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diff --git a/76279-0.txt b/76279-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fecfd1e --- /dev/null +++ b/76279-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4611 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76279 *** + + + + + +[Illustration: JULIA CARTER ALDRICH, + +(PETRESIA PETERS.)] + + + + + HAZEL BLOOM, + + BY + JULIA CARTER ALDRICH. + (PETRESIA PETERS.) + + _Mother! O, holy music in the sound_ + _Of that dear word—Mother! O, visions sweet_ + _That crowd the mind and thickly cluster round,_ + _To drive out tempting wiles, and leave replete_ + _The soul’s most lofty plans, and purest thought!_ + + * * * * * + + _Could man have known the part divine, repressed_ + _Through youthful life, for noblest womanhood,_ + _When she should pass to dear maternity—_ + _Had he the Christ, in Mother, rightly known,_ + _Kind Heaven had spared the pains of Calvary._ + _Through her the first of Heavenly love is shown—_ + _Through her, first glimpses caught of Christ, of God._ + + _B. F. Aldrich._ + + [Illustration] + + BUFFALO: + CHARLES WELLS MOULTON, + 1899. + + COPYRIGHT BY + JULIA CARTER ALDRICH. + 1899. + + + + + _In memory of that sainted one, + My Mother, + This volume is inscribed to the + Mothers— + The Home-makers of our land, + By one who has known + The breadth and depth + Of maternal hope and joy— + Whose soul has continually drank, + Thro’ all the years of + Motherhood, + From that well-spring of + Blessing— + Unfailing, filial devotion._ + + _J. C. A._ + + + + +INDEX. + + + The Weaver 9 + + Mystery 11 + + In Childhood’s Years 14 + + In the City of Suffering 15 + + Heliotrope 18 + + Constancy 20 + + Estranged 22 + + My Inkstand 25 + + History of One Life 26 + + Evening 27 + + Rondeaux 29 + + Solace of the Flowers 30 + + Regret 32 + + Hazel Bloom 35 + + Life’s Shuttle 38 + + Springtime 40 + + For Insomnia 42 + + Mother 45 + + Eoline’s Dream 48 + + Our Own 52 + + Wounded Faith 55 + + Destiny 57 + + Unclaimed 60 + + Death 61 + + Night-Blooming Cereus 64 + + My Muse 66 + + We Never Know 68 + + A June in Childhood 70 + + Goldenrod 74 + + An Evening in June 75 + + Yosemite 77 + + Blight or Blessing 80 + + O, For a Rainy Day 82 + + The Great Poet 83 + + Love’s Riches 88 + + Complainings 90 + + Questionings 92 + + Persecuted 94 + + O, Kindly Speak 96 + + He is Risen 97 + + The Christ 99 + + Feed My Lambs 102 + + The Kingdom of Heaven 103 + + Supplication 106 + + The Portrait 107 + + Out in the Woods 109 + + Unforgiven 112 + + The Evening and the Morning 114 + + The Unseen 116 + + Painting 117 + + The Christian’s Armor 120 + + To My Friend 121 + + Hill-Crest Home 124 + + Lilies of the Valley 135 + + Pearly Shells 138 + + Courage 140 + + Trailing Arbutus 141 + + Encouragement 145 + + Faith 147 + + Nirvana 149 + + Heredity 150 + + Pebbles 152 + + Words 157 + + Mother 159 + + Hands 161 + + Endymion 163 + + Calypso—The Lover’s Pocket 167 + + What is Love 171 + + Sleighing 173 + + First Love 175 + + Man 176 + + Trust of Childhood 177 + + Alone 180 + + Night 183 + + Disappointment 185 + + Love’s Ideal 186 + + A Legend of the Lily 187 + + To James Newton Mathews 190 + + The Great Hereafter 191 + + Late October 195 + + On the Beach 198 + + Hidden 200 + + My Robins are Gone 202 + + Winterbloom 204 + + The Old Home 206 + + Thought 209 + + Columbus 212 + + + + +HAZEL BLOOM + + + + +The Weaver. + + + With warm desire to please the captious ones, + Whose fervency the finished fabric suns, + With ardent conjurations she besought + The thronging sprites, that feed the loom of thought, + To gather shining woof, from climes afar— + From lands where all things bright and wondrous are— + To seek the dame whose tireless hand doth hold + The distaff yielding threads of fine spun gold, + And bring the gathered treasures in to her, + All sweet with far-fetched frankincense and myrrh: + Instead of quest in distant lands for woof + From near they brought, and with it sharp reproof. + + “The glow and flame of thy desire + Is lit by an unholy fire. + We bring thee shreds for needs of life + With which its ways are ever rife; + Weave these as we shall bring them in + (None leads with Lotus-charm to sin) + And when the web falls from thy care, + Who needs takes self-apportioned share. + If one is girt by it for storm, + Or one lone home, made glad and warm— + If one bruised heart finds through it balm, + One groping soul, up-lifting psalm, + Then, thank thy God that thou hast wrought + The humble shreds that we have brought.” + + + + +Mystery. + + + All the earth’s history + Is mingled with mystery; + Thrid its long pathways thro’ Time’s gathered pages, + Struggle with theories,—delve as you will, + Wrapped in uncertainty, mystery still, + Baffling the lore of philosophy’s sages. + + Wishes ungratified, + Longings unsatisfied; + Search is untiring and effort is eager, + Reaching for aye for the far, unattained, + Feeling the spirit to narrowness chained,— + All we may know, to the unknown is meager. + + Yet, human pomposity, + Rich in verbosity, + Leads us afar, thro’ the limitless spaces, + Parting so boldly the cometal robes, + Shows us their bodies, as infantile globes, + Sportively seeking maturity’s places. + + It measures Infinity, + Questions Divinity—Talks + of the universe at its inception; + Theory, feeling the pulse of the Earth, + Tells us how long since the planet had birth + And when we may look for its utter disruption. + + Yet LIFE’S remote decimal— + The infinitesimal, + Puzzles the agnost for Nature’s great mother; + Never a blade without fertilized germ,— + Never a seed without blossoming term,— + Each is a subsequent unto the other. + + * * * * * + + Most wondrous, mysterious, + Throned and imperious, + Mind, in the beautiful temple of Being, + Rules o’er its realm with absolute sway + Till, broken and crumbling, the structure of clay, + Then swift on the wings of the silences fleeing. + + Thought, strained to intensity, + Ranging immensity, + Asks for their home—for the spirit’s bright heaven; + A speck in the universe—our little earth, + ’Mong millions, all grander and greater of girth— + Will God’s central glory to _this_ one be given? + + Ah! Safely He has hidden it, + From earth-gaze forbidden it: + Humbled and weary the bold Thought, returning, + Nestles down closer to God’s written word; + By grief’s parching thirst its sweet fountains are stirred; + Its pages yield balm that will soothe the heart’s yearning. + + There, Heaven comes near to us,— + Those who were dear to us, + Safe in its mansions—we’ll question not where,— + Live in the light of an Infinite Love! + Faith sweetly whispers—“They beckon above,— + The loved ones, who’ve left us, are waiting us there.” + + The hidden earth-histories— + The sought-after mysteries + Are veiled, but in blessing;—we seek for them ever; + Wisdom hath woven this mystical bond, + Binding the soul to God’s greater Beyond, + Enlarging, enriching, thro’ constant endeavor. + + + + +In Childhood’s Years. + + + In childhood’s years, what dreamy days + In spring’s soft airs or autumn’s haze! + How golden bright the sunset skies + Where just beyond our heaven lies! + Each dawn the sun has merry plays + With Rosy-mist, who veils his rays + To shield us from his glory blaze, + While she paints morn such lovely dyes + In Childhood’s years. + + We tread but joy-lit, sunny ways, + Nor dream of dread, that is decay’s:— + No sorrow comes but quickly flies— + No love is known that cools and dies— + No crafty selfishness betrays + In childhood’s years. + + + + +In the City of Suffering.[1] + + + In the city of suffering souls grow large, + And money-greed languishing lies; + ’Neath the hurrying feet, of God’s messengers there, + That pompous, old Selfishness dies: + Ambition, so eagerly climbing to heights + Where glory, alone, is the prize, + Forgets his wild dreams at the shriek of distress + And goes where Humanity cries. + + In the city of suffering, sympathies blend + As valley rills, blend in a stream; + The high, and the low, all forgetful of rank, + Are thrilled by calamity’s scream. + There Wealth’s jeweled hand and the toil-hardened palm, + Have neither a preference in claim, + But agony ardently stretching them forth, + Makes common appeal, in His name. + + In the city of suffering hearts grow warm— + Aye, flame in the darkness of woe; + The spark God gave, from His infinite love, + Neath the hot breath of pain is aglow. + There, swift to the rescue, goes valorous strength, + Surprising the world with his deeds— + There, Courage will struggle with death for a life, + While yielding his own up, if needs. + + In the city of Suffering, Avarice hides + In the gloomy old vault with his gold, + Nor dares to meet Charity’s love-lighted face, + His own is so pitiless and cold; + There, cowardice, envy—all drosses of soul + In the crucial test are consumed— + Dark altars, once glowing with brotherly love, + In the shadow of sorrow, relumed. + + The city of Suffering is Heaven’s wide door + For victims its horrors enthrall; + E’en martyrs have sung when the fagots blazed high— + So ever He heareth our call; + And those who, with fellow-love prompting their deeds, + Fought there, with the mounting flame fiends, + Have wrought in the plan, for ennobling the world, + With God’s own, mysterious means. + + In the city of Suffering souls break the bonds + That indolent selfishness forged in the womb, + And lives, that were dwarfed by their mammon-cut groove, + Find growth in Love’s labor, and sunshine in gloom. + When raven-winged Sorrow sweeps over the land, + An angel attends where its shadow may fall, + And, out from its darkness, brings heavenly light, + And faith, in the Wisdom, that’s over us all. + +[1] “There was a puff—a muffled roar, and the tower was literally rent by +an explosion. A moment later the flames burst out thro’ every rent and +fissure, and the men, away up there, in mid air, fighting the fire, were +cut off from the world below, by an outpour of smoke and flame, soon to +become a mighty conflagration.” + + + + +Heliotrope. + + + There’s a charm in its fragrance bewitchingly sweet— + A something that binds with a magical spell; + E’en silence, thro’ this, to the heart can repeat + The message that’s sent in its purple fringed cell. + + ’Tis an odorous breath, from the heavenly heights— + An angel hand, beckoning to the bloom scented fields, + Where the soul in its freedom may taste the delights + That the garden of Paradise yields. + + Like childhood’s sweet dreams of the holy and true, + That float thro’ Life’s dusk in the ether of Thought, + Or morn’s rosy blush, melting into the blue, + With tint of the beryl and amethyst caught. + + ’Tis an exquisite messenger, given the heart, + That winsomely speaks to the spirit, alone, + And whatever sentiment sent, will impart— + Will tell it so sweetly, in language its own. + + When souls must needs pass thro’ Grief’s wordless abyss, + Then heart unto heart, through it, uttereth speech— + The sympathy, seeking expression through this, + Is told with a tenderness words never reach. + + If you’ve aught that’s too sacred for words to express, + Too tender to breathe in a wish or a hope, + ’Twill be fittingly draped in the delicate dress, + And borne in the perfume of HELIOTROPE. + + + + +Constancy. + + + The Fates have decreed thou canst never be mine, + Yet, constant, my soul turneth ever to thine + With love that outreaches Time’s cruel decree. + Too holy the passion with others to name— + Thoughts deepest and purest feed ever the flame, + That burns on the altar, kept sacred to thee. + + As ocean in silence embosoms the light + That beams from the gems in the crown of the night, + Yet dimming its purity never, + So thou, in my bosom a presence shalt be, + As stars shining down in the depths of the sea— + Unsullied thy brightness forever. + + Like a verdure-girt spring in the wide desert plains— + Like the stroke, bringing freedom, by the riving of chains, + Aye, Life’s every essence of pleasure + Had been love’s requital, that long ago morn; + Still ever I’ll count, (yet this rose has its thorn) + Having loved, though I lost, as a treasure. + + * * * * * + + Tho’ hopes were all blighted that haloed my youth, + And withered the flowers I deemed rooted in truth,— + Tho’ sunshine will brighten no morrow, + Yet never accusing’s deep bitterness stirs + The heart, that would only pour joy into her’s, + And the tenderest soothing for sorrow. + + Her spirit dwelt ever in dreamy ideal, + While mine was so earthy and chained to the real, + With the heavens all brazen above me:— + All nature to hers echoed hymnings divine, + While doubts of a future, stirred ever in mine— + No marvel she never could love me. + + But somehow, with Destiny’s mystical skein, + My love has entangled my infidel brain + And bound it with hope, to a heaven; + I dream of a sphere, we may find beyond this + Where—blessed fruition! life’s coveted bliss + To the purified soul will be given. + + + + +Estranged. + + + O, to be near to you!—Oh, to be dear to you!— + To feel in my heart, that your heart is my own. + All days have been dreary—my soul is aweary, + And still, must I walk in this dark way alone? + + O, fond was my dreaming, when hope’s star was beaming, + When fancy’s bright web like a mantle of gold, + Lay over life’s losses—its trials and crosses, + And hid them, in splendors, of fold upon fold. + + I thought then to follow (Oh, heartless and hollow!) + Where Fashion’s throng led, and to kneel where it knelt— + Thought Love’s nectared chalice was found in a palace— + In princely halls only, true happiness dwelt. + + But Fashion’s vile brew, is of wormwood and rue— + It prays where the virtues are trampled and dead— + The bane we thought gladness, has led to this madness; + Dissipation came in, and the Peace-angel fled. + + No wandering emotion e’er sullied devotion, + But anger’s hot lava my reason o’erran; + In the coolness of pride, (that love’s fervor belied) + The sorrows and pangs of estrangement began. + + Be rashness forgiven, bring back to us heaven— + Our Eden-like home, with its love-lighted skies; + Tho’ parted forever, affection dies never— + ’Tis knit into life with indissoluble ties. + + The rills that have mingled, can never be singled— + They’ll flow on as one in their course to the sea; + By love, early plighted, our souls were united, + And ever—forever united must be. + + Entwining each thought—with tenderness fraught— + Is loving, enduring remembrance of thee, + And, deep in your heart, in its holiest part, + I know there’s a hidden affection for me. + + Shall life be all nighted—Love’s flame ne’er be lighted, + While I—by its altar with ashes o’er strewn— + Must ever remember thro’ constant December, + The balmy bright days and the roses of June? + + O, desert, Sahara!—Oh, waters of Marah! + I tread the hot sands—press the fount with my lips— + In sorrow, go roaming, thro’ the shadowy gloaming + That falls, o’er a life, with love’s sun in eclipse. + + + + +My Inkstand. + + + This new one is thought both convenient and nice— + The atmosphere forcing the ink to the brim; + I question the worth of this modern device, + For seldom great thoughts on the surface will swim, + But something like whales, when they find themselves sought, + Down, swiftly from sight, in the depths they will sink— + At the bottom, the angled for ideas are caught, + And only by multiplied thrusts in the ink. + +1855. + + + + +History of One Life. + + + Its morning dawned thro’ penury’s narrow pane— + A noon of wealth, with glory’s laurel crown— + Human weakness—one mistake—a felon’s stain— + The evening gloomed with all his fellow’s frown. + + + + +Evening. + + + Vermillion and gold + In beauty unfold + On the light, floating clouds of the West; + The low, crooning sound + Of all Nature around + Is lulling the world into rest. + + Like a rover of Sin + The zephyr steals in + ’Mong roses and carnations rare— + In ecstatic bliss + Gives each one a kiss, + Then scatters their sweets on the air. + + In the shadowy hush + The linnet and thrush + Have gone to their nests in the grove; + The blue pimpernell + To the lilly’s wee bell + Is whispering his story of love. + + Blest hour of delight + That verges the night, + What beauties and glories are thine, + When the great car of day + With its din rolls away, + And silence seems Presence divine. + + Now the sparkle of dew + And the rich violet hue + Of the fast purpling clouds of the West, + Hint of time’s rapid flight + And of life’s coming night + That shall lull into heavenly rest. + + + + +Rondeaux. + + + A brilliant thought leaps out and glows, + Or scatters fragrance like the rose, + Nor needs an artizan’s design + To plan and shape to make it shine,— + Not all is brilliance in rondeaux. + + The labored effort plainly shows + The mind has passed thro’ mighty throes + To give the world, with stamp divine, + A brilliant thought. + + The music wins which sweetly flows, + Not that which falls like stunning blows, + And ease and grace, with sense combine, + To clothe with elegance the line, + Where Genius gives, in verse or prose, + A brilliant thought. + + + + +Solace of the Flowers. + + + Oft a deep, unspoken anguish + In the secret soul is stirred, + And the wounded heart, though yearning + For a kindly, loving word, + Opens not its sacred portal, + For the arts of friendly healing— + Only God is told the sorrow, + Through a mute-lipped, sad appealing. + + “I am with you”—seems responded, + From the hush of Nature’s bowers, + And the spirit feels God nearer + Where He’s strewn the earth with flowers; + Nature’s language, rich with blessing, + For its unobtrusive words, + Speaks through