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SONGS FOR THE SORROWING, 
 
S AT G S 
 
 FOE THE SORROWING. 
 
 By n. N. Lf-- ^ 
 ^vrm Ajsr iisttrodtjctio?^, 
 
 BY WM. E. WILLIAMS, D.D. 
 
 " Be like the bird, that halting in her flight 
 Awhile, on boughs too slight, 
 
 Feels them give way beneath her, and yet sings, — 
 Knowing that she bath wings." 
 
 Victor Hugo. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 PHINNEY, BLAKEMAN & MASON, 
 
 BUFFALO : BREED, BUTLER, 4 CO. 
 
 186 1. 
 
7^ \i4t" 
 
 51279 
 
 Entered, according to Act ofCcp.^refS in the year 1SG0, by 
 
 PTIIXNKY, BLAKEMAN & M.VfiON, 
 
 In the Cleili's Ollice for the Southern District of New York. 
 
 Smttit & 'MoDorGAi-, 
 Stereoty^'Ers?. 
 
 JA <-f 
 
 COiS 
 
 X:? H'AswH^ 
 
 v^\ 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The present volume of poems is the fragmen- 
 tary memorial of one gifted and accomplished, 
 but taken from her friends and from a widowed 
 mother, by what, to the friends and kindred so 
 bereaved may have seemed an untimely death. 
 She was the only child of the late Stephen Griggs, 
 E»q. The father, himself a man of genial temper, 
 refined tastes, and Uterary culture, bestowed his 
 best endeavors on the education of a daughter 
 who repaid parental aflection with the most at- 
 tached, filial devotion. A child of early promise, 
 her attainments were large and varied. Above all 
 either parent felt the need of having the adorn 
 ments and graces of earthly culture sustained by, 
 and grafted upon, the great truths and controlling 
 principles of Christ's blessed gospel. At a very 
 early age she gave the evidence of true piety, and 
 
 when between fourteen and fifteen she became a 
 1* 
 
Vi I N T K O I) U C T I O X . 
 
 professed disciple of the Lord Jesus. During a 
 summer excursion, spent in part on the sea shore 
 of his own native Massachusetts, Mr, Griggs took 
 "boat for a days' fishing. Although some of the 
 hands were experienced seamen, and in the morn- 
 ing there seemed little prospect of aught else than 
 a day of fine weather, a storm came on: and none 
 returned alive. The boat drifted ashore over- 
 turned, and after some few hours' interval, the 
 corpse of Mr. Griggs, wearing an expression of the 
 most peaceful repose, and hearing little mark of 
 the drifting and buifeting to which the waves had 
 subjected it, was also cast ashore upon another 
 portion of the coast. The day of the excursion 
 was by a melancholy coincidence the anniversary 
 of his wife's birth. The feelings of the wife and 
 child thus sorely and suddenly left alone were 
 those of overwhelming desolation, relieved and 
 chastened, hoAvever, by their entire trust in the Sa- 
 viour, whose gospel the husband and father had long 
 and warmly loved, and in whose wise Providence 
 they themselves fully confided, even whilst thus 
 " slaying them." A glad and kind home was then 
 darkened. The sorrow of a daughter, remarkably 
 
IJiTROBUCTIO:?^. VU 
 
 attached to her father, may be best described in 
 the language which she used at the time in her 
 diary from whose pages it is now transcribed : 
 
 '■'■ November 4th, 1850. — AVell I am at home 
 agam. I liave been home a long time. There is a 
 long interval since my last entry and the present, 
 and a longer period in my life. I have endured 
 the greatest affliction that ever could befall me in 
 that space of time. When last I wrote in this 
 brief record of daily employments I was happy, 
 I had no cares but those I made for myself, no 
 reasonable wishes ungratified, and I was sheltered 
 frqm every thing evil in the sweet, strong refuge 
 of my father's love. Xow how changed. It is 
 the same home, the same room, nothing around 
 me is altered, but in one fearful day all earth's- 
 hopes, peace, enjoyment, protection have left me 
 forever. I am fatherless. Bitter, unwelcome 
 truth, how gladly would I disbelieve it. The 
 trials of past years, and they were neither few nor 
 slight, are all swallowed up in this. We bore 
 them patiently, cheerfully, because we had hope. 
 Now we have none. The grave can not give up 
 its trust ; the precious clay will not re\ive at our 
 
Vjil USTTEODTJCTIOIir. 
 
 bidding ; the dear voice answers not our passionate 
 invocations — we are alone. Alone, and oh how 
 xinutterably wretched. He used to think I had 
 strength of character : I thought I had it myself, 
 but it was the strength of the wild vine clinging 
 to the strong trunk of its forest pro]), and entwin- 
 ing the branches so closely with its tendrils that 
 they could not be distinguished the one from the 
 other. Such was my strength. He was beautiful, 
 and noble, and powerful in his calm self-command, 
 and I leaned upon him lovingly. When the de- 
 cree went forth that he should be transplanted, if 
 it had been done gently, and by degrees, instead 
 of suddenly, roughly Avrenching away, Avithout a 
 word of warning all that made life desirable, we 
 might have borne it better. But such was not 
 God's Avill. In the morning the tall tree stood 
 without one token of decay, and bore up its feeble 
 companions with a strong support, and at night 
 the poor ones lay crushed and bleeding, in the 
 mire — their prop had been cut down and car- 
 ried away. But what is the use of metaphor ? 
 The horrible truth, dress it as we may, remains 
 the same. My poor mother is a widow and I am 
 
 
INTRODUCTIOK. IX 
 
 fatherless. And the mournful remembrance that 
 we have no last words. He may haA^e died tri- 
 umphantly ; the presence of his Savioirr may have 
 so sustained him, that he may have entered with 
 rapture into the joy of his Lord ; but we can not 
 tell if it were so. He may have died calmly, the 
 sober fiith of a life-time not failing him at last ; 
 and this the solemnly serene countenance would 
 seem to indicate, but we do not know that this 
 was the way. Or as the waters cold and dark 
 rose about his body, so the colder, darker waters 
 of temptation may have risen on his spirit ; the 
 tempter may have buffeted him to the last, as he 
 has since buffeted us. Agony of regret at leaving 
 us alone in a desolate world, may have been his last 
 thought. Worldly cares may have pressed their 
 disturbing claims upon him ; the effort to escape 
 may have absorbed every faculty till he was ex- 
 hausted. Death may have come so suddenly that 
 all other anxieties were swallowed up in the ur- 
 gent needs of his own soul, or by its slow approach 
 may have given him time to intercede for and 
 exhort those who died with him. All these con- 
 jectures by turns occupy us, but over all hangs 
 
X INTEODUCTION. 
 
 the same dark uncertainty, and this increases our 
 trial tenfold. And the last words of some Chris- 
 tians have been so precious to survivors as almost 
 to take away the jxain of parting. Oh my beloved 
 father, why was I not allowed to pillow thy dying- 
 head I so fondly loved ; why might I not have gone 
 down with thee to the " swellings of Jordan." I 
 think of that dear head tossed hither and thither 
 by the wild waves and bruised on the rough beach, 
 till I am wild myself. Would God I had died with 
 thee. But he Avas truly mourned, and not by us 
 only. Those who have come to sorrow with us, 
 sorrow because they themselves lost a precious 
 friend — somebody whom they could trust ; and the 
 one testimony from all who knew him is, that he 
 is happy, but for us 
 
 ' All bright hopes and hues of day- 
 Have faded into twilight gray.' " 
 
 After a time Miss Griggs, at the suggestion of 
 many friends who knew the ripeness of her judg- 
 ment and attamments, and Avho wished to see her 
 talents employed in some such manner as Avould 
 beguile her sorrow and be also useful to others. 
 
INTKODUOTION. XI 
 
 applied herself to the preparatiou of a Memoir, 
 and the translation of the remains, of Jacqueline 
 Pascal, the gifted sister of the great author of the 
 Prdvmcial Letters. The volume appeared from 
 the press of the Carters in New York, and was 
 promptly republished by Nisbet in London. The 
 Eclectic Hevleio^ of the latter city, spoke with 
 warm and just praise of the freedom and racy 
 idiomatic ease of the style, which made it difficult 
 to regard the jiarts actually translated from the 
 French as being wiitten originally in another lan- 
 guage than the English. But Jacqueline Pascal, 
 although one of the first martyrs in the struggle 
 of Jansenism agamst wily and relentless Jesuit- 
 ism, and singularly able and earnest in defending 
 the great truths of the gospel for which Jansenism 
 bore its witness, was also a staunch Catholic, and 
 the inmate of a nunnery, the famed Port Royal 
 des Champs, whose discipline was of the strictest 
 character. 
 
 The prevalence of the controversy provoked by 
 the Oxford Tracts for the Times, had in Britain 
 and America made Protestantism unwontedly jea- 
 lous of all that seemed in any way to favor any 
 
XU I N T R O L> U C TI O N . 
 
 school or member of the Ilomisli Church. Many — ■ 
 not stopping to learn the real relations of the 
 great Jansenist body to the doctrines of grace, and 
 their sufferings, heroism, and genius in defense of 
 tlie Adtal truths of the gospel, as held in glorious 
 succession by Paul, Augustine, and Jansenius, 
 no less than by Calvin — shrunk from examining a 
 volume that if begun would have mastered their 
 sjTnpathies, conquered their prejudices, anU well 
 repaid their study. Though valued by those who 
 could judge, the book never found, therefore, the 
 wide currency that it merited. 
 
 As was known to her friends only, Miss Griggs 
 wrote in verse also on the sad calamity that had 
 made her home so suddenly desolate. She had 
 occasionally indulged and recorded her sorrow in 
 lines of various measure, and ■ of unequal literary 
 execution. Much of real genius and some rare 
 felicities of exj^ression are found in these composi- 
 tions. At the wish of relatives and near friends, 
 a few copies of these collected verses were printed 
 in a volume, entitled " My Father's Knell," exclu- 
 sively for private circulation. 
 
 The volume that now makes its appearance has 
 
INTKODUCTION. XIU 
 
 its own separate history. The health of the Avriter 
 fiiiled. The undue application in j^reparing for 
 the press her Jacqiiehne Pascal had perliaps aided 
 somewhat to exasperate and precipitate her sick- 
 ness. She used ti'avel and many systems of treat- 
 ment, and endured great physical suiferings in the 
 long protracted but unavailing hope of relief from 
 the malady that threatened to prison and cripple 
 her. It was not the will of God that this sickness 
 should be removed. Meanwhile, and in the periods 
 often of keeii bodily suifering, she solaced herself 
 ^y the composition of poetry on various themes 
 that presented themselves to the invalid, shut in 
 by the walls of the sick room. But strong in 
 Christian hope she retained, as her verses show, a 
 true and filial grasp on the Faithful and Fatherly 
 hand that wielded the rod of chastening, and min- 
 gled and proffered the cup of bitter but salutary 
 affliction. Her bodily distress was such, that 
 those who most valued her could not desire a con- 
 tinued stay for her on earth, amid such anguish. 
 Favored with reason and speech to the last, she 
 took her departure, hopefully and calmly, in the 
 reliance on Christ's s:race and faithfulness that had 
 
XIV INTKODUCTION. 
 
 long blessed her, ou the fourteenth day of Feb- 
 ruary, 1860. 
 
 It is believed that the Christian will find much 
 in the poetry to win and repay the attention asked 
 for. Of more literary finish than her earlier lines, 
 it shows glimpses of the same genius, culture, and 
 warm afFectionateness, that made her the object 
 of true regard to her friends. 
 
 And the mother now sends forth this memorial, 
 blessing God for such a child, and for the testi- 
 mony which that child gave to the sufficiency and 
 immutability of the gospel as a su2:»port in earth's 
 heaviest calamities, and to its value in the antici- 
 pations it opens of that better world — where the 
 friends in Christ now removed, may be one day 
 rejoined — where the graces here, at best imperfect, 
 shall be seen in their highest symmetry — and 
 where Christ shall, by His now assembled people, 
 be praised more worthily and be resembled more 
 vividly and more entirely. 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 Proem 19 
 
 The Loadstone Fort 22 
 
 Saviour, now peacefully the life 25 
 
 It canxa be lanq 28 
 
 The Anointed Eye 30 
 
 Tired Heart, Sleep 30 
 
 Little Carrie 41 
 
 The Orange Tree 45 
 
 COLIGNI AND L'ESTRANQE 4G 
 
 Anything but this 52 
 
 Distance Removed, Darkness Removed 5i 
 
 The Fear of Evil 56 
 
 Here and Hereafter GO 
 
 The Opal Ring G4 
 
 " In Sight op Heaven," , GG 
 
 The Building of the Tj-.mplb, 72 
 
 If all along oUb earthly way 75 
 
XVI CONTENTS. 
 
 FAGB. 
 
 Buried ix Jeeusalem 77 
 
 " EOSE-AVATER SDRGERY" 83 
 
 Probixg 85 
 
 To A Spiritualist 87 
 
 An Incident 92 
 
 " Appear not unto men to fast" 96 
 
 Ocean Blossoms 99 
 
 Sabbaths at IIomij 102 
 
 They went and told Jesus 106 
 
 " Awake, thou that Sleepest" 109 
 
 The Apostles' Creed 113 
 
 Old Authors 120 
 
 "I Count only the Hours that Siiixe" 124 
 
 "Weeping may endure for a night" 128 
 
 To THE Subterranean River 129 
 
 The River's Response 1 :-;2 
 
 The Bottomless Pit 135 
 
 Cradle Singing 137 
 
 Divine Service 143 
 
 Dissonance 145 
 
 Heart, well nigh Home ! 147 
 
 The Christian's Chain 149 
 
 "Like Hni, fob we shall see Him as He is" 153 
 
CONTENTS. Xvii 
 
 , PAGE 
 
 Legend of St. Cueistopher 156 
 
 TuE Raixbow ox the Railway ] 73 
 
 Suspense 17G 
 
 The Lesson of Gideon 179 
 
 Rachel, Lady Russell 1,S2 
 
 Parting 188 
 
 "Except the Lord build the house" 101 
 
 Thomas Fuller on Pins 105 
 
 Second Causes 108 
 
 The Butterfly 201 
 
 Sans Peur et sans Reprochr 205 
 
 Homelessness 208 
 
 *' We know not what we shall be" 212 
 
 Sorrow and Consolation 2 i 5 
 
 Spring Violets 218 
 
 " Deal Gently with thy Servant" 221 
 
 The Lonely Christmas 225 
 
 Shadows and Sunshine 227 
 
 In the City of Refuge 230 
 
 Another Grief 233 
 
 Our Broken Yine 237 
 
 Unclothed 2 iO 
 
 Clothed Upon 2i3 
 
XVIU CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Garden TaouGifT 246 
 
 IIavelock at Alu-muagh - 248 
 
 River Burial ■ , 253 
 
 iconoclasm 256 
 
 Neyer prat for Trials 259 
 
 The Starless Crown 2G2 
 
 Anchored, tet weary 266 
 
 Prayer of one no longer prayed for 2G8 
 
 Count Louis op Nassau 272 
 
 " I will give him the Morning Star" 276 
 
 By the Brink op the River 279 
 
 L'Enyoi 283 
 
PROEM. 
 
 One, of her only son bereft, 
 Herself a widow, to the wave 
 
 Whose mad up-rising joyless left 
 Her life, an offering gave — 
 
 Lest there, with anguish like her own, 
 Might mother's heart again he wrung, 
 
 From shore to shore a bridge of stone 
 With shielding rail she hung. 
 
 O'er sorrow's channel, broad and dark. 
 We seek to fling no feeble span ; 
 
 There, long ago, a stately arc 
 Rose without toil of man. 
 
90 PROEM. 
 
 Ko flood its piles may undei-mine, 
 Nor furious gale the arclies move 
 
 Upheld in peace on piers divine, 
 Their keystone — " God is Love." 
 
 And they whose feet the bridge have v/on 
 Securely, view the stream obey 
 
 That curb of power, till, fret-work done, 
 It falls in sun-lit sj^ray. 
 
 But ours too oft have strayed af;ir. 
 
 And sunk in depths of gloom and mire, 
 
 While following long, for beacon-star, 
 Some ray of marsh-born fire. 
 
 Now in meek penance would we plant 
 Way-marks for pilgrim hearts to find, 
 
 When through morass or wood, in w.mt 
 And weariness they wind ; 
 
P K O E M. 21 
 
 "With Song's clear lantern would enclose 
 Some thoughts whose glow-worm light, 
 in hours 
 
 Of pain, to yon sure Bridge of Woes, 
 Has gently guided ours. 
 
THE LOADSTONE FOET 
 
 [An old Hindoo tradition tells of such a fort among the 
 mountain ranges of India, which drew to itself the weapons 
 of all assailants, and was, of course, impregnable.] 
 
 A RE liostile feet in liusli of midnight falling 
 
 On the hiish'd snows of Himalayan hills, 
 Bound for the Loadstone Fort ? No bugle's 
 calling 
 Wakes inmate ere he wills. 
 
 And foes may steal unnotic'd near the trenches, 
 Or with bold front in banner'd force deploy. 
 While each in ireful hold his falchion clenches, 
 And wields with warrior's joy. 
 
THE L O A I) S T O X E F O K T . 23 
 
 Yet from tall tower no eye of cliieftain gazes 
 
 To scan the coming of a long-fear'd harm, — 
 No wild alarm the sick or weary dazes ; 
 Each bastion hath a charm. 
 
 And while through loadstone walls that For- 
 tress draweth 
 The keenest missile to its own calm side, 
 Vainly the war-hail flies. — No legion aweth 
 Him to its Lord allied. 
 
 Scarce is a foe beheld his sword unsheathing, 
 
 Ere sword and scabbard to the walls are flown; 
 Shield, helm and harness, in bright circles 
 wreathing 
 Like garlands, there have grown. 
 
 Thou art my Fortress, Lord ! When evils 
 hound me 
 In horrid chase along Life's mountain gorge, 
 
24 THE LOADSTONK FORT. 
 
 Ouce in Thy Presence, harmlessly around me, 
 Falls steel from Hell's red forge. 
 
 Then liold me near Thee ! Through serene 
 attraction 
 Vim Thou the arrows from my sin-pierc'd 
 soul ; 
 And powers, long thrall'd by Self in rebel fac- 
 tion, 
 Within Thy force enroll ! 
 
 Til us, tho' the outworks where I lean are lying 
 
 In a low valley, near a brackish well, 
 The same fair banner overhead is flying 
 As from the Citadel ; 
 
 And I can wait, until the clouds that trammel 
 
 Mine upward view, melt silently away — ■ 
 Till Heaven's full Sun my glorious Fort enamel 
 With blazonry of Day ! 
 
SAVIOUE ! HOW PEACEFULLY 
 THE LIFE. 
 
 Saviour ! how peacefully the life, 
 Now with regretful murmurs rife, 
 
 Would drop its noiseless sands, 
 Could we but feel each tiny grain, 
 Each moment fraught with joy or pain, 
 
 Was measur'd through Thy hands. 
 
 For Thou art loving ! Thou art wise ! 
 No fringe from Thy far-seeing eyes 
 
 Can shut out land or sea. 
 Thy power, Thy love inlacing thus- 
 Dark though the future seem to us, 
 
 It is not dark to Thee ! 
 
 2 
 
26 saviouk: 
 
 We do not wish Life's folded woof 
 Held from Thy rightful touch aloof, — 
 
 Are glad its rule is Thine ; 
 Yet often faith in fear will shrink 
 Trom shape uncouth, sad hue, and think 
 
 To change some lesser line. 
 
 A day all sunshine and soft air, 
 A life unshadow'd by one care, 
 
 To our dull vision look 
 More suited for the hearts we prize, 
 As wings whereon their praise may rise ; 
 
 Than chastening hard to brook. 
 
 But Thy calm love. Oh wiser Lord, 
 Thro' clouds where heaviest rain is stored, 
 
 Can freshest verdure bring, 
 And bid the storms that rack our globe 
 Swathe in a snow-soft ermine robe 
 
 The Eoyal Infant — -Spring. 
 
HOW PEACEFULLY THE LIFE. 21 
 
 Then with each blackening tempest-shade, 
 Let Thy felt love a glory braid 1 
 
 Type of the bliss we know 
 Awaits Thy chosen, when at last 
 True light shall stream on trials past, 
 
 From stainless Emerald Bow ! 
 
IT CANNA BE LANG. 
 
 On a calm summer eve was the bridal 
 Of one who had suffered so long, 
 
 That fond gratulation seemed idle, 
 The gladness it prophesied, wrong. 
 
 She had learn'd how life's pleasures were fleeting 
 As pearls which on rose-petals hang ; 
 
 And gently replied to our greeting, 
 
 " Aweel, it canna be lang." 
 
 How sad, when young pulses are bounding 
 In valleys where sweet waters well, 
 
 To hear the gay saraband rounding 
 So soon, in a sorrowful knell ! 
 
 Oh coffin of feasting Egyptian ! 
 
 Through garlands, through dulcimer's clang, 
 
 Still pierceth thy pallid inscription — 
 
 " Aweel, it canna be lang \" 
 
IT CANNA BE LANG. 29 
 
 Tet it comes like a tender evangel, 
 A love-breeze, borne over Earth's deep 
 
 In the bosom of pitying angel, 
 To those who in solitude weep. 
 
 Though each mom bring thy longings denial ; 
 Each twilight add pang unto pang ; 
 
 Till the final cloud fall on thy dial — 
 
 " Aweel, it canna be lang \" 
 
 Ala. 1 the road whereon saint and apostle 
 Once wandered, hath loiterers yet ; 
 
 Shall we murmur, if enemies jostle. 
 If snares by its hedges are set ? 
 
 Shall we faint at each fresh contradiction ? 
 Nay ! sing, as of old, men sang, 
 
 While flame-rings sealed fast the conviction,* 
 " Aweel, it canna be lang I" 
 
 * " Be the day weary, or be the day long, 
 At length it ringeth to even-song, " 
 was a favorite distich with the English Reformers in the 
 Marian persecution. 
 
 2* 
 
THE ANOINTED EYE. 
 
 The fairies watched her pretty ways thoughout 
 
 the livelong day, 
 And then with gifts and glozing talk they 
 
 lured the child away ; 
 They lured her from the orchard-slope, a-down 
 
 the green hill-side, 
 From the cottage where her mother dwelt, her 
 
 bahy-sister died. 
 
 Their carved corals clasped her arm, and Alice 
 
 grew content 
 To count the spots on elfin wings, and follow 
 
 where they went ; 
 
THE ANOINTED EYE. 31 
 
 To feel herself the pet and pride of all that 
 
 laughing train, 
 Unweeting how her brothers wept to have her 
 
 Lack again. 
 
