UlBRARY OF CONGRESS.! 
 
 ^ # 
 
 J r SMITHSONIAIj, DEPOSIT. 1 f 
 
 J UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.^ 
 
\ \ 
 
/ 
 
 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
 
 %\t Jltij. §isl]0^ Sim^S0n, §,§. 
 
 "A wreath that cannot fade, of flowers, that blow 
 Witli most success when all besWes decay." 
 
 OOWPER. 
 
 ^^y- 
 
 PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR 
 
 BY CARLTON & PHILLIPS, 200 MULBERRY-STREET. 
 1856. 
 

 Eiiteix'd according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, 
 
 BY CARLTON & PHILLIPS, 
 
 iu tlie Clci-k's Office of the District Court of the Southern District 
 
 of New-York. 
 
IntroinctioiL 
 
 Who does not love flowers ? So pure, so bright, 
 80 beautiful tliey are, tliey seem to reflect the 
 smiles of Heaven. Tlie infant presses them 
 eagerly to its lips, and the old man, bending 
 toward the grave, gazes with delight on their 
 gi'aceful forms and gorgeous colors. The vil- 
 lage school-boy, amid his gleeful frolics, stops to 
 pluck the sweetly-opening bud ; and the May- 
 day queen exults in bearing on her brow the 
 roseate crown. Other ornaments are fancied or 
 contemned, according to the varying circum- 
 stances of wealth, position, or caprice. But 
 flowers are universal ornaments. The forest- 
 maidens amid savage tribes, and the noble dam- 
 sels attendant on England's queen, are alike 
 
INTKODUCTION. 
 
 enchanted by their fragrance and their hue. 
 The rose and the honey-suckle climb alike upon 
 the undressed corners of the rude cabin, and upon 
 the costly lattices of titled wealth. The same 
 flowers give their perfumes to the lonely cham- 
 ber of the solitary widow, and to the glittering 
 saloons of festive mirth. They vie with the 
 diamond on the brow of bridal beauty, and they 
 bloom on the grave where loved ones sweetly 
 sleep. They are Heaven's universal gifts to the 
 poorest of the poor, and yet " Solomon in all his 
 glory was not arrayed like one of these." 
 
 Poetry has many resemblances to flowers. 
 Its flow of measured words, its sententious form 
 and fanciful imagery, strongly impress the mem- 
 ory and interest the fancy. And when, as in 
 rhyme, there is a recurrence, at regular inter- 
 vals, of similar sounds, the pleasure is enhanced, 
 especially to the youthful mind. Who has not 
 noticed the facility and fondness with which 
 children remember poetic stanzas ? Who does 
 not, even in age, remember those simple nurs- 
 ery rhymes which are singularly diffused in 
 some form in almost every land? And how 
 
INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 many lips, in maturer life, whisper that sim- 
 ple prayer learned in infancy at a mother's 
 knee — 
 
 " Now I lay me down to sleep." 
 
 So also formulas in science and facts in history 
 are frequently more firmly fixed in the memory 
 by the aid of verse. 
 
 IS'or is the charm of poetry confined to child- 
 hood. Youth blooming into maturity is em- 
 phatically the poetic age. The unimpaired 
 senses drink in the delights of earth, and air, 
 and sky. The vivid fancy throws its coloring 
 over every scene, and the warm afiections seek 
 a fervent utterance. Few are there in such an 
 age who have not essayed to clothe some of 
 their thoughts in the robe of poesy. And in 
 advanced life how many of the wisest and 
 strongest have uttered their noblest sentiments 
 and highest imaginings in such a form, either to 
 satisfy their own internal promptings, or to de- 
 light and instruct the millions of the coming 
 youth? Even in old age, many a distinguished 
 Christian has spoken his experience and his 
 
8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 hopes in the form of some well-remembered 
 verse, aud said, in life's failing moments, with a 
 dying "Wesley, — ■ 
 
 " I the chief of ainners am, 
 But Jesus died for me." 
 
 Every land has its legends and songs. The 
 wild Indian chief speaks in poetic figures when 
 he proudly terms the sun his father and the 
 earth his mother. The old Greek felt the in- 
 spiration of the spirit of poetry, as he sat upon 
 his mountain summits and looked forth over his 
 island-gemmed seas. As he listened to the 
 dashing of the bold waves and the wild whis- 
 tling of the winds, he fancied the mountains and 
 oceans to be filled with gods. Pan piped in 
 his forests, and Apollo played at the sparkling 
 fountains. The Gaelic tribes, in their northern 
 abodes, had fancies of elf, and fairy, and en- 
 chanted circles; and they embodied in verse 
 those romantic legends which served as the type 
 of those since known as Ossian's Poems. And 
 oriental nations, in the warm climate of "Araby 
 the Blest," had their Aladdin's lamp and ring of 
 
INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 Gyges, and signets of wondrous power. Their 
 very prose is filled with figures and imagery, 
 fanciful and hyperbolical. 
 
 Everywhere, and in all ages, the human breast 
 swells with the love of the beautiful. Poetry 
 and flowers are daughters of the beautiful. 
 Flowers are the poetry of the gardens and fields ; 
 and poetry forms its loveliest garlands of the 
 fiowers of speech. The essence of each is its 
 power to excite the emotions of beauty and 
 delight. The flower is alike admired, as a 
 flower, whether it be medicinal, poisonous, or 
 simply ornamental ; — whether it grows on the 
 briar, the vine, or the tree of precious fruit. 
 It may be more highly prized for its associated 
 virtues; but as a flower, its form, its fragrance, 
 and its hues determine its value. So is it with 
 poetry. Ahke it may enrobe the loftiest teach- 
 ings or the most sensual conceptions. It im- 
 parts beauty alike to the heroic verse of Homer, 
 or to the amorous songs of Anacreon — to the 
 pure and sublime utterances of a Milton, or to 
 the fascinating yet tainted imaginings of a 
 Byron. It adorns alike the songs which are 
 
10 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 heard in tlie temple of God, or the lays which 
 add excitement to Bacchanalian feasts. 
 
 The poet should be a true man — a lover of 
 his race — a pure, elevated, and holy teacher. 
 But as a poet, having been impressed with the 
 beautiful and the sublime, he simply writes 
 either to gratify his own taste or to delight 
 others. It is true, a poem may abound in his- 
 toric information, pure precepts, strong argu- 
 ments, and scientific illustrations ; yet these are 
 not poetry. They may be uttered without its 
 form. So, too, poetry may exist without these 
 high accompaniments. If he writes to please 
 himself, the poet gives us some picture of his 
 own heart. If that heart be unrenewed, his 
 fancyings will be of the " earth, earthy." If 
 the fountain is impure, the stream cannot be of 
 crystal. If he writes to please the masses, he 
 will find, in their depraved and vitiated taste, 
 an apology for utterances which ofi'end the ear 
 of virtue. Many such allusions, especially in 
 the older poets even of mightiest mind, are 
 found in pages which else are resplendent with 
 thousrhts errand and sublime. Manv for a time 
 
INTRODUCTION. 11 
 
 soar witii the sim-gazing eagle, but sink to earth 
 again, and, with soiled plumage, take rank with 
 birds of night. 
 
 Much of the poetry in general circulation is 
 either light, heartless, and valueless, or alluring, 
 captivating, and pernicious. Too frequently vice 
 is enrobed in beauty — vain and wicked amuse- 
 ments are represented as refined and elevating 
 — and even, with Circean skill, the poisonous 
 cup is wreathed with fragrant flowers. Of 
 poetry, as well as of song, it may be said, 
 
 " Wicked, and lewd, and light the lay 
 
 Tends to the soul's undoing, 
 Widens and strews with flowers the way 
 
 Down to eternal ruin." 
 
 To secure the beautiful, and yet to reject the 
 poisonous, selections of poetic flowers may form 
 bouquets of fragrant odor and of richest hue, alike 
 personally delightful, and suited for presents to 
 younger friends. Such a collection is this bou- 
 quet of "Hill-side Flowers." It has been ar- 
 ranged by ladies of high intellectual culture and 
 of refined taste. As a general rule, it has not 
 been prepared from works in ordinary circula- 
 
12 INTKODUCTION. 
 
 tion, but has sought rather to present, in a per- 
 manent form, either original contributions, or 
 selections from the graceful poetr}^ that so often 
 adorns the periodical literature of the day. Nor 
 will these flowers 
 
 "Waste their sweetness on the desert air." 
 
 Not for personal pleasure or gain have they been 
 culled. Tlie profits are devoted to a temple of 
 God which stands in a lovely rural district near 
 the banks of the Pludson. These flowers are an 
 offering from ladies who projected the enter- 
 prise, and who desire to consecrate them to 
 bloom around its altar. 
 
 Most cordially is this volume commended to 
 the youth of the land' — both for its own merits, 
 and for the l)enevolent design which prompted 
 its preparation. Hay its readers add to intel- 
 lectual acquirements and true refinement the 
 higher graces of Christian purity and activity! 
 and when they have ceased to bloom on earth, 
 may they, in oriental phrase, shine as the " stars, 
 those everlasting blossoms of heaven !" 
 
 M. Simpson. 
 Pittsburgh, Jlugust, I8o.5. 
 
Confcuts. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 HOPE Halleck. 19 
 
 LIFE AND DEATH Anonymous. 22 
 
 THE HOUSEHOLDER John Waters. 2i 
 
 NEARER TO THEE Sakah Adams. 26 
 
 SONNET. (From Petrarch.) H. L. B. 28 
 
 THE HEBREW MOURNER Eastburn. 31 
 
 DAFFODILS Woedsworth. 33 
 
 DO WITH THY MIGHT Anonymous. 35 
 
 THE HEAVENLY VISITANT John Waters. 36 
 
 WORK Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 39 
 
 THE ORPHAN'S DREAM OF CHRISTMAS Anonymous. 40 
 
 THE PHANTOM Bayard Taylor. 48 
 
 THE DYING POET. (From De Icamartine.) J. M, 0. 51 
 
 THE SONG OF THE WAVE H, L. B. 56 
 
 FLOWER.TEACHING S. A. 58 
 
 THIRTY-FIVE N.P.Wilms. 60 
 
 THE CYPRESS-TREE OF CEYLON J. G. Whittjer. 62 
 
14 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE AIR-SPIRIT Cyra. 66 
 
 SERENADE. (From the German of Uhland.) H. L. B. 68 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN Charles Wesley. 69 
 
 HUSH! Anonymous. 71 
 
 THE THREE VOICES Anonyjious. 73 
 
 MA MIGNONNETTE S. A. 75 
 
 VENICE Thomas Buchanan Read. 79 
 
 FROM GOLD TO GRAY Anonymous. 81 
 
 THE LITTLE BOY THAT DIED T. D. Robinson. 84 
 
 THE DIVINE PILGRIM Anonymous. 86 
 
 THE NEW JERUSALEM Anonymous. 88 
 
 JUDEA Anonymous. 91 
 
 FUTURITY Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 95 
 
 THE ANGEL OF DEATH H. L. B. 96 
 
 THE BUTTERFLY. (From De Lamartine.) J. M. 0. 100 
 
 "ARE WE ALMOST THERE ? " Mrs. Dul.aney. 101 
 
 IN THIS DIM WORLD Massey. 103 
 
 FUNERAL HYMN. (From the German.) Anonymous. 106 
 
 THE BUGLE SONG Tennyson. 108 
 
 ENIGMAS. (From the German of Schiller.) .... Babkerville. Ill 
 
 INVOCATION John Wesley. 113 
 
 NOT LOST ART THOU TO ME John Waters. 117 
 
 TO A CLOVER C. S. E. 120 
 
 SUNDAY EVENING Bishop Eastburn. 123 
 
 ABIDE IN ME, AND I IN YOU Mrs. Stowe. 125 
 
 MORNING PRAYER. (From Eichendorf.) Baskervtt.t.e, 12T 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 15 
 
 PAGE 
 
 MAY FLOWERS William Howitt. 128 
 
 THE MANSION OF REST Charles James Fox. 130 
 
 SONNET. (From Michael Angelo.) Glassfoed. 133 
 
 CHILD'S FAITH Maky Howitt. 134 
 
 THE GENHJS OP DEATH Ceoly. 137 
 
 FRIEND SORROW Anonymous. 139 
 
 HOW PEACEFULLY Anonymous. 141 
 
 MY BELOVED IS MINE, AND I AM HIS Quarles. 143 
 
 COMFORT Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 144 
 
 SUMMER STUDIES Mrs. Stowe. 145 
 
 RUTH Thomas Buchanan Read. 151 
 
 CHOICE COMPANIE Thomas Atkinson. 153 
 
 AT NIGHT. (From the German of Koruer) Baskeeville. 155 
 
 THE EAR OF FAITH Wordsworth. 157 
 
 THERE WAS SILENCE IN HEAVEN Anonymous. 158 
 
 CONTEMPLATION Ceoly. 160 
 
 JERUSALEM Bayaed Taylor. 163 
 
 STANZAS. (From De Lamartine.) J. M. 0. 167 
 
 THE ANGELS OF GRIEF Whittier. 169 
 
 AUTUMN FLOWERS Caroline Bowles. 170 
 
 BEYOND THE RIVER Anonymous. 172 
 
 HYMN OF LIGHT William Pitt Palmer. 174 
 
 NEHEMIAH TO ARTAXERXES Knox. 179 
 
 LITTLE CHILDREN A. R. 181 
 
 THE IMAGE OF THE DEAD Mrs. Hemans. 182 
 
 COTTAGE CHILDREN • ■ 185 
 
16 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ESrVOCATION TO SLEEP * Maku James. 188 
 
 PRAYER DURING BATTLE Kokner. 189 
 
 MILTON ON HIS LOSS OF SIGHT Elizabeth Lloyd. 193 
 
 A STORY OP SCHOOL W. B. Hart. 196 
 
 NOT TO MYSELF ALONE Anonymous. 199 
 
 GERMAN WATCHMAN'S SONG Anonymous. 202 
 
 THE CHILD OF EARTH Mrs. Norton. 20i 
 
 MY FRIENDS Aldarakny. 207 
 
 SONNET. (From the Italian of Petrarch.) H. L. B. 208 
 
 CHARADE Peaed. 211 
 
 CONTENT.— DISCONTENT Trench. 213 
 
 WOOD HYMN Anonymous. 2U 
 
 ONLY WAITING Anonymous. 217 
 
 THE FIRE-FLY Maria James. 219 
 
 PSALM CXXXVII Halleck. 223 
 
 SORROW Aubrey De Vere. 22.5 
 
 THOU GOD SEEST ME Montgomery. 226 
 
 "PASSING AWAY."— A DREAM Pierpont. 229 
 
 DIES IR^ 232 
 
 A VISION OF IMMORTALITY Weston. 236 
 
inuitrattous. 
 
 (^ 
 
 PACK 
 
 HOPE 2 
 
 WAILING-PLACE OF THE JEWS 30^ 
 
 BABE AT BETHLEHEM 44 
 
 ANGEL APPEARING TO THE SHEPHERDS 45 
 
 VENICE 78 
 
 THE VALLEY OP SHECHEM 90 
 
 CASTLE ON THE RIVER 109 
 
 RURAL CHURCH 122 
 
 ANGELIC GUIDANCE 134 
 
 RUTH AND NAOMI 150 
 
 NIGHT 155 
 
 MOSQUE OF OMAR AT JERUSALEM 162 
 
 NEHEMIAH AND ARTAXERXES 178 
 
 MILTON'S HOUSE AT CHALFONT 192 
 
 THE REVEILLE 210 
 
 JEWS AT BABYLON 222 
 
HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 Ifttpf. 
 
 There is an evening-twilight of the heart, 
 
 When its wild passion-waves are lull'd to 
 rest, 
 And the eye sees life's fairy scenes depart, 
 
 As fades the day-beam in the rosy West. 
 'Tis with a nameless feeling of regret 
 
 We gaze upon them as they melt away, 
 And fondly would we bid them linger yet, 
 
 But Hope is round us with her angel lay, 
 Hailing afar some happier moonlight-hour ; 
 Dear are her whispers still, though lost their 
 early power. 
 
20 HILL-SIDE FLOWEKS. 
 
 In youtli tlie cheek was crimsoii'd with her glow, 
 Her smile was loveliest then ; her matin song 
 Was heaven's own music, and the note of woe 
 
 Was all unheard her sunny bowers among. 
 Life's little world of bliss was newly born ; 
 
 We knew not, cared not, it was born to die, 
 Flushed with the cool breeze and the dews of 
 morn. 
 With dancing heart we gazed on the pure sky, 
 And mock'd the passing clouds that dimm'd 
 
 its blue. 
 Like our own sorrows then, as fleeting and as 
 few. 
 
 And manhood felt her sway too,-— on the eye. 
 
 Half realized, her early dreams burst bright ; 
 Her promised bower of happiness seem'd nigh, 
 
 Its days of joy, its vigils of delight; 
 And though at times might lower the thunder- 
 storm, 
 
 And the red lightnings threaten, still the air 
 Was balmy with her breath, and her loved form. 
 
 The rainbow of the heart, was hovering there. 
 'Tis in life's noontide she is nearest seen, 
 Her wreath the summer flower, her robe of 
 summer green. 
 
HOPE. 21 
 
 But though less dazzling in her twilight dress, 
 
 There's more of heaven's pnre beam about her 
 now ; 
 That angel-smile of tranquil loveliness 
 
 Wliich the heart worships, glowing on her 
 brow ; 
 Tliat smile shall brighten the dim evening star 
 
 Tliat points our destined tomb, nor e'er depart 
 Till the faint light of life is fled afar, 
 
 And hush'd the last deep beating of the heart ; 
 The meteor-bearer of our parting breath, 
 A moon-beam in the midnight cloud of death. 
 
22 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 ITife aii^ ieatlj. 
 
 "What is life, Father?" 
 
 "A battle, my child. 
 
 Where the strongest lance may fail; 
 Where the weariest eyes may be beguiled, 
 
 And the stoutest heart may quail ; 
 Where the foes are gathered on every hand, 
 
 And rest not day nor night ; 
 And the feeble little ones must stand 
 
 In the thickest of the fight." 
 
 "What is death. Father?" 
 
 " The rest, my child, 
 
 When the strife and the toil are o'er, 
 And the angel of God, who, calm and mild. 
 
 Says we need fight no more ; 
 Who driveth away the demon band. 
 
 Bids the din of the battle cease ; 
 Takes the banner and spear from our failing hand 
 
 And proclaims an eternal peace." 
 
 " Let me die. Father ! I tremble, I fear. 
 To yield in that terrible strife ! " 
 
LIFE AND DEATH. Zd 
 
 " The crown must be won for Heaven, my dear, 
 
 In the battle-field of life. 
 My child, though thy foes are strong and tried. 
 
 He loveth the weak and small ; 
 The angels of Heaven are on thy side, 
 
 And God is over all ! " 
 
24 HILL-SIPK FLOWEES. 
 
 WRITTEN AFTER BEADING THE TWENTIETH CHAPTER OF THE GOBPEL 
 ACCOBDING TO ST. MATTHEW. 
 
 O THOU blest HoiTseliolder !— the starry dawn, 
 The light crepuscular, the roseate morn 
 
 Long since have melted into day ! 
 Long since the glow of youth's third hour, 
 And the bird's song, and fancy's magic power. 
 
 Have traceless, soundless, pass'd away. 
 
 Ent'reth the sun into his zenith height, 
 Ent'reth the mortal into manhood's might, 
 
 Op'neth once more the vineyard gate, 
 And laborers are call'd !— but Honor's dream 
 Entranced my soul, and made religion seem 
 
 As naught,~glory was man's estate ! 
 
 The ninth hour found me in " the market-place," 
 Stern passion ruled my heart, care mark'd my 
 face, — 
 
 How could I hear thy blessed call ? 
 To glitter, to achieve, to lose, to gain, 
 Form'd eveiy hope or thought, delight or pain, 
 
 And the vain world was still my all! 
 
THE HOUSEHOLDER, 25 
 
 The tenth hour sounded in iny startled ear! 
 Thy gracious Spirit touch'd my heart with fear ! 
 
 The " harvest ended " with the day ! 
 That thought imbued my mind! "not saved?" 
 
 too late ? 
 I left the throng — I sought the vineyard gate, 
 
 'T was shut ! Death-struck, I turn'd away. 
 
 Low sank the sun adown the western sky. 
 And all my cherish'd joys were vanity ! 
 
 ]^ow, neither Earth nor Heaven was mine ! 
 Rejected, lost, abandon'd, and forlorn, 
 Of God, it seem'd, not loved, of Hell the scorn ! 
 
 ]^o hope, or human, or divine, 
 
 Brighten'd my sad, cold, doubting, desert mind ! 
 The world, a -wilderness ! Heaven's self unkind I 
 
 " Blackness of darkness " was my way ! 
 Slow struck the eleventh ! — Tliy light around 
 
 me broke ! 
 And deep into my soul these words were spoke : 
 
 " Why stand ye idle all the day ? " 
 
 " Enter and work throughout the waning hour." 
 Lord of the vineyard, grant thy servant power 
 
 To laboi*, love Thee, and obey ! 
 Let every thought or word, deed, wish, be Thine! 
 Tliine be all honor, glory, praise divine ! 
 
 And let Tliy pardon close my day. 
 
26 HILL-SIDE FLOWEKS. 
 
 O' 
 
 ear^r ta Clju. 
 