softly murm’ring streamlets, + And the low, sweet trill of birds. + + E’en a tiny, bruised allyssum, + Or a trampled mignonette, + Teach the heart, by sweet example, + That ’tis better to forget. + Like the touch of seraph pinions, + Or a faintly whispered hope, + Is the charm of perfume floating + From a hidden heliotrope. + + Ah! there’s soothing for the spirit + Where the humid coolness lingers, + Where the breezes touch us gently + With their dainty, fairy fingers,— + Where the woodland nymphs are gliding, + Noiseless, o’er the mosses bright, + Spreading Sylva’s vestal altar + With a cloth of violets white. + + All these tiny, fragrant flowers + Speak to us in tender tone, + Gently winning us from sorrow + With a language all their own; + Little beauties, sent in blessing,— + In our pathway angels strew them, + That we hear, when joy is shrouded, + Loving voices whisper through them. + + + + +Regret. + + “—if only it never had been + All the world had been brighter and then—” + + + Will a hope never throb, but it comes back a sob, + From the echoing halls of the soul? + Do the joy-bells stirred, by a low thrilling word, + Forever resound with a funeral toll? + + Will the roses we grasp, like the bite of an asp, + Give back to our sense but the stinging of pain? + Can there float a perfume, from the lillies’ white bloom, + That blends with enchantment Tofana’s slow bane? + + Where but flowers were sown, has a thistle seed blown, + To root in their soil, a vile bramble to grow? + Doth each lovliest vine, ’round a hyssop entwine? + And out from sweet fountains must bitterness flow? + + Does there lurk in each joy, a vile fiend to destroy + All the pleasure and blessing it brought, + With the stings of regret, as with thorns thickly set, + That will pierce, as it turns, every retrospect thought? + + Ay, there’s never a spot, where this demon is not; + Like a serpent he creeps in this Eden of ours, + Where its pleasures are purest, its treasures securest, + And blights with his poison its loveliest flowers. + + But we’ll act for the right, as God gives us the light, + Nor complain that the end from our vision is veiled; + ’Twas in blessing and love, that the Father above, + Secured us from loss that prevision entailed. + + In mercy, dear Father, still veil from our sight, + The dawn of a joy, or a grief’s brooding night, + That we faint not, expecting the gathering gloom, + Nor cease in the strife that ennobles the life,— + That we cloud not our joys with a shadowy tomb, + Nor a heart ever miss the delectable bliss, + Of a sweet, unexpected delight. + + + + +Hazel Bloom. + + + When paths that in summer were fringed with lush grass, + Are raspy with frost-whitened blades as you pass, + When the arbor’s denuded of clusters and leaves, + And the Ivy’s bare vines are entwining the eaves, + When the bright tinted sumach has changed to a brown + And the wind-shaken forest drops summer wealth down— + The autumn’s rich robings of crimson and gold + In the path of the years, to be trampled as mould— + When the beauty of purple-hued asters is shed, + And the glory of goldenrod faded and dead, + When the song-birds, we loved for their jubilant tune, + Have gone where they find a perennial June, + When clouds that were downy on the summer’s bright blue, + Have draped all the skies in a somberly hue, + When the orchard has yielded its riches of fruit, + And its life-feeding myst’ry is hid in the root— + The Aftermath gathered—the last sheaves of grain— + When Nature seems all in a funeral train, + Then Hazel buds burst thro’ their scales into bloom, + And glow like the stars that rob midnight of gloom. + + When brooklets, unfettered, went leaping in glee, + O’er rocks and thro’ woodlands, adown to the sea— + When the bloom-time of Spring, in its glory, was here, + And earth all resounding with music and cheer, + When asphodels loaded with fragrance the air + And vied with the roses in loveliness rare, + Witch-Hazel, from Nature, seemed standing apart, + The wee, golden buds were asleep in its heart, + And sunshine and shower besought it, in vain, + To star, with its bloom, Flora’s garlanded fane. + Oh, marvel of beauty—bright blossoms of gold! + They show us the life leafless branches enfold. + ’Tis the flower of hope with this lesson of cheer— + ’Tis the season of rest, not “The death of the year,” + When, Nature, reposing in the bosom of God, + Feels the throb of His heart ’neath her snow-mantled sod— + At the soul of All-life with new life is imbued— + At the Fountain of Beauty, enriched and renewed. + + * * * * * + + Aye, symbol of Hope and the star gleam of Faith, + That give to Life’s autumn a glow— + A spirit revealed, while the seeming of Death + Lies palled in the brown leaves below. + + A mission it has that was given of Him + Who gave it its blossoming time; + Thus blooming alone—desolation around, + Defying the glittering rime, + It speaks to the soul—’tis an oracle sweet, + His token, His promise and bond + That, tho’ passing thro’ change that leads down thro’ the tomb, + There’s a beautiful Springtime beyond. + + + + +Life’s Shuttle. + + + The Shuttle went flying + With sympathy sighing, + While it shot all the gold weft with threadings of woe. + There was murmured complaining, + The Shuttle arraigning— + That grief, with the joy, was unwound in the throw. + A whispered regretting:— + “No blessing forgetting, + God knoweth thy needs—it is His to bestow:— + From LOVE I’m receiving + The woof I am weaving.” + The Shuttle’s reproof was subduing and low, + And, blent with Time’s beating, + I heard it repeating + The lesson it taught in love’s tenderest flow. + + Aye, softly it chanted this simple refrain— + “’Tis wisdom that mingles the sorrow and pain. + The sunlight, that gilds, with its glory the earth, + Would blight with its blaze, but for clouds and the rain, + And lives would be arid and smitten with dearth + If beamed on forever with joy and mirth— + _In blessing I weave in the sorrow and pain_.” + + + + +Springtime. + + + When meadows are strewn with the buttercup’s gold, + There’s gladness for childhood that song never told; + The laugh of a child, bubbling up from the heart, + Is linked with the spring, a most beautiful part. + + A bevy of children—sweet far away dream!— + They trip o’er the sward, lit with dandelion gleam— + We’ll join in their sports with a heartiness true; + Our own vanished springtime, with them, we’ll renew. + + The woods, (that are reached by a romp thro’ the lane + Where the grass is made velvet by sunshine and rain) + Have infinite beauty, in blossom outspread— + Delights for the gods in the fragrance they shed. + + Come, drink in the perfume of blossoming trees— + Take lessons of patience from murmuring bees, + And listen to brooklets—they’ll sing you a song + As, wild in their glee, they go leaping along. + + Come, watch the wild birds as they cheerily dart— + Their music, with sunshine, take into your heart— + Let the gladness of childhood thrill you, and be gay, + Thus keeping your soul in perpetual May. + + When Nature is robing her forests anew, + And heaven spreads over her loveliest blue— + When earth is aglow with spring’s ravishing bloom, + Ingratitude only sits shrouded in gloom. + + + + +For Insomnia. + + + When Somnus is giddy and flies from my pillow, + And care’s elfin throngs come to vex me— + When mem’ry, perverse, all the sweet things forgetting, + Will mention but those that perplex me, + I ask that monotony’s rigid insistence + Shall drive out the gibberous crew; + They flee from his presence—will hie back to elfland, + Where their Night shade and astrofell grew— + + Ask thought for a theme that’s subduing in power— + The sea, with its billows all hushed to a calm— + Not mantled with darkness, but lit with the sunset, + When Day, unto Evening, is chanting her psalm. + All life’s petty griefs in the grandeur evanish, + The spirit is freed from its thrall, + And unto the faint heart a trustfulnesss whispers, + “Be brave—there’s a God over all.” + + * * * * * + + In fancy I launch on the shimmering sea + That’s lighting with glory its waters for me; + Like a sprite of the ocean the boat seems to glide, + As lightly the oars dip the opaline tide, + Till out in expanses, afar from the shore, + Away from life’s din and tumultuous roar + Where, gently I’m rocked on the breast of the deep, + While symphonic waves woo the Lethe of Sleep. + A broad, shining pathway is westward unrolled— + I watch the bright wavelets, with tresses of gold, + Run out in wild play to the visual rim + Where the sky bends to kiss them in distance so dim, + Till thought is enchanted—anxiety flees, + And weariness slips into somnolent ease; + The silences seem to have rhythmical beat— + ’Tis footfalls of wakefulness, now in retreat. + Forgetfulness softly creeps into the mind, + Suspecting no trace of resistance to find, + But wakefulness turns back, commands and forbids— + Yet, Slumber steals past her and touches the lids; + Then Morpheus bears me away in his arms + To his realm that’s swept of all fears and alarms + Where, lulled with his stupors, of poppy and rose, + I dreamily, dreamily sink to repose. + + + + +Mother. + + + When evening falls softly, with far away dreaming, + Oft steals o’er my spirit a rapturous seeming— + I feel the light touch of her hand as of old, + When bending above me with good night caresses, + She lovingly pushed back the long heavy tresses, + And smoothed out the tangles of gold. + + Touch memory’s harp in the silence of even, + And loved ones will leave e’en the raptures of heaven, + And come to us then when the gates are ajar: + With mother’s face, ever most central and tender, + They light all the Past with a rosy-hued splendor + And the soul’s secret chamber’s unbar. + + From hidden recesses they bring out its treasures— + Among them are shining youth’s dream-lighted pleasures, + When mother-love blent with, and hallowed them all; + The haunts that the years with their sunsets have gilded, + The castles of beauty that child-fancy builded, + All come in the gloaming at memory’s call. + + ’Twas down by the river, where bluebells were sweetest + And swift-footed hours forever ran fleetest, + Enthralled by the charm, that I loved most to roam— + To watch where the sunshine and ripple wove wimples, + Like smiles, on a rosy face, dancing with dimples, + Forgetful of duty till mother called home. + + Right-angled with the river-bank’s water-worn ledges + The forest and farm knit their raveled-out edges, + In a brambled rail-fence. From the pasture’s green field, + Thro’ the edge of the woodland, a path, fringed with mosses + And bushy green tangles with clematis flosses, + Half the charms of the deep wood revealed. + + When sunset was tinting each shadowy hollow + ’Twas gladness, the kine, from the pasture, to follow + And dream, as I wandered, of fairy and gnome— + To loiter ’mong ferns, with great trees spreading over, + And breathe the perfume of wild roses and clover + Enrapt, until mother called home. + + I’m lingering now on the banks of the River— + The sunset of Time on its ripples a-quiver— + How peaceful the flowing—no turmoil or foam— + A luminous mist o’er the landscape is falling— + The evening has come, I hear a voice calling,— + ’Tis mother’s voice calling me home. + + + + +Eoline’s Dream. + + + One long day of toil was ending, + And my head was hot with pain + When a thought, akin to envy, + Racing thro’ my throbbing brain, + Muttered to my fevered fancy + “Only wealth has power to please— + Rocking in the lap of riches + Life were fair as summer seas.” + + Wealth for me would bridge the ocean, + Open Europe’s storied lore, + Rome and Greece, with art and beauty, + Each would open wide her door; + These my hungering soul had longed for— + Oft they seemed within my clasp, + But like gold beneath the rainbow + They escaped my eager grasp. + + How I spurned the homely hangings + That in poverty were wrought, + E’en the couch, whose dingy plushings + Now in weariness I sought. + “Common things,” I said, repining, + “Ne’er for me can blessing hold”; + But the Sun, just then declining, + Flooded all with molten gold. + + And a benison, descending + On the wings of closing day, + Soothed and hushed my wild complaining— + Drove the evil sprite away— + Brought before me _my_ possessions, + Richest in the long array, + Wealth of home, where all my dear ones + Make it bright with love, alway. + + Lightly drooped the shining fringes + Of the evening’s twilight hour, + While the playful, roving zephyr + Gently kissed each folding flower; + Softly gliding into dreamland + On the sunset’s gilded car, + Soon for me, his golden splendor + Wrapped all objects, near and far. + + In his grand effulgent shimmer + “Common things,” grew strangely bright; + And my home became a palace + All resplendent in the light; + E’en the russet garb of labor, + If unstained by deed of shame, + There outshone imperial purple, + With its throne and titled name. + + Sweeter than the grand exotics, + Were my lillies, pure and white— + All was beauty—all about me + Whispered to me—“Life is bright,” + And its sweetest flowers are blooming + In the toil-worn paths of earth, + And its purest gems will sparkle + On the brow of honest worth. + + Diamonds, oft, are but the tear-drops + Avarice wrings from orphaned trust, + And his gorgeous, gilded trappings + Steal their hues from hearts he’s crushed. + More I saw in raptured dreaming— + Seraphs holding crowns of gold, + Beckoning up the shining pathway + Where the gates of Rest unfold. + + Some whose wealth did bow them earthward + Sought for this to enter in, + Others, wearing robes of priesthood, + Thought that these absolved from sin; + But no easier passed the portal, + Those in purple, cowl, or gown;— + He who bore life’s burden’s bravely, + Won the race and wore the crown. + + * * * * * + + Then a touch of dimpled fingers + Woke my heart with mother-joy— + Golden head upon my bosom— + Tired, sleepy, baby boy + Poured a wealth of love and kisses + On the lips that had complained. + He (sweet angel!—God had sent him) + Quick the demon, Envy, chained. + + + + +Our Own. + + + Not all we name as friends, the soul receives as such, + Nor ever those whose lip-born love weaves smoothest claim; + Those only who, to ours, give genial spirit touch + Can light that hidden shrine with friendship’s holy flame. + ’Tis by this sign the friends God made for us are known; + Dear ones! We count their names as precious gems which lie + Within the hearts most sacred place—its very own— + A circlet bright that’s bound by sympathy’s silken tie. + + There’s still another bond for which no word is found— + A gift of His, so high the minds extremest reach + Doth fail to find it name, or ontologic bound, + Tho’ undefined—beyond the subtlest grasp of speech, + This wondrous, unseen realm, to spirit sense, remains, + And o’er its lines the soul, to kindred soul, conveys + Joy’s glad, exultant flash, or sorrow’s woeful pains, + Which, thro’ this gift divine, love’s tenderness allays. + + * * * * * + + ’Tis sweet in twilight’s hush, when noisy day has fled + And evening’s azure glows with beauty’s single star— + When roses, gemmed with dew, their richest fragrance shed, + To feel the silence thrill with signals from afar + Feel the thought-lines warmly pulsing with a message from OUR OWN— + To know the call of dear ones, as we know the breath of flowers, + And catch love’s fond impulsion, thro’ this mystic Psychephone, + Trembling on the stillness of the dreamy, evening hours. + Thro’ distance, o’er these subtile, sentient threads of mind, + We feel, by finest sense, our answering heart-beats throb + Till every fluttering, white-winged joy doth find + Response, and every grief a sympathetic sob. + O, blessed bond! It links us to the Life Divine! + Thro’ this our prayers may reach the holy Fount of Love— + The league of kinship which these spirit cords entwine, + By fervent sway of soul, is felt in realms above. + + + + +Wounded Faith. + + + Mine open enemy hath no power to wound— + His poison shafts fall hurtless to the ground; + He may wreak a treach’rous lynx-like deed + And yet will never cause my heart to bleed. + If he should glare on me in hottest hate, + With tiger fierceness, plan the direst fate, + With claws distended, lusting for the roon, + I’d smile and do him kindness over soon, + Or, give a sure nepenthe for his wrath + By silent, strewing favors in his path. + + But when those to whom my heart is bound in trust, + With aim concealed, make unexpected thrust,— + When those I’d counted friends, as friends had served, + Whose joy and weal my strongest effort nerved— + If THEY shall stab and gaze with hungry eyes + To catch my wince of pain, ’neath friendship’s guise, + Then, a wound is made, that all the quivering senses feel— + A wound, that only trusted friends could deal; + And, saddest hurt of all, the heart will find, + The same stab struck its faith in human kind. + + + + +“Destiny.” + + + She freighted a thistle-down once with a wish, + And gave to the breeze with her breath; + The Fates were to hold its invisible leash + And, if to be granted ere death, + Bring back, at her will, to her out-reaching hand + This wealth-laden embassy sent. + Unheeding her will and its pleading command, + Up, up toward the zenith it went, + Till will, it would seem, at the last had controlled, + When, earthward it came, like a fairy rigged sail— + Came straight toward the hand that was eager to hold + The zephyr-tossed feather, whose course should unveil + What Destiny held, in the Future concealed— + Life’s weightiest questions decide. + Almost within grasp and it wavered and reeled, + Then, mounting again the etherial tide, + It floated—was lost in the depths of the blue. + That thistle down, swayed by a pulse of the air, + Had wrecked her heart’s hopes on the rocks of despair, + As billows of ocean rich argosies strew. + + Now listless and faithless she sits on the shore + Where Time’s restless surge casts its wrack at her feet; + She sees not the sunshine—hears only the roar + Of dark, sullen waves as they ceaselessly beat. + In Fate-ridden weakness she shrinks from all strife— + Lets Destiny’s elves to her fancy repeat + The early “decrees” that have shadowed her life— + No effort essays that might wreak a defeat— + Just waits for the stroke of pale Atropos’ knife. + + * * * * * + + A faith in the hidden controllings of FATE, + Enchains, with its might, even Reason and Will: + In wreakless inaction her devotees wait + For the slow-turning grind of her mill—Let + circumstance bind them with torturing gyves, + Pass doors that would open to Industry’s keys + And when, with his braided pangs, Poverty drives, + Receive all his lashings as “Fortune’s decrees.” + + E’en tho’ Opportunity’s latch-string is out, + They, shelterless, wait for events to compel, + And deem themselves goaded by Destiny’s knout + While held in the toils of her mystical spell. + Credulity, Sloth and their following throngs + Forever are weaving entangling snares— + ’Tis not till a victim is bound with their thongs, + To thwart his endeavor that Destiny dares. + + Bring WILL to the front—strike Destiny down, + And throttle the Fate that would hinder success— + You’ll find that dame Fortune will put off her frown + And yield, for past sufferings, an ampleredress. + + + + +Unclaimed. + + + Just beyond the reach of thought, + Just beyond the grasp of mind + Is a sense of Presence—fraught + With blessing—felt, yet undefined. + + At times it seems a wondrous power— + A strength, awaiting _Faith’s_ command— + For trusting soul, a proffered dower, + That’s held by Love’s omniscient hand. + + Is it the gift, reserved of God + For those whom Faith brings nearest Him?