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diff --git a/old/55032-0.txt b/old/55032-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fb4c1a2..0000000 --- a/old/55032-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6528 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems of Progress, by Lizzie Doten - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Poems of Progress - -Author: Lizzie Doten - -Release Date: July 2, 2017 [EBook #55032] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF PROGRESS *** - - - - -Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - [Illustration: handwritten: Yours truly - - Lizzie Doten] - - - - - POEMS - OF - PROGRESS. - - BY - LIZZIE DOTEN. - - “If an offence come out of the Truth, better is it that the - offence come, than the Truth be concealed.” JEROME. - - “Stand out of my sunshine.” DIOGENES OF SINOPE. - - BOSTON: - WILLIAM WHITE AND COMPANY, - BANNER OF LIGHT OFFICE, - 158 WASHINGTON STREET. - NEW YORK AGENTS--THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY, - 119 NASSAU STREET. - 1871. - - - - - Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1871, - BY MISS ELIZABETH DOTEN, - In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. - - Electrotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry, - No. 19 Spring Lane. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - -DECLARATION OF FAITH (PREFATORY). 5 - -THE CHEMISTRY OF CHARACTER. 11 - -LET THY KINGDOM COME. 14 - -THE SPIRIT OF NATURE. 17 - -MARGERY MILLER. 20 - -THE LAW OF LIFE. 26 - -A RESPECTABLE LIE. 33 - -THE RAINBOW BRIDGE. 38 - -REST THOU IN PEACE. 42 - -ANGEL LILY. 44 - -THE ALL IN ALL. 48 - -“ECCE HOMO.” 50 - -PETER MCGUIRE; OR, NATURE AND GRACE. 56 - -HYMN OF THE ANGELS. 62 - -GONE HOME. 64 - -THE CRY OF THE DESOLATE. 66 - -THE SPIRIT-MOTHER. 69 - -FACE THE SUNSHINE. 77 - -HESTER VAUGHN. 83 - -SONG OF THE SPIRIT CHILDREN. 87 - -HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP. 90 - -THE FAMISHED HEART. 92 - -THE TRIUMPH OF LIFE. 99 - -REFORMERS. 102 - -MR. DE SPLAE. 105 - -WILL IT PAY? 109 - -THE LIVING WORD. 114 - -HYMN TO THE SUN. 119 - -GREATHEART AND GIANT DESPAIR. 123 - -“THE ORACLE.” 128 - -MY ANGEL. 135 - -THE ANGEL OF HEALING. 139 - -TRUTH TRIUMPHANT. 143 - -GOOD IN ALL. 147 - -JOHN ENDICOTT. 153 - -THE TRIUMPH OF FREEDOM. 157 - -OUR SOLDIERS’ GRAVES. 164 - -OUTWARD BOUND. 166 - -THE WANDERER’S WELCOME HOME. 170 - -LABOR AND WAIT. 174 - -FRAE RHYMING ROBIN. 176 - -AN ELEGY ON THE DEVIL. 181 - -FRATERNITY. 185 - -OWEENA. 190 - -GONE IS GONE, AND DEAD IS DEAD. 195 - -THE SPIRIT TEACHER. 198 - -LITTLE NELL. 203 - -THE SOUL’S DESTINY. 206 - -GUARDIAN ANGELS. 208 - -NEARER TO THEE. 211 - -THE SACRAMENT. 213 - -THE GOOD TIME NOW. 217 - -LIFE’S MYSTERIES. 221 - -A WOODLAND IDYL. 225 - -JUBILATE. 229 - -THE DIVINE IDEA. 231 - -THE PYRAMIDS. 235 - -THE INNER MYSTERY. 237 - - - - - DECLARATION OF FAITH. - - -Doubtless many who take up this book, and glance carelessly at its -pages, will exclaim, “What! more Spiritualism!” To which remark I -answer, yes, more Spiritualism, an unequivocal, undisguised, positive -Spiritualism--confirmed by many years of careful observation, study, and -experience, and of which this book is the legitimate outgrowth. Eight -years have elapsed since my first volume--“Poems from the Inner -Life”--was given to the world (to the Preface of which I now refer for -any explanation concerning my mediumship). During that interval of time, -the ranks of the believers in Spiritualism have steadily increased in -numbers, its phenomena, presenting an array of well-established facts, -have challenged the investigation of some of the first scientific minds -of the age, and its philosophy has done more towards liberating the -human mind from the thraldom of old superstitions and creeds than any -other form of faith which has arisen for centuries. But as yet, it has -not secured that prestige of popularity and respectability which the -combined influence of age, wealth, and organized action ever afforded. -Consequently, those who are “named by its name” must be prepared to meet -the anathemas of religious bigots--the lofty scorn of those who are wise -in their own conceit--the scurrilous attacks of those who would divert -attention from their own infamy and the petty irritations of a numerous -pack who follow at the heels of every new movement, and ever distinguish -themselves by noise rather than by knowledge. As a participant in this -great movement, I have found such attacks to be helps rather than -hinderances to my progress, inasmuch as I have been enabled to define my -own positive and affirmative position more clearly from the negations of -the opposers of Spiritualism. - -We are told that “it is not a Religion.” But after a long and careful -study of the past and present, I have yet to find any phase of faith, -which, in its very inception has commenced so directly at the root of -all necessary reform, viz., the purification and harmonious development -of the human body. This primary and fundamental truth has been taken as -a starting-point--it has been enunciated from the spirit world--repeated -by the inspirational speakers--has been interwoven with all the -spiritualistic literature, and has found a practical application in the -Children’s Lyceums. The religion that teaches, “Take care of the soul, -and let the body take care of itself,” will inevitably defeat its own -purposes, and has already been taught long enough for us to know that it -is a failure. No other form of faith ever brought the spiritual world so -near, _as to banish its supernatural character, and place it within the -province of natural law_. No other form of faith has _illustrated_ the -fact _so clearly_, that just as we go out of this world, so do we enter -upon the next, thereby presenting a more rational incentive to endeavor, -than the rewards of Heaven or the punishments of Hell; and no other from -of faith has so effectually dissipated the idea of an inane and -purposeless life in the future, and given to the angels a more exalted -employment than “loafing around the throne.” It also teaches that -mediumship, under proper circumstances, is a _healthy, harmonious, and -normal development of human nature_, and that communion with the -spiritual world is not interdicted, and no more impossible than any -other attainment that lies in the direct line of natural law, human -progress, and scientific investigation. This to me, and to those who -have accepted Spiritualism thoughtfully and sincerely, makes it _a -religion indeed_, and the positive assertions of any number of -intellectual or religious “authorities” to the contrary cannot make it -otherwise. - -We have been told again and again, that “Spiritualism is -Supernaturalism,” that we believe in miracles, which are contrary to the -“methods” of God’s government. We have denied this repeatedly, assuming -that we ourselves had the best right to say what we did believe; but our -denial has not been accepted, and the reason is obvious. Any number of -scholastic discourses, elaborately written essays, and eloquent appeals -to popular prejudice, would lose their pith and marrow, and be found -wanting, if this false predicate, this fabricated nucleus for their -logic should be disallowed. - -Again, we are told that “Spiritualism is not Science;” to which we -reply, that Spiritualism has presented facts and phenomena which the -later discoveries in Science are tending both to explain and -substantiate. It has been demonstrated that it is not the eye that sees, -the ear that hears, or the nerves that feel, but each of these avenues -of sense serves to convey the vibrations of the surrounding “ether” to -the central consciousness, which alone is possessed of the power of -perception. Since this is so, who shall dare place a limit to the -possibilities of that consciousness, of which so little is definitely -known? Or why should any man prescribe, as a standard for all others, -the limitations of his own feeble consciousness. A modern reasoner tells -us that “if the bodily ear receives vibrations from one atmosphere, it -_cannot_ receive them from another, and no fiction of an inner ear can -give genuineness to voices and whispers of a spiritual tongue.” Since, -however, it is not the outer ear, but the inner consciousness, that -hears, a quickening of its perceptions will allow it to catch the -vibrations from another atmosphere, and Spiritualism demonstrates, by -indisputable facts, that this is so. Also, that this is not an -_abnormal_ condition, but _perfectly legitimate_ to certain states of -the inner consciousness. - -The revelations of the spectroscope, and the investigations of some of -the greatest scientific minds of the present day, have determined the -existence of a higher scale of vibrations than those which fall within -the ordinary range of human vision. All the objects and forms of life -comprehended in that scale, although so closely blended and interwoven -with the vibrations of our own plane of existence, are lost to our dull -perceptions, unless, through some physical or mental condition, there is -a quickening of our inner consciousness. When this comes, as it has -again and again to many, we have revelations from the “_spirit world_,” -which is, after all, but a finer _material_ world, as real, as -substantial, as objective, and as directly within the province of -universal law, as that which we now inhabit. That we should be made -sensibly aware of this higher life, under certain legitimate conditions, -is perfectly _natural_. Indeed, it would be strange, with the uniformity -of succession and development which pervades all things, if we were not. -It is not a world that is _possible_, but _actual_, not one that _might_ -be, but _is_. - -In this matter, intelligent Spiritualists range themselves side by side -with those of whom Professor Tyndall has said, “You never hear the -really philosophical defenders of the doctrine of uniformity speaking of -_impossibilities_ in nature. They best know that questions offer -themselves to thought, which Science, as now prosecuted, has not even -the tendency to solve. They keep such questions open, _and will not -tolerate any unlawful limitations of the horizon of their souls_.” -However weak and imperfect our spiritual vision may be at present, we -shall use each and every opportunity of obtaining all the information -that is possible, either from this world or the next. The report of the -committee chosen by the London Dialectical Society, to investigate the -subject of Spiritualism, “bears strong testimony in favor of the reality -of the manifestations,” and is a step in the right direction. All we ask -of our opponents, is fair treatment and an unprejudiced consideration of -the facts and phenomena which Spiritualism presents. We do not fear as -to the result. - -But the objection which is most frequently urged against Spiritualism -is, that “it is immoral in its tendencies.” In my anxiety to prove all -things, I have also taken this matter into careful consideration, and -diligently compared the annals of crime in the so-called Christian -church with those of Spiritualism. For several years I have collected -the items from the daily newspapers, that I might have them for future -reference, and in due time come to a just and impartial conclusion. As -I write, that record of ministerial delinquency, ecclesiastical -abominations, and human frailty, lies before me. Where I have found one -spiritual sheep that has gone astray, I have found ninety and nine of -the Shepherds in Israel in great need of repentance. Let the church -cleanse her own Augean stables before she utters one word in relation to -the immoralities of Spiritualism. Casting stones and calling hard names -will not profit either party. It is neither Christianity nor -Spiritualism that is responsible for these immoralities, but _poor human -nature_. The remedy lies not in creeds or forms of faith, but in the -growth of Truth in the Understanding, and Love in the heart. Not as a -Spiritualist, but as a child of humanity, do I hope that the entire -world may yet have a moral standard, harmonious with the laws of God and -Nature, and consistent with the highest good of the individual and -society. - -Having, from inclination and a sense of duty to my kindred in the faith, -pursued the subject thus far, the “Spirit moves me” to present, in -conclusion, a few quotations which require neither comment nor -explanation. - - “If we are _wise_ we shall sit down upon the brink and content - ourselves with saying what the spiritual world _is not_ and _cannot - be._ * * The soul _must_ be entirely ignorant of the second body - until it has ceased to use the first. * * The new organs, may be, - all correspond in intention and effect to the present ones; but we - say that _they do not yet exist._ _They cannot exist_; the ground - is pre-occupied.” - - _John Weiss_, - Unitarian Monthly Journal, May, 1866. - - - - “Moreover, the satellites of Jupiter are invisible to the naked - eye, and therefore can exercise no influence over the Earth, and - therefore would be useless, and therefore _do not exist_.” - - _Francesco Sizzi_, Times of Galileo. - - - - “If the Spiritualists would secure the favor of _sensible people_ - they must let them see that they are not at war with good sense. * - * It were better that very sacred and dear beliefs should go, than - that this enemy of all rational belief should remain. Let us prefer - to have _no_ other world, than to have another world full of - teasing, troublesome, meddlesome beings, who interfere with the - rational order of the world we dwell in.” - - _O. B. Frothingham_, - “The Index,” July 8, 1871. - - - - “If the new planets were acknowledged, what a chaos would ensue!” * - * “I will never concede his four new planets to that Italian, - though I die for it.” - - _Martin Horky_, Times of Galileo. - - - - “O my beloved Kepler! How I wish we could have one good laugh - together! Here, at Padua, is the principal Professor of Philosophy, - whom I have repeatedly and urgently requested to look at the moon - and planets through my telescope, which he pertinaciously refuses - to do! Why, my dear Kepler, are you not here? What shouts of - laughter we should have at _all this solemn folly_!” - - _Letter from Galileo to John Kepler._ - - - - - - -POEMS OF PROGRESS. - - - - - THE CHEMISTRY OF CHARACTER. - - - JOHN, and Peter, and Robert, and Paul, - God in his wisdom created them all. - John was a statesman, and Peter a slave, - Robert a preacher, and Paul--was a knave. - Evil or good as the case might be, - White, or colored, or bond, or free-- - John, and Peter, and Robert, and Paul, - God in his wisdom created them all. - - Out of earth’s elements, mingled with flame, - Out of life’s compounds of glory and shame, - Fashioned and shaped by no will of their own, - And helplessly into life’s history thrown; - Born by the law that compels men to be, - Born to conditions they could not foresee, - John, and Peter, and Robert, and Paul, - God in his wisdom created them all. - - John was the head and the heart of his State, - Was trusted and honored, was noble and great. - Peter was made ’neath life’s burdens to groan, - And never once dreamed that his soul was his own. - Robert great glory and honor received, - For zealously preaching what no one believed; - While Paul, of the pleasures of sin took his fill, - And gave up his life to the service of ill. - - It chanced that these men, in their passing away - From earth and its conflicts, all died the same day. - John was mourned through the length and the breadth of the land-- - Peter fell ’neath the lash in a merciless hand-- - Robert died with the praise of the Lord on his tongue-- - While Paul was convicted of murder, and hung. - John, and Peter, and Robert, and Paul, - The purpose of life was fulfilled in them all. - - Men said of the Statesman--“How noble and brave!” - But of Peter, alas!--“he was only a Slave.” - Of Robert--“’Tis well with his soul--it is well;” - While Paul they consigned to the torments of hell. - Born by one law through all Nature the same, - _What_ made them differ? and _who_ was to blame? - John, and Peter, and Robert, and Paul, - God in his wisdom created them all. - - Out in that region of infinite light, - Where the soul of the black man is pure as the white-- - Out where the spirit, through sorrow made wise, - No longer resorts to deception and lies-- - Out where the flesh can no longer control - The freedom and faith of the God-given soul-- - Who shall determine what change may befall - John, and Peter, and Robert, and Paul? - - John may in wisdom and goodness increase-- - Peter rejoice in an infinite peace-- - Robert may learn that the truths of the Lord - Are more in the spirit, and less in the word-- - And Paul may be blest with a holier birth - Than the passions of man had allowed him on earth. - John, and Peter, and Robert, and Paul, - God in his wisdom will care for them all. - - - - - LET THY KINGDOM COME. - - - THE peaceful night, “the stilly night,” - Came down on wings of purple gloom, - And with her eyes of starry light, - Looked through the darkness of my room; - Peace was the pillow for my head, - While angels watched around my bed. - - Freed from a weight of cumbering care, - My earnest spirit seemed to rise, - And on the wings of faith and prayer, - I sought the gates of Paradise; - Like priceless pearls I saw them gleam, - As in the Revelator’s dream. - - O, holy, holy was the song - Of blessed spirits echoing thence, - So soft and clear it swept along, - It ravished all my soul and sense; - Close to those gates of light I crept, - And like a homeless orphan wept. - - The white-robed angels went and came-- - The white-robed angels saw me there-- - And one, in our dear Father’s name, - Came at my spirit’s voiceless prayer. - “Dear child,” he said, “why dost thou wait - With weeping at the heavenly gate?” - - “O, weary are my feet,” I cried, - “With wandering o’er the earthly way; - Lo, all my hopes hang crucified, - And all my idols turn to clay; - Far distant now the Father seems, - And heaven comes only in my dreams.” - - He laid his hand upon my head, - And tenderly the angel smiled. - “Thy Father knows thy need,” he said, - “And he will aid his suffering child. - Return unto thine earthly home-- - His kingdom yet shall surely come.” - - Obedient at the word I turned, - And sought mine earthly home once more, - While all my soul within me burned, - With joy I never knew before; - For that blest vision of the night - Had filled me with celestial light. - - Still o’er my life its glories stream, - The solace of my lonely hours, - Fair as the sunset’s golden gleam, - And lovely as the bloom of flowers; - A sweet assurance, calm and deep, - Which treasured in my soul I keep. - - Henceforth I wait with anxious eyes, - Until the shadows flee away, - To see the morning star arise, - Which ushers in that glorious day. - Be patient, O my heart! be still - Till time the promise shall fulfill. - - - - - THE SPIRIT OF NATURE. - - “The bond which unites the human to the divine is Love, and Love is - the longing of the Soul for Beauty; the inextinguishable desire - which like feels for like, which the divinity within us feels for - the divinity revealed to us in Beauty. Beauty is Truth.”--PLATO. - - - I HAVE come from the heart of all natural things, - Whose life from the Soul of the Beautiful springs; - You shall hear the sweet waving of corn in my voice, - And the musical whisper of leaves that rejoice, - For my lips have been touched by the spirit of prayer, - Which lingers unseen in the soft summer air; - And the smile of the sunshine that brightens the skies, - Hath left a glad ray of its light in my eyes. - - On the sea-beaten shore--’mid the dwellings of men-- - In the field, or the forest, or wild mountain glen; - Wherever the grass or a daisy could spring, - Or the musical laughter of childhood could ring; - Wherever a swallow could build ’neath the eaves, - Or a squirrel could hide in his covert of leaves, - I have felt the sweet presence, and heard the low call, - Of the Spirit of Nature, which quickens us all. - - Grown weary and worn with the conflict of creeds, - I had sought a new faith for the soul with its needs, - When the love of the Beautiful guided my feet - Through a leafy arcade to a sylvan retreat, - Where the oriole sung in the branches above, - And the wild roses burned with their blushes of love, - And the purple-fringed aster, and bright golden-*rod, - Like jewels of beauty adorned the green sod. - - O, how blesséd to feel from the care-laden heart - All the sorrows and woes that oppressed it depart, - And to lay the tired head, with its achings, to rest - On the heart of all others that loves it the best; - O, thus is it ever, when, wearied, we yearn - To the bosom of Nature and Truth to return, - And life blossoms forth into beauty anew, - As we learn to repose in the Simple and True. - - No longer with self or with Nature at strife, - The soul feels the presence of Infinite Life; - And the voice of a child, or the hum of a bee-- - The somnolent roll of the deep-heaving sea-- - The mountains uprising in grandeur and might-- - The stars that look forth from the depths of the night-- - All speak in one language, persuasive and clear, - To him who in spirit is waiting to hear. - - There is something in Nature beyond our control, - That is tenderly winning the love of each soul; - We shall linger no longer in darkness and doubt, - When the Beauty within meets the Beauty without. - Sweet Spirit of Nature! wherever thou art, - O, fold us like children, close, close to thy heart; - Till we learn that thy bosom is Truth’s hallowed shrine, - And the Soul of the Beautiful is--the Divine. - - - - - MARGERY MILLER. - - - OLD Margery Miller sat alone, - One Christmas eve, by her poor hearthstone, - Where dimly the fading firelight shone. - - Her brow was furrowed with signs of care, - Her lips moved gently, as if in prayer-- - For O, life’s burden was hard to bear. - Poor old Margery Miller! - Sitting alone, - Unsought, unknown, - Her friends, like the birds of summer had flown. - - Full eighty summers had swiftly sped, - Full eighty winters their snows had shed, - With silver-sheen, on her aged head. - - One by one had her loved ones died-- - One by one had they left her side-- - Fading like flowers in their summer pride. - Poor old Margery Miller! - Sitting alone, - Unsought, unknown, - Had God forgotten _she_ was his own? - - No castle was hers with a spacious lawn; - Her poor old hut was the proud man’s scorn; - Yet Margery Miller was nobly born. - - A brother she had, who once wore a crown, - Whose deeds of greatness and high renown - From age to age had been handed down. - Poor old Margery Miller! - Sitting alone, - Unsought, unknown, - Where was her kingdom, her crown or throne? - - Margery Miller, a child of God, - Meekly and bravely life’s path had trod, - Nor deemed affliction a “chastening rod.” - - Her brother, Jesus, who went before, - A crown of thorns in his meekness wore, - And what, poor soul! could _she_ hope for more? - Poor old Margery Miller! - Sitting alone, - Unsought, unknown, - Strange that her heart had not turned to stone! - - Ay, there she sat, on that Christmas eve, - Seeking some dream of the past to weave, - Patiently striving not to grieve. - - O, for those long, long eighty years, - How had she struggled with doubts and fears, - Shedding in secret unnumbered tears! - Poor old Margery Miller! - Sitting alone, - Unsought, unknown, - How _could_ she stifle her sad heart’s moan? - - Soft on her ear fell the Christmas chimes, - Bringing the thought of the dear old times, - Like birds that sing of far distant climes. - - _Then_ swelled the flood of her pent-up grief-- - Swayed like a reed in the tempest brief, - Her bowed form shook like an aspen leaf. - Poor old Margery Miller! - Sitting alone, - Unsought, unknown, - How heavy the burden of life had grown! - - “O God!” she cried, “I am lonely here, - Bereft of all that my heart holds dear; - Yet Thou dost never refuse to hear. - - “O, if the dead were allowed to speak! - Could I only look on their faces meek, - How it would strengthen my heart so weak!” - Poor old Margery Miller! - Sitting alone, - Unsought, unknown, - What was that light which around her shone? - - Dim on the hearth burned the embers red, - Yet soft and clear, on her silvered head, - A light like the sunset glow was shed. - - Bright blossoms fell on the cottage floor, - “Mother” was whispered, as oft before, - And long-lost faces gleamed forth once more. - Poor old Margery Miller! - No longer alone, - Unsought, unknown, - How light the