 JSTeareb, my God, to thee — 
 
 Nearer to thee ! 
 E'en though it be a cross 
 
 That raiseth me, 
 Still all my song shall be, 
 Nearer, my God, to thee — 
 
 Nearer to thee ! 
 
 Though like a wanderer, 
 The sun gone down, 
 
 Darkness comes over me. 
 My rest a stone ; 
 
 Yet in my dream I'd be 
 
 Nearer, my God, to thee — 
 Nearer to thee ! 
 
 Tliere let the way appear 
 Steps unto heaven ; 
 
 All that thou sendest me 
 In mercy given ; 
 
 Angels to beckon me 
 
 Nearer, my God, to thee — 
 Nearer to thee ! 
 
NEAREK TO THEE, 27 
 
 Tlien with my waking thoughts, 
 
 Bright with thy praise, 
 Out of my stony griefs 
 
 Bethel I'll raise; 
 So by my woes to be 
 Nearer, my God, to thee — 
 
 jN^earer to thee ! 
 
 Or if on joyful wing, 
 
 Cleaving the sky, 
 Sun, moon, and stars forgot, 
 
 Upward I fly ; 
 Still all my song shall be 
 ]S"earer, my God, to thee — 
 
 ISTearer to thee ! 
 
28 HILL-SIDE FL0WEK8. 
 
 'Ciniet. 
 
 PROM THE ITALIAN OP PETKAECH. 
 
 I LIVE lamenting my departed years, 
 
 Spent in the vain love of an earthly thing ; 
 No flight essaying, though my soaring wing 
 Had borne me on perchance to lofty spheres, 
 O Thou who seest my misery and my tears, 
 Invisible, eternal. Heavenly King, 
 Help for this soul, feeble and wandering, 
 Support her weakness and allay her fears. 
 So that if I have lived in storm and strife, 
 Shelter'd in peaceful haven I may rest ; 
 And my last hour, O be Thou near to aid. 
 On Tliee, thou knowest, my only hope is staid. 
 
THE HEBEEW MOUKNEE. 31 
 
 Psalm cii, 1-16. 
 
 Why, trembling and sad, dost tliou stand there 
 
 and mourn, 
 Son of Israel, the days that can never retnrn? 
 And why do those tear-drops of misery fall 
 On the moldering ruin, the j)erishing wall ? 
 
 Was yon city, in robes of the heathen now clad, 
 Once the flourishing Zion where Judah was glad? 
 And those walls, that disjointed and scatter'd 
 
 now lie, 
 Were they once vow'd to Heaven and hallow'd 
 
 on high ? 
 
 Yet why dost thou mourn? O, to gladness 
 
 awaken ! 
 Though Jehovah this city of God has forsaken. 
 He preserves for his people a city more fair. 
 Which a ruthless invader no longer shall share. 
 
 No longer the tear for your city shall flow ; 
 No longer thy bosom the sad sigh bestow ; 
 But night shall be follow'd by glorious day, 
 And sorrow and sighing shall vanish away. 
 
32 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 The Prince whom ye pierced and nailed to the 
 
 tree, 
 There reigns in ineffable glory for thee ; 
 There Jesus, who died for your sins on earth, 
 
 lives : 
 Haste, haste to his bosom — he sees and foi-gives. 
 
DAFFODILS. 33 
 
 I wandek'd lonely as a cloud 
 
 That floats on liigli o'er vales and hills, 
 When all at once I saw a crowd, 
 
 A host of golden daffodils, 
 Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 
 Flutt'ring and dancing in the breeze. 
 
 Continuous as the stars that shine 
 And twinkle on the milky way, 
 
 Tliey stretch'd in never-ending line 
 Along the margin of a bay. 
 
 Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 
 
 Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 
 
 The waves beside them danced, but they 
 Outdid the sparkling waves in glee : 
 
 A poet could not but be gay 
 In such a jocund company. 
 
 I gazed, and gazed, — but little thought 
 
 What wealth the show to me had brought. 
 2* 
 
34 HILL-SIDE FLOWEKS. 
 
 For oft, when on my couch I lie, 
 In vacant or in pensive mood, 
 
 They flash upon that inward eye 
 Which is the bliss of solitude ; 
 
 And then my heart with pleasure fills. 
 
 And dances with the daffodils. 
 
DO WITH THY MIGHT. 35 
 
 Da iuit| tla llijit. 
 
 Do something — do it soon with all thy might : 
 All angel's wing would droop if long at rest, 
 ■ And God, inactive, were no longer blest. 
 Some high or holy enterprise of good 
 
 Contemplate till it shall possess thy mind, 
 Become thy study, pastime, rest and food, 
 And kindle in thy heart a flame refined. 
 Pray Heaven for firmness thy whole soul to 
 bind 
 To this thy purpose — to begin, pursue 
 
 "With thoughts all fix'd, and feelings purely 
 kind. 
 Strength to complete, and with delight review, 
 And strength to give the praise where all 
 is due! 
 
36 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 C|e geabnilji Visitant. 
 
 Behold, I stand at the door, and knock : If any man hear my voice, and open 
 the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me. 
 
 Eev. iii, 20. 
 
 Welcome, bright guest of Heaven ! 
 Lo, at tlie outward threshold of my door, 
 I kneel to Thee with grace unknown before, — 
 
 Thy knock my heart hath riven ! 
 
 I know Thee who Tliou art ! 
 Spirit of my ascended Lord and King! 
 Enter, possess, and rule ! — let me Thee bring 
 
 Within my heart of heart ! 
 
 'T is all I have to give ! 
 My soul redeem'd, forever be Thine own ! 
 Forever at the footstool of Thy throne. 
 
 Upward would gaze and live. 
 
 And art Thou here at last ? 
 Wilt Thou convert, accept, with me abide ? 
 May I to Thee each hope, each care confide ? 
 
 Couldst Thou forgive the past ? 
 
THE HEAVENLY VISITANT. 37 
 
 This heart of guilt, of stone ? 
 This wayward, fickle, contumacious soul ? 
 And of my secret sins, the long, long roll, 
 Couldst Thou for these atone ? 
 
 All power from heaven is Tliine ! 
 Long have I known thy glorious works, O Lord ! 
 But them, not Thee, have worshiped and 
 adored, — 
 
 Now Thou thyself art mine ! 
 
 Spirit of God ! bright guest ! 
 God of the Bible ! of my inmost heart ! 
 God of my pardon'd soul ! in every part 
 
 My comforter, my rest ! 
 
 Exceeding great reward 
 Of Tliine atoning, sacrificial love. 
 How hast Tliou raised my thoughts this world 
 above. 
 
 Saviour, Deliverer, Gnard ! 
 
 Such, such Thou art to me ! 
 So here, e'en here, within mine inmost breast, 
 Reign Tliou o'er all, and let me be Tliy guest, 
 
 And let me sup with Thee ! 
 
38 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 Assist tliy servant, Lord, 
 In holy converse bland, to sup with thee ! 
 As face doth answer face, set each doubt free, 
 
 By thine own precious word ! 
 
 Sublime each thought ; the soul. 
 As leaven, leaveneth the whole; restore 
 To life, till love no compass hath for more. 
 
 And heaven imbue the whole. 
 
 The whole, the whole be Thine ! 
 Yain world, with all thy blandishments, adieu ! 
 Bright Guest ! blest Host ! I feel thy promise true ! 
 
 I taste the life divine. 
 
WOEK. 39 
 
 ar 
 
 IV ♦ 
 
 What are we set on eartli for ? Say to toil — ■ 
 Nor seek to leave thy tending of the vines, 
 For all the heat o' the day, till it declines. 
 
 And Death's mild curfew shall from work assoil. 
 
 God did anoint thee with his odorous oil 
 To wrestle, not to reign ; and he assigns 
 All thy tears over, like pure crystallines, 
 
 For younger fellow-workers of the soil 
 
 To wear for amulets. So others shall 
 
 Take patience, labour, to their heart and hands, 
 From thy hands, and thy heart, and thy brave 
 cheer. 
 
 And God's grace fructify through thee to all. 
 
 Tlie least flower, with a brimming cup, may 
 stand, 
 And share its dew-drop with another near. 
 
40 HILL-SIDE FLOWEKS. 
 
 C|e ®rj)|au s §vmm of ftljristmas, 
 
 It was Christmas Eve — 'and lonely, 
 
 By a garret-window higli, 
 Where the city chimney barely 
 
 Spared a hand's breadth of the sky, 
 Sat a child in age,— but weeping. 
 
 With a face so small and thin. 
 That it seera'd too scant a record 
 
 To have eight years traced therein. 
 
 O, grief looks most distorted 
 
 When his hideous shadow lies 
 On the clear and sunny life-stream 
 
 That doth fill a child's blue eyes ! 
 But her eye was dull and sunken, 
 
 And the whiten'd cheek was gaunt ; 
 And the blue veins on the forehead 
 
 Were the penciling of want. 
 
ORPHAN'S DREAM OF CHRISTMAS. 41 
 
 And she wept for years like jewels, 
 
 Till the last year's bitter gall, 
 Like the acid of the story, 
 
 In itself had melted all ; 
 But the Christmas time returned. 
 
 As an old friend, for whose eye 
 She would take down all the pictures 
 
 Sketch'd by faithful memory. 
 
 Of those brilliant Christmas seasons, 
 
 When the joyous laugh went round ; 
 When sweet words of love and kindness 
 
 Were no unlamiliar sound ; 
 When, lit by the log's red luster. 
 
 She her mother's face could see, 
 And she rock'd the cradle, sitting 
 
 On her own twin brother's knee. 
 
 Of her father's pleasant stories, 
 
 Of the riddles and the rhymes. 
 All the kisses and the presents 
 
 That had mark'd those Christmas times. 
 'T was as well that there was no one 
 
 (For it were a mocking strain) 
 To wish luT a merry Christmas, 
 
 For that could not come again. 
 
-12 HILL-SIDE FLOWEES. 
 
 How there came a time of struggling, 
 
 When, in spite of love and faith, 
 Grinding poverty would only 
 
 In the end give place to death ; 
 How her mother grew heart-broken, 
 
 When her toil-worn father died. 
 Took her baby in her bosom, 
 
 And was buried by his side. 
 
 How she climg unto her brother. 
 
 As the last spar from the wreck ; 
 But stern Death had come between them 
 
 While her arms were round his neck. 
 There were now no loving voices ; 
 
 And, if few hands offer'd bread. 
 There were none to rest in blessing 
 
 On the little homeless head. 
 
 Or, if any gave her shelter. 
 
 It was less of joy than fear ; 
 For they welcomed Crime more warmly 
 
 To the self-same room with her. 
 But at length they all grew weary 
 
 Of their sick and useless guest ; 
 She must try a work-house welcome 
 
 For the helpless and distress'd. 
 
ORPHAN'S DREAM OF CHRISTMAS. 43 
 
 But slie prayed ; and tlie Unsleeping 
 
 In His ear that wliisper caught ; 
 So he sent down sleep, who gave her 
 
 Such a respite as she sought ; 
 Drew the fair head to her bosom, 
 
 Press'd the wetted eyelids close, 
 And with softly-falling kisses, 
 
 Lull'd her gently to repose. 
 
 Then she dream'd the angels, sweeping 
 
 "With their wings the sky aside, 
 Raised her swiftly to the country 
 
 "Where the blessed ones abide : 
 To a bower all flush'd with beauty, 
 
 By a shadowy arcade. 
 Where a mellowness like moonlight 
 
 By the Tree of Life was made ; 
 
 Where the rich fruit sparkled starlike. 
 
 And pure flowers of fadeless dye 
 Pour'd their fragrance on the waters 
 
 That in crystal beds went by ; 
 Where bright hills of pearl and amber 
 
 Closed the fair green valleys round. 
 And with rainbow light, but lasting, 
 
 Were their glist'ning summits crown'd. 
 
44 IIILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 Then, that distant- burning glory, 
 
 'Mid a gorgeousness of light ! 
 The long vista of Archangels 
 
 Could scarce chasten to her sight. 
 Tliere sat One ! and lier heart told her 
 
 'T was the same who, for our sin. 
 Was once born a little baby 
 
 *' In the stable of an inn." 
 
 There was music — (), such music ! — 
 Tliey were trying the old strains, 
 
OKPIIAX'S DKEAM OF CHRISTMAS. 
 
 45 
 
 That a certain group of slieplierds 
 Heard on old Judea's plains. 
 
 But, when that divinest chorus 
 To a soft'ned trembling fell, 
 
 Love's true ear discem'd the voices 
 That on earth she loved so well. 
 
46 HILL-SIDE FLOWEES. 
 
 At a tiny grotto's entrance 
 
 A fair child her eyes behold, 
 "With his ivory shoulders hidden 
 
 'JSTeath his curls of living gold ; 
 And he asks them, " Is she coming ? " 
 
 But ere any one can speak, 
 The white arms of her twin brother 
 
 Are once more about her neck. 
 
 Then they all come round her greeting ; 
 
 But she might have well denied 
 That her beautiful young sister 
 
 Is the poor pale child that died ; 
 And the careful look hath vanish'd 
 
 From her father's tearless face, 
 And she does not know her mother 
 
 Till she feels the old embrace. 
 
 Ah, from that ecstatic dreaming 
 
 Must she ever wake again, 
 To the cold and cheerless contrast,- 
 
 To a life of lonely pain? 
 But her Maker's sternest servant 
 
 To her side on tiptoe stept ; 
 Told his message in a whisper, — 
 
 And she stirr'd not as she slept ! 
 
ORPHAN'S DREAM OF CHRISTMAS. 4T 
 
 Now the Christmas morn was breaking 
 
 With a dim uncertain hue, 
 And the chilling breeze of morning 
 
 Came the broken window through ; 
 And the hair upon her forehead, 
 
 Was it lifted by the blast. 
 Or the brushing wings of seraphs 
 
 With their burden as they pass'd ? 
 
 All the festive bells were chiming 
 
 To the myriad hearts below ; 
 But that deep sleep still hung heavy 
 
 On the sleeper's thoughtful brow. 
 To her quiet face the dream-light 
 
 Had a ling'ring glory given ; 
 But the child herself was keeping 
 
 Her Christmas-day in heaven ! 
 
48 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 €\t ^Ijiiittoin. 
 
 Again I sit within the mansion. 
 
 In the old, familiar seat ; 
 And shade and sunshine chase each other 
 
 O'er the carpet at my feet. 
 
 But the sweet-briers' arms have wrestled upward 
 
 In the summers that are past ; 
 And the willow trails its branches lower 
 
 Than wdien I saw them last. 
 
 They strive to shut the sunshine wholly 
 
 From out the haunted room ; 
 To fill the house, that once was joyful, 
 
 With silence and with gloom. 
 
 And many kind remember'd faces 
 
 "Within the doorway come — 
 Voices that wake the sweeter music 
 
 Of one that now is dumb. 
 
 They sing, in tones as glad as ever, 
 The songs she loved to hear ; 
 
TIIK PHANTOM, 49 
 
 They braid the rose in summer garlands, 
 Whose flowers to her were dear. 
 
 And still her footsteps in the passage, 
 
 Her blushes at the door, 
 Her timid words of maiden welcome. 
 
 Come back to me once more. 
 
 And, all forgetful of my sorrow. 
 
 Unmindful of my pain, 
 I think she has but newly left me, 
 
 And soon will come again. 
 
 She stays without, perchance, a moment. 
 To dress her dark-brown hair ; 
 
 I hear the rustle of her garments — 
 Her light step on the stair ! 
 
 O flutt'ring heart ! control thy tumult. 
 
 Lest eyes profane should see 
 My cheeks betray the rash of rapture 
 
 Her coming brings to me ! 
 
 She tan'ies long ; but lo ! a whisper 
 
 Beyond the open door. 
 
 And, gliding through the quiet sunshine, 
 
 A shadow on the floor ! 
 3 
 
50 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 Ah ! 'tis tlie whispering pine that calls me, 
 
 The vine whose shadow strays ; 
 And my patient heart must still await her, 
 
 Nor chide her long delays. 
 
 But my heart grows sick with weary waiting, 
 
 As many a time before ; 
 Tlie foot is ever at the threshold, 
 
 Yet never passes o'er. 
 
THK DYING POET. 51 
 
 PBOM THE FRENCH OF DE LAMARTINE. 
 
 The lyre in breaking breathes a tone of power ; 
 The fading lamp, while in its dying hour, 
 
 Flashes its parting ray of quiv'ring light ; 
 The dying swan beholds the azure sky : 
 'T is man alone who looks on days gone by, 
 
 And as he counts them, mourns their rapid 
 flight. 
 
 And what were worth the days that we deplore, 
 A sun, a sun ; an hour, and then an hour, 
 
 Each one resembling that before it flown ; 
 One takes away that which another brings 
 Labor, repose and grief fly on its wings. 
 
 Thus goes the day, and then the night is gone. 
 
 Ah ! let him weep whose clinging hands embrace. 
 As twining ivy clasps the broken vase, 
 
 The ruined wreck of years — his hopes must 
 fail— 
 
53 HILL-SIDE FLOWEKS. 
 
 For me — ^not rooted in this earthly bower, 
 I go, without an eflfort, like the flower, 
 Borne lightly on the gentle evening gale. 
 
 In the vain hope of gloiy's brilliant dream, 
 Man throws, in passing to the rapid stream, 
 
 A name that each day weakens in its flow. 
 With the bright wreck, Time's dashing billows 
 
 play ; 
 From age to age it floats— and then its ray 
 
 Is quench'd in dark Oblivion's depths below. 
 
 I cast another name upon the wave : 
 
 As the wind wills, it floats, or finds a grave, 
 
 And shall I then myself more noble deem ? 
 The swan, who to the vaults eternal flies, 
 Friends does he ask if still the shadow lies, 
 
 Thrown by his wings upon the turf of green ? 
 
 Then wherefore sing'st thou? Ask the nightingale, 
 "Why, through the night, her soft tones never fail 
 
 To mingle Avith the brook's low minstrelsy ? 
 I sing, my friends, as man his breath inhales, 
 As coos the dove, as sigh the autumn gales, 
 
 As the stream murmurs on in melody. 
 
THE DYING POET. 53 
 
 'T is all my life— to love, and pray, and sing. 
 Of all the joys that o'er existence fling 
 
 Their charm, at parting, I regret alone 
 Tlie ardent sigh that softly mounts above, 
 The lyre's ecstasy, the silent love 
 
 Of a fond heart, when press'd against mine 
 own. 
 
 At beauty's feet, to feel the lyre's deep thrill, 
 From chord to chord, to see the harmonious rill 
 
 Steal in the breast, that plighted love endears, 
 Causing the tears from hidden founts to flow, 
 As from a chalice filled, the winds that blow 
 
 Gem all the ground with bright Aurora's tears. 
 
 To see the modest virgin's plaintive glance, 
 Turning in sadness to the blue expanse. 
 
 As if to fly with sounds that take their flight ; 
 Tlien falling on you, fill'd with light divine. 
 Under those drooping lids her deep eyes shine, 
 
 Like the bright fire that trembles in the night. 
 
 To see the shade of thought pass o'er her brow, 
 
 And while denied free utterance — soft and low, 
 
 To hear the word break on the silent hour — 
 
54 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 I love — the word wliicli echoes from high, heaven, 
 This word — the word, to gods and men both 
 given, 
 Which to call forth a sigh alone hath power. 
 
 How profitless the word ! regret ! a sigh ! 
 My soul is on the wing of death borne high 
 
 To where their instinct my desires bear ; 
 I go where Hope her flood of radiance pours, 
 Where goes the sound that from my lute now 
 soars. 
 
 Where go the sighs that I have breath'd in air. 
 
 As the bird sees amid the shades of death. 
 So Faith, the soul's clear eye, while ebbs my 
 breath, 
 With glance prophetic, shows me things to 
 come ; 
 How oft amid the fields of bliss, my soul 
 Hath soared above the mists and shades that roll 
 About the death, thus cloth'd in shadowy 
 gloom. 
 
 Break, cast unto the winds, the flame, the wave, 
 The lute which never but one answer gave : 
 I go to touch the lyre of seraphim. 
 
THE DYING POET. 65 
 
 Like them, immortal, I with joy may guide, 
 With my lyre's tones, suspended heavens that 
 glide 
 Unto the music of my lofty hymn. 
 
 Soon — ^but Death's icy hand hath touch'd the 
 
 string — ■ 
 'T is broken — as it breaks, the chord doth jfling 
 
 A deeply plaintive sound on empty space ; 
 My lute is silent. — ^Friends, take up your lyre ; 
 Let my soul pass from this world to a higher. 
 
 Amid the sacred concerts of your praise ! 
 
^6 HILL-STDK FLOWERS. 
 
 I am free ! I am free ! I have slumber'd long- 
 In tlie winter's icy chain ; 
 
 But the hills and the shores shall resound to my 
 song 
 As I glide to the billowy main. 
 
 I lay like a giant wrapp'd in sleep, 
 Till arous'd by the Spring's soft call ; 
 
 But I rise in the might of the swelling deep, 
 And I burst my frozen thrall. 
 
 Onward I dash with arrowy spring, 
 
 And I bound in frolicsome glee ; 
 For mine is the joy of an untamed thing — 
 
 The imprison'd wave is free ! 
 
 O mine are the sparkles of sunny gold ! 
 
 And mine the foamy crest ! 
 And the changing skies their hues unfold 
 
 On my proudly heaving breast ! 
 
