^ Iff? - C^ m in #*5 TIdqoijg T5E Poets. A CHOICE SELECTION Off h $<#t $ m»p % % 1M ^«%^> WITH AN' INTBODUCTION By A. A. SMITH, A.M., President Northwestern College, Naperville, HI. SOLD BY SUBSCRIPTION ONLY, -~*T J. A. RUTH & CO. PHILADELPHIA AND CHICAGO, 1883. Copyright, 1881, By J. A. RUTH & 00. Bequest Albert Adsit demons Aug. 24, 1938 (Not arailable for exchange) J. A. RUTH & CVS Publishing House. 3ntro6uction< |[N preparing "Among the Poets" for the public the Author |y has gathered into one volume some of the most brilliant gems of song. These are not confined to one theme. Here the careful reader may worship with the most devout of dif- ferent ages, — breathe the tender strains of love familiar to every human heart, — with Trowbridge bless the " Golden Stair " of children, — feel the thrill of our national poems, — laugh heartily with those who still see the amusing side of life. The variety renders it suitable for a souvenir, and the merit of its literary contents will secure the commendation to which it is entitled. Unfortunately there are some readers for whom poetry has no attraction. They see no beauty and learn no truth unless pre- sented in the plain garb of prose. Yet the highest beauty and grandest truth in human thought is arrayed in white-robed poetry. Divine communication of heavenly truth was first revealed by prophecy in poetic form; and may not the bursts of rapture at Creation's morning, and at the birth of the blessed Redeemer, be typical of the joys of the world to come where life will be one enraptured poem, and praise find full expression in the blessed- ness of song? A. A. Smith. tBontent$< Advent. n A Christmas Hymn. A Blue Stocking. » Afterglow. - After the Burial. fc At Port Royal. n After Three Years. ., At Anchor. _ A Night Watch. _ A View across the Roman Campagna. Atheism. _ _ . _ Another Year. Blue-Beard. _ Before the Wedding. Bustin' the Temperance Man. _ Christmas Night. _ Children Going Home. Children in the Household. Captain Dick. _ Death's Miniature. Dear Savior of a Dying World. Dreams of Heaven. _ Driving Home the Cows. Dot Maid mit Hazel Hair. Drowned. . De Profundis. , Domestic Love. . Easter Day. „ Easter. _ Evening Prayer. .. Endurance. . Forgiveness. _ Faith in Jesus. Follow Thou Me. . Fight on, Brave Heart, Fight on. Far Out in the West. Going Home. _ Going Home. _ God is for the Right. La Merge Anglican Debonair J. P. Lowell J. G. Whittier A. JST. Holmes JBrowning _ A. H. Glough . Nora Perry Cook _ Marion Douglas A. L. Harvey . Trowbridge Carpenter Charlotte Bates A. L. Waring _ Mary JV. JVealy Kate P. Osgood Mrs. Drowning Tennyson Dell. A. Higgins E. A. Akers _ Hate P. Oden Harper's _ Clark _ B. F. Taylor Mrs. Hogarth _ 1& 22 96 117 151 168 205 262 269 307 306 320 103 105 332 11 115 118 230 49 63 68 99 214 274 286 336 15 25 50 304 29 43 54 67 77 30 284 53 6 CONTENTS. Good Night. . Glenara. _ Give Them Now. _ Garfield. _ He Leadeth Me. _ How Soon We Lose Them. Happy Women. _ Ho-Ho of the Golden Belt. I Cannot Lose. _ Inconstancy. _ Indecision. _ In The Barn. _ Independence Bell. Incident of the French Camp. In a Paris Restaurant. Ingersoll to his Great-Grandmother. In the Half-way House. July 2, 1881. John Brown of Osawatomie. Knowledge and Reverence. Longing. _ Lamentation. . Loved too Late. ... Lilac Bushes. ... Lady Clare. _ Lost and Found. . Life. Labor and Trust. _ My Three Homes. . Maiden and Weathercock. Married for Love. _ My Heid is like to Rend, Willie. My Neighbor's Confession. Mother, Home and Heaven. _ My Mother's Grave. Mortality. _ Never Alone. _ . _ Never Grow Old. . No More. _ nongtongpaw. _ Our Prayers. ... - 98 138 298 313 ~ Selected 46 120 123 221 ~ ~ J. G. Saxe Edna D. Proctor 26 Rev. J. Stephenson 249 82 132 B. F. Taylor — — — — _ 165 Browning 212 Scribner's 242 McB. 249 J. R. Lowell _ 309 M. E. Sangster 175 Stedman 188 Piatt 19 J. Russell Lowell 24 Jean Ingelow 72 Mary A. Barr 75 Mary L>. Brine 76 Tennyson 93 1 j. 146 291 51 Lydia JVewcomb Mrs. S. B. Curtis 56 Longfellow 79 Harper's 83 Motherwell 135 Mrs. Piatt 141 A. L. Holmes 147 W. M. Pread 157 Wm. King 280 90 125 Mrs. Hogarth _ Newell 194 Chas. Dirbin _ 228 16 CONTENTS. 0, Tell Me Not of Heavenly Halls. Oh Jesus, Pity Me. Only a Woman. _ Over the River. _ On the Doorstep. . Old. „ ' Pure. _ Patchwork. _ Plain Language From Truthful James. Repentance. _ Reb'rend Quacko Strong. Sweets of Woman's Life. Spirit Voices. _ Saratoga, 1777-1877. Something Left Undone. Summer. _ The Angel's Search. . The Birth of the Year. . Transfigured. . The Holy Spirit. _ Thinking and Working. The Prompter. _ The Iceberg. _ "Tender and True." The Real. _ The Silent Village. The Sea and the Moon. The Great Attraction. The Soul of Love. ... The King of Denmark's Ride. The Little Kings and Queens. The Sick Child. The Children's Hour. The Mother's Day-Dream. Two Pictures. _ The Boys. _ The High Tide. _ Their Angels. _ The Mother's Reproof. ' . To my Mother. . The Relief of Lucknow. The Old Sergeant. Thaxter _ 21 Fowler . 28 Hester A. Benedict 47 JST. P. Wakefield Stedman Balph Hoyt Cora La Croix 58 101 321 44 158 226 38 . 239 . 87 Miss H. A. Foster 156 Bret Harte Dora Greenwell G. L. Taylor Longfellow Trowbridge 160 276 327 9 12 17 32 34 41 42 Helen Bruce _ 52 Mrs. H. C. Gardner 66 Emily JD. Thorpe 70 Tabor _ Mason Mrs. Llaworth Luella Clark Mary Woodland Harper's C. Norton Helen Hunt Helen Bruce Longfellow 80 86 89 91 108 110 113 121 126 127 . 129 Whitney _ 139 Mrs. F. P. Bequa 144 Scherb . ' 153 _ . 180 Wilson . 183 O. W. Holmes 8 CONTENTS. The Sho-sho-ne Warrior. The Patriot's Dust. The Dying Prisoner. The Last Reveille. The Two Knapsacks. The Yarn of the "Nancy Bell." The Dead Moon. That Grumbling Old Woman. The Lightning-rod Dispenser. The Vagabonds. _ The Fourth of July. The Courtin'. _ Threescore and Ten. The Flower of Middle Age. The Watchers of Lake Michigan. The Eternal Years. The Paradox of Time. The Bay of New York. _ Tears, Idle Tears. The Fisher's Daughter. . The Prairie Path. The Last Night in Gray. The Milkmaid. They Loved Him. _ The "Grace of Sunderland." The New Comer. Uncle Mellick and His Master. Uncle Ned's Defense. Undecorated. _ Without Me Ye Can Do Nothing. Wait. _ We Two Weariness. Why Did I Let Him Go ? When This Old Flag Was New. Wiggins on the Times. _ What Mr. Robinson Thinks. Would You Be Young Again ? . Work. . What Does It Matter? White Poppies. Young America. . Bean JVeally Miss A. H. Gales _ M. A. Babcock F. II Boss Gilbert Lawrence _ Ruth Chesterfield Carletofi _ J. T. Troiobridge Mrs. L. B. Curtis Mary A. Barr E. J. Richmond Harriet W. Hudson Edgar Fawcett Jeffreys Taylor Hall _ Jean Ingeloio .JR. Eggleston _ Harper's _ _ A. L. Holmes Longfellow Henry M. B. Smith . J. R. Lowell Lady JVairne _ Waif Woodland Harper's _ Julia M. Dana 196 199 200 203 207 215 233 237 245 252 256 258 265 267 272 277 278 282 292 293 299 301 '311 317 329 334 219 243 303 23 61 111 143 172 177 210 234 264 268 270 271 124 AMONG THE POETS. Che Angels' Search. HEARD the glorious multitude, I saw their lights afar, As, mounting up the golden stairs, they passed from star to star; Each robed in snowy whiteness, all crowned with sunless light, They swept athwart the ether, in the still and solemn night. I saw the trail of glory — a glowing- pathway laid, As the vision, hasting onward, a golden splendor made. Each angel drooped his pinion, a palm enfolded each, But from those forms celestial came neither voice nor speech. Each wore the air of one who, going forth to find, Intently gazeth forward, forgetting things behind; Each bore the air of one who knows that not in vain Are bent his footsteps onward — he shall return again! Lo! 