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diff --git a/8146.txt b/8146.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..19481a6 --- /dev/null +++ b/8146.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3114 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Victor Roy, A Masonic Poem, by Harriet Annie Wilkins + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Victor Roy, A Masonic Poem + +Author: Harriet Annie Wilkins + +Posting Date: August 4, 2012 [EBook #8146] +Release Date: May, 2005 +First Posted: June 19, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VICTOR ROY, A MASONIC POEM *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Curtis Weyant, Dave Maddock, +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + + + + + +VICTOR ROY; + +A Masonic Poem. + +BY +HARRIETT ANNIE WILKINS. + +DEDICATED, BY PERMISSION, +TO +DANIEL SPRY, ESQ. + +GRAND MASTER OF THE +GRAND LODGE, A.F. & A.M. +OF CANADA. + + + +PREFACE. + +An anecdote appeared some time ago in the pages of "The Craftsman" which +gave rise to the ideas embodied in "Victor Roy." It is not a story of +profound depth. Its aim is not to soar to Alpine heights of imagination, +or to excavate undiscovered treasures from the mines of thought. It is a +very simple story, told in very simple words, of such lives as are around +us in our midst. It tells of sorrows that are daily being borne by +suffering humanity, and of the faith that gives strength to that suffering +humanity to endure "seeing Him, who is invisible." All lives may not see +their earth day close in sunshine, but somewhere the sun is shining, and +all true cross-bearers shall some day become true crown-wearers. The +following pages have some references to that Ancient Order which comes +down the centuries, bearing upon its structure the marks of that Grand +Master Builder, who gave to the visible universe "the sun to rule the day, +the moon and stars to govern the night;" an Order which, like these +wondrous orbs, is grand in its mysterious symbolism, calm in its +unvarying circles, universal in its beneficence. + +We are told of a poor weary traveller who had plucked a flower. The +shadows of a grand cathedral lay before him. He entered; its +architecture charmed him, its calmness refreshed him. Approaching a +shrine he laid his flower upon it, saying: "It is all I can give; it, +too, is God's work, although gathered by a feeble, dying hand." A priest +standing near looked upon the flower and said: "God bless you, my +brother, heaven is nearer to me." So, if by the perusal of "Victor Roy" +one ear hears more distinctly the Apostolic declaration, "Pure religion +is to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction," or if one +poor sinking spirit is strengthened, as Longfellow says, to "touch God's +right hand in the darkness," the wishes of the Authoress will be fully +accomplished. + +HARRIETT ANNIE. + +Hamilton, August, 1882. + + + + + +VICTOR ROY. + + + + +Victor's Soliloquy. + + + +Heavily rolleth the wintry clouds, + And the ceaseless snow is falling, falling, +As the frost king's troops in their icy shrouds, + Whistle and howl, like lost spirits calling. + +But a warm luxuriantly furnished room, + Is an antidote to the wild night storm, +Lamplight and firelight banish the gloom, + No poverty stalks there with cold gaunt form. + +Yet there seems a shadow, yes even there, + Where all is so peacefully grand and still, +No fair young face with its shining hair, + No voice of love with its musical thrill. + +One reigneth alone in that mansion grand, + And his day of life has long past its noon, +The wanderer of many a foreign land, + Rests, calmly waiting Heaven's final boon. + + +There are lines on his brow of grief and care, + Writ with a quill from Time's feathered wing. +There are silver threads in the chesnut hair, + The blossoms white of a fair dawning spring. + +Yet Victor Roy has a kindly word, + And a kindly smile for all he meets; +No cry of distress is by him unheard, + While many a blessing his pathway greets. + +"Yes, that's right Jasper, draw the curtains close, +And make the fire burn bright; +God help the poor and suffering ones +Within this city to-night. +Did your wife send food to that sick girl in the market lane to-day? +Did you carry coals to the man whose limbs were crushed by the loaded + dray? +Well, that's all right, what is it you say? you wish that I did but know +The comfort I give to hearts that are weak, or erring or low. +Have you turned lecturer, Jasper? no; but it makes you sad, +To see me lonely and quiet when I'm making others glad. +But Jasper, remember that you and I, hold certain things in trust, +We must gain some interest on our gold, not let it lie and rust. +I am but a steward for the King, till the time of his return, +There, that will do, supper at ten; how bright those fresh coals burn." +Poor Jasper, he thinks me moping and sad; well, well, I only know +I do not wish that he or aught should ever consider me so, +It would seem like base ingratitude to the Ruler of my way, +Who showers His blessings about and around me every day. +But oh, Great Architect, whose hand has carved my destiny, +There was a time when in my pride, I owned not Thine nor Thee, +Unheeding the Holy Light Divine to man's dark pathway sent, +Unheeding the Bible, blessed chart, to storm tossed sailors sent; +With a film in my eyes, I would not see the ladder based on earth, +Yet reaching to the cloud-crowned height, where the true Light has birth. +The beautiful angels passing up, with all our prayers to God, +Our tears and moans, our fading flowers, all stained with mire and sod-- +And coming down; ah, many a time I have blessed the Lord above, +For His pure descending angels, bringing Faith, and Hope, and Love. +There was a time when all this wealth of glory was lost on me, +And I was like a rudderless ship, far out on the rocking sea, +I had a friend, oh that blessed word, we had been parted for years, +And I wandered one day to find him, my heart had no cloudy fears. +That day stands out in bold relief upon Memory's wreck-strewn shore, +Like a beacon light in the lighthouse, undimned by the rush and roar. +'Twas a day in the early June, the clover was red in the field, +And the zephyrs garnered the kisses, the gentle violets yield. +Birds sang, and the sunshine flickered out and about through the cloud, +What had a day like that to do with a pall, a coffin, a shroud? +I stood in a flower-decked churchyard, and on the procession came, +Why did I ask to be answered back, that his was the sleeper's name, +Nearer now to the dark brown earth the band of his brothers turned, +And on snowy aprons and collars of blue the merry sunbeams burned, +I, like a suddenly petrified stone, stood mid the crowd that day, +And with ears which seemed to be leaden, I listened and heard one say: + + "Brother, we have met before, + Where the Tyler guards the door, + We have given the well-known sign, + That has blent our souls with thine, + Now this eve, thou giv'st no word, + Back to our souls deep stired, + For the Angel Tylers wait, + At thy Lodge Room's mystic gate. + + "Brother, thou art taking rest, + We must still the wild storm breast, + We must build through mist and night, + Thou hast seen the quenchless Light, + While we hew the shapeless stone, + Thou hast bowed before the Throne, + While we tread the chequered floor, + Thou hast pass'd the golden door. + + "Oh Companion, were we there, + Ended every pleading prayer, + Ended all the work and toil, + Gathered all the fruit and spoil, + Finished all the war of sin, + By the Warden's hand shut in, + Brother; once again with thee, + What would our first greeting be? + + "Loved Companions, we have given, + To the guardianship of Heaven, + Our Brother's precious dust, + And in memory of the just, + Be it ours still to guard, + All he loved, with watch and ward, + Till like him we reach a shore, + Where these sorrows come no more." + +"All he loved," I knew as I stood there, he loved not one of that band +As we had loved in our boyhood days, heart to heart and hand to hand, +They called us David and Jonathan, for our hearts were knit as one, +And now I saw him left alone, in the shades of of the dying sun; +Was it his spirit beside me stood; for do not their spirits come, +Relieved from all burden of earthly dross, and win us up to their home? +Was it his spirit urged me on, to seek for the Orient Light? +It seemed that I should be nearer him if one in that mystic rite, +Never a Syrian ready to perish, needed more timely aid, +Never a pilgrim knocked at the door and found more restful shade, +Aye, time has carried me on some way, since the hour I saw the light, +And morning has gone, noontide has gone, now soon must draw on the night. +I heard the young lads in the office talking about me to-day, +I did not mean to play the part of eaves-dropper in their way, +They were wondering who in the name of fate, I would find for my heir, +Wondering why I never was married, there are some so proud and fair, +They knew I could have for the asking, and so they went on with their fun, +Till the "Senior Partner" gave a cough, and then all their mirth was done. +But I asked from Heaven though I know the way is mingled flower and thorn, +That not one from partner to porter may bear all I have borne. +So Jasper thinks I am sad; how the wintry winds whistle to-night! +Heaven grant no poor woman or children are out in this sleety blight. +I cannot read this eve; what ails me? "Chronicle," "Tribune" and "Times," +Lie looking coaxingly at me, I heed not their prose or rhymes, +Is it thinking so much of Arthur, brings Aimee before me here, +Aimee, my idol, my darling, my pet, who always spoke words of cheer, +Did I say what brings her near me to-night, she is with me every day. +God help me, for Aimee's another man's wife three thousand miles away, +Oh how we loved! there's no use in talking, all do not love the same, +To some 'tis the bread and breath of life, to some it is only a name. +We were going to be married the coming spring, we had planned our nest, +Down in the fairest of fairy dells, in sight of the blue sea's breast, +When Uncle Roy who had sailed to India, many long years before, +Gone from the towers of Edinburgh, and made piles of golden store, +Sent for me all in a hurry and ere long he died on my breast, +And far from the land of the heather we laid him gently to rest. +And then came the fever to me, sick and weak at the point of death, +Raving for Aimee--they told me 'twas Aimee at every breath. +Weeks passed and I woke again one day to breath as it were new air. +The crisis over; now health, life, love and myself a millionaire. +But Victor Ellis came back no more, I was changed into Victor Roy. +Yes, a king with a crown of gold, but the gold was a broken toy, +For a letter lay by me from England, a strange hand-writing to me, +Telling me Aimee, my star of hope, was lost in the treacherous sea. +A party went boating one eve, and the pleasure boat struck the bar, +And before any help could be given, Aimee had floated out far. +Every available thing was done, that landsman or sailor could try, +So fell the burning shower of words that met my bewildered eye. +Oh the night at noon, I have wondered oft how much the heart will bear, +As strand after strand of the toughened cord, strains with the weight and + wear. +I felt I must fly, weak as I was, to where she was lying; perhaps +'Twas a merciful Providence after all, that I took a relapse. +Oh, the weary months that crawled slowly by at a tortoise creeping pace, +I seeming to hear the dash of the waves, that hid a beloved face. +Time passed, and I learnt that the roaring sea was not the treacherous + thing. +'Twas not the dumb wave, but a living man that turned to Winter my Spring, +And Aimee had married another and sought the Australian shore. +She must have thought I was dead, Heaven help me, betwixt us ocean's roar. +I have sometimes wondered if gold is ever aught but a curse, +No, that's wrong--if honestly gained, no harm in a well filled purse, +But I often think of the little home standing there by the sea, +For far off merry England, the home planned for Aimee and me. +Oh to have toiled for her from dawn till the dews of restful night, +Her smile my guerdon, her love my prize, her heart so happy and bright. +Often I wonder if peace and love have sheltered her with their wings; +Of wealth I suppose they have plenty, and the comforts money brings, +For Montrose was the heir to a large amount of money I know, +And he certainly was not the kind of man to let his money go. +But there must be something warmer than gold to brighten Aimee's sky, +And I hav'nt much faith in a man who could win such a prize by a lie. +But Heaven is good that I found him not when my soul was passion rife, +'Twould only have brought her grief, for my aim was a life for a life, +Well-a-day! come here "Chronicle," let us see if you have a word +To calm the current of burning thoughts that down to their