
 
 Gladly bid us welcome home 
 To that land of ancient story 
 
 Where the spirit knows no care, 
 In the land of light and glory, 
 
 Shall we know each other there? 
 
 When the holy angels meet us, 
 
 As we go to join their band. 
 Shall we know the friends who greet us 
 
 In that glorious spirit land? 
 Shall we see those bright eyes shining 
 
 On us, as in days of yore? 
 Shall we feel their dear arms twining 
 
 Fondly round us, as before? 
 i6 241 
 
242 TRoscmarg auD IRuc 
 
 Yes. My earth-worn soul rejoices, 
 
 And my weary heart grows Hght, 
 For the thrilHng angel voices, 
 
 And the angel faces bright 
 That shall welcome us in heaven 
 
 Are the loved of "long ago," 
 And to them is kindly given 
 
 Thus their mortal friends to know. 
 
 O ye weary ones and lost ones, 
 
 Droop not, faint not, by the way: 
 Ye shall join th • loved and lost ones, 
 
 In the land of perfect day. 
 Harp-strings touched by angel fingers 
 
 Murmur in my raptured ear, 
 Evermore their sweet tone lingers — 
 
 "We shall know each other there.' 
 
RECOGNITION 
 
 How shall I know my own in other 
 
 worlds ? 
 For here their bodies crumble into dust, 
 And dear bright eyes and lips that I have 
 
 loved, 
 These are my treasures, doomed to moth 
 
 and rust — 
 How shall I know my own? 
 
 How have I known my own all through 
 
 the years? 
 By sound of voice? by color of the eye? 
 By gesture, or by smile, or form, or face? 
 Yes, these were signs that I have known 
 
 them by. 
 One way I knew my own. 
 
 But best I know them by a finer light, 
 Sense without sign, and presence with- 
 out shape ; 
 
 243 
 
244 "RoBcmarij an& "Rue 
 
 A thought that answered thought, a 
 
 flash of soul, 
 Love, trust, and shelter, and a sweet 
 
 escape 
 From what is not my own. 
 
 And I have loiown them best because to 
 
 me 
 They turned, and clung with the heart's 
 
 silent speech; 
 Yes, by their love, that drew my 
 
 answering love, 
 Till on a mount, transfigured, each to 
 
 each, we stood, 
 I, and my own. 
 
 And so, in other worlds I can believe 
 I still shall find my loved, and hold them 
 
 dear, 
 And shining in new light, and grander 
 
 space, 
 Shall see them plainer than I see them 
 
 here, 
 And make them more my own. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
A THOUGHT OF THE RESURREC- 
 TION 
 
 The buds that were hid in the darkness 
 
 Through the winter time and the snow 
 Have felt the thrill of the sunlight, 
 
 Their hour to bloom they know. 
 Purple, and gold, and scarlet. 
 
 And white as the robes of a king, 
 To the glory of love at Easter 
 
 Their beautiful wealth they bring 
 
 The grass that was brown and withered, 
 
 And cold on the sodden plain, 
 Has been kissed by the tender .unshine, 
 
 Caressed by the crystal rain; 
 And its bright green lances quiver, 
 
 Lo, twice ten million strong, 
 And the bird with her nest among them 
 
 Flies up with a sudden song. 
 245 
 
246 IRoscmars an& IRuc 
 
 And we, who have seen our darUngs 
 
 Reft from our side away; 
 Who have wept in silent anguish 
 
 O'er the cold and pulseless clay 
 Take heart in the Easter gladness 
 
 A parable all may read, 
 For the Lord who cares for the flowers, 
 
 Cares well for our greater need. 
 
 He knows of the loss and anguish, 
 
 The grope of the stricken soul, 
 He will bring again our dear ones. 
 
 By His touch of life made whole. 
 We shall meet and know and love them 
 
 In the spring beyond the sea. 
 That, after earth's dreary winter, 
 
 Is coming to you and me. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
BLESSED EASTER 
 
 Whenever dawns the Easter sun, 
 
 And Easter's coronal is set 
 
 With garlands of the violet, 
 
 There comes a tender thought of one 
 
 Whose presence seems to linger yet. 
 
 And speak in love to grief's regret. 
 
 When Easter rang her bells in chime, 
 She heard a sweeter song we know; 
 Beyond the weary life of time. 
 She saw a fairer, brighter clime. 
 It seems to-day, so long ago 
 We laid her where the violets grow. 
 
 When Easter sings her choral sweet 
 Of Him who rose this blessed hour, 
 We know she kneels at Jesus' feet; 
 247 
 
248 IRoscmarij aiiD IRuc 
 
 She wears the spotless emblem flower, 
 A lily in her hand she brings, 
 Her offering to the King of Kings. 
 
 And "Holy, Holy, Holy, 
 All the saints adore Thee," 
 The blessed host of heaven 
 In joyous chorus sings. 
 
 Laura F. Hinsdale. 
 
 EASTER HYMN 
 
 A SONG of sunshine through the rain. 
 
 Of spring across the snow, 
 A balm to ease the hearts of pain, 
 
 A peace surpassing woe; 
 Lift up your hearts, ye sorrowing ones, 
 
 Nor be ye sad of heart. 
 For Calvary and Easter Day, 
 Earth's saddest day and gladdest day. 
 
 Were just one day apart. 
 
 With shudder of distress and loss, 
 The Earth's deep heart was wrung 
 
 As lifted high upon the cross 
 The Lord of Glory hung, 
 
IRoscniars anD IRuc 249 
 
 When rocks were rent and ghostly forms 
 
 Stole in through street and mart; 
 But Calvary and Easter Day, 
 Earth's blackest day and whitest day, 
 Were just one day apart. 
 
 No hint or whisper filled the air 
 
 Of joy that was to be; 
 The sad disciples grieving there 
 
 No help or hope could see; 
 Yet all the while the glad new sun 
 
 Made ready his swift dart, 
 And Calvary and Easter Day, 
 Earth's darkest day and brightest day, 
 
 Were but one day apart. 
 
 Oh, when the strife of tongues is loud, 
 
 And the heart of Hope beats low. 
 When the prophets prophesy of ill 
 
 And the mourners come and go. 
 In this sure thought let us abide 
 
 And keep and stay our heart, 
 That Calvary and Easter Day, 
 The saddest day and gladdest day, 
 
 Are but one day apart. 
 
OUR EASTER THANKS 
 
 Thank God for the dear ones safe to-day, 
 
 Safe at home on the happy shore, 
 Where the smile of the Father beams 
 for aye, 
 And the shadow of pain shall fall no 
 more. 
 Thank God for the hearts that are done 
 with sin, 
 For the eyes that shall never be blind 
 with tears, 
 Thank God for the beautiful entered in 
 To the perfect rest of the deathless 
 years. 
 
 Thank God to-day for the pilgrim feet 
 Which have trodden the last of the 
 toilsome • way. 
 For the strong, for the frail, for the 
 babes so sweet 
 Who have left forever this crumbling 
 clay: 
 
 250 
 
1Ro6emari2 anD IRue 251 
 
 Who have changed earth's trial, its loss 
 and moan, 
 For the victor's palm and the voice 
 of praise: 
 Who dwell in the light of the great white 
 throne. 
 And join in the song which the ran- 
 somed raise. 
 
 Thank God to-day for the hope sublime 
 Which fills our souls in the darkest 
 hours ; 
 Thank God that the transient cares of 
 time 
 Are wreathed in the glory of fadeless 
 flowers. 
 Thank God for the rift in the desolate 
 grave, — 
 'T is the soldier's couch, not the cap- 
 tive's prison; 
 He hallowed its portal who died to save. 
 And we write o'er its arch "The Lord 
 is risen. " 
 
 Margaret E. Sangster. 
 
GIVING THANKS 
 
 We thank Thee, Father, for the Ufe 
 
 So pure, so calm, so sweet, 
 The gentle spirit well content 
 
 To sit at Jesus' feet. 
 
 We thank Thee for the earnest faith, 
 The kindly word and thought, 
 
 The large warm-hearted sympathy 
 That no one vainly sought. 
 
 We thank Thee for the noble soul 
 That loved all things of good. 
 
 The simple dignity of this 
 Most gracious womanhood. 
 
 We thank Thee for dear memories 
 Those blessed days can give. 
 
 The knowledge that through future 3^ears 
 Her influence shall live. 
 
 2S2 
 
TRosemarg atiD IRue 253 
 
 In all our pain, our grief, and loss, 
 
 Thy loving hand we see, 
 And thank Thee for the sorrow, Lord, 
 
 That draws us nearer Thee. 
 
 And while our hearts are bowed with 
 grief, 
 
 Our tears fall down like rain. 
 We thank Thee that she nevermore 
 
 Can know the touch of pain. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
THANKSGIVING 
 
 The year began with gladness and a 
 
 song; 
 Shall we rejoice because the tune went 
 
 wrong ? 
 How can we give Thee thanks ? 
 
 We reaped rich harvests but a year ago ; 
 Now, brown and barren, all our fields 
 lie low: 
 Must we for this give thanks? 
 
 Our eyes are blinded by the tears we 
 
 shed; 
 Beside a grave we sit discomforted; 
 We see no place for thanks. 
 
 Our hearts are heavy while we stand 
 
 and wait, 
 And we are hungry, poor, and desolate: 
 Can this be time for thanks? 
 
 254 
 
•Koscmarg anD IRue 255 
 
 Because the discord only helped the 
 
 strain, 
 As hearts grow tender through exceeding 
 
 pain, 
 For this we will give thanks. 
 
 Our fields grow fallow under rain and 
 
 snow, 
 Because the Husbandxnan works wisest 
 
 so. 
 And we will give Him thanks. 
 
 The heavy tears make lighter the heart's 
 
 pain ; 
 The bow of promise shines through fall- 
 ing rain: 
 For that we give Thee thanks. 
 
 The hearts whose food has longest been 
 
 denied 
 Will be most grateful for their need 
 supplied. 
 For all, we render thanks. 
 
 C. B. L. 
 
HEREAFTER 
 
 Not from the flowers of earth, 
 
 Not from the stars, 
 
 Not from the voicing sea 
 
 May we 
 The secret wrest, which bars 
 Our knowledge here 
 Of all we hope, and all that we may fear 
 
 Hereafter. 
 
 We watch beside our graves, 
 
 Yet meet no sign 
 
 Of where our dear ones dwell; 
 
 Ah, well, 
 Even now your dead and mine 
 May long to speak 
 Of raptures it were wiser we should seek 
 
 Hereafter. 
 
 256 
 
•Roscmarg anD "Rue 257 
 
 O hearts we fondly love, 
 
 O pallid lips 
 
 That bore our farewell kiss 
 
 from this 
 To yonder world's eclipse, — 
 Do ye, safe home. 
 
 Smile at your earthly doubts of what 
 would come 
 Hereafter ? 
 
 Grand birthright of the soul. 
 
 Naught may despoil! 
 
 Oh, precious, healing balm 
 
 To calm 
 Our lives in pain and toil ! 
 God's boon that we 
 Or soon or late shall know what is to be 
 
 Hereafter. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
OUR FATHER WHO ART IN 
 HEAVEN 
 
 Thou art so far: the way all signal-lighted 
 With beacon stars, that sure must lead 
 to Thee; 
 Thought follows till she falters, dazed, 
 affrighted, 
 Alone, alone amid immensity. 
 
 Thou art so far. Deep in that secret 
 chamber 
 Wherein life's still, sweet miracle is 
 wrought. 
 E'en in the tiny wild flower's heart of 
 amber 
 Thy temple is, beyond my subtlest 
 thought. 
 
 Thou art so far. Vainly my spirit 
 hearkens 
 For Reason's voice the wide abyss to 
 fill; 
 The silence overwhelms, the distance 
 darkens ; 
 Awe-struck, I can but wonder, and be 
 
 still. 
 
 258 
 
'Rosemary? anD "Rue 259 
 
 Thou art so far. Though, past my soul's 
 discerning, 
 Veiled in thick darkness is Thy diadem, 
 Drawn to Thee ever by my heart's 
 dumb yearning, 
 I, trembhng, strive to touch Thy gar- 
 ment's hem. 
 
 And, lo, Thou art so near, the mists are 
 mellowed 
 With Thine effulgence, shining from 
 above, 
 And all the dim, dim way grows sweet 
 and hallowed, 
 Warmed, lighted, glorified by Thy 
 strong love. 
 
 Thou art so near. As to the little lisper 
 Who sobs a wish none else may un- 
 derstand, 
 The mother bends, — so Thou, to my 
 faint whisper, 
 With ready ear, and tender, out- 
 stretched hand. 
 
26o IRoecmat^ and IRue 
 
 Thou art so near. Through all my joys 
 and sorrows 
 Thou leadest, though Thy face I may 
 not see; 
 My yesterdays were Thine, and my to- 
 morrows 
 I leave with Thee, — I leave them all 
 with Thee. 
 
 New York Observer. 
 
 AS YEARS GO BY 
 
 When we are young, this year we call 
 
 the worst 
 That we can know; this bitter day is 
 
 cursed 
 And no more such our hearts can bear, 
 
 we say. 
 But yet, as Time falls fast from us away. 
 There comes a day when all of this is 
 
 fair 
 And sweet to what, still living, we must 
 
 bear. 
 
 W. Morris. 
 
GOOD NIGHT, THE DREAMS OF 
 EARTH 
 
 Good-night, Good-night, the dreams of 
 
 earth are ended, 
 Its glory and its passion passed away, 
 And a new sense, of joy and terror 
 
 blended, 
 Holds all my heart in its resistless 
 
 sway: 
 The things of Time are fading from my 
 
 eyes, 
 Th' Unseen encircles me with strange 
 
 surprise. 
 
 When I look back upon the way I 've 
 wandered. 
 The wasted energies, the time mis- 
 spent, 
 
 261 
 
262 IRoecmarg anD "Kue 
 
 Wealth, hopes, affections, all too often 
 squandered, 
 That might have been to Heaven be- 
 fore me sent, 
 
 My strength is turned to weakness at the 
 sight; 
 
 The time for toil is past: Good-night, 
 Good-night. 
 
 There is one only hope for souls re- 
 penting. 
 With heart and work, alas, all incom- 
 plete ; 
 It is the Cross, which spans both worlds, 
 presenting 
 A pathway sure, for the most feeble 
 feet; 
 I see it now, outspread in all its might; 
 Who trusts that Bridge is safe: Good- 
 night, Good-night. 
 
 Prepare me then, beloved, the food 
 immortal. 
 To strengthen me upon my wondrous 
 
 way, 
 
•Koscmarg anD "Rue 263 
 
 And go thou with me to the furthest 
 portal 
 To which companion footsteps yet may- 
 stray ; 
 
 Then hide thine eyes, with their soft 
 pleading light, 
 
 For I depart alone: Good-night, Good- 
 night. 
 
 Let those dear lips yet once, once more 
 
 caress me. 
 Then pause awhile until the morn has 
 
 come; 
 For when again with eager joy they press 
 
 me, 
 ' Twill be within our Father's house, 
 
 our Home, 
 Among His gathered children, pure and 
 
 bright. 
 
 Within the Land where there is no more 
 
 night. 
 
 Caroline M. Noel. 
 
A LITTLE WHILE 
 
 " A little while and ye shall not see me; 
 And again a little while and ye shall see me." 
 
 A LITTLE while with spirit all alone 
 To walk life's rugged path with falter- 
 ing feet; 
 
 A little while to smother sigh and moan, 
 Doing hard duties by love's smile 
 made sweet; 
 
 Thus thou hast said, dear Lord — "a 
 little while"— 
 
 And then the everlasting sunlight of thy 
 smile. 
 
 What matter for the tears, or for the 
 thorns 
 The keen earth-sorrows planted by 
 the way: 
 
 264 
 
IRosemare anO IRuc 265 
 
 There is a rest for every soul that 
 mourns, 
 In the soft light of Heaven's Sab- 
 bath day; 
 
 Oh! wherefore droop when such dear 
 hopes beguile? 
 
 Look up, O fainting soul — 't is but a 
 Httle while. 
 
 A little longer, toiling hands, work on ; 
 A little longer lose the needed sleep. 
 We follow One whose feet these paths 
 
 have gone; 
 He soon will grant a slumber restful, 
 
 deep; 
 Free flow the fountains, green the 
 
 gardens smile; 
 Well may we work and wait, — ' t is such 
 
 a little while ! 
 
 The Promiser hath said 't will not be 
 
 long; 
 That no continuing city here is given ; 
 The land of hope and happiness and 
 
 song 
 
266 IRosemari? anD TRue 
 
 Lies just before, where but the cloud- 
 veiled river, 
 The waves of life so crystalline and clear, 
 The list'ning heart of faith can almost 
 hear. 
 
 Only a little while; we well can wait, 
 And bear each loss and cross with 
 quiet heart, 
 While this sweet promise gilds the sad- 
 dest fate, 
 And pours its balm upon the sorest 
 smart. 
 Thy patient lips, dear Lord, might 
 
 almost smile, 
 Breathing the simple words — "a little 
 while." 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
GOING HOME 
 
 Out of the chill and the shadow, 
 
 Into the thrill and the shine ; 
 Out of the death and the famine, 
 
 Into the fulness divine; 
 Up from the strife and the battle, 
 
 (Oft with the shameful defeat) 
 Up to the palm and the laurel, 
 
 Oh, but the rest will be sweet ! 
 
 Leaving the cloud and the tempest. 
 
 Reaching the balm and the cheer ; 
 Finding the end of our sorrow, 
 
 Finding the end of our fear; 
 Seeing the face of the Master, 
 
 Yearned for in " distance and dream,' ' 
 O for that rapture of gladness, 
 
 O for that vision supreme ! 
 267 
 
268 IRoscmari? anO IRue 
 
 Meeting the dear ones departed, 
 
 Knowing them, clasping their hands, 
 All the beloved and true-hearted, 
 
 There in the fairest of lands ; 
 Sin evermore left behind us, 
 
 Pain nevermore to distress : 
 Changing the moan for the music, 
 
 Living the Saviour to bless. 
 
 Why should we care for the dying 
 
 That is but springing to life ? 
 Why should we shrink from the struggle, 
 
 Pale at the swift-closing strife? 
 Since it is only behind us, 
 
 Scarcely a step and a breath, 
 All that dear home of the living. 
 
 Guarded by what we call Death. 
 
 There we shall learn the sweet meanings 
 Hidden to-day from our eyes ; 
 
 There we shall waken like children 
 Joyous at gift and surprise. 
 
 Come then, dear Lord, in the gloaming, 
 Or when the dawning is gray, 
 
IRoecmaz^ and IRuc 269 
 
 Take us to dwell in Thy presence, 
 Only Thyself lead the way. 
 
 Out of the chill and the shadow, 
 
 Into the thrill and the shine ; 
 Out of the death and the famine, 
 
 Into the fulness divine; 
 Out of the sigh and the silence. 
 
 Into the deep, swelling song; 
 Out of the exile and bondage, 
 
 Into the home-gathered throng. 
 
 Margaret E. Sangster 
 
 THE BLESSED DEAD 
 
 Oh, it is sweet to think 
 
 Of those that are departed, 
 While murmured Aves sink 
 
 To silence tender-hearted; 
 While tears that have no pain 
 
 Are tranquilly distilling, 
 And the dead live again, 
 
 In hearts that love is filling. 
 
270 IRoscmars aiiO "Rue 
 
 Yet not as in the days 
 
 Of earthly ties we love them 
 For they are touched with rays 
 
 From light that is above them ; 
 Another sweetness shines 
 
 Around their well-known features: 
 God with His glory signs 
 
 His dearly ransomed creatures. 
 
 Ah, they are more our own 
 
 SiixCe now they are God's only, 
 And each one that has gone 
 
 Has left our hearts less lonely. 
 He mourns not seasons fled 
 
 Who now in Him possesses. 
 Treasures of many dead 
 
 In their dear Lord's caresses. 
 
 Dear dead — they have become 
 Like guardian angels to us, 
 
 And distant Heaven, like home. 
 Through them begins to woo us. 
 
 Love that was earthly, wings 
 Its flight to holier places; 
 
IRosemarB atiD iRue 271 
 
 The dead are sacred things 
 That multiply our graces. 
 
 They whom we loved on Earth 
 
 Attract us now to Heaven ; 
 Who shared our grief and mirth 
 
 Back to us now are given. 
 They move with noiseless foot 
 
 Gravely and sweetly round us, 
 And their soft touch hath cut 
 
 Full many a chain that bound us. 
 
 O dearest dead, to Heaven 
 
 With grudging sighs we gave you, 
 To Him — be doubts forgiven — 
 
 Who took you there to save you: 
 Now get us grace to love 
 
 Your memories yet more kindly, 
 Pine for our homes above, 
 
 And trust in God more blindly. 
 
 F. W. Faber. 
 
ALL SOULS' DAY 
 
 The wild, wild rain is falling, — 
 
 They do not fear its beat ; 
 The autumn wind is wailing, — 
 
 They rest; their sleep is sweet. 
 Great trees in lonely forests 
 
 Their branches writhe and twine ^ 
 Their hands are crossed forever, 
 
 In faith's eternal sign. 
 
 Give them, O Lord, eternal rest. 
 
 And light perpetual. 
 
 Where are they now, heart's dearest 
 Who walked with us below? 
 
 Do they pity while they love us? 
 Do they half our anguish know? 
 
 The young, the pure, the noble, 
 Who fell like summer flowers, 
 272 
 
IRosemace anD IRuc 273 
 
 Their eyes have ceased from weeping, 
 But bitter tears blind ours. 
 Give them, O Lord, eternal rest, 
 And light perpetual 
 
 Dear Heaven, with all the glory 
 That Earth ascribes to thee, 
 
 Of angel, saint, and martyr, 
 Content couldst thou not be ? 
 
 Why take from us our darlings. 
 Our little earthly day 
 
 To sorrow's black night turning? 
 Forgive us — we but pray, 
 Give them, O Lord, eternal rest, 
 And light perpetual. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 x8 
 
THE NARROW HOME 
 
 A NARROW home, but very still it seem- 
 eth; 
 A silent home, no stir of tiimult here ; 
 Who wins that pillow of no sorrow 
 dreameth, 
 No whirling echoes jar his sealed ear. 
 The tired hand lies very still and quiet, 
 The weary foot no more hard paths 
 will tread ; 
 The great world may revolve in clash and 
 riot, 
 To its loud summons leaps nor heart 
 nor head. 
 
 The violets bloom above the tranqtiil 
 sleeper, 
 
 274 
 
1Ro6cmarB anDlRue 275 
 
 The morning dews fall gently on the 
 grass ; 
 Amid the daisies kneels the lonely 
 weeper, 
 He knows not when our lingering 
 footsteps pass. 
 The autumn winds sigh softly o'er his 
 slumber, 
 The winter piles the snow-drift o'er 
 his rest ; 
 He does not care the flying years to 
 number, 
 The narrow house contents its silent 
 guest. 
 