'tis a shout triumphant, afar that shout is raised: "We have found the King Messiah — God's holy name be praised ! Behold his star appeareth, outshining with its ray, All other orbs of heaven in its brightness melt away " Then swift along the golden line a burst of music thrills, Till night awakes in wonder, and earth with gladness fills. The heavenly host descending, where glory opens wide, In rapt, adoring wonder, proclaims — our Christmas-tide. 10 AMONG THE POETS. I saw the glorious multitude, their light shone out afar, As, passing down those shining stairs, they swept from star to star; Till guided by that herald light, and following where it led, They knelt before a manger, around an infant's bed. "The mystery of godliness!" Royal David's son behold! In hushed and solemn silence their snowy wings they fold; They see no cradle lowly, no weeping weakness there, But Deity incarnate, content our flesh to wear. Then from those lips angelic breaks forth that song of praise Whose echoes still float o'er us, in these our Christmas days: " The Lord is come with man to dwell, is come in very deed !" Awake, my heart; take up the song, the joyful message speed. " To us this day a child is born, to us a son is given." O weeping Mary, cease to weep, be thine the joy of heaven ! For God's good gift to us to-day, His well-loved, only Son, Brings peace to earth, good-will to man, and joy to every one ! Though from the cradle looms the cross, though tears through gladness shine, Yet far beyond, all radiant, all crowned with love divine, Redemption stands omnipotent, and waits to see the end, When Peace embraceth Righteousness, and Truth and Mercy blend! Christmas Mght. (yjL T last thou art come, little Saviour ! ZS? And thine angels fill midnight with song; CTI V Thou art come to us, gentle Creator ! Whom thy creatures have sighed for so long. Thou art come to thy beautiful Mother; She hath looked on thy marvelous face; Thou art come to us, Maker of Mary! And she was thy channel of grace. Thou hast brought with thee plentiful pardon, And our souls overflow with delight; Our hearts are half broken, dear Jesus ! With the joy of this wonderful night. We have waited so long for thee, Saviour ! Art thou come to us, dearest, at last ? Oh, bless thee, dear Joy of thy Mother ! This is worth all the wearisome past ! Thou art come, thou art come, Child of Mary ! Yet we hardly believe thou art come; — It seems such a wonder to have thee, New Brother ! with us in our home. Thou wilt stay with us, Master and Maker J Thou wilt stay with us now evermore: We will play with thee, beautiful Brother ! On Eternity's jubilant shore. Che Birth of the year. I, W ET us speak low — the infant is asleep; The frosty hills grow sharp, the day is near, (^ And Phosphor with his taper comes to peep Into the cradle of the new-born year. Hush ! the infant is asleep — Monarch of the day and night; Whisper — yet it is not light, The infant is asleep. Those arms shall crush great serpents ere to-morrow; His closed eye shall wake to laugh and weep; His lips shall curl with mirth and writhe with sorrow And charm up Truth and Beauty from the deep. Softly — softly — let us keep Our vigils; visions cross his rest, Prophetic pulses stir his breast, Although he be asleep. Now, Life and Death armed in his presence wait; Genii with lamps are standing at the door; Oh, he shall sing sweet songs, he shall relate Wonder, and glory, and hopes untold before; Murmur melodies that may creep Into his ears of old sublime; Let the youngest born of Time Hear rausic in his sleep. 12 THE BIRTH OF THE YEAR. 13 Quickly he shall awake; the East is bright, And the hot glow of the unseen sun Hath kissed his brow with promise of its light; His cheek is red with victory to be won. Quickly shall our king awake, Strong as giants, and arise; Sager than old and wise The infant shall awake. His childhood shall be forward, wild, and thwart; His gladness fitful, and his anger blind; But tender spirits shall o'ertake his heart — Sweet tears and golden moments bland and kind; He shall give delight and take, Charm and chant, dismay and soothe, Raise the dead and touch with youth — Oh, sing that he may wake ! Where is the sword to gird upon his thigh? Where is the armor and his laurel crown? For he shall be a conqueror ere he die, And win him kingdoms wider than his own ! Like the earthquake he shall shake Cities down, and waste like fire, Then build them stronger, pile them higher, When he shall awake. In the dark spheres of his unclosed eyes The sheeted lightnings lie, and clouded stars, That shall glance softly, as in Summer skies, Or stream o'er thirsty deserts, winged with wars; 14 AMONG THE POETS. For in the pauses of dread hours He shall fling his arms off, And, like a reveler, sing and laugh, And dance in ladies' bowers. Ofttimes in his midsummer he shall turn To look upon the dead bloom with weeping eyes; O'er ashes of frail beauty stand and mourn, And kiss the bier of stricken hopes with sighs. Ofttimes, like light of onward seas, He shall hail great days to come, Or hear the first dread note of doom Like torrents on the breeze. His manhood shall be blissful and sublime, With stormy sorrows and serenest pleasures, And his crowned age upon the top of Time Shall throne him great in glories, rich in treasures. The sun is up, the day is breaking; Sing ye sweetly; draw anear; Immortal be the new-born year, And blessed be its waking. Easter Day, CJjL PATHWAY opens from the tomb, jja? The grave's a grave no more ! CH V Stoop down; look into that sweet room; Pass through the unsealed door; Linger a moment by the bed Where lay but yesterday the Church's Head. What is there there to make thee fear? A folded chamber vest, Akin to that which thou shalt wear When for thy slumber drest; Two gentle angels sitting by — How sweet a room, methinks, wherein to lie ! No gloomy vault, no charnel cell, No emblem of decay, No solemn sound of passing bell, To say, "He's gone away;" But angel-whispers soft and clear, And He, the risen Jesus, standing near. " Why weepest thou ? Whom seekest thou ?" 