burden of life had grown! - - She lifted her withered hands on high, - And uttered the eager, earnest cry, - “God of all mercy! now let me die. - - “Beautiful Angels, fair and bright, - Holding the _hem_ of your garments white, - Let me go forth to the world of light.” - Poor old Margery Miller! - So earnest grown! - Was she left alone? - His humble child did the Lord disown? - - O, sweet was the sound of the Christmas bell, - As its musical changes rose and fell, - With a low refrain or a solemn swell. - - But sweeter by far was the blesséd strain, - That soothed old Margery Miller’s pain, - And gave her comfort and peace again. - Poor old Margery Miller! - In silence alone, - Her faith had grown; - And now the blossom had brightly blown. - - Out of the glory that burned like flame, - Calmly a great white angel came-- - Softly he whispered her humble name. - - “Child of the highest,” he gently said, - “Thy toils are ended, thy tears are shed, - And life immortal now crowns thy head.” - Poor old Margery Miller! - No longer alone, - Unsought, unknown, - God _had not_ forgotten she was his own. - - A change o’er her pallid features passed; - She felt that her feet were nearing fast - The land of safety and peace, at last. - - She faintly murmured, “God’s name be blest!” - And folding her hands on her dying breast, - She calmly sank to her dreamless rest. - Poor old Margery Miller! - Sitting alone, - Without one moan, - Her patient spirit at length had flown. - - Next morning a stranger found her there, - Her pale hands folded as if in prayer, - Sitting so still in her old arm-chair. - - He spoke--but she answered not again, - For, far away from all earthly pain, - Her voice was singing a joyful strain. - Poor old Margery Miller! - Her spirit had flown - To the world unknown, - Where true hearts _never_ can be alone. - - - - - THE LAW OF LIFE. - - - Deeply musing - On the many mysteries of life; - Half excusing - All man’s seeming failures in the strife; - Through the city - Did I take my lonely way at night; - Filled with pity - For the miseries that met my sight, - In the faces, sickly, sad and sunken, - In the faces, meager, mean and shrunken, - Wanton, leering, passionate and drunken, - Which I saw that night, - Passing through the city-- - Saw them by the street-lamps’ changing light. - - Burning brightly, - Looked the watching stars from heaven above; - As if lightly - They beheld these wrecks of human love. - “O, how distant,” - Said I, “are they from this earth apart! - How resistant - To the woes that rend the human heart! - Countless worlds! your radiant courses rounding, - With your light the depth of distance sounding, - Is there not some fount of love abounding? - O, thou starlit night - Brooding o’er the city! - Would that truth might as thy stars shine bright.” - - Very lightly - Was a woman’s hand laid on my arm. - Pressing slightly-- - And a voice said--striving to be calm-- - “I am dying, - Slowly dying for the want of love; - Vainly trying - To believe there is a God above. - For I feel that I am sinking slowly, - Losing daily, faith and patience lowly, - Doomed to ways of sin and deeds unholy-- - All the weary night, - Through this cruel city - Do I wander till the morning light. - - “Hear me kindly, - For I am not what I would have been, - If most blindly - I had not been tempted unto sin. - I am lonely, - And I long to shriek in anguish wild, - O, if only - I could be once more a little child! - See! my eyes are weary-worn with weeping; - Sorrow’s tide across my soul is sweeping; - God no longer holds me in his keeping-- - I have prayed to-night, - Wandering through the city, - That I might not see the morning light.” - - Breathless, gazing - On her pallid and impassioned face, - How amazing - Was the likeness that I there could trace! - “Sister!” “Brother!” - From our lips as by one impulse broke. - Not another - Word, then, for an instant brief we spoke. - But the sweet and tender recollection - Of our childhood, with its fond affection, - And at last, the broken, lost connection, - Came afresh that night, - Standing in the city - Underneath the street-lamps’ changing light. - - Pale and slender, - Like a lily did she bow her head. - Low and tender - Was the earnest tone in which she said-- - “O, my brother! - Tell me of our father.”--“He is dead.” - “And our mother?” - “And she, also, rests in peace,” I said. - Only to my grievous words replying, - By a long-drawn, deep and painful sighing, - Sinking downward, as if crushed and dying, - Did she seem that night, - Standing in the city - Underneath the street-lamps’ changing light. - - Wherefore should I - Thrust her from my guilty heart away? - Ah, how could I! - Whatsoe’er the _righteous_ world might say-- - She, my sister, - One who shared in mine own life a part-- - Nay, I kissed her, - And upraised her to a brother’s heart. - And I said, “Henceforth we will not sever, - But with faith and patience failing never, - We will work for truth and right forever. - Ministers of light, - Watching o’er the city! - Guide! O, guide our erring feet aright!” - - Gently o’er us - Came a breath of warm and balmy air, - And before us - Stood a man with silvery, flowing hair. - How appearing - From the murky gloom that round us fell, - Mild and cheering - In his presence, I could never tell. - But I say with solemn asservation, - That it was no fanciful creation, - Bearing to this life no true relation, - Which we saw that night, - Standing in the city, - Underneath the street-lamps’ changing light. - - “Children!” said he, - “One of life’s great lessons you are taught; - Be then ready - To apply the teaching as you ought. - _All_ are brothers-- - _All_ are sisters in this lower life. - Many others - Make sad failures in the weary strife; - But each failure is a grand expression - Of the law which underlies progression, - Which will raise the soul above transgression. - Yea, this very night, - All throughout this city, - Every soul is striving toward the light.” - - “Bruised and broken, - Many hearts in patient sorrow wait, - To hear spoken - Words of love, which often come too late. - Lift their crosses, - And their sins--the heaviest load of all-- - Bear their losses, - And be patient with them when they fall.” - Then he vanished, as the shadows parted, - Leaving us alone, but hopeful hearted, - Gazing into space where he departed - From our wondering sight, - In that mazy city-- - Vanished in the shadows of the night. - - Sacred presence! - Dwelling just beyond our mortal sense, - Through thine essence, - Fill our beings with a life intense. - By creation - Man fulfills a destiny sublime, - And salvation - Comes to each in its appointed time. - In that region of celestial splendor, - Where the angel-faces look so tender, - Human weakness needeth no defender. - In the perfect light - Of the heavenly city, - Souls can read the law of life aright. - - - - - A RESPECTABLE LIE. - - - “A respectable lie, sir! Pray what do you mean? - Why the term in _itself_ is a plain contradiction. - A lie is a _lie_, and deserves no respect, - But merciless judgment, and speedy conviction. - It springs from corruption, is servile and mean, - An evil conception, a coward’s invention, - And whether direct, or but simply implied, - Has naught but deceit for its end and intention.” - - Ah, yes! very well! So _good morals_ would teach; - But _facts_ are the _most_ stubborn things in existence, - And _they_ tend to show that _great_ lies win respect, - And hold their position with wondrous persistence. - The _small_ lies, the _white_ lies, the lies _feebly told_, - The world will condemn both in spirit and letter; - But the _great, bloated_ lies will be held in respect, - And the _larger_ and _older_ a lie is, the better. - - A respectable lie, from a _popular_ man, - On a _popular_ theme, never taxes endurance; - And the pure, golden coin of _un_popular _truth_, - Is often _refused_ for the _brass of assurance_. - You may dare all the laws of the land to defy, - And bear to the truth the most shameless relation, - But never attack _a respectable lie_, - If you value a name, or a good reputation. - - A lie well established, and hoary with age, - Resists the assaults of the boldest seceder; - While he is accounted the greatest of saints, - Who silences reason and follows the leader. - Whenever a mortal has _dared_ to be wise, - And seize upon Truth, as the soul’s “Magna Charta,” - He always has won from the lovers of lies, - The name of a fool, or the fate of a martyr. - - There are popular lies, and political lies, - And “lies that stick fast between buying and selling,” - And lies of politeness--conventional lies-- - (Which scarcely are reckoned as such in the telling.) - There are lies of sheer malice, and slanderous lies, - From those who delight to peck filth like a pigeon; - But the _oldest_ and far _most respectable_ lies, - Are those that are told in the name of Religion. - - Theology sits like a tyrant enthroned, - A system _per se_ with a fixed nomenclature, - Derived from strange doctrines, and dogmas, and creeds, - At war with man’s reason, with God and with Nature; - And he who subscribes to the popular faith, - Never questions the fact of divine inspiration, - But holds to the Bible as absolute truth, - From Genesis through to St. John’s Revelation. - - We mock at the Catholic bigots at Rome, - Who strive with their dogmas man’s reason to fetter; - But we turn to the Protestant bigots at home, - And we find that their dogmas are scarce a whit better. - We are called to believe in the wrath of the Lord-- - In endless damnation, and torments infernal; - While around and above us, the Infinite Truth, - Scarce heeded or heard, speaks sublime and eternal. - - It is sad--but the day-star is shining on high, - And Science comes in with her conquering legions; - And ev’ry respectable, time-honored lie, - Will fly from her face to the mythical regions. - The soul shall no longer with terror behold - The red waves of wrath that leap up to engulf her, - For Science ignores the existence of hell, - And chemistry finds better uses for sulphur. - - We may dare to repose in the beautiful faith, - That an Infinite Life is the source of all being; - And though we must strive with delusion and Death, - We can trust to a love and a wisdom all-*seeing; - We may dare in the strength of the soul to arise, - And walk where our feet shall not stumble or falter; - And, freed from the bondage of time-honored lies, - To lay all we have on the Truth’s sacred altar. - - - - - THE RAINBOW BRIDGE. - - - ’Twas a faith that was held by the Northmen bold, - In the ages long, long ago, - That the river of death, so dark and cold, - Was spanned by a radiant bow; - A rainbow bridge to the blest abode - Of the strong Gods--free from ill, - Where the beautiful Urda fountain flowed, - Near the ash tree Igdrasill. - - They held that when, in life’s weary march, - They should come to that river wide, - They would set their feet on the shining arch, - And would pass to the other side. - And they said that the Gods and the Heroes crossed - That bridge from the world of light, - To strengthen the Soul when its hope seemed lost, - In the conflict for the right. - - O, beautiful faith of the grand old past! - So simple, yet so sublime, - A light from that rainbow bridge is cast - Far down o’er the tide of time. - We raise our eyes, and we see above, - The souls in their homeward march; - They wave their hands and they smile in love, - From the height of the rainbow arch. - - We know they will drink from the fountain pure - That springs by the Tree of Life, - We know that their spirits will rest secure - From the tempests of human strife; - So we fold our hands, and we close our eyes, - And we strive to forget our pain, - Lest the weak and the selfish wish should rise, - To ask for them back again. - - The swelling tide of our grief we stay, - While our warm hearts fondly yearn, - And we ask if over that shining way - They shall nevermore return. - O, we oft forget that our lonely hours - Are known to the souls we love, - And they strew the path of our life with flowers, - From that rainbow arch above. - - We hear them call, and their voices sweet - Float down from that bridge of light, - Where the gold and crimson and azure meet, - And mingle their glories bright. - We hear them call, and the soul replies, - From the depths of the life below, - And we strive on the wings of faith to rise - To the height of that radiant bow. - - Like the crystal ladder that Jacob saw, - Is that beautiful vision given, - The weary pilgrims of earth to draw - To the life of their native heaven. - For ’tis better that souls should upward tend, - And strive for the victor’s crown, - Than to ask the angels their help to lend, - And come to man’s weakness down. - - That rainbow bridge in the crystal dome, - O’er a swiftly flowing tide, - Is the shining way to the spirit home, - That lies on the other side. - To man is the tempest cloud below, - And the storm wind’s fatal breath, - But for those who cross o’er that shining bow, - There is no more pain nor death. - - O, fair and bright does that archway stand, - Through the silent lapse of years, - Fashioned and reared by no human hand, - From the sunshine of love and tears. - Sweet spirits, our footsteps are nearing fast - The light of the shining shore; - We shall cross that rainbow bridge at last, - And greet you in joy once more. - - - - - REST THOU IN PEACE. - - “And the token that the angel gave her, that he was a true - messenger, was an arrow, with a point sharpened with Love, let - easily into her heart, which by degrees wrought so effectually with - her, that at the time appointed she must be gone.” - - PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. - - - - - REST thou in peace! Beneath the sheltering sod - There is a lowly door, a narrow way, - That leadeth to the Paradise of God; - There, weary pilgrim, let thy wanderings stay. - - Rest thou in peace! We would not call thee back - To know the grief that comes with riper years, - To tread in sorrow all Life’s thorny track, - And drain with us the bitter cup of tears. - - Rest thou in peace! With chastened hearts we bow, - And pour for thee a low and solemn strain; - Thy voice shall chant the hymns of Zion now, - But it shall mingle not with ours again. - - Rest thou in peace! Not in the silent grave-- - Thy spirit heard the summons from above, - And blessed the token that the angel gave-- - An arrow, sharpened--but with tenderest love. - - Rest thou in peace! With blessings on thy head, - Pass to the land where sinless spirits dwell-- - Gone, but not lost!--We will not call thee _dead_-- - The angels claimed thee! Dear one--Fare-thee-well. - - - - - ANGEL LILY. - - - OF all the flowers that greet the light, - Or open ’neath the summer’s sun, - With fragrance sweet, and beauty bright, - The Lily is the fairest one, - And in its incense-cup there lies - A perfume, as from Paradise. - - O, once there lived a fair, sweet child, - And Lily was her gentle name; - As beautiful and meekly mild, - As if from Heaven’s pure life she came-- - A breathing psalm, a living prayer, - To make men think of worlds more fair. - - O, there was sunshine in her smile, - And music in her dancing feet, - And every tender, artless wile, - Made her dear presence seem more sweet; - But ever in her childish play, - A strange, unfathomed mystery lay. - - Her playmates--well, we could not see - That which our darling Lily saw-- - But often in her childish glee, - She filled our loving hearts with awe, - When, pointing to the viewless air, - She told us of the Angels there. - - “O, very beautiful!” she said, - “And very gentle are they all; - At night they watch around my bed, - And always answer to my call. - I asked to go with them one day, - But a tall angel told me nay.” - - Yes--the “tall Angel” told her nay, - But it was only for a time; - We knew our Lily could not stay - Long in this uncongenial clime. - Into their home of love and light - The Angels led her from our sight. - - They led her from the earth away, - Into the blesséd “summer-land,” - Leaving to us her form of clay, - With budding lilies in the hand; - An emblem of her life, to be - Unfolded in Eternity. - - O, though there falls a gloom like night - From Sorrow’s overshadowing wing, - How often does returning light - A ray of heavenly brightness bring, - And problems that were dark before - Can vex the soul with doubt no more. - - Beneath that heavy cloud we stood, - Through which no ray of gladness stole, - But well we knew that Sorrow’s flood - Would cleanse and purify the soul; - And when its ministry should cease, - Our lives would blossom fair with peace. - - One evening, when the summer moon - With silver radiance filled the sky, - And through the fragrant flowers of June - The balmy breeze sighed dreamily, - With spirits calm and reconciled, - We talked of our dear Angel child. - - We spoke of her we loved so well, - As one who only went before-- - When lo! just where the moonlight fell - With mellow lustre on the floor, - We saw our own sweet darling stand, - With half-blown lilies in her hand. - - She seemed more beautiful and fair - Than when a simple child of earth; - The golden glory in her hair - Betokened her celestial birth; - But as she sweetly looked and smiled, - We knew she was our own dear child. - - O, strange to say! we did not start, - We did not even wildly weep, - For each had schooled the wayward heart - The law of perfect peace to keep-- - And deep as Love’s unfathomed sea - Had been our faith that _this would be_. - - O, shall we tell those moments o’er-- - And all her words of love repeat-- - And say how, through Time’s open door - She glided in with noiseless feet? - Nay, rather let us purely hold - Such things too sacred to be told. - - Enough to say we wait our time, - With heaven’s own sunshine in the heart, - Rejoicing in the faith sublime, - That those who love _can never part_, - And wheresoe’er the soul may dwell, - That God will order all things well. - - - - - THE ALL IN ALL. - - - HOW beautiful the roses bloom - Around the portals of the tomb! - How fair the meek white lilies grow - From elements of death below! - How tender and serenely bright - The stars light up the depths of night! - - Thus beauty unto ruin clings, - And light from deepest darkness springs; - The Soul its noblest strength must gain - Through ministries of grief and pain; - Great victories only come through strife, - And death is but the gate of life. - - The ocean waves that darkly flow, - Sweep over priceless pearls below; - The tempest cloud, when wild winds rest, - Builds up the rainbow on its breast, - And truths, unseen when all is bright, - Shine like the stars in sorrow’s night. - - O Thou, in whom the vine bears fruit! - In whom the violets take their root, - For Thee the summer roses blow; - For Thee the fair white lilies grow; - And from Thine all-sustaining heart - The Soul’s immortal currents start. - - O, when the circle, made complete, - Shall in thy boundless being meet, - We feel, we know, that we shall be - Made perfect in our love to Thee; - That good will triumph in that hour, - And weakness be exchanged for power. - - - - -“ECCE HOMO.” - - “When the Son of Man cometh, shall he find faith in the earth?” - - LUKE xviii. 8. - - - - - The merry Christmas time, - With song and silvery chime, - Had come at last; - And brightly glowed each hearth, - While winter, o’er the earth, - Its snows had cast. - High in the old cathedral tower, - The ponderous bell majestic swung, - And with its voice of solemn power - A summons to the people rung. - - Then, forth from lowly walls, - And proud, ancestral halls, - Came rich and poor, - And faces wreathed with smiles - Thronged the cathedral aisles - As ne’er before. - Rich silks trailed o’er the marble pave, - And costly jewels glittered bright, - For groined arch and spacious nave - Were radiant with excess of light. - - The deep-toned organ’s swell - Like billows rose and fell, - In floods of sound; - And the “Te Deum” rung, - As if by angels sung, - In space profound. - Forth the majestic anthem rolled - In harmony complete, and then - Pealed forth the angels’ song of old, - Of “peace on earth, good will to men.” - - As the full chorus ceased, - Up rose the white-robed priest, - With solemn air; - With hands toward heaven outspread, - He bowed his stately head - In formal prayer. - Then, like some breathless, holy spell, - Upon the hushed and reverent crowd, - A deep, impressive silence fell, - And hands were clasped, and heads were bowed. - - “Saviour of All!” he cried, - “Thou who wast crucified - For sinful man! - We worship at thy feet, - For thou hast made complete - Salvation’s plan. - Come to thy people, Lord, once more, - And let the nations hear again - The song the angels sung of yore, - Of ‘peace on earth, good will to men.’” - - As if his prayer was heard, - A sudden trembling stirred - The walls around. - The doors, wide open flung, - On ponderous hinges swung, - With solemn sound. - And then, straight up the foot-worn aisle, - A strange procession made its way, - In garments coarse, of simplest style, - A strange, incongruous array. - - The first, most rudely clad, - A leathern girdle had - About him bound. - The next, in humblest guise, - Raised not his mournful eyes - From off the ground. - And next to these the dusky browed, - And others, flushed with sin and shame, - And women, with their faces bowed - In deep contrition, slowly came. - - No voice was heard, or sound, - From the vast concourse round, - Outspreading wide. - But onward still they passed, - Until they gained at last - The altar side. - Then said the lowly one, “O ye! - Who celebrate a Saviour’s birth, - Should he return again, would he - Find faith among the sons of earth?” - - Quick, with an angry frown, - The haughty priest looked down - Upon the crowd. - “Who are ye, that ye dare - Invade this house of prayer?” - He cried aloud. - “This temple, sacred to the Lord, - Not thus shall be profaned by you: - Your deeds with his do not accord-- - Begone! Begone, ye vagrant crew!” - - The lowly one replied, - “These, standing by my side, - Came at my call; - Nor need they have one fear, - With me to enter here-- - God loves them all. - Thou hypocrite! thou dost reject - _Me_, through thy most _unchristian creed_, - And making truth of none effect, - Thou dost dishonor me indeed.” - - Around the stranger’s head - A radiant halo spread - Its glories bright; - His meek and tender face - Beamed with transcendent grace, - And heavenly light. - There, mighty in his power for good, - So gentle and divinely sweet, - The “Christus Consolator” stood, - With weeping sinners at his feet. - - “We must go hence,” he said, - “To find the living bread. - Come, follow me! - My Father’s house above - Is full of light and love, - And all is free.” - High in the old cathedral tower, - The brazen bell majestic swung, - As if some strange, mysterious power - To sudden speech had moved its tongue. - - O Christ! thou friend of men! - When thou shalt come again, - Through Truth’s new birth, - May all the fruits of peace - Be found in rich increase - Upon the earth. - Then shall the song of sweet accord, - Sung by the heavenly hosts of yore, - To hail the coming of their Lord, - Sound through the ages evermore. - - - - - PETER McGUIRE; OR, NATURE AND GRACE. - - - IT has always been thought a most critical case, - When a man was possessed of more Nature than Grace; - For Theology teaches that man from the first - Was a sinner by Nature, and justly accurst; - And “Salvation by Grace” was the wonderful plan, - Which God had invented to save erring man. - ’Twas the only atonement he knew how to make, - To annul the effects of his own sad mistake. - - Now this was the doctrine of good Parson Brown, - Who preached, not long since, in a small country town. - He was zealous, and earnest, and could so excel - In describing the tortures of sinners in Hell, - That a famous revival commenced in the place, - And hundreds of souls found “Salvation by Grace;” - But he felt that he had not attained his desire, - Till he had converted one Peter McGuire. - - This man was a blacksmith, frank, fearless and bold, - With great brawny sinews like Vulcan of old; - He had little respect for what ministers preach, - And sometimes was very profane in his speech. - His opinions were founded in clear common sense, - And he spoke as he thought, though he oft gave offense; - But however wanting, in whole or in part, - He was sound, and all right, when you came to his heart. - - One day the good parson, with pious intent, - To the smithy of Peter most hopefully went; - And there, while the