 And guileful hands bade sleep's soft dew upon 
 
 her eyes distil, 
 She slept, and wakening, lo ! her couch lay far 
 
 within the hill ; 
 And daisy-chain, and cowslip-ball, at morning 
 
 thought so fine, 
 Looked colorless by rainbow, gems full flashing 
 
 through the mine. 
 
 Then sang they — " Choose, fair Alice, wreath 
 
 of jewels if you list, 
 '* Your dark-blue eyes are lovelier than yonder 
 
 amethyst— 
 
32 THE ANOINTED EYE. 
 
 " Slight value now hath topaz ray, or ruby's 
 
 crimson sheen, 
 "While we can kiss your rosy cheek, and 
 
 claim you for our queen." 
 
 And long among those elfin hills the simple 
 
 Alice dwelt 
 In pleasure, pomp, and revelry, the lapse of 
 
 time unfelt. 
 Until one night the fairies said — " To-morrow, 
 
 all alone 
 "Must we leave our darling mistress, on a 
 
 mission of our own." 
 
 Though bright new toys lay round her, ere the 
 
 troop would ride away. 
 It was a wistful watcher viewed their festival 
 
 array ; 
 
THE AKOIKTED EYE. 33 
 
 And when with, salve from casket brought 
 
 must all their eyelids touch, 
 What meaning in the spell could lie, fair Alice 
 
 wondered much. 
 
 Soon disappeared with farewell smiles the 
 
 meiTy cavalcade. 
 While Alice felt, despite her toys and jewels, 
 
 half afraid, 
 Before an hour was spent she sighed — " It 
 
 surely must be noon ;" 
 When noon arrived, " How lightly now they 
 
 dance beneath the moon/' 
 
 " Where are my playmates wandering ? ah ! 
 
 did I only know, 
 ** Doubtless I too could follow, and behold 
 
 some rarest show." 
 
34 THE ANOINTED EYE. 
 
 Then on the casket fell her eye, and soon a 
 
 shout of glee 
 Told her espial of the nook where gleamed its 
 
 polished key. 
 
 One moment ere the fastening yields — another 
 
 — and her eye 
 Hath met the magic ointment. With a sudden, 
 
 sorrowing cry, 
 Poor Alice gazed around her on a cavern cold 
 
 and bare 
 Of all save leaves and lichens grey, that imaged 
 
 her despair. 
 
 Where gold-inwoven tapestries waved gorge- 
 ously at morn, 
 
 Hung only shattered spider-webs and pensile 
 moss forlorn ; 
 
THB ANOIKTED EYE. 35 
 
 She longedj yet trembled for the sound of 
 
 footsteps coming back, 
 And when they came, rich robe and plume all 
 
 radiance seemed to lack. 
 
 Those graceful forms had hollow grown, more 
 
 hollow still their laugh. 
 The luscious wine they offered her she did not 
 
 care to quaff ; 
 And saying, " I am weary," soon they fancied 
 
 Alice slept, 
 But all the while with folded eyes, sad Alice 
 
 lay and wept. 
 
 And long-forgotten sounds once more in 
 
 dreamy swell uprose, 
 Sweet snatches of her cradle songs, prayers 
 
 heard at Sabbath close ; 
 
36 THE ANOINTED EYE. 
 
 She started up, the fays were gone, and in the 
 
 distance far 
 A soft, faint light came struggling through 
 
 some fissure, like a star. 
 
 Toward that far gleam then groping on with 
 
 all her slender strength, 
 Behold it waxing broader, ever broader, till at 
 
 length 
 Deep down within the opening a flood of glory 
 
 rolled — 
 And the Summer was before her in its garb of 
 
 green and gold. 
 
 Fast paled her elfin livery before that vision 
 
 rare — 
 And when could elfin lullaby with voice of 
 
 home compare ? 
 
THE ANOINTED EYE. 37 
 
 Safe in her old meek place of rest, she dwells 
 
 by mother's knee : 
 None Alice thence shall ever wile with fraud- 
 
 ful gem or plea. 
 
 Lord ! if thine anointing Love have shown 
 our souls how bare 
 
 Of truest joy are Earth's delights, her pa- 
 geantry and glare — 
 
 If from Thy holy heaven of Light a single 
 guiding ray 
 
 Through ice-rift of the glacier— Self — have 
 forced its reinless way. 
 
 Still may Thy mercy lead us on, still with 
 
 Thy strength infuse 
 The feeble faith that else would sink at mo- 
 mentary bruise — 
 
38 THE ANOINTED EYE. 
 
 Till, dwelling in Thy Sun-light, joyous angel- 
 welcomes ring 
 
 To hail us safe and satisfied, before Thee, 
 our King 1 
 
TIKED HEAET, SLEEP, 
 
 TiKED Heart, sleep ! 
 Sleep on quiet pillow ! 
 
 Though around thee leap 
 Foam of wind-lashed billow, 
 Safe as in calm nook, 
 
 Which fair Summer ruleth, 
 Sleep ! thy Saviour's look 
 
 Cloud and rough wind schooleth. 
 
 Tired Heart, sleep ! 
 Tired of wistful grieving — 
 
 Grieve no more, nor keep 
 Watch o'er waves thou 'rt leaving 1 
 Let the night-glooms rise. 
 
 Dark as wing of raven, 
 
40 TIEED HEART, SLEEp! 
 
 For thy pinnace flies 
 Fast toward blissful haven. 
 
 Tired Heart, sleep ! 
 All Earth's woe is wafted 
 
 Soon away, while deep 
 Are thy joys engrafted 
 In a Saviour's cross — 
 
 Starred with light unwaning 
 Eoot, whence pain and loss 
 
 Win immortal gaining I 
 
 Tired Heart, sleep I 
 Till thy Lord's hand, closing 
 
 Eyes long prone to weep, 
 End, too, thy reposing : 
 Then awake and sing ! 
 
 Where Life's glorious river- 
 Fed from love's full spring-^ 
 
 Tires no more for ever I 
 
LITTLE CAERIE 
 
 A mothee's talk. 
 
 Snow-drifts like sentinels were filed 
 Against the chamber where my child 
 Slept in the hush they made, and smiled. 
 
 My Carrie ! fair as wreath of snow— 
 Her cheeks with sunrise flush aglow — ■ 
 Her hair like sunset's amber flow. 
 
 Ah ! well I know that love is kind, 
 
 And will, in homeliest features find 
 
 Charms to which common eyes are blind : 
 3* 
 
42 LITTLE CABBIE. 
 
 But ever, where my Carrie went, 
 Looks on her loveliness were bent. 
 Which said, " Beware ! the child is lent : 
 
 " Nay, clasp her not with such delight. 
 For angels' hold on earth is slight, 
 And she will seek the land of light \" 
 
 Some infant smiles like sunbeams stray ; 
 Hers in our dwelling old and gray. 
 Shone more like moonlight's mellow ray. 
 
 For thoughtful seemed her eyes' deep blue, 
 As though their mute child- wisdom knew 
 Of much beyond our mortal view ; 
 
 Yet soon again some baby-wile. 
 Or dimpling of her roguish smile. 
 Would fondest mother-fearg" beguile. 
 
LITTLE CARRIE. 43 
 
 Thus eighteen months had slipped away, 
 When Carrie climbedj one summer day, 
 To ivory keys, and feigned to play. 
 
 The waxen fingers woke faint clang ; 
 But like a lark's her clear voice rang — 
 I stopped and marvelled while she sang ; 
 
 Then left her on some brief employ — 
 Sweet croon of welcome ! with what joy 
 It told my absence gave annoy. 
 
 That night she sickened. Short the space, 
 I held her in my sad embrace, 
 Watching the languors on her face. 
 
 Before a change came o'er her mien ; 
 Her look grew saint-like and serene, 
 Toward bitter cup turned gentle e'en — 
 
^4 LITTLE CAEEIE. 
 
 Small finger pointed— pale lips tried 
 To drink in vain — and to my side 
 More closely nestling, Carrie died. 
 
 That voice of music filled mine ears, 
 I clasped her close in dreams for years, 
 At day-dawn missed her, blind with tears : 
 
 But now those faithless tears are dried ; 
 Here at my calling could she glide. 
 I would not call her to my side. 
 
 From vision of her Saviour-King, 
 
 From blisses past imagining, 
 
 Dare love like mine its dear one bring 
 
 Where sin might soil my snow-wreath fair^ 
 Her clear voice moan in Earth's despair ? — 
 Ah no ! I would we all were there I 
 
THE ORANGE-TREE 
 
 "Le Fruit ne fait pas tomber la fleur." 
 
 No rf-ork of grace will ripen, some have said, 
 
 With bloom unshed ; 
 All fair young petals lose, in Summer's glow, 
 
 Their spotless snow ; 
 And holy fervors thus through trial thin 
 
 Ere fruits begin. 
 
 But make my life, Lord, an orange-tree. 
 
 Thick hung for thee. 
 With golden deeds of mercy by whose side 
 
 Meek prayers abide ; 
 Thus yielding to Thy glory, every hour, 
 
 Love's fruit and flower. 
 
COLIGNI AND L'ESTRANGE. 
 
 AN INCIDENT IN THE WAKS OF THE REFORMATION. 
 
 Borne away from battle surges 
 
 Where white crests of kinsfolk meet — 
 While around despairing dirges 
 
 Moan for Moncontour's defeat, 
 Throbs the heart at sunrise eager 
 
 France with brave right arms to free 
 From proud hoof of Priest and Leaguer, 
 
 Spurred and reined by Holy See : 
 And while sunset slowly dies, 
 That dear hope in death-shroud lies 
 Stark before his wearied eyes. 
 
COLIGNI AND l'eSTRANGE. 47 
 
 Through the day when steel clashed madly 
 
 Was Coligni's helmet seen, 
 If the van-guard wavered, gladly 
 
 Pressing where their place had been : 
 Now a closely-curtained litter 
 
 Veils from all the warrior's frame, 
 Smart of wounds, though keen, less bitter 
 
 Than his sense of grief, and shame, 
 Heaping fast on burning brain. 
 
 Fuel, memories of pain, 
 
 Prayers and toilings spent in vain. 
 
 Foes who long his Faith have slandered ; 
 
 Comrades recreant to their God ; 
 Worse, far worse, the Holy Standard 
 
 Now by heel of scoffers trod ; 
 Each sad thought through wan cheek tingling 
 
 With a sudden fever-glow, 
 Till the poisoned waves commingling 
 
 Bid Faith's chalice overflow — 
 
48 COLIGNI AND l'eSTRANGE, 
 
 Thus while powers of darkness reign 
 Better had the brave heart lain 
 Cold among yon piles of slain ! 
 
 And perchance the soul reflective 
 
 In that hour of gloom might peer 
 Onward till in dim perspective 
 
 It discerned a darker year, 
 When with band of butchers gory 
 
 Guise at dead of night u})rose — 
 When Coligni's head, grown hoary, 
 
 Bowed beneath assassin's blows — 
 Eoyal feastings, bridal ring, 
 Naught but snares of hell to bring 
 Birds to slaughter, else a-wing. 
 
 Twilight fell o'er wold and meadow — 
 Dawn upheld her shield of flame — 
 
 Only dreams of heavier shadow 
 Eound the imprisoned warrior came, 
 
COLIGNI AND l' EST RANGE. 49 
 
 Till a hand its veil unfolding, 
 
 Tramp of spearmen toward liis cell 
 
 Bore another litter holding 
 
 Frame and spirit pained as well ; 
 
 Yet he welcomed not his friend, 
 
 Comfort there was none to lend ; 
 
 Coward plainings served no end. 
 
 Soon L'Esti-ange's sight grew dimmer 
 
 Watching the beloved brow ; 
 Fain would Love with moonlight shimmer 
 
 That grief-furrowed lake endow. 
 " Yet is God sweet consolation" 
 
 Fell at length from quivering lip ; 
 Then he turned in agitation 
 
 Stifling sobs that else would slip 
 
 Strongest leash of manly pride, 
 
 Bound all agonies to hide 
 
 From the soldiers ranged beside. 
 5 
 
60 COLIGNI AND l'eSTEANGB. 
 
 Long, with face in pillow buried, 
 
 Long and slowly wept L'Estrange, 
 Weeping, while his whisper hurried 
 
 Brought Coligni blissful change. 
 Swift as breath of summer sounding 
 
 Thrills through gloomiest grove of pine- 
 Joyful thoughts, of God's abounding 
 
 Strength and succour, sped like wine 
 Through the wounded leader's veins ; 
 Taught him tears and toil and pains, 
 Harm not whom the Lord sustains. 
 
 Voice of holiest pastor never 
 
 (Said he oft in after-days) 
 Could his soul to brave endeavor 
 
 Stir like those fond words and gaze. 
 Sown in tears, the flower sprang faster, 
 
 Though by sower soon forgot. 
 Blooming long, an autumn aster, 
 
 Whose mild beauty altered not 
 
COLIGNI AND L'ESTRAISTGE. 51 
 
 Till that fateful midnight frown, 
 When a mangled corpse fell down, 
 And the Martyr won his crown ! 
 
ANYTHING BUT THIS. 
 
 " Some other sorrow ! Lord/' I cried, 
 " Thine arsenal of woe is wide ; 
 Lift from its gleaming rows 
 Some blunter weapon ! Pain, disease, 
 And death are powerless till Thou please — 
 All grief Thine impress knows. 
 
 " Well may my spirit faint with fear : 
 This blessing lost — and earth lies drear : 
 
 Take not my only joy ! 
 Think on past years of mournful pain ; 
 Oh let Thy love, with genial rain, 
 
 Eevive, and not destroy \" 
 
ANYTHING BUT THIS. 53 
 
 From cloud-pavilions answer came : 
 " Shall sinful man his Saviour blame ? 
 
 Wilt thou, vine so frail ! 
 Choose where the knife shall prune away 
 Tendrils that on thy life-sap prey, 
 
 And make thy clusters fail ? 
 
 " The closeness of thy twining grasp 
 Proves but the need of surly rasp, 
 
 Of wrenching swift and strong, 
 To move away that precious thing. 
 The trellis where thy love-shoots cling : ' 
 
 Nor can the doom be wrong. 
 
 " This is thine idol. Fearful heart, 
 Christ reigns alone. If His thou art, 
 
 Know, He will surely trim 
 Each vagrant love away, yet give 
 Strength by His own true word to live- 
 To lean on none but Him !" 
 5* 
 
DISTANCE EEMOVED.— DAEKNESS 
 EEMOVED. 
 
 St. John, xvii. v. 24. 
 
 Through ages hearts have stirr'd 
 With changeful thoughts of Heaven,- 
 
 With woof of sign and gorgeous word. 
 To en weave its splendors striven. 
 
 As when from altar-panes 
 
 One light, in parting prism 
 Of vermeil green, and violet stains. 
 
 Streams down on royal chrism ; 
 
 Each varying hue of bliss 
 
 Through the mind's oriel thrown, 
 Seems but a pencil, born of this, 
 
 "All gloom — all distance gone I" 
 
DISTANCE REMOVED, ETC. 55 
 
 Let aliens dream how briglit, 
 Were thoroughfares of gold — 
 
 The saint's eye craves alone for light, 
 Thy glory to hehold. 
 
 And where, Christ ! Thou art, 
 
 Thy chosen long to be : 
 That far land draws the faithful heart 
 
 With but one Magnet— Thee ! 
 
THE FEAR OF EVIL. 
 
 " Quiet from fear of evil."— Pi!OV. i. 33. 
 
 'Afraid, because of tlie sword of the angel of the Lord." 
 
 1 Chron. xxi. 30. 
 
 Ceushed as by cairn of sorrows, Lord, I lie ; 
 Nor would I murmur at Thy faultless will, 
 But sad thoughts lodge within me, and they fly 
 Aloft like chaff, though I would hold them 
 still. 
 Ah ! were they golden wheat, 
 Thy winnowing fan to meet. 
 In trustful quiet, need I fear no ill. 
 
 The fear of evil ! 'Tis an evil thing — 
 
 For in Thy presence, that all-shadowing 
 Tree— 
 
THE FEAR OF EVIL. 57 
 
 The heart should build her nest, and, bu'd-like, 
 sing, 
 Leaving the morrow's care, a charge for 
 Thee ; 
 Not quail, as lonely hare 
 Sinks down, in sombre lair, 
 Hearing far bugles, though the woods are free. 
 
 He who on couch of anguish long hath lain, 
 
 Winces in presage of the coming blast. 
 And feels in every pulse some herald-pain. 
 Ere yet one cloud the blue air overcast. 
 My soul, too, quick of nerve, 
 Will even in sunshine swerve 
 When change impendeth, shrinking back 
 aghast. 
 
 Often, if grief hath come, I tremble less, 
 
 Worse the foreboding than the woe, when 
 here, 
 
f 
 
 58 THE FEAK OT EVIL. 
 
 And ere it passes, oft with half-caress, 
 I would detain it, lest some other fear, 
 Through yet undarkened place, 
 View, in funereal pace, 
 New mourners come and go, like Highland 
 seer. 
 
 So, in old pictures have I marked the fiend 
 Lifting from coil of gloom a look askance 
 Toward bright archangel who above him leaned, 
 And brandished near his brow puissant 
 lance. 
 
 As though the dusky shape 
 Sought vainly to escape 
 Keen blade of vengeance, and far keener 
 glance. 
 
 Ah ! give me. Lord, a willingness to be 
 
 Made through much suffering to thy saints 
 akin. 
 
TH^ FEAE OF EVIL. 59 
 
 Give faith above all menaced blows to see 
 Hands of Thine angels wield the javelin, 
 To know, when sorrow near 
 Hangs poised, with flashing spear, 
 What writhes within me is the Demon — Sin ! 
 
HERE AND HEEEAFTER. 
 
 My life is a sluggish river, 
 
 Winding its dull career 
 Through flats whereon north winds shiver, 
 
 In the desolate region— Heee. 
 
 Once it flashed forth like a torrent, 
 
 Lavish of diamond spray — 
 Passed where dark boulders horrent 
 Shielded its sinuous way— 
 
 And thence through an outlet of Sorrow, 
 
 In stupor and silence it came 
 Where To-day is the type of To-morrow, 
 
 And all its gay flashes are tame. 
 
IIEEE AND HEEBAFTER. 61 
 
 Far down in the channel are steeping 
 
 Ashes of hopes long dead, 
 As the wild Goth warrior sleeping 
 
 In his slave-river's bed. 
 
 Faintly heaven's sunlight above me 
 
 Falls on miasma of fears, — 
 Friends who most tenderly love me 
 
 Give me small solace save tears. 
 
 But from the fair realms — Hereafter, 
 
 Sorrow and sighing flee ! 
 Sobs are unechoed by rafter 
 
 Of dwellings through grace made free I 
 
 None grieve o'er a love too shallow 
 To quiet the soul's deep thirst— 
 
 For the fullness of God will hallow 
 Their bliss, who have loved Him first. 
 
62 HERE AND HEREAFTEE. 
 
 None pause by a sweet rose-thicket, 
 Whose pathways green mosses pave ; 
 
 To weep because close-barred wicket 
 Defends it, or worse — a grave. 
 
 None grieve over a long-sought treasure 
 Through seeking, sullied and torn ; 
 
 For the lilies of sinless pleasure 
 Grow not in hedges of thorn. 
 
 Fade then, ye love-lights ! spangling 
 Time with your peaceful ray ; 
 
 Break, fond earth-meshes ! entangling 
 Hearts from their heavenward way. 
 
 Seems cry of the night-owl dreary ? 
 
 Dawn Cometh to lift the cloud, 
 Then for watchers no longer weary 
 
 AVill song of the lark be loud. 
 
HERE AND HEREAFTER. 63 
 
 Of the lark ! — To the soul far sweeter 
 
 Than ever morn-music rose, 
 Shall the welcome of Jesus greet her, 
 
 Escaping from Sin's last woes. 
 
THE OPAL EIITG. 
 
 An opal's fire-in-snow 
 
 Gleams on a young girFs hand, 
 While gentle whispers show 
 
 A charm in the golden band. 
 
 Kot alone that a faery spell 
 Will shiver the radiant stone, 
 
 When its fading sparkles tell 
 Of a fond love faithless grown. 
 
 For words in the gift are shrined 
 From a royal Psalmist's scroll, 
 
 And the jeweled ring is lined 
 With a jewel for her soul. 
 
TUB OPAL EING. 65 
 
 Awhile the maiden kept 
 
 That charm unbroken — Then 
 
 O'er the shattered opal wept, 
 And the shattered faith of men. 
 
 Gone were the glow and sheen 
 
 Of giver and of gem — 
 But the golden light serene 
 
 Of the psalm — went not with them. 
 
IN SIGHT OF HEAVEN. 
 
 A Pioneer Missionarj'', who was found frozen to death on the bank 
 of one of the Western Elvers which he had just succeeded in crossing, 
 held in his hand a paper, and on it were feebly penciled the words " in 
 sight of heaven." 
 
 TRiUMPH-glance of Pilot, first in view of 
 
 broad New World ! 
 Flag, by weak hands waved aloft, and held 
 
 in death unfurled ! 
 Pale blossoms are ye, born of Earth, to die by 
 
 March-winds driven, 
 Beside this autumn-fruit of Faith, that glows 
 
 " in sight of heaven." 
 
 ^ts'^ 
 
 Yet Earth has had her conquerors, and prince 
 
 and peasant name 
 Entwine in gorgeous blazonry along the scroll 
 
 of Fame, 
 
IN SIGHT OF UKAVBN. G7 
 
 And glorious memories are embalmed among 
 
 her priceless things — 
 Of warriors brave and rulers wise, true poets, 
 
 patriot-kings. 
 
 But this man more than conqueror through 
 
 might of love became, 
 To bear through frontier-wilds the Cross with 
 
 loyal hand his aim ; 
 And never yet hath minstrel heart, by love or 
 
 sorrow riven. 
 Indited loftier line than this last shout " in 
 
 sight of heaven." 
 
 Not over pleasant garden-paths, or prairies 
 
 green and gay 
 Yv^ith tm-f and flowers upspringing fast, God's 
 
 herald took his way ; 
 
68 IN SIGHT OP HEAVEN. 
 
 Nor was he cheered by kindly voice, compan- 
 ionship and smile, 
 
 Sent forth to thread the wilderness where silent 
 Indians file. 
 
 He lay not on a peaceful couch, within a quiet 
 room. 
 
 While friends and kindred paved with love his 
 passage to the tomb ; 
 
 No brother came to bid him place his confi- 
 dence on high ; 
 
 No worldling gazed with awe-filled mien " to 
 - see a Christian die." 
 