— + The power that smote the rock?—the rod + That rives the fountain’s brim, + That all His thirsty souls may drink? + “O, ye of little faith,” He cries— + So many faithless Peters sink, + _And the proffered power dies_. + + + + +Death. + + + When thou, O Death, art come to be the old man’s guest + Who, bowed beneath the heavy weight of toil and years, + So longeth for thy rest, + Or to the weary mother, looking through her tears, + To the bright celestial shore + Where her loved have gone before, + Then, truly, thou art blest. + + To them the ties that bound are broken, all, + And they will stretch glad hands of welcome unto thee + Who comes to break their thrall— + To slip the leash of weary life and set them free; + They, impatient, wait release + To pass the golden gates of Peace + And gladly list thy call. + + But, in Love’s young home, where Life is one bright, pulsing sea + Of joy and hope, thy summons hath heart-breaking sound, + Like cruel Fate’s decree; + As tho’ alone, by stealth, she had thy gyves unbound, + When thou hadst to this Eden crept + And wrought, while guardian angels slept, + What Envy’s dream might be. + + We feel the surging depth of Sorrow’s stifled cry, + Yet in thy presence, helpless, dumb with grief, we stand + And silent question—Why?— + Why budding life is frozen by thine icy hand, + Why yielded to thy devastating claim + Are all the loveliest of earth,— + E’en God’s sweetest, dearest gift of birth— + A mother-love, + Which is for life’s most holy joys, the precious name. + + While cloud-depths veil in gloom the steely form of truth, + The heart, athrob with grief, still questions why:— + Ah, why Love’s brightly burning flame + Is ever smothered by thy breath,— + Its altar, dark and cold, whereon dead ashes lie;— + Oh! why are love, and hope, and youth, + All left within thy grasp, O, Death? + + + + +Night-Blooming Cereus. + + + Birth of darkness! bloom of night! + Bringing me such rare delight; + Floating charm, thy rich perfume + Stirs the lagging, weary brain, + Hushes all the thoughts of gloom, + Soothes or dulls the pangs of pain. + + This floral wonder, glistening white, + Scorning Day’s broad, glaring light, + In the sacred stillness now + Beams in beauty on my sight, + As the star on evening’s brow + Beams upon a moonless night. + + Like a rainbow on the skies, + Looked for, yet a glad surprise— + Like a meteor’s flash and gleam + Crossing midnight’s sullen gloom, + Like the fairy forms of dream + Is this wondrous, starry bloom. + + Tell me lovely, mystic flower, + Why you gem this gruesome hour? + Were the jasper gates ajar? + Did the Night, from angel’s crown, + Pluck for us its brightest star, + And cast the gleaming jewel down? + + O, thou, pearly, radiant flower! + Why give Night such wealth of dower? + Why with anthers, dipped in gold, + ’Round a carpel, rosy red, + Wait in darkness to unfold, + And thy queenly beauty spread? + + Now a sentient presence seeming— + Ah! it whispers, or I’m dreaming: + “An evangel I’m to thee, + With this message from the Past; + How e’er full life’s joys may be, + Like my bloom they may not last. + + Throngs are gone—the voices stilled + That once these halls with gladness filled; + Here, with thee, I stand alone + Where, before Night’s ebon throne, + Silence holy, waits to bear + From thy heart its inmost cry, + Wrought into such fervent prayer + As doth bring God’s presence nigh.” + + + + +My Muse. + + + She wanders on, at her sweet will, + Thro’ gloomy vales or paths of pleasure, + Nor asks the world if grave, or gay, + Shall be her theme and measure. + + She scorns the stilty, stiff Rondeau + That artizans must fashion, + But loves the brooklets romping flow + And Nature’s gush of passion. + + Tho’ common use has smoothly worn + The Sonnet’s polished fetter, + She wonders how its chains are borne + When freedom’s range is better. + + The triolet she never tries— + She’d lose in such endeavor + The glory of the sunset skies, + The music of the river. + + My muse is not a Hellenese + With bright, Olympian halo, + But that strong, helpful one, that feels + The heart-throbs of her fellow. + + She lifts me from the slough, Despond— + Bids Nature hush my sighing + By crooning for me sweetest song, + While in her bosom lying. + + The violets, the Spring first kissed, + To us, are sweet as heather— + We climb the hills, thro’ shining mist, + In Autumn’s golden weather. + + When, Lotus-drugged, Ambition sleeps, + She whispers—“Come up higher”— + Thro’ starry fields of azure deeps + I’m led and feasted by her. + + She breaks the locks which golden keys + Could only open to me, + And kindly joins her gift, with Art’s, + Earth’s grandest views to show me. + + While those who sing for fame and crown + Must bide the Poet’s tether, + Dear Muse and I will wander down + Thro’ Freedom’s vale, together. + + ’Tis sweet to us, the path we tread— + All Nature’s song is ours, + Her wildest scenes, the stars o’erhead + And all her fragrant flowers. + + + + +We Never Know. + + + Ah, me! we never know + What cold, wild winds may blow + Across the springtime’s balmy promise, sweet— + By what untimely frost + The fruit germs may be lost, + And rosy petals beaten down with sleet. + + The eyes that glow tonight + With childhood’s loving light, + To-morrow may, with pallid lids be veiled— + The bounding pulse be stilled, + Life’s crimson current chilled, + And rich, red lips with Death’s cold kisses paled. + + We never know the fate + So near, until too late; + Tho’ oft the black-winged demon’s shadow falls + In heavy gloom upon the heart— + A thousand dreads upstart, + Yet onward, all, until the shock appalls. + + Warm love anticipates, + With open arms awaits, + ’Till hissing wires the stunning message brings. + Oh, God! the wild despair + That hushes e’en the voice of prayer, + And makes the soul forget all offerings. + + Such sudden, crushing grief! + Hope, rising, scouts belief, + But falls down, prone, before the sorrow-flashing wires. + Hear Sympathy’s whispered tone, + Oh, ye, who sit alone, + With but the light of memory’s altar fires. + + + + +A June in Childhood. + + + I stood in the flush of an evening in June + When leafage and blossom and fragrance triune, + Crown this, of the months, the most queenly and fair; + The clover and roses had poured on the air + A nectar I drank with enjoyment rare; + Baptized in this flood of ecstatic delight + My child eyes were blessed with miraculous sight. + + O, gladly I’d yield up the wisdom of years, + If gazing out now, thro’ the mist of my tears, + I could think as I tho’t in that beautiful dream, + That the gates were ajar, and the shimmer and gleam + Of golden-paved streets on that silvery stream, + “The River of Life”—shining thro’ in the west, + Gave us a bright glimpse of the home of the blest. + + I saw, as I gazed with my dream-lighted eyes, + A broad, gilded stairway let down from the skies, + And angels came out with their robings of white, + All ’broidered and shining with flosses of light, + And bound on each brow with a coronet bright, + Was a veil of soft gossamer, fold upon fold, + With amethyst border, and flutings of gold. + + And spread on the sky, to my glorified view, + Was a foam crested ocean, pavillioned with blue; + Bright islands of azure thro’ cloud-rifts were seen, + Then sunk, like Atlantis, in billowy sheen: + While ships, that I fancied from shores evergreen, + Afloat on its bosom, at anchor would ride, + Or cut with their prows thro’ the rose-tinted tide. + + Some angels sailed far, where the cloud-waves grew dark, + In boats that were graceful as gondolier’s barque, + And those I tho’t sailing far over the seas + To watch over missions and little Burmese; + Then others swept down, where the glory-crowned trees + Hid them on the stairs, but I knew from that band + Some went to each household, all over the land, + + Where children would whisper “I lay me to sleep, + Send angels dear Father, my spirit to keep + Thro’ midnight and darkness, to guard me from harm, + To give me sweet dreams, and to shield from alarm— + To watch me till morning dawns, rosy and warm, + Or, dying before, let them bear me above + To the bosom of Jesus, on pinions of love.” + + * * * * * + + These memories float in on the fragrance to night, + While sunset is veiling in glory the light, + And seasons, repeating in cyclical rune, + Bring forward in beauty, rose-garlanded June; + All earth seems an altar with flowers o’erstrewn— + ’Tis Nature’s thank offering—my heart is in tune + With her grand _De Profundis_, now rolling in praise; + Send angels, dear Father, a grown-up child prays, + And a rose-wreathed June for my sunset of days. + + + + +Goldenrod. + + + O, Goldenrod, bright goldenrod! + It fringes all the wayside hedges, + And makes the forest mantle rich + With lovely tasseled edges. + It lights with sunshine of its own + Each dark, neglected dingle, + And links itself with memories of + The cheery, old-time ingle. + + Despite the summer’s burning drought, + It blooms profuse and bright as ever, + And where spring fountains rippled forth + With laughter to the river, + It kisses now their parching lips + To woo their music mellow, + And wreaths our dying flowers with + An aureole of yellow. + + It gaily lifts its nodding plumes + Above decay’s inceptive traces, + And hides beneath its cloth-of-gold + The season’s fading graces. + Bright goldenrod! ’tis autumn’s crown + And summer’s sunset glory— + Each blooming-time is new with joy + As Love’s old charming story. + + + + +An Evening in June. + + + Glory won ’gainst beauty’s brush in painting sunset skies, + But paling now, upon the hills in rosy languor lies: + All breathing life, with her, seems panting for a cooling breeze, + For winds have stopped ’mid ocean isles, to toss the gleaming spray + And spicy odors rich, along the golden path of day; + And motionless, awaiting Beauty’s Star, stand all the trees, + While Erse, from her stores, besprinkles earth with gems, + From mantling robes of green, to flower-broidered hems. + + But mortals, restless aye, will burden all life’s golden hours + With low complainings, forgetting bounty’s blessing showers, + Impatient, beg the _one_ withheld for other days and needs, + Nor see the plan inwoven, that the world’s wide hunger feeds; + Nor ken the flashes on the sultry air, above the plain, + Are the wings of ripening angels, sweeping o’er the grain. + + + + +Yosemite. + + + With humbled heart, subdued and awed I look on thee, + Thou time-defying granite pile; with senses rapt + Behold thee, grand and world-renowned—YOSEMITE— + Thy spray-enwreathing stream— + Thy rock-walled vale and sunset clouds, all glory capped + With evanescent gleam. + + Aye, gaze and wondering gaze, until the centuries swing + Their massive doors ajar, and glimpses give when Earth was young; + But farthest grasp of human thought but weakling reasons bring + To solve thy problem vast; + In vain the Present asks the voiceless silences that hung + Their mysteries o’er the Past— + + The far, dim Past, that wrapped our sphere in shoreless sea— + The mantling gloom, that swathed its infancy in mist, + While yet our central orb did wait Omnipotent decree + To bless the world with Light— + Ere Day’s first, smiling morn with rosy beams had kissed + Away the brooding night. + + What engine wrought in Nature’s great completing plan + To ope for thee thy chasm’s broad, abysmal deeps? + Was it the glacier’s ponderous plow, that smoothed for man + The verdant, fertile plain, + Or, rolling waters that thro’ circling eons, wore thy steeps + With solemn, sad refrain?— + + Or from Earth’s central fires, did fierce, volcanic throes + Expel, in molten mass, the elemental rock, + That o’er the wilds to mountain majesty arose, + And while yet warm with throbbing strain, + Did earthquake rend with pole-disturbing shock, + Thy mighty walls amain? + + O, puny mind! be still and catch the chant sublime, + Of Nature’s psalm, that here is poured in never ending praise; + Accept the truth that God, by His right hand, did raise + These templed rocks, to stand thro’ an eternity of time, + An altar place of worship, where + All nations come, and every heart an offering lays + Of mingled praise and prayer. + + + + +Blight, or Blessing. + + “But saddest is the tho’t of joys + That never yet were tasted.”—John Hay. + + + And yet the heart will never turn, + Tho’ all its wealth beside were wasted— + ’Twill never cease to plead and yearn + For joys it covets, yet untasted: + And at its secret altar kneeling, + Whereon the life an offering lies, + The soul will lift its one appealing + For joy that Wisdom still denies. + + It watches for the longed-for beaming + With hidden, cherished, fond delight, + As tho’ the hoping, wishing, dreaming + Could make the shadowed pathway bright; + As tho’ from out some shining mist, + By radiant bow of promise kissed, + That joy might come, to bless it yet + And soothe the pain of long regret. + + Tho’ at our feet fall blessing showers, + All worthless in our grasp they seem, + De-gloried, as are withered flowers, + If still denied the soul’s fond dream. + For lack of it—that single joy,— + The life is robbed of sweet employ; + Each cup seems blent with Upas drips, + Each day seems gloomed with cold eclipse. + + Sweet sleep will sometimes give the boon,— + Possession’s own supreme delight,— + Oh, sad that Day dissolves so soon + The bright, warm vision—gift of Night! + Brief joy! The rapturous dream diffused, + Swims round the soul like golden mist, + And life a moment seems suffused + With dawn’s own rose and amethyst. + + And shall it be,—this sorest need— + To us, eternal, haunting loss? + Or will this spirit-hunger lead + Up, from this life-enduring cross, + With sentience large, evolved by this, + (When change the mortal veil shall rift,) + To take our own supremest bliss + From God’s infinitudes of gift? + + + + +O, For a Rainy Day. + +BY REQUEST. + + + These days are hot, and dry, and dreary; + The burning sun seems never weary + The vine lies limp on the thirsty earth— + The grass grows sere in the long, long dearth— + The days are dusty, hot and dreary. + + The sky is cloudless, brassy, dreary, + The wind seems ever languid, weary + But hope still clings to the gifts of the Past— + We trust that the rain will come at last + And the days be damp and cheery. + + O, clouds sweep o’er, veil the sun’s hot shining! + With copious rains, come, hush all repining, + Swell the shrunken grains of the sun-burnt lands, + With new, green grass clothe the arid sands, + Then the days will be bright and cheery. + +August, 1895. + + + + +The Great Poet. + + + Upon Parnassian heights he walked and gazed below;— + From wing of Jove’s high soaring bird he plucked his pen; + Attuned to poet soul, his lofty numbers flow— + His stately verse ne’er stoops to common needs of men. + + The earth-born, toiling throng, he saw, but from afar; + No interlinking brotherhood bound him to them; + For them no warmth his glory shed—a cold, bright star, + On which they gazed as on a costly, dazzling gem. + + To those who nearest reach his altitude of thought + He bends himself to speak, but yet, with lofty mien; + Of these, but few, familiar comradship, have sought; + They stand, his far, dim height and earth’s green vales, between, + To take his gift, which often falls like vivid lightning flashes, + And crystalize, and link for comprehension’s reach— + They trace his subtle thread, entangled with the shining meshes + Of universal lore, and weave in wefts of wondrous speech. + + Sometimes, it seems, an idea vast, his measure strains, + When he doth crush the whole, as