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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6816.txt b/6816.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b06e30f --- /dev/null +++ b/6816.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7421 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Canadian Wild Flowers, by Helen M. Johnson + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Canadian Wild Flowers + +Author: Helen M. Johnson + +Release Date: November, 2004 [EBook #6816] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on January 27, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANADIAN WILD FLOWERS *** + + + + +Produced by Beth L. Constantine, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. +This file was produced from images generously made available +by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions. + + + + + +CANADIAN WILD FLOWERS: + + + + +SELECTIONS FROM THE WRITINGS OF + + +MISS HELEN M. JOHNSON, + +OF MAGOG, P.Q., CANADA + + +WITH A SKETCH OF HER LIFE + + + + +BY REV. J. M. ORROCK + + + + + Good thoughts spring from the human mind + Like flowers out the ground: + Attractive, fragrant, beautiful,-- + To make our joys abound + + + + + +PREFACE. + + +An observance of the hand of God in his providences, as well as of his +Spirit in the written Word and in the human heart, has led to the +publication of this book. Though more than twenty years hare passed +since Miss JOHNSON died, her name is like "an ointment poured forth." +Many who never knew her personally seem to know her well from her +poetic writings: for "as fragrance to the sense of smell, music to the +ear, or beauty to the eye, so is poetry to the sensibilities of the +heart,--it ministers to a want of our intellectual nature; this is the +secret of its power and the pledge of its perpetuity." A 16mo volume +of her "Poems" was published in Boston, in 1855, but has long been out +of print. In 1864 the Rev. E. H. Dewart published in Montreal a work +entitled "Selections from Canadian Poets," in which ten of her poems +were inserted and a very appreciative notice of her given. She also +wrote for several papers, so that in various ways her thoughts have +been widely disseminated. A desire has often been expressed to have +them collected into one volume; but to have all thus republished would +not be best. I have therefore attempted only what the title indicates +--to make _selections from her writings_; and conclude to send them +forth under a name which she herself chose at a time when she had +thoughts of getting out a book. Let critics remember that they claim +to be only "_Canadian wild flowers_"; yet we feel sure that some +of them, for beauty of form and fragrance of truth, will not +unfavorably compare with some of the cultivated productions of our +classic poets. Miss JOHNSON was better known by her poetry than by her +prose writings, yet in the latter are found so many grand thoughts +that I have copied from them freely. The biographical sketch, it is +hoped, will add interest to the book, especially as so many of her +diary notes have been interwoven. Some of her pieces are here printed +for the first time. The prize poem on "The Surrender of Quebec" is +given in full. In the Preface to her "Poems" she said: "I have been +cheered and encouraged by the thought that perhaps through my +instrumentality the heart of some humble believer might be comforted, +and some wretched wanderer, weary of the vanities of earth, be +directed to the only source of life and happiness. Should such be the +case, the brightest hopes of the authoress will be fulfilled, and she +herself be amply compensated for her care and labor." With a sincere +desire to aid in the direction thus indicated this little work is now +sent forth. + +J.M.O. +Brookline, Mass., June 22, 1884. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +LIFE-SKETCH: + +Birth-place--The Forest (a poem)--Conviction of sin--Baptism and +Resolutions--Experience--Diary notes in verse--Sufferings--Last poem-- +The One Name and The Adieu (poetry)--Death + + +RURAL SCENES: + +The Walk in June. + +An Evening Meditation. + +Nature's Resurrection. + +The Bird's Nest. + +Gather Violets. + +To a Dandelion. + +To a Robin. + +God is There. + +The Canadian Farmer. + +The Return. + +The Old Sugar-Camp. + +To a Rabbit. + +The Old Man. + +The Fading and the Unfading (prose). + +On Receipt of some Wild Flowers. + +The Sick Girl's Dream. + +The Last Song. + +An Evening Scene. + +Autumn Teachings (prose). + +The Watcher. + + +PATRIOTIC POEMS: + +The Surrender of Quebec. + +Song of the English Peasant Girl. + +A Nation's Desire. + +Canada's Welcome. + +Our Native Land. + +The Appeal. + +I Love the Land where I was Born. + +The World to Come. + + +TEMPERANCE: + +A Welcome to a Temperance Picnic. + +A Life-Scene--The Letter. + +The Pledge. + + +SIGHS ON MORTALITY: + +What is Your Life? + +Life. + +The Silent Army. + +The Dying Warrior. + +On Seeing a Skull (prose). + +Thoughts on Death. + +The Battle-Field. + +Dead and Forgot. + +Dear Emily. + +On the Death of a Friend (prose). + +The Heavenly Helper. + +The Promise. + +The Dead Christ (prose). + +The Complaint. + +The Mixed Cup (prose). + +I Shall Depart. + +Time Flies. + +A Voice from the Sick Room (prose). + + +SONGS OF HOPE: + +"He Giveth Songs in the Night." + +The Last Good Night. + +Retrospective and Prospective (prose). + +Hope. + +Earth Not the Christian's Home. + +"We Sorrow Not as Others Without Hope" (prose). + +The Messenger Bird. + +Our Ship is Homeward Bound. + +Midnight. + +Easter Sunday (prose). + +The Risen Redeemer (prose). + +Dost Thou Remember Me? + +"'Tis I--Be Not Afraid." + +The Only Perfect One (prose). + +The Dying Christian. + +The Request. + +Complete in Him (prose). + +Trust in God. + +A Paradox (prose). + +"Thou Shall Know Hereafter." + +Thine Eyes Shall See the King in His Beauty (prose). + +All Is Well. + +We Shall Meet. + +What the Daughter of the Cloud Said (prose). + +This is not Home. + +The Soul's Consolation (prose). + +"We See through a Glass Darkly." + +Words of Cheer for Fainting Christians (prose). + + +MISCELLANY: + +The Dying Year. + +Incomprehensibility of God. + +The Star of Bethlehem. + +God Made Me Poor. + +The Stranger Guest. + +A Long. Delightful Walk (prose). + +"The Servant is Not Above his Master." + +Elijah. + +The Sacred Page. + +Behold how He Loved Us. + +Love Your Enemies. + +The Orphan. + +Sententious Paragraphs (prose). + +"Ye Did It Not to Me." + +Hear and Help Me. + +Farewell. + +No Mother. + +To a Mother on the Death of her Child. + +In Goodness is True Greatness. + +Similes (prose). + +The Crucified of Galilee. + +The Ascension. + +The Hebrew's Lament. + +When Shall I Receive my Diploma? (prose). + +Alone with Jesus. + +The Lost Babe. + +The Day of Wrath. + +The Believer's Safety (prose). + + + + +LIFE SKETCH. + + +The hill country of Judea, which furnished a home for the virgin +mother of our Lord, is not the only rural region from whence have come +women endowed with intelligence and integrity, philanthropy and +religion, who by pen and tongue have brightened and blest the hearts +and homes of thousands. Nurtured amidst the wilds of nature, instead +of the bustle and bewildering attractions of city life, they have +grown strong to do battle for the right and to bear testimony to the +truth as it is in Jesus. Of this class is the one whose life and +labors we are now to consider. + +Memphremagog is an enchanting lake, two-thirds of which lie in the +Eastern Townships of Canada, in the Province of Quebec, and the upper +third in Vermont. Its extreme length from north to south is about +thirty miles, its breadth varying from one to three miles. It is +semi-circular in form and bestudded with islands; while on its western +shore rise mountains of no ordinary attractions, among them Owl's +Head, which towers about 2,500 feet above the surface of the lake, +affording from its summit a panoramic view of surpassing loveliness. +It was at "The Outlet" of this lake there was born, Oct. 27, 1834, +Helen Mar, the youngest daughter of Abel B. and Polly JOHNSON; and +there she spent--with the exception of the time devoted to attending +or teaching school--almost her entire life. Of cities she knew nothing +by experience; but as her reading was extensive she knew much of the +world by mental surveys. The book of Nature was her delight. Its +illustrations of stones and streams, lakes and rivers, mountains and +forests, birds and flowers, were ever attractive to her. At an early +age she began to exhibit rare poetic talent. Of "a number of short +pieces, written between the ages of twelve and fifteen years," the +following, entitled "The Forest," has been preserved. It appeared in +the _Stanstead Journal_--a paper to which she afterwards frequently +contributed. It was probably the first article she ever had printed. + + "Let others seek sweet friendship's voice + When grief the spirit bends, + Let them find solace in the tones + Of their beloved friends; + But oh! when sorrow o'er me broods, + Give me the dark, the dark green woods." + + "When pleasure lights the sparkling eye, + And swells with rapture proud, + Let others spend their joyous mirth + Within the giddy crowd; + But when o'er me no clouds are seen, + Give me the forest, dark and green." + + "When pure devotion fills the heart, + And breathes a yearning prayer, + Let others wander to the church + And pay their tribute there; + But if o'er me such feelings steal, + In the dark forest let me kneel." + + "When death comes o'er the pallid brow + To number with the dead, + Let others choose some lovely grave, + Where tears will oft be shed; + But let me, let me find a tomb + Deep in the forest's darkening gloom." + +Her life was not one of thrilling adventure, hairbreadth escapes, and +deeds securing worldly applause, but quiet, unobtrusive and useful. +Her constitution was naturally weak--her brain too active for her +body, and as a consequence much mental and physical suffering was her +portion. To her studies--French, Latin and drawing, besides the +English branches--she was very devoted. Nothing pleased her better +than to be alone with books, pen and pencil, or to wander forth in +garden or field. Being of a very bashful and retiring disposition she +felt alone even in company. Her diary leaves give evidence of this. +Under date of June 19,1852, for example, she writes: + +"How lonely I feel to-day! and my rebellious heart will repeat the +question, Why was I created thus? I stand alone, and why? I know it is +my own self that makes me so; but how can I make myself otherwise? I +have tried very, _very_ hard to overcome my--what shall I call it? +bashfulness? It seems as though it could not be wholly that. I +have seen those the world called _bashful_, but they were not at +all like myself. Oh, no; I am wretched at times on account of this +----. When I see myself all alone--different from those around me--I +cannot stay the burning tear though I would gladly repress it. I +cannot soothe the anguish that fills my heart, and yet I feel that +this is wrong,--that it ought not to be thus. Why should I feel so +keenly that I am _alone_? that I am strange? Earthly scenes will soon +be over, and if I am only a Christian I shall never feel alone in +heaven. Oh, glorious thought! there will be no strange being there. O +God, prepare me for that blissful world and I will no longer complain +of my loneliness on earth--no longer sigh that I am not like others." + +At this time Miss JOHNSON was not a professed Christian. Her parents +had endeavored to bring her up in the fear of the Lord and a belief of +the gospel, and to attend the services of the sanctuary. Her life had +been one of strict morality. She believed in God but had not taken +Christ as _her own personal Saviour_ and confessed him before men +as she felt she should. Her conviction of sin however was deep and +pungent. On another day in the same month, she says:-- + +"O Earth, thou art a lovely place, and some of thy inhabitants are as +lovely and happy as thyself. See that beautiful bird, with shining +plumage and brilliant crest, and hear the melodious notes that arise +from its silvery throat! Its form proclaims beauty, and its song +happiness. See those snow-white lambs skipping over the verdant +grass,--now nestling sportively beside their bleating mothers, then +springing forward, bounding from knoll to knoll, and filling the air +with strains of joy and delight! See yonder butterfly weighing itself +upon that brilliant flower: his gorgeous wings are expanded and +glittering in the sun like sparkling gems! See those bright-eyed +children! their glowing cheeks, their beaming eyes, and above all +their clear and merry laugh proclaiming happiness pure and unbounded. +Earth is truly lovely, but its inhabitants are not all happy. Oh no, +not _all_, for one who loves the beauties of earth, rejoices in the +loveliness of nature, and finds her chief pleasures in the spreading +grove, by the babbling brook, among the brilliant flowers, is sad and +unhappy. And why? Because she has learned too soon that there is no +such thing as [real and abiding] happiness on earth, that the fairest +plants wither, that pleasure is a deceitful phantom-false and +fleeting. Truly she has learned all this, and will she _never_ learn +to raise her eyes to that bright world where true happiness only +resides, and to trust meekly in Him who is the only Dispenser of peace +and joy?" + +Later we have another entry in which, after again referring to the +beauties of nature, she exclaims: + +"O life, life! I fain would read thy mysteries: I fain would draw +aside every vail and behold for what purpose I was created. Was it to +be an heir of sorrow? was it to live for myself alone, and then pass +away and let my memory perish with me? No, I was born for a better--a +higher and more holy purpose. I was not born to pass a few moments on +the stage of life and then disappear forever.... With a shudder I turn +away and would gladly forget to think. O thought, thought! thou wilt +distract me,--thou hast almost hurled reason from her throne. Thou +bitter tormentor! depart, if but for a moment, and let me once more +find peace. But no; the more I seek to elude still nearer the demon +pursues. O thought, thought! it rushes forth from my soul like the +wild outpourings of the volcanic mountains and overwhelms me with its +burning tide till body, mind and soul--all, all are exhausted and lie +like a straw upon the roaring bosom of the deep. Oh, that I could +arise, mingle with the gay, and forget my own deep and overpowering +thoughts. But no; such thoughts, like the soul which gave them birth, +can never die. O thought, what art thou? A blessing to angels, a curse +to me. Distracted soul, sink into repose: others are happy, and wast +thou born to be more wretched than they? Truly thou wast, and why? +Because thou livest only in the regions of thought--_thought_ which is +burning my brain and piercing my lacerated heart. And yet a thought +freighted with light beams through the dark clouds which its darker +sisters have thrown around me, and the only inscription which it bears +is, _'Live for others.'_ And another thought follows in rapid +succession,--like a far-off echo it repeats the words of its +predecessor, 'Live for others,' and then adds (while a vivid flash of +the lightning of truth lights up the darkness of error), 'Live for God +and for heaven.' A loud crash follows. Peals of thunder shake the +atmosphere of my soul! _Self_ has fallen: _I will live for others, for +God and for heaven._" + +This was a grand resolve; but not yet was the soul to be out of +prison, the pilgrim to be freed from the Slough of Despond. Once more +she has to write:-- + +"Everything is beautiful, and all nature is glad and rejoicing. Arise, +my soul, and be thou glad likewise. Cast off thy gloomy fears. The God +who made all the beautiful things by which thou art surrounded is not +unmindful of thee. Oh, wondrous condescension! God is not forgetful of +_me_. He gazes upon me with an eye of compassion; he pities my +distress and my weakness. Amazing love! Oh, that I were more worthy of +it; Oh, that I loved him as fervently as I ought! But my heart is +callous, and I am nothing but a poor, cold, vile and helpless sinner: +nothing but sin _dwells_ hi my heart. It is the seat of every vice, +every evil thought, and every depraved passion. [Jer. 17:9, 10; +Mark 7:21-23]. Dark and gloomy clouds envelope my soul. A weight of +sorrow presses upon my heart, and I vainly strive to free myself from +its influence. Everything looks dark. 'My God, my God, why hast thou +forsaken me? why art thou so far from helping me?' 'How long wilt thou +forget me, O Lord? forever? How long wilt thou hide thy face from me?' +'Mine iniquities are gone over my head: as a heavy burden they are too +heavy for me. Lord, all my desire is before thee; and my groaning is +not hid from thee. Make haste to help me.' 'My soul fainteth for thy +salvation, but I hope in thy word.' O my God, hear my cry, and answer +my petition." + +"_Tuesday_, _June_ 29, 1852. The sultry fires of the day have yielded +to the cool breezes of evening. A misty cloud hangs over the once +azure sky, and the deep, heavy roar of thunder shakes the quiet air. +Nearer and nearer still it rolls its deep-toned voice, and all nature +seems to reply. The vivid lightnings flash. The fountains on high are +opened, and the rain pours down in torrents. Wilder grows the storm: +the winds are released from their 'prison-cave,' and armed with fury +they rush madly forth; brighter the lightnings glare, louder the +thunders roar. The whole fabric of nature seems in commotion! Oh, who +can gaze upon such a scene without emotions of awe, wonder and +admiration? Surely such an one must possess a stony heart and a cold +nature. There is beauty for me in the lightning's glare--there is +music in the thunder's peal! God grant that there may be beauty and +glory for me in the day when the thundering notes of the last trumpet +shall shake the heavens and awaken the sleeping dead,--when 'the +elements shall melt with fervent heat,' and every soul of every tribe, +and tongue and nation shall stand before the judgment-seat to receive +their final doom! O grant that the Judge may be my friend, and that I--the +poorest, the lowest, the vilest of sinners--may find a seat at +his right hand; and the vaults of heaven shall forever ring with the +praises of a redeemed sinner, saved only through the grace and blood +of the crucified Saviour." + +But the hour was at hand when there was to come such relief to the +troubled soul as it had never before experienced,--when the divine +Comforter was to take of the things of Christ and reveal them to the +longing heart,--and this maiden avow herself before the world a +disciple of Christ. How was this to be effected? + +Sunday, July 25, I had an appointment to preach in Magog, and after +the forenoon service expected to baptize a young lady who had been a +schoolmate of Miss JOHNSON. In view of that arrangement I urged that +they should both go together in the ordinance, but could get no +encouragement that it would be so. We went to the church, where I +preached from Col. 3:1-4, and after sermon announced the hymn,-- + + "Gracious Lord, incline thine ear, + My request vouchsafe to hear; + Burdened with my sins, I cry, + Give me Christ, or else I die. + + * * * * * + + Father, thou hast given thy Son, + Bruised for sins--that I have done; + To that refuge now I fly; + Christ is mine--I shall not die." + +The effect and what followed I will allow her to relate in her own +words:-- + +"Oh, the _agony_ and the _perfect peace_ that I have this day enjoyed! +The agony in the morning was almost insupportable. It seemed then +utterly impossible for me to take up so heavy a cross as to follow my +Saviour in the ordinance of baptism. The very thought was dreadful, +and yet I knew that it was my duty. I felt that the anger of God would +be kindled against me,--that his Holy Spirit would not always strive +with me. I threw myself upon my knees; but could find no peace there +as long as I continued proudly obstinate. I started from my knees and +seized 'the holy Book of God'; but there was nothing there to comfort +me. I paced the room hurriedly, at every step exclaiming, 'What shall +I do?' and yet I knew what to do, but would not do it. Thus the +morning passed away, and trembling with emotion I entered the house of +God. The sermon seemed designed expressly for me. At its close I grew +more agitated. The last hymn was read, and after singing we were to +repair to the water, where one happy being was to follow her blessed +Saviour into a watery grave. Oh, I shall never forget that hymn,-- +never, no never. The closing line of each verse seemed as an echo from +my own heart, 'Give me Christ or else I die'; but as the last line of +the last verse fell upon my ear--_'Christ is mine. I shall not die_," +--I think that then I did truly feel determined to come boldly forth +and claim the precious promises of God _as my own_. + +"We sought the water's side, when Josephine asked me in a trembling +voice if I would be baptized. I thought she expected an answer in the +negative--at least I knew that she might reasonably expect it, for I +had told her plainly in the morning that I could not. My heart was too +full to speak: I only bowed my head in token of assent. I shall never +forget the look of joy that beamed in her countenance, nor the +emotions that filled my own bosom. I saw Eliza enter the water. Oh, +glorious sight! I never saw, never imagined so beautiful a scene. +Every fear vanished, every cloud withdrew from my soul, and I +_longed_ to enter the waving flood. O my Saviour! I did not enter +it alone. Surely it was nothing short of the almighty arm of God that +supported me then. I never in all my life had so little fear of man: I +had _no fear_ then. Truly it was a foretaste of heaven. Oh, happy, +thrice happy moment! it was worth a whole lifetime of sorrow. If I +could always feel as I did then my heart would never again be bowed +down with grief: but that very afternoon Satan began to whisper: 'You +will not live up to your profession; you have deceived yourself and +others; you are still a wicked creature; you are not a Christian'; and +yet by the grace of God I was able, in some degree at least, to resist +him. + +"When I partook of the Lord's supper I felt a repetition of the +happiness I had while obeying the command of my Saviour and following +him into a watery grave. How vividly the last supper which Christ +partook of with his disciples presented itself to my mind! and then I +looked forward with joyful hope to the day when all the saints of God +shall eat bread in his glorious kingdom,--when all of every age and +clime shall be gathered around the table, and Jesus Christ himself be +in their midst. It was a soul-inspiring thought, and for all the +wealth of a thousand worlds like this I would not have been absent +from that communion--from which I had so often absented myself. Yes; I +had never before partaken of the Lord's supper; and it was my own +wicked heart which had kept me away, for God had called loudly upon +me, and his Holy Spirit had again and again striven with me. Oh, what +a sinner I have been, and what a longsuffering God! I wonder that he +did not cast me off forever. Oh, what mercy I 'Bless the Lord, O my +soul, and all that is within me bless his holy name. Bless the Lord, O +my soul, and forget not all his benefits.' And now, have I forsaken +all for Christ? Have I thrown myself--body, soul, and spirit--upon the +altar? I do want to sacrifice everything for Christ, and _by the +grace of God_ I will perform the following:-- + +"1. When my duty appears plain I will do it, whatever may be the +consequences. + +"2. I will never be ashamed to confess Christ before the world. + +"3. I will consecrate my talents entirely to the Lord. + +"4. I will never employ my pen in writing anything which I might +regret at the bar of God. + +"5. I will never permit any one of my compositions to be printed +unless I can in sincerity ask the blessing of God to attend it. + +"6. As I shall be brought into judgment for every idle word I say, I +will endeavor never to engage in trifling conversation, but on every +proper occasion to speak of the wondrous grace of God. + +"7. I will, whenever a good opportunity occurs, warn my young +companions to flee from the wrath to come. + +"8. I will strive to set my affections on things above, not on things +on the earth. + +"9. By the assistance of the Holy Spirit I will endeavor to keep evil +thoughts out of my heart, and to meditate upon the law of God. + +"10. I will never pass a day without seeking some secret place at +least twice a day, and pouring out my soul in prayer to God. + +"11. I will study the Holy Scriptures, and endeavor to understand what +I read. + +"12. I will try to do all I can. + +"O God, assist me to perform what I have written in thy fear and to +thy glory. I am perfect weakness: but 'thou knowest my frame, thou +rememberest that I am dust.' I know thou art merciful; Oh, give me a +more exalted faith. Help me to come boldly forward and claim thy +promises as mine. Humble my pride; keep me at thy feet; let not the +temptations of Satan overcome me, but may I trust myself in thine +arms. May I love thee fervently, above everything else--better, far +than my own life. I can do nothing unless thou dost assist me. Oh, +support me, and save me at last in thy kingdom, for Christ's sake." + +In the evening of that ever memorable Sabbath she offered aloud a few +words of prayer at the family altar, and next day (as she was then +teaching) had prayer in her school: thus she "confessed with the mouth +the Lord Jesus" while in her heart she believed that God had raised +him from the dead (Rom. 10:9). Immediately after the Son of God +himself was baptized, he was in the wilderness "tempted of the devil"; +it need not be thought strange therefore if his followers soon after +their baptism are also grievously assaulted by the same adversary. +This young Christian did not escape him entirely; yet from that day +until her death, though conscious of much weakness and imperfection, +having many dark days and great sufferings, she never renounced her +allegiance to the King of kings, who had bought her with his blood. A +few more selections from her diary will show the working of her mind +about this time. + +"_Aug. 7._ A calm and quiet morning. A soothing calm steals over +my soul. Faith, with triumphant wing, rises far above, the scenes of +earth and points to that glorious world where Christ pleads for me +before the throne of his Father. The doubts which have so long filled +my heart are sinful and dishonoring to God, and I will no longer give +place to them: I will look away from myself--from my sins--to the +holy Lamb of God. I will trust wholly in him and in his merits alone +for acceptance." + +"_Sunday, Aug. 8._ What I have done to-day would once have seemed +impossible, the cross that I have taken up would have seemed almost +insupportable. I could not have believed the last time I attended the +prayer-meeting that at the next one I should stand up as a witness for +Christ. But thank God! my proud heart has in some degree been humbled, +and the dearest hope I now cherish is, that Christ may not be ashamed +to confess me before his Father and all the holy angels." + +"_Aug. 22._ While standing this evening by the grave of one +dearly beloved in life, and cherished more fondly now that death has +taken her from my embrace, I could not stay the soaring flight of +fancy, which would portray to my mind in vivid colors our meeting at +the great Resurrection morn; and the thought that that meeting was so +near--that in a very little while the grave should lose its power and +that she would come forth robed in immortal beauty, filled my soul +with transport and almost brought to my lips the yearning cry, 'Come, +Lord Jesus, and come quickly.'" + +On the 27th of August Miss JOHNSON closed her school, and after +spending a few weeks at home went to the academy at Derby Centre, Vt. +Under date of "Wednesday, Oct. 26," we have this entry in her +journal:-- + +"Attended the exercises to-night and read a composition. They could +not have liked it, for it was upon a subject which must be +disagreeable to the world; and yet it is the subject nearest my +heart--one that I love to dwell upon and to hear about: the coming of +my blessed Saviour. When will the glorious morn appear! Loud and +repeated cheers were given when Miss ---- read her composition. Well, +it was good; such as would suit the world, but not _me_--strange +being that I am. But I shall not always be so: in heaven I shall not +be a stranger. There I can converse with the saints dearly-beloved: +for their conversation will be on the things of God; and my Saviour +himself will deign to address me there! Why should I not then long, +aye _long_ to obtain that blissful state? And yet I sometimes +fear that I shall fall far short of it, for I am so vile and +polluted." + +The "composition" referred to we do not find among her papers; but +much that she has written shows that she was indeed deeply interested +in "that blessed hope" (Tit. 2:13). She was a decided pre- +millennialist, +and stood identified in her church-membership with the Evangelical +Adventists. On completing her eighteenth year (Oct. 27, 1852), she +said:-- + +"This evening, while looking back through all the events of my life, +what is there that rejoices me most? It is one that the past year has +brought forth,--one that will ever be remembered with deep and +powerful emotions: the day that consecrated me to the Lord, when I +breathed forth with a fervent heart, 'Give me Christ, or else I die,' +and I was enabled to take up my cross and follow my Saviour in +baptism." + +Here there is no regret expressed for the step she had taken, nor did +she ever feel any, though she greatly deplored her weakness and +unprofitableness in the Lord's service. And why not? Listen to her, +under date of June 13, 1853:-- + +"How sweet, when the soul has no earthly support, to fly to the Rock +of Ages! The Saviour is precious to the heart of the pardoned sinner. +There is nothing like the love of Jesus. He is not like other friends +--oftentimes wearied by our complaints and the repetition of our +sorrows, but is always longsuffering and delighting to hear and answer +every cry of the burdened spirit; smiling ever in the darkest of +afflictions, and forever dropping the balm of consolation into the +distracted breast. Oh, what a privilege to have such a friend--such a +sure and steadfast friend--such a wise and omnipotent friend. And he +is _my_ friend? Yes; he is '_the sinner's_ FRIEND,' and therefore +mine: for surely nothing but wondrous _love_ could have led him to die +a cruel and ignominious death for me, polluted as I am. O Jesus, thou +art my friend and I will be thy friend; thou didst love me first and I +do love thee, but not as fervently as I should, nor so much as I +desire. O God, give me more of thy Holy Spirit; may it consume every +unhallowed passion, tear every idol from my heart, and consecrate that +heart entirely to thee." + +The only journal notes of considerable length which Miss JOHNSON seems +to have made were for the years 1852 and 1853. Those for 1855 and 1860 +were entered in a "daily miniature diary." We find none for other +years, though she always kept her pen and pencil busy in some way as +long as she had strength to write. The diary for 1855 is in rhyme-- +usually six lines being allotted to each day. While some of the verses +are playful and witty, most of them are religious and plaintive. The +following are given as specimens: + + "Arose at six o'clock today: + How swift the moments sped away + Engaged in household duties; + Then Virgil claimed awhile my care, + And Pope of time a larger share, + With all his sweets and beauties." + + "Mr. Goodenough and wife + Came here yesterday; + Through the changing scenes of life + Onward be their way; + And never may their path be rough + So long as they are Good-enough." + + "Received of Robinson to-day + For my 'Address' a little pay: + The first of cash I ever had + For writing verses, good or bad. + O Lord, whate'er my gains may be + The tenth I dedicate to thee." + + "I would not seek the haunts of mirth, + For in the gayest scenes of earth + Are hovering grief and care; + But oft I find a soothing power, + At twilight's calm and peaceful hour, + In secret prayer." + + "Jesus, oh, precious name! + How sweet it sounds to me; + Come want, come grief, come death or shame + I'll cling, my Lord, to thee." + + "I'd rather be distressed with doubts + And find no sweet release, + Than be content to settle down + In false repose and peace; + But, ah! I wish I knew my name + In the Lamb's book a place could claim." + + "While here distressed I lie, + What joy my heart doth thrill + At the enchanting thought, + That Jesus loves me still!" + + "Sweet Sabbath morn! to me it brings, + As if on angel's airy wings, + Visions of peace and rest: + I seem to stand upon the plains + Where an eternal Sabbath reigns, + And dwell the pure and blest. + + "I wept--when lo, my heart to cheer + J---- sobbing whispered in my ear: + 'Don't cry, for I will serve the Lord;' + How sweet the sound! what great reward." + [_Psa_. 