 O mine are the showers of pearly spray, 
 Which I fling on the pebbly strand ! 
 
THE SONG OF THE WAVE. 67 
 
 And the music is mine of tlie wind's wild lay, 
 Tlie tones of tlie spirit-land ! 
 
 My bosom bears tbe white-sail'd bark 
 
 To the distant Indian shore ; 
 And its crystal gleams with a crimson spark 
 
 At the flash of the sun-lit oar. 
 
 Onward I rush in my wild career ; 
 
 Yet tempt not mine hour of wrath, 
 When my dark and swollen form I rear 
 
 Round the proud ship's ocean path. 
 
 Beware ! beware ! when in thunder speaks 
 
 The voice of my rolling surge ! 
 And the dismal wail of the cold wind shrieks 
 
 The mariner's lonely dirge ! 
 
 Ye are mine — ye are mine — 'in my hour of pride. 
 Ye that sport with a thing like me ! 
 
 Ye that dare your fragile barks to guide 
 O'er the waves of the wild blue sea ! 
 
 The loved of many a home shall sleep 
 
 In the ocean's coral cave ; 
 For what human might can stay the sweep 
 
 Of the nntamed, unqnal'd wave I 
 
58 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 Blue-eyed cliild of Spring, 
 Lowly, loving tiling, 
 Lessons full ye bring ! 
 
 Modest Periwinkle ! 
 
 Clinging to the earth, 
 Her, who gave thee birth, 
 Cherishing her worth — 
 
 Grateful Periwinkle ! 
 
 Sheltering her so. 
 
 When the rough winds blow, 
 
 And the sun is low. 
 
 Loving Periwinkle ! 
 
 Greenest in the frost. 
 When the sunbeam's lost, 
 And the dead leaf's toss'd — 
 Patient Periwinkle ! 
 
 Yig'rous in the cold 
 Of the snow-drift's fold. 
 Like true heart, and bold, 
 Noble Periwinkle ! 
 
FLOWER-TEACHING. 59 
 
 First to ope thine eyes. 
 Blue as April skies, 
 Where a tear-clrop lies. 
 
 Hopeful Periwinkle ! 
 
 Smiling to tlie sim, 
 Thanks for what he 's clone, 
 Thoughtful little one ! 
 
 Loyal Periwinkle ! 
 
 Welcoming the flowers 
 
 To the sunny hours, 
 
 And their waiting bowers. 
 
 Courteous Periwinkle ! 
 
 Friendly is thy hue, 
 Type of loving true, 
 Flower, fair and blue — 
 
 Faithful Periwinkle ! 
 
 Upward thou dost turn, 
 Holy truths we learn, 
 Heaven we discern ! 
 
 Sacred Periwinkle ! 
 
60 Hii.L-siDK flowp:rs. 
 
 " THE YEARS OP MAN'S LIFE ARE THKEF.SOORE AND TF.N." 
 
 O AVEAKY heart, tliou'rt half- way horae ! 
 
 We stand on life's meridian height — 
 As far from childhood's morning come 
 
 As to the grave's forgetful night. 
 Give yonth and hope a parting tear, 
 Hope promised but to bring us here, 
 
 And Reason takes the guidance now — 
 One backward look — the last — the last ! 
 One silent tear — for youth is past ! 
 
 Who goes with Hope and Passion back ? 
 
 Who comes with me and Mem'ry on? 
 O, lonely looks the downward track — 
 
 .Toy's music hush'd — Hope's roses gone! 
 To pleasure and lier giddy troop, 
 
 Farewell without a sigh or tear ! 
 But heart gives way and spirits droop 
 
 To tliink that love may leave us here I 
 Have we no charm when youth is flown — 
 Midwav to death left sad alone? 
 
TJIIRTY-FIVE. 61 
 
 Yet stay ! as 't were a twilight star 
 That sends its thread across the wave, 
 
 I see a bright'iiing light from far, 
 Steal down a path beyond the grave ! 
 
 And now, bless God ! its golden line 
 
 Comes o'er and lights my shadowy way, 
 And shows a dear hand clasp'd in mine ! 
 But list what those sweet voices say ! 
 The better land 's in sight, 
 And b}^ its chast'ning light, 
 Gilding thy pathway in its even, 
 "Will guide thy spirit safe within the gate of 
 heaven ! 
 
62 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 C|e €i^xtBB-€xn d €t]xUn. 
 
 Ibn Batuta, the celebrated Mussulman traveler of the fourteenth 
 century, speaks of a cypress-tree in Ceylon, universally held sacred by 
 the inhabitants, the leaves of which were said to fall only at long and 
 uncertain periods; and he who had the happiness to find and cat one of 
 them, was restored at once to youth and vigor. The traveler saw several 
 venerable Jogees, or saints, sitting silent and motionless under the tree, 
 patiently waiting the falling of a leaf. 
 
 They sat in silent watchfulness 
 The sacred cyj)ress-tree about, 
 
 And from the wrinkled brows of Age 
 Their failing eyes look'd out. 
 
 Gray Age and Sickness waiting there, 
 Through weary night and ling'ring day ; 
 
 Grim as the idols at their side, 
 And motionless as they. 
 
 Unheeded in the boughs above, 
 
 The song of Ceylon's birds was sweet ; 
 
 Unseen of them, the island flowers 
 Bloom'd brightly at their feet. 
 
CYPRESS-TEEE OF CEYLON. 63 
 
 O'er thein the tropic night-storm swept, 
 The thunder crash'd on rock and hill ; 
 
 The lightning wrapp'd them like a shroud, 
 Yet there they waited still ! 
 
 What was the world without to them? 
 
 The Moslem's sunset call — the dance 
 Of Ceylon's maids — the passing gleam 
 
 Of battle-flag and lance ? 
 
 Tliey waited for that falling leaf 
 
 Of which the wand'ring Jogees sing, 
 
 "Which lends once more to wintry Age 
 The greenness of its Spring. 
 
 O ! if these poor and blinded ones 
 In trustful patience wait to feel 
 
 O'er torpid pulse and failing limb 
 A youthful freshness steal : 
 
 Shall we, who sit beneath that Tree 
 Whose healing leaves of life are shed 
 
 In answer to the breath of prayer. 
 Upon the waiting head : 
 
 Not to restore our failing forms, 
 
 Nor build the spirit's broken shrine, 
 
64 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 But on the fainting Soul to shed 
 A light and life divine : 
 
 Shall we grow weary at our watch, 
 And murmur at the long delay ? 
 
 Impatient of our Father's time 
 And his appointed way? 
 
 Or shall the stir of outward things 
 Allure and claim the Christian's eye, 
 
 When on the heathen watcher's ear 
 Their powerless murmurs die ? 
 
 Alas ! a deeper test of faith 
 
 Than prison-cell or martyr's stake, 
 
 The self-abasing watclifulness 
 Of silent prayer may make. 
 
 We gird us bravely to rebuke 
 
 Our erring brother in the wrong ; 
 
 And in the ear of Pride and Power 
 Our warning voice is strong. 
 
 Easier to smite with Peter's sword 
 
 Than watch one hour in humbling prayer; 
 
 Life's " great things," like the Syrian lord, 
 Our souls can do and dare. 
 
CYPKESS-TEEE OF CEYLON. 65 
 
 But O ! we shrink from Jordan's side — • 
 From waters which alone can save ; 
 
 And murmur for Abana's banks, 
 And Pharphar's brighter wave. 
 
 O ! Thou who, in the garden's shade. 
 Didst wake thy weary ones again, 
 
 "Who shimber'd at that fearful hour. 
 Forgetful of Thy pain : 
 
 Bend o'er us now, as over them. 
 
 And set our sleep-bound spirits free ; 
 
 Nor leave us slumbering in the watch 
 Our souls should keep with Tliee ! 
 
66 HILL-SIDE FLOWEISS. 
 
 My home is in yon fleecy cloud 
 
 The sun is gilding bright ; 
 But you will seldom find me there — 
 I am the Spirit of the air ! 
 
 Uncertain is my flight. 
 
 I wander through each verdant bower, 
 
 And bear the perfume on ; 
 I cull the sweets from every flower, 
 And pass along at evening hour, 
 
 Welcome — ^and lost anon. 
 
 I swiftly glide along the deep, 
 
 And curl the slumb'ring wave ; 
 I fill the sail, and waft along 
 The boatman's peaceful evening song ; 
 Tlien sleep in Echo's cave. 
 
 But when my harp I lightly touch 
 
 Such magic strains I pour, 
 The soul that listens to my lay, 
 "Wrapp'd in bright visions, soars away 
 
 To its own native shore. 
 
THE AIE-SPIKIT. 67 
 
 Yet think not that I always plaj, 
 
 Like child in faiiy bow'r ; 
 Tliough soft and gentle I may seem. 
 And nothing worth my pow'r you deem — 
 
 I bide my coming hour. 
 
 With sudden heat's expansive force, 
 
 O'er sea and land I rave — 
 An oak-tree for my scepter take ; 
 Of lofty towers my crown I make ; 
 
 My suppliants, the brave. 
 
 I drive my car with vengeful speed, 
 
 N^or fleet nor forest spare ; 
 And India's treasures are no more 
 Than sands upon the silver shore 
 
 Where Fancy braids her hair. 
 
68 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 FEOM THE GERMAN OP UHLAND. 
 
 " What strange, sweet melody is this 
 Which rouses me from sleep? 
 
 O mother, see what may it be 
 In the night-hour still and deep ! " 
 
 " I hear no sound — I see no form — 
 Slumber and rest once more. 
 
 My poor, sick child, no serenade 
 Is sung befoi'e thy door." 
 
 "They are not earthly tones which fill 
 My soul with such delight ! 
 
 Angels are calling me with songs! 
 Then, mother dear, good-night ! " 
 
THE CHRISTIAN. 
 
 C|£ C|ristiau. 
 
 Who is as the Christian great ? 
 
 Bought and wash'd with sacred blood, 
 Crowns he sees beneath his feet, 
 
 Soars aloft and walks with God. 
 
 Who is as the Christian wise ? 
 
 He his naught for all hath given ; 
 Bought the pearl of greatest price, 
 
 liobly barter'd earth for heaven. 
 
 Who is as the Christian bless'd ? 
 
 He hath found the long-sought stone ; 
 He is join'd to Christ, his rest — 
 
 He and happiness are one. 
 
 Earth and heaven together meet. 
 Gifts in him and graces join ; 
 
 Make the character complete, 
 All immortal, all divine. 
 
 Lo ! his clothing is the sun— 
 The bright Sun of righteousness; 
 
70 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 He hath put salvation on — 
 Jesus is his beauteous dress. 
 
 Lo ! he feeds on living bread, 
 Drinks the fountain from above, 
 
 Leans on Jesus' breast his head, 
 Feasts forever on his love. 
 
 Angels here his servants are ; 
 
 Spread for him their golden wings ; 
 To his throne of glory bear, 
 
 Seat him by the King of kings. 
 
 Who shall gain that heavenly height ? 
 
 Who his Saviour's face shall see ? 
 I who claim it in his right, 
 
 Christ hath bought it all for me. 
 
hush! 71 
 
 iESJj! 
 
 " I CAN scarcely hear," she murmured, 
 " For mj heart beats loud and fast ; 
 But surely, in the far, far distance 
 I can hear a sound at last." 
 "It is only the reapers singing. 
 
 As they cany home their sheaves ; 
 And the evening breeze has risen. 
 And rustles the dying leaves." 
 
 " Listen ! there are voices talking !" 
 
 Calmly still she strove to speak ; 
 Yet her voice grew faint and trembling, 
 And the red flush'd in her clieek. 
 " It is only the children playing 
 
 Below, now their work is done, 
 And they laugh that their eyes are dazzled 
 By the rays of the setting sun." 
 
 Fainter grew her voice, and weaker. 
 
 As with anxious eyes she cried, 
 " Down the avenue of chestnuts 
 
 I can hear a horseman ride." 
 
72 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 " It is only the deer tliat were feeding 
 In a lierd on the clover-grass ; 
 
 They were startled and tied to the thicket, 
 As they saw the reapers pass," 
 
 !Now the night arose in silence, 
 Birds lay in their leafy nest, 
 And the deer couch'd in the forest, 
 And the children were at rest. 
 
 There was only a sound of weeping 
 
 From watchers around a bed. 
 But rest to the weary spirit! 
 Peace to the quiet dead ! 
 
THK THREE VOICES. 73 
 
 What saith the past to thee ? Weep ! 
 
 Truth is departed : 
 Beauty hath died like the dream of a sleep, 
 Love is faint-hearted ; 
 Trifles of sense, the profoundly unreal, 
 Scare from our spirits God's holy ideal ; 
 So, as a funeral bell, slowly and deep, 
 So tolls the past to thee I Weeji 1 
 
 How speaks the present hour? Act I 
 
 Walk upward glancing ; 
 
 So shall thy footsteps in glory be traced, 
 
 Slow, but advancing. 
 
 Scorn not the smallness of daily endeavor, 
 
 Let the great meaning ennoble it ever ; 
 
 Droop not o'er efforts expended in vain ; 
 
 Work, as believing that labor is gain. 
 4 
 
74 HILL-SIDE FL0WEK8. 
 
 "What doth the future say ? Hope ! 
 
 Turn thy face sunward ! 
 Look where the light fringes the far rising slo^oe, 
 Day Cometh onward. 
 "Watch ! tho' so long be the twilight delaying, 
 Let the first sunbeam arise on thee praying ; 
 Fear not, for greater is God by thy side 
 Than armies of Satan against thee allied. 
 
MA MIGNONNETTE. 76 
 
 a Higiioinuttt 
 
 EosES are called queens ; 
 Tulip, a lover means ; 
 Lilies white praised be, 
 In their humility — 
 But, lowly Mignonnette, 
 What is the price that 's set 
 On thee ? 
 
 Gaily the garden flowere 
 Laugh through the golden hours : 
 Lifting their beauteous heads 
 Proudly above their beds, 
 Our meek-eyed Mignonnette, 
 Unenvied, still will let 
 
 Them bloom ! 
 
 Giving, with lovely grace. 
 The best and choicest place 
 To flowers more rare ; 
 Calmly contented where 
 None but this Mignonnette 
 Ever could nurture get 
 
 To grow. 
 
76 HILL-SIDE BLOWERS. 
 
 Loving the most to fall 
 Close by some mold'ring wall, 
 Breathing out fragrant siglis, 
 Greenest where ruin lies, 
 Like love that 's unspoken ; 
 But known by the token, 
 Tenderest Mignonnette, 
 Too faithful to forget, 
 
 Teach us I 
 
 Modest in quiet bloom, 
 Asking a little room, 
 Sure to be always found 
 Sweetest on poorest gi-ound, 
 Cheering a lonely spot. 
 Pitying the desolate : 
 Such is our Mignonnette— 
 Love is the price we set 
 On thee I 
 
' 
 
 iiiii 
 
 WW 
 
 
 
 J'^ ' l«l'i 
 
VENICE. 79 
 
 Night on the Adriatic ! l^iglit ! 
 
 And like a mirage of the plain, 
 "With all her marvelous domes of light, 
 
 Pale Venice looms along the main. 
 
 Ko sound from the receding shore, — 
 ISTo sound from all the broad lagoon, 
 
 Save where the light and springing oar 
 Brightens our track beneath the moon 
 
 Or save when yon high campanile 
 Gives to the list'ning sea its chime, 
 
 Or when those dusky giants wheel 
 And smite the ringing helm of Time. 
 
 The domes suspended in the sky 
 Swim all above me broad and fair ; 
 
 And in the wave their shadows lie, — 
 Twin phantoms of the sea and air. 
 
80 HILL-SIDE FLOWEKS. 
 
 O'or all the scene a halo plays, 
 Slow fading, but how lovely yet; 
 
 For hei'e the brightness of past days 
 Still lingers thongli the snn is set. 
 
 Oft in my bright and boyish hours 
 I lived in dreams what now I live ; 
 
 And saw these palaces and towers 
 In all the light Romance can give. 
 
 They rose along my native stream, 
 They charm'd the lakelet in the glen ; 
 
 But in this hour the waking dream 
 
 More frail and dreamlike seems than then. 
 
 A matchless scene, a matchless night, 
 A tide below, a moon above ; 
 
 An hour for music and delight, 
 For gliding gondolas and love ! 
 
 But here, alas ! you hark in vain, — 
 When Venice fell her music died ; 
 
 And, voiceless as a fmieral train. 
 The blacken'd barges swim the tide. 
 
 The harp which Tasso loved to wake 
 Hangs on the willow where it sleeps ; 
 
 And while the light strings sigh or break, 
 Pale Yenice by the water weeps. 
 
FROM GOIiD TO GRAY, 81 
 
 ' Golden curls, profusely shed 
 O'er the lovely eliildisb head,— 
 Sunshine, caught from summer skies, 
 Surely here entangled lies : 
 Tossing to the light winds free, 
 Radiant clusters, what are ye ? 
 
 Types of Time, that rij)ples now 
 In bright wavelets o'er the brow, — 
 Of the hopes and feelings blest. 
 Dancing in the guileless breast, 
 Beautiful in their unrest : 
 Sparkling joys and willing faith 
 Rising to Love's lightest breath ; 
 Of the future seeming fair, 
 Tliat may darken with the hair. 
 
 What are ye, dark waving bands, 
 Tliat beneath the maiden's hands 
 Sweep around her graceful head ? 
 Fold o'er fold of changeful shade 
 
82 HILL-SIDE FLOWEKS. 
 
 Touch the cheek's contrasted bloom 
 With the j)oetry of gloom. 
 
 Offerings for a lover's eye, 
 Emblems of Love's witchery, 
 Round her heart that richly lies, — ■ 
 Shadows, while it beautifies ; 
 Keepsakes Love delights to give, 
 Did each friend one tress receive. 
 Every shining tress were lost, 
 For the maiden hath a host. 
 Ay ! but trouble, stories say, 
 Locks as rich hath worn away. 
 What of this ? But friends grew spare 
 As the scant and falling hair ! 
 
 Wherefore send your pallid ray, 
 Streaks of cold, untimely gray, 
 Through the locks whose burnish'd hue 
 Hath but seen of years a few ? 
 Autumn leaves on summer trees 
 Were less sorrowful than these. 
 
 Portions of life's travel-soil ; 
 Footprints left by Grief and Toil ; 
 Relics, too, of watchings late, 
 When one curl was too much weie-ht 
 
FROM GOLD TO GRAY. 83 
 
 On tlie hot brows, bending o'er 
 Some grave book of ancient lore. 
 'T is the monrning l^ature wears 
 For the hopes of younger years ; 
 And the scorching breath of care 
 Tims can fade the brightest hair. 
 
 Hail to thee, thou glistening snow ! 
 Full of placid beauty, flow 
 O'er the furrow'd brows that bear 
 Life's long story, written fair. 
 'Tis the white foam, cast aside 
 After Time's receding tide. 
 
 Yea, and pleasant types are ye 
 Of each moonlight memory ; 
 Shining from his far-oft' prime 
 To the old man's evening time. 
 More — ye are reflections shed 
 From the heaven above his head ; 
 Pale, but still assuring ray, 
 Of his nearly risen day. 
 Mortal ! may thy hoary hair 
 E'en such glorious meaning bear, 
 That its silver threads may be 
 Messengers of light to thee ! 
 
84 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 'Cl|c f ittU ioa t|at iirt. 
 
 I AM all alone in my chamber now, 
 
 And the midnight hour is near ; 
 And the faggot's crack and the clock's dull tick 
 
 Are the only sounds I hear. 
 And over my soul in its solitude 
 
 Sweet feelings of gladness glide, 
 For my heart and eyes are full when I think 
 
 Of the little boy that died ! 
 
 I went one night to my father's home — • 
 
 "Went home to the dear ones all ; 
 And I softly opened the garden gate, 
 
 And softly the door of the hall. 
 My mother came out to meet her son — 
 
 She kiss'd me and then she sigli'd ; 
 And her head fell on my neck, and she wept 
 
 For the little boy that died. 
 
 I shall miss him when the flowers come 
 
 In the garden Avhere he play'd ; 
 I sliall miss him more by the fireside, 
 
 When the flowers have all decav'd. 
 
THE LITTLE BOY THAT DIED. 85 
 
 I sliall see his toys, and his empty chair, 
 
 And the horse he used to ride ; 
 And they all shall speak, with a silent speech, 
 
 Of the little hoy that died. 
 
 We shall go home to our Father's house, 
 
 To our Father's house in the skies, 
 Where the hope of our soul shall know no blight, 
 
 Our love no broken ties. 
 We shall roam on the banks of the River of Life, 
 
 And drink of its crystal tide ; 
 And one of the joys of our heaven shall be 
 
 The little boy that died ! 
 
86 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 C|^ §M\\t f ilgriiiu 
 
 BiKDS have their quiet nest, 
 Foxes their holes, and man his peaceful bed ; 
 
 All creatures have their rest, — 
 But Jesus had not where to lay his head. 
 
 Winds have their hour of cahn, 
 And waves, to slumber on the voiceless deep ; 
 
 Eve hath its breath of balm. 
 To hush all senses and all sounds to sleep. 
 
 The wild deer hath its lair. 
 The homeward flocks the shelter of their shed ; 
 
 All have their rest from care, — 
 But Jesus had not where to lay his head. 
 