quartz is crushed for gold, + And then, reject and cleanse, until there’s naught remains + Of quartz or dross. The massive idea we behold + Upon his page, aglow in shining, golden grains. + + Then alchemistic souls, in study’s crucial heat, + Must fuse and integrate—must clothe, and warm, + And breathe into it soul, when lo, with life replete, + The world will praise for breadth and depth, embracing form. + + * * * * * + + In this bright world of ours God placed some humble ones + With loving hearts, o’erwelling with sweet tenderness; + They soothe the wounds of war, they cheer earth’s toiling sons + And where grief broods these faithful ones are there to bless; + And e’en when fiends come forth with pestilential breath + To pour their reeking poisons on the stagnant air, + Forgetting self, they wrestle long with Death, + And, with devotion’s strength, the black-winged demon, dare. + + Tho’ humble these, their elder Brother sits enthroned + At God’s right hand; His golden words, impressive, deep, + Still speak to us in sweet monition, gentle toned, + “_If ye love me feed my lambs,—aye feed my sheep_.” + + O, many sheep have need of thee. Go feed them “In His Name,” + Or seek that shelterless, that lone one that has strayed, + Nor deem thy labor lost because, unknown to fame, + For whoso lifts the cup, by which there’s _one_ soul’s thirst allayed, + The same shall eat of hidden manna. He is blest of God. + Tho’, but faintly we can echo the loving Shepherd’s call, + We’ll find in Duty’s obscure ways, His sweetest blessings fall— + In these same, lowly paths, earth’s sainted ones have trod. + + It may be grand to tread Olympian heights and breathe + Ambrosial airs,—to win high praise ’mong those whose souls + Are lit with Heaven’s fire; but sweeter far to wreathe + A simple worded song, whose swelling music rolls + A tidal wave of feeling, thrilling into life + A long chained serfdom. Greater mastery of the art + Is his, who lifts to light, from savagery and strife, + Earth’s darkened isles—whose pen can touch the world’s great heart + With philanthropic fire,—whose verse has, throbbing thro’ the whole, + In sympathy with man, a loving, human soul. + + + + +Love’s Riches. + + + Rich blessings are scattered around us— + Why heedlessly trample them down + And ask for the millionaire’s coffers, + Or sigh for a kingdom and crown? + We’ve ever the sunshine of loving, + Unmixed with the drosses of gold— + Its pleasures are not in wealth’s giving + Or e’en in its power to withhold. + + The jewels, whose splendors we covet, + Gain much of their sparkle and glow + From the flutter and tumult of bosoms + Where heart-aches are throbbing below; + In palaces, often, is hidden + A skeleton presence of dread, + That quenches the flame on Love’s altar + While hope in the darkness lies dead. + + A queen may be rich in dominions, + Have crown and a scepter and throne, + Yet all of the riches of loving + To her be forever unknown; + Far greater the kingdom for woman + Where love is the power—her throne + In a heart of unswerving devotion, + Its measureless realms her own. + + Thro’ the tapestried halls of the mansion + The ghost of dead honor may glide— + A sense of life’s holiest joys departed + In the lordliest castle abide. + Tho’ the chalice wealth drains should be golden, + No sweeter to him is the draught + Than the cup with the sparkle of water, + That humble contentment has quaffed. + + Earth’s mines, and her jewel-strewn caverns, + With the station that title confers, + All poured at her feet, would not purchase + The treasure a mother counts hers. + Ay, hid in your home you will find them— + Love’s riches—vast treasures untold; + More precious than worldly possessions, + Though counted, by millions, in gold. + + * * * * * + + Then let not the demon of envy + E’er enter the soul to enthrall; + The Father is tenderly watching— + Is keeping a record of all. + Rewards we have missed in our earth-life + We’ll find in that mansion above, + All decked with the beauties of Heaven + And lighted with Infinite Love. + + + + +Complainings. + + + Never a dove came to nestle by me, + But green-eyed Envy was there to see— + Soiling its plumage of spotless white, + Making it vile as a raven of night. + Never a rose in my garden was born, + But was surrounded by many a thorn. + + Never a sweet but was mingled with gall— + And freedom, forever, is shadowed by thrall;— + Fruit, that looked luscious while hanging in view, + Is blighted ere ripe, by a blistering dew; + Gold, that we gather and count as a joy, + Has little of pleasure and much of alloy; + Jealously burns, in her caustical fire, + My tenderest hope, with malevolent ire— + Ashes, of all, she has strewn in my path, + And mocks at my pain with demoniac laugh. + + But hush thy complaining, my heart, and be still— + If Heaven, our measure, with blessings should fill, + How soon would the soul with satiety cloy, + And life would be robbed of delightsome employ,— + Incentive would sleep, and all motive would die, + If needs of our nature should utter no cry; + But lacking the goal our ambition would gain + Arouses our powers—gives strength to attain. + + Our grandest achievements have birth in the throes + Of Penury’s labor; and multiplied woes + But nerve us to action—resist and endure, + And highest endeavor gives aid to secure + Success to the valiant in the struggle for right— + Though failure may sometimes descend like a blight— + Oft failure is blessing, that’s sent in disguise + To turn us from groveling to gaze on the skies. + Then learn through each trial, my soul, to rejoice, + And e’en from the cloud will Compassion’s own voice + Be heard thro’ the gloom, in response to your cry, + “Fear not the tempest, my child, it is I.” + + + + +Questionings. + + + When the pallid lids have fallen + O’er the eyes in dreamless sleep— + Eyes that wake no more with watching + Nor in loneliness will weep, + Will a touch of pity soften— + Warm that unimpassioned gaze? + For a moment will affection + Hallow all their clouded days? + + When the heart, no longer beating, + All its painful throbbings o’er— + When it stirs life’s crimson current + With its hopes and fears no more, + Will another heart feel sorrow + For the stillness resting there? + Will it for a whole tomorrow + Wear a saddened shade of care? + + When the weary hands are folded + For that long unbroken rest, + And the spirit wings in freedom + To its home among the blest, + Will one tender feeling waken + In that heart a fond regret, + That will last thro’ summer’s blooming— + That will never quite forget? + + When the lips are cold and silent— + Hushed for aye their gentle speech, + With love’s whispers dying on them, + Will their mute appealing reach + To the rock-girt fount of feeling? + Will Remorse with stinging rod, + Smite and bring the welling tear-drops + To bedew the new-laid sod? + + + + +Persecuted. + + + Alone, alone I tread the shore + Where surges beat forevermore + With deaf’ning, hollow wail; + The sky, o’ercast with angry frown, + Doth drop the loaded clouds, low down, + To beat me with their hail. + + And, helpless here upon the strand + With no out-reaching friendly hand, + I face the roaring sea. + With reverent love my soul is stirred, + And seeking TRUTH within Thy word + I come, dear Lord, to Thee. + + Aye, take my hand in thine Oh, God! + And lead me, where Thine own have trod, + By waters, pure and sweet. + O, send thy Comforter to calm + The aching heart with holy balm, + And keep me at thy feet! + + Nature’s gift had been more kind + If a pulpy, plastic mind, + To fit, with ease, their mold; + Then self-assumed, “straight orthodox” + Had gathered me, with petted flocks, + Within the church’s fold. + + O, loving Christ! Am I not thine? + And Thy disciples, truly mine, + Each my sister or my brother, + By the heritage of heaven— + By the new commandment given, + That we all love one another? + + O, help me Lord with thee to pray!— + “Forgive them Father,” Thou didst say, + “They know not what they do.” + May sheltering love, dear Lord, be mine— + O, keep my life thine, only thine, + My soul to conscience true! + + + + +O, Kindly Speak. + + + The chiding word that chills the flow + Of warm child-feeling, ere it gush + In sparkling jets, to catch the glow + And tinge of Life’s bright morning flush, + Is the human thunder-bolt—its path + Is marked by dwarfed and shrunken minds, + Souls scarred, as trees by lightning scath, + Which show, like them, the spoiler’s lines. + + + + +He Is Risen. + + + Crown of all our joys supernal + Is the hope of life eternal; + Burst in bloom ye lillies white! + Wreathe the altar and the cross,— + Dawn is born of brooding night, + Heaven’s joy of earthly loss,— + He is Risen! + + In the starry fields of Heaven + Mansions bright, to us, are given: + Triumph o’er the grave He won + In the resurrection morn— + Life eternal is begun, + Hope to all the world is born, + He is Risen! + + He hath passed thro’ Heaven’s portal, + We, thro’ Him have life immortal— + Death is met with faith and trust— + The tomb is lighted by His love; + Earth may claim the crumbling dust— + Souls will dwell with Christ above. + He is Risen! + + Think not thou art left forsaken + Tho’ by sorrow’s tempest shaken; + From His son, God veiled his face— + Heaven’s light was e’en withdrawn, + But the cruel cross made place + For the glorious Easter dawn— + He is Risen! + + + + +The Christ. + + + In olive-crowned Gethsemane, + Alone the Savior sought the power + That wrought through him at Galilee, + To stay the tide of that dark hour. + With grief bowed soul he prayed, but grace + Was His, to say: “Thy will be done.” + From Christ the Father veiled his face + And gave the world His only Son. + + Tho’ His displeasure hid the day, + Spread brooding terror o’er the land, + Tho’ yielding hate its earth-born sway, + O’er-ruling Love in wisdom planned; + While human might did glut its greed + With nod of law to sanction crime, + A good, by higher law decreed, + Went forth, encircling earth and time. + + Far-reaching, ’twas to win the world— + Their cruel deeds of blinded rage— + Their mocking taunts like hell-brands hurled, + Still echo from the sacred page; + That bitter cup—the crown of thorn + Upon His suffering, sinless brow— + That wail, adown the ages borne— + Are loving worship winning now. + + O! blot the hard, blasphemous creed, + “A sacrifice for wrath of God;” + And teach the world ’twas human deed + That stained with blood Golgotha’s sod. + The reeling earth and darkened sun + Proclaimed aloud Jehovah’s frown; + Yet taught us that His holy one + Had by life’s cross won Heaven’s crown. + + That tho’ he passed thro’ death—the tomb + To calm a world in maddened strife, + From out its broken bars of gloom + A joy would beam to beacon life, + And bless for us that morning light + That points the glory path he trod + From persecution, death and night, + Through Resurrection, up to God. + + ’Tis through His bearing mortal woes + We feel the throb of Love Divine! + Though wrung with agonizing throes, + His words with God-like mercy shine; + They wake the world to faith and hope— + E’en from old Memnon’s music trill, + They turn the dusky Ethiope + To catch their soul-impassioned thrill. + + “Forgive—they know not what they do!”— + O, holy prayer! In every tongue + Its tender pleading pulses thro’, + As when from Calvary’s cross it rung!— + O, arms of Love’s infinitude! + They still reach down to earth from Heaven + To bind in one great brotherhood, + Through Him, the rescued world—forgiven. + + + + +Feed My Lambs. + + + Jesus said, with tender pleading, + “If ye love me, feed my lambs”; + Thro’ His word He’s interceding— + Feed my lambs, my precious lambs; + + (Chorus)—If ye love me, feed my lambs, + Feed my lambs, my precious lambs— + If ye love me feed my lambs. + + From the hedges and the highways, + Bring the lambs all safely in; + Seek the wanderers in the byways, + Save them from the blight of sin. + If ye love me, etc. + + Find each little son and daughter, + Bring them in with tender care; + Lead them to the crystal water, + In the pastures green and fair:— + If ye love me, etc. + + + + +The Kingdom of Heaven. + + “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, in earth as in Heaven.” + + + O, the kingdom of Heaven will come!— + When His will shall be done + Upon earth, as above, + And victory won + Through a union of love, + Then, the kingdom of Heaven will come. + + Our Christian Endeavor + Has linked, and forever, + The lands of all climes + Where the Savior is known. + O, bright is the morning + That brings us the dawning + Of the day that’s to band, + In one army, HIS OWN! + O, the kingdom of heaven will come! + + When Christians, uniting, + The common foe fighting + Forget every difference + Of doctrine and creed, + And, hushing their pleading + For selfish succeeding, + Beg Heaven’s best gift + For humanity’s need, + Then the kingdom of Heaven will come. + + When fervent in action + They trample on faction, + Intolerance, arrogance, + Tread them all down, + And put forth endeavor, + Through loving work ever, + For the saving of souls + With no thought of the crown, + Then, the kingdom of Heaven will come. + + When earnest endeavor— + Most powerful lever— + Is thrust under sin + By all Christendom’s might, + Its walls will soon crumble— + The structure must tumble + When hotly assailed + By the legions of Right, + Aye, the kingdom of heaven will come. + + When Christians are one, + Like the Father and Son, + And sects of all names + At one altar can kneel, + In God’s love believing, + For heaven achieving, + This creed and this purpose + Inspiring their zeal, + Then the kingdom of heaven will come. + + + + +Supplication. + + + O, thou Savior, Brother, mine, + God’s own love and tenderness, + Sent of Him with power divine— + Sent to soothe, sustain and bless:— + Light of Life! Oh blessed Word, + Be my help! Dear Savior come! + Hear my spirit’s pleading, Lord— + Pleading tho’ my lips are dumb. + + Groping now in sorrow’s night + Guide, oh, guide me, Lord, I pray, + Quicken Thou my spirit’s sight + That I walk in wisdom’s way— + Be Thou, Lord, a presence nigh— + Thou canst still the angry sea, + Thou hast known Gethsemane— + O, Compassion, hear my cry! + + Deep in agony of soul + Mother-love cries up to Thee— + Fiends have bound him to the bowl— + O, break his chains and set him free! + + + + +The Portrait. + + + O, arms of protection, now folded so still!— + Alone in the world, so wide and so chill! + O, eyes that would glow in a worshipful gaze!— + They’ll bless me no more with their love-beaming rays! + O, heart of devotion! thy warm throbbings o’er + Can give me asylum from sorrow no more. + + * * * * * + + O, veil it!—this lifeless creation of art— + The perfect is sacredly shrined in my heart! + Not silent, compassionless, framed in with gold, + Nor mantled with shadows of coffin and mould, + But youthful and strong and warm with the fire + That glows in a soul lit with noble desire. + + Ay, thought gropeth not thro’ the darkness and gloom + Where the mortal is held in the bonds of the tomb. + PROGRESSION is stamped by the hand of God’s love; + The life coming after to this is _above_! + Our faith reaches up to the realms of bliss, + The sphere He has fashioned—the Home beyond this. + + The deeds that gave blessing in the pathways of earth + Give impress and form to the Heavenly birth. + That face, beaming ever with the glorified light + Won here, in defending convictions of Right, + My soul, in its holy of holies, where free + From earth’s thronging distractions in spirit I see. + + This portrait I gaze on—the glorified one— + And that is, to this, as a star, to the sun. + + + + +Out in the Woods. + + + Glad haunts of the summer!—the dim forest aisles, + Where Sylva receives us with welcoming smiles— + Gives couch of soft mosses, embowered with vines, + And smoothes from the forehead, care’s deep written lines. + Refreshing, she brings, for the world-weary brain + And soothes, with her silence, its fever and pain!— + Bids Somnus pour sweets from which restfulness flows, + And, hushing her realm into holiest calm, + She lulls the sick soul into gentle repose, + While winds, with the leafage, are chanting a psalm + That charms with its rythm. Rev’ry’s doorways unclose— + We slip to forgetfulness—sleep that is balm. + + * * * * * + + The musical tinkle of the murmuring stream + Gave warp, for the web, of a beautiful dream, + And woof for the weaving, the slumber-god chose + From fragrance of violets, and queenly wild-rose. + The sunshine that sifted thro’ the crowns of the trees, + Made threadings of gold with the shadows of these! + The breeze, touching lightly, with cool finger tips + Was the kiss of an angel on the tired spirit’s lips. + O, the eider-down couches of slumberous ease, + And the tapestried halls that the millionaires please, + Can never, such rest, on the weary bestow, + As we find in this palace, where the luxuries grow. + + Majestical forest!—Asylum of REST, + Where the crowd-jostled soul is ineffably blest— + Where primeval old trees, in their grandeur and might, + Guard Solitude’s shrine, from the vandal-world’s sight; + Where spice-bearing shrubs, and the sweet-scented ferns + Float odors as rich as when frankincense burns, + And the praise-breathing song of the thrush, from the boughs, + Wakes worship unknown thro’ the low-muttered vows. + “First temples of God!”