 No baffled hope can haunt, no doubt 
 perplexes. 
 No parted love the deep repose can 
 chafe ; 
 No petty care can irk, no trouble vexes. 
 From misconstruction his hushed 
 heart is safe. 
 Freed from the weariness of worldly 
 fretting. 
 
276 IRoscmar^ anD "Kue 
 
 From pain and failure, bootless toil 
 
 and strife, 
 From the dull wretchedness of vain 
 
 regretting 
 He lies whose course has passed away 
 
 from life. 
 
 A narrow home, and far beyond it lieth 
 The land whereof no mortal lips can 
 tell; 
 We strain our sad eyes as the spirit 
 fiieth, 
 Our fancy loves on Heaven's bright 
 hills to dwell ; 
 God shuts the door, no angel lip uncloses, 
 They whom Christ raised no word of 
 guidance said; 
 Only the Cross speaks where our dust 
 reposes — 
 "Trust Him who calls unto His rest 
 our dead." 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
FRIENDS DEPARTED 
 
 They are all gone into the world of light, 
 And I alone sit Ungering here; 
 
 Their very memory is fair and bright 
 And my sad soul doth cheer. 
 
 It glows and gUtters in my cloudy breast 
 Like stars upon some gloomy grove, 
 
 Or those faint beams in which this hill is 
 dress' d 
 After the sun's remove. 
 
 I see them walking in an air of glory 
 Whose Hght doth trample on my days: 
 
 My days which are at best but dull 
 and hoary, 
 Mere glimmerings and decays. 
 
 O holy Hope, and high HumiUty, 
 High as the heavens above, 
 277 
 
278 IRoacmaci? anD "Kuc 
 
 These are your walks, and you have 
 showed them me, 
 To kindle my cold love. 
 
 Dear, beauteous Death, the jewel of the 
 just, 
 
 Shining nowhere but in the dark, 
 What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, 
 
 Could man out-look that mark. 
 
 He that hath found some fledg'd bird's 
 nest may know 
 
 At first sight if the bird be flown. 
 But what fair dell he sings in now. 
 
 That is to him unknown. 
 
 And yet as angels in some brighter 
 dreams 
 Call to the soul when man doth sleep, 
 So some strange thoughts transcend our 
 wonted themes, 
 And into glory peep. 
 
 H. Vaughan. 
 
YET A LITTLE WHILE 
 
 Oh, for the peace which floweth as a 
 river, 
 Making life's desert places bloom and 
 smile! 
 Oh, for a faith to grasp Heaven's bright 
 forever, 
 Amid the shadows of Earth's "little 
 while." 
 
 A little while for patient vigil-keeping, 
 To face the storm, to wrestle with the 
 strong ; 
 A little while to sow the seed with weep- 
 ing, 
 Then bind the sheaves and sing the 
 harv^est song. 
 279 
 
28o IRosemarg anD "Rue 
 
 A little while the earthen pitcher taking 
 To wayside brooks, from far-off fount- 
 ains fed; 
 Then the parched lip its thirst forever 
 slaking 
 Beside the fulness of the fountain- 
 head. 
 
 A little while to keep the oil from failing ; 
 A little while Faith's flickering lamp 
 to trim; 
 And then, the Bridegroom's coming 
 footstep hailing. 
 To haste to meet Him with the bridal 
 hymn. 
 
 And He who is at once both Gift and 
 
 Giver, 
 
 The future glory and the present 
 
 smile, 
 
 With the bright promise of the glad 
 
 forever. 
 
 Will light the shadows of the little 
 
 while. 
 
 Jane Crewdson. 
 
GOOD-NIGHT 
 
 If I could only lay me down to rest, 
 Crossing my weary hands upon my 
 
 breast, 
 And shut my troubled eyes without a 
 
 fear, 
 Knowing that they would never open 
 
 here, 
 How blissful it must be, both worlds in 
 
 sight. 
 To say my tired good-night. 
 
 If only from the fretting cares of time 
 To truths eternal I at once might climb, 
 No longer count the graves whereon I 
 
 tread. 
 But in one moment be all comforted, — 
 If such could be, what joy, in upward 
 
 flight. 
 To sing my tired good-night. 
 
 28l 
 
282 TRoaemarg anD IRuc 
 
 I watch the sweetest flowers throughout 
 
 the morn, 
 I look, and lo, at noontide they are gone; 
 The wings of sorrow are forever spread; 
 I weep, but weeping brings not back 
 
 my dead. 
 If God would but reveal the breaking 
 
 light. 
 How sweet to say good-night. 
 
 This flooding tide of yearning will not 
 
 cease; 
 I cannot reach to touch the lips of peace, 
 Nor can I gather to my sobbing heart 
 The white-winged angels God has set 
 
 apart. 
 Yet haply I may find them all in sight 
 After some tired good-night. 
 
 What wonder, then, that I should long 
 
 to rest, 
 Crossing my weary hands upon my 
 
 breast ? 
 To shut my troubled eyes without a 
 
 fear, 
 
•Roscmari^ anD IRue 283 
 
 Knowing that they would never open 
 
 here? 
 To say to Earth, with Heaven alone in 
 
 sight, 
 My raptiirous good-night. 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN'S GOOD-NIGHT. 
 
 Early Christians were accustomed to bid 
 their dying friends " Good-night " — so sure 
 were they of their awakening on the Resur- 
 rection Morning. 
 
 Sleep on, beloved, sleep, and take thy 
 
 rest, 
 Lay down thy head upon thy Saviour's 
 
 breast ; 
 We love thee well, but Jesus loves thee 
 
 best; 
 
 Good-night. 
 
284 IRoscmars anD "Rue 
 
 Calm is thy slumber as an infant' s sleep, 
 But thou shalt wake, no more to toil and 
 
 weep. 
 Thine is a perfect rest, secure and deep. 
 Good-night. 
 
 Until the shadows from this Earth are 
 
 cast. 
 Until He gathers in His sheaves at last, 
 Until the twilight gloom is overpast, 
 Good-night. 
 
 Until the Easter glory lights the skies. 
 Until the de'ad in Jesus shall arise. 
 And He shall come, but not in lowly 
 guise, 
 
 Good-night. 
 
 Until, made beautiful by Love divine, 
 Thou in the likeness of thy Lord shalt 
 
 shine, 
 And He shall bring that golden crown of 
 
 thine, — 
 
 Good-night. 
 
IRosemari? anO IRue 285 
 
 Only " Good-night,' ' beloved, not " Fare- 
 well," 
 
 A little while and all His saints shall 
 dwell 
 
 In hallowed union, indivisible; 
 Good-night. 
 
 Until we meet again before His throne. 
 Clothed in the spotless robes He gives 
 
 His own, 
 Until we know, even as we are known. 
 Good-night. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
HOLY CHRISTMAS NIGHT 
 
 God of the holy Christmas night, 
 We come as Httle children come 
 Around the parent's knee at home, 
 
 We kneel and ask for strength and light. 
 
 We trust Thee though this life is dark 
 And hard for us to understand ; 
 We reach to touch Thy guiding hand, 
 
 To lead us forward to Thy ark. 
 
 We know Thee great, we feel Thee good, 
 Thy love shall be our guiding star 
 To lead us to Thee from afar. 
 
 From out each dark rebellious mood. 
 
 All through the seasons that are past 
 Thou hast o'erwatched our devious 
 way, 
 
 286 
 
•Rogemare anD IRue 287 
 
 Hast suffered us to go astray, 
 But brought us back to Thee at last. 
 
 So watch o'er us unto the end 
 
 And bring us safely home to Thee, 
 Where sorrow and all sighing flee. 
 
 And every soul knows God a friend. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
CHRISTMAS GUESTS 
 
 The quiet day in Winter beauty closes, 
 And sunset clouds are tinged in crim- 
 son dye, 
 As if the blushes of our faded roses 
 Came back to tint this sombre Christ- 
 mas sky. 
 
 A lonely crow floats o'er the upland 
 ranges, 
 A robin carols from the chestnut tree ; 
 The voice that changes not amid our 
 changes 
 Sounds faintly from the melancholy 
 sea. 
 
 We sit and watch the twilight darken 
 slowly ; 
 
 288 
 
TRoscmarg anD IRuc 289 
 
 Dies the last gleam upon the lone hill- 
 side, 
 And in the stillness, growing deep and 
 holy, 
 
 Our Christmas guests come in this 
 eventide. 
 
 They enter softly — some with baby 
 faces, 
 Whose sweet blue eyes have scarcely 
 looked on life; 
 We bid them welcome to their vacant 
 places, 
 They won the peace and never knew 
 the strife. 
 
 And some, with steadfast glances, meet 
 us gravely, 
 Their hands point backward to the 
 paths they trod; 
 Dear ones, we know how long ye strug- 
 gled bravely, 
 And died upon the battle-field of God. 
 19 
 
290 1Ro6cmarg aiiD IRue 
 
 And some are here whose patient souls 
 were riven 
 By our hard words and looks of cold 
 disdain ; 
 Ah, loving hearts, to speak of wrong 
 forgiven 
 Ye come to visit our dark world again. 
 
 But One there is, more kind than any 
 other. 
 Whose presence fills the silent house 
 with light — 
 The Prince of Peace, our gracious Elder 
 Brother, 
 Comes to His birthday feast with us 
 to-night. 
 
 Thou, who wast bom and cradled in a 
 manger, 
 Hast gladdened our poor earth with 
 peace and rest; 
 O best-beloved, come not as a stranger, 
 But tarry, Lord, our Friend and Christ- 
 mas Guest. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
THE BELLS ACROSS THE SNOW 
 
 Oh, Christmas, merry Christmas ! is it 
 
 really come again, 
 With its memories and greetings, with 
 
 its joy and with its pain ? 
 There's a minor in the carol, and a 
 
 shadow in the light. 
 And a spray of cypress twining with the 
 
 holly wreath to-night. 
 And the hush is never broken by the 
 
 laughter light and low. 
 As we listen in the starlight to the 
 
 bells across the snow. 
 
 Ohj. Christmas, merry Christmas ! ' T is 
 
 not so very long 
 Since other voices blended with the 
 
 carol and the song. 
 
 2gi 
 
292 1Ro0cmarg anD IRuc 
 
 If we could but hear them singing as 
 
 they are singing now, 
 If we could but see the radiance of the 
 
 crown on each dear brow, 
 There would be no sigh to smother, no 
 
 hidden tear to flow. 
 As we listen in the star-light to the bells 
 
 across the snow. 
 
 Oh, Christmas, merry Christmas ! This 
 
 never more can be ; 
 We cannot bring again the days of our 
 
 unshadowed glee. 
 But Christmas, happy Christmas, sweet 
 
 herald of good-will. 
 With holy songs of glory brings a holy 
 
 gladness still; 
 For peace and hope may brighten, and 
 
 patient hope may glow. 
 As we listen in the star-light to the bells 
 
 across the snow. 
 
 Frances Ridley Havergal. 
 
A STILLNESS 
 
 God sends sometimes a stillness in our 
 life— 
 The bivouac, the sleep, 
 When on the silent battle-field the strife 
 
 Is hushed in slumber deep; 
 When wearied hearts exhausted sink to 
 
 rest. 
 Remembering not the struggle nor the 
 quest. 
 
 We know such hours, when the dim 
 dewy night 
 Bids day's hot turmoil cease; 
 When star by star steals noiselessly in 
 sight. 
 With silent smiles of peace ; 
 293 
 
294 IRoBemarg anD TRue 
 
 When we lay down our load, and half 
 
 forget 
 The morrow comes and we must bear 
 
 it yet. 
 
 We know such hours, when after days 
 of pain, 
 And nights when sleep was not, 
 God gives us ease and peace and calm 
 again 
 Till, all the past forgot, 
 We say in rest and thankfulness most 
 
 deep. 
 E'en so " He giveth His beloved sleep." 
 
 When some strong chain that bound us 
 
 by God's strength 
 Is losed or torn apart. 
 Or when, beloved and longed-for, comes 
 
 at length 
 Some friend to glad our heart, — 
 We know the calm that follows on such 
 
 bliss, 
 That looks no farther, satisfied with 
 
 this. 
 
"Koscmarij anD IRue 295 
 
 God does not always loose the chain, 
 
 nor give 
 The loved ones back to us; 
 Sometimes 'mid strife and tumult we 
 
 must live, 
 Learning His silence thus: 
 There is a rest for those who bear His 
 
 will, 
 A peacefulness than freedom sweeter 
 
 still. 
 
 He giveth rest more perfect, pure, and 
 true. 
 While we His burdens bear; 
 
 It springeth not from parted pain, but 
 through 
 The accepted blessing there: 
 
 The lesson pondered o'er with thought- 
 ful eyes, 
 
 The faith that sees in all a meaning 
 wise. 
 
 Deep in the heart of pain God's hand 
 hath set 
 A hidden rest and bliss; 
 
296 "Roacmari? aiiD TRue 
 
 Take as His gift the pain, the gift brings 
 yet 
 A truer happiness: 
 God's voice speaks through it all, the 
 
 high behest 
 That bids His people enter into rest. 
 
 Lucy Fletcher. 
 
LOVE UNEXPRESSED 
 
 The sweetest notes among the human 
 heart-strings 
 Are dulled with rust ; 
 The sweetest chords adjusted by the 
 angels 
 Are clogged with dust; 
 We pipe and pipe again our dreary music 
 
 Upon the self-same strains, 
 While sounds of crime, and fear, and 
 desolation. 
 Come back in sad refrains. 
 
 On through the world we go, an army 
 marching 
 With Hstening ears. 
 Each listening, sighing for the heavenly 
 music 
 He never hears. 
 
 297 
 
298 IRoecmat^ anD IRue 
 
 Each longing, sighing for a word of 
 comfort, 
 A word of tender praise, 
 A word of love to cheer the endless 
 journey 
 Of Earth's hard, bitter days. 
 
 They loved us, and we know it; this 
 suffices 
 For reason's share; 
 Why should they pause to give that love 
 expression 
 With gentle care? 
 Why should they pause? but still our 
 hearts are aching 
 With all the gnawing pain 
 Of hungry love, that longs to hear the 
 music, 
 And longs and longs in vain. 
 
 We love them, and they know it; if we 
 falter 
 With fingers numb. 
 
TRoscmarg anD IRue 299 
 
 Among the unused strings of love's 
 expression, 
 The notes are dumb; 
 We shrink within ourselves in voiceless 
 sorrow, 
 Leaving the words unsaid. 
 And, side by side with those we love 
 the dearest, 
 In silence on we tread. 
 
 Thus on we tread, and thus each heart 
 in silence 
 Its fate fulfils, 
 Waiting and hoping for the heavenly 
 music 
 Beyond the distant hills. 
 The only difference of the love in heaven 
 
 From love below 
 Is — here we love and know not how to 
 tell it, 
 And there we all shall know. 
 
 Constance Woolson. 
 
THE HEAVENLY GUIDE 
 
 I KNOW not the way I am going, 
 
 But well do I know my Guide; 
 With a childlike trust I give my hand 
 
 To the mighty Friend by my side. 
 The on^y thing that I say to Him 
 
 As He takes it is, " Hold it fast, 
 Suffer me not to lose my way, 
 
 And bring me home at last. " 
 
 As when some hapless wanderer 
 
 Alone, in an unknown land, 
 Tells the guide his destined place to rest, 
 
 And leaves all else in his hand, — 
 'Tis home, 't is home that we wish to 
 reach, 
 He who guides us may choose the 
 way: 
 Little we heed what path we take, 
 
 If nearer home each day. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 300 
 
NOT KNOWING 
 
 I KNOW not what shall befall me; 
 
 God hangs a mist o'er my eyes; 
 And thus each step of my onward path, 
 
 He makes new scenes to rise, 
 And every joy he sends me comes 
 
 As a sweet and glad surprise. 
 
 I see not a step before me, 
 As I tread on another year. 
 
 But the past is in God's keeping, 
 The future His mercy shall clear ; 
 
 And what looks dark in the distance 
 May brighten as I draw near. 
 
 For perhaps the dreadful future 
 
 Is less bitter than I think: 
 The Lord may sweeten the waters 
 
 Before I stoop to drink; 
 Or if Marah must be Marah, 
 
 He will stand beside the brink. 
 
 It may be He keeps waiting 
 Till the coming of my feet 
 301 
 
302 •Rogemarg aiiD IRue 
 
 Some gift of such rare blessedness, 
 Some joy so strangely sweet, 
 
 That my Hps shall only tremble 
 With the joy they cannot speak 
 
 Oh, restful, blissful ignorance, — 
 
 'Tis blessed not to know; 
 It stills me in those mighty arms. 
 
 Which will not let me go, 
 And hushes my weary soul to sleep 
 
 On the bosom that loves me so. 
 
 So I go on, not knowing; 
 
 I would not if I might. 
 I would rather walk in the dark with God, 
 
 Than go alone in the light ; 
 I would rather walk with Him by faith, 
 
 Than walk alone by sight. 
 
 My heart shrinks back from trials 
 
 Which the future may disclose, 
 Yet I never had a sorrow 
 
 But what the dear Lord chose. 
 So I send the coming tears back, 
 
 With the whispered words, "He 
 knows, ' ' 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
THOU KNOWEST 
 
 Thou knowest, Lord, the weariness and 
 sorrow 
 Of the sad heart that comes to Thee 
 for rest; 
 
 Cares of to-day and burdens of to- 
 morrow, 
 Blessings implored, and sins to be 
 confessed ; 
 
 I come before Thee at Thy gracious 
 word, 
 
 And lay them at Thy feet, — Thou 
 knowest. Lord. 
 
 Thou knowest all the past, — how long 
 and blindly 
 On the dark mountains the lost wan- 
 derer strayed; 
 303 
 
304 IRoscmarg an& IRue 
 
 How the Good Shepherd followed, and 
 
 how kindly 
 He bore it home, upon His shoulders 
 
 laid, 
 And healed the bleeding wounds, and 
 
 soothed the pain. 
 And brought back life, and hope, and 
 
 strength again. 
 
 Thou knowest all the present, — each 
 
 temptation, 
 Each toilsome duty, each forboding 
 
 fear; 
 All to myself assigned of tribulation, 
 Or to beloved ones, than self more 
 
 dear. 
 All pensive memories as I journe}^ on, 
 Longings for vanished smiles and voices 
 
 gone. 
 
 Thou knowest all the future, — gleams 
 of gladness 
 By stormy clouds too quickly over- 
 cast : 
 
IRosemarg an& IRue 305 
 
 Hours of sweet fellowship, and parting 
 
 sadness, 
 And the dark river to be crossed at 
 
 last: 
 Oh, what could confidence and hope 
 
 afford 
 To tread that path, but this? — Thou 
 
 knowest, Lord. 
 
 Thou knowest, not alone as God, 
 
 all-knowing — 
 As man our mortal weakness Thou 
 
 hast proved; 
 On Earth with purest sympathies o'er- 
 
 flowing, 
 O Saviour, Thou hast wept, and Thou 
 
 hast loved; 
 And love and sorrow still to Thee may 
 
 come 
 And find a hiding-place, a rest, a home. 
 
 Therefore I come, Thy gentle call 
 obeying, 
 
3o6 IRoeemars an& IRiic 
 
 And lay my sins and sorrows at Thy 
 feet, 
 On everlasting strength my weakness 
 staying, 
 Clothed in Thy robe of righteousness 
 complete ; 
 Then, rising and refreshed, I leave Thy 
 
 throne, 
 And follow on to know as I am known. 
 Janb Borthwick. 
 
 FATHER, TAKE MY HAND 
 
 The way is dark, my Father. Cloud 
 
 on cloud 
 Is gathering quickly o'er my head, and 
 
 loud 
 The thunders roar above me. See, I 
 
 stand 
 Like one bewildered. Father, take my 
 hand 
 
 And through the gloom 
 Lead safely home 
 Thy child. 
 
*Ro0cmari5 an& IRue 307 
 
 The day goes fast, my Father, and the 
 
 night 
 Is drawing darkly down. My faithless 
 
 sight 
 Sees ghostly visions. Fears, a spectral 
 
 band, 
 Encompass me. Oh, Father, take my 
 hand, 
 
 And from the night 
 Lead up to light 
 Thy child. 
 
 The way is long, my Father, and my 
 
 soul 
 Longs for the rest and quiet of the 
 
 goal; 
 While yet I journey through this 
 
 weary land, 
 Keep me from wandering. Father, 
 take my hand ; 
 
 Quickly and straight 
 Lead to Heaven's gate 
 Thy child. 
 
3o8 IRogemar^ an& IRuc 
 
 The path is rough, my Father. Many 
 
 a thorn 
 Has pierced me; and my weary feet, all 
 
 torn 
 And bleeding, mark the way. Yet Thy 
 
 command 
 Bids me press forward. Father, take 
 my hand, 
 
 Then safe and blest 
 Lead up to rest. 
 Thy child. 
 
 Henry N. Cobb. 
 
LIFT ME UP 
 
 Out of myself, dear Lord, 
 Oh, lift me up ! 
 No more I trust myself in life's dim 
 
 maze 
 Sufficient to myself; in all its devious 
 
 ways 
 I trust no more, but humbly at Thy 
 throne 
 " Lead me, for I cannot go alone." 
 
 Out of my weary self 
 Oh, lift me up ! 
 I faint, — the road winds upward all 
 
 the way ; 
 Each night but ends another weary day. 
 Give me Thy strength, and may I be 
 
 so blest 
 As *'on the Heights" to find the longed- 
 for rest. 
 
 Out of my selfish self 
 
 Oh, lift me up ! 
 
 309 
 
3IO IRosemari^ anD IRue 
 
 To live for others, and, in living so, 
 
 To be a blessing wheresoe'er I go; 
 
 To give the sunshine, and the clouds 
 
 conceal. 
 Or let them but the silver tints reveal. 
 
 Out of my lonely self 
 Oh, lift me up ! 
 Though other hearts with love are 
 
 running o'er, 
 My darling fills my lonely home no more ; 
 Though every day I miss the fond 
 
 caress, 
 Help me to join in others' happiness. 
 
 Out of my doubting self 
 Oh, lift me up ! 
 Help me to feel that thou art always 
 
 near; 
 That, though 't is night, and all around 
 
 seem drear, 
 Help me to know that, though I cannot 
 
 see, 
 It is my Father's hand that leadeth me. 
 Sister Bernardine. 
 
LEAD THEM HOME 
 
 Lord, we can trust Thee for our holy 
 dead: 
 They, underneath the shadow of Thy 
 tomb, 
 Have entered into peace; with bended 
 head 
 We thank Thee for their rest, and 
 for our Hghtened gloom. 
 
 But, Lord, our living, who on stormy 
 seas 
 Of sin and sorrow still are tempest- 
 tossed ; — 
 Our dead have reached their haven, but 
 for these, 
 Teach us to trust Thee, Lord, for 
 these our loved and lost. 
 311 
 
312 IRosemars an& IRue 
 
 For these we make our passion-prayer 
 to-night, 
 For these we cry to Thee through 
 the long day; 
 We see them not. Oh, keep them in Thy 
 sight ! 
 From them and us be Thou not very 
 far away. 
 