 But in the gloom of forest- ways by fleet hoof 
 
 seldom trod 
 The lone man faced his foe, alone, and sank on 
 
 stranger-sod : 
 
IN SIGHT OF HEAVEN. 69 
 
 He had forded one wide river, it was dark, 
 
 and deep, and cold ; 
 Another and a mightier across his pathway 
 
 rolled. 
 
 Alone ? ah no ! for angel-friends around him 
 
 came and stood 
 To watch that calm death-duel fought beneath 
 
 the leafless wood ; 
 To see those stiffening fingers their triumphant 
 
 record trace 
 And the martyr-light of gladness pierce 
 
 through pallor of his face. 
 
 Alone ? ah no ! in closer grasp than mother's 
 
 fondest hold, 
 The Lord of Life and Death received that soul 
 
 to bliss untold. 
 
70 IN SIGHT OF HEAVEN. 
 
 There was no need of human help when Christ 
 
 could ease the chill, 
 And gently touch the throbbing breast, and 
 
 bid the pulse be still. 
 
 Bright is the sunset splendor thrown from 
 
 many a dying bed, 
 And eloquent the influence of all the saintly 
 
 dead — 
 Far down the turbid waves of Time those rays 
 
 will burn and beam, 
 As lighted pinnace launched by night on 
 
 Oriental stream. 
 
 Sea-curtains veil the sleep of some, and graves 
 
 on heathen strand 
 Will hear as soon the trump of God as graves 
 
 in Father-land. 
 
IN SIGHT OF HEAVEN. Il 
 
 Yet dwell the parting words of none more 
 
 sweetly on mine ear 
 Than the death-sign made in silence by this 
 
 lonely Pioneer. 
 
 And thus, oh slothful heart of mine ! if thou 
 
 wert also found 
 Dauntless in labor for thy Lord, though drear- 
 
 ness abound — 
 Linked to His heart with bands of love, by 
 
 death or life unriven, 
 Thou too wouldst wait for dying grace, and 
 
 live " in sisrht of heaven." 
 
THE BUILDING OF THE TEMPLE. 
 
 1 Kings, chap, vi., v. 7. 
 
 Silence ! the Fane of Jehovah is rising, 
 Calm in its splendor, each stone like a gem : 
 
 Silence ! no hammer may fall, advertising 
 All the long labor on Earth's Diadem. 
 
 Softly, yet swiftly, unmarred by one hap-stone, 
 Springs the tall fabric, till cedar and gold 
 
 Wind o'er its sm-face from corner to cap-stone, 
 Mirror the sunlight in every fair fold. 
 
 Walls ! in your glory and fragrance so gentle, 
 Skill of slave- Afreet, through amulet sou<!fht 
 
THE BUILDING OF THE TEMPLE. ^3 
 
 Doubtless in sea-cave, liath carved you as rental, 
 Winning brief freedom, for Solomon wrought. 
 
 Nay. By long patience the marbles were quar- 
 ried, 
 Each with a mallet no veinings might foil ; 
 Stroke fell on stroke, to their home until car- 
 ried. 
 Perfect at last through the magic of Toil. 
 
 Thus while our King this true Temple is rear- 
 
 Silence enslirouds it. In chambers ajjart 
 
 Sorrow and Pain with keen chisel are clearing 
 
 Each for fit lodgment some desolate heart. 
 
 What if that heart, full of grief and self-loath- 
 
 Lie 'neath their shaping in darkness and 
 dread, 
 
74 THE BUILDING OF THE TEMPLE. 
 
 Gladness awaiteth it ; cedary clothing, 
 GKmmer of gold shall its form overspread. 
 
 Yea, though we see not the glory now working. 
 Soon shall God's temple shine forth in its 
 strength ; 
 Shrink not from touch of the chisel, lest shirk- 
 ing 
 Pain, thou lose also the brightness at length. 
 
IF ALL ALONG OUR EARTHLY WAY. 
 
 If all along our earthly way, 
 No warmth or brightness fell, 
 
 But Grief kept with us day by day, 
 From morn to midnight bell — 
 
 And yet at last the dawning light 
 
 Of Heaven's full splendor fringed Earth's 
 night,— 
 
 Who could say aught of cross or blight 
 Save — " All was ordered weU ?" 
 
 But now, though every mournful year 
 Seem strewn wdth loss and pain, 
 
 As woodland walk when leaves lie sere, 
 Yet hath it herbs of gain — 
 
76 IF ALLALONG, ETC. 
 
 Like evergreens to front the gale 
 Eise Faith, and Hope, and on the trail 
 Eed foot-prints of our Lord we hail — 
 Each mile makes less remain. 
 
 No needless giief lies in His plan — ■ 
 No wanton prick of thorn ; 
 
 He was on earth a sorrowing Man, 
 By toil and travel worn. 
 
 Up ! laggard heart — and praises lift — 
 
 True good from seeming evil sift ; 
 
 Ijife hath no storm, nor blinding drift, 
 But with Him may he borne 1 
 
BUKIED IN JEKUSALEM. 
 
 The only son of a wealthy Catholic family, left motherless while an 
 infant, was educated, tosether with a sister but one year older, in rigid 
 adherence to the Eoman faith. Yet even in early childhood, he refused 
 to repeat the Paternosters often enjoined as a penance, and would ask, 
 "What is the use of my saying those words over when I don't want 
 to? God will not hear me, I'm sure. It is not prayer, unless I really 
 want to pray." And rather than yield, he would patiently bear soli- 
 tude, with bread and water. 
 
 When about twelve he was placed in a Jesuit school, more than two 
 hundred miles distant from his home. Quickly disjrusted with its cus- 
 toms, he contrived, with equal ingenuity and daring, to escape, and 
 made his way afoot to his father, who, .altliough desirous for these chil- 
 dren to be trained into good Catholics, was himself but a lax one. Re- 
 monstrance from him, threats from other relatives, and the cajolery of 
 his frightened teachers, were alike vain. Go back the boy would not. 
 "If you insist on my going, papa," said he, "I shall have to run 
 away again; only instead of coming to you, I must go to some place 
 where no Jesuit can hunt me out, and you will never see me ag.ain. 
 They talk smoothly enough to j'ou, and promise fairlj' ; but if you 
 knew as much as I do about their deceitful wa3's, you would sooner 
 kill me than let one of them come near me." The father wisely yielded. 
 The son grew up under happier influences — a young man of great 
 promise, and of most winning disposition. Just as he had, with a 
 tutor, made the tour of Europe, and was expected home, where every 
 preparation to celebrate his coming of age had been completed, he died 
 in the Holy Land, of fever, and w.as burled in Jerusalem. The shock 
 to bis sister was so severe, that she went at once into a convent. 
 
 Home rejoicings all are ready, 
 Planned for welcome of the heir, 
 
V8 BURIED IN JEKUSALEM. 
 
 (And hilarious voices eddy 
 
 Througli the cool soft English air,) 
 Home from Tyrian 
 Sands, and Syrian 
 Fatal noon-shafts smiting now 
 On his broad, ingenuous brow. 
 
 How will joy the brown cheek dim23l?, 
 Gladness flash from bright blue eyes, 
 While for Eastern veil and wimple, 
 Smile of sister he descries ! 
 When hath newer 
 Love been truer 
 Than the sister's and the brother's 
 Who have never known a mother's ? 
 
 Ah ! wliile her fond eyes are holding 
 Lengthened vigils to devise 
 
 Warmth of welcome, his are folding 
 Calmly, 'neath Judean skies : 
 
BURIED IN JERUSALEM. 79 
 
 There they laid him — 
 
 None could aid him — • 
 None the cruel death- wave stem : 
 Burying in Jerusalem. 
 
 And the sunlight is as jjleasant • 
 
 On sea-path of hurrying keel, 
 As the wish of guest and peasant 
 Would on festal morning feel ; 
 News for wailins; 
 Unavailing 
 Though her swift sails waft to them, 
 " Buried in Jerusalem." 
 
 And they weep,— but woe far deeper 
 
 Dashes with each gasping breath 
 O'er her soul, who for the sleeper 
 
 Watch'd with love more strong than death. 
 Doubt assails her. 
 Faith nigh fails her, 
 
80 BURIED IN JERUSALEM. 
 
 Maddening fears his future hem — 
 " Buried in Jerusalem." 
 
 Large her love, her judgment weakly, 
 
 While the jiriesthood's will was strong ; 
 And she bowed o'er missal meekly, 
 Trained in self- negation long ; 
 Heavenward sending 
 Prayers unending 
 For her heart's one priceless gem, 
 " Buried in Jerusalem." 
 
 Are we sure his youthful lightness 
 Cared not for a Saviour's love ? 
 Must Earth's bloom keep^out the brightness 
 Of Jerusalem above ? 
 
 Mirth's sweet laughing 
 Mar the engraffing 
 Of Heaven's fruit on that frail stem, 
 '* Buried in Jerusalem .?" 
 
BURIED IK JEEUSALEK. 81 
 
 Trutliful lips that would not mutter 
 
 For a penance, unfelt prayer, 
 Learned they not the truths which flutter 
 Even yet in Syrian air ? 
 Did he wander 
 There, nor ponder 
 On the Plant of Bethlehem 
 " Buried in Jerusalem ?" 
 
 Could that fiery heart, escaping 
 
 Early from the Jesuit's rein, 
 Loathing every lie-fraught aping 
 Of God's service, sought for gain — 
 So have dwindled 
 That it kindled 
 Naught, save embers of dull phlegm, 
 Gazing on Jerusalem ? 
 
 Nay ! the Holy Land is haunted 
 Still hy presence of the Lord ; 
 
82 BURIED IN JERUSALEM. 
 
 Birds through whom He taught have chanted 
 His pure lessons while they soared ; 
 Palmers dying 
 Traced their flying — 
 Worshipped One who rose, like them. 
 Sky-ward from Jerusalem. 
 
 Thus, in loving Hands we leave him, 
 
 Hands that — wiser far than we— 
 Longed a deathless crown to weave him, 
 And from death-nails would not flee : 
 Hands whose Mightful 
 Rule is rightful — 
 His, who came not to condemn !-— 
 " Buried in Jerusalem," 
 
"EOSE- WATER SURGERY." 
 
 *' Great furnace for great faith." So spake my 
 friends, 
 When surging flames of trial round me 
 
 rose : 
 " God hath especial jewels, and on those 
 "He would make brightest, longest toil ex- 
 pends" — 
 And, " Sorrow's fihng clearer luster lends 
 
 " To the true diamond; with each rasping 
 
 grows 
 "Her power of flashing back prismatic 
 glows"— 
 Ah loving words ! which soul more loving sends 
 
84 "rose-water surgery." 
 
 To cheer the mourner. B ut my spirit sank 
 Within me while I heard them. Conscience 
 knew 
 My patient smiling veiled a will that 
 
 shrank 
 In vain impatience from the cup I drank. 
 Yon high consolings suit a saintly few 
 Made meet for Heaven. Of me they are not 
 true I 
 
P E B I N a . 
 
 Much had I pondered o'er the intricate way 
 Whereby I travelled, deeming one so weak 
 More needed velvet sward and runnels meek 
 Than crag and torrent, till I chanced one day 
 On a wise man's experience, wont to say 
 
 " Not always do deep battle-scars bespeak 
 "The warriors who for Heaven's high 
 laurels seek ; 
 " Often in forefront of the hottest fray 
 
 " God seta His greatest cowards, whence 
 
 to fly 
 " Were hopeless ruin— they must fight or 
 die !" 
 
86 
 
 P K O B I N G, 
 
 Eough yet true teaching-"-proven to my cost. 
 I feel the war- waves dash— my death-doom 
 nigh. 
 Oh Lord and Marshal of thy martyr-host, 
 Nerve Thou my recreant soul, or I am lost I 
 
TO A SPIEITUALIST. 
 
 FRIEND I Our Father doubtless hatli fair 
 gardens 
 Beyond the walls we see ; 
 With restful glades, and souls we love for 
 wardens, 
 But — He hath kept the key. 
 
 And yet hath told us, star-bright angels hover 
 (Though with unvoiced name)* 
 
 Around our ways, and our weak warfare cover 
 With shield and sword of flame. 
 
 ♦ Judges siii. 18. 
 
88 TO A SPIRITUALIST 
 
 Thus when our changeful time another teach- 
 ing 
 Would through old charms enthral 
 'Neath a new tree of knowledge, widely reach- 
 ing 
 With fruit and songs for all ; — 
 
 That rosy rind for me hides core of ashes : 
 
 The song-notes I have heard 
 Stir not my soul, as when true heart-fire flashes 
 
 Forth from the Master's Word. 
 
 Fain — till His love the flow of anguish stanches, 
 
 When our beloved flee, 
 Fain would we follow where each frail raft 
 launches 
 
 Far on the Eternal Sea 1 
 
TO A SPIRITUALIST. 89 
 
 Fain would we hear their new-foimd joy out- 
 gushing 
 In Heaven's triumphant psalms, 
 And feel a fragrance round our foreheads 
 rushing 
 Fann'd from their deathless palms ! 
 
 Yet, — by the Way of Life, erewhile so narrow 
 
 Lies there tliis sunken fence ? 
 Falls the Bright Shaft of Grod an aimless arrow, 
 
 Foiled by our finer sense ? 
 
 Need we no more the Immortal intercession, 
 
 The Sinless life-drops shed ? 
 Led on through spheres of light in far pro- 
 gression. 
 
 By spirits of our Dead — 
 8* 
 
90 TO A SPIRITUALIST. 
 
 Our ransomed Dead, who clasped the Cross in 
 dying 
 With else despairing clutch ; 
 And felt a Strong Eight Arm beneath them 
 
 lying, 
 His — whom they loved so much — 
 
 The long, long line of souls who have not 
 faltered 
 
 From rack or fiery crown, 
 But held in love the One True Faith unaltered. 
 
 Let Queen or Kaiser frown. 
 
 Have all returned, the cheerless rumor bringing 
 
 That clasp and faith were vain ? 
 h a wild dissonance of voices sing 
 Each some untuneful strain P 
 
TO A SPIRITALIST. 91 
 
 Nay — tlie old Spring by Beth-le-hem's Gate 
 up-welling 
 
 Thought's vexing fever cools 
 More than a haze of myriad rain-drops swelling 
 
 What may be mirage-pools. 
 
 And though Our Father doubtless hath fair 
 gardens 
 
 Beyond the walls we see ; 
 Till in good pleasure He unvail their wardens, 
 
 We will not crave the key. 
 
AN INCIDENT 
 
 " GrKiEVE not, love," a mother said, 
 " If some morning, in my bed 
 Grazing, tliou sliould'st find me dead. 
 
 " Grieve not, daughter, if at night 
 Dons my soul her robe of light — 
 Through Eedeeming love made white ; 
 
 " Mine this plea of boding fear, 
 Urged through many a prayerful year, 
 ' While I sleeiD, may Death draw near ! 
 
 " Not because 'twere sad to go 
 From thy side, best-loved below ! — 
 Whom I have believed, T know ; 
 
ANINCIDENT. 93 
 
 " And His love, through love's sweet law. 
 Since its rich depths first I saw, 
 All my love hath power to draw. 
 
 " But should lingering Death unlink 
 Slowly all Earth's chains, I tliink 
 Flesh must quiver — Faith must sink, 
 
 " Doubtless, He who knows my frame. 
 In night-watches oft who came, 
 Will in east- wind rough-wind tame, — 
 
 '^ Seal mine eyes from deathly cares — 
 Place me — granting life-long prayers — 
 Among angels unawares." 
 
 Thus the dreamer. Ah ! not so 
 Would her Lord His glory show. 
 Blindfold home she might not go. 
 
94 ANINCIDENT. 
 
 Not in slumber's silence bound, 
 Hath her prayer its guerdon found, — 
 Is the unconscious victor crowned. 
 
 Through long months of lingering pain, 
 Pangs of body, heart and brain, 
 Sadly, slowly, life must wane. 
 
 Lava-like, the death-blow crept 
 O'er Hope's vineyard, yet she kept 
 Patient watch the while, nor wept. 
 
 One who drinks delicious wine 
 From the press of fruits divine, 
 Grapes of earth may well resign. 
 
 Arms whose strength tried wrestler knows 
 Mighty against myriad foes, 
 'Neath that timorous heart uprose : 
 
ANINCIDENT. 95 
 
 In the last hour, feared so long, 
 Faith, thus held, grew eagle-strong„ 
 And her soul passed home in song. 
 
"APPEAR NOT UNTO MEN TO FAST." 
 
 Matt., chap, vi., v. IS. 
 
 Not alone from food when fasting, 
 
 Shun the look of proud Essene ; 
 Famine of the soul, more lasting. 
 
 Vail thou, too, 'neath smiles serene, 
 Mutely, when thy sorrows darken, 
 
 Keep them for a Saviour's eye, 
 Nor in haunts where man may hearken. 
 
 Loosen from thy heart one cry. 
 
 How may friends with woe unladed. 
 Lift thy burthen, soothe thy moan ? 
 
 Let not Christ's love seem upbraided 
 Through keen plaints of souls. His own ! 
 
APPEAR NOT UNTO MEN TO FAST. 97 
 
 Woulcl'st thou still the ceaseless craving 
 For some dear voice, silent now ? 
 
 Think ! the grief whose sharp engraving 
 Seams thy forehead, marked His brow ! 
 
 Well He notes each keen incision 
 
 Views thy heart-stripes, roughly scored. 
 And reserves the open vision 
 
 Of His love for thy reward ! 
 Soon, from rock of memories hitter, 
 
 At His Word will fountains hurst ; 
 And their rills hy sand-paths glitter, 
 
 Quenching even long love-thirst. 
 
 Is thy fast in lonelier fashion 
 
 Kept heneath a leaden cloud, 
 'Twixt thy prayers and His compassion, 
 
 Drifting, with Avierd face endowed .^ 
 Tt;ll not loss of light so treasured 
 
 To the world in loud lament ; 
 
98 APPEAR NOT UNTO MEN TO FAST. 
 
 Lest it scoflf — " Thy God hath measured 
 Cup that yields not my content." 
 
 Gem of cost He counts the pleading 
 Sacred to His ear alone — 
 
 While His loving Prescience, reading- 
 How thy faith subdues each groan — 
 
 With dark thoughts declines to palter, — 
 Leaves His ordering unaiTaigned — • 
 
 Will, at length, mute patience alter 
 Into smiles of peace unfeigned. 
 
OCEAN BLOSSOMS. 
 
 Sent with a volume of pressed seaweeds to a Missionary kinsman in 
 Burmali. 
 
 Roses and lilies are fair to view, 
 
 But roses and lilies fade — 
 The daffodil loses her golden hue, 
 
 The violet wilts in the shade, 
 And the hare-bell revels in light and dew. 
 
 On the heath where her clan have decayed. 
 
 Dimmer of outline, and duller far 
 Though the fragile sea-flowers be. 
 
 Though tangles and gravel their beauty mar 
 And they float where so few may see 
 
 How the Deep hath mosses that delicate are 
 As the daintiest growth of the lea ; 
 
100 OCEAN BLOSSOMS. 
 
 Yet they crave but a cleansing from meaner things, 
 
 Ere the fairy-like waifs unfold 
 In a thousand fibres and flexile rings, 
 
 Crimson, and brown, and gold ; 
 While each to the leafs white surface clings 
 
 With an unrelaxing hold. 
 
 So hast thou seen on the heathen shore, 
 
 Many a spirit lie. 
 Darkened with evil encrusting o'er 
 
 Hopes of as rich a dye. 
 As thine own eyes view when they meekly pore 
 
 O'er the promise of life on high. 
 
 So, too, from sands of its native lair, 
 
 Lifted with loving hand. 
 Patiently tended in faith and prayer, 
 
 Shall the human flower expand, 
 Till it rivals in tissue and coloring rare 
 
 The bloom of a happier land. 
 
OCEAN BLOSSOMS. 101 
 
 And it will not wither. The rose we spoil 
 When her stem from the root we sever ; 
 But the souls thou art winning through tears 
 and toil, 
 By decaying grieve thee never : 
 In the Book of Life they are safe from soil, 
 And their loveliness lasts for ever. 
 9* 
 
SABBATHS AT HOME 
 
 Glad bells announce the comino: 
 
 Of a holy SalDbath-time, 
 Yet bring the thought benumbing 
 
 For me they do not chime. 
 Ah ! not for me the blessing 
 
 In God's own Temple heard, 
 By lowly hearts confessing 
 
 How widely they have erred. 
 
 Ye fleece-clouds floating o'er us ! 
 
 Above you songs ascend 
 In earth's encircling chorus, 
 
 To Earth's One Glorious Friend. 
 
SABBATHS AT HOME. 103 
 
 Youth in His Love rejoices, 
 While children lisp the praise 
 
 That swells from manly voices, 
 And ancients full of days. 
 
 Yet gi-ieve we for the scoffers, 
 
 Who scorn Him and deride — ■ 
 Or from His loving proffers 
 
 For world-lures turn aside. 
 For tares shall wheat encumber, 
 
 Till the Millennial Song 
 From lips no tongue may number, 
 
 Else and reverberate long. 
 
 O* ! lovely, lovely vision 
 Of the Redeemer's reign ! 
 
 Swaying to meek submission 
 Each heart as well as fane — 
 
104 SABBATHS AT HOME. 
 
 Bidding a rainbow glisten 
 
 Through every gathering tear, 
 
 While for our Lord we listen, 
 And deem His Chariot near. 
 
 What if the weary chastening 
 
 Which holds us far away 
 From service, should be hastening 
 
 That pledged Possession-Day ! 
 The faith and patience proven 
 
 In many a lonely room, 
 Be silver threads inwoven 
 
 With glory in His Loom ! 
 
 And j)ainful though our severance 
 
 From Zion's holy Hill, 
 Yet bowing low in reverence 
 
 Before the rio'hteous Will. 
 
SABBATHS AT HOME. 105 
 
 A sense of Christ's dear Presence 
 
 May on the desert bare 
 Fall, with diviner essence 
 
 Than erst in place of prayer. 
 
 Yea ! if the Dismal Valley 
 
 To dreary prescience ope, 
 One thought anew should rally 
 
 Our half-exhausted hope, 
 And gleam as dove- wings given 
 
 To lift some grovelliug gnome — 
 " Our Sahbath-Jiours in Heaven 
 
 " Will all be spent at Home .'" 
 
TPIEY WENT AND TOLD JESUS. 
 
 St. Matt., chap. .\iv., v. 12, 
 
 Go and tell Jesus, when thine eye hath seen 
 Dear hopes beheaded by the Tyrant, Death, 
 
 When reeds thou lovest pierce the hands that 
 lean — ■ 
 Hear what He saith. 
 