'Tis not the gardener's voice, But His to whom all knees shall bow, In whom all hearts rejoice; The voice of Him who yesterday Within that rock was Death's resistless prey. 15 16 AMONG THE POETS. " Why weepest thou ? Whom seekest thou ? The living with the dead ?" Take young Spring flowers and deck thy brow, For life with joy is wed ! The grave is now the grave no more; Why fear to pass that bridal chamber door ? Take flowers and strew them all around The room where Jesus lay! But softly tread; 'tis hallowed ground, And this is Easter day; "The Lord is risen," as he said, And thou shalt rise with him, thy risen Head. iDur Prayers, CJjL RT Thou not weary of our selfish prayers, Forever crying, "Help me/ save me, Lord!" We stay fenced in by petty fears and cares, Nor hear the song outside, nor join its vast accord. Is not the need of other souls our need? After desire the helpful act must go, As the strong wind bears on the winged seed To some bare spot of earth, and leaves it there to grow. Still are we saying, "Teach us how to pray:" Oh, teach us how to love, and then our prayer Through other lives will find its upward way, As plants together seek and find sweet life and air. ITransfigureb, d ?jL LMOST afraid they led her in: ^J (A dwarf more piteous none could find) (j \ Withered as some weird leaf, and thin, The woman was — and wan and blind. Into his mirror with a smile — Not vain to be so fair, but glad — The South-born painter looked the while, With eyes than Christ's alone less sad. "Mother of God," in pale surprise He whispered, " What am I to paint ?" A voice that sounded from the skies Said to him: "Raphael, a saint." She sat before him in the sun; He scarce could look at her, and she Was still and silent. "It is done," He said, "Oh, call the world to see!" Ah, that was she in veriest truth — Transcendent face and haloed hair; The beauty of divinest youth Divinely beautiful was there. Herself into her picture passed — Herself and not her poor disguise Made up of time and dust. At last One saw her with the Master's eyes. 2 17 A6ueni jf*f Y eyes are weary with the long, long watching That sees the Advent moon grow full and wane; My straining gaze no gleam of hope is catching, My breath stands white and stiff against the pane I see the snow-wreaths lift among the meadows Before the wind, like spirits gliding by; When, when shall I behold the fleeing shadows ! When will* the promised daybreak flood the sky? O watchman! is there yet no sign of glory To break the darkness of the eastern gate ? No voice that tells again the wonderous story? For oh, the promised bridegroom tarries late. The bride stands fainting now before the portal, Where long her watch and fasting she hath borne; Will He not come once more with love immortal To fold her close and bid her cease to mourn? Will He not whisper words of tender blessing To bid her aching loneliness be stilled ? Her work and woes and bitter wrongs redressing — To bid her love and longing all be filled ? O watchman! speed thee up beyond the fountain; Does nothing promise my impatient sight ? Break through the myrrh-boughs on the sacred mountain^ Gaze up mid-heaven, and speak some sign of light. . 18 KNOWLEDGE AND REVERENCE. 19 The stairs are dark that point toward the morning; The dove no longer finds the rocky cleft; No shield against the cold world's cruel scorning For her, of home and bridegroom both bereft. And yet her lips are fragrant with the blessing That soothed the weary and hath warmed the cold; Her touch still lingers where her hands were pressing The wounds of them she drew within the fold. Her work is ready for His dear approving; Her lamp stands burning with a steady ray; Will He not* answer to her faithful loving, And bring the darkness into perfect day? Knowlebge an6 Reuerence, HO knows too much to wonder and adore, Knows less, in sooth, than he whose reverent awe A living Power in breeze and tempest saw, And heard heaven's anger in the thunder's roar, Or laugh of naiads on the pebbled shore ? To him for every change a Will was law, The cloud — black eagle — had lightnings in its claw! And nymphs dropped rain from brimming urns they bore. We watch a chemic force in bubbling play, Till we forget the vital soul within; We leave no meaning in the new-born-day, But the dull summons for labor to begin! Sheer night has star-gleams in its murkiness, But the moon-dazzled eye is blind with light's excess! 20 AMONG THE POETS. Let me forget, Heaven, when I behold Of virgin Dawn the Sun's miraculous birth, This poor Ixion of mechanic earth Turning his grinding-wheel to heat and cold, These orbs and orbits, and the laws that hold The spinning globes awhirl! if in this dearth Of reverence I might know, but thus, the worth Of simple wonder in its Age of Gold! — How from a vast mysterious abyss The immense God rose, and from his boundless brow Flashed morning radiant with the eternities Of Power and Goodness, bidding nations bow, And the awed heart to burst in songs of praise, Unstudied as the hymns the woods and cradles raise! Ah, me! Less reverence with more light impugns The law of growth! The enlarging continents Of knowledge stretch the shore-line that indents The unknown gulf, and all the mystic runes Of wonder solved, give rhythms of deeper tunes And subtler harmony. Splendors more intense, From gulfs unfathomed by the line of sense, Rise on the soul, outflashing former noons! Drooped lids of worship shield the dazzled eyes; The light behind the sunlight, Power in power, Grow visible, and skies beyond our skies Open to depths ineffable in that hour When Earth's young wonder, love, and reverence meet The wisdom of her age, in unity complete! 10 Cell Jfle Hot of Heauenly Balls. w TELL me not of heavenly halls, Of streets of pearl and gates of gold, Where angel unto angel calls 'Mid splendors of the sky untold. My homesick heart would backward turn To find this dear, familiar earth, To watch its sacred hearth-fires burn, To catch its songs of care and mirth. I'd lean from out the heavenly choir To hear once more the red cock crow, What time the morning's rosy fire O'er hill and field began to glow. To hear the ripple of the rain, The summer waves at ocean's brim, To hear the sparrow sing again I'd quit the wide-eyed cherubim! I care not what heaven's glories are! Content am I. More joy it brings To watch the dandelion's star Than mystic Saturn's golden rings. And yet, and yet — O dearest one, My comfort from life's earliest breath, To follow thee where thou art gone, Through these dim, awful gates of Death — 21 22 AMONG THE POETS To find thee — feel thy smile again, To have Eternity's long day To tell my grateful love — why, then, Both heaven and earth might pass away! A ithristmas Hymn, u /w FT (CJ^ELL me what is this innumerable throng Singing in the heavens a loud angelic song? These are they who come with swift and shiny feet From round about the throne of God the Lord of Light to greet. Oh, who are these that hasten beneath the starry sky — As if with joyful tidings that through the world shall fly ? The faithful shepherds, they who greatly were afeared, When, as they watched their flocks by night, the heavenly host appeared. Who are these that follow across the hills of night A star that westward hurries along the fields of light ? Three wise men