 And if not home to us, yet lead them 
 home 
 To where Thou standest at the heav- 
 enly gate, 
 That so from Thee they shall not 
 further roam; 
 And grant us patient hearts, Thy 
 gathering time to wait. 
 
MIZPAH 
 
 The Lord watch between thee and me 
 When we are absent one from another; 
 Though long miles away thou may'st be, 
 And a hard fate each from the other 
 Forever divide, — yet still must my 
 
 prayer 
 E'er be the same in hope or despair, 
 In days of soft peace, in suffering's 
 
 breath. 
 In storm or in calm, in life or in death, 
 In right or in wrong, in good or in ill. 
 Ever the same, the same prayer still: 
 The Lord watch between thee and me, 
 Thee, love, no o^"her, 
 Through might of the land, through 
 
 power of the sea, 
 Where'er thou may 'st be, 
 While we are absent one from another. 
 Constance F. Woolson, 
 313 
 
HE KNOWETH ALL 
 
 The twilight falls, the night is near; 
 
 I fold my work away, 
 And kneel to One who bends to hear 
 
 The story of to-day. 
 
 The old, old story, yet I kneel, 
 
 To tell it at Thy call ; 
 And cares grow lighter as I feel 
 
 That Jesus knows them all. 
 
 Yes, all — the morning and the night, 
 
 The joy, the grief, the loss, 
 The roughened path, the sunbeam 
 bright, 
 
 The hourly thorn and cross. 
 
 Thou knowest all. I lean my head, 
 My weary eyelids close, 
 314 
 
IRosemars anC) IRue 315 
 
 Content and glad awhile to tread 
 This path, since Jesus knows. 
 
 And he has loved me. All my heart 
 With answering love is stirred, 
 
 And every anguished pain and smart 
 Finds healing in the Word. 
 
 So here I lay me down to rest, 
 
 As nightly shadows fall, 
 And lean confiding on His breast 
 
 Who knows and pities alL 
 
I'LL STRUGGLE ON 
 
 I'll struggle on, 
 
 And keep my way through noonday 
 
 heat and glare, 
 O'er stony paths that wound my weary 
 
 feet; 
 While duty calls, my trials will I meet. 
 To that blest land of Beulah, where 
 Is rest and peace, and all is good and 
 
 fair, 
 Though oft I wander in the gloom of 
 
 night, 
 A noble aim shall be my beacon light ; 
 Thus will I struggle on. 
 
 I '11 struggle on, 
 
 Nor shall the song of bird, nor soothing 
 
 lay 
 
 316 
 
IRogemarg anO IRue 317 
 
 Of purling brook that ripples in the 
 glade, 
 
 Entice me there to lie beneath the shade, 
 
 Nor cause me to repine, my feet to 
 swerve ; 
 
 I'll onward press, so duty points the way. 
 
 Though I am weary, broken, sad and 
 faint, 
 
 Nor heart nor lips shall utter a com- 
 plaint ; 
 
 Aye, thus I '11 struggle on. 
 
 I '11 struggle on. 
 
 Nor long to turn even though my 
 
 halting pace 
 Leads to no high reward of gold or 
 
 fame. 
 E'en though my only title to a name 
 Is to have bravely run a noble race. 
 I '11 rest content in my assigned place, 
 So I may hear the Master's kind voice 
 
 say 
 "Well done" when comes the evening 
 
 of my day. 
 
3i8 IRoeemarg anD TRue 
 
 I 'U struggle on. 
 
 My work shall be some weary mate to 
 
 cheer, 
 Some stricken heart, some cruel wound 
 
 to heal. 
 Then, when my time is come, and 1 
 
 shall feel 
 The hand of Death, and know that he 
 
 is near, 
 I'll lay aside my staff, and without fear 
 Will gladly welcome with my parting 
 
 breath 
 The glorious morning ushered in by 
 
 Death. 
 Till then, I'll struggle on. 
 
DEATH'S CHANGE. 
 
 Death cannot change his face, tender 
 
 and fair; 
 
 ' Tis he who changes Death, and makes 
 
 him dear. 
 
 Edwin Arnold. 
 
 THE CROSS 
 
 The Cross is hard to bear to-day, 
 
 The Crown is bright that shines for aye, 
 
 The strand is not so far away ; 
 
 And, though the awful waves may roll, 
 
 The harbor-bar will soon be passed, 
 
 And anchorage be gained at last. 
 
 319 
 
DYING 
 
 Why will ye call it Death's dark night? 
 Death is the entrance into light; 
 Behind its cloudy purple gates 
 The Everlasting Morning waits. 
 
 Then fear not Death, its pains, its strife, 
 Its weakness, — these belong to Life: 
 Death is the moment when they cease — 
 When Christ says "Come," and all is 
 peace. 
 
 Once, in the silence of the night, 
 A maiden lay, with smiles of light, 
 Her blue eyes gazing open wide, 
 And a few violets by her side. 
 
 Her mother asked her why she smiled, — 
 What pleasant thoughts the time be- 
 guiled? 
 
 320 
 
IRosemarB anO IRuc 321 
 
 She answered her with gentle breath, 
 "Thoughts of the sweetness found in 
 Death." 
 
 Death was but as her dark-hued flowers, 
 ExhaHng sweetness through the hours, 
 Till, ere the early dawn could be, 
 She breathed into Eternity. 
 
 Caroline M. Noel. 
 
 TEACH ME TO LIVE 
 
 Teach me to live. ' T is easier far to 
 die, 
 Gently and silently to pass away, 
 On earth's long night to close the 
 heavy eye. 
 And waken in the glorious realms of 
 day. 
 
 Teach me that harder lesson how to 
 live, 
 To serve Thee in the darkest paths 
 of life; 
 
322 •Rosemary anO "Rue 
 
 Arm me for conflict now, fresh vigor 
 give, 
 And make me more than conqueror 
 in the strife. 
 
 Teach me to live Thy purpose to fulhl; 
 
 Bright for Thy glory let my taper 
 
 shine ; 
 
 Each day renew, remould this stubborn 
 will; 
 
 Closer round Thee my heart's affec- 
 tion twine. 
 
 Teach me to live for sin and self no more, 
 
 But use the time remaining to me yet, 
 
 Not mine own pleasure seeking as 
 
 before, 
 
 Wasting no precious hours in vain 
 
 regret. 
 
 Teach me to live, — no idler let me be. 
 But in Thy service hand and heart 
 employ ; 
 Prepared to do Thy bidding cheerfully — 
 Be this my highest and my holiest 
 joy. 
 
IRoeemar^ auO IRue 323 
 
 Teach me to live, my daily cross to bear, 
 Nor murmur though I bend beneath 
 its load, 
 Only be with me ; let me feel Thee near. 
 Thy smile sheds gladness on the dark- 
 est road. 
 
 Teach me to live and find my life in Thee, 
 Looking from earth and earthly 
 things away. 
 Let me not falter, but untiringly 
 
 Press on, and gain new power and 
 strength each day. 
 
 Teach me to live, with kindly words 
 for all, 
 Wearing no cold repulsive brow of 
 gloom, 
 Waiting with cheerful patience till Thy 
 call 
 Summons my spirit to her heavenly 
 home. 
 
LIFE 
 
 Life, I know not what thou art, 
 But know that thou and I must part; 
 And when, or how, or where we met, 
 I own to me 's a secret yet. 
 Life, we have been long together, 
 Through pleasant and through cloudy 
 
 weather ; 
 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear, — 
 Perhaps t' will cause a sigh, a tear; 
 Then steal away, give little warning, 
 Choose thine own time; 
 Say not "Good night," — but in some 
 
 brighter clime 
 Bid me **Good morning." 
 
 Mrs. Barbauld. 
 
 324 
 
LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 Life is not sweet. One day it will be 
 sweet 
 
 To shut our eyes and die: 
 
 Nor feel the wild-flowers blow, nor birds 
 dart by, 
 
 With flitting butterfly, 
 
 Nor grass grow long above our heads 
 and feet ; 
 
 Nor hear the happy lark that soars sky- 
 high, 
 
 Nor sigh that spring is fleet, and sum- 
 mer fleet. 
 
 Nor mark the waxing wheat, 
 
 Nor know who sits in our accustomed 
 seat. 
 
 Life is not good. One day it will be 
 good 
 
 325 
 
326 1Ro0emarB anD IRue 
 
 To die, then live again; 
 To sleep meanwhile so not to feel the 
 
 wane 
 Of shrunk leaves dropping in the wood, 
 No: hear the foamy lashing of the main, 
 Noi mark the blackened bean-fields, nor, 
 where stood 
 
 Rich ranks of golden grain, 
 Only dead refuse stubble clothe the 
 plain: 
 
 Asleep from risk, asleep from 
 pain. 
 
 Christina Rossetti. 
 
HOW 
 
 How doth Death speak of our beloved? 
 Love in Hfe should strive to see 
 Sometimes what love in death would be. 
 
 How doth Death speak of our beloved 
 When it hath laid them low, 
 When it hath set its hallowing touch 
 On lip and cheek and brow ? 
 
 It clothes their every gift and grace 
 With radiance from the holiest place, 
 With light as from an angel's face, 
 
 Recalling with resistless force 
 And tracing to their hidden source 
 Deeds scarcely noticed in their course: 
 
 This little loving fond device, 
 That daily act of sacrifice, 
 Of which too late we learn the price; 
 327 
 
328 IRosemaii^ anD IRue 
 
 Opening our weeping eyes to trace 
 Simple, unnoticed kindnesses, 
 Forgotten notes of tenderness, 
 
 Which evermore to us must be 
 
 Sacred as hymns in infancy, 
 
 Learned, Hstening at a mother's knee. 
 
 It sweeps their faults with heavy hand, 
 As sweeps the sea, the trampled sand; 
 It shows how such a vexing deed 
 Was but a generous nature's weed, 
 Or some choice virtue run to seed; 
 
 How that small fretting carefulness 
 Was but love's over-anxiousness, 
 Which had not been had love been less. 
 
 This failing at which we repined 
 Was but a shadow o'er the mind. 
 Which should have made us doubly 
 kind. 
 
 It takes each failing on our part, 
 And brands it in upon the heart 
 With caustic power, and cruel art. 
 
IRosemar^ anD IRue 329 
 
 The small neglect that may have pained, 
 A giant's stature will have gained, 
 When it can never be explained. 
 
 The little service which had proved 
 How tenderly we watched and loved — 
 And those mute lips to smiles had 
 moved — 
 
 The little gift from out our store, 
 Which might have cheered some lonely 
 
 hour, 
 But never will be needed more: 
 
 It shows our faults like fires at night. 
 
 It sweeps their failures out of sight, 
 
 It clothes their good with heavenly Hght. 
 
 O Christ, our Life ! foredate the work 
 of Death, and do this now! 
 
 Thou, who art Love, thus hallow our 
 beloved,^not Death, but Thou. 
 Mrs. Charles. 
 
SHADOWLAND 
 
 " Until the day break and the shadows flee 
 away." Cant, ii., 17. 
 
 Each heart has a haunted room, 
 Where, amidst the hallowed gloom, 
 Deep within its shelter laid, 
 Dwell the memories of the dead. 
 Sometimes in the twilight hours 
 Shadowy lips seem pressed to ours; 
 Sometimes, near th' unconscious head 
 Footsteps all unearthly tread. 
 Palms that in the years ago, 
 Sought our own in weal or woe. 
 Towards us stretch a waving hand, 
 From that death-divided strand. 
 Accents strangely sweet and clear, 
 Silent many and many a year, 
 In and out the wearied brain 
 
 330 
 
IRosemar^ an& IRue 33^ 
 
 Wander like a soft refrain, 
 As the tones which gently sound, 
 Fall and float on holy ground. 
 Ah, this chamber in the breast 
 Harbors many a longed-for guest: 
 Some are young, and some are old; 
 Some lie pale beneath the mould ; 
 Yet, within this chamber door 
 We can meet them all once more: 
 Little hands so soft and clinginp^, 
 Little voices blithe and ringing, 
 Brows all bright with manhood's glory, 
 Brows so patient, seamed and hoary; 
 Lips on which the turf has lain, 
 Whisper kindly words again; 
 Eyes that scan yon angel bowers, 
 Turn once more to answer ours ; 
 Feet the waves of death have wet, 
 Turn and walk beside us yet. 
 While they in this chamber tread, 
 We may hardly deem them dead. 
 Called to earth from shadowland, 
 Fresh and beautiful they stand: 
 Buds that withered long ago 
 
332 iRoscmari? anD TRue 
 
 JSeem once more to bloom and blow; 
 Hopes so sweet they faded fast, 
 Ere the morning's dews were past — 
 Hopes, perchance, to blossom still 
 In the land invisible. 
 Seeds we watered oft with tears, 
 Yield in those eternal years 
 An unshaded world of bliss, 
 Sought, but vainly sought, in this. 
 Here on earth they had their root, 
 There beyond they bear their fruit; 
 Here the sowing and the weeping, 
 There the harvest- tide and reaping; 
 Here they faded like the leaves. 
 There the Master binds the sheaves. 
 Yes, this chamber in the breast 
 Glows with many a wondrous guest, 
 Tender gleams and glints that come 
 From the many-mansioned home. 
 
 Rev. Basil Edwards. 
 
WHOLLY RESIGNED. 
 
 Christ leads us through no darker 
 rooms 
 
 Than He went through before, 
 And he that to God's kingdom comes 
 
 Must enter by this door. 
 Come, Lord, when grace hath made me 
 meet 
 
 Thy blessed face to see, 
 For if Thy work on earth be sweet, 
 
 What will Thy glory be? 
 
 Then shall I end my sad complaints, 
 
 And weary sinful days, 
 And join with the triumphant saints 
 
 That sing Jehovah's praise. 
 My knowledge of that life is small, 
 
 The eye of faith is dim. 
 But 't is enough that Christ knows all, 
 
 And I shall be with Him. 
 
 Richard Baxter. 
 
 333 
 
MY TIMES ARE IN THY HAND. 
 
 Psalm 31:15. 
 
 Father, I know that all my life 
 
 Is portioned out to me, 
 And the changes that are sure to come 
 
 I do not fear to see ; 
 But I ask Thee for a present mind 
 
 Intent on pleasing Thee. 
 
 I ask Thee for a thankful love, 
 Through constant watching vdse, 
 
 To meet the glad vdth joyful smiles 
 And to wipe the weeping eyes, 
 
 And a heart at leisure from itself 
 To soothe and sympathize. 
 
 I would not have the restless will 
 
 That hurries to and fro. 
 Seeking for some great thing to do, 
 
 334 
 
IRosemar^ anD IRue 335 
 
 Or secret thing to know; 
 I would be dealt with as a child, 
 And guided where to go. 
 
 Wherever in the world I am, 
 
 In whatsoe'er estate, 
 I have a fellowship with hearts 
 
 To keep and cultivate; 
 And a work of holy love to do 
 
 For the Lurd on whom I wait. 
 
 I ask Thee for the daily strength 
 
 To none that ask denied ; 
 And a mind to blend with outward life 
 
 While keeping at Thy side; 
 Content to fill a little space 
 
 If Thou be glorified. 
 
 And if some things I do not ask 
 
 In my cup of blessings be, 
 I would have my spirit filled the more 
 
 With grateful love to Thee, — 
 More careful than to serve Thee much 
 
 To please Thee perfectly. 
 
336 IRosemar^ m\t> IRue 
 
 There are briars besetting every path, 
 
 That call for patient care; 
 There is a crook in every lot, 
 
 And a need for earnest prayer; 
 But a lonely heart that leans on Thee 
 
 Is happy everywhere. 
 
 In a service that Thy love appoints 
 
 There are no bonds for me. 
 For my secret heart is taught the truth 
 
 That makes Thy children " free " ; 
 A.nd a life of self-renouncing love 
 
 Is a life of liberty. 
 
 Anna L. Waring 
 
AND THEN 
 
 FEW more days of toil and strife, 
 I And then 
 
 I The rest and bliss of perfect life. 
 
 A^few more days of worldly care, 
 
 And then 
 A crown of glory we shall wear. 
 
 A few more days of poverty, 
 
 And then 
 The heavenly pastures, full and free. 
 
 A few more days of earth's proud scorn, 
 
 And then 
 Sweet bloom, instead of piercing thorn. 
 
 A few more days of darkling sight, 
 
 And then 
 The radiant burst of wondrous light. 
 
 A few more days of wanderings vast, 
 
 And then 
 The blessed isles we find at last. 
 22 337 
 
NEARER HOME 
 
 One sweetly solemn thought 
 Comes ^o me o'er and o'er — 
 
 I am nearer home to-day 
 
 Than I ever have been before: 
 
 Nearer my Father's house 
 
 Where the many mansions be; 
 
 Nearer the great white throne, 
 Nearer the crystal sea; 
 
 Nearer the bound of life 
 
 Where we lay our burdens down, 
 
 Nearer leaving the cross, 
 Nearer gaining the crown. 
 
 But lying darkly between, 
 
 Winding down through the night, 
 Is the silent, unknown stream 
 
 That leads at last to the light. 
 338 
 
IRosemari^ and TRue 339 
 
 Closer and closer my steps 
 
 Come to the dark abysm; 
 Closer death to my lips 
 
 Presses the awful chrysm. 
 
 Oh, if my mortal feet 
 
 Have almost gained the brink — 
 If it be I am nearer home, 
 
 Even to-day than I think! 
 
 Father, perfect my trust, 
 Let my spirit feel in death 
 
 That her feet are firmly set 
 On the rock of a living faith. 
 
 Phcebe Cary. 
 
CROSSING THE BAR. 
 
 Sunset and evening star, 
 
 And one clear call for me ! 
 And may there be no moaning of the bar 
 
 When I put out to sea, 
 
 But such a tide as moving, seems asleep, 
 Too full for sound and foam, 
 
 When that which drew from out the 
 boundless deep 
 Turns again home. 
 
 Twilight and evening bell, 
 
 And after that the dark ! 
 And may there be no sadness of farewell 
 
 When I embark. 
 
 For, though from out our bourne of 
 Time and Place 
 
 The flood may bear me far, 
 I hope to see my Pilot face to face 
 
 When I have crost the bar. 
 
 Alfred Tennyson. 
 340 
 
AN UNKNOWN GRAVE 
 
 There is a little plot of ground, though 
 
 where I cannot tell, 
 But yet within its sheltering calm I 
 
 think to slumber well. 
 The sun shall shine, the sun shall set, the 
 
 shadows rise and fall 
 While I shall lie there hushed and still, at 
 
 peace beyond them all. 
 
 Perhaps amid the bright green fields this 
 
 unknown spot may lie, 
 Where some gray village spire uplifts the 
 
 cross towards the sky; 
 Or else within the busy haunts of toiling, 
 
 striving men, 
 The trampling of whose restless feet will 
 
 not disturb me then. 
 341 
 
342 IRosemari? anD TRue 
 
 The pleasant breath of early spring may 
 
 touch this plot of ground, 
 Or autumn with her golden sheaves may 
 
 spread her tints around, 
 Or wintry clouds may hide the sky and 
 
 tempest's voice may roar; 
 But I shall be beyond the reach of storm 
 
 forevermore. 
 
 The matins of the joyous lark, the 
 
 thrush''s evening song, 
 The whispering of the twilight breeze, 
 
 these sounds shall steal along ; 
 And when the midnight bells ring out in 
 
 tones so sweet and clear 
 The chimings of the better land shall 
 
 sound within mine ear. 
 
 There is a spot — it is on high, I cannot 
 
 tell you where, 
 But oh, 't is in the light of God, and Jesus 
 
 will be there; 
 I cannot say how bright it is, or how its 
 
 glories shine. 
 
TRosemarg anD IRiie 343 
 
 But it has been prepared for me, and 
 some day shall be mine. 
 
 My very own, forevermore, for time and 
 
 sin and death 
 Have never touched this blessed spot 
 
 with their polluting breath. 
 The sands of time are v/et with tears, 
 
 but those dear shores are bright. 
 These toilwom feet shall tread them 
 
 soon 'mid resurrection light. 
 
 I cannot tell what gentle eyes from 
 
 thence are gazing now; 
 I cannot tell what rainbow hues throw 
 
 halos round the brow; 
 I may not know what accents make 
 
 soft music on that air, 
 Till time and tears and death are done 
 
 and I myself am there. 
 
 But yet, sweet home in Paradise, I greet 
 thee from afar; 
 
344 'Rosemary an& IRuc 
 
 Safe in thy calm, unruffled peace the 
 
 dead in Jesus are. 
 Fair harbor o'er the stormy sea, how 
 
 bright thy light appears, 
 Although we sometimes catch thy gleams 
 
 behind a rain of tears. 
 
 Rev. Basil Edwards. 
 
 LOVE'S ETERNITY 
 
 When love is new, and heart to heart 
 Whispers of joys untried, divine, 
 Before the dregs are in the wine, 
 Or disillusion plays a part. 
 Though life be brief, is it not true 
 That love's eternal — when 'tis new? 
 
 When love is old, and time has bred 
 A callous tolerance in love's stead. 
 Blest are the eyes whose clearer view 
 Can see the wisdom of the whole, 
 The deeper meaning of the soul, 
 The love Eternal, — old or new. 
 
 Daisy G. Low. 
 
AMEN 
 
 I cannot say 
 Beneath the pressure of life's cares 
 to-day 
 
 I joy in these; 
 But I can say that I can walk this 
 rugged way 
 
 If Him it please. 
 
 I cannot feel 
 That all is well, when darkening clouds 
 conceal 
 
 The shining sun ; 
 But then I know God lives and loves, 
 and I can say 
 
 "Thy will be done." 
 
 I cannot speak 
 In happy tones; the teardrops on my 
 cheek 
 
 345 
 
346 *Ko6cmari? an& IRue 
 
 Show I am sad; 
 But I can speak of grace to suffer with 
 submission meek 
 
 Until made glad. 
 
 I do not see 
 Why God should e'en permit some things 
 to be 
 
 When "He is love"; 
 But I can see, though often dimly 
 through the mystery 
 His hand above. 
 
 I do not know 
 Where falls the seed that I have tried 
 to sow 
 
 With greatest care ; 
 But I shall know the meaning of each 
 waiting hour below, 
 
 Sometime, somewhere. 
 
 I do not look 
 Upon the present, nor in nature's book, 
 To read my fate. 
 
1R06cmarg an& "Rue 347 
 
 But I do look for promised blessings in 
 God's Holy Book, 
 And I can wait. 
 
 I may not try 
 To keep the hot tears back, but hush 
 that sigh 
 
 " It might have been. " 
 And try to still each rising murmur, and 
 to God's sweet will 
 
 Respond "Amen." 
 
