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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/9574-0.txt b/9574-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..397164f --- /dev/null +++ b/9574-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12041 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Works of Whittier, Volume II (of VII), by John Greenleaf Whittier + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Works of Whittier, Volume II (of VII) + Poems Of Nature plus Poems Subjective And Reminiscent and Religious Poems + +Author: John Greenleaf Whittier + +Release Date: October 2, 2003 [eBook #9574] +[Most recently updated: September 26, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: David Widger + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF WHITTIER *** + + + + +THE WORKS OF JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER, Volume II. (of VII) + +POEMS OF NATURE plus POEMS SUBJECTIVE AND REMINISCENT and RELIGIOUS POEMS + + +By John Greenleaf Whittier + + + + +CONTENTS + + POEMS OF NATURE: + THE FROST SPIRIT + THE MERRIMAC + HAMPTON BEACH + A DREAM OF SUMMER + THE LAKESIDE + AUTUMN THOUGHTS + ON RECEIVING AN EAGLE'S QUILL FROM LAKE SUPERIOR + APRIL + PICTURES + SUMMER BY THE LAKESIDE + THE FRUIT-GIFT + FLOWERS IN WINTER + THE MAYFLOWERS + THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN + THE FIRST FLOWERS + THE OLD BURYING-GROUND + THE PALM-TREE + THE RIVER PATH + MOUNTAIN PICTURES + I. FRANCONIA FROM THE PEMIGEWASSET + II. MONADNOCK FROM WACHUSET + THE VANISHERS + THE PAGEANT + THE PRESSED GENTIAN + A MYSTERY + A SEA DREAM + HAZEL BLOSSOMS + SUNSET ON THE BEARCAMP + THE SEEKING OF THE WATERFALL + THE TRAILING ARBUTUS + ST. MARTINS SUMMER + STORM ON LAKE ASQUAM + A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE + SWEET FERN + THE WOOD GIANT + A DAY + + + POEMS SUBJECTIVE AND REMINISCENT: + MEMORIES + RAPHAEL + EGO + THE PUMPKIN + FORGIVENESS + TO MY SISTER + MY THANKS + REMEMBRANCE + MY NAMESAKE + A MEMORY + MY DREAM + THE BAREFOOT BOY + MY PSALM + THE WAITING + SNOW-BOUND + MY TRIUMPH + IN SCHOOL-DAYS + MY BIRTHDAY + RED RIDING-HOOD + RESPONSE + AT EVENTIDE + VOYAGE OF THE JETTIE + MY TRUST + A NAME + GREETING + CONTENTS + AN AUTOGRAPH + ABRAM MORRISON + A LEGACY + + RELIGIOUS POEMS: + THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM + THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN + THE CALL OF THE CHRISTIAN + THE CRUCIFIXION + PALESTINE + HYMNS FROM THE FRENCH OF LAMARTINE + I. ENCORE UN HYMNE + II. LE CRI DE L'AME + THE FAMILIST'S HYMN + EZEKIEL + WHAT THE VOICE SAID + THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE + THE WIFE OF MANOAH TO HER HUSBAND + MY SOUL AND I + WORSHIP + THE HOLY LAND + THE REWARD + THE WISH OF TO-DAY + ALL'S WELL + INVOCATION + QUESTIONS OF LIFE + FIRST-DAY THOUGHTS + TRUST + TRINITAS + THE SISTERS + "THE ROCK" IN EL GHOR + THE OVER-HEART + THE SHADOW AND THE LIGHT + THE CRY OF A LOST SOUL + ANDREW RYKMAN'S PRAYER + THE ANSWER + THE ETERNAL GOODNESS + THE COMMON QUESTION + OUR MASTER + THE MEETING + THE CLEAR VISION + DIVINE COMPASSION + THE PRAYER-SEEKER + THE BREWING OF SOMA + A WOMAN + THE PRAYER OF AGASSIZ + IN QUEST + THE FRIEND'S BURIAL + A CHRISTMAS CARMEN + VESTA + CHILD-SONGS + THE HEALER + THE TWO ANGELS + OVERRULED + HYMN OF THE DUNKERS + GIVING AND TAKING + THE VISION OF ECHARD + INSCRIPTIONS + ON A SUN-DIAL + ON A FOUNTAIN + THE MINISTER'S DAUGHTER + BY THEIR WORKS + THE WORD + THE BOOK + REQUIREMENT + HELP + UTTERANCE + ORIENTAL MAXIMS + THE INWARD JUDGE + LAYING UP TREASURE + CONDUCT + AN EASTER FLOWER GIFT + THE MYSTIC'S CHRISTMAS + AT LAST + WHAT THE TRAVELLER SAID AT SUNSET + THE "STORY OF IDA" + THE LIGHT THAT IS FELT + THE TWO LOVES + ADJUSTMENT + HYMNS OF THE BRAHMO SOMAJ + REVELATION + + + + + +POEMS OF NATURE + + + + +THE FROST SPIRIT + + He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes + You may trace his footsteps now + On the naked woods and the blasted fields and the + brown hill's withered brow. + He has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees + where their pleasant green came forth, + And the winds, which follow wherever he goes, + have shaken them down to earth. + + He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes! + from the frozen Labrador, + From the icy bridge of the Northern seas, which + the white bear wanders o'er, + Where the fisherman's sail is stiff with ice, and the + luckless forms below + In the sunless cold of the lingering night into + marble statues grow + + He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes + on the rushing Northern blast, + And the dark Norwegian pines have bowed as his + fearful breath went past. + With an unscorched wing he has hurried on, + where the fires of Hecla glow + On the darkly beautiful sky above and the ancient + ice below. + + He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes + and the quiet lake shall feel + The torpid touch of his glazing breath, and ring to + the skater's heel; + And the streams which danced on the broken + rocks, or sang to the leaning grass, + Shall bow again to their winter chain, and in + mournful silence pass. + He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes! + Let us meet him as we may, + And turn with the light of the parlor-fire his evil + power away; + And gather closer the circle round, when that + fire-light dances high, + And laugh at the shriek of the baffled Fiend as + his sounding wing goes by! + + 1830. + + + +THE MERRIMAC. + + "The Indians speak of a beautiful river, far to the south, + which they call Merrimac."--SIEUR. DE MONTS, 1604. + + + Stream of my fathers! sweetly still + The sunset rays thy valley fill; + Poured slantwise down the long defile, + Wave, wood, and spire beneath them smile. + I see the winding Powow fold + The green hill in its belt of gold, + And following down its wavy line, + Its sparkling waters blend with thine. + There's not a tree upon thy side, + Nor rock, which thy returning tide + As yet hath left abrupt and stark + Above thy evening water-mark; + No calm cove with its rocky hem, + No isle whose emerald swells begin + Thy broad, smooth current; not a sail + Bowed to the freshening ocean gale; + No small boat with its busy oars, + Nor gray wall sloping to thy shores; + Nor farm-house with its maple shade, + Or rigid poplar colonnade, + But lies distinct and full in sight, + Beneath this gush of sunset light. + Centuries ago, that harbor-bar, + Stretching its length of foam afar, + And Salisbury's beach of shining sand, + And yonder island's wave-smoothed strand, + Saw the adventurer's tiny sail, + Flit, stooping from the eastern gale; + And o'er these woods and waters broke + The cheer from Britain's hearts of oak, + As brightly on the voyager's eye, + Weary of forest, sea, and sky, + Breaking the dull continuous wood, + The Merrimac rolled down his flood; + Mingling that clear pellucid brook, + Which channels vast Agioochook + When spring-time's sun and shower unlock + The frozen fountains of the rock, + And more abundant waters given + From that pure lake, "The Smile of Heaven," + Tributes from vale and mountain-side,-- + With ocean's dark, eternal tide! + + On yonder rocky cape, which braves + The stormy challenge of the waves, + Midst tangled vine and dwarfish wood, + The hardy Anglo-Saxon stood, + Planting upon the topmost crag + The staff of England's battle-flag; + And, while from out its heavy fold + Saint George's crimson cross unrolled, + Midst roll of drum and trumpet blare, + And weapons brandishing in air, + He gave to that lone promontory + The sweetest name in all his story; + Of her, the flower of Islam's daughters, + Whose harems look on Stamboul's waters,-- + Who, when the chance of war had bound + The Moslem chain his limbs around, + Wreathed o'er with silk that iron chain, + Soothed with her smiles his hours of pain, + And fondly to her youthful slave + A dearer gift than freedom gave. + + But look! the yellow light no more + Streams down on wave and verdant shore; + And clearly on the calm air swells + The twilight voice of distant bells. + From Ocean's bosom, white and thin, + The mists come slowly rolling in; + Hills, woods, the river's rocky rim, + Amidst the sea--like vapor swim, + While yonder lonely coast-light, set + Within its wave-washed minaret, + Half quenched, a beamless star and pale, + Shines dimly through its cloudy veil! + + Home of my fathers!--I have stood + Where Hudson rolled his lordly flood + Seen sunrise rest and sunset fade + Along his frowning Palisade; + Looked down the Appalachian peak + On Juniata's silver streak; + Have seen along his valley gleam + The Mohawk's softly winding stream; + The level light of sunset shine + Through broad Potomac's hem of pine; + And autumn's rainbow-tinted banner + Hang lightly o'er the Susquehanna; + Yet wheresoe'er his step might be, + Thy wandering child looked back to thee! + Heard in his dreams thy river's sound + Of murmuring on its pebbly bound, + The unforgotten swell and roar + Of waves on thy familiar shore; + And saw, amidst the curtained gloom + And quiet of his lonely room, + Thy sunset scenes before him pass; + As, in Agrippa's magic glass, + The loved and lost arose to view, + Remembered groves in greenness grew, + Bathed still in childhood's morning dew, + Along whose bowers of beauty swept + Whatever Memory's mourners wept, + Sweet faces, which the charnel kept, + Young, gentle eyes, which long had slept; + And while the gazer leaned to trace, + More near, some dear familiar face, + He wept to find the vision flown,-- + A phantom and a dream alone! + + 1841. + + + + +HAMPTON BEACH + + The sunlight glitters keen and bright, + Where, miles away, + Lies stretching to my dazzled sight + A luminous belt, a misty light, + Beyond the dark pine bluffs and wastes of sandy gray. + + The tremulous shadow of the Sea! + Against its ground + Of silvery light, rock, hill, and tree, + Still as a picture, clear and free, + With varying outline mark the coast for miles around. + + On--on--we tread with loose-flung rein + Our seaward way, + Through dark-green fields and blossoming grain, + Where the wild brier-rose skirts the lane, + And bends above our heads the flowering locust spray. + + Ha! like a kind hand on my brow + Comes this fresh breeze, + Cooling its dull and feverish glow, + While through my being seems to flow + The breath of a new life, the healing of the seas! + + Now rest we, where this grassy mound + His feet hath set + In the great waters, which have bound + His granite ankles greenly round + With long and tangled moss, and weeds with cool spray wet. + + Good-by to Pain and Care! I take + Mine ease to-day + Here where these sunny waters break, + And ripples this keen breeze, I shake + All burdens from the heart, all weary thoughts away. + + I draw a freer breath, I seem + Like all I see-- + Waves in the sun, the white-winged gleam + Of sea-birds in the slanting beam, + And far-off sails which flit before the south-wind free. + + So when Time's veil shall fall asunder, + The soul may know + No fearful change, nor sudden wonder, + Nor sink the weight of mystery under, + But with the upward rise, and with the vastness grow. + + And all we shrink from now may seem + No new revealing; + Familiar as our childhood's stream, + Or pleasant memory of a dream + The loved and cherished Past upon the new life stealing. + + Serene and mild the untried light + May have its dawning; + And, as in summer's northern night + The evening and the dawn unite, + The sunset hues of Time blend with the soul's new morning. + + I sit alone; in foam and spray + Wave after wave + Breaks on the rocks which, stern and gray, + Shoulder the broken tide away, + Or murmurs hoarse and strong through mossy cleft and cave. + + What heed I of the dusty land + And noisy town? + I see the mighty deep expand + From its white line of glimmering sand + To where the blue of heaven on bluer waves shuts down! + + In listless quietude of mind, + I yield to all + The change of cloud and wave and wind + And passive on the flood reclined, + I wander with the waves, and with them rise and fall. + + But look, thou dreamer! wave and shore + In shadow lie; + The night-wind warns me back once more + To where, my native hill-tops o'er, + Bends like an arch of fire the glowing sunset sky. + + So then, beach, bluff, and wave, farewell! + I bear with me + No token stone nor glittering shell, + But long and oft shall Memory tell + Of this brief thoughtful hour of musing by the Sea. + + 1843. + + + + +A DREAM OF SUMMER. + + Bland as the morning breath of June + The southwest breezes play; + And, through its haze, the winter noon + Seems warm as summer's day. + The snow-plumed Angel of the North + Has dropped his icy spear; + Again the mossy earth looks forth, + Again the streams gush clear. + + The fox his hillside cell forsakes, + The muskrat leaves his nook, + The bluebird in the meadow brakes + Is singing with the brook. + "Bear up, O Mother Nature!" cry + Bird, breeze, and streamlet free; + "Our winter voices prophesy + Of summer days to thee!" + + So, in those winters of the soul, + By bitter blasts and drear + O'erswept from Memory's frozen pole, + Will sunny days appear. + Reviving Hope and Faith, they show + The soul its living powers, + And how beneath the winter's snow + Lie germs of summer flowers! + + The Night is mother of the Day, + The Winter of the Spring, + And ever upon old Decay + The greenest mosses cling. + Behind the cloud the starlight lurks, + Through showers the sunbeams fall; + For God, who loveth all His works, + Has left His hope with all! + + 4th 1st month, 1847. + + + + +THE LAKESIDE + + The shadows round the inland sea + Are deepening into night; + Slow up the slopes of Ossipee + They chase the lessening light. + Tired of the long day's blinding heat, + I rest my languid eye, + Lake of the Hills! where, cool and sweet, + Thy sunset waters lie! + + Along the sky, in wavy lines, + O'er isle and reach and bay, + Green-belted with eternal pines, + The mountains stretch away. + Below, the maple masses sleep + Where shore with water blends, + While midway on the tranquil deep + The evening light descends. + + So seemed it when yon hill's red crown, + Of old, the Indian trod, + And, through the sunset air, looked down + Upon the Smile of God. + To him of light and shade the laws + No forest skeptic taught; + Their living and eternal Cause + His truer instinct sought. + + He saw these mountains in the light + Which now across them shines; + This lake, in summer sunset bright, + Walled round with sombering pines. + God near him seemed; from earth and skies + His loving voice he heard, + As, face to face, in Paradise, + Man stood before the Lord. + + Thanks, O our Father! that, like him, + Thy tender love I see, + In radiant hill and woodland dim, + And tinted sunset sea. + For not in mockery dost Thou fill + Our earth with light and grace; + Thou hid'st no dark and cruel will + Behind Thy smiling face! + + 1849. + + + + +AUTUMN THOUGHTS + + Gone hath the Spring, with all its flowers, + And gone the Summer's pomp and show, + And Autumn, in his leafless bowers, + Is waiting for the Winter's snow. + + I said to Earth, so cold and gray, + "An emblem of myself thou art." + "Not so," the Earth did seem to say, + "For Spring shall warm my frozen heart." + I soothe my wintry sleep with dreams + Of warmer sun and softer rain, + And wait to hear the sound of streams + And songs of merry birds again. + + But thou, from whom the Spring hath gone, + For whom the flowers no longer blow, + Who standest blighted and forlorn, + Like Autumn waiting for the snow; + + No hope is thine of sunnier hours, + Thy Winter shall no more depart; + No Spring revive thy wasted flowers, + Nor Summer warm thy frozen heart. + + 1849. + + + + +ON RECEIVING AN EAGLE'S QUILL FROM LAKE SUPERIOR. + + All day the darkness and the cold + Upon my heart have lain, + Like shadows on the winter sky, + Like frost upon the pane; + + But now my torpid fancy wakes, + And, on thy Eagle's plume, + Rides forth, like Sindbad on his bird, + Or witch upon her broom! + + Below me roar the rocking pines, + Before me spreads the lake + Whose long and solemn-sounding waves + Against the sunset break. + + I hear the wild Rice-Eater thresh + The grain he has not sown; + I see, with flashing scythe of fire, + The prairie harvest mown! + + I hear the far-off voyager's horn; + I see the Yankee's trail,-- + His foot on every mountain-pass, + On every stream his sail. + + By forest, lake, and waterfall, + I see his pedler show; + The mighty mingling with the mean, + The lofty with the low. + + He's whittling by St. Mary's Falls, + Upon his loaded wain; + He's measuring o'er the Pictured Rocks, + With eager eyes of gain. + + I hear the mattock in the mine, + The axe-stroke in the dell, + The clamor from the Indian lodge, + The Jesuit chapel bell! + + I see the swarthy trappers come + From Mississippi's springs; + And war-chiefs with their painted brows, + And crests of eagle wings. + + Behind the scared squaw's birch canoe, + The steamer smokes and raves; + And city lots are staked for sale + Above old Indian graves. + + I hear the tread of pioneers + Of nations yet to be; + The first low wash of waves, where soon + Shall roll a human sea. + + The rudiments of empire here + Are plastic yet and warm; + The chaos of a mighty world + Is rounding into form! + + Each rude and jostling fragment soon + Its fitting place shall find,-- + The raw material of a State, + Its muscle and its mind! + + And, westering still, the star which leads + The New World in its train + Has tipped with fire the icy spears + Of many a mountain chain. + + The snowy cones of Oregon + Are kindling on its way; + And California's golden sands + Gleam brighter in its ray! + + Then blessings on thy eagle quill, + As, wandering far and wide, + I thank thee for this twilight dream + And Fancy's airy ride! + + Yet, welcomer than regal plumes, + Which Western trappers find, + Thy free and pleasant thoughts, chance sown, + Like feathers on the wind. + + Thy symbol be the mountain-bird, + Whose glistening quill I hold; + Thy home the ample air of hope, + And memory's sunset gold! + + In thee, let joy with duty join, + And strength unite with love, + The eagle's pinions folding round + The warm heart of the dove! + + So, when in darkness sleeps the vale + Where still the blind bird clings + The sunshine of the upper sky + Shall glitter on thy wings! + + 1849. + + + + +APRIL. + + "The spring comes slowly up this way." + Christabel. + + + 'T is the noon of the spring-time, yet never a bird + In the wind-shaken elm or the maple is heard; + For green meadow-grasses wide levels of snow, + And blowing of drifts where the crocus should blow; + Where wind-flower and violet, amber and white, + On south-sloping brooksides should smile in the light, + O'er the cold winter-beds of their late-waking roots + The frosty flake eddies, the ice-crystal shoots; + And, longing for light, under wind-driven heaps, + Round the boles of the pine-wood the ground-laurel creeps, + Unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of showers, + With buds scarcely swelled, which should burst into flowers + We wait for thy coming, sweet wind of the south! + For the touch of thy light wings, the kiss of thy mouth; + For the yearly evangel thou bearest from God, + Resurrection and life to the graves of the sod! + Up our long river-valley, for days, have not ceased + The wail and the shriek of the bitter northeast, + Raw and chill, as if winnowed through ices and snow, + All the way from the land of the wild Esquimau, + Until all our dreams of the land of the blest, + Like that red hunter's, turn to the sunny southwest. + O soul of the spring-time, its light and its breath, + Bring warmth to this coldness, bring life to this death; + Renew the great miracle; let us behold + The stone from the mouth of the sepulchre rolled, + And Nature, like Lazarus, rise, as of old! + Let our faith, which in darkness and coldness has lain, + Revive with the warmth and the brightness again, + And in blooming of flower and budding of tree + The symbols and types of our destiny see; + The life of the spring-time, the life of the whole, + And, as sun to the sleeping earth, love to the soul! + + 1852. + + + + +PICTURES + + + I. + + Light, warmth, and sprouting greenness, and o'er all + Blue, stainless, steel-bright ether, raining down + Tranquillity upon the deep-hushed town, + The freshening meadows, and the hillsides brown; + Voice of the west-wind from the hills of pine, + And the brimmed river from its distant fall, + Low hum of bees, and joyous interlude + Of bird-songs in the streamlet-skirting wood,-- + Heralds and prophecies of sound and sight, + Blessed forerunners of the warmth and light, + Attendant angels to the house of prayer, + With reverent footsteps keeping pace with mine,-- + Once more, through God's great love, with you I share + A morn of resurrection sweet and fair + As that which saw, of old, in Palestine, + Immortal Love uprising in fresh bloom + From the dark night and winter of the tomb! + + 2d, 5th mo., 1852. + + + II. + + White with its sun-bleached dust, the pathway winds + Before me; dust is on the shrunken grass, + And on the trees beneath whose boughs I pass; + Frail screen against the Hunter of the sky, + Who, glaring on me with his lidless eye, + While mounting with his dog-star high and higher + Ambushed in light intolerable, unbinds + The burnished quiver of his shafts of fire. + Between me and the hot fields of his South + A tremulous glow, as from a furnace-mouth, + Glimmers and swims before my dazzled sight, + As if the burning arrows of his ire + Broke as they fell, and shattered into light; + Yet on my cheek I feel the western wind, + And hear it telling to the orchard trees, + And to the faint and flower-forsaken bees, + Tales of fair meadows, green with constant streams, + And mountains rising blue and cool behind, + Where in moist dells the purple orchis gleams, + And starred with white the virgin's bower is twined. + So the o'erwearied pilgrim, as he fares + Along life's summer waste, at times is fanned, + Even at noontide, by the cool, sweet airs + Of a serener and a holier land, + Fresh as the morn, and as the dewfall bland. + Breath of the blessed Heaven for which we pray, + Blow from the eternal hills! make glad our earthly way! + + 8th mo., 1852. + + + + +SUMMER BY THE LAKESIDE + +LAKE WINNIPESAUKEE. + + + I. NOON. + + White clouds, whose shadows haunt the deep, + Light mists, whose soft embraces keep + The sunshine on the hills asleep! + + O isles of calm! O dark, still wood! + And stiller skies that overbrood + Your rest with deeper quietude! + + O shapes and hues, dim beckoning, through + Yon mountain gaps, my longing view + Beyond the purple and the blue, + + To stiller sea and greener land, + And softer lights and airs more bland, + And skies,--the hollow of God's hand! + + Transfused through you, O mountain friends! + With mine your solemn spirit blends, + And life no more hath separate ends. + + I read each misty mountain sign, + I know the voice of wave and pine, + And I am yours, and ye are mine. + + Life's burdens fall, its discords cease, + I lapse into the glad release + Of Nature's own exceeding peace. + + O welcome calm of heart and mind! + As falls yon fir-tree's loosened rind + To leave a tenderer growth behind, + + So fall the weary years away; + A child again, my head I lay + Upon the lap of this sweet day. + + This western wind hath Lethean powers, + Yon noonday cloud nepenthe showers, + The lake is white with lotus-flowers! + + Even Duty's voice is faint and low, + And slumberous Conscience, waking slow, + Forgets her blotted scroll to show. + + The Shadow which pursues us all, + Whose ever-nearing steps appall, + Whose voice we hear behind us call,-- + + That Shadow blends with mountain gray, + It speaks but what the light waves say,-- + Death walks apart from Fear to-day! + + Rocked on her breast, these pines and I + Alike on Nature's love rely; + And equal seems to live or die. + + Assured that He whose presence fills + With light the spaces of these hills + No evil to His creatures wills, + + The simple faith remains, that He + Will do, whatever that may be, + The best alike for man and tree. + + What mosses over one shall grow, + What light and life the other know, + Unanxious, leaving Him to show. + + + II. EVENING. + + Yon mountain's side is black with night, + While, broad-orbed, o'er its gleaming crown + The moon, slow-rounding into sight, + On the hushed inland sea looks down. + + How start to light the clustering isles, + Each silver-hemmed! How sharply show + The shadows of their rocky piles, + And tree-tops in the wave below! + + How far and strange the mountains seem, + Dim-looming through the pale, still light + The vague, vast grouping of a dream, + They stretch into the solemn night. + + Beneath, lake, wood, and peopled vale, + Hushed by that presence grand and grave, + Are silent, save the cricket's wail, + And low response of leaf and wave. + + Fair scenes! whereto the Day and Night + Make rival love, I leave ye soon, + What time before the eastern light + The pale ghost of the setting moon + + Shall hide behind yon rocky spines, + And the young archer, Morn, shall break + His arrows on the mountain pines, + And, golden-sandalled, walk the lake! + + Farewell! around this smiling bay + Gay-hearted Health, and Life in bloom, + With lighter steps than mine, may stray + In radiant summers yet to come. + + But none shall more regretful leave + These waters and these hills than I + Or, distant, fonder dream how eve + Or dawn is painting wave and sky; + + How rising moons shine sad and mild + On wooded isle and silvering bay; + Or setting suns beyond the piled + And purple mountains lead the day; + + Nor laughing girl, nor bearding boy, + Nor full-pulsed manhood, lingering here, + Shall add, to life's abounding joy, + The charmed repose to suffering dear. + + Still waits kind Nature to impart + Her choicest gifts to such as gain + An entrance to her loving heart + Through the sharp discipline of pain. + + Forever from the Hand that takes + One blessing from us others fall; + And, soon or late, our Father makes + His perfect recompense to all! + + Oh, watched by Silence and the Night, + And folded in the strong embrace + Of the great mountains, with the light + Of the sweet heavens upon thy face, + + Lake of the Northland! keep thy dower + Of beauty still, and while above + Thy solemn mountains speak of power, + Be thou the mirror of God's love. + + 1853. + + + + +THE FRUIT-GIFT. + + Last night, just as the tints of autumn's sky + Of sunset faded from our hills and streams, + I sat, vague listening, lapped in twilight dreams, + To the leaf's rustle, and the cricket's cry. + + Then, like that basket, flush with summer fruit, + Dropped by the angels at the Prophet's foot, + Came, unannounced, a gift of clustered sweetness, + Full-orbed, and glowing with the prisoned beams + Of summery suns, and rounded to completeness + By kisses of the south-wind and the dew. + Thrilled with a glad surprise, methought I knew + The pleasure of the homeward-turning Jew, + When Eshcol's clusters on his shoulders lay, + Dropping their sweetness on his desert way. + + I said, "This fruit beseems no world of sin. + Its parent vine, rooted in Paradise, + O'ercrept the wall, and never paid the price + Of the great mischief,--an ambrosial tree, + Eden's exotic, somehow smuggled in, + To keep the thorns and thistles company." + Perchance our frail, sad mother plucked in haste + A single vine-slip as she passed the gate, + Where the dread sword alternate paled and burned, + And the stern angel, pitying her fate, + Forgave the lovely trespasser, and turned + Aside his face of fire; and thus the waste + And fallen world hath yet its annual taste + Of primal good, to prove of sin the cost, + And show by one gleaned ear the mighty harvest lost. + + 1854. + + + + +FLOWERS IN WINTER + +PAINTED UPON A PORTE LIVRE. + + How strange to greet, this frosty morn, + In graceful counterfeit of flowers, + These children of the meadows, born + Of sunshine and of showers! + + How well the conscious wood retains + The pictures of its flower-sown home, + The lights and shades, the purple stains, + And golden hues of bloom! + + It was a happy thought to bring + To the dark season's frost and rime + This painted memory of spring, + This dream of summer-time. + + Our hearts are lighter for its sake, + Our fancy's age renews its youth, + And dim-remembered fictions take + The guise of--present truth. + + A wizard of the Merrimac,-- + So old ancestral legends say, + Could call green leaf and blossom back + To frosted stem and spray. + + The dry logs of the cottage wall, + Beneath his touch, put out their leaves + The clay-bound swallow, at his call, + Played round the icy eaves. + + The settler saw his oaken flail + Take bud, and bloom before his eyes; + From frozen pools he saw the pale, + Sweet summer lilies rise. + + To their old homes, by man profaned, + Came the sad dryads, exiled long, + And through their leafy tongues complained + Of household use and wrong. + + The beechen platter sprouted wild, + The pipkin wore its old-time green + The cradle o'er the sleeping child + Became a leafy screen. + + Haply our gentle friend hath met, + While wandering in her sylvan quest, + Haunting his native woodlands yet, + That Druid of the West; + + And, while the dew on leaf and flower + Glistened in moonlight clear and still, + Learned the dusk wizard's spell of power, + And caught his trick of skill. + + But welcome, be it new or old, + The gift which makes the day more bright, + And paints, upon the ground of cold + And darkness, warmth and light. + + Without is neither gold nor green; + Within, for birds, the birch-logs sing; + Yet, summer-like, we sit between + The autumn and the spring. + + The one, with bridal blush of rose, + And sweetest breath of woodland balm, + And one whose matron lips unclose + In smiles of saintly calm. + + Fill soft and deep, O winter snow! + The sweet azalea's oaken dells, + And hide the bank where roses blow, + And swing the azure bells! + + O'erlay the amber violet's leaves, + The purple aster's brookside home, + Guard all the flowers her pencil gives + A life beyond their bloom. + + And she, when spring comes round again, + By greening slope and singing flood + Shall wander, seeking, not in vain, + Her darlings of the wood. + + 1855. + + + + +THE MAYFLOWERS + +The trailing arbutus, or mayflower, grows abundantly in the vicinity of +Plymouth, and was the first flower that greeted the Pilgrims after their +fearful winter. The name mayflower was familiar in England, as the +application of it to the historic vessel shows, but it was applied by +the English, and still is, to the hawthorn. Its use in New England in +connection with _Epigma repens _dates from a very early day, some +claiming that the first Pilgrims so used it, in affectionate memory of +the vessel and its English flower association. + + Sad Mayflower! watched by winter stars, + And nursed by winter gales, + With petals of the sleeted spars, + And leaves of frozen sails! + + What had she in those dreary hours, + Within her ice-rimmed bay, + In common with the wild-wood flowers, + The first sweet smiles of May? + + Yet, "God be praised!" the Pilgrim said, + Who saw the blossoms peer + Above the brown leaves, dry and dead, + "Behold our Mayflower here!" + + "God wills it: here our rest shall be, + Our years of wandering o'er; + For us the Mayflower of the sea + Shall spread her sails no more." + + O sacred flowers of faith and hope, + As sweetly now as then + Ye bloom on many a birchen slope, + In many a pine-dark glen. + + Behind the sea-wall's rugged length, + Unchanged, your leaves unfold, + Like love behind the manly strength + Of the brave hearts of old. + + So live the fathers in their sons, + Their sturdy faith be ours, + And ours the love that overruns + Its rocky strength with flowers! + + The Pilgrim's wild and wintry day + Its shadow round us draws; + The Mayflower of his stormy bay, + Our Freedom's struggling cause. + + But warmer suns erelong shall bring + To life the frozen sod; + And through dead leaves of hope shall spring + Afresh the flowers of God! + + 1856. + + + + +THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN. + + I. + O'er the bare woods, whose outstretched hands + Plead with the leaden heavens in vain, + I see, beyond the valley lands, + The sea's long level dim with rain. + Around me all things, stark and dumb, + Seem praying for the snows to come, + And, for the summer bloom and greenness gone, + With winter's sunset lights and dazzling morn atone. + + II. + Along the river's summer walk, + The withered tufts of asters nod; + And trembles on its arid stalk + The boar plume of the golden-rod. + And on a ground of sombre fir, + And azure-studded juniper, + The silver birch its buds of purple shows, + And scarlet berries tell where bloomed the sweet wild-rose! + + III. + With mingled sound of horns and bells, + A far-heard clang, the wild geese fly, + Storm-sent, from Arctic moors and fells, + Like a great arrow through the sky, + Two dusky lines converged in one, + Chasing the southward-flying sun; + While the brave snow-bird and the hardy jay + Call to them from the pines, as if to bid them stay. + + IV. + I passed this way a year ago + The wind blew south; the noon of day + Was warm as June's; and save that snow + Flecked the low mountains far away, + And that the vernal-seeming breeze + Mocked faded grass and leafless trees, + I might have dreamed of summer as I lay, + Watching the fallen leaves with the soft wind at play. + + V. + Since then, the winter blasts have piled + The white pagodas of the snow + On these rough slopes, and, strong and wild, + Yon river, in its overflow + Of spring-time rain and sun, set free, + Crashed with its ices to the sea; + And over these gray fields, then green and gold, + The summer corn has waved, the thunder's organ rolled. + + VI. + Rich gift of God! A year of time + What pomp of rise and shut of day, + What hues wherewith our Northern clime + Makes autumn's dropping woodlands gay, + What airs outblown from ferny dells, + And clover-bloom and sweetbrier smells, + What songs of brooks and birds, what fruits and flowers, + Green woods and moonlit snows, have in its round been ours! + + VII. + I know not how, in other lands, + The changing seasons come and go; + What splendors fall on Syrian sands, + What purple lights on Alpine snow! + Nor how the pomp of sunrise waits + On Venice at her watery gates; + A dream alone to me is Arno's vale, + And the Alhambra's halls are but a traveller's tale. + + VIII. + Yet, on life's current, he who drifts + Is one with him who rows or sails + And he who wanders widest lifts + No more of beauty's jealous veils + Than he who from his doorway sees + The miracle of flowers and trees, + Feels the warm Orient in the noonday air, + And from cloud minarets hears the sunset call to prayer! + + IX. + The eye may well be glad that looks + Where Pharpar's fountains rise and fall; + But he who sees his native brooks + Laugh in the sun, has seen them all. + The marble palaces of Ind + Rise round him in the snow and wind; + From his lone sweetbrier Persian Hafiz smiles, + And Rome's cathedral awe is in his woodland aisles. + + X. + And thus it is my fancy blends + The near at hand and far and rare; + And while the same horizon bends + Above the silver-sprinkled hair + Which flashed the light of morning skies + On childhood's wonder-lifted eyes, + Within its round of sea and sky and field, + Earth wheels with all her zones, the Kosmos stands revealed. + + XI. + And thus the sick man on his bed, + The toiler to his task-work bound, + Behold their prison-walls outspread, + Their clipped horizon widen round! + While freedom-giving fancy waits, + Like Peter's angel at the gates, + The power is theirs to baffle care and pain, + To bring the lost world back, and make it theirs again! + + XII. + What lack of goodly company, + When masters of the ancient lyre + Obey my call, and trace for me + Their words of mingled tears and fire! + I talk with Bacon, grave and wise, + I read the world with Pascal's eyes; + And priest and sage, with solemn brows austere, + And poets, garland-bound, the Lords of Thought, draw near. + + XIII. + Methinks, O friend, I hear thee say, + "In vain the human heart we mock; + Bring living guests who love the day, + Not ghosts who fly at crow of cock! + The herbs we share with flesh and blood + Are better than ambrosial food + With laurelled shades." I grant it, nothing loath, + But doubly blest is he who can partake of both. + + XIV. + He who might Plato's banquet grace, + Have I not seen before me sit, + And watched his puritanic face, + With more than Eastern wisdom lit? + Shrewd mystic! who, upon the back + Of his Poor Richard's Almanac, + Writing the Sufi's song, the Gentoo's dream, + Links Manu's age of thought to Fulton's age of steam! + + XV. + Here too, of answering love secure, + Have I not welcomed to my hearth + The gentle pilgrim troubadour, + Whose songs have girdled half the earth; + Whose pages, like the magic mat + Whereon the Eastern lover sat, + Have borne me over Rhine-land's purple vines, + And Nubia's tawny sands, and Phrygia's mountain pines! + + XVI. + And he, who to the lettered wealth + Of ages adds the lore unpriced, + The wisdom and the moral health, + The ethics of the school of Christ; + The statesman to his holy trust, + As the Athenian archon, just, + Struck down, exiled like him for truth alone, + Has he not graced my home with beauty all his own? + + XVII. + What greetings smile, what farewells wave, + What loved ones enter and depart! + The good, the beautiful, the brave, + The Heaven-lent treasures of the heart! + How conscious seems the frozen sod + And beechen slope whereon they trod + The oak-leaves rustle, and the dry grass bends + Beneath the shadowy feet of lost or absent friends. + + XVIII. + Then ask not why to these bleak hills + I cling, as clings the tufted moss, + To bear the winter's lingering chills, + The mocking spring's perpetual loss. + I dream of lands where summer smiles, + And soft winds blow from spicy isles, + But scarce would Ceylon's breath of flowers be sweet, + Could I not feel thy soil, New England, at my feet! + + XIX. + At times I long for gentler skies, + And bathe in dreams of softer air, + But homesick tears would fill the eyes + That saw the Cross without the Bear. + The pine must whisper to the palm, + The north-wind break the tropic calm; + And with the dreamy languor of the Line, + The North's keen virtue blend, and strength to beauty join. + + XX. + Better to stem with heart and hand + The roaring tide of life, than lie, + Unmindful, on its flowery strand, + Of God's occasions drifting by + Better with naked nerve to bear + The needles of this goading air, + Than, in the lap of sensual ease, forego + The godlike power to do, the godlike aim to know. + + XXI. + Home of my heart! to me more fair + Than gay Versailles or Windsor's halls, + The painted, shingly town-house where + The freeman's vote for Freedom falls! + The simple roof where prayer is made, + Than Gothic groin and colonnade; + The living temple of the heart of man, + Than Rome's sky-mocking vault, or many-spired Milan! + + XXII. + More dear thy equal village schools, + Where rich and poor the Bible read, + Than classic halls where Priestcraft rules, + And Learning wears the chains of Creed; + Thy glad Thanksgiving, gathering in + The scattered sheaves of home and kin, + Than the mad license ushering Lenten pains, + Or holidays of slaves who laugh and dance in chains. + + XXIII. + And sweet homes nestle in these dales, + And perch along these wooded swells; + And, blest beyond Arcadian vales, + They hear the sound of Sabbath bells! + Here dwells no perfect man sublime, + Nor woman winged before her time, + But with the faults and follies of the race, + Old home-bred virtues hold their not unhonored place. + + XXIV. + Here manhood struggles for the sake + Of mother, sister, daughter, wife, + The graces and the loves which make + The music of the march of life; + And woman, in her daily round + Of duty, walks on holy ground. + No unpaid menial tills the soil, nor here + Is the bad lesson learned at human rights to sneer. + + XXV. + Then let the icy north-wind blow + The trumpets of the coming storm, + To arrowy sleet and blinding snow + Yon slanting lines of rain transform. + Young hearts shall hail the drifted cold, + As gayly as I did of old; + And I, who watch them through the frosty pane, + Unenvious, live in them my boyhood o'er again. + + XXVI. + And I will trust that He who heeds + The life that hides in mead and wold, + Who hangs yon alder's crimson beads, + And stains these mosses green and gold, + Will still, as He hath done, incline + His gracious care to me and mine; + Grant what we ask aright, from wrong debar, + And, as the earth grows dark, make brighter every star! + + XXVII. + I have not seen, I may not see, + My hopes for man take form in fact, + But God will give the victory + In due time; in that faith I act. + And lie who sees the future sure, + The baffling present may endure, + And bless, meanwhile, the unseen Hand that leads + The heart's desires beyond the halting step of deeds. + + XXVIII. + And thou, my song, I send thee forth, + Where harsher songs of mine have flown; + Go, find a place at home and hearth + Where'er thy singer's name is known; + Revive for him the kindly thought + Of friends; and they who love him not, + Touched by some strain of thine, perchance may take + The hand he proffers all, and thank him for thy sake. + + 1857. + + + + +THE FIRST FLOWERS + + For ages on our river borders, + These tassels in their tawny bloom, + And willowy studs of downy silver, + Have prophesied of Spring to come. + + For ages have the unbound waters + Smiled on them from their pebbly hem, + And the clear carol of the robin + And song of bluebird welcomed them. + + But never yet from smiling river, + Or song of early bird, have they + Been greeted with a gladder welcome + Than whispers from my heart to-day. + + They break the spell of cold and darkness, + The weary watch of sleepless pain; + And from my heart, as from the river, + The ice of winter melts again. + + Thanks, Mary! for this wild-wood token + Of Freya's footsteps drawing near; + Almost, as in the rune of Asgard, + The growing of the grass I hear. + + It is as if the pine-trees called me + From ceiled room and silent books, + To see the dance of woodland shadows, + And hear the song of April brooks! + + As in the old Teutonic ballad + Of Odenwald live bird and tree, + Together live in bloom and music, + I blend in song thy flowers and thee. + + Earth's rocky tablets bear forever + The dint of rain and small bird's track + Who knows but that my idle verses + May leave some trace by Merrimac! + + The bird that trod the mellow layers + Of the young earth is sought in vain; + The cloud is gone that wove the sandstone, + From God's design, with threads of rain! + + So, when this fluid age we live in + Shall stiffen round my careless rhyme, + Who made the vagrant tracks may puzzle + The savants of the coming time; + + And, following out their dim suggestions, + Some idly-curious hand may draw + My doubtful portraiture, as Cuvier + Drew fish and bird from fin and claw. + + And maidens in the far-off twilights, + Singing my words to breeze and stream, + Shall wonder if the old-time Mary + Were real, or the rhymer's dream! + + 1st 3d mo., 1857. + + + + +THE OLD BURYING-GROUND. + + Our vales are sweet with fern and rose, + Our hills are maple-crowned; + But not from them our fathers chose + The village burying-ground. + + The dreariest spot in all the land + To Death they set apart; + With scanty grace from Nature's hand, + And none from that of Art. + + A winding wall of mossy stone, + Frost-flung and broken, lines + A lonesome acre thinly grown + With grass and wandering vines. + + Without the wall a birch-tree shows + Its drooped and tasselled head; + Within, a stag-horned sumach grows, + Fern-leafed, with spikes of red. + + There, sheep that graze the neighboring plain + Like white ghosts come and go, + The farm-horse drags his fetlock chain, + The cow-bell tinkles slow. + + Low moans the river from its bed, + The distant pines reply; + Like mourners shrinking from the dead, + They stand apart and sigh. + + Unshaded smites the summer sun, + Unchecked the winter blast; + The school-girl learns the place to shun, + With glances backward cast. + + For thus our fathers testified, + That he might read who ran, + The emptiness of human pride, + The nothingness of man. + + They dared not plant the grave with flowers, + Nor dress the funeral sod, + Where, with a love as deep as ours, + They left their dead with God. + + The hard and thorny path they kept + From beauty turned aside; + Nor missed they over those who slept + The grace to life denied. + + Yet still the wilding flowers would blow, + The golden leaves would fall, + The seasons come, the seasons go, + And God be good to all. + + Above the graves the' blackberry hung + In bloom and green its wreath, + And harebells swung as if they rung + The chimes of peace beneath. + + The beauty Nature loves to share, + The gifts she hath for all, + The common light, the common air, + O'ercrept the graveyard's wall. + + It knew the glow of eventide, + The sunrise and the noon, + And glorified and sanctified + It slept beneath the moon. + + With flowers or snow-flakes for its sod, + Around the seasons ran, + And evermore the love of God + Rebuked the fear of man. + + We dwell with fears on either hand, + Within a daily strife, + And spectral problems waiting stand + Before the gates of life. + + The doubts we vainly seek to solve, + The truths we know, are one; + The known and nameless stars revolve + Around the Central Sun. + + And if we reap as we have sown, + And take the dole we deal, + The law of pain is love alone, + The wounding is to heal. + + Unharmed from change to change we glide, + We fall as in our dreams; + The far-off terror at our side + A smiling angel seems. + + Secure on God's all-tender heart + Alike rest great and small; + Why fear to lose our little part, + When He is pledged for all? + + O fearful heart and troubled brain + Take hope and strength from this,-- + That Nature never hints in vain, + Nor prophesies amiss. + + Her wild birds sing the same sweet stave, + Her lights and airs are given + Alike to playground and the grave; + And over both is Heaven. + + 1858 + + + + +THE PALM-TREE. + + Is it the palm, the cocoa-palm, + On the Indian Sea, by the isles of balm? + Or is it a ship in the breezeless calm? + + A ship whose keel is of palm beneath, + Whose ribs of palm have a palm-bark sheath, + And a rudder of palm it steereth with. + + Branches of palm are its spars and rails, + Fibres of palm are its woven sails, + And the rope is of palm that idly trails! + + What does the good ship bear so well? + The cocoa-nut with its stony shell, + And the milky sap of its inner cell. + + What are its jars, so smooth and fine, + But hollowed nuts, filled with oil and wine, + And the cabbage that ripens under the Line? + + Who smokes his nargileh, cool and calm? + The master, whose cunning and skill could charm + Cargo and ship from the bounteous palm. + + In the cabin he sits on a palm-mat soft, + From a beaker of palm his drink is quaffed, + And a palm-thatch shields from the sun aloft! + + His dress is woven of palmy strands, + And he holds a palm-leaf scroll in his hands, + Traced with the Prophet's wise commands! + + The turban folded about his head + Was daintily wrought of the palm-leaf braid, + And the fan that cools him of palm was made. + + Of threads of palm was the carpet spun + Whereon he kneels when the day is done, + And the foreheads of Islam are bowed as one! + + To him the palm is a gift divine, + Wherein all uses of man combine,-- + House, and raiment, and food, and wine! + + And, in the hour of his great release, + His need of the palm shall only cease + With the shroud wherein he lieth in peace. + + "Allah il Allah!" he sings his psalm, + On the Indian Sea, by the isles of balm; + "Thanks to Allah who gives the palm!" + + 1858. + + + + +THE RIVER PATH. + + No bird-song floated down the hill, + The tangled bank below was still; + + No rustle from the birchen stem, + No ripple from the water's hem. + + The dusk of twilight round us grew, + We felt the falling of the dew; + + For, from us, ere the day was done, + The wooded hills shut out the sun. + + But on the river's farther side + We saw the hill-tops glorified,-- + + A tender glow, exceeding fair, + A dream of day without its glare. + + With us the damp, the chill, the gloom + With them the sunset's rosy bloom; + + While dark, through willowy vistas seen, + The river rolled in shade between. + + From out the darkness where we trod, + We gazed upon those bills of God, + + Whose light seemed not of moon or sun. + We spake not, but our thought was one. + + We paused, as if from that bright shore + Beckoned our dear ones gone before; + + And stilled our beating hearts to hear + The voices lost to mortal ear! + + Sudden our pathway turned from night; + The hills swung open to the light; + + Through their green gates the sunshine showed, + A long, slant splendor downward flowed. + + Down glade and glen and bank it rolled; + It bridged the shaded stream with gold; + + And, borne on piers of mist, allied + The shadowy with the sunlit side! + + "So," prayed we, "when our feet draw near + The river dark, with mortal fear, + + "And the night cometh chill with dew, + O Father! let Thy light break through! + + "So let the hills of doubt divide, + So bridge with faith the sunless tide! + + "So let the eyes that fail on earth + On Thy eternal hills look forth; + + "And in Thy beckoning angels know + The dear ones whom we loved below!" + + 1880. + + + +MOUNTAIN PICTURES. + + I. FRANCONIA FROM THE PEMIGEWASSET + + Once more, O Mountains of the North, unveil + Your brows, and lay your cloudy mantles by + And once more, ere the eyes that seek ye fail, + Uplift against the blue walls of the sky + Your mighty shapes, and let the sunshine weave + Its golden net-work in your belting woods, + Smile down in rainbows from your falling floods, + And on your kingly brows at morn and eve + Set crowns of fire! So shall my soul receive + Haply the secret of your calm and strength, + Your unforgotten beauty interfuse + My common life, your glorious shapes and hues + And sun-dropped splendors at my bidding come, + Loom vast through dreams, and stretch in billowy length + From the sea-level of my lowland home! + + They rise before me! Last night's thunder-gust + Roared not in vain: for where its lightnings thrust + Their tongues of fire, the great peaks seem so near, + Burned clean of mist, so starkly bold and clear, + I almost pause the wind in the pines to hear, + The loose rock's fall, the steps of browsing deer. + The clouds that shattered on yon slide-worn walls + And splintered on the rocks their spears of rain + Have set in play a thousand waterfalls, + Making the dusk and silence of the woods + Glad with the laughter of the chasing floods, + And luminous with blown spray and silver gleams, + While, in the vales below, the dry-lipped streams + Sing to the freshened meadow-lands again. + So, let me hope, the battle-storm that beats + The land with hail and fire may pass away + With its spent thunders at the break of day, + Like last night's clouds, and leave, as it retreats, + A greener earth and fairer sky behind, + Blown crystal-clear by Freedom's Northern wind! + + II. MONADNOCK FROM WACHUSET. + + I would I were a painter, for the sake + Of a sweet picture, and of her who led, + A fitting guide, with reverential tread, + Into that mountain mystery. First a lake + Tinted with sunset; next the wavy lines + Of far receding hills; and yet more far, + Monadnock lifting from his night of pines + His rosy forehead to the evening star. + Beside us, purple-zoned, Wachuset laid + His head against the West, whose warm light made + His aureole; and o'er him, sharp and clear, + Like a shaft of lightning in mid-launching stayed, + A single level cloud-line, shone upon + By the fierce glances of the sunken sun, + Menaced the darkness with its golden spear! + + So twilight deepened round us. Still and black + The great woods climbed the mountain at our back; + And on their skirts, where yet the lingering day + On the shorn greenness of the clearing lay, + The brown old farm-house like a bird's-nest hung. + With home-life sounds the desert air was stirred + The bleat of sheep along the hill we heard, + The bucket plashing in the cool, sweet well, + The pasture-bars that clattered as they fell; + Dogs barked, fowls fluttered, cattle lowed; the gate + Of the barn-yard creaked beneath the merry weight + Of sun-brown children, listening, while they swung, + The welcome sound of supper-call to hear; + And down the shadowy lane, in tinklings clear, + The pastoral curfew of the cow-bell rung. + Thus soothed and pleased, our backward path we took, + Praising the farmer's home. He only spake, + Looking into the sunset o'er the lake, + Like one to whom the far-off is most near: + "Yes, most folks think it has a pleasant look; + I love it for my good old mother's sake, + Who lived and died here in the peace of God!" + The lesson of his words we pondered o'er, + As silently we turned the eastern flank + Of the mountain, where its shadow deepest sank, + Doubling the night along our rugged road: + We felt that man was more than his abode,-- + The inward life than Nature's raiment more; + And the warm sky, the sundown-tinted hill, + The forest and the lake, seemed dwarfed and dim + Before the saintly soul, whose human will + Meekly in the Eternal footsteps trod, + Making her homely toil and household ways + An earthly echo of the song of praise + Swelling from angel lips and harps of seraphim. + + 1862. + + + + +THE VANISHERS. + + Sweetest of all childlike dreams + In the simple Indian lore + Still to me the legend seems + Of the shapes who flit before. + + Flitting, passing, seen and gone, + Never reached nor found at rest, + Baffling search, but beckoning on + To the Sunset of the Blest. + + From the clefts of mountain rocks, + Through the dark of lowland firs, + Flash the eyes and flow the locks + Of the mystic Vanishers! + + And the fisher in his skiff, + And the hunter on the moss, + Hear their call from cape and cliff, + See their hands the birch-leaves toss. + + Wistful, longing, through the green + Twilight of the clustered pines, + In their faces rarely seen + Beauty more than mortal shines. + + Fringed with gold their mantles flow + On the slopes of westering knolls; + In the wind they whisper low + Of the Sunset Land of Souls. + + Doubt who may, O friend of mine! + Thou and I have seen them too; + On before with beck and sign + Still they glide, and we pursue. + + More than clouds of purple trail + In the gold of setting day; + More than gleams of wing or sail + Beckon from the sea-mist gray. + + Glimpses of immortal youth, + Gleams and glories seen and flown, + Far-heard voices sweet with truth, + Airs from viewless Eden blown; + + Beauty that eludes our grasp, + Sweetness that transcends our taste, + Loving hands we may not clasp, + Shining feet that mock our haste; + + Gentle eyes we closed below, + Tender voices heard once more, + Smile and call us, as they go + On and onward, still before. + + Guided thus, O friend of mine + Let us walk our little way, + Knowing by each beckoning sign + That we are not quite astray. + + Chase we still, with baffled feet, + Smiling eye and waving hand, + Sought and seeker soon shall meet, + Lost and found, in Sunset Land. + + 1864. + + + + +THE PAGEANT. + + A sound as if from bells of silver, + Or elfin cymbals smitten clear, + Through the frost-pictured panes I hear. + + A brightness which outshines the morning, + A splendor brooking no delay, + Beckons and tempts my feet away. + + I leave the trodden village highway + For virgin snow-paths glimmering through + A jewelled elm-tree avenue; + + Where, keen against the walls of sapphire, + The gleaming tree-bolls, ice-embossed, + Hold up their chandeliers of frost. + + I tread in Orient halls enchanted, + I dream the Saga's dream of caves + Gem-lit beneath the North Sea waves! + + I walk the land of Eldorado, + I touch its mimic garden bowers, + Its silver leaves and diamond flowers! + + The flora of the mystic mine-world + Around me lifts on crystal stems + The petals of its clustered gems! + + What miracle of weird transforming + In this wild work of frost and light, + This glimpse of glory infinite! + + This foregleam of the Holy City + Like that to him of Patmos given, + The white bride coming down from heaven! + + How flash the ranked and mail-clad alders, + Through what sharp-glancing spears of reeds + The brook its muffled water leads! + + Yon maple, like the bush of Horeb, + Burns unconsumed: a white, cold fire + Rays out from every grassy spire. + + Each slender rush and spike of mullein, + Low laurel shrub and drooping fern, + Transfigured, blaze where'er I turn. + + How yonder Ethiopian hemlock + Crowned with his glistening circlet stands! + What jewels light his swarthy hands! + + Here, where the forest opens southward, + Between its hospitable pines, + As through a door, the warm sun shines. + + The jewels loosen on the branches, + And lightly, as the soft winds blow, + Fall, tinkling, on the ice below. + + And through the clashing of their cymbals + I hear the old familiar fall + Of water down the rocky wall, + + Where, from its wintry prison breaking, + In dark and silence hidden long, + The brook repeats its summer song. + + One instant flashing in the sunshine, + Keen as a sabre from its sheath, + Then lost again the ice beneath. + + I hear the rabbit lightly leaping, + The foolish screaming of the jay, + The chopper's axe-stroke far away; + + The clamor of some neighboring barn-yard, + The lazy cock's belated crow, + Or cattle-tramp in crispy snow. + + And, as in some enchanted forest + The lost knight hears his comrades sing, + And, near at hand, their bridles ring,-- + + So welcome I these sounds and voices, + These airs from far-off summer blown, + This life that leaves me not alone. + + For the white glory overawes me; + The crystal terror of the seer + Of Chebar's vision blinds me here. + + Rebuke me not, O sapphire heaven! + Thou stainless earth, lay not on me, + Thy keen reproach of purity, + + If, in this August presence-chamber, + I sigh for summer's leaf-green gloom + And warm airs thick with odorous bloom! + + Let the strange frost-work sink and crumble, + And let the loosened tree-boughs swing, + Till all their bells of silver ring. + + Shine warmly down, thou sun of noontime, + On this chill pageant, melt and move + The winter's frozen heart with love. + + And, soft and low, thou wind south-blowing, + Breathe through a veil of tenderest haze + Thy prophecy of summer days. + + Come with thy green relief of promise, + And to this dead, cold splendor bring + The living jewels of the spring! + + 1869. + + + + +THE PRESSED GENTIAN. + + The time of gifts has come again, + And, on my northern window-pane, + Outlined against the day's brief light, + A Christmas token hangs in sight. + + The wayside travellers, as they pass, + Mark the gray disk of clouded glass; + And the dull blankness seems, perchance, + Folly to their wise ignorance. + + They cannot from their outlook see + The perfect grace it hath for me; + For there the flower, whose fringes through + The frosty breath of autumn blew, + Turns from without its face of bloom + To the warm tropic of my room, + As fair as when beside its brook + The hue of bending skies it took. + + So from the trodden ways of earth, + Seem some sweet souls who veil their worth, + And offer to the careless glance + The clouding gray of circumstance. + They blossom best where hearth-fires burn, + To loving eyes alone they turn + The flowers of inward grace, that hide + Their beauty from the world outside. + + But deeper meanings come to me, + My half-immortal flower, from thee! + Man judges from a partial view, + None ever yet his brother knew; + The Eternal Eye that sees the whole + May better read the darkened soul, + And find, to outward sense denied, + The flower upon its inmost side + + 1872. + + + + +A MYSTERY. + + The river hemmed with leaning trees + Wound through its meadows green; + A low, blue line of mountains showed + The open pines between. + + One sharp, tall peak above them all + Clear into sunlight sprang + I saw the river of my dreams, + The mountains that I sang! + + No clue of memory led me on, + But well the ways I knew; + A feeling of familiar things + With every footstep grew. + + Not otherwise above its crag + Could lean the blasted pine; + Not otherwise the maple hold + Aloft its red ensign. + + So up the long and shorn foot-hills + The mountain road should creep; + So, green and low, the meadow fold + Its red-haired kine asleep. + + The river wound as it should wind; + Their place the mountains took; + The white torn fringes of their clouds + Wore no unwonted look. + + Yet ne'er before that river's rim + Was pressed by feet of mine, + Never before mine eyes had crossed + That broken mountain line. + + A presence, strange at once and known, + Walked with me as my guide; + The skirts of some forgotten life + Trailed noiseless at my side. + + Was it a dim-remembered dream? + Or glimpse through aeons old? + The secret which the mountains kept + The river never told. + + But from the vision ere it passed + A tender hope I drew, + And, pleasant as a dawn of spring, + The thought within me grew, + + That love would temper every change, + And soften all surprise, + And, misty with the dreams of earth, + The hills of Heaven arise. + + 1873. + + + + +A SEA DREAM. + + We saw the slow tides go and come, + The curving surf-lines lightly drawn, + The gray rocks touched with tender bloom + Beneath the fresh-blown rose of dawn. + + We saw in richer sunsets lost + The sombre pomp of showery noons; + And signalled spectral sails that crossed + The weird, low light of rising moons. + + On stormy eves from cliff and head + We saw the white spray tossed and spurned; + While over all, in gold and red, + Its face of fire the lighthouse turned. + + The rail-car brought its daily crowds, + Half curious, half indifferent, + Like passing sails or floating clouds, + We saw them as they came and went. + + But, one calm morning, as we lay + And watched the mirage-lifted wall + Of coast, across the dreamy bay, + And heard afar the curlew call, + + And nearer voices, wild or tame, + Of airy flock and childish throng, + Up from the water's edge there came + Faint snatches of familiar song. + + Careless we heard the singer's choice + Of old and common airs; at last + The tender pathos of his voice + In one low chanson held us fast. + + A song that mingled joy and pain, + And memories old and sadly sweet; + While, timing to its minor strain, + The waves in lapsing cadence beat. + + . . . . . + + The waves are glad in breeze and sun; + The rocks are fringed with foam; + I walk once more a haunted shore, + A stranger, yet at home, + A land of dreams I roam. + + Is this the wind, the soft sea wind + That stirred thy locks of brown? + Are these the rocks whose mosses knew + The trail of thy light gown, + Where boy and girl sat down? + + I see the gray fort's broken wall, + The boats that rock below; + And, out at sea, the passing sails + We saw so long ago + Rose-red in morning's glow. + + The freshness of the early time + On every breeze is blown; + As glad the sea, as blue the sky,-- + The change is ours alone; + The saddest is my own. + + A stranger now, a world-worn man, + Is he who bears my name; + But thou, methinks, whose mortal life + Immortal youth became, + Art evermore the same. + + Thou art not here, thou art not there, + Thy place I cannot see; + I only know that where thou art + The blessed angels be, + And heaven is glad for thee. + + Forgive me if the evil years + Have left on me their sign; + Wash out, O soul so beautiful, + The many stains of mine + In tears of love divine! + + I could not look on thee and live, + If thou wert by my side; + The vision of a shining one, + The white and heavenly bride, + Is well to me denied. + + But turn to me thy dear girl-face + Without the angel's crown, + The wedded roses of thy lips, + Thy loose hair rippling down + In waves of golden brown. + + Look forth once more through space and time, + And let thy sweet shade fall + In tenderest grace of soul and form + On memory's frescoed wall, + A shadow, and yet all! + + Draw near, more near, forever dear! + Where'er I rest or roam, + Or in the city's crowded streets, + Or by the blown sea foam, + The thought of thee is home! + + . . . . . + + At breakfast hour the singer read + The city news, with comment wise, + Like one who felt the pulse of trade + Beneath his finger fall and rise. + + His look, his air, his curt speech, told + The man of action, not of books, + To whom the corners made in gold + And stocks were more than seaside nooks. + + Of life beneath the life confessed + His song had hinted unawares; + Of flowers in traffic's ledgers pressed, + Of human hearts in bulls and bears. + + But eyes in vain were turned to watch + That face so hard and shrewd and strong; + And ears in vain grew sharp to catch + The meaning of that morning song. + + In vain some sweet-voiced querist sought + To sound him, leaving as she came; + Her baited album only caught + A common, unromantic name. + + No word betrayed the mystery fine, + That trembled on the singer's tongue; + He came and went, and left no sign + Behind him save the song he sung. + + 1874. + + + + +HAZEL BLOSSOMS. + + The summer warmth has left the sky, + The summer songs have died away; + And, withered, in the footpaths lie + The fallen leaves, but yesterday + With ruby and with topaz gay. + + The grass is browning on the hills; + No pale, belated flowers recall + The astral fringes of the rills, + And drearily the dead vines fall, + Frost-blackened, from the roadside wall. + + Yet through the gray and sombre wood, + Against the dusk of fir and pine, + Last of their floral sisterhood, + The hazel's yellow blossoms shine, + The tawny gold of Afric's mine! + + Small beauty hath my unsung flower, + For spring to own or summer hail; + But, in the season's saddest hour, + To skies that weep and winds that wail + Its glad surprisals never fail. + + O days grown cold! O life grown old + No rose of June may bloom again; + But, like the hazel's twisted gold, + Through early frost and latter rain + Shall hints of summer-time remain. + + And as within the hazel's bough + A gift of mystic virtue dwells, + That points to golden ores below, + And in dry desert places tells + Where flow unseen the cool, sweet wells, + + So, in the wise Diviner's hand, + Be mine the hazel's grateful part + To feel, beneath a thirsty land, + The living waters thrill and start, + The beating of the rivulet's heart! + + Sufficeth me the gift to light + With latest bloom the dark, cold days; + To call some hidden spring to sight + That, in these dry and dusty ways, + Shall sing its pleasant song of praise. + + O Love! the hazel-wand may fail, + But thou canst lend the surer spell, + That, passing over Baca's vale, + Repeats the old-time miracle, + And makes the desert-land a well. + + 1874. + + + + +SUNSET ON THE BEARCAMP. + + A gold fringe on the purpling hem + Of hills the river runs, + As down its long, green valley falls + The last of summer's suns. + + Along its tawny gravel-bed + Broad-flowing, swift, and still, + As if its meadow levels felt + The hurry of the hill, + Noiseless between its banks of green + From curve to curve it slips; + The drowsy maple-shadows rest + Like fingers on its lips. + + A waif from Carroll's wildest hills, + Unstoried and unknown; + The ursine legend of its name + Prowls on its banks alone. + Yet flowers as fair its slopes adorn + As ever Yarrow knew, + Or, under rainy Irish skies, + By Spenser's Mulla grew; + And through the gaps of leaning trees + Its mountain cradle shows + The gold against the amethyst, + The green against the rose. + + Touched by a light that hath no name, + A glory never sung, + Aloft on sky and mountain wall + Are God's great pictures hung. + How changed the summits vast and old! + No longer granite-browed, + They melt in rosy mist; the rock + Is softer than the cloud; + The valley holds its breath; no leaf + Of all its elms is twirled + The silence of eternity + Seems falling on the world. + + The pause before the breaking seals + Of mystery is this; + Yon miracle-play of night and day + Makes dumb its witnesses. + What unseen altar crowns the hills + That reach up stair on stair? + What eyes look through, what white wings fan + These purple veils of air? + What Presence from the heavenly heights + To those of earth stoops down? + Not vainly Hellas dreamed of gods + On Ida's snowy crown! + + Slow fades the vision of the sky, + The golden water pales, + And over all the valley-land + A gray-winged vapor sails. + I go the common way of all; + The sunset fires will burn, + The flowers will blow, the river flow, + When I no more return. + No whisper from the mountain pine + Nor lapsing stream shall tell + The stranger, treading where I tread, + Of him who loved them well. + + But beauty seen is never lost, + God's colors all are fast; + The glory of this sunset heaven + Into my soul has passed, + A sense of gladness unconfined + To mortal date or clime; + As the soul liveth, it shall live + Beyond the years of time. + Beside the mystic asphodels + Shall bloom the home-born flowers, + And new horizons flush and glow + With sunset hues of ours. + + Farewell! these smiling hills must wear + Too soon their wintry frown, + And snow-cold winds from off them shake + The maple's red leaves down. + But I shall see a summer sun + Still setting broad and low; + The mountain slopes shall blush and bloom, + The golden water flow. + A lover's claim is mine on all + I see to have and hold,-- + The rose-light of perpetual hills, + And sunsets never cold! + + 1876 + + + + +THE SEEKING OF THE WATERFALL. + + They left their home of summer ease + Beneath the lowland's sheltering trees, + To seek, by ways unknown to all, + The promise of the waterfall. + + Some vague, faint rumor to the vale + Had crept--perchance a hunter's tale-- + Of its wild mirth of waters lost + On the dark woods through which it tossed. + + Somewhere it laughed and sang; somewhere + Whirled in mad dance its misty hair; + But who had raised its veil, or seen + The rainbow skirts of that Undine? + + They sought it where the mountain brook + Its swift way to the valley took; + Along the rugged slope they clomb, + Their guide a thread of sound and foam. + + Height after height they slowly won; + The fiery javelins of the sun + Smote the bare ledge; the tangled shade + With rock and vine their steps delayed. + + But, through leaf-openings, now and then + They saw the cheerful homes of men, + And the great mountains with their wall + Of misty purple girdling all. + + The leaves through which the glad winds blew + Shared the wild dance the waters knew; + And where the shadows deepest fell + The wood-thrush rang his silver bell. + + Fringing the stream, at every turn + Swung low the waving fronds of fern; + From stony cleft and mossy sod + Pale asters sprang, and golden-rod. + + And still the water sang the sweet, + Glad song that stirred its gliding feet, + And found in rock and root the keys + Of its beguiling melodies. + + Beyond, above, its signals flew + Of tossing foam the birch-trees through; + Now seen, now lost, but baffling still + The weary seekers' slackening will. + + Each called to each: "Lo here! Lo there! + Its white scarf flutters in the air!" + They climbed anew; the vision fled, + To beckon higher overhead. + + So toiled they up the mountain-slope + With faint and ever fainter hope; + With faint and fainter voice the brook + Still bade them listen, pause, and look. + + Meanwhile below the day was done; + Above the tall peaks saw the sun + Sink, beam-shorn, to its misty set + Behind the hills of violet. + + "Here ends our quest!" the seekers cried, + "The brook and rumor both have lied! + The phantom of a waterfall + Has led us at its beck and call." + + But one, with years grown wiser, said + "So, always baffled, not misled, + We follow where before us runs + The vision of the shining ones. + + "Not where they seem their signals fly, + Their voices while we listen die; + We cannot keep, however fleet, + The quick time of their winged feet. + + "From youth to age unresting stray + These kindly mockers in our way; + Yet lead they not, the baffling elves, + To something better than themselves? + + "Here, though unreached the goal we sought, + Its own reward our toil has brought: + The winding water's sounding rush, + The long note of the hermit thrush, + + "The turquoise lakes, the glimpse of pond + And river track, and, vast, beyond + Broad meadows belted round with pines, + The grand uplift of mountain lines! + + "What matter though we seek with pain + The garden of the gods in vain, + If lured thereby we climb to greet + Some wayside blossom Eden-sweet? + + "To seek is better than to gain, + The fond hope dies as we attain; + Life's fairest things are those which seem, + The best is that of which we dream. + + "Then let us trust our waterfall + Still flashes down its rocky wall, + With rainbow crescent curved across + Its sunlit spray from moss to moss. + + "And we, forgetful of our pain, + In thought shall seek it oft again; + Shall see this aster-blossomed sod, + This sunshine of the golden-rod, + + "And haply gain, through parting boughs, + Grand glimpses of great mountain brows + Cloud-turbaned, and the sharp steel sheen + Of lakes deep set in valleys green. + + "So failure wins; the consequence + Of loss becomes its recompense; + And evermore the end shall tell + The unreached ideal guided well. + + "Our sweet illusions only die + Fulfilling love's sure prophecy; + And every wish for better things + An undreamed beauty nearer brings. + + "For fate is servitor of love; + Desire and hope and longing prove + The secret of immortal youth, + And Nature cheats us into truth. + + "O kind allurers, wisely sent, + Beguiling with benign intent, + Still move us, through divine unrest, + To seek the loveliest and the best! + + "Go with us when our souls go free, + And, in the clear, white light to be, + Add unto Heaven's beatitude + The old delight of seeking good!" + + 1878. + + + + +THE TRAILING ARBUTUS + + I wandered lonely where the pine-trees made + Against the bitter East their barricade, + And, guided by its sweet + Perfume, I found, within a narrow dell, + The trailing spring flower tinted like a shell + Amid dry leaves and mosses at my feet. + + From under dead boughs, for whose loss the pines + Moaned ceaseless overhead, the blossoming vines + Lifted their glad surprise, + While yet the bluebird smoothed in leafless trees + His feathers ruffled by the chill sea-breeze, + And snow-drifts lingered under April skies. + + As, pausing, o'er the lonely flower I bent, + I thought of lives thus lowly, clogged and pent, + Which yet find room, + Through care and cumber, coldness and decay, + To lend a sweetness to the ungenial day + And make the sad earth happier for their bloom. + + 1879. + + + + +ST. MARTIN'S SUMMER. + +This name in some parts of Europe is given to the season we call Indian +Summer, in honor of the good St. Martin. The title of the poem was +suggested by the fact that the day it refers to was the exact date of +that set apart to the Saint, the 11th of November. + + Though flowers have perished at the touch + Of Frost, the early comer, + I hail the season loved so much, + The good St. Martin's summer. + + O gracious morn, with rose-red dawn, + And thin moon curving o'er it! + The old year's darling, latest born, + More loved than all before it! + + How flamed the sunrise through the pines! + How stretched the birchen shadows, + Braiding in long, wind-wavered lines + The westward sloping meadows! + + The sweet day, opening as a flower + Unfolds its petals tender, + Renews for us at noontide's hour + The summer's tempered splendor. + + The birds are hushed; alone the wind, + That through the woodland searches, + The red-oak's lingering leaves can find, + And yellow plumes of larches. + + But still the balsam-breathing pine + Invites no thought of sorrow, + No hint of loss from air like wine + The earth's content can borrow. + + The summer and the winter here + Midway a truce are holding, + A soft, consenting atmosphere + Their tents of peace enfolding. + + The silent woods, the lonely hills, + Rise solemn in their gladness; + The quiet that the valley fills + Is scarcely joy or sadness. + + How strange! The autumn yesterday + In winter's grasp seemed dying; + On whirling winds from skies of gray + The early snow was flying. + + And now, while over Nature's mood + There steals a soft relenting, + I will not mar the present good, + Forecasting or lamenting. + + My autumn time and Nature's hold + A dreamy tryst together, + And, both grown old, about us fold + The golden-tissued weather. + + I lean my heart against the day + To feel its bland caressing; + I will not let it pass away + Before it leaves its blessing. + + God's angels come not as of old + The Syrian shepherds knew them; + In reddening dawns, in sunset gold, + And warm noon lights I view them. + + Nor need there is, in times like this + When heaven to earth draws nearer, + Of wing or song as witnesses + To make their presence clearer. + + O stream of life, whose swifter flow + Is of the end forewarning, + Methinks thy sundown afterglow + Seems less of night than morning! + + Old cares grow light; aside I lay + The doubts and fears that troubled; + The quiet of the happy day + Within my soul is doubled. + + That clouds must veil this fair sunshine + Not less a joy I find it; + Nor less yon warm horizon line + That winter lurks behind it. + + The mystery of the untried days + I close my eyes from reading; + His will be done whose darkest ways + To light and life are leading! + + Less drear the winter night shall be, + If memory cheer and hearten + Its heavy hours with thoughts of thee, + Sweet summer of St. Martin! + + 1880. + + + + +STORM ON LAKE ASQUAM. + + A cloud, like that the old-time Hebrew saw + On Carmel prophesying rain, began + To lift itself o'er wooded Cardigan, + Growing and blackening. Suddenly, a flaw + + Of chill wind menaced; then a strong blast beat + Down the long valley's murmuring pines, and woke + The noon-dream of the sleeping lake, and broke + Its smooth steel mirror at the mountains' feet. + + Thunderous and vast, a fire-veined darkness swept + Over the rough pine-bearded Asquam range; + A wraith of tempest, wonderful and strange, + From peak to peak the cloudy giant stepped. + + One moment, as if challenging the storm, + Chocorua's tall, defiant sentinel + Looked from his watch-tower; then the shadow fell, + And the wild rain-drift blotted out his form. + + And over all the still unhidden sun, + Weaving its light through slant-blown veils of rain, + Smiled on the trouble, as hope smiles on pain; + And, when the tumult and the strife were done, + + With one foot on the lake and one on land, + Framing within his crescent's tinted streak + A far-off picture of the Melvin peak, + Spent broken clouds the rainbow's angel spanned. + + 1882. + + + + +A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE. + + To kneel before some saintly shrine, + To breathe the health of airs divine, + Or bathe where sacred rivers flow, + The cowled and turbaned pilgrims go. + I too, a palmer, take, as they + With staff and scallop-shell, my way + To feel, from burdening cares and ills, + The strong uplifting of the hills. + + The years are many since, at first, + For dreamed-of wonders all athirst, + I saw on Winnipesaukee fall + The shadow of the mountain wall. + Ah! where are they who sailed with me + The beautiful island-studded sea? + And am I he whose keen surprise + Flashed out from such unclouded eyes? + + Still, when the sun of summer burns, + My longing for the hills returns; + And northward, leaving at my back + The warm vale of the Merrimac, + I go to meet the winds of morn, + Blown down the hill-gaps, mountain-born, + Breathe scent of pines, and satisfy + The hunger of a lowland eye. + + Again I see the day decline + Along a ridged horizon line; + Touching the hill-tops, as a nun + Her beaded rosary, sinks the sun. + One lake lies golden, which shall soon + Be silver in the rising moon; + And one, the crimson of the skies + And mountain purple multiplies. + + With the untroubled quiet blends + The distance-softened voice of friends; + The girl's light laugh no discord brings + To the low song the pine-tree sings; + And, not unwelcome, comes the hail + Of boyhood from his nearing sail. + The human presence breaks no spell, + And sunset still is miracle! + + Calm as the hour, methinks I feel + A sense of worship o'er me steal; + Not that of satyr-charming Pan, + No cult of Nature shaming man, + Not Beauty's self, but that which lives + And shines through all the veils it weaves,-- + Soul of the mountain, lake, and wood, + Their witness to the Eternal Good! + + And if, by fond illusion, here + The earth to heaven seems drawing near, + And yon outlying range invites + To other and serener heights, + Scarce hid behind its topmost swell, + The shining Mounts Delectable + A dream may hint of truth no less + Than the sharp light of wakefulness. + + As through her vale of incense smoke. + Of old the spell-rapt priestess spoke, + More than her heathen oracle, + May not this trance of sunset tell + That Nature's forms of loveliness + Their heavenly archetypes confess, + Fashioned like Israel's ark alone + From patterns in the Mount made known? + + A holier beauty overbroods + These fair and faint similitudes; + Yet not unblest is he who sees + Shadows of God's realities, + And knows beyond this masquerade + Of shape and color, light and shade, + And dawn and set, and wax and wane, + Eternal verities remain. + + O gems of sapphire, granite set! + O hills that charmed horizons fret + I know how fair your morns can break, + In rosy light on isle and lake; + How over wooded slopes can run + The noonday play of cloud and sun, + And evening droop her oriflamme + Of gold and red in still Asquam. + + The summer moons may round again, + And careless feet these hills profane; + These sunsets waste on vacant eyes + The lavish splendor of the skies; + Fashion and folly, misplaced here, + Sigh for their natural atmosphere, + And travelled pride the outlook scorn + Of lesser heights than Matterhorn. + + But let me dream that hill and sky + Of unseen beauty prophesy; + And in these tinted lakes behold + The trailing of the raiment fold + Of that which, still eluding gaze, + Allures to upward-tending ways, + Whose footprints make, wherever found, + Our common earth a holy ground. + + 1883. + + + + +SWEET FERN. + + The subtle power in perfume found + Nor priest nor sibyl vainly learned; + On Grecian shrine or Aztec mound + No censer idly burned. + + That power the old-time worships knew, + The Corybantes' frenzied dance, + The Pythian priestess swooning through + The wonderland of trance. + + And Nature holds, in wood and field, + Her thousand sunlit censers still; + To spells of flower and shrub we yield + Against or with our will. + + I climbed a hill path strange and new + With slow feet, pausing at each turn; + A sudden waft of west wind blew + The breath of the sweet fern. + + That fragrance from my vision swept + The alien landscape; in its stead, + Up fairer hills of youth I stepped, + As light of heart as tread. + + I saw my boyhood's lakelet shine + Once more through rifts of woodland shade; + I knew my river's winding line + By morning mist betrayed. + + With me June's freshness, lapsing brook, + Murmurs of leaf and bee, the call + Of birds, and one in voice and look + In keeping with them all. + + A fern beside the way we went + She plucked, and, smiling, held it up, + While from her hand the wild, sweet scent + I drank as from a cup. + + O potent witchery of smell! + The dust-dry leaves to life return, + And she who plucked them owns the spell + And lifts her ghostly fern. + + Or sense or spirit? Who shall say + What touch the chord of memory thrills? + It passed, and left the August day + Ablaze on lonely hills. + + + + +THE WOOD GIANT + + From Alton Bay to Sandwich Dome, + From Mad to Saco river, + For patriarchs of the primal wood + We sought with vain endeavor. + + And then we said: "The giants old + Are lost beyond retrieval; + This pygmy growth the axe has spared + Is not the wood primeval. + + "Look where we will o'er vale and hill, + How idle are our searches + For broad-girthed maples, wide-limbed oaks, + Centennial pines and birches. + + "Their tortured limbs the axe and saw + Have changed to beams and trestles; + They rest in walls, they float on seas, + They rot in sunken vessels. + + "This shorn and wasted mountain land + Of underbrush and boulder,-- + Who thinks to see its full-grown tree + Must live a century older." + + At last to us a woodland path, + To open sunset leading, + Revealed the Anakim of pines + Our wildest wish exceeding. + + Alone, the level sun before; + Below, the lake's green islands; + Beyond, in misty distance dim, + The rugged Northern Highlands. + + Dark Titan on his Sunset Hill + Of time and change defiant + How dwarfed the common woodland seemed, + Before the old-time giant! + + What marvel that, in simpler days + Of the world's early childhood, + Men crowned with garlands, gifts, and praise + Such monarchs of the wild-wood? + + That Tyrian maids with flower and song + Danced through the hill grove's spaces, + And hoary-bearded Druids found + In woods their holy places? + + With somewhat of that Pagan awe + With Christian reverence blending, + We saw our pine-tree's mighty arms + Above our heads extending. + + We heard his needles' mystic rune, + Now rising, and now dying, + As erst Dodona's priestess heard + The oak leaves prophesying. + + Was it the half-unconscious moan + Of one apart and mateless, + The weariness of unshared power, + The loneliness of greatness? + + O dawns and sunsets, lend to him + Your beauty and your wonder! + Blithe sparrow, sing thy summer song + His solemn shadow under! + + Play lightly on his slender keys, + O wind of summer, waking + For hills like these the sound of seas + On far-off beaches breaking, + + And let the eagle and the crow + Find shelter in his branches, + When winds shake down his winter snow + In silver avalanches. + + The brave are braver for their cheer, + The strongest need assurance, + The sigh of longing makes not less + The lesson of endurance. + + 1885. + + + + +A DAY. + + Talk not of sad November, when a day + Of warm, glad sunshine fills the sky of noon, + And a wind, borrowed from some morn of June, + Stirs the brown grasses and the leafless spray. + + On the unfrosted pool the pillared pines + Lay their long shafts of shadow: the small rill, + Singing a pleasant song of summer still, + A line of silver, down the hill-slope shines. + + Hushed the bird-voices and the hum of bees, + In the thin grass the crickets pipe no more; + But still the squirrel hoards his winter store, + And drops his nut-shells from the shag-bark trees. + + Softly the dark green hemlocks whisper: high + Above, the spires of yellowing larches show, + Where the woodpecker and home-loving crow + And jay and nut-hatch winter's threat defy. + + O gracious beauty, ever new and old! + O sights and sounds of nature, doubly dear + When the low sunshine warns the closing year + Of snow-blown fields and waves of Arctic cold! + + Close to my heart I fold each lovely thing + The sweet day yields; and, not disconsolate, + With the calm patience of the woods I wait + For leaf and blossom when God gives us Spring! + + 29th, Eleventh Month, 1886. + + + + + +POEMS SUBJECTIVE AND REMINISCENT MEMORIES + + A beautiful and happy girl, + With step as light as summer air, + Eyes glad with smiles, and brow of pearl, + Shadowed by many a careless curl + Of unconfined and flowing hair; + A seeming child in everything, + Save thoughtful brow and ripening charms, + As Nature wears the smile of Spring + When sinking into Summer's arms. + + A mind rejoicing in the light + Which melted through its graceful bower, + Leaf after leaf, dew-moist and bright, + And stainless in its holy white, + Unfolding like a morning flower + A heart, which, like a fine-toned lute, + With every breath of feeling woke, + And, even when the tongue was mute, + From eye and lip in music spoke. + + How thrills once more the lengthening chain + Of memory, at the thought of thee! + Old hopes which long in dust have lain + Old dreams, come thronging back again, + And boyhood lives again in me; + I feel its glow upon my cheek, + Its fulness of the heart is mine, + As when I leaned to hear thee speak, + Or raised my doubtful eye to thine. + + I hear again thy low replies, + I feel thy arm within my own, + And timidly again uprise + The fringed lids of hazel eyes, + With soft brown tresses overblown. + Ah! memories of sweet summer eves, + Of moonlit wave and willowy way, + Of stars and flowers, and dewy leaves, + And smiles and tones more dear than they! + + Ere this, thy quiet eye hath smiled + My picture of thy youth to see, + When, half a woman, half a child, + Thy very artlessness beguiled, + And folly's self seemed wise in thee; + I too can smile, when o'er that hour + The lights of memory backward stream, + Yet feel the while that manhood's power + Is vainer than my boyhood's dream. + + Years have passed on, and left their trace, + Of graver care and deeper thought; + And unto me the calm, cold face + Of manhood, and to thee the grace + Of woman's pensive beauty brought. + More wide, perchance, for blame than praise, + The school-boy's humble name has flown; + Thine, in the green and quiet ways + Of unobtrusive goodness known. + + And wider yet in thought and deed + Diverge our pathways, one in youth; + Thine the Genevan's sternest creed, + While answers to my spirit's need + The Derby dalesman's simple truth. + For thee, the priestly rite and prayer, + And holy day, and solemn psalm; + For me, the silent reverence where + My brethren gather, slow and calm. + + Yet hath thy spirit left on me + An impress Time has worn not out, + And something of myself in thee, + A shadow from the past, I see, + Lingering, even yet, thy way about; + Not wholly can the heart unlearn + That lesson of its better hours, + Not yet has Time's dull footstep worn + To common dust that path of flowers. + + Thus, while at times before our eyes + The shadows melt, and fall apart, + And, smiling through them, round us lies + The warm light of our morning skies,-- + The Indian Summer of the heart! + In secret sympathies of mind, + In founts of feeling which retain + Their pure, fresh flow, we yet may find + Our early dreams not wholly vain + + 1841. + + + + +RAPHAEL. + +Suggested by the portrait of Raphael, at the age of fifteen. + + I shall not soon forget that sight + The glow of Autumn's westering day, + A hazy warmth, a dreamy light, + On Raphael's picture lay. + + It was a simple print I saw, + The fair face of a musing boy; + Yet, while I gazed, a sense of awe + Seemed blending with my joy. + + A simple print,--the graceful flow + Of boyhood's soft and wavy hair, + And fresh young lip and cheek, and brow + Unmarked and clear, were there. + + Yet through its sweet and calm repose + I saw the inward spirit shine; + It was as if before me rose + The white veil of a shrine. + + As if, as Gothland's sage has told, + The hidden life, the man within, + Dissevered from its frame and mould, + By mortal eye were seen. + + Was it the lifting of that eye, + The waving of that pictured hand? + Loose as a cloud-wreath on the sky, + I saw the walls expand. + + The narrow room had vanished,--space, + Broad, luminous, remained alone, + Through which all hues and shapes of grace + And beauty looked or shone. + + Around the mighty master came + The marvels which his pencil wrought, + Those miracles of power whose fame + Is wide as human thought. + + There drooped thy more than mortal face, + O Mother, beautiful and mild + Enfolding in one dear embrace + Thy Saviour and thy Child! + + The rapt brow of the Desert John; + The awful glory of that day + When all the Father's brightness shone + Through manhood's veil of clay. + + And, midst gray prophet forms, and wild + Dark visions of the days of old, + How sweetly woman's beauty smiled + Through locks of brown and gold! + + There Fornarina's fair young face + Once more upon her lover shone, + Whose model of an angel's grace + He borrowed from her own. + + Slow passed that vision from my view, + But not the lesson which it taught; + The soft, calm shadows which it threw + Still rested on my thought: + + The truth, that painter, bard, and sage, + Even in Earth's cold and changeful clime, + Plant for their deathless heritage + The fruits and flowers of time. + + We shape ourselves the joy or fear + Of which the coming life is made, + And fill our Future's atmosphere + With sunshine or with shade. + + The tissue of the Life to be + We weave with colors all our own, + And in the field of Destiny + We reap as we have sown. + + Still shall the soul around it call + The shadows which it gathered here, + And, painted on the eternal wall, + The Past shall reappear. + + Think ye the notes of holy song + On Milton's tuneful ear have died? + Think ye that Raphael's angel throng + Has vanished from his side? + + Oh no!--We live our life again; + Or warmly touched, or coldly dim, + The pictures of the Past remain,--- + Man's works shall follow him! + + 1842. + + + + +EGO. + +WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF A FRIEND. + + On page of thine I cannot trace + The cold and heartless commonplace, + A statue's fixed and marble grace. + + For ever as these lines I penned, + Still with the thought of thee will blend + That of some loved and common friend, + + Who in life's desert track has made + His pilgrim tent with mine, or strayed + Beneath the same remembered shade. + + And hence my pen unfettered moves + In freedom which the heart approves, + The negligence which friendship loves. + + And wilt thou prize my poor gift less + For simple air and rustic dress, + And sign of haste and carelessness? + + Oh, more than specious counterfeit + Of sentiment or studied wit, + A heart like thine should value it. + + Yet half I fear my gift will be + Unto thy book, if not to thee, + Of more than doubtful courtesy. + + A banished name from Fashion's sphere, + A lay unheard of Beauty's ear, + Forbid, disowned,--what do they here? + + Upon my ear not all in vain + Came the sad captive's clanking chain, + The groaning from his bed of pain. + + And sadder still, I saw the woe + Which only wounded spirits know + When Pride's strong footsteps o'er them go. + + Spurned not alone in walks abroad, + But from the temples of the Lord + Thrust out apart, like things abhorred. + + Deep as I felt, and stern and strong, + In words which Prudence smothered long, + My soul spoke out against the wrong; + + Not mine alone the task to speak + Of comfort to the poor and weak, + And dry the tear on Sorrow's cheek; + + But, mingled in the conflict warm, + To pour the fiery breath of storm + Through the harsh trumpet of Reform; + + To brave Opinion's settled frown, + From ermined robe and saintly gown, + While wrestling reverenced Error down. + + Founts gushed beside my pilgrim way, + Cool shadows on the greensward lay, + Flowers swung upon the bending spray. + + And, broad and bright, on either hand, + Stretched the green slopes of Fairy-land, + With Hope's eternal sunbow spanned; + + Whence voices called me like the flow, + Which on the listener's ear will grow, + Of forest streamlets soft and low. + + And gentle eyes, which still retain + Their picture on the heart and brain, + Smiled, beckoning from that path of pain. + + In vain! nor dream, nor rest, nor pause + Remain for him who round him draws + The battered mail of Freedom's cause. + + From youthful hopes, from each green spot + Of young Romance, and gentle Thought, + Where storm and tumult enter not; + + From each fair altar, where belong + The offerings Love requires of Song + In homage to her bright-eyed throng; + + With soul and strength, with heart and hand, + I turned to Freedom's struggling band, + To the sad Helots of our land. + + What marvel then that Fame should turn + Her notes of praise to those of scorn; + Her gifts reclaimed, her smiles withdrawn? + + What matters it? a few years more, + Life's surge so restless heretofore + Shall break upon the unknown shore! + + In that far land shall disappear + The shadows which we follow here, + The mist-wreaths of our atmosphere! + + Before no work of mortal hand, + Of human will or strength expand + The pearl gates of the Better Land; + + Alone in that great love which gave + Life to the sleeper of the grave, + Resteth the power to seek and save. + + Yet, if the spirit gazing through + The vista of the past can view + One deed to Heaven and virtue true; + + If through the wreck of wasted powers, + Of garlands wreathed from Folly's bowers, + Of idle aims and misspent hours, + + The eye can note one sacred spot + By Pride and Self profaned not, + A green place in the waste of thought, + + Where deed or word hath rendered less + The sum of human wretchedness, + And Gratitude looks forth to bless; + + The simple burst of tenderest feeling + From sad hearts worn by evil-dealing, + For blessing on the hand of healing; + + Better than Glory's pomp will be + That green and blessed spot to me, + A palm-shade in Eternity! + + Something of Time which may invite + The purified and spiritual sight + To rest on with a calm delight. + + And when the summer winds shall sweep + With their light wings my place of sleep, + And mosses round my headstone creep; + + If still, as Freedom's rallying sign, + Upon the young heart's altars shine + The very fires they caught from mine; + + If words my lips once uttered still, + In the calm faith and steadfast will + Of other hearts, their work fulfil; + + Perchance with joy the soul may learn + These tokens, and its eye discern + The fires which on those altars burn; + + A marvellous joy that even then, + The spirit hath its life again, + In the strong hearts of mortal men. + + Take, lady, then, the gift I bring, + No gay and graceful offering, + No flower-smile of the laughing spring. + + Midst the green buds of Youth's fresh May, + With Fancy's leaf-enwoven bay, + My sad and sombre gift I lay. + + And if it deepens in thy mind + A sense of suffering human-kind,-- + The outcast and the spirit-blind; + + Oppressed and spoiled on every side, + By Prejudice, and Scorn, and Pride, + Life's common courtesies denied; + + Sad mothers mourning o'er their trust, + Children by want and misery nursed, + Tasting life's bitter cup at first; + + If to their strong appeals which come + From fireless hearth, and crowded room, + And the close alley's noisome gloom,-- + + Though dark the hands upraised to thee + In mute beseeching agony, + Thou lend'st thy woman's sympathy; + + Not vainly on thy gentle shrine, + Where Love, and Mirth, and Friendship twine + Their varied gifts, I offer mine. + + 1843. + + + + +THE PUMPKIN. + + Oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun, + The vines of the gourd and the rich melon run, + And the rock and the tree and the cottage enfold, + With broad leaves all greenness and blossoms all gold, + Like that which o'er Nineveh's prophet once grew, + While he waited to know that his warning was true, + And longed for the storm-cloud, and listened in vain + For the rush of the whirlwind and red fire-rain. + + On the banks of the Xenil the dark Spanish maiden + Comes up with the fruit of the tangled vine laden; + And the Creole of Cuba laughs out to behold + Through orange-leaves shining the broad spheres of gold; + Yet with dearer delight from his home in the North, + On the fields of his harvest the Yankee looks forth, + Where crook-necks are coiling and yellow fruit shines, + And the sun of September melts down on his vines. + + Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West, + From North and from South come the pilgrim and guest, + When the gray-haired New-Englander sees round his board + The old broken links of affection restored, + When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more, + And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before, + What moistens the lip and what brightens the eye? + What calls back the past, like the rich Pumpkin pie? + + Oh, fruit loved of boyhood! the old days recalling, + When wood-grapes were purpling and brown nuts were falling! + When wild, ugly faces we carved in its skin, + Glaring out through the dark with a candle within! + When we laughed round the corn-heap, with hearts all in tune, + Our chair a broad pumpkin,--our lantern the moon, + Telling tales of the fairy who travelled like steam, + In a pumpkin-shell coach, with two rats for her team + Then thanks for thy present! none sweeter or better + E'er smoked from an oven or circled a platter! + Fairer hands never wrought at a pastry more fine, + Brighter eyes never watched o'er its baking, than thine! + And the prayer, which my mouth is too full to express, + Swells my heart that thy shadow may never be less, + That the days of thy lot may be lengthened below, + And the fame of thy worth like a pumpkin-vine grow, + And thy life be as sweet, and its last sunset sky + Golden-tinted and fair as thy own Pumpkin pie! + + 1844. + + + + +FORGIVENESS. + + My heart was heavy, for its trust had been + Abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong; + So, turning gloomily from my fellow-men, + One summer Sabbath day I strolled among + The green mounds of the village burial-place; + Where, pondering how all human love and hate + Find one sad level; and how, soon or late, + Wronged and wrongdoer, each with meekened face, + And cold hands folded over a still heart, + Pass the green threshold of our common grave, + Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart, + Awed for myself, and pitying my race, + Our common sorrow, like a nighty wave, + Swept all my pride away, and trembling I forgave! + + 1846. + + + + +TO MY SISTER, + +WITH A COPY OF "THE SUPERNATURALISM OF NEW ENGLAND." + +The work referred to was a series of papers under this title, +contributed to the Democratic Review and afterward collected into a +volume, in which I noted some of the superstitions and folklore +prevalent in New England. The volume has not been kept in print, but +most of its contents are distributed in my Literary Recreations and +Miscellanies. + + Dear Sister! while the wise and sage + Turn coldly from my playful page, + And count it strange that ripened age + Should stoop to boyhood's folly; + I know that thou wilt judge aright + Of all which makes the heart more light, + Or lends one star-gleam to the night + Of clouded Melancholy. + + Away with weary cares and themes! + Swing wide the moonlit gate of dreams! + Leave free once more the land which teems + With wonders and romances + Where thou, with clear discerning eyes, + Shalt rightly read the truth which lies + Beneath the quaintly masking guise + Of wild and wizard fancies. + + Lo! once again our feet we set + On still green wood-paths, twilight wet, + By lonely brooks, whose waters fret + The roots of spectral beeches; + Again the hearth-fire glimmers o'er + Home's whitewashed wall and painted floor, + And young eyes widening to the lore + Of faery-folks and witches. + + Dear heart! the legend is not vain + Which lights that holy hearth again, + And calling back from care and pain, + And death's funereal sadness, + Draws round its old familiar blaze + The clustering groups of happier days, + And lends to sober manhood's gaze + A glimpse of childish gladness. + + And, knowing how my life hath been + A weary work of tongue and pen, + A long, harsh strife with strong-willed men, + Thou wilt not chide my turning + To con, at times, an idle rhyme, + To pluck a flower from childhood's clime, + Or listen, at Life's noonday chime, + For the sweet bells of Morning! + + 1847. + + + + +MY THANKS, + +ACCOMPANYING MANUSCRIPTS PRESENTED TO A FRIEND. + + 'T is said that in the Holy Land + The angels of the place have blessed + The pilgrim's bed of desert sand, + Like Jacob's stone of rest. + + That down the hush of Syrian skies + Some sweet-voiced saint at twilight sings + The song whose holy symphonies + Are beat by unseen wings; + + Till starting from his sandy bed, + The wayworn wanderer looks to see + The halo of an angel's head + Shine through the tamarisk-tree. + + So through the shadows of my way + Thy smile hath fallen soft and clear, + So at the weary close of day + Hath seemed thy voice of cheer. + + That pilgrim pressing to his goal + May pause not for the vision's sake, + Yet all fair things within his soul + The thought of it shall wake: + + The graceful palm-tree by the well, + Seen on the far horizon's rim; + The dark eyes of the fleet gazelle, + Bent timidly on him; + + Each pictured saint, whose golden hair + Streams sunlike through the convent's gloom; + Pale shrines of martyrs young and fair, + And loving Mary's tomb; + + And thus each tint or shade which falls, + From sunset cloud or waving tree, + Along my pilgrim path, recalls + The pleasant thought of thee. + + Of one in sun and shade the same, + In weal and woe my steady friend, + Whatever by that holy name + The angels comprehend. + + Not blind to faults and follies, thou + Hast never failed the good to see, + Nor judged by one unseemly bough + The upward-struggling tree. + + These light leaves at thy feet I lay,-- + Poor common thoughts on common things, + Which time is shaking, day by day, + Like feathers from his wings; + + Chance shootings from a frail life-tree, + To nurturing care but little known, + Their good was partly learned of thee, + Their folly is my own. + + That tree still clasps the kindly mould, + Its leaves still drink the twilight dew, + And weaving its pale green with gold, + Still shines the sunlight through. + + There still the morning zephyrs play, + And there at times the spring bird sings, + And mossy trunk and fading spray + Are flowered with glossy wings. + + Yet, even in genial sun and rain, + Root, branch, and leaflet fail and fade; + The wanderer on its lonely plain + Erelong shall miss its shade. + + O friend beloved, whose curious skill + Keeps bright the last year's leaves and flowers, + With warm, glad, summer thoughts to fill + The cold, dark, winter hours + + Pressed on thy heart, the leaves I bring + May well defy the wintry cold, + Until, in Heaven's eternal spring, + Life's fairer ones unfold. + + 1847. + + + + +REMEMBRANCE + +WITH COPIES OF THE AUTHOR'S WRITINGS. + + Friend of mine! whose lot was cast + With me in the distant past; + Where, like shadows flitting fast, + + Fact and fancy, thought and theme, + Word and work, begin to seem + Like a half-remembered dream! + + Touched by change have all things been, + Yet I think of thee as when + We had speech of lip and pen. + + For the calm thy kindness lent + To a path of discontent, + Rough with trial and dissent; + + Gentle words where such were few, + Softening blame where blame was true, + Praising where small praise was due; + + For a waking dream made good, + For an ideal understood, + For thy Christian womanhood; + + For thy marvellous gift to cull + From our common life and dull + Whatsoe'er is beautiful; + + Thoughts and fancies, Hybla's bees + Dropping sweetness; true heart's-ease + Of congenial sympathies;-- + + Still for these I own my debt; + Memory, with her eyelids wet, + Fain would thank thee even yet! + + And as one who scatters flowers + Where the Queen of May's sweet hours + Sits, o'ertwined with blossomed bowers, + + In superfluous zeal bestowing + Gifts where gifts are overflowing, + So I pay the debt I'm owing. + + To thy full thoughts, gay or sad, + Sunny-hued or sober clad, + Something of my own I add; + + Well assured that thou wilt take + Even the offering which I make + Kindly for the giver's sake. + + 1851. + + + + +MY NAMESAKE. + +Addressed to Francis Greenleaf Allison of Burlington, New Jersey. + + You scarcely need my tardy thanks, + Who, self-rewarded, nurse and tend-- + A green leaf on your own Green Banks-- + The memory of your friend. + + For me, no wreath, bloom-woven, hides + The sobered brow and lessening hair + For aught I know, the myrtled sides + Of Helicon are bare. + + Their scallop-shells so many bring + The fabled founts of song to try, + They've drained, for aught I know, the spring + Of Aganippe dry. + + Ah well!--The wreath the Muses braid + Proves often Folly's cap and bell; + Methinks, my ample beaver's shade + May serve my turn as well. + + Let Love's and Friendship's tender debt + Be paid by those I love in life. + Why should the unborn critic whet + For me his scalping-knife? + + Why should the stranger peer and pry + One's vacant house of life about, + And drag for curious ear and eye + His faults and follies out?-- + + Why stuff, for fools to gaze upon, + With chaff of words, the garb he wore, + As corn-husks when the ear is gone + Are rustled all the more? + + Let kindly Silence close again, + The picture vanish from the eye, + And on the dim and misty main + Let the small ripple die. + + Yet not the less I own your claim + To grateful thanks, dear friends of mine. + Hang, if it please you so, my name + Upon your household line. + + Let Fame from brazen lips blow wide + Her chosen names, I envy none + A mother's love, a father's pride, + Shall keep alive my own! + + Still shall that name as now recall + The young leaf wet with morning dew, + The glory where the sunbeams fall + The breezy woodlands through. + + That name shall be a household word, + A spell to waken smile or sigh; + In many an evening prayer be heard + And cradle lullaby. + + And thou, dear child, in riper days + When asked the reason of thy name, + Shalt answer: One 't were vain to praise + Or censure bore the same. + + "Some blamed him, some believed him good, + The truth lay doubtless 'twixt the two; + He reconciled as best he could + Old faith and fancies new. + + "In him the grave and playful mixed, + And wisdom held with folly truce, + And Nature compromised betwixt + Good fellow and recluse. + + "He loved his friends, forgave his foes; + And, if his words were harsh at times, + He spared his fellow-men,--his blows + Fell only on their crimes. + + "He loved the good and wise, but found + His human heart to all akin + Who met him on the common ground + Of suffering and of sin. + + "Whate'er his neighbors might endure + Of pain or grief his own became; + For all the ills he could not cure + He held himself to blame. + + "His good was mainly an intent, + His evil not of forethought done; + The work he wrought was rarely meant + Or finished as begun. + + "Ill served his tides of feeling strong + To turn the common mills of use; + And, over restless wings of song, + His birthright garb hung loose! + + "His eye was beauty's powerless slave, + And his the ear which discord pains; + Few guessed beneath his aspect grave + What passions strove in chains. + + "He had his share of care and pain, + No holiday was life to him; + Still in the heirloom cup we drain + The bitter drop will swim. + + "Yet Heaven was kind, and here a bird + And there a flower beguiled his way; + And, cool, in summer noons, he heard + The fountains plash and play. + + "On all his sad or restless moods + The patient peace of Nature stole; + The quiet of the fields and woods + Sank deep into his soul. + + "He worshipped as his fathers did, + And kept the faith of childish days, + And, howsoe'er he strayed or slid, + He loved the good old ways. + + "The simple tastes, the kindly traits, + The tranquil air, and gentle speech, + The silence of the soul that waits + For more than man to teach. + + "The cant of party, school, and sect, + Provoked at times his honest scorn, + And Folly, in its gray respect, + He tossed on satire's horn. + + "But still his heart was full of awe + And reverence for all sacred things; + And, brooding over form and law,' + He saw the Spirit's wings! + + "Life's mystery wrapt him like a cloud; + He heard far voices mock his own, + The sweep of wings unseen, the loud, + Long roll of waves unknown. + + "The arrows of his straining sight + Fell quenched in darkness; priest and sage, + Like lost guides calling left and right, + Perplexed his doubtful age. + + "Like childhood, listening for the sound + Of its dropped pebbles in the well, + All vainly down the dark profound + His brief-lined plummet fell. + + "So, scattering flowers with pious pains + On old beliefs, of later creeds, + Which claimed a place in Truth's domains, + He asked the title-deeds. + + "He saw the old-time's groves and shrines + In the long distance fair and dim; + And heard, like sound of far-off pines, + The century-mellowed hymn! + + "He dared not mock the Dervish whirl, + The Brahmin's rite, the Lama's spell; + God knew the heart; Devotion's pearl + Might sanctify the shell. + + "While others trod the altar stairs + He faltered like the publican; + And, while they praised as saints, his prayers + Were those of sinful man. + + "For, awed by Sinai's Mount of Law, + The trembling faith alone sufficed, + That, through its cloud and flame, he saw + The sweet, sad face of Christ! + + "And listening, with his forehead bowed, + Heard the Divine compassion fill + The pauses of the trump and cloud + With whispers small and still. + + "The words he spake, the thoughts he penned, + Are mortal as his hand and brain, + But, if they served the Master's end, + He has not lived in vain!" + + Heaven make thee better than thy name, + Child of my friends!--For thee I crave + What riches never bought, nor fame + To mortal longing gave. + + I pray the prayer of Plato old: + God make thee beautiful within, + And let thine eyes the good behold + In everything save sin! + + Imagination held in check + To serve, not rule, thy poised mind; + Thy Reason, at the frown or beck + Of Conscience, loose or bind. + + No dreamer thou, but real all,-- + Strong manhood crowning vigorous youth; + Life made by duty epical + And rhythmic with the truth. + + So shall that life the fruitage yield + Which trees of healing only give, + And green-leafed in the Eternal field + Of God, forever live! + + 1853. + + + + +A MEMORY + + Here, while the loom of Winter weaves + The shroud of flowers and fountains, + I think of thee and summer eves + Among the Northern mountains. + + When thunder tolled the twilight's close, + And winds the lake were rude on, + And thou wert singing, _Ca' the Yowes_, + The bonny yowes of Cluden! + + When, close and closer, hushing breath, + Our circle narrowed round thee, + And smiles and tears made up the wreath + Wherewith our silence crowned thee; + + And, strangers all, we felt the ties + Of sisters and of brothers; + Ah! whose of all those kindly eyes + Now smile upon another's? + + The sport of Time, who still apart + The waifs of life is flinging; + Oh, nevermore shall heart to heart + Draw nearer for that singing! + + Yet when the panes are frosty-starred, + And twilight's fire is gleaming, + I hear the songs of Scotland's bard + Sound softly through my dreaming! + + A song that lends to winter snows + The glow of summer weather,-- + Again I hear thee ca' the yowes + To Cluden's hills of heather + + 1854. + + + + +MY DREAM. + + In my dream, methought I trod, + Yesternight, a mountain road; + Narrow as Al Sirat's span, + High as eagle's flight, it ran. + + Overhead, a roof of cloud + With its weight of thunder bowed; + Underneath, to left and right, + Blankness and abysmal night. + + Here and there a wild-flower blushed, + Now and then a bird-song gushed; + Now and then, through rifts of shade, + Stars shone out, and sunbeams played. + + But the goodly company, + Walking in that path with me, + One by one the brink o'erslid, + One by one the darkness hid. + + Some with wailing and lament, + Some with cheerful courage went; + But, of all who smiled or mourned, + Never one to us returned. + + Anxiously, with eye and ear, + Questioning that shadow drear, + Never hand in token stirred, + Never answering voice I heard! + + Steeper, darker!--lo! I felt + From my feet the pathway melt. + Swallowed by the black despair, + And the hungry jaws of air, + + Past the stony-throated caves, + Strangled by the wash of waves, + Past the splintered crags, I sank + On a green and flowery bank,-- + + Soft as fall of thistle-down, + Lightly as a cloud is blown, + Soothingly as childhood pressed + To the bosom of its rest. + + Of the sharp-horned rocks instead, + Green the grassy meadows spread, + Bright with waters singing by + Trees that propped a golden sky. + + Painless, trustful, sorrow-free, + Old lost faces welcomed me, + With whose sweetness of content + Still expectant hope was blent. + + Waking while the dawning gray + Slowly brightened into day, + Pondering that vision fled, + Thus unto myself I said:-- + + "Steep and hung with clouds of strife + Is our narrow path of life; + And our death the dreaded fall + Through the dark, awaiting all. + + "So, with painful steps we climb + Up the dizzy ways of time, + Ever in the shadow shed + By the forecast of our dread. + + "Dread of mystery solved alone, + Of the untried and unknown; + Yet the end thereof may seem + Like the falling of my dream. + + "And this heart-consuming care, + All our fears of here or there, + Change and absence, loss and death, + Prove but simple lack of faith." + + Thou, O Most Compassionate! + Who didst stoop to our estate, + Drinking of the cup we drain, + Treading in our path of pain,-- + + Through the doubt and mystery, + Grant to us thy steps to see, + And the grace to draw from thence + Larger hope and confidence. + + Show thy vacant tomb, and let, + As of old, the angels sit, + Whispering, by its open door + "Fear not! He hath gone before!" + + 1855. + + + + +THE BAREFOOT BOY. + + Blessings on thee, little man, + Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan + With thy turned-up pantaloons, + And thy merry whistled tunes; + With thy red lip, redder still + Kissed by strawberries on the hill; + With the sunshine on thy face, + Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; + From my heart I give thee joy,-- + I was once a barefoot boy! + + Prince thou art,--the grown-up man + Only is republican. + Let the million-dollared ride! + Barefoot, trudging at his side, + Thou hast more than he can buy + In the reach of ear and eye,-- + Outward sunshine, inward joy + Blessings on thee, barefoot boy! + + Oh for boyhood's painless play, + Sleep that wakes in laughing day, + Health that mocks the doctor's rules, + Knowledge never learned of schools, + Of the wild bee's morning chase, + Of the wild-flower's time and place, + Flight of fowl and habitude + Of the tenants of the wood; + How the tortoise bears his shell, + How the woodchuck digs his cell, + And the ground-mole sinks his well; + How the robin feeds her young, + How the oriole's nest is hung; + Where the whitest lilies blow, + Where the freshest berries grow, + Where the ground-nut trails its vine, + Where the wood-grape's clusters shine; + Of the black wasp's cunning way, + Mason of his walls of clay, + And the architectural plans + Of gray hornet artisans! + For, eschewing books and tasks, + Nature answers all he asks, + Hand in hand with her he walks, + Face to face with her he talks, + Part and parcel of her joy,-- + Blessings on the barefoot boy! + + Oh for boyhood's time of June, + Crowding years in one brief moon, + When all things I heard or saw, + Me, their master, waited for. + I was rich in flowers and trees, + Humming-birds and honey-bees; + For my sport the squirrel played, + Plied the snouted mole his spade; + For my taste the blackberry cone + Purpled over hedge and stone; + Laughed the brook for my delight + Through the day and through the night, + Whispering at the garden wall, + Talked with me from fall to fall; + Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, + Mine the walnut slopes beyond, + Mine, on bending orchard trees, + Apples of Hesperides! + Still as my horizon grew, + Larger grew my riches too; + All the world I saw or knew + Seemed a complex Chinese toy, + Fashioned for a barefoot boy! + + Oh for festal dainties spread, + Like my bowl of milk and bread; + Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, + On the door-stone, gray and rude! + O'er me, like a regal tent, + Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, + Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, + Looped in many a wind-swung fold; + While for music came the play + Of the pied frogs' orchestra; + And, to light the noisy choir, + Lit the fly his lamp of fire. + I was monarch: pomp and joy + Waited on the barefoot boy! + + Cheerily, then, my little man, + Live and laugh, as boyhood can + Though the flinty slopes be hard, + Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, + Every morn shall lead thee through + Fresh baptisms of the dew; + Every evening from thy feet + Shall the cool wind kiss the heat + All too soon these feet must hide + In the prison cells of pride, + Lose the freedom of the sod, + Like a colt's for work be shod, + Made to tread the mills of toil, + Up and down in ceaseless moil + Happy if their track be found + Never on forbidden ground; + Happy if they sink not in + Quick and treacherous sands of sin. + Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy, + Ere it passes, barefoot boy! + + 1855. + + + + +MY PSALM. + + I mourn no more my vanished years + Beneath a tender rain, + An April rain of smiles and tears, + My heart is young again. + + The west-winds blow, and, singing low, + I hear the glad streams run; + The windows of my soul I throw + Wide open to the sun. + + No longer forward nor behind + I look in hope or fear; + But, grateful, take the good I find, + The best of now and here. + + I plough no more a desert land, + To harvest weed and tare; + The manna dropping from God's hand + Rebukes my painful care. + + I break my pilgrim staff, I lay + Aside the toiling oar; + The angel sought so far away + I welcome at my door. + + The airs of spring may never play + Among the ripening corn, + Nor freshness of the flowers of May + Blow through the autumn morn. + + Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look + Through fringed lids to heaven, + And the pale aster in the brook + Shall see its image given;-- + + The woods shall wear their robes of praise, + The south-wind softly sigh, + And sweet, calm days in golden haze + Melt down the amber sky. + + Not less shall manly deed and word + Rebuke an age of wrong; + The graven flowers that wreathe the sword + Make not the blade less strong. + + But smiting hands shall learn to heal,-- + To build as to destroy; + Nor less my heart for others feel + That I the more enjoy. + + All as God wills, who wisely heeds + To give or to withhold, + And knoweth more of all my needs + Than all my prayers have told. + + Enough that blessings undeserved + Have marked my erring track; + That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved, + His chastening turned me back; + + That more and more a Providence + Of love is understood, + Making the springs of time and sense + Sweet with eternal good;-- + + That death seems but a covered way + Which opens into light, + Wherein no blinded child can stray + Beyond the Father's sight; + + That care and trial seem at last, + Through Memory's sunset air, + Like mountain-ranges overpast, + In purple distance fair; + + That all the jarring notes of life + Seem blending in a psalm, + And all the angles of its strife + Slow rounding into calm. + + And so the shadows fall apart, + And so the west-winds play; + And all the windows of my heart + I open to the day. + + 1859. + + + + +THE WAITING. + + I wait and watch: before my eyes + Methinks the night grows thin and gray; + I wait and watch the eastern skies + To see the golden spears uprise + Beneath the oriflamme of day! + + Like one whose limbs are bound in trance + I hear the day-sounds swell and grow, + And see across the twilight glance, + Troop after troop, in swift advance, + The shining ones with plumes of snow! + + I know the errand of their feet, + I know what mighty work is theirs; + I can but lift up hands unmeet, + The threshing-floors of God to beat, + And speed them with unworthy prayers. + + I will not dream in vain despair + The steps of progress wait for me + The puny leverage of a hair + The planet's impulse well may spare, + A drop of dew the tided sea. + + The loss, if loss there be, is mine, + And yet not mine if understood; + For one shall grasp and one resign, + One drink life's rue, and one its wine, + And God shall make the balance good. + + Oh power to do! Oh baffled will! + Oh prayer and action! ye are one. + Who may not strive, may yet fulfil + The harder task of standing still, + And good but wished with God is done! + + 1862. + + + + +SNOW-BOUND. A WINTER IDYL. + + TO THE MEMORY + + OF + + THE HOUSEHOLD IT DESCRIBES, + + THIS POEM IS DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. + +The inmates of the family at the Whittier homestead who are referred to +in the poem were my father, mother, my brother and two sisters, and my +uncle and aunt both unmarried. In addition, there was the district +school-master who boarded with us. The "not unfeared, half-welcome +guest" was Harriet Livermore, daughter of Judge Livermore, of New +Hampshire, a young woman of fine natural ability, enthusiastic, +eccentric, with slight control over her violent temper, which sometimes +made her religious profession doubtful. She was equally ready to exhort +in school-house prayer-meetings and dance in a Washington ball-room, +while her father was a member of Congress. She early embraced the +doctrine of the Second Advent, and felt it her duty to proclaim the +Lord's speedy coming. With this message she crossed the Atlantic and +spent the greater part of a long life in travelling over Europe and +Asia. She lived some time with Lady Hester Stanhope, a woman as +fantastic and mentally strained as herself, on the slope of Mt. Lebanon, +but finally quarrelled with her in regard to two white horses with red +marks on their backs which suggested the idea of saddles, on which her +titled hostess expected to ride into Jerusalem with the Lord. A friend +of mine found her, when quite an old woman, wandering in Syria with a +tribe of Arabs, who with the Oriental notion that madness is +inspiration, accepted her as their prophetess and leader. At the time +referred to in Snow-Bound she was boarding at the Rocks Village about +two miles from us. + +In my boyhood, in our lonely farm-house, we had scanty sources of +information; few books and only a small weekly newspaper. Our only +annual was the Almanac. Under such circumstances story-telling was a +necessary resource in the long winter evenings. My father when a young +man had traversed the wilderness to Canada, and could tell us of his +adventures with Indians and wild beasts, and of his sojourn in the +French villages. My uncle was ready with his record of hunting and +fishing and, it must be confessed, with stories which he at least half +believed, of witchcraft and apparitions. My mother, who was born in the +Indian-haunted region of Somersworth, New Hampshire, between Dover and +Portsmouth, told us of the inroads of the savages, and the narrow escape +of her ancestors. She described strange people who lived on the +Piscataqua and Cocheco, among whom was Bantam the sorcerer. I have in my +possession the wizard's "conjuring book," which he solemnly opened when +consulted. It is a copy of Cornelius Agrippa's Magic printed in 1651, +dedicated to Dr. Robert Child, who, like Michael Scott, had learned "the +art of glammorie In Padua beyond the sea," and who is famous in the +annals of Massachusetts, where he was at one time a resident, as the +first man who dared petition the General Court for liberty of +conscience. The full title of the book is Three Books of Occult +Philosophy, by Henry Cornelius Agrippa, Knight, Doctor of both Laws, +Counsellor to Caesar's Sacred Majesty and Judge of the Prerogative +Court. + +"As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so Good Spirits, +which be Angels of Light, are augmented not only by the Divine light of +the Sun, but also by our common Wood Fire: and as the Celestial Fire +drives away dark spirits, so also this our Fire of Wood doth the same." +--Cor. AGRIPPA, Occult Philosophy, Book I. ch. v. + + "Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, + Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, + Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air + Hides hills and woods, the rivet and the heaven, + And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. + The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet + Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit + Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed + In a tumultuous privacy of storm." + Emerson. The Snow Storm. + + + The sun that brief December day + Rose cheerless over hills of gray, + And, darkly circled, gave at noon + A sadder light than waning moon. + Slow tracing down the thickening sky + Its mute and ominous prophecy, + A portent seeming less than threat, + It sank from sight before it set. + A chill no coat, however stout, + Of homespun stuff could quite, shut out, + A hard, dull bitterness of cold, + That checked, mid-vein, the circling race + Of life-blood in the sharpened face, + The coming of the snow-storm told. + The wind blew east; we heard the roar + Of Ocean on his wintry shore, + And felt the strong pulse throbbing there + Beat with low rhythm our inland air. + + Meanwhile we did our nightly chores,-- + Brought in the wood from out of doors, + Littered the stalls, and from the mows + Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows + Heard the horse whinnying for his corn; + And, sharply clashing horn on horn, + Impatient down the stanchion rows + The cattle shake their walnut bows; + While, peering from his early perch + Upon the scaffold's pole of birch, + The cock his crested helmet bent + And down his querulous challenge sent. + + Unwarmed by any sunset light + The gray day darkened into night, + A night made hoary with the swarm, + And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, + As zigzag, wavering to and fro, + Crossed and recrossed the winged snow + And ere the early bedtime came + The white drift piled the window-frame, + And through the glass the clothes-line posts + Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. + + So all night long the storm roared on + The morning broke without a sun; + In tiny spherule traced with lines + Of Nature's geometric signs, + In starry flake, and pellicle, + All day the hoary meteor fell; + And, when the second morning shone, + We looked upon a world unknown, + On nothing we could call our own. + Around the glistening wonder bent + The blue walls of the firmament, + No cloud above, no earth below,-- + A universe of sky and snow + The old familiar sights of ours + Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers + Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, + Or garden-wall, or belt of wood; + A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, + A fenceless drift what once was road; + The bridle-post an old man sat + With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; + The well-curb had a Chinese roof; + And even the long sweep, high aloof, + In its slant splendor, seemed to tell + Of Pisa's leaning miracle. + + A prompt, decisive man, no breath + Our father wasted: "Boys, a path!" + Well pleased, (for when did farmer boy + Count such a summons less than joy?) + Our buskins on our feet we drew; + With mittened hands, and caps drawn low, + To guard our necks and ears from snow, + We cut the solid whiteness through. + And, where the drift was deepest, made + A tunnel walled and overlaid + With dazzling crystal: we had read + Of rare Aladdin's wondrous cave, + And to our own his name we gave, + With many a wish the luck were ours + To test his lamp's supernal powers. + We reached the barn with merry din, + And roused the prisoned brutes within. + The old horse thrust his long head out, + And grave with wonder gazed about; + The cock his lusty greeting said, + And forth his speckled harem led; + The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked, + And mild reproach of hunger looked; + The horned patriarch of the sheep, + Like Egypt's Amun roused from sleep, + Shook his sage head with gesture mute, + And emphasized with stamp of foot. + + All day the gusty north-wind bore + The loosening drift its breath before; + Low circling round its southern zone, + The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. + No church-bell lent its Christian tone + To the savage air, no social smoke + Curled over woods of snow-hung oak. + A solitude made more intense + By dreary-voiced elements, + The shrieking of the mindless wind, + The moaning tree-boughs swaying blind, + And on the glass the unmeaning beat + Of ghostly finger-tips of sleet. + Beyond the circle of our hearth + No welcome sound of toil or mirth + Unbound the spell, and testified + Of human life and thought outside. + We minded that the sharpest ear + The buried brooklet could not hear, + The music of whose liquid lip + Had been to us companionship, + And, in our lonely life, had grown + To have an almost human tone. + + As night drew on, and, from the crest + Of wooded knolls that ridged the west, + The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank + From sight beneath the smothering bank, + We piled, with care, our nightly stack + Of wood against the chimney-back,-- + The oaken log, green, huge, and thick, + And on its top the stout back-stick; + The knotty forestick laid apart, + And filled between with curious art + The ragged brush; then, hovering near, + We watched the first red blaze appear, + Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam + On whitewashed wall and sagging beam, + Until the old, rude-furnished room + Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom; + While radiant with a mimic flame + Outside the sparkling drift became, + And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree + Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free. + The crane and pendent trammels showed, + The Turks' heads on the andirons glowed; + While childish fancy, prompt to tell + The meaning of the miracle, + Whispered the old rhyme: "_Under the tree, + When fire outdoors burns merrily, + There the witches are making tea_." + + The moon above the eastern wood + Shone at its full; the hill-range stood + Transfigured in the silver flood, + Its blown snows flashing cold and keen, + Dead white, save where some sharp ravine + Took shadow, or the sombre green + Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black + Against the whiteness at their back. + For such a world and such a night + Most fitting that unwarming light, + Which only seemed where'er it fell + To make the coldness visible. + + Shut in from all the world without, + We sat the clean-winged hearth about, + Content to let the north-wind roar + In baffled rage at pane and door, + While the red logs before us beat + The frost-line back with tropic heat; + And ever, when a louder blast + Shook beam and rafter as it passed, + The merrier up its roaring draught + The great throat of the chimney laughed; + The house-dog on his paws outspread + Laid to the fire his drowsy head, + The cat's dark silhouette on the wall + A couchant tiger's seemed to fall; + And, for the winter fireside meet, + Between the andirons' straddling feet, + The mug of cider simmered slow, + The apples sputtered in a row, + And, close at hand, the basket stood + With nuts from brown October's wood. + + What matter how the night behaved? + What matter how the north-wind raved? + Blow high, blow low, not all its snow + Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow. + O Time and Change!--with hair as gray + As was my sire's that winter day, + How strange it seems, with so much gone + Of life and love, to still live on! + Ah, brother! only I and thou + Are left of all that circle now,-- + The dear home faces whereupon + That fitful firelight paled and shone. + Henceforward, listen as we will, + The voices of that hearth are still; + Look where we may, the wide earth o'er + Those lighted faces smile no more. + We tread the paths their feet have worn, + We sit beneath their orchard trees, + We hear, like them, the hum of bees + And rustle of the bladed corn; + We turn the pages that they read, + Their written words we linger o'er, + But in the sun they cast no shade, + No voice is heard, no sign is made, + No step is on the conscious floor! + Yet Love will dream, and Faith will trust, + (Since He who knows our need is just,) + That somehow, somewhere, meet we must. + Alas for him who never sees + The stars shine through his cypress-trees + Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, + Nor looks to see the breaking day + Across the mournful marbles play! + Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, + The truth to flesh and sense unknown, + That Life is ever lord of Death, + And Love can never lose its own! + + We sped the time with stories old, + Wrought puzzles out, and riddles told, + Or stammered from our school-book lore + The Chief of Gambia's "golden shore." + How often since, when all the land + Was clay in Slavery's shaping hand, + As if a far-blown trumpet stirred + The languorous sin-sick air, I heard + "_Does not the voice of reason cry, + Claim the first right which Nature gave, + From the red scourge of bondage fly, + Nor deign to live a burdened slave_!" + Our father rode again his ride + On Memphremagog's wooded side; + Sat down again to moose and samp + In trapper's hut and Indian camp; + Lived o'er the old idyllic ease + Beneath St. Francois' hemlock-trees; + Again for him the moonlight shone + On Norman cap and bodiced zone; + Again he heard the violin play + Which led the village dance away, + And mingled in its merry whirl + The grandam and the laughing girl. + Or, nearer home, our steps he led + Where Salisbury's level marshes spread + Mile-wide as flies the laden bee; + Where merry mowers, hale and strong, + Swept, scythe on scythe, their swaths along + The low green prairies of the sea. + We shared the fishing off Boar's Head, + And round the rocky Isles of Shoals + The hake-broil on the drift-wood coals; + The chowder on the sand-beach made, + Dipped by the hungry, steaming hot, + With spoons of clam-shell from the pot. + We heard the tales of witchcraft old, + And dream and sign and marvel told + To sleepy listeners as they lay + Stretched idly on the salted hay, + Adrift along the winding shores, + When favoring breezes deigned to blow + The square sail of the gundelow + And idle lay the useless oars. + + Our mother, while she turned her wheel + Or run the new-knit stocking-heel, + Told how the Indian hordes came down + At midnight on Cocheco town, + And how her own great-uncle bore + His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore. + Recalling, in her fitting phrase, + So rich and picturesque and free, + (The common unrhymed poetry + Of simple life and country ways,) + The story of her early days,-- + She made us welcome to her home; + Old hearths grew wide to give us room; + We stole with her a frightened look + At the gray wizard's conjuring-book, + The fame whereof went far and wide + Through all the simple country side; + We heard the hawks at twilight play, + The boat-horn on Piscataqua, + The loon's weird laughter far away; + We fished her little trout-brook, knew + What flowers in wood and meadow grew, + What sunny hillsides autumn-brown + She climbed to shake the ripe nuts down, + Saw where in sheltered cove and bay + The ducks' black squadron anchored lay, + And heard the wild-geese calling loud + Beneath the gray November cloud. + + Then, haply, with a look more grave, + And soberer tone, some tale she gave + From painful Sewell's ancient tome, + Beloved in every Quaker home, + Of faith fire-winged by martyrdom, + Or Chalkley's Journal, old and quaint,-- + Gentlest of skippers, rare sea-saint!-- + Who, when the dreary calms prevailed, + And water-butt and bread-cask failed, + And cruel, hungry eyes pursued + His portly presence mad for food, + With dark hints muttered under breath + Of casting lots for life or death, + Offered, if Heaven withheld supplies, + To be himself the sacrifice. + Then, suddenly, as if to save + The good man from his living grave, + A ripple on the water grew, + A school of porpoise flashed in view. + "Take, eat," he said, "and be content; + These fishes in my stead are sent + By Him who gave the tangled ram + To spare the child of Abraham." + + Our uncle, innocent of books, + Was rich in lore of fields and brooks, + The ancient teachers never dumb + Of Nature's unhoused lyceum. + In moons and tides and weather wise, + He read the clouds as prophecies, + And foul or fair could well divine, + By many an occult hint and sign, + Holding the cunning-warded keys + To all the woodcraft mysteries; + Himself to Nature's heart so near + That all her voices in his ear + Of beast or bird had meanings clear, + Like Apollonius of old, + Who knew the tales the sparrows told, + Or Hermes who interpreted + What the sage cranes of Nilus said; + + Content to live where life began; + A simple, guileless, childlike man, + Strong only on his native grounds, + The little world of sights and sounds + Whose girdle was the parish bounds, + Whereof his fondly partial pride + The common features magnified, + As Surrey hills to mountains grew + In White of Selborne's loving view,-- + He told how teal and loon he shot, + And how the eagle's eggs he got, + The feats on pond and river done, + The prodigies of rod and gun; + Till, warming with the tales he told, + Forgotten was the outside cold, + The bitter wind unheeded blew, + From ripening corn the pigeons flew, + The partridge drummed I' the wood, the mink + Went fishing down the river-brink. + In fields with bean or clover gay, + The woodchuck, like a hermit gray, + Peered from the doorway of his cell; + The muskrat plied the mason's trade, + And tier by tier his mud-walls laid; + And from the shagbark overhead + The grizzled squirrel dropped his shell. + + Next, the dear aunt, whose smile of cheer + And voice in dreams I see and hear,-- + The sweetest woman ever Fate + Perverse denied a household mate, + Who, lonely, homeless, not the less + Found peace in love's unselfishness, + And welcome wheresoe'er she went, + A calm and gracious element,-- + Whose presence seemed the sweet income + And womanly atmosphere of home,-- + Called up her girlhood memories, + The huskings and the apple-bees, + The sleigh-rides and the summer sails, + Weaving through all the poor details + And homespun warp of circumstance + A golden woof-thread of romance. + For well she kept her genial mood + And simple faith of maidenhood; + Before her still a cloud-land lay, + The mirage loomed across her way; + The morning dew, that dries so soon + With others, glistened at her noon; + Through years of toil and soil and care, + From glossy tress to thin gray hair, + All unprofaned she held apart + The virgin fancies of the heart. + Be shame to him of woman born + Who hath for such but thought of scorn. + + There, too, our elder sister plied + Her evening task the stand beside; + A full, rich nature, free to trust, + Truthful and almost sternly just, + Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act, + And make her generous thought a fact, + Keeping with many a light disguise + The secret of self-sacrifice. + O heart sore-tried! thou hast the best + That Heaven itself could give thee,--rest, + + Rest from all bitter thoughts and things! + How many a poor one's blessing went + With thee beneath the low green tent + Whose curtain never outward swings! + + As one who held herself a part + Of all she saw, and let her heart + Against the household bosom lean, + Upon the motley-braided mat + Our youngest and our dearest sat, + Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes, + Now bathed in the unfading green + And holy peace of Paradise. + Oh, looking from some heavenly hill, + Or from the shade of saintly palms, + Or silver reach of river calms, + Do those large eyes behold me still? + With me one little year ago:-- + The chill weight of the winter snow + For months upon her grave has lain; + And now, when summer south-winds blow + And brier and harebell bloom again, + I tread the pleasant paths we trod, + I see the violet-sprinkled sod + Whereon she leaned, too frail and weak + The hillside flowers she loved to seek, + Yet following me where'er I went + With dark eyes full of love's content. + The birds are glad; the brier-rose fills + The air with sweetness; all the hills + Stretch green to June's unclouded sky; + But still I wait with ear and eye + For something gone which should be nigh, + A loss in all familiar things, + In flower that blooms, and bird that sings. + And yet, dear heart' remembering thee, + Am I not richer than of old? + Safe in thy immortality, + What change can reach the wealth I hold? + What chance can mar the pearl and gold + Thy love hath left in trust with me? + And while in life's late afternoon, + Where cool and long the shadows grow, + I walk to meet the night that soon + Shall shape and shadow overflow, + I cannot feel that thou art far, + Since near at need the angels are; + And when the sunset gates unbar, + Shall I not see thee waiting stand, + And, white against the evening star, + The welcome of thy beckoning hand? + + Brisk wielder of the birch and rule, + The master of the district school + Held at the fire his favored place, + Its warm glow lit a laughing face + Fresh-hued and fair, where scarce appeared + The uncertain prophecy of beard. + He teased the mitten-blinded cat, + Played cross-pins on my uncle's hat, + Sang songs, and told us what befalls + In classic Dartmouth's college halls. + Born the wild Northern hills among, + From whence his yeoman father wrung + By patient toil subsistence scant, + Not competence and yet not want, + + He early gained the power to pay + His cheerful, self-reliant way; + Could doff at ease his scholar's gown + To peddle wares from town to town; + Or through the long vacation's reach + In lonely lowland districts teach, + Where all the droll experience found + At stranger hearths in boarding round, + The moonlit skater's keen delight, + The sleigh-drive through the frosty night, + The rustic party, with its rough + Accompaniment of blind-man's-buff, + And whirling plate, and forfeits paid, + His winter task a pastime made. + Happy the snow-locked homes wherein + He tuned his merry violin, + Or played the athlete in the barn, + Or held the good dame's winding-yarn, + Or mirth-provoking versions told + Of classic legends rare and old, + Wherein the scenes of Greece and Rome + Had all the commonplace of home, + And little seemed at best the odds + 'Twixt Yankee pedlers and old gods; + Where Pindus-born Arachthus took + The guise of any grist-mill brook, + And dread Olympus at his will + Became a huckleberry hill. + + A careless boy that night he seemed; + But at his desk he had the look + And air of one who wisely schemed, + And hostage from the future took + In trained thought and lore of book. + Large-brained, clear-eyed, of such as he + Shall Freedom's young apostles be, + Who, following in War's bloody trail, + Shall every lingering wrong assail; + All chains from limb and spirit strike, + Uplift the black and white alike; + Scatter before their swift advance + The darkness and the ignorance, + The pride, the lust, the squalid sloth, + Which nurtured Treason's monstrous growth, + Made murder pastime, and the hell + Of prison-torture possible; + The cruel lie of caste refute, + Old forms remould, and substitute + For Slavery's lash the freeman's will, + For blind routine, wise-handed skill; + A school-house plant on every hill, + Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence + The quick wires of intelligence; + Till North and South together brought + Shall own the same electric thought, + In peace a common flag salute, + And, side by side in labor's free + And unresentful rivalry, + Harvest the fields wherein they fought. + + Another guest that winter night + Flashed back from lustrous eyes the light. + Unmarked by time, and yet not young, + The honeyed music of her tongue + And words of meekness scarcely told + A nature passionate and bold, + Strong, self-concentred, spurning guide, + Its milder features dwarfed beside + Her unbent will's majestic pride. + She sat among us, at the best, + A not unfeared, half-welcome guest, + Rebuking with her cultured phrase + Our homeliness of words and ways. + A certain pard-like, treacherous grace + Swayed the lithe limbs and dropped the lash, + Lent the white teeth their dazzling flash; + And under low brows, black with night, + Rayed out at times a dangerous light; + The sharp heat-lightnings of her face + Presaging ill to him whom Fate + Condemned to share her love or hate. + A woman tropical, intense + In thought and act, in soul and sense, + She blended in a like degree + The vixen and the devotee, + Revealing with each freak or feint + The temper of Petruchio's Kate, + The raptures of Siena's saint. + Her tapering hand and rounded wrist + Had facile power to form a fist; + The warm, dark languish of her eyes + Was never safe from wrath's surprise. + Brows saintly calm and lips devout + Knew every change of scowl and pout; + And the sweet voice had notes more high + And shrill for social battle-cry. + + Since then what old cathedral town + Has missed her pilgrim staff and gown, + What convent-gate has held its lock + Against the challenge of her knock! + Through Smyrna's plague-hushed thoroughfares, + Up sea-set Malta's rocky stairs, + Gray olive slopes of hills that hem + Thy tombs and shrines, Jerusalem, + Or startling on her desert throne + The crazy Queen of Lebanon s + With claims fantastic as her own, + Her tireless feet have held their way; + And still, unrestful, bowed, and gray, + She watches under Eastern skies, + With hope each day renewed and fresh, + The Lord's quick coming in the flesh, + Whereof she dreams and prophesies! + + Where'er her troubled path may be, + The Lord's sweet pity with her go! + The outward wayward life we see, + The hidden springs we may not know. + Nor is it given us to discern + What threads the fatal sisters spun, + Through what ancestral years has run + The sorrow with the woman born, + What forged her cruel chain of moods, + What set her feet in solitudes, + And held the love within her mute, + What mingled madness in the blood, + A life-long discord and annoy, + Water of tears with oil of joy, + And hid within the folded bud + Perversities of flower and fruit. + It is not ours to separate + The tangled skein of will and fate, + To show what metes and bounds should stand + Upon the soul's debatable land, + And between choice and Providence + Divide the circle of events; + But lie who knows our frame is just, + Merciful and compassionate, + And full of sweet assurances + And hope for all the language is, + That He remembereth we are dust! + + At last the great logs, crumbling low, + Sent out a dull and duller glow, + The bull's-eye watch that hung in view, + Ticking its weary circuit through, + Pointed with mutely warning sign + Its black hand to the hour of nine. + That sign the pleasant circle broke + My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke, + Knocked from its bowl the refuse gray, + And laid it tenderly away, + Then roused himself to safely cover + The dull red brands with ashes over. + And while, with care, our mother laid + The work aside, her steps she stayed + One moment, seeking to express + Her grateful sense of happiness + For food and shelter, warmth and health, + And love's contentment more than wealth, + With simple wishes (not the weak, + Vain prayers which no fulfilment seek, + But such as warm the generous heart, + O'er-prompt to do with Heaven its part) + That none might lack, that bitter night, + For bread and clothing, warmth and light. + + Within our beds awhile we heard + The wind that round the gables roared, + With now and then a ruder shock, + Which made our very bedsteads rock. + We heard the loosened clapboards tost, + The board-nails snapping in the frost; + And on us, through the unplastered wall, + Felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall. + But sleep stole on, as sleep will do + When hearts are light and life is new; + Faint and more faint the murmurs grew, + Till in the summer-land of dreams + They softened to the sound of streams, + Low stir of leaves, and dip of oars, + And lapsing waves on quiet shores. + + Next morn we wakened with the shout + Of merry voices high and clear; + And saw the teamsters drawing near + To break the drifted highways out. + Down the long hillside treading slow + We saw the half-buried oxen' go, + Shaking the snow from heads uptost, + Their straining nostrils white with frost. + Before our door the straggling train + Drew up, an added team to gain. + The elders threshed their hands a-cold, + Passed, with the cider-mug, their jokes + From lip to lip; the younger folks + Down the loose snow-banks, wrestling, rolled, + Then toiled again the cavalcade + O'er windy hill, through clogged ravine, + And woodland paths that wound between + Low drooping pine-boughs winter-weighed. + From every barn a team afoot, + At every house a new recruit, + Where, drawn by Nature's subtlest law + Haply the watchful young men saw + Sweet doorway pictures of the curls + And curious eyes of merry girls, + Lifting their hands in mock defence + Against the snow-ball's compliments, + And reading in each missive tost + The charm with Eden never lost. + + We heard once more the sleigh-bells' sound; + And, following where the teamsters led, + The wise old Doctor went his round, + Just pausing at our door to say, + In the brief autocratic way + Of one who, prompt at Duty's call, + Was free to urge her claim on all, + That some poor neighbor sick abed + At night our mother's aid would need. + For, one in generous thought and deed, + What mattered in the sufferer's sight + The Quaker matron's inward light, + The Doctor's mail of Calvin's creed? + All hearts confess the saints elect + Who, twain in faith, in love agree, + And melt not in an acid sect + The Christian pearl of charity! + + So days went on: a week had passed + Since the great world was heard from last. + The Almanac we studied o'er, + Read and reread our little store, + Of books and pamphlets, scarce a score; + One harmless novel, mostly hid + From younger eyes, a book forbid, + And poetry, (or good or bad, + A single book was all we had,) + Where Ellwood's meek, drab-skirted Muse, + A stranger to the heathen Nine, + Sang, with a somewhat nasal whine, + The wars of David and the Jews. + At last the floundering carrier bore + The village paper to our door. + Lo! broadening outward as we read, + To warmer zones the horizon spread; + In panoramic length unrolled + We saw the marvels that it told. + Before us passed the painted Creeks, + And daft McGregor on his raids + In Costa Rica's everglades. + And up Taygetos winding slow + Rode Ypsilanti's Mainote Greeks, + A Turk's head at each saddle-bow + Welcome to us its week-old news, + Its corner for the rustic Muse, + Its monthly gauge of snow and rain, + Its record, mingling in a breath + The wedding bell and dirge of death; + Jest, anecdote, and love-lorn tale, + The latest culprit sent to jail; + Its hue and cry of stolen and lost, + Its vendue sales and goods at cost, + And traffic calling loud for gain. + We felt the stir of hall and street, + The pulse of life that round us beat; + The chill embargo of the snow + Was melted in the genial glow; + Wide swung again our ice-locked door, + And all the world was ours once more! + + Clasp, Angel of the backward look + And folded wings of ashen gray + And voice of echoes far away, + The brazen covers of thy book; + The weird palimpsest old and vast, + Wherein thou hid'st the spectral past; + Where, closely mingling, pale and glow + The characters of joy and woe; + The monographs of outlived years, + Or smile-illumed or dim with tears, + Green hills of life that slope to death, + And haunts of home, whose vistaed trees + Shade off to mournful cypresses + With the white amaranths underneath. + Even while I look, I can but heed + The restless sands' incessant fall, + Importunate hours that hours succeed, + Each clamorous with its own sharp need, + And duty keeping pace with all. + Shut down and clasp the heavy lids; + I hear again the voice that bids + The dreamer leave his dream midway + For larger hopes and graver fears + Life greatens in these later years, + The century's aloe flowers to-day! + + Yet, haply, in some lull of life, + Some Truce of God which breaks its strife, + The worldling's eyes shall gather dew, + Dreaming in throngful city ways + Of winter joys his boyhood knew; + And dear and early friends--the few + Who yet remain--shall pause to view + These Flemish pictures of old days; + Sit with me by the homestead hearth, + And stretch the hands of memory forth + To warm them at the wood-fire's blaze! + And thanks untraced to lips unknown + Shall greet me like the odors blown + From unseen meadows newly mown, + Or lilies floating in some pond, + Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond; + The traveller owns the grateful sense + Of sweetness near, he knows not whence, + And, pausing, takes with forehead bare + The benediction of the air. + + 1866. + + + + +MY TRIUMPH. + + The autumn-time has come; + On woods that dream of bloom, + And over purpling vines, + The low sun fainter shines. + + The aster-flower is failing, + The hazel's gold is paling; + Yet overhead more near + The eternal stars appear! + + And present gratitude + Insures the future's good, + And for the things I see + I trust the things to be; + + That in the paths untrod, + And the long days of God, + My feet shall still be led, + My heart be comforted. + + O living friends who love me! + O dear ones gone above me! + Careless of other fame, + I leave to you my name. + + Hide it from idle praises, + Save it from evil phrases + Why, when dear lips that spake it + Are dumb, should strangers wake it? + + Let the thick curtain fall; + I better know than all + How little I have gained, + How vast the unattained. + + Not by the page word-painted + Let life be banned or sainted + Deeper than written scroll + The colors of the soul. + + Sweeter than any sung + My songs that found no tongue; + Nobler than any fact + My wish that failed of act. + + Others shall sing the song, + Others shall right the wrong,-- + Finish what I begin, + And all I fail of win. + + What matter, I or they? + Mine or another's day, + So the right word be said + And life the sweeter made? + + Hail to the coming singers + Hail to the brave light-bringers! + Forward I reach and share + All that they sing and dare. + + The airs of heaven blow o'er me; + A glory shines before me + Of what mankind shall be,-- + Pure, generous, brave, and free. + + A dream of man and woman + Diviner but still human, + Solving the riddle old, + Shaping the Age of Gold. + + The love of God and neighbor; + An equal-handed labor; + The richer life, where beauty + Walks hand in hand with duty. + + Ring, bells in unreared steeples, + The joy of unborn peoples! + Sound, trumpets far off blown, + Your triumph is my own! + + Parcel and part of all, + I keep the festival, + Fore-reach the good to be, + And share the victory. + + I feel the earth move sunward, + I join the great march onward, + And take, by faith, while living, + My freehold of thanksgiving. + + 1870. + + + + +IN SCHOOL-DAYS. + + Still sits the school-house by the road, + A ragged beggar sleeping; + Around it still the sumachs grow, + And blackberry-vines are creeping. + + Within, the master's desk is seen, + Deep scarred by raps official; + The warping floor, the battered seats, + The jack-knife's carved initial; + + The charcoal frescos on its wall; + Its door's worn sill, betraying + The feet that, creeping slow to school, + Went storming out to playing! + + Long years ago a winter sun + Shone over it at setting; + Lit up its western window-panes, + And low eaves' icy fretting. + + It touched the tangled golden curls, + And brown eyes full of grieving, + Of one who still her steps delayed + When all the school were leaving. + + For near her stood the little boy + Her childish favor singled: + His cap pulled low upon a face + Where pride and shame were mingled. + + Pushing with restless feet the snow + To right and left, he lingered;-- + As restlessly her tiny hands + The blue-checked apron fingered. + + He saw her lift her eyes; he felt + The soft hand's light caressing, + And heard the tremble of her voice, + As if a fault confessing. + + "I 'm sorry that I spelt the word + I hate to go above you, + Because,"--the brown eyes lower fell,-- + "Because you see, I love you!" + + Still memory to a gray-haired man + That sweet child-face is showing. + Dear girl! the grasses on her grave + Have forty years been growing! + + He lives to learn, in life's hard school, + How few who pass above him + Lament their triumph and his loss, + Like her,--because they love him. + + + + +MY BIRTHDAY. + + Beneath the moonlight and the snow + Lies dead my latest year; + The winter winds are wailing low + Its dirges in my ear. + + I grieve not with the moaning wind + As if a loss befell; + Before me, even as behind, + God is, and all is well! + + His light shines on me from above, + His low voice speaks within,-- + The patience of immortal love + Outwearying mortal sin. + + Not mindless of the growing years + Of care and loss and pain, + My eyes are wet with thankful tears + For blessings which remain. + + If dim the gold of life has grown, + I will not count it dross, + Nor turn from treasures still my own + To sigh for lack and loss. + + The years no charm from Nature take; + As sweet her voices call, + As beautiful her mornings break, + As fair her evenings fall. + + Love watches o'er my quiet ways, + Kind voices speak my name, + And lips that find it hard to praise + Are slow, at least, to blame. + + How softly ebb the tides of will! + How fields, once lost or won, + Now lie behind me green and still + Beneath a level sun. + + How hushed the hiss of party hate, + The clamor of the throng! + How old, harsh voices of debate + Flow into rhythmic song! + + Methinks the spirit's temper grows + Too soft in this still air; + Somewhat the restful heart foregoes + Of needed watch and prayer. + + The bark by tempest vainly tossed + May founder in the calm, + And he who braved the polar frost + Faint by the isles of balm. + + Better than self-indulgent years + The outflung heart of youth, + Than pleasant songs in idle ears + The tumult of the truth. + + Rest for the weary hands is good, + And love for hearts that pine, + But let the manly habitude + Of upright souls be mine. + + Let winds that blow from heaven refresh, + Dear Lord, the languid air; + And let the weakness of the flesh + Thy strength of spirit share. + + And, if the eye must fail of light, + The ear forget to hear, + Make clearer still the spirit's sight, + More fine the inward ear! + + Be near me in mine hours of need + To soothe, or cheer, or warn, + And down these slopes of sunset lead + As up the hills of morn! + + 1871. + + + + +RED RIDING-HOOD. + + On the wide lawn the snow lay deep, + Ridged o'er with many a drifted heap; + The wind that through the pine-trees sung + The naked elm-boughs tossed and swung; + While, through the window, frosty-starred, + Against the sunset purple barred, + We saw the sombre crow flap by, + The hawk's gray fleck along the sky, + The crested blue-jay flitting swift, + The squirrel poising on the drift, + Erect, alert, his broad gray tail + Set to the north wind like a sail. + + It came to pass, our little lass, + With flattened face against the glass, + And eyes in which the tender dew + Of pity shone, stood gazing through + The narrow space her rosy lips + Had melted from the frost's eclipse + "Oh, see," she cried, "the poor blue-jays! + What is it that the black crow says? + The squirrel lifts his little legs + Because he has no hands, and begs; + He's asking for my nuts, I know + May I not feed them on the snow?" + + Half lost within her boots, her head + Warm-sheltered in her hood of red, + Her plaid skirt close about her drawn, + She floundered down the wintry lawn; + Now struggling through the misty veil + Blown round her by the shrieking gale; + Now sinking in a drift so low + Her scarlet hood could scarcely show + Its dash of color on the snow. + + She dropped for bird and beast forlorn + Her little store of nuts and corn, + And thus her timid guests bespoke + "Come, squirrel, from your hollow oak,-- + Come, black old crow,--come, poor blue-jay, + Before your supper's blown away + Don't be afraid, we all are good; + And I'm mamma's Red Riding-Hood!" + + O Thou whose care is over all, + Who heedest even the sparrow's fall, + Keep in the little maiden's breast + The pity which is now its guest! + Let not her cultured years make less + The childhood charm of tenderness, + But let her feel as well as know, + Nor harder with her polish grow! + Unmoved by sentimental grief + That wails along some printed leaf, + But, prompt with kindly word and deed + To own the claims of all who need, + Let the grown woman's self make good + The promise of Red Riding-Hood. + + 1877. + + + + +RESPONSE. + +On the occasion of my seventieth birthday in 1877, I was the recipient +of many tokens of esteem. The publishers of the _Atlantic Monthly_ gave +a dinner in my name, and the editor of _The Literary World_ gathered in +his paper many affectionate messages from my associates in literature +and the cause of human progress. The lines which follow were written in +acknowledgment. + + Beside that milestone where the level sun, + Nigh unto setting, sheds his last, low rays + On word and work irrevocably done, + Life's blending threads of good and ill outspun, + I hear, O friends! your words of cheer and praise, + Half doubtful if myself or otherwise. + Like him who, in the old Arabian joke, + A beggar slept and crowned Caliph woke. + Thanks not the less. With not unglad surprise + I see my life-work through your partial eyes; + Assured, in giving to my home-taught songs + A higher value than of right belongs, + You do but read between the written lines + The finer grace of unfulfilled designs. + + + + +AT EVENTIDE. + + Poor and inadequate the shadow-play + Of gain and loss, of waking and of dream, + Against life's solemn background needs must seem + At this late hour. Yet, not unthankfully, + I call to mind the fountains by the way, + The breath of flowers, the bird-song on the spray, + Dear friends, sweet human loves, the joy of giving + And of receiving, the great boon of living + In grand historic years when Liberty + Had need of word and work, quick sympathies + For all who fail and suffer, song's relief, + Nature's uncloying loveliness; and chief, + The kind restraining hand of Providence, + The inward witness, the assuring sense + Of an Eternal Good which overlies + The sorrow of the world, Love which outlives + All sin and wrong, Compassion which forgives + To the uttermost, and Justice whose clear eyes + Through lapse and failure look to the intent, + And judge our frailty by the life we meant. + + 1878. + + + + +VOYAGE OF THE JETTIE. + +The picturesquely situated Wayside Inn at West Ossipee, N. H., is now in +ashes; and to its former guests these somewhat careless rhymes may be a +not unwelcome reminder of pleasant summers and autumns on the banks of +the Bearcamp and Chocorua. To the author himself they have a special +interest from the fact that they were written, or improvised, under the +eye and for the amusement of a beloved invalid friend whose last earthly +sunsets faded from the mountain ranges of Ossipee and Sandwich. + + + A shallow stream, from fountains + Deep in the Sandwich mountains, + Ran lake ward Bearcamp River; + And, between its flood-torn shores, + Sped by sail or urged by oars + No keel had vexed it ever. + + Alone the dead trees yielding + To the dull axe Time is wielding, + The shy mink and the otter, + And golden leaves and red, + By countless autumns shed, + Had floated down its water. + + From the gray rocks of Cape Ann, + Came a skilled seafaring man, + With his dory, to the right place; + Over hill and plain he brought her, + Where the boatless Beareamp water + Comes winding down from White-Face. + + Quoth the skipper: "Ere she floats forth; + I'm sure my pretty boat's worth, + At least, a name as pretty." + On her painted side he wrote it, + And the flag that o'er her floated + Bore aloft the name of Jettie. + + On a radiant morn of summer, + Elder guest and latest comer + Saw her wed the Bearcamp water; + Heard the name the skipper gave her, + And the answer to the favor + From the Bay State's graceful daughter. + + Then, a singer, richly gifted, + Her charmed voice uplifted; + And the wood-thrush and song-sparrow + Listened, dumb with envious pain, + To the clear and sweet refrain + Whose notes they could not borrow. + + Then the skipper plied his oar, + And from off the shelving shore, + Glided out the strange explorer; + Floating on, she knew not whither,-- + The tawny sands beneath her, + The great hills watching o'er her. + + On, where the stream flows quiet + As the meadows' margins by it, + Or widens out to borrow a + New life from that wild water, + The mountain giant's daughter, + The pine-besung Chocorua. + + Or, mid the tangling cumber + And pack of mountain lumber + That spring floods downward force, + Over sunken snag, and bar + Where the grating shallows are, + The good boat held her course. + + Under the pine-dark highlands, + Around the vine-hung islands, + She ploughed her crooked furrow + And her rippling and her lurches + Scared the river eels and perches, + And the musk-rat in his burrow. + + Every sober clam below her, + Every sage and grave pearl-grower, + Shut his rusty valves the tighter; + Crow called to crow complaining, + And old tortoises sat craning + Their leathern necks to sight her. + + So, to where the still lake glasses + The misty mountain masses + Rising dim and distant northward, + And, with faint-drawn shadow pictures, + Low shores, and dead pine spectres, + Blends the skyward and the earthward, + + On she glided, overladen, + With merry man and maiden + Sending back their song and laughter,-- + While, perchance, a phantom crew, + In a ghostly birch canoe, + Paddled dumb and swiftly after! + + And the bear on Ossipee + Climbed the topmost crag to see + The strange thing drifting under; + And, through the haze of August, + Passaconaway and Paugus + Looked down in sleepy wonder. + + All the pines that o'er her hung + In mimic sea-tones sung + The song familiar to her; + And the maples leaned to screen her, + And the meadow-grass seemed greener, + And the breeze more soft to woo her. + + The lone stream mystery-haunted, + To her the freedom granted + To scan its every feature, + Till new and old were blended, + And round them both extended + The loving arms of Nature. + + Of these hills the little vessel + Henceforth is part and parcel; + And on Bearcamp shall her log + Be kept, as if by George's + Or Grand Menan, the surges + Tossed her skipper through the fog. + + And I, who, half in sadness, + Recall the morning gladness + Of life, at evening time, + By chance, onlooking idly, + Apart from all so widely, + Have set her voyage to rhyme. + + Dies now the gay persistence + Of song and laugh, in distance; + Alone with me remaining + The stream, the quiet meadow, + The hills in shine and shadow, + The sombre pines complaining. + + And, musing here, I dream + Of voyagers on a stream + From whence is no returning, + Under sealed orders going, + Looking forward little knowing, + Looking back with idle yearning. + + And I pray that every venture + The port of peace may enter, + That, safe from snag and fall + And siren-haunted islet, + And rock, the Unseen Pilot + May guide us one and all. + + 1880. + + + + +MY TRUST. + + A picture memory brings to me + I look across the years and see + Myself beside my mother's knee. + + I feel her gentle hand restrain + My selfish moods, and know again + A child's blind sense of wrong and pain. + + But wiser now, a man gray grown, + My childhood's needs are better known, + My mother's chastening love I own. + + Gray grown, but in our Father's sight + A child still groping for the light + To read His works and ways aright. + + I wait, in His good time to see + That as my mother dealt with me + So with His children dealeth He. + + I bow myself beneath His hand + That pain itself was wisely planned + I feel, and partly understand. + + The joy that comes in sorrow's guise, + The sweet pains of self-sacrifice, + I would not have them otherwise. + + And what were life and death if sin + Knew not the dread rebuke within, + The pang of merciful discipline? + + Not with thy proud despair of old, + Crowned stoic of Rome's noblest mould! + Pleasure and pain alike I hold. + + I suffer with no vain pretence + Of triumph over flesh and sense, + Yet trust the grievous providence, + + How dark soe'er it seems, may tend, + By ways I cannot comprehend, + To some unguessed benignant end; + + That every loss and lapse may gain + The clear-aired heights by steps of pain, + And never cross is borne in vain. + + 1880. + + + + +A NAME + +Addressed to my grand-nephew, Greenleaf Whittier Pickard. Jonathan +Greenleaf, in A Genealogy of the Greenleaf Family, says briefly: "From +all that can be gathered, it is believed that the ancestors of the +Greenleaf family were Huguenots, who left France on account of their +religious principles some time in the course of the sixteenth century, +and settled in England. The name was probably translated from the French +Feuillevert." + + + The name the Gallic exile bore, + St. Malo! from thy ancient mart, + Became upon our Western shore + Greenleaf for Feuillevert. + + A name to hear in soft accord + Of leaves by light winds overrun, + Or read, upon the greening sward + Of May, in shade and sun. + + The name my infant ear first heard + Breathed softly with a mother's kiss; + His mother's own, no tenderer word + My father spake than this. + + No child have I to bear it on; + Be thou its keeper; let it take + From gifts well used and duty done + New beauty for thy sake. + + The fair ideals that outran + My halting footsteps seek and find-- + The flawless symmetry of man, + The poise of heart and mind. + + Stand firmly where I felt the sway + Of every wing that fancy flew, + See clearly where I groped my way, + Nor real from seeming knew. + + And wisely choose, and bravely hold + Thy faith unswerved by cross or crown, + Like the stout Huguenot of old + Whose name to thee comes down. + + As Marot's songs made glad the heart + Of that lone exile, haply mine + May in life's heavy hours impart + Some strength and hope to thine. + + Yet when did Age transfer to Youth + The hard-gained lessons of its day? + Each lip must learn the taste of truth, + Each foot must feel its way. + + We cannot hold the hands of choice + That touch or shun life's fateful keys; + The whisper of the inward voice + Is more than homilies. + + Dear boy! for whom the flowers are born, + Stars shine, and happy song-birds sing, + What can my evening give to morn, + My winter to thy spring! + + A life not void of pure intent, + With small desert of praise or blame, + The love I felt, the good I meant, + I leave thee with my name. + + 1880. + + + + +GREETING. + +Originally prefixed to the volume, The King's Missive and other Poems. + + + I spread a scanty board too late; + The old-time guests for whom I wait + Come few and slow, methinks, to-day. + Ah! who could hear my messages + Across the dim unsounded seas + On which so many have sailed away! + + Come, then, old friends, who linger yet, + And let us meet, as we have met, + Once more beneath this low sunshine; + And grateful for the good we 've known, + The riddles solved, the ills outgrown, + Shake bands upon the border line. + + The favor, asked too oft before, + From your indulgent ears, once more + I crave, and, if belated lays + To slower, feebler measures move, + The silent, sympathy of love + To me is dearer now than praise. + + And ye, O younger friends, for whom + My hearth and heart keep open room, + Come smiling through the shadows long, + Be with me while the sun goes down, + And with your cheerful voices drown + The minor of my even-song. + + For, equal through the day and night, + The wise Eternal oversight + And love and power and righteous will + Remain: the law of destiny + The best for each and all must be, + And life its promise shall fulfil. + + 1881. + + + + +AN AUTOGRAPH. + + I write my name as one, + On sands by waves o'errun + Or winter's frosted pane, + Traces a record vain. + + Oblivion's blankness claims + Wiser and better names, + And well my own may pass + As from the strand or glass. + + Wash on, O waves of time! + Melt, noons, the frosty rime! + Welcome the shadow vast, + The silence that shall last. + + When I and all who know + And love me vanish so, + What harm to them or me + Will the lost memory be? + + If any words of mine, + Through right of life divine, + Remain, what matters it + Whose hand the message writ? + + Why should the "crowner's quest" + Sit on my worst or best? + Why should the showman claim + The poor ghost of my name? + + Yet, as when dies a sound + Its spectre lingers round, + Haply my spent life will + Leave some faint echo still. + + A whisper giving breath + Of praise or blame to death, + Soothing or saddening such + As loved the living much. + + Therefore with yearnings vain + And fond I still would fain + A kindly judgment seek, + A tender thought bespeak. + + And, while my words are read, + Let this at least be said + "Whate'er his life's defeatures, + He loved his fellow-creatures. + + "If, of the Law's stone table, + To hold he scarce was able + The first great precept fast, + He kept for man the last. + + "Through mortal lapse and dulness + What lacks the Eternal Fulness, + If still our weakness can + Love Him in loving man? + + "Age brought him no despairing + Of the world's future faring; + In human nature still + He found more good than ill. + + "To all who dumbly suffered, + His tongue and pen he offered; + His life was not his own, + Nor lived for self alone. + + "Hater of din and riot + He lived in days unquiet; + And, lover of all beauty, + Trod the hard ways of duty. + + "He meant no wrong to any + He sought the good of many, + Yet knew both sin and folly,-- + May God forgive him wholly!" + + 1882. + + + + +ABRAM MORRISON. + + 'Midst the men and things which will + Haunt an old man's memory still, + Drollest, quaintest of them all, + With a boy's laugh I recall + Good old Abram Morrison. + + When the Grist and Rolling Mill + Ground and rumbled by Po Hill, + And the old red school-house stood + Midway in the Powow's flood, + Here dwelt Abram Morrison. + + From the Beach to far beyond + Bear-Hill, Lion's Mouth and Pond, + Marvellous to our tough old stock, + Chips o' the Anglo-Saxon block, + Seemed the Celtic Morrison. + + Mudknock, Balmawhistle, all + Only knew the Yankee drawl, + Never brogue was heard till when, + Foremost of his countrymen, + Hither came Friend Morrison; + + Yankee born, of alien blood, + Kin of his had well withstood + Pope and King with pike and ball + Under Derry's leaguered wall, + As became the Morrisons. + + Wandering down from Nutfield woods + With his household and his goods, + Never was it clearly told + How within our quiet fold + Came to be a Morrison. + + Once a soldier, blame him not + That the Quaker he forgot, + When, to think of battles won, + And the red-coats on the run, + Laughed aloud Friend Morrison. + + From gray Lewis over sea + Bore his sires their family tree, + On the rugged boughs of it + Grafting Irish mirth and wit, + And the brogue of Morrison. + + Half a genius, quick to plan, + Blundering like an Irishman, + But with canny shrewdness lent + By his far-off Scotch descent, + Such was Abram Morrison. + + Back and forth to daily meals, + Rode his cherished pig on wheels, + And to all who came to see + "Aisier for the pig an' me, + Sure it is," said Morrison. + + Simple-hearted, boy o'er-grown, + With a humor quite his own, + Of our sober-stepping ways, + Speech and look and cautious phrase, + Slow to learn was Morrison. + + Much we loved his stories told + Of a country strange and old, + Where the fairies danced till dawn, + And the goblin Leprecaun + Looked, we thought, like Morrison. + + Or wild tales of feud and fight, + Witch and troll and second sight + Whispered still where Stornoway + Looks across its stormy bay, + Once the home of Morrisons. + + First was he to sing the praise + Of the Powow's winding ways; + And our straggling village took + City grandeur to the look + Of its poet Morrison. + + All his words have perished. Shame + On the saddle-bags of Fame, + That they bring not to our time + One poor couplet of the rhyme + Made by Abram Morrison! + + When, on calm and fair First Days, + Rattled down our one-horse chaise, + Through the blossomed apple-boughs + To the old, brown meeting-house, + There was Abram Morrison. + + Underneath his hat's broad brim + Peered the queer old face of him; + And with Irish jauntiness + Swung the coat-tails of the dress + Worn by Abram Morrison. + + Still, in memory, on his feet, + Leaning o'er the elders' seat, + Mingling with a solemn drone, + Celtic accents all his own, + Rises Abram Morrison. + + "Don't," he's pleading, "don't ye go, + Dear young friends, to sight and show, + Don't run after elephants, + Learned pigs and presidents + And the likes!" said Morrison. + + On his well-worn theme intent, + Simple, child-like, innocent, + Heaven forgive the half-checked smile + Of our careless boyhood, while + Listening to Friend Morrison! + + We have learned in later days + Truth may speak in simplest phrase; + That the man is not the less + For quaint ways and home-spun dress, + Thanks to Abram Morrison! + + Not to pander nor to please + Come the needed homilies, + With no lofty argument + Is the fitting message sent, + Through such lips as Morrison's. + + Dead and gone! But while its track + Powow keeps to Merrimac, + While Po Hill is still on guard, + Looking land and ocean ward, + They shall tell of Morrison! + + After half a century's lapse, + We are wiser now, perhaps, + But we miss our streets amid + Something which the past has hid, + Lost with Abram Morrison. + + Gone forever with the queer + Characters of that old year + Now the many are as one; + Broken is the mould that run + Men like Abram Morrison. + + 1884. + + + + +A LEGACY + + Friend of my many years + When the great silence falls, at last, on me, + Let me not leave, to pain and sadden thee, + A memory of tears, + + But pleasant thoughts alone + Of one who was thy friendship's honored guest + And drank the wine of consolation pressed + From sorrows of thy own. + + I leave with thee a sense + Of hands upheld and trials rendered less-- + The unselfish joy which is to helpfulness + Its own great recompense; + + The knowledge that from thine, + As from the garments of the Master, stole + Calmness and strength, the virtue which makes whole + And heals without a sign; + + Yea more, the assurance strong + That love, which fails of perfect utterance here, + Lives on to fill the heavenly atmosphere + With its immortal song. + + 1887. + + + + + +RELIGIOUS POEMS + + + + +THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM + + Where Time the measure of his hours + By changeful bud and blossom keeps, + And, like a young bride crowned with flowers, + Fair Shiraz in her garden sleeps; + + Where, to her poet's turban stone, + The Spring her gift of flowers imparts, + Less sweet than those his thoughts have sown + In the warm soil of Persian hearts: + + There sat the stranger, where the shade + Of scattered date-trees thinly lay, + While in the hot clear heaven delayed + The long and still and weary day. + + Strange trees and fruits above him hung, + Strange odors filled the sultry air, + Strange birds upon the branches swung, + Strange insect voices murmured there. + + And strange bright blossoms shone around, + Turned sunward from the shadowy bowers, + As if the Gheber's soul had found + A fitting home in Iran's flowers. + + Whate'er he saw, whate'er he heard, + Awakened feelings new and sad,-- + No Christian garb, nor Christian word, + Nor church with Sabbath-bell chimes glad, + + But Moslem graves, with turban stones, + And mosque-spires gleaming white, in view, + And graybeard Mollahs in low tones + Chanting their Koran service through. + + The flowers which smiled on either hand, + Like tempting fiends, were such as they + Which once, o'er all that Eastern land, + As gifts on demon altars lay. + + As if the burning eye of Baal + The servant of his Conqueror knew, + From skies which knew no cloudy veil, + The Sun's hot glances smote him through. + + "Ah me!" the lonely stranger said, + "The hope which led my footsteps on, + And light from heaven around them shed, + O'er weary wave and waste, is gone! + + "Where are the harvest fields all white, + For Truth to thrust her sickle in? + Where flock the souls, like doves in flight, + From the dark hiding-place of sin? + + "A silent-horror broods o'er all,-- + The burden of a hateful spell,-- + The very flowers around recall + The hoary magi's rites of hell! + + "And what am I, o'er such a land + The banner of the Cross to bear? + Dear Lord, uphold me with Thy hand, + Thy strength with human weakness share!" + + He ceased; for at his very feet + In mild rebuke a floweret smiled; + How thrilled his sinking heart to greet + The Star-flower of the Virgin's child! + + Sown by some wandering Frank, it drew + Its life from alien air and earth, + And told to Paynim sun and dew + The story of the Saviour's birth. + + From scorching beams, in kindly mood, + The Persian plants its beauty screened, + And on its pagan sisterhood, + In love, the Christian floweret leaned. + + With tears of joy the wanderer felt + The darkness of his long despair + Before that hallowed symbol melt, + Which God's dear love had nurtured there. + + From Nature's face, that simple flower + The lines of sin and sadness swept; + And Magian pile and Paynim bower + In peace like that of Eden slept. + + Each Moslem tomb, and cypress old, + Looked holy through the sunset air; + And, angel-like, the Muezzin told + From tower and mosque the hour of prayer. + + With cheerful steps, the morrow's dawn + From Shiraz saw the stranger part; + The Star-flower of the Virgin-Born + Still blooming in his hopeful heart! + + 1830. + + + + +THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN + + "Get ye up from the wrath of God's terrible day! + Ungirded, unsandalled, arise and away! + 'T is the vintage of blood, 't is the fulness of time, + And vengeance shall gather the harvest of crime!" + + The warning was spoken--the righteous had gone, + And the proud ones of Sodom were feasting alone; + All gay was the banquet--the revel was long, + With the pouring of wine and the breathing of song. + + 'T was an evening of beauty; the air was perfume, + The earth was all greenness, the trees were all bloom; + And softly the delicate viol was heard, + Like the murmur of love or the notes of a bird. + + And beautiful maidens moved down in the dance, + With the magic of motion and sunshine of glance + And white arms wreathed lightly, and tresses fell free + As the plumage of birds in some tropical tree. + + Where the shrines of foul idols were lighted on high, + And wantonness tempted the lust of the eye; + Midst rites of obsceneness, strange, loathsome, abhorred, + The blasphemer scoffed at the name of the Lord. + + Hark! the growl of the thunder,--the quaking of earth! + Woe, woe to the worship, and woe to the mirth! + The black sky has opened; there's flame in the air; + The red arm of vengeance is lifted and bare! + + Then the shriek of the dying rose wild where the song + And the low tone of love had been whispered along; + For the fierce flames went lightly o'er palace and bower, + Like the red tongues of demons, to blast and devour! + + Down, down on the fallen the red ruin rained, + And the reveller sank with his wine-cup undrained; + The foot of the dancer, the music's loved thrill, + And the shout and the laughter grew suddenly still. + + The last throb of anguish was fearfully given; + The last eye glared forth in its madness on Heaven! + The last groan of horror rose wildly and vain, + And death brooded over the pride of the Plain! + + 1831. + + + + +THE CALL OF THE CHRISTIAN + + Not always as the whirlwind's rush + On Horeb's mount of fear, + Not always as the burning bush + To Midian's shepherd seer, + Nor as the awful voice which came + To Israel's prophet bards, + Nor as the tongues of cloven flame, + Nor gift of fearful words,-- + + Not always thus, with outward sign + Of fire or voice from Heaven, + The message of a truth divine, + The call of God is given! + Awaking in the human heart + Love for the true and right,-- + Zeal for the Christian's better part, + Strength for the Christian's fight. + + Nor unto manhood's heart alone + The holy influence steals + Warm with a rapture not its own, + The heart of woman feels! + As she who by Samaria's wall + The Saviour's errand sought,-- + As those who with the fervent Paul + And meek Aquila wrought: + + Or those meek ones whose martyrdom + Rome's gathered grandeur saw + Or those who in their Alpine home + Braved the Crusader's war, + When the green Vaudois, trembling, heard, + Through all its vales of death, + The martyr's song of triumph poured + From woman's failing breath. + + And gently, by a thousand things + Which o'er our spirits pass, + Like breezes o'er the harp's fine strings, + Or vapors o'er a glass, + Leaving their token strange and new + Of music or of shade, + The summons to the right and true + And merciful is made. + + Oh, then, if gleams of truth and light + Flash o'er thy waiting mind, + Unfolding to thy mental sight + The wants of human-kind; + If, brooding over human grief, + The earnest wish is known + To soothe and gladden with relief + An anguish not thine own; + + Though heralded with naught of fear, + Or outward sign or show; + Though only to the inward ear + It whispers soft and low; + Though dropping, as the manna fell, + Unseen, yet from above, + Noiseless as dew-fall, heed it well,--- + Thy Father's call of love! + + + + +THE CRUCIFIXION. + + Sunlight upon Judha's hills! + And on the waves of Galilee; + On Jordan's stream, and on the rills + That feed the dead and sleeping sea! + Most freshly from the green wood springs + The light breeze on its scented wings; + And gayly quiver in the sun + The cedar tops of Lebanon! + + A few more hours,--a change hath come! + The sky is dark without a cloud! + The shouts of wrath and joy are dumb, + And proud knees unto earth are bowed. + A change is on the hill of Death, + The helmed watchers pant for breath, + And turn with wild and maniac eyes + From the dark scene of sacrifice! + + That Sacrifice!