Chapter I: Will Not Despair (2)

One Sabbath day there was an empty seat--
I could not see for blinding tears that hour--
But by and by, where Living waters meet
In God's fair Paradise, I saw my flower,
And ceased to weep!-Henceforth with loving care,
These precious pictures in my heart I shrine--
Food for sweet thought, incentive to sweet prayer--
My own, until I reach _their_ home and _mine!_

FELLOWSHIP WITH CHRIST

To pray as Jesus prayed,
When faithless brethren sleep,--
To weep the ruin sin has made--
The only ones that weep,--
To bear the heavy cross,--
To toil, yet murmur not,--
To suffer pain, reproach, and loss,--
Be such our earthly lot.

Yet oh, how richly blest
The Master's cup to share,--
The aching grief that wrung His breast,--
His broken-hearted prayer,--
If thus we may but gain
One sheaf of golden wheat
Gleaned from Earth's sultry harvest-plain,
To lay at His dear feet!--

If thus we may but win
One precious earthly gem
Snatched from the mire of vice and sin,
For His rich diadem!--
Here, sorrow, patience, prayer;
In Heaven, the rich reward!
Here, the sharp thorns, the cross,--and there
"Forever with the Lord"!

AN ALLEGORY

AN OLD LESSON IN A NEW DRESS.

"Here is a lantern, my little boy,"
Said a father to his child,
"And yonder's a wood, a lonely wood,
Tangled, and rough, and wild;
And now, this night,--this very hour,
Though gloomy and dark it be,
By the single light of this lamp alone,
You must cross the wild to me!

"I'll be on the farther side, my son,
So follow the path you see,
And at the end of this narrow way,
Awaiting you, I will be!"
Thus bidden, the child set out, but soon,
With the gloomy waste ahead,
Oppressed with terror and doubt he stopped,
Shaking with fear and dread.

"Father!--father!--I cannot see!--
The forest is thick and black,
I'm sure there is danger ahead of me,
Please, father, call me back!"
But the father's voice through the gloomy wild,
In answering accents said,--
_"Just keep in the light of your lamp, my child,
And don't look too far ahead!"_

Thus cheered, the child pressed trustingly on,
Though trembling much with fear,
For around, beyond, and overhead,
The forest was dark and drear,
And ever, to keep his courage up,
To himself he softly said,--
"He told me to keep in the light of my lamp,
And not look too far ahead!"

At length the other side was gained,
And lo, the father was there!
To welcome his child from the dreary wild,
Where darkness and danger were;
And, "why did you fear, my son?" he said,
"You had plenty of light, you see,
Though it lit but a step at a time, enough
To guide you safely to me!

"And besides, I was just ahead in the dark--
Though you did not see me at all--
To be sure that no evil or accident
Should my darling child befall;
Then remember, my son, in life's darkest ways
The simple words that I said,--
_'Just keep in the light of your lamp, my child,
And not look too far ahead?'_"

THE CRY OF THE KARENS

Lines written after hearing a returned missionary relate some of the
traditions, and speak of the long-cherished hopes of this interesting
people.

A voice from the distant East--
A voice from a far-off shore--
A voice from the perishing tribes of Earth
Has wandered the blue seas o'er!
It comes with a lingering cry,
With a wail of anguish and pain,--
"O brothers,--our brothers!--why
Do we look for you still in vain?

"We are weary,--we droop,--we die!
We grope in the deepening gloom!
We look above with despairing eye!
We drop in the yawning tomb!
Our children stretch their hands
Far over the waters blue,
And vainly cry from our darkened lands--
Alas, how long--for you!

"Brothers! do ye not keep
_Our law_ of the olden time,
For which, through ages of woe, we weep
In darkness, and sin, and crime?
There are sails from the distant West
Dotting our waters blue,
And the feet of strangers our shores have pressed,
But they came not, alas, from you!

"We know there's a God above,
We know there's a land of rest,--
But there's naught that whispers of pard'ning love
To our spirits by guilt oppressed!
We call to the earth below,--
To the calm, unanswering heaven,--
But no voice replies to our cry of woe
That can tell us of sins forgiven!

"And yet we look and wait,
With sorrowing hearts and sore,
If haply we may behold, though late,
Your sails from the western shore;--
O, come with that precious word
We lost in the far-off years,
And tell us the voice of woe is heard,
And God has beheld our tears!"

ALONE

Alone, alone!--the night is very silent,
Voiceless the stars are, and the pallid moon
Through the unknown sends down no tone, no utt'rance
To break the hush of midnight's solemn noon!
I stretch my arms toward the unanswering heavens,
'Tis empty space,--no form, no shape is here!
I call,--no answer to my cry is given,
Powerless my voice falls on Night's leaden ear!

Alone, alone!--I thought the dead were near me,--
The holy dead. E'en now, methought I heard
Low tones whose music long ago did cheer me,
That shadowy hands the parting branches stirred
'Twas but the night wind's mournful sigh above me,--
'Twas but the lonely streamlet's grieving tone,
No voice comes back from those who once did love me,--
No white hand beckons--I am all alone!

Alone?--not so! One sacred, unseen Presence
Fills the far depths, broods round me and above,
Enfolding all in His own Omnipresence,
Pervading all with His unstinted love,
In Him I live, and move, and have my being,
My soul's deep yearnings all to Him are known,
On me in kindness rests His eye all seeing,
His arm upholds me,--I am not alone!

MARY

Thus early with the dead--
Thou of the young, fair brow, the laughing eye,
The light and joyous tread,--
Mary, we little thought thou would'st be first to die!

A little while ago
We saw thee first in girlhood's early bloom;
Now thou art lying low,
Thy pale hands crossed in slumber, silent in the tomb!

Ah me! 'tis hard to speak
Of thee as of the dead--the pale, still dead!--
'Tis hard to think the bleak,
Stern blast of winter sweeps above thy low, cold bed!

* * * * *

Thus early with thy God!
'Twas a rich boon He sent whose loving voice
Called thee to His abode,
'Mid the sweet bowers of Heaven forever to rejoice!

Mary! thy feet have passed
The silent valley;--on thy placid brow
Heaven's sunlight falls at last,--
Thou'rt with God's shining ones--thyself an angel now!