 THY WAY, NOT MINE, O LORD 
 
 Thy way, not mine, O Lord, 
 
 However dark it be. 
 Lead me by Thine own hand. 
 
 Choose out the path for me. 
 
 Smooth let it be or rough, 
 It will be still the best; 
 
 Winding or straight, it leads 
 Right onward to Thy breast. 
 
348 IRoBemarg aiiD TRue 
 
 I dare not choose my lot; 
 
 I would not, if I might; 
 Choose Thou for me, my God; 
 
 So shall I walk aright. 
 
 The kingdom that I seek 
 
 Is Thine, so let the way 
 That leads to it be Thine, 
 
 Else I must surely stray. 
 
 Take Thou my cup, and it 
 
 With joy or sorrow fill, 
 As best to Thee may seem ; 
 
 Choose Thou my good and ill. 
 
 Choose Thou for me my friends, 
 My sickness or my health; 
 
 Choose Thou my cares for me, 
 My poverty or wealth. 
 
 Not mine, not mine the choice, 
 In things or great or small ; 
 
 Be Thou my guide, my strength. 
 My wisdom, and my all. 
 
 HORATIUS BONAR 
 
THE ETERNAL GOODNESS. 
 
 I LONG for household voices gone, 
 For vanished smiles I long; 
 
 But God hath led my dear ones on, 
 And He can do no wrong. 
 
 I know not what the future hath 
 
 Of marvel, or surprise, 
 Assured alone that life and death 
 
 His mercy underlies. 
 
 And if my heart and flesh are weak 
 
 To bear an untried pain, 
 The bruised reed He will not break, 
 
 But comfort, and sustain. 
 
 No offering of my own I have, 
 Nor works my faith to prove ; 
 
 I can but give the gifts He gave, 
 And plead His love for love. 
 349 
 
350 IRoecmat^ anD "Rue 
 
 And so beside the Silent Sea 
 
 I wait the muffled oar; 
 No harm from him can come to me, 
 
 On ocean or on shore. 
 
 I know not where His islands lift 
 Their fronded palms in air; 
 
 I only know I cannot drift 
 Beyond His love and care. 
 
 J. G. Whittier. 
 
DREAM-LAND 
 
 Where sunless rivers weep 
 Their waves into the deep, 
 She sleeps a charmed sleep, 
 Awake her not. 
 
 Led by a single star, 
 She came from very far 
 To seek where shadows are 
 
 Her pleasant lot. 
 
 She left the rosy morn, 
 She left the fields of com, 
 For twilight, cold and lorn, 
 
 And water-springs. 
 
 Through sleep, as through a veil. 
 She sees the skies look pale. 
 And hears the nightingale, 
 
 That sadly sings. 
 351 
 
352 IRoscmari? anD IRue 
 
 Rest, rest, a perfect rest. 
 Shed over brow and breast; 
 Her face is to the West, 
 
 The purple land. 
 
 She cannot see the grain 
 Ripening on hill and plain; 
 She cannot feel the rain 
 
 Upon her hand. 
 
 Rest, rest, forevermore 
 Upon a mossy shore; 
 Rest, rest at the heart core, 
 
 Till time shall cease. 
 
 Sleep that no pain shall wake, 
 Night that no morn shall break. 
 Till joy shall overtake 
 
 Her perfect peace. 
 Christina Rossetti. 
 
OUR REST 
 
 A REST remains for us beyond earth's 
 sadness, 
 A calm, clear sky where clouds are 
 never seen, 
 A home above where life is perfect 
 gladness, 
 And every thought is bathed in joy 
 serene. 
 
 A rest in Heaven. Ah, ye who, bowed 
 in sorrow. 
 See only shadows gathering on life's 
 sea, 
 Look through your falling tears to that 
 bright morrow, 
 And think, oh, think how calm your 
 rest will be! 
 23 353 
 
354 TRosemari^ aiiD IRuc 
 
 Think that your tears will then be dried 
 forever; 
 Think that your hearts will never- 
 more grow sad; 
 Think of the dear ones who will leave 
 you never; 
 Think, think of this, ye sorrowing, 
 and be glad. 
 
 No sin shall mar that rest; no stormy 
 billow 
 Shall fall and swell around that holy 
 place; 
 No weary head turn on a sleepless 
 pillow; 
 No aching heart is there, no tearful 
 face. 
 
 Ah, should we murmur so at what be- 
 falls us? 
 The Lord, who grieves us, knoweth 
 what is best; 
 By ever ouch of His just rod He calls 
 us, 
 And tells us softly this is not our rest. 
 
■Rosemary an& IRue 355 
 
 Thrice blessed thought : He whispers to 
 us ever 
 Behind the clouds that hide Him from 
 the world ; 
 And rest remains for us, — a rest forever, 
 Where death's dark banner is no more 
 unfurled. 
 
 Oh! let us then press on, with faith 
 unfeigning, 
 To that fair city, in the " Better land " 
 With patient meekness, calm, and un- 
 complaining, 
 Until we mingle with the white-robed 
 band. 
 
 Beyond the storm a cloudless sky is 
 shining, 
 Above the cross is hung a starry 
 crown ; 
 Then let us wear life's thorns without 
 repining, 
 Till for eternal flowers we lay them 
 down. 
 
MYSTERIES 
 
 Shall we have a long way to go 
 
 On the other side? 
 To find the other friends that we know 
 
 Do there abide? 
 
 Shall we have a long time to wait 
 
 Before they tell 
 Of their happy and high estate 
 
 Where all is well? 
 
 Will they look from that heavenly 
 height 
 
 With tender eyes, 
 Made clearer with love's great light 
 
 And glad surprise? 
 
 Will they speak with the same tone 
 We loved to hear? 
 356 
 
IRosemari^ anD TRue 357 
 
 Shall we claim them and clasp our own, 
 And keep them near? 
 
 Will they ask how we have fared, 
 
 On our lonely way, 
 Of all we have done and dared, 
 
 Through night and day? 
 
 Will they tell what they have seen. 
 Those wondering eyes? 
 
 How happy the years have been. 
 How glad, how wise? 
 
 If we could only see and know! 
 
 Lord, make us feel 
 That the mysteries questioned so 
 
 Thou wilt reveal. 
 
 Caroline S. Le Bow. 
 
WAITING 
 
 Lord of my nights and days, 
 
 Let my desire be 
 Not to be rid of earth, 
 
 But nearer Thee. 
 
 If I may nearer draw 
 
 Through lengthened grief and pain 
 Then to continue here 
 
 Must be my gain : 
 
 Till I have strengthened been 
 
 To take a wider grasp 
 Of that eternal Life 
 
 I long to clasp ; 
 
 Till I am so refined 
 
 I can the glory bear 
 Of that excess of joy 
 
 I thirst to share. 
 
 358 
 
IRoeemarg aiiD IRue 359 
 
 Till I am meet to gaze 
 
 On uncreated Light, 
 Transformed, and perfected, 
 
 By that new sight. 
 
 Sorrow's long lesson o'er, 
 
 Death's discipline gone through, 
 
 Thou wilt unfold to me 
 What joy can do. 
 
 Glad souls are on the wing, 
 
 From earth to Heaven they flee ; 
 
 At last Thine hour will come 
 To send for me. 
 
 Reveal the mighty Love 
 
 That binds Thy Heart to mine: 
 
 Thy counsels and my will 
 Should intertwine. 
 
 Lord of my heart and hopes. 
 
 Let my desire be 
 Not to be rid of earth, 
 
 But nearer Thee. 
 
 C. M. Noel. 
 
SOUND SLEEP 
 
 Some are laughing, some are weeping; 
 She is sleeping, only sleeping. 
 Round her rest wild flowers are creeping ; 
 There the wind is heaping, heaping 
 Sweetest sweets, of Summer's keeping, 
 By the cornfields, ripe for reaping. 
 
 There are lilies, and there blushes 
 The deep rose, and there the thrushes 
 Sing, till latest sunlight flushes 
 In the west; a fresh wind brushes 
 Through the leaves while evening hushes. 
 
 There by day the lark is singing. 
 And the grass and weeds are spring- 
 ing 
 
 360 
 
IRosemari? auD IRue 361 
 
 There by night the bat is winging, 
 There forever winds are bringing 
 Far-off chimes of church-bells ringing. 
 
 Night and morning, noon and even, 
 Their sounds fill her dreams with Heaven. 
 The long strife at length is striven; 
 Till her grave-bands shall be riven 
 Such is the good portion given 
 To her soul at rest and shriven. 
 
 Christina Rossetti 
 
 WHEN BEAUTY DIES 
 
 Should change fall in its fated hour, 
 Should music cease, should darkness be, 
 Should star and sun and face and flower 
 Turn dust of beauty endlessly — 
 Beloved, what of you and me? 
 
 I question how by finer sense 
 The soul adventures ways unknown, 
 Or what shall be its recompense 
 For death? What loveliness atone 
 For earth's green glory sadly flown? 
 
362 IRoeemarg anO IRuc 
 
 Yet, since I need not touch nor sight, 
 Nor spoken word, however dear, 
 To read your thought and will aright, 
 To know your spirit, now and here. 
 What has our fellowship to fear? 
 
 Man's age-long doubt assails in vain 
 The truth that lightens in your eyes, 
 Or your still courage bred of pain: — 
 Beyond the wreck of worlds and skies 
 I shall seek these when beauty dies. 
 
 Sophie Jewett. 
 
THE TWO MYSTERIES 
 
 We know not what it is, dear, this sleep 
 
 so deep and still, 
 The folded hands, the awful calm, the 
 
 cheek so pale and still. 
 The lids that will not lift again tho' we 
 
 may call and call, 
 The strange white solitude of peace, 
 
 which settles over all. 
 
 We know not what it means, dear, this 
 
 desolate heart-pain, 
 This dread to take our weary way and 
 
 walk in it again ; 
 We know not to what other sphere the 
 
 loved who leave us go, 
 Nor why we *re left to wonder still, not 
 
 why we do not know. 
 363 
 
364 IRoeemari? aiiD TRuc 
 
 But this we know: our loved and dead, 
 
 if they could come this day, — 
 Should come and ask us " What is life? " 
 
 not one of us could say. 
 Life is a mystery as deep as ever death 
 
 can be. 
 Yet, oh, how sweet it is to us, this life 
 
 we live and see! 
 
 Then might they say, those vanished 
 
 ones — and blessed is the thought — 
 *' So death is sweet to us, beloved, tho' 
 
 we may tell thee naught. 
 We may not tell it to the quick, this 
 
 mystery of death. 
 Ye may not tell us, if ye would, this 
 
 mystery of breath." 
 
 The child who enters life comes not with 
 
 knowledge or intent; 
 So those who enter death, must go as 
 
 little children sent. 
 Nothing is known, — but I believe that 
 
 God is overhead, 
 And as life is to the living, so death 
 
 is to the dead. 
 
HOMEWARD 
 
 To my beloved ones my steps are 
 moving ; 
 Not hard the road that leads to love 
 and home; 
 Have done my eyes, have done my 
 feet with roving, 
 'T is to the well-known gate I look 
 and come. 
 
 Your watch is now on the eternal 
 mountains. 
 Our eyes are gazing upward from afar 
 Your rest is now by the clear-welling 
 fountains. 
 Ours is the journey still, the toil, and 
 war. 
 
 Years have gone by since the last 
 words were spoken ; 
 Oh, loved and saved, how gladly shall 
 we meet, 
 
 365 
 
366 IRosemari? anD IRuc 
 
 In the home-city where no ties are 
 broken, 
 Where love is perfect, fellowship com- 
 plete. 
 I see your crowns, the wreaths which 
 cannot wither. 
 And from the city walls ye beckon 
 me — 
 Come up, and tarry not, oh, come up 
 hither! 
 To this dear land of light we welcome 
 thee. 
 
 Only a little while ; a little longer 
 
 Of tarriance here upon these death- 
 swept plains; 
 Oh, well-beloved, death is growing 
 stronger, 
 And life more feeble, in these ebbing 
 veins. 
 
 To follow you each day we are preparing. 
 And where you are, there we shall 
 shortly be ; 
 
 Death is to us but as an angel, bearing 
 The keys of life, and immortality. 
 
1Ro6cmari2 anD IRue 367 
 
 Yet not the less we sa3% 'Twere surely 
 better 
 That He should come and summon us 
 away 
 To meet Him in the sky ere yet the fetter 
 Of dark corruption bind our crumb- 
 ling clay. 
 
 Then ye who slept, and we who know 
 no sleeping, 
 Should meet together, each to tell the 
 tale; 
 The tale of earthly weariness and 
 weeping. 
 The short, strange story of time's 
 cloudy vale. 
 
 Come then, Lord Jesus, come! Thy 
 church is calling, 
 The world is old, although the skies 
 are blue: 
 Its flowers are falling and its leaves 
 ai'e fading — 
 Come in Thy glory to make all things 
 new. 
 
 HoRATIUS BONAR. 
 
THROUGH PEACE TO LIGHT 
 
 I DO not ask, Lord, that life may be 
 
 A pleasant road, 
 I do not ask that Thou wouldst take 
 from me 
 
 Aught of its load ; 
 I do not ask that flowers should always 
 spring 
 
 Beneath my feet; 
 I know too well the poison and the 
 sting 
 
 Of things too sweet. 
 
 For one thing, Lord, dear Lord, I plead: 
 
 Lead me aright, 
 Tho' strength should falter and tho' heart 
 should bleed. 
 
 Through Peace to Light. 
 368 
 
IRosemarg anD IRue 369 
 
 I do not ask, O Lord, that Thou shouldst 
 shed 
 
 Full radiance here; 
 Give but a ray of peace, that I may 
 tread 
 
 Without a fear. 
 
 Better in darkness just to feel Thy hand 
 
 And follow Thee. 
 Joy is like restless day, — but peace 
 divine 
 
 Like quiet night: 
 Lead me, O Lord, till perfect day shall 
 shine, 
 
 Through Peace to Light. 
 
 Adelaide A. Procter. 
 
WAITING 
 
 I AM watching and waiting to-night by 
 
 the shore, 
 In the gloaming which tells that the 
 
 day's work is o'er, 
 And the purples which gather afar o'er 
 
 the lea. 
 Are fringes of glory there waiting for 
 
 me. 
 Though weary the feet which have 
 
 come to the tide, 
 Long shall rest be, and sweet, on the 
 
 farthermost side. 
 
 All along the broad fields and on top 
 
 of the hill 
 Dark shadows of sorrow and care 
 
 linger still; 
 
 370 
 
1Ro0emar)5 anD IRue 371 
 
 But the furrows if crooked are honest 
 
 and true 
 Of the ploughing the Master's hand gave 
 
 me to do. 
 No ploughing, no reaping, no shadows 
 
 there be 
 In the land on the calm other side of 
 
 the sea. 
 
 The voices of day in the twilight wax 
 
 dim. 
 Sighs, laughter and sobbing, plaint, 
 
 pasan, or hymn; 
 But I wait in the stillness a call that 
 
 will come 
 When the Master is ready to bid me 
 
 come home — 
 A voice whose low accents are sweeter 
 
 to me 
 Than all the glad sounds on this side 
 
 of the sea. 
 
 I wait, but in patience; I watch, but 
 with cheer, 
 
372 IRosemars ant> IRuc 
 
 Nor dare to say, "Quickly Lord Jesus, 
 
 come here." 
 There are hearts that will ache when 
 
 that summons shall come. 
 And shadows will dim the clear sunlight 
 
 of home. 
 Or it may be some pebble my hand 
 
 must yet lay, 
 In the temple of God ere the close of 
 
 the day. 
 
 So I fold my hands, to my heart say 
 
 ^'Be still," 
 And, looking in trust to Thee, wait Thy 
 
 will. 
 Since living is Christ and dying is gain 
 In living and dying alike is no pain. 
 In the gloaming I 'm watching and 
 
 waiting for Thee, 
 Content with Thy presence both sides 
 
 of the sea. 
 
 M. E. WiNSLOW. 
 
GRANT US THY PEACE 
 
 Only Thy peace. Our summer time 
 
 is over, 
 The days of dreaming and deUght are 
 
 past, 
 Heavy and chill the wintry shadows 
 
 gather: 
 
 One boon we crave, the sweetest, and 
 
 the last. 
 
 Grant us Thy peace. 
 
 To others give the cup of joy, full- 
 flowing, 
 The bounding health, the strength for 
 
 noble strife: 
 We too have known the sunshine of 
 
 Thy favor: 
 Now in the storm and bitterness of life 
 Grant us Thy peace. 
 373 
 
374 IRoseman? atiD IRue 
 
 The New Year comes, with festival and 
 
 gladness ; 
 In happy homes he sits, a smiling guest. 
 But from his face we turn, in silent 
 
 anguish, — 
 We who have lost our sweetest and our 
 
 best 
 
 Grant us Thy peace. 
 
 Thy peace. And by our desolate hearth 
 
 shall linger 
 A brightness to our summer days 
 
 unknown: 
 A gleam, reflected from that far-off 
 
 portal 
 Whither have fled our best-beloved, 
 
 our own. 
 
 Grant us Thy peace. 
 
 It is enough: be this henceforth our 
 
 portion, 
 If less of earth, yet more of Heaven, and 
 
 Thee, 
 Until that hour of rapture and of 
 
 triumph, 
 When Thy beloved voice shall set us 
 
 free — 
 
 Grant us Thy peace. 
 
THE TRYST 
 
 Farewell, beloved, we will not weep, 
 
 'tis but a little while: 
 When the snow is gone, I shall return 
 
 with Spring's returning smile. 
 Where the sunlight falls with shade and 
 
 rain from hurrying clouds that weep, 
 With naught between me and the sky, 
 
 there lay me down to sleep. 
 The place is known to you and me, nor 
 
 needs it more should know, 
 So raise no stone at head or feet, but let 
 
 the wild flowers blow. 
 
 And then some little part of me shall 
 creep up through the mold, 
 
 The brightness of my hair shall gleam 
 from king-cups' hearts of gold, 
 
 375 
 
376 IRosemarij anD IRue 
 
 The blue that faded from my eyes will 
 
 meet your eyes again, 
 When little speedwells on my grave 
 
 smile sweetly after rain. 
 When the warm blood is frozen at my 
 
 heart and on my lips, 
 Kneel down above the dust and kiss the 
 
 daisy's coral tips. 
 
 And when from out the sunset a little 
 breeze comes by, 
 
 And a flush of deeper color steals across 
 the upper sky ; 
 
 When the beech leaves touch and trem- 
 ble, whisper soft and then are still, 
 
 And a bird hid in the thicket sings out, 
 sudden, sweet, and shrill; 
 
 When faint voices of the evening mur- 
 mur peace across the land, 
 
 And silver mists creep up and fold the 
 woods on either hand; 
 
 Or in the early morning when the world 
 is yet asleep, 
 
1R09emari2 tint> TRuc 377 
 
 And the dew lies white in all the shade 
 
 where the grass is green and deep, 
 You '11 find me there, love, waiting you, 
 
 and you may smile and say: 
 "I met my darling all alone at our old 
 
 tryst to-day, 
 I looked into her eyes so blue, I stroked 
 
 her hair of gold. 
 We kissed each other on the lips as in 
 
 the days of old." 
 
 It was her voice so low, so clear, that 
 
 in mine ears did sound, — 
 "Beloved, there's no such thing as 
 
 death ; 't is life that I have found ; 
 The life that thrills in leaf and flower, 
 
 and fills the woods with song. 
 That throbs in all the gleaming stars 
 
 when winter nights are long, 
 The life that passes with the winds from 
 
 utmost shore to shore. 
 Embracing all the mighty world, is 
 
 mine forevermore. " 
 
 Cornhill Mamzine. 
 
REST 
 
 My feet are wearied and my hands are 
 tired, 
 
 My soul oppressed, 
 And with desire have I long desired 
 
 Rest, only rest. 
 
 'T is hard to toil when toil is almost vain 
 
 In barren ways; 
 'T is hard to sow and never gamer grain 
 
 In harvest days. 
 
 The burden of my days is hard to bear, 
 But God knows best; 
 
 And I have prayed — but vain has been 
 my prayer — 
 
 For rest, sweet rest. 
 
 'Tis hard to plant in spring and never 
 reap 
 
 The autumn yield; 
 'Tis hard to till, and when 'tis tilled, to 
 weep 
 
 O'er fruitless field. 
 37S 
 
IRosemars aiiD IRuc 379 
 
 And as I cry a weak and human cry — 
 
 So heart -oppressed; 
 And as I sigh a weak and human sigh 
 
 For rest, sweet rest, — 
 
 My way has wound across the desert 
 years, 
 
 And cares infest 
 My path; and through the flowing of 
 hot tears, 
 
 I pine for rest. 
 
 'T was always so: when, still a child, I 
 laid 
 
 On mother's breast 
 My wearied little head, e'en then I 
 prayed, 
 
 As now, for rest. 
 
 And I am restless still. 'Twill soon 
 be o'er. 
 
 For down the west 
 Life's sun is setting, and I see the shore, 
 Where I shall rest. 
 
 Father Ryan. 
 
THE OTHER SHORE 
 
 What is it like — that other shore? 
 
 Straining my eyes, I can but see 
 Skies and ocean that evermore 
 
 Embrace and hide the Beyond from me. 
 Vainly I wish that an echoed note 
 
 Of the song they sing on the other side 
 Over the waters to me may float, 
 
 As I wistfully listen and turn aside. 
 
 My Father's house that I have not seen, 
 Little I care what its beauties are, — 
 Whether its hills are always green. 
 
 Or the hills are golden that gleam afar; 
 Only I know One waiteth there 
 
 Whom my eyes have wearied long to 
 see, 
 And the country must needs be won- 
 drous fair, 
 
 380 
 
IRosemarB anO IRue 381 
 
 Where Christ the Lord doth welcome 
 me. 
 What can I do but watch all day 
 
 Ripples that lazily lap the shore, 
 The unconscious children at their play, 
 
 While I sit waiting forevermore? 
 Waiting still at the waterside, — 
 
 When will the boatman come for me, 
 And bear me off on the flowing tide. 
 
 To land where my best-beloved be? 
 
 Nay, but my Father for me will send, 
 
 When I have finished the task He gave ; 
 When I have proved His child and 
 friend, 
 
 By the Christ-like spirit — meek, yet 
 brave. 
 Why should I list to the waves and sighs. 
 
 Dreamily waiting for what delays? 
 Let me rather with strength arise, 
 
 And work for Him the remaining days. 
 
SATISFIED 
 
 Not here, not here, not where the 
 sparkling waters 
 Fade into mocking sands as we draw 
 near, 
 Where in the wilderness each footstep 
 falters, 
 " I shall be satisfied, " but oh, not here! 
 
 Not hers where all the dreams of bliss 
 deceive us. 
 Where the worn spirit never gains the 
 goal, 
 Where, haunted ever by the thoughts 
 that grieve us. 
 Across us floods of bitter memory roll. 
 
