Chapter I: Will Not Despair (3)

"Here, O Sister, shall be our rest!"
--Again the beautiful Angel sung--
Long, oh long, shall these climes be blessed,
Free and fetterless, brave and young,
If only loyal to Him who reigns
Over all nations the Lord Most-High,
Monarch of Heaven's serene domains,
Ruler of all things below the sky.

"Bow to His service, O young, bright lands!
Give Him the bloom of your joyous youth!
Lift to Him alway adoring hands!
Worship Him ever in love and truth!
So shall ye still, as the glad years rise,
Ever more stable and glorious be,
Heir of all loftiest destinies,
HOPE OF HUMANITY! HOME OF THE FREE!"

JESUS THE SOULS REST.

"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and
_I will give you rest._"

I gave myself to Jesus
In my sunny childhood's years,
When on my young, unsullied cheek
There lay no trace of tears;
I little knew what gift I gave,
Nor yet what gift I took;
For life without and life within
Were each a sealed-up book.

But soon enough unfolding years
Brought sorrow, toil, and pain,--
Brought disappointment's burning tears,
And yearnings wild and vain;
And then I learned what precious Gift
In Jesus I received
In that still hour of childish trust,
When my young heart believed.

'Twas then I knew what arm unseen
Was round me 'mid the strife,
The blighted hope, the toil uncheered,
The cold, rude storms of life;
And when the reeds on which I leaned
All failed me one by one,
I clasped my pierced and bleeding hands,
And wept, but _not alone._

For He was near me midst the strife,
And, leaning on His arm,
I trod the thorny paths of life,
Safe sheltered from all harm;
The while He whispered to my heart,
"I gave my life for thee!
Then, heavy laden as thou art,
Cast all thy care on me!"

"_On me!_ ON ME!"--oh, gentle word!--
O Sympathy divine!--
O Fount of joy, how deeply stirred,
Within this heart of mine!--
O cool, sweet Waters, how ye stilled
The fever of my brain,--
And soothed the heart-strings that had thrilled
With agonizing pain!

My own,--My Rock!--the heavy tide
May beat in uproar dread,
Calmly 'gainst its unmoving side
I rest my weary head;--
For well I know how deep it strikes
Beneath the raging flood--
My Soul's firm Anchor 'mid the strife,
My Refuge and my God!

THE BEAUTIFUL ARTIST.

There's a beautiful Artist abroad in the world,
And her pencil is dipped in heaven,--
The gorgeous hues of Italian skies,
The radiant sunset's richest dyes,
The light of Aurora's laughing eyes,
Are each to her pictures given.

As I walked abroad yestere'en, what time
The sunset was fairest to see,
I saw where her wonderful brush had been
Over a maple tree--half of it green--
And the fairiest col'ring that ever was seen
She had left on that maple tree.

There was red of every possible hue,
There was yellow of every dye,
From the faintest straw-tint to orange bright,
Fluttering, waving, flashing in light,
With the delicate, green leaves still in sight,
Peeping out at the sunset sky.

She had touched the beech, and the scraggy thing.
In a bright new suit was dressed;
Very queer, indeed, it looked to me,
The sober old beech tree thus to see,
So different from what he used to be,
Rigged out in a holiday vest.

Red, and russet, and green, and grey--
He had little indeed of gold--
For the beech was never known to be gay,
Being noted a very grave tree alway,
Never flaunting out in a fanciful way
Like other trees, we are told.

But the beautiful artist had touched him off
With an extra tint or so;
And he held his own very well with the rest,
On which, I am sure, she had done her best,
Dressing each in the fairiest kind of a vest,
Till the forest was all aglow.

There were the willow that grew by the brook,
And the old oak on the hill;
The graceful elm tree down in the swale,
The birch, the ash, and the bass-wood pale,
The orchard trees clustering over the vale,
And weeds that fringed the rill.

One, she had gilt with a flood of gold,
And one, she had tipped with flame;
One, she had dashed with every hue
That the laughing sunset ever knew,
And one--she had colored it through and through
Russet, all sober and tame.

Now this beautiful artist will only stay
A very few days, and then,
She will finish her gorgeous pictures all,
And hurry away ere the gusty squall
Ruins her work, and the sere leaves fall
Darkly in copse and glen.

Then welcome these pictures, so soon to fade,
While they're fresh, and bright, and new,
For a frosty night, and a gusty day,
And a withering blight are not far away,
So enjoy the beautiful while you may,
It was given, good friend, _for you!_

"LET US PRAY"

[Footnote: A precious memory is associated with these words. The voice
that uttered them is silent now but the solemnity of their utterance
has not passed away. The [below] is a feeble attempt to give it
something like permanency.]

Bow the head in supplication,
Lowly, penitent, sincere,
Worthiest of adoration,
God, the Holy One is here!--
Here, while through the open casement
Gently beams the rising day,
While, in contrite self abasement,
Rev'rently we kneel and pray!

Let us pray!--we're weak and weary,
Faint of heart and slow of limb,
Over mountains dark and dreary
Lies our pathway--narrow, dim,
Thorn beset and demon-haunted,
Steep and slipp'ry is the way,
Would we tread it all undaunted,
Firm of footstep?--let us pray!

Let us pray!--on every spirit,
Secret, solemn records lie,
Of transgression and demerit,
Only seen by God's pure eye,--
Secret sins, desires unholy,
Thoughts impure that once held sway,--
Oh, in penitence most lowly,
Deeply contrite, let us pray!

Let us pray!--we need forgiveness,--
Strength and patience to endure,--
For our arduous labors fitness,--
Spirits consecrate and pure,
Shelter need when storms are round us,--
Bread of Heavenly life each day,--
Help when hidden snares surround us,--
Guidance always--let us pray!

RICH AND POOR

Old Aleck, the weaver, sat in the nook
Of his chimney, reading an ancient book,
Old, and yellow, and sadly worn,
With covers faded, and soiled, and torn;--
And the tallow candle would flicker and flare
As the wind, which tumbled the old man's hair,
Swept drearily in through a broken pane,
Damp and chilling with sleet and rain.

Yet still, unheeding the changeful light,
Old Aleck read on and on that night;
Sometimes lifting his eyes, as he read,
To the cob-webb'd rafters overhead;--
But at length he laid the book away,
And knelt by his broken stool to pray;
And something, I fancied, the old man said
About "_treasures in Heaven_" of which he'd read.