depths are + stirred, +I'll read the first thing I meet with, murders, fires, or kingdoms riven; +Oh you are the first on the page, "Vera, to her lover in Heaven." + +"My lover why is it this night of storms, + My thoughts are ever turning to thee? +You who are sheltered from all the blast, + Hear the murmuring sounds of the crystal sea. + +"My lover; do you remember the day, + When last my hands were in yours entwined, +And the air was faint with the summer flowers, + While a roll of thunder came on the wind. + +"My lover; who always spoke words of love, + The tone of thy voice is so clear but far, +A bridge is between us I cannot cross, + But God's will stands at each end of the bar. + +"My lover; did you with your mist-cleared eyes, + See me when I thought you were far away, +Did you bring down Hope from your new-found skies, + While my heart was breaking over your clay? + +"My lover; how long have the seasons been, + Since I tried to spell out the small word 'wait,' +And learnt to know that your love and life, + Grow ever more strong as the years grow late. + +"My lover; in dreams of the night you come, + Out of God's goodness sent from afar, +He arches the barriers for the best, + And Christ's love stands at each end of the bar. + +"Some day that arch will widen its breadth, + There'll be room for two, you'll not come in vain, +And over the darkness of weeping and death, + We'll be always together, and happy again." + +Why did I read these lines, was it only to mock my woe? +For less would the burden be and the sin would be less I know, +If I knew that my darling was safe and blest where the angels are. +Why do I murmur? for God's will stands at each end of the mystic bar. +Well, why do I stay here gazing hopelessly into the fire? +Watching the coals that glow and burn, then fall away and expire, +It seems that out of their flashing light my lost love appears to rise, +And another face that has haunted me all day with its wistful eyes +As we halted at church to-day; a face, a young girl's face, so sad, +Looked out among the crowd that gazed, and her dark eyes made me glad. +What strange, queer beings we are, a look, or a song, or a flower, +A scent on the air, a sound of the sea, they come with such power, +That the long years vanish away, and over death's murky tide +Spiritual bodies fearlessly walk, and stand with us side by side. +Gone is all distance and time, vanished far is the grave's eclipse. +Again sweet voices are in our ears, their breath upon our lips, +So, with that poor, strange child to-day, who has never heard Aimee's + name, +Little she thought that her earnest eyes rekindled a smouldering flame. +There was an old familiar look of the happy days once fled, +An old familiar look of one that I love as we love the dead. +Love her? love Aimee? do I love her less, because since I kissed her last +Over my desolate heart the tides of twenty-five years have passed? +I am longing to-night to hear her hymn, her sweet "Abide with me," +As she sang it, leaning upon my breast the night I put out to sea. +I know it was only she I loved, and thought of that eventide; +But now I can fully endorse the draft, "O Lord with me abide," +And spite of the heavy clouds that hang o'er my life path near and far, +I own with Vera that "Christ's love stands at each end of the mystic bar," +And so much of the desert life has been travelled by night and day, +That the shores of the summer land are not so very far away. +And although I know there is one dark sea where black waves heave and + toss, +I know the Pilot who waits for me will carry me safely across. +My path down to that water's edge is one avenue of pines; +But though I walk amid shadows dim, o'erhead the bright sun shines. + + + + +ROBERT'S DEATH + + + +Heavily rolleth the wintry clouds, +And the ceaseless snow is falling, falling, +While the frost king's troops in their icy shrouds +Whistle and howl like lost spirits calling. + +In a scantily furnished tenement room. +Through which the same frost troops are sighing, +Churlishly gloweth the charcoal flame, +While a man lies there in penury dying. + +Nothing new on this beautiful earth, +Are hunger and nakedness, cold and pain, +Over God's sinless creation of love +The serpent glides with his poisonous train. + +"Where is Aimee?" here I lie all alone in this wretched hole, +I who was reared as a gentleman's son, an aristocrat to the soul, +Could drink more wine at my father's board than the best man out of a + score; +Rode with the hounds at ten years old, and played high in a few years + more. +A man can live without love, but he can't get along without gold, +And a woman and child sadly hamper a fellow that's poor or old. +How can a gentleman work and toil year after year like a slave? +For when you've worked your life away you're asked, "Why did not you + save?" +Not that I would reproach my wife, I daresay she has done her best; +But women can earn such a trifle, and grow weak if they lose their rest. +Not that Aimee has ever grumbled, and I am not to be blamed, +If she choose to work and stitch away from morn till the sunset flamed; +And just the course of my crooked luck, that if but one child we had, +The boy must go and the girl must stay; that boy was a likely lad, +Would have been nineteen if he'd lived, might be earning a good sum now, +For Willie was something like me, wide awake, had a sensible brow; +But Ethel, poor child, her mother again lives in a world of her own, +Sees faces in flowers, hears voices in winds, reads poems from chiselled + stone. +I certainly havn't had the best of luck, I've tried in different lands, +And, as I said, it's a drag to have others upon your hands. +'Twas a most disappointing thing, of course, when that old aunt died at + Ayr, +And only one hundred pounds was left to Aimee, her rightful heir; +Not that I married Aimee for wealth, but I thought it just as sure, +That grand estate, to think of it all, and I lying here so poor. +Ah, I want some brandy! I must have something to make me feel more strong. +Brandy! it is money, and life, and health; what makes Aimee stay so long? +Oh, here you are, make up more fire; I should think you're warm enough +Walking about, let me have that shawl, to-night will be wild and rough. +I must have some more spirit to keep me up, not that I heed the lie, +The doctor told you this morning that before very long I must die. +I expect, if I had some of the gold your old aunt used to keep, +He would manage to raise me up all right--you think I had better sleep, +You think me ungrateful, perhaps; reach some brandy and then you'll see +How more than grateful I am, what a pattern of patience I'll be. +No money, no means, the last thing's gone, and Ethel and you in need! +Well, you must have managed badly enough with only two mouths to feed, +For you can't count me as much, the little support I take, +A little stimulant now and then, swallowed only for your sake. +Aimee, I must have some now--nothing left? what is that glittering thing? +Aimee, you dear one, dispose of that; of what use is our wedding ring? +Don't be cross for the sake of the child, you say, why you angel dear, +Who would ever doubt you, so good, so true, you have nothing to fear. +And then you're always trusting in God, and surely he would approve +Of your selling your wedding ring for him that you've sworn to love? +I wish that wind would stop howling, it says such queer things to me, +Wake up, little Ethel, and send her before it's too dark to see +If that old fraud of a pawnbroker gives her the change all right. +Aimee, send quickly, I feel so strange; oh, I dread this coming night. +I never murdered that man out there, away on the western plains; +And yet there are spots of blood on the floor, they can't wash out the + stains. +What is it the lawyers call it? "Accessory to the fact?" +Ha! ha! old boy, I was wide awake; they could not catch me in the act, +So we put that poor young fool of a lad, just out from the motherland, +Made him just drunk enough to fight when we needed a helping hand; +A helping hand with a bowie knife and a corpse to be stowed away, +We were sober enough not to be on hand when called upon next day. +Who's that? Who are you? Stop! stop! coming whispering into my ear, +"There are other judges, other law courts, and I have cause to fear." +How the ship struggles and reels--all right--is this the Australian shore? +No, sandbars and reefs; will they never stop those confounded breaker's + roar? +Aimee, what is it? Take that stuff? I will if 'twill make me sleep. +I cannot rest; shall I never be quiet; hark how the wild winds sweep. +No, Victor, no; you got the money, and that was enough for you. +Did you think I was fool enough, man, to let you have Aimee too? +Aimee, come here and whisper to me; what does the judgment mean? +Judgment and conscience.--Look, look, there's Victor grinning behind the + screen! +Victor in heaven this many a year? I tell you it is no such thing. +Aimee, you were dead once--were drowned--did you hear the mermaids sing? +I say you were drowned one night, when the pleasure boat struck the bar, +And before any help could come you had floated out deep and far. +Every available thing was done that sailor or landsman could try; +But you could not be found--I guess not--so of course you had to die. +Hav'nt I a remarkable memory? these were the words I wrote: +"Every available thing was done by sailor or landsman afloat." +So Victor knows all about it--there! there he is coming again; +No! no! we are'nt here, we're away on the southern Indian main. +Who calls me? Who wants me? I cannot go into that wild dark land. +Somebody, help! Is this death? Don't touch me with that cold hand. +Aimee, don't leave me; oh say, have the officers found me at last? +Tell me--I think it's the medicine I took that makes me dream of the + past-- +Oh, will they believe me up there, in the clear bright rays of the sun, +That shows all the by-gone years of a life, the crimes a man has done? +Will nobody stop that horrid wind? it creeps right into my heart, +It seems to mutter, and groan and shriek: "Come, it is time to depart. +There's a broad dark sea before me; help, Aimee, the waters are deep! +I want a pilot--I cannot steer--I am sinking--let--me--sleep." + +Bloweth the storm more cheerlessly still, +And the setting sun has a sickly hue, +As if he foresaw the falling tears, +As if all the sorrows of earth he knew. + +Heavily stealeth an hour or two, +And mid the noise of the city's din, +No one noticed the tenement room +"As two passed out where but one went in." + +For, lieth a dead man behind the door, +Closed between him and the outer strife, +And a weeping woman and clinging girl +Look upon death, and look out upon life. + +Almost fainting with suffering and grief; +Alone, unknown, in a stranger land, +Mother and daughter have knelt to pray +As men pray wrecked on a rocky strand. + +Churlishly gloweth the charcoal flame, +Mother and child with hearts almost broke, +Clasped in each other's embrace of love, +Checking her sorrow, sweet Ethel spoke: + + "Mother, my mother dear, +Weep not so hopelessly, though all is dark +We have our loving Father yet in heaven, +His eyes must be upon our shattered bark; +Our sails are torn and we are tempest driven, + Yet _He_ can hear. + + To whom has God sent aid? +To the lone widow's home the prophet came, +For a few frightened men the wild sea slept, +For one poor servant flashed the glowing flame, +Where angels in their martial glory stepped + Out from the shade. + + Not for proud Miriam's king +Rolled back the billows of the deep Red sea; +For helpless women, children, unarmed men, +The 'Fourth Man' walked to shield the flame-girt three; +For one, St. Michael, paced the lion's den, + God's help to bring. + + Mother, is He not near, +Who had not where to rest His tired head? +Who, in the dreary wilderness alone, +Hungry and faint, had none to give Him bread; +Listening t' the damp wind's low and sullen moan + O'er nature's bier." + +"My child, my comforter, in this dark hour of love +Thy faith and trust in God is like the pole star's glow +To some benighted sailor; yes, e'en now a thought +Has come to me like light from dawning sunbeam brought. +My father, Ethel, was a Mason; ere he died +He called me to him, and kneeling at his side, +Gave me a jewel, charged me with his dying breath +Never to give it up except for life or death, +For when at last he died we were almost alone, +And stranger's ears were those which heard his dying moan, +The hands of strangers robed him for the grave, +The feet of strangers laid him where the cedars wave. +Weary, he had left England for the balmy breath +Of summer climes he found fierce pain and death. +I was his joy, his all on earth, for the dark hour +That gave me breath took home his purest flower. +And I have never known what means that place of rest, +The sweeetest home on earth, a living mother's breast. +All the night long, in which my father died, +He kept me close beside him, oft he vainly tried +To tell me about something, ever and anon +He'd speak about his brothers--I knew he had none-- +Then in faint accents he would say, 'When I am cold +Tell them I left a lamb outside the fold.' +'Tell whom?' I cried. 