 382 
 
IRoscmarg anO IRue 383 
 
 There is a land where every pulse is 
 thrilling 
 With rapture Earth's sojourners may 
 not know, 
 Where Heaven's repose the weary heart 
 is stilling, 
 And peacefully life's time-tossed cur- 
 rents flow. 
 
 Far out of sight, though sorrows still 
 enfold us. 
 Lies the fair country where our hearts 
 abide, 
 And of its bliss naught is more wondrous 
 told us 
 Than these few words "I shall be 
 satisfied. " 
 
 •*I shall be satisfied." The spirit's 
 yearning 
 For sweet companionship with kindred 
 minds. 
 
384 IRosemar^ aiiD IRue 
 
 The silent love that here meets no 
 returning, 
 The inspiration which no language 
 finds, 
 Shall they be satisfied — the soul's vain 
 longing. 
 The aching void which nothing earthly 
 fills? 
 Oh, what desires upon my heart are 
 thronging. 
 As I look upward to the heavenly hills! 
 
 Thither my weak and weary steps are 
 tending, — 
 Saviour and Lord, with Thy frail 
 child abide. 
 Guide me towards home, where, all my 
 wanderings ending — 
 I shall see Thee, and shall be satisfied. 
 
 Lyra Anglicana. 
 
LIFE'S ANSWER 
 
 I KNOW not if dark or bright 
 
 Shall be my lot, 
 If that wherein my hopes delight 
 
 Be best or not. 
 
 It may be mine to drag for years 
 
 Toil's heavy chain; 
 Or day and night my meat be tears 
 
 On bed of pain. 
 
 Dear faces may surround my hearth 
 
 With smiles and glee ; 
 Or I may dwell alone, and mirth 
 
 Be strange to me. 
 
 My bark is wafted to the strand 
 By breath divine; 
 25 385 
 
386 IRoacmarg anD IRuc 
 
 And on the helm there rests a hand 
 Other than mine. 
 
 One who has known in storms to sail 
 
 I have on board: 
 Above the raging of the gale 
 
 I hear my Lord. 
 
 He holds me when the billows smite, 
 
 I shall not fall. 
 If sharp, 'tis short; if long, 'tis light; 
 
 He tempers all. 
 
 Safe to the land, safe to the land, — 
 
 The end is this: 
 And then with him go hand in hand, 
 
 Far into bliss. 
 
 Henry Alford. 
 
RECOMPENSE 
 
 We are quite sure 
 
 That He will give them back — bright, 
 
 beautiful, and pure. 
 We know He will but keep 
 Our own and His until we fall asleep. 
 We know He does not mean 
 To break the strands reaching between 
 The Here and There. 
 He does not mean — though Heaven be 
 
 fair — 
 To change the spirits entering there, 
 
 that they forget 
 The eyes upraised and wet, 
 The lips too still for prayer, 
 The mute despair. 
 He will not take 
 
 The spirits which he gave, and make 
 The glorified so new 
 387 
 
388 IRoaemari? ant> IRue 
 
 That they are lost to me and you. 
 
 I do beUeve 
 
 They will receive 
 
 Us — you and me — -and be so glad 
 
 To meet us, that when most I would 
 
 grow sad, 
 I just begin to think about that gladness, 
 And the day 
 
 When they shall tell us all about the way 
 That they have learned to go — 
 Heaven's pathways show. 
 My lost, my own, and I 
 Shall have so much to see together by 
 
 and by, 
 I do believe that just the same sweet face, 
 But glorified, is waiting in the place 
 Where we shall meet, if only I 
 Am counted worthy in that by and by. 
 I do believe that God will give a sweet 
 
 surprise 
 To tear-stained, saddened eyes, 
 And that his Heaven will be 
 Most glad, most tided through with joy 
 
 for you and me, 
 
IRosemare anO IRue 389 
 
 As we have suffered most. God never 
 
 made 
 Spirit for spirit, answering shade for 
 
 shade, 
 And placed them side by side — 
 So wrought in one, though separate, 
 
 mystified — 
 And meant to break 
 The quivering threads between. 
 When we shall wake, 
 I am quite sure we will be very glad 
 That for a little while we were so sad." 
 
 George Klingle. 
 
'TWILL NOT BE LONG 
 
 'Twill not be long, — this wearying 
 commotion 
 That marks its passage in the human 
 breast, 
 And like the billows on the heaving 
 ocean, 
 That ever rock the cradle of unrest, 
 Will soon subside; the happy time is 
 nearing 
 When bliss, not pain, shall have its 
 rich increase ; 
 E'en unto thee the dove may now be 
 steering 
 With gracious message "Wait, and 
 hold thy peace. " 
 
 'Twill not be long. 
 390 
 
TRosemarB aiiD IRuc 391 
 
 The lamps go out, the stars give up their 
 shining ; 
 The world is lost in darkness for a 
 while ; 
 And foolish hearts give way to sad 
 repining, 
 And feel as though they ne'er again 
 could smile. 
 Why murmur thus, the needful lesson 
 scorning? 
 Oh, read thy Teacher, and His word 
 aright: 
 The world would have no greeting for 
 the morning. 
 If 'twere not for the darkness of the 
 night: 
 
 'Twill not be long. 
 
 'T will not be long, the strife will soon 
 
 be ended; 
 The doubts, the fears, the agony, the 
 
 pain 
 Will seem but as the clouds that low 
 
 descended 
 
39^ IRoscmarg anD IRuc 
 
 To yield their pleasure to the parched 
 plain. 
 The times of weakness and of sore 
 temptation, 
 Of bitter grief, and agonizing cry, 
 These earthly cares, and ceaseless 
 tribulations, 
 Will bring a blissful harvest by and by ; 
 'Twill not be long. 
 
 'Twill not be long; the eye of faith, 
 discerning 
 The wondrous glory that shall be 
 revealed, 
 Instructs the soul that every day is 
 learning 
 The better wisdom which the world 
 concealed. 
 And soon, ay, soon there '11 be an end 
 of teaching. 
 When mortal vision finds immortal 
 sight, 
 And her true place the soul in gladness 
 reaching 
 
IRosemars anO IRuc 393 
 
 Beholds the glory of the Infinite: 
 'Twill not be long. 
 
 " 'Twill not be long," the heart goes 
 on repeating; 
 It is the burden of the mourner's song ; 
 The work of grace in us He is com- 
 pleting 
 Who thus assures us "It will not be 
 long. " 
 His rod and staff our fainting steps 
 sustaining, 
 Our hope and comfort every day will 
 be, 
 And we may bear our cross as un- 
 complaining 
 As He who leads us unto Calvary. 
 'T will not be long. 
 
so TIRED 
 
 I AM so tired. 
 The way is so dreary, 
 So dark and shadowed by gloom, 
 That now, faint, toil-worn and weary, 
 I fain would rest in the tomb. 
 
 I am so tired. 
 I am weary of sorrow. 
 Of grief, of pain, and of care, 
 So tired that I would gladly to-morrow 
 The rest of the glorified share. 
 
 I am so tired. 
 But duty is pressing 
 Much work remains to be done 
 Before I can hope for God's blessing. 
 Or hear from Him a " Well done. " 
 
 394 
 
"Roeemarg anD IRue 395 
 
 I am so tired. 
 But God in His kindness 
 Will strengthen for all He may send; 
 'T is needed, though now in my blindness 
 I see not, — but shall in the end. 
 
 I am so tired. 
 But soon shall be lying 
 At peace, with nothing to fear; 
 The rest for which I am sighing 
 I shall greet with a smile, not a tear. 
 
 M. E. TOWNSEND. 
 
DOES THE ROAD LEAD UP HILL? 
 
 Does the road wind up hill all the way? 
 Yes, to the very end. 
 
 So tired : I fain would rest. 
 But, Lord, Thou knowest best, 
 
 I wait on Thee. 
 I will toil on from day to day. 
 Bearing my cross, and only pray 
 
 To follow Thee. 
 
 So tired: my friends are gone, 
 And I am left alone. 
 
 And days are sad. 
 Lord Jesus, Thou wilt bear my load 
 Along this steep and weary road. 
 
 And make me glad. 
 396 
 
IRosemarg anD IRue 397 
 
 So tired: my heart is low; 
 Shadows of coming woe 
 
 Around me fall, 
 And memories of sins long wept, 
 And hopes denied that long had slept, 
 
 Arise, and call. 
 
 So tired: yet I would work 
 
 For Thee. Lord, hast Thou work 
 
 Even for me? 
 Small things, — which others hurrying on 
 In Thy best service, swift and strong. 
 
 Might never see. 
 
 So tired: yet I might reach 
 A flower to cheer and teach 
 
 Some sadder heart; 
 Or for parched lips perchance might 
 
 bring 
 One cup of water from the spring, 
 
 Ere I depart. 
 
 So tired: yet it were sweet 
 Some faltering, tender feet 
 
 To help and guide; 
 
398 1Ro0emars anD IRuc 
 
 Thy little ones, whose steps are slow, 
 I should not weary them I know, 
 
 Nor roughly chide. 
 
 vSo tired: Lord, wilt Thou come 
 To take me to my home, 
 
 So long desired? 
 Only Thy grace and mercy send, 
 That I may serve Thee to the end, 
 
 Though I am tired. 
 
 Christina Rossetti 
 
A LITTLE WAY 
 
 A LITTLE way, — I know it is not far 
 
 To that dear home where my beloved are. 
 
 And yet my faith grows weaker, as I 
 
 stand 
 A lonely pilgrim, in a dreary land, 
 Where present pain the future bliss 
 
 obscures. 
 And still my heart sits, like a bird, upon 
 The empty nest, and mourns its treasures 
 
 gone. 
 
 Plumed for their flight. 
 And vanished quite. 
 Ah me! Where is the comfort? though 
 
 I say, 
 They have but journeyed on "a little 
 
 way?" 
 
 *' A little way " — at times they seem 
 
 so near, 
 Their voices ever murmur in my ear; 
 
 To all my duties loving presence lend, 
 
 399 
 
400 TRosemarg aiiD IRue 
 
 And with sweet ministry my steps 
 
 attend, 
 And bring my soul the luxury of tears. 
 ' T was here we met and parted company. 
 Why should their gain be such a grief 
 
 to me? 
 
 This sense of loss, 
 This heavy cross — 
 Dear Saviour, take the burden off, I 
 
 pray, 
 And show me Heaven is but "a little 
 
 way." 
 These sombre robes, these saddened 
 
 faces, all 
 The bitterness, the pain of death recall; 
 Ah, let me turn my face where'er I may, 
 I see the traces of a sure decay, 
 And parting takes the marrow out of 
 
 life. 
 Secure in bliss we hold the golden chain, 
 Which Death, with scarce a warning, 
 
 snaps in twain. 
 
 And nevermore. 
 Shall time restore 
 
IRosemarg anD IRue 401 
 
 The broken links ; 't was only yesterday 
 They vanished from our sight "a little 
 way." 
 
 '* A little way." — This sentence I repeat, 
 Hoping and longing to extract some 
 
 sweet 
 To mingle with the bitter; from Thy 
 
 hand 
 I take the cup I cannot understand, 
 And in my weakness give myself to Thee. 
 Although it seems so very, very far 
 To that dear home where my beloved 
 
 are, 
 
 I know, I know 
 It is not so; 
 Oh, give me faith to feel it when I say 
 That they are gone, — gone but "a 
 
 little way." 
 
 26 
 
THE LAND BEYOND THE SEA 
 
 The land beyond the sea ! When will 
 
 life's task be o'er? 
 When shall we reach that soft blue 
 
 shore, 
 O'er the dark strait, whose billows foam 
 
 and roar? 
 When shall we come to thee, — calm land 
 
 beyond the sea? 
 
 The land beyond the sea ! How close it 
 
 often seems 
 When flushed with evening's peaceful 
 
 gleams ; 
 The wistful heart looks o'er the strait 
 
 and dreams. 
 And longs to fly to thee, — calm land 
 
 beyond the sea. 
 402 
 
IRogcmar^ anD IRue 403 
 
 The land beyond the sea ! Sometimes 
 
 distinct and near, 
 It grows upon the eye and ear, 
 And the gulf narrows to a thread-like 
 
 mere; 
 We seem half-way to thee, — calm land 
 
 beyond the sea. 
 
 The land beyond the sea ! Sometimes 
 
 across the strait. 
 Like drawbridge to a castle gate 
 The slanting sunbeams lie, and seem 
 
 to wait 
 For us to pass to thee, — calm land 
 
 beyond the sea. 
 
 The land beyond the sea ! Oh, how the 
 
 lapsing years, 
 'Mid our not unsubmissive tears. 
 Have borne, now singly, now in fleets, 
 
 the biers 
 Of those we love, to thee, — calm land 
 
 beyond the sea. 
 
 The land beyond the sea ! How dark 
 our present home 
 
404 IRoscmarg anO IRue 
 
 By the dull beach and sullen foam! 
 How wearily, how drearily we roam, 
 With arms outstretched to thee, — calm 
 land beyond the sea. 
 
 The land beyond the sea ! When will 
 
 our toil be done? 
 Slow-footed years, more swiftly run 
 Into the gold of that unsetting sun. 
 Home-sick we are for thee, — calm land 
 
 beyond the sea. 
 
 The land beyond the sea ! Why fadest 
 
 thou in light? 
 Why art thou better seen toward night? 
 Dear land, look always plain, look 
 
 always bright. 
 That we may gaze on thee, — calm land 
 
 beyond the sea. 
 
 The land be3^ond the sea ! Sweet is 
 
 thine endless rest: 
 
 But sweeter far that Father's breast 
 
 Upon thy shores eternally possessed: 
 
 For Jesus reigns o'er thee, — calm land 
 
 beyond the sea. 
 
 F. W. Faber. 
 
OVER THE SEA 
 
 I SIT in the fading light, 
 
 And watch the shadows fall; 
 My day has turned to night, 
 And darkness covers all; 
 The sunlight ' s gone far over the sea, 
 But the morn will bring it back to me. 
 
 My summer birds are gone ; 
 I cannot hear them sing ; 
 I missed them one by one, 
 Till all had taken wing; 
 My summer birds flew over the sea, 
 But the spring will call them back to me. 
 
 My summer flowers are dead, 
 
 The jasmine and the rose; 
 
 The autumn leaves are shed, 
 
 And buried in the snows; 
 
 But the flowers are blooming over the sea. 
 
 And the spring will bring them back to 
 
 me. 
 
 405 
 
4o6 IRoeemarB anD IRuc 
 
 My darling child has passed 
 Up to the Promised Land; 
 The anchor she has cast 
 
 Away on the golden strand; 
 But I shall follow over the sea, 
 And Heaven will give her back to me. 
 
 BEYOND 
 
 Beyond life's toils and cares, 
 Its hopes and joys, its weariness and 
 
 sorrow. 
 Its sleepless nights, its days of smiles 
 
 and tears, 
 Will be a long, sweet life, unmarked 
 by years, 
 
 One bright, unending morrow. 
 
 Beyond time's troubled stream, 
 Beyond the chilling waves of death's 
 
 dark river. 
 Beyond life's lowering clouds and fitful 
 
 gleams. 
 Its dark realities and brighter dreams, — 
 A beautiful forever. 
 
IRosemars anD TRue 407 
 
 No aching hearts are there, 
 No tear-dimmed eye, no form by sick- 
 ness wasted. 
 No cheek grown pale through penury 
 
 or care. 
 No spirits crushed beneath the woes 
 they bear, 
 
 No sighs for bUss untasted. 
 
 No sad farewell is heard. 
 No lonely wail for loving ones departed; 
 No dark remorse o'er memory there is 
 
 stirred, 
 No smile of scorn, no harsh or cruel word. 
 To grieve the broken-hearted. 
 
 No long dark night is there, 
 No light from sun or silvery moon is 
 
 given, 
 But Christ, the Lamb of God, all bright 
 
 and fair. 
 Illumes the city with effulgence rare, 
 
 The glorious Light of Heaven. 
 
4o8 fRoBcmtit^ and 1Rue 
 
 No mortal eye hath seen 
 The glories of that land beyond that 
 
 river; 
 Its crystal lakes, its fields of Uving green, 
 Its fadeless flowers, and the unchanging 
 sheen 
 
 Around the throne forever 
 
 Ear hath not heard the song 
 Of rapturous praise within that shining 
 
 portal ; 
 No heart of man hath dreamed what 
 
 joys belong 
 To that redeemed and happy blood- 
 washed throng. 
 
 All glorious and immortal. 
 
O JESUS MERCIFUL 
 
 O, Jesus merciful, bend down 
 
 In Thy compassion deep, 
 As sleepless and alone I lie, 
 
 And watch beside me keep. 
 
 There is a holier, sweeter rest 
 Than the lulling of this pain, 
 
 And a deeper clam than that which sleep 
 Sheds over heart and brain. 
 
 It is the soul's surrendered choice 
 
 The settling of the will. 
 Lying down gently on the cross, 
 
 Thy purpose to fulfil. 
 
 For this I need Thy presence, Lord, 
 
 My hand held close in Thine; 
 Infuse now through my spirit faint 
 An energy divine. 
 
 409 
 
4IO IRosemar^ an& IRuc 
 
 Feed me with love, imprint on me 
 
 Thine awful kiss of peace: 
 Let me lie still upon Thy breast 
 
 Nor struggle for release. 
 
 And sanctify my weakness, Lord: 
 
 Nature's extreme distress 
 Is just the time when it may lean? 
 
 God's glory to express. 
 
 Stamp in, O God, at any cost 
 
 The likeness of Thy Son ; 
 Filial submission to Thy will 
 
 Is Heaven itself begun. 
 
 C. M. Noel. 
 
WHEN 
 
 If I were told that I must die to-mor- 
 row — 
 
 That the next sun 
 Which sinks should bear me past all 
 sin, and sorrow 
 For any one, 
 All the fight fought, all the short 
 journey through, — 
 
 What should I do? 
 
 I do not think that I should shrink or 
 falter 
 
 But just go on 
 Doing my work, nor change, nor seek 
 to alter 
 
 Aught that is gone, 
 But rise, and love, and move, and 
 smile, and pray. 
 
 For one more day. 
 411 
 
412 TRosemarg anD TRue 
 
 And lying down at night for a last 
 sleeping, 
 
 Say in that ear 
 Which hearkens ever, "Lord, within 
 Thy keeping 
 
 How should I fear? 
 And when to-morrow brings Thee nearer 
 still 
 
 Do Thou Thy will." 
 
 I might not sleep for awe, but peaceful, 
 tender, 
 
 My soul should lie 
 All the night long, and when the morn- 
 ing's splendor 
 
 Flushed o'er the sky, 
 I think that I could smile and calmly 
 say, 
 
 "It is His day." 
 
 But if, instead, a hand from the blue 
 yonder 
 
 Held out a scroll 
 
IRosemarg anD IRue 413 
 
 On which my life was writ, and I with 
 wonder 
 
 Beheld unroll 
 To a long century's end its mystic clew, 
 
 What should I do? 
 
 What could I do, O blessed Guide and 
 Master, 
 
 Other than this — 
 Still to go on as now, not slower, faster, 
 
 Nor fear to miss 
 The road, although so very long it be, 
 
 While led by Thee? 
 
 Step after step, feeling Thee close beside 
 me 
 
 Although unseen, 
 Through thorns, through flowers — 
 whether the tempest hide Thee, 
 Or heavens serene — 
 Assured Thy faithfulness cannot betray, 
 Thy love decay. 
 
414 IRodemars anO IRue 
 
 I may not know, my God, no hand 
 revealeth 
 
 Thy councils wise, 
 Along the path a deepening shadow 
 stealeth ; 
 
 No voice replies 
 To all my questioning thought the 
 time to tell. 
 
 And it is well. 
 
 Let me keep on, abiding and unf earing 
 
 Thy will always. 
 Through a long century's ripening 
 fruition, 
 
 Or a short day's. 
 Thou canst not come too soon; and I 
 can wait 
 
 If Thou come late. 
 
 Susan Coolidge. 
 
SLEEP 
 
 "So he giveth his beloved sleep." 
 
 Psalms, cxxvii, 2. 
 
 He sees when their footsteps falter, when 
 
 their heart grows weak and faint, 
 He marks when their strength is failing, 
 
 and listens to each complaint; 
 He bids them rest for a season, for the 
 
 pathway has grown too steep; 
 And, folded in fair green pastures, He 
 
 giveth His loved ones sleep. 
 
 Like weary and worn-out children, that 
 
 sigh for the daylight's close, 
 He knows that they oft are longing for 
 
 home and its sweet repose; 
 So He calls them in from their labors, ere 
 
 the shadows around them creep, 
 And silently watching o'er them, He 
 
 giveth His loved ones sleep. 
 415 
 
4i6 IRoacmari? aiiD TRue 
 
 He giveth it, Oh, so gently, as a mother 
 
 will hush to rest 
 The babe that she softly pillows so 
 
 tenderly on her breast; 
 Forgotten are now the trials and sorrows 
 
 that made them weep; 
 For with many a soothing promise He 
 
 giveth His loved ones sleep. 
 
 He giveth it. Friends, the dearest, can 
 
 never this boon bestow; 
 But He touches the drooping eyelids, and 
 
 placid the features grow; 
 Their foes may gather about them and 
 
 storms around them sweep. 
 But guarding them safe from danger, He 
 
 giveth His loved ones sleep. 
 
 All dread of the distant future, all fears 
 
 that oppress to-day, 
 Like mists that clear in the sunlight, 
 
 have noiselessly passed away; 
 Nor call nor clamor can rouse them 
 
 from slumbers so pure and deep, 
 
TRosemarg anD IRue 417 
 
 For only His voice can reach them, 
 who giveth His loved ones sleep. 
 
 Weep not that their toils are over; weep 
 
 not that their race is run. 
 God grant we may rest as calmly, when 
 
 our work like theirs is done. 
 Till then we would yield with gladness 
 
 our treasures to Him to keep, 
 And rejoice in the sweet assurance, He 
 
 giveth His loved ones sleep. 
 
 Golden Hours . 
 
 27 
 
REQUIESCAT 
 
 Strew on her roses, roses, 
 And never a spray of yew. 
 
 In quiet she reposes: 
 
 Ah, would that I did too! 
 
 Her mirth the world required; 
 
 She bathed it in smiles of glee. 
 But her heart was tired, tired. 
 
 And now they let her be. 
 
 Her life was turning, turning, 
 In mazes of heat and sound; 
 
 But for peace her soul was yearning, 
 And now peace laps her round. 
 
 Her cabin 'd, ample spirit. 
 
 It flutter 'd and fail 'd for breath. 
 To-night it doth inherit 
 
 The vasty hall of Death. 
 