A wealthy merchant over the way
Sat in his lamp-light's steady ray,
Where many a volume richly bound
And heavily gilded was lying round.
One, with glittering clasps was there,
Embossed, and pictured, and wondrous fair;
But the printed words were the very same
As those I read by the flickering flame
That gave me light as I stooped to look
Into the old man's tattered book,
And I knew by the page's spotless white,
No hand had opened it yet to the light.

"_Treasures In Heaven_"!--what, rich man, heir
To countless thousands, your thoughts are--where?
With these _he_ read of?--No; ah, no!--
Over the storm-vexed waters they go,
Where stout ships buffet the blast to-night,
With never a glimmering star in sight!

Day fretted the east with its stormy gold,
But the turbulent ocean raged and rolled,
And dashed on many a rock girt shore
The wrecks of ships that would sail no more,--
Lifting, at times, to the topmost wave
Ghastly faces no hand could save,--
And then, far down with his treasures vain,
Burying each in the depths again.

And the merchant looked from his mansion fair,
Over the ocean, with troubled air;
And thought of his treasures, in one short night
Whelmed in the deep by the tempest's might;--
Ah,--I knew by that pale brow's deepening gloom,
That he owned no treasure beyond the tomb.

Day fretted the east with its stormy gold,
Creeping slow through a casement old,
And stealing sadly with faint, cold ray
Into the hut where the old man lay.
White and still was the scattered hair,
And the hands were crossed with a reverent air;--
Calm and stirless the eyelids lay,
Pale as marble and cold as clay,
But the lips were tenderly wreathed, the while,
With the beautiful light of a saintly smile;
And I knew he had passed from that desolate room
To a fadeless treasure beyond the tomb.

PALMER.

THREE YEARS OLD.

A light departed from the hearth of home,
Leaving a shadow where its radiance shone,--
A flower just bursting into life and bloom,
Lopped from its stem, the bower left sad and lone,--
A golden link dropped from love's precious chain,--
Gem from affection's sacred casket riven,--
Of music's richest tones a missing strain,--
A bird-note hushed in the blue summer heaven!

That light is gathered to its Source again,
Though long its radiance will be missed on earth,
That flower, transplanted to a sunnier plain,
Bloometh immortal where no blight has birth;
That missing link gleams in Love's chain above,--
That lost gem sparkles on the Saviour's breast,--
That music-uttrance, tuned to holier love,
Swells richly 'mid the anthems of the blest.
Thank God! there's nothing lost! A little while,
And what ye miss will be your own again
E'en the dear clay once more will on you smile
With life immortal throbbing in each vein
Tis well to leave your treasure with the Lord--
With One so tender your beloved to see,--
Back to the Source of life a life restored--
Then _where your treasure is let your affections be!_

BALMY MORNING

Balmy morning! blessed morning!
Dew-drops bright
All the emerald glade adorning
In thy light--
In thy golden glowing beam
With an ever-changeful gleam
Flashing sparkling deeply glowing
Varying tints of beauty showing
Everywhere
Radiant are
In thy welcome light!

Balmy morning! blessed morning!
Flowers look up,
With a precious, pearly off'ring,
In each cup--
Dewy off'ring gleaned by night,
As a tribute to the light,--
Far more precious than the gem
Of a monarch's diadem,
Is the gift
Which they lift
To thy welcome light!

Balmy morning! blessed morning!
Sounds of mirth,
From the vocal vales ascending,
Hail thy birth.
Happy birds in echoing bowers,
Waken all their tuneful powers,
And spontaneous music springs
From all animated things,--
Verdant hills,
Tuneful rills,
Joyful greet thy light!

Balmy morning! blessed morning!
How serene,
In thy calm and cloudless dawning
Smiles the scene!
Even man, by care oppressed,
Feels thy gladness thrill his breast,
Hails thee as a source of bliss,
Precious in a world like this,
Gratefully
Blessing thee--
Welcome, morning light!

SONG

Oh, take me where the wild flowers bloom!

Oh, take me where the wild flowers bloom!
I'm dying, mother dear!
And shades of ever deepening gloom
Are round, and o'er me here,--
The city's din is in my ear,
Its glitter mocks my eye,--
Oh, take me where the skies are clear.
And the hills are green, to die!

I do not dread the shadowy vale,
The river deep and chill,--
For, leaning on my Saviour's arm,
My soul shall fear no ill,--
But oh, to pass from Earth away
Where skies are blue above,
Where glad birds sing, and streamlets play,
And soft winds breathe of love!

And oh, within these fevered hands,
To clasp my flowers again!
To lay them on my weary breast,
And round my throbbing brain!
Then, feel the South wind o'er me pass
As long ago it swept,
When, 'mid the scented summer grass,
I laid me down and slept!

Oh, ever, in my fevered dreams,
The fountain's play I hear,--
The sighing winds, the rippling streams,
The robin's music clear,--
Old pleasant sounds are in my ear,
Sweet visions meet my eye--
Oh take me, take me, mother dear,
To the summer hills, to die!

THE PLOUGHMAN

Tearing up the stubborn soil,
Trudging, drudging, toiling, moiling,
Hands, and feet, and garments soiling--
Who would grudge the ploughman's toil?
Yet there's lustre in his eye,
Borrowed from yon glowing sky,
And there's meaning in his glances
That bespeak no dreamer's fancies;
For his mind has precious lore
Gleaned from Nature's sacred store.

Toiling up yon weary hill,
He has worked since early morning,
Ease, and rest, and pleasure scorning,
And he's at his labor still,
Though the slanting, western beam
Quivering on the glassy stream,
And yon old elm's lengthened shadow
Flung athwart the verdant meadow,
Tell that shadowy twilight grey
Cannot now be far away.