 Go and tell Jesus. In the Gulf of Thought 
 Alone, oh dive not ! lest such root of 
 bale 
 
 For pearls thou gather, as the Eishcr bron;ght 
 In Eastern tale. 
 
THEY WENT AND TOLD JESUS. 107 
 
 Go and tell Jesus, Turn each thought to 
 prayer — 
 Nor smite frail crystal, where thy rehel 
 Will 
 Cast hy His word of power in ocean lair 
 Lies wan and still. 
 
 Gro and tell Jesus. Should'st thou yield it 
 way, 
 Soon would the daring Essence upward loom 
 And o'er thy cringing heart hold ruthless 
 sway 
 From tower of gloom. 
 
 Go and tell Jesus, if from word arisen. 
 
 In some weak moment forth one murmur 
 steal, 
 
 He can the Giant-slave anew imprison 
 With kingly seal. 
 
108 THEY WEKT AND TOLD JESUS. 
 
 Go and tell Jesus. In His Wisdom lie 
 
 All stores of solace. When rude gales in- 
 crease, 
 
 Askj and His Love shall pour on passions high 
 The oil of peace. 
 
AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST. 
 
 " We are less dazzled by the light on awaking, If we have been 
 dreaming of visible objects."— Nov alis. 
 
 Sunlight unbroken is flooding the room, 
 Love's blessed token, it banishes gloom ; 
 Sleep is enchaining thee late in the day, 
 Friends are arraigning thee. Rise, nor delay ! 
 
 Hast thou been dreaming of night scenes dark. 
 With no starlight gleaming on the wave-sprung 
 
 bark ? 
 Then the splendors prevailing will dazzle thy 
 
 sight 
 Through their fullness entaUing a reflex of 
 
 night. 
 
 10 
 
110 AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST. 
 
 Were thy dreams of tlie lustre that dwells at 
 
 noon 
 Where vine leaves cluster o'er calm lagoon ? 
 Then, though landscape aerial must vanish 
 
 away, 
 Will its colors ethereal blend well with full 
 
 day. 
 
 And refreshed through thy slumber, now may'st 
 
 thou rise 
 With no film to cumber unblenching eyes. 
 Let the sloth in his dullness grope dimly along — ■ 
 In the strength of thy usefulness thou wilt be 
 
 strong ! 
 
 Thus, when thou art musing on heavenly 
 
 things, 
 And thy heart's accusing a tremor brings, 
 
AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST. Ill 
 
 Or a prescient self-pity, at thought of that 
 
 hour 
 "When the Jasper-walled City, with pearl-gate 
 
 and tower, 
 
 Bears earthward the saintly in holiness white, 
 Lest thy bluiTed vision faintly shrink far from 
 
 that Light 
 Lest taint of long sinning hang darkly on 
 
 thee, 
 And hold thee from winning the glories to be. 
 
 Then lift, like an eagle, thy gaze on high ; 
 Can low dreams inveigle the heaven-drawn 
 
 eye? 
 Nay ! rise and determine on earth to seek 
 Tor the stainless ermine of spirits meek. 
 
112 AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST. 
 
 On that robe, Christ-woven, no fret or soil 
 
 Will, by Heaven^s light cloven, work heart- 
 recoil — • 
 
 Fold thee now in its whiteness 1 so Death shall 
 bring 
 
 But familiar brightness of Home and King ! 
 
THE APOSTLES' CKEED 
 
 In a cavern of Judea, so tlie old traditions 
 run, 
 
 Were the twelve apostles gathered. Stars 
 shine forth when day is done. 
 
 And that glorious constellation rose when van- 
 ished Christ, the sun. 
 
 Pleiad twin-group, soon to scatter where a 
 
 darkened world had need, 
 Bid a host of Helot nations in the Light of 
 
 Truth be freed. 
 
 And the hearts of millions mingle in their own 
 
 immortal Creed. 
 
 10* 
 
114 THE apostles' creed. 
 
 " I believe in God the Father," first from mouth 
 
 of Peter fell- 
 Mouth whose tremulous denial one Almighty 
 
 look could quell, 
 And all fear of priest or Pilate from once-quail- 
 ing heart expel. 
 
 Now his faith for aye emboldened through re- 
 membrance of that look, 
 
 " Heaven and Earth, and Him their Maker," 
 in its far embracing took — 
 
 Nor Sanhedrim-scourge fast-falling for an hour 
 its firmness shook. 
 
 Well might meek St. Andrew answer, " I be- 
 lieve in Christ our Lord" — 
 
 He who left the great Fore-runner, and Mes- 
 siah first adored — 
 
 Who, when cross-bound, spake of Jesus till 
 his soul to glory soared. 
 
THE APOSTLES' CREED. 115 
 
 " Through, the Holy Ghost conceived^ and of 
 
 Mary, Vhgin-born ;" 
 Witnessed one who saw dim vesture by the 
 
 Man of Sorrows worn, 
 With a clear snow-brightness glisten, like fair 
 
 Lebanon at morn. 
 
 Since that vision, pain and sorrow, and all pass- 
 ing trials seem 
 
 With unearthly joy transfigured, through its 
 ever-lucent beam — 
 
 Bound King Herod's steel of vengeance soon in 
 halo-light to gleam, 
 
 " Under Fontius Pilate suffered, and at length 
 was crucified," 
 
 Saith disciple loved of Jesus, who, long watch- 
 ing near His side, 
 
 Saw from spear-thrust blood and water issue 
 forth in blending tide. 
 
116 THE apostles' CREED. 
 
 From tliat scliool of fearful anguish, came the 
 
 lesson, "God is love \" 
 Still on chaos-deep of sorrow broods for ever 
 
 that brio;ht dove ! 
 " God is Love !" glad song-burst, cborused still 
 
 through hierarchs above ! 
 
 Philip then, for God's sight longing, " He de- 
 scended into hell," 
 
 Among spirits of the faithful till " the third 
 day," gone to dwell ; 
 
 Then a Paschal Moon beheld Him " rise again" 
 from rocky cell. 
 
 " He ascended into Heaven." — As the brother 
 
 of our Lord 
 Said, " At God's right hand He sitteth," thro' 
 
 his heart what memories poured 
 Of the Holy Child's meek wisdom while at 
 
 Galilean board ! 
 
THE apostles' CKEED. 117 
 
 "And from thence again He cometh as the 
 
 Judge of quick and dead" — 
 Faintest speck of doubt now sullies not the 
 
 glow on Thomas shed 
 From bright scar of spear-and-nail wounds in 
 
 his faithless view outspread. 
 
 Then Bartholomew the guileless — "I believe 
 
 in the Holy Ghost :" 
 He had seen the blue skies open, the ascending 
 
 angel-host, 
 And the cloven flames that bickered throusrh 
 
 high noon of Pentecost. 
 
 Next the whilom son of traffic, chosen now for 
 Gospel-scribe, — 
 
 " In One Holy Church," enfolding hearts re- 
 deemed from every tribe, 
 
 "In communion of the saintly" — while they 
 pray or praise ascribe. 
 
118 HE apostles' CEEED. 
 
 Then St. Simoij — " In forgiveness of all sins" 
 
 through. Jesus' name. 
 Soon by force of that fond message, he forgave 
 
 both scorn and blame, 
 Praying long for cruel Persians, who to crucify 
 
 him came. 
 
 "In the body's resurrection," spake Matthias, 
 
 "I believe, 
 Though sharp stones crush out my spirit, and 
 
 but maimed relics leave. 
 Thence the might of my Eedeemer shall a form 
 
 of power retrieve." 
 
 " And in Life — Life-everlasting," was the say- 
 ing of St. Jude, 
 
 Yainly arrows of destruction, in his heart's 
 blood soon embrued, 
 
 Would arrest one hidden pulsing of that life 
 through Christ renewed. 
 
THE apostles' CREED. 119 
 
 Then tlie holy Twelve, departing, wandered 
 
 forth in search of men, 
 As true shepherds seek the straying, over 
 
 mount and miry fen, 
 And glad voices of the rescued, through all 
 
 ages, shout "Amen." 
 
OLD AUTHOES 
 
 When youthful squire of yore 
 
 Paced up the moon-lit floor 
 Of dim cathedral, and in silence prayed 
 
 For grace to hold unstained 
 
 Leal faith and vow, till waned 
 The life ennohled by near accolade — 
 
 Dreamed he of camp-fire's jest — 
 
 Gay revel — lengthened quest 
 Of v/ild adventure for his knightly brand ? 
 
 Could thought of self defile 
 
 That watch in holy aisle, 
 Y\''ith trophies bannered, won in Holier Lind ? 
 
OLD AUTHORS. 121 
 
 Nay — from crusading tomb, 
 
 Low voices pierced tlie gloom, 
 Nerving the novice unto deeds like theirs ; 
 
 And dint of Paynim stroke 
 
 On ancient visor woke 
 Dormant soul-valor, that all peril dares. 
 
 God's vassals we, who bow 
 
 In armor-vigil now, 
 Called from the camp of life in early prime 
 
 To hear, through long, lone hours, 
 
 Death knells from ivied towers. 
 And ghostly footfalls move in crypts of Time. 
 
 For us, it may be, wait 
 
 Bright embassies of state, 
 
 In realms of glory to our dreams unknown. 
 
 When touch of Kingly Hand 
 
 At dawn, shall bid us stand 
 
 Where stainless heroes ring our Monarch'sthrone. 
 11 
 
122 OLD AUTHORS. 
 
 But now, the night is drear, 
 How best may heart find cheer ? 
 
 With gladsome echoings from the world with- 
 out ? 
 Not so — for tumult dies 
 Down, where a sufferer sighs, 
 
 As chapel-doors subdue the people's shout. 
 
 With words of men who braved 
 Long toil — ^long fears, and laved 
 
 Their wounded souls beside deep wells of 
 life— 
 Who, Faith's ancestral lords. 
 Fought on through demon-hordes. 
 
 And for the Cross above it, hailed the knife ? 
 
 These shall our sponsors be — 
 The Truth they lived makes free, 
 Soul-sparks yet kindle from that deathless 
 flint—. 
 
OLD AUTHORS. 123 
 
 Nor heart in fear can melt, 
 Nor loneliness be felt, 
 While viewing on their mail Hope's moonlight 
 glint. 
 
 From thoughts in anguish penn'd 
 
 Long-buried saints yet send 
 A warmth magnetic, welding life with life — 
 
 And still, in dreariest hour. 
 
 Each clarion-phrase hath power 
 To brace the languid soul anew for strife. 
 
I COUNT ONLY THE HOUES THAT 
 SHINE. 
 
 INSCBIPTION ON A FLORENTINE SUN-DIAL. . 
 
 When first tlie morning liglit is seen 
 To glimmer on the dewy green, 
 And make the spider's filmy net 
 Like a bride's veil with diamonds set ; 
 And when the sun, in royal state. 
 Comes where cloud-courtiers grouping wait, 
 His beaming smile and look of grace 
 Given back from each attendant's face ; 
 All rosy morning hues are mine — 
 " I only count the hours that shine." 
 
 When the same sun hath mounted high 
 His palace stair-way in the sky ; 
 
I ONLY COUNT THE HOURS, ETC. 125 
 
 When, by liis torrid force dismayed, 
 Tired cattle seek for leafiest shade, 
 And halls of marble fend the glare 
 From cheek and brow of ladye fair ; — 
 ! then to me how dear his rays — 
 No cloud-roof intercepts my gaze 
 Upward in one uncheckered line : 
 " I only count the hours that shine." 
 
 At evening, upon Arno's stream. 
 
 When sun-glows shed their parting gleam, 
 
 And peasants meet for dance and glee 
 
 Beneath the branchful ilex-tree, 
 
 A maiden by her love forsaken — 
 
 A harp the minstrel will not waken — 
 
 A gathered rose flung idly by. 
 
 Are far less desolate than I ; 
 
 In vain the starry lamps combine — 
 
 " I only count the hours that shine." 
 11* 
 
126 I ONLY COUKT THE HOURS, ETC. 
 
 If storms are gathering, and the change 
 
 Drift darkly down from mountain range, 
 
 While in thick forests, fertile vales, 
 
 All my beloved sunshine fails : 
 
 Then through long hours of gloom I wait 
 
 Till furious flood and gale abate, 
 
 Till the sun breaks o'er Yallombrose — 
 
 "Warms the fair plains " where citron grows," 
 
 And gilds the far-off Apennine — 
 
 " I only count the hours that shine." 
 
 Complainer ! when the page of life 
 Looks with black lettering mainly rife ; 
 When in some darling vision crost, 
 Every delight of Earth seems lost, 
 Review thy ranks of peaceful years, 
 Unscarred by pain, undimmed by tears ; 
 Number the mercies that are left. 
 Even though thou feel of all bereft, 
 
I OKLY COUNT TUB HOURS, ETC. 127 
 
 And let the dial be thy sign — 
 
 "I only count the hours that shine." 
 
 And if thy soul, with anguish fraught, 
 Sink sadly, cheer thee with the thought 
 How soon each dusky sail will clear 
 In Heaven's unshadowed atmosphere ! 
 Thou wilt remember all the love 
 Which led thee to thy home above ; 
 Thou wilt forget the trials here 
 That overcast thy short career ; 
 And sing, safe-moored in Port Divine — 
 " I only count the hours that shine 1" 
 
WEEPING MAY ENDURE FOR A NIGHT, BUT 
 JOY COMETH IN THE MORNING. 
 
 We lavish thought and prayer on those 
 Bowed low by grief, like guelder-rose 
 When hailstones through her garden-home are 
 sweeping ; 
 Mute from our very awe, behold 
 The lightning's work on dewy fold 
 Of hearts ere while in warmth of summer 
 sleeping. 
 
 Longs soul of friend, that shallow urn, 
 Thus to yield solace ? How must yearn 
 
 Our Lord's deep Heart of Love when saints 
 are weeping ! 
 He whose Creative Breath first gave 
 Flowers unto Earth, each tear will save. 
 
 And smile it to a pearl in Heaven's sure keeping. 
 
TO THE SUBTERRANEAN RIVER IN THE 
 MAMMOTH CAVE OF KENTUCKY. 
 
 River, sad River I why dost thou stay 
 In a home unenlivened by glimmer of day ? 
 Hast thou not learnt how thy sister streams 
 Move in the Sun's light and mirror his 
 
 beams ? 
 The caverns thou threadest are chilly and 
 
 drear, 
 River, sad River ! what dost thou here ? 
 
 Over their waters gay vessels glide, 
 Banners gleam white as the gleaming tide, 
 Willows, like Naiads by clear, cool wave, 
 Bow, and luxuriant tresses lave- 
 But no royal pinnace, no graceful tree. 
 River, sad River I is glassed in thee. 
 
130 TO THE SUBTERRANEAN RIVER. 
 
 Lightly tlie plashing of boatman's oar 
 Sounds on their banks when he rows from shore, 
 Seen in the moonlight their silvery spray 
 Glanceth like plumes beneath the south-wind's 
 
 sway — 
 Thine oars waken murmurs of sorrow and fear, 
 Kiver, sad River ! what dost thou here ? 
 
 Birds in their meadows blithe chorus sing, 
 And May-buds welcome the smile of spring, 
 There the young lambs with unweary play 
 Eevel through Nature's holiday — 
 But thou hast no pastures nor fleecy flocks — 
 Tenant of lair in the heart of rocks ! 
 
 Love's last token, so faintly blue. 
 Never hath drawn thy reviving dew — 
 And the spotless lily, that maiden queen- 
 Spreads on thy surface no tent of gi'een, 
 
TO THE SUBTERRANEAN RIVER. 131 
 
 Where are thy rushes and waving reeds, 
 Linked with renown of heroic deeds ? 
 
 No stately swan o'er thy bosom goes 
 With arched neck white as are wintry snows- 
 No fawn with lustrous yet timid eyes 
 Away from thy margin startled flies, 
 And childhood's voice, in its morning glee 
 Einseth no musical notes for thee. 
 
 River, sad Eiver, why wilt thou stay 
 Banished forever from vision of day ? 
 Break the strong arches, and let thy path 
 Eise like the Sea in its billowy wrath — 
 Soon woulds't thou shiver these bonds severe- 
 Eiver, sad Eiver ! oh, linger not here ! 
 
THE EIVER'S RESPONSE. 
 
 Tell me^ if my caverns drear 
 Fill thee with this wondering fear, 
 Murmurer, why art thou here ? 
 
 Why my lonely walls thou seekest 
 When through fields of verdure meekest 
 Flow the waves whereof thou speakest ? 
 
 If the music thou hast heard 
 Of infant voice or singing bird 
 Hath thy heart's light surface stirred, 
 
TUB river's response. 133 
 
 Wherefore list my sullen moan, 
 
 In a low funereal tone 
 
 From the caves beneath me thrown ? 
 
 Ah 1 the sounds that o'er me roll, 
 Answer, with far- vibrant toll, 
 To the deeps within thy soul. 
 
 And no foam of torrent flashing 
 Through grim notch — nor angry lashing 
 Of the Sea on sand-hills dashing — 
 
 Nor the Lake in quiet vale 
 Shimmering under moonbeams pale. 
 Linked with legendary tale, 
 
 Bound thy soul, with tendrils fine 
 
 Though then' marvels loop and twine — 
 
 None shall clasp thee firm as mine. 
 12 
 
134 THE kiveb's response. 
 
 Ere youth's joys are overcast, 
 Earely will the impression last, 
 Caught from bright hues hurried past. 
 
 But meek life beneath a rod, 
 "Understood of none save God, 
 Mirrors mine, in halls untrod. 
 
 Here because my Maker wills ; 
 And this rough home under hills. 
 His wise planning best fulfills. 
 
 Never will I quit my cell ; 
 Nor my soul-bewildering spell 
 To each careless zephyr tell. 
 
 'Tis enough that all, who ever 
 Sail a-down the Lonely Kiver, 
 Shrine me in their souls forever. 
 
THE BOTTOMLESS PIT 
 
 IN THE MAMMOTH CAVE OP KENTUCKY, 
 
 Wild way ! and wilder chasm I 
 Our torch, with flickering ray, 
 Paints many a wierd phantasm 
 On massy bowlders gray ; 
 And, save our voices, all is still 
 As in a charnel-cavern chill. 
 
 A tiny cresset, hung 
 
 Across the unfathomed deeps. 
 And slowly downward swung, 
 With glow-worm lustre creeps ; 
 While rocks, that lie in giant rest, 
 Frown on their unfamiliar guest. 
 
136 THE BOTTOMLESS PIT, ETC. 
 
 Faith's lamp, with quiet glow, 
 (When all beside is gloom), 
 Too faint the Past to show, 
 The Future to illume. 
 Can thus all needful brightness shed 
 On souls through vault of shadows led. 
 
 Though scarce one gleam may fall 
 
 On griefs of vanished days. 
 Though gloom envelope all 
 Life's yet untravelled maze- 
 Move calmly on-— thine hourly store 
 Of light suflficeth — ask no more 1 
 
CRADLE SINGING. 
 
 " So war es inir in der Wiege gesungen," is a proverbial expression 
 for destiny in the nortli of Germany. 
 
 MooN-KAYS and vine-leaves light and shade 
 were sending 
 Through a still chamber. There, at close of 
 day 
 A mother saw two glorious angels bending 
 Over the cradle where her darling lay. 
 
 Trom crimson mist one form looked forth, and 
 
 Swung o'er the infant-brow a rosy crown : 
 
 White clouds the other veiled, and mosses daily 
 
 Plucked by the Cross, her thorn-leaf made 
 
 like down. 
 
 12* 
 
138 CEADLE SINGING. 
 
 " Give me thy cliild/' sang one, " oli gentle 
 
 mother ! 
 
 For homes I haunt no sickening fears flit by, 
 
 None with feigned mirth a silent anguish 
 
 smother — 
 
 All things are glad and fair when I am nigh. 
 
 "She shall be glad and fair, her buoyance win- 
 ning 
 Smiles from the saddest, through her mirth- 
 strewn way ; 
 While ills that others feel, like fleece-clouds 
 thinning 
 At sight of sunshine, bring her brief dismay. 
 
 "Yield her to me, and I, with pleasures jjaving 
 
 Her future path, the trast will truly keep, 
 
 And sow thick germs of light, whose increase 
 
 waving, 
 
 Thou in glad harvest may'st hereafter reap." 
 
CRADLE SINGING. 139 
 
 Ceased the sweet singing — and another measure 
 Flowed from the white-robed form. A sense 
 of calm 
 Came with the sounds, as when for dearest 
 treasure 
 All sobs are silenced by the burial-psalm. 
 
 "Give mc thy babe, and though my name be 
 Sorrow, 
 And far my dwelling from the haunts of 
 mirth, 
 She from my sterner training strength shall 
 borrow : 
 'Tis from crushed blossoms richest balms 
 ' have birth. 
 
 " Tears she must shed alone her eyes will 
 meeten 
 To look on others' pangs with grieving 
 . glance, 
 
140 CEADLE SINGING. 
 
 Herbs she in twilight culls their gall-draughts 
 sweeten, 
 Through their dull nights her smiles, like 
 fire-flies, dance. 
 
 ^' She shall have fi'iends on high, gone home 
 before her. 
 For holier hands than hers in mine have lain; 
 And friends on earth, in heart of hearts who 
 store her, 
 Helped by her love through weariness and 
 pain. 
 
 " And these will weave her an unfading gar- 
 land, 
 .With joys unclustered, as of old the bees 
 Eifled true flowers of Sheban queen from far 
 land, 
 And left the false untouched in scentless 
 ease. 
 
CRADLE SINGING. 141 
 
 " Give me thy babe !" But here that mother's 
 weeping 
 Hushed the grief-angel, while her gaze for- 
 lorn, 
 Saw on the lovely face, like rose-bud sleeping, 
 The fearful shadow of the crown of thorn. 
 
 When bloom-hung boughs of joy so swiftly 
 wither. 
 How build her babe with these a shielding- 
 booth ? 
 Since paths of grief with briars are strewn, 
 how thither 
 Doom the bright eyes and bounding feet of 
 youth ? 
 
 Then, with bent knee, she cried : " Oh Lord, I 
 rather 
 Yield her to Thee. Thy will be done, not 
 mine! 
 
142 CRADLE SINGING. 
 
 Be Joy or Grief her Guide, wisest Fa- 
 ther ! 
 Choose Thou her portion — only make her 
 Thine !" 
 
DIVINE SEEVICE. 
 