126:5,6]. + + "How little comfort have I known + In this dark vale of tears! + For Sorrow marked me for her own + In childhood's early years. + And ever since, by night and day, + Has hovered round my lonely way." + + "'Twas nearly two--but sleep had fled + My pillow for the night; + I rose--but all was dark around, + And I could find no light: + And then I knelt and prayed for those + Who, like me, found no sweet repose." + + "Sick, sick, sick, + And gloomy all the day; + Sick, sick, sick, + Thus life wears away." + + "Murmur not, my troubled soul, + At thy Father's dealings; + Wild the billows round thee roll: + Yield not to the feelings + Of despair that gather round: + Troubles rise not from the ground." + [_Job_ 5:6-8]. + + "How many souls around the throne + Once suffered here like me,-- + Like me discouraged, tempted, tried, + But now for ever free: + They shout their griefs and trials o'er; + Then let me fear and doubt no more." + + "At home all day; I cannot pray, + Can neither read nor think: + O God, I cry; the waves roll high, + Support me or I sink." + + "Did I murmur that the rod + Was so heavy, O my God? + I forgot the cursed tree, + I forgot Gethsemane, + I forgot the grief and pain-- + May I ne'er forget again." + + "Unworthy, wretched as I am + I hope for mercy through the Lamb: + His name, his glorious name prevails + When every other passport fails; + It opens Heaven's eternal gate; + Then, doubting soul, why longer wait?" + + "Sabbath after Sabbath comes; + When will dawn the endless day? + Swiftly roll the wheels of time, + Swiftly pass the hours away; + Brighter and brighter from afar + View we now 'the Morning Star.'" + + "And we, alas! are called to part: + 'Farewell' is said, with aching heart; + But God will watch o'er thee I ween, + And guide thee through each trying scene, + My dearest sister Josephine!" + + "The glorious sun-- + His race has run, + And sweetly sought repose: + O that for me + This life might be + As bright--as calm its close!" + + "What an awful peal of thunder! + O my soul, be still and wonder; + Yet another, and another-- + Each one louder than the other; + God of heaven, I _see_ thy power, + May I _feel_ it hour by hour." + + "A thousand twinkling stars to-night + Look down with soft and silvery light + And tell the majesty divine + Of Him who gives them leave to shine. + Oh, what an atom must I be, + And yet He loves and cares for me!" + + "The wheels of Time-how swift they roll! + Dost thou consider, O my soul, + That it shall soon be said to thee: + 'Time was, but time no more shall be'? + Then seize upon the present hour; + Improve it to thy utmost power." + +In the fall of 1856 Miss JOHNSON was prostrated by disease, and nearly +all the time afterwards confined to the house. So numerous and +complicated were her difficulties as to baffle the skill of all the +physicians who saw her, and no one knows the amount of suffering she +endured. Her mind however was active and vigorous, and though there +were seasons--sometimes quite protracted--when to her the heavens +above seemed as brass and the earth iron, yet God did not forsake +her: the sunshine succeeded the storm, and the peace that Jesus +gives--was poured into her wounded heart. Referring to her afflictions +in 1858 and the two following years she writes:-- + +"Those were days and nights of anguish, but I now look back to them +with feelings of regret, for my feet had only touched the dark waters +and my lips had only tasted the cup from which I was to drink the very +dregs. Early in the spring of 1858 I was seized with fever and acute +inflammation of the stomach, which brought me to the verge of the +grave. I could feel the warm tears of beloved ones upon my cheeks, as +they bent tenderly over me; I could see the dark vale just ahead +(though there was a light amid the darkness), but my sufferings were +not to be so soon terminated. Gradually my disease assumed a chronic +form, and physicians said there was no hope. The little nourishment I +could take distressed me so, terribly that the very thought of eating +made me shudder, and my stomach became so sore that I could not be +moved from one side of the bed to the other without uttering a cry of +pain. Winter, spring, summer and autumn in turn visited the earth, and +with each I thought, aye, longed to depart; but the great Refiner had +his own purpose to accomplish,--there was a little fine gold but the +dross rendered it useless. The ordeal through which I am passing is +indeed a terrible one, but I know where peace and consolation are to +be found, and there are times when I can say in sincerity, 'Thy will +be done.'" + +Thursday, Jan. 1,1863, she wrote:-- + +"Bright, beautiful day. Many people on the ice. Edwin [her brother] +there. Over our dwelling is a shadow; it falls upon our spirits and we +are sad. Will it never be removed? God grant we may be patient and +grateful for the blessings we do enjoy, for are not friends--true, +tender friends, the greatest and holiest of blessings? and while we +have them God forgive us for murmuring at his dealings." + +The last entries in her diary are: "Feb. 2. Very sick"; "Tuesday, 3rd. +No better." It is uncertain when the following lines were written, but +it might have been about this time:-- + + "I'm going home to that bright land of rest + Where pain and grief and sickness are unknown; + The year begins in sorrow, but will close + In joys that never end--I'm going home! + Last year the warning came on sunken eye + And wasted cheek. I gazed and thought to spend + My Christmas with the angels. God knows best; + And here I linger, weary sufferer still. + The morning comes long watched-for, long desired; + The day drags on, and then the sleepless night: + But this will have an end--it must be soon." + +About six weeks before her death she was taken with nausea and +vomiting: everything she took distressed her, and for the last +twenty-three days she took no nourishment save what water contains. +Her prayer-- + + "Close to the Cross, close to the Cross. God grant I may be found + When death shall call my spirit hence, or the last trumpet sound,"-- + +was indeed answered. Her end was very peaceful and happy. For several +weeks not a cloud seemed to pass over her mind; and though often in +great distress there was no impatience manifested, nor did a murmur +escape her lips. She said, "It is nothing to die: 'the sting of death +is sin,' and when sin is taken away the sting is gone." On another +occasion she remarked: "I have often heard the words sung-- + + 'Jesus can make a dying bed + Feel soft as downy pillows are'-- + +and thought they were not strictly true; but now I know that they are +perfectly, _perfectly_ so." Once as we stood by her bedside she +observed her mother and sister weeping, and with a countenance beaming +with joy (sufficient to remind us of 1 Pet. 1:8) she expressed +surprise, remarking: "It seems to me I am only crossing a narrow +brook, and as I look back I see you all coming--we shall soon meet." +Her view of her own weakness and sinfulness was indeed clear, but she +had such unwavering faith in her Redeemer as enabled her to say: +"Dying seems to me like laying the head back and closing the eyes, +just to open them in a few moments on the joys of paradise." The +following lines, written with a pencil on the cover and blank leaf of +her French Testament, were the last she ever wrote. They are dated +March 3--just ten days before her death--and give indubitable evidence +of the clearness of her intellect and the strength of her faith while +passing through "the valley of the shadow of death":-- + + "Jesus, I know thou art the living Word! + Each blessed promise to myself I take; + I would not doubt, if I had only heard + This--this alone, '_I never will forsake!_' + + I have no fear-the sting of death is sin, + And Christ removed it when he died for me: + Washed in his blood, my robe without, within, + Has not a stain that God himself can see. + + Wrapped in the Saviour's arms I sweetly lie; + Far, far behind I hear the breakers roar; + I have been dying--but I cease to die, + My rest begins--rejoice forevermore!" + +Having expressed a wish to be visited by all her acquaintances, many +called to see her, with whom she conversed freely on the interests of +their soul. With great composure she made arrangements for her +departure--leaving books and other articles to her intimate friends. +One day she made a request that I should preach her funeral sermon. +For a moment I hesitated because of relationship (having married her +sister Josephine), then remarked, that I supposed there would be no +impropriety in doing so, as I recollected that Whitefield preached his +wife's, to which she immediately added, "And Wesley preached his +mother's." On asking if she had thought of any passage to be used as a +text, she replied: "I first thought of the words, 'I shall be +satisfied, when I awake, with thy likeness'; but you know that is all +about _I_, and now I feel that Christ is all--it is all Christ: so I +have thought of his words in the 11th of John, 'I am the Resurrection +and the Life.'" She also suggested to her sister that the following +hymns (which were favorites with her) should be used on the occasion: + + "Come let us join our cheerful songs + With angels round the throne;" + + "On Jordan's stormy banks I stand + And cast a wishful eye,"-- + + "Joyfully, joyfully, onward I move, + Bound for the land of bright glory and love." + + +The joyous character of the hymns will at once be noted; and this was +the very reason why she selected them: she considered that they would +be more expressive of her condition than the mournful ones which are +so frequently used at funerals. Two of her poems seem so appropriate +here that we insert them. The former was written in June, 1859, and +the latter bears date "Nov. 30, 1861":-- + +THE ONE NAME.--ACTS 4:12. + + "When round my dying bed ye stand, + And kiss my cheek and clasp my hand, + Oh, whisper in my failing ear + The only Name I care to hear,-- + The only Name that has the power + To comfort in the dying hour. + + "Let neither sob nor sigh be heard, + But still repeat that sacred word,-- + Until the solace it imparts + Descends like balm upon your hearts, + And I in triumph gladly sing: + 'O dreaded Death, where is thy sting?' + + "And when released from sin and clay + My happy spirit soars away, + And pauses at the heavenly gate, + Where saints and smiling angels wait, + And views the city bright and fair,-- + That Name shall be my passport there! + + "Oh then, in calm and holy trust, + Give my poor body to the dust-- + Assured that God will guard the clay + Until the Resurrection Day, + When he on whom my soul relies + In thunder tones will bid me rise. + + "Amid the earth-devouring storm, + Made like my Saviour's glorious form, + Redeemed from sickness, death, and pain, + I shall awake to life again; + And soul and body both shall be + With Christ throughout eternity." + + +THE ADIEU. + + "You will miss me when I am gone-- + At morning, at night, and noon: + I have needed your arm to lean upon, + I shall need it no longer soon. + + "I've been helpless for many years, + 'No _burden_' you always said;-- + I have claimed your pity, your prayers and tears + You will miss me when I am dead. + + "How many a dreary night + You have watched by my couch of pain, + Till the streaming in of morning light-- + You will never watch again. + + "God taketh not all away + The bitter and sweet he blends, + And I bless his name by night and day + That he has not denied me friends. + + "You have shared the heavy load, + Which alone I could not have borne; + I am going now to a bright abode, + But I leave you, alas! to mourn. + + "You will miss me when I am gone, + As you never have missed before! + I have needed your arm to lean upon + But soon I shall need it no more. + + "I lean on my Saviour's breast + In this hour of mortal pain; + Oh, strong are His arms! and sweet my rest! + Farewell! till we meet again." + +The expected hour though long of coming arrived at last. As long as +she seemed to realize what was transpiring around her, and when too +weak to converse, she would signify by a word or motion that she had +peace and all was well. About a quarter past 11 o'clock Friday night, +March 13, 1863, "the silver cord was loosed," and she sweetly fell +asleep in Jesus, aged twenty-eight years, four months, and sixteen +days. On the Tuesday following we buried her from the village church, +where ten years before she had decided to come out openly on the +Lord's side. It was crowded. Three ministers, from as many different +denominations, assisted me in the services. Her mother and sister (the +wife of Dr. G. O. Somers) were too feeble to attend. But we hope soon +to greet her where--to use her own words, + + "Earthly love is like the starlight lost + In glorious sunshine, and the things of time + Shrink into nothing: even death itself + Fades like a shadow in the noontide blaze, + And life--new, glorious, everlasting life-- + Expands the soul, and all it ever dreamed + Of heavenly bliss becomes reality." + + +Above the stillness of death we hear the words of inspiration: +"Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints"; "Thy +dead shall live again"; and in hope we wait. The weary pilgrim has +reached her resting-place. She lies in the chamber of Peace, whose +windows open toward the sunrising. + + + + +SELECTIONS + + +Thou King of kings, Almighty One! + bend unto me the ear +That listens to the music + of every rolling sphere, +And guide, oh guide my feeble hand + to strike my slumbering lyre +To strains harmonious and divine, + and every thought inspire. + +--_Poems, p. 9._ + + + + +RURAL SCENES. + + +THE WALK IN JUNE. + + +A walk in June, in early June, + Our sweet Canadian June-- +When every tree is all in leaf, + And every bird in tune; +When laughing rills leap down the hills + And through the meadows play, +Inviting to their verdant banks + The old, the young, the gay. + +When not a cloud is in the sky, + Nor shadow on the lake +Save what the trees that line the shore + And little islands make,-- +When every nook where'er we look, + Is bright with dewy flowers, +And violets are thickly strewn + As though they fell in showers. + +How sweetly on the balmy air + The children's voices ring! +And even I renew my youth + With each returning spring. +Oh, we may keep a fresh young heart + Though outward beauty fade, +If we but cherish there a love + For all that God has made. + +I do not call a happy man + The man that's rich or great; +Nor him, who stands with folded hands + And says, "It is my fate!" +But he is blest who cheerfully + Endures or does his part, +And looks on earth, and sea, and sky + With an adoring heart. + +He wanders by the pebbly beach. + And by the summer brook, +And thoughtfully he turns the leaves + Of Nature's blessed book. +In forest shade, on hill, in vale, + Where'er he walks abroad, +There goes an humble worshipper-- + A lover of his God. + +The cares that trouble other men + For him have little weight; +He values glory at its worth, + Nor cringes to the great. +His simple pleasures never fail, + Nor make his nature cold,-- +And though the years may come and go, + He never can be old. + +You call the picture overdrawn-- + But such a man I know; +Whose presence, like the morning sun, + Dispels each cloud of woe. +And trustingly I cling to him + As only true love can,-- +My comforter, protector, guide,-- + My love, thou art the man! + +And you are teaching me to look + On nature with your eyes; +The pleasant change within my heart + Each day I realize. +The world is brighter now to me, + A holier thing is life. +Than even on that happy day + When first you called me wife. + +The trifles that perplexed me then + Now leave my spirit calm,-- +An for the deeper woes of life + I have a healing balm. +I see the hand of God in all, + I know that he is just; +And where I cannot understand + I've learned to wait and trust. + +Oh, I remember well the day-- + 'Twas in the month of June, +When every tree was all in leaf, + And every bird in tune,-- +We walked together, arm in arm, + As we are walking now, +But I was young, and Time had left + No traces on your brow. + +I listened with a strange delight + To every word you said, +And then to hide the burning tears + I turned away my head. +I dared not trifle with your love, + Though till that magic hour +I had not cared for aching hearts + If they but owned my power. + +I never felt so vile before-- + So humbled in mine eyes; +I wondered what you saw to love: + I thought you must despise. +For I was gay, and you were grave, + And I was vain and proud: +You loved the meadow and the grove, + And I the laughing crowd. + +I told you frankly of my faults, + You would not hear me through; +You said you were an erring man, + And earthly angels few. +But would I show my better side? + And would I deign to bless? +You held my hand--what _could_ I do? + And so I answered, "Yes." + +Do I regret it? Nay, my love, + For were I free as then +The man I chose I still would choose + Before all other men. +And I would say, For life or death, + For happiness or woe, +Where'er you dwell there I will dwell, + Where'er you go, I go. + +That was a day, and that a walk + To be remembered long: +It changed the current of my life, + And made each thought a song. +There was a glory in the sky, + A glory on the trees, +And the perfumes of Paradise + Were poured on every breeze. + +I scarcely seemed to walk the earth, + My spirit was so light; +'Twas easy then to shun the wrong, + So easy to do right. +New hopes began to bud and bloom + Like blossoms in the spring,-- +My heart o'erflowed with tenderness + For every living thing. + +I was no more the thoughtless girl + By idle fancy led; +Life seemed to me reality, + And yet I did not dread +To walk along its roughest path: + I should not walk alone,-- +Another and a better life + Was blended with mine own. + +One blessing more and then, you said + Our joy would be complete; +Your prayer was answered when I sat + At the Redeemer's feet. +And deeper, holier grew our love,-- + Our union was to be +Not only for a lifetime here, + But for eternity. + +Thus peacefully we passed along + Till that eventful day +When all the labor of our hands + Like chaff was swept away: +We saw our home made desolate, + Our pleasant cottage sold; +Men called us poor, but we were rich + In better things than gold. + +For we had lived an honest life; + We could look up and say: +We never wronged a fellow-man, + Nor turned the poor away. +We held a treasure in our arms + Which every care beguiled; +He never sorrowed, never sinned-- + For Jesus took the child. + +There is a little mound of earth + Where, when the spring appears, +We watch the budding violets, + And water them with tears. +Oh, it were more than earthly love + That soothed a parent's woe +When there we laid our darling down, + Full twenty years ago! + +Sometimes my heart grows sad and sick + When to the past I turn, +And for a sweet and gentle voice + To call me _mother_ yearn. +I see the silver in my hair, + The lines upon your brow,-- +And oh, I wish our boy had lived + To be our comfort now! + +One moment--then the wish is o'er: + The sun begins to shine; +I lift my heart in thankfulness, + And say, "Thy will is mine." +'Tis true, of poverty and pain + We both have had our share, +But do you think in all the world + There is a happier pair? + +I know the harvest-time is near,-- + I know the Reaper stands +Before us, and I tremble much + Lest he unlock our hands +But God will be our strength and shield, + Our refuge in that hour; +And he will join our hands again + Beyond the Reaper's power. + +Now let me wipe away those tears; + Forget my gloomy talk, +And with your own improve the scene + And sanctify our walk: +So that with Nature's melody + Our hearts may be in tune, +And send up incense like the flowers + This pleasant day in June! + + + + +AN EVENING MEDITATION. + + +How softly yonder pale star beams above my head to-night! How +beautiful it appears in the azure vault of heaven where twilight holds +the connecting link between day and night. Oh, if my soul were freed +from its clayey fetters how swiftly it would fly (if such a journey +were possible) to the boundaries of that sweet star! Can that fair +planet, seemingly so pure and spotless, be inhabited by beings as +frail and erring as ourselves? Can there be any sad souls there to- +night-- +any who are weeping over blighted hopes and blasted prospects? +It may be so; and yet perchance such a thing as a pang of sorrow and a +burning tear are unknown, for it may be _sin_ has never entered there. +Vain, useless conjectures! But will the veil which hides the scenes of +other worlds from our eyes never be withdrawn? ... Surely it is +because God is merciful that I have been spared through another day. I +cannot forbear wondering that I have been spared so long,--that I have +not been cut down as a cumberer of the ground. O God, according to thy +loving-kindness preserve me. Grant that I may yet be an humble +instrument in thy hand of doing something for the good of thy cause. +Forgive my numberless sins and at last receive me to glory.--July 20, +1852. + + +It is a lovely scene; the sun has set, + But left his glory in the western sky +Where daylight lingers, half regretful yet + That sombre Night, her sister, draweth nigh, + And one pale star just looketh from on high; +'Tis neither day nor night, but both have lent + Their own peculiar charms to please the eye,-- +Declining day its sultry heat has spent, +And calm, refreshing night its grateful coolness lent. + +The lake is sleeping--on its quiet breast + Are clouds of every tint the rainbows wear, +Some are in crimson, some in gold are dressed. + Oh, had I wings, like yonder birds of air, + How I would love to dip my pinions there, +Then mount exulting to the heavenly gate,-- + A song of love and gratitude to bear +To Him who gives the lowly and the great, +In earth, and sea, and sky, so glorious an estate. + +It is the time when angels are abroad + Upon their work of love and peace to men,-- +Commissioned from the dazzling throne of God, + They come to earth as joyfully as when + The tidings ran o'er mountain and o'er glen, +"A son is born, a Saviour and a King,"-- + For they have tidings glorious as then, +Since tokens from our risen Lord they bring, +That life has been secured, and death has lost its sting. + +The twilight deepens; o'er the distant hill + A veil is spread of soft and misty grey; +And from the lake, so beautiful and still, + The images of sunset fade away; + The twinkling stars come forth in bright array, +Which shunned the splendor of the noontide glare,-- + A holy calm succeeds the bustling day. +And gentle voices stealing through the air, +Proclaim to hearts subdued the hour of grateful prayer. + + + + +NATURE'S RESURRECTION. + + +Hark! it is the robin crying, + He has heard the voice of Spring; +From the woods the crow is flying, + And the jay is on the wing. + +Slowly now the sun is ranging + Each day nearer to the west; +All things tell the year is changing, + Nature wakens from her rest. + +Lower sink the snow-drifts daily, + Half the pasture lands are bare; +And the little streams leap gayly + From their chains to breathe the air. + +While the barren earth rejoices, + Care-worn mortal, come away,-- +Listen to the pleasant voices + Of the resurrection day. + +Dost thou understand the token? + Nature should not teach in vain +What its gracious Lord hath spoken-- + _That the dead shall live again!_ + + + + +THE BIRD'S NEST. + + +Two robins came in early Spring,-- + When Winter's reign was o'er; +And every morn I heard them sing + Just by our cottage door. + +They built their nest of moss and hay + Within a maple-tree,-- +And thither every pleasant day, + I went to hear and see. + +At first whene'er I came they flew, + Or eyed me in alarm; +But soon my step familiar grew, + I never did them harm. + +One day a louder song I heard, + With eager cries for food; +And then I helped the mother-bird + To still her hungry brood. + +I always seemed a welcome guest; + Both old and young I fed, +Then settling down beneath the nest, + Some pleasant book I read. + +I watched them fondly day by day, + Until their wings were grown; +When suddenly they flew away, + And left me all alone. + +The bitter tears began to start, + And full of sad regret +I wondered in my simple heart, + If birds could thus forget! + +Ah! many summers have returned, + And many changes wrought, +Since I the mournful lesson learned, + In early childhood taught. + +And many hopes have taken wings + On which my heart was set,-- +And I have found that _many things + As well as birds forget!