—and still nearest His throne, + Where the spirit may drink, at the fountain, alone, + Receiving His blessing through the still, small voice, + While Nature’s true Acolytes whisper—rejoice. + + + + +Unforgiven. + + + Ah! that “Past”—that bitter parting, + Long ago, yet vivid seems— + Oft in midnight’s black arms folded + I have lived it o’er in dreams; + As a presence it has shadowed + Every path of life I’ve tried— + If I joined the festive circle + It was stalking by my side. + + If I sat at hush of even + With a sense of love and trust, + It would come and stand before me, + Hissing out the word—unjust; + It has stretched its ghostly fingers + For all blessings to destroy, + And has poured its gall and wormwood + In each lifted cup of joy. + + Had you winged a sweet forgiveness, + Sent it o’er the “silent line,” + It had proved a benediction + Falling on your life and mine. + Through the years that phantom presence, + Like a black bird o’er my door, + Seemed to say, by silent glowering, + “I will leave thee nevermore.” + + _You_ can drive this haunting demon, + Send in place a snowy dove— + Only breathe the longed for blessing, + Not youth’s fervent tale of love, + And on friendship’s sacred altar + Light a pure and holy flame, + That may burn before the angels + Without blanch or blush of shame. + + + + +The Evening and the Morning. + + “At Evening time it shall be light.”—Bible. + + “The evening twilight of this life meets the morning twilight + of the next and they kiss each other.”—L. H. F. + + + When Life’s evening twilight gathers + Darkling shadows from the tomb, + Then a bright celestial morning + Kisses back the gathering gloom; + Robed in beauty’s bright adorning + This aurora—dawning glory, + Kisses back the gathering gloom. + + When the crimson tide is throbbing + With the hopes that wildly mount, + And the sensuous soul is drinking + From enjoyment’s sparkling fount, + Then the thoughts will turn with shrinking + From the coming of life’s gloaming— + Death seems then a Stygian fount. + + But when life’s weary day is closing— + When the lengthening shadows fall, + Sweetly singing angel voices + Come with blessing in their call! + The departing soul rejoices + With prevision, of Elysian, + Gladly welcoming the call. + + As the spirit fetters loosen + And the soul gains greater height, + It will see the evening shadows + Meet and kiss the dawning light; + And, dispelling all the shadows, + This supernal life eternal, + Opens into morning light. + + Aye, the golden gates swing open! + To reveal the splendors bright; + From His throne the glory streaming + Haloes Death with holy light; + Angels voicing their rejoicing— + Heaven’s mansions brightly gleaming, + Flood Life’s evening time with light. + + + + +The Unseen. + + + Do you feel my spirit with you— + Feel my kiss upon your lips? + Doth your heart throb with the message + That the messenger outstrips? + + Ay, I know your thought, responding, + Know this soul-touch is of thine, + That you send me tender soothing + O’er love’s subtile, unseen line. + + Soul to soul can tell its sorrow, + Sympathy response impart— + Joy can flash o’er lines of distance, + Touch and thrill a kindred heart. + + Loneliness! I scarcely know it; + Loved ones in my spirit’s reach + Know my call and give me answer— + Silence pulses with their speech. + + We have glimpse of joys, thro’ this one, + That await the soul above, + Where unbroken, sweet communion + Flows thro’ sympathy and love. + + + + +Painting. + + + O, beauteous Art! with heart o’erfilled with joy I stand + And offer up to God its silent, grateful praise + That He, in blessing, hath endowed a human hand + With gifts so near divine; + Thro’ these creations, warmed to life in Genius’ blaze, + Doth inspiration shine. + + Here, oriental scenes are brought within my reach; + The beauty of the castled Rhine, in softened hues, + With fine, bewitching charm o’er-mastering speech, + My raptured gaze enchains; + I roam in dream the land whose purple vintage strews + With wealth its hills and plains. + + And thus I dream and drink the blest enchantment in, + That flows from art, with full, ineffable delight; + Forgetting earth is cursed with sorrow, death and sin, + I taste supernal bliss, + And, in this ecstacy of joy, a world of light, + It seems, hath dropped to this. + + Yet not with those I’d join who throng Art’s crowded hall, + Whose motive is to prove themselves profound in art + By use of bulky words, but which, in strident fall, + Each hearer doth impress + With lack of gift to grasp what colors may impart, + Or canvass may express. + + Nor go with her whose hand, with long and tedious drill + Has learned to daub with paint—whose tongue, with flippant ease, + Can toss artistic nomenclature round at will, + Yet nothing knows of art— + Of art’s true self, whose secret power to hold and please + Is soul, in every part. + I’d put the shoes from off my feet, and then, alone + Before the work, would feel I stood on holy ground— + That there a spirit with its God had talked, and by His own + Had been informed, inspired— + Aye, minds should be, before they range this sacred bound, + In thoughtfullness attired. + + And thus prepared, Perception’s polished plates receive + The artist’s dream, that seems with pulsing life aglow, + And o’er it Fancy’s magic fingers silent weave + Her draperies so real— + We seethe dimpling lake—we hear the streamlets liquid flow, + And shadowed coolness feel. + + + + +The Christian’s Armor. + +_For the Band of Hope._ + + + Firmly stand, unyielding wrestle, + All ye noble, earnest, youth,— + You are soldiers—God is calling, + Gird yourselves about with truth. + + Wear the helmet of Salvation— + Let your feet with peace be shod, + Turn the fiery darts of evil + With the shield of “Faith in God.” + + Arm you with the Spirit’s weapon, + ’Tis God’s blessed, holy word,— + With the breast-plate of the righteous + You shall conquer Satan’s horde. + + Then with earnest supplication + Hold the way to Heaven’s throne; + By the spirit’s true devotion + God will know and bless his own. + + + + +To My Friend, + +MRS. ANNA PRICHARD. + + + And is time old? How swift he runs! + His months like birds of passage fly. + How slow he rolled a year of suns + When we were children, you and I, + How far away the spring time seemed + When winter wore his angry frown— + An age, when apple blossoms gleamed + Ere they would drop their fruitage down. + + Then childhood’s eager heart was waiting + For expectations to unfold, + And churlish time seemed years belating + The wished-for blessings to withhold; + Then Fancy’s fingers held the brush + And painted all the future bright; + Its clouds but showed the rosy flush + Each dawn had woven with its light. + + Impatient then, our youthful feet + To climb the distant sun clad hills + Where Pleasure, from her vintage sweet, + For each, a golden chalice fills—To + stand beneath the shining arch, + By rainbow-tinted promise spanned:— + What fine advance, in Life’s grand march, + Our strong, young courage planned. + + But ah! in life’s late afternoon, + No worldly wealth, no laurels won— + I grieve that time has fled so soon + With so much planned, left all undone; + The barren years, like surf-worn sand, + With glints of sun and shadow flecked, + Are strewn with fragments as the strand + And show where Hope’s rich cargoes wrecked. + + No mould of sloth lies o’er the years— + No waste of dissipation’s fire + Is smoldering in regrets and tears, + Yet youth’s fond dream—intense desire + A cruel fate has still denied; + Or, was it Heaven’s kind decree + That set that cherished wish aside + To bring a richer gift to me? + + There’s naught in God’s infinitude + Of gifts for us, like home and wife, + And happy, blessed motherhood, + The crowning gift of woman’s life. + These gifts transmute to dear delight + Each humble task, all toil and care, + And keep home’s sacred altar bright + With love’s sweet offerings there. + + All these, and one more gift is mine + That stirs with joy my brooding thought— + A friendship rare and true as thine, + A chain—all precious links—inwrought + With sacred trust. Oh hush, my heart, + No more in bitterness complain: + Thou wouldst not with thy treasures part + Youth’s wildest dream of power to gain. + + + + +Hill-Crest Home. + +TO MRS. A. FOSKETT POTTER. + + + The picture, you rave over there on the wall, + Is weak by the one hung in memory’s hall. + While that one is held by the fetters of art + To rules of perspective—can only give part, + The other has range over hill-top and dell, + From the vaulted blue sky to the depths of the well— + Can even give sense of refreshing from this— + Show stars gleaming thro’ from its seeming abyss. + + It has other delights, never reached with a brush, + The ravishment held in the notes of a thrush + (The sweetest voiced bird of the singing-bird throng) + Reverberant groves all a-thrill with its song. + + Then the river, that knit a bright edge on the farm, + Enmantled with vapor—etherial charm! + As if dawn and the dew, meeting, playfully kissed + When the sun peeping over dissolved them in mist; + Like a gauzy, white chrisom cloth lightly it lies + O’er the rosy-faced morning, new-born of the skies. + Now, mellow and sweet as the music of dream, + Or a softly touched lute, comes the song of the stream; + Enchanted I listen, ay, listen and gaze + Till sound seems enwreathed with this luminous haze + That’s woven for nymphs, of the sunshine and spray; + And veiled in these light robes they mingle in play + Till on bloom scented breezes they’re floated away. + + I promised to tell of my humble old home, + But my pen wanders off where my feet used to roam, + So the home of my childhood I picture for you + Must cover the rambles “my infancy knew.” + Come, stand ’neath that maple with me, if you will: + The manse, looking south from the brow of the hill, + Has the River, the valley, “The Island” in view— + (O! if mem’ry’s bright search-light could give it to you, + And you, with my childhood’s own vision, could see + The love-lighted beauty, that glowed there for me!) + While eastward the valley-farms glint thro’ the trees, + Whose grandeur had saved them to the thither-most shore, + And hills, as a back ground of beauty for these, + A richly-robed forest in stateliness bore; + And this, to my child fancy, held up the skies + Where the dawn, stealing in thro’ their bright rosy dyes, + Peeped in at my window to waken me when + The sun-gleams, aflash in the dew-spangled glen, + Out rivaled Golconda in jewels and gold— + When lambkins went frolicking down from the fold + To nip the soft grass or to drink from the brook—Ah, + there was a spot, just beyond where they drank, + Where the brook cut the hill for its opposite bank, + And nestled above was a shadowy nook + With a rustic root-bench which a wind-warring tree + Had thrown out to anchor its hold on the hill: + There, glad as the laughter of innocent glee, + Came the musical tinkle and play of the rill, + A melody sweet, to that ærie of mine, + Where, safe from intrusion as cliff dweller, I + Heard, fresh from her lips, Nature’s message divine, + Told sweetly, thro’ beauties, of earth and the sky. + + An old fallen tree made a foot-bridge across + That led to this hiding—this sanctum of mine. + Bright fern fringes bordered its soft rug of moss— + A wild grape had thatched with a clambering vine + That hid for my coming bright sparkles of dew. + O, bower of beauty, so temptingly cool! + ’Twas the home of the fairies and they only knew + The hours spent there that were stolen from school. + The brook-bordered fields of that moderate farm + Had each, for my heart, individual charm.— + The skies that bent over had glories unknown + To all other lands, even Italy’s own. + More golden its sunsets than any since seen:— + Its shadowy woodland, so rich in its green, + Had springs purling down in a dusky ravine: + There oft at the fount, where the waters distilled, + My leaf-fashioned cup I have held to be filled. + O, nectar twould be if again I could drink + Of the sparkles that fell there like pearls from its brink, + As it tinkled down sweetly from its rock-basined source + To join with its peers in their river-ward course. + In those shadowy depths, hid away from the world, + Most delicate forms of the fronds were uncurled: + Spring-beauties, anemonies, clematis white, + With violets, bluebells and maiden-hair fern,— + There were some of them ever to keep the spot bright, + To waft me good-bye and to greet my return. + Then the hillside, our play-ground—I never can tell + Its riches of beauty in bower and dell. + The sunrise would kiss with its first ruddy glow + Then slip to the river that murmured below + And lighting its ripples with flashes of gold + It made all the valley a joy to behold. + That River! It ever kept time with my heart,— + Grew into my soul, of my life was a part. + It echoed my laughter, was sad when I wept— + When drowsy it lulled me with song till I slept.— + ’Twas playmate and teacher, companion and friend, + From the “deep-hole” that mirrored the trees at “the bend” + To that spot of enchantment, where the willows bent low + To whisper their love. There the river went slow + As if hushing its wonted, wild, rollicking flow + To linger and listen—the story, so sweet, + ’Twould have all the zephyr-swayed branches repeat. + + But the loveliest view from the home on the hill— + The one that could ever enrapture and thrill, + Was a calm summer eve with the stars beaming thro’ + From the unclouded depths of the fathomless blue,— + “The city of God” filling vastness above, + Each mansion aglow with the light of His love. + Enhancing the beauty a broad, rising moon, + That followed a day with a languorous noon— + A day that in going left the sun-door ajar, + When a breeze, that was born of a rain-cloud afar, + Had stolen thro, softly, with the great evening star, + And whispered a vow to the languishing flowers + To bring them, ere morning, refreshing in showers. + + Then the murmur of waters—the ripple in view, + The robings of Nature, aglitter with dew, + The sway of the trees, and the rose-petals strewn— + The kiss of the breeze, that has breath of the June. + Just sit in our group on the balcony there + And dream of this scene, inexpressibly fair + (Remember this gable looks square at the noon): + How the gateways of glory thrown wide by the moon + Could pour their white floods on the beautiful scene— + What charm in the mingling of shadow and sheen! + + The river went north in its tortuous trend + And wound thro’ the valley with many a bend. + This lake-like expanse, deep and smoothe, as you see, + Lying right in the pathway, ’tween Luna and me, + On an evening like this seemed a great burnished glass. + The Island shore here, had a margin of grass— + The round little cove cutting into its edge + Grew ferns on its banks and was dotted with sedge. + + In the far-reaching shadows of lofty old trees + This part of the Island was hid from the noon; + Its quiet invited to slumberous ease; + Here the River flowed gently as Afton or Doon. + Kind Nature had woven a pleachy thick screen + Of forest and vines that were standing between, + And made this remote from the town and its mills. + The zephyr-stirred leaves with their mystical chant— + That soft, lulling murmur, that muffles and stills— + Hushed the tumult and jar of the noisy “old plant” + And made this a spot ever calm and serene, + Fit temple for worship, embosomed in green. + Here, the river seemed charmed by some mythical lore— + It loitered along, seemed reluctant to pass, + While eddying wavelets crept up on the shore + And kissed, with their cool lips, the velvety grass. + + On, slowly it flows until reaching a place + Where a glimpse may be caught of the swift running “Race;” + There it breaks into foam with a current so wild— + They rush to the meeting like mother and child. + With a plaint in its story that the mother-stream thrills, + Race babbles and tells how it toiled at the mills—Was + prisonned and held, by the strength of the flume— + Was power that wrought on the spindle and loom. + Received in her bosom with loving embrace + They mingle their songs, then, the River and Race, + Delighting us all with their musical tones, + While silver-capped ripples go dancing o’er stones. + + * * * * * + + Aye, “Hill-crest” had beauty beyond all compare, + But words can ne’er picture how wondrously fair + For one whose misfortune ’tis not to have seen + That river—that hillside—the trees in their green— + Heard the music of waters, o’er pebbles at play, + Or, lapping ’mong rocks and then swirling away— + The brook leaping down to be lost in the stream + As womanhood merges our girl-hood’s young dream—If + her childhood’s bare feet have ne’er pressed that cool sod + Where first I loved Nature, thro’ Nature her God. + +[Illustration: HILL-CREST HOME.] + + + + +Lillies of the Valley. + + + O, pearly, waxen, lilly bells! + Glad the tale your coming tells— + Blithest time, of all the year, + Happy, blooming spring is here + With lillies-of-the-valley. + + Shining like the precious gem, + Divers bring from ocean’s floor; + God in blessing scattered them + Blooming by the humblest door; + Springing in some sheltered nook, + Peeping by a mouldering wall, + Nodding by a babbling brook, + Purest, sweetest flowers of all, + Are lillies-of-the-valley. + + Hidden from life’s cares and frets + Is the loved embowered spot + Sacred to our floral pets— + Lillies and forget-me-not; + Tho’ the poet’s fondest dream + Wreaths about the violet, + With the morning’s dew agleam, + Lovlier and sweeter yet + Are lillies-of-the-valley. + + Roses fade and fall apart— + Lose their beauty with their bloom, + In the lillies perfect heart + Lingers long its sweet perfume; + Mem’ries dear we’ll ne’er forget, + With their tender thrills of bliss, + Hover round the mignonette, + Yet, a charm supreme