 If once again to Thy fair Court 
 Of service, Lord, I might resort ; 
 If mingling with the faithful there, 
 My voice went up in song and prayer, 
 And I could kneel at chancel-rail — 
 It may be heart and hope would fail 
 Less often, and Thy peace, like dew, 
 Lie ou my way the whole week through. 
 
 for a faith too firm to peer 
 For cloud-born joy or treasure here. 
 To grieve o'er earth-reeds broken now, 
 O'er dream of youth and film-spun vow- 
 
144 DIVINE SERVICE. 
 
 Thoiigli, far as eye of sense may see, 
 Not one green hope is left for me, 
 'Tis Summer-land for loving heart 
 In every sojourn where Thou art ! 
 
 Then make my soul Thy Temple^Lord ! 
 Come and drive hence the chaffering horde, 
 Of eawr thouo;hts whose murmurs fill 
 Porches and aisles against my will. 
 Thus, if no more within Thy Gate, 
 My feet on Thy dear service wait. 
 The long privation will be slight 
 With Thee for Altar, Priest, and Light ! 
 
DISSONANCE 
 
 The earth is full of discords, for men deem 
 Each his own symbol sweetest. Selfish clang, 
 Whelms holy sounds that first from Beth- 
 lehem rang. 
 Firehells break harshly on melodious dream, 
 To sufierer's pillow brought by Christmas 
 theme, 
 Carolled in depth of midnight. Deafening 
 
 bang 
 Of idol-service drowns the fakeer's pang 
 Crushed beneath car-wheels, while none heed 
 his scream. 
 Ah doleful Tuning-Time ! our ears are 
 
 stunned 
 
 13 
 
146 DISSONANCE. 
 
 With crossing clamors. Would our eyes might 
 see 
 Tlie Leader's rod uplifted, and his fund 
 Of deep soul-music rise like snow rills sunned 
 'Neath Polar Summer. So should Discord be 
 Flooded in harpings from the Crystal Sea ! 
 
HEAKT, WELL NIGH HOME, 
 
 Thy Life-cruise is ending, 
 Yv^hite crest of each wave 
 
 "Willi swifter rush tending 
 Home's ramparts to lave. 
 
 Then fear not the blending 
 Of cloud, reef and foam — 
 Heart, well nigh home ! 
 
 Not with soft moon-light 
 
 Now glisten thy sails, 
 They are seen in full Noon-light, 
 
 Soiled, threshed by storm-flails ; 
 But high as Love's Boon-light 
 
148 IIEAET, WELL NIGH HOME. 
 
 Storm never clomb ! 
 Heart, well nigh home. 
 
 Sea- wealth worth craving 
 
 Soothed not thy pride : 
 Dint of foes' graving 
 
 Paint will not hide. 
 But for Christ's saving 
 
 Help, ne'er hadst thou come 
 
 Heart, well nigh home. 
 
 Heart, therefore lay all 
 
 Low at his feet — 
 Years of betrayal. 
 
 Service how fleet ! 
 Waiting there thine arrayal 
 
 Meet for Heaven's Dome, 
 
 Heart, well nigh home ! 
 
THE CHRISTIAN'S CHAIN 
 
 What is our Bible but a golden chain, 
 
 With promises like pendant charms 
 For Faith to handle, strong to vanquish pain. 
 
 Heal grief or soothe alarms ? 
 Through a long ancestry, from saint to saint 
 
 The noble heir-loom came. 
 Never by treason-forfeit or attaint, 
 
 Allied with shame. 
 
 When gaze of thoughtful woman first is bent 
 
 On antique jewels, will she say 
 
 Their worth lies wholly in the brightness lent 
 
 To her own beauty ? — Nay 
 13* 
 
150 THE CHRISTIAN S CHAIN. 
 
 Eacli sapphire splendor, amethystine gloom, 
 
 Kevives some olden tale 
 Of warrior's valor, or fond maiden's bloom, 
 
 In death long pale. 
 
 Our jewels have their legends. Some have 
 brought 
 
 Mute odors from the Mount of Balm 
 To mourners faint with unavailing thous-lrt — 
 
 From one beloved psalm 
 Come tones of hope, that trusting souls rehearse, 
 
 Leaving their lodge of clay — 
 Prayer for renewal, through yon pleaded verse. 
 
 Hath won its way, 
 
 The Word is precious. Well our own deep 
 need 
 
 Hath taught its value ; yet we love 
 To feel it link us with the Sacred Seed, 
 
 Lons housed in light above. 
 
THE christian's CHAIN. 151 
 
 Fair memories lingering on from age to ago, 
 
 And names we never knew 
 Like vanished rose-leaves, haunt the Holy 
 Page 
 
 With fragrance true. 
 
 Whispers of blessing, wherewith martyrs stirred 
 
 Dank air of catacomb and den ! 
 Songs of meek praises, from apostles heard, 
 
 With gyve-clank mingling then. 
 These hold we precious, and yet far more 
 dear 
 
 A Saviour's parting prayers — 
 No solemn utterance of bard or seer — ■ 
 
 Hath power like theirs. 
 
 One. Family in Heaven and Earth. His hand 
 G-rasps our gem-laden treasure still. 
 
 And weakest touches from His own frail band 
 Still rouse the immortal thrill. 
 
152 THE christian's CHAIN. 
 
 Friends ! who that force electric once have felt, 
 
 Round it more closely curl 
 Your clasp, nor let the scoff corrosive melt 
 
 One priceless pearl. 
 
" LIKE HIM, FOR WE SHALL SEE 
 HIM AS HE IS." 
 
 1 John, cliap. 3, v. 2. 
 
 Weary of self and sin, 
 
 'Tis well to look away 
 From inward evil- — outward sin — 
 
 To Christ's Appearing-Day : 
 
 For when He shall appear, 
 
 My cup of life will brim 
 With Love's pure wine, uncloyed by Fear, 
 
 And I shall be like Him. 
 
 Like Him ! My thoughts that swoop 
 Afar with falcon's wing, 
 
154 "like him," etc. 
 
 Then round His throne will meeMy group, 
 And there glad praises sing, 
 
 L lice Him I My wayward lips, 
 Touched by Death's cleansing coal, 
 
 Shall veil no more, in half eclipse, 
 Deep workings of the soul. 
 
 Like Him I No wilful prayer 
 
 Will soar on pinion strong, 
 But to enhance my heart's despair. 
 
 And beat at Heaven's gate long. 
 
 Like Him I No faultful deeds, 
 
 To fence of duty blind. 
 Rise in rank growth — ^unsightly weeds 
 
 From soil of godless mind. 
 
 Like Him! My restless will — 
 No longer prone to carp — 
 
"like him," etc. 155 
 
 Shall at His bidding softly thrill, 
 As thrills an air-moved harp. 
 
 While Joy's long dormant flower 
 
 Blooms, with no stain to dim 
 Its broad unfolding, from the hour 
 
 When I shall be like Him 1 
 
LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER. 
 
 Lone among rocks the Giant lay — 
 His might of soul inert as they — 
 Viewing broad billows ebb away. 
 
 Yet wave and rock^ from boyhood's hour, 
 Thrilled him with sense of kindred power 
 Like wave to lash— like sea-cliff tower ; 
 
 And if around Love's sun-lit isle 
 Thought-currents gleamed in joy awhile, 
 Soon fell the spring-flood— -ceased the smile. 
 
 " The strong sea knows his path/' he said, 
 " Is ruled by yon calm moon j 
 
ST. CHBISTOPHEK. 157 
 
 But the surgings of my soul, unled, 
 
 For channels importune ; 
 I tire of winter — snow bespread- 
 As I tire of summer noon. 
 Glad sea ! with life-rule traced on high- 
 Glad moon ! whose light may wane, not die— 
 Ye have your task-work — none have I." 
 
 Lifting then his stalwart length, 
 In full majesty of strength. 
 
 Forth Phoros fared. 
 Craving, for the arm and breast 
 That in work alone found rest — 
 Service of Earth's mightiest 
 
 King, with power unshared. 
 
 Stately palace wins his eye. 
 
 Stately chief his prowess viewing, 
 
 Notes how in the brave arms lie 
 
 Strength and skill for foes' subduing, 
 14 
 
158 LEGEND OF 
 
 While tlie child-lieart longs to serve, 
 Nor from loyal faith will swerve ; 
 Well may the warrior-monarch hail 
 
 His coming, dream of foes unhorsed, 
 And of souls threshed out from their fleshly 
 mail, 
 
 Like grain from its shell in autumn forced, 
 By that massive human flail. 
 
 And then heart of Phoros hounded 
 
 With gleeful sense of gain ; 
 No more from dull inaction hounded 
 
 To effort wild as vain — 
 Hope scaled the hill-peak viewed so long. 
 And toil and honor crowned the strong. 
 
 One morn there came a herald, sent 
 
 With speed from a lonely village, where 
 Marauders in the midnight went 
 To rifle sleeping shepherd's tent ; 
 
ST. CHKISTOPHEE. 159 
 
 Nor might their vulture taloDS spare 
 One living child, one matron bentj 
 One old man's meek white hair. 
 
 Listened the king, with a wrathful brow : 
 " Satan our world is walking now," 
 
 Spake one of his valiant men ; 
 And the royal hand at that word of bale 
 Signed the cross, and his cheek grew pale — 
 
 But Phoros questioned then : 
 
 " Whence this Satan, noble sire ? 
 I had deemed thee first of all 
 Kings who this world keep in thrall — 
 Canst thou fear another's ire !" 
 
 " Ask me not," his lord replied, 
 
 " Learning will but grieve thee." 
 " Nay," the stalwart vassal cried, 
 " Tell me, or I leave thee." 
 
jO legendop 
 
 And the unwilling Chieftain press'd 
 Fear of Satan's power confessed. 
 
 Faded then his vassal's dream, 
 Faded all his fond esteem. 
 Only to the Mightiest, he 
 Pledged his own might loyally. 
 Sadly grasjjing sword and shield 
 Moved he to the avenging field ; 
 There beneath his falchion fell 
 Mowed like grass, the Infidel — 
 But when the war-tide ceased to roll, 
 Forth from the camp Phoros stole. 
 
 Soon in a lonely mountain-glen 
 The Giant found the Foe of men ; 
 Willingly his guileless thought 
 Bowed before a strength long sought j 
 
ST. CHRISTOPHER. 161 
 
 Slender parley, brief soul siege 
 Needed ere he hailed his Liege. 
 
 And meekly he followed the Prince of Air 
 Through wild- wood pathways, by wild brute's 
 
 lair, 
 Till a Cross upreared on a bleak hill-side 
 Imaged the love of the Crucified ; 
 
 Aside the Demon flew, 
 Nor paused for tangle, brier or fosse, 
 Till far from Shadow of the Cross, 
 
 His new-found thrall he drew. 
 
 " Wherefore this haste T' Phoros spake ; 
 " Plainer yon hill-path than briarful brake." 
 
 " Little boots it, friend, to know — 
 
 Ivy-crown, perchance, I'd weave thee" — 
 
 But Phoros cried — " Not so ! 
 
 Tell me, or I leave thee !" 
 14* 
 
162 LEGEND OP 
 
 " Once with the Being sculptured there 
 Long time I wrestled, unaware 
 What inborn strength enshrouded lay — 
 "What dauntless soul, in sheath of clay ! 
 At last he fell. In triumph reigned 
 My star awhile. That fall was feigned : 
 Soon from my grasp the Christ arose ; 
 And still we meet as lifelong foes — 
 Here let the hateful memory close." 
 
 " Greater then his might than thine," 
 Mused Phoros—" Master Mine !" 
 
 " Heed him not, my vassal true, 
 I have realms he never kncv/ ; 
 There long years of bliss await thee. 
 There shall smiles of pleasure sate tliee, 
 Warm as sunshine, bright as dew." 
 
 But the soul he deemed enmeshed. 
 As with wine of Life refreshed, 
 
ST. CHRISTOPHER. 163 
 
 Kose, and calmly turned away 
 
 From that losel in aifray, 
 
 Toward the Prince who won the day. 
 
 In the heart of silent forest 
 Knelt an aged man and prayed, 
 
 Pilgrims when their need was sorest. 
 Sought for help that home-like glade. 
 
 Him Phoros told — " To none 
 
 But the strongest Monarch under Sun 
 Are my vows of service paid. 
 
 I have learned through wanderings long, 
 
 Christ is strongest of the strong ; 
 
 But His Court is far away. 
 
 None I seek the road can say ; 
 
 All its waymarks are too dim ; 
 
 Lead me, Father, unto Him." 
 
164 LEGEND OF 
 
 " Not with eye of sense, my Child, 
 Canst thou view the Undefiled : 
 Lordly growth and might of limb 
 Form not offerings meet for Him. 
 He no battle service needs ; 
 Dearer to His heart are sighs, 
 If from lowly thoughts they rise, 
 Than archangels' valiant deeds. 
 Turn from haunts of Earth aside, 
 Bow in prayer thy own vain pride ; 
 Through long fastings watch and kneel, 
 Till thy Lord Himself reveal." 
 
 " I will not fast to lose 
 
 Strength by my Maker givon ; 
 I can not pray and muse 
 All day, on far-oif Heaven. 
 Long lonely hours are too drear a ban ; 
 Bid me toil for this Saviour, thou saintly 
 man." 
 
ST. cull I ST OP HER. J 65 
 
 " Where in many a dangerous eddy 
 
 Snake-like, yon deep river rolls, 
 Strength of thine, perchance, may steady 
 
 Failing strength of feeble souls. 
 Thither hasten, hourly aiding 
 
 All in want or fear who cry, 
 Shrink not then from midnight wading 
 
 Lift thy heart to Christ on high." 
 
 Soon from river-bank uprooting 
 
 For his staff tall trunk of palm, 
 Passed he his life in suiting 
 Cordial help to weakling's qualm — 
 Guarded by his fearless footing, 
 
 Frailest pilgrim crossed in calm. 
 Christ the while, on earth who served. 
 Watched, well-pleased, the strength so 
 
 nerved 
 Lowliest task-work to fulfill. 
 Faithful, thoucch in darkness still. 
 
16G LEGEND OF 
 
 Watched the love, that spring-like welled, 
 
 Nor from tiny cup once held, 
 
 Deemed the poor man's thirst all quelled. 
 
 One night the flood was foaming high, 
 And harsh winds told of tempest nigh ; 
 While Phoros mused with many a sigh 
 n his so long-deferred reward, 
 On craved-for vision of His Lord. 
 For heavy and dark was the load of sin ; 
 And wilder the warring his soul within. 
 Than moan and shriek of the swollen Linn, 
 
 Lo ! a faint, half- whispered cry 
 Fell on his ear as a babe were nigh, 
 And the Giant marvelled — Had he slept ? 
 When again it rose. — From their pallet leapt 
 
ST. CHRISTOPHER. 167 
 
 The strong limbs swiftly ; his staff is ta'en 
 And forth he plunges through blinding rain. 
 Again that cry. — On the bank a child 
 Watches the torrent, seething wild, 
 " Wilt thou bear me over, Friend .?" it cried ; 
 " Mine errand lieth on yonder side." 
 
 Then Phoros raised the fair young form. 
 And turned his face unto flood and storm. 
 Scarce hath one firm foot felt the wave, 
 When tempest-voices loudlier rave. 
 And the child-burden presseth sore, 
 Strong though his arm, ere half-wav o'er. 
 
 Higher yet the storm-wave surges. 
 Tireless yet the storm-wind scourges, 
 And the palm-staff, tried of old, 
 Finds in shifting sand no hold, 
 AVhile the child's arm, round him curled, 
 Weighs, as though he bare a world. 
 
168 LEGEND OF 
 
 Falls the prowess once so vaunted — 
 Fails the clieer till now undaunted — 
 In this struggling shall he sink ? 
 One more step, for need is urgent ! 
 Yet another — and emer2;ent 
 Falls he by the channel's brink ; 
 Borrowing for his fearful burthen 
 From the rough bank, cradle earthen. 
 Panting faintly, " Child thy name ! 
 Fair thou art, and slight of frame ; 
 But wayfarer never came 
 Near this ford, whose clasp could twine 
 Bound me with a force like thine \" 
 
 Parted then the dusk night-cloud ; 
 Hushed the winds their quarrel loud ; 
 But on turf the moon-beams lay 
 Not with half so pure a ray. 
 As, in mingled power and grace, 
 Shines around that Infant-Face, 
 
ST. CIIKISTOPIIEK. 169 
 
 Made the rough bank holy ground — 
 Holy, with a Saviour found. 
 
 Soon to Love's most loving tone 
 Changed the child's appealing moan. 
 Planting, at its word, his palm 
 In the damp earth, buds of balm 
 From the well-worn staff arose ; 
 And sweeter dates than Ilermon grows. 
 Formed the feathery palm-leaves fair 
 Coronal for trunk so bare ? 
 Feebly could their flush compare 
 With the glad thoughts that curing 
 Heart unhoping, whilst full S2)ring 
 Comes with coming of its King ! 
 
 Touched, transfigured through the sight, 
 
 Life and death alike grow bright. 
 
 Though Heaven's glory lure away — 
 
 He for pilgrim's help can stay ; 
 15 
 
170 LEGEXJ) OF 
 
 Earth's mad storms mciy round him fly — 
 Henceforth he can dare and die. 
 
 Ere long he learned how Lycian hordes 
 Drenched in the blood of saints their swords, 
 And thither led by mvstic cords, 
 Phoros son2;ht the idoi-ianes 
 Of Samos, red with martyr-stains. 
 Thrice happy if his tones of cheer, 
 Gladdening erewhile wayfarer's ear. 
 Might now with hopes enheartening guide 
 Those before whom, in heavier tide. 
 Flowed the Death-Torrent, dark and wide. 
 
 Eained heathen smitings on his face ? 
 He smiled back : " But for Jesus' grace 
 Well would mine arm avenge each blow ; 
 But Christian hearts no malice know !" 
 
 Then to a throne of judgment near. 
 The martyr's stalwart friend they led ; 
 
ST. CHRISTOPHER. 171 
 
 Their puny kingling swooned in fear, 
 
 And cried, " Thy name, man of dread!'' 
 Answered his cajjtive, low and clear : 
 
 "Phoros, Bearer — called of yore 
 From burthens that with ease I bore ; 
 Till carrying One than all Earth fairer, 
 I learned of Him a nobler aim, 
 And won from Him my nobler name : 
 Now in His martyrs' love a sharer — 
 Christopher — Of Christ the Bearer." 
 
 Storm of menace, jeer and blows 
 Round him with that word arose : 
 But his robe of faith he held 
 Closer while the heathen yelled. 
 Then temptation's summer-call 
 Would with song and bloom enthrall. 
 Till, subdued, strong heart should fall : — ■ 
 Thong or threat, or floral chain 
 
1T2 ST. CHRISTOPHER. 
 
 Might not win for altars vain 
 From his pahn one incense-grain. 
 
 Kneeling ere the headsman's stroke 
 Loosed his soul from fleshly yoke, 
 Christopher the silence broke : 
 " Saviour, if weak pilgrims tire 
 Through the force of flood and fire. 
 Earth-quake, storm, or thunder-peal, 
 Hear Thou ! when the tremblers kneel, 
 Thinking on my dreary case — 
 Dreary, till Thy Glorious Face, 
 Beamed on more than midnight gloom. 
 And while, trusting in Thy grace. 
 They the help I found retrace. 
 May Thy love their faith illume. 
 And all shadows, dark to see. 
 From Thy radiant Presence flee \" 
 
 Note. — This legend. e%'idently allegorioal, has been called 
 the Pilgrim's Progress of mediajval times, and was very pop- 
 ular among citizens and peasantry. 
 
THE KAINBOAV ON THE EAILWAY. 
 
 On, on, through swamp and tangle, 
 With brain-bewildering jangle, 
 Fierce cry and fiercer wrangle, 
 
 The Fire-Steed flew : 
 Past Cypress veiled in mosses 
 (Long worn for greenwood losses) 
 That over shiny fosses 
 
 Dull shadows threw : 
 O'er rice-marsh danldy seething 
 Past poison vines up- wreathing, 
 From loveliest blossoms breathing 
 
 Most fatal dew — 
 15* 
 
174 THE EAINEOW ON THE RAILWAY. 
 
 Where sparkle-boughs shone varnished 
 O'er pools with lilies garnished, 
 And tiny runnels, tarnished 
 Through Heaps of pine, 
 High boles once gaily fringing, 
 Then bronzed by camp-fire's singeing 
 And now the clear waves tinsinor 
 
 With tawny wine. 
 Past wood-scenes borne thus lightly 
 Through din and smoke unsightly 
 To me a sense came brightly 
 
 Of Care Divine. 
 
 For, spite of haste and whirling, 
 Like sound of maelstrom swirling, 
 Where the white steam rose curling 
 
 A Sun-Bow lay, 
 Eich-hued as some that tarry. 
 Where beams and dew-drops marry, 
 And heaven's bright flashes cany 
 
THK RAINBOW ON THE KAIL WAY. 175 
 
 Througli cataract spray : 
 Full-arched as others, glowing 
 On men for dear life rowing, 
 When summer storms are going 
 
 From ocean-bay. 
 
 Sign of God's sure befriending, 
 Frail heart from ill defending, 
 Thy silent lesson blending 
 
 With that fierce din. 
 Said " Thus, in scenes of squalor. 
 Can Faith, with cheery valor. 
 Turn its bright prism on pallor 
 
 Of toil and sin ; 
 Thus too, our God, — if duly, 
 Through all Earth's noise unruly. 
 We seek and serve Him truly, — 
 
 Gives peace within." 
 
S USPEN SB. 
 
 Worse ordeal far than gloomiest fate, 
 That life, wherein the sentence " Wait V 
 Seems from each hour inalienate. 
 
 When vulture-fancies scent from far 
 
 A coming fight ; and sound of war 
 
 Thrills with new pangs the long-healed scar ; 
 
 To stand in day-dawn's blissful hush, 
 Fearing, ere night, the winnowing rush 
 • ;'■ tempest wings all joy may crush. 
 
 To feel tlie lieart a prisoner, pent 
 As in old tower where sunlight sent, 
 Through seven higrh lattices, content. 
 
 
S U SPENSE. 177 
 
 Content soon lost in doubt and fear; 
 When, one by one, each lattice clear 
 Did dim and all opaque appear. 
 
 So fade youth's hopes and visions — fade 
 
 The gentle forms by love arrayed 
 
 In light which noon of twilight made. 
 
 The joys that sprang when life began 
 
 Evanish, till we faintly scan 
 
 Day's glimmer through one narrow sj)an ; 
 
 And waiting, watch the dark Death- Wall 
 Come nearer, nearer ; while a pall 
 Of terror holds the heart in thrall. 
 
 Nay, captive, nay ! Unviewed of thee 
 Beyond that Wall, with golden key, 
 One at whose smile all shadows flee, 
 
178 SUSPENSi2. 
 
 Waits till thy vision, purged from sin, 
 May strength, through grief's anointing, win 
 To bear the light His love lets in. 
 