See! he stops and wipes his brow,--
Marks the rapid sun's descending--
Marks his shadow far-extending--
Deems it time to quit the plough.
Weary man and weary steed
Welcome food and respite need
'Tis the hour when bird and bee
Seek repose, and why not he?
Nature loves the twilight blest,
Let the toil worn ploughman rest

Ye, who nursed upon the breast
Of ease and pleasure enervating,
Ever new delights creating,
Which not long retain their zest
Ere upon your taste they pall,
What avail your pleasures all?
In his hard, but pleasant labor,
He, your useful, healthful neighbor,
Finds enjoyment, real, true,
Vainly sought by such as you

Nature's open volume lies,
Richly tinted, brightly beaming,
With its varied lessons teeming,
All outspread before his eyes.
Dewy glades and opening flowers,
Emerald meadows, vernal bowers,
Sun and shade, and bird and bee,
Fount and forest, hill and lea,--
All things beautiful and fair,
His benignant teachers are

Tearing up the stubborn soil,
Trudging, drudging, toiling, moiling,
Hands, and feet, and garments soiling--
Who would grudge the ploughman's toil?
Yet 'tis health and wealth to him,
Strength of nerve, and strength of limb,
Light and fervor in his glances,
Life and beauty in his fancies,
Learned and happy, brave and free,
Who so proud and blest as he?

"HE HATH DONE ALL THINGS WELL."

AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO A DEAR FRIEND ON THE DEATH OF
A BELOVED FATHER.

The dawn-light wakes, and brightens to the day,
And the slow sun climbs the far eastern skies,
Then, down the western slopes pursues his way,
Till shadows deepen and the twilight dies;--
And still I muse, and wait, and list in vain
For feet that never, never will return,--
For loving words I may not hear again,
Howe'er with ear attent I wait and yearn.

O love that never wavered, never changed!
How shall I miss thee as the years go by?
O tenderest heart that could be estranged!--
O fount that age and suffring could not dry!--
O guiding hand to earliest thought endeared--
O hand that after clung so long to me!--
O patient Father, honored, loved, revered!
How shall I hear life's burden wanting thee?

Be still, fond heart!--another Father, thine--
Both _his_ and thine--still on thee bends His eye;
Thou canst not walk alone, for Love Divine,
Unseen, yet near, each starting tear will dry.
Lean on the strong, true breast, of Love more deep,
More constant far than earthly love may be,
Who gently soothed his pain, and gave him sleep,
And shall enfold, uplift, and comfort thee!

So lay thy burden in His hands, and rest!
Thy Lord hath fathomed every earthly woe;
With patient feet Earth's thorniest pathway pressed,
And left the tomb with Heaven's light aglow;--
For, what them seest not now, some other day,
In lands unreached by sorrow's dreary knell,
Thou in His light shalt read, and meekly say,
"E'en so, dear Lord, Thou hast done all things well."

SOMEWHERE

"For he looked for a city that hath foundations, whose Maker and
Builder is God."

I.

Somewhere, I know, there waits for me
A home that mocks the pomp of Earth,
Eye hath not seen its majesty,
Nor heart conceived its priceless worth,--
Talk not of crystal, gems, or gold,
Or towers that flame in changeless light,
Imagination, weak and cold,
Faints far below the unmeasured height!
And through its open doors for aye,
As ages after ages glide,
Without a moment's pause or stay,
Flows grandly in the living tide--
Brothers, redeemed ones, pressing home
From every clime, from every shore,
Beneath that fair celestial dome
Meet to be parted nevermore!

II.

Somewhere, I know, there waits for me
A holy, tranquillized repose,
Calmer than summer noontides be,
Softer than twilight's tenderest close--
Peace, deeper than the peace that stole
O'er the vexed Galilean flood,
When One, Almighty to control,
Breathed o'er it the still "peace" of God.
To break that calm, no throbbing pain
May ever come, no chilling fears,
No hopes unreached, no yearnings vain,
No love-light quenched in sorrow's tears;
But, while eternal ages glide,
That hallowed peace without alloy
Shall still increase, and still abide,
A deepening fount of holiest joy.

III.

Somewhere, I know, there wait for me
Sweet tones that wander back betimes
Through the charmed gates of Memory,
Like far-off swell of Sabbath chimes;
And fair, sweet faces, dimly seen
In the uncertain light of dreams,
And glances, tender and serene
As star-beams mirrored soft in streams;--
They wait for me who long have missed,
From the lone paths I since have pressed,
The hands I clasped, the lips I kissed,
The loves that life's young morning blessed,--
Wait long, while still, through mist and tears
I darkly wend my pilgrim way,
Until for me the dawn appears
And night gives place to perfect day

IV.

Somewhere, I know, in brighter lands,
ONE waits--"the Fairest of the Fair"--
With loving words and gentle hands,
To welcome all who gather there.
"Father, I will," we heard Him say,
"That those whom thou hast given me
Be with me where I am, that they
My glory evermore may see!"
And there, without a veil between,
The sweetness of His face to hide,
Him whom I've loved yet never seen,
I shall behold well satisfied--
And, viewing Him, shall sweetly be
Transformed into His image bright,
And through a glad Eternity
Walk in His love's unclouded light!

THE TIDE.

Landward the tide setteth buoyantly breezily,--
Landward the waves ripple sparkling and free,--
Ho, the proud ship, like a thing of life, easily,
Gracefully sweeps o'er the white-crested sea!
In from the far-away lands she is steering now,
Straight for her anchorage, fearless and free,--
Lo, as I gaze, how she seems to be nearing now,
Sun-lighted shores, a still haven, _and me_!

Landward the tide setteth!--mark my proud argosy
As the breeze flutters her pennons of snow,
Wafting from far the glad mariner's melody
O'er the blue waters in rhythmical flow!
Tell me, oh, soul of mine, what is the freightage fair
'Neath her white wings that she beareth to thee?
Treasures of golden ore, gems from Golconda's shore,
Lo, she is bringing me over, the sea!

* * * * *

Seaward the tide setteth hoarsely and heavily,--
Seaward the tide setteth steady and stern;--
Oh, my proud ship!--she has missed the still haven! see,
Baffled and drifting, far out she is borne!--
Far from the shore, and the weak arms that helplessly,
Wildly, are stretched toward the lessening sail!--
Far, far from shore, and the white hands that hopelessly
Flutter in vain in the loud shrieking gale!

Seaward the tide setteth--oh my rich argosy,
Freighted with treasures ungrasped and unwon!--
Oh, the dark rocks!--the dread crash!--the fierce agony!--
And seaward more madly the tide rushes on!
Gems and red gold won from Earth's richest treasury
Straw the dark floor of the pitiless sea,
Buried for aye--and my wealth-freighted argosy
Fades like the mist from the ocean _and me_!

ELOISE.