--the death of Him,-- + The Christ of God, the holy One! + Well may the conscious Heaven grow dim, + And blacken the beholding, Sun. + The wonted light hath fled away, + Night settles on the middle day, + And earthquake from his caverned bed + Is waking with a thrill of dread! + + The dead are waking underneath! + Their prison door is rent away! + And, ghastly with the seal of death, + They wander in the eye of day! + The temple of the Cherubim, + The House of God is cold and dim; + A curse is on its trembling walls, + Its mighty veil asunder falls! + + Well may the cavern-depths of Earth + Be shaken, and her mountains nod; + Well may the sheeted dead come forth + To see the suffering son of God! + Well may the temple-shrine grow dim, + And shadows veil the Cherubim, + When He, the chosen one of Heaven, + A sacrifice for guilt is given! + + And shall the sinful heart, alone, + Behold unmoved the fearful hour, + When Nature trembled on her throne, + And Death resigned his iron power? + Oh, shall the heart--whose sinfulness + Gave keenness to His sore distress, + And added to His tears of blood-- + Refuse its trembling gratitude! + + 1834. + + + + +PALESTINE + + Blest land of Judaea! thrice hallowed of song, + Where the holiest of memories pilgrim-like throng; + In the shade of thy palms, by the shores of thy sea, + On the hills of thy beauty, my heart is with thee. + + With the eye of a spirit I look on that shore + Where pilgrim and prophet have lingered before; + With the glide of a spirit I traverse the sod + Made bright by the steps of the angels of God. + + Blue sea of the hills! in my spirit I hear + Thy waters, Gennesaret, chime on my ear; + Where the Lowly and Just with the people sat down, + And thy spray on the dust of His sandals was thrown. + + Beyond are Bethulia's mountains of green, + And the desolate hills of the wild Gadarene; + And I pause on the goat-crags of Tabor to see + The gleam of thy waters, O dark Galilee! + + Hark, a sound in the valley! where, swollen and strong, + Thy river, O Kishon, is sweeping along; + Where the Canaanite strove with Jehovah in vain, + And thy torrent grew dark with the blood of the slain. + + There down from his mountains stern Zebulon came, + And Naphthali's stag, with his eyeballs of flame, + And the chariots of Jabin rolled harmlessly on, + For the arm of the Lord was Abinoam's son! + + There sleep the still rocks and the caverns which rang + To the song which the beautiful prophetess sang, + When the princes of Issachar stood by her side, + And the shout of a host in its triumph replied. + + Lo, Bethlehem's hill-site before me is seen, + With the mountains around, and the valleys between; + There rested the shepherds of Judah, and there + The song of the angels rose sweet on the air. + + And Bethany's palm-trees in beauty still throw + Their shadows at noon on the ruins below; + But where are the sisters who hastened to greet + The lowly Redeemer, and sit at His feet? + + I tread where the twelve in their wayfaring trod; + I stand where they stood with the chosen of God-- + Where His blessing was heard and His lessons were taught, + Where the blind were restored and the healing was wrought. + + Oh, here with His flock the sad Wanderer came; + These hills He toiled over in grief are the same; + The founts where He drank by the wayside still flow, + And the same airs are blowing which breathed on His brow! + + And throned on her hills sits Jerusalem yet, + But with dust on her forehead, and chains on her feet; + For the crown of her pride to the mocker hath gone, + And the holy Shechinah is dark where it shone. + + But wherefore this dream of the earthly abode + Of Humanity clothed in the brightness of God? + Were my spirit but turned from the outward and dim, + It could gaze, even now, on the presence of Him! + + Not in clouds and in terrors, but gentle as when, + In love and in meekness, He moved among men; + And the voice which breathed peace to the waves of the sea + In the hush of my spirit would whisper to me! + + And what if my feet may not tread where He stood, + Nor my ears hear the dashing of Galilee's flood, + Nor my eyes see the cross which he bowed Him to bear, + Nor my knees press Gethsemane's garden of prayer. + + Yet, Loved of the Father, Thy Spirit is near + To the meek, and the lowly, and penitent here; + And the voice of Thy love is the same even now + As at Bethany's tomb or on Olivet's brow. + + Oh, the outward hath gone! but in glory and power. + The spirit surviveth the things of an hour; + Unchanged, undecaying, its Pentecost flame + On the heart's secret altar is burning the same + + 1837. + + + + + +HYMNS. + + + + +FROM THE FRENCH OF LAMARTINE + + I. + "Encore un hymne, O ma lyre + Un hymn pour le Seigneur, + Un hymne dans mon delire, + Un hymne dans mon bonheur." + + + One hymn more, O my lyre! + Praise to the God above, + Of joy and life and love, + Sweeping its strings of fire! + + Oh, who the speed of bird and wind + And sunbeam's glance will lend to me, + That, soaring upward, I may find + My resting-place and home in Thee? + Thou, whom my soul, midst doubt and gloom, + Adoreth with a fervent flame,-- + Mysterious spirit! unto whom + Pertain nor sign nor name! + + Swiftly my lyre's soft murmurs go, + Up from the cold and joyless earth, + Back to the God who bade them flow, + Whose moving spirit sent them forth. + But as for me, O God! for me, + The lowly creature of Thy will, + Lingering and sad, I sigh to Thee, + An earth-bound pilgrim still! + + Was not my spirit born to shine + Where yonder stars and suns are glowing? + To breathe with them the light divine + From God's own holy altar flowing? + To be, indeed, whate'er the soul + In dreams hath thirsted for so long,-- + A portion of heaven's glorious whole + Of loveliness and song? + + Oh, watchers of the stars at night, + Who breathe their fire, as we the air,-- + Suns, thunders, stars, and rays of light, + Oh, say, is He, the Eternal, there? + Bend there around His awful throne + The seraph's glance, the angel's knee? + Or are thy inmost depths His own, + O wild and mighty sea? + + Thoughts of my soul, how swift ye go! + Swift as the eagle's glance of fire, + Or arrows from the archer's bow, + To the far aim of your desire! + Thought after thought, ye thronging rise, + Like spring-doves from the startled wood, + Bearing like them your sacrifice + Of music unto God! + + And shall these thoughts of joy and love + Come back again no more to me? + Returning like the patriarch's dove + Wing-weary from the eternal sea, + To bear within my longing arms + The promise-bough of kindlier skies, + Plucked from the green, immortal palms + Which shadow Paradise? + + All-moving spirit! freely forth + At Thy command the strong wind goes + Its errand to the passive earth, + Nor art can stay, nor strength oppose, + Until it folds its weary wing + Once more within the hand divine; + So, weary from its wandering, + My spirit turns to Thine! + + Child of the sea, the mountain stream, + From its dark caverns, hurries on, + Ceaseless, by night and morning's beam, + By evening's star and noontide's sun, + Until at last it sinks to rest, + O'erwearied, in the waiting sea, + And moans upon its mother's breast,-- + So turns my soul to Thee! + + O Thou who bidst the torrent flow, + Who lendest wings unto the wind,-- + Mover of all things! where art Thou? + Oh, whither shall I go to find + The secret of Thy resting-place? + Is there no holy wing for me, + That, soaring, I may search the space + Of highest heaven for Thee? + + Oh, would I were as free to rise + As leaves on autumn's whirlwind borne,-- + The arrowy light of sunset skies, + Or sound, or ray, or star of morn, + Which melts in heaven at twilight's close, + Or aught which soars unchecked and free + Through earth and heaven; that I might lose + Myself in finding Thee! + + + II. + LE CRI DE L'AME. + + "Quand le souffle divin qui flotte sur le monde." + + When the breath divine is flowing, + Zephyr-like o'er all things going, + And, as the touch of viewless fingers, + Softly on my soul it lingers, + Open to a breath the lightest, + Conscious of a touch the slightest,-- + As some calm, still lake, whereon + Sinks the snowy-bosomed swan, + And the glistening water-rings + Circle round her moving wings + When my upward gaze is turning + Where the stars of heaven are burning + Through the deep and dark abyss, + Flowers of midnight's wilderness, + Blowing with the evening's breath + Sweetly in their Maker's path + When the breaking day is flushing + All the east, and light is gushing + Upward through the horizon's haze, + Sheaf-like, with its thousand rays, + Spreading, until all above + Overflows with joy and love, + And below, on earth's green bosom, + All is changed to light and blossom: + + When my waking fancies over + Forms of brightness flit and hover + Holy as the seraphs are, + Who by Zion's fountains wear + On their foreheads, white and broad, + "Holiness unto the Lord!" + When, inspired with rapture high, + It would seem a single sigh + Could a world of love create; + That my life could know no date, + And my eager thoughts could fill + Heaven and Earth, o'erflowing still! + + Then, O Father! Thou alone, + From the shadow of Thy throne, + To the sighing of my breast + And its rapture answerest. + All my thoughts, which, upward winging, + Bathe where Thy own light is springing,-- + All my yearnings to be free + Are at echoes answering Thee! + + Seldom upon lips of mine, + Father! rests that name of Thine; + Deep within my inmost breast, + In the secret place of mind, + Like an awful presence shrined, + Doth the dread idea rest + Hushed and holy dwells it there, + Prompter of the silent prayer, + Lifting up my spirit's eye + And its faint, but earnest cry, + From its dark and cold abode, + Unto Thee, my Guide and God! + + 1837 + + + + +THE FAMILIST'S HYMN. + +The Puritans of New England, even in their wilderness home, were not +exempted from the sectarian contentions which agitated the mother +country after the downfall of Charles the First, and of the established +Episcopacy. The Quakers, Baptists, and Catholics were banished, on pain +of death, from the Massachusetts Colony. One Samuel Gorton, a bold and +eloquent declaimer, after preaching for a time in Boston against the +doctrines of the Puritans, and declaring that their churches were mere +human devices, and their sacrament and baptism an abomination, was +driven out of the jurisdiction of the colony, and compelled to seek a +residence among the savages. He gathered round him a considerable number +of converts, who, like the primitive Christians, shared all things in +common. His opinions, however, were so troublesome to the leading clergy +of the colony, that they instigated an attack upon his "Family" by an +armed force, which seized upon the principal men in it, and brought them +into Massachusetts, where they were sentenced to be kept at hard labor +in several towns (one only in each town), during the pleasure of the +General Court, they being forbidden, under severe penalties, to utter +any of their religious sentiments, except to such ministers as might +labor for their conversion. They were unquestionably sincere in their +opinions, and, whatever may have been their errors, deserve to be ranked +among those who have in all ages suffered for the freedom of conscience. + + + Father! to Thy suffering poor + Strength and grace and faith impart, + And with Thy own love restore + Comfort to the broken heart! + Oh, the failing ones confirm + With a holier strength of zeal! + Give Thou not the feeble worm + Helpless to the spoiler's heel! + + Father! for Thy holy sake + We are spoiled and hunted thus; + Joyful, for Thy truth we take + Bonds and burthens unto us + Poor, and weak, and robbed of all, + Weary with our daily task, + That Thy truth may never fall + Through our weakness, Lord, we ask. + + Round our fired and wasted homes + Flits the forest-bird unscared, + And at noon the wild beast comes + Where our frugal meal was shared; + For the song of praises there + Shrieks the crow the livelong day; + For the sound of evening prayer + Howls the evil beast of prey! + + Sweet the songs we loved to sing + Underneath Thy holy sky; + Words and tones that used to bring + Tears of joy in every eye; + Dear the wrestling hours of prayer, + When we gathered knee to knee, + Blameless youth and hoary hair, + Bowed, O God, alone to Thee. + + As Thine early children, Lord, + Shared their wealth and daily bread, + Even so, with one accord, + We, in love, each other fed. + Not with us the miser's hoard, + Not with us his grasping hand; + Equal round a common board, + Drew our meek and brother band! + + Safe our quiet Eden lay + When the war-whoop stirred the land + And the Indian turned away + From our home his bloody hand. + Well that forest-ranger saw, + That the burthen and the curse + Of the white man's cruel law + Rested also upon us. + + Torn apart, and driven forth + To our toiling hard and long, + Father! from the dust of earth + Lift we still our grateful song! + Grateful, that in bonds we share + In Thy love which maketh free; + Joyful, that the wrongs we bear, + Draw us nearer, Lord, to Thee! + + Grateful! that where'er we toil,-- + By Wachuset's wooded side, + On Nantucket's sea-worn isle, + Or by wild Neponset's tide,-- + Still, in spirit, we are near, + And our evening hymns, which rise + Separate and discordant here, + Meet and mingle in the skies! + + Let the scoffer scorn and mock, + Let the proud and evil priest + Rob the needy of his flock, + For his wine-cup and his feast,-- + Redden not Thy bolts in store + Through the blackness of Thy skies? + For the sighing of the poor + Wilt Thou not, at length, arise? + + Worn and wasted, oh! how long + Shall thy trodden poor complain? + In Thy name they bear the wrong, + In Thy cause the bonds of pain! + Melt oppression's heart of steel, + Let the haughty priesthood see, + And their blinded followers feel, + That in us they mock at Thee! + + In Thy time, O Lord of hosts, + Stretch abroad that hand to save + Which of old, on Egypt's coasts, + Smote apart the Red Sea's wave + Lead us from this evil land, + From the spoiler set us free, + And once more our gathered band, + Heart to heart, shall worship Thee! + + 1838. + + + + +EZEKIEL + +Also, thou son of man, the children of thy people still are talking +against thee by the walls and in the doors of the houses, and speak one +to another, every one to his brother, saying, Come, I pray you, and hear +what is the word that cometh forth from the Lord. And they come unto +thee as the people cometh, and they sit before thee as my people, and +they hear thy words, but they will not do them: for with their mouth +they skew much love, but their heart goeth after their covetousness. +And, lo, thou art unto them as a very lovely song of one that hath a +pleasant voice, and can play well on an instrument: for they hear thy +words, but they do them not. And when this cometh to pass, (lo, it will +come,) then shall they know that a prophet hath been among them.-- +EZEKIEL, xxxiii. 30-33. + + + They hear Thee not, O God! nor see; + Beneath Thy rod they mock at Thee; + The princes of our ancient line + Lie drunken with Assyrian wine; + The priests around Thy altar speak + The false words which their hearers seek; + And hymns which Chaldea's wanton maids + Have sung in Dura's idol-shades + Are with the Levites' chant ascending, + With Zion's holiest anthems blending! + + On Israel's bleeding bosom set, + The heathen heel is crushing yet; + The towers upon our holy hill + Echo Chaldean footsteps still. + Our wasted shrines,--who weeps for them? + Who mourneth for Jerusalem? + Who turneth from his gains away? + Whose knee with mine is bowed to pray? + Who, leaving feast and purpling cup, + Takes Zion's lamentation up? + + A sad and thoughtful youth, I went + With Israel's early banishment; + And where the sullen Chebar crept, + The ritual of my fathers kept. + The water for the trench I drew, + The firstling of the flock I slew, + And, standing at the altar's side, + I shared the Levites' lingering pride, + That still, amidst her mocking foes, + The smoke of Zion's offering rose. + + In sudden whirlwind, cloud and flame, + The Spirit of the Highest came! + Before mine eyes a vision passed, + A glory terrible and vast; + With dreadful eyes of living things, + And sounding sweep of angel wings, + With circling light and sapphire throne, + And flame-like form of One thereon, + And voice of that dread Likeness sent + Down from the crystal firmament! + + The burden of a prophet's power + Fell on me in that fearful hour; + From off unutterable woes + The curtain of the future rose; + I saw far down the coming time + The fiery chastisement of crime; + With noise of mingling hosts, and jar + Of falling towers and shouts of war, + I saw the nations rise and fall, + Like fire-gleams on my tent's white wall. + + In dream and trance, I--saw the slain + Of Egypt heaped like harvest grain. + I saw the walls of sea-born Tyre + Swept over by the spoiler's fire; + And heard the low, expiring moan + Of Edom on his rocky throne; + And, woe is me! the wild lament + From Zion's desolation sent; + And felt within my heart each blow + Which laid her holy places low. + + In bonds and sorrow, day by day, + Before the pictured tile I lay; + And there, as in a mirror, saw + The coming of Assyria's war; + Her swarthy lines of spearmen pass + Like locusts through Bethhoron's grass; + I saw them draw their stormy hem + Of battle round Jerusalem; + And, listening, heard the Hebrew wail! + + Blend with the victor-trump of Baal! + Who trembled at my warning word? + Who owned the prophet of the Lord? + How mocked the rude, how scoffed the vile, + How stung the Levites' scornful smile, + As o'er my spirit, dark and slow, + The shadow crept of Israel's woe + As if the angel's mournful roll + Had left its record on my soul, + And traced in lines of darkness there + The picture of its great despair! + + Yet ever at the hour I feel + My lips in prophecy unseal. + Prince, priest, and Levite gather near, + And Salem's daughters haste to hear, + On Chebar's waste and alien shore, + The harp of Judah swept once more. + They listen, as in Babel's throng + The Chaldeans to the dancer's song, + Or wild sabbeka's nightly play,-- + As careless and as vain as they. + + . . . . . + + And thus, O Prophet-bard of old, + Hast thou thy tale of sorrow told + The same which earth's unwelcome seers + Have felt in all succeeding years. + Sport of the changeful multitude, + Nor calmly heard nor understood, + Their song has seemed a trick of art, + Their warnings but, the actor's part. + With bonds, and scorn, and evil will, + The world requites its prophets still. + + So was it when the Holy One + The garments of the flesh put on + Men followed where the Highest led + For common gifts of daily bread, + And gross of ear, of vision dim, + Owned not the Godlike power of Him. + Vain as a dreamer's words to them + His wail above Jerusalem, + And meaningless the watch He kept + Through which His weak disciples slept. + + Yet shrink not thou, whoe'er thou art, + For God's great purpose set apart, + Before whose far-discerning eyes, + The Future as the Present lies! + Beyond a narrow-bounded age + Stretches thy prophet-heritage, + Through Heaven's vast spaces angel-trod, + And through the eternal years of God + Thy audience, worlds!--all things to be + The witness of the Truth in thee! + + 1844. + + + + +WHAT THE VOICE SAID + + MADDENED by Earth's wrong and evil, + "Lord!" I cried in sudden ire, + "From Thy right hand, clothed with thunder, + Shake the bolted fire! + + "Love is lost, and Faith is dying; + With the brute the man is sold; + And the dropping blood of labor + Hardens into gold. + + "Here the dying wail of Famine, + There the battle's groan of pain; + And, in silence, smooth-faced Mammon + Reaping men like grain. + + "'Where is God, that we should fear Him?' + Thus the earth-born Titans say + 'God! if Thou art living, hear us!' + Thus the weak ones pray." + + "Thou, the patient Heaven upbraiding," + Spake a solemn Voice within; + "Weary of our Lord's forbearance, + Art thou free from sin? + + "Fearless brow to Him uplifting, + Canst thou for His thunders call, + Knowing that to guilt's attraction + Evermore they fall? + + "Know'st thou not all germs of evil + In thy heart await their time? + Not thyself, but God's restraining, + Stays their growth of crime. + + "Couldst thou boast, O child of weakness! + O'er the sons of wrong and strife, + Were their strong temptations planted + In thy path of life? + + "Thou hast seen two streamlets gushing + From one fountain, clear and free, + But by widely varying channels + Searching for the sea. + + "Glideth one through greenest valleys, + Kissing them with lips still sweet; + One, mad roaring down the mountains, + Stagnates at their feet. + + "Is it choice whereby the Parsee + Kneels before his mother's fire? + In his black tent did the Tartar + Choose his wandering sire? + + "He alone, whose hand is bounding + Human power and human will, + Looking through each soul's surrounding, + Knows its good or ill. + + "For thyself, while wrong and sorrow + Make to thee their strong appeal, + Coward wert thou not to utter + What the heart must feel. + + "Earnest words must needs be spoken + When the warm heart bleeds or burns + With its scorn of wrong, or pity + For the wronged, by turns. + + "But, by all thy nature's weakness, + Hidden faults and follies known, + Be thou, in rebuking evil, + Conscious of thine own. + + "Not the less shall stern-eyed Duty + To thy lips her trumpet set, + But with harsher blasts shall mingle + Wailings of regret." + + Cease not, Voice of holy speaking, + Teacher sent of God, be near, + Whispering through the day's cool silence, + Let my spirit hear! + + So, when thoughts of evil-doers + Waken scorn, or hatred move, + Shall a mournful fellow-feeling + Temper all with love. + + 1847. + + + + +THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE. + +A FREE PARAPHRASE OF THE GERMAN. + + To weary hearts, to mourning homes, + God's meekest Angel gently comes + No power has he to banish pain, + Or give us back our lost again; + And yet in tenderest love, our dear + And Heavenly Father sends him here. + + There's quiet in that Angel's glance, + There 's rest in his still countenance! + He mocks no grief with idle cheer, + Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear; + But ills and woes he may not cure + He kindly trains us to endure. + + Angel of Patience! sent to calm + Our feverish brows with cooling palm; + To lay the storms of hope and fear, + And reconcile life's smile and tear; + The throbs of wounded pride to still, + And make our own our Father's will. + + O thou who mournest on thy way, + With longings for the close of day; + He walks with thee, that Angel kind, + And gently whispers, "Be resigned + Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell + The dear Lord ordereth all things well!" + + 1847. + + + + +THE WIFE OF MANOAH TO HER HUSBAND. + + Against the sunset's glowing wall + The city towers rise black and tall, + Where Zorah, on its rocky height, + Stands like an armed man in the light. + + Down Eshtaol's vales of ripened grain + Falls like a cloud the night amain, + And up the hillsides climbing slow + The barley reapers homeward go. + + Look, dearest! how our fair child's head + The sunset light hath hallowed, + Where at this olive's foot he lies, + Uplooking to the tranquil skies. + + Oh, while beneath the fervent heat + Thy sickle swept the bearded wheat, + I've watched, with mingled joy and dread, + Our child upon his grassy bed. + + Joy, which the mother feels alone + Whose morning hope like mine had flown, + When to her bosom, over-blessed, + A dearer life than hers is pressed. + + Dread, for the future dark and still, + Which shapes our dear one to its will; + Forever in his large calm eyes, + I read a tale of sacrifice. + + The same foreboding awe I felt + When at the altar's side we knelt, + And he, who as a pilgrim came, + Rose, winged and glorious, through the flame. + + I slept not, though the wild bees made + A dreamlike murmuring in the shade, + And on me the warm-fingered hours + Pressed with the drowsy smell of flowers. + + Before me, in a vision, rose + The hosts of Israel's scornful foes,-- + Rank over rank, helm, shield, and spear, + Glittered in noon's hot atmosphere. + + I heard their boast, and bitter word, + Their mockery of the Hebrew's Lord, + I saw their hands His ark assail, + Their feet profane His holy veil. + + No angel down the blue space spoke, + No thunder from the still sky broke; + But in their midst, in power and awe, + Like God's waked wrath, our child I saw! + + A child no more!--harsh-browed and strong, + He towered a giant in the throng, + And down his shoulders, broad and bare, + Swept the black terror of his hair. + + He raised his arm--he smote amain; + As round the reaper falls the grain, + So the dark host around him fell, + So sank the foes of Israel! + + Again I looked. In sunlight shone + The towers and domes of Askelon; + Priest, warrior, slave, a mighty crowd + Within her idol temple bowed. + + Yet one knelt not; stark, gaunt, and blind, + His arms the massive pillars twined,-- + An eyeless captive, strong with hate, + He stood there like an evil Fate. + + The red shrines smoked,--the trumpets pealed + He stooped,--the giant columns reeled; + Reeled tower and fane, sank arch and wall, + And the thick dust-cloud closed o'er all! + + Above the shriek, the crash, the groan + Of the fallen pride of Askelon, + I heard, sheer down the echoing sky, + A voice as of an angel cry,-- + + The voice of him, who at our side + Sat through the golden eventide; + Of him who, on thy altar's blaze, + Rose fire-winged, with his song of praise. + + "Rejoice o'er Israel's broken chain, + Gray mother of the mighty slain! + Rejoice!" it cried, "he vanquisheth! + The strong in life is strong in death! + + "To him shall Zorah's daughters raise + Through coming years their hymns of praise, + And gray old men at evening tell + Of all he wrought for Israel. + + "And they who sing and they who hear + Alike shall hold thy memory dear, + And pour their blessings on thy head, + O mother of the mighty dead!" + + It ceased; and though a sound I heard + As if great wings the still air stirred, + I only saw the barley sheaves + And hills half hid by olive leaves. + + I bowed my face, in awe and fear, + On the dear child who slumbered near; + "With me, as with my only son, + O God," I said, "Thy will be done!" + + 1847. + + + + +MY SOUL AND I + + Stand still, my soul, in the silent dark + I would question thee, + Alone in the shadow drear and stark + With God and me! + + What, my soul, was thy errand here? + Was it mirth or ease, + Or heaping up dust from year to year? + "Nay, none of these!" + + Speak, soul, aright in His holy sight + Whose eye looks still + And steadily on thee through the night + "To do His will!" + + What hast thou done, O soul of mine, + That thou tremblest so? + Hast thou wrought His task, and kept the line + He bade thee go? + + Aha! thou tremblest!--well I see + Thou 'rt craven grown. + Is it so hard with God and me + To stand alone? + + Summon thy sunshine bravery back, + O wretched sprite! + Let me hear thy voice through this deep and black + Abysmal night. + + What hast thou wrought for Right and Truth, + For God and Man, + From the golden hours of bright-eyed youth + To life's mid span? + + What, silent all! art sad of cheer? + Art fearful now? + When God seemed far and men were near, + How brave wert thou! + + Ah, soul of mine, thy tones I hear, + But weak and low, + Like far sad murmurs on my ear + They come and go. + + I have wrestled stoutly with the Wrong, + And borne the Right + From beneath the footfall of the throng + To life and light. + + "Wherever Freedom shivered a chain, + God speed, quoth I; + To Error amidst her shouting train + I gave the lie." + + Ah, soul of mine! ah, soul of mine! + Thy deeds are well: + Were they wrought for Truth's sake or for thine? + My soul, pray tell. + + "Of all the work my hand hath wrought + Beneath the sky, + Save a place in kindly human thought, + No gain have I." + + Go to, go to! for thy very self + Thy deeds were done + Thou for fame, the miser for pelf, + Your end is one! + + And where art thou going, soul of mine? + Canst see the end? + And whither this troubled life of thine + Evermore doth tend? + + What daunts thee now? what shakes thee so? + My sad soul say. + "I see a cloud like a curtain low + Hang o'er my way. + + "Whither I go I cannot tell + That cloud hangs black, + High as the heaven and deep as hell + Across my track. + + "I see its shadow coldly enwrap + The souls before. + Sadly they enter it, step by step, + To return no more. + + "They shrink, they shudder, dear God! they kneel + To Thee in prayer. + They shut their eyes on the cloud, but feel + That it still is there. + + "In vain they turn from the dread Before + To the Known and Gone; + For while gazing behind them evermore + Their feet glide on. + + "Yet, at times, I see upon sweet pale faces + A light begin + To tremble, as if from holy places + And shrines within. + + "And at times methinks their cold lips move + With hymn and prayer, + As if somewhat of awe, but more of love + And hope were there. + + "I call on the souls who have left the light + To reveal their lot; + I bend mine ear to that wall of night, + And they answer not. + + "But I hear around me sighs of pain + And the cry of fear, + And a sound like the slow sad dropping of rain, + Each drop a tear! + + "Ah, the cloud is dark, and day by day + I am moving thither + I must pass beneath it on my way-- + God pity me!--whither?" + + Ah, soul of mine! so brave and wise + In the life-storm loud, + Fronting so calmly all human eyes + In the sunlit crowd! + + Now standing apart with God and me + Thou art weakness all, + Gazing vainly after the things to be + Through Death's dread wall. + + But never for this, never for this + Was thy being lent; + For the craven's fear is but selfishness, + Like his merriment. + + Folly and Fear are sisters twain + One closing her eyes. + The other peopling the dark inane + With spectral lies. + + Know well, my soul, God's hand controls + Whate'er thou fearest; + Round Him in calmest music rolls + Whate'er thou Nearest. + + What to thee is shadow, to Him is day, + And the end He knoweth, + And not on a blind and aimless way + The spirit goeth. + + Man sees no future,--a phantom show + Is alone before him; + Past Time is dead, and the grasses grow, + And flowers bloom o'er him. + + Nothing before, nothing behind; + The steps of Faith + Fall on the seeming void, and find + The rock beneath. + + The Present, the Present is all thou hast + For thy sure possessing; + Like the patriarch's angel hold it fast + Till it gives its blessing. + + Why fear the night? why shrink from Death; + That phantom wan? + There is nothing in heaven or earth beneath + Save God and man. + + Peopling the shadows we turn from Him + And from one another; + All is spectral and vague and dim + Save God and our brother! + + Like warp and woof all destinies + Are woven fast, + Linked in sympathy like the keys + Of an organ vast. + + Pluck one thread, and the web ye mar; + Break but one + Of a thousand keys, and the paining jar + Through all will run. + + O restless spirit! wherefore strain + Beyond thy sphere? + Heaven and hell, with their joy and pain, + Are now and here. + + Back to thyself is measured well + All thou hast given; + Thy neighbor's wrong is thy present hell, + His bliss, thy heaven. + + And in life, in death, in dark and light, + All are in God's care + Sound the black abyss, pierce the deep of night, + And He is there! + + All which is real now remaineth, + And fadeth never + The hand which upholds it now sustaineth + The soul forever. + + Leaning on Him, make with reverent meekness + His own thy will, + And with strength from Him shall thy utter weakness + Life's task fulfil; + + And that cloud itself, which now before thee + Lies dark in view, + Shall with beams of light from the inner glory + Be stricken through. + + And like meadow mist through autumn's dawn + Uprolling thin, + Its thickest folds when about thee drawn + Let sunlight in. + + Then of what is to be, and of what is done, + Why queriest thou? + The past and the time to be are one, + And both are now! + + 1847. + + + + +WORSHIP. + +"Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this. To visit +the fatherless and widows in, their affliction, and to keep himself +unspotted from the world."--JAMES I. 27. + + + The Pagan's myths through marble lips are spoken, + And ghosts of old Beliefs still flit and moan + Round fane and altar overthrown and broken, + O'er tree-grown barrow and gray ring of stone. + + Blind Faith had martyrs in those old high places, + The Syrian hill grove and the Druid's wood, + With mother's offering, to the Fiend's embraces, + Bone of their bone, and blood of their own blood. + + Red altars, kindling through that night of error, + Smoked with warm blood beneath the cruel eye + Of lawless Power and sanguinary Terror, + Throned on the circle of a pitiless sky; + + Beneath whose baleful shadow, overcasting + All heaven above, and blighting earth below, + The scourge grew red, the lip grew pale with fasting, + And man's oblation was his fear and woe! + + Then through great temples swelled the dismal moaning + Of dirge-like music and sepulchral prayer; + Pale wizard priests, o'er occult symbols droning, + Swung their white censers in the burdened air + + As if the pomp of rituals, and the savor + Of gums and spices could the Unseen One please; + As if His ear could bend, with childish favor, + To the poor flattery of the organ keys! + + Feet red from war-fields trod the church aisles holy, + With trembling reverence: and the oppressor there, + Kneeling before his priest, abased and lowly, + Crushed human hearts beneath his knee of prayer. + + Not such the service the benignant Father + Requireth at His earthly children's hands + Not the poor offering of vain rites, but rather + The simple duty man from man demands. + + For Earth He asks it: the full joy of heaven + Knoweth no change of waning or increase; + The great heart of the Infinite beats even, + Untroubled flows the river of His peace. + + He asks no taper lights, on high surrounding + The priestly altar and the saintly grave, + No dolorous chant nor organ music sounding, + Nor incense clouding tip the twilight nave. + + For he whom Jesus loved hath truly spoken + The holier worship which he deigns to bless + Restores the lost, and binds the spirit broken, + And feeds the widow and the fatherless! + + Types of our human weakness and our sorrow! + Who lives unhaunted by his loved ones dead? + Who, with vain longing, seeketh not to borrow + From stranger eyes the home lights which have fled? + + O brother man! fold to thy heart thy brother; + Where pity dwells, the peace of God is there; + To worship rightly is to love each other, + Each smile a hymn, each kindly deed a prayer. + + Follow with reverent steps the great example + Of Him whose holy work was "doing good;" + So shall the wide earth seem our Father's temple, + Each loving life a psalm of gratitude. + + Then shall all shackles fall; the stormy clangor + Of wild war music o'er the earth shall cease; + Love shall tread out the baleful fire of anger, + And in its ashes plant the tree of peace! + + 1848. + + + + +THE HOLY LAND + +Paraphrased from the lines in Lamartine's _Adieu to Marseilles_, +beginning + + "Je n'ai pas navigue sur l'ocean de sable." + + + I have not felt, o'er seas of sand, + The rocking of the desert bark; + Nor laved at Hebron's fount my hand, + By Hebron's palm-trees cool and dark; + Nor pitched my tent at even-fall, + On dust where Job of old has lain, + Nor dreamed beneath its canvas wall, + The dream of Jacob o'er again. + + One vast world-page remains unread; + How shine the stars in Chaldea's sky, + How sounds the reverent pilgrim's tread, + How beats the heart with God so nigh + How round gray arch and column lone + The spirit of the old time broods, + And sighs in all the winds that moan + Along the sandy solitudes! + + In thy tall cedars, Lebanon, + I have not heard the nations' cries, + Nor seen thy eagles stooping down + Where buried Tyre in ruin lies. + The Christian's prayer I have not said + In Tadmor's temples of decay, + Nor startled, with my dreary tread, + The waste where Memnon's empire lay. + + Nor have I, from thy hallowed tide, + O Jordan! heard the low lament, + Like that sad wail along thy side + Which Israel's mournful prophet sent! + Nor thrilled within that grotto lone + Where, deep in night, the Bard of Kings + Felt hands of fire direct his own, + And sweep for God the conscious strings. + + I have not climbed to Olivet, + Nor laid me where my Saviour lay, + And left His trace of tears as yet + By angel eyes unwept away; + Nor watched, at midnight's solemn time, + The garden where His prayer and groan, + Wrung by His sorrow and our crime, + Rose to One listening ear alone. + + I have not kissed the rock-hewn grot + Where in His mother's arms He lay, + Nor knelt upon the sacred spot + Where last His footsteps pressed the clay; + Nor looked on that sad mountain head, + Nor smote my sinful breast, where wide + His arms to fold the world He spread, + And bowed His head to bless--and died! + + 1848. + + + + +THE REWARD + + Who, looking backward from his manhood's prime, + Sees not the spectre of his misspent time? + And, through the shade + Of funeral cypress planted thick behind, + Hears no reproachful whisper on the wind + From his loved dead? + + Who bears no trace of passion's evil force? + Who shuns thy sting, O terrible Remorse? + Who does not cast + On the thronged pages of his memory's book, + At times, a sad and half-reluctant look, + Regretful of the past? + + Alas! the evil which we fain would shun + We do, and leave the wished-for good undone + Our strength to-day + Is but to-morrow's weakness, prone to fall; + Poor, blind, unprofitable servants all + Are we alway. + + Yet who, thus looking backward o'er his years, + Feels not his eyelids wet with grateful tears, + If he hath been + Permitted, weak and sinful as he was, + To cheer and aid, in some ennobling cause, + His fellow-men? + + If he hath hidden the outcast, or let in + A ray of sunshine to the cell of sin; + If he hath lent + Strength to the weak, and, in an hour of need, + Over the suffering, mindless of his creed + Or home, hath bent; + + He has not lived in vain, and while he gives + The praise to Him, in whom he moves and lives, + With thankful heart; + He gazes backward, and with hope before, + Knowing that from his works he nevermore + Can henceforth part. + + 1848. + + + + +THE WISH OF TO-DAY. + + I ask not now for gold to gild + With mocking shine a weary frame; + The yearning of the mind is stilled, + I ask not now for Fame. + + A rose-cloud, dimly seen above, + Melting in heaven's blue depths away; + Oh, sweet, fond dream of human Love + For thee I may not pray. + + But, bowed in lowliness of mind, + I make my humble wishes known; + I only ask a will resigned, + O Father, to Thine own! + + To-day, beneath Thy chastening eye + I crave alone for peace and rest, + Submissive in Thy hand to lie, + And feel that it is best. + + A marvel seems the Universe, + A miracle our Life and Death; + A mystery which I cannot pierce, + Around, above, beneath. + + In vain I task my aching brain, + In vain the sage's thought I scan, + I only feel how weak and vain, + How poor and blind, is man. + + And now my spirit sighs for home, + And longs for light whereby to see, + And, like a weary child, would come, + O Father, unto Thee! + + Though oft, like letters traced on sand, + My weak resolves have passed away, + In mercy lend Thy helping hand + Unto my prayer to-day! + + 1848. + + + + +ALL'S WELL + + The clouds, which rise with thunder, slake + Our thirsty souls with rain; + The blow most dreaded falls to break + From off our limbs a chain; + And wrongs of man to man but make + The love of God more plain. + As through the shadowy lens of even + The eye looks farthest into heaven + On gleams of star and depths of blue + The glaring sunshine never knew! + + 1850. + + + + +INVOCATION + + Through Thy clear spaces, Lord, of old, + Formless and void the dead earth rolled; + Deaf to Thy heaven's sweet music, blind + To the great lights which o'er it shined; + No sound, no ray, no warmth, no breath,-- + A dumb despair, a wandering death. + + To that dark, weltering horror came + Thy spirit, like a subtle flame,-- + A breath of life electrical, + Awakening and transforming all, + Till beat and thrilled in every part + The pulses of a living heart. + + Then knew their bounds the land and sea; + Then smiled the bloom of mead and tree; + From flower to moth, from beast to man, + The quick creative impulse ran; + And earth, with life from thee renewed, + Was in thy holy eyesight good. + + As lost and void, as dark and cold + And formless as that earth of old; + A wandering waste of storm and night, + Midst spheres of song and realms of light; + A blot upon thy holy sky, + Untouched, unwarned of thee, am I. + + O Thou who movest on the deep + Of spirits, wake my own from sleep + Its darkness melt, its coldness warm, + The lost restore, the ill transform, + That flower and fruit henceforth may be + Its grateful offering, worthy Thee. + + 1851. + + + + +QUESTIONS OF LIFE + +And the angel that was sent unto me, whose name was Uriel, gave me an +answer and said, "Thy heart hath gone too far in this world, and +thinkest thou to comprehend the way of the Most High?" Then said I, +"Yea, my Lord." Then said he unto me, "Go thy way, weigh me the weight +of the fire or measure me the blast of the wind, or call me again the +day that is past."--2 ESDRAS, chap. iv. + + + A bending staff I would not break, + A feeble faith I would not shake, + Nor even rashly pluck away + The error which some truth may stay, + Whose loss might leave the soul without + A shield against the shafts of doubt. + + And yet, at times, when over all + A darker mystery seems to fall, + (May God forgive the child of dust, + Who seeks to know, where Faith should trust!) + I raise the questions, old and dark, + Of Uzdom's tempted patriarch, + And, speech-confounded, build again + The baffled tower of Shinar's plain. + + I am: how little more I know! + Whence came I? Whither do I go? + A centred self, which feels and is; + A cry between the silences; + A shadow-birth of clouds at strife + With sunshine on the hills of life; + A shaft from Nature's quiver cast + Into the Future from the Past; + Between the cradle and the shroud, + A meteor's flight from cloud to cloud. + + Thorough the vastness, arching all, + I see the great stars rise and fall, + The rounding seasons come and go, + The tided oceans ebb and flow; + The tokens of a central force, + Whose circles, in their widening course, + O'erlap and move the universe; + The workings of the law whence springs + The rhythmic harmony of things, + Which shapes in earth the darkling spar, + And orbs in heaven the morning star. + Of all I see, in earth and sky,-- + Star, flower, beast, bird,--what part have I? + This conscious life,--is it the same + Which thrills the universal frame, + Whereby the caverned crystal shoots, + And mounts the sap from forest roots, + Whereby the exiled wood-bird tells + When Spring makes green her native dells? + How feels the stone the pang of birth, + Which brings its sparkling prism forth? + The forest-tree the throb which gives + The life-blood to its new-born leaves? + Do bird and blossom feel, like me, + Life's many-folded mystery,-- + The wonder which it is to be? + Or stand I severed and distinct, + From Nature's "chain of life" unlinked? + Allied to all, yet not the less + Prisoned in separate consciousness, + Alone o'erburdened with a sense + Of life, and cause, and consequence? + + In vain to me the Sphinx propounds + The riddle of her sights and sounds; + Back still the vaulted mystery gives + The echoed question it receives. + What sings the brook? What oracle + Is in the pine-tree's organ swell? + What may the wind's low burden be? + The meaning of the moaning sea? + The hieroglyphics of the stars? + Or clouded sunset's crimson bars? + I vainly ask, for mocks my skill + The trick of Nature's cipher still. + + I turn from Nature unto men, + I ask the stylus and the pen; + What sang the bards of old? What meant + The prophets of the Orient? + The rolls of buried Egypt, hid + In painted tomb and pyramid? + What mean Idumea's arrowy lines, + Or dusk Elora's monstrous signs? + How speaks the primal thought of man + From the grim carvings of Copan? + + Where rests the secret? Where the keys + Of the old death-bolted mysteries? + Alas! the dead retain their trust; + Dust hath no answer from the dust. + + The great enigma still unguessed, + Unanswered the eternal quest; + I gather up the scattered rays + Of wisdom in the early days, + Faint gleams and broken, like the light + Of meteors in a northern night, + Betraying to the darkling earth + The unseen sun which gave them birth; + I listen to the sibyl's chant, + The voice of priest and hierophant; + I know what Indian Kreeshna saith, + And what of life and what of death + The demon taught to Socrates; + And what, beneath his garden-trees + Slow pacing, with a dream-like tread,-- + The solemn-thoughted Plato said; + Nor lack I tokens, great or small, + Of God's clear light in each and all, + While holding with more dear regard + The scroll of Hebrew seer and bard, + The starry pages promise-lit + With Christ's Evangel over-writ, + Thy miracle of life and death, + O Holy One of Nazareth! + + On Aztec ruins, gray and lone, + The circling serpent coils in stone,-- + Type of the endless and unknown; + Whereof we seek the clue to find, + With groping fingers of the blind! + Forever sought, and never found, + We trace that serpent-symbol round + Our resting-place, our starting bound + Oh, thriftlessness of dream and guess! + Oh, wisdom which is foolishness! + Why idly seek from outward things + The answer inward silence brings? + Why stretch beyond our proper sphere + And age, for that which lies so near? + Why climb the far-off hills with pain, + A nearer view of heaven to gain? + In lowliest depths of bosky dells + The hermit Contemplation dwells. + A fountain's pine-hung slope his seat, + And lotus-twined his silent feet, + Whence, piercing heaven, with screened sight, + He sees at noon the stars, whose light + Shall glorify the coining night. + + Here let me pause, my quest forego; + Enough for me to feel and know + That He in whom the cause and end, + The past and future, meet and blend,-- + Who, girt with his Immensities, + Our vast and star-hung system sees, + Small as the clustered Pleiades,-- + Moves not alone the heavenly quires, + But waves the spring-time's grassy spires, + Guards not archangel feet alone, + But deigns to guide and keep my own; + Speaks not alone the words of fate + Which worlds destroy, and worlds create, + But whispers in my spirit's ear, + In tones of love, or warning fear, + A language none beside may hear. + + To Him, from wanderings long and wild, + I come, an over-wearied child, + In cool and shade His peace to find, + Lice dew-fall settling on my mind. + Assured that all I know is best, + And humbly trusting for the rest, + I turn from Fancy's cloud-built scheme, + Dark creed, and mournful eastern dream + Of power, impersonal and cold, + Controlling all, itself controlled, + Maker and slave of iron laws, + Alike the subject and the cause; + From vain philosophies, that try + The sevenfold gates of mystery, + And, baffled ever, babble still, + Word-prodigal of fate and will; + From Nature, and her mockery, Art; + And book and speech of men apart, + To the still witness in my heart; + With reverence waiting to behold + His Avatar of love untold, + The Eternal Beauty new and old! + + 1862. + + + + +FIRST-DAY THOUGHTS. + + In calm and cool and silence, once again + I find my old accustomed place among + My brethren, where, perchance, no human tongue + Shall utter words; where never hymn is sung, + Nor deep-toned organ blown, nor censer swung, + Nor dim light falling through the pictured pane! + There, syllabled by silence, let me hear + The still small voice which reached the prophet's ear; + Read in my heart a still diviner law + Than Israel's leader on his tables saw! + There let me strive with each besetting sin, + Recall my wandering fancies, and restrain + The sore disquiet of a restless brain; + And, as the path of duty is made plain, + May grace be given that I may walk therein, + Not like the hireling, for his selfish gain, + With backward glances and reluctant tread, + Making a merit of his coward dread, + But, cheerful, in the light around me thrown, + Walking as one to pleasant service led; + Doing God's will as if it were my own, + Yet trusting not in mine, but in His strength alone! + + 1852. + + + + +TRUST. + + The same old baffling questions! O my friend, + I cannot answer them. In vain I send + My soul into the dark, where never burn + The lamps of science, nor the natural light + Of Reason's sun and stars! I cannot learn + Their great and solemn meanings, nor discern + The awful secrets of the eyes which turn + Evermore on us through the day and night + With silent challenge and a dumb demand, + Proffering the riddles of the dread unknown, + Like the calm Sphinxes, with their eyes of stone, + Questioning the centuries from their veils of sand! + I have no answer for myself or thee, + Save that I learned beside my mother's knee; + "All is of God that is, and is to be; + And God is good." Let this suffice us still, + Resting in childlike trust upon His will + Who moves to His great ends unthwarted by the ill. + + 1853. + + + + +TRINITAS. + + At morn I prayed, "I fain would see + How Three are One, and One is Three; + Read the dark riddle unto me." + + I wandered forth, the sun and air + I saw bestowed with equal care + On good and evil, foul and fair. + + No partial favor dropped the rain; + Alike the righteous and profane + Rejoiced above their heading grain. + + And my heart murmured, "Is it meet + That blindfold Nature thus should treat + With equal hand the tares and wheat?" + + A presence melted through my mood,-- + A warmth, a light, a sense of good, + Like sunshine through a winter wood. + + I saw that presence, mailed complete + In her white innocence, pause to greet + A fallen sister of the street. + + Upon her bosom snowy pure + The lost one clung, as if secure + From inward guilt or outward lure. + + "Beware!" I said; "in this I see + No gain to her, but loss to thee + Who touches pitch defiled must be." + + I passed the haunts of shame and sin, + And a voice whispered, "Who therein + Shall these lost souls to Heaven's peace win? + + "Who there shall hope and health dispense, + And lift the ladder up from thence + Whose rounds are prayers of penitence?" + + I said, "No higher life they know; + These earth-worms love to have it so. + Who stoops to raise them sinks as low." + + That night with painful care I read + What Hippo's saint and Calvin said; + The living seeking to the dead! + + In vain I turned, in weary quest, + Old pages, where (God give them rest!) + The poor creed-mongers dreamed and guessed. + + And still I prayed, "Lord, let me see + How Three are One, and One is Three; + Read the dark riddle unto me!" + + Then something whispered, "Dost thou pray + For what thou hast? This very day + The Holy Three have crossed thy way. + + "Did not the gifts of sun and air + To good and ill alike declare + The all-compassionate Father's care? + + "In the white soul that stooped to raise + The lost one from her evil ways, + Thou saw'st the Christ, whom angels praise! + + "A bodiless Divinity, + The still small Voice that spake to thee + Was the Holy Spirit's mystery! + + "O blind of sight, of faith how small! + Father, and Son, and Holy Call + This day thou hast denied them all! + + "Revealed in love and sacrifice, + The Holiest passed before thine eyes, + One and the same, in threefold guise. + + "The equal Father in rain and sun, + His Christ in the good to evil done, + His Voice in thy soul;--and the Three are One!" + + I shut my grave Aquinas fast; + The monkish gloss of ages past, + The schoolman's creed aside I cast. + + And my heart answered, "Lord, I see + How Three are One, and One is Three; + Thy riddle hath been read to me!" + + 1858. + + + + +THE SISTERS + +A PICTURE BY BARRY + + The shade for me, but over thee + The lingering sunshine still; + As, smiling, to the silent stream + Comes down the singing rill. + + So come to me, my little one,-- + My years with thee I share, + And mingle with a sister's love + A mother's tender care. + + But keep the smile upon thy lip, + The trust upon thy brow; + Since for the dear one God hath called + We have an angel now. + + Our mother from the fields of heaven + Shall still her ear incline; + Nor need we fear her human love + Is less for love divine. + + The songs are sweet they sing beneath + The trees of life so fair, + But sweetest of the songs of heaven + Shall be her children's prayer. + + Then, darling, rest upon my breast, + And teach my heart to lean + With thy sweet trust upon the arm + Which folds us both unseen! + + 1858 + + + + +"THE ROCK" IN EL GHOR. + + Dead Petra in her hill-tomb sleeps, + Her stones of emptiness remain; + Around her sculptured mystery sweeps + The lonely waste of Edom's plain. + + From the doomed dwellers in the cleft + The bow of vengeance turns not back; + Of all her myriads none are left + Along the Wady Mousa's track. + + Clear in the hot Arabian day + Her arches spring, her statues climb; + Unchanged, the graven wonders pay + No tribute to the spoiler, Time! + + Unchanged the awful lithograph + Of power and glory undertrod; + Of nations scattered like the chaff + Blown from the threshing-floor of God. + + Yet shall the thoughtful stranger turn + From Petra's gates with deeper awe, + To mark afar the burial urn + Of Aaron on the cliffs of Hor; + + And where upon its ancient guard + Thy Rock, El Ghor, is standing yet,-- + Looks from its turrets desertward, + And keeps the watch that God has set. + + The same as when in thunders loud + It heard the voice of God to man, + As when it saw in fire and cloud + The angels walk in Israel's van, + + Or when from Ezion-Geber's way + It saw the long procession file, + And heard the Hebrew timbrels play + The music of the lordly Nile; + + Or saw the tabernacle pause, + Cloud-bound, by Kadesh Barnea's wells, + While Moses graved the sacred laws, + And Aaron swung his golden bells. + + Rock of the desert, prophet-sung! + How grew its shadowing pile at length, + A symbol, in the Hebrew tongue, + Of God's eternal love and strength. + + On lip of bard and scroll of seer, + From age to age went down the name, + Until the Shiloh's promised year, + And Christ, the Rock of Ages, came! + + The path of life we walk to-day + Is strange as that the Hebrews trod; + We need the shadowing rock, as they,-- + We need, like them, the guides of God. + + God send His angels, Cloud and Fire, + To lead us o'er the desert sand! + God give our hearts their long desire, + His shadow in a weary land! + + 1859. + + + + +THE OVER-HEART. + +"For of Him, and through Him, and to Him are all things, to whom be +glory forever! "--PAUL. + + + Above, below, in sky and sod, + In leaf and spar, in star and man, + Well might the wise Athenian scan + The geometric signs of God, + The measured order of His plan. + + And India's mystics sang aright + Of the One Life pervading all,-- + One Being's tidal rise and fall + In soul and form, in sound and sight,-- + Eternal outflow and recall. + + God is: and man in guilt and fear + The central fact of Nature owns; + Kneels, trembling, by his altar-stones, + And darkly dreams the ghastly smear + Of blood appeases and atones. + + Guilt shapes the Terror: deep within + The human heart the secret lies + Of all the hideous deities; + And, painted on a ground of sin, + The fabled gods of torment rise! + + And what is He? The ripe grain nods, + The sweet dews fall, the sweet flowers blow; + But darker signs His presence show + The earthquake and the storm are God's, + And good and evil interflow. + + O hearts of love! O souls that turn + Like sunflowers to the pure and best! + To you the truth is manifest: + For they the mind of Christ discern + Who lean like John upon His breast! + + In him of whom the sibyl told, + For whom the prophet's harp was toned, + Whose need the sage and magian owned, + The loving heart of God behold, + The hope for which the ages groaned! + + Fade, pomp of dreadful imagery + Wherewith mankind have deified + Their hate, and selfishness, and pride! + Let the scared dreamer wake to see + The Christ of Nazareth at his side! + + What doth that holy Guide require? + No rite of pain, nor gift of blood, + But man a kindly brotherhood, + Looking, where duty is desire, + To Him, the beautiful and good. + + Gone be the faithlessness of fear, + And let the pitying heaven's sweet rain + Wash out the altar's bloody stain; + The law of Hatred disappear, + The law of Love alone remain. + + How fall the idols false and grim! + And to! their hideous wreck above + The emblems of the Lamb and Dove! + Man turns from God, not God from him; + And guilt, in suffering, whispers Love! + + The world sits at the feet of Christ, + Unknowing, blind, and unconsoled; + It yet shall touch His garment's fold, + And feel the heavenly Alchemist + Transform its very dust to gold. + + The theme befitting angel tongues + Beyond a mortal's scope has grown. + O heart of mine! with reverence own + The fulness which to it belongs, + And trust the unknown for the known. + + 1859. + + + + +THE SHADOW AND THE LIGHT. + +"And I sought, whence is Evil: I set before the eye of my spirit the +whole creation; whatsoever we see therein,--sea, earth, air, stars, +trees, moral creatures,--yea, whatsoever there is we do not see,--angels +and spiritual powers. Where is evil, and whence comes it, since God the +Good hath created all things? Why made He anything at all of evil, and +not rather by His Almightiness cause it not to be? These thoughts I +turned in my miserable heart, overcharged with most gnawing cares." +"And, admonished to return to myself, I entered even into my inmost +soul, Thou being my guide, and beheld even beyond my soul and mind the +Light unchangeable. He who knows the Truth knows what that Light is, and +he that knows it knows Eternity! O--Truth, who art Eternity! Love, who +art Truth! Eternity, who art Love! And I beheld that Thou madest all +things good, and to Thee is nothing whatsoever evil. From the angel to +the worm, from the first motion to the last, Thou settest each in its +place, and everything is good in its kind. Woe is me!--how high art Thou +in the highest, how deep in the deepest! and Thou never departest from +us and we scarcely return to Thee." --AUGUSTINE'S Soliloquies, Book VII. + + + The fourteen centuries fall away + Between us and the Afric saint, + And at his side we urge, to-day, + The immemorial quest and old complaint. + + No outward sign to us is given,-- + From sea or earth comes no reply; + Hushed as the warm Numidian heaven + He vainly questioned bends our frozen sky. + + No victory comes of all our strife,-- + From all we grasp the meaning slips; + The Sphinx sits at the gate of life, + With the old question on her awful lips. + + In paths unknown we hear the feet + Of fear before, and guilt behind; + We pluck the wayside fruit, and eat + Ashes and dust beneath its golden rind. + + From age to age descends unchecked + The sad bequest of sire to son, + The body's taint, the mind's defect; + Through every web of life the dark threads run. + + Oh, why and whither? God knows all; + I only know that He is good, + And that whatever may befall + Or here or there, must be the best that could. + + Between the dreadful cherubim + A Father's face I still discern, + As Moses looked of old on Him, + And saw His glory into goodness turn! + + For He is merciful as just; + And so, by faith correcting sight, + I bow before His will, and trust + Howe'er they seem He doeth all things right. + + And dare to hope that Tie will make + The rugged smooth, the doubtful plain; + His mercy never quite forsake; + His healing visit every realm of pain; + + That suffering is not His revenge + Upon His creatures weak and frail, + Sent on a pathway new and strange + With feet that wander and with eyes that fail; + + That, o'er the crucible of pain, + Watches the tender eye of Love + The slow transmuting of the chain + Whose links are iron below to gold above! + + Ah me! we doubt the shining skies, + Seen through our shadows of offence, + And drown with our poor childish cries + The cradle-hymn of kindly Providence. + + And still we love the evil cause, + And of the just effect complain + We tread upon life's broken laws, + And murmur at our self-inflicted pain; + + We turn us from the light, and find + Our spectral shapes before us thrown, + As they who leave the sun behind + Walk in the shadows of themselves alone. + + And scarce by will or strength of ours + We set our faces to the day; + Weak, wavering, blind, the Eternal Powers + Alone can turn us from ourselves away. + + Our weakness is the strength of sin, + But love must needs be stronger far, + Outreaching all and gathering in + The erring spirit and the wandering star. + + A Voice grows with the growing years; + Earth, hushing down her bitter cry, + Looks upward from her graves, and hears, + "The Resurrection and the Life am I." + + O Love Divine!--whose constant beam + Shines on the eyes that will not see, + And waits to bless us, while we dream + Thou leavest us because we turn from thee! + + All souls that struggle and aspire, + All hearts of prayer by thee are lit; + And, dim or clear, thy tongues of fire + On dusky tribes and twilight centuries sit. + + Nor bounds, nor clime, nor creed thou know'st, + Wide as our need thy favors fall; + The white wings of the Holy Ghost + Stoop, seen or unseen, o'er the heads of all. + + O Beauty, old yet ever new! + Eternal Voice, and Inward Word, + The Logos of the Greek and Jew, + The old sphere-music which the Samian heard! + + Truth, which the sage and prophet saw, + Long sought without, but found within, + The Law of Love beyond all law, + The Life o'erflooding mortal death and sin! + + Shine on us with the light which glowed + Upon the trance-bound shepherd's way. + Who saw the Darkness overflowed + And drowned by tides of everlasting Day. + + Shine, light of God!--make broad thy scope + To all who sin and suffer; more + And better than we dare to hope + With Heaven's compassion make our longings poor! + + 1860. + + + + +THE CRY OF A LOST SOUL. + +Lieutenant Herndon's Report of the Exploration of the Amazon has a +striking description of the peculiar and melancholy notes of a bird +heard by night on the shores of the river. The Indian guides called it +"The Cry of a Lost Soul"! Among the numerous translations of this poem +is one by the Emperor of Brazil. + + + In that black forest, where, when day is done, + With a snake's stillness glides the Amazon + Darkly from sunset to the rising sun, + + A cry, as of the pained heart of the wood, + The long, despairing moan of solitude + And darkness and the absence of all good, + + Startles the traveller, with a sound so drear, + So full of hopeless agony and fear, + His heart stands still and listens like his ear. + + The guide, as if he heard a dead-bell toll, + Starts, drops his oar against the gunwale's thole, + Crosses himself, and whispers, "A lost soul!" + + "No, Senor, not a bird. I know it well,-- + It is the pained soul of some infidel + Or cursed heretic that cries from hell. + + "Poor fool! with hope still mocking his despair, + He wanders, shrieking on the midnight air + For human pity and for Christian prayer. + + "Saints strike him dumb! Our Holy Mother hath + No prayer for him who, sinning unto death, + Burns always in the furnace of God's wrath!" + + Thus to the baptized pagan's cruel lie, + Lending new horror to that mournful cry, + The voyager listens, making no reply. + + Dim burns the boat-lamp: shadows deepen round, + From giant trees with snake-like creepers wound, + And the black water glides without a sound. + + But in the traveller's heart a secret sense + Of nature plastic to benign intents, + And an eternal good in Providence, + + Lifts to the starry calm of heaven his eyes; + And to! rebuking all earth's ominous cries, + The Cross of pardon lights the tropic skies! + + "Father of all!" he urges his strong plea, + "Thou lovest all: Thy erring child may be + Lost to himself, but never lost to Thee! + + "All souls are Thine; the wings of morning bear + None from that Presence which is everywhere, + Nor hell itself can hide, for Thou art there. + + "Through sins of sense, perversities of will, + Through doubt and pain, through guilt and shame and ill, + Thy pitying eye is on Thy creature still. + + "Wilt thou not make, Eternal Source and Goal! + In Thy long years, life's broken circle whole, + And change to praise the cry of a lost soul?" + + 1862. + + + + +ANDREW RYKMAN'S PRAYER + + Andrew Rykman's dead and gone; + You can see his leaning slate + In the graveyard, and thereon + Read his name and date. + + "_Trust is truer than our fears_," + Runs the legend through the moss, + "_Gain is not in added years, + Nor in death is loss_." + + Still the feet that thither trod, + All the friendly eyes are dim; + Only Nature, now, and God + Have a care for him. + + There the dews of quiet fall, + Singing birds and soft winds stray: + Shall the tender Heart of all + Be less kind than they? + + What he was and what he is + They who ask may haply find, + If they read this prayer of his + Which he left behind. + + + . . . . + + Pardon, Lord, the lips that dare + Shape in words a mortal's prayer! + Prayer, that, when my day is done, + And I see its setting sun, + Shorn and beamless, cold and dim, + Sink beneath the horizon's rim,-- + When this ball of rock and clay + Crumbles from my feet away, + And the solid shores of sense + Melt into the vague immense, + Father! I may come to Thee + Even with the beggar's plea, + As the poorest of Thy poor, + With my needs, and nothing more. + + Not as one who seeks his home + With a step assured I come; + Still behind the tread I hear + Of my life-companion, Fear; + Still a shadow deep and vast + From my westering feet is cast, + Wavering, doubtful, undefined, + Never shapen nor outlined + From myself the fear has grown, + And the shadow is my own. + + Yet, O Lord, through all a sense + Of Thy tender providence + Stays my failing heart on Thee, + And confirms the feeble knee; + And, at times, my worn feet press + Spaces of cool quietness, + Lilied whiteness shone upon + Not by light of moon or sun. + Hours there be of inmost calm, + Broken but by grateful psalm, + When I love Thee more than fear Thee, + And Thy blessed Christ seems near me, + With forgiving look, as when + He beheld the Magdalen. + Well I know that all things move + To the spheral rhythm of love,-- + That to Thee, O Lord of all! + Nothing can of chance befall + Child and seraph, mote and star, + Well Thou knowest what we are + Through Thy vast creative plan + Looking, from the worm to man, + There is pity in Thine eyes, + But no hatred nor surprise. + Not in blind caprice of will, + Not in cunning sleight of skill, + Not for show of power, was wrought + Nature's marvel in Thy thought. + Never careless hand and vain + Smites these chords of joy and pain; + No immortal selfishness + Plays the game of curse and bless + Heaven and earth are witnesses + That Thy glory goodness is. + + Not for sport of mind and force + Hast Thou made Thy universe, + But as atmosphere and zone + Of Thy loving heart alone. + Man, who walketh in a show, + Sees before him, to and fro, + Shadow and illusion go; + All things flow and fluctuate, + Now contract and now dilate. + In the welter of this sea, + Nothing stable is but Thee; + In this whirl of swooning trance, + Thou alone art permanence; + All without Thee only seems, + All beside is choice of dreams. + Never yet in darkest mood + Doubted I that Thou wast good, + Nor mistook my will for fate, + Pain of sin for heavenly hate,-- + Never dreamed the gates of pearl + Rise from out the burning marl, + Or that good can only live + Of the bad conservative, + And through counterpoise of hell + Heaven alone be possible. + + For myself alone I doubt; + All is well, I know, without; + I alone the beauty mar, + I alone the music jar. + Yet, with hands by evil stained, + And an ear by discord pained, + I am groping for the keys + Of the heavenly harmonies; + Still within my heart I bear + Love for all things good and fair. + Hands of want or souls in pain + Have not sought my door in vain; + I have kept my fealty good + To the human brotherhood; + Scarcely have I asked in prayer + That which others might not share. + I, who hear with secret shame + Praise that paineth more than blame, + Rich alone in favors lent, + Virtuous by accident, + Doubtful where I fain would rest, + Frailest where I seem the best, + Only strong for lack of test,-- + What am I, that I should press + Special pleas of selfishness, + Coolly mounting into heaven + On my neighbor unforgiven? + Ne'er to me, howe'er disguised, + Comes a saint unrecognized; + Never fails my heart to greet + Noble deed with warmer beat; + Halt and maimed, I own not less + All the grace of holiness; + Nor, through shame or self-distrust, + Less I love the pure and just. + Lord, forgive these words of mine + What have I that is not Thine? + Whatsoe'er I fain would boast + Needs Thy pitying pardon most. + Thou, O Elder Brother! who + In Thy flesh our trial knew, + Thou, who hast been touched by these + Our most sad infirmities, + Thou alone the gulf canst span + In the dual heart of man, + And between the soul and sense + Reconcile all difference, + Change the dream of me and mine + For the truth of Thee and Thine, + And, through chaos, doubt, and strife, + Interfuse Thy calm of life. + Haply, thus by Thee renewed, + In Thy borrowed goodness good, + Some sweet morning yet in God's + Dim, veonian periods, + Joyful I shall wake to see + Those I love who rest in Thee, + And to them in Thee allied + Shall my soul be satisfied. + + Scarcely Hope hath shaped for me + What the future life may be. + Other lips may well be bold; + Like the publican of old, + I can only urge the plea, + "Lord, be merciful to me!" + Nothing of desert I claim, + Unto me belongeth shame. + Not for me the crowns of gold, + Palms, and harpings manifold; + Not for erring eye and feet + Jasper wall and golden street. + What thou wilt, O Father, give I + All is gain that I receive. + + If my voice I may not raise + In the elders' song of praise, + If I may not, sin-defiled, + Claim my birthright as a child, + Suffer it that I to Thee + As an hired servant be; + Let the lowliest task be mine, + Grateful, so the work be Thine; + Let me find the humblest place + In the shadow of Thy grace + Blest to me were any spot + Where temptation whispers not. + If there be some weaker one, + Give me strength to help him on + If a blinder soul there be, + Let me guide him nearer Thee. + Make my mortal dreams come true + With the work I fain would do; + Clothe with life the weak intent, + Let me be the thing I meant; + Let me find in Thy employ + Peace that dearer is than joy; + Out of self to love be led + And to heaven acclimated, + Until all things sweet and good + Seem my natural habitude. + + . . . . + + So we read the prayer of him + Who, with John of Labadie, + Trod, of old, the oozy rim + Of the Zuyder Zee. + + Thus did Andrew Rykman pray. + Are we wiser, better grown, + That we may not, in our day, + Make his prayer our own? + + + + +THE ANSWER. + + Spare me, dread angel of reproof, + And let the sunshine weave to-day + Its gold-threads in the warp and woof + Of life so poor and gray. + + Spare me awhile; the flesh is weak. + These lingering feet, that fain would stray + Among the flowers, shall some day seek + The strait and narrow way. + + Take off thy ever-watchful eye, + The awe of thy rebuking frown; + The dullest slave at times must sigh + To fling his burdens down; + + To drop his galley's straining oar, + And press, in summer warmth and calm, + The lap of some enchanted shore + Of blossom and of balm. + + Grudge not my life its hour of bloom, + My heart its taste of long desire; + This day be mine: be those to come + As duty shall require. + + The deep voice answered to my own, + Smiting my selfish prayers away; + "To-morrow is with God alone, + And man hath but to-day. + + "Say not, thy fond, vain heart within, + The Father's arm shall still be wide, + When from these pleasant ways of sin + Thou turn'st at eventide. + + "'Cast thyself down,' the tempter saith, + 'And angels shall thy feet upbear.' + He bids thee make a lie of faith, + And blasphemy of prayer. + + "Though God be good and free be heaven, + No force divine can love compel; + And, though the song of sins forgiven + May sound through lowest hell, + + "The sweet persuasion of His voice + Respects thy sanctity of will. + He giveth day: thou hast thy choice + To walk in darkness still; + + "As one who, turning from the light, + Watches his own gray shadow fall, + Doubting, upon his path of night, + If there be day at all! + + "No word of doom may shut thee out, + No wind of wrath may downward whirl, + No swords of fire keep watch about + The open gates of pearl; + + "A tenderer light than moon or sun, + Than song of earth a sweeter hymn, + May shine and sound forever on, + And thou be deaf and dim. + + "Forever round the Mercy-seat + The guiding lights of Love shall burn; + But what if, habit-bound, thy feet + Shall lack the will to turn? + + "What if thine eye refuse to see, + Thine ear of Heaven's free welcome fail, + And thou a willing captive be, + Thyself thy own dark jail? + + "Oh, doom beyond the saddest guess, + As the long years of God unroll, + To make thy dreary selfishness + The prison of a soul! + + "To doubt the love that fain would break + The fetters from thy self-bound limb; + And dream that God can thee forsake + As thou forsakest Him!" + + 1863. + + + + +THE ETERNAL GOODNESS. + + O friends! with whom my feet have trod + The quiet aisles of prayer, + Glad witness to your zeal for God + And love of man I bear. + + I trace your lines of argument; + Your logic linked and strong + I weigh as one who dreads dissent, + And fears a doubt as wrong. + + But still my human hands are weak + To hold your iron creeds + Against the words ye bid me speak + My heart within me pleads. + + Who fathoms the Eternal Thought? + Who talks of scheme and plan? + The Lord is God! He needeth not + The poor device of man. + + I walk with bare, hushed feet the ground + Ye tread with boldness shod; + I dare not fix with mete and bound + The love and power of God. + + Ye praise His justice; even such + His pitying love I deem + Ye seek a king; I fain would touch + The robe that hath no seam. + + Ye see the curse which overbroods + A world of pain and loss; + I hear our Lord's beatitudes + And prayer upon the cross. + + More than your schoolmen teach, within + Myself, alas! I know + Too dark ye cannot paint the sin, + Too small the merit show. + + I bow my forehead to the dust, + I veil mine eyes for shame, + And urge, in trembling self-distrust, + A prayer without a claim. + + I see the wrong that round me lies, + I feel the guilt within; + I hear, with groan and travail-cries, + The world confess its sin. + + Yet, in the maddening maze of things, + And tossed by storm and flood, + To one fixed trust my spirit clings; + I know that God is good! + + Not mine to look where cherubim + And seraphs may not see, + But nothing can be good in Him + Which evil is in me. + + The wrong that pains my soul below + I dare not throne above, + I know not of His hate,--I know + His goodness and His love. + + I dimly guess from blessings known + Of greater out of sight, + And, with the chastened Psalmist, own + His judgments too are right. + + I long for household voices gone, + For vanished smiles I long, + But God hath led my dear ones on, + And He can do no wrong. + + I know not what the future hath + Of marvel or surprise, + Assured alone that life and death + His mercy underlies. + + And if my heart and flesh are weak + To bear an untried pain, + The bruised reed He will not break, + But strengthen and sustain. + + No offering of my own I have, + Nor works my faith to prove; + I can but give the gifts He gave, + And plead His love for love. + + And so beside the Silent Sea + I wait the muffled oar; + No harm from Him can come to me + On ocean or on shore. + + I know not where His islands lift + Their fronded palms in air; + I only know I cannot drift + Beyond His love and care. + + O brothers! if my faith is vain, + If hopes like these betray, + Pray for me that my feet may gain + The sure and safer way. + + And Thou, O Lord! by whom are seen + Thy creatures as they be, + Forgive me if too close I lean + My human heart on Thee! + + 1865. + + + + +THE COMMON QUESTION. + + Behind us at our evening meal + The gray bird ate his fill, + Swung downward by a single claw, + And wiped his hooked bill. + + He shook his wings and crimson tail, + And set his head aslant, + And, in his sharp, impatient way, + Asked, "What does Charlie want?" + + "Fie, silly bird!" I answered, "tuck + Your head beneath your wing, + And go to sleep;"--but o'er and o'er + He asked the self-same thing. + + Then, smiling, to myself I said + How like are men and birds! + We all are saying what he says, + In action or in words. + + The boy with whip and top and drum, + The girl with hoop and doll, + And men with lands and houses, ask + The question of Poor Poll. + + However full, with something more + We fain the bag would cram; + We sigh above our crowded nets + For fish that never swam. + + No bounty of indulgent Heaven + The vague desire can stay; + Self-love is still a Tartar mill + For grinding prayers alway. + + The dear God hears and pities all; + He knoweth all our wants; + And what we blindly ask of Him + His love withholds or grants. + + And so I sometimes think our prayers + Might well be merged in one; + And nest and perch and hearth and church + Repeat, "Thy will be done." + + + + +OUR MASTER. + + Immortal Love, forever full, + Forever flowing free, + Forever shared, forever whole, + A never-ebbing sea! + + Our outward lips confess the name + All other names above; + Love only knoweth whence it came + And comprehendeth love. + + Blow, winds of God, awake and blow + The mists of earth away! + Shine out, O Light Divine, and show + How wide and far we stray! + + Hush every lip, close every book, + The strife of tongues forbear; + Why forward reach, or backward look, + For love that clasps like air? + + We may not climb the heavenly steeps + To bring the Lord Christ down + In vain we search the lowest deeps, + For Him no depths can drown. + + Nor holy bread, nor blood of grape, + The lineaments restore + Of Him we know in outward shape + And in the flesh no more. + + He cometh not a king to reign; + The world's long hope is dim; + The weary centuries watch in vain + The clouds of heaven for Him. + + Death comes, life goes; the asking eye + And ear are answerless; + The grave is dumb, the hollow sky + Is sad with silentness. + + The letter fails, and systems fall, + And every symbol wanes; + The Spirit over-brooding all + Eternal Love remains. + + And not for signs in heaven above + Or earth below they look, + Who know with John His smile of love, + With Peter His rebuke. + + In joy of inward peace, or sense + Of sorrow over sin, + He is His own best evidence, + His witness is within. + + No fable old, nor mythic lore, + Nor dream of bards and seers, + No dead fact stranded on the shore + Of the oblivious years;-- + + But warm, sweet, tender, even yet + A present help is He; + And faith has still its Olivet, + And love its Galilee. + + The healing of His seamless dress + Is by our beds of pain; + We touch Him in life's throng and press, + And we are whole again. + + Through Him the first fond prayers are said + Our lips of childhood frame, + The last low whispers of our dead + Are burdened with His name. + + Our Lord and Master of us all! + Whate'er our name or sign, + We own Thy sway, we hear Thy call, + We test our lives by Thine. + + Thou judgest us; Thy purity + Doth all our lusts condemn; + The love that draws us nearer Thee + Is hot with wrath to them. + + Our thoughts lie open to Thy sight; + And, naked to Thy glance, + Our secret sins are in the light + Of Thy pure countenance. + + Thy healing pains, a keen distress + Thy tender light shines in; + Thy sweetness is the bitterness, + Thy grace the pang of sin. + + Yet, weak and blinded though we be, + Thou dost our service own; + We bring our varying gifts to Thee, + And Thou rejectest none. + + To Thee our full humanity, + Its joys and pains, belong; + The wrong of man to man on Thee + Inflicts a deeper wrong. + + Who hates, hates Thee, who loves becomes + Therein to Thee allied; + All sweet accords of hearts and homes + In Thee are multiplied. + + Deep strike Thy roots, O heavenly Vine, + Within our earthly sod, + Most human and yet most divine, + The flower of man and God! + + O Love! O Life! Our faith and sight + Thy presence maketh one + As through transfigured clouds of white + We trace the noon-day sun. + + So, to our mortal eyes subdued, + Flesh-veiled, but not concealed, + We know in Thee the fatherhood + And heart of God revealed. + + We faintly hear, we dimly see, + In differing phrase we pray; + But, dim or clear, we own in Thee + The Light, the Truth, the Way! + + The homage that we render Thee + Is still our Father's own; + No jealous claim or rivalry + Divides the Cross and Throne. + + To do Thy will is more than praise, + As words are less than deeds, + And simple trust can find Thy ways + We miss with chart of creeds. + + No pride of self Thy service hath, + No place for me and mine; + Our human strength is weakness, death + Our life, apart from Thine. + + Apart from Thee all gain is loss, + All labor vainly done; + The solemn shadow of Thy Cross + Is better than the sun. + + Alone, O Love ineffable! + Thy saving name is given; + To turn aside from Thee is hell, + To walk with Thee is heaven! + + How vain, secure in all Thou art, + Our noisy championship + The sighing of the contrite heart + Is more than flattering lip. + + Not Thine the bigot's partial plea, + Nor Thine the zealot's ban; + Thou well canst spare a love of Thee + Which ends in hate of man. + + Our Friend, our Brother, and our Lord, + What may Thy service be?-- + Nor name, nor form, nor ritual word, + But simply following Thee. + + We bring no ghastly holocaust, + We pile no graven stone; + He serves thee best who loveth most + His brothers and Thy own. + + Thy litanies, sweet offices + Of love and gratitude; + Thy sacramental liturgies, + The joy of doing good. + + In vain shall waves of incense drift + The vaulted nave around, + In vain the minster turret lift + Its brazen weights of sound. + + The heart must ring Thy Christmas bells, + Thy inward altars raise; + Its faith and hope Thy canticles, + And its obedience praise! + + 1866. + + + + +THE MEETING. + +The two speakers in the meeting referred to in this poem were Avis +Keene, whose very presence was a benediction, a woman lovely in spirit +and person, whose words seemed a message of love and tender concern to +her hearers; and Sibyl Jones, whose inspired eloquence and rare +spirituality impressed all who knew her. In obedience to her apprehended +duty she made visits of Christian love to various parts of Europe, and +to the West Coast of Africa and Palestine. + + + The elder folks shook hands at last, + Down seat by seat the signal passed. + To simple ways like ours unused, + Half solemnized and half amused, + With long-drawn breath and shrug, my guest + His sense of glad relief expressed. + Outside, the hills lay warm in sun; + The cattle in the meadow-run + Stood half-leg deep; a single bird + The green repose above us stirred. + "What part or lot have you," he said, + "In these dull rites of drowsy-head? + Is silence worship? Seek it where + It soothes with dreams the summer air, + Not in this close and rude-benched hall, + But where soft lights and shadows fall, + And all the slow, sleep-walking hours + Glide soundless over grass and flowers! + From time and place and form apart, + Its holy ground the human heart, + Nor ritual-bound nor templeward + Walks the free spirit of the Lord! + Our common Master did not pen + His followers up from other men; + His service liberty indeed, + He built no church, He framed no creed; + But while the saintly Pharisee + Made broader his phylactery, + As from the synagogue was seen + The dusty-sandalled Nazarene + Through ripening cornfields lead the way + Upon the awful Sabbath day, + His sermons were the healthful talk + That shorter made the mountain-walk, + His wayside texts were flowers and birds, + Where mingled with His gracious words + The rustle of the tamarisk-tree + And ripple-wash of Galilee." + + "Thy words are well, O friend," I said; + "Unmeasured and unlimited, + With noiseless slide of stone to stone, + The mystic Church of God has grown. + Invisible and silent stands + The temple never made with hands, + Unheard the voices still and small + Of its unseen confessional. + He needs no special place of prayer + Whose hearing ear is everywhere; + He brings not back the childish days + That ringed the earth with stones of praise, + Roofed Karnak's hall of gods, and laid + The plinths of Phil e's colonnade. + Still less He owns the selfish good + And sickly growth of solitude,-- + The worthless grace that, out of sight, + Flowers in the desert anchorite; + Dissevered from the suffering whole, + Love hath no power to save a soul. + Not out of Self, the origin + And native air and soil of sin, + The living waters spring and flow, + The trees with leaves of healing grow. + + "Dream not, O friend, because I seek + This quiet shelter twice a week, + I better deem its pine-laid floor + Than breezy hill or sea-sung shore; + But nature is not solitude + She crowds us with her thronging wood; + Her many hands reach out to us, + Her many tongues are garrulous; + Perpetual riddles of surprise + She offers to our ears and eyes; + She will not leave our senses still, + But drags them captive at her will + And, making earth too great for heaven, + She hides the Giver in the given. + + "And so, I find it well to come + For deeper rest to this still room, + For here the habit of the soul + Feels less the outer world's control; + The strength of mutual purpose pleads + More earnestly our common needs; + And from the silence multiplied + By these still forms on either side, + The world that time and sense have known + Falls off and leaves us God alone. + + "Yet rarely through the charmed repose + Unmixed the stream of motive flows, + A flavor of its many springs, + The tints of earth and sky it brings; + In the still waters needs must be + Some shade of human sympathy; + And here, in its accustomed place, + I look on memory's dearest face; + The blind by-sitter guesseth not + What shadow haunts that vacant spot; + No eyes save mine alone can see + The love wherewith it welcomes me! + And still, with those alone my kin, + In doubt and weakness, want and sin, + I bow my head, my heart I bare + As when that face was living there, + And strive (too oft, alas! in vain) + The peace of simple trust to gain, + Fold fancy's restless wings, and lay + The idols of my heart away. + + "Welcome the silence all unbroken, + Nor less the words of fitness spoken,-- + Such golden words as hers for whom + Our autumn flowers have just made room; + Whose hopeful utterance through and through + The freshness of the morning blew; + Who loved not less the earth that light + Fell on it from the heavens in sight, + But saw in all fair forms more fair + The Eternal beauty mirrored there. + Whose eighty years but added grace + And saintlier meaning to her face,-- + The look of one who bore away + Glad tidings from the hills of day, + While all our hearts went forth to meet + The coming of her beautiful feet! + Or haply hers, whose pilgrim tread + Is in the paths where Jesus led; + Who dreams her childhood's Sabbath dream + By Jordan's willow-shaded stream, + And, of the hymns of hope and faith, + Sung by the monks of Nazareth, + Hears pious echoes, in the call + To prayer, from Moslem minarets fall, + Repeating where His works were wrought + The lesson that her Master taught, + Of whom an elder Sibyl gave, + The prophecies of Cuma 's cave. + + "I ask no organ's soulless breath + To drone the themes of life and death, + No altar candle-lit by day, + No ornate wordsman's rhetoric-play, + No cool philosophy to teach + Its bland audacities of speech + To double-tasked idolaters + Themselves their gods and worshippers, + No pulpit hammered by the fist + Of loud-asserting dogmatist, + Who borrows for the Hand of love + The smoking thunderbolts of Jove. + I know how well the fathers taught, + What work the later schoolmen wrought; + I reverence old-time faith and men, + But God is near us now as then; + His force of love is still unspent, + His hate of sin as imminent; + And still the measure of our needs + Outgrows the cramping bounds of creeds; + The manna gathered yesterday + Already savors of decay; + Doubts to the world's child-heart unknown + Question us now from star and stone; + Too little or too much we know, + And sight is swift and faith is slow; + The power is lost to self-deceive + With shallow forms of make-believe. + W e walk at high noon, and the bells + Call to a thousand oracles, + But the sound deafens, and the light + Is stronger than our dazzled sight; + The letters of the sacred Book + Glimmer and swim beneath our look; + Still struggles in the Age's breast + With deepening agony of quest + The old entreaty: 'Art thou He, + Or look we for the Christ to be?' + + "God should be most where man is least + So, where is neither church nor priest, + And never rag of form or creed + To clothe the nakedness of need,-- + Where farmer-folk in silence meet,-- + I turn my bell-unsummoned feet;' + I lay the critic's glass aside, + I tread upon my lettered pride, + And, lowest-seated, testify + To the oneness of humanity; + Confess the universal want, + And share whatever Heaven may grant. + He findeth not who seeks his own, + The soul is lost that's saved alone. + Not on one favored forehead fell + Of old the fire-tongued miracle, + But flamed o'er all the thronging host + The baptism of the Holy Ghost; + Heart answers heart: in one desire + The blending lines of prayer aspire; + 'Where, in my name, meet two or three,' + Our Lord hath said, 'I there will be!' + + "So sometimes comes to soul and sense + The feeling which is evidence + That very near about us lies + The realm of spiritual mysteries. + The sphere of the supernal powers + Impinges on this world of ours. + The low and dark horizon lifts, + To light the scenic terror shifts; + The breath of a diviner air + Blows down the answer of a prayer + That all our sorrow, pain, and doubt + A great compassion clasps about, + And law and goodness, love and force, + Are wedded fast beyond divorce. + Then duty leaves to love its task, + The beggar Self forgets to ask; + With smile of trust and folded hands, + The passive soul in waiting stands + To feel, as flowers the sun and dew, + The One true Life its own renew. + + "So, to the calmly gathered thought + The innermost of truth is taught, + The mystery dimly understood, + That love of God is love of good, + And, chiefly, its divinest trace + In Him of Nazareth's holy face; + That to be saved is only this,-- + Salvation from our selfishness, + From more than elemental fire, + The soul's unsanetified desire, + From sin itself, and not the pain + That warns us of its chafing chain; + That worship's deeper meaning lies + In mercy, and not sacrifice, + Not proud humilities of sense + And posturing of penitence, + But love's unforced obedience; + That Book and Church and Day are given + For man, not God,--for earth, not heaven,-- + The blessed means to holiest ends, + Not masters, but benignant friends; + That the dear Christ dwells not afar, + The king of some remoter star, + Listening, at times, with flattered ear + To homage wrung from selfish fear, + But here, amidst the poor and blind, + The bound and suffering of our kind, + In works we do, in prayers we pray, + Life of our life, He lives to-day." + + 1868. + + + + +THE CLEAR VISION. + + I did but dream. I never knew + What charms our sternest season wore. + Was never yet the sky so blue, + Was never earth so white before. + Till now I never saw the glow + Of sunset on yon hills of snow, + And never learned the bough's designs + Of beauty in its leafless lines. + + Did ever such a morning break + As that my eastern windows see? + Did ever such a moonlight take + Weird photographs of shrub and tree? + Rang ever bells so wild and fleet + The music of the winter street? + Was ever yet a sound by half + So merry as you school-boy's laugh? + + O Earth! with gladness overfraught, + No added charm thy face hath found; + Within my heart the change is wrought, + My footsteps make enchanted ground. + From couch of pain and curtained room + Forth to thy light and air I come, + To find in all that meets my eyes + The freshness of a glad surprise. + + Fair seem these winter days, and soon + Shall blow the warm west-winds of spring, + To set the unbound rills in tune + And hither urge the bluebird's wing. + The vales shall laugh in flowers, the woods + Grow misty green with leafing buds, + And violets and wind-flowers sway + Against the throbbing heart of May. + + Break forth, my lips, in praise, and own + The wiser love severely kind; + Since, richer for its chastening grown, + I see, whereas I once was blind. + The world, O Father! hath not wronged + With loss the life by Thee prolonged; + But still, with every added year, + More beautiful Thy works appear! + + As Thou hast made thy world without, + Make Thou more fair my world within; + Shine through its lingering clouds of doubt; + Rebuke its haunting shapes of sin; + Fill, brief or long, my granted span + Of life with love to thee and man; + Strike when thou wilt the hour of rest, + But let my last days be my best! + + 2d mo., 1868. + + + + +DIVINE COMPASSION. + + Long since, a dream of heaven I had, + And still the vision haunts me oft; + I see the saints in white robes clad, + The martyrs with their palms aloft; + But hearing still, in middle song, + The ceaseless dissonance of wrong; + And shrinking, with hid faces, from the strain + Of sad, beseeching eyes, full of remorse and pain. + + The glad song falters to a wail, + The harping sinks to low lament; + Before the still unlifted veil + I see the crowned foreheads bent, + Making more sweet the heavenly air, + With breathings of unselfish prayer; + And a Voice saith: "O Pity which is pain, + O Love that weeps, fill up my sufferings which remain! + + "Shall souls redeemed by me refuse + To share my sorrow in their turn? + Or, sin-forgiven, my gift abuse + Of peace with selfish unconcern? + Has saintly ease no pitying care? + Has faith no work, and love no prayer? + While sin remains, and souls in darkness dwell, + Can heaven itself be heaven, and look unmoved on hell?" + + Then through the Gates of Pain, I dream, + A wind of heaven blows coolly in; + Fainter the awful discords seem, + The smoke of torment grows more thin, + Tears quench the burning soil, and thence + Spring sweet, pale flowers of penitence + And through the dreary realm of man's despair, + Star-crowned an angel walks, and to! God's hope is there! + + Is it a dream? Is heaven so high + That pity cannot breathe its air? + Its happy eyes forever dry, + Its holy lips without a prayer! + My God! my God! if thither led + By Thy free grace unmerited, + No crown nor palm be mine, but let me keep + A heart that still can feel, and eyes that still can weep. + + 1868. + + + + +THE PRAYER-SEEKER. + + Along the aisle where prayer was made, + A woman, all in black arrayed, + Close-veiled, between the kneeling host, + With gliding motion of a ghost, + Passed to the desk, and laid thereon + A scroll which bore these words alone, + _Pray for me_! + + Back from the place of worshipping + She glided like a guilty thing + The rustle of her draperies, stirred + By hurrying feet, alone was heard; + While, full of awe, the preacher read, + As out into the dark she sped: + "_Pray for me_!" + + Back to the night from whence she came, + To unimagined grief or shame! + Across the threshold of that door + None knew the burden that she bore; + Alone she left the written scroll, + The legend of a troubled soul,-- + _Pray for me_! + + Glide on, poor ghost of woe or sin! + Thou leav'st a common need within; + Each bears, like thee, some nameless weight, + Some misery inarticulate, + Some secret sin, some shrouded dread, + Some household sorrow all unsaid. + _Pray for us_! + + Pass on! The type of all thou art, + Sad witness to the common heart! + With face in veil and seal on lip, + In mute and strange companionship, + Like thee we wander to and fro, + Dumbly imploring as we go + _Pray for us_! + + Ah, who shall pray, since he who pleads + Our want perchance hath greater needs? + Yet they who make their loss the gain + Of others shall not ask in vain, + And Heaven bends low to hear the prayer + Of love from lips of self-despair + _Pray for us_! + + In vain remorse and fear and hate + Beat with bruised bands against a fate + Whose walls of iron only move + And open to the touch of love. + He only feels his burdens fall + Who, taught by suffering, pities all. + _Pray for us_! + + He prayeth best who leaves unguessed + The mystery of another's breast. + Why cheeks grow pale, why eyes o'erflow, + Or heads are white, thou need'st not know. + Enough to note by many a sign + That every heart hath needs like thine. + _Pray for us_! + + 1870 + + + + +THE BREWING OF SOMA. + +"These libations mixed with milk have been prepared for Indra: offer +Soma to the drinker of Soma." --Vashista, translated by MAX MULLER. + + + The fagots blazed, the caldron's smoke + Up through the green wood curled; + "Bring honey from the hollow oak, + Bring milky sap," the brewers spoke, + In the childhood of the world. + + And brewed they well or brewed they ill, + The priests thrust in their rods, + First tasted, and then drank their fill, + And shouted, with one voice and will, + "Behold the drink of gods!" + + They drank, and to! in heart and brain + A new, glad life began; + The gray of hair grew young again, + The sick man laughed away his pain, + The cripple leaped and ran. + + "Drink, mortals, what the gods have sent, + Forget your long annoy." + So sang the priests. From tent to tent + The Soma's sacred madness went, + A storm of drunken joy. + + Then knew each rapt inebriate + A winged and glorious birth, + Soared upward, with strange joy elate, + Beat, with dazed head, Varuna's gate, + And, sobered, sank to earth. + + The land with Soma's praises rang; + On Gihon's banks of shade + Its hymns the dusky maidens sang; + In joy of life or mortal pang + All men to Soma prayed. + + The morning twilight of the race + Sends down these matin psalms; + And still with wondering eyes we trace + The simple prayers to Soma's grace, + That Vedic verse embalms. + + As in that child-world's early year, + Each after age has striven + By music, incense, vigils drear, + And trance, to bring the skies more near, + Or lift men up to heaven! + + Some fever of the blood and brain, + Some self-exalting spell, + The scourger's keen delight of pain, + The Dervish dance, the Orphic strain, + The wild-haired Bacchant's yell,-- + + The desert's hair-grown hermit sunk + The saner brute below; + The naked Santon, hashish-drunk, + The cloister madness of the monk, + The fakir's torture-show! + + And yet the past comes round again, + And new doth old fulfil; + In sensual transports wild as vain + We brew in many a Christian fane + The heathen Soma still! + + Dear Lord and Father of mankind, + Forgive our foolish ways! + Reclothe us in our rightful mind, + In purer lives Thy service find, + In deeper reverence, praise. + + In simple trust like theirs who heard + Beside the Syrian sea + The gracious calling of the Lord, + Let us, like them, without a word, + Rise up and follow Thee. + + O Sabbath rest by Galilee! + O calm of hills above, + Where Jesus knelt to share with Thee + The silence of eternity + Interpreted by love! + + With that deep hush subduing all + Our words and works that drown + The tender whisper of Thy call, + As noiseless let Thy blessing fall + As fell Thy manna down. + + Drop Thy still dews of quietness, + Till all our strivings cease; + Take from our souls the strain and stress, + And let our ordered lives confess + The beauty of Thy peace. + + Breathe through the heats of our desire + Thy coolness and Thy balm; + Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire; + Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire, + O still, small voice of calm! + + 1872. + + + + +A WOMAN. + + Oh, dwarfed and wronged, and stained with ill, + Behold! thou art a woman still! + And, by that sacred name and dear, + I bid thy better self appear. + Still, through thy foul disguise, I see + The rudimental purity, + That, spite of change and loss, makes good + Thy birthright-claim of womanhood; + An inward loathing, deep, intense; + A shame that is half innocence. + Cast off the grave-clothes of thy sin! + Rise from the dust thou liest in, + As Mary rose at Jesus' word, + Redeemed and white before the Lord! + Reclairn thy lost soul! In His name, + Rise up, and break thy bonds of shame. + Art weak? He 's strong. Art fearful? Hear + The world's O'ercomer: "Be of cheer!" + What lip shall judge when He approves? + Who dare to scorn the child He loves? + + + + +THE PRAYER OF AGASSIZ. + +The island of Penikese in Buzzard's Bay was given by Mr. John Anderson +to Agassiz for the uses of a summer school of natural history. A large +barn was cleared and improvised as a lecture-room. Here, on the first +morning of the school, all the company was gathered. "Agassiz had +arranged no programme of exercises," says Mrs. Agassiz, in Louis +Agassiz; his Life and Correspondence, "trusting to the interest of the +occasion to suggest what might best be said or done. But, as he looked +upon his pupils gathered there to study nature with him, by an impulse +as natural as it was unpremeditated, he called upon then to join in +silently asking God's blessing on their work together. The pause was +broken by the first words of an address no less fervent than its +unspoken prelude." This was in the summer of 1873, and Agassiz died the +December following. + + + On the isle of Penikese, + Ringed about by sapphire seas, + Fanned by breezes salt and cool, + Stood the Master with his school. + Over sails that not in vain + Wooed the west-wind's steady strain, + Line of coast that low and far + Stretched its undulating bar, + Wings aslant along the rim + Of the waves they stooped to skim, + Rock and isle and glistening bay, + Fell the beautiful white day. + + Said the Master to the youth + "We have come in search of truth, + Trying with uncertain key + Door by door of mystery; + We are reaching, through His laws, + To the garment-hem of Cause, + Him, the endless, unbegun, + The Unnamable, the One + Light of all our light the Source, + Life of life, and Force of force. + As with fingers of the blind, + We are groping here to find + What the hieroglyphics mean + Of the Unseen in the seen, + What the Thought which underlies + Nature's masking and disguise, + What it is that hides beneath + Blight and bloom and birth and death. + By past efforts unavailing, + Doubt and error, loss and failing, + Of our weakness made aware, + On the threshold of our task + Let us light and guidance ask, + Let us pause in silent prayer!" + + Then the Master in his place + Bowed his head a little space, + And the leaves by soft airs stirred, + Lapse of wave and cry of bird, + Left the solemn hush unbroken + Of that wordless prayer unspoken, + While its wish, on earth unsaid, + Rose to heaven interpreted. + As, in life's best hours, we hear + By the spirit's finer ear + His low voice within us, thus + The All-Father heareth us; + And His holy ear we pain + With our noisy words and vain. + Not for Him our violence + Storming at the gates of sense, + His the primal language, His + The eternal silences! + + Even the careless heart was moved, + And the doubting gave assent, + With a gesture reverent, + To the Master well-beloved. + As thin mists are glorified + By the light they cannot hide, + All who gazed upon him saw, + Through its veil of tender awe, + How his face was still uplit + By the old sweet look of it. + Hopeful, trustful, full of cheer, + And the love that casts out fear. + Who the secret may declare + Of that brief, unuttered prayer? + Did the shade before him come + Of th' inevitable doom, + Of the end of earth so near, + And Eternity's new year? + + In the lap of sheltering seas + Rests the isle of Penikese; + But the lord of the domain + Comes not to his own again + Where the eyes that follow fail, + On a vaster sea his sail + Drifts beyond our beck and hail. + Other lips within its bound + Shall the laws of life expound; + Other eyes from rock and shell + Read the world's old riddles well + But when breezes light and bland + Blow from Summer's blossomed land, + When the air is glad with wings, + And the blithe song-sparrow sings, + Many an eye with his still face + Shall the living ones displace, + Many an ear the word shall seek + He alone could fitly speak. + And one name forevermore + Shall be uttered o'er and o'er + By the waves that kiss the shore, + By the curlew's whistle sent + Down the cool, sea-scented air; + In all voices known to her, + Nature owns her worshipper, + Half in triumph, half lament. + Thither Love shall tearful turn, + Friendship pause uncovered there, + And the wisest reverence learn + From the Master's silent prayer. + + 1873. + + + + +IN QUEST + + Have I not voyaged, friend beloved, with thee + On the great waters of the unsounded sea, + Momently listening with suspended oar + For the low rote of waves upon a shore + Changeless as heaven, where never fog-cloud drifts + Over its windless wood, nor mirage lifts + The steadfast hills; where never birds of doubt + Sing to mislead, and every dream dies out, + And the dark riddles which perplex us here + In the sharp solvent of its light are clear? + Thou knowest how vain our quest; how, soon or late, + The baffling tides and circles of debate + Swept back our bark unto its starting-place, + Where, looking forth upon the blank, gray space, + And round about us seeing, with sad eyes, + The same old difficult hills and cloud-cold skies, + We said: "This outward search availeth not + To find Him. He is farther than we thought, + Or, haply, nearer. To this very spot + Whereon we wait, this commonplace of home, + As to the well of Jacob, He may come + And tell us all things." As I listened there, + Through the expectant silences of prayer, + Somewhat I seemed to hear, which hath to me + Been hope, strength, comfort, and I give it thee. + + "The riddle of the world is understood + Only by him who feels that God is good, + As only he can feel who makes his love + The ladder of his faith, and climbs above + On th' rounds of his best instincts; draws no line + Between mere human goodness and divine, + But, judging God by what in him is best, + With a child's trust leans on a Father's breast, + And hears unmoved the old creeds babble still + Of kingly power and dread caprice of will, + Chary of blessing, prodigal of curse, + The pitiless doomsman of the universe. + Can Hatred ask for love? Can Selfishness + Invite to self-denial? Is He less + Than man in kindly dealing? Can He break + His own great law of fatherhood, forsake + And curse His children? Not for earth and heaven + Can separate tables of the law be given. + No rule can bind which He himself denies; + The truths of time are not eternal lies." + + So heard I; and the chaos round me spread + To light and order grew; and, "Lord," I said, + "Our sins are our tormentors, worst of all + Felt in distrustful shame that dares not call + Upon Thee as our Father. We have set + A strange god up, but Thou remainest yet. + All that I feel of pity Thou hast known + Before I was; my best is all Thy own. + From Thy great heart of goodness mine but drew + Wishes and prayers; but Thou, O Lord, wilt do, + In Thy own time, by ways I cannot see, + All that I feel when I am nearest Thee!" + + 1873. + + + + +THE FRIEND'S BURIAL. + + My thoughts are all in yonder town, + Where, wept by many tears, + To-day my mother's friend lays down + The burden of her years. + + True as in life, no poor disguise + Of death with her is seen, + And on her simple casket lies + No wreath of bloom and green. + + Oh, not for her the florist's art, + The mocking weeds of woe; + Dear memories in each mourner's heart + Like heaven's white lilies blow. + + And all about the softening air + Of new-born sweetness tells, + And the ungathered May-flowers wear + The tints of ocean shells. + + The old, assuring miracle + Is fresh as heretofore; + And earth takes up its parable + Of life from death once more. + + Here organ-swell and church-bell toll + Methinks but discord were; + The prayerful silence of the soul + Is best befitting her. + + No sound should break the quietude + Alike of earth and sky + O wandering wind in Seabrook wood, + Breathe but a half-heard sigh! + + Sing softly, spring-bird, for her sake; + And thou not distant sea, + Lapse lightly as if Jesus spake, + And thou wert Galilee! + + For all her quiet life flowed on + As meadow streamlets flow, + Where fresher green reveals alone + The noiseless ways they go. + + From her loved place of prayer I see + The plain-robed mourners pass, + With slow feet treading reverently + The graveyard's springing grass. + + Make room, O mourning ones, for me, + Where, like the friends of Paul, + That you no more her face shall see + You sorrow most of all. + + Her path shall brighten more and more + Unto the perfect day; + She cannot fail of peace who bore + Such peace with her away. + + O sweet, calm face that seemed to wear + The look of sins forgiven! + O voice of prayer that seemed to bear + Our own needs up to heaven! + + How reverent in our midst she stood, + Or knelt in grateful praise! + What grace of Christian womanhood + Was in her household ways! + + For still her holy living meant + No duty left undone; + The heavenly and the human blent + Their kindred loves in one. + + And if her life small leisure found + For feasting ear and eye, + And Pleasure, on her daily round, + She passed unpausing by, + + Yet with her went a secret sense + Of all things sweet and fair, + And Beauty's gracious providence + Refreshed her unaware. + + She kept her line of rectitude + With love's unconscious ease; + Her kindly instincts understood + All gentle courtesies. + + An inborn charm of graciousness + Made sweet her smile and tone, + And glorified her farm-wife dress + With beauty not its own. + + The dear Lord's best interpreters + Are humble human souls; + The Gospel of a life like hers + Is more than books or scrolls. + + From scheme and creed the light goes out, + The saintly fact survives; + The blessed Master none can doubt + Revealed in holy lives. + 1873. + + + + +A CHRISTMAS CARMEN. + + I. + Sound over all waters, reach out from all lands, + The chorus of voices, the clasping of hands; + Sing hymns that were sung by the stars of the morn, + Sing songs of the angels when Jesus was born! + With glad jubilations + Bring hope to the nations + The dark night is ending and dawn has begun + Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun, + All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one! + + II. + Sing the bridal of nations! with chorals of love + Sing out the war-vulture and sing in the dove, + Till the hearts of the peoples keep time in accord, + And the voice of the world is the voice of the Lord! + Clasp hands of the nations + In strong gratulations: + The dark night is ending and dawn has begun; + Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun, + All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one! + + III. + Blow, bugles of battle, the marches of peace; + East, west, north, and south let the long quarrel cease + Sing the song of great joy that the angels began, + Sing of glory to God and of good-will to man! + Hark! joining in chorus + The heavens bend o'er us' + The dark night is ending and dawn has begun; + Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun, + All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one! + 1873. + + + + +VESTA. + + O Christ of God! whose life and death + Our own have reconciled, + Most quietly, most tenderly + Take home Thy star-named child! + + Thy grace is in her patient eyes, + Thy words are on her tongue; + The very silence round her seems + As if the angels sung. + + Her smile is as a listening child's + Who hears its mother call; + The lilies of Thy perfect peace + About her pillow fall. + + She leans from out our clinging arms + To rest herself in Thine; + Alone to Thee, dear Lord, can we + Our well-beloved resign! + + Oh, less for her than for ourselves + We bow our heads and pray; + Her setting star, like Bethlehem's, + To Thee shall point the way! + 1874. + + + + +CHILD-SONGS. + + Still linger in our noon of time + And on our Saxon tongue + The echoes of the home-born hymns + The Aryan mothers sung. + + And childhood had its litanies + In every age and clime; + The earliest cradles of the race + Were rocked to poet's rhyme. + + Nor sky, nor wave, nor tree, nor flower, + Nor green earth's virgin sod, + So moved the singer's heart of old + As these small ones of God. + + The mystery of unfolding life + Was more than dawning morn, + Than opening flower or crescent moon + The human soul new-born. + + And still to childhood's sweet appeal + The heart of genius turns, + And more than all the sages teach + From lisping voices learns,-- + + The voices loved of him who sang, + Where Tweed and Teviot glide, + That sound to-day on all the winds + That blow from Rydal-side,-- + + Heard in the Teuton's household songs, + And folk-lore of the Finn, + Where'er to holy Christmas hearths + The Christ-child enters in! + + Before life's sweetest mystery still + The heart in reverence kneels; + The wonder of the primal birth + The latest mother feels. + + We need love's tender lessons taught + As only weakness can; + God hath His small interpreters; + The child must teach the man. + + We wander wide through evil years, + Our eyes of faith grow dim; + But he is freshest from His hands + And nearest unto Him! + + And haply, pleading long with Him + For sin-sick hearts and cold, + The angels of our childhood still + The Father's face behold. + + Of such the kingdom!--Teach Thou us, + O-Master most divine, + To feel the deep significance + Of these wise words of Thine! + + The haughty eye shall seek in vain + What innocence beholds; + No cunning finds the key of heaven, + No strength its gate unfolds. + + Alone to guilelessness and love + That gate shall open fall; + The mind of pride is nothingness, + The childlike heart is all! + + 1875. + + + +THE HEALER. + +TO A YOUNG PHYSICIAN, WITH DORE'S PICTURE OF CHRIST HEALING THE SICK. + + So stood of old the holy Christ + Amidst the suffering throng; + With whom His lightest touch sufficed + To make the weakest strong. + + That healing gift He lends to them + Who use it in His name; + The power that filled His garment's hem + Is evermore the same. + + For lo! in human hearts unseen + The Healer dwelleth still, + And they who make His temples clean + The best subserve His will. + + The holiest task by Heaven decreed, + An errand all divine, + The burden of our common need + To render less is thine. + + The paths of pain are thine. Go forth + With patience, trust, and hope; + The sufferings of a sin-sick earth + Shall give thee ample scope. + + Beside the unveiled mysteries + Of life and death go stand, + With guarded lips and reverent eyes + And pure of heart and hand. + + So shalt thou be with power endued + From Him who went about + The Syrian hillsides doing good, + And casting demons out. + + That Good Physician liveth yet + Thy friend and guide to be; + The Healer by Gennesaret + Shall walk the rounds with thee. + + + + +THE TWO ANGELS. + + God called the nearest angels who dwell with Him above: + The tenderest one was Pity, the dearest one was Love. + + "Arise," He said, "my angels! a wail of woe and sin + Steals through the gates of heaven, and saddens all within. + + "My harps take up the mournful strain that from a lost world swells, + The smoke of torment clouds the light and blights the asphodels. + + "Fly downward to that under world, and on its souls of pain + Let Love drop smiles like sunshine, and Pity tears like rain!" + + Two faces bowed before the Throne, veiled in their golden hair; + Four white wings lessened swiftly down the dark abyss of air. + + The way was strange, the flight was long; at last the angels came + Where swung the lost and nether world, red-wrapped in rayless flame. + + There Pity, shuddering, wept; but Love, with faith too strong for fear, + Took heart from God's almightiness and smiled a smile of cheer. + + And lo! that tear of Pity quenched the flame whereon it fell, + And, with the sunshine of that smile, hope entered into hell! + + Two unveiled faces full of joy looked upward to the Throne, + Four white wings folded at the feet of Him who sat thereon! + + And deeper than the sound of seas, more soft than falling flake, + Amidst the hush of wing and song the Voice Eternal spake: + + "Welcome, my angels! ye have brought a holier joy to heaven; + Henceforth its sweetest song shall be the song of sin forgiven!" + + 1875. + + + + +OVERRULED. + + The threads our hands in blindness spin + No self-determined plan weaves in; + The shuttle of the unseen powers + Works out a pattern not as ours. + + Ah! small the choice of him who sings + What sound shall leave the smitten strings; + Fate holds and guides the hand of art; + The singer's is the servant's part. + + The wind-harp chooses not the tone + That through its trembling threads is blown; + The patient organ cannot guess + What hand its passive keys shall press. + + Through wish, resolve, and act, our will + Is moved by undreamed forces still; + And no man measures in advance + His strength with untried circumstance. + + As streams take hue from shade and sun, + As runs the life the song must run; + But, glad or sad, to His good end + God grant the varying notes may tend! + 1877. + + + + +HYMN OF THE DUNKERS + +KLOSTER KEDAR, EPHRATA, PENNSYLVANIA (1738) + +SISTER MARIA CHRISTINA sings + + Wake, sisters, wake! the day-star shines; + Above Ephrata's eastern pines + The dawn is breaking, cool and calm. + Wake, sisters, wake to prayer and psalm! + + Praised be the Lord for shade and light, + For toil by day, for rest by night! + Praised be His name who deigns to bless + Our Kedar of the wilderness! + + Our refuge when the spoiler's hand + Was heavy on our native land; + And freedom, to her children due, + The wolf and vulture only knew. + + We praised Him when to prison led, + We owned Him when the stake blazed red; + We knew, whatever might befall, + His love and power were over all. + + He heard our prayers; with outstretched arm + He led us forth from cruel harm; + Still, wheresoe'er our steps were bent, + His cloud and fire before us went! + + The watch of faith and prayer He set, + We kept it then, we keep it yet. + At midnight, crow of cock, or noon, + He cometh sure, He cometh soon. + + He comes to chasten, not destroy, + To purge the earth from sin's alloy. + At last, at last shall all confess + His mercy as His righteousness. + + The dead shall live, the sick be whole, + The scarlet sin be white as wool; + No discord mar below, above, + The music of eternal love! + + Sound, welcome trump, the last alarm! + Lord God of hosts, make bare thine arm, + Fulfil this day our long desire, + Make sweet and clean the world with fire! + + Sweep, flaming besom, sweep from sight + The lies of time; be swift to smite, + Sharp sword of God, all idols down, + Genevan creed and Roman crown. + + Quake, earth, through all thy zones, till all + The fanes of pride and priesteraft fall; + And lift thou up in place of them + Thy gates of pearl, Jerusalem! + + Lo! rising from baptismal flame, + Transfigured, glorious, yet the same, + Within the heavenly city's bound + Our Kloster Kedar shall be found. + + He cometh soon! at dawn or noon + Or set of sun, He cometh soon. + Our prayers shall meet Him on His way; + Wake, sisters, wake! arise and pray! + + 1877. + + + + +GIVING AND TAKING. + +I have attempted to put in English verse a prose translation of a poem +by Tinnevaluva, a Hindoo poet of the third century of our era. + + + Who gives and hides the giving hand, + Nor counts on favor, fame, or praise, + Shall find his smallest gift outweighs + The burden of the sea and land. + + Who gives to whom hath naught been given, + His gift in need, though small indeed + As is the grass-blade's wind-blown seed, + Is large as earth and rich as heaven. + + Forget it not, O man, to whom + A gift shall fall, while yet on earth; + Yea, even to thy seven-fold birth + Recall it in the lives to come. + + Who broods above a wrong in thought + Sins much; but greater sin is his + Who, fed and clothed with kindnesses, + Shall count the holy alms as nought. + + Who dares to curse the hands that bless + Shall know of sin the deadliest cost; + The patience of the heavens is lost + Beholding man's unthankfulness. + + For he who breaks all laws may still + In Sivam's mercy be forgiven; + But none can save, in earth or heaven, + The wretch who answers good with ill. + + 1877. + + + + +THE VISION OF ECHARD. + + The Benedictine Echard + Sat by the wayside well, + Where Marsberg sees the bridal + Of the Sarre and the Moselle. + + Fair with its sloping vineyards + And tawny chestnut bloom, + The happy vale Ausonius sunk + For holy Treves made room. + + On the shrine Helena builded + To keep the Christ coat well, + On minster tower and kloster cross, + The westering sunshine fell. + + There, where the rock-hewn circles + O'erlooked the Roman's game, + The veil of sleep fell on him, + And his thought a dream became. + + He felt the heart of silence + Throb with a soundless word, + And by the inward ear alone + A spirit's voice he heard. + + And the spoken word seemed written + On air and wave and sod, + And the bending walls of sapphire + Blazed with the thought of God. + + "What lack I, O my children? + All things are in my band; + The vast earth and the awful stars + I hold as grains of sand. + + "Need I your alms? The silver + And gold are mine alone; + The gifts ye bring before me + Were evermore my own. + + "Heed I the noise of viols, + Your pomp of masque and show? + Have I not dawns and sunsets + Have I not winds that blow? + + "Do I smell your gums of incense? + Is my ear with chantings fed? + Taste I your wine of worship, + Or eat your holy bread? + + "Of rank and name and honors + Am I vain as ye are vain? + What can Eternal Fulness + From your lip-service gain? + + "Ye make me not your debtor + Who serve yourselves alone; + Ye boast to me of homage + Whose gain is all your own. + + "For you I gave the prophets, + For you the Psalmist's lay + For you the law's stone tables, + And holy book and day. + + "Ye change to weary burdens + The helps that should uplift; + Ye lose in form the spirit, + The Giver in the gift. + + "Who called ye to self-torment, + To fast and penance vain? + Dream ye Eternal Goodness + Has joy in mortal pain? + + "For the death in life of Nitria, + For your Chartreuse ever dumb, + What better is the neighbor, + Or happier the home? + + "Who counts his brother's welfare + As sacred as his own, + And loves, forgives, and pities, + He serveth me alone. + + "I note each gracious purpose, + Each kindly word and deed; + Are ye not all my children? + Shall not the Father heed? + + "No prayer for light and guidance + Is lost upon mine ear + The child's cry in the darkness + Shall not the Father hear? + + "I loathe your wrangling councils, + I tread upon your creeds; + Who made ye mine avengers, + Or told ye of my needs; + + "I bless men and ye curse them, + I love them and ye hate; + Ye bite and tear each other, + I suffer long and wait. + + "Ye bow to ghastly symbols, + To cross and scourge and thorn; + Ye seek his Syrian manger + Who in the heart is born. + + "For the dead Christ, not the living, + Ye watch His empty grave, + Whose life alone within you + Has power to bless and save. + + "O blind ones, outward groping, + The idle quest forego; + Who listens to His inward voice + Alone of Him shall know. + + "His love all love exceeding + The heart must needs recall, + Its self-surrendering freedom, + Its loss that gaineth all. + + "Climb not the holy mountains, + Their eagles know not me; + Seek not the Blessed Islands, + I dwell not in the sea. + + "Gone is the mount of Meru, + The triple gods are gone, + And, deaf to all the lama's prayers, + The Buddha slumbers on. + + "No more from rocky Horeb + The smitten waters gush; + Fallen is Bethel's ladder, + Quenched is the burning bush. + + "The jewels of the Urim + And Thurnmim all are dim; + The fire has left the altar, + The sign the teraphim. + + "No more in ark or hill grove + The Holiest abides; + Not in the scroll's dead letter + The eternal secret hides. + + "The eye shall fail that searches + For me the hollow sky; + The far is even as the near, + The low is as the high. + + "What if the earth is hiding + Her old faiths, long outworn? + What is it to the changeless truth + That yours shall fail in turn? + + "What if the o'erturned altar + Lays bare the ancient lie? + What if the dreams and legends + Of the world's childhood die? + + "Have ye not still my witness + Within yourselves alway, + My hand that on the keys of life + For bliss or bale I lay? + + "Still, in perpetual judgment, + I hold assize within, + With sure reward of holiness, + And dread rebuke of sin. + + "A light, a guide, a warning, + A presence ever near, + Through the deep silence of the flesh + I reach the inward ear. + + "My Gerizim and Ebal + Are in each human soul, + The still, small voice of blessing, + And Sinai's thunder-roll. + + "The stern behest of duty, + The doom-book open thrown, + The heaven ye seek, the hell ye fear, + Are with yourselves alone." + + . . . . . + + A gold and purple sunset + Flowed down the broad Moselle; + On hills of vine and meadow lands + The peace of twilight fell. + + A slow, cool wind of evening + Blew over leaf and bloom; + And, faint and far, the Angelus + Rang from Saint Matthew's tomb. + + Then up rose Master Echard, + And marvelled: "Can it be + That here, in dream and vision, + The Lord hath talked with me?" + + He went his way; behind him + The shrines of saintly dead, + The holy coat and nail of cross, + He left unvisited. + + He sought the vale of Eltzbach + His burdened soul to free, + Where the foot-hills of the Eifel + Are glassed in Laachersee. + + And, in his Order's kloster, + He sat, in night-long parle, + With Tauler of the Friends of God, + And Nicolas of Basle. + + And lo! the twain made answer + "Yea, brother, even thus + The Voice above all voices + Hath spoken unto us. + + "The world will have its idols, + And flesh and sense their sign + But the blinded eyes shall open, + And the gross ear be fine. + + "What if the vision tarry? + God's time is always best; + The true Light shall be witnessed, + The Christ within confessed. + + "In mercy or in judgment + He shall turn and overturn, + Till the heart shall be His temple + Where all of Him shall learn." + + + + +INSCRIPTIONS. + +ON A SUN-DIAL. + +FOR DR. HENRY I. BOWDITCH. + + With warning hand I mark Time's rapid flight + From life's glad morning to its solemn night; + Yet, through the dear God's love, I also show + There's Light above me by the Shade below. + + 1879. + + + + +ON A FOUNTAIN. + +FOR DOROTHEA L. DIX. + + Stranger and traveller, + Drink freely and bestow + A kindly thought on her + Who bade this fountain flow, + Yet hath no other claim + Than as the minister + Of blessing in God's name. + Drink, and in His peace go + + 1879 + + + + +THE MINISTER'S DAUGHTER. + + In the minister's morning sermon + He had told of the primal fall, + And how thenceforth the wrath of God + Rested on each and all. + + And how of His will and pleasure, + All souls, save a chosen few, + Were doomed to the quenchless burning, + And held in the way thereto. + + Yet never by faith's unreason + A saintlier soul was tried, + And never the harsh old lesson + A tenderer heart belied. + + And, after the painful service + On that pleasant Sabbath day, + He walked with his little daughter + Through the apple-bloom of May. + + Sweet in the fresh green meadows + Sparrow and blackbird sung; + Above him their tinted petals + The blossoming orchards hung. + + Around on the wonderful glory + The minister looked and smiled; + "How good is the Lord who gives us + These gifts from His hand, my child. + + "Behold in the bloom of apples + And the violets in the sward + A hint of the old, lost beauty + Of the Garden of the Lord!" + + Then up spake the little maiden, + Treading on snow and pink + "O father! these pretty blossoms + Are very wicked, I think. + + "Had there been no Garden of Eden + There never had been a fall; + And if never a tree had blossomed + God would have loved us all." + + "Hush, child!" the father answered, + "By His decree man fell; + His ways are in clouds and darkness, + But He doeth all things well. + + "And whether by His ordaining + To us cometh good or ill, + Joy or pain, or light or shadow, + We must fear and love Him still." + + "Oh, I fear Him!" said the daughter, + "And I try to love Him, too; + But I wish He was good and gentle, + Kind and loving as you." + + The minister groaned in spirit + As the tremulous lips of pain + And wide, wet eyes uplifted + Questioned his own in vain. + + Bowing his head he pondered + The words of the little one; + Had he erred in his life-long teaching? + Had he wrong to his Master done? + + To what grim and dreadful idol + Had he lent the holiest name? + Did his own heart, loving and human, + The God of his worship shame? + + And lo! from the bloom and greenness, + From the tender skies above, + And the face of his little daughter, + He read a lesson of love. + + No more as the cloudy terror + Of Sinai's mount of law, + But as Christ in the Syrian lilies + The vision of God he saw. + + And, as when, in the clefts of Horeb, + Of old was His presence known, + The dread Ineffable Glory + Was Infinite Goodness alone. + + Thereafter his hearers noted + In his prayers a tenderer strain, + And never the gospel of hatred + Burned on his lips again. + + And the scoffing tongue was prayerful, + And the blinded eyes found sight, + And hearts, as flint aforetime, + Grew soft in his warmth and light. + + 1880. + + + + +BY THEIR WORKS. + + Call him not heretic whose works attest + His faith in goodness by no creed confessed. + Whatever in love's name is truly done + To free the bound and lift the fallen one + Is done to Christ. Whoso in deed and word + Is not against Him labors for our Lord. + When He, who, sad and weary, longing sore + For love's sweet service, sought the sisters' door, + One saw the heavenly, one the human guest, + But who shall say which loved the Master best? + + 1881. + + + + +THE WORD. + + Voice of the Holy Spirit, making known + Man to himself, a witness swift and sure, + Warning, approving, true and wise and pure, + Counsel and guidance that misleadeth none! + By thee the mystery of life is read; + The picture-writing of the world's gray seers, + The myths and parables of the primal years, + Whose letter kills, by thee interpreted + Take healthful meanings fitted to our needs, + And in the soul's vernacular express + The common law of simple righteousness. + Hatred of cant and doubt of human creeds + May well be felt: the unpardonable sin + Is to deny the Word of God within! + + 1881. + + + + +THE BOOK. + + Gallery of sacred pictures manifold, + A minster rich in holy effigies, + And bearing on entablature and frieze + The hieroglyphic oracles of old. + Along its transept aureoled martyrs sit; + And the low chancel side-lights half acquaint + The eye with shrines of prophet, bard, and saint, + Their age-dimmed tablets traced in doubtful writ! + But only when on form and word obscure + Falls from above the white supernal light + We read the mystic characters aright, + And life informs the silent portraiture, + Until we pause at last, awe-held, before + The One ineffable Face, love, wonder, and adore. + + 1881 + + + + +REQUIREMENT. + + We live by Faith; but Faith is not the slave + Of text and legend. Reason's voice and God's, + Nature's and Duty's, never are at odds. + What asks our Father of His children, save + Justice and mercy and humility, + A reasonable service of good deeds, + Pure living, tenderness to human needs, + Reverence and trust, and prayer for light to see + The Master's footprints in our daily ways? + No knotted scourge nor sacrificial knife, + But the calm beauty of an ordered life + Whose very breathing is unworded praise!-- + A life that stands as all true lives have stood, + Firm-rooted in the faith that God is Good. + + 1881. + + + + +HELP. + + Dream not, O Soul, that easy is the task + Thus set before thee. If it proves at length, + As well it may, beyond thy natural strength, + Faint not, despair not. As a child may ask + A father, pray the Everlasting Good + For light and guidance midst the subtle snares + Of sin thick planted in life's thoroughfares, + For spiritual strength and moral hardihood; + Still listening, through the noise of time and sense, + To the still whisper of the Inward Word; + Bitter in blame, sweet in approval heard, + Itself its own confirming evidence + To health of soul a voice to cheer and please, + To guilt the wrath of the Eumenides. + + 1881. + + + + +UTTERANCE. + + But what avail inadequate words to reach + The innermost of Truth? Who shall essay, + Blinded and weak, to point and lead the way, + Or solve the mystery in familiar speech? + Yet, if it be that something not thy own, + Some shadow of the Thought to which our schemes, + Creeds, cult, and ritual are at best but dreams, + Is even to thy unworthiness made known, + Thou mayst not hide what yet thou shouldst not dare + To utter lightly, lest on lips of thine + The real seem false, the beauty undivine. + So, weighing duty in the scale of prayer, + Give what seems given thee. It may prove a seed + Of goodness dropped in fallow-grounds of need. + + 1881. + + + + + +ORIENTAL MAXIMS. + +PARAPHRASE OF SANSCRIT TRANSLATIONS. + + + + +THE INWARD JUDGE. + +From Institutes of Manu. + + The soul itself its awful witness is. + Say not in evil doing, "No one sees," + And so offend the conscious One within, + Whose ear can hear the silences of sin. + + Ere they find voice, whose eyes unsleeping see + The secret motions of iniquity. + Nor in thy folly say, "I am alone." + For, seated in thy heart, as on a throne, + The ancient Judge and Witness liveth still, + To note thy act and thought; and as thy ill + Or good goes from thee, far beyond thy reach, + The solemn Doomsman's seal is set on each. + + 1878. + + + + +LAYING UP TREASURE + +From the Mahabharata. + + Before the Ender comes, whose charioteer + Is swift or slow Disease, lay up each year + Thy harvests of well-doing, wealth that kings + Nor thieves can take away. When all the things + Thou tallest thine, goods, pleasures, honors fall, + Thou in thy virtue shalt survive them all. + + 1881. + + + + +CONDUCT + +From the Mahabharata. + + Heed how thou livest. Do no act by day + Which from the night shall drive thy peace away. + In months of sun so live that months of rain + Shall still be happy. Evermore restrain + Evil and cherish good, so shall there be + Another and a happier life for thee. + + 1881. + + + + +AN EASTER FLOWER GIFT. + + O dearest bloom the seasons know, + Flowers of the Resurrection blow, + Our hope and faith restore; + And through the bitterness of death + And loss and sorrow, breathe a breath + Of life forevermore! + + The thought of Love Immortal blends + With fond remembrances of friends; + In you, O sacred flowers, + By human love made doubly sweet, + The heavenly and the earthly meet, + The heart of Christ and ours! + + 1882. + + + + +THE MYSTIC'S CHRISTMAS. + + "All hail!" the bells of Christmas rang, + "All hail!" the monks at Christmas sang, + The merry monks who kept with cheer + The gladdest day of all their year. + + But still apart, unmoved thereat, + A pious elder brother sat + Silent, in his accustomed place, + With God's sweet peace upon his face. + + "Why sitt'st thou thus?" his brethren cried. + "It is the blessed Christmas-tide; + The Christmas lights are all aglow, + The sacred lilies bud and blow. + + "Above our heads the joy-bells ring, + Without the happy children sing, + And all God's creatures hail the morn + On which the holy Christ was born! + + "Rejoice with us; no more rebuke + Our gladness with thy quiet look." + The gray monk answered: "Keep, I pray, + Even as ye list, the Lord's birthday. + + "Let heathen Yule fires flicker red + Where thronged refectory feasts are spread; + With mystery-play and masque and mime + And wait-songs speed the holy time! + + "The blindest faith may haply save; + The Lord accepts the things we have; + And reverence, howsoe'er it strays, + May find at last the shining ways. + + "They needs must grope who cannot see, + The blade before the ear must be; + As ye are feeling I have felt, + And where ye dwell I too have dwelt. + + "But now, beyond the things of sense, + Beyond occasions and events, + I know, through God's exceeding grace, + Release from form and time and place. + + "I listen, from no mortal tongue, + To hear the song the angels sung; + And wait within myself to know + The Christmas lilies bud and blow. + + "The outward symbols disappear + From him whose inward sight is clear; + And small must be the choice of clays + To him who fills them all with praise! + + "Keep while you need it, brothers mine, + With honest zeal your Christmas sign, + But judge not him who every morn + Feels in his heart the Lord Christ born!" + + 1882. + + + + +AT LAST. + + When on my day of life the night is falling, + And, in the winds from unsunned spaces blown, + I hear far voices out of darkness calling + My feet to paths unknown, + + Thou who hast made my home of life so pleasant, + Leave not its tenant when its walls decay; + O Love Divine, O Helper ever present, + Be Thou my strength and stay! + + Be near me when all else is from me drifting + Earth, sky, home's pictures, days of shade and shine, + And kindly faces to my own uplifting + The love which answers mine. + + I have but Thee, my Father! let Thy spirit + Be with me then to comfort and uphold; + No gate of pearl, no branch of palm I merit, + Nor street of shining gold. + + Suffice it if--my good and ill unreckoned, + And both forgiven through Thy abounding grace-- + I find myself by hands familiar beckoned + Unto my fitting place. + + Some humble door among Thy many mansions, + Some sheltering shade where sin and striving cease, + And flows forever through heaven's green expansions + The river of Thy peace. + + There, from the music round about me stealing, + I fain would learn the new and holy song, + And find at last, beneath Thy trees of healing, + The life for which I long. + + 1882 + + + + +WHAT THE TRAVELLER SAID AT SUNSET. + + The shadows grow and deepen round me, + I feel the deffall in the air; + The muezzin of the darkening thicket, + I hear the night-thrush call to prayer. + + The evening wind is sad with farewells, + And loving hands unclasp from mine; + Alone I go to meet the darkness + Across an awful boundary-line. + + As from the lighted hearths behind me + I pass with slow, reluctant feet, + What waits me in the land of strangeness? + What face shall smile, what voice shall greet? + + What space shall awe, what brightness blind me? + What thunder-roll of music stun? + What vast processions sweep before me + Of shapes unknown beneath the sun? + + I shrink from unaccustomed glory, + I dread the myriad-voiced strain; + Give me the unforgotten faces, + And let my lost ones speak again. + + He will not chide my mortal yearning + Who is our Brother and our Friend; + In whose full life, divine and human, + The heavenly and the earthly blend. + + Mine be the joy of soul-communion, + The sense of spiritual strength renewed, + The reverence for the pure and holy, + The dear delight of doing good. + + No fitting ear is mine to listen + An endless anthem's rise and fall; + No curious eye is mine to measure + The pearl gate and the jasper wall. + + For love must needs be more than knowledge: + What matter if I never know + Why Aldebaran's star is ruddy, + Or warmer Sirius white as snow! + + Forgive my human words, O Father! + I go Thy larger truth to prove; + Thy mercy shall transcend my longing + I seek but love, and Thou art Love! + + I go to find my lost and mourned for + Safe in Thy sheltering goodness still, + And all that hope and faith foreshadow + Made perfect in Thy holy will! + + 1883. + + + + +THE "STORY OF IDA." + +Francesca Alexander, whose pen and pencil have so reverently transcribed +the simple faith and life of the Italian peasantry, wrote the narrative +published with John Ruskin's introduction under the title, _The Story of +Ida_. + + + Weary of jangling noises never stilled, + The skeptic's sneer, the bigot's hate, the din + Of clashing texts, the webs of creed men spin + Round simple truth, the children grown who build + With gilded cards their new Jerusalem, + Busy, with sacerdotal tailorings + And tinsel gauds, bedizening holy things, + I turn, with glad and grateful heart, from them + To the sweet story of the Florentine + Immortal in her blameless maidenhood, + Beautiful as God's angels and as good; + Feeling that life, even now, may be divine + With love no wrong can ever change to hate, + No sin make less than all-compassionate! + + 1884. + + + + +THE LIGHT THAT IS FELT. + + A tender child of summers three, + Seeking her little bed at night, + Paused on the dark stair timidly. + "Oh, mother! Take my hand," said she, + "And then the dark will all be light." + + We older children grope our way + From dark behind to dark before; + And only when our hands we lay, + Dear Lord, in Thine, the night is day, + And there is darkness nevermore. + + Reach downward to the sunless days + Wherein our guides are blind as we, + And faith is small and hope delays; + Take Thou the hands of prayer we raise, + And let us feel the light of Thee! + + 1884. + + + + +THE TWO LOVES + + Smoothing soft the nestling head + Of a maiden fancy-led, + Thus a grave-eyed woman said: + + "Richest gifts are those we make, + Dearer than the love we take + That we give for love's own sake. + + "Well I know the heart's unrest; + Mine has been the common quest, + To be loved and therefore blest. + + "Favors undeserved were mine; + At my feet as on a shrine + Love has laid its gifts divine. + + "Sweet the offerings seemed, and yet + With their sweetness came regret, + And a sense of unpaid debt. + + "Heart of mine unsatisfied, + Was it vanity or pride + That a deeper joy denied? + + "Hands that ope but to receive + Empty close; they only live + Richly who can richly give. + + "Still," she sighed, with moistening eyes, + "Love is sweet in any guise; + But its best is sacrifice! + + "He who, giving, does not crave + Likest is to Him who gave + Life itself the loved to save. + + "Love, that self-forgetful gives, + Sows surprise of ripened sheaves, + Late or soon its own receives." + + 1884. + + + + +ADJUSTMENT. + + The tree of Faith its bare, dry boughs must shed + That nearer heaven the living ones may climb; + The false must fail, though from our shores of time + The old lament be heard, "Great Pan is dead!" + That wail is Error's, from his high place hurled; + This sharp recoil is Evil undertrod; + Our time's unrest, an angel sent of God + Troubling with life the waters of the world. + Even as they list the winds of the Spirit blow + To turn or break our century-rusted vanes; + Sands shift and waste; the rock alone remains + Where, led of Heaven, the strong tides come and go, + And storm-clouds, rent by thunderbolt and wind, + Leave, free of mist, the permanent stars behind. + + Therefore I trust, although to outward sense + Both true and false seem shaken; I will hold + With newer light my reverence for the old, + And calmly wait the births of Providence. + No gain is lost; the clear-eyed saints look down + Untroubled on the wreck of schemes and creeds; + Love yet remains, its rosary of good deeds + Counting in task-field and o'erpeopled town; + Truth has charmed life; the Inward Word survives, + And, day by day, its revelation brings; + Faith, hope, and charity, whatsoever things + Which cannot be shaken, stand. Still holy lives + Reveal the Christ of whom the letter told, + And the new gospel verifies the old. + + 1885. + + + + +HYMNS OF THE BRAHMO SOMAJ. + +I have attempted this paraphrase of the Hymns of the Brahmo Somaj of +India, as I find them in Mozoomdar's account of the devotional exercises +of that remarkable religious development which has attracted far less +attention and sympathy from the Christian world than it deserves, as a +fresh revelation of the direct action of the Divine Spirit upon the +human heart. + + + I. + The mercy, O Eternal One! + By man unmeasured yet, + In joy or grief, in shade or sun, + I never will forget. + I give the whole, and not a part, + Of all Thou gayest me; + My goods, my life, my soul and heart, + I yield them all to Thee! + + II. + We fast and plead, we weep and pray, + From morning until even; + We feel to find the holy way, + We knock at the gate of heaven + And when in silent awe we wait, + And word and sign forbear, + The hinges of the golden gate + Move, soundless, to our prayer! + Who hears the eternal harmonies + Can heed no outward word; + Blind to all else is he who sees + The vision of the Lord! + + III. + O soul, be patient, restrain thy tears, + Have hope, and not despair; + As a tender mother heareth her child + God hears the penitent prayer. + And not forever shall grief be thine; + On the Heavenly Mother's breast, + Washed clean and white in the waters of joy + Shall His seeking child find rest. + Console thyself with His word of grace, + And cease thy wail of woe, + For His mercy never an equal hath, + And His love no bounds can know. + Lean close unto Him in faith and hope; + How many like thee have found + In Him a shelter and home of peace, + By His mercy compassed round! + There, safe from sin and the sorrow it brings, + They sing their grateful psalms, + And rest, at noon, by the wells of God, + In the shade of His holy palms! + + 1885. + + + + +REVELATION. + +"And I went into the Vale of Beavor, and as I went I preached repentance +to the people. And one morning, sitting by the fire, a great cloud came +over me, and a temptation beset me. And it was said: All things come by +Nature; and the Elements and the Stars came over me. And as I sat still +and let it alone, a living hope arose in me, and a true Voice which +said: There is a living God who made all things. And immediately the +cloud and the temptation vanished, and Life rose over all, and my heart +was glad and I praised the Living God."--Journal of George Fox, 1690. + + + Still, as of old, in Beavor's Vale, + O man of God! our hope and faith + The Elements and Stars assail, + And the awed spirit holds its breath, + Blown over by a wind of death. + + Takes Nature thought for such as we, + What place her human atom fills, + The weed-drift of her careless sea, + The mist on her unheeding hills? + What reeks she of our helpless wills? + + Strange god of Force, with fear, not love, + Its trembling worshipper! Can prayer + Reach the shut ear of Fate, or move + Unpitying Energy to spare? + What doth the cosmic Vastness care? + + In vain to this dread Unconcern + For the All-Father's love we look; + In vain, in quest of it, we turn + The storied leaves of Nature's book, + The prints her rocky tablets took. + + I pray for faith, I long to trust; + I listen with my heart, and hear + A Voice without a sound: "Be just, + Be true, be merciful, revere + The Word within thee: God is near! + + "A light to sky and earth unknown + Pales all their lights: a mightier force + Than theirs the powers of Nature own, + And, to its goal as at its source, + His Spirit moves the Universe. + + "Believe and trust. Through stars and suns, + Through life and death, through soul and sense, + His wise, paternal purpose runs; + The darkness of His providence + Is star-lit with benign intents." + + O joy supreme! I know the Voice, + Like none beside on earth or sea; + Yea, more, O soul of mine, rejoice, + By all that He requires of me, + I know what God himself must be. + + No picture to my aid I call, + I shape no image in my prayer; + I only know in Him is all + Of life, light, beauty, everywhere, + Eternal Goodness here and there! + + I know He is, and what He is, + Whose one great purpose is the good + Of all. I rest my soul on His + Immortal Love and Fatherhood; + And trust Him, as His children should. + + I fear no more. The clouded face + Of Nature smiles; through all her things + Of time and space and sense I trace + The moving of the Spirit's wings, + And hear the song of hope she sings. + + 1886 + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF WHITTIER *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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(of VII}, by John Greenleaf Whittier</title> + +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify;} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Works of Whittier, Volume II (of VII), by John Greenleaf Whittier</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Works of Whittier, Volume II (of VII)<br /> + Poems Of Nature plus Poems Subjective And Reminiscent and Religious Poems</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: John Greenleaf Whittier</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: October 2, 2003 [eBook #9574]<br /> +[Most recently updated: September 26, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF WHITTIER ***</div> + + <h1> + THE WORKS OF JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER, Volume II. (of VII) + </h1> + <h2> + POEMS OF NATURE plus POEMS SUBJECTIVE AND REMINISCENT and RELIGIOUS POEMS + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By John Greenleaf Whittier + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>POEMS OF NATURE</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE FROST SPIRIT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> HAMPTON BEACH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> A DREAM OF SUMMER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE LAKESIDE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> AUTUMN THOUGHTS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> ON RECEIVING AN EAGLE'S QUILL FROM LAKE + SUPERIOR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> APRIL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> PICTURES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> SUMMER BY THE LAKESIDE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE FRUIT-GIFT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> FLOWERS IN WINTER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> THE MAYFLOWERS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> THE FIRST FLOWERS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> THE OLD BURYING-GROUND. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> THE PALM-TREE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> THE RIVER PATH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> THE VANISHERS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> THE PAGEANT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> THE PRESSED GENTIAN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> A MYSTERY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> A SEA DREAM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> HAZEL BLOSSOMS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> SUNSET ON THE BEARCAMP. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> THE SEEKING OF THE WATERFALL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> THE TRAILING ARBUTUS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> ST. MARTIN'S SUMMER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> STORM ON LAKE ASQUAM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> SWEET FERN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> THE WOOD GIANT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> A DAY. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> <b>POEMS SUBJECTIVE AND REMINISCENT MEMORIES</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> RAPHAEL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> EGO. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> THE PUMPKIN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> FORGIVENESS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> TO MY SISTER, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> MY THANKS, </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> REMEMBRANCE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> MY NAMESAKE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> A MEMORY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> MY DREAM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> THE BAREFOOT BOY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> MY PSALM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> THE WAITING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> SNOW-BOUND. A WINTER IDYL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> MY TRIUMPH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> IN SCHOOL-DAYS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0051"> MY BIRTHDAY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0052"> RED RIDING-HOOD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0053"> RESPONSE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0054"> AT EVENTIDE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0055"> VOYAGE OF THE JETTIE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0056"> MY TRUST. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0057"> A NAME </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0058"> GREETING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0059"> AN AUTOGRAPH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0060"> ABRAM MORRISON. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0061"> A LEGACY </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0062"> <b>RELIGIOUS POEMS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0063"> THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0064"> THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0065"> THE CALL OF THE CHRISTIAN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0066"> THE CRUCIFIXION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0067"> PALESTINE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0068"> HYMNS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0069"> FROM THE FRENCH OF LAMARTINE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0070"> THE FAMILIST'S HYMN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0071"> EZEKIEL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0072"> WHAT THE VOICE SAID </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0073"> THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0074"> THE WIFE OF MANOAH TO HER HUSBAND. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0075"> MY SOUL AND I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0076"> WORSHIP. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0077"> THE HOLY LAND </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0078"> THE REWARD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0079"> THE WISH OF TO-DAY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0080"> ALL'S WELL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0081"> INVOCATION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0082"> QUESTIONS OF LIFE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0083"> FIRST-DAY THOUGHTS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0084"> TRUST. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0085"> TRINITAS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0086"> THE SISTERS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0087"> "THE ROCK" IN EL GHOR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0088"> THE OVER-HEART. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0089"> THE SHADOW AND THE LIGHT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0090"> THE CRY OF A LOST SOUL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0091"> ANDREW RYKMAN'S PRAYER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0092"> THE ANSWER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0093"> THE ETERNAL GOODNESS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0094"> THE COMMON QUESTION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0095"> OUR MASTER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0096"> THE MEETING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0097"> THE CLEAR VISION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0098"> DIVINE COMPASSION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0099"> THE PRAYER-SEEKER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0100"> THE BREWING OF SOMA. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0101"> A WOMAN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0102"> THE PRAYER OF AGASSIZ. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0103"> IN QUEST </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0104"> THE FRIEND'S BURIAL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0105"> A CHRISTMAS CARMEN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0106"> VESTA. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0107"> CHILD-SONGS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0108"> THE TWO ANGELS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0109"> OVERRULED. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0110"> HYMN OF THE DUNKERS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0111"> GIVING AND TAKING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0112"> THE VISION OF ECHARD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0113"> INSCRIPTIONS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0114"> ON A FOUNTAIN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0115"> THE MINISTER'S DAUGHTER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0116"> BY THEIR WORKS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0117"> THE WORD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0118"> THE BOOK. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0119"> REQUIREMENT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0120"> HELP. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0121"> UTTERANCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0122"> ORIENTAL MAXIMS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0123"> THE INWARD JUDGE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0124"> LAYING UP TREASURE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0125"> CONDUCT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0126"> AN EASTER FLOWER GIFT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0127"> THE MYSTIC'S CHRISTMAS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0128"> AT LAST. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0129"> WHAT THE TRAVELLER SAID AT SUNSET. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0130"> THE "STORY OF IDA." </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0131"> THE LIGHT THAT IS FELT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0132"> THE TWO LOVES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0133"> ADJUSTMENT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0134"> HYMNS OF THE BRAHMO SOMAJ. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0135"> REVELATION. </a> + </p> + + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + POEMS OF NATURE + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FROST SPIRIT + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes + You may trace his footsteps now + On the naked woods and the blasted fields and the + brown hill's withered brow. + He has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees + where their pleasant green came forth, + And the winds, which follow wherever he goes, + have shaken them down to earth. + + He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes! + from the frozen Labrador, + From the icy bridge of the Northern seas, which + the white bear wanders o'er, + Where the fisherman's sail is stiff with ice, and the + luckless forms below + In the sunless cold of the lingering night into + marble statues grow + + He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes + on the rushing Northern blast, + And the dark Norwegian pines have bowed as his + fearful breath went past. + With an unscorched wing he has hurried on, + where the fires of Hecla glow + On the darkly beautiful sky above and the ancient + ice below. + + He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes + and the quiet lake shall feel + The torpid touch of his glazing breath, and ring to + the skater's heel; + And the streams which danced on the broken + rocks, or sang to the leaning grass, + Shall bow again to their winter chain, and in + mournful silence pass. + He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes! + Let us meet him as we may, + And turn with the light of the parlor-fire his evil + power away; + And gather closer the circle round, when that + fire-light dances high, + And laugh at the shriek of the baffled Fiend as + his sounding wing goes by! + + 1830. +</pre> + <p> + THE MERRIMAC. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "The Indians speak of a beautiful river, far to the south, + which they call Merrimac."—SIEUR. DE MONTS, 1604. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Stream of my fathers! sweetly still + The sunset rays thy valley fill; + Poured slantwise down the long defile, + Wave, wood, and spire beneath them smile. + I see the winding Powow fold + The green hill in its belt of gold, + And following down its wavy line, + Its sparkling waters blend with thine. + There's not a tree upon thy side, + Nor rock, which thy returning tide + As yet hath left abrupt and stark + Above thy evening water-mark; + No calm cove with its rocky hem, + No isle whose emerald swells begin + Thy broad, smooth current; not a sail + Bowed to the freshening ocean gale; + No small boat with its busy oars, + Nor gray wall sloping to thy shores; + Nor farm-house with its maple shade, + Or rigid poplar colonnade, + But lies distinct and full in sight, + Beneath this gush of sunset light. + Centuries ago, that harbor-bar, + Stretching its length of foam afar, + And Salisbury's beach of shining sand, + And yonder island's wave-smoothed strand, + Saw the adventurer's tiny sail, + Flit, stooping from the eastern gale; + And o'er these woods and waters broke + The cheer from Britain's hearts of oak, + As brightly on the voyager's eye, + Weary of forest, sea, and sky, + Breaking the dull continuous wood, + The Merrimac rolled down his flood; + Mingling that clear pellucid brook, + Which channels vast Agioochook + When spring-time's sun and shower unlock + The frozen fountains of the rock, + And more abundant waters given + From that pure lake, "The Smile of Heaven," + Tributes from vale and mountain-side,— + With ocean's dark, eternal tide! + + On yonder rocky cape, which braves + The stormy challenge of the waves, + Midst tangled vine and dwarfish wood, + The hardy Anglo-Saxon stood, + Planting upon the topmost crag + The staff of England's battle-flag; + And, while from out its heavy fold + Saint George's crimson cross unrolled, + Midst roll of drum and trumpet blare, + And weapons brandishing in air, + He gave to that lone promontory + The sweetest name in all his story; + Of her, the flower of Islam's daughters, + Whose harems look on Stamboul's waters,— + Who, when the chance of war had bound + The Moslem chain his limbs around, + Wreathed o'er with silk that iron chain, + Soothed with her smiles his hours of pain, + And fondly to her youthful slave + A dearer gift than freedom gave. + + But look! the yellow light no more + Streams down on wave and verdant shore; + And clearly on the calm air swells + The twilight voice of distant bells. + From Ocean's bosom, white and thin, + The mists come slowly rolling in; + Hills, woods, the river's rocky rim, + Amidst the sea—like vapor swim, + While yonder lonely coast-light, set + Within its wave-washed minaret, + Half quenched, a beamless star and pale, + Shines dimly through its cloudy veil! + + Home of my fathers!—I have stood + Where Hudson rolled his lordly flood + Seen sunrise rest and sunset fade + Along his frowning Palisade; + Looked down the Appalachian peak + On Juniata's silver streak; + Have seen along his valley gleam + The Mohawk's softly winding stream; + The level light of sunset shine + Through broad Potomac's hem of pine; + And autumn's rainbow-tinted banner + Hang lightly o'er the Susquehanna; + Yet wheresoe'er his step might be, + Thy wandering child looked back to thee! + Heard in his dreams thy river's sound + Of murmuring on its pebbly bound, + The unforgotten swell and roar + Of waves on thy familiar shore; + And saw, amidst the curtained gloom + And quiet of his lonely room, + Thy sunset scenes before him pass; + As, in Agrippa's magic glass, + The loved and lost arose to view, + Remembered groves in greenness grew, + Bathed still in childhood's morning dew, + Along whose bowers of beauty swept + Whatever Memory's mourners wept, + Sweet faces, which the charnel kept, + Young, gentle eyes, which long had slept; + And while the gazer leaned to trace, + More near, some dear familiar face, + He wept to find the vision flown,— + A phantom and a dream alone! + + 1841. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HAMPTON BEACH + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The sunlight glitters keen and bright, + Where, miles away, + Lies stretching to my dazzled sight + A luminous belt, a misty light, + Beyond the dark pine bluffs and wastes of sandy gray. + + The tremulous shadow of the Sea! + Against its ground + Of silvery light, rock, hill, and tree, + Still as a picture, clear and free, + With varying outline mark the coast for miles around. + + On—on—we tread with loose-flung rein + Our seaward way, + Through dark-green fields and blossoming grain, + Where the wild brier-rose skirts the lane, + And bends above our heads the flowering locust spray. + + Ha! like a kind hand on my brow + Comes this fresh breeze, + Cooling its dull and feverish glow, + While through my being seems to flow + The breath of a new life, the healing of the seas! + + Now rest we, where this grassy mound + His feet hath set + In the great waters, which have bound + His granite ankles greenly round + With long and tangled moss, and weeds with cool spray wet. + + Good-by to Pain and Care! I take + Mine ease to-day + Here where these sunny waters break, + And ripples this keen breeze, I shake + All burdens from the heart, all weary thoughts away. + + I draw a freer breath, I seem + Like all I see— + Waves in the sun, the white-winged gleam + Of sea-birds in the slanting beam, + And far-off sails which flit before the south-wind free. + + So when Time's veil shall fall asunder, + The soul may know + No fearful change, nor sudden wonder, + Nor sink the weight of mystery under, + But with the upward rise, and with the vastness grow. + + And all we shrink from now may seem + No new revealing; + Familiar as our childhood's stream, + Or pleasant memory of a dream + The loved and cherished Past upon the new life stealing. + + Serene and mild the untried light + May have its dawning; + And, as in summer's northern night + The evening and the dawn unite, + The sunset hues of Time blend with the soul's new morning. + + I sit alone; in foam and spray + Wave after wave + Breaks on the rocks which, stern and gray, + Shoulder the broken tide away, + Or murmurs hoarse and strong through mossy cleft and cave. + + What heed I of the dusty land + And noisy town? + I see the mighty deep expand + From its white line of glimmering sand + To where the blue of heaven on bluer waves shuts down! + + In listless quietude of mind, + I yield to all + The change of cloud and wave and wind + And passive on the flood reclined, + I wander with the waves, and with them rise and fall. + + But look, thou dreamer! wave and shore + In shadow lie; + The night-wind warns me back once more + To where, my native hill-tops o'er, + Bends like an arch of fire the glowing sunset sky. + + So then, beach, bluff, and wave, farewell! + I bear with me + No token stone nor glittering shell, + But long and oft shall Memory tell + Of this brief thoughtful hour of musing by the Sea. + + 1843. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A DREAM OF SUMMER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Bland as the morning breath of June + The southwest breezes play; + And, through its haze, the winter noon + Seems warm as summer's day. + The snow-plumed Angel of the North + Has dropped his icy spear; + Again the mossy earth looks forth, + Again the streams gush clear. + + The fox his hillside cell forsakes, + The muskrat leaves his nook, + The bluebird in the meadow brakes + Is singing with the brook. + "Bear up, O Mother Nature!" cry + Bird, breeze, and streamlet free; + "Our winter voices prophesy + Of summer days to thee!" + + So, in those winters of the soul, + By bitter blasts and drear + O'erswept from Memory's frozen pole, + Will sunny days appear. + Reviving Hope and Faith, they show + The soul its living powers, + And how beneath the winter's snow + Lie germs of summer flowers! + + The Night is mother of the Day, + The Winter of the Spring, + And ever upon old Decay + The greenest mosses cling. + Behind the cloud the starlight lurks, + Through showers the sunbeams fall; + For God, who loveth all His works, + Has left His hope with all! + + 4th 1st month, 1847. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LAKESIDE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The shadows round the inland sea + Are deepening into night; + Slow up the slopes of Ossipee + They chase the lessening light. + Tired of the long day's blinding heat, + I rest my languid eye, + Lake of the Hills! where, cool and sweet, + Thy sunset waters lie! + + Along the sky, in wavy lines, + O'er isle and reach and bay, + Green-belted with eternal pines, + The mountains stretch away. + Below, the maple masses sleep + Where shore with water blends, + While midway on the tranquil deep + The evening light descends. + + So seemed it when yon hill's red crown, + Of old, the Indian trod, + And, through the sunset air, looked down + Upon the Smile of God. + To him of light and shade the laws + No forest skeptic taught; + Their living and eternal Cause + His truer instinct sought. + + He saw these mountains in the light + Which now across them shines; + This lake, in summer sunset bright, + Walled round with sombering pines. + God near him seemed; from earth and skies + His loving voice he heard, + As, face to face, in Paradise, + Man stood before the Lord. + + Thanks, O our Father! that, like him, + Thy tender love I see, + In radiant hill and woodland dim, + And tinted sunset sea. + For not in mockery dost Thou fill + Our earth with light and grace; + Thou hid'st no dark and cruel will + Behind Thy smiling face! + + 1849. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AUTUMN THOUGHTS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Gone hath the Spring, with all its flowers, + And gone the Summer's pomp and show, + And Autumn, in his leafless bowers, + Is waiting for the Winter's snow. + + I said to Earth, so cold and gray, + "An emblem of myself thou art." + "Not so," the Earth did seem to say, + "For Spring shall warm my frozen heart." + I soothe my wintry sleep with dreams + Of warmer sun and softer rain, + And wait to hear the sound of streams + And songs of merry birds again. + + But thou, from whom the Spring hath gone, + For whom the flowers no longer blow, + Who standest blighted and forlorn, + Like Autumn waiting for the snow; + + No hope is thine of sunnier hours, + Thy Winter shall no more depart; + No Spring revive thy wasted flowers, + Nor Summer warm thy frozen heart. + + 1849. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON RECEIVING AN EAGLE'S QUILL FROM LAKE SUPERIOR. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + All day the darkness and the cold + Upon my heart have lain, + Like shadows on the winter sky, + Like frost upon the pane; + + But now my torpid fancy wakes, + And, on thy Eagle's plume, + Rides forth, like Sindbad on his bird, + Or witch upon her broom! + + Below me roar the rocking pines, + Before me spreads the lake + Whose long and solemn-sounding waves + Against the sunset break. + + I hear the wild Rice-Eater thresh + The grain he has not sown; + I see, with flashing scythe of fire, + The prairie harvest mown! + + I hear the far-off voyager's horn; + I see the Yankee's trail,— + His foot on every mountain-pass, + On every stream his sail. + + By forest, lake, and waterfall, + I see his pedler show; + The mighty mingling with the mean, + The lofty with the low. + + He's whittling by St. Mary's Falls, + Upon his loaded wain; + He's measuring o'er the Pictured Rocks, + With eager eyes of gain. + + I hear the mattock in the mine, + The axe-stroke in the dell, + The clamor from the Indian lodge, + The Jesuit chapel bell! + + I see the swarthy trappers come + From Mississippi's springs; + And war-chiefs with their painted brows, + And crests of eagle wings. + + Behind the scared squaw's birch canoe, + The steamer smokes and raves; + And city lots are staked for sale + Above old Indian graves. + + I hear the tread of pioneers + Of nations yet to be; + The first low wash of waves, where soon + Shall roll a human sea. + + The rudiments of empire here + Are plastic yet and warm; + The chaos of a mighty world + Is rounding into form! + + Each rude and jostling fragment soon + Its fitting place shall find,— + The raw material of a State, + Its muscle and its mind! + + And, westering still, the star which leads + The New World in its train + Has tipped with fire the icy spears + Of many a mountain chain. + + The snowy cones of Oregon + Are kindling on its way; + And California's golden sands + Gleam brighter in its ray! + + Then blessings on thy eagle quill, + As, wandering far and wide, + I thank thee for this twilight dream + And Fancy's airy ride! + + Yet, welcomer than regal plumes, + Which Western trappers find, + Thy free and pleasant thoughts, chance sown, + Like feathers on the wind. + + Thy symbol be the mountain-bird, + Whose glistening quill I hold; + Thy home the ample air of hope, + And memory's sunset gold! + + In thee, let joy with duty join, + And strength unite with love, + The eagle's pinions folding round + The warm heart of the dove! + + So, when in darkness sleeps the vale + Where still the blind bird clings + The sunshine of the upper sky + Shall glitter on thy wings! + + 1849. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + APRIL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "The spring comes slowly up this way." + Christabel. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'T is the noon of the spring-time, yet never a bird + In the wind-shaken elm or the maple is heard; + For green meadow-grasses wide levels of snow, + And blowing of drifts where the crocus should blow; + Where wind-flower and violet, amber and white, + On south-sloping brooksides should smile in the light, + O'er the cold winter-beds of their late-waking roots + The frosty flake eddies, the ice-crystal shoots; + And, longing for light, under wind-driven heaps, + Round the boles of the pine-wood the ground-laurel creeps, + Unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of showers, + With buds scarcely swelled, which should burst into flowers + We wait for thy coming, sweet wind of the south! + For the touch of thy light wings, the kiss of thy mouth; + For the yearly evangel thou bearest from God, + Resurrection and life to the graves of the sod! + Up our long river-valley, for days, have not ceased + The wail and the shriek of the bitter northeast, + Raw and chill, as if winnowed through ices and snow, + All the way from the land of the wild Esquimau, + Until all our dreams of the land of the blest, + Like that red hunter's, turn to the sunny southwest. + O soul of the spring-time, its light and its breath, + Bring warmth to this coldness, bring life to this death; + Renew the great miracle; let us behold + The stone from the mouth of the sepulchre rolled, + And Nature, like Lazarus, rise, as of old! + Let our faith, which in darkness and coldness has lain, + Revive with the warmth and the brightness again, + And in blooming of flower and budding of tree + The symbols and types of our destiny see; + The life of the spring-time, the life of the whole, + And, as sun to the sleeping earth, love to the soul! + + 1852. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PICTURES + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. + + Light, warmth, and sprouting greenness, and o'er all + Blue, stainless, steel-bright ether, raining down + Tranquillity upon the deep-hushed town, + The freshening meadows, and the hillsides brown; + Voice of the west-wind from the hills of pine, + And the brimmed river from its distant fall, + Low hum of bees, and joyous interlude + Of bird-songs in the streamlet-skirting wood,— + Heralds and prophecies of sound and sight, + Blessed forerunners of the warmth and light, + Attendant angels to the house of prayer, + With reverent footsteps keeping pace with mine,— + Once more, through God's great love, with you I share + A morn of resurrection sweet and fair + As that which saw, of old, in Palestine, + Immortal Love uprising in fresh bloom + From the dark night and winter of the tomb! + + 2d, 5th mo., 1852. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II. + + White with its sun-bleached dust, the pathway winds + Before me; dust is on the shrunken grass, + And on the trees beneath whose boughs I pass; + Frail screen against the Hunter of the sky, + Who, glaring on me with his lidless eye, + While mounting with his dog-star high and higher + Ambushed in light intolerable, unbinds + The burnished quiver of his shafts of fire. + Between me and the hot fields of his South + A tremulous glow, as from a furnace-mouth, + Glimmers and swims before my dazzled sight, + As if the burning arrows of his ire + Broke as they fell, and shattered into light; + Yet on my cheek I feel the western wind, + And hear it telling to the orchard trees, + And to the faint and flower-forsaken bees, + Tales of fair meadows, green with constant streams, + And mountains rising blue and cool behind, + Where in moist dells the purple orchis gleams, + And starred with white the virgin's bower is twined. + So the o'erwearied pilgrim, as he fares + Along life's summer waste, at times is fanned, + Even at noontide, by the cool, sweet airs + Of a serener and a holier land, + Fresh as the morn, and as the dewfall bland. + Breath of the blessed Heaven for which we pray, + Blow from the eternal hills! make glad our earthly way! + + 8th mo., 1852. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SUMMER BY THE LAKESIDE + </h2> + <h3> + LAKE WINNIPESAUKEE. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. NOON. + + White clouds, whose shadows haunt the deep, + Light mists, whose soft embraces keep + The sunshine on the hills asleep! + + O isles of calm! O dark, still wood! + And stiller skies that overbrood + Your rest with deeper quietude! + + O shapes and hues, dim beckoning, through + Yon mountain gaps, my longing view + Beyond the purple and the blue, + + To stiller sea and greener land, + And softer lights and airs more bland, + And skies,—the hollow of God's hand! + + Transfused through you, O mountain friends! + With mine your solemn spirit blends, + And life no more hath separate ends. + + I read each misty mountain sign, + I know the voice of wave and pine, + And I am yours, and ye are mine. + + Life's burdens fall, its discords cease, + I lapse into the glad release + Of Nature's own exceeding peace. + + O welcome calm of heart and mind! + As falls yon fir-tree's loosened rind + To leave a tenderer growth behind, + + So fall the weary years away; + A child again, my head I lay + Upon the lap of this sweet day. + + This western wind hath Lethean powers, + Yon noonday cloud nepenthe showers, + The lake is white with lotus-flowers! + + Even Duty's voice is faint and low, + And slumberous Conscience, waking slow, + Forgets her blotted scroll to show. + + The Shadow which pursues us all, + Whose ever-nearing steps appall, + Whose voice we hear behind us call,— + + That Shadow blends with mountain gray, + It speaks but what the light waves say,— + Death walks apart from Fear to-day! + + Rocked on her breast, these pines and I + Alike on Nature's love rely; + And equal seems to live or die. + + Assured that He whose presence fills + With light the spaces of these hills + No evil to His creatures wills, + + The simple faith remains, that He + Will do, whatever that may be, + The best alike for man and tree. + + What mosses over one shall grow, + What light and life the other know, + Unanxious, leaving Him to show. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II. EVENING. + + Yon mountain's side is black with night, + While, broad-orbed, o'er its gleaming crown + The moon, slow-rounding into sight, + On the hushed inland sea looks down. + + How start to light the clustering isles, + Each silver-hemmed! How sharply show + The shadows of their rocky piles, + And tree-tops in the wave below! + + How far and strange the mountains seem, + Dim-looming through the pale, still light + The vague, vast grouping of a dream, + They stretch into the solemn night. + + Beneath, lake, wood, and peopled vale, + Hushed by that presence grand and grave, + Are silent, save the cricket's wail, + And low response of leaf and wave. + + Fair scenes! whereto the Day and Night + Make rival love, I leave ye soon, + What time before the eastern light + The pale ghost of the setting moon + + Shall hide behind yon rocky spines, + And the young archer, Morn, shall break + His arrows on the mountain pines, + And, golden-sandalled, walk the lake! + + Farewell! around this smiling bay + Gay-hearted Health, and Life in bloom, + With lighter steps than mine, may stray + In radiant summers yet to come. + + But none shall more regretful leave + These waters and these hills than I + Or, distant, fonder dream how eve + Or dawn is painting wave and sky; + + How rising moons shine sad and mild + On wooded isle and silvering bay; + Or setting suns beyond the piled + And purple mountains lead the day; + + Nor laughing girl, nor bearding boy, + Nor full-pulsed manhood, lingering here, + Shall add, to life's abounding joy, + The charmed repose to suffering dear. + + Still waits kind Nature to impart + Her choicest gifts to such as gain + An entrance to her loving heart + Through the sharp discipline of pain. + + Forever from the Hand that takes + One blessing from us others fall; + And, soon or late, our Father makes + His perfect recompense to all! + + Oh, watched by Silence and the Night, + And folded in the strong embrace + Of the great mountains, with the light + Of the sweet heavens upon thy face, + + Lake of the Northland! keep thy dower + Of beauty still, and while above + Thy solemn mountains speak of power, + Be thou the mirror of God's love. + + 1853. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FRUIT-GIFT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Last night, just as the tints of autumn's sky + Of sunset faded from our hills and streams, + I sat, vague listening, lapped in twilight dreams, + To the leaf's rustle, and the cricket's cry. + + Then, like that basket, flush with summer fruit, + Dropped by the angels at the Prophet's foot, + Came, unannounced, a gift of clustered sweetness, + Full-orbed, and glowing with the prisoned beams + Of summery suns, and rounded to completeness + By kisses of the south-wind and the dew. + Thrilled with a glad surprise, methought I knew + The pleasure of the homeward-turning Jew, + When Eshcol's clusters on his shoulders lay, + Dropping their sweetness on his desert way. + + I said, "This fruit beseems no world of sin. + Its parent vine, rooted in Paradise, + O'ercrept the wall, and never paid the price + Of the great mischief,—an ambrosial tree, + Eden's exotic, somehow smuggled in, + To keep the thorns and thistles company." + Perchance our frail, sad mother plucked in haste + A single vine-slip as she passed the gate, + Where the dread sword alternate paled and burned, + And the stern angel, pitying her fate, + Forgave the lovely trespasser, and turned + Aside his face of fire; and thus the waste + And fallen world hath yet its annual taste + Of primal good, to prove of sin the cost, + And show by one gleaned ear the mighty harvest lost. + + 1854. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FLOWERS IN WINTER + </h2> + <h3> + PAINTED UPON A PORTE LIVRE. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + How strange to greet, this frosty morn, + In graceful counterfeit of flowers, + These children of the meadows, born + Of sunshine and of showers! + + How well the conscious wood retains + The pictures of its flower-sown home, + The lights and shades, the purple stains, + And golden hues of bloom! + + It was a happy thought to bring + To the dark season's frost and rime + This painted memory of spring, + This dream of summer-time. + + Our hearts are lighter for its sake, + Our fancy's age renews its youth, + And dim-remembered fictions take + The guise of—present truth. + + A wizard of the Merrimac,— + So old ancestral legends say, + Could call green leaf and blossom back + To frosted stem and spray. + + The dry logs of the cottage wall, + Beneath his touch, put out their leaves + The clay-bound swallow, at his call, + Played round the icy eaves. + + The settler saw his oaken flail + Take bud, and bloom before his eyes; + From frozen pools he saw the pale, + Sweet summer lilies rise. + + To their old homes, by man profaned, + Came the sad dryads, exiled long, + And through their leafy tongues complained + Of household use and wrong. + + The beechen platter sprouted wild, + The pipkin wore its old-time green + The cradle o'er the sleeping child + Became a leafy screen. + + Haply our gentle friend hath met, + While wandering in her sylvan quest, + Haunting his native woodlands yet, + That Druid of the West; + + And, while the dew on leaf and flower + Glistened in moonlight clear and still, + Learned the dusk wizard's spell of power, + And caught his trick of skill. + + But welcome, be it new or old, + The gift which makes the day more bright, + And paints, upon the ground of cold + And darkness, warmth and light. + + Without is neither gold nor green; + Within, for birds, the birch-logs sing; + Yet, summer-like, we sit between + The autumn and the spring. + + The one, with bridal blush of rose, + And sweetest breath of woodland balm, + And one whose matron lips unclose + In smiles of saintly calm. + + Fill soft and deep, O winter snow! + The sweet azalea's oaken dells, + And hide the bank where roses blow, + And swing the azure bells! + + O'erlay the amber violet's leaves, + The purple aster's brookside home, + Guard all the flowers her pencil gives + A life beyond their bloom. + + And she, when spring comes round again, + By greening slope and singing flood + Shall wander, seeking, not in vain, + Her darlings of the wood. + + 1855. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MAYFLOWERS + </h2> + <p> + The trailing arbutus, or mayflower, grows abundantly in the vicinity of + Plymouth, and was the first flower that greeted the Pilgrims after their + fearful winter. The name mayflower was familiar in England, as the + application of it to the historic vessel shows, but it was applied by the + English, and still is, to the hawthorn. Its use in New England in + connection with <i>Epigma repens </i>dates from a very early day, some + claiming that the first Pilgrims so used it, in affectionate memory of the + vessel and its English flower association. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sad Mayflower! watched by winter stars, + And nursed by winter gales, + With petals of the sleeted spars, + And leaves of frozen sails! + + What had she in those dreary hours, + Within her ice-rimmed bay, + In common with the wild-wood flowers, + The first sweet smiles of May? + + Yet, "God be praised!" the Pilgrim said, + Who saw the blossoms peer + Above the brown leaves, dry and dead, + "Behold our Mayflower here!" + + "God wills it: here our rest shall be, + Our years of wandering o'er; + For us the Mayflower of the sea + Shall spread her sails no more." + + O sacred flowers of faith and hope, + As sweetly now as then + Ye bloom on many a birchen slope, + In many a pine-dark glen. + + Behind the sea-wall's rugged length, + Unchanged, your leaves unfold, + Like love behind the manly strength + Of the brave hearts of old. + + So live the fathers in their sons, + Their sturdy faith be ours, + And ours the love that overruns + Its rocky strength with flowers! + + The Pilgrim's wild and wintry day + Its shadow round us draws; + The Mayflower of his stormy bay, + Our Freedom's struggling cause. + + But warmer suns erelong shall bring + To life the frozen sod; + And through dead leaves of hope shall spring + Afresh the flowers of God! + + 1856. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. + O'er the bare woods, whose outstretched hands + Plead with the leaden heavens in vain, + I see, beyond the valley lands, + The sea's long level dim with rain. + Around me all things, stark and dumb, + Seem praying for the snows to come, + And, for the summer bloom and greenness gone, + With winter's sunset lights and dazzling morn atone. + + II. + Along the river's summer walk, + The withered tufts of asters nod; + And trembles on its arid stalk + The boar plume of the golden-rod. + And on a ground of sombre fir, + And azure-studded juniper, + The silver birch its buds of purple shows, + And scarlet berries tell where bloomed the sweet wild-rose! + + III. + With mingled sound of horns and bells, + A far-heard clang, the wild geese fly, + Storm-sent, from Arctic moors and fells, + Like a great arrow through the sky, + Two dusky lines converged in one, + Chasing the southward-flying sun; + While the brave snow-bird and the hardy jay + Call to them from the pines, as if to bid them stay. + + IV. + I passed this way a year ago + The wind blew south; the noon of day + Was warm as June's; and save that snow + Flecked the low mountains far away, + And that the vernal-seeming breeze + Mocked faded grass and leafless trees, + I might have dreamed of summer as I lay, + Watching the fallen leaves with the soft wind at play. + + V. + Since then, the winter blasts have piled + The white pagodas of the snow + On these rough slopes, and, strong and wild, + Yon river, in its overflow + Of spring-time rain and sun, set free, + Crashed with its ices to the sea; + And over these gray fields, then green and gold, + The summer corn has waved, the thunder's organ rolled. + + VI. + Rich gift of God! A year of time + What pomp of rise and shut of day, + What hues wherewith our Northern clime + Makes autumn's dropping woodlands gay, + What airs outblown from ferny dells, + And clover-bloom and sweetbrier smells, + What songs of brooks and birds, what fruits and flowers, + Green woods and moonlit snows, have in its round been ours! + + VII. + I know not how, in other lands, + The changing seasons come and go; + What splendors fall on Syrian sands, + What purple lights on Alpine snow! + Nor how the pomp of sunrise waits + On Venice at her watery gates; + A dream alone to me is Arno's vale, + And the Alhambra's halls are but a traveller's tale. + + VIII. + Yet, on life's current, he who drifts + Is one with him who rows or sails + And he who wanders widest lifts + No more of beauty's jealous veils + Than he who from his doorway sees + The miracle of flowers and trees, + Feels the warm Orient in the noonday air, + And from cloud minarets hears the sunset call to prayer! + + IX. + The eye may well be glad that looks + Where Pharpar's fountains rise and fall; + But he who sees his native brooks + Laugh in the sun, has seen them all. + The marble palaces of Ind + Rise round him in the snow and wind; + From his lone sweetbrier Persian Hafiz smiles, + And Rome's cathedral awe is in his woodland aisles. + + X. + And thus it is my fancy blends + The near at hand and far and rare; + And while the same horizon bends + Above the silver-sprinkled hair + Which flashed the light of morning skies + On childhood's wonder-lifted eyes, + Within its round of sea and sky and field, + Earth wheels with all her zones, the Kosmos stands revealed. + + XI. + And thus the sick man on his bed, + The toiler to his task-work bound, + Behold their prison-walls outspread, + Their clipped horizon widen round! + While freedom-giving fancy waits, + Like Peter's angel at the gates, + The power is theirs to baffle care and pain, + To bring the lost world back, and make it theirs again! + + XII. + What lack of goodly company, + When masters of the ancient lyre + Obey my call, and trace for me + Their words of mingled tears and fire! + I talk with Bacon, grave and wise, + I read the world with Pascal's eyes; + And priest and sage, with solemn brows austere, + And poets, garland-bound, the Lords of Thought, draw near. + + XIII. + Methinks, O friend, I hear thee say, + "In vain the human heart we mock; + Bring living guests who love the day, + Not ghosts who fly at crow of cock! + The herbs we share with flesh and blood + Are better than ambrosial food + With laurelled shades." I grant it, nothing loath, + But doubly blest is he who can partake of both. + + XIV. + He who might Plato's banquet grace, + Have I not seen before me sit, + And watched his puritanic face, + With more than Eastern wisdom lit? + Shrewd mystic! who, upon the back + Of his Poor Richard's Almanac, + Writing the Sufi's song, the Gentoo's dream, + Links Manu's age of thought to Fulton's age of steam! + + XV. + Here too, of answering love secure, + Have I not welcomed to my hearth + The gentle pilgrim troubadour, + Whose songs have girdled half the earth; + Whose pages, like the magic mat + Whereon the Eastern lover sat, + Have borne me over Rhine-land's purple vines, + And Nubia's tawny sands, and Phrygia's mountain pines! + + XVI. + And he, who to the lettered wealth + Of ages adds the lore unpriced, + The wisdom and the moral health, + The ethics of the school of Christ; + The statesman to his holy trust, + As the Athenian archon, just, + Struck down, exiled like him for truth alone, + Has he not graced my home with beauty all his own? + + XVII. + What greetings smile, what farewells wave, + What loved ones enter and depart! + The good, the beautiful, the brave, + The Heaven-lent treasures of the heart! + How conscious seems the frozen sod + And beechen slope whereon they trod + The oak-leaves rustle, and the dry grass bends + Beneath the shadowy feet of lost or absent friends. + + XVIII. + Then ask not why to these bleak hills + I cling, as clings the tufted moss, + To bear the winter's lingering chills, + The mocking spring's perpetual loss. + I dream of lands where summer smiles, + And soft winds blow from spicy isles, + But scarce would Ceylon's breath of flowers be sweet, + Could I not feel thy soil, New England, at my feet! + + XIX. + At times I long for gentler skies, + And bathe in dreams of softer air, + But homesick tears would fill the eyes + That saw the Cross without the Bear. + The pine must whisper to the palm, + The north-wind break the tropic calm; + And with the dreamy languor of the Line, + The North's keen virtue blend, and strength to beauty join. + + XX. + Better to stem with heart and hand + The roaring tide of life, than lie, + Unmindful, on its flowery strand, + Of God's occasions drifting by + Better with naked nerve to bear + The needles of this goading air, + Than, in the lap of sensual ease, forego + The godlike power to do, the godlike aim to know. + + XXI. + Home of my heart! to me more fair + Than gay Versailles or Windsor's halls, + The painted, shingly town-house where + The freeman's vote for Freedom falls! + The simple roof where prayer is made, + Than Gothic groin and colonnade; + The living temple of the heart of man, + Than Rome's sky-mocking vault, or many-spired Milan! + + XXII. + More dear thy equal village schools, + Where rich and poor the Bible read, + Than classic halls where Priestcraft rules, + And Learning wears the chains of Creed; + Thy glad Thanksgiving, gathering in + The scattered sheaves of home and kin, + Than the mad license ushering Lenten pains, + Or holidays of slaves who laugh and dance in chains. + + XXIII. + And sweet homes nestle in these dales, + And perch along these wooded swells; + And, blest beyond Arcadian vales, + They hear the sound of Sabbath bells! + Here dwells no perfect man sublime, + Nor woman winged before her time, + But with the faults and follies of the race, + Old home-bred virtues hold their not unhonored place. + + XXIV. + Here manhood struggles for the sake + Of mother, sister, daughter, wife, + The graces and the loves which make + The music of the march of life; + And woman, in her daily round + Of duty, walks on holy ground. + No unpaid menial tills the soil, nor here + Is the bad lesson learned at human rights to sneer. + + XXV. + Then let the icy north-wind blow + The trumpets of the coming storm, + To arrowy sleet and blinding snow + Yon slanting lines of rain transform. + Young hearts shall hail the drifted cold, + As gayly as I did of old; + And I, who watch them through the frosty pane, + Unenvious, live in them my boyhood o'er again. + + XXVI. + And I will trust that He who heeds + The life that hides in mead and wold, + Who hangs yon alder's crimson beads, + And stains these mosses green and gold, + Will still, as He hath done, incline + His gracious care to me and mine; + Grant what we ask aright, from wrong debar, + And, as the earth grows dark, make brighter every star! + + XXVII. + I have not seen, I may not see, + My hopes for man take form in fact, + But God will give the victory + In due time; in that faith I act. + And lie who sees the future sure, + The baffling present may endure, + And bless, meanwhile, the unseen Hand that leads + The heart's desires beyond the halting step of deeds. + + XXVIII. + And thou, my song, I send thee forth, + Where harsher songs of mine have flown; + Go, find a place at home and hearth + Where'er thy singer's name is known; + Revive for him the kindly thought + Of friends; and they who love him not, + Touched by some strain of thine, perchance may take + The hand he proffers all, and thank him for thy sake. + + 1857. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FIRST FLOWERS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + For ages on our river borders, + These tassels in their tawny bloom, + And willowy studs of downy silver, + Have prophesied of Spring to come. + + For ages have the unbound waters + Smiled on them from their pebbly hem, + And the clear carol of the robin + And song of bluebird welcomed them. + + But never yet from smiling river, + Or song of early bird, have they + Been greeted with a gladder welcome + Than whispers from my heart to-day. + + They break the spell of cold and darkness, + The weary watch of sleepless pain; + And from my heart, as from the river, + The ice of winter melts again. + + Thanks, Mary! for this wild-wood token + Of Freya's footsteps drawing near; + Almost, as in the rune of Asgard, + The growing of the grass I hear. + + It is as if the pine-trees called me + From ceiled room and silent books, + To see the dance of woodland shadows, + And hear the song of April brooks! + + As in the old Teutonic ballad + Of Odenwald live bird and tree, + Together live in bloom and music, + I blend in song thy flowers and thee. + + Earth's rocky tablets bear forever + The dint of rain and small bird's track + Who knows but that my idle verses + May leave some trace by Merrimac! + + The bird that trod the mellow layers + Of the young earth is sought in vain; + The cloud is gone that wove the sandstone, + From God's design, with threads of rain! + + So, when this fluid age we live in + Shall stiffen round my careless rhyme, + Who made the vagrant tracks may puzzle + The savants of the coming time; + + And, following out their dim suggestions, + Some idly-curious hand may draw + My doubtful portraiture, as Cuvier + Drew fish and bird from fin and claw. + + And maidens in the far-off twilights, + Singing my words to breeze and stream, + Shall wonder if the old-time Mary + Were real, or the rhymer's dream! + + 1st 3d mo., 1857. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE OLD BURYING-GROUND. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Our vales are sweet with fern and rose, + Our hills are maple-crowned; + But not from them our fathers chose + The village burying-ground. + + The dreariest spot in all the land + To Death they set apart; + With scanty grace from Nature's hand, + And none from that of Art. + + A winding wall of mossy stone, + Frost-flung and broken, lines + A lonesome acre thinly grown + With grass and wandering vines. + + Without the wall a birch-tree shows + Its drooped and tasselled head; + Within, a stag-horned sumach grows, + Fern-leafed, with spikes of red. + + There, sheep that graze the neighboring plain + Like white ghosts come and go, + The farm-horse drags his fetlock chain, + The cow-bell tinkles slow. + + Low moans the river from its bed, + The distant pines reply; + Like mourners shrinking from the dead, + They stand apart and sigh. + + Unshaded smites the summer sun, + Unchecked the winter blast; + The school-girl learns the place to shun, + With glances backward cast. + + For thus our fathers testified, + That he might read who ran, + The emptiness of human pride, + The nothingness of man. + + They dared not plant the grave with flowers, + Nor dress the funeral sod, + Where, with a love as deep as ours, + They left their dead with God. + + The hard and thorny path they kept + From beauty turned aside; + Nor missed they over those who slept + The grace to life denied. + + Yet still the wilding flowers would blow, + The golden leaves would fall, + The seasons come, the seasons go, + And God be good to all. + + Above the graves the' blackberry hung + In bloom and green its wreath, + And harebells swung as if they rung + The chimes of peace beneath. + + The beauty Nature loves to share, + The gifts she hath for all, + The common light, the common air, + O'ercrept the graveyard's wall. + + It knew the glow of eventide, + The sunrise and the noon, + And glorified and sanctified + It slept beneath the moon. + + With flowers or snow-flakes for its sod, + Around the seasons ran, + And evermore the love of God + Rebuked the fear of man. + + We dwell with fears on either hand, + Within a daily strife, + And spectral problems waiting stand + Before the gates of life. + + The doubts we vainly seek to solve, + The truths we know, are one; + The known and nameless stars revolve + Around the Central Sun. + + And if we reap as we have sown, + And take the dole we deal, + The law of pain is love alone, + The wounding is to heal. + + Unharmed from change to change we glide, + We fall as in our dreams; + The far-off terror at our side + A smiling angel seems. + + Secure on God's all-tender heart + Alike rest great and small; + Why fear to lose our little part, + When He is pledged for all? + + O fearful heart and troubled brain + Take hope and strength from this,— + That Nature never hints in vain, + Nor prophesies amiss. + + Her wild birds sing the same sweet stave, + Her lights and airs are given + Alike to playground and the grave; + And over both is Heaven. + + 1858 +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PALM-TREE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Is it the palm, the cocoa-palm, + On the Indian Sea, by the isles of balm? + Or is it a ship in the breezeless calm? + + A ship whose keel is of palm beneath, + Whose ribs of palm have a palm-bark sheath, + And a rudder of palm it steereth with. + + Branches of palm are its spars and rails, + Fibres of palm are its woven sails, + And the rope is of palm that idly trails! + + What does the good ship bear so well? + The cocoa-nut with its stony shell, + And the milky sap of its inner cell. + + What are its jars, so smooth and fine, + But hollowed nuts, filled with oil and wine, + And the cabbage that ripens under the Line? + + Who smokes his nargileh, cool and calm? + The master, whose cunning and skill could charm + Cargo and ship from the bounteous palm. + + In the cabin he sits on a palm-mat soft, + From a beaker of palm his drink is quaffed, + And a palm-thatch shields from the sun aloft! + + His dress is woven of palmy strands, + And he holds a palm-leaf scroll in his hands, + Traced with the Prophet's wise commands! + + The turban folded about his head + Was daintily wrought of the palm-leaf braid, + And the fan that cools him of palm was made. + + Of threads of palm was the carpet spun + Whereon he kneels when the day is done, + And the foreheads of Islam are bowed as one! + + To him the palm is a gift divine, + Wherein all uses of man combine,— + House, and raiment, and food, and wine! + + And, in the hour of his great release, + His need of the palm shall only cease + With the shroud wherein he lieth in peace. + + "Allah il Allah!" he sings his psalm, + On the Indian Sea, by the isles of balm; + "Thanks to Allah who gives the palm!" + + 1858. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE RIVER PATH. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + No bird-song floated down the hill, + The tangled bank below was still; + + No rustle from the birchen stem, + No ripple from the water's hem. + + The dusk of twilight round us grew, + We felt the falling of the dew; + + For, from us, ere the day was done, + The wooded hills shut out the sun. + + But on the river's farther side + We saw the hill-tops glorified,— + + A tender glow, exceeding fair, + A dream of day without its glare. + + With us the damp, the chill, the gloom + With them the sunset's rosy bloom; + + While dark, through willowy vistas seen, + The river rolled in shade between. + + From out the darkness where we trod, + We gazed upon those bills of God, + + Whose light seemed not of moon or sun. + We spake not, but our thought was one. + + We paused, as if from that bright shore + Beckoned our dear ones gone before; + + And stilled our beating hearts to hear + The voices lost to mortal ear! + + Sudden our pathway turned from night; + The hills swung open to the light; + + Through their green gates the sunshine showed, + A long, slant splendor downward flowed. + + Down glade and glen and bank it rolled; + It bridged the shaded stream with gold; + + And, borne on piers of mist, allied + The shadowy with the sunlit side! + + "So," prayed we, "when our feet draw near + The river dark, with mortal fear, + + "And the night cometh chill with dew, + O Father! let Thy light break through! + + "So let the hills of doubt divide, + So bridge with faith the sunless tide! + + "So let the eyes that fail on earth + On Thy eternal hills look forth; + + "And in Thy beckoning angels know + The dear ones whom we loved below!" + + 1880. +</pre> + <p> + MOUNTAIN PICTURES. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. FRANCONIA FROM THE PEMIGEWASSET + + Once more, O Mountains of the North, unveil + Your brows, and lay your cloudy mantles by + And once more, ere the eyes that seek ye fail, + Uplift against the blue walls of the sky + Your mighty shapes, and let the sunshine weave + Its golden net-work in your belting woods, + Smile down in rainbows from your falling floods, + And on your kingly brows at morn and eve + Set crowns of fire! So shall my soul receive + Haply the secret of your calm and strength, + Your unforgotten beauty interfuse + My common life, your glorious shapes and hues + And sun-dropped splendors at my bidding come, + Loom vast through dreams, and stretch in billowy length + From the sea-level of my lowland home! + + They rise before me! Last night's thunder-gust + Roared not in vain: for where its lightnings thrust + Their tongues of fire, the great peaks seem so near, + Burned clean of mist, so starkly bold and clear, + I almost pause the wind in the pines to hear, + The loose rock's fall, the steps of browsing deer. + The clouds that shattered on yon slide-worn walls + And splintered on the rocks their spears of rain + Have set in play a thousand waterfalls, + Making the dusk and silence of the woods + Glad with the laughter of the chasing floods, + And luminous with blown spray and silver gleams, + While, in the vales below, the dry-lipped streams + Sing to the freshened meadow-lands again. + So, let me hope, the battle-storm that beats + The land with hail and fire may pass away + With its spent thunders at the break of day, + Like last night's clouds, and leave, as it retreats, + A greener earth and fairer sky behind, + Blown crystal-clear by Freedom's Northern wind! + + II. MONADNOCK FROM WACHUSET. + + I would I were a painter, for the sake + Of a sweet picture, and of her who led, + A fitting guide, with reverential tread, + Into that mountain mystery. First a lake + Tinted with sunset; next the wavy lines + Of far receding hills; and yet more far, + Monadnock lifting from his night of pines + His rosy forehead to the evening star. + Beside us, purple-zoned, Wachuset laid + His head against the West, whose warm light made + His aureole; and o'er him, sharp and clear, + Like a shaft of lightning in mid-launching stayed, + A single level cloud-line, shone upon + By the fierce glances of the sunken sun, + Menaced the darkness with its golden spear! + + So twilight deepened round us. Still and black + The great woods climbed the mountain at our back; + And on their skirts, where yet the lingering day + On the shorn greenness of the clearing lay, + The brown old farm-house like a bird's-nest hung. + With home-life sounds the desert air was stirred + The bleat of sheep along the hill we heard, + The bucket plashing in the cool, sweet well, + The pasture-bars that clattered as they fell; + Dogs barked, fowls fluttered, cattle lowed; the gate + Of the barn-yard creaked beneath the merry weight + Of sun-brown children, listening, while they swung, + The welcome sound of supper-call to hear; + And down the shadowy lane, in tinklings clear, + The pastoral curfew of the cow-bell rung. + Thus soothed and pleased, our backward path we took, + Praising the farmer's home. He only spake, + Looking into the sunset o'er the lake, + Like one to whom the far-off is most near: + "Yes, most folks think it has a pleasant look; + I love it for my good old mother's sake, + Who lived and died here in the peace of God!" + The lesson of his words we pondered o'er, + As silently we turned the eastern flank + Of the mountain, where its shadow deepest sank, + Doubling the night along our rugged road: + We felt that man was more than his abode,— + The inward life than Nature's raiment more; + And the warm sky, the sundown-tinted hill, + The forest and the lake, seemed dwarfed and dim + Before the saintly soul, whose human will + Meekly in the Eternal footsteps trod, + Making her homely toil and household ways + An earthly echo of the song of praise + Swelling from angel lips and harps of seraphim. + + 1862. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE VANISHERS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sweetest of all childlike dreams + In the simple Indian lore + Still to me the legend seems + Of the shapes who flit before. + + Flitting, passing, seen and gone, + Never reached nor found at rest, + Baffling search, but beckoning on + To the Sunset of the Blest. + + From the clefts of mountain rocks, + Through the dark of lowland firs, + Flash the eyes and flow the locks + Of the mystic Vanishers! + + And the fisher in his skiff, + And the hunter on the moss, + Hear their call from cape and cliff, + See their hands the birch-leaves toss. + + Wistful, longing, through the green + Twilight of the clustered pines, + In their faces rarely seen + Beauty more than mortal shines. + + Fringed with gold their mantles flow + On the slopes of westering knolls; + In the wind they whisper low + Of the Sunset Land of Souls. + + Doubt who may, O friend of mine! + Thou and I have seen them too; + On before with beck and sign + Still they glide, and we pursue. + + More than clouds of purple trail + In the gold of setting day; + More than gleams of wing or sail + Beckon from the sea-mist gray. + + Glimpses of immortal youth, + Gleams and glories seen and flown, + Far-heard voices sweet with truth, + Airs from viewless Eden blown; + + Beauty that eludes our grasp, + Sweetness that transcends our taste, + Loving hands we may not clasp, + Shining feet that mock our haste; + + Gentle eyes we closed below, + Tender voices heard once more, + Smile and call us, as they go + On and onward, still before. + + Guided thus, O friend of mine + Let us walk our little way, + Knowing by each beckoning sign + That we are not quite astray. + + Chase we still, with baffled feet, + Smiling eye and waving hand, + Sought and seeker soon shall meet, + Lost and found, in Sunset Land. + + 1864. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PAGEANT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A sound as if from bells of silver, + Or elfin cymbals smitten clear, + Through the frost-pictured panes I hear. + + A brightness which outshines the morning, + A splendor brooking no delay, + Beckons and tempts my feet away. + + I leave the trodden village highway + For virgin snow-paths glimmering through + A jewelled elm-tree avenue; + + Where, keen against the walls of sapphire, + The gleaming tree-bolls, ice-embossed, + Hold up their chandeliers of frost. + + I tread in Orient halls enchanted, + I dream the Saga's dream of caves + Gem-lit beneath the North Sea waves! + + I walk the land of Eldorado, + I touch its mimic garden bowers, + Its silver leaves and diamond flowers! + + The flora of the mystic mine-world + Around me lifts on crystal stems + The petals of its clustered gems! + + What miracle of weird transforming + In this wild work of frost and light, + This glimpse of glory infinite! + + This foregleam of the Holy City + Like that to him of Patmos given, + The white bride coming down from heaven! + + How flash the ranked and mail-clad alders, + Through what sharp-glancing spears of reeds + The brook its muffled water leads! + + Yon maple, like the bush of Horeb, + Burns unconsumed: a white, cold fire + Rays out from every grassy spire. + + Each slender rush and spike of mullein, + Low laurel shrub and drooping fern, + Transfigured, blaze where'er I turn. + + How yonder Ethiopian hemlock + Crowned with his glistening circlet stands! + What jewels light his swarthy hands! + + Here, where the forest opens southward, + Between its hospitable pines, + As through a door, the warm sun shines. + + The jewels loosen on the branches, + And lightly, as the soft winds blow, + Fall, tinkling, on the ice below. + + And through the clashing of their cymbals + I hear the old familiar fall + Of water down the rocky wall, + + Where, from its wintry prison breaking, + In dark and silence hidden long, + The brook repeats its summer song. + + One instant flashing in the sunshine, + Keen as a sabre from its sheath, + Then lost again the ice beneath. + + I hear the rabbit lightly leaping, + The foolish screaming of the jay, + The chopper's axe-stroke far away; + + The clamor of some neighboring barn-yard, + The lazy cock's belated crow, + Or cattle-tramp in crispy snow. + + And, as in some enchanted forest + The lost knight hears his comrades sing, + And, near at hand, their bridles ring,— + + So welcome I these sounds and voices, + These airs from far-off summer blown, + This life that leaves me not alone. + + For the white glory overawes me; + The crystal terror of the seer + Of Chebar's vision blinds me here. + + Rebuke me not, O sapphire heaven! + Thou stainless earth, lay not on me, + Thy keen reproach of purity, + + If, in this August presence-chamber, + I sigh for summer's leaf-green gloom + And warm airs thick with odorous bloom! + + Let the strange frost-work sink and crumble, + And let the loosened tree-boughs swing, + Till all their bells of silver ring. + + Shine warmly down, thou sun of noontime, + On this chill pageant, melt and move + The winter's frozen heart with love. + + And, soft and low, thou wind south-blowing, + Breathe through a veil of tenderest haze + Thy prophecy of summer days. + + Come with thy green relief of promise, + And to this dead, cold splendor bring + The living jewels of the spring! + + 1869. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PRESSED GENTIAN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The time of gifts has come again, + And, on my northern window-pane, + Outlined against the day's brief light, + A Christmas token hangs in sight. + + The wayside travellers, as they pass, + Mark the gray disk of clouded glass; + And the dull blankness seems, perchance, + Folly to their wise ignorance. + + They cannot from their outlook see + The perfect grace it hath for me; + For there the flower, whose fringes through + The frosty breath of autumn blew, + Turns from without its face of bloom + To the warm tropic of my room, + As fair as when beside its brook + The hue of bending skies it took. + + So from the trodden ways of earth, + Seem some sweet souls who veil their worth, + And offer to the careless glance + The clouding gray of circumstance. + They blossom best where hearth-fires burn, + To loving eyes alone they turn + The flowers of inward grace, that hide + Their beauty from the world outside. + + But deeper meanings come to me, + My half-immortal flower, from thee! + Man judges from a partial view, + None ever yet his brother knew; + The Eternal Eye that sees the whole + May better read the darkened soul, + And find, to outward sense denied, + The flower upon its inmost side + + 1872. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A MYSTERY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The river hemmed with leaning trees + Wound through its meadows green; + A low, blue line of mountains showed + The open pines between. + + One sharp, tall peak above them all + Clear into sunlight sprang + I saw the river of my dreams, + The mountains that I sang! + + No clue of memory led me on, + But well the ways I knew; + A feeling of familiar things + With every footstep grew. + + Not otherwise above its crag + Could lean the blasted pine; + Not otherwise the maple hold + Aloft its red ensign. + + So up the long and shorn foot-hills + The mountain road should creep; + So, green and low, the meadow fold + Its red-haired kine asleep. + + The river wound as it should wind; + Their place the mountains took; + The white torn fringes of their clouds + Wore no unwonted look. + + Yet ne'er before that river's rim + Was pressed by feet of mine, + Never before mine eyes had crossed + That broken mountain line. + + A presence, strange at once and known, + Walked with me as my guide; + The skirts of some forgotten life + Trailed noiseless at my side. + + Was it a dim-remembered dream? + Or glimpse through aeons old? + The secret which the mountains kept + The river never told. + + But from the vision ere it passed + A tender hope I drew, + And, pleasant as a dawn of spring, + The thought within me grew, + + That love would temper every change, + And soften all surprise, + And, misty with the dreams of earth, + The hills of Heaven arise. + + 1873. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A SEA DREAM. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We saw the slow tides go and come, + The curving surf-lines lightly drawn, + The gray rocks touched with tender bloom + Beneath the fresh-blown rose of dawn. + + We saw in richer sunsets lost + The sombre pomp of showery noons; + And signalled spectral sails that crossed + The weird, low light of rising moons. + + On stormy eves from cliff and head + We saw the white spray tossed and spurned; + While over all, in gold and red, + Its face of fire the lighthouse turned. + + The rail-car brought its daily crowds, + Half curious, half indifferent, + Like passing sails or floating clouds, + We saw them as they came and went. + + But, one calm morning, as we lay + And watched the mirage-lifted wall + Of coast, across the dreamy bay, + And heard afar the curlew call, + + And nearer voices, wild or tame, + Of airy flock and childish throng, + Up from the water's edge there came + Faint snatches of familiar song. + + Careless we heard the singer's choice + Of old and common airs; at last + The tender pathos of his voice + In one low chanson held us fast. + + A song that mingled joy and pain, + And memories old and sadly sweet; + While, timing to its minor strain, + The waves in lapsing cadence beat. + + . . . . . + + The waves are glad in breeze and sun; + The rocks are fringed with foam; + I walk once more a haunted shore, + A stranger, yet at home, + A land of dreams I roam. + + Is this the wind, the soft sea wind + That stirred thy locks of brown? + Are these the rocks whose mosses knew + The trail of thy light gown, + Where boy and girl sat down? + + I see the gray fort's broken wall, + The boats that rock below; + And, out at sea, the passing sails + We saw so long ago + Rose-red in morning's glow. + + The freshness of the early time + On every breeze is blown; + As glad the sea, as blue the sky,— + The change is ours alone; + The saddest is my own. + + A stranger now, a world-worn man, + Is he who bears my name; + But thou, methinks, whose mortal life + Immortal youth became, + Art evermore the same. + + Thou art not here, thou art not there, + Thy place I cannot see; + I only know that where thou art + The blessed angels be, + And heaven is glad for thee. + + Forgive me if the evil years + Have left on me their sign; + Wash out, O soul so beautiful, + The many stains of mine + In tears of love divine! + + I could not look on thee and live, + If thou wert by my side; + The vision of a shining one, + The white and heavenly bride, + Is well to me denied. + + But turn to me thy dear girl-face + Without the angel's crown, + The wedded roses of thy lips, + Thy loose hair rippling down + In waves of golden brown. + + Look forth once more through space and time, + And let thy sweet shade fall + In tenderest grace of soul and form + On memory's frescoed wall, + A shadow, and yet all! + + Draw near, more near, forever dear! + Where'er I rest or roam, + Or in the city's crowded streets, + Or by the blown sea foam, + The thought of thee is home! + + . . . . . + + At breakfast hour the singer read + The city news, with comment wise, + Like one who felt the pulse of trade + Beneath his finger fall and rise. + + His look, his air, his curt speech, told + The man of action, not of books, + To whom the corners made in gold + And stocks were more than seaside nooks. + + Of life beneath the life confessed + His song had hinted unawares; + Of flowers in traffic's ledgers pressed, + Of human hearts in bulls and bears. + + But eyes in vain were turned to watch + That face so hard and shrewd and strong; + And ears in vain grew sharp to catch + The meaning of that morning song. + + In vain some sweet-voiced querist sought + To sound him, leaving as she came; + Her baited album only caught + A common, unromantic name. + + No word betrayed the mystery fine, + That trembled on the singer's tongue; + He came and went, and left no sign + Behind him save the song he sung. + + 1874. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HAZEL BLOSSOMS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The summer warmth has left the sky, + The summer songs have died away; + And, withered, in the footpaths lie + The fallen leaves, but yesterday + With ruby and with topaz gay. + + The grass is browning on the hills; + No pale, belated flowers recall + The astral fringes of the rills, + And drearily the dead vines fall, + Frost-blackened, from the roadside wall. + + Yet through the gray and sombre wood, + Against the dusk of fir and pine, + Last of their floral sisterhood, + The hazel's yellow blossoms shine, + The tawny gold of Afric's mine! + + Small beauty hath my unsung flower, + For spring to own or summer hail; + But, in the season's saddest hour, + To skies that weep and winds that wail + Its glad surprisals never fail. + + O days grown cold! O life grown old + No rose of June may bloom again; + But, like the hazel's twisted gold, + Through early frost and latter rain + Shall hints of summer-time remain. + + And as within the hazel's bough + A gift of mystic virtue dwells, + That points to golden ores below, + And in dry desert places tells + Where flow unseen the cool, sweet wells, + + So, in the wise Diviner's hand, + Be mine the hazel's grateful part + To feel, beneath a thirsty land, + The living waters thrill and start, + The beating of the rivulet's heart! + + Sufficeth me the gift to light + With latest bloom the dark, cold days; + To call some hidden spring to sight + That, in these dry and dusty ways, + Shall sing its pleasant song of praise. + + O Love! the hazel-wand may fail, + But thou canst lend the surer spell, + That, passing over Baca's vale, + Repeats the old-time miracle, + And makes the desert-land a well. + + 1874. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SUNSET ON THE BEARCAMP. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A gold fringe on the purpling hem + Of hills the river runs, + As down its long, green valley falls + The last of summer's suns. + + Along its tawny gravel-bed + Broad-flowing, swift, and still, + As if its meadow levels felt + The hurry of the hill, + Noiseless between its banks of green + From curve to curve it slips; + The drowsy maple-shadows rest + Like fingers on its lips. + + A waif from Carroll's wildest hills, + Unstoried and unknown; + The ursine legend of its name + Prowls on its banks alone. + Yet flowers as fair its slopes adorn + As ever Yarrow knew, + Or, under rainy Irish skies, + By Spenser's Mulla grew; + And through the gaps of leaning trees + Its mountain cradle shows + The gold against the amethyst, + The green against the rose. + + Touched by a light that hath no name, + A glory never sung, + Aloft on sky and mountain wall + Are God's great pictures hung. + How changed the summits vast and old! + No longer granite-browed, + They melt in rosy mist; the rock + Is softer than the cloud; + The valley holds its breath; no leaf + Of all its elms is twirled + The silence of eternity + Seems falling on the world. + + The pause before the breaking seals + Of mystery is this; + Yon miracle-play of night and day + Makes dumb its witnesses. + What unseen altar crowns the hills + That reach up stair on stair? + What eyes look through, what white wings fan + These purple veils of air? + What Presence from the heavenly heights + To those of earth stoops down? + Not vainly Hellas dreamed of gods + On Ida's snowy crown! + + Slow fades the vision of the sky, + The golden water pales, + And over all the valley-land + A gray-winged vapor sails. + I go the common way of all; + The sunset fires will burn, + The flowers will blow, the river flow, + When I no more return. + No whisper from the mountain pine + Nor lapsing stream shall tell + The stranger, treading where I tread, + Of him who loved them well. + + But beauty seen is never lost, + God's colors all are fast; + The glory of this sunset heaven + Into my soul has passed, + A sense of gladness unconfined + To mortal date or clime; + As the soul liveth, it shall live + Beyond the years of time. + Beside the mystic asphodels + Shall bloom the home-born flowers, + And new horizons flush and glow + With sunset hues of ours. + + Farewell! these smiling hills must wear + Too soon their wintry frown, + And snow-cold winds from off them shake + The maple's red leaves down. + But I shall see a summer sun + Still setting broad and low; + The mountain slopes shall blush and bloom, + The golden water flow. + A lover's claim is mine on all + I see to have and hold,— + The rose-light of perpetual hills, + And sunsets never cold! + + 1876 +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SEEKING OF THE WATERFALL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + They left their home of summer ease + Beneath the lowland's sheltering trees, + To seek, by ways unknown to all, + The promise of the waterfall. + + Some vague, faint rumor to the vale + Had crept—perchance a hunter's tale— + Of its wild mirth of waters lost + On the dark woods through which it tossed. + + Somewhere it laughed and sang; somewhere + Whirled in mad dance its misty hair; + But who had raised its veil, or seen + The rainbow skirts of that Undine? + + They sought it where the mountain brook + Its swift way to the valley took; + Along the rugged slope they clomb, + Their guide a thread of sound and foam. + + Height after height they slowly won; + The fiery javelins of the sun + Smote the bare ledge; the tangled shade + With rock and vine their steps delayed. + + But, through leaf-openings, now and then + They saw the cheerful homes of men, + And the great mountains with their wall + Of misty purple girdling all. + + The leaves through which the glad winds blew + Shared the wild dance the waters knew; + And where the shadows deepest fell + The wood-thrush rang his silver bell. + + Fringing the stream, at every turn + Swung low the waving fronds of fern; + From stony cleft and mossy sod + Pale asters sprang, and golden-rod. + + And still the water sang the sweet, + Glad song that stirred its gliding feet, + And found in rock and root the keys + Of its beguiling melodies. + + Beyond, above, its signals flew + Of tossing foam the birch-trees through; + Now seen, now lost, but baffling still + The weary seekers' slackening will. + + Each called to each: "Lo here! Lo there! + Its white scarf flutters in the air!" + They climbed anew; the vision fled, + To beckon higher overhead. + + So toiled they up the mountain-slope + With faint and ever fainter hope; + With faint and fainter voice the brook + Still bade them listen, pause, and look. + + Meanwhile below the day was done; + Above the tall peaks saw the sun + Sink, beam-shorn, to its misty set + Behind the hills of violet. + + "Here ends our quest!" the seekers cried, + "The brook and rumor both have lied! + The phantom of a waterfall + Has led us at its beck and call." + + But one, with years grown wiser, said + "So, always baffled, not misled, + We follow where before us runs + The vision of the shining ones. + + "Not where they seem their signals fly, + Their voices while we listen die; + We cannot keep, however fleet, + The quick time of their winged feet. + + "From youth to age unresting stray + These kindly mockers in our way; + Yet lead they not, the baffling elves, + To something better than themselves? + + "Here, though unreached the goal we sought, + Its own reward our toil has brought: + The winding water's sounding rush, + The long note of the hermit thrush, + + "The turquoise lakes, the glimpse of pond + And river track, and, vast, beyond + Broad meadows belted round with pines, + The grand uplift of mountain lines! + + "What matter though we seek with pain + The garden of the gods in vain, + If lured thereby we climb to greet + Some wayside blossom Eden-sweet? + + "To seek is better than to gain, + The fond hope dies as we attain; + Life's fairest things are those which seem, + The best is that of which we dream. + + "Then let us trust our waterfall + Still flashes down its rocky wall, + With rainbow crescent curved across + Its sunlit spray from moss to moss. + + "And we, forgetful of our pain, + In thought shall seek it oft again; + Shall see this aster-blossomed sod, + This sunshine of the golden-rod, + + "And haply gain, through parting boughs, + Grand glimpses of great mountain brows + Cloud-turbaned, and the sharp steel sheen + Of lakes deep set in valleys green. + + "So failure wins; the consequence + Of loss becomes its recompense; + And evermore the end shall tell + The unreached ideal guided well. + + "Our sweet illusions only die + Fulfilling love's sure prophecy; + And every wish for better things + An undreamed beauty nearer brings. + + "For fate is servitor of love; + Desire and hope and longing prove + The secret of immortal youth, + And Nature cheats us into truth. + + "O kind allurers, wisely sent, + Beguiling with benign intent, + Still move us, through divine unrest, + To seek the loveliest and the best! + + "Go with us when our souls go free, + And, in the clear, white light to be, + Add unto Heaven's beatitude + The old delight of seeking good!" + + 1878. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE TRAILING ARBUTUS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I wandered lonely where the pine-trees made + Against the bitter East their barricade, + And, guided by its sweet + Perfume, I found, within a narrow dell, + The trailing spring flower tinted like a shell + Amid dry leaves and mosses at my feet. + + From under dead boughs, for whose loss the pines + Moaned ceaseless overhead, the blossoming vines + Lifted their glad surprise, + While yet the bluebird smoothed in leafless trees + His feathers ruffled by the chill sea-breeze, + And snow-drifts lingered under April skies. + + As, pausing, o'er the lonely flower I bent, + I thought of lives thus lowly, clogged and pent, + Which yet find room, + Through care and cumber, coldness and decay, + To lend a sweetness to the ungenial day + And make the sad earth happier for their bloom. + + 1879. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ST. MARTIN'S SUMMER. + </h2> + <p> + This name in some parts of Europe is given to the season we call Indian + Summer, in honor of the good St. Martin. The title of the poem was + suggested by the fact that the day it refers to was the exact date of that + set apart to the Saint, the 11th of November. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Though flowers have perished at the touch + Of Frost, the early comer, + I hail the season loved so much, + The good St. Martin's summer. + + O gracious morn, with rose-red dawn, + And thin moon curving o'er it! + The old year's darling, latest born, + More loved than all before it! + + How flamed the sunrise through the pines! + How stretched the birchen shadows, + Braiding in long, wind-wavered lines + The westward sloping meadows! + + The sweet day, opening as a flower + Unfolds its petals tender, + Renews for us at noontide's hour + The summer's tempered splendor. + + The birds are hushed; alone the wind, + That through the woodland searches, + The red-oak's lingering leaves can find, + And yellow plumes of larches. + + But still the balsam-breathing pine + Invites no thought of sorrow, + No hint of loss from air like wine + The earth's content can borrow. + + The summer and the winter here + Midway a truce are holding, + A soft, consenting atmosphere + Their tents of peace enfolding. + + The silent woods, the lonely hills, + Rise solemn in their gladness; + The quiet that the valley fills + Is scarcely joy or sadness. + + How strange! The autumn yesterday + In winter's grasp seemed dying; + On whirling winds from skies of gray + The early snow was flying. + + And now, while over Nature's mood + There steals a soft relenting, + I will not mar the present good, + Forecasting or lamenting. + + My autumn time and Nature's hold + A dreamy tryst together, + And, both grown old, about us fold + The golden-tissued weather. + + I lean my heart against the day + To feel its bland caressing; + I will not let it pass away + Before it leaves its blessing. + + God's angels come not as of old + The Syrian shepherds knew them; + In reddening dawns, in sunset gold, + And warm noon lights I view them. + + Nor need there is, in times like this + When heaven to earth draws nearer, + Of wing or song as witnesses + To make their presence clearer. + + O stream of life, whose swifter flow + Is of the end forewarning, + Methinks thy sundown afterglow + Seems less of night than morning! + + Old cares grow light; aside I lay + The doubts and fears that troubled; + The quiet of the happy day + Within my soul is doubled. + + That clouds must veil this fair sunshine + Not less a joy I find it; + Nor less yon warm horizon line + That winter lurks behind it. + + The mystery of the untried days + I close my eyes from reading; + His will be done whose darkest ways + To light and life are leading! + + Less drear the winter night shall be, + If memory cheer and hearten + Its heavy hours with thoughts of thee, + Sweet summer of St. Martin! + + 1880. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STORM ON LAKE ASQUAM. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A cloud, like that the old-time Hebrew saw + On Carmel prophesying rain, began + To lift itself o'er wooded Cardigan, + Growing and blackening. Suddenly, a flaw + + Of chill wind menaced; then a strong blast beat + Down the long valley's murmuring pines, and woke + The noon-dream of the sleeping lake, and broke + Its smooth steel mirror at the mountains' feet. + + Thunderous and vast, a fire-veined darkness swept + Over the rough pine-bearded Asquam range; + A wraith of tempest, wonderful and strange, + From peak to peak the cloudy giant stepped. + + One moment, as if challenging the storm, + Chocorua's tall, defiant sentinel + Looked from his watch-tower; then the shadow fell, + And the wild rain-drift blotted out his form. + + And over all the still unhidden sun, + Weaving its light through slant-blown veils of rain, + Smiled on the trouble, as hope smiles on pain; + And, when the tumult and the strife were done, + + With one foot on the lake and one on land, + Framing within his crescent's tinted streak + A far-off picture of the Melvin peak, + Spent broken clouds the rainbow's angel spanned. + + 1882. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To kneel before some saintly shrine, + To breathe the health of airs divine, + Or bathe where sacred rivers flow, + The cowled and turbaned pilgrims go. + I too, a palmer, take, as they + With staff and scallop-shell, my way + To feel, from burdening cares and ills, + The strong uplifting of the hills. + + The years are many since, at first, + For dreamed-of wonders all athirst, + I saw on Winnipesaukee fall + The shadow of the mountain wall. + Ah! where are they who sailed with me + The beautiful island-studded sea? + And am I he whose keen surprise + Flashed out from such unclouded eyes? + + Still, when the sun of summer burns, + My longing for the hills returns; + And northward, leaving at my back + The warm vale of the Merrimac, + I go to meet the winds of morn, + Blown down the hill-gaps, mountain-born, + Breathe scent of pines, and satisfy + The hunger of a lowland eye. + + Again I see the day decline + Along a ridged horizon line; + Touching the hill-tops, as a nun + Her beaded rosary, sinks the sun. + One lake lies golden, which shall soon + Be silver in the rising moon; + And one, the crimson of the skies + And mountain purple multiplies. + + With the untroubled quiet blends + The distance-softened voice of friends; + The girl's light laugh no discord brings + To the low song the pine-tree sings; + And, not unwelcome, comes the hail + Of boyhood from his nearing sail. + The human presence breaks no spell, + And sunset still is miracle! + + Calm as the hour, methinks I feel + A sense of worship o'er me steal; + Not that of satyr-charming Pan, + No cult of Nature shaming man, + Not Beauty's self, but that which lives + And shines through all the veils it weaves,— + Soul of the mountain, lake, and wood, + Their witness to the Eternal Good! + + And if, by fond illusion, here + The earth to heaven seems drawing near, + And yon outlying range invites + To other and serener heights, + Scarce hid behind its topmost swell, + The shining Mounts Delectable + A dream may hint of truth no less + Than the sharp light of wakefulness. + + As through her vale of incense smoke. + Of old the spell-rapt priestess spoke, + More than her heathen oracle, + May not this trance of sunset tell + That Nature's forms of loveliness + Their heavenly archetypes confess, + Fashioned like Israel's ark alone + From patterns in the Mount made known? + + A holier beauty overbroods + These fair and faint similitudes; + Yet not unblest is he who sees + Shadows of God's realities, + And knows beyond this masquerade + Of shape and color, light and shade, + And dawn and set, and wax and wane, + Eternal verities remain. + + O gems of sapphire, granite set! + O hills that charmed horizons fret + I know how fair your morns can break, + In rosy light on isle and lake; + How over wooded slopes can run + The noonday play of cloud and sun, + And evening droop her oriflamme + Of gold and red in still Asquam. + + The summer moons may round again, + And careless feet these hills profane; + These sunsets waste on vacant eyes + The lavish splendor of the skies; + Fashion and folly, misplaced here, + Sigh for their natural atmosphere, + And travelled pride the outlook scorn + Of lesser heights than Matterhorn. + + But let me dream that hill and sky + Of unseen beauty prophesy; + And in these tinted lakes behold + The trailing of the raiment fold + Of that which, still eluding gaze, + Allures to upward-tending ways, + Whose footprints make, wherever found, + Our common earth a holy ground. + + 1883. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SWEET FERN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The subtle power in perfume found + Nor priest nor sibyl vainly learned; + On Grecian shrine or Aztec mound + No censer idly burned. + + That power the old-time worships knew, + The Corybantes' frenzied dance, + The Pythian priestess swooning through + The wonderland of trance. + + And Nature holds, in wood and field, + Her thousand sunlit censers still; + To spells of flower and shrub we yield + Against or with our will. + + I climbed a hill path strange and new + With slow feet, pausing at each turn; + A sudden waft of west wind blew + The breath of the sweet fern. + + That fragrance from my vision swept + The alien landscape; in its stead, + Up fairer hills of youth I stepped, + As light of heart as tread. + + I saw my boyhood's lakelet shine + Once more through rifts of woodland shade; + I knew my river's winding line + By morning mist betrayed. + + With me June's freshness, lapsing brook, + Murmurs of leaf and bee, the call + Of birds, and one in voice and look + In keeping with them all. + + A fern beside the way we went + She plucked, and, smiling, held it up, + While from her hand the wild, sweet scent + I drank as from a cup. + + O potent witchery of smell! + The dust-dry leaves to life return, + And she who plucked them owns the spell + And lifts her ghostly fern. + + Or sense or spirit? Who shall say + What touch the chord of memory thrills? + It passed, and left the August day + Ablaze on lonely hills. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WOOD GIANT + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + From Alton Bay to Sandwich Dome, + From Mad to Saco river, + For patriarchs of the primal wood + We sought with vain endeavor. + + And then we said: "The giants old + Are lost beyond retrieval; + This pygmy growth the axe has spared + Is not the wood primeval. + + "Look where we will o'er vale and hill, + How idle are our searches + For broad-girthed maples, wide-limbed oaks, + Centennial pines and birches. + + "Their tortured limbs the axe and saw + Have changed to beams and trestles; + They rest in walls, they float on seas, + They rot in sunken vessels. + + "This shorn and wasted mountain land + Of underbrush and boulder,— + Who thinks to see its full-grown tree + Must live a century older." + + At last to us a woodland path, + To open sunset leading, + Revealed the Anakim of pines + Our wildest wish exceeding. + + Alone, the level sun before; + Below, the lake's green islands; + Beyond, in misty distance dim, + The rugged Northern Highlands. + + Dark Titan on his Sunset Hill + Of time and change defiant + How dwarfed the common woodland seemed, + Before the old-time giant! + + What marvel that, in simpler days + Of the world's early childhood, + Men crowned with garlands, gifts, and praise + Such monarchs of the wild-wood? + + That Tyrian maids with flower and song + Danced through the hill grove's spaces, + And hoary-bearded Druids found + In woods their holy places? + + With somewhat of that Pagan awe + With Christian reverence blending, + We saw our pine-tree's mighty arms + Above our heads extending. + + We heard his needles' mystic rune, + Now rising, and now dying, + As erst Dodona's priestess heard + The oak leaves prophesying. + + Was it the half-unconscious moan + Of one apart and mateless, + The weariness of unshared power, + The loneliness of greatness? + + O dawns and sunsets, lend to him + Your beauty and your wonder! + Blithe sparrow, sing thy summer song + His solemn shadow under! + + Play lightly on his slender keys, + O wind of summer, waking + For hills like these the sound of seas + On far-off beaches breaking, + + And let the eagle and the crow + Find shelter in his branches, + When winds shake down his winter snow + In silver avalanches. + + The brave are braver for their cheer, + The strongest need assurance, + The sigh of longing makes not less + The lesson of endurance. + + 1885. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A DAY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Talk not of sad November, when a day + Of warm, glad sunshine fills the sky of noon, + And a wind, borrowed from some morn of June, + Stirs the brown grasses and the leafless spray. + + On the unfrosted pool the pillared pines + Lay their long shafts of shadow: the small rill, + Singing a pleasant song of summer still, + A line of silver, down the hill-slope shines. + + Hushed the bird-voices and the hum of bees, + In the thin grass the crickets pipe no more; + But still the squirrel hoards his winter store, + And drops his nut-shells from the shag-bark trees. + + Softly the dark green hemlocks whisper: high + Above, the spires of yellowing larches show, + Where the woodpecker and home-loving crow + And jay and nut-hatch winter's threat defy. + + O gracious beauty, ever new and old! + O sights and sounds of nature, doubly dear + When the low sunshine warns the closing year + Of snow-blown fields and waves of Arctic cold! + + Close to my heart I fold each lovely thing + The sweet day yields; and, not disconsolate, + With the calm patience of the woods I wait + For leaf and blossom when God gives us Spring! + + 29th, Eleventh Month, 1886. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + POEMS SUBJECTIVE AND REMINISCENT MEMORIES + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A beautiful and happy girl, + With step as light as summer air, + Eyes glad with smiles, and brow of pearl, + Shadowed by many a careless curl + Of unconfined and flowing hair; + A seeming child in everything, + Save thoughtful brow and ripening charms, + As Nature wears the smile of Spring + When sinking into Summer's arms. + + A mind rejoicing in the light + Which melted through its graceful bower, + Leaf after leaf, dew-moist and bright, + And stainless in its holy white, + Unfolding like a morning flower + A heart, which, like a fine-toned lute, + With every breath of feeling woke, + And, even when the tongue was mute, + From eye and lip in music spoke. + + How thrills once more the lengthening chain + Of memory, at the thought of thee! + Old hopes which long in dust have lain + Old dreams, come thronging back again, + And boyhood lives again in me; + I feel its glow upon my cheek, + Its fulness of the heart is mine, + As when I leaned to hear thee speak, + Or raised my doubtful eye to thine. + + I hear again thy low replies, + I feel thy arm within my own, + And timidly again uprise + The fringed lids of hazel eyes, + With soft brown tresses overblown. + Ah! memories of sweet summer eves, + Of moonlit wave and willowy way, + Of stars and flowers, and dewy leaves, + And smiles and tones more dear than they! + + Ere this, thy quiet eye hath smiled + My picture of thy youth to see, + When, half a woman, half a child, + Thy very artlessness beguiled, + And folly's self seemed wise in thee; + I too can smile, when o'er that hour + The lights of memory backward stream, + Yet feel the while that manhood's power + Is vainer than my boyhood's dream. + + Years have passed on, and left their trace, + Of graver care and deeper thought; + And unto me the calm, cold face + Of manhood, and to thee the grace + Of woman's pensive beauty brought. + More wide, perchance, for blame than praise, + The school-boy's humble name has flown; + Thine, in the green and quiet ways + Of unobtrusive goodness known. + + And wider yet in thought and deed + Diverge our pathways, one in youth; + Thine the Genevan's sternest creed, + While answers to my spirit's need + The Derby dalesman's simple truth. + For thee, the priestly rite and prayer, + And holy day, and solemn psalm; + For me, the silent reverence where + My brethren gather, slow and calm. + + Yet hath thy spirit left on me + An impress Time has worn not out, + And something of myself in thee, + A shadow from the past, I see, + Lingering, even yet, thy way about; + Not wholly can the heart unlearn + That lesson of its better hours, + Not yet has Time's dull footstep worn + To common dust that path of flowers. + + Thus, while at times before our eyes + The shadows melt, and fall apart, + And, smiling through them, round us lies + The warm light of our morning skies,— + The Indian Summer of the heart! + In secret sympathies of mind, + In founts of feeling which retain + Their pure, fresh flow, we yet may find + Our early dreams not wholly vain + + 1841. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + RAPHAEL. + </h2> + <h3> + Suggested by the portrait of Raphael, at the age of fifteen. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I shall not soon forget that sight + The glow of Autumn's westering day, + A hazy warmth, a dreamy light, + On Raphael's picture lay. + + It was a simple print I saw, + The fair face of a musing boy; + Yet, while I gazed, a sense of awe + Seemed blending with my joy. + + A simple print,—the graceful flow + Of boyhood's soft and wavy hair, + And fresh young lip and cheek, and brow + Unmarked and clear, were there. + + Yet through its sweet and calm repose + I saw the inward spirit shine; + It was as if before me rose + The white veil of a shrine. + + As if, as Gothland's sage has told, + The hidden life, the man within, + Dissevered from its frame and mould, + By mortal eye were seen. + + Was it the lifting of that eye, + The waving of that pictured hand? + Loose as a cloud-wreath on the sky, + I saw the walls expand. + + The narrow room had vanished,—space, + Broad, luminous, remained alone, + Through which all hues and shapes of grace + And beauty looked or shone. + + Around the mighty master came + The marvels which his pencil wrought, + Those miracles of power whose fame + Is wide as human thought. + + There drooped thy more than mortal face, + O Mother, beautiful and mild + Enfolding in one dear embrace + Thy Saviour and thy Child! + + The rapt brow of the Desert John; + The awful glory of that day + When all the Father's brightness shone + Through manhood's veil of clay. + + And, midst gray prophet forms, and wild + Dark visions of the days of old, + How sweetly woman's beauty smiled + Through locks of brown and gold! + + There Fornarina's fair young face + Once more upon her lover shone, + Whose model of an angel's grace + He borrowed from her own. + + Slow passed that vision from my view, + But not the lesson which it taught; + The soft, calm shadows which it threw + Still rested on my thought: + + The truth, that painter, bard, and sage, + Even in Earth's cold and changeful clime, + Plant for their deathless heritage + The fruits and flowers of time. + + We shape ourselves the joy or fear + Of which the coming life is made, + And fill our Future's atmosphere + With sunshine or with shade. + + The tissue of the Life to be + We weave with colors all our own, + And in the field of Destiny + We reap as we have sown. + + Still shall the soul around it call + The shadows which it gathered here, + And, painted on the eternal wall, + The Past shall reappear. + + Think ye the notes of holy song + On Milton's tuneful ear have died? + Think ye that Raphael's angel throng + Has vanished from his side? + + Oh no!—We live our life again; + Or warmly touched, or coldly dim, + The pictures of the Past remain,—- + Man's works shall follow him! + + 1842. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EGO. + </h2> + <h3> + WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF A FRIEND. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + On page of thine I cannot trace + The cold and heartless commonplace, + A statue's fixed and marble grace. + + For ever as these lines I penned, + Still with the thought of thee will blend + That of some loved and common friend, + + Who in life's desert track has made + His pilgrim tent with mine, or strayed + Beneath the same remembered shade. + + And hence my pen unfettered moves + In freedom which the heart approves, + The negligence which friendship loves. + + And wilt thou prize my poor gift less + For simple air and rustic dress, + And sign of haste and carelessness? + + Oh, more than specious counterfeit + Of sentiment or studied wit, + A heart like thine should value it. + + Yet half I fear my gift will be + Unto thy book, if not to thee, + Of more than doubtful courtesy. + + A banished name from Fashion's sphere, + A lay unheard of Beauty's ear, + Forbid, disowned,—what do they here? + + Upon my ear not all in vain + Came the sad captive's clanking chain, + The groaning from his bed of pain. + + And sadder still, I saw the woe + Which only wounded spirits know + When Pride's strong footsteps o'er them go. + + Spurned not alone in walks abroad, + But from the temples of the Lord + Thrust out apart, like things abhorred. + + Deep as I felt, and stern and strong, + In words which Prudence smothered long, + My soul spoke out against the wrong; + + Not mine alone the task to speak + Of comfort to the poor and weak, + And dry the tear on Sorrow's cheek; + + But, mingled in the conflict warm, + To pour the fiery breath of storm + Through the harsh trumpet of Reform; + + To brave Opinion's settled frown, + From ermined robe and saintly gown, + While wrestling reverenced Error down. + + Founts gushed beside my pilgrim way, + Cool shadows on the greensward lay, + Flowers swung upon the bending spray. + + And, broad and bright, on either hand, + Stretched the green slopes of Fairy-land, + With Hope's eternal sunbow spanned; + + Whence voices called me like the flow, + Which on the listener's ear will grow, + Of forest streamlets soft and low. + + And gentle eyes, which still retain + Their picture on the heart and brain, + Smiled, beckoning from that path of pain. + + In vain! nor dream, nor rest, nor pause + Remain for him who round him draws + The battered mail of Freedom's cause. + + From youthful hopes, from each green spot + Of young Romance, and gentle Thought, + Where storm and tumult enter not; + + From each fair altar, where belong + The offerings Love requires of Song + In homage to her bright-eyed throng; + + With soul and strength, with heart and hand, + I turned to Freedom's struggling band, + To the sad Helots of our land. + + What marvel then that Fame should turn + Her notes of praise to those of scorn; + Her gifts reclaimed, her smiles withdrawn? + + What matters it? a few years more, + Life's surge so restless heretofore + Shall break upon the unknown shore! + + In that far land shall disappear + The shadows which we follow here, + The mist-wreaths of our atmosphere! + + Before no work of mortal hand, + Of human will or strength expand + The pearl gates of the Better Land; + + Alone in that great love which gave + Life to the sleeper of the grave, + Resteth the power to seek and save. + + Yet, if the spirit gazing through + The vista of the past can view + One deed to Heaven and virtue true; + + If through the wreck of wasted powers, + Of garlands wreathed from Folly's bowers, + Of idle aims and misspent hours, + + The eye can note one sacred spot + By Pride and Self profaned not, + A green place in the waste of thought, + + Where deed or word hath rendered less + The sum of human wretchedness, + And Gratitude looks forth to bless; + + The simple burst of tenderest feeling + From sad hearts worn by evil-dealing, + For blessing on the hand of healing; + + Better than Glory's pomp will be + That green and blessed spot to me, + A palm-shade in Eternity! + + Something of Time which may invite + The purified and spiritual sight + To rest on with a calm delight. + + And when the summer winds shall sweep + With their light wings my place of sleep, + And mosses round my headstone creep; + + If still, as Freedom's rallying sign, + Upon the young heart's altars shine + The very fires they caught from mine; + + If words my lips once uttered still, + In the calm faith and steadfast will + Of other hearts, their work fulfil; + + Perchance with joy the soul may learn + These tokens, and its eye discern + The fires which on those altars burn; + + A marvellous joy that even then, + The spirit hath its life again, + In the strong hearts of mortal men. + + Take, lady, then, the gift I bring, + No gay and graceful offering, + No flower-smile of the laughing spring. + + Midst the green buds of Youth's fresh May, + With Fancy's leaf-enwoven bay, + My sad and sombre gift I lay. + + And if it deepens in thy mind + A sense of suffering human-kind,— + The outcast and the spirit-blind; + + Oppressed and spoiled on every side, + By Prejudice, and Scorn, and Pride, + Life's common courtesies denied; + + Sad mothers mourning o'er their trust, + Children by want and misery nursed, + Tasting life's bitter cup at first; + + If to their strong appeals which come + From fireless hearth, and crowded room, + And the close alley's noisome gloom,— + + Though dark the hands upraised to thee + In mute beseeching agony, + Thou lend'st thy woman's sympathy; + + Not vainly on thy gentle shrine, + Where Love, and Mirth, and Friendship twine + Their varied gifts, I offer mine. + + 1843. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PUMPKIN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun, + The vines of the gourd and the rich melon run, + And the rock and the tree and the cottage enfold, + With broad leaves all greenness and blossoms all gold, + Like that which o'er Nineveh's prophet once grew, + While he waited to know that his warning was true, + And longed for the storm-cloud, and listened in vain + For the rush of the whirlwind and red fire-rain. + + On the banks of the Xenil the dark Spanish maiden + Comes up with the fruit of the tangled vine laden; + And the Creole of Cuba laughs out to behold + Through orange-leaves shining the broad spheres of gold; + Yet with dearer delight from his home in the North, + On the fields of his harvest the Yankee looks forth, + Where crook-necks are coiling and yellow fruit shines, + And the sun of September melts down on his vines. + + Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West, + From North and from South come the pilgrim and guest, + When the gray-haired New-Englander sees round his board + The old broken links of affection restored, + When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more, + And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before, + What moistens the lip and what brightens the eye? + What calls back the past, like the rich Pumpkin pie? + + Oh, fruit loved of boyhood! the old days recalling, + When wood-grapes were purpling and brown nuts were falling! + When wild, ugly faces we carved in its skin, + Glaring out through the dark with a candle within! + When we laughed round the corn-heap, with hearts all in tune, + Our chair a broad pumpkin,—our lantern the moon, + Telling tales of the fairy who travelled like steam, + In a pumpkin-shell coach, with two rats for her team + Then thanks for thy present! none sweeter or better + E'er smoked from an oven or circled a platter! + Fairer hands never wrought at a pastry more fine, + Brighter eyes never watched o'er its baking, than thine! + And the prayer, which my mouth is too full to express, + Swells my heart that thy shadow may never be less, + That the days of thy lot may be lengthened below, + And the fame of thy worth like a pumpkin-vine grow, + And thy life be as sweet, and its last sunset sky + Golden-tinted and fair as thy own Pumpkin pie! + + 1844. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FORGIVENESS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + My heart was heavy, for its trust had been + Abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong; + So, turning gloomily from my fellow-men, + One summer Sabbath day I strolled among + The green mounds of the village burial-place; + Where, pondering how all human love and hate + Find one sad level; and how, soon or late, + Wronged and wrongdoer, each with meekened face, + And cold hands folded over a still heart, + Pass the green threshold of our common grave, + Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart, + Awed for myself, and pitying my race, + Our common sorrow, like a nighty wave, + Swept all my pride away, and trembling I forgave! + + 1846. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO MY SISTER, + </h2> + <h3> + WITH A COPY OF "THE SUPERNATURALISM OF NEW ENGLAND." + </h3> + <p> + The work referred to was a series of papers under this title, contributed + to the Democratic Review and afterward collected into a volume, in which I + noted some of the superstitions and folklore prevalent in New England. The + volume has not been kept in print, but most of its contents are + distributed in my Literary Recreations and Miscellanies. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Dear Sister! while the wise and sage + Turn coldly from my playful page, + And count it strange that ripened age + Should stoop to boyhood's folly; + I know that thou wilt judge aright + Of all which makes the heart more light, + Or lends one star-gleam to the night + Of clouded Melancholy. + + Away with weary cares and themes! + Swing wide the moonlit gate of dreams! + Leave free once more the land which teems + With wonders and romances + Where thou, with clear discerning eyes, + Shalt rightly read the truth which lies + Beneath the quaintly masking guise + Of wild and wizard fancies. + + Lo! once again our feet we set + On still green wood-paths, twilight wet, + By lonely brooks, whose waters fret + The roots of spectral beeches; + Again the hearth-fire glimmers o'er + Home's whitewashed wall and painted floor, + And young eyes widening to the lore + Of faery-folks and witches. + + Dear heart! the legend is not vain + Which lights that holy hearth again, + And calling back from care and pain, + And death's funereal sadness, + Draws round its old familiar blaze + The clustering groups of happier days, + And lends to sober manhood's gaze + A glimpse of childish gladness. + + And, knowing how my life hath been + A weary work of tongue and pen, + A long, harsh strife with strong-willed men, + Thou wilt not chide my turning + To con, at times, an idle rhyme, + To pluck a flower from childhood's clime, + Or listen, at Life's noonday chime, + For the sweet bells of Morning! + + 1847. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY THANKS, + </h2> + <h3> + ACCOMPANYING MANUSCRIPTS PRESENTED TO A FRIEND. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'T is said that in the Holy Land + The angels of the place have blessed + The pilgrim's bed of desert sand, + Like Jacob's stone of rest. + + That down the hush of Syrian skies + Some sweet-voiced saint at twilight sings + The song whose holy symphonies + Are beat by unseen wings; + + Till starting from his sandy bed, + The wayworn wanderer looks to see + The halo of an angel's head + Shine through the tamarisk-tree. + + So through the shadows of my way + Thy smile hath fallen soft and clear, + So at the weary close of day + Hath seemed thy voice of cheer. + + That pilgrim pressing to his goal + May pause not for the vision's sake, + Yet all fair things within his soul + The thought of it shall wake: + + The graceful palm-tree by the well, + Seen on the far horizon's rim; + The dark eyes of the fleet gazelle, + Bent timidly on him; + + Each pictured saint, whose golden hair + Streams sunlike through the convent's gloom; + Pale shrines of martyrs young and fair, + And loving Mary's tomb; + + And thus each tint or shade which falls, + From sunset cloud or waving tree, + Along my pilgrim path, recalls + The pleasant thought of thee. + + Of one in sun and shade the same, + In weal and woe my steady friend, + Whatever by that holy name + The angels comprehend. + + Not blind to faults and follies, thou + Hast never failed the good to see, + Nor judged by one unseemly bough + The upward-struggling tree. + + These light leaves at thy feet I lay,— + Poor common thoughts on common things, + Which time is shaking, day by day, + Like feathers from his wings; + + Chance shootings from a frail life-tree, + To nurturing care but little known, + Their good was partly learned of thee, + Their folly is my own. + + That tree still clasps the kindly mould, + Its leaves still drink the twilight dew, + And weaving its pale green with gold, + Still shines the sunlight through. + + There still the morning zephyrs play, + And there at times the spring bird sings, + And mossy trunk and fading spray + Are flowered with glossy wings. + + Yet, even in genial sun and rain, + Root, branch, and leaflet fail and fade; + The wanderer on its lonely plain + Erelong shall miss its shade. + + O friend beloved, whose curious skill + Keeps bright the last year's leaves and flowers, + With warm, glad, summer thoughts to fill + The cold, dark, winter hours + + Pressed on thy heart, the leaves I bring + May well defy the wintry cold, + Until, in Heaven's eternal spring, + Life's fairer ones unfold. + + 1847. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + REMEMBRANCE + </h2> + <h3> + WITH COPIES OF THE AUTHOR'S WRITINGS. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Friend of mine! whose lot was cast + With me in the distant past; + Where, like shadows flitting fast, + + Fact and fancy, thought and theme, + Word and work, begin to seem + Like a half-remembered dream! + + Touched by change have all things been, + Yet I think of thee as when + We had speech of lip and pen. + + For the calm thy kindness lent + To a path of discontent, + Rough with trial and dissent; + + Gentle words where such were few, + Softening blame where blame was true, + Praising where small praise was due; + + For a waking dream made good, + For an ideal understood, + For thy Christian womanhood; + + For thy marvellous gift to cull + From our common life and dull + Whatsoe'er is beautiful; + + Thoughts and fancies, Hybla's bees + Dropping sweetness; true heart's-ease + Of congenial sympathies;— + + Still for these I own my debt; + Memory, with her eyelids wet, + Fain would thank thee even yet! + + And as one who scatters flowers + Where the Queen of May's sweet hours + Sits, o'ertwined with blossomed bowers, + + In superfluous zeal bestowing + Gifts where gifts are overflowing, + So I pay the debt I'm owing. + + To thy full thoughts, gay or sad, + Sunny-hued or sober clad, + Something of my own I add; + + Well assured that thou wilt take + Even the offering which I make + Kindly for the giver's sake. + + 1851. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY NAMESAKE. + </h2> + <h3> + Addressed to Francis Greenleaf Allison of Burlington, New Jersey. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + You scarcely need my tardy thanks, + Who, self-rewarded, nurse and tend— + A green leaf on your own Green Banks— + The memory of your friend. + + For me, no wreath, bloom-woven, hides + The sobered brow and lessening hair + For aught I know, the myrtled sides + Of Helicon are bare. + + Their scallop-shells so many bring + The fabled founts of song to try, + They've drained, for aught I know, the spring + Of Aganippe dry. + + Ah well!—The wreath the Muses braid + Proves often Folly's cap and bell; + Methinks, my ample beaver's shade + May serve my turn as well. + + Let Love's and Friendship's tender debt + Be paid by those I love in life. + Why should the unborn critic whet + For me his scalping-knife? + + Why should the stranger peer and pry + One's vacant house of life about, + And drag for curious ear and eye + His faults and follies out?— + + Why stuff, for fools to gaze upon, + With chaff of words, the garb he wore, + As corn-husks when the ear is gone + Are rustled all the more? + + Let kindly Silence close again, + The picture vanish from the eye, + And on the dim and misty main + Let the small ripple die. + + Yet not the less I own your claim + To grateful thanks, dear friends of mine. + Hang, if it please you so, my name + Upon your household line. + + Let Fame from brazen lips blow wide + Her chosen names, I envy none + A mother's love, a father's pride, + Shall keep alive my own! + + Still shall that name as now recall + The young leaf wet with morning dew, + The glory where the sunbeams fall + The breezy woodlands through. + + That name shall be a household word, + A spell to waken smile or sigh; + In many an evening prayer be heard + And cradle lullaby. + + And thou, dear child, in riper days + When asked the reason of thy name, + Shalt answer: One 't were vain to praise + Or censure bore the same. + + "Some blamed him, some believed him good, + The truth lay doubtless 'twixt the two; + He reconciled as best he could + Old faith and fancies new. + + "In him the grave and playful mixed, + And wisdom held with folly truce, + And Nature compromised betwixt + Good fellow and recluse. + + "He loved his friends, forgave his foes; + And, if his words were harsh at times, + He spared his fellow-men,—his blows + Fell only on their crimes. + + "He loved the good and wise, but found + His human heart to all akin + Who met him on the common ground + Of suffering and of sin. + + "Whate'er his neighbors might endure + Of pain or grief his own became; + For all the ills he could not cure + He held himself to blame. + + "His good was mainly an intent, + His evil not of forethought done; + The work he wrought was rarely meant + Or finished as begun. + + "Ill served his tides of feeling strong + To turn the common mills of use; + And, over restless wings of song, + His birthright garb hung loose! + + "His eye was beauty's powerless slave, + And his the ear which discord pains; + Few guessed beneath his aspect grave + What passions strove in chains. + + "He had his share of care and pain, + No holiday was life to him; + Still in the heirloom cup we drain + The bitter drop will swim. + + "Yet Heaven was kind, and here a bird + And there a flower beguiled his way; + And, cool, in summer noons, he heard + The fountains plash and play. + + "On all his sad or restless moods + The patient peace of Nature stole; + The quiet of the fields and woods + Sank deep into his soul. + + "He worshipped as his fathers did, + And kept the faith of childish days, + And, howsoe'er he strayed or slid, + He loved the good old ways. + + "The simple tastes, the kindly traits, + The tranquil air, and gentle speech, + The silence of the soul that waits + For more than man to teach. + + "The cant of party, school, and sect, + Provoked at times his honest scorn, + And Folly, in its gray respect, + He tossed on satire's horn. + + "But still his heart was full of awe + And reverence for all sacred things; + And, brooding over form and law,' + He saw the Spirit's wings! + + "Life's mystery wrapt him like a cloud; + He heard far voices mock his own, + The sweep of wings unseen, the loud, + Long roll of waves unknown. + + "The arrows of his straining sight + Fell quenched in darkness; priest and sage, + Like lost guides calling left and right, + Perplexed his doubtful age. + + "Like childhood, listening for the sound + Of its dropped pebbles in the well, + All vainly down the dark profound + His brief-lined plummet fell. + + "So, scattering flowers with pious pains + On old beliefs, of later creeds, + Which claimed a place in Truth's domains, + He asked the title-deeds. + + "He saw the old-time's groves and shrines + In the long distance fair and dim; + And heard, like sound of far-off pines, + The century-mellowed hymn! + + "He dared not mock the Dervish whirl, + The Brahmin's rite, the Lama's spell; + God knew the heart; Devotion's pearl + Might sanctify the shell. + + "While others trod the altar stairs + He faltered like the publican; + And, while they praised as saints, his prayers + Were those of sinful man. + + "For, awed by Sinai's Mount of Law, + The trembling faith alone sufficed, + That, through its cloud and flame, he saw + The sweet, sad face of Christ! + + "And listening, with his forehead bowed, + Heard the Divine compassion fill + The pauses of the trump and cloud + With whispers small and still. + + "The words he spake, the thoughts he penned, + Are mortal as his hand and brain, + But, if they served the Master's end, + He has not lived in vain!" + + Heaven make thee better than thy name, + Child of my friends!—For thee I crave + What riches never bought, nor fame + To mortal longing gave. + + I pray the prayer of Plato old: + God make thee beautiful within, + And let thine eyes the good behold + In everything save sin! + + Imagination held in check + To serve, not rule, thy poised mind; + Thy Reason, at the frown or beck + Of Conscience, loose or bind. + + No dreamer thou, but real all,— + Strong manhood crowning vigorous youth; + Life made by duty epical + And rhythmic with the truth. + + So shall that life the fruitage yield + Which trees of healing only give, + And green-leafed in the Eternal field + Of God, forever live! + + 1853. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A MEMORY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Here, while the loom of Winter weaves + The shroud of flowers and fountains, + I think of thee and summer eves + Among the Northern mountains. + + When thunder tolled the twilight's close, + And winds the lake were rude on, + And thou wert singing, <i>Ca' the Yowes</i>, + The bonny yowes of Cluden! + + When, close and closer, hushing breath, + Our circle narrowed round thee, + And smiles and tears made up the wreath + Wherewith our silence crowned thee; + + And, strangers all, we felt the ties + Of sisters and of brothers; + Ah! whose of all those kindly eyes + Now smile upon another's? + + The sport of Time, who still apart + The waifs of life is flinging; + Oh, nevermore shall heart to heart + Draw nearer for that singing! + + Yet when the panes are frosty-starred, + And twilight's fire is gleaming, + I hear the songs of Scotland's bard + Sound softly through my dreaming! + + A song that lends to winter snows + The glow of summer weather,— + Again I hear thee ca' the yowes + To Cluden's hills of heather + + 1854. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY DREAM. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In my dream, methought I trod, + Yesternight, a mountain road; + Narrow as Al Sirat's span, + High as eagle's flight, it ran. + + Overhead, a roof of cloud + With its weight of thunder bowed; + Underneath, to left and right, + Blankness and abysmal night. + + Here and there a wild-flower blushed, + Now and then a bird-song gushed; + Now and then, through rifts of shade, + Stars shone out, and sunbeams played. + + But the goodly company, + Walking in that path with me, + One by one the brink o'erslid, + One by one the darkness hid. + + Some with wailing and lament, + Some with cheerful courage went; + But, of all who smiled or mourned, + Never one to us returned. + + Anxiously, with eye and ear, + Questioning that shadow drear, + Never hand in token stirred, + Never answering voice I heard! + + Steeper, darker!—lo! I felt + From my feet the pathway melt. + Swallowed by the black despair, + And the hungry jaws of air, + + Past the stony-throated caves, + Strangled by the wash of waves, + Past the splintered crags, I sank + On a green and flowery bank,— + + Soft as fall of thistle-down, + Lightly as a cloud is blown, + Soothingly as childhood pressed + To the bosom of its rest. + + Of the sharp-horned rocks instead, + Green the grassy meadows spread, + Bright with waters singing by + Trees that propped a golden sky. + + Painless, trustful, sorrow-free, + Old lost faces welcomed me, + With whose sweetness of content + Still expectant hope was blent. + + Waking while the dawning gray + Slowly brightened into day, + Pondering that vision fled, + Thus unto myself I said:— + + "Steep and hung with clouds of strife + Is our narrow path of life; + And our death the dreaded fall + Through the dark, awaiting all. + + "So, with painful steps we climb + Up the dizzy ways of time, + Ever in the shadow shed + By the forecast of our dread. + + "Dread of mystery solved alone, + Of the untried and unknown; + Yet the end thereof may seem + Like the falling of my dream. + + "And this heart-consuming care, + All our fears of here or there, + Change and absence, loss and death, + Prove but simple lack of faith." + + Thou, O Most Compassionate! + Who didst stoop to our estate, + Drinking of the cup we drain, + Treading in our path of pain,— + + Through the doubt and mystery, + Grant to us thy steps to see, + And the grace to draw from thence + Larger hope and confidence. + + Show thy vacant tomb, and let, + As of old, the angels sit, + Whispering, by its open door + "Fear not! He hath gone before!" + + 1855. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BAREFOOT BOY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Blessings on thee, little man, + Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan + With thy turned-up pantaloons, + And thy merry whistled tunes; + With thy red lip, redder still + Kissed by strawberries on the hill; + With the sunshine on thy face, + Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; + From my heart I give thee joy,— + I was once a barefoot boy! + + Prince thou art,—the grown-up man + Only is republican. + Let the million-dollared ride! + Barefoot, trudging at his side, + Thou hast more than he can buy + In the reach of ear and eye,— + Outward sunshine, inward joy + Blessings on thee, barefoot boy! + + Oh for boyhood's painless play, + Sleep that wakes in laughing day, + Health that mocks the doctor's rules, + Knowledge never learned of schools, + Of the wild bee's morning chase, + Of the wild-flower's time and place, + Flight of fowl and habitude + Of the tenants of the wood; + How the tortoise bears his shell, + How the woodchuck digs his cell, + And the ground-mole sinks his well; + How the robin feeds her young, + How the oriole's nest is hung; + Where the whitest lilies blow, + Where the freshest berries grow, + Where the ground-nut trails its vine, + Where the wood-grape's clusters shine; + Of the black wasp's cunning way, + Mason of his walls of clay, + And the architectural plans + Of gray hornet artisans! + For, eschewing books and tasks, + Nature answers all he asks, + Hand in hand with her he walks, + Face to face with her he talks, + Part and parcel of her joy,— + Blessings on the barefoot boy! + + Oh for boyhood's time of June, + Crowding years in one brief moon, + When all things I heard or saw, + Me, their master, waited for. + I was rich in flowers and trees, + Humming-birds and honey-bees; + For my sport the squirrel played, + Plied the snouted mole his spade; + For my taste the blackberry cone + Purpled over hedge and stone; + Laughed the brook for my delight + Through the day and through the night, + Whispering at the garden wall, + Talked with me from fall to fall; + Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, + Mine the walnut slopes beyond, + Mine, on bending orchard trees, + Apples of Hesperides! + Still as my horizon grew, + Larger grew my riches too; + All the world I saw or knew + Seemed a complex Chinese toy, + Fashioned for a barefoot boy! + + Oh for festal dainties spread, + Like my bowl of milk and bread; + Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, + On the door-stone, gray and rude! + O'er me, like a regal tent, + Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, + Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, + Looped in many a wind-swung fold; + While for music came the play + Of the pied frogs' orchestra; + And, to light the noisy choir, + Lit the fly his lamp of fire. + I was monarch: pomp and joy + Waited on the barefoot boy! + + Cheerily, then, my little man, + Live and laugh, as boyhood can + Though the flinty slopes be hard, + Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, + Every morn shall lead thee through + Fresh baptisms of the dew; + Every evening from thy feet + Shall the cool wind kiss the heat + All too soon these feet must hide + In the prison cells of pride, + Lose the freedom of the sod, + Like a colt's for work be shod, + Made to tread the mills of toil, + Up and down in ceaseless moil + Happy if their track be found + Never on forbidden ground; + Happy if they sink not in + Quick and treacherous sands of sin. + Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy, + Ere it passes, barefoot boy! + + 1855. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY PSALM. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I mourn no more my vanished years + Beneath a tender rain, + An April rain of smiles and tears, + My heart is young again. + + The west-winds blow, and, singing low, + I hear the glad streams run; + The windows of my soul I throw + Wide open to the sun. + + No longer forward nor behind + I look in hope or fear; + But, grateful, take the good I find, + The best of now and here. + + I plough no more a desert land, + To harvest weed and tare; + The manna dropping from God's hand + Rebukes my painful care. + + I break my pilgrim staff, I lay + Aside the toiling oar; + The angel sought so far away + I welcome at my door. + + The airs of spring may never play + Among the ripening corn, + Nor freshness of the flowers of May + Blow through the autumn morn. + + Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look + Through fringed lids to heaven, + And the pale aster in the brook + Shall see its image given;— + + The woods shall wear their robes of praise, + The south-wind softly sigh, + And sweet, calm days in golden haze + Melt down the amber sky. + + Not less shall manly deed and word + Rebuke an age of wrong; + The graven flowers that wreathe the sword + Make not the blade less strong. + + But smiting hands shall learn to heal,— + To build as to destroy; + Nor less my heart for others feel + That I the more enjoy. + + All as God wills, who wisely heeds + To give or to withhold, + And knoweth more of all my needs + Than all my prayers have told. + + Enough that blessings undeserved + Have marked my erring track; + That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved, + His chastening turned me back; + + That more and more a Providence + Of love is understood, + Making the springs of time and sense + Sweet with eternal good;— + + That death seems but a covered way + Which opens into light, + Wherein no blinded child can stray + Beyond the Father's sight; + + That care and trial seem at last, + Through Memory's sunset air, + Like mountain-ranges overpast, + In purple distance fair; + + That all the jarring notes of life + Seem blending in a psalm, + And all the angles of its strife + Slow rounding into calm. + + And so the shadows fall apart, + And so the west-winds play; + And all the windows of my heart + I open to the day. + + 1859. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WAITING. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I wait and watch: before my eyes + Methinks the night grows thin and gray; + I wait and watch the eastern skies + To see the golden spears uprise + Beneath the oriflamme of day! + + Like one whose limbs are bound in trance + I hear the day-sounds swell and grow, + And see across the twilight glance, + Troop after troop, in swift advance, + The shining ones with plumes of snow! + + I know the errand of their feet, + I know what mighty work is theirs; + I can but lift up hands unmeet, + The threshing-floors of God to beat, + And speed them with unworthy prayers. + + I will not dream in vain despair + The steps of progress wait for me + The puny leverage of a hair + The planet's impulse well may spare, + A drop of dew the tided sea. + + The loss, if loss there be, is mine, + And yet not mine if understood; + For one shall grasp and one resign, + One drink life's rue, and one its wine, + And God shall make the balance good. + + Oh power to do! Oh baffled will! + Oh prayer and action! ye are one. + Who may not strive, may yet fulfil + The harder task of standing still, + And good but wished with God is done! + + 1862. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SNOW-BOUND. A WINTER IDYL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + TO THE MEMORY + + OF + + THE HOUSEHOLD IT DESCRIBES, + + THIS POEM IS DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. +</pre> + <p> + The inmates of the family at the Whittier homestead who are referred to in + the poem were my father, mother, my brother and two sisters, and my uncle + and aunt both unmarried. In addition, there was the district school-master + who boarded with us. The "not unfeared, half-welcome guest" was Harriet + Livermore, daughter of Judge Livermore, of New Hampshire, a young woman of + fine natural ability, enthusiastic, eccentric, with slight control over + her violent temper, which sometimes made her religious profession + doubtful. She was equally ready to exhort in school-house prayer-meetings + and dance in a Washington ball-room, while her father was a member of + Congress. She early embraced the doctrine of the Second Advent, and felt + it her duty to proclaim the Lord's speedy coming. With this message she + crossed the Atlantic and spent the greater part of a long life in + travelling over Europe and Asia. She lived some time with Lady Hester + Stanhope, a woman as fantastic and mentally strained as herself, on the + slope of Mt. Lebanon, but finally quarrelled with her in regard to two + white horses with red marks on their backs which suggested the idea of + saddles, on which her titled hostess expected to ride into Jerusalem with + the Lord. A friend of mine found her, when quite an old woman, wandering + in Syria with a tribe of Arabs, who with the Oriental notion that madness + is inspiration, accepted her as their prophetess and leader. At the time + referred to in Snow-Bound she was boarding at the Rocks Village about two + miles from us. + </p> + <p> + In my boyhood, in our lonely farm-house, we had scanty sources of + information; few books and only a small weekly newspaper. Our only annual + was the Almanac. Under such circumstances story-telling was a necessary + resource in the long winter evenings. My father when a young man had + traversed the wilderness to Canada, and could tell us of his adventures + with Indians and wild beasts, and of his sojourn in the French villages. + My uncle was ready with his record of hunting and fishing and, it must be + confessed, with stories which he at least half believed, of witchcraft and + apparitions. My mother, who was born in the Indian-haunted region of + Somersworth, New Hampshire, between Dover and Portsmouth, told us of the + inroads of the savages, and the narrow escape of her ancestors. She + described strange people who lived on the Piscataqua and Cocheco, among + whom was Bantam the sorcerer. I have in my possession the wizard's + "conjuring book," which he solemnly opened when consulted. It is a copy of + Cornelius Agrippa's Magic printed in 1651, dedicated to Dr. Robert Child, + who, like Michael Scott, had learned "the art of glammorie In Padua beyond + the sea," and who is famous in the annals of Massachusetts, where he was + at one time a resident, as the first man who dared petition the General + Court for liberty of conscience. The full title of the book is Three Books + of Occult Philosophy, by Henry Cornelius Agrippa, Knight, Doctor of both + Laws, Counsellor to Caesar's Sacred Majesty and Judge of the Prerogative + Court. + </p> + <p> + "As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so Good Spirits, + which be Angels of Light, are augmented not only by the Divine light of + the Sun, but also by our common Wood Fire: and as the Celestial Fire + drives away dark spirits, so also this our Fire of Wood doth the same." + —Cor. AGRIPPA, Occult Philosophy, Book I. ch. v. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, + Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, + Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air + Hides hills and woods, the rivet and the heaven, + And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. + The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet + Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit + Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed + In a tumultuous privacy of storm." + Emerson. The Snow Storm. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The sun that brief December day + Rose cheerless over hills of gray, + And, darkly circled, gave at noon + A sadder light than waning moon. + Slow tracing down the thickening sky + Its mute and ominous prophecy, + A portent seeming less than threat, + It sank from sight before it set. + A chill no coat, however stout, + Of homespun stuff could quite, shut out, + A hard, dull bitterness of cold, + That checked, mid-vein, the circling race + Of life-blood in the sharpened face, + The coming of the snow-storm told. + The wind blew east; we heard the roar + Of Ocean on his wintry shore, + And felt the strong pulse throbbing there + Beat with low rhythm our inland air. + + Meanwhile we did our nightly chores,— + Brought in the wood from out of doors, + Littered the stalls, and from the mows + Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows + Heard the horse whinnying for his corn; + And, sharply clashing horn on horn, + Impatient down the stanchion rows + The cattle shake their walnut bows; + While, peering from his early perch + Upon the scaffold's pole of birch, + The cock his crested helmet bent + And down his querulous challenge sent. + + Unwarmed by any sunset light + The gray day darkened into night, + A night made hoary with the swarm, + And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, + As zigzag, wavering to and fro, + Crossed and recrossed the winged snow + And ere the early bedtime came + The white drift piled the window-frame, + And through the glass the clothes-line posts + Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. + + So all night long the storm roared on + The morning broke without a sun; + In tiny spherule traced with lines + Of Nature's geometric signs, + In starry flake, and pellicle, + All day the hoary meteor fell; + And, when the second morning shone, + We looked upon a world unknown, + On nothing we could call our own. + Around the glistening wonder bent + The blue walls of the firmament, + No cloud above, no earth below,— + A universe of sky and snow + The old familiar sights of ours + Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers + Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, + Or garden-wall, or belt of wood; + A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, + A fenceless drift what once was road; + The bridle-post an old man sat + With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; + The well-curb had a Chinese roof; + And even the long sweep, high aloof, + In its slant splendor, seemed to tell + Of Pisa's leaning miracle. + + A prompt, decisive man, no breath + Our father wasted: "Boys, a path!" + Well pleased, (for when did farmer boy + Count such a summons less than joy?) + Our buskins on our feet we drew; + With mittened hands, and caps drawn low, + To guard our necks and ears from snow, + We cut the solid whiteness through. + And, where the drift was deepest, made + A tunnel walled and overlaid + With dazzling crystal: we had read + Of rare Aladdin's wondrous cave, + And to our own his name we gave, + With many a wish the luck were ours + To test his lamp's supernal powers. + We reached the barn with merry din, + And roused the prisoned brutes within. + The old horse thrust his long head out, + And grave with wonder gazed about; + The cock his lusty greeting said, + And forth his speckled harem led; + The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked, + And mild reproach of hunger looked; + The horned patriarch of the sheep, + Like Egypt's Amun roused from sleep, + Shook his sage head with gesture mute, + And emphasized with stamp of foot. + + All day the gusty north-wind bore + The loosening drift its breath before; + Low circling round its southern zone, + The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. + No church-bell lent its Christian tone + To the savage air, no social smoke + Curled over woods of snow-hung oak. + A solitude made more intense + By dreary-voiced elements, + The shrieking of the mindless wind, + The moaning tree-boughs swaying blind, + And on the glass the unmeaning beat + Of ghostly finger-tips of sleet. + Beyond the circle of our hearth + No welcome sound of toil or mirth + Unbound the spell, and testified + Of human life and thought outside. + We minded that the sharpest ear + The buried brooklet could not hear, + The music of whose liquid lip + Had been to us companionship, + And, in our lonely life, had grown + To have an almost human tone. + + As night drew on, and, from the crest + Of wooded knolls that ridged the west, + The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank + From sight beneath the smothering bank, + We piled, with care, our nightly stack + Of wood against the chimney-back,— + The oaken log, green, huge, and thick, + And on its top the stout back-stick; + The knotty forestick laid apart, + And filled between with curious art + The ragged brush; then, hovering near, + We watched the first red blaze appear, + Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam + On whitewashed wall and sagging beam, + Until the old, rude-furnished room + Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom; + While radiant with a mimic flame + Outside the sparkling drift became, + And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree + Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free. + The crane and pendent trammels showed, + The Turks' heads on the andirons glowed; + While childish fancy, prompt to tell + The meaning of the miracle, + Whispered the old rhyme: "<i>Under the tree, + When fire outdoors burns merrily, + There the witches are making tea</i>." + + The moon above the eastern wood + Shone at its full; the hill-range stood + Transfigured in the silver flood, + Its blown snows flashing cold and keen, + Dead white, save where some sharp ravine + Took shadow, or the sombre green + Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black + Against the whiteness at their back. + For such a world and such a night + Most fitting that unwarming light, + Which only seemed where'er it fell + To make the coldness visible. + + Shut in from all the world without, + We sat the clean-winged hearth about, + Content to let the north-wind roar + In baffled rage at pane and door, + While the red logs before us beat + The frost-line back with tropic heat; + And ever, when a louder blast + Shook beam and rafter as it passed, + The merrier up its roaring draught + The great throat of the chimney laughed; + The house-dog on his paws outspread + Laid to the fire his drowsy head, + The cat's dark silhouette on the wall + A couchant tiger's seemed to fall; + And, for the winter fireside meet, + Between the andirons' straddling feet, + The mug of cider simmered slow, + The apples sputtered in a row, + And, close at hand, the basket stood + With nuts from brown October's wood. + + What matter how the night behaved? + What matter how the north-wind raved? + Blow high, blow low, not all its snow + Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow. + O Time and Change!—with hair as gray + As was my sire's that winter day, + How strange it seems, with so much gone + Of life and love, to still live on! + Ah, brother! only I and thou + Are left of all that circle now,— + The dear home faces whereupon + That fitful firelight paled and shone. + Henceforward, listen as we will, + The voices of that hearth are still; + Look where we may, the wide earth o'er + Those lighted faces smile no more. + We tread the paths their feet have worn, + We sit beneath their orchard trees, + We hear, like them, the hum of bees + And rustle of the bladed corn; + We turn the pages that they read, + Their written words we linger o'er, + But in the sun they cast no shade, + No voice is heard, no sign is made, + No step is on the conscious floor! + Yet Love will dream, and Faith will trust, + (Since He who knows our need is just,) + That somehow, somewhere, meet we must. + Alas for him who never sees + The stars shine through his cypress-trees + Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, + Nor looks to see the breaking day + Across the mournful marbles play! + Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, + The truth to flesh and sense unknown, + That Life is ever lord of Death, + And Love can never lose its own! + + We sped the time with stories old, + Wrought puzzles out, and riddles told, + Or stammered from our school-book lore + The Chief of Gambia's "golden shore." + How often since, when all the land + Was clay in Slavery's shaping hand, + As if a far-blown trumpet stirred + The languorous sin-sick air, I heard + "<i>Does not the voice of reason cry, + Claim the first right which Nature gave, + From the red scourge of bondage fly, + Nor deign to live a burdened slave</i>!" + Our father rode again his ride + On Memphremagog's wooded side; + Sat down again to moose and samp + In trapper's hut and Indian camp; + Lived o'er the old idyllic ease + Beneath St. Francois' hemlock-trees; + Again for him the moonlight shone + On Norman cap and bodiced zone; + Again he heard the violin play + Which led the village dance away, + And mingled in its merry whirl + The grandam and the laughing girl. + Or, nearer home, our steps he led + Where Salisbury's level marshes spread + Mile-wide as flies the laden bee; + Where merry mowers, hale and strong, + Swept, scythe on scythe, their swaths along + The low green prairies of the sea. + We shared the fishing off Boar's Head, + And round the rocky Isles of Shoals + The hake-broil on the drift-wood coals; + The chowder on the sand-beach made, + Dipped by the hungry, steaming hot, + With spoons of clam-shell from the pot. + We heard the tales of witchcraft old, + And dream and sign and marvel told + To sleepy listeners as they lay + Stretched idly on the salted hay, + Adrift along the winding shores, + When favoring breezes deigned to blow + The square sail of the gundelow + And idle lay the useless oars. + + Our mother, while she turned her wheel + Or run the new-knit stocking-heel, + Told how the Indian hordes came down + At midnight on Cocheco town, + And how her own great-uncle bore + His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore. + Recalling, in her fitting phrase, + So rich and picturesque and free, + (The common unrhymed poetry + Of simple life and country ways,) + The story of her early days,— + She made us welcome to her home; + Old hearths grew wide to give us room; + We stole with her a frightened look + At the gray wizard's conjuring-book, + The fame whereof went far and wide + Through all the simple country side; + We heard the hawks at twilight play, + The boat-horn on Piscataqua, + The loon's weird laughter far away; + We fished her little trout-brook, knew + What flowers in wood and meadow grew, + What sunny hillsides autumn-brown + She climbed to shake the ripe nuts down, + Saw where in sheltered cove and bay + The ducks' black squadron anchored lay, + And heard the wild-geese calling loud + Beneath the gray November cloud. + + Then, haply, with a look more grave, + And soberer tone, some tale she gave + From painful Sewell's ancient tome, + Beloved in every Quaker home, + Of faith fire-winged by martyrdom, + Or Chalkley's Journal, old and quaint,— + Gentlest of skippers, rare sea-saint!— + Who, when the dreary calms prevailed, + And water-butt and bread-cask failed, + And cruel, hungry eyes pursued + His portly presence mad for food, + With dark hints muttered under breath + Of casting lots for life or death, + Offered, if Heaven withheld supplies, + To be himself the sacrifice. + Then, suddenly, as if to save + The good man from his living grave, + A ripple on the water grew, + A school of porpoise flashed in view. + "Take, eat," he said, "and be content; + These fishes in my stead are sent + By Him who gave the tangled ram + To spare the child of Abraham." + + Our uncle, innocent of books, + Was rich in lore of fields and brooks, + The ancient teachers never dumb + Of Nature's unhoused lyceum. + In moons and tides and weather wise, + He read the clouds as prophecies, + And foul or fair could well divine, + By many an occult hint and sign, + Holding the cunning-warded keys + To all the woodcraft mysteries; + Himself to Nature's heart so near + That all her voices in his ear + Of beast or bird had meanings clear, + Like Apollonius of old, + Who knew the tales the sparrows told, + Or Hermes who interpreted + What the sage cranes of Nilus said; + + Content to live where life began; + A simple, guileless, childlike man, + Strong only on his native grounds, + The little world of sights and sounds + Whose girdle was the parish bounds, + Whereof his fondly partial pride + The common features magnified, + As Surrey hills to mountains grew + In White of Selborne's loving view,— + He told how teal and loon he shot, + And how the eagle's eggs he got, + The feats on pond and river done, + The prodigies of rod and gun; + Till, warming with the tales he told, + Forgotten was the outside cold, + The bitter wind unheeded blew, + From ripening corn the pigeons flew, + The partridge drummed I' the wood, the mink + Went fishing down the river-brink. + In fields with bean or clover gay, + The woodchuck, like a hermit gray, + Peered from the doorway of his cell; + The muskrat plied the mason's trade, + And tier by tier his mud-walls laid; + And from the shagbark overhead + The grizzled squirrel dropped his shell. + + Next, the dear aunt, whose smile of cheer + And voice in dreams I see and hear,— + The sweetest woman ever Fate + Perverse denied a household mate, + Who, lonely, homeless, not the less + Found peace in love's unselfishness, + And welcome wheresoe'er she went, + A calm and gracious element,— + Whose presence seemed the sweet income + And womanly atmosphere of home,— + Called up her girlhood memories, + The huskings and the apple-bees, + The sleigh-rides and the summer sails, + Weaving through all the poor details + And homespun warp of circumstance + A golden woof-thread of romance. + For well she kept her genial mood + And simple faith of maidenhood; + Before her still a cloud-land lay, + The mirage loomed across her way; + The morning dew, that dries so soon + With others, glistened at her noon; + Through years of toil and soil and care, + From glossy tress to thin gray hair, + All unprofaned she held apart + The virgin fancies of the heart. + Be shame to him of woman born + Who hath for such but thought of scorn. + + There, too, our elder sister plied + Her evening task the stand beside; + A full, rich nature, free to trust, + Truthful and almost sternly just, + Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act, + And make her generous thought a fact, + Keeping with many a light disguise + The secret of self-sacrifice. + O heart sore-tried! thou hast the best + That Heaven itself could give thee,—rest, + + Rest from all bitter thoughts and things! + How many a poor one's blessing went + With thee beneath the low green tent + Whose curtain never outward swings! + + As one who held herself a part + Of all she saw, and let her heart + Against the household bosom lean, + Upon the motley-braided mat + Our youngest and our dearest sat, + Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes, + Now bathed in the unfading green + And holy peace of Paradise. + Oh, looking from some heavenly hill, + Or from the shade of saintly palms, + Or silver reach of river calms, + Do those large eyes behold me still? + With me one little year ago:— + The chill weight of the winter snow + For months upon her grave has lain; + And now, when summer south-winds blow + And brier and harebell bloom again, + I tread the pleasant paths we trod, + I see the violet-sprinkled sod + Whereon she leaned, too frail and weak + The hillside flowers she loved to seek, + Yet following me where'er I went + With dark eyes full of love's content. + The birds are glad; the brier-rose fills + The air with sweetness; all the hills + Stretch green to June's unclouded sky; + But still I wait with ear and eye + For something gone which should be nigh, + A loss in all familiar things, + In flower that blooms, and bird that sings. + And yet, dear heart' remembering thee, + Am I not richer than of old? + Safe in thy immortality, + What change can reach the wealth I hold? + What chance can mar the pearl and gold + Thy love hath left in trust with me? + And while in life's late afternoon, + Where cool and long the shadows grow, + I walk to meet the night that soon + Shall shape and shadow overflow, + I cannot feel that thou art far, + Since near at need the angels are; + And when the sunset gates unbar, + Shall I not see thee waiting stand, + And, white against the evening star, + The welcome of thy beckoning hand? + + Brisk wielder of the birch and rule, + The master of the district school + Held at the fire his favored place, + Its warm glow lit a laughing face + Fresh-hued and fair, where scarce appeared + The uncertain prophecy of beard. + He teased the mitten-blinded cat, + Played cross-pins on my uncle's hat, + Sang songs, and told us what befalls + In classic Dartmouth's college halls. + Born the wild Northern hills among, + From whence his yeoman father wrung + By patient toil subsistence scant, + Not competence and yet not want, + + He early gained the power to pay + His cheerful, self-reliant way; + Could doff at ease his scholar's gown + To peddle wares from town to town; + Or through the long vacation's reach + In lonely lowland districts teach, + Where all the droll experience found + At stranger hearths in boarding round, + The moonlit skater's keen delight, + The sleigh-drive through the frosty night, + The rustic party, with its rough + Accompaniment of blind-man's-buff, + And whirling plate, and forfeits paid, + His winter task a pastime made. + Happy the snow-locked homes wherein + He tuned his merry violin, + Or played the athlete in the barn, + Or held the good dame's winding-yarn, + Or mirth-provoking versions told + Of classic legends rare and old, + Wherein the scenes of Greece and Rome + Had all the commonplace of home, + And little seemed at best the odds + 'Twixt Yankee pedlers and old gods; + Where Pindus-born Arachthus took + The guise of any grist-mill brook, + And dread Olympus at his will + Became a huckleberry hill. + + A careless boy that night he seemed; + But at his desk he had the look + And air of one who wisely schemed, + And hostage from the future took + In trained thought and lore of book. + Large-brained, clear-eyed, of such as he + Shall Freedom's young apostles be, + Who, following in War's bloody trail, + Shall every lingering wrong assail; + All chains from limb and spirit strike, + Uplift the black and white alike; + Scatter before their swift advance + The darkness and the ignorance, + The pride, the lust, the squalid sloth, + Which nurtured Treason's monstrous growth, + Made murder pastime, and the hell + Of prison-torture possible; + The cruel lie of caste refute, + Old forms remould, and substitute + For Slavery's lash the freeman's will, + For blind routine, wise-handed skill; + A school-house plant on every hill, + Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence + The quick wires of intelligence; + Till North and South together brought + Shall own the same electric thought, + In peace a common flag salute, + And, side by side in labor's free + And unresentful rivalry, + Harvest the fields wherein they fought. + + Another guest that winter night + Flashed back from lustrous eyes the light. + Unmarked by time, and yet not young, + The honeyed music of her tongue + And words of meekness scarcely told + A nature passionate and bold, + Strong, self-concentred, spurning guide, + Its milder features dwarfed beside + Her unbent will's majestic pride. + She sat among us, at the best, + A not unfeared, half-welcome guest, + Rebuking with her cultured phrase + Our homeliness of words and ways. + A certain pard-like, treacherous grace + Swayed the lithe limbs and dropped the lash, + Lent the white teeth their dazzling flash; + And under low brows, black with night, + Rayed out at times a dangerous light; + The sharp heat-lightnings of her face + Presaging ill to him whom Fate + Condemned to share her love or hate. + A woman tropical, intense + In thought and act, in soul and sense, + She blended in a like degree + The vixen and the devotee, + Revealing with each freak or feint + The temper of Petruchio's Kate, + The raptures of Siena's saint. + Her tapering hand and rounded wrist + Had facile power to form a fist; + The warm, dark languish of her eyes + Was never safe from wrath's surprise. + Brows saintly calm and lips devout + Knew every change of scowl and pout; + And the sweet voice had notes more high + And shrill for social battle-cry. + + Since then what old cathedral town + Has missed her pilgrim staff and gown, + What convent-gate has held its lock + Against the challenge of her knock! + Through Smyrna's plague-hushed thoroughfares, + Up sea-set Malta's rocky stairs, + Gray olive slopes of hills that hem + Thy tombs and shrines, Jerusalem, + Or startling on her desert throne + The crazy Queen of Lebanon s + With claims fantastic as her own, + Her tireless feet have held their way; + And still, unrestful, bowed, and gray, + She watches under Eastern skies, + With hope each day renewed and fresh, + The Lord's quick coming in the flesh, + Whereof she dreams and prophesies! + + Where'er her troubled path may be, + The Lord's sweet pity with her go! + The outward wayward life we see, + The hidden springs we may not know. + Nor is it given us to discern + What threads the fatal sisters spun, + Through what ancestral years has run + The sorrow with the woman born, + What forged her cruel chain of moods, + What set her feet in solitudes, + And held the love within her mute, + What mingled madness in the blood, + A life-long discord and annoy, + Water of tears with oil of joy, + And hid within the folded bud + Perversities of flower and fruit. + It is not ours to separate + The tangled skein of will and fate, + To show what metes and bounds should stand + Upon the soul's debatable land, + And between choice and Providence + Divide the circle of events; + But lie who knows our frame is just, + Merciful and compassionate, + And full of sweet assurances + And hope for all the language is, + That He remembereth we are dust! + + At last the great logs, crumbling low, + Sent out a dull and duller glow, + The bull's-eye watch that hung in view, + Ticking its weary circuit through, + Pointed with mutely warning sign + Its black hand to the hour of nine. + That sign the pleasant circle broke + My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke, + Knocked from its bowl the refuse gray, + And laid it tenderly away, + Then roused himself to safely cover + The dull red brands with ashes over. + And while, with care, our mother laid + The work aside, her steps she stayed + One moment, seeking to express + Her grateful sense of happiness + For food and shelter, warmth and health, + And love's contentment more than wealth, + With simple wishes (not the weak, + Vain prayers which no fulfilment seek, + But such as warm the generous heart, + O'er-prompt to do with Heaven its part) + That none might lack, that bitter night, + For bread and clothing, warmth and light. + + Within our beds awhile we heard + The wind that round the gables roared, + With now and then a ruder shock, + Which made our very bedsteads rock. + We heard the loosened clapboards tost, + The board-nails snapping in the frost; + And on us, through the unplastered wall, + Felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall. + But sleep stole on, as sleep will do + When hearts are light and life is new; + Faint and more faint the murmurs grew, + Till in the summer-land of dreams + They softened to the sound of streams, + Low stir of leaves, and dip of oars, + And lapsing waves on quiet shores. + + Next morn we wakened with the shout + Of merry voices high and clear; + And saw the teamsters drawing near + To break the drifted highways out. + Down the long hillside treading slow + We saw the half-buried oxen' go, + Shaking the snow from heads uptost, + Their straining nostrils white with frost. + Before our door the straggling train + Drew up, an added team to gain. + The elders threshed their hands a-cold, + Passed, with the cider-mug, their jokes + From lip to lip; the younger folks + Down the loose snow-banks, wrestling, rolled, + Then toiled again the cavalcade + O'er windy hill, through clogged ravine, + And woodland paths that wound between + Low drooping pine-boughs winter-weighed. + From every barn a team afoot, + At every house a new recruit, + Where, drawn by Nature's subtlest law + Haply the watchful young men saw + Sweet doorway pictures of the curls + And curious eyes of merry girls, + Lifting their hands in mock defence + Against the snow-ball's compliments, + And reading in each missive tost + The charm with Eden never lost. + + We heard once more the sleigh-bells' sound; + And, following where the teamsters led, + The wise old Doctor went his round, + Just pausing at our door to say, + In the brief autocratic way + Of one who, prompt at Duty's call, + Was free to urge her claim on all, + That some poor neighbor sick abed + At night our mother's aid would need. + For, one in generous thought and deed, + What mattered in the sufferer's sight + The Quaker matron's inward light, + The Doctor's mail of Calvin's creed? + All hearts confess the saints elect + Who, twain in faith, in love agree, + And melt not in an acid sect + The Christian pearl of charity! + + So days went on: a week had passed + Since the great world was heard from last. + The Almanac we studied o'er, + Read and reread our little store, + Of books and pamphlets, scarce a score; + One harmless novel, mostly hid + From younger eyes, a book forbid, + And poetry, (or good or bad, + A single book was all we had,) + Where Ellwood's meek, drab-skirted Muse, + A stranger to the heathen Nine, + Sang, with a somewhat nasal whine, + The wars of David and the Jews. + At last the floundering carrier bore + The village paper to our door. + Lo! broadening outward as we read, + To warmer zones the horizon spread; + In panoramic length unrolled + We saw the marvels that it told. + Before us passed the painted Creeks, + And daft McGregor on his raids + In Costa Rica's everglades. + And up Taygetos winding slow + Rode Ypsilanti's Mainote Greeks, + A Turk's head at each saddle-bow + Welcome to us its week-old news, + Its corner for the rustic Muse, + Its monthly gauge of snow and rain, + Its record, mingling in a breath + The wedding bell and dirge of death; + Jest, anecdote, and love-lorn tale, + The latest culprit sent to jail; + Its hue and cry of stolen and lost, + Its vendue sales and goods at cost, + And traffic calling loud for gain. + We felt the stir of hall and street, + The pulse of life that round us beat; + The chill embargo of the snow + Was melted in the genial glow; + Wide swung again our ice-locked door, + And all the world was ours once more! + + Clasp, Angel of the backward look + And folded wings of ashen gray + And voice of echoes far away, + The brazen covers of thy book; + The weird palimpsest old and vast, + Wherein thou hid'st the spectral past; + Where, closely mingling, pale and glow + The characters of joy and woe; + The monographs of outlived years, + Or smile-illumed or dim with tears, + Green hills of life that slope to death, + And haunts of home, whose vistaed trees + Shade off to mournful cypresses + With the white amaranths underneath. + Even while I look, I can but heed + The restless sands' incessant fall, + Importunate hours that hours succeed, + Each clamorous with its own sharp need, + And duty keeping pace with all. + Shut down and clasp the heavy lids; + I hear again the voice that bids + The dreamer leave his dream midway + For larger hopes and graver fears + Life greatens in these later years, + The century's aloe flowers to-day! + + Yet, haply, in some lull of life, + Some Truce of God which breaks its strife, + The worldling's eyes shall gather dew, + Dreaming in throngful city ways + Of winter joys his boyhood knew; + And dear and early friends—the few + Who yet remain—shall pause to view + These Flemish pictures of old days; + Sit with me by the homestead hearth, + And stretch the hands of memory forth + To warm them at the wood-fire's blaze! + And thanks untraced to lips unknown + Shall greet me like the odors blown + From unseen meadows newly mown, + Or lilies floating in some pond, + Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond; + The traveller owns the grateful sense + Of sweetness near, he knows not whence, + And, pausing, takes with forehead bare + The benediction of the air. + + 1866. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY TRIUMPH. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The autumn-time has come; + On woods that dream of bloom, + And over purpling vines, + The low sun fainter shines. + + The aster-flower is failing, + The hazel's gold is paling; + Yet overhead more near + The eternal stars appear! + + And present gratitude + Insures the future's good, + And for the things I see + I trust the things to be; + + That in the paths untrod, + And the long days of God, + My feet shall still be led, + My heart be comforted. + + O living friends who love me! + O dear ones gone above me! + Careless of other fame, + I leave to you my name. + + Hide it from idle praises, + Save it from evil phrases + Why, when dear lips that spake it + Are dumb, should strangers wake it? + + Let the thick curtain fall; + I better know than all + How little I have gained, + How vast the unattained. + + Not by the page word-painted + Let life be banned or sainted + Deeper than written scroll + The colors of the soul. + + Sweeter than any sung + My songs that found no tongue; + Nobler than any fact + My wish that failed of act. + + Others shall sing the song, + Others shall right the wrong,— + Finish what I begin, + And all I fail of win. + + What matter, I or they? + Mine or another's day, + So the right word be said + And life the sweeter made? + + Hail to the coming singers + Hail to the brave light-bringers! + Forward I reach and share + All that they sing and dare. + + The airs of heaven blow o'er me; + A glory shines before me + Of what mankind shall be,— + Pure, generous, brave, and free. + + A dream of man and woman + Diviner but still human, + Solving the riddle old, + Shaping the Age of Gold. + + The love of God and neighbor; + An equal-handed labor; + The richer life, where beauty + Walks hand in hand with duty. + + Ring, bells in unreared steeples, + The joy of unborn peoples! + Sound, trumpets far off blown, + Your triumph is my own! + + Parcel and part of all, + I keep the festival, + Fore-reach the good to be, + And share the victory. + + I feel the earth move sunward, + I join the great march onward, + And take, by faith, while living, + My freehold of thanksgiving. + + 1870. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN SCHOOL-DAYS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Still sits the school-house by the road, + A ragged beggar sleeping; + Around it still the sumachs grow, + And blackberry-vines are creeping. + + Within, the master's desk is seen, + Deep scarred by raps official; + The warping floor, the battered seats, + The jack-knife's carved initial; + + The charcoal frescos on its wall; + Its door's worn sill, betraying + The feet that, creeping slow to school, + Went storming out to playing! + + Long years ago a winter sun + Shone over it at setting; + Lit up its western window-panes, + And low eaves' icy fretting. + + It touched the tangled golden curls, + And brown eyes full of grieving, + Of one who still her steps delayed + When all the school were leaving. + + For near her stood the little boy + Her childish favor singled: + His cap pulled low upon a face + Where pride and shame were mingled. + + Pushing with restless feet the snow + To right and left, he lingered;— + As restlessly her tiny hands + The blue-checked apron fingered. + + He saw her lift her eyes; he felt + The soft hand's light caressing, + And heard the tremble of her voice, + As if a fault confessing. + + "I 'm sorry that I spelt the word + I hate to go above you, + Because,"—the brown eyes lower fell,— + "Because you see, I love you!" + + Still memory to a gray-haired man + That sweet child-face is showing. + Dear girl! the grasses on her grave + Have forty years been growing! + + He lives to learn, in life's hard school, + How few who pass above him + Lament their triumph and his loss, + Like her,—because they love him. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY BIRTHDAY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Beneath the moonlight and the snow + Lies dead my latest year; + The winter winds are wailing low + Its dirges in my ear. + + I grieve not with the moaning wind + As if a loss befell; + Before me, even as behind, + God is, and all is well! + + His light shines on me from above, + His low voice speaks within,— + The patience of immortal love + Outwearying mortal sin. + + Not mindless of the growing years + Of care and loss and pain, + My eyes are wet with thankful tears + For blessings which remain. + + If dim the gold of life has grown, + I will not count it dross, + Nor turn from treasures still my own + To sigh for lack and loss. + + The years no charm from Nature take; + As sweet her voices call, + As beautiful her mornings break, + As fair her evenings fall. + + Love watches o'er my quiet ways, + Kind voices speak my name, + And lips that find it hard to praise + Are slow, at least, to blame. + + How softly ebb the tides of will! + How fields, once lost or won, + Now lie behind me green and still + Beneath a level sun. + + How hushed the hiss of party hate, + The clamor of the throng! + How old, harsh voices of debate + Flow into rhythmic song! + + Methinks the spirit's temper grows + Too soft in this still air; + Somewhat the restful heart foregoes + Of needed watch and prayer. + + The bark by tempest vainly tossed + May founder in the calm, + And he who braved the polar frost + Faint by the isles of balm. + + Better than self-indulgent years + The outflung heart of youth, + Than pleasant songs in idle ears + The tumult of the truth. + + Rest for the weary hands is good, + And love for hearts that pine, + But let the manly habitude + Of upright souls be mine. + + Let winds that blow from heaven refresh, + Dear Lord, the languid air; + And let the weakness of the flesh + Thy strength of spirit share. + + And, if the eye must fail of light, + The ear forget to hear, + Make clearer still the spirit's sight, + More fine the inward ear! + + Be near me in mine hours of need + To soothe, or cheer, or warn, + And down these slopes of sunset lead + As up the hills of morn! + + 1871. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + RED RIDING-HOOD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + On the wide lawn the snow lay deep, + Ridged o'er with many a drifted heap; + The wind that through the pine-trees sung + The naked elm-boughs tossed and swung; + While, through the window, frosty-starred, + Against the sunset purple barred, + We saw the sombre crow flap by, + The hawk's gray fleck along the sky, + The crested blue-jay flitting swift, + The squirrel poising on the drift, + Erect, alert, his broad gray tail + Set to the north wind like a sail. + + It came to pass, our little lass, + With flattened face against the glass, + And eyes in which the tender dew + Of pity shone, stood gazing through + The narrow space her rosy lips + Had melted from the frost's eclipse + "Oh, see," she cried, "the poor blue-jays! + What is it that the black crow says? + The squirrel lifts his little legs + Because he has no hands, and begs; + He's asking for my nuts, I know + May I not feed them on the snow?" + + Half lost within her boots, her head + Warm-sheltered in her hood of red, + Her plaid skirt close about her drawn, + She floundered down the wintry lawn; + Now struggling through the misty veil + Blown round her by the shrieking gale; + Now sinking in a drift so low + Her scarlet hood could scarcely show + Its dash of color on the snow. + + She dropped for bird and beast forlorn + Her little store of nuts and corn, + And thus her timid guests bespoke + "Come, squirrel, from your hollow oak,— + Come, black old crow,—come, poor blue-jay, + Before your supper's blown away + Don't be afraid, we all are good; + And I'm mamma's Red Riding-Hood!" + + O Thou whose care is over all, + Who heedest even the sparrow's fall, + Keep in the little maiden's breast + The pity which is now its guest! + Let not her cultured years make less + The childhood charm of tenderness, + But let her feel as well as know, + Nor harder with her polish grow! + Unmoved by sentimental grief + That wails along some printed leaf, + But, prompt with kindly word and deed + To own the claims of all who need, + Let the grown woman's self make good + The promise of Red Riding-Hood. + + 1877. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + RESPONSE. + </h2> + <p> + On the occasion of my seventieth birthday in 1877, I was the recipient of + many tokens of esteem. The publishers of the <i>Atlantic Monthly</i> gave + a dinner in my name, and the editor of <i>The Literary World</i> gathered + in his paper many affectionate messages from my associates in literature + and the cause of human progress. The lines which follow were written in + acknowledgment. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Beside that milestone where the level sun, + Nigh unto setting, sheds his last, low rays + On word and work irrevocably done, + Life's blending threads of good and ill outspun, + I hear, O friends! your words of cheer and praise, + Half doubtful if myself or otherwise. + Like him who, in the old Arabian joke, + A beggar slept and crowned Caliph woke. + Thanks not the less. With not unglad surprise + I see my life-work through your partial eyes; + Assured, in giving to my home-taught songs + A higher value than of right belongs, + You do but read between the written lines + The finer grace of unfulfilled designs. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0054" id="link2H_4_0054"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AT EVENTIDE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Poor and inadequate the shadow-play + Of gain and loss, of waking and of dream, + Against life's solemn background needs must seem + At this late hour. Yet, not unthankfully, + I call to mind the fountains by the way, + The breath of flowers, the bird-song on the spray, + Dear friends, sweet human loves, the joy of giving + And of receiving, the great boon of living + In grand historic years when Liberty + Had need of word and work, quick sympathies + For all who fail and suffer, song's relief, + Nature's uncloying loveliness; and chief, + The kind restraining hand of Providence, + The inward witness, the assuring sense + Of an Eternal Good which overlies + The sorrow of the world, Love which outlives + All sin and wrong, Compassion which forgives + To the uttermost, and Justice whose clear eyes + Through lapse and failure look to the intent, + And judge our frailty by the life we meant. + + 1878. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VOYAGE OF THE JETTIE. + </h2> + <p> + The picturesquely situated Wayside Inn at West Ossipee, N. H., is now in + ashes; and to its former guests these somewhat careless rhymes may be a + not unwelcome reminder of pleasant summers and autumns on the banks of the + Bearcamp and Chocorua. To the author himself they have a special interest + from the fact that they were written, or improvised, under the eye and for + the amusement of a beloved invalid friend whose last earthly sunsets faded + from the mountain ranges of Ossipee and Sandwich. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A shallow stream, from fountains + Deep in the Sandwich mountains, + Ran lake ward Bearcamp River; + And, between its flood-torn shores, + Sped by sail or urged by oars + No keel had vexed it ever. + + Alone the dead trees yielding + To the dull axe Time is wielding, + The shy mink and the otter, + And golden leaves and red, + By countless autumns shed, + Had floated down its water. + + From the gray rocks of Cape Ann, + Came a skilled seafaring man, + With his dory, to the right place; + Over hill and plain he brought her, + Where the boatless Beareamp water + Comes winding down from White-Face. + + Quoth the skipper: "Ere she floats forth; + I'm sure my pretty boat's worth, + At least, a name as pretty." + On her painted side he wrote it, + And the flag that o'er her floated + Bore aloft the name of Jettie. + + On a radiant morn of summer, + Elder guest and latest comer + Saw her wed the Bearcamp water; + Heard the name the skipper gave her, + And the answer to the favor + From the Bay State's graceful daughter. + + Then, a singer, richly gifted, + Her charmed voice uplifted; + And the wood-thrush and song-sparrow + Listened, dumb with envious pain, + To the clear and sweet refrain + Whose notes they could not borrow. + + Then the skipper plied his oar, + And from off the shelving shore, + Glided out the strange explorer; + Floating on, she knew not whither,— + The tawny sands beneath her, + The great hills watching o'er her. + + On, where the stream flows quiet + As the meadows' margins by it, + Or widens out to borrow a + New life from that wild water, + The mountain giant's daughter, + The pine-besung Chocorua. + + Or, mid the tangling cumber + And pack of mountain lumber + That spring floods downward force, + Over sunken snag, and bar + Where the grating shallows are, + The good boat held her course. + + Under the pine-dark highlands, + Around the vine-hung islands, + She ploughed her crooked furrow + And her rippling and her lurches + Scared the river eels and perches, + And the musk-rat in his burrow. + + Every sober clam below her, + Every sage and grave pearl-grower, + Shut his rusty valves the tighter; + Crow called to crow complaining, + And old tortoises sat craning + Their leathern necks to sight her. + + So, to where the still lake glasses + The misty mountain masses + Rising dim and distant northward, + And, with faint-drawn shadow pictures, + Low shores, and dead pine spectres, + Blends the skyward and the earthward, + + On she glided, overladen, + With merry man and maiden + Sending back their song and laughter,— + While, perchance, a phantom crew, + In a ghostly birch canoe, + Paddled dumb and swiftly after! + + And the bear on Ossipee + Climbed the topmost crag to see + The strange thing drifting under; + And, through the haze of August, + Passaconaway and Paugus + Looked down in sleepy wonder. + + All the pines that o'er her hung + In mimic sea-tones sung + The song familiar to her; + And the maples leaned to screen her, + And the meadow-grass seemed greener, + And the breeze more soft to woo her. + + The lone stream mystery-haunted, + To her the freedom granted + To scan its every feature, + Till new and old were blended, + And round them both extended + The loving arms of Nature. + + Of these hills the little vessel + Henceforth is part and parcel; + And on Bearcamp shall her log + Be kept, as if by George's + Or Grand Menan, the surges + Tossed her skipper through the fog. + + And I, who, half in sadness, + Recall the morning gladness + Of life, at evening time, + By chance, onlooking idly, + Apart from all so widely, + Have set her voyage to rhyme. + + Dies now the gay persistence + Of song and laugh, in distance; + Alone with me remaining + The stream, the quiet meadow, + The hills in shine and shadow, + The sombre pines complaining. + + And, musing here, I dream + Of voyagers on a stream + From whence is no returning, + Under sealed orders going, + Looking forward little knowing, + Looking back with idle yearning. + + And I pray that every venture + The port of peace may enter, + That, safe from snag and fall + And siren-haunted islet, + And rock, the Unseen Pilot + May guide us one and all. + + 1880. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0056" id="link2H_4_0056"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY TRUST. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A picture memory brings to me + I look across the years and see + Myself beside my mother's knee. + + I feel her gentle hand restrain + My selfish moods, and know again + A child's blind sense of wrong and pain. + + But wiser now, a man gray grown, + My childhood's needs are better known, + My mother's chastening love I own. + + Gray grown, but in our Father's sight + A child still groping for the light + To read His works and ways aright. + + I wait, in His good time to see + That as my mother dealt with me + So with His children dealeth He. + + I bow myself beneath His hand + That pain itself was wisely planned + I feel, and partly understand. + + The joy that comes in sorrow's guise, + The sweet pains of self-sacrifice, + I would not have them otherwise. + + And what were life and death if sin + Knew not the dread rebuke within, + The pang of merciful discipline? + + Not with thy proud despair of old, + Crowned stoic of Rome's noblest mould! + Pleasure and pain alike I hold. + + I suffer with no vain pretence + Of triumph over flesh and sense, + Yet trust the grievous providence, + + How dark soe'er it seems, may tend, + By ways I cannot comprehend, + To some unguessed benignant end; + + That every loss and lapse may gain + The clear-aired heights by steps of pain, + And never cross is borne in vain. + + 1880. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0057" id="link2H_4_0057"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A NAME + </h2> + <p> + Addressed to my grand-nephew, Greenleaf Whittier Pickard. Jonathan + Greenleaf, in A Genealogy of the Greenleaf Family, says briefly: "From all + that can be gathered, it is believed that the ancestors of the Greenleaf + family were Huguenots, who left France on account of their religious + principles some time in the course of the sixteenth century, and settled + in England. The name was probably translated from the French Feuillevert." + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The name the Gallic exile bore, + St. Malo! from thy ancient mart, + Became upon our Western shore + Greenleaf for Feuillevert. + + A name to hear in soft accord + Of leaves by light winds overrun, + Or read, upon the greening sward + Of May, in shade and sun. + + The name my infant ear first heard + Breathed softly with a mother's kiss; + His mother's own, no tenderer word + My father spake than this. + + No child have I to bear it on; + Be thou its keeper; let it take + From gifts well used and duty done + New beauty for thy sake. + + The fair ideals that outran + My halting footsteps seek and find— + The flawless symmetry of man, + The poise of heart and mind. + + Stand firmly where I felt the sway + Of every wing that fancy flew, + See clearly where I groped my way, + Nor real from seeming knew. + + And wisely choose, and bravely hold + Thy faith unswerved by cross or crown, + Like the stout Huguenot of old + Whose name to thee comes down. + + As Marot's songs made glad the heart + Of that lone exile, haply mine + May in life's heavy hours impart + Some strength and hope to thine. + + Yet when did Age transfer to Youth + The hard-gained lessons of its day? + Each lip must learn the taste of truth, + Each foot must feel its way. + + We cannot hold the hands of choice + That touch or shun life's fateful keys; + The whisper of the inward voice + Is more than homilies. + + Dear boy! for whom the flowers are born, + Stars shine, and happy song-birds sing, + What can my evening give to morn, + My winter to thy spring! + + A life not void of pure intent, + With small desert of praise or blame, + The love I felt, the good I meant, + I leave thee with my name. + + 1880. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GREETING. + </h2> + <h3> + Originally prefixed to the volume, The King's Missive and other Poems. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I spread a scanty board too late; + The old-time guests for whom I wait + Come few and slow, methinks, to-day. + Ah! who could hear my messages + Across the dim unsounded seas + On which so many have sailed away! + + Come, then, old friends, who linger yet, + And let us meet, as we have met, + Once more beneath this low sunshine; + And grateful for the good we 've known, + The riddles solved, the ills outgrown, + Shake bands upon the border line. + + The favor, asked too oft before, + From your indulgent ears, once more + I crave, and, if belated lays + To slower, feebler measures move, + The silent, sympathy of love + To me is dearer now than praise. + + And ye, O younger friends, for whom + My hearth and heart keep open room, + Come smiling through the shadows long, + Be with me while the sun goes down, + And with your cheerful voices drown + The minor of my even-song. + + For, equal through the day and night, + The wise Eternal oversight + And love and power and righteous will + Remain: the law of destiny + The best for each and all must be, + And life its promise shall fulfil. + + 1881. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0059" id="link2H_4_0059"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AN AUTOGRAPH. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I write my name as one, + On sands by waves o'errun + Or winter's frosted pane, + Traces a record vain. + + Oblivion's blankness claims + Wiser and better names, + And well my own may pass + As from the strand or glass. + + Wash on, O waves of time! + Melt, noons, the frosty rime! + Welcome the shadow vast, + The silence that shall last. + + When I and all who know + And love me vanish so, + What harm to them or me + Will the lost memory be? + + If any words of mine, + Through right of life divine, + Remain, what matters it + Whose hand the message writ? + + Why should the "crowner's quest" + Sit on my worst or best? + Why should the showman claim + The poor ghost of my name? + + Yet, as when dies a sound + Its spectre lingers round, + Haply my spent life will + Leave some faint echo still. + + A whisper giving breath + Of praise or blame to death, + Soothing or saddening such + As loved the living much. + + Therefore with yearnings vain + And fond I still would fain + A kindly judgment seek, + A tender thought bespeak. + + And, while my words are read, + Let this at least be said + "Whate'er his life's defeatures, + He loved his fellow-creatures. + + "If, of the Law's stone table, + To hold he scarce was able + The first great precept fast, + He kept for man the last. + + "Through mortal lapse and dulness + What lacks the Eternal Fulness, + If still our weakness can + Love Him in loving man? + + "Age brought him no despairing + Of the world's future faring; + In human nature still + He found more good than ill. + + "To all who dumbly suffered, + His tongue and pen he offered; + His life was not his own, + Nor lived for self alone. + + "Hater of din and riot + He lived in days unquiet; + And, lover of all beauty, + Trod the hard ways of duty. + + "He meant no wrong to any + He sought the good of many, + Yet knew both sin and folly,— + May God forgive him wholly!" + + 1882. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0060" id="link2H_4_0060"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ABRAM MORRISON. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Midst the men and things which will + Haunt an old man's memory still, + Drollest, quaintest of them all, + With a boy's laugh I recall + Good old Abram Morrison. + + When the Grist and Rolling Mill + Ground and rumbled by Po Hill, + And the old red school-house stood + Midway in the Powow's flood, + Here dwelt Abram Morrison. + + From the Beach to far beyond + Bear-Hill, Lion's Mouth and Pond, + Marvellous to our tough old stock, + Chips o' the Anglo-Saxon block, + Seemed the Celtic Morrison. + + Mudknock, Balmawhistle, all + Only knew the Yankee drawl, + Never brogue was heard till when, + Foremost of his countrymen, + Hither came Friend Morrison; + + Yankee born, of alien blood, + Kin of his had well withstood + Pope and King with pike and ball + Under Derry's leaguered wall, + As became the Morrisons. + + Wandering down from Nutfield woods + With his household and his goods, + Never was it clearly told + How within our quiet fold + Came to be a Morrison. + + Once a soldier, blame him not + That the Quaker he forgot, + When, to think of battles won, + And the red-coats on the run, + Laughed aloud Friend Morrison. + + From gray Lewis over sea + Bore his sires their family tree, + On the rugged boughs of it + Grafting Irish mirth and wit, + And the brogue of Morrison. + + Half a genius, quick to plan, + Blundering like an Irishman, + But with canny shrewdness lent + By his far-off Scotch descent, + Such was Abram Morrison. + + Back and forth to daily meals, + Rode his cherished pig on wheels, + And to all who came to see + "Aisier for the pig an' me, + Sure it is," said Morrison. + + Simple-hearted, boy o'er-grown, + With a humor quite his own, + Of our sober-stepping ways, + Speech and look and cautious phrase, + Slow to learn was Morrison. + + Much we loved his stories told + Of a country strange and old, + Where the fairies danced till dawn, + And the goblin Leprecaun + Looked, we thought, like Morrison. + + Or wild tales of feud and fight, + Witch and troll and second sight + Whispered still where Stornoway + Looks across its stormy bay, + Once the home of Morrisons. + + First was he to sing the praise + Of the Powow's winding ways; + And our straggling village took + City grandeur to the look + Of its poet Morrison. + + All his words have perished. Shame + On the saddle-bags of Fame, + That they bring not to our time + One poor couplet of the rhyme + Made by Abram Morrison! + + When, on calm and fair First Days, + Rattled down our one-horse chaise, + Through the blossomed apple-boughs + To the old, brown meeting-house, + There was Abram Morrison. + + Underneath his hat's broad brim + Peered the queer old face of him; + And with Irish jauntiness + Swung the coat-tails of the dress + Worn by Abram Morrison. + + Still, in memory, on his feet, + Leaning o'er the elders' seat, + Mingling with a solemn drone, + Celtic accents all his own, + Rises Abram Morrison. + + "Don't," he's pleading, "don't ye go, + Dear young friends, to sight and show, + Don't run after elephants, + Learned pigs and presidents + And the likes!" said Morrison. + + On his well-worn theme intent, + Simple, child-like, innocent, + Heaven forgive the half-checked smile + Of our careless boyhood, while + Listening to Friend Morrison! + + We have learned in later days + Truth may speak in simplest phrase; + That the man is not the less + For quaint ways and home-spun dress, + Thanks to Abram Morrison! + + Not to pander nor to please + Come the needed homilies, + With no lofty argument + Is the fitting message sent, + Through such lips as Morrison's. + + Dead and gone! But while its track + Powow keeps to Merrimac, + While Po Hill is still on guard, + Looking land and ocean ward, + They shall tell of Morrison! + + After half a century's lapse, + We are wiser now, perhaps, + But we miss our streets amid + Something which the past has hid, + Lost with Abram Morrison. + + Gone forever with the queer + Characters of that old year + Now the many are as one; + Broken is the mould that run + Men like Abram Morrison. + + 1884. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0061" id="link2H_4_0061"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A LEGACY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Friend of my many years + When the great silence falls, at last, on me, + Let me not leave, to pain and sadden thee, + A memory of tears, + + But pleasant thoughts alone + Of one who was thy friendship's honored guest + And drank the wine of consolation pressed + From sorrows of thy own. + + I leave with thee a sense + Of hands upheld and trials rendered less— + The unselfish joy which is to helpfulness + Its own great recompense; + + The knowledge that from thine, + As from the garments of the Master, stole + Calmness and strength, the virtue which makes whole + And heals without a sign; + + Yea more, the assurance strong + That love, which fails of perfect utterance here, + Lives on to fill the heavenly atmosphere + With its immortal song. + + 1887. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0062" id="link2H_4_0062"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + RELIGIOUS POEMS + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0063" id="link2H_4_0063"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Where Time the measure of his hours + By changeful bud and blossom keeps, + And, like a young bride crowned with flowers, + Fair Shiraz in her garden sleeps; + + Where, to her poet's turban stone, + The Spring her gift of flowers imparts, + Less sweet than those his thoughts have sown + In the warm soil of Persian hearts: + + There sat the stranger, where the shade + Of scattered date-trees thinly lay, + While in the hot clear heaven delayed + The long and still and weary day. + + Strange trees and fruits above him hung, + Strange odors filled the sultry air, + Strange birds upon the branches swung, + Strange insect voices murmured there. + + And strange bright blossoms shone around, + Turned sunward from the shadowy bowers, + As if the Gheber's soul had found + A fitting home in Iran's flowers. + + Whate'er he saw, whate'er he heard, + Awakened feelings new and sad,— + No Christian garb, nor Christian word, + Nor church with Sabbath-bell chimes glad, + + But Moslem graves, with turban stones, + And mosque-spires gleaming white, in view, + And graybeard Mollahs in low tones + Chanting their Koran service through. + + The flowers which smiled on either hand, + Like tempting fiends, were such as they + Which once, o'er all that Eastern land, + As gifts on demon altars lay. + + As if the burning eye of Baal + The servant of his Conqueror knew, + From skies which knew no cloudy veil, + The Sun's hot glances smote him through. + + "Ah me!" the lonely stranger said, + "The hope which led my footsteps on, + And light from heaven around them shed, + O'er weary wave and waste, is gone! + + "Where are the harvest fields all white, + For Truth to thrust her sickle in? + Where flock the souls, like doves in flight, + From the dark hiding-place of sin? + + "A silent-horror broods o'er all,— + The burden of a hateful spell,— + The very flowers around recall + The hoary magi's rites of hell! + + "And what am I, o'er such a land + The banner of the Cross to bear? + Dear Lord, uphold me with Thy hand, + Thy strength with human weakness share!" + + He ceased; for at his very feet + In mild rebuke a floweret smiled; + How thrilled his sinking heart to greet + The Star-flower of the Virgin's child! + + Sown by some wandering Frank, it drew + Its life from alien air and earth, + And told to Paynim sun and dew + The story of the Saviour's birth. + + From scorching beams, in kindly mood, + The Persian plants its beauty screened, + And on its pagan sisterhood, + In love, the Christian floweret leaned. + + With tears of joy the wanderer felt + The darkness of his long despair + Before that hallowed symbol melt, + Which God's dear love had nurtured there. + + From Nature's face, that simple flower + The lines of sin and sadness swept; + And Magian pile and Paynim bower + In peace like that of Eden slept. + + Each Moslem tomb, and cypress old, + Looked holy through the sunset air; + And, angel-like, the Muezzin told + From tower and mosque the hour of prayer. + + With cheerful steps, the morrow's dawn + From Shiraz saw the stranger part; + The Star-flower of the Virgin-Born + Still blooming in his hopeful heart! + + 1830. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0064" id="link2H_4_0064"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Get ye up from the wrath of God's terrible day! + Ungirded, unsandalled, arise and away! + 'T is the vintage of blood, 't is the fulness of time, + And vengeance shall gather the harvest of crime!" + + The warning was spoken—the righteous had gone, + And the proud ones of Sodom were feasting alone; + All gay was the banquet—the revel was long, + With the pouring of wine and the breathing of song. + + 'T was an evening of beauty; the air was perfume, + The earth was all greenness, the trees were all bloom; + And softly the delicate viol was heard, + Like the murmur of love or the notes of a bird. + + And beautiful maidens moved down in the dance, + With the magic of motion and sunshine of glance + And white arms wreathed lightly, and tresses fell free + As the plumage of birds in some tropical tree. + + Where the shrines of foul idols were lighted on high, + And wantonness tempted the lust of the eye; + Midst rites of obsceneness, strange, loathsome, abhorred, + The blasphemer scoffed at the name of the Lord. + + Hark! the growl of the thunder,—the quaking of earth! + Woe, woe to the worship, and woe to the mirth! + The black sky has opened; there's flame in the air; + The red arm of vengeance is lifted and bare! + + Then the shriek of the dying rose wild where the song + And the low tone of love had been whispered along; + For the fierce flames went lightly o'er palace and bower, + Like the red tongues of demons, to blast and devour! + + Down, down on the fallen the red ruin rained, + And the reveller sank with his wine-cup undrained; + The foot of the dancer, the music's loved thrill, + And the shout and the laughter grew suddenly still. + + The last throb of anguish was fearfully given; + The last eye glared forth in its madness on Heaven! + The last groan of horror rose wildly and vain, + And death brooded over the pride of the Plain! + + 1831. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0065" id="link2H_4_0065"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CALL OF THE CHRISTIAN + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Not always as the whirlwind's rush + On Horeb's mount of fear, + Not always as the burning bush + To Midian's shepherd seer, + Nor as the awful voice which came + To Israel's prophet bards, + Nor as the tongues of cloven flame, + Nor gift of fearful words,— + + Not always thus, with outward sign + Of fire or voice from Heaven, + The message of a truth divine, + The call of God is given! + Awaking in the human heart + Love for the true and right,— + Zeal for the Christian's better part, + Strength for the Christian's fight. + + Nor unto manhood's heart alone + The holy influence steals + Warm with a rapture not its own, + The heart of woman feels! + As she who by Samaria's wall + The Saviour's errand sought,— + As those who with the fervent Paul + And meek Aquila wrought: + + Or those meek ones whose martyrdom + Rome's gathered grandeur saw + Or those who in their Alpine home + Braved the Crusader's war, + When the green Vaudois, trembling, heard, + Through all its vales of death, + The martyr's song of triumph poured + From woman's failing breath. + + And gently, by a thousand things + Which o'er our spirits pass, + Like breezes o'er the harp's fine strings, + Or vapors o'er a glass, + Leaving their token strange and new + Of music or of shade, + The summons to the right and true + And merciful is made. + + Oh, then, if gleams of truth and light + Flash o'er thy waiting mind, + Unfolding to thy mental sight + The wants of human-kind; + If, brooding over human grief, + The earnest wish is known + To soothe and gladden with relief + An anguish not thine own; + + Though heralded with naught of fear, + Or outward sign or show; + Though only to the inward ear + It whispers soft and low; + Though dropping, as the manna fell, + Unseen, yet from above, + Noiseless as dew-fall, heed it well,—- + Thy Father's call of love! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0066" id="link2H_4_0066"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CRUCIFIXION. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sunlight upon Judha's hills! + And on the waves of Galilee; + On Jordan's stream, and on the rills + That feed the dead and sleeping sea! + Most freshly from the green wood springs + The light breeze on its scented wings; + And gayly quiver in the sun + The cedar tops of Lebanon! + + A few more hours,—a change hath come! + The sky is dark without a cloud! + The shouts of wrath and joy are dumb, + And proud knees unto earth are bowed. + A change is on the hill of Death, + The helmed watchers pant for breath, + And turn with wild and maniac eyes + From the dark scene of sacrifice! + + That Sacrifice!—the death of Him,— + The Christ of God, the holy One! + Well may the conscious Heaven grow dim, + And blacken the beholding, Sun. + The wonted light hath fled away, + Night settles on the middle day, + And earthquake from his caverned bed + Is waking with a thrill of dread! + + The dead are waking underneath! + Their prison door is rent away! + And, ghastly with the seal of death, + They wander in the eye of day! + The temple of the Cherubim, + The House of God is cold and dim; + A curse is on its trembling walls, + Its mighty veil asunder falls! + + Well may the cavern-depths of Earth + Be shaken, and her mountains nod; + Well may the sheeted dead come forth + To see the suffering son of God! + Well may the temple-shrine grow dim, + And shadows veil the Cherubim, + When He, the chosen one of Heaven, + A sacrifice for guilt is given! + + And shall the sinful heart, alone, + Behold unmoved the fearful hour, + When Nature trembled on her throne, + And Death resigned his iron power? + Oh, shall the heart—whose sinfulness + Gave keenness to His sore distress, + And added to His tears of blood— + Refuse its trembling gratitude! + + 1834. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0067" id="link2H_4_0067"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PALESTINE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Blest land of Judaea! thrice hallowed of song, + Where the holiest of memories pilgrim-like throng; + In the shade of thy palms, by the shores of thy sea, + On the hills of thy beauty, my heart is with thee. + + With the eye of a spirit I look on that shore + Where pilgrim and prophet have lingered before; + With the glide of a spirit I traverse the sod + Made bright by the steps of the angels of God. + + Blue sea of the hills! in my spirit I hear + Thy waters, Gennesaret, chime on my ear; + Where the Lowly and Just with the people sat down, + And thy spray on the dust of His sandals was thrown. + + Beyond are Bethulia's mountains of green, + And the desolate hills of the wild Gadarene; + And I pause on the goat-crags of Tabor to see + The gleam of thy waters, O dark Galilee! + + Hark, a sound in the valley! where, swollen and strong, + Thy river, O Kishon, is sweeping along; + Where the Canaanite strove with Jehovah in vain, + And thy torrent grew dark with the blood of the slain. + + There down from his mountains stern Zebulon came, + And Naphthali's stag, with his eyeballs of flame, + And the chariots of Jabin rolled harmlessly on, + For the arm of the Lord was Abinoam's son! + + There sleep the still rocks and the caverns which rang + To the song which the beautiful prophetess sang, + When the princes of Issachar stood by her side, + And the shout of a host in its triumph replied. + + Lo, Bethlehem's hill-site before me is seen, + With the mountains around, and the valleys between; + There rested the shepherds of Judah, and there + The song of the angels rose sweet on the air. + + And Bethany's palm-trees in beauty still throw + Their shadows at noon on the ruins below; + But where are the sisters who hastened to greet + The lowly Redeemer, and sit at His feet? + + I tread where the twelve in their wayfaring trod; + I stand where they stood with the chosen of God— + Where His blessing was heard and His lessons were taught, + Where the blind were restored and the healing was wrought. + + Oh, here with His flock the sad Wanderer came; + These hills He toiled over in grief are the same; + The founts where He drank by the wayside still flow, + And the same airs are blowing which breathed on His brow! + + And throned on her hills sits Jerusalem yet, + But with dust on her forehead, and chains on her feet; + For the crown of her pride to the mocker hath gone, + And the holy Shechinah is dark where it shone. + + But wherefore this dream of the earthly abode + Of Humanity clothed in the brightness of God? + Were my spirit but turned from the outward and dim, + It could gaze, even now, on the presence of Him! + + Not in clouds and in terrors, but gentle as when, + In love and in meekness, He moved among men; + And the voice which breathed peace to the waves of the sea + In the hush of my spirit would whisper to me! + + And what if my feet may not tread where He stood, + Nor my ears hear the dashing of Galilee's flood, + Nor my eyes see the cross which he bowed Him to bear, + Nor my knees press Gethsemane's garden of prayer. + + Yet, Loved of the Father, Thy Spirit is near + To the meek, and the lowly, and penitent here; + And the voice of Thy love is the same even now + As at Bethany's tomb or on Olivet's brow. + + Oh, the outward hath gone! but in glory and power. + The spirit surviveth the things of an hour; + Unchanged, undecaying, its Pentecost flame + On the heart's secret altar is burning the same + + 1837. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0068" id="link2H_4_0068"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HYMNS. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0069" id="link2H_4_0069"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FROM THE FRENCH OF LAMARTINE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. + "Encore un hymne, O ma lyre + Un hymn pour le Seigneur, + Un hymne dans mon delire, + Un hymne dans mon bonheur." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + One hymn more, O my lyre! + Praise to the God above, + Of joy and life and love, + Sweeping its strings of fire! + + Oh, who the speed of bird and wind + And sunbeam's glance will lend to me, + That, soaring upward, I may find + My resting-place and home in Thee? + Thou, whom my soul, midst doubt and gloom, + Adoreth with a fervent flame,— + Mysterious spirit! unto whom + Pertain nor sign nor name! + + Swiftly my lyre's soft murmurs go, + Up from the cold and joyless earth, + Back to the God who bade them flow, + Whose moving spirit sent them forth. + But as for me, O God! for me, + The lowly creature of Thy will, + Lingering and sad, I sigh to Thee, + An earth-bound pilgrim still! + + Was not my spirit born to shine + Where yonder stars and suns are glowing? + To breathe with them the light divine + From God's own holy altar flowing? + To be, indeed, whate'er the soul + In dreams hath thirsted for so long,— + A portion of heaven's glorious whole + Of loveliness and song? + + Oh, watchers of the stars at night, + Who breathe their fire, as we the air,— + Suns, thunders, stars, and rays of light, + Oh, say, is He, the Eternal, there? + Bend there around His awful throne + The seraph's glance, the angel's knee? + Or are thy inmost depths His own, + O wild and mighty sea? + + Thoughts of my soul, how swift ye go! + Swift as the eagle's glance of fire, + Or arrows from the archer's bow, + To the far aim of your desire! + Thought after thought, ye thronging rise, + Like spring-doves from the startled wood, + Bearing like them your sacrifice + Of music unto God! + + And shall these thoughts of joy and love + Come back again no more to me? + Returning like the patriarch's dove + Wing-weary from the eternal sea, + To bear within my longing arms + The promise-bough of kindlier skies, + Plucked from the green, immortal palms + Which shadow Paradise? + + All-moving spirit! freely forth + At Thy command the strong wind goes + Its errand to the passive earth, + Nor art can stay, nor strength oppose, + Until it folds its weary wing + Once more within the hand divine; + So, weary from its wandering, + My spirit turns to Thine! + + Child of the sea, the mountain stream, + From its dark caverns, hurries on, + Ceaseless, by night and morning's beam, + By evening's star and noontide's sun, + Until at last it sinks to rest, + O'erwearied, in the waiting sea, + And moans upon its mother's breast,— + So turns my soul to Thee! + + O Thou who bidst the torrent flow, + Who lendest wings unto the wind,— + Mover of all things! where art Thou? + Oh, whither shall I go to find + The secret of Thy resting-place? + Is there no holy wing for me, + That, soaring, I may search the space + Of highest heaven for Thee? + + Oh, would I were as free to rise + As leaves on autumn's whirlwind borne,— + The arrowy light of sunset skies, + Or sound, or ray, or star of morn, + Which melts in heaven at twilight's close, + Or aught which soars unchecked and free + Through earth and heaven; that I might lose + Myself in finding Thee! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II. + LE CRI DE L'AME. + + "Quand le souffle divin qui flotte sur le monde." + + When the breath divine is flowing, + Zephyr-like o'er all things going, + And, as the touch of viewless fingers, + Softly on my soul it lingers, + Open to a breath the lightest, + Conscious of a touch the slightest,— + As some calm, still lake, whereon + Sinks the snowy-bosomed swan, + And the glistening water-rings + Circle round her moving wings + When my upward gaze is turning + Where the stars of heaven are burning + Through the deep and dark abyss, + Flowers of midnight's wilderness, + Blowing with the evening's breath + Sweetly in their Maker's path + When the breaking day is flushing + All the east, and light is gushing + Upward through the horizon's haze, + Sheaf-like, with its thousand rays, + Spreading, until all above + Overflows with joy and love, + And below, on earth's green bosom, + All is changed to light and blossom: + + When my waking fancies over + Forms of brightness flit and hover + Holy as the seraphs are, + Who by Zion's fountains wear + On their foreheads, white and broad, + "Holiness unto the Lord!" + When, inspired with rapture high, + It would seem a single sigh + Could a world of love create; + That my life could know no date, + And my eager thoughts could fill + Heaven and Earth, o'erflowing still! + + Then, O Father! Thou alone, + From the shadow of Thy throne, + To the sighing of my breast + And its rapture answerest. + All my thoughts, which, upward winging, + Bathe where Thy own light is springing,— + All my yearnings to be free + Are at echoes answering Thee! + + Seldom upon lips of mine, + Father! rests that name of Thine; + Deep within my inmost breast, + In the secret place of mind, + Like an awful presence shrined, + Doth the dread idea rest + Hushed and holy dwells it there, + Prompter of the silent prayer, + Lifting up my spirit's eye + And its faint, but earnest cry, + From its dark and cold abode, + Unto Thee, my Guide and God! + + 1837 +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0070" id="link2H_4_0070"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FAMILIST'S HYMN. + </h2> + <p> + The Puritans of New England, even in their wilderness home, were not + exempted from the sectarian contentions which agitated the mother country + after the downfall of Charles the First, and of the established + Episcopacy. The Quakers, Baptists, and Catholics were banished, on pain of + death, from the Massachusetts Colony. One Samuel Gorton, a bold and + eloquent declaimer, after preaching for a time in Boston against the + doctrines of the Puritans, and declaring that their churches were mere + human devices, and their sacrament and baptism an abomination, was driven + out of the jurisdiction of the colony, and compelled to seek a residence + among the savages. He gathered round him a considerable number of + converts, who, like the primitive Christians, shared all things in common. + His opinions, however, were so troublesome to the leading clergy of the + colony, that they instigated an attack upon his "Family" by an armed + force, which seized upon the principal men in it, and brought them into + Massachusetts, where they were sentenced to be kept at hard labor in + several towns (one only in each town), during the pleasure of the General + Court, they being forbidden, under severe penalties, to utter any of their + religious sentiments, except to such ministers as might labor for their + conversion. They were unquestionably sincere in their opinions, and, + whatever may have been their errors, deserve to be ranked among those who + have in all ages suffered for the freedom of conscience. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Father! to Thy suffering poor + Strength and grace and faith impart, + And with Thy own love restore + Comfort to the broken heart! + Oh, the failing ones confirm + With a holier strength of zeal! + Give Thou not the feeble worm + Helpless to the spoiler's heel! + + Father! for Thy holy sake + We are spoiled and hunted thus; + Joyful, for Thy truth we take + Bonds and burthens unto us + Poor, and weak, and robbed of all, + Weary with our daily task, + That Thy truth may never fall + Through our weakness, Lord, we ask. + + Round our fired and wasted homes + Flits the forest-bird unscared, + And at noon the wild beast comes + Where our frugal meal was shared; + For the song of praises there + Shrieks the crow the livelong day; + For the sound of evening prayer + Howls the evil beast of prey! + + Sweet the songs we loved to sing + Underneath Thy holy sky; + Words and tones that used to bring + Tears of joy in every eye; + Dear the wrestling hours of prayer, + When we gathered knee to knee, + Blameless youth and hoary hair, + Bowed, O God, alone to Thee. + + As Thine early children, Lord, + Shared their wealth and daily bread, + Even so, with one accord, + We, in love, each other fed. + Not with us the miser's hoard, + Not with us his grasping hand; + Equal round a common board, + Drew our meek and brother band! + + Safe our quiet Eden lay + When the war-whoop stirred the land + And the Indian turned away + From our home his bloody hand. + Well that forest-ranger saw, + That the burthen and the curse + Of the white man's cruel law + Rested also upon us. + + Torn apart, and driven forth + To our toiling hard and long, + Father! from the dust of earth + Lift we still our grateful song! + Grateful, that in bonds we share + In Thy love which maketh free; + Joyful, that the wrongs we bear, + Draw us nearer, Lord, to Thee! + + Grateful! that where'er we toil,— + By Wachuset's wooded side, + On Nantucket's sea-worn isle, + Or by wild Neponset's tide,— + Still, in spirit, we are near, + And our evening hymns, which rise + Separate and discordant here, + Meet and mingle in the skies! + + Let the scoffer scorn and mock, + Let the proud and evil priest + Rob the needy of his flock, + For his wine-cup and his feast,— + Redden not Thy bolts in store + Through the blackness of Thy skies? + For the sighing of the poor + Wilt Thou not, at length, arise? + + Worn and wasted, oh! how long + Shall thy trodden poor complain? + In Thy name they bear the wrong, + In Thy cause the bonds of pain! + Melt oppression's heart of steel, + Let the haughty priesthood see, + And their blinded followers feel, + That in us they mock at Thee! + + In Thy time, O Lord of hosts, + Stretch abroad that hand to save + Which of old, on Egypt's coasts, + Smote apart the Red Sea's wave + Lead us from this evil land, + From the spoiler set us free, + And once more our gathered band, + Heart to heart, shall worship Thee! + + 1838. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0071" id="link2H_4_0071"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EZEKIEL + </h2> + <p> + Also, thou son of man, the children of thy people still are talking + against thee by the walls and in the doors of the houses, and speak one to + another, every one to his brother, saying, Come, I pray you, and hear what + is the word that cometh forth from the Lord. And they come unto thee as + the people cometh, and they sit before thee as my people, and they hear + thy words, but they will not do them: for with their mouth they skew much + love, but their heart goeth after their covetousness. And, lo, thou art + unto them as a very lovely song of one that hath a pleasant voice, and can + play well on an instrument: for they hear thy words, but they do them not. + And when this cometh to pass, (lo, it will come,) then shall they know + that a prophet hath been among them.— EZEKIEL, xxxiii. 30-33. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + They hear Thee not, O God! nor see; + Beneath Thy rod they mock at Thee; + The princes of our ancient line + Lie drunken with Assyrian wine; + The priests around Thy altar speak + The false words which their hearers seek; + And hymns which Chaldea's wanton maids + Have sung in Dura's idol-shades + Are with the Levites' chant ascending, + With Zion's holiest anthems blending! + + On Israel's bleeding bosom set, + The heathen heel is crushing yet; + The towers upon our holy hill + Echo Chaldean footsteps still. + Our wasted shrines,—who weeps for them? + Who mourneth for Jerusalem? + Who turneth from his gains away? + Whose knee with mine is bowed to pray? + Who, leaving feast and purpling cup, + Takes Zion's lamentation up? + + A sad and thoughtful youth, I went + With Israel's early banishment; + And where the sullen Chebar crept, + The ritual of my fathers kept. + The water for the trench I drew, + The firstling of the flock I slew, + And, standing at the altar's side, + I shared the Levites' lingering pride, + That still, amidst her mocking foes, + The smoke of Zion's offering rose. + + In sudden whirlwind, cloud and flame, + The Spirit of the Highest came! + Before mine eyes a vision passed, + A glory terrible and vast; + With dreadful eyes of living things, + And sounding sweep of angel wings, + With circling light and sapphire throne, + And flame-like form of One thereon, + And voice of that dread Likeness sent + Down from the crystal firmament! + + The burden of a prophet's power + Fell on me in that fearful hour; + From off unutterable woes + The curtain of the future rose; + I saw far down the coming time + The fiery chastisement of crime; + With noise of mingling hosts, and jar + Of falling towers and shouts of war, + I saw the nations rise and fall, + Like fire-gleams on my tent's white wall. + + In dream and trance, I—saw the slain + Of Egypt heaped like harvest grain. + I saw the walls of sea-born Tyre + Swept over by the spoiler's fire; + And heard the low, expiring moan + Of Edom on his rocky throne; + And, woe is me! the wild lament + From Zion's desolation sent; + And felt within my heart each blow + Which laid her holy places low. + + In bonds and sorrow, day by day, + Before the pictured tile I lay; + And there, as in a mirror, saw + The coming of Assyria's war; + Her swarthy lines of spearmen pass + Like locusts through Bethhoron's grass; + I saw them draw their stormy hem + Of battle round Jerusalem; + And, listening, heard the Hebrew wail! + + Blend with the victor-trump of Baal! + Who trembled at my warning word? + Who owned the prophet of the Lord? + How mocked the rude, how scoffed the vile, + How stung the Levites' scornful smile, + As o'er my spirit, dark and slow, + The shadow crept of Israel's woe + As if the angel's mournful roll + Had left its record on my soul, + And traced in lines of darkness there + The picture of its great despair! + + Yet ever at the hour I feel + My lips in prophecy unseal. + Prince, priest, and Levite gather near, + And Salem's daughters haste to hear, + On Chebar's waste and alien shore, + The harp of Judah swept once more. + They listen, as in Babel's throng + The Chaldeans to the dancer's song, + Or wild sabbeka's nightly play,— + As careless and as vain as they. + + . . . . . + + And thus, O Prophet-bard of old, + Hast thou thy tale of sorrow told + The same which earth's unwelcome seers + Have felt in all succeeding years. + Sport of the changeful multitude, + Nor calmly heard nor understood, + Their song has seemed a trick of art, + Their warnings but, the actor's part. + With bonds, and scorn, and evil will, + The world requites its prophets still. + + So was it when the Holy One + The garments of the flesh put on + Men followed where the Highest led + For common gifts of daily bread, + And gross of ear, of vision dim, + Owned not the Godlike power of Him. + Vain as a dreamer's words to them + His wail above Jerusalem, + And meaningless the watch He kept + Through which His weak disciples slept. + + Yet shrink not thou, whoe'er thou art, + For God's great purpose set apart, + Before whose far-discerning eyes, + The Future as the Present lies! + Beyond a narrow-bounded age + Stretches thy prophet-heritage, + Through Heaven's vast spaces angel-trod, + And through the eternal years of God + Thy audience, worlds!—all things to be + The witness of the Truth in thee! + + 1844. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0072" id="link2H_4_0072"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHAT THE VOICE SAID + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MADDENED by Earth's wrong and evil, + "Lord!" I cried in sudden ire, + "From Thy right hand, clothed with thunder, + Shake the bolted fire! + + "Love is lost, and Faith is dying; + With the brute the man is sold; + And the dropping blood of labor + Hardens into gold. + + "Here the dying wail of Famine, + There the battle's groan of pain; + And, in silence, smooth-faced Mammon + Reaping men like grain. + + "'Where is God, that we should fear Him?' + Thus the earth-born Titans say + 'God! if Thou art living, hear us!' + Thus the weak ones pray." + + "Thou, the patient Heaven upbraiding," + Spake a solemn Voice within; + "Weary of our Lord's forbearance, + Art thou free from sin? + + "Fearless brow to Him uplifting, + Canst thou for His thunders call, + Knowing that to guilt's attraction + Evermore they fall? + + "Know'st thou not all germs of evil + In thy heart await their time? + Not thyself, but God's restraining, + Stays their growth of crime. + + "Couldst thou boast, O child of weakness! + O'er the sons of wrong and strife, + Were their strong temptations planted + In thy path of life? + + "Thou hast seen two streamlets gushing + From one fountain, clear and free, + But by widely varying channels + Searching for the sea. + + "Glideth one through greenest valleys, + Kissing them with lips still sweet; + One, mad roaring down the mountains, + Stagnates at their feet. + + "Is it choice whereby the Parsee + Kneels before his mother's fire? + In his black tent did the Tartar + Choose his wandering sire? + + "He alone, whose hand is bounding + Human power and human will, + Looking through each soul's surrounding, + Knows its good or ill. + + "For thyself, while wrong and sorrow + Make to thee their strong appeal, + Coward wert thou not to utter + What the heart must feel. + + "Earnest words must needs be spoken + When the warm heart bleeds or burns + With its scorn of wrong, or pity + For the wronged, by turns. + + "But, by all thy nature's weakness, + Hidden faults and follies known, + Be thou, in rebuking evil, + Conscious of thine own. + + "Not the less shall stern-eyed Duty + To thy lips her trumpet set, + But with harsher blasts shall mingle + Wailings of regret." + + Cease not, Voice of holy speaking, + Teacher sent of God, be near, + Whispering through the day's cool silence, + Let my spirit hear! + + So, when thoughts of evil-doers + Waken scorn, or hatred move, + Shall a mournful fellow-feeling + Temper all with love. + + 1847. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0073" id="link2H_4_0073"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE. + </h2> + <h3> + A FREE PARAPHRASE OF THE GERMAN. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To weary hearts, to mourning homes, + God's meekest Angel gently comes + No power has he to banish pain, + Or give us back our lost again; + And yet in tenderest love, our dear + And Heavenly Father sends him here. + + There's quiet in that Angel's glance, + There 's rest in his still countenance! + He mocks no grief with idle cheer, + Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear; + But ills and woes he may not cure + He kindly trains us to endure. + + Angel of Patience! sent to calm + Our feverish brows with cooling palm; + To lay the storms of hope and fear, + And reconcile life's smile and tear; + The throbs of wounded pride to still, + And make our own our Father's will. + + O thou who mournest on thy way, + With longings for the close of day; + He walks with thee, that Angel kind, + And gently whispers, "Be resigned + Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell + The dear Lord ordereth all things well!" + + 1847. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0074" id="link2H_4_0074"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WIFE OF MANOAH TO HER HUSBAND. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Against the sunset's glowing wall + The city towers rise black and tall, + Where Zorah, on its rocky height, + Stands like an armed man in the light. + + Down Eshtaol's vales of ripened grain + Falls like a cloud the night amain, + And up the hillsides climbing slow + The barley reapers homeward go. + + Look, dearest! how our fair child's head + The sunset light hath hallowed, + Where at this olive's foot he lies, + Uplooking to the tranquil skies. + + Oh, while beneath the fervent heat + Thy sickle swept the bearded wheat, + I've watched, with mingled joy and dread, + Our child upon his grassy bed. + + Joy, which the mother feels alone + Whose morning hope like mine had flown, + When to her bosom, over-blessed, + A dearer life than hers is pressed. + + Dread, for the future dark and still, + Which shapes our dear one to its will; + Forever in his large calm eyes, + I read a tale of sacrifice. + + The same foreboding awe I felt + When at the altar's side we knelt, + And he, who as a pilgrim came, + Rose, winged and glorious, through the flame. + + I slept not, though the wild bees made + A dreamlike murmuring in the shade, + And on me the warm-fingered hours + Pressed with the drowsy smell of flowers. + + Before me, in a vision, rose + The hosts of Israel's scornful foes,— + Rank over rank, helm, shield, and spear, + Glittered in noon's hot atmosphere. + + I heard their boast, and bitter word, + Their mockery of the Hebrew's Lord, + I saw their hands His ark assail, + Their feet profane His holy veil. + + No angel down the blue space spoke, + No thunder from the still sky broke; + But in their midst, in power and awe, + Like God's waked wrath, our child I saw! + + A child no more!—harsh-browed and strong, + He towered a giant in the throng, + And down his shoulders, broad and bare, + Swept the black terror of his hair. + + He raised his arm—he smote amain; + As round the reaper falls the grain, + So the dark host around him fell, + So sank the foes of Israel! + + Again I looked. In sunlight shone + The towers and domes of Askelon; + Priest, warrior, slave, a mighty crowd + Within her idol temple bowed. + + Yet one knelt not; stark, gaunt, and blind, + His arms the massive pillars twined,— + An eyeless captive, strong with hate, + He stood there like an evil Fate. + + The red shrines smoked,—the trumpets pealed + He stooped,—the giant columns reeled; + Reeled tower and fane, sank arch and wall, + And the thick dust-cloud closed o'er all! + + Above the shriek, the crash, the groan + Of the fallen pride of Askelon, + I heard, sheer down the echoing sky, + A voice as of an angel cry,— + + The voice of him, who at our side + Sat through the golden eventide; + Of him who, on thy altar's blaze, + Rose fire-winged, with his song of praise. + + "Rejoice o'er Israel's broken chain, + Gray mother of the mighty slain! + Rejoice!" it cried, "he vanquisheth! + The strong in life is strong in death! + + "To him shall Zorah's daughters raise + Through coming years their hymns of praise, + And gray old men at evening tell + Of all he wrought for Israel. + + "And they who sing and they who hear + Alike shall hold thy memory dear, + And pour their blessings on thy head, + O mother of the mighty dead!" + + It ceased; and though a sound I heard + As if great wings the still air stirred, + I only saw the barley sheaves + And hills half hid by olive leaves. + + I bowed my face, in awe and fear, + On the dear child who slumbered near; + "With me, as with my only son, + O God," I said, "Thy will be done!" + + 1847. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0075" id="link2H_4_0075"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY SOUL AND I + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Stand still, my soul, in the silent dark + I would question thee, + Alone in the shadow drear and stark + With God and me! + + What, my soul, was thy errand here? + Was it mirth or ease, + Or heaping up dust from year to year? + "Nay, none of these!" + + Speak, soul, aright in His holy sight + Whose eye looks still + And steadily on thee through the night + "To do His will!" + + What hast thou done, O soul of mine, + That thou tremblest so? + Hast thou wrought His task, and kept the line + He bade thee go? + + Aha! thou tremblest!—well I see + Thou 'rt craven grown. + Is it so hard with God and me + To stand alone? + + Summon thy sunshine bravery back, + O wretched sprite! + Let me hear thy voice through this deep and black + Abysmal night. + + What hast thou wrought for Right and Truth, + For God and Man, + From the golden hours of bright-eyed youth + To life's mid span? + + What, silent all! art sad of cheer? + Art fearful now? + When God seemed far and men were near, + How brave wert thou! + + Ah, soul of mine, thy tones I hear, + But weak and low, + Like far sad murmurs on my ear + They come and go. + + I have wrestled stoutly with the Wrong, + And borne the Right + From beneath the footfall of the throng + To life and light. + + "Wherever Freedom shivered a chain, + God speed, quoth I; + To Error amidst her shouting train + I gave the lie." + + Ah, soul of mine! ah, soul of mine! + Thy deeds are well: + Were they wrought for Truth's sake or for thine? + My soul, pray tell. + + "Of all the work my hand hath wrought + Beneath the sky, + Save a place in kindly human thought, + No gain have I." + + Go to, go to! for thy very self + Thy deeds were done + Thou for fame, the miser for pelf, + Your end is one! + + And where art thou going, soul of mine? + Canst see the end? + And whither this troubled life of thine + Evermore doth tend? + + What daunts thee now? what shakes thee so? + My sad soul say. + "I see a cloud like a curtain low + Hang o'er my way. + + "Whither I go I cannot tell + That cloud hangs black, + High as the heaven and deep as hell + Across my track. + + "I see its shadow coldly enwrap + The souls before. + Sadly they enter it, step by step, + To return no more. + + "They shrink, they shudder, dear God! they kneel + To Thee in prayer. + They shut their eyes on the cloud, but feel + That it still is there. + + "In vain they turn from the dread Before + To the Known and Gone; + For while gazing behind them evermore + Their feet glide on. + + "Yet, at times, I see upon sweet pale faces + A light begin + To tremble, as if from holy places + And shrines within. + + "And at times methinks their cold lips move + With hymn and prayer, + As if somewhat of awe, but more of love + And hope were there. + + "I call on the souls who have left the light + To reveal their lot; + I bend mine ear to that wall of night, + And they answer not. + + "But I hear around me sighs of pain + And the cry of fear, + And a sound like the slow sad dropping of rain, + Each drop a tear! + + "Ah, the cloud is dark, and day by day + I am moving thither + I must pass beneath it on my way— + God pity me!—whither?" + + Ah, soul of mine! so brave and wise + In the life-storm loud, + Fronting so calmly all human eyes + In the sunlit crowd! + + Now standing apart with God and me + Thou art weakness all, + Gazing vainly after the things to be + Through Death's dread wall. + + But never for this, never for this + Was thy being lent; + For the craven's fear is but selfishness, + Like his merriment. + + Folly and Fear are sisters twain + One closing her eyes. + The other peopling the dark inane + With spectral lies. + + Know well, my soul, God's hand controls + Whate'er thou fearest; + Round Him in calmest music rolls + Whate'er thou Nearest. + + What to thee is shadow, to Him is day, + And the end He knoweth, + And not on a blind and aimless way + The spirit goeth. + + Man sees no future,—a phantom show + Is alone before him; + Past Time is dead, and the grasses grow, + And flowers bloom o'er him. + + Nothing before, nothing behind; + The steps of Faith + Fall on the seeming void, and find + The rock beneath. + + The Present, the Present is all thou hast + For thy sure possessing; + Like the patriarch's angel hold it fast + Till it gives its blessing. + + Why fear the night? why shrink from Death; + That phantom wan? + There is nothing in heaven or earth beneath + Save God and man. + + Peopling the shadows we turn from Him + And from one another; + All is spectral and vague and dim + Save God and our brother! + + Like warp and woof all destinies + Are woven fast, + Linked in sympathy like the keys + Of an organ vast. + + Pluck one thread, and the web ye mar; + Break but one + Of a thousand keys, and the paining jar + Through all will run. + + O restless spirit! wherefore strain + Beyond thy sphere? + Heaven and hell, with their joy and pain, + Are now and here. + + Back to thyself is measured well + All thou hast given; + Thy neighbor's wrong is thy present hell, + His bliss, thy heaven. + + And in life, in death, in dark and light, + All are in God's care + Sound the black abyss, pierce the deep of night, + And He is there! + + All which is real now remaineth, + And fadeth never + The hand which upholds it now sustaineth + The soul forever. + + Leaning on Him, make with reverent meekness + His own thy will, + And with strength from Him shall thy utter weakness + Life's task fulfil; + + And that cloud itself, which now before thee + Lies dark in view, + Shall with beams of light from the inner glory + Be stricken through. + + And like meadow mist through autumn's dawn + Uprolling thin, + Its thickest folds when about thee drawn + Let sunlight in. + + Then of what is to be, and of what is done, + Why queriest thou? + The past and the time to be are one, + And both are now! + + 1847. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0076" id="link2H_4_0076"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WORSHIP. + </h2> + <p> + "Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this. To visit + the fatherless and widows in, their affliction, and to keep himself + unspotted from the world."—JAMES I. 27. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Pagan's myths through marble lips are spoken, + And ghosts of old Beliefs still flit and moan + Round fane and altar overthrown and broken, + O'er tree-grown barrow and gray ring of stone. + + Blind Faith had martyrs in those old high places, + The Syrian hill grove and the Druid's wood, + With mother's offering, to the Fiend's embraces, + Bone of their bone, and blood of their own blood. + + Red altars, kindling through that night of error, + Smoked with warm blood beneath the cruel eye + Of lawless Power and sanguinary Terror, + Throned on the circle of a pitiless sky; + + Beneath whose baleful shadow, overcasting + All heaven above, and blighting earth below, + The scourge grew red, the lip grew pale with fasting, + And man's oblation was his fear and woe! + + Then through great temples swelled the dismal moaning + Of dirge-like music and sepulchral prayer; + Pale wizard priests, o'er occult symbols droning, + Swung their white censers in the burdened air + + As if the pomp of rituals, and the savor + Of gums and spices could the Unseen One please; + As if His ear could bend, with childish favor, + To the poor flattery of the organ keys! + + Feet red from war-fields trod the church aisles holy, + With trembling reverence: and the oppressor there, + Kneeling before his priest, abased and lowly, + Crushed human hearts beneath his knee of prayer. + + Not such the service the benignant Father + Requireth at His earthly children's hands + Not the poor offering of vain rites, but rather + The simple duty man from man demands. + + For Earth He asks it: the full joy of heaven + Knoweth no change of waning or increase; + The great heart of the Infinite beats even, + Untroubled flows the river of His peace. + + He asks no taper lights, on high surrounding + The priestly altar and the saintly grave, + No dolorous chant nor organ music sounding, + Nor incense clouding tip the twilight nave. + + For he whom Jesus loved hath truly spoken + The holier worship which he deigns to bless + Restores the lost, and binds the spirit broken, + And feeds the widow and the fatherless! + + Types of our human weakness and our sorrow! + Who lives unhaunted by his loved ones dead? + Who, with vain longing, seeketh not to borrow + From stranger eyes the home lights which have fled? + + O brother man! fold to thy heart thy brother; + Where pity dwells, the peace of God is there; + To worship rightly is to love each other, + Each smile a hymn, each kindly deed a prayer. + + Follow with reverent steps the great example + Of Him whose holy work was "doing good;" + So shall the wide earth seem our Father's temple, + Each loving life a psalm of gratitude. + + Then shall all shackles fall; the stormy clangor + Of wild war music o'er the earth shall cease; + Love shall tread out the baleful fire of anger, + And in its ashes plant the tree of peace! + + 1848. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0077" id="link2H_4_0077"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE HOLY LAND + </h2> + <p> + Paraphrased from the lines in Lamartine's <i>Adieu to Marseilles</i>, + beginning + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Je n'ai pas navigue sur l'ocean de sable." +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I have not felt, o'er seas of sand, + The rocking of the desert bark; + Nor laved at Hebron's fount my hand, + By Hebron's palm-trees cool and dark; + Nor pitched my tent at even-fall, + On dust where Job of old has lain, + Nor dreamed beneath its canvas wall, + The dream of Jacob o'er again. + + One vast world-page remains unread; + How shine the stars in Chaldea's sky, + How sounds the reverent pilgrim's tread, + How beats the heart with God so nigh + How round gray arch and column lone + The spirit of the old time broods, + And sighs in all the winds that moan + Along the sandy solitudes! + + In thy tall cedars, Lebanon, + I have not heard the nations' cries, + Nor seen thy eagles stooping down + Where buried Tyre in ruin lies. + The Christian's prayer I have not said + In Tadmor's temples of decay, + Nor startled, with my dreary tread, + The waste where Memnon's empire lay. + + Nor have I, from thy hallowed tide, + O Jordan! heard the low lament, + Like that sad wail along thy side + Which Israel's mournful prophet sent! + Nor thrilled within that grotto lone + Where, deep in night, the Bard of Kings + Felt hands of fire direct his own, + And sweep for God the conscious strings. + + I have not climbed to Olivet, + Nor laid me where my Saviour lay, + And left His trace of tears as yet + By angel eyes unwept away; + Nor watched, at midnight's solemn time, + The garden where His prayer and groan, + Wrung by His sorrow and our crime, + Rose to One listening ear alone. + + I have not kissed the rock-hewn grot + Where in His mother's arms He lay, + Nor knelt upon the sacred spot + Where last His footsteps pressed the clay; + Nor looked on that sad mountain head, + Nor smote my sinful breast, where wide + His arms to fold the world He spread, + And bowed His head to bless—and died! + + 1848. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0078" id="link2H_4_0078"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE REWARD + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Who, looking backward from his manhood's prime, + Sees not the spectre of his misspent time? + And, through the shade + Of funeral cypress planted thick behind, + Hears no reproachful whisper on the wind + From his loved dead? + + Who bears no trace of passion's evil force? + Who shuns thy sting, O terrible Remorse? + Who does not cast + On the thronged pages of his memory's book, + At times, a sad and half-reluctant look, + Regretful of the past? + + Alas! the evil which we fain would shun + We do, and leave the wished-for good undone + Our strength to-day + Is but to-morrow's weakness, prone to fall; + Poor, blind, unprofitable servants all + Are we alway. + + Yet who, thus looking backward o'er his years, + Feels not his eyelids wet with grateful tears, + If he hath been + Permitted, weak and sinful as he was, + To cheer and aid, in some ennobling cause, + His fellow-men? + + If he hath hidden the outcast, or let in + A ray of sunshine to the cell of sin; + If he hath lent + Strength to the weak, and, in an hour of need, + Over the suffering, mindless of his creed + Or home, hath bent; + + He has not lived in vain, and while he gives + The praise to Him, in whom he moves and lives, + With thankful heart; + He gazes backward, and with hope before, + Knowing that from his works he nevermore + Can henceforth part. + + 1848. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0079" id="link2H_4_0079"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WISH OF TO-DAY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I ask not now for gold to gild + With mocking shine a weary frame; + The yearning of the mind is stilled, + I ask not now for Fame. + + A rose-cloud, dimly seen above, + Melting in heaven's blue depths away; + Oh, sweet, fond dream of human Love + For thee I may not pray. + + But, bowed in lowliness of mind, + I make my humble wishes known; + I only ask a will resigned, + O Father, to Thine own! + + To-day, beneath Thy chastening eye + I crave alone for peace and rest, + Submissive in Thy hand to lie, + And feel that it is best. + + A marvel seems the Universe, + A miracle our Life and Death; + A mystery which I cannot pierce, + Around, above, beneath. + + In vain I task my aching brain, + In vain the sage's thought I scan, + I only feel how weak and vain, + How poor and blind, is man. + + And now my spirit sighs for home, + And longs for light whereby to see, + And, like a weary child, would come, + O Father, unto Thee! + + Though oft, like letters traced on sand, + My weak resolves have passed away, + In mercy lend Thy helping hand + Unto my prayer to-day! + + 1848. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0080" id="link2H_4_0080"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ALL'S WELL + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The clouds, which rise with thunder, slake + Our thirsty souls with rain; + The blow most dreaded falls to break + From off our limbs a chain; + And wrongs of man to man but make + The love of God more plain. + As through the shadowy lens of even + The eye looks farthest into heaven + On gleams of star and depths of blue + The glaring sunshine never knew! + + 1850. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0081" id="link2H_4_0081"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INVOCATION + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Through Thy clear spaces, Lord, of old, + Formless and void the dead earth rolled; + Deaf to Thy heaven's sweet music, blind + To the great lights which o'er it shined; + No sound, no ray, no warmth, no breath,— + A dumb despair, a wandering death. + + To that dark, weltering horror came + Thy spirit, like a subtle flame,— + A breath of life electrical, + Awakening and transforming all, + Till beat and thrilled in every part + The pulses of a living heart. + + Then knew their bounds the land and sea; + Then smiled the bloom of mead and tree; + From flower to moth, from beast to man, + The quick creative impulse ran; + And earth, with life from thee renewed, + Was in thy holy eyesight good. + + As lost and void, as dark and cold + And formless as that earth of old; + A wandering waste of storm and night, + Midst spheres of song and realms of light; + A blot upon thy holy sky, + Untouched, unwarned of thee, am I. + + O Thou who movest on the deep + Of spirits, wake my own from sleep + Its darkness melt, its coldness warm, + The lost restore, the ill transform, + That flower and fruit henceforth may be + Its grateful offering, worthy Thee. + + 1851. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0082" id="link2H_4_0082"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + QUESTIONS OF LIFE + </h2> + <p> + And the angel that was sent unto me, whose name was Uriel, gave me an + answer and said, "Thy heart hath gone too far in this world, and thinkest + thou to comprehend the way of the Most High?" Then said I, "Yea, my Lord." + Then said he unto me, "Go thy way, weigh me the weight of the fire or + measure me the blast of the wind, or call me again the day that is past."—2 + ESDRAS, chap. iv. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A bending staff I would not break, + A feeble faith I would not shake, + Nor even rashly pluck away + The error which some truth may stay, + Whose loss might leave the soul without + A shield against the shafts of doubt. + + And yet, at times, when over all + A darker mystery seems to fall, + (May God forgive the child of dust, + Who seeks to know, where Faith should trust!) + I raise the questions, old and dark, + Of Uzdom's tempted patriarch, + And, speech-confounded, build again + The baffled tower of Shinar's plain. + + I am: how little more I know! + Whence came I? Whither do I go? + A centred self, which feels and is; + A cry between the silences; + A shadow-birth of clouds at strife + With sunshine on the hills of life; + A shaft from Nature's quiver cast + Into the Future from the Past; + Between the cradle and the shroud, + A meteor's flight from cloud to cloud. + + Thorough the vastness, arching all, + I see the great stars rise and fall, + The rounding seasons come and go, + The tided oceans ebb and flow; + The tokens of a central force, + Whose circles, in their widening course, + O'erlap and move the universe; + The workings of the law whence springs + The rhythmic harmony of things, + Which shapes in earth the darkling spar, + And orbs in heaven the morning star. + Of all I see, in earth and sky,— + Star, flower, beast, bird,—what part have I? + This conscious life,—is it the same + Which thrills the universal frame, + Whereby the caverned crystal shoots, + And mounts the sap from forest roots, + Whereby the exiled wood-bird tells + When Spring makes green her native dells? + How feels the stone the pang of birth, + Which brings its sparkling prism forth? + The forest-tree the throb which gives + The life-blood to its new-born leaves? + Do bird and blossom feel, like me, + Life's many-folded mystery,— + The wonder which it is to be? + Or stand I severed and distinct, + From Nature's "chain of life" unlinked? + Allied to all, yet not the less + Prisoned in separate consciousness, + Alone o'erburdened with a sense + Of life, and cause, and consequence? + + In vain to me the Sphinx propounds + The riddle of her sights and sounds; + Back still the vaulted mystery gives + The echoed question it receives. + What sings the brook? What oracle + Is in the pine-tree's organ swell? + What may the wind's low burden be? + The meaning of the moaning sea? + The hieroglyphics of the stars? + Or clouded sunset's crimson bars? + I vainly ask, for mocks my skill + The trick of Nature's cipher still. + + I turn from Nature unto men, + I ask the stylus and the pen; + What sang the bards of old? What meant + The prophets of the Orient? + The rolls of buried Egypt, hid + In painted tomb and pyramid? + What mean Idumea's arrowy lines, + Or dusk Elora's monstrous signs? + How speaks the primal thought of man + From the grim carvings of Copan? + + Where rests the secret? Where the keys + Of the old death-bolted mysteries? + Alas! the dead retain their trust; + Dust hath no answer from the dust. + + The great enigma still unguessed, + Unanswered the eternal quest; + I gather up the scattered rays + Of wisdom in the early days, + Faint gleams and broken, like the light + Of meteors in a northern night, + Betraying to the darkling earth + The unseen sun which gave them birth; + I listen to the sibyl's chant, + The voice of priest and hierophant; + I know what Indian Kreeshna saith, + And what of life and what of death + The demon taught to Socrates; + And what, beneath his garden-trees + Slow pacing, with a dream-like tread,— + The solemn-thoughted Plato said; + Nor lack I tokens, great or small, + Of God's clear light in each and all, + While holding with more dear regard + The scroll of Hebrew seer and bard, + The starry pages promise-lit + With Christ's Evangel over-writ, + Thy miracle of life and death, + O Holy One of Nazareth! + + On Aztec ruins, gray and lone, + The circling serpent coils in stone,— + Type of the endless and unknown; + Whereof we seek the clue to find, + With groping fingers of the blind! + Forever sought, and never found, + We trace that serpent-symbol round + Our resting-place, our starting bound + Oh, thriftlessness of dream and guess! + Oh, wisdom which is foolishness! + Why idly seek from outward things + The answer inward silence brings? + Why stretch beyond our proper sphere + And age, for that which lies so near? + Why climb the far-off hills with pain, + A nearer view of heaven to gain? + In lowliest depths of bosky dells + The hermit Contemplation dwells. + A fountain's pine-hung slope his seat, + And lotus-twined his silent feet, + Whence, piercing heaven, with screened sight, + He sees at noon the stars, whose light + Shall glorify the coining night. + + Here let me pause, my quest forego; + Enough for me to feel and know + That He in whom the cause and end, + The past and future, meet and blend,— + Who, girt with his Immensities, + Our vast and star-hung system sees, + Small as the clustered Pleiades,— + Moves not alone the heavenly quires, + But waves the spring-time's grassy spires, + Guards not archangel feet alone, + But deigns to guide and keep my own; + Speaks not alone the words of fate + Which worlds destroy, and worlds create, + But whispers in my spirit's ear, + In tones of love, or warning fear, + A language none beside may hear. + + To Him, from wanderings long and wild, + I come, an over-wearied child, + In cool and shade His peace to find, + Lice dew-fall settling on my mind. + Assured that all I know is best, + And humbly trusting for the rest, + I turn from Fancy's cloud-built scheme, + Dark creed, and mournful eastern dream + Of power, impersonal and cold, + Controlling all, itself controlled, + Maker and slave of iron laws, + Alike the subject and the cause; + From vain philosophies, that try + The sevenfold gates of mystery, + And, baffled ever, babble still, + Word-prodigal of fate and will; + From Nature, and her mockery, Art; + And book and speech of men apart, + To the still witness in my heart; + With reverence waiting to behold + His Avatar of love untold, + The Eternal Beauty new and old! + + 1862. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0083" id="link2H_4_0083"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FIRST-DAY THOUGHTS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In calm and cool and silence, once again + I find my old accustomed place among + My brethren, where, perchance, no human tongue + Shall utter words; where never hymn is sung, + Nor deep-toned organ blown, nor censer swung, + Nor dim light falling through the pictured pane! + There, syllabled by silence, let me hear + The still small voice which reached the prophet's ear; + Read in my heart a still diviner law + Than Israel's leader on his tables saw! + There let me strive with each besetting sin, + Recall my wandering fancies, and restrain + The sore disquiet of a restless brain; + And, as the path of duty is made plain, + May grace be given that I may walk therein, + Not like the hireling, for his selfish gain, + With backward glances and reluctant tread, + Making a merit of his coward dread, + But, cheerful, in the light around me thrown, + Walking as one to pleasant service led; + Doing God's will as if it were my own, + Yet trusting not in mine, but in His strength alone! + + 1852. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0084" id="link2H_4_0084"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TRUST. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The same old baffling questions! O my friend, + I cannot answer them. In vain I send + My soul into the dark, where never burn + The lamps of science, nor the natural light + Of Reason's sun and stars! I cannot learn + Their great and solemn meanings, nor discern + The awful secrets of the eyes which turn + Evermore on us through the day and night + With silent challenge and a dumb demand, + Proffering the riddles of the dread unknown, + Like the calm Sphinxes, with their eyes of stone, + Questioning the centuries from their veils of sand! + I have no answer for myself or thee, + Save that I learned beside my mother's knee; + "All is of God that is, and is to be; + And God is good." Let this suffice us still, + Resting in childlike trust upon His will + Who moves to His great ends unthwarted by the ill. + + 1853. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0085" id="link2H_4_0085"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TRINITAS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + At morn I prayed, "I fain would see + How Three are One, and One is Three; + Read the dark riddle unto me." + + I wandered forth, the sun and air + I saw bestowed with equal care + On good and evil, foul and fair. + + No partial favor dropped the rain; + Alike the righteous and profane + Rejoiced above their heading grain. + + And my heart murmured, "Is it meet + That blindfold Nature thus should treat + With equal hand the tares and wheat?" + + A presence melted through my mood,— + A warmth, a light, a sense of good, + Like sunshine through a winter wood. + + I saw that presence, mailed complete + In her white innocence, pause to greet + A fallen sister of the street. + + Upon her bosom snowy pure + The lost one clung, as if secure + From inward guilt or outward lure. + + "Beware!" I said; "in this I see + No gain to her, but loss to thee + Who touches pitch defiled must be." + + I passed the haunts of shame and sin, + And a voice whispered, "Who therein + Shall these lost souls to Heaven's peace win? + + "Who there shall hope and health dispense, + And lift the ladder up from thence + Whose rounds are prayers of penitence?" + + I said, "No higher life they know; + These earth-worms love to have it so. + Who stoops to raise them sinks as low." + + That night with painful care I read + What Hippo's saint and Calvin said; + The living seeking to the dead! + + In vain I turned, in weary quest, + Old pages, where (God give them rest!) + The poor creed-mongers dreamed and guessed. + + And still I prayed, "Lord, let me see + How Three are One, and One is Three; + Read the dark riddle unto me!" + + Then something whispered, "Dost thou pray + For what thou hast? This very day + The Holy Three have crossed thy way. + + "Did not the gifts of sun and air + To good and ill alike declare + The all-compassionate Father's care? + + "In the white soul that stooped to raise + The lost one from her evil ways, + Thou saw'st the Christ, whom angels praise! + + "A bodiless Divinity, + The still small Voice that spake to thee + Was the Holy Spirit's mystery! + + "O blind of sight, of faith how small! + Father, and Son, and Holy Call + This day thou hast denied them all! + + "Revealed in love and sacrifice, + The Holiest passed before thine eyes, + One and the same, in threefold guise. + + "The equal Father in rain and sun, + His Christ in the good to evil done, + His Voice in thy soul;—and the Three are One!" + + I shut my grave Aquinas fast; + The monkish gloss of ages past, + The schoolman's creed aside I cast. + + And my heart answered, "Lord, I see + How Three are One, and One is Three; + Thy riddle hath been read to me!" + + 1858. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0086" id="link2H_4_0086"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SISTERS + </h2> + <h3> + A PICTURE BY BARRY + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The shade for me, but over thee + The lingering sunshine still; + As, smiling, to the silent stream + Comes down the singing rill. + + So come to me, my little one,— + My years with thee I share, + And mingle with a sister's love + A mother's tender care. + + But keep the smile upon thy lip, + The trust upon thy brow; + Since for the dear one God hath called + We have an angel now. + + Our mother from the fields of heaven + Shall still her ear incline; + Nor need we fear her human love + Is less for love divine. + + The songs are sweet they sing beneath + The trees of life so fair, + But sweetest of the songs of heaven + Shall be her children's prayer. + + Then, darling, rest upon my breast, + And teach my heart to lean + With thy sweet trust upon the arm + Which folds us both unseen! + + 1858 +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0087" id="link2H_4_0087"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + "THE ROCK" IN EL GHOR. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Dead Petra in her hill-tomb sleeps, + Her stones of emptiness remain; + Around her sculptured mystery sweeps + The lonely waste of Edom's plain. + + From the doomed dwellers in the cleft + The bow of vengeance turns not back; + Of all her myriads none are left + Along the Wady Mousa's track. + + Clear in the hot Arabian day + Her arches spring, her statues climb; + Unchanged, the graven wonders pay + No tribute to the spoiler, Time! + + Unchanged the awful lithograph + Of power and glory undertrod; + Of nations scattered like the chaff + Blown from the threshing-floor of God. + + Yet shall the thoughtful stranger turn + From Petra's gates with deeper awe, + To mark afar the burial urn + Of Aaron on the cliffs of Hor; + + And where upon its ancient guard + Thy Rock, El Ghor, is standing yet,— + Looks from its turrets desertward, + And keeps the watch that God has set. + + The same as when in thunders loud + It heard the voice of God to man, + As when it saw in fire and cloud + The angels walk in Israel's van, + + Or when from Ezion-Geber's way + It saw the long procession file, + And heard the Hebrew timbrels play + The music of the lordly Nile; + + Or saw the tabernacle pause, + Cloud-bound, by Kadesh Barnea's wells, + While Moses graved the sacred laws, + And Aaron swung his golden bells. + + Rock of the desert, prophet-sung! + How grew its shadowing pile at length, + A symbol, in the Hebrew tongue, + Of God's eternal love and strength. + + On lip of bard and scroll of seer, + From age to age went down the name, + Until the Shiloh's promised year, + And Christ, the Rock of Ages, came! + + The path of life we walk to-day + Is strange as that the Hebrews trod; + We need the shadowing rock, as they,— + We need, like them, the guides of God. + + God send His angels, Cloud and Fire, + To lead us o'er the desert sand! + God give our hearts their long desire, + His shadow in a weary land! + + 1859. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0088" id="link2H_4_0088"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE OVER-HEART. + </h2> + <p> + "For of Him, and through Him, and to Him are all things, to whom be glory + forever! "—PAUL. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Above, below, in sky and sod, + In leaf and spar, in star and man, + Well might the wise Athenian scan + The geometric signs of God, + The measured order of His plan. + + And India's mystics sang aright + Of the One Life pervading all,— + One Being's tidal rise and fall + In soul and form, in sound and sight,— + Eternal outflow and recall. + + God is: and man in guilt and fear + The central fact of Nature owns; + Kneels, trembling, by his altar-stones, + And darkly dreams the ghastly smear + Of blood appeases and atones. + + Guilt shapes the Terror: deep within + The human heart the secret lies + Of all the hideous deities; + And, painted on a ground of sin, + The fabled gods of torment rise! + + And what is He? The ripe grain nods, + The sweet dews fall, the sweet flowers blow; + But darker signs His presence show + The earthquake and the storm are God's, + And good and evil interflow. + + O hearts of love! O souls that turn + Like sunflowers to the pure and best! + To you the truth is manifest: + For they the mind of Christ discern + Who lean like John upon His breast! + + In him of whom the sibyl told, + For whom the prophet's harp was toned, + Whose need the sage and magian owned, + The loving heart of God behold, + The hope for which the ages groaned! + + Fade, pomp of dreadful imagery + Wherewith mankind have deified + Their hate, and selfishness, and pride! + Let the scared dreamer wake to see + The Christ of Nazareth at his side! + + What doth that holy Guide require? + No rite of pain, nor gift of blood, + But man a kindly brotherhood, + Looking, where duty is desire, + To Him, the beautiful and good. + + Gone be the faithlessness of fear, + And let the pitying heaven's sweet rain + Wash out the altar's bloody stain; + The law of Hatred disappear, + The law of Love alone remain. + + How fall the idols false and grim! + And to! their hideous wreck above + The emblems of the Lamb and Dove! + Man turns from God, not God from him; + And guilt, in suffering, whispers Love! + + The world sits at the feet of Christ, + Unknowing, blind, and unconsoled; + It yet shall touch His garment's fold, + And feel the heavenly Alchemist + Transform its very dust to gold. + + The theme befitting angel tongues + Beyond a mortal's scope has grown. + O heart of mine! with reverence own + The fulness which to it belongs, + And trust the unknown for the known. + + 1859. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0089" id="link2H_4_0089"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SHADOW AND THE LIGHT. + </h2> + <p> + "And I sought, whence is Evil: I set before the eye of my spirit the whole + creation; whatsoever we see therein,—sea, earth, air, stars, trees, + moral creatures,—yea, whatsoever there is we do not see,—angels + and spiritual powers. Where is evil, and whence comes it, since God the + Good hath created all things? Why made He anything at all of evil, and not + rather by His Almightiness cause it not to be? These thoughts I turned in + my miserable heart, overcharged with most gnawing cares." "And, admonished + to return to myself, I entered even into my inmost soul, Thou being my + guide, and beheld even beyond my soul and mind the Light unchangeable. He + who knows the Truth knows what that Light is, and he that knows it knows + Eternity! O—Truth, who art Eternity! Love, who art Truth! Eternity, + who art Love! And I beheld that Thou madest all things good, and to Thee + is nothing whatsoever evil. From the angel to the worm, from the first + motion to the last, Thou settest each in its place, and everything is good + in its kind. Woe is me!—how high art Thou in the highest, how deep + in the deepest! and Thou never departest from us and we scarcely return to + Thee." —AUGUSTINE'S Soliloquies, Book VII. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The fourteen centuries fall away + Between us and the Afric saint, + And at his side we urge, to-day, + The immemorial quest and old complaint. + + No outward sign to us is given,— + From sea or earth comes no reply; + Hushed as the warm Numidian heaven + He vainly questioned bends our frozen sky. + + No victory comes of all our strife,— + From all we grasp the meaning slips; + The Sphinx sits at the gate of life, + With the old question on her awful lips. + + In paths unknown we hear the feet + Of fear before, and guilt behind; + We pluck the wayside fruit, and eat + Ashes and dust beneath its golden rind. + + From age to age descends unchecked + The sad bequest of sire to son, + The body's taint, the mind's defect; + Through every web of life the dark threads run. + + Oh, why and whither? God knows all; + I only know that He is good, + And that whatever may befall + Or here or there, must be the best that could. + + Between the dreadful cherubim + A Father's face I still discern, + As Moses looked of old on Him, + And saw His glory into goodness turn! + + For He is merciful as just; + And so, by faith correcting sight, + I bow before His will, and trust + Howe'er they seem He doeth all things right. + + And dare to hope that Tie will make + The rugged smooth, the doubtful plain; + His mercy never quite forsake; + His healing visit every realm of pain; + + That suffering is not His revenge + Upon His creatures weak and frail, + Sent on a pathway new and strange + With feet that wander and with eyes that fail; + + That, o'er the crucible of pain, + Watches the tender eye of Love + The slow transmuting of the chain + Whose links are iron below to gold above! + + Ah me! we doubt the shining skies, + Seen through our shadows of offence, + And drown with our poor childish cries + The cradle-hymn of kindly Providence. + + And still we love the evil cause, + And of the just effect complain + We tread upon life's broken laws, + And murmur at our self-inflicted pain; + + We turn us from the light, and find + Our spectral shapes before us thrown, + As they who leave the sun behind + Walk in the shadows of themselves alone. + + And scarce by will or strength of ours + We set our faces to the day; + Weak, wavering, blind, the Eternal Powers + Alone can turn us from ourselves away. + + Our weakness is the strength of sin, + But love must needs be stronger far, + Outreaching all and gathering in + The erring spirit and the wandering star. + + A Voice grows with the growing years; + Earth, hushing down her bitter cry, + Looks upward from her graves, and hears, + "The Resurrection and the Life am I." + + O Love Divine!—whose constant beam + Shines on the eyes that will not see, + And waits to bless us, while we dream + Thou leavest us because we turn from thee! + + All souls that struggle and aspire, + All hearts of prayer by thee are lit; + And, dim or clear, thy tongues of fire + On dusky tribes and twilight centuries sit. + + Nor bounds, nor clime, nor creed thou know'st, + Wide as our need thy favors fall; + The white wings of the Holy Ghost + Stoop, seen or unseen, o'er the heads of all. + + O Beauty, old yet ever new! + Eternal Voice, and Inward Word, + The Logos of the Greek and Jew, + The old sphere-music which the Samian heard! + + Truth, which the sage and prophet saw, + Long sought without, but found within, + The Law of Love beyond all law, + The Life o'erflooding mortal death and sin! + + Shine on us with the light which glowed + Upon the trance-bound shepherd's way. + Who saw the Darkness overflowed + And drowned by tides of everlasting Day. + + Shine, light of God!—make broad thy scope + To all who sin and suffer; more + And better than we dare to hope + With Heaven's compassion make our longings poor! + + 1860. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0090" id="link2H_4_0090"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CRY OF A LOST SOUL. + </h2> + <p> + Lieutenant Herndon's Report of the Exploration of the Amazon has a + striking description of the peculiar and melancholy notes of a bird heard + by night on the shores of the river. The Indian guides called it "The Cry + of a Lost Soul"! Among the numerous translations of this poem is one by + the Emperor of Brazil. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In that black forest, where, when day is done, + With a snake's stillness glides the Amazon + Darkly from sunset to the rising sun, + + A cry, as of the pained heart of the wood, + The long, despairing moan of solitude + And darkness and the absence of all good, + + Startles the traveller, with a sound so drear, + So full of hopeless agony and fear, + His heart stands still and listens like his ear. + + The guide, as if he heard a dead-bell toll, + Starts, drops his oar against the gunwale's thole, + Crosses himself, and whispers, "A lost soul!" + + "No, Senor, not a bird. I know it well,— + It is the pained soul of some infidel + Or cursed heretic that cries from hell. + + "Poor fool! with hope still mocking his despair, + He wanders, shrieking on the midnight air + For human pity and for Christian prayer. + + "Saints strike him dumb! Our Holy Mother hath + No prayer for him who, sinning unto death, + Burns always in the furnace of God's wrath!" + + Thus to the baptized pagan's cruel lie, + Lending new horror to that mournful cry, + The voyager listens, making no reply. + + Dim burns the boat-lamp: shadows deepen round, + From giant trees with snake-like creepers wound, + And the black water glides without a sound. + + But in the traveller's heart a secret sense + Of nature plastic to benign intents, + And an eternal good in Providence, + + Lifts to the starry calm of heaven his eyes; + And to! rebuking all earth's ominous cries, + The Cross of pardon lights the tropic skies! + + "Father of all!" he urges his strong plea, + "Thou lovest all: Thy erring child may be + Lost to himself, but never lost to Thee! + + "All souls are Thine; the wings of morning bear + None from that Presence which is everywhere, + Nor hell itself can hide, for Thou art there. + + "Through sins of sense, perversities of will, + Through doubt and pain, through guilt and shame and ill, + Thy pitying eye is on Thy creature still. + + "Wilt thou not make, Eternal Source and Goal! + In Thy long years, life's broken circle whole, + And change to praise the cry of a lost soul?" + + 1862. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0091" id="link2H_4_0091"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ANDREW RYKMAN'S PRAYER + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Andrew Rykman's dead and gone; + You can see his leaning slate + In the graveyard, and thereon + Read his name and date. + + "<i>Trust is truer than our fears</i>," + Runs the legend through the moss, + "<i>Gain is not in added years, + Nor in death is loss</i>." + + Still the feet that thither trod, + All the friendly eyes are dim; + Only Nature, now, and God + Have a care for him. + + There the dews of quiet fall, + Singing birds and soft winds stray: + Shall the tender Heart of all + Be less kind than they? + + What he was and what he is + They who ask may haply find, + If they read this prayer of his + Which he left behind. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . + + Pardon, Lord, the lips that dare + Shape in words a mortal's prayer! + Prayer, that, when my day is done, + And I see its setting sun, + Shorn and beamless, cold and dim, + Sink beneath the horizon's rim,— + When this ball of rock and clay + Crumbles from my feet away, + And the solid shores of sense + Melt into the vague immense, + Father! I may come to Thee + Even with the beggar's plea, + As the poorest of Thy poor, + With my needs, and nothing more. + + Not as one who seeks his home + With a step assured I come; + Still behind the tread I hear + Of my life-companion, Fear; + Still a shadow deep and vast + From my westering feet is cast, + Wavering, doubtful, undefined, + Never shapen nor outlined + From myself the fear has grown, + And the shadow is my own. + + Yet, O Lord, through all a sense + Of Thy tender providence + Stays my failing heart on Thee, + And confirms the feeble knee; + And, at times, my worn feet press + Spaces of cool quietness, + Lilied whiteness shone upon + Not by light of moon or sun. + Hours there be of inmost calm, + Broken but by grateful psalm, + When I love Thee more than fear Thee, + And Thy blessed Christ seems near me, + With forgiving look, as when + He beheld the Magdalen. + Well I know that all things move + To the spheral rhythm of love,— + That to Thee, O Lord of all! + Nothing can of chance befall + Child and seraph, mote and star, + Well Thou knowest what we are + Through Thy vast creative plan + Looking, from the worm to man, + There is pity in Thine eyes, + But no hatred nor surprise. + Not in blind caprice of will, + Not in cunning sleight of skill, + Not for show of power, was wrought + Nature's marvel in Thy thought. + Never careless hand and vain + Smites these chords of joy and pain; + No immortal selfishness + Plays the game of curse and bless + Heaven and earth are witnesses + That Thy glory goodness is. + + Not for sport of mind and force + Hast Thou made Thy universe, + But as atmosphere and zone + Of Thy loving heart alone. + Man, who walketh in a show, + Sees before him, to and fro, + Shadow and illusion go; + All things flow and fluctuate, + Now contract and now dilate. + In the welter of this sea, + Nothing stable is but Thee; + In this whirl of swooning trance, + Thou alone art permanence; + All without Thee only seems, + All beside is choice of dreams. + Never yet in darkest mood + Doubted I that Thou wast good, + Nor mistook my will for fate, + Pain of sin for heavenly hate,— + Never dreamed the gates of pearl + Rise from out the burning marl, + Or that good can only live + Of the bad conservative, + And through counterpoise of hell + Heaven alone be possible. + + For myself alone I doubt; + All is well, I know, without; + I alone the beauty mar, + I alone the music jar. + Yet, with hands by evil stained, + And an ear by discord pained, + I am groping for the keys + Of the heavenly harmonies; + Still within my heart I bear + Love for all things good and fair. + Hands of want or souls in pain + Have not sought my door in vain; + I have kept my fealty good + To the human brotherhood; + Scarcely have I asked in prayer + That which others might not share. + I, who hear with secret shame + Praise that paineth more than blame, + Rich alone in favors lent, + Virtuous by accident, + Doubtful where I fain would rest, + Frailest where I seem the best, + Only strong for lack of test,— + What am I, that I should press + Special pleas of selfishness, + Coolly mounting into heaven + On my neighbor unforgiven? + Ne'er to me, howe'er disguised, + Comes a saint unrecognized; + Never fails my heart to greet + Noble deed with warmer beat; + Halt and maimed, I own not less + All the grace of holiness; + Nor, through shame or self-distrust, + Less I love the pure and just. + Lord, forgive these words of mine + What have I that is not Thine? + Whatsoe'er I fain would boast + Needs Thy pitying pardon most. + Thou, O Elder Brother! who + In Thy flesh our trial knew, + Thou, who hast been touched by these + Our most sad infirmities, + Thou alone the gulf canst span + In the dual heart of man, + And between the soul and sense + Reconcile all difference, + Change the dream of me and mine + For the truth of Thee and Thine, + And, through chaos, doubt, and strife, + Interfuse Thy calm of life. + Haply, thus by Thee renewed, + In Thy borrowed goodness good, + Some sweet morning yet in God's + Dim, veonian periods, + Joyful I shall wake to see + Those I love who rest in Thee, + And to them in Thee allied + Shall my soul be satisfied. + + Scarcely Hope hath shaped for me + What the future life may be. + Other lips may well be bold; + Like the publican of old, + I can only urge the plea, + "Lord, be merciful to me!" + Nothing of desert I claim, + Unto me belongeth shame. + Not for me the crowns of gold, + Palms, and harpings manifold; + Not for erring eye and feet + Jasper wall and golden street. + What thou wilt, O Father, give I + All is gain that I receive. + + If my voice I may not raise + In the elders' song of praise, + If I may not, sin-defiled, + Claim my birthright as a child, + Suffer it that I to Thee + As an hired servant be; + Let the lowliest task be mine, + Grateful, so the work be Thine; + Let me find the humblest place + In the shadow of Thy grace + Blest to me were any spot + Where temptation whispers not. + If there be some weaker one, + Give me strength to help him on + If a blinder soul there be, + Let me guide him nearer Thee. + Make my mortal dreams come true + With the work I fain would do; + Clothe with life the weak intent, + Let me be the thing I meant; + Let me find in Thy employ + Peace that dearer is than joy; + Out of self to love be led + And to heaven acclimated, + Until all things sweet and good + Seem my natural habitude. + + . . . . + + So we read the prayer of him + Who, with John of Labadie, + Trod, of old, the oozy rim + Of the Zuyder Zee. + + Thus did Andrew Rykman pray. + Are we wiser, better grown, + That we may not, in our day, + Make his prayer our own? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0092" id="link2H_4_0092"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ANSWER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Spare me, dread angel of reproof, + And let the sunshine weave to-day + Its gold-threads in the warp and woof + Of life so poor and gray. + + Spare me awhile; the flesh is weak. + These lingering feet, that fain would stray + Among the flowers, shall some day seek + The strait and narrow way. + + Take off thy ever-watchful eye, + The awe of thy rebuking frown; + The dullest slave at times must sigh + To fling his burdens down; + + To drop his galley's straining oar, + And press, in summer warmth and calm, + The lap of some enchanted shore + Of blossom and of balm. + + Grudge not my life its hour of bloom, + My heart its taste of long desire; + This day be mine: be those to come + As duty shall require. + + The deep voice answered to my own, + Smiting my selfish prayers away; + "To-morrow is with God alone, + And man hath but to-day. + + "Say not, thy fond, vain heart within, + The Father's arm shall still be wide, + When from these pleasant ways of sin + Thou turn'st at eventide. + + "'Cast thyself down,' the tempter saith, + 'And angels shall thy feet upbear.' + He bids thee make a lie of faith, + And blasphemy of prayer. + + "Though God be good and free be heaven, + No force divine can love compel; + And, though the song of sins forgiven + May sound through lowest hell, + + "The sweet persuasion of His voice + Respects thy sanctity of will. + He giveth day: thou hast thy choice + To walk in darkness still; + + "As one who, turning from the light, + Watches his own gray shadow fall, + Doubting, upon his path of night, + If there be day at all! + + "No word of doom may shut thee out, + No wind of wrath may downward whirl, + No swords of fire keep watch about + The open gates of pearl; + + "A tenderer light than moon or sun, + Than song of earth a sweeter hymn, + May shine and sound forever on, + And thou be deaf and dim. + + "Forever round the Mercy-seat + The guiding lights of Love shall burn; + But what if, habit-bound, thy feet + Shall lack the will to turn? + + "What if thine eye refuse to see, + Thine ear of Heaven's free welcome fail, + And thou a willing captive be, + Thyself thy own dark jail? + + "Oh, doom beyond the saddest guess, + As the long years of God unroll, + To make thy dreary selfishness + The prison of a soul! + + "To doubt the love that fain would break + The fetters from thy self-bound limb; + And dream that God can thee forsake + As thou forsakest Him!" + + 1863. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0093" id="link2H_4_0093"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ETERNAL GOODNESS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O friends! with whom my feet have trod + The quiet aisles of prayer, + Glad witness to your zeal for God + And love of man I bear. + + I trace your lines of argument; + Your logic linked and strong + I weigh as one who dreads dissent, + And fears a doubt as wrong. + + But still my human hands are weak + To hold your iron creeds + Against the words ye bid me speak + My heart within me pleads. + + Who fathoms the Eternal Thought? + Who talks of scheme and plan? + The Lord is God! He needeth not + The poor device of man. + + I walk with bare, hushed feet the ground + Ye tread with boldness shod; + I dare not fix with mete and bound + The love and power of God. + + Ye praise His justice; even such + His pitying love I deem + Ye seek a king; I fain would touch + The robe that hath no seam. + + Ye see the curse which overbroods + A world of pain and loss; + I hear our Lord's beatitudes + And prayer upon the cross. + + More than your schoolmen teach, within + Myself, alas! I know + Too dark ye cannot paint the sin, + Too small the merit show. + + I bow my forehead to the dust, + I veil mine eyes for shame, + And urge, in trembling self-distrust, + A prayer without a claim. + + I see the wrong that round me lies, + I feel the guilt within; + I hear, with groan and travail-cries, + The world confess its sin. + + Yet, in the maddening maze of things, + And tossed by storm and flood, + To one fixed trust my spirit clings; + I know that God is good! + + Not mine to look where cherubim + And seraphs may not see, + But nothing can be good in Him + Which evil is in me. + + The wrong that pains my soul below + I dare not throne above, + I know not of His hate,—I know + His goodness and His love. + + I dimly guess from blessings known + Of greater out of sight, + And, with the chastened Psalmist, own + His judgments too are right. + + I long for household voices gone, + For vanished smiles I long, + But God hath led my dear ones on, + And He can do no wrong. + + I know not what the future hath + Of marvel or surprise, + Assured alone that life and death + His mercy underlies. + + And if my heart and flesh are weak + To bear an untried pain, + The bruised reed He will not break, + But strengthen and sustain. + + No offering of my own I have, + Nor works my faith to prove; + I can but give the gifts He gave, + And plead His love for love. + + And so beside the Silent Sea + I wait the muffled oar; + No harm from Him can come to me + On ocean or on shore. + + I know not where His islands lift + Their fronded palms in air; + I only know I cannot drift + Beyond His love and care. + + O brothers! if my faith is vain, + If hopes like these betray, + Pray for me that my feet may gain + The sure and safer way. + + And Thou, O Lord! by whom are seen + Thy creatures as they be, + Forgive me if too close I lean + My human heart on Thee! + + 1865. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0094" id="link2H_4_0094"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE COMMON QUESTION. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Behind us at our evening meal + The gray bird ate his fill, + Swung downward by a single claw, + And wiped his hooked bill. + + He shook his wings and crimson tail, + And set his head aslant, + And, in his sharp, impatient way, + Asked, "What does Charlie want?" + + "Fie, silly bird!" I answered, "tuck + Your head beneath your wing, + And go to sleep;"—but o'er and o'er + He asked the self-same thing. + + Then, smiling, to myself I said + How like are men and birds! + We all are saying what he says, + In action or in words. + + The boy with whip and top and drum, + The girl with hoop and doll, + And men with lands and houses, ask + The question of Poor Poll. + + However full, with something more + We fain the bag would cram; + We sigh above our crowded nets + For fish that never swam. + + No bounty of indulgent Heaven + The vague desire can stay; + Self-love is still a Tartar mill + For grinding prayers alway. + + The dear God hears and pities all; + He knoweth all our wants; + And what we blindly ask of Him + His love withholds or grants. + + And so I sometimes think our prayers + Might well be merged in one; + And nest and perch and hearth and church + Repeat, "Thy will be done." +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0095" id="link2H_4_0095"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + OUR MASTER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Immortal Love, forever full, + Forever flowing free, + Forever shared, forever whole, + A never-ebbing sea! + + Our outward lips confess the name + All other names above; + Love only knoweth whence it came + And comprehendeth love. + + Blow, winds of God, awake and blow + The mists of earth away! + Shine out, O Light Divine, and show + How wide and far we stray! + + Hush every lip, close every book, + The strife of tongues forbear; + Why forward reach, or backward look, + For love that clasps like air? + + We may not climb the heavenly steeps + To bring the Lord Christ down + In vain we search the lowest deeps, + For Him no depths can drown. + + Nor holy bread, nor blood of grape, + The lineaments restore + Of Him we know in outward shape + And in the flesh no more. + + He cometh not a king to reign; + The world's long hope is dim; + The weary centuries watch in vain + The clouds of heaven for Him. + + Death comes, life goes; the asking eye + And ear are answerless; + The grave is dumb, the hollow sky + Is sad with silentness. + + The letter fails, and systems fall, + And every symbol wanes; + The Spirit over-brooding all + Eternal Love remains. + + And not for signs in heaven above + Or earth below they look, + Who know with John His smile of love, + With Peter His rebuke. + + In joy of inward peace, or sense + Of sorrow over sin, + He is His own best evidence, + His witness is within. + + No fable old, nor mythic lore, + Nor dream of bards and seers, + No dead fact stranded on the shore + Of the oblivious years;— + + But warm, sweet, tender, even yet + A present help is He; + And faith has still its Olivet, + And love its Galilee. + + The healing of His seamless dress + Is by our beds of pain; + We touch Him in life's throng and press, + And we are whole again. + + Through Him the first fond prayers are said + Our lips of childhood frame, + The last low whispers of our dead + Are burdened with His name. + + Our Lord and Master of us all! + Whate'er our name or sign, + We own Thy sway, we hear Thy call, + We test our lives by Thine. + + Thou judgest us; Thy purity + Doth all our lusts condemn; + The love that draws us nearer Thee + Is hot with wrath to them. + + Our thoughts lie open to Thy sight; + And, naked to Thy glance, + Our secret sins are in the light + Of Thy pure countenance. + + Thy healing pains, a keen distress + Thy tender light shines in; + Thy sweetness is the bitterness, + Thy grace the pang of sin. + + Yet, weak and blinded though we be, + Thou dost our service own; + We bring our varying gifts to Thee, + And Thou rejectest none. + + To Thee our full humanity, + Its joys and pains, belong; + The wrong of man to man on Thee + Inflicts a deeper wrong. + + Who hates, hates Thee, who loves becomes + Therein to Thee allied; + All sweet accords of hearts and homes + In Thee are multiplied. + + Deep strike Thy roots, O heavenly Vine, + Within our earthly sod, + Most human and yet most divine, + The flower of man and God! + + O Love! O Life! Our faith and sight + Thy presence maketh one + As through transfigured clouds of white + We trace the noon-day sun. + + So, to our mortal eyes subdued, + Flesh-veiled, but not concealed, + We know in Thee the fatherhood + And heart of God revealed. + + We faintly hear, we dimly see, + In differing phrase we pray; + But, dim or clear, we own in Thee + The Light, the Truth, the Way! + + The homage that we render Thee + Is still our Father's own; + No jealous claim or rivalry + Divides the Cross and Throne. + + To do Thy will is more than praise, + As words are less than deeds, + And simple trust can find Thy ways + We miss with chart of creeds. + + No pride of self Thy service hath, + No place for me and mine; + Our human strength is weakness, death + Our life, apart from Thine. + + Apart from Thee all gain is loss, + All labor vainly done; + The solemn shadow of Thy Cross + Is better than the sun. + + Alone, O Love ineffable! + Thy saving name is given; + To turn aside from Thee is hell, + To walk with Thee is heaven! + + How vain, secure in all Thou art, + Our noisy championship + The sighing of the contrite heart + Is more than flattering lip. + + Not Thine the bigot's partial plea, + Nor Thine the zealot's ban; + Thou well canst spare a love of Thee + Which ends in hate of man. + + Our Friend, our Brother, and our Lord, + What may Thy service be?— + Nor name, nor form, nor ritual word, + But simply following Thee. + + We bring no ghastly holocaust, + We pile no graven stone; + He serves thee best who loveth most + His brothers and Thy own. + + Thy litanies, sweet offices + Of love and gratitude; + Thy sacramental liturgies, + The joy of doing good. + + In vain shall waves of incense drift + The vaulted nave around, + In vain the minster turret lift + Its brazen weights of sound. + + The heart must ring Thy Christmas bells, + Thy inward altars raise; + Its faith and hope Thy canticles, + And its obedience praise! + + 1866. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0096" id="link2H_4_0096"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MEETING. + </h2> + <p> + The two speakers in the meeting referred to in this poem were Avis Keene, + whose very presence was a benediction, a woman lovely in spirit and + person, whose words seemed a message of love and tender concern to her + hearers; and Sibyl Jones, whose inspired eloquence and rare spirituality + impressed all who knew her. In obedience to her apprehended duty she made + visits of Christian love to various parts of Europe, and to the West Coast + of Africa and Palestine. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The elder folks shook hands at last, + Down seat by seat the signal passed. + To simple ways like ours unused, + Half solemnized and half amused, + With long-drawn breath and shrug, my guest + His sense of glad relief expressed. + Outside, the hills lay warm in sun; + The cattle in the meadow-run + Stood half-leg deep; a single bird + The green repose above us stirred. + "What part or lot have you," he said, + "In these dull rites of drowsy-head? + Is silence worship? Seek it where + It soothes with dreams the summer air, + Not in this close and rude-benched hall, + But where soft lights and shadows fall, + And all the slow, sleep-walking hours + Glide soundless over grass and flowers! + From time and place and form apart, + Its holy ground the human heart, + Nor ritual-bound nor templeward + Walks the free spirit of the Lord! + Our common Master did not pen + His followers up from other men; + His service liberty indeed, + He built no church, He framed no creed; + But while the saintly Pharisee + Made broader his phylactery, + As from the synagogue was seen + The dusty-sandalled Nazarene + Through ripening cornfields lead the way + Upon the awful Sabbath day, + His sermons were the healthful talk + That shorter made the mountain-walk, + His wayside texts were flowers and birds, + Where mingled with His gracious words + The rustle of the tamarisk-tree + And ripple-wash of Galilee." + + "Thy words are well, O friend," I said; + "Unmeasured and unlimited, + With noiseless slide of stone to stone, + The mystic Church of God has grown. + Invisible and silent stands + The temple never made with hands, + Unheard the voices still and small + Of its unseen confessional. + He needs no special place of prayer + Whose hearing ear is everywhere; + He brings not back the childish days + That ringed the earth with stones of praise, + Roofed Karnak's hall of gods, and laid + The plinths of Phil e's colonnade. + Still less He owns the selfish good + And sickly growth of solitude,— + The worthless grace that, out of sight, + Flowers in the desert anchorite; + Dissevered from the suffering whole, + Love hath no power to save a soul. + Not out of Self, the origin + And native air and soil of sin, + The living waters spring and flow, + The trees with leaves of healing grow. + + "Dream not, O friend, because I seek + This quiet shelter twice a week, + I better deem its pine-laid floor + Than breezy hill or sea-sung shore; + But nature is not solitude + She crowds us with her thronging wood; + Her many hands reach out to us, + Her many tongues are garrulous; + Perpetual riddles of surprise + She offers to our ears and eyes; + She will not leave our senses still, + But drags them captive at her will + And, making earth too great for heaven, + She hides the Giver in the given. + + "And so, I find it well to come + For deeper rest to this still room, + For here the habit of the soul + Feels less the outer world's control; + The strength of mutual purpose pleads + More earnestly our common needs; + And from the silence multiplied + By these still forms on either side, + The world that time and sense have known + Falls off and leaves us God alone. + + "Yet rarely through the charmed repose + Unmixed the stream of motive flows, + A flavor of its many springs, + The tints of earth and sky it brings; + In the still waters needs must be + Some shade of human sympathy; + And here, in its accustomed place, + I look on memory's dearest face; + The blind by-sitter guesseth not + What shadow haunts that vacant spot; + No eyes save mine alone can see + The love wherewith it welcomes me! + And still, with those alone my kin, + In doubt and weakness, want and sin, + I bow my head, my heart I bare + As when that face was living there, + And strive (too oft, alas! in vain) + The peace of simple trust to gain, + Fold fancy's restless wings, and lay + The idols of my heart away. + + "Welcome the silence all unbroken, + Nor less the words of fitness spoken,— + Such golden words as hers for whom + Our autumn flowers have just made room; + Whose hopeful utterance through and through + The freshness of the morning blew; + Who loved not less the earth that light + Fell on it from the heavens in sight, + But saw in all fair forms more fair + The Eternal beauty mirrored there. + Whose eighty years but added grace + And saintlier meaning to her face,— + The look of one who bore away + Glad tidings from the hills of day, + While all our hearts went forth to meet + The coming of her beautiful feet! + Or haply hers, whose pilgrim tread + Is in the paths where Jesus led; + Who dreams her childhood's Sabbath dream + By Jordan's willow-shaded stream, + And, of the hymns of hope and faith, + Sung by the monks of Nazareth, + Hears pious echoes, in the call + To prayer, from Moslem minarets fall, + Repeating where His works were wrought + The lesson that her Master taught, + Of whom an elder Sibyl gave, + The prophecies of Cuma 's cave. + + "I ask no organ's soulless breath + To drone the themes of life and death, + No altar candle-lit by day, + No ornate wordsman's rhetoric-play, + No cool philosophy to teach + Its bland audacities of speech + To double-tasked idolaters + Themselves their gods and worshippers, + No pulpit hammered by the fist + Of loud-asserting dogmatist, + Who borrows for the Hand of love + The smoking thunderbolts of Jove. + I know how well the fathers taught, + What work the later schoolmen wrought; + I reverence old-time faith and men, + But God is near us now as then; + His force of love is still unspent, + His hate of sin as imminent; + And still the measure of our needs + Outgrows the cramping bounds of creeds; + The manna gathered yesterday + Already savors of decay; + Doubts to the world's child-heart unknown + Question us now from star and stone; + Too little or too much we know, + And sight is swift and faith is slow; + The power is lost to self-deceive + With shallow forms of make-believe. + W e walk at high noon, and the bells + Call to a thousand oracles, + But the sound deafens, and the light + Is stronger than our dazzled sight; + The letters of the sacred Book + Glimmer and swim beneath our look; + Still struggles in the Age's breast + With deepening agony of quest + The old entreaty: 'Art thou He, + Or look we for the Christ to be?' + + "God should be most where man is least + So, where is neither church nor priest, + And never rag of form or creed + To clothe the nakedness of need,— + Where farmer-folk in silence meet,— + I turn my bell-unsummoned feet;' + I lay the critic's glass aside, + I tread upon my lettered pride, + And, lowest-seated, testify + To the oneness of humanity; + Confess the universal want, + And share whatever Heaven may grant. + He findeth not who seeks his own, + The soul is lost that's saved alone. + Not on one favored forehead fell + Of old the fire-tongued miracle, + But flamed o'er all the thronging host + The baptism of the Holy Ghost; + Heart answers heart: in one desire + The blending lines of prayer aspire; + 'Where, in my name, meet two or three,' + Our Lord hath said, 'I there will be!' + + "So sometimes comes to soul and sense + The feeling which is evidence + That very near about us lies + The realm of spiritual mysteries. + The sphere of the supernal powers + Impinges on this world of ours. + The low and dark horizon lifts, + To light the scenic terror shifts; + The breath of a diviner air + Blows down the answer of a prayer + That all our sorrow, pain, and doubt + A great compassion clasps about, + And law and goodness, love and force, + Are wedded fast beyond divorce. + Then duty leaves to love its task, + The beggar Self forgets to ask; + With smile of trust and folded hands, + The passive soul in waiting stands + To feel, as flowers the sun and dew, + The One true Life its own renew. + + "So, to the calmly gathered thought + The innermost of truth is taught, + The mystery dimly understood, + That love of God is love of good, + And, chiefly, its divinest trace + In Him of Nazareth's holy face; + That to be saved is only this,— + Salvation from our selfishness, + From more than elemental fire, + The soul's unsanetified desire, + From sin itself, and not the pain + That warns us of its chafing chain; + That worship's deeper meaning lies + In mercy, and not sacrifice, + Not proud humilities of sense + And posturing of penitence, + But love's unforced obedience; + That Book and Church and Day are given + For man, not God,—for earth, not heaven,— + The blessed means to holiest ends, + Not masters, but benignant friends; + That the dear Christ dwells not afar, + The king of some remoter star, + Listening, at times, with flattered ear + To homage wrung from selfish fear, + But here, amidst the poor and blind, + The bound and suffering of our kind, + In works we do, in prayers we pray, + Life of our life, He lives to-day." + + 1868. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0097" id="link2H_4_0097"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CLEAR VISION. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I did but dream. I never knew + What charms our sternest season wore. + Was never yet the sky so blue, + Was never earth so white before. + Till now I never saw the glow + Of sunset on yon hills of snow, + And never learned the bough's designs + Of beauty in its leafless lines. + + Did ever such a morning break + As that my eastern windows see? + Did ever such a moonlight take + Weird photographs of shrub and tree? + Rang ever bells so wild and fleet + The music of the winter street? + Was ever yet a sound by half + So merry as you school-boy's laugh? + + O Earth! with gladness overfraught, + No added charm thy face hath found; + Within my heart the change is wrought, + My footsteps make enchanted ground. + From couch of pain and curtained room + Forth to thy light and air I come, + To find in all that meets my eyes + The freshness of a glad surprise. + + Fair seem these winter days, and soon + Shall blow the warm west-winds of spring, + To set the unbound rills in tune + And hither urge the bluebird's wing. + The vales shall laugh in flowers, the woods + Grow misty green with leafing buds, + And violets and wind-flowers sway + Against the throbbing heart of May. + + Break forth, my lips, in praise, and own + The wiser love severely kind; + Since, richer for its chastening grown, + I see, whereas I once was blind. + The world, O Father! hath not wronged + With loss the life by Thee prolonged; + But still, with every added year, + More beautiful Thy works appear! + + As Thou hast made thy world without, + Make Thou more fair my world within; + Shine through its lingering clouds of doubt; + Rebuke its haunting shapes of sin; + Fill, brief or long, my granted span + Of life with love to thee and man; + Strike when thou wilt the hour of rest, + But let my last days be my best! + + 2d mo., 1868. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0098" id="link2H_4_0098"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DIVINE COMPASSION. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Long since, a dream of heaven I had, + And still the vision haunts me oft; + I see the saints in white robes clad, + The martyrs with their palms aloft; + But hearing still, in middle song, + The ceaseless dissonance of wrong; + And shrinking, with hid faces, from the strain + Of sad, beseeching eyes, full of remorse and pain. + + The glad song falters to a wail, + The harping sinks to low lament; + Before the still unlifted veil + I see the crowned foreheads bent, + Making more sweet the heavenly air, + With breathings of unselfish prayer; + And a Voice saith: "O Pity which is pain, + O Love that weeps, fill up my sufferings which remain! + + "Shall souls redeemed by me refuse + To share my sorrow in their turn? + Or, sin-forgiven, my gift abuse + Of peace with selfish unconcern? + Has saintly ease no pitying care? + Has faith no work, and love no prayer? + While sin remains, and souls in darkness dwell, + Can heaven itself be heaven, and look unmoved on hell?" + + Then through the Gates of Pain, I dream, + A wind of heaven blows coolly in; + Fainter the awful discords seem, + The smoke of torment grows more thin, + Tears quench the burning soil, and thence + Spring sweet, pale flowers of penitence + And through the dreary realm of man's despair, + Star-crowned an angel walks, and to! God's hope is there! + + Is it a dream? Is heaven so high + That pity cannot breathe its air? + Its happy eyes forever dry, + Its holy lips without a prayer! + My God! my God! if thither led + By Thy free grace unmerited, + No crown nor palm be mine, but let me keep + A heart that still can feel, and eyes that still can weep. + + 1868. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0099" id="link2H_4_0099"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PRAYER-SEEKER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Along the aisle where prayer was made, + A woman, all in black arrayed, + Close-veiled, between the kneeling host, + With gliding motion of a ghost, + Passed to the desk, and laid thereon + A scroll which bore these words alone, + <i>Pray for me</i>! + + Back from the place of worshipping + She glided like a guilty thing + The rustle of her draperies, stirred + By hurrying feet, alone was heard; + While, full of awe, the preacher read, + As out into the dark she sped: + "<i>Pray for me</i>!" + + Back to the night from whence she came, + To unimagined grief or shame! + Across the threshold of that door + None knew the burden that she bore; + Alone she left the written scroll, + The legend of a troubled soul,— + <i>Pray for me</i>! + + Glide on, poor ghost of woe or sin! + Thou leav'st a common need within; + Each bears, like thee, some nameless weight, + Some misery inarticulate, + Some secret sin, some shrouded dread, + Some household sorrow all unsaid. + <i>Pray for us</i>! + + Pass on! The type of all thou art, + Sad witness to the common heart! + With face in veil and seal on lip, + In mute and strange companionship, + Like thee we wander to and fro, + Dumbly imploring as we go + <i>Pray for us</i>! + + Ah, who shall pray, since he who pleads + Our want perchance hath greater needs? + Yet they who make their loss the gain + Of others shall not ask in vain, + And Heaven bends low to hear the prayer + Of love from lips of self-despair + <i>Pray for us</i>! + + In vain remorse and fear and hate + Beat with bruised bands against a fate + Whose walls of iron only move + And open to the touch of love. + He only feels his burdens fall + Who, taught by suffering, pities all. + <i>Pray for us</i>! + + He prayeth best who leaves unguessed + The mystery of another's breast. + Why cheeks grow pale, why eyes o'erflow, + Or heads are white, thou need'st not know. + Enough to note by many a sign + That every heart hath needs like thine. + <i>Pray for us</i>! + + 1870 +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0100" id="link2H_4_0100"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BREWING OF SOMA. + </h2> + <p> + "These libations mixed with milk have been prepared for Indra: offer Soma + to the drinker of Soma." —Vashista, translated by MAX MULLER. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The fagots blazed, the caldron's smoke + Up through the green wood curled; + "Bring honey from the hollow oak, + Bring milky sap," the brewers spoke, + In the childhood of the world. + + And brewed they well or brewed they ill, + The priests thrust in their rods, + First tasted, and then drank their fill, + And shouted, with one voice and will, + "Behold the drink of gods!" + + They drank, and to! in heart and brain + A new, glad life began; + The gray of hair grew young again, + The sick man laughed away his pain, + The cripple leaped and ran. + + "Drink, mortals, what the gods have sent, + Forget your long annoy." + So sang the priests. From tent to tent + The Soma's sacred madness went, + A storm of drunken joy. + + Then knew each rapt inebriate + A winged and glorious birth, + Soared upward, with strange joy elate, + Beat, with dazed head, Varuna's gate, + And, sobered, sank to earth. + + The land with Soma's praises rang; + On Gihon's banks of shade + Its hymns the dusky maidens sang; + In joy of life or mortal pang + All men to Soma prayed. + + The morning twilight of the race + Sends down these matin psalms; + And still with wondering eyes we trace + The simple prayers to Soma's grace, + That Vedic verse embalms. + + As in that child-world's early year, + Each after age has striven + By music, incense, vigils drear, + And trance, to bring the skies more near, + Or lift men up to heaven! + + Some fever of the blood and brain, + Some self-exalting spell, + The scourger's keen delight of pain, + The Dervish dance, the Orphic strain, + The wild-haired Bacchant's yell,— + + The desert's hair-grown hermit sunk + The saner brute below; + The naked Santon, hashish-drunk, + The cloister madness of the monk, + The fakir's torture-show! + + And yet the past comes round again, + And new doth old fulfil; + In sensual transports wild as vain + We brew in many a Christian fane + The heathen Soma still! + + Dear Lord and Father of mankind, + Forgive our foolish ways! + Reclothe us in our rightful mind, + In purer lives Thy service find, + In deeper reverence, praise. + + In simple trust like theirs who heard + Beside the Syrian sea + The gracious calling of the Lord, + Let us, like them, without a word, + Rise up and follow Thee. + + O Sabbath rest by Galilee! + O calm of hills above, + Where Jesus knelt to share with Thee + The silence of eternity + Interpreted by love! + + With that deep hush subduing all + Our words and works that drown + The tender whisper of Thy call, + As noiseless let Thy blessing fall + As fell Thy manna down. + + Drop Thy still dews of quietness, + Till all our strivings cease; + Take from our souls the strain and stress, + And let our ordered lives confess + The beauty of Thy peace. + + Breathe through the heats of our desire + Thy coolness and Thy balm; + Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire; + Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire, + O still, small voice of calm! + + 1872. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0101" id="link2H_4_0101"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A WOMAN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oh, dwarfed and wronged, and stained with ill, + Behold! thou art a woman still! + And, by that sacred name and dear, + I bid thy better self appear. + Still, through thy foul disguise, I see + The rudimental purity, + That, spite of change and loss, makes good + Thy birthright-claim of womanhood; + An inward loathing, deep, intense; + A shame that is half innocence. + Cast off the grave-clothes of thy sin! + Rise from the dust thou liest in, + As Mary rose at Jesus' word, + Redeemed and white before the Lord! + Reclairn thy lost soul! In His name, + Rise up, and break thy bonds of shame. + Art weak? He 's strong. Art fearful? Hear + The world's O'ercomer: "Be of cheer!" + What lip shall judge when He approves? + Who dare to scorn the child He loves? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0102" id="link2H_4_0102"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PRAYER OF AGASSIZ. + </h2> + <p> + The island of Penikese in Buzzard's Bay was given by Mr. John Anderson to + Agassiz for the uses of a summer school of natural history. A large barn + was cleared and improvised as a lecture-room. Here, on the first morning + of the school, all the company was gathered. "Agassiz had arranged no + programme of exercises," says Mrs. Agassiz, in Louis Agassiz; his Life and + Correspondence, "trusting to the interest of the occasion to suggest what + might best be said or done. But, as he looked upon his pupils gathered + there to study nature with him, by an impulse as natural as it was + unpremeditated, he called upon then to join in silently asking God's + blessing on their work together. The pause was broken by the first words + of an address no less fervent than its unspoken prelude." This was in the + summer of 1873, and Agassiz died the December following. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + On the isle of Penikese, + Ringed about by sapphire seas, + Fanned by breezes salt and cool, + Stood the Master with his school. + Over sails that not in vain + Wooed the west-wind's steady strain, + Line of coast that low and far + Stretched its undulating bar, + Wings aslant along the rim + Of the waves they stooped to skim, + Rock and isle and glistening bay, + Fell the beautiful white day. + + Said the Master to the youth + "We have come in search of truth, + Trying with uncertain key + Door by door of mystery; + We are reaching, through His laws, + To the garment-hem of Cause, + Him, the endless, unbegun, + The Unnamable, the One + Light of all our light the Source, + Life of life, and Force of force. + As with fingers of the blind, + We are groping here to find + What the hieroglyphics mean + Of the Unseen in the seen, + What the Thought which underlies + Nature's masking and disguise, + What it is that hides beneath + Blight and bloom and birth and death. + By past efforts unavailing, + Doubt and error, loss and failing, + Of our weakness made aware, + On the threshold of our task + Let us light and guidance ask, + Let us pause in silent prayer!" + + Then the Master in his place + Bowed his head a little space, + And the leaves by soft airs stirred, + Lapse of wave and cry of bird, + Left the solemn hush unbroken + Of that wordless prayer unspoken, + While its wish, on earth unsaid, + Rose to heaven interpreted. + As, in life's best hours, we hear + By the spirit's finer ear + His low voice within us, thus + The All-Father heareth us; + And His holy ear we pain + With our noisy words and vain. + Not for Him our violence + Storming at the gates of sense, + His the primal language, His + The eternal silences! + + Even the careless heart was moved, + And the doubting gave assent, + With a gesture reverent, + To the Master well-beloved. + As thin mists are glorified + By the light they cannot hide, + All who gazed upon him saw, + Through its veil of tender awe, + How his face was still uplit + By the old sweet look of it. + Hopeful, trustful, full of cheer, + And the love that casts out fear. + Who the secret may declare + Of that brief, unuttered prayer? + Did the shade before him come + Of th' inevitable doom, + Of the end of earth so near, + And Eternity's new year? + + In the lap of sheltering seas + Rests the isle of Penikese; + But the lord of the domain + Comes not to his own again + Where the eyes that follow fail, + On a vaster sea his sail + Drifts beyond our beck and hail. + Other lips within its bound + Shall the laws of life expound; + Other eyes from rock and shell + Read the world's old riddles well + But when breezes light and bland + Blow from Summer's blossomed land, + When the air is glad with wings, + And the blithe song-sparrow sings, + Many an eye with his still face + Shall the living ones displace, + Many an ear the word shall seek + He alone could fitly speak. + And one name forevermore + Shall be uttered o'er and o'er + By the waves that kiss the shore, + By the curlew's whistle sent + Down the cool, sea-scented air; + In all voices known to her, + Nature owns her worshipper, + Half in triumph, half lament. + Thither Love shall tearful turn, + Friendship pause uncovered there, + And the wisest reverence learn + From the Master's silent prayer. + + 1873. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0103" id="link2H_4_0103"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN QUEST + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Have I not voyaged, friend beloved, with thee + On the great waters of the unsounded sea, + Momently listening with suspended oar + For the low rote of waves upon a shore + Changeless as heaven, where never fog-cloud drifts + Over its windless wood, nor mirage lifts + The steadfast hills; where never birds of doubt + Sing to mislead, and every dream dies out, + And the dark riddles which perplex us here + In the sharp solvent of its light are clear? + Thou knowest how vain our quest; how, soon or late, + The baffling tides and circles of debate + Swept back our bark unto its starting-place, + Where, looking forth upon the blank, gray space, + And round about us seeing, with sad eyes, + The same old difficult hills and cloud-cold skies, + We said: "This outward search availeth not + To find Him. He is farther than we thought, + Or, haply, nearer. To this very spot + Whereon we wait, this commonplace of home, + As to the well of Jacob, He may come + And tell us all things." As I listened there, + Through the expectant silences of prayer, + Somewhat I seemed to hear, which hath to me + Been hope, strength, comfort, and I give it thee. + + "The riddle of the world is understood + Only by him who feels that God is good, + As only he can feel who makes his love + The ladder of his faith, and climbs above + On th' rounds of his best instincts; draws no line + Between mere human goodness and divine, + But, judging God by what in him is best, + With a child's trust leans on a Father's breast, + And hears unmoved the old creeds babble still + Of kingly power and dread caprice of will, + Chary of blessing, prodigal of curse, + The pitiless doomsman of the universe. + Can Hatred ask for love? Can Selfishness + Invite to self-denial? Is He less + Than man in kindly dealing? Can He break + His own great law of fatherhood, forsake + And curse His children? Not for earth and heaven + Can separate tables of the law be given. + No rule can bind which He himself denies; + The truths of time are not eternal lies." + + So heard I; and the chaos round me spread + To light and order grew; and, "Lord," I said, + "Our sins are our tormentors, worst of all + Felt in distrustful shame that dares not call + Upon Thee as our Father. We have set + A strange god up, but Thou remainest yet. + All that I feel of pity Thou hast known + Before I was; my best is all Thy own. + From Thy great heart of goodness mine but drew + Wishes and prayers; but Thou, O Lord, wilt do, + In Thy own time, by ways I cannot see, + All that I feel when I am nearest Thee!" + + 1873. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0104" id="link2H_4_0104"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FRIEND'S BURIAL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + My thoughts are all in yonder town, + Where, wept by many tears, + To-day my mother's friend lays down + The burden of her years. + + True as in life, no poor disguise + Of death with her is seen, + And on her simple casket lies + No wreath of bloom and green. + + Oh, not for her the florist's art, + The mocking weeds of woe; + Dear memories in each mourner's heart + Like heaven's white lilies blow. + + And all about the softening air + Of new-born sweetness tells, + And the ungathered May-flowers wear + The tints of ocean shells. + + The old, assuring miracle + Is fresh as heretofore; + And earth takes up its parable + Of life from death once more. + + Here organ-swell and church-bell toll + Methinks but discord were; + The prayerful silence of the soul + Is best befitting her. + + No sound should break the quietude + Alike of earth and sky + O wandering wind in Seabrook wood, + Breathe but a half-heard sigh! + + Sing softly, spring-bird, for her sake; + And thou not distant sea, + Lapse lightly as if Jesus spake, + And thou wert Galilee! + + For all her quiet life flowed on + As meadow streamlets flow, + Where fresher green reveals alone + The noiseless ways they go. + + From her loved place of prayer I see + The plain-robed mourners pass, + With slow feet treading reverently + The graveyard's springing grass. + + Make room, O mourning ones, for me, + Where, like the friends of Paul, + That you no more her face shall see + You sorrow most of all. + + Her path shall brighten more and more + Unto the perfect day; + She cannot fail of peace who bore + Such peace with her away. + + O sweet, calm face that seemed to wear + The look of sins forgiven! + O voice of prayer that seemed to bear + Our own needs up to heaven! + + How reverent in our midst she stood, + Or knelt in grateful praise! + What grace of Christian womanhood + Was in her household ways! + + For still her holy living meant + No duty left undone; + The heavenly and the human blent + Their kindred loves in one. + + And if her life small leisure found + For feasting ear and eye, + And Pleasure, on her daily round, + She passed unpausing by, + + Yet with her went a secret sense + Of all things sweet and fair, + And Beauty's gracious providence + Refreshed her unaware. + + She kept her line of rectitude + With love's unconscious ease; + Her kindly instincts understood + All gentle courtesies. + + An inborn charm of graciousness + Made sweet her smile and tone, + And glorified her farm-wife dress + With beauty not its own. + + The dear Lord's best interpreters + Are humble human souls; + The Gospel of a life like hers + Is more than books or scrolls. + + From scheme and creed the light goes out, + The saintly fact survives; + The blessed Master none can doubt + Revealed in holy lives. + 1873. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0105" id="link2H_4_0105"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A CHRISTMAS CARMEN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. + Sound over all waters, reach out from all lands, + The chorus of voices, the clasping of hands; + Sing hymns that were sung by the stars of the morn, + Sing songs of the angels when Jesus was born! + With glad jubilations + Bring hope to the nations + The dark night is ending and dawn has begun + Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun, + All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one! + + II. + Sing the bridal of nations! with chorals of love + Sing out the war-vulture and sing in the dove, + Till the hearts of the peoples keep time in accord, + And the voice of the world is the voice of the Lord! + Clasp hands of the nations + In strong gratulations: + The dark night is ending and dawn has begun; + Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun, + All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one! + + III. + Blow, bugles of battle, the marches of peace; + East, west, north, and south let the long quarrel cease + Sing the song of great joy that the angels began, + Sing of glory to God and of good-will to man! + Hark! joining in chorus + The heavens bend o'er us' + The dark night is ending and dawn has begun; + Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun, + All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one! + 1873. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0106" id="link2H_4_0106"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VESTA. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O Christ of God! whose life and death + Our own have reconciled, + Most quietly, most tenderly + Take home Thy star-named child! + + Thy grace is in her patient eyes, + Thy words are on her tongue; + The very silence round her seems + As if the angels sung. + + Her smile is as a listening child's + Who hears its mother call; + The lilies of Thy perfect peace + About her pillow fall. + + She leans from out our clinging arms + To rest herself in Thine; + Alone to Thee, dear Lord, can we + Our well-beloved resign! + + Oh, less for her than for ourselves + We bow our heads and pray; + Her setting star, like Bethlehem's, + To Thee shall point the way! + 1874. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0107" id="link2H_4_0107"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHILD-SONGS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Still linger in our noon of time + And on our Saxon tongue + The echoes of the home-born hymns + The Aryan mothers sung. + + And childhood had its litanies + In every age and clime; + The earliest cradles of the race + Were rocked to poet's rhyme. + + Nor sky, nor wave, nor tree, nor flower, + Nor green earth's virgin sod, + So moved the singer's heart of old + As these small ones of God. + + The mystery of unfolding life + Was more than dawning morn, + Than opening flower or crescent moon + The human soul new-born. + + And still to childhood's sweet appeal + The heart of genius turns, + And more than all the sages teach + From lisping voices learns,— + + The voices loved of him who sang, + Where Tweed and Teviot glide, + That sound to-day on all the winds + That blow from Rydal-side,— + + Heard in the Teuton's household songs, + And folk-lore of the Finn, + Where'er to holy Christmas hearths + The Christ-child enters in! + + Before life's sweetest mystery still + The heart in reverence kneels; + The wonder of the primal birth + The latest mother feels. + + We need love's tender lessons taught + As only weakness can; + God hath His small interpreters; + The child must teach the man. + + We wander wide through evil years, + Our eyes of faith grow dim; + But he is freshest from His hands + And nearest unto Him! + + And haply, pleading long with Him + For sin-sick hearts and cold, + The angels of our childhood still + The Father's face behold. + + Of such the kingdom!—Teach Thou us, + O-Master most divine, + To feel the deep significance + Of these wise words of Thine! + + The haughty eye shall seek in vain + What innocence beholds; + No cunning finds the key of heaven, + No strength its gate unfolds. + + Alone to guilelessness and love + That gate shall open fall; + The mind of pride is nothingness, + The childlike heart is all! + + 1875. +</pre> + <p> + THE HEALER. TO A YOUNG PHYSICIAN, WITH DORE'S PICTURE OF CHRIST HEALING + THE SICK. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + So stood of old the holy Christ + Amidst the suffering throng; + With whom His lightest touch sufficed + To make the weakest strong. + + That healing gift He lends to them + Who use it in His name; + The power that filled His garment's hem + Is evermore the same. + + For lo! in human hearts unseen + The Healer dwelleth still, + And they who make His temples clean + The best subserve His will. + + The holiest task by Heaven decreed, + An errand all divine, + The burden of our common need + To render less is thine. + + The paths of pain are thine. Go forth + With patience, trust, and hope; + The sufferings of a sin-sick earth + Shall give thee ample scope. + + Beside the unveiled mysteries + Of life and death go stand, + With guarded lips and reverent eyes + And pure of heart and hand. + + So shalt thou be with power endued + From Him who went about + The Syrian hillsides doing good, + And casting demons out. + + That Good Physician liveth yet + Thy friend and guide to be; + The Healer by Gennesaret + Shall walk the rounds with thee. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0108" id="link2H_4_0108"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE TWO ANGELS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + God called the nearest angels who dwell with Him above: + The tenderest one was Pity, the dearest one was Love. + + "Arise," He said, "my angels! a wail of woe and sin + Steals through the gates of heaven, and saddens all within. + + "My harps take up the mournful strain that from a lost world swells, + The smoke of torment clouds the light and blights the asphodels. + + "Fly downward to that under world, and on its souls of pain + Let Love drop smiles like sunshine, and Pity tears like rain!" + + Two faces bowed before the Throne, veiled in their golden hair; + Four white wings lessened swiftly down the dark abyss of air. + + The way was strange, the flight was long; at last the angels came + Where swung the lost and nether world, red-wrapped in rayless flame. + + There Pity, shuddering, wept; but Love, with faith too strong for fear, + Took heart from God's almightiness and smiled a smile of cheer. + + And lo! that tear of Pity quenched the flame whereon it fell, + And, with the sunshine of that smile, hope entered into hell! + + Two unveiled faces full of joy looked upward to the Throne, + Four white wings folded at the feet of Him who sat thereon! + + And deeper than the sound of seas, more soft than falling flake, + Amidst the hush of wing and song the Voice Eternal spake: + + "Welcome, my angels! ye have brought a holier joy to heaven; + Henceforth its sweetest song shall be the song of sin forgiven!" + + 1875. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0109" id="link2H_4_0109"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + OVERRULED. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The threads our hands in blindness spin + No self-determined plan weaves in; + The shuttle of the unseen powers + Works out a pattern not as ours. + + Ah! small the choice of him who sings + What sound shall leave the smitten strings; + Fate holds and guides the hand of art; + The singer's is the servant's part. + + The wind-harp chooses not the tone + That through its trembling threads is blown; + The patient organ cannot guess + What hand its passive keys shall press. + + Through wish, resolve, and act, our will + Is moved by undreamed forces still; + And no man measures in advance + His strength with untried circumstance. + + As streams take hue from shade and sun, + As runs the life the song must run; + But, glad or sad, to His good end + God grant the varying notes may tend! + 1877. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0110" id="link2H_4_0110"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HYMN OF THE DUNKERS + </h2> + <h3> + KLOSTER KEDAR, EPHRATA, PENNSYLVANIA (1738) + </h3> + <p> + SISTER MARIA CHRISTINA sings + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Wake, sisters, wake! the day-star shines; + Above Ephrata's eastern pines + The dawn is breaking, cool and calm. + Wake, sisters, wake to prayer and psalm! + + Praised be the Lord for shade and light, + For toil by day, for rest by night! + Praised be His name who deigns to bless + Our Kedar of the wilderness! + + Our refuge when the spoiler's hand + Was heavy on our native land; + And freedom, to her children due, + The wolf and vulture only knew. + + We praised Him when to prison led, + We owned Him when the stake blazed red; + We knew, whatever might befall, + His love and power were over all. + + He heard our prayers; with outstretched arm + He led us forth from cruel harm; + Still, wheresoe'er our steps were bent, + His cloud and fire before us went! + + The watch of faith and prayer He set, + We kept it then, we keep it yet. + At midnight, crow of cock, or noon, + He cometh sure, He cometh soon. + + He comes to chasten, not destroy, + To purge the earth from sin's alloy. + At last, at last shall all confess + His mercy as His righteousness. + + The dead shall live, the sick be whole, + The scarlet sin be white as wool; + No discord mar below, above, + The music of eternal love! + + Sound, welcome trump, the last alarm! + Lord God of hosts, make bare thine arm, + Fulfil this day our long desire, + Make sweet and clean the world with fire! + + Sweep, flaming besom, sweep from sight + The lies of time; be swift to smite, + Sharp sword of God, all idols down, + Genevan creed and Roman crown. + + Quake, earth, through all thy zones, till all + The fanes of pride and priesteraft fall; + And lift thou up in place of them + Thy gates of pearl, Jerusalem! + + Lo! rising from baptismal flame, + Transfigured, glorious, yet the same, + Within the heavenly city's bound + Our Kloster Kedar shall be found. + + He cometh soon! at dawn or noon + Or set of sun, He cometh soon. + Our prayers shall meet Him on His way; + Wake, sisters, wake! arise and pray! + + 1877. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0111" id="link2H_4_0111"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GIVING AND TAKING. + </h2> + <p> + I have attempted to put in English verse a prose translation of a poem by + Tinnevaluva, a Hindoo poet of the third century of our era. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Who gives and hides the giving hand, + Nor counts on favor, fame, or praise, + Shall find his smallest gift outweighs + The burden of the sea and land. + + Who gives to whom hath naught been given, + His gift in need, though small indeed + As is the grass-blade's wind-blown seed, + Is large as earth and rich as heaven. + + Forget it not, O man, to whom + A gift shall fall, while yet on earth; + Yea, even to thy seven-fold birth + Recall it in the lives to come. + + Who broods above a wrong in thought + Sins much; but greater sin is his + Who, fed and clothed with kindnesses, + Shall count the holy alms as nought. + + Who dares to curse the hands that bless + Shall know of sin the deadliest cost; + The patience of the heavens is lost + Beholding man's unthankfulness. + + For he who breaks all laws may still + In Sivam's mercy be forgiven; + But none can save, in earth or heaven, + The wretch who answers good with ill. + + 1877. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0112" id="link2H_4_0112"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE VISION OF ECHARD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Benedictine Echard + Sat by the wayside well, + Where Marsberg sees the bridal + Of the Sarre and the Moselle. + + Fair with its sloping vineyards + And tawny chestnut bloom, + The happy vale Ausonius sunk + For holy Treves made room. + + On the shrine Helena builded + To keep the Christ coat well, + On minster tower and kloster cross, + The westering sunshine fell. + + There, where the rock-hewn circles + O'erlooked the Roman's game, + The veil of sleep fell on him, + And his thought a dream became. + + He felt the heart of silence + Throb with a soundless word, + And by the inward ear alone + A spirit's voice he heard. + + And the spoken word seemed written + On air and wave and sod, + And the bending walls of sapphire + Blazed with the thought of God. + + "What lack I, O my children? + All things are in my band; + The vast earth and the awful stars + I hold as grains of sand. + + "Need I your alms? The silver + And gold are mine alone; + The gifts ye bring before me + Were evermore my own. + + "Heed I the noise of viols, + Your pomp of masque and show? + Have I not dawns and sunsets + Have I not winds that blow? + + "Do I smell your gums of incense? + Is my ear with chantings fed? + Taste I your wine of worship, + Or eat your holy bread? + + "Of rank and name and honors + Am I vain as ye are vain? + What can Eternal Fulness + From your lip-service gain? + + "Ye make me not your debtor + Who serve yourselves alone; + Ye boast to me of homage + Whose gain is all your own. + + "For you I gave the prophets, + For you the Psalmist's lay + For you the law's stone tables, + And holy book and day. + + "Ye change to weary burdens + The helps that should uplift; + Ye lose in form the spirit, + The Giver in the gift. + + "Who called ye to self-torment, + To fast and penance vain? + Dream ye Eternal Goodness + Has joy in mortal pain? + + "For the death in life of Nitria, + For your Chartreuse ever dumb, + What better is the neighbor, + Or happier the home? + + "Who counts his brother's welfare + As sacred as his own, + And loves, forgives, and pities, + He serveth me alone. + + "I note each gracious purpose, + Each kindly word and deed; + Are ye not all my children? + Shall not the Father heed? + + "No prayer for light and guidance + Is lost upon mine ear + The child's cry in the darkness + Shall not the Father hear? + + "I loathe your wrangling councils, + I tread upon your creeds; + Who made ye mine avengers, + Or told ye of my needs; + + "I bless men and ye curse them, + I love them and ye hate; + Ye bite and tear each other, + I suffer long and wait. + + "Ye bow to ghastly symbols, + To cross and scourge and thorn; + Ye seek his Syrian manger + Who in the heart is born. + + "For the dead Christ, not the living, + Ye watch His empty grave, + Whose life alone within you + Has power to bless and save. + + "O blind ones, outward groping, + The idle quest forego; + Who listens to His inward voice + Alone of Him shall know. + + "His love all love exceeding + The heart must needs recall, + Its self-surrendering freedom, + Its loss that gaineth all. + + "Climb not the holy mountains, + Their eagles know not me; + Seek not the Blessed Islands, + I dwell not in the sea. + + "Gone is the mount of Meru, + The triple gods are gone, + And, deaf to all the lama's prayers, + The Buddha slumbers on. + + "No more from rocky Horeb + The smitten waters gush; + Fallen is Bethel's ladder, + Quenched is the burning bush. + + "The jewels of the Urim + And Thurnmim all are dim; + The fire has left the altar, + The sign the teraphim. + + "No more in ark or hill grove + The Holiest abides; + Not in the scroll's dead letter + The eternal secret hides. + + "The eye shall fail that searches + For me the hollow sky; + The far is even as the near, + The low is as the high. + + "What if the earth is hiding + Her old faiths, long outworn? + What is it to the changeless truth + That yours shall fail in turn? + + "What if the o'erturned altar + Lays bare the ancient lie? + What if the dreams and legends + Of the world's childhood die? + + "Have ye not still my witness + Within yourselves alway, + My hand that on the keys of life + For bliss or bale I lay? + + "Still, in perpetual judgment, + I hold assize within, + With sure reward of holiness, + And dread rebuke of sin. + + "A light, a guide, a warning, + A presence ever near, + Through the deep silence of the flesh + I reach the inward ear. + + "My Gerizim and Ebal + Are in each human soul, + The still, small voice of blessing, + And Sinai's thunder-roll. + + "The stern behest of duty, + The doom-book open thrown, + The heaven ye seek, the hell ye fear, + Are with yourselves alone." + + . . . . . + + A gold and purple sunset + Flowed down the broad Moselle; + On hills of vine and meadow lands + The peace of twilight fell. + + A slow, cool wind of evening + Blew over leaf and bloom; + And, faint and far, the Angelus + Rang from Saint Matthew's tomb. + + Then up rose Master Echard, + And marvelled: "Can it be + That here, in dream and vision, + The Lord hath talked with me?" + + He went his way; behind him + The shrines of saintly dead, + The holy coat and nail of cross, + He left unvisited. + + He sought the vale of Eltzbach + His burdened soul to free, + Where the foot-hills of the Eifel + Are glassed in Laachersee. + + And, in his Order's kloster, + He sat, in night-long parle, + With Tauler of the Friends of God, + And Nicolas of Basle. + + And lo! the twain made answer + "Yea, brother, even thus + The Voice above all voices + Hath spoken unto us. + + "The world will have its idols, + And flesh and sense their sign + But the blinded eyes shall open, + And the gross ear be fine. + + "What if the vision tarry? + God's time is always best; + The true Light shall be witnessed, + The Christ within confessed. + + "In mercy or in judgment + He shall turn and overturn, + Till the heart shall be His temple + Where all of Him shall learn." +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0113" id="link2H_4_0113"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INSCRIPTIONS. + </h2> + <h3> + ON A SUN-DIAL. + </h3> + <p> + FOR DR. HENRY I. BOWDITCH. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + With warning hand I mark Time's rapid flight + From life's glad morning to its solemn night; + Yet, through the dear God's love, I also show + There's Light above me by the Shade below. + + 1879. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0114" id="link2H_4_0114"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON A FOUNTAIN. + </h2> + <h3> + FOR DOROTHEA L. DIX. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Stranger and traveller, + Drink freely and bestow + A kindly thought on her + Who bade this fountain flow, + Yet hath no other claim + Than as the minister + Of blessing in God's name. + Drink, and in His peace go + + 1879 +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0115" id="link2H_4_0115"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MINISTER'S DAUGHTER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the minister's morning sermon + He had told of the primal fall, + And how thenceforth the wrath of God + Rested on each and all. + + And how of His will and pleasure, + All souls, save a chosen few, + Were doomed to the quenchless burning, + And held in the way thereto. + + Yet never by faith's unreason + A saintlier soul was tried, + And never the harsh old lesson + A tenderer heart belied. + + And, after the painful service + On that pleasant Sabbath day, + He walked with his little daughter + Through the apple-bloom of May. + + Sweet in the fresh green meadows + Sparrow and blackbird sung; + Above him their tinted petals + The blossoming orchards hung. + + Around on the wonderful glory + The minister looked and smiled; + "How good is the Lord who gives us + These gifts from His hand, my child. + + "Behold in the bloom of apples + And the violets in the sward + A hint of the old, lost beauty + Of the Garden of the Lord!" + + Then up spake the little maiden, + Treading on snow and pink + "O father! these pretty blossoms + Are very wicked, I think. + + "Had there been no Garden of Eden + There never had been a fall; + And if never a tree had blossomed + God would have loved us all." + + "Hush, child!" the father answered, + "By His decree man fell; + His ways are in clouds and darkness, + But He doeth all things well. + + "And whether by His ordaining + To us cometh good or ill, + Joy or pain, or light or shadow, + We must fear and love Him still." + + "Oh, I fear Him!" said the daughter, + "And I try to love Him, too; + But I wish He was good and gentle, + Kind and loving as you." + + The minister groaned in spirit + As the tremulous lips of pain + And wide, wet eyes uplifted + Questioned his own in vain. + + Bowing his head he pondered + The words of the little one; + Had he erred in his life-long teaching? + Had he wrong to his Master done? + + To what grim and dreadful idol + Had he lent the holiest name? + Did his own heart, loving and human, + The God of his worship shame? + + And lo! from the bloom and greenness, + From the tender skies above, + And the face of his little daughter, + He read a lesson of love. + + No more as the cloudy terror + Of Sinai's mount of law, + But as Christ in the Syrian lilies + The vision of God he saw. + + And, as when, in the clefts of Horeb, + Of old was His presence known, + The dread Ineffable Glory + Was Infinite Goodness alone. + + Thereafter his hearers noted + In his prayers a tenderer strain, + And never the gospel of hatred + Burned on his lips again. + + And the scoffing tongue was prayerful, + And the blinded eyes found sight, + And hearts, as flint aforetime, + Grew soft in his warmth and light. + + 1880. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0116" id="link2H_4_0116"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BY THEIR WORKS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Call him not heretic whose works attest + His faith in goodness by no creed confessed. + Whatever in love's name is truly done + To free the bound and lift the fallen one + Is done to Christ. Whoso in deed and word + Is not against Him labors for our Lord. + When He, who, sad and weary, longing sore + For love's sweet service, sought the sisters' door, + One saw the heavenly, one the human guest, + But who shall say which loved the Master best? + + 1881. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0117" id="link2H_4_0117"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WORD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Voice of the Holy Spirit, making known + Man to himself, a witness swift and sure, + Warning, approving, true and wise and pure, + Counsel and guidance that misleadeth none! + By thee the mystery of life is read; + The picture-writing of the world's gray seers, + The myths and parables of the primal years, + Whose letter kills, by thee interpreted + Take healthful meanings fitted to our needs, + And in the soul's vernacular express + The common law of simple righteousness. + Hatred of cant and doubt of human creeds + May well be felt: the unpardonable sin + Is to deny the Word of God within! + + 1881. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0118" id="link2H_4_0118"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BOOK. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Gallery of sacred pictures manifold, + A minster rich in holy effigies, + And bearing on entablature and frieze + The hieroglyphic oracles of old. + Along its transept aureoled martyrs sit; + And the low chancel side-lights half acquaint + The eye with shrines of prophet, bard, and saint, + Their age-dimmed tablets traced in doubtful writ! + But only when on form and word obscure + Falls from above the white supernal light + We read the mystic characters aright, + And life informs the silent portraiture, + Until we pause at last, awe-held, before + The One ineffable Face, love, wonder, and adore. + + 1881 +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0119" id="link2H_4_0119"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + REQUIREMENT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We live by Faith; but Faith is not the slave + Of text and legend. Reason's voice and God's, + Nature's and Duty's, never are at odds. + What asks our Father of His children, save + Justice and mercy and humility, + A reasonable service of good deeds, + Pure living, tenderness to human needs, + Reverence and trust, and prayer for light to see + The Master's footprints in our daily ways? + No knotted scourge nor sacrificial knife, + But the calm beauty of an ordered life + Whose very breathing is unworded praise!— + A life that stands as all true lives have stood, + Firm-rooted in the faith that God is Good. + + 1881. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0120" id="link2H_4_0120"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HELP. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Dream not, O Soul, that easy is the task + Thus set before thee. If it proves at length, + As well it may, beyond thy natural strength, + Faint not, despair not. As a child may ask + A father, pray the Everlasting Good + For light and guidance midst the subtle snares + Of sin thick planted in life's thoroughfares, + For spiritual strength and moral hardihood; + Still listening, through the noise of time and sense, + To the still whisper of the Inward Word; + Bitter in blame, sweet in approval heard, + Itself its own confirming evidence + To health of soul a voice to cheer and please, + To guilt the wrath of the Eumenides. + + 1881. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0121" id="link2H_4_0121"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + UTTERANCE. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + But what avail inadequate words to reach + The innermost of Truth? Who shall essay, + Blinded and weak, to point and lead the way, + Or solve the mystery in familiar speech? + Yet, if it be that something not thy own, + Some shadow of the Thought to which our schemes, + Creeds, cult, and ritual are at best but dreams, + Is even to thy unworthiness made known, + Thou mayst not hide what yet thou shouldst not dare + To utter lightly, lest on lips of thine + The real seem false, the beauty undivine. + So, weighing duty in the scale of prayer, + Give what seems given thee. It may prove a seed + Of goodness dropped in fallow-grounds of need. + + 1881. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0122" id="link2H_4_0122"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ORIENTAL MAXIMS. + </h2> + <h3> + PARAPHRASE OF SANSCRIT TRANSLATIONS. + </h3> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0123" id="link2H_4_0123"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE INWARD JUDGE. + </h2> + <h3> + From Institutes of Manu. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The soul itself its awful witness is. + Say not in evil doing, "No one sees," + And so offend the conscious One within, + Whose ear can hear the silences of sin. + + Ere they find voice, whose eyes unsleeping see + The secret motions of iniquity. + Nor in thy folly say, "I am alone." + For, seated in thy heart, as on a throne, + The ancient Judge and Witness liveth still, + To note thy act and thought; and as thy ill + Or good goes from thee, far beyond thy reach, + The solemn Doomsman's seal is set on each. + + 1878. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0124" id="link2H_4_0124"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LAYING UP TREASURE + </h2> + <h3> + From the Mahabharata. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Before the Ender comes, whose charioteer + Is swift or slow Disease, lay up each year + Thy harvests of well-doing, wealth that kings + Nor thieves can take away. When all the things + Thou tallest thine, goods, pleasures, honors fall, + Thou in thy virtue shalt survive them all. + + 1881. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0125" id="link2H_4_0125"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CONDUCT + </h2> + <h3> + From the Mahabharata. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Heed how thou livest. Do no act by day + Which from the night shall drive thy peace away. + In months of sun so live that months of rain + Shall still be happy. Evermore restrain + Evil and cherish good, so shall there be + Another and a happier life for thee. + + 1881. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0126" id="link2H_4_0126"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AN EASTER FLOWER GIFT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O dearest bloom the seasons know, + Flowers of the Resurrection blow, + Our hope and faith restore; + And through the bitterness of death + And loss and sorrow, breathe a breath + Of life forevermore! + + The thought of Love Immortal blends + With fond remembrances of friends; + In you, O sacred flowers, + By human love made doubly sweet, + The heavenly and the earthly meet, + The heart of Christ and ours! + + 1882. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0127" id="link2H_4_0127"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MYSTIC'S CHRISTMAS. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "All hail!" the bells of Christmas rang, + "All hail!" the monks at Christmas sang, + The merry monks who kept with cheer + The gladdest day of all their year. + + But still apart, unmoved thereat, + A pious elder brother sat + Silent, in his accustomed place, + With God's sweet peace upon his face. + + "Why sitt'st thou thus?" his brethren cried. + "It is the blessed Christmas-tide; + The Christmas lights are all aglow, + The sacred lilies bud and blow. + + "Above our heads the joy-bells ring, + Without the happy children sing, + And all God's creatures hail the morn + On which the holy Christ was born! + + "Rejoice with us; no more rebuke + Our gladness with thy quiet look." + The gray monk answered: "Keep, I pray, + Even as ye list, the Lord's birthday. + + "Let heathen Yule fires flicker red + Where thronged refectory feasts are spread; + With mystery-play and masque and mime + And wait-songs speed the holy time! + + "The blindest faith may haply save; + The Lord accepts the things we have; + And reverence, howsoe'er it strays, + May find at last the shining ways. + + "They needs must grope who cannot see, + The blade before the ear must be; + As ye are feeling I have felt, + And where ye dwell I too have dwelt. + + "But now, beyond the things of sense, + Beyond occasions and events, + I know, through God's exceeding grace, + Release from form and time and place. + + "I listen, from no mortal tongue, + To hear the song the angels sung; + And wait within myself to know + The Christmas lilies bud and blow. + + "The outward symbols disappear + From him whose inward sight is clear; + And small must be the choice of clays + To him who fills them all with praise! + + "Keep while you need it, brothers mine, + With honest zeal your Christmas sign, + But judge not him who every morn + Feels in his heart the Lord Christ born!" + + 1882. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0128" id="link2H_4_0128"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AT LAST. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When on my day of life the night is falling, + And, in the winds from unsunned spaces blown, + I hear far voices out of darkness calling + My feet to paths unknown, + + Thou who hast made my home of life so pleasant, + Leave not its tenant when its walls decay; + O Love Divine, O Helper ever present, + Be Thou my strength and stay! + + Be near me when all else is from me drifting + Earth, sky, home's pictures, days of shade and shine, + And kindly faces to my own uplifting + The love which answers mine. + + I have but Thee, my Father! let Thy spirit + Be with me then to comfort and uphold; + No gate of pearl, no branch of palm I merit, + Nor street of shining gold. + + Suffice it if—my good and ill unreckoned, + And both forgiven through Thy abounding grace— + I find myself by hands familiar beckoned + Unto my fitting place. + + Some humble door among Thy many mansions, + Some sheltering shade where sin and striving cease, + And flows forever through heaven's green expansions + The river of Thy peace. + + There, from the music round about me stealing, + I fain would learn the new and holy song, + And find at last, beneath Thy trees of healing, + The life for which I long. + + 1882 +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0129" id="link2H_4_0129"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHAT THE TRAVELLER SAID AT SUNSET. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The shadows grow and deepen round me, + I feel the deffall in the air; + The muezzin of the darkening thicket, + I hear the night-thrush call to prayer. + + The evening wind is sad with farewells, + And loving hands unclasp from mine; + Alone I go to meet the darkness + Across an awful boundary-line. + + As from the lighted hearths behind me + I pass with slow, reluctant feet, + What waits me in the land of strangeness? + What face shall smile, what voice shall greet? + + What space shall awe, what brightness blind me? + What thunder-roll of music stun? + What vast processions sweep before me + Of shapes unknown beneath the sun? + + I shrink from unaccustomed glory, + I dread the myriad-voiced strain; + Give me the unforgotten faces, + And let my lost ones speak again. + + He will not chide my mortal yearning + Who is our Brother and our Friend; + In whose full life, divine and human, + The heavenly and the earthly blend. + + Mine be the joy of soul-communion, + The sense of spiritual strength renewed, + The reverence for the pure and holy, + The dear delight of doing good. + + No fitting ear is mine to listen + An endless anthem's rise and fall; + No curious eye is mine to measure + The pearl gate and the jasper wall. + + For love must needs be more than knowledge: + What matter if I never know + Why Aldebaran's star is ruddy, + Or warmer Sirius white as snow! + + Forgive my human words, O Father! + I go Thy larger truth to prove; + Thy mercy shall transcend my longing + I seek but love, and Thou art Love! + + I go to find my lost and mourned for + Safe in Thy sheltering goodness still, + And all that hope and faith foreshadow + Made perfect in Thy holy will! + + 1883. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0130" id="link2H_4_0130"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE "STORY OF IDA." + </h2> + <p> + Francesca Alexander, whose pen and pencil have so reverently transcribed + the simple faith and life of the Italian peasantry, wrote the narrative + published with John Ruskin's introduction under the title, <i>The Story of + Ida</i>. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Weary of jangling noises never stilled, + The skeptic's sneer, the bigot's hate, the din + Of clashing texts, the webs of creed men spin + Round simple truth, the children grown who build + With gilded cards their new Jerusalem, + Busy, with sacerdotal tailorings + And tinsel gauds, bedizening holy things, + I turn, with glad and grateful heart, from them + To the sweet story of the Florentine + Immortal in her blameless maidenhood, + Beautiful as God's angels and as good; + Feeling that life, even now, may be divine + With love no wrong can ever change to hate, + No sin make less than all-compassionate! + + 1884. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0131" id="link2H_4_0131"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LIGHT THAT IS FELT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A tender child of summers three, + Seeking her little bed at night, + Paused on the dark stair timidly. + "Oh, mother! Take my hand," said she, + "And then the dark will all be light." + + We older children grope our way + From dark behind to dark before; + And only when our hands we lay, + Dear Lord, in Thine, the night is day, + And there is darkness nevermore. + + Reach downward to the sunless days + Wherein our guides are blind as we, + And faith is small and hope delays; + Take Thou the hands of prayer we raise, + And let us feel the light of Thee! + + 1884. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0132" id="link2H_4_0132"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE TWO LOVES + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Smoothing soft the nestling head + Of a maiden fancy-led, + Thus a grave-eyed woman said: + + "Richest gifts are those we make, + Dearer than the love we take + That we give for love's own sake. + + "Well I know the heart's unrest; + Mine has been the common quest, + To be loved and therefore blest. + + "Favors undeserved were mine; + At my feet as on a shrine + Love has laid its gifts divine. + + "Sweet the offerings seemed, and yet + With their sweetness came regret, + And a sense of unpaid debt. + + "Heart of mine unsatisfied, + Was it vanity or pride + That a deeper joy denied? + + "Hands that ope but to receive + Empty close; they only live + Richly who can richly give. + + "Still," she sighed, with moistening eyes, + "Love is sweet in any guise; + But its best is sacrifice! + + "He who, giving, does not crave + Likest is to Him who gave + Life itself the loved to save. + + "Love, that self-forgetful gives, + Sows surprise of ripened sheaves, + Late or soon its own receives." + + 1884. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0133" id="link2H_4_0133"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ADJUSTMENT. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The tree of Faith its bare, dry boughs must shed + That nearer heaven the living ones may climb; + The false must fail, though from our shores of time + The old lament be heard, "Great Pan is dead!" + That wail is Error's, from his high place hurled; + This sharp recoil is Evil undertrod; + Our time's unrest, an angel sent of God + Troubling with life the waters of the world. + Even as they list the winds of the Spirit blow + To turn or break our century-rusted vanes; + Sands shift and waste; the rock alone remains + Where, led of Heaven, the strong tides come and go, + And storm-clouds, rent by thunderbolt and wind, + Leave, free of mist, the permanent stars behind. + + Therefore I trust, although to outward sense + Both true and false seem shaken; I will hold + With newer light my reverence for the old, + And calmly wait the births of Providence. + No gain is lost; the clear-eyed saints look down + Untroubled on the wreck of schemes and creeds; + Love yet remains, its rosary of good deeds + Counting in task-field and o'erpeopled town; + Truth has charmed life; the Inward Word survives, + And, day by day, its revelation brings; + Faith, hope, and charity, whatsoever things + Which cannot be shaken, stand. Still holy lives + Reveal the Christ of whom the letter told, + And the new gospel verifies the old. + + 1885. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0134" id="link2H_4_0134"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HYMNS OF THE BRAHMO SOMAJ. + </h2> + <p> + I have attempted this paraphrase of the Hymns of the Brahmo Somaj of + India, as I find them in Mozoomdar's account of the devotional exercises + of that remarkable religious development which has attracted far less + attention and sympathy from the Christian world than it deserves, as a + fresh revelation of the direct action of the Divine Spirit upon the human + heart. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. + The mercy, O Eternal One! + By man unmeasured yet, + In joy or grief, in shade or sun, + I never will forget. + I give the whole, and not a part, + Of all Thou gayest me; + My goods, my life, my soul and heart, + I yield them all to Thee! + + II. + We fast and plead, we weep and pray, + From morning until even; + We feel to find the holy way, + We knock at the gate of heaven + And when in silent awe we wait, + And word and sign forbear, + The hinges of the golden gate + Move, soundless, to our prayer! + Who hears the eternal harmonies + Can heed no outward word; + Blind to all else is he who sees + The vision of the Lord! + + III. + O soul, be patient, restrain thy tears, + Have hope, and not despair; + As a tender mother heareth her child + God hears the penitent prayer. + And not forever shall grief be thine; + On the Heavenly Mother's breast, + Washed clean and white in the waters of joy + Shall His seeking child find rest. + Console thyself with His word of grace, + And cease thy wail of woe, + For His mercy never an equal hath, + And His love no bounds can know. + Lean close unto Him in faith and hope; + How many like thee have found + In Him a shelter and home of peace, + By His mercy compassed round! + There, safe from sin and the sorrow it brings, + They sing their grateful psalms, + And rest, at noon, by the wells of God, + In the shade of His holy palms! + + 1885. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0135" id="link2H_4_0135"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + REVELATION. + </h2> + <p> + "And I went into the Vale of Beavor, and as I went I preached repentance + to the people. And one morning, sitting by the fire, a great cloud came + over me, and a temptation beset me. And it was said: All things come by + Nature; and the Elements and the Stars came over me. And as I sat still + and let it alone, a living hope arose in me, and a true Voice which said: + There is a living God who made all things. And immediately the cloud and + the temptation vanished, and Life rose over all, and my heart was glad and + I praised the Living God."—Journal of George Fox, 1690. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Still, as of old, in Beavor's Vale, + O man of God! our hope and faith + The Elements and Stars assail, + And the awed spirit holds its breath, + Blown over by a wind of death. + + Takes Nature thought for such as we, + What place her human atom fills, + The weed-drift of her careless sea, + The mist on her unheeding hills? + What reeks she of our helpless wills? + + Strange god of Force, with fear, not love, + Its trembling worshipper! Can prayer + Reach the shut ear of Fate, or move + Unpitying Energy to spare? + What doth the cosmic Vastness care? + + In vain to this dread Unconcern + For the All-Father's love we look; + In vain, in quest of it, we turn + The storied leaves of Nature's book, + The prints her rocky tablets took. + + I pray for faith, I long to trust; + I listen with my heart, and hear + A Voice without a sound: "Be just, + Be true, be merciful, revere + The Word within thee: God is near! + + "A light to sky and earth unknown + Pales all their lights: a mightier force + Than theirs the powers of Nature own, + And, to its goal as at its source, + His Spirit moves the Universe. + + "Believe and trust. Through stars and suns, + Through life and death, through soul and sense, + His wise, paternal purpose runs; + The darkness of His providence + Is star-lit with benign intents." + + O joy supreme! I know the Voice, + Like none beside on earth or sea; + Yea, more, O soul of mine, rejoice, + By all that He requires of me, + I know what God himself must be. + + No picture to my aid I call, + I shape no image in my prayer; + I only know in Him is all + Of life, light, beauty, everywhere, + Eternal Goodness here and there! + + I know He is, and what He is, + Whose one great purpose is the good + Of all. I rest my soul on His + Immortal Love and Fatherhood; + And trust Him, as His children should. + + I fear no more. The clouded face + Of Nature smiles; through all her things + Of time and space and sense I trace + The moving of the Spirit's wings, + And hear the song of hope she sings. + + 1886 +</pre> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF WHITTIER ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law 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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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bc11b48 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #9574 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/9574) diff --git a/old/9574.txt b/old/9574.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7cb07d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/9574.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12067 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Whittier, Volume II (of VII), by +John Greenleaf Whittier + +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: The Works of Whittier, Volume II (of VII) + Poems Of Nature plus Poems Subjective And Reminiscent and + Religious Poems + +Author: John Greenleaf Whittier + +Release Date: Dec, 2005 [EBook #9574] +Posting Date: July 9, 2009 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF WHITTIER *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + + + + + +THE WORKS OF JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER, Volume II. (of VII} + +POEMS OF NATURE plus POEMS SUBJECTIVE AND REMINISCENT and RELIGIOUS POEMS + + +By John Greenleaf Whittier + + + + +CONTENTS + + POEMS OF NATURE: + THE FROST SPIRIT + THE MERRIMAC + HAMPTON BEACH + A DREAM OF SUMMER + THE LAKESIDE + AUTUMN THOUGHTS + ON RECEIVING AN EAGLE'S QUILL FROM LAKE SUPERIOR + APRIL + PICTURES + SUMMER BY THE LAKESIDE + THE FRUIT-GIFT + FLOWERS IN WINTER + THE MAYFLOWERS + THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN + THE FIRST FLOWERS + THE OLD BURYING-GROUND + THE PALM-TREE + THE RIVER PATH + MOUNTAIN PICTURES + I. FRANCONIA FROM THE PEMIGEWASSET + II. MONADNOCK FROM WACHUSET + THE VANISHERS + THE PAGEANT + THE PRESSED GENTIAN + A MYSTERY + A SEA DREAM + HAZEL BLOSSOMS + SUNSET ON THE BEARCAMP + THE SEEKING OF THE WATERFALL + THE TRAILING ARBUTUS + ST. MARTINS SUMMER + STORM ON LAKE ASQUAM + A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE + SWEET FERN + THE WOOD GIANT + A DAY + + + POEMS SUBJECTIVE AND REMINISCENT: + MEMORIES + RAPHAEL + EGO + THE PUMPKIN + FORGIVENESS + TO MY SISTER + MY THANKS + REMEMBRANCE + MY NAMESAKE + A MEMORY + MY DREAM + THE BAREFOOT BOY + MY PSALM + THE WAITING + SNOW-BOUND + MY TRIUMPH + IN SCHOOL-DAYS + MY BIRTHDAY + RED RIDING-HOOD + RESPONSE + AT EVENTIDE + VOYAGE OF THE JETTIE + MY TRUST + A NAME + GREETING + CONTENTS + AN AUTOGRAPH + ABRAM MORRISON + A LEGACY + + RELIGIOUS POEMS: + THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM + THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN + THE CALL OF THE CHRISTIAN + THE CRUCIFIXION + PALESTINE + HYMNS FROM THE FRENCH OF LAMARTINE + I. ENCORE UN HYMNE + II. LE CRI DE L'AME + THE FAMILIST'S HYMN + EZEKIEL + WHAT THE VOICE SAID + THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE + THE WIFE OF MANOAH TO HER HUSBAND + MY SOUL AND I + WORSHIP + THE HOLY LAND + THE REWARD + THE WISH OF TO-DAY + ALL'S WELL + INVOCATION + QUESTIONS OF LIFE + FIRST-DAY THOUGHTS + TRUST + TRINITAS + THE SISTERS + "THE ROCK" IN EL GHOR + THE OVER-HEART + THE SHADOW AND THE LIGHT + THE CRY OF A LOST SOUL + ANDREW RYKMAN'S PRAYER + THE ANSWER + THE ETERNAL GOODNESS + THE COMMON QUESTION + OUR MASTER + THE MEETING + THE CLEAR VISION + DIVINE COMPASSION + THE PRAYER-SEEKER + THE BREWING OF SOMA + A WOMAN + THE PRAYER OF AGASSIZ + IN QUEST + THE FRIEND'S BURIAL + A CHRISTMAS CARMEN + VESTA + CHILD-SONGS + THE HEALER + THE TWO ANGELS + OVERRULED + HYMN OF THE DUNKERS + GIVING AND TAKING + THE VISION OF ECHARD + INSCRIPTIONS + ON A SUN-DIAL + ON A FOUNTAIN + THE MINISTER'S DAUGHTER + BY THEIR WORKS + THE WORD + THE BOOK + REQUIREMENT + HELP + UTTERANCE + ORIENTAL MAXIMS + THE INWARD JUDGE + LAYING UP TREASURE + CONDUCT + AN EASTER FLOWER GIFT + THE MYSTIC'S CHRISTMAS + AT LAST + WHAT THE TRAVELLER SAID AT SUNSET + THE "STORY OF IDA" + THE LIGHT THAT IS FELT + THE TWO LOVES + ADJUSTMENT + HYMNS OF THE BRAHMO SOMAJ + REVELATION + + + + + +POEMS OF NATURE + + + + +THE FROST SPIRIT + + He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes + You may trace his footsteps now + On the naked woods and the blasted fields and the + brown hill's withered brow. + He has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees + where their pleasant green came forth, + And the winds, which follow wherever he goes, + have shaken them down to earth. + + He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes! + from the frozen Labrador, + From the icy bridge of the Northern seas, which + the white bear wanders o'er, + Where the fisherman's sail is stiff with ice, and the + luckless forms below + In the sunless cold of the lingering night into + marble statues grow + + He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes + on the rushing Northern blast, + And the dark Norwegian pines have bowed as his + fearful breath went past. + With an unscorched wing he has hurried on, + where the fires of Hecla glow + On the darkly beautiful sky above and the ancient + ice below. + + He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes + and the quiet lake shall feel + The torpid touch of his glazing breath, and ring to + the skater's heel; + And the streams which danced on the broken + rocks, or sang to the leaning grass, + Shall bow again to their winter chain, and in + mournful silence pass. + He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes! + Let us meet him as we may, + And turn with the light of the parlor-fire his evil + power away; + And gather closer the circle round, when that + fire-light dances high, + And laugh at the shriek of the baffled Fiend as + his sounding wing goes by! + + 1830. + + + +THE MERRIMAC. + + "The Indians speak of a beautiful river, far to the south, + which they call Merrimac."--SIEUR. DE MONTS, 1604. + + + Stream of my fathers! sweetly still + The sunset rays thy valley fill; + Poured slantwise down the long defile, + Wave, wood, and spire beneath them smile. + I see the winding Powow fold + The green hill in its belt of gold, + And following down its wavy line, + Its sparkling waters blend with thine. + There 's not a tree upon thy side, + Nor rock, which thy returning tide + As yet hath left abrupt and stark + Above thy evening water-mark; + No calm cove with its rocky hem, + No isle whose emerald swells begin + Thy broad, smooth current; not a sail + Bowed to the freshening ocean gale; + No small boat with its busy oars, + Nor gray wall sloping to thy shores; + Nor farm-house with its maple shade, + Or rigid poplar colonnade, + But lies distinct and full in sight, + Beneath this gush of sunset light. + Centuries ago, that harbor-bar, + Stretching its length of foam afar, + And Salisbury's beach of shining sand, + And yonder island's wave-smoothed strand, + Saw the adventurer's tiny sail, + Flit, stooping from the eastern gale; + And o'er these woods and waters broke + The cheer from Britain's hearts of oak, + As brightly on the voyager's eye, + Weary of forest, sea, and sky, + Breaking the dull continuous wood, + The Merrimac rolled down his flood; + Mingling that clear pellucid brook, + Which channels vast Agioochook + When spring-time's sun and shower unlock + The frozen fountains of the rock, + And more abundant waters given + From that pure lake, "The Smile of Heaven," + Tributes from vale and mountain-side,-- + With ocean's dark, eternal tide! + + On yonder rocky cape, which braves + The stormy challenge of the waves, + Midst tangled vine and dwarfish wood, + The hardy Anglo-Saxon stood, + Planting upon the topmost crag + The staff of England's battle-flag; + And, while from out its heavy fold + Saint George's crimson cross unrolled, + Midst roll of drum and trumpet blare, + And weapons brandishing in air, + He gave to that lone promontory + The sweetest name in all his story; + Of her, the flower of Islam's daughters, + Whose harems look on Stamboul's waters,-- + Who, when the chance of war had bound + The Moslem chain his limbs around, + Wreathed o'er with silk that iron chain, + Soothed with her smiles his hours of pain, + And fondly to her youthful slave + A dearer gift than freedom gave. + + But look! the yellow light no more + Streams down on wave and verdant shore; + And clearly on the calm air swells + The twilight voice of distant bells. + From Ocean's bosom, white and thin, + The mists come slowly rolling in; + Hills, woods, the river's rocky rim, + Amidst the sea--like vapor swim, + While yonder lonely coast-light, set + Within its wave-washed minaret, + Half quenched, a beamless star and pale, + Shines dimly through its cloudy veil! + + Home of my fathers!--I have stood + Where Hudson rolled his lordly flood + Seen sunrise rest and sunset fade + Along his frowning Palisade; + Looked down the Appalachian peak + On Juniata's silver streak; + Have seen along his valley gleam + The Mohawk's softly winding stream; + The level light of sunset shine + Through broad Potomac's hem of pine; + And autumn's rainbow-tinted banner + Hang lightly o'er the Susquehanna; + Yet wheresoe'er his step might be, + Thy wandering child looked back to thee! + Heard in his dreams thy river's sound + Of murmuring on its pebbly bound, + The unforgotten swell and roar + Of waves on thy familiar shore; + And saw, amidst the curtained gloom + And quiet of his lonely room, + Thy sunset scenes before him pass; + As, in Agrippa's magic glass, + The loved and lost arose to view, + Remembered groves in greenness grew, + Bathed still in childhood's morning dew, + Along whose bowers of beauty swept + Whatever Memory's mourners wept, + Sweet faces, which the charnel kept, + Young, gentle eyes, which long had slept; + And while the gazer leaned to trace, + More near, some dear familiar face, + He wept to find the vision flown,-- + A phantom and a dream alone! + + 1841. + + + + +HAMPTON BEACH + + The sunlight glitters keen and bright, + Where, miles away, + Lies stretching to my dazzled sight + A luminous belt, a misty light, + Beyond the dark pine bluffs and wastes of sandy gray. + + The tremulous shadow of the Sea! + Against its ground + Of silvery light, rock, hill, and tree, + Still as a picture, clear and free, + With varying outline mark the coast for miles around. + + On--on--we tread with loose-flung rein + Our seaward way, + Through dark-green fields and blossoming grain, + Where the wild brier-rose skirts the lane, + And bends above our heads the flowering locust spray. + + Ha! like a kind hand on my brow + Comes this fresh breeze, + Cooling its dull and feverish glow, + While through my being seems to flow + The breath of a new life, the healing of the seas! + + Now rest we, where this grassy mound + His feet hath set + In the great waters, which have bound + His granite ankles greenly round + With long and tangled moss, and weeds with cool spray wet. + + Good-by to Pain and Care! I take + Mine ease to-day + Here where these sunny waters break, + And ripples this keen breeze, I shake + All burdens from the heart, all weary thoughts away. + + I draw a freer breath, I seem + Like all I see-- + Waves in the sun, the white-winged gleam + Of sea-birds in the slanting beam, + And far-off sails which flit before the south-wind free. + + So when Time's veil shall fall asunder, + The soul may know + No fearful change, nor sudden wonder, + Nor sink the weight of mystery under, + But with the upward rise, and with the vastness grow. + + And all we shrink from now may seem + No new revealing; + Familiar as our childhood's stream, + Or pleasant memory of a dream + The loved and cherished Past upon the new life stealing. + + Serene and mild the untried light + May have its dawning; + And, as in summer's northern night + The evening and the dawn unite, + The sunset hues of Time blend with the soul's new morning. + + I sit alone; in foam and spray + Wave after wave + Breaks on the rocks which, stern and gray, + Shoulder the broken tide away, + Or murmurs hoarse and strong through mossy cleft and cave. + + What heed I of the dusty land + And noisy town? + I see the mighty deep expand + From its white line of glimmering sand + To where the blue of heaven on bluer waves shuts down! + + In listless quietude of mind, + I yield to all + The change of cloud and wave and wind + And passive on the flood reclined, + I wander with the waves, and with them rise and fall. + + But look, thou dreamer! wave and shore + In shadow lie; + The night-wind warns me back once more + To where, my native hill-tops o'er, + Bends like an arch of fire the glowing sunset sky. + + So then, beach, bluff, and wave, farewell! + I bear with me + No token stone nor glittering shell, + But long and oft shall Memory tell + Of this brief thoughtful hour of musing by the Sea. + + 1843. + + + + +A DREAM OF SUMMER. + + Bland as the morning breath of June + The southwest breezes play; + And, through its haze, the winter noon + Seems warm as summer's day. + The snow-plumed Angel of the North + Has dropped his icy spear; + Again the mossy earth looks forth, + Again the streams gush clear. + + The fox his hillside cell forsakes, + The muskrat leaves his nook, + The bluebird in the meadow brakes + Is singing with the brook. + "Bear up, O Mother Nature!" cry + Bird, breeze, and streamlet free; + "Our winter voices prophesy + Of summer days to thee!" + + So, in those winters of the soul, + By bitter blasts and drear + O'erswept from Memory's frozen pole, + Will sunny days appear. + Reviving Hope and Faith, they show + The soul its living powers, + And how beneath the winter's snow + Lie germs of summer flowers! + + The Night is mother of the Day, + The Winter of the Spring, + And ever upon old Decay + The greenest mosses cling. + Behind the cloud the starlight lurks, + Through showers the sunbeams fall; + For God, who loveth all His works, + Has left His hope with all! + + 4th 1st month, 1847. + + + + +THE LAKESIDE + + The shadows round the inland sea + Are deepening into night; + Slow up the slopes of Ossipee + They chase the lessening light. + Tired of the long day's blinding heat, + I rest my languid eye, + Lake of the Hills! where, cool and sweet, + Thy sunset waters lie! + + Along the sky, in wavy lines, + O'er isle and reach and bay, + Green-belted with eternal pines, + The mountains stretch away. + Below, the maple masses sleep + Where shore with water blends, + While midway on the tranquil deep + The evening light descends. + + So seemed it when yon hill's red crown, + Of old, the Indian trod, + And, through the sunset air, looked down + Upon the Smile of God. + To him of light and shade the laws + No forest skeptic taught; + Their living and eternal Cause + His truer instinct sought. + + He saw these mountains in the light + Which now across them shines; + This lake, in summer sunset bright, + Walled round with sombering pines. + God near him seemed; from earth and skies + His loving voice he beard, + As, face to face, in Paradise, + Man stood before the Lord. + + Thanks, O our Father! that, like him, + Thy tender love I see, + In radiant hill and woodland dim, + And tinted sunset sea. + For not in mockery dost Thou fill + Our earth with light and grace; + Thou hid'st no dark and cruel will + Behind Thy smiling face! + + 1849. + + + + +AUTUMN THOUGHTS + + Gone hath the Spring, with all its flowers, + And gone the Summer's pomp and show, + And Autumn, in his leafless bowers, + Is waiting for the Winter's snow. + + I said to Earth, so cold and gray, + "An emblem of myself thou art." + "Not so," the Earth did seem to say, + "For Spring shall warm my frozen heart." + I soothe my wintry sleep with dreams + Of warmer sun and softer rain, + And wait to hear the sound of streams + And songs of merry birds again. + + But thou, from whom the Spring hath gone, + For whom the flowers no longer blow, + Who standest blighted and forlorn, + Like Autumn waiting for the snow; + + No hope is thine of sunnier hours, + Thy Winter shall no more depart; + No Spring revive thy wasted flowers, + Nor Summer warm thy frozen heart. + + 1849. + + + + +ON RECEIVING AN EAGLE'S QUILL FROM LAKE SUPERIOR. + + All day the darkness and the cold + Upon my heart have lain, + Like shadows on the winter sky, + Like frost upon the pane; + + But now my torpid fancy wakes, + And, on thy Eagle's plume, + Rides forth, like Sindbad on his bird, + Or witch upon her broom! + + Below me roar the rocking pines, + Before me spreads the lake + Whose long and solemn-sounding waves + Against the sunset break. + + I hear the wild Rice-Eater thresh + The grain he has not sown; + I see, with flashing scythe of fire, + The prairie harvest mown! + + I hear the far-off voyager's horn; + I see the Yankee's trail,-- + His foot on every mountain-pass, + On every stream his sail. + + By forest, lake, and waterfall, + I see his pedler show; + The mighty mingling with the mean, + The lofty with the low. + + He's whittling by St. Mary's Falls, + Upon his loaded wain; + He's measuring o'er the Pictured Rocks, + With eager eyes of gain. + + I hear the mattock in the mine, + The axe-stroke in the dell, + The clamor from the Indian lodge, + The Jesuit chapel bell! + + I see the swarthy trappers come + From Mississippi's springs; + And war-chiefs with their painted brows, + And crests of eagle wings. + + Behind the scared squaw's birch canoe, + The steamer smokes and raves; + And city lots are staked for sale + Above old Indian graves. + + I hear the tread of pioneers + Of nations yet to be; + The first low wash of waves, where soon + Shall roll a human sea. + + The rudiments of empire here + Are plastic yet and warm; + The chaos of a mighty world + Is rounding into form! + + Each rude and jostling fragment soon + Its fitting place shall find,-- + The raw material of a State, + Its muscle and its mind! + + And, westering still, the star which leads + The New World in its train + Has tipped with fire the icy spears + Of many a mountain chain. + + The snowy cones of Oregon + Are kindling on its way; + And California's golden sands + Gleam brighter in its ray! + + Then blessings on thy eagle quill, + As, wandering far and wide, + I thank thee for this twilight dream + And Fancy's airy ride! + + Yet, welcomer than regal plumes, + Which Western trappers find, + Thy free and pleasant thoughts, chance sown, + Like feathers on the wind. + + Thy symbol be the mountain-bird, + Whose glistening quill I hold; + Thy home the ample air of hope, + And memory's sunset gold! + + In thee, let joy with duty join, + And strength unite with love, + The eagle's pinions folding round + The warm heart of the dove! + + So, when in darkness sleeps the vale + Where still the blind bird clings + The sunshine of the upper sky + Shall glitter on thy wings! + + 1849. + + + + +APRIL. + + "The spring comes slowly up this way." + Christabel. + + + 'T is the noon of the spring-time, yet never a bird + In the wind-shaken elm or the maple is heard; + For green meadow-grasses wide levels of snow, + And blowing of drifts where the crocus should blow; + Where wind-flower and violet, amber and white, + On south-sloping brooksides should smile in the light, + O'er the cold winter-beds of their late-waking roots + The frosty flake eddies, the ice-crystal shoots; + And, longing for light, under wind-driven heaps, + Round the boles of the pine-wood the ground-laurel creeps, + Unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of showers, + With buds scarcely swelled, which should burst into flowers + We wait for thy coming, sweet wind of the south! + For the touch of thy light wings, the kiss of thy mouth; + For the yearly evangel thou bearest from God, + Resurrection and life to the graves of the sod! + Up our long river-valley, for days, have not ceased + The wail and the shriek of the bitter northeast, + Raw and chill, as if winnowed through ices and snow, + All the way from the land of the wild Esquimau, + Until all our dreams of the land of the blest, + Like that red hunter's, turn to the sunny southwest. + O soul of the spring-time, its light and its breath, + Bring warmth to this coldness, bring life to this death; + Renew the great miracle; let us behold + The stone from the mouth of the sepulchre rolled, + And Nature, like Lazarus, rise, as of old! + Let our faith, which in darkness and coldness has lain, + Revive with the warmth and the brightness again, + And in blooming of flower and budding of tree + The symbols and types of our destiny see; + The life of the spring-time, the life of the whole, + And, as sun to the sleeping earth, love to the soul! + + 1852. + + + + +PICTURES + + + I. + + Light, warmth, and sprouting greenness, and o'er all + Blue, stainless, steel-bright ether, raining down + Tranquillity upon the deep-hushed town, + The freshening meadows, and the hillsides brown; + Voice of the west-wind from the hills of pine, + And the brimmed river from its distant fall, + Low hum of bees, and joyous interlude + Of bird-songs in the streamlet-skirting wood,-- + Heralds and prophecies of sound and sight, + Blessed forerunners of the warmth and light, + Attendant angels to the house of prayer, + With reverent footsteps keeping pace with mine,-- + Once more, through God's great love, with you I share + A morn of resurrection sweet and fair + As that which saw, of old, in Palestine, + Immortal Love uprising in fresh bloom + From the dark night and winter of the tomb! + + 2d, 5th mo., 1852. + + + II. + + White with its sun-bleached dust, the pathway winds + Before me; dust is on the shrunken grass, + And on the trees beneath whose boughs I pass; + Frail screen against the Hunter of the sky, + Who, glaring on me with his lidless eye, + While mounting with his dog-star high and higher + Ambushed in light intolerable, unbinds + The burnished quiver of his shafts of fire. + Between me and the hot fields of his South + A tremulous glow, as from a furnace-mouth, + Glimmers and swims before my dazzled sight, + As if the burning arrows of his ire + Broke as they fell, and shattered into light; + Yet on my cheek I feel the western wind, + And hear it telling to the orchard trees, + And to the faint and flower-forsaken bees, + Tales of fair meadows, green with constant streams, + And mountains rising blue and cool behind, + Where in moist dells the purple orchis gleams, + And starred with white the virgin's bower is twined. + So the o'erwearied pilgrim, as he fares + Along life's summer waste, at times is fanned, + Even at noontide, by the cool, sweet airs + Of a serener and a holier land, + Fresh as the morn, and as the dewfall bland. + Breath of the blessed Heaven for which we pray, + Blow from the eternal hills! make glad our earthly way! + + 8th mo., 1852. + + + + +SUMMER BY THE LAKESIDE + +LAKE WINNIPESAUKEE. + + + I. NOON. + + White clouds, whose shadows haunt the deep, + Light mists, whose soft embraces keep + The sunshine on the hills asleep! + + O isles of calm! O dark, still wood! + And stiller skies that overbrood + Your rest with deeper quietude! + + O shapes and hues, dim beckoning, through + Yon mountain gaps, my longing view + Beyond the purple and the blue, + + To stiller sea and greener land, + And softer lights and airs more bland, + And skies,--the hollow of God's hand! + + Transfused through you, O mountain friends! + With mine your solemn spirit blends, + And life no more hath separate ends. + + I read each misty mountain sign, + I know the voice of wave and pine, + And I am yours, and ye are mine. + + Life's burdens fall, its discords cease, + I lapse into the glad release + Of Nature's own exceeding peace. + + O welcome calm of heart and mind! + As falls yon fir-tree's loosened rind + To leave a tenderer growth behind, + + So fall the weary years away; + A child again, my head I lay + Upon the lap of this sweet day. + + This western wind hath Lethean powers, + Yon noonday cloud nepenthe showers, + The lake is white with lotus-flowers! + + Even Duty's voice is faint and low, + And slumberous Conscience, waking slow, + Forgets her blotted scroll to show. + + The Shadow which pursues us all, + Whose ever-nearing steps appall, + Whose voice we hear behind us call,-- + + That Shadow blends with mountain gray, + It speaks but what the light waves say,-- + Death walks apart from Fear to-day! + + Rocked on her breast, these pines and I + Alike on Nature's love rely; + And equal seems to live or die. + + Assured that He whose presence fills + With light the spaces of these hills + No evil to His creatures wills, + + The simple faith remains, that He + Will do, whatever that may be, + The best alike for man and tree. + + What mosses over one shall grow, + What light and life the other know, + Unanxious, leaving Him to show. + + + II. EVENING. + + Yon mountain's side is black with night, + While, broad-orhed, o'er its gleaming crown + The moon, slow-rounding into sight, + On the hushed inland sea looks down. + + How start to light the clustering isles, + Each silver-hemmed! How sharply show + The shadows of their rocky piles, + And tree-tops in the wave below! + + How far and strange the mountains seem, + Dim-looming through the pale, still light + The vague, vast grouping of a dream, + They stretch into the solemn night. + + Beneath, lake, wood, and peopled vale, + Hushed by that presence grand and grave, + Are silent, save the cricket's wail, + And low response of leaf and wave. + + Fair scenes! whereto the Day and Night + Make rival love, I leave ye soon, + What time before the eastern light + The pale ghost of the setting moon + + Shall hide behind yon rocky spines, + And the young archer, Morn, shall break + His arrows on the mountain pines, + And, golden-sandalled, walk the lake! + + Farewell! around this smiling bay + Gay-hearted Health, and Life in bloom, + With lighter steps than mine, may stray + In radiant summers yet to come. + + But none shall more regretful leave + These waters and these hills than I + Or, distant, fonder dream how eve + Or dawn is painting wave and sky; + + How rising moons shine sad and mild + On wooded isle and silvering bay; + Or setting suns beyond the piled + And purple mountains lead the day; + + Nor laughing girl, nor bearding boy, + Nor full-pulsed manhood, lingering here, + Shall add, to life's abounding joy, + The charmed repose to suffering dear. + + Still waits kind Nature to impart + Her choicest gifts to such as gain + An entrance to her loving heart + Through the sharp discipline of pain. + + Forever from the Hand that takes + One blessing from us others fall; + And, soon or late, our Father makes + His perfect recompense to all! + + Oh, watched by Silence and the Night, + And folded in the strong embrace + Of the great mountains, with the light + Of the sweet heavens upon thy face, + + Lake of the Northland! keep thy dower + Of beauty still, and while above + Thy solemn mountains speak of power, + Be thou the mirror of God's love. + + 1853. + + + + +THE FRUIT-GIFT. + + Last night, just as the tints of autumn's sky + Of sunset faded from our hills and streams, + I sat, vague listening, lapped in twilight dreams, + To the leaf's rustle, and the cricket's cry. + + Then, like that basket, flush with summer fruit, + Dropped by the angels at the Prophet's foot, + Came, unannounced, a gift of clustered sweetness, + Full-orbed, and glowing with the prisoned beams + Of summery suns, and rounded to completeness + By kisses of the south-wind and the dew. + Thrilled with a glad surprise, methought I knew + The pleasure of the homeward-turning Jew, + When Eshcol's clusters on his shoulders lay, + Dropping their sweetness on his desert way. + + I said, "This fruit beseems no world of sin. + Its parent vine, rooted in Paradise, + O'ercrept the wall, and never paid the price + Of the great mischief,--an ambrosial tree, + Eden's exotic, somehow smuggled in, + To keep the thorns and thistles company." + Perchance our frail, sad mother plucked in haste + A single vine-slip as she passed the gate, + Where the dread sword alternate paled and burned, + And the stern angel, pitying her fate, + Forgave the lovely trespasser, and turned + Aside his face of fire; and thus the waste + And fallen world hath yet its annual taste + Of primal good, to prove of sin the cost, + And show by one gleaned ear the mighty harvest lost. + + 1854. + + + + +FLOWERS IN WINTER + +PAINTED UPON A PORTE LIVRE. + + How strange to greet, this frosty morn, + In graceful counterfeit of flowers, + These children of the meadows, born + Of sunshine and of showers! + + How well the conscious wood retains + The pictures of its flower-sown home, + The lights and shades, the purple stains, + And golden hues of bloom! + + It was a happy thought to bring + To the dark season's frost and rime + This painted memory of spring, + This dream of summer-time. + + Our hearts are lighter for its sake, + Our fancy's age renews its youth, + And dim-remembered fictions take + The guise of--present truth. + + A wizard of the Merrimac,-- + So old ancestral legends say, + Could call green leaf and blossom back + To frosted stem and spray. + + The dry logs of the cottage wall, + Beneath his touch, put out their leaves + The clay-bound swallow, at his call, + Played round the icy eaves. + + The settler saw his oaken flail + Take bud, and bloom before his eyes; + From frozen pools he saw the pale, + Sweet summer lilies rise. + + To their old homes, by man profaned, + Came the sad dryads, exiled long, + And through their leafy tongues complained + Of household use and wrong. + + The beechen platter sprouted wild, + The pipkin wore its old-time green + The cradle o'er the sleeping child + Became a leafy screen. + + Haply our gentle friend hath met, + While wandering in her sylvan quest, + Haunting his native woodlands yet, + That Druid of the West; + + And, while the dew on leaf and flower + Glistened in moonlight clear and still, + Learned the dusk wizard's spell of power, + And caught his trick of skill. + + But welcome, be it new or old, + The gift which makes the day more bright, + And paints, upon the ground of cold + And darkness, warmth and light. + + Without is neither gold nor green; + Within, for birds, the birch-logs sing; + Yet, summer-like, we sit between + The autumn and the spring. + + The one, with bridal blush of rose, + And sweetest breath of woodland balm, + And one whose matron lips unclose + In smiles of saintly calm. + + Fill soft and deep, O winter snow! + The sweet azalea's oaken dells, + And hide the bank where roses blow, + And swing the azure bells! + + O'erlay the amber violet's leaves, + The purple aster's brookside home, + Guard all the flowers her pencil gives + A life beyond their bloom. + + And she, when spring comes round again, + By greening slope and singing flood + Shall wander, seeking, not in vain, + Her darlings of the wood. + + 1855. + + + + +THE MAYFLOWERS + +The trailing arbutus, or mayflower, grows abundantly in the vicinity of +Plymouth, and was the first flower that greeted the Pilgrims after their +fearful winter. The name mayflower was familiar in England, as the +application of it to the historic vessel shows, but it was applied by +the English, and still is, to the hawthorn. Its use in New England in +connection with _Epigma repens _dates from a very early day, some +claiming that the first Pilgrims so used it, in affectionate memory of +the vessel and its English flower association. + + Sad Mayflower! watched by winter stars, + And nursed by winter gales, + With petals of the sleeted spars, + And leaves of frozen sails! + + What had she in those dreary hours, + Within her ice-rimmed bay, + In common with the wild-wood flowers, + The first sweet smiles of May? + + Yet, "God be praised!" the Pilgrim said, + Who saw the blossoms peer + Above the brown leaves, dry and dead, + "Behold our Mayflower here!" + + "God wills it: here our rest shall be, + Our years of wandering o'er; + For us the Mayflower of the sea + Shall spread her sails no more." + + O sacred flowers of faith and hope, + As sweetly now as then + Ye bloom on many a birchen slope, + In many a pine-dark glen. + + Behind the sea-wall's rugged length, + Unchanged, your leaves unfold, + Like love behind the manly strength + Of the brave hearts of old. + + So live the fathers in their sons, + Their sturdy faith be ours, + And ours the love that overruns + Its rocky strength with flowers! + + The Pilgrim's wild and wintry day + Its shadow round us draws; + The Mayflower of his stormy bay, + Our Freedom's struggling cause. + + But warmer suns erelong shall bring + To life the frozen sod; + And through dead leaves of hope shall spring + Afresh the flowers of God! + + 1856. + + + + +THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN. + + I. + O'er the bare woods, whose outstretched hands + Plead with the leaden heavens in vain, + I see, beyond the valley lands, + The sea's long level dim with rain. + Around me all things, stark and dumb, + Seem praying for the snows to come, + And, for the summer bloom and greenness gone, + With winter's sunset lights and dazzling morn atone. + + II. + Along the river's summer walk, + The withered tufts of asters nod; + And trembles on its arid stalk + The boar plume of the golden-rod. + And on a ground of sombre fir, + And azure-studded juniper, + The silver birch its buds of purple shows, + And scarlet berries tell where bloomed the sweet wild-rose! + + III. + With mingled sound of horns and bells, + A far-heard clang, the wild geese fly, + Storm-sent, from Arctic moors and fells, + Like a great arrow through the sky, + Two dusky lines converged in one, + Chasing the southward-flying sun; + While the brave snow-bird and the hardy jay + Call to them from the pines, as if to bid them stay. + + IV. + I passed this way a year ago + The wind blew south; the noon of day + Was warm as June's; and save that snow + Flecked the low mountains far away, + And that the vernal-seeming breeze + Mocked faded grass and leafless trees, + I might have dreamed of summer as I lay, + Watching the fallen leaves with the soft wind at play. + + V. + Since then, the winter blasts have piled + The white pagodas of the snow + On these rough slopes, and, strong and wild, + Yon river, in its overflow + Of spring-time rain and sun, set free, + Crashed with its ices to the sea; + And over these gray fields, then green and gold, + The summer corn has waved, the thunder's organ rolled. + + VI. + Rich gift of God! A year of time + What pomp of rise and shut of day, + What hues wherewith our Northern clime + Makes autumn's dropping woodlands gay, + What airs outblown from ferny dells, + And clover-bloom and sweetbrier smells, + What songs of brooks and birds, what fruits and flowers, + Green woods and moonlit snows, have in its round been ours! + + VII. + I know not how, in other lands, + The changing seasons come and go; + What splendors fall on Syrian sands, + What purple lights on Alpine snow! + Nor how the pomp of sunrise waits + On Venice at her watery gates; + A dream alone to me is Arno's vale, + And the Alhambra's halls are but a traveller's tale. + + VIII. + Yet, on life's current, he who drifts + Is one with him who rows or sails + And he who wanders widest lifts + No more of beauty's jealous veils + Than he who from his doorway sees + The miracle of flowers and trees, + Feels the warm Orient in the noonday air, + And from cloud minarets hears the sunset call to prayer! + + IX. + The eye may well be glad that looks + Where Pharpar's fountains rise and fall; + But he who sees his native brooks + Laugh in the sun, has seen them all. + The marble palaces of Ind + Rise round him in the snow and wind; + From his lone sweetbrier Persian Hafiz smiles, + And Rome's cathedral awe is in his woodland aisles. + + X. + And thus it is my fancy blends + The near at hand and far and rare; + And while the same horizon bends + Above the silver-sprinkled hair + Which flashed the light of morning skies + On childhood's wonder-lifted eyes, + Within its round of sea and sky and field, + Earth wheels with all her zones, the Kosmos stands revealed. + + XI. + And thus the sick man on his bed, + The toiler to his task-work bound, + Behold their prison-walls outspread, + Their clipped horizon widen round! + While freedom-giving fancy waits, + Like Peter's angel at the gates, + The power is theirs to baffle care and pain, + To bring the lost world back, and make it theirs again! + + XII. + What lack of goodly company, + When masters of the ancient lyre + Obey my call, and trace for me + Their words of mingled tears and fire! + I talk with Bacon, grave and wise, + I read the world with Pascal's eyes; + And priest and sage, with solemn brows austere, + And poets, garland-bound, the Lords of Thought, draw near. + + XIII. + Methinks, O friend, I hear thee say, + "In vain the human heart we mock; + Bring living guests who love the day, + Not ghosts who fly at crow of cock! + The herbs we share with flesh and blood + Are better than ambrosial food + With laurelled shades." I grant it, nothing loath, + But doubly blest is he who can partake of both. + + XIV. + He who might Plato's banquet grace, + Have I not seen before me sit, + And watched his puritanic face, + With more than Eastern wisdom lit? + Shrewd mystic! who, upon the back + Of his Poor Richard's Almanac, + Writing the Sufi's song, the Gentoo's dream, + Links Manu's age of thought to Fulton's age of steam! + + XV. + Here too, of answering love secure, + Have I not welcomed to my hearth + The gentle pilgrim troubadour, + Whose songs have girdled half the earth; + Whose pages, like the magic mat + Whereon the Eastern lover sat, + Have borne me over Rhine-land's purple vines, + And Nubia's tawny sands, and Phrygia's mountain pines! + + XVI. + And he, who to the lettered wealth + Of ages adds the lore unpriced, + The wisdom and the moral health, + The ethics of the school of Christ; + The statesman to his holy trust, + As the Athenian archon, just, + Struck down, exiled like him for truth alone, + Has he not graced my home with beauty all his own? + + XVII. + What greetings smile, what farewells wave, + What loved ones enter and depart! + The good, the beautiful, the brave, + The Heaven-lent treasures of the heart! + How conscious seems the frozen sod + And beechen slope whereon they trod + The oak-leaves rustle, and the dry grass bends + Beneath the shadowy feet of lost or absent friends. + + XVIII. + Then ask not why to these bleak hills + I cling, as clings the tufted moss, + To bear the winter's lingering chills, + The mocking spring's perpetual loss. + I dream of lands where summer smiles, + And soft winds blow from spicy isles, + But scarce would Ceylon's breath of flowers be sweet, + Could I not feel thy soil, New England, at my feet! + + XIX. + At times I long for gentler skies, + And bathe in dreams of softer air, + But homesick tears would fill the eyes + That saw the Cross without the Bear. + The pine must whisper to the palm, + The north-wind break the tropic calm; + And with the dreamy languor of the Line, + The North's keen virtue blend, and strength to beauty join. + + XX. + Better to stem with heart and hand + The roaring tide of life, than lie, + Unmindful, on its flowery strand, + Of God's occasions drifting by + Better with naked nerve to bear + The needles of this goading air, + Than, in the lap of sensual ease, forego + The godlike power to do, the godlike aim to know. + + XXI. + Home of my heart! to me more fair + Than gay Versailles or Windsor's halls, + The painted, shingly town-house where + The freeman's vote for Freedom falls! + The simple roof where prayer is made, + Than Gothic groin and colonnade; + The living temple of the heart of man, + Than Rome's sky-mocking vault, or many-spired Milan! + + XXII. + More dear thy equal village schools, + Where rich and poor the Bible read, + Than classic halls where Priestcraft rules, + And Learning wears the chains of Creed; + Thy glad Thanksgiving, gathering in + The scattered sheaves of home and kin, + Than the mad license ushering Lenten pains, + Or holidays of slaves who laugh and dance in chains. + + XXIII. + And sweet homes nestle in these dales, + And perch along these wooded swells; + And, blest beyond Arcadian vales, + They hear the sound of Sabbath bells! + Here dwells no perfect man sublime, + Nor woman winged before her time, + But with the faults and follies of the race, + Old home-bred virtues hold their not unhonored place. + + XXIV. + Here manhood struggles for the sake + Of mother, sister, daughter, wife, + The graces and the loves which make + The music of the march of life; + And woman, in her daily round + Of duty, walks on holy ground. + No unpaid menial tills the soil, nor here + Is the bad lesson learned at human rights to sneer. + + XXV. + Then let the icy north-wind blow + The trumpets of the coming storm, + To arrowy sleet and blinding snow + Yon slanting lines of rain transform. + Young hearts shall hail the drifted cold, + As gayly as I did of old; + And I, who watch them through the frosty pane, + Unenvious, live in them my boyhood o'er again. + + XXVI. + And I will trust that He who heeds + The life that hides in mead and wold, + Who hangs yon alder's crimson beads, + And stains these mosses green and gold, + Will still, as He hath done, incline + His gracious care to me and mine; + Grant what we ask aright, from wrong debar, + And, as the earth grows dark, make brighter every star! + + XXVII. + I have not seen, I may not see, + My hopes for man take form in fact, + But God will give the victory + In due time; in that faith I act. + And lie who sees the future sure, + The baffling present may endure, + And bless, meanwhile, the unseen Hand that leads + The heart's desires beyond the halting step of deeds. + + XXVIII. + And thou, my song, I send thee forth, + Where harsher songs of mine have flown; + Go, find a place at home and hearth + Where'er thy singer's name is known; + Revive for him the kindly thought + Of friends; and they who love him not, + Touched by some strain of thine, perchance may take + The hand he proffers all, and thank him for thy sake. + + 1857. + + + + +THE FIRST FLOWERS + + For ages on our river borders, + These tassels in their tawny bloom, + And willowy studs of downy silver, + Have prophesied of Spring to come. + + For ages have the unbound waters + Smiled on them from their pebbly hem, + And the clear carol of the robin + And song of bluebird welcomed them. + + But never yet from smiling river, + Or song of early bird, have they + Been greeted with a gladder welcome + Than whispers from my heart to-day. + + They break the spell of cold and darkness, + The weary watch of sleepless pain; + And from my heart, as from the river, + The ice of winter melts again. + + Thanks, Mary! for this wild-wood token + Of Freya's footsteps drawing near; + Almost, as in the rune of Asgard, + The growing of the grass I hear. + + It is as if the pine-trees called me + From ceiled room and silent books, + To see the dance of woodland shadows, + And hear the song of April brooks! + + As in the old Teutonic ballad + Of Odenwald live bird and tree, + Together live in bloom and music, + I blend in song thy flowers and thee. + + Earth's rocky tablets bear forever + The dint of rain and small bird's track + Who knows but that my idle verses + May leave some trace by Merrimac! + + The bird that trod the mellow layers + Of the young earth is sought in vain; + The cloud is gone that wove the sandstone, + From God's design, with threads of rain! + + So, when this fluid age we live in + Shall stiffen round my careless rhyme, + Who made the vagrant tracks may puzzle + The savants of the coming time; + + And, following out their dim suggestions, + Some idly-curious hand may draw + My doubtful portraiture, as Cuvier + Drew fish and bird from fin and claw. + + And maidens in the far-off twilights, + Singing my words to breeze and stream, + Shall wonder if the old-time Mary + Were real, or the rhymer's dream! + + 1st 3d mo., 1857. + + + + +THE OLD BURYING-GROUND. + + Our vales are sweet with fern and rose, + Our hills are maple-crowned; + But not from them our fathers chose + The village burying-ground. + + The dreariest spot in all the land + To Death they set apart; + With scanty grace from Nature's hand, + And none from that of Art. + + A winding wall of mossy stone, + Frost-flung and broken, lines + A lonesome acre thinly grown + With grass and wandering vines. + + Without the wall a birch-tree shows + Its drooped and tasselled head; + Within, a stag-horned sumach grows, + Fern-leafed, with spikes of red. + + There, sheep that graze the neighboring plain + Like white ghosts come and go, + The farm-horse drags his fetlock chain, + The cow-bell tinkles slow. + + Low moans the river from its bed, + The distant pines reply; + Like mourners shrinking from the dead, + They stand apart and sigh. + + Unshaded smites the summer sun, + Unchecked the winter blast; + The school-girl learns the place to shun, + With glances backward cast. + + For thus our fathers testified, + That he might read who ran, + The emptiness of human pride, + The nothingness of man. + + They dared not plant the grave with flowers, + Nor dress the funeral sod, + Where, with a love as deep as ours, + They left their dead with God. + + The hard and thorny path they kept + From beauty turned aside; + Nor missed they over those who slept + The grace to life denied. + + Yet still the wilding flowers would blow, + The golden leaves would fall, + The seasons come, the seasons go, + And God be good to all. + + Above the graves the' blackberry hung + In bloom and green its wreath, + And harebells swung as if they rung + The chimes of peace beneath. + + The beauty Nature loves to share, + The gifts she hath for all, + The common light, the common air, + O'ercrept the graveyard's wall. + + It knew the glow of eventide, + The sunrise and the noon, + And glorified and sanctified + It slept beneath the moon. + + With flowers or snow-flakes for its sod, + Around the seasons ran, + And evermore the love of God + Rebuked the fear of man. + + We dwell with fears on either hand, + Within a daily strife, + And spectral problems waiting stand + Before the gates of life. + + The doubts we vainly seek to solve, + The truths we know, are one; + The known and nameless stars revolve + Around the Central Sun. + + And if we reap as we have sown, + And take the dole we deal, + The law of pain is love alone, + The wounding is to heal. + + Unharmed from change to change we glide, + We fall as in our dreams; + The far-off terror at our side + A smiling angel seems. + + Secure on God's all-tender heart + Alike rest great and small; + Why fear to lose our little part, + When He is pledged for all? + + O fearful heart and troubled brain + Take hope and strength from this,-- + That Nature never hints in vain, + Nor prophesies amiss. + + Her wild birds sing the same sweet stave, + Her lights and airs are given + Alike to playground and the grave; + And over both is Heaven. + + 1858 + + + + +THE PALM-TREE. + + Is it the palm, the cocoa-palm, + On the Indian Sea, by the isles of balm? + Or is it a ship in the breezeless calm? + + A ship whose keel is of palm beneath, + Whose ribs of palm have a palm-bark sheath, + And a rudder of palm it steereth with. + + Branches of palm are its spars and rails, + Fibres of palm are its woven sails, + And the rope is of palm that idly trails! + + What does the good ship bear so well? + The cocoa-nut with its stony shell, + And the milky sap of its inner cell. + + What are its jars, so smooth and fine, + But hollowed nuts, filled with oil and wine, + And the cabbage that ripens under the Line? + + Who smokes his nargileh, cool and calm? + The master, whose cunning and skill could charm + Cargo and ship from the bounteous palm. + + In the cabin he sits on a palm-mat soft, + From a beaker of palm his drink is quaffed, + And a palm-thatch shields from the sun aloft! + + His dress is woven of palmy strands, + And he holds a palm-leaf scroll in his hands, + Traced with the Prophet's wise commands! + + The turban folded about his head + Was daintily wrought of the palm-leaf braid, + And the fan that cools him of palm was made. + + Of threads of palm was the carpet spun + Whereon he kneels when the day is done, + And the foreheads of Islam are bowed as one! + + To him the palm is a gift divine, + Wherein all uses of man combine,-- + House, and raiment, and food, and wine! + + And, in the hour of his great release, + His need of the palm shall only cease + With the shroud wherein he lieth in peace. + + "Allah il Allah!" he sings his psalm, + On the Indian Sea, by the isles of balm; + "Thanks to Allah who gives the palm!" + + 1858. + + + + +THE RIVER PATH. + + No bird-song floated down the hill, + The tangled bank below was still; + + No rustle from the birchen stem, + No ripple from the water's hem. + + The dusk of twilight round us grew, + We felt the falling of the dew; + + For, from us, ere the day was done, + The wooded hills shut out the sun. + + But on the river's farther side + We saw the hill-tops glorified,-- + + A tender glow, exceeding fair, + A dream of day without its glare. + + With us the damp, the chill, the gloom + With them the sunset's rosy bloom; + + While dark, through willowy vistas seen, + The river rolled in shade between. + + From out the darkness where we trod, + We gazed upon those bills of God, + + Whose light seemed not of moon or sun. + We spake not, but our thought was one. + + We paused, as if from that bright shore + Beckoned our dear ones gone before; + + And stilled our beating hearts to hear + The voices lost to mortal ear! + + Sudden our pathway turned from night; + The hills swung open to the light; + + Through their green gates the sunshine showed, + A long, slant splendor downward flowed. + + Down glade and glen and bank it rolled; + It bridged the shaded stream with gold; + + And, borne on piers of mist, allied + The shadowy with the sunlit side! + + "So," prayed we, "when our feet draw near + The river dark, with mortal fear, + + "And the night cometh chill with dew, + O Father! let Thy light break through! + + "So let the hills of doubt divide, + So bridge with faith the sunless tide! + + "So let the eyes that fail on earth + On Thy eternal hills look forth; + + "And in Thy beckoning angels know + The dear ones whom we loved below!" + + 1880. + + + +MOUNTAIN PICTURES. + + I. FRANCONIA FROM THE PEMIGEWASSET + + Once more, O Mountains of the North, unveil + Your brows, and lay your cloudy mantles by + And once more, ere the eyes that seek ye fail, + Uplift against the blue walls of the sky + Your mighty shapes, and let the sunshine weave + Its golden net-work in your belting woods, + Smile down in rainbows from your falling floods, + And on your kingly brows at morn and eve + Set crowns of fire! So shall my soul receive + Haply the secret of your calm and strength, + Your unforgotten beauty interfuse + My common life, your glorious shapes and hues + And sun-dropped splendors at my bidding come, + Loom vast through dreams, and stretch in billowy length + From the sea-level of my lowland home! + + They rise before me! Last night's thunder-gust + Roared not in vain: for where its lightnings thrust + Their tongues of fire, the great peaks seem so near, + Burned clean of mist, so starkly bold and clear, + I almost pause the wind in the pines to hear, + The loose rock's fall, the steps of browsing deer. + The clouds that shattered on yon slide-worn walls + And splintered on the rocks their spears of rain + Have set in play a thousand waterfalls, + Making the dusk and silence of the woods + Glad with the laughter of the chasing floods, + And luminous with blown spray and silver gleams, + While, in the vales below, the dry-lipped streams + Sing to the freshened meadow-lands again. + So, let me hope, the battle-storm that beats + The land with hail and fire may pass away + With its spent thunders at the break of day, + Like last night's clouds, and leave, as it retreats, + A greener earth and fairer sky behind, + Blown crystal-clear by Freedom's Northern wind! + + II. MONADNOCK FROM WACHUSET. + + I would I were a painter, for the sake + Of a sweet picture, and of her who led, + A fitting guide, with reverential tread, + Into that mountain mystery. First a lake + Tinted with sunset; next the wavy lines + Of far receding hills; and yet more far, + Monadnock lifting from his night of pines + His rosy forehead to the evening star. + Beside us, purple-zoned, Wachuset laid + His head against the West, whose warm light made + His aureole; and o'er him, sharp and clear, + Like a shaft of lightning in mid-launching stayed, + A single level cloud-line, shone upon + By the fierce glances of the sunken sun, + Menaced the darkness with its golden spear! + + So twilight deepened round us. Still and black + The great woods climbed the mountain at our back; + And on their skirts, where yet the lingering day + On the shorn greenness of the clearing lay, + The brown old farm-house like a bird's-nest hung. + With home-life sounds the desert air was stirred + The bleat of sheep along the hill we heard, + The bucket plashing in the cool, sweet well, + The pasture-bars that clattered as they fell; + Dogs barked, fowls fluttered, cattle lowed; the gate + Of the barn-yard creaked beneath the merry weight + Of sun-brown children, listening, while they swung, + The welcome sound of supper-call to hear; + And down the shadowy lane, in tinklings clear, + The pastoral curfew of the cow-bell rung. + Thus soothed and pleased, our backward path we took, + Praising the farmer's home. He only spake, + Looking into the sunset o'er the lake, + Like one to whom the far-off is most near: + "Yes, most folks think it has a pleasant look; + I love it for my good old mother's sake, + Who lived and died here in the peace of God!" + The lesson of his words we pondered o'er, + As silently we turned the eastern flank + Of the mountain, where its shadow deepest sank, + Doubling the night along our rugged road: + We felt that man was more than his abode,-- + The inward life than Nature's raiment more; + And the warm sky, the sundown-tinted hill, + The forest and the lake, seemed dwarfed and dim + Before the saintly soul, whose human will + Meekly in the Eternal footsteps trod, + Making her homely toil and household ways + An earthly echo of the song of praise + Swelling from angel lips and harps of seraphim. + + 1862. + + + + +THE VANISHERS. + + Sweetest of all childlike dreams + In the simple Indian lore + Still to me the legend seems + Of the shapes who flit before. + + Flitting, passing, seen and gone, + Never reached nor found at rest, + Baffling search, but beckoning on + To the Sunset of the Blest. + + From the clefts of mountain rocks, + Through the dark of lowland firs, + Flash the eyes and flow the locks + Of the mystic Vanishers! + + And the fisher in his skiff, + And the hunter on the moss, + Hear their call from cape and cliff, + See their hands the birch-leaves toss. + + Wistful, longing, through the green + Twilight of the clustered pines, + In their faces rarely seen + Beauty more than mortal shines. + + Fringed with gold their mantles flow + On the slopes of westering knolls; + In the wind they whisper low + Of the Sunset Land of Souls. + + Doubt who may, O friend of mine! + Thou and I have seen them too; + On before with beck and sign + Still they glide, and we pursue. + + More than clouds of purple trail + In the gold of setting day; + More than gleams of wing or sail + Beckon from the sea-mist gray. + + Glimpses of immortal youth, + Gleams and glories seen and flown, + Far-heard voices sweet with truth, + Airs from viewless Eden blown; + + Beauty that eludes our grasp, + Sweetness that transcends our taste, + Loving hands we may not clasp, + Shining feet that mock our haste; + + Gentle eyes we closed below, + Tender voices heard once more, + Smile and call us, as they go + On and onward, still before. + + Guided thus, O friend of mine + Let us walk our little way, + Knowing by each beckoning sign + That we are not quite astray. + + Chase we still, with baffled feet, + Smiling eye and waving hand, + Sought and seeker soon shall meet, + Lost and found, in Sunset Land. + + 1864. + + + + +THE PAGEANT. + + A sound as if from bells of silver, + Or elfin cymbals smitten clear, + Through the frost-pictured panes I hear. + + A brightness which outshines the morning, + A splendor brooking no delay, + Beckons and tempts my feet away. + + I leave the trodden village highway + For virgin snow-paths glimmering through + A jewelled elm-tree avenue; + + Where, keen against the walls of sapphire, + The gleaming tree-bolls, ice-embossed, + Hold up their chandeliers of frost. + + I tread in Orient halls enchanted, + I dream the Saga's dream of caves + Gem-lit beneath the North Sea waves! + + I walk the land of Eldorado, + I touch its mimic garden bowers, + Its silver leaves and diamond flowers! + + The flora of the mystic mine-world + Around me lifts on crystal stems + The petals of its clustered gems! + + What miracle of weird transforming + In this wild work of frost and light, + This glimpse of glory infinite! + + This foregleam of the Holy City + Like that to him of Patmos given, + The white bride coming down from heaven! + + How flash the ranked and mail-clad alders, + Through what sharp-glancing spears of reeds + The brook its muffled water leads! + + Yon maple, like the bush of Horeb, + Burns unconsumed: a white, cold fire + Rays out from every grassy spire. + + Each slender rush and spike of mullein, + Low laurel shrub and drooping fern, + Transfigured, blaze where'er I turn. + + How yonder Ethiopian hemlock + Crowned with his glistening circlet stands! + What jewels light his swarthy hands! + + Here, where the forest opens southward, + Between its hospitable pines, + As through a door, the warm sun shines. + + The jewels loosen on the branches, + And lightly, as the soft winds blow, + Fall, tinkling, on the ice below. + + And through the clashing of their cymbals + I hear the old familiar fall + Of water down the rocky wall, + + Where, from its wintry prison breaking, + In dark and silence hidden long, + The brook repeats its summer song. + + One instant flashing in the sunshine, + Keen as a sabre from its sheath, + Then lost again the ice beneath. + + I hear the rabbit lightly leaping, + The foolish screaming of the jay, + The chopper's axe-stroke far away; + + The clamor of some neighboring barn-yard, + The lazy cock's belated crow, + Or cattle-tramp in crispy snow. + + And, as in some enchanted forest + The lost knight hears his comrades sing, + And, near at hand, their bridles ring,-- + + So welcome I these sounds and voices, + These airs from far-off summer blown, + This life that leaves me not alone. + + For the white glory overawes me; + The crystal terror of the seer + Of Chebar's vision blinds me here. + + Rebuke me not, O sapphire heaven! + Thou stainless earth, lay not on me, + Thy keen reproach of purity, + + If, in this August presence-chamber, + I sigh for summer's leaf-green gloom + And warm airs thick with odorous bloom! + + Let the strange frost-work sink and crumble, + And let the loosened tree-boughs swing, + Till all their bells of silver ring. + + Shine warmly down, thou sun of noontime, + On this chill pageant, melt and move + The winter's frozen heart with love. + + And, soft and low, thou wind south-blowing, + Breathe through a veil of tenderest haze + Thy prophecy of summer days. + + Come with thy green relief of promise, + And to this dead, cold splendor bring + The living jewels of the spring! + + 1869. + + + + +THE PRESSED GENTIAN. + + The time of gifts has come again, + And, on my northern window-pane, + Outlined against the day's brief light, + A Christmas token hangs in sight. + + The wayside travellers, as they pass, + Mark the gray disk of clouded glass; + And the dull blankness seems, perchance, + Folly to their wise ignorance. + + They cannot from their outlook see + The perfect grace it hath for me; + For there the flower, whose fringes through + The frosty breath of autumn blew, + Turns from without its face of bloom + To the warm tropic of my room, + As fair as when beside its brook + The hue of bending skies it took. + + So from the trodden ways of earth, + Seem some sweet souls who veil their worth, + And offer to the careless glance + The clouding gray of circumstance. + They blossom best where hearth-fires burn, + To loving eyes alone they turn + The flowers of inward grace, that hide + Their beauty from the world outside. + + But deeper meanings come to me, + My half-immortal flower, from thee! + Man judges from a partial view, + None ever yet his brother knew; + The Eternal Eye that sees the whole + May better read the darkened soul, + And find, to outward sense denied, + The flower upon its inmost side + + 1872. + + + + +A MYSTERY. + + The river hemmed with leaning trees + Wound through its meadows green; + A low, blue line of mountains showed + The open pines between. + + One sharp, tall peak above them all + Clear into sunlight sprang + I saw the river of my dreams, + The mountains that I sang! + + No clue of memory led me on, + But well the ways I knew; + A feeling of familiar things + With every footstep grew. + + Not otherwise above its crag + Could lean the blasted pine; + Not otherwise the maple hold + Aloft its red ensign. + + So up the long and shorn foot-hills + The mountain road should creep; + So, green and low, the meadow fold + Its red-haired kine asleep. + + The river wound as it should wind; + Their place the mountains took; + The white torn fringes of their clouds + Wore no unwonted look. + + Yet ne'er before that river's rim + Was pressed by feet of mine, + Never before mine eyes had crossed + That broken mountain line. + + A presence, strange at once and known, + Walked with me as my guide; + The skirts of some forgotten life + Trailed noiseless at my side. + + Was it a dim-remembered dream? + Or glimpse through aeons old? + The secret which the mountains kept + The river never told. + + But from the vision ere it passed + A tender hope I drew, + And, pleasant as a dawn of spring, + The thought within me grew, + + That love would temper every change, + And soften all surprise, + And, misty with the dreams of earth, + The hills of Heaven arise. + + 1873. + + + + +A SEA DREAM. + + We saw the slow tides go and come, + The curving surf-lines lightly drawn, + The gray rocks touched with tender bloom + Beneath the fresh-blown rose of dawn. + + We saw in richer sunsets lost + The sombre pomp of showery noons; + And signalled spectral sails that crossed + The weird, low light of rising moons. + + On stormy eves from cliff and head + We saw the white spray tossed and spurned; + While over all, in gold and red, + Its face of fire the lighthouse turned. + + The rail-car brought its daily crowds, + Half curious, half indifferent, + Like passing sails or floating clouds, + We saw them as they came and went. + + But, one calm morning, as we lay + And watched the mirage-lifted wall + Of coast, across the dreamy bay, + And heard afar the curlew call, + + And nearer voices, wild or tame, + Of airy flock and childish throng, + Up from the water's edge there came + Faint snatches of familiar song. + + Careless we heard the singer's choice + Of old and common airs; at last + The tender pathos of his voice + In one low chanson held us fast. + + A song that mingled joy and pain, + And memories old and sadly sweet; + While, timing to its minor strain, + The waves in lapsing cadence beat. + + . . . . . + + The waves are glad in breeze and sun; + The rocks are fringed with foam; + I walk once more a haunted shore, + A stranger, yet at home, + A land of dreams I roam. + + Is this the wind, the soft sea wind + That stirred thy locks of brown? + Are these the rocks whose mosses knew + The trail of thy light gown, + Where boy and girl sat down? + + I see the gray fort's broken wall, + The boats that rock below; + And, out at sea, the passing sails + We saw so long ago + Rose-red in morning's glow. + + The freshness of the early time + On every breeze is blown; + As glad the sea, as blue the sky,-- + The change is ours alone; + The saddest is my own. + + A stranger now, a world-worn man, + Is he who bears my name; + But thou, methinks, whose mortal life + Immortal youth became, + Art evermore the same. + + Thou art not here, thou art not there, + Thy place I cannot see; + I only know that where thou art + The blessed angels be, + And heaven is glad for thee. + + Forgive me if the evil years + Have left on me their sign; + Wash out, O soul so beautiful, + The many stains of mine + In tears of love divine! + + I could not look on thee and live, + If thou wert by my side; + The vision of a shining one, + The white and heavenly bride, + Is well to me denied. + + But turn to me thy dear girl-face + Without the angel's crown, + The wedded roses of thy lips, + Thy loose hair rippling down + In waves of golden brown. + + Look forth once more through space and time, + And let thy sweet shade fall + In tenderest grace of soul and form + On memory's frescoed wall, + A shadow, and yet all! + + Draw near, more near, forever dear! + Where'er I rest or roam, + Or in the city's crowded streets, + Or by the blown sea foam, + The thought of thee is home! + + . . . . . + + At breakfast hour the singer read + The city news, with comment wise, + Like one who felt the pulse of trade + Beneath his finger fall and rise. + + His look, his air, his curt speech, told + The man of action, not of books, + To whom the corners made in gold + And stocks were more than seaside nooks. + + Of life beneath the life confessed + His song had hinted unawares; + Of flowers in traffic's ledgers pressed, + Of human hearts in bulls and bears. + + But eyes in vain were turned to watch + That face so hard and shrewd and strong; + And ears in vain grew sharp to catch + The meaning of that morning song. + + In vain some sweet-voiced querist sought + To sound him, leaving as she came; + Her baited album only caught + A common, unromantic name. + + No word betrayed the mystery fine, + That trembled on the singer's tongue; + He came and went, and left no sign + Behind him save the song he sung. + + 1874. + + + + +HAZEL BLOSSOMS. + + The summer warmth has left the sky, + The summer songs have died away; + And, withered, in the footpaths lie + The fallen leaves, but yesterday + With ruby and with topaz gay. + + The grass is browning on the hills; + No pale, belated flowers recall + The astral fringes of the rills, + And drearily the dead vines fall, + Frost-blackened, from the roadside wall. + + Yet through the gray and sombre wood, + Against the dusk of fir and pine, + Last of their floral sisterhood, + The hazel's yellow blossoms shine, + The tawny gold of Afric's mine! + + Small beauty hath my unsung flower, + For spring to own or summer hail; + But, in the season's saddest hour, + To skies that weep and winds that wail + Its glad surprisals never fail. + + O days grown cold! O life grown old + No rose of June may bloom again; + But, like the hazel's twisted gold, + Through early frost and latter rain + Shall hints of summer-time remain. + + And as within the hazel's bough + A gift of mystic virtue dwells, + That points to golden ores below, + And in dry desert places tells + Where flow unseen the cool, sweet wells, + + So, in the wise Diviner's hand, + Be mine the hazel's grateful part + To feel, beneath a thirsty land, + The living waters thrill and start, + The beating of the rivulet's heart! + + Sufficeth me the gift to light + With latest bloom the dark, cold days; + To call some hidden spring to sight + That, in these dry and dusty ways, + Shall sing its pleasant song of praise. + + O Love! the hazel-wand may fail, + But thou canst lend the surer spell, + That, passing over Baca's vale, + Repeats the old-time miracle, + And makes the desert-land a well. + + 1874. + + + + +SUNSET ON THE BEARCAMP. + + A gold fringe on the purpling hem + Of hills the river runs, + As down its long, green valley falls + The last of summer's suns. + + Along its tawny gravel-bed + Broad-flowing, swift, and still, + As if its meadow levels felt + The hurry of the hill, + Noiseless between its banks of green + From curve to curve it slips; + The drowsy maple-shadows rest + Like fingers on its lips. + + A waif from Carroll's wildest hills, + Unstoried and unknown; + The ursine legend of its name + Prowls on its banks alone. + Yet flowers as fair its slopes adorn + As ever Yarrow knew, + Or, under rainy Irish skies, + By Spenser's Mulla grew; + And through the gaps of leaning trees + Its mountain cradle shows + The gold against the amethyst, + The green against the rose. + + Touched by a light that hath no name, + A glory never sung, + Aloft on sky and mountain wall + Are God's great pictures hung. + How changed the summits vast and old! + No longer granite-browed, + They melt in rosy mist; the rock + Is softer than the cloud; + The valley holds its breath; no leaf + Of all its elms is twirled + The silence of eternity + Seems falling on the world. + + The pause before the breaking seals + Of mystery is this; + Yon miracle-play of night and day + Makes dumb its witnesses. + What unseen altar crowns the hills + That reach up stair on stair? + What eyes look through, what white wings fan + These purple veils of air? + What Presence from the heavenly heights + To those of earth stoops down? + Not vainly Hellas dreamed of gods + On Ida's snowy crown! + + Slow fades the vision of the sky, + The golden water pales, + And over all the valley-land + A gray-winged vapor sails. + I go the common way of all; + The sunset fires will burn, + The flowers will blow, the river flow, + When I no more return. + No whisper from the mountain pine + Nor lapsing stream shall tell + The stranger, treading where I tread, + Of him who loved them well. + + But beauty seen is never lost, + God's colors all are fast; + The glory of this sunset heaven + Into my soul has passed, + A sense of gladness unconfined + To mortal date or clime; + As the soul liveth, it shall live + Beyond the years of time. + Beside the mystic asphodels + Shall bloom the home-born flowers, + And new horizons flush and glow + With sunset hues of ours. + + Farewell! these smiling hills must wear + Too soon their wintry frown, + And snow-cold winds from off them shake + The maple's red leaves down. + But I shall see a summer sun + Still setting broad and low; + The mountain slopes shall blush and bloom, + The golden water flow. + A lover's claim is mine on all + I see to have and hold,-- + The rose-light of perpetual hills, + And sunsets never cold! + + 1876 + + + + +THE SEEKING OF THE WATERFALL. + + They left their home of summer ease + Beneath the lowland's sheltering trees, + To seek, by ways unknown to all, + The promise of the waterfall. + + Some vague, faint rumor to the vale + Had crept--perchance a hunter's tale-- + Of its wild mirth of waters lost + On the dark woods through which it tossed. + + Somewhere it laughed and sang; somewhere + Whirled in mad dance its misty hair; + But who had raised its veil, or seen + The rainbow skirts of that Undine? + + They sought it where the mountain brook + Its swift way to the valley took; + Along the rugged slope they clomb, + Their guide a thread of sound and foam. + + Height after height they slowly won; + The fiery javelins of the sun + Smote the bare ledge; the tangled shade + With rock and vine their steps delayed. + + But, through leaf-openings, now and then + They saw the cheerful homes of men, + And the great mountains with their wall + Of misty purple girdling all. + + The leaves through which the glad winds blew + Shared the wild dance the waters knew; + And where the shadows deepest fell + The wood-thrush rang his silver bell. + + Fringing the stream, at every turn + Swung low the waving fronds of fern; + From stony cleft and mossy sod + Pale asters sprang, and golden-rod. + + And still the water sang the sweet, + Glad song that stirred its gliding feet, + And found in rock and root the keys + Of its beguiling melodies. + + Beyond, above, its signals flew + Of tossing foam the birch-trees through; + Now seen, now lost, but baffling still + The weary seekers' slackening will. + + Each called to each: "Lo here! Lo there! + Its white scarf flutters in the air!" + They climbed anew; the vision fled, + To beckon higher overhead. + + So toiled they up the mountain-slope + With faint and ever fainter hope; + With faint and fainter voice the brook + Still bade them listen, pause, and look. + + Meanwhile below the day was done; + Above the tall peaks saw the sun + Sink, beam-shorn, to its misty set + Behind the hills of violet. + + "Here ends our quest!" the seekers cried, + "The brook and rumor both have lied! + The phantom of a waterfall + Has led us at its beck and call." + + But one, with years grown wiser, said + "So, always baffled, not misled, + We follow where before us runs + The vision of the shining ones. + + "Not where they seem their signals fly, + Their voices while we listen die; + We cannot keep, however fleet, + The quick time of their winged feet. + + "From youth to age unresting stray + These kindly mockers in our way; + Yet lead they not, the baffling elves, + To something better than themselves? + + "Here, though unreached the goal we sought, + Its own reward our toil has brought: + The winding water's sounding rush, + The long note of the hermit thrush, + + "The turquoise lakes, the glimpse of pond + And river track, and, vast, beyond + Broad meadows belted round with pines, + The grand uplift of mountain lines! + + "What matter though we seek with pain + The garden of the gods in vain, + If lured thereby we climb to greet + Some wayside blossom Eden-sweet? + + "To seek is better than to gain, + The fond hope dies as we attain; + Life's fairest things are those which seem, + The best is that of which we dream. + + "Then let us trust our waterfall + Still flashes down its rocky wall, + With rainbow crescent curved across + Its sunlit spray from moss to moss. + + "And we, forgetful of our pain, + In thought shall seek it oft again; + Shall see this aster-blossomed sod, + This sunshine of the golden-rod, + + "And haply gain, through parting boughs, + Grand glimpses of great mountain brows + Cloud-turbaned, and the sharp steel sheen + Of lakes deep set in valleys green. + + "So failure wins; the consequence + Of loss becomes its recompense; + And evermore the end shall tell + The unreached ideal guided well. + + "Our sweet illusions only die + Fulfilling love's sure prophecy; + And every wish for better things + An undreamed beauty nearer brings. + + "For fate is servitor of love; + Desire and hope and longing prove + The secret of immortal youth, + And Nature cheats us into truth. + + "O kind allurers, wisely sent, + Beguiling with benign intent, + Still move us, through divine unrest, + To seek the loveliest and the best! + + "Go with us when our souls go free, + And, in the clear, white light to be, + Add unto Heaven's beatitude + The old delight of seeking good!" + + 1878. + + + + +THE TRAILING ARBUTUS + + I wandered lonely where the pine-trees made + Against the bitter East their barricade, + And, guided by its sweet + Perfume, I found, within a narrow dell, + The trailing spring flower tinted like a shell + Amid dry leaves and mosses at my feet. + + From under dead boughs, for whose loss the pines + Moaned ceaseless overhead, the blossoming vines + Lifted their glad surprise, + While yet the bluebird smoothed in leafless trees + His feathers ruffled by the chill sea-breeze, + And snow-drifts lingered under April skies. + + As, pausing, o'er the lonely flower I bent, + I thought of lives thus lowly, clogged and pent, + Which yet find room, + Through care and cumber, coldness and decay, + To lend a sweetness to the ungenial day + And make the sad earth happier for their bloom. + + 1879. + + + + +ST. MARTIN'S SUMMER. + +This name in some parts of Europe is given to the season we call Indian +Summer, in honor of the good St. Martin. The title of the poem was +suggested by the fact that the day it refers to was the exact date of +that set apart to the Saint, the 11th of November. + + Though flowers have perished at the touch + Of Frost, the early comer, + I hail the season loved so much, + The good St. Martin's summer. + + O gracious morn, with rose-red dawn, + And thin moon curving o'er it! + The old year's darling, latest born, + More loved than all before it! + + How flamed the sunrise through the pines! + How stretched the birchen shadows, + Braiding in long, wind-wavered lines + The westward sloping meadows! + + The sweet day, opening as a flower + Unfolds its petals tender, + Renews for us at noontide's hour + The summer's tempered splendor. + + The birds are hushed; alone the wind, + That through the woodland searches, + The red-oak's lingering leaves can find, + And yellow plumes of larches. + + But still the balsam-breathing pine + Invites no thought of sorrow, + No hint of loss from air like wine + The earth's content can borrow. + + The summer and the winter here + Midway a truce are holding, + A soft, consenting atmosphere + Their tents of peace enfolding. + + The silent woods, the lonely hills, + Rise solemn in their gladness; + The quiet that the valley fills + Is scarcely joy or sadness. + + How strange! The autumn yesterday + In winter's grasp seemed dying; + On whirling winds from skies of gray + The early snow was flying. + + And now, while over Nature's mood + There steals a soft relenting, + I will not mar the present good, + Forecasting or lamenting. + + My autumn time and Nature's hold + A dreamy tryst together, + And, both grown old, about us fold + The golden-tissued weather. + + I lean my heart against the day + To feel its bland caressing; + I will not let it pass away + Before it leaves its blessing. + + God's angels come not as of old + The Syrian shepherds knew them; + In reddening dawns, in sunset gold, + And warm noon lights I view them. + + Nor need there is, in times like this + When heaven to earth draws nearer, + Of wing or song as witnesses + To make their presence clearer. + + O stream of life, whose swifter flow + Is of the end forewarning, + Methinks thy sundown afterglow + Seems less of night than morning! + + Old cares grow light; aside I lay + The doubts and fears that troubled; + The quiet of the happy day + Within my soul is doubled. + + That clouds must veil this fair sunshine + Not less a joy I find it; + Nor less yon warm horizon line + That winter lurks behind it. + + The mystery of the untried days + I close my eyes from reading; + His will be done whose darkest ways + To light and life are leading! + + Less drear the winter night shall be, + If memory cheer and hearten + Its heavy hours with thoughts of thee, + Sweet summer of St. Martin! + + 1880. + + + + +STORM ON LAKE ASQUAM. + + A cloud, like that the old-time Hebrew saw + On Carmel prophesying rain, began + To lift itself o'er wooded Cardigan, + Growing and blackening. Suddenly, a flaw + + Of chill wind menaced; then a strong blast beat + Down the long valley's murmuring pines, and woke + The noon-dream of the sleeping lake, and broke + Its smooth steel mirror at the mountains' feet. + + Thunderous and vast, a fire-veined darkness swept + Over the rough pine-bearded Asquam range; + A wraith of tempest, wonderful and strange, + From peak to peak the cloudy giant stepped. + + One moment, as if challenging the storm, + Chocorua's tall, defiant sentinel + Looked from his watch-tower; then the shadow fell, + And the wild rain-drift blotted out his form. + + And over all the still unhidden sun, + Weaving its light through slant-blown veils of rain, + Smiled on the trouble, as hope smiles on pain; + And, when the tumult and the strife were done, + + With one foot on the lake and one on land, + Framing within his crescent's tinted streak + A far-off picture of the Melvin peak, + Spent broken clouds the rainbow's angel spanned. + + 1882. + + + + +A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE. + + To kneel before some saintly shrine, + To breathe the health of airs divine, + Or bathe where sacred rivers flow, + The cowled and turbaned pilgrims go. + I too, a palmer, take, as they + With staff and scallop-shell, my way + To feel, from burdening cares and ills, + The strong uplifting of the hills. + + The years are many since, at first, + For dreamed-of wonders all athirst, + I saw on Winnipesaukee fall + The shadow of the mountain wall. + Ah! where are they who sailed with me + The beautiful island-studded sea? + And am I he whose keen surprise + Flashed out from such unclouded eyes? + + Still, when the sun of summer burns, + My longing for the hills returns; + And northward, leaving at my back + The warm vale of the Merrimac, + I go to meet the winds of morn, + Blown down the hill-gaps, mountain-born, + Breathe scent of pines, and satisfy + The hunger of a lowland eye. + + Again I see the day decline + Along a ridged horizon line; + Touching the hill-tops, as a nun + Her beaded rosary, sinks the sun. + One lake lies golden, which shall soon + Be silver in the rising moon; + And one, the crimson of the skies + And mountain purple multiplies. + + With the untroubled quiet blends + The distance-softened voice of friends; + The girl's light laugh no discord brings + To the low song the pine-tree sings; + And, not unwelcome, comes the hail + Of boyhood from his nearing sail. + The human presence breaks no spell, + And sunset still is miracle! + + Calm as the hour, methinks I feel + A sense of worship o'er me steal; + Not that of satyr-charming Pan, + No cult of Nature shaming man, + Not Beauty's self, but that which lives + And shines through all the veils it weaves,-- + Soul of the mountain, lake, and wood, + Their witness to the Eternal Good! + + And if, by fond illusion, here + The earth to heaven seems drawing near, + And yon outlying range invites + To other and serener heights, + Scarce hid behind its topmost swell, + The shining Mounts Delectable + A dream may hint of truth no less + Than the sharp light of wakefulness. + + As through her vale of incense smoke. + Of old the spell-rapt priestess spoke, + More than her heathen oracle, + May not this trance of sunset tell + That Nature's forms of loveliness + Their heavenly archetypes confess, + Fashioned like Israel's ark alone + From patterns in the Mount made known? + + A holier beauty overbroods + These fair and faint similitudes; + Yet not unblest is he who sees + Shadows of God's realities, + And knows beyond this masquerade + Of shape and color, light and shade, + And dawn and set, and wax and wane, + Eternal verities remain. + + O gems of sapphire, granite set! + O hills that charmed horizons fret + I know how fair your morns can break, + In rosy light on isle and lake; + How over wooded slopes can run + The noonday play of cloud and sun, + And evening droop her oriflamme + Of gold and red in still Asquam. + + The summer moons may round again, + And careless feet these hills profane; + These sunsets waste on vacant eyes + The lavish splendor of the skies; + Fashion and folly, misplaced here, + Sigh for their natural atmosphere, + And travelled pride the outlook scorn + Of lesser heights than Matterhorn. + + But let me dream that hill and sky + Of unseen beauty prophesy; + And in these tinted lakes behold + The trailing of the raiment fold + Of that which, still eluding gaze, + Allures to upward-tending ways, + Whose footprints make, wherever found, + Our common earth a holy ground. + + 1883. + + + + +SWEET FERN. + + The subtle power in perfume found + Nor priest nor sibyl vainly learned; + On Grecian shrine or Aztec mound + No censer idly burned. + + That power the old-time worships knew, + The Corybantes' frenzied dance, + The Pythian priestess swooning through + The wonderland of trance. + + And Nature holds, in wood and field, + Her thousand sunlit censers still; + To spells of flower and shrub we yield + Against or with our will. + + I climbed a hill path strange and new + With slow feet, pausing at each turn; + A sudden waft of west wind blew + The breath of the sweet fern. + + That fragrance from my vision swept + The alien landscape; in its stead, + Up fairer hills of youth I stepped, + As light of heart as tread. + + I saw my boyhood's lakelet shine + Once more through rifts of woodland shade; + I knew my river's winding line + By morning mist betrayed. + + With me June's freshness, lapsing brook, + Murmurs of leaf and bee, the call + Of birds, and one in voice and look + In keeping with them all. + + A fern beside the way we went + She plucked, and, smiling, held it up, + While from her hand the wild, sweet scent + I drank as from a cup. + + O potent witchery of smell! + The dust-dry leaves to life return, + And she who plucked them owns the spell + And lifts her ghostly fern. + + Or sense or spirit? Who shall say + What touch the chord of memory thrills? + It passed, and left the August day + Ablaze on lonely hills. + + + + +THE WOOD GIANT + + From Alton Bay to Sandwich Dome, + From Mad to Saco river, + For patriarchs of the primal wood + We sought with vain endeavor. + + And then we said: "The giants old + Are lost beyond retrieval; + This pygmy growth the axe has spared + Is not the wood primeval. + + "Look where we will o'er vale and hill, + How idle are our searches + For broad-girthed maples, wide-limbed oaks, + Centennial pines and birches. + + "Their tortured limbs the axe and saw + Have changed to beams and trestles; + They rest in walls, they float on seas, + They rot in sunken vessels. + + "This shorn and wasted mountain land + Of underbrush and boulder,-- + Who thinks to see its full-grown tree + Must live a century older." + + At last to us a woodland path, + To open sunset leading, + Revealed the Anakim of pines + Our wildest wish exceeding. + + Alone, the level sun before; + Below, the lake's green islands; + Beyond, in misty distance dim, + The rugged Northern Highlands. + + Dark Titan on his Sunset Hill + Of time and change defiant + How dwarfed the common woodland seemed, + Before the old-time giant! + + What marvel that, in simpler days + Of the world's early childhood, + Men crowned with garlands, gifts, and praise + Such monarchs of the wild-wood? + + That Tyrian maids with flower and song + Danced through the hill grove's spaces, + And hoary-bearded Druids found + In woods their holy places? + + With somewhat of that Pagan awe + With Christian reverence blending, + We saw our pine-tree's mighty arms + Above our heads extending. + + We heard his needles' mystic rune, + Now rising, and now dying, + As erst Dodona's priestess heard + The oak leaves prophesying. + + Was it the half-unconscious moan + Of one apart and mateless, + The weariness of unshared power, + The loneliness of greatness? + + O dawns and sunsets, lend to him + Your beauty and your wonder! + Blithe sparrow, sing thy summer song + His solemn shadow under! + + Play lightly on his slender keys, + O wind of summer, waking + For hills like these the sound of seas + On far-off beaches breaking, + + And let the eagle and the crow + Find shelter in his branches, + When winds shake down his winter snow + In silver avalanches. + + The brave are braver for their cheer, + The strongest need assurance, + The sigh of longing makes not less + The lesson of endurance. + + 1885. + + + + +A DAY. + + Talk not of sad November, when a day + Of warm, glad sunshine fills the sky of noon, + And a wind, borrowed from some morn of June, + Stirs the brown grasses and the leafless spray. + + On the unfrosted pool the pillared pines + Lay their long shafts of shadow: the small rill, + Singing a pleasant song of summer still, + A line of silver, down the hill-slope shines. + + Hushed the bird-voices and the hum of bees, + In the thin grass the crickets pipe no more; + But still the squirrel hoards his winter store, + And drops his nut-shells from the shag-bark trees. + + Softly the dark green hemlocks whisper: high + Above, the spires of yellowing larches show, + Where the woodpecker and home-loving crow + And jay and nut-hatch winter's threat defy. + + O gracious beauty, ever new and old! + O sights and sounds of nature, doubly dear + When the low sunshine warns the closing year + Of snow-blown fields and waves of Arctic cold! + + Close to my heart I fold each lovely thing + The sweet day yields; and, not disconsolate, + With the calm patience of the woods I wait + For leaf and blossom when God gives us Spring! + + 29th, Eleventh Month, 1886. + + + + + +POEMS SUBJECTIVE AND REMINISCENT MEMORIES + + A beautiful and happy girl, + With step as light as summer air, + Eyes glad with smiles, and brow of pearl, + Shadowed by many a careless curl + Of unconfined and flowing hair; + A seeming child in everything, + Save thoughtful brow and ripening charms, + As Nature wears the smile of Spring + When sinking into Summer's arms. + + A mind rejoicing in the light + Which melted through its graceful bower, + Leaf after leaf, dew-moist and bright, + And stainless in its holy white, + Unfolding like a morning flower + A heart, which, like a fine-toned lute, + With every breath of feeling woke, + And, even when the tongue was mute, + From eye and lip in music spoke. + + How thrills once more the lengthening chain + Of memory, at the thought of thee! + Old hopes which long in dust have lain + Old dreams, come thronging back again, + And boyhood lives again in me; + I feel its glow upon my cheek, + Its fulness of the heart is mine, + As when I leaned to hear thee speak, + Or raised my doubtful eye to thine. + + I hear again thy low replies, + I feel thy arm within my own, + And timidly again uprise + The fringed lids of hazel eyes, + With soft brown tresses overblown. + Ah! memories of sweet summer eves, + Of moonlit wave and willowy way, + Of stars and flowers, and dewy leaves, + And smiles and tones more dear than they! + + Ere this, thy quiet eye hath smiled + My picture of thy youth to see, + When, half a woman, half a child, + Thy very artlessness beguiled, + And folly's self seemed wise in thee; + I too can smile, when o'er that hour + The lights of memory backward stream, + Yet feel the while that manhood's power + Is vainer than my boyhood's dream. + + Years have passed on, and left their trace, + Of graver care and deeper thought; + And unto me the calm, cold face + Of manhood, and to thee the grace + Of woman's pensive beauty brought. + More wide, perchance, for blame than praise, + The school-boy's humble name has flown; + Thine, in the green and quiet ways + Of unobtrusive goodness known. + + And wider yet in thought and deed + Diverge our pathways, one in youth; + Thine the Genevan's sternest creed, + While answers to my spirit's need + The Derby dalesman's simple truth. + For thee, the priestly rite and prayer, + And holy day, and solemn psalm; + For me, the silent reverence where + My brethren gather, slow and calm. + + Yet hath thy spirit left on me + An impress Time has worn not out, + And something of myself in thee, + A shadow from the past, I see, + Lingering, even yet, thy way about; + Not wholly can the heart unlearn + That lesson of its better hours, + Not yet has Time's dull footstep worn + To common dust that path of flowers. + + Thus, while at times before our eyes + The shadows melt, and fall apart, + And, smiling through them, round us lies + The warm light of our morning skies,-- + The Indian Summer of the heart! + In secret sympathies of mind, + In founts of feeling which retain + Their pure, fresh flow, we yet may find + Our early dreams not wholly vain + + 1841. + + + + +RAPHAEL. + +Suggested by the portrait of Raphael, at the age of fifteen. + + I shall not soon forget that sight + The glow of Autumn's westering day, + A hazy warmth, a dreamy light, + On Raphael's picture lay. + + It was a simple print I saw, + The fair face of a musing boy; + Yet, while I gazed, a sense of awe + Seemed blending with my joy. + + A simple print,--the graceful flow + Of boyhood's soft and wavy hair, + And fresh young lip and cheek, and brow + Unmarked and clear, were there. + + Yet through its sweet and calm repose + I saw the inward spirit shine; + It was as if before me rose + The white veil of a shrine. + + As if, as Gothland's sage has told, + The hidden life, the man within, + Dissevered from its frame and mould, + By mortal eye were seen. + + Was it the lifting of that eye, + The waving of that pictured hand? + Loose as a cloud-wreath on the sky, + I saw the walls expand. + + The narrow room had vanished,--space, + Broad, luminous, remained alone, + Through which all hues and shapes of grace + And beauty looked or shone. + + Around the mighty master came + The marvels which his pencil wrought, + Those miracles of power whose fame + Is wide as human thought. + + There drooped thy more than mortal face, + O Mother, beautiful and mild + Enfolding in one dear embrace + Thy Saviour and thy Child! + + The rapt brow of the Desert John; + The awful glory of that day + When all the Father's brightness shone + Through manhood's veil of clay. + + And, midst gray prophet forms, and wild + Dark visions of the days of old, + How sweetly woman's beauty smiled + Through locks of brown and gold! + + There Fornarina's fair young face + Once more upon her lover shone, + Whose model of an angel's grace + He borrowed from her own. + + Slow passed that vision from my view, + But not the lesson which it taught; + The soft, calm shadows which it threw + Still rested on my thought: + + The truth, that painter, bard, and sage, + Even in Earth's cold and changeful clime, + Plant for their deathless heritage + The fruits and flowers of time. + + We shape ourselves the joy or fear + Of which the coming life is made, + And fill our Future's atmosphere + With sunshine or with shade. + + The tissue of the Life to be + We weave with colors all our own, + And in the field of Destiny + We reap as we have sown. + + Still shall the soul around it call + The shadows which it gathered here, + And, painted on the eternal wall, + The Past shall reappear. + + Think ye the notes of holy song + On Milton's tuneful ear have died? + Think ye that Raphael's angel throng + Has vanished from his side? + + Oh no!--We live our life again; + Or warmly touched, or coldly dim, + The pictures of the Past remain,--- + Man's works shall follow him! + + 1842. + + + + +EGO. + +WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF A FRIEND. + + On page of thine I cannot trace + The cold and heartless commonplace, + A statue's fixed and marble grace. + + For ever as these lines I penned, + Still with the thought of thee will blend + That of some loved and common friend, + + Who in life's desert track has made + His pilgrim tent with mine, or strayed + Beneath the same remembered shade. + + And hence my pen unfettered moves + In freedom which the heart approves, + The negligence which friendship loves. + + And wilt thou prize my poor gift less + For simple air and rustic dress, + And sign of haste and carelessness? + + Oh, more than specious counterfeit + Of sentiment or studied wit, + A heart like thine should value it. + + Yet half I fear my gift will be + Unto thy book, if not to thee, + Of more than doubtful courtesy. + + A banished name from Fashion's sphere, + A lay unheard of Beauty's ear, + Forbid, disowned,--what do they here? + + Upon my ear not all in vain + Came the sad captive's clanking chain, + The groaning from his bed of pain. + + And sadder still, I saw the woe + Which only wounded spirits know + When Pride's strong footsteps o'er them go. + + Spurned not alone in walks abroad, + But from the temples of the Lord + Thrust out apart, like things abhorred. + + Deep as I felt, and stern and strong, + In words which Prudence smothered long, + My soul spoke out against the wrong; + + Not mine alone the task to speak + Of comfort to the poor and weak, + And dry the tear on Sorrow's cheek; + + But, mingled in the conflict warm, + To pour the fiery breath of storm + Through the harsh trumpet of Reform; + + To brave Opinion's settled frown, + From ermined robe and saintly gown, + While wrestling reverenced Error down. + + Founts gushed beside my pilgrim way, + Cool shadows on the greensward lay, + Flowers swung upon the bending spray. + + And, broad and bright, on either hand, + Stretched the green slopes of Fairy-land, + With Hope's eternal sunbow spanned; + + Whence voices called me like the flow, + Which on the listener's ear will grow, + Of forest streamlets soft and low. + + And gentle eyes, which still retain + Their picture on the heart and brain, + Smiled, beckoning from that path of pain. + + In vain! nor dream, nor rest, nor pause + Remain for him who round him draws + The battered mail of Freedom's cause. + + From youthful hopes, from each green spot + Of young Romance, and gentle Thought, + Where storm and tumult enter not; + + From each fair altar, where belong + The offerings Love requires of Song + In homage to her bright-eyed throng; + + With soul and strength, with heart and hand, + I turned to Freedom's struggling band, + To the sad Helots of our land. + + What marvel then that Fame should turn + Her notes of praise to those of scorn; + Her gifts reclaimed, her smiles withdrawn? + + What matters it? a few years more, + Life's surge so restless heretofore + Shall break upon the unknown shore! + + In that far land shall disappear + The shadows which we follow here, + The mist-wreaths of our atmosphere! + + Before no work of mortal hand, + Of human will or strength expand + The pearl gates of the Better Land; + + Alone in that great love which gave + Life to the sleeper of the grave, + Resteth the power to seek and save. + + Yet, if the spirit gazing through + The vista of the past can view + One deed to Heaven and virtue true; + + If through the wreck of wasted powers, + Of garlands wreathed from Folly's bowers, + Of idle aims and misspent hours, + + The eye can note one sacred spot + By Pride and Self profaned not, + A green place in the waste of thought, + + Where deed or word hath rendered less + The sum of human wretchedness, + And Gratitude looks forth to bless; + + The simple burst of tenderest feeling + From sad hearts worn by evil-dealing, + For blessing on the hand of healing; + + Better than Glory's pomp will be + That green and blessed spot to me, + A palm-shade in Eternity! + + Something of Time which may invite + The purified and spiritual sight + To rest on with a calm delight. + + And when the summer winds shall sweep + With their light wings my place of sleep, + And mosses round my headstone creep; + + If still, as Freedom's rallying sign, + Upon the young heart's altars shine + The very fires they caught from mine; + + If words my lips once uttered still, + In the calm faith and steadfast will + Of other hearts, their work fulfil; + + Perchance with joy the soul may learn + These tokens, and its eye discern + The fires which on those altars burn; + + A marvellous joy that even then, + The spirit hath its life again, + In the strong hearts of mortal men. + + Take, lady, then, the gift I bring, + No gay and graceful offering, + No flower-smile of the laughing spring. + + Midst the green buds of Youth's fresh May, + With Fancy's leaf-enwoven bay, + My sad and sombre gift I lay. + + And if it deepens in thy mind + A sense of suffering human-kind,-- + The outcast and the spirit-blind; + + Oppressed and spoiled on every side, + By Prejudice, and Scorn, and Pride, + Life's common courtesies denied; + + Sad mothers mourning o'er their trust, + Children by want and misery nursed, + Tasting life's bitter cup at first; + + If to their strong appeals which come + From fireless hearth, and crowded room, + And the close alley's noisome gloom,-- + + Though dark the hands upraised to thee + In mute beseeching agony, + Thou lend'st thy woman's sympathy; + + Not vainly on thy gentle shrine, + Where Love, and Mirth, and Friendship twine + Their varied gifts, I offer mine. + + 1843. + + + + +THE PUMPKIN. + + Oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun, + The vines of the gourd and the rich melon run, + And the rock and the tree and the cottage enfold, + With broad leaves all greenness and blossoms all gold, + Like that which o'er Nineveh's prophet once grew, + While he waited to know that his warning was true, + And longed for the storm-cloud, and listened in vain + For the rush of the whirlwind and red fire-rain. + + On the banks of the Xenil the dark Spanish maiden + Comes up with the fruit of the tangled vine laden; + And the Creole of Cuba laughs out to behold + Through orange-leaves shining the broad spheres of gold; + Yet with dearer delight from his home in the North, + On the fields of his harvest the Yankee looks forth, + Where crook-necks are coiling and yellow fruit shines, + And the sun of September melts down on his vines. + + Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West, + From North and from South come the pilgrim and guest, + When the gray-haired New-Englander sees round his board + The old broken links of affection restored, + When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more, + And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before, + What moistens the lip and what brightens the eye? + What calls back the past, like the rich Pumpkin pie? + + Oh, fruit loved of boyhood! the old days recalling, + When wood-grapes were purpling and brown nuts were falling! + When wild, ugly faces we carved in its skin, + Glaring out through the dark with a candle within! + When we laughed round the corn-heap, with hearts all in tune, + Our chair a broad pumpkin,--our lantern the moon, + Telling tales of the fairy who travelled like steam, + In a pumpkin-shell coach, with two rats for her team + Then thanks for thy present! none sweeter or better + E'er smoked from an oven or circled a platter! + Fairer hands never wrought at a pastry more fine, + Brighter eyes never watched o'er its baking, than thine! + And the prayer, which my mouth is too full to express, + Swells my heart that thy shadow may never be less, + That the days of thy lot may be lengthened below, + And the fame of thy worth like a pumpkin-vine grow, + And thy life be as sweet, and its last sunset sky + Golden-tinted and fair as thy own Pumpkin pie! + + 1844. + + + + +FORGIVENESS. + + My heart was heavy, for its trust had been + Abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong; + So, turning gloomily from my fellow-men, + One summer Sabbath day I strolled among + The green mounds of the village burial-place; + Where, pondering how all human love and hate + Find one sad level; and how, soon or late, + Wronged and wrongdoer, each with meekened face, + And cold hands folded over a still heart, + Pass the green threshold of our common grave, + Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart, + Awed for myself, and pitying my race, + Our common sorrow, like a nighty wave, + Swept all my pride away, and trembling I forgave! + + 1846. + + + + +TO MY SISTER, + +WITH A COPY OF "THE SUPERNATURALISM OF NEW ENGLAND." + +The work referred to was a series of papers under this title, +contributed to the Democratic Review and afterward collected into a +volume, in which I noted some of the superstitions and folklore +prevalent in New England. The volume has not been kept in print, but +most of its contents are distributed in my Literary Recreations and +Miscellanies. + + Dear Sister! while the wise and sage + Turn coldly from my playful page, + And count it strange that ripened age + Should stoop to boyhood's folly; + I know that thou wilt judge aright + Of all which makes the heart more light, + Or lends one star-gleam to the night + Of clouded Melancholy. + + Away with weary cares and themes! + Swing wide the moonlit gate of dreams! + Leave free once more the land which teems + With wonders and romances + Where thou, with clear discerning eyes, + Shalt rightly read the truth which lies + Beneath the quaintly masking guise + Of wild and wizard fancies. + + Lo! once again our feet we set + On still green wood-paths, twilight wet, + By lonely brooks, whose waters fret + The roots of spectral beeches; + Again the hearth-fire glimmers o'er + Home's whitewashed wall and painted floor, + And young eyes widening to the lore + Of faery-folks and witches. + + Dear heart! the legend is not vain + Which lights that holy hearth again, + And calling back from care and pain, + And death's funereal sadness, + Draws round its old familiar blaze + The clustering groups of happier days, + And lends to sober manhood's gaze + A glimpse of childish gladness. + + And, knowing how my life hath been + A weary work of tongue and pen, + A long, harsh strife with strong-willed men, + Thou wilt not chide my turning + To con, at times, an idle rhyme, + To pluck a flower from childhood's clime, + Or listen, at Life's noonday chime, + For the sweet bells of Morning! + + 1847. + + + + +MY THANKS, + +ACCOMPANYING MANUSCRIPTS PRESENTED TO A FRIEND. + + 'T is said that in the Holy Land + The angels of the place have blessed + The pilgrim's bed of desert sand, + Like Jacob's stone of rest. + + That down the hush of Syrian skies + Some sweet-voiced saint at twilight sings + The song whose holy symphonies + Are beat by unseen wings; + + Till starting from his sandy bed, + The wayworn wanderer looks to see + The halo of an angel's head + Shine through the tamarisk-tree. + + So through the shadows of my way + Thy smile hath fallen soft and clear, + So at the weary close of day + Hath seemed thy voice of cheer. + + That pilgrim pressing to his goal + May pause not for the vision's sake, + Yet all fair things within his soul + The thought of it shall wake: + + The graceful palm-tree by the well, + Seen on the far horizon's rim; + The dark eyes of the fleet gazelle, + Bent timidly on him; + + Each pictured saint, whose golden hair + Streams sunlike through the convent's gloom; + Pale shrines of martyrs young and fair, + And loving Mary's tomb; + + And thus each tint or shade which falls, + From sunset cloud or waving tree, + Along my pilgrim path, recalls + The pleasant thought of thee. + + Of one in sun and shade the same, + In weal and woe my steady friend, + Whatever by that holy name + The angels comprehend. + + Not blind to faults and follies, thou + Hast never failed the good to see, + Nor judged by one unseemly bough + The upward-struggling tree. + + These light leaves at thy feet I lay,-- + Poor common thoughts on common things, + Which time is shaking, day by day, + Like feathers from his wings; + + Chance shootings from a frail life-tree, + To nurturing care but little known, + Their good was partly learned of thee, + Their folly is my own. + + That tree still clasps the kindly mould, + Its leaves still drink the twilight dew, + And weaving its pale green with gold, + Still shines the sunlight through. + + There still the morning zephyrs play, + And there at times the spring bird sings, + And mossy trunk and fading spray + Are flowered with glossy wings. + + Yet, even in genial sun and rain, + Root, branch, and leaflet fail and fade; + The wanderer on its lonely plain + Erelong shall miss its shade. + + O friend beloved, whose curious skill + Keeps bright the last year's leaves and flowers, + With warm, glad, summer thoughts to fill + The cold, dark, winter hours + + Pressed on thy heart, the leaves I bring + May well defy the wintry cold, + Until, in Heaven's eternal spring, + Life's fairer ones unfold. + + 1847. + + + + +REMEMBRANCE + +WITH COPIES OF THE AUTHOR'S WRITINGS. + + Friend of mine! whose lot was cast + With me in the distant past; + Where, like shadows flitting fast, + + Fact and fancy, thought and theme, + Word and work, begin to seem + Like a half-remembered dream! + + Touched by change have all things been, + Yet I think of thee as when + We had speech of lip and pen. + + For the calm thy kindness lent + To a path of discontent, + Rough with trial and dissent; + + Gentle words where such were few, + Softening blame where blame was true, + Praising where small praise was due; + + For a waking dream made good, + For an ideal understood, + For thy Christian womanhood; + + For thy marvellous gift to cull + From our common life and dull + Whatsoe'er is beautiful; + + Thoughts and fancies, Hybla's bees + Dropping sweetness; true heart's-ease + Of congenial sympathies;-- + + Still for these I own my debt; + Memory, with her eyelids wet, + Fain would thank thee even yet! + + And as one who scatters flowers + Where the Queen of May's sweet hours + Sits, o'ertwined with blossomed bowers, + + In superfluous zeal bestowing + Gifts where gifts are overflowing, + So I pay the debt I'm owing. + + To thy full thoughts, gay or sad, + Sunny-hued or sober clad, + Something of my own I add; + + Well assured that thou wilt take + Even the offering which I make + Kindly for the giver's sake. + + 1851. + + + + +MY NAMESAKE. + +Addressed to Francis Greenleaf Allison of Burlington, New Jersey. + + You scarcely need my tardy thanks, + Who, self-rewarded, nurse and tend-- + A green leaf on your own Green Banks-- + The memory of your friend. + + For me, no wreath, bloom-woven, hides + The sobered brow and lessening hair + For aught I know, the myrtled sides + Of Helicon are bare. + + Their scallop-shells so many bring + The fabled founts of song to try, + They've drained, for aught I know, the spring + Of Aganippe dry. + + Ah well!--The wreath the Muses braid + Proves often Folly's cap and bell; + Methinks, my ample beaver's shade + May serve my turn as well. + + Let Love's and Friendship's tender debt + Be paid by those I love in life. + Why should the unborn critic whet + For me his scalping-knife? + + Why should the stranger peer and pry + One's vacant house of life about, + And drag for curious ear and eye + His faults and follies out?-- + + Why stuff, for fools to gaze upon, + With chaff of words, the garb he wore, + As corn-husks when the ear is gone + Are rustled all the more? + + Let kindly Silence close again, + The picture vanish from the eye, + And on the dim and misty main + Let the small ripple die. + + Yet not the less I own your claim + To grateful thanks, dear friends of mine. + Hang, if it please you so, my name + Upon your household line. + + Let Fame from brazen lips blow wide + Her chosen names, I envy none + A mother's love, a father's pride, + Shall keep alive my own! + + Still shall that name as now recall + The young leaf wet with morning dew, + The glory where the sunbeams fall + The breezy woodlands through. + + That name shall be a household word, + A spell to waken smile or sigh; + In many an evening prayer be heard + And cradle lullaby. + + And thou, dear child, in riper days + When asked the reason of thy name, + Shalt answer: One 't were vain to praise + Or censure bore the same. + + "Some blamed him, some believed him good, + The truth lay doubtless 'twixt the two; + He reconciled as best he could + Old faith and fancies new. + + "In him the grave and playful mixed, + And wisdom held with folly truce, + And Nature compromised betwixt + Good fellow and recluse. + + "He loved his friends, forgave his foes; + And, if his words were harsh at times, + He spared his fellow-men,--his blows + Fell only on their crimes. + + "He loved the good and wise, but found + His human heart to all akin + Who met him on the common ground + Of suffering and of sin. + + "Whate'er his neighbors might endure + Of pain or grief his own became; + For all the ills he could not cure + He held himself to blame. + + "His good was mainly an intent, + His evil not of forethought done; + The work he wrought was rarely meant + Or finished as begun. + + "Ill served his tides of feeling strong + To turn the common mills of use; + And, over restless wings of song, + His birthright garb hung loose! + + "His eye was beauty's powerless slave, + And his the ear which discord pains; + Few guessed beneath his aspect grave + What passions strove in chains. + + "He had his share of care and pain, + No holiday was life to him; + Still in the heirloom cup we drain + The bitter drop will swim. + + "Yet Heaven was kind, and here a bird + And there a flower beguiled his way; + And, cool, in summer noons, he heard + The fountains plash and play. + + "On all his sad or restless moods + The patient peace of Nature stole; + The quiet of the fields and woods + Sank deep into his soul. + + "He worshipped as his fathers did, + And kept the faith of childish days, + And, howsoe'er he strayed or slid, + He loved the good old ways. + + "The simple tastes, the kindly traits, + The tranquil air, and gentle speech, + The silence of the soul that waits + For more than man to teach. + + "The cant of party, school, and sect, + Provoked at times his honest scorn, + And Folly, in its gray respect, + He tossed on satire's horn. + + "But still his heart was full of awe + And reverence for all sacred things; + And, brooding over form and law,' + He saw the Spirit's wings! + + "Life's mystery wrapt him like a cloud; + He heard far voices mock his own, + The sweep of wings unseen, the loud, + Long roll of waves unknown. + + "The arrows of his straining sight + Fell quenched in darkness; priest and sage, + Like lost guides calling left and right, + Perplexed his doubtful age. + + "Like childhood, listening for the sound + Of its dropped pebbles in the well, + All vainly down the dark profound + His brief-lined plummet fell. + + "So, scattering flowers with pious pains + On old beliefs, of later creeds, + Which claimed a place in Truth's domains, + He asked the title-deeds. + + "He saw the old-time's groves and shrines + In the long distance fair and dim; + And heard, like sound of far-off pines, + The century-mellowed hymn! + + "He dared not mock the Dervish whirl, + The Brahmin's rite, the Lama's spell; + God knew the heart; Devotion's pearl + Might sanctify the shell. + + "While others trod the altar stairs + He faltered like the publican; + And, while they praised as saints, his prayers + Were those of sinful man. + + "For, awed by Sinai's Mount of Law, + The trembling faith alone sufficed, + That, through its cloud and flame, he saw + The sweet, sad face of Christ! + + "And listening, with his forehead bowed, + Heard the Divine compassion fill + The pauses of the trump and cloud + With whispers small and still. + + "The words he spake, the thoughts he penned, + Are mortal as his hand and brain, + But, if they served the Master's end, + He has not lived in vain!" + + Heaven make thee better than thy name, + Child of my friends!--For thee I crave + What riches never bought, nor fame + To mortal longing gave. + + I pray the prayer of Plato old: + God make thee beautiful within, + And let thine eyes the good behold + In everything save sin! + + Imagination held in check + To serve, not rule, thy poised mind; + Thy Reason, at the frown or beck + Of Conscience, loose or bind. + + No dreamer thou, but real all,-- + Strong manhood crowning vigorous youth; + Life made by duty epical + And rhythmic with the truth. + + So shall that life the fruitage yield + Which trees of healing only give, + And green-leafed in the Eternal field + Of God, forever live! + + 1853. + + + + +A MEMORY + + Here, while the loom of Winter weaves + The shroud of flowers and fountains, + I think of thee and summer eves + Among the Northern mountains. + + When thunder tolled the twilight's close, + And winds the lake were rude on, + And thou wert singing, _Ca' the Yowes_, + The bonny yowes of Cluden! + + When, close and closer, hushing breath, + Our circle narrowed round thee, + And smiles and tears made up the wreath + Wherewith our silence crowned thee; + + And, strangers all, we felt the ties + Of sisters and of brothers; + Ah! whose of all those kindly eyes + Now smile upon another's? + + The sport of Time, who still apart + The waifs of life is flinging; + Oh, nevermore shall heart to heart + Draw nearer for that singing! + + Yet when the panes are frosty-starred, + And twilight's fire is gleaming, + I hear the songs of Scotland's bard + Sound softly through my dreaming! + + A song that lends to winter snows + The glow of summer weather,-- + Again I hear thee ca' the yowes + To Cluden's hills of heather + + 1854. + + + + +MY DREAM. + + In my dream, methought I trod, + Yesternight, a mountain road; + Narrow as Al Sirat's span, + High as eagle's flight, it ran. + + Overhead, a roof of cloud + With its weight of thunder bowed; + Underneath, to left and right, + Blankness and abysmal night. + + Here and there a wild-flower blushed, + Now and then a bird-song gushed; + Now and then, through rifts of shade, + Stars shone out, and sunbeams played. + + But the goodly company, + Walking in that path with me, + One by one the brink o'erslid, + One by one the darkness hid. + + Some with wailing and lament, + Some with cheerful courage went; + But, of all who smiled or mourned, + Never one to us returned. + + Anxiously, with eye and ear, + Questioning that shadow drear, + Never hand in token stirred, + Never answering voice I heard! + + Steeper, darker!--lo! I felt + From my feet the pathway melt. + Swallowed by the black despair, + And the hungry jaws of air, + + Past the stony-throated caves, + Strangled by the wash of waves, + Past the splintered crags, I sank + On a green and flowery bank,-- + + Soft as fall of thistle-down, + Lightly as a cloud is blown, + Soothingly as childhood pressed + To the bosom of its rest. + + Of the sharp-horned rocks instead, + Green the grassy meadows spread, + Bright with waters singing by + Trees that propped a golden sky. + + Painless, trustful, sorrow-free, + Old lost faces welcomed me, + With whose sweetness of content + Still expectant hope was blent. + + Waking while the dawning gray + Slowly brightened into day, + Pondering that vision fled, + Thus unto myself I said:-- + + "Steep and hung with clouds of strife + Is our narrow path of life; + And our death the dreaded fall + Through the dark, awaiting all. + + "So, with painful steps we climb + Up the dizzy ways of time, + Ever in the shadow shed + By the forecast of our dread. + + "Dread of mystery solved alone, + Of the untried and unknown; + Yet the end thereof may seem + Like the falling of my dream. + + "And this heart-consuming care, + All our fears of here or there, + Change and absence, loss and death, + Prove but simple lack of faith." + + Thou, O Most Compassionate! + Who didst stoop to our estate, + Drinking of the cup we drain, + Treading in our path of pain,-- + + Through the doubt and mystery, + Grant to us thy steps to see, + And the grace to draw from thence + Larger hope and confidence. + + Show thy vacant tomb, and let, + As of old, the angels sit, + Whispering, by its open door + "Fear not! He hath gone before!" + + 1855. + + + + +THE BAREFOOT BOY. + + Blessings on thee, little man, + Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan + With thy turned-up pantaloons, + And thy merry whistled tunes; + With thy red lip, redder still + Kissed by strawberries on the hill; + With the sunshine on thy face, + Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; + From my heart I give thee joy,-- + I was once a barefoot boy! + + Prince thou art,--the grown-up man + Only is republican. + Let the million-dollared ride! + Barefoot, trudging at his side, + Thou hast more than he can buy + In the reach of ear and eye,-- + Outward sunshine, inward joy + Blessings on thee, barefoot boy! + + Oh for boyhood's painless play, + Sleep that wakes in laughing day, + Health that mocks the doctor's rules, + Knowledge never learned of schools, + Of the wild bee's morning chase, + Of the wild-flower's time and place, + Flight of fowl and habitude + Of the tenants of the wood; + How the tortoise bears his shell, + How the woodchuck digs his cell, + And the ground-mole sinks his well; + How the robin feeds her young, + How the oriole's nest is hung; + Where the whitest lilies blow, + Where the freshest berries grow, + Where the ground-nut trails its vine, + Where the wood-grape's clusters shine; + Of the black wasp's cunning way, + Mason of his walls of clay, + And the architectural plans + Of gray hornet artisans! + For, eschewing books and tasks, + Nature answers all he asks, + Hand in hand with her he walks, + Face to face with her he talks, + Part and parcel of her joy,-- + Blessings on the barefoot boy! + + Oh for boyhood's time of June, + Crowding years in one brief moon, + When all things I heard or saw, + Me, their master, waited for. + I was rich in flowers and trees, + Humming-birds and honey-bees; + For my sport the squirrel played, + Plied the snouted mole his spade; + For my taste the blackberry cone + Purpled over hedge and stone; + Laughed the brook for my delight + Through the day and through the night, + Whispering at the garden wall, + Talked with me from fall to fall; + Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, + Mine the walnut slopes beyond, + Mine, on bending orchard trees, + Apples of Hesperides! + Still as my horizon grew, + Larger grew my riches too; + All the world I saw or knew + Seemed a complex Chinese toy, + Fashioned for a barefoot boy! + + Oh for festal dainties spread, + Like my bowl of milk and bread; + Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, + On the door-stone, gray and rude! + O'er me, like a regal tent, + Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, + Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, + Looped in many a wind-swung fold; + While for music came the play + Of the pied frogs' orchestra; + And, to light the noisy choir, + Lit the fly his lamp of fire. + I was monarch: pomp and joy + Waited on the barefoot boy! + + Cheerily, then, my little man, + Live and laugh, as boyhood can + Though the flinty slopes be hard, + Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, + Every morn shall lead thee through + Fresh baptisms of the dew; + Every evening from thy feet + Shall the cool wind kiss the heat + All too soon these feet must hide + In the prison cells of pride, + Lose the freedom of the sod, + Like a colt's for work be shod, + Made to tread the mills of toil, + Up and down in ceaseless moil + Happy if their track be found + Never on forbidden ground; + Happy if they sink not in + Quick and treacherous sands of sin. + Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy, + Ere it passes, barefoot boy! + + 1855. + + + + +MY PSALM. + + I mourn no more my vanished years + Beneath a tender rain, + An April rain of smiles and tears, + My heart is young again. + + The west-winds blow, and, singing low, + I hear the glad streams run; + The windows of my soul I throw + Wide open to the sun. + + No longer forward nor behind + I look in hope or fear; + But, grateful, take the good I find, + The best of now and here. + + I plough no more a desert land, + To harvest weed and tare; + The manna dropping from God's hand + Rebukes my painful care. + + I break my pilgrim staff, I lay + Aside the toiling oar; + The angel sought so far away + I welcome at my door. + + The airs of spring may never play + Among the ripening corn, + Nor freshness of the flowers of May + Blow through the autumn morn. + + Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look + Through fringed lids to heaven, + And the pale aster in the brook + Shall see its image given;-- + + The woods shall wear their robes of praise, + The south-wind softly sigh, + And sweet, calm days in golden haze + Melt down the amber sky. + + Not less shall manly deed and word + Rebuke an age of wrong; + The graven flowers that wreathe the sword + Make not the blade less strong. + + But smiting hands shall learn to heal,-- + To build as to destroy; + Nor less my heart for others feel + That I the more enjoy. + + All as God wills, who wisely heeds + To give or to withhold, + And knoweth more of all my needs + Than all my prayers have told. + + Enough that blessings undeserved + Have marked my erring track; + That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved, + His chastening turned me back; + + That more and more a Providence + Of love is understood, + Making the springs of time and sense + Sweet with eternal good;-- + + That death seems but a covered way + Which opens into light, + Wherein no blinded child can stray + Beyond the Father's sight; + + That care and trial seem at last, + Through Memory's sunset air, + Like mountain-ranges overpast, + In purple distance fair; + + That all the jarring notes of life + Seem blending in a psalm, + And all the angles of its strife + Slow rounding into calm. + + And so the shadows fall apart, + And so the west-winds play; + And all the windows of my heart + I open to the day. + + 1859. + + + + +THE WAITING. + + I wait and watch: before my eyes + Methinks the night grows thin and gray; + I wait and watch the eastern skies + To see the golden spears uprise + Beneath the oriflamme of day! + + Like one whose limbs are bound in trance + I hear the day-sounds swell and grow, + And see across the twilight glance, + Troop after troop, in swift advance, + The shining ones with plumes of snow! + + I know the errand of their feet, + I know what mighty work is theirs; + I can but lift up hands unmeet, + The threshing-floors of God to beat, + And speed them with unworthy prayers. + + I will not dream in vain despair + The steps of progress wait for me + The puny leverage of a hair + The planet's impulse well may spare, + A drop of dew the tided sea. + + The loss, if loss there be, is mine, + And yet not mine if understood; + For one shall grasp and one resign, + One drink life's rue, and one its wine, + And God shall make the balance good. + + Oh power to do! Oh baffled will! + Oh prayer and action! ye are one. + Who may not strive, may yet fulfil + The harder task of standing still, + And good but wished with God is done! + + 1862. + + + + +SNOW-BOUND. A WINTER IDYL. + + TO THE MEMORY + + OF + + THE HOUSEHOLD IT DESCRIBES, + + THIS POEM IS DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. + +The inmates of the family at the Whittier homestead who are referred to +in the poem were my father, mother, my brother and two sisters, and my +uncle and aunt both unmarried. In addition, there was the district +school-master who boarded with us. The "not unfeared, half-welcome +guest" was Harriet Livermore, daughter of Judge Livermore, of New +Hampshire, a young woman of fine natural ability, enthusiastic, +eccentric, with slight control over her violent temper, which sometimes +made her religious profession doubtful. She was equally ready to exhort +in school-house prayer-meetings and dance in a Washington ball-room, +while her father was a member of Congress. She early embraced the +doctrine of the Second Advent, and felt it her duty to proclaim the +Lord's speedy coming. With this message she crossed the Atlantic and +spent the greater part of a long life in travelling over Europe and +Asia. She lived some time with Lady Hester Stanhope, a woman as +fantastic and mentally strained as herself, on the slope of Mt. Lebanon, +but finally quarrelled with her in regard to two white horses with red +marks on their backs which suggested the idea of saddles, on which her +titled hostess expected to ride into Jerusalem with the Lord. A friend +of mine found her, when quite an old woman, wandering in Syria with a +tribe of Arabs, who with the Oriental notion that madness is +inspiration, accepted her as their prophetess and leader. At the time +referred to in Snow-Bound she was boarding at the Rocks Village about +two miles from us. + +In my boyhood, in our lonely farm-house, we had scanty sources of +information; few books and only a small weekly newspaper. Our only +annual was the Almanac. Under such circumstances story-telling was a +necessary resource in the long winter evenings. My father when a young +man had traversed the wilderness to Canada, and could tell us of his +adventures with Indians and wild beasts, and of his sojourn in the +French villages. My uncle was ready with his record of hunting and +fishing and, it must be confessed, with stories which he at least half +believed, of witchcraft and apparitions. My mother, who was born in the +Indian-haunted region of Somersworth, New Hampshire, between Dover and +Portsmouth, told us of the inroads of the savages, and the narrow escape +of her ancestors. She described strange people who lived on the +Piscataqua and Cocheco, among whom was Bantam the sorcerer. I have in my +possession the wizard's "conjuring book," which he solemnly opened when +consulted. It is a copy of Cornelius Agrippa's Magic printed in 1651, +dedicated to Dr. Robert Child, who, like Michael Scott, had learned "the +art of glammorie In Padua beyond the sea," and who is famous in the +annals of Massachusetts, where he was at one time a resident, as the +first man who dared petition the General Court for liberty of +conscience. The full title of the book is Three Books of Occult +Philosophy, by Henry Cornelius Agrippa, Knight, Doctor of both Laws, +Counsellor to Caesar's Sacred Majesty and Judge of the Prerogative +Court. + +"As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so Good Spirits, +which be Angels of Light, are augmented not only by the Divine light of +the Sun, but also by our common Wood Fire: and as the Celestial Fire +drives away dark spirits, so also this our Fire of Wood doth the same." +--Cor. AGRIPPA, Occult Philosophy, Book I. ch. v. + + "Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, + Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, + Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air + Hides hills and woods, the rivet and the heaven, + And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. + The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet + Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit + Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed + In a tumultuous privacy of storm." + Emerson. The Snow Storm. + + + The sun that brief December day + Rose cheerless over hills of gray, + And, darkly circled, gave at noon + A sadder light than waning moon. + Slow tracing down the thickening sky + Its mute and ominous prophecy, + A portent seeming less than threat, + It sank from sight before it set. + A chill no coat, however stout, + Of homespun stuff could quite, shut out, + A hard, dull bitterness of cold, + That checked, mid-vein, the circling race + Of life-blood in the sharpened face, + The coming of the snow-storm told. + The wind blew east; we heard the roar + Of Ocean on his wintry shore, + And felt the strong pulse throbbing there + Beat with low rhythm our inland air. + + Meanwhile we did our nightly chores,-- + Brought in the wood from out of doors, + Littered the stalls, and from the mows + Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows + Heard the horse whinnying for his corn; + And, sharply clashing horn on horn, + Impatient down the stanchion rows + The cattle shake their walnut bows; + While, peering from his early perch + Upon the scaffold's pole of birch, + The cock his crested helmet bent + And down his querulous challenge sent. + + Unwarmed by any sunset light + The gray day darkened into night, + A night made hoary with the swarm, + And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, + As zigzag, wavering to and fro, + Crossed and recrossed the winged snow + And ere the early bedtime came + The white drift piled the window-frame, + And through the glass the clothes-line posts + Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. + + So all night long the storm roared on + The morning broke without a sun; + In tiny spherule traced with lines + Of Nature's geometric signs, + In starry flake, and pellicle, + All day the hoary meteor fell; + And, when the second morning shone, + We looked upon a world unknown, + On nothing we could call our own. + Around the glistening wonder bent + The blue walls of the firmament, + No cloud above, no earth below,-- + A universe of sky and snow + The old familiar sights of ours + Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers + Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, + Or garden-wall, or belt of wood; + A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, + A fenceless drift what once was road; + The bridle-post an old man sat + With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; + The well-curb had a Chinese roof; + And even the long sweep, high aloof, + In its slant splendor, seemed to tell + Of Pisa's leaning miracle. + + A prompt, decisive man, no breath + Our father wasted: "Boys, a path!" + Well pleased, (for when did farmer boy + Count such a summons less than joy?) + Our buskins on our feet we drew; + With mittened hands, and caps drawn low, + To guard our necks and ears from snow, + We cut the solid whiteness through. + And, where the drift was deepest, made + A tunnel walled and overlaid + With dazzling crystal: we had read + Of rare Aladdin's wondrous cave, + And to our own his name we gave, + With many a wish the luck were ours + To test his lamp's supernal powers. + We reached the barn with merry din, + And roused the prisoned brutes within. + The old horse thrust his long head out, + And grave with wonder gazed about; + The cock his lusty greeting said, + And forth his speckled harem led; + The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked, + And mild reproach of hunger looked; + The horned patriarch of the sheep, + Like Egypt's Amun roused from sleep, + Shook his sage head with gesture mute, + And emphasized with stamp of foot. + + All day the gusty north-wind bore + The loosening drift its breath before; + Low circling round its southern zone, + The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. + No church-bell lent its Christian tone + To the savage air, no social smoke + Curled over woods of snow-hung oak. + A solitude made more intense + By dreary-voiced elements, + The shrieking of the mindless wind, + The moaning tree-boughs swaying blind, + And on the glass the unmeaning beat + Of ghostly finger-tips of sleet. + Beyond the circle of our hearth + No welcome sound of toil or mirth + Unbound the spell, and testified + Of human life and thought outside. + We minded that the sharpest ear + The buried brooklet could not hear, + The music of whose liquid lip + Had been to us companionship, + And, in our lonely life, had grown + To have an almost human tone. + + As night drew on, and, from the crest + Of wooded knolls that ridged the west, + The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank + From sight beneath the smothering bank, + We piled, with care, our nightly stack + Of wood against the chimney-back,-- + The oaken log, green, huge, and thick, + And on its top the stout back-stick; + The knotty forestick laid apart, + And filled between with curious art + The ragged brush; then, hovering near, + We watched the first red blaze appear, + Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam + On whitewashed wall and sagging beam, + Until the old, rude-furnished room + Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom; + While radiant with a mimic flame + Outside the sparkling drift became, + And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree + Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free. + The crane and pendent trammels showed, + The Turks' heads on the andirons glowed; + While childish fancy, prompt to tell + The meaning of the miracle, + Whispered the old rhyme: "_Under the tree, + When fire outdoors burns merrily, + There the witches are making tea_." + + The moon above the eastern wood + Shone at its full; the hill-range stood + Transfigured in the silver flood, + Its blown snows flashing cold and keen, + Dead white, save where some sharp ravine + Took shadow, or the sombre green + Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black + Against the whiteness at their back. + For such a world and such a night + Most fitting that unwarming light, + Which only seemed where'er it fell + To make the coldness visible. + + Shut in from all the world without, + We sat the clean-winged hearth about, + Content to let the north-wind roar + In baffled rage at pane and door, + While the red logs before us beat + The frost-line back with tropic heat; + And ever, when a louder blast + Shook beam and rafter as it passed, + The merrier up its roaring draught + The great throat of the chimney laughed; + The house-dog on his paws outspread + Laid to the fire his drowsy head, + The cat's dark silhouette on the wall + A couchant tiger's seemed to fall; + And, for the winter fireside meet, + Between the andirons' straddling feet, + The mug of cider simmered slow, + The apples sputtered in a row, + And, close at hand, the basket stood + With nuts from brown October's wood. + + What matter how the night behaved? + What matter how the north-wind raved? + Blow high, blow low, not all its snow + Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow. + O Time and Change!--with hair as gray + As was my sire's that winter day, + How strange it seems, with so much gone + Of life and love, to still live on! + Ah, brother! only I and thou + Are left of all that circle now,-- + The dear home faces whereupon + That fitful firelight paled and shone. + Henceforward, listen as we will, + The voices of that hearth are still; + Look where we may, the wide earth o'er + Those lighted faces smile no more. + We tread the paths their feet have worn, + We sit beneath their orchard trees, + We hear, like them, the hum of bees + And rustle of the bladed corn; + We turn the pages that they read, + Their written words we linger o'er, + But in the sun they cast no shade, + No voice is heard, no sign is made, + No step is on the conscious floor! + Yet Love will dream, and Faith will trust, + (Since He who knows our need is just,) + That somehow, somewhere, meet we must. + Alas for him who never sees + The stars shine through his cypress-trees + Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, + Nor looks to see the breaking day + Across the mournful marbles play! + Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, + The truth to flesh and sense unknown, + That Life is ever lord of Death, + And Love can never lose its own! + + We sped the time with stories old, + Wrought puzzles out, and riddles told, + Or stammered from our school-book lore + The Chief of Gambia's "golden shore." + How often since, when all the land + Was clay in Slavery's shaping hand, + As if a far-blown trumpet stirred + The languorous sin-sick air, I heard + "_Does not the voice of reason cry, + Claim the first right which Nature gave, + From the red scourge of bondage fly, + Nor deign to live a burdened slave_!" + Our father rode again his ride + On Memphremagog's wooded side; + Sat down again to moose and samp + In trapper's hut and Indian camp; + Lived o'er the old idyllic ease + Beneath St. Francois' hemlock-trees; + Again for him the moonlight shone + On Norman cap and bodiced zone; + Again he heard the violin play + Which led the village dance away, + And mingled in its merry whirl + The grandam and the laughing girl. + Or, nearer home, our steps he led + Where Salisbury's level marshes spread + Mile-wide as flies the laden bee; + Where merry mowers, hale and strong, + Swept, scythe on scythe, their swaths along + The low green prairies of the sea. + We shared the fishing off Boar's Head, + And round the rocky Isles of Shoals + The hake-broil on the drift-wood coals; + The chowder on the sand-beach made, + Dipped by the hungry, steaming hot, + With spoons of clam-shell from the pot. + We heard the tales of witchcraft old, + And dream and sign and marvel told + To sleepy listeners as they lay + Stretched idly on the salted hay, + Adrift along the winding shores, + When favoring breezes deigned to blow + The square sail of the gundelow + And idle lay the useless oars. + + Our mother, while she turned her wheel + Or run the new-knit stocking-heel, + Told how the Indian hordes came down + At midnight on Cocheco town, + And how her own great-uncle bore + His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore. + Recalling, in her fitting phrase, + So rich and picturesque and free, + (The common unrhymed poetry + Of simple life and country ways,) + The story of her early days,-- + She made us welcome to her home; + Old hearths grew wide to give us room; + We stole with her a frightened look + At the gray wizard's conjuring-book, + The fame whereof went far and wide + Through all the simple country side; + We heard the hawks at twilight play, + The boat-horn on Piscataqua, + The loon's weird laughter far away; + We fished her little trout-brook, knew + What flowers in wood and meadow grew, + What sunny hillsides autumn-brown + She climbed to shake the ripe nuts down, + Saw where in sheltered cove and bay + The ducks' black squadron anchored lay, + And heard the wild-geese calling loud + Beneath the gray November cloud. + + Then, haply, with a look more grave, + And soberer tone, some tale she gave + From painful Sewell's ancient tome, + Beloved in every Quaker home, + Of faith fire-winged by martyrdom, + Or Chalkley's Journal, old and quaint,-- + Gentlest of skippers, rare sea-saint!