 Matthew Arnold. 
 418 
 
REST 
 
 O Earth, lie heavily upon her eyes; 
 Seal her sweet eyes weary of watching, 
 
 Earth; 
 Lie close around her; leave no room 
 for mirth 
 With its harsh laughter, nor for sound 
 
 of sighs. 
 She hath no questions, she hath no 
 replies, 
 Hush 'd in and curtain 'd with a blessed 
 
 dearth 
 Of all that irk 'd her from the hour of 
 birth ; 
 With stillness that is almost Paradise. 
 Darkness more clear than noonday hold- 
 eth her. 
 Silence more musical than any song; 
 Even her very heart has ceased to stir: 
 
 Until the morning of Eternity 
 Her rest shall not begin nor end, but be; 
 And when she wakes she will not 
 think it long. 
 
 Christina Rossetti. 
 419 
 
SONG 
 
 When I am dead, my dearest 
 
 Sing no sad songs for me; 
 Plant thou no roses at my head, 
 
 Nor shady cypress tree: 
 Be the green grass above me, 
 
 With showers and dewdrops wet; 
 And if thou wilt, remember, 
 
 And if thou wilt, forget. 
 
 I shall not see the shadows, 
 
 I shall not feel the rain; 
 I shall not hear the nightingale 
 
 Sing on as if in pain; 
 And, dreaming through the twilight 
 
 That doth not rise nor set. 
 Haply I may remember. 
 
 And haply may forget. 
 
 Christina Rossetti 
 420 
 
ECHO 
 
 Come to me in the silence of the night, 
 Come in the speaking silence of a dream ; 
 Come with soft rounded cheeks, and eyes 
 as bright 
 As sunlight on a stream. 
 Come back in tears, 
 O memory, hope, love, of finished years. 
 
 O dream, how sweet, too sweet, too 
 
 bitter-sweet, 
 Whose waking should have been in 
 
 Paradise, 
 Where souls brim-full of love abide and 
 meet; 
 Where thirsting, longing eyes 
 Watch the slow door 
 That, opening, letting in, lets out no more. 
 
 Yet, come to me in dreams, that I may 
 
 live 
 My very life again; though cold in death 
 Come back to me in dreams, that I may 
 
 give 
 
 421 
 
422 IRoscmarg aiiD IRue 
 
 Pulse for pulse, breath for breath. 
 Speak low, — lean low. 
 As long ago, my love, — how long ago. 
 
 Christina Rossetti. 
 
 SEXAGESIMA 
 
 When Grief shall come to thee, 
 
 Think not to flee. 
 For Grief with steady pace 
 
 Will win the race; 
 Nor crowd her forth with mirth, 
 
 For at thy hearth 
 When Mirth is tired and gone 
 
 Win Grief sit on. 
 
 But make of her thy friend, 
 
 And in the end 
 Her counsels will grow sweet, 
 
 And with swift feet 
 Three, lovelier than she 
 
 Will come to thee, — ■ 
 Calm Patience, Courage strong, 
 
 And Hope, — ere long. 
 
 Henrietta B. Elliot. 
 
LOVE'S MEASURE 
 
 How do I love thee? Let me count the 
 ways: 
 
 I love thee to the depth, and breadth, 
 and height 
 
 My soul can reach, when feeling out of 
 sight 
 
 For the ends of being, and ideal grace. 
 
 I love to the level of every day's 
 
 Most quiet need, by sun and candle light. 
 
 I love thee freely as men strive for right ; 
 
 I love thee purely, as they turn from 
 Praise. 
 
 I love thee with the passion put to use 
 
 In my old griefs, and with my child- 
 hood 's faith. 
 
 I love thee with a love I seemed to lose 
 
 With my lost saints, — I love thee with 
 the breath, 
 
 423 
 
424 IRosemarij anO TRue 
 
 Smiles, tears, of all my life ! — and if 
 
 God choose, 
 I shall but love thee better after death. 
 
 Mrs. E. B. Browning. 
 
 THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE 
 
 Beside the toilsomie way 
 Lonely and dark, by fruits and flowers 
 
 unblest. 
 Which my worn feet tread sadly, day 
 by day 
 Longing in vain for rest, 
 
 An angel softly walks 
 With pale sweet face, and eyes cast 
 
 meekly down, 
 The while from withered leaves and 
 flowerless stalks 
 She weaves my fitting crown. 
 
 A sweet and patient grace, 
 A look of firm endurance, true and tried, 
 
IRosemar^ anD IRue 425 
 
 Of suffering meekly borne, rests on her 
 face, 
 So pure and glorified. 
 
 And when my fainting heart 
 Desponds, and murmurs at its adverse 
 
 fate, 
 Then quietly the angel's bright lips part. 
 
 Whispering softly, "Wait." 
 
 "Patience," she sweetly saith, 
 "The Father's mercies never come too 
 
 late; 
 Gird thee with patient strength and 
 trusting faith, 
 And firm endurance: wait." 
 
 Angel, behold, I wait. 
 Wearing the thorny crown through all 
 
 life's hours; 
 Wait till thy hand shall ope the eternal 
 gate, 
 And change the thorns to flowers. 
 
SCHOOL-LIFE 
 
 I SAT in the school of sorrow, 
 The Master was teaching there; 
 
 But my eyes were dimmed with weeping, 
 And my heart was full of care. 
 
 Instead of looking upward, 
 And seeing His face divine, 
 
 So full of the tenderest pity 
 For weary hearts like mine, 
 
 I only thought of the burdens, 
 The cross that before me lay, 
 
 So hard and heavy to carry 
 
 That it darkened the light of day. 
 
 So I could not learn my lesson 
 And say "Thy will be done"; 
 
 And the Master came not near me 
 As the dreary hours went on. 
 426 
 
•Roaemarg atiD IRuc 427 
 
 At last in my weary sorrow 
 
 I looked from my cross above, 
 
 And I saw the Master watching 
 With a glance of tender love. 
 
 He turned to the cross before me, 
 And I thought I heard Him say: 
 
 "My child, thou must bear thy burden, 
 And learn thy task to-day. 
 
 "I may not tell the reason, 
 'Tis enough for thee to know 
 
 That I the Master am teaching, 
 And give this cup of woe." 
 
 So I stooped to that weary sorrow. 
 
 One look at that face divine 
 Had given me power to trust Him 
 
 And say "Thy will, not mine." 
 
 And thus I learned my lesson, 
 Taught by the Master alone; 
 
 He only knows the tears I shed, 
 But He has wept His own. 
 
428 IRosemari? aiiD IRue 
 
 And through them comes a brightness, 
 Straight from the home above, 
 
 Where the school-Hfe will be ended, 
 And the cross will show the love. 
 
 HIS JEWELS 
 
 In the hush and gray of the twilight, 
 Looking out o'er a shadowy sea, 
 
 Half way between musing and dreaming, 
 In a vision it cometh to me, — 
 
 When the Lord maketh up His jewels. 
 What some of my friends will be. 
 
 One keeps in her loving compassion 
 Wide room for all under the sun; 
 
 White hands of strong help she out- 
 stretcheth, 
 To captive and poor and undone: 
 
 I know she will shine as a Ruby 
 On the breast of the crucified One. 
 
 Another some wonderful angel 
 
 In passing ; has brushed with his wing ; 
 
IRosemar^ an& IRue 429 
 
 Her touch has the magic creative, 
 Her words can both sparkle and sing: 
 
 As a Diamond catching the sunHght 
 She will answer the smile of the King. 
 
 Still another so richly is colored, 
 
 Through passion, and longing and pain, 
 
 Through the darkness of deep desolation, 
 The pitilessness of rain, 
 
 I know I shall see her as Amber 
 In the robe of the Lamb that was slain. 
 
 As a priestess of song one abideth 
 In her place by the altar's side, 
 
 And the wine of rich melody poureth, 
 The bread of sweet hymns doth divide : 
 
 I think as a Sapphire most precious 
 She will deck the pure brow of the 
 Bride. 
 
 Deep under her smile this one presseth 
 Such pain of bereavement down, 
 
 Such travail of exquisite genius, 
 Such rustling of hopes that are brown. 
 
 As an Opal for inwardly burning, 
 She will shine in her Master's crown. 
 
430 IRosemarg anO IRue 
 
 So still and so holy, this other 
 
 The darkest of pathways has trod, 
 
 Yet stained no white hem of her garment 
 (Lie softly upon her, O sod,) — 
 
 Methinks as a Pearl that is precious 
 She will rest on the bosom of God. 
 
 One's soul is an Amethyst tender, 
 One seemeth an Emerald rare; 
 
 And one in the likeness of Jasper 
 Of a truth is surpassingly fair: 
 
 They will shine as the stars, and forever, 
 In the robe which the Bridegroom doth 
 wear. 
 
 O friends, I am glad in your glory; 
 
 To your preciousness I am made free; 
 But why are my longing eyes holden 
 
 From seeing what cometh to me? 
 Yet if I with His jewels am numbered 
 
 What matters it which I shall be? 
 
 The stars have a different brightness, 
 Yet each on the other doth shine: 
 
•Ro0cmaci? an& IRue 431 
 
 All joy in the brilliant resplendence, 
 None thinketh of * ' thine' ' or of " mine ' ' ; 
 
 All know that the source of their glory, 
 O Sun of the Kingdom, is Thine. 
 
 W. M. L. Day. 
 
 THE SOUL'S PARTING 
 
 She sat within Life's Banquet Hall at 
 
 noon 
 When word was brought unto her se- 
 cretly 
 "The Master cometh onward quickly; 
 
 soon 
 Across the threshold He will call for 
 
 thee." 
 Then she rose up to meet Him at the 
 
 door, 
 But, turning, courteous, made a farewell 
 
 brief 
 To those that sat around. From Care 
 
 and Grief, 
 She parted first: "Companions sworn 
 
 and true 
 
432 IRosemari? anO IRiie 
 
 Have ye been ever to me, but for friends 
 I knew you not till later, and did miss 
 Much solace through that error ; let this 
 
 kiss. 
 Late-known and prized, be taken for 
 
 amends. 
 Thou too, kind constant Patience, with 
 
 thy slow. 
 Sweet counsels aiding me ; I did not know 
 That ye were angels until ye displayed 
 Your wings for flight; now bless me." 
 
 But they said, 
 "We blest thee long ago." 
 
 Then turning unto twain 
 That stood together, tenderly and oft 
 She kissed them on the forehead, whis- 
 pering soft: 
 "Now must we part; yet leave me not 
 
 before 
 Ye see me enter safe within the door, 
 Kind bosom-comforters, that by my side 
 The darkest hour found ever closest bide. 
 A dark hour waits me ere forevermore 
 Night with its heaviness be overpast; 
 
•Roeemarg anD IRue 433 
 
 Stay with me till I cross the threshold 
 
 o'er!" 
 
 But giving both her hands 
 To one that stood the nearest: "Thou 
 
 and I 
 May pass together; for the holy bands 
 God knits on earth are never loosed on 
 
 high. 
 Long have I walked with Thee; Thy 
 
 name arose 
 E'en in my sleep, and sweeter than the 
 
 close 
 Of music was Thy voice ; for Thou wert 
 
 sent 
 To lead me homeward from my banish- 
 ment 
 By devious ways; and never hath my 
 
 heart 
 Swerved from Thee, though our hands 
 
 were wrung apart 
 By spirits sworn to sever us; above, 
 Soon shall I look upon Thee as Thou art. " 
 So she crossed o'er with Love. 
 
 Dora Greenwell. 
 28 
 
GOD'S ANVIL 
 
 Pain's furnace heat within me quivers, 
 God's breath upon the flame doth blow, 
 
 And all my heart in anguish shivers. 
 And trembles at the fiery glow; 
 
 And yet I whisper, "As God will," 
 
 And in His hottest fire hold still. 
 
 He comes and lays my heart all heated 
 On the hard anvil, minded so 
 
 Into His own fair shape to beat it 
 With His great hammer, blow on blow ; 
 
 And yet I whisper, "As God will," 
 
 And at His heaviest blows hold still. 
 
 He takes my softened heart and beats it: 
 The sparks fly off at every blow; 
 
 He turns it o'er and o'er and heats it, 
 
 And lets it cool and makes it glow. 
 
 434 
 
IRogcmarg anD IRuc 435 
 
 And yet I whisper, "As God will," 
 And in His mighty hand hold still. 
 
 Why should I murmur ? for the sorrow 
 Thus only longer-lived would be; 
 
 Its end may come, and will, to-morrow, 
 When God has done His work in me; 
 
 So I say, trusting, "As God will," 
 
 And trusting to the end hold still. 
 
 He kindles for my profit purely 
 Affliction's glowing, fiery brand, 
 
 And all His heaviest blows are surely 
 Infiicted by a Master-hand; 
 
 So I say, praying, "As God will," 
 
 And hope in Him and suffer still. 
 
 Julius Sturm. 
 Tr. by Charles T Brooks. 
 
A SHADOW 
 
 There is a shadow standing by the cradle 
 Where sleepeth softly a beloved child; 
 It waiteth anxious at the gayest feasting 
 And mocks our laughter with its laughter 
 
 wild. 
 It standeth by our bedside, by our table, 
 And with its touch the present is defiled. 
 
 It jeers our faint attempts to be forgetful. 
 
 Slanting its fleshless body at the dance; 
 
 Joins all our pleasures, shading them 
 with promise 
 
 That soon its claims it will in truth 
 advance. 
 
 We dare it for a while, then pray in an- 
 guish 
 
 That it will haste to throw its poisoned 
 lance. 
 
 436 
 
lR06cmari2 anO IRue 437 
 
 And yet it doth defer its blow. Ah, 
 surely 
 
 Those have the best that follow it the 
 first; 
 
 So shall they never see their dearest 
 perish. 
 
 Going one's self is surely not the worst. 
 
 'T is those that live beyond their best 
 and dearest 
 
 Who really feel that Death's a thing ac- 
 cursed. 
 
SORROW 
 
 Upon my lips vshe laid her touch divine, 
 And merry speech and careless laugh- 
 ter died: 
 
 She fixed her melancholy eyes on mine, 
 And would not be denied. 
 
 I saw the West-wind loose his cloudlets 
 white, 
 In flocks careering through the April 
 sky; 
 I could not sing, though joy was at its 
 height. 
 For she stood silent by. 
 
 I watched the lovely evening fade away, 
 A mist was lightly drawn across the 
 stars ; 
 She broke my quiet dream, — I heard 
 her say, 
 "Behold your prison bars." 
 438 
 
IRoscmar^ anD IRue 439 
 
 "Earth's gladness shall not satisfy your 
 soul, 
 This beauty of the world in which 
 you live: 
 The crowning grace, that sanctifies the 
 whole, — • 
 That I alone can give." 
 I heard, and shrunk away from her, 
 afraid, 
 But still she held me and would still 
 abide ; 
 Youth's bounding pulses slackened, and 
 obeyed. 
 With slowly ebbing tide. 
 
 "Look thou beyond the evening sky" 
 she said, 
 "Beyond the changing splendors of 
 the day; 
 Accept the pain, the weariness, the 
 dread, — 
 Accept, and bid me stay." 
 
 I turned and clasped her close, with 
 sudden strength. 
 
440 IRogemars anD IRue 
 
 And slowly, sweetly, I became aware 
 Within my arms God's angel stood at 
 length, 
 White-robed, and calm, and fair. 
 
 And now I look beyond the evening star, 
 Beyond the changing splendors of the 
 day, 
 Knowing the pain He sends more pre- 
 cious far, 
 More beautiful than they. 
 
 Celia Thaxter. 
 
HEART VENTURES 
 
 I STOOD and watched my ships go out, 
 Each, one by one, unmooring free, 
 
 What time the quiet harbor filled 
 With flood-tide from the sea. 
 
 The first that sailed, her name was Joy; 
 
 She spread a full, white, ample sail, 
 And eastward drove with bending spars 
 
 Before the singing gale. 
 
 Another sailed, her name was Hope; 
 
 No cargo in her hold she bore. 
 Thinking to find in western lands 
 
 Of merchandise a store. 
 
 The next that sailed, her name was Love; 
 
 She showed a red flag at the mast, — 
 A flag as red as blood she showed, 
 
 And she sped south, right fast. 
 441 
 
442 1Ro0cmar\? aiiD IRuc 
 
 The last that sailed, her name was Faith ; 
 
 Slowly she took her passage forth, 
 Tacked, and lay to ; at last she steered 
 
 A straight course for the north. 
 
 My gallant ships, they sailed away, 
 Over the shimmering summer sea. 
 
 I stood at watch for many a day: — 
 But one came back to me. 
 
 For Joy was caught by Pirate Pain; 
 
 Hope ran upon a hidden reef, 
 And Love took fire and foundered fast. 
 
 In whelming seas of grief. 
 
 Faith came at last: storm-beat and torn, 
 She recompensed me all my loss, 
 
 For as a cargo safe she brought 
 A crown linked to a cross. 
 
 The Boston Cultivator. 
 
PATIENT 
 
 I WAS not patient in that olden time 
 When my unchastened heart began 
 to long 
 For bliss that lay beyond its reach; my 
 prime 
 Was wild, impulsive, passionate, and 
 strong. 
 I could not wait for happiness and love, 
 Heaven-sent, to come and nestle in 
 my breast; 
 I could not realize how time might prove 
 That patient waiting would avail me 
 best. 
 
 " Let me be happy now, " my heart cried 
 
 out, 
 
 "In mine own way, and with my 
 
 chosen lot; 
 
 The future is too dark and full of doubt 
 
 For me to tarry, and I trust it not; 
 
 443 
 
444 IRoscmarg anO IRue 
 
 Take all my blessings, all I am and have, 
 But give that glimpse of Heaven before 
 the grave. ' ' 
 
 Ah me! God heard my wayward selfish 
 cry, 
 And, taking pity on my blinded heart. 
 He bade the angel of strong grief draw 
 nigh, 
 Who pierced my bosom, in its tenderest 
 part. 
 I drank wrath's wine-cup to the bitter 
 lees. 
 With strong amazement and a broken 
 will; 
 Then, humbled, straightway fell upon 
 my knees, — 
 And, God doth know, my heart is 
 kneeling still. 
 
 I have grown patient; seeking not to 
 choose 
 Mine own blind lot, but take what God 
 shall send. 
 
IRosemarB anD IRue 445 
 
 In which, if what I long for I should 
 lose, 
 I know the loss will work some blessed 
 end, — 
 Some better fate for mine and me than I 
 Could ever compass underneath the sky. 
 All The Year Round. 
 
 HOMESICK 
 
 " Blessed are they who are homesick, for 
 they shall come at last to their Father's 
 house." 
 
 Not as you meant, learned man and 
 
 good, 
 Do I accept thy words of truth and rest ; 
 God, knowing all, knows what for me is 
 
 best 
 And gives me what I need, not what He 
 
 could, 
 
 Nor always what I would. 
 
 I shall go to my Father's house, and see 
 Him and the Elder Brother, face to face; 
 
446 IRofiemarg anO IRue 
 
 What day or hour I know not ; — let me be 
 
 Steadfast in work, and earnest in the 
 race; 
 
 Not as a homesick child, who all day- 
 long 
 
 Whines at his play and seldom speaks in 
 song. 
 
 If for a time some loved one goes away, 
 And leaves us our appointed work to do, 
 Can we to him or to ourselves be true. 
 In mourning his departure day by day. 
 And so our work delay? 
 
 Nay, if we love and honor, we shall make 
 The absence brief, by doing well our task, 
 Not for ourselves, but for the dear one's 
 
 sake. 
 And at His coming, only of Him ask 
 Approval of the work, which most was 
 
 done 
 Not for ourselves, but our beloved one. 
 
 Our Father's house is broad and grand, 
 In it how many, many mansions are ! 
 
IRoBcmarB aiiC) IRuc 447 
 
 And far beyond the light of sun or star, 
 Many loved ones of mine through that 
 fair land 
 
 Are walking hand in hand. 
 
 Think you I loved not, — or that I 
 
 forget 
 Those of my kindred? — still, the world 
 
 is fair. 
 And I am smiling, while my eyes are wet 
 With weeping, in this summer air; 
 Yet I 'm not homesick, — for my dear 
 
 ones here 
 Have need of me, and so my way is 
 
 clear. 
 
 A. D. F. Randolph. 
 
EVERY YEAR 
 
 Life is a count of losses 
 
 Every year; 
 For the weak are heavier crosses 
 
 Every year; 
 Lost springs with sobs replying 
 Unto weary autumns sighing, 
 While those we love are dying 
 
 Every year. 
 
 The days have less of gladness 
 
 Every year, 
 The nights more weight of sadness 
 
 Every year; 
 Fair springs no longer charm us, 
 The winds and weather harm us, 
 The threats of death alarm us 
 
 Every year. 
 448 
 
IRosemarg anD IRuc 449 
 
 There come new cares and sorrows 
 
 Every year, 
 Dark days and darker morrows 
 
 Every year; 
 The ghosts of dead loves haunt us, 
 The ghosts of changed friends taunt us, 
 And disappointments daunt us, 
 
 Every year. 
 
 To the past go more dead faces 
 
 Every year, 
 As the loved leave vacant places 
 
 Every year; 
 Everywhere the sad eyes meet us. 
 In the evening's dusk they greet us, 
 And to come to them entreat us, 
 
 Every year. 
 
 " You are growing old," they tell us, 
 
 " Every year; 
 You are more alone," they tell us, 
 
 " Every year; 
 You can win no new affection, 
 
450 TRosemarg aiiD TRue 
 
 You have only recollection, 
 Deeper sorrow and dejection 
 Every year." 
 
 Too true, — life's shores are shifting 
 
 Every year, 
 And we are seaward drifting 
 
 Every year; 
 Old places changing fret us, 
 The living more forget us, 
 There are fewer to regret us 
 
 Every year. 
 
 But the truer life draws nigher 
 
 Every year, 
 And its morning star climbs higher 
 
 Every year; 
 Earth's hold on us grows slighter. 
 And the heavy burden lighter. 
 And the dawn immortal brighter 
 
 Every year. 
 
 Gen. Albert Pike. 
 
RECKONING 
 
 What art thou doing with thy Hfe, 
 
 O thou of many gifts ? 
 Is thine a nature that inspires, 
 
 And comforts, and uphfts? 
 Do those in trouble think of thee 
 
 As of a precious balm? 
 And does thy presence lull the storm, 
 
 Till it becomes a calm? 
 
 What art thou doing with thy life? 
 
 'Twas meant for others' use, 
 And awful is the reckoning 
 
 For waste and for abuse. 
 Better to use one talent well 
 
 Than to misuse the ten; 
 The smile of God is recompense 
 
 For all the scorn of men. 
 451 , 
 
452 IRosemarg aiiD IRue 
 
 What art thou doing with thy Hfe? 
 
 Up and be doing, friend. 
 The days and nights and months and 
 years 
 
 Our God doth only lend. 
 If time were all our own, what then? 
 
 It might be freely spent: 
 But it is borrowed, — and 't is theft 
 
 To squander what is lent. 
 
 What art thou doing with thy life? 
 
 It is already noon: 
 The evening shadows are not far. 
 