Eloise! Eloise!
It is morn on the seas,
And the waters are curling and flashing;
And our rock-sheltered seat,
Where the waves ever beat
With a cadenced and rhythmical dashing,
Is here--just here,
But I miss thee, dear!
And the sun-beams around me are flashing
O seat, by the lonely sea,
O seat, that she shared with me,
Thou art all unfilled to day!
And the plaintive, grieving main
Hath a moan of hopeless pain
That it had not yesterday.

Eloise! Eloise!
It is noon; and the breeze
Through the shadowy woodland is straying;
And our green, mossy seat,
Where the flowers kissed thy feet
While the zephyrs around thee were playing,
Is here--just here;
But I miss thee, dear!
And the breezes around me are straying.
O seat, by the greenwood tree,
O seat, that she shared with me,
Thou art all unfilled to-day!
And the sighing, shivering leaves
Have a voice like one that grieves
That they had not yesterday.

Eloise! Eloise!
It is eve; and the trees
With the gold of the sunset are glowing;
And our low, grassy seat,
With the brook at its feet
Ever singing, and rippling, and flowing,
Is here--just here;
But I miss thee, dear!
And the sunset is over me glowing.
O seat, by the brooklet free,
O seat, that she shared with me,
Thou art all unfilled to-day!
And the brook, to me alone,
Hath a tender, grieving tone,
That it had not yesterday.

Eloise! Eloise!
It is night on the seas,
And the winds and the waters are sleeping;
And the seat where we prayed,
'Neath our home's blessed shade,
With the soft shadows over us creeping,
Is here-just here;
But I miss thee, dear!
And the drear night around me is sleeping.
O seat, where she prayed of yore,
O seat, where she prays no more,
I am kneeling alone to-night!
And the stern, unyielding grave
Will restore not the gift I gave
To its bosom yesternight.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

No martyr-blood hath ever flowed in vain!--
No patriot bled, that proved not freedom's gain!
Those tones, which despots heard with fear and dread
From living lips, ring sterner from the dead;
And he who dies, lives, oft, more truly so
Than had he never felt the untimely blow.

And so with him thus, in an instant, hurled
From earthly hopes and converse with the world.
Each trickling blood-drop shall, with sudden power
Achieve the work of years in one short hour,
And his faint death-sigh more strong arms unite
In stern defence of Freedom and of Right,
Than all he could have said by word or pen,
In a whole life of threescore years and ten!

Dead! fell assassin! did you think him _dead_,
When, with unmurmuring lips, he bowed his head,
While round him bent pale, stricken-hearted men?
Never more grandly did he live than then!
Never that voice had such unmeasured power
To fire men's souls, as in that solemn hour,
When, on a startled world's affrighted ear,
"_E'er so with tyrants!_" rang out wildly clear.
And the red bolt that pierced his quiv'ring brain
Maddened a million hearts with burning pain!

Dead?--frenzied demon of the lash and whip,
What time you let your dogs of ruin slip
At his unguarded throat with murd'rous cry,
And passion-howl of rage and agony?--
Nay:--in that deathful hour, from shore to shore,
Men heard his voice who never heard before;
And, pale with horror by his bloody clay,
Vowed from that hour his mandate to obey,--
Nor rest till all your fiends of Crime and Lust,
'Neath Freedom's heel, lie weltering in the dust!

Dead? dead?--Nay!--'tis not thus that good men _die_!
Tis thus they win fame's immortality!
Thus does their every utt'rance grow sublime,--
A voice of power,--a watchword for all time!--
And the dead arm a mightier scepter sways,
Than his, who, living, half a world obeys!

Sleep, uncorrupted Patriot! faithful one!
Friend of the friendless! Freedom's martyred son!
Henceforth no land shall call thee all its own,--
The World, Humanity, the bruised and lone,--
The oppressed and burdened ones of every clime
Shall claim thee theirs, and bless thee thro' all time,
And "_are, and shall be free!_" from shore to shore
Speed grandly on till serfdom is no more,
And gentle brotherhood our sorrowing race
Link man to man in warm and true embrace!

GOD'S BLESSINGS.

"For thou, Lord, wilt bless the righteous; with favour wilt thou
compass him as with a shield."

Like the dew-drops that fall
Through the chill, midnight hours,
Unheeded by all,
On the close-folded flowers,--
E'en so, on thy chosen,
Grief stricken that bend,
Thy tenderest blessings
In silence descend.

Like the showers that moisten
The tree's shrivelled root,
And quicken its branches
To flower and fruit,
E'en thus, on thy people
Descend from above,
In richest abundance
The showers of thy love

Like the glad light that never
Our sad Earth forsakes,
But, as day fadeth, ever
In the star beam awakes,
So certain and constant,
So rich and unspent,
Thy blessings unstinted
From Heaven are sent.

Like the waters that fail not
Their course to fulfil,
Like the wind's tireless pinions
That never are still,
Like the day in its rising,
The night in its fall,
Thus constant thy blessing,
Great Father of all!

THE SILENT MESSENGER

I sat beside a bed of pain,
And all the muffled hours were still;
The breeze that bent the summer grain,
Scarce sighed along the pine-clad hill;
The pensive stars, the silvery moon
Seemed sleeping in a sea of calm.
And all the leafy bowers of June
Were steeped in midnight's dewy balm.

She seemed to sleep, for lull of pain
Had calmed the fevered pulse a while,
But, as I watched, she woke again,
With wondering glance and eager smile.
The pale lips moved as if to speak,
The thin hand trembled in my own,
Then, with a sigh for words too weak,
The eyelids closed, and she was gone.

Gone! gone!--but where, or how, or when?
I had not seen or form or face;
Unmarked God's messenger had been
Beside me in that sacred place--
No sound of footsteps as he came,
No gleam of glory as he went,
Swift as the lightning's arrowy flame,
Still as the dew the flowers that bent.

Yet she had heard the coming feet,
Had seen the glory of that face,
And, with unuttered raptures sweet,
Had sprung to welcome his embrace
As the swift arrow leaves the string,--
As the glad lark ascends the sky;--
And 'neath that soft o'ershadowing wing,
Swept past the radiant spheres on high.

O track of light! O car of flame!
The calm sky bears no trace of you;
The tranquil orbs sleep on the same,
In heaven's unclouded fields of blue;
And yet, upon this placid clay,
There lingers still that radiance blest,--
Sweet token that her untracked way
Led up to bowers of heavenly rest!