-- + Who, when the dreary calms prevailed, + And water-butt and bread-cask failed, + And cruel, hungry eyes pursued + His portly presence mad for food, + With dark hints muttered under breath + Of casting lots for life or death, + Offered, if Heaven withheld supplies, + To be himself the sacrifice. + Then, suddenly, as if to save + The good man from his living grave, + A ripple on the water grew, + A school of porpoise flashed in view. + "Take, eat," he said, "and be content; + These fishes in my stead are sent + By Him who gave the tangled ram + To spare the child of Abraham." + + Our uncle, innocent of books, + Was rich in lore of fields and brooks, + The ancient teachers never dumb + Of Nature's unhoused lyceum. + In moons and tides and weather wise, + He read the clouds as prophecies, + And foul or fair could well divine, + By many an occult hint and sign, + Holding the cunning-warded keys + To all the woodcraft mysteries; + Himself to Nature's heart so near + That all her voices in his ear + Of beast or bird had meanings clear, + Like Apollonius of old, + Who knew the tales the sparrows told, + Or Hermes who interpreted + What the sage cranes of Nilus said; + + Content to live where life began; + A simple, guileless, childlike man, + Strong only on his native grounds, + The little world of sights and sounds + Whose girdle was the parish bounds, + Whereof his fondly partial pride + The common features magnified, + As Surrey hills to mountains grew + In White of Selborne's loving view,-- + He told how teal and loon he shot, + And how the eagle's eggs he got, + The feats on pond and river done, + The prodigies of rod and gun; + Till, warming with the tales he told, + Forgotten was the outside cold, + The bitter wind unheeded blew, + From ripening corn the pigeons flew, + The partridge drummed I' the wood, the mink + Went fishing down the river-brink. + In fields with bean or clover gay, + The woodchuck, like a hermit gray, + Peered from the doorway of his cell; + The muskrat plied the mason's trade, + And tier by tier his mud-walls laid; + And from the shagbark overhead + The grizzled squirrel dropped his shell. + + Next, the dear aunt, whose smile of cheer + And voice in dreams I see and hear,-- + The sweetest woman ever Fate + Perverse denied a household mate, + Who, lonely, homeless, not the less + Found peace in love's unselfishness, + And welcome wheresoe'er she went, + A calm and gracious element,-- + Whose presence seemed the sweet income + And womanly atmosphere of home,-- + Called up her girlhood memories, + The huskings and the apple-bees, + The sleigh-rides and the summer sails, + Weaving through all the poor details + And homespun warp of circumstance + A golden woof-thread of romance. + For well she kept her genial mood + And simple faith of maidenhood; + Before her still a cloud-land lay, + The mirage loomed across her way; + The morning dew, that dries so soon + With others, glistened at her noon; + Through years of toil and soil and care, + From glossy tress to thin gray hair, + All unprofaned she held apart + The virgin fancies of the heart. + Be shame to him of woman born + Who hath for such but thought of scorn. + + There, too, our elder sister plied + Her evening task the stand beside; + A full, rich nature, free to trust, + Truthful and almost sternly just, + Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act, + And make her generous thought a fact, + Keeping with many a light disguise + The secret of self-sacrifice. + O heart sore-tried! thou hast the best + That Heaven itself could give thee,--rest, + + Rest from all bitter thoughts and things! + How many a poor one's blessing went + With thee beneath the low green tent + Whose curtain never outward swings! + + As one who held herself a part + Of all she saw, and let her heart + Against the household bosom lean, + Upon the motley-braided mat + Our youngest and our dearest sat, + Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes, + Now bathed in the unfading green + And holy peace of Paradise. + Oh, looking from some heavenly hill, + Or from the shade of saintly palms, + Or silver reach of river calms, + Do those large eyes behold me still? + With me one little year ago:-- + The chill weight of the winter snow + For months upon her grave has lain; + And now, when summer south-winds blow + And brier and harebell bloom again, + I tread the pleasant paths we trod, + I see the violet-sprinkled sod + Whereon she leaned, too frail and weak + The hillside flowers she loved to seek, + Yet following me where'er I went + With dark eyes full of love's content. + The birds are glad; the brier-rose fills + The air with sweetness; all the hills + Stretch green to June's unclouded sky; + But still I wait with ear and eye + For something gone which should be nigh, + A loss in all familiar things, + In flower that blooms, and bird that sings. + And yet, dear heart' remembering thee, + Am I not richer than of old? + Safe in thy immortality, + What change can reach the wealth I hold? + What chance can mar the pearl and gold + Thy love hath left in trust with me? + And while in life's late afternoon, + Where cool and long the shadows grow, + I walk to meet the night that soon + Shall shape and shadow overflow, + I cannot feel that thou art far, + Since near at need the angels are; + And when the sunset gates unbar, + Shall I not see thee waiting stand, + And, white against the evening star, + The welcome of thy beckoning hand? + + Brisk wielder of the birch and rule, + The master of the district school + Held at the fire his favored place, + Its warm glow lit a laughing face + Fresh-hued and fair, where scarce appeared + The uncertain prophecy of beard. + He teased the mitten-blinded cat, + Played cross-pins on my uncle's hat, + Sang songs, and told us what befalls + In classic Dartmouth's college halls. + Born the wild Northern hills among, + From whence his yeoman father wrung + By patient toil subsistence scant, + Not competence and yet not want, + + He early gained the power to pay + His cheerful, self-reliant way; + Could doff at ease his scholar's gown + To peddle wares from town to town; + Or through the long vacation's reach + In lonely lowland districts teach, + Where all the droll experience found + At stranger hearths in boarding round, + The moonlit skater's keen delight, + The sleigh-drive through the frosty night, + The rustic party, with its rough + Accompaniment of blind-man's-buff, + And whirling plate, and forfeits paid, + His winter task a pastime made. + Happy the snow-locked homes wherein + He tuned his merry violin, + Or played the athlete in the barn, + Or held the good dame's winding-yarn, + Or mirth-provoking versions told + Of classic legends rare and old, + Wherein the scenes of Greece and Rome + Had all the commonplace of home, + And little seemed at best the odds + 'Twixt Yankee pedlers and old gods; + Where Pindus-born Arachthus took + The guise of any grist-mill brook, + And dread Olympus at his will + Became a huckleberry hill. + + A careless boy that night he seemed; + But at his desk he had the look + And air of one who wisely schemed, + And hostage from the future took + In trained thought and lore of book. + Large-brained, clear-eyed, of such as he + Shall Freedom's young apostles be, + Who, following in War's bloody trail, + Shall every lingering wrong assail; + All chains from limb and spirit strike, + Uplift the black and white alike; + Scatter before their swift advance + The darkness and the ignorance, + The pride, the lust, the squalid sloth, + Which nurtured Treason's monstrous growth, + Made murder pastime, and the hell + Of prison-torture possible; + The cruel lie of caste refute, + Old forms remould, and substitute + For Slavery's lash the freeman's will, + For blind routine, wise-handed skill; + A school-house plant on every hill, + Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence + The quick wires of intelligence; + Till North and South together brought + Shall own the same electric thought, + In peace a common flag salute, + And, side by side in labor's free + And unresentful rivalry, + Harvest the fields wherein they fought. + + Another guest that winter night + Flashed back from lustrous eyes the light. + Unmarked by time, and yet not young, + The honeyed music of her tongue + And words of meekness scarcely told + A nature passionate and bold, + Strong, self-concentred, spurning guide, + Its milder features dwarfed beside + Her unbent will's majestic pride. + She sat among us, at the best, + A not unfeared, half-welcome guest, + Rebuking with her cultured phrase + Our homeliness of words and ways. + A certain pard-like, treacherous grace + Swayed the lithe limbs and dropped the lash, + Lent the white teeth their dazzling flash; + And under low brows, black with night, + Rayed out at times a dangerous light; + The sharp heat-lightnings of her face + Presaging ill to him whom Fate + Condemned to share her love or hate. + A woman tropical, intense + In thought and act, in soul and sense, + She blended in a like degree + The vixen and the devotee, + Revealing with each freak or feint + The temper of Petruchio's Kate, + The raptures of Siena's saint. + Her tapering hand and rounded wrist + Had facile power to form a fist; + The warm, dark languish of her eyes + Was never safe from wrath's surprise. + Brows saintly calm and lips devout + Knew every change of scowl and pout; + And the sweet voice had notes more high + And shrill for social battle-cry. + + Since then what old cathedral town + Has missed her pilgrim staff and gown, + What convent-gate has held its lock + Against the challenge of her knock! + Through Smyrna's plague-hushed thoroughfares, + Up sea-set Malta's rocky stairs, + Gray olive slopes of hills that hem + Thy tombs and shrines, Jerusalem, + Or startling on her desert throne + The crazy Queen of Lebanon s + With claims fantastic as her own, + Her tireless feet have held their way; + And still, unrestful, bowed, and gray, + She watches under Eastern skies, + With hope each day renewed and fresh, + The Lord's quick coming in the flesh, + Whereof she dreams and prophesies! + + Where'er her troubled path may be, + The Lord's sweet pity with her go! + The outward wayward life we see, + The hidden springs we may not know. + Nor is it given us to discern + What threads the fatal sisters spun, + Through what ancestral years has run + The sorrow with the woman born, + What forged her cruel chain of moods, + What set her feet in solitudes, + And held the love within her mute, + What mingled madness in the blood, + A life-long discord and annoy, + Water of tears with oil of joy, + And hid within the folded bud + Perversities of flower and fruit. + It is not ours to separate + The tangled skein of will and fate, + To show what metes and bounds should stand + Upon the soul's debatable land, + And between choice and Providence + Divide the circle of events; + But lie who knows our frame is just, + Merciful and compassionate, + And full of sweet assurances + And hope for all the language is, + That He remembereth we are dust! + + At last the great logs, crumbling low, + Sent out a dull and duller glow, + The bull's-eye watch that hung in view, + Ticking its weary circuit through, + Pointed with mutely warning sign + Its black hand to the hour of nine. + That sign the pleasant circle broke + My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke, + Knocked from its bowl the refuse gray, + And laid it tenderly away, + Then roused himself to safely cover + The dull red brands with ashes over. + And while, with care, our mother laid + The work aside, her steps she stayed + One moment, seeking to express + Her grateful sense of happiness + For food and shelter, warmth and health, + And love's contentment more than wealth, + With simple wishes (not the weak, + Vain prayers which no fulfilment seek, + But such as warm the generous heart, + O'er-prompt to do with Heaven its part) + That none might lack, that bitter night, + For bread and clothing, warmth and light. + + Within our beds awhile we heard + The wind that round the gables roared, + With now and then a ruder shock, + Which made our very bedsteads rock. + We heard the loosened clapboards tost, + The board-nails snapping in the frost; + And on us, through the unplastered wall, + Felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall. + But sleep stole on, as sleep will do + When hearts are light and life is new; + Faint and more faint the murmurs grew, + Till in the summer-land of dreams + They softened to the sound of streams, + Low stir of leaves, and dip of oars, + And lapsing waves on quiet shores. + + Next morn we wakened with the shout + Of merry voices high and clear; + And saw the teamsters drawing near + To break the drifted highways out. + Down the long hillside treading slow + We saw the half-buried oxen' go, + Shaking the snow from heads uptost, + Their straining nostrils white with frost. + Before our door the straggling train + Drew up, an added team to gain. + The elders threshed their hands a-cold, + Passed, with the cider-mug, their jokes + From lip to lip; the younger folks + Down the loose snow-banks, wrestling, rolled, + Then toiled again the cavalcade + O'er windy hill, through clogged ravine, + And woodland paths that wound between + Low drooping pine-boughs winter-weighed. + From every barn a team afoot, + At every house a new recruit, + Where, drawn by Nature's subtlest law + Haply the watchful young men saw + Sweet doorway pictures of the curls + And curious eyes of merry girls, + Lifting their hands in mock defence + Against the snow-ball's compliments, + And reading in each missive tost + The charm with Eden never lost. + + We heard once more the sleigh-bells' sound; + And, following where the teamsters led, + The wise old Doctor went his round, + Just pausing at our door to say, + In the brief autocratic way + Of one who, prompt at Duty's call, + Was free to urge her claim on all, + That some poor neighbor sick abed + At night our mother's aid would need. + For, one in generous thought and deed, + What mattered in the sufferer's sight + The Quaker matron's inward light, + The Doctor's mail of Calvin's creed? + All hearts confess the saints elect + Who, twain in faith, in love agree, + And melt not in an acid sect + The Christian pearl of charity! + + So days went on: a week had passed + Since the great world was heard from last. + The Almanac we studied o'er, + Read and reread our little store, + Of books and pamphlets, scarce a score; + One harmless novel, mostly hid + From younger eyes, a book forbid, + And poetry, (or good or bad, + A single book was all we had,) + Where Ellwood's meek, drab-skirted Muse, + A stranger to the heathen Nine, + Sang, with a somewhat nasal whine, + The wars of David and the Jews. + At last the floundering carrier bore + The village paper to our door. + Lo! broadening outward as we read, + To warmer zones the horizon spread; + In panoramic length unrolled + We saw the marvels that it told. + Before us passed the painted Creeks, + And daft McGregor on his raids + In Costa Rica's everglades. + And up Taygetos winding slow + Rode Ypsilanti's Mainote Greeks, + A Turk's head at each saddle-bow + Welcome to us its week-old news, + Its corner for the rustic Muse, + Its monthly gauge of snow and rain, + Its record, mingling in a breath + The wedding bell and dirge of death; + Jest, anecdote, and love-lorn tale, + The latest culprit sent to jail; + Its hue and cry of stolen and lost, + Its vendue sales and goods at cost, + And traffic calling loud for gain. + We felt the stir of hall and street, + The pulse of life that round us beat; + The chill embargo of the snow + Was melted in the genial glow; + Wide swung again our ice-locked door, + And all the world was ours once more! + + Clasp, Angel of the backward look + And folded wings of ashen gray + And voice of echoes far away, + The brazen covers of thy book; + The weird palimpsest old and vast, + Wherein thou hid'st the spectral past; + Where, closely mingling, pale and glow + The characters of joy and woe; + The monographs of outlived years, + Or smile-illumed or dim with tears, + Green hills of life that slope to death, + And haunts of home, whose vistaed trees + Shade off to mournful cypresses + With the white amaranths underneath. + Even while I look, I can but heed + The restless sands' incessant fall, + Importunate hours that hours succeed, + Each clamorous with its own sharp need, + And duty keeping pace with all. + Shut down and clasp the heavy lids; + I hear again the voice that bids + The dreamer leave his dream midway + For larger hopes and graver fears + Life greatens in these later years, + The century's aloe flowers to-day! + + Yet, haply, in some lull of life, + Some Truce of God which breaks its strife, + The worldling's eyes shall gather dew, + Dreaming in throngful city ways + Of winter joys his boyhood knew; + And dear and early friends--the few + Who yet remain--shall pause to view + These Flemish pictures of old days; + Sit with me by the homestead hearth, + And stretch the hands of memory forth + To warm them at the wood-fire's blaze! + And thanks untraced to lips unknown + Shall greet me like the odors blown + From unseen meadows newly mown, + Or lilies floating in some pond, + Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond; + The traveller owns the grateful sense + Of sweetness near, he knows not whence, + And, pausing, takes with forehead bare + The benediction of the air. + + 1866. + + + + +MY TRIUMPH. + + The autumn-time has come; + On woods that dream of bloom, + And over purpling vines, + The low sun fainter shines. + + The aster-flower is failing, + The hazel's gold is paling; + Yet overhead more near + The eternal stars appear! + + And present gratitude + Insures the future's good, + And for the things I see + I trust the things to be; + + That in the paths untrod, + And the long days of God, + My feet shall still be led, + My heart be comforted. + + O living friends who love me! + O dear ones gone above me! + Careless of other fame, + I leave to you my name. + + Hide it from idle praises, + Save it from evil phrases + Why, when dear lips that spake it + Are dumb, should strangers wake it? + + Let the thick curtain fall; + I better know than all + How little I have gained, + How vast the unattained. + + Not by the page word-painted + Let life be banned or sainted + Deeper than written scroll + The colors of the soul. + + Sweeter than any sung + My songs that found no tongue; + Nobler than any fact + My wish that failed of act. + + Others shall sing the song, + Others shall right the wrong,-- + Finish what I begin, + And all I fail of win. + + What matter, I or they? + Mine or another's day, + So the right word be said + And life the sweeter made? + + Hail to the coming singers + Hail to the brave light-bringers! + Forward I reach and share + All that they sing and dare. + + The airs of heaven blow o'er me; + A glory shines before me + Of what mankind shall be,-- + Pure, generous, brave, and free. + + A dream of man and woman + Diviner but still human, + Solving the riddle old, + Shaping the Age of Gold. + + The love of God and neighbor; + An equal-handed labor; + The richer life, where beauty + Walks hand in hand with duty. + + Ring, bells in unreared steeples, + The joy of unborn peoples! + Sound, trumpets far off blown, + Your triumph is my own! + + Parcel and part of all, + I keep the festival, + Fore-reach the good to be, + And share the victory. + + I feel the earth move sunward, + I join the great march onward, + And take, by faith, while living, + My freehold of thanksgiving. + + 1870. + + + + +IN SCHOOL-DAYS. + + Still sits the school-house by the road, + A ragged beggar sleeping; + Around it still the sumachs grow, + And blackberry-vines are creeping. + + Within, the master's desk is seen, + Deep scarred by raps official; + The warping floor, the battered seats, + The jack-knife's carved initial; + + The charcoal frescos on its wall; + Its door's worn sill, betraying + The feet that, creeping slow to school, + Went storming out to playing! + + Long years ago a winter sun + Shone over it at setting; + Lit up its western window-panes, + And low eaves' icy fretting. + + It touched the tangled golden curls, + And brown eyes full of grieving, + Of one who still her steps delayed + When all the school were leaving. + + For near her stood the little boy + Her childish favor singled: + His cap pulled low upon a face + Where pride and shame were mingled. + + Pushing with restless feet the snow + To right and left, he lingered;-- + As restlessly her tiny hands + The blue-checked apron fingered. + + He saw her lift her eyes; he felt + The soft hand's light caressing, + And heard the tremble of her voice, + As if a fault confessing. + + "I 'm sorry that I spelt the word + I hate to go above you, + Because,"--the brown eyes lower fell,-- + "Because you see, I love you!" + + Still memory to a gray-haired man + That sweet child-face is showing. + Dear girl! the grasses on her grave + Have forty years been growing! + + He lives to learn, in life's hard school, + How few who pass above him + Lament their triumph and his loss, + Like her,--because they love him. + + + + +MY BIRTHDAY. + + Beneath the moonlight and the snow + Lies dead my latest year; + The winter winds are wailing low + Its dirges in my ear. + + I grieve not with the moaning wind + As if a loss befell; + Before me, even as behind, + God is, and all is well! + + His light shines on me from above, + His low voice speaks within,-- + The patience of immortal love + Outwearying mortal sin. + + Not mindless of the growing years + Of care and loss and pain, + My eyes are wet with thankful tears + For blessings which remain. + + If dim the gold of life has grown, + I will not count it dross, + Nor turn from treasures still my own + To sigh for lack and loss. + + The years no charm from Nature take; + As sweet her voices call, + As beautiful her mornings break, + As fair her evenings fall. + + Love watches o'er my quiet ways, + Kind voices speak my name, + And lips that find it hard to praise + Are slow, at least, to blame. + + How softly ebb the tides of will! + How fields, once lost or won, + Now lie behind me green and still + Beneath a level sun. + + How hushed the hiss of party hate, + The clamor of the throng! + How old, harsh voices of debate + Flow into rhythmic song! + + Methinks the spirit's temper grows + Too soft in this still air; + Somewhat the restful heart foregoes + Of needed watch and prayer. + + The bark by tempest vainly tossed + May founder in the calm, + And he who braved the polar frost + Faint by the isles of balm. + + Better than self-indulgent years + The outflung heart of youth, + Than pleasant songs in idle ears + The tumult of the truth. + + Rest for the weary hands is good, + And love for hearts that pine, + But let the manly habitude + Of upright souls be mine. + + Let winds that blow from heaven refresh, + Dear Lord, the languid air; + And let the weakness of the flesh + Thy strength of spirit share. + + And, if the eye must fail of light, + The ear forget to hear, + Make clearer still the spirit's sight, + More fine the inward ear! + + Be near me in mine hours of need + To soothe, or cheer, or warn, + And down these slopes of sunset lead + As up the hills of morn! + + 1871. + + + + +RED RIDING-HOOD. + + On the wide lawn the snow lay deep, + Ridged o'er with many a drifted heap; + The wind that through the pine-trees sung + The naked elm-boughs tossed and swung; + While, through the window, frosty-starred, + Against the sunset purple barred, + We saw the sombre crow flap by, + The hawk's gray fleck along the sky, + The crested blue-jay flitting swift, + The squirrel poising on the drift, + Erect, alert, his broad gray tail + Set to the north wind like a sail. + + It came to pass, our little lass, + With flattened face against the glass, + And eyes in which the tender dew + Of pity shone, stood gazing through + The narrow space her rosy lips + Had melted from the frost's eclipse + "Oh, see," she cried, "the poor blue-jays! + What is it that the black crow says? + The squirrel lifts his little legs + Because he has no hands, and begs; + He's asking for my nuts, I know + May I not feed them on the snow?" + + Half lost within her boots, her head + Warm-sheltered in her hood of red, + Her plaid skirt close about her drawn, + She floundered down the wintry lawn; + Now struggling through the misty veil + Blown round her by the shrieking gale; + Now sinking in a drift so low + Her scarlet hood could scarcely show + Its dash of color on the snow. + + She dropped for bird and beast forlorn + Her little store of nuts and corn, + And thus her timid guests bespoke + "Come, squirrel, from your hollow oak,-- + Come, black old crow,--come, poor blue-jay, + Before your supper's blown away + Don't be afraid, we all are good; + And I'm mamma's Red Riding-Hood!" + + O Thou whose care is over all, + Who heedest even the sparrow's fall, + Keep in the little maiden's breast + The pity which is now its guest! + Let not her cultured years make less + The childhood charm of tenderness, + But let her feel as well as know, + Nor harder with her polish grow! + Unmoved by sentimental grief + That wails along some printed leaf, + But, prompt with kindly word and deed + To own the claims of all who need, + Let the grown woman's self make good + The promise of Red Riding-Hood. + + 1877. + + + + +RESPONSE. + +On the occasion of my seventieth birthday in 1877, I was the recipient +of many tokens of esteem. The publishers of the _Atlantic Monthly_ gave +a dinner in my name, and the editor of _The Literary World_ gathered in +his paper many affectionate messages from my associates in literature +and the cause of human progress. The lines which follow were written in +acknowledgment. + + Beside that milestone where the level sun, + Nigh unto setting, sheds his last, low rays + On word and work irrevocably done, + Life's blending threads of good and ill outspun, + I hear, O friends! your words of cheer and praise, + Half doubtful if myself or otherwise. + Like him who, in the old Arabian joke, + A beggar slept and crowned Caliph woke. + Thanks not the less. With not unglad surprise + I see my life-work through your partial eyes; + Assured, in giving to my home-taught songs + A higher value than of right belongs, + You do but read between the written lines + The finer grace of unfulfilled designs. + + + + +AT EVENTIDE. + + Poor and inadequate the shadow-play + Of gain and loss, of waking and of dream, + Against life's solemn background needs must seem + At this late hour. Yet, not unthankfully, + I call to mind the fountains by the way, + The breath of flowers, the bird-song on the spray, + Dear friends, sweet human loves, the joy of giving + And of receiving, the great boon of living + In grand historic years when Liberty + Had need of word and work, quick sympathies + For all who fail and suffer, song's relief, + Nature's uncloying loveliness; and chief, + The kind restraining hand of Providence, + The inward witness, the assuring sense + Of an Eternal Good which overlies + The sorrow of the world, Love which outlives + All sin and wrong, Compassion which forgives + To the uttermost, and Justice whose clear eyes + Through lapse and failure look to the intent, + And judge our frailty by the life we meant. + + 1878. + + + + +VOYAGE OF THE JETTIE. + +The picturesquely situated Wayside Inn at West Ossipee, N. H., is now in +ashes; and to its former guests these somewhat careless rhymes may be a +not unwelcome reminder of pleasant summers and autumns on the banks of +the Bearcamp and Chocorua. To the author himself they have a special +interest from the fact that they were written, or improvised, under the +eye and for the amusement of a beloved invalid friend whose last earthly +sunsets faded from the mountain ranges of Ossipee and Sandwich. + + + A shallow stream, from fountains + Deep in the Sandwich mountains, + Ran lake ward Bearcamp River; + And, between its flood-torn shores, + Sped by sail or urged by oars + No keel had vexed it ever. + + Alone the dead trees yielding + To the dull axe Time is wielding, + The shy mink and the otter, + And golden leaves and red, + By countless autumns shed, + Had floated down its water. + + From the gray rocks of Cape Ann, + Came a skilled seafaring man, + With his dory, to the right place; + Over hill and plain he brought her, + Where the boatless Beareamp water + Comes winding down from White-Face. + + Quoth the skipper: "Ere she floats forth; + I'm sure my pretty boat's worth, + At least, a name as pretty." + On her painted side he wrote it, + And the flag that o'er her floated + Bore aloft the name of Jettie. + + On a radiant morn of summer, + Elder guest and latest comer + Saw her wed the Bearcamp water; + Heard the name the skipper gave her, + And the answer to the favor + From the Bay State's graceful daughter. + + Then, a singer, richly gifted, + Her charmed voice uplifted; + And the wood-thrush and song-sparrow + Listened, dumb with envious pain, + To the clear and sweet refrain + Whose notes they could not borrow. + + Then the skipper plied his oar, + And from off the shelving shore, + Glided out the strange explorer; + Floating on, she knew not whither,-- + The tawny sands beneath her, + The great hills watching o'er her. + + On, where the stream flows quiet + As the meadows' margins by it, + Or widens out to borrow a + New life from that wild water, + The mountain giant's daughter, + The pine-besung Chocorua. + + Or, mid the tangling cumber + And pack of mountain lumber + That spring floods downward force, + Over sunken snag, and bar + Where the grating shallows are, + The good boat held her course. + + Under the pine-dark highlands, + Around the vine-hung islands, + She ploughed her crooked furrow + And her rippling and her lurches + Scared the river eels and perches, + And the musk-rat in his burrow. + + Every sober clam below her, + Every sage and grave pearl-grower, + Shut his rusty valves the tighter; + Crow called to crow complaining, + And old tortoises sat craning + Their leathern necks to sight her. + + So, to where the still lake glasses + The misty mountain masses + Rising dim and distant northward, + And, with faint-drawn shadow pictures, + Low shores, and dead pine spectres, + Blends the skyward and the earthward, + + On she glided, overladen, + With merry man and maiden + Sending back their song and laughter,-- + While, perchance, a phantom crew, + In a ghostly birch canoe, + Paddled dumb and swiftly after! + + And the bear on Ossipee + Climbed the topmost crag to see + The strange thing drifting under; + And, through the haze of August, + Passaconaway and Paugus + Looked down in sleepy wonder. + + All the pines that o'er her hung + In mimic sea-tones sung + The song familiar to her; + And the maples leaned to screen her, + And the meadow-grass seemed greener, + And the breeze more soft to woo her. + + The lone stream mystery-haunted, + To her the freedom granted + To scan its every feature, + Till new and old were blended, + And round them both extended + The loving arms of Nature. + + Of these hills the little vessel + Henceforth is part and parcel; + And on Bearcamp shall her log + Be kept, as if by George's + Or Grand Menan, the surges + Tossed her skipper through the fog. + + And I, who, half in sadness, + Recall the morning gladness + Of life, at evening time, + By chance, onlooking idly, + Apart from all so widely, + Have set her voyage to rhyme. + + Dies now the gay persistence + Of song and laugh, in distance; + Alone with me remaining + The stream, the quiet meadow, + The hills in shine and shadow, + The sombre pines complaining. + + And, musing here, I dream + Of voyagers on a stream + From whence is no returning, + Under sealed orders going, + Looking forward little knowing, + Looking back with idle yearning. + + And I pray that every venture + The port of peace may enter, + That, safe from snag and fall + And siren-haunted islet, + And rock, the Unseen Pilot + May guide us one and all. + + 1880. + + + + +MY TRUST. + + A picture memory brings to me + I look across the years and see + Myself beside my mother's knee. + + I feel her gentle hand restrain + My selfish moods, and know again + A child's blind sense of wrong and pain. + + But wiser now, a man gray grown, + My childhood's needs are better known, + My mother's chastening love I own. + + Gray grown, but in our Father's sight + A child still groping for the light + To read His works and ways aright. + + I wait, in His good time to see + That as my mother dealt with me + So with His children dealeth He. + + I bow myself beneath His hand + That pain itself was wisely planned + I feel, and partly understand. + + The joy that comes in sorrow's guise, + The sweet pains of self-sacrifice, + I would not have them otherwise. + + And what were life and death if sin + Knew not the dread rebuke within, + The pang of merciful discipline? + + Not with thy proud despair of old, + Crowned stoic of Rome's noblest mould! + Pleasure and pain alike I hold. + + I suffer with no vain pretence + Of triumph over flesh and sense, + Yet trust the grievous providence, + + How dark soe'er it seems, may tend, + By ways I cannot comprehend, + To some unguessed benignant end; + + That every loss and lapse may gain + The clear-aired heights by steps of pain, + And never cross is borne in vain. + + 1880. + + + + +A NAME + +Addressed to my grand-nephew, Greenleaf Whittier Pickard. Jonathan +Greenleaf, in A Genealogy of the Greenleaf Family, says briefly: "From +all that can be gathered, it is believed that the ancestors of the +Greenleaf family were Huguenots, who left France on account of their +religious principles some time in the course of the sixteenth century, +and settled in England. The name was probably translated from the French +Feuillevert." + + + The name the Gallic exile bore, + St. Malo! from thy ancient mart, + Became upon our Western shore + Greenleaf for Feuillevert. + + A name to hear in soft accord + Of leaves by light winds overrun, + Or read, upon the greening sward + Of May, in shade and sun. + + The name my infant ear first heard + Breathed softly with a mother's kiss; + His mother's own, no tenderer word + My father spake than this. + + No child have I to bear it on; + Be thou its keeper; let it take + From gifts well used and duty done + New beauty for thy sake. + + The fair ideals that outran + My halting footsteps seek and find-- + The flawless symmetry of man, + The poise of heart and mind. + + Stand firmly where I felt the sway + Of every wing that fancy flew, + See clearly where I groped my way, + Nor real from seeming knew. + + And wisely choose, and bravely hold + Thy faith unswerved by cross or crown, + Like the stout Huguenot of old + Whose name to thee comes down. + + As Marot's songs made glad the heart + Of that lone exile, haply mine + May in life's heavy hours impart + Some strength and hope to thine. + + Yet when did Age transfer to Youth + The hard-gained lessons of its day? + Each lip must learn the taste of truth, + Each foot must feel its way. + + We cannot hold the hands of choice + That touch or shun life's fateful keys; + The whisper of the inward voice + Is more than homilies. + + Dear boy! for whom the flowers are born, + Stars shine, and happy song-birds sing, + What can my evening give to morn, + My winter to thy spring! + + A life not void of pure intent, + With small desert of praise or blame, + The love I felt, the good I meant, + I leave thee with my name. + + 1880. + + + + +GREETING. + +Originally prefixed to the volume, The King's Missive and other Poems. + + + I spread a scanty board too late; + The old-time guests for whom I wait + Come few and slow, methinks, to-day. + Ah! who could hear my messages + Across the dim unsounded seas + On which so many have sailed away! + + Come, then, old friends, who linger yet, + And let us meet, as we have met, + Once more beneath this low sunshine; + And grateful for the good we 've known, + The riddles solved, the ills outgrown, + Shake bands upon the border line. + + The favor, asked too oft before, + From your indulgent ears, once more + I crave, and, if belated lays + To slower, feebler measures move, + The silent, sympathy of love + To me is dearer now than praise. + + And ye, O younger friends, for whom + My hearth and heart keep open room, + Come smiling through the shadows long, + Be with me while the sun goes down, + And with your cheerful voices drown + The minor of my even-song. + + For, equal through the day and night, + The wise Eternal oversight + And love and power and righteous will + Remain: the law of destiny + The best for each and all must be, + And life its promise shall fulfil. + + 1881. + + + + +AN AUTOGRAPH. + + I write my name as one, + On sands by waves o'errun + Or winter's frosted pane, + Traces a record vain. + + Oblivion's blankness claims + Wiser and better names, + And well my own may pass + As from the strand or glass. + + Wash on, O waves of time! + Melt, noons, the frosty rime! + Welcome the shadow vast, + The silence that shall last. + + When I and all who know + And love me vanish so, + What harm to them or me + Will the lost memory be? + + If any words of mine, + Through right of life divine, + Remain, what matters it + Whose hand the message writ? + + Why should the "crowner's quest" + Sit on my worst or best? + Why should the showman claim + The poor ghost of my name? + + Yet, as when dies a sound + Its spectre lingers round, + Haply my spent life will + Leave some faint echo still. + + A whisper giving breath + Of praise or blame to death, + Soothing or saddening such + As loved the living much. + + Therefore with yearnings vain + And fond I still would fain + A kindly judgment seek, + A tender thought bespeak. + + And, while my words are read, + Let this at least be said + "Whate'er his life's defeatures, + He loved his fellow-creatures. + + "If, of the Law's stone table, + To hold he scarce was able + The first great precept fast, + He kept for man the last. + + "Through mortal lapse and dulness + What lacks the Eternal Fulness, + If still our weakness can + Love Him in loving man? + + "Age brought him no despairing + Of the world's future faring; + In human nature still + He found more good than ill. + + "To all who dumbly suffered, + His tongue and pen he offered; + His life was not his own, + Nor lived for self alone. + + "Hater of din and riot + He lived in days unquiet; + And, lover of all beauty, + Trod the hard ways of duty. + + "He meant no wrong to any + He sought the good of many, + Yet knew both sin and folly,-- + May God forgive him wholly!" + + 1882. + + + + +ABRAM MORRISON. + + 'Midst the men and things which will + Haunt an old man's memory still, + Drollest, quaintest of them all, + With a boy's laugh I recall + Good old Abram Morrison. + + When the Grist and Rolling Mill + Ground and rumbled by Po Hill, + And the old red school-house stood + Midway in the Powow's flood, + Here dwelt Abram Morrison. + + From the Beach to far beyond + Bear-Hill, Lion's Mouth and Pond, + Marvellous to our tough old stock, + Chips o' the Anglo-Saxon block, + Seemed the Celtic Morrison. + + Mudknock, Balmawhistle, all + Only knew the Yankee drawl, + Never brogue was heard till when, + Foremost of his countrymen, + Hither came Friend Morrison; + + Yankee born, of alien blood, + Kin of his had well withstood + Pope and King with pike and ball + Under Derry's leaguered wall, + As became the Morrisons. + + Wandering down from Nutfield woods + With his household and his goods, + Never was it clearly told + How within our quiet fold + Came to be a Morrison. + + Once a soldier, blame him not + That the Quaker he forgot, + When, to think of battles won, + And the red-coats on the run, + Laughed aloud Friend Morrison. + + From gray Lewis over sea + Bore his sires their family tree, + On the rugged boughs of it + Grafting Irish mirth and wit, + And the brogue of Morrison. + + Half a genius, quick to plan, + Blundering like an Irishman, + But with canny shrewdness lent + By his far-off Scotch descent, + Such was Abram Morrison. + + Back and forth to daily meals, + Rode his cherished pig on wheels, + And to all who came to see + "Aisier for the pig an' me, + Sure it is," said Morrison. + + Simple-hearted, boy o'er-grown, + With a humor quite his own, + Of our sober-stepping ways, + Speech and look and cautious phrase, + Slow to learn was Morrison. + + Much we loved his stories told + Of a country strange and old, + Where the fairies danced till dawn, + And the goblin Leprecaun + Looked, we thought, like Morrison. + + Or wild tales of feud and fight, + Witch and troll and second sight + Whispered still where Stornoway + Looks across its stormy bay, + Once the home of Morrisons. + + First was he to sing the praise + Of the Powow's winding ways; + And our straggling village took + City grandeur to the look + Of its poet Morrison. + + All his words have perished. Shame + On the saddle-bags of Fame, + That they bring not to our time + One poor couplet of the rhyme + Made by Abram Morrison! + + When, on calm and fair First Days, + Rattled down our one-horse chaise, + Through the blossomed apple-boughs + To the old, brown meeting-house, + There was Abram Morrison. + + Underneath his hat's broad brim + Peered the queer old face of him; + And with Irish jauntiness + Swung the coat-tails of the dress + Worn by Abram Morrison. + + Still, in memory, on his feet, + Leaning o'er the elders' seat, + Mingling with a solemn drone, + Celtic accents all his own, + Rises Abram Morrison. + + "Don't," he's pleading, "don't ye go, + Dear young friends, to sight and show, + Don't run after elephants, + Learned pigs and presidents + And the likes!" said Morrison. + + On his well-worn theme intent, + Simple, child-like, innocent, + Heaven forgive the half-checked smile + Of our careless boyhood, while + Listening to Friend Morrison! + + We have learned in later days + Truth may speak in simplest phrase; + That the man is not the less + For quaint ways and home-spun dress, + Thanks to Abram Morrison! + + Not to pander nor to please + Come the needed homilies, + With no lofty argument + Is the fitting message sent, + Through such lips as Morrison's. + + Dead and gone! But while its track + Powow keeps to Merrimac, + While Po Hill is still on guard, + Looking land and ocean ward, + They shall tell of Morrison! + + After half a century's lapse, + We are wiser now, perhaps, + But we miss our streets amid + Something which the past has hid, + Lost with Abram Morrison. + + Gone forever with the queer + Characters of that old year + Now the many are as one; + Broken is the mould that run + Men like Abram Morrison. + + 1884. + + + + +A LEGACY + + Friend of my many years + When the great silence falls, at last, on me, + Let me not leave, to pain and sadden thee, + A memory of tears, + + But pleasant thoughts alone + Of one who was thy friendship's honored guest + And drank the wine of consolation pressed + From sorrows of thy own. + + I leave with thee a sense + Of hands upheld and trials rendered less-- + The unselfish joy which is to helpfulness + Its own great recompense; + + The knowledge that from thine, + As from the garments of the Master, stole + Calmness and strength, the virtue which makes whole + And heals without a sign; + + Yea more, the assurance strong + That love, which fails of perfect utterance here, + Lives on to fill the heavenly atmosphere + With its immortal song. + + 1887. + + + + + +RELIGIOUS POEMS + + + + +THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM + + Where Time the measure of his hours + By changeful bud and blossom keeps, + And, like a young bride crowned with flowers, + Fair Shiraz in her garden sleeps; + + Where, to her poet's turban stone, + The Spring her gift of flowers imparts, + Less sweet than those his thoughts have sown + In the warm soil of Persian hearts: + + There sat the stranger, where the shade + Of scattered date-trees thinly lay, + While in the hot clear heaven delayed + The long and still and weary day. + + Strange trees and fruits above him hung, + Strange odors filled the sultry air, + Strange birds upon the branches swung, + Strange insect voices murmured there. + + And strange bright blossoms shone around, + Turned sunward from the shadowy bowers, + As if the Gheber's soul had found + A fitting home in Iran's flowers. + + Whate'er he saw, whate'er he heard, + Awakened feelings new and sad,-- + No Christian garb, nor Christian word, + Nor church with Sabbath-bell chimes glad, + + But Moslem graves, with turban stones, + And mosque-spires gleaming white, in view, + And graybeard Mollahs in low tones + Chanting their Koran service through. + + The flowers which smiled on either hand, + Like tempting fiends, were such as they + Which once, o'er all that Eastern land, + As gifts on demon altars lay. + + As if the burning eye of Baal + The servant of his Conqueror knew, + From skies which knew no cloudy veil, + The Sun's hot glances smote him through. + + "Ah me!" the lonely stranger said, + "The hope which led my footsteps on, + And light from heaven around them shed, + O'er weary wave and waste, is gone! + + "Where are the harvest fields all white, + For Truth to thrust her sickle in? + Where flock the souls, like doves in flight, + From the dark hiding-place of sin? + + "A silent-horror broods o'er all,-- + The burden of a hateful spell,-- + The very flowers around recall + The hoary magi's rites of hell! + + "And what am I, o'er such a land + The banner of the Cross to bear? + Dear Lord, uphold me with Thy hand, + Thy strength with human weakness share!" + + He ceased; for at his very feet + In mild rebuke a floweret smiled; + How thrilled his sinking heart to greet + The Star-flower of the Virgin's child! + + Sown by some wandering Frank, it drew + Its life from alien air and earth, + And told to Paynim sun and dew + The story of the Saviour's birth. + + From scorching beams, in kindly mood, + The Persian plants its beauty screened, + And on its pagan sisterhood, + In love, the Christian floweret leaned. + + With tears of joy the wanderer felt + The darkness of his long despair + Before that hallowed symbol melt, + Which God's dear love had nurtured there. + + From Nature's face, that simple flower + The lines of sin and sadness swept; + And Magian pile and Paynim bower + In peace like that of Eden slept. + + Each Moslem tomb, and cypress old, + Looked holy through the sunset air; + And, angel-like, the Muezzin told + From tower and mosque the hour of prayer. + + With cheerful steps, the morrow's dawn + From Shiraz saw the stranger part; + The Star-flower of the Virgin-Born + Still blooming in his hopeful heart! + + 1830. + + + + +THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN + + "Get ye up from the wrath of God's terrible day! + Ungirded, unsandalled, arise and away! + 'T is the vintage of blood, 't is the fulness of time, + And vengeance shall gather the harvest of crime!" + + The warning was spoken--the righteous had gone, + And the proud ones of Sodom were feasting alone; + All gay was the banquet--the revel was long, + With the pouring of wine and the breathing of song. + + 'T was an evening of beauty; the air was perfume, + The earth was all greenness, the trees were all bloom; + And softly the delicate viol was heard, + Like the murmur of love or the notes of a bird. + + And beautiful maidens moved down in the dance, + With the magic of motion and sunshine of glance + And white arms wreathed lightly, and tresses fell free + As the plumage of birds in some tropical tree. + + Where the shrines of foul idols were lighted on high, + And wantonness tempted the lust of the eye; + Midst rites of obsceneness, strange, loathsome, abhorred, + The blasphemer scoffed at the name of the Lord. + + Hark! the growl of the thunder,--the quaking of earth! + Woe, woe to the worship, and woe to the mirth! + The black sky has opened; there's flame in the air; + The red arm of vengeance is lifted and bare! + + Then the shriek of the dying rose wild where the song + And the low tone of love had been whispered along; + For the fierce flames went lightly o'er palace and bower, + Like the red tongues of demons, to blast and devour! + + Down, down on the fallen the red ruin rained, + And the reveller sank with his wine-cup undrained; + The foot of the dancer, the music's loved thrill, + And the shout and the laughter grew suddenly still. + + The last throb of anguish was fearfully given; + The last eye glared forth in its madness on Heaven! + The last groan of horror rose wildly and vain, + And death brooded over the pride of the Plain! + + 1831. + + + + +THE CALL OF THE CHRISTIAN + + Not always as the whirlwind's rush + On Horeb's mount of fear, + Not always as the burning bush + To Midian's shepherd seer, + Nor as the awful voice which came + To Israel's prophet bards, + Nor as the tongues of cloven flame, + Nor gift of fearful words,-- + + Not always thus, with outward sign + Of fire or voice from Heaven, + The message of a truth divine, + The call of God is given! + Awaking in the human heart + Love for the true and right,-- + Zeal for the Christian's better part, + Strength for the Christian's fight. + + Nor unto manhood's heart alone + The holy influence steals + Warm with a rapture not its own, + The heart of woman feels! + As she who by Samaria's wall + The Saviour's errand sought,-- + As those who with the fervent Paul + And meek Aquila wrought: + + Or those meek ones whose martyrdom + Rome's gathered grandeur saw + Or those who in their Alpine home + Braved the Crusader's war, + When the green Vaudois, trembling, heard, + Through all its vales of death, + The martyr's song of triumph poured + From woman's failing breath. + + And gently, by a thousand things + Which o'er our spirits pass, + Like breezes o'er the harp's fine strings, + Or vapors o'er a glass, + Leaving their token strange and new + Of music or of shade, + The summons to the right and true + And merciful is made. + + Oh, then, if gleams of truth and light + Flash o'er thy waiting mind, + Unfolding to thy mental sight + The wants of human-kind; + If, brooding over human grief, + The earnest wish is known + To soothe and gladden with relief + An anguish not thine own; + + Though heralded with naught of fear, + Or outward sign or show; + Though only to the inward ear + It whispers soft and low; + Though dropping, as the manna fell, + Unseen, yet from above, + Noiseless as dew-fall, heed it well,--- + Thy Father's call of love! + + + + +THE CRUCIFIXION. + + Sunlight upon Judha's hills! + And on the waves of Galilee; + On Jordan's stream, and on the rills + That feed the dead and sleeping sea! + Most freshly from the green wood springs + The light breeze on its scented wings; + And gayly quiver in the sun + The cedar tops of Lebanon! + + A few more hours,--a change hath come! + The sky is dark without a cloud! + The shouts of wrath and joy are dumb, + And proud knees unto earth are bowed. + A change is on the hill of Death, + The helmed watchers pant for breath, + And turn with wild and maniac eyes + From the dark scene of sacrifice! + + That Sacrifice!--the death of Him,-- + The Christ of God, the holy One! + Well may the conscious Heaven grow dim, + And blacken the beholding, Sun. + The wonted light hath fled away, + Night settles on the middle day, + And earthquake from his caverned bed + Is waking with a thrill of dread! + + The dead are waking underneath! + Their prison door is rent away! + And, ghastly with the seal of death, + They wander in the eye of day! + The temple of the Cherubim, + The House of God is cold and dim; + A curse is on its trembling walls, + Its mighty veil asunder falls! + + Well may the cavern-depths of Earth + Be shaken, and her mountains nod; + Well may the sheeted dead come forth + To see the suffering son of God! + Well may the temple-shrine grow dim, + And shadows veil the Cherubim, + When He, the chosen one of Heaven, + A sacrifice for guilt is given! + + And shall the sinful heart, alone, + Behold unmoved the fearful hour, + When Nature trembled on her throne, + And Death resigned his iron power? + Oh, shall the heart--whose sinfulness + Gave keenness to His sore distress, + And added to His tears of blood-- + Refuse its trembling gratitude! + + 1834. + + + + +PALESTINE + + Blest land of Judaea! thrice hallowed of song, + Where the holiest of memories pilgrim-like throng; + In the shade of thy palms, by the shores of thy sea, + On the hills of thy beauty, my heart is with thee. + + With the eye of a spirit I look on that shore + Where pilgrim and prophet have lingered before; + With the glide of a spirit I traverse the sod + Made bright by the steps of the angels of God. + + Blue sea of the hills! in my spirit I hear + Thy waters, Gennesaret, chime on my ear; + Where the Lowly and Just with the people sat down, + And thy spray on the dust of His sandals was thrown. + + Beyond are Bethulia's mountains of green, + And the desolate hills of the wild Gadarene; + And I pause on the goat-crags of Tabor to see + The gleam of thy waters, O dark Galilee! + + Hark, a sound in the valley! where, swollen and strong, + Thy river, O Kishon, is sweeping along; + Where the Canaanite strove with Jehovah in vain, + And thy torrent grew dark with the blood of the slain. + + There down from his mountains stern Zebulon came, + And Naphthali's stag, with his eyeballs of flame, + And the chariots of Jabin rolled harmlessly on, + For the arm of the Lord was Abinoam's son! + + There sleep the still rocks and the caverns which rang + To the song which the beautiful prophetess sang, + When the princes of Issachar stood by her side, + And the shout of a host in its triumph replied. + + Lo, Bethlehem's hill-site before me is seen, + With the mountains around, and the valleys between; + There rested the shepherds of Judah, and there + The song of the angels rose sweet on the air. + + And Bethany's palm-trees in beauty still throw + Their shadows at noon on the ruins below; + But where are the sisters who hastened to greet + The lowly Redeemer, and sit at His feet? + + I tread where the twelve in their wayfaring trod; + I stand where they stood with the chosen of God-- + Where His blessing was heard and His lessons were taught, + Where the blind were restored and the healing was wrought. + + Oh, here with His flock the sad Wanderer came; + These hills He toiled over in grief are the same; + The founts where He drank by the wayside still flow, + And the same airs are blowing which breathed on His brow! + + And throned on her hills sits Jerusalem yet, + But with dust on her forehead, and chains on her feet; + For the crown of her pride to the mocker hath gone, + And the holy Shechinah is dark where it shone. + + But wherefore this dream of the earthly abode + Of Humanity clothed in the brightness of God? + Were my spirit but turned from the outward and dim, + It could gaze, even now, on the presence of Him! + + Not in clouds and in terrors, but gentle as when, + In love and in meekness, He moved among men; + And the voice which breathed peace to the waves of the sea + In the hush of my spirit would whisper to me! + + And what if my feet may not tread where He stood, + Nor my ears hear the dashing of Galilee's flood, + Nor my eyes see the cross which he bowed Him to bear, + Nor my knees press Gethsemane's garden of prayer. + + Yet, Loved of the Father, Thy Spirit is near + To the meek, and the lowly, and penitent here; + And the voice of Thy love is the same even now + As at Bethany's tomb or on Olivet's brow. + + Oh, the outward hath gone! but in glory and power. + The spirit surviveth the things of an hour; + Unchanged, undecaying, its Pentecost flame + On the heart's secret altar is burning the same + + 1837. + + + + + +HYMNS. + + + + +FROM THE FRENCH OF LAMARTINE + + I. + "Encore un hymne, O ma lyre + Un hymn pour le Seigneur, + Un hymne dans mon delire, + Un hymne dans mon bonheur." + + + One hymn more, O my lyre! + Praise to the God above, + Of joy and life and love, + Sweeping its strings of fire! + + Oh, who the speed of bird and wind + And sunbeam's glance will lend to me, + That, soaring upward, I may find + My resting-place and home in Thee? + Thou, whom my soul, midst doubt and gloom, + Adoreth with a fervent flame,-- + Mysterious spirit! unto whom + Pertain nor sign nor name! + + Swiftly my lyre's soft murmurs go, + Up from the cold and joyless earth, + Back to the God who bade them flow, + Whose moving spirit sent them forth. + But as for me, O God! for me, + The lowly creature of Thy will, + Lingering and sad, I sigh to Thee, + An earth-bound pilgrim still! + + Was not my spirit born to shine + Where yonder stars and suns are glowing? + To breathe with them the light divine + From God's own holy altar flowing? + To be, indeed, whate'er the soul + In dreams hath thirsted for so long,-- + A portion of heaven's glorious whole + Of loveliness and song? + + Oh, watchers of the stars at night, + Who breathe their fire, as we the air,-- + Suns, thunders, stars, and rays of light, + Oh, say, is He, the Eternal, there? + Bend there around His awful throne + The seraph's glance, the angel's knee? + Or are thy inmost depths His own, + O wild and mighty sea? + + Thoughts of my soul, how swift ye go! + Swift as the eagle's glance of fire, + Or arrows from the archer's bow, + To the far aim of your desire! + Thought after thought, ye thronging rise, + Like spring-doves from the startled wood, + Bearing like them your sacrifice + Of music unto God! + + And shall these thoughts of joy and love + Come back again no more to me? + Returning like the patriarch's dove + Wing-weary from the eternal sea, + To bear within my longing arms + The promise-bough of kindlier skies, + Plucked from the green, immortal palms + Which shadow Paradise? + + All-moving spirit! freely forth + At Thy command the strong wind goes + Its errand to the passive earth, + Nor art can stay, nor strength oppose, + Until it folds its weary wing + Once more within the hand divine; + So, weary from its wandering, + My spirit turns to Thine! + + Child of the sea, the mountain stream, + From its dark caverns, hurries on, + Ceaseless, by night and morning's beam, + By evening's star and noontide's sun, + Until at last it sinks to rest, + O'erwearied, in the waiting sea, + And moans upon its mother's breast,-- + So turns my soul to Thee! + + O Thou who bidst the torrent flow, + Who lendest wings unto the wind,-- + Mover of all things! where art Thou? + Oh, whither shall I go to find + The secret of Thy resting-place? + Is there no holy wing for me, + That, soaring, I may search the space + Of highest heaven for Thee? + + Oh, would I were as free to rise + As leaves on autumn's whirlwind borne,-- + The arrowy light of sunset skies, + Or sound, or ray, or star of morn, + Which melts in heaven at twilight's close, + Or aught which soars unchecked and free + Through earth and heaven; that I might lose + Myself in finding Thee! + + + II. + LE CRI DE L'AME. + + "Quand le souffle divin qui flotte sur le monde." + + When the breath divine is flowing, + Zephyr-like o'er all things going, + And, as the touch of viewless fingers, + Softly on my soul it lingers, + Open to a breath the lightest, + Conscious of a touch the slightest,-- + As some calm, still lake, whereon + Sinks the snowy-bosomed swan, + And the glistening water-rings + Circle round her moving wings + When my upward gaze is turning + Where the stars of heaven are burning + Through the deep and dark abyss, + Flowers of midnight's wilderness, + Blowing with the evening's breath + Sweetly in their Maker's path + When the breaking day is flushing + All the east, and light is gushing + Upward through the horizon's haze, + Sheaf-like, with its thousand rays, + Spreading, until all above + Overflows with joy and love, + And below, on earth's green bosom, + All is changed to light and blossom: + + When my waking fancies over + Forms of brightness flit and hover + Holy as the seraphs are, + Who by Zion's fountains wear + On their foreheads, white and broad, + "Holiness unto the Lord!" + When, inspired with rapture high, + It would seem a single sigh + Could a world of love create; + That my life could know no date, + And my eager thoughts could fill + Heaven and Earth, o'erflowing still! + + Then, O Father! Thou alone, + From the shadow of Thy throne, + To the sighing of my breast + And its rapture answerest. + All my thoughts, which, upward winging, + Bathe where Thy own light is springing,-- + All my yearnings to be free + Are at echoes answering Thee! + + Seldom upon lips of mine, + Father! rests that name of Thine; + Deep within my inmost breast, + In the secret place of mind, + Like an awful presence shrined, + Doth the dread idea rest + Hushed and holy dwells it there, + Prompter of the silent prayer, + Lifting up my spirit's eye + And its faint, but earnest cry, + From its dark and cold abode, + Unto Thee, my Guide and God! + + 1837 + + + + +THE FAMILIST'S HYMN. + +The Puritans of New England, even in their wilderness home, were not +exempted from the sectarian contentions which agitated the mother +country after the downfall of Charles the First, and of the established +Episcopacy. The Quakers, Baptists, and Catholics were banished, on pain +of death, from the Massachusetts Colony. One Samuel Gorton, a bold and +eloquent declaimer, after preaching for a time in Boston against the +doctrines of the Puritans, and declaring that their churches were mere +human devices, and their sacrament and baptism an abomination, was +driven out of the jurisdiction of the colony, and compelled to seek a +residence among the savages. He gathered round him a considerable number +of converts, who, like the primitive Christians, shared all things in +common. His opinions, however, were so troublesome to the leading clergy +of the colony, that they instigated an attack upon his "Family" by an +armed force, which seized upon the principal men in it, and brought them +into Massachusetts, where they were sentenced to be kept at hard labor +in several towns (one only in each town), during the pleasure of the +General Court, they being forbidden, under severe penalties, to utter +any of their religious sentiments, except to such ministers as might +labor for their conversion. They were unquestionably sincere in their +opinions, and, whatever may have been their errors, deserve to be ranked +among those who have in all ages suffered for the freedom of conscience. + + + Father! to Thy suffering poor + Strength and grace and faith impart, + And with Thy own love restore + Comfort to the broken heart! + Oh, the failing ones confirm + With a holier strength of zeal! + Give Thou not the feeble worm + Helpless to the spoiler's heel! + + Father! for Thy holy sake + We are spoiled and hunted thus; + Joyful, for Thy truth we take + Bonds and burthens unto us + Poor, and weak, and robbed of all, + Weary with our daily task, + That Thy truth may never fall + Through our weakness, Lord, we ask. + + Round our fired and wasted homes + Flits the forest-bird unscared, + And at noon the wild beast comes + Where our frugal meal was shared; + For the song of praises there + Shrieks the crow the livelong day; + For the sound of evening prayer + Howls the evil beast of prey! + + Sweet the songs we loved to sing + Underneath Thy holy sky; + Words and tones that used to bring + Tears of joy in every eye; + Dear the wrestling hours of prayer, + When we gathered knee to knee, + Blameless youth and hoary hair, + Bowed, O God, alone to Thee. + + As Thine early children, Lord, + Shared their wealth and daily bread, + Even so, with one accord, + We, in love, each other fed. + Not with us the miser's hoard, + Not with us his grasping hand; + Equal round a common board, + Drew our meek and brother band! + + Safe our quiet Eden lay + When the war-whoop stirred the land + And the Indian turned away + From our home his bloody hand. + Well that forest-ranger saw, + That the burthen and the curse + Of the white man's cruel law + Rested also upon us. + + Torn apart, and driven forth + To our toiling hard and long, + Father! from the dust of earth + Lift we still our grateful song! + Grateful, that in bonds we share + In Thy love which maketh free; + Joyful, that the wrongs we bear, + Draw us nearer, Lord, to Thee! + + Grateful! that where'er we toil,-- + By Wachuset's wooded side, + On Nantucket's sea-worn isle, + Or by wild Neponset's tide,-- + Still, in spirit, we are near, + And our evening hymns, which rise + Separate and discordant here, + Meet and mingle in the skies! + + Let the scoffer scorn and mock, + Let the proud and evil priest + Rob the needy of his flock, + For his wine-cup and his feast,-- + Redden not Thy bolts in store + Through the blackness of Thy skies? + For the sighing of the poor + Wilt Thou not, at length, arise? + + Worn and wasted, oh! how long + Shall thy trodden poor complain? + In Thy name they bear the wrong, + In Thy cause the bonds of pain! + Melt oppression's heart of steel, + Let the haughty priesthood see, + And their blinded followers feel, + That in us they mock at Thee! + + In Thy time, O Lord of hosts, + Stretch abroad that hand to save + Which of old, on Egypt's coasts, + Smote apart the Red Sea's wave + Lead us from this evil land, + From the spoiler set us free, + And once more our gathered band, + Heart to heart, shall worship Thee! + + 1838. + + + + +EZEKIEL + +Also, thou son of man, the children of thy people still are talking +against thee by the walls and in the doors of the houses, and speak one +to another, every one to his brother, saying, Come, I pray you, and hear +what is the word that cometh forth from the Lord. And they come unto +thee as the people cometh, and they sit before thee as my people, and +they hear thy words, but they will not do them: for with their mouth +they skew much love, but their heart goeth after their covetousness. +And, lo, thou art unto them as a very lovely song of one that hath a +pleasant voice, and can play well on an instrument: for they hear thy +words, but they do them not. And when this cometh to pass, (lo, it will +come,) then shall they know that a prophet hath been among them.-- +EZEKIEL, xxxiii. 30-33. + + + They hear Thee not, O God! nor see; + Beneath Thy rod they mock at Thee; + The princes of our ancient line + Lie drunken with Assyrian wine; + The priests around Thy altar speak + The false words which their hearers seek; + And hymns which Chaldea's wanton maids + Have sung in Dura's idol-shades + Are with the Levites' chant ascending, + With Zion's holiest anthems blending! + + On Israel's bleeding bosom set, + The heathen heel is crushing yet; + The towers upon our holy hill + Echo Chaldean footsteps still. + Our wasted shrines,--who weeps for them? + Who mourneth for Jerusalem? + Who turneth from his gains away? + Whose knee with mine is bowed to pray? + Who, leaving feast and purpling cup, + Takes Zion's lamentation up? + + A sad and thoughtful youth, I went + With Israel's early banishment; + And where the sullen Chebar crept, + The ritual of my fathers kept. + The water for the trench I drew, + The firstling of the flock I slew, + And, standing at the altar's side, + I shared the Levites' lingering pride, + That still, amidst her mocking foes, + The smoke of Zion's offering rose. + + In sudden whirlwind, cloud and flame, + The Spirit of the Highest came! + Before mine eyes a vision passed, + A glory terrible and vast; + With dreadful eyes of living things, + And sounding sweep of angel wings, + With circling light and sapphire throne, + And flame-like form of One thereon, + And voice of that dread Likeness sent + Down from the crystal firmament! + + The burden of a prophet's power + Fell on me in that fearful hour; + From off unutterable woes + The curtain of the future rose; + I saw far down the coming time + The fiery chastisement of crime; + With noise of mingling hosts, and jar + Of falling towers and shouts of war, + I saw the nations rise and fall, + Like fire-gleams on my tent's white wall. + + In dream and trance, I--saw the slain + Of Egypt heaped like harvest grain. + I saw the walls of sea-born Tyre + Swept over by the spoiler's fire; + And heard the low, expiring moan + Of Edom on his rocky throne; + And, woe is me! the wild lament + From Zion's desolation sent; + And felt within my heart each blow + Which laid her holy places low. + + In bonds and sorrow, day by day, + Before the pictured tile I lay; + And there, as in a mirror, saw + The coming of Assyria's war; + Her swarthy lines of spearmen pass + Like locusts through Bethhoron's grass; + I saw them draw their stormy hem + Of battle round Jerusalem; + And, listening, heard the Hebrew wail! + + Blend with the victor-trump of Baal! + Who trembled at my warning word? + Who owned the prophet of the Lord? + How mocked the rude, how scoffed the vile, + How stung the Levites' scornful smile, + As o'er my spirit, dark and slow, + The shadow crept of Israel's woe + As if the angel's mournful roll + Had left its record on my soul, + And traced in lines of darkness there + The picture of its great despair! + + Yet ever at the hour I feel + My lips in prophecy unseal. + Prince, priest, and Levite gather near, + And Salem's daughters haste to hear, + On Chebar's waste and alien shore, + The harp of Judah swept once more. + They listen, as in Babel's throng + The Chaldeans to the dancer's song, + Or wild sabbeka's nightly play,-- + As careless and as vain as they. + + . . . . . + + And thus, O Prophet-bard of old, + Hast thou thy tale of sorrow told + The same which earth's unwelcome seers + Have felt in all succeeding years. + Sport of the changeful multitude, + Nor calmly heard nor understood, + Their song has seemed a trick of art, + Their warnings but, the actor's part. + With bonds, and scorn, and evil will, + The world requites its prophets still. + + So was it when the Holy One + The garments of the flesh put on + Men followed where the Highest led + For common gifts of daily bread, + And gross of ear, of vision dim, + Owned not the Godlike power of Him. + Vain as a dreamer's words to them + His wail above Jerusalem, + And meaningless the watch He kept + Through which His weak disciples slept. + + Yet shrink not thou, whoe'er thou art, + For God's great purpose set apart, + Before whose far-discerning eyes, + The Future as the Present lies! + Beyond a narrow-bounded age + Stretches thy prophet-heritage, + Through Heaven's vast spaces angel-trod, + And through the eternal years of God + Thy audience, worlds!--all things to be + The witness of the Truth in thee! + + 1844. + + + + +WHAT THE VOICE SAID + + MADDENED by Earth's wrong and evil, + "Lord!" I cried in sudden ire, + "From Thy right hand, clothed with thunder, + Shake the bolted fire! + + "Love is lost, and Faith is dying; + With the brute the man is sold; + And the dropping blood of labor + Hardens into gold. + + "Here the dying wail of Famine, + There the battle's groan of pain; + And, in silence, smooth-faced Mammon + Reaping men like grain. + + "'Where is God, that we should fear Him?' + Thus the earth-born Titans say + 'God! if Thou art living, hear us!' + Thus the weak ones pray." + + "Thou, the patient Heaven upbraiding," + Spake a solemn Voice within; + "Weary of our Lord's forbearance, + Art thou free from sin? + + "Fearless brow to Him uplifting, + Canst thou for His thunders call, + Knowing that to guilt's attraction + Evermore they fall? + + "Know'st thou not all germs of evil + In thy heart await their time? + Not thyself, but God's restraining, + Stays their growth of crime. + + "Couldst thou boast, O child of weakness! + O'er the sons of wrong and strife, + Were their strong temptations planted + In thy path of life? + + "Thou hast seen two streamlets gushing + From one fountain, clear and free, + But by widely varying channels + Searching for the sea. + + "Glideth one through greenest valleys, + Kissing them with lips still sweet; + One, mad roaring down the mountains, + Stagnates at their feet. + + "Is it choice whereby the Parsee + Kneels before his mother's fire? + In his black tent did the Tartar + Choose his wandering sire? + + "He alone, whose hand is bounding + Human power and human will, + Looking through each soul's surrounding, + Knows its good or ill. + + "For thyself, while wrong and sorrow + Make to thee their strong appeal, + Coward wert thou not to utter + What the heart must feel. + + "Earnest words must needs be spoken + When the warm heart bleeds or burns + With its scorn of wrong, or pity + For the wronged, by turns. + + "But, by all thy nature's weakness, + Hidden faults and follies known, + Be thou, in rebuking evil, + Conscious of thine own. + + "Not the less shall stern-eyed Duty + To thy lips her trumpet set, + But with harsher blasts shall mingle + Wailings of regret." + + Cease not, Voice of holy speaking, + Teacher sent of God, be near, + Whispering through the day's cool silence, + Let my spirit hear! + + So, when thoughts of evil-doers + Waken scorn, or hatred move, + Shall a mournful fellow-feeling + Temper all with love. + + 1847. + + + + +THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE. + +A FREE PARAPHRASE OF THE GERMAN. + + To weary hearts, to mourning homes, + God's meekest Angel gently comes + No power has he to banish pain, + Or give us back our lost again; + And yet in tenderest love, our dear + And Heavenly Father sends him here. + + There's quiet in that Angel's glance, + There 's rest in his still countenance! + He mocks no grief with idle cheer, + Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear; + But ills and woes he may not cure + He kindly trains us to endure. + + Angel of Patience! sent to calm + Our feverish brows with cooling palm; + To lay the storms of hope and fear, + And reconcile life's smile and tear; + The throbs of wounded pride to still, + And make our own our Father's will. + + O thou who mournest on thy way, + With longings for the close of day; + He walks with thee, that Angel kind, + And gently whispers, "Be resigned + Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell + The dear Lord ordereth all things well!" + + 1847. + + + + +THE WIFE OF MANOAH TO HER HUSBAND. + + Against the sunset's glowing wall + The city towers rise black and tall, + Where Zorah, on its rocky height, + Stands like an armed man in the light. + + Down Eshtaol's vales of ripened grain + Falls like a cloud the night amain, + And up the hillsides climbing slow + The barley reapers homeward go. + + Look, dearest! how our fair child's head + The sunset light hath hallowed, + Where at this olive's foot he lies, + Uplooking to the tranquil skies. + + Oh, while beneath the fervent heat + Thy sickle swept the bearded wheat, + I've watched, with mingled joy and dread, + Our child upon his grassy bed. + + Joy, which the mother feels alone + Whose morning hope like mine had flown, + When to her bosom, over-blessed, + A dearer life than hers is pressed. + + Dread, for the future dark and still, + Which shapes our dear one to its will; + Forever in his large calm eyes, + I read a tale of sacrifice. + + The same foreboding awe I felt + When at the altar's side we knelt, + And he, who as a pilgrim came, + Rose, winged and glorious, through the flame. + + I slept not, though the wild bees made + A dreamlike murmuring in the shade, + And on me the warm-fingered hours + Pressed with the drowsy smell of flowers. + + Before me, in a vision, rose + The hosts of Israel's scornful foes,-- + Rank over rank, helm, shield, and spear, + Glittered in noon's hot atmosphere. + + I heard their boast, and bitter word, + Their mockery of the Hebrew's Lord, + I saw their hands His ark assail, + Their feet profane His holy veil. + + No angel down the blue space spoke, + No thunder from the still sky broke; + But in their midst, in power and awe, + Like God's waked wrath, our child I saw! + + A child no more!--harsh-browed and strong, + He towered a giant in the throng, + And down his shoulders, broad and bare, + Swept the black terror of his hair. + + He raised his arm--he smote amain; + As round the reaper falls the grain, + So the dark host around him fell, + So sank the foes of Israel! + + Again I looked. In sunlight shone + The towers and domes of Askelon; + Priest, warrior, slave, a mighty crowd + Within her idol temple bowed. + + Yet one knelt not; stark, gaunt, and blind, + His arms the massive pillars twined,-- + An eyeless captive, strong with hate, + He stood there like an evil Fate. + + The red shrines smoked,--the trumpets pealed + He stooped,--the giant columns reeled; + Reeled tower and fane, sank arch and wall, + And the thick dust-cloud closed o'er all! + + Above the shriek, the crash, the groan + Of the fallen pride of Askelon, + I heard, sheer down the echoing sky, + A voice as of an angel cry,-- + + The voice of him, who at our side + Sat through the golden eventide; + Of him who, on thy altar's blaze, + Rose fire-winged, with his song of praise. + + "Rejoice o'er Israel's broken chain, + Gray mother of the mighty slain! + Rejoice!" it cried, "he vanquisheth! + The strong in life is strong in death! + + "To him shall Zorah's daughters raise + Through coming years their hymns of praise, + And gray old men at evening tell + Of all he wrought for Israel. + + "And they who sing and they who hear + Alike shall hold thy memory dear, + And pour their blessings on thy head, + O mother of the mighty dead!" + + It ceased; and though a sound I heard + As if great wings the still air stirred, + I only saw the barley sheaves + And hills half hid by olive leaves. + + I bowed my face, in awe and fear, + On the dear child who slumbered near; + "With me, as with my only son, + O God," I said, "Thy will be done!" + + 1847. + + + + +MY SOUL AND I + + Stand still, my soul, in the silent dark + I would question thee, + Alone in the shadow drear and stark + With God and me! + + What, my soul, was thy errand here? + Was it mirth or ease, + Or heaping up dust from year to year? + "Nay, none of these!" + + Speak, soul, aright in His holy sight + Whose eye looks still + And steadily on thee through the night + "To do His will!" + + What hast thou done, O soul of mine, + That thou tremblest so? + Hast thou wrought His task, and kept the line + He bade thee go? + + Aha! thou tremblest!--well I see + Thou 'rt craven grown. + Is it so hard with God and me + To stand alone? + + Summon thy sunshine bravery back, + O wretched sprite! + Let me hear thy voice through this deep and black + Abysmal night. + + What hast thou wrought for Right and Truth, + For God and Man, + From the golden hours of bright-eyed youth + To life's mid span? + + What, silent all! art sad of cheer? + Art fearful now? + When God seemed far and men were near, + How brave wert thou! + + Ah, soul of mine, thy tones I hear, + But weak and low, + Like far sad murmurs on my ear + They come and go. + + I have wrestled stoutly with the Wrong, + And borne the Right + From beneath the footfall of the throng + To life and light. + + "Wherever Freedom shivered a chain, + God speed, quoth I; + To Error amidst her shouting train + I gave the lie." + + Ah, soul of mine! ah, soul of mine! + Thy deeds are well: + Were they wrought for Truth's sake or for thine? + My soul, pray tell. + + "Of all the work my hand hath wrought + Beneath the sky, + Save a place in kindly human thought, + No gain have I." + + Go to, go to! for thy very self + Thy deeds were done + Thou for fame, the miser for pelf, + Your end is one! + + And where art thou going, soul of mine? + Canst see the end? + And whither this troubled life of thine + Evermore doth tend? + + What daunts thee now? what shakes thee so? + My sad soul say. + "I see a cloud like a curtain low + Hang o'er my way. + + "Whither I go I cannot tell + That cloud hangs black, + High as the heaven and deep as hell + Across my track. + + "I see its shadow coldly enwrap + The souls before. + Sadly they enter it, step by step, + To return no more. + + "They shrink, they shudder, dear God! they kneel + To Thee in prayer. + They shut their eyes on the cloud, but feel + That it still is there. + + "In vain they turn from the dread Before + To the Known and Gone; + For while gazing behind them evermore + Their feet glide on. + + "Yet, at times, I see upon sweet pale faces + A light begin + To tremble, as if from holy places + And shrines within. + + "And at times methinks their cold lips move + With hymn and prayer, + As if somewhat of awe, but more of love + And hope were there. + + "I call on the souls who have left the light + To reveal their lot; + I bend mine ear to that wall of night, + And they answer not. + + "But I hear around me sighs of pain + And the cry of fear, + And a sound like the slow sad dropping of rain, + Each drop a tear! + + "Ah, the cloud is dark, and day by day + I am moving thither + I must pass beneath it on my way-- + God pity me!--whither?" + + Ah, soul of mine! so brave and wise + In the life-storm loud, + Fronting so calmly all human eyes + In the sunlit crowd! + + Now standing apart with God and me + Thou art weakness all, + Gazing vainly after the things to be + Through Death's dread wall. + + But never for this, never for this + Was thy being lent; + For the craven's fear is but selfishness, + Like his merriment. + + Folly and Fear are sisters twain + One closing her eyes. + The other peopling the dark inane + With spectral lies. + + Know well, my soul, God's hand controls + Whate'er thou fearest; + Round Him in calmest music rolls + Whate'er thou Nearest. + + What to thee is shadow, to Him is day, + And the end He knoweth, + And not on a blind and aimless way + The spirit goeth. + + Man sees no future,--a phantom show + Is alone before him; + Past Time is dead, and the grasses grow, + And flowers bloom o'er him. + + Nothing before, nothing behind; + The steps of Faith + Fall on the seeming void, and find + The rock beneath. + + The Present, the Present is all thou hast + For thy sure possessing; + Like the patriarch's angel hold it fast + Till it gives its blessing. + + Why fear the night? why shrink from Death; + That phantom wan? + There is nothing in heaven or earth beneath + Save God and man. + + Peopling the shadows we turn from Him + And from one another; + All is spectral and vague and dim + Save God and our brother! + + Like warp and woof all destinies + Are woven fast, + Linked in sympathy like the keys + Of an organ vast. + + Pluck one thread, and the web ye mar; + Break but one + Of a thousand keys, and the paining jar + Through all will run. + + O restless spirit! wherefore strain + Beyond thy sphere? + Heaven and hell, with their joy and pain, + Are now and here. + + Back to thyself is measured well + All thou hast given; + Thy neighbor's wrong is thy present hell, + His bliss, thy heaven. + + And in life, in death, in dark and light, + All are in God's care + Sound the black abyss, pierce the deep of night, + And He is there! + + All which is real now remaineth, + And fadeth never + The hand which upholds it now sustaineth + The soul forever. + + Leaning on Him, make with reverent meekness + His own thy will, + And with strength from Him shall thy utter weakness + Life's task fulfil; + + And that cloud itself, which now before thee + Lies dark in view, + Shall with beams of light from the inner glory + Be stricken through. + + And like meadow mist through autumn's dawn + Uprolling thin, + Its thickest folds when about thee drawn + Let sunlight in. + + Then of what is to be, and of what is done, + Why queriest thou? + The past and the time to be are one, + And both are now! + + 1847. + + + + +WORSHIP. + +"Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this. To visit +the fatherless and widows in, their affliction, and to keep himself +unspotted from the world."--JAMES I. 27. + + + The Pagan's myths through marble lips are spoken, + And ghosts of old Beliefs still flit and moan + Round fane and altar overthrown and broken, + O'er tree-grown barrow and gray ring of stone. + + Blind Faith had martyrs in those old high places, + The Syrian hill grove and the Druid's wood, + With mother's offering, to the Fiend's embraces, + Bone of their bone, and blood of their own blood. + + Red altars, kindling through that night of error, + Smoked with warm blood beneath the cruel eye + Of lawless Power and sanguinary Terror, + Throned on the circle of a pitiless sky; + + Beneath whose baleful shadow, overcasting + All heaven above, and blighting earth below, + The scourge grew red, the lip grew pale with fasting, + And man's oblation was his fear and woe! + + Then through great temples swelled the dismal moaning + Of dirge-like music and sepulchral prayer; + Pale wizard priests, o'er occult symbols droning, + Swung their white censers in the burdened air + + As if the pomp of rituals, and the savor + Of gums and spices could the Unseen One please; + As if His ear could bend, with childish favor, + To the poor flattery of the organ keys! + + Feet red from war-fields trod the church aisles holy, + With trembling reverence: and the oppressor there, + Kneeling before his priest, abased and lowly, + Crushed human hearts beneath his knee of prayer. + + Not such the service the benignant Father + Requireth at His earthly children's hands + Not the poor offering of vain rites, but rather + The simple duty man from man demands. + + For Earth He asks it: the full joy of heaven + Knoweth no change of waning or increase; + The great heart of the Infinite beats even, + Untroubled flows the river of His peace. + + He asks no taper lights, on high surrounding + The priestly altar and the saintly grave, + No dolorous chant nor organ music sounding, + Nor incense clouding tip the twilight nave. + + For he whom Jesus loved hath truly spoken + The holier worship which he deigns to bless + Restores the lost, and binds the spirit broken, + And feeds the widow and the fatherless! + + Types of our human weakness and our sorrow! + Who lives unhaunted by his loved ones dead? + Who, with vain longing, seeketh not to borrow + From stranger eyes the home lights which have fled? + + O brother man! fold to thy heart thy brother; + Where pity dwells, the peace of God is there; + To worship rightly is to love each other, + Each smile a hymn, each kindly deed a prayer. + + Follow with reverent steps the great example + Of Him whose holy work was "doing good;" + So shall the wide earth seem our Father's temple, + Each loving life a psalm of gratitude. + + Then shall all shackles fall; the stormy clangor + Of wild war music o'er the earth shall cease; + Love shall tread out the baleful fire of anger, + And in its ashes plant the tree of peace! + + 1848. + + + + +THE HOLY LAND + +Paraphrased from the lines in Lamartine's _Adieu to Marseilles_, +beginning + + "Je n'ai pas navigue sur l'ocean de sable." + + + I have not felt, o'er seas of sand, + The rocking of the desert bark; + Nor laved at Hebron's fount my hand, + By Hebron's palm-trees cool and dark; + Nor pitched my tent at even-fall, + On dust where Job of old has lain, + Nor dreamed beneath its canvas wall, + The dream of Jacob o'er again. + + One vast world-page remains unread; + How shine the stars in Chaldea's sky, + How sounds the reverent pilgrim's tread, + How beats the heart with God so nigh + How round gray arch and column lone + The spirit of the old time broods, + And sighs in all the winds that moan + Along the sandy solitudes! + + In thy tall cedars, Lebanon, + I have not heard the nations' cries, + Nor seen thy eagles stooping down + Where buried Tyre in ruin lies. + The Christian's prayer I have not said + In Tadmor's temples of decay, + Nor startled, with my dreary tread, + The waste where Memnon's empire lay. + + Nor have I, from thy hallowed tide, + O Jordan! heard the low lament, + Like that sad wail along thy side + Which Israel's mournful prophet sent! + Nor thrilled within that grotto lone + Where, deep in night, the Bard of Kings + Felt hands of fire direct his own, + And sweep for God the conscious strings. + + I have not climbed to Olivet, + Nor laid me where my Saviour lay, + And left His trace of tears as yet + By angel eyes unwept away; + Nor watched, at midnight's solemn time, + The garden where His prayer and groan, + Wrung by His sorrow and our crime, + Rose to One listening ear alone. + + I have not kissed the rock-hewn grot + Where in His mother's arms He lay, + Nor knelt upon the sacred spot + Where last His footsteps pressed the clay; + Nor looked on that sad mountain head, + Nor smote my sinful breast, where wide + His arms to fold the world He spread, + And bowed His head to bless--and died! + + 1848. + + + + +THE REWARD + + Who, looking backward from his manhood's prime, + Sees not the spectre of his misspent time? + And, through the shade + Of funeral cypress planted thick behind, + Hears no reproachful whisper on the wind + From his loved dead? + + Who bears no trace of passion's evil force? + Who shuns thy sting, O terrible Remorse? + Who does not cast + On the thronged pages of his memory's book, + At times, a sad and half-reluctant look, + Regretful of the past? + + Alas! the evil which we fain would shun + We do, and leave the wished-for good undone + Our strength to-day + Is but to-morrow's weakness, prone to fall; + Poor, blind, unprofitable servants all + Are we alway. + + Yet who, thus looking backward o'er his years, + Feels not his eyelids wet with grateful tears, + If he hath been + Permitted, weak and sinful as he was, + To cheer and aid, in some ennobling cause, + His fellow-men? + + If he hath hidden the outcast, or let in + A ray of sunshine to the cell of sin; + If he hath lent + Strength to the weak, and, in an hour of need, + Over the suffering, mindless of his creed + Or home, hath bent; + + He has not lived in vain, and while he gives + The praise to Him, in whom he moves and lives, + With thankful heart; + He gazes backward, and with hope before, + Knowing that from his works he nevermore + Can henceforth part. + + 1848. + + + + +THE WISH OF TO-DAY. + + I ask not now for gold to gild + With mocking shine a weary frame; + The yearning of the mind is stilled, + I ask not now for Fame. + + A rose-cloud, dimly seen above, + Melting in heaven's blue depths away; + Oh, sweet, fond dream of human Love + For thee I may not pray. + + But, bowed in lowliness of mind, + I make my humble wishes known; + I only ask a will resigned, + O Father, to Thine own! + + To-day, beneath Thy chastening eye + I crave alone for peace and rest, + Submissive in Thy hand to lie, + And feel that it is best. + + A marvel seems the Universe, + A miracle our Life and Death; + A mystery which I cannot pierce, + Around, above, beneath. + + In vain I task my aching brain, + In vain the sage's thought I scan, + I only feel how weak and vain, + How poor and blind, is man. + + And now my spirit sighs for home, + And longs for light whereby to see, + And, like a weary child, would come, + O Father, unto Thee! + + Though oft, like letters traced on sand, + My weak resolves have passed away, + In mercy lend Thy helping hand + Unto my prayer to-day! + + 1848. + + + + +ALL'S WELL + + The clouds, which rise with thunder, slake + Our thirsty souls with rain; + The blow most dreaded falls to break + From off our limbs a chain; + And wrongs of man to man but make + The love of God more plain. + As through the shadowy lens of even + The eye looks farthest into heaven + On gleams of star and depths of blue + The glaring sunshine never knew! + + 1850. + + + + +INVOCATION + + Through Thy clear spaces, Lord, of old, + Formless and void the dead earth rolled; + Deaf to Thy heaven's sweet music, blind + To the great lights which o'er it shined; + No sound, no ray, no warmth, no breath,-- + A dumb despair, a wandering death. + + To that dark, weltering horror came + Thy spirit, like a subtle flame,-- + A breath of life electrical, + Awakening and transforming all, + Till beat and thrilled in every part + The pulses of a living heart. + + Then knew their bounds the land and sea; + Then smiled the bloom of mead and tree; + From flower to moth, from beast to man, + The quick creative impulse ran; + And earth, with life from thee renewed, + Was in thy holy eyesight good. + + As lost and void, as dark and cold + And formless as that earth of old; + A wandering waste of storm and night, + Midst spheres of song and realms of light; + A blot upon thy holy sky, + Untouched, unwarned of thee, am I. + + O Thou who movest on the deep + Of spirits, wake my own from sleep + Its darkness melt, its coldness warm, + The lost restore, the ill transform, + That flower and fruit henceforth may be + Its grateful offering, worthy Thee. + + 1851. + + + + +QUESTIONS OF LIFE + +And the angel that was sent unto me, whose name was Uriel, gave me an +answer and said, "Thy heart hath gone too far in this world, and +thinkest thou to comprehend the way of the Most High?" Then said I, +"Yea, my Lord." Then said he unto me, "Go thy way, weigh me the weight +of the fire or measure me the blast of the wind, or call me again the +day that is past."--2 ESDRAS, chap. iv. + + + A bending staff I would not break, + A feeble faith I would not shake, + Nor even rashly pluck away + The error which some truth may stay, + Whose loss might leave the soul without + A shield against the shafts of doubt. + + And yet, at times, when over all + A darker mystery seems to fall, + (May God forgive the child of dust, + Who seeks to know, where Faith should trust!) + I raise the questions, old and dark, + Of Uzdom's tempted patriarch, + And, speech-confounded, build again + The baffled tower of Shinar's plain. + + I am: how little more I know! + Whence came I? Whither do I go? + A centred self, which feels and is; + A cry between the silences; + A shadow-birth of clouds at strife + With sunshine on the hills of life; + A shaft from Nature's quiver cast + Into the Future from the Past; + Between the cradle and the shroud, + A meteor's flight from cloud to cloud. + + Thorough the vastness, arching all, + I see the great stars rise and fall, + The rounding seasons come and go, + The tided oceans ebb and flow; + The tokens of a central force, + Whose circles, in their widening course, + O'erlap and move the universe; + The workings of the law whence springs + The rhythmic harmony of things, + Which shapes in earth the darkling spar, + And orbs in heaven the morning star. + Of all I see, in earth and sky,-- + Star, flower, beast, bird,--what part have I? + This conscious life,--is it the same + Which thrills the universal frame, + Whereby the caverned crystal shoots, + And mounts the sap from forest roots, + Whereby the exiled wood-bird tells + When Spring makes green her native dells? + How feels the stone the pang of birth, + Which brings its sparkling prism forth? + The forest-tree the throb which gives + The life-blood to its new-born leaves? + Do bird and blossom feel, like me, + Life's many-folded mystery,-- + The wonder which it is to be? + Or stand I severed and distinct, + From Nature's "chain of life" unlinked? + Allied to all, yet not the less + Prisoned in separate consciousness, + Alone o'erburdened with a sense + Of life, and cause, and consequence? + + In vain to me the Sphinx propounds + The riddle of her sights and sounds; + Back still the vaulted mystery gives + The echoed question it receives. + What sings the brook? What oracle + Is in the pine-tree's organ swell? + What may the wind's low burden be? + The meaning of the moaning sea? + The hieroglyphics of the stars? + Or clouded sunset's crimson bars? + I vainly ask, for mocks my skill + The trick of Nature's cipher still. + + I turn from Nature unto men, + I ask the stylus and the pen; + What sang the bards of old? What meant + The prophets of the Orient? + The rolls of buried Egypt, hid + In painted tomb and pyramid? + What mean Idumea's arrowy lines, + Or dusk Elora's monstrous signs? + How speaks the primal thought of man + From the grim carvings of Copan? + + Where rests the secret? Where the keys + Of the old death-bolted mysteries? + Alas! the dead retain their trust; + Dust hath no answer from the dust. + + The great enigma still unguessed, + Unanswered the eternal quest; + I gather up the scattered rays + Of wisdom in the early days, + Faint gleams and broken, like the light + Of meteors in a northern night, + Betraying to the darkling earth + The unseen sun which gave them birth; + I listen to the sibyl's chant, + The voice of priest and hierophant; + I know what Indian Kreeshna saith, + And what of life and what of death + The demon taught to Socrates; + And what, beneath his garden-trees + Slow pacing, with a dream-like tread,-- + The solemn-thoughted Plato said; + Nor lack I tokens, great or small, + Of God's clear light in each and all, + While holding with more dear regard + The scroll of Hebrew seer and bard, + The starry pages promise-lit + With Christ's Evangel over-writ, + Thy miracle of life and death, + O Holy One of Nazareth! + + On Aztec ruins, gray and lone, + The circling serpent coils in stone,-- + Type of the endless and unknown; + Whereof we seek the clue to find, + With groping fingers of the blind! + Forever sought, and never found, + We trace that serpent-symbol round + Our resting-place, our starting bound + Oh, thriftlessness of dream and guess! + Oh, wisdom which is foolishness! + Why idly seek from outward things + The answer inward silence brings? + Why stretch beyond our proper sphere + And age, for that which lies so near? + Why climb the far-off hills with pain, + A nearer view of heaven to gain? + In lowliest depths of bosky dells + The hermit Contemplation dwells. + A fountain's pine-hung slope his seat, + And lotus-twined his silent feet, + Whence, piercing heaven, with screened sight, + He sees at noon the stars, whose light + Shall glorify the coining night. + + Here let me pause, my quest forego; + Enough for me to feel and know + That He in whom the cause and end, + The past and future, meet and blend,-- + Who, girt with his Immensities, + Our vast and star-hung system sees, + Small as the clustered Pleiades,-- + Moves not alone the heavenly quires, + But waves the spring-time's grassy spires, + Guards not archangel feet alone, + But deigns to guide and keep my own; + Speaks not alone the words of fate + Which worlds destroy, and worlds create, + But whispers in my spirit's ear, + In tones of love, or warning fear, + A language none beside may hear. + + To Him, from wanderings long and wild, + I come, an over-wearied child, + In cool and shade His peace to find, + Lice dew-fall settling on my mind. + Assured that all I know is best, + And humbly trusting for the rest, + I turn from Fancy's cloud-built scheme, + Dark creed, and mournful eastern dream + Of power, impersonal and cold, + Controlling all, itself controlled, + Maker and slave of iron laws, + Alike the subject and the cause; + From vain philosophies, that try + The sevenfold gates of mystery, + And, baffled ever, babble still, + Word-prodigal of fate and will; + From Nature, and her mockery, Art; + And book and speech of men apart, + To the still witness in my heart; + With reverence waiting to behold + His Avatar of love untold, + The Eternal Beauty new and old! + + 1862. + + + + +FIRST-DAY THOUGHTS. + + In calm and cool and silence, once again + I find my old accustomed place among + My brethren, where, perchance, no human tongue + Shall utter words; where never hymn is sung, + Nor deep-toned organ blown, nor censer swung, + Nor dim light falling through the pictured pane! + There, syllabled by silence, let me hear + The still small voice which reached the prophet's ear; + Read in my heart a still diviner law + Than Israel's leader on his tables saw! + There let me strive with each besetting sin, + Recall my wandering fancies, and restrain + The sore disquiet of a restless brain; + And, as the path of duty is made plain, + May grace be given that I may walk therein, + Not like the hireling, for his selfish gain, + With backward glances and reluctant tread, + Making a merit of his coward dread, + But, cheerful, in the light around me thrown, + Walking as one to pleasant service led; + Doing God's will as if it were my own, + Yet trusting not in mine, but in His strength alone! + + 1852. + + + + +TRUST. + + The same old baffling questions! O my friend, + I cannot answer them. In vain I send + My soul into the dark, where never burn + The lamps of science, nor the natural light + Of Reason's sun and stars! I cannot learn + Their great and solemn meanings, nor discern + The awful secrets of the eyes which turn + Evermore on us through the day and night + With silent challenge and a dumb demand, + Proffering the riddles of the dread unknown, + Like the calm Sphinxes, with their eyes of stone, + Questioning the centuries from their veils of sand! + I have no answer for myself or thee, + Save that I learned beside my mother's knee; + "All is of God that is, and is to be; + And God is good." Let this suffice us still, + Resting in childlike trust upon His will + Who moves to His great ends unthwarted by the ill. + + 1853. + + + + +TRINITAS. + + At morn I prayed, "I fain would see + How Three are One, and One is Three; + Read the dark riddle unto me." + + I wandered forth, the sun and air + I saw bestowed with equal care + On good and evil, foul and fair. + + No partial favor dropped the rain; + Alike the righteous and profane + Rejoiced above their heading grain. + + And my heart murmured, "Is it meet + That blindfold Nature thus should treat + With equal hand the tares and wheat?" + + A presence melted through my mood,-- + A warmth, a light, a sense of good, + Like sunshine through a winter wood. + + I saw that presence, mailed complete + In her white innocence, pause to greet + A fallen sister of the street. + + Upon her bosom snowy pure + The lost one clung, as if secure + From inward guilt or outward lure. + + "Beware!" I said; "in this I see + No gain to her, but loss to thee + Who touches pitch defiled must be." + + I passed the haunts of shame and sin, + And a voice whispered, "Who therein + Shall these lost souls to Heaven's peace win? + + "Who there shall hope and health dispense, + And lift the ladder up from thence + Whose rounds are prayers of penitence?" + + I said, "No higher life they know; + These earth-worms love to have it so. + Who stoops to raise them sinks as low." + + That night with painful care I read + What Hippo's saint and Calvin said; + The living seeking to the dead! + + In vain I turned, in weary quest, + Old pages, where (God give them rest!) + The poor creed-mongers dreamed and guessed. + + And still I prayed, "Lord, let me see + How Three are One, and One is Three; + Read the dark riddle unto me!" + + Then something whispered, "Dost thou pray + For what thou hast? This very day + The Holy Three have crossed thy way. + + "Did not the gifts of sun and air + To good and ill alike declare + The all-compassionate Father's care? + + "In the white soul that stooped to raise + The lost one from her evil ways, + Thou saw'st the Christ, whom angels praise! + + "A bodiless Divinity, + The still small Voice that spake to thee + Was the Holy Spirit's mystery! + + "O blind of sight, of faith how small! + Father, and Son, and Holy Call + This day thou hast denied them all! + + "Revealed in love and sacrifice, + The Holiest passed before thine eyes, + One and the same, in threefold guise. + + "The equal Father in rain and sun, + His Christ in the good to evil done, + His Voice in thy soul;--and the Three are One!" + + I shut my grave Aquinas fast; + The monkish gloss of ages past, + The schoolman's creed aside I cast. + + And my heart answered, "Lord, I see + How Three are One, and One is Three; + Thy riddle hath been read to me!" + + 1858. + + + + +THE SISTERS + +A PICTURE BY BARRY + + The shade for me, but over thee + The lingering sunshine still; + As, smiling, to the silent stream + Comes down the singing rill. + + So come to me, my little one,-- + My years with thee I share, + And mingle with a sister's love + A mother's tender care. + + But keep the smile upon thy lip, + The trust upon thy brow; + Since for the dear one God hath called + We have an angel now. + + Our mother from the fields of heaven + Shall still her ear incline; + Nor need we fear her human love + Is less for love divine. + + The songs are sweet they sing beneath + The trees of life so fair, + But sweetest of the songs of heaven + Shall be her children's prayer. + + Then, darling, rest upon my breast, + And teach my heart to lean + With thy sweet trust upon the arm + Which folds us both unseen! + + 1858 + + + + +"THE ROCK" IN EL GHOR. + + Dead Petra in her hill-tomb sleeps, + Her stones of emptiness remain; + Around her sculptured mystery sweeps + The lonely waste of Edom's plain. + + From the doomed dwellers in the cleft + The bow of vengeance turns not back; + Of all her myriads none are left + Along the Wady Mousa's track. + + Clear in the hot Arabian day + Her arches spring, her statues climb; + Unchanged, the graven wonders pay + No tribute to the spoiler, Time! + + Unchanged the awful lithograph + Of power and glory undertrod; + Of nations scattered like the chaff + Blown from the threshing-floor of God. + + Yet shall the thoughtful stranger turn + From Petra's gates with deeper awe, + To mark afar the burial urn + Of Aaron on the cliffs of Hor; + + And where upon its ancient guard + Thy Rock, El Ghor, is standing yet,-- + Looks from its turrets desertward, + And keeps the watch that God has set. + + The same as when in thunders loud + It heard the voice of God to man, + As when it saw in fire and cloud + The angels walk in Israel's van, + + Or when from Ezion-Geber's way + It saw the long procession file, + And heard the Hebrew timbrels play + The music of the lordly Nile; + + Or saw the tabernacle pause, + Cloud-bound, by Kadesh Barnea's wells, + While Moses graved the sacred laws, + And Aaron swung his golden bells. + + Rock of the desert, prophet-sung! + How grew its shadowing pile at length, + A symbol, in the Hebrew tongue, + Of God's eternal love and strength. + + On lip of bard and scroll of seer, + From age to age went down the name, + Until the Shiloh's promised year, + And Christ, the Rock of Ages, came! + + The path of life we walk to-day + Is strange as that the Hebrews trod; + We need the shadowing rock, as they,-- + We need, like them, the guides of God. + + God send His angels, Cloud and Fire, + To lead us o'er the desert sand! + God give our hearts their long desire, + His shadow in a weary land! + + 1859. + + + + +THE OVER-HEART. + +"For of Him, and through Him, and to Him are all things, to whom be +glory forever! "--PAUL. + + + Above, below, in sky and sod, + In leaf and spar, in star and man, + Well might the wise Athenian scan + The geometric signs of God, + The measured order of His plan. + + And India's mystics sang aright + Of the One Life pervading all,-- + One Being's tidal rise and fall + In soul and form, in sound and sight,-- + Eternal outflow and recall. + + God is: and man in guilt and fear + The central fact of Nature owns; + Kneels, trembling, by his altar-stones, + And darkly dreams the ghastly smear + Of blood appeases and atones. + + Guilt shapes the Terror: deep within + The human heart the secret lies + Of all the hideous deities; + And, painted on a ground of sin, + The fabled gods of torment rise! + + And what is He? The ripe grain nods, + The sweet dews fall, the sweet flowers blow; + But darker signs His presence show + The earthquake and the storm are God's, + And good and evil interflow. + + O hearts of love! O souls that turn + Like sunflowers to the pure and best! + To you the truth is manifest: + For they the mind of Christ discern + Who lean like John upon His breast! + + In him of whom the sibyl told, + For whom the prophet's harp was toned, + Whose need the sage and magian owned, + The loving heart of God behold, + The hope for which the ages groaned! + + Fade, pomp of dreadful imagery + Wherewith mankind have deified + Their hate, and selfishness, and pride! + Let the scared dreamer wake to see + The Christ of Nazareth at his side! + + What doth that holy Guide require? + No rite of pain, nor gift of blood, + But man a kindly brotherhood, + Looking, where duty is desire, + To Him, the beautiful and good. + + Gone be the faithlessness of fear, + And let the pitying heaven's sweet rain + Wash out the altar's bloody stain; + The law of Hatred disappear, + The law of Love alone remain. + + How fall the idols false and grim! + And to! their hideous wreck above + The emblems of the Lamb and Dove! + Man turns from God, not God from him; + And guilt, in suffering, whispers Love! + + The world sits at the feet of Christ, + Unknowing, blind, and unconsoled; + It yet shall touch His garment's fold, + And feel the heavenly Alchemist + Transform its very dust to gold. + + The theme befitting angel tongues + Beyond a mortal's scope has grown. + O heart of mine! with reverence own + The fulness which to it belongs, + And trust the unknown for the known. + + 1859. + + + + +THE SHADOW AND THE LIGHT. + +"And I sought, whence is Evil: I set before the eye of my spirit the +whole creation; whatsoever we see therein,--sea, earth, air, stars, +trees, moral creatures,--yea, whatsoever there is we do not see,--angels +and spiritual powers. Where is evil, and whence comes it, since God the +Good hath created all things? Why made He anything at all of evil, and +not rather by His Almightiness cause it not to be? These thoughts I +turned in my miserable heart, overcharged with most gnawing cares." +"And, admonished to return to myself, I entered even into my inmost +soul, Thou being my guide, and beheld even beyond my soul and mind the +Light unchangeable. He who knows the Truth knows what that Light is, and +he that knows it knows Eternity! O--Truth, who art Eternity! Love, who +art Truth! Eternity, who art Love! And I beheld that Thou madest all +things good, and to Thee is nothing whatsoever evil. From the angel to +the worm, from the first motion to the last, Thou settest each in its +place, and everything is good in its kind. Woe is me!--how high art Thou +in the highest, how deep in the deepest! and Thou never departest from +us and we scarcely return to Thee." --AUGUSTINE'S Soliloquies, Book VII. + + + The fourteen centuries fall away + Between us and the Afric saint, + And at his side we urge, to-day, + The immemorial quest and old complaint. + + No outward sign to us is given,-- + From sea or earth comes no reply; + Hushed as the warm Numidian heaven + He vainly questioned bends our frozen sky. + + No victory comes of all our strife,-- + From all we grasp the meaning slips; + The Sphinx sits at the gate of life, + With the old question on her awful lips. + + In paths unknown we hear the feet + Of fear before, and guilt behind; + We pluck the wayside fruit, and eat + Ashes and dust beneath its golden rind. + + From age to age descends unchecked + The sad bequest of sire to son, + The body's taint, the mind's defect; + Through every web of life the dark threads run. + + Oh, why and whither? God knows all; + I only know that He is good, + And that whatever may befall + Or here or there, must be the best that could. + + Between the dreadful cherubim + A Father's face I still discern, + As Moses looked of old on Him, + And saw His glory into goodness turn! + + For He is merciful as just; + And so, by faith correcting sight, + I bow before His will, and trust + Howe'er they seem He doeth all things right. + + And dare to hope that Tie will make + The rugged smooth, the doubtful plain; + His mercy never quite forsake; + His healing visit every realm of pain; + + That suffering is not His revenge + Upon His creatures weak and frail, + Sent on a pathway new and strange + With feet that wander and with eyes that fail; + + That, o'er the crucible of pain, + Watches the tender eye of Love + The slow transmuting of the chain + Whose links are iron below to gold above! + + Ah me! we doubt the shining skies, + Seen through our shadows of offence, + And drown with our poor childish cries + The cradle-hymn of kindly Providence. + + And still we love the evil cause, + And of the just effect complain + We tread upon life's broken laws, + And murmur at our self-inflicted pain; + + We turn us from the light, and find + Our spectral shapes before us thrown, + As they who leave the sun behind + Walk in the shadows of themselves alone. + + And scarce by will or strength of ours + We set our faces to the day; + Weak, wavering, blind, the Eternal Powers + Alone can turn us from ourselves away. + + Our weakness is the strength of sin, + But love must needs be stronger far, + Outreaching all and gathering in + The erring spirit and the wandering star. + + A Voice grows with the growing years; + Earth, hushing down her bitter cry, + Looks upward from her graves, and hears, + "The Resurrection and the Life am I." + + O Love Divine!--whose constant beam + Shines on the eyes that will not see, + And waits to bless us, while we dream + Thou leavest us because we turn from thee! + + All souls that struggle and aspire, + All hearts of prayer by thee are lit; + And, dim or clear, thy tongues of fire + On dusky tribes and twilight centuries sit. + + Nor bounds, nor clime, nor creed thou know'st, + Wide as our need thy favors fall; + The white wings of the Holy Ghost + Stoop, seen or unseen, o'er the heads of all. + + O Beauty, old yet ever new! + Eternal Voice, and Inward Word, + The Logos of the Greek and Jew, + The old sphere-music which the Samian heard! + + Truth, which the sage and prophet saw, + Long sought without, but found within, + The Law of Love beyond all law, + The Life o'erflooding mortal death and sin! + + Shine on us with the light which glowed + Upon the trance-bound shepherd's way. + Who saw the Darkness overflowed + And drowned by tides of everlasting Day. + + Shine, light of God!--make broad thy scope + To all who sin and suffer; more + And better than we dare to hope + With Heaven's compassion make our longings poor! + + 1860. + + + + +THE CRY OF A LOST SOUL. + +Lieutenant Herndon's Report of the Exploration of the Amazon has a +striking description of the peculiar and melancholy notes of a bird +heard by night on the shores of the river. The Indian guides called it +"The Cry of a Lost Soul"! Among the numerous translations of this poem +is one by the Emperor of Brazil. + + + In that black forest, where, when day is done, + With a snake's stillness glides the Amazon + Darkly from sunset to the rising sun, + + A cry, as of the pained heart of the wood, + The long, despairing moan of solitude + And darkness and the absence of all good, + + Startles the traveller, with a sound so drear, + So full of hopeless agony and fear, + His heart stands still and listens like his ear. + + The guide, as if he heard a dead-bell toll, + Starts, drops his oar against the gunwale's thole, + Crosses himself, and whispers, "A lost soul!" + + "No, Senor, not a bird. I know it well,-- + It is the pained soul of some infidel + Or cursed heretic that cries from hell. + + "Poor fool! with hope still mocking his despair, + He wanders, shrieking on the midnight air + For human pity and for Christian prayer. + + "Saints strike him dumb! Our Holy Mother hath + No prayer for him who, sinning unto death, + Burns always in the furnace of God's wrath!" + + Thus to the baptized pagan's cruel lie, + Lending new horror to that mournful cry, + The voyager listens, making no reply. + + Dim burns the boat-lamp: shadows deepen round, + From giant trees with snake-like creepers wound, + And the black water glides without a sound. + + But in the traveller's heart a secret sense + Of nature plastic to benign intents, + And an eternal good in Providence, + + Lifts to the starry calm of heaven his eyes; + And to! rebuking all earth's ominous cries, + The Cross of pardon lights the tropic skies! + + "Father of all!" he urges his strong plea, + "Thou lovest all: Thy erring child may be + Lost to himself, but never lost to Thee! + + "All souls are Thine; the wings of morning bear + None from that Presence which is everywhere, + Nor hell itself can hide, for Thou art there. + + "Through sins of sense, perversities of will, + Through doubt and pain, through guilt and shame and ill, + Thy pitying eye is on Thy creature still. + + "Wilt thou not make, Eternal Source and Goal! + In Thy long years, life's broken circle whole, + And change to praise the cry of a lost soul?" + + 1862. + + + + +ANDREW RYKMAN'S PRAYER + + Andrew Rykman's dead and gone; + You can see his leaning slate + In the graveyard, and thereon + Read his name and date. + + "_Trust is truer than our fears_," + Runs the legend through the moss, + "_Gain is not in added years, + Nor in death is loss_." + + Still the feet that thither trod, + All the friendly eyes are dim; + Only Nature, now, and God + Have a care for him. + + There the dews of quiet fall, + Singing birds and soft winds stray: + Shall the tender Heart of all + Be less kind than they? + + What he was and what he is + They who ask may haply find, + If they read this prayer of his + Which he left behind. + + + . . . . + + Pardon, Lord, the lips that dare + Shape in words a mortal's prayer! + Prayer, that, when my day is done, + And I see its setting sun, + Shorn and beamless, cold and dim, + Sink beneath the horizon's rim,-- + When this ball of rock and clay + Crumbles from my feet away, + And the solid shores of sense + Melt into the vague immense, + Father! I may come to Thee + Even with the beggar's plea, + As the poorest of Thy poor, + With my needs, and nothing more. + + Not as one who seeks his home + With a step assured I come; + Still behind the tread I hear + Of my life-companion, Fear; + Still a shadow deep and vast + From my westering feet is cast, + Wavering, doubtful, undefined, + Never shapen nor outlined + From myself the fear has grown, + And the shadow is my own. + + Yet, O Lord, through all a sense + Of Thy tender providence + Stays my failing heart on Thee, + And confirms the feeble knee; + And, at times, my worn feet press + Spaces of cool quietness, + Lilied whiteness shone upon + Not by light of moon or sun. + Hours there be of inmost calm, + Broken but by grateful psalm, + When I love Thee more than fear Thee, + And Thy blessed Christ seems near me, + With forgiving look, as when + He beheld the Magdalen. + Well I know that all things move + To the spheral rhythm of love,-- + That to Thee, O Lord of all! + Nothing can of chance befall + Child and seraph, mote and star, + Well Thou knowest what we are + Through Thy vast creative plan + Looking, from the worm to man, + There is pity in Thine eyes, + But no hatred nor surprise. + Not in blind caprice of will, + Not in cunning sleight of skill, + Not for show of power, was wrought + Nature's marvel in Thy thought. + Never careless hand and vain + Smites these chords of joy and pain; + No immortal selfishness + Plays the game of curse and bless + Heaven and earth are witnesses + That Thy glory goodness is. + + Not for sport of mind and force + Hast Thou made Thy universe, + But as atmosphere and zone + Of Thy loving heart alone. + Man, who walketh in a show, + Sees before him, to and fro, + Shadow and illusion go; + All things flow and fluctuate, + Now contract and now dilate. + In the welter of this sea, + Nothing stable is but Thee; + In this whirl of swooning trance, + Thou alone art permanence; + All without Thee only seems, + All beside is choice of dreams. + Never yet in darkest mood + Doubted I that Thou wast good, + Nor mistook my will for fate, + Pain of sin for heavenly hate,-- + Never dreamed the gates of pearl + Rise from out the burning marl, + Or that good can only live + Of the bad conservative, + And through counterpoise of hell + Heaven alone be possible. + + For myself alone I doubt; + All is well, I know, without; + I alone the beauty mar, + I alone the music jar. + Yet, with hands by evil stained, + And an ear by discord pained, + I am groping for the keys + Of the heavenly harmonies; + Still within my heart I bear + Love for all things good and fair. + Hands of want or souls in pain + Have not sought my door in vain; + I have kept my fealty good + To the human brotherhood; + Scarcely have I asked in prayer + That which others might not share. + I, who hear with secret shame + Praise that paineth more than blame, + Rich alone in favors lent, + Virtuous by accident, + Doubtful where I fain would rest, + Frailest where I seem the best, + Only strong for lack of test,-- + What am I, that I should press + Special pleas of selfishness, + Coolly mounting into heaven + On my neighbor unforgiven? + Ne'er to me, howe'er disguised, + Comes a saint unrecognized; + Never fails my heart to greet + Noble deed with warmer beat; + Halt and maimed, I own not less + All the grace of holiness; + Nor, through shame or self-distrust, + Less I love the pure and just. + Lord, forgive these words of mine + What have I that is not Thine? + Whatsoe'er I fain would boast + Needs Thy pitying pardon most. + Thou, O Elder Brother! who + In Thy flesh our trial knew, + Thou, who hast been touched by these + Our most sad infirmities, + Thou alone the gulf canst span + In the dual heart of man, + And between the soul and sense + Reconcile all difference, + Change the dream of me and mine + For the truth of Thee and Thine, + And, through chaos, doubt, and strife, + Interfuse Thy calm of life. + Haply, thus by Thee renewed, + In Thy borrowed goodness good, + Some sweet morning yet in God's + Dim, veonian periods, + Joyful I shall wake to see + Those I love who rest in Thee, + And to them in Thee allied + Shall my soul be satisfied. + + Scarcely Hope hath shaped for me + What the future life may be. + Other lips may well be bold; + Like the publican of old, + I can only urge the plea, + "Lord, be merciful to me!" + Nothing of desert I claim, + Unto me belongeth shame. + Not for me the crowns of gold, + Palms, and harpings manifold; + Not for erring eye and feet + Jasper wall and golden street. + What thou wilt, O Father, give I + All is gain that I receive. + + If my voice I may not raise + In the elders' song of praise, + If I may not, sin-defiled, + Claim my birthright as a child, + Suffer it that I to Thee + As an hired servant be; + Let the lowliest task be mine, + Grateful, so the work be Thine; + Let me find the humblest place + In the shadow of Thy grace + Blest to me were any spot + Where temptation whispers not. + If there be some weaker one, + Give me strength to help him on + If a blinder soul there be, + Let me guide him nearer Thee. + Make my mortal dreams come true + With the work I fain would do; + Clothe with life the weak intent, + Let me be the thing I meant; + Let me find in Thy employ + Peace that dearer is than joy; + Out of self to love be led + And to heaven acclimated, + Until all things sweet and good + Seem my natural habitude. + + . . . . + + So we read the prayer of him + Who, with John of Labadie, + Trod, of old, the oozy rim + Of the Zuyder Zee. + + Thus did Andrew Rykman pray. + Are we wiser, better grown, + That we may not, in our day, + Make his prayer our own? + + + + +THE ANSWER. + + Spare me, dread angel of reproof, + And let the sunshine weave to-day + Its gold-threads in the warp and woof + Of life so poor and gray. + + Spare me awhile; the flesh is weak. + These lingering feet, that fain would stray + Among the flowers, shall some day seek + The strait and narrow way. + + Take off thy ever-watchful eye, + The awe of thy rebuking frown; + The dullest slave at times must sigh + To fling his burdens down; + + To drop his galley's straining oar, + And press, in summer warmth and calm, + The lap of some enchanted shore + Of blossom and of balm. + + Grudge not my life its hour of bloom, + My heart its taste of long desire; + This day be mine: be those to come + As duty shall require. + + The deep voice answered to my own, + Smiting my selfish prayers away; + "To-morrow is with God alone, + And man hath but to-day. + + "Say not, thy fond, vain heart within, + The Father's arm shall still be wide, + When from these pleasant ways of sin + Thou turn'st at eventide. + + "'Cast thyself down,' the tempter saith, + 'And angels shall thy feet upbear.' + He bids thee make a lie of faith, + And blasphemy of prayer. + + "Though God be good and free be heaven, + No force divine can love compel; + And, though the song of sins forgiven + May sound through lowest hell, + + "The sweet persuasion of His voice + Respects thy sanctity of will. + He giveth day: thou hast thy choice + To walk in darkness still; + + "As one who, turning from the light, + Watches his own gray shadow fall, + Doubting, upon his path of night, + If there be day at all! + + "No word of doom may shut thee out, + No wind of wrath may downward whirl, + No swords of fire keep watch about + The open gates of pearl; + + "A tenderer light than moon or sun, + Than song of earth a sweeter hymn, + May shine and sound forever on, + And thou be deaf and dim. + + "Forever round the Mercy-seat + The guiding lights of Love shall burn; + But what if, habit-bound, thy feet + Shall lack the will to turn? + + "What if thine eye refuse to see, + Thine ear of Heaven's free welcome fail, + And thou a willing captive be, + Thyself thy own dark jail? + + "Oh, doom beyond the saddest guess, + As the long years of God unroll, + To make thy dreary selfishness + The prison of a soul! + + "To doubt the love that fain would break + The fetters from thy self-bound limb; + And dream that God can thee forsake + As thou forsakest Him!" + + 1863. + + + + +THE ETERNAL GOODNESS. + + O friends! with whom my feet have trod + The quiet aisles of prayer, + Glad witness to your zeal for God + And love of man I bear. + + I trace your lines of argument; + Your logic linked and strong + I weigh as one who dreads dissent, + And fears a doubt as wrong. + + But still my human hands are weak + To hold your iron creeds + Against the words ye bid me speak + My heart within me pleads. + + Who fathoms the Eternal Thought? + Who talks of scheme and plan? + The Lord is God! He needeth not + The poor device of man. + + I walk with bare, hushed feet the ground + Ye tread with boldness shod; + I dare not fix with mete and bound + The love and power of God. + + Ye praise His justice; even such + His pitying love I deem + Ye seek a king; I fain would touch + The robe that hath no seam. + + Ye see the curse which overbroods + A world of pain and loss; + I hear our Lord's beatitudes + And prayer upon the cross. + + More than your schoolmen teach, within + Myself, alas! I know + Too dark ye cannot paint the sin, + Too small the merit show. + + I bow my forehead to the dust, + I veil mine eyes for shame, + And urge, in trembling self-distrust, + A prayer without a claim. + + I see the wrong that round me lies, + I feel the guilt within; + I hear, with groan and travail-cries, + The world confess its sin. + + Yet, in the maddening maze of things, + And tossed by storm and flood, + To one fixed trust my spirit clings; + I know that God is good! + + Not mine to look where cherubim + And seraphs may not see, + But nothing can be good in Him + Which evil is in me. + + The wrong that pains my soul below + I dare not throne above, + I know not of His hate,--I know + His goodness and His love. + + I dimly guess from blessings known + Of greater out of sight, + And, with the chastened Psalmist, own + His judgments too are right. + + I long for household voices gone, + For vanished smiles I long, + But God hath led my dear ones on, + And He can do no wrong. + + I know not what the future hath + Of marvel or surprise, + Assured alone that life and death + His mercy underlies. + + And if my heart and flesh are weak + To bear an untried pain, + The bruised reed He will not break, + But strengthen and sustain. + + No offering of my own I have, + Nor works my faith to prove; + I can but give the gifts He gave, + And plead His love for love. + + And so beside the Silent Sea + I wait the muffled oar; + No harm from Him can come to me + On ocean or on shore. + + I know not where His islands lift + Their fronded palms in air; + I only know I cannot drift + Beyond His love and care. + + O brothers! if my faith is vain, + If hopes like these betray, + Pray for me that my feet may gain + The sure and safer way. + + And Thou, O Lord! by whom are seen + Thy creatures as they be, + Forgive me if too close I lean + My human heart on Thee! + + 1865. + + + + +THE COMMON QUESTION. + + Behind us at our evening meal + The gray bird ate his fill, + Swung downward by a single claw, + And wiped his hooked bill. + + He shook his wings and crimson tail, + And set his head aslant, + And, in his sharp, impatient way, + Asked, "What does Charlie want?" + + "Fie, silly bird!" I answered, "tuck + Your head beneath your wing, + And go to sleep;"--but o'er and o'er + He asked the self-same thing. + + Then, smiling, to myself I said + How like are men and birds! + We all are saying what he says, + In action or in words. + + The boy with whip and top and drum, + The girl with hoop and doll, + And men with lands and houses, ask + The question of Poor Poll. + + However full, with something more + We fain the bag would cram; + We sigh above our crowded nets + For fish that never swam. + + No bounty of indulgent Heaven + The vague desire can stay; + Self-love is still a Tartar mill + For grinding prayers alway. + + The dear God hears and pities all; + He knoweth all our wants; + And what we blindly ask of Him + His love withholds or grants. + + And so I sometimes think our prayers + Might well be merged in one; + And nest and perch and hearth and church + Repeat, "Thy will be done." + + + + +OUR MASTER. + + Immortal Love, forever full, + Forever flowing free, + Forever shared, forever whole, + A never-ebbing sea! + + Our outward lips confess the name + All other names above; + Love only knoweth whence it came + And comprehendeth love. + + Blow, winds of God, awake and blow + The mists of earth away! + Shine out, O Light Divine, and show + How wide and far we stray! + + Hush every lip, close every book, + The strife of tongues forbear; + Why forward reach, or backward look, + For love that clasps like air? + + We may not climb the heavenly steeps + To bring the Lord Christ down + In vain we search the lowest deeps, + For Him no depths can drown. + + Nor holy bread, nor blood of grape, + The lineaments restore + Of Him we know in outward shape + And in the flesh no more. + + He cometh not a king to reign; + The world's long hope is dim; + The weary centuries watch in vain + The clouds of heaven for Him. + + Death comes, life goes; the asking eye + And ear are answerless; + The grave is dumb, the hollow sky + Is sad with silentness. + + The letter fails, and systems fall, + And every symbol wanes; + The Spirit over-brooding all + Eternal Love remains. + + And not for signs in heaven above + Or earth below they look, + Who know with John His smile of love, + With Peter His rebuke. + + In joy of inward peace, or sense + Of sorrow over sin, + He is His own best evidence, + His witness is within. + + No fable old, nor mythic lore, + Nor dream of bards and seers, + No dead fact stranded on the shore + Of the oblivious years;-- + + But warm, sweet, tender, even yet + A present help is He; + And faith has still its Olivet, + And love its Galilee. + + The healing of His seamless dress + Is by our beds of pain; + We touch Him in life's throng and press, + And we are whole again. + + Through Him the first fond prayers are said + Our lips of childhood frame, + The last low whispers of our dead + Are burdened with His name. + + Our Lord and Master of us all! + Whate'er our name or sign, + We own Thy sway, we hear Thy call, + We test our lives by Thine. + + Thou judgest us; Thy purity + Doth all our lusts condemn; + The love that draws us nearer Thee + Is hot with wrath to them. + + Our thoughts lie open to Thy sight; + And, naked to Thy glance, + Our secret sins are in the light + Of Thy pure countenance. + + Thy healing pains, a keen distress + Thy tender light shines in; + Thy sweetness is the bitterness, + Thy grace the pang of sin. + + Yet, weak and blinded though we be, + Thou dost our service own; + We bring our varying gifts to Thee, + And Thou rejectest none. + + To Thee our full humanity, + Its joys and pains, belong; + The wrong of man to man on Thee + Inflicts a deeper wrong. + + Who hates, hates Thee, who loves becomes + Therein to Thee allied; + All sweet accords of hearts and homes + In Thee are multiplied. + + Deep strike Thy roots, O heavenly Vine, + Within our earthly sod, + Most human and yet most divine, + The flower of man and God! + + O Love! O Life! Our faith and sight + Thy presence maketh one + As through transfigured clouds of white + We trace the noon-day sun. + + So, to our mortal eyes subdued, + Flesh-veiled, but not concealed, + We know in Thee the fatherhood + And heart of God revealed. + + We faintly hear, we dimly see, + In differing phrase we pray; + But, dim or clear, we own in Thee + The Light, the Truth, the Way! + + The homage that we render Thee + Is still our Father's own; + No jealous claim or rivalry + Divides the Cross and Throne. + + To do Thy will is more than praise, + As words are less than deeds, + And simple trust can find Thy ways + We miss with chart of creeds. + + No pride of self Thy service hath, + No place for me and mine; + Our human strength is weakness, death + Our life, apart from Thine. + + Apart from Thee all gain is loss, + All labor vainly done; + The solemn shadow of Thy Cross + Is better than the sun. + + Alone, O Love ineffable! + Thy saving name is given; + To turn aside from Thee is hell, + To walk with Thee is heaven! + + How vain, secure in all Thou art, + Our noisy championship + The sighing of the contrite heart + Is more than flattering lip. + + Not Thine the bigot's partial plea, + Nor Thine the zealot's ban; + Thou well canst spare a love of Thee + Which ends in hate of man. + + Our Friend, our Brother, and our Lord, + What may Thy service be?-- + Nor name, nor form, nor ritual word, + But simply following Thee. + + We bring no ghastly holocaust, + We pile no graven stone; + He serves thee best who loveth most + His brothers and Thy own. + + Thy litanies, sweet offices + Of love and gratitude; + Thy sacramental liturgies, + The joy of doing good. + + In vain shall waves of incense drift + The vaulted nave around, + In vain the minster turret lift + Its brazen weights of sound. + + The heart must ring Thy Christmas bells, + Thy inward altars raise; + Its faith and hope Thy canticles, + And its obedience praise! + + 1866. + + + + +THE MEETING. + +The two speakers in the meeting referred to in this poem were Avis +Keene, whose very presence was a benediction, a woman lovely in spirit +and person, whose words seemed a message of love and tender concern to +her hearers; and Sibyl Jones, whose inspired eloquence and rare +spirituality impressed all who knew her. In obedience to her apprehended +duty she made visits of Christian love to various parts of Europe, and +to the West Coast of Africa and Palestine. + + + The elder folks shook hands at last, + Down seat by seat the signal passed. + To simple ways like ours unused, + Half solemnized and half amused, + With long-drawn breath and shrug, my guest + His sense of glad relief expressed. + Outside, the hills lay warm in sun; + The cattle in the meadow-run + Stood half-leg deep; a single bird + The green repose above us stirred. + "What part or lot have you," he said, + "In these dull rites of drowsy-head? + Is silence worship? Seek it where + It soothes with dreams the summer air, + Not in this close and rude-benched hall, + But where soft lights and shadows fall, + And all the slow, sleep-walking hours + Glide soundless over grass and flowers! + From time and place and form apart, + Its holy ground the human heart, + Nor ritual-bound nor templeward + Walks the free spirit of the Lord! + Our common Master did not pen + His followers up from other men; + His service liberty indeed, + He built no church, He framed no creed; + But while the saintly Pharisee + Made broader his phylactery, + As from the synagogue was seen + The dusty-sandalled Nazarene + Through ripening cornfields lead the way + Upon the awful Sabbath day, + His sermons were the healthful talk + That shorter made the mountain-walk, + His wayside texts were flowers and birds, + Where mingled with His gracious words + The rustle of the tamarisk-tree + And ripple-wash of Galilee." + + "Thy words are well, O friend," I said; + "Unmeasured and unlimited, + With noiseless slide of stone to stone, + The mystic Church of God has grown. + Invisible and silent stands + The temple never made with hands, + Unheard the voices still and small + Of its unseen confessional. + He needs no special place of prayer + Whose hearing ear is everywhere; + He brings not back the childish days + That ringed the earth with stones of praise, + Roofed Karnak's hall of gods, and laid + The plinths of Phil e's colonnade. + Still less He owns the selfish good + And sickly growth of solitude,-- + The worthless grace that, out of sight, + Flowers in the desert anchorite; + Dissevered from the suffering whole, + Love hath no power to save a soul. + Not out of Self, the origin + And native air and soil of sin, + The living waters spring and flow, + The trees with leaves of healing grow. + + "Dream not, O friend, because I seek + This quiet shelter twice a week, + I better deem its pine-laid floor + Than breezy hill or sea-sung shore; + But nature is not solitude + She crowds us with her thronging wood; + Her many hands reach out to us, + Her many tongues are garrulous; + Perpetual riddles of surprise + She offers to our ears and eyes; + She will not leave our senses still, + But drags them captive at her will + And, making earth too great for heaven, + She hides the Giver in the given. + + "And so, I find it well to come + For deeper rest to this still room, + For here the habit of the soul + Feels less the outer world's control; + The strength of mutual purpose pleads + More earnestly our common needs; + And from the silence multiplied + By these still forms on either side, + The world that time and sense have known + Falls off and leaves us God alone. + + "Yet rarely through the charmed repose + Unmixed the stream of motive flows, + A flavor of its many springs, + The tints of earth and sky it brings; + In the still waters needs must be + Some shade of human sympathy; + And here, in its accustomed place, + I look on memory's dearest face; + The blind by-sitter guesseth not + What shadow haunts that vacant spot; + No eyes save mine alone can see + The love wherewith it welcomes me! + And still, with those alone my kin, + In doubt and weakness, want and sin, + I bow my head, my heart I bare + As when that face was living there, + And strive (too oft, alas! in vain) + The peace of simple trust to gain, + Fold fancy's restless wings, and lay + The idols of my heart away. + + "Welcome the silence all unbroken, + Nor less the words of fitness spoken,-- + Such golden words as hers for whom + Our autumn flowers have just made room; + Whose hopeful utterance through and through + The freshness of the morning blew; + Who loved not less the earth that light + Fell on it from the heavens in sight, + But saw in all fair forms more fair + The Eternal beauty mirrored there. + Whose eighty years but added grace + And saintlier meaning to her face,-- + The look of one who bore away + Glad tidings from the hills of day, + While all our hearts went forth to meet + The coming of her beautiful feet! + Or haply hers, whose pilgrim tread + Is in the paths where Jesus led; + Who dreams her childhood's Sabbath dream + By Jordan's willow-shaded stream, + And, of the hymns of hope and faith, + Sung by the monks of Nazareth, + Hears pious echoes, in the call + To prayer, from Moslem minarets fall, + Repeating where His works were wrought + The lesson that her Master taught, + Of whom an elder Sibyl gave, + The prophecies of Cuma 's cave. + + "I ask no organ's soulless breath + To drone the themes of life and death, + No altar candle-lit by day, + No ornate wordsman's rhetoric-play, + No cool philosophy to teach + Its bland audacities of speech + To double-tasked idolaters + Themselves their gods and worshippers, + No pulpit hammered by the fist + Of loud-asserting dogmatist, + Who borrows for the Hand of love + The smoking thunderbolts of Jove. + I know how well the fathers taught, + What work the later schoolmen wrought; + I reverence old-time faith and men, + But God is near us now as then; + His force of love is still unspent, + His hate of sin as imminent; + And still the measure of our needs + Outgrows the cramping bounds of creeds; + The manna gathered yesterday + Already savors of decay; + Doubts to the world's child-heart unknown + Question us now from star and stone; + Too little or too much we know, + And sight is swift and faith is slow; + The power is lost to self-deceive + With shallow forms of make-believe. + W e walk at high noon, and the bells + Call to a thousand oracles, + But the sound deafens, and the light + Is stronger than our dazzled sight; + The letters of the sacred Book + Glimmer and swim beneath our look; + Still struggles in the Age's breast + With deepening agony of quest + The old entreaty: 'Art thou He, + Or look we for the Christ to be?' + + "God should be most where man is least + So, where is neither church nor priest, + And never rag of form or creed + To clothe the nakedness of need,-- + Where farmer-folk in silence meet,-- + I turn my bell-unsummoned feet;' + I lay the critic's glass aside, + I tread upon my lettered pride, + And, lowest-seated, testify + To the oneness of humanity; + Confess the universal want, + And share whatever Heaven may grant. + He findeth not who seeks his own, + The soul is lost that's saved alone. + Not on one favored forehead fell + Of old the fire-tongued miracle, + But flamed o'er all the thronging host + The baptism of the Holy Ghost; + Heart answers heart: in one desire + The blending lines of prayer aspire; + 'Where, in my name, meet two or three,' + Our Lord hath said, 'I there will be!' + + "So sometimes comes to soul and sense + The feeling which is evidence + That very near about us lies + The realm of spiritual mysteries. + The sphere of the supernal powers + Impinges on this world of ours. + The low and dark horizon lifts, + To light the scenic terror shifts; + The breath of a diviner air + Blows down the answer of a prayer + That all our sorrow, pain, and doubt + A great compassion clasps about, + And law and goodness, love and force, + Are wedded fast beyond divorce. + Then duty leaves to love its task, + The beggar Self forgets to ask; + With smile of trust and folded hands, + The passive soul in waiting stands + To feel, as flowers the sun and dew, + The One true Life its own renew. + + "So, to the calmly gathered thought + The innermost of truth is taught, + The mystery dimly understood, + That love of God is love of good, + And, chiefly, its divinest trace + In Him of Nazareth's holy face; + That to be saved is only this,-- + Salvation from our selfishness, + From more than elemental fire, + The soul's unsanetified desire, + From sin itself, and not the pain + That warns us of its chafing chain; + That worship's deeper meaning lies + In mercy, and not sacrifice, + Not proud humilities of sense + And posturing of penitence, + But love's unforced obedience; + That Book and Church and Day are given + For man, not God,--for earth, not heaven,-- + The blessed means to holiest ends, + Not masters, but benignant friends; + That the dear Christ dwells not afar, + The king of some remoter star, + Listening, at times, with flattered ear + To homage wrung from selfish fear, + But here, amidst the poor and blind, + The bound and suffering of our kind, + In works we do, in prayers we pray, + Life of our life, He lives to-day." + + 1868. + + + + +THE CLEAR VISION. + + I did but dream. I never knew + What charms our sternest season wore. + Was never yet the sky so blue, + Was never earth so white before. + Till now I never saw the glow + Of sunset on yon hills of snow, + And never learned the bough's designs + Of beauty in its leafless lines. + + Did ever such a morning break + As that my eastern windows see? + Did ever such a moonlight take + Weird photographs of shrub and tree? + Rang ever bells so wild and fleet + The music of the winter street? + Was ever yet a sound by half + So merry as you school-boy's laugh? + + O Earth! with gladness overfraught, + No added charm thy face hath found; + Within my heart the change is wrought, + My footsteps make enchanted ground. + From couch of pain and curtained room + Forth to thy light and air I come, + To find in all that meets my eyes + The freshness of a glad surprise. + + Fair seem these winter days, and soon + Shall blow the warm west-winds of spring, + To set the unbound rills in tune + And hither urge the bluebird's wing. + The vales shall laugh in flowers, the woods + Grow misty green with leafing buds, + And violets and wind-flowers sway + Against the throbbing heart of May. + + Break forth, my lips, in praise, and own + The wiser love severely kind; + Since, richer for its chastening grown, + I see, whereas I once was blind. + The world, O Father! hath not wronged + With loss the life by Thee prolonged; + But still, with every added year, + More beautiful Thy works appear! + + As Thou hast made thy world without, + Make Thou more fair my world within; + Shine through its lingering clouds of doubt; + Rebuke its haunting shapes of sin; + Fill, brief or long, my granted span + Of life with love to thee and man; + Strike when thou wilt the hour of rest, + But let my last days be my best! + + 2d mo., 1868. + + + + +DIVINE COMPASSION. + + Long since, a dream of heaven I had, + And still the vision haunts me oft; + I see the saints in white robes clad, + The martyrs with their palms aloft; + But hearing still, in middle song, + The ceaseless dissonance of wrong; + And shrinking, with hid faces, from the strain + Of sad, beseeching eyes, full of remorse and pain. + + The glad song falters to a wail, + The harping sinks to low lament; + Before the still unlifted veil + I see the crowned foreheads bent, + Making more sweet the heavenly air, + With breathings of unselfish prayer; + And a Voice saith: "O Pity which is pain, + O Love that weeps, fill up my sufferings which remain! + + "Shall souls redeemed by me refuse + To share my sorrow in their turn? + Or, sin-forgiven, my gift abuse + Of peace with selfish unconcern? + Has saintly ease no pitying care? + Has faith no work, and love no prayer? + While sin remains, and souls in darkness dwell, + Can heaven itself be heaven, and look unmoved on hell?" + + Then through the Gates of Pain, I dream, + A wind of heaven blows coolly in; + Fainter the awful discords seem, + The smoke of torment grows more thin, + Tears quench the burning soil, and thence + Spring sweet, pale flowers of penitence + And through the dreary realm of man's despair, + Star-crowned an angel walks, and to! God's hope is there! + + Is it a dream? Is heaven so high + That pity cannot breathe its air? + Its happy eyes forever dry, + Its holy lips without a prayer! + My God! my God! if thither led + By Thy free grace unmerited, + No crown nor palm be mine, but let me keep + A heart that still can feel, and eyes that still can weep. + + 1868. + + + + +THE PRAYER-SEEKER. + + Along the aisle where prayer was made, + A woman, all in black arrayed, + Close-veiled, between the kneeling host, + With gliding motion of a ghost, + Passed to the desk, and laid thereon + A scroll which bore these words alone, + _Pray for me_! + + Back from the place of worshipping + She glided like a guilty thing + The rustle of her draperies, stirred + By hurrying feet, alone was heard; + While, full of awe, the preacher read, + As out into the dark she sped: + "_Pray for me_!" + + Back to the night from whence she came, + To unimagined grief or shame! + Across the threshold of that door + None knew the burden that she bore; + Alone she left the written scroll, + The legend of a troubled soul,-- + _Pray for me_! + + Glide on, poor ghost of woe or sin! + Thou leav'st a common need within; + Each bears, like thee, some nameless weight, + Some misery inarticulate, + Some secret sin, some shrouded dread, + Some household sorrow all unsaid. + _Pray for us_! + + Pass on! The type of all thou art, + Sad witness to the common heart! + With face in veil and seal on lip, + In mute and strange companionship, + Like thee we wander to and fro, + Dumbly imploring as we go + _Pray for us_! + + Ah, who shall pray, since he who pleads + Our want perchance hath greater needs? + Yet they who make their loss the gain + Of others shall not ask in vain, + And Heaven bends low to hear the prayer + Of love from lips of self-despair + _Pray for us_! + + In vain remorse and fear and hate + Beat with bruised bands against a fate + Whose walls of iron only move + And open to the touch of love. + He only feels his burdens fall + Who, taught by suffering, pities all. + _Pray for us_! + + He prayeth best who leaves unguessed + The mystery of another's breast. + Why cheeks grow pale, why eyes o'erflow, + Or heads are white, thou need'st not know. + Enough to note by many a sign + That every heart hath needs like thine. + _Pray for us_! + + 1870 + + + + +THE BREWING OF SOMA. + +"These libations mixed with milk have been prepared for Indra: offer +Soma to the drinker of Soma." --Vashista, translated by MAX MULLER. + + + The fagots blazed, the caldron's smoke + Up through the green wood curled; + "Bring honey from the hollow oak, + Bring milky sap," the brewers spoke, + In the childhood of the world. + + And brewed they well or brewed they ill, + The priests thrust in their rods, + First tasted, and then drank their fill, + And shouted, with one voice and will, + "Behold the drink of gods!" + + They drank, and to! in heart and brain + A new, glad life began; + The gray of hair grew young again, + The sick man laughed away his pain, + The cripple leaped and ran. + + "Drink, mortals, what the gods have sent, + Forget your long annoy." + So sang the priests. From tent to tent + The Soma's sacred madness went, + A storm of drunken joy. + + Then knew each rapt inebriate + A winged and glorious birth, + Soared upward, with strange joy elate, + Beat, with dazed head, Varuna's gate, + And, sobered, sank to earth. + + The land with Soma's praises rang; + On Gihon's banks of shade + Its hymns the dusky maidens sang; + In joy of life or mortal pang + All men to Soma prayed. + + The morning twilight of the race + Sends down these matin psalms; + And still with wondering eyes we trace + The simple prayers to Soma's grace, + That Vedic verse embalms. + + As in that child-world's early year, + Each after age has striven + By music, incense, vigils drear, + And trance, to bring the skies more near, + Or lift men up to heaven! + + Some fever of the blood and brain, + Some self-exalting spell, + The scourger's keen delight of pain, + The Dervish dance, the Orphic strain, + The wild-haired Bacchant's yell,-- + + The desert's hair-grown hermit sunk + The saner brute below; + The naked Santon, hashish-drunk, + The cloister madness of the monk, + The fakir's torture-show! + + And yet the past comes round again, + And new doth old fulfil; + In sensual transports wild as vain + We brew in many a Christian fane + The heathen Soma still! + + Dear Lord and Father of mankind, + Forgive our foolish ways! + Reclothe us in our rightful mind, + In purer lives Thy service find, + In deeper reverence, praise. + + In simple trust like theirs who heard + Beside the Syrian sea + The gracious calling of the Lord, + Let us, like them, without a word, + Rise up and follow Thee. + + O Sabbath rest by Galilee! + O calm of hills above, + Where Jesus knelt to share with Thee + The silence of eternity + Interpreted by love! + + With that deep hush subduing all + Our words and works that drown + The tender whisper of Thy call, + As noiseless let Thy blessing fall + As fell Thy manna down. + + Drop Thy still dews of quietness, + Till all our strivings cease; + Take from our souls the strain and stress, + And let our ordered lives confess + The beauty of Thy peace. + + Breathe through the heats of our desire + Thy coolness and Thy balm; + Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire; + Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire, + O still, small voice of calm! + + 1872. + + + + +A WOMAN. + + Oh, dwarfed and wronged, and stained with ill, + Behold! thou art a woman still! + And, by that sacred name and dear, + I bid thy better self appear. + Still, through thy foul disguise, I see + The rudimental purity, + That, spite of change and loss, makes good + Thy birthright-claim of womanhood; + An inward loathing, deep, intense; + A shame that is half innocence. + Cast off the grave-clothes of thy sin! + Rise from the dust thou liest in, + As Mary rose at Jesus' word, + Redeemed and white before the Lord! + Reclairn thy lost soul! In His name, + Rise up, and break thy bonds of shame. + Art weak? He 's strong. Art fearful? Hear + The world's O'ercomer: "Be of cheer!" + What lip shall judge when He approves? + Who dare to scorn the child He loves? + + + + +THE PRAYER OF AGASSIZ. + +The island of Penikese in Buzzard's Bay was given by Mr. John Anderson +to Agassiz for the uses of a summer school of natural history. A large +barn was cleared and improvised as a lecture-room. Here, on the first +morning of the school, all the company was gathered. "Agassiz had +arranged no programme of exercises," says Mrs. Agassiz, in Louis +Agassiz; his Life and Correspondence, "trusting to the interest of the +occasion to suggest what might best be said or done. But, as he looked +upon his pupils gathered there to study nature with him, by an impulse +as natural as it was unpremeditated, he called upon then to join in +silently asking God's blessing on their work together. The pause was +broken by the first words of an address no less fervent than its +unspoken prelude." This was in the summer of 1873, and Agassiz died the +December following. + + + On the isle of Penikese, + Ringed about by sapphire seas, + Fanned by breezes salt and cool, + Stood the Master with his school. + Over sails that not in vain + Wooed the west-wind's steady strain, + Line of coast that low and far + Stretched its undulating bar, + Wings aslant along the rim + Of the waves they stooped to skim, + Rock and isle and glistening bay, + Fell the beautiful white day. + + Said the Master to the youth + "We have come in search of truth, + Trying with uncertain key + Door by door of mystery; + We are reaching, through His laws, + To the garment-hem of Cause, + Him, the endless, unbegun, + The Unnamable, the One + Light of all our light the Source, + Life of life, and Force of force. + As with fingers of the blind, + We are groping here to find + What the hieroglyphics mean + Of the Unseen in the seen, + What the Thought which underlies + Nature's masking and disguise, + What it is that hides beneath + Blight and bloom and birth and death. + By past efforts unavailing, + Doubt and error, loss and failing, + Of our weakness made aware, + On the threshold of our task + Let us light and guidance ask, + Let us pause in silent prayer!" + + Then the Master in his place + Bowed his head a little space, + And the leaves by soft airs stirred, + Lapse of wave and cry of bird, + Left the solemn hush unbroken + Of that wordless prayer unspoken, + While its wish, on earth unsaid, + Rose to heaven interpreted. + As, in life's best hours, we hear + By the spirit's finer ear + His low voice within us, thus + The All-Father heareth us; + And His holy ear we pain + With our noisy words and vain. + Not for Him our violence + Storming at the gates of sense, + His the primal language, His + The eternal silences! + + Even the careless heart was moved, + And the doubting gave assent, + With a gesture reverent, + To the Master well-beloved. + As thin mists are glorified + By the light they cannot hide, + All who gazed upon him saw, + Through its veil of tender awe, + How his face was still uplit + By the old sweet look of it. + Hopeful, trustful, full of cheer, + And the love that casts out fear. + Who the secret may declare + Of that brief, unuttered prayer? + Did the shade before him come + Of th' inevitable doom, + Of the end of earth so near, + And Eternity's new year? + + In the lap of sheltering seas + Rests the isle of Penikese; + But the lord of the domain + Comes not to his own again + Where the eyes that follow fail, + On a vaster sea his sail + Drifts beyond our beck and hail. + Other lips within its bound + Shall the laws of life expound; + Other eyes from rock and shell + Read the world's old riddles well + But when breezes light and bland + Blow from Summer's blossomed land, + When the air is glad with wings, + And the blithe song-sparrow sings, + Many an eye with his still face + Shall the living ones displace, + Many an ear the word shall seek + He alone could fitly speak. + And one name forevermore + Shall be uttered o'er and o'er + By the waves that kiss the shore, + By the curlew's whistle sent + Down the cool, sea-scented air; + In all voices known to her, + Nature owns her worshipper, + Half in triumph, half lament. + Thither Love shall tearful turn, + Friendship pause uncovered there, + And the wisest reverence learn + From the Master's silent prayer. + + 1873. + + + + +IN QUEST + + Have I not voyaged, friend beloved, with thee + On the great waters of the unsounded sea, + Momently listening with suspended oar + For the low rote of waves upon a shore + Changeless as heaven, where never fog-cloud drifts + Over its windless wood, nor mirage lifts + The steadfast hills; where never birds of doubt + Sing to mislead, and every dream dies out, + And the dark riddles which perplex us here + In the sharp solvent of its light are clear? + Thou knowest how vain our quest; how, soon or late, + The baffling tides and circles of debate + Swept back our bark unto its starting-place, + Where, looking forth upon the blank, gray space, + And round about us seeing, with sad eyes, + The same old difficult hills and cloud-cold skies, + We said: "This outward search availeth not + To find Him. He is farther than we thought, + Or, haply, nearer. To this very spot + Whereon we wait, this commonplace of home, + As to the well of Jacob, He may come + And tell us all things." As I listened there, + Through the expectant silences of prayer, + Somewhat I seemed to hear, which hath to me + Been hope, strength, comfort, and I give it thee. + + "The riddle of the world is understood + Only by him who feels that God is good, + As only he can feel who makes his love + The ladder of his faith, and climbs above + On th' rounds of his best instincts; draws no line + Between mere human goodness and divine, + But, judging God by what in him is best, + With a child's trust leans on a Father's breast, + And hears unmoved the old creeds babble still + Of kingly power and dread caprice of will, + Chary of blessing, prodigal of curse, + The pitiless doomsman of the universe. + Can Hatred ask for love? Can Selfishness + Invite to self-denial? Is He less + Than man in kindly dealing? Can He break + His own great law of fatherhood, forsake + And curse His children? Not for earth and heaven + Can separate tables of the law be given. + No rule can bind which He himself denies; + The truths of time are not eternal lies." + + So heard I; and the chaos round me spread + To light and order grew; and, "Lord," I said, + "Our sins are our tormentors, worst of all + Felt in distrustful shame that dares not call + Upon Thee as our Father. We have set + A strange god up, but Thou remainest yet. + All that I feel of pity Thou hast known + Before I was; my best is all Thy own. + From Thy great heart of goodness mine but drew + Wishes and prayers; but Thou, O Lord, wilt do, + In Thy own time, by ways I cannot see, + All that I feel when I am nearest Thee!" + + 1873. + + + + +THE FRIEND'S BURIAL. + + My thoughts are all in yonder town, + Where, wept by many tears, + To-day my mother's friend lays down + The burden of her years. + + True as in life, no poor disguise + Of death with her is seen, + And on her simple casket lies + No wreath of bloom and green. + + Oh, not for her the florist's art, + The mocking weeds of woe; + Dear memories in each mourner's heart + Like heaven's white lilies blow. + + And all about the softening air + Of new-born sweetness tells, + And the ungathered May-flowers wear + The tints of ocean shells. + + The old, assuring miracle + Is fresh as heretofore; + And earth takes up its parable + Of life from death once more. + + Here organ-swell and church-bell toll + Methinks but discord were; + The prayerful silence of the soul + Is best befitting her. + + No sound should break the quietude + Alike of earth and sky + O wandering wind in Seabrook wood, + Breathe but a half-heard sigh! + + Sing softly, spring-bird, for her sake; + And thou not distant sea, + Lapse lightly as if Jesus spake, + And thou wert Galilee! + + For all her quiet life flowed on + As meadow streamlets flow, + Where fresher green reveals alone + The noiseless ways they go. + + From her loved place of prayer I see + The plain-robed mourners pass, + With slow feet treading reverently + The graveyard's springing grass. + + Make room, O mourning ones, for me, + Where, like the friends of Paul, + That you no more her face shall see + You sorrow most of all. + + Her path shall brighten more and more + Unto the perfect day; + She cannot fail of peace who bore + Such peace with her away. + + O sweet, calm face that seemed to wear + The look of sins forgiven! + O voice of prayer that seemed to bear + Our own needs up to heaven! + + How reverent in our midst she stood, + Or knelt in grateful praise! + What grace of Christian womanhood + Was in her household ways! + + For still her holy living meant + No duty left undone; + The heavenly and the human blent + Their kindred loves in one. + + And if her life small leisure found + For feasting ear and eye, + And Pleasure, on her daily round, + She passed unpausing by, + + Yet with her went a secret sense + Of all things sweet and fair, + And Beauty's gracious providence + Refreshed her unaware. + + She kept her line of rectitude + With love's unconscious ease; + Her kindly instincts understood + All gentle courtesies. + + An inborn charm of graciousness + Made sweet her smile and tone, + And glorified her farm-wife dress + With beauty not its own. + + The dear Lord's best interpreters + Are humble human souls; + The Gospel of a life like hers + Is more than books or scrolls. + + From scheme and creed the light goes out, + The saintly fact survives; + The blessed Master none can doubt + Revealed in holy lives. + 1873. + + + + +A CHRISTMAS CARMEN. + + I. + Sound over all waters, reach out from all lands, + The chorus of voices, the clasping of hands; + Sing hymns that were sung by the stars of the morn, + Sing songs of the angels when Jesus was born! + With glad jubilations + Bring hope to the nations + The dark night is ending and dawn has begun + Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun, + All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one! + + II. + Sing the bridal of nations! with chorals of love + Sing out the war-vulture and sing in the dove, + Till the hearts of the peoples keep time in accord, + And the voice of the world is the voice of the Lord! + Clasp hands of the nations + In strong gratulations: + The dark night is ending and dawn has begun; + Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun, + All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one! + + III. + Blow, bugles of battle, the marches of peace; + East, west, north, and south let the long quarrel cease + Sing the song of great joy that the angels began, + Sing of glory to God and of good-will to man! + Hark! joining in chorus + The heavens bend o'er us' + The dark night is ending and dawn has begun; + Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun, + All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one! + 1873. + + + + +VESTA. + + O Christ of God! whose life and death + Our own have reconciled, + Most quietly, most tenderly + Take home Thy star-named child! + + Thy grace is in her patient eyes, + Thy words are on her tongue; + The very silence round her seems + As if the angels sung. + + Her smile is as a listening child's + Who hears its mother call; + The lilies of Thy perfect peace + About her pillow fall. + + She leans from out our clinging arms + To rest herself in Thine; + Alone to Thee, dear Lord, can we + Our well-beloved resign! + + Oh, less for her than for ourselves + We bow our heads and pray; + Her setting star, like Bethlehem's, + To Thee shall point the way! + 1874. + + + + +CHILD-SONGS. + + Still linger in our noon of time + And on our Saxon tongue + The echoes of the home-born hymns + The Aryan mothers sung. + + And childhood had its litanies + In every age and clime; + The earliest cradles of the race + Were rocked to poet's rhyme. + + Nor sky, nor wave, nor tree, nor flower, + Nor green earth's virgin sod, + So moved the singer's heart of old + As these small ones of God. + + The mystery of unfolding life + Was more than dawning morn, + Than opening flower or crescent moon + The human soul new-born. + + And still to childhood's sweet appeal + The heart of genius turns, + And more than all the sages teach + From lisping voices learns,-- + + The voices loved of him who sang, + Where Tweed and Teviot glide, + That sound to-day on all the winds + That blow from Rydal-side,-- + + Heard in the Teuton's household songs, + And folk-lore of the Finn, + Where'er to holy Christmas hearths + The Christ-child enters in! + + Before life's sweetest mystery still + The heart in reverence kneels; + The wonder of the primal birth + The latest mother feels. + + We need love's tender lessons taught + As only weakness can; + God hath His small interpreters; + The child must teach the man. + + We wander wide through evil years, + Our eyes of faith grow dim; + But he is freshest from His hands + And nearest unto Him! + + And haply, pleading long with Him + For sin-sick hearts and cold, + The angels of our childhood still + The Father's face behold. + + Of such the kingdom!--Teach Thou us, + O-Master most divine, + To feel the deep significance + Of these wise words of Thine! + + The haughty eye shall seek in vain + What innocence beholds; + No cunning finds the key of heaven, + No strength its gate unfolds. + + Alone to guilelessness and love + That gate shall open fall; + The mind of pride is nothingness, + The childlike heart is all! + + 1875. + + + +THE HEALER. + +TO A YOUNG PHYSICIAN, WITH DORE'S PICTURE OF CHRIST HEALING THE SICK. + + So stood of old the holy Christ + Amidst the suffering throng; + With whom His lightest touch sufficed + To make the weakest strong. + + That healing gift He lends to them + Who use it in His name; + The power that filled His garment's hem + Is evermore the same. + + For lo! in human hearts unseen + The Healer dwelleth still, + And they who make His temples clean + The best subserve His will. + + The holiest task by Heaven decreed, + An errand all divine, + The burden of our common need + To render less is thine. + + The paths of pain are thine. Go forth + With patience, trust, and hope; + The sufferings of a sin-sick earth + Shall give thee ample scope. + + Beside the unveiled mysteries + Of life and death go stand, + With guarded lips and reverent eyes + And pure of heart and hand. + + So shalt thou be with power endued + From Him who went about + The Syrian hillsides doing good, + And casting demons out. + + That Good Physician liveth yet + Thy friend and guide to be; + The Healer by Gennesaret + Shall walk the rounds with thee. + + + + +THE TWO ANGELS. + + God called the nearest angels who dwell with Him above: + The tenderest one was Pity, the dearest one was Love. + + "Arise," He said, "my angels! a wail of woe and sin + Steals through the gates of heaven, and saddens all within. + + "My harps take up the mournful strain that from a lost world swells, + The smoke of torment clouds the light and blights the asphodels. + + "Fly downward to that under world, and on its souls of pain + Let Love drop smiles like sunshine, and Pity tears like rain!" + + Two faces bowed before the Throne, veiled in their golden hair; + Four white wings lessened swiftly down the dark abyss of air. + + The way was strange, the flight was long; at last the angels came + Where swung the lost and nether world, red-wrapped in rayless flame. + + There Pity, shuddering, wept; but Love, with faith too strong for fear, + Took heart from God's almightiness and smiled a smile of cheer. + + And lo! that tear of Pity quenched the flame whereon it fell, + And, with the sunshine of that smile, hope entered into hell! + + Two unveiled faces full of joy looked upward to the Throne, + Four white wings folded at the feet of Him who sat thereon! + + And deeper than the sound of seas, more soft than falling flake, + Amidst the hush of wing and song the Voice Eternal spake: + + "Welcome, my angels! ye have brought a holier joy to heaven; + Henceforth its sweetest song shall be the song of sin forgiven!" + + 1875. + + + + +OVERRULED. + + The threads our hands in blindness spin + No self-determined plan weaves in; + The shuttle of the unseen powers + Works out a pattern not as ours. + + Ah! small the choice of him who sings + What sound shall leave the smitten strings; + Fate holds and guides the hand of art; + The singer's is the servant's part. + + The wind-harp chooses not the tone + That through its trembling threads is blown; + The patient organ cannot guess + What hand its passive keys shall press. + + Through wish, resolve, and act, our will + Is moved by undreamed forces still; + And no man measures in advance + His strength with untried circumstance. + + As streams take hue from shade and sun, + As runs the life the song must run; + But, glad or sad, to His good end + God grant the varying notes may tend! + 1877. + + + + +HYMN OF THE DUNKERS + +KLOSTER KEDAR, EPHRATA, PENNSYLVANIA (1738) + +SISTER MARIA CHRISTINA sings + + Wake, sisters, wake! the day-star shines; + Above Ephrata's eastern pines + The dawn is breaking, cool and calm. + Wake, sisters, wake to prayer and psalm! + + Praised be the Lord for shade and light, + For toil by day, for rest by night! + Praised be His name who deigns to bless + Our Kedar of the wilderness! + + Our refuge when the spoiler's hand + Was heavy on our native land; + And freedom, to her children due, + The wolf and vulture only knew. + + We praised Him when to prison led, + We owned Him when the stake blazed red; + We knew, whatever might befall, + His love and power were over all. + + He heard our prayers; with outstretched arm + He led us forth from cruel harm; + Still, wheresoe'er our steps were bent, + His cloud and fire before us went! + + The watch of faith and prayer He set, + We kept it then, we keep it yet. + At midnight, crow of cock, or noon, + He cometh sure, He cometh soon. + + He comes to chasten, not destroy, + To purge the earth from sin's alloy. + At last, at last shall all confess + His mercy as His righteousness. + + The dead shall live, the sick be whole, + The scarlet sin be white as wool; + No discord mar below, above, + The music of eternal love! + + Sound, welcome trump, the last alarm! + Lord God of hosts, make bare thine arm, + Fulfil this day our long desire, + Make sweet and clean the world with fire! + + Sweep, flaming besom, sweep from sight + The lies of time; be swift to smite, + Sharp sword of God, all idols down, + Genevan creed and Roman crown. + + Quake, earth, through all thy zones, till all + The fanes of pride and priesteraft fall; + And lift thou up in place of them + Thy gates of pearl, Jerusalem! + + Lo! rising from baptismal flame, + Transfigured, glorious, yet the same, + Within the heavenly city's bound + Our Kloster Kedar shall be found. + + He cometh soon! at dawn or noon + Or set of sun, He cometh soon. + Our prayers shall meet Him on His way; + Wake, sisters, wake! arise and pray! + + 1877. + + + + +GIVING AND TAKING. + +I have attempted to put in English verse a prose translation of a poem +by Tinnevaluva, a Hindoo poet of the third century of our era. + + + Who gives and hides the giving hand, + Nor counts on favor, fame, or praise, + Shall find his smallest gift outweighs + The burden of the sea and land. + + Who gives to whom hath naught been given, + His gift in need, though small indeed + As is the grass-blade's wind-blown seed, + Is large as earth and rich as heaven. + + Forget it not, O man, to whom + A gift shall fall, while yet on earth; + Yea, even to thy seven-fold birth + Recall it in the lives to come. + + Who broods above a wrong in thought + Sins much; but greater sin is his + Who, fed and clothed with kindnesses, + Shall count the holy alms as nought. + + Who dares to curse the hands that bless + Shall know of sin the deadliest cost; + The patience of the heavens is lost + Beholding man's unthankfulness. + + For he who breaks all laws may still + In Sivam's mercy be forgiven; + But none can save, in earth or heaven, + The wretch who answers good with ill. + + 1877. + + + + +THE VISION OF ECHARD. + + The Benedictine Echard + Sat by the wayside well, + Where Marsberg sees the bridal + Of the Sarre and the Moselle. + + Fair with its sloping vineyards + And tawny chestnut bloom, + The happy vale Ausonius sunk + For holy Treves made room. + + On the shrine Helena builded + To keep the Christ coat well, + On minster tower and kloster cross, + The westering sunshine fell. + + There, where the rock-hewn circles + O'erlooked the Roman's game, + The veil of sleep fell on him, + And his thought a dream became. + + He felt the heart of silence + Throb with a soundless word, + And by the inward ear alone + A spirit's voice he heard. + + And the spoken word seemed written + On air and wave and sod, + And the bending walls of sapphire + Blazed with the thought of God. + + "What lack I, O my children? + All things are in my band; + The vast earth and the awful stars + I hold as grains of sand. + + "Need I your alms? The silver + And gold are mine alone; + The gifts ye bring before me + Were evermore my own. + + "Heed I the noise of viols, + Your pomp of masque and show? + Have I not dawns and sunsets + Have I not winds that blow? + + "Do I smell your gums of incense? + Is my ear with chantings fed? + Taste I your wine of worship, + Or eat your holy bread? + + "Of rank and name and honors + Am I vain as ye are vain? + What can Eternal Fulness + From your lip-service gain? + + "Ye make me not your debtor + Who serve yourselves alone; + Ye boast to me of homage + Whose gain is all your own. + + "For you I gave the prophets, + For you the Psalmist's lay + For you the law's stone tables, + And holy book and day. + + "Ye change to weary burdens + The helps that should uplift; + Ye lose in form the spirit, + The Giver in the gift. + + "Who called ye to self-torment, + To fast and penance vain? + Dream ye Eternal Goodness + Has joy in mortal pain? + + "For the death in life of Nitria, + For your Chartreuse ever dumb, + What better is the neighbor, + Or happier the home? + + "Who counts his brother's welfare + As sacred as his own, + And loves, forgives, and pities, + He serveth me alone. + + "I note each gracious purpose, + Each kindly word and deed; + Are ye not all my children? + Shall not the Father heed? + + "No prayer for light and guidance + Is lost upon mine ear + The child's cry in the darkness + Shall not the Father hear? + + "I loathe your wrangling councils, + I tread upon your creeds; + Who made ye mine avengers, + Or told ye of my needs; + + "I bless men and ye curse them, + I love them and ye hate; + Ye bite and tear each other, + I suffer long and wait. + + "Ye bow to ghastly symbols, + To cross and scourge and thorn; + Ye seek his Syrian manger + Who in the heart is born. + + "For the dead Christ, not the living, + Ye watch His empty grave, + Whose life alone within you + Has power to bless and save. + + "O blind ones, outward groping, + The idle quest forego; + Who listens to His inward voice + Alone of Him shall know. + + "His love all love exceeding + The heart must needs recall, + Its self-surrendering freedom, + Its loss that gaineth all. + + "Climb not the holy mountains, + Their eagles know not me; + Seek not the Blessed Islands, + I dwell not in the sea. + + "Gone is the mount of Meru, + The triple gods are gone, + And, deaf to all the lama's prayers, + The Buddha slumbers on. + + "No more from rocky Horeb + The smitten waters gush; + Fallen is Bethel's ladder, + Quenched is the burning bush. + + "The jewels of the Urim + And Thurnmim all are dim; + The fire has left the altar, + The sign the teraphim. + + "No more in ark or hill grove + The Holiest abides; + Not in the scroll's dead letter + The eternal secret hides. + + "The eye shall fail that searches + For me the hollow sky; + The far is even as the near, + The low is as the high. + + "What if the earth is hiding + Her old faiths, long outworn? + What is it to the changeless truth + That yours shall fail in turn? + + "What if the o'erturned altar + Lays bare the ancient lie? + What if the dreams and legends + Of the world's childhood die? + + "Have ye not still my witness + Within yourselves alway, + My hand that on the keys of life + For bliss or bale I lay? + + "Still, in perpetual judgment, + I hold assize within, + With sure reward of holiness, + And dread rebuke of sin. + + "A light, a guide, a warning, + A presence ever near, + Through the deep silence of the flesh + I reach the inward ear. + + "My Gerizim and Ebal + Are in each human soul, + The still, small voice of blessing, + And Sinai's thunder-roll. + + "The stern behest of duty, + The doom-book open thrown, + The heaven ye seek, the hell ye fear, + Are with yourselves alone." + + . . . . . + + A gold and purple sunset + Flowed down the broad Moselle; + On hills of vine and meadow lands + The peace of twilight fell. + + A slow, cool wind of evening + Blew over leaf and bloom; + And, faint and far, the Angelus + Rang from Saint Matthew's tomb. + + Then up rose Master Echard, + And marvelled: "Can it be + That here, in dream and vision, + The Lord hath talked with me?" + + He went his way; behind him + The shrines of saintly dead, + The holy coat and nail of cross, + He left unvisited. + + He sought the vale of Eltzbach + His burdened soul to free, + Where the foot-hills of the Eifel + Are glassed in Laachersee. + + And, in his Order's kloster, + He sat, in night-long parle, + With Tauler of the Friends of God, + And Nicolas of Basle. + + And lo! the twain made answer + "Yea, brother, even thus + The Voice above all voices + Hath spoken unto us. + + "The world will have its idols, + And flesh and sense their sign + But the blinded eyes shall open, + And the gross ear be fine. + + "What if the vision tarry? + God's time is always best; + The true Light shall be witnessed, + The Christ within confessed. + + "In mercy or in judgment + He shall turn and overturn, + Till the heart shall be His temple + Where all of Him shall learn." + + + + +INSCRIPTIONS. + +ON A SUN-DIAL. + +FOR DR. HENRY I. BOWDITCH. + + With warning hand I mark Time's rapid flight + From life's glad morning to its solemn night; + Yet, through the dear God's love, I also show + There's Light above me by the Shade below. + + 1879. + + + + +ON A FOUNTAIN. + +FOR DOROTHEA L. DIX. + + Stranger and traveller, + Drink freely and bestow + A kindly thought on her + Who bade this fountain flow, + Yet hath no other claim + Than as the minister + Of blessing in God's name. + Drink, and in His peace go + + 1879 + + + + +THE MINISTER'S DAUGHTER. + + In the minister's morning sermon + He had told of the primal fall, + And how thenceforth the wrath of God + Rested on each and all. + + And how of His will and pleasure, + All souls, save a chosen few, + Were doomed to the quenchless burning, + And held in the way thereto. + + Yet never by faith's unreason + A saintlier soul was tried, + And never the harsh old lesson + A tenderer heart belied. + + And, after the painful service + On that pleasant Sabbath day, + He walked with his little daughter + Through the apple-bloom of May. + + Sweet in the fresh green meadows + Sparrow and blackbird sung; + Above him their tinted petals + The blossoming orchards hung. + + Around on the wonderful glory + The minister looked and smiled; + "How good is the Lord who gives us + These gifts from His hand, my child. + + "Behold in the bloom of apples + And the violets in the sward + A hint of the old, lost beauty + Of the Garden of the Lord!" + + Then up spake the little maiden, + Treading on snow and pink + "O father! these pretty blossoms + Are very wicked, I think. + + "Had there been no Garden of Eden + There never had been a fall; + And if never a tree had blossomed + God would have loved us all." + + "Hush, child!" the father answered, + "By His decree man fell; + His ways are in clouds and darkness, + But He doeth all things well. + + "And whether by His ordaining + To us cometh good or ill, + Joy or pain, or light or shadow, + We must fear and love Him still." + + "Oh, I fear Him!" said the daughter, + "And I try to love Him, too; + But I wish He was good and gentle, + Kind and loving as you." + + The minister groaned in spirit + As the tremulous lips of pain + And wide, wet eyes uplifted + Questioned his own in vain. + + Bowing his head he pondered + The words of the little one; + Had he erred in his life-long teaching? + Had he wrong to his Master done? + + To what grim and dreadful idol + Had he lent the holiest name? + Did his own heart, loving and human, + The God of his worship shame? + + And lo! from the bloom and greenness, + From the tender skies above, + And the face of his little daughter, + He read a lesson of love. + + No more as the cloudy terror + Of Sinai's mount of law, + But as Christ in the Syrian lilies + The vision of God he saw. + + And, as when, in the clefts of Horeb, + Of old was His presence known, + The dread Ineffable Glory + Was Infinite Goodness alone. + + Thereafter his hearers noted + In his prayers a tenderer strain, + And never the gospel of hatred + Burned on his lips again. + + And the scoffing tongue was prayerful, + And the blinded eyes found sight, + And hearts, as flint aforetime, + Grew soft in his warmth and light. + + 1880. + + + + +BY THEIR WORKS. + + Call him not heretic whose works attest + His faith in goodness by no creed confessed. + Whatever in love's name is truly done + To free the bound and lift the fallen one + Is done to Christ. Whoso in deed and word + Is not against Him labors for our Lord. + When He, who, sad and weary, longing sore + For love's sweet service, sought the sisters' door, + One saw the heavenly, one the human guest, + But who shall say which loved the Master best? + + 1881. + + + + +THE WORD. + + Voice of the Holy Spirit, making known + Man to himself, a witness swift and sure, + Warning, approving, true and wise and pure, + Counsel and guidance that misleadeth none! + By thee the mystery of life is read; + The picture-writing of the world's gray seers, + The myths and parables of the primal years, + Whose letter kills, by thee interpreted + Take healthful meanings fitted to our needs, + And in the soul's vernacular express + The common law of simple righteousness. + Hatred of cant and doubt of human creeds + May well be felt: the unpardonable sin + Is to deny the Word of God within! + + 1881. + + + + +THE BOOK. + + Gallery of sacred pictures manifold, + A minster rich in holy effigies, + And bearing on entablature and frieze + The hieroglyphic oracles of old. + Along its transept aureoled martyrs sit; + And the low chancel side-lights half acquaint + The eye with shrines of prophet, bard, and saint, + Their age-dimmed tablets traced in doubtful writ! + But only when on form and word obscure + Falls from above the white supernal light + We read the mystic characters aright, + And life informs the silent portraiture, + Until we pause at last, awe-held, before + The One ineffable Face, love, wonder, and adore. + + 1881 + + + + +REQUIREMENT. + + We live by Faith; but Faith is not the slave + Of text and legend. Reason's voice and God's, + Nature's and Duty's, never are at odds. + What asks our Father of His children, save + Justice and mercy and humility, + A reasonable service of good deeds, + Pure living, tenderness to human needs, + Reverence and trust, and prayer for light to see + The Master's footprints in our daily ways? + No knotted scourge nor sacrificial knife, + But the calm beauty of an ordered life + Whose very breathing is unworded praise!