Thank God! the dreary tomb
Has lost its sting! The Saviour broke death's reign,
Clothing with fadeless bloom
Frail human dust! In Heaven, Mary, we'll meet again!

"I AM DOING NO GOOD!"

"I am doing no good!" said a little rill,
As it rippled along at the foot of a hill,
"I am doing no good with my babbling here,
No one is listening,--no one is near!"

"'No good!--no good!'" said a violet blue,
As it shook from its petals the sparkling dew,
And opened its wondering, azure eyes
To the soft, clear light of the morning skies.

"'No good?'"--said a willow tree, bending low
To kiss the rivulet, "say not so!
Daily and hourly I draw from thee
The grace and beauty that dwell with me!"
And the rustling reeds in the marge that stood
Reproachfully murmured--"'no good!--no good!'"
"'No good,' indeed!"--cried a dainty bird,
And she sprang from her nest as the sound she heard,
And fluttered her wings o'er the sorrowing stream,
While her bright plumes flashed in the morning beam.
"Peace, peace, my brook!"--and the young leaves stirred
At the gushing notes of the happy bird--
"Do you not nourish the dear beech tree
That spreads its shelter for mine and me?
You give yon wild rose its beauteous hue,--
And yonder violet its tender blue,--
And yonder willow its foliage fair,--
And yonder lily its fragrance rare!
The sun is gracious and kind, we think,
But to you, my brooklet, we come _to drink!_
His beams with glory and warmth are rife,
But you afford us _the cup of life!_
Gentle rivulet, cease to pine!--
Sing, and be happy for me and mine!"

"And me!" said the lily, "and me!"--"and me!"
Said violet, and rose-bud, and willow tree;
And rustling reeds, and the gray, old beech
Tossing his arms high out of reach,--
Fluttering insect, and waving tree,
Murmured and rustled "for me!"--"and me!"

Then the rivulet brightening, sped along,
With a freer step and a gladder song,
Through many a valley and meadow green
Making her flowery foot-prints seen,--
Deepening ever and broadening out,
Greeting the hills with a joyous shout,--
Greeting the rocks with a soft caress,
And singing still in her joy's excess,
Till her song swelled out to an anthem free,
As she caught the flash of the distant Sea--
The glorious Sea that, with answering tone,
Welcomed his guest from the hill-side lone.

Then the Stream shook hands with the kingly main,
And, glancing back to her source again,
Beheld each place where her steps had been
Glowing in tenderest, loveliest green,--
Saw beauty and fruitfulness fresh and fair
Wherever her gladdening footsteps were,
And caught from the green hills far away
The echo of many a woodland lay,
And the perfume of many a wild flower borne
On the scented wings of the dewy morn.

And then the rivulet understood
That all along she'd been doing good;--
That a rich green belt on Earth's sunny breast
Was left to tell of her mission blest;--
That Earth with lovelier flowers was rife
For her calm footsteps and patient life;--
That giving much, she had gathered more,
Winning an ever-increasing store;--
And, at length, unfettered, and strong, and free,
A home she had found with the glorious Sea!

HAIL, RISEN LORD!

Hail, risen Lord, upon whose brow
The crown of victory resteth now,
Unfading as the sun!
Hail, vanquisher of every foe,
Of Sin, dread source of all our woe,
And Death--the last undone!

Hail, risen Lord,--the empty grave
Proclaims aloud thy power to save,--
Thy high, victorious might!
Hail, Lord of life, and peace, and love,
On thy exalted throne above,
In uncreated light!

Hail, risen Lord,--we bend the knee,
And lift the adoring eye to thee,
And yield thee worship meet!--
And, while the angelic hosts on high
Shout their hosannas through the sky,
We breathe them at thy feet

For here, 'mid darkness, sin, and death,
Our loudest praise is but a breath,--
An infant's feeble sigh!
Yet, haply, to thy gracious ear
Our weak hosannas are as dear,
As those that swell on high!

Hail, risen Lord,--exalted King,
Well may the highest heavens ring
With rapture's sweetest lays!
Be ours to add our feeble sigh
To the full chorus of the sky,
In reverential praise!

LINES

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG MOTHER

A voice missed by the dear home-hearth--
A voice of music and gentle mirth--
A voice whose lingering sweetness long
Will float through many a Sabbath song,
And many a hallowed, evening hymn,
Tenderly breathed in the twilight dim!
--But that missing voice, with a richer tone,
Is heard in the anthems before the throne;
And another voice and another lyre,
Are added now to the angel-choir!

There's a missing face when the board is spread--
There's a vacant seat at the table's head,--
A watchful eye and a helpful hand
That will come no more to that broken band.
--But she sits to-day at the board above,
In the tender light of a holier love;
And the kindling eye and the beaming face
At the feast on high hold a nobler place!

A form is missed in the hour of prayer,
At the altar, now, there's an empty chair,
Where one lonely pleader hath scarcely won
Strength, e'en yet, for "_Thy will be done!_"
--But that missing form in its saintly dress
Of Christ's unsullied righteousness,
Bows with worshipful accents sweet,
Where angels bow at the Saviour's feet

A step is missed by the cradle bed
Where an infant nestles its sleeping head--
Smiling, perchance, in his baby rest,
Deeming his pillow her gentle breast
--But the feet that moved with a soundless tread
In the calm still night by that cradle bed,
Beyond the waters of death now stand
Mid the fadeless flowers of the Heavenly land

O heart, sore pierced by the fatal dart--
O, wounded, suffering, bleeding heart--
More than all others doomed to miss
The glance, the accent, the smile, the kiss,--
Nothing is lost that you miss to day--
Not even the beautiful, death cold clay
But Jesus guards it with watchful eye,
Soon to restore it no more to die,
Clothed in the bloom of immortal life,
The sinless mother, the sainted wife!

PATIENCE

I.

I saw how the patient Sun
Hasted untiringly
The self-same old race to run;
Never aspiringly
Seeking some other road
Through the blue heaven
Than the one path which God
Long since had given;--
And I said;--"Patient Sun,
Teach me my race to run,
Even as thine is done,
Steadfastly ever;
Weakly, impatiently
Wandering never!"

II.