UNDER THE SNOW

Over the mountains, under the snow
Lieth a valley cold and low,
'Neath a white, immovable pall,
Desolate, dreary, soulless all,
And soundless, save when the wintry blast
Sweeps with funeral music past.

Yet was that valley not always so,
For I trod its summer-paths long ago;
And I gathered flowers of fairest dyes
Where now the snow-drift heaviest lies;
And I drank from rills that, with murmurous song,
Wandered in golden light along
Through bowers, whose ever-fragrant air
Was heavy with perfume of flowrets fair,--
Through cool, green meadows where, all day long,
The wild bee droned his voluptuous song;
While over all shone the eye of Love
In the violet-tinted heavens above.

And through that valley ran veins of gold,
And the rivers o'er beds of amber rolled;--
There were pearls in the white sands thickly sown,
And rocks that diamond-crusted shone;--
All richest fruitage, all rarest flowers,
All sweetest music of summer-bowers,
All sounds the softest, all sights most fair,
Made Earth a paradise everywhere.

Over the mountains, under the snow
Lieth that valley cold and low;
There came no slowly-consuming blight,
But the snow swept silently down at night,
And when the morning looked forth again,
The seal of silence was on the plain;
And fount and forest, and bower and stream,
Were shrouded all from his pallid beam.

And there, deep-hidden under the snow,
Is buried the wealth of the long-ago--
Pearls and diamonds, veins of gold,
Priceless treasures of worth untold,
Harps of wonderful sweetness stilled
While yet the air was with music filled,--
Hands that stirred the resounding string
To melodies such as the angels sing,--
Faces radiant with smile and tear
That bent enraptured the strains to hear,--
And high, calm foreheads, and earnest eyes
That came and went beneath sunset skies.

There they are lying under the snow,
And the winds moan over them sad and low.
Pale, still faces that smile no more,
Calm, closed eyelids whose light is o'er,
Silent lips that will never again,
Move to music's entrancing strain,
White hands folded o'er marble breasts,
Each under the mantling snow-drift rests;
And the wind their requiem sounds o'er and o'er,
In the oft-repeated "no more--_no more_"

"No more--no more!" I shall ever hear
That funeral dirge in its meanings drear,
But I may not linger with faltering tread
Anear my treasures--anear my dead.
On, through many a thorny maze,
Up slippery rocks, and through tangled ways,
Lieth my cloud-mantled path, afar
From that buried vale where my treasures are.

But there bursts a light through the heavy gloom,
From the sun-bright towers of my distant home;
And fainter the wail of the sad "no more"
Is heard as slowly I near that shore;
And sweet home-voices come soft and low,
Half drowning that requiem's dirge-like flow.

I know it is Sorrow's baptism stern
That hath given me thus for my home to yearn,--
That has quickened my ear to the tender call
That down from the jasper heights doth fall,--
And lifted my soul from the songs of Earth
To music of higher and holier birth,
Turning the tide of a yearning love
To the beautiful things that are found above;--
And I bless my Father, through blinding tears,
For the chastening love of departed years,--
For hiding my idols so low--_so low_--
Over the mountains, under the snow.

LONGINGS

Sleep, gentle, mysterious healer,
Come down with thy balm-cup to me!
Come down, O thou mystic revealer
Of glories the day may not see!
For dark is the cloud that is o'er me,
And heavy the shadows that fall,
And lone is the pathway before me,
And far-off the voice that doth call--
Faintly, yet tenderly ever,
From over the dark river, call.

Let me bask for an hour in the sun-ray
That wraps him forever in light;
Awhile tread his flowery pathway
Through bowers of unfailing delight;--
Again clasp the hands I lost sight of
In the chill mist that hung o'er the tide,
What time, with the pale, silent boatman,
I saw him away from me glide--
Out into the fathomless myst'ry,
All silent and tranquillized, glide!

Let me look in those eyes so much brighter
For the years they have gazed on the Son,--
On that pure brow grown purer and whiter
In the smile of God's glorified One;--
Let me rest for a while with closed eyelids,
On the bank of Life's river, to hear
The song he has learned since he left me,
Breathed tenderly sweet in my ear--
The song he has learned of the angels
And saved ones, breathed soft in my ear!

_Thou canst not?_--what! hast thou not entered
The gates of yon city of light?--
Not walked in the flower-bordered pathway
Of the saved ones in raiment of white?--
Never stood on the bank of Life's River,
Where gather the glorified throng?
Or glowed with emotion ecstatic
'Neath the swell of their rapturous song--
That song _he_ has learned since he left me,
The redeemed ones' exultant, _new_ song?

O Saviour, the wounded heart's Healer!
I turn from my sorrow to thee,
The gracious and tender Revealer
Of glories thy ransomed shall see!
They will pass--the dark cloud that is o'er me,
The shadows that darken my sky,
And the desolate pathway before me
Will lead to thy mansions on high;--
And with _him I shall rest in thy presence,
Forever and ever on high!

FOUNT OF BLISS

"Yea I have loved thee with an everlasting love."

Love of God!--amazing love!
Height, above all other height,
Depth no creature thought can prove,
Boundless, endless, infinite!
Howsoe'er I sink or rise,
Stretch my powers beyond, abroad,
Pierce the depths or climb the skies,
Find I still the love of God--
_Fount of bliss, exhaustless, free,
Evermore unsealed for me!_

Love of Christ!--amazing love!
Vast as His eternity;
Theme of angel-tongues above,
Theme of souls redeemed like me!
Outward to creation's bound,
Up to Heaven's serenest height,
Universal space around,
Swells the chorus day and night--
_Fount of bliss, exhaustless, free,
Evermore unsealed for me!_

Oh, these tongues that falter so
When we sing of love like this!
Oh, these songs that, faint and low,
More than half their sweetness miss!
Saviour, lift our music higher
Till the notes to rapture spring!
Touch our lips with hallowed fire
From thine altar while we sing--
_Fount of bliss, exhaustless, free,
Evermore unsealed for me!_

AWAY TO THE HILLS

A HOLIDAY SONG.

Away to the hills, away!--
There is health in the summer air;--
The rustling bough, and the bending spray,
And the breath of flowers are there--
The honey-bee's hum and the wild bird's song,
And sunshine and summer winds all day long!

Away to the hills, away!
There are peace and calmness there--
White cloudlets floating in light all day
Through the blue transparent air,--
Rose-tinted mornings and noontides rare,
And sunsets of crimson and gold are there!