from the East, who myrrh and treasure bring — To lay them at the feet of Him, their Lord and Christ and Kin^ What babe new-born is this that in a manger cries ? Near on her lowly bed his happy mother lies. Oh, see, the air is shaken with white and heavenly wings — This is the Lord of all the earth, this is the King of King? Without 3¥le ye Can Do Nothing* ^ESUS, Thou art my guiding star, For in Thy light alone I see, And lovelier than the morning are The sunbeams of Thy love to me; For Thou hast burst the prison door, And loosed my spirit from its chain, And set me 'neath the skies once more — A free man on a boundless plain. Thou art the source of every day, Thou art the bloom of every- flower, Thou art the light of every ray, Thou art the life of every hour; Without Thee joy hast lost her charm, And with Thee grief must lose her sting; Where Thou art danger cannot harm, The wilderness itself may sing. All that is pure, and good, and fair, Is but a streamlet drawn from Thee; All that is lovely everywhere Is but Thyself revealed to me: The fervor of all hearts that live, The brightness of all souls that shine, Give back the light that Thou didst give, And tell Thee that their light is Thine. 23 Longing. F all the myriad moods of mind That through the soul come thronging, Which one was e'er so good, so kind, So beautiful, as Longing ? The thing we long for, that we are For one transcendent moment, Before the. Present, poor and bare, Can make its sneering comment. Still, through our paltry stir and strife, Glows down* the wished Ideal, And Longing moulds in clay what Life Carves in the marble real. To let the new life in, we know, Desire must ope the portal; — Perhaps the longing to be so Helps make the soul immortal. Longing is God's fresh heavenward will With our poor earthly striving; We quench it, that we may be still Content with merely living; But, would we learn that heart's full scope Which we are hourly wronging, Our lives must climb from hope to hope And realize our longing. EASTER. 25 Oh! let us hope that to our praise Good God not only reckons The moments when we tread His ways, But when the spirit beckons, — That some slight good is also wrought Beyond self-satisfaction, When we are simply good in thought, Howe'er we fail in action. ft Easter* AM the Resurrection! " Only once Was heard such words as these. Thousands of years had men lived on In pain and ease. Prophet and priest and sage had told their lore, But stood with bated breath; Each owned his wisdom vain before The Power of Death. Nothing beyond! Lo! Death subdueth all. Man rules the world; but he Must toil and suffer, lay him down, And cease to be. "I am the Resurrection!" Earth and sky A risen Savior sing. What victory hath the grave to-day, And Death what sting? 3 Cannot lose. ^^rVOW summer finds her perfect prime, yV Sweet blows the wind from western calms, W ^ On every bower red roses climb, The meadows sleep in mingled balms. Nor stream nor bank the wayside by, But lilies float, and daisies throng, Nor space of blue and sunny sky That is not cleft with soaring song. flowery morns, O tuneful eves, Fly swift! my soul ye cannot fill! Bring the ripe fruit, the garnered sheaves, The drifting snows on plain and hill. Alike to me fall frosts and dews; But heaven, O Lord, I cannot lose. Warm hands to-day are clasped in mine; Fond hearts my mirth or mourning share; And, over hope's horizon line, The future dawns, serenely fair. Yet still, though fervent vow denies, I know the rapture will not stay; Some wind of grief or doubt will rise, And turn my rosy sky to gray. 1 shall awake in rainy morn To find my hearth left lone and drear; 36 I CANNOT LOSE. 27 Thus, half in sadness, half in scorn, I let my life burn on as clear, Though friends grow cold, or fond love woos; But heaven, O Lord, I cannot lose. In golden hours, the angel Peace Comes down and broods me with her wings, I gain from sorrow sweet release, I mate me with divinest things; When shapes of guilt and gloom arise, And far the radiant angel flees, My song is lost in mournful sighs, My wine of triumph left but lees. In vain for me her pinions shine, And pure, celestial days begin; Earth's passion-flowers I still must twine, Nor braid one beauteous lily in. Ah, is it good or ill I choose? But heaven, O Lord, I cannot lose. So wait I. Every day that dies With flush and fragrance born of June, I know shall more resplendent rise, Where is no need of sun nor moon. And every bud on love's low tree, Whose mocking crimson flames and falls, In fullest flower I yet shall see, High blooming by the jasper walls. Nay, every sin that dims my days, And wild regrets that veil the sun, •28 AMONG THE POETS. Shall fade before those dazzling rays. And my long glory be begun. Let the years come to bless or bruise, Thy heaven, O Lord, I shall not lose. vnt TT iDh lesus, Pity Tfle. GRACIOUS Christ! I come to thee For pardon, peace and purity. I cannot bide my exile longer; The yearning of my heart grows stronger Thy gentle face to see. O Jesus, pity me! blessed Christ! I come to thee To hide me from life's vanity. 1 have no offering but my weakness, Share me thy strength; teach me thy meekness. In my extremity, O Jesus, pity me! patient Christ! I lift to thee The cry of helpless poverty. Hands that have faltered in the gleaning 1 hold to ask thee for the screening Of thy divinity. O Jesus, pity me! Forgiueness* LEST Master, how exceeding broad, How deep thy pure command, That lays upon earth's fevered pulse A calm, restraining hand. It turns the tide of passion back, It bids revenge be still; For e'en the wrath of man restrained Shall execute thy will. A Tho' mocked and pierced thou bidst us pray, Forgive, and bless, and love, As children of eternal day Whose life is hid above. pierced hands! O pierced heart! O Man of Sorrow deep! Unto our wounded souls impart Thy love, thy spirit meek. Then shall we calmly trust and wait, And pray for friend and foe, Until we starid at heaven's bright gate In garments white as snow. 29 iBoing Home. ISS me when my spirit flies — Let the beauty of your eyes Beam along the waves of death, While I draw my parting breath, And am borne to yonder shore Where the billows beat no more, And the notes of endless spring Through the groves immortal ring. I am going home to-night, Out of blindness into sight, Out of weakness, war, and pain Into power, peace, and gain; Out of winter, gale, and gloom Into summer breath and bloom; From the wand'rings of the past I am going home at last. Kiss my lips and let me go — Nearer swells the solemn flow Of the wond'rous stream that rolls By the border-land of souls — I can catch sweet strains of songs Floating down from distant throngs, And can feel the touch of hands Reaching out from angel bands. 