_ + + + + +GATHER VIOLETS. + + +Gather violets white and blue, + Where the southern zephyrs play; +Bring them sparkling with the dew,-- + With the blessed dew of May. + +Let me fold them to my breast, + Emblems sweet of earthly bliss; +Ha! they love to be caressed, + For they give me kiss for kiss. + +How my weary heart doth yearn, + Touched as by a hand Divine, +While their soft blue eyes they turn + Full of sympathy to mine! + +Do they know how much I sigh + For the meadows where they grew? +For the forest and the sky, + Where they caught their azure hue? + +There is One who knows it all,-- + To his loving arms I flee: +Oh, he hears my feeblest call, + And I know he pities me. + +He ere long will take my hand + Saying tenderly, "Arise!" +He will lead me to the land + Where no blossom ever dies. + + + + +TO A DANDELION. + + +Blessings on thy sunny face, +In my heart thou hast a place, + Humble Dandelion! +Forms more lovely are around thee, +Purple violets surround thee,-- +But I know thy honest heart +Never felt a moment's smart +At another's good or beauty,-- +Ever at thy post of duty, +Smiling on the great and small, +Rich and poor, and wishing all +Health, and happiness, and pleasure, +Oh, thou art a golden treasure! + +I remember years ago, +How I longed to see thee blow, + Humble Dandelion! +Through the meadows I would wander, +O'er the verdant pastures yonder, +Filling hands and filling lap, +Till the teacher's rap, rap, rap, +Sounding on the window sash +Dreadful as a thunder crash, +Galled me from my world ideal +To a world how sad and real,-- +From a laughing sky and brook +To a dull old spelling-book; +Then with treasures hid securely, +To my seat I crept demurely. + +Childhood's careless days are o'er, +Happy school days come no more, + Humble Dandelion! +Through a desert I am walking, +Hope eluding, pleasure mocking, +Every earthly fountain dry, +Yet when thou didst meet mine eye, +Something like a beam of gladness +Did illuminate my sadness, +And I hail thee as a friend +Come a holiday to spend +By the couch of pain and anguish. +Where I suffer, moan and languish. + +When at length I sink to rest, +And the turf is on my breast, + Humble Dandelion! +Wilt thou when the morning breaketh, +And the balmy spring awaketh, +Bud and blossom at a breath +From the icy arms of death, +Wilt thou smile upon my tomb? +Drawing beauty from the gloom, +Making life less dark and weary, +Making death itself less dreary, +Whispering in a gentle tone +To the mourner sad and lone, +Of a spring-time when the sleeper +Will arise to bless the weeper? + + +My Father made this beautiful world and gave me a heart to love his +works. Oh, may I love Him better than all created things! + + +The little plat of ground around our house is a great field of +instruction and amusement to me. How little do I comprehend of all +contained within it! I am glad I was not born in some great city-- +where Nature had not been so kind and dear a friend. + + + + +TO A ROBIN. + + +Robin Red-breast on the tree, +Do you sing that song for me? + +"You are listening it is true, +But I do not sing for you. +Higher yet on tiptoe rise, +Don't you see a pair of eyes +Peeping through the pleasant shade +Which the summer leaves have made? +There they watch me all day long, +Brightening at my cheerful song, +Turning wheresoe'er I go +For the evening meal below. +Dearest mate that ever blest +Happy lover--peaceful nest,-- +Guarding well our eggs of blue, +All my songs I sing for you!" + + + + +GOD IS THERE. + + +When the howling winds are high, +And the vivid lightnings fly + Through the air;-- +When the deafening thunders roll, +Peace to thee, O troubled soul-- + God is there! + +When the dreary storm is past, +And the promised bow at last-- + Bright and fair-- +In the cloudy sky appears, +Smiling still through Nature's tears + God is there! + +When the tender buds unfold +Bright with purple and with gold + In the air,-- +Or, at twilight when they close +Wrapped awhile in sweet repose + God is there! + +Where the robin chants her lay +Sweetly at the dawn of day, + Or with care +Builds her soft and downy nest, +Lulls her little brood to rest, + God is there! + +When the countless stars appear, +Ever to the listening ear + They declare: +He who sees the sparrows fall +Made us and supports us all; + God is there! + +When the youthful knee is bent, +And to heaven is humbly sent + Grateful prayer,-- +Bending from his throne above +Full of tenderness and love + God is there! + +Though his arm sustains the spheres +'Tis the sweetest sound he hears-- + Child-like prayer; +Seek then oft the peaceful shade: +There our Blessed Saviour prayed-- + God is there! + + + + +THE CANADIAN FARMER. + + +How beautiful thou art, my native stream! +Art thou not worthy of a poet's theme? +The Po and Tiber live in ancient lays, +And smaller streams have had their need of praise, +Art thou less lovely? True, in classic lore +Thou art unknown, and on thy quiet shore +There are no monuments of other times, +No records of the past--its woes or crimes. +The roar of cannon and the clang of arms +Have never shook thy bosom with alarms, +And never has thy calm and peaceful flood +Been stained to crimson with a brother's blood. +The sportsman's rifle only hast thou heard +Scaring the rabbit and the timid bird; +Or may be in the savage days of yore +The wolf and bear have bled upon thy shore. +But rural peace and beauty reign to-night; +The harvest moon illumes with holy light +Each wave that ripples in its onward flow +O'er rock concealed amid the depths below, +And gives a strange, wild beauty to the scene +On either shore, where trees of evergreen, +Hemlocks and firs, their dusky shadows fling, +Around whose trunks the heavy mosses cling, +With maples clad in crimson, gold and brown, +Bright like the west when first the sun goes down. + +Here from this summit where I often roam +I can behold my cot, my humble home; +There I was born, and when this life is o'er +I hope to sleep upon the river's shore. +There is the orchard which I helped to rear, +It well repays my labor year by year: +One apple tree towers high above the rest +Where every spring a blackbird has its nest. +Sweet Lily used to stand beneath the bough +And smiling listen--but she comes not now. +A fairer bird ne'er charmed the rising day +Than she we loved thus early called away; +But she is gone to sing her holy strains +In lovelier gardens and on greener plains. + +There are the fields that I myself have cleared +Of trees and brush, and where a waste appeared +The corn just ready for the sickle stands, +And golden pumpkins dot my fertile lands. +There are the pastures where my cattle feed, +My gentle kind supply the milk we need; +Sweet cream and cheese are daily on our board, +And clothing warm my snowy sheep afford. +There are the flowers my Annie loves to tend,-- +How often do I see her smiling bend +To pluck the weeds, or teach the graceful vine +Around the string or slender pole to twine. +How often when the toils of day are done, +And I return just at the set of sun, +She comes to meet me down the verdant lane-- +Sweet partner of my pleasures and my pain-- +With snow-white buds amid her sunny hair, +To win my favor all her joy and care. +How often does she wander forth with me +And share my seat beneath the maple tree, +And smile and blush to hear my ardent lays +Recount her virtues and pour forth her praise. + +Hark! 'tis her voice, sweet as the wildbird's song; +She comes to tell me I have tarried long: +I hear her now an old love ditty hum, +And now she calls--I come, dear love, I come. + + + + +THE RETURN. + + +Grateful to our sleepless eyes, +Lo, the beams of morn arise, +And the mountain-tops are gray +With the light of coming day,-- +And the birds are on the wing. +With the happy birds we'll sing +Bidding doubt and gloom be gone, +Like the shadows at the dawn. + +Yes, for eyes as bright as day +Glance adown the shady way; +Gentle voices with delight +Whisper, "They will come to-night"; +Hearts as fond and true as ours +Wait for us in lovely bowers: +Nor shall wait for us in vain, +Faithful ones, we come again. + +Where the bending willows weep, +And the mosses slowly creep, +We our harps neglected hung. +Soon again they will be strung,-- +Forest, dell, and mountain stream +Will take up the blissful theme +When no longer doomed to roam +We can chant the praise of home. + +Lo, in yonder sky the sun +Half his daily task has done; +We will rest beside the spring, +While the bird with folded wing +Sits within his cool retreat, +Shaded from the noontide heat, +And the bees, with drowsy hum, +Homeward, honey-laden come. + +Homeward too our way we hold, +Laden, not with paltry gold, +But with treasures better far +Than the richest jewels are: +Simple, trusting hearts, content +With the blessings Heaven has lent. +Once within our love-lit cot, +Rich and great we envy not. + +Lo, the shadows lengthen fast; +Now the well-known hills are past; +Now the forest, dark and tall-- +Oh, how we remember all! +Now the pastures strewn with rocks, +Where we used to watch our flocks,-- +Farther down the winding road, +See! it is our own abode. + +Where the slanting sunbeams fall +On the lowly cottage wall, +Fancy can already trace +Each belov'd, familiar face: +One by one each form appears +Till our eyes are dim with tears; +If the foretaste be so sweet +Soon our joy will be complete! + +Here we are! But all is still +Save the ever-murmuring rill,-- +Save the hooting of the owl, +And the village watch-dog's howl, +Slowly swings the cottage door-- +Shall we cross the threshold o'er? +Empty and deserted all-- +Echo answers to our call! + +Where the bending willow tree +Oft has sheltered thee and me, +Lo, the turf has been uptorn: +We have come,--but come to mourn! +Eyes are dim and lips are cold, +And our arms we sadly fold +Over hearts, till hushed and dead, +Never to be comforted! + +No; our hearts shall still be strong, +For the journey is not long; +In a holy, deathless land +We shall meet our household band: +In the fairer bowers above, +They await the friends they love, +Oh, what joy with them to dwell, +_Never more to say farewell!_ + + + + +THE OLD SUGAR CAMP. + + +[Whoever has attended a "sugaring off" in the woods will enjoy the +reading of this poem--the description is so life-like and +exhilarating. It is a home scene.] + +Come let us away to the old Sugar Camp; +The sky is serene though the ground may be damp,-- +And the little bright streams, as they frolic and run, +Turn a look full of thanks to the ice-melting sun; +While the warm southern winds, wherever they go, +Leave patches of brown 'mid the glittering snow. + +The oxen are ready, and Carlo and Tray +Are watching us, ready to be on the way, +While a group of gay children, with platter and spoon, +And faces as bright as the roses of June, +O'er fences and ditches exultingly spring, +Light-hearted and careless as birds on the wing. + +Where's Edwin? Oh, here he comes, loading his gun; +Look out for the partridges--hush! there is one! +Poor victim! a bang, and a flutter--'tis o'er,-- +And those fair dappled wings shall expand nevermore; +It was shot for our invalid sister at home, +Yet we sigh as beneath the tall branches we roam. + +Our cheeks all aglow with the long morning tramp, +We soon come in sight of the old Sugar Camp; +The syrup already is placed in the pan, +And we gather around it as many as can,-- +We try it on snow; when we find it is done +We fill up a mold for a dear absent one. + +Oh, gayest and best of all parties are these, +That meet in the Camp 'neath the old maple trees, +Renewing the love and the friendship of years,-- +They are scenes to be thought of with smiles and with tears +When age shall have furrowed each beautiful cheek, +And left in dark tresses a silvery streak. + +Here brothers and sisters and lovers have met, +And cousins and friends we can never forget; +The prairie, the ocean, divide us from some, +Yet oft as the seasons for sugaring come, +The cup of bright syrup to friendship we'll drain, +And gather them home to our bosom again. + +Dear Maple, that yieldeth a nectar so rare, +So useful in spring, and in summer so fair,-- +Of autumn acknowledged the glory and queen, +Attendant on every Canadian scene, +Enshrined in our homes it is meet thou shouldst be +Of our country the emblem, O beautiful Tree! + + + + +TO A RABBIT. + + +Go to the green wood, go + I oft shall sigh for thee,-- +And yet rejoice to know, + That thou art sporting free. + +Go to the meadows green, + Where summer holds her reign; +When winter spoils the scene + Wilt thou return again? + +A shelter thou wouldst find + From every howling storm; +The heart thou leav'st behind + Would still be true and warm. + +Why dost thou struggle thus? + Does every balmy breeze +That softly fanneth us, + Tell of the waving trees? + +Do yonder happy birds + That sing for thee and me, +For chorus have the words + So precious--"I am free?" + +Go then, as free as they, + As light and happy roam +With thy companions gay, + Safe in thy forest home. + +There--thou art gone; farewell! + My heart leaps up with thine; +And I rejoice to tell + Thou art no longer mine. + +I could not breathe the air + Where pining captives dwell; +My freedom thou wilt share, + With joy then, fare-thee-well. + + + + +THE OLD MAN. + + +The old man's cheek was wet with tears, + And his wrinkled brow was pale, +As after a lapse of many years + He stood in his native vale. + +The warblers sang in the leafy bough, + And the earth was robed in green; +But the old man's heart beat sadly now + While he gazed on the lovely scene. + +The stream ran clear to the distant sea, + The same as he saw it last; +And sitting beneath an old elm tree, + He thought of days in the past. + +He thought how he climbed the verdant hill, + Or roved through the forest wild, +Or traced to its source the rippling rill, + A gay and careless child. + +And as he thought of the happy throng + That around him used to crowd +With the ringing laugh and the joyous song, + The old man wept aloud. + +For well he knew they would meet no more + On the dreary shores of time,-- +But he looked away to a brighter shore, + He looked to a deathless clime. + +That moment a young and merry group + Came bounding across the lea, +With rosy cheek, with ball and with hoop + They came to the old elm tree. + +They paused awhile in their noisy play + To gaze on the aged man, +While he wiped his falling tears away + And in trembling tones began: + +"I would not cloud for the world your joy, + Or have you less happy for me-- +For I have been like yourselves a boy + Though I'm now the wreck you see. + +"But let the words of wisdom and truth + In your memories be enrolled,-- +And in the days of your sunny youth + _Be kind to the poor and old_!" + +The children wept as they heard him speak, + And forgetful of their play +They wiped the tears from his furrowed cheek, + And they smoothed his locks of gray. + +He laid his hand with a tender air + By turns on each youthful head, +Then lifting his faded eyes in prayer, + "God bless you!" the old man said. + +And the boys _were blest_:--for the angels flung + Around them their wings of gold; +So ever they do when the gay and young + Are kind to the poor and old. + + + + +THE FADING AND THE UNFADING. + + +Once more the beautiful Spring has returned, and from my window I can +behold the delightful places where I have so often roamed in childhood +light-hearted and happy. But the lovely Spring brings no longer the +same emotions as of yore. Oh no! for "a change has come over the +spirit of my dream." Earth has lost its charms, and although I love +the beauties of nature even better than before, still they cannot +satisfy,--they are doomed to fade, and my soul yearns for those +beautiful heavenly bowers which shall never wither; where God himself +reigns in person and "chases night away." But, although I sigh for +such things, am I prepared for them? Should I be ready at this moment +to enter the paradise of God? Ah, my heart, why shouldest thou +hesitate thus to return an answer? God is still able and willing to +save, and though I have wandered so far from Him, if with an humble +and penitent soul I confess my sins he is willing and able to forgive +me.--June 4,1853. + + + + +ON RECEIPT OF SOME WILD FLOWERS. + + +I bedewed with tears those spring-time flowers, +For they brought to my mind the happy hours +When I roamed through the forests' and meadows green +With a heart all alive to each beautiful scene. + +I loved the flowers when my step was light, +And my cheek with the glow of health was bright, +Through forest and meadows, o'er plain and o'er hill +I may wander no more--but I love them still! + +I love the flowers, and I love them best +When they first peep out from earth's snow-wreathed breast; +For they tell, amid sorrow, and death, and gloom, +Of a spring that shall visit the depths of the tomb! + +And oh! could I roam through Fortune's bowers, +I would twine a wreath of the sweetest flowers, +Whose beauty and fragrance should ne'er depart-- +But brighten thy home and gladden thy heart! + +But the flowers of earth are fragile and fair,-- +And the young brow must fade and be furrowed with care; +But hast thou not heard of a wonderful clime +That ne'er has been marred by the footsteps of Time? + +There in gardens of bliss the weary repose; +There the pale, sickly cheek wears the hue of the rose; +There death never comes,--Oh, amid its bright bowers, +May we twine for each other a garland of flowers! + + + + +THE SICK GIRL'S DREAM. + + +I heard the other night in dreams + The early robin sing: +The southern winds unlocked the streams, + And warmed the heart of Spring. + +The plum-trees wore their bridal dress, + The willows donned their plumes, +And to the zephyr's fond caress + Gave forth their rare perfumes. + +Through months of wintry frost and storm-- + Yet never harmed by them-- +A million germs had nestled warm, + Close to the parent stem. + +The happy spring-time broke their rest, + They drank the morning dew, +They clasped the sunbeams to their breast, + And clothed the trees anew. + +The clouds distilled the fertile rain + And sent it forth in showers; +The sunlight danced along the plain + And painted it with flowers. + +The butterfly went forth to play, + The useful honey bee +Kept up a hunt through all the day. + Of cheerful industry. + +The squirrel gamboled in the grove, + The rabbit bounded by, +The wary spider spun and wove, + And trapped the careless fly. + +From out the joyous, vocal wood + The song of warblers came: +The cuckoo, in a merry mood, + Told and re-told its name. + +And when behind the purple hill + The sun went out of sight, +The frogs began with hearty will + Their concert for the night. + +Such scenes had made, in brighter years, + My heart with transport leap, +But now they touched the spring of tears,-- + I sobbed aloud in sleep. + +And is there not some balm, I cried, + 'Mid nature's boundless wealth? +"Behold"--a gentle voice replied-- + "Behold the Fount of health!" + +Just then a torrent met my eye, + Fresh from the rock it burst; +I could have drained the fountain dry, + So raging was my thirst. + +Such deep emotions filled my soul + I woke--the vision fled: +The moonbeams through the curtain stole, + Ah! 'twas a dream, I said. + +But well I know there is a land + Where flows the living stream; +And when upon its banks I stand, + Oh, then 'twill be no dream. + + + + +THE LAST SONG. + + +"Earth is fair, oh so fair,"-- + Sang a little, happy bird; +Though a prey to grief and care, + With a smile I heard. +Sing again that blithesome strain, + Precious little bird, I said; +For the heart that throbbed with pain + Thou hast comforted! + +"Earth is fair, oh so fair," + Louder sang the happy bird; +"What have I to do with care, + Or with hope deferred?" +All the western sky was red + With the beams of setting sun, +As the sportsman homeward sped + With the fatal gun. + +"Earth is fair, oh so fair, + And I love the green earth well,"-- +Death was in the balmy air, + And the warbler fell! +Earth _is_ fair--but earth no more + Wears its pleasant green for thee,-- +Cold and stiff and bathed in gore + Underneath the tree. + +Earth is fair, but alas! + It hath many scenes of woe; +Happy they who through them pass, + Sweetly singing as they go,-- +Comforting some lonely heart, + Making some weak spirit strong;-- +So may I, and then depart, + On my lips a song! + + + + +AN EVENING SCENE. + + +How still and calm! what fairer scene e'er met +The eye of mortal short of Paradise? +The quiet lake is like a mirror set +In richest green where sunset loves to see +Itself arrayed in crimson, pink and gold. +And e'en the proud old mountain bows his head +Shaggy with hemlocks, and appears well pleased +To view so grand a form reflected there. +Hark! o'er the polished surface how the loons +Call to each other, waking echoes wild +From crag and cliff, and waking in my heart +Sweet memories of other days and years +When health was on my cheek, and hope and love +O'er all the future wove one iris bright. +Ah, little prophets, do you then predict +A rainy morrow? By yon crimson west +I doubt your warnings; so in truth it seems +Does yonder farmer who, with shouldered scythe +From meadows fragrant with the new-mown hay, +Goes whistling homeward, glad to seek repose +Until another sun shall call him forth, +To gather into barns the winter's store +Of food provided for the gentle king +That faintly lowing from the pastures come +Scented with herbage, giving promise fair +Of pails o'erflowing with a sweeter drink +Than ever gleamed in the inebriate's bowl. + +Now o'er the landscape signs of twilight creep, +And sounds that tell of night--sounds that I love: +The hooting of the owl, the tree-frog's cry +By distance mellowed; and--more distant still-- +I hear the barking of the village dogs. +The breath of evening whispering 'mid the pines, +And deepening shadows, bid me homeward turn; +And yet I linger--for I seem a part +Of lake and mountain, meadow, tree and sky,-- +And realize how sweet a thing it is +To lay my heart so close to Nature's own +That I can feel its throbbing, while each pulse +Responsive beats, and o'er my being steals +A rapturous calm like that out parents felt +When to the bowers of Eden they repaired, +And praised their Maker seen in all his works. + +Author of nature! Source of life and light! +Almighty Father! let me praise thee too. +This lovely world is thine; yon moon and stars +That now begin to usher in the night +Are but the outposts of unnumbered spheres +That march in order round thy dazzling throne, +And chant thy praises in perpetual song. +All these are thine, for thou hast made them all; +And I am thine! I thank thee, Lord of lords, +King of the Universe, Creator, God, +That while in part I realize thy _power_ +I know it has an equal in the _love_ +Which bowed the heavens and consecrated earth +When the Messiah came to save mankind, +And in its proper orbit reinstate +A fallen world, which shall one day become +The fairest 'mid the sisterhood of orbs, +The most renowned because the dearest bought,-- +The best beloved, because the ransom given +Was all that God omnipotent could pay! + + + + +AUTUMN TEACHINGS. + + +The howling winds rage around my casement. The summer is past, and +everything indicates that winter will soon be here. The seared leaves +are falling from their homes in the waving forests; the earth has +thrown aside her gay mantle of green, and one scene of desolation +presents itself to the eye. The decay of nature brings with it sad and +solemn reflections, how much more the decay of the human form--of +which autumn seems so striking an emblem. The days of man are few. +Like the flower of the field he perisheth, and yet how few seem to +realize it! O God, teach me to apply my heart unto wisdom. Help me to +love and serve thee, that when "the heavens shall be dissolved and the +elements shall melt with fervent heat" I may not be among those who +shall take up the sad lamentation: "The harvest is past, the summer is +ended, and we are not saved."--_Oct._, 1852. + + + + +THE WATCHER. + + +[As Miss Johnson lived in the house with Dr. G. O. Somers, who would +frequently in winter cross lake Memphremagog on the ice in visiting +his patients, the following, written on a sick-bed, gives a graphic +description of what her fears pictured might be a reality.] + +Night comes, but he comes not! I fear +The treacherous ice; what do I hear? +Bells? nay, I am deceived again,-- +'Tis but the ringing in my brain. +Oh how the wind goes shrieking past! +Was it a voice upon the blast? +A cry for aid? My God protect! +Preserve his life--his course direct! +How suddenly it has grown dark-- +How very dark without--hush! hark! +'Tis but the creaking of the door; +It opens wide, and nothing more. +Then wind and snow came in; I thought +Some straggler food and shelter sought; +But more I feared, for fear is weak, +That some one came of him to speak: +To tell how long he braved the storm, +How long he kept his bosom warm +With thoughts of home, how long he cheered +His weary horse that plunged, and reared, +And wallowed through the drifted snow +Till daylight faded, and the glow +Of hope went out; how almost blind, +He peered around, below, behind,-- +No road, no track, the very shore +All blotted out,--one struggle more, +It is thy last, perchance, brave heart! +O God! a reef! the masses part +Of snow and ice, and dark and deep +The waters lie in death-like sleep; +He sees too late the chasm yawn; +Sleigh, horse and driver, all are gone! +Father in heaven! It may be thus, +But thou art gracious,--pity us, +Save him, and me in mercy spare +What 'twould be worse than death to bear. +Hark! hark! am I deceived again? +Nay, 'tis no ringing in my brain; +My pulses leap--my bosom swells-- +Thank God! it is, _it is his bells_! + + + + +PATRIOTIC POEMS + + +THE SURRENDER OF QUEBEC. + + +[Quebec is the oldest city in Canada, having been founded by +Champlain, in 1608, near the site of an Indian village. It was taken +from the French, by the English, under General Wolfe, in 1759, after a +heroic defence by Montcalm. Both generals fell on the battle-field, +mortally wounded. In 1853 the Literary and Historical Society of +Quebec offered a prize medal for the best poem relating to the history +of Canada. Miss Johnson (then in her eighteenth year) wrote the +following, which took the prize.] + + + The orb of day upon his pathway pressed, +Beaming with splendor, toward the shining west, +Cast one long, lingering glance upon the scene, +Lit up the river and the forest green, +Left his last rays upon the lordly dome, +And deigned to smile upon the peasant's home; +Then 'neath the western hills he sought repose, +And sank to rest as calmly as he rose: +Bright at the dawn of day, but brighter now, +When day had almost passed, and round her brow +Hung the expiring beams of dazzling light, +The certain presage of approaching night. +Slowly his gorgeous train, like him, withdrew, +Changing as they advanced in form and hue, +Until one lovely tint of fairest dye +Stole softly o'er the calm and cloudless sky; +Day, gently smiling, left her gleaming throne, +And evening fair came forth, and reigned alone. +The twinkling stars the azure vault adorned; +Like glistening gems, a glorious crown they formed, +And proudly sat in splendor pure and bright +Upon the pale and pensive brow of night; +While in the midst of all, with tranquil mien, +Mild Cynthia lent enchantment to the scene. + + Beneath lay spreading pastures green and fair, +And lofty hills and waving forests, where +The human voice had never yet been heard, +Or other sound, save when the depths were stirred +By the loud screams of some lone midnight bird. +But high o'er all the lofty city rose, +Firm in its strength, sublime in its repose; +On every hand by nature fortified, +And strongly built; with air of conscious pride +Gazed from its heights upon the scene below, +And bade defiance to each lurking foe; +Confiding in its bulwarks firm and sure, +It calmly slept and deemed itself secure! + + The river swept along; with surging roar +Its waves dashed wildly on the rocky shore; +While on its broad, expansive bosom lay +The twinkling orbs in beautiful array; +And every pearly drop shone clear and bright, +Bathed in a flood of soft and silvery light. +Scarcely a ripple stirred its quiet breast; +For every sighing breeze was lulled to rest, +And every sound was hushed on earth, in air, +And silence held supreme dominion there. + + Sleep sent his angels forth; with silent tread, +From house to house, they on their mission sped; +Watched by the couch of suffering and pain. +Soothed the pale brow and calmed the throbbing brain, +Eased the sad heart and closed the weeping eye, +Bade care and grief with their attendants fly, +Entered the chamber of the rich and great, +Nor scorned to visit those of mean estate, +But blessed alike the lofty and the low, +Alike bade each forget their weight of woe. +The proud and wealthy drew around their breast +"The curtains of repose," and sank to rest; +The pallid sons of want and hunger slept, +And sorrow's sons forgot that they had wept. + + The night wore slowly on; the dismal tower +Had long since tolled the lonely midnight hour +When a proud band, by daring impulse led, +Approached the river with a cautious tread, +With kindling eye and with an eager air, +Unmoored the boats that waited for them there; +In silence left the calm and peaceful shore, +In sullen silence plied the hasty oar, +In silence passed adown the quiet stream, +While ever and anon a pale moonbeam, +Sad and reproachful, cast a hasty glance +On polished dagger and on gleaming lance. + + The scene was mournful, and with magic art +It acted strangely on each manly heart; +No speedy action now, no rude alarm, +Called forth their powers, or nerved the stalwart arm; +No present danger used its strong control, +To rouse the passions of the warrior's soul; +But all conspired to place Thought on her throne, +And yield the reins of power to her alone. + + The past came slowly forth with all its train +Of blissful scenes that ne'er might be again, +Of mournful partings and convulsive sighs, +Of pallid faces and of tearful eyes, +Of aching hearts that heaved with sorrow's swell, +And broken tones that sadly breathed, "Farewell!" +And in the silence of that lonely hour, +Which bade the sternest own its wondrous power, +A small, still voice whispered in every soul, +Although each sought to burst from its control: +"To-morrow night the moon, as fair as now, +May shed her beams upon your death-sealed brow! +To-morrow night the stars may gild the wave +While you, perchance, may fill a soldier's grave! +To-morrow night your spirit may explore +The boundless regions of an unknown shore! +To-morrow night may find you with the slain, +And weeping love watch your return in vain!" + + And yet not long such gloomy thoughts might rest +Within the soldier's brave and gallant breast; +Not long the warrior, panting for the field +And for the battle's horrid din, might yield +His fearless spirit unto sorrow's sway, +Or dread