I saw how the patient Earth
Sat uncomplainingly,
While, in his boisterous mirth,
Winter disdainingly
Mocked at her steadfast trust,
That, from its icy chain,
Spring her imprisoned dust
Soon would release again;--
And I said;--"Patient Earth,
Biding thy hour of dearth,
Waiting the voice of mirth
Soon to re-waken,
Teach me like thee to trust,
Steadfast, unshaken!"

III.

I saw how the patient Stream
Hasted unceasingly,
Mindless of shade or gleam,
Onward increasingly,--
Widening, deepening
Its rocky bed ever,
That it might thus take in
River by river;--
And I said,--"Patient Stream,
Hasting through shade and gleam,
Careless of noontide beam,
Loitering never,
So teach thou me to press
Onward forever!"

IV.

I saw how the Holiest One
Sat in the Heaven,
Watching each earth-born son
Sin-tossed and driven,--
Watching war's mad'ning strife--
Brother 'gainst brother,
Reckless of love and life,
Slaying each other;--
And I said;--"Patient One,
On thy exalted throne,
Never impatient grown
With our dark sinning,
Though all its depth thou'st known
From the beginning--

V.

"Though thy fair Earth has been
Blood-dyed for ages,
Though in her valleys green,
Carnage still rages,
Thou, o'er whose brow serene,
Calmest and Holiest!
Angel has never seen,
E'en toward Earth's lowliest,
Shadows impatient sweep
Teach me, like thee, to keep
In my soul, still and deep,
Wavering never,
Patience--a steady light,
Burning forever!"

A PARTING HYMN.

Father in Heaven, to thee,
Guardian and friend,
Lowly the suppliant knee
Here would we bend!--
Blessing thee ere we part,
Each with a grateful heart,
For all thy love doth send--
Plenteous and free!

Thanks for thy hand outspread
Ever in power
O'er each defenceless head
In danger's hour!
Thanks for the light arid love,
From thy full fount above--
A rich and constant shower,
O'er us still shed!

Go thou with us, we pray,
Whom duties call
To our high tasks away,
Each one, and all,--
Go, with thy Spirit's might,
Go, with thy Gospel's light
--Whatever may befall--
With us alway

Now let thy blessing rest
On us anew--
Brother, and friend, and guest,
Tried ones and true--
Till, all Our pirtings o'er,
Meeting, to part no more,
In Heaven we renew
Friendships so blest

THE DANCE OF THE WINDS

The Wind god, Eolus, sat one morn
In his cavern of tempests, quite forlorn,
He'd been ill of a fever a month and a day,
And the sun had been having things all his own way,
Pouring o'er earth such a torrent of heat
That the meadows were dry as the trampled street,
And people were panting, and ready to die
Of the fire that blazed from the pitiless sky

But the King felt better that hot June day,
So he said to himself "I will get up a play
Among the children by way of a change,
No doubt they are feeling, like me, very strange
At this dreary confinement--a month and more,
And never once stirring at all out of door!
It is terribly wearisome keeping so still--
They all shall go out for a dance on the hill."

Then aloud he spake, and the dreary hall
Re-echoed hoarsely his hollow call:
"Ho! Boreas, Auster, Eurus, ho!
And you, too, dainty-winged Zephyrus, go
And have a dance on the hills to-day,
And I'll sit here and enjoy your play."

Then Boreas started with such a roar
That the King, his father, was troubled sore,
And peevishly muttered within himself--
"He'll burst his throat, the unmannerly elf!"
But Auster, angry at seeing his brother
Astart of him, broke away with another
As fearful a yell from the opposite side
Of the wind-cave, gloomy, and long, and wide.

One from the South, and one from the North,
The rough-tempered brothers went shrieking forth;
And faster, and faster, and faster still,
They swept o'er valley, and forest, and hill.
The clouds affrighted before them flew,
From white swift changing to black or blue;
But, failing to 'scape the assailants' ire,
Fell afoul of each other in conflict dire.

Now hot, now cold--what a strife was there!
Till the crashing hailstones smote the air,
And men and women in country and town
Were hastily closing their windows down,
And shutting doors with a crash and a bang,
While the raindrops beat, and the hailstones rang,
And the lightnings glared from the fiery eyes
Of the furious combatants up in the skies,
And burst in thunder-claps far and near,
Making the timorous shake with fear.

Then Eolus with affright grew cold,
For his blood, you'll remember, is thin and old,
And his turbulent sons such an uproar made,
That, watching the conflict, he grew afraid
Lest in the rage of their desperate fight,
The pair should finish each other outright.
So he shouted to Eurus; "Away! away!
Come up from the East by the shortest way,
And try and part them; and you, too, go,
Zephyrus!--why are you loitering so?"

Then away sped Eurus shrieking so loud
That he startled a lazy, half-slumbering cloud,
That fled before him white in the face,
And dashed away at a furious pace.
But he drove it fiercely betwixt the two,
Who parted, and, scarce knowing what to do,
Descended, and each from an opposite place
Began to fling dirt in the other one's face.

Then round, and round, and round again,
They raced and chased over valley and plain,
Catching up, in their mischievous whirls,
The hats of boys and the bonnets of girls,--
Tossing up feathers, and leaves, and sticks,
Knocking down chimneys, and scattering bricks,
Levelling fences and pulling up trees,
Till Eolus--oftentimes hard to please--
Clapped his hands as his wine he quaffed,
And laughed as he never before had laughed

Cried Eurus;--"Ho, ho!--so this furious fight
Ends up in a romp and a frolic!--all right--
I am in for a share!" Then away went he,
And joined with a will in the boisterous glee,
Till, out of breath, ere the sun went down,
They all fell asleep in the forest brown.

A full hour afterwards, ambling along,
Came dainty Zephyrus humming a song,
And pausing--the truant--to kiss each flower
That blushed in garden, or field, or bower.
But no one was left to be merry with him,
So he danced with the leaves till the light grew dim,
And, as Twilight was going to sleep in the west,
He, too, fell asleep on a rose's breast.

STRIKE THE CHORDS SOFTLY

Strike the chords softly with tremulous fingers,
While, on the threshold of happiest years,
For a brief moment fond memory lingers,
Ere we go forth to life's conflicts and fears!

Strike the chords softly!--yet no, as we tarry,
Swiftly the morning is gliding away;
Weary ones droop 'neath the burdens they carry,
Toiling ones faint in the heat of the day.