 When from Life's often-clouded day 
 The last dear splendor dies away, 
 Closing thine eyelids, meekly j)ray 
 
 That He would pierce the fold of sense 
 
 With warmth from Heaven, whose glow intense 
 
 Can still the shiver of suspense. 
 
 Thus when His voice at length is heard 
 Calling to freedom long deferr'd ; 
 Heart, hope, and love unsepulchred, 
 
 Shall sigh no more in chains of care — 
 ,Shall breathe no more a prisoner's prayer, 
 Sure of all bliss — with Jesus there. 
 
THE LESSON OF GIDEON. 
 
 JuDGKS, chiip. viii., V. 1-7. 
 
 A PLEA FOR MISSIONS. 
 
 To our homes, lo ! the Champion of Israel 
 
 draws nigh, 
 While his valiant three hundred move wearily 
 
 by; 
 
 And rich though their trophies, their number 
 
 no more, 
 Than a gleaning of grapes when the vintage is 
 
 o'er. 
 
 And slender the service He claims at our 
 hands, 
 
 For the few who thus foray in far border- 
 lands : 
 
180 THE LESSON OF G I D K O N . 
 
 Rich pnrple-liued raiment, soft cushions and 
 
 pelf, 
 AVere unmeet for His chosen — unsought by 
 
 Himself 
 
 We dwell with our people : — through alien 
 
 morass, 
 Lone defile, or jungle, in silence they pass ; 
 Bright soil of the desert their sandals may burn, 
 But the heart-glow is brighter — they will not 
 
 return. 
 
 From the " faint yet pursuing," witliliold we 
 
 the bread, 
 Which lacking, they fall in their armor, unfed : 
 While our prayers and our love should be with 
 
 them, as wine. 
 When all that is cheering, for Christ, they 
 
 resi"-n. 
 
THE LESSON OF GIDEON. 181 
 
 Oh sliaine on our self-love ! Through iuner- 
 
 most room 
 Of each silken pavilion floats whisper of doom. 
 Like the rustling of wings ere all happiness 
 
 flee, 
 " Gifts held from my servants are held hack 
 
 from Me." 
 
 Up, friends ! at the warning, from pillow of 
 rest ! 
 
 To pile for your Chief and His chosen our 
 hest ; 
 
 Lest leaving those brave hearts to press on for- 
 lorn, 
 
 With briars, when He cometh, our own hearts 
 be torn. 
 
 16 
 
KACHEL, LADY EUSSELL. 
 
 " Whatever below God is the object of our love» will at some time or 
 other be the matter of our sorrows."— Lettbes op Last Russell. 
 
 Her rose of love unfolded, bud and bloom 
 Perfect in beauty, while the Master's look 
 Watched with approval. Then from garden- 
 nook 
 Of home His hand removed it. Was there 
 
 room 
 In the close leaves for canker ? Would per- 
 fume 
 Be lost in world-born vapors, that He took 
 The rose so roughly, and with wild winds 
 shook 
 Buds left yet lingering, hedged in ivy gloom ? 
 
IIACUEL, LAUY EU8SELL. 183 
 
 All ! bliss of Earth is but a plant whose seed, 
 Perennial in Heaven's tropic soil, doth need'-' 
 Yearly renewal in our chillier clime. 
 We weep o'er flowers removed ere winter's 
 rime ; 
 And by our weeping blinded, fail to heed 
 How safe their crystal shield from blasts of 
 Timel 
 
 IL 
 
 " Has the prisoner any one to aid him in talcing notes ?" asked the 
 judge. " My wife is here, my lord, to do it," said the accused. 
 
 History op England. 
 
 She can not stay to weep while voice or pen 
 Yields chance to aid him. Tears now fleck 
 Her bark's clear sunshine, but with him on 
 deck 
 They will seem luminous hereafter, when 
 Both voice and pen are failures, and fierce men 
 
 * Dr. Livingston discovered a species of cotton-plant in 
 the interior of Africa, which was not an annual, as with us, 
 but, once sown, continued to flourish for years. 
 
18-i RACHEL, LADY RUSSELL. 
 
 Have hailed with ready zeal a tyrant's beck; 
 
 When she, the lone survivor of that wreck, 
 Peers o'er the waste for seas beyond her ken. 
 
 Where floats in peace her dear lord's caravel. 
 Heart of true woman ! faithful to the last, 
 
 All selfish pangs one smile of love can quell- 
 Not till that smile hath vanished, hurrying fast, 
 
 Can after-tides of w^oe her spirit cast 
 On shores where hoarse gales murmur " Is it 
 well ?" 
 
 III. 
 
 "I was too rich in possessions while I possessed him : all relish now 
 Is gone." — Letters of Lady Eussell. 
 
 Her heart, resplendent once as royal hall 
 Where Joy was reigning, views him now de- 
 throned ; 
 While the soiled blazonries and shields he 
 owned 
 Bear, in debasement, witness to his fall. 
 
 Grief, the new monarch, sits for coronal 
 
KACIIEL, LADY RUSSELL. 185 
 
 'Midst dark-robed peers, and scutcheons 
 darker toned. 
 
 His sad-voiced champion hath a challenge 
 droned 
 'Gainst all usurpers, and with gauntlet-call, 
 
 Waits for defiance, where no thought defies. 
 In hours of agony alone we learn 
 
 What solemn depth £)ur being underlies, 
 Though every wish for that old sovereign yearn, 
 
 Though loyal fancies would in rapture rise, 
 Joy's reign of sunlight never can return. 
 
 IT. 
 
 " ^fy class runs low. The world does not want me, nor I want 
 that." — Lady Kussell. 
 
 " I should have been afraid of such a woman as Lady Rachel ; it would 
 have been too awful. Tlicve are pieces of china very line and beautiful, 
 but never intended for daily use." — Sydney S.mitii. 
 
 Yet years of life await her. Sorrow kills 
 In ballads only or antique romance. 
 And the close-linked mail of circumstance 
 16* 
 
1S6 RACHEL, LADY KUSSELL. 
 
 Arms her for. living, with firm oorslet stills 
 Each mad death-longing. Mirth of childhood fills 
 The home made silent. Youth's untroubled 
 
 dance 
 May not be fettered by her tearful glance ; 
 Nor will she quail anew from death-bed ills, 
 Braced for all anguish, having known the 
 
 worst. 
 And sad hearts love her, since their bitter 
 thirst 
 Her hand from living well will meekly slake. 
 Let mirthful natures deem her heart in- 
 hearsed, 
 And shrink from one so chastened, Grod will take 
 Her closer 'neath His wing whom men forsake. 
 
 V. 
 
 " It is reasonable to believe our friends find that rest we yet but hope 
 for." — Lady Russell. 
 
 Keen Death air vises in the ungenial East, 
 And floats o'er graves where lie our holy dead 
 
EACHEL, LADY EUSSELL. 187 
 
 Witli feet turned eastward, waiting for tlie 
 Tread; 
 That startles worldlings from tlieir wassail- 
 feast 
 To fears, like lightning, felt when looked for 
 least. 
 But dawn brings glory. Christ His guests 
 
 hath led 
 To the fair chamber,Peace, whose pleasant bed 
 Fronteth the sunrise. There, no rose leaf 
 creased, 
 They rest till morning. Shall an acarn 
 guess 
 What far capacities of height and shade, 
 Like gi'owth unseen, its dull-hued sides com- 
 press ? 
 How from one hour of joy can heart o'er- 
 weighed 
 With care, the brancnful growth of blessedness 
 Foretell, on southward slope of Eden's glade ? 
 
P Ail TIN a. 
 
 Now I have lost whom most fondly I love, 
 To-day's wind hath tost thee afar, my own 
 
 dove ! 
 And still to my vision repeats thy dear smile, 
 In gentlest derision — " 'Tis but for awhile ; 
 How foolish our weeping ! Like infants at 
 
 play, 
 
 Eecoiling and peeping, we part for one day." 
 
 Ah Love ! through each parting, too brief for 
 
 a tear, 
 Wild May-Bes are darting, winged missiles of 
 
 fear. 
 
TAR TING. 189 
 
 That hint, as they hurtle, how venom of 
 
 asp 
 May be sheltered in myrtle, and sting ere I 
 
 clasp ; 
 How often veiled dangers which Love would 
 
 avert, 
 Unnoticed by strangers, work horror and hurt. 
 
 '' I fear where I should not." Thy voice, too 
 
 hath said — 
 '' Since true spirits could not by Death be 
 
 unwed 
 On dew-drops if Light fall, and lift one on 
 
 high. 
 While in flower-leaf till nightfall another may 
 
 lie ; 
 Both upwards are fleeing — both worship one 
 
 Sun, 
 And lapse in His Being when earth-life is 
 
 done." 
 
190 PARTING. 
 
 I doubt not the saying, yet daily my prayer 
 Seeks thy Sun-Life's delaying, till I too am 
 
 there. 
 If angels accost thee, respond not, mine own ! 
 From my Nile, had I lost thee, the lotos were 
 
 gone ; 
 "Whose deep root holds firmer when gales j^rove 
 
 its power ; 
 'Tis therefore I murmur to miss thee an hour. 
 
"EXCEPT THE LORD BUILD THE HOUSE 
 TIIEY LABOR IN VAIN THAT BUILD IT." 
 
 My cottage lay in ruins — tempest-torn, 
 
 I need not tell you how. 
 Fierce winds the fragile walls had earthward 
 borne. 
 
 J 
 
 And battered each green bough. 
 Enough. I must re^mir the tenement, 
 
 Elsewhere I could not go ; 
 And pitying friends came round me, with intent 
 
 Their counsel to bestow. 
 
 First Fancy o'er my garden-plot would pore, 
 
 With promises and plan 
 To make my dwelling firmer than before : 
 
 But when the work besan. 
 
192 "except tpie loud build," etc. 
 
 Hf r levers failed one beam or plank to move, 
 
 Fashioned from baseless air ; 
 And her most choice materials did but j)rove 
 
 Kaleidoscopic ware. 
 
 Then Skill showed plainly how, with hail o'er- 
 borne, 
 
 The slender sides and roof 
 Yielded to pressure, yet, less roughly worn. 
 
 Had been tornado-proof. 
 Opined, with stancheons new — with careful 
 latch, 
 
 And ivy-bands to climb 
 From porch to gable, linking sill with thatch, 
 
 The House might last my time. 
 
 Next, Love and Patience came with tender smile, 
 
 And yet more tender care ; — 
 Sought in safe order stones afresh to pile. 
 
 Cementing all with prayer. 
 
"except the lord build," etc. 193 
 
 Storms of an hour some finished portions felled, 
 
 Oft, when the work looked best — 
 Still toiled they on, hy failures unrcpelled, 
 With beaver's dauntless breast. 
 
 Faith from our council long had held aloof — 
 
 Then, while we paused in fear, 
 Unfoldino; drawinsjs with far loftier roof 
 
 Than our poor means could rear, 
 She cried, "Oh waste not wealth of hand or 
 brain, 
 
 This ruined home to gild, 
 All work of man's devising will be vain, 
 
 Unless Jehovah build. 
 
 " 'Tis now when strongest, but a captive' 
 
 cell; 
 
 Soon must thy soul depart. 
 
 In brighter mansion for awhile to dwell, 
 
 Not built through mortal art. 
 17 
 
194 "except the loed build," etc. 
 
 Yet in thine absence, from tlie mould and dust, 
 
 Another home shall spring : 
 There will thy Guardian, faithful to His trust, 
 
 The ancient tenant bring. 
 
 " Then find thy solace in yon hastening hour. 
 
 Let Love and Patience think 
 That Hill-born breezes come with holier powei 
 
 Through each unlovely chink. 
 And though thy neighbor's barns with brim- 
 ming sheaves 
 
 Of health and hope be filled. 
 Dwell thou unmurmuring beneath broken eaves, 
 
 Till thy Kedeemer build 1" 
 
THOMAS FULLER ON PINS. 
 
 Once, after lengthened musing, 
 Thus wrote a quaint divine : 
 
 How marvellous the using 
 Of pins on raiment fine ! 
 
 In size and worth how trifling ! 
 
 A moment's careless boon — 
 Yet rough winds would be rifling 
 
 Our robes without them soon. 
 
 How vast their glittering levies ! 
 
 Replenished year by year ; 
 Each day, through seam and crevice ; 
 
 What thousands disappear ! 
 
196 THOMAS FULLER ON PINS. 
 
 And swiftly we replace them, 
 
 Unheeding earlier store, 
 Gone where no eye can trace them — 
 
 Alas ! I marvel more 
 
 At men, so brave and sightly. 
 Yet in their Maker's Hand 
 Held but as pins that slightly 
 . Secure some household band. 
 
 Brightly their busy millions, 
 Gleam forth, then through the floor 
 
 Of this world's gay pavilions 
 Sink, and are seen no more. 
 
 Missed for how brief a season ! 
 
 Mourned by a sorrowing few ; 
 Forgotten soon by reason 
 
 Of mourners buried too. 
 
THOMAS FULLER ON PINS. 197 
 
 No vision may behold them 
 On dark path while they go ; 
 
 No human grief enfold them 
 Save with a passing show. 
 
 Glad thought ! Though friends have van- 
 ished 
 Like pins from earthly view, 
 God will recall His banished, 
 And bid them shine anew I 
 17* 
 
SECOND CAUSES 
 
 When some great grief descends 
 
 On the prone heart, nor lends 
 A loop-hole through which light may peer, 
 
 While tiniest stone, once kept 
 
 Secure, by wise adept. 
 Had all reversed and ruin were now near — 
 We feel what weights of woe depend 
 On frailest hair-line that a hreath might 
 rend. 
 
 • Might rend, but may not, since 
 A Hand too firm to wince 
 For man's wild menace, clasps the knot 
 
SECOND CAUSES. 199 
 
 Where myriad films entwine^ 
 
 And myriad wills combine 
 To body forth His will who shapes our lot : 
 How then should skill or tortuous plans 
 Elude the Look, that all wierd influence scans? 
 
 And could our mole-eyes trace 
 
 Those issues to their place 
 In God's true foresight, hushed were then 
 
 All murmurs. Hearts would lie 
 
 Low at His feet, and cry, 
 " In love Thou didst it, Loving Lord of Men ! 
 Our quivering lips yet kiss Thy rod — 
 Our worn feet press no paths, by Thee un- 
 trod." 
 
 It was a heathen chief, 
 Who heard thy tale of grief. 
 And dashed to earth in ire his battle-blade, 
 
200 
 
 SECOND CAUSE S. 
 
 With vow : " Had I been there — 
 I, with my own Franks — ne'er 
 Should the meek Victim on that cross have 
 
 staid !" 
 Clovis would Roman spears have braved, 
 To leave the broad world and himself unsaved! 
 
THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 in the neighborhood of Lake Champlain, a beautiful insect was so 
 attracted by a lady's singing, as to follow her for some distance, suffer 
 itself to be caught, and finally die in her hands. 
 
 Butterfly 1 thy wings are bright 
 As they flutter in the calm sunlight, 
 And through this fair Sylvan scene. 
 Waft thee, like an insect-queen, 
 Born her royal home to make 
 Close beside the lilied lake. 
 With its murmuring waves to play, 
 And merrily pass her life's short day. 
 
 What though the summer time be brief. 
 Thy plumes will fade before the leaf ; 
 
202 THE EUTTERFLY, 
 
 What tlioniih in ret>iorjis far from here 
 Thou mightest sport 'neath skies more clear, 
 Breathe the perfume of countless roses, 
 And sip the dew each hud uncloses — 
 Would it he a more joyous lot 
 Than to dwell in this sequestered spot, 
 Watching the wavelets kiss the shore— 
 Fhtting in sunshine till life he o'er. 
 
 Sweet are the songs our dear one sings— 
 
 Thou hast folded thy gorgeous wings, 
 
 And sunk in delight, on her arm art thou 
 
 found, 
 Fearing to lose one magic «ound. 
 Where didst thou learn to love the song, 
 And follow the minstrel's steps so long ? 
 Hast thou listened to elfin lays 
 Sung at eve in the moon's pale rays ? 
 Shaken off morning sleep to mark 
 Voice of linnet or carol of lark ? 
 
T U E BUTTERFLY, 203 
 
 Or hath the swell of this tiny sea 
 Wakened thy sense of melody ? 
 
 Ah ! the burst of that noble air 
 Is more than thy fragile frame can bear : 
 It has trembled awhile with responsive thrill 
 To each plaintive cadence, each lingering trill, 
 Till in mournful pleasure, delicious pain, 
 Thou hast sighed out thy life with the last 
 refrain. 
 
 Often some gay saloon has rung 
 "With glad applause as the lady sung. 
 While a flush of -pleasure, a gathering tear, 
 Proved the accents of praise sincere ; 
 But never till now hath her charmed lay 
 Stolen the listener's life away 1 
 
 Well would it be if the wayward heart 
 In thy wild devotion had no part ! 
 
204 THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Well, fair insect, if none save thee 
 Fronted the perils of ecstacy 1 
 Vain idol-lovers ! we weave our bliss 
 From the shining films of a world like this, 
 Where the sweetest voice and the dearest 
 
 smile 
 Only are ours for a little while. 
 Soon our golden image shows feet of clay, 
 Our gossamer treasure floats far away. 
 And then we long to lie down and die- 
 Sharing thy fate, poor butterfly I 
 
SANS PEUR ET SANS REPROCHE. 
 
 " Blameless and fearless." With banner all 
 
 bright, 
 Forth to far battle once hurried brave knight, 
 Held it unspotted through War's gory rush, 
 As a white peak whence paleth the long vesper 
 
 flush. 
 
 " Blameless and fearless'' our ensign shall be, 
 
 For liegemen of Jesus the Sinless are we ; 
 
 No guilt on the conscience, no fear in the soul 
 
 May palsy their might whom His Love hath 
 
 made whole. 
 
 18 
 
206 SANS PKUB ET SANS EEPKOCHE. 
 
 " Blameless and fearless" that legend's brave 
 
 tone 
 Need not ring among ranks of the stalwart 
 
 alone ; 
 A child's arm through hole of the sea-dyke 
 
 thrust down 
 Once saved from their death-doom the hosts of 
 
 a town. 
 
 " Blameless and fearless." If legion of foes 
 Bound the eremite soul in Earth's wilderness 
 
 close, 
 While leaning on Jesus, it watcheth all fears, 
 With the smile of an infant at glancing of 
 
 spears. 
 
 For the Blameless hath lifted the load of our 
 
 hlame — 
 The Fearless through Valley of Horrors once 
 
 came. 
 
SANS PEUB ET SANS BEPROCHE. 207 
 
 And scattered bright germs in each furrow of 
 
 night J 
 For those who have loved Him, to harvest in 
 
 Light. 
 
HOMELESSNESS. 
 
 Forth among strangers. All! unwelcome word! 
 
 Drear penalty incurred 
 By many a mourner, since the first frail pair 
 Saw that dear Eden Love had made so fair, 
 
 Flame-barred against their prayer ; 
 While the vast expanse they were free to range 
 
 Looked desolate and strange. 
 
 Forth among strangers. To the young in heart 
 
 Tired of inactive part, 
 Change seems but gladness- — alien scenes arise, 
 Clad in the rosy mist of morning skies ; 
 
 When inexperienced eyes 
 Turn gaily to the Future's brightening shore, 
 
 And grieve for home no more. 
 
nOMELESSKESS. 209 
 
 But when Life's glow hath faded, and the soul 
 
 Cares less for shining goal, 
 Than for some bosky shelter by the way, 
 To shield for dust- worn eyes the glare of day, 
 
 And cheat Care of his prey ; 
 Change ivill look dark, though in its ebon chest 
 
 Grim-carven, jewels rest. 
 
 Pleasant the parlor-brightness, when at eve, 
 Unwearying fire-gnomes weave 
 
 Their radiant pictures, ready for a gaze 
 
 Skilled in red hieroglyphs. More bright the 
 rays, 
 "Which 'neath fond eye-lids blaze 
 
 A beacon-welcome, unto look that knows 
 What spell that kind glance throws. 
 
 But sad and heartless to go forth alone, 
 
 Silent as Theban stone 
 18* 
 
210 n O MELESS NESS. 
 
 Dragged by rude Fellah over desert-sand, 
 Left un deciphered, till some gentler hand 
 
 Half trace its mystic hrand : 
 Then from brief contact, pass with uncon- 
 cern — 
 
 This task is hard to learn ! 
 
 Peace, murmuring spirit ! Did thy Lord com- 
 plain 
 Of far more bitter pain 
 Borne in thy service ? Changes though thou 
 
 see. 
 What home so full of joy can ever be. 
 
 As that He left for thee ? 
 Wliile thy dull nature, unto earth akin. 
 Shrinks not as His from sin. 
 
 He chose a manger for His infant head — 
 He borrowed his last bed. 
 
HO MELK S SN ESS . 211 
 
 Yet hatli He power and wisdom — Were it best, 
 Proud palace at His beck would claim thee guest, 
 
 And give thee longed-for rest. 
 Go ! with His promise cheer each painful mile — 
 
 And wait thy Home, awhile. 
 
*' WE KXOW NOT WHAT WE SHALL BE." 
 
 'My knowledge of that life is small, 
 
 The eye of faith is dim — 
 But 'tis enough that Christ knows all, 
 And 1 shall he with llim." Baxtek. 
 
 My day of dreariness and mist 
 
 At length, they tell me, nears the close — 
 No cloud of flame and amethyst 
 
 A radiance o'er its ending throws : 
 I shall not leave the jDlain of fight 
 With shield undarkened, sword of might, 
 And stainless plume of conquest dight. 
 
 Slow-moving, as a pilgrim may, 
 
 Too faint with travel, blind with tears, 
 
 To sorrow o'er his disarray. 
 
 Or note how fast the home-light wears, 
 
"AVE KNOW NOT WHAT," ETC. 213 
 
 Througli weary brain, this thought alone 
 
 Eings with a restful curfew-tone — 
 
 Love leads me, though in paths unknown. 
 
 Yet long unused, from lowland roads 
 To gaze on Heaven, I can not scan 
 Through glass of power, the calm abodes 
 Whose sapphires blaze, unseen of man ; 
 Counting their bulwarks, pure as gold, 
 Their gem foundations manifold, — 
 Enough for me what Christ hath told ! 
 
 Nor, should I reach them, can I tell 
 
 If all the pleasures longed for here. 
 And loved ones lost, with song's rich swell 
 Shall give me welcome, guest and peer : 
 Or if my soul her lamp must trim. 
 The Bridegroom meet in night-paths dim, 
 And find her bliss, alone with Him. 
 