hammer industriously swung, - He preached, and he prayed, and exhorted, and sung, - And warned, and entreated poor Peter to fly - From the pit of destruction before he should die; - And to wash himself clean from the world’s sinful strife, - In the Blood of the Lamb, and the River of Life. - - Well, and what would you now be inclined to expect - Was the probable issue and likely effect? - Why, he swore “like a Pirate,” and what do you think? - From a little black bottle took something to drink! - And he said, “I’ll not mention the Blood of the Lamb, - But as for that River it aren’t worth a----;” - Then pausing--as if to restrain his rude force-- - He quietly added, “a mill-dam, of course.” - - Quick out of the smithy the minister fled, - As if a big bomb-shell had burst near his head; - And as he continued to haste on his way, - He was too much excited to sing or to pray; - But he thought how that some were elected by Grace, - As heirs of the kingdom--made sure of their place-- - While others were doomed to the pains of Hell-*fire, - And if e’er there was _one_ such, ’twas Peter McGuire. - - That night, when the Storm King was riding on high, - And the red shafts of lightning gleamed bright through the sky, - The church of the village, “the Temple of God,” - Was struck, for the want of a good lightning rod, - And swiftly descending, the element dire - Set the minister’s house, close beside it, on fire, - While he peacefully slumbered, with never a fear - Of the terrible work of destruction so near. - - There were Mary, and Hannah, and Tommy, and Joe, - All sweetly asleep in the bedroom below, - While their father was near, with their mother at rest, - (Like the wife of John Rogers with “one at the breast.”) - But Alice, the eldest, a gentle young dove, - Was asleep all alone, in the room just above; - And when the wild cry of the rescuer came, - She only was left to the pitiless flame. - - The fond mother counted her treasures of love, - When lo! one was missing--“O Father above!” - How madly she shrieked in her agony wild-- - “My Alice! My Alice! O, save my dear child!” - Then down on his knees fell the Parson, and prayed - That the terrible wrath of the Lord might be stayed. - Said Peter McGuire, “Prayer is good in its place, - But then it don’t suit _this_ particular case.” - - He turned down the sleeves of his red flannel shirt, - To shield his great arms all besmutted with dirt; - Then into the billows of smoke and of fire, - Not pausing an instant, dashed Peter McGuire. - O, that terrible moment of anxious suspense! - How breathless their watching! their fear how intense! - And then their great joy! which was freely expressed - When Peter appeared with the child on his breast. - - A shout rent the air when the darling he laid - In the arms of her mother, so pale and dismayed; - And as Alice looked up and most gratefully smiled, - He bowed down his head and he wept like a child. - O, those tears of brave manhood that rained o’er his face, - Showed the true Grace of Nature, and the Nature of Grace; - ’Twas a manifest token, a visible sign, - Of the indwelling life of the Spirit Divine. - Consider such natures, and then, if you can, - Preach of “total depravity” innate in man. - Talk of blasphemy! why, ’tis profanity wild! - To say that the Father thus cursed his own child. - Go learn of the stars, and the dew-spangled sod, - That all things rejoice in the _goodness_ of God-- - That each thing created is good _in its place_, - And Nature is but the _expression_ of Grace. - - - - - HYMN OF THE ANGELS. - - - O SACRED Presence! Life Divine! - We rear for thee no gilded shrine-- - Unfashioned by the hand of Art, - Thy temple is the child-like heart. - No tearful eye, no bended knee, - No servile speech we bring to Thee; - For thy great love tunes every voice, - And makes each trusting soul rejoice. - Then strike your lyres, - Ye angel choirs! - The sound prolong, - O white-robed throng! - Till every creature joins the song. - - We will not mock Thy holy name - With titles high, of empty fame, - For Thou, with all Thy works and ways, - Art far beyond our feeble praise; - But freely as the birds that sing, - The soul’s spontaneous gift we bring, - And like the fragrance of the flowers, - We consecrate to Thee our powers. - Then strike your lyres, - Ye angel choirs! - The sound prolong, - O white-robed throng! - Till every creature joins the song. - - All souls in circling orbits run, - Around Thee as their central sun; - And as the planets roll and burn, - To Thee, O Lord! for light we turn. - Nor Life, nor Death, nor Time, nor Space, - Shall rob us of our name or place, - But we shall love Thee, and adore - Through endless ages--Evermore! - Then strike your lyres, - Ye angel choirs! - The sound prolong, - O white-robed throng! - Till every creature joins the song. - - - - - GONE HOME. - - - THEY called her, from the better land, - And one bright spirit led the way; - She saw the angel’s beckoning hand, - And felt she could no longer stay. - O white-robed Peace! thy gentle cross - Gave to her trusting heart no pain, - And that which is our earthly loss, - Is unto her, eternal gain. - - “God is a Spirit”--we can trust - That she has left earth’s shadows dim, - And laid aside her earthly dust, - To grow in likeness unto Him. - “God is a Spirit”--“God is Love”-- - And closely folded to his breast, - Her spirit, like a tender dove, - Shall in His love securely rest. - - O, it was meet that flower-wreathed Spring, - With forms of living beauty rife, - Should see the perfect blossoming - Of this bright spirit into life. - The flowers will bloom upon her grave, - The holy stars look down at night, - But where bright palms immortal wave, - She will rejoice in cloudless light. - - O, sweeter than the breath of flowers, - Or dews that summer roses weep, - Deep in these loving hearts of ours - Her blesséd memory we will keep. - Bright spirit, let thy light be given, - With tender and celestial ray, - Beaming like some pure star from heaven, - To guide us in our earthly way. - - Clad in thine immortality, - E’en now we hear thee joyful sing-- - “O Grave, where is thy victory! - O Death, where is thy sting!” - Pass on, sweet spirit, to increase - In every bright, celestial grace, - Till in the land of love and peace, - We meet thee, dear one, face to face. - - - - - THE CRY OF THE DESOLATE. - - “It is only with Renunciation, that life, properly speaking, can be - said to begin.” - - “Light dawns upon me! There is in man a HIGHER than love of - _Happiness_; he can do without happiness, and instead thereof find - _Blessedness_.”--THOS. CARLYLE. - - - O GOD of the Eagle and Lion! - Thy strength to my being impart; - Not for wings, nor for sinews of iron, - I ask, but thy life in my heart. - I grope in the dark, and seek blindly - The hand that shall lead to the light; - There is no one to answer me kindly-- - There is no one to teach me the right. - - An arrow from Fate’s deadly quiver - Seemed carelessly sped, at no mark, - But with anguish I tremble and shiver, - For it wounded my soul in the dark. - I have suffered in silence unbroken, - I have stanched the red wound with my hand; - O God! was the arrow Thy token? - Did Fate but obey Thy command? - - There is no one on earth that can render - My heart its full measure of love; - There is no one on earth that is tender - And true as the angels above. - Take me up to Thy bosom, O strong One! - O wise One! I _am_ not afraid! - For I know that Thou never wilt wrong one - Of those whom Thy wisdom hath made. - - These vestments of flesh that oppress us, - Have stifled the soul’s vital breath, - Like the torturing garment of Nessus,[1] - We part from them only in death. - O Thou marvelous Soul of Existence! - Are we doomed by the might of Thy will, - Unchanged by our feeble resistance, - Thy fathomless law to fulfill? - - O Fashioner! Thou who hast guided - The tempest of atoms at strife, - Hath not Thy compassion provided - A fountain of strength for each life? - - And doth not Time’s changing phantasma - Still move at Thy sovereign control, - As when in Earth’s cherishing plasma - Was planted the germ of the soul? - - Then lead me, for O, I am lonely! - And love me, for I am Thine own-- - Yes, Great One and True One! Thine only-- - And with Thee am never alone. - O God of the Eagle and Lion! - Thy strength to my being impart; - Not for wings, nor for sinews of iron - I ask--but Thy life in my heart. - - - - - THE SPIRIT-MOTHER. - - - THROUGH our lives’ mysterious changes, - Through the sorrow-haunted years, - Runs a law of Compensation - For our sufferings and our tears. - And the soul that reasons rightly, - All its sad complaining stills, - Till it learns that meek submission, - Where it wishes not nor wills. - - Thus, in Sorrow’s fiery furnace - Was a faithful mother tried, - Till, through Love’s divinest uses, - All her soul was purified. - O ye sorrow-stricken mothers! - Ye whose weakness feeds your pain! - Listen to her simple story-- - Listen! and be strong again. - - “It was sunset--and the day-dream - Of my life was almost o’er; - For my spirit-bark was drifting - Slowly, slowly from the shore. - Dimly could I see the sunlight - Through my vine-wreathed window shine, - Faintly could I feel the pressure - Of a strong hand clasping mine. - - “But anew the life-tide started, - At my infant’s feeble cry; - Back my spirit turned in anguish, - And I felt I could not die. - Deeper, darker fell the shadows, - Like the midnight’s sable pall, - And that infant cry grew fainter-- - Fainter--fainter--that was all! - - “Suddenly I heard sweet voices - Mingling in a tender strain-- - All my mortal weakness left me, - All my anguish and my pain. - On my forehead fell the glory - Of the bright, celestial morn, - I was of the earth no longer, - For my spirit was re-born. - - “Pure, sweet faces bent above me, - Tenderly they gazed and smiled, - And my Angel-Mother whispered, - ‘Welcome, welcome home, my child!’ - Then, in one melodious chorus, - Sang the radiant angel band, - ‘Welcome! O thou weary pilgrim! - Welcome to the Spirit Land!’ - - “But, o’er all those glad rejoicings, - Rose again my infant’s cry, - For my heart had borne the echo - Through the portals of the sky. - And I murmured, O ye bright ones! - Still my earthly home is dear; - Vain are all your songs of welcome, - For I am not happy here. - - “Strike your harps, ye white-robed Angels! - But your music makes me wild, - For my heart is with my treasure, - Heaven is only with my child! - Let me go, and whisper comfort - To my little mourning dove-- - Life is cold; O, let me shield him - With a mother’s tenderest love! - - “Swift there came a pure, white angel, - Through the glory, shining far, - In her hand she bore a lily, - On her forehead beamed a star. - Very beautiful and tender - Was the love-light in her eyes, - Like the sunny smile of Summer, - Beaming in the azure skies. - - “And she said, ‘O, mourning sister! - Lo! thy prayer of love is heard, - For the boundless Heart of Being - By thine earnest cry is stirred. - Heaven is life’s divinest freedom, - And no mandate bids thee stay; - Go, and as a star of duty, - Guide thy loved one on his way. - - “‘Life is full of holy uses, - If but rightly understood, - And its evils and abuses - May be stepping-stones to good. - Never seek to weakly shield him, - Or his destiny control, - For the wealth that grief shall yield him, - Is the birthright of his soul.’ - - “Musing deeply on her meaning, - Turned I from the heavenly shore, - And on love’s swift wings descending, - Sought my earthly home once more. - There my widowed, childless sister - Sat with meek and quiet grace, - With her heart’s great, wasting sorrow, - Written on her pale, sweet face. - - “And she sang in dreamy murmurs, - Bending o’er my Willie’s head, - ‘Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber, - Holy angels guard thy bed.’ - Soft I whispered, ‘Dearest sister-- - Darling Willie--I am here.’ - Sweetly smiled the sleeping infant, - And the singer dropped a tear. - - “Thenceforth was my soul united - To that life more dear than mine; - And I prayed for strength to guide me, - From the source of Life Divine. - Slowly did I see the meaning - In life’s purposes concealed-- - All the uses of temptation, - Sin and sorrow, stood revealed. - - “Through my loved one’s youth and manhood, - In the hour of sinful strife, - I could see the nobler issues, - And the grand design of life. - I could see that he was guided - By a mightier hand than mine, - And a mother’s love was weakness, - By the side of Love Divine. - - “Then I did not seek to shield him, - Or his destiny control-- - Life, with all its varied changes, - Was the teacher of his soul. - Nay, I did not strive to alter - What I could not make nor mend, - For the love so full of wisdom, - Could be trusted to the end. - - “I could give him strength and courage, - From the treasures of my love-- - I could lead his aspirations - To the holy heart above; - I could warn him in temptation, - That he might not blindly fall; - I could wait with faith and patience - For his triumph--that was all. - - “’Mid the rush and roar of battle, - In the carnival of death, - When the air grew hot and heavy, - With the cannon’s fiery breath, - First and foremost with the bravest, - Who had heard their country’s call, - With the stars and stripes above him, - Did my darling Willie fall. - - “Onward--onward rushed his comrades, - With a wild, defiant cry, - As they charged upon the foeman, - Leaving him alone to die. - Faint he murmured, ‘O, my mother! - Angel mother! art thou near?’ - And he caught the whispered answer, - ‘Darling Willie, I am here! - - “‘O, my loved one! my true-hearted! - Soon your anguish will be o’er; - Then, in heaven’s eternal sunshine, - We shall dwell for evermore.’ - Swiftly o’er his pallid features, - Gleams of heavenly brightness passed, - And my Willie’s noble spirit - Met me face to face at last. - - “In a soldier’s grave they laid him, - Underneath the sheltering pines, - Where the breezes made sweet music, - Through the gently swaying vines. - Now in heaven, our souls united, - All their aspirations blend, - And my spirit’s holy mission - Thus hath found a joyful end.” - - Through our lives’ mysterious changes, - Through the sorrow-haunted years, - Runs a law of Compensation - For our sufferings and our tears; - And the soul that reasons rightly, - All its sad complaining stills, - Till it gains that calm condition, - Where it wishes not, nor wills. - - - - - FACE THE SUNSHINE. - - - O, a morbid fancy had David Bell, - That over his path like a wizard spell, - A great, black shadow forever fell. - He turned his back on the sun’s clear ray; - From a singing bird, or a child at play, - With a nervous shudder he shrank away; - And he shook his head, - As he gloomily said, - “This shadow will haunt me till I am dead!” - - In the solemn shade of the forest wide, - Or in the churchyard at eventide, - Like a gloomy ghost he was seen to glide. - There, nursing his fancies all alone, - He would sit him down with a dismal moan, - In the dewy grass by some moss-grown stone, - And shake his head, - As he gloomily said, - “This shadow will haunt me till I am dead!” - - Never a nod or a smile would greet - Old David Bell, in the field or street, - From the sturdy yeoman he chanced to meet. - The children fled from his path away, - And the good wives whispered, “Alack a day! - The Devil hath led his soul astray!” - For he ever said, - As he shook his head, - “This shadow will haunt me till I am dead!” - - One Sabbath morn when the air was balm, - And the green earth smiled with a heavenly charm, - In the peaceful hush, in the holy calm, - Old David Bell, with a new intent, - Across the bridge o’er the mill-stream went, - And his steps towards the village chapel bent. - For he said, “I will try - From this fiend to fly, - And escape the shadow before I die!” - - But all along on the sandy road, - His great, gaunt shadow before him strode, - Like a fiend escaped from its dark abode. - Sometimes it crouched in an angle small, - Then up it leapt, like a giant tall; - And as David noticed these changes all, - He shook his head, - As he gloomily said, - “This shadow will haunt me till I am dead!” - - At length, he came to the chapel door, - But the great, gaunt shadow went in before, - Leaping and dancing along the floor. - Old David mournfully turned away-- - He could not enter to praise and pray, - While that impish shadow before him lay. - And he shook his head, - As he gloomily said, - “This shadow will haunt me till I am dead!” - - He wandered away, not heeding where, - To a lonely grave, where a willow fair - Whispered sweet words to the summer air. - But he saw not the long, lithe branches wave, - For only a weary look he gave - At his own black shadow, across the grave. - And he shook his head, - As he gloomily said, - “This shadow will haunt me till I am dead!” - - “Nay, nay, good David!” a voice replied. - He turned him quickly, and close by his side - Stood old Goody Gay, known far and wide. - Though Time had stolen her bloom away, - And changed the gold of her locks to gray, - Her face was bright as the summer day. - “Don’t shake your head!” - She cheerfully said, - “But face the sunshine, good man, instead!” - - With a hopeless look, and a sigh profound, - He sat himself down by the grassy mound, - Where the bright-eyed daisies grew thick around. - “Nay, leave me,” he said, in a sullen tone, - “For I and the shadow would be alone; - No balm of healing for me is known. - It will be as I said, - This thing that I dread, - This shadow, will haunt me till I am dead.” - - The good dame answered, “O, David Bell! - Why will ye be ringing your own heart’s knell? - For I tell ye this, that I know full well-- - The blesséd Father, who loves us all, - Who notices even a sparrow’s fall, - Is never deaf to His children’s call; - His love is our light - In the darkest night: - Just turn to _that_ sunshine, and all is right.” - - “In this very grave did I lay to rest, - With his pale hands folded upon his breast, - The one of all others I loved the best. - And then, though my heart in its anguish yearned, - My face to the sunshine I ever turned, - And thus a great lesson of life I learned; - Which you, too, will find, - If you will but mind, - That thus, all life’s shadows are cast behind.” - - He gazed in her earnest face as she spoke, - And then a light o’er his features broke, - As if new life in his soul awoke. - There was something so bright in that summer day, - And the cheerful language of Goody Gay, - That his morbid fancies were charmed away; - And he said, “I will try, - For it may be, that I - Shall escape this shadow before I die.” - - He turned him around on the grassy knoll, - And flush o’er his forehead and into his soul - The warmth of the gladdening sunshine stole. - The good dame lifted a willow bough, - And gently laid her hand on his brow-- - “Say, David, where is your shadow now? - The shadow has fled, - But ye are not dead. - Look up to the sunshine, man! Hold up your head!” - - Still athwart the grave did the shadow lay, - But the face of David was turned away, - And lifted up to the sun’s clear ray. - Then the light of truth on his spirit fell, - Breaking forever the magic spell - That darkened the vision of David Bell. - His trial was past; - And the shadow, at last, - Behind him there, on the grave was cast. - - O, ye! who toil o’er your earthly way, - With your faces turned from the truth’s clear ray, - Consider the counsel of Goody Gay. - Though shadows should haunt you as black as night, - Be faithful and firm to your highest light, - _And face the sunshine with all of your might!_ - Keep a cheerful mind, - And at length you will find - That the grave, and life’s shadows, all lie behind. - - - - - HESTER VAUGHN. - - [Hester Vaughn was tried for the crime of infanticide. She was - convicted, and sentence of death passed upon her. Subsequently, by - the efforts of benevolent individuals, and the pressure of public - opinion, her sentence was commuted to imprisonment for life. Susan - A. Smith, M. D., of Philadelphia, who visited her in prison, and - was chiefly instrumental in obtaining her reprieve, gives the - following statement in relation to the circumstances attendant upon - her alleged crime: “She was deserted by her husband, who knew she - had not a relative in America. She rented a third-story room in - this city (Philadelphia), from a German family, who understood very - little English. She furnished this room, found herself in food and - fuel for three months on twenty dollars. She was taken sick in this - room at midnight, on the 6th of February, and lingered until - Saturday morning, the 8th, when her child was born. She told me she - was nearly frozen, and fainted or went to sleep for a long time. - Through all this period of _agony_ she was _alone_, without - _nourishment_ or _fire_, with her door unfastened. It has been - asserted that she confessed her guilt. I can solemnly say in the - presence of Almighty God that she never confessed guilt to me, and - stoutly affirms that no such word ever passed her lips.”] - - - NOW by the common weal and woe, - Uniting each with all; - And by the snares we may not know, - Until we blindly fall-- - Let every heart by sorrow tried, - Let every _woman_ born, - Feel that her cause stands side by side - With that of Hester Vaughn. - - A woman, famished for the love - All hearts so deeply crave, - Whose only hope was Heaven above, - To succor and to save; - With only want, and woe, and care, - To greet her child unborn; - A weary burden, hard to bear, - Was life to Hester Vaughn. - - No friend, no food, no fire, no light, - And face to face with death, - She struggled through the weary night, - With anguish in each breath; - Till that frail life which shared her own, - Had perished ere the morn, - And left her to the hearts of stone, - That judged poor Hester Vaughn. - - Who was it, that refused to draw - A lesson from the time, - And in the name of human law, - Pronounced her grief a crime? - Was her accuser, cold and stern, - _A man of woman born_, - Whose _debt_ to woman could not earn - Some grace for Hester Vaughn? - - The word of judgment is not sure, - To wealth and station high, - But that she was _alone_ and _poor_, - Was she condemned to die. - O God of justice! for whose grace - The servile worldlings fawn, - Has not thy love a hiding-place - For such as Hester Vaughn? - - Come to the bar of Judgment, come, - Ye favored ones of earth, - And let your haughty lips be dumb, - So boastful of your worth. - What virtues, or what noble deeds, - _Your_ faithless lives adorn, - That thus by laws, or lifeless creeds, - You sentence Hester Vaughn? - - What countless crimes, what guilt untold, - What depths of sin and shame, - Are gilded by your lying gold, - Or hidden by a name! - Ye pave your social hells with skulls - Of Infants yet unborn; - Then virtuous wrath suspicion lulls, - And crushes Hester Vaughn. - - Ye, who your secret sins confess, - Before the Eternal Throne-- - Adulterer and Adulteress! - What mercy have _ye_ shown? - For place and power, for gems and gold, - Ye give your souls in pawn, - But Heaven’s fair gates will first unfold - To such as Hester Vaughn. - - The “mills of God that grind so slow,” - Will “grind exceeding small;” - And time, at length, will clearly show - The want or worth of all. - Distinctions will not always be - With such precision drawn, - Between the proud of high degree - And such as Hester Vaughn. - - Through Moyamensing’s prison bars,[2] - She counts each weary day, - Or ’neath the calmly watching stars, - She wakes to weep and pray. - Thank God! for her in heaven above, - A brighter day will dawn, - And those who judge all hearts in love, - Will welcome Hester Vaughn. - - - - - SONG OF THE SPIRIT CHILDREN. - - - LET us sing the praise of Love-- - Holy Spirit! Heavenly Dove! - Bringing on its blesséd wings - Life to all created things. - Wheresoe’er its light is shed, - Sorrow lifts its drooping head, - And the tears of grief that start - Turn to sunshine in the heart. - Love divine, - All things are thine! - Every creature seeks thy shrine. - And thy boundless blessings fall - With an equal love on all. - - Let us sing the praise of Love, - Everywhere--around, above; - Watching with its starry eyes, - From the blue of boundless skies, - Heeding when the lowly call, - Mindful of a sparrow’s fall, - Writing on the flower-wreathed sod, - “God is love, and love is God.” - Love divine, - All things are thine! - Every creature seeks thy shrine! - And thy boundless blessings fall - With an equal love on all. - - Let us sing the praise of