'My brothers.' Then he'd fall asleep, +And I supposed him wandering and would weep. +A year or so before we spent a happy time +On bonnie Scotland's hills of heather and wild thyme, +And oft we watched the shepherd tending flocks of sheep +In the soft grassy vales, or up the mountain steep, +And sweet were the life lessons that I often took +From that unsullied page of nature's open book. +There came to me through that fair, hallowed summer scene, +Bright glowing visions of the fadeless pastures green, +And clearer views of One I trust my soul will keep, +That sinless, Holy Shepherd of the helpless sheep. +And so I thought when father moaned amid his pain, +'I leave an orphan lamb;' he had gone back again +Through the fierce fevers, annihilating flight, +To valley of the blue bell, or the heath crowned height. +But, suddenly there came one quick and conscious gleam +Of light with its belongings; that transforming beam +Lit up the past a moment, then its God-sent light +Flashed up the path he travelled. No more tears, no night +Was there for him, he said, only love is shining day, +And calling on his young wife's name he passed away. +Ethel, I've been so hungry often, and so chill, +And what is ten times worse, have seen you faint and ill, +And never yet have I foresworn my pledge; but now +Our duty to the dead must plead my broken vow. +Ethel, if my loved Father is with us to-night, +Will he not stamp forgiveness on this dead as right? +Perhaps in the morning light this howling storm will stay +Its fury, and God please to open up our way. +So we can lay our dead in quiet rest at last, +Then we, my child, go forth and dare the world's cold blast." + + "Mother, oh let me tell +Something I saw to-day: I went for bread; +But when I came to pass the church, my way +Was stopped by a procession, a neighbor said +It was St. John's loved Festival, a day + Masons keep well. + + And while we were delayed +She spoke of one who had kind words for all, +She said his name was Roy, told me his home; +He could'nt have heard her, yet he looked at me +So strangely, yet so kindly, that my thoughts will roam + To him for aid. + + Yes, mother; yes, to-night, +Trust me with that Masonic jewel, I +Will keep it safe; perhaps this very man +May know of some one who would like to buy, +At least he'll let me know its worth, I can + But do the right. + + Mother, deny me not, +I'll go as "Esther went unto the king, +God will protect me if the night is wild; +Perhaps some bright ray of sunshine I may bring, +Pray that good angels may surround your child, + And guard her lot." + + + + +Ethel's Mission. + + + +Out in the blinding and pitiless sleet, + The young girl goes on her errand blest; +She starts at each sound on the lonely street, + As she longs for, but dares not dream of rest. + +She knows not the worth of the gem she holds + Close to her breast, in her thinly clad hands; +A martyr's courage her soul enfolds, + And a guardian angel near her stands. + +She shudders oft as she passes by + Some staggering form, whose ribald curse +Seems, 'mid the storms of that stormy sky, + To make the loneliness ten times worse. + +Now on the icy pavement she stands, + Now is plunged deep in a drift of snow, +Now she is rubbing her freezing hands + Scarcely knowing which way she must go. + +She thinks of the past, the long dark past, + And blights that follow a drunkard's child, +And the tears she strive's to check fall fast, + And turn to ice in that night so wild. + +For we all know how, in the darkest shade, + Dreams of the sunniest light will come +To one in a foreign hospital laid, + No words so dear as, "My home, sweet home!" + +And Ethel sees visions of sunny bowers + Where once she played with the ring-doves mild, +'Mid the piercing blast she can scent the flowers + She plucked with joy when a little child. + +Then she starts in fear, and a nameless dread, + As she thinks of her mother o'er and o'er, +Keeping lone watch with one lying dead, + In that fearful stillness, behind the door;. + +And, raising her trembling heart to Heaven, + She asks of Him, who careth for birds, +That help and strength may to her be given, + And not in air die her earnest words. + +She reaches the end of the lonely gloom, + She scarcely knows if in fear or joy, +She passes on to a snug warm room + And stands in the presence of Victor Roy. + +With tremulous efforts the timid girl + Strives to utter her story of grief, +all things grow of a dizzy whirl + As she shivering stands like an aspen leaf. + +He looks at the eyes so earnest and sad, + He hears the voice that is sweet and mild, +He sees a figure scantily clad, + And only mutters, "Why, that is the child." + +He looks at the snowflakes melting fast + From the faded hood and the mantle fold, +While his thoughts go dreamily into the past, + And now he is young and now he is old. + +He has taken the jewel in his hand, + He knows the mark which that Key-stone bears; +Upon any sea, upon any land, + The sign of a brother that jewel wears. + +He looks at the Key-stone, with eyes whose ray + Grows dreamy like a somnambulist, +and Ethel murmurs, "I saw you to-day + At the church of St. John, the Evangelist. + +Have I done any wrong in coming here? + 'Twas only this evening my father died, +And mother is lonely and full of fear; + We have no friend in this world so wide." + +And hearing the mournful voice again, + Seemed the unexplained spell to break; +And, in tones which were partly born of pain + And partly of hopefulness, Victor spake: + +"Come nearer the fire, little girl, and tell me why here you came. +Why did you bring this jewel to me? How did you learn my name? +Your father is dead, this was not his; your name is Ethel Adair. +Adair, Adair, it seems like a dream; I have heard that name, but where? +There, rest yourself child, it's cold to-night, you can tell me by and by +Where you are from, and where you live--what do you say, will I buy? +Do not fear little girl, I am your friend; you cannot speak the word +Of thanks you wish to say, never mind, for there's One above has heard. +Were you born in America? No; in Spain by the Darro's waters bright, +Your parents went there from western skies, 'neath the Rocky mountain's + height. +Where do you live? What there, in that wretched barn of a place! +A man who can rent such dens should meet the contempt of his race. +What have you had to eat to-day? Why, how have you lived it out? +Your mother and you did sewing; oh yes, at starvation prices, no doubt. +Him? I know the man you have worked for then, he keeps his carriage and + pair, +Gives largely to missionary funds, and is long and loud in grayer. +Never mind, the same All-Seeing Eye watches them come and go, +That noted the whited sepulchre two thousand years ago. +There, take that coffee and cake, and when you are rested I'll come +And see what has to be done in your lonely, desolate home. +And Jasper, you'll come along to take care of us both, and please bring +Something to eat; a basket? yes, filled with every good thing. +There, don't be long Jasper, time flies; yes, I know it is growing late, +And Una and her lion have not so very long to wait. +You used to read of Una, and wonder what made the lion stay; +Lions are useful, Ethel, sometimes to keep the jackals away. +Why child, are you ready so soon? Will you be my little guide? +Oh, I cannot tell you the worth of this; do you know where your grandpa + died? +You would rather I bought it--all right--who is at home, only your mother, + dear? +A brother's daughter and orphan child must not perish while I am near. +You knew that God would help you, have you learnt to trust and love Him + too? +There's another link between us then, ever old and ever new. +You're afraid the storm will hurt me, you are used to the frosty air; +We'll brave it together for once, so come little Ethel Adair. + + + + +Aimee's Soliloquy. + + + +And has she gone--that fair, frail, gentle flower-- +Out in this scene of winter's frost-forged power? +Oh, heaven, have I been selfish in my woe? +Sweet angels guard her through the blinding snow. +Ethel, my child, my comforter, my stay, +It seems a long dream since the summer day +When first she came to me, in that far land +Where the bright Darro laves the gleaming sand. +'Neath the blue skies of Spain her baby feet +First walked amid the southern bowers, sweet +With breath of jasemine; and the green vines twined +Their gentle arms, clasping the golden rind +Of ripened oranges, and the rose-hung bowers +Glowed with the glory of a thousand flowers. +And oft at night, up the dark waters came +The splash of oars, beneath the stars white flame +Sounded the solemn chant of sailors nigh, +"Ave Maria! save us, hear our cry." +But to my babe and I there came no hymn, +No hallowing words amid the olives dim, +Only the same dark blight on every scene, +The leper's mournful cry, "Unclean, unclean." +For then 'twas whispered that dark deeds of shame +Wreathed with a viper's slime our household name. +I know not all the truth, but I am sure +The path of sin is downward, and the poor +Weak soul that yields is bound by fetters tight +'Till comes the end as it has come to-night. +And he lies there; oh, in this bitter cup +Which Thou, my Father, bids't me drink up. +I bless thy strong, calm power, which, through the years, +The long, dark, downward time of change and tears +Hast kept before my dimmed and fading sight +One word which warned with an undying light, +When love had proved an "_ignis fatuus_" gleam. +Duty stood forward with a godlike beam, +And brought before the fainting sickened heart, +The words God listened to, "till death us part," +Two short words, Love and Duty, when together +How bearable the rains of stormy weather; +But when they unclasp hands, e'en then the dew +Grows into ice-points, piercing through and through. +"Till death us part," and am I really free? +Is the chain severed for eternity? +Look back my conscience, for the hours go fast, +Through the dim corridors of the far past. +Oh memory, from what point will thou start, +Back to the time when Victor won my heart; +He was my idol, bright star of my life, +Our home was planned, I was to be his wife; +When off to India he sailed far away, +Expecting to return an early day. +Ah, that last night when he put out to sea, +When by his side I sang "Abide with me;" +Ah, mournful days, yet hopes bright fires would burn, +Giving warm promise of his quick return, +Oft would I stand beside the untiring seas, +And send him words of love and trust like these: + + "Evening's gloom is round me now, + Evening's breeze is whispering low, + Gentle murmuring voices wake + From the ripples of the lake. + Maker of the land and sea, + Hear my humble evening plea, + Father, hear me as I pray, + One I love is far away. + + Guide the bark that bears him on, + Up the mountain's towering height, + And the misty damps of night, + In the city's moving throng, + With the wood-dove's sweetest song, + By the lonely river's marge, + O'er him give Thy angels charge. + + + In his hours of gladsome mirth, + Round some warm and welcome hearth, + In the halls of keen debate, + And the pomp and pride of state, + Cheer his spirit with love's beams + Lighten up his midnight dreams; + In his wanderings free and wild, + Father, keep him, as Thy child. + + From the pestilential blight, + From the sun-beams scorching light, + From temptation's mighty power, + In some lone unguarded hour. + From the dangers that we know, + From the dark undreamt of foe, + From the death-splash of the wave, + Father, hear and help and save." + +Then came the tidings brought by Robert's hand, +Victor lay buried in a far off land; +Died, wafting my name up to Heaven in prayer, +Leaving his promised bride to Robert's care. +Oft it has puzzled me, until my brain +Has racked itself from thinking into pain, +Why Victor left me thus, for in the past +He surely loved not Robert, perhaps at last +He saw things differently and thought it best +And had his wishes writ, e're he could rest. +But oh, the agony of those past hours; +It seems on looking back, that all my flowers +Looked mournfully at me and drooped their heads, +And lay like dying children in their beds; +And the bright birds in the vine-covered wall +Sang the sad chords of "The Dead March in Saul;" +And I was living, but all else were dead, +The sunbeam shimmered sickly o'er my head, +As when a ray peers in a darkened room, +Where one beneath a pall awaits his tomb. +Robert was ever near when Victor died, +And soon he sought to win me for his bride; +He told me how he'd loved me many years, +Loved him I loved, kindly he dried my tears, +Pictured my desolate and lonely lot, +Urged me to go with him to some new spot +Where all the past should be but as a dream, +And our lives glide gently down