214 *'-\VE KNOW NOT WHAT," ETC. 
 
 Hearts, to whose love no toil seems hard, 
 No grief o'erwhelming, need not grope, 
 
 As gropes my faith, so long debarred 
 
 From aught save clutch of earthward slope ; 
 
 XJnblenching while they front Heaven's glow. 
 
 Unto my Saviour's feet I go — 
 
 Me it sufficeth, if He know ! 
 
 For He hath promised, man noi fiend 
 
 Shall from His holding wrench apart 
 The feeblest who on Him hath leaned. 
 
 And stilled heart-tremblings near His heart. 
 Soul, through long years Christ's willing thrall, 
 His liegemen throng yon Palace-wall — 
 Why shrink from Death, the Seneschal ? 
 
SOEEOW AND CONSOLATION. 
 
 Long the world a siinlit screen hath woven, 
 Sorrow's reahn to veil in twilight clnn ; 
 
 As a mine by midnight toilers cloven, 
 All unnoticed shnns the beaming Sun. 
 
 From that world's gay homes her dwellings 
 vary ; 
 
 They who lease them breathe an altered air : 
 Mirthful beings of these shades are wary, 
 
 Deemino; naught save wailing echoes there. 
 
 Thence if poet's hand the lichens gather, 
 Singing of their soft grey hues the while, 
 
 Karely finds he listeners. All would rather 
 Hear of blossoms whereon noonbeams smile. 
 
216 SORROW AND CONSOLATIOlSr. 
 
 Silent Realm of shadows uninviting ! 
 
 Freemen of thy Cities none would be, 
 Yet from cressets these dull pathways lighting. 
 
 OJ 
 
 Solace falls on some who cannot flee. 
 
 Sorrow's world, like sister worlds, revolveth 
 Calmly through far space on balanced j)oles ; 
 
 And auroral light around them solveth 
 Life's dark symbols to reliant souls. 
 
 From the North the brilliant mcssatre coming; 
 
 Calls to every mourner — " Time is short, 
 Care not for chill ice-breath, joy benumbing. 
 
 While thy sails are set for golden Port." 
 
 And from Southern Pole a quiet whisper 
 Saith more softly — " 'Tis thy Father's will, 
 
 Cannot loving heart of infant lisper 
 Trust a Father's love to work no ill T' 
 
SORROW AND CONSOLATION. 217 
 
 Sorrow's seal of consolation bearetli 
 Like devices, won from each far Pole ; 
 
 Sorrow's 'scutcheon for supporters weareth 
 These, as pillars lifting high her scroll. 
 
 But a trained eye alone can read them : 
 Who the heraldry of grief will scan. 
 
 Till his fond hopes fall, with none to heed them ; 
 Till he moves, a lonely, sorrowing man ? 
 
 Then its legends bring, on breath of blessing, 
 Thoughts to gayer spirits full of gloom ; 
 
 And he shrinks not, from their chill addressing, 
 Then, like one who stumbles o'er a tomb. 
 
 " Time is short." Glad sound for heart that 
 
 grieveth ; 
 
 Brief the space, ere tears of earth will dry I 
 
 "'Tis the Will of God :" so Faith achieveth 
 
 Noblest deeds, beneath His chastening eye. 
 19 
 
SPEING VIOLETS. 
 
 Thrice welcomej gentle strangers ! Say, 
 
 What tokens do ye bring, 
 From southern realms where flowers are gay, 
 
 Sweet violets of Spring ? 
 
 Queen Summer's heralds ! have ye sped, 
 
 Before her path of bloom, 
 A broidered mantle to outspread, 
 
 And give her feet soft room ? 
 
 Or do your purple buds have birth. 
 Ere the tyrant Storm-breath goes, 
 
 To braid Hoj)e's tri-color for Earth, 
 With snow-drop and primrose ? 
 
SPRIISTG VIOLETS. 219 
 
 Or are your tearful blossoms bent, 
 
 Witb sucli a weight of dew, 
 For human dreams of gladness, meant 
 
 To fall and fade like you ? 
 
 Or come you not, to tell us how, 
 
 A meek and lowly mind, 
 Though far above it wild winds sough, 
 
 True blessedness may find. 
 
 In every spot where God says, " Live !" 
 
 Such mind from dusty ways 
 And from untrodden paths, may give 
 
 Its quiet voice of praise ? 
 
 Oh ! could we but reflect, like you, 
 
 Our Father's loving smile — 
 On sun-bright lawn to Him be true, 
 
 And true in dark defile — 
 
220 SPRING VIOLETS. 
 
 Vain were the wish to mount on high 
 With eagle's tireless wing ; 
 
 For Heaven within our hearts would lie- 
 Sweet violets of Spring ! 
 
DEAL GENTLY WITH THY SEEVANT, 
 LOED ! 
 
 Gently, ah !• gently, Lord ! for Thou art 
 strong — 
 Strong with Infinitude — and I am frail ; 
 let my want avail ! 
 Deal with me gently ! leave me not among 
 Sin's wild weird shadows, of my soul ab- 
 horred — 
 
 Gently, ah gently. Lord ! 
 
 And yet I ask not joy should be allowed 
 
 To build rare sun-bows o'er my saddened 
 
 bead. 
 
 From tears I long have shed : 
 19* 
 
222 DEAL GENTLY, LOKD. 
 
 Sunlight would dazzle one so used to cloud 
 And sea-spray. Give but footing while I ford ! 
 G-ently, ah gently, Lord ! 
 
 Life hath no pain, Thy presence will not cheer: 
 But Thy felt presence fades too oft in pain ; 
 And pale hands feebly strain 
 To clasp thy robe, when only cloud seems 
 near — 
 Thy cloud of judgment, cold as death-fraught 
 sword — 
 
 Gently, ah gently. Lord ! 
 
 For in Thy frown is horror. Fiends withdraw 
 When Thou art smiling ; but with endless file 
 Close in when fades Thy smile. 
 Oh Shield of Israel ! let Thy kindness awe 
 My soul from sinning ; hear my sighs long- 
 poured — 
 
 Gently, ah gently, Lord I 
 
DEAL GENTLY, LOED. 223 
 
 I plead, as one enthralled in labyrinth. 
 Who with numb fingers scarce can hold the clue ; 
 Whose bleeding feet oft rue 
 The unseen pitfall, or the jagged plinth : — 
 Take Thou my hand, and in it keep Faith's 
 cord — 
 
 Gently, ah gently. Lord ! 
 
 I know Thy ways are right, but I am blind, 
 And faint with year-long groping. One sure 
 touch 
 
 Of Thine, would heal so much 
 Of doubt and sorrow, which no balsam find 
 Save of Thy blending. Then relief afford — 
 Gently, ah gently. Lord ! 
 
 Send Peace or Patience ! Patience to believe, 
 Though Peace be hidden, till Death's opening 
 hinge 
 
 Bid her clear rose-lamp tinge 
 
224 
 
 DEAL GENTLY, LORD. 
 
 The Bridegroom's vesture; while glad angels 
 weave 
 Crowns for the comers to His festal hoard — 
 Gently, ah gently, Lord ! 
 
THE LONELY CHEISTMAS. 
 
 I DWELL apart, with aged heart, 
 
 Though bhthe young forms about me 
 Trace out no plan on Pleasure's chart. 
 
 They deem complete without me. 
 And this is well. In lonely shell 
 
 Why seek love's pearl to smother ? 
 When through this world its gleam may tell 
 
 Love's brilliance in Another ? 
 
 Among the rest, with smile and jest, 
 
 I mingle, differing only 
 In silent thoughts of some who blest 
 
 My life, but left me lonely. 
 Their loss, through years of longing tears. 
 
 Mine upward vision blinded ; 
 
226 THE LONELY CHRISTMAS 
 
 I looked on graves, and shrouds, and biers — 
 So now I am not minded. 
 
 Ah, no ! through each fast-widening breach 
 
 In home-ranks Time disbandeth, 
 I view a white-robed army reach 
 
 The Throne-Koom where He standetli ; 
 Whose Infant-Breath thro' world of death 
 
 Sent Life's glad current bounding ; 
 Whose Love-in-Death to mourners saith, 
 
 " All grief My love is rounding !" 
 
 And festal glee, once sad to me. 
 
 This Faith in Him can hallow ; 
 While hung in Christmas boughs I see 
 
 A nest of Hopes yet callow — 
 That chirp and sing, ere long to spring 
 
 And waft, on full-grown pinion, 
 My lonely soul, where Love's true King 
 
 Hath opulent dominion. 
 
SHADOWS AND SUNSHINE. 
 
 Out of the Sunlight, into the shade, 
 Move without muiTQuring, unaffrayed 1 
 He, who leads thee thither. 
 Knows what flowers would wither 
 Earliest underneath the ray, 
 Of intensely glorious day. 
 Not from ridges hilly 
 Eiseth Hope's white lily ; 
 Glades where runnels wind and turn 
 Oftenest shelter Faith's low fern ; 
 And Love's moss hath greener tint 
 Where the Day-heams rarely glint. 
 
228 SUADOWS AND SUNSHINE. 
 
 Then^ since gentle Christian graces 
 Burgeon best in shadowy places ; 
 Grieve not, if thy course be laid 
 Out of the sunlight — into the shade. 
 
 Out of the Shadow — into the Sun ! 
 Changes the call, when once growth is avou ! 
 
 And no fear, lest blossoms wither, 
 
 Clouds the angels' hest " Come hither." 
 Faith and Hope and Love blaze soon 
 All unharmed in Heaven's broad noon, 
 
 God's own glory blending. 
 
 There, His grace unending 
 Streams, in radiance soft as dew. 
 On souls that tribulation knew ; 
 These, in cave and dungeon's night, 
 Struggled, ere they soared to light — 
 Yet a little space, and thou, 
 Shiverins in the sloamine: now. 
 
SHADOWS AND SUNSHINE. 229 
 
 Wilt behold their martyr-faces, 
 
 Share their peace in heavenly places, 
 
 And pass forever — with Christ made one — 
 
 Out of the Shadow — into the Sun ! 
 20 
 
IN THE CITY OF EEFUGE. 
 
 The blood of souls is on my hand — 
 A stain no grief will clear away ; 
 
 My days from peace are rightly bann'd, 
 Since, traveling on the world's highway, 
 
 Each smouldering fire I left unfann'd, 
 Each reed unlifted, where it lay. 
 
 I can recall unholy deeds 
 
 And wayward musings — offerings lame — 
 
 The look that shunn'd a brother's needs- 
 Love of man's praising— fear of blame — 
 
 And careless words, like poison-weeds 
 Stifling the wishes Faith might frame. 
 
IN THE CITY OF REFUGE. 231 
 
 But as an ocean-column rears 
 
 Its crest of gloom, and seamen scares, 
 
 With sullen frown and murmurs fierce, 
 
 Thus o'er me, darkening dreams and prayers, 
 
 Hangs in a cloud I cannot pierce, 
 Mine evil done at unawares. 
 
 Safe though my own poor life may be, 
 Enwalled in bulwarks sure and strong ; 
 
 Thence baffled though the avenger flee. 
 Yet thoughts of grief must rankle long, 
 
 "While in his grasp of doom I see 
 
 Friends left unwarned of woe and wrong. 
 
 Ah blessed lives ! whence float afar 
 
 The seeds of blessing, heaven-difiiised — 
 
 No futile pangs your memories scar. 
 For time and treasure, loans unused ; 
 
 Foreshadowing now the Final Bar, 
 And sounds of wailing, self-accused. 
 
232 IN TUB CITY OF REFUGE. 
 
 High-Priest and Judge, Thy dying breath 
 Plead for unconscious guilt. Oh see, 
 
 How souls I warned not, throng to death : 
 Dear Lord, thy power can make them flee, 
 
 While yet the Avenger lingereth. 
 
 Back to their Refujre-home — to Thee 1 
 
ANOTHER GRIEF. 
 
 Against my heart as with a gauntlet knocking, 
 
 Another Grief is here : 
 I know the sound, and sj^ring with eager locking 
 
 To keep my threshold clear ; 
 But Grief loill enter, wild refusal mocking 
 
 And barrier-arm of fear. 
 
 Oh were my heart an Inn, where like a Palmer 
 Grief some short hours would stay. 
 
 With Eastern odors prove a Thought-embalmer; 
 And reckoning more than pay. 
 
 Through one sweet grain to hold me purer, 
 
 calmer. 
 
 Left, w^hen it passed away ; 
 20* 
 
234 AKOTHEE GEIEF. 
 
 I could come forth^ with loyal gaze beholding 
 Tokens each new Grief brings ; 
 
 Take from Love's last bright lamp the silver 
 moulding, 
 Claimed for the King of Kings ; 
 
 And yet believe the robe of serge enfolding 
 An angel's radiant wings. 
 
 But now as in a vault 'neath gray church-altar, 
 
 My hurried Sorrows lie ; 
 "While I have learned to join in hymn and psalter, 
 
 As though no tombs were nigh ; 
 To pace the aisles with feet that rarely falter, 
 
 And passive, tearless eye. 
 
 How can I bear another Grrief to marsha 
 Down to that place of fears ? — 
 
 Where Griefs not dead, but lulled in stillness 
 partial, 
 (The death-like swoon of years 
 
ANOTHEE GEIEF. 235 
 
 Dispelled at once by torch-gleam shining far) 
 shall 
 Move on their quiet hiers — 
 
 Move on their biers, and rising, throng around 
 me, 
 Each half-forgotten ghost, 
 Pale with the thorn-band whereof Time dis- 
 crowned me. 
 Asking, in silent boast, 
 "Art thou come down to loosen chains that 
 bound me 
 Among this vanquished host ?" 
 
 Oh, faithless dreamer ! not with message cruel, 
 
 But, breathing tenderness. 
 Comes every Grief to thee, — God's signet jewel 
 
 Each wore, its work to bless — 
 Nor, though with anguish seems thy life a duel, 
 
 Wish thou one courier less I 
 
236 ANOTHER GRIEF. 
 
 For all were needed, all some due monition 
 
 To thee in love address'd ; 
 And then, rejoicing in their closed mission, 
 
 Lay, white-robed, down to rest, 
 As martyr souls, in Apostolic vision, 
 
 Await their Lord's behest. 
 
 And thou at last, the long sad lessoning ended. 
 
 Thy Vault of Griefs wilt see 
 Changed to a Court, by shining ranks defended : 
 
 And their All-Hail shall be 
 The angelic Gloria in Excelsis, blended 
 
 With peace — ^good-will to thee ! 
 
OUR BEOKEN VINE. 
 
 Thkough years of growth we twined, with 
 gentlest care, 
 
 All tendrils fair — 
 Marking their j)romise, may-fly plucked, and 
 worm 
 
 From leaf and germ — 
 And planted, where east wind were earliest felt 
 A close larch-belt. 
 
 Our thoughts went onward till, with Time's 
 advance, 
 
 Green leaves should dance 
 O'er our south lattice, and sun-checkered flow 
 
 Of vine-shade throw — 
 
288 OUB BROKEN VINE. 
 
 Well was it for our peace we could not see 
 Things soon to be ! 
 
 For in the night-time near our vine's light frame, 
 
 Despoilers came, 
 And low in dust the shielding arbor laid 
 
 Our toil had made : 
 From sleep secure we rose, to grieve at morn 
 
 O'er life-veins torn ; — 
 
 To strive in vain from ruin to uplift, 
 
 With anxious thrift ; 
 And a soft purple bloom anew to gain 
 
 For clusters slain. 
 Not for our old age now will strong boughs 
 shoot 
 
 Their wealth of fruit. 
 
 Foiled in our plannings, shall we spend in tears 
 These blightful years ? 
 
OUR BROKEN VINE. 239 
 
 Nay ! One yet lives whose skill decay can stop, 
 
 With deathless prop, 
 And through the enclosure where our vine lies 
 low. 
 
 His step we know. 
 
 Oh Hand of Love ! once wounded, lift and 
 prune 
 
 Our treasure soon ! 
 And from dark midnight foes, in wait to steal, 
 
 The saved fruit seal ! 
 To Thee ! Heart of Pity ! we resign 
 
 Our broken Vine ! 
 
UNCLOTHED. 
 
 Yield up now the kingly purple, long the 
 birthright of thy pride — 
 
 View the eyes that sought thy greeting, coldly 
 droop or turn aside — ^ 
 
 Let the presence, once so regal, lose the rose- 
 lined cloak of Wealth — 
 
 From the slender form it shielded, lift the fair 
 white tunic, Health. 
 
 Next unwind the broidered girdle, long en- 
 circling heart and frame, 
 
 With the genial warmth of Friendship — with 
 the royal zone — Good Name ; 
 
UNCLOTHED. 241 
 
 Then unfasten clasp and armlet, and strip off 
 
 yet costlier things : 
 From thy head Hope's crown of beauty, from 
 
 thy hand Love's golden rings. 
 
 Yet more penury thou needest : from thy spirit 
 
 take the cheer, 
 That, with shield of Faith, undaunted faced 
 
 the armaments of Fear ; 
 Till from eye fades look of calmness, till from 
 
 lip fades smile of trust — 
 While thy friends have home and pleasaunce, 
 
 let thy place he low in dust. 
 
 But remember all thus taken was thy willing- 
 hearted gift, 
 When before thy Saviour kneeling, thou in 
 
 Love's first glad unthrift, 
 21 
 
242 UNCLOTHED. 
 
 Saidst, " Dear Lord, I can but offer all I have 
 
 or hope to be ; 
 Give the worldling this world's treasure — craves 
 
 my spirit none but Thee !" 
 
 And each joy unclaimed while left thee, hung 
 
 on tenure of His will : 
 Hath the glow of first love faded ? — pledge 
 
 and promise bind thee still. 
 Darest thou mourn that robes and relics of old 
 
 idols strew the sod ? 
 Darest thou murmur through thy mourning — 
 
 "I have nothing left but God r 
 
CLOTHED UPON 
 
 When the cross, assumed, it may be, Hglitly, 
 On weak nature leans with galling weight ; 
 When thy heart-sins, grieved for once but 
 slightly, 
 Kise dilating, shrouding e'en Heaven's 
 gate ; 
 
 Desert-days recall ! Thy Lord was tempted, 
 Left a target for the Fiend alone, 
 
 Left till all weird stores of malice emptied — 
 Pomp and pageant with their Prince had 
 flown. 
 
244 CLOTHED UPON". 
 
 Earely yet, wliile circled jest and laughter, 
 Felt one heart the influence angels* bring : 
 
 Silence first must fall. That silence after. 
 Comes caress of peace from radiant wing. 
 
 If rough hand of Pain fair limnings cancel, 
 From thy Hall of Life, once fresco-hright. 
 
 Let the broad blank sjoace enclose a chancel ; 
 Holy laws of Love Ground it write. 
 
 Seems thy nature worthless, dark, unable 
 For man's good — God's glory — aught to plan.!^ 
 
 There, as on a background densely sable, 
 Grace in full effulgence, all may scan. 
 
 Think, though bungler palette needs, and pencils 
 Fashioned, ere he paint, by faultless rule ; 
 
 Shapes false contours oft with fine utensils. 
 And for fault and failure blames his tool — 
 
 * There is a German superstition that when a circle of friends 
 become silent, an angel is passing among them, and the one who first 
 breaks silence, has been touched by the angel's wing. 
 
CLOTHED UPOIS. 245 
 
 Yet a cliarred wand, near true Artist lying, 
 In liis grasp all deft an outline draws, 
 
 Where, forms of truth, at once descrying, 
 Untaught eye must give its prompt applause. 
 
 'Tis thy Master's hand each color chooses — 
 Though as yet no gold or crimson glow 
 
 In thy life, with darker shade, He fuses— 
 Thou his full designing canst not know, 
 
 Kude the sketch may seem, yet if, when finished 
 Smirch and flaw in soft haze disappear ; 
 
 If by test of Heaven's blaze undiminished 
 Lights scarce noted gleam from centres clear, 
 
 Thou wilt own how things whose touch abases. 
 
 Though like charcoal dust, of man flung by, 
 
 May God's power, in long undreamed of phases, 
 
 As with diamond splendor glorify. 
 21* 
 
A GARDEN THOUGHT. 
 
 With fence of blossom, leaf and briar, 
 The Summer folds from view 
 
 Yon gleaming river, belfry spire. 
 And half the hill-range blue. 
 
 Yielding of late, from dawn to night, 
 
 My winter-wearied gaze delight. 
 
 Yet soft the shade in leafy niche, 
 
 And lovingly a scent 
 From briar and blossom comes to witch 
 
 With fragrance, till, content, 
 I peer not through my woodland screen 
 To note the haze on heights serene. 
 
A GARDEN THOUGHT. 247 
 
 And if, from landscape of my life 
 The wintry look miglit go — 
 If lawn and leaf, with sweetness rife, 
 
 Keplaced the year-long snow- 
 Then, doubtless, were more rarely conn'd 
 Far splendors of the Hills beyond. 
 
 EouND Hill, Mass. 
 
1 
 
 HAVELOCK AT ALUMBAGH. 
 
 Soldier ! along wliose tropic way 
 
 Of sun-glare, lay 
 Prayers, strewn like blossoms for decay — 
 No lonely leaf or petal lost, 
 Hereafter those now trampled most, 
 
 In depth of Hindoo mould. 
 Will more luxuriant buds unfold 
 
 To grace the gladsome day. 
 When Earth's dark tribes, no longer far astray, 
 To Him of many crowns salaam of heart shall 
 pay. 
 
 Slowly the sea-winds waft along 
 Praise warm and strono; : 
 
HAVELOCK AT ALUMBAGH. 249 
 
 But pale he lies, to whom belong 
 
 A nation's thanks, though round him swell 
 
 Echoes from home-launched caravel. 
 
 Ah, tardy-winged ! one day 
 Of hastier flight through storm and spray, 
 
 And the brave heart had known 
 How England's heart throbbed fast from hut 
 
 to throne, 
 With love and pride and sorrow, henceforth all 
 his own. 
 
 O'er tent and tower falls noontide glare 
 
 Of Indian air ; 
 But on one calm brow sheltered there 
 Never shall sunbeams smite again — 
 Foot-march or toil of battle pain. 
 
 For the field-weary head 
 There is a safe pavilion spread : 
 
 Prayers for his dear life, o'er 
 
250 HAVELOCK AT ALUM BAG 11. 
 
 Its tliresliold faltering, found him passed be- 
 fore. 
 
 Found, too, their own true meaning — hfe for 
 evermore ! 
 