 And yet he came to give 
 The weary and the heavy-laden rest ; 
 
 To bid the sinner live. 
 And soothe our griefs to slumber on his breast. 
 
 Why then am I, my God, 
 Permitted thus the paths of peace to tread ? 
 
 Peace, purchased by the blood 
 Of Him wlio had not where to lav his head ! 
 
THE DIVINE PILGRIM. 87 
 
 I, who once made Him grieve ; 
 I, who once bid His gentle spirit mourn ; 
 
 Whose hand essay'd to weave 
 For His meek brow the cruel crown of thorn : — 
 
 O why should I have peace ? 
 Why ? but for that unchanged, undying love, 
 
 Which would not, could not cease, 
 Until it made me heir of joys above. 
 
 Yes ! but for pardoning grace, 
 I feel I never should in glory see 
 
 The brightness of that face 
 That once was pale and agonized for me ! 
 
 Let the birds seek their nest. 
 Foxes their holes, and man his peaceful bed ; 
 
 Come, Saviour, in my breast 
 Deign to repose Thine oft rejected head. 
 
 Come, give me rest, and take 
 Tlie only rest on earth thou lovest, — within 
 
 A heart, that for thy sake 
 Lies bleeding, broken, penitent for sin. 
 
88 Hll^li-SIPE, FI^OWERS. 
 
 We are on our journey home, 
 Where Christ, our Lord, is gone ; 
 
 We will naeet around his throne 
 When he makes his people one 
 In the Kew Jerusalem ! 
 
 We see our distant home ; 
 
 Tliough clouds rise oft between ; 
 Faith views the radiant dome, 
 
 And a lustre flashes keen 
 From the Kew Jerusalem ! 
 
 O ! glory shining far 
 
 From the never-setting sun ! 
 O trembling morning star! 
 
 Our journey 's almost done 
 To the Kew Jerusalem ! 
 
 Our hearts are breaking now 
 Those mansions fair to see, 
 
 O Lord, the heavens bow, 
 And raise us up to thee, 
 To the ISTew Jerusalem ! 
 
I 
 
JUDEA. 91 
 
 Blest land of Judea ! thrice hallowed of song, 
 Where the holiest of memories pilgrim-like 
 
 throng ; 
 In the shade of thy palms, by the shores of thy sea. 
 On the hills of thy beauty, my heart is with thee ! 
 
 With the eye of a spirit I look on that shore 
 Where the pilgrim and prophet have linger'd 
 
 before ; 
 With the glide of a spirit I traverse the sod, 
 Made bright by the steps of the angels of God. 
 
 Blue hills of the sea ! in my spirit I hear 
 Tliy waters, Gennesaret, chime on my ear ; 
 Where the Lowly and Just with the people sat 
 
 down. 
 And thy spray on the dust of His sandals was 
 
 thrown. 
 
 Beyond are Bethulia's mountains of green, 
 And the desolate hills of the wild Gadarene ; 
 And I pause on the goat-crags of Tabor to see 
 The gleam of thy waters, O dark Galilee ! 
 
92 HILL-SIDK FLOWEKS. 
 
 Hark ! a sound in the valleys, where, swollen 
 
 and strong. 
 Thy river, O Kishon, is sweeping along ; 
 "Where the Canaanite strove with Jehovah in 
 
 vain, 
 And thy torrent grew dark with the blood of the 
 
 slain I 
 
 There, down from his mountains, stern Zebulon 
 
 came. 
 And Naphtali's stag, with his eye-balls of flame ; 
 And the chariots of Jabin roll'd harmlessly on, 
 Near the arm of the Lord was Abinoam's son ! 
 
 There sleep the still rocks and the caverns which 
 
 rang 
 To the song which the beautiful prophetess sang. 
 When the Princess of Issacher stood by her side, 
 And the shout of a host in its triumph replied. 
 
 Lo ! Bethlehem's hill-site before me is seen. 
 With the mountains around, and the valleys 
 
 between ; 
 There rested the shepherds of Judah, and there 
 The song of the angel rose sweet on the air. 
 
 And Bethany's palm-trees in beauty still throw 
 Their shadows at noon on the ruins below ; 
 
JtJBEA. 93 
 
 But where are the sisters who hasteii'd to greet 
 The lowly Redeemer, and sit at his feet ? 
 
 I tread where the twelve in their way-faring 
 
 trod; 
 I stand where they stood with the Chosen of God ; 
 Where His blessing was heard, and His lessons 
 
 were taught ; 
 Where the blind was restored, and the healing 
 
 was wrought. 
 
 O ! here with his flock the sad Wanderer came ; 
 Tliese hills He toil'd over in grief are the same. 
 The founts where He drank by the way-side still 
 
 flow, 
 And the same airs are blowing which breathed 
 
 on His brow. 
 
 And throned on her hills sits J erusalem yet, 
 But with dust on her forehead and chains on her 
 
 feet; 
 For the crown of her pride to the mocker hath 
 
 gone, 
 And the holy Shekinah is dark where it shone ! 
 
 But wherefore this dream of the earthly abode 
 Of humanity clothed in the brightness of God ! 
 
94 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 "Where my spirit has turn'd from the outward 
 
 and dim, 
 It couldgaze, even now, on the presence of Him ! 
 
 Not in clouds and in terrors, but gentle as when 
 In love and in meekness He moved among men ; 
 And the voice which breathed peace to the 
 
 waves of the sea, 
 In the hush of my spirit would whisper to me. 
 
 And what if my feet may not tread where He 
 
 stood, 
 Kor my ears hear the dashing of Galilee's flood, 
 Nor my eyes see the cross which He bowed him 
 
 to bear, 
 Nor my knees press Gethsemane's garden of 
 
 prayer — 
 
 Yet, loved of the Father, Thy Spirit is near 
 To the meek and the lowly, and the penitent here ; 
 And the voice of Thy love is the same even now. 
 As at Bethany's tomb, or on Olivet's brow. 
 
 O ! tlie outward hath gone — ^but in glory and 
 
 j^ower. 
 The Spirit survived the things of an hour ; 
 Unchang'd, undecaying, its Pentecost flame 
 On the heart's secret altar is burning the same. 
 
FUTURITY. 95 
 
 Jittturitj^ 
 
 And O, beloved voices, upon which 
 
 Ours passionately call, because ere long 
 
 Ye brake off in the middle of that song 
 
 We sang together softly, to enrich 
 
 The poor world with the sense of love, and witch 
 
 The heart out of things evil, — ^I am strong, — 
 
 Knowing ye are not lost for aye among 
 
 The hills with last year's thrush. God keeps a 
 
 niche 
 Li heaven to hold our idols ! and albeit 
 He brake them to our faces, and denied 
 Tliat our close kisses should impair their white, — 
 I know we shall behold them raised, complete, — 
 The dust shook from their beauty, — glorified 
 New Memnons singing in the great God-light. 
 
96 HILL-8IDK FLOWERS. 
 
 C^^ ^iigd 0f i^at|. 
 
 GLORIOUS World ! thou al*t deck'd in pride. 
 And crown'd with joy like a mortal bride ; 
 The robe of majesty thou dost wear 
 Glows with the hues of the changing year, 
 Sti'ange beauty dwells on forest and plain, 
 On snow-capp'd mountain and swelling main, 
 On rose-hued glacier and rocky isle. 
 And vale, where the waving harvests smile. 
 Bright warblers dwell in thy perfumed groves, 
 The snowy sail o'er the blue lake moves ; 
 And marble column and gilded spire 
 Gleam on the plain in the sun's red fire. 
 The spell of unmingled beauty is thine, 
 
 glorious world ! yet I call thee mine. 
 
 By the lightning's flash, by the tempest's gloom, 
 By the whirlwind's rush I blast thy bloom. 
 
 1 bow the pride of all living things, 
 
 I shadow them all with my brooding wings ; 
 They fade, they droop at my withering breath, 
 Mighty I am, and my name is Death ! 
 
THE ANGEL OF DEATH. 9Y 
 
 man, thou hast furrow'd the ocean wave, 
 Hast wrested the gold from the earth's dull cave. 
 And lit thy steps by its glittering ray — 
 
 Thou hast track'd the stars in their pathless way — 
 Hast called from the mountain's marble breast 
 Bright gems, like the visions which haunt thy rest. 
 A sacred fire to thy lips is given — 
 Tliou hast breathed in song thy dream of Heaven. 
 The spell of the unchain'd thought is thine, 
 And the mighty will, yet I call thee mine. 
 In festive hour, from the social throng 
 
 1 banish the smile, and hush the song ! 
 
 Sad hearts, lone homes, mark my way of wrath, 
 And tears of men are the dew of my path ! 
 
 When armies come forth in their martial might 
 To battle for glory, and honor, and right ; 
 When the trumpet sounds, and the clashing steel 
 
 rings, 
 I sweep o'er the field : — my waving wings 
 Stir the quivering banner and pendant plume. 
 And I mark mine own and speak their doom. 
 
 At calm of night, when the moon looks down 
 Serene and pale o'er the slumbering town. 
 When music and voices, and sounds of day. 
 Have pass'd from the silent halls away ; 
 
98 HILL-SIDE FLOWEKS. 
 
 "When tlie streets re-echo no passer's tread ; 
 When flit round the tranquil sleeper's head 
 The shadowy circle of golden dreams, 
 And hush'd in repose all being seems — 
 Lo ! a shriek of fear and a sound of strife, 
 And the struggling groan of the parting life 
 Break shrill and dread on the midnight air, 
 Mingled with wailing and tones of prayer, 
 The watcher pillows the dying head. 
 The mourner bends o'er the cold, still dead — 
 O starry night! thou art bright and fair, 
 But my solemn presence too is there ! 
 
 Yet call me not stern, although my sway 
 Bid peasant and monarch pass away ; 
 The strong-arm'd youth, the maid in her bloom, 
 O children of earth, I call ye home ! 
 Are ye happy here ? Would ye remain. 
 Sullied by sin ? — bound by the chain 
 Of strong affection which grasps the soul 
 And bows it to earth in its fierce control ? 
 In your yearning fondness, ye have made 
 Gods of the things which alter and fade. 
 Bright hopes are nursed in the trusting breast 
 Like the unfledg'd brood of the wild bird's nest; 
 They found their wings, — one by one have gone, 
 Their home is desolate, left and lone. 
 
THE ANGEL OF DEATH. 99 
 
 Ye mark the flight of your passing years 
 By the whiten'd locks and the trace of tears. 
 I set you free from the binding chain, 
 I wash you pure from the guilty stain. 
 Th' undying soul, the spark of heaven. 
 The holy light to your weak frames given, 
 Fears not my power — ^I bid it rise. 
 Perfect and pure, to the happy skies. 
 Children of sorrow! I make you bless'd — • 
 I call you home to a glorious rest ! 
 
100 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH OP DE LAMAETINE. 
 
 Born with the spring-time, with the roses dying, 
 
 Wafted on the Zephyr's wing to the skies so 
 
 bright ; 
 
 On the newly- open'd bosom of the flowers lying, 
 
 Richly steep'd in perfume, in azure, and in 
 
 light, 
 
 Shaking oflf the golden dust to its pinions given, 
 
 Floating like the summer's breatli to the vaults 
 
 of heaven — 
 This is the Butterfly's destiny so fair ! 
 
 Resembling desire, that with unresting wing, 
 Ever unsatisfied, glancing on everything. 
 Returns at last to Heaven to seek for pleasure 
 there. 
 
"ark we almost there?" 101 
 
 ''^r^ tot almost €\}ntV' 
 
 "Are we almost there— are we almost there?" 
 Said a dying girl as she drew near home — 
 
 " Are those our poplar-trees which rear 
 
 Their forms so high 'gainst heaven's blue 
 dome ? " 
 
 Then she talk'd of her flowers, and thought of 
 the well, 
 Where the cool water splash'd o'er the large 
 white stone. 
 And she said it would soothe like a fairy spell, 
 Could she drink from that fount when the fever 
 was on. 
 
 While yet so young, and her bloom grew less, 
 They liad borne her away to a kindlier clime ; 
 
 For she would not tell that 't was only distress 
 Which had gather'd Life's rose in its sweet 
 spring-time. 
 
 And she had look'd, when they bade her look. 
 At many a ruin and many a shrine — 
 
102 HILL-SIDE FLOWEKS. 
 
 At the sculptured niche, and the pictured nook ; 
 And mark'd from high places the sun's decline. 
 
 But in secret she sigh'd for a quiet spot, 
 
 Where oft she had play'd in childhood's hour ; 
 
 Though shrub or floweret mark'd it not, 
 Twas dearer to her than the gayest bower. 
 
 And oft did she ask, "Are we almost there ? " 
 But her voice grew faint, and her flush'd cheek 
 pale ; 
 
 And they strove to soothe her with useless care. 
 As her sighs would escape on the evening gale. 
 
 Then swiftly, more swiftly, they huri-ied her on ; 
 
 But anxious hearts felt the chill of despair ; 
 For when the light of that eye was gone, 
 
 And the quick pulse stopj)'d, she was almost 
 there ! 
 
IN THIS DIM WORLD. 103 
 
 fit t|is iim Marllr. 
 
 In this dim world of clouding cares, 
 We rarely know till wilder'd 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 kindling from afar 
 Our light of love and fainting faith. 
 
 Tlirough tears it gleams perpetually, 
 
 And glittere through the thickest glooms, 
 Till the eternal morning comes 
 
 To light us o'er the jasper sea. 
 
 With our best branch in tenderest leaf, 
 
 We 've strewn the way our Lord doth come ; 
 And ready for the harvest home. 
 
 The reapers bind our ripest sheaf. 
 
 Our beautiful bird of light hath fled ; 
 
 Awhile she sat with folded wings, 
 
 Sung round us a few hoverings, 
 Then straightway into glory sped. 
 
104: HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 And white-wing'd angels nurture lier. 
 
 With heaven's white radiance robed and 
 crown'd, 
 
 And all love's purple gloiy round, 
 She summers on the hills of mjrrh. 
 
 Through childhood's morning land serene 
 She walk'd between us twain like love ; 
 While in a robe of light above 
 
 The better angel walk'd unseen. 
 
 Till Life's highway broke bleak and wild, 
 Then, lest her starry garments trail 
 In mire, heart bleed and courage fail. 
 
 The angel's ainns caught up the child. 
 
 Tlie wave of Life hath backward roll'd 
 To the great ocean, on whose shore 
 We wander up and down to store 
 
 Some treasures of the times of old. 
 
 And still we seek, and hunger on 
 For precious pearls and relics rare, 
 Strewn on the sands for us to wear, 
 
 At heart, for love of her that's gone. 
 
IN THIS DIM WOKLD. 105 
 
 O weep no more ! there yet is balm 
 In Gilead ! Love doth ever shed 
 Rich healing where it nestles — spread 
 
 On desert pillows some green palm ! 
 
 Strange gloiy streams through Life'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 heart that bleeds ; 
 The best fruit loads the broken bough, 
 And in the wounds our sufferings plow; 
 
 Immortal love sows sovereign seed. 
 5* 
 
106 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 B0NG IN TUE BLACK FOEEST. 
 
 Xeighboe, accept our parting song ; 
 
 The road is sliort, the rest is long : 
 
 The Lord brought here, the Lord takes hence,- 
 
 This is no house of permanence. 
 
 On bread of mirth and bread of tears 
 The pilgrim fed these chequered years ; 
 ISTow landlord world, shut to the door. 
 Thy guest is gone for evermore — 
 
 Gone to a realm of sweet repose, 
 His comrades bless him as he goes : 
 Of toil and moil the day was full, 
 A good sleep now, — the night is cool. 
 
 Ye village bells, ring, softly ring, 
 And in the blessed Sabbath bring. 
 Which from this weary work-day tryst 
 Awaits God's folk through Jesus Christ. 
 
FUNEKAL HYMN. 107 
 
 And open wide, thou Gate of Peace, 
 And let this other journey cease ; 
 Kor grudge a narrow couch, dear neighbors, 
 For shnnbers won by hfe-long labors. 
 
 Beneath these sods how close ye lie ! 
 But many a mansion 's in yon sky. 
 E'en now, beneath the sapphire throne 
 Is his prepared through God's dear Son. 
 
 "I quickly come !" that Saviour cries ; 
 Yea, quickly come, this church-yard sighs. 
 Come, Jesus, come ! we wait for thee, — 
 Thine now and ever let us be. 
 
108 HILL-SIDE FLOWEES. 
 
 The splendor falls on castle walls, 
 
 And snowy summits old in story : 
 The long light shakes across the lakes, 
 And the wild cataract leaps in glory : 
 Blow, bugle, blow ! — set the wild echoes flying ! 
 Blow, bugle! answer echoes, dying, dying, dying! 
 
 O hark ! O hear I how thin and clear, 
 And thinner, clearer, farther going ! 
 O sweet and far, from cliff and scar, 
 The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! 
 Blow ! let us hear the purple glens replying. 
 Blow, bugle! answer echoes, dying, dying, dying! 
 
 O love, they die in yon rich sky, 
 
 Threy faint on hill, on field, on river : 
 O^ir echoes roll from soul to soul. 
 And grow forever and forever. 
 Blow, bugle, blow ! set the "wild echoes flying. 
 And answer, echoes answer, dying, dying, 
 dying ! 
 
'The splendoi' fH,";!- on f^a :t-lf 
 
ENIGMAS. Ill 
 
 FEOM THE GKKMAN OP SCHILLER. 
 
 A BRroGE weaves its own arcli with pearls 
 High o'er a tranquil dark gray sea ; 
 
 And in a moment it unfm-ls 
 Its dizzy span unbounded, free. 
 
 The tallest barks, with swelling sail, 
 May pass beneath its arch with ease ; 
 
 It bears no burden, 't is too frail. 
 
 And when thou wouldst approach it flees. 
 
 With floods it came, and disappears 
 Whene'er the water's course is seal'd. 
 
 Say where its lofty arch it rears, 
 And by what architect reveal'd? 
 
 Know'st thou the picture soft of hue ? 
 
 Itself the fountain of its light. 
 Each moment changing to the view. 
 
 Yet ever perfect, fresh, and bright. 
 
112 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 'T is painted in tlie smallest space, 
 Within the smallest frame enclosed ; 
 
 But of earth's greatness not a trace 
 Without it e'er had been disclosed. 
 
 Canst thou to me the crystal name ? 
 
 ]^o jewel equals it in worth ; 
 It flashes, but without a flame, 
 
 Drinks in the boundless spheres of earth. 
 E'en Heaven's self in radiance plays 
 
 Within its magic circle bright ; 
 Yet though it drinks celestial rays, 
 
 More lovely far is its own light. 
 
INVOCATIOIS'. 113 
 
 O God, thou bottomless abyss ! 
 
 Thee to perfection who can know ? 
 O height immense ! what words suffice 
 
 Thy countless attributes to show ? 
 Unfathomable depths thou art ! 
 
 O plunge 2ne in thy mercy's sea ! 
 Yoid of true wisdom is my heart ; 
 
 With love embrace and cover me ! 
 While thee, all infinite I set 
 
 By faith, before my ravish'd eye ; 
 My weakness bends beneath the weight ; 
 
 O'erpower'd I sink, I faint, I die. 
 
 Eternity Thy fountain was, 
 
 Which, like Tliee, no beginning knew ; 
 Thou wast ere Time began its race. 
 
 Ere glowed with stars th' ethereal blue. 
 Greatness unspeakable is Thine ; 
 
 Greatness, whose undiminish'd ray. 
 When short-lived worlds are lost, shall shine ; 
 
 When earth and heaven are fled away. 
 
114 HILL-SIDE FLOWEKS. 
 
 Unchangeable, all-perfect Lord, 
 Essential life's imbounded sea ; 
 
 "What lives and moves, lives by thy word ; 
 It lives, and moves, and is from thee ! 
 
 Thy parent hand, Thy forming skill. 
 
 Firm fix'd this universal chain ; 
 Else empty, barren darkness still 
 
 Had held his nnmolested reign. 
 Whate'er in earth, or sea, or sky, 
 
 Or shuns, or meets the wand'ring thought. 
 Escapes or strikes the searching eye 
 
 By Thee was to perfection brought ! 
 High is Thy power above all height 
 
 Whate'er Thy will decrees is done; 
 Thy wisdom, equal to Thy might, 
 
 Only to thee, O God, is known ! 
 
 Heaven's glory is Thy awful throne. 
 
 Yet earth partakes Tliy gracious sway ; 
 Yain man ! thy wisdom folly own, 
 
 Lost is thy reason's feeble ray. 
 "What our dim eye could never see 
 
 Is plain and naked to Thy sight ; 
 "What thickest darkness vails, to Thee 
 
 Shines clearly as the morning light. 
 In light Thou dwell'st ; light that no shade, 
 
 'No variation, ever knew. 
 
INVOCATION. 115 
 
 Heaven, Earth, and Hell stand all display'd, 
 And open to Tliy piercing view. 
 
 Thon, true and only God, lead'st forth 
 
 Th' immortal armies of the sky : 
 Thou laugh'st to scorn the gods of earth ; 
 
 Thou thund'rest, and amazed they fly ! 
 With downcast eye the angelic choir 
 
 Appear before thy awful face ; 
 Trembling, they strike the golden lyre. 
 
 And through heaven's vault resound thy 
 praise. 
 In earth, in heaven, in all thou art : 
 
 The conscious creature feels thy nod; 
 Thy forming hand on every part 
 
 Impress'd the image of its God. 
 