Away to the hills, away!
From your weariness and care--
From toil that has held on with tyrant sway,
To quiet and calmness there;
And bask in the beauty and bloom that fills
The cool, sweet depths of the summer hills!

FLOWERS BY A GRAVE

Alien blossoms! tell me why
Seek ye such a lonely place,
Thus to bloom, and droop, and die
Far away from all your race?

Wherefore, from the sunny bowers
Where your beauteous kindred bloom,
Have ye come, O banished flowers!
Thus to decorate a tomb?

"Mortal, dost thou question why
Thus beside the grave we bloom?
Why we hither come to die,
Aliens from our garden-home?

"'Twas Affection's gentle hand
Placed us thus her dead so near;--
Tis at weeping Love's command
That we breathe our fragrance here.

"Ask not why we wither here,
Thou who ne'er hast tasted woe,
Who hast never felt the tear
Of bereaved affection flow,--

"Ask not, till thy household band
By death's cruel stroke is riven,
Till some bright bird'scapes thy hand--
_Then_ thy answer will be given!"

"THREE FOR THREE."

"Giving up three for one!"--mother,
You said in the long ago,
When father, yourself, and John, mother,
I left, o'er the deep to go.
"Giving up three for one!"--mother,
You said, and it sank in my heart;
For tho' strong was my love for the one, mother,
It was hard from the three to part.

But to-day, as I sit alone, mother,
Rocking my little one's bed--
(Not Winnie's bed, dear, but her brother's--)
I am thinking of what you said;
And a sweet thought glads my heart, mother--
Can you guess what the thought can be?
'Tis, that tho' I'd but one in the start, mother,
Yet now I have _three_ for three.

Yes, three for three, my mother,
God is good to your wandering child,
So far from her father and brother,
And you, in this western wild!
And tho' her heart oftentimes yearneth
For its loved ones over the sea,
Yet ever it gratefully turneth
To its home-ties--_three_ for three.

Aye, three for three, sweet mother,
Say, am I not happy to-day?
Tho' something must ever be wanting,
While far from you all away;--
Then thank the dear Lord, my mother,
Who, afar o'er the lonely sea,
Is blessing your absent daughter,
With home ties--_three_ for three!

NOW.

"Now is the accepted time."

Now, sinner, now!
Not in the future, when thy longed-for measure
Thou hast attained, of fame, or power, or pleasure,
When thy full coffers swell with hoarded treasure,
Not then, but now.
God's time may not be thine. When _thou_ art willing,
His Spirit may have taken flight forever,
No more thy soul with keen conviction filling,
Softening thy spirit to repentance never,--
Now, sinner, now!

Now, Christian, now!
Look round, and see what souls are daily dying;
List!--everywhere the voice of human crying
Smiteth the ear;--the moan, the plaint, the sighing,
Come even now.
Rise! gird thyself;--go forth where sorrow weepeth
And ease the pang. Where sin holds guilty revel,
Go tell of God! Where man securely sleepeth
On ruin's verge, go, warn him of the evil
Now, Christian, now!

Now, sinner, now!
Day waneth fast! The noon is spent! To-morrow
Is God's, not thine!--and dost thou hope to borrow
An hour from doom, when bursts the cloud of sorrow
That darkens now?
Nay; the red bolt, e'en now, vindictive flashes
The thunder rolls nearer, and still more near!
Hourly the tide of wrath more sternly dashes
On ruin's rocks!--oh, that thou wouldst but hear
Now, sinner, now!

Now, Christian, now
Gather thy sheaves--the harvest time is hasting
Gather thy sheaves--the precious grain is wasting!
Too many hours Earth's cup of nectar tasting
Thou'st wasted now!
Up, up!--the Master's coming steps already
Echoing adown the steeps of heaven are heard!
The angel-reapers, with firm hand and steady,
Stand, dim-descried, waiting the signal-word
Now, Christian, now!

SUNSET

The glorious sun, behind the western hills,
Slowly, in gorgeous majesty, retires,
Flooding the founts and forests, fields and rills,
With the reflection of his golden fires.
How beauteous all, how calm, how still!
Yon star that trembles on the hill,
Yon crescent moon that raises high
Her beamy horns upon the sky,
Seem bending down a loving glance
From the unclouded skies,
On the green Earth that far away
In solemn beauty lies;--
And, like sweet Friendship in affliction's hour,
Grow brighter still the more the shadows lower.

SWEET EVENING BELLS

Soft evening bells!--sweet evening bells!
O'er vale and plain your music swells,
And far away
The echoes play
O'er shaggy mount and forest grey;
And every rock its secret tells
To your soft chime, sweet evening bells!

Soft evening bells!--sweet evening bells!
Now twilight drapes the woodland dells,
And shadows lie
On the closed eye
Of flowers that dream beneath the sky;
Yet fainter, sweeter, tenderer swells
Your dying chime, sweet evening bells!

O evening bells!--sweet evening bells!
With every note that sinks and swells,
Sadly and slow
The warm tears flow
In pensive pleasure more than woe,
As Mem'ry wakes her witching spells,
'Neath your soft chime, sweet evening bells!

UNKNOWN

Thou hast marked the lonely river,
On whose waveless bosom lay
Some deep mountain-shadow ever,
Dark'ning e'en the ripples' play--
Didst thou deem it had no murmur
Of soft music, though unheard?
Deem that, 'neath the quiet surface,
The calm waters never stirred?

Thou hast marked the pensive forest,
Where the moonbeams slept by night,
While the elm and drooping willow
Sorrowed in the misty light--
Didst thou think those depths so silent
Held no fount of tender song
That awoke to hallowed utt'rance
As the hushed hours swept along?

So, the heart hath much of music,
Deep within its fountains lone,
Very passionate and tender,
Never shaped to human tone!
Dream not that its depths are silent,
Though thou ne'er hast stooped to hear;
Haply, even thence some music
Floats to the All-Hearing ear!

ONWARD

Onward, still on!--though the pathway be dreary,--
Though few be the fountains that gladden the way,--
Though the tired spirit grow feeble and weary,
And droop in the heat of the toil-burdened day;
Green in the distance the hills of thy Canaan
Lift their bright heads in a tenderer light,
Where the full boughs with rich fruits overladen
Spread their luxurious treasures in sight.