 The night-time will come soon. 
 And to the Master we must go 
 
 At setting of the sun. 
 To hear Him say how our day's work 
 
 Has in His sight been done. 
 
 Mary Cram. 
 
ONE OF THREE 
 
 I AM not quite alone, she said, 
 I have fair daughters three, 
 
 And one is dead, and one is wed, 
 And one remains with me. 
 
 Awhile I watch with tenderest care 
 Her growth, from child to maid, 
 
 And plait her fair and shining hair 
 A long and golden braid, 
 
 (Ah, sweet the bloom upon the grape 
 
 Before it leaves the vine) 
 And deck and drape her dainty shape 
 
 With garments soft and fine ; 
 
 And keep her sacred and apart. 
 
 Until some stranger's plea. 
 With flattering art, shall win her heart 
 
 Away from home and me, 
 453 
 
454 IRosemari^ anD IRue 
 
 Leaving her childhood's home and me 
 
 Forgotten and bereft; 
 Then there will be, of all my three, 
 
 Only the dead one left. 
 
 Why count the dead as lost? Ah me! 
 
 I keep my dead alone ; 
 For only she of all the three 
 
 Will always be my own. 
 
 She will not slight at morn or eve 
 
 The old love for the new. 
 The living leave our hearts to grieve— 
 
 The dead are always true. 
 
 Harper's Magazine. 
 
LARV^ 
 
 My little maiden of four years old — 
 No myth, but a genuine child is she, 
 
 With her bronze brown eyes and her 
 curls of gold — 
 Came quite in disgust one day to me. 
 
 Rubbing her shoulder with rosy palm, 
 As the loathsome touch seemed yet to 
 thrill her, 
 She cried, "O Mother, I found on my 
 arm 
 A horrible crawling caterpillar." 
 
 And with mischievous smile she could 
 scarcely smother. 
 Yet a glance in its daring half awed 
 and shy, 
 She added, "While they were about it, 
 Mother, 
 I wish they 'd just finished the butter- 
 fly." 
 
 455 
 
456 •Rosemary anD IRue 
 
 They were words, to the thought of the 
 soul that turns 
 From the coarser form of a partial 
 growth, 
 Reproaching the infinite patience that 
 yearns 
 With an unknown glory to crown them 
 both. 
 
 Ah, look thou largely, with lenient eyes, 
 On what so beside thee may creep and 
 cHng, 
 For the possible beauty that underlies 
 The passing phase of the meanest 
 thing. 
 
 What if God's great angels, whose 
 waiting love 
 Beholdeth our pitiful life belo\/. 
 From the holy height of their heaven 
 above. 
 Could n't bear with the worm till the 
 wings should grow? 
 
 Adeline D. T. Whitney. 
 
THE EBB OF TIDE 
 
 The little maid lay moaning 
 
 Late at the set of sun ; 
 They told him she was dying 
 
 Now that the day was done. 
 But, listening at the window, 
 
 He heard the full-toned roar 
 Of great waves plunging, plunging, 
 
 All down the silent shore. 
 And to the watchers weeping, 
 
 "She cannot go," he cried — 
 *' The soul-call never cometh 
 
 At flowing of the tide." 
 
 The little maid ceased moaning, 
 And darker grew the night ; 
 
 They cried, "She is not dying. 
 She '11 see the morning light. " 
 
 But he heard there by the window 
 457 
 
458 IRoscmarg aiiD IRuc 
 
 The plunging waves no more, 
 But the waters washing, washing, 
 
 Like a lake upon the shore ; 
 And he heeded not the watchers 
 
 As hopefully they cried, 
 But said with lips all trembling, 
 
 "It is the flood of tide." 
 
 The little maid was sleeping 
 
 Or ere the night was done. 
 They said, "She will awaken 
 
 To new life with the sun. " 
 But he listened the deep murmur 
 
 The sighing night- wind bore 
 Of the waters sobbing, sobbing. 
 
 As they forsook the shore. 
 "Now pray the Lord Almighty 
 
 Upon your knees ! " he cried; 
 " Oh, pray Him by His mercy, 
 
 For 'tis the ebb of tide. " 
 
 Ah me! — -the world is evil. 
 And sick with care and sin, 
 
 And sure the Lord had mercy. 
 Who left her not therein. 
 
IRoscmaie anO IRue 459 
 
 For with one cry, "O Father!" 
 
 She woke ere it was day, 
 And sighed and smiled, and, sighing 
 
 And smiHng, passed away. 
 And sure, in Hfe more blessed 
 
 Her sweet soul doth abide, 
 Where, on the sea of jasper, 
 
 Is never ebb of tide. 
 
 S. J. Stone. 
 
 ACROSS THE LOT 
 
 Do you remember when we came from 
 school 
 (You leading me, although not much 
 the older,) 
 How I would skip across the meadow 
 cool. 
 Saucily calling backward o'er my 
 shoulder, 
 "Do as you please, — come on with me 
 or not, — • 
 But I am going home across the lot. " 
 
460 IRoaemarB anO IRuc 
 
 Away I danced, and you, though left 
 alone, 
 Pursued the way, with face serene and 
 smiling, 
 Singing beside the road with low, 
 sweet tone. 
 And still one thought your tender 
 heart beguiling; 
 Wild though I was, you knew that I 
 would wait 
 To meet and greet you at the garden 
 gate. 
 
 There, with a bunch of flowers, would 
 I stand. 
 Or fresh-plucked apples, with their 
 ripeness blushing. 
 Or with a glass of water in my hand. 
 Just brought from where the hillside 
 spring was gushing. 
 Saying, as you bent down to quench 
 your thirst, 
 "Now, are n't you glad that I am home 
 the first?" 
 
IRosemars aiiD IRue 461 
 
 I'm dying, sister, — start not! Well I 
 know 
 That, day by day, my little strength is 
 failing ; 
 Strive not to hold me back, for I must 
 go,— 
 God's mighty love, o'er my weak will 
 prevailing. 
 Frees you from care, and me from pain 
 accurst. 
 'T is only that I shall be home the first! 
 
 And as of old, sweet sister, I will stand, 
 Until you come, beside the heavenly 
 portal, 
 Keeping the fadeless wreath within 
 my hand. 
 With which to crown you for your life 
 immortal. 
 Others will call me "dead." Believe 
 them not — 
 I only have gone home "across the 
 lot." 
 
 Household Poems. 
 
LITTLE BOY BLUE 
 
 The little toy dog is covered with dust, 
 
 But sturdy and stanch he stands, 
 And the little toy soldier is red with rust 
 
 And his musket moulds in his hands ; 
 Time was when the little toy dog was 
 new 
 
 And the soldier was passing fair. 
 And that was the time when our Little 
 Boy Blue 
 
 Kissed them and put them there. 
 
 "Now don't you go till I come," he 
 said, 
 "And don't you make any noise" 
 So toddling off to his trundle-bed 
 He dreamt of the pretty toys. 
 And as he was dreaming, an angel song 
 Awakened our Little Boy Blue. 
 462 
 
IRosemarg aiiD IRue 463 
 
 Oh, the years are many, the years are 
 long, 
 But the httle toy friends are true. 
 
 Aye, faithful to Little Boy Blue they 
 stand, 
 Each in the same old place. 
 Awaiting the touch of a little hand, 
 
 And the smile of a little face. 
 And they wonder, as waiting the long 
 years through 
 In the dust of that little chair, 
 What has become of our Little Boy Blue 
 Since he kissed them and put them 
 there. 
 
 Eugene Field. 
 
THE OTHER ONE 
 
 Sweet little maid, with winsome eyes, 
 
 That laugh all day through the tangled 
 hair, 
 Gazing with baby looks so wise 
 
 Over the arm of the oaken chair, 
 Dearer than you is none to me, 
 
 Dearer to me there can be none, 
 Since in your laughing face I see 
 
 Eyes that tell of another one. 
 
 Here where the firelight softly glows, 
 Sheltered and safe, and snug, and 
 warm, 
 What to you is the wind that blows 
 
 Driving the sleet of the winter storm? 
 Round your head the ruddy light 
 GHnts on the gold from your tresses 
 spun; 
 
 464 
 
TRoscmarg anD IRue 465 
 
 But deep is the drifting snow to-night 
 Over the head of the other one. 
 
 Hold me close, as you sagely stand 
 
 Watching the dying embers shine. 
 Then shall I feel another hand, 
 
 That nestled once in this hand of mine. 
 Poor little hand, so cold and still, 
 
 Shut from the light of stars and 
 sun. 
 Clasping the withered roses still. 
 
 That hide the face of the sleeping 
 one. 
 
 Laugh, little maid,while laugh you may ; 
 
 Sorrow comes to us all, I know; 
 Better perhaps for her to stay 
 
 Under the drifting robe of snow. 
 Sing while you may your baby 
 songs. 
 
 Sing till your baby days are done, — • 
 But, Oh, the ache of the heart that 
 longs 
 
 Night and day for "the other one!" 
 
 Pittsburgh Bulletin. 
 30 
 
THE LITTLE SISTER 
 
 To-day beside the open cupboard door, 
 With aching heart and tear-dimmed 
 eyes I stood, 
 And looked the rows of shoes and 
 dresses o'er, 
 And saw the Uttle rounded hood. 
 
 Oh, I am glad I did not scold or fret 
 When first the dress was soiled, or 
 apron torn, 
 And on the dewy grass the hat was set, 
 And when the books were marked 
 and torn. 
 
 If I had chided when the eager feet 
 Across the muddy pool their way did 
 take. 
 That she the little friend might sooner 
 meet. 
 It seems to me that now my heart 
 would break. 
 
 466 
 
•RoBcmarg anD IRue 467 
 
 Oh, years I 'd give to see the Httle maid 
 Beside my chair, with head turned, 
 so that I 
 Might once again, upon the loosened 
 braid, 
 The rumpled band of ribbon tie. 
 
 If she were sitting by my side with book 
 Or slate to-night, she would not have 
 to ask 
 A second time, with coaxing, pleading 
 look. 
 That I should help her with her task. 
 
 Upward I turn my weary blinded eyes, 
 And strive to search through all the 
 spaces wide. 
 "Where doth" — I cry unto the silent 
 skies — 
 " The little sister now abide? " 
 
 O Father, wheresoever she may be. 
 Whether amid the starry spheres above 
 
 Or in some world no human eye can see, 
 Guard and surround her with Thy love. 
 
468 TRo6cmac]2 aiiD IRue 
 
 We ask not that the streets be shining 
 gold 
 Through which her young and tender 
 feet shall stray, 
 But that within a safe and quiet fold 
 Our little one — our lamb — may stay. 
 
 Godey's Lady's Book. 
 
NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP 
 
 The day is over and the tender gloaming 
 
 Is softly drawing down its misty veil; 
 
 The crimson fires of sunset long have 
 
 vanished, 
 
 And in the west the glowing embers 
 
 pale. 
 
 Behind the hills the last bright gleams 
 are dying, 
 And one by one their glories fade away ; 
 The hush of evening rests on weary 
 nature, 
 And nun-like shadows shroud the dying 
 day. 
 
 I hear the children in the quiet nursery ; 
 Their voices echo through the dewy air 
 As, in their white robes reverently 
 kneeling, 
 With clasped hands they say their 
 evening prayer. 
 469 
 
470 IRosemacs anO IRue 
 
 That sweet old prayer, by countless 
 tongues repeated, 
 Lovingly taught us at our mother's 
 knee, 
 And hallowed by the trusting faith of 
 childhood. 
 Comes echoing through the twilight 
 dim, to me. 
 
 "If I should die," — 'the childish voices 
 falter. 
 Thinking of one already gone to rest. 
 Whose voice with theirs in evening 
 prayer had mingled, 
 Now singing Jesus' praises with the 
 blest. 
 
 I listen to them as they softly utter 
 Each sweet petition of that dear old 
 prayer. 
 And wish myself back to the days of 
 childhood, 
 Unsoiled by sin, and undisturbed by 
 care. 
 
IRosemaris anD IRuc 471 
 
 If I could choose of all the poems 
 written, 
 Or noblest songs by poets ever sung, 
 I would that mine had been this sweet 
 petition, 
 Nightly repeated by pure childhood's 
 tongue. 
 
 Surely among the prayers to heaven 
 ascending. 
 And written by recording angels there, 
 The loving Saviour hears this sweet 
 petition, 
 And listens to the little children's 
 prayer. 
 
 Minnie H. Kenney. 
 
THE TAPESTRY WEAVERS 
 
 Let us take to our hearts a lesson, — no 
 
 lesson can braver be, — 
 From the ways of the tapestry weavers, 
 
 on the other side of the sea. 
 Above their heads a pattern hangs, they 
 
 study it with care: 
 The while their fingers deftly work, 
 
 their eyes are fastened there. 
 They tell this curious thing besides, 
 
 about the patient weaver — 
 He works on the wrong side evermore, 
 
 but works for the right side ever. 
 It is only when the weaving stops, and 
 
 the web is loosed and turned. 
 That he sees his real handiwork, — that 
 
 his marvellous skill is learned. 
 Ah, the sight of its delicate beauty, how 
 
 it pays him for all its cost! 
 472 
 
IRoscmarg anD IRue 473 
 
 No rarer, daintier work than his was 
 
 ever done by the frost. 
 Then the master giveth him golden hire 
 
 and giveth him praise as well, 
 And how happy the heart of the weaver 
 
 is, no tongue but his own can tell. 
 
 The years of man are the looms of God, 
 
 let down from the place of the sun. 
 Wherein we are weaving away, till the 
 
 mystic web is done. 
 Weaving blindly, but weaving surely, 
 
 each to himself his fate, 
 We may not see how the right side looks ; 
 
 we can only weave and wait: 
 But looking above for the pattern, no 
 
 weaver need have fear, — 
 Only let him look clear into Heaven, the 
 
 Perfect Pattern is there. 
 If he keeps the face of our Saviour 
 
 forever and always in sight, 
 His toil shall be sweeter than honey, 
 
 his weaving is sure to be right. 
 
474 IRoscmar^ anD IRue 
 
 And when his task is ended, and the 
 
 web is turned and shown, 
 He shall hear the voice of the Master; 
 
 it shall say to him, "Well done." 
 And the white-winged angels of heaven 
 
 to bear him hence shall come. 
 And God for his wage shall give him 
 
 not coin, but a golden crown. 
 
 Anson B. Chester. 
 
 THE LENT JEWELS 
 
 In schools of wisdom all the day was 
 
 spent ; 
 His steps at eve the Rabbi homeward 
 
 bent. 
 With homeward thoughts, which dwelt 
 
 upon his wife 
 And two fair children, who consoled 
 
 his life. 
 She, meeting at the threshold, led him in, 
 And with these words preventing, did 
 
 begin: 
 
"Rosemari? anD IRue 475 
 
 ** Ever rejoicing at your wished return, 
 Yet am I most so now, for since the morn 
 I have been much perplexed, and sorely 
 
 tried, 
 Upon one point, which you shall now 
 
 decide. 
 Some years ago, a Friend into my care 
 Some jewels gave: — rich, precious gems 
 
 they were ; 
 But, having given them in my charge, 
 
 this Friend 
 
 Did afterward nor come for them, nor 
 send, 
 
 But left them in my keeping for so long, 
 
 That now it almost seems to me a 
 wrong 
 
 That He should suddenly arrive to-day 
 
 To take those jewels, which He left, 
 away. 
 
 What think you? Shall I freely yield 
 them back, 
 
 And with no murmuring, — so hence- 
 forth to lack 
 
476 IRoeemari? aiiD IRuc 
 
 Those gems myself, which I had learned 
 
 to see 
 Almost as mine forever, — mine in fee?" 
 
 "What question can be there? Your 
 
 own true heart 
 Must needs advise you of the only part: 
 That may be claimed again which was 
 
 but lent. 
 And should be yielded with no dis- 
 content. 
 Nor, surely, can we find herein a wrong. 
 That it was left us to enjoy so long." 
 "Good is the word," she answered. 
 
 "May we now, 
 And evermore, that it is good, allow." 
 Then, rising, to an inner chamber led. 
 And there she showed him, stretched 
 
 upon one bed. 
 Two children pale; — and he the jewels 
 
 knew. 
 Which God had lent him and resumed 
 
 anew. 
 
 Archbishop Trench. 
 
SOMEBODY'S DARLING 
 
 Into a ward of the whitewashed halls, 
 
 Where the dead and the dying lay, 
 Wounded by bayonets, shells and balls, 
 Somebody's darling was borne one 
 day. 
 Somebody's darling, so young and so 
 brave, 
 Wearing yet, on his sweet pale face. 
 Soon to be hid in the dust of the grave. 
 The lingering light of his boyhood's 
 grace. 
 
 Matted and damp are the curls of gold 
 Kissing the snow of that fair young 
 brow, 
 Pale are the lips of delicate mould, — 
 Somebody's darling is dying now. 
 477 
 
478 1Ro6cmax^ anD IRue 
 
 Back from his beautiful blue- veined 
 brow 
 
 Brush his wandering waves of gold ; 
 Cross his hands on his bosom now, 
 
 Somebody's darling is still and cold. 
 
 Kiss him once, for somebody's sake, 
 
 Murmur an orison, soft and low; 
 One bright curl from its fair mates take, 
 
 They were somebody's pride, you 
 know. 
 Somebody's hand hath rested there : 
 
 Was it a mother's, soft and white, 
 Or have the lips af a sister fair 
 
 Been baptized in their waves of light? 
 
 God knows best. He was somebody's 
 love. 
 Somebody's heart enshrined him there ; 
 Somebody wafted his name above. 
 
 Night and morn on the wings of prayer. 
 Somebody wept when he marched away, 
 Looking so handsome, brave, and 
 grand ; 
 
1Ro6emars anD TRue 479 
 
 Somebody's kiss on his forehead lay, 
 Somebody clung to his parting hand. 
 
 Somebody's watching and waiting for 
 him, 
 Yearning to hold him again to her 
 heart. 
 And there he lies, with his blue eyes dim, 
 
 And the smiling childlike lips apart. 
 Tenderly bury the fair young dead, 
 
 Pausing to drop on his grave a tear ; 
 Carve on the wooden slab over his head, 
 "Somebody's darling slumbers here." 
 Marie Lacoste. 
 
DYING IN HOSPITAL 
 
 I LAY me down to sleep, 
 
 With little care 
 Whether my waking find 
 
 Me here or there. 
 
 A bowing burdened head 
 That only asks to rest, 
 
 Unquestioning, upon 
 A loving breast. 
 
 My good right hand forgets 
 
 Its cunning now ; 
 To march the weary march 
 
 I know not how. 
 
 I am not eager, bold, 
 
 Nor strong, — all that is past; 
 1 'm ready not to do. 
 
 At last, — at last. 
 480 
 
IRosemarg auD IRue 481 
 
 My half-day's work is done, 
 And this is all my part, — 
 
 I give a patient God 
 My patient heart. 
 
 And grasp his banner still 
 Though all its blue be dim : 
 
 These stripes, no less than stars, 
 Lead after him. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 AT REST 
 
 Dear hands, dear patient hands, 
 That all life's tasks performed so well; 
 What hours of toil each joint could tell; 
 Yes, yes, God knows they did their best 
 Even to the last; then peaceful rest, 
 Dear patient hands. 
 
 Poor feet, — poor weary feet, 
 Whose pilgrimage on earth is o'er; 
 How glad to reach that other shore ! 
 31 
 
482 IRosemarij anD TRue 
 
 For dark and rugged here the way, 
 From Hfe's sad morn till close of day, 
 Poor weary feet. 
 
 Dear heart, dear silent heart, 
 O'erburdened with thy weight of woe, 
 The which the world could never know; 
 Forever hushed each stifled sigh, 
 Each untold wish, each bitter cry, 
 Dear silent heart. 
 
 'Tis well. Oh, yes, 'tis well. 
 Each feature tells of sweet repose. 
 And so the loving eyes I close. 
 A smile bespeaks a work well done, 
 A prize now gained, a victory won. 
 And then at rest. 
 
 M. A. Butt. 
 
MY MOTHER'S WRINKLES 
 
 The angels folded them down I know, 
 Tenderly down when none could see, 
 
 With a sweet thought's weight to keep 
 them so — 
 Maybe a thought of me. 
 
 A thought of me, and a throbbing 
 thought 
 
 Crossing the daisies' snowy sea, 
 To the silent temples, flower-fraught, 
 
 Under the cypress tree. 
 
 For often the solemn feet have trod, 
 Noiseless and chill, beside her hearth. 
 
 Bearing a message down from God, — 
 Bearing a soul from earth. 
 
 In the long still nights when others slept, 
 Weeping has kept her lids apart, 
 
 Till the tender lingering pain had crept 
 Out of her weary heart 
 483 
 
4S4 IRosemars aiiD IRue 
 
 Into her forehead's white, and there 
 The loving fingers that always wait 
 
 On grief unfolded it, soft and fair, 
 Into these wrinkles straight. 
 
 The saints who stand in a holy place, 
 Meekly joyous, have felt, I know. 
 
 Over the page of an earth-born face, 
 The sorrowful record grow. 
 
 And looking back to the dim earth-days, 
 Haply the righteoas ones can see, 
 
 In the grief -wrought lines, the halloAved 
 rays 
 Of an aureole to be. 
 
 O saintly mother, I sit apart. 
 
 And reverently each feature trace, 
 
 Reading the story of my heart 
 In the wrinkles on thy face. 
 
 The angels folded them softly down 
 
 With fingers of love when none might 
 
 see, 
 Fold by fold, with another crown 
 
 In the world of bliss for thee. 
 
WHAT SHALL I GIVE HER 
 
 What shall I give my love? 
 
 This gray-haired woman, 
 
 What shall I give her? 
 Since by fate brought together, 
 We two have wrought together, 
 
 Helping each other 
 
 In deed, in thought. 
 Each has made the other stronger, 
 Made this Hfe worth Hving longer, 
 
 Which else were naught, — 
 
 What shall I give her? 
 
 What shall I give my love? 
 
 This gray-haired woman. 
 
 What shall I give her? 
 The morn should sing it to me, 
 The flight should bring it to me, 
 
 The thought I seek. 
 
 So close are we 
 Subtle instinct of affection 
 485 
 
486 •Rosemary anO IRuc 
 
 Should make easy the selection. 
 What shall it be? 
 What shall I give her? 
 
 Our beings have a single sum, 
 
 Our thoughts in the same channel 
 flow, — 
 
 This happiness to us has come, — 
 No more we seek or care to know. 
 
 Wound through the fibre of each heart, 
 Like wire of gold through potter's clay, 
 
 This knowledge is the richest part, 
 
 Love's handiwork, — love's cloisonnd. 
 
 What shall I give my love, 
 
 This gray-haired woman? 
 
 It matters not. 
 I laugh to ponder o'er it; 
 She would but wonder o'er t. 
 
 Why, she has got 
 
 All I can give. 
 In one our lives are blended, 
 As one will they be ended; 
 
 So do we live. 
 