to this, + Have lillies-of-the-valley. + + Queens of color, tall and proud + Bloom among the asphodels, + But of all that lauded crowd + None so loved as lilly bells! + Pansy bright with dreamy eyes + Seems acquaint with mystic lore, + Whispers “hope” when sorrow sighs, + Yet, we love the lillies more, + Sweet lillies-of-the-valley. + + They will breathe the tender thought + Sympathy would fain reveal, + But, with love’s fond message fraught, + Half their charm is to conceal. + Lillies of the Valley. + Rosebud boldly tells the tale + Cupid sent it to confess— + With the fragrance they exhale + Lillies whisper,—“You may guess.” + + + + +Pearly Shells. + + + All the rainbow hues are hiding + In the pearly shells of white, + But their beauties are depending + On the mystic powers of light;— + Going, coming, like the blushes + On a modest maiden’s cheek, + As her heart-throb quick confesses + What her lips would never speak. + + Husband, there’s a heart that’s loving + With devotion pure and deep; + If you’d know its fullest blessing, + If the treasure you would keep, + You must flash the light upon it, + Beaming out from loving eyes; + Then, as shell, reflecting sunlight, + It will glow with lovely dyes. + + All within and all about it + Soon will catch the won’drous charm, + By reflection and absorption + Home will aye be bright and warm; + But if left alone in darkness, + Through a life of gloom and night, + Like the sea-shell, pure and pearly, + It will be but cold and white. + + + + +Courage. + + + Now with zeal that will not falter + Rally once again for Right, + Trusting ever and believing + God is all supreme in might. + + Let us work—give earnest effort, + Ere the day in darkness set, + Work with faith and love untiring— + He will crown our labors yet. + + Though allies of rum are legion, + Fear no evil may betray, + For He’s given angels o’er us + Charge to keep us in the way. + + We shall “tread upon the adder,” + If our faith be strong in God; + Aye, “the dragon we shall trample” + If with “Gospel Peace” we’re shod. + + + + +Trailing Arbutus. + +_Emblematic Flower of Michigan W. C. T. U._ + + + In Flora’s dominion no flower’s so fitting + To symbol our union of labor and love; + Not tender and petted, a hot-house exotic, + It lives when the tempest is raging above. + Sweet forest-born flower! ’Twas Michigan’s dower + When Nature apportioned her gifts that are rare— + So lovely, yet lowly! Affection, that’s holy, + Seems blent with its fragrance and breathing a prayer + That the loved may be borne in the arms of His care. + + Its coming we hail as a promise of blessing— + That chains shall be riven, a glory be born; + Its delicate hue is a hint of our mission— + The soft, rosy blush that first tinges the morn, + When hope is awakening and gloom is receding— + A pressage of light that shall gladden the world, + When darkness has fled and the cloud-rack is lifted + And day’s golden banners on the hills are unfurled. + + It needs not the florist, with art and punctilio + Nor asks for the smiles of the sun-lighted skies, + But richest and brightest, ’tis found in seclusion, + In depths of the woodland where dark shadow lies; + Far up on the highlands, or creeping on lowlands, + ’Mong towering oaks or ’neath whispering pines, + The shell-tinted bloom of our sweet, trailing laurel + The lowliest objects with beauty entwines. + + ’Tis Purity’s emblem—Priscilla’s loved flower! + Oft springing in fenlands where dark, sodden mould + Grows vile-odored herbage, e’en poison-fed night-shade, + Yet, pure there, its waxen, sweet blossoms unfold. + Thus white-ribbon bands, thro’ the moral morasses, + Tho’ threading the paths which the vilest are in, + With purity throned in the soul of all action, + May labor ’mid evils, unsullied by sin. + + Ah! truly, no flower in Flora’s dominion, + Can symbol the virtues and graces like this— + ’Tis faith and endurance in winter’s wild tempest, + While gentleness tenderly speaks in the kiss + That comes in its fragrance, on fairy winged zephyr + And hope, in the buds swelling under the snow, + Is whispering of joys when the full opened blossoms + Shall herald the summer, with roseate glow. + + We’ll gather it in, from our own native woodlands, + And wreathe, with its beauty, our altar of prayer; + The holiest thought, with its ambient odor, + Is stirred, as with incense, afloat on the air. + We love it!—we love it! our sweet trailing laurel, + And make it our emblem in labor for God— + For home, with its blessings and love-lighted altar, + And land of our birth, with its trial-tracked sod. + + + + +Encouragement. + + + What wealth of enjoyment a sentence may hold + That flows in a rill of encouraging words! + The heart’s weary wings with new strength will unfold, + While quick resolution all feebleness girds. + The sunset may brighten—outrival the dawning, + If sympathy’s warm touch the drooping life thrills; + Tho’ autumn has put out her gold-tassled awning + And mantled with haze all the woodlands and hills— + Tho’ the vintage hath yielded the first of its wines— + Tho’ shadows lie eastward in wavering lines, + And evening has whispered the low uttered warning— + “The glories of Day have all drifted afar”— + The spirit will rally encouraged by love. + E’en twilight may deepen, if only this star + Shall gleam with its vestal light brightly above, + We’ll work thro’ life’s gloaming, till angels unbar + The orient gates of Eternity’s morning. + + + + +Faith. + + + O, by and by the sun will shine again— + Will throw glad light on hill, and field, and plain; + The earth will smile ’neath Plenty’s joyous reign, + And we shall know that “God remembers the world.” + + Aye, by and by the clouds will roll away + And then a greater boon, a golden day + Will seem, because we’ve known a gloomy May + When Doubt, o’er brooding, shadowed all our world. + + Let Hope’s bright sunshine gladden every hour, + E’en tho’ the skies with angry tempests lower; + Believe, beyond, above, a higher Power + Doth watch and guard, with loving, care the world. + + Shrink not nor e’er, with dread, thy part delay; + With faith and courage meet each coming day— + Let duties well performed pave all thy way, + Thus make a royal pathway thro’ the world. + + Tho’ sorrows should be thick along thy path, + Remember none are sent to thee in wrath; + Love fires the bolt that makes the lightning scath— + A law that gives a brighter, better world. + + With frowning face Calamity may come, + Ay, strike a hemisphere with terror dumb, + But let no boding fear thy faith benumb, + For He who made, in wisdom rules the world. + + Tho’ skies and seas their floods together roll— + Tho’ earth should pass, a shriveled scroll, + His care is over each immortal soul— + He’ll gather us to His eternal world. + + + + +Nirvana. + + + Possession blest of that Celestial sphere + Beyond the reach of hope and fear; + Salvation’s port—Elysian shore + Where souls remain, forevermore, + In blissful calm, disturbed by naught + Evolved by ranging, restless Thought, + And where Eternal arms of Peace + Enfolding, give secure release + From chains that bind, to Death and Sin— + A severance from the What-has-been— + An end of seeming endless range; + No farther transmigrating change, + But REST of soul, that’s sweet, supreme, + Beyond, the touch of Life’s wild dream: + A draught that quenches all desire— + Extinguishes Ambition’s fire, + And leave, an essence, pure, divine, + That shall with Brama ever shine, + Quiescent in that blest repose + To which the wise Guatama rose. + + + + +Heredity. + + + Thro’ your Eden creeps the Serpent + Luring to the paths of sin: + In your own, weak self-indulgence + Life accursing crimes begin: + Aye, you blight your own with evils + Yielding to the tempter’s sway, + Hushing conscience, Sin imputing + To Eve’s early, shadowed day. + + Science swings her torch above you + From her lofty templed heights— + Paths, by which the Race climb upward, + By command of God she lights; + Can you, with His laws before you, + Violate your sacred trust? + Dare you taint the soul you’re moulding + For Eternity, with lust? + + Holy is your mission, mother, + Lives confided to your care— + Shall they, of your dissipations + Foulest scars forever bear? + Hush the voice of self-indulgence— + Thrust the serpent from your heart, + That he lure not to partaking + Of the sins you may impart. + + While the fires of Being kindle + At your own life’s flame and glow + And the mother love is springing + From this holy interflow— + While the crimson tide is pulsing + Thro’ but one heart, for the two, + Stain not thou, with sin, the fountain + That the new life passes through. + + + + +Pebbles. + + + Pebbles, thrown upon the shore + By a storm-stirred wild commotion, + Tell of tumult, crash and roar, + When wild furies lashed the ocean. + + Pebbles, gathered from the shore + When the waves were only sighing, + Tell of balmy evening strolls + When the sunset fires were dying. + + Pebbles—some of brightest hue— + That were snatched by dimpled fingers + When the waves came rolling in— + Loving thought around them lingers. + + Pebbles, in life’s pathway lie + That the careless roughly tread, + While another passing by + Finds them gems that lustre shed. + + Pebbles—scan them—cast away + Wave-worn, rounded bits of stone, + But if one hath lighting ray, + Keep the treasure as thine own. + + * * * * * + + When the heart is sorrow-laden + Seek the spirit’s shrine of prayer, + Jesus there will meet and bless you + And you’ll leave your burdens there. + + * * * * * + + As the blessed, healing mentha + Holds for mortal pains nepentha, + So hath sympathy the art + To soothe the bruises of the heart. + + * * * * * + + From each act, however small, + Some result must ever fall; + Drop a pebble in the wave + Distant shores its ripples lave. + + * * * * * + + Give gladness to childhood! ’twill brighten life’s years; + Pour hydromel for it, unmingled with tears, + So fondly, caressingly, memory clings + To youth’s every joy, forgetting its stings. + + * * * * * + + Experience teaches some lessons of worth— + That wealth is not always of lordliest birth, + That duty makes labor, tho’ humble, sublime— + That crucial trial gives strength to the soul:— + There’s no royal road to Life’s coveted goal, + Earth’s throngs must all pass the same doorway of Time. + + * * * * * + + If Heaven’s light beam on your tears, + Hope’s bright bow will span the cloud, + While God’s own promise, calming fears, + Will lift the soul by sorrow bowed. + + * * * * * + + Mystery deep, thy doors unbar, + And let us look within!— + Thought goes ranging far—afar, + On webs our fancies spin. + + * * * * * + + The life I live is not my own— + ’Tis subterfuge and dross, + The yearning soul makes hidden moan, + With secret sense of loss. + + * * * * * + + O, dear Savior, I am weary— + Let me rest my soul with Thee! + Mansions bright, Thou art preparing— + Wilt thou, Jesus, welcome me? + + * * * * * + + For the bright, warm joys, once cherished, + There’s a withered rose and a brown, sere leaf; + Ah! dear were the hopes that perished, + Yet there’s wealth of life, in the golden sheaf. + + * * * * * + + When a gleam of the sun, thro’ a rift in the storm, + Throws a light on our path, that was shadowed before, + We look to the cloud, for the beautiful form + Of the bow, that is promise to us, evermore. + + * * * * * + + The rose is girt with thorns about, + The berries sweet, with briars— + Thus Fate doth ever hedge us from + Our heart’s supreme desires. + + * * * * * + + Tossing, rolling, restless sea, + Picture thou of Life to me—Shadow-clouds + now floating o’er, + Foam and drift-wood on the shore:— + Depths of dark and billowy waves, + Wrecking hopes and hollowing graves— + Breaking on the beach in moans, + Seem thy cavern’s echoed groans. + + Prosperous winds, and thou wilt bear, + On thy heaving bosom fair, + Snowy sails, with treasures laden + From the distant, sun-kissed Aden,— + Costly fabrics—richest stores, + For their own, dear, home-lit shores, + Where Love’s altars brightly burn, + While she waits their glad return. + + * * * * * + + In all this beauteous world of ours + What gift, of Love, so sweet as flowers! + + * * * * * + + O, sweet is the fountain of soothing + That ever is found in His Word— + Drink deeply when heart-wounds are bleeding + And the peace of the spirit is stirred. + + + + +Words. + + + O, words may be loving and mellow in tone, + Sweet as the dew on the flowers of Hermon, + Gently imparting a blessing their own, + Precious with promise, as Olivet’s sermon. + + Words may be careless, and cruel and coarse— + Be tauntingly hurled, or so bitterly spoken, + Resistless as lightning’s destroying force, + They scar with their scathing the heart they have broken. + + Words may have edge that is keener than steel— + May pierce with their points like the swift-flying arrow; + They hurt with these stings while the victim will feel, + Then tear through the heart like a torturing harrow. + + Words may be venomed with malice and spite, + May wither with scorn, with contempt and derision— + Be dreaded like adders when coiling to bite + Or hiss out their poison in whispered suspicion. + + Aye, words may be vile as a basilisk’s breath— + A falsehood the germ—an ovum of evil, + Impregnate with calumny’s virus innate, + Then heated and hovered by envy and hate; + Thus “brooded by serpents,” like the monster medieval, + Come forth with his powers of blasting with death. + + But words that are warmed in the sunlight of love + Will soothe with their feeling a brother’s affliction; + ’Tis the Spirit from heaven that comes like a dove, + So gently descending in sweet benediction. + + ’Tis blessed receiving what kindness imparts, + How trifling so ever the token, + Thrice blessed, the giving of solace to hearts + That words of injustice have blighted and broken. + There’s comfort and balm for life’s various smarts + In words of true sympathy, tenderly spoken. + + + + +Mother. + + + Oh! mother, mine, mother, mine, come to me now, + With a touch of thy hand sweep the care from my brow; + Oh, come, on the wings of the silences come, + Dear mother, my own, as you reigned in our home. + + Oh! mother, mine, mother, mine, come now at eve. + I sit in the gloaming, in loneliness grieve; + The world is so selfish, so cold and unkind, + Sweet solace for pain in thy love I would find. + + Oh! mother, mine, mother, mine, hear me, I pray! + In the silence of night, blot the sorrows of day; + And point me away from the earth and its care. + To the beautiful dwelling—that mansion so fair, + + Where mother, mine, mother mine, waiteth for me, + With loved ones who’re watching my barque on life’s sea— + Who’ll stretch out their welcoming hands from the shore, + When I reach the glad haven, all buffetings o’er. + + + + +Hands. + + + There are hands we fondly cherish + Not alone for form and grace, + But the loving deeds that mold them, + Place them next a sainted face. + + They can soothe as if with magic, + When the fever-furies rage; + Their caresses, unobstrusive, + E’en a heartache can assuage. + + Hands can emphasize a welcome, + Far beyond the gifts of speech, + And their language, plain and truthful, + Doubt did never yet impeach. + + Aye! there’s feeling warm and tender, + Ever pulsing in the palm, + In whose kindly, silent pressure + Sorrow finds a healing balm. + + Love’s sweet mysteries course their fingers, + For their lightest touch of tips + Has the secret gift of thrilling, + Like affection’s clinging lips. + + They can knit with mystic flosses + Such a net about the heart— + Earth has naught so near a heaven + As this thraldom doth impart. + + Hands have heart-beats throbbing through them + And the lightning flash of thought; + ’Tis by such that grand impulsions + Into living deeds are wrought. + + Hands may be a sculptor’s pattern, + Tipped with smooth, shell-tinted nails, + Yet convey a touch, repulsive + As of scaly serpent trails. + + If the soul is gross and selfish, + There’s no art the trait conceals, + But the hand in mold or clasping, + To the sentient heart reveals. + + Idle hands are limp and nerveless, + Lack expression, fervor, grasp— + They receive nor give sensation, + Simply lie within your clasp. + + Hands may flash a wealth of jewels, + Yet display a pauper soul— + God inscribes these outspread tablets + From the spirit’s hidden scroll. + + + + +Endymion. + + + When the noble son of Zeus + Asked the gift of youth immortal, + Little wot he of the ages + Stretching onward from life’s portal; + Tho’ he walked with gods, he wearied, + Wished for rest, intense and deep,— + Asked another gift of Zeus; + That of everlasting sleep. + + And his thoughtless wish was granted; + Glad he hushed his soul’s repining + In the winged god’s misty vapors + And, on Latmos’ height reclining, + Laid down all earth’s cares and trials— + All its wearying heat and strife, + Yet within his dormant being, + Held the essences of life. + + Fair Selene, robed in beauty, + Wandering forth in loneliness, + Bent above the youth admiring— + Touched him with a light caress; + And her gazing woke his spirit + To a dream’s ecstatic bliss, + As her lips, with tender fondness, + Snatched from his that holy kiss. + + And her heart’s new, quickened pulsing + Thrilled along love’s unseen wires,— + Stirred in him responsive passion,— + Lit his soul’s electric fires. + Then the roused, enrapt Endymion, + Shaking off the slumbrous air, + Cried,—“Ye gods, take back your giving, + All life’s perils I will dare; + Wake my soul to keenest feeling, + Let its sense of pleasure reign, + Tho’ my path were paved with spear-points + I would count the waking gain.” + + Glad