life's stream. +I told him that my heart was far away, +Beneath the palm where Victor's body lay; +That nightly in my dreams I heard the splash +Upon the shores where Ganges' waters dash. +I told him all my hope now was to stand +Amid the quiet of God's summerland; +Beneath another palm tree's shade to be, +And list the murmurs of the crystal sea. +But Robert loved me; I became his wife; +Could I forsee the sunken rocks of life? +And he was handsome then, and kind, and bright; +Could I foretell eclipses? then the night. +Oh, I have looked sometimes upon that face, +When robbed of every lineament of grace, +And I have cried unto the heavens above, +"It was not this, O God, I pledged to love; +Unsteady gait, wild brain and selfish heart--" +Flashed the red lights of danger "till death part." +Tell me, soul-searching ray, if erst I strove +To cherish, feed and guard where grew no love. +We sailed away to far Australia's shore, +Oh, the long days passed near the ocean's roar. +For him on whom I leaned in hope and trust, +Proved but coarse clay that crumbled soon to dust. +Drinking and gambling, sharks that swallow whole, +Homes, jewels, money, reason, body, soul. +Alone, for weeks to hear none call my name, +And happier alone; then baby came, +My firstborn, precious boy, I lived for him +For months; then his bright eyes grew dim, +And where the reeds and grass grew rank and wild, +We made a grave for Willie, darling child. +Ah, well I ween the night we laid him there, +I went to watch his grave; day had been fair, +But eve came up with thunder's muttered growl, +And ever and anon the lightning's scowl +Flashed angrily upon me as I viewed +The breakers dashing on the sea beach rude. +I grew passionate amid the whirlwind's sigh, +It had no word of comfort, loud was its cry, +And deep, dark was the struggle of my soul, +As I watched the billows onward roll. +There came no ray of hope across my breast, +As I turned toward my place of wild unrest; +I looked in vain for calmness, up on high, +It was not God's time for rainbows in the sky. +I went again next eve; there was no storm, +The full moon lighted up each darkening form; +'Twas the glory of a summer's bloom, +And I went onward to my baby's tomb. +I laid fresh flowers above the cold in death, +I felt upon my cheek warm zephyr's breath, +It seemed as if an angel had swept by +Across the grass where I too longed to lie; +And I saw the glorious sweep of moonbeams +Gilding the white rocks, circling all the streams +With rays of glory; I knelt on the bank, +Watching the picture, till my lone heart sank +Down to the depths; I could have slept to death, +My wounds seemed to defy the balmy breath +Of nature to restore my peace; my hands +I stretched out o'er the sea to northern lands, +I moved so swiftly o'er the moon gilt foam, +I stood once more within my father's home, +Could almost hear the village bells ring out, +Could almost hear the merry children's shout, +Could breathe the scent of violet and rose, +Walked down the dells where the pale primrose grows. +Ah, tell the truth, felt once again the bliss +Of Victor's loving clasp and burning kiss, +Felt his fond arms enfold me to his breast, +And I a bird safe in its shadowy nest, +And then the vision vanished; I was there, +A prey to sorrow, loneliness and care, +Like one who spends in a dark mine his life, +My baby dead, and I a drunkard's wife. +Then came a thought on Him of Mary born, +Who turned not back for spear or cross or thorn, +And through the murmurings of breeze and bay, +A voice seemed whispering to me, "Watch and pray." +I knelt as He knelt on the grassy sod, +And following Him I prayed for strength from God; +A sweet bird suddenly broke into song, +A soft air trembled through the branches strong, +And my soul rose on the pure air to Heaven, +Thus to my heart was hope and comfort given. +While by that grave I sang "Abide with me," +As on the night when Victor went to sea; +Ah, I was leaning then upon the breast +That five-and-twenty years has been at rest. +Oh, Victor! art thou gone so far away +That thou cans't hear no earth tone night or day? +Sometimes it seems as if thou wert not far, +Nearer and warmer than the nearest star. +How the wind moans--Ethel, my precious one, +Where shall we wander by to-morrow's sun? +Homeless and friendless in a stranger land, +Our Saviour help and aid; Thy mighty hand +Can save, Thine ear can list each bitter moan. +Hark! Ethel's voice, she comes, and not alone! + + + + +Twelve Month's After. + + + +Still rolleth onward time's mystical tide, + Ebbing and flowing by night and day; +Gladness and misery scattering wide, + Gladness and misery turning away. + +Fair Spring has been with her emerald leaves, + Red Summer with roses of crimson ray, +Brown Autumn has passed with its golden sheaves, + Again St. John the Evangelist's day. + +Since the morning came, Masonic bands + Have gathered, old friendship's ties to renew; +True hands have been clasped in a brother's hands, + Calm rest and refreshment fall like dew. + +Far over the roll of the billowy seas, + Strangers have met on the lodge-room floor, +And like Israel encamped beneath Elim's trees, + Have thirsted for love's cool draught no more. + +From the ice-wrought chain of the Arctic zone, + To the silver-lit sands of rich Peru; +From the shores which guard Victoria's throne, + To the woods of the west, unshorn and new. + +In the crowded street, full of noise and cheer, + In hamlets and villages, still and calm; +Where the northern bear glides cold and clear, + Or the southern cross tints the sacred palm. + +Over the face of this wonderful earth, + Templars haye met in Encampment dear, +Prisoners of hope have changed sighing for rest, + Pilgrims have tarried where angels were near. + +Souls that were longing for far better things, + Their faith growing dulled by the Siroc's blight, +Have shaken the dust from their weary wings, + And plumed them again for a higher flight. + +They have spoke of the work of the by-gone year, + Of Ashlers now perfected true and square, +Of weary hands folded upon the bier, + Of souls passed on to a lodge room fair. + +They have told of storms from the North, so chill, + How dark was the South when the daylight ceased; +They have watched the sun neath the Western hill, + They have hailed his light in the holy East. + +They have sang of the victor knights whose swords, + Are sharpened to slay the dark hosts of sin; +Still marching on through Saracen hordes, + Till the King's Encampment at last they win. + +They have knelt in prayer round the altar's shade, + And implored what man never asks in vain, +That creation's Grand Architect will aid, + The builders to build till calm rest they gain. + +Brave hearts have brightened love's armor anew, + And so shall the magical spell last on, +Till all who have worked by his pattern true, + Shall meet face to face their beloved St. John. + +Within the dwelling of Victor Roy, + A fair girl awakens soft music's power, +And a woman listens in silent joy, + To the thrilling strains at that quiet hour. + +"Ethel, my child, cease playing, come to me, +There, lean your head upon your mother's knee, +Do you remember dear what night this is? +Look back at last St. John's day, then at this, +You've often wondered why upon that night, +When you my guide led from the gloom to light; +That when you gave the name Adair it seemed, +To him who heard it, as if he had dreamed. +Like a dim funeral knell from some old chime, +Heard years ago, in some far distant clime, +Ethel, we should speak kindly of the dead, +Unable to defend themselves, their spirits fled +To worlds unknown to us, we cannot see +The homes they occupy, the destiny +It pleases God to give them, this we know +That our reaping must be what we sow, +If we plant thistles, we the thorn shall meet, +If we sow ripe grains, we shall harvest wheat, +And something else we know of future life, +That be the memories of war and strife, +Of evil thoughts which may have been controlled +Of hearts through which wild passions unchecked rolled; +Of base mean deeds that burn like felon brand, +In the pure sunlight of the eternal land; +Or if sweet recollections of the past, +Of homes where love her golden radiance cast, +Of deeds of mercy unto man unknown, +But breathing incense to the star-gemmed throne; +We know that not one of Adamic race, +Is unknown unto Him, the Lord of Grace, +And with the thoughts that shape themselves to prayer, +We can but leave them in His gracious care, +Who, as sharp nails were piercing each vein through, +Prayed 'Father forgive, they know not what they do,' +And preached of mercy to the souls in prison, +Ere He from the well guarded tomb had risen; +So darling think as gently as you may, +On one you saw so sadly pass away. +But duty bids me tell you, deeds of shame, +Stamped dark dishonor on our household name, +When we were living in the distant west, +A trouble came; grief was no stranger guest, +For racking fears sad day and anxious night, +Seemed to hold life-long leases as their right, +The trouble came through some high words at play. +All I know was before noon next day, +A letter came bidding me leave that night; +Bring what I could and let none know my flight, +To change my name, and if need be to swear +I never knew 'Montrose' only 'Adair.' +Part truth, part falsehood born of inward shame, +That sank the true one for the middle name, +I heard that dark red stains ended a strife +Began in so-called play, and closed with life. +I know for many months a namless dread, +Hung like the sword of Damocles overhead, +And we again had crossed the stormy main +And hid away among the hills of Spain, +But when you were an infant, nurse and I +Took you one morning ere the sun was high, +And in the little church covered with vines, +O'er which the setting sun in glory shines, +We gave you into the good Shepherd's Care +Amid our falling tears and Heaven sent prayer; +And there without respect to friends or foes, +Stands your true name, Ethel Adair Montrose. +My child before you close your eyes to-night, +With no forebodings for to-morrow's light, +Return your heartfelt thanks to Him whose hand +Has led us safely through a desert land, +Has kept our feet on many a slippery way, +And guided us from midnight to the day, +Lay at the Glorious Giver's blessed feet, +All that he asks, your time that passes fleet, +Your heart's first holiest love, your talents give +To him who scorned not death, that we may live." + + Mother, I'll not forget, +To ask rich blessings upon you and him, +Whom God sent as a life boat to the lost, +A year ago to-night, when on the dim +Dark seas of woe, our bark was tempest toss'd, + The sun of hope had set. + + I'm glad I went to-day, +And laid a cross upon that snow-strewn grave, +The sun gleamed out and on the white leaves burned, +It seems as if the childhood love, I gave +The one that calmly sleeps there, had returned + Watch to keep o'er his clay. + + And yet it's not the same +In quality, the love I cherish now +Has more of pity perhaps; another one +Has surely right to my allegiance; how +Can I forget all he for us has done? + Hark! now he calls my name. + +Ethel! where are you, there is the group you were speaking about one day, +Do you know the faces, two you love best, then drive those tears away, +What is there to cry for child, in a locket that's new and bright, +It was to have been your Christmas gift, but it's just as good to-night, +It bears the name of the day you came to spoil my dog and cat, +My birds and me too I'm afraid, if you say much more like that. +Sing me something instead, it's scarcely supper time yet--my child; +I see you are weary, go and rest while these winter winds blow wild, +Ethel, before you say 'good night,' we will sing "Abide with me," +As I heard it twenty-six years ago the night I went to sea. + +And softly upon the evening air, + The strain of praise from true hearts was given +And angels wafted the holy prayer, + Like incense up to the throne of Heaven. + +"Good night, sweet Ethel," a silence fell + Solemn and calm, by no whisper broke, +Two sat watching the fire, a spell + Seemed holding each, until Victor spoke. + +"Of what are you thinking so earnestly, you fancy I know the thought, +That has grown to deep for utterance, with strange sad memories fraught, +A year, a memorable year ago, yes, we shall ne'er forget, +That day of St. John the Evangelist, that night when two old friends met, +'Twas a dreary watching too my love, all that night in solemn gloom, +Where the dead lay cold and silently, waiting his lonely tomb, +I am glad that Ethel went to-day, and laid a cross on that grave, +I am glad that we each can truly say at the judgement day, 'I forgave,' +I read some lines the other day, that may have been written for us, +Heart histories repeat themselves like others, the lines ran thus: + +"And midnight wearily stole on, + Heavy clouds o'er the young moon swept, +We looked out upon life and prayed + We looked upon the dead and wept, +That God can