Onward, still onward!--around us are falling
Lengthening shadows as daylight departs;
Up from the past mournful voices are calling,
Often we pause with irresolute hearts.
Wherefore look backward?--the flower thou didst gather
Wounded thy hand with the thorn it concealed,--
Onward, and stay not!--the voice of thy Father
Calls thee to glory and bliss unrevealed.

Onward!-Earth's radiance fadeth,--the glory
That gilded her brow when the noon was in prime
Faileth each hour, and the chill mist is hoary!
Gathering thick on the dim shores of time.
Yet as the stars come out brighter and clearer
While the day faints in the slow-fading west,
So do the home-lights grow larger and nearer,
Clearer the ray on the hills of thy rest.

Onward, and stay not!--the fountain, the flower,
Toward which thou'rt pressing with wearying haste.
Are but the mirage that floats for an hour,
Glowing and green o'er the desolate waste;
Yet from the distance come tender home-melodies
Borne from the Summer-land over the flood,
Lovingly wooing thee homeward and Heavenward
To the sweet rest of thy Saviour and God.

LOOKING BACK

Do the dancing leaves of summer
To the time of buds look back?--
Does the river moan regretful
For the brooklet's mountain-track?
Does the ripened sheaf of summer,
Heavy with precious grain,
Ask for its hour of blossom,
And the breath of Spring again?

Does the golden goblet, brimming
With the precious, ruby wine,
Look back with weary longing
To the damp and dusky mine?
Is the sparkling coin, that beareth
A monarch's image, fain
To seek the glowing furnace,
Where they purged its dross again?

Would the chiselled marble gather
Its rubbish back once more.
And lie down, undistinguished,
In the rough rock as before?
Does the costly diamond, blazing
On that crowned and queenly one,
Look back with sorrowful gazing
To the coarse unpolished stone?

And shall man, the grandly gifted,
Earth's monarch, tho' Earth's son,
Turn back to court the shadows
Of existence scarce begun?
Nay; with strong arm and helpful
To aid the world's great lack,
Press on, nor pause a moment,
Supinely to look back!

MINNIEBEL

Where the willow weepeth
By a fountain lone,--
Where the ivy creepeth
O'er a mossy stone,--
With pale flowers above her,
In a quiet dell.
Far from those who love her,
Slumbers Minniebel.

There thy bed I made thee,
By that fountain side,
And in anguish laid thee
Down to rest, my bride!
Tenderest and fairest,
Who thy worth may tell!
Flower of beauty rarest,
Saintly Minniebel!

Weary years have borrowed
From my eye its light,
Time my cheek has furrowed,
And these locks are white;
But my heart will ever
Mid its memories dwell,
Fondly thine forever,
Angel Minniebel!

WEARY.

Weary of dreaming what never comes true,
Weary of thinking what never is new,
Of endeav'ring, yet never succeeding to do.

Weary of walking the dusty, old ways,
Weary of saying what every one says,
Weary of singing old, obsolete lays.

Weary of laughing, to make others laugh,
Weary of gleaning for nothing but chaff,
Of giving the whole, and receiving but half.

Weary of making, so shortly to mend,
Weary of patching, to turn round and rend,
Weary of earning only to spend.

Weary of weeping when tears are so cheap,
Weary of waking when longing to sleep,
Of giving what nobody wishes to keep.

Weary of drinking to thirst ere I've done,
Weary of eating what satisfies none,
Weary of doing what still is undone.

Weary of glitter without any gold,
Weary of ashes grown fireless and cold,
Weary!--the half of it cannot be told!

THE BODY TO THE SOUL

RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO AN OVERWORKED STUDENT.

O tyrant soul of mine,
What's the use
Of this never-ceasing toil,
Of this struggle, this turmoil,
This abuse
Of the body and the brain,
Of this labor and this pain,
Of this never-ceasing strain
On the cords that bind us twain
Each to each?

O tyrant soul of mine,
Is it well
Thus to waste and wear away
The poor, fragile walls of clay
Where you dwell?
Was I made your slave to be--
I the abject, you the free,
That you task me ceaselessly?--
Tyrant soul, come, answer me,
_Is_ it well?

O tyrant soul of mine,
Don't you know
That in slow, but sure decay,
I am wasting day by day,
While you grow
None the better for the strain
On my nerves and on my brain,
For my head's incessant pain,
And my sick heart's longings vain
For repose?

O tyrant soul of mine,
God, the good,
Joined together you and me
In a wondrous unity,
That we should
Work together,-not that I,
You degrade and stupefy,
Nor that you His laws defy
By maltreating ceaselessly
Hapless me!

O tyrant soul of mine,
By and by,
Weary of your cruel reign,
Quite worn out with toil and pain,
I shall die
Then, when I have passed away,
And you're asked whose hand did slay
Your companion of the clay,
Much I wonder what you'll say,
Soul of mine!

NOT YET

"Go thy way, and when I have a more convenient season I will call for
thee."

* * * * *

"The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved."

Not yet, not yet, O Saviour,
Although thou callest me
In life's unclouded morning
Why should I follow thee?
The world and all its pleasures
Outspread before me lie,
When I have grasped its treasures
I'll hear thee, by and by.

Not yet, not yet, O Saviour!--
True, thou hast called me long,
Yet, almost more than ever,
I love the world's glad song!
Say not the years are hasting
With rapid footsteps by,--
Say not life's sands are wasting,
But call me by and by!

Not yet, not yet, O Saviour!
I have no time to stay;
The goal tow'rd which I hasten
Is now not far away.
Another day--and haply
The triumph I shall see,
And grasp my crown of vic'try,--
Then, I will call for thee!

* * *

No more, no more, O sinner,
The Saviour's call is o'er!
The door is shut forever,
To be unclosed no more!--
So late the hour and lonely,
So dark the night and drear,
And He who called thee only
To bless thee, will not hear!

Past is the harvest-gladness,
The summer-bloom is o'er,
Thy sun has set in sadness,
To rise-oh, nevermore!
So late the hour and lonely,
So dark the night and drear,
And He who called thee only
To bless thee, will not hear!

MARGUERITE

Lightly the shadows
Play through the trees,
Green are the meadows,
Soft is the breeze,--
June's early roses,
Pensive and sweet,
Droop where reposes
Lost Marguerite!