Love-- - Fairest of all things above. - How its blesséd sunshine lies - In the light of loving eyes! - And when words are all too weak, - How its deeds of mercy speak! - They who learn to love aright, - Pass from darkness into light. - Love divine, - All things are thine! - Every creature seeks thy shrine! - And thy boundless blessings fall - With an equal love on all. - - Let us sing the praise of Love-- - Shepherd of the lambs above, - Nothing can forbid, that we - Come in trusting love to Thee. - Fold us closely to Thy heart, - Make us of Thyself a part; - All the heaven our souls have known, - We have found in Thee alone. - Love divine, - All things are thine! - Every creature seeks thy shrine! - And thy boundless blessings fall - With an equal love on all. - - - - - HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP. - - - NIGHT drops her mantle from the skies, - And from her home of peace above, - She watches with her starry eyes, - As with a tender mother’s love. - The sounds of toil and strife are stilled, - And in the silence calm and deep, - The word of promise is fulfilled-- - “He giveth his belovéd sleep.” - - The weary soul oppressed with care, - The young, the old, the strong, the weak, - The rich, the poor, the brave, the fair, - Alike the common blessing seek. - The child sleeps on its mother’s breast, - The broken-hearted cease to weep, - For answering to the prayer for rest, - “He giveth his belovéd sleep.” - - Beneath the churchyard’s sod there lies - Full many a weary form at rest, - With death’s calm slumber in the eyes, - And pale hands folded on the breast. - O ye who bend above the sod, - And tears of silent anguish weep, - Lean with a firmer faith on God-- - “He giveth his belovéd sleep,”-- - - Sleep for the eye whose light has fled, - Sleep for the weary heart and hand; - But not the sleep of those who tread - The green hills of “the better land.” - No restless nights of pain are theirs, - No weary watch for morn they keep, - But through release from mortal cares, - “He giveth his belovéd sleep.” - - Theirs is that sweet, exceeding peace, - Where love makes every duty blest, - Where anxious cares and longings cease, - And labor in itself is rest. - O, we will trust the power above - The treasures of our hearts to keep, - Safe folded in his arms of love, - “He giveth _our_ belovéd sleep.” - - - - - THE FAMISHED HEART. - - The following poem was given at the conclusion of a lecture upon - “Jesus the Medium, and Socrates the Philosopher.” - - “A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another.” - - JOHN xiii. 34. - - - - - O YE! upon whose favored shrine - Love hath a rich libation poured-- - Who, even as a thing divine, - Are fondly worshiped and adored-- - Spare but one kindly thought for those - Who stand in loneliness apart, - Worn by that weariest of woes, - The hopeless hunger of the heart. - - As deadly as the dagger’s thrust, - Envenomed as a serpent’s fangs, - It eats like slow, corroding rust, - And lengthens out in lingering pangs. - Think not with careless jest or smile - To pass this wasting sorrow by; - For countless hearts attest the while, - That thus, alas! too many die. - - I once was of the earth like you; - I loved, and hoped, and feared as well, - But on my heart the kindly dew - Of fond affection never fell. - An orphan in my early years, - Mine was a hard and cheerless lot, - For I was doomed, with prayers and tears, - To seek for love and find it not. - - A bird upon a stormy sea, - A lamb without a sheltering fold, - A vine with no supporting tree, - A blossom blighted by the cold,-- - The warmth of kindly atmospheres - Gave to my life no quickened start; - Love’s sunshine melted not to tears - The drifted sorrows of my heart. - - Fresh from the innocence of youth, - I entered on the rude world’s strife, - But evermore this venomed tooth - Was gnawing at the root of life. - O, I was but a thing of dust! - And what should save me from my fall? - The tempter whispered, “Lawless lust - Is better than no love at all!” - - Then with a flinty face I turned, - Defiant of the social ban, - For my poor, famished nature yearned - For e’en such sympathy from man. - But no! I heard, as from above, - This truth that many learn too late, - That man’s unhallowed, selfish love, - Is far more cruel than his hate. - - I shrank from Passion’s burning breath, - Those sensuous lips and eyes of flame, - And from that furnace fire of death - My outraged heart unblemished came. - But darker, deeper grew the night - That closed around my suffering soul, - And Fate’s black billows, flecked with white, - O’er all my being seemed to roll. - - At length, within a maniac’s cell, - I moaned and muttered day by day, - Till, like a loathsome thing, I fell - From human consciousness away. - That nightmare dream of life was brief, - For horror choked my struggling breath, - And my poor heart, with love and grief, - Was famished even unto death. - - Unconscious of my spirit’s change, - Long did I linger near the earth, - Until a being, kind, though strange, - Recalled me to my conscious worth. - From thence I seemed to be transformed, - Renewed as by redeeming grace, - And then my soul the purpose formed-- - To seek “the Saviour of the race.” - - My aspirations served to bear - My earnest spirit swift away, - Until a heaven, serene and fair, - My onward progress seemed to stay. - I came where two immortals trod, - In friendly converse, side by side; - “O, lead me to the Son of God, - That I may worship him!” I cried. - - One turned--and from his aspect mild - A benison of love was shed-- - “O, say, whom do you seek, dear child? - We all are sons of God,” he said. - “Nay, nay!” I cried, “not such I mean! - But him who died on Calvary-- - The humble-hearted Nazarene!” - He meekly answered, “_I am he!_” - - “O, then, as sinful Mary knelt, - In tearful sorrow, at thy feet, - So does my icy nature melt, - And her sweet reverence I repeat. - O God! O Christ! O Living All! - ‘Thou art the Life, the Truth, the Way’; - Lo! at thy feet I humbly fall-- - Cast not my sinful soul away!” - - “Poor bleeding heart! poor wounded dove!” - In tones of gentleness, he said: - “How hast thou famished for that love - Which is indeed ‘the living bread.’ - Kneel not to me; the Power Divine, - Than I, is greater, mightier far; - His glories lesser lights outshine, - As noonday hides the brightest star.” - - “You died for all the world!” I cried, - “And therefore do I bend the knee.” - “My friend,”[3] he answered, “at my side, - Long ere I suffered, died for me. - He drained for man the poisoned cup, - I gave my body to the cross, - But when the sum is counted up, - Great is our gain, and small our loss. - - “Not thus would I be deified, - Or claim the homage that men pay; - But he who takes me for his guide, - Makes me his Life, his Truth, his Way. - O, heaven shall not descend to man, - Nor man ascend to heaven above, - Till he shall see Salvation’s plan - Is written in the law of love. - - “Dear sister! let your fears depart-- - I have no power to bid you live, - But I can feed your famished heart - Upon the love I freely give. - Mine are the hearts that men condemn, - Or crush in their ambitious strife, - And through my love I am to them - ‘The Resurrection and the Life.’” - - He raised me gently from his feet, - And laid my head upon his breast. - O God! how calm, how pure and sweet, - How more than peaceful was that rest! - I feel that blesséd presence yet-- - It fills me with a joy serene-- - Nor have I hungered since I met - The gentle-hearted Nazarene. - - - - - THE TRIUMPH OF LIFE. - - The following poem, given under the inspiration of Mrs. Hemans, is - a reversion of the ideas contained in a poem composed by her in - earth life, entitled “The Hour of Death.” - - “Leaves have their time to fall, - And flowers to wither at the north wind’s breath, - And stars to set--but all, - Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!” - - - - - LEAVES have their glad recall, - And blossoms open to the South wind’s breath, - And stars that set shall rise again, for all, - All things shall triumph o’er the Spoiler--Death. - - Day was not made for care-- - Eve brings bright angels to the joyous hearth-- - Night comes with dreams of peace, and visions fair - Of those whom Death could conquer not on earth. - - When, in the festive hour, - Death mingles poison with the ruby wine, - Life also comes with overwhelming power, - Changing the deadly draught to life divine. - - Youth and the opening rose - May vanish from the outward sight away, - But Life their inward beauty shall disclose, - And rob the haughty Spoiler of his prey. - - Leaves have their glad recall, - And blossoms open to the South wind’s breath, - And stars that set shall rise again, for all, - All things shall triumph o’er the Spoiler--Death. - - We know that yet again - Our loved and lost shall cross the Summer sea, - Bearing with them the sheaves of golden grain, - Which they have harvested, O Life! with thee. - - Thy breath is in the gale - Whose kiss unseals the violet’s azure eye; - And though the roses in our path grow pale, - We know that all things change, they do not die. - - Wherever man may roam, - Thy presence, viewless as the Summer air, - Meets him abroad, or in his peaceful home, - And when Death calls him forth, thou, too, art there. - - Thou art where soul meets soul, - Or where earth’s noblest fall in battle strife; - But Death, the Spoiler, yields to thy control; - Forevermore thou art the conqueror, Life. - - Leaves have their glad recall, - And blossoms open to the South wind’s breath, - And stars that set shall rise again, for all, - All things shall triumph o’er the Spoiler--Death. - - - - - REFORMERS. - - - WHERE have the world’s great heroes gone, - The champions of the Right, - Who, with their armor girded on, - Have passed beyond our sight? - Are they where palms immortal wave, - And laurels crown the brow? - Or was the victory thine, O Grave? - Where are they? Answer thou. - - We shudder at the silence dread, - That renders no reply-- - O, dust! from whence the soul hath fled, - Thou canst not hear our cry. - The violet, o’er their mouldering clay, - Looks meekly from the sod, - But tells not of the hidden way - Their angel feet have trod. - - Where are they, Death? thou mighty one! - To some far land unknown, - Beyond the stars, beyond the sun, - Have their bright spirits flown? - Their hearts were strong through Truth and Right, - Life’s stormy tide to stem. - O Death! thou conqueror of might! - What need hadst thou of them? - - The earth is green with martyrs’ graves, - On hill, and plain, and shore, - And the great ocean’s sounding waves - Sweep over thousands more. - For us they drained life’s bitter cup, - And dared the battle strife; - Where are they, Death? O, render up - The secret of their life! - - We listen--to our earnest cries - No answer is made known, - Save the “Resurgam”--I _shall_ rise! - Carved on the burial stone. - O Grave! O Death! thou canst not keep - The spark of Life Divine; - They have no need of rest or sleep; - Nay, Death, they are not thine! - - Where are they? O Creative Soul! - To whom no name is given, - Whose presence fills the boundless whole, - Whose love alone is heaven, - Through all the long, eternal hours - What toils do they pursue? - Are their great souls still linked with ours, - To suffer and to do? - - Lo! how the viewless air around - With quickening life is stirred, - And from the silences profound - Leaps forth the answering word, - “We live--not in some distant sphere - Life’s mission to fulfill; - But, joined with faithful spirits here, - We love and labor still. - - No laurel wreath, no waving palm, - No royal robes are ours, - But evermore, serene and calm, - We use life’s noblest powers. - Toil on in hope, and bravely bear - The burdens of your lot; - Great, earnest souls your labors share; - They will forsake you not.” - - - - - MR. DE SPLAE. - - - IT may seem a strange question, good people, but say, - Did you never hear tell of one Mr. De Splae? - A man who made up for the lack of good sense - By a wondrous amount of mere show and pretense; - Puffed up with conceit like an airy balloon, - He was hard to approach as the “man in the moon,” - Save when for some _purpose_ it came in his way, - And then, O how gracious was Mr. De Splae! - - A sly politician, a popular man, - When all things went smoothly he marshaled the van; - But when there was aught like a failure to fear, - He quickly deserted or fell to the rear. - His speech for the people went “gayly and glib,” - While he drew his support from the National crib; - But when an assessment or tax was to pay, - O, how outraged and angry was Mr. De Splae! - - He smoked, and he chewed, and he drank, and he swore; - But then every man whom the ladies adore, - Is prone to these failings--some more and some less, - Which are all overlooked in a man of address. - It also was whispered that he had betrayed - The too trusting faith of an innocent maid; - But the ladies all blamed _her_ for going astray, - While they pardoned and petted--“dear Mr. De Splae.” - - There was good Mr. Honest, who lived but next door, - He was true, and substantial, and sound to the core; - He had made it the rule of his life, from his youth, - To shun all evasions and speak the plain truth; - But _the ladies_--who always are judges, you know, - Declared him to be a detestable beau-- - Not worthy of mention within the same day, - With that _pink of perfection_--“dear Mr. De Splae.” - - Withal he was pious--perhaps you will smile, - And ask how he happened the church to beguile; - Why, the churches accept men for better or worse, - If there’s only a plenty of cash in the purse. - Gold still buys remission as freely and fast, - As it did in the Catholic Church in the past. - ’Tis the same thing right over, and that was the way, - That the church swallowed smoothly “_good_ Mr. De Splae.” - - O, you ought to have heard him when leading in prayer! - How he flattered the Father of All for his care, - And confessed he was sinful a thousand times o’er, - Which ’twas morally certain the Lord knew before. - The ladies responded in sweet little sighs, - With their elegant handkerchiefs pressed to their eyes, - But the pure, unseen spirits turned sadly away - From the loud-mouthed devotions of Mr. De Splae. - - O, short-sighted mortal! Poor Mr. De Splae! - His mask of deception was molded in clay, - And when his external in death was let fall, - What he was, without seeming, was known unto all. - His garment of patches--his flimsy disguise-- - Which had won him distinction in other men’s eyes, - Was “changed in a twinkling”--ay, vanished away, - Leaving nothing to boast of to Mr. De Splae. - - Ah, a great reputation, a title, or name, - Oft brings its possessor to sorrow and shame; - But a _character_, founded in goodness and worth, - Outlasts all the perishing glories of earth. - O’er the frailties of nature, and changes of time, - It rises majestic, in beauty sublime, - Till the weak and faint-hearted are cheered by its ray, - Far above all mere seeming and empty display. - - - - - WILL IT PAY? - - - Men may say what they will - Of the Author of Ill, - And the wiles of the Devil that tempt them astray, - But there’s something far worse-- - A more terrible curse-- - It is selling the Truth for the sake of the pay. - - Like Judas of old, - For silver or gold, - Man often has bartered his conscience away, - Has walked in disguise, - And has trafficked in lies, - If the prospect was good that the business would pay. - - If a fortune is made - By cheating in trade, - It is seldom, if ever, men question the way; - But they make it a rule - That a man is a fool - Who strives to make justice and honesty pay. - - An instance more clear - Could never appear, - Than was seen in the life of old Nicholas Gray, - Who ne’er made a move, - In religion or love, - Unless he was sure that the venture would pay. - - He built him a house - That would scarce hold a mouse, - Where he managed to live in a miserly way, - Till he said, “On my life, - I will take me a wife; - It is running a risk--but I think it will pay.” - - Then he opened a store, - Whose fair, tempting door, - Led sure and direct to destruction’s broad way. - For liquor he sold, - To the young and the old, - To the poor and the wretched, and all who could pay. - - A woman once came, - And in God’s holy name, - She prayed him his terrible traffic to stay, - That her husband might not - Be a poor drunken sot, - And spend all his wages for what would not pay. - - Old Nicholas laughed, - As his whisky he quaffed, - And he said, “If your husband comes hither to-day, - I will sell him his dram, - And I don’t care a--clam - How _you_ are supported if _I_ get my pay.” - - So he prospered in sin, - And continued to win - The wages of death in this terrible way, - Till a Constable’s raid - Put an end to his trade, - And closed up his business as well as the pay. - - To church he then went, - With a pious intent - Of “getting religion”--as some people say-- - For he said, “It comes cheap, - And costs nothing to keep, - And from close observation I think it will pay.” - - But the tax and the tithe - Made old Nicholas writhe, - And he thought that “the plate” came too often his way; - So he soon fell from grace, - And made vacant his place, - For he said, “I perceive that religion don’t pay.” - - Still striving to thrive, - And thriving to strive, - His attention was turned a political way; - But he could not decide - Which party or side - Would be the most likely to prosper or pay. - - He was puzzled, and hence - He sat on the fence, - Prepared in an instant to jump either way; - But it fell to his fate - To jump just too late, - And he said in disgust, “This of _all_ things don’t pay.” - - Year passed after year, - And there did not appear - A spark of improvement in Nicholas Gray, - For his morals grew worse - With the weight of his purse, - As he managed to make his rascality pay. - - At length he fell ill; - So he drew up his will, - Just in time to depart from his mansion of clay, - And he said to old Death, - With his last gasp of breath, - “Don’t hunt for my soul, for I know it won’t pay.” - - O, ’tis sad to rehearse, - In prose or in verse, - The faults and the follies that lead men astray. - For gold is but dross, - And a terrible loss, - When conscience and manhood are given in pay. - - Then be not deceived, - Though men have believed - That ’tis lawful to sin in a general way, - But stick to the right - With all of your might, - For Truth is eternal, and always will pay. - - - - - THE LIVING WORD. - - “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the - Word was God.” - - “And the Word was made flesh and dwelt _in men_.” - - - ETERNAL, Self-existent Soul! - From whom Life’s issues take their start, - Thou art the undivided Whole, - Of whom each creature forms a part. - Thy boundless being’s distant reach, - Our finite vision may not see, - But this we know, that each with each, - We live and move alone in Thee. - - “In the beginning was the Word”-- - The Word, as present now, as then, - Which, in the heart of Nature, stirred - “The Life which was the light of men.” - Through Chaos and Confusion’s night - Streamed forth the light of Love divine, - And lit along Creation’s hight, - Unnumbered fires in glittering line. - - Earth’s fiery heart, with battle shocks, - Beat fiercely in her granite breast, - Leaving on scarred and blackened rocks - The record of her wild unrest. - Rich ores in molten currents swept-- - Like fire within her veins they ran-- - While in the womb of Nature slept - The embryo prophecy of man. - - Down deep, the elements, like gnomes, - Beside their flaming forges wrought, - To fashion shapes, and future homes - For the embodiment of Thought. - The wild winds roared--the raging floods - Tossed their defiant waves on high, - While from the old, primeval woods, - The chorus thundered to the sky. - - The broadcast, wondrous Encrinites - Opened their breathing lily bells, - While Ammonites and Trilobites - Paved pathless spaces with their shells. - The coral Polyp, ’neath the wave, - Wrought in the great progressive plan, - By which the lesser creature’s grave - Built up the future home of man. - - The slumbering Iguanodon[4] - Lay reeking in mephitic damp-- - The Mylodon and Mastodon - Startled the forests with their tramp. - Gigantic ferns, like feathery palms, - Nodded in silence to the trees, - Whose royal crests and stalwart arms - Tossed like the waves of stormy seas. - - Thus on, still on the current rolled-- - The light of countless mornings shone; - And radiant sunsets robed in gold, - Swept down the gulfs of years unknown. - At length, with beasts, and birds, and flowers, - Creation seemed a perfect whole; - Then God and Nature joined their powers, - And man became a living soul. - - O Mother Nature! Father God! - How wondrous is the work we trace! - Man fashioned from the senseless clod, - Yet filled with life’s divinest grace. - Nor is that form of earthly mold - The limit of his life to be; - Forth from the mortal will unfold - The germ of immortality. - - For even as through countless throes, - And travail pains, the mighty plan - Of God in Nature slowly rose, - To consummate its aims in man, - Thus onward still the current rolls, - The spirit with the flesh at strife, - Until, at length, all living souls - Are quickened from the inmost life. - - Across the broad, unfathomed sea, - That breaks upon the shores of time, - The promise of the _yet to be_ - Comes like a prophecy sublime. - The purple gloom, that like a veil - Rests on that ever swelling tide, - Full oft reveals a friendly sail, - With tidings from the further side. - - O soul of man! to conscious power - From elements of death outwrought, - The Living Word forecast thine hour, - And found the dwelling-place it sought. - High in the heavens forevermore, - The stars of truth eternal shine; - Sail on, O man, from shore to shore; - The power that guides thee is divine. - - In the beginning was the Word-- - The Word as present now as then-- - And by its quickening power is stirred - New life within the souls of men. - Thus on, still on, the current rolls, - Through daisies blooming on the sod, - Through creeping things, though living souls, - Through “quickened spirits” up to God. - - - - - HYMN TO THE SUN. - - - O FOUNTAIN of beauty, of gladness and light, - Whose pathway is set in the infinite hight, - Whose light hath no shadow, whose day hath no night! - - We know not thy birthplace, O wonderful one! - We count not the ages through which thou hast run, - But we render thee praises, O life-giving Sun. - - All day the glad Earth in thy loving embrace, - Arrayed by thy bounty in garments of grace, - Lifts up to thy glances her beautiful face. - - And at night, when her children need silence and rest, - With the light of her starry-eyed sisterhood blest, - She sleeps like a bride on thy cherishing breast. - - When the skylark springs up at the coming of morn, - When the golden fringed curtains of night are withdrawn, - Then blushing with beauty the day is new born. - - And the pulses of Nature in harmony bound, - To the waves of thy glory which move without sound, - And sweep unimpeded through spaces profound. - - Ay, the life-tide that leaps in the bird or the flower-- - The rainbow that gleams through the drops of the shower-- - O wonderful artist! are born of thy power. - - And the rush of the whirlwind, the roar of the deep, - The cataract’s thunder, the avalanche-sweep, - Are thy forces majestic, aroused from their sleep. - - Shall we wonder, that filled with devotion untold, - The awe-stricken Parsee adored thee of old, - Nor dreamed that One greater thy glory controlled? - - And He, the Eternal, the Ancient of Days-- - Whose splendors are veiled by inscrutable ways-- - Did he frown on such blindness, or envy thee praise? - - O Sun! in the light of whose presence we see, - We ask,--canst thou tell us?--what caused us to be? - And how are we linked to creation and thee? - - We must perish--but thou, by thy wonderful powers, - Wilt rescue from darkness these bodies of ours, - And fashion them over to verdure and flowers. - - But the jewel of beauty in life’s golden bowl-- - O, answer us--say--dost thou also control - That Infinite Essence, the life of the soul? - - There is doubt, there is darkness and fear in our cry: - Dost thou drink up the pearl of our lives when we die? - We listen--but silence alone makes reply. - - It is well--for our spirits may know by the sign, - That a might hath evoked thee far greater than thine, - And we must seek Truth at life’s innermost shrine. - - That Centre of Being, transcending all thought, - Whose might hath perfection of beauty outwrought, - Returns the great answer of peace which we sought. - - And we know, when the race of the planets is run, - And the day shall no longer behold thee, O Sun! - Our souls shall find light with that Infinite One. - - O Source of all Being! whose name everywhere - Is sung in hosannas, or murmured in prayer, - We trust, unreserving, our souls to thy care. - - - - - GREATHEART AND GIANT DESPAIR. - - “Then said Mr. Greatheart, ‘I have a commandment to resist sin, to - overcome evil, to fight the good fight of faith; and I pray, with - whom should I fight this good fight, if not with Giant Despair?’ - - “Now Giant Despair, because he was a giant, thought no man could - overcome him; and again thought he, ‘Since heretofore I have made a - conquest of angels, shall Greatheart make me afraid?’ So he - harnessed himself and went out. Then they fought for their lives, - and Giant Despair was brought to the ground, but was loth to die. - He struggled hard, and had, as they say, as many lives as a cat; - but Greatheart was his death, for he left him not till he had - severed his head from his shoulders.” - - BUNYAN’S PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. - - - - - HAVE you heard of that marvelous story, - That wonderful romance of old, - The story of Christian, the pilgrim, - So quaintly and earnestly told? - ’Tis a curious dream, with a beautiful gleam - Of light through its mystery thrown; - ’Tis a picture of life, where the Soul in its strife - With the demons of darkness is shown. - Nor yet have the indolent ages - Its mystical meaning outgrown. - - Dark threads from the loom of old Error - Are shot through its fabric of light, - Yet its blendings of Beauty and Terror - Are wrought with a masterly might. - The gleam and the glare of Destruction are there, - With demons the soul to appall; - And the pitfalls of Death, with their sulphurous breath, - Where the weak and unwary must fall. - But, ah! shall we call these mere fancies? - Life yet hath a meaning for all. - - And there in that wonderful region, - With battlements blackened and bare, - To the sorrow of Hopeful and Christian, - Stood the Castle of Giant Despair; - For they ventured to stray in a perilous way, - Where the Giant was searching about, - Who seized on these men, and into a den, - ’Neath his gloomy old Castle of Doubt, - He thrust the poor sorrowful pilgrims, - ’Neath that dismal old Castle of Doubt. - - It was said that he came “with a cudgel,” - And he beat them from day to day, - Till they chanced on “The Key of Promise,” - When they fled from his wrath away. - Then with friendly design they made ready a sign, - And they placed it with pious care - O’er the perilous way where they went astray, - That pilgrims might ever beware - Of the dangers of Doubting Castle, - And the wrath of old Giant Despair. - - Thereafter came Greatheart the valiant, - Unrivaled in courage and might, - The friend of the weak and defenseless, - Who had pledged his good sword to the Right. - There, boldly defiant, he challenged the Giant - From his stronghold of Death to come out; - And Giant Despair, with an insolent air, - Looked down from the Castle of Doubt, - And cried, “I will slay thee, vile braggart, - And put all thy forces to rout.” - - Then in haste he came down from his Castle, - With his terrible breastplate of fire, - And straight upon Greatheart the valiant, - He rushed with impetuous ire. - But nothing dismayed, with his keen, trusty blade - Greatheart smote the old Giant amain, - Firm, fearless, and fast, until vanquished at last, - He struggled and died on the plain. - Yet ’tis said, that far down in the ages, - He came to existence again. - - Do you deem this an idle old story, - Dragged out from the dust of the Past? - Alas! though so time-worn and hoary, - Its truths in the Present stand fast. - High up in the air, all blackened and bare, - Still rises the Castle of Doubt, - And the Giant, I trow, should you seek for him now, - You would find him still prowling about; - And the souls who go in to his Castle, - Are more than the souls who come out. - - With the cudgel of Old Tradition, - Does he beat them from day to day, - And he carefully hides from their vision - The Light of the Present away. - The angels above, with compassionate love, - A plan for their rescue devise; - But the Giant cries out from his Castle of Doubt, - “Beware of delusion and lies!” - So they shrink back again to their prison, - And fear through the Truth to grow wise. - - O, where is our Greatheart the valiant! - A terrible warfare to wage - On this old Theological Giant, - The Doubt and Despair of this age? - Let us rise, one and all, when our leader shall call, - And each for the conflict prepare; - We will march round about that old Castle of Doubt, - With our “Banner of Light” on the air, - And raze to its very foundations - The stronghold of Giant Despair. - - - - -“THE ORACLE.” - - - LIKE the roar of distant cataracts, - Like the slumbrous roll of waves, - Like the night-wind in the willows, - Sighing over lonely graves, - Like oracular responses, - Echoing from their secret caves, - Comes a sound of solemn meaning - From the spirits gone before; - Comes a terrible “_awake thou!_” - Startling man from sleep once more, - Like a wild wave beating, breaking, - On this Life’s tempestuous shore. - - In Earth’s desolated temples - Have the oracles grown dumb, - And the priests, with lifeless rituals, - All man’s noblest powers benumb; - But a solemn voice is speaking-- - Speaking of the yet to come. - There will be a chosen priestess, - Springing from the lap of Ease, - Hastening to the soul’s Dodona, - Where, amid the sacred trees, - She will hear divine responses, - Whispered in the passing breeze. - - She will be a meek-faced woman, - Chastened by Affliction’s rod, - Who hath worshiped at the altar - Of the spirit’s “unknown God;” - Who in want, and woe, and weakness, - All alone the wine-press trod, - Till the salt sea-foam of Sorrow - Whitened on her quivering lips, - Till her heart’s full tide of anguish - Flooded to her finger-tips, - And her soul sank down in darkness, - Smitten by a dread eclipse. - - “Pure in heart,” and “poor in spirit,” - Hers will be that inner life, - Which Earth’s martyr-souls inherit, - Who are conquerors in the strife. - Born of God they walk with Angels, - Where the air with love is rife. - Men will call her “Laureola,”[5] - And her pale, meek brow will crown; - But with holiest aspirations, - She will shun the world’s renown, - And before the Truth’s high altar, - Cast Earth’s votive offerings down. - - Men will sit like little children - At her feet, high truths to learn, - And for love, the pure and holy, - She will cause their hearts to yearn; - Then the innocence of Eden - To their spirits shall return. - Very fearless in her freedom, - She will scorn to simply please; - But the fiercest lion-spirits - She will lead with quiet ease. - Calm, but earnest, firm and truthful, - She will utter words like these:-- - - “Wherefore, O ye sons of Sorrow! - Do ye idly sit and borrow - Care and trouble for the morrow-- - Filling up your cup with woe? - Leave, O, leave your visions dreary! - Hush your doleful miserére! - See the lilies how they grow-- - - “Bending down their heads so lowly, - As though heaven were far too holy, - Growing patiently and slowly - To the end that God designed. - In their fragrance and their beauty, - Filling up their sphere of duty-- - Each is perfect in its kind. - - “Deeper than all sense of seeing - Lies the secret source of being, - And the soul with Truth agreeing, - Learns to live in thoughts and deeds. - ‘For the life is more than raiment,’ - And the Earth is pledged for payment - Unto man, for all his needs. - - “Nature is your common mother, - Every living man your brother; - Therefore love and serve each other; - Not to meet the law’s behest, - But because through cheerful giving, - You will learn the art of living, - And to love and serve is best. - - “Life is more than what man fancies-- - Not a game of idle chances, - But it steadily advances - Up the rugged steeps of Time, - Till man’s complex web of trouble-- - Every sad hope’s broken bubble, - Hath a meaning most sublime. - - “More of practice, less profession, - More of firmness, less concession, - More of freedom, less oppression - In your Church and in your State; - More of life, and less of fashion, - More of love, and less of passion-- - That will make you good and great. - - “When true hearts, divinely gifted, - From the chaff of Error sifted, - On their crosses are uplifted, - Shall your souls most clearly see - That earth’s greatest time of trial - Calls for holy self-denial-- - Calls on men to _do_ and _be_. - - “But, forever and forever, - Let it be your soul’s endeavor, - Love from hatred to dissever; - And in whatsoe’er ye do-- - Won by Truth’s eternal beauty-- - To your highest sense of duty - Evermore be firm and true. - - “Heavenly messengers descending, - With a patience never ending, - Evermore their strength are lending, - And will aid you lest you fall. - Truth is an eternal mountain-- - Love, a never-failing fountain, - Which will cleanse and save you all.” - - List to her, ye worn and weary-- - Hush your heart-throbs, hold the breath, - Lest ye lose one word of wisdom, - Which the answering spirit saith; - Hear her, O ye blood-stained nations, - In your holocaust of death! - Lo! your oracles have failed you, - In the dust your idols fall, - And a mighty hand is writing - Words of judgment on the wall: - “Ye are weighed within the balance, - And found wanting”--one and all. - - Mournful murmurs, direful discords, - Greet you from Destruction’s night, - For Life’s lower stratum, heaving, - Brings long-buried wrongs to light, - And your souls shall find no refuge, - Save with the Eternal Right. - In one grand, unbroken phalanx, - Firm, united, bravely stand, - Faithful in the way of duty, - Ready at the Truth’s command, - And _forever_ let your motto - Be _this_--“GOD AND MY RIGHT HAND!” - - - - - MY ANGEL. - - - OFT from the summer hights of love, - Along the ways of Time, - The pilgrims of this lower sphere - Catch gleams of light sublime, - That stream adown the azure way, - From heaven’s unshadowed clime. - - There, on the balmy, golden air, - Celestial music swells, - Like harps Eolian, gently blown, - Or chime of silver bells-- - And there my star, my angel love, - My spotless lily dwells. - - She came to me, when from my soul - A demon had been cast; - When I had rent the servile chain, - Which long had held me fast, - And stood erect, in conscious power, - A strong, free man at last. - - The burnt-out fire-crypts of my life - Had lost their crimson gleam, - And emptied of their baleful glare, - I walked as in a dream, - With one great purpose in my heart, - To _be_ and not to _seem_. - - Life’s holiest lesson then was mine, - For when at peace within, - And I had cleansed my erring heart - From its foul taint of sin, - That gentle maiden, pure and sweet, - Like sunshine entered in. - - She was my idol--O my God! - Have angel hearts above, - Through their long line of endless life, - Such depth of power to love, - As that with which I folded close, - My tender, trusting dove? - - It was not long, for when the flowers - Upon the green hill-side - Closed their bright eyes to wake no more, - My own sweet darling died. - The angels oped the shining door, - And called her from my side. - - O, when they laid her form to rest - Beneath the churchyard sod, - I longed to follow in the way - Her angel feet had trod; - For, crushed and bruised, my spirit yearned - To hide itself in God. - - Love led me to the inner depth, - Which sorrow had unsealed, - And there I saw the wealth of power - Within my soul concealed-- - In that dark, desolating hour, - Life’s meaning stood revealed. - - _I knew myself_, and knowing this, - The power to me was given - To bridge across the dark abyss - Between my soul and heaven, - And gather up the golden link - Which seemed so harshly riven. - - The angel hand of her I loved - Was gently laid in mine; - She led me, by a path of peace, - To Truth’s eternal shrine, - Where my glad soul will never cease - To worship Love Divine. - - Thus have I learned how vain are creeds - Man’s reason to control; - His lesser life supplies its needs - From Life’s majestic Whole. - _Love_ is the guiding star to _Love_, - And _Soul_ must speak to _Soul_. - - - - - THE ANGEL OF HEALING. - - “They shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.” - - FORTH from a region of shadowless calm, - Forth from a garden of spices and balm, - Came a bright angel, an angel of love, - Tenderly bearing a beautiful dove; - Soft as the dew-drops his feet pressed the sod, - So softly no blossom was bruised as he trod. - - Down through the realms of the blue summer air, - Floated the angel so gentle and fair-- - Down to the grief-stricken bosom of earth, - Whose children must suffer and sin from their birth-- - Down where the tears of the mourner are shed, - And wailings of sorrow are heard for the dead. - - One moment he listened, as voices of pain - Came up from the hill-side, the valley and plain; - There were voices that pleaded, in accents of grief, - For comfort and healing, for hope and relief. - “God, help me,” he murmured, soft breathing and low, - “To heal all your anguish, ye children of woe.” - - Then he folded a child to his cherishing breast, - And tenderly hushed its complainings to rest. - He kissed the pale lids of a mourner’s sad eyes, - Till she saw the fair home of her loved in the skies. - And sorrow, and anguish, and pain, and distress, - Fled away where he entered to comfort and bless. - - At length came a mortal, who sought to find rest - From the hopes and the longings that strove in his breast; - For all that the world with its wealth could impart, - Had failed to bring comfort and peace to his heart. - “O, grant my petition, fair angel,” he cried. - “What wouldst thou, O mortal?” the angel replied. - - “I ask not for wealth, which would make me a slave; - I ask not a name, to be lost at the grave; - I ask not for glory, for honor, or power; - Or freedom from care through my life’s little hour-- - But I ask that the gift which hath made thee divine, - Of comfort, and healing, and strength, may be mine.” - - Then the angel uplifted a chalice most fair, - Which seemed to be filled with a balm-breathing air, - And a chrism outpoured on the suppliant’s head, - Whose fragrance like soft wreathing incense out-*spread. - “Go forth,” said the angel, “thy mission fulfill, - With faith in the heart, which gives strength to the will.” - - Then lo! in an instant the angel had flown, - And left the glad mortal in silence, alone; - But a token was given that his mission was blest, - When the dove fluttered down and reposed in his breast; - As the prophet of old let his mantle of grace - Float downward to him who should stand in his place. - - O Helper! O Healer! whoever thou art, - Let love, like an angel, abide in thy heart. - Let mercy plead low for the sinful and wrong, - Let might, born of justice and right, make thee strong; - Then Help shall descend at thy call from above, - And peace in thy bosom shall rest like a dove. - - - - - TRUTH TRIUMPHANT. - - - O YE who dare not trust the Soul - To guide you in your heavenward way-- - Who turn from its divine control, - Blind Superstition to obey-- - Know that at length shall come an hour, - When darkness shall be changed to light, - And Truth, majestic in her power, - Shall vindicate her ancient right. - - The monstrous blasphemy of creeds - Which represent an angry God, - Who tempts man sorely through his needs, - And meets his failings with a rod-- - Eternal wrath, through blood appeased, - The curse of God, salvation’s plan, - Are nightmare visions, which have seized - The slumbering consciousness of man. - - Beyond the dim and distant line, - Which bounds the vision of to-day, - Great stars of truth shall rise and shine - With steady and unclouded ray; - And calm, brave souls, who through the night - Have waited patiently and long, - Will see these heralds of the light, - And feel themselves in truth made strong. - - Blind Superstition, cowering, sits - Amid the ashes of the past; - While old Tradition, bat-like, flits - Where Time its deepest gloom hath cast. - The bigot, prospering through fraud, - Pays to the church his tithes, and then, - With pious fervor, thanks the Lord - That “he is not like other men.” - - The church, by deep dissensions riven, - To man’s progression shuts the door, - And failing thus to enter heaven, - The “poor in spirit” walk before. - The blood of millions on her hands-- - She pampers pride and winks at sin-- - A whited sepulchre she stands, - Hiding but dead men’s bones within. - - We do not ask for forms and creeds, - Or useless dogmas, old or new, - But we _do_ ask for Christian deeds, - With man’s progression full in view. - Let her be first to aid and bless, - And not the first to cast a stone, - The while her robes of righteousness - Are over foul corruptions thrown. - - The pure, fresh impulse of to-day, - Which thrills within the human heart, - As time-worn errors pass away, - Fresh life and vigor shall impart. - New hopes, like beauteous strangers, wait - An entrance to man’s willing breast, - And child-like faith unbars the gate, - To welcome in each heavenly guest. - - The new must e’er supplant the old, - While Time’s unceasing current flows, - Only new beauties to unfold, - And brighter glories to disclose; - For every crumbling altar-stone - That falls upon the way of time, - Eternal wisdom hath o’erthrown, - To build a temple more sublime. - - O ye! who dare not trust the soul - To guide you in the way to heaven, - Remember that the lifeless whole - Is quickened by the hidden leaven; - And they who, fearlessly and free, - The rugged hights of life ascend, - With one united voice agree, - “_It can be trusted to the end_.” - - - - - GOOD IN ALL. - - - ’Tis a beautiful thought, by Philosophy taught, - That from all things created some good is out-*wrought; - That each is for use, and not one for abuse, - Which leaves the transgressor no room for excuse. - - Thus the great, and the small, and the humblest of all, - To action and duty alike have a call; - And he does the best, who excels all the rest, - In making the lot of humanity blest. - - As Jonathan Myer sat one night by the fire, - Watching the flames from the embers expire, - O’er his senses there stole, and into his soul, - A spell of enchantment he could not control. - - The wind shook his door, and a terrible roar - In his chimney was heard, like the waves on the shore. - In wonder, amazed, old Jonathan gazed - At the huge oaken back-log as fiercely it blazed. - - The flames of his fire leaped higher and higher, - And out of its brightness looked images dire; - Till at length, a great brand straight on end seemed to stand, - And then into human proportions expand. - - Old Jonathan said, with a shake of his head, - “There’s nothing in nature I’ve reason to dread, - For my conscience is clear, and I’d not have a fear, - Should Satan himself at this moment appear.” - - “Ha! your words shall be tried,” quick the demon replied, - “For, lo! _I am Satan_, here, close by your side. - Men should never defy such a being as I, - For when they least think it, behold I am nigh.” - - Said Jonathan Myer, as he stirred up the fire, - “Your face nor your figure I do not admire; - But if that is your style, why, it isn’t worth while - For me to find fault or your Maker revile. - - “Now don’t have a fear, lest it should appear - That you’re an intruder--I welcome you here! - So pray take a seat, and warm up your feet, - For I think I have heard that you’re partial to heat.” - - “Well, you are either a fool or remarkably cool,” - Said Satan--accepting the low wooden stool-- - “But before I depart, I will give you a start - Which will send back the blood with a rush to your heart.” - - “Well, and what if you should? It might do me good, - For a shock sometimes helps one--so I’ve understood. - But just here let me say, that for _many_ a day - I’ve been hoping and wishing you’d happen this way. - - “So give us your hand, and you’ll soon understand, - What a work in the future for you I have planned.” - Satan’s hand he then seized, which he forcibly squeezed, - At which the arch fiend looked more angry than pleased. - - A puzzled surprise looked out of his eyes, - Which was really quite strange for the “Father of Lies.” - “Come,” said he, “this won’t do--_I_ am Satan, not _you_.” - Said Jonathan Myer, “Very true, very true. - - “Now don’t get perplexed, excited or vexed, - At what I’m about to present to you next. - Your attention please lend, and you’ll see in the end, - That Jonathan Myer, at least, is your friend. - - “I’ve been led to suppose, in spite of your foes, - That you are far better than any one knows. - Now, if there is good, in stock, stone, or wood, - I’m bound to get at it, as every one should. - - “So I’ll not have a fear--though you seem sort o’ queer-- - But what all your goodness will shortly appear. - Fact--I know that it will, though ’tis mingled with ill. - So--so--don’t get restless--be patient--sit still. - - “Now I long since agreed, that there was great need - Of a Devil and Hell in the Orthodox creed. - All things are for use, and none for abuse, - (And the same law applies to a man or a goose.) - - “So they’ll keep you in play till the Great Judgment Day, - When the Saviour of sinners will thrust you away. - But then, don’t you see, they and I don’t agree; - So you’ll not be obliged to play Satan to me. - - “Even now, in your eyes, does there slowly arise - A look, which no lover of good can despise. - So open your heart and its goodness impart, - For now there’s no need you should practice your art.” - - O, strange to relate! all that visage of hate, - Which wore such a fearful expression of late, - Grew gentle and mild as the face of a child, - Ere the springs of its life have with doubt been defiled. - - And a voice, soft and low as a rivulet’s flow, - Said gently, “I was but in seeming your foe. - Man ever will find, in himself or his kind, - Either evil or good, as he makes up his mind. - - “As God is in all, so he answered your call, - And the evil appearance to you is let fall. - This truth I commend to your soul as a friend, - That evil will _all_ change to good in the end.” - - Then Jonathan Myer sat _alone_ by his fire, - Till he saw the last light from the embers expire, - And he thoughtfully said, as he turned toward his bed, - “I will banish all hate and put love in its stead.” - - “I will _do_, and not _dream_--I will _be_, and not _seem_, - And the triumph of goodness I’ll take for my theme. - Great Spirit above! I have learned through thy love, - That the Serpent has uses as well as the Dove.” - - - - - JOHN ENDICOTT. - - “If ye love me, keep my commandments.”--JESUS. - - - TRUTH hath no need of outward sign, - To hold her calm, resistless sway-- - No symbol, howsoe’er divine, - Can rule the conscience of to-day. - And he who, scorning praise or blame, - Stays not to kneel before the cross, - But serves the Truth through flood and flame, - Shall win the crown, nor suffer loss. - - Back to the old heroic Past, - With reverent hearts, our gaze we turn-- - From souls proved faithful to the last, - A lesson for to-day we learn. - Once more, as from a master’s hand, - Upon life’s canvass glows the scene-- - Once more behold that little band - Of valiant men on Salem green. - - Had they not left the friends of youth, - Their childhood’s home, their fathers’ graves, - That they might worship God in truth, - And be no more a tyrant’s slaves? - Still followed fast the royal wrath; - And as they marched with measured tread, - Casting its shadow o’er their path, - The tyrant’s flag waved over head. - - “Halt!” said the brave John Endicott, - With knitted brow and eyes aflame; - “Halt!