work while man looks on, + That truth will triumph o'er our dread, +A lesson sometimes hard to learn, + We learnt while watching by the dead. + +'Twas not a scene that lovers choose, + Did any say that we had loved, +The dead was by us, yet we knew, + That we were living and beloved, +Truth's talisman was on each heart + Oh was there sin in what we said, +The troubles told, the truth confessed, + The night we watched beside the dead." + +Aimee, look at this jewel rich, I have worn it the live long day, +You think I value it, so I do, yet I deem it worthless clay, +Compared with the other jewel rare, this Keystone brought to me, +Bright gem, long hidden but not destroyed in some unfathomed sea, +More honorable than golden fleece, more precious than the stone, +That alchemysts seek vainly for, or gems of a regal crown, +A Keystone brought to light once more, all uninjured by the storm, +The rains of fire that have swept round my other jewel's form, +For the fire doth but clear the dross, the waves but wash the dust, +From off the jewels of purest gold, such jewels I hold in trust, +For I should have claimed you still as mine, if we never more had met, +Till free from stain of sorrow or sin we stand where hope's suns ne'er + set, +Where angels live on, in their life of love, unchanged yet ever new, +And then the time, God's own right time would have come for my taking you, +For this re-union upon earth, is the sign, beloved wife +Of the eternal rest we'll share in the bright hereafter life; +For have we not assurance blest, that whichever first goes home, +Will await with loving patience, till the other one shall come, + +Unto those who wear God's blessed seal upon each united heart, +Those words must half their horror lose 'until death do you part,' +For true love doth dissolve death's power, as spring's suns melt the snow, +'Tis the only password at the gates, through which we both must go, +Where born of that benevolence which fills our Father's breast, +Angelic masons now prepare our special house of rest, +God's promises will never fail, if we but wait His hours, +He sends His messages of peace, like His rainbow after showers, +O'er one beam of that holy arch, this scroll now seems to glide, +"After the dark and dreary day, it shall be light at eventide." + + + + + +MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. + + + + +Mist and Sunshine. + + + +I looked, and the mist had hidden + Streamlet and gorge and mountain, +Mansion and church had vanished away, + No trace of tree or fountain. +Mist, on the roof where birdlings wake + The strains of old love stories, +Mist, like tears on the roses' cheek, + In cups of the morning glories. + + +"Ah, like life, 'said my heart to me,' + Only a world of sorrow, +The lips you love, the hands you clasp, + Are cold and strange to-morrow. +Mists on the stream of by-gone days, + Where are your childhood bowers? +Mists on the path of coming years. + Where are your household flowers?" + +I looked again; a sunbeam bright + Had shot through the heavy mist; +It drew the rose to its glowing breast, + And the morning glories kissed. +The spire of the Ascension Church + Flashed out like St. 'Michael's sword, +When girt with glowing armor, he + Doeth battle for his Lord. + +Each moment some high roof or tower, + Some flush of the maple leaves, +Grew fair to sight, the birdlings sang + In nests on the sun-lit eaves; +And Nature bathed in living light, + As if she renewed her birth, +The Universal Father smiled + Through his sunbeam, on the earth. + +"Ah, now my heart, so sad and cold + With mists of its repining, +What will thou say to see once more + The cloud with silver lining?" +Source of light! when I leave this sphere, + Grant me a vision like this, +Mists and shadows rolling away + From the Paradise of bliss. + +May I look thus on mounts of God, + The flash of temple spires, +And hear the deathless singers chant + From their harmonious lyres; +So may I close mine eyes on earth, + While heaven's pure light is breaking, +And some I know will fold me close, + In arms of love awaking. + + + + +Charge to the Knight of Malta + +_Air--Stephenos_ + + + +Lo, a knight in armour standing, + Ready for the foe; +Thee we greet, belov'd Companion, + Thee we know. + +Keep thine oath, oh new made soldier, + Pledged in heaven's sight; +Nor forget the vow thou'st taken, + Malta's knight. + +By the banner, o'er us waving, + By thy lance at rest, +Chiefly by that Cross emblazoned + On thy breast. + +In the heat of danger's trial, + Dare the fiercest fight; +No desertion, no denial, + Right or life! + +See thou turn not from the conflict, + On the battle field, +Though men bear a dying soldier + On thy shield. + +Let thy strong arm shield the helpless, + And the feeble save; +Mercy's voice the true knight knoweth, + And the brave. + +Welcome, dear Sir Knight, thrice welcome! + To our tented field; +God will aid us till the final + Foe shall yield. + +We are pledged unto His kingdom, + Who for us hath borne +Cross and spear, for us did suffer + Crown of thorn. + +Then, for Him who rose triumphant + To the heavenly Lamp, +Gird thy sword though night surround thee, + Wild and damp. + +When at last, in mortal weakness, + Sword and spear must fall, +Christ, unto Thy Grand Encampment, + Take us all. + + + + +The Curl of Gold. + + + +How wildly blows the wintry wind, deep lies the drifting snow +On the hillside, and the roadside, and the valleys down below; +And up the gorge all through last night the rushing storm flew fast, +And there old walls and casements were rattling in the blast. +Lady, I had a dream last night, born of the storm and pain, +I dreamed it was the time of spring; but the clouds were black with rain. +I thought that I was on the bay, a good way out from shore +Alone, and feeling much afraid at the wild tempest's roar, +I tried to reach the distant land, but could not find the way, +And suddenly my boat capsized far out upon the bay. +I shrieked in wildest agony amid the thunder shock, +When I heard you saying unto me, "Beneath us is a Rock, +Trust not to me, these waves are strong, but lift your tear-dimmed eye-- +That star will lead us to the rock that higher is than I." +And through the drenching wave and surf, together on we passed, +Till the bright green slopes of Hamilton shone clearly out at last. +It seemed so strange, we stepped ashore, your garments were all dry, +And, holding hands as we do now, I heard you say "good-bye." +Dear lady, now I see it all, those blessed words you said +Were with me in the storm last night, like angels round my bed. +"So many and great dangers that we cannot stand upright," +"Defend us by thy mercy, from all perils of this night." +Lady, I am a mother, none know it here save you; +Don't blush for me, there is no shame, I am a wife, leal and true. +Lady, true love is born of heaven, we may deem it dead and past, +And sit with bowed down head alone, the heart's door closed and fast; +When suddenly we hear a voice, and spite of bolt or bar, +Like its dear Master, there it stands, stretching its arms afar; +Though buried up it rises, though dead it lives anew, +And breathes again its Master's words, "Sweet peace be unto you," +Folks say, "There is a mystery about that poor sick girl," +Lady, there's mystery round us all, that angels will unfurl, +I have one favor now to ask, within this paper's fold, +There's a little lock of baby's hair, just half one curl of gold, +When I am in my coffin, and soon now I'll be at rest, +Will you lay this little curl of gold upon my quiet breast, +God and the angels only know where the other half lies hid, +In the green sod of old Ireland, neath a baby's coffin lid, +Don't'leave me yet, it is near night, I feel so strange to-day, +You know the prayers for dying ones, oh kneel once more and pray, + +Thank God for sending one to me, where the wild tempests roll, +You won't forget--the little curl--Saviour receive my soul. + + + + +Holy Communion. + + + +We were wearied in the battle, + Tempted, and pained, and tried +By day the din and the carnage, + By night the rain's fierce tide; +But we heard a loving message, + From the Prince's tent it came, +"Each meet in the banqueting house. + In memory of my name." + +We gathered; a motley regiment, + Some young in the war of life, +Some chiefs in the Royal Army, + Some old and sick with strife, +Some limped in the sacred pathway, + Some were foot sore and worn, +Some had their lances all shivered, + Some had their banners torn. + +And we all looked dim and dusty; + We all were stained with sin; +But we held the Prince's message, + And the porter said "Come in." +We went to the banqueting house; + We sat at the Prince's board, +There we polished each his helmet, + We sharpened each his sword. + +Our Prince--we talked of his strife, + The forlorn hope He had led, +How He opened the gates of life, + And rescued from Death the dead; +And with Him we saw a bright host, + Our comrades gone on before, +The right wing of our army + Upon the farther shore. + +And the festering wound was healed. + The banners were made whole, +Mists rolled back from the almost blind, + Faith lit each warrior's soul; +We drank of the fruit of the vine, + We ate the living bread, +The holy benediction fell, + With healing on each head. + +We entered in poor worn soldiers, + We came out bolder knights, +To march on to the Prince's battle, + And war for His glorious rights, +For had we not each re-taken + The oath of allegiance high, +And sworn round the Royal Standard + To conquer, or to die. + + + + +Song of Azael. + + + +I heard the voice of the Death Angel speak, + As slowly he pass'd me by, +And I saw him throw snow on the crimson cheek, + And darken the laughing eye. +I saw him glide down through many a street; + Tears followed him like spring rain; +And yet ever unheeding tears or prayers, + He mattered his wild wild refrain, +"Come away with me, sweet baby so bright, +I love the young flowers of the rosebud's hue, +What? mother would keep thee always in sight, +And see the sad tears in those eyes so blue. + Come with me, little one. +All thorns and crosses for you are done, +Mother will meet thee where all is fair, +Grown to the height of the angels there. + Quiet and deep, + Be now thy sleep, + Baby, so white. + +For thou shalt travel where sorrow and strife +Never shall darken thy pathway again. +Azael must take home to the Lord of Life +The darlings He bought on the cross with pain. + Ah! you smile, little one. +Pleasure and glory for you are won, +Near to the angels, you're not afraid +Of going with me far into the shade. + The casket grows cold, + The jewel I hold, + For hearts of love. + +Come along with me, thou trader in gold, +Many have turned from thy office to-day. +Thou hast no time to consider the claim +Of the wronged or helpless who crossed thy way. + You shudder, trembling one. +Close up the ledger, business is done. +Let you stay till your vessel comes in? +I'll take you far from the market's din, + And you'll have time, + In that strange clime, + To meditate. + +For thou wilt awaken, I would not hold. +If I could, the past from memory's ken. +I fancy that other ledgers unfold, +Their pages for some of you business men; + Rest to night, tired one. +Not half of your merchandise is done? +The steamers, the banks, the corn exchange? +No, Azael deals not in notes or change; + He keeps no gold, + In his fingers cold, + He takes no bribe. + +Come along with me, sweet lady so fair, +Who told thee I was so grim and so cold; +Know you that I covet that sunny hair, +And those delicate arms's caressing fold; + Fear me not, gentle one. +What if the hymn and the task are done, +In my arms there is far calmer rest, +Then thou wilt find on thy lover's breast. + Sleep, sleep for awhile, + Then waken to smile, + Ever and aye. + +True life is progressive, my lady fair, +And thou wilt re-open those radiant eyes; +Think you that I have no burden of care, +Azael has to account for each prize. + Banish doubt, gentle one. +Quicksands and pitfalls for thee are all done; +Human love may ere long deceive thee, +But Azael's love will never leave thee + Till those earth-dim eyes + Look on Paradise, + Never to weep. + +The song of Azael melted away, + On the solemn midnight's bieath, +I thought of the talents, the oilless lamps-- + Oh, Azael, Angel of Death, +I know that ere long thou wilt come for me. + Immanuel, Lord of life, +By Thy victory gained on the bitter cross, + Save in that hour of strife. + + + + + +Only a Story + + + +Let me tell you a story, dear, + Of someone I saw to-day, +Only a man with a pale worn face, + And auburn locks grown gray, +One, I thought would never again, + Come over my pathway here, +One, I still hope to meet forgiven, + In a better brighter sphere. + +Why did you start, he knew me, yes, + A flush as of pain, or pride, +Pass'd swiftly o'er the pale stern face, + And the high white forehead dyed, +I heard the roll of carriage wheels, + Unthinkingly raised my eyes, +One glance flashed out beneatt