 What could I give her? 
 
TO MY MOTHER 
 
 Deal gently with her, Time. These 
 
 many years 
 Of life have brought more smiles with 
 
 them than tears. 
 Lay not thy hand too hardly on her now, 
 But trace decline so slowly on her brow, 
 That, like a sunset of the northern clime, 
 Where twilight lingers in the summer 
 
 time, 
 And fades at last into the silent night, 
 Ere one may note the passing of the 
 
 light,— 
 So may she pass, since 'tis the common 
 
 lot. 
 As one who, resting, sleeps, and knows 
 
 it not. 
 
 John Allen Wyeth. 
 487 
 
HE WHO DIED AT AZIM 
 
 He who died at Azim sends 
 This to comfort all his friends. 
 
 Faithful friends: It lies, I know, 
 Pale and white and cold as snow ; 
 And ye say, "Abdullah's dead," 
 Weeping at the feet and head. 
 1 can see your falling tears, 
 1 can hear your sighs and prayers; 
 Yet I smile, and whisper this: 
 ' ' I am not the thing you kiss ; 
 Cease your tears, and let it lie; 
 It was mine. It is not I. " 
 Sweet friends, what the women lave 
 For the last sleep, of the grave. 
 Is a hut, that I am quitting; 
 Is a garment, no more fitting ; 
 Is a cage, from which at last, 
 48S 
 
IRosemacs anO IRuc 489 
 
 Like a bird, my soul hath passed. 
 
 Love the inmate, not the room; 
 
 The wearer, not the garb ; the plume 
 
 Of the eagle, not the bars 
 
 That kept him from those splendid stars. 
 
 Loving friends, be wise, and dry 
 
 Straightway every weeping eye. 
 
 What ye lift upon the bier 
 
 Is not worth a single tear. 
 
 'T is an empty sea-shell, one 
 
 Out of which the pearl is gone; 
 
 The shell is broken, — it lies there: 
 
 The pearl, the all, the soul, Ues here. 
 
 'Tis an earthen jar whose lid 
 
 Allah sealed, the while it hid 
 
 That treasure of His treasury, 
 
 A mind that loved Him ; let it lie ; 
 
 Let the shards be earth once more, 
 
 Since the gold is in His store. 
 
 Allah glorious, Allah good. 
 
 Now Thy world is understood; 
 
 Now the long, long wonder ends; 
 
 Yet ye weep, my fooHsh friends, 
 
 While the man whom ye call dead, 
 
490 IRosemaris an& TRuc 
 
 In unspoken bliss instead, 
 
 Lives, and loves you; lost, 'tis true, 
 
 For the light that shines for you: 
 
 But in the light ye cannot see 
 
 Of undisturbed felicity, — 
 
 In a perfect Paradise, 
 
 And a life that never dies. 
 
 Farewell friends, — but not farewell ; 
 
 Where I am, ye too shall dwell. 
 
 I am gone before your face, 
 
 A moment's march, — a little space. 
 
 When ye come where I have stepped, 
 
 Ye will wonder why ye wept. 
 
 Ye will know, by true love taught, 
 
 That here is all — and there is naught. 
 
 Weep a while, if ye are fain, — 
 
 Sunshine still must follow rain ; 
 
 Only not at death, for death 
 
 Now we know is that first breath 
 
 Which our souls draw when we enter 
 
 Life which is of all life centre. 
 
 Be ye certain all seems love. 
 
 Viewed from Allah's throne above. 
 
 Be ye stout of heart and come 
 
IRoscmarB anD IRue 491 
 
 Bravely onward to your home. 
 
 La-il- Allah, Allah-la: 
 
 O Love divine, O Love alway. 
 
 He who died at Azim gave 
 
 This to those who made his grave. 
 
 Persian Poet. 
 
THE CHAMBER OVER THE GATE 
 
 Is it so far from thee 
 Thou canst no longer see 
 In the chamber over the gate 
 That old man, desolate, 
 Weeping and wailing sore 
 For his son, who is no more, 
 
 "O Absalom, my son!" 
 
 Is it so long ago 
 
 That cry of human woe 
 
 From the walled city came, 
 
 Calling on his dear name, 
 
 That it has died away 
 
 In the distance of to-day? 
 
 " O Absalom, my son ! " 
 
 There is no far nor near, 
 There is neither there nor here, 
 492 
 
IRosemari^ anD IRuc 493 
 
 There is neither soon nor late, 
 In that chamber over the gate, 
 Nor any long ago 
 To that cry of human woe, 
 
 " O Absalom, my son! " 
 
 From the ages that are past 
 The voice comes like a blast, 
 Over seas that wreck and drown, 
 Over tumult of traffic and town ; 
 And from ages yet to be 
 Come the echoes back to me, 
 
 " O Absalom, my son! " 
 
 Somewhere, at every hour. 
 The watchman on the tower 
 Looks forth, and sees the fleet 
 Approach of the hurrying feet 
 Of messengers that bear 
 The tidings of despair. 
 
 "O Absalom, my son!" 
 
 He goes forth from the door 
 Who shall return no more; 
 
494 IRoscmar^ aiiD IRuc 
 
 With him our joy departs ; 
 The Hght goes out in our hearts. 
 In the chamber over the gate 
 We sit, disconsolate: 
 
 " O Absalom, my son! " 
 
 That 't is a common grief 
 Bringeth but slight relief; 
 Ours is the bitterest loss, 
 Ours is the heaviest cross; 
 And forever the cry will be, 
 "Would God I had died for thee, 
 O Absalom, my son!" 
 
 Henry W. Longfellow. 
 
THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 
 
 *' O MOTHER what do they mean by blue, 
 
 And what do they mean by gray? " 
 Was heard from the Hps of a little child 
 
 As she bounded in from play. 
 The mother's eyes filled up with tears; 
 
 She turned to her darling fair, 
 And smoothed away from the sunny 
 brow 
 
 Its treasures of golden hair. 
 
 " Why, mother's eyes are blue, my sweet, 
 
 And grandpa's hair is gray, 
 And the love we bear our darling child 
 
 Grows stronger every day." 
 " But what did they mean" persisted 
 the child, 
 ** For I saw two cripples to-day, 
 495 
 
496 IRoscmar^ an& IRue 
 
 And one of them said he fought for the 
 blue, 
 And the other, he fought for the gray. 
 
 '* Now he of the blue had lost a leg, 
 
 The other had only one arm, 
 And both seemed worn and weary and 
 sad, 
 
 Yet their greeting was kind and warm. 
 They told of battles in days gone by. 
 
 Till it made my young blood thrill: 
 The leg was lost in the Wilderness fight, 
 
 And the arm on Malvern Hill. 
 
 " They sat on a stone by the farm-yard 
 gate 
 
 And talked for an hour or more, 
 Till their eyes grew bright, and their 
 hearts seemed warm. 
 
 With fighting their battles o'er; 
 And parting at last with a friendly grasp, 
 
 In a kindly, brotherly way, 
 Each called on God to speed the time 
 
 Uniting the blue and the gray." 
 
IRoeemari? an& TRue 497 
 
 Then the mother thought of other days : 
 
 Two stalwart boys from her riven, 
 How they knelt at her side and Hsping 
 prayed 
 "Our Father which art in Heaven;" 
 How one wore the "gray," and one 
 wore the "blue," 
 How they passed away from sight, 
 And had gone to a land where "gray" 
 and "blue" 
 Are merged in colors of light. 
 
 And she answered her darling with 
 golden hair, 
 While her heart was sadly wrung, 
 With the thoughts awakened in that 
 sad hour. 
 By that busy prattling tongue; 
 "The blue and the gray are the colors 
 of God; 
 They are seen in the sky at even. 
 And many a noble, gallant soul 
 Has found them passports to Heaven. " 
 
 Anonymous. 
 32 
 
IF 
 
 Lines placed upon Huxley's tomb at his 
 request. Written by his wife. 
 
 And if there be no meeting for the grave, 
 If all is darkness, silence, yet 'tis rest. 
 Be not afraid, ye waiting hearts that 
 
 weep, 
 For God still giveth His beloved sleep: 
 And if an endless sleep He wills, — so best. 
 
 KISMET 
 We call our sorrows Destiny. 
 Destiny, is but the breath of God. 
 
 T. R. L 
 
 .98 
 
I LIVE FOR THOSE WHO LOVE ME. 
 
 I LIVE for those who love me, 
 
 For those who love me true ; 
 For the Heaven that smiles above me 
 
 And waits my coming too. 
 For the cause that lacks assistance, 
 For the wrongs that need resistance, 
 For the future in the distance, 
 
 And the good that I can do. 
 
 499 
 
INDEX 
 
 A Photograph 
 
 Rose Terry Cooke. 
 
 Alice 
 
 C. M. Noel. 
 In Memoriam 
 Unafraid 
 
 The Critic. 
 In Paradise . 
 A Remembrance . 
 
 Eliza Scudder. 
 
 A Choice 
 
 Here and There . 
 
 Prayer in Sleep . 
 
 Heaven 
 
 A. W. Priest. 
 
 Sometime 
 
 May Riley Smith. 
 
 Somewhere . 
 Commissioned 
 
 Susan Cooledge. 
 
 Parting 
 
 Christus Consolator 
 501 
 
 S 
 
 7 
 
 8 
 
 II 
 
 12 
 13 
 
 16 
 18 
 20 
 22 
 
 24 
 
 28 
 30 
 
 33 
 36 
 
502 
 
 •ffnOcj 
 
 Holy Tears .... 
 
 Some Other Day . 
 L. C. Moulton. 
 Not Changed, but Glorified 
 
 Faithful Love 
 
 Troy Times. 
 The Voice of the Departed. 
 
 The Changed Cross. 
 Speak of Me . 
 A Heavenly Birthday 
 
 Memory . 
 
 Christina Rossetti. 
 Resignation . 
 
 Henry W. Longfellow. 
 
 Longings 
 
 Phoebe Cary. 
 
 Thou and I 
 
 Phoebe Cary. 
 
 Their Thoughts and Our Thoughts 
 J. W. Chad wick. 
 
 I Give Thee Joy . 
 When I Remember 
 The Loved and Lost 
 Thy Son Liveth 
 
 Rev. W. H. Draper. 
 
 A Child's Death . 
 
 F. W. Faber. 
 Lent, not Lost 
 
 A Farewell 
 R.J. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 39 
 
 40 
 44 
 
 46 
 
 49 
 52 
 54 
 
 55 
 
 59 
 
 63 
 
 65 
 
 68 
 
 70 
 
 73 
 78 
 
 80 
 
 85 
 88 
 
Evelyn Hope 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 Wilt Thou Forget ? 
 
 One Year Ago 
 
 Rt. Rev. A. C. Coxe, D.D 
 
 Remember 
 
 Stevenson. 
 
 In this Dim World 
 Gerald Massey. 
 
 Threnodia 
 
 James Russell Lowell. 
 
 A Mother's Prayer 
 Meta Orred. 
 
 The Lost Child 
 
 Fanny Kemble Johnson. 
 
 Beati Mundo Corde 
 
 Gone .... 
 John G. Whittier. 
 
 Beyond the Shadow 
 
 B. M. 
 Would I? 
 
 Walter Clyde. 
 Sunshine and Shadow . 
 
 Manhattan Magazine. 
 Would Ye Bring Them Back 
 
 E. B. Russell. 
 Gone Before 
 
 C. M. Noel. 
 Gone Home . 
 
 The Changed Cross. 
 
 503 
 
 PAGE 
 89 
 
 92 
 
 94 
 96 
 98 
 
 lOI 
 
 102 
 
 104 
 
 106 
 107 
 
 III 
 
 117 
 
 120 
 
 121 
 
 123 
 
 126 
 
504 
 
 fn^ej 
 
 Some Day, Somehow 
 
 Minneapolis Journal. 
 
 C. A. M. 
 
 Crowned 
 
 Caroline M. Noel. 
 
 At Twilight. 
 
 Guy Wetmore Carryl. 
 
 The Broken Flower 
 
 Rest in the Grave 
 
 The Child Eternal 
 
 Irene Fowler Brown. 
 
 An Anniversary . 
 Charlotte Elliot. 
 
 Epitaph 
 
 Dead .... 
 B. E. W. 
 
 Memories 
 Remember 
 
 Christina Rossetti. 
 A Death-Bed 
 
 M. E. Winslow. 
 
 Watching 
 
 Thomas Hood. 
 A Song and a Prayer 
 
 Frederick Langbridge. 
 Gone Away . 
 Alone .... 
 Under the Violets 
 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes. 
 
 Prospice 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 128 
 
 130 
 131 
 
 133 
 
 136 
 
 139 
 142 
 
 144 
 
 146 
 147 
 
 148 
 150 
 
 151 
 
 153 
 
 154 
 
 156 
 
 159 
 161 
 
 164 
 
flnOej 
 
 505 
 
 From " The Lady of Garaye 
 Mrs. Norton. 
 
 Links with Heaven 
 
 Holy Innocents . 
 Christina Rossetti. 
 
 Mother-Questions 
 Angelic Answers . 
 Mother-Love 
 
 Mrs. E. B. Browning. 
 
 The Shepherd Calls 
 L. C. Moulton. 
 
 Mater Dolorosa . 
 Mary K. Field. 
 
 A Little Grave 
 
 Best 
 
 H. H. 
 
 Babes Always 
 
 Marion Harland. 
 
 The Week She Died 
 Good Housekeeping. 
 
 Tired Mothers 
 
 Mrs. Albert H. Smith 
 
 Safe 
 
 Emma Toke. 
 
 Those Little Feet 
 Caroline M. Noel. 
 
 Dear Little Hands 
 
 The Pitcher of Tears 
 Emily Pfeiffer. 
 
 Only 
 
 P.\GE 
 166 
 
 167 
 169 
 
 171 
 
 179 
 
 182 
 
 184 
 186 
 
 I 89 
 
 192 
 
 198 
 200 
 
 201 
 203 
 
 205 
 
5o6 tntfCX 
 
 Measuring the Baby . 
 
 Grandfather's Pet 
 
 A Mother's Prayer 
 
 A Mother's Offering . 
 
 Sunshine ..... 
 
 The Changeling .... 
 James Russell Lowell. 
 
 In Heaven ..... 
 The Changed Cross. 
 
 After the Burial 
 
 James Russell Lowell. 
 All Things Can Be Borne 
 
 E. A. Allen. 
 
 Tru'st . ♦ 
 
 God's Quiet ..... 
 Pax Dei ..... 
 
 Rev. B. Edwardes. 
 Do Any Hearts Ache There ? 
 
 Louise C. Moulton. 
 Their Joy ..... 
 
 Forever ..... 
 
 John Boyle O'Reilly. 
 Shall We Know Each Other There ? 
 Recognition ..... 
 A Thought of the Resurrection 
 Blessed Easter .... 
 
 Laura F. Hinsdale. 
 
 Easter Hymn .... 
 
 Our Easter Thanks 
 
 Margaret E. Sangster. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 207 
 210 
 213 
 
 215 
 219 
 
 221 
 
 224 
 227 
 
 230 
 
 233 
 233 
 234 
 
 23s 
 
 237 
 239 
 
 241 
 
 243 
 245 
 247 
 
 248 
 250 
 
Undcj 
 
 507 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Giving Thanks . . . . .252 
 Thanksgiving . . . . .254 
 
 C. B. L. 
 
 Hereafter 256 
 
 Our Father Who Art in Heaven . 258 
 
 New York Observer. 
 
 As Years Go By . . . . .260 
 W. Morris. 
 
 Good-Night, the Dreams of Earth . 261 
 Caroline M. Noel. 
 
 A Little While . . . . . 264 
 
 Going Home ...... 267 
 
 Margaret E. Sangster. 
 
 The Blessed Dead .... 269 
 
 F. W. Faber. 
 
 All Souls' Day . . . . .272 
 
 The Narrow Home .... 274 
 
 Friends Departed . . , .277 
 
 H. Vaughan. 
 Yet a Little While . . . -279 
 
 Jane Crewdson. 
 
 Good-Night 281 
 
 The Christian's Good-Night . . 283 
 
 Holy Christmas Night . . . 286 
 
 Christmas Guests .... 2S8 
 
 The Bells across the Snow . . 291 
 
 Frances R. Havergal. 
 A Stillness ...... 293 
 
 Lucy Fletcher- 
 
5o8 
 
 •ffiiDer 
 
 Love Unexpressed 
 
 Constance Woolson. 
 
 The Heavenly Guide 
 
 Not Knowing 
 
 Thou Knowest 
 
 Jane Borthwick. 
 
 Father, Take My Hand 
 Henry N. Cobb. 
 
 Lift Me Up . 
 
 Lead Them Home . 
 
 Mizpah .... 
 Constance F. Woolson. 
 
 He Knoweth All . 
 
 I 'll Struggle On . 
 
 Death's Change 
 Edwin Arnold. 
 
 The Cross 
 
 Dying .... 
 C. M. Noel. 
 
 Teach Me to Live 
 
 Life .... 
 
 Mrs. Barbauld. 
 
 Life and Death 
 
 Christina Rossetti. 
 
 How .... 
 
 Mrs. Charles. 
 
 Shadowland 
 
 Rev. Basil Edwards. 
 Wholly Resigned 
 
 Richard Baxter. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 297 
 
 300 
 
 301 
 330 
 
 306 
 
 309 
 
 311 
 313 
 
 314 
 316 
 
 319 
 
 319 
 
 320 
 
 321 
 324 
 
 325 
 
 327 
 
 330 
 
 333 
 
ITnDcj 
 
 509 
 
 My Times Are in Thy Hand 
 
 Anna L. Waring. 
 And Then 
 Nearer Home 
 
 Phoebe Gary. 
 Crossing the Bar . 
 
 Alfred Tennyson. 
 An Unknown Grave 
 
 Rev. Basil Edwards. 
 Love's Eternity . 
 
 Daisy Gordon Low. 
 Amen .... 
 Thy Way, not Mine, O Lord 
 
 Horatius Bonar. 
 
 The Eternal Goodness 
 John G. Whittier. 
 
 Dreamland . 
 
 Christina Rossetti. 
 Our Rest 
 Mysteries 
 
 Caroline S. Le Bow. 
 
 Waiting 
 
 C. M. Noel. 
 Sound Sleep . 
 
 Christina Rossetti. 
 When Beauty Dies 
 
 Sophie Jewett. 
 
 The Two Mysteries 
 Homeward 
 
 Horatius Bonar 
 
 PAGE 
 
 334 
 
 337 
 338 
 
 340 
 
 341 
 344 
 
 345 
 347 
 
 349 
 
 351 
 
 353 
 356 
 
 358 
 360 
 361 
 
 365 
 
510 
 
 irn&ei 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Through Peace to Light 
 
 . 368 
 
 Adelaide A. Procter. 
 
 
 Waiting .... 
 
 • 370 
 
 M. E. Winslow. 
 
 
 Grant Us Thy Peace . 
 
 • 373 
 
 The Tryst .... 
 Cornhill Magazine. 
 
 • 375 
 
 Rest ..... 
 Father Ryan. 
 
 . . 378 
 
 The Other Shore . 
 
 . 380 
 
 Satisfied .... 
 Lyra Anglicana. 
 
 . 382 
 
 Life's Answer 
 
 . 385 
 
 Henry Alford. 
 
 
 Recompense .... 
 
 . 387 
 
 George Klingle. 
 
 
 'T WILL NOT be Long 
 
 • 390 
 
 I Am So Tired 
 
 M. E. Townsend. 
 
 • 394 
 
 Does the Road Lead Up Hill 
 
 Christina Rossetti. 
 
 ? . . 396 
 
 A Little Way 
 
 • 399 
 
 The Land Beyond the Sea . 
 
 . 402 
 
 F. W. Faber. 
 
 
 Over the Sea 
 
 . 405 
 
 Beyond ..... 
 
 . 406 
 
 O Jesus Merciful. 
 C. M. Noel. 
 
 . 409 
 
 When ..... 
 Susan Cooledge. 
 
 . 411 
 
■fftiDej 
 
 511 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Sleep 415 
 
 Golden Hours. 
 Requiescat ...... 418 
 
 Matthew Arnold. 
 Rest ....... 419 
 
 Christina Rossetti. 
 Song ....... 420 
 
 Christina Rossetti. 
 Echo 421 
 
 Christina Rossetti. 
 Sexagesima ...... 422 
 
 Henrietta B. Elliot. 
 Love's Measure ..... 423 
 
 Mrs. E. B. Browning 
 The Angel of Patience . . . 424 
 School-Life ...... 426 
 
 His Jewels ...... 42S 
 
 W. M. L. Day. 
 The Soul's Parting .... 431 
 
 Dora Greenwell. 
 
 God's Anvil 434 
 
 Julius Sturm. Tr. by Charles T. 
 Brooks. 
 
 A Shadow 43^ 
 
 Sorrow ....... 43^ 
 
 Celia Thaxter. 
 
 Heart Ventures ..... 441 
 The Boston Cultivator. 
 
 Patient . . ' . . . • • 443 
 
 All the Year Round. 
 
512 
 
 UnOei 
 
 Homesick .... 
 
 A. D. F. Randolph. 
 
 Every Year .... 
 Gen. Albert Pike. 
 
 Reckoning .... 
 
 Mary Cram. 
 
 One of Three 
 
 Harper's Magazine. 
 
 Larv^ ..... 
 Adeline D. T. Whitney. 
 
 The Ebb of Tide . 
 
 S. J. Stone. 
 Across the Lot 
 
 Household Poems. 
 Little Boy Blue . 
 
 Eugene Field. 
 
 The Other One 
 
 Pittsburgh Bulletin. 
 
 The Little Sister 
 
 Godey's Lady's Book. 
 
 Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep 
 Minnie H. Kenney. 
 
 The Tapestry Weavers 
 Anson B. Chester. 
 
 The Lent Jewels . 
 
 Archbishop Trench. 
 
 Somebody's Darling 
 
 Marie Lacoste. 
 Dying in Hospital 
 At Rest .... 
 
 M. A. Butt. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 445 
 443 
 451 
 453 
 455 
 457 
 
 459 
 462 
 464 
 466 
 469 
 472 
 474 
 
 477 
 
 480 
 481 
 
Hn&cj 
 
 513 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 My Mother's Wrinkles 
 
 . 483 
 
 What Shall I Give Her ? 
 
 . 485 
 
 To My Mother .... 
 John Allen Wyeth. 
 
 He Who Died at Azim . 
 
 Persian Poet. 
 
 . 487 
 . 488 
 
 The Chamber Over the Gati, 
 H. W. Longfellow. 
 
 The Blue and the Gray 
 
 - 492 
 
 . 495 
 
 If 
 
 Mrs. Huxley. 
 
 Kismet. 
 
 L. R. L. 
 
 . 498 
 
 . 498 
 
 I Live for Those Who Love Me. 
 
 . 499 
 
NOV 15 1906 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 015 897 411 3