--Forward! Ensign Davenport! - Down with that flag! in God’s high name!” - Down drooped the flag, whose folds of blood - Seemed like the Parcæ’s web of fate, - Whereon the cross so long had stood - For tyranny in Church and State. - - He raised his hand, and sternly tore - The red cross from its field of blue; - Then nerved with fire his arm upbore, - And held the fragment full in view. - “Now by the homage that we pay - To God the Father, God the Son, - May righteous Heaven approve this day - The deed that my right hand hath done.” - - “To Him whose law hath all sufficed, - Be power and glory evermore, - But this cursed sign of Anti-Christ - Shall not profane this hallowed shore.” - One moment--and a hush like death-- - Then flashed the fire from every eye, - And like the tempest’s sudden breath, - A shout tumultuous rent the sky. - - Those ranks of stern, heroic men, - Who asked no favor, knew no fear, - Could “beard the lion in his den,” - When duty made the pathway clear, - There in the howling wilderness, - In holy triumph did they sing, - “Christ is our refuge in distress, - The Lord of Hosts alone is King.” - - Linked, by the lengthening years of time, - To all that grand heroic past, - The mantle of their faith sublime - Is on this generation cast. - Whene’er the cross no longer stands - For freedom, faith, and love divine, - Men tear it down with willing hands, - And worship God without the sign. - - John Endicott! John Endicott! - Thine earthly victory is won, - But valiant still, and swerving not, - Thy steadfast soul “is marching on.” - Like thee we would be brave and true, - And fearless in the faith abide, - That souls who nobly dare and do, - Have God and Heaven upon their side. - - - - - THE TRIUMPH OF FREEDOM. - - - REJOICE! O blood-stained Nation, in darkness wandering long, - For Freedom is triumphant, and Right hath conquered Wrong. - To-day, the glorious birthright the patriot Fathers gave, - Makes, through Eternal Justice, a freeman of the slave. - - And swift the glorious tidings, which rolls majestic on, - Thrills from old Massachusetts to the shores of Oregon. - The gray old mountain-echoes shout it loudly to the sea, - And the wild winds join the chorus in the “anthem of the free.” - - For this, the God of nations sealed this land as sacred soil, - And thenceforth made it holy, with blood, and sweat, and toil. - For this, the lonely Mayflower spread her white wings to the breeze, - And bore the Pilgrim Fathers across the stormy seas. - - For this, the blood of patriots baptized old Bunker Hill, - And Lexington and Concord made known the _people’s will_. - For this, both Saratoga and Yorktown’s fields were won, - And Fame’s unfading laurels wreathed the brow of Washington. - - For this, your glorious Channing plead on the “weaker side,” - And Parker, brave and fearless, sought to stem Oppression’s tide. - For this, the lips of Phillips burned with Athenian fire, - Till every flaming sentence leapt forth in righteous ire. - - And Garrison, the dauntless, declared, “I will be heard!” - O thou sturdy, war-worn veteran! well hast thou kept thy word! - Thou hast sent the foul Hyena howling fiercely to his den, - And thy battle-cry was “Freedom!” till the cannon said, “Amen!” - - For this, like royal Cæsar, within the Senate Hall, - On the noble head of Sumner did the blows of Slavery fall; - For this, that band of heroes, with their Spartan chief, John Brown, - As a sacrifice to Freedom, their precious lives laid down. - - And for this you bore and suffered, “till forbearance ceased to be - A virtue,” and High Heaven called on you to be free. - Then, once more, the blood of heroes leaped like fire within each vein, - And the long-slumbering Lion rose, and, wrathful, shook his mane. - - O! the page of future history shall, with truthful record, tell - How you met the fearful issue, how bravely and how well; - How you gave uncounted treasure from out your toil-won hoard, - And how, as free as water, heroic blood was poured;-- - - How Grant, with stern persistence, smote the foe-*men day by day; - How Sheridan and Sherman urged their victorious way; - How Farragut and Porter swept triumphant o’er the sea, - And how the gallant Winslow won _his_ glorious victory;-- - - And alas! how noble Ellsworth fell in his youthful pride, - And Winthrop, Baker, Lyon, for Freedom bled and died; - And true, brave hearts unnumbered, before the cannon’s breath, - On the wild, red sea of slaughter, swept down the tide of death;-- - - And how, amid the tumult, in every battle pause, - Was heard the cry for “Justice to the bondman and his cause.” - O! your fathers’ slumbering ashes cried, “Amen!” from out each grave, - When your grand old Constitution gave freedom to the slave. - - And, as the glorious tidings upon the nation fell, - Satan, with all his legions, went howling down to Hell. - Of crime and blood no longer could he freely drink his fill, - For the curséd demon, Slavery, had best performed his will. - - Let words of deep thanksgiving blend with the tears you shed - For the hosts of noble martyrs who in Freedom’s cause have bled. - Though they fell before the sickle which reaps the battle-plain, - Yet, to-day, they know in heaven, that they perished not in vain. - - Your nation’s glorious Eagle, with an unfaltering flight, - Hath perched at length, in triumph, on Freedom’s loftiest height; - The stars upon your banner burn with a fairer flame, - And the radiant stripes no longer are emblems of your shame. - - The slave, made like his master, “in the image of his God,” - Shall bare his back no longer to the oppressor’s rod; - His night of pain and anguish, of want and woe, has past, - And Freedom’s radiant morning has dawned on him at last. - - O thou Recording Angel! turn to that page whereon - Is traced, in undimmed brightness, the name of Washington, - And, with thy pen immortal, in characters of flame, - To stand henceforth and ever, write also Lincoln’s name! - - The first hurled back the tyrant, in the country’s hour of need, - The last, divinely guided, hath made her free indeed. - Let a nation’s grateful tribute to each, alike, be given, - While the kingdom, power and glory are ascribed alone to Heaven. - - “Ethiopia no longer stretcheth forth her hands” in vain; - On the demon of oppression she hath left her servile chain; - Then swell the shout of triumph, till the nations hear afar; - Three cheers--three cheers for Freedom! Huzzä! Huzzä! Huzzä! - - - - - OUR SOLDIERS’ GRAVES. - - - SONS of the nation to glory restored, - Strew with fresh laurels the patriot’s grave-- - Heed the libation to Liberty poured-- - Honor the blood of the fearless and brave. - - When the red bolts of destruction were hurled, - Bursting in tempests of fury and flame, - Faithful to Freedom, the hope of the world, - Swift to the rescue each patriot came. - - Breasting the waves of the battle’s wild sea, - Facing, unflinching, the cannon’s hot breath, - Hail to the brave! who marched fearless and free, - Down to the valley and shadow of Death. - - Trace it in marble as white as the snows, - Chisel in granite the record sublime, - Sacred to Freedom--and teaching our foes - Lessons of wisdom as lasting as time. - - Bright as the stars in the firmament shine, - Still may they watch o’er this land from on high, - Teaching our hearts, as their names we enshrine, - Faithful to Freedom to live and to die. - - - - - OUTWARD BOUND. - - - IT was midnight dark, when I launched my bark - On a wild, tempestuous sea; - The lightnings flashed, and the white waves dashed - Like steeds from the rein set free. - ’Twas a fearful night, and no beacon-light - O’er the waste of waters shone; - On the wide, wide sweep of the angry deep, - Alas! I was all alone. - - I had left behind the faithful and kind, - The gentle and true of heart; - O God above! from their clinging love, - It was hard, it was hard to part. - O, why did I leave such hearts to grieve, - And haste from my home away? - ’Twas the chosen hour of a mighty power, - Whose summons I must obey. - - I had heard the call which must come to all, - And I felt, by my quickened breath, - I must leave that shore to return no more, - For the name of that sea was Death. - Thus Outward Bound, with a dizzy sound - Like waves in my troubled brain, - I drifted away like a soul astray, - For I felt that to strive was vain. - - Like the brooding wing of some grewsome thing, - The darkness around me spread; - The wild winds roared, and the tempests poured - Their fury upon my head. - Anon through the night, like serpents bright, - The quivering lightnings came, - Or an instant coiled where the white waves boiled, - To moisten their tongues of flame. - - In the giddy whirl, in the greedy swirl, - I felt I was sinking fast, - When an arm, as white as the opal bright, - Was firmly around me cast. - And a well-known voice made my heart rejoice-- - “Fear not! for the strife is o’er; - To your resting-place in my warm embrace, - Do I welcome you back once more.” - - ’Twas my mother dear spake those words of cheer, - Whom I met with a glad surprise, - For I thought she slept where the willows wept, - Till the day when the dead should rise. - I had passed away from my form of clay, - But not to a distant sphere; - Like a troubled dream did the struggle seem, - For my spirit still lingered here. - - I had weathered the storm, but my mortal form - Like a wreck in my presence lay; - They said I was dead when my spirit fled, - And with weeping they turned away. - Then the dearest came, and she sobbed my name; - But how could those pale lips speak? - She bent o’er my form like a reed in the storm, - As she kissed my clay-cold cheek. - - I was with her there, and with tender care - I folded her close to my breast, - Till the heart’s wild throb, and the bursting sob, - Were silenced and soothed to rest. - O human love! there is nought above, - That ever will rudely part - The sacred tie, or the union high, - Of those who are one in heart. - - A bridge leads o’er from the heavenly shore, - Where the happy spirits pass, - And the angels that stand with the harp in the hand, - On the “sea, as it were, of glass,” - Play so soft and clear that the human ear, - And the spirits who love the Lord, - Can catch the sound through the space profound, - And join in the sweet accord. - - O, what is death? ’Tis a fleeting breath-- - A simple but blesséd change-- - ’Tis rending a chain, that the soul may gain - A higher and broader range. - Unbounded space is its dwelling-place, - Where no human foot hath trod, - But everywhere doth it feel the care - And the changeless love of God. - - O, then, though you weep when your loved ones sleep, - When the rose on the cheek grows pale, - Yet their forms of light, just concealed from sight, - Are only behind the vail. - With their faces fair, and their shining hair - With blossoms of beauty crowned, - They will also stand, with a helping hand, - When you shall be Outward Bound. - - - - - THE WANDERER’S WELCOME HOME. - - - A WOMAN, with weary heart and hand, - Wasted and worn by the rude world’s strife, - Prayed for the peace of the better land, - And the mansions fair of the higher life. - She prayed at night in the churchyard lone, - Resting her brow on a cold, white stone. - - All of that day in the public street, - She had played on her harp and patiently sung, - Till the cold wind palsied her weary feet, - And chilled the words on her faltering tongue. - And but one penny to meet her need - Had the cold world spared from its selfish greed. - - O, the mocking words of “Home, sweet home,” - Had she sung for that paltry, pitiful fee, - She who thus lonely was doomed to roam, - While never a home on earth had she; - But often the lips must perform a part - That is foreign and false to the aching heart. - - At night, by her sorrowful longings led, - She had turned from the dwellings of men away, - And sought the place of the sleeping dead, - In silence and darkness alone to pray. - While her harp, as it sighed in the wintry air, - Seemed to echo the tone of her lone heart’s prayer. - - Her face was white as the drifted snows, - And her eyes were fixed in a dull despair, - As if the chilling tide of her woes - Had swelled from her heart, and had frozen there. - She lifted her hands to the wintry sky, - And prayed in her anguish, “Lord, let me die!” - - Then soft and clear to her quickened sense - A vision of heavenly beauty came; - Her spirit thrilled with a joy intense, - And her heart grew warm with a heavenly flame. - Sweet voices were singing, “No longer roam, - But haste to the joys of thy ‘home, sweet home.’” - - The stars looked down from the wintry skies - In solemn beauty, undimmed and clear, - But the vision that greeted her eager eyes - Was unto her spirit both warm and near. - Again those voices poured forth the lay, - “To thy ‘home, sweet home,’ O, haste away.” - - She seized her harp, and her white hand swept - With a full accord o’er its trembling strings, - Waking the echoes that round her slept, - Like the swan, which in dying so sweetly sings, - As she answered them back, “No more to roam, - Lo! I come, I come to my ‘home, sweet home.’” - - The watchman who went on his lonely round - Felt his stout heart thrill with a sense of dread, - When he heard that strange and unwonted sound - Come forth from the place of the silent dead. - He listened, and breathed a fervent prayer - For the rest of the dreamless sleepers there. - - The watchman who went on his lonely round - Remembered that sound at break of day, - And he turned aside to the hallowed ground, - Where the dead in their quiet slumbers lay. - And there he found, by the cold, white stone, - The lifeless form whence the soul had flown. - - With white lips parted, and eyes upraised, - And her hands to the harp-strings frozen cold, - The warm blood chilled in his veins as he gazed, - And he thought of the weight of her woes untold. - “Great God!” he said, “is our faith a lie, - That thus, unheeded, thy children die!” - - “Hush, murmuring spirit!” the Truth replied; - “Loss ever walks hand in hand with gain; - Life hath its sunny and shady side, - Its major, as well as its minor strain. - And she who thus lonely was doomed to roam - Now rests at peace in her ‘home, sweet home.’” - - “The pilgrims of earth, in their homeward way, - Full often in danger and doubt must stand; - But out of the darkness shall come the day, - And strength and healing from God’s right hand. - And the scales of life, as they rise and fall, - Full measures of justice shall mete to all.” - - - - - LABOR AND WAIT. - - - ALL green, and bitter, and hard, and sour, - The fruit on the Tree of Life is growing; - But the genial sunshine, with quickening power, - Will sweeten its juices like nectar flowing. - For the full, fair growth of its perfect state - There is only needed the right condition. - Then labor and wait, both early and late, - Till the ripening future shall bring fruition. - - Far out in the harvest fields of Time, - The grain for the reaper is standing ready, - And they who come to the work sublime - Must toil with a patience calm and steady. - Truth never was subject to Chance or Fate-- - Its sickle, so sharp, cuts clean and even. - Then labor and wait, both early and late, - For the seed-field of Earth yields the harvest of Heaven. - - In their quiet graves, on the green hill-side, - The sacred dust of your loved is sleeping; - And the homes where the light of their smile has died - Are filled with the sorrowful sounds of weeping. - But over the gloomy clouds of Fate, - The light of the better land is shining; - Then labor and wait, both early and late, - For the cloud of Death has a silver lining. - - There are fair, sweet faces, and gentle eyes, - That look through the shadows and mists above you; - And the fond affection that never dies, - Still speaks from the lips of the blest who love you. - They call you up from your low estate, - To the boundless bliss of the life supernal. - Then labor and wait, both early and late, - For Time is short, but Life is Eternal. - - - - - FRAE RHYMING ROBIN. - - The following poem was given under the inspiration of Robert Burns, - at the close of a lecture on “The Immaculate Conception.” - - - GUID FRIENDS: - - I WILL na’ weave my rhymes to-night - In winsome measure, - Or strive your fancies to delight - Wi’ songs o’ pleasure; - But gin[6] ye hae na’ heard too much - O’ solemn preachin’, - I’ll gie ye just anither touch - O’ useful teachin’. - - But, aiblins,[7] when ye hear my verse, - Ye may be thinkin’ - That I hae sunk frae bad to warse, - And still am sinkin’; - But though I seem to fa’ from grace, - In man’s opinion, - Auld Hornie ne’er will see my face - In his dominion. - - An unco[8] change will come, ere lang, - O’er all your dreamin’, - And ye shall see that right and wrang - Are much in seemin’. - Man shall na’ langer perjure love, - Nor think it treason - Anent[9] the mighty King above, - To use his reason. - - Ay, love and nature, frae the first, - Hae been perverted, - And man, frae Adam, will be cursed, - Till he’s converted: - For Nature will avenge her cause - On ilka[10] creature, - Who will na’ take her, wi’ her laws, - For guide and teacher. - - Auld Custom is a sleekit[11] saint, - And sae is Fashion, - And baith will watch till sinners faint, - To lay the lash on; - Men follow them wi’ ane accord, - Led by their noses, - Because they cry, “Thus saith the Lord, - The God o’ Moses.” - - The time will come when man will ken - God’s word far better; - He’ll live mair in the spirit then, - Less in the letter; - And that which man ance called impure, - Through partial seein’, - He’ll find for it baith cause and cure, - In his ain bein’. - - Man needna’ gae to auld lang syne - For truth to guide him, - For if he seeks, he sure will fin’ - Truth close beside him. - Each gowan[12] is ordained o’ grace - To be his teacher, - And ilka toddlin’ weanie’s[13] face - Is text and preacher. - - Man was na’ born a child o’ hell - Frae his creation: - The love that made him will itsel’ - Be his salvation. - Each child that’s born o’ perfect love - Can be man’s saviour: - Love is his warrant frae above, - For guid behavior. - - His mither may be high or low, - A Miss or Madam; - The God within him will outgrow - The sin o’ Adam; - His only bed may be the earth, - His hame a shealin’;[14] - It will na’ change his real worth, - Or inward feelin’. - - Though born beneath the Church’s ban, - Or man’s displeasure, - He will na’ be the less a man - In mind or measure. - God’s image, stamped upon his brow, - Is his defender, - And makes him--as ye hae it now-- - “Guid legal tender.” - - But ilka child that’s born o’ hate-- - However lawful-- - Will be the victim, sune or late, - O’ passions awful; - Will hirple[15] o’er the ways o’ life, - Wi’ friends scarce ony, - And in the dour[16] warld’s angry strife, - Find faes full mony. - - The Power aboon, sae kind and guid, - Who ever sees us, - Will gie to men, whene’er they need, - A John or Jesus. - The sin o’ Adam will na’ cause - His love to vary, - Nor need he change creation’s laws[17] - To form a Mary. - - Man’s sympathies must largely share - In what is human, - And he will love the truth the mair, - That’s born o’ woman. - The De’il himsel’, at last, through love - Will be converted, - And, reckoned wi’ the saunts above, - Leave hell deserted. - - The One who laid Creation’s plan - Knows how to end it, - Nor need he ever call on man - To help him mend it. - Then, syne[18] this Being is your friend, - And man your brither, - Gae on rejoicing to the end, - Wi’ ane anither. - - - - - AN ELEGY ON THE DEVIL. - - Given under the inspiration of Robert Burns. - - - MEN say the De’il is dead at last, - And that his course is ended, - Which sure must be an unco loss - To those whom he befriended. - No doubt he managed to evade - The sinner’s awful sentence, - By that last trick, so often played, - Of a death-bed repentance. - - Alas! alas! we dinna ken - What will be done without him, - For all the pious sons of men - Made such a rant about him. - Whene’er they chanced to gang agley, - Or did a deed of evil, - Or winked at sin upon “the sly,” - ’Twas all laid to the Deevel. - - But henceforth they must bear their sin, - And come to the confession, - Without a single hope to win - A pardon for transgression; - Unless, indeed, they try the plan - Of wise old Orthodoxy, - Invented for puir sinful man, - O’ saving souls by proxy. - - But hoolie! what a grand mistake - Was made at the creation, - That God should e’er a De’il make, - To peril men’s salvation. - He might have made puir man, nae doubt, - To grace a greater debtor, - Had he but left the De’il out, - Or only made man better. - - I wad na mock at honest faith, - Or utter thought profanely, - But then ’tis better for us baith, - That truth be spoken plainly. - The great, guid God, who loves us a’, - Is sure misrepresented, - Whene’er men say he cursed us a’ - In what he could prevented. - - And as for Hornie--Nickie-ben-- - Auld cloven-foot or Deevil,-- - I dinna think that he has been, - The cause o’ all man’s evil. - Now that the puir old soul is gone, - He does na’ seem so hateful, - And those who live, his loss to mourn, - Should speak na’ word ungrateful. - - The clergy, sure, have lost a friend - Who never had a rival-- - And henceforth all their hopes must end, - O’ raising a revival. - For when a rout and rant they made, - To turn puir souls frae error, - The De’il was half their stock in trade, - To fill men’s hearts wi’ terror. - - The politicians might as weel - Gie o’er each vain endeavor-- - What unco sorrow must they feel, - Now he is gone forever! - In all their dealings, hand in hand, - They went with him thegither, - They executed what he planned, - And each helped on the ither. - - And then the long-faced, praying saints, - Who worshiped God on Sunday, - And set aside their pious feints, - To serve the De’il on Monday-- - They evermore, with empty word, - Professed their hate of evil; - But while they cried “Guid Lord! Guid Lord,” - They said aside, “Guid Devil!” - - We dinna ken what caused his death, - Or ended his probation, - Whether it was that he lacked breath, - Or lacked appreciation. - Perhaps the “origin o’ Sin” - Has proved too tough a question; - He took it for his meat within, - And died o’ indigestion. - - Farewell! farewell! auld Nickie-ben; - We trust ye are forgiven, - For doubtless ye made haste to men’,[19] - And make your peace wi’ heaven. - We leave your burial, guid or bad, - To Truth, as undertaker, - And your puir soul, such as ye had, - Commend unto its Maker. - - - - - FRATERNITY. - - - COULD ye but ken, ye sons o’ men, - How truly ye are brithers, - Ye’d make guid speed to stand agreed, - Tho’ born o’ various mithers. - Ane common breath, ane common death, - Ane hame in Heaven above ye-- - Ye are the fruit frae one great root - In the guid God who lo’es ye. - - All high and low, all empty show, - All envious differences, - Will fade from sight and vanish quite, - When men come to their senses. - Each living man works out the plan - For which he was intended, - And he does best, who will na’ rest - Until his work is ended. - - Your neebors’ blame, or sinful shame, - Should gie your soul na’ pleasure, - For while ye judge, wi’ cruel grudge, - You fill your ain sad measure. - The De’il himsel’ could scarcely tell - Which o’ ye was the better; - He wad be laith to leave ye baith, - While either was his debtor. - - Here in life’s school wi’ pain and dool,[20] - You get your education, - While mony a trip and sinful slip - Helps on the soul’s salvation. - The unco skeigh,[21] wi’ heads full high, - Wha feel themselves maist holy, - Oft learn through sin how to begin - _True_ life amang the lowly. - - Baith you and I may gang agley,[22] - For ’tis a common failin’; - But hauld away! we need na’ stay - A weepin’ and a wailin’. - The God aboon cares not how soon - We leave our sins behind us; - He does not hate us in that state, - Nor set the De’il to mind us. - - And as for Hell, o’ which men tell, - I’m sure o’ the opinion, - There’s na’ such place o’ “saving grace” - In all the Lord’s dominion. - And those who rave, puir souls to save, - Wi’ long-faced, pious fleechin’,[23] - Will find far hence, that _common sense_ - Is better than _such_ preachin’. - - That which ye ca’ the power o’ law, - Is but a puir invention; - It counts the deed as evil seed, - But winks at the intention. - Could men but be mair truly free, - In some things less restrickéd, - The world wad find the human kind - Wad na’ be half sae wicked. - - The pent-up steed kept short o’ feed - Is wildest in his roamin’; - And dammed-up streams, wi’ angry gleams, - Dash o’er each hindrance foamin’. - Therefore (I pray take what I say - In spirit, not in letter) - Mankind should be like rivers, free-- - The less they’re damned the better. - - You need na’ heed the grousome creed - Which tells ye o’ God’s anger; - On Nature’s page frae age to age, - His love is written stranger. - God’s providence, in ony sense, - Has never been one-sided, - And for the weal o’ chick, or chiel, - He amply has provided. - - The winter’s snaw, the birken shaw,[24] - The gowans[25] brightly springing, - The murky night, the rosy light, - The laverocks[26] gayly singing, - The spring’s return, the wimplin burn,[27] - The cushat[28] fondly mated, - All join to tell how unco well - God lo’es all things created. - - Then dinna strive