the issue of the coming day. +The momentary sadness now was o'er, +As with new hopes they neared the frowning shore, +Landed in silence, and in stern array +Pressed firmly forward on their dangerous way, +Mounted the rugged rocks with footsteps slow, +And left the murmuring river far below. + + From cliff to cliff the gallant army spring, +Nor envy now the eagle's soaring wing; +They view their labors o'er, their object gain, +And proudly stand upon the lovely plain; +Gaze down upon the awful scenes they've passed, +Rejoicing that they've reached the heights at last. +Hope lights each eye and fills each manly breast, +Where wild desires and aspirations rest; +It bids each doubt and every shadow flee, +And points them on to certain victory! + + The morning dawned; the orient beams of light +Fell on a strange and a romantic sight,-- +On glistening helmet and on nodding crest, +On waving banner and on steel-clad breast. +The city woke,--but woke to hear the cry, +"To arms! to arms! the foe--the foe is nigh!" +She woke to hear the trumpet's wild alarms-- +She woke to hear the sound of clashing arms-- +She woke to view her confidence removed-- +She woke to view her trusted safety proved; +Her mighty bulwarks, long her pride and boast, +All safely mounted by a British host-- +She woke to view her lofty ramparts yield, +Her plains converted to a battle-field, +Her gallant troops in wild disorder fly, +The British banner floating to the sky, +And proudly waving o'er the bloody plain, +O'er heaps of dying and o'er heaps of slain. + + Roused from their hasty dreams, with brows aghast, +On every hand the soldiers gather fast, +Bind on their armor, seize the glittering sword, +Form in a line, and at a simple word, +With hurried steps advance toward the shore, +With hasty gestures grasp the trembling oar, +Across the river's bosom swiftly glide +And safely land upon the other side. +Drawn up in battle order now they stand, +Waiting in silence for their chief's command; +Then onward move, with firm and stately tread, +With waving plumes and ensigns proudly spread, +With gleaming sword and with uplifted lance, +Where brightly now the glistening sunbeams dance; +But long before those sunbeams shall decline +Streams of dark blood shall tarnish all their shine; +Those beams shall strive to gild the steel in vain, +For human gore the polished steel shall stain. + + The sun rose clear that morn; with ardent glow +He shed his beams alike o'er friend and foe. +His golden hues the spreading fields adorn, +Waving in beauty with the ripening corn; +Give richer colors to the lofty trees, +That gently rustle in the morning breeze; +They gild the river's surface, calm and blue, +And shine reflected in the sparkling dew. + + Oh, ye, who stand prepared for deadly strife, +Thirsting for blood and for a brother's life, +Behold the glories that around you lie, +The harmony pervading earth and sky! +Behold the wondrous skill and power displayed +In every leaf and every lowly blade; +On every hand behold the wondrous love +Of Him who reigns in majesty above,-- +Who bids for man all nature sweetly smile, +And sends his rain upon the just and vile; +His attribute is love; and shall ye dare +To take the life mercy and love would spare? +Shall ye destroy what he has formed to live, +And take away what ye can never give? +Shall puny mortal claim the right his own +Belonging to Omnipotence alone? +Rash man, forbear! and stay the ready dart +That seeks to lodge within thy brother's heart. +But, no; for mercy's voice, now hushed and still, +No longer may the steel-clad bosom thrill; +And hearts that melted once at other's woe-- +That kindled once with friendship's fervent glow-- +That once had felt and owned the soothing power +Of tender love--are callous in the hour +When savage War makes bare his awful arm +And peals in thunder tones his dread alarm. + + But there were _some_ in those devoted bands +O'er whom the blissful scenes of other lands +Came rushing wildly; and with piercing gaze +They looked an instant on their boyhood's days; +Remembered well the hours that flew too fast, +Remembered _some_ with whom those hours were past; +And, 'mid the group of dear companions gay, +Remembered well some whom they saw that day; +But sprang not forward with familiar grasp +And friendly air, the proffered hand to clasp; +But looked away, and with a pang of pain +Regretted that they e'er had met again! +For now they met, not as they met before-- +Not as they used to meet in days of yore +Not arm in arm, like brothers fondly tried, +Whom they could trust and in whose love confide; +Met not as once with high and mutual aim, +In classic halls to seek for future fame: +But met as bitter foes, in deadly strife, +Each wildly panting for the other's life; +With armies proud and swelling, like the flood, +To wreath their laurels in each other's blood! + + They once were friends; but France and England rose +In sounding arms and they are hostile foes! +They once were friends; but friendship may not shield +The warrior's breast upon the battle-field! +They once were friends; but, hark! the cannon's roar +Loudly proclaims that they are friends no more! +From rank to rank the stunning volley flies, +From rank to rank the groans of anguish rise; +Rank after rank is numbered with the slain; +Rank follows rank, and bleeds upon the plain. + + Bravely they fought; with unabated zeal +In human gore they dipped the shining steel; +Pressed o'er the heaps of dying and of dead, +Where warriors groaned, and gallant heroes bled; +While from their lips, in quick and stifled breath +Arose the cry of "Victory, or death." + + Louder and louder still the awful roar +Pealed from the heights, and shook the frightened shore. +Thick clouds of smoke enveloped friend and foe; +The volleyed thunder shook the depths below; +Mountain and echoing forest joined the cry, +And distant hills gave back the same reply. +With animating voice and waving hand +The British leader cheered his gallant band, +Pressed firmly forward where one endless tide +Of woe and carnage reigned on every side,-- +Where streams of blood in crimson torrents rolled,-- +Where death smote down alike the young and old; +And where the thickest poured the deadly shot, +The gallant WOLFE with daring valor fought. + + The dead and dying in his pathway lie, +Before him ranks divide and squadrons fly; +With stalwart arm, and with unerring aim, +He adds new glories to his former fame, +Reaps the reward of all his toil: for now +Fresh laurels twine around his youthful brow. +But what avail they? for the fatal dart +Of death has lodged within that hoping heart! +The lofty head that wore the waving crest, +Now sadly droops upon the bleeding breast; +That mighty arm, upraised in power and pride, +Falls feebly down, and casts its sword aside; +The laurel wreath entwines that brow in vain, +For, lo! the hero lies among the slain! + + The French fought long with courage and with skill; +With iron arms and with an iron will +Rushed bravely forward 'mid the battle's din, +Resolved to die, or else the victory win; +Like soldiers true, fought firmly and fought well, +And at their post like faithful soldiers fell. + + Deeper and deeper now the conflict grows; +Despair nerves these, and victory flushes those. +'Tis the last struggle; hark! "They fly! they fly!" +Pierces the depths, and rends the vaulted sky. +'Tis the last struggle, for the beating drum +Proclaims the conflict o'er, the victory won. +The French in wild dismay and horror yield, +And leave the British masters of the field. + + Far in the rear a dying warrior lay, +While from his breast the life-blood ebbed away; +Attendants bent around to staunch the tide +That flowed in torrents from his wounded side; +With wild convulsions came each panting-breath, +And those proud features wore the hue of death. +His lips were sealed, his beaming eyes were dim, +And strangely quivered every outstretched limb; +Unconscious now he seemed of love or hate, +Unconscious now his spirit seemed to wait +The awful summons that should bid it fly +To worlds unknown, unseen by human eye. +He seemed like one already with the dead; +When, lo! he started--raised his drooping head; +With dying hand he grasped his trusty blade, +With kindling eye the battle-field surveyed, +Heard the triumphant shout, "They run! they run!" +Knew that the field was gained, the victory won. +"Who run?" he cried, with wildly throbbing heart, +With gushing breast, and livid lips apart. +"The French! the French!"--no more that warrior heard; +It was enough for him, that single word; +"I die contented!" and his youthful head +Fell feebly back; the noble soul had fled. + + Oh, gallant Wolfe! from o'er the dark blue sea +There comes a wail--a bitter wail for thee; +Thy country mourns her warrior, true and brave, +And yearning love weeps o'er thy lowly grave, +But nothing now may break thy tranquil rest, +Nothing disturb thy calm and quiet breast; +Nor clashing arms, nor cannon's deafening roar, +Nor sorrow's wail, may ever rouse thee more. +But, when a voice, far louder than them all, +Shall bid thee rise, thou must obey the call, +And stand, bereft of earthly pride and power, +Before thy Judge. God shield thee in that hour! + + Remoter from the scene, with drooping head +And nerveless arm, another warrior bled! +Death's seal upon that pallid brow was pressed; +His icy hand lay on that heaving breast; +But thoughts of victory lent no soothing balm +To cheer the spirit of the proud Montcalm! +He lived to see his bravest followers die; +He lived to see his troops disbanded fly; +Nor longer cared to live, but welcomed death, +And with a smile resigned his fleeting breath; +Stretched his proud limbs, without a sigh or groan, +And death had claimed the hero for his own. + + The strife was o'er, the dreadful combat past; +The echoing hills had found repose at last; +Carnage had done its work on every side, +And even greedy death was satisfied! +The sun went down; how changed from yester night! +How changed his aspect, and how changed the sight +On which he gazed! Then his last golden beam +Fell on a landscape fair--a quiet scene-- +Where now destruction reared its standard dread +O'er shattered bodies and o'er severed head. + + Heap upon heap the pallid victims lay, +Of racking pain and scorching thirst the prey; +In anguish rolled upon the bloody ground, +And wider still they tore each gaping wound; +In concert joined their agonizing cries, +Gnashed with their teeth and rolled their blood-shot eyes; +With feeble groans they drew each painful breath, +And racked with torments called aloud for death! +Far o'er the field in wild confusion rose +Piles of the ghastly dead--of friends and foes-- +In death stretched side by side, mangled and cold +While over all the sulphurous war-clouds rolled, +In dark, dense columns mounted up on high, +Tainting the air, polluting all the sky. + + Quebec was won; and o'er each lofty tower +The British banner streamed in pride and power; +Where the French eagle once her wings had spread +The British lion reared his haughty head, +And shook the conquered country with his roar; +The eagle flew in terror from the shore. +With drooping plumage skimmed the western main, +And, trembling, sought her native France again; +While England, proud and potent, took the sway +And waved her sceptre over Canada. + + + + +SONG OF THE ENGLISH PEASANT GIRL. + + +[The marriage in 1858 of Prince Frederick William of Prussia to +Victoria Adelaide Mary, eldest daughter of the Queen of England; and +the visit of Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, to Canada, in 1860, were +events of sufficient magnitude to arouse the patriotism of our +Canadian poetess, and we find reference made to them in this and the +two following pieces.] + +I am but a rustic maiden + Dwelling by the river side, +But I'm happy as the Princess + Who today becomes a bride. + +I am but a peasant's daughter, + All his life in toil is spent, +But he loves me as Prince Albert + Loves his child, and I'm content. + +Though the Queen of many nations, + Centre of each Royal scene, +Better than I love my mother, + Does the Princess love the Queen? + +Are Prince Leopold and Arthur, + Though within a palace bred, +Dearer than my little brothers + Playing 'neath the cottage shed? + +There's a group of Royal sisters + Clustering round the English throne, +But I know they are not truer, + Better sisters than mine own. + +Hark! it is the trumpet sounding; + At the Prince of Prussia's side +Standeth now her Royal Highness; + Oh, I would not be the bride! + +For a manly voice hath whispered, + "Dearer than my life thou art!" +What care I who rules a kingdom + If I rule in Jamie's heart? + +I am but a peasant's daughter, + And the wealthy pass me by,-- +But there's not in merry England + A happier maid than I. + + + + +A NATION'S DESIRE. + + +God hear our fervent prayer, +God bless the royal pair, + God save the Queen! +Guide them in all their ways, +And may their wedded days +Be ordered to thy praise; + God save the Queen! + +The waves will soon divide +Thee and thy home, young bride; + God save the Queen! +But over land and sea +Warm hearts will follow thee, +First rose of England's tree; + God save the Queen. + + + + +CANADA'S WELCOME. + + +A nation's hearty welcome take, + Heir to a mighty throne; +Thrice welcome! for old England's sake, + Thy mother's, and thine own. + +From crowded street, from hillside green, + From fair Canadian vales, +The prayer goes up--God bless the Queen! + God bless the Prince of Wales! + +The rich and poor, the great and small + Their voices join as one; +Victoria's name is dear to all, + So is Victoria's Son. + +Their tribute other queens have laid + Upon the land and sea; +But never earthly monarch swayed + So many hearts as she. + +And for her young and gallant heir + A kindred love prevails; +God hear a nation's fervent prayer! + God bless the Prince of Wales! + + + + +OUR NATIVE LAND. + + +[This was probably written in the early part of the year 1861, before +Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation had given deliverance to the +captives, and when "the north star" was an object dear to many a slave +who longed to breathe the free air of Canada. The Rev. E. H. Dewart +says of it: "This spirited lyric is alike creditable to the talents, +patriotism, and independence of its author. Its loyalty is an +intelligent attainment, free from blind prejudice and crouching +adulation."] + +What land more beautiful than ours? + What other land more blest? +The South with all its wealth of flowers? + The prairies of the West? + +Oh no! there's not a fairer land + Beneath yon azure dome-- +Where Peace holds Plenty by the hand, + And Freedom finds a home. + +The slave who but her name hath heard, + Repeats it day and night, +And envies every little bird + That takes its northward flight. + +As to the Polar star they turn + Who brave a pathless sea: +So the oppressed in secret yearn, + Dear native land, for thee! + +How many loving memories throng + Round Britain's stormy coast! +Renowned in story and in song, + Her glory is our boast. + +With loyal hearts we still abide + Beneath her sheltering wing,-- +While with true patriot love and pride, + To Canada we cling. + +We wear no haughty tyrant's chain,-- + We bend no servile knee, +When to the Mistress of the main + We pledge our fealty. + +She binds us with the cords of love,-- + All others we disown; +The rights we owe to God above, + We yield to him alone. + +May He our future course direct + By his unerring hand; +Our laws and liberties protect, + And bless our native land. + + + + +THE APPEAL. + + +[It will be remembered that 1861 closed with an alarming prospect of +war between England and the United States, growing partly out of the +arrest of Mason and Slidell on board the British steamship Trent. Of +course had war been declared Canada would have been involved. On +Christmas of that year therefore Miss JOHNSON wrote this appeal, which +was published in a Canadian paper.] + +To prayer! to prayer! O ye who love + Your country's peace, your country's weal, +To Him who rules supreme above, + In this dark hour of peril kneel. +To prayer! to prayer! before the cry + "To arms!" shall make your spirit quake,-- +And ere ye dream of danger nigh + The dark portentous war-cloud break. + +So long hath Peace o'er hill and vale + Waved her white banner to the breeze, +We thought her smiles would never fail, + And only heard from o'er the seas +The murmur of an angry host, + The clang of arms, the cannon's roar,-- +How false our hope! how vain our boast! + War threatens our beloved shore. + +Great God! to whom the nations seem + Like dust that gathers on the scales, +A drop within a mighty stream, + A breath amid the northern gales, +We pray, the hearts of men dispose + So that the sounds of war may cease, +And nations who should ne'er be foes + Embrace, and pledge themselves to Peace. + + + + +I LOVE THE LAND WHERE I WAS BORN. + + +[The following poem appeared in the _Sherbrooke (P. Q.) Gazette_, +sometime in the winter of 1863, and was the last article prepared by +Miss JOHNSON for the press. It is of special interest for having been +written during the dark days of the war in the United States, and when +the sympathy of England and Canada for the North was by many +questioned.] + +I love the land where I was born, + 'Tis a noble land and good; +It has many a field of wheat and corn + Where once the forest stood; +It has many a town and city grand, + Where the Savage used to roam; +To the poor of every other land + It offers a peaceful home. + +I'm proud of the land where I was born, + I'm proud of the Parent Isle, +Whose banners float at the gates of morn, + And the gates of eve the while. +And my pulses leap with a joyous thrill, + Wherever they take the lead, +And join their hands with a hearty will + In doing a noble deed. + +There's another land that's dear to me, + For it speaks the English tongue; +Like a shoot that springs from an old oak tree, + From the English race it sprung. +It has gained a mighty place on earth, + And a mighty name has won; +It has given to sage and hero birth, + And it boasts of Washington. + +But a blot, a dark and loathsome blot, + Polluted that fair young land; +God waited till his wrath was hot, + And he took his sword in hand! +He had heard the bitter wail of woe, + He had heard the clanking chain-- +He rescued a nation years ago, + He will rescue one again! + +There's a gathering darkness in the sky, + There's a tramp of hurrying feet; +There's a clang of arms, and a battle cry, + And two hostile armies meet. +They meet! they charge! 'tis a dreadful sight! + They wade through a gory sea; +It is life or death, it is wrong or right, + It is freedom or slavery! + +The nations stand with a wondering look, + And list to the roar and din; +While History bends o'er an open book + And steadily writes therein. +And what will she say of my native land? + And what of the Parent Isle? +To the North, or South, did they give their hand, + To which did they grant a smile? + +God speaks in the wind and earthquake now, + And those who have ears may hear: +To the King of kings let monarchs bow, + And let all the earth draw near. +Let the nations mark his holy laws, + For though he keeps silence long, +With fire and sword He will plead the cause + Of the weak against the strong. + +Take heed and beware, my native land,-- + To thy ways and words take heed! +On the side of right and freedom stand, + And say to the truth, "God speed!" +Let England herself a lesson learn, + And let her take warning too; +Let her judge as she would be judged in turn, + Let her nobly speak and do. + + + + +THE WORLD TO COME. + + +[Dear as Canada was to our authoress, dearer still to her heart was +the true Father-Land, "the heavenly country" for which the children of +faith in the olden time looked. Being born again she bore such a +relationship to the world to come that we may say of her, as she does +of "the bride of Christ": "The Cross was infinitely dearer to her than +ten thousand worlds. It was twined around her heart with ties that +nothing could ever loose. She wept, but they were mingled tears of joy +and sorrow: sorrow, for she mourned that her sins had cost the life of +the Son of God; joy, for she knew that that sacrifice had made a +perfect atonement for her. She knew that the Father had forgiven her +iniquities, and that he would no longer remember her sins. As she +clung to the Cross, a bright beam of glory shone around her; she +raised her tearful eyes, and a crown of everlasting beauty met her +admiring gaze: she knew that crown was reserved for her, and that on +her bridal day her Lord would place it on her own brow." With such an +experience and such a hope, we are not surprised that she should thus +discourse:] + +The earth renewed presents a glorious scene: +Mountains and valleys of perpetual green; +Delicious plains, and odoriferous bowers, +Unfading forests, never-dying flowers; +Fruits that on fragrant trees immortal grow, +Rivers that murmur sweetly as they flow, +And gardens decked with everlasting spring, +And shining warblers on the tireless wing. +No howling tempest breaks the sweet repose, +No piercing thorn surrounds the blushing rose, +No sultry heat parches those blooming plains, +No night is known where day forever reigns; +No thunder's roar, no lightning's vivid glare, +No darkened sky, disturbs the beauty there. + +The royal city, the divine abode +Of ransomed men and their eternal God, +Rises 'mid blooming bowers and lofty trees, +And waves its banners to the gentle breeze. +Upon its pearly gates and shining walls +A flood of everlasting glory falls, +And tinges with its own delightful glow +The lovely river murmuring below. +That river from the living fountain springs, +And, guided by the mighty King of kings, +It wanders through the saints' celestial home, +Where, robed in white, the ransomed nations roam +Through golden streets, and gardens fair and free; +And on its banks stands life's unfading tree. +All, all is bliss, and love, and glory there; +No pain, no sickness, no corroding care, +No grief, no aching hearts, no tearful eyes, +No broken bands, and there no severed ties; +For, o'er those broad and beautiful domains +The Prince of peace, the great Immanuel reigns. +The good have met, of every age and land, +Around the throne a glorious throng they stand; +The crown of life, the blood-washed robes they wear, +The conqueror's palms of victory they bear; +They bend the knee, they raise the joyful eye; +And hark! Oh, hark! that vast assembly cry: +"Worthy the Lamb to be exalted thus, +Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us!" +And angels with the ransomed millions sing, +"Glory and honor to our God and King!" + + + + +TEMPERANCE + + +A WELCOME TO A TEMPERANCE PICNIC. + + +Old and young are welcome here + To the banquet we have spread: +It will cause no bitter tear + When the festal hour is fled; +It will break no mother's heart, + For the deadly bowl we shun! +Welcome then--and when we part + Blessings go with every one. + + +[The following lines were also written by Miss JOHNSON for a +temperance picnic, held in a grove near her father's house. They were +read by her brother Edwin, now a lawyer in Stanstead, P. Q.] + +From north and south, from east and west + They come with banners gay; +Hope lights each eye and fills each breast, + And all are friends to-day. + +The fairest of the sister band-- + With greeting most sincere,-- +Magog extends an eager hand, + And bids you welcome here! + +Hail, brothers in a noble cause, + 'Tis well we thus should meet: +For every meeting closer draws + The bonds of union sweet. + +And we who battle for the right, + And breathe the solemn vow +To win or perish in the fight, + Should be united now. + +Up, brothers, up! to arms! to arms! + The sword must needs be drawn: +These are indeed no vain alarms, + The foe is marching on! + +And shall he blight our happy land + With his polluting breath? +And scatter woe on every hand, + _And infamy and death?_ + +By yonder mountain and by lake + Which their approval show,-- +For each beloved Township's sake, + We boldly answer--No! + +Then let our banners be unfurled, + 'Mid scorn or 'mid applause; +We dare proclaim to all the world + _We love the temperance cause!_ + + + + +A LIFE-SCENE--THE LETTER. + + +"I'm at work upon the railroad"-- + So the brother's letter ran,-- + "I'm at work upon the railroad, + With the wages of a man. + +"I am up at peep of morning, + And I only stop to eat; + But I bear it all extremely well + Except the noon-day heat. + +"I do not feel much homesick, + Though I think of other scenes, + And what you have for dinner + When I eat my pork and beans! + +"'Tis the time for pies and dumplings, + Currant jelly and all that, + For an hour in mother's pantry + I'd give my bran-new hat. + +"You wrote about the chickens, + About the crops and hay; + But not a word about the colts-- + The black one or the gray. + +"Tell father not to worry + About that note at all: + I shall have a hundred dollars + I can send him in the fall. + +"You cannot think how proudly + It makes my bosom swell, + To think that I am toiling + For those I love so well. + +"Tell mother I remember + Her parting words to me; + And all that she has prayed for + I hope I yet may be. + +"The workmen bring the bottle, + They say, 'Just take a sip;' + But, mother, _not a single drop + Shall ever touch my lip._ + +"Here's a kiss for brother Charley-- + The little roguish elf, +I hope he'll not forget me,-- + And another for yourself. + +"How much I want to see you + I will not try to tell; +I never knew I loved my home + And all my friends so well! + +"My lamp is burning dimly, + So, sister dear, good-night; +Think often of your brother, + And don't forget to write." + +The sister read the letter + With a look of pride and joy; +And the father and the mother said, + "God bless the darling boy!" + + + + +THE PLEDGE. + + +[Whether the following is a real or a supposed case we know that in +this fallen world of ours there have been many sadder scenes than the +one depicted; for "who hath woe? who hath sorrow? who hath +contentions? who hath babbling? Who hath wounds without cause? who +hath redness of eyes? They that tarry long at the wine; they that go +to seek mixed wine.... At the last it biteth like a serpent, and +stingeth like an adder."