Let us not linger!--Earth's millions are crying
"Come to us, aid us, we grope in the night!
Come to us, aid us, we're perishing, dying--
Give us, oh, give us, the heavenly Light!"

Let us not linger!--our brethren are calling,--
"Aid us, the harvest increases each day;--
Some have grown weary, alas, of their toiling!--
Others have passed from their labors away."

Gracious Redeemer we go at thy bidding,
Gladly encountering peril and loss;
Take us--ourselves to thy work we are giving,
Give us--'tis more than we merit--_thy cross!_

AT HOME

I thought it pleasant when a manly sire
Weary of foreign travel, at the door
Of his own cottage left his dusty staff,
And entering in, sat down with those he loved
Beside the hearth of home;--and pleasant, too,
When a fond mother, absent for a day,
At eve returning, from the sunset hill
That overlooked her cot, descried her boys
Flying with joyous feet along the path
To greet her coming; and, with clasping hands
Of baby welcome, lead her through the gate
Of her sweet home.

Pleasant I deemed it, too,
When a young man, a wanderer for years
From those he loved, at length sat down again
With sire and mother in the twilight hour
At home;--and when a gentle daughter, long
From mother's kiss and father's blessing far,
Heard once again their ne'er forgotten tones
Giving her joyous welcome home again,
I felt that life had few such joys as that.
And yet, methought there was--canst tell me why--
Thou, who in Earth alone hast found thy bliss?--
A higher, sweeter, purer joy than those,
When, free from sin and Earth's encumb'ring cares,
A ransomed soul went home to be with Christ.
I knew a man in life's strong; healthful prime--
Aye more, the flush of youth was on his brow,
And all his bounding pulses were astir
With the great joy of work for God, while hope--
Such hope as only Heaven-taught manhood fires
To loftiest ambition--pointed down
The radiant vista of the coming years
To deeds immortal. But the Master called,
And, in mid-race he heard--"Come home, my child!"--
And paused, and listened in surprise and doubt.

"Come home my child!" Then, listening, I heard
The pale lips murmur, while the head was bent
In reverent submission--"Oh, so soon?--
So soon, my Lord? Thou knowest there is much
I fain would do for thee!--thy precious lambs
To gather and to feed--thy sheep to lead
In quiet pastures, and thy name beloved
To herald forth, till Earth's remotest shore
Shall thrill with rapture, and send up to thee
The new-born utterance of love's great joy!"

"Come home, dear child!"--again the Master's voice--
And eagerly he flung his robe aside,
Ungirt his loins, and cast his sandals by;
And while he sweetly sang--"I love the Lord!"--
Entered the peaceful river, and went o'er,
To be forever with the Lord he loved.

----------------------I knew an aged man,
Yet one scarce bent, with fresh, luxuriant hair
So beautifully white, and clear, blue, loving eyes;--
We almost worshipped that most princely man
In his pure, patriarchal beauty. But one day
A whisper came to him. It was so low
We heard it not, nor knew till he was gone--
Gone home! Our sun was set on earth,
Yet risen in Heaven; and through our falling tears
We saw our loved at home, thenceforth to be
Forever with the Lord--Oh, highest bliss--
Forever with his Lord!

Our mother slept
At eve in a poor, earthly home. At dawn
She stood upon the golden shore, a sainted one,
A victor crowned. We wept, as well we might,
When we looked down upon those folded hands
Whose tender touch had often thrilled along
Our baby temples,--those pale, patient hands
That toiled for us what time sweet slumber lay
On our young eyelids, and in sunny dreams
We gathered wild flowers on the hill-side green,
Or chased the butterfly 'mid orchard blooms,
While she, till the night waned, toiled bravely on--
Not for herself, but us, then knelt and prayed
For each young sleeper, ere herself might sleep.

This morn she slept, and every line that grief
Had ever left on her pale, settled face,
And every furrow care had ever traced
Upon her brow had faded in the calm
Of that blest slumber. Did we softly tread,
And hold our breath suspended, in vague fear
Of breaking the sweet spell, or all too soon
Rousing those tired feet to tread again
Their round of daily toil?--or did we check
Our rising grief, lest one o'er-lab'ring sob
From hearts so full, should banish the sweet smile
Which the glad vision of her Lord's dear face
Had left upon her lips? It may be so,--
And yet the hour of weeping was not long;
For, 'mid the light by mortal eyes unpierced,
We caught the gleam of her unsullied robe,
And we rejoiced, beholding her _at home_!

A little babe, a tiny, broken bud,
A snow-white, breathless lamb lay still and cold
Upon its mother's knees. She did not weep--
She did not pray; but with white, trembling lips
And stony gaze looked down upon her child,
And only moaned in gasping accents--"dead!
My tender babe, my lamb, my own sweet boy!--
Dead, silent, dead!"

Then sweet, as borne
O'er silver seas, there came a voice that said,
"_Do not their angels evermore behold
My Father's face in Heaven?_"--and, swift as thought,
Faith overswept the bounds of space, and caught
A glimpse of her beloved on Jesus' breast
Then tears gushed forth--a precious, healing flood--
And the lips murmured--"Safe, oh, safe at home!--
My bright boy waits at home, thank God, for me!"

Then let us ever when the righteous die
Speak of them joyously as gone before;
Not dead, but sweetly drawn within the veil
To the blest home we're nearing--to the house
Of Christ our Elder Brother, mansion fair,
Prepared and set in order by His hand,--
Their home, and ours to be; forevermore

SABBATH MEMORIES.

I love thee, Sabbath morn!--I cannot say
But 'tis because my father loved thee so,--
Because my mother's care-worn face would grow
So sweetly placid in thy peaceful ray;--

It may be, _that_ is part of what endears
Thee, Sabbath, to my soul; for memory stirs
Old buried thoughts of his voice and of hers--
Heard never more on Earth--till sudden tears

So sadly sweet well up, I bid them flow,
They leave a Sabbath in the soul when past;
As when the sky, by April clouds o'ercast,
Shows fairer in the sun's returning glow.

I see the grass-grown lane we trod of old,
Dear father, sainted mother! while
The Sabbath sun looked down with loving smile,
And touched the hills and streams with rippling gold.