to live and thrive - Sae selfish and unthinkin’, - But firmly stand, and lend a hand - To keep the weak frae sinkin’. - ’Tis love can make, for love’s sweet sake, - A trusty fier[29] in sorrow, - Wha spends his gear[30] wi’out a fear - O’ what may be to-morrow. - - The preachers say, there’s far awa’ - A land o’ milk and honey, - Where all is free as barley brie, - And wi’out price or money; - But _here_ the meat o’ love is sweet, - For souls in sinful blindness, - And there’s a milk that’s guid for ilk[31]-- - “The milk o’ human kindness.” - - The lift aboon[32] will welcome sune - The wayworn and the weary, - And angels fair will greet them there, - Sae winsome and sae cheery. - But while they stay, make smooth the way, - Through all life’s wintry weather, - Until ane bield[33] and common shield, - Shall hauld ye all thegither. - - - - - OWEENA. - - - ONCE, when Death, the mighty hunter, - Bent his bow and sent an arrow - Through the shadows of the forest, - Harming not the Bear or Panther, - Harming not the Owl or Raven, - In the bosom of Oweena, - Fairest of the Indian maidens, - Was the fatal arrow hidden. - - On the lodge of Massa-wam-sett - Fell a deep and dreadful shadow; - He, the wise and warlike Sachem, - Mourned in silence for Oweena; - But the mother, Nah-me-o-ka, - Like a tall pine in the tempest, - Tossed her arms in wildest anguish, - Pouring forth her lamentation: - - “Neen wo-ma-su! Neen wo-ma-su![34] - O my darling! my Oweena! - Mat-ta-neen won-ka-met na-men--[35] - I shall never see thee more! - - “Ho-bo-mo-co, evil Spirit, - Hiding darkly in the forest, - Making shadow in the sunshine, - You have stolen her away. - - “She was like the flowers in spring time, - She was like the singing waters, - She was like the summer sunshine, - Neen wo-ma-su! She is dead! - - “Hear me! Hear me, O Great Spirit! - I will bring thee Bear and Bison, - I will bring thee Beads and Wampum; - Wilt thou give her back to me? - - “Neen wo-ma-su! Neen wo-ma-su! - O my darling! My Oweena! - Mat-ta-neen won-ka-met na-men, - I shall never see thee more!” - - Ceaseless was her plaintive wailing, - Even when the fair Oweena - Slept beneath the pine trees’ shadow, - In the green and silent forest, - Where the birds sang in the branches, - Where the roses of the summer, - And the vines, with slender fingers, - Clasped their loving hands above her. - - From the lodge of Massa-wam-sett, - While the brave old chieftain slumbered, - In the silence of the midnight, - To the grave stole Nah-me-o-ka, - Pouring forth her lamentations: - “Neen wo-ma-su! Neen wo-ma-su! - Mat-ta-neen won-ka-met na-men, - I shall never see thee more!” - - Once, the tempest, on its war-path, - Painted all the sky with blackness, - Sped the arrows of the lightning, - And the war-whoop of the thunder, - Made the mighty forest tremble. - But it moved not Nah-me-o-ka, - Only moaning, “Neen wo-ma-su! - I shall never see thee more!” - - All the forest leaves were weeping, - And the black wings of the darkness, - Brooding over Nah-me-o-ka, - Filled her with a chilling shudder: - And the thunder seemed to mutter - With a cruel exultation, - “You shall never see her more.” - But thereafter came a whisper-- - - “I am with you, O my mother! - For I cannot turn my footsteps - To the land of the Great Spirit, - While I hear your mournful wailing, - Calling, calling me again. - - “In the hunting-grounds beyond me - There are sunshine, peace and plenty, - But I wander, sad and lonely, - In the land of death and darkness, - Listening only to your cry. - - “Let me go to the Great Spirit, - To the lodge of peace and plenty, - To the land of summer sunshine, - That with life and strength and gladness, - I may meet you yet again.” - - Then the soft hand of Oweena - Gently lifted Nah-me-o-ka, - Who with wondering eyes beheld her, - Like a light amid the darkness. - And Oweena safely led her - Through the tempest and the midnight, - To the lodge of Massa-wam-sett, - Kissed her tenderly--and vanished. - - From that time did Nah-me-o-ka - Dry her tears, and cease her moaning, - For she said, “I will not keep her - From the land of summer sunshine, - From the home of peace and plenty, - From the lodge of the Great Spirit. - Neen wo-ma-su! Neen wo-ma-su! - In the land of the Hereafter - I shall meet her yet again.” - - - - - GONE IS GONE, AND DEAD IS DEAD. - - “On returning to the inn, he found there a wandering minstrel--a - woman--singing, and accompanying her voice with the music of a - harp. The burden of her song was, ‘Gone is gone, and dead is dead.’ - The utter hopelessness of these words filled his soul with anguish. - ‘O,’ he exclaimed, ‘thou loved and lost one! patient and - long-suffering, would that I could call thee back again, not to - forgive me--O, no!--but rather that I might have the consolation of - showing thee, by my repentance, how differently I would conduct - towards thee now.”--JEAN PAUL RICHTER. - - - “Gone is gone, and dead is dead!” - Words to hopeless sorrow wed-- - Words from deepest anguish wrung, - Which a lonely wand’rer sung, - While her harp prolonged the strain, - Like a spirit’s cry of pain - When all hope with life is fled: - “Gone is gone, and dead is dead.” - - Mournful singer! hearts unknown - Thrill responsive to that tone; - By a common weal and woe, - Kindred sorrows all must know. - Lips all tremulous with pain - Oft repeat that sad refrain - When the fatal shaft is sped-- - “Gone is gone, and dead is dead.” - - Pain and death are everywhere-- - In the earth, and sea, and air; - And the sunshine’s golden glance, - And the heaven’s serene expanse, - With a silence calm and high, - Seem to mock that mournful cry - Wrung from hearts by hope unfed-- - “Gone is gone, and dead is dead.” - - O, ye sorrowing ones, arise; - Wipe the tear-drops from your eyes; - Lift your faces to the light; - Read Death’s mystery aright. - Life unfolds from life within, - And with death does life begin. - Of the soul can ne’er be said, - “Gone is gone, and dead is dead.” - - As the stars, which, one by one, - Lit their torches at the sun, - And across ethereal space - Swept each to its destined place, - So the soul’s Promethean fire, - Kindled never to expire, - On its course immortal sped, - Is not gone, and is not dead. - - By a Power to thought unknown, - Love shall ever seek its own. - Sundered not by time or space, - With no distant dwelling-place, - Soul shall answer unto soul, - As the needle to the pole. - Leaving grief’s lament unsaid, - “Gone is gone, and dead is dead.” - - Evermore Love’s quickening breath - Calls the living soul from death; - And the resurrection’s power - Comes to every dying hour. - When the soul, with vision clear, - Learns that Heaven is always near, - Never more shall it be said, - “Gone is gone, and dead is dead.” - - - - - THE SPIRIT TEACHER. - - - FAR in the land of Love and Light, - Where Death’s cold touch can never blight - The buds most precious to the sight-- - The Power Divine - Hath given to my fostering care, - A youthful band of spirits fair. - _Thus_ are they _mine_. - - Sweet blossoms from the earthly spring-- - Weak fledglings with the untried wing-- - Dear lambs--such as the angels bring, - With tenderest love, - From earthly storms and tempests cold, - Safe to the warm and sheltering fold, - In heaven above. - - O, gentle mothers of the earth, - Who gave these precious spirits birth, - Your homes have lost their sounds of mirth - And childish glee; - But not in Death’s embrace they sleep-- - Nay, gentle mothers, cease to weep-- - They dwell with me. - - There, ’mid the amaranthine bowers, - Through all the long, bright, gladsome hours, - Your loved ones tend their birds and flowers, - And often come - With gifts of love and garlands bright, - To gladden, with their forms of light, - Your earthly home. - - Their gentle lips to yours are pressed, - Their heads are pillowed on your breast, - And in your loving arms they rest, - For they are given - By Him whose ways are ever kind, - As precious links of love, to bind - Your souls to heaven. - - O, could the sunshine of the heart - Dispel the blinding tears that start, - And all your doubts and fears depart-- - Those forms, concealed - Like blossoms ’neath the shades of night, - Before your spirit’s quickening sight - Would stand revealed. - - They still are yours, and yet are mine; - I teach them of the Life Divine, - And lead them to the truth’s pure shrine, - That evermore, - Through heavenly wisdom understood, - The True, the Beautiful, the Good, - They may adore. - - They know no griefs, they shed no tears, - For perfect love dispels their fears, - And through their life’s eternal years, - They haste to meet - The humblest duty of the way, - And every call of love obey - With willing feet. - - O, ye who tears of anguish shed - Above some empty cradle-bed, - Where once reposed a precious head-- - Be reconciled. - For yet your longing eyes shall see, - In heaven’s broad sunshine, glad and free, - Your spirit child. - - They are all there--they are all there-- - The young, the beautiful, the fair; - They know no want, they feel no care. - They are not dead; - But quickened in their spirit’s powers, - Life crowns with her immortal flowers - Each shining head. - - Some are no longer weak and small, - But fair, and beautiful, and tall; - And yet I call them _children_ all, - For they believe, - With child-like faith, the truths I teach, - And render back in simple speech - What they receive. - - They are more precious in my sight - Than all the radiant gems of light - That on the royal brow of night - Arise and shine; - And through a pure maternal love, - Known even in the world above, - I call them mine. - - O, ask them not for earth again, - The bitter cup of grief to drain, - To tread in sorrow and in pain - Life’s thorny track. - Love’s rainbow arch to heaven they crossed; - Gone, but not dead--unseen, not lost-- - Call them not back. - - O, gentle mothers, cease to weep; - The faithful shepherd of the sheep - The tender little lambs will keep. - ’Mid shadows dim, - Lean calmly on the Father’s breast-- - “He giveth his belovéd rest”-- - Trust ye in him. - - - - - LITTLE NELL. - - A POEM FOR THE CHILDREN OF THE LYCEUM. - - - CLEAR the wintry sky was glowing, - Sharp and loud the wind was blowing, - Icy cold the stream was flowing - In the little woodland dell, - When, with pitcher clasped so tightly, - Tripping cheerfully and lightly, - With her soft eyes smiling brightly, - To the spring came little Nell. - - Late to bed and early rising, - With a patience quite surprising, - And without the least advising, - Faithful as a little dove-- - Thus she toiled for her sick mother, - For, poor child! there was none other, - Not a sister or a brother, - Who could share her work of love. - - As she stooped to dip the water, - Straight the cruel north wind caught her, - Down upon the ground it brought her, - And the little pitcher fell. - But with merry laugh upspringing, - And again the pitcher bringing, - As she filled it, gayly singing, - Homeward hastened little Nell. - - “Ho!” cried Jack Frost, “if I catch her, - Such cold feet and hands I’ll fetch her, - I will make her drop her pitcher-- - Little good-for-nothing thing! - Let me only once get at her, - It will be no trifling matter! - I will make her teeth to chatter - So, she will not dare to sing.” - - “Holy angels, guard us ever, - God himself forsakes us never,” - Sung the maiden, blithe as ever-- - “We are his forevermore.” - Then the wild wind beating o’er her, - Rudely on her way it bore her, - Heaping up the snow before her, - Till she reached the cottage door. - - Scarcely had her mother missed her. - Hastening quickly to assist her, - Tenderly she stooped and kissed her, - And the poor, sick mother smiled. - Closely to her heart she pressed her, - Looking up to heaven she blessed her, - And before her God, confessed her - As His gift--that precious child. - - Now, one little word of teaching-- - Though I am not fond of preaching-- - Yet most earnestly beseeching, - I would say to children small-- - Learn that duties, howe’er lowly, - Done in _love_, will make life holy, - And will bring, though ofttimes slowly, - Sure and sweet reward to all. - - - - - THE SOUL’S DESTINY. - - - UP o’er the shining ways of light, - That flash across the starry skies, - Up to Creation’s loftiest hight, - The pathway of the spirit lies. - Where countless constellations gleam, - The soul triumphant shall ascend, - Shall drink of Life’s eternal stream, - And with new forms of being blend. - - No boundless solitude of space - Shall fill man’s conscious soul with awe, - But everywhere his eye shall trace - The beauty of eternal law. - Sweet music from celestial isles - Shall float across the azure seas, - And flowers, where endless summer smiles, - Shall waft their perfumes on the breeze. - - No empty void, no rayless night, - No wintry waves by tempests tossed, - No treasures ravished from the sight, - No blighted hopes, no blessing lost; - But all that was, or yet shall be, - Through endless transformations led, - Shall know, through Life’s sublime decree, - A resurrection from the dead. - - And he who, through the lapse of years, - With aching heart and weary feet, - Had sought, from gloomy doubts and fears, - A refuge and a sure retreat-- - Shall find at last an inner shrine, - Secure from superstition’s ban, - Where he shall learn the truth divine, - That God dwells evermore with man. - - Throughout the boundless All in All, - Life lengthens--an unbroken chain-- - And He in whom we stand or fall, - Feels all our pleasure and our pain. - O Infinite! O Holy Heart! - Give us but patience to endure, - Until we know thee as thou art, - And feel our lives in thee made sure. - - - - - GUARDIAN ANGELS. - - - HOLY ministers of light! - Hidden from our mortal sight, - But whose presence can impart - Peace and comfort to the heart, - When we weep, or when we pray, - When we falter in the way, - Or our hearts grow faint with fear, - Let us feel your presence near. - - Wandering over ways untrod, - Doubting self and doubting God, - Oft we miss the shining mark, - Oft we stumble in the dark. - Holy, holy life above! - Full of peace and perfect love, - Some sweet rays of summer shed - On the wintry ways we tread. - - Blessed angels! ye who heed - All our striving, all our need, - When our eyes with weeping ache, - When our hearts in silence break, - When the cross is hard to bear, - When we fail to do and dare, - Make our wounded spirits feel - All your power to bless and heal. - - When we gaze on new-made graves, - When the love the spirit craves, - Pure and saintly, like a star, - Shines upon us from afar, - Lead us _upward_ to that light, - Till our faith is changed to sight, - Till we learn to murmur not, - And with patience bear our lot. - - By our human weal and woe, - By our life of toil below, - By our sorrow and our pain, - By our hope of heavenly gain, - By these cherished forms of clay, - Fading from our sight away, - Do we plead for light, more light, - From that world beyond our sight. - - Never, till our hearts are dust, - Till our souls shall cease to trust, - Till our love becomes a lie, - And our aspirations die, - Shall we cease with hope, to gaze - On that veil’s mysterious haze, - Or the presence to implore - Of the loved ones gone before. - - Holy spirit! quickening all, - On thy boundless love we call; - Send thy messengers of light, - To unseal our inward sight; - Lift us from our low estate, - Make us truly wise and great, - That our lives, through love, may be - Full of peace and rest in Thee. - - - - - NEARER TO THEE. - - The following Poem was given at the conclusion of a lecture on “The - Present Condition of Theodore Parker in Spirit Life” - - NEARER, my God, to Thee, - Nearer to Thee.[36] - - - - YES, I _am_ nearer Thee! for flesh and sense - Have been exchanged for an eternal youth; - My spirit hath been born anew, and hence - I worship Thee “in spirit and in truth.” - - Yes, I _am_ nearer Thee! Though still unseen, - Thy presence fills my life’s diviner part. - Now that no earthly shadows intervene, - I feel a deeper sense of what Thou art. - - Yes, I _am_ nearer Thee! Thy boundless love - Fills all my being with a rich increase, - And soft descending, like a heavenly dove, - I feel the benediction of Thy peace. - - Yes, I _am_ nearer Thee! All that I sought - Of Truth, or Wisdom, or Eternal Right, - Is clearly present to my inmost thought, - Like the uprising of a glorious light. - - Yes, I _am_ nearer Thee! O, calm and still, - And beautiful and blest beyond degree, - Is this surrender of my finite will-- - Is this absorption of my soul in Thee. - - “O Thou! whom men call God and know no more!” - When they shall leave the worship of the Past, - And learn to _love_ Thee rather than _adore_, - All souls shall draw thus near to Thee at last. - - - - - THE SACRAMENT. - - - THE aged pastor broke the bread-- - With trembling hands he poured the wine-- - “Eat--drink”--in earnest tones he said-- - “These emblems of a life divine-- - His body broken for your sins; - His blood for your salvation shed; - The priceless sacrifice that wins - Life and redemption from the dead. - - “See how with tender love he stands, - And calls you to his faithful heart; - Lo! from his wounded side and hands - Again the crimson life-drops start. - O sinner! wherefore will you stay, - Regardless of your lost estate? - Come at your Saviour’s call to-day, - Before, alas! it is too late.” - - Forth from his lonely seat apart, - A dark-browed, Ethiopian came, - As if new life had stirred the heart - That beat within his manly frame. - “O, give to me,” he meekly said, - “A portion of that heavenly food; - I too would eat the living bread, - And find salvation through his blood.” - - The Pastor turned with wondering eyes; - But when he saw the dusky brow, - He answered, with a quick surprise, - “Ho! bold intruder! Who art thou? - The master’s table is not free - To give the low-born servant place-- - Such privilege can only be - For his accepted sons of grace.” - - Upon the dusky brow there glowed - A flush that was not wrath nor pride, - As forward he majestic strode, - And stood close by the altar-side. - The broken bread his left hand spurned - With sudden movement to the floor, - While with his right he quickly turned - The consecrated chalice o’er. - - One instant, for the tempest-cloud - To gather on each pallid face. - And then uprose the angry crowd - To thrust him from the sacred place. - With conscious might he raised his hand-- - A being of resistless will-- - And uttered the sublime command - That hushed the tempest--“Peace, be still!” - - The waves of wrath and human pride - Rolled back, without the power to harm, - The angry murmurs surged and died, - And lo! there was a breathless calm. - The dusky brow to dazzling white - Had in one fleeting instant turned, - And round his head a halo bright - Of heaven’s resplendent glory burned. - - “I do reject,” he calmly said, - “These outward forms--this bread, this wine: - Lo! at _my_ table _all_ are fed, - Made welcome by a love divine. - The high, the low, the rich, the poor, - The black, the white, the bond, the free, - The sinful soul, the heart impure-- - Forbid them not to come to me. - - “Too long, too long have faithless creeds - Shut out the sunshine from above, - While human hearts, with human needs, - Have perished from the lack of love. - O, break for them truth’s living bread; - Let love, like wine, unhindered flow; - _Thus_ would I have the hungry fed, - And let these outward emblems go.” - - Then from the altar-side there rose - A cloud with matchless glory bright, - As when, at evening’s calm repose, - The sun withdraws his radiant light. - But though so far removed from all, - He seemed in presence to depart, - The seed of living truth let fall - Took root in many a thoughtful heart. - - - - - THE GOOD TIME NOW. - - - THE world is strong with a mighty hope - Of a good time yet to be, - And carefully casts the horoscope - Of her future destiny; - And poet, and prophet, and priest, and sage, - Are watching, with anxious eyes, - To see the light of that promised age - On the waiting world arise. - O, weary and long seems that time to some, - Who under Life’s burdens bow, - For while they wait for that time to come, - They forget ’tis a good time now. - - Yes, a good time _now_--for we cannot say - What the morrow will bring to view; - But we’re always sure of the time to-day, - And the course we must pursue; - And no better time is ever sought, - By a brave heart, under the sun, - Than the present hour, with its noblest thought, - And the duties to be done. - ’Tis enough for the earnest soul to see - There is work to be done, and how, - For he knows that the good time yet to be, - Depends on the good time now. - - There is never a broken link in the chain, - And never a careless flaw, - For cause and effect, and loss and gain, - Are true to a changeless law. - _Now_ is the time to sow the seed - For the harvest of future years, - _Now_ is the time for a noble deed, - While the need for the work appears. - You must earn the bread of your liberty - By toil and the sweat of your brow, - And hasten the good time yet to be, - By improving the good time now. - - ’Tis as bright a sun that shines to-day - As will shine in the coming time; - And Truth has as weighty a word to say, - Through her oracles sublime. - There are voices in earth, and air, and sky, - That tell of the good time here, - And visions that come to Faith’s clear eye, - The weary in heart to cheer. - The glorious fruit on Life’s goodly tree - Is ripening on every bough, - And the wise in spirit rejoice to see - The light of the good time now. - - The world rests not, with a careless ease, - On the wisdom of the past-- - From Moses, and Plato, and Socrates, - It is onward advancing fast; - And the words of Jesus, and John, and Paul, - Stand out from the lettered page, - And the living present contains them all, - In the spirit that moves the age. - Great, earnest souls, through the Truth made free, - No longer in blindness bow, - And the good time coming, the yet to be, - Has begun with the good time now. - - Then up! nor wait for the promised hour, - For the good time now is best, - And the soul that uses its gift of power - Shall be in the present blest. - Whatever the future may have in store, - With a will there is ever a way; - And none need burden the soul with more - Than the duties of to-day. - Then up! with a spirit brave and free, - And put the hand to the plow, - Nor _wait_ for the good time _yet to be_, - But _work_ in the _good time now_. - - - - - LIFE’S MYSTERIES. - - - TO the soul that is gifted with seeing - The secrets and sources of being, - A mystical meaning appears - For the hearts that in silence are broken, - For the words of affection unspoken, - For sorrow, bereavement, and tears. - - There are souls that with genius are gifted, - On crosses of sorrow uplifted, - Who find their salvation through pain; - There are deeds of the brave unrecorded, - And the toil of warm hands unrewarded, - Whose loss is an infinite gain. - - There are spirits who pray that no morrow - May dawn on the depths of their sorrow; - But the morrow brings patience and peace. - And the faithful, who often with weeping - Have sown the good seed in their keeping, - Have garnered a blessed increase. - - There are lives that are matchless in beauty, - Through the faithful performance of duty, - Whose labors of love are unknown. - There are spirits who languish in prison, - Whose light on the world has not risen, - And yet they are never alone. - - The poor, the oppressed, and the lowly, - The selfish, the weak, and the holy, - Have each in life’s drama a part. - While the wants and the woes that o’ercame them, - With the lives of the righteous who blame them, - Are known to the Infinite Heart. - - O, where is the angel recorder! - And where is the watchman and warder, - That is charged with the keeping of souls? - And what is the mystical meaning, - Which the thoughtful in spirit are gleaning - From the Force that all Nature controls? - - O, not where the sun-fires are burning, - And not where the planets are turning - Their faces to welcome the light, - Shall we seek for the Centre of Being, - And learn of the Wisdom All-seeing, - Or climb to life’s infinite hight. - - But deep as love’s fathomless ocean, - In a spirit of lowly devotion, - Should we patiently strive to ascend; - Not reckless, unfeeling, and stoic, - But with courage and calmness heroic, - Unswerving and true to the end. - - With shoulders that bow to life’s crosses, - With hearts that faint not at their losses, - With spirits that triumph o’er