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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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