Chapter I: Hold Still

Pain's furnace heat within me quivers, God's breath upon the flame doth blow, And all my heart in anguish shivers, And trembles at the fiery glow: And yet I whisper, As God will! And in his hottest fire hold still.

He comes and lays my heart, all heated, On the hard anvil, minded so Into his own fair shape to beat it With his great hammer, blow on blow: And yet I whisper, As God will! And at his heaviest blows hold still.

He takes my softened heart and beats it,-- The sparks fly off at every blow; He turns it o'er and o'er, and heats it, And lets it cool, and makes it glow: And yet I whisper, As God will! And, in his mighty hand, hold still.

Why should I murmur? for the sorrow Thus only longer-lived would be; Its end may come, and will, to-morrow, When God has done his work in me; So I say, trusting, As God will! And, trusting to the end, hold still.

He kindles for my profit purely Affliction's glowing fiery brand, And all his heaviest blows are surely Inflicted by a Master-hand: So I say, praying, As God will! And hope in him, and suffer still.

From the German of JULIUS STURM.

THE GOOD GREAT MAN.

How seldom, Friend! a good great man inherits Honor or wealth with all his worth and pains! It sounds like stories from the land of spirits. If any man obtain that which he merits, Or any merit that which he obtains.

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For shame, dear Friend; renounce this canting strain! What wouldst thou have a good great man obtain? Place--titles--salary--a gilded chain-- Or throne of corses which his sword has slain? Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends!

Hath he not always treasures, always friends, The good great man? three treasures,--love, and light, And calm thoughts, regular as infant's breath; And three firm friends, more sure than day and night-- Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

WHEN MY SHIP COMES IN.

Somewhere, out on the blue seas sailing, Where the winds dance and spin; Beyond the reach of my eager hailing, Over the breakers' din; Out where the dark storm-clouds are lifting, Out where the blinding fog is drifting, Out where the treacherous sand is shifting, My ship is coming in.

Oh, I have watched till my eyes were aching, Day after weary day; Oh, I have hoped till my heart was breaking, While the long nights ebbed away; Could I but know where the waves had tossed her, Could I but know what storms had crossed her, Could I but know where the winds had lost her, Out in the twilight gray!

But though the storms her course have altered, Surely the port she'll win; Never my faith in my ship has faltered, I know she is coming in. For through the restless ways of her roaming, Through the mad rush of the wild waves foaming, Through the white crest of the billows combing, My ship is coming in.

Breasting the tides where the gulls are flying, Swiftly she's coming in; Shallows and deeps and rocks defying, Bravely she's coming in; Precious the love she will bring to bless me, Snowy the arms she will bring to caress me, In the proud purple of kings she will dress me. My ship that is coming in.

White in the sunshine her sails will be gleaming, See, where my ship comes in; At mast-head and peak her colors streaming, Proudly she's sailing in; Love, hope, and joy on her decks are cheering. Music will welcome her glad appearing. And my heart will sing at her stately nearing, When my ship comes in.

ROBERT JONES BURDETTE.

NEVER DESPAIR.[6]

Never despair! Let the feeble in spirit
Bow like the willow that stoops to the blast.
Droop not in peril! 'T is manhood's true merit
Nobly to struggle and hope to the last.

When by the sunshine of fortune forsaken
Faint sinks the heart of the feeble with fear,
Stand like the oak of the forest--unshaken,
Never despair--Boys--oh! never despair.

Never despair! Though adversity rages,

Fiercely and fell as the surge on the shore,
Firm as the rock of the ocean for ages,
Stem the rude torrent till danger is o'er.
Fate with its whirlwind our joys may all sever,
True to ourselves, we have nothing to fear.
Be this our hope and our anchor for ever--
Never despair--Boys--oh! never despair.

WILLIAM SMITH O'BRIEN.

[6] These lines were sent to me by William Smith O'Brien, the evening of Monday, October 8, 1848, the day on which sentence of death was passed upon him.

THOMAS FRANCIS MEAGHER. October 12, 1848.

THE SADDEST FATE.

To touch a broken lute,
To strike a jangled string,
To strive with tones forever mute
The dear old tunes to sing--
What sadder fate could any heart befall?
_Alas! dear child, never to sing at all_.

To sigh for pleasures flown.
To weep for withered flowers,
To count the blessings we have known,
Lost with the vanished hours--
What sadder fate could any heart befall?
_Alas! dear child, ne'er to have known them all_.

To dream of love and rest,
To know the dream has past,
To bear within an aching breast
Only a void at last--
What sadder fate could any heart befall?
_Alas! dear child, ne'er to have loved at all_.

To trust an unknown good,
To hope, but all in vain,
Over a far-off bliss to brood,
Only to find it pain--
What sadder fate could any soul befall?
_Alas! dear child, never to hope at all_.

ANONYMOUS.

THE SONG OF THE SAVOYARDS.

Far poured past Broadway's lamps alight, The tumult of her motley throng. When high and clear upon the night Rose an inspiring song. And rang above the city's din To sound of harp and violin; A simple but a manly strain, And ending with the brave refrain-- Courage! courage, mon camarade!

And now where rose that song of cheer. Both old and young stood still for joy; Or from the windows hung to hear The children of Savoy: And many an eye with rapture glowed, And saddest hearts forgot their load, And feeble souls grew strong again, So stirring was the brave refrain-- Courage! courage, mon camarade!

Alone, with only silence there, Awaiting his life's welcome close, A sick man lay, when on the air That clarion arose; So sweet the thrilling cadence rang, It seemed to him an angel sang, And sang to him; and he would fain Have died upon that heavenly strain-- Courage! courage, mon camarade!

A sorrow-stricken man and wife, With nothing left them but to pray, Heard streaming over their sad life That grand, heroic lay: And through the mist of happy tears They saw the promise-laden years; And in their joy they sang again, And carolled high the fond refrain-- Courage! courage, mon camarade!

Two artists, in the cloud of gloom Which hung upon their hopes deferred, Resounding through their garret-room That noble chanson heard; And as the night before the day Their weak misgivings fled away; And with the burden of the strain They made their studio ring again-- Courage! courage, mon camarade!

Two poets, who in patience wrought The glory of an aftertime,-- Lords of an age which knew them not, Heard rise that lofty rhyme; And on their hearts it fell, as falls The sunshine upon prison-walls; And one caught up the magic strain And to the other sang again-- Courage! courage, mon camarade!

And unto one, who, tired of breath, And day and night and name and fame, Held to his lips a glass of death, That song a savior came; Beseeching him from his despair, As with the passion of a prayer; And kindling in his heart and brain The valor of its blest refrain-- Courage! courage, mon camarade!

O thou, with earthly ills beset, Call to thy lips those words of joy, And never in thy life forget The brave song of Savoy! For those dear words may have the power To cheer thee in thy darkest hour; The memory of that loved refrain Bring gladness to thy heart again!-- Courage! courage, mon camarade!

HENRY AMES BLOOD.

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