30 GOING HOME. 3] Anger's frown and envy's thrust, Friendship chilled by cold distrust, Sleepless night and weary morn, Toil in fruitless land forlorn, Aching head and breaking heart, Love destroyed by slander's dart, Drifting ship and darkened sea, Over there will righted be. Sing in numbers low and sweet, Let the songs of two worlds meet — We shall not be sundered long — Like the fragment of a song, Like the branches of a rill, Parted by the rock or hill, "We shall blend in tune and time, Loving on in perfect rhyme. When the noon-tide of your days Yields to twilight's silver haze, Ere the world recedes in space, Heavenward lift your tender face, Let your dear eyes homeward shine, Let your spirit call for mine, And my own will answer you From the deep and boundless blue. Swifter than the sunbeam's flight ' I will cleave the gloom of night, And will guide you to the land Where our loved ones waiting stand, B2 AMONG THE POETS. And the legions of the blest, They shall welcome you to rest — They will know you when your eyes On the isles of glory rise. When the parted streams of life Join beyond all jarring strife, And the flowers that withered lay Blossom in immortal May — When the voices hushed and dear Thrill once more the raptured ear, We shall feel and know and see God knew better far than we. Ihe Holy Spirit SAW a man of God-like form Bend like a slender reed Before a sudden Summer storm A girl would scarcely heed. I saw a frail and tender child Perform a hero's part, And face a wolf with hunger wild, And strike him to the heart. What is this mystic force ? I cried, The secret of this power? What makes this youth, so free from pride, The monarch of the hour? THE HOLY SPIRIT. 33 « The answer came in trumpet tone, "Mysterious are His ways; In weakness is His glory shown, And babes proclaim His praise. "When to the first disciples' hearts The Holy spirit came, It thrilled them to the lowest parts, Through heart, and soul, and frame. They who were wont with craven souls In secret nooks to hide, Hark, from their lips what thunder rolls For Jesus crucified! "Thus is it yet, ay, even now, That souls are sanctified; The tender air, the lighted brow, No humble garb can hide. God's Spirit makes the weakest strong, The coward true and brave, And bears his chosen ones along, Triumphant o'er the grave." TChinhing an6 Toothing. /v^v H, let your ceaseless thinking go, \tw Your thoughts are vain; The bright brooks through the meadows flow, Seeking the main, And have no care. The April rains Their green banks fill And on they go, nor count their gains, Yet warble still. The bees go wandering here and there, They have no lore; If flowers are sweet, what do they care ? The fields have store Of budding clover; yet this one Sweet daffodil Makes them content, while in the sun They hum on still. This robin, gleaning here a straw And there a thread, Builds her small nest — no thought of law Troubles her head. The bough whereon she builds is green; She sees her mate Go singing through the morning sheen, And loss comes late. THINKING AND WORKING. 35 The rose-tree gathers rain and light And shapes its flower; It drinks the crystal dew at night, And, hour by hour, It greens and grows, it knows not why; Nor does it care That you, so thoughtful, passing by, Pronounce it fair. The tender grass beneath your foot Takes not a thought Of how it strikes persistent root, And murmurs not Under your crushing step at morn, But still looks up, . Nor grieves that brighter tints adorn The lily's cup. , Oh, put your foolish fancies by, It matters not; Be sure how deep you delve, how high May mount your thought; The stars will shine above your head, The flowers will bloom, The fatal thunder-cloud will shed Its bolts of doom. The whether you shall think or no, God writes his will Plainly on human hearts, that so, While singing still, :\a AMONG THE POETS. We may not leave our work. He gives A subtile sense To every trustful soul that lives, That, working hence, It may not make mistake. What needs The childlike soul To know where all your questioning leads ? The wondrous whole Is hidden from your searching ken; But let it be, God tells that to the hearts of men They fail to see. Be still, and listen in your soul Where God shall speak; Above your head the thunders roll And you are weak; But so are grasses, yet they grow Greener for showers; The end of toil we need not know — The task is ours. Sometimes a hero prostrate lies — Ah, well, what then ? We only know the spirit dies From sight of men. We know not what there is to do Some otherwhere; What realms to rule, what service new Demands his care. THINKING AND WORKING. 37 Then rest from questions and from doubt; Work as you will, But leave your selfish murmurings out, And listen still To hear the voice that will not cease Forevermore — God's voice within that speaketh peace Beyond all lore. Ah, if thy fate, with anguish fraught, Should be to wet the dusty soil With the hot, burning tears of toil, To struggle with imperious thought Till the overburdened brain, Heavy with labor, faint with pain, Like a jarred pendulum, retain Only its emotion, not its power; Remember in that perilous hour, When most afflicted and opprest, From labor there shall come forth rest. Repentance* |f F the Lord were to send down blessings from heaven as thick |jf and as fast as the fall Of the drops of rain or the flakes of snow, I'd love Him and thank Him for all; But the gift that I'd crave, and the gift that I'd keep, if I'd only one to choose, Is the gift of a broken and contrite heart, — and that He will not refuse. For what is my wish and what is my hope, when I've toiled and prayed and striven, All the days that I live upon earth? It is this — to be forgiven. And what is my wish and what is my hope, but to end where I begin, With an eye that looks to my Saviour, and a heart that mourns for its sin! Well, perhaps you think I am going to say I'm the chief of sin- ners; and then You'll tell me, as far as you can see, I'm no worse than other men. I've little to do with better or worse — I haven't to judge the rest; If other men are no better than I, they are bad enough at the best. I've nothing to do with other folks; it isn't for me to say What sort of men the Scribes might be, or the Pharisees in their day; 38 REPENTANCE. 