-- + A life that stands as all true lives have stood, + Firm-rooted in the faith that God is Good. + + 1881. + + + + +HELP. + + Dream not, O Soul, that easy is the task + Thus set before thee. If it proves at length, + As well it may, beyond thy natural strength, + Faint not, despair not. As a child may ask + A father, pray the Everlasting Good + For light and guidance midst the subtle snares + Of sin thick planted in life's thoroughfares, + For spiritual strength and moral hardihood; + Still listening, through the noise of time and sense, + To the still whisper of the Inward Word; + Bitter in blame, sweet in approval heard, + Itself its own confirming evidence + To health of soul a voice to cheer and please, + To guilt the wrath of the Eumenides. + + 1881. + + + + +UTTERANCE. + + But what avail inadequate words to reach + The innermost of Truth? Who shall essay, + Blinded and weak, to point and lead the way, + Or solve the mystery in familiar speech? + Yet, if it be that something not thy own, + Some shadow of the Thought to which our schemes, + Creeds, cult, and ritual are at best but dreams, + Is even to thy unworthiness made known, + Thou mayst not hide what yet thou shouldst not dare + To utter lightly, lest on lips of thine + The real seem false, the beauty undivine. + So, weighing duty in the scale of prayer, + Give what seems given thee. It may prove a seed + Of goodness dropped in fallow-grounds of need. + + 1881. + + + + + +ORIENTAL MAXIMS. + +PARAPHRASE OF SANSCRIT TRANSLATIONS. + + + + +THE INWARD JUDGE. + +From Institutes of Manu. + + The soul itself its awful witness is. + Say not in evil doing, "No one sees," + And so offend the conscious One within, + Whose ear can hear the silences of sin. + + Ere they find voice, whose eyes unsleeping see + The secret motions of iniquity. + Nor in thy folly say, "I am alone." + For, seated in thy heart, as on a throne, + The ancient Judge and Witness liveth still, + To note thy act and thought; and as thy ill + Or good goes from thee, far beyond thy reach, + The solemn Doomsman's seal is set on each. + + 1878. + + + + +LAYING UP TREASURE + +From the Mahabharata. + + Before the Ender comes, whose charioteer + Is swift or slow Disease, lay up each year + Thy harvests of well-doing, wealth that kings + Nor thieves can take away. When all the things + Thou tallest thine, goods, pleasures, honors fall, + Thou in thy virtue shalt survive them all. + + 1881. + + + + +CONDUCT + +From the Mahabharata. + + Heed how thou livest. Do no act by day + Which from the night shall drive thy peace away. + In months of sun so live that months of rain + Shall still be happy. Evermore restrain + Evil and cherish good, so shall there be + Another and a happier life for thee. + + 1881. + + + + +AN EASTER FLOWER GIFT. + + O dearest bloom the seasons know, + Flowers of the Resurrection blow, + Our hope and faith restore; + And through the bitterness of death + And loss and sorrow, breathe a breath + Of life forevermore! + + The thought of Love Immortal blends + With fond remembrances of friends; + In you, O sacred flowers, + By human love made doubly sweet, + The heavenly and the earthly meet, + The heart of Christ and ours! + + 1882. + + + + +THE MYSTIC'S CHRISTMAS. + + "All hail!" the bells of Christmas rang, + "All hail!" the monks at Christmas sang, + The merry monks who kept with cheer + The gladdest day of all their year. + + But still apart, unmoved thereat, + A pious elder brother sat + Silent, in his accustomed place, + With God's sweet peace upon his face. + + "Why sitt'st thou thus?" his brethren cried. + "It is the blessed Christmas-tide; + The Christmas lights are all aglow, + The sacred lilies bud and blow. + + "Above our heads the joy-bells ring, + Without the happy children sing, + And all God's creatures hail the morn + On which the holy Christ was born! + + "Rejoice with us; no more rebuke + Our gladness with thy quiet look." + The gray monk answered: "Keep, I pray, + Even as ye list, the Lord's birthday. + + "Let heathen Yule fires flicker red + Where thronged refectory feasts are spread; + With mystery-play and masque and mime + And wait-songs speed the holy time! + + "The blindest faith may haply save; + The Lord accepts the things we have; + And reverence, howsoe'er it strays, + May find at last the shining ways. + + "They needs must grope who cannot see, + The blade before the ear must be; + As ye are feeling I have felt, + And where ye dwell I too have dwelt. + + "But now, beyond the things of sense, + Beyond occasions and events, + I know, through God's exceeding grace, + Release from form and time and place. + + "I listen, from no mortal tongue, + To hear the song the angels sung; + And wait within myself to know + The Christmas lilies bud and blow. + + "The outward symbols disappear + From him whose inward sight is clear; + And small must be the choice of clays + To him who fills them all with praise! + + "Keep while you need it, brothers mine, + With honest zeal your Christmas sign, + But judge not him who every morn + Feels in his heart the Lord Christ born!" + + 1882. + + + + +AT LAST. + + When on my day of life the night is falling, + And, in the winds from unsunned spaces blown, + I hear far voices out of darkness calling + My feet to paths unknown, + + Thou who hast made my home of life so pleasant, + Leave not its tenant when its walls decay; + O Love Divine, O Helper ever present, + Be Thou my strength and stay! + + Be near me when all else is from me drifting + Earth, sky, home's pictures, days of shade and shine, + And kindly faces to my own uplifting + The love which answers mine. + + I have but Thee, my Father! let Thy spirit + Be with me then to comfort and uphold; + No gate of pearl, no branch of palm I merit, + Nor street of shining gold. + + Suffice it if--my good and ill unreckoned, + And both forgiven through Thy abounding grace-- + I find myself by hands familiar beckoned + Unto my fitting place. + + Some humble door among Thy many mansions, + Some sheltering shade where sin and striving cease, + And flows forever through heaven's green expansions + The river of Thy peace. + + There, from the music round about me stealing, + I fain would learn the new and holy song, + And find at last, beneath Thy trees of healing, + The life for which I long. + + 1882 + + + + +WHAT THE TRAVELLER SAID AT SUNSET. + + The shadows grow and deepen round me, + I feel the deffall in the air; + The muezzin of the darkening thicket, + I hear the night-thrush call to prayer. + + The evening wind is sad with farewells, + And loving hands unclasp from mine; + Alone I go to meet the darkness + Across an awful boundary-line. + + As from the lighted hearths behind me + I pass with slow, reluctant feet, + What waits me in the land of strangeness? + What face shall smile, what voice shall greet? + + What space shall awe, what brightness blind me? + What thunder-roll of music stun? + What vast processions sweep before me + Of shapes unknown beneath the sun? + + I shrink from unaccustomed glory, + I dread the myriad-voiced strain; + Give me the unforgotten faces, + And let my lost ones speak again. + + He will not chide my mortal yearning + Who is our Brother and our Friend; + In whose full life, divine and human, + The heavenly and the earthly blend. + + Mine be the joy of soul-communion, + The sense of spiritual strength renewed, + The reverence for the pure and holy, + The dear delight of doing good. + + No fitting ear is mine to listen + An endless anthem's rise and fall; + No curious eye is mine to measure + The pearl gate and the jasper wall. + + For love must needs be more than knowledge: + What matter if I never know + Why Aldebaran's star is ruddy, + Or warmer Sirius white as snow! + + Forgive my human words, O Father! + I go Thy larger truth to prove; + Thy mercy shall transcend my longing + I seek but love, and Thou art Love! + + I go to find my lost and mourned for + Safe in Thy sheltering goodness still, + And all that hope and faith foreshadow + Made perfect in Thy holy will! + + 1883. + + + + +THE "STORY OF IDA." + +Francesca Alexander, whose pen and pencil have so reverently transcribed +the simple faith and life of the Italian peasantry, wrote the narrative +published with John Ruskin's introduction under the title, _The Story of +Ida_. + + + Weary of jangling noises never stilled, + The skeptic's sneer, the bigot's hate, the din + Of clashing texts, the webs of creed men spin + Round simple truth, the children grown who build + With gilded cards their new Jerusalem, + Busy, with sacerdotal tailorings + And tinsel gauds, bedizening holy things, + I turn, with glad and grateful heart, from them + To the sweet story of the Florentine + Immortal in her blameless maidenhood, + Beautiful as God's angels and as good; + Feeling that life, even now, may be divine + With love no wrong can ever change to hate, + No sin make less than all-compassionate! + + 1884. + + + + +THE LIGHT THAT IS FELT. + + A tender child of summers three, + Seeking her little bed at night, + Paused on the dark stair timidly. + "Oh, mother! Take my hand," said she, + "And then the dark will all be light." + + We older children grope our way + From dark behind to dark before; + And only when our hands we lay, + Dear Lord, in Thine, the night is day, + And there is darkness nevermore. + + Reach downward to the sunless days + Wherein our guides are blind as we, + And faith is small and hope delays; + Take Thou the hands of prayer we raise, + And let us feel the light of Thee! + + 1884. + + + + +THE TWO LOVES + + Smoothing soft the nestling head + Of a maiden fancy-led, + Thus a grave-eyed woman said: + + "Richest gifts are those we make, + Dearer than the love we take + That we give for love's own sake. + + "Well I know the heart's unrest; + Mine has been the common quest, + To be loved and therefore blest. + + "Favors undeserved were mine; + At my feet as on a shrine + Love has laid its gifts divine. + + "Sweet the offerings seemed, and yet + With their sweetness came regret, + And a sense of unpaid debt. + + "Heart of mine unsatisfied, + Was it vanity or pride + That a deeper joy denied? + + "Hands that ope but to receive + Empty close; they only live + Richly who can richly give. + + "Still," she sighed, with moistening eyes, + "Love is sweet in any guise; + But its best is sacrifice! + + "He who, giving, does not crave + Likest is to Him who gave + Life itself the loved to save. + + "Love, that self-forgetful gives, + Sows surprise of ripened sheaves, + Late or soon its own receives." + + 1884. + + + + +ADJUSTMENT. + + The tree of Faith its bare, dry boughs must shed + That nearer heaven the living ones may climb; + The false must fail, though from our shores of time + The old lament be heard, "Great Pan is dead!" + That wail is Error's, from his high place hurled; + This sharp recoil is Evil undertrod; + Our time's unrest, an angel sent of God + Troubling with life the waters of the world. + Even as they list the winds of the Spirit blow + To turn or break our century-rusted vanes; + Sands shift and waste; the rock alone remains + Where, led of Heaven, the strong tides come and go, + And storm-clouds, rent by thunderbolt and wind, + Leave, free of mist, the permanent stars behind. + + Therefore I trust, although to outward sense + Both true and false seem shaken; I will hold + With newer light my reverence for the old, + And calmly wait the births of Providence. + No gain is lost; the clear-eyed saints look down + Untroubled on the wreck of schemes and creeds; + Love yet remains, its rosary of good deeds + Counting in task-field and o'erpeopled town; + Truth has charmed life; the Inward Word survives, + And, day by day, its revelation brings; + Faith, hope, and charity, whatsoever things + Which cannot be shaken, stand. Still holy lives + Reveal the Christ of whom the letter told, + And the new gospel verifies the old. + + 1885. + + + + +HYMNS OF THE BRAHMO SOMAJ. + +I have attempted this paraphrase of the Hymns of the Brahmo Somaj of +India, as I find them in Mozoomdar's account of the devotional exercises +of that remarkable religious development which has attracted far less +attention and sympathy from the Christian world than it deserves, as a +fresh revelation of the direct action of the Divine Spirit upon the +human heart. + + + I. + The mercy, O Eternal One! + By man unmeasured yet, + In joy or grief, in shade or sun, + I never will forget. + I give the whole, and not a part, + Of all Thou gayest me; + My goods, my life, my soul and heart, + I yield them all to Thee! + + II. + We fast and plead, we weep and pray, + From morning until even; + We feel to find the holy way, + We knock at the gate of heaven + And when in silent awe we wait, + And word and sign forbear, + The hinges of the golden gate + Move, soundless, to our prayer! + Who hears the eternal harmonies + Can heed no outward word; + Blind to all else is he who sees + The vision of the Lord! + + III. + O soul, be patient, restrain thy tears, + Have hope, and not despair; + As a tender mother heareth her child + God hears the penitent prayer. + And not forever shall grief be thine; + On the Heavenly Mother's breast, + Washed clean and white in the waters of joy + Shall His seeking child find rest. + Console thyself with His word of grace, + And cease thy wail of woe, + For His mercy never an equal hath, + And His love no bounds can know. + Lean close unto Him in faith and hope; + How many like thee have found + In Him a shelter and home of peace, + By His mercy compassed round! + There, safe from sin and the sorrow it brings, + They sing their grateful psalms, + And rest, at noon, by the wells of God, + In the shade of His holy palms! + + 1885. + + + + +REVELATION. + +"And I went into the Vale of Beavor, and as I went I preached repentance +to the people. And one morning, sitting by the fire, a great cloud came +over me, and a temptation beset me. And it was said: All things come by +Nature; and the Elements and the Stars came over me. And as I sat still +and let it alone, a living hope arose in me, and a true Voice which +said: There is a living God who made all things. And immediately the +cloud and the temptation vanished, and Life rose over all, and my heart +was glad and I praised the Living God."--Journal of George Fox, 1690. + + + Still, as of old, in Beavor's Vale, + O man of God! our hope and faith + The Elements and Stars assail, + And the awed spirit holds its breath, + Blown over by a wind of death. + + Takes Nature thought for such as we, + What place her human atom fills, + The weed-drift of her careless sea, + The mist on her unheeding hills? + What reeks she of our helpless wills? + + Strange god of Force, with fear, not love, + Its trembling worshipper! Can prayer + Reach the shut ear of Fate, or move + Unpitying Energy to spare? + What doth the cosmic Vastness care? + + In vain to this dread Unconcern + For the All-Father's love we look; + In vain, in quest of it, we turn + The storied leaves of Nature's book, + The prints her rocky tablets took. + + I pray for faith, I long to trust; + I listen with my heart, and hear + A Voice without a sound: "Be just, + Be true, be merciful, revere + The Word within thee: God is near! + + "A light to sky and earth unknown + Pales all their lights: a mightier force + Than theirs the powers of Nature own, + And, to its goal as at its source, + His Spirit moves the Universe. + + "Believe and trust. Through stars and suns, + Through life and death, through soul and sense, + His wise, paternal purpose runs; + The darkness of His providence + Is star-lit with benign intents." + + O joy supreme! I know the Voice, + Like none beside on earth or sea; + Yea, more, O soul of mine, rejoice, + By all that He requires of me, + I know what God himself must be. + + No picture to my aid I call, + I shape no image in my prayer; + I only know in Him is all + Of life, light, beauty, everywhere, + Eternal Goodness here and there! + + I know He is, and what He is, + Whose one great purpose is the good + Of all. I rest my soul on His + Immortal Love and Fatherhood; + And trust Him, as His children should. + + I fear no more. The clouded face + Of Nature smiles; through all her things + Of time and space and sense I trace + The moving of the Spirit's wings, + And hear the song of hope she sings. + + 1886 + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Whittier, Volume II (of +VII), by John Greenleaf Whittier + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF WHITTIER *** + +***** This file should be named 9574.txt or 9574.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/5/7/9574/ + +Produced by David Widger + +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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Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**EBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These EBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers***** + + + +Title: Poems of Nature, Poems Subjective and Reminiscent + and Religious Poems, Complete + Volume II., The Works of Whittier + +Author: John Greenleaf Whittier + +Release Date: Dec, 2005 [EBook #9574] +[This file was first posted on October 2, 2003] +[Last updated on February 9, 2007] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + + + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, POEMS OF NATURE, COMPLETE *** + + + + +This eBook was produced by David Widger + + + + + + + VOLUME II. + + + POEMS OF NATURE + + POEMS SUBJECTIVE AND REMINISCENT + + RELIGIOUS POEMS + + BY + JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER + + +CONTENTS + +POEMS OF NATURE: + THE FROST SPIRIT + THE MERRIMAC + HAMPTON BEACH + A DREAM OF SUMMER + THE LAKESIDE + AUTUMN THOUGHTS + ON RECEIVING AN EAGLE'S QUILL FROM LAKE SUPERIOR + APRIL + PICTURES + SUMMER BY THE LAKESIDE + THE FRUIT-GIFT + FLOWERS IN WINTER + THE MAYFLOWERS + THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN + THE FIRST FLOWERS + THE OLD BURYING-GROUND + THE PALM-TREE + THE RIVER PATH + MOUNTAIN PICTURES + I. FRANCONIA FROM THE PEMIGEWASSET + II. MONADNOCK FROM WACHUSET + THE VANISHERS + THE PAGEANT + THE PRESSED GENTIAN + A MYSTERY + A SEA DREAM + HAZEL BLOSSOMS + SUNSET ON THE BEARCAMP + THE SEEKING OF THE WATERFALL + THE TRAILING ARBUTUS + ST. MARTINS SUMMER + STORM ON LAKE ASQUAM + A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE + SWEET FERN + THE WOOD GIANT + A DAY + + +POEMS SUBJECTIVE AND REMINISCENT: + MEMORIES + RAPHAEL + EGO + THE PUMPKIN + FORGIVENESS + TO MY SISTER + MY THANKS + REMEMBRANCE + MY NAMESAKE + A MEMORY + MY DREAM + THE BAREFOOT BOY + MY PSALM + THE WAITING + SNOW-BOUND + MY TRIUMPH + IN SCHOOL-DAYS + MY BIRTHDAY + RED RIDING-HOOD + RESPONSE + AT EVENTIDE + VOYAGE OF THE JETTIE + MY TRUST + A NAME + GREETING + CONTENTS + AN AUTOGRAPH + ABRAM MORRISON + A LEGACY + +RELIGIOUS POEMS: + THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM + THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN + THE CALL OF THE CHRISTIAN + THE CRUCIFIXION + PALESTINE + HYMNS FROM THE FRENCH OF LAMARTINE + I. ENCORE UN HYMNE + II. LE CRI DE L'AME + THE FAMILIST'S HYMN + EZEKIEL + WHAT THE VOICE SAID + THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE + THE WIFE OF MANOAH TO HER HUSBAND + MY SOUL AND I + WORSHIP + THE HOLY LAND + THE REWARD + THE WISH OF TO-DAY + ALL'S WELL + INVOCATION + QUESTIONS OF LIFE + FIRST-DAY THOUGHTS + TRUST + TRINITAS + THE SISTERS + "THE ROCK" IN EL GHOR + THE OVER-HEART + THE SHADOW AND THE LIGHT + THE CRY OF A LOST SOUL + ANDREW RYKMAN'S PRAYER + THE ANSWER + THE ETERNAL GOODNESS + THE COMMON QUESTION + OUR MASTER + THE MEETING + THE CLEAR VISION + DIVINE COMPASSION + THE PRAYER-SEEKER + THE BREWING OF SOMA + A WOMAN + THE PRAYER OF AGASSIZ + IN QUEST + THE FRIEND'S BURIAL + A CHRISTMAS CARMEN + VESTA + CHILD-SONGS + THE HEALER + THE TWO ANGELS + OVERRULED + HYMN OF THE DUNKERS + GIVING AND TAKING + THE VISION OF ECHARD + INSCRIPTIONS + ON A SUN-DIAL + ON A FOUNTAIN + THE MINISTER'S DAUGHTER + BY THEIR WORKS + THE WORD + THE BOOK + REQUIREMENT + HELP + UTTERANCE + ORIENTAL MAXIMS + THE INWARD JUDGE + LAYING UP TREASURE + CONDUCT + AN EASTER FLOWER GIFT + THE MYSTIC'S CHRISTMAS + AT LAST + WHAT THE TRAVELLER SAID AT SUNSET + THE "STORY OF IDA" + THE LIGHT THAT IS FELT + THE TWO LOVES + ADJUSTMENT + HYMNS OF THE BRAHMO SOMAJ + REVELATION + + + + + POEMS OF NATURE + + +THE FROST SPIRIT + +He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes + You may trace his footsteps now +On the naked woods and the blasted fields and the + brown hill's withered brow. +He has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees + where their pleasant green came forth, +And the winds, which follow wherever he goes, + have shaken them down to earth. + +He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes! + from the frozen Labrador, +From the icy bridge of the Northern seas, which + the white bear wanders o'er, +Where the fisherman's sail is stiff with ice, and the + luckless forms below +In the sunless cold of the lingering night into + marble statues grow + +He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes + on the rushing Northern blast, +And the dark Norwegian pines have bowed as his + fearful breath went past. +With an unscorched wing he has hurried on, + where the fires of Hecla glow +On the darkly beautiful sky above and the ancient + ice below. + +He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes + and the quiet lake shall feel +The torpid touch of his glazing breath, and ring to + the skater's heel; +And the streams which danced on the broken + rocks, or sang to the leaning grass, +Shall bow again to their winter chain, and in + mournful silence pass. +He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes! + Let us meet him as we may, +And turn with the light of the parlor-fire his evil + power away; +And gather closer the circle round, when that + fire-light dances high, +And laugh at the shriek of the baffled Fiend as + his sounding wing goes by! +1830. + + + +THE MERRIMAC. + + "The Indians speak of a beautiful river, far to the south, + which they call Merrimac."--SIEUR. DE MONTS, 1604. + +Stream of my fathers! sweetly still +The sunset rays thy valley fill; +Poured slantwise down the long defile, +Wave, wood, and spire beneath them smile. +I see the winding Powow fold +The green hill in its belt of gold, +And following down its wavy line, +Its sparkling waters blend with thine. +There 's not a tree upon thy side, +Nor rock, which thy returning tide +As yet hath left abrupt and stark +Above thy evening water-mark; +No calm cove with its rocky hem, +No isle whose emerald swells begin +Thy broad, smooth current; not a sail +Bowed to the freshening ocean gale; +No small boat with its busy oars, +Nor gray wall sloping to thy shores; +Nor farm-house with its maple shade, +Or rigid poplar colonnade, +But lies distinct and full in sight, +Beneath this gush of sunset light. +Centuries ago, that harbor-bar, +Stretching its length of foam afar, +And Salisbury's beach of shining sand, +And yonder island's wave-smoothed strand, +Saw the adventurer's tiny sail, +Flit, stooping from the eastern gale; +And o'er these woods and waters broke +The cheer from Britain's hearts of oak, +As brightly on the voyager's eye, +Weary of forest, sea, and sky, +Breaking the dull continuous wood, +The Merrimac rolled down his flood; +Mingling that clear pellucid brook, +Which channels vast Agioochook +When spring-time's sun and shower unlock +The frozen fountains of the rock, +And more abundant waters given +From that pure lake, "The Smile of Heaven," +Tributes from vale and mountain-side,-- +With ocean's dark, eternal tide! + +On yonder rocky cape, which braves +The stormy challenge of the waves, +Midst tangled vine and dwarfish wood, +The hardy Anglo-Saxon stood, +Planting upon the topmost crag +The staff of England's battle-flag; +And, while from out its heavy fold +Saint George's crimson cross unrolled, +Midst roll of drum and trumpet blare, +And weapons brandishing in air, +He gave to that lone promontory +The sweetest name in all his story; +Of her, the flower of Islam's daughters, +Whose harems look on Stamboul's waters,-- +Who, when the chance of war had bound +The Moslem chain his limbs around, +Wreathed o'er with silk that iron chain, +Soothed with her smiles his hours of pain, +And fondly to her youthful slave +A dearer gift than freedom gave. + +But look! the yellow light no more +Streams down on wave and verdant shore; +And clearly on the calm air swells +The twilight voice of distant bells. +From Ocean's bosom, white and thin, +The mists come slowly rolling in; +Hills, woods, the river's rocky rim, +Amidst the sea--like vapor swim, +While yonder lonely coast-light, set +Within its wave-washed minaret, +Half quenched, a beamless star and pale, +Shines dimly through its cloudy veil! + +Home of my fathers!--I have stood +Where Hudson rolled his lordly flood +Seen sunrise rest and sunset fade +Along his frowning Palisade; +Looked down the Appalachian peak +On Juniata's silver streak; +Have seen along his valley gleam +The Mohawk's softly winding stream; +The level light of sunset shine +Through broad Potomac's hem of pine; +And autumn's rainbow-tinted banner +Hang lightly o'er the Susquehanna; +Yet wheresoe'er his step might be, +Thy wandering child looked back to thee! +Heard in his dreams thy river's sound +Of murmuring on its pebbly bound, +The unforgotten swell and roar +Of waves on thy familiar shore; +And saw, amidst the curtained gloom +And quiet of his lonely room, +Thy sunset scenes before him pass; +As, in Agrippa's magic glass, +The loved and lost arose to view, +Remembered groves in greenness grew, +Bathed still in childhood's morning dew, +Along whose bowers of beauty swept +Whatever Memory's mourners wept, +Sweet faces, which the charnel kept, +Young, gentle eyes, which long had slept; +And while the gazer leaned to trace, +More near, some dear familiar face, +He wept to find the vision flown,-- +A phantom and a dream alone! +1841. + + + +HAMPTON BEACH + +The sunlight glitters keen and bright, +Where, miles away, +Lies stretching to my dazzled sight +A luminous belt, a misty light, +Beyond the dark pine bluffs and wastes of sandy gray. + +The tremulous shadow of the Sea! +Against its ground +Of silvery light, rock, hill, and tree, +Still as a picture, clear and free, +With varying outline mark the coast for miles around. + +On--on--we tread with loose-flung rein +Our seaward way, +Through dark-green fields and blossoming grain, +Where the wild brier-rose skirts the lane, +And bends above our heads the flowering locust spray. + +Ha! like a kind hand on my brow +Comes this fresh breeze, +Cooling its dull and feverish glow, +While through my being seems to flow +The breath of a new life, the healing of the seas! + +Now rest we, where this grassy mound +His feet hath set +In the great waters, which have bound +His granite ankles greenly round +With long and tangled moss, and weeds with cool spray wet. + +Good-by to Pain and Care! I take +Mine ease to-day +Here where these sunny waters break, +And ripples this keen breeze, I shake +All burdens from the heart, all weary thoughts away. + +I draw a freer breath, I seem +Like all I see-- +Waves in the sun, the white-winged gleam +Of sea-birds in the slanting beam, +And far-off sails which flit before the south-wind free. + +So when Time's veil shall fall asunder, +The soul may know +No fearful change, nor sudden wonder, +Nor sink the weight of mystery under, +But with the upward rise, and with the vastness grow. + +And all we shrink from now may seem +No new revealing; +Familiar as our childhood's stream, +Or pleasant memory of a dream +The loved and cherished Past upon the new life stealing. + +Serene and mild the untried light +May have its dawning; +And, as in summer's northern night +The evening and the dawn unite, +The sunset hues of Time blend with the soul's new morning. + +I sit alone; in foam and spray +Wave after wave +Breaks on the rocks which, stern and gray, +Shoulder the broken tide away, +Or murmurs hoarse and strong through mossy cleft and cave. + +What heed I of the dusty land +And noisy town? +I see the mighty deep expand +From its white line of glimmering sand +To where the blue of heaven on bluer waves shuts down! + +In listless quietude of mind, +I yield to all +The change of cloud and wave and wind +And passive on the flood reclined, +I wander with the waves, and with them rise and fall. + +But look, thou dreamer! wave and shore +In shadow lie; +The night-wind warns me back once more +To where, my native hill-tops o'er, +Bends like an arch of fire the glowing sunset sky. + +So then, beach, bluff, and wave, farewell! +I bear with me +No token stone nor glittering shell, +But long and oft shall Memory tell +Of this brief thoughtful hour of musing by the Sea. +1843. + + + +A DREAM OF SUMMER. + +Bland as the morning breath of June +The southwest breezes play; +And, through its haze, the winter noon +Seems warm as summer's day. +The snow-plumed Angel of the North +Has dropped his icy spear; +Again the mossy earth looks forth, +Again the streams gush clear. + +The fox his hillside cell forsakes, +The muskrat leaves his nook, +The bluebird in the meadow brakes +Is singing with the brook. +"Bear up, O Mother Nature!" cry +Bird, breeze, and streamlet free; +"Our winter voices prophesy +Of summer days to thee!" + +So, in those winters of the soul, +By bitter blasts and drear +O'erswept from Memory's frozen pole, +Will sunny days appear. +Reviving Hope and Faith, they show +The soul its living powers, +And how beneath the winter's snow +Lie germs of summer flowers! + +The Night is mother of the Day, +The Winter of the Spring, +And ever upon old Decay +The greenest mosses cling. +Behind the cloud the starlight lurks, +Through showers the sunbeams fall; +For God, who loveth all His works, +Has left His hope with all! +4th 1st month, 1847. + + + + +THE LAKESIDE + +The shadows round the inland sea +Are deepening into night; +Slow up the slopes of Ossipee +They chase the lessening light. +Tired of the long day's blinding heat, +I rest my languid eye, +Lake of the Hills! where, cool and sweet, +Thy sunset waters lie! + +Along the sky, in wavy lines, +O'er isle and reach and bay, +Green-belted with eternal pines, +The mountains stretch away. +Below, the maple masses sleep +Where shore with water blends, +While midway on the tranquil deep +The evening light descends. + +So seemed it when yon hill's red crown, +Of old, the Indian trod, +And, through the sunset air, looked down +Upon the Smile of God. +To him of light and shade the laws +No forest skeptic taught; +Their living and eternal Cause +His truer instinct sought. + +He saw these mountains in the light +Which now across them shines; +This lake, in summer sunset bright, +Walled round with sombering pines. +God near him seemed; from earth and skies +His loving voice he beard, +As, face to face, in Paradise, +Man stood before the Lord. + +Thanks, O our Father! that, like him, +Thy tender love I see, +In radiant hill and woodland dim, +And tinted sunset sea. +For not in mockery dost Thou fill +Our earth with light and grace; +Thou hid'st no dark and cruel will +Behind Thy smiling face! +1849. + + + +AUTUMN THOUGHTS + +Gone hath the Spring, with all its flowers, +And gone the Summer's pomp and show, +And Autumn, in his leafless bowers, +Is waiting for the Winter's snow. + +I said to Earth, so cold and gray, +"An emblem of myself thou art." +"Not so," the Earth did seem to say, +"For Spring shall warm my frozen heart." +I soothe my wintry sleep with dreams +Of warmer sun and softer rain, +And wait to hear the sound of streams +And songs of merry birds again. + +But thou, from whom the Spring hath gone, +For whom the flowers no longer blow, +Who standest blighted and forlorn, +Like Autumn waiting for the snow; + +No hope is thine of sunnier hours, +Thy Winter shall no more depart; +No Spring revive thy wasted flowers, +Nor Summer warm thy frozen heart. +1849. + + + +ON RECEIVING AN EAGLE'S QUILL FROM LAKE SUPERIOR. + +All day the darkness and the cold +Upon my heart have lain, +Like shadows on the winter sky, +Like frost upon the pane; + +But now my torpid fancy wakes, +And, on thy Eagle's plume, +Rides forth, like Sindbad on his bird, +Or witch upon her broom! + +Below me roar the rocking pines, +Before me spreads the lake +Whose long and solemn-sounding waves +Against the sunset break. + +I hear the wild Rice-Eater thresh +The grain he has not sown; +I see, with flashing scythe of fire, +The prairie harvest mown! + +I hear the far-off voyager's horn; +I see the Yankee's trail,-- +His foot on every mountain-pass, +On every stream his sail. + +By forest, lake, and waterfall, +I see his pedler show; +The mighty mingling with the mean, +The lofty with the low. + +He's whittling by St. Mary's Falls, +Upon his loaded wain; +He's measuring o'er the Pictured Rocks, +With eager eyes of gain. + +I hear the mattock in the mine, +The axe-stroke in the dell, +The clamor from the Indian lodge, +The Jesuit chapel bell! + +I see the swarthy trappers come +From Mississippi's springs; +And war-chiefs with their painted brows, +And crests of eagle wings. + +Behind the scared squaw's birch canoe, +The steamer smokes and raves; +And city lots are staked for sale +Above old Indian graves. + +I hear the tread of pioneers +Of nations yet to be; +The first low wash of waves, where soon +Shall roll a human sea. + +The rudiments of empire here +Are plastic yet and warm; +The chaos of a mighty world +Is rounding into form! + +Each rude and jostling fragment soon +Its fitting place shall find,-- +The raw material of a State, +Its muscle and its mind! + +And, westering still, the star which leads +The New World in its train +Has tipped with fire the icy spears +Of many a mountain chain. + +The snowy cones of Oregon +Are kindling on its way; +And California's golden sands +Gleam brighter in its ray! + +Then blessings on thy eagle quill, +As, wandering far and wide, +I thank thee for this twilight dream +And Fancy's airy ride! + +Yet, welcomer than regal plumes, +Which Western trappers find, +Thy free and pleasant thoughts, chance sown, +Like feathers on the wind. + +Thy symbol be the mountain-bird, +Whose glistening quill I hold; +Thy home the ample air of hope, +And memory's sunset gold! + +In thee, let joy with duty join, +And strength unite with love, +The eagle's pinions folding round +The warm heart of the dove! + +So, when in darkness sleeps the vale +Where still the blind bird clings +The sunshine of the upper sky +Shall glitter on thy wings! +1849. + + + +APRIL. + + "The spring comes slowly up this way." + Christabel. + +'T is the noon of the spring-time, yet never a bird +In the wind-shaken elm or the maple is heard; +For green meadow-grasses wide levels of snow, +And blowing of drifts where the crocus should blow; +Where wind-flower and violet, amber and white, +On south-sloping brooksides should smile in the light, +O'er the cold winter-beds of their late-waking roots +The frosty flake eddies, the ice-crystal shoots; +And, longing for light, under wind-driven heaps, +Round the boles of the pine-wood the ground-laurel creeps, +Unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of showers, +With buds scarcely swelled, which should burst into flowers +We wait for thy coming, sweet wind of the south! +For the touch of thy light wings, the kiss of thy mouth; +For the yearly evangel thou bearest from God, +Resurrection and life to the graves of the sod! +Up our long river-valley, for days, have not ceased +The wail and the shriek of the bitter northeast, +Raw and chill, as if winnowed through ices and snow, +All the way from the land of the wild Esquimau, +Until all our dreams of the land of the blest, +Like that red hunter's, turn to the sunny southwest. +O soul of the spring-time, its light and its breath, +Bring warmth to this coldness, bring life to this death; +Renew the great miracle; let us behold +The stone from the mouth of the sepulchre rolled, +And Nature, like Lazarus, rise, as of old! +Let our faith, which in darkness and coldness has lain, +Revive with the warmth and the brightness again, +And in blooming of flower and budding of tree +The symbols and types of our destiny see; +The life of the spring-time, the life of the whole, +And, as sun to the sleeping earth, love to the soul! +1852. + + + +PICTURES + +I. +Light, warmth, and sprouting greenness, and o'er all +Blue, stainless, steel-bright ether, raining down +Tranquillity upon the deep-hushed town, +The freshening meadows, and the hillsides brown; +Voice of the west-wind from the hills of pine, +And the brimmed river from its distant fall, +Low hum of bees, and joyous interlude +Of bird-songs in the streamlet-skirting wood,-- +Heralds and prophecies of sound and sight, +Blessed forerunners of the warmth and light, +Attendant angels to the house of prayer, +With reverent footsteps keeping pace with mine,-- +Once more, through God's great love, with you I share +A morn of resurrection sweet and fair +As that which saw, of old, in Palestine, +Immortal Love uprising in fresh bloom +From the dark night and winter of the tomb! +2d, 5th mo., 1852. + +II. +White with its sun-bleached dust, the pathway winds +Before me; dust is on the shrunken grass, +And on the trees beneath whose boughs I pass; +Frail screen against the Hunter of the sky, +Who, glaring on me with his lidless eye, +While mounting with his dog-star high and higher +Ambushed in light intolerable, unbinds +The burnished quiver of his shafts of fire. +Between me and the hot fields of his South +A tremulous glow, as from a furnace-mouth, +Glimmers and swims before my dazzled sight, +As if the burning arrows of his ire +Broke as they fell, and shattered into light; +Yet on my cheek I feel the western wind, +And hear it telling to the orchard trees, +And to the faint and flower-forsaken bees, +Tales of fair meadows, green with constant streams, +And mountains rising blue and cool behind, +Where in moist dells the purple orchis gleams, +And starred with white the virgin's bower is twined. +So the o'erwearied pilgrim, as he fares +Along life's summer waste, at times is fanned, +Even at noontide, by the cool, sweet airs +Of a serener and a holier land, +Fresh as the morn, and as the dewfall bland. +Breath of the blessed Heaven for which we pray, +Blow from the eternal hills! make glad our earthly way! +8th mo., 1852. + + + +SUMMER BY THE LAKESIDE + +LAKE WINNIPESAUKEE. + +I. NOON. +White clouds, whose shadows haunt the deep, +Light mists, whose soft embraces keep +The sunshine on the hills asleep! + +O isles of calm! O dark, still wood! +And stiller skies that overbrood +Your rest with deeper quietude! + +O shapes and hues, dim beckoning, through +Yon mountain gaps, my longing view +Beyond the purple and the blue, + +To stiller sea and greener land, +And softer lights and airs more bland, +And skies,--the hollow of God's hand! + +Transfused through you, O mountain friends! +With mine your solemn spirit blends, +And life no more hath separate ends. + +I read each misty mountain sign, +I know the voice of wave and pine, +And I am yours, and ye are mine. + +Life's burdens fall, its discords cease, +I lapse into the glad release +Of Nature's own exceeding peace. + +O welcome calm of heart and mind! +As falls yon fir-tree's loosened rind +To leave a tenderer growth behind, + +So fall the weary years away; +A child again, my head I lay +Upon the lap of this sweet day. + +This western wind hath Lethean powers, +Yon noonday cloud nepenthe showers, +The lake is white with lotus-flowers! + +Even Duty's voice is faint and low, +And slumberous Conscience, waking slow, +Forgets her blotted scroll to show. + +The Shadow which pursues us all, +Whose ever-nearing steps appall, +Whose voice we hear behind us call,-- + +That Shadow blends with mountain gray, +It speaks but what the light waves say,-- +Death walks apart from Fear to-day! + +Rocked on her breast, these pines and I +Alike on Nature's love rely; +And equal seems to live or die. + +Assured that He whose presence fills +With light the spaces of these hills +No evil to His creatures wills, + +The simple faith remains, that He +Will do, whatever that may be, +The best alike for man and tree. + +What mosses over one shall grow, +What light and life the other know, +Unanxious, leaving Him to show. + + +II. EVENING. +Yon mountain's side is black with night, +While, broad-orhed, o'er its gleaming crown +The moon, slow-rounding into sight, +On the hushed inland sea looks down. + +How start to light the clustering isles, +Each silver-hemmed! How sharply show +The shadows of their rocky piles, +And tree-tops in the wave below! + +How far and strange the mountains seem, +Dim-looming through the pale, still light +The vague, vast grouping of a dream, +They stretch into the solemn night. + +Beneath, lake, wood, and peopled vale, +Hushed by that presence grand and grave, +Are silent, save the cricket's wail, +And low response of leaf and wave. + +Fair scenes! whereto the Day and Night +Make rival love, I leave ye soon, +What time before the eastern light +The pale ghost of the setting moon + +Shall hide behind yon rocky spines, +And the young archer, Morn, shall break +His arrows on the mountain pines, +And, golden-sandalled, walk the lake! + +Farewell! around this smiling bay +Gay-hearted Health, and Life in bloom, +With lighter steps than mine, may stray +In radiant summers yet to come. + +But none shall more regretful leave +These waters and these hills than I +Or, distant, fonder dream how eve +Or dawn is painting wave and sky; + +How rising moons shine sad and mild +On wooded isle and silvering bay; +Or setting suns beyond the piled +And purple mountains lead the day; + +Nor laughing girl, nor bearding boy, +Nor full-pulsed manhood, lingering here, +Shall add, to life's abounding joy, +The charmed repose to suffering dear. + +Still waits kind Nature to impart +Her choicest gifts to such as gain +An entrance to her loving heart +Through the sharp discipline of pain. + +Forever from the Hand that takes +One blessing from us others fall; +And, soon or late, our Father makes +His perfect recompense to all! + +Oh, watched by Silence and the Night, +And folded in the strong embrace +Of the great mountains, with the light +Of the sweet heavens upon thy face, + +Lake of the Northland! keep thy dower +Of beauty still, and while above +Thy solemn mountains speak of power, +Be thou the mirror of God's love. +1853. + + + +THE FRUIT-GIFT. + +Last night, just as the tints of autumn's sky +Of sunset faded from our hills and streams, +I sat, vague listening, lapped in twilight dreams, +To the leaf's rustle, and the cricket's cry. + +Then, like that basket, flush with summer fruit, +Dropped by the angels at the Prophet's foot, +Came, unannounced, a gift of clustered sweetness, +Full-orbed, and glowing with the prisoned beams +Of summery suns, and rounded to completeness +By kisses of the south-wind and the dew. +Thrilled with a glad surprise, methought I knew +The pleasure of the homeward-turning Jew, +When Eshcol's clusters on his shoulders lay, +Dropping their sweetness on his desert way. + +I said, "This fruit beseems no world of sin. +Its parent vine, rooted in Paradise, +O'ercrept the wall, and never paid the price +Of the great mischief,--an ambrosial tree, +Eden's exotic, somehow smuggled in, +To keep the thorns and thistles company." +Perchance our frail, sad mother plucked in haste +A single vine-slip as she passed the gate, +Where the dread sword alternate paled and burned, +And the stern angel, pitying her fate, +Forgave the lovely trespasser, and turned +Aside his face of fire; and thus the waste +And fallen world hath yet its annual taste +Of primal good, to prove of sin the cost, +And show by one gleaned ear the mighty harvest lost. +1854. + + + +FLOWERS IN WINTER + +PAINTED UPON A PORTE LIVRE. + +How strange to greet, this frosty morn, +In graceful counterfeit of flowers, +These children of the meadows, born +Of sunshine and of showers! + +How well the conscious wood retains +The pictures of its flower-sown home, +The lights and shades, the purple stains, +And golden hues of bloom! + +It was a happy thought to bring +To the dark season's frost and rime +This painted memory of spring, +This dream of summer-time. + +Our hearts are lighter for its sake, +Our fancy's age renews its youth, +And dim-remembered fictions take +The guise of--present truth. + +A wizard of the Merrimac,-- +So old ancestral legends say, +Could call green leaf and blossom back +To frosted stem and spray. + +The dry logs of the cottage wall, +Beneath his touch, put out their leaves +The clay-bound swallow, at his call, +Played round the icy eaves. + +The settler saw his oaken flail +Take bud, and bloom before his eyes; +From frozen pools he saw the pale, +Sweet summer lilies rise. + +To their old homes, by man profaned, +Came the sad dryads, exiled long, +And through their leafy tongues complained +Of household use and wrong. + +The beechen platter sprouted wild, +The pipkin wore its old-time green +The cradle o'er the sleeping child +Became a leafy screen. + +Haply our gentle friend hath met, +While wandering in her sylvan quest, +Haunting his native woodlands yet, +That Druid of the West; + +And, while the dew on leaf and flower +Glistened in moonlight clear and still, +Learned the dusk wizard's spell of power, +And caught his trick of skill. + +But welcome, be it new or old, +The gift which makes the day more bright, +And paints, upon the ground of cold +And darkness, warmth and light. + +Without is neither gold nor green; +Within, for birds, the birch-logs sing; +Yet, summer-like, we sit between +The autumn and the spring. + +The one, with bridal blush of rose, +And sweetest breath of woodland balm, +And one whose matron lips unclose +In smiles of saintly calm. + +Fill soft and deep, O winter snow! +The sweet azalea's oaken dells, +And hide the bank where roses blow, +And swing the azure bells! + +O'erlay the amber violet's leaves, +The purple aster's brookside home, +Guard all the flowers her pencil gives +A life beyond their bloom. + +And she, when spring comes round again, +By greening slope and singing flood +Shall wander, seeking, not in vain, +Her darlings of the wood. +1855. + + + +THE MAYFLOWERS + + The trailing arbutus, or mayflower, grows abundantly in the + vicinity of Plymouth, and was the first flower that greeted the + Pilgrims after their fearful winter. The name mayflower was + familiar in England, as the application of it to the historic + vessel shows, but it was applied by the English, and still is, to + the hawthorn. Its use in New England in connection with _Epigma + repens _dates from a very early day, some claiming that the first + Pilgrims so used it, in affectionate memory of the vessel and its + English flower association. + +Sad Mayflower! watched by winter stars, +And nursed by winter gales, +With petals of the sleeted spars, +And leaves of frozen sails! + +What had she in those dreary hours, +Within her ice-rimmed bay, +In common with the wild-wood flowers, +The first sweet smiles of May? + +Yet, "God be praised!" the Pilgrim said, +Who saw the blossoms peer +Above the brown leaves, dry and dead, +"Behold our Mayflower here!" + +"God wills it: here our rest shall be, +Our years of wandering o'er; +For us the Mayflower of the sea +Shall spread her sails no more." + +O sacred flowers of faith and hope, +As sweetly now as then +Ye bloom on many a birchen slope, +In many a pine-dark glen. + +Behind the sea-wall's rugged length, +Unchanged, your leaves unfold, +Like love behind the manly strength +Of the brave hearts of old. + +So live the fathers in their sons, +Their sturdy faith be ours, +And ours the love that overruns +Its rocky strength with flowers! + +The Pilgrim's wild and wintry day +Its shadow round us draws; +The Mayflower of his stormy bay, +Our Freedom's struggling cause. + +But warmer suns erelong shall bring +To life the frozen sod; +And through dead leaves of hope shall spring +Afresh the flowers of God! +1856. + + + +THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN. + +I. +O'er the bare woods, whose outstretched hands +Plead with the leaden heavens in vain, +I see, beyond the valley lands, +The sea's long level dim with rain. +Around me all things, stark and dumb, +Seem praying for the snows to come, +And, for the summer bloom and greenness gone, +With winter's sunset lights and dazzling morn atone. + +II. +Along the river's summer walk, +The withered tufts of asters nod; +And trembles on its arid stalk +The boar plume of the golden-rod. +And on a ground of sombre fir, +And azure-studded juniper, +The silver birch its buds of purple shows, +And scarlet berries tell where bloomed the sweet wild-rose! + +III. +With mingled sound of horns and bells, +A far-heard clang, the wild geese fly, +Storm-sent, from Arctic moors and fells, +Like a great arrow through the sky, +Two dusky lines converged in one, +Chasing the southward-flying sun; +While the brave snow-bird and the hardy jay +Call to them from the pines, as if to bid them stay. + +IV. +I passed this way a year ago +The wind blew south; the noon of day +Was warm as June's; and save that snow +Flecked the low mountains far away, +And that the vernal-seeming breeze +Mocked faded grass and leafless trees, +I might have dreamed of summer as I lay, +Watching the fallen leaves with the soft wind at play. + +V. +Since then, the winter blasts have piled +The white pagodas of the snow +On these rough slopes, and, strong and wild, +Yon river, in its overflow +Of spring-time rain and sun, set free, +Crashed with its ices to the sea; +And over these gray fields, then green and gold, +The summer corn has waved, the thunder's organ rolled. + +VI. +Rich gift of God! A year of time +What pomp of rise and shut of day, +What hues wherewith our Northern clime +Makes autumn's dropping woodlands gay, +What airs outblown from ferny dells, +And clover-bloom and sweetbrier smells, +What songs of brooks and birds, what fruits and flowers, +Green woods and moonlit snows, have in its round been ours! + +VII. +I know not how, in other lands, +The changing seasons come and go; +What splendors fall on Syrian sands, +What purple lights on Alpine snow! +Nor how the pomp of sunrise waits +On Venice at her watery gates; +A dream alone to me is Arno's vale, +And the Alhambra's halls are but a traveller's tale. + +VIII. +Yet, on life's current, he who drifts +Is one with him who rows or sails +And he who wanders widest lifts +No more of beauty's jealous veils +Than he who from his doorway sees +The miracle of flowers and trees, +Feels the warm Orient in the noonday air, +And from cloud minarets hears the sunset call to prayer! + +IX. +The eye may well be glad that looks +Where Pharpar's fountains rise and fall; +But he who sees his native brooks +Laugh in the sun, has seen them all. +The marble palaces of Ind +Rise round him in the snow and wind; +From his lone sweetbrier Persian Hafiz smiles, +And Rome's cathedral awe is in his woodland aisles. + +X. +And thus it is my fancy blends +The near at hand and far and rare; +And while the same horizon bends +Above the silver-sprinkled hair +Which flashed the light of morning skies +On childhood's wonder-lifted eyes, +Within its round of sea and sky and field, +Earth wheels with all her zones, the Kosmos stands revealed. + +XI. +And thus the sick man on his bed, +The toiler to his task-work bound, +Behold their prison-walls outspread, +Their clipped horizon widen round! +While freedom-giving fancy waits, +Like Peter's angel at the gates, +The power is theirs to baffle care and pain, +To bring the lost world back, and make it theirs again! + +XII. +What lack of goodly company, +When masters of the ancient lyre +Obey my call, and trace for me +Their words of mingled tears and fire! +I talk with Bacon, grave and wise, +I read the world with Pascal's eyes; +And priest and sage, with solemn brows austere, +And poets, garland-bound, the Lords of Thought, draw near. + +XIII. +Methinks, O friend, I hear thee say, + "In vain the human heart we mock; +Bring living guests who love the day, +Not ghosts who fly at crow of cock! +The herbs we share with flesh and blood +Are better than ambrosial food +With laurelled shades." I grant it, nothing loath, +But doubly blest is he who can partake of both. + +XIV. +He who might Plato's banquet grace, +Have I not seen before me sit, +And watched his puritanic face, +With more than Eastern wisdom lit? +Shrewd mystic! who, upon the back +Of his Poor Richard's Almanac, +Writing the Sufi's song, the Gentoo's dream, +Links Manu's age of thought to Fulton's age of steam! + +XV. +Here too, of answering love secure, +Have I not welcomed to my hearth +The gentle pilgrim troubadour, +Whose songs have girdled half the earth; +Whose pages, like the magic mat +Whereon the Eastern lover sat, +Have borne me over Rhine-land's purple vines, +And Nubia's tawny sands, and Phrygia's mountain pines! + +XVI. +And he, who to the lettered wealth +Of ages adds the lore unpriced, +The wisdom and the moral health, +The ethics of the school of Christ; +The statesman to his holy trust, +As the Athenian archon, just, +Struck down, exiled like him for truth alone, +Has he not graced my home with beauty all his own? + +XVII. +What greetings smile, what farewells wave, +What loved ones enter and depart! +The good, the beautiful, the brave, +The Heaven-lent treasures of the heart! +How conscious seems the frozen sod +And beechen slope whereon they trod +The oak-leaves rustle, and the dry grass bends +Beneath the shadowy feet of lost or absent friends. + +XVIII. +Then ask not why to these bleak hills +I cling, as clings the tufted moss, +To bear the winter's lingering chills, +The mocking spring's perpetual loss. +I dream of lands where summer smiles, +And soft winds blow from spicy isles, +But scarce would Ceylon's breath of flowers be sweet, +Could I not feel thy soil, New England, at my feet! + +XIX. +At times I long for gentler skies, +And bathe in dreams of softer air, +But homesick tears would fill the eyes +That saw the Cross without the Bear. +The pine must whisper to the palm, +The north-wind break the tropic calm; +And with the dreamy languor of the Line, +The North's keen virtue blend, and strength to beauty join. + +XX. +Better to stem with heart and hand +The roaring tide of life, than lie, +Unmindful, on its flowery strand, +Of God's occasions drifting by +Better with naked nerve to bear +The needles of this goading air, +Than, in the lap of sensual ease, forego +The godlike power to do, the godlike aim to know. + +XXI. +Home of my heart! to me more fair +Than gay Versailles or Windsor's halls, +The painted, shingly town-house where +The freeman's vote for Freedom falls! +The simple roof where prayer is made, +Than Gothic groin and colonnade; +The living temple of the heart of man, +Than Rome's sky-mocking vault, or many-spired Milan! + +XXII. +More dear thy equal village schools, +Where rich and poor the Bible read, +Than classic halls where Priestcraft rules, +And Learning wears the chains of Creed; +Thy glad Thanksgiving, gathering in +The scattered sheaves of home and kin, +Than the mad license ushering Lenten pains, +Or holidays of slaves who laugh and dance in chains. + +XXIII. +And sweet homes nestle in these dales, +And perch along these wooded swells; +And, blest beyond Arcadian vales, +They hear the sound of Sabbath bells! +Here dwells no perfect man sublime, +Nor woman winged before her time, +But with the faults and follies of the race, +Old home-bred virtues hold their not unhonored place. + +XXIV. +Here manhood struggles for the sake +Of mother, sister, daughter, wife, +The graces and the loves which make +The music of the march of life; +And woman, in her daily round +Of duty, walks on holy ground. +No unpaid menial tills the soil, nor here +Is the bad lesson learned at human rights to sneer. + +XXV. +Then let the icy north-wind blow +The trumpets of the coming storm, +To arrowy sleet and blinding snow +Yon slanting lines of rain transform. +Young hearts shall hail the drifted cold, +As gayly as I did of old; +And I, who watch them through the frosty pane, +Unenvious, live in them my boyhood o'er again. + +XXVI. +And I will trust that He who heeds +The life that hides in mead and wold, +Who hangs yon alder's crimson beads, +And stains these mosses green and gold, +Will still, as He hath done, incline +His gracious care to me and mine; +Grant what we ask aright, from wrong debar, +And, as the earth grows dark, make brighter every star! + +XXVII. +I have not seen, I may not see, +My hopes for man take form in fact, +But God will give the victory +In due time; in that faith I act. +And lie who sees the future sure, +The baffling present may endure, +And bless, meanwhile, the unseen Hand that leads +The heart's desires beyond the halting step of deeds. + +XXVIII. +And thou, my song, I send thee forth, +Where harsher songs of mine have flown; +Go, find a place at home and hearth +Where'er thy singer's name is known; +Revive for him the kindly thought +Of friends; and they who love him not, +Touched by some strain of thine, perchance may take +The hand he proffers all, and thank him for thy sake. +1857. + + + +THE FIRST FLOWERS + +For ages on our river borders, +These tassels in their tawny bloom, +And willowy studs of downy silver, +Have prophesied of Spring to come. + +For ages have the unbound waters +Smiled on them from their pebbly hem, +And the clear carol of the robin +And song of bluebird welcomed them. + +But never yet from smiling river, +Or song of early bird, have they +Been greeted with a gladder welcome +Than whispers from my heart to-day. + +They break the spell of cold and darkness, +The weary watch of sleepless pain; +And from my heart, as from the river, +The ice of winter melts again. + +Thanks, Mary! for this wild-wood token +Of Freya's footsteps drawing near; +Almost, as in the rune of Asgard, +The growing of the grass I hear. + +It is as if the pine-trees called me +From ceiled room and silent books, +To see the dance of woodland shadows, +And hear the song of April brooks! + +As in the old Teutonic ballad +Of Odenwald live bird and tree, +Together live in bloom and music, +I blend in song thy flowers and thee. + +Earth's rocky tablets bear forever +The dint of rain and small bird's track +Who knows but that my idle verses +May leave some trace by Merrimac! + +The bird that trod the mellow layers +Of the young earth is sought in vain; +The cloud is gone that wove the sandstone, +From God's design, with threads of rain! + +So, when this fluid age we live in +Shall stiffen round my careless rhyme, +Who made the vagrant tracks may puzzle +The savants of the coming time; + +And, following out their dim suggestions, +Some idly-curious hand may draw +My doubtful portraiture, as Cuvier +Drew fish and bird from fin and claw. + +And maidens in the far-off twilights, +Singing my words to breeze and stream, +Shall wonder if the old-time Mary +Were real, or the rhymer's dream! +1st 3d mo., 1857. + + + +THE OLD BURYING-GROUND. + +Our vales are sweet with fern and rose, +Our hills are maple-crowned; +But not from them our fathers chose +The village burying-ground. + +The dreariest spot in all the land +To Death they set apart; +With scanty grace from Nature's hand, +And none from that of Art. + +A winding wall of mossy stone, +Frost-flung and broken, lines +A lonesome acre thinly grown +With grass and wandering vines. + +Without the wall a birch-tree shows +Its drooped and tasselled head; +Within, a stag-horned sumach grows, +Fern-leafed, with spikes of red. + +There, sheep that graze the neighboring plain +Like white ghosts come and go, +The farm-horse drags his fetlock chain, +The cow-bell tinkles slow. + +Low moans the river from its bed, +The distant pines reply; +Like mourners shrinking from the dead, +They stand apart and sigh. + +Unshaded smites the summer sun, +Unchecked the winter blast; +The school-girl learns the place to shun, +With glances backward cast. + +For thus our fathers testified, +That he might read who ran, +The emptiness of human pride, +The nothingness of man. + +They dared not plant the grave with flowers, +Nor dress the funeral sod, +Where, with a love as deep as ours, +They left their dead with God. + +The hard and thorny path they kept +From beauty turned aside; +Nor missed they over those who slept +The grace to life denied. + +Yet still the wilding flowers would blow, +The golden leaves would fall, +The seasons come, the seasons go, +And God be good to all. + +Above the graves the' blackberry hung +In bloom and green its wreath, +And harebells swung as if they rung +The chimes of peace beneath. + +The beauty Nature loves to share, +The gifts she hath for all, +The common light, the common air, +O'ercrept the graveyard's wall. + +It knew the glow of eventide, +The sunrise and the noon, +And glorified and sanctified +It slept beneath the moon. + +With flowers or snow-flakes for its sod, +Around the seasons ran, +And evermore the love of God +Rebuked the fear of man. + +We dwell with fears on either hand, +Within a daily strife, +And spectral problems waiting stand +Before the gates of life. + +The doubts we vainly seek to solve, +The truths we know, are one; +The known and nameless stars revolve +Around the Central Sun. + +And if we reap as we have sown, +And take the dole we deal, +The law of pain is love alone, +The wounding is to heal. + +Unharmed from change to change we glide, +We fall as in our dreams; +The far-off terror at our side +A smiling angel seems. + +Secure on God's all-tender heart +Alike rest great and small; +Why fear to lose our little part, +When He is pledged for all? + +O fearful heart and troubled brain +Take hope and strength from this,-- +That Nature never hints in vain, +Nor prophesies amiss. + +Her wild birds sing the same sweet stave, +Her lights and airs are given +Alike to playground and the grave; +And over both is Heaven. +1858 + + + +THE PALM-TREE. + +Is it the palm, the cocoa-palm, +On the Indian Sea, by the isles of balm? +Or is it a ship in the breezeless calm? + +A ship whose keel is of palm beneath, +Whose ribs of palm have a palm-bark sheath, +And a rudder of palm it steereth with. + +Branches of palm are its spars and rails, +Fibres of palm are its woven sails, +And the rope is of palm that idly trails! + +What does the good ship bear so well? +The cocoa-nut with its stony shell, +And the milky sap of its inner cell. + +What are its jars, so smooth and fine, +But hollowed nuts, filled with oil and wine, +And the cabbage that ripens under the Line? + +Who smokes his nargileh, cool and calm? +The master, whose cunning and skill could charm +Cargo and ship from the bounteous palm. + +In the cabin he sits on a palm-mat soft, +From a beaker of palm his drink is quaffed, +And a palm-thatch shields from the sun aloft! + +His dress is woven of palmy strands, +And he holds a palm-leaf scroll in his hands, +Traced with the Prophet's wise commands! + +The turban folded about his head +Was daintily wrought of the palm-leaf braid, +And the fan that cools him of palm was made. + +Of threads of palm was the carpet spun +Whereon he kneels when the day is done, +And the foreheads of Islam are bowed as one! + +To him the palm is a gift divine, +Wherein all uses of man combine,-- +House, and raiment, and food, and wine! + +And, in the hour of his great release, +His need of the palm shall only cease +With the shroud wherein he lieth in peace. + +"Allah il Allah!" he sings his psalm, +On the Indian Sea, by the isles of balm; +"Thanks to Allah who gives the palm!" +1858. + + + +THE RIVER PATH. + +No bird-song floated down the hill, +The tangled bank below was still; + +No rustle from the birchen stem, +No ripple from the water's hem. + +The dusk of twilight round us grew, +We felt the falling of the dew; + +For, from us, ere the day was done, +The wooded hills shut out the sun. + +But on the river's farther side +We saw the hill-tops glorified,-- + +A tender glow, exceeding fair, +A dream of day without its glare. + +With us the damp, the chill, the gloom +With them the sunset's rosy bloom; + +While dark, through willowy vistas seen, +The river rolled in shade between. + +From out the darkness where we trod, +We gazed upon those bills of God, + +Whose light seemed not of moon or sun. +We spake not, but our thought was one. + +We paused, as if from that bright shore +Beckoned our dear ones gone before; + +And stilled our beating hearts to hear +The voices lost to mortal ear! + +Sudden our pathway turned from night; +The hills swung open to the light; + +Through their green gates the sunshine showed, +A long, slant splendor downward flowed. + +Down glade and glen and bank it rolled; +It bridged the shaded stream with gold; + +And, borne on piers of mist, allied +The shadowy with the sunlit side! + +"So," prayed we, "when our feet draw near +The river dark, with mortal fear, + +"And the night cometh chill with dew, +O Father! let Thy light break through! + +"So let the hills of doubt divide, +So bridge with faith the sunless tide! + +"So let the eyes that fail on earth +On Thy eternal hills look forth; + +"And in Thy beckoning angels know +The dear ones whom we loved below!" +1880. + + + +MOUNTAIN PICTURES. + +I. FRANCONIA FROM THE PEMIGEWASSET +Once more, O Mountains of the North, unveil +Your brows, and lay your cloudy mantles by +And once more, ere the eyes that seek ye fail, +Uplift against the blue walls of the sky +Your mighty shapes, and let the sunshine weave +Its golden net-work in your belting woods, +Smile down in rainbows from your falling floods, +And on your kingly brows at morn and eve +Set crowns of fire! So shall my soul receive +Haply the secret of your calm and strength, +Your unforgotten beauty interfuse +My common life, your glorious shapes and hues +And sun-dropped splendors at my bidding come, +Loom vast through dreams, and stretch in billowy length +From the sea-level of my lowland home! + +They rise before me! Last night's thunder-gust +Roared not in vain: for where its lightnings thrust +Their tongues of fire, the great peaks seem so near, +Burned clean of mist, so starkly bold and clear, +I almost pause the wind in the pines to hear, +The loose rock's fall, the steps of browsing deer. +The clouds that shattered on yon slide-worn walls +And splintered on the rocks their spears of rain +Have set in play a thousand waterfalls, +Making the dusk and silence of the woods +Glad with the laughter of the chasing floods, +And luminous with blown spray and silver gleams, +While, in the vales below, the dry-lipped streams +Sing to the freshened meadow-lands again. +So, let me hope, the battle-storm that beats +The land with hail and fire may pass away +With its spent thunders at the break of day, +Like last night's clouds, and leave, as it retreats, +A greener earth and fairer sky behind, +Blown crystal-clear by Freedom's Northern wind! + +II. MONADNOCK FROM WACHUSET. +I would I were a painter, for the sake +Of a sweet picture, and of her who led, +A fitting guide, with reverential tread, +Into that mountain mystery. First a lake +Tinted with sunset; next the wavy lines +Of far receding hills; and yet more far, +Monadnock lifting from his night of pines +His rosy forehead to the evening star. +Beside us, purple-zoned, Wachuset laid +His head against the West, whose warm light made +His aureole; and o'er him, sharp and clear, +Like a shaft of lightning in mid-launching stayed, +A single level cloud-line, shone upon +By the fierce glances of the sunken sun, +Menaced the darkness with its golden spear! + +So twilight deepened round us. Still and black +The great woods climbed the mountain at our back; +And on their skirts, where yet the lingering day +On the shorn greenness of the clearing lay, +The brown old farm-house like a bird's-nest hung. +With home-life sounds the desert air was stirred +The bleat of sheep along the hill we heard, +The bucket plashing in the cool, sweet well, +The pasture-bars that clattered as they fell; +Dogs barked, fowls fluttered, cattle lowed; the gate +Of the barn-yard creaked beneath the merry weight +Of sun-brown children, listening, while they swung, +The welcome sound of supper-call to hear; +And down the shadowy lane, in tinklings clear, +The pastoral curfew of the cow-bell rung. +Thus soothed and pleased, our backward path we took, +Praising the farmer's home. He only spake, +Looking into the sunset o'er the lake, +Like one to whom the far-off is most near: +"Yes, most folks think it has a pleasant look; +I love it for my good old mother's sake, +Who lived and died here in the peace of God!" +The lesson of his words we pondered o'er, +As silently we turned the eastern flank +Of the mountain, where its shadow deepest sank, +Doubling the night along our rugged road: +We felt that man was more than his abode,-- +The inward life than Nature's raiment more; +And the warm sky, the sundown-tinted hill, +The forest and the lake, seemed dwarfed and dim +Before the saintly soul, whose human will +Meekly in the Eternal footsteps trod, +Making her homely toil and household ways +An earthly echo of the song of praise +Swelling from angel lips and harps of seraphim. +1862. + + + +THE VANISHERS. + +Sweetest of all childlike dreams +In the simple Indian lore +Still to me the legend seems +Of the shapes who flit before. + +Flitting, passing, seen and gone, +Never reached nor found at rest, +Baffling search, but beckoning on +To the Sunset of the Blest. + +From the clefts of mountain rocks, +Through the dark of lowland firs, +Flash the eyes and flow the locks +Of the mystic Vanishers! + +And the fisher in his skiff, +And the hunter on the moss, +Hear their call from cape and cliff, +See their hands the birch-leaves toss. + +Wistful, longing, through the green +Twilight of the clustered pines, +In their faces rarely seen +Beauty more than mortal shines. + +Fringed with gold their mantles flow +On the slopes of westering knolls; +In the wind they whisper low +Of the Sunset Land of Souls. + +Doubt who may, O friend of mine! +Thou and I have seen them too; +On before with beck and sign +Still they glide, and we pursue. + +More than clouds of purple trail +In the gold of setting day; +More than gleams of wing or sail +Beckon from the sea-mist gray. + +Glimpses of immortal youth, +Gleams and glories seen and flown, +Far-heard voices sweet with truth, +Airs from viewless Eden blown; + +Beauty that eludes our grasp, +Sweetness that transcends our taste, +Loving hands we may not clasp, +Shining feet that mock our haste; + +Gentle eyes we closed below, +Tender voices heard once more, +Smile and call us, as they go +On and onward, still before. + +Guided thus, O friend of mine +Let us walk our little way, +Knowing by each beckoning sign +That we are not quite astray. + +Chase we still, with baffled feet, +Smiling eye and waving hand, +Sought and seeker soon shall meet, +Lost and found, in Sunset Land +1864. + + + +THE PAGEANT. + +A sound as if from bells of silver, +Or elfin cymbals smitten clear, +Through the frost-pictured panes I hear. + +A brightness which outshines the morning, +A splendor brooking no delay, +Beckons and tempts my feet away. + +I leave the trodden village highway +For virgin snow-paths glimmering through +A jewelled elm-tree avenue; + +Where, keen against the walls of sapphire, +The gleaming tree-bolls, ice-embossed, +Hold up their chandeliers of frost. + +I tread in Orient halls enchanted, +I dream the Saga's dream of caves +Gem-lit beneath the North Sea waves! + +I walk the land of Eldorado, +I touch its mimic garden bowers, +Its silver leaves and diamond flowers! + +The flora of the mystic mine-world +Around me lifts on crystal stems +The petals of its clustered gems! + +What miracle of weird transforming +In this wild work of frost and light, +This glimpse of glory infinite! + +This foregleam of the Holy City +Like that to him of Patmos given, +The white bride coming down from heaven! + +How flash the ranked and mail-clad alders, +Through what sharp-glancing spears of reeds +The brook its muffled water leads! + +Yon maple, like the bush of Horeb, +Burns unconsumed: a white, cold fire +Rays out from every grassy spire. + +Each slender rush and spike of mullein, +Low laurel shrub and drooping fern, +Transfigured, blaze where'er I turn. + +How yonder Ethiopian hemlock +Crowned with his glistening circlet stands! +What jewels light his swarthy hands! + +Here, where the forest opens southward, +Between its hospitable pines, +As through a door, the warm sun shines. + +The jewels loosen on the branches, +And lightly, as the soft winds blow, +Fall, tinkling, on the ice below. + +And through the clashing of their cymbals +I hear the old familiar fall +Of water down the rocky wall, + +Where, from its wintry prison breaking, +In dark and silence hidden long, +The brook repeats its summer song. + +One instant flashing in the sunshine, +Keen as a sabre from its sheath, +Then lost again the ice beneath. + +I hear the rabbit lightly leaping, +The foolish screaming of the jay, +The chopper's axe-stroke far away; + +The clamor of some neighboring barn-yard, +The lazy cock's belated crow, +Or cattle-tramp in crispy snow. + +And, as in some enchanted forest +The lost knight hears his comrades sing, +And, near at hand, their bridles ring,-- + +So welcome I these sounds and voices, +These airs from far-off summer blown, +This life that leaves me not alone. + +For the white glory overawes me; +The crystal terror of the seer +Of Chebar's vision blinds me here. + +Rebuke me not, O sapphire heaven! +Thou stainless earth, lay not on me, +Thy keen reproach of purity, + +If, in this August presence-chamber, +I sigh for summer's leaf-green gloom +And warm airs thick with odorous bloom! + +Let the strange frost-work sink and crumble, +And let the loosened tree-boughs swing, +Till all their bells of silver ring. + +Shine warmly down, thou sun of noontime, +On this chill pageant, melt and move +The winter's frozen heart with love. + +And, soft and low, thou wind south-blowing, +Breathe through a veil of tenderest haze +Thy prophecy of summer days. + +Come with thy green relief of promise, +And to this dead, cold splendor bring +The living jewels of the spring! +1869. + + + +THE PRESSED GENTIAN. + +The time of gifts has come again, +And, on my northern window-pane, +Outlined against the day's brief light, +A Christmas token hangs in sight. + +The wayside travellers, as they pass, +Mark the gray disk of clouded glass; +And the dull blankness seems, perchance, +Folly to their wise ignorance. + +They cannot from their outlook see +The perfect grace it hath for me; +For there the flower, whose fringes through +The frosty breath of autumn blew, +Turns from without its face of bloom +To the warm tropic of my room, +As fair as when beside its brook +The hue of bending skies it took. + +So from the trodden ways of earth, +Seem some sweet souls who veil their worth, +And offer to the careless glance +The clouding gray of circumstance. +They blossom best where hearth-fires burn, +To loving eyes alone they turn +The flowers of inward grace, that hide +Their beauty from the world outside. + +But deeper meanings come to me, +My half-immortal flower, from thee! +Man judges from a partial view, +None ever yet his brother knew; +The Eternal Eye that sees the whole +May better read the darkened soul, +And find, to outward sense denied, +The flower upon its inmost side +1872. + + + +A MYSTERY. + +The river hemmed with leaning trees +Wound through its meadows green; +A low, blue line of mountains showed +The open pines between. + +One sharp, tall peak above them all +Clear into sunlight sprang +I saw the river of my dreams, +The mountains that I sang! + +No clue of memory led me on, +But well the ways I knew; +A feeling of familiar things +With every footstep grew. + +Not otherwise above its crag +Could lean the blasted pine; +Not otherwise the maple hold +Aloft its red ensign. + +So up the long and shorn foot-hills +The mountain road should creep; +So, green and low, the meadow fold +Its red-haired kine asleep. + +The river wound as it should wind; +Their place the mountains took; +The white torn fringes of their clouds +Wore no unwonted look. + +Yet ne'er before that river's rim +Was pressed by feet of mine, +Never before mine eyes had crossed +That broken mountain line. + +A presence, strange at once and known, +Walked with me as my guide; +The skirts of some forgotten life +Trailed noiseless at my side. + +Was it a dim-remembered dream? +Or glimpse through ions old? +The secret which the mountains kept +The river never told. + +But from the vision ere it passed +A tender hope I drew, +And, pleasant as a dawn of spring, +The thought within me grew, + +That love would temper every change, +And soften all surprise, +And, misty with the dreams of earth, +The hills of Heaven arise. +1873. + + + +A SEA DREAM. + +We saw the slow tides go and come, +The curving surf-lines lightly drawn, +The gray rocks touched with tender bloom +Beneath the fresh-blown rose of dawn. + +We saw in richer sunsets lost +The sombre pomp of showery noons; +And signalled spectral sails that crossed +The weird, low light of rising moons. + +On stormy eves from cliff and head +We saw the white spray tossed and spurned; +While over all, in gold and red, +Its face of fire the lighthouse turned. + +The rail-car brought its daily crowds, +Half curious, half indifferent, +Like passing sails or floating clouds, +We saw them as they came and went. + +But, one calm morning, as we lay +And watched the mirage-lifted wall +Of coast, across the dreamy bay, +And heard afar the curlew call, + +And nearer voices, wild or tame, +Of airy flock and childish throng, +Up from the water's edge there came +Faint snatches of familiar song. + +Careless we heard the singer's choice +Of old and common airs; at last +The tender pathos of his voice +In one low chanson held us fast. + +A song that mingled joy and pain, +And memories old and sadly sweet; +While, timing to its minor strain, +The waves in lapsing cadence beat. + + . . . . . + +The waves are glad in breeze and sun; +The rocks are fringed with foam; +I walk once more a haunted shore, +A stranger, yet at home, +A land of dreams I roam. + +Is this the wind, the soft sea wind +That stirred thy locks of brown? +Are these the rocks whose mosses knew +The trail of thy light gown, +Where boy and girl sat down? + +I see the gray fort's broken wall, +The boats that rock below; +And, out at sea, the passing sails +We saw so long ago +Rose-red in morning's glow. + +The freshness of the early time +On every breeze is blown; +As glad the sea, as blue the sky,-- +The change is ours alone; +The saddest is my own. + +A stranger now, a world-worn man, +Is he who bears my name; +But thou, methinks, whose mortal life +Immortal youth became, +Art evermore the same. + +Thou art not here, thou art not there, +Thy place I cannot see; +I only know that where thou art +The blessed angels be, +And heaven is glad for thee. + +Forgive me if the evil years +Have left on me their sign; +Wash out, O soul so beautiful, +The many stains of mine +In tears of love divine! + +I could not look on thee and live, +If thou wert by my side; +The vision of a shining one, +The white and heavenly bride, +Is well to me denied. + +But turn to me thy dear girl-face +Without the angel's crown, +The wedded roses of thy lips, +Thy loose hair rippling down +In waves of golden brown. + +Look forth once more through space and time, +And let thy sweet shade fall +In tenderest grace of soul and form +On memory's frescoed wall, +A shadow, and yet all! + +Draw near, more near, forever dear! +Where'er I rest or roam, +Or in the city's crowded streets, +Or by the blown sea foam, +The thought of thee is home! + + . . . . . + +At breakfast hour the singer read +The city news, with comment wise, +Like one who felt the pulse of trade +Beneath his finger fall and rise. + +His look, his air, his curt speech, told +The man of action, not of books, +To whom the corners made in gold +And stocks were more than seaside nooks. + +Of life beneath the life confessed +His song had hinted unawares; +Of flowers in traffic's ledgers pressed, +Of human hearts in bulls and bears. + +But eyes in vain were turned to watch +That face so hard and shrewd and strong; +And ears in vain grew sharp to catch +The meaning of that morning song. + +In vain some sweet-voiced querist sought +To sound him, leaving as she came; +Her baited album only caught +A common, unromantic name. + +No word betrayed the mystery fine, +That trembled on the singer's tongue; +He came and went, and left no sign +Behind him save the song he sung. +1874. + + + +HAZEL BLOSSOMS. + +The summer warmth has left the sky, +The summer songs have died away; +And, withered, in the footpaths lie +The fallen leaves, but yesterday +With ruby and with topaz gay. + +The grass is browning on the hills; +No pale, belated flowers recall +The astral fringes of the rills, +And drearily the dead vines fall, +Frost-blackened, from the roadside wall. + +Yet through the gray and sombre wood, +Against the dusk of fir and pine, +Last of their floral sisterhood, +The hazel's yellow blossoms shine, +The tawny gold of Afric's mine! + +Small beauty hath my unsung flower, +For spring to own or summer hail; +But, in the season's saddest hour, +To skies that weep and winds that wail +Its glad surprisals never fail. + +O days grown cold! O life grown old +No rose of June may bloom again; +But, like the hazel's twisted gold, +Through early frost and latter rain +Shall hints of summer-time remain. + +And as within the hazel's bough +A gift of mystic virtue dwells, +That points to golden ores below, +And in dry desert places tells +Where flow unseen the cool, sweet wells, + +So, in the wise Diviner's hand, +Be mine the hazel's grateful part +To feel, beneath a thirsty land, +The living waters thrill and start, +The beating of the rivulet's heart! + +Sufficeth me the gift to light +With latest bloom the dark, cold days; +To call some hidden spring to sight +That, in these dry and dusty ways, +Shall sing its pleasant song of praise. + +O Love! the hazel-wand may fail, +But thou canst lend the surer spell, +That, passing over Baca's vale, +Repeats the old-time miracle, +And makes the desert-land a well. +1874. + + + +SUNSET ON THE BEARCAMP. + +A gold fringe on the purpling hem +Of hills the river runs, +As down its long, green valley falls +The last of summer's suns. + +Along its tawny gravel-bed +Broad-flowing, swift, and still, +As if its meadow levels felt +The hurry of the hill, +Noiseless between its banks of green +From curve to curve it slips; +The drowsy maple-shadows rest +Like fingers on its lips. + +A waif from Carroll's wildest hills, +Unstoried and unknown; +The ursine legend of its name +Prowls on its banks alone. +Yet flowers as fair its slopes adorn +As ever Yarrow knew, +Or, under rainy Irish skies, +By Spenser's Mulla grew; +And through the gaps of leaning trees +Its mountain cradle shows +The gold against the amethyst, +The green against the rose. + +Touched by a light that hath no name, +A glory never sung, +Aloft on sky and mountain wall +Are God's great pictures hung. +How changed the summits vast and old! +No longer granite-browed, +They melt in rosy mist; the rock +Is softer than the cloud; +The valley holds its breath; no leaf +Of all its elms is twirled +The silence of eternity +Seems falling on the world. + +The pause before the breaking seals +Of mystery is this; +Yon miracle-play of night and day +Makes dumb its witnesses. +What unseen altar crowns the hills +That reach up stair on stair? +What eyes look through, what white wings fan +These purple veils of air? +What Presence from the heavenly heights +To those of earth stoops down? +Not vainly Hellas dreamed of gods +On Ida's snowy crown! + +Slow fades the vision of the sky, +The golden water pales, +And over all the valley-land +A gray-winged vapor sails. +I go the common way of all; +The sunset fires will burn, +The flowers will blow, the river flow, +When I no more return. +No whisper from the mountain pine +Nor lapsing stream shall tell +The stranger, treading where I tread, +Of him who loved them well. + +But beauty seen is never lost, +God's colors all are fast; +The glory of this sunset heaven +Into my soul has passed, +A sense of gladness unconfined +To mortal date or clime; +As the soul liveth, it shall live +Beyond the years of time. +Beside the mystic asphodels +Shall bloom the home-born flowers, +And new horizons flush and glow +With sunset hues of ours. + +Farewell! these smiling hills must wear +Too soon their wintry frown, +And snow-cold winds from off them shake +The maple's red leaves down. +But I shall see a summer sun +Still setting broad and low; +The mountain slopes shall blush and bloom, +The golden water flow. +A lover's claim is mine on all +I see to have and hold,-- +The rose-light of perpetual hills, +And sunsets never cold! +1876 + + + +THE SEEKING OF THE WATERFALL. + +They left their home of summer ease +Beneath the lowland's sheltering trees, +To seek, by ways unknown to all, +The promise of the waterfall. + +Some vague, faint rumor to the vale +Had crept--perchance a hunter's tale-- +Of its wild mirth of waters lost +On the dark woods through which it tossed. + +Somewhere it laughed and sang; somewhere +Whirled in mad dance its misty hair; +But who had raised its veil, or seen +The rainbow skirts of that Undine? + +They sought it where the mountain brook +Its swift way to the valley took; +Along the rugged slope they clomb, +Their guide a thread of sound and foam. + +Height after height they slowly won; +The fiery javelins of the sun +Smote the bare ledge; the tangled shade +With rock and vine their steps delayed. + +But, through leaf-openings, now and then +They saw the cheerful homes of men, +And the great mountains with their wall +Of misty purple girdling all. + +The leaves through which the glad winds blew +Shared the wild dance the waters knew; +And where the shadows deepest fell +The wood-thrush rang his silver bell. + +Fringing the stream, at every turn +Swung low the waving fronds of fern; +From stony cleft and mossy sod +Pale asters sprang, and golden-rod. + +And still the water sang the sweet, +Glad song that stirred its gliding feet, +And found in rock and root the keys +Of its beguiling melodies. + +Beyond, above, its signals flew +Of tossing foam the birch-trees through; +Now seen, now lost, but baffling still +The weary seekers' slackening will. + +Each called to each: "Lo here! Lo there! +Its white scarf flutters in the air!" +They climbed anew; the vision fled, +To beckon higher overhead. + +So toiled they up the mountain-slope +With faint and ever fainter hope; +With faint and fainter voice the brook +Still bade them listen, pause, and look. + +Meanwhile below the day was done; +Above the tall peaks saw the sun +Sink, beam-shorn, to its misty set +Behind the hills of violet. + +"Here ends our quest!" the seekers cried, +"The brook and rumor both have lied! +The phantom of a waterfall +Has led us at its beck and call." + +But one, with years grown wiser, said +"So, always baffled, not misled, +We follow where before us runs +The vision of the shining ones. + +"Not where they seem their signals fly, +Their voices while we listen die; +We cannot keep, however fleet, +The quick time of their winged feet. + +"From youth to age unresting stray +These kindly mockers in our way; +Yet lead they not, the baffling elves, +To something better than themselves? + +"Here, though unreached the goal we sought, +Its own reward our toil has brought: +The winding water's sounding rush, +The long note of the hermit thrush, + +"The turquoise lakes, the glimpse of pond +And river track, and, vast, beyond +Broad meadows belted round with pines, +The grand uplift of mountain lines! + +"What matter though we seek with pain +The garden of the gods in vain, +If lured thereby we climb to greet +Some wayside blossom Eden-sweet? + +"To seek is better than to gain, +The fond hope dies as we attain; +Life's fairest things are those which seem, +The best is that of which we dream. + +"Then let us trust our waterfall +Still flashes down its rocky wall, +With rainbow crescent curved across +Its sunlit spray from moss to moss. + +"And we, forgetful of our pain, +In thought shall seek it oft again; +Shall see this aster-blossomed sod, +This sunshine of the golden-rod, + +"And haply gain, through parting boughs, +Grand glimpses of great mountain brows +Cloud-turbaned, and the sharp steel sheen +Of lakes deep set in valleys green. + +"So failure wins; the consequence +Of loss becomes its recompense; +And evermore the end shall tell +The unreached ideal guided well. + +"Our sweet illusions only die +Fulfilling love's sure prophecy; +And every wish for better things +An undreamed beauty nearer brings. + +"For fate is servitor of love; +Desire and hope and longing prove +The secret of immortal youth, +And Nature cheats us into truth. + +"O kind allurers, wisely sent, +Beguiling with benign intent, +Still move us, through divine unrest, +To seek the loveliest and the best! + +"Go with us when our souls go free, +And, in the clear, white light to be, +Add unto Heaven's beatitude +The old delight of seeking good!" +1878. + + + +THE TRAILING ARBUTUS + +I wandered lonely where the pine-trees made +Against the bitter East their barricade, +And, guided by its sweet +Perfume, I found, within a narrow dell, +The trailing spring flower tinted like a shell +Amid dry leaves and mosses at my feet. + +From under dead boughs, for whose loss the pines +Moaned ceaseless overhead, the blossoming vines +Lifted their glad surprise, +While yet the bluebird smoothed in leafless trees +His feathers ruffled by the chill sea-breeze, +And snow-drifts lingered under April skies. + +As, pausing, o'er the lonely flower I bent, +I thought of lives thus lowly, clogged and pent, +Which yet find room, +Through care and cumber, coldness and decay, +To lend a sweetness to the ungenial day +And make the sad earth happier for their bloom. +1879. + + + +ST. MARTIN'S SUMMER. + + This name in some parts of Europe is given to the season we call + Indian Summer, in honor of the good St. Martin. The title of the + poem was suggested by the fact that the day it refers to was the + exact date of that set apart to the Saint, the 11th of November. + +Though flowers have perished at the touch +Of Frost, the early comer, +I hail the season loved so much, +The good St. Martin's summer. + +O gracious morn, with rose-red dawn, +And thin moon curving o'er it! +The old year's darling, latest born, +More loved than all before it! + +How flamed the sunrise through the pines! +How stretched the birchen shadows, +Braiding in long, wind-wavered lines +The westward sloping meadows! + +The sweet day, opening as a flower +Unfolds its petals tender, +Renews for us at noontide's hour +The summer's tempered splendor. + +The birds are hushed; alone the wind, +That through the woodland searches, +The red-oak's lingering leaves can find, +And yellow plumes of larches. + +But still the balsam-breathing pine +Invites no thought of sorrow, +No hint of loss from air like wine +The earth's content can borrow. + +The summer and the winter here +Midway a truce are holding, +A soft, consenting atmosphere +Their tents of peace enfolding. + +The silent woods, the lonely hills, +Rise solemn in their gladness; +The quiet that the valley fills +Is scarcely joy or sadness. + +How strange! The autumn yesterday +In winter's grasp seemed dying; +On whirling winds from skies of gray +The early snow was flying. + +And now, while over Nature's mood +There steals a soft relenting, +I will not mar the present good, +Forecasting or lamenting. + +My autumn time and Nature's hold +A dreamy tryst together, +And, both grown old, about us fold +The golden-tissued weather. + +I lean my heart against the day +To feel its bland caressing; +I will not let it pass away +Before it leaves its blessing. + +God's angels come not as of old +The Syrian shepherds knew them; +In reddening dawns, in sunset gold, +And warm noon lights I view them. + +Nor need there is, in times like this +When heaven to earth draws nearer, +Of wing or song as witnesses +To make their presence clearer. + +O stream of life, whose swifter flow +Is of the end forewarning, +Methinks thy sundown afterglow +Seems less of night than morning! + +Old cares grow light; aside I lay +The doubts and fears that troubled; +The quiet of the happy day +Within my soul is doubled. + +That clouds must veil this fair sunshine +Not less a joy I find it; +Nor less yon warm horizon line +That winter lurks behind it. + +The mystery of the untried days +I close my eyes from reading; +His will be done whose darkest ways +To light and life are leading! + +Less drear the winter night shall be, +If memory cheer and hearten +Its heavy hours with thoughts of thee, +Sweet summer of St. Martin! +1880. + + + +STORM ON LAKE ASQUAM. + +A cloud, like that the old-time Hebrew saw +On Carmel prophesying rain, began +To lift itself o'er wooded Cardigan, +Growing and blackening. Suddenly, a flaw + +Of chill wind menaced; then a strong blast beat +Down the long valley's murmuring pines, and woke +The noon-dream of the sleeping lake, and broke +Its smooth steel mirror at the mountains' feet. + +Thunderous and vast, a fire-veined darkness swept +Over the rough pine-bearded Asquam range; +A wraith of tempest, wonderful and strange, +From peak to peak the cloudy giant stepped. + +One moment, as if challenging the storm, +Chocorua's tall, defiant sentinel +Looked from his watch-tower; then the shadow fell, +And the wild rain-drift blotted out his form. + +And over all the still unhidden sun, +Weaving its light through slant-blown veils of rain, +Smiled on the trouble, as hope smiles on pain; +And, when the tumult and the strife were done, + +With one foot on the lake and one on land, +Framing within his crescent's tinted streak +A far-off picture of the Melvin peak, +Spent broken clouds the rainbow's angel spanned. +1882. + + + +A SUMMER PILGRIMAGE. + +To kneel before some saintly shrine, +To breathe the health of airs divine, +Or bathe where sacred rivers flow, +The cowled and turbaned pilgrims go. +I too, a palmer, take, as they +With staff and scallop-shell, my way +To feel, from burdening cares and ills, +The strong uplifting of the hills. + +The years are many since, at first, +For dreamed-of wonders all athirst, +I saw on Winnipesaukee fall +The shadow of the mountain wall. +Ah! where are they who sailed with me +The beautiful island-studded sea? +And am I he whose keen surprise +Flashed out from such unclouded eyes? + +Still, when the sun of summer burns, +My longing for the hills returns; +And northward, leaving at my back +The warm vale of the Merrimac, +I go to meet the winds of morn, +Blown down the hill-gaps, mountain-born, +Breathe scent of pines, and satisfy +The hunger of a lowland eye. + +Again I see the day decline +Along a ridged horizon line; +Touching the hill-tops, as a nun +Her beaded rosary, sinks the sun. +One lake lies golden, which shall soon +Be silver in the rising moon; +And one, the crimson of the skies +And mountain purple multiplies. + +With the untroubled quiet blends +The distance-softened voice of friends; +The girl's light laugh no discord brings +To the low song the pine-tree sings; +And, not unwelcome, comes the hail +Of boyhood from his nearing sail. +The human presence breaks no spell, +And sunset still is miracle! + +Calm as the hour, methinks I feel +A sense of worship o'er me steal; +Not that of satyr-charming Pan, +No cult of Nature shaming man, +Not Beauty's self, but that which lives +And shines through all the veils it weaves,-- +Soul of the mountain, lake, and wood, +Their witness to the Eternal Good! + +And if, by fond illusion, here +The earth to heaven seems drawing near, +And yon outlying range invites +To other and serener heights, +Scarce hid behind its topmost swell, +The shining Mounts Delectable +A dream may hint of truth no less +Than the sharp light of wakefulness. + +As through her vale of incense smoke. +Of old the spell-rapt priestess spoke, +More than her heathen oracle, +May not this trance of sunset tell +That Nature's forms of loveliness +Their heavenly archetypes confess, +Fashioned like Israel's ark alone +From patterns in the Mount made known? + +A holier beauty overbroods +These fair and faint similitudes; +Yet not unblest is he who sees +Shadows of God's realities, +And knows beyond this masquerade +Of shape and color, light and shade, +And dawn and set, and wax and wane, +Eternal verities remain. + +O gems of sapphire, granite set! +O hills that charmed horizons fret +I know how fair your morns can break, +In rosy light on isle and lake; +How over wooded slopes can run +The noonday play of cloud and sun, +And evening droop her oriflamme +Of gold and red in still Asquam. + +The summer moons may round again, +And careless feet these hills profane; +These sunsets waste on vacant eyes +The lavish splendor of the skies; +Fashion and folly, misplaced here, +Sigh for their natural atmosphere, +And travelled pride the outlook scorn +Of lesser heights than Matterhorn. + +But let me dream that hill and sky +Of unseen beauty prophesy; +And in these tinted lakes behold +The trailing of the raiment fold +Of that which, still eluding gaze, +Allures to upward-tending ways, +Whose footprints make, wherever found, +Our common earth a holy ground. +1883. + + + +SWEET FERN. + +The subtle power in perfume found +Nor priest nor sibyl vainly learned; +On Grecian shrine or Aztec mound +No censer idly burned. + +That power the old-time worships knew, +The Corybantes' frenzied dance, +The Pythian priestess swooning through +The wonderland of trance. + +And Nature holds, in wood and field, +Her thousand sunlit censers still; +To spells of flower and shrub we yield +Against or with our will. + +I climbed a hill path strange and new +With slow feet, pausing at each turn; +A sudden waft of west wind blew +The breath of the sweet fern. + +That fragrance from my vision swept +The alien landscape; in its stead, +Up fairer hills of youth I stepped, +As light of heart as tread. + +I saw my boyhood's lakelet shine +Once more through rifts of woodland shade; +I knew my river's winding line +By morning mist betrayed. + +With me June's freshness, lapsing brook, +Murmurs of leaf and bee, the call +Of birds, and one in voice and look +In keeping with them all. + +A fern beside the way we went +She plucked, and, smiling, held it up, +While from her hand the wild, sweet scent +I drank as from a cup. + +O potent witchery of smell! +The dust-dry leaves to life return, +And she who plucked them owns the spell +And lifts her ghostly fern. + +Or sense or spirit? Who shall say +What touch the chord of memory thrills? +It passed, and left the August day +Ablaze on lonely hills. + + + +THE WOOD GIANT + +From Alton Bay to Sandwich Dome, +From Mad to Saco river, +For patriarchs of the primal wood +We sought with vain endeavor. + +And then we said: "The giants old +Are lost beyond retrieval; +This pygmy growth the axe has spared +Is not the wood primeval. + +"Look where we will o'er vale and hill, +How idle are our searches +For broad-girthed maples, wide-limbed oaks, +Centennial pines and birches. + +"Their tortured limbs the axe and saw +Have changed to beams and trestles; +They rest in walls, they float on seas, +They rot in sunken vessels. + +"This shorn and wasted mountain land +Of underbrush and boulder,-- +Who thinks to see its full-grown tree +Must live a century older." + +At last to us a woodland path, +To open sunset leading, +Revealed the Anakim of pines +Our wildest wish exceeding. + +Alone, the level sun before; +Below, the lake's green islands; +Beyond, in misty distance dim, +The rugged Northern Highlands. + +Dark Titan on his Sunset Hill +Of time and change defiant +How dwarfed the common woodland seemed, +Before the old-time giant! + +What marvel that, in simpler days +Of the world's early childhood, +Men crowned with garlands, gifts, and praise +Such monarchs of the wild-wood? + +That Tyrian maids with flower and song +Danced through the hill grove's spaces, +And hoary-bearded Druids found +In woods their holy places? + +With somewhat of that Pagan awe +With Christian reverence blending, +We saw our pine-tree's mighty arms +Above our heads extending. + +We heard his needles' mystic rune, +Now rising, and now dying, +As erst Dodona's priestess heard +The oak leaves prophesying. + +Was it the half-unconscious moan +Of one apart and mateless, +The weariness of unshared power, +The loneliness of greatness? + +O dawns and sunsets, lend to him +Your beauty and your wonder! +Blithe sparrow, sing thy summer song +His solemn shadow under! + +Play lightly on his slender keys, +O wind of summer, waking +For hills like these the sound of seas +On far-off beaches breaking, + +And let the eagle and the crow +Find shelter in his branches, +When winds shake down his winter snow +In silver avalanches. + +The brave are braver for their cheer, +The strongest need assurance, +The sigh of longing makes not less +The lesson of endurance. +1885. + + + +A DAY. +Talk not of sad November, when a day +Of warm, glad sunshine fills the sky of noon, +And a wind, borrowed from some morn of June, +Stirs the brown grasses and the leafless spray. + +On the unfrosted pool the pillared pines +Lay their long shafts of shadow: the small rill, +Singing a pleasant song of summer still, +A line of silver, down the hill-slope shines. + +Hushed the bird-voices and the hum of bees, +In the thin grass the crickets pipe no more; +But still the squirrel hoards his winter store, +And drops his nut-shells from the shag-bark trees. + +Softly the dark green hemlocks whisper: high +Above, the spires of yellowing larches show, +Where the woodpecker and home-loving crow +And jay and nut-hatch winter's threat defy. + +O gracious beauty, ever new and old! +O sights and sounds of nature, doubly dear +When the low sunshine warns the closing year +Of snow-blown fields and waves of Arctic cold! + +Close to my heart I fold each lovely thing +The sweet day yields; and, not disconsolate, +With the calm patience of the woods I wait +For leaf and blossom when God gives us Spring! +29th, Eleventh Month, 1886. + + + + + + + POEMS SUBJECTIVE AND REMINISCENT MEMORIES + +A beautiful and happy girl, +With step as light as summer air, +Eyes glad with smiles, and brow of pearl, +Shadowed by many a careless curl +Of unconfined and flowing hair; +A seeming child in everything, +Save thoughtful brow and ripening charms, +As Nature wears the smile of Spring +When sinking into Summer's arms. + +A mind rejoicing in the light +Which melted through its graceful bower, +Leaf after leaf, dew-moist and bright, +And stainless in its holy white, +Unfolding like a morning flower +A heart, which, like a fine-toned lute, +With every breath of feeling woke, +And, even when the tongue was mute, +From eye and lip in music spoke. + +How thrills once more the lengthening chain +Of memory, at the thought of thee! +Old hopes which long in dust have lain +Old dreams, come thronging back again, +And boyhood lives again in me; +I feel its glow upon my cheek, +Its fulness of the heart is mine, +As when I leaned to hear thee speak, +Or raised my doubtful eye to thine. + +I hear again thy low replies, +I feel thy arm within my own, +And timidly again uprise +The fringed lids of hazel eyes, +With soft brown tresses overblown. +Ah! memories of sweet summer eves, +Of moonlit wave and willowy way, +Of stars and flowers, and dewy leaves, +And smiles and tones more dear than they! + +Ere this, thy quiet eye hath smiled +My picture of thy youth to see, +When, half a woman, half a child, +Thy very artlessness beguiled, +And folly's self seemed wise in thee; +I too can smile, when o'er that hour +The lights of memory backward stream, +Yet feel the while that manhood's power +Is vainer than my boyhood's dream. + +Years have passed on, and left their trace, +Of graver care and deeper thought; +And unto me the calm, cold face +Of manhood, and to thee the grace +Of woman's pensive beauty brought. +More wide, perchance, for blame than praise, +The school-boy's humble name has flown; +Thine, in the green and quiet ways +Of unobtrusive goodness known. + +And wider yet in thought and deed +Diverge our pathways, one in youth; +Thine the Genevan's sternest creed, +While answers to my spirit's need +The Derby dalesman's simple truth. +For thee, the priestly rite and prayer, +And holy day, and solemn psalm; +For me, the silent reverence where +My brethren gather, slow and calm. + +Yet hath thy spirit left on me +An impress Time has worn not out, +And something of myself in thee, +A shadow from the past, I see, +Lingering, even yet, thy way about; +Not wholly can the heart unlearn +That lesson of its better hours, +Not yet has Time's dull footstep worn +To common dust that path of flowers. + +Thus, while at times before our eyes +The shadows melt, and fall apart, +And, smiling through them, round us lies +The warm light of our morning skies,-- +The Indian Summer of the heart! +In secret sympathies of mind, +In founts of feeling which retain +Their pure, fresh flow, we yet may find +Our early dreams not wholly vain +1841. + + + +RAPHAEL. + +Suggested by the portrait of Raphael, at the age of fifteen. + +I shall not soon forget that sight +The glow of Autumn's westering day, +A hazy warmth, a dreamy light, +On Raphael's picture lay. + +It was a simple print I saw, +The fair face of a musing boy; +Yet, while I gazed, a sense of awe +Seemed blending with my joy. + +A simple print,--the graceful flow +Of boyhood's soft and wavy hair, +And fresh young lip and cheek, and brow +Unmarked and clear, were there. + +Yet through its sweet and calm repose +I saw the inward spirit shine; +It was as if before me rose +The white veil of a shrine. + +As if, as Gothland's sage has told, +The hidden life, the man within, +Dissevered from its frame and mould, +By mortal eye were seen. + +Was it the lifting of that eye, +The waving of that pictured hand? +Loose as a cloud-wreath on the sky, +I saw the walls expand. + +The narrow room had vanished,--space, +Broad, luminous, remained alone, +Through which all hues and shapes of grace +And beauty looked or shone. + +Around the mighty master came +The marvels which his pencil wrought, +Those miracles of power whose fame +Is wide as human thought. + +There drooped thy more than mortal face, +O Mother, beautiful and mild +Enfolding in one dear embrace +Thy Saviour and thy Child! + +The rapt brow of the Desert John; +The awful glory of that day +When all the Father's brightness shone +Through manhood's veil of clay. + +And, midst gray prophet forms, and wild +Dark visions of the days of old, +How sweetly woman's beauty smiled +Through locks of brown and gold! + +There Fornarina's fair young face +Once more upon her lover shone, +Whose model of an angel's grace +He borrowed from her own. + +Slow passed that vision from my view, +But not the lesson which it taught; +The soft, calm shadows which it threw +Still rested on my thought: + +The truth, that painter, bard, and sage, +Even in Earth's cold and changeful clime, +Plant for their deathless heritage +The fruits and flowers of time. + +We shape ourselves the joy or fear +Of which the coming life is made, +And fill our Future's atmosphere +With sunshine or with shade. + +The tissue of the Life to be +We weave with colors all our own, +And in the field of Destiny +We reap as we have sown. + +Still shall the soul around it call +The shadows which it gathered here, +And, painted on the eternal wall, +The Past shall reappear. + +Think ye the notes of holy song +On Milton's tuneful ear have died? +Think ye that Raphael's angel throng +Has vanished from his side? + +Oh no!--We live our life again; +Or warmly touched, or coldly dim, +The pictures of the Past remain,--- +Man's works shall follow him! +1842. + + + +EGO. + +WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM OF A FRIEND. + +On page of thine I cannot trace +The cold and heartless commonplace, +A statue's fixed and marble grace. + +For ever as these lines I penned, +Still with the thought of thee will blend +That of some loved and common friend, + +Who in life's desert track has made +His pilgrim tent with mine, or strayed +Beneath the same remembered shade. + +And hence my pen unfettered moves +In freedom which the heart approves, +The negligence which friendship loves. + +And wilt thou prize my poor gift less +For simple air and rustic dress, +And sign of haste and carelessness? + +Oh, more than specious counterfeit +Of sentiment or studied wit, +A heart like thine should value it. + +Yet half I fear my gift will be +Unto thy book, if not to thee, +Of more than doubtful courtesy. + +A banished name from Fashion's sphere, +A lay unheard of Beauty's ear, +Forbid, disowned,--what do they here? + +Upon my ear not all in vain +Came the sad captive's clanking chain, +The groaning from his bed of pain. + +And sadder still, I saw the woe +Which only wounded spirits know +When Pride's strong footsteps o'er them go. + +Spurned not alone in walks abroad, +But from the temples of the Lord +Thrust out apart, like things abhorred. + +Deep as I felt, and stern and strong, +In words which Prudence smothered long, +My soul spoke out against the wrong; + +Not mine alone the task to speak +Of comfort to the poor and weak, +And dry the tear on Sorrow's cheek; + +But, mingled in the conflict warm, +To pour the fiery breath of storm +Through the harsh trumpet of Reform; + +To brave Opinion's settled frown, +From ermined robe and saintly gown, +While wrestling reverenced Error down. + +Founts gushed beside my pilgrim way, +Cool shadows on the greensward lay, +Flowers swung upon the bending spray. + +And, broad and bright, on either hand, +Stretched the green slopes of Fairy-land, +With Hope's eternal sunbow spanned; + +Whence voices called me like the flow, +Which on the listener's ear will grow, +Of forest streamlets soft and low. + +And gentle eyes, which still retain +Their picture on the heart and brain, +Smiled, beckoning from that path of pain. + +In vain! nor dream, nor rest, nor pause +Remain for him who round him draws +The battered mail of Freedom's cause. + +From youthful hopes, from each green spot +Of young Romance, and gentle Thought, +Where storm and tumult enter not; + +From each fair altar, where belong +The offerings Love requires of Song +In homage to her bright-eyed throng; + +With soul and strength, with heart and hand, +I turned to Freedom's struggling band, +To the sad Helots of our land. + +What marvel then that Fame should turn +Her notes of praise to those of scorn; +Her gifts reclaimed, her smiles withdrawn? + +What matters it? a few years more, +Life's surge so restless heretofore +Shall break upon the unknown shore! + +In that far land shall disappear +The shadows which we follow here, +The mist-wreaths of our atmosphere! + +Before no work of mortal hand, +Of human will or strength expand +The pearl gates of the Better Land; + +Alone in that great love which gave +Life to the sleeper of the grave, +Resteth the power to seek and save. + +Yet, if the spirit gazing through +The vista of the past can view +One deed to Heaven and virtue true; + +If through the wreck of wasted powers, +Of garlands wreathed from Folly's bowers, +Of idle aims and misspent hours, + +The eye can note one sacred spot +By Pride and Self profaned not, +A green place in the waste of thought, + +Where deed or word hath rendered less +The sum of human wretchedness, +And Gratitude looks forth to bless; + +The simple burst of tenderest feeling +From sad hearts worn by evil-dealing, +For blessing on the hand of healing; + +Better than Glory's pomp will be +That green and blessed spot to me, +A palm-shade in Eternity! + +Something of Time which may invite +The purified and spiritual sight +To rest on with a calm delight. + +And when the summer winds shall sweep +With their light wings my place of sleep, +And mosses round my headstone creep; + +If still, as Freedom's rallying sign, +Upon the young heart's altars shine +The very fires they caught from mine; + +If words my lips once uttered still, +In the calm faith and steadfast will +Of other hearts, their work fulfil; + +Perchance with joy the soul may learn +These tokens, and its eye discern +The fires which on those altars burn; + +A marvellous joy that even then, +The spirit hath its life again, +In the strong hearts of mortal men. + +Take, lady, then, the gift I bring, +No gay and graceful offering, +No flower-smile of the laughing spring. + +Midst the green buds of Youth's fresh May, +With Fancy's leaf-enwoven bay, +My sad and sombre gift I lay. + +And if it deepens in thy mind +A sense of suffering human-kind,-- +The outcast and the spirit-blind; + +Oppressed and spoiled on every side, +By Prejudice, and Scorn, and Pride, +Life's common courtesies denied; + +Sad mothers mourning o'er their trust, +Children by want and misery nursed, +Tasting life's bitter cup at first; + +If to their strong appeals which come +From fireless hearth, and crowded room, +And the close alley's noisome gloom,-- + +Though dark the hands upraised to thee +In mute beseeching agony, +Thou lend'st thy woman's sympathy; + +Not vainly on thy gentle shrine, +Where Love, and Mirth, and Friendship twine +Their varied gifts, I offer mine. +1843. + + + +THE PUMPKIN. + +Oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun, +The vines of the gourd and the rich melon run, +And the rock and the tree and the cottage enfold, +With broad leaves all greenness and blossoms all gold, +Like that which o'er Nineveh's prophet once grew, +While he waited to know that his warning was true, +And longed for the storm-cloud, and listened in vain +For the rush of the whirlwind and red fire-rain. + +On the banks of the Xenil the dark Spanish maiden +Comes up with the fruit of the tangled vine laden; +And the Creole of Cuba laughs out to behold +Through orange-leaves shining the broad spheres of gold; +Yet with dearer delight from his home in the North, +On the fields of his harvest the Yankee looks forth, +Where crook-necks are coiling and yellow fruit shines, +And the sun of September melts down on his vines. + +Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West, +From North and from South come the pilgrim and guest, +When the gray-haired New-Englander sees round his board +The old broken links of affection restored, +When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more, +And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before, +What moistens the lip and what brightens the eye? +What calls back the past, like the rich Pumpkin pie? + +Oh, fruit loved of boyhood! the old days recalling, +When wood-grapes were purpling and brown nuts were falling! +When wild, ugly faces we carved in its skin, +Glaring out through the dark with a candle within! +When we laughed round the corn-heap, with hearts all in tune, +Our chair a broad pumpkin,--our lantern the moon, +Telling tales of the fairy who travelled like steam, +In a pumpkin-shell coach, with two rats for her team +Then thanks for thy present! none sweeter or better +E'er smoked from an oven or circled a platter! +Fairer hands never wrought at a pastry more fine, +Brighter eyes never watched o'er its baking, than thine! +And the prayer, which my mouth is too full to express, +Swells my heart that thy shadow may never be less, +That the days of thy lot may be lengthened below, +And the fame of thy worth like a pumpkin-vine grow, +And thy life be as sweet, and its last sunset sky +Golden-tinted and fair as thy own Pumpkin pie! +1844. + + + +FORGIVENESS. + +My heart was heavy, for its trust had been +Abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong; +So, turning gloomily from my fellow-men, +One summer Sabbath day I strolled among +The green mounds of the village burial-place; +Where, pondering how all human love and hate +Find one sad level; and how, soon or late, +Wronged and wrongdoer, each with meekened face, +And cold hands folded over a still heart, +Pass the green threshold of our common grave, +Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart, +Awed for myself, and pitying my race, +Our common sorrow, like a nighty wave, +Swept all my pride away, and trembling I forgave! +1846. + + + +TO MY SISTER, + +WITH A COPY OF "THE SUPERNATURALISM OF NEW ENGLAND." + + The work referred to was a series of papers under this title, + contributed to the Democratic Review and afterward collected into a + volume, in which I noted some of the superstitions and folklore + prevalent in New England. The volume has not been kept in print, + but most of its contents are distributed in my Literary Recreations + and Miscellanies. + +Dear Sister! while the wise and sage +Turn coldly from my playful page, +And count it strange that ripened age +Should stoop to boyhood's folly; +I know that thou wilt judge aright +Of all which makes the heart more light, +Or lends one star-gleam to the night +Of clouded Melancholy. + +Away with weary cares and themes! +Swing wide the moonlit gate of dreams! +Leave free once more the land which teems +With wonders and romances +Where thou, with clear discerning eyes, +Shalt rightly read the truth which lies +Beneath the quaintly masking guise +Of wild and wizard fancies. + +Lo! once again our feet we set +On still green wood-paths, twilight wet, +By lonely brooks, whose waters fret +The roots of spectral beeches; +Again the hearth-fire glimmers o'er +Home's whitewashed wall and painted floor, +And young eyes widening to the lore +Of faery-folks and witches. + +Dear heart! the legend is not vain +Which lights that holy hearth again, +And calling back from care and pain, +And death's funereal sadness, +Draws round its old familiar blaze +The clustering groups of happier days, +And lends to sober manhood's gaze +A glimpse of childish gladness. + +And, knowing how my life hath been +A weary work of tongue and pen, +A long, harsh strife with strong-willed men, +Thou wilt not chide my turning +To con, at times, an idle rhyme, +To pluck a flower from childhood's clime, +Or listen, at Life's noonday chime, +For the sweet bells of Morning! +1847. + + + +MY THANKS, + +ACCOMPANYING MANUSCRIPTS PRESENTED TO A FRIEND. + +'T is said that in the Holy Land +The angels of the place have blessed +The pilgrim's bed of desert sand, +Like Jacob's stone of rest. + +That down the hush of Syrian skies +Some sweet-voiced saint at twilight sings +The song whose holy symphonies +Are beat by unseen wings; + +Till starting from his sandy bed, +The wayworn wanderer looks to see +The halo of an angel's head +Shine through the tamarisk-tree. + +So through the shadows of my way +Thy smile hath fallen soft and clear, +So at the weary close of day +Hath seemed thy voice of cheer. + +That pilgrim pressing to his goal +May pause not for the vision's sake, +Yet all fair things within his soul +The thought of it shall wake: + +The graceful palm-tree by the well, +Seen on the far horizon's rim; +The dark eyes of the fleet gazelle, +Bent timidly on him; + +Each pictured saint, whose golden hair +Streams sunlike through the convent's gloom; +Pale shrines of martyrs young and fair, +And loving Mary's tomb; + +And thus each tint or shade which falls, +From sunset cloud or waving tree, +Along my pilgrim path, recalls +The pleasant thought of thee. + +Of one in sun and shade the same, +In weal and woe my steady friend, +Whatever by that holy name +The angels comprehend. + +Not blind to faults and follies, thou +Hast never failed the good to see, +Nor judged by one unseemly bough +The upward-struggling tree. + +These light leaves at thy feet I lay,-- +Poor common thoughts on common things, +Which time is shaking, day by day, +Like feathers from his wings; + +Chance shootings from a frail life-tree, +To nurturing care but little known, +Their good was partly learned of thee, +Their folly is my own. + +That tree still clasps the kindly mould, +Its leaves still drink the twilight dew, +And weaving its pale green with gold, +Still shines the sunlight through. + +There still the morning zephyrs play, +And there at times the spring bird sings, +And mossy trunk and fading spray +Are flowered with glossy wings. + +Yet, even in genial sun and rain, +Root, branch, and leaflet fail and fade; +The wanderer on its lonely plain +Erelong shall miss its shade. + +O friend beloved, whose curious skill +Keeps bright the last year's leaves and flowers, +With warm, glad, summer thoughts to fill +The cold, dark, winter hours + +Pressed on thy heart, the leaves I bring +May well defy the wintry cold, +Until, in Heaven's eternal spring, +Life's fairer ones unfold. +1847. + + + +REMEMBRANCE + +WITH COPIES OF THE AUTHOR'S WRITINGS. + +Friend of mine! whose lot was cast +With me in the distant past; +Where, like shadows flitting fast, + +Fact and fancy, thought and theme, +Word and work, begin to seem +Like a half-remembered dream! + +Touched by change have all things been, +Yet I think of thee as when +We had speech of lip and pen. + +For the calm thy kindness lent +To a path of discontent, +Rough with trial and dissent; + +Gentle words where such were few, +Softening blame where blame was true, +Praising where small praise was due; + +For a waking dream made good, +For an ideal understood, +For thy Christian womanhood; + +For thy marvellous gift to cull +From our common life and dull +Whatsoe'er is beautiful; + +Thoughts and fancies, Hybla's bees +Dropping sweetness; true heart's-ease +Of congenial sympathies;-- + +Still for these I own my debt; +Memory, with her eyelids wet, +Fain would thank thee even yet! + +And as one who scatters flowers +Where the Queen of May's sweet hours +Sits, o'ertwined with blossomed bowers, + +In superfluous zeal bestowing +Gifts where gifts are overflowing, +So I pay the debt I'm owing. + +To thy full thoughts, gay or sad, +Sunny-hued or sober clad, +Something of my own I add; + +Well assured that thou wilt take +Even the offering which I make +Kindly for the giver's sake. +1851. + + + +MY NAMESAKE. + +Addressed to Francis Greenleaf Allison of Burlington, New Jersey. + +You scarcely need my tardy thanks, +Who, self-rewarded, nurse and tend-- +A green leaf on your own Green Banks-- +The memory of your friend. + +For me, no wreath, bloom-woven, hides +The sobered brow and lessening hair +For aught I know, the myrtled sides +Of Helicon are bare. + +Their scallop-shells so many bring +The fabled founts of song to try, +They've drained, for aught I know, the spring +Of Aganippe dry. + +Ah well!--The wreath the Muses braid +Proves often Folly's cap and bell; +Methinks, my ample beaver's shade +May serve my turn as well. + +Let Love's and Friendship's tender debt +Be paid by those I love in life. +Why should the unborn critic whet +For me his scalping-knife? + +Why should the stranger peer and pry +One's vacant house of life about, +And drag for curious ear and eye +His faults and follies out?-- + +Why stuff, for fools to gaze upon, +With chaff of words, the garb he wore, +As corn-husks when the ear is gone +Are rustled all the more? + +Let kindly Silence close again, +The picture vanish from the eye, +And on the dim and misty main +Let the small ripple die. + +Yet not the less I own your claim +To grateful thanks, dear friends of mine. +Hang, if it please you so, my name +Upon your household line. + +Let Fame from brazen lips blow wide +Her chosen names, I envy none +A mother's love, a father's pride, +Shall keep alive my own! + +Still shall that name as now recall +The young leaf wet with morning dew, +The glory where the sunbeams fall +The breezy woodlands through. + +That name shall be a household word, +A spell to waken smile or sigh; +In many an evening prayer be heard +And cradle lullaby. + +And thou, dear child, in riper days +When asked the reason of thy name, +Shalt answer: One 't were vain to praise +Or censure bore the same. + +"Some blamed him, some believed him good, +The truth lay doubtless 'twixt the two; +He reconciled as best he could +Old faith and fancies new. + +"In him the grave and playful mixed, +And wisdom held with folly truce, +And Nature compromised betwixt +Good fellow and recluse. + +"He loved his friends, forgave his foes; +And, if his words were harsh at times, +He spared his fellow-men,--his blows +Fell only on their crimes. + +"He loved the good and wise, but found +His human heart to all akin +Who met him on the common ground +Of suffering and of sin. + +"Whate'er his neighbors might endure +Of pain or grief his own became; +For all the ills he could not cure +He held himself to blame. + +"His good was mainly an intent, +His evil not of forethought done; +The work he wrought was rarely meant +Or finished as begun. + +"Ill served his tides of feeling strong +To turn the common mills of use; +And, over restless wings of song, +His birthright garb hung loose! + +"His eye was beauty's powerless slave, +And his the ear which discord pains; +Few guessed beneath his aspect grave +What passions strove in chains. + +"He had his share of care and pain, +No holiday was life to him; +Still in the heirloom cup we drain +The bitter drop will swim. + +"Yet Heaven was kind, and here a bird +And there a flower beguiled his way; +And, cool, in summer noons, he heard +The fountains plash and play. + +"On all his sad or restless moods +The patient peace of Nature stole; +The quiet of the fields and woods +Sank deep into his soul. + +"He worshipped as his fathers did, +And kept the faith of childish days, +And, howsoe'er he strayed or slid, +He loved the good old ways. + +"The simple tastes, the kindly traits, +The tranquil air, and gentle speech, +The silence of the soul that waits +For more than man to teach. + +"The cant of party, school, and sect, +Provoked at times his honest scorn, +And Folly, in its gray respect, +He tossed on satire's horn. + +"But still his heart was full of awe +And reverence for all sacred things; +And, brooding over form and law,' +He saw the Spirit's wings! + +"Life's mystery wrapt him like a cloud; +He heard far voices mock his own, +The sweep of wings unseen, the loud, +Long roll of waves unknown. + +"The arrows of his straining sight +Fell quenched in darkness; priest and sage, +Like lost guides calling left and right, +Perplexed his doubtful age. + +"Like childhood, listening for the sound +Of its dropped pebbles in the well, +All vainly down the dark profound +His brief-lined plummet fell. + +"So, scattering flowers with pious pains +On old beliefs, of later creeds, +Which claimed a place in Truth's domains, +He asked the title-deeds. + +"He saw the old-time's groves and shrines +In the long distance fair and dim; +And heard, like sound of far-off pines, +The century-mellowed hymn! + +"He dared not mock the Dervish whirl, +The Brahmin's rite, the Lama's spell; +God knew the heart; Devotion's pearl +Might sanctify the shell. + +"While others trod the altar stairs +He faltered like the publican; +And, while they praised as saints, his prayers +Were those of sinful man. + +"For, awed by Sinai's Mount of Law, +The trembling faith alone sufficed, +That, through its cloud and flame, he saw +The sweet, sad face of Christ! + +"And listening, with his forehead bowed, +Heard the Divine compassion fill +The pauses of the trump and cloud +With whispers small and still. + +"The words he spake, the thoughts he penned, +Are mortal as his hand and brain, +But, if they served the Master's end, +He has not lived in vain!" + +Heaven make thee better than thy name, +Child of my friends!--For thee I crave +What riches never bought, nor fame +To mortal longing gave. + +I pray the prayer of Plato old: +God make thee beautiful within, +And let thine eyes the good behold +In everything save sin! + +Imagination held in check +To serve, not rule, thy poised mind; +Thy Reason, at the frown or beck +Of Conscience, loose or bind. + +No dreamer thou, but real all,-- +Strong manhood crowning vigorous youth; +Life made by duty epical +And rhythmic with the truth. + +So shall that life the fruitage yield +Which trees of healing only give, +And green-leafed in the Eternal field +Of God, forever live! +1853. + + + +A MEMORY + +Here, while the loom of Winter weaves +The shroud of flowers and fountains, +I think of thee and summer eves +Among the Northern mountains. + +When thunder tolled the twilight's close, +And winds the lake were rude on, +And thou wert singing, _Ca' the Yowes_, +The bonny yowes of Cluden! + +When, close and closer, hushing breath, +Our circle narrowed round thee, +And smiles and tears made up the wreath +Wherewith our silence crowned thee; + +And, strangers all, we felt the ties +Of sisters and of brothers; +Ah! whose of all those kindly eyes +Now smile upon another's? + +The sport of Time, who still apart +The waifs of life is flinging; +Oh, nevermore shall heart to heart +Draw nearer for that singing! + +Yet when the panes are frosty-starred, +And twilight's fire is gleaming, +I hear the songs of Scotland's bard +Sound softly through my dreaming! + +A song that lends to winter snows +The glow of summer weather,-- +Again I hear thee ca' the yowes +To Cluden's hills of heather +1854. + + + +MY DREAM. + +In my dream, methought I trod, +Yesternight, a mountain road; +Narrow as Al Sirat's span, +High as eagle's flight, it ran. + +Overhead, a roof of cloud +With its weight of thunder bowed; +Underneath, to left and right, +Blankness and abysmal night. + +Here and there a wild-flower blushed, +Now and then a bird-song gushed; +Now and then, through rifts of shade, +Stars shone out, and sunbeams played. + +But the goodly company, +Walking in that path with me, +One by one the brink o'erslid, +One by one the darkness hid. + +Some with wailing and lament, +Some with cheerful courage went; +But, of all who smiled or mourned, +Never one to us returned. + +Anxiously, with eye and ear, +Questioning that shadow drear, +Never hand in token stirred, +Never answering voice I heard! + +Steeper, darker!--lo! I felt +From my feet the pathway melt. +Swallowed by the black despair, +And the hungry jaws of air, + +Past the stony-throated caves, +Strangled by the wash of waves, +Past the splintered crags, I sank +On a green and flowery bank,-- + +Soft as fall of thistle-down, +Lightly as a cloud is blown, +Soothingly as childhood pressed +To the bosom of its rest. + +Of the sharp-horned rocks instead, +Green the grassy meadows spread, +Bright with waters singing by +Trees that propped a golden sky. + +Painless, trustful, sorrow-free, +Old lost faces welcomed me, +With whose sweetness of content +Still expectant hope was blent. + +Waking while the dawning gray +Slowly brightened into day, +Pondering that vision fled, +Thus unto myself I said:-- + +"Steep and hung with clouds of strife +Is our narrow path of life; +And our death the dreaded fall +Through the dark, awaiting all. + +"So, with painful steps we climb +Up the dizzy ways of time, +Ever in the shadow shed +By the forecast of our dread. + +"Dread of mystery solved alone, +Of the untried and unknown; +Yet the end thereof may seem +Like the falling of my dream. + +"And this heart-consuming care, +All our fears of here or there, +Change and absence, loss and death, +Prove but simple lack of faith." + +Thou, O Most Compassionate! +Who didst stoop to our estate, +Drinking of the cup we drain, +Treading in our path of pain,-- + +Through the doubt and mystery, +Grant to us thy steps to see, +And the grace to draw from thence +Larger hope and confidence. + +Show thy vacant tomb, and let, +As of old, the angels sit, +Whispering, by its open door +"Fear not! He hath gone before!" +1855. + + + +THE BAREFOOT BOY. + +Blessings on thee, little man, +Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan +With thy turned-up pantaloons, +And thy merry whistled tunes; +With thy red lip, redder still +Kissed by strawberries on the hill; +With the sunshine on thy face, +Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; +From my heart I give thee joy,-- +I was once a barefoot boy! + +Prince thou art,--the grown-up man +Only is republican. +Let the million-dollared ride! +Barefoot, trudging at his side, +Thou hast more than he can buy +In the reach of ear and eye,-- +Outward sunshine, inward joy +Blessings on thee, barefoot boy! + +Oh for boyhood's painless play, +Sleep that wakes in laughing day, +Health that mocks the doctor's rules, +Knowledge never learned of schools, +Of the wild bee's morning chase, +Of the wild-flower's time and place, +Flight of fowl and habitude +Of the tenants of the wood; +How the tortoise bears his shell, +How the woodchuck digs his cell, +And the ground-mole sinks his well; +How the robin feeds her young, +How the oriole's nest is hung; +Where the whitest lilies blow, +Where the freshest berries grow, +Where the ground-nut trails its vine, +Where the wood-grape's clusters shine; +Of the black wasp's cunning way, +Mason of his walls of clay, +And the architectural plans +Of gray hornet artisans! +For, eschewing books and tasks, +Nature answers all he asks, +Hand in hand with her he walks, +Face to face with her he talks, +Part and parcel of her joy,-- +Blessings on the barefoot boy! + +Oh for boyhood's time of June, +Crowding years in one brief moon, +When all things I heard or saw, +Me, their master, waited for. +I was rich in flowers and trees, +Humming-birds and honey-bees; +For my sport the squirrel played, +Plied the snouted mole his spade; +For my taste the blackberry cone +Purpled over hedge and stone; +Laughed the brook for my delight +Through the day and through the night, +Whispering at the garden wall, +Talked with me from fall to fall; +Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, +Mine the walnut slopes beyond, +Mine, on bending orchard trees, +Apples of Hesperides! +Still as my horizon grew, +Larger grew my riches too; +All the world I saw or knew +Seemed a complex Chinese toy, +Fashioned for a barefoot boy! + +Oh for festal dainties spread, +Like my bowl of milk and bread; +Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, +On the door-stone, gray and rude! +O'er me, like a regal tent, +Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, +Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, +Looped in many a wind-swung fold; +While for music came the play +Of the pied frogs' orchestra; +And, to light the noisy choir, +Lit the fly his lamp of fire. +I was monarch: pomp and joy +Waited on the barefoot boy! + +Cheerily, then, my little man, +Live and laugh, as boyhood can +Though the flinty slopes be hard, +Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, +Every morn shall lead thee through +Fresh baptisms of the dew; +Every evening from thy feet +Shall the cool wind kiss the heat +All too soon these feet must hide +In the prison cells of pride, +Lose the freedom of the sod, +Like a colt's for work be shod, +Made to tread the mills of toil, +Up and down in ceaseless moil +Happy if their track be found +Never on forbidden ground; +Happy if they sink not in +Quick and treacherous sands of sin. +Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy, +Ere it passes, barefoot boy! +1855. + + +MY PSALM. + +I mourn no more my vanished years +Beneath a tender rain, +An April rain of smiles and tears, +My heart is young again. + +The west-winds blow, and, singing low, +I hear the glad streams run; +The windows of my soul I throw +Wide open to the sun. + +No longer forward nor behind +I look in hope or fear; +But, grateful, take the good I find, +The best of now and here. + +I plough no more a desert land, +To harvest weed and tare; +The manna dropping from God's hand +Rebukes my painful care. + +I break my pilgrim staff, I lay +Aside the toiling oar; +The angel sought so far away +I welcome at my door. + +The airs of spring may never play +Among the ripening corn, +Nor freshness of the flowers of May +Blow through the autumn morn. + +Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look +Through fringed lids to heaven, +And the pale aster in the brook +Shall see its image given;-- + +The woods shall wear their robes of praise, +The south-wind softly sigh, +And sweet, calm days in golden haze +Melt down the amber sky. + +Not less shall manly deed and word +Rebuke an age of wrong; +The graven flowers that wreathe the sword +Make not the blade less strong. + +But smiting hands shall learn to heal,-- +To build as to destroy; +Nor less my heart for others feel +That I the more enjoy. + +All as God wills, who wisely heeds +To give or to withhold, +And knoweth more of all my needs +Than all my prayers have told. + +Enough that blessings undeserved +Have marked my erring track; +That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved, +His chastening turned me back; + +That more and more a Providence +Of love is understood, +Making the springs of time and sense +Sweet with eternal good;-- + +That death seems but a covered way +Which opens into light, +Wherein no blinded child can stray +Beyond the Father's sight; + +That care and trial seem at last, +Through Memory's sunset air, +Like mountain-ranges overpast, +In purple distance fair; + +That all the jarring notes of life +Seem blending in a psalm, +And all the angles of its strife +Slow rounding into calm. + +And so the shadows fall apart, +And so the west-winds play; +And all the windows of my heart +I open to the day. +1859. + + + +THE WAITING. + +I wait and watch: before my eyes +Methinks the night grows thin and gray; +I wait and watch the eastern skies +To see the golden spears uprise +Beneath the oriflamme of day! + +Like one whose limbs are bound in trance +I hear the day-sounds swell and grow, +And see across the twilight glance, +Troop after troop, in swift advance, +The shining ones with plumes of snow! + +I know the errand of their feet, +I know what mighty work is theirs; +I can but lift up hands unmeet, +The threshing-floors of God to beat, +And speed them with unworthy prayers. + +I will not dream in vain despair +The steps of progress wait for me +The puny leverage of a hair +The planet's impulse well may spare, +A drop of dew the tided sea. + +The loss, if loss there be, is mine, +And yet not mine if understood; +For one shall grasp and one resign, +One drink life's rue, and one its wine, +And God shall make the balance good. + +Oh power to do! Oh baffled will! +Oh prayer and action! ye are one. +Who may not strive, may yet fulfil +The harder task of standing still, +And good but wished with God is done! +1862. + + + + SNOW-BOUND. + + A WINTER IDYL. + + TO THE MEMORY + + OF + + THE HOUSEHOLD IT DESCRIBES, + + THIS POEM IS DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. + + The inmates of the family at the Whittier homestead who are + referred to in the poem were my father, mother, my brother and two + sisters, and my uncle and aunt both unmarried. In addition, there + was the district school-master who boarded with us. The "not + unfeared, half-welcome guest" was Harriet Livermore, daughter of + Judge Livermore, of New Hampshire, a young woman of fine natural + ability, enthusiastic, eccentric, with slight control over her + violent temper, which sometimes made her religious profession + doubtful. She was equally ready to exhort in school-house + prayer-meetings and dance in a Washington ball-room, while her + father was a member of Congress. She early embraced the doctrine of + the Second Advent, and felt it her duty to proclaim the Lord's + speedy coming. With this message she crossed the Atlantic and spent + the greater part of a long life in travelling over Europe and Asia. + She lived some time with Lady Hester Stanhope, a woman as fantastic + and mentally strained as herself, on the slope of Mt. Lebanon, but + finally quarrelled with her in regard to two white horses with red + marks on their backs which suggested the idea of saddles, on which + her titled hostess expected to ride into Jerusalem with the Lord. A + friend of mine found her, when quite an old woman, wandering in + Syria with a tribe of Arabs, who with the Oriental notion that + madness is inspiration, accepted her as their prophetess and + leader. At the time referred to in Snow-Bound she was boarding at + the Rocks Village about two miles from us. + + In my boyhood, in our lonely farm-house, we had scanty sources of + information; few books and only a small weekly newspaper. Our only + annual was the Almanac. Under such circumstances story-telling was + a necessary resource in the long winter evenings. My father when a + young man had traversed the wilderness to Canada, and could tell us + of his adventures with Indians and wild beasts, and of his sojourn + in the French villages. My uncle was ready with his record of + hunting and fishing and, it must be confessed, with stories which + he at least half believed, of witchcraft and apparitions. My + mother, who was born in the Indian-haunted region of Somersworth, + New Hampshire, between Dover and Portsmouth, told us of the inroads + of the savages, and the narrow escape of her ancestors. She + described strange people who lived on the Piscataqua and Cocheco, + among whom was Bantam the sorcerer. I have in my possession the + wizard's "conjuring book," which he solemnly opened when consulted. + It is a copy of Cornelius Agrippa's Magic printed in 1651, + dedicated to Dr. Robert Child, who, like Michael Scott, had + learned "the art of glammorie In Padua beyond the sea," and who is + famous in the annals of Massachusetts, where he was at one time a + resident, as the first man who dared petition the General Court for + liberty of conscience. The full title of the book is Three Books of + Occult Philosophy, by Henry Cornelius Agrippa, Knight, Doctor of + both Laws, Counsellor to Caesar's Sacred Majesty and Judge of the + Prerogative Court. + + "As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so Good + Spirits, which be Angels of Light, are augmented not only by the + Divine light of the Sun, but also by our common Wood Fire: and as + the Celestial Fire drives away dark spirits, so also this our Fire + of Wood doth the same."--Cor. AGRIPPA, Occult Philosophy, Book I. + ch. v. + + "Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, + Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, + Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air + Hides hills and woods, the rivet and the heaven, + And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. + The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet + Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit + Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed + In a tumultuous privacy of storm." + Emerson. The Snow Storm. + + +The sun that brief December day +Rose cheerless over hills of gray, +And, darkly circled, gave at noon +A sadder light than waning moon. +Slow tracing down the thickening sky +Its mute and ominous prophecy, +A portent seeming less than threat, +It sank from sight before it set. +A chill no coat, however stout, +Of homespun stuff could quite, shut out, +A hard, dull bitterness of cold, +That checked, mid-vein, the circling race +Of life-blood in the sharpened face, +The coming of the snow-storm told. +The wind blew east; we heard the roar +Of Ocean on his wintry shore, +And felt the strong pulse throbbing there +Beat with low rhythm our inland air. + +Meanwhile we did our nightly chores,-- +Brought in the wood from out of doors, +Littered the stalls, and from the mows +Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows +Heard the horse whinnying for his corn; +And, sharply clashing horn on horn, +Impatient down the stanchion rows +The cattle shake their walnut bows; +While, peering from his early perch +Upon the scaffold's pole of birch, +The cock his crested helmet bent +And down his querulous challenge sent. + +Unwarmed by any sunset light +The gray day darkened into night, +A night made hoary with the swarm, +And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, +As zigzag, wavering to and fro, +Crossed and recrossed the winged snow +And ere the early bedtime came +The white drift piled the window-frame, +And through the glass the clothes-line posts +Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. + +So all night long the storm roared on +The morning broke without a sun; +In tiny spherule traced with lines +Of Nature's geometric signs, +In starry flake, and pellicle, +All day the hoary meteor fell; +And, when the second morning shone, +We looked upon a world unknown, +On nothing we could call our own. +Around the glistening wonder bent +The blue walls of the firmament, +No cloud above, no earth below,-- +A universe of sky and snow +The old familiar sights of ours +Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers +Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, +Or garden-wall, or belt of wood; +A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, +A fenceless drift what once was road; +The bridle-post an old man sat +With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; +The well-curb had a Chinese roof; +And even the long sweep, high aloof, +In its slant splendor, seemed to tell +Of Pisa's leaning miracle. + +A prompt, decisive man, no breath +Our father wasted: "Boys, a path!" +Well pleased, (for when did farmer boy +Count such a summons less than joy?) +Our buskins on our feet we drew; +With mittened hands, and caps drawn low, +To guard our necks and ears from snow, +We cut the solid whiteness through. +And, where the drift was deepest, made +A tunnel walled and overlaid +With dazzling crystal: we had read +Of rare Aladdin's wondrous cave, +And to our own his name we gave, +With many a wish the luck were ours +To test his lamp's supernal powers. +We reached the barn with merry din, +And roused the prisoned brutes within. +The old horse thrust his long head out, +And grave with wonder gazed about; +The cock his lusty greeting said, +And forth his speckled harem led; +The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked, +And mild reproach of hunger looked; +The horned patriarch of the sheep, +Like Egypt's Amun roused from sleep, +Shook his sage head with gesture mute, +And emphasized with stamp of foot. + +All day the gusty north-wind bore +The loosening drift its breath before; +Low circling round its southern zone, +The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. +No church-bell lent its Christian tone +To the savage air, no social smoke +Curled over woods of snow-hung oak. +A solitude made more intense +By dreary-voiced elements, +The shrieking of the mindless wind, +The moaning tree-boughs swaying blind, +And on the glass the unmeaning beat +Of ghostly finger-tips of sleet. +Beyond the circle of our hearth +No welcome sound of toil or mirth +Unbound the spell, and testified +Of human life and thought outside. +We minded that the sharpest ear +The buried brooklet could not hear, +The music of whose liquid lip +Had been to us companionship, +And, in our lonely life, had grown +To have an almost human tone. + +As night drew on, and, from the crest +Of wooded knolls that ridged the west, +The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank +From sight beneath the smothering bank, +We piled, with care, our nightly stack +Of wood against the chimney-back,-- +The oaken log, green, huge, and thick, +And on its top the stout back-stick; +The knotty forestick laid apart, +And filled between with curious art +The ragged brush; then, hovering near, +We watched the first red blaze appear, +Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam +On whitewashed wall and sagging beam, +Until the old, rude-furnished room +Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom; +While radiant with a mimic flame +Outside the sparkling drift became, +And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree +Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free. +The crane and pendent trammels showed, +The Turks' heads on the andirons glowed; +While childish fancy, prompt to tell +The meaning of the miracle, +Whispered the old rhyme: "_Under the tree, +When fire outdoors burns merrily, +There the witches are making tea_." + +The moon above the eastern wood +Shone at its full; the hill-range stood +Transfigured in the silver flood, +Its blown snows flashing cold and keen, +Dead white, save where some sharp ravine +Took shadow, or the sombre green +Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black +Against the whiteness at their back. +For such a world and such a night +Most fitting that unwarming light, +Which only seemed where'er it fell +To make the coldness visible. + +Shut in from all the world without, +We sat the clean-winged hearth about, +Content to let the north-wind roar +In baffled rage at pane and door, +While the red logs before us beat +The frost-line back with tropic heat; +And ever, when a louder blast +Shook beam and rafter as it passed, +The merrier up its roaring draught +The great throat of the chimney laughed; +The house-dog on his paws outspread +Laid to the fire his drowsy head, +The cat's dark silhouette on the wall +A couchant tiger's seemed to fall; +And, for the winter fireside meet, +Between the andirons' straddling feet, +The mug of cider simmered slow, +The apples sputtered in a row, +And, close at hand, the basket stood +With nuts from brown October's wood. + +What matter how the night behaved? +What matter how the north-wind raved? +Blow high, blow low, not all its snow +Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow. +O Time and Change!--with hair as gray +As was my sire's that winter day, +How strange it seems, with so much gone +Of life and love, to still live on! +Ah, brother! only I and thou +Are left of all that circle now,-- +The dear home faces whereupon +That fitful firelight paled and shone. +Henceforward, listen as we will, +The voices of that hearth are still; +Look where we may, the wide earth o'er +Those lighted faces smile no more. +We tread the paths their feet have worn, +We sit beneath their orchard trees, +We hear, like them, the hum of bees +And rustle of the bladed corn; +We turn the pages that they read, +Their written words we linger o'er, +But in the sun they cast no shade, +No voice is heard, no sign is made, +No step is on the conscious floor! +Yet Love will dream, and Faith will trust, +(Since He who knows our need is just,) +That somehow, somewhere, meet we must. +Alas for him who never sees +The stars shine through his cypress-trees +Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, +Nor looks to see the breaking day +Across the mournful marbles play! +Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, +The truth to flesh and sense unknown, +That Life is ever lord of Death, +And Love can never lose its own! + +We sped the time with stories old, +Wrought puzzles out, and riddles told, +Or stammered from our school-book lore +The Chief of Gambia's "golden shore." +How often since, when all the land +Was clay in Slavery's shaping hand, +As if a far-blown trumpet stirred +The languorous sin-sick air, I heard +"_Does not the voice of reason cry, +Claim the first right which Nature gave, +From the red scourge of bondage fly, +Nor deign to live a burdened slave_!" +Our father rode again his ride +On Memphremagog's wooded side; +Sat down again to moose and samp +In trapper's hut and Indian camp; +Lived o'er the old idyllic ease +Beneath St. Francois' hemlock-trees; +Again for him the moonlight shone +On Norman cap and bodiced zone; +Again he heard the violin play +Which led the village dance away, +And mingled in its merry whirl +The grandam and the laughing girl. +Or, nearer home, our steps he led +Where Salisbury's level marshes spread +Mile-wide as flies the laden bee; +Where merry mowers, hale and strong, +Swept, scythe on scythe, their swaths along +The low green prairies of the sea. +We shared the fishing off Boar's Head, +And round the rocky Isles of Shoals +The hake-broil on the drift-wood coals; +The chowder on the sand-beach made, +Dipped by the hungry, steaming hot, +With spoons of clam-shell from the pot. +We heard the tales of witchcraft old, +And dream and sign and marvel told +To sleepy listeners as they lay +Stretched idly on the salted hay, +Adrift along the winding shores, +When favoring breezes deigned to blow +The square sail of the gundelow +And idle lay the useless oars. + +Our mother, while she turned her wheel +Or run the new-knit stocking-heel, +Told how the Indian hordes came down +At midnight on Cocheco town, +And how her own great-uncle bore +His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore. +Recalling, in her fitting phrase, +So rich and picturesque and free, +(The common unrhymed poetry +Of simple life and country ways,) +The story of her early days,-- +She made us welcome to her home; +Old hearths grew wide to give us room; +We stole with her a frightened look +At the gray wizard's conjuring-book, +The fame whereof went far and wide +Through all the simple country side; +We heard the hawks at twilight play, +The boat-horn on Piscataqua, +The loon's weird laughter far away; +We fished her little trout-brook, knew +What flowers in wood and meadow grew, +What sunny hillsides autumn-brown +She climbed to shake the ripe nuts down, +Saw where in sheltered cove and bay +The ducks' black squadron anchored lay, +And heard the wild-geese calling loud +Beneath the gray November cloud. + +Then, haply, with a look more grave, +And soberer tone, some tale she gave +From painful Sewell's ancient tome, +Beloved in every Quaker home, +Of faith fire-winged by martyrdom, +Or Chalkley's Journal, old and quaint,-- +Gentlest of skippers, rare sea-saint!