 Thine, Lord, is wisdom, thine alone! 
 
 Justice and Truth before thee stand ; 
 Yet nearer to thy sacred throne 
 
 Mercy withholds thy lifted hand. 
 Each evening shows thy tender love. 
 
 Each rising morn thy plenteous grace ; 
 Thy waken'd wrath does slowly move, 
 
 Tliy willing mercy flies apace ! 
 To thy benign indulgent care. 
 
 Father, this light, this breath we owe ; 
 
116 HILL-SIDE FLOWEKS. 
 
 And all we have, and all we are, 
 
 From thee, Great Source of Being, flow. 
 
 Parent of good ! Thy bounteous hand 
 
 Incessant blessings now distills ; 
 And all in air, or sea, or land 
 
 "With plenteous food and gladness tills. 
 All things in Thee live, move, and are ; 
 
 Thy power infused doth all sustain ; 
 Even those Thy daily favors share 
 
 Who thankless spurn Thy easy reign. 
 Thy sun, thou bidst his genial ray 
 
 Alike on all impartial pour ; 
 On all who hate or bless Thy sway, 
 
 Thou bidst descend the fruitful shower. 
 
 Yet, while at length, who scorn'd Thy might, 
 
 Shall feel thee a consuming fire ; 
 How sweet the joys, the crown how bright. 
 
 Of those who to Thy love aspire ! 
 All creatures praise the Eternal Name ! 
 
 Ye hosts that to his court belong, 
 Cherubic choirs, seraphic flame. 
 
 Awake the everlasting song ! 
 Thrice holy ! thine the kingdom is. 
 
 The power omnipotent is thine ; 
 And when created nature dies. 
 
 Thy never-ceasing glories shine. 
 
NOT LOST ART THOU TO MK. 117 
 
 lot f ost art C|ott to Ut. 
 
 N'oT lost art thou to me ; 
 
 Thou, the departed ! 
 A presence still of thee 
 
 Dwelleth instead. 
 I turn, and thou art not — 
 
 Yet know thee near ; 
 There is that can part not — 
 
 Absent, yet here. 
 
 The blind there is, heareth ; 
 
 The deaf, yet hath sight ; 
 Day to one sense appeareth ; 
 
 To one is night ; 
 And a sense in my spirit 
 
 Liveth to thee ! — 
 None other hath merit, — 
 
 Pleasure for me. 
 
118 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 Often, thou precious one, 
 
 Is thy shade near ; 
 Oft, as I sit alone, 
 
 Doth it appear: 
 Not in voice, not in form, 
 
 Gesture or air ; — 
 But the life of thy being. 
 
 Thy presence, is there. 
 
 When riseth the full soul 
 
 In anguish on high, 
 Thou dost its grief control ; 
 
 Thou then art nigh. 
 In hope, thou art o'er me ! 
 
 And sunset doth bring, 
 'Mid hues I've watch'd with thee, 
 
 A violet wing. 
 
 In music descending. 
 
 Thou comest to me ; 
 Joys past with thee blending. 
 
 Ah! mournfully. 
 Let morning's glad brightness. 
 
 The fountain, the tree. 
 Clouds passing in lightness, — 
 
 All tell of thee ! 
 
NOT LOST ART THOU TO ME. 119 
 
 Not lost art thou to me, 
 
 O thou departed ! 
 A presence still of thee, 
 
 Dwelleth instead : 
 I look, and thou art not ! 
 
 Yet art thou near : 
 Tliere is that can part not — 
 
 Absent, yet here ! 
 
120 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 Co a Clokr. 
 
 Thou art a little rustic flower 
 
 That none may see in lady's bower ; 
 
 That never shone in minstrel's lay, 
 
 Or form'd a wreath on festal day. 
 
 Thou and thy lowly sisters lie, 
 
 Unmark'd by many a passing eye ; 
 
 But those who chance to linger near 
 
 "Will find, throughout thy little sphere, 
 
 Tliere breathes a sweetly-perfumed air 
 
 Which brighter spots might never share. 
 
 Loved flower ! — though beauty mark thee not, 
 
 Thou still dost flourish unforgot ; 
 
 For where thou art must ever be 
 
 The breath of life and liberty ! 
 
 ISTo cultured flowers here mock thy bloom, 
 
 Or render faint thy soft perfume ; — 
 
 Thou liv'st apart — the gay parterre 
 
 May never own thy presence there. 
 
 And now to me thou art a thing 
 
 From which the sweetest thoughts may spring — • 
 
 All holy — for they 're born above. 
 
 Where He who form'd thee dwells in love. 
 
 And fondly guards the wild-wood flower, 
 
 Till vanish'd is its little hour. 
 
•«rw^ 
 
 "Dear V7ii^ the early sound 
 
 T"ha,t floated fvom th y.io.vous "bells. 
 
SUNDAY EVENING. 123 
 
 'itukg Chning. 
 
 Farewell, sweet day of rest I 
 
 Gladly at morn I liail'd thy light : — 
 And now I see thee in the fading west, 
 Taking thy flight. 
 
 Bright fleeting season stay ! 
 
 Nor to the past yet hurry on; 
 Still, still I would detain thee, on thy way 
 To Sabbaths gone. 
 
 Dear was the early sound 
 
 That floated from thy joyous bells ; 
 Inviting to the consecrated ground 
 Where Jesus dwells. 
 
 Deserted now thy fanes : — 
 
 The herald's voice — the song — the prayer 
 Are silent ; but the fragrance still remains 
 That fill'd mo there. 
 
124 HILL-STDE FLOWKKS. 
 
 Calm for the weary breast ! 
 
 I hail thee, foretaste of a life 
 Where, in an endless Sabbath, we shall rest 
 From mortal strife. 
 
 Saviour ! thy gift I sing! 
 
 Thine is the day : — thine let it be ; 
 And may each hallow'd season iiearer bring 
 My sonl to Tliee I 
 
ABIDE IN ME, AND I IN YOU. 125 
 
 %h\it ill g]^, an& | in |oii. 
 
 That mystic word of thine, O sovereign Lord ! 
 
 Is all too pure, too liigli, too deep for me ; 
 Weaiy of striving, and with longing faint, 
 
 I breathe it back again in prayer to thee. 
 
 Abide in me, I pray, and I in thee. 
 
 From this good hour, O leave me never more ! 
 Tlien shall the discord cease, the wound be heal'd, 
 
 The life-long bleeding of the soul be o'er. 
 
 Abide in me — o'ershadow by thy love, 
 
 Each half-form'd purpose, and dark thought 
 of sin ; 
 
 Quench ere it rise each selfish, low desire, 
 And keep my soul as thine, calm and divine. 
 
 As some rare perfume in a vase of clay 
 Pervades it with a fragrance not its own — 
 
 So, when then dwellest in a mortal soul, 
 
 All heaven's own sweetness seems around it 
 thrown. 
 
126 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 The soul alone, like a neglected harp, 
 
 Grows out of tune, and needs that hand divine ; 
 
 Dwell thou within it, tune and touch the chords, 
 Till every note and string shall answer thine. 
 
 Abide in me ; there have been moments pure 
 When I have seen thy face, and felt thy power; 
 
 Then evil lost its grasp, and passion, hush'd, 
 Own'd the divine enchantment of the hour. 
 
 These were but seasons beautiful and rare ; 
 
 Abide in me, and they shall ever be. 
 I pray thee now fulfill my earnest prayer, 
 
 Come and abide in me and I in thee. 
 
MORNING PRAYER. 127 
 
 oruing f'raj^r. 
 
 PROM THE GERMAH OP EICHENDOKP. 
 
 SILENCE, wondrous and profound ! 
 O'er earth dotli solitude still reign ; 
 
 The woods alone incline their heads, 
 As if the Lord walk'd o'er the plain, 
 
 1 feel new life within me glow ; 
 
 Where now is my distress and care ? 
 Here in the blush of waking morn 
 I blush at yesterday's despair. 
 
 To me, a pilgrim, shall the world. 
 With all its joys and sorrows, be 
 
 But as a bridge that leads, O Lord ! 
 Across the stream of Time to thee. 
 
 And should my song woo worldly gifts. 
 
 The base rewards of Tanity : 
 Dash down my lyre ! I '11 hold my peace 
 
 Before thee to eternity. 
 
128 HILL-SIDE FL0WEK8. 
 
 aj-Jlob^rs. 
 
 KosE ! Rose ! open thy leaves ! 
 
 Spring is whispering love to thee. 
 Hose ! Eose ! open thy leaves ! 
 
 Near is the nightingale on the tree. 
 Open thy leaves ! 
 Open thy leaves ! 
 And fill with balm-hreath the sun-lit eaves. 
 
 Lily ! Lily ! awake, awake ! 
 
 The fairy watcheth her flowery boat. 
 Lily ! Lily ! awake, awake ! 
 
 O ! set thy scent-laden bark afloat. 
 Lily awake 1 
 Lily awake ! 
 And cover with leaves the sleeping lake. 
 
 Flowers! Flowers! come forth, 'tis spring! 
 Stars of the woods, the hills and the dells ! 
 
MAY-FLOWERS. 129 
 
 Fair valley Lilies, come fortli, and ring 
 In your green turrets your silvery bells ! 
 Flowers, come forth ! 
 'T is spring ! 't is spring ! 
 And beauty in field and woodland dwells. 
 6* 
 
130 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 C|e Mansion d %tBl 
 
 I TALKED to my fluttering heart, 
 
 And chid its wild wa,ndering ways ; 
 I urged it from folly to part, 
 
 And husband the rest of its days. 
 I bade it no longer admire 
 
 The meteors that fancy had dress'd ; 
 I whisper'd 't was time to retire, 
 
 And seek for a Mansion of Rest. 
 
 A charmer was list'ning the while, 
 Who caught up the tone of my lay : 
 
 " O ! come, then," she cried, with a smile, 
 "And I'll show you the place and the way," 
 
 I follow'd the witch to her home. 
 And vow'd to be always her guest ; 
 
 " I^evermore," I exclaim'd, " will I roam 
 In search of a Mansion of Rest." 
 
THE MANSION OF KP:ST. 131 
 
 But the sweetest of moments will fly ; 
 
 Not long was my fancy beguiled, 
 For too soon I confess'cl, with a sigh, 
 
 That the syren deceived while she smiled. 
 Deep, deep did she stab the repose 
 
 Of my trusting and unwary breast, 
 Till the door of each avenue closed 
 
 That led to the Mansion of Rest. 
 
 Tlien Friendship enticed me to stray 
 
 Through the long magic wiles of Romance ; 
 But I found that she meant to betray, 
 
 And shrunk from the sorcerer's glance. 
 For experience has taught me to know 
 
 That the soul who reclines on his breast, 
 May toss on the billows of woe. 
 
 And ne'er find the Mansion of Rest. 
 
 Pleasure's path I determined to try. 
 
 But Reason I met in the way ; 
 Conviction flash'd light from her eye. 
 
 And appear'd to illumine my way. 
 She cried as she show'd me the grave, 
 
 With nettles and wild flowers dress'd. 
 O'er which the dark cypress did wave, 
 
 "Behold there the Mansion of Rest.!" 
 
132 HTLL-SIDK FLOWKRS. 
 
 She sj)ake and lialf-vanisli'd in air, 
 
 For she saw mild Religion appear 
 With a smile that might banish despair, 
 
 And dry np the penitent tear. 
 Doubts and fears from my bosom were driven, 
 
 And pressing the cross to her breast, 
 And pointing serenely to heaven. 
 
 She sbow'd the true Mansion of Rest ! 
 
SONNET. 133 
 
 FROM THE ITALIAN OP MICHAEL ANGELO. 
 
 Now my frail bark througli life's tempestuous 
 flood 
 Is steer'd, and full in view that port is seen 
 Where all must answer what their course has 
 been, 
 And every work be tried if bad or good. 
 Now do those lofty dreams, my fancy's brood, 
 Which made of art an idol and a queen. 
 Melt into air ; and now I feel, how keen ! 
 That what I needed most I most withstood. 
 Ye fabled joys ! ye tales of empty love ! 
 
 What are ye now, if two-fold death be nigh ? 
 The first is certain, and the last I dread. 
 Ah ! what does sculpture, what does painting 
 prove ? 
 When we liave seen the cross and fix'd our eye, 
 On Him whose arms of love were there out- 
 spread. 
 
134 
 
 IIILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 Cljiirs laitlj. 
 
 O THAT I liad tlij faitli, tlion gentle child ! 
 
 Thj trust in the bright futnre, and could see 
 Clearly, by human reasoning undefiled, 
 
 The spiritual land like thee. 
 
 Teach me thy love, thou meek philosopher ! 
 
 Show me thy nightly visions, bright-eyed seer! 
 Give me thy faith ! — why should I blindly err, 
 
 And shrink with conscious fear ? 
 
CHILD'S FAITH. 135 
 
 "Why should my soul be dark, while I can pour 
 Forth from my feeble longings, liglit on thine ? 
 
 "Why tremble I, when thou canst proudly soar ? 
 O that thy faith were mine ! 
 
 Death cannot chill thy heart, nor dim thine eye, 
 For thou dost fear it not ; thou hast no dread 
 
 In looking toward the future mystery — 
 No dark fears for the dead. 
 
 "With thee the dead are bless'd ; they have gone 
 forth 
 Thou know'st not whither, but to some fair 
 home. 
 Brighter, far brighter than our summer earth, 
 "Where sorrow cannot come. 
 
 It matters not to thee that angel guest 
 
 JSTor spirit hath come down to tell thee where, 
 
 In those delicious islands of the blest — 
 Thou know'st that they are there. 
 
 "What marvel then that thou shouldst shed no 
 tear. 
 Standing beside the dead that thou shouldst 
 wreathe 
 Tliyself with flowers, and thy bright beauty wear 
 E'en in the house of death ! 
 
136 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 O tliou undoubting one ! who from the Tree 
 Of Life hast pluck'd and eaten, well may'st 
 thou, 
 
 UnknoMdng evil, walk in spirit free 
 With thine unclouded brow ! 
 
 Thy faith is knowledge — and without a fear 
 Lookest thou onward in the light reveal'd ; 
 
 Thou blessed child ! in thee will I revere 
 The truth which God hath seal'd. 
 
 I will not doubt — like thee I will arise, 
 
 And clothe my soul in light, nor more repine 
 
 That life, and death, and heaven are mysteries — 
 Thy strong faith shall be mine. 
 
 Then may I see the beautiful depart. 
 
 The fair flowers of my spring-time fade and die, 
 
 AVith an unquestioning, unrebelling heart. 
 Strong in God's certainty. 
 
THE GENIUS OF DEATH 137 
 
 Cl]c (bniuB of initlj. 
 
 The Genius of Death Is beautifully represented in the " Gem " as a winged 
 boy, his weeping eyes covered with his left arm, and trailing a torch 
 •reversed in the right hand. 
 
 What is death ? 'T is to be free ! 
 
 No more to love, or hope, or fear- 
 To join the- great equality : 
 All alike are humbled there ! 
 The mighty grave 
 Wraps lord and slave ; 
 Nor pride nor poverty dares come 
 Within that refuge-home, the tomb ! 
 
 Spirit with the drooping wing, 
 
 And the ever-weeping eye, 
 Thou of all earth's kings art king ! 
 Empires at thy footstool lie ! 
 Beneath thee strew'd 
 Their multitude 
 Sink like waves upon the shore ; 
 Storms shall never rouse them moi'e ! 
 
138 HILL-SIDE FLOWEES. 
 
 What 's the grandeur of the earth 
 
 To the grandeur round thy throne ? 
 Riches, glory, beauty, birth, 
 To thy kingdom all have gone. 
 Before thee stand 
 The wondrous band ; 
 Bards, heroes, sages, side by side, 
 Who darken'd nations when they died! 
 
 Earth has hosts ; but thou canst show 
 
 Many a million for her one ; 
 Through thy gates the mortal flow 
 Has for countless years roll'd on. 
 Back from the tomb 
 No step has come ; 
 There fix'd, till the last thunder's sound 
 Shall bid thy prisoners be unbound ! 
 
FKIEND SORROW. 139 
 
 Do not cheat thy heart, and tell her 
 
 " Grief will pass away — 
 Hope for fairer times in future 
 
 And forget to-day." 
 Tell her, if you will, that sorrow 
 
 Need not come in vain ; 
 Tell her that the lesson taught her 
 
 Far outweighs the pain. 
 
 Cheat her not with the old comfort, 
 " Soon she will forget " — 
 
 Bitter truth, alas I but matter 
 Rather for regret. 
 
 Bid her not " Seek other pleasures- 
 Turn to other things :" 
 
 Rather nurse her caged sorrow 
 Till the captive sings. 
 
140 HILL-SIDE flowp:ks. 
 
 Kather bid her go forth bravely. 
 
 And the stranger greet, 
 Kot as foe, with shield and buckler, 
 
 But as dear friends meet. 
 Bid her with a strong clasp hold her 
 
 By her dusky wings ; 
 And she '11 whisper low and gently 
 
 Blessings that she brings. 
 
HOW peacefully! 141 
 
 fioto f^arefuUi 
 
 How peacefully they rest ! 
 
 Cross-folded there 
 Upon his little breast! 
 Those tiny hands that ne'er were still before ; 
 
 But ever sported with its mother's hair, 
 Or the bright gem that on her breast she wore ! 
 
 Her heart no more will beat 
 To feel the touch of that soft palm, 
 Tliat ever seem'd a new surprise, 
 Sending glad thoughts up to her eyes, 
 To bless him with their holy calm ; 
 Sweet thoughts, that left her eyes as sweet ! 
 
 How quiet are the hands 
 That wore those pleasant bands ! 
 But that they do not rise and sink 
 With his calm breathing, I should think 
 Tliat he were dropp'd asleep. 
 Alas ! too deep — too deep 
 
143 iriLL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 Is this his shimber ! 
 
 Time scarce can number 
 The years ere he will wake again — 
 O ! may we see his eyelids open then ! 
 
 He did bnt float a little way 
 Adown the stream of time, 
 With dreamy eyes watching the ripples play 
 And list'ning to their fairy chime. 
 
 His slender sail 
 
 ]S"e'er felt the gale ; 
 He did but float a little way, 
 
 And putting to the shore, 
 While yet 't was early day, 
 Went calmly on his way, 
 
 To dwell with us no more. 
 No jarring did he feel, 
 No grating on his vessel's keel. 
 A strip of silver sand 
 Mingled the waters with the land 
 Where he was seen no more ! 
 O ! stern word— never more ! 
 
MT BELOVED IS MINE, AND I AM HIS. 14-3 
 
 Ij ieloW is ^iii^, an^r | am '§xb. 
 
 N"oR time, nor place, nor chance nor death, can 
 bow 
 
 . My least desires unto the least remove ; 
 He 's firmly mine by oath, I His by vow ; 
 
 He 's mine by faith, and I am His by love ; 
 He 's mine by water, I am His by wine ; 
 Thus I my best Beloved's am — thus He is mine ! 
 
 He is my altar ; I His holy place ; 
 
 I am His guest, and He my living food ; 
 I 'm His by penitence ; He mine by grace ; 
 
 I 'm his by purchase ; He is mine by blood ; 
 He 's my supporting elm, and I His vine ; 
 Thus I my best Beloved's am — thus He is mine ! 
 
 He gives me wealth ; I give Him all my vows ; 
 
 I give him songs ; He gives me length of days ; 
 With wreaths of grace He crowns my conquer- 
 ing brows. 
 
 And I His temples, with a crown of praise 
 Which He accepts ; an everlasting sign 
 That I mv best Beloved's am — that He is mine ! 
 
144 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 €mlnt 
 
 Speak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet, 
 From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low, 
 Lest I should fear and fall, and miss thee so, 
 
 Who art not miss'd by any that entreat. 
 
 Speak to me as to Maiy at thy feet— 
 
 And if no precious gums my hands bestow. 
 Let my tears drop like amber ; while I go 
 
 In reach of thy divinest voice complete 
 
 In hiimanest affection — 'thus, in sooth. 
 To lose the sense of losing ! As a child. 
 Whose song-bird seeks the wood for ever- 
 more, 
 
 Is sung to in its stead by mother's mouth ; 
 Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled, 
 He sleeps the faster that lie wept before. 
 
BUMMER STUDIES. 145 
 
 TO A FHIEND WHO COMPLAINED THAT HE COULD NOT STUDY IN JUSB. 
 
 Why sliouldst thou study in the mouth of June 
 In dusky books of Greek and Hebrew lore, 
 
 AVhen the Great Teacher of all glorious things 
 Passes in hourly light before thy door ? . 
 
 There is a brighter book unrolling now ; 
 
 Fair are its leaves as is the tree of heaven, 
 All vein'd, and dew'd,and gemm'd with wondrous 
 signs. 
 
 To which a healing, mystic power is given. 
 
 A thousand voices to its study call 
 From the fair hill-top, from the waterfall ; 
 Where the bird singeth, and the yellow bee, 
 And tlie breeze talketli from the airy tree. 
 
 IS'ow is that glorious resurrection time, 
 
 When all earth's buried beauties have new 
 birth ; 
 
 Behold the yearly miracle complete^ 
 
 God hath created a new heaven and earth I 
 
146 HILL-SIDE FL0WEE8. 
 
 No tree that wants liis joyful garment now ; 
 
 No flower but hastes his bravery to don ; 
 God bids thee to this marriage-feast of joy, 
 
 Let thy soul put the wedding garment on. 
 