--Prov. 23: 29-35.] + + +PART I. + +All day the snow came silently to earth, +Until the branches of the apple trees +Bent lower than in autumn 'neath their weight +Of glossy fruit: the youthful pines that stood, +With leafless beech and maple interspersed, +To speak of summer when all else that laughed +In balmy air with summer should depart, +Were robed in white, save where some little twig +Of deepest verdure timidly looked forth, +Like gentle Spring reclining in the arms +Of stern old Winter. Silence reigned abroad; +There was no sun, no sky, but over all +A dense dark mist which hid the blue beyond. + +The cottager had tarried long that day +Within the village inn, and night drew near +And found him at his glass; then rose the wind +And hurled the snow against the window pane. +"Come, father, come;" a little hand was laid +Upon the father's arm, and into his +A pair of pleading eyes looked gently up. +"Come, father, come; the wind begins to blow, +And mother waits and watches all alone." +He heeded not the warning; to the bar +He gaily turned, and cried, "Another glass!" +The glass was drained, and yet another filled,-- +And still the pleader cried, "Come, father, come." + +"The night is cold," one thoughtless comrade said +"And you have far to walk; here, drink, my boy." +The child pushed back the tempter's hand, a glow +Of indignation mantling cheek and brow,-- +"My mother says there's poison in the cup, +And I will never drink," he firmly said. +The father gave him an approving smile, +Patted his rounded cheek, and stroked his curls, +Then heaved a sigh--while o'er his manly face, +Which had been handsome ere the fatal wine +Disfigured it, a mournful shadow crept +And darkened all his soul. "Come, father, come:" +This time he listened, clasped the little hand, +And they went forth together in the storm. + +The wind blew fiercely from the north and east, +And called its forces from the neighboring hills; +They heard the summons, eager to obey, +And swept along in one continuous roar. +They caught the snow new-fallen from the earth +And wove a sheet with which to blind the eyes +Of those two wanderers on the frozen waste. +Then night came on; dark night came suddenly, +And hid within its bosom bush and tree, +And all that stood as waymarks to their home. +The little winding path they trod that morn +Was now a path no more; yet had his brain +Been clear as on the morn, his step as firm, +The father might have found his homeward way. +But oft the earth seemed reeling 'neath his feet, +And once he fell, then nerved himself anew +To struggle with the storm. + + "How long the way! +Dear father, are we almost home at last?" +Through teeth that chattered came the words half-formed, +And drops of dew stole from his anxious eyes +And turned to pearly ice-drops where they fell. +And then the father took the patient boy +Within his arms; he hugged him to his breast +And tried with steady gaze to pierce the gloom +If he might catch a glimpse of friendly lights, +Or haply of the lamp that burned for him +In his own cottage, fed by one who watched, +And wept, and prayed, and turned the cottage door +Upon its frosty hinges, till her fair cheek +Grew purple with the cold; he thought of this, +And anguish and remorse smote heavily. +But deeper grew the night; and hours that seemed +Like years to that distracted father passed. +Nearer and nearer to his aching breast +He held the child--for hope grew faint within; +Yet with that precious burden at his heart +He could not quite despair. "If I have sinned, +If I am seen in Heaven's all-searching light +Black and polluted, yet my child is pure, +And for the father's sin he should not die. +Guard him, ye angels! Save him, O my God!" +Thus in the depths of his own soul he prayed, +And chafed again the little trembling hands, +And kissed the cheek so cold it spoke of death. + +"Let me kneel down, dear father; let me pray, +For I am weary--I will sleep awhile; +But ere I sleep, dear father, let me pray." +And round his father's neck he twined his arms, +And faintly whispered half his evening prayer. +O wretched father! O polluted man! +Is it the wind that makes thee shiver thus? + + +PART II. + +All day the snow came silently to earth, +Until the path before the cottage door +Was even with the drift on either side. +No foot disturbed the mass of crystals white, +But when the wind began to roar and shriek, +And Night descended, with her sable wing +Darkening the scene around, a pallid face +Which had been pressed against the window pane +For half an hour, came forth into the gloom. +As looks the moon upon some stormy night +When every star is quenched, and she alone +Through rifted clouds peers forth and keeps her watch: +So looked that wife and mother as she stood +Upon the threshold gazing down the road +With chattering teeth, and limbs that quaked with cold, +Imagining she heard in every gust +The voice and footfall of the man she loved. + +The hearth was piled with blazing logs that shed +A cheerful glow upon the cottage walls; +The table spread for three before it stood, +And yet the bread was all unbroken there,-- +And from the cottage to the garden gate +A shivering form went flitting to and fro. +Despair was on her cheek--and in her eye +A mother's anguish: "But they might have seen +How fierce a storm was gathering--might have stayed." +And while the hope was fresh within her heart +She hurried in, but only to return +And take her station at the door again. + + * * * * * + +The moments slowly lengthened into hours, +The air grew chilly--for upon the hearth +A few decaying embers smoked alone; +And pale with midnight vigils and with grief +The watcher knelt to find relief in prayer. +Then hark! a sound--a footstep--and she starts! +Her heart leaps to her throat, and with a bound +She gains the cottage door--it opens wide. + +A cry of joy is trembling on her lips, +For there the husband and the father stood. +She stretched her eager arms to take the boy, +But in the movement caught the father's eye +Where horror sat, and told the dreadful tale +He dared not trust his quivering lips to speak. +_"My boy is dead,"_ she cried; "my boy, my boy!" +And caught him wildly to her bursting heart. +Cold on her bosom fell the little head +Which had been pillowed there so oft in sleep,-- +And as she raised the frosty lid which veiled +The violet eye beneath that lately laughed, +So deep a groan escaped her pallid lips +The guilty husband shuddered as he heard. +"Too late," he muttered in a husky tone, +And like an image of despair he stood, +Until she called him weeping to her side, +And murmured in a voice half choked with sobs: +"Nay, not too late, my husband, not too late: +God takes the child in mercy and in love, +To save the father. Shall it not be so? +Say by the love we bore this precious child, +Our own no longer--shall it not be so?" +The answer came, so low she scarcely heard, +But 'twas enough, and she looked up and smiled! + + + + +SIGHS ON MORTALITY. + + +WHAT IS YOUR LIFE? + + +Why do we mourn? why do we sigh? +We who may to-morrow lie +With folded hands and death-sealed eye? + +A brave and gallant heart I knew: +Like some young sturdy oak he grew +Nursed by the sun, refreshed by dew. + +His hopes were bright and high their aim: +Above reproach or fear of shame +None ever lightly spoke his name. + +He left our cottage blithe and gay, +And as he left we heard him say, +"I will return at close of day." + +We watched him as he passed along, +He was so manly, brave and strong, +Oh, was the pride we cherished wrong? + +We thought of him as one designed +To bless and elevate mankind,-- +And it was well that we were blind! + +We did not see the gathering frown,-- +But long before the sun went down, +A dreadful rumor filled the town. + +They told us gently he was dead,-- +I would not credit what they said: +But when I knew it reason fled. + +I woke to real life once more; +My dream of happiness was o'er-- +I stood upon a desert shore. + +All day I heard the billows moan, +All night I answered groan with groan, +For I was desolate and lone. + +There came no message o'er the sea, +No message from the lost to me, +And I repined at God's decree. + +The bolt was spared--and o'er my head +The bow of mercy shone instead, +And I at last was comforted. + +Now when the billows rage and roar, +I think it shortly will be o'er,-- +'Tis calm upon the other shore. + +I look at Time as one who sees +A pale leaf floating on the breeze +Amid a grove of noble trees. + +It fills awhile a little nook; +To-day it is--to-morrow, look! +The great white Throne! the open Book! + +We stand upon a narrow space, +Eternity rolls on apace-- +Where next shall be our resting-place? + + + + +LIFE. + + + As when the graceful bark, with spreading sails, + Glides from the port into the open sea, + Wafted along by soft and prosperous gales, + Just as the rising sun bids darkness flee; + So, like that bark, in early youth are we, + When first we launch upon the sea of life-- + Our hopes as bright, our youthful souls as free, + The scene around with love and beauty rife. +And all unknown to us its griefs, its cares and strife. + + The bark glides on; but, see, the azure sky + With dark and angry clouds is soon o'ercast; + The thunders roar, the forked lightnings fly, + The billows beat, and howls the midnight blast! + The trembling vessel, with dismantled mast, + The maddened waves have in their fury tossed, + Until she lies a helpless wreck at last, + Her plans all thwarted, and her hopes all crossed, +Her guiding star obscured, and her direction lost. + + 'Tis thus with life; at times deemed most secure, + When all seems calm, and beautiful, and fair, + Dark rocks concealed, the easier to allure, + The fragile bark in youth's bright morn ensnare; + And storms arise, and fierce the lightnings glare, + And wild and high the raging billows roll, + While sinks the heart a wreck in deep despair, + Till, brightly o'er the dark and dreary pole, +The Morning Star appears to the benighted soul! + + It guides the bark across life's troubled sea,-- + It points the way unto the destined shore, + Till, anchored in a blest eternity, + It buffets with the howling storm no more. + Be ours that star to guide us safely o'er! + To us, oh, may its precious light be given! + And though the tempests beat and billows roar, + And though we now by adverse winds are driven, +We'll safely anchor soon in the blest port of Heaven! + + + + +THE SILENT ARMY. + + +Life is the road to death. No one can lose the way--'tis sure and +plain. Whatever paths we take all end the same. Some walk in sunshine, +and some beneath a cloud; some gather flowers and some the thorn; but +at the gate all stand alike: nor poverty, nor wealth can enter there. + +To those who smile, and those who weep, + To those who sing, and those who sigh, +There comes the same long final sleep,-- + There comes the time when each must die. + +We watch the faces as they pass-- + We say of some, "How very fair": +Nor think how soon the churchyard grass + Will thrive upon the beauty there. + +The objects of our love we take + Close to our hearts and call them ours! +They are the gods we ne'er forsake, + But crown them every morn with flowers. + +We dip them o'er and o'er again + In love's immortal fount; but when +We find that all has been in vain, + God shield us in our anguish then. + +The Death-drum beats, the roll is called, + New names are on the list to-day: +Some answer calm and unappalled + As if 'twere pleasure to obey. + +For life to them was full of pain, + Death opened wide the only door, +While others weep and plead in vain + For just one little moment more. + +Through all the springs that come and go, + At noon, at night, at early dawn, +Through summer's heat and winter's snow, + That silent army marches on! + +On, on forever to the tomb! + They pitch no tents along the way; +On, on, it is the common doom, + There's no return and no delay. + +They take no purse nor scrip with them + However rich they were before; +The brow of beauty wears no gem, + And slaves are men--and kings no more. + +From every land, and sea, and clime, + Through all the ages that are gone, +Through all the years of future time, + That host has marched--will still march on. + +And shall we of to-morrow boast? + This very night may seal our doom +And find us with that shadowy host, + Whose line of march is for the tomb! + +Death and the tomb! our hearts rebel, + And wonder why such things should be; +Great God, who doeth all things well, + We leave these mysteries with Thee! + +Thou knowest why, and we shall know + When raised in triumph from the grave, +Redeemed from death, and sin, and woe, + Through Him who hath the power to save. + + + + +THE DYING WARRIOR. + + +A warrior lay, with a heaving breast, + On the field of the dying and dead; +His cheek was pale and his lips compressed, +And the fading light from the distant west + Shone o'er his gory bed. + +The night came on, and the moon arose + With her soft and tremulous glow; +She shed her light o'er friends and o'er foes, +All sleeping together in dull repose + On the battle-field below. + +The warrior gazed with a mournful sigh + On the blue and the star-spangled dome; +While tears shone bright in his sunken eye, +And vivid thoughts like the lightning fly + To his childhood's distant home. + +He thought of the mother who used to bend + O'er his couch, when in sorrow and pain-- +Who to his complaints an ear would lend; +But alas! he knew that that dearest friend + Would never bend o'er him again. + +He thought of the scenes where once he strayed + With his brothers in days of yore; +He thought of the stream, the peaceful glade, +The cottage that stood in the dark green shade, + With the vines around the door. + +He thought, with a pang of dark despair, + 'Twas the hour they all used to meet +With grateful heart for the evening prayer; +He thought of the group that were gathered there; + He thought--of a vacant seat. + +He knew that a fervent prayer would rise + For the loved and the long-absent one; +He knew that the tears would flow from their eyes, +And his father's voice would be choked with sighs, + As he prayed for his erring son. + +He knew for him they would all implore + A renewed and a sanctified heart; +That when the toils of this life were o'er +They all might embrace each other once more, + Never, no never to part! + +One trembling hand to his brow he pressed, + And the tears of contrition he shed; +He implored for pardon, a home with the blest; +Then he wrapped his cloak round his gory breast, + And the warrior's spirit fled! + + + + +ON SEEING A SKULL + + +This morning while examining a skull strange emotions took possession +of me--such as I never before experienced. That senseless skull had +once been the seat of deep thought and powerful passions; beaming eyes +once glistened brightly where now there was only a hollow space; that +head was once proudly erected, and the form that supported it once +mingled in the busy scenes of life. But now what a change! His very +name is forgotten--himself but a handful of dust. O mortals! behold, +and learn a lesson. His body has long since mouldered away and mingled +with the parent earth,--this skull alone remains; and yet the time +will surely come, and cannot be far distant, when "the bones shall +come together--bone to his bone"; when the sinews and the flesh shall +come upon them, the skin cover them, and the breath entering the body +the dead shall live! Will this skull come forward at "the resurrection +of the just," or ----? Oh, what an awful thought! My very blood runs +cold, and a shudder steals over me. O thou great Mediator of mankind, +intercede for me before thy Father's throne, that ere it is +everlastingly too late my unworthy name may be written in the Lamb's +book of life. (_July_ 5, 1852.) + + + + +THOUGHTS ON DEATH. + + +A bride but yesterday--all hope and love,-- +Flowers at her feet and cloudless skies above, +Bright buds of promise twining round her brow, +Approach--approach and gaze upon her now! +Come not in festal robes as once ye came, +The bride is here but she is not the same +As when ye saw her to the altar led, +And called down blessings on her fair young head. +The cheek is pale that with the rose could vie, +There is no lustre in that rayless eye, +Upon those pallid lips there is no breath, +And she alas is now the bride of Death! +Henceforth what soul will ever dare to trust +In things that crumble at a breath to dust? +And who would dream of earthly joy and bliss +Taught by a lesson terrible as this? + +Short-sighted mortal hastening to the tomb, +Gaze on the scene, and realize thy doom! +All tongues and nations mingle with the clay; +Art thou less subject unto death than they? +The conquerors of the world have left their throne +Before a mandate mightier than their own,-- +Rank, pride and power have sunk into the grave, +And Caesar moulders with the meanest slave. +Canst thou escape his all-destroying breath +And bid defiance to the victor Death? +What strange enchantment has allured thine eyes? +Shake off the spell! immortal soul, arise! +Oh, burst thy fetters ere it be too late, +Regain thy freedom and thy lost estate,-- +A thousand angels hover round thy track, +They plead with thee, they long to lead thee back. + +The sacrifice too great? bethink thee, soul! +A few more suns above thy head may roll, +A few at most and thou wilt trembling stand +Just on the borders of the spirit land. +Who ever stood there calm and undismayed, +And smiled to see all earthly prospects fade? +Not he who lived for things of time alone, +Who won a name, a fortune or a throne; +Who added field to field, and store to store, +And cried at last, "Oh, for one moment more!" +But he whose eye could pierce the dreary tomb, +He who could say amid the gathering gloom,-- +"There is my home and there my Saviour stands +With smiling brow and with extended hands!" +Would'st thou depart with that exulting cry, +In glorious hope of immortality? +Thy heart all joy, and praise thy latest breath? +_The holy life insures the happy death!_ +Oh, thou wilt wonder in that trying hour. + +When home, and love, and friendship lose their power +To cheer and comfort, thou could'st ever prize +What then will sink to nothing in thine eyes-- +Time for repentance then? beware! beware! +How many souls are yearly shipwrecked there! +Like him of old they cry--"Go now thy way"-- +And keep repentance for their dying day; +But God is jealous of his honor still, +He asks a ready mind, a hearty will, +And those who through a life-time break his laws, +Despite his mercy and his glorious cause, +Who seek their own enjoyment and their ease, +And only yield when death demandeth these,-- +May find too late they were deceived at last, +And mourn the summer and the harvest past! + +There's not in heaven itself a lovelier sight, +Nor one which angels view with more delight, +Than youthful soldiers of Immanuel's cross, +In life's glad morning counting all as loss, +Since they have proved a dying Saviour's love, +And placed their treasures and their hearts above. +Let pleasure woo them with her syren voice, +They heed her not--they've made a nobler choice; +Let others walk the shining path of fame, +They dare to suffer poverty and shame, +And turning from the world's enchanted bowers, +To consecrate their youth and all their powers +To Him they serve, and even here they find +More real pleasure than they e'er resigned. + +The best they have in early life they bring +A free-will offering to their God and King; +And in that hour when heart and flesh shall fail, +Their song of triumph ringing through the vale, +Will mingle with the anthems of the blest, +Who wait to hail them to their heavenly rest. +Would'st thou depart with that exulting cry +In glorious hope of immortality? +I read an answer in that beaming face, +_Behold thy Saviour--fly to his embrace!_ + + + + +THE BATTLE-FIELD. + + + Strewn on the battle-plain, + After the fight was done, + And the bloody victory won, + Were a thousand heaps of slain. + Rider and horse there lay, + But the war-steed neighed no more, + And the gallant form he bore + Upon that eventful day, +Shattered, and marred, and ghastly pale, +Had fallen beneath the deadly hail. + + Prince and peasant were there! + Rich and poor, master and slave, + Wise and simple, timid and brave; + Old men with snow-white hair, + Young men of noble birth, + Boys just from their native shore, + And the homes they shall see no more, + Stretched on the cold, damp earth; +And mother and sister may watch in vain, +They never shall press those lips again. + + Clasped in a fond embrace + Was a young and gentle pair, + And the love that was pictured there + Made holy that dreadful place. + Near by a chieftain bled, + While his faithful dog still kept + A mournful watch where he slept, + And mourned above the dead, +Then gazed on the pallid lips and brow: +It is death--does he comprehend it now? + + Just as they fell they lay-- + Struck down in the dreadful strife; + And the latest look they wore in life + Death had not taken away: + Some with a pleasant smile, + Foeman with foemen at peace, + Croat, and Frank, and Tyrolese, + All in one ghastly pile, +From the Seine, the Po, and the Land of Song, +Oh, where were the souls of that countless throng? + + Gone to the bar of God! + Gone from the battle's din, + Gone with their weight of sin, + To the solemn bar of God! + Woe to ambition and pride! + Woe to the tyrant king + Who dares from his subjects wring + What God has never denied! +Aye, woe to him, for the record stands, +And the blood of the slain is on his hands. + + + + +DEAD AND FORGOT. + + + Dead and forgot! + How sad the lot +When wintry tempests blow + To lie all cold + 'Neath the churchyard mould, + And in a year or so +To have our very name unsaid, + Unless it chance to fall +From careless lips that say, "She's dead,"-- + She's dead, and that is all! + + But sadder still + That one should fill + The place we thought our own: + That a form more light, + And an eye more bright + Should guard our dear hearth-stone; +That where we strayed another's feet + At morn and eve should roam, +And another's voice--perchance more sweet-- + Make music in our home! + + That where we locked + Our hands and talked + Amid our chosen flowers, + The lips we pressed + Should be caressed + By other lips than ours,-- +That other eyes should watch for him, + And other arms embrace, +Until our image growing dim + Yield to another's face. + + And this is love! + O injured Dove! + Thy wings have many a stain: + But pure and white + In the Land of Light + They shall be spread again; +The deep, true love our spirits crave + Earth has never supplied; +Nor till we leave the dreary grave + Shall we be satisfied. + + + + +DEAR EMILY. + + +Dear Emily, sweet Emily! + So early gone to rest, +I love to think of thee as one + Among the good and blest,-- +No shadow on thy radiant eye, + No sorrow in thy breast. + +Dear Emily, sweet Emily! + I cannot call thee dead: +'Tis true I do not see thy face + Nor hear thy gentle tread; +Yet in my heart of hearts, sweet friend, + Thou never canst be dead. + +When by the solemn stream of death + We parted long ago, +How little of the world we knew! + But I have lived to know +How friendship fades, how love decays, + How all things change below. + +Time changes some, and absence some, + And envy--oh, the shame! +Of those who played together once + Some rise to wealth and fame, +While in the vale of poverty + The rest remain the same. + +But nothing now can come between + Thy heart and mine, sweet friend! +With every image of the past + Thy memory will blend, +And what thou wast in early life + Thou wilt be to the end. + +I love to think--oh, call it not + A fancy wild and vain-- +That thou hast seen and pitied me + Through all these years of pain; +But I shall know how that has been + When we two meet again. + +My bleeding feet have left their mark + Wherever they have passed; +But now the sun is getting low, + The shadows lengthen fast, +And Emily, dear Emily, + All will be well at last! + + + + +ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. + + +She sleeps the quiet sleep of death and I survive. But for what +purpose? why was not I called first to explore the untried regions of +eternity? 'Tis known only to Him whose mighty arm often spares the +humble flower while the waving trees that stand around it are torn +from their roots by the roaring tempest. She has gone before me, and +yet how long may it be ere I shall follow her? O solemn thought!--well +might it sink deeply into my heart, and taking root there spring forth +yielding fruits of repentance. Soon may Death, the great enemy of +mankind, add one more ghastly victim to the lifeless piles that lie +heaped together in every clime and on every shore; and when my death- +knell +shall sound will it be the signal of a spirit wailing in the regions +of +the lost, or rejoicing in the bright realms of everlasting bliss? It +is +for me, and me alone to decide. Perhaps it is for this that my life +has +been spared--that I might make a firm and decided choice; and shall I +still draw back? shall I still hesitate and remain inactive? No, _no_; +for "now is the accepted time, and now is the day of salvation." + + + + +THE HEAVENLY HELPER. + + +What strange lessons I am every day learning! Thank God for them. They +are very unpleasant to human nature, but they are leading me to place +less confidence in earthly love and more in heavenly. I have leaned +too much upon an arm of flesh, and it is right I should suffer for it. +Sweet Saviour, fold me in thine arms; comfort me with thy love; and as +soon as thou seest best let me go and live with thee forever. + + +All earthly hopes have passed away, +Stay with me, O my Saviour, stay: +Thy blessed smile is all the light +That breaks upon my dismal night. + +I cling to thee--thou must not go; +Oh, let me tell thee every woe +And whisper in thy ready ear +What other friends would frown to hear. + +Distressed in body and in mind, +Diseased and wretched, poor and blind, +I only care to see thy face,-- +I only sigh for thy embrace. + +I droop, I faint beneath the rod, +It is so heavy, O my God! +Spare me, I cry, in mercy spare-- +But thou refusest still the prayer! + +Sometimes I murmur and repine, +Prefer my stubborn will to thine, +And doubt if love or anger deal +The dreadful anguish that I feel. + +Then suddenly before me stands,-- +With bleeding side, and feet, and hands,-- +The Lamb that groaned and died for me, +That I might live eternally. + +Such love o'erwhelms me, and with shame +I call upon thy holy name; +Forgive me, O thou blessed One, +And let thy will, not mine, be done. + +O my Redeemer, Friend and Guide, +Take health, take what thou wilt beside, +But let me see the lovely face +That makes a heaven of every place. + +Nay, turn not from my earnest prayer! +Thy smile can save me from despair; +The shadows deepen round my way, +Stay with me, O my Saviour, stay. + + +Who save thee, O God, knoweth the human heart? Pity me, for thy rod is +heavy. My earthly hopes are all torn and crushed,--oh, may they turn +heaven-ward and there find support and nourishment. This is Father's +discipline, shall I murmur? Nay, but rather rejoice that he does not +leave me to myself but deals with me as a child--chastening, rebuking, +scourging and refining: preparing me by all these afflictions for the +"rest that remaineth for the people of God." And sweet the rest will +be after such a weary journey! How I shall fold my hands upon the +bosom that shall never again be troubled, and say in all sincerity: I +thank thee, O God, for the sweet that was mingled in my earthly cup, +but more do I thank thee for the bitter. + + + + +THE PROMISE. + + +"In early life I'm called to part + With all I hold so dear; +Strong tendrils bind my yearning heart, + But cannot keep me here. + +"I am resigned; yet tears will fall, + Sad thoughts steal over me; +And dost thou know that with them all + Are mingling thoughts of thee? + +"We have been friends in hopes and fears + In joys and griefs the same-- +Since first we learned in childhood's years + To lisp each other's name. + +"In quiet grove, in lonely dell, + In meadows green and fair, +Beside the stream we loved so well, + If one then both were there. + +"Together we our plans have laid + With hopeful brow and heart,-- +When roving 'neath the summer shade, + But never thought to part. + +"The spring will come, the trees will wave + As when we saw them last, +But thou wilt linger by my grave, + And muse upon the past. + +"Beyond the portals of the tomb + I look with joyful eye: +A glorious light dispels the gloom, + 'Tis not so hard to die. + +"There is a home of rest divine-- + A home prepared for me; +But hours of darkness will be thine, + For this I cling to thee. + +"Hark! 