thosee Brows, + Like lightening across the skies. + +Shudder not dear, 'tis he who grieves, + Not I in my lonely life, +I have a calm bright future now, + He? well, he has gold and strife, +They say that oft by the heaving lake, + He wanders about alone, +Waves that dash on the sandy beach, + Answer his throbbing heart's moan. + +Once or twice has been heard a name + As if wrung with torturous pain, +From lips to sacred silence sworn, + Told only to storms and rain. +He leaves the light of gilded halls, + To clasp in the midnight air, +Some flowers that faded years ago, + One lock of a girl's dark hair. + +Ask me not with those pleading eyes, + If I dream about him yet; +Is anything colder to your touch, + Than ashes with rain-drops wet? +What is harder to kindle up, + Than lava grown black and cold, +That once from burning mountain's heart, + In fiery grandeur rolled. + +Pity him, pray for him, that is well, + Married for jewels and gold, +Vipers crawl from the caskets bright, + And they keep his fingers cold. +Only a flush of pain or pride, + When to-day our glances met, +He in his gorgeous wealth arrayed, + I, out in the cold and wet. + +Hush; as we sow we surely reap, + Yes, he has a wife and gold, +Broad lands, a mansion white and tall + Like an iceberg grand and cold, +I? I've the blessings of the poor, + Which fall like the gentle dew, +I've claims on mansions far away, + I have life, and love, and _you_. + + + + +Daybreak. + + + +Turn thy fair face to the breaking dawn, +Lily so white, that through all the dark, +Hast kept lone watch on the dewy lawn, +Deeming thy comrades grown cold and stark; +Soon shall the sunbeam, joyous and strong, +Dry the tears in thy stamens of gold-- +Glinteth the day up merry and long, + And the night grows old. + +Turn thy fair face to Faith's rosy sky, +Soul so white that lone night hath kept +Sighing for spirits sin-bound that lie; +Wrong has ruled right, and the truth has slept; +The dawn shall show thee a host ere long, +Planting sweet roses abqve the mould; +The sun of righteousness beameth strong, + And sin's night grows old. + +Turn thine eyes to the burnished zone +From out of thy nest neath darkened eaves, +Oh bird, who hast mingled thy plaintive moan +With sobbing winds through quivering leaves; +From thy heart, by light which groweth strong, +Draw out the thorns that pierced on the world; +Glinteth the day up merry and long, + And the night grows old. + +Turn thy sad eyes to God's summerland, +Mourner, who waileth some love laid past, +Some bark that has anchored on foreign strand +And left her sailors free from the blast; +They are not here where the grass grows long, +They are not down in the red-brown mould; +Heaven's day is coming up fair and strong, + And earth's night grows old. + + + + +The Wife's Watch. + + + +Sleep on, my darling, sleep on, +I am keeping watch by your side, +I have drawn in the curtains close, +And banished the world outside; +Rest as the reaper may rest, +When the harvest work is done +Rest as the soldier may rest, +When the victor's work is won. + +You smile in your happy sleep: +Are the children with you now? +Sweet baby Willie, so early called, +And Nellie with thoughtful brow, +And May, our loving daughter. +Ah, the skies grew dark, my love, +When the sunshine of her presence +Vanished to Heaven above. + +While you're resting, my darling, +I dream of the shadowy hour, +When one of us looks the last +On the light of its household bower, +Then a sad sigh heaves my breast, +And tears from my eyelids burst, +As I ask of the future dim, +"Which shall be summoned first?" + +Sometimes I pray in terror +That you may be first to go, +Never again to sorrow, +Or to feel one throb of woe, +Beyond the mists of the river, +Where mystic shadows weave, +I have no fears, my beloved, +In One we both believe. + +But I, oh I so lonely, +Could I look as I look now, +If this was thy last long sleep, +The ice of death on thy brow; +In sight of the holy angels, +I offer my earnest plea, +I cry to my God and pray, +"If one goes first, take me." + +Our lives have been happy dear, +I fancy the tears we shed, +By our lost children's coffins. +On faces white and dead, +Are counted as dew drops now, +On the flowers early sown +In the gardens of Paradise, +The Lord's, and still our own. + +So we'll leave the future dim, +Take the sunshine as we go, +And when we come to the brink, +Where black waves ebb and flow, +We'll trust the voice which summons, +The love that has ever kept, +To fold in his arms one taken, +To lead by His hand one left. + + + + +Adoniram. + +A Legend of the Temple. + + + + The dew was gone, +The morn was bright, the skies were fair, +The flowers smiled neath the sunbeams ray, +Tall cedars grew in beauty there. +As Adoniram took his way, + To Lebanon. + + Praise his heart filled, +More than four hundred years had fled, +Since from stern Egypt marched the bands, +Whose sons, with Solomon at their head, +And Tyrian brethern's skilful hands, + Prepare to build. + + He watched them there, +Round every block, and every stone, +Masonic implements were laid, +But around _one_ were many thrown, +And yet it seemed already made, + Tried, true and square. + + He wandering spake, +"Are not all from one mountain brought +As jewels for a diadem, +Why, have they at this one stone wrought, +Will not all see Jerusalem. + One house to make?" + + The Widow's son +Smiled kindly in his brother's face, +And said "All are made ready here, +But not all fill the same high place, +The Corner stone this will be near, + When toil is done." + + The listener bent, +His eyes on the unfinished stone, +And found himself a wiser man, +Through that rough child of mountains lone, +A ray of the Grand Master's plan, + To him was sent. + + From Masonry, +That just man learnt that woes are thrown +Around God's children, pain and care, +But draw them near the corner stone, +With the Great Architect to share, + Heaven's blazonry. + + + + +Songs in the Night. + + + +"Where is God my Maker, Who giveth songs in the night."--Bible. + +The hour of midnight had swept past, + The city bell tolled three, +The moon had sank behind the clouds, + No rustling in the tree. +All, all was silent as the grave, + And memories of the tomb, +Had banished sweet sleep far away, + All spoke of tears and gloom. + +When suddenly upon the air. + Rang out a sweet bird's song, +No feeble, weak, uncertain note, + No plaint of grief or wrong, +No "Miserere Domine," + No "Dies Irea" sad, +But "Gloria in Excelsis" rang, + In accents wild and glad. + +How could he sing? a birdling caged, + And in the dark alone, +And then methought that he had seen, + Some vision from God's throne, +The little birdling's eyes were bright, + While mine with tears were dim, +Had some bright watcher glided by, + And spake in joy to him? + +Then I remembered what Christ said, + The God of love's dear Son, +"Not one of these small birds forgot + Beneath the glorious sun." +They have no load of grief to bear, + Of sin no dark, deep stain, +And yet in patience take their share + Of storm, and frost and rain. + +Oh, can it be unknown to us, + Without one human word, +The universal Father soothes + The death-bed of each bird; +"The whole creation groaneth," yet + These pure things of the sky, +Are they not nearer to the gates + Than mortals such as I? + +Yet while I mused, it seemed some form, + Ere yet I was aware, +Bent o'er my pillow, dried my tears, + And turned to sing my prayer; +Some subtle presence unrevealed, + Seemed to repeat the words, +"Fear not, for you are dearer far, + Than many little birds." + +I do not ask what seemed to speak; + Whether the angel blest, +Who hath been my appointed guard + In calm or wild unrest; +Or whether some sweet voice I love, + But hushed to me a while, +Came down on gentle mission sent, + To change for tears a smile. + +It matters not; God knows faith's wings + Droop sometimes in the dust, +And hands grow weak and lose their hold + On Hope's firm anchor trust; +And so, while sending dew and rain, + And glowing sunbeams bright. +God giveth unto those who hear, + Songs in the darkest night. + + + + +In Memoriam. + + + + They are gone away, +No prayers could avail us to longer keep +The ships called out on the unknown deep, +We saw them sail off, some lingeringly, +Some suddenly summoned put out to sea; +They stepped aboard, and the planks were drawn in, +But their sweet, pale faces were free from sin; +As they turned to whisper one last good bye, +We sent after each one a bitter cry; + We knew on that track, + They would never come back, + By night or day. + + Ah, we've closed dear eyes, +But God be thanked that they, one and all, +Had the heaven light touch them before the pall; +They saw the fair land that we could not see, +And one said, "Jesus is standing by me," +And one, "The water of life I hear," +And one, "There's no suffering nor sorrow here," +One, "I have seen the city of countless charms," +One, "'Neath me are the Everlasting Arms," + So we know it is best, + They should be at rest, + In God's paradise. + + Mary's Blessed Son, +Thou wilt not chide if thou see'st that low +Our harps are hanging on willow bough; +We would not murmur, we know it is well, +They are gone from the battle, the shot and shell, +And in our anguish we're not alone; +The Father knows all the grief we have known; +Oh God, who once heard the Christ's bitter cry, +Thou knowest what we feel when we see them die. + Our light, has been hid + By the coffin lid, + And dark our noon. + + God hears our moan, +He knows how a stricken heart had said, +"Oh, number her not with the silent dead, +For if she stays watching the golden sea, +God help, for what will become of me? +The last rose out of my childhood's bower, +From my English garden, the last sweet flower; +Take me instead, for none call me mother." +The messenger said, "I take no other." + So she went the road + The others have trod, + And I am alone. + + We shall meet again; +I fancy sometimes how they talk together, +Of the way they travelled, the stormy weather +That beat so hard on their pilgrim road, +Now changed for the city of their God; +I wonder if in their special home, +They keep choice rooms till their darlings come. +Saviour, who loves them, protect and guide me +Where they are waiting 'neath life's fadeless tree, + Father and mother, + And elder brother, + And sisters twain. + + + + +A Song of the Flowers. + + + +"Why are you weeping, ye gentle flowers? +Are ye not blest in your sunny bowers? +Have you startling dreams that make ye weep, +When waking up from your holy sleep? + +"Ah, knowest thou not, we fold at night, +The tears earth drops from her eyelids bright, +Like a loving mother her griefs are born, +Lest her tender nurslings should die ere morn, +And the sweet dew falls in each open cup, +Till the eyes of morn are lifted up; +We unfold our leaves to the sun's bright face, +And close them up at the night's embrace. + +Dost thou ask if grief comes creeping across, +From the poplar bough to the dark green moss? +No, round us the sunbeams smile and glow, +Round us the streamlets dance and flow, +And the zephyr comes with its gentle breeze, +To sigh out its life in the young green trees, +And then from the beds where the flowers grow, +Rises a melody soft and low. + +And the glorious rose with her flushing face, +And the fuschia with her form of grace, +The balsam bright, and the lupin's crest, +That weaves a roof for the firefly's nest; +The myrtle clusters, and dahlia tall, +The jessamine fairest among them all; +And the tremulous lips of the lily's bell, +Join in the music we love so well." + +"But startle ye not when the tempests blow? +Have you no dread of a wily foe? +Do you not tremble, when the serpents hiss +Mid leaves that the zephyr alone should kiss? + +Lady, the bells of the fainting flowers +Close at the coming of thunder showers; +The branches and tendrils merrily dance +At the whirlwind's cry, and the lightning's glance. +We dread not to see the snake's back of gold? +Dart through the lilacs or marigold, +For fears that dwell in the human breast, +Find in the heart of flowers no rest. + +We have no fears when we hear thee pass +Over the fold of the tangled grass, +We have no dread when we hear thee breathe +Over the flowers we love to wreathe, +Nor tremble when night falls from heaven above, +And nature is stillness and earth is love; +We steal from thy keeping when summer is o'er, +And wait thee where flowers can die no more." + + + + +The Cities of Old. + + + +Cities and men, and nations, have passed by, +Like leaves upon an autumn's dreary sky; +Like chaff upon the ocean billow proud, +Like drops of rain on summer's fleecy cloud; +Like flowers of a wilderness, +Vanished into forgetfulness. + +O! Nineveh, thou city of young Ashur's pride, +With thy strong towers, and thy bulwarks wide; +Ah! while upon thee splashed the Tigris' waters, +How little thought thy wealth-stored sons and daughters, + +That Cyaxerses and his troops should wait +Three long