 All fringed with festal gold the barbeiTy stands ; 
 
 Tlie ferns exultant clap their new-made wings ; 
 The hemlock nestles broideries of fresh green, 
 
 And thousand bells of pearl the blueberry 
 rings. 
 
 The long, light fingers of the old white pines 
 Do beckon thee into the flickering wood, 
 Where moving spots of light show mystic flowers, 
 And wavering music fills the dreamy hours. 
 
 Hast thou no time for all this wondrous show — ■ 
 No thought to spare ? Wilt thou forever be 
 
 With thy last year's dry flower-stalk and dead 
 leaves, 
 And no new shoot or blossom on thy tree 2 
 
 See how the pines push ofi" their last year's leaves. 
 And stretch beyond them with exultant bound ; 
 
 The grass and flowers with living power o'ergrow 
 Their last year's remnants on the greening 
 ground. 
 
SUMMER 8'rUl:)lES, 147 
 
 Wilt thou, then, all thy wintry feelings keep, 
 Tlie old dead routine of thy book-writ lore ; 
 
 Kor deem that God can teach by one bright hour 
 What life hath never taught to thee before ? 
 
 See what vast leisure, what unbounded rest. 
 Lie in the bending dome of the blue sky ; 
 
 Ah 1 breathe that life-born languor from thy 
 breast. 
 And know once more a child's unreasoning joy. 
 
 Cease, cease to think, and be content to be ; 
 
 Swing safe at anchor in fair ITature's bay ; 
 Eeason no more, but o'er thy quiet soul 
 
 Let God's sweet teachings ripple their soft w^ay- 
 
 Soar with the bird, and flutter with the leaf; 
 
 Dance with the seeded grass in fringy play ; 
 Sail with the cloud; wave with the dreaming 
 pine. 
 
 And float with Nature all the live4ong day. 
 
 Call not- such hours an idle waste of life ; 
 
 Land that lies fallow gains a quiet power ; 
 It treasures from the brooding of God's wings 
 
 Strength to unfold the future tree and flower. 
 
148 MILL-SIDE J'LoWfiES. 
 
 So sliall it be with thee if, restful still, 
 
 Thou rightly studiest in the summer hour ; 
 
 Like a deep fountain which a brook doth fill, 
 Thy mind in seeming rest shall gather power. 
 
 And when the summer^s glorious show is past, 
 Its miracles no longer charm thy sight ; 
 
 The treasured riches of these thoughtful hours 
 Shall make thy wintry musings warm and 
 
 briorht. 
 
KUTH. 
 
 151 
 
 BTTaOBSTED BY A STATUE EXECUTED BY MR. BOaERS, IN PLOEENOE. 
 
 From age to age, from clime to clime, 
 A spirit bright as her own morn, 
 
 She walks the golden fields of Time, 
 As erst amid the yellow corn. 
 
 A form o'er which the hallo w'd vail 
 Of years bequeaths a lovelier light. 
 
 As w^hen the mists of morning sail 
 Bound some far isle to make it bright. 
 
 And as some reaper 'mid the grain, 
 Or binder resting o'er his sheaf, 
 
 Beheld her on the orient plain, 
 A passing vision, bright and brief; 
 
 And while he gazed, let fall, perchance, 
 
 Tlie sheaf or sickle from his hand- 
 Thus, even here, as in a trance, 
 Before her kneeling form I stand. 
 
152 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 But not as then she comes and goes 
 
 To live in memoiy alone ; 
 The perfect soul before me glows 
 
 Immortal in the living stone. 
 
 And while upon her face I gaze, 
 And scan her rarely rounded form, 
 
 The glory of her native days 
 
 Comes floating o'er me soft and warm ;- 
 
 Comes floating, till this shadowy place 
 Brightens to noontide, and receives 
 
 The breath of that old harvest space. 
 With all its sunshine and its slieaves ! 
 
CHOICE COMPANIE. 163 
 
 I SIT beside the foaming fall 
 
 Afar in the wild glen, 
 I hear above the sheep-dog's call, 
 
 But not the voice of men- 
 Yet I 'm not lonely,— for to me 
 My own sad thoughts are companie ! 
 
 I 've left a fair and joyous crowd 
 Who will not dim one smile, 
 
 I^or bate a note of laughter loud 
 Though I am gone the while^ 
 
 Yet am I lonely ? No ! to me 
 
 Hy own sad thoughts are companie ! 
 
 'T is lonelier far, than so to sit, 
 
 Away from human din, 
 To join a crowd, yet be of it 
 
 A part— but not akin ! 
 O is 't not sweeter thus to be 
 Where my sad thoughts make companie? 
 
154 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS, 
 
 They never, like a sunsliine friend, 
 
 "Without a shadow leave ; 
 The heart they 've taught a bliss to find, 
 
 In what Gould once but grieve ! 
 There comes a time to all, as me, 
 When sad thoughts are beat companier 
 
AT NIGIIT. 
 
 155 
 
 X. 
 
 FROM THE GF.HMAX OP KORXER, 
 
 (tooi:) night I 
 Thus the weary we invite, 
 Waning day in silence flows, 
 Xow all busy hands repose, 
 Till the darkness M'akes to liglit. 
 (toocI Jiight I 
 
156 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 Seek repose ! 
 Let the weary eye-lids close ! 
 Silence reignetli in the streets, 
 With his horn the watchman greets, 
 ^^nd the night cries, as it Hows, 
 Seek repose ! 
 
 Gently rest ! 
 Slumber on 'mid visions bless'd ! 
 He whom love has robb'd of peace, 
 May he find in dreams release. 
 As if she her love confess'd ! 
 Gently rest ! 
 
 Good night ! 
 Sleep till day-spring wakes on high, 
 Fearlessly, until the day 
 Show^s new cares upon thy way ; 
 Watchful is the Father's eye ! 
 Good night ! 
 
THE EAR OF FAITH. 157 
 
 I HAVE seen 
 A CTirioiis child, who dwelt upon a tract 
 Of inland ground, applying to his ear 
 The convolutions of a smooth-lipp'd shell : 
 To which, in silence hush'd, his ver}^ soul 
 Listen'd intensely ;•— and his countenance soon 
 Brighten'd with joy ; for murm'rings from within 
 Were heard— sonorous cadences ! whereby, 
 To his belief, the monitor express'd 
 Mysterious union with its native sea. 
 Even such a shell the universe itself 
 Is to the ear of Faith, 
 
158 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 Can angel-spirits need repose 
 In the full sun-light of the sky ? 
 
 And can the vail of slumber close 
 A cherub's bright and dazzling eye ? 
 
 Have seraphim a weary brow, 
 
 A fainting heart, an aching breast ? 
 
 JSTo ! for too high their pulses flow 
 To languish with inglorious rest, 
 
 How could they sleep amid the bliss, 
 The banquet of delight above ? 
 
 Or bear for one short hour to miss 
 The vision of the Lord they love ? 
 
 O ! not the death-like calm of sleep 
 Could still the everlasting sons:! 
 
 x^o fairy dream, no slumber deep, 
 Entrance the ra]it anO Ih'Iv tlirong ! 
 
THERE WAS SILENCE IN HEAVEN. 159 
 
 Yet not the lightest tone was heard 
 From angel voice, or angel hand ; 
 
 And not one plumed pinion stirr'd 
 Among the bowed and blissful band. 
 
 For there was silence in the sky, 
 A joy not angel tongues could tell, 
 
 As from its mystic font on high 
 The peace of God in silence fell. 
 
 O what is silence here below — 
 The quiet of conceal'd despair ? 
 
 The pause of pain, the dream of woe ? 
 It is the rest of rapture there. 
 
 And to the way-worn pilgrim here. 
 More kindred seems the perfect peace 
 
 Than the full chant of joy to hear 
 KoU on, and never, never cease. 
 
 From earthly agonies set free, 
 Tired with the path too slowly trod, 
 
 May such a silence welcome me 
 Into the palace of my God ! 
 
160 HIIj1,-SIPE FI.OWEBS, 
 
 Cotitfinjlatiau. 
 
 He sat within a silent cave, apart 
 
 From men, upon a chair of diamond stone ; 
 
 Words he had not, companions he had none, 
 But steadfastly pursued his thoughtful art ; 
 And as he mused he pulled a slender string 
 
 Which evermore within his hands he held ; 
 
 And the dim curtain rose, which had concealed 
 His thoughts ; the citj^ of the immortal King, — 
 
 There, pictured in its solemn pomp it lay, 
 A glorious country stretching round about, 
 And through its golden gates, pass'd in and out 
 
 Men of all nations, on their heavenly way. 
 On this he mused, and mused the whole day 
 
 long, 
 Feeding his feeble faitli till it grew strong. 
 
JERUSALEM. 163 
 
 Fair shines the moon, Jerusalem, 
 
 Upon the hills that wore 
 Tliy glory once, their diadem 
 
 Ere Judah's reign was o'er ; 
 The stars on hallowed Olivet 
 
 And over Zion burn ; 
 But when shall rise thy splendor set? 
 
 Thy majesty return ? 
 
 The peaceful shades that wrap thee now 
 
 Tliy desolation hide ; 
 Tlie moon-lit beauty of thy brow 
 
 Restores thine ancient pride ; 
 Yet then when Rome thy Temple rent. 
 
 The dews of midnight wet 
 Tlie marble dome of Om.ar's tent, 
 
 And Aksa's minaret. 
 
 Thy strength, Jerusalem, is o'er. 
 
 And broten are thy walls ; 
 The harp of Israel sounds no more 
 
 In thy deserted halls : 
 
164 HILL-SIPE FLOWERS. 
 
 But where tby kings and prophets stood, 
 
 Triumphant over death, 
 Behold the living soul of God, 
 
 The Christ of Nazareth. 
 
 The halo of His presence tills 
 
 Thy courts, thy ways of men ; 
 His footsteps on thy holy hills 
 
 Are beautiful as then ; 
 Tlie prayer, whose bloody sweat betray'd 
 
 His human agony, 
 Still haunts the awful olive shade 
 
 Of old Gethsemane, 
 
 Woe unto thee, Jerusalem! 
 
 Slayer of Prophets thou, 
 That in thy fury stonest them 
 
 God sent, and sends thee now ;— - 
 Where thou, O Christ ! with anguisli spent, 
 
 Forgave thy foes, and died ; 
 Tliy garments yet are daily rent— » 
 
 Thy soul is crucified I 
 
 They darken with the Christian name 
 Tlie light that from thee beam'd ; 
 
 And by the hatred they proclaim 
 Thy Spirit is blasphemed. 
 
JERUSALEM. 165 
 
 Unto thine ears the prayers they send 
 
 "Were fit for Belial's reign ; 
 And Moslem cimeters defend 
 
 The temple they profane. 
 
 Who shall rebuild Jerusalem ? 
 
 Her scatter'd children bring 
 From Earth's far ends^ and gather them 
 
 Beneath her shelt'ring wing? 
 For Judah's scepter broken lies, 
 
 And from his kingly stem 
 Ko new Messiah shall arise 
 
 For lost Jerusalem ! 
 
 But let the wild ass on her hilk 
 
 Its foal unfrighted lead ; 
 And by the source of Kedron's rills 
 
 The desert adder breed : 
 For when the love of Christ has made 
 
 Its mansion in the heart, 
 He builds in j)omp that will not fade 
 
 Her heavenly counterpart. 
 
 How long, O Christ! shall men obscure 
 
 Thy holy charity ? 
 How long the godless rites endure 
 
 Which they bestow on thee ? 
 
166 KILL-SIDE FLOWERS, 
 
 Thoiij ill whose soul of tenderness 
 The Father's mercy shone, 
 
 Who camcj the sons -of men to bless 
 By Truth and Love alone^ 
 
 The suns of eighteen hundred years 
 
 Have seen thy reign expand, 
 And Morning, on her pathway, hears 
 
 Thy name in every land ; 
 But where thy sacred steps were sent 
 
 The Father's will to bide. 
 Thy garments yet are daily rent — - 
 
 Thy soul is crucified I 
 
STANZAS. 167 
 
 PnOM THE PHENCH OF DE LAMARTINE. 
 
 Within my breast I said, O what is life? 
 
 Shall I still follow those before me gone ? 
 Tread the broad way so often travel'd o'er, 
 
 And man's immortal folly make mine own ? 
 
 One seeks for treasures on the mighty deep — 
 His hopes, his vessel, sleep beneath the wave ; 
 
 Another climbs the dazzling heights of Fame, 
 And while resound the echoes — ^finds a grave. 
 
 One, with our varied passions, weaves his plot ; 
 
 He founds a throne, and mounts thereon to fall ; 
 Another reads his fate in woman's eyes. 
 
 And fetter'd, dies in Beauty's silken thrall. 
 
 The sluggard in the arms of hunger sleeps ; 
 
 The laborer guides the fertilizing plow ; 
 The sage reflects and reads ; the warrior strikes ; 
 
 And care knits close the beggar's weary brow. 
 
168 HILL-SIDE FLOWEES, 
 
 And wliitlier go they? where the sere leaves go 
 Flying before the winter's dreary blast ; 
 
 The generations which Time sows and reaps 
 Thus in their labors fade— and they are past. 
 
 And in the struggle Time is conqueror ; 
 
 As the full stream engulfs its sandy shore 
 So he devours these transitory shades : 
 
 They live— they die— and they are seen no 
 more, 
 
 I sing the Master I adore, amid 
 
 The city's din, and in the deserts calm ; 
 
 In forest glade, or on the trackless sea, 
 
 When morning wakes, or evening breathes her 
 balm. 
 
 The earth demands. Who is the Lord? 'TisHe 
 Whose soul immense pervades the realms of 
 space ; 
 
 Whose single step measures infinity, 
 
 By whom the Sun in glory runs his race. 
 
 'Tis He ! it is the Lord ! let me repeat 
 To earth's inhabitants His glorious name; 
 
 A golden lamp before His altars hung, 
 
 I '11 shine for Him until He part my frame. 
 
THE ANGELS OF GRIEF. 169 
 
 With silence only as their benediction 
 
 God's angels come, 
 "Where, in the shadow of a great affliction, 
 
 Tlie soul sits dumb. 
 
 Yet would we say, what every heart approveth, 
 
 Our Father's will, 
 Calling to Him the dear ones whom He loveth, 
 
 Is mercy still. 
 
 Not upon us or ours the solemn angel 
 
 Hath evil wrought ; 
 The funeral anthem is a glad evangel — 
 
 The good die not ! 
 
 God calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly 
 
 What he has given ; 
 They live on earth, in thought and deed, as truly 
 
 As his in heaven. 
 8 
 
170 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 %um 
 
 BCOGBSTBD flY THE SIGHT OF SOME LATE AUTUMN FL0WER3. 
 
 Those few pale autumn flowers, 
 
 How beautiful they are ! 
 Than all that went before, 
 Than all the summer store, 
 
 How lovelier far ! 
 
 And why ? They are the last ! 
 
 The last 1 the last ! the last ! 
 O ! by that little word 
 How many thoughts are stirr'd ; 
 
 The sister of the past I 
 
 Pale flowers ! pale perishing flowers 
 
 Ye 're types of precious things ; 
 Types of those bitter moments, 
 That flit, like life's enjoyments, 
 On rapid, rapid wings. 
 
LINES. 171 
 
 Last hours with parting dear ones, 
 (That time the fastest spends,) 
 
 Last tears in silence shed, 
 
 Last words half uttered, 
 Last looks of dying friends. 
 
 Who but would fain compress 
 
 A life into a day — 
 The last day spent with one 
 Who, ere the morrow's sun. 
 
 Must leave us, and for aye ? 
 
 O precious, precious moments 1 
 
 Pale flowers I ye 're types of those ; 
 
 The saddest ! sweetest ! dearest ! 
 
 Because, like those, the nearest 
 To an eternal close. 
 
 Pale flowers ! pale, perishing flowers ! 
 
 I woo your gentle breath. 
 I leave the summer rose — 
 For younger, blither brows. 
 
 Tell me of change and death. 
 
172 HILL-SIDE FL0WEK8. 
 
 Time is a river deep and wide ; 
 
 And while along its banks we stray, 
 We see our loved ones o'er its tide 
 
 Sail from our sight away, away. 
 Where are they sped — 'they who return 
 
 ISTo more to glad our longing eyes ? 
 They 've passed from Life's contracted bourne, 
 
 To land unseen, unknown, that lies 
 Beyond the river. 
 
 'T is hid from view ; but we may guess 
 
 How beautiful that realm must be ; 
 For gleaniings of its loveliness, 
 
 In visions granted, oft we see. 
 The very clouds that o'er it throw 
 
 Their vail unraised for mortal sight, 
 With gold and purple tintings glow, 
 
 Reflected from the glorious light 
 Beyond the river. 
 
BEYOND THE EIVEE. 173 
 
 And gentle airs, so sweet, so calm, 
 
 Steal sometimes from that viewless sphere ; 
 The mourner feels their breath of balm, 
 
 And sootlied sorrow dries the tear. 
 Sometimes the list'ning ear may gain 
 
 Entrancing sound that hither floats, 
 The echo of a distant strain, 
 
 Of harps and voices' blended notes, 
 Beyond the river. 
 
 There are our loved ones in their rest ; 
 
 Tliej've cross'd Time's River— now no more 
 They heed the bubbles on its breast, 
 
 l!^or feel the storms that sweep its shore. 
 But there pure love can live, can last— 
 
 They look for us their home to share ; 
 When we in turn away have pass'd, 
 
 What joyful greetings wait us there, 
 Beyond the river. 
 
174 HILL-SIPE FLOWERS. 
 
 % Ppni 0f itiglt. 
 
 " Bright effluenoe of bright essence increate ! 
 
 Before the sun, before the heavens, thou wert."— ^Milton. 
 
 From the quickened womb of the primal gloom 
 
 The sun roll'd black and bare, 
 Till I wove him a vest for his ^thiop breast, 
 
 Of the threads of my golden hair ; 
 And when the broad tent of the firmament 
 
 Arose on its airy spars, 
 I pencil'd the hue of its matchless blue, 
 
 And spangled it round with stars. 
 
 I painted the flowers of the Eden bowers, 
 
 And their leaves of living green ; 
 And mine were the dyes in the sinless eyes 
 
 Of Eden's virgin queen ; 
 And when the Fiend's art on her trustful heart 
 
 Had fasten'd its mortal spell. 
 In the silvery sphere of the first-born tear, 
 
 To the trembling earth I fell. 
 
A HYMN OF LIGHT. 175 
 
 When the waves that burst o'er a world accurs'd, 
 
 Their work of wrath had sped, 
 And the Ark's lone few, the tried and true, 
 
 Came forth among the dead ; 
 "With the wondrous gleams of mj braided beams, 
 
 I bade their terrors cease, 
 As I wrote on the roll of the storm's dark scroll 
 
 God's covenant of peace. 
 
 Like a pall at rest on a pulseless breast 
 
 Night's funeral shadow slept, 
 Where shepherd swains on the Bethlehem plains 
 
 Their lonely vigils kept; 
 When I flash'd on their sight the heralds bright 
 
 Of Heaven's redeeming plan. 
 As they chanted the morn of a Saviour bom — • 
 
 Joy, joy to the outcast Han ! 
 
 Equal favor I show to the lofty and low. 
 On the just and unjust I descend ; 
 
 E'en the blind, whose vain spheres roll in dark- 
 ness and tears, 
 Feel mv smile tlie best smile of a friend : 
 
176 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 JSTay, tlie flower of the waste by my love is em- 
 braced, 
 
 As the rose in the garden of kings ; 
 At tbe cbrysalis bier of tbe worm I appear, 
 
 And lo ! the gay butterfly's wings ! 
 
 From my sentinel steep, by the night-brooded 
 deep, 
 
 I gaze with nnslumbering eye. 
 When the cynosure star of the mariner 
 
 Is blotted from the sky; 
 And guided by me through the merciless sea, 
 
 Though sped by the hurricane's wings. 
 His compassless bark, lone, weltering, dark. 
 
 To the haven-home safely he brings. 
 
 I waken the flowers in their dew-spangled bowers. 
 
 The birds in their chambers of green. 
 And mountain and plain glow with beauty again 
 
 As they bask in my matinal sheen. 
 O ! if such the glad worth of my presence to earth, 
 
 Tliough fitful and fleeting the while, 
 "What glories must rest on the homes of the blest, 
 
 Ever bright with the Deity's smile ! 
 
NEHEMIAH TO ARTAXEEXES. 179 
 
 Nehemiah 11. 
 
 'T IS sorrow, O king ! of the heart, 
 
 Not anguish of body or limb, 
 That causes the hue from vaj cheek to depart, 
 
 And mine eye to grow rayless and dim. 
 
 'T is the mem'ry of Salem -afar. 
 
 Of Salem the city of God, 
 In darkness now wrapp'd like the moon and 
 the star 
 
 When the tempests of night are abroad. 
 
 Tlie walls of the city are razed. 
 The gates of the city are burn'd ; 
 
 And the temple of God, where my fathers have 
 praised. 
 To the ashes of ruin are turn'd. 
 
 The palace of kings is consumed, 
 
 Where the timbrels were wont to resound ; 
 And the sepulchre domes, like the bones they 
 entomb'd. 
 