'tis the angel choirs above; + I've but one earthly care,-- +Oh, promise me by all our love + That thou wilt meet me there." + +That earnest look--I see it still, + That voice--I hear it yet; +And death this aching heart shall chill + Before it can forget. + +The flowers have faded one by one, + The summer birds are flown, +And 'neath a cold autumnal sun + I wander forth alone. + +The yellow leaves are falling fast + Along the river side,-- +I watch them borne upon the blast, + And on the swelling tide. + +I think how all things earthly fade, + Then wipe the tears that flow, +As memory brings the promise made + So many years ago. + + + + +THE DEAD CHRIST. + + +The last expiring groan was hushed; the beaming eye was closed--it +wept no longer over the sins of a perverse race. Those gentle and +lovely features were robed with the pallid hue of death, and the heart +that melted at the sorrows of mankind beat no longer. The grave, the +cold grave, rejoicingly closed its dreary portals upon his sacred +form; and he, the lowly and despised Nazarene, who found no resting- +place +for his weary head, slept quietly in a borrowed sepulchre. + + + + +THE COMPLAINT. + + +Ah! many springs have come and gone, + And called me forth in vain; +Now winter folds the winding-sheet + Round nature's breast again. + +Young hands have gathered bright, wild flowers, + Young feet have trod the grass, +But I have watched in solitude + The mournful shadows pass. + +Young hands have gathered brighter flowers + From wisdom's pleasant tree-- +But darker still the shadows fall, + There are no flowers for me! + +No flowers! where shadows deepest lie + Amid the wint'ry gloom, +Thank God, I see with kindling eye + The Rose of Sharon bloom! + +It is enough--my earthly hopes + Are fading one by one; +My God and my Redeemer lives, + And may his will be done. + +I know that in a better world + I shall look back and say +I never could have reached my home + By any other way. + +And such a home! no frightful dreams, + No wakings to despair-- +No cries of--God remove the cup, + Or give me strength to bear! + +No pillows wet with burning tears,-- + No longings wild and vain +To wander in the pleasant fields, + Or dear old woods again! + +But love and peace, and endless joy, + And rest to me how strange! +Lord give me patience to await + The happy, happy change! + + + + +THE MIXED CUP. + + +Joy and sorrow, are they not mingled in every cup? We call some happy, +others unfortunate; and so they appear to us. But could we draw aside +the curtain that conceals the mysteries of the human heart what +problems would be solved, and how often we should be lead to exclaim, +"God dealeth justly: pain and pleasure are more equally distributed +than we imagined"! But this may not be. We judge according to +appearances, and this is one great source of misery; for, in our +grief, we imagine others are more favored than we, and for the +blessings we do enjoy we are not thankful. Oh, the great mercy of God! +What a wonder it is that he does not smite us to the earth when we +dare murmur at his dealings! + + + + +I SHALL DEPART. + + +When the flowers of Summer die, +When the birds of Summer fly, +When the winds of Autumn sigh, + I shall depart. + +When the mourning Earth receives +Last of all the faded leaves,-- +When the wailing forest grieves, + I shall depart. + +When are garnered grain and fruit, +When all insect life is mute, +I shall drop my broken lute; + I shall depart. + +When the fields are brown and bare, +Nothing left that's good or fair, +And the hoar-frost gathers there, + I shall depart. + +Not with you, O songsters, no! +To no Southern clime I go,-- +By a way none living know + I shall depart. + +Many aching hearts may yearn, +Many lamps till midnight burn, +But I never shall return, + When I depart. + +Trembling, fearing, sorely tried, +Waiting for the ebbing tide, +Who, oh! who will be my guide + When I depart? + +Once the river cold and black +Rolled its waves affrighted back,-- +I shall see a shining track + When I depart. + +There my God and Saviour passed, +He will be my guide at last,-- +Clinging to his merits fast, + I shall depart. + +--_Written in 1858._ + + + + +TIME FLIES. + + +Tears are coming, years are going, + Be they fraught with joy or pain,-- +Like a river they are flowing + To the everlasting main! + +On the banks are thorns and roses, + And we take of both a share +Till the ocean round us closes, + And we drop our anchor--where? + +If the future were uncertain, + If across the mighty deep, +Brushing back the misty curtain + Angel pinions did not sweep,-- + +If there were no bright to-morrow + For our day of toil and strife, +Burdened with its weight of sorrow, + What a curse were human life! + +Locks are whitening, cheeks are paling, + With each month and year that flies; +Youth and vigor both are failing, + But the spirit never dies! + +Short indeed is our probation, + Dark and certain is the tomb,-- +But the Lamp of revelation + Dissipates the fearful gloom. + +Oh, we take our life too sadly, + Ever grieve and mourn too much, +Turn to ashes what would gladly + Turn to gold beneath our touch. + +'Tis because that in our blindness + We imagine God is blind,-- +'Tis because we doubt his kindness, + That we cannot be resigned. + +Nature cries amid the trials + That beset our thorny path: +"God outpoureth all the vials + Of his anger and his wrath!" + +Such complaints are more surprising + Since the declaration runs: +"If ye be without chastising, + Then indeed, ye are not sons." + +All our future course He seeth + Better than we see our past, +And whatever he decreeth + We shall understand at last. + +Let us then in our affliction + Meekly trust our gracious Lord,-- +Well assured his benediction + Will ere long be our reward. + +Let us beautify the present,-- + There is much we all can do +That will make the year more pleasant, + For ourselves and others too. + + + + +A VOICE FROM A SICK-ROOM. + + +[At one time Miss Johnson seems to have entertained the idea of +writing for publication a series of articles entitled "Voices from a +Sick-room." Whether she ever wrote more than one or not I cannot say. +The following is the only one we can find among her manuscripts, and +it is so thrillingly interesting as to make us wish for more. It is +dated Sept. 5, 1859.] + +Draw the curtains--shut out the light of heaven; the inner world is so +full of darkness that the sunshine of the outer world becomes painful +by contrast. Hush, little bird! don't sing to-day. There--all is dark +and still. Now, O wretched heart, exult in thy wretchedness; draw the +dark, heavy curtains of despair around thee; shut out the light of +hope and love; hush the voice of praise and thanksgiving. Think of all +thou hast suffered; think of thy present misery; crowd the future with +black-robed phantoms; people every nook and corner with horrible +faces, and over all let the thunder crash and bellow, and the winds +moan and shriek, as they moan and shriek only when the great are +dying. + +Ah, what sad havoc do sickness and pain make of the poor body; but +sadder still when they trample on the bright inhabitant within, and +make it a slave to tremble at their bidding! "Bring chains--bring +chains," cries the fell destroyer; and ere she has time to rally her +forces around her, or even think of resistance, the poor Soul has +become a helpless captive, and Disease wears a smile of triumph upon +her ghastly cheek, and again lifts up her voice to shout "victory." +And a complete victory it is: Self-control, Pride, Ambition--all are +humbled; Hope is shrouded in sackcloth, and if she ever speaks it is +only to whisper: "There is one secret passage by which thou mayest yet +escape, but it winds through the kingdom of Death and the Grave." +Reason herself grows pale and trembles, lest she lose her throne; for +the thousands of obedient servants, which have never before disputed +her authority, are all up in arms against her. Every nerve begins to +quiver and vibrate; the whole body is in commotion; and no wonder the +trembling Soul sits down amid the ruins of her former self and makes +the whole place doleful with her cries and lamentations. + +Don't chide her: she is no criminal waiting the demands of justice, +but a prisoner of war, and therefore should be dealt kindly with. +Don't gaze at her through her prison bars, as though she were a wild +beast caged, or some curious object kept only for a show; but go to +her enveloped in the mantle of love, upon your lips the honey-dew of +human kindness, and in your heart the melting tenderness of Christian +affection. Don't tell her she is escaping many trials and temptations +to which she would be exposed if she came in contact with the busy +world around her. Go to the imprisoned eagle, and, as he looks up +longingly into the deep blue sky and beats his wings in agony, comfort +him with the assurance that his wants are provided for, and he himself +safe from the arts of the fowler! Aye, tell this to the free-born +eagle, but disgust not the ever-yearning, restless Soul with such +mockeries. She may listen, but she laughs you to scorn in secret and +prays Heaven to be delivered from such comforters. She knows her +struggles and temptations are inward; and she knows too, for that very +reason, they are more terrible. There greater battles have been fought +than the blood-dyed fields of Europe ever witnessed. Magentas and +Solferinas fatten with the blood of heroes, but she carries on a never +ending warfare "with principalities and powers"--the numberless host +of hell--and legions of native passions. + +Deal gently with her. Would you win her confidence? There is but one +passage to her affections. Speak that word--bolt and bar fly open: she +takes you by the hand and welcomes you to her most sacred and secluded +retreat. That word is _sympathy:_ let her feel it in your tender +embrace, see it in the glance of your eye, hear it in the modulation +of your voice. It is for this she yearns and sighs, and refuses to be +comforted where it is not. + +Bring her flowers--sweet, beautiful flowers. They are meet companions +for her solitude. Gather blossoms from the whitening apple-bough, +violets from the meadow, dandelions from the wayside. She will fold +them more tenderly to her bosom than the rarest plants, for their +faces are old, familiar ones, and she imagines they wear a look of +pity. + +But there are more precious things than human sympathy; there are +sweeter flowers than violets or roses. They bloom on the +prayer-consecrated mountains of Judea, amid the ancient olives of +Gethsemane, along the Dolorous Way trodden by the Man of Sorrows, +beneath the shadows of the Cross, and around the borrowed Sepulchre. +Oh, gather them with no sparing hand: there are enough for you and +her--enough for every sorrowing heart in the universe. Take them to +the poor sufferer. Their fragrance will make the lonely chamber like a +garden of spices; the tearful eyes will turn heavenward, and the pale +lips--tremulous with contrition will whisper, "Father; forgive me, for +I knew not what I did when I murmured at thy dealings." Then a solemn +hush will follow--a holy twilight of the soul,--as if the sorrows of +earth were blending with the joys of heaven, the pains of mortality +with the blessedness of the angelic bards. Oh, these are the flowers +for a sickroom! How dreary and desolate does it seem without them! The +strong and healthy may live on, careless and irreligious, but what +would become of the poor, grief-stricken, despairing Soul if she could +not repose quietly in the bosom her Beloved, and say with child-like +simplicity, morning and evening, _"Our Father who art in heaven!"_ + + + + +SONGS OF HOPE + + +"HE GIVETH SONGS IN THE NIGHT." + + +Gloriously the sun sinks behind the western hills. Half the sky seems +on fire, and the other half wreathed with light fantastic clouds. All +nature is beautiful--can I be sad? Nay; away with sadness, away with +sorrow; I will forget everything my strangeness, my blasted hopes, and +seek for happiness where happiness only is to be found, in the sacred +Oracles of God.--_July_ 14, 1852. + + God sometimes speaks in earthquake and in storm, + But oftener in the "still small voice" of love: + He urges men as loving fathers plead. + God _is_ our Father, yet we shun his face + And hide ourselves when at the cool of day + He walketh in the garden! + +How sweet the thought that God, our heavenly Father, is omniscient. +Our griefs are not hidden from him. He knows our hearts, and with all +this knowledge he is good--so tender, so pitiful! Oh, to love him as +he deserves! Oh, for a thousand tongues to sing his praises! Tell the +sick, tell the sorrowing, tell the broken-hearted of this God; tell +the wretched, the guilty, the wayward prodigal of this gracious +Father. + + + + +THE LAST GOOD NIGHT. + + +[In the day of health and prosperity everybody feels like singing, but +"in the night" of adversity grace must produce the song of holy +confidence and hope. Such a song is the following, which has probably +been printed oftener than any other of Miss JOHNSON'S poems. It has +appeared in several papers; finds a place in Dewart's "Selections from +Canadian Poets"; was set to music by George F. Root, and appears in +his "School for the Cabinet Organ." With many it has been a favorite.] + +Mother, good night! my work is done,-- +I go to rest with the setting sun: +But not to wake with the morning light, +So, dearest mother, a long good night! + +Father, good night! the shadows glide +Silently down to the river's side,-- +The river itself with stars is bright, +So, dearest father, a long good night! + +Sisters, good night! the roses close +Their dewy eyes for the night's repose-- +And a strange, damp mist obscures my sight, +So, dearest sisters, a long good night! + +Brothers, good night! the sunset flush +Has died away, and a midnight hush +Has settled o'er plain and mountain height, +So, dearest brothers, a long good night! + +Good night! good night! nay, do not weep: +I'm weary of earth, I long to sleep-- +I shall wake again with the dawning light +Of eternal day--good night, good night! + + + + +RETROSPECTIVE AND PROSPECTIVE. + + +I remember the time when we went forth arm in arm over the newly mown +fields, scaring the grasshoppers from our pathway, with our baskets on +our arms, to gather the blueberries that hung in clusters on their +slender stalks. But thou art gone now to the fairer fields of +paradise, to pluck sweeter fruit than ever ripened here. Thou art +gone! The blueberry bushes have fallen long ago before the scythe; the +field has changed its appearance; and as for me, the breezes woo me +forth in vain--I cannot go. Sickness and sorrow have come between me +and the love of earth; they have cast a dark shadow over what I once +thought fair. But as there can be no shadow without a light beyond it +I have caught bright glimpses of a better home--a land of life and +glory. + + + + +HOPE. + + +[We have no clue to the time when this was written. It is imperfect: +the second verse is not complete in the copy. But is it not true to +life so far as earthly hope is concerned? Of "the hope of the gospel" +our songstress would speak differently.] + +What a syren is Hope--what a charming deceiver! +She whispers so blandly you can but believe her; +The garments of Truth and of Reason she stealeth +And every deformity thus she concealeth. + +When down in the valley I'm talking with Sorrow +She comes with a song--all its burden _to-morrow;_ +She mocks my companion.... + +Then she beckons me up to the top of a mountain; +She brings me a draught from a clear, sparkling fountain, +And talks of the beautiful prospect before us +Till ere I'm aware, the dark night settles o'er us. + +Sometimes in my anger I try to elude her; +I call her a jade and an idle intruder; +But she kisses, caresses, and coaxes, and flatters +Till I build me a castle the next zephyr shatters. + +When I firmly resolve I will listen no longer, +Than my will or my reason somehow she is stronger: +I chide her, deride her, despise her and doubt her, +And yet it is true I can't live without her! + + + + +EARTH NOT THE CHRISTIAN'S HOME. + + +Earth, with all thy grief and sorrow, +And thy changes of to-morrow; +With thy woe and with thy parting, +With thy tears of anguish starting, +With thy countless heart-strings breaking, +With thy loved and lost forsaking, +With thy famished millions sighing, +With thy scenes of dead and dying, +With thy graveyards without number, +Where the old and youthful slumber; +Earth, oh, earth! thus dark and dreary, +Cold, and sad, and worn, and weary, + Thou art not my home! + +Earth, oh, earth! with all thy slaughter +And thy streams of blood like water +O'er the field of battle gushing, +Where the mighty armies rushing, +Reckless of all human feeling, +With the war trump loudly pealing, +And the gallant banners flying, +Trample on the dead and dying; +Where the foe, the friend, the brother, +Bathed in blood sleep by each other; +Earth, oh, earth! thus dark and gory, +Blood and tears make up thy story, + Thou art not my home! + +Earth, with all thy scenes of anguish, +Where the poor and starving languish, +To the proud oppressor bending, +And their cries for mercy blending; +Where the slave with bosom swelling, +Which despair has made its dwelling, +And the scalding tear-drops falling-- +Sight to human hearts appalling-- +Strives, but strives in vain to sever +Fetters that must bind him ever; +Earth, oh, earth! with each possession +Sold to tyrants and oppression, + Thou art not my home! + +Earth, oh, earth! thy brightest treasures, +Like thy hopes and like thy pleasures, +Wintry winds are daily blighting; +Pain, and woe, and death uniting, +Youth and love and beauty crushing, +And the sweetest voices hushing; +Rich and poor, and old and blooming, +To one common mansion dooming; +While the cries of every nation +Mingle with those of creation; +Earth, oh, earth! thus dark and dreary, +Cold, and sad, and worn and weary, + Thou art not my home! + +Earth, oh, earth! though dark and gory, +In thy pristine state of glory! +Angels came upon thee gazing, +Songs of love and rapture raising; +For thou then wast bright and beaming, +With the sunlight on thee streaming, +With thy crystal waters laving +Shores with fadeless forests waving; +With thy plains and with thy mountains, +With thy ever-gushing fountains; +Earth, oh, earth! once fair and holy, +Fallen, fallen, and so lowly; + Thou art not my home! + +Earth, oh, earth! bowed down by sorrow, +Cheer thee, for there comes a morrow; +Night and clouds, and gloom dispersing, +And thyself, O earth, immersing +In a flood of light undying; +When the curse upon thee lying, +With its thousand woes attending. +Death, and pain, and bosoms rending, +Partings that the heart-strings sever, +Will be banished and forever,-- +Earth, oh, earth! renewed in glory, +Love and joy make up the story; + Oh, be thou my home! + +Earth, although thou seem'st forsaken, +Yet a note of praise awaken; +For the angels, lowly bending +Round the throne of light unending, +Gaze upon thee, sad and groaning, +Listen to thy bitter moaning; +Thou hast scenes to them amazing, +While on Calvary's mountain gazing; +And they smile on every nation +Purchased with so great salvation,-- +Earth, oh, earth! renewed in glory, +Angels shall rehearse thy story; + Oh, be thou my home! + +Earth, the morn will _soon_ break o'er thee, +And thy Saviour will restore thee; +Far more bright and far more blooming, +And more glorious robes assuming +Than when first, o'er Eden ringing, +Angel-voices were heard singing; +For thy King himself descending, +Heaven and earth together blending, +With his saints a countless number, +Those who live and those who slumber, +Over thee will reign victorious,-- +Earth, oh, earth, thus bright and glorious, + Be thou then my home! + + + + +"WE SORROW NOT AS OTHERS WITHOUT HOPE." + + +While looking over an old manuscript, written by one who is long since +passed from time into eternity, I met with the following lines: "It is +six years to-day since my Elsa died, and five months since my Amanda +left me forever. They sleep in the grave, and there they will remain +through endless years." He then went on, in strains mournful and +tender, and with all a father's sorrow deplored his loss. I could not +wonder that he wept the tears of anguish and despair if, as he said, +they are to remain in the dark tomb through endless years. The +glorious Resurrection morning was unknown to him. He saw only the +tomb, and considered not that there is One who holds the keys of the +grave, and who will soon burst the icy bars of death and bring forth +the righteous to immortality. Truly that morning has charms for the +Christian. God grant that if I am called to slumber for a while I may +"have part in the first resurrection."--_June_ 22, 1852. + + + + +THE MESSENGER BIRD. + + +Oh, fly away to the better land, + Thou bird of the snowy wing! +Oh, fly away to the blood-washed band, + And hear the songs they sing! + +But bear a message from us, O dove, + To that bright and happy throng; +For we have friends whom we dearly love, + Who swell the Conqueror's song. + +Oh tell them our hearts are sad and lone, + Our homes not bright as of yore; +For we miss the soft, the soothing tone + Of the friends we loved before. + +Oh tell them we sigh for the better land, + For earth has grown sad and chill; +And we long rejoicing with them to stand + On the heights of Zion's hill. + +Oh tell them we long to share their rest, + Afar from all earthly strife; +We long to lean on our Saviour's breast, + And roam by the tree of life. + +Oh tell them our fondest hopes are there, + For our earthly hopes are o'er; +And we sigh for the land all bright and fair-- + We sigh for the deathless shore. + +Then fly away to the better land, + Thou bird of the snowy wing! +Oh fly away to the blood-washed band, + And hear the songs they sing. + +And then return with the speed of love, + When the night grows dark and chill, +And tell us, oh, tell us, thou white-winged dove! + Do they love, do they love us still? + +We know there is One, in that blissful home, + Who loves and remembers us yet; +Though weary and sorrowful now we roam, + We know that he will not forget. + +We'll trust him then, the great and the strong; + By his own almighty hand +He'll bring us soon with the blood-washed throng + To the bright, the better land. + + + + +OUR SHIP IS HOMEWARD BOUND. + + +What though the angry waves are high, + And darkness reigns around? +Let hope be bright in every eye, + Our ship is homeward bound! + +What though nor moon nor stars appear + Amid the gloom profound, +Why should we yield a place to fear? + Our ship is homeward bound! + +What though the lightnings glare above, + And deaf'ning thunders roar, +When with the eye of faith and love + We view the distant shore? + +We know that friends are waiting there + We loved in life before; +And angel forms all bright and fair + Line the eternal shore. + +We've often longed with them to bow + At our Redeemer's feet,-- +He loved us first, we love Him now, + Then let the billows beat! + +And let them bear our hopes away, + Although they once were sweet, +We catch a glimpse of coming day-- + Oh, let the billows beat! + +The coward peers with trembling form + Into the gloom profound, +But we can smile to view the storm, + Our ship is homeward bound! + +And though for us on life's dark wave + No anchorage be found,-- +Oh, let our hearts be true and brave, + Our ship is homeward bound! + + + + +MIDNIGHT. + + +Shades of night have gathered round, +'Tis the hour of gloom profound; +'Tis the hour when many sleep, +'Tis the hour when many weep, +Over pleasures buried deep. + +Faces smiling through the day, +Lips that told a spirit gay, +Eyes that beamed _as with_ delight, +Now concealed from human sight, +Put aside the mask to-night. + +Tossing on the couch of pain, +Seeking rest but all in vain, +With the dark and dreary tomb +Oft appearing through the gloom, +Weary sufferers wait their doom! + +Bright and golden dreams have some: +On their airy wings they come, +Giving fancy leave to soar +To the happy scenes of yore,-- +Or to some untraveled shore. + +By the hearth he holds so dear, +Softly ringing in his ear +Gentle voices, faces bright +Bursting on his gladdened sight,-- +Sits the wanderer to-night. + +Clasping hands in holy trust +Long since mouldered into dust,-- +Gazing into death-sealed eyes, +With a look of sweet surprise, +Every tear the mourner dries. + +From some rugged mountain high +Making journeys through the sky, +Or in amaranthine bowers +Talking with the birds and flowers, +Poets spend the midnight hours. + +Phantoms that by day elude, +Flying ever when pursued,-- +Like the desert mirage bright, +Filled with joy and with delight +Dreamers fondly clasp to-night. + +Oh, that morning's early beam +Should dissolve the blissful dream! +Oh, that love and hope should fly +Like the mist in yonder sky, +When the burning sun is high! + +There's a morning yet to break, +When the sleepers shall awake +From the couch and from the grave, +From the mountain and the cave, +From beneath the ocean wave. + +Then the _dream_ of life is o'er, +Then they wake to sleep no more; +Then all earthly hopes shall fly +Like the mist in yonder sky,-- +And that morning draweth nigh! + + + + +EASTER SUNDAY. + + +The old, the young, and the middle-aged all meet to-day in the house +of prayer. From a thousand churches in our own and other lands the +voice of praise and thanksgiving goes up to heaven--_"The Lord is +risen!"_ Oh glorious tidings! "The Lord is risen indeed," and hath +appeared to Peter! aye, and to Mary also,--the poor sinner whose touch +would have been profanation to the Pharisees of our own times. And +still more wonderful, He hath appeared to Thomas--to Thomas the +infidel, who laughed at the story of the resurrection! + + + + +THE RISEN REDEEMER. + + +Rejoice now, O sorrowing bride, for he sleeps no longer. Let thy glad +songs of praise and adoration reach the skies, for the Lord is not +among the dead--he is risen. "Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion! +shout, O daughter of Jerusalem!" for thy Savior has burst the iron +bands of death and come forth a mighty conqueror. For thy sins he laid +himself down in the icy tomb; he rises again for thy justification. +For thy iniquities he suffered, died and was buried: he comes forth +again that thou mayest be a sharer of his glory. He has hallowed the +dreary tomb by his own dear presence, and now he has ascended to his +Father and your Father, to his God and your God. He has taken his seat +at the right hand of the Majesty on high, and there, despairing soul, +trembling under the burden of sin, he pleads for thee (Heb. 7: 25). He +points to the cross on Calvary, dripping with his own precious blood, +and in a voice of tender compassion exclaims: "Father, I died for that +wretched sinner; spare, oh spare him for my sake!" He has entered into +the holy place by his own blood, having obtained eternal redemption +for thee, O daughter of Zion. + + + + +DOST THOU REMEMBER ME? + + +O Thou whose footsteps are unknown, + Whose path is on the sea,-- +Whose footstool earth, and heaven whose throne, + Dost Thou remember me? + +O Thou whom winds and waves obey, + At whose supreme command +The shining worlds pursue their way, + Or in their orbits stand,-- + +Thou at whose touch the hills disperse, + And burning mountains flee, +Thou Ruler of the Universe, + Dost Thou remember me? + +This world though fallen still is thine, + And dearer far to-day +Than all the countless orbs that shine + But never went astray. + +For here the blessed Son of God + Was born, and wept, and died; +Our valleys and our hills he trod, + And they are sanctified. + +On Him my guilty soul relies, + Through him I come to thee; +Thou dost accept my sacrifice, + Thou dost remember me! + + + + +'T IS I--BE NOT AFRAID. + + +Dark hung the clouds o'er Galilee; +A lonely bark was on the sea, + Where wild the billows played; +Deep terror filled each trembling frame, +When suddenly the accents came, + "'T is I--be not afraid!" + +A martyr stood with tranquil air; +He saw the stake, the fetters there, + The fagots all arrayed; +But, though such darkness reigned around, +He caught the sweet, the cheering sound, + "'T is I--be not afraid!" + +A weary pilgrim roamed alone; +For him was breathed no friendly tone, + No friendly hand brought aid; +But through the gloom so dark and drear, +A gentle whisper reached his ear, + "'T is I--be not afraid!" + +A mother knelt in anguish wild +Beside a loved, a dying child, + And tears in torrents strayed; +A soothing voice breathed to her heart, +In tones that bade despair depart, + "'T is I--be not afraid!" + +Upon a bed of pain and death +A Christian faintly drew his breath, + With spirit half dismayed; +He heard a soft, a tender voice-- +It caused that spirit to rejoice-- + "'T is I--be not afraid!" + +A penitent with streaming eye +Raised unto heaven his doleful cry, + And fervently he prayed; +A brilliant light around him shone, +And with it came a heavenly tone, + "'T is I-be not afraid!" + +And when the trump from yonder skies +Shall bid the silent dead arise; + When suns and stars shall fade; +When thunders roar, and mountains fall; +The saints shall hear above them all, + "'T is I-be not afraid!" + + + + +THE ONLY PERFECT ONE. + + +I have just finished "D'Aubigne's History of the Reformation." How +many noble characters are here brought to light! how many fervent +Christians--how many lofty souls--how many holy hearts! The firm and +undaunted Luther, the gentle Melancthon, the brave and courageous +Zwingle, the mild Ecolampadi--us, the zealous and fiery Farel--and a +host of others equally noble in the Master's cause. And yet they all +had their faults; not one of them was perfect. Though we may sometimes +feel to deplore their failings, yet surely it is a comfort to the poor +Christian, beset with temptations and wandering daily from the +straight and narrow path, to look back upon the lives of the best of +earth's sons--the noblest and the holiest,--and behold that even they +sometimes went astray. It buoys up his soul with new hope and courage. +It bids it cast aside every thought of justification save by faith in +Jesus Christ. It increases that faith, and directs the weary pilgrim +to the feet of Him who alone is holy and perfect.--June 30,1852. + + + + +THE DYING CHRISTIAN. + + +I have heard music from a far-off land, + Where sighs and sad laments are never heard; +Where friends can meet and clasp each other's hand, + But ne'er give utterance to that dreadful word +Which has wrung hearts, and like a funeral knell +Has tolled for our departed hopes--"_Farewell!_" + +I have had visions of that blessed clime, + Where fadeless flowers and fruits immortal grow-- +Far, far beyond the troubled waves of--Time, + Where streams of living waters sparkling flow; +And while a pilgrim here I sadly roam, +I love to call that blissful land my home. + +And often with the passing breeze I hear + A sweet, a sad, perchance a warning tone: +"Heaven calls for thee," falls on my willing ear; + Oh! can the glorious message be mine own? +Can it be mine, unworthy child of clay, +To win the realms of everlasting day? + +Through Him who died, through Him who rose again, + Through Him who lives, and lives forevermore, +I may at last that blissful rest obtain, + And I may stand upon the lovely shore +Where youth and health on every cheek shall bloom, +Beyond the reach of death and of the tomb. + +Then hail sweet voice! sweet message to my heart! + Hail, land of love and home of endless peace! +Ye ties that bind me here, oh! quickly part, + And shout, my soul, for joy to find release, +With angels meet and sing in sweet accord, +Forever blest, forever with the Lord! + + + + +THE REQUEST. + + +Come sit here close beside me and take my hand in thine, +And tell me of the happy home I think will soon be mine; +Oh, tell me of the river and of the garden fair, +And of the tree of life that waves its healing branches there! + +And tell me of the love of God who gave his only Son +To die and suffer on the cross for deeds that I have done; +And tell to me the holy words the blessed Jesus spake +When from the courts of Heaven he came, an exile for my sake. + +I love to hear how Mary sat at the Redeemer's feet,-- +I wish I could have been there too, I would have shared her seat; +I envy much the little group that met at Martha's board +To listen to the gentle voice of him whom they adored. + +I envy those rude fishermen who rowed him o'er the sea, +Who walked with him and talked with him as I now talk to thee; +I envy those who brought their sick, just at the close of day, +That they might be restored to health when Jesus passed that way. + +Had I been living then I know I would have joined the crowd-- +"Have mercy, oh have mercy, Lord!" I would have cried aloud. +Thou sayest that I still may go and tell him all my grief, +And go I will; "Lord, I believe, help thou my unbelief." + +I know my heart is very hard, I feel the load within; +But in the blood of Jesus Christ I wash away my sin; +I lay my burden at his feet while to his cross I cling; +I do so long to hear him speak death seems a blessed thing. + +Now kneel here close beside me and lift thy voice in prayer +That I may say his will be done whatever I may bear, +Oh, I should love to _work_ for him, if that could be his will, +But pray that I may be resigned--may suffer and be still. + + + + +COMPLETE IN HIM. + + +Does not the blood of Jesus alone cleanse from _all_ sin?-who but +sinners are invited to the great Fountain? Are my robes filthy?--where +can they be made white but in the blood of the Lamb? Is my heart +obdurate and unbelieving?--who can soften and subdue it save the +Almighty One who listens to its throbbings and knows all its trouble? +Am I tempted, sorely tempted?