pain,-- - At length to such souls shall be given - The peaceful possession of heaven, - And the life that is infinite gain. - - Then, judged by the complex relation - Of each to the Soul of Creation, - Distinctions of merit must fall. - There is good for the Saint and the Sinner, - There is gain for the loser or winner, - And a just compensation for all. - - For the Infinite Life is ascending, - And all things are with it uptending, - Away from all evil and strife. - To man is the toil of endeavor, - But unto that Being, forever, - The peace and perfection of life. - - - - - A WOODLAND IDYL. - - - OLD Brown Brier lived in the depths of a wood, - Close down by a sassafras tree; - Jealous, and selfish, and hostile to all, - A surly old fellow was he. - He hated his neighbor, the sassafras-tree, - When her leaves grew green in the spring, - And he almost perished with envy and spite, - When he heard an oriole sing. - But one thing saved him, and only one, - From a life of sorrow and woe; - He longed for a change in his hermit life, - And a power in himself to grow. - - A fair young child to the green-wood came, - With eyes like the gentian blue; - Her hair was like threads of an amber flame, - And her cheek wore the sunset hue. - Her step was light as the bounding roe, - And her voice like a silver bell; - She charmed the birds from their green retreats, - And the squirrel from his cell. - - She sang of the love, of the free, great love, - Which the Father has for all, - From the worlds of light, in the heavens above, - To the flowers and the insects small. - - “Ah!” sighed the Brier, the brown old Brier, - “What has he done for me?” - Does he give me leaves in the early spring, - Or flowers like the locust tree?” - - “Our God is just, and our God is true,” - Still warbled the happy child; - “He sendeth his sunshine and silver dew - To the desert and lonely wild; - And the secret force in the tempest cloud - To the smallest flower is given, - That all, by his wisdom and strength endowed, - May live for the Lord of Heaven.” - - She passed. The old Brier was lost in thought. - “And is it, then, really so? - Can this wondrous change by _myself_ be wrought? - _Have_ I power in myself to grow?” - Then up from the gray old mother Earth - Rich juices he quickly drew, - Till the sluices and channels small were filled - With the fresh sap trickling through. - - He called to the winds, to the warm spring winds, - As they played with the flowers near by, - And he prayed the sunshine, with golden wings, - On his cold, damp roots to lie. - The spring winds blew, and the sunshine came, - And the Brier grew fresh and fair, - Till his blossoms, like wreaths of incense cups, - With their fragrance filled the air. - - Again the child to the green-wood came; - But her step was sad and slow; - Her eye beamed not with its love-lit flame, - And her voice was soft and low. - - “I am changed,” she said; “O ye birds and flowers! - With a yearning heart I weep - To lay me down in these quiet bowers, - In a long, untroubled sleep. - For O, my heart like a flower is crushed, - And I cling to the world no more; - The sacred fount from its urn hath gushed, - And the joy of my life is o’er.” - - The summer winds through the green-wood passed, - And the sweet Brier bowed his head; - A garland fair at her feet he cast, - And in gentle tones he said,-- - - “Return to the world, dear child, return; - No longer _receive_, but _give_! - From a humble Brier this lesson learn: - Thou hast power in _thyself_ to live. - - - - - JUBILATE. - - Sung at the celebration of the 20th anniversary of - Modern Spiritualism, - March 31, 1868. - - - THE world hath felt a quickening breath - From Heaven’s eternal shore, - And souls triumphant over Death - Return to earth once more. - For _this_ we hold our jubilee, - For this with joy we sing-- - “O Grave, where is thy victory? - O Death, where is thy sting?” - - Our cypress wreaths are laid aside - For amaranthine flowers, - For Death’s cold wave does not divide - The souls we love from ours. - From pain, and death, and sorrow free, - They join with us to sing-- - “O Grave, where is thy victory? - O Death, where is thy sting?” - - Immortal eyes look from above - Upon our joys to-night, - And souls immortal in their love - In our glad songs unite. - Across the waveless crystal sea - The notes triumphant ring-- - “O Grave, where is thy victory? - O Death, where is thy sting?” - - “Sweet spirits, welcome yet again!” - With loving hearts we cry; - And, “Peace on earth, good will to men,” - The angel hosts reply. - From doubt and fear, through truth made free, - With faith triumphant sing-- - “O Grave, where is thy victory? - O Death, where is thy sting?” - - - - - THE DIVINE IDEA. - - - WHEN the morning came with her eyes of flame, - And looked on the youthful earth; - When man, at the call of the Lord of All, - Rose up in his glorious birth; - When the stars rang out, with a tuneful shout - To the mountains and the sea, - And the world’s great heart, with a quickened start, - Beat time to their melody;-- - - Ere the dawning light in the heavens grew bright, - Ere the march of the hours began, - God planted the seed of a mighty need, - In the innermost soul of man. - ’Twas the yearning wild that a little child - For the fostering parent feels-- - A holy thought with his life inwrought, - Which his simplest act reveals. - - The lion proud, like a servant, bowed - At the might of his sovereign will; - But to man alone was the sense made known - Of a power that was higher still. - Yet vague and dim was that thought to him; - His simple and child-like mind - Could not gaze aright on that matchless light, - So boundless and unconfined. - - Gross by birth from his mother Earth, - He needed some outward sign; - So the artisan planned, with a cunning hand, - A _form_ of the Great Divine. - And Baal, and Allah, and Juggernaut, - And Brahma, and Zeus, and Pan, - Show how deeply wrought was that one great thought, - In the worshiping soul of man. - - Then his Deity came in the morning’s flame, - In the song of the sun-lit seas, - In the stars at night, in the noontide light, - In the woods and the murmuring breeze. - To the Great Divine at the idol shrine, - By each and by every name, - Through the fiery death or the prayerful breath, - The worship was still the same. - - Like a grain in the sod grew the thought of God, - As Nature’s slow work appears; - From the zoöphyte small, to the “Lord of all,” - Through cycles and sums of years. - But the dark grew bright, and the night grew light, - When the era of Truth began, - And the soul was taught, through its primal thought, - _Of the life of God in man_. - - Then the soul arose from her long repose, - At the Truth’s awakening breath, - And fearlessly trod as a child of God, - Triumphant o’er Time and Death. - There came a sound from the wide world round, - Like the surging of the sea, - Majestic and deep in its onward sweep-- - ’Twas the anthem of the free. - - Through the ages dim has that holy hymn - Come down to our listening ears; - And still shall it float with a sweeter note - Through the vista of coming years. - And a voice makes known from the viewless throne, - “As it hath been, shall it be-- - On! on from the past! still on to the last! - Like a river that seeks the sea.” - - “Hour by hour, like an opening flower, - Shall truth after truth expand; - The sun may grow pale, and the stars may fail, - But the purpose of God shall stand. - Dogmas and creeds without kindred deeds, - And altar and fane, shall fall; - One bond of love, and one home above, - And one faith shall be to all.” - - - - - THE PYRAMIDS. - - “I was weary, very weary; but when I leaned against the Pyramids, - _they_ gave me strength.”--KOSCIELSKI. - - - A WANDERER from his childhood’s home, - An exile from his father-land, - His weary feet were doomed to roam - Far o’er the desert’s scorching sand. - No mother o’er his pillow smiled, - No sister’s hand a blessing lent; - His only couch the desert wild, - His only home an Arab tent. - - Upon the classic shores of Greece, - And by the imperial towers of Rome, - He vainly sought to find that peace - Denied him in his childhood’s home. - Beneath Lake Leman’s watery bed, - In Chillon’s dungeon damp and low, - Communing with the mighty dead, - His spirit felt a kindred glow. - - He drank Circassia’s breath of bloom, - He climbed the Alps’ eternal snows, - He plucked the leaves by Virgil’s tomb, - And stood where ancient Jordan flows. - And where Napoleon’s falchion gleamed - Along the borders of the Nile, - The pilgrim exile slept, and dreamed - He saw his own loved mother’s smile. - - With weary feet he came, at last, - Where, all untouched by Time’s rude hands, - The Pyramids their shadows cast - Upon the desert’s burning sands. - Still in their works of greatness dwelt - The spirits of these mighty men; - Before their majesty he knelt! - He rose--and he was strong again. - - O thou! whose life is all inwrought - With cheerful faith and strength sublime, - Leave _thou_ some monumental thought - Upon the desert waste of Time. - Some exile from his native heaven - May tread the path which thou hast trod, - And through _thy works_ may strength be given - To lift his spirit up to God. - - - - - THE INNER MYSTERY. - - The following inspirational poem was delivered at a festival - commemorative of the twentieth anniversary of the advent of Modern - Spiritualism, held in Music Hall, Boston, March 31, 1868. - - It is an allegorical description of the progress of a soul from - the Valley of Superstition and Traditional Theology to the highest - mountain peaks of Natural Philosophy and Spiritual Revelation. He - is strengthened and encouraged in his progress by the voices “of - the loved ones gone before.” At length, in the higher regions of - metaphysical reasoning and abstract philosophy, he encounters the - demon Doubt--a representative of popular Theology and traditional - authority. This Doubt endeavors to make him distrust reason, and - render a blind credence to mere authority. In the struggle with - the demon the great Truth flashes with a realizing sense upon the - soul, that by its inherent nature _it is older than all forms - of Truth, and one with God himself_. In the strength of this - conviction he conquers, and the demon is slain. - - Thus “THE INNER MYSTERY” is revealed, and the unfolding of the - spiritual perceptions follows as a legitimate result. - - - “According to Fichte, there is a Divine Idea pervading the - visible universe; which visible universe is indeed but its symbol - and sensible manifestation, having in itself no meaning, or - even true existence, independent of it. To the mass of men this - Divine Idea lies hidden; yet to discern it, to seize it, and live - wholly in it, is the condition of all genuine virtue, knowledge, - freedom, and the end, therefore, of all spiritual effort in every - age.”--CARLYLE. - - - In the valley, where the darkness - Dropped its poisonous vapors on my head, - Where the night winds moaned and murmured, - Like the voices of the troubled dead, - Groping, stumbling, weary and alone, - Did I make the earth my bed, - And my pillow was a stone. - - O, that slumber! - It was long, and dark, and deep, - Till a voice cried, “Come up hither!” - And I started from my sleep. - - “Whither?” cried I; and it answered, - “Come up hither! for the day is dawning; - Through the gates of amethyst and amber - Shines the kindling glory of the morning.” - - Gazing upward, - I beheld assurance of the day; - Hopeful-hearted, - O’er the mountain-path I took my way. - ’Mid the pine trees - Did I hear life’s drowsy pulses start, - Swinging, singing, - Making sweet, but mournful music, - Thrilling, filling, - All the lonely places of my heart. - - Then the embers of the morning, - Smouldering on night’s funeral pyre, - Kindling into sudden brightness, - Lit the mountain-peaks with fire; - And the quickened heart of Nature - Answered from her Memnon lyre. - Eager, earnest, still ascending, - Toward the glories of the day, - I could hear that voice my steps attending, - With the matin-hymn of Nature blending, - Ever crying, “Come up hither!” - And I followed in the way. - - Bright the sky glowed with celestial splendor, - Like the light of love from God’s own eyes; - And the lofty mountains seemed to tender - Back their crowns of glory to the skies. - Far above me, - In the hights so terrible and grand, - I could see the glaciers gleaming - In the hollow of the mountain’s hand. - Flashing, dashing, - From the steeps the foaming cataract poured, - Over pathways - Which the mighty avalanche had scored. - Dim and ghostly - Rose the silvery clouds of wreathéd spray, - Rainbow-mantled, - Vanishing in upper air away. - Elfin shadows - O’er my lonely pathway leaped and played, - As the pine trees - Dreamily their murmuring branches swayed. - All the air seemed filled with voices, - Which I ne’er had thought to hear again; - And I fled, to leave behind me, - Sounds of pleasure close allied to pain. - Upward, onward, did I speed my way, - Nearer to the perfect source of day. - Awed by beauty and by terror, - Tearful, prayerful, did I sink, - Where the tender, blue-eyed gentian - Bloomed upon the glacier’s brink. - - “Save me! O thou loving Lord!” I cried, - “From the unforeseen intrusion - Of this sad, but sweet delusion, - From this strange and cruel semblance - To the cherished love that long since died. - - “Come up hither!” - Cried my unknown guide who went before. - “Come up hither!” - And I followed in the way once more,-- - Upward, where the tempests gathered, - Where the lightnings crouched within their lair, - Where the mighty God of thunder - With his hammer smote the shuddering air, - Where the tall cliffs, battle-splintered, - Reared their lofty summits, bleak and bare; - Higher yet, where all my life-tide, - With the breath of Heaven grew chill; - And I felt my pulses quickened, - With a strange, electric thrill. - - Not one blossom brightened in my pathway, - Not one lichen dared that wintry breath; - But far up above, and all around me, - Brooded awful silence, as of death. - And I walked where ragged precipices, - Overhanging wild and dark abysses, - Frowned upon the dizzy depths below; - Where the yawning chasms, - Rent by earthquake spasms, - Strove to fill their hungry throats with snow. - Burdened with a sense of solemn grandeur, - With a deeply reverent heart I trod - ’Mid those awful and majestic altars - Of the Unknown God. - Musing deeply, - As I turned an angle of the rocky wall, - Lo! before me - Stood a figure, ghostly, gaunt, and tall; - Like the famous, fabled image, - Falling from Dardanian skies, - Wrapped in white, marmorial silence, - Did he greet my wondering eyes. - - Straight upon the narrow pathway, - Fixed as fate, he seemed to stand, - With a widely yawning chasm, - And a wall on either hand. - - “Come up hither! come up hither!” - Cried the voice that went before; - And my spirit leaped impatient - To obey the call once more. - - “Let me pass, I pray thee,” - Said I in a calm and courteous tone; - But he only gazed upon me, - With a face as passionless as stone. - - “Prithee, stand aside!” I said more firmly, - “For I may not stay; - I must reach the mountain-hights above me - Ere the close of day.” - - But he stirred not, spake not, breathed not, - Only turned his stony eyes - Downward--to the yawning chasm, - Upward--to the distant skies. - - “Wherefore,” said I, - With a slowly kindling wrath, - “Do you seek to stay my progress, - Do you stand across my path? - What am I to thee, or thou to me? - Stand aside, or prithee, sirrah, - Which is stronger we shall shortly see. - - Like a statue did he stand--the same. - Then my smothered wrath waxed hotter; - “Demon! speak thy name and tell thine errand!” - Cried I, with a loudly ringing shout; - And his cold lips parted, as he answered, - “I am DOUBT. - - “Go no farther, - For a phantom lures thee on thy way; - Upward striving - Will not bring thee nearer to the perfect day. - In the valley - All is warmth, and rest, and kindly cheer; - Go no farther; - It is _lone_ and _very cold up here_. - - “Trust not to your erring Reason - All your aspirations to control; - Man grows ripe before the season - When he heeds the promptings of the soul. - - “Come up hither! come up hither,” - Cried the tuneful voice again; - “Doubt should never counsel duty, - When the way of truth is plain. - - “Stay!” replied the watchful demon; - “Thou _shalt_ lend an ear to Doubt, - For, by Heaven! thou shalt not pass me - Until thou hast heard me out. - Thou art deeply cursed from the beginning, - All thy nature is corrupt with sinning; - God refuses thee his grace to-day; - Christ alone his righteous wrath can stay. - All thy prayerful aspiration - But retards thy soul’s salvation; - All the efforts of thy godless will - Make thy deep damnation deeper still. - O thou self-deluded dreamer! - O thou transcendental schemer! - Leave thine idle speculations, - Trances, visions, exaltations, - And thy toilsome upward progress stay. - By thy fallen, lost condition, - By the depths of thy perdition, - I have promised, - Yea, have _sworn_, to turn thee from this way. - - “Come up hither! come up hither!” - Cried the voice persuasive from above. - Then I looked, and bending o’er me, - I beheld my long-lost angel love. - - “Back!” I shouted to the demon. - “Never!” in a measured tone he said, - “Till the final resurrection, - Till the earth and sea give up their dead.” - - Then I smote him-- - Smote him in the forehead and the eyes; - And I shouted, - “I will not be cozened by your lies! - Go to cowards - With your Hebrew husks and pious pelf, - FOR MY SOUL IS OLDER THAN THE TRUTH, - ONE WITH GOD HIMSELF.” - - Then my blows fell fiercer, harder, hotter, - Till he yielded - Like the clay-formed vessel of a potter; - And I crashed into his brainless skull, - Smote his stony eyes out, cold and dull; - Into shards amorphous dashed his lips profane, - And, as brittle as a bubble, - Clove his shattered trunk in twain. - Then, as if God’s mill-stones surely - Had been given me in trust, - On the rock I stood securely, - And those fragments ground to dust. - - But, O, God! what wondrous transformation - Seized me in its mighty grasp of power! - As a bud, by Nature’s potent magic, - Bursts at once into a perfect flower! - Like the record of a wise historian, - Lay unsealed the wondrous Book of Life; - Swelling grandly, like a chant Gregorian, - Perfect unison arose from strife; - And I knew then that this grim, defiant elf, - That this clay-born image, was my weaker self; - That this demon, Doubt, with which I held such strife, - Was the sense’s logic--the phenomena of life; - And as Perseus slew the fabled Gorgon, - Must this mocking fiend be met and slain, - That transfixed in cold and stony silence - Faith and Hope no longer might remain. - Only when the conscious soul asserted - What the flesh and sense so long concealed, - GOD WITHIN--ONE WITH THE WEAK AND HUMAN, - Did the INNER MYSTERY stand revealed. - O, what glorious consummation to my strife! - Death of Death! and Life unto Eternal Life! - All around, the grand and awful mountains - Hushed in silent reverence seemed to stand, - White and shining, - Like the pearly portals of the better land. - Then I heard the angels singing, - Soft and clear the sweet notes ringing, - Dropping gently like a golden rain - From the treasured wealth of day; - And I caught these words of blessing, - Floating down the heavenly way:-- - - - SONG OF THE ANGELS. - - “O, what is the life of the soul, - But the life of the Infinite Whole? - For God and his creatures are One, - As the tide from the ocean of light, - Which sets through the day and the night, - Is the same in the star-beam or sun. - - “He hath laid out the sea and the land; - He hath balanced the Heavens in his hand; - And the Earth, in that order sublime, - How greatly and grandly she rolls, - And casts off her harvests of souls, - In the boundless fruition of Time! - - “We ask not his face to behold; - Of his glory we need not be told; - For the Word of his witness is near. - His Life is the Infinite Light, - Which quickens our blindness to sight; - And he speaks that his children may hear. - - “He suffers and sins with them all; - He stands, or he falls when they fall; - For he is both substance and breath. - Their strength from his greatness they draw; - His wisdom and will are their law; - And he is their Saviour in death. - - “When the depths of all hearts are unsealed - Shall the word of his truth be revealed, - That MAN is by NATURE DIVINE; - And faith in God’s presence within, - Shall strengthen the spirit to win - A peace which no tongue can define.” - - * * * * * - - Then the music floated upward, - Where the light of parting day, - With its gold and crimson glory, - On the mountain summits lay; - And it left me longing, praying, - And with quickened steps essaying - Swift the nearest hights to gain, - That my captivated being - Might unto a clearer seeing - Of those fading forms attain. - And ere long, with hands uplifted, - Kneeling on the mountain high, - Out into the listening silence - Did I send my pleading cry:-- - “O thou beauteous land of Beulah, - Just beyond my longing sight! - O ye bright ones, loved and lovely, - Dwelling in celestial light! - Leave, O! leave me not behind you - With the darkness and the night!” - In the sunshine and the shadow, - Then I saw an open door; - And a voice cried, “Come up hither! - Life is yours forevermore.” - Gales of Araby around me - Seemed to wave their fragrant wings; - Strains of music, low and tender, - Thrilled along celestial strings. - Like a spotless lily, blending - Matchless bloom and breath divine, - Did my lost one, long lamented, - Lay her soft white hand in mine; - And uplifted, - Strangely gifted, - With a power unknown before, - Did my love and I together - Enter at the open door. - - * * * * * - - Lo! again those bright immortals, - As their fadeless flowers they wreathe, - Words of greeting oft repeating, - Celebrate this festive eve. - Listen to their tuneful message - For the hearts that joy or grieve:-- - - - SONG OF THE MINISTERING SPIRITS. - - “Truth’s heralds bright, - With feet of light, - Upon Life’s mountains stand, - Sent to proclaim, - In God’s high name, - Glad tidings to the land. - With smiles of love - They wait above, - And, ‘Come up hither!’ cry. - When souls shall climb - Life’s hights sublime, - Then Death itself shall die. - - “The little child, - Whose bright eyes smiled, - Whom angel-hands upbore, - The good, the kind, - The pure in mind, - Glide through Life’s open door. - With voices sweet, - Their lips repeat - The chorus of the sky:-- - ‘All souls shall be - From doubt made free, - And Death itself shall die.’ - - “Joy crowns with flowers - Life’s summer-hours, - When storms of sorrow cease; - And wintry snows, - And calm repose, - Bring thoughts of holy peace. - Thus pales or burns - Life’s star by turns, - As swift the moments fly; - But winter’s blight, - And sorrow’s night, - And Death itself, shall die. - - “From Death’s abyss - To hights of bliss - Must souls immortal strive; - While loss and gain, - And peace and pain, - Shall keep their faith alive. - But higher still, - With tireless will, - Their course shall upward lie, - Till palms shall wave - Above the grave, - And Death itself shall die.” - - - FOOTNOTES: - - [1] The garment which caused the death of Hercules. - - [2] Since the above poem was given, through the pressure of public - opinion, she has been pardoned, and sent back to England. - - [3] Socrates. - - [4] Pronounced Ig-war-no-don. - - [5] The name signifies a small laurel-wreath. - - [6] If. - - [7] Perhaps. - - [8] Very great. - - [9] Against. - - [10] Every. - - [11] Cunning. - - [12] Daisy. - - [13] Each tottering child. - - [14] Humble cot. - - [15] Walk crazily. - - [16] Contrary. - - [17] Referring to the dogma of the Immaculate Conception. - - [18] Since. - - [19] Mend. - - [20] Sorrow. - - [21] Very proud. - - [22] Go astray. - - [23] Praying. - - [24] Birchen grove. - - [25] Flowers. - - [26] Larks. - - [27] Running brooks. - - [28] Dove. - - [29] Friend. - - [30] Money. - - [31] Each. - - [32] Heaven above. - - [33] Shelter. - - [34] My darling. - - [35] I shall never see thee more. - - [36] The favorite hymn of Theodore Parker. - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems of Progress, by Lizzie Doten - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF PROGRESS *** - -***** This file should be named 55032-0.txt or 55032-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/0/3/55032/ - -Produced by Larry B. 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