 Are mold'ring away in the ground. 
 
180 HILL-SIUE FLOWERS. 
 
 And the fugitive remnant that bi'eathe 
 In the land that their fathers have trod, 
 
 Sit in sorrow and gloom; for a shadow like 
 death 
 O'erhangs every wretched abode. 
 
 I have wept, I have fasted, and pray'd 
 To the great and the terrible God, 
 
 For this city of mine that in ruin is laid. 
 And my brethren wlio smart by his rod. 
 
 And now I beseech thee, O king! 
 
 If favor I find in thy sight. 
 That I may revisit my liome, where the wing 
 
 Of destruction is spread like the night. 
 
 And when I to Shushan return 
 
 From rebuilding my forefather's tomb, 
 
 Ko more shall the heart of thy cup-bearer burn 
 With those sorrows that melt and consume. 
 
LITTLE CHILDREN. 181 
 
 Weep not for them ! it is no cause for sorrow 
 That their's was no long pathway to the tomb ; 
 
 They had one bright to-day ; no sad to-morrow 
 Rising in hope, and darkening into gloom. 
 
 Weep not for them ! their snowy plumes expanded 
 E'en now are waving through the worlds of 
 light ; 
 
 Perchance, on messages of love remanded, 
 Tliey sweep across your chambers in the night. 
 
 Weep not for them ! Give teai-s unto the living ! 
 
 O waste no vain regret on lot like theirs ! 
 But rather make it reason for thanlcsgiving 
 
 Tliat ye have nurtured angels unawares ! 
 
182 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 C'^^ |mag^ 0f t|^ feair. 
 
 True indeed it is 
 That they whom death hath hidden from our sight 
 Are worthiest of the mind's regard ; with tliera 
 The future cannot contradict the past. 
 Mortality's last exercise and proof 
 Is undergone.— "Wordsworth. 
 
 I CALL tliee bless'd ! tliougli now the voice be fled 
 
 Which to thy soul brought day-spring with its 
 
 tone, 
 
 And o'er the gentle eyes though dust be spread, 
 
 Eyes that ne'er look'd on thine but light was 
 
 thrown 
 
 Tar through thy breast : 
 
 And though the music of thy life be broken. 
 
 Or changed in every chord since he is gone- 
 Feeling all this, even yet, by many a token, 
 O thou, the deeply, but the brightly lone, 
 I call thee bless'd I 
 
THE IMAGE OF THE DEAD. 183 
 
 For in thy lieart there is a holy spot, 
 
 As mid the waste an isle of fount and palm, 
 
 Forever gone ! the world's breath enters not. 
 The passion tempests may not break its calm : 
 'Tis thine, all thine! 
 
 Thither, in trust unbaffled, mayst thou turn 
 From weary words, cold greetings, heartless 
 eyes, 
 Quenching thy soul's thirst at the hidden urn 
 That, fiU'd with waters of sweet mem'ry, lies 
 In its own shrine. 
 
 Thou hast thy home ! there is no power in change 
 To reach that temple of the past — -no sway 
 
 In all Time brings, of sudden, dark, or strange, 
 To sweep the still, transparent peace away 
 From its hush'd air. 
 
 And O ! that glorious image of the dead ! 
 
 Sole thing whereon a deathless love may rest, 
 And in deep faith and dreamy worship shed 
 
 Its high gifts fearlessly !— I call thee bless'd, 
 If onlv there ! 
 
184r HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 Bless'd ; for the beautiful within thee dwelling, 
 Never to fade !— a refuge from distrust, 
 
 A spring of purer life, still freshly welling. 
 To clothe the barrenness of earthly dust 
 With flowers divine. 
 
 And thou hast been beloved !— it is no dream, 
 No false mirage for thee — the fervent love, 
 
 The rainbow still unreach'd, the ideal gleam, 
 That ever seems before, beyond, above. 
 Far off to shine. 
 
 But thou, from all the daughters of the earth 
 Singled and mark'd, bast known its home and 
 place ; 
 And the high memory of its holy worth 
 To this our life a glory and a grace 
 For thee hath given. 
 
 And art thou not still fondly, truly loved ? 
 
 Thou art! — the love his spirit bore away 
 Was not for earth ! — a treasure but removed, 
 
 A bright bird parted for a clearer day — 
 Thine still in heaven ! 
 
COTTAGE CHILDREN, 185 
 
 Cottage Cljilteit. 
 
 WEITTEN AMONG THE HILLS OF YARROW, 
 
 Heaven bless ye ! ye dear little sons of tlie hut! 
 
 "Why startle and run from your play, boys ? 
 Do the sound and the sight of strangers affright? 
 
 Then surely but few pass this way, boys : 
 Tet sweet is your cottage that stands all alone, 
 And smooth is the sward of your vale, boys ; 
 And dear is each crook of the whisp'ring brook 
 That bids it each moment farewell, boys. 
 
 And high are the hills that enclose you 
 around. 
 Where your flocks ever peacefully feed, 
 boys; 
 And blue is the sky that attracts your 
 
 young eye 
 As it rests on your green mountain's head, 
 boys. 
 
 Here meek Meditation might love to reside, 
 To silence and solitude given ; 
 
186 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 And calm as they glido might the hours divide 
 Between her mild home and the Heaven ! 
 Ah, children, but small is this valley of 
 yours, 
 It is all the world that you know, boys ! 
 Yet behind that high mound lies a world 
 
 without bound. 
 But alas I 't is a world full of woe, boys. 
 
 From the height of yon hill, looking onward 
 afar. 
 The valley may charm by its smile, boys ; 
 But approach it more near, and 't will rugged 
 appear, 
 And beset is each scene with a toil, boys. 
 
 Then quit not your cottage, ye sons of the 
 wild. 
 And still of your mountain be fond, 
 boys; 
 For what do you lose but a myriad of 
 woes 
 By knowing not what is beyond, boys? 
 
 And sleep with your fathers ! how soothing the 
 thought ! 
 When the sun-tide of life is gone by, boys. 
 
COTTAGE CHILDREN. 18Y 
 
 Give your clay to the sod, and your souls to the 
 God 
 Who dwells in yon bright azure sky, boys. 
 Let the moss-covered seat, and the shade 
 of the thorn, 
 Which were dear to your fathers, be 
 thine, boys ; 
 And the hut which now rears your infan- 
 tile years, 
 Let it shield, too, your hoary decline, boys. 
 
188 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 Comb, with, thy downy wings, soft to my pillow ; 
 
 Scatter (fresh-gathered) thy poppies around ; 
 Truce bring to care— bring a respite to sorrow ; 
 
 Darken the window, and hush every sound. 
 
 Come, with thy chalice fiU'd, just from the foun- 
 tain, 
 
 Causing forgetfulness still with the sip, — 
 Rest to the weary limbs— peace to the troubled — 
 
 Waters of Lethe to moisten the lip. 
 
 Come, with thy signet, the eye-lids impressing ; 
 
 Shut out the world, with its toils, from the view. 
 Hopes all and fears all, — -its pains and its 
 pleasures. 
 
 Its light and its shadows — adieu ! and adieu ! 
 
PRAYEK DURING BATTLE. 189 
 
 f rapr Iruring ^attlt 
 
 Father, I call on Thee ! 
 Roaring) the cannons hurl round me their clouds ! 
 Flashing, the lightning bursts wildly its shrouds ! 
 
 Grod of battles, I call upon thee I 
 Father, O guide thou me ! 
 
 Father, O guide Thou me ! 
 Lead me to victory, lead me to death ! 
 Lord, I' 11 acknowledge thee with my last breath. 
 
 Lord, as thou listest, guide thou me I 
 God, I acknowledge thee 1 
 
 God, I acknowledge thee ! 
 As when the autumn-leaves fall to the ground, 
 So, when the thunders of battle resound. 
 
 Fountain of mercy, I recognize Thee. 
 Father, O bless thou me 1 
 
 Father, O bless thou me ! 
 E'en to thy guidance my life I will trust, 
 Thou gavest me life, thou canst turn me to dust ; 
 
 Li life or in death, be thy blessing on me ! 
 Father, I honor thee I 
 
190 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 Father, I honor thee ! 
 'T is not a fight for this world's golden hoard ; 
 Holy is what we protect with the sword, 
 
 Hence, falling or vanquishing, praise be to thee ! 
 God, I submit to thee ! 
 
 God, I submit to thee I 
 When round me roar the dread thunders of death. 
 When my veins' torrent shall drain my last breath, 
 Then, O my God, I submit unto thee ! 
 
 Father, I call on thee 1 
 
•»%r 
 
MILTON ON HIS LOSS OF BIGHT. 193 
 
 ilt0u 011 \}U IToss 0f S'igljt. 
 
 I AM old and blind ! 
 Men point at me as smitten by God's frown ; 
 Afflicted, and deserted of my kind, 
 
 Yet I am not cast down. 
 
 I am weak, yet strong ; 
 I murmur not that I no longer see ; 
 Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong. 
 
 Father supreme, to thee ! 
 
 O merciful One ! 
 When men are farthest then Thou art most near ; 
 When friends pass by, my helplessness to shun, 
 
 Thy chariot I hear : 
 
 Thy glorious face 
 
 ^Is leaning toward me, and its holy light 
 
 Shines in upon my lonely dwelling-place— 
 
 And there is no more night. 
 9 
 
194 IIILL-SIDE P^LOWERS. 
 
 On my bended knee 
 I recognize Thy purpose, clearly shown ; 
 My vision Thou hast dimni'd that I may see 
 
 Thyself, Thyself alone. 
 
 I have naught to fear ; 
 This darkness is the shadow of Thy wing ; 
 Beneath it I am almost sacred — 'here 
 
 Can come no evil thing. 
 
 O ! I seem to stand 
 Trembling where foot of mortal ne'er hath been, 
 Wrapp'd in the radiance of Thy sinless land 
 
 Which eye hath never seen. 
 
 Visions come and go ; 
 Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng ; 
 From angel lips I seem to hear the flow 
 
 Of soft and holy song. 
 
 It is nothing now, 
 When Heaven is opening on my sightless eyes ; 
 When airs from Paradise refresh my brow 
 
 That earth in darkness lies. 
 
MILTON ON HIS LOSS OF SIGHT. 195 
 
 In a purer clime 
 My being fills with rapture — waves of thought 
 Eoll in upon my spirit — strains sublime 
 
 Break over me unsought. 
 
 Give me now my lyre ! 
 I feel the stirrings of a gift divine ; 
 Within my bosom glows unearthly fire, 
 
 Lit by no skill of mine. 
 
196 HILL-SIDE FL0WEE8. 
 
 The red light shone through the open door, 
 From the round declining sun ; 
 
 And fantastic shadows all about 
 On the dusty floor were thrown, 
 
 As the factory clock told the hour of five. 
 And the school was almost done. 
 
 The mingled hum of the busy town 
 Rose faint from her lower plain ; 
 
 And we saw the steeple over the trees 
 With its motionless golden vane ; 
 
 And heard the cattle's musical low, 
 And the rustle of standing grain. 
 
 In the open casement a Kngering bee 
 
 Murmured a drowsy tune ; 
 And from the upland meadows a song, 
 
 In the lulls of the afternoon, 
 Had come on the air that wander'd by 
 
 Laden with the scents of June. 
 
A STORY OF SCHOOL. 197 
 
 Our tasks were finish'd and lessons said, 
 And we sat, all hushed and still. 
 
 Listening to catch the purl of the brook. 
 And the whirl of the distant mill ; 
 
 And waiting the word of dismissal that yet 
 Waited the master's will. 
 
 The master was old, and his form was bent. 
 And scatter'd and white his hair ; 
 
 But his heart was young, and there ever dwelt 
 A calm and kindly air. 
 
 Like a halo over a pictured saint, 
 On his face marked deep with care. 
 
 His eyes were closed, and his wrinkled hands 
 
 Were folded over his vest. 
 As wearily back in his old arm-chair 
 
 He reclined as if to rest ; 
 And the golden, streaming sunlight fell 
 
 On his brow and down his breast. 
 
 We waited in reverent silence long. 
 
 And silence the master kept ; 
 Though still the accustomed saintly smile 
 
198 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 Over his features crept ; 
 And we thought, worn with the lengthened 
 
 toil 
 Of the summer's day, he slept. 
 
 So we quietly rose and left our seats, 
 
 And outward into the sun, 
 From the gathering shades of the dusty room, 
 
 Stole silently, one by one ; 
 For we knew, by the distant striking clock. 
 
 It was time the school was done. 
 
 , And left the master, sleeping alone — 
 
 Alone in his high-back'd chair ; 
 With his eyelids closed, and his wither'd pahns 
 
 Folded as if in prayer ; 
 And the mingled light and smile on his face — 
 
 And we knew not death was there ! 
 
 Kor knew that, just as the clock struck five, 
 
 His kindly soul away 
 A shadowy messenger silently bore 
 
 From his trembling house of clay. 
 To be a child with the saints of heaven, 
 
 And to dwell with Christ alway ! 
 
NOT TO MYSELF ALONE. 
 
 199 
 
 fat t0 Mndi %hnL 
 
 " ISToT to myself alone," 
 The little opening flower transported cries; 
 " Not to myself alone I bud and bloom, 
 With fragrant breath the breezes I perfume, 
 And gladden all things with my rainbow dyes. 
 The bee comes sipping every eventide 
 
 His dainty fill : 
 The butterfly within my cup doth hide 
 From threat'ning ill." 
 
 '• Not to myself alone," 
 The circling star with honest pride doth boast; 
 " Not to myself alone I rise and set ; 
 I write upon night's coronet of jet 
 His power and skill who form'd our myriad host ; 
 A friendly beacon at heaven's open gate, 
 
 I gem the sky, 
 That man might ne'er forget, in every fate, 
 Plis hope on high." 
 
200 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 " ISrbt to myself alone,'' 
 The heavy-laden bee doth mnrm'ring hum ; 
 " Not to myself alone from flower to flower 
 I roam the wood, the garden, and the bower, 
 And to the hive at evening weary come. 
 For man, for man, the luscious food I pile 
 "With busy care. 
 Content if he repay my cheerful toil 
 With scanty share." 
 
 " Not to myself alone," 
 The soaring bird with lusty pinion sings ; 
 " Not to myself alone I raise my song^ 
 I cheer the drooping with my warbling tongue. 
 And bear the mourner on my viewless wings — 
 I bid the hymnless churl my anthem learn, 
 
 And God adore — 
 I call the worldling from his dross to turn, 
 And sing and soar." 
 
 "Not to myself alone," 
 Tlie streamlet whispers on its pebbly way ; 
 " Not to myself alone 1 sparkling glide — 
 I scatter health and life on every side. 
 And strew the fields with herb and flow'ret gay. 
 
NOT TO MYSELF ALONE. 201 
 
 I sing unto the common, bleak and bare, 
 
 My gladsome tnne ; 
 I sweeten and refresh tlie languid air 
 
 In drongbtj June," 
 
 " Kot to myself alone," — 
 O man ! forget not thoU' — ^earth's honor'd priest, 
 Its tongue, its soul, its life, its pulse, its heart — 
 In earth's great chorus to sustain thy part ! 
 Chiefest of guests at love's ungrudging feast, 
 Play not the niggard, spurn thy native clod, 
 
 And self disown— 
 Live to thy neighbor, live unto thy God — 
 Not to thyself alone ! 
 9^ 
 
202 HILL-SIDE FLOWEES. 
 
 C|e dermitit 8Eiitr|mint/s Song, 
 
 Hark ye, neighbors, and hear me tell— 
 Ten now strikes on the belfry bell ! 
 Ten are the holy commandments given 
 To man below, from God in heaven. 
 
 Human watch from harm can't ward us — 
 
 God will watch and God will guard us ; 
 
 May He, through eternal might, 
 
 Give us all a blessed nio;ht ! 
 
 Hark ye, neighbors, and hear me tell — 
 Eleven sounds on the belfry bell ! 
 Eleven aj)ostles of holy mind 
 Taught the Gospel to mankind. 
 Human watch, &c. 
 
 Hark ye, neighbors, and hear me tell — 
 Twelve resounds from the belfry bell ! 
 Twelve disciples to Jesus came. 
 Who suffered rebuke for their Saviour's name. 
 Human watch, &c. 
 
THE GERMAN WATCHMAN's SONG. 203 
 
 Hark ye, neighbors, and hear me tell— 
 One has struck on the belfry bell ! 
 One God above is Lord indeed. 
 Who is our strength in time of need. 
 Human watch &c. 
 
 Hark ye, neighbors, and hear me tell — • 
 Two resounds from the belfry bell ! 
 Two paths before mankind are free ; 
 Neighbor, choose the good for thee, 
 Human watch &c. 
 
 Hark ye, neighbors, and hear me tell— 
 Three now tolls on the belfry bell ! 
 Threefold reigns the heavenly host, 
 Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 
 
 Human watch fi'om harm can't ward us— 
 
 God will watch and God will guard us ; 
 
 May He, through eternal might, 
 
 Give us all a blessed night! 
 
204 HILL-SIDE FLOWEK8. 
 
 Fainter her slow step falls from day to day ; 
 
 Death's hand is heavy on her darkening brow : 
 Yet doth she fondly cling to earth, and say, 
 
 " I am content to die — -but O, not now ! — 
 Not while the blossoms of the joyous spring 
 
 Make the warm air such luxury to breathe ; 
 Not while the birds such lays of gladness sing ; 
 
 Not while the bright flowers round my foot- 
 steps wreathe. 
 Spare me, great God ! lift up my drooping brow — 
 I am content to die — but O, not now !" 
 
 The Spring hath ripened into summer-time ; 
 
 The season's viewless boundary is pass'd ; 
 The glorious Sun hath reach'd its burning prime ; 
 
 O ! must this glimpse of beauty be the last ? 
 " Let me not perish while, o'er land and lea, 
 
 With silent steps, the Lord of light moves on ; 
 For, while the murmur of the mountain bee 
 
 Greets my dull ear with music in its tone, 
 Pale sickness dims my eye and clouds my brow — 
 I am content to die — -but O, not now !" 
 
THE CHILD OF EARTH. 205 
 
 Summer is gone ; and Autumn's sober hues 
 
 Tint the rij)e fruits, and gild the waving corn : 
 The huntsman swift the flying game pursues. 
 
 Shouts the halloo, and winds his eager horn. 
 " Spare me awhile to wander forth and gaze 
 
 On the broad meadows and the quiet stream ; 
 To watch in silence while the evening rays 
 
 Slant through the fading trees with ruby gleam ! 
 Cooler the breezes play around my brow — 
 I am content to die — ^but O, not now !" 
 
 The bleak wind whistles ; snow-showers, far and 
 near, 
 
 Drift without echo to the whitening ground : 
 Autumn hath pass'd away, and cold and drear 
 
 Winter stalks on with frozen mantle bound ; 
 Yet still that prayer ascends, " O ! laughingly 
 
 My little brothers round the warm hearth 
 crowd ; 
 Our home-fire blazes broad, and bright, and high, 
 
 And the roof rings with voices light and loud' — • 
 Spare me awhile ! raise up my drooping brow! 
 I am content to die— but O, not now !" 
 
 The Spring has come again— the joyful Spring. 
 Again the banks with clustering flowers are 
 spread ; 
 
206 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 The wild bird dips upon its wanton wing ; 
 
 The child of earth is nnmber'd with the dead! 
 Thee never more the sunshine shall awake, 
 
 Beaming all redly through the lattice-pane ; 
 The steps of friends thy slumbers may not break, 
 
 l^or fond, familiar voice arouse again. 
 Death's silent shadow vails thy darken'd brow ; 
 Why didst thou linger ?— thou art happier now. 
 
MY FRIENDS. 207 
 
 g I'rienh. 
 
 With conscious pride, I view the band 
 Of faithful friends that round me stand ; 
 With pride exult that I alone 
 Can join these scatter'd gems in one ; 
 For they're a wreath of pearls, and I 
 The silken cord on which they lie. 
 
 'T is mine their inmost souls to see ; 
 Unlock'd is every heart to me ; 
 To me they cling — on me they rest, 
 And I 've a place in every breast ; 
 For they 're a wreath of pearls, and I 
 The silken cord on which they lie ! 
 
208 HILL-SIPE FLOWERS. 
 
 '0ini^t 
 
 TEOM THE ITALIAN OF PETBAROH. 
 
 If e'er I hear the plaint of birds, or sound 
 
 Of green leaves stirred by the soft snmmer air, 
 Or rush of sparkling waters as they bound 
 Through grassy banks, with golden flowers 
 fair; 
 As sad I sit and muse of love and write — 
 
 I hear, I know, I see before my eyes 
 Her whom Heaven gave, but earth now hides 
 from sight. 
 
 Living, she answers from afar my sighs : 
 
 ""Why art thou wasted ere thy time with grief?" 
 
 Gently she says, "Why stream those bitter tears? 
 Weep not for me — dying, I changed my brief 
 
 And transient moments for immortal years ; 
 Seeming to close my eyes in deepest night, 
 I opened them to everlasting light!" 
 
THE REVEILLE 
 
CHARADE, 211 
 
 Cl]arah> 
 
 Come from mj first ! ay, come ! 
 
 The battle dawa is nigli ; 
 And tlie screaming trump and the thundering 
 drum 
 
 Are calling thee to die ! 
 Fight as thy father fought ; 
 
 Fall as thy father fell ; 
 Thy task is taught, thy shroud is wrought, 
 
 So forward ; and farewell! 
 