--who can pity like Him who in the +wilderness met face to face the great enemy, the great tempter of +mankind? Ah, my poor heart aches when I think of all that is in the +past and of all the future may have in store for me. But is there no +balm in Gilead? is there no physician there? Will He not take me by +the hand and whisper, "Be of good cheer; thy sins are forgiven thee"? +Will He not heal thy wounds by pouring into them the oil of +consolation? He has promised to do this--yea, much more than this; and +will he for the first time in the history of mankind fail to perform +what he has spoken? Nay, _nay_, and I will doubt no longer.... O +Jesus, my Mediator, my Redeemer, have compassion upon me, and declare +thyself to the Father as THE LORD MY RIGHTEOUSNESS.--_Sept_. 1860. + + + + +TRUST IN GOD. + + +Trust in God! He will direct thee, +He will love and will protect thee; + Lean upon his mighty arm, + Fear no danger, fear no harm. +Trust him for his grace and power; +Trust him in each trying hour. + +Trust in God whate'er betide thee! +Trust him though he sometimes chide thee: + 'Tis in love to lead thee back + When thou turnest from the track. +Trust him, cling to him forever, +And he will desert thee--never. + +Trust in God, the Rock of ages! +Louder still the tempest rages, + Earthquakes heave and thunders roar, + Mountain surges lash the shore, +Nations tremble--hark! the warning, +"Comes the night, and comes the morning." + +Watchmen on the walls of Zion +Catch a glimpse of Judah's Lion! + Man of sorrows, Lamb once slain, + Comes as King of kings to reign, +And from long oppressed Creation, +Break the anthems of salvation. + +Trust in God! the morn awaits thee, +And while such a hope elates thee, + Wilt thou fold thy hands in ease? + No, the golden moments seize! +Lay thy gift upon the altar, +Thou hast duties--do not falter! + + + + +A PARADOX. + + +Alone, and yet not alone am I; sad, and yet not sad. No human form +intrudes upon my solitude, and yet He who fills creation with himself +is surely with me; sad I am, for there are many _earthly_ +thoughts that contribute to cast a shade upon my soul, and yet +_heavenly_ thoughts soon dispel such mournful ones. Oh, that my +whole affection might be placed upon things above, and not on things +on the earth! Why should my heart be gloomy when such a glorious +prospect opens before me?--a world of immortal beauty, enlivened by +the presence of God himself, and a glorious city, even the New +Jerusalem. "Fly, lingering moments, fly away, and bring that long +expected day" when Christ shall appear in glory to take his weary +children home. + + + + +"THOU SHALT KNOW HEREAFTER." + + +The wind has ceased--how still and tranquil all! +The ghastly moon still shines upon the wall; +While other eyes are closed why do I weep? +Begone, ye phantoms, welcome, balmy sleep! +And bear me to the shadowy land of dreams +Where yesternight I roamed by crystal streams, +And gathered flowers methought would never fade, +Or talked with angels 'neath the pleasant shade! + +It was a dream; ah, yes, and life to me +Was once a dream--smooth as the placid sea +When all is calm, and on its bosom lies +The golden radiance of the summer skies. +There came a storm--the thunder's dreadful roar, +The angry waves that beat against the shore +Awakened me--oh, I had lived too long +In the bright realms of fancy and of song. + +Perhaps 'twas well the storm swept o'er the sea, +Perhaps 'twas well the tumult startled me, +'Twas well I learned there's much to do and dare, +Much to be suffered, much to meekly bear, +But when I found the real though unsought, +And thought of life and trembled as I thought,-- +When like the leaves in autumn day by day +The hopes I cherished hastened to decay, +And hopeless, helpless in my great despair +I turned to earth but found no solace there, +'Twas well for me that in the darkened skies +I saw the Star of Bethlehem arise! + +I know not why, though nature craves to know, +That all my dreams of happiness below +Should be thus blighted, yet the time is near +When I, poor voyager, often shipwrecked here, +Shall reach the port, and safely moored at last +Review the scenes and sufferings of the past,-- +Beholding where the shadows darkest lay +The dawning glory of immortal day, +And all along the path that seemed so drear +Leaving this one memorial--God was here! + + + + +"THINE EYES SHALL SEE THE KING IN HIS BEAUTY." + + +The thought is ever present, Shall these eyes indeed see the Maker of +the universe? shall these feet indeed walk the Golden City? shall +these hands wave the palm of victory and strike the chords of the +glorious harp whose music shall be sweeter than that of David's? Can +this be possible, and do I weep and mourn because of present +affliction? Oh, the future, the future! what has it not in reserve for +me? Glories of which mortal never dreamed: eternal life--eternal +happiness--perpetual youth--knowledge unbounded, yet ever increasing! +Fly, fly, fly, days of pain and sorrow! Hail, all hail! bright morn of +deliverance. It _will_ come; and I--oh, the thought overpowers +me--I, poor and wretched and sinful, shall be blessed forever, +_forever_, FOREVER. + + + + +ALL IS WELL + + +Dark the future yawns before me, + Bitter griefs my bosom swell; +But a light is breaking o'er me, + And a voice--"All, all is well!" + +Sad and lone has been my journey, + Sad and lone my way must be:-- +Care and sorrow, pain and sickness, + Long have been allotted me. + +Sunshine--that o'er youthful bosoms + Flings a bright and magic spell, +Seldom breaks upon my pathway, + Yet I know that all is well! + +If the Hand that guides the planets + Feeds the ravens when they cry, +Can it be that I'm unnoticed + By a Father's loving eye? + +He has thoughts of mercy toward me, + His designs I cannot tell; +'Tis enough for me to trust Him, + He knows best--and all is well! + +Many doubts and many shadows + Oft have flitted through my mind, +And I've questioned, sadly questioned, + But no answer could I find. + +Earth was silent to my pleading, + Nature taught me to rebel; +But when I recall the promise + "_I am with thee_"--all is well! + +Many things I can't unravel; + Many winding mazes see; +But I'll go with faith unshaken, + For the Lord is leading me. + +And when beams of endless glory + The mysterious clouds dispel, +Grateful shall I tell my story, + Grateful say that all was well! + + + + +WE SHALL MEET. + + +We have wandered oft together + At the hour of setting sun; +Shall we wander thus together, + When the toils of life are done? + +Many hours we've spent together + Scenes of joy and grief have known; +Shall we spend the hours together + When the joy will be alone? + +Sad indeed would be our parting + If we hoped to meet no more, +But although the tears are starting, + Look we to a brighter shore. + +Dark indeed would be the morrow + When, apart we sadly roam, +If beyond this world of sorrow + We could see no happier home. + +But we've heard a joyful story + Of a land that's bright and fair, +And we hope to share its glory, + And to meet each other there. + +Swiftly onward to the ocean + Roll the troubled waves of time, +Bearing us with every motion + Nearer to the blessed clime. + +Soon the tears that now are starting + With their causes will be o'er; +Soon the hands now clasped in parting + Will be joined forevermore. + +We have shared one home together, + We have sat around one board; +And we'll find a home together + In the Paradise restored! + + + + +WHAT THE DAUGHTER OF THE CLOUD SAID. + + +Down the spout a torrent gushed, to be pent up in an old, dark tub, +and made the slave of the washerwoman. Would it not have been better +for thee, O water, to have fallen in the beautiful forest? to lie in +the bosom of the lily, or become a looking glass for the many colored +insects? "I would be useful," whispered the daughter of the cloud, +"therefore I have stooped to an humble action--I left the abode of the +lightning. My lot is a lowly one; my life full of sorrow and +humiliation. I must pass through a fiery ordeal; I must be cast out +and despised by those whom I have served. But then will be the time of +my exaltation: the blessed Sun will take pity upon me, and make me a +gem of beauty in the angels' highway!" + +[Though no application has been made of this similitude, yet the truth +designed to be taught is easily gathered: The Christian may be called +to many a lowly act--to a ministration which will subject him to +reproach and suffering here, but the day of exaltation is sure to +come. "He that humbleth himself shall be exalted." The day hastens +when from the heavens the Saviour will descend, "who will transform +the body of our humiliation, that it may be conformed to the body of +his glory."--Phil. 3:21 (_Am. Bible Union Trans._). How glorious +will the humble workers of earth appear when they are beautified by +the Sun of righteousness in the resurrection morning! That will be all +Easter day of surpassing loveliness.] + + + + +THIS IS NOT HOME. + + +This is not home! from o'er the stormy sea +Bright birds of passage wing their way to me; +They bear a message from the loved and lost +Who tried the angry waves and safely crossed, +And now in homelike mansions find repose +Where billows never roar nor tempest blows. + +As strangers here in foreign lands we roam, +Oh, why should not the exile sigh for home? +A thousand snares beset our thorny way, +And night is round us--why not wish for day? +The storm is high, beneath its wintry wing +The blossom fades--oh, why not wish for Spring? + +The waters roll o'er treasures buried deep, +And sacred dust the lonely churchyards keep-- +Homes are dissolved and ties are rent in twain, +And things that charm can never charm again, +On every brow we mark the hand of time, +Oh, why not long for the celestial clime? + +Wave after wave rolls inward to the land, +Then comes the wail and then the parting hand, +And those for whom we would have freely died +Are borne away upon the ebbing tide; +We weep and mourn, we bid the sea restore, +It mocks our grief--and takes one idol more. + +'Tis well for us that ties which bind the heart +Too strongly here are rudely snapped apart; +'Tis well the pitcher at the fountain breaks, +The golden bowl is shattered for our sakes, +To show how frail and fleeting all we love, +To raise our souls to lasting things above. + +We are but pilgrims--like the tribes who roam +In every land but call no land their home,-- +And what their ancient Canaan is to them, +So is to us the New Jerusalem; +Then while our hopes, our hearts, our homes are there, +"_Thy Kingdom come_" must be our fervent prayer! + + + + +THE SOUL'S CONSOLATION. + + +Ah, well it is for thee that there is one ear that will listen, one +eye that pities, one heart that will take thee in--"Thou God seest +me!" Was ever consolation contained in so few words? Oh, repeat it +when the heart is breaking--when between thee and every earthly object +yawns a gulf dark and impassable. Thou God _seest_ me! Thou God +_lovest_ me--lovest _me_! Thou knowest the agony of my spirit: thou +knowest what I suffer, and thou must give me strength and grace to +endure all, and to say in truth and sincerity, Thy will not mine be +done. + + + + +"WE SEE THROUGH A GLASS, DARKLY." + + +We weep when from the darkened sky + The thunderbolts are driven, +And wheresoe'er we turn our eye + Our earthly hopes are riven; +But could we look beyond the storm + That threatens all before us, +We might observe a heavenly form + Guiding the tempest o'er us. + +The eye that sees, the sparrow's fall, + That never sleeps nor slumbers, +Beholds our griefs however small, + And every sigh he numbers. +The angels fly at his command, + With love their bosoms swelling, +They lead us gently by the hand,-- + They hover round our dwelling. + +And when the fading things of earth + Our hearts too fondly cherish, +Forgetful of their mortal birth, + How suddenly they perish! +But 'tis in mercy and in love + Our Father thus chastises, +To fix our thoughts on things above; + He strikes, yet sympathizes. + +We know not, and we may not know + Till dawn the endless ages, +Why round his children here below + The howling tempest rages; +But _this_ we know, that life nor death + Our souls from him can sever! +We'll praise him with our latest breath + We'll sing his praise forever! + + + + +WORDS OF CHEER FOR FAINTING CHRISTIANS. + + +Poor pilgrim, weary with the toils of life, distressed and afflicted +on every hand, persecuted and forsaken by thy fellowmen, hast thou +ever fathomed the depths of that glorious declaration, "I will never +leave thee, nor forsake thee"?--Heb. 13:5. Hast thou ever realized +that in whatever situation thou mayest be placed--on the mountains of +delight or in the vale of humiliation, in sickness or in health, in +prosperity or in adversity, in life or in death--thou art under the +immediate protection of the great Shepherd of Israel, who never sleeps +nor slumbers? The heavens may gather blackness, the storm may come +down in fury, but He who whispered, "Peace, be still," to the raging +billows, is "the same yesterday, to-day and forever"; and though now +invisible his presence is with thee as truly and as really as it was +with the timid band of disciples on the stormy sea of Galilee. The +same Jesus that walked the streets of Jerusalem,--the pitiful, the +affectionate, the tender-hearted,--is an eye-witness of all thy tears, +thy trials and temptations. His ear, which was never closed to the cry +of the poor and needy, is still open to thy call; and the heart which +embraced the whole universe has a place for thee. The fires upon thy +altar may have grown dim; the sacrifice may have been the poor and +lean of thy flock; but the coals of divine love are bright upon the +heavenly altar; and the great Sacrifice--the Lamb without spot or +blemish-whispers of Calvary and Gethsemane, and mentions thee in his +intercession. + +Amazing love! love never to be fathomed. Angels who wait to do his' +bidding, seraphim and cherubim who behold his face in glory, can ye +comprehend the height and depth, the length and breadth of the +Saviour's love? Ah! angels, and seraphim, and cherubim still bend +above the mercy-seat and "desire to look into" these things; but ages +on ages of eternity may roll away and the love that bowed the heavens +for sinful and degraded mortals shall still remain an unsounded deep! +And this love is for thee--for _thee_--, poor pilgrim. Plunge then +deeply into this unfathomable ocean. Fear not to loosen thy hold upon +the shore: there is nothing there worthy thy love. Thou art an heir of +immortality, and the pleasures which endure for a season should be +nothing to thee. Wealth, and honor, and power are only the gildings of +a groaning and sin-cursed earth. The shouts of mirth and revelry borne +upon the midnight air, are only the prelude to tears and sighs and +mourning. Behind thee is the blackness of despair, before thee the +everlasting sunshine. Away, away! tarry not to sip water from the +broken cistern, for the living fountain gushes forth, clear as +crystal; and the invitation is for all: "Ho, every one that thirsteth" +(Isa. 55: 1; Rev. 21:6; 22:17).--_Aug_. 10, 1856. + + + + +MISCELLANY. + + +THE DYING YEAR. + + +Hark! there comes at midnight hour + Sound like funeral knell, +Chaining us with magic power, + Whispering, "_Farewell_." + +'Tis the dying year's last sigh + Mingling with the storm; +Closes now his hollow eye, + Sinks his feeble form. + +Still at midnight, dark and lone, + Mournful echoes ring, +Murmuring in solemn tone, + "_Time_ is on the wing." + + + + +INCOMPREHENSIBILITY OF GOD. + + +O God, where art thou? where thy mighty throne? +Why is thy face unseen, and thou unknown?-- +Source and support of all, why is thy form +Hidden from mortal eyes? when every storm +That sweeps athwart the dark and angry sky, +When all the bright and burning orbs on high, +When the deep sea that in its fury roars, +When all its beautiful and fertile shores, +When every river, hill and lowly dale, +When every mountain, tree, and flowery vale, +When every bird, and e'en the springing +Whisper aloud, _"There is, there is a God!"_ + +These are thy works; but where, O God, art thou? +Pavilioned in deep darkness, is thy brow +Hid in dark folds, ne'er to be drawn apart? +Will mortal never see thee as thou art? +Yes; when the wheels of time have ceased to run, +When yon bright orb its glorious, task has done, +Then will the veil be rent which once concealed +The throne of God, the mighty unrevealed; +Then human eyes will view his dwelling-place, +And saints, as angels, see him face to face. + + + + +THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. + + +Lo in the east the Star begins to rise. +The glorious centre for admiring eyes +Of men and angels--Herald of the morn +So long foretold, the Prince of peace is born! +O'er all the earth let hallelujahs ring, +Let all the earth a fitting tribute bring-- +With gold and silver, frankincense and myrrh. +Come from the south, or, clad in robes of fur, +Come from the frozen north, from east and west, +Prince, priest and warrior, earth's great ones and best, +Come to the manger, humbly there lay down +The sword, the mitre and the jeweled crown. + +The rich and noble celebrate the day +With pomp and show; but who are these? make way +Ye sons of wealth! ye rulers stand aside! +This is no place, this is no hour for pride; +The sick, the lame, the Wind, the deaf, the dumb, +The sinful, poor and sorrowful may come; +And even I can bring my little store-- +A weary, sin-sick heart--I've nothing more: +The world may frown, the lofty may despise, +The gift is precious in my Saviour's eyes. +To him as sacred are the tears that fall +In lowly cottage as in princely hall,-- +No rich, no poor his loving bosom knows, +He cares for all and pities all their woes, +In the same censer offers up their prayers, +And on his heart their names alike he bears. + +O Star above all stars! whose blessed light +Illumes the darkness of our moral night, +Still guide our wandering feet till He whose birth +Thou didst announce shall come again to earth, +And wise and simple, king and subject meet +To hear their doom before the judgment-seat,-- +Till nature's groans with human groans shall cease, +And Earth itself, once more with Heaven at peace, +Shall put her robes of deathless beauty on, +Time be no more, and the millennium dawn! + + + + +GOD MADE ME POOR. + + +God made me poor--am I to blame? + And shall I bow my head +As though it were some dreadful shame + I had inherited? + +Shall I among the rich and great + Like trembling culprit stand, +Or like obedient servant wait + To do their least command? + +And when they pass me by in scorn-- + As they have often done,-- +Shall I regret that I was born + An humble farmer's son? + +No! should it ever cause a sigh + This were indeed a shame; +For all unworthy then were I + To bear my father's name. + +I'll pay to all the homage due + Whatever rank they hold; +But to my manhood ever true, + _I will not bow to gold,_ + + + + +THE STRANGER GUEST. + + +Came a stranger, sad and weary, + To my humble cot one day, +And he asked me for a shelter,-- + Long and rough had been the way + He had traveled + On that sultry summer day. + +Pain and grief had marred his beauty, + And a tear was in his eye +As he asked me for a shelter, + And then waited a reply. + Tears did gather + In mine own, I knew not why. + +'Neath my humble roof I led him, + As he crossed the threshold o'er +"Peace to thee," he softly whispered; + Peace I never knew before + Filled my bosom, + As the stranger filled my door. + +Be my friend and guest forever, + In a trembling voice I said; +And he smiled and laid so gently + One dear hand upon my head; + It was bleeding, + And I knew for me it bled! + +"I will be thy guest forever," + Said the stranger unto me; +"But the cost--say, hast thou counted-- + Counted what the cost will be? + Earthly pleasures, + Wilt thou leave them all for me? + +"Wilt thou take my yoke upon thee? + Wilt thou humbly bear my name? +Crush the risings of ambition, + And the hopes of earthly fame? + Freely suffering, + For my sake, reproach and shame?" + +Then I said, Both fame and pleasure + Willingly I can resign; +Let me only feel thy presence, + Let me know that thou art mine, + And dear Saviour, + All I have and am are thine! + + + + +A LONG DELIGHTFUL WALK. + + +While reading to-day an account of the descendants of Adam my mind was +particularly struck with the short but comprehensive narrative of +Enoch: "He walked with God, and he was not; for God took him" (Gen. +5:21-24). He "walked with God," and how long? "Three hundred years" +after he begat Methuselah. Oh, how strange that it should be so hard +for me to walk in the commandments of the Lord even for a few days! O +God, give me more of the love and more of the faith that Enoch +possessed.--_Aug._ 18,1853. + + + + +"THE SERVANT IS NOT ABOVE HIS MASTER." + + +Lonely pilgrim, art thou sinking + 'Neath the weight of grief and care? +Bitter dregs of sorrow drinking + From the cup of dark despair? +Mourn not, for thy Master's footsteps + The same gloomy paths have trod +He has drained the cup of anguish,-- + He, the mighty Son of God. + +Does gaunt poverty surround thee, + With its pale and meagre train? +Do they gather closely round thee, + Want, and suffering and pain? +Mourn not, for the chilly dew-drops, + Fell upon thy Master's bed; +Mourn not, for the Prince of Glory + Had not where to lay his head! + +Are thy kindred lowly lying + In the cold and silent tomb, +Heedless of thy plaintive sighing, + Heedless of thy grief and gloom? +Know thy Master's tears descended, + Where a dearly-loved one slept; +He knows well thy weight of sorrow; + Murmur not, for Jesus wept. + +Do the friends that once caressed thee + Pass thee by with frowning brow? +Has the friendship that once blessed thee + Changed to bitter hatred now? +Weep not, for thy Masters brethren + In his sorrow turned aside, +Scorned to own that once they loved him; + Weep not,--Jesus was denied! + +Does a scoffing world deride thee, + And expose to scorn and shame? +Do thy foes rise up beside thee, + Blast thy character and name? +Know thy Master was derided, + Scorned in Pilate's judgment-hall. +Mourn not; Christ, the great Redeemer, + Was despised and loathed by all. + +Art thou torn with grief and anguish? + Racked with many a burning pain? +Does thy weary body languish? + Fearful pangs torment thy brain? +Murmur not; from Calvary's mountain + List thy Master's dying groan! +Murmur not; thy great Redeemer + Gave his life to save thine own! + +Does the monster Death look dreary? + Fill thy mind with fears and gloom? +Does thy spirit, faint and weary, + Shrink in terror from the tomb? +Know thy Master's gone before thee, + Crossed the dark and narrow tide, +Disarmed Death of all his terrors: + Then fear not--thy Saviour died! + +Yes, he died,--the Prince of Glory,-- + Died upon the cursed tree; +Pilgrim, spread the joyful story: + Jesus died, and died for thee! +And he rose,--he rose triumphant,-- + Burst the bars of death in twain. +Lonely pilgrim, that same Jesus + Will return to earth again! + +See the first faint beams of morning + Chasing night and clouds away, +All the glorious sky adorning; + Pilgrim, it is break of day! +Rouse thee, pilgrim, weep no longer; + Let thy glad Hosanna ring! +Jesus comes in power and glory; + Hail thy Saviour and thy King! + + + + +ELIJAH. + + +He calmly stands on the mountain's brow. +God shield thee, thou lonely prophet, now! +For thy friends are few, and thy foes are strong, +And each heart beats high in that mocking throng; +And every eye is fixed upon thee, +As thou standest alone in thy majesty. + +The prophets of Baal are many and great, +And they move along in princely state; +With a scornful eye and a haughty air, +They have proudly taken their station there; +While the blood of thy comrades stains the sod, +And thou only art left a prophet of God. + +Yet firm is thy step, and calm thy brow-- +The Lord God of hosts is for thee now; +And, strong in his strength, thou mayest advance, +And defy the world with thy piercing glance; +While the prophets of Baal bend at thy nod, +And the people own that the Lord, he is God. + +The sun shines bright in the azure sky, +And the morning breeze sweeps gently by, +And all is quiet on earth, in air-- +Not a sound escapes from that multitude there; +Though eager each eye and troubled each mien, +Yet the stillness of death reigns over the scene. + +But a voice is heard; and clear and loud +It breaks on the ears of the listening crowd; +They quickly obey. A space is cleared; +The bullock is slain, the altar is reared; +While the prophets of Baal around it bend, +And implore their god an answer to send. + +The day wears on, and the sun is high-- +Still round that altar they madly cry; +But the sky is serene as ever before, +And, frantic with rage, they shout the more; +But 't is all in vain; and the day has past, +And the prophets of Baal have yielded at last. + +Each heart beats high with anxiety there, +As Elijah, with calm, majestic air, +Alone and exposed to a nation's frown, +Rebuilds the altar long since thrown down. +'T is the hour for the evening sacrifice now, +And he solemnly kneels on the mountain's brow. + +On, the name of the Lord his God he calls; +When, lo! quick as lightning, the fire falls! +A smoke ascends to the vaulted sky, +And with it arises a mingled cry; +And bowed is each head, and bent is each knee +As "The Lord, he is God!" rings loud o'er the sea. + +'T is night, and the evening breeze grows chill; +The prophet pleads with Jehovah still; +He has seen the prophets of Baal slain. +And now he implores for the falling rain. +The heavens grow black at Jehovah's word; +Arise, Elijah, thy prayer is heard! + + + + +THE SACRED PAGE. + + +Golden-headed youth and silver-headed age +Bend together earnestly o'er the Sacred Page; +One amid spring blossoms, while the falling leaves +Gather round the other sitting 'mid the sheaves; +One amid the twilight of the coming day, +While the shadows deepen round the other's way. + +Golden-headed youth and silver-headed age, +Read the same sweet lessons from the Sacred Page; +Eyes that brim with laughter, eyes that dim with years, +Resting there pay tribute in a flood of tears; +Rosy lips and pallid trembling at the cry-- +Mournfully repeating the Sabachthani! + +Golden-headed youth and silver-headed age +Draw their consolation from the Sacred Page; +One is in the valley where the grass is green, +While the other gazes on a wintry scene; +Both have lost their birth-right-both have felt their loss, +And they both regain it through the blessed Cross! + +Golden-headed youth and silver-headed age, +Find their way to Heaven in the Sacred Page; +Like the little children waiting to be blessed, +One goes forth rejoicing to the Saviour's breast, +While the other clingeth to his mighty arm, +'Mid the swelling Jordan feeling no alarm. + +Golden-headed youth and silver-headed age, +Come, and seek for treasures in the Sacred Page; +To the one how tender is the Saviour's call; +Yet the invitation He extends to all; +Earthly fountains fail you--hasten to assuage +Every grief of childhood--every pang of age! + + +Oh, what a book is the Bible! There is enough in one verse to condemn +the whole world, and enough in another to redeem it. + +No man in a dark night can behold himself in a mirror until a lamp is +lighted,--and not even then distinctly and perfectly until the dawn of +day: so no man can see himself in God's mirror until the beams of the +divine lamp [the Holy Spirit] illume his soul,--nor even then can he +see perfectly what a wretched and distorted being he is "until the day +break" and, being made like his Saviour, he contrasts what he is with +what he once was. + + + + +BEHOLD HOW HE LOVED US. + + +While on the cross the Saviour bleeds, +While friend nor foe his anguish heeds, +While many a taunt and bitter jeer +Break harshly on his holy ear, +He prays,--what can that last prayer be? +Oh, wondrous love, he prays for me! + +Deep anguish fills his troubled soul, +The streams of blood in torrents roll; +And louder railings now are heard; +He breathes not one complaining word; +Yet, hark! he prays,--what can it be? +Oh, wondrous love, he _prays_ for me! + +He bows his head, Immanuel dies; +Darkness o'erspreads the azure skies, +Loud thunders shake the earth and air, +And earthquakes heave in horror there; +Angels the act with wonder see; +Oh, matchless love, he _dies_ for me! + +He leaves the dark and gloomy grave, +While angel-pinions round him wave, +And rising from the mountain's brow, +Appears before his Father now; +He pleads,--what can those pleadings be? +Oh, deathless love, he _pleads_ for me! + +And can I then such scenes behold, +And still be careless, still be cold? +Can I, with air of sinful pride, +Cast such unbounded love aside? +My soul, oh, can it, _can it_ be? +Has Jesus died in vain for thee? + +Oh, no! the crimson streams that glide +From Calvary's deeply blood-stained side, +Invite my soul, so stained with sin, +To wash away its guilt therein; +And in those precious drops I see +Christ has not died in vain for me! + +The Saviour pleads, in thrilling tone, +Before his mighty Father's throne, +That for his sake my guilty name +Within the book of life may claim +A place. He smiles; and now I see +Christ does not plead in vain for me! + +Amazing love! what tongue can tell +The wondrous depths that in thee dwell? +What angel's mind can e'er explore +The riches of thy boundless store? +Oh, matchless love beyond degree,-- +Christ bled, he died, and pleads for _me_! + + + + +LOVE YOUR ENEMIES. + + +Arrows dipped in poison flew + From the fatal bow; +And they pierced my bosom through, + And they laid me low. + +Every nerve to anguish strung, + In distress I cried: +And the waste around me rung, + But no voice replied. + +"Cruel was the hand," I said, + "That could draw the bow: +Curses rest upon the head + Of my heartless foe!" + +Turning straightway at the sound, + In the tangled wood, +Pale, and bearing many a wound, + There a stranger stood. + +Mournfully on me he gazed, + Not a word he said: +But one hand the stranger raised, + And I saw it bled. + +Blood was flowing from his side + And his thorn-pierced brow; +"Who has wounded thee?" I cried, + And he answered, "_Thou!