he left the heights so longed for, + Sought the lowland’s balmy air, + Leading her, the loved Selene, + Thro’ the flowery valleys fair, + Where the paths all flash with diamonds + From the jewelled crown of Night,— + Where the lake upon his bosom + Rocks the sleeping lillies white, + And his lullaby in whispers + Floating thro’ the leafy dell, + Mingling with perfume and zephyr + Wove a sweet entrancing spell. + + And ’twas there at Sylva’s altar, + With the gazing stars above, + Soul to soul, by mute impulsion, + That they pledged eternal love; + Ay, ’twas then the spheric paean, + Through the great expanses spread, + When in Beauty’s listening stillness, + Peace and Purity were wed. + + And tonight I see them roaming + Thro’ the flowery paths of eld— + Thro’ the valley, by the lakelet, + Where their nuptial feast was held; + Where the moon-beams dance with shadows, + In the hushed, half-hidden glen, + Shunning Mammon’s crowded cities + And the busy walks of men. + + But linger not too long, Selene,— + Hasten from thy lover’s side, + Or, in fleecy cloud-wrought vesture + From the gaze of Eos hide; + Else like darkly mantled Pleiad, + Wailing robes of forfeit glory, + Thou wilt find thy charms are stolen + By the jealous, fair Aurora. + + Hasten, hasten, for she cometh,— + Venus bright doth herald now, + All Jove’s pageantry attends her, + Erse’s gems bedeck her brow, + And her royal robes are ’broidered + Rich with rose and amethyst;— + Hasten, but with thine Endymion + Keep the holy evening tryst. + + + + +Calypso—The Lover’s Pocket. + + + Erastes saw with vain regret + A hedge of guards was thickly set + Around the fair one he would woo; + For Flora’s aid he quick applied— + “Be art of yours with Love’s allied + And Cupid’s throng shall kneel to you.” + + Then Flora wrought that mystic flower + And graced with it Love’s Sylvan bower, + And there a wildling still it grows; + The hue she gave was pearly white, + But Love would add one more delight + And mingled in a blush of rose. + + T’was given such an artless guise + That e’en suspicion’s prying eyes + Doth no intriguing plan suppose: + And there within, securely hid, + Beneath the blossom’s fringy lid + The lover’s missive finds repose. + + * * * * * + + “Wilt thou, dear maid, thy wealth resign + And drink with me love’s ruby wine— + In weal or woe my fortune’s share?” + She wrote and hid—“I will be thine— + With love’s devotion ever mine + There’s naught but I could dare.” + + A closely folded plan for flight + (That marked the nearest moonless night,) + The Orchid in its heart concealed. + While vigilance unconscious slept, + Two dusky steeds thro’ darkness swept + Across an unfrequented field + And brought the lovers quickly where + A waiting priest, with pledge and prayer, + The sacred bonds of wedlock sealed. + + Paternal pride aroused, irate, + With bluster came, a moment late,— + The holy rite had joined their hands, + The vows were made, the pledges given + That bound the twain as one in heaven, + Despite his wrath and stern commands. + + “How could you thus,” he cried in rage, + “Defy my will, disgrace my age! + I’ll disinherit and disown—And + you shall have eternal scorn + For wedding with that lowly born— + Aye, you shall reap as you have sown.” + + * * * * * + + “O, woman! thou art gall and wine— + Deceit’s worst name, to me, is thine! + I thought her will succumbed to mine, + So cheerful, happy, she had seemed. + I felt within a conscious pride + In power to hold, subdue and guide— + That she was conquered, fondly dreamed.” + + “Along the wood she walked with me, + Among the wild flowers, gay and free, + (I guarded her with watchful eye,) + With eager hand she plucked and smiled + As guileless as a happy child— + No love-lorn look—no sob or sigh.” + + “Aye, woman’s ways and woman’s wiles + Are knitted in with looks and smiles + By which man’s wisdom oft is foiled. + She’ll seem so gently yielding _will_ + While scheming for her own way, still— + With sweet deceits will blind us, till + Our dearest hopes have been despoiled.” + + “But, ’tis senseless nursing helpless wrath,— + Shall I strew thorns along her path + Whose only dower’s a father’s curse?— + Drive them out with want to roam? + I think I’ll take the couple home— + In truth, her parents did much worse.” + + * * * * * + + Calypso, still with winning grace, + Adorns the ferny, sedgey place + By purling brook or shaded dell, + And only Cupid knows its art + Of hiding in its fragrant heart + The secret, sweet, that Love would tell. + + + + +What Is Love? + + + Not the fierce-destroying power + Of the hot sirocco’s breath, + Withering every tender flower, + Strewing all its path with death + Or helpless, silent sorrow. + + ’Tis a strength that holds each feeling + But a slave to do its will— + Every wish, abjectly kneeling, + Waits its mandate to fulfill + Or creeps, by stealth, in shadow. + + ’Tis Life’s sacred, golden chalice, + From as rich a vintage filled + For the cottage, as the palace— + Sweetest draughts have been distilled + With want upon the lever. + + ’Tis a tender, true devotion, + Never soiled by thoughts of pelf, + But with gladsome, sweet emotion + To its altar bringing _self_, + A sacrificial offering.— + + Joy’s bell whose silver ringing + Down the ages has been borne + Ever since in Eden, singing, + Wedded love hailed rosy morn— + Still the tones fall sweet as ever. + + ’Tis the Horeb of the spirit, + Where no coarse-shod thought may tread, + The part divine, which souls inherit + From love’s holy Fountain-Head, + Influent with our being. + + + + +Sleighing. + + + Hear the bells, distant bells! + How the merry music swells, + As the steed, with noble speed, + Nearer, nearer, nearer comes, + Strength doth wing his flying feet; + Onward, onward, onward going, + With a strong and rythmic beat; + Youth, with health and beauty glowing, + Blends a rippling, laughter peal + With the ringing hoofs of steel— + How the mingling music hums! + + Hear the bells, joyous bells! + Love’s sweet tale their music tells, + As they go o’er glistening snow; + Wildly, wildly, rushing by, + Fainter grow the hoof-beats now, + Fainter, fainter, fainter growing; + Venus shines on evening’s brow, + Moonlight floods o’er earth are flowing; + O, the reckless wild delights + Of a sparkling, winter night’s + Sleighing, ’neath a moonlit sky! + + Ho, the bells, merry bells! + Rapture in their music dwells; + Raptures sweet, in bliss repeat, + Gliding, gliding, o’er the snow. + Every pulse with pleasure thrills; + To the heart new joys revealing. + As when springtime, bird-note trills + Stir the sweetest fount of feeling, + Welling with all tender thought, + From the dulcet music caught, + Blending all in joyous flow! + + * * * * * + + Hark, the bells—homeward bells! + Something now their music quells, + For they go, tinkling—so— + Tinkle—tinkle—seem to wait; + Why that steed such lagging feet, + When returning, homeward going? + (’Mong the furs their faces meet)— + Ah! that nag is very knowing, + Stepping lightly o’er the snow— + Have their whispers, soft and low, + Changed his mood and changed his gait? + + + + +First Love. + + + Tender and true as the starlight of heaven, + Sweet as the heart of a bud when it opes, + Swift as the flash of the cloud-leaping levin, + Rich as the springtime in promise and hopes, + Pure as the gleam of the dew on the flowers + Is love’s first awakening in youth’s dreamy hours. + + It sings in the heart like a forest-hid rill— + Runs over its rim like a rock-basined spring; + Strong, it o’erpowers cold reason with will, + Impulsively binding two lives with a ring. + It goes where it listeth, unreined as the wind, + So reckless, ’tis said, that the love god is blind. + + Joyful, yet trembling like a zephyr-kissed rose, + Flushing and paling like skies of the dawn, + Silent, lest speech shall the secret disclose, + Wayward and shy as a mountain-bred fawn, + Flying the bosom where yearning to rest, + Hushing the tenderness, thrilling the heart, + Palpitant tempests disturbing the breast; + Enjoying—enduring the sweet and the smart + That comes of the wounding with Cupid’s first dart. + + + + +Man. + + + O, grand and worshipful that being MAN, + As fashioned by a maiden’s dream-lit mind! + To her, his soul has nobleness enshrined— + ’Tis pure—Love’s altar-place, where God began, + ’Neath Eden’s flow’ry groves, the household plan. + In rose-mist wreathed, by sweet enchantment blind, + How oft she’s worshiped, wedded, but to find + The real, no more her dream, than piping Pan. + + Some “noble deeds” bear cold ambition’s stain, + And chaff is found among Love’s golden grain. + ’Tis well the rose-mist lifts and clearer beams + Show man’s real self, e’en tho’ it give her pain, + Else, so idolatrous, she might, it seems, + Forget her God, if he were all she dreams. + + + + +Trust of Childhood. + + + An angel comes down from the realms of light, + To guard me in slumber, thro’ hours of the night; + Her presence is gentle, I feel she is there, + As soon as I’ve uttered my evening prayer; + So tenderly watching she stays in my room + Till darkness has folded his mantle of gloom. + I’ve felt on my forehead her soft finger tips + And the touch of her kiss, lightly pressed on my lips, + To waken me gently, ere leaving my bed, + When morning’s bright beauties o’er earth had been spread. + + Forbearing to open my earth-gazing eyes + To look on the guardian sent from the skies, + I’ve listened and heard, e’en the rustle of wings; + And then at the casement, where mocking bird swings, + A sweeping of roses and jasmines I’ve heard, + And knew that their beauty and perfume were stirred + By her gossamer robes, as she hastened away, + To the rose-tinted gateway that opens to day; + (For Heaven, I know, is but little beyond, + Where glories of morn, in its borders have dawned); + And then by the holiness left in the room, + Afloat, like the fragrance from violet bloom, + I knew that a presence had surely been there, + Had left with me blessing, and wafted my prayer + To the throne of the Father for guidance and care. + + * * * * * + + O, trust of my childhood! bright halo of youth! + Come, veil for tonight the stern visage of truth; + With faith that’s elysian, I’d drift down the stream + To imagery islands, with beauty agleam, + And hear, as I heard in the far away years, + (Ere fancy’s young dream had been melted in tears), + A strain from a harp, floating over to me, + From a cloud-bannered sky, bending down to the sea, + Where golden-crowned angels could plainly be seen + With robings of white, in the glimmering sheen. + + Then Heaven was near, and the curtain of blue + So thin, that at sunset the glory shone through; + Those silken illusions, inflated with joy, + Phylosophy’s hand has been swift to destroy; + And reason’s keen steel, that’s so cruelly cold, + Has cut thro’ the shimmer of heavenly gold, + And left but the hard-featured science of light + That will not be veiled for a dream of tonight. + + + + +Alone. + + “Laugh and the world laughs with you; + Weep and you weep alone.” + + + In her soul’s secret temple she’s standing alone: + Her being’s real self, in the silence will bow; + O’er that altar, once glowing, cold ashes are strown— + Where sunshine once flooded, the shadows fall now. + + Away from the world, and alone with her God, + She kneels in this consecrate place and may weep; + This temple, by coarse sandaled grossness, untrod, + Is never unbarred till the world is asleep. + + She leaves there her grief, with its shadowy stole, + Concealing her anguish, with trembling and fear;—Must + laugh, tho’ it lines a black scath on her soul, + For the world will not _pay_ for the sigh and the tear. + + Aye, leaves there her sackcloth and shuts to the door; + She puts on the mask for the frivolous world + Her frail barque is launched ’mid its tumult and roar— + Unhelmed, thro’ its mammon-cut channels ’tis hurled. + + The laugh, the world echoes, grows empty and hard + When the jingle of gold is the mirth-stirring power; + The soul is, by Avarice, shrivelled and scarred + When it barters for pottage, a heavenly dower. + + God fits us, thro’ suffering, for Sympathy’s needs; + ’Tis warring with wrong that will win for the Right; + Oft Sorrow’s lone path, to His ripe vineyard, leads— + Christ gave us, through Gethsame, heavenly light. + + Go work in His vineyard wherever ’tis needed + And earnestly work for the sake of the need; + Be Fame’s fickle promise forever unheeded, + Unknown, in thy labor, the miser’s low greed. + + + + +Night. + + + Thro’ azure paths fair Venus comes with golden bars + To close the gates of Day. The twilight’s dusky stole + Is lightly spangled o’er with heaven’s brightest stars; + Soon Night will bring her countless ones whose ceaseless roll + Thro’ boundless depths of space, repeat creation’s song. + Thus canopied by God’s omnipotence, outspread, + The earth doth lull and soothe her surging, restless throng + With brooding calm. Sleep’s poppied sweets for toil are shed. + + When strife is hushed to rest, by Nature’s drowsy hum + And barter’s dins are stilled—its flaunting ensigns furled, + When, drugged with Somnus’ wines, earth’s noisy crowds are dumb + And stillness spreads her slumber-robe, so softly o’er the world, + ’Tis joy to watch Night’s queenly orb, climb up the eastern stair, + And pour her flood of silver light o’er hills and bowers, + That in the sacred silence gleam, so radiant and fair, + In glistening robes of green and dewy, fragrant flowers. + + All hail, blest hour of cool repose, when Labor’s chains + That bind the mind, thro’ all the day, to weary tasks + Are loosed! Ay, now, the soul, in freedom from their pains, + May drink from founts of pure supernal joy. It basks + In glories which the night o’er earth and sky hath strown. + Compassion sweet, the dewy coolness doth impart + And dreamy perfumes, by the balmy breezes blown, + Are evening’s sweet acopic, when she folds us to her heart. + + + + +Disappointment. + + + We plant sometimes a tender flower— + Watch and wait through sun and shower; + Mark its tiny leaflets, green, + Then, the upward shoot between,— + Springing, springing, tendrils clinging, + Hopes like cherubs round it winging + Whispering of the blooming time. + + Watch the buds burst thro’ their sheathing, + Beauty’s promise, round them wreathing, + Dream of fragrance they enfold, + Lovely blooms, almost, behold, + Reach an eager hand for grasping— + Find the tendrils all unclasping— + Withered, ere the blooming time. + + + + +Love’s Ideal. + + + Was there ever a love like the love of my dream? + Love, holy, unselfish, devoted and pure, + Unfailing and sweet as the flow of a stream + Whose source is a spring, that God made to endure. + + A love that is LOVE, with no blending of dross; + Where soul, unto soul, giveth strength of its own— + A love that knows never of languor or loss, + Or silently grieves that its _spirit_ has flown. + + A love with its possibles nobly fulfilled, + Where heart unto heart is e’er loyal and true, + Where blessing for each, is thro’ kindness distilled— + A rodomel never embittered with rue. + + A love that the angels, rejoicing to see, + Would guard in life’s paths from the harpies that roam; + Peace, Happiness, Charity,—loveliest three— + Would make, for such lovers, a Heaven of Home. + + + + +A Legend of the Lily. + + + Abroad, June moon was brightly beaming + In the depths of heaven’s blue, + While the asphodels were bending + With the clinging beads of dew, + When the silver rays in silence, + Glinting thro’ the swaying trees, + Saw a modest flower turning + To a roving, balmy breeze.— + + Heard the zephyr softly whisper: + “Ah! my Lily, charming, sweet— + Sure the god of love has led us + In this bowery place to meet; + Richest odors I will bring you + From the islands of the sea; + Aye, your beauty has enchained me— + Will you give your heart to me?” + + With a touch exquisite, subtile, + Then he turned to his, her face; + In her blush of deeper crimson, + That she faltered, he could trace. + “I have sought you—will you trust me? + Faithful as the stars I’ll be— + With your fragrant breathings, answer, + Will you give your love to me?” + + Frail the flower, tranced enraptured + By the lover’s soft caress, + To his tender wooing answered, + With impulsive rashness,—“yes.” + Then, exultant, zephyr gloried + In the treasure he had won— + Deftly stole her sparkling jewels, + Sharing with the rising sun. + + Brushed the spangles from her tresses + With his playful finger tips, + Bolder grew with his caresses— + Gathering sweetness from her lips; + Robbed her beauty of the freshness + That was hers in early morn— + Left her ’neath the sun of noonday, + Burning like the gaze of scorn. + + Drooping as in heat of censure + Evening found her in the dust, + Lifted her with tearful pity + From the blight of trampled trust; + But the tender flush of loving + From her face was blanched and gone, + Yet a beauty, born of trial, + Met the radiant glow of dawn. + + Now for her the moon is shining + With a calm and holy light; + Dew-like gems of rarest beauty + Sparkles on her brow at night; + With her white face turned toward heaven + In her vestal robe she stands, + As a priestess, at an altar, + Lifting consecrated hands. + + Chastest forms of beauty round her— + Stars that gem the vaulted blue + Join with her in silent warning,— + “Let thy love be pure and true— + Trusting e’en the black-browed storm-cloud, + With its leaping lightning-blaze, + Rather than the rover’s whisper, + Neath the moon’s enchanting gaze.” + + + + +To James Newton Mathews.[2] + + + Must write a sonnet!