 Toll ye my second ! toll ! 
 
 Fling high the flambeau's light ! 
 And sing the hymn for a parted soul 
 
 Beneath the silent night, 
 Tlie wreath upon his head, 
 
 The cross upon his breast ; 
 Let the prayer be said, and the tear be shed, 
 
 So take liim to his rest. 
 
212 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 Call ye my whole ! ay call 
 
 The lord of lute and lay ! 
 And lot him greet the sable pall 
 
 With a noble song to-day. 
 Go call him by his name ; 
 
 No fitter hand may crave 
 To light the flame of a soldier's name 
 
 On the tnrf of a soldier's grave. 
 
CONTENT. DISCONTENT. 213 
 
 Some murmur wlien their sky is clear, 
 
 And wholly bright to view. 
 If one small speck of dark appear 
 
 In their great heaven of blue. 
 And some with thankful love are fill'd, 
 
 K but one streak of light, 
 One ray of God's good mercy gild 
 
 The darkness of their night. 
 
 In palaces are hearts that ask, 
 
 In discontent and pride. 
 Why life is such a dreary task, 
 
 And all good things denied ? 
 And hearts in poorest huts admire, 
 
 How love has in their aid 
 (Love that not ever seems to tire) 
 
 Such rich provision made. 
 
214 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 ®t0a& ipiit. 
 
 Broods there some spirit here ? 
 The summer leaves hang silent as a cloud, 
 
 And o'er the pools, all still and darkly clear, 
 The wildwood hyacinth with aw^e seems bow'd ; 
 
 And something of a tender cloistral gloom 
 
 Deepens the violet's bloom. 
 
 The very light that streams, 
 Through the dim dewy vail of foliage round. 
 
 Comes, tremulous with emerald-tinted gleams. 
 As if it knew the place were holy ground, 
 
 And would not startle, with too bright a burst, 
 
 Flowers all divinely nursed. 
 
 Wakes there some spirit here ? 
 A swift wind, fraught with change, comes rush- 
 ing by. 
 
 And leaves and waters, in its wild career, 
 Shed forth sweet voices — each a mystery I 
 
 Surely some awful influence must pervade 
 
 These depths of trembling shade ! 
 
WOOD HYMN. 
 
 215 
 
 Yes, lightly, softly move ! 
 Tliere is a Power, a Presence in the woods ; 
 
 A viewless Being, that with life and love 
 Informs the reverential solitudes ; 
 
 The rich air knows it, and the mossy sod — 
 
 Thou, Thou art here, my God ! 
 
 And if with awe we tread 
 The minster-floor, beneath the storied pane. 
 
 And 'midst the mold'ring banners of the dead. 
 Shall the green voiceful wild seem less Thy ftme, 
 
 Where Thou alone hast built? — where arch 
 and roof 
 
 Are of Thy living woof? 
 
 The silence and the sound 
 In the lone places breathe alike of Thee ; 
 
 The temple-twilight, or the gloom profound. 
 The dew-cup of the frail anemone. 
 
 The reed by every wandering whisper thrill'd — 
 
 All, all with Thee are fill'd. 
 
 O, purify mine eyes 
 More and yet more, by love and holy thought, 
 Thy presence, Holiest One ! to recognize 
 
216 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 In these majestic isles which thou hast wrought! 
 And, 'midst their sea-like murmurs, teach mine 
 
 ear 
 Ever thy voice to hear 1 
 
 And sanctify my heart 
 To meet the awful sweetness of that tone 
 
 "With no faint thrill or self-accusing start, 
 But a deep joy the heavenly guest to own ! 
 
 Joy, such as dwelt in Eden's glorious bowers 
 
 Ere sin had dimm'd the flowers. 
 
 Let me not know the change 
 O'er nature thrown by Guilt!— the boding sky, 
 
 The hollow leaf-sounds ominous and strange, 
 The weight wherewith the dark tree-shadows lie ! 
 
 Father, O keep my footsteps pure and free. 
 
 To walk the woods with Thee ! 
 
ONLY WAITING. 217 
 
 
 A very aged man in an almshouse was asked what he was doing now. He 
 replied, " Only waiting." 
 
 Only waiting till the shadows 
 
 Are a little longer grown ; 
 Only waiting till the glimmer 
 
 Of the day's last beam is flown : 
 Till the night of earth is faded 
 
 From the heart once full of day ; 
 Till the stars of heaven are breaking 
 
 Through the twilight soft and gray. 
 
 Only waiting till the reapers 
 
 Have the last sheaf gather'd home ; 
 For the summer time is faded 
 
 And the autumn winds have come. 
 Quickly, reapers ! gather quickly 
 
 The last ripe hours of my heart, 
 For the bloom of life is wither'd, 
 
 And I hasten to depart. 
 10 
 
218 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 Only waiting till the angels 
 
 Open wide the mystic gate, 
 At whose feet I long have linger'd, 
 
 Weary, poor, and desolate. 
 Even now I hear their footsteps 
 
 And their voices far away ; 
 If they call me I am waiting, 
 
 Only waiting to obey. 
 
 Only waiting till the shadows 
 
 Are a little longer grown ; 
 Only waiting till the glimmer 
 
 Of the day's last beam is flown. 
 Then, from out the gathering darkness. 
 
 Holy, deathless stars shall rise. 
 By whose light my soul shall gladly 
 
 Ti'ead its pathway to the skies. 
 
THE FIRE-FLY. 219 
 
 C|f i\n-i\i. 
 
 The day lias departed, and, far in the west, 
 The sun has gone down in his chambers of rest ; 
 The earth is enwrapp'd in her mantle of night. 
 And the gleam of the Fire-fly breaks on the sight. 
 
 How mild, unobtrusive, and transient the ray ! 
 Ko noise or confusion is heard in their play ; 
 IS'ow backward, now forward, incessant they 
 
 veer, 
 As gaily they move in their shining career. 
 
 Thou wonder of childhood— mysterious light! 
 How welcome thy glow in the darkness of night ! 
 A spark evanescent, — a beam of the sun, — 
 Or a wandering star when the day-light is done. 
 
 Now low on the grass, and now high in the trees, 
 They part, intermingle, and float on the breeze ; 
 How voiceless the music that guides them along ! 
 'T is nature's thanksii-ivino; — 't is silence of sono;. 
 
220 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 If thus such a poor insignificant fly 
 Can honor the name of the Holy and High, 
 O what does He ask of the souls he has given, 
 To shine evermore in the kino-dom of Heaven ! 
 
PSALM CXXXVII. 223 
 
 "By the Rivers of Babylon." 
 
 We sat us down and wept 
 Where Babel's waters slept, 
 And we tliought of home and Zion as a long- 
 gone, happy dream ; 
 We hung our harps in air 
 On the willow boughs which there, 
 Gloomy as round a sepulchre, were drooping 
 o'er the stream. 
 
 The foes, whose chain we wore. 
 Were with us on that shore. 
 Exulting in our tears that told the bitterness of 
 woe. 
 " Sing us," they cried aloud, 
 " Te once so high and proud, 
 The songs ye sang in Zion ere we laid her glory 
 low." 
 
224 HILL-SIDE FLOWEES. 
 
 And shall the harp of heaven, 
 To Judah's monarch given, 
 Be touch'd by captive fingers, or grace a fetter'd 
 hand ? 
 Ko ! sooner be my tongue 
 Mute, powerless, unstrung. 
 Than its words of holy music make glad a stranger 
 land. 
 
 May this right hand, whose skill 
 Can wake the harp at will. 
 And bid the listeners' joys or griefs in light or 
 darkness come, 
 Forget its godlike power, 
 If, for one brief, dark hour, 
 My heart forgets Jerusalem, fallen city of my 
 home! 
 
BonRow. 225 
 
 Count each affliction, whether light or grave, 
 God's messenger sent down to thee. Do thou 
 With courtesy receive him; rise and bow, 
 And ere his shadow pass thy threshold, crave 
 Permission first his heavenly feet to lave. 
 Tlien lay before him all thou hast. Allow 
 No cloud of passion to usurp thy brow, 
 Or mar thy hospitality ; no wave 
 Of mortal tumult to obliterate 
 The soul's marmorean calmness. Grief should 
 be. 
 Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate, 
 Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free ; 
 Strong to consume small troubles, to commend 
 Great thoughts, grave thoughts, lasting to the 
 
 end, 
 
 10* 
 
226 HILL-SIDE FLOWEKS. 
 
 C1]0U doir S>ttBt ^Pt 
 
 God unseen, but not unknown, 
 Tliine eye is ever fixed on me ; 
 
 1 dwell beneatli tliy secret throne, 
 Encompassed hj thy Deity, 
 
 Throughout this universe of space 
 To nothing am I long allied ; 
 
 For flight of time, and change of place. 
 My strongest, dearest bonds divide. 
 
 Parents I had, but where are they? 
 
 Friends whom I knew I know no more ; 
 Companions once that cheer'd my way 
 
 Have dropp'd behind, or gone before. 
 
 Now I am one amid ^e crowd 
 
 Of life and action, hurrying round: 
 
 Now left alone, — for, like a cloud. 
 
 They came, they went, and are not found. 
 
THOTJ GOD SEEST ME, 227 
 
 E'en from myself sometimes I part — 
 Unconscious sleep is niglitly deatli ; 
 
 Yet sm-ely by my bed Thou art, 
 
 To prompt my pulse, inspire my breath. 
 
 Of all that I have done or said 
 
 How little can I now recall ! 
 Forgotten things to me are dead ; 
 
 With Thee they live, Thou know'st them all. 
 
 The moment comes, the only one 
 
 Of all my time to be foretold ; 
 Though when, and where, and how, can none 
 
 Of all the race of man unfold. 
 
 Tliat moment comes when strength must ftiil, 
 "When health, and liope, and comfort fiown, 
 
 I must go down into the vale 
 
 And shade of death with Thee alone. 
 
 Alone with Thee, in that dread strife. 
 Uphold me through mine agony ; 
 
 And gently be this dying life 
 Exchanged for immortality. 
 
228 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 Then, when th' unbodied spirit lands 
 Where flesh and blood have never trod, 
 
 And in the unvail'd presence stands. 
 Of Thee, my Saviour and my God ; 
 
 Be mine eternal ];)ortion this. 
 
 Since Thou wert always here with me, 
 That I may view Thy face in bliss. 
 
 And be for evermore with Thee I 
 
"PASSING AWAY." — A PREAM. 229 
 
 Was it the chime of a tiny bell 
 
 That came so sweet to my dreaming ear, — 
 
 Like the silvery tones of a fairy's shell 
 
 That he winds on the beach so mellow and 
 clear, 
 
 When the winds and the waves lie together 
 asleep. 
 
 And the moon and the fairy are watching the deep, 
 She dispensing her silvery light, 
 And he his notes, as silvery quite, 
 
 While the boatman listens and ships his oar 
 
 To catch the music that comes from the shore ? 
 Hark ! the notes on my ear that play 
 Are set to words,— as they float they say — • 
 " Passing away ! Passing away!" 
 
 But no ; it was not a fairy's shell. 
 
 Blown on the beach so mellow and clear, 
 
 Nor was it the tongue of a silver bell. 
 Striking the hour that filled my ear, 
 
 As I lay in my dream ; yet was it a chime 
 
 Tliat told of the flow of the stream of time. 
 
230 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 For a beautiful clock from the ceiling liung, 
 And a plump little girl for a pendulum swung, 
 (As you 've sometimes seen in a little ring 
 Tliat hangs in his cage, a canary bird swing,) 
 And she held to her bosom a budding bouquet, 
 And as she enjoy 'd it she seem'd to say — 
 " Passing away ! Passing away !" 
 
 O how bright were the wheels that told 
 
 Of the lapse of Time, as they moved round slow ! 
 And the hands, as they swept o'er the dial of gold, 
 
 Seem'd to point to the girl below. 
 And lo ! she had changed : — in a few short hours 
 The bouquet had become a garland of flowers. 
 That she held in her outstretch'd hands, and flung 
 This way and that, as she dancing swung 
 In the fullness of grace and of womanly pride, 
 That told me she soon was to be a bride ;— 
 Yet then, when expecting her happiest day, 
 In the same sweet voice I heard her say — - 
 "Passing away! Passing away!" 
 
 "While I gazed at that fair one's cheek, a shade 
 Of thought or care stole softly over. 
 
 Like that by a cloud in a summer's day made, 
 Looking down on a field of blossoming clover. 
 
"PASSING AWAY." — -A DREAM. 231 
 
 The rose jet lay on her cheek, but its flush 
 Had something lost of its brilliant blush, 
 And the light in her eye, and the light on the 
 wheels 
 That march'd so calmly around, above her, 
 "Was a little dimm'd, — as when Evening steals 
 Upon Noon's hot face : — ^yet one could not 
 but love her ; 
 For she look'd like a mother whose first babe lay 
 Eock'd on her breast as she swung all day, — 
 And she seem'd, in the same silver tone, to say — 
 " Passing away ! Passing away !" 
 
 "While yet I look'd, what a change there came ! 
 
 Her eye was quench'd and her cheek was wan ; 
 Stooping and staffed was her wither'd frame, 
 
 Yet just as busily swung she on ; 
 The garland beneath her had fallen to dust, 
 The wheels above her were eaten with rust ; 
 The hands that over the dial swept 
 Grew crooked and tarnish'd, but on they kept ; 
 And still there came that silver tone 
 From the shriveled lips of the toothless crone, — 
 
 (Let me never forget till my dying day 
 
 The tone or the burden of her lay,) — 
 
 " Passing away ! Passing away !" 
 
232 HILL'SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 §UB |n^. 
 
 Day of wratli ! that day dismaying, 
 As the seers of old are saying, 
 All the world in ashes laying. 
 
 n. 
 
 What the fear ! and what the quaking ! 
 When the Judge His way is taking, 
 Strictest search in all things making. 
 
 m. 
 
 When the trump, with blast astounding, 
 Through the tombs of earth resounding. 
 Bids all stand, the throne surrounding ! 
 
 rv. 
 
 Death and Nature all aghast are, — 
 While the dead rise fast and faster, 
 Answering to their Judge and Master ! 
 
DIES IR^. 233 
 
 Y. 
 
 Forth is brought the record solemn ; 
 See o'erwrit in each dread cohiran, 
 With men's deeds, the Doomsday vohime. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Now the Sov'reign Judge is seated ; 
 All long hid, is loud repeated ; 
 Naught escapes the judgment meted. 
 
 VII. 
 
 A.h ! what plea shall I be pleading? 
 
 Who for me be interceding 
 
 When the just man help is needing? 
 
 vm. 
 O ! thou King of awful splendor ; 
 Of salvation free, the Sender, 
 Grace to me, All-gracious, render! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Jesus, Lord, my plea let this be, 
 
 Mine the woe, that brought from bliss Tliee; 
 
 On that day. Lord, wilt Tliou miss me ? 
 
234: HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 X. 
 
 "Wearily for me Thou soughtest ; 
 
 On the cross my soul Thou boughtest; 
 
 Lose not all for which Thou wroughtest ! 
 
 XT, 
 
 Vengeance, Lord, then be thy mission ! 
 !Now of sin grant free remission 
 Ere that day of inquisition. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Low in shame before Thee groaning, 
 Blushes deep my sin are owning; 
 Hear, O Lord, my suppliant moaning ! 
 
 xni. 
 Her of old that sinned forgiving. 
 And the dying thief receiving. 
 Thou, to me too, hope art giving. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 In my prayer, though sin discerning. 
 Yet, good Lord, in goodness turning. 
 Save me from the endless burning ! 
 
DIES IR.E, 
 
 235 
 
 XV. 
 
 'Mid Thy sheep be my place given ; 
 Far the goats from me be driven ; 
 At Thy right hand fix'd in heaven. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 When the cursed are confounded, 
 "With devouring flame surrounded, 
 With the blest be my name sounded. 
 
 xvn. 
 
 Bowed and prostrate hear me crying; 
 Heart in dust before thee lying ; 
 Lord, my end, O be thou nigh in ! 
 
 xvin. 
 Ah, that day ! that day of weeping ! 
 When in dust no longer sleeping, 
 Man to God in guilt is going, 
 Lord, be then thy mercy showing ! 
 
236 HILL-SIDE FLOWERS. 
 
 % ^xsmx of Immortality. 
 
 BEING A SEQUEL TO "THANATOPSIS," AND THE "HYMN TO DEATH." 
 
 I WHO essayed to sing in earlier days 
 The Thanatopsis and the Hymn to Death, 
 Wake now the Hymn to Immortality, 
 Yet once again, O man, come forth and view 
 The haunts of ISTature — ^walk the waving fields. 
 Enter the silent groves, or pierce again 
 The depths of the untrodden wilderness, 
 And she shall teach thee. 
 
 Thou hast learn'd before 
 One lesson — and her Hymn of Death hath fallen 
 "With melancholy sweetness on thine ear: 
 Yet she shall tell thee with her myriad tongues 
 That life is there — life in uncounted forms. 
 Stealing in silence through the hidden roots. 
 In every branch that swings — in the green leaves 
 And waving grain, and the gay summer flowers 
 That gladden the beholder. 
 
A VISION OF IMMOETALITy. 237 
 
 Listen now, 
 And she sliall teacli thee that the dead have slept 
 But to awaken in more glorious forms — ■ 
 And that the mystery of the soul's decay 
 Is but the promise of the coming life. 
 Each towering oak that lifts its living head 
 To the broad sunlight in eternal strength. 
 Glories to tell thee that the acorn died. 
 The flowers that spring above their last year's 
 
 grave 
 Are eloquent with the voice of love and hope. 
 And the green trees clap their rejoicing hands, 
 "Waving in triumph o'er the earth's decay 1 
 Yet not alone shall flower and forest raise 
 The voice of triumph and the hymn of life. 
 The insect brood are there ! — each painted wing 
 That flutters in the sunshine, broke but now 
 From the close cerements of a worm's own shroud, 
 Is telling, as it flies, how life may spring 
 In its glad beauty from the gloom of death, 
 "Where the crush'd mold beneath the sunken 
 
 foot 
 Seems but the sepulchre of old decay ; 
 Turn thou a keener glance, and thou shalt flnd 
 Tlie gather'd myriads of a mimic world. 
 The breath of evening and the sultry morn 
 Bears on its wing a cloud of witnesses, 
 
238 HILL-SIDE FLOWKRS. 
 
 That earth, from her unnumber'd caves of death, 
 Sends forth a mightier tide of teeming life. 
 
 Kaise then the Hymn to Immortality : 
 The broad, green prairies, and the wilderness, 
 And the old cities, where the dead have slept 
 Age upon age, a thousand graves in one, 
 Shall yet be crowded with the living forms 
 Of myriads, waking from the silent dust. 
 Kings that lay down in state, and earth's poor 
 
 slaves 
 Resting together in one fond embrace. 
 The white-hair'd patriarch and the tender babe 
 Grown old together, in the flight of years ; 
 They of immortal fame, and they whose praise 
 Was never sounded in the ears of men — 
 Archon and priest, and the poor common 
 
 crowd — 
 All the vast concourse in the halls of Death, 
 Shall waken from the dreams of silent years 
 To hail the dawn of the immortal day. 
 Ay, learn the lesson ! Though the worm shall be 
 Thy brother in the mystery of death ! 
 And all shall pass — humble, and proud, and 
 
 gay- 
 Together, to earth's mighty charnel-house, 
 
A VISION OF IMMORTALITY. 239 
 
 Yet the Immortal is thy heritage ! 
 
 The grave shall gather thee: yet thou shalt 
 
 come, 
 Beggar or prince, not as thou wentest forth, 
 In rags or purple, but array'd as those 
 Whose mortal puts on immortality ! 
 
 Then mourn not when thou markest the decay 
 Of ISTature, and her solemn hymn of death 
 Steals with a note of sadness to thy heart. 
 That other voice with its rejoicing tones 
 Breaks from the mold with every bursting 
 
 flower, 
 " O grave ! thy victory ! " 
 
 And thou, O man, 
 Burden'd with sorrow at the woes that crowd 
 Thy narrow heritage, lift up thy head 
 In the strong hope of the undying life. 
 And shout the Hymn to Immortality. 
 The dear departed that have pass'd away 
 To the still house of Death, leaving thine own ; 
 The gi'ay-hair'd sire that died in blessing thee, 
 Mother, or sweet-lipp'd babe, or she who gave 
 Thy home the light and bloom of Paradise — 
 They shall be thine again, when thou shalt pass, 
 
240 HILL-SIDE FLOWEES. 
 
 At God's appointment, through the shadowy 
 
 vale, 
 To reach the sunlight of the Immortal Hills. 
 
 And thou that gloriest to lie down with kings 
 Tliine uncrown'd head, now lowlier than theirs, 
 Seek thou the loftier glory to be known 
 A king and priest to God^ — 'When thou shalt pass 
 Forth from these silent halls to take thy place 
 With patriarchs and the prophets, and the 
 
 bless'd. 
 Gone up from every land to people heaven ; 
 So live that when the mighty caravan, 
 "Which halts one night-time in the vale of death. 
 Shall strike its white tents for the morning march. 
 Thou shalt mount onward to the Eternal Hills, 
 Thy foot unwearied, and thy strength renew'd. 
 Like the strong eagle's, for the upward flight. 
 
 THE END.