 Nor on thy last puissant deed — 
 
 Babes, mothers, freed, 
 While Moslem shapes and swords recede, 
 Alone with deepening love we think — ■ 
 But ratlier with thy life-work link 
 
 Faith, that in sleep-snatched hour 
 Won at the Cross its shield of power — 
 Pagoda, whence the strain 
 Of prayer went up, that not one idol-fane 
 With spot of shade might fleck the Sun of 
 Christ's broad reign. 
 
 Long sank thy fame, like cereus-bloom 
 
 In bed of gloom. 
 Its fibres for one hour's perfume : 
 
HAVELOCK AT ALUMBAGH. 251 
 
 Then with, rich fragrance filled Earth's room, 
 And lingers deathless round thy tomb. 
 
 From the unobtrusive root 
 Only at midnight flowers might shoot. 
 And careless eyes now weep 
 Because thro' years imperill'd, dim with sleep 
 O'er plant so precious, they no watch of love 
 could keep. 
 
 Yet, as in ancient Spanish scenej 
 
 Love crowned the queen 
 Whose sweet life ebbed, her rank unseen,— 
 Thus, Warrior ! Christian hearts endow 
 Thy memory, though among us thou 
 
 Wilt never move, to hear 
 High magnates' greeting, people's cheer. 
 Nor voices, dearer far, 
 Whose silence could even Khineland's beauty 
 
 mar; 
 That rose o'er war's wild clash, as o'er cloud- 
 seas some star. 
 
252 havelock: at alumbagu. 
 
 Thy loyal heart, with odorous gum 
 
 Of fame, would come 
 To Jesus' feet, and hush the hum 
 Of earthly-praise. To Him we leave 
 Thy bliss — our anthem's loudest breve 
 Lost in His word, "Well done !" 
 Unheeded, in His joy begun. 
 
 Tried Kuler, henceforth dwell 
 Not in a treason-haunted citadel — 
 Rule thou o'er ransomed tribes of realms where 
 none rebel 1 
 
EIVER BURIAL. 
 
 They buried their Chief in the river, 
 
 Watching the dark wave close 
 O'er sins of its first fame-giver — 
 
 Over his long-borne woes. 
 
 Oft, on my own strength squandered, 
 
 Tracing out pathways drear, 
 I muse, as De Soto pondered 
 
 On red foes ambushed near ; 
 
 Till weary and faint with the fever, 
 
 Breathed in from a swamp-like world. 
 
 With search for Earth's golden lever, 
 
 Through tangles where snakes lie curled ; 
 22 
 
254 KIVEK BURIAL. 
 
 Back to my couch of repentinoc, 
 
 Friends of old years I call ; 
 Hope ! Love ! hear my heart's relenting- 
 
 Faith ! Courage ! how needed all ! 
 
 Under this midnight of sorrow, 
 Lit by Heaven's starlight clear, 
 
 Your hands must a grave-place borrow, 
 And straighten my Past on its bier. 
 
 Visions of joy from Youth's quiver 
 Hasting o'er valley and hill, 
 
 Bury ye low in the Kiver, 
 Of God my Eedeemer's Will ! 
 
 Fears 'neath whose mist diurnal, 
 Ever my chilled thoughts cower, 
 
 Calm be their sleep, and eternal, 
 In the broad flood of His Power ! 
 
RIVEK BURIAL. 255 
 
 Lower than tliese shall be buiietl 
 
 Self, while in trance it lies — 
 Lest its longings, a phalanx serried, 
 
 Wake np, with revengeful cries. 
 
 So perish all foes that grimly 
 
 Pillow of frail heart liaunt ! 
 They are gone — yet that heart still dimly 
 
 Quails, conscious of deeper want ; 
 
 Till the Saviour, strong to deliver, 
 
 Bending her couch above. 
 Shall bury her sins in a river — 
 
 The River of God's free Love ! 
 
ICONOCLASM. 
 
 Thkough the fair Cathedral of thy Home 
 
 Have Idol-breakers rushed ? 
 Lie saint, and jeweled shrine, and dome, 
 
 In one dark ruin crushed ? 
 Did Sorrows, in malignant swarm, 
 At once from gate to belfry storm. 
 And hast thou stood appalled to hear their hum. 
 While waiting for the worst, thyself a statue 
 dumb ? 
 
 In dreary silence, dost thou gaze 
 
 On wreck of all things dear. 
 Feeling familiar notes of praise 
 
 Grate harshly on thine ear 1 
 
ICONOCLASM. 257 
 
 Doubting if ever through the fane 
 Can incense-bearers stream again ; 
 Or pleasant pictures, bright with human love, 
 Bear, on assumption-clouds, thy soul toward 
 heaven above ? 
 
 Slight are the causes, frail, unfeared, 
 
 That desolation bring ; 
 Shrines through a life-time's toil upreared 
 
 One day may downward fling : 
 And still the shell of home be there, 
 The void within — ^how bleak and bare ! 
 When nooks, wherein of old we knelt to pray, 
 Are lost for ever — dashed in one brief hour 
 away. 
 
 And yet, if Christ's forgotten Word, 
 
 Though while from missal sung 
 It trembled on the air unheard, 
 
 Now teach in household tongue : 
 
258 ICONOCLASM. 
 
 If shattered idols yield their place 
 To Him, whose meek unpictured Face 
 Smiles ou us ever — will we but invoke 
 His aid, His presence — then how needful each 
 rough stroke ! 
 
 'Tis through His will the homes we love 
 
 Are rifled, lest they hold 
 Some chapel toward whose fair alcove 
 
 Thoughts turn, as sheep to fold. 
 There is a safer, holier fane ! 
 Its glory no assault may stain. 
 Why stand we gazing here on vacant niche. 
 When angels show the Home, beyond imagin- 
 ing rich ? 
 
NEVEE PRAY FOR TRIALS. 
 
 Blooms thy life like a vale-born lily, 
 Shielded from storms by coppice shade ? 
 
 Crave not the coming of Frost-breath chilly 
 To show thee strong although Smnmer fade, 
 Nor sigh for change ! 
 
 Nor sigh for change ! In gladness bask — 
 To smile and bud thy joyful task. 
 It is not hard while days are bright 
 
 To know and feel the Sunbeams near ; 
 But Faith, till now unfaltering, might 
 
 Bend with the blast, were darkness here. 
 
260 NEVER PRAY FOR TRIALS. 
 
 Should gardener's hand that coppice hew, 
 And give wild winds of trial room, 
 
 Thy dying roots might long for dew. 
 Thy leaves for roof of cedarn gloom. 
 
 And white hells wilting, calyx torn, 
 
 The peace once undervalued mourn. 
 
 Soars hope of thine on dove-like pinion ? 
 
 And sings thy heart in carol sweet ? 
 Call not that heart an idle minion 
 
 For whom rough hours of pain were meet, 
 Nor si2;h for chans:e ! 
 
 For change is comino^. Lonf^: and dark 
 Thy galley toil may prove. Some mark 
 Of anguish like our Lord's, must lie 
 
 On each wan forehead, would we gain 
 His City's freedom, ere we die. 
 
 And if as yet no touch of pain 
 
NEVER PRAY FOR TRIALS. 261 
 
 Have marred tliy visage, let liim choose 
 What hour He pleases, to imprint 
 
 The signing none He loves may lose — 
 The seal imworn by flxce of flint ! 
 
 Pray not for trials ! meekly range 
 
 Through mercies left — nor sigh for change ! 
 
THE STAELESS CROWN. 
 
 (She lay upon a dying bed, 
 
 And down her cheeks sad tears were flowing- 
 Not in lament for youthful head 
 
 Beneath the turf so early going. 
 The maiden knew, from Jesus' love 
 
 No mound of earth her soul might sever ; 
 And in His presence longed to prove 
 
 Fulness of peace forever. 
 
 Yet on that orh-like joy arose 
 
 One gloom-spot half the radiance marring : 
 No rescued soul from rank of foes 
 
 Won for her Lord, her crown was starring. 
 
THE STARLESS CROWN. 263 
 
 She had not toiled, like some who flee, 
 To use brief sj^ace ere curfew's tolling ; 
 
 And o'er her mind a billowy sea 
 Of late remorse came rolling. 
 
 Grief-laden tale ! through heart of mine 
 
 The dead girl's shivered lance now bearing 
 To rouse the thought — When souls resign 
 
 Their worn-out mail, for home preparing. 
 Shall I through Pearly Gate alone 
 
 Pass to my rest, no saved one leading ; 
 While angels marvel, " Are there none 
 
 Lost through her lukewarm pleading ?" 
 
 1 cannot tell. A wayside word 
 
 From happier lips, may fall supinely 
 
 In good soil, to spring unheard. 
 
 And bloom at length in bliss divinely ; 
 
 While costly cedars oft will droop 
 In sunniest nook of pleasaunce planted, 
 
264 THE STARLESS CROWN. 
 
 And die, though cares around them group, 
 And prayer each root hath haunted. 
 
 Still, from my being's depth there ci'ies 
 
 One wish, o'er all dear wishes reigning — 
 (Like fibrous gold that underlies 
 
 All earth-clods with its own clear veining) 
 To form my Lord but one fair shaft. 
 
 And leave it in His saintly quiver, 
 Then pass away, as broken haft 
 
 Sinks down in silent river. 
 
 Once sated with that glorious spoil — 
 
 That seen reward thus crowning labor, 
 Outweighing all Life's battle-toil, 
 
 Or anguish keen as thrust of sabre — 
 A SOUL REDEEMED ! Complaint must die, 
 
 Though ills like thorns on cactus thicken ; 
 In dull heart's core no joy could lie. 
 
 That whisper would not quicken, 
 
THE STARLESS CKOWN. 265 
 
 Wait — wait — too eager Will ! and learn 
 
 O'er seed when sown 'tis vain to hover, 
 And, with a child's impatience, turn 
 
 The loam of young blade's darksome cover. 
 Be thou content, if every eve 
 
 Some work of Love, thy faith adorning, 
 Lie buried with the Sun, and leave 
 
 Glad issues until Morning ! 
 23 
 
ANCHOEED, YET WEARY 
 
 Acts xxvii. 29. 
 
 Anchored, yet weary, and wishing for day, 
 For a glimpse of the harbor where home-ban- 
 ners play, 
 For the brightness lining Death's solemn cloud, 
 And for faith to enter, by fear unbowed. 
 
 Were youth's islets sunny, long left behind ? 
 Ah ! tears well fast while we call to mind 
 How dazzling the ripples that near them lay — 
 We are anchored, yet weary, and wishing for 
 day. 
 
ANCHOKED, YET WEAEY. 267 
 
 Yet fairer the sunlight that lies before, 
 
 On the cloud-veiled Hills our Eedeemed ex- 
 plore : 
 
 But ere timbrels can triumph, hang storm- 
 winds and spray 
 
 Round the anchored, yet weary, and wishing 
 for day. 
 
 Would yon Hills seem fair, but for tempest's 
 
 frown? 
 With the Cross uplifted, who hails the Crown? 
 Not in smooth seas will the mariner stay ' 
 Anchored, yet weary, and wishing for day. 
 
 Like the saint on whose eyelash hung ever a tear, 
 Though his smile was radiant with glory near ; 
 Heaven's joy and Earth's gloom interlacing 
 
 alway. 
 Leave us" anchored, yet weary, and wishing for 
 
 day. 
 
PKAYER OF ONE NO LONGER 
 PRAYED FOR. 
 
 Pkayers poured forth in saintly alms, 
 
 Once this feeling heart made stronger ; 
 Gave my dead joys burial-balms : 
 
 Now they soothe no longer. 
 
 Lips on whose dear prayers we lean, 
 Press in turn the chalice, Sorrow : 
 
 Friends who wept our woes yestreen, 
 Weep their own to-moiTow. 
 
 Quickly though that cup pass on, 
 Tarrieth long the wormwood essence ; 
 
 Gay hearts deem its memory gone 
 Ere one g-all-taste lessens. 
 
NO LONGER PRAYED FOR. 269 
 
 In the earlier lioiirs of woe, 
 
 All who loved me shared my grieving — 
 Prayers, with tears in precious flow, 
 
 Half my loss retrieving ; 
 
 While my fainting soul they bore 
 Near to Heaven on wings of praying, 
 
 Made her feel, through crystal door, 
 Warmth and splendors straying. 
 
 Sweet, while undissolved her swoon, 
 
 There to lie, quiescent, lowly ! 
 Came the awakening all too soon ; — 
 
 Earthward sinking slowly. 
 
 Sounds of tumult broke with jar 
 
 Koughly on my balmed musing — 
 
 Prayerful echoes died afar, 
 
 Mine in new grief losing. 
 23* 
 
270 PRAYER OF ONE 
 
 Then the storms of Earth rushed in, 
 
 Whirled and howled from hearth to case- 
 ment — 
 
 Fiery cords of discipline 
 Lashed to self-abasement. 
 
 Now for interceding word, 
 
 That like Heaven-born air refreshes, 
 Pa,nts my soul, as pants a bird 
 
 Beating wiry meshes. 
 
 If but one true heart alone 
 
 Sought the solace I am needing, 
 
 Soon were hope and succor won 
 Pledged to that fond pleading. 
 
 One true heart ? Ah weary breast ! 
 
 Crave no draught from goblet earthen ; 
 He whose glance can grief arrest 
 
 Views thy veiled burthen. 
 
NO LONGEB PKAYED FOR. 271 
 
 Champion who, in legends hoar, 
 Gazed on Holy Cup of Sorrow, 
 
 Through his after-quest forbore 
 Help of man to borrow. 
 
 If for thee the San Grail shine, 
 
 Drink ! the touch of Christ remaineth : 
 He shall find its bitter Avine 
 
 Sweet, with Christ who reigneth. 
 
COUNT LOUIS OF NASSAU. 
 
 " Count Louis, finding that the day was lost, and his army all cut to 
 pieces, rallied around him a little band of troopers, among whom were 
 his brother Count Henry, and Duke Christopher, son of the Elector Pala- 
 tine, and together they made a final and desperate charge. It was the 
 last that was ever seen of them on earth. They all went down together 
 in the midst of the fight, and were never heard of more. 
 
 " It is difficult to find in history a more frank and loyal character. 
 
 All who knew him loved him His mother always addressed 
 
 him as her dearly beloved, her heart's cherished Louis. ' You must 
 come soon to me,' she wrote in the last year of his life, ' for I have many 
 matters to ask your advice upon, and I thank you beforehand that you 
 have loved me as your mother all the days of your life, for which may 
 God Almighty have you in His holy keeping.' 
 
 "The Prince of Orange, meanwhile passed days of intense anxiety, 
 expecting hourly to hear from his brothers, listening to dark rumors 
 which he refused to credit, and could not contradict, and writing letters 
 day after day, long after the eyes which should have read the friendly 
 missives were closed." Kisb of the Dutou Kepublio. 
 
 Another niglit is near, 
 Yet home they come not. Must the Eachael-cry 
 Of heart-pang, hastening down from earliest 
 
 year, 
 rind sad renewal over pall and bier 
 
 Where patriot heroes lie ? 
 
COUKT LOUIS OF NASSAU. 273 
 
 Fields have been lost before. 
 Let but one precious life be safe as then, 
 And free hearts will not grudge their jeweled 
 
 store, 
 Nor free hands fail their Chiefs fresh path to bore 
 
 Through Alva's close-ranked men. 
 
 Between him and the foe 
 Some river doubtless runs, as ran erewhile 
 The Ems' bright wave. His mother soon shall 
 
 know 
 That frank, kind voice, more dear than music's 
 flow- 
 Soon hail her darling's smile. 
 
 A thousand perils pass'd — 
 And all look shallow — then, too oft we find 
 Their depth unfathomed. She has looked her last 
 On those clear eyeS' — on hands that wove so fast 
 
 Thought threads of warrior mind. 
 
274 COUNT Lotris of nassau. 
 
 The Silent Prince hath seen 
 All summer friends from tryst and council fade ; 
 While brothers' love and truth still rose, be- 
 tween 
 His heart and the cold world, an evergreen 
 Of belting winter shade. 
 
 But Love can never lay 
 Those forms so cherished in cathedral crypt, 
 Nor press long kisses on beloved clay — 
 That clay to dust will moulder, far away 
 
 By band of sjooilers stripp'd. 
 
 Not safer did they lie 
 "Where old Crusaders planted Syrian sward !* 
 All fields are holy where believers die — ' 
 Cross-overshadowed, sunned by wakeful Eye 
 
 Of Death's triumphant Lord. 
 
 * The Cnmpo Santo of Pisa, was covered with earth brought from 
 Palestine by the earlier crusaders. 
 
COUNT LOUIS OF NASSAU. 275 
 
 Thougli angels have not borne 
 Those dear ones home, as once from Sinai's 
 
 steep, 
 They a dead pilgrim to the Khine ere morn 
 Bare, that fond sister's touches might adorn 
 
 And sister-voices weep : 
 
 Yet to an Altar-Home 
 The Spirits of our Martyrs have been led ; 
 With palm and robe invested, washed from 
 
 loam 
 Of worldly strife, and 'neath celestial Dome 
 
 Wait, with the kingly Dead, 
 
 For all who pass away 
 While scourge and smoke-wreath twist their 
 
 chariot line ; 
 For all whose heart-scourge, falling but to flay, 
 Gives through a long life scarce one holiday — 
 
 Poor mother ! such was thine 1 
 
I WILL GIVE HIM THE MOENING 
 STAK. 
 
 Bev., chap, ii., v. 23. 
 
 " Where may lia2:)pier lot be seen 
 Than hath crowned my soul's fair queen ? 
 Flowers spring up where'er she strayeth— • 
 Only sunshine round her playeth ; 
 Yet the flowers and sunshine free, 
 Look not half so bright as she. 
 
 " LatG; she raised her dreaming eye 
 To a sister-star on high ; 
 And I prayed, with murmur lov/, 
 * Ah, my own love, gaze not so 1 
 Glorious though yon star may be, 
 Eor I cannot give it thee/ " 
 
THE MORNING STAR. 277 
 
 Thus, oppressed by mournful sense 
 Of his proud heart's iniDotence, 
 Once, an earthly lover, sighing, 
 "Weighed the love he deemed undying, 
 Found it infinite in will— 
 Feeble to avert one ill. 
 
 Well may higher Love rejoice 
 
 In the Heavenly Bridegroom's voice ; 
 
 He, a universe surveying, 
 
 Far-off worlds His sign obeying, 
 
 Saith to all who faithful are — 
 
 " I will give the Morning-Star \" 
 
 Star of Faith ! serene and strong, 
 Comrade of that Angel song. 
 Whose rich harmony, descending 
 O'er meek swains their folds defending, 
 Silence filled with joy, and night 
 With a rush of al-gent light ; — 
 24 
 
278 THE MORNING STAR. 
 
 Lead us, as thou ledd'st of yore, 
 Magian from his midnight lore — - 
 From the Crucible of Thought, 
 "Where he long solution sought 
 Of Life's problems, dark and lorn — 
 To the Babe in Beth-le-hem born 1 
 
 Star of Christ ! unvalued gift ! 
 Gleaming down the abysmal rift 
 Where the world's vain pomp and clamor 
 Chain us with resistless glamor ; 
 Win our love from fame and pelf — 
 From the veiled idol — Self 1 
 
 Cease not o'er these hearts to throw 
 Kadiant leash. Love's path to show, 
 Till their frail and fleshly awning 
 Kend, and thus reveal the dawning 
 Of a Day no night can mar — 
 Heralded by Morning-Star 1 
 
BY THE BRINK OF THE EIVEE., 
 
 They laid me by the Elver's brink 
 
 Long, very long ago, 
 And " Jesus will not let you sink, 
 
 Be fearless" — whispered low. 
 
 So near me drew the Pilot, Death, 
 
 So close the waters came, 
 It seemed on each ice-laden breath 
 
 Hung heavily my name. 
 
 And once — it was a wondrous view— - 
 My pain-worn eyes espied 
 
 A magnet star-wreath, strong to woo 
 The soul to yonder side. 
 
280 BY THE BRINK OF THE K I V E B. 
 
 But years went by, and still unheard 
 The call we deemed so near, 
 
 And still, thro' secret sign deterred, 
 The Pilot left me here. 
 
 Left me, yet in the busy field 
 Of toil, where God is served, 
 
 Not to go forth again, and wield 
 The sickle whence I swerved. 
 
 Left me, in silence and alone, 
 
 To muse and marvel, why 
 So many in their bloom have gone 
 
 While I unsummoned lie. 
 
 Kind faces that my wan mouth kiss'd, 
 And prayed " God speed her home 1" 
 
 Have blended with the River's mist, 
 Like sun-bows with sea^foam. 
 
BY THE ERIXK OP THE RIVER. 281 
 
 It may be, holier hearts would watch 
 Till through you cloud-veil dim 
 
 Turrets of gold shone out, and catch 
 The songs of Seraphim. 
 
 • 
 
 For this my faith is far too weak, 
 
 My S23irit- wings are soiled ; 
 They cannot cleave the mist, and seek 
 
 The Light within it coiled. 
 
 Nor dare I from the water's edge 
 Bright thoughts, like lilies glean ; 
 
 Too swift thy roll, too rank thy sedge, 
 stream of the Unseen ! 
 
 Tet, like the chiming of far hells 
 
 That chime from viewless shore. 
 
 Sometimes a waft of music swells 
 
 Above the waves' uproar. 
 24* 
 
282 BY THE BRINK OF THE RIVEE. 
 
 That sound, though, seldom heard, hath 
 dulled 
 
 The stirring tunes of Earth, 
 And made her songs, once foldly culled, 
 
 Seem now of slender worth. 
 
 Thus, for the mandate of my Prince, 
 
 I look and linger still ; 
 Useless, and yet unmurmuring, since 
 
 I know it is His Will. 
 
L'EN vol. 
 
 While softly upon Earth's chill hreast 
 
 The quiet snow-flakes pour, 
 Her look, beneath that hueless vest, 
 
 Grows drearier than before ; 
 Yet the fast-showering crystals wrap 
 With love the riches of her lap : 
 
 And when long hours of sunlight come 
 Shall turf and woodland pay 
 
 With lavish blossoms — bees' glad hum — 
 For Winter's white array, 
 
 That fostered, in its mantle warm 
 
 All charms of fragrance, hue and form. 
 
284 l' ENVOI. 
 
 And thus, if words of holy cheer 
 
 On mourning spirits lie 
 With lifeless weight, while home looks drear, 
 
 And Heaven no longer nigh — 
 Covering, as with a cold white mask. 
 Thoughts that for vanished love- warmth ask. 
 
 Yet through their force, the winter fled, 
 Fresh buds of joy and trust, 
 
 And vivid green of praise, may spread 
 Above that snow-bound crust ; 
 
 For Christ to weariest heart can bring 
 
 Treasures of sunlight, love and Spring. 
 
+ 
 
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