-- +Who, when the dreary calms prevailed, +And water-butt and bread-cask failed, +And cruel, hungry eyes pursued +His portly presence mad for food, +With dark hints muttered under breath +Of casting lots for life or death, +Offered, if Heaven withheld supplies, +To be himself the sacrifice. +Then, suddenly, as if to save +The good man from his living grave, +A ripple on the water grew, +A school of porpoise flashed in view. +"Take, eat," he said, "and be content; +These fishes in my stead are sent +By Him who gave the tangled ram +To spare the child of Abraham." + +Our uncle, innocent of books, +Was rich in lore of fields and brooks, +The ancient teachers never dumb +Of Nature's unhoused lyceum. +In moons and tides and weather wise, +He read the clouds as prophecies, +And foul or fair could well divine, +By many an occult hint and sign, +Holding the cunning-warded keys +To all the woodcraft mysteries; +Himself to Nature's heart so near +That all her voices in his ear +Of beast or bird had meanings clear, +Like Apollonius of old, +Who knew the tales the sparrows told, +Or Hermes who interpreted +What the sage cranes of Nilus said; + +Content to live where life began; +A simple, guileless, childlike man, +Strong only on his native grounds, +The little world of sights and sounds +Whose girdle was the parish bounds, +Whereof his fondly partial pride +The common features magnified, +As Surrey hills to mountains grew +In White of Selborne's loving view,-- +He told how teal and loon he shot, +And how the eagle's eggs he got, +The feats on pond and river done, +The prodigies of rod and gun; +Till, warming with the tales he told, +Forgotten was the outside cold, +The bitter wind unheeded blew, +From ripening corn the pigeons flew, +The partridge drummed I' the wood, the mink +Went fishing down the river-brink. +In fields with bean or clover gay, +The woodchuck, like a hermit gray, +Peered from the doorway of his cell; +The muskrat plied the mason's trade, +And tier by tier his mud-walls laid; +And from the shagbark overhead +The grizzled squirrel dropped his shell. + +Next, the dear aunt, whose smile of cheer +And voice in dreams I see and hear,-- +The sweetest woman ever Fate +Perverse denied a household mate, +Who, lonely, homeless, not the less +Found peace in love's unselfishness, +And welcome wheresoe'er she went, +A calm and gracious element,-- +Whose presence seemed the sweet income +And womanly atmosphere of home,-- +Called up her girlhood memories, +The huskings and the apple-bees, +The sleigh-rides and the summer sails, +Weaving through all the poor details +And homespun warp of circumstance +A golden woof-thread of romance. +For well she kept her genial mood +And simple faith of maidenhood; +Before her still a cloud-land lay, +The mirage loomed across her way; +The morning dew, that dries so soon +With others, glistened at her noon; +Through years of toil and soil and care, +From glossy tress to thin gray hair, +All unprofaned she held apart +The virgin fancies of the heart. +Be shame to him of woman born +Who hath for such but thought of scorn. + +There, too, our elder sister plied +Her evening task the stand beside; +A full, rich nature, free to trust, +Truthful and almost sternly just, +Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act, +And make her generous thought a fact, +Keeping with many a light disguise +The secret of self-sacrifice. +O heart sore-tried! thou hast the best +That Heaven itself could give thee,--rest, + +Rest from all bitter thoughts and things! +How many a poor one's blessing went +With thee beneath the low green tent +Whose curtain never outward swings! + +As one who held herself a part +Of all she saw, and let her heart +Against the household bosom lean, +Upon the motley-braided mat +Our youngest and our dearest sat, +Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes, +Now bathed in the unfading green +And holy peace of Paradise. +Oh, looking from some heavenly hill, +Or from the shade of saintly palms, +Or silver reach of river calms, +Do those large eyes behold me still? +With me one little year ago:-- +The chill weight of the winter snow +For months upon her grave has lain; +And now, when summer south-winds blow +And brier and harebell bloom again, +I tread the pleasant paths we trod, +I see the violet-sprinkled sod +Whereon she leaned, too frail and weak +The hillside flowers she loved to seek, +Yet following me where'er I went +With dark eyes full of love's content. +The birds are glad; the brier-rose fills +The air with sweetness; all the hills +Stretch green to June's unclouded sky; +But still I wait with ear and eye +For something gone which should be nigh, +A loss in all familiar things, +In flower that blooms, and bird that sings. +And yet, dear heart' remembering thee, +Am I not richer than of old? +Safe in thy immortality, +What change can reach the wealth I hold? +What chance can mar the pearl and gold +Thy love hath left in trust with me? +And while in life's late afternoon, +Where cool and long the shadows grow, +I walk to meet the night that soon +Shall shape and shadow overflow, +I cannot feel that thou art far, +Since near at need the angels are; +And when the sunset gates unbar, +Shall I not see thee waiting stand, +And, white against the evening star, +The welcome of thy beckoning hand? + +Brisk wielder of the birch and rule, +The master of the district school +Held at the fire his favored place, +Its warm glow lit a laughing face +Fresh-hued and fair, where scarce appeared +The uncertain prophecy of beard. +He teased the mitten-blinded cat, +Played cross-pins on my uncle's hat, +Sang songs, and told us what befalls +In classic Dartmouth's college halls. +Born the wild Northern hills among, +From whence his yeoman father wrung +By patient toil subsistence scant, +Not competence and yet not want, + +He early gained the power to pay +His cheerful, self-reliant way; +Could doff at ease his scholar's gown +To peddle wares from town to town; +Or through the long vacation's reach +In lonely lowland districts teach, +Where all the droll experience found +At stranger hearths in boarding round, +The moonlit skater's keen delight, +The sleigh-drive through the frosty night, +The rustic party, with its rough +Accompaniment of blind-man's-buff, +And whirling plate, and forfeits paid, +His winter task a pastime made. +Happy the snow-locked homes wherein +He tuned his merry violin, +Or played the athlete in the barn, +Or held the good dame's winding-yarn, +Or mirth-provoking versions told +Of classic legends rare and old, +Wherein the scenes of Greece and Rome +Had all the commonplace of home, +And little seemed at best the odds +'Twixt Yankee pedlers and old gods; +Where Pindus-born Arachthus took +The guise of any grist-mill brook, +And dread Olympus at his will +Became a huckleberry hill. + +A careless boy that night he seemed; +But at his desk he had the look +And air of one who wisely schemed, +And hostage from the future took +In trained thought and lore of book. +Large-brained, clear-eyed, of such as he +Shall Freedom's young apostles be, +Who, following in War's bloody trail, +Shall every lingering wrong assail; +All chains from limb and spirit strike, +Uplift the black and white alike; +Scatter before their swift advance +The darkness and the ignorance, +The pride, the lust, the squalid sloth, +Which nurtured Treason's monstrous growth, +Made murder pastime, and the hell +Of prison-torture possible; +The cruel lie of caste refute, +Old forms remould, and substitute +For Slavery's lash the freeman's will, +For blind routine, wise-handed skill; +A school-house plant on every hill, +Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence +The quick wires of intelligence; +Till North and South together brought +Shall own the same electric thought, +In peace a common flag salute, +And, side by side in labor's free +And unresentful rivalry, +Harvest the fields wherein they fought. + +Another guest that winter night +Flashed back from lustrous eyes the light. +Unmarked by time, and yet not young, +The honeyed music of her tongue +And words of meekness scarcely told +A nature passionate and bold, +Strong, self-concentred, spurning guide, +Its milder features dwarfed beside +Her unbent will's majestic pride. +She sat among us, at the best, +A not unfeared, half-welcome guest, +Rebuking with her cultured phrase +Our homeliness of words and ways. +A certain pard-like, treacherous grace +Swayed the lithe limbs and dropped the lash, +Lent the white teeth their dazzling flash; +And under low brows, black with night, +Rayed out at times a dangerous light; +The sharp heat-lightnings of her face +Presaging ill to him whom Fate +Condemned to share her love or hate. +A woman tropical, intense +In thought and act, in soul and sense, +She blended in a like degree +The vixen and the devotee, +Revealing with each freak or feint +The temper of Petruchio's Kate, +The raptures of Siena's saint. +Her tapering hand and rounded wrist +Had facile power to form a fist; +The warm, dark languish of her eyes +Was never safe from wrath's surprise. +Brows saintly calm and lips devout +Knew every change of scowl and pout; +And the sweet voice had notes more high +And shrill for social battle-cry. + +Since then what old cathedral town +Has missed her pilgrim staff and gown, +What convent-gate has held its lock +Against the challenge of her knock! +Through Smyrna's plague-hushed thoroughfares, +Up sea-set Malta's rocky stairs, +Gray olive slopes of hills that hem +Thy tombs and shrines, Jerusalem, +Or startling on her desert throne +The crazy Queen of Lebanon s +With claims fantastic as her own, +Her tireless feet have held their way; +And still, unrestful, bowed, and gray, +She watches under Eastern skies, +With hope each day renewed and fresh, +The Lord's quick coming in the flesh, +Whereof she dreams and prophesies! + +Where'er her troubled path may be, +The Lord's sweet pity with her go! +The outward wayward life we see, +The hidden springs we may not know. +Nor is it given us to discern +What threads the fatal sisters spun, +Through what ancestral years has run +The sorrow with the woman born, +What forged her cruel chain of moods, +What set her feet in solitudes, +And held the love within her mute, +What mingled madness in the blood, +A life-long discord and annoy, +Water of tears with oil of joy, +And hid within the folded bud +Perversities of flower and fruit. +It is not ours to separate +The tangled skein of will and fate, +To show what metes and bounds should stand +Upon the soul's debatable land, +And between choice and Providence +Divide the circle of events; +But lie who knows our frame is just, +Merciful and compassionate, +And full of sweet assurances +And hope for all the language is, +That He remembereth we are dust! + +At last the great logs, crumbling low, +Sent out a dull and duller glow, +The bull's-eye watch that hung in view, +Ticking its weary circuit through, +Pointed with mutely warning sign +Its black hand to the hour of nine. +That sign the pleasant circle broke +My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke, +Knocked from its bowl the refuse gray, +And laid it tenderly away, +Then roused himself to safely cover +The dull red brands with ashes over. +And while, with care, our mother laid +The work aside, her steps she stayed +One moment, seeking to express +Her grateful sense of happiness +For food and shelter, warmth and health, +And love's contentment more than wealth, +With simple wishes (not the weak, +Vain prayers which no fulfilment seek, +But such as warm the generous heart, +O'er-prompt to do with Heaven its part) +That none might lack, that bitter night, +For bread and clothing, warmth and light. + +Within our beds awhile we heard +The wind that round the gables roared, +With now and then a ruder shock, +Which made our very bedsteads rock. +We heard the loosened clapboards tost, +The board-nails snapping in the frost; +And on us, through the unplastered wall, +Felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall. +But sleep stole on, as sleep will do +When hearts are light and life is new; +Faint and more faint the murmurs grew, +Till in the summer-land of dreams +They softened to the sound of streams, +Low stir of leaves, and dip of oars, +And lapsing waves on quiet shores. + +Next morn we wakened with the shout +Of merry voices high and clear; +And saw the teamsters drawing near +To break the drifted highways out. +Down the long hillside treading slow +We saw the half-buried oxen' go, +Shaking the snow from heads uptost, +Their straining nostrils white with frost. +Before our door the straggling train +Drew up, an added team to gain. +The elders threshed their hands a-cold, +Passed, with the cider-mug, their jokes +From lip to lip; the younger folks +Down the loose snow-banks, wrestling, rolled, +Then toiled again the cavalcade +O'er windy hill, through clogged ravine, +And woodland paths that wound between +Low drooping pine-boughs winter-weighed. +From every barn a team afoot, +At every house a new recruit, +Where, drawn by Nature's subtlest law +Haply the watchful young men saw +Sweet doorway pictures of the curls +And curious eyes of merry girls, +Lifting their hands in mock defence +Against the snow-ball's compliments, +And reading in each missive tost +The charm with Eden never lost. + +We heard once more the sleigh-bells' sound; +And, following where the teamsters led, +The wise old Doctor went his round, +Just pausing at our door to say, +In the brief autocratic way +Of one who, prompt at Duty's call, +Was free to urge her claim on all, +That some poor neighbor sick abed +At night our mother's aid would need. +For, one in generous thought and deed, +What mattered in the sufferer's sight +The Quaker matron's inward light, +The Doctor's mail of Calvin's creed? +All hearts confess the saints elect +Who, twain in faith, in love agree, +And melt not in an acid sect +The Christian pearl of charity! + +So days went on: a week had passed +Since the great world was heard from last. +The Almanac we studied o'er, +Read and reread our little store, +Of books and pamphlets, scarce a score; +One harmless novel, mostly hid +From younger eyes, a book forbid, +And poetry, (or good or bad, +A single book was all we had,) +Where Ellwood's meek, drab-skirted Muse, +A stranger to the heathen Nine, +Sang, with a somewhat nasal whine, +The wars of David and the Jews. +At last the floundering carrier bore +The village paper to our door. +Lo! broadening outward as we read, +To warmer zones the horizon spread; +In panoramic length unrolled +We saw the marvels that it told. +Before us passed the painted Creeks, +And daft McGregor on his raids +In Costa Rica's everglades. +And up Taygetos winding slow +Rode Ypsilanti's Mainote Greeks, +A Turk's head at each saddle-bow +Welcome to us its week-old news, +Its corner for the rustic Muse, +Its monthly gauge of snow and rain, +Its record, mingling in a breath +The wedding bell and dirge of death; +Jest, anecdote, and love-lorn tale, +The latest culprit sent to jail; +Its hue and cry of stolen and lost, +Its vendue sales and goods at cost, +And traffic calling loud for gain. +We felt the stir of hall and street, +The pulse of life that round us beat; +The chill embargo of the snow +Was melted in the genial glow; +Wide swung again our ice-locked door, +And all the world was ours once more! + +Clasp, Angel of the backward look +And folded wings of ashen gray +And voice of echoes far away, +The brazen covers of thy book; +The weird palimpsest old and vast, +Wherein thou hid'st the spectral past; +Where, closely mingling, pale and glow +The characters of joy and woe; +The monographs of outlived years, +Or smile-illumed or dim with tears, +Green hills of life that slope to death, +And haunts of home, whose vistaed trees +Shade off to mournful cypresses +With the white amaranths underneath. +Even while I look, I can but heed +The restless sands' incessant fall, +Importunate hours that hours succeed, +Each clamorous with its own sharp need, +And duty keeping pace with all. +Shut down and clasp the heavy lids; +I hear again the voice that bids +The dreamer leave his dream midway +For larger hopes and graver fears +Life greatens in these later years, +The century's aloe flowers to-day! + +Yet, haply, in some lull of life, +Some Truce of God which breaks its strife, +The worldling's eyes shall gather dew, +Dreaming in throngful city ways +Of winter joys his boyhood knew; +And dear and early friends--the few +Who yet remain--shall pause to view +These Flemish pictures of old days; +Sit with me by the homestead hearth, +And stretch the hands of memory forth +To warm them at the wood-fire's blaze! +And thanks untraced to lips unknown +Shall greet me like the odors blown +From unseen meadows newly mown, +Or lilies floating in some pond, +Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond; +The traveller owns the grateful sense +Of sweetness near, he knows not whence, +And, pausing, takes with forehead bare +The benediction of the air. +1866. + + + +MY TRIUMPH. + +The autumn-time has come; +On woods that dream of bloom, +And over purpling vines, +The low sun fainter shines. + +The aster-flower is failing, +The hazel's gold is paling; +Yet overhead more near +The eternal stars appear! + +And present gratitude +Insures the future's good, +And for the things I see +I trust the things to be; + +That in the paths untrod, +And the long days of God, +My feet shall still be led, +My heart be comforted. + +O living friends who love me! +O dear ones gone above me! +Careless of other fame, +I leave to you my name. + +Hide it from idle praises, +Save it from evil phrases +Why, when dear lips that spake it +Are dumb, should strangers wake it? + +Let the thick curtain fall; +I better know than all +How little I have gained, +How vast the unattained. + +Not by the page word-painted +Let life be banned or sainted +Deeper than written scroll +The colors of the soul. + +Sweeter than any sung +My songs that found no tongue; +Nobler than any fact +My wish that failed of act. + +Others shall sing the song, +Others shall right the wrong,-- +Finish what I begin, +And all I fail of win. + +What matter, I or they? +Mine or another's day, +So the right word be said +And life the sweeter made? + +Hail to the coming singers +Hail to the brave light-bringers! +Forward I reach and share +All that they sing and dare. + +The airs of heaven blow o'er me; +A glory shines before me +Of what mankind shall be,-- +Pure, generous, brave, and free. + +A dream of man and woman +Diviner but still human, +Solving the riddle old, +Shaping the Age of Gold. + +The love of God and neighbor; +An equal-handed labor; +The richer life, where beauty +Walks hand in hand with duty. + +Ring, bells in unreared steeples, +The joy of unborn peoples! +Sound, trumpets far off blown, +Your triumph is my own! + +Parcel and part of all, +I keep the festival, +Fore-reach the good to be, +And share the victory. + +I feel the earth move sunward, +I join the great march onward, +And take, by faith, while living, +My freehold of thanksgiving. +1870. + + + +IN SCHOOL-DAYS. + +Still sits the school-house by the road, +A ragged beggar sleeping; +Around it still the sumachs grow, +And blackberry-vines are creeping. + +Within, the master's desk is seen, +Deep scarred by raps official; +The warping floor, the battered seats, +The jack-knife's carved initial; + +The charcoal frescos on its wall; +Its door's worn sill, betraying +The feet that, creeping slow to school, +Went storming out to playing! + +Long years ago a winter sun +Shone over it at setting; +Lit up its western window-panes, +And low eaves' icy fretting. + +It touched the tangled golden curls, +And brown eyes full of grieving, +Of one who still her steps delayed +When all the school were leaving. + +For near her stood the little boy +Her childish favor singled: +His cap pulled low upon a face +Where pride and shame were mingled. + +Pushing with restless feet the snow +To right and left, he lingered;-- +As restlessly her tiny hands +The blue-checked apron fingered. + +He saw her lift her eyes; he felt +The soft hand's light caressing, +And heard the tremble of her voice, +As if a fault confessing. + +"I 'm sorry that I spelt the word +I hate to go above you, +Because,"--the brown eyes lower fell,-- +"Because you see, I love you!" + +Still memory to a gray-haired man +That sweet child-face is showing. +Dear girl! the grasses on her grave +Have forty years been growing! + +He lives to learn, in life's hard school, +How few who pass above him +Lament their triumph and his loss, +Like her,--because they love him. + + + +MY BIRTHDAY. + +Beneath the moonlight and the snow +Lies dead my latest year; +The winter winds are wailing low +Its dirges in my ear. + +I grieve not with the moaning wind +As if a loss befell; +Before me, even as behind, +God is, and all is well! + +His light shines on me from above, +His low voice speaks within,-- +The patience of immortal love +Outwearying mortal sin. + +Not mindless of the growing years +Of care and loss and pain, +My eyes are wet with thankful tears +For blessings which remain. + +If dim the gold of life has grown, +I will not count it dross, +Nor turn from treasures still my own +To sigh for lack and loss. + +The years no charm from Nature take; +As sweet her voices call, +As beautiful her mornings break, +As fair her evenings fall. + +Love watches o'er my quiet ways, +Kind voices speak my name, +And lips that find it hard to praise +Are slow, at least, to blame. + +How softly ebb the tides of will! +How fields, once lost or won, +Now lie behind me green and still +Beneath a level sun. + +How hushed the hiss of party hate, +The clamor of the throng! +How old, harsh voices of debate +Flow into rhythmic song! + +Methinks the spirit's temper grows +Too soft in this still air; +Somewhat the restful heart foregoes +Of needed watch and prayer. + +The bark by tempest vainly tossed +May founder in the calm, +And he who braved the polar frost +Faint by the isles of balm. + +Better than self-indulgent years +The outflung heart of youth, +Than pleasant songs in idle ears +The tumult of the truth. + +Rest for the weary hands is good, +And love for hearts that pine, +But let the manly habitude +Of upright souls be mine. + +Let winds that blow from heaven refresh, +Dear Lord, the languid air; +And let the weakness of the flesh +Thy strength of spirit share. + +And, if the eye must fail of light, +The ear forget to hear, +Make clearer still the spirit's sight, +More fine the inward ear! + +Be near me in mine hours of need +To soothe, or cheer, or warn, +And down these slopes of sunset lead +As up the hills of morn! +1871. + + + +RED RIDING-HOOD. + +On the wide lawn the snow lay deep, +Ridged o'er with many a drifted heap; +The wind that through the pine-trees sung +The naked elm-boughs tossed and swung; +While, through the window, frosty-starred, +Against the sunset purple barred, +We saw the sombre crow flap by, +The hawk's gray fleck along the sky, +The crested blue-jay flitting swift, +The squirrel poising on the drift, +Erect, alert, his broad gray tail +Set to the north wind like a sail. + +It came to pass, our little lass, +With flattened face against the glass, +And eyes in which the tender dew +Of pity shone, stood gazing through +The narrow space her rosy lips +Had melted from the frost's eclipse +"Oh, see," she cried, "the poor blue-jays! +What is it that the black crow says? +The squirrel lifts his little legs +Because he has no hands, and begs; +He's asking for my nuts, I know +May I not feed them on the snow?" + +Half lost within her boots, her head +Warm-sheltered in her hood of red, +Her plaid skirt close about her drawn, +She floundered down the wintry lawn; +Now struggling through the misty veil +Blown round her by the shrieking gale; +Now sinking in a drift so low +Her scarlet hood could scarcely show +Its dash of color on the snow. + +She dropped for bird and beast forlorn +Her little store of nuts and corn, +And thus her timid guests bespoke +"Come, squirrel, from your hollow oak,-- +Come, black old crow,--come, poor blue-jay, +Before your supper's blown away +Don't be afraid, we all are good; +And I'm mamma's Red Riding-Hood!" + +O Thou whose care is over all, +Who heedest even the sparrow's fall, +Keep in the little maiden's breast +The pity which is now its guest! +Let not her cultured years make less +The childhood charm of tenderness, +But let her feel as well as know, +Nor harder with her polish grow! +Unmoved by sentimental grief +That wails along some printed leaf, +But, prompt with kindly word and deed +To own the claims of all who need, +Let the grown woman's self make good +The promise of Red Riding-Hood +1877. + + + +RESPONSE. + + On the occasion of my seventieth birthday in 1877, I was the + recipient of many tokens of esteem. The publishers of the _Atlantic + Monthly_ gave a dinner in my name, and the editor of _The Literary + World_ gathered in his paper many affectionate messages from my + associates in literature and the cause of human progress. The lines + which follow were written in acknowledgment. + +Beside that milestone where the level sun, +Nigh unto setting, sheds his last, low rays +On word and work irrevocably done, +Life's blending threads of good and ill outspun, +I hear, O friends! your words of cheer and praise, +Half doubtful if myself or otherwise. +Like him who, in the old Arabian joke, +A beggar slept and crowned Caliph woke. +Thanks not the less. With not unglad surprise +I see my life-work through your partial eyes; +Assured, in giving to my home-taught songs +A higher value than of right belongs, +You do but read between the written lines +The finer grace of unfulfilled designs. + + + +AT EVENTIDE. + +Poor and inadequate the shadow-play +Of gain and loss, of waking and of dream, +Against life's solemn background needs must seem +At this late hour. Yet, not unthankfully, +I call to mind the fountains by the way, +The breath of flowers, the bird-song on the spray, +Dear friends, sweet human loves, the joy of giving +And of receiving, the great boon of living +In grand historic years when Liberty +Had need of word and work, quick sympathies +For all who fail and suffer, song's relief, +Nature's uncloying loveliness; and chief, +The kind restraining hand of Providence, +The inward witness, the assuring sense +Of an Eternal Good which overlies +The sorrow of the world, Love which outlives +All sin and wrong, Compassion which forgives +To the uttermost, and Justice whose clear eyes +Through lapse and failure look to the intent, +And judge our frailty by the life we meant. +1878. + + + +VOYAGE OF THE JETTIE. + + The picturesquely situated Wayside Inn at West Ossipee, N. H., is + now in ashes; and to its former guests these somewhat careless + rhymes may be a not unwelcome reminder of pleasant summers and + autumns on the banks of the Bearcamp and Chocorua. To the author + himself they have a special interest from the fact that they were + written, or improvised, under the eye and for the amusement of a + beloved invalid friend whose last earthly sunsets faded from the + mountain ranges of Ossipee and Sandwich. + +A shallow stream, from fountains +Deep in the Sandwich mountains, +Ran lake ward Bearcamp River; +And, between its flood-torn shores, +Sped by sail or urged by oars +No keel had vexed it ever. + +Alone the dead trees yielding +To the dull axe Time is wielding, +The shy mink and the otter, +And golden leaves and red, +By countless autumns shed, +Had floated down its water. + +From the gray rocks of Cape Ann, +Came a skilled seafaring man, +With his dory, to the right place; +Over hill and plain he brought her, +Where the boatless Beareamp water +Comes winding down from White-Face. + +Quoth the skipper: "Ere she floats forth; +I'm sure my pretty boat's worth, +At least, a name as pretty." +On her painted side he wrote it, +And the flag that o'er her floated +Bore aloft the name of Jettie. + +On a radiant morn of summer, +Elder guest and latest comer +Saw her wed the Bearcamp water; +Heard the name the skipper gave her, +And the answer to the favor +From the Bay State's graceful daughter. + +Then, a singer, richly gifted, +Her charmed voice uplifted; +And the wood-thrush and song-sparrow +Listened, dumb with envious pain, +To the clear and sweet refrain +Whose notes they could not borrow. + +Then the skipper plied his oar, +And from off the shelving shore, +Glided out the strange explorer; +Floating on, she knew not whither,-- +The tawny sands beneath her, +The great hills watching o'er her. + +On, where the stream flows quiet +As the meadows' margins by it, +Or widens out to borrow a +New life from that wild water, +The mountain giant's daughter, +The pine-besung Chocorua. + +Or, mid the tangling cumber +And pack of mountain lumber +That spring floods downward force, +Over sunken snag, and bar +Where the grating shallows are, +The good boat held her course. + +Under the pine-dark highlands, +Around the vine-hung islands, +She ploughed her crooked furrow +And her rippling and her lurches +Scared the river eels and perches, +And the musk-rat in his burrow. + +Every sober clam below her, +Every sage and grave pearl-grower, +Shut his rusty valves the tighter; +Crow called to crow complaining, +And old tortoises sat craning +Their leathern necks to sight her. + +So, to where the still lake glasses +The misty mountain masses +Rising dim and distant northward, +And, with faint-drawn shadow pictures, +Low shores, and dead pine spectres, +Blends the skyward and the earthward, + +On she glided, overladen, +With merry man and maiden +Sending back their song and laughter,-- +While, perchance, a phantom crew, +In a ghostly birch canoe, +Paddled dumb and swiftly after! + +And the bear on Ossipee +Climbed the topmost crag to see +The strange thing drifting under; +And, through the haze of August, +Passaconaway and Paugus +Looked down in sleepy wonder. + +All the pines that o'er her hung +In mimic sea-tones sung +The song familiar to her; +And the maples leaned to screen her, +And the meadow-grass seemed greener, +And the breeze more soft to woo her. + +The lone stream mystery-haunted, +To her the freedom granted +To scan its every feature, +Till new and old were blended, +And round them both extended +The loving arms of Nature. + +Of these hills the little vessel +Henceforth is part and parcel; +And on Bearcamp shall her log +Be kept, as if by George's +Or Grand Menan, the surges +Tossed her skipper through the fog. + +And I, who, half in sadness, +Recall the morning gladness +Of life, at evening time, +By chance, onlooking idly, +Apart from all so widely, +Have set her voyage to rhyme. + +Dies now the gay persistence +Of song and laugh, in distance; +Alone with me remaining +The stream, the quiet meadow, +The hills in shine and shadow, +The sombre pines complaining. + +And, musing here, I dream +Of voyagers on a stream +From whence is no returning, +Under sealed orders going, +Looking forward little knowing, +Looking back with idle yearning. + +And I pray that every venture +The port of peace may enter, +That, safe from snag and fall +And siren-haunted islet, +And rock, the Unseen Pilot +May guide us one and all. +1880. + + + +MY TRUST. + +A picture memory brings to me +I look across the years and see +Myself beside my mother's knee. + +I feel her gentle hand restrain +My selfish moods, and know again +A child's blind sense of wrong and pain. + +But wiser now, a man gray grown, +My childhood's needs are better known, +My mother's chastening love I own. + +Gray grown, but in our Father's sight +A child still groping for the light +To read His works and ways aright. + +I wait, in His good time to see +That as my mother dealt with me +So with His children dealeth He. + +I bow myself beneath His hand +That pain itself was wisely planned +I feel, and partly understand. + +The joy that comes in sorrow's guise, +The sweet pains of self-sacrifice, +I would not have them otherwise. + +And what were life and death if sin +Knew not the dread rebuke within, +The pang of merciful discipline? + +Not with thy proud despair of old, +Crowned stoic of Rome's noblest mould! +Pleasure and pain alike I hold. + +I suffer with no vain pretence +Of triumph over flesh and sense, +Yet trust the grievous providence, + +How dark soe'er it seems, may tend, +By ways I cannot comprehend, +To some unguessed benignant end; + +That every loss and lapse may gain +The clear-aired heights by steps of pain, +And never cross is borne in vain. +1880. + + + +A NAME + + Addressed to my grand-nephew, Greenleaf Whittier Pickard. Jonathan + Greenleaf, in A Genealogy of the Greenleaf Family, says briefly: + "From all that can be gathered, it is believed that the ancestors + of the Greenleaf family were Huguenots, who left France on account + of their religious principles some time in the course of the + sixteenth century, and settled in England. The name was probably + translated from the French Feuillevert." + +The name the Gallic exile bore, +St. Malo! from thy ancient mart, +Became upon our Western shore +Greenleaf for Feuillevert. + +A name to hear in soft accord +Of leaves by light winds overrun, +Or read, upon the greening sward +Of May, in shade and sun. + +The name my infant ear first heard +Breathed softly with a mother's kiss; +His mother's own, no tenderer word +My father spake than this. + +No child have I to bear it on; +Be thou its keeper; let it take +From gifts well used and duty done +New beauty for thy sake. + +The fair ideals that outran +My halting footsteps seek and find-- +The flawless symmetry of man, +The poise of heart and mind. + +Stand firmly where I felt the sway +Of every wing that fancy flew, +See clearly where I groped my way, +Nor real from seeming knew. + +And wisely choose, and bravely hold +Thy faith unswerved by cross or crown, +Like the stout Huguenot of old +Whose name to thee comes down. + +As Marot's songs made glad the heart +Of that lone exile, haply mine +May in life's heavy hours impart +Some strength and hope to thine. + +Yet when did Age transfer to Youth +The hard-gained lessons of its day? +Each lip must learn the taste of truth, +Each foot must feel its way. + +We cannot hold the hands of choice +That touch or shun life's fateful keys; +The whisper of the inward voice +Is more than homilies. + +Dear boy! for whom the flowers are born, +Stars shine, and happy song-birds sing, +What can my evening give to morn, +My winter to thy spring! + +A life not void of pure intent, +With small desert of praise or blame, +The love I felt, the good I meant, +I leave thee with my name. +1880. + + + +GREETING. + + Originally prefixed to the volume, The King's Missive and other + Poems. + +I spread a scanty board too late; +The old-time guests for whom I wait +Come few and slow, methinks, to-day. +Ah! who could hear my messages +Across the dim unsounded seas +On which so many have sailed away! + +Come, then, old friends, who linger yet, +And let us meet, as we have met, +Once more beneath this low sunshine; +And grateful for the good we 've known, +The riddles solved, the ills outgrown, +Shake bands upon the border line. + +The favor, asked too oft before, +From your indulgent ears, once more +I crave, and, if belated lays +To slower, feebler measures move, +The silent, sympathy of love +To me is dearer now than praise. + +And ye, O younger friends, for whom +My hearth and heart keep open room, +Come smiling through the shadows long, +Be with me while the sun goes down, +And with your cheerful voices drown +The minor of my even-song. + +For, equal through the day and night, +The wise Eternal oversight +And love and power and righteous will +Remain: the law of destiny +The best for each and all must be, +And life its promise shall fulfil. +1881. + + + +AN AUTOGRAPH. + +I write my name as one, +On sands by waves o'errun +Or winter's frosted pane, +Traces a record vain. + +Oblivion's blankness claims +Wiser and better names, +And well my own may pass +As from the strand or glass. + +Wash on, O waves of time! +Melt, noons, the frosty rime! +Welcome the shadow vast, +The silence that shall last. + +When I and all who know +And love me vanish so, +What harm to them or me +Will the lost memory be? + +If any words of mine, +Through right of life divine, +Remain, what matters it +Whose hand the message writ? + +Why should the "crowner's quest" +Sit on my worst or best? +Why should the showman claim +The poor ghost of my name? + +Yet, as when dies a sound +Its spectre lingers round, +Haply my spent life will +Leave some faint echo still. + +A whisper giving breath +Of praise or blame to death, +Soothing or saddening such +As loved the living much. + +Therefore with yearnings vain +And fond I still would fain +A kindly judgment seek, +A tender thought bespeak. + +And, while my words are read, +Let this at least be said +"Whate'er his life's defeatures, +He loved his fellow-creatures. + +"If, of the Law's stone table, +To hold he scarce was able +The first great precept fast, +He kept for man the last. + +"Through mortal lapse and dulness +What lacks the Eternal Fulness, +If still our weakness can +Love Him in loving man? + +"Age brought him no despairing +Of the world's future faring; +In human nature still +He found more good than ill. + +"To all who dumbly suffered, +His tongue and pen he offered; +His life was not his own, +Nor lived for self alone. + +"Hater of din and riot +He lived in days unquiet; +And, lover of all beauty, +Trod the hard ways of duty. + +"He meant no wrong to any +He sought the good of many, +Yet knew both sin and folly,-- +May God forgive him wholly!" +1882. + + + +ABRAM MORRISON. + +'Midst the men and things which will +Haunt an old man's memory still, +Drollest, quaintest of them all, +With a boy's laugh I recall +Good old Abram Morrison. + +When the Grist and Rolling Mill +Ground and rumbled by Po Hill, +And the old red school-house stood +Midway in the Powow's flood, +Here dwelt Abram Morrison. + +From the Beach to far beyond +Bear-Hill, Lion's Mouth and Pond, +Marvellous to our tough old stock, +Chips o' the Anglo-Saxon block, +Seemed the Celtic Morrison. + +Mudknock, Balmawhistle, all +Only knew the Yankee drawl, +Never brogue was heard till when, +Foremost of his countrymen, +Hither came Friend Morrison; + +Yankee born, of alien blood, +Kin of his had well withstood +Pope and King with pike and ball +Under Derry's leaguered wall, +As became the Morrisons. + +Wandering down from Nutfield woods +With his household and his goods, +Never was it clearly told +How within our quiet fold +Came to be a Morrison. + +Once a soldier, blame him not +That the Quaker he forgot, +When, to think of battles won, +And the red-coats on the run, +Laughed aloud Friend Morrison. + +From gray Lewis over sea +Bore his sires their family tree, +On the rugged boughs of it +Grafting Irish mirth and wit, +And the brogue of Morrison. + +Half a genius, quick to plan, +Blundering like an Irishman, +But with canny shrewdness lent +By his far-off Scotch descent, +Such was Abram Morrison. + +Back and forth to daily meals, +Rode his cherished pig on wheels, +And to all who came to see +"Aisier for the pig an' me, +Sure it is," said Morrison. + +Simple-hearted, boy o'er-grown, +With a humor quite his own, +Of our sober-stepping ways, +Speech and look and cautious phrase, +Slow to learn was Morrison. + +Much we loved his stories told +Of a country strange and old, +Where the fairies danced till dawn, +And the goblin Leprecaun +Looked, we thought, like Morrison. + +Or wild tales of feud and fight, +Witch and troll and second sight +Whispered still where Stornoway +Looks across its stormy bay, +Once the home of Morrisons. + +First was he to sing the praise +Of the Powow's winding ways; +And our straggling village took +City grandeur to the look +Of its poet Morrison. + +All his words have perished. Shame +On the saddle-bags of Fame, +That they bring not to our time +One poor couplet of the rhyme +Made by Abram Morrison! + +When, on calm and fair First Days, +Rattled down our one-horse chaise, +Through the blossomed apple-boughs +To the old, brown meeting-house, +There was Abram Morrison. + +Underneath his hat's broad brim +Peered the queer old face of him; +And with Irish jauntiness +Swung the coat-tails of the dress +Worn by Abram Morrison. + +Still, in memory, on his feet, +Leaning o'er the elders' seat, +Mingling with a solemn drone, +Celtic accents all his own, +Rises Abram Morrison. + +"Don't," he's pleading, "don't ye go, +Dear young friends, to sight and show, +Don't run after elephants, +Learned pigs and presidents +And the likes!" said Morrison. + +On his well-worn theme intent, +Simple, child-like, innocent, +Heaven forgive the half-checked smile +Of our careless boyhood, while +Listening to Friend Morrison! + +We have learned in later days +Truth may speak in simplest phrase; +That the man is not the less +For quaint ways and home-spun dress, +Thanks to Abram Morrison! + +Not to pander nor to please +Come the needed homilies, +With no lofty argument +Is the fitting message sent, +Through such lips as Morrison's. + +Dead and gone! But while its track +Powow keeps to Merrimac, +While Po Hill is still on guard, +Looking land and ocean ward, +They shall tell of Morrison! + +After half a century's lapse, +We are wiser now, perhaps, +But we miss our streets amid +Something which the past has hid, +Lost with Abram Morrison. + +Gone forever with the queer +Characters of that old year +Now the many are as one; +Broken is the mould that run +Men like Abram Morrison. +1884. + + + +A LEGACY + +Friend of my many years +When the great silence falls, at last, on me, +Let me not leave, to pain and sadden thee, +A memory of tears, + +But pleasant thoughts alone +Of one who was thy friendship's honored guest +And drank the wine of consolation pressed +From sorrows of thy own. + +I leave with thee a sense +Of hands upheld and trials rendered less-- +The unselfish joy which is to helpfulness +Its own great recompense; + +The knowledge that from thine, +As from the garments of the Master, stole +Calmness and strength, the virtue which makes whole +And heals without a sign; + +Yea more, the assurance strong +That love, which fails of perfect utterance here, +Lives on to fill the heavenly atmosphere +With its immortal song. +1887. + + + + + + + RELIGIOUS POEMS + + +THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM + +Where Time the measure of his hours +By changeful bud and blossom keeps, +And, like a young bride crowned with flowers, +Fair Shiraz in her garden sleeps; + +Where, to her poet's turban stone, +The Spring her gift of flowers imparts, +Less sweet than those his thoughts have sown +In the warm soil of Persian hearts: + +There sat the stranger, where the shade +Of scattered date-trees thinly lay, +While in the hot clear heaven delayed +The long and still and weary day. + +Strange trees and fruits above him hung, +Strange odors filled the sultry air, +Strange birds upon the branches swung, +Strange insect voices murmured there. + +And strange bright blossoms shone around, +Turned sunward from the shadowy bowers, +As if the Gheber's soul had found +A fitting home in Iran's flowers. + +Whate'er he saw, whate'er he heard, +Awakened feelings new and sad,-- +No Christian garb, nor Christian word, +Nor church with Sabbath-bell chimes glad, + +But Moslem graves, with turban stones, +And mosque-spires gleaming white, in view, +And graybeard Mollahs in low tones +Chanting their Koran service through. + +The flowers which smiled on either hand, +Like tempting fiends, were such as they +Which once, o'er all that Eastern land, +As gifts on demon altars lay. + +As if the burning eye of Baal +The servant of his Conqueror knew, +From skies which knew no cloudy veil, +The Sun's hot glances smote him through. + +"Ah me!" the lonely stranger said, +"The hope which led my footsteps on, +And light from heaven around them shed, +O'er weary wave and waste, is gone! + +"Where are the harvest fields all white, +For Truth to thrust her sickle in? +Where flock the souls, like doves in flight, +From the dark hiding-place of sin? + +"A silent-horror broods o'er all,-- +The burden of a hateful spell,-- +The very flowers around recall +The hoary magi's rites of hell! + +"And what am I, o'er such a land +The banner of the Cross to bear? +Dear Lord, uphold me with Thy hand, +Thy strength with human weakness share!" + +He ceased; for at his very feet +In mild rebuke a floweret smiled; +How thrilled his sinking heart to greet +The Star-flower of the Virgin's child! + +Sown by some wandering Frank, it drew +Its life from alien air and earth, +And told to Paynim sun and dew +The story of the Saviour's birth. + +From scorching beams, in kindly mood, +The Persian plants its beauty screened, +And on its pagan sisterhood, +In love, the Christian floweret leaned. + +With tears of joy the wanderer felt +The darkness of his long despair +Before that hallowed symbol melt, +Which God's dear love had nurtured there. + +From Nature's face, that simple flower +The lines of sin and sadness swept; +And Magian pile and Paynim bower +In peace like that of Eden slept. + +Each Moslem tomb, and cypress old, +Looked holy through the sunset air; +And, angel-like, the Muezzin told +From tower and mosque the hour of prayer. + +With cheerful steps, the morrow's dawn +From Shiraz saw the stranger part; +The Star-flower of the Virgin-Born +Still blooming in his hopeful heart! +1830. + + + +THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN + +"Get ye up from the wrath of God's terrible day! +Ungirded, unsandalled, arise and away! +'T is the vintage of blood, 't is the fulness of time, +And vengeance shall gather the harvest of crime!" + +The warning was spoken--the righteous had gone, +And the proud ones of Sodom were feasting alone; +All gay was the banquet--the revel was long, +With the pouring of wine and the breathing of song. + +'T was an evening of beauty; the air was perfume, +The earth was all greenness, the trees were all bloom; +And softly the delicate viol was heard, +Like the murmur of love or the notes of a bird. + +And beautiful maidens moved down in the dance, +With the magic of motion and sunshine of glance +And white arms wreathed lightly, and tresses fell free +As the plumage of birds in some tropical tree. + +Where the shrines of foul idols were lighted on high, +And wantonness tempted the lust of the eye; +Midst rites of obsceneness, strange, loathsome, abhorred, +The blasphemer scoffed at the name of the Lord. + +Hark! the growl of the thunder,--the quaking of earth! +Woe, woe to the worship, and woe to the mirth! +The black sky has opened; there's flame in the air; +The red arm of vengeance is lifted and bare! + +Then the shriek of the dying rose wild where the song +And the low tone of love had been whispered along; +For the fierce flames went lightly o'er palace and bower, +Like the red tongues of demons, to blast and devour! + +Down, down on the fallen the red ruin rained, +And the reveller sank with his wine-cup undrained; +The foot of the dancer, the music's loved thrill, +And the shout and the laughter grew suddenly still. + +The last throb of anguish was fearfully given; +The last eye glared forth in its madness on Heaven! +The last groan of horror rose wildly and vain, +And death brooded over the pride of the Plain! +1831. + + + +THE CALL OF THE CHRISTIAN + +Not always as the whirlwind's rush +On Horeb's mount of fear, +Not always as the burning bush +To Midian's shepherd seer, +Nor as the awful voice which came +To Israel's prophet bards, +Nor as the tongues of cloven flame, +Nor gift of fearful words,-- + +Not always thus, with outward sign +Of fire or voice from Heaven, +The message of a truth divine, +The call of God is given! +Awaking in the human heart +Love for the true and right,-- +Zeal for the Christian's better part, +Strength for the Christian's fight. + +Nor unto manhood's heart alone +The holy influence steals +Warm with a rapture not its own, +The heart of woman feels! +As she who by Samaria's wall +The Saviour's errand sought,-- +As those who with the fervent Paul +And meek Aquila wrought: + +Or those meek ones whose martyrdom +Rome's gathered grandeur saw +Or those who in their Alpine home +Braved the Crusader's war, +When the green Vaudois, trembling, heard, +Through all its vales of death, +The martyr's song of triumph poured +From woman's failing breath. + +And gently, by a thousand things +Which o'er our spirits pass, +Like breezes o'er the harp's fine strings, +Or vapors o'er a glass, +Leaving their token strange and new +Of music or of shade, +The summons to the right and true +And merciful is made. + +Oh, then, if gleams of truth and light +Flash o'er thy waiting mind, +Unfolding to thy mental sight +The wants of human-kind; +If, brooding over human grief, +The earnest wish is known +To soothe and gladden with relief +An anguish not thine own; + +Though heralded with naught of fear, +Or outward sign or show; +Though only to the inward ear +It whispers soft and low; +Though dropping, as the manna fell, +Unseen, yet from above, +Noiseless as dew-fall, heed it well,--- +Thy Father's call of love! + + + +THE CRUCIFIXION. + +Sunlight upon Judha's hills! +And on the waves of Galilee; +On Jordan's stream, and on the rills +That feed the dead and sleeping sea! +Most freshly from the green wood springs +The light breeze on its scented wings; +And gayly quiver in the sun +The cedar tops of Lebanon! + +A few more hours,--a change hath come! +The sky is dark without a cloud! +The shouts of wrath and joy are dumb, +And proud knees unto earth are bowed. +A change is on the hill of Death, +The helmed watchers pant for breath, +And turn with wild and maniac eyes +From the dark scene of sacrifice! + +That Sacrifice!--the death of Him,-- +The Christ of God, the holy One! +Well may the conscious Heaven grow dim, +And blacken the beholding, Sun. +The wonted light hath fled away, +Night settles on the middle day, +And earthquake from his caverned bed +Is waking with a thrill of dread! + +The dead are waking underneath! +Their prison door is rent away! +And, ghastly with the seal of death, +They wander in the eye of day! +The temple of the Cherubim, +The House of God is cold and dim; +A curse is on its trembling walls, +Its mighty veil asunder falls! + +Well may the cavern-depths of Earth +Be shaken, and her mountains nod; +Well may the sheeted dead come forth +To see the suffering son of God! +Well may the temple-shrine grow dim, +And shadows veil the Cherubim, +When He, the chosen one of Heaven, +A sacrifice for guilt is given! + +And shall the sinful heart, alone, +Behold unmoved the fearful hour, +When Nature trembled on her throne, +And Death resigned his iron power? +Oh, shall the heart--whose sinfulness +Gave keenness to His sore distress, +And added to His tears of blood-- +Refuse its trembling gratitude! +1834. + + + +PALESTINE + +Blest land of Judaea! thrice hallowed of song, +Where the holiest of memories pilgrim-like throng; +In the shade of thy palms, by the shores of thy sea, +On the hills of thy beauty, my heart is with thee. + +With the eye of a spirit I look on that shore +Where pilgrim and prophet have lingered before; +With the glide of a spirit I traverse the sod +Made bright by the steps of the angels of God. + +Blue sea of the hills! in my spirit I hear +Thy waters, Gennesaret, chime on my ear; +Where the Lowly and Just with the people sat down, +And thy spray on the dust of His sandals was thrown. + +Beyond are Bethulia's mountains of green, +And the desolate hills of the wild Gadarene; +And I pause on the goat-crags of Tabor to see +The gleam of thy waters, O dark Galilee! + +Hark, a sound in the valley! where, swollen and strong, +Thy river, O Kishon, is sweeping along; +Where the Canaanite strove with Jehovah in vain, +And thy torrent grew dark with the blood of the slain. + +There down from his mountains stern Zebulon came, +And Naphthali's stag, with his eyeballs of flame, +And the chariots of Jabin rolled harmlessly on, +For the arm of the Lord was Abinoam's son! + +There sleep the still rocks and the caverns which rang +To the song which the beautiful prophetess sang, +When the princes of Issachar stood by her side, +And the shout of a host in its triumph replied. + +Lo, Bethlehem's hill-site before me is seen, +With the mountains around, and the valleys between; +There rested the shepherds of Judah, and there +The song of the angels rose sweet on the air. + +And Bethany's palm-trees in beauty still throw +Their shadows at noon on the ruins below; +But where are the sisters who hastened to greet +The lowly Redeemer, and sit at His feet? + +I tread where the twelve in their wayfaring trod; +I stand where they stood with the chosen of God-- +Where His blessing was heard and His lessons were taught, +Where the blind were restored and the healing was wrought. + +Oh, here with His flock the sad Wanderer came; +These hills He toiled over in grief are the same; +The founts where He drank by the wayside still flow, +And the same airs are blowing which breathed on His brow! + +And throned on her hills sits Jerusalem yet, +But with dust on her forehead, and chains on her feet; +For the crown of her pride to the mocker hath gone, +And the holy Shechinah is dark where it shone. + +But wherefore this dream of the earthly abode +Of Humanity clothed in the brightness of God? +Were my spirit but turned from the outward and dim, +It could gaze, even now, on the presence of Him! + +Not in clouds and in terrors, but gentle as when, +In love and in meekness, He moved among men; +And the voice which breathed peace to the waves of the sea +In the hush of my spirit would whisper to me! + +And what if my feet may not tread where He stood, +Nor my ears hear the dashing of Galilee's flood, +Nor my eyes see the cross which he bowed Him to bear, +Nor my knees press Gethsemane's garden of prayer. + +Yet, Loved of the Father, Thy Spirit is near +To the meek, and the lowly, and penitent here; +And the voice of Thy love is the same even now +As at Bethany's tomb or on Olivet's brow. + +Oh, the outward hath gone! but in glory and power. +The spirit surviveth the things of an hour; +Unchanged, undecaying, its Pentecost flame +On the heart's secret altar is burning the same +1837. + + + +HYMNS. + +FROM THE FRENCH OF LAMARTINE + + I. + "Encore un hymne, O ma lyre + Un hymn pour le Seigneur, + Un hymne dans mon delire, + Un hymne dans mon bonheur." + + + One hymn more, O my lyre! + Praise to the God above, + Of joy and life and love, + Sweeping its strings of fire! + +Oh, who the speed of bird and wind +And sunbeam's glance will lend to me, +That, soaring upward, I may find +My resting-place and home in Thee? +Thou, whom my soul, midst doubt and gloom, +Adoreth with a fervent flame,-- +Mysterious spirit! unto whom +Pertain nor sign nor name! + +Swiftly my lyre's soft murmurs go, +Up from the cold and joyless earth, +Back to the God who bade them flow, +Whose moving spirit sent them forth. +But as for me, O God! for me, +The lowly creature of Thy will, +Lingering and sad, I sigh to Thee, +An earth-bound pilgrim still! + +Was not my spirit born to shine +Where yonder stars and suns are glowing? +To breathe with them the light divine +From God's own holy altar flowing? +To be, indeed, whate'er the soul +In dreams hath thirsted for so long,-- +A portion of heaven's glorious whole +Of loveliness and song? + +Oh, watchers of the stars at night, +Who breathe their fire, as we the air,-- +Suns, thunders, stars, and rays of light, +Oh, say, is He, the Eternal, there? +Bend there around His awful throne +The seraph's glance, the angel's knee? +Or are thy inmost depths His own, +O wild and mighty sea? + +Thoughts of my soul, how swift ye go! +Swift as the eagle's glance of fire, +Or arrows from the archer's bow, +To the far aim of your desire! +Thought after thought, ye thronging rise, +Like spring-doves from the startled wood, +Bearing like them your sacrifice +Of music unto God! + +And shall these thoughts of joy and love +Come back again no more to me? +Returning like the patriarch's dove +Wing-weary from the eternal sea, +To bear within my longing arms +The promise-bough of kindlier skies, +Plucked from the green, immortal palms +Which shadow Paradise? + +All-moving spirit! freely forth +At Thy command the strong wind goes +Its errand to the passive earth, +Nor art can stay, nor strength oppose, +Until it folds its weary wing +Once more within the hand divine; +So, weary from its wandering, +My spirit turns to Thine! + +Child of the sea, the mountain stream, +From its dark caverns, hurries on, +Ceaseless, by night and morning's beam, +By evening's star and noontide's sun, +Until at last it sinks to rest, +O'erwearied, in the waiting sea, +And moans upon its mother's breast,-- +So turns my soul to Thee! + +O Thou who bidst the torrent flow, +Who lendest wings unto the wind,-- +Mover of all things! where art Thou? +Oh, whither shall I go to find +The secret of Thy resting-place? +Is there no holy wing for me, +That, soaring, I may search the space +Of highest heaven for Thee? + +Oh, would I were as free to rise +As leaves on autumn's whirlwind borne,-- +The arrowy light of sunset skies, +Or sound, or ray, or star of morn, +Which melts in heaven at twilight's close, +Or aught which soars unchecked and free +Through earth and heaven; that I might lose +Myself in finding Thee! + + + II. + LE CRI DE L'AME. + + "Quand le souffle divin qui flotte sur le monde." + +When the breath divine is flowing, +Zephyr-like o'er all things going, +And, as the touch of viewless fingers, +Softly on my soul it lingers, +Open to a breath the lightest, +Conscious of a touch the slightest,-- +As some calm, still lake, whereon +Sinks the snowy-bosomed swan, +And the glistening water-rings +Circle round her moving wings +When my upward gaze is turning +Where the stars of heaven are burning +Through the deep and dark abyss, +Flowers of midnight's wilderness, +Blowing with the evening's breath +Sweetly in their Maker's path +When the breaking day is flushing +All the east, and light is gushing +Upward through the horizon's haze, +Sheaf-like, with its thousand rays, +Spreading, until all above +Overflows with joy and love, +And below, on earth's green bosom, +All is changed to light and blossom: + +When my waking fancies over +Forms of brightness flit and hover +Holy as the seraphs are, +Who by Zion's fountains wear +On their foreheads, white and broad, +"Holiness unto the Lord!" +When, inspired with rapture high, +It would seem a single sigh +Could a world of love create; +That my life could know no date, +And my eager thoughts could fill +Heaven and Earth, o'erflowing still! + +Then, O Father! Thou alone, +From the shadow of Thy throne, +To the sighing of my breast +And its rapture answerest. +All my thoughts, which, upward winging, +Bathe where Thy own light is springing,-- +All my yearnings to be free +Are at echoes answering Thee! + +Seldom upon lips of mine, +Father! rests that name of Thine; +Deep within my inmost breast, +In the secret place of mind, +Like an awful presence shrined, +Doth the dread idea rest +Hushed and holy dwells it there, +Prompter of the silent prayer, +Lifting up my spirit's eye +And its faint, but earnest cry, +From its dark and cold abode, +Unto Thee, my Guide and God! +1837 + + + +THE FAMILIST'S HYMN. + + The Puritans of New England, even in their wilderness home, were + not exempted from the sectarian contentions which agitated the + mother country after the downfall of Charles the First, and of the + established Episcopacy. The Quakers, Baptists, and Catholics were + banished, on pain of death, from the Massachusetts Colony. One + Samuel Gorton, a bold and eloquent declaimer, after preaching for a + time in Boston against the doctrines of the Puritans, and declaring + that their churches were mere human devices, and their sacrament + and baptism an abomination, was driven out of the jurisdiction of + the colony, and compelled to seek a residence among the savages. He + gathered round him a considerable number of converts, who, like the + primitive Christians, shared all things in common. His opinions, + however, were so troublesome to the leading clergy of the colony, + that they instigated an attack upon his "Family" by an armed force, + which seized upon the principal men in it, and brought them into + Massachusetts, where they were sentenced to be kept at hard labor + in several towns (one only in each town), during the pleasure of + the General Court, they being forbidden, under severe penalties, to + utter any of their religious sentiments, except to such ministers + as might labor for their conversion. They were unquestionably + sincere in their opinions, and, whatever may have been their + errors, deserve to be ranked among those who have in all ages + suffered for the freedom of conscience. + +Father! to Thy suffering poor +Strength and grace and faith impart, +And with Thy own love restore +Comfort to the broken heart! +Oh, the failing ones confirm +With a holier strength of zeal! +Give Thou not the feeble worm +Helpless to the spoiler's heel! + +Father! for Thy holy sake +We are spoiled and hunted thus; +Joyful, for Thy truth we take +Bonds and burthens unto us +Poor, and weak, and robbed of all, +Weary with our daily task, +That Thy truth may never fall +Through our weakness, Lord, we ask. + +Round our fired and wasted homes +Flits the forest-bird unscared, +And at noon the wild beast comes +Where our frugal meal was shared; +For the song of praises there +Shrieks the crow the livelong day; +For the sound of evening prayer +Howls the evil beast of prey! + +Sweet the songs we loved to sing +Underneath Thy holy sky; +Words and tones that used to bring +Tears of joy in every eye; +Dear the wrestling hours of prayer, +When we gathered knee to knee, +Blameless youth and hoary hair, +Bowed, O God, alone to Thee. + +As Thine early children, Lord, +Shared their wealth and daily bread, +Even so, with one accord, +We, in love, each other fed. +Not with us the miser's hoard, +Not with us his grasping hand; +Equal round a common board, +Drew our meek and brother band! + +Safe our quiet Eden lay +When the war-whoop stirred the land +And the Indian turned away +From our home his bloody hand. +Well that forest-ranger saw, +That the burthen and the curse +Of the white man's cruel law +Rested also upon us. + +Torn apart, and driven forth +To our toiling hard and long, +Father! from the dust of earth +Lift we still our grateful song! +Grateful, that in bonds we share +In Thy love which maketh free; +Joyful, that the wrongs we bear, +Draw us nearer, Lord, to Thee! + +Grateful! that where'er we toil,-- +By Wachuset's wooded side, +On Nantucket's sea-worn isle, +Or by wild Neponset's tide,-- +Still, in spirit, we are near, +And our evening hymns, which rise +Separate and discordant here, +Meet and mingle in the skies! + +Let the scoffer scorn and mock, +Let the proud and evil priest +Rob the needy of his flock, +For his wine-cup and his feast,-- +Redden not Thy bolts in store +Through the blackness of Thy skies? +For the sighing of the poor +Wilt Thou not, at length, arise? + +Worn and wasted, oh! how long +Shall thy trodden poor complain? +In Thy name they bear the wrong, +In Thy cause the bonds of pain! +Melt oppression's heart of steel, +Let the haughty priesthood see, +And their blinded followers feel, +That in us they mock at Thee! + +In Thy time, O Lord of hosts, +Stretch abroad that hand to save +Which of old, on Egypt's coasts, +Smote apart the Red Sea's wave +Lead us from this evil land, +From the spoiler set us free, +And once more our gathered band, +Heart to heart, shall worship Thee! +1838. + + + +EZEKIEL + + Also, thou son of man, the children of thy people still are talking + against thee by the walls and in the doors of the houses, and speak + one to another, every one to his brother, saying, Come, I pray you, + and hear what is the word that cometh forth from the Lord. And they + come unto thee as the people cometh, and they sit before thee as my + people, and they hear thy words, but they will not do them: for + with their mouth they skew much love, but their heart goeth after + their covetousness. And, lo, thou art unto them as a very lovely + song of one that hath a pleasant voice, and can play well on an + instrument: for they hear thy words, but they do them not. And when + this cometh to pass, (lo, it will come,) then shall they know that + a prophet hath been among them.--EZEKIEL, xxxiii. 30-33. + +They hear Thee not, O God! nor see; +Beneath Thy rod they mock at Thee; +The princes of our ancient line +Lie drunken with Assyrian wine; +The priests around Thy altar speak +The false words which their hearers seek; +And hymns which Chaldea's wanton maids +Have sung in Dura's idol-shades +Are with the Levites' chant ascending, +With Zion's holiest anthems blending! + +On Israel's bleeding bosom set, +The heathen heel is crushing yet; +The towers upon our holy hill +Echo Chaldean footsteps still. +Our wasted shrines,--who weeps for them? +Who mourneth for Jerusalem? +Who turneth from his gains away? +Whose knee with mine is bowed to pray? +Who, leaving feast and purpling cup, +Takes Zion's lamentation up? + +A sad and thoughtful youth, I went +With Israel's early banishment; +And where the sullen Chebar crept, +The ritual of my fathers kept. +The water for the trench I drew, +The firstling of the flock I slew, +And, standing at the altar's side, +I shared the Levites' lingering pride, +That still, amidst her mocking foes, +The smoke of Zion's offering rose. + +In sudden whirlwind, cloud and flame, +The Spirit of the Highest came! +Before mine eyes a vision passed, +A glory terrible and vast; +With dreadful eyes of living things, +And sounding sweep of angel wings, +With circling light and sapphire throne, +And flame-like form of One thereon, +And voice of that dread Likeness sent +Down from the crystal firmament! + +The burden of a prophet's power +Fell on me in that fearful hour; +From off unutterable woes +The curtain of the future rose; +I saw far down the coming time +The fiery chastisement of crime; +With noise of mingling hosts, and jar +Of falling towers and shouts of war, +I saw the nations rise and fall, +Like fire-gleams on my tent's white wall. + +In dream and trance, I--saw the slain +Of Egypt heaped like harvest grain. +I saw the walls of sea-born Tyre +Swept over by the spoiler's fire; +And heard the low, expiring moan +Of Edom on his rocky throne; +And, woe is me! the wild lament +From Zion's desolation sent; +And felt within my heart each blow +Which laid her holy places low. + +In bonds and sorrow, day by day, +Before the pictured tile I lay; +And there, as in a mirror, saw +The coming of Assyria's war; +Her swarthy lines of spearmen pass +Like locusts through Bethhoron's grass; +I saw them draw their stormy hem +Of battle round Jerusalem; +And, listening, heard the Hebrew wail! + +Blend with the victor-trump of Baal! +Who trembled at my warning word? +Who owned the prophet of the Lord? +How mocked the rude, how scoffed the vile, +How stung the Levites' scornful smile, +As o'er my spirit, dark and slow, +The shadow crept of Israel's woe +As if the angel's mournful roll +Had left its record on my soul, +And traced in lines of darkness there +The picture of its great despair! + +Yet ever at the hour I feel +My lips in prophecy unseal. +Prince, priest, and Levite gather near, +And Salem's daughters haste to hear, +On Chebar's waste and alien shore, +The harp of Judah swept once more. +They listen, as in Babel's throng +The Chaldeans to the dancer's song, +Or wild sabbeka's nightly play,-- +As careless and as vain as they. + + . . . . . + +And thus, O Prophet-bard of old, +Hast thou thy tale of sorrow told +The same which earth's unwelcome seers +Have felt in all succeeding years. +Sport of the changeful multitude, +Nor calmly heard nor understood, +Their song has seemed a trick of art, +Their warnings but, the actor's part. +With bonds, and scorn, and evil will, +The world requites its prophets still. + +So was it when the Holy One +The garments of the flesh put on +Men followed where the Highest led +For common gifts of daily bread, +And gross of ear, of vision dim, +Owned not the Godlike power of Him. +Vain as a dreamer's words to them +His wail above Jerusalem, +And meaningless the watch He kept +Through which His weak disciples slept. + +Yet shrink not thou, whoe'er thou art, +For God's great purpose set apart, +Before whose far-discerning eyes, +The Future as the Present lies! +Beyond a narrow-bounded age +Stretches thy prophet-heritage, +Through Heaven's vast spaces angel-trod, +And through the eternal years of God +Thy audience, worlds!--all things to be +The witness of the Truth in thee! +1844. + + + +WHAT THE VOICE SAID + +MADDENED by Earth's wrong and evil, +"Lord!" I cried in sudden ire, +"From Thy right hand, clothed with thunder, +Shake the bolted fire! + +"Love is lost, and Faith is dying; +With the brute the man is sold; +And the dropping blood of labor +Hardens into gold. + +"Here the dying wail of Famine, +There the battle's groan of pain; +And, in silence, smooth-faced Mammon +Reaping men like grain. + +"'Where is God, that we should fear Him?' +Thus the earth-born Titans say +'God! if Thou art living, hear us!' +Thus the weak ones pray." + +"Thou, the patient Heaven upbraiding," +Spake a solemn Voice within; +"Weary of our Lord's forbearance, +Art thou free from sin? + +"Fearless brow to Him uplifting, +Canst thou for His thunders call, +Knowing that to guilt's attraction +Evermore they fall? + +"Know'st thou not all germs of evil +In thy heart await their time? +Not thyself, but God's restraining, +Stays their growth of crime. + +"Couldst thou boast, O child of weakness! +O'er the sons of wrong and strife, +Were their strong temptations planted +In thy path of life? + +"Thou hast seen two streamlets gushing +From one fountain, clear and free, +But by widely varying channels +Searching for the sea. + +"Glideth one through greenest valleys, +Kissing them with lips still sweet; +One, mad roaring down the mountains, +Stagnates at their feet. + +"Is it choice whereby the Parsee +Kneels before his mother's fire? +In his black tent did the Tartar +Choose his wandering sire? + +"He alone, whose hand is bounding +Human power and human will, +Looking through each soul's surrounding, +Knows its good or ill. + +"For thyself, while wrong and sorrow +Make to thee their strong appeal, +Coward wert thou not to utter +What the heart must feel. + +"Earnest words must needs be spoken +When the warm heart bleeds or burns +With its scorn of wrong, or pity +For the wronged, by turns. + +"But, by all thy nature's weakness, +Hidden faults and follies known, +Be thou, in rebuking evil, +Conscious of thine own. + +"Not the less shall stern-eyed Duty +To thy lips her trumpet set, +But with harsher blasts shall mingle +Wailings of regret." + +Cease not, Voice of holy speaking, +Teacher sent of God, be near, +Whispering through the day's cool silence, +Let my spirit hear! + +So, when thoughts of evil-doers +Waken scorn, or hatred move, +Shall a mournful fellow-feeling +Temper all with love. +1847. + + + +THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE. + +A FREE PARAPHRASE OF THE GERMAN. + +To weary hearts, to mourning homes, +God's meekest Angel gently comes +No power has he to banish pain, +Or give us back our lost again; +And yet in tenderest love, our dear +And Heavenly Father sends him here. + +There's quiet in that Angel's glance, +There 's rest in his still countenance! +He mocks no grief with idle cheer, +Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear; +But ills and woes he may not cure +He kindly trains us to endure. + +Angel of Patience! sent to calm +Our feverish brows with cooling palm; +To lay the storms of hope and fear, +And reconcile life's smile and tear; +The throbs of wounded pride to still, +And make our own our Father's will. + +O thou who mournest on thy way, +With longings for the close of day; +He walks with thee, that Angel kind, +And gently whispers, "Be resigned +Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell +The dear Lord ordereth all things well!" +1847. + + + +THE WIFE OF MANOAH TO HER HUSBAND. + +Against the sunset's glowing wall +The city towers rise black and tall, +Where Zorah, on its rocky height, +Stands like an armed man in the light. + +Down Eshtaol's vales of ripened grain +Falls like a cloud the night amain, +And up the hillsides climbing slow +The barley reapers homeward go. + +Look, dearest! how our fair child's head +The sunset light hath hallowed, +Where at this olive's foot he lies, +Uplooking to the tranquil skies. + +Oh, while beneath the fervent heat +Thy sickle swept the bearded wheat, +I've watched, with mingled joy and dread, +Our child upon his grassy bed. + +Joy, which the mother feels alone +Whose morning hope like mine had flown, +When to her bosom, over-blessed, +A dearer life than hers is pressed. + +Dread, for the future dark and still, +Which shapes our dear one to its will; +Forever in his large calm eyes, +I read a tale of sacrifice. + +The same foreboding awe I felt +When at the altar's side we knelt, +And he, who as a pilgrim came, +Rose, winged and glorious, through the flame. + +I slept not, though the wild bees made +A dreamlike murmuring in the shade, +And on me the warm-fingered hours +Pressed with the drowsy smell of flowers. + +Before me, in a vision, rose +The hosts of Israel's scornful foes,-- +Rank over rank, helm, shield, and spear, +Glittered in noon's hot atmosphere. + +I heard their boast, and bitter word, +Their mockery of the Hebrew's Lord, +I saw their hands His ark assail, +Their feet profane His holy veil. + +No angel down the blue space spoke, +No thunder from the still sky broke; +But in their midst, in power and awe, +Like God's waked wrath, our child I saw! + +A child no more!--harsh-browed and strong, +He towered a giant in the throng, +And down his shoulders, broad and bare, +Swept the black terror of his hair. + +He raised his arm--he smote amain; +As round the reaper falls the grain, +So the dark host around him fell, +So sank the foes of Israel! + +Again I looked. In sunlight shone +The towers and domes of Askelon; +Priest, warrior, slave, a mighty crowd +Within her idol temple bowed. + +Yet one knelt not; stark, gaunt, and blind, +His arms the massive pillars twined,-- +An eyeless captive, strong with hate, +He stood there like an evil Fate. + +The red shrines smoked,--the trumpets pealed +He stooped,--the giant columns reeled; +Reeled tower and fane, sank arch and wall, +And the thick dust-cloud closed o'er all! + +Above the shriek, the crash, the groan +Of the fallen pride of Askelon, +I heard, sheer down the echoing sky, +A voice as of an angel cry,-- + +The voice of him, who at our side +Sat through the golden eventide; +Of him who, on thy altar's blaze, +Rose fire-winged, with his song of praise. + +"Rejoice o'er Israel's broken chain, +Gray mother of the mighty slain! +Rejoice!" it cried, "he vanquisheth! +The strong in life is strong in death! + +"To him shall Zorah's daughters raise +Through coming years their hymns of praise, +And gray old men at evening tell +Of all he wrought for Israel. + +"And they who sing and they who hear +Alike shall hold thy memory dear, +And pour their blessings on thy head, +O mother of the mighty dead!" + +It ceased; and though a sound I heard +As if great wings the still air stirred, +I only saw the barley sheaves +And hills half hid by olive leaves. + +I bowed my face, in awe and fear, +On the dear child who slumbered near; +"With me, as with my only son, +O God," I said, "Thy will be done!" +1847. + + + +MY SOUL AND I + +Stand still, my soul, in the silent dark +I would question thee, +Alone in the shadow drear and stark +With God and me! + +What, my soul, was thy errand here? +Was it mirth or ease, +Or heaping up dust from year to year? +"Nay, none of these!" + +Speak, soul, aright in His holy sight +Whose eye looks still +And steadily on thee through the night +"To do His will!" + +What hast thou done, O soul of mine, +That thou tremblest so? +Hast thou wrought His task, and kept the line +He bade thee go? + +Aha! thou tremblest!--well I see +Thou 'rt craven grown. +Is it so hard with God and me +To stand alone? + +Summon thy sunshine bravery back, +O wretched sprite! +Let me hear thy voice through this deep and black +Abysmal night. + +What hast thou wrought for Right and Truth, +For God and Man, +From the golden hours of bright-eyed youth +To life's mid span? + +What, silent all! art sad of cheer? +Art fearful now? +When God seemed far and men were near, +How brave wert thou! + +Ah, soul of mine, thy tones I hear, +But weak and low, +Like far sad murmurs on my ear +They come and go. + +I have wrestled stoutly with the Wrong, +And borne the Right +From beneath the footfall of the throng +To life and light. + +"Wherever Freedom shivered a chain, +God speed, quoth I; +To Error amidst her shouting train +I gave the lie." + +Ah, soul of mine! ah, soul of mine! +Thy deeds are well: +Were they wrought for Truth's sake or for thine? +My soul, pray tell. + +"Of all the work my hand hath wrought +Beneath the sky, +Save a place in kindly human thought, +No gain have I." + +Go to, go to! for thy very self +Thy deeds were done +Thou for fame, the miser for pelf, +Your end is one! + +And where art thou going, soul of mine? +Canst see the end? +And whither this troubled life of thine +Evermore doth tend? + +What daunts thee now? what shakes thee so? +My sad soul say. +"I see a cloud like a curtain low +Hang o'er my way. + +"Whither I go I cannot tell +That cloud hangs black, +High as the heaven and deep as hell +Across my track. + +"I see its shadow coldly enwrap +The souls before. +Sadly they enter it, step by step, +To return no more. + +"They shrink, they shudder, dear God! they kneel +To Thee in prayer. +They shut their eyes on the cloud, but feel +That it still is there. + +"In vain they turn from the dread Before +To the Known and Gone; +For while gazing behind them evermore +Their feet glide on. + +"Yet, at times, I see upon sweet pale faces +A light begin +To tremble, as if from holy places +And shrines within. + +"And at times methinks their cold lips move +With hymn and prayer, +As if somewhat of awe, but more of love +And hope were there. + +"I call on the souls who have left the light +To reveal their lot; +I bend mine ear to that wall of night, +And they answer not. + +"But I hear around me sighs of pain +And the cry of fear, +And a sound like the slow sad dropping of rain, +Each drop a tear! + +"Ah, the cloud is dark, and day by day +I am moving thither +I must pass beneath it on my way-- +God pity me!--whither?" + +Ah, soul of mine! so brave and wise +In the life-storm loud, +Fronting so calmly all human eyes +In the sunlit crowd! + +Now standing apart with God and me +Thou art weakness all, +Gazing vainly after the things to be +Through Death's dread wall. + +But never for this, never for this +Was thy being lent; +For the craven's fear is but selfishness, +Like his merriment. + +Folly and Fear are sisters twain +One closing her eyes. +The other peopling the dark inane +With spectral lies. + +Know well, my soul, God's hand controls +Whate'er thou fearest; +Round Him in calmest music rolls +Whate'er thou Nearest. + +What to thee is shadow, to Him is day, +And the end He knoweth, +And not on a blind and aimless way +The spirit goeth. + +Man sees no future,--a phantom show +Is alone before him; +Past Time is dead, and the grasses grow, +And flowers bloom o'er him. + +Nothing before, nothing behind; +The steps of Faith +Fall on the seeming void, and find +The rock beneath. + +The Present, the Present is all thou hast +For thy sure possessing; +Like the patriarch's angel hold it fast +Till it gives its blessing. + +Why fear the night? why shrink from Death; +That phantom wan? +There is nothing in heaven or earth beneath +Save God and man. + +Peopling the shadows we turn from Him +And from one another; +All is spectral and vague and dim +Save God and our brother! + +Like warp and woof all destinies +Are woven fast, +Linked in sympathy like the keys +Of an organ vast. + +Pluck one thread, and the web ye mar; +Break but one +Of a thousand keys, and the paining jar +Through all will run. + +O restless spirit! wherefore strain +Beyond thy sphere? +Heaven and hell, with their joy and pain, +Are now and here. + +Back to thyself is measured well +All thou hast given; +Thy neighbor's wrong is thy present hell, +His bliss, thy heaven. + +And in life, in death, in dark and light, +All are in God's care +Sound the black abyss, pierce the deep of night, +And He is there! + +All which is real now remaineth, +And fadeth never +The hand which upholds it now sustaineth +The soul forever. + +Leaning on Him, make with reverent meekness +His own thy will, +And with strength from Him shall thy utter weakness +Life's task fulfil; + +And that cloud itself, which now before thee +Lies dark in view, +Shall with beams of light from the inner glory +Be stricken through. + +And like meadow mist through autumn's dawn +Uprolling thin, +Its thickest folds when about thee drawn +Let sunlight in. + +Then of what is to be, and of what is done, +Why queriest thou? +The past and the time to be are one, +And both are now! +1847. + + + +WORSHIP. + + "Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this. To + visit the fatherless and widows in, their affliction, and to keep + himself unspotted from the world."--JAMES I. 27. + +The Pagan's myths through marble lips are spoken, +And ghosts of old Beliefs still flit and moan +Round fane and altar overthrown and broken, +O'er tree-grown barrow and gray ring of stone. + +Blind Faith had martyrs in those old high places, +The Syrian hill grove and the Druid's wood, +With mother's offering, to the Fiend's embraces, +Bone of their bone, and blood of their own blood. + +Red altars, kindling through that night of error, +Smoked with warm blood beneath the cruel eye +Of lawless Power and sanguinary Terror, +Throned on the circle of a pitiless sky; + +Beneath whose baleful shadow, overcasting +All heaven above, and blighting earth below, +The scourge grew red, the lip grew pale with fasting, +And man's oblation was his fear and woe! + +Then through great temples swelled the dismal moaning +Of dirge-like music and sepulchral prayer; +Pale wizard priests, o'er occult symbols droning, +Swung their white censers in the burdened air + +As if the pomp of rituals, and the savor +Of gums and spices could the Unseen One please; +As if His ear could bend, with childish favor, +To the poor flattery of the organ keys! + +Feet red from war-fields trod the church aisles holy, +With trembling reverence: and the oppressor there, +Kneeling before his priest, abased and lowly, +Crushed human hearts beneath his knee of prayer. + +Not such the service the benignant Father +Requireth at His earthly children's hands +Not the poor offering of vain rites, but rather +The simple duty man from man demands. + +For Earth He asks it: the full joy of heaven +Knoweth no change of waning or increase; +The great heart of the Infinite beats even, +Untroubled flows the river of His peace. + +He asks no taper lights, on high surrounding +The priestly altar and the saintly grave, +No dolorous chant nor organ music sounding, +Nor incense clouding tip the twilight nave. + +For he whom Jesus loved hath truly spoken +The holier worship which he deigns to bless +Restores the lost, and binds the spirit broken, +And feeds the widow and the fatherless! + +Types of our human weakness and our sorrow! +Who lives unhaunted by his loved ones dead? +Who, with vain longing, seeketh not to borrow +From stranger eyes the home lights which have fled? + +O brother man! fold to thy heart thy brother; +Where pity dwells, the peace of God is there; +To worship rightly is to love each other, +Each smile a hymn, each kindly deed a prayer. + +Follow with reverent steps the great example +Of Him whose holy work was "doing good;" +So shall the wide earth seem our Father's temple, +Each loving life a psalm of gratitude. + +Then shall all shackles fall; the stormy clangor +Of wild war music o'er the earth shall cease; +Love shall tread out the baleful fire of anger, +And in its ashes plant the tree of peace! +1848. + + + +THE HOLY LAND + + Paraphrased from the lines in Lamartine's _Adieu to Marseilles_, + beginning + + "Je n'ai pas navigue sur l'ocean de sable." + +I have not felt, o'er seas of sand, +The rocking of the desert bark; +Nor laved at Hebron's fount my hand, +By Hebron's palm-trees cool and dark; +Nor pitched my tent at even-fall, +On dust where Job of old has lain, +Nor dreamed beneath its canvas wall, +The dream of Jacob o'er again. + +One vast world-page remains unread; +How shine the stars in Chaldea's sky, +How sounds the reverent pilgrim's tread, +How beats the heart with God so nigh +How round gray arch and column lone +The spirit of the old time broods, +And sighs in all the winds that moan +Along the sandy solitudes! + +In thy tall cedars, Lebanon, +I have not heard the nations' cries, +Nor seen thy eagles stooping down +Where buried Tyre in ruin lies. +The Christian's prayer I have not said +In Tadmor's temples of decay, +Nor startled, with my dreary tread, +The waste where Memnon's empire lay. + +Nor have I, from thy hallowed tide, +O Jordan! heard the low lament, +Like that sad wail along thy side +Which Israel's mournful prophet sent! +Nor thrilled within that grotto lone +Where, deep in night, the Bard of Kings +Felt hands of fire direct his own, +And sweep for God the conscious strings. + +I have not climbed to Olivet, +Nor laid me where my Saviour lay, +And left His trace of tears as yet +By angel eyes unwept away; +Nor watched, at midnight's solemn time, +The garden where His prayer and groan, +Wrung by His sorrow and our crime, +Rose to One listening ear alone. + +I have not kissed the rock-hewn grot +Where in His mother's arms He lay, +Nor knelt upon the sacred spot +Where last His footsteps pressed the clay; +Nor looked on that sad mountain head, +Nor smote my sinful breast, where wide +His arms to fold the world He spread, +And bowed His head to bless--and died! +1848. + + + +THE REWARD + +Who, looking backward from his manhood's prime, +Sees not the spectre of his misspent time? +And, through the shade +Of funeral cypress planted thick behind, +Hears no reproachful whisper on the wind +From his loved dead? + +Who bears no trace of passion's evil force? +Who shuns thy sting, O terrible Remorse? +Who does not cast +On the thronged pages of his memory's book, +At times, a sad and half-reluctant look, +Regretful of the past? + +Alas! the evil which we fain would shun +We do, and leave the wished-for good undone +Our strength to-day +Is but to-morrow's weakness, prone to fall; +Poor, blind, unprofitable servants all +Are we alway. + +Yet who, thus looking backward o'er his years, +Feels not his eyelids wet with grateful tears, +If he hath been +Permitted, weak and sinful as he was, +To cheer and aid, in some ennobling cause, +His fellow-men? + +If he hath hidden the outcast, or let in +A ray of sunshine to the cell of sin; +If he hath lent +Strength to the weak, and, in an hour of need, +Over the suffering, mindless of his creed +Or home, hath bent; + +He has not lived in vain, and while he gives +The praise to Him, in whom he moves and lives, +With thankful heart; +He gazes backward, and with hope before, +Knowing that from his works he nevermore +Can henceforth part. +1848. + + + +THE WISH OF TO-DAY. + +I ask not now for gold to gild +With mocking shine a weary frame; +The yearning of the mind is stilled, +I ask not now for Fame. + +A rose-cloud, dimly seen above, +Melting in heaven's blue depths away; +Oh, sweet, fond dream of human Love +For thee I may not pray. + +But, bowed in lowliness of mind, +I make my humble wishes known; +I only ask a will resigned, +O Father, to Thine own! + +To-day, beneath Thy chastening eye +I crave alone for peace and rest, +Submissive in Thy hand to lie, +And feel that it is best. + +A marvel seems the Universe, +A miracle our Life and Death; +A mystery which I cannot pierce, +Around, above, beneath. + +In vain I task my aching brain, +In vain the sage's thought I scan, +I only feel how weak and vain, +How poor and blind, is man. + +And now my spirit sighs for home, +And longs for light whereby to see, +And, like a weary child, would come, +O Father, unto Thee! + +Though oft, like letters traced on sand, +My weak resolves have passed away, +In mercy lend Thy helping hand +Unto my prayer to-day! +1848. + + + +ALL'S WELL + +The clouds, which rise with thunder, slake +Our thirsty souls with rain; +The blow most dreaded falls to break +From off our limbs a chain; +And wrongs of man to man but make +The love of God more plain. +As through the shadowy lens of even +The eye looks farthest into heaven +On gleams of star and depths of blue +The glaring sunshine never knew! +1850. + + + +INVOCATION + +Through Thy clear spaces, Lord, of old, +Formless and void the dead earth rolled; +Deaf to Thy heaven's sweet music, blind +To the great lights which o'er it shined; +No sound, no ray, no warmth, no breath,-- +A dumb despair, a wandering death. + +To that dark, weltering horror came +Thy spirit, like a subtle flame,-- +A breath of life electrical, +Awakening and transforming all, +Till beat and thrilled in every part +The pulses of a living heart. + +Then knew their bounds the land and sea; +Then smiled the bloom of mead and tree; +From flower to moth, from beast to man, +The quick creative impulse ran; +And earth, with life from thee renewed, +Was in thy holy eyesight good. + +As lost and void, as dark and cold +And formless as that earth of old; +A wandering waste of storm and night, +Midst spheres of song and realms of light; +A blot upon thy holy sky, +Untouched, unwarned of thee, am I. + +O Thou who movest on the deep +Of spirits, wake my own from sleep +Its darkness melt, its coldness warm, +The lost restore, the ill transform, +That flower and fruit henceforth may be +Its grateful offering, worthy Thee. +1851. + + + +QUESTIONS OF LIFE + + And the angel that was sent unto me, whose name was Uriel, + gave me an answer and said, + "Thy heart hath gone too far in this world, and thinkest thou + to comprehend the way of the Most High?" + Then said I, "Yea, my Lord." + Then said he unto me, "Go thy way, weigh me the weight of + the fire or measure me the blast of the wind, or call me again the + day that is past."--2 ESDRAS, chap. iv. + +A bending staff I would not break, +A feeble faith I would not shake, +Nor even rashly pluck away +The error which some truth may stay, +Whose loss might leave the soul without +A shield against the shafts of doubt. + +And yet, at times, when over all +A darker mystery seems to fall, +(May God forgive the child of dust, +Who seeks to know, where Faith should trust!) +I raise the questions, old and dark, +Of Uzdom's tempted patriarch, +And, speech-confounded, build again +The baffled tower of Shinar's plain. + +I am: how little more I know! +Whence came I? Whither do I go? +A centred self, which feels and is; +A cry between the silences; +A shadow-birth of clouds at strife +With sunshine on the hills of life; +A shaft from Nature's quiver cast +Into the Future from the Past; +Between the cradle and the shroud, +A meteor's flight from cloud to cloud. + +Thorough the vastness, arching all, +I see the great stars rise and fall, +The rounding seasons come and go, +The tided oceans ebb and flow; +The tokens of a central force, +Whose circles, in their widening course, +O'erlap and move the universe; +The workings of the law whence springs +The rhythmic harmony of things, +Which shapes in earth the darkling spar, +And orbs in heaven the morning star. +Of all I see, in earth and sky,-- +Star, flower, beast, bird,--what part have I? +This conscious life,--is it the same +Which thrills the universal frame, +Whereby the caverned crystal shoots, +And mounts the sap from forest roots, +Whereby the exiled wood-bird tells +When Spring makes green her native dells? +How feels the stone the pang of birth, +Which brings its sparkling prism forth? +The forest-tree the throb which gives +The life-blood to its new-born leaves? +Do bird and blossom feel, like me, +Life's many-folded mystery,-- +The wonder which it is to be? +Or stand I severed and distinct, +From Nature's "chain of life" unlinked? +Allied to all, yet not the less +Prisoned in separate consciousness, +Alone o'erburdened with a sense +Of life, and cause, and consequence? + +In vain to me the Sphinx propounds +The riddle of her sights and sounds; +Back still the vaulted mystery gives +The echoed question it receives. +What sings the brook? What oracle +Is in the pine-tree's organ swell? +What may the wind's low burden be? +The meaning of the moaning sea? +The hieroglyphics of the stars? +Or clouded sunset's crimson bars? +I vainly ask, for mocks my skill +The trick of Nature's cipher still. + +I turn from Nature unto men, +I ask the stylus and the pen; +What sang the bards of old? What meant +The prophets of the Orient? +The rolls of buried Egypt, hid +In painted tomb and pyramid? +What mean Idumea's arrowy lines, +Or dusk Elora's monstrous signs? +How speaks the primal thought of man +From the grim carvings of Copan? + +Where rests the secret? Where the keys +Of the old death-bolted mysteries? +Alas! the dead retain their trust; +Dust hath no answer from the dust. + +The great enigma still unguessed, +Unanswered the eternal quest; +I gather up the scattered rays +Of wisdom in the early days, +Faint gleams and broken, like the light +Of meteors in a northern night, +Betraying to the darkling earth +The unseen sun which gave them birth; +I listen to the sibyl's chant, +The voice of priest and hierophant; +I know what Indian Kreeshna saith, +And what of life and what of death +The demon taught to Socrates; +And what, beneath his garden-trees +Slow pacing, with a dream-like tread,-- +The solemn-thoughted Plato said; +Nor lack I tokens, great or small, +Of God's clear light in each and all, +While holding with more dear regard +The scroll of Hebrew seer and bard, +The starry pages promise-lit +With Christ's Evangel over-writ, +Thy miracle of life and death, +O Holy One of Nazareth! + +On Aztec ruins, gray and lone, +The circling serpent coils in stone,-- +Type of the endless and unknown; +Whereof we seek the clue to find, +With groping fingers of the blind! +Forever sought, and never found, +We trace that serpent-symbol round +Our resting-place, our starting bound +Oh, thriftlessness of dream and guess! +Oh, wisdom which is foolishness! +Why idly seek from outward things +The answer inward silence brings? +Why stretch beyond our proper sphere +And age, for that which lies so near? +Why climb the far-off hills with pain, +A nearer view of heaven to gain? +In lowliest depths of bosky dells +The hermit Contemplation dwells. +A fountain's pine-hung slope his seat, +And lotus-twined his silent feet, +Whence, piercing heaven, with screened sight, +He sees at noon the stars, whose light +Shall glorify the coining night. + +Here let me pause, my quest forego; +Enough for me to feel and know +That He in whom the cause and end, +The past and future, meet and blend,-- +Who, girt with his Immensities, +Our vast and star-hung system sees, +Small as the clustered Pleiades,-- +Moves not alone the heavenly quires, +But waves the spring-time's grassy spires, +Guards not archangel feet alone, +But deigns to guide and keep my own; +Speaks not alone the words of fate +Which worlds destroy, and worlds create, +But whispers in my spirit's ear, +In tones of love, or warning fear, +A language none beside may hear. + +To Him, from wanderings long and wild, +I come, an over-wearied child, +In cool and shade His peace to find, +Lice dew-fall settling on my mind. +Assured that all I know is best, +And humbly trusting for the rest, +I turn from Fancy's cloud-built scheme, +Dark creed, and mournful eastern dream +Of power, impersonal and cold, +Controlling all, itself controlled, +Maker and slave of iron laws, +Alike the subject and the cause; +From vain philosophies, that try +The sevenfold gates of mystery, +And, baffled ever, babble still, +Word-prodigal of fate and will; +From Nature, and her mockery, Art; +And book and speech of men apart, +To the still witness in my heart; +With reverence waiting to behold +His Avatar of love untold, +The Eternal Beauty new and old! +1862. + + + +FIRST-DAY THOUGHTS. + +In calm and cool and silence, once again +I find my old accustomed place among +My brethren, where, perchance, no human tongue +Shall utter words; where never hymn is sung, +Nor deep-toned organ blown, nor censer swung, +Nor dim light falling through the pictured pane! +There, syllabled by silence, let me hear +The still small voice which reached the prophet's ear; +Read in my heart a still diviner law +Than Israel's leader on his tables saw! +There let me strive with each besetting sin, +Recall my wandering fancies, and restrain +The sore disquiet of a restless brain; +And, as the path of duty is made plain, +May grace be given that I may walk therein, +Not like the hireling, for his selfish gain, +With backward glances and reluctant tread, +Making a merit of his coward dread, +But, cheerful, in the light around me thrown, +Walking as one to pleasant service led; +Doing God's will as if it were my own, +Yet trusting not in mine, but in His strength alone! +1852. + + + +TRUST. + +The same old baffling questions! O my friend, +I cannot answer them. In vain I send +My soul into the dark, where never burn +The lamps of science, nor the natural light +Of Reason's sun and stars! I cannot learn +Their great and solemn meanings, nor discern +The awful secrets of the eyes which turn +Evermore on us through the day and night +With silent challenge and a dumb demand, +Proffering the riddles of the dread unknown, +Like the calm Sphinxes, with their eyes of stone, +Questioning the centuries from their veils of sand! +I have no answer for myself or thee, +Save that I learned beside my mother's knee; +"All is of God that is, and is to be; +And God is good." Let this suffice us still, +Resting in childlike trust upon His will +Who moves to His great ends unthwarted by the ill. +1853. + + + +TRINITAS. + +At morn I prayed, "I fain would see +How Three are One, and One is Three; +Read the dark riddle unto me." + +I wandered forth, the sun and air +I saw bestowed with equal care +On good and evil, foul and fair. + +No partial favor dropped the rain; +Alike the righteous and profane +Rejoiced above their heading grain. + +And my heart murmured, "Is it meet +That blindfold Nature thus should treat +With equal hand the tares and wheat?" + +A presence melted through my mood,-- +A warmth, a light, a sense of good, +Like sunshine through a winter wood. + +I saw that presence, mailed complete +In her white innocence, pause to greet +A fallen sister of the street. + +Upon her bosom snowy pure +The lost one clung, as if secure +From inward guilt or outward lure. + +"Beware!" I said; "in this I see +No gain to her, but loss to thee +Who touches pitch defiled must be." + +I passed the haunts of shame and sin, +And a voice whispered, "Who therein +Shall these lost souls to Heaven's peace win? + +"Who there shall hope and health dispense, +And lift the ladder up from thence +Whose rounds are prayers of penitence?" + +I said, "No higher life they know; +These earth-worms love to have it so. +Who stoops to raise them sinks as low." + +That night with painful care I read +What Hippo's saint and Calvin said; +The living seeking to the dead! + +In vain I turned, in weary quest, +Old pages, where (God give them rest!) +The poor creed-mongers dreamed and guessed. + +And still I prayed, "Lord, let me see +How Three are One, and One is Three; +Read the dark riddle unto me!" + +Then something whispered, "Dost thou pray +For what thou hast? This very day +The Holy Three have crossed thy way. + +"Did not the gifts of sun and air +To good and ill alike declare +The all-compassionate Father's care? + +"In the white soul that stooped to raise +The lost one from her evil ways, +Thou saw'st the Christ, whom angels praise! + +"A bodiless Divinity, +The still small Voice that spake to thee +Was the Holy Spirit's mystery! + +"O blind of sight, of faith how small! +Father, and Son, and Holy Call +This day thou hast denied them all! + +"Revealed in love and sacrifice, +The Holiest passed before thine eyes, +One and the same, in threefold guise. + +"The equal Father in rain and sun, +His Christ in the good to evil done, +His Voice in thy soul;--and the Three are One!" + +I shut my grave Aquinas fast; +The monkish gloss of ages past, +The schoolman's creed aside I cast. + +And my heart answered, "Lord, I see +How Three are One, and One is Three; +Thy riddle hath been read to me!" +1858. + + + +THE SISTERS + +A PICTURE BY BARRY + +The shade for me, but over thee +The lingering sunshine still; +As, smiling, to the silent stream +Comes down the singing rill. + +So come to me, my little one,-- +My years with thee I share, +And mingle with a sister's love +A mother's tender care. + +But keep the smile upon thy lip, +The trust upon thy brow; +Since for the dear one God hath called +We have an angel now. + +Our mother from the fields of heaven +Shall still her ear incline; +Nor need we fear her human love +Is less for love divine. + +The songs are sweet they sing beneath +The trees of life so fair, +But sweetest of the songs of heaven +Shall be her children's prayer. + +Then, darling, rest upon my breast, +And teach my heart to lean +With thy sweet trust upon the arm +Which folds us both unseen! +1858 + + + +"THE ROCK" IN EL GHOR. + +Dead Petra in her hill-tomb sleeps, +Her stones of emptiness remain; +Around her sculptured mystery sweeps +The lonely waste of Edom's plain. + +From the doomed dwellers in the cleft +The bow of vengeance turns not back; +Of all her myriads none are left +Along the Wady Mousa's track. + +Clear in the hot Arabian day +Her arches spring, her statues climb; +Unchanged, the graven wonders pay +No tribute to the spoiler, Time! + +Unchanged the awful lithograph +Of power and glory undertrod; +Of nations scattered like the chaff +Blown from the threshing-floor of God. + +Yet shall the thoughtful stranger turn +From Petra's gates with deeper awe, +To mark afar the burial urn +Of Aaron on the cliffs of Hor; + +And where upon its ancient guard +Thy Rock, El Ghor, is standing yet,-- +Looks from its turrets desertward, +And keeps the watch that God has set. + +The same as when in thunders loud +It heard the voice of God to man, +As when it saw in fire and cloud +The angels walk in Israel's van, + +Or when from Ezion-Geber's way +It saw the long procession file, +And heard the Hebrew timbrels play +The music of the lordly Nile; + +Or saw the tabernacle pause, +Cloud-bound, by Kadesh Barnea's wells, +While Moses graved the sacred laws, +And Aaron swung his golden bells. + +Rock of the desert, prophet-sung! +How grew its shadowing pile at length, +A symbol, in the Hebrew tongue, +Of God's eternal love and strength. + +On lip of bard and scroll of seer, +From age to age went down the name, +Until the Shiloh's promised year, +And Christ, the Rock of Ages, came! + +The path of life we walk to-day +Is strange as that the Hebrews trod; +We need the shadowing rock, as they,-- +We need, like them, the guides of God. + +God send His angels, Cloud and Fire, +To lead us o'er the desert sand! +God give our hearts their long desire, +His shadow in a weary land! +1859. + + + +THE OVER-HEART. + + "For of Him, and through Him, and to Him are all things, + to whom be glory forever! "--PAUL. + +Above, below, in sky and sod, +In leaf and spar, in star and man, +Well might the wise Athenian scan +The geometric signs of God, +The measured order of His plan. + +And India's mystics sang aright +Of the One Life pervading all,-- +One Being's tidal rise and fall +In soul and form, in sound and sight,-- +Eternal outflow and recall. + +God is: and man in guilt and fear +The central fact of Nature owns; +Kneels, trembling, by his altar-stones, +And darkly dreams the ghastly smear +Of blood appeases and atones. + +Guilt shapes the Terror: deep within +The human heart the secret lies +Of all the hideous deities; +And, painted on a ground of sin, +The fabled gods of torment rise! + +And what is He? The ripe grain nods, +The sweet dews fall, the sweet flowers blow; +But darker signs His presence show +The earthquake and the storm are God's, +And good and evil interflow. + +O hearts of love! O souls that turn +Like sunflowers to the pure and best! +To you the truth is manifest: +For they the mind of Christ discern +Who lean like John upon His breast! + +In him of whom the sibyl told, +For whom the prophet's harp was toned, +Whose need the sage and magian owned, +The loving heart of God behold, +The hope for which the ages groaned! + +Fade, pomp of dreadful imagery +Wherewith mankind have deified +Their hate, and selfishness, and pride! +Let the scared dreamer wake to see +The Christ of Nazareth at his side! + +What doth that holy Guide require? +No rite of pain, nor gift of blood, +But man a kindly brotherhood, +Looking, where duty is desire, +To Him, the beautiful and good. + +Gone be the faithlessness of fear, +And let the pitying heaven's sweet rain +Wash out the altar's bloody stain; +The law of Hatred disappear, +The law of Love alone remain. + +How fall the idols false and grim! +And to! their hideous wreck above +The emblems of the Lamb and Dove! +Man turns from God, not God from him; +And guilt, in suffering, whispers Love! + +The world sits at the feet of Christ, +Unknowing, blind, and unconsoled; +It yet shall touch His garment's fold, +And feel the heavenly Alchemist +Transform its very dust to gold. + +The theme befitting angel tongues +Beyond a mortal's scope has grown. +O heart of mine! with reverence own +The fulness which to it belongs, +And trust the unknown for the known. +1859. + + + +THE SHADOW AND THE LIGHT. + + "And I sought, whence is Evil: I set before the eye of my spirit + the whole creation; whatsoever we see therein,--sea, earth, air, + stars, trees, moral creatures,--yea, whatsoever there is we do not + see,--angels and spiritual powers. Where is evil, and whence comes + it, since God the Good hath created all things? Why made He + anything at all of evil, and not rather by His Almightiness cause + it not to be? These thoughts I turned in my miserable heart, + overcharged with most gnawing cares." "And, admonished to return to + myself, I entered even into my inmost soul, Thou being my guide, + and beheld even beyond my soul and mind the Light unchangeable. He + who knows the Truth knows what that Light is, and he that knows it + knows Eternity! O--Truth, who art Eternity! Love, who art Truth! + Eternity, who art Love! And I beheld that Thou madest all things + good, and to Thee is nothing whatsoever evil. From the angel to the + worm, from the first motion to the last, Thou settest each in its + place, and everything is good in its kind. Woe is me!--how high art + Thou in the highest, how deep in the deepest! and Thou never + departest from us and we scarcely return to Thee." + --AUGUSTINE'S Soliloquies, Book VII. + +The fourteen centuries fall away +Between us and the Afric saint, +And at his side we urge, to-day, +The immemorial quest and old complaint. + +No outward sign to us is given,-- +From sea or earth comes no reply; +Hushed as the warm Numidian heaven +He vainly questioned bends our frozen sky. + +No victory comes of all our strife,-- +From all we grasp the meaning slips; +The Sphinx sits at the gate of life, +With the old question on her awful lips. + +In paths unknown we hear the feet +Of fear before, and guilt behind; +We pluck the wayside fruit, and eat +Ashes and dust beneath its golden rind. + +From age to age descends unchecked +The sad bequest of sire to son, +The body's taint, the mind's defect; +Through every web of life the dark threads run. + +Oh, why and whither? God knows all; +I only know that He is good, +And that whatever may befall +Or here or there, must be the best that could. + +Between the dreadful cherubim +A Father's face I still discern, +As Moses looked of old on Him, +And saw His glory into goodness turn! + +For He is merciful as just; +And so, by faith correcting sight, +I bow before His will, and trust +Howe'er they seem He doeth all things right. + +And dare to hope that Tie will make +The rugged smooth, the doubtful plain; +His mercy never quite forsake; +His healing visit every realm of pain; + +That suffering is not His revenge +Upon His creatures weak and frail, +Sent on a pathway new and strange +With feet that wander and with eyes that fail; + +That, o'er the crucible of pain, +Watches the tender eye of Love +The slow transmuting of the chain +Whose links are iron below to gold above! + +Ah me! we doubt the shining skies, +Seen through our shadows of offence, +And drown with our poor childish cries +The cradle-hymn of kindly Providence. + +And still we love the evil cause, +And of the just effect complain +We tread upon life's broken laws, +And murmur at our self-inflicted pain; + +We turn us from the light, and find +Our spectral shapes before us thrown, +As they who leave the sun behind +Walk in the shadows of themselves alone. + +And scarce by will or strength of ours +We set our faces to the day; +Weak, wavering, blind, the Eternal Powers +Alone can turn us from ourselves away. + +Our weakness is the strength of sin, +But love must needs be stronger far, +Outreaching all and gathering in +The erring spirit and the wandering star. + +A Voice grows with the growing years; +Earth, hushing down her bitter cry, +Looks upward from her graves, and hears, +"The Resurrection and the Life am I." + +O Love Divine!--whose constant beam +Shines on the eyes that will not see, +And waits to bless us, while we dream +Thou leavest us because we turn from thee! + +All souls that struggle and aspire, +All hearts of prayer by thee are lit; +And, dim or clear, thy tongues of fire +On dusky tribes and twilight centuries sit. + +Nor bounds, nor clime, nor creed thou know'st, +Wide as our need thy favors fall; +The white wings of the Holy Ghost +Stoop, seen or unseen, o'er the heads of all. + +O Beauty, old yet ever new! +Eternal Voice, and Inward Word, +The Logos of the Greek and Jew, +The old sphere-music which the Samian heard! + +Truth, which the sage and prophet saw, +Long sought without, but found within, +The Law of Love beyond all law, +The Life o'erflooding mortal death and sin! + +Shine on us with the light which glowed +Upon the trance-bound shepherd's way. +Who saw the Darkness overflowed +And drowned by tides of everlasting Day. + +Shine, light of God!--make broad thy scope +To all who sin and suffer; more +And better than we dare to hope +With Heaven's compassion make our longings poor! +1860. + + + +THE CRY OF A LOST SOUL. + + Lieutenant Herndon's Report of the Exploration of the Amazon has a + striking description of the peculiar and melancholy notes of a + bird heard by night on the shores of the river. The Indian guides + called it "The Cry of a Lost Soul"! Among the numerous translations + of this poem is one by the Emperor of Brazil. + +In that black forest, where, when day is done, +With a snake's stillness glides the Amazon +Darkly from sunset to the rising sun, + +A cry, as of the pained heart of the wood, +The long, despairing moan of solitude +And darkness and the absence of all good, + +Startles the traveller, with a sound so drear, +So full of hopeless agony and fear, +His heart stands still and listens like his ear. + +The guide, as if he heard a dead-bell toll, +Starts, drops his oar against the gunwale's thole, +Crosses himself, and whispers, "A lost soul!" + +"No, Senor, not a bird. I know it well,-- +It is the pained soul of some infidel +Or cursed heretic that cries from hell. + +"Poor fool! with hope still mocking his despair, +He wanders, shrieking on the midnight air +For human pity and for Christian prayer. + +"Saints strike him dumb! Our Holy Mother hath +No prayer for him who, sinning unto death, +Burns always in the furnace of God's wrath!" + +Thus to the baptized pagan's cruel lie, +Lending new horror to that mournful cry, +The voyager listens, making no reply. + +Dim burns the boat-lamp: shadows deepen round, +From giant trees with snake-like creepers wound, +And the black water glides without a sound. + +But in the traveller's heart a secret sense +Of nature plastic to benign intents, +And an eternal good in Providence, + +Lifts to the starry calm of heaven his eyes; +And to! rebuking all earth's ominous cries, +The Cross of pardon lights the tropic skies! + +"Father of all!" he urges his strong plea, +"Thou lovest all: Thy erring child may be +Lost to himself, but never lost to Thee! + +"All souls are Thine; the wings of morning bear +None from that Presence which is everywhere, +Nor hell itself can hide, for Thou art there. + +"Through sins of sense, perversities of will, +Through doubt and pain, through guilt and shame and ill, +Thy pitying eye is on Thy creature still. + +"Wilt thou not make, Eternal Source and Goal! +In Thy long years, life's broken circle whole, +And change to praise the cry of a lost soul?" +1862. + + + +ANDREW RYKMAN'S PRAYER + +Andrew Rykman's dead and gone; +You can see his leaning slate +In the graveyard, and thereon +Read his name and date. + +"_Trust is truer than our fears_," +Runs the legend through the moss, +"_Gain is not in added years, +Nor in death is loss_." + +Still the feet that thither trod, +All the friendly eyes are dim; +Only Nature, now, and God +Have a care for him. + +There the dews of quiet fall, +Singing birds and soft winds stray: +Shall the tender Heart of all +Be less kind than they? + +What he was and what he is +They who ask may haply find, +If they read this prayer of his +Which he left behind. + + + . . . . + +Pardon, Lord, the lips that dare +Shape in words a mortal's prayer! +Prayer, that, when my day is done, +And I see its setting sun, +Shorn and beamless, cold and dim, +Sink beneath the horizon's rim,-- +When this ball of rock and clay +Crumbles from my feet away, +And the solid shores of sense +Melt into the vague immense, +Father! I may come to Thee +Even with the beggar's plea, +As the poorest of Thy poor, +With my needs, and nothing more. + +Not as one who seeks his home +With a step assured I come; +Still behind the tread I hear +Of my life-companion, Fear; +Still a shadow deep and vast +From my westering feet is cast, +Wavering, doubtful, undefined, +Never shapen nor outlined +From myself the fear has grown, +And the shadow is my own. + +Yet, O Lord, through all a sense +Of Thy tender providence +Stays my failing heart on Thee, +And confirms the feeble knee; +And, at times, my worn feet press +Spaces of cool quietness, +Lilied whiteness shone upon +Not by light of moon or sun. +Hours there be of inmost calm, +Broken but by grateful psalm, +When I love Thee more than fear Thee, +And Thy blessed Christ seems near me, +With forgiving look, as when +He beheld the Magdalen. +Well I know that all things move +To the spheral rhythm of love,-- +That to Thee, O Lord of all! +Nothing can of chance befall +Child and seraph, mote and star, +Well Thou knowest what we are +Through Thy vast creative plan +Looking, from the worm to man, +There is pity in Thine eyes, +But no hatred nor surprise. +Not in blind caprice of will, +Not in cunning sleight of skill, +Not for show of power, was wrought +Nature's marvel in Thy thought. +Never careless hand and vain +Smites these chords of joy and pain; +No immortal selfishness +Plays the game of curse and bless +Heaven and earth are witnesses +That Thy glory goodness is. + +Not for sport of mind and force +Hast Thou made Thy universe, +But as atmosphere and zone +Of Thy loving heart alone. +Man, who walketh in a show, +Sees before him, to and fro, +Shadow and illusion go; +All things flow and fluctuate, +Now contract and now dilate. +In the welter of this sea, +Nothing stable is but Thee; +In this whirl of swooning trance, +Thou alone art permanence; +All without Thee only seems, +All beside is choice of dreams. +Never yet in darkest mood +Doubted I that Thou wast good, +Nor mistook my will for fate, +Pain of sin for heavenly hate,-- +Never dreamed the gates of pearl +Rise from out the burning marl, +Or that good can only live +Of the bad conservative, +And through counterpoise of hell +Heaven alone be possible. + +For myself alone I doubt; +All is well, I know, without; +I alone the beauty mar, +I alone the music jar. +Yet, with hands by evil stained, +And an ear by discord pained, +I am groping for the keys +Of the heavenly harmonies; +Still within my heart I bear +Love for all things good and fair. +Hands of want or souls in pain +Have not sought my door in vain; +I have kept my fealty good +To the human brotherhood; +Scarcely have I asked in prayer +That which others might not share. +I, who hear with secret shame +Praise that paineth more than blame, +Rich alone in favors lent, +Virtuous by accident, +Doubtful where I fain would rest, +Frailest where I seem the best, +Only strong for lack of test,-- +What am I, that I should press +Special pleas of selfishness, +Coolly mounting into heaven +On my neighbor unforgiven? +Ne'er to me, howe'er disguised, +Comes a saint unrecognized; +Never fails my heart to greet +Noble deed with warmer beat; +Halt and maimed, I own not less +All the grace of holiness; +Nor, through shame or self-distrust, +Less I love the pure and just. +Lord, forgive these words of mine +What have I that is not Thine? +Whatsoe'er I fain would boast +Needs Thy pitying pardon most. +Thou, O Elder Brother! who +In Thy flesh our trial knew, +Thou, who hast been touched by these +Our most sad infirmities, +Thou alone the gulf canst span +In the dual heart of man, +And between the soul and sense +Reconcile all difference, +Change the dream of me and mine +For the truth of Thee and Thine, +And, through chaos, doubt, and strife, +Interfuse Thy calm of life. +Haply, thus by Thee renewed, +In Thy borrowed goodness good, +Some sweet morning yet in God's +Dim, veonian periods, +Joyful I shall wake to see +Those I love who rest in Thee, +And to them in Thee allied +Shall my soul be satisfied. + +Scarcely Hope hath shaped for me +What the future life may be. +Other lips may well be bold; +Like the publican of old, +I can only urge the plea, +"Lord, be merciful to me!" +Nothing of desert I claim, +Unto me belongeth shame. +Not for me the crowns of gold, +Palms, and harpings manifold; +Not for erring eye and feet +Jasper wall and golden street. +What thou wilt, O Father, give I +All is gain that I receive. + +If my voice I may not raise +In the elders' song of praise, +If I may not, sin-defiled, +Claim my birthright as a child, +Suffer it that I to Thee +As an hired servant be; +Let the lowliest task be mine, +Grateful, so the work be Thine; +Let me find the humblest place +In the shadow of Thy grace +Blest to me were any spot +Where temptation whispers not. +If there be some weaker one, +Give me strength to help him on +If a blinder soul there be, +Let me guide him nearer Thee. +Make my mortal dreams come true +With the work I fain would do; +Clothe with life the weak intent, +Let me be the thing I meant; +Let me find in Thy employ +Peace that dearer is than joy; +Out of self to love be led +And to heaven acclimated, +Until all things sweet and good +Seem my natural habitude. + + . . . . + +So we read the prayer of him +Who, with John of Labadie, +Trod, of old, the oozy rim +Of the Zuyder Zee. + +Thus did Andrew Rykman pray. +Are we wiser, better grown, +That we may not, in our day, +Make his prayer our own? + + + +THE ANSWER. + +Spare me, dread angel of reproof, +And let the sunshine weave to-day +Its gold-threads in the warp and woof +Of life so poor and gray. + +Spare me awhile; the flesh is weak. +These lingering feet, that fain would stray +Among the flowers, shall some day seek +The strait and narrow way. + +Take off thy ever-watchful eye, +The awe of thy rebuking frown; +The dullest slave at times must sigh +To fling his burdens down; + +To drop his galley's straining oar, +And press, in summer warmth and calm, +The lap of some enchanted shore +Of blossom and of balm. + +Grudge not my life its hour of bloom, +My heart its taste of long desire; +This day be mine: be those to come +As duty shall require. + +The deep voice answered to my own, +Smiting my selfish prayers away; +"To-morrow is with God alone, +And man hath but to-day. + +"Say not, thy fond, vain heart within, +The Father's arm shall still be wide, +When from these pleasant ways of sin +Thou turn'st at eventide. + +"'Cast thyself down,' the tempter saith, +'And angels shall thy feet upbear.' +He bids thee make a lie of faith, +And blasphemy of prayer. + +"Though God be good and free be heaven, +No force divine can love compel; +And, though the song of sins forgiven +May sound through lowest hell, + +"The sweet persuasion of His voice +Respects thy sanctity of will. +He giveth day: thou hast thy choice +To walk in darkness still; + +"As one who, turning from the light, +Watches his own gray shadow fall, +Doubting, upon his path of night, +If there be day at all! + +"No word of doom may shut thee out, +No wind of wrath may downward whirl, +No swords of fire keep watch about +The open gates of pearl; + +"A tenderer light than moon or sun, +Than song of earth a sweeter hymn, +May shine and sound forever on, +And thou be deaf and dim. + +"Forever round the Mercy-seat +The guiding lights of Love shall burn; +But what if, habit-bound, thy feet +Shall lack the will to turn? + +"What if thine eye refuse to see, +Thine ear of Heaven's free welcome fail, +And thou a willing captive be, +Thyself thy own dark jail? + +"Oh, doom beyond the saddest guess, +As the long years of God unroll, +To make thy dreary selfishness +The prison of a soul! + +"To doubt the love that fain would break +The fetters from thy self-bound limb; +And dream that God can thee forsake +As thou forsakest Him!" +1863. + + + +THE ETERNAL GOODNESS. + +O friends! with whom my feet have trod +The quiet aisles of prayer, +Glad witness to your zeal for God +And love of man I bear. + +I trace your lines of argument; +Your logic linked and strong +I weigh as one who dreads dissent, +And fears a doubt as wrong. + +But still my human hands are weak +To hold your iron creeds +Against the words ye bid me speak +My heart within me pleads. + +Who fathoms the Eternal Thought? +Who talks of scheme and plan? +The Lord is God! He needeth not +The poor device of man. + +I walk with bare, hushed feet the ground +Ye tread with boldness shod; +I dare not fix with mete and bound +The love and power of God. + +Ye praise His justice; even such +His pitying love I deem +Ye seek a king; I fain would touch +The robe that hath no seam. + +Ye see the curse which overbroods +A world of pain and loss; +I hear our Lord's beatitudes +And prayer upon the cross. + +More than your schoolmen teach, within +Myself, alas! I know +Too dark ye cannot paint the sin, +Too small the merit show. + +I bow my forehead to the dust, +I veil mine eyes for shame, +And urge, in trembling self-distrust, +A prayer without a claim. + +I see the wrong that round me lies, +I feel the guilt within; +I hear, with groan and travail-cries, +The world confess its sin. + +Yet, in the maddening maze of things, +And tossed by storm and flood, +To one fixed trust my spirit clings; +I know that God is good! + +Not mine to look where cherubim +And seraphs may not see, +But nothing can be good in Him +Which evil is in me. + +The wrong that pains my soul below +I dare not throne above, +I know not of His hate,--I know +His goodness and His love. + +I dimly guess from blessings known +Of greater out of sight, +And, with the chastened Psalmist, own +His judgments too are right. + +I long for household voices gone, +For vanished smiles I long, +But God hath led my dear ones on, +And He can do no wrong. + +I know not what the future hath +Of marvel or surprise, +Assured alone that life and death +His mercy underlies. + +And if my heart and flesh are weak +To bear an untried pain, +The bruised reed He will not break, +But strengthen and sustain. + +No offering of my own I have, +Nor works my faith to prove; +I can but give the gifts He gave, +And plead His love for love. + +And so beside the Silent Sea +I wait the muffled oar; +No harm from Him can come to me +On ocean or on shore. + +I know not where His islands lift +Their fronded palms in air; +I only know I cannot drift +Beyond His love and care. + +O brothers! if my faith is vain, +If hopes like these betray, +Pray for me that my feet may gain +The sure and safer way. + +And Thou, O Lord! by whom are seen +Thy creatures as they be, +Forgive me if too close I lean +My human heart on Thee! +1865. + + + +THE COMMON QUESTION. + +Behind us at our evening meal +The gray bird ate his fill, +Swung downward by a single claw, +And wiped his hooked bill. + +He shook his wings and crimson tail, +And set his head aslant, +And, in his sharp, impatient way, +Asked, "What does Charlie want?" + +"Fie, silly bird!" I answered, "tuck +Your head beneath your wing, +And go to sleep;"--but o'er and o'er +He asked the self-same thing. + +Then, smiling, to myself I said +How like are men and birds! +We all are saying what he says, +In action or in words. + +The boy with whip and top and drum, +The girl with hoop and doll, +And men with lands and houses, ask +The question of Poor Poll. + +However full, with something more +We fain the bag would cram; +We sigh above our crowded nets +For fish that never swam. + +No bounty of indulgent Heaven +The vague desire can stay; +Self-love is still a Tartar mill +For grinding prayers alway. + +The dear God hears and pities all; +He knoweth all our wants; +And what we blindly ask of Him +His love withholds or grants. + +And so I sometimes think our prayers +Might well be merged in one; +And nest and perch and hearth and church +Repeat, "Thy will be done." + + + +OUR MASTER. + +Immortal Love, forever full, +Forever flowing free, +Forever shared, forever whole, +A never-ebbing sea! + +Our outward lips confess the name +All other names above; +Love only knoweth whence it came +And comprehendeth love. + +Blow, winds of God, awake and blow +The mists of earth away! +Shine out, O Light Divine, and show +How wide and far we stray! + +Hush every lip, close every book, +The strife of tongues forbear; +Why forward reach, or backward look, +For love that clasps like air? + +We may not climb the heavenly steeps +To bring the Lord Christ down +In vain we search the lowest deeps, +For Him no depths can drown. + +Nor holy bread, nor blood of grape, +The lineaments restore +Of Him we know in outward shape +And in the flesh no more. + +He cometh not a king to reign; +The world's long hope is dim; +The weary centuries watch in vain +The clouds of heaven for Him. + +Death comes, life goes; the asking eye +And ear are answerless; +The grave is dumb, the hollow sky +Is sad with silentness. + +The letter fails, and systems fall, +And every symbol wanes; +The Spirit over-brooding all +Eternal Love remains. + +And not for signs in heaven above +Or earth below they look, +Who know with John His smile of love, +With Peter His rebuke. + +In joy of inward peace, or sense +Of sorrow over sin, +He is His own best evidence, +His witness is within. + +No fable old, nor mythic lore, +Nor dream of bards and seers, +No dead fact stranded on the shore +Of the oblivious years;-- + +But warm, sweet, tender, even yet +A present help is He; +And faith has still its Olivet, +And love its Galilee. + +The healing of His seamless dress +Is by our beds of pain; +We touch Him in life's throng and press, +And we are whole again. + +Through Him the first fond prayers are said +Our lips of childhood frame, +The last low whispers of our dead +Are burdened with His name. + +Our Lord and Master of us all! +Whate'er our name or sign, +We own Thy sway, we hear Thy call, +We test our lives by Thine. + +Thou judgest us; Thy purity +Doth all our lusts condemn; +The love that draws us nearer Thee +Is hot with wrath to them. + +Our thoughts lie open to Thy sight; +And, naked to Thy glance, +Our secret sins are in the light +Of Thy pure countenance. + +Thy healing pains, a keen distress +Thy tender light shines in; +Thy sweetness is the bitterness, +Thy grace the pang of sin. + +Yet, weak and blinded though we be, +Thou dost our service own; +We bring our varying gifts to Thee, +And Thou rejectest none. + +To Thee our full humanity, +Its joys and pains, belong; +The wrong of man to man on Thee +Inflicts a deeper wrong. + +Who hates, hates Thee, who loves becomes +Therein to Thee allied; +All sweet accords of hearts and homes +In Thee are multiplied. + +Deep strike Thy roots, O heavenly Vine, +Within our earthly sod, +Most human and yet most divine, +The flower of man and God! + +O Love! O Life! Our faith and sight +Thy presence maketh one +As through transfigured clouds of white +We trace the noon-day sun. + +So, to our mortal eyes subdued, +Flesh-veiled, but not concealed, +We know in Thee the fatherhood +And heart of God revealed. + +We faintly hear, we dimly see, +In differing phrase we pray; +But, dim or clear, we own in Thee +The Light, the Truth, the Way! + +The homage that we render Thee +Is still our Father's own; +No jealous claim or rivalry +Divides the Cross and Throne. + +To do Thy will is more than praise, +As words are less than deeds, +And simple trust can find Thy ways +We miss with chart of creeds. + +No pride of self Thy service hath, +No place for me and mine; +Our human strength is weakness, death +Our life, apart from Thine. + +Apart from Thee all gain is loss, +All labor vainly done; +The solemn shadow of Thy Cross +Is better than the sun. + +Alone, O Love ineffable! +Thy saving name is given; +To turn aside from Thee is hell, +To walk with Thee is heaven! + +How vain, secure in all Thou art, +Our noisy championship +The sighing of the contrite heart +Is more than flattering lip. + +Not Thine the bigot's partial plea, +Nor Thine the zealot's ban; +Thou well canst spare a love of Thee +Which ends in hate of man. + +Our Friend, our Brother, and our Lord, +What may Thy service be?-- +Nor name, nor form, nor ritual word, +But simply following Thee. + +We bring no ghastly holocaust, +We pile no graven stone; +He serves thee best who loveth most +His brothers and Thy own. + +Thy litanies, sweet offices +Of love and gratitude; +Thy sacramental liturgies, +The joy of doing good. + +In vain shall waves of incense drift +The vaulted nave around, +In vain the minster turret lift +Its brazen weights of sound. + +The heart must ring Thy Christmas bells, +Thy inward altars raise; +Its faith and hope Thy canticles, +And its obedience praise! +1866. + + + +THE MEETING. + + The two speakers in the meeting referred to in this poem were Avis + Keene, whose very presence was a benediction, a woman lovely in + spirit and person, whose words seemed a message of love and tender + concern to her hearers; and Sibyl Jones, whose inspired eloquence + and rare spirituality impressed all who knew her. In obedience to + her apprehended duty she made visits of Christian love to various + parts of Europe, and to the West Coast of Africa and Palestine. + +The elder folks shook hands at last, +Down seat by seat the signal passed. +To simple ways like ours unused, +Half solemnized and half amused, +With long-drawn breath and shrug, my guest +His sense of glad relief expressed. +Outside, the hills lay warm in sun; +The cattle in the meadow-run +Stood half-leg deep; a single bird +The green repose above us stirred. +"What part or lot have you," he said, +"In these dull rites of drowsy-head? +Is silence worship? Seek it where +It soothes with dreams the summer air, +Not in this close and rude-benched hall, +But where soft lights and shadows fall, +And all the slow, sleep-walking hours +Glide soundless over grass and flowers! +From time and place and form apart, +Its holy ground the human heart, +Nor ritual-bound nor templeward +Walks the free spirit of the Lord! +Our common Master did not pen +His followers up from other men; +His service liberty indeed, +He built no church, He framed no creed; +But while the saintly Pharisee +Made broader his phylactery, +As from the synagogue was seen +The dusty-sandalled Nazarene +Through ripening cornfields lead the way +Upon the awful Sabbath day, +His sermons were the healthful talk +That shorter made the mountain-walk, +His wayside texts were flowers and birds, +Where mingled with His gracious words +The rustle of the tamarisk-tree +And ripple-wash of Galilee." + +"Thy words are well, O friend," I said; +"Unmeasured and unlimited, +With noiseless slide of stone to stone, +The mystic Church of God has grown. +Invisible and silent stands +The temple never made with hands, +Unheard the voices still and small +Of its unseen confessional. +He needs no special place of prayer +Whose hearing ear is everywhere; +He brings not back the childish days +That ringed the earth with stones of praise, +Roofed Karnak's hall of gods, and laid +The plinths of Phil e's colonnade. +Still less He owns the selfish good +And sickly growth of solitude,-- +The worthless grace that, out of sight, +Flowers in the desert anchorite; +Dissevered from the suffering whole, +Love hath no power to save a soul. +Not out of Self, the origin +And native air and soil of sin, +The living waters spring and flow, +The trees with leaves of healing grow. + +"Dream not, O friend, because I seek +This quiet shelter twice a week, +I better deem its pine-laid floor +Than breezy hill or sea-sung shore; +But nature is not solitude +She crowds us with her thronging wood; +Her many hands reach out to us, +Her many tongues are garrulous; +Perpetual riddles of surprise +She offers to our ears and eyes; +She will not leave our senses still, +But drags them captive at her will +And, making earth too great for heaven, +She hides the Giver in the given. + +"And so, I find it well to come +For deeper rest to this still room, +For here the habit of the soul +Feels less the outer world's control; +The strength of mutual purpose pleads +More earnestly our common needs; +And from the silence multiplied +By these still forms on either side, +The world that time and sense have known +Falls off and leaves us God alone. + +"Yet rarely through the charmed repose +Unmixed the stream of motive flows, +A flavor of its many springs, +The tints of earth and sky it brings; +In the still waters needs must be +Some shade of human sympathy; +And here, in its accustomed place, +I look on memory's dearest face; +The blind by-sitter guesseth not +What shadow haunts that vacant spot; +No eyes save mine alone can see +The love wherewith it welcomes me! +And still, with those alone my kin, +In doubt and weakness, want and sin, +I bow my head, my heart I bare +As when that face was living there, +And strive (too oft, alas! in vain) +The peace of simple trust to gain, +Fold fancy's restless wings, and lay +The idols of my heart away. + +"Welcome the silence all unbroken, +Nor less the words of fitness spoken,-- +Such golden words as hers for whom +Our autumn flowers have just made room; +Whose hopeful utterance through and through +The freshness of the morning blew; +Who loved not less the earth that light +Fell on it from the heavens in sight, +But saw in all fair forms more fair +The Eternal beauty mirrored there. +Whose eighty years but added grace +And saintlier meaning to her face,-- +The look of one who bore away +Glad tidings from the hills of day, +While all our hearts went forth to meet +The coming of her beautiful feet! +Or haply hers, whose pilgrim tread +Is in the paths where Jesus led; +Who dreams her childhood's Sabbath dream +By Jordan's willow-shaded stream, +And, of the hymns of hope and faith, +Sung by the monks of Nazareth, +Hears pious echoes, in the call +To prayer, from Moslem minarets fall, +Repeating where His works were wrought +The lesson that her Master taught, +Of whom an elder Sibyl gave, +The prophecies of Cuma 's cave. + +"I ask no organ's soulless breath +To drone the themes of life and death, +No altar candle-lit by day, +No ornate wordsman's rhetoric-play, +No cool philosophy to teach +Its bland audacities of speech +To double-tasked idolaters +Themselves their gods and worshippers, +No pulpit hammered by the fist +Of loud-asserting dogmatist, +Who borrows for the Hand of love +The smoking thunderbolts of Jove. +I know how well the fathers taught, +What work the later schoolmen wrought; +I reverence old-time faith and men, +But God is near us now as then; +His force of love is still unspent, +His hate of sin as imminent; +And still the measure of our needs +Outgrows the cramping bounds of creeds; +The manna gathered yesterday +Already savors of decay; +Doubts to the world's child-heart unknown +Question us now from star and stone; +Too little or too much we know, +And sight is swift and faith is slow; +The power is lost to self-deceive +With shallow forms of make-believe. +W e walk at high noon, and the bells +Call to a thousand oracles, +But the sound deafens, and the light +Is stronger than our dazzled sight; +The letters of the sacred Book +Glimmer and swim beneath our look; +Still struggles in the Age's breast +With deepening agony of quest +The old entreaty: 'Art thou He, +Or look we for the Christ to be?' + +"God should be most where man is least +So, where is neither church nor priest, +And never rag of form or creed +To clothe the nakedness of need,-- +Where farmer-folk in silence meet,-- +I turn my bell-unsummoned feet;' +I lay the critic's glass aside, +I tread upon my lettered pride, +And, lowest-seated, testify +To the oneness of humanity; +Confess the universal want, +And share whatever Heaven may grant. +He findeth not who seeks his own, +The soul is lost that's saved alone. +Not on one favored forehead fell +Of old the fire-tongued miracle, +But flamed o'er all the thronging host +The baptism of the Holy Ghost; +Heart answers heart: in one desire +The blending lines of prayer aspire; +'Where, in my name, meet two or three,' +Our Lord hath said, 'I there will be!' + +"So sometimes comes to soul and sense +The feeling which is evidence +That very near about us lies +The realm of spiritual mysteries. +The sphere of the supernal powers +Impinges on this world of ours. +The low and dark horizon lifts, +To light the scenic terror shifts; +The breath of a diviner air +Blows down the answer of a prayer +That all our sorrow, pain, and doubt +A great compassion clasps about, +And law and goodness, love and force, +Are wedded fast beyond divorce. +Then duty leaves to love its task, +The beggar Self forgets to ask; +With smile of trust and folded hands, +The passive soul in waiting stands +To feel, as flowers the sun and dew, +The One true Life its own renew. + +"So, to the calmly gathered thought +The innermost of truth is taught, +The mystery dimly understood, +That love of God is love of good, +And, chiefly, its divinest trace +In Him of Nazareth's holy face; +That to be saved is only this,-- +Salvation from our selfishness, +From more than elemental fire, +The soul's unsanetified desire, +From sin itself, and not the pain +That warns us of its chafing chain; +That worship's deeper meaning lies +In mercy, and not sacrifice, +Not proud humilities of sense +And posturing of penitence, +But love's unforced obedience; +That Book and Church and Day are given +For man, not God,--for earth, not heaven,-- +The blessed means to holiest ends, +Not masters, but benignant friends; +That the dear Christ dwells not afar, +The king of some remoter star, +Listening, at times, with flattered ear +To homage wrung from selfish fear, +But here, amidst the poor and blind, +The bound and suffering of our kind, +In works we do, in prayers we pray, +Life of our life, He lives to-day." +1868. + + + +THE CLEAR VISION. + +I did but dream. I never knew +What charms our sternest season wore. +Was never yet the sky so blue, +Was never earth so white before. +Till now I never saw the glow +Of sunset on yon hills of snow, +And never learned the bough's designs +Of beauty in its leafless lines. + +Did ever such a morning break +As that my eastern windows see? +Did ever such a moonlight take +Weird photographs of shrub and tree? +Rang ever bells so wild and fleet +The music of the winter street? +Was ever yet a sound by half +So merry as you school-boy's laugh? + +O Earth! with gladness overfraught, +No added charm thy face hath found; +Within my heart the change is wrought, +My footsteps make enchanted ground. +From couch of pain and curtained room +Forth to thy light and air I come, +To find in all that meets my eyes +The freshness of a glad surprise. + +Fair seem these winter days, and soon +Shall blow the warm west-winds of spring, +To set the unbound rills in tune +And hither urge the bluebird's wing. +The vales shall laugh in flowers, the woods +Grow misty green with leafing buds, +And violets and wind-flowers sway +Against the throbbing heart of May. + +Break forth, my lips, in praise, and own +The wiser love severely kind; +Since, richer for its chastening grown, +I see, whereas I once was blind. +The world, O Father! hath not wronged +With loss the life by Thee prolonged; +But still, with every added year, +More beautiful Thy works appear! + +As Thou hast made thy world without, +Make Thou more fair my world within; +Shine through its lingering clouds of doubt; +Rebuke its haunting shapes of sin; +Fill, brief or long, my granted span +Of life with love to thee and man; +Strike when thou wilt the hour of rest, +But let my last days be my best! +2d mo., 1868. + + + +DIVINE COMPASSION. + +Long since, a dream of heaven I had, +And still the vision haunts me oft; +I see the saints in white robes clad, +The martyrs with their palms aloft; +But hearing still, in middle song, +The ceaseless dissonance of wrong; +And shrinking, with hid faces, from the strain +Of sad, beseeching eyes, full of remorse and pain. + +The glad song falters to a wail, +The harping sinks to low lament; +Before the still unlifted veil +I see the crowned foreheads bent, +Making more sweet the heavenly air, +With breathings of unselfish prayer; +And a Voice saith: "O Pity which is pain, +O Love that weeps, fill up my sufferings which remain! + +"Shall souls redeemed by me refuse +To share my sorrow in their turn? +Or, sin-forgiven, my gift abuse +Of peace with selfish unconcern? +Has saintly ease no pitying care? +Has faith no work, and love no prayer? +While sin remains, and souls in darkness dwell, +Can heaven itself be heaven, and look unmoved on hell?" + +Then through the Gates of Pain, I dream, +A wind of heaven blows coolly in; +Fainter the awful discords seem, +The smoke of torment grows more thin, +Tears quench the burning soil, and thence +Spring sweet, pale flowers of penitence +And through the dreary realm of man's despair, +Star-crowned an angel walks, and to! God's hope is there! + +Is it a dream? Is heaven so high +That pity cannot breathe its air? +Its happy eyes forever dry, +Its holy lips without a prayer! +My God! my God! if thither led +By Thy free grace unmerited, +No crown nor palm be mine, but let me keep +A heart that still can feel, and eyes that still can weep. +1868. + + + +THE PRAYER-SEEKER. + +Along the aisle where prayer was made, +A woman, all in black arrayed, +Close-veiled, between the kneeling host, +With gliding motion of a ghost, +Passed to the desk, and laid thereon +A scroll which bore these words alone, +_Pray for me_! + +Back from the place of worshipping +She glided like a guilty thing +The rustle of her draperies, stirred +By hurrying feet, alone was heard; +While, full of awe, the preacher read, +As out into the dark she sped: +"_Pray for me_!" + +Back to the night from whence she came, +To unimagined grief or shame! +Across the threshold of that door +None knew the burden that she bore; +Alone she left the written scroll, +The legend of a troubled soul,-- +_Pray for me_! + +Glide on, poor ghost of woe or sin! +Thou leav'st a common need within; +Each bears, like thee, some nameless weight, +Some misery inarticulate, +Some secret sin, some shrouded dread, +Some household sorrow all unsaid. +_Pray for us_! + +Pass on! The type of all thou art, +Sad witness to the common heart! +With face in veil and seal on lip, +In mute and strange companionship, +Like thee we wander to and fro, +Dumbly imploring as we go +_Pray for us_! + +Ah, who shall pray, since he who pleads +Our want perchance hath greater needs? +Yet they who make their loss the gain +Of others shall not ask in vain, +And Heaven bends low to hear the prayer +Of love from lips of self-despair +_Pray for us_! + +In vain remorse and fear and hate +Beat with bruised bands against a fate +Whose walls of iron only move +And open to the touch of love. +He only feels his burdens fall +Who, taught by suffering, pities all. +_Pray for us_! + +He prayeth best who leaves unguessed +The mystery of another's breast. +Why cheeks grow pale, why eyes o'erflow, +Or heads are white, thou need'st not know. +Enough to note by many a sign +That every heart hath needs like thine. +_Pray for us_! +1870 + + + +THE BREWING OF SOMA. + + "These libations mixed with milk have been prepared for Indra: + offer Soma to the drinker of Soma." + --Vashista, translated by MAX MULLER. + +The fagots blazed, the caldron's smoke +Up through the green wood curled; +"Bring honey from the hollow oak, +Bring milky sap," the brewers spoke, +In the childhood of the world. + +And brewed they well or brewed they ill, +The priests thrust in their rods, +First tasted, and then drank their fill, +And shouted, with one voice and will, +"Behold the drink of gods!" + +They drank, and to! in heart and brain +A new, glad life began; +The gray of hair grew young again, +The sick man laughed away his pain, +The cripple leaped and ran. + +"Drink, mortals, what the gods have sent, +Forget your long annoy." +So sang the priests. From tent to tent +The Soma's sacred madness went, +A storm of drunken joy. + +Then knew each rapt inebriate +A winged and glorious birth, +Soared upward, with strange joy elate, +Beat, with dazed head, Varuna's gate, +And, sobered, sank to earth. + +The land with Soma's praises rang; +On Gihon's banks of shade +Its hymns the dusky maidens sang; +In joy of life or mortal pang +All men to Soma prayed. + +The morning twilight of the race +Sends down these matin psalms; +And still with wondering eyes we trace +The simple prayers to Soma's grace, +That Vedic verse embalms. + +As in that child-world's early year, +Each after age has striven +By music, incense, vigils drear, +And trance, to bring the skies more near, +Or lift men up to heaven! + +Some fever of the blood and brain, +Some self-exalting spell, +The scourger's keen delight of pain, +The Dervish dance, the Orphic strain, +The wild-haired Bacchant's yell,-- + +The desert's hair-grown hermit sunk +The saner brute below; +The naked Santon, hashish-drunk, +The cloister madness of the monk, +The fakir's torture-show! + +And yet the past comes round again, +And new doth old fulfil; +In sensual transports wild as vain +We brew in many a Christian fane +The heathen Soma still! + +Dear Lord and Father of mankind, +Forgive our foolish ways! +Reclothe us in our rightful mind, +In purer lives Thy service find, +In deeper reverence, praise. + +In simple trust like theirs who heard +Beside the Syrian sea +The gracious calling of the Lord, +Let us, like them, without a word, +Rise up and follow Thee. + +O Sabbath rest by Galilee! +O calm of hills above, +Where Jesus knelt to share with Thee +The silence of eternity +Interpreted by love! + +With that deep hush subduing all +Our words and works that drown +The tender whisper of Thy call, +As noiseless let Thy blessing fall +As fell Thy manna down. + +Drop Thy still dews of quietness, +Till all our strivings cease; +Take from our souls the strain and stress, +And let our ordered lives confess +The beauty of Thy peace. + +Breathe through the heats of our desire +Thy coolness and Thy balm; +Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire; +Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire, +O still, small voice of calm! +1872. + + + +A WOMAN. + +Oh, dwarfed and wronged, and stained with ill, +Behold! thou art a woman still! +And, by that sacred name and dear, +I bid thy better self appear. +Still, through thy foul disguise, I see +The rudimental purity, +That, spite of change and loss, makes good +Thy birthright-claim of womanhood; +An inward loathing, deep, intense; +A shame that is half innocence. +Cast off the grave-clothes of thy sin! +Rise from the dust thou liest in, +As Mary rose at Jesus' word, +Redeemed and white before the Lord! +Reclairn thy lost soul! In His name, +Rise up, and break thy bonds of shame. +Art weak? He 's strong. Art fearful? Hear +The world's O'ercomer: "Be of cheer!" +What lip shall judge when He approves? +Who dare to scorn the child He loves? + + + +THE PRAYER OF AGASSIZ. + + The island of Penikese in Buzzard's Bay was given by Mr. John + Anderson to Agassiz for the uses of a summer school of natural + history. A large barn was cleared and improvised as a lecture-room. + Here, on the first morning of the school, all the company was + gathered. "Agassiz had arranged no programme of exercises," says + Mrs. Agassiz, in Louis Agassiz; his Life and Correspondence, + "trusting to the interest of the occasion to suggest what might best + be said or done. But, as he looked upon his pupils gathered there + to study nature with him, by an impulse as natural as it was + unpremeditated, he called upon then to join in silently asking + God's blessing on their work together. The pause was broken by the + first words of an address no less fervent than its unspoken + prelude." This was in the summer of 1873, and Agassiz died the + December following. + +On the isle of Penikese, +Ringed about by sapphire seas, +Fanned by breezes salt and cool, +Stood the Master with his school. +Over sails that not in vain +Wooed the west-wind's steady strain, +Line of coast that low and far +Stretched its undulating bar, +Wings aslant along the rim +Of the waves they stooped to skim, +Rock and isle and glistening bay, +Fell the beautiful white day. + +Said the Master to the youth +"We have come in search of truth, +Trying with uncertain key +Door by door of mystery; +We are reaching, through His laws, +To the garment-hem of Cause, +Him, the endless, unbegun, +The Unnamable, the One +Light of all our light the Source, +Life of life, and Force of force. +As with fingers of the blind, +We are groping here to find +What the hieroglyphics mean +Of the Unseen in the seen, +What the Thought which underlies +Nature's masking and disguise, +What it is that hides beneath +Blight and bloom and birth and death. +By past efforts unavailing, +Doubt and error, loss and failing, +Of our weakness made aware, +On the threshold of our task +Let us light and guidance ask, +Let us pause in silent prayer!" + +Then the Master in his place +Bowed his head a little space, +And the leaves by soft airs stirred, +Lapse of wave and cry of bird, +Left the solemn hush unbroken +Of that wordless prayer unspoken, +While its wish, on earth unsaid, +Rose to heaven interpreted. +As, in life's best hours, we hear +By the spirit's finer ear +His low voice within us, thus +The All-Father heareth us; +And His holy ear we pain +With our noisy words and vain. +Not for Him our violence +Storming at the gates of sense, +His the primal language, His +The eternal silences! + +Even the careless heart was moved, +And the doubting gave assent, +With a gesture reverent, +To the Master well-beloved. +As thin mists are glorified +By the light they cannot hide, +All who gazed upon him saw, +Through its veil of tender awe, +How his face was still uplit +By the old sweet look of it. +Hopeful, trustful, full of cheer, +And the love that casts out fear. +Who the secret may declare +Of that brief, unuttered prayer? +Did the shade before him come +Of th' inevitable doom, +Of the end of earth so near, +And Eternity's new year? + +In the lap of sheltering seas +Rests the isle of Penikese; +But the lord of the domain +Comes not to his own again +Where the eyes that follow fail, +On a vaster sea his sail +Drifts beyond our beck and hail. +Other lips within its bound +Shall the laws of life expound; +Other eyes from rock and shell +Read the world's old riddles well +But when breezes light and bland +Blow from Summer's blossomed land, +When the air is glad with wings, +And the blithe song-sparrow sings, +Many an eye with his still face +Shall the living ones displace, +Many an ear the word shall seek +He alone could fitly speak. +And one name forevermore +Shall be uttered o'er and o'er +By the waves that kiss the shore, +By the curlew's whistle sent +Down the cool, sea-scented air; +In all voices known to her, +Nature owns her worshipper, +Half in triumph, half lament. +Thither Love shall tearful turn, +Friendship pause uncovered there, +And the wisest reverence learn +From the Master's silent prayer. +1873. + + + +IN QUEST + +Have I not voyaged, friend beloved, with thee +On the great waters of the unsounded sea, +Momently listening with suspended oar +For the low rote of waves upon a shore +Changeless as heaven, where never fog-cloud drifts +Over its windless wood, nor mirage lifts +The steadfast hills; where never birds of doubt +Sing to mislead, and every dream dies out, +And the dark riddles which perplex us here +In the sharp solvent of its light are clear? +Thou knowest how vain our quest; how, soon or late, +The baffling tides and circles of debate +Swept back our bark unto its starting-place, +Where, looking forth upon the blank, gray space, +And round about us seeing, with sad eyes, +The same old difficult hills and cloud-cold skies, +We said: "This outward search availeth not +To find Him. He is farther than we thought, +Or, haply, nearer. To this very spot +Whereon we wait, this commonplace of home, +As to the well of Jacob, He may come +And tell us all things." As I listened there, +Through the expectant silences of prayer, +Somewhat I seemed to hear, which hath to me +Been hope, strength, comfort, and I give it thee. + +"The riddle of the world is understood +Only by him who feels that God is good, +As only he can feel who makes his love +The ladder of his faith, and climbs above +On th' rounds of his best instincts; draws no line +Between mere human goodness and divine, +But, judging God by what in him is best, +With a child's trust leans on a Father's breast, +And hears unmoved the old creeds babble still +Of kingly power and dread caprice of will, +Chary of blessing, prodigal of curse, +The pitiless doomsman of the universe. +Can Hatred ask for love? Can Selfishness +Invite to self-denial? Is He less +Than man in kindly dealing? Can He break +His own great law of fatherhood, forsake +And curse His children? Not for earth and heaven +Can separate tables of the law be given. +No rule can bind which He himself denies; +The truths of time are not eternal lies." + +So heard I; and the chaos round me spread +To light and order grew; and, "Lord," I said, +"Our sins are our tormentors, worst of all +Felt in distrustful shame that dares not call +Upon Thee as our Father. We have set +A strange god up, but Thou remainest yet. +All that I feel of pity Thou hast known +Before I was; my best is all Thy own. +From Thy great heart of goodness mine but drew +Wishes and prayers; but Thou, O Lord, wilt do, +In Thy own time, by ways I cannot see, +All that I feel when I am nearest Thee!" +1873. + + + +THE FRIEND'S BURIAL. + +My thoughts are all in yonder town, +Where, wept by many tears, +To-day my mother's friend lays down +The burden of her years. + +True as in life, no poor disguise +Of death with her is seen, +And on her simple casket lies +No wreath of bloom and green. + +Oh, not for her the florist's art, +The mocking weeds of woe; +Dear memories in each mourner's heart +Like heaven's white lilies blow. + +And all about the softening air +Of new-born sweetness tells, +And the ungathered May-flowers wear +The tints of ocean shells. + +The old, assuring miracle +Is fresh as heretofore; +And earth takes up its parable +Of life from death once more. + +Here organ-swell and church-bell toll +Methinks but discord were; +The prayerful silence of the soul +Is best befitting her. + +No sound should break the quietude +Alike of earth and sky +O wandering wind in Seabrook wood, +Breathe but a half-heard sigh! + +Sing softly, spring-bird, for her sake; +And thou not distant sea, +Lapse lightly as if Jesus spake, +And thou wert Galilee! + +For all her quiet life flowed on +As meadow streamlets flow, +Where fresher green reveals alone +The noiseless ways they go. + +From her loved place of prayer I see +The plain-robed mourners pass, +With slow feet treading reverently +The graveyard's springing grass. + +Make room, O mourning ones, for me, +Where, like the friends of Paul, +That you no more her face shall see +You sorrow most of all. + +Her path shall brighten more and more +Unto the perfect day; +She cannot fail of peace who bore +Such peace with her away. + +O sweet, calm face that seemed to wear +The look of sins forgiven! +O voice of prayer that seemed to bear +Our own needs up to heaven! + +How reverent in our midst she stood, +Or knelt in grateful praise! +What grace of Christian womanhood +Was in her household ways! + +For still her holy living meant +No duty left undone; +The heavenly and the human blent +Their kindred loves in one. + +And if her life small leisure found +For feasting ear and eye, +And Pleasure, on her daily round, +She passed unpausing by, + +Yet with her went a secret sense +Of all things sweet and fair, +And Beauty's gracious providence +Refreshed her unaware. + +She kept her line of rectitude +With love's unconscious ease; +Her kindly instincts understood +All gentle courtesies. + +An inborn charm of graciousness +Made sweet her smile and tone, +And glorified her farm-wife dress +With beauty not its own. + +The dear Lord's best interpreters +Are humble human souls; +The Gospel of a life like hers +Is more than books or scrolls. + +From scheme and creed the light goes out, +The saintly fact survives; +The blessed Master none can doubt +Revealed in holy lives. +1873. + + + +A CHRISTMAS CARMEN. + +I. +Sound over all waters, reach out from all lands, +The chorus of voices, the clasping of hands; +Sing hymns that were sung by the stars of the morn, +Sing songs of the angels when Jesus was born! +With glad jubilations +Bring hope to the nations +The dark night is ending and dawn has begun +Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun, +All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one! + +II. +Sing the bridal of nations! with chorals of love +Sing out the war-vulture and sing in the dove, +Till the hearts of the peoples keep time in accord, +And the voice of the world is the voice of the Lord! +Clasp hands of the nations +In strong gratulations: +The dark night is ending and dawn has begun; +Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun, +All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one! + +III. +Blow, bugles of battle, the marches of peace; +East, west, north, and south let the long quarrel cease +Sing the song of great joy that the angels began, +Sing of glory to God and of good-will to man! +Hark! joining in chorus +The heavens bend o'er us' +The dark night is ending and dawn has begun; +Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun, +All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one! +1873. + + + +VESTA. + +O Christ of God! whose life and death +Our own have reconciled, +Most quietly, most tenderly +Take home Thy star-named child! + +Thy grace is in her patient eyes, +Thy words are on her tongue; +The very silence round her seems +As if the angels sung. + +Her smile is as a listening child's +Who hears its mother call; +The lilies of Thy perfect peace +About her pillow fall. + +She leans from out our clinging arms +To rest herself in Thine; +Alone to Thee, dear Lord, can we +Our well-beloved resign! + +Oh, less for her than for ourselves +We bow our heads and pray; +Her setting star, like Bethlehem's, +To Thee shall point the way! +1874. + + + +CHILD-SONGS. + +Still linger in our noon of time +And on our Saxon tongue +The echoes of the home-born hymns +The Aryan mothers sung. + +And childhood had its litanies +In every age and clime; +The earliest cradles of the race +Were rocked to poet's rhyme. + +Nor sky, nor wave, nor tree, nor flower, +Nor green earth's virgin sod, +So moved the singer's heart of old +As these small ones of God. + +The mystery of unfolding life +Was more than dawning morn, +Than opening flower or crescent moon +The human soul new-born. + +And still to childhood's sweet appeal +The heart of genius turns, +And more than all the sages teach +From lisping voices learns,-- + +The voices loved of him who sang, +Where Tweed and Teviot glide, +That sound to-day on all the winds +That blow from Rydal-side,-- + +Heard in the Teuton's household songs, +And folk-lore of the Finn, +Where'er to holy Christmas hearths +The Christ-child enters in! + +Before life's sweetest mystery still +The heart in reverence kneels; +The wonder of the primal birth +The latest mother feels. + +We need love's tender lessons taught +As only weakness can; +God hath His small interpreters; +The child must teach the man. + +We wander wide through evil years, +Our eyes of faith grow dim; +But he is freshest from His hands +And nearest unto Him! + +And haply, pleading long with Him +For sin-sick hearts and cold, +The angels of our childhood still +The Father's face behold. + +Of such the kingdom!--Teach Thou us, +O-Master most divine, +To feel the deep significance +Of these wise words of Thine! + +The haughty eye shall seek in vain +What innocence beholds; +No cunning finds the key of heaven, +No strength its gate unfolds. + +Alone to guilelessness and love +That gate shall open fall; +The mind of pride is nothingness, +The childlike heart is all! +1875. + + + +THE HEALER. + + TO A YOUNG PHYSICIAN, WITH DORE'S PICTURE OF CHRIST + HEALING THE SICK. + +So stood of old the holy Christ +Amidst the suffering throng; +With whom His lightest touch sufficed +To make the weakest strong. + +That healing gift He lends to them +Who use it in His name; +The power that filled His garment's hem +Is evermore the same. + +For lo! in human hearts unseen +The Healer dwelleth still, +And they who make His temples clean +The best subserve His will. + +The holiest task by Heaven decreed, +An errand all divine, +The burden of our common need +To render less is thine. + +The paths of pain are thine. Go forth +With patience, trust, and hope; +The sufferings of a sin-sick earth +Shall give thee ample scope. + +Beside the unveiled mysteries +Of life and death go stand, +With guarded lips and reverent eyes +And pure of heart and hand. + +So shalt thou be with power endued +From Him who went about +The Syrian hillsides doing good, +And casting demons out. + +That Good Physician liveth yet +Thy friend and guide to be; +The Healer by Gennesaret +Shall walk the rounds with thee. + + + +THE TWO ANGELS. + +God called the nearest angels who dwell with Him above: +The tenderest one was Pity, the dearest one was Love. + +"Arise," He said, "my angels! a wail of woe and sin +Steals through the gates of heaven, and saddens all within. + +"My harps take up the mournful strain that from a lost world swells, +The smoke of torment clouds the light and blights the asphodels. + +"Fly downward to that under world, and on its souls of pain +Let Love drop smiles like sunshine, and Pity tears like rain!" + +Two faces bowed before the Throne, veiled in their golden hair; +Four white wings lessened swiftly down the dark abyss of air. + +The way was strange, the flight was long; at last the angels came +Where swung the lost and nether world, red-wrapped in rayless flame. + +There Pity, shuddering, wept; but Love, with faith too strong for fear, +Took heart from God's almightiness and smiled a smile of cheer. + +And lo! that tear of Pity quenched the flame whereon it fell, +And, with the sunshine of that smile, hope entered into hell! + +Two unveiled faces full of joy looked upward to the Throne, +Four white wings folded at the feet of Him who sat thereon! + +And deeper than the sound of seas, more soft than falling flake, +Amidst the hush of wing and song the Voice Eternal spake: + +"Welcome, my angels! ye have brought a holier joy to heaven; +Henceforth its sweetest song shall be the song of sin forgiven!" +1875. + + + +OVERRULED. + +The threads our hands in blindness spin +No self-determined plan weaves in; +The shuttle of the unseen powers +Works out a pattern not as ours. + +Ah! small the choice of him who sings +What sound shall leave the smitten strings; +Fate holds and guides the hand of art; +The singer's is the servant's part. + +The wind-harp chooses not the tone +That through its trembling threads is blown; +The patient organ cannot guess +What hand its passive keys shall press. + +Through wish, resolve, and act, our will +Is moved by undreamed forces still; +And no man measures in advance +His strength with untried circumstance. + +As streams take hue from shade and sun, +As runs the life the song must run; +But, glad or sad, to His good end +God grant the varying notes may tend! +1877. + + + +HYMN OF THE DUNKERS + +KLOSTER KEDAR, EPHRATA, PENNSYLVANIA (1738) + +SISTER MARIA CHRISTINA sings + +Wake, sisters, wake! the day-star shines; +Above Ephrata's eastern pines +The dawn is breaking, cool and calm. +Wake, sisters, wake to prayer and psalm! + +Praised be the Lord for shade and light, +For toil by day, for rest by night! +Praised be His name who deigns to bless +Our Kedar of the wilderness! + +Our refuge when the spoiler's hand +Was heavy on our native land; +And freedom, to her children due, +The wolf and vulture only knew. + +We praised Him when to prison led, +We owned Him when the stake blazed red; +We knew, whatever might befall, +His love and power were over all. + +He heard our prayers; with outstretched arm +He led us forth from cruel harm; +Still, wheresoe'er our steps were bent, +His cloud and fire before us went! + +The watch of faith and prayer He set, +We kept it then, we keep it yet. +At midnight, crow of cock, or noon, +He cometh sure, He cometh soon. + +He comes to chasten, not destroy, +To purge the earth from sin's alloy. +At last, at last shall all confess +His mercy as His righteousness. + +The dead shall live, the sick be whole, +The scarlet sin be white as wool; +No discord mar below, above, +The music of eternal love! + +Sound, welcome trump, the last alarm! +Lord God of hosts, make bare thine arm, +Fulfil this day our long desire, +Make sweet and clean the world with fire! + +Sweep, flaming besom, sweep from sight +The lies of time; be swift to smite, +Sharp sword of God, all idols down, +Genevan creed and Roman crown. + +Quake, earth, through all thy zones, till all +The fanes of pride and priesteraft fall; +And lift thou up in place of them +Thy gates of pearl, Jerusalem! + +Lo! rising from baptismal flame, +Transfigured, glorious, yet the same, +Within the heavenly city's bound +Our Kloster Kedar shall be found. + +He cometh soon! at dawn or noon +Or set of sun, He cometh soon. +Our prayers shall meet Him on His way; +Wake, sisters, wake! arise and pray! +1877. + + + +GIVING AND TAKING. + + I have attempted to put in English verse a prose translation of a + poem by Tinnevaluva, a Hindoo poet of the third century of our era. + +Who gives and hides the giving hand, +Nor counts on favor, fame, or praise, +Shall find his smallest gift outweighs +The burden of the sea and land. + +Who gives to whom hath naught been given, +His gift in need, though small indeed +As is the grass-blade's wind-blown seed, +Is large as earth and rich as heaven. + +Forget it not, O man, to whom +A gift shall fall, while yet on earth; +Yea, even to thy seven-fold birth +Recall it in the lives to come. + +Who broods above a wrong in thought +Sins much; but greater sin is his +Who, fed and clothed with kindnesses, +Shall count the holy alms as nought. + +Who dares to curse the hands that bless +Shall know of sin the deadliest cost; +The patience of the heavens is lost +Beholding man's unthankfulness. + +For he who breaks all laws may still +In Sivam's mercy be forgiven; +But none can save, in earth or heaven, +The wretch who answers good with ill. +1877. + + + +THE VISION OF ECHARD. + +The Benedictine Echard +Sat by the wayside well, +Where Marsberg sees the bridal +Of the Sarre and the Moselle. + +Fair with its sloping vineyards +And tawny chestnut bloom, +The happy vale Ausonius sunk +For holy Treves made room. + +On the shrine Helena builded +To keep the Christ coat well, +On minster tower and kloster cross, +The westering sunshine fell. + +There, where the rock-hewn circles +O'erlooked the Roman's game, +The veil of sleep fell on him, +And his thought a dream became. + +He felt the heart of silence +Throb with a soundless word, +And by the inward ear alone +A spirit's voice he heard. + +And the spoken word seemed written +On air and wave and sod, +And the bending walls of sapphire +Blazed with the thought of God. + +"What lack I, O my children? +All things are in my band; +The vast earth and the awful stars +I hold as grains of sand. + +"Need I your alms? The silver +And gold are mine alone; +The gifts ye bring before me +Were evermore my own. + +"Heed I the noise of viols, +Your pomp of masque and show? +Have I not dawns and sunsets +Have I not winds that blow? + +"Do I smell your gums of incense? +Is my ear with chantings fed? +Taste I your wine of worship, +Or eat your holy bread? + +"Of rank and name and honors +Am I vain as ye are vain? +What can Eternal Fulness +From your lip-service gain? + +"Ye make me not your debtor +Who serve yourselves alone; +Ye boast to me of homage +Whose gain is all your own. + +"For you I gave the prophets, +For you the Psalmist's lay +For you the law's stone tables, +And holy book and day. + +"Ye change to weary burdens +The helps that should uplift; +Ye lose in form the spirit, +The Giver in the gift. + +"Who called ye to self-torment, +To fast and penance vain? +Dream ye Eternal Goodness +Has joy in mortal pain? + +"For the death in life of Nitria, +For your Chartreuse ever dumb, +What better is the neighbor, +Or happier the home? + +"Who counts his brother's welfare +As sacred as his own, +And loves, forgives, and pities, +He serveth me alone. + +"I note each gracious purpose, +Each kindly word and deed; +Are ye not all my children? +Shall not the Father heed? + +"No prayer for light and guidance +Is lost upon mine ear +The child's cry in the darkness +Shall not the Father hear? + +"I loathe your wrangling councils, +I tread upon your creeds; +Who made ye mine avengers, +Or told ye of my needs; + +"I bless men and ye curse them, +I love them and ye hate; +Ye bite and tear each other, +I suffer long and wait. + +"Ye bow to ghastly symbols, +To cross and scourge and thorn; +Ye seek his Syrian manger +Who in the heart is born. + +"For the dead Christ, not the living, +Ye watch His empty grave, +Whose life alone within you +Has power to bless and save. + +"O blind ones, outward groping, +The idle quest forego; +Who listens to His inward voice +Alone of Him shall know. + +"His love all love exceeding +The heart must needs recall, +Its self-surrendering freedom, +Its loss that gaineth all. + +"Climb not the holy mountains, +Their eagles know not me; +Seek not the Blessed Islands, +I dwell not in the sea. + +"Gone is the mount of Meru, +The triple gods are gone, +And, deaf to all the lama's prayers, +The Buddha slumbers on. + +"No more from rocky Horeb +The smitten waters gush; +Fallen is Bethel's ladder, +Quenched is the burning bush. + +"The jewels of the Urim +And Thurnmim all are dim; +The fire has left the altar, +The sign the teraphim. + +"No more in ark or hill grove +The Holiest abides; +Not in the scroll's dead letter +The eternal secret hides. + +"The eye shall fail that searches +For me the hollow sky; +The far is even as the near, +The low is as the high. + +"What if the earth is hiding +Her old faiths, long outworn? +What is it to the changeless truth +That yours shall fail in turn? + +"What if the o'erturned altar +Lays bare the ancient lie? +What if the dreams and legends +Of the world's childhood die? + +"Have ye not still my witness +Within yourselves alway, +My hand that on the keys of life +For bliss or bale I lay? + +"Still, in perpetual judgment, +I hold assize within, +With sure reward of holiness, +And dread rebuke of sin. + +"A light, a guide, a warning, +A presence ever near, +Through the deep silence of the flesh +I reach the inward ear. + +"My Gerizim and Ebal +Are in each human soul, +The still, small voice of blessing, +And Sinai's thunder-roll. + +"The stern behest of duty, +The doom-book open thrown, +The heaven ye seek, the hell ye fear, +Are with yourselves alone." + + . . . . . + +A gold and purple sunset +Flowed down the broad Moselle; +On hills of vine and meadow lands +The peace of twilight fell. + +A slow, cool wind of evening +Blew over leaf and bloom; +And, faint and far, the Angelus +Rang from Saint Matthew's tomb. + +Then up rose Master Echard, +And marvelled: "Can it be +That here, in dream and vision, +The Lord hath talked with me?" + +He went his way; behind him +The shrines of saintly dead, +The holy coat and nail of cross, +He left unvisited. + +He sought the vale of Eltzbach +His burdened soul to free, +Where the foot-hills of the Eifel +Are glassed in Laachersee. + +And, in his Order's kloster, +He sat, in night-long parle, +With Tauler of the Friends of God, +And Nicolas of Basle. + +And lo! the twain made answer +"Yea, brother, even thus +The Voice above all voices +Hath spoken unto us. + +"The world will have its idols, +And flesh and sense their sign +But the blinded eyes shall open, +And the gross ear be fine. + +"What if the vision tarry? +God's time is always best; +The true Light shall be witnessed, +The Christ within confessed. + +"In mercy or in judgment +He shall turn and overturn, +Till the heart shall be His temple +Where all of Him shall learn." + + + +INSCRIPTIONS. + +ON A SUN-DIAL. + +FOR DR. HENRY I. BOWDITCH. + +With warning hand I mark Time's rapid flight +From life's glad morning to its solemn night; +Yet, through the dear God's love, I also show +There's Light above me by the Shade below. +1879. + + + +ON A FOUNTAIN. + +FOR DOROTHEA L. DIX. + +Stranger and traveller, +Drink freely and bestow +A kindly thought on her +Who bade this fountain flow, +Yet hath no other claim +Than as the minister +Of blessing in God's name. +Drink, and in His peace go +1879 + + +THE MINISTER'S DAUGHTER. + +In the minister's morning sermon +He had told of the primal fall, +And how thenceforth the wrath of God +Rested on each and all. + +And how of His will and pleasure, +All souls, save a chosen few, +Were doomed to the quenchless burning, +And held in the way thereto. + +Yet never by faith's unreason +A saintlier soul was tried, +And never the harsh old lesson +A tenderer heart belied. + +And, after the painful service +On that pleasant Sabbath day, +He walked with his little daughter +Through the apple-bloom of May. + +Sweet in the fresh green meadows +Sparrow and blackbird sung; +Above him their tinted petals +The blossoming orchards hung. + +Around on the wonderful glory +The minister looked and smiled; +"How good is the Lord who gives us +These gifts from His hand, my child. + +"Behold in the bloom of apples +And the violets in the sward +A hint of the old, lost beauty +Of the Garden of the Lord!" + +Then up spake the little maiden, +Treading on snow and pink +"O father! these pretty blossoms +Are very wicked, I think. + +"Had there been no Garden of Eden +There never had been a fall; +And if never a tree had blossomed +God would have loved us all." + +"Hush, child!" the father answered, +"By His decree man fell; +His ways are in clouds and darkness, +But He doeth all things well. + +"And whether by His ordaining +To us cometh good or ill, +Joy or pain, or light or shadow, +We must fear and love Him still." + +"Oh, I fear Him!" said the daughter, +"And I try to love Him, too; +But I wish He was good and gentle, +Kind and loving as you." + +The minister groaned in spirit +As the tremulous lips of pain +And wide, wet eyes uplifted +Questioned his own in vain. + +Bowing his head he pondered +The words of the little one; +Had he erred in his life-long teaching? +Had he wrong to his Master done? + +To what grim and dreadful idol +Had he lent the holiest name? +Did his own heart, loving and human, +The God of his worship shame? + +And lo! from the bloom and greenness, +From the tender skies above, +And the face of his little daughter, +He read a lesson of love. + +No more as the cloudy terror +Of Sinai's mount of law, +But as Christ in the Syrian lilies +The vision of God he saw. + +And, as when, in the clefts of Horeb, +Of old was His presence known, +The dread Ineffable Glory +Was Infinite Goodness alone. + +Thereafter his hearers noted +In his prayers a tenderer strain, +And never the gospel of hatred +Burned on his lips again. + +And the scoffing tongue was prayerful, +And the blinded eyes found sight, +And hearts, as flint aforetime, +Grew soft in his warmth and light. +1880. + + + +BY THEIR WORKS. + +Call him not heretic whose works attest +His faith in goodness by no creed confessed. +Whatever in love's name is truly done +To free the bound and lift the fallen one +Is done to Christ. Whoso in deed and word +Is not against Him labors for our Lord. +When He, who, sad and weary, longing sore +For love's sweet service, sought the sisters' door, +One saw the heavenly, one the human guest, +But who shall say which loved the Master best? +1881. + + + +THE WORD. + +Voice of the Holy Spirit, making known +Man to himself, a witness swift and sure, +Warning, approving, true and wise and pure, +Counsel and guidance that misleadeth none! +By thee the mystery of life is read; +The picture-writing of the world's gray seers, +The myths and parables of the primal years, +Whose letter kills, by thee interpreted +Take healthful meanings fitted to our needs, +And in the soul's vernacular express +The common law of simple righteousness. +Hatred of cant and doubt of human creeds +May well be felt: the unpardonable sin +Is to deny the Word of God within! +1881. + + + +THE BOOK. + +Gallery of sacred pictures manifold, +A minster rich in holy effigies, +And bearing on entablature and frieze +The hieroglyphic oracles of old. +Along its transept aureoled martyrs sit; +And the low chancel side-lights half acquaint +The eye with shrines of prophet, bard, and saint, +Their age-dimmed tablets traced in doubtful writ! +But only when on form and word obscure +Falls from above the white supernal light +We read the mystic characters aright, +And life informs the silent portraiture, +Until we pause at last, awe-held, before +The One ineffable Face, love, wonder, and adore. +1881 + + + +REQUIREMENT. + +We live by Faith; but Faith is not the slave +Of text and legend. Reason's voice and God's, +Nature's and Duty's, never are at odds. +What asks our Father of His children, save +Justice and mercy and humility, +A reasonable service of good deeds, +Pure living, tenderness to human needs, +Reverence and trust, and prayer for light to see +The Master's footprints in our daily ways? +No knotted scourge nor sacrificial knife, +But the calm beauty of an ordered life +Whose very breathing is unworded praise!-- +A life that stands as all true lives have stood, +Firm-rooted in the faith that God is Good. +1881. + + + +HELP. + +Dream not, O Soul, that easy is the task +Thus set before thee. If it proves at length, +As well it may, beyond thy natural strength, +Faint not, despair not. As a child may ask +A father, pray the Everlasting Good +For light and guidance midst the subtle snares +Of sin thick planted in life's thoroughfares, +For spiritual strength and moral hardihood; +Still listening, through the noise of time and sense, +To the still whisper of the Inward Word; +Bitter in blame, sweet in approval heard, +Itself its own confirming evidence +To health of soul a voice to cheer and please, +To guilt the wrath of the Eumenides. +1881. + + + +UTTERANCE. +But what avail inadequate words to reach +The innermost of Truth? Who shall essay, +Blinded and weak, to point and lead the way, +Or solve the mystery in familiar speech? +Yet, if it be that something not thy own, +Some shadow of the Thought to which our schemes, +Creeds, cult, and ritual are at best but dreams, +Is even to thy unworthiness made known, +Thou mayst not hide what yet thou shouldst not dare +To utter lightly, lest on lips of thine +The real seem false, the beauty undivine. +So, weighing duty in the scale of prayer, +Give what seems given thee. It may prove a seed +Of goodness dropped in fallow-grounds of need. +1881. + + + +ORIENTAL MAXIMS. + +PARAPHRASE OF SANSCRIT TRANSLATIONS. + +THE INWARD JUDGE. + +From Institutes of Manu. + +The soul itself its awful witness is. +Say not in evil doing, "No one sees," +And so offend the conscious One within, +Whose ear can hear the silences of sin. + +Ere they find voice, whose eyes unsleeping see +The secret motions of iniquity. +Nor in thy folly say, "I am alone." +For, seated in thy heart, as on a throne, +The ancient Judge and Witness liveth still, +To note thy act and thought; and as thy ill +Or good goes from thee, far beyond thy reach, +The solemn Doomsman's seal is set on each. +1878. + + + +LAYING UP TREASURE + +From the Mahabharata. + +Before the Ender comes, whose charioteer +Is swift or slow Disease, lay up each year +Thy harvests of well-doing, wealth that kings +Nor thieves can take away. When all the things +Thou tallest thine, goods, pleasures, honors fall, +Thou in thy virtue shalt survive them all. +1881. + + + +CONDUCT + +From the Mahabharata. + +Heed how thou livest. Do no act by day +Which from the night shall drive thy peace away. +In months of sun so live that months of rain +Shall still be happy. Evermore restrain +Evil and cherish good, so shall there be +Another and a happier life for thee. +1881. + + + +AN EASTER FLOWER GIFT. + +O dearest bloom the seasons know, +Flowers of the Resurrection blow, +Our hope and faith restore; +And through the bitterness of death +And loss and sorrow, breathe a breath +Of life forevermore! + +The thought of Love Immortal blends +With fond remembrances of friends; +In you, O sacred flowers, +By human love made doubly sweet, +The heavenly and the earthly meet, +The heart of Christ and ours! +1882. + + + +THE MYSTIC'S CHRISTMAS. + +"All hail!" the bells of Christmas rang, +"All hail!" the monks at Christmas sang, +The merry monks who kept with cheer +The gladdest day of all their year. + +But still apart, unmoved thereat, +A pious elder brother sat +Silent, in his accustomed place, +With God's sweet peace upon his face. + +"Why sitt'st thou thus?" his brethren cried. +"It is the blessed Christmas-tide; +The Christmas lights are all aglow, +The sacred lilies bud and blow. + +"Above our heads the joy-bells ring, +Without the happy children sing, +And all God's creatures hail the morn +On which the holy Christ was born! + +"Rejoice with us; no more rebuke +Our gladness with thy quiet look." +The gray monk answered: "Keep, I pray, +Even as ye list, the Lord's birthday. + +"Let heathen Yule fires flicker red +Where thronged refectory feasts are spread; +With mystery-play and masque and mime +And wait-songs speed the holy time! + +"The blindest faith may haply save; +The Lord accepts the things we have; +And reverence, howsoe'er it strays, +May find at last the shining ways. + +"They needs must grope who cannot see, +The blade before the ear must be; +As ye are feeling I have felt, +And where ye dwell I too have dwelt. + +"But now, beyond the things of sense, +Beyond occasions and events, +I know, through God's exceeding grace, +Release from form and time and place. + +"I listen, from no mortal tongue, +To hear the song the angels sung; +And wait within myself to know +The Christmas lilies bud and blow. + +"The outward symbols disappear +From him whose inward sight is clear; +And small must be the choice of clays +To him who fills them all with praise! + +"Keep while you need it, brothers mine, +With honest zeal your Christmas sign, +But judge not him who every morn +Feels in his heart the Lord Christ born!" +1882. + + + +AT LAST. + +When on my day of life the night is falling, +And, in the winds from unsunned spaces blown, +I hear far voices out of darkness calling +My feet to paths unknown, + +Thou who hast made my home of life so pleasant, +Leave not its tenant when its walls decay; +O Love Divine, O Helper ever present, +Be Thou my strength and stay! + +Be near me when all else is from me drifting +Earth, sky, home's pictures, days of shade and shine, +And kindly faces to my own uplifting +The love which answers mine. + +I have but Thee, my Father! let Thy spirit +Be with me then to comfort and uphold; +No gate of pearl, no branch of palm I merit, +Nor street of shining gold. + +Suffice it if--my good and ill unreckoned, +And both forgiven through Thy abounding grace-- +I find myself by hands familiar beckoned +Unto my fitting place. + +Some humble door among Thy many mansions, +Some sheltering shade where sin and striving cease, +And flows forever through heaven's green expansions +The river of Thy peace. + +There, from the music round about me stealing, +I fain would learn the new and holy song, +And find at last, beneath Thy trees of healing, +The life for which I long. +1882 + + + +WHAT THE TRAVELLER SAID AT SUNSET. + +The shadows grow and deepen round me, +I feel the deffall in the air; +The muezzin of the darkening thicket, +I hear the night-thrush call to prayer. + +The evening wind is sad with farewells, +And loving hands unclasp from mine; +Alone I go to meet the darkness +Across an awful boundary-line. + +As from the lighted hearths behind me +I pass with slow, reluctant feet, +What waits me in the land of strangeness? +What face shall smile, what voice shall greet? + +What space shall awe, what brightness blind me? +What thunder-roll of music stun? +What vast processions sweep before me +Of shapes unknown beneath the sun? + +I shrink from unaccustomed glory, +I dread the myriad-voiced strain; +Give me the unforgotten faces, +And let my lost ones speak again. + +He will not chide my mortal yearning +Who is our Brother and our Friend; +In whose full life, divine and human, +The heavenly and the earthly blend. + +Mine be the joy of soul-communion, +The sense of spiritual strength renewed, +The reverence for the pure and holy, +The dear delight of doing good. + +No fitting ear is mine to listen +An endless anthem's rise and fall; +No curious eye is mine to measure +The pearl gate and the jasper wall. + +For love must needs be more than knowledge: +What matter if I never know +Why Aldebaran's star is ruddy, +Or warmer Sirius white as snow! + +Forgive my human words, O Father! +I go Thy larger truth to prove; +Thy mercy shall transcend my longing +I seek but love, and Thou art Love! + +I go to find my lost and mourned for +Safe in Thy sheltering goodness still, +And all that hope and faith foreshadow +Made perfect in Thy holy will! +1883. + + + +THE "STORY OF IDA." + + Francesca Alexander, whose pen and pencil have so reverently + transcribed the simple faith and life of the Italian peasantry, + wrote the narrative published with John Ruskin's introduction under + the title, _The Story of Ida_. + +Weary of jangling noises never stilled, +The skeptic's sneer, the bigot's hate, the din +Of clashing texts, the webs of creed men spin +Round simple truth, the children grown who build +With gilded cards their new Jerusalem, +Busy, with sacerdotal tailorings +And tinsel gauds, bedizening holy things, +I turn, with glad and grateful heart, from them +To the sweet story of the Florentine +Immortal in her blameless maidenhood, +Beautiful as God's angels and as good; +Feeling that life, even now, may be divine +With love no wrong can ever change to hate, +No sin make less than all-compassionate! +1884. + + + +THE LIGHT THAT IS FELT. + +A tender child of summers three, +Seeking her little bed at night, +Paused on the dark stair timidly. +"Oh, mother! Take my hand," said she, +"And then the dark will all be light." + +We older children grope our way +From dark behind to dark before; +And only when our hands we lay, +Dear Lord, in Thine, the night is day, +And there is darkness nevermore. + +Reach downward to the sunless days +Wherein our guides are blind as we, +And faith is small and hope delays; +Take Thou the hands of prayer we raise, +And let us feel the light of Thee! +1884. + + + +THE TWO LOVES + +Smoothing soft the nestling head +Of a maiden fancy-led, +Thus a grave-eyed woman said: + +"Richest gifts are those we make, +Dearer than the love we take +That we give for love's own sake. + +"Well I know the heart's unrest; +Mine has been the common quest, +To be loved and therefore blest. + +"Favors undeserved were mine; +At my feet as on a shrine +Love has laid its gifts divine. + +"Sweet the offerings seemed, and yet +With their sweetness came regret, +And a sense of unpaid debt. + +"Heart of mine unsatisfied, +Was it vanity or pride +That a deeper joy denied? + +"Hands that ope but to receive +Empty close; they only live +Richly who can richly give. + +"Still," she sighed, with moistening eyes, +"Love is sweet in any guise; +But its best is sacrifice! + +"He who, giving, does not crave +Likest is to Him who gave +Life itself the loved to save. + +"Love, that self-forgetful gives, +Sows surprise of ripened sheaves, +Late or soon its own receives." +1884. + + + +ADJUSTMENT. + +The tree of Faith its bare, dry boughs must shed +That nearer heaven the living ones may climb; +The false must fail, though from our shores of time +The old lament be heard, "Great Pan is dead!" +That wail is Error's, from his high place hurled; +This sharp recoil is Evil undertrod; +Our time's unrest, an angel sent of God +Troubling with life the waters of the world. +Even as they list the winds of the Spirit blow +To turn or break our century-rusted vanes; +Sands shift and waste; the rock alone remains +Where, led of Heaven, the strong tides come and go, +And storm-clouds, rent by thunderbolt and wind, +Leave, free of mist, the permanent stars behind. + +Therefore I trust, although to outward sense +Both true and false seem shaken; I will hold +With newer light my reverence for the old, +And calmly wait the births of Providence. +No gain is lost; the clear-eyed saints look down +Untroubled on the wreck of schemes and creeds; +Love yet remains, its rosary of good deeds +Counting in task-field and o'erpeopled town; +Truth has charmed life; the Inward Word survives, +And, day by day, its revelation brings; +Faith, hope, and charity, whatsoever things +Which cannot be shaken, stand. Still holy lives +Reveal the Christ of whom the letter told, +And the new gospel verifies the old. +1885. + + + +HYMNS OF THE BRAHMO SOMAJ. + + I have attempted this paraphrase of the Hymns of the Brahmo Somaj + of India, as I find them in Mozoomdar's account of the devotional + exercises of that remarkable religious development which has + attracted far less attention and sympathy from the Christian world + than it deserves, as a fresh revelation of the direct action of the + Divine Spirit upon the human heart. + +I. +The mercy, O Eternal One! +By man unmeasured yet, +In joy or grief, in shade or sun, +I never will forget. +I give the whole, and not a part, +Of all Thou gayest me; +My goods, my life, my soul and heart, +I yield them all to Thee! + +II. +We fast and plead, we weep and pray, +From morning until even; +We feel to find the holy way, +We knock at the gate of heaven +And when in silent awe we wait, +And word and sign forbear, +The hinges of the golden gate +Move, soundless, to our prayer! +Who hears the eternal harmonies +Can heed no outward word; +Blind to all else is he who sees +The vision of the Lord! + +III. +O soul, be patient, restrain thy tears, +Have hope, and not despair; +As a tender mother heareth her child +God hears the penitent prayer. +And not forever shall grief be thine; +On the Heavenly Mother's breast, +Washed clean and white in the waters of joy +Shall His seeking child find rest. +Console thyself with His word of grace, +And cease thy wail of woe, +For His mercy never an equal hath, +And His love no bounds can know. +Lean close unto Him in faith and hope; +How many like thee have found +In Him a shelter and home of peace, +By His mercy compassed round! +There, safe from sin and the sorrow it brings, +They sing their grateful psalms, +And rest, at noon, by the wells of God, +In the shade of His holy palms! +1885. + + + +REVELATION. + + "And I went into the Vale of Beavor, and as I went I preached + repentance to the people. And one morning, sitting by the fire, a + great cloud came over me, and a temptation beset me. And it was + said: All things come by Nature; and the Elements and the Stars + came over me. And as I sat still and let it alone, a living hope + arose in me, and a true Voice which said: There is a living God who + made all things. And immediately the cloud and the temptation + vanished, and Life rose over all, and my heart was glad and I + praised the Living God."--Journal of George Fox, + 1690. + +Still, as of old, in Beavor's Vale, +O man of God! our hope and faith +The Elements and Stars assail, +And the awed spirit holds its breath, +Blown over by a wind of death. + +Takes Nature thought for such as we, +What place her human atom fills, +The weed-drift of her careless sea, +The mist on her unheeding hills? +What reeks she of our helpless wills? + +Strange god of Force, with fear, not love, +Its trembling worshipper! Can prayer +Reach the shut ear of Fate, or move +Unpitying Energy to spare? +What doth the cosmic Vastness care? + +In vain to this dread Unconcern +For the All-Father's love we look; +In vain, in quest of it, we turn +The storied leaves of Nature's book, +The prints her rocky tablets took. + +I pray for faith, I long to trust; +I listen with my heart, and hear +A Voice without a sound: "Be just, +Be true, be merciful, revere +The Word within thee: God is near! + +"A light to sky and earth unknown +Pales all their lights: a mightier force +Than theirs the powers of Nature own, +And, to its goal as at its source, +His Spirit moves the Universe. + +"Believe and trust. Through stars and suns, +Through life and death, through soul and sense, +His wise, paternal purpose runs; +The darkness of His providence +Is star-lit with benign intents." + +O joy supreme! I know the Voice, +Like none beside on earth or sea; +Yea, more, O soul of mine, rejoice, +By all that He requires of me, +I know what God himself must be. + +No picture to my aid I call, +I shape no image in my prayer; +I only know in Him is all +Of life, light, beauty, everywhere, +Eternal Goodness here and there! + +I know He is, and what He is, +Whose one great purpose is the good +Of all. I rest my soul on His +Immortal Love and Fatherhood; +And trust Him, as His children should. + +I fear no more. The clouded face +Of Nature smiles; through all her things +Of time and space and sense I trace +The moving of the Spirit's wings, +And hear the song of hope she sings. +1886 + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, POEMS OF NATURE COMPLETE *** +By John Greenleaf Whittier + +******* This file should be named wit1510.txt or wit1510.zip ******* + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, wit1511.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, wit1510a.txt + +This eBook was produced by David Widger + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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