39 But we know that it wasn't for such as they that the kingdom of heaven was meant; And we're told we shall likewise perish unless we do repent. And what have I done, perhaps you'll say, that I should fret and grieve ? I didn't wrangle, nor curse, nor swear; I didn't lie nor thieve; I'm clear of cheating and drinking and debt. — Well, perhaps, but I cannot say; For some of these I hadn't a mind, and some didn't come in my way. For there's many a thing I could wish undone, though the law might not be broken; And there's many a word, now I come to think, that I could wish unspoken. I did what I thought to be the best, and I said just what came to my mind; I wasn't so honest that I could boast, and I'm sure that I wasn't kind. Well, come to things that I might have done, and then there'll be more to say; We'll ask for the broken hearts I healed, and the tears that I wiped away. , I thought for myself and I wrought for myself — for myself, and none beside: Just as if Jesus had never lived, as if He had never died. But since my Lord has looked on me, and since He has bid me look Once on my heart and once on my life and once on His blessed Book, 40 AMONG THE POETS. And once on the cross where He died for me, He has taught me that I must mend, If I'd have Him to be my Saviour, and keep Him to be my Friend. Since He's taken this long account of mine and has crossed it through and through, Though He's left me nothing at all to pay, he has given me enough to do; He has taught me things that I never knew, with all my worry and care, — Things that have brought me down to my knees, and things that will keep me there. He has shown me the law that works in him and the law that works in me, — Life unto life and death unto death, — and has asked how these agree ; He has made me weary of self and of pelf; yes, my Saviour has bid me grieve For the days and years when I didn't pray, when I didn't love nor believe. Since he's taken this cold, dark heart of mine, and has pierced it through and through, He has made me mourn both for things I did and for things that I didn't do; And what is my wish and what is my thought, but to end where I begin, With an eye that looks to my Saviour, and a heart that mourns for its sin! Ihe Prompter, AST night my heart was sad. The day had been Oppressive with its burning heat, and weary, From my close room I looked and longed for night, Which came at last with visage dark and dre^y. The sweet blue heavens, hung thick with murky clouds, Seemed like a mourner o'er the still earth bending, And the low sobbings of the wandering wind With fitful patterings of rain were blending. Life took its hue from nature; and in vain Backward I looked through labyrinths dim and hoary, For one brief hour of calm, unruffled peace; One ray of bright, untarnished earthly glory. Transient as morning mist! along my path, Like frowning sentinels, cold head-stones gleaming, Told where a little dust, a few crushed flowers, Were shrined memorials of earth's proudest seeming. The present! how I turned it o'er and o'er, The shadows of a sick-room round me lying, Hopeless of health — life lingering on and on, To be perhaps long, weary years in dying. God's angel came at length, and each lone thought, Oblivious alike of blight or blessing, Sank down to rest like an o'erwearied child, Infolded in the arms of soft caressing. 41 42 AMONG THE POETS. Dreams came and went: grim midnight held the hour For ghostly revelry! wakened with sadness I peered into its depths. High over all One star its watch-fire kept of hope and gladness. Then I remembered how in greatest need The All-Father sees, and, pitying, sends an angel To spread green mosses o'er our thorniest paths,, Or cheer our faint hearts with some blest evangel. Prompted to better thoughts, my murmuring heart, Shamed and rebuked, put by its faithless sorrow, And gathered strength to drink life's cup to-day, And trust Him for the ingredients of to-morrow. Che 3ceberg. £*S[ N iceberg drifting in the polar seas Zcf Braces its cold, and bold, and glistening front CTI \ Against the sharpness of the Arctic blasts; But when it idly floats by southern shores, Where mild sunshine wakes the praise of Spring, Warm airs embrace the rugged stranger round, And melt away its angles with their breath: The tepid waves caress it, and the light Nestles among its many crevices, Till it relents, and in a veil of mist Withdrawing, sinks, and weeps itself away Upon the bosom of the summer sea. And so, when argument, reproach and force Are spent in vain, the hard heart yields to love. Faith in 3e$us. HEN my faith lays hold of Jesus, With confiding trust in Him, He my groaning heart releases, From the" guilt and power of sin. When my faith lays hold of Jesus, Waiting long with anxious fears, And my trembling soul approaches Calvary, He dries my tears. When my faith lays hold of Jesus, Then His righteousness is mine; For He died the death to save us, Give us peace and life divine. Yes, when faith laid hold on Jesus, Then came with it life and joy, And the song of love He teaches, Does my heart and tongue employ. As my heart lays hold of Jesus, I am justified by faith, For His blood avails and cleanses, — Life springs freely from His death. Pure, £JJ^HERE'S a mist, or a dust, or a poisonous breath, Or a vapor of death Suspended in every air. It may blow o'er the mountain or hang o'er the heath, It may sweep o'er the ocean's wide main, It may babble through fountain, lie pent up beneath, Or parch o'er the dry, arid plain; It may drop its pearls on the bergs of the poles, It may float with the lightning's home, It may crystal the clouds to the whitest snows, Or sift through the high dashing foam. In valleys deep Where breezes sleep, It may balm its invisible breath, But 'twill bear on its bosom, wherever it flows, A mist, or a dust, or a vapor of death. There are waters that melt from the mountain's crest And its icy breast, That limpidly trickle below; There is many a fount at the foot of the hill That with sparkling leaps into the day, Or leaving the mount as a silent rill, Pebbly, merrily, murmurs away; There are glassy smooth lakes whose crystalline depths Reveal pearls and mirror the sky; 44 PURE. 45 There are billowy waves that wash the shores of the sea To be drawn to the clouds on high; There are dewy pearls In the leafy curls, That tremble in the morning sun, But every drop, wherever it be, Has passed o'er the dead and impurity won. But I think of a land, O that beautiful land! And a golden strand, Where all that is there shall be pure. The air of that clime shall be fresh, every breath, And streams, crystal, pure evermore. Naught belonging to time, no tincture of death Can breathe o'er that mystical shore. These impure hearts, endless fountains of woe That weary us so in the soul And give us no rest, shall be evermore pure While ages unlimited roll. O ravishing thought! With the invisible fraught — To be holy and pure, through the death of the Son, In the presence of Him to whom the stars are not pure, And forever with both to be one. I Be Leað Jfte. N pastures green ? Not always ; sometimes He, Who knoweth best, in kindness leadeth me In weary ways, where heavy shadows be. Out of the sunshine, warm and soft and bright, Out of the sunshine into darkest night, I oft would faint with sorrow and affright. Only for this — I know He holds my hand; So whether in green or desert land I trust, altho' I may not understand. And by still waters? No, not always so; Ofttimes the heavy tempests round me blow, And o'er my soul the waves and billows go. But when the storms beat loudest, and I cry Aloud for help, the Master standeth by, And whispers to my soul "Lo, it is I." Above the tempest wild I hear him say, "Beyond this darkness lies the perfect day; In every path of thine I lead the way." So whether on the hilltop high and fair I dwell, or in the sunshine valleys, where The shadows lie — what matter? He is there 46 ONLY A WOMAN. 