years before thy massive gate; +Then Medes and Persians, by the torches' light, +Should ride triumphantly thy streets by night; +And from creation banish thee, +O! Nineveh. O! Nineveh. + +And country of the pride of Mizriam's heart, +With pyramids that speak thy wealth and art, +Why is it that no minstrel comes, who sings +Of all the glory of thy shepherd kings? +Tyre, why are thy walls in ruins thus? +Why is thy name so seldom spoke by us? +Sidon, among the nations thou art fled, +Thy joy departed and thy glory dead; +Far gone ere all thy generations, +Fallen nations! Fallen nations! + +And Babylon, with all thy thronging bands, +The glory of Chaldea's ancient lands; +Thy temple, where a numerous host was seen, +Thy gardens hung to please the Midian queen; +Where beauteous flowers smiled on their terrace beds, +Proud kings have passed through thee, and crowned heads; +And grandeur and magnificence could view +In thee a resting place--thy stores not few; +Why is it thou art all alone? +O! Babylon. O! Babylon. + +And Greece, who shone in literature and might, +When Marathon's broad plains saw sword and fight; +Thy monumental ruins stand alone, +Decay has breathed upon thy sculptured stone +And desolation walks thy princely halls, +The green branch twines around thy olden walls; +And ye who stood the ten years' siege of Troy, +Time's fingers now your battlements annoy; +Why is it that thy glories cease? +O! Classic Greece. O! Classic Greece! + +And thou, best city of olden time, +O! we might weep for thee, once chosen clime. +City, where Solomon his temple reared, +City, where gold and silver stores appeared; +City, where priest and prophet lowly knelt, +City, where God in mortal flesh once dwelt. +Titus, and Roman soldiers, laid thee low, +The music in thy streets has ceased to flow; +Yet wilt thou not return in joy once more, +And Lebanon give up her cedar store? +And vines and olives smile as now they smile, +Yet not upon the ruin of a holy pile; +Wilt thou Destruction's flood not stem? +Jerusalem! Jerusalem! + +Cities and men, and nations, have gone by, +Like leaves upon an Autumn's dreary sky; +Like chaff upon the ocean billow proud, +Like drops upon the summer's passing cloud; +Like flowers of a wilderness, +Vanished into forgetfulness. + + + + +Out of His Time. + + + +One evening a short time since, our attention was attracted by the +prolonged ringing of a bell. The given number of strokes had sounded, yet +ring, ring, ring. Was it an alarm of fire? No other bell signalled an +answer. Was it some danger to our city? No crowds were gathering. At +length we questioned a passer by, and received for answer, "It is +ringing because an Apprentice is out of his time." "Out of his time!" +We knew nothing of the boy, neither his name or home, but the waves of +air told us something concerning him. We knew he had overcome +difficulties, often had he been disheartened and dismayed, often had he +heard the mocking laugh or coarse jest of his companions, at his +imperfect workmanship, often heard the angry words over goods or tools +spoiled through his ignorance or carelessness. He had risen on dark +mornings when his neighbors, lads his own age, were snugly sleeping; he +had toiled on glorious summer days when his indolent companions were +resting under green trees, or plunging into the cool waters; he had done +the rough work because he was "the boy." Yes, but there is another side +to the picture. With courage renewed, with eyes and fingers becoming more +and more accustomed to the handicrafts of his trade, every month has found +him progressing, till to-night, as the still ringing bell tells us, he has +overcome. His companions gather around him with boisterous mirth, and the +"older hands" feel a certain pride in him, as wringing his hand they know +he ranks among themselves, the means of an honest living at his disposal, +one of God's great army of working men. A few hours passed and another +bell resounded upon our ears. We listened, for that bell had a sad and +solemn sound. Ah, another "Apprentice was out of his time." We knew +something of how he had fought, not with rough iron, but with "the waves +of this troublesome world." We knew how in every day life he strove to do +his duty to his Lord and Master. Dismayed, how often? Discouraged, how +frequently bearing the taunt, the sneer? But he too had overcome. His +companions gather around him, but all mirth is hushed, tears fill their +eyes, and choking words are whispered as they file round the casket, and +look upon the calm dead face, that no more on earth will meet them with +its wonted smile, and the pale hands that have done all their rough +earthwork. His welcome we did not hear. Ah, it is well that the sound of +harps and the silvery peals from the chiming bells of the city of God +reach us not, or perchance we should "stand all the day idle." For are we +not all entered Apprentices in this strange world of ours? Are we not all +"serving our time?" How are we learning our trades? Are we likely to prove +"workmen that need not be ashamed," or are we through fear or negligence +hiding in the earth our Lord's money? Our indentures bear the blood-red +seals of Calvary, our Covenant is "ordered in all things and sure." The +time of our serving here is unknown to us, of the hour of our release +knoweth no man. There have been some who "being made perfect in a short +time, fullfilled for a long time." We have a long line of witnesses gone +on before, but all drawing their life and courage from that Wonderful Man, +the Redeemer of the world, the Carpenter of Galilee. He whose mysterious +indentures were cancelled in the noon-day of His life. He who could stand +among His sorrowing companions and say, "Father, I have finished the work +which Thou gavest me to do." Oh, my fellow apprentices, how often are we +tempted to leave _our_ work unfinished. Do we not thus sometimes +think, "I can never learn my trade for heaven here." We see one wasting +his Master's goods, we see the tables of the money-changers in the temple +of God, we hear our fellows arraigning the Master before their petty +tribunals, we grow faint and weary, we have foes within and without. Doubt +says, "The Master is feasting royally and forgets his poor apprentices." +Courage, courage, my brothers, we are treading the path the saints have +trod. This is but a state of preparation. We know not what work for the +King we may have to do by-and-by; over how many cities of whose locality +we at present know nothing. He may give us authority to which of the +countless worlds in our Father's universe we may be sent on the King's +message of love, to what spirits in prison we, in our spiritual life, may +go to preach of mercy. If here permitted to be the servants of Christ, and +through His merits attaining to that better country, may we not +reasonably infer that we shall aid Him more and more, till the mediatorial +work is ended. Let these thoughts encourage us amidst the cold and heat, +the scorn and shame. Let us see to it that we _do_ work the works of +our Master. Let us often turn our eyes to those two grand rules of our +workshop, "Do unto others as ye would they should do unto you," our golden +rule framed in the royal crimson of the King's authority; and that other +silver lettered motto, framed in the clear, true blue of heaven, "Pure +religion and undefiled before God and the Father, is to visit the widow +and fatherless in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from +the world." Let us imitate that brother workman of whom Whittier says: + + "He gave up his life to others, + Himself to his brothers lending; + He saw the Lord in His suffering brothers, + And not in the clouds descending." + +Soon, soon we shall be out of our time; but here the figure ends. The +earthly apprentice, freed from his articles of apprenticeship, may serve +any master, the heavenly apprentice asks but _one_. Oh, Jesus, +Master, Thou Saviour of our race, have mercy upon us, grant us so to +serve Thee in time, that our earthly labours ended, we may hear Thee say, +"Well done good and faithful servant," while the pure and beautiful +angels shall rehearse to each other, "Rejoice, another apprentice is out +of his time." + + + + +Two Altars. + +"And Cain talked with Abel, his brother." + + + +The sun was rising on earth, sin-tainted, yet beautiful, +Delicate gold-colored cloudlets in all their primeval beauty, +Ushered the bright orb of day to his task well appointed, +Like a bevy of beautifal girls in the court of their monarch, +Or a regiment of soldiers all bright in new rose-colored armour. +Two altars arose between earth and the cloud-speckled firmament; +Cain walked in a stern and defiant advance to his altar, +A recklessness flashed from his eyes, and passions unconquered, +As he scornfully looked on the kneeling, worshipping Abel, +Ay scornfully thus he addressed his young innocent brother: + +"Look at my sacrifice, Abel, these glistening dew-colored roses, +Those delicate lillies and mosses, these graceful arbutulas; +Look at the golden brown tints of these fruits in their lusciousness; +Look at the bright varied hues of these green leaves, closely encircling +These rich scarlet blossoms, like yonder clouds, glorious and wonderful; +Nothing on earth or in heaven could make fairer oblation. +Abel, what have you carved on your altar, in that wild devotion +By which you in vain seek to soften the anger of heaven? +A circle, to show that your God is all near, is filling +The seen and unseen with His incomprehensible presence. + +Well, so let it be, then; I'll not contradict the illusion. +One thing appears certain, that we have offended our Maker, +Who visits unjustly on us the mistakes of our parents, +As if we ever reached out our hands for fruit once forbidden. +Shall we never be free from the thorns and the thistles upspringing? +Why do you still try to follow the steps and voice of your Maker? +And why still persist in slaying the white lambs of your meadows? +Take of my beautiful flowers and despise all blood shedding." + +"My brother," spoke Abel, "I love the dear innocent flowers. +Are they not all, nearly all that is left us of Eden's fair glory, +All but the singing of birds, the winds and the waters, wild music, +All but the whispers of love and blessings of heart-broken parents; +But you heard, my brother, as well as myself the commandment, +Not to offer to heaven what _we_ choose, but what God declareth +Will shadow our Faith and sweet Hope in the promised atonement; +And that terrible sin, those spots in our souls, my dear brother, +Can never be cleansed by the lives of the beautiful flowers, +Only by His, shadowed forth in the death of an innocent victim." + +Then angrily answered Cain back to his young brother's pleading, +"Abel, I have no patience with such mock humiliations, +I have no need of a Saviour, I have no need of blood-shedding +To wash out the stain of my own or my father's transgression. +I for myself can make perfect and full restitution; +Look at the smoke of your altar curling upward so clearly, +Making white cloudlets on high in the blue of the firmament, +While mine sweeps the ground that is cursed like the trail of the serpent: +Why comes down the Maker of this blighted universe, asking +Why art thou wroth, and why is thy countenance fallen?" + +Stand I not here in the image of God, who created us? +Have I not courage, and freedom, and strength above my inferiors? +Did not our father give name to beast, bird, insect and reptile? +Shall his children crouch down and kneel like the creature that crawleth? +I will not obey this commandment, but I'll wreath up my altar +With offerings of earth, with gold of the orange, and red of the roses, +I'll not stain my hands with the blood of an innocent creature." +So Cain turned away from his wondering brother; perhaps then little + dreaming +That on the next morrow he would become earth's first murderer; +And, scorning the death of a lamb, take the life of a brother. + + + + +The Doom of Cain. + +The Lord Said, "What hast thou done?" + + + + Oh, erring Cain, +What hast thou done? Upon the blighted earth +I hear a melancholy wail resounding; +Among the blades of grass where flowers have birth +I hear a new-born tone mournfully sounding. + It is thy brother's blood + Crying aloud to God + In helpless pain. + + Unhappy Cain! +Thou hast so loved to wreathe the clinging vine, +And welcomed with pure joy the delicate fruit, +Till thou hast felt a kindred feeling twine +Around thy heart, grown with each fibrous root + Of tree, or moss, or flower, + Growing in field or bower, + Or ripening grain. + + But henceforth, Cain, +When the bright gleaming of the rosy morn +Proclaims another glorious summer day, +Thou may'st walk forth to greet the earth newborn, +And pluck the blushing roses on thy way; + They at thy touch shall blight, + Stricken with some strange might, + Some dire pain. + + In time to come, +When thy fair child (for thou shalt have a son) +Shall