I hear your voices as ye talked, what time
In childish pride I walked before, and thought
This world a paradise, and Earth full-fraught
With blessedness and love,--a summer clime

Of changeless beauty!--Ah! those streams flow on,
Blue are those skies, as green the woods, as still
The Sabbath hush that foldeth vale and hill
In sweet embrace, but ye, beloved, are gone!

She sleeps in stranger dust.--He, old and lone,
Long waited by the river, staff in hand,
Till a voice called him, and he sought that land
Where age takes on fresh youth to change unknown.

And we are parted, brothers, sisters dear--
Alas, the band is broken!--One by one
Ye left the hill-side green,--the Sabbath sun
Finds those old paths to-day, forsaken, drear.

And Mem'ry paints me yet another scene--
A home, love-lighted by an earnest eye--
A home, of fellowship so pure, so high.
I pause, and ask myself, have such things been?--

Or have I dreamed?--Was it a blessed dream?--
A dream of peace, and rest, and hallowed calm,--
The skies all sunshine, and the air all balm,--
The tranquil hours aglow with Heaven's own beam?--

A dream?--a dream?--the long, long, clouded day
That ended in a longer, sadder night,
When, in my home went out that blessed light,
And Love from its hushed chambers passed away?

O no!--oh no! 'Tis but the old, old tale
Of human bliss and human agony,--
Of morning's joy-bells ringing full and free,--
And evening's hollow winds and funeral wail!

Yet thou art left me, Sabbath! In thy light
I sit and muse, this sweet, June morning, till
The past, with all its varied scenes of good and ill,
Fades from my thought--fades, with the bliss and blight,

The short-lived transports of those buried years,--
The summer flowers I gathered with such pains,--
The gold I hoarded in slow-gathered grains,--
All lost,--the summer chilled by Autumn's tears,--

The long, lone, flowerless autumn--when the sun,
Hurled from his zenith, shivered cold and pale
On the horizon's verge--the funeral wail
O! tempest-burdened winds through forests dim,

And desolate, and drear,--all pass away
This morn, O Sabbath, in thy hallowed light,
And, glancing far beyond the infinite
Of thy blue heavens, where a clearer day

Lights the Eternal hills, I seem to see
The Heavenly City, whence the radiant gleam
Of a fair Temple, and a crystal stream
Of living water wanders down to me

In changeless light! O Home!--O Rest!-O Heaven!
Thus to thy hallowed calm I'd look away,
Sabbath of God!--Eternal Sabbath day!
Till to my soul thy tranquil rest is given.

THE EYE THAT NEVER SLEEPS

When the heavy, midnight shadows
Gather o'er a slumbering world,
And the banner folds of darkness
Are in gloomy pomp unfurled,--
Think, lone watcher, pale and tearful,
In thy sad, unpitied lot,
By the death couch waking, weeping,
There is One who slumbers not!--
One who, though no mourning brother
Share thy vigils lone and drear,
Loving, pitying, as no other
Loves or pities, watches near!

When the waves, o'erwrought by tempest,
Lift their strong arms to the skies,
And amid the inky darkness
Shrieks of winds and waters rise,--
Mariner, 'mid doubt and danger,
Wildly tossed upon the deep,
Think, o'er all in power presiding
There is One who does not sleep--
One who holds the risen tempest
In obedience to His will,
Who, to still its wildest fury,
Need but whisper--"Peace, be still"

When, weighed down by heavy anguish,
Waking, sad, at midnight lone,
Sorrowing mourner, thou dost languish
For affection's missing tone,--
When thy heart o'er buried treasures
In its uncheered misery weeps,
Think, that gently watching o'er thee,
Is an eye that never sleeps!
And, above the mournful shadows,
Lift thy heart so lone and riven,
Up to Him who 'mid thy sorrows
Wooes thee still to hope and Heaven

BY AND BY

_God will not let His bright gifts die
If I may not sing my songs just now
I shall sing them by and by_

A young man with a Poet's soul,
And a Poet's kindling eye--
Dark, dreamy, full of unvoiced thought--
And forehead calm and high,
Toiled wearily at his heavy task
Till his soul grew sick with pain,
And the pent up fires that burned within
Seemed withering heart and brain

"Work, work, work!" he murmured low,
Glancing up at the golden west--
Work, with the sunset heavens aglow
By the hands of angels dressed,
Work for this perishing, human clay,
While the soul, like a prisoned bird,
Flutters its helpless wings always
By passionate longings stirred

"I hear in the wandering zephyr's song
Tones that no others hear,
And alien melodies all day long
Are murmuring in my ear,--
Phantoms of beauty in cloud and flower
Haunt me where'er I stray,
And flit thro' the green of the summer bower,
At the close of each toil spent day

"There are voices that sigh in the wind's low sigh,
Or wail in the tempest's roar,--
That sing in the brooklets that wander by,
Or sob along ocean's shore;--
I hear them ever, yet may not stay,
To list to the rhythmic strain;
And the unvoiced melodies die away,
Never to come again.

"Something I see in the lightning's flash
That my fellows may not see,
And something hear in the thunder's crash,
That cometh alone to me;--
But the glory fades ere I gather it in,
And fix it in brain or heart;
And the strains I caught thro' the elements' din,
Are lost in Toil's crowded mart.

"O haunting strains of unuttered song!
O tenderest melodies lost!
O sweet, stray notes of the heavenly throng
On the wing of the tempest tossed!
O spirit-harp that, untouched, untuned,
To each subtle influence thrills,
As thrills some wild, Aeolian harp,
To the breezes that sweep the hills!--

"I thirst, I pant, to be free to list
To the voices that call to me,
From flood and fountain, from vale and height,
From forest, and shore, and sea,--
To gaze on the Beauty whose subtle fire
Breaks on me thro' Nature's eyes,
And pour from the strings of my unused lyre
All tenderest harmonies!"

Ah, thirsty spirit! the day will come,
When, the sway of this mortal o'er,
Thou shall strike thy lyre with a fearless hand
On a brighter, calmer shore;
For God, who giveth the breath of Song,
Will not let His bright gifts die;
And though thy harp-strings be silent long,
Thou shalt waken them by and by.

Aye! and the Music that seemeth lost
Shall linger in Memory's cells,
As lingers along the Alpine heights
The echo of vesper-bells;--
Not lost, but waiting the freer pulse
Of the life thou yet shalt know,
To blend with the tides of enraptured song
That the Heavenly heights o'erflow.