Meeting thee never
In the green bowers,--
Missing thee ever
'Mid the fresh flowers,--
Till the long hours die--
Hours once so fleet--
Hopelessly wait I,
Lost Marguerite!

Day has grown weary
In the blue sky,
Summer is dreary,
Melodies die;
Lowly the willow
Droopeth to meet
And kiss thy pillow,
Lost Marguerite!

Flower the fairest
Of sweet summer time,
Rosebud the rarest
Plucked ere its prime,
Mine to weep ever
Where the waves beat,
Meeting thee never,
Lost Marguerite!

"COME UNTO ME."

Weary soul, by care oppressed,
Wouldst thou find a place of rest?
Listen, Jesus calls to thee,
Come, and find thy rest in me!

Hungry soul, why pine and die
With exhaustless stores so nigh?
Lo, the board is spread for thee,
Come, and feast to-day with me!

Thirsty soul, earth's sweetest rill
Mocks thee with its promise still;
Hark, the Saviour calls to thee,
Here is water, come to me!

Homeless soul, thy path is drear,
Angry tempests gather near,
Night is darkening over thee,
Here is shelter, come to me!

Heavenly bread and heavenly wine,
Living waters, all are mine!--
Mine they are, and thine may be,
Weary wand'rer, come to me!

"I WILL NOT LET THEE GO."

Nay, I will not let thee go,
Though the midnight glideth slow,--
Though the darkness deep and long
Dim the sight and hush the song,
On thy tender, faithful breast,
Find I still my perfect rest--
Soothing sweet for keenest woe--
And I will not let thee go!

Nay, I will not let thee go,
Though the morn's enkindling glow
Flame along the mountain-height.
Flooding all the hills with light;
What can morning bring to me,
Tender Shepherd, wanting thee?
What its songs but sobs of woe?
Nay, I will not let thee go!

Nay, I will not let thee go,
Though the day no shadows know;
Though, the sky's serene to dim,
Lower no storm-cloud dark and grim;
Whom have I in Heaven but thee?--
What beside hath earth for me?--
Thou, the only trust I know,--
Nay, I will not let thee go!

Let thee go?--my Saviour, nay
Thou my night's unfailing day,
Thou my dawning's tenderest gleam,
Thou my noonday's richest beam,--
Night is day if thou art near,
Day without thee, joyless, drear,--
Wanting thee, all bliss were woe,--
Nay, I will not let thee go!

GREETING HYMN.

Written for the Alumni of Albion College, Michigan; and sung at their
last re-union, June, 1881.

The gliding years have rolled along,
And once again we come,
With greeting hand and choral song,
To our old college-home;--
Sweet college-home! dear college-home!
We gladly gather here,
Old friends to greet,
Old faces meet,
And sing our songs of cheer!

A welcome true for those we meet,
For those we miss, a sigh;
Of some we ne'er again may greet,
We speak with tearful eye;
Some rest with God, whose feet once trod
These halls with ours of yore;
And some there are
Who wander far
On many a distant shore!

God, bless and keep the ones who roam,
And us who meet again;
And lit us each for that bright home
Where comes no parting pain;--
Oh, aid us still, thro' good or ill
Still earnest for the right,
With spirits true,
To dare and do,
With Heaven and thee in sight!

And as the lingering years go by,
And changeful seasons come,
Still let thine eye rest lovingly
On this old college-home;--
Sweet college-home! dear college-home!
We gladly gather here,
Old friends to meet,
Old faces greet,
And sing our songs of cheer!

ONE BY ONE

One by one, ye are passing, beloved,
Out of the shadow into the light.
One by one,
Are your tasks all done.
Ended the toil, and the swift race run.
Child and maiden, mother and sire,
Sister and brother,
Ye follow each other,
Out of the darkness where we stand weeping,
Weary and faint with our virgil-keeping,
Into the summer-land, peaceful and bright!

One by one, ye are passing, beloved,
Out of the darkness round us that lies--
One by one,
Gliding on alone,
Hearing nor heeding our plaint and moan.
Friend and lover, the fondest, best,
Most tender and true,
Ye pass from our view,
Out of the night that enfolds us ever,
Out of the mists where we moan and shiver;
Into the joy-light of sunniest skies!

One by one, we are hasting, beloved,
Out of the midnight into the day.
One by one,
Are _our_ tasks all done,
And the race that is set us with swift feet run.
Loved and parted ones, still our own,
Nearing you ever
We press toward the river.
Over whose waters ye passed on before us,
Shortly to join in your rapturous chorus,
And swell the hosannas of Heaven for aye!

One by one, ye are greeting, beloved,
Those whom you left for a while in tears.
One by one
Is the bright goal won
By those ye lost sight of at set of sun.
Child and maiden, mother and sire,
Sister and brother,
Ye're greeting each other,
Up where the holy ones round you are singing,
Up where the new song of Heaven is ringing,
Never to part through eternity's years!

LOVE

God so loved me that He gave
Jesus for my sins to die;
Jesus loved me in the grave,
Jesus loves me still on high,--
Father-love and Saviour-love,
Mine on earth and mine above!

Love, from highest heights that stooped,--
Love, to deepest depths that came,--
Love, that 'neath my burden drooped,--
Bore my anguish and my shame--
Died, that I may never die,--
Living, lifts me to the sky!

Love, the arm that reached me first,--
Love, the hand that raised me up,--
Love, my prison-bars that burst,--
Love, that filled my brimming cup--
Filled it full of Heavenly wine--
Filled, and blessed, and made it mine!

Love, the holy, cleansing fount
Where I wash my garments white,--
Love, my Tabor, hallowed mount,
Where I stand with Him in sight,--
Love, my watch-tower, till the day
Chase all earth-born mists away!

AN EVENING HYMN

"I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep; for thou, Lord, only
makest me dwell in safety"

The tranquil hours steal by
On drowsy wings and slow,
And over all the peaceful sky
The stars of evening glow.

No gathering clouds I see,
I hear no rising blast,
I fold my tired hands restfully,
As though all storms were past.

Yet, whether so or not,
O Lord, thou knowest best!
This night, let every anxious thought
And trembling fear have rest

This night I will lie down
In peace beneath thine eye,
Nor heed what ills unseen may frown,
Since thou art ever nigh.

I will lie down and sleep,
From every terror free;
Nor wake to tremble or to weep,
Secure, O Lord, with thee!

DEATH