47 And more than this: where'er the pathway lead He gives no helpless, broken reed, But His own hand, sufficient for my need. So where He leads me I can safely go; And in the blest hereafter I shall know Why in His wisdom He hath led me so, ****** lOnly a -T&oman. §NLY a woman, shriveled and old! The prey of the winds and the prey of the cold! Cheeks that are shrunken, Eyes that are sunken, Lips that were never o'erbold. Only a woman, forsaken and poor, Asking an alms at the bronze church-door. Hark to the organ! roll upon roll The waves of its music go over her soul! Silks rustle past her Thicker and faster — The great bell ceases its toll. Fain would she enter, but not for the poor Swingeth wide open the bronze church-door. Only a woman, waiting alone, Icily cold on an ice cold throne. What do they care for her? Mumbling a prayer for her — iS AMONG THE POETS. Giving not bread but a stone. Under rich laces their haughty hearts beat, Mocking the woes of their kin in the street- Only a woman. In the old days Hope caroled to her her happiest lays; Somebody missed her; Somebody kissed her; Somebody crowned her with praise; Somebody faced up the battle of life Strong for her sake who was mother or wife. Somebody lies with a tress of her hair Light on his heart, where the death-shadows arej Somebody waits for her, Opening the gates for her, Giving delight for despair; Only a woman — nevermore poor — Dead in the snow at the bronze church-door! Death's Miniature, dfr ONE but an hour! and yet beyond my reach K As much as are the dead; Nor all the passion of imploring speech Restores the presence fled. The room is just as empty as if God Had sent the form to rest; The silence were no deeper, if the sod Lay over that fair breast. I try to fancy where she is just now, And that she thinks with me; Yes, I believe it, for I own her vow, • But oh! for certainty. This somber hush, this wonder how and where My living friend now is, Are like the features Death himself doth wear, These lineaments are his. This Absence is the miniature of Death, A perfect likeness, too, So that I seem to feel his very breath Chilling me through and through. But though he sat for this dark picture here, Ah, what a dread surprise, If he himself should suddenly draw near, Should now confront mine eyes. 49 4 50 AMONG THE POETS. By laying here the absent one I wait, To whose warm love I cling, In all his majesty of marble state, A white and soulless thing! Good God! let all thy mercy intervene When we must come to know, The awful difference that lies between The real and pictured Woe! Euening Prayer. NCE more to yonder peaceful starlit sky, We lift our hearts from out this vale of tears', O Father, deign to hear us where we lie, And with thy love disperse our doubts and fears. It is the same sad story as of old, Of unf ought battles, or if fought, unwon; The same forgiveness asked for dark-browed sins, Which ate our lives out in the days agone. For worship of the creature more than God, For passing by our neighbor in his need, That, though we honor Jesus with our lips, We seldom follow where his hand would lead. Yet pity, Father! from thy throne on high Lean loving down to meet our broken prayer; And may we feel a blessing touch our brows, In the light breathings of the evening air! tabor an6 I rust (^%V WARILY I sit and weave The tangled web of life. The pattern which my hands have wrought Is but a bit of color fraught With daily, hourly strife. Longingly I seek to trace The inwove threads I span; To know how this and that unite, For bringing forth the figures bright That form the perfect plan. Rapidly the shuttle flies When heart and hope are mine; When on the loom the sunlight pours, The flecks of gold like summer flowers In wondrous beauty shine. Gloomily the fingers move, Dark tinted is the work, When 'mong the threads an evil knot,— Envy and malice, — love forgot, Doth unexpected lurk. Patiently, with bowed head, I weave in sorrow's day, Scarce can I tell what threads I hold, I only know that grief untold Hides all but sodden gray. 51 52 AMONG THE POETS. Trustfully I sit and weave; I know 'tis mine to do That which he gives into my hands, Complete in him who wisely planned Shall be the pattern true. "Cenber anb Crue." |f KNOW, dearest Lord, though the anguish is keen, rr What all these sore wounds from thy loving hands mean, Till smitten and stripped, I made creatures my stay, And my love from my Maker turned coldly away. But "the heart that I fashioned," thou sayest "must be mine; Must all other lovers — all idols resign. Nor other can love thee, my child, as I love — O cease the weak hearts of thy fellows to prove. No comfort nor peace wilt thou find save in me; To shelters that fail thee why, why wilt thou flee? Mine eye is upon thee; I feel for thy woe; The secret distress of thy spirit I know — How hunted, and wounded, and cheated thou art, And I pity each pang of thy suffering heart. And mine is compassion that never will fail, While any are left that are sinful and frail. Then lean not, my child, on the reeds that will break; Haste hither to One that will never forsake. As long as thy sins and thy sorrows endure The pity and help of thy Maker is sure." O, Lord, dearest Lord, o'er the waste, howling- wild r Reach out thy strong hand and lead homeward thy child. $06 is for the Right ES, God is for the right, However man go wrong; The race he gives not to the swift, Nor battle to the strong. It matters not how weak the cause If holy in his sight; 'Twill be victorious soon or late, For God will aid the right. Our country's star of fate By clouds is overcast, And dark oppression, wrong and hate - Drives on to ruin fast; Yet wherefore grieve ? In his good time He will arise in might, And bid the angry conflict cease, And triumph with the right. So, brother, let us hope, Though evil be the hour, And we are grouped on ruin's brink,— Bereft of earthly power. Our God will do the best for all, For all, both dark and white; And though the Union rise or fall, He will defend the right. 53 Follow Ihou Jfte. AYE ye looked for sheep in the desert, For those who have missed their way? Have ye been in the wild waste places, Where the lost and wandering stray? Have ye trodden the lonely highway, The foul and darksome street? It may be ye'd see in the gloaming The print of my wounded feet. Have ye folded home to your bosom The trembling, neglected lamb, And taught to the little lost one The sound of the Shepherd's name? Have ye searched for the poor and needy, With no clothing, no home, no bread? The Son of Man was among them, He had nowhere to lay his head! Have ye carried the living water To the parched and thirsty- soul? Have ye said to the sick and wounded, " Christ Jesus makes thee whole " ? Have ye told My fainting children Of the strength of the Father's hand? Have ye guided the tottering footsteps To the shores of the "golden land"? 