And the Beauty that, lost to thee, seemeth now
Sealed in thy heart shall stay,
As the sun-ray sealed in the diamond's heart,
Burns on with unchanging ray,
Then take with gladness the joy that steals
The sting of thy toil away,
And wait in hope for the higher joy
That shall crown thee another day.

THE ONE REFUGE.

I.

Storms gather o'er thy path,
Christian!--the sullen, tempest-darkened sky
Grows lurid with the elemental wrath,--
Say, whither wilt thou fly?

God is my Refuge!--let the tempests come,
They will but speed me sooner to my home!

II.

Night lowers in sullen gloom,
Christian!--a long, dark night awaiteth thee,
Dreary as Egypt's night of fear and doom,--
Where will thy hiding be?

God is my refuge!--in the dreary night
In Him I dwell, and have abundant light!

III.

Thine is a lonely way,
Christian!--and dangers all thy path infest;
Pitfalls and snares crowd all thy doubtful way,--
Where is thy place of rest?

God is my Refuge!--safe in Him I move,
And feel no fear, kept by sustaining Love.

IV.

The grave--that dreary place,
Christian, the lonely dwelling in the dust
Awaits thee; 'tis the doom of all thy race,--
Where, then, shall be thy trust?

God is my refuge! Sweet will be my rest
On the dear pillow that my Saviour pressed!

V.

Alas!--that dreamless sleep--
Christian, its chains are strong, and hard to break;
All thy belov'd sleep on in silence deep,
And dost _thou_ hope to wake?

God is my refuge! I shall wake and sing--
"O grave! where is thy vict'ry?--death thy sting?"

JUDSON'S GRAVE.

He sleeps where the billow
Lifts high its white crest
O'er his lone, sea-weed pillow
On Ocean's dark breast;
No shroud is around him,
No flowers bloom above,
No mourners surround him
With grief-drops of love.

But the limitless ocean
His requiem sings,
As, with tireless motion,
The green billow springs
Toward the infinite heaven,
Blue, bending above,
Where angels are watching
His slumbers in love.

Oh! boundless his tomb is,
Far-reaching, sublime,
Stretching forth in immenseness
To every clime;
Thus boundless his love was,
On every side
Spreading freely wherever
Man sorrowed or died.

Sleep, Judson! no grave-dust
Shall rest on thy head,
In sunlight or starlight
No marble shall shed
Its shadow sepulchral
Above thee,--no tomb
Save Earth's grandest and vastest,
May give to thee room!

Man marks not thy pillow
With yew-tree or stone;
But God, o'er the billow,
Keeps watch of His own;
And glorious thy rising,
O crowned one, will be,
When Jehovah shall summon
His dead from the sea!

SHALL BE FREE.

"ALL PERSON'S HELD AS SLAVES, within said designated States and parts
of States, ARE, AND HENCEFORWARD SHALL BE FREE!"
--_Proclamation of Emancipation, Jan. 1st, 1863._

"Shall be free! shall be free!"--lo, the strong winds have caught it,
And borne it from hill top to hill top afar,
And echo to answering echo has taught it,
Through the din of the conflict, the thunder of war!
It has flashed like the lightning from ocean to ocean,
Across the black face of the skies it has blazed,
And strong men have thrilled with unwonted emotion,
And shouted for joy as they listened and gazed!

"Shall be free! shall be free!"--the poor, manacled "chattel"
Has caught the sweet word amid fetters and blows;
It has burst on his ear through the tumult of battle,
Through the shoutings of friends and the cursings of foes;
And lifting his poor, fettered hands up to heaven,
He has joined in the song that ascended to God;
Or, kneeling in trembling rapture, has given
Thanksgiving to Him who has broken the rod!

"Shall be free! shall be free!"--there are ears that have listened,
There are lips that have prayed through long, agonized years,
There are eyes that with hope's fitful radiance have glistened
Yet, as hope was deferred, have grown heavy with tears
Joy! joy!--thou hast heard it at last, lonely weeper,
Look up, for the prayer of thy anguish is heard.
Look up, ye bruised spirits, for God is your keeper,
And the heart of His boundless compassion is stirred.

"Shall be free! shall be free!"--O Humanity, listen
The Dawn that long since on the pale "Watcher" shone
Now higher, and brighter, and clearer has risen,
As the Day star rides on toward the glories of noon.
Those words that rang out from the isles of the ocean,
Sarmatia has echoed from mountain to sea
And America, from her red field of commotion,
He echoes the same stirring words--"Shall be free!"

Hark!--all the wild air is astir with the tempest!
The swift lightnings leap in red arrows on high!
Winds shriek to mad winds, and the hoarse thunder answer
As it ploughs its dread path through the shuddering sky!
There are hisses of serpents, and howlings of demons,
And moanings of anguish by land and by sea,
But, clearer than angel tones, high o'er the tumult,
Rings out the glad utterance--"they shall be free!"

And lo! dimly seen, on the crest of the billow
Lashed white by the storm, undismayed and serene,
Moves that form that once bent o'er the sufferer's pillow,
And touched the dim eyes till strange glories were seen
And sweetly, to ears that will patiently listen,
That voice which spake "peace" to turbulent sea,
Now speaks through the roar of the tempest uprisen,
In tones unmistakable,--"THEY SHALL BE FREE!"

AFTER FIFTY YEARS

A MOTHER'S ADDRESS TO HER FAMILY ON HER GOLDEN-WEDDING DAY.

Just fifty years, my daughters,
Just fifty years, my son,
Since your sire and I together
The march of life begun.
It does not seem so long ago
As _half a hundred years_,
Since hand in hand we started out,
To face life's toils and tears.

And toils, and tears, too, we have met;
Yet sunbeams oft have come--
Many and beautiful, and bright--
To cheer our happy home;
Sweet infant faces, thro' the years,
Are smiling back to me;
And, God be praised, each precious one
Still at my side I see!

Yet ye are changed, my children three,
Your baby-bloom is gone;
And you are growing old, I see,
Grey hairs are coming on;
Yet when I, musing, close my eyes,
I see you as you were
In those old years when cloudless skies
Dropped sunshine on your hair.