lay his little, soft, warm hands in thine, +And say, "My father, growing neath the sun +Are lovely flowers, trees and moss and vine; + Here is rich soil and room + For me; make bowers bloom + Around our home." + + Thy heart will shrink, +And thou wilt hear the voice the Lord has heard, +The voice of brother's blood speaking from earth, +And each pulse of thy sad soul will be stirred, +As he to whom the girl thou love'st gave birth + Brings back with fearful truth + The playmate of thy youth + From the grave's brink. + + For on no shore +Shall fair earth yield unto thy stalwart arms; +No, thou may'st dig, and prune, and plant in vain, +And noxious worms and things of poisonous harms +Shall not be banished at the will of Cane; + Thou'lt set seed-bearing root, + Thou'lt plant life-giving fruit + No more, no more. + + Depart! Depart! +Ah no, not greater than the soul can bear, +Did'st thou not always find whatever grain +Thou cast, the same grew upward full and fair, +Thou _would'st not_ look upon the pure lamb slain, + To faith true sacrifice + Thou would'st not turn thine eyes; + Go, till thine heart. + + + + +Our Poor Brethren. + +"Our poor and penniless brethren, dispersed over land and sea." +--Masonic Sentiment + + + +They met in the festive hall, + Lamps in their brightness shone, +And merry music and mirth, + Aided the feast of St. John. +Men pledged the health of their Queen + And of all the Royal band, +The flags of a thousand years, + The swords of their motherland. + +Then mid the revelry came + The sound of a mournful strain, +Like a minor chord in music, + A sweet but sad refrain; +It rose on the heated air, + Like a mourner's earnest plea, +"Our poor and penniless brethren + Dispersed over land and sea." + +Poor and penniless brethren + Scattered over the world, +Want and misfortune and woe + Round them fierce darts have hurled; +Wandering alone upon mountains, + Sick and fainting and cold, +Lying heart-broken in prisons, + Chained in an enemy's hold. + +Dying in fields of combat, + With none to answer back +The masonic sign of distress, + Left on the battle's track. +Shipwrecked in foaming waters, + Clinging to broken spars, +Dying, this night of St. John, + Mid the ocean and the stars. + +Others with hunger faint--we + Taste these rich and varied meats-- +Oppression gives them no home + But dark and desolate streets. +Oh, God of mercy, hear us, + As we ask a boon for Thee, +For poor and penniless brethren + Dispersed over land and sea. + +Poor and penniless brethren, + Ah, in the Master's sight, +We all lay claim to the title + On this, our festival night. +Lone pilgrims journeying on + Towards light that points above, +Treading the chequered earthworks + Till we reach the land of love. + +Work up to the landmark, brothers, + We shall not always stay, +The falling shadows warn us + To work in the light of day. +How often our footsteps turn + Where a brother's form is hid, +Oft we cast evergreen sprigs + On a brother's coffin lid. + +Thou, who dost give to each + Some appointed post to hold, +Teach us to cherish the weak, + To give Thy silver and gold; +To guard as a soldier guards + Honor and Love's pure shrine, +To give our lives for others, + As Thou did'st for us give Thine. + +To Masons all over the world + Give wisdom to work aright, +That they may gather in peace + Their working tools at night. +May love's star glitter o'er each, + Amid darkness, storm or mist, +As on this night of St. John, + Our Blest Evangelist. + + + + +Vain Dreams. + + + + --"Throughout the day, I walk, +My path o'ershadowed by vain dreams of him." + --Italian Girl's Hymn to the Virgin. + + +Mother, gazing on thy son, +He, thy precious only one, +Look into his azure eyes, +Clearer than the summer skies. +Mark his course; on scrolls of fame +Read his proud ancestral name; +Pause! a cloud that path will dim, +Thou hast dreamt vain dreams of him. + +Young bride, for the altar crowned, +Now thy lot with one is bound, +Will _he_ keep each solemn vow? +Will _he_ ever love as now? +Ah! a dreamy shadow lies +In the depths of those bright eyes; +Time will this day's glory dim, +Thou hast dreamt vain dreams of him. + +Sister, has thy brother gone, +To the fields where fights are won; +Oh! it was an hour of pride +When he was last by thy side; +Thou dost see him coming back +In the conqueror's proud track; +Hush! the bayonets earthward turn, +Dream vain dreams, he'll not return. + +Woman, on the cottage green, +Gazing at the sunset scene, +Now the vintage toil is o'er, +But the gleaner comes no more +Through the fields of burnished corn; +Lo! a peasant's bier is borne +By the sparkling river's brim, +Thou hast dreamt vain dreams of him. + +Maiden, who in every prayer +Breath'st a name thou dost not bear, +Sing again thy lover's song; +Yes, he will be back ere long, +Back in all his manhood's pride, +Back, but with another bride; +Cease those bridal robes to trim, +Thou hast dreamt vain dreams of him. + +Earthly idols! how we mould +Sand with fruit and clay with gold! +How we cherish crumbling dust, +Then lament our futile trust! +Saviour, who on earth didst prove +All the agony of love, +Fit us for that brighter shore, +Where they dream vain dreams no more. + + + + +The Forest River. + + + +Amid the forest verdant shade, + A peaceful river flowed: +Wild flowers their home on its banks had made, +The sunbeam's rays on its breast were laid, + When the light of morning glowed. + +By its marge the wolf had found a lair, + He roamed through each lonely spot; +That deep designer, the beaver, there +Built his palace; the shaggy bear + In the tall tree had his cot. + +And voices sweet were heard on the bank + Of the river's gentle flow; +The whip-poor-will sang when the sun had sank, +And the hum-drum bee to his home had shrank, + When the wind of eve did blow. + +The tree-frog joined with his sonorous call, + The grasshopper chirped along, +The dormice came out of their underground hole, +The squirrels peeped over their pine-tree wall, + To list to the revel song. + +Nothing disturbed the murmur deep + Of the river broad and fair; +No one awoke it from peaceful sleep, +Save when floating mice o'er its breast would creep, + Or the rusty-coated bear. + +One morn the sound of an axe was heard + In the forest, dark and lone; +Then started with fear the beasts disturbed, +Their reign was broke at the woodman's word, + And they scowled with anger on. + +On the river's brink the emigrant's child + Passed all his lonely hours, +He laughed when he ruffled the bosom mild +Of the flowing streamlet so bright and wild, + As it bore his boon of flowers. + +Soon the throng of the forest heard the horn + Of the boat, the commerce boat; +Then they started up from the brake and thorn, +And hastening away by the light of the morn, + They fled from cavern and moat. + +And the bird peeped out of a pine tree tower, + And shrank away at the sight, +The humming-bird fled to his rose-hung bower, +The bright bee curled himself snug in a flower, + O'ertaken by fear and fright. + +And the river which rolled for ages, still + In a gentle flow unriven, +Now bears on its bosom by man's proud will, +By the arts of industry and skill, + The blessings to mortals given. + +Over its billows the steamboats tread, + With their waters rushing high, +Or the snowy sail to the wind is spread, +As the noble bark on her way is sped + To the crowded city nigh. + +Oh river bright, we sail over thy breast, + Once bearing wood runners wild; +But the birds who built on the bank their nest, +Have fled long ago to the boundless west, + From thee and from man exiled. + + + + +Last Words of Sir Henry Lawrence. + +"Let there be no fuss about me, bury me with my men." + + + +The shades of death were gathering thick around a soldier's head, +A war stained, dust strewn band of men gathered around his bed. +"Comrade, good-bye; thank God your voice may cheer the dauntless brave +When I, your friend and countryman, am resting in the grave. +Hush, soldiers, hush, no word of thanks, it is little I have done +For the glory of the land we love, toward the setting sun. +I have but one request to make: When all is over, then +Let there be no fuss about me, bury me with my men. + +Heap up no splendid monument in memory of my clay, +No tributary words to tell of one who's far away; +It matters not to passers by where lies my crumbling dust, +The cherubim and seraphim may have it in their trust; +And bones of better men than I have bleached all cold and white +Where scorching sunbeam goes by day and the prowling beast by night. +Give me a few spare feet of earth away down in the glen, +Breathing the words of faith and hope, bury me with the men. + +Bury me with the men; when the fearful seige was gained, +With British blood and British dead the Indian soil was stained. +Poor Dugald lay that fearful night and never asked for aid, +And Fraser, wounded, cheered us on, and Allan, dying, prayed, +And brave Macdonald cheered the flag with his expiring breath. +These are the men who jeopardised their lives unto the death, +They drove the murderous Sepoys back, the wild wolf to his den; +All honor to their noble hearts; bury me with my men. + +Is it death that's coming nearer? how clammy grows my brow; +Yes, I'm going home for promotion, the battle's over now. +Comrades, I often fancy, how upon yon blessed shore, +In that land of recognition, we may yet all meet once more. +Colonel, we'll gather round you then, as in the days of old; +Why do whisper, comrades, are my fingers growing cold? +Oh, tell my brother-officers that I thought about them when +I was going across the river; bury me with my men. + +How very dark it's growing, I suppose it's nearly night; +Well, I think we shall see England in the morning's ruddy light. +And my mother and my sister surely I see them stand +Upon the beach, and summer flowers waving in each hand; +And sounds of joy and victory comes on the evening air. +Colonel, if I go down home first, you'll come and see us there? +Do I hear my comrades sighing? Where am I? ah, amen. +Let there be no fuss about me, bury me with my men. + + + + +To the Birds. + + + +Onward, sail on in your boundless flight, +Neath shadowing skies and moonbeams bright, +Kissing the clouds as it drops the rain, +Touching the wall of the rainbow's fane; +With your wings unfurled, your lyres strung, +You sail where stars in their orbs are hung, +Or for stranger lands where bright flow'rs spring, +Ye have plumed the down and spread the wing. + +We lay the strength of the forest down, +We wear the robe and the shining crown, +We tread down kings in our battle path, +And voices fail at our gathered wrath; +We touch; the numbers forget to pour, +From the serpent's hiss to the lion's roar; +But we may not tread the paths ye've trod, +Though children of men and sons of God. + +Ye haste, ye haste, but ye bring not back +To waiting spirits the news we lack, +Ye do not tell what it is to see +The snow capped home of the thunder free, +Ye do not speak of the worlds above, +Ye tell no tales of the things we love, +No height or breadth of the sunbeam's roof, +You touch in your travels--terror proof. + +You're strange in bright radience, wonderful; +You're soft in your plumage, beautiful. +Bold to bask in the clouds of even, +Free in your flight to floors of heaven. +Like dews that over the flowers spring, +Like billows rolled over Egypt's king, +You leave no track in the misty air, +Or records of wonders that meet you there. + + + + +Initiation Ode. + +Air--Belmont. + + + +Hark! unto thee a voice doth speak, + A voice of heavenly breath, +And this, the solemn charge it gives, + Be faithful unto death. + +Faithful as stars in heaven's blue skies, + Though dark clouds roll between, +Or rocks that show their signal lights + In tempest's wildest scene. + +Faithful 'till death, which finally + Shall close thy mortal strife, +When thy reward shall surely be + The crown of endless life. + + + + +Installation Ode. + + + +Blest Ruler, at whose word +The universe was stirred, + And there was light; +Look now with gracious love +From Thy bright home above, +Direct in every move, + Each proved, Sir Knight. + +In mysteries well skilled, +Their hearts with courage filled, + Behold they stand; +Strengthen their faith in thee, +Let hope their anchor be, +And heaven-born charity + Mark their command. + +Endure with holy light +Each suppliant, Sir Knight; + May each one prove +Faithful in watch and word; +Strong the oppressed, to guard +And win the just reward + Of Faith and Love. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Victor Roy, A Masonic Poem, by +Harriet Annie Wilkins + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VICTOR ROY, A MASONIC POEM *** + +***** This file should be named 8146.txt or 8146.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/1/4/8146/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Curtis Weyant, Dave Maddock, +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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