—ere the Poet’s rank, + With its devouring hopes, I dare to claim— + Ere I with them may seek a place or name— + Ere I may taste Castalia’s fount, where drank + The bards of eld, or find the flowery bank + Of clear Penneus, flashing back the flame + Of sunset fires. Thro’ moorlands, low and dank, + Alone, must grope, unlit by torch of fame. + + Tho’ Poesy should stir my soul to song + That flowed like liquid tenderness along, + Or, wild and glad as leaping forest rills— + Tho’ Nature’s music thro’ my being thrills + And Imagery, with all her fairy throng, + My dreamy world of thought and vision fills,— + Alas! I’m doomed—this stanza is a line too long. + +[2] “You must write a Sonnet to gain a Poet’s diploma.”—J. N. M. + + + + +The Great Hereafter. + + + Will the wrongs of life be righted, + Fruited there the hopes here blighted, + In the great hereafter? + Will the darkened lives be lighted + And dissevered souls united + In the great hereafter? + + Will this wearing, wild commotion + Sink to rest and sweet emotion + Calm all strife hereafter? + Will love’s slighted, fond devotion + Reach beyond life’s tossing ocean + To the great hereafter? + + Will the vows here lightly broken + With repentant tears be spoken + In the great hereafter? + The wounded one accept the token + Of the heart’s remorse unspoken + In the great hereafter? + + Gladly from its idols turning + Will the soul forget its yearning + In the great hereafter? + Thro’ a quickened sense discerning + That the labors we’ve been spurning + Keep love’s holy incense burning + In the great hereafter? + + Shall we find that hopes deceiving + Helped us on to grand achieving + In the great hereafter? + And be blest with glad receiving + What is now but faith, believing + In the great hereafter? + Will the soul that’s drunk the vial + Of a bitter self-denial + Feel the loss hereafter? + Or, thro’ sacrifice and trial, + Will it triumph o’er Belial, + In the great hereafter? + + Will the bands by dogmas riven + Scathed and scarred by anger levin, + Make a peaceful, joyous Heaven + In the great hereafter? + For the good for which they’ve striven + Will their errors be forgiven + In the great hereafter? + + There, with pomp, his work resuming + Will the bigot, still presuming, + God’s prerogative assuming + In the great hereafter, + Sit as judge, his brother dooming, + And with creed-lit torch reluming + Fires of torture “unconsuming,” + Through the great hereafter? + + Will the Wrong, the Right assailing, + Wring from suffering helpless wailing + In the great hereafter?— + Conquered Good, with banners trailing, + Seeking streams for Hope’s regaling, + Be mirage-lured, till faint and failing, + Faith becomes a phantom, sailing + Through the great hereafter? + + Or, shall our spirit eyes beholding + God’s mysterious plans unfolding + In the great hereafter, + See His strength the Right upholding + And his love the weak enfolding + In the great hereafter? + + Struggling here with opposition, + Gives, perchance, the strong volition + Some may need for angel mission, + In the great hereafter; + And the ills of life’s condition, + To the tried may bring fruition + Of a joyous, sweet elysian + In the great hereafter. + + What has seemed Fate’s unfair dealing, + May unveil, a joy revealing + In the great hereafter: + Though denying our appealing, + Made in agony of feeling, + God may still, with love’s own healing, + _Higher destiny, be sealing_ + For the Great Hereafter. + + + + +Late October. + + + The night was black—the dismal rain + First dripped from sullen, inky clouds, + And then was dashed against the pane, + By winds that shrieked like demon crowds; + When, on the midnight’s ebon breast, + The storm, a moment, lulled to rest, + I heard this low, half stifled moan + With sorrow braided in the tone— + “Who cares for me? Who, who?” + + The lurid lightning’s fitful glare + Lit all the far, horizon’s rim— + It showed the walnut, stripped and bare, + And clutching one great, leafless limb + Sat something weird, of dusky form; + Defenceless, in the pelting storm, + She faced alone that angry sky— + October’s voice seemed in the cry, + “Who cares for me? Who, Who?” + + With rush and wrench an angered fiend + The loosened shutters clanged and swung, + His single stroke the grove had preened + And wide its deadened branches flung, + And from the wide, o’er-hanging eaves + He tore the crimson ivy leaves + And wildly whirled them on the blast— + The phantom murmured, as they passed, + “Who cares for me? Who, Who?” + + The maples writhed as, tempest torn, + Their branches beat the gables high, + And, in the storm’s dark bosom borne, + Mad thunders bellowed thro’ the sky. + She spurned the spruce, with stately form, + Whose robes of green might shield and warm, + And yet, like sobbing on the gale, + Was monotoned that dismal wail, + “Who cares for me? Who, Who?” + + Again the leaping lightnings glared, + The wind swept down the clinging vines, + In twisting gusts the trees were bared, + It rocked and tossed the rasping pines; + Unmoved, amid the tempest there, + And as the wraith of grim despair, + Still clutched the limb, that dusky form, + Repeating to the driving storm, + “Who cares for me? Who, who?” + + The arbor gleamed with tangled vines, + Where, erstwhile, hung, ’mid emerald sheen, + The clustering wealth of unpressed wines; + And charms of scarlet, gold and green, + With opulence of fruit and grain, + Poured riches for October’s reign; + Now, conquered, robbed, usurped her throne, + Her sorrow welling in the moan, + “Who cares for me? Who, who?” + + * * * * * + + The morning sun is mocking cold— + The vanquished queen stands, pale, forlorn, + Her gauzy veil of dream and gold, + And royal robes, all rent and torn, + With bannered glories, trampled down, + To bring her victor’s sparkling crown. + She feebly smiles and passes on + To join the old October’s, gone— + November wails—“Who cares.” + + + + +On the Beach. + + + O, tell me, rolling, tossing billow, + Where thy place of rest may be!— + Who shall find, and who peruse them, + Were these lines consigned to thee! + Will the wild winds catch and carry, + ’Mid the waves tumultuous roar, + Leaving them where golden glory + Flames along the sunset shore? + + Pillowed on thy throbbing bosom + _Where_ will this wee, waifling drift? + Will an eager hand stretch for it, + Thinking some strange tale to lift— + A record brief of direst peril + In a storm-wrecked sinking ship— + The moment when all hope had left them— + The tale ne’er told by human lip? + + Or, will thy rolling, rocking cradle + Hold the casket unrevealed, + Till thy wrenching, prying fingers + Hath its secrets all unsealed?— + Dropping then the worthless trifle + Where wealth’s storm-wrecked treasures lie, + In thy mystic, wave-worn caverns, + Hidden aye, from mortal eye. + + + + +Hidden. + + + Oft the heart is full of weeping + When no tears escape the lids; + Bravely will stands guard o’er feeling + And the tell-tale flow forbids, + And for love of those who love us + Every sign of sorrow hides, + Counterfeiting joy and gladness + Where in secret, grief abides. + + Though we try to gild with sunshine + Thorny paths we needs must tread, + Hiding, ’neath a show of courage, + That we go with shrinking dread— + Tho’ we hush the sob of mourning + For the strong true love we knew, + Yet affection’s sacred altar + With forget-me-nots we strew. + + Every sentient heart holds hidden, + From the gaze of prying eyes, + All its sorrows. E’en its raptures + From such sharing it denies. + Love of some and dread of others + Shut the heart with bolts and bars; + We shrink to wound our loving dear ones— + We dread the sympathy that jars. + + But, when night is darkly brooding + Over earth with raven wings, + Feeling may, with unseen fingers, + Sweep the spirit’s trembling strings. + Then, within its secret chamber, + May the heart’s own words be said— + There alone, with Love’s one taper, + All its bitter tears may shed. + + + + +My Robins Are Gone. + + + My robins are gone— + The last one has flown; + With a pang in my breast + I look into the nest + And know I’m forever alone. + + The night will come in thro’ the crimsoning west, + Repeating that lesson of pain— + “The robin that once has flown out of the nest + Seeks never its shelter again.” + My robins are gone, etc. + + O, glad was my heart with its fullness of love + When fondly I cared for them all, + But now I’m alone, in the shadowy grove, + And they are too far for recall. + My robins are gone, etc. + + The world was so wide, and the skies were so blue, + They tempted my darlings away; + In the bright, dewy morning so buoyant they flew, + Nor dreamed of the noon-heat of day. + My robins are gone, etc. + + I’ll stay by the lonely, embowered, old nest— + Some stars will beam down thro’ the night; + I’ll hush my heart’s cry with a “God knoweth best,” + And wait for the dawn of the light. + Tho’ my robins are gone, + Tho’ the last one has flown, + They’ll think of the tree + That is sheltering me,— + They’ll be to me ever my own. + + + + +Winterbloom. + + + Oh! beautiful winterbloom, why did you tarry? + O, why in Spring’s glory of budding and bloom, + Were hidden your jewels, wee, golden and starry, + To open them now, in November’s chill gloom? + + The crocuses first heard the warm breezes calling, + The dandelions glowed in their emerald sea + And lilies, sun-kissed, in the lakelets were lolling— + All Flora’s enchantments were beckoning thee. + + When June, in soft airs, swung her rose-freighted censer, + And dew gems were set with the buttercup’s gold—The + annual bloom, growing brighter and denser— + Why still, from the summer, your beauty withhold? + + “When Spring in her gladness poured beauty around you, + And joy bells rang with most musical tone, + When opulent Summer with riches had crowned you, + My coming had then been unheeded, unknown. + + Now flowers of springtime and summer have left you, + The winter’s foreclosure has shadowed the home— + Of the last clinging leaves the cold winds have bereft you— + As a friend in Adversity, now I am come.” + + + + +The Old Home. + + + The empty hammock, in the grove, + The playful breeze is swinging— + Wild birds, of varied note and plume, + In Babel jargon singing, + Come boldly near my silent door, + And e’en the woodland thrushes + Pour forth for me, their floods of song, + In sweet, melodious gushes. + + And nearer still, the squirrels come, + Among the walnuts leaping, + And gather in their winter stores + Without the toil of reaping.— + The tennis plot is overgrown + With long, untrodden grasses— + Above it hangs, from unpruned boughs, + Their foliage wealth in masses. + + The lichens lengthen on the trees— + They blotch, with gray, the fences + And prove decadence is of years, + Whatever our pretenses; + The storm-worn roof and gables all + Suggest inceptive mosses— + The ample house, with silent rooms, + Hope’s argosy and losses. + + The shrubs that once bore stately bloom + Are now a bushy tangle, + Where tribes of beetles, thro’ the spring, + O’er blighted beauty wrangle; + And goldenrod, with kindly grace, + Hides, with her shining tassels, + Neglected spots, where once was built, + Young Fancy’s airy castles. + + The bell, that called the dinner hour + With deep, revibrant clanging, + Is woven round with maple boughs, + Its stranded rope, down-hanging, + Has won a morning-glory bloom + To twine its frayed out fringes, + And trumpet vine creeps o’er the gate + To hide its broken hinges. + + Now silence reigns where once was heard + The ring of childish laughter;— + They’ll come no more—“our little boys”— + In all the years hereafter; + Yet winds oft join with listless mood + To cheat me with the seeming— + A dimpled hand tugs at the latch— + But ah! ’twas only dreaming. + + They’re out upon the field of Life + Where blades of strength are clashing, + Where true and false contend for aye + With thought’s bright spear-points flashing, + And we must hush love’s hunger-cry + And still the selfish yearning— + Must hide the heart’s fond worship, tho’ + Its altar fires are burning. + + But mother-love can make her strong + To check her own heart’s throbbing, + And bid them go with steady voice + While _self’s_ in secret, sobbing; + Then she will whisper broken words + Alone with God in prayer, + And find that heavenly blessing falls + For every cross we bear. + + + + +Thought. + + + Backward, backward Thought has traveled, + Back into the dim unknown, + When the spheres in cosmic star-dust + Circled His eternal throne— + Back where cosmogonic darkness, + Wrought upon by Spirit light, + Yielded elemental centers + And protoplastic satellite. + + Back, where first creative forces, + By impulsion from “The Cause,” + Start the universe in motion, + Guided by unerring laws— + Hurl the spheric fiery masses + Thro’ abysmal depths of space— + Meting out to each an orbit + With defined, unchanging place. + + Thought, from thence, fares down the aeons + Thro’ the long chaotic night, + While His omnipresent agents + (Each a vast deific might) + Fashion to His will and purpose + Thro’ infinitude of spheres; + In our own group change evolving + Till Earth’s infant life appears— + + Till creation felt Time’s fullness, + Surging thro’ unmeasured night, + That should rend the swathe of vapors + With command—“Let there be Light—” + Felt the rolling, tossing tumult + Of the fierce, internal sweep + When the thunder-toned volcanos + Lifted lands from shoreless deep. + + Then, from formless void emerging, + Earth spread wide her fields and hills, + Woke the untrod glooms with music + Of her new-born leaping rills;— + Then the firmament, in grandeur, + Lit its unveiled depths of blue + With the moon in full-orbed beauty + And the young stars beaming through. + + And the sunshine thrilled earth’s bosom, + Quickened germ-imprisoned life— + Soon the hillsides and the valleys + Were with floral beauty rife;—Forests + robed the mountain ranges, + Bound their sun-crooned brows with green, + While the mighty, sea-fed rivers + Rolled in majesty between. + + * * * * * + + Farther on in Life’s gradations + He who tuned the spheric roll, + Back in Nature’s barred Arcana, + Gave and clothed the human soul. + Hush, oh thought, nor dare to question + _How_ creative laws adjust! + Canst thou comprehend Jehovah + Or the elemental “dust?” + + Here, oh spirit, rest with child-faith; + Covet not forbidden things. + LIFE, the vainly sought for secret, + Proof, to us, of Godhood brings— + Of the Infinite, beyond us— + Far beyond the grasp of mind;— + Kneeling, trusting, here we worship + God—Jehovah, Undefined. + + + + +Columbus. + + + O’er the stormy, pathless seas, + Nobly proud, the Genoese + To a shadowed realm sailed; + With a will to brave and bear, + Sought he chance to do and dare, + ’Mid the perils he must share + That Earth’s grandeur be unveiled. + + Pilgrims sailed to lighted shores, + Hope and Home with open doors, + But thro’ dusky deeps, unknown, + Boldly this explorer plowed, + Facing danger’s darkling crowd + And Fate’s looming, gestant cloud, + From the waste of waters blown. + + Heaven gave to him a soul + Finely fashioned to control + With a wondrous spirit might— + That should sweep of doubt and fear, + Broad and bright, a pathway clear— + By it lift a hemisphere + Into Freedom’s joyous light. + + Purpose, daring were sublime— + His the crowning deeds of Time; + Life, for others’ gain, was spent + Opening Earth’s great treasure-doors— + Half a world with Bounty’s stores— + Mountains, rich in precious ores— + Caves with sparkling gems besprent. + + Justice gave unquestioned claim + To the highest niche of Fame, + But what recompense was Spain’s? + She, thro’ craven sons of lust, + Honor stabbed, with feigned distrust— + Trampled his great soul in dust, + Scorned and loaded him with chains. + + Now she comes to steal his bones: + Earth revile! In thunder tones + Tell the tale of wrong and shame; + Write this edict out in flame— + In the hemisphere he gave, + (Which he begged might be his grave) + She, of Greed, the wasted slave, + Shall have nevermore a name. + + + + +Transcriber’s note + + +Poem titles were originally printed in a stylized, “Gothic”-variety +typeface (think New York Times masthead). Fonts which are a reasonable +approximation of this, and which this ebook will display if you have +them installed, include Old English Text MT, Chomsky, Cloister Black, +Old London. + +The following probable printer errors were corrected. + + Page 47, “i ngering” changed to “lingering” (I’m lingering now) + Page 89, “Indnite” changed to “Infinite” (lighted with Infinite love) + Page 98, “temptest” changed to “tempest” (by sorrow’s tempest shaken) + Page 104, “Chrstians” changed to “Christians” (When Christians are one) + Page 149, “Queiscent” changed to “Quiescent” (Quiescent in that blest + repose) + Page 178, “prsence” changed to “presence” (I knew that a presence had + surely been there) + Page 191, “herafter” changed to “hereafter” (beyond life’s tossing + ocean / To the great hereafter) + Page 197, “Wtih bannerd” changed to “With bannered” (With bannered + glories) + Page 198, “rollng” changed to “rolling” (thy rolling, rocking cradle) + Page 200, “shrniking” changed to “shrinking” (That we go with shrinking + dread) + Page 209, “satelite” changed to “satellite” (And protoplastic satellite) + Page 209, “unchangnig” changed to “unchanging” (With defined, unchanging + place.) + Page 210, “Lfited” changed to “Lifted” (Lifted lands from shoreless + deep.) + Page 211, “migthy” changed to “mighty” (mighty, sea-fed rivers) + +Punctuation, hyphenation, and word spacing errors were amended without +further note. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76279 *** |