The patter of your busy feet
Still rings upon the floor,
And song, and jest, and laughter sweet
Float round me as of yore;--
Yet when I open eager eyes,
To watch your pastimes gay,
Your children's faces round me rise--
Yourselves have done with play.

And there was one--a little one--
Who slumbered on my breast--
I loved and cherished as my own,
That dove that sought your nest;
And _she_ is here,--I see her face
Among my own to-day;--
Thank God for all the loves I trace,
Along life's devious way!

And yet there's one we miss to-day,--
The last to quit our side,--
The one who wandered far away
The day she was a bride.
Were she but here, our chain of love
No missing link would show,
And every face we called our own
Would still around us glow.

Well, _half a century_ is, I know,
A long, long stretch of time;
And truly once we deemed it so,
When we were in our prime.
But as we've glided down the years
They've shorter seemed to grow,
And now, how brief the time appears
Since fifty years ago!

And, husband, you and I have changed
Since that old wedding day;--
I viewed you then with partial eyes--
"Fond, girlish eyes" you'd say;--
But were my eyes as keen as then,
And I allowed to scan
The handsomest of handsome men,
_You_ still would be the man.

_The man of men!_--'twas so I thought
Just fifty years ago,
When you and I joined hands for life;
And yet, I did not know
Half--half as well as I do now,
How dear you were that day;
And ever dearer still you've grown
As years have rolled away!

And still this fiftieth wedding-day
I have thee by my side--
An old man, weary, bent, and grey,
My tall tree tempest tried.
And yet I do aver that thou
Art fairer in my sight,
As in thy face I gaze just now,
Than on our wedding night!

And husband--oh, the best of all,
We'll soon be young again,
And free to tread with buoyant feet
A brighter, holier plain;--
We'll soon have done with pain and age,
And weariness and strife,
Soon end our earthly pilgrimage
In new, exultant life.

For you and I, dear, have a home--
A mansion of our own--
Where change and blight can never come,
And sorrow is unknown;
And soon we're going to enter in,
And with our Lord sit down,--
Heirs of His glory and His bliss,
His kingdom and His crown!

Many we love have thither gone,
And soon we'll be there too,--
And, children, you will follow on,
We shall look out for you
Oh, may we, in that blessed throng
Of saved ones robed in white,
Not miss a single dear loved face
That smiles on ours to night!

Just fifty years of wedded life
In the dear past I see,
Before us spreads--not fifty years--
But all Eternity
And while, 'mid ever deepening bliss,
The tranquil ages glide,
Still, hand in hand and heart in heart,
With Christ we shall abide!

THE EARTH VOICE AND ITS ANSWER

I plucked a fair flower that grew
In the shadow of summer's green trees--
A rose petalled flower,
Of all in the bower,
Best beloved of the bee and the breeze
I plucked it, and kissed it, and called it my own--
This beautiful, beautiful flower
That alone in the cool, tender shadow had grown,
Fairest and first in the bower

Then a murmur I heard at my feet--
A pensive and sorrowful sound,
And I stooped me to hear,
While tear after tear
Rained down from my eyes to the ground,
As I, listening, heard
This sorrowful word,
So breathing of anguish profound:--

"I have gathered the fairest and best,
I have gathered the rarest and sweetest,
My life-blood I've given
As an off'ring to Heaven
In this flower, of all flowers the completest
Through the long, quiet night,
With the pale stars in sight,--
Through the sun-lighted day
Of the balm-breathing May,
I have toiled on, in silence, to bring
To perfection this beautiful flower,
The pride of the blossoming bower--
The queenliest blossom of spring.

"But I am forgotten;--none heed
Me--the brown soil where it grew,
That drank in by day
The sun's blessed ray,
And gathered at twilight the dew;--
That fed it by night and by day
With nectar drops slowly distilled
In the secret alembic of earth,
And diffused through each delicate vein
Till the sunbeams were charmed to remain,
Entranced in a dream of delight,
Stealing in with their arrows of light
Through the calyx of delicate green,
The close-folded petals between,
Down into its warm hidden heart--
Until, with an ecstatic start
At the rapture, so wondrous and new,
That throbbed at its innermost heart,
Wide opened the beautiful eyes,
And lo! with a sudden surprise
Caught the glance of the glorious sun--
The ardent and worshipful one--
Looking down from his heavenly place,
And the blush of delighted surprise
Remained in its warm glowing dyes,
Evermore on that radiant face

"Then mortals, in worshipful mood,
Bent over my wonderful flower,
And called it 'the fairest,'
The richest, the rarest,
The pride of the blossoming bower
But I am forgotten. Ah me!
I, the brown soil where it grew,
That cherished and nourished
The stem where it flourished,
And fed it with sunshine and dew

"O Man! will it always be thus?--
Will you take the rich gifts that are given
By the tireless workers of earth,
By the bountiful Father in heaven,
And, intent on the worth of the gift,
Never think of the maker, the giver?--
Of the long patient effort,--the thought
That secretly grew in the brain
Of the Poet to measure and strain,
Till it burst on your ear, richly fraught
With the rapturous sweetness of song?--

What availeth it, then, that ye toil,
You, thought's patient producers, to be
Unloved and unprized,
Trodden down and despised
By those whom you toil for, like me--
Forgotten and trampled like me?--"

Then my heart made indignant reply,
In spite of my fast falling tears--
In spite of the wearisome years
Of toil unrequited that lay
In the track of the past, and the way
Thorn-girded I'd trod in those years--

"So be it, if so it _must_ be!--
May I know that the thing
I so patiently bring
From the depths of the heart and the brain,
A creature of _beauty_ goes forth,
Midst the hideous phantoms that press
And crowd the lone paths of this work-weary life,
Midst the labor and care, the temptation and strife,
To gladden and comfort and bless!

"So be it, if so it _must_ be!--
May I know that the thing
I so patiently bring
From the depths of the heart and the brain,
Goes forth with a conquerors might,
Through the gloom of this turbulent world,
Potent for truth and for right,
Where truth has so often been hurled
'Neath the feet of the throng--
The hurrying, passionate throng!--

"What matter though I _be_ forgot,
Since toil is itself a delight?--
Since the _power_ to do,
To the soul that is true,
Is the uttered command of the Lord
To labor and faint not, but still
To pursue and achieve,
And ever believe.
That ACHIEVEMENT ALONE IS REWARD!"