54 FOLLOW THOU MM. 55 Have ye stood by the sad and weary, To smooth the pillow of death, To comfort the sorrow-stricken, And strengthen the feeble faith ? And have ye felt, when the glory Has streamed through the open door, And flitted across the shadows, That I had been there before? Have ye wept with the broken-hearted In their agony of woe? Ye might hear Me whisp'ring beside you, 'Tis a pathway I often go! My disciples, My brethren, My friends, Can ye dare to follow Me ? Then, wherever the Master dwelleth, There shall the servant be! Jfly Three Homes* -AR away amid the mountains, stands a cottage small and brown, Where the sunlight loves to linger on the roof with moss o'ergrown; Where the shadows fall so gently, and the twilight gathers deep, Folding cottage, stream and mountain in a calm and holy sleep. O, I love the pleasant visions that in menrry come to me, For I've treasured up a picture of each hill, and rock, and tree; And to-night the sound of voices falls upon my ear again, And I catch the distant music of some old, familiar strain. But 'tis strange ! no childish laughter 'mid the old woods echoes now, While my mother's step is feeble, and deep lines are on her brow. And the dark-brown locks I parted from my father's brow of yore, Have grown thin from many winters, and are thickly silvered o'er. Ah, how light and shade are blending in the picture, as I gaze Backward down life's changing vista to the scenes of early days! But a long, wide way divides us, and long years I know may come, Ere life's journey brings my footsteps to the dear old childhood's home. Where the grand old prairies widen, and the wild flowers open fair, There is many a home of beauty, and my own is nestling there; It is not the home of childhood, not a semblance can I trace Of the mountain, rock, or wild-wood, near the old familiar place. 56 MY THREE HOMES. 57 But my life has grown more gladsome and a deeper joy I've known, Since another tie is added, and my heart is not alone. There's new beauty in the landscape, softer music in the breeze, For the brightness of affection helps the soul to garner these. And now my blue-eyed baby like a bud of promise rare Wakes new beauty in life's garden where before 'twas passing fair; And I love to think the sunshine lighting up her golden head, Is an emblem of the brightness that shall on her path be shed. As I sit amid my treasures, and recall the buried years, Giving now a smile of gladness, bathing oft some scene in tears — How my heart in fondness lingers where such blessed mem'ries come, Round the fireside and the altar, where I knelt so oft at home. O, I love to trace the record I have kept in mem'ry long, And to scan the treasured pictures that in all her chambers throng. Yet they tell me all is fading — friends my heart holds dear to- day May, to-morrow, glide in silence to those dim old halls away. Ah, we've no abiding city, we are seeking one to come, Where a house by hands not builded is our everlasting home; Where no night of sorrow darkens, and no eye is dim with tears, For a glory and a gladness marks the bright, unchanging years. There, when all life's scenes are o'er, may the circle loved below, In the olden home of childhood, and the home so precious now, With unbroken links be gathered where no bitter partings come, And our earthly ties be strengthened in that brighter, better home. iDuer the Riuer. VER the river they beckon to me, Loved ones who've crossed to the farther side, The gleam of their snowy robes I see, But their voices are lost in the dashing tide. There's one with ringlets of sunny gold, And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue; He crossed in the twilight gray and cold, And the pale mist hid him from mortal view. We saw not the angels who met him there, The gates of the city we could not see: Over the river, over the river, My brother stands waiting to welcome me. Over the river the boatman pale Carried another, the household pet; Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale, Darling Minnie! I see her yet. She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands, And fearlessly entered the phantom bark; We felt it glide from the silver sands, And all our sunshine grew strangely dark; We know she is safe on the farther side, Where all the ransomed and angels be: Over the river, the mystic river, My childood's idol is waiting for mo. 58 OVER THE RIVER. 59 For none return from those quiet shores Who *cross with the boatman cold and pale; We hear the dip of the golden oars, And catch a gleam of the snowy sail; And lo! they have passed from our yearning heart, They cross the stream and are gone for aye; We may not sunder the veil apart That hides from our vision the gates of day; We only know that their barks no more May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea; Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore, They watch, and beckon, and wait for me. And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold Is flushing river and hill and shore, I shall one day stand by the water cold, And list for the sound of the boatman's oar. I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail, I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand, I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale To the better shore of the spirit-land. I shall know the loved who have gone before, And joyfully sweet will the meeting be, When over the river, the peaceful river, The angel of death shall carry me. Inconstancy. |/ LAY in the shade of an elm one day vr And watched the young south winds as they Courted and kissed a rose of May Which grew at my side, Fairer than any human bride. So soft and sweet was their tone of love It seemed like music from above, Or the voice of a distant dove In some solitude Cooing over her infant brood. The face of the rose took a deeper hue As the young winds, whispering, nearer drew, With vows and a pledge untrue: " Witness, thou sun, That we, the rose and the winds, are one." I lay in the shade of the elm again Ere the moon of the month began to wane, But I looked for the rose in vain — Neglected and dead Were its petals pale in their bridal bed. And the winds as they hoarsely hurried by Had not for the lost a single sigh; How much like cruel man, thought I — Love's sweetest breath He changes oft to the blast of death. "Wait. AIT is a weary word. How often we wait till all is gone, Till the joys we wait to clasp are flown, Till our hopes are dead in their beautiful bloom, And we sit and sigh above their tomb! v Wait is a weary word. Wait is a sorrowful word. How often we wait till life is drear, Bereft of the ties that make it dear, Till the hands are cold that we wait to grasp, Till the forms are laid low that we wait to clasp, Till the lips are mute that wait to kiss, And this beautiful world is robbed of bliss! Wait is a sorrowful word. Wait is a lonely word. How often we turn from the fireside warm And gaze out into the night and storm, Waiting in vain for coming feet, Yearning in vain for a greeting sweet, While the feet are at rest and the form is low On the battle-sod beneath the snow! Wait is a lonely word. 61 62 AMONG THE POETS. Wait is