_" + +Then I knew the Stranger well, + And with sobs and tears +Prostrate at his feet I fell, + But he soothed my fears. + +"Thou hast wounded me, but live,-- + And my blessing take: +Henceforth wilt thou not forgive + Freely for my sake?" + +Resting in his fond embrace, + Eased of every woe,-- +Then I said, with smiling face, + "Jesus, bless my foe!" + + + + +THE ORPHAN. + + +The storm was loud; a murky cloud + O'erhung the midnight sky, +And rude the blast that wildly passed + A lonely orphan by; +But ruder still the bitter thrill + Of woe that rent his heart; +Darker his fears, sadder the tears + That evermore would start. + +"Bleak is the storm, and on my form + The winds in fury beat; +A racking pain, torments my brain, + And sore these weary feet; +No ray of light illumes the night, + And here, alas! I roam, +Where tempests howl and wild beasts growl; + Oh, that I had a home! + +"Full many a day has rolled away + Since I have laid me down, +To cease to weep, and fall asleep, + Save on the cold, damp ground; +And many more may pass me o'er + Ere I may cease to roam; +One year ago it was not so,-- + For then I had a home! + +"Then on his child a father smiled, + And fondly me caressed; +When sorrow came, or bitter pain, + I leaned upon his breast; +He'd kiss my cheek, and kindly speak + In soft and soothing tone; +Oh, what a strange and dreary change-- + For then I had a home! + +"When evening gray shut out the day, + Beside my mother's knee, +With simple air I breathed the prayer + That mother taught to me; +Then laid me down, not on the ground, + Not on this cold, damp stone; +But on my bed, love made instead,-- + For then I had a home! + +"The livelong day I spent in play + Around our peaceful cot, +Or plucked the flowers from blooming bowers, + And to my mother brought. +Then bliss and joy without alloy, + And love around me shone; +Then hope could rest within my breast-- + For then I had a home! + +"My father died, and by his side + My darling mother sleeps; +And now their child in anguish wild + Wanders around and weeps! +The pleasant cot my father bought + A stranger calls his own; +With tearful face I left the place, + For it was not my home! + +"No home have I, no shelter nigh, + And none my grief to share; +But I've a Friend, to him I'll bend, + And he will grant my prayer. +He'll lend an ear for he can hear, + Though high his mighty throne; +My steps he'll guide, and he'll provide + The orphan with a home! + +"Dark grows the sky, my lips are dry, + And cold my aching brow; +Is this a dream?--for, lo! I seem + To see my mother now! +Faint grows my breath, the arm's of death + Are surely round me thrown; +Oh, what a light breaks on my sight! + There, there's the orphan's home!" + +With smiling face in death's embrace + The orphan calmly slept; +He heard no more the tempest's roar; + No more the orphan wept. +No longer pain might rack his brain, + No longer might he roam, +The dearly loved he'd met above, + And found with them a home! + + + + +SENTENTIOUS PARAGRAPHS. + + +Rest, but few can comprehend the word. At morn I speak it, but at +midnight most, and then 'tis music! Oh, the thought of _rest_--of +perfect freedom, from distress and pain--of health, of vigor in each +nerve and limb. The thought inspires, consoles, and makes me pray for +fear I shall lose the blessing. Grant me, O God, a patient heart; and +may my will be so conformed to thine, that I may wait thy own good +pleasure, whatsoever it be. + +There are moments when Calvary overshadows Mount Sinai; when the +blessed words, "It is finished," swell long and loud above the roar of +thunder and the sound of trumpets; when the Cross conceals the Tables +of stone bearing the holy law of the Almighty, and then I can boldly +reply to the upbraidings of Conscience, "There is now no condemnation +to them which are in Christ Jesus." + +Sing, my heart, for the day cometh wherein the night shall be no more +at all remembered; the clouds shall melt like vapor, and the voice of +mourning and lamentation shall be heard no more forever. Awake and +sing! + + + + +"YE DID IT NOT TO ME." + + +'Twas night--a dark and stormy night: + The wintry winds were high; +Within the fire was blazing bright +And as I trimmed the cheerful light + I heard a pleading cry. + +"Come in," in hasty tones I said, + The door flew open wide-- +The tempest roared--I shrieked with dread, +For, lo, a Spectre from the dead + Was standing by my side! + +One icy hand was on mine own, + I would have turned and fled: +But ah! my limbs were chilled to stone, +As in a low, sepulchral tone + The sheeted Spectre said: + +"It was a night like this I died, + Scorned by my fellow men; +To me a shelter was denied +But when they slumber by my side, + We shall, be equals then. + +"I starved--and thou wast clothed and fed, + And had enough to spare; +Thou mightst have come with gentle tread, +And stood beside my dying bed, + And found a blessing there. + +"But now my curse: nor mine alone-- + The moment yet will be +When thou wilt stand before the Throne, +And hear it said in thunder tone: + 'Thou didst it not to Me.'" + +The light grew dim throughout the room, + Soon darkness reigned supreme, +But that pale Spectre from the tomb +Still eyed me through the dusky gloom,-- + Thank God, 'twas but a dream! + + + + +HEAR AND HELP ME. + + +Darkness and death are round me, + The night is late; +Yet once the Shepherd found me + In such a state! +He lulled my fears to rest, +He took me to his breast; +Is he less kind to-day? +Lord Jesus, hear me pray! + + Oh, hear me pray! +Remove the hateful sin +Which cankers all within + And shrouds my way. +Oh, hear me in my anguish, + My Saviour God! +I droop, I faint, I languish + Beneath thy rod: +I tremble on the brink, +Support me or I sink: +Oh, hear me while I cry; +Oh, save me or I die! + + + + +FAREWELL. + + +We stood upon the lonely shore + And watched the bounding bark +Which far away the loved ones bore, + On billows wild and dark; +And then there came a gloomy sound +Mournfully, mournfully stealing around-- + And the sound was this, + As it rose and fell + O'er the broad expanse,-- + _"Farewell, farewell!"_ + +We sought our home--once bright and fair, + No word of hope we said, +For Sorrow entered with us there, + With slow and silent tread; +And came a voice from every room +Mournfully, mournfully through the gloom; + And the voice was this, + As it sadly fell + On our aching hearts,-- + _"Farewell, farewell!"_ + +The garden that at morn was gay, + And the sequestered bower, +Seemed to have wept their bloom away, + All in one little hour; +We heard a voice upon the breeze +Sigh mournfully, mournfully through the trees, + And the voice was this, + As it rose and fell + On the balmy air,-- + _"Farewell, farewell!"_ + +Years, weary years have passed us o'er + Since that unhappy morn, +And in our arms we clasp once more + With rapture our first-born. +And thankful for our Father's care +Gratefully, gratefully raise the prayer, + That when life is o'er + Our anthems may swell + Where lips breathe no more-- + Farewell, farewell! + + + + +NO MOTHER. + + +No mother! well, the burning tears may flow + And bathe thy pillow, hapless orphan, now; +No mother's tender voice may soothe thy woe, + No mother's kiss is on thy aching brow. + +Thou hearest footsteps passing by the door, + Oft hast thou heard thy mother's footsteps there; +But ah! she comes, unhappy boy, no more + To say "Good night" or hear thy evening prayer. + +Weep on: there's none to wipe away thy tears, + There's none on earth thy mother's place to fill; +The night seems dark, but when the morn appears + Darkness and gloom will be around thee still. + +For thou hast lost what time can ne'er restore, + What other friends, though kind, can never be; +She had bright visions of a better shore + But asked to live--it was alone for thee. + +Kneel, wretched orphan, kneel beside thy bed; + Thy voice is choked, thy sobs have louder grown; +No mother's hand is lying on thy head, + No mother's heart is lifted with thy own. + +But thou canst pray, and on the Saviour's breast, + Which feels for every grief and every care, +Pillow thy head and sweetly sink to rest, + A _more than mother_ will protect thee there. + + + + +TO A MOTHER ON THE DEATH OF HER CHILD. + + +Mother, thy loved one slumbers now + In deep, unbroken rest; +But slumbers not with smiling brow + Upon thy tender breast. +Oh, no! for Death with cruel dart, + Unheeding anguish wild, +Has rudely torn thy yearning heart, + And borne away thy child. + +Thy home is drear at break of day, + And drear at set of sun; +For, lo! the grave enwraps the clay + Of thy departed one. +And vainly does thy spirit sigh, + With yearnings deep and wild, +To clasp once more within thy arms + Thy dear, thy darling child. + +Cold Death has snatched thy lovely flower; + But, lo! the day draws near, +When even Death shall lose his power, + And thy sweet child appear +All glorious with immortal life, + In Eden's garden fair. +Oh, mother, mother! would'st thou meet + Thy dearly loved one there? + +Oh, would'st thou join the blood-washed throng + On that immortal shore? +Oh, would'st thou swell the Conqueror's song + And greet thy child once more? +Then turn to Him who died for thee + A death of woe and pain; +And at the resurrection morn + Embrace thy child again! + + + + +IN GOODNESS IS TRUE GREATNESS. + + +[The following lines were addressed to her brother on receiving a +locket containing his daguerreotype.] + +I touch the spring--and lo, a face + Which for these many years +Within my heart has had a place, + A tender place--appears. + +The large dark eyes look up to mine, + So like thyself!--the cheek, +The brow, the features, all are thine: + Speak to me, brother, speak! + +And tell me of each grief and care: + For be they great or small, +A sister's heart would take a share-- + And, if it could, take all! + +And tell me of each hopeful plan, + And how the future seems,-- +Oh, may that future to the man + Be all the boy now dreams. + +I've heard thee say thou wouldst be great, + And with the gifted shine; +'T is well; but there's a nobler fate, + I pray it may be thine: + +It is to be an honest man,-- + To elevate thy race, +And like the good Samaritan + Do good in every place; + +To struggle bravely for the right, + Though kings defend the wrong; +To live as in thy Maker's sight, + And in his strength be strong; + +To put the spotless garment on, + To keep it pure and white, +And when the endless day shall dawn + Receive a crown of light. + +Dear brother, fame is but a breath, + So I implore for thee +A holy life, a happy death, + A blest eternity. + + + + +SIMILES. + + +Beneath the snow and frost of winter there are living seeds which +shall produce abundant harvests: so beneath a cold exterior there may +be a heart full of high resolves and glorious impulses, which at the +right season shall burst into blossom and bear precious fruit. + +How often the sun rises in a cloudless sky, to be obscured before +noonday! Human life is like our fickle clime: to-day all sunshine, and +to-morrow clouds. The sun is the same by day and night, but the earth +comes betwixt his light and us: so when the Sun of righteousness seems +to have left our horizon and we turn in vain to the right and the left +to find him, may it not be that the dark, dense earth has come betwixt +us and his life-giving beams, while He remains "the same yesterday, +to-day and forever"? + +The thistle has a fragrant smell, and the thorn a pleasant fruit. It +is a disease in the shell-fish that makes the pearl: so your sickness, +my friend, may be the means of your winning the Pearl of great price. + +What plant would thrive if the sun shone forever? and what should we +be if the sun of prosperity always shone upon our pathway? Along +life's dusty thoroughfare I see the world, but not as I saw it once: +sickness and sorrow have given me another pair of eyes. + + +Gentle breezes, balmy breezes, + There is vigor in your breath, +But ye cannot bring the roses + To the leaden cheeks of death! + + +The soil that produces the rankest weeds would by proper care and +cultivation produce the richest crops: so will the human heart when +regenerated by grace and truth. + +The violet cannot become the rose, the daisy cannot be the lily; and +if they could all be the loveliest flower, earth would lose half its +beauty. Without variety, a scene however fair within itself soon +wearies us. Knowest thou the moral? Be content in thy proper sphere: +then mayest be the violet or the daisy, but envy not the rose and the +lily; all are beautiful when in their appointed place. + +At morn the shadows slant toward the west, but toward the east at +night: so when the sun of life declines the shadows stretch away +toward the everlasting hills whence the eternal beams of day shall +arise. + + + + +THE CRUCIFIED OF GALILEE. + + +Methought I stood, at close of day, +Where soft the balmy breezes play, +And bright beneath the Eastern skies +The sacred hills of Canaan rise, +And saw him on the shameful tree,-- + The Crucified of Galilee! + +I heard the mocking throng deride +The anguish of the Crucified; +I saw the brilliant sun grow dim; +I heard creation shriek for him; +I saw him die, and die for me,-- + The Crucified of Galilee! + +And then I saw the veil upraised +From the eternal world, and gazed +Upon the scene in deep surprise; +One form alone could fix my eyes; +I knew him, yes, indeed 'twas he,-- + The Crucified of Galilee! + +And though upon his lovely brow +A beam of glory rested now; +Though angels praised his holy name; +Yet still I knew he was the same +Who hung upon the shameful tree,-- + The Crucified of Galilee! + +I knew him by his tender air; +I knew him by the fervent prayer +He breathed for those for whom he died; +I knew him by his wounded side; +By these I knew that it was he,-- + The Crucified of Galilee! + +I knew him by the loving smile +With which he welcomed sinners vile; +I knew him, for he took a share +In all his children's griefs and care; +I knew him by his love for me,-- + The Crucified of Galilee! + +The vision faded from afar; +But still 't is memory's guiding star, +To cheer the night and point a way +Unto an everlasting day, +When I, with unveiled eyes, shall see + The Crucified of Galilee! + + + + +THE ASCENSION. + + +A well-known group stood on the mountain side +And in their midst appeared the Crucified. +Oft had they stood in that sequestered place, +Their beaming eyes fixed on their Saviour's face; +But never met on Olivet's fair brow +With such emotions as they cherished now; +And never with such eager spirits hung +Upon the words that fell from Jesus' tongue; +For never had their Master's voice before +Sounded so sweet as when--his mission o'er,-- +He gathered round him that devoted band, +To give his blessing and his last command: +"Go ye, and teach all nations in my name-- +The Jew and Greek, the bond and free, the same; +But first proclaim a Saviour's love to those +Who thirsted for his blood, and mocked his woes, +That they, believing, through his death may live, +And know their risen Saviour can forgive. +Ye shall declare salvation's waters free, +And bid all nations to the fountain flee; +And though ye meet with perils dark and drear, +And tribulation be your portion here,-- +Though persecution, with uplifted sword, +Shall call for blood, and your own blood be poured,-- +Yet know that I, your Saviour and your friend, +Will be with you till life itself shall end; +And with all those who boldly shall proclaim +To a lost world salvation through my name, +In every land, in every age and clime, +Till the last trump shall sound the knell of time." + + * * * * * + +The humble followers of the Nazarene +In silent awe gazed on the wondrous scene; +Beheld their Lord in power and glory rise +Up the bright pathway of the parting skies; +And while they strove with piercing eyes in vain +To catch one glimpse of that dear form again, +Two angels left the bright and heavenly shore, +And messages of joy and love they bore. +Oh, glorious message to that faithful band, +Who on the mountain's top bewildered stand! +Oh, glorious sound to every ransomed soul, +From sea to sea, from spreading pole to pole +In every age, oh, tell the tidings o'er-- +"That very Jesus shall return once more!" +Hark! angel-voices rend the vaulted sky, +In thrilling tones those shining angels cry, +"Why stand ye gazing on yon glistening dome? +Heaven has received your risen Master home! +The time will come, when, as ye saw him rise, +He shall descend in power the parted skies." + + + + +THE HEBREW'S LAMENT. + + +Thou art the land of all my dreams,-- + Thy wanderer's heart is thine, +And oft he lingers by thy streams, + O holy Palestine! + +A stranger in a stranger's land + O'er hill and vale I roam; +But hope forever points her hand + Towards my father's home. + +They tell me that on Zion's hill + The Cross and Crescent shine: +But oh, my heart is with thee still, + Beloved Palestine. + +I know that Israel's weary race + Are scorned on every shore, +And scarcely find a dwelling-place + Where they were lords before. + +Yet, 'mid the darkness and the gloom, + A light begins to break; +O Israel, from the dreary tomb + Thy buried hopes awake,-- + +And lips that raise the fervent prayer, + "How long, O Lord, how long?" +Shall change the wailings of despair + To the triumphant song. + +And I may live to see the hour-- + The hour that must be near,-- +When in his royalty and power + Our Shiloh will appear. + +Till then my prayers will rise for thee, + Till then my heart be thine, +O land beyond the stormy sea, + O holy Palestine. + + + + +WHEN SHALL I RECEIVE MY DIPLOMA? + + +For many long years I have been in the school of affliction, and +during that time how often I have asked the questions, When will my +course be completed? when shall I receive my diploma? But let me first +consider: Am I prepared for the grand examination in which angels are +to be the spectators, and God himself judge? Here teachers and +professors--however skilled in human wisdom, friends and relatives-- +however anxious for my welfare, must step aside and leave me alone +before the dread tribunal! In the presence of my fellow-creatures I +might wear the robes of hypocrisy and appear in reality what I am not; +but what would this avail me in the presence of Him who knows every +thought even before it is formed, and whose searching eye can take in +at a single glance the past, present, and future of my history? + +O dreaded hour! who can wonder that timid mortals put it far in the +distance, and even strive to shut their eyes to its stern reality? +What folly! Were the light of revelation quenched forever, there is +that within every human breast which warns of a judgment to come and +of a righteous retribution. Swift as the planets roll in their orbits +around the sun, still swifter advances that terrible scene around +which the hopes and fears, the joys and miseries of eternity cluster. +It is the great centre of attraction, not only for one age or one +nation, but for all who have drawn the breath of life from the grand +creation anthem of stars and angels (Job 38:4-7) till stars and angels +again lift up their voices in concert, and swear that "Time shall be +no longer." Yet the life, the heart of each individual there will be +as closely examined as if the court of Heaven were sitting for him +alone, and he the only person for whom the joys of Paradise or the +pains of Hell were prepared by eternal Justice! + + + + +ALONE WITH JESUS. + + +Alone with Jesus! leave me here, +Without a wish, without a fear,-- +My pulse is weak and faint my breath +But is He not the Lord of death? +And if I live, or if I die, +'T is all the same when He is nigh. + +Alone with Jesus! ye who weep, +And round my bed your vigils keep, +My love was never half so strong, +And yours--oh, I have proved it long, +But when had earthly friend the power +To comfort in a dying hour! + +Alone with Jesus! oh, how sweet +In health to worship at his feet! +But sweeter far when day by day +We droop, and pine, and waste away, +To feel his arms around us close, +And in his bosom find repose! + +Alone with Jesus! how secure, +Vile in myself, in him how pure; +The tempests howl, the waters beat, +They harm me not in my retreat; +Night deepens--'mid its gloom and chill +He draws me nearer to him still. + +Alone with Jesus! what alarms +The infant in its mother's arms? +Before me death and judgment rise,-- +I turn my head and close mine eyes, +There's naught for me to fear or do, +I _know_ that he will bear me through! + +Alone with Jesus! earth grows dim,-- +I even see my friends through him; +Time, space, all things below, above, +Reveal to me one Life, one Love,-- +That One in whom all glories shine, +All beauties meet--that One is mine! + + + + +THE LOST BABE. + + +There was a bower that love had reared + And beautified with care; +One day a messenger appeared + And asked admission there. + +He was not welcome to the bower, + For something in his face, +Where'er he went, had always power + To cloud the brightest place. + +Love barred the door, and cried, "Forbear, + Thou art no bidden guest"; +Then gathered up her jewels rare + And hid them in her breast. + +Still louder knocked he than before, + And still he was denied; +Then, laughing at the well-barred door, + He threw it open wide. + +"I come from Paradise above," + The messenger began: +"Oh, not in anger but in love + God worketh out his plan. + +"Sent from the King's eternal throne + My mission to fulfill, +I ask one jewel of thine own,-- + It is the Master's will: + +"One birdling from the parent nest, + One lamb from out thy fold, +To nestle in the Saviour's breast + As did the babes of old. + +"How safe! Her resting-place how sweet! + But thou wilt sadly miss +The busy hands, the dancing feet, + The prattle and the kiss. + +"There comes an hour, so long foretold + That many deem it vain, +When in his arms thou shalt behold + That precious lamb again. + +"When earth and sea at God's command + Their treasures shall restore +Then thou shalt clasp this little hand, + Nor dread a parting more." + +Love wept--her very bosom bled + For that lost little one; +But Faith supported her and said, + "The Master's will be done." + + + + +THE DAY OF WRATH. + +"The great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand?" +--Rev. 6:17. + + +The nations tremble, and the isles are moved; + All cheeks are gathering paleness; lips are dumb +That smiled in scorn but yesterday, or proved + The day of wrath would not for ages come; +Each eye is fixed--there seems nor life nor breath +In that vast human sea,--but ah! it is not death. + +The morning broke in splendor, as it rose + Upon the fated Cities of the Plain; +And men went forth refreshed from their repose, + Where duty called them, or the love of gain; +When sudden as the lightning's vivid glare +Like heated furnace glowed the earth, the sea, the air. + +From the Equator to the frozen Pole, + All nations saw, and understood "the sign"; +The seventh angel sounded! like a scroll + The heavens departed, and a Form divine +And awful in its grandeur was revealed,-- +The sun and moon grew pale, and earth astounded reeled. + +Then rose a wail of anguish and despair-- + By men, by angels, never heard before; +The tones of earth and hell were mingled there, + Henceforth to be thus mingled evermore +Beyond the reach of Mercy's loving ear, +Who wept and pleaded once--but will no longer hear. + +But hark! in contrast what a shout of joy + Goes up to heaven; it tells of victory won +O'er sin and death, o'er all that can destroy,-- + It tells of life eternal just begun,-- +Of bliss coeval with the endless years,-- +Of love that waited long for Him who now appears. + +My soul consider--'t is no idle flight + Of fancy, when she pictures thus the day +When sun and planets shall withdraw their light, + And heaven and earth like smoke shall pass away; +God hath declared it; and our Saviour hath, +And lo, it hastens fast--that dreadful day of wrath. + +Where wilt thou find a shelter from the storm? + Not wealth, nor power, nor friends can succor then; +How wilt thou gaze upon that glorious Form + That seals the doom of angels and of men? +How wilt thou stand before the judgment seat +And every idle word, and thought, and action meet? + +O Lamb of God whose blood was shed for me,-- + Redeemer, Saviour, Lover of mankind,-- +Spread over me thy robes that I in Thee + A shelter from that dreadful storm may find,-- +And calm amid the tumult and despair +Look at the great white throne, and see my Surety there! + + + + +THE BELIEVER'S SAFETY. + + +Ah, Christian, why is thy heart sad and thy brow clouded? Hast thou +been gazing down into the depths of thine own soul, and--art thou +startled at what thou hast there seen? Hast thou met with evil +thoughts which thou wouldst gladly never have harbored, and art thou +despairing because of thy short-comings and unworthiness? Art thou +looking to the future with dread, and trembling lest in the hour of +trial and temptation thou wilt fall? + +Turn away thine eyes from the pollution of thine own sinful heart, and +gaze upon One who has become a perfect sin-offering for thee. True, +thou art frail and unworthy, but the Lamb that was slain _is worthy_, +and his perfection is enough for thee; his righteousness alone +recommends thee to the Father. Dost thou trust in him with all thy +heart? Dost thou hope for eternal life because he died? Then thou +art safe. "The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath thee are the +everlasting arms." The storms may howl, and tempests may gather around +thee; the billows may rage, but they only lash the Rock upon which +thou standest. "Though the earth be removed, and the mountains be cast +into the midst of the sea;" yet thou art safe, for he who made the +heavens and the earth is thy Father. He who commandeth the sun, and it +riseth not, and sealeth up the stars; "who alone spreadeth out the +heavens and treadeth upon the waves of the sea," is thy nearest and +dearest friend. The same voice which said, "Let there be light, and +there was light;" which commanded the raging waters, "Hitherto shalt +thou come, but no farther: and here shall thy proud waves be stayed," +is still whispering in thine ear, "Fear thee not, for I am with thee; +be not dismayed, for I am thy God." Yes, thou art safe! thou art +trusting in the mighty One of Israel, and thou shalt never be +confounded. + +Thou hast been looking away into the regions of the blessed; thou hast +beheld with an eye of faith the things which God has prepared for +those that love him, and amid the ineffable glory of that beautiful +world thou hast heard the voices of the redeemed from the earth, +saying: "Salvation to our God which sitteth upon the throne, and unto +the Lamb," until thou hast longed to join with them in the song of +redemption, singing praises forever and ever to him who has ransomed +thee with his own precious blood. Then a cloud has gathered over thee, +thy sinfulness has risen like a mountain, and thou hast sighed in thy +spirit, "Oh, that I were sure of a part with them; oh, that I was safe +as they!" and thou art as safe this moment with thy feet upon the Rock +of Ages, as if thou didst walk the golden streets of the New +Jerusalem, or bow with the angelic hosts around the dazzling throne of +thy Creator. Thou art safe, for thy "life is hid with Christ in God"; +and could'st thou ask for a surer hiding-place! Thou hast entered into +an everlasting covenant with the King of kings, and while thou dost +cling to his side shall it ever be broken? Thou hast entrusted thy +soul into his hands, and is he not able to "keep that which thou hast +committed unto him?" Thine enemies are many and powerful, but what are +they compared to the living God? In the hour of temptation "he will +never leave thee nor forsake thee"; when thy foes surround thee on +every side, and the darkness of midnight gathers over thy soul, the +Almighty arm shall lift up a standard, and thou shalt safely repose +"under the shadow of his wings." "The Lord is thy rock, and thy +fortress, and thy deliverer." "The Lord is thy light and thy +salvation; whom shalt thou fear? The Lord is the strength of thy life, +of whom shalt thou be afraid?" + +Then look up, Christian! 'tis no time for desponding. The glittering +spires of the Eternal City are already heaving in sight; perchance +another storm, another beating against the fragile bark, and thou art +there! Already the music of that glorious land steals softly over the +roaring billows, and reminds thee thou art nearing the peaceful shore. +Already the dark cloud which gathers above thy head is tinged with the +beams of immortal glory, and away in the distance thou canst behold +the first faint glimmerings of the Morning Star. Joy for thee, O +wanderer! the shadows of the night are passing away, and the unclouded +morning comes on apace! + +Yes, thou art safe! lift up thine eyes, + And calm thy anxious fears; +The Sun of glory gilds the skies, + And Christ thy life appears. + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Canadian Wild Flowers, by Helen M. Johnson + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANADIAN WILD FLOWERS *** + +This file should be named 6816.txt or 6816.zip + +Produced by Beth L. 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