BEYOND THE SHADOWS.

Thou hast entered the land without shadows,
Thou who, 'neath the shadow, so long
Hast sat with thy white hands close-folded,
And lips that could utter no song;
Through a rift in the cloud, for an instant,
Thine eyes caught a glimpse of that shore,
And Earth with its gloom was forgotten,
And Heaven is thine own evermore!

We see not the glorious vision,
Nor the welcoming melodies hear,
That, from bowers of beauty Elysian,
Float tenderly sweet to thine ear;
Round us, lie Earth's desolate midnight,
Her winter-plains bare and untrod,--
Round thee, is the glad, morning sunlight
That beams from the City of God!

Our eyes have grown heavy with weeping,--
Thine, "the King in his beauty" behold
And thou leanest thy head on His bosom,
Like him, the beloved, of old;
The days of thy weeping are ended,
Thy sorrow and suffering done,
And angels thy flight have attended
To the side of the Crucified One.

On thy hearth-stone the ashes are fireless,
In thy dark home the lights never burn,
In thy garden the sweet flowers have perished,
To thy bower no song-birds return!
Yet a mansion of bliss glory-lighted,
Where anguish and death are unknown,
Where beauty and bloom are unblighted,
Henceforth is forever thine own!

Oh! joy for thee, glorified spirit!
With Jesus forever to be,
And with sinless and sainted companions
The bliss of His Paradise see!
Joy, joy!--for thy warfare is finished,
Thy perilous journeying o'er,
And, above the deep gloom of Earth's shadows,
Thou art dwelling in Light evermore!

AUTUMN AND WINTER.

I.

Beautiful Autumn is dead and gone--
Weep for her!
Calm, and gracious, and very fair,
With sunny robe and with shining hair,
And a tender light in her dreamy eye,
She came to earth but to smile and die--
Weep for her!

Nay, nay, I will not weep!
She came with a smile,
And tarried awhile,
Quieting Nature to sleep;--
Then went on her way
O'er the hill-tops grey,
And yet--and yet, _she is dead_, you say!
Nay!--she brought us blessings, and left us cheer,
And alive and well shell return next year!--
Why should I weep?

II.

Desolate Winter has come again--
Frown on him!
He comes with a withering breath,
With a gloomy scowl,
With a shriek and a howl,
Freezing Nature to death!
He stamps on the hills,
He fetters the rills,
And every hollow with snow he fills!
Frown on the monster grim and old,
With snowy robes and with fingers cold,
And a gusty breath!

Nay, nay! I shall give him a smile!--
For I know by the sleet,
And the snow in the street,
He has come to tarry awhile.
Ho, for the sleigh-bells merrily ringing!
Ho, for the skaters joyously singing--
Over the ice-fields gliding, swinging!--
So let the Winter-king whiten the plain!
Fetter the fountains and frost the pane,
His greeting shall be--
Not a frown from me,
But a smile--a smile!

TILL TO-MORROW.

Good night! good night!--the golden day
Has veiled its sunset beam,
And twilight's star its beauteous ray
Has mirrored in the stream;--
Low voices come from vale and height,
And murmur soft, good night! good night!

Good night!--the bee with folded wings
Sleeps sweet in honeyed flowers,
And far away the night-bird sings
In dreamy forest bowers,
And slowly fades the western light
In deepening shade,--good night! good night!

Good night! good night!--in whispers low
The ling'ring zephyr sighs,
And softly, in its dreamy flow,
The murm'ring brook replies;
And, where yon casement still is bright,
A softer voice has breathed good-night!

Good night!--as steals the cooling dew
Where the young violet lies,
E'en so may slumber steal anew
To weary human eyes,
And softly steep the aching sight
In dewy rest--good night! good night!

OUR COUNTRY;
--OR,--
A CENTURY OF PROGRESS.

Over the waves of the Western sea,
Led by the hand of Hope she came--
The beautiful Angel of Liberty--
When the sky was red with the sunset's flame,--
Came to a rocky and surf-beat shore,
Lone, and wintry, and stern, and wild,
The waves behind her, and wastes before,
And the Angel of Liberty, pausing, smiled.

"Here, O Sister, shall be our rest!"
Softly she sang, and the waters shone
While a mellower radiance flushed the west,
Lingering mountain and vale upon;--
Sweetly the murmurous melody blent
With flow of rivers and woodland song,
And wandering breezes that singing went,
Joyously wafted the notes along.

Acadia lifted her mist-wreathed brow,
Westerly gazing with eager eye,
And lakes that sat in the sunset glow
Flashed back upon her in glad reply;--
On, with every murmuring stream,
On, with every wandering breeze,
Floated the strain through the New World's dream,
Till it died on the far Pacific seas.

* * *

Many a season came and went,--
Many a changeful year sped by,--
Many a forest its proud head bent,--
Many a valley looked up to the sky;
Patient Labor and bold Emprise,
Art, Invention, Science, Skill,
Each for each 'neath those northern skies
Toiled together with earnest will.

Up the mountain, and down the glen,
And far away to the level West,
Hosts of dauntless, unwearied men
Onward ever with firm foot pressed;
The blue axe gleamed in the wintry light,
And forests melted like mist away,
Through virgin soils went the ploughshare bright.
And harvests brightened the summer day.

Learning gathered around her feet
Listening crowds of aspiring youth;
Meek Religion with accents sweet
Guided her vot'ries in ways o' truth;
Countless church-spires pierced the skies,
Countless temples of Science wooed
To thought's arena of high emprise
An eager, emulous multitude.

White sails dotted the waters blue,
Hamlets smiled amid valleys green,
Populous cities sprang and grew
Where swamp and wilderness erst were seen;
Fleet as the tempest the iron-steed
Shook the hills with his thunderous tread;
From shore to shore, with the lightning's speed,
Couriers electric man's errands sped.

Then kindred States that had stood apart
Stretched to each other fraternal hands,
And, each to all, with a loyal heart,
Bound themselves with enduring bands;--
Then the Angel of Liberty smiled once more,
Softly singing--"O Lands, well done!"
And the strains were wafted from shore to shore
To the far-off climes of the setting sun.