Chapter VII: Part II (2)

And so I do my task, my daily task,
Working the work that's given me to do,
Getting the daily strength for which I ask,
The needed courage still to help me through;
And my great sorrow passes out of sight,
I have not time to sit and make my moan;
But in the solemn stillness of the night,
My woe comes back to me with heavy groan.
And yet our Father weaves His golden thread
Into the warp of duty's homespun web.

OUT OF THE DEPTHS.

Thou art, and, therefore, Thou art near, oh God!
Thick darkness covers me, I cannot see;
Is this the Shepherd's crook, or the correcting rod,
And by Thy hand, O Father, laid on me?

I cry to Thee, and shall I cry in vain?
My soul looks up as if through prison bars,
Up through the silent Heaven, ah, turn again
Thy face to me, hide not behind the stars.

Thy presence hath been with me in the past,
Where "heaps of witness" mark out all the way;
Thy years change not, Thy love is still as vast,
I look to Thee, I trust Thee though Thou slay.

My friends walk on the hills the sun hath kissed,
Flowers at their feet, their sky is blue and fair;
I'm prisoned in this vale of tearful mist,
Shut in with sorrow, darkened by despair.

I, too, once walked with footsteps glad and free,
Light round my head, and in my mouth a song;
Manna fell round my dwelling-place for me.
For me the living waters flowed along.

Thy hand had set my feet upon a rock,
That Rock stands fast, why then this loss and harm?
I cannot find the footsteps of the flock,
I cannot feel the Well-Beloved's arm.

They hold me in derision, for they say,
Where is the God in whom you seemed to trust!
Righteous art Thou O Lord! and if I may
But find Thee I will lay me in the dust.

Saying, awake, arise my God, to me
Turn in Thy love the mercy of Thy face;
Then shall the day break, and the shadows flee,
And I will sing of Thy sufficient grace.

ERIN, MAVOURNEEN.

A Prize Poem.

I know Canada is fair to see, and pleasant; it is well
On the banks of its broad river 'neath the maple trees to dwell;
But the heart is very wilful, and in sorrow or in mirth,
Mine will turn with sore love-longing to the land that gave me birth;
And I wish that, oh but once again! my longing eyes might see
The green island that lies smiling on the bosom of the sea;
That is fed with heaven's dew and the fatness of the earth,
Fanned by wild Atlantic breezes that sweep over it in mirth.

Its green robe is starred with daisies; it is brilliant fresh and
fair,
With a verdure that no other spot of earth affords to wear.
It has banks of pale primroses that like bits of moonlight glow;
There are hawthorn hedges blossomed out like drifts of perfumed snow,
Bluebells swinging on their slender stems and cowslips on the lea.
I was better for the lessons they in childhood taught to me;
And still sweet is every memory, and blessed each regret
That twines round that dear island home, which our hearts cannot
forget.

From where Antrim's giant columns at the north are piled on high,
The sentinels of centuries tow'ring up against the sky,
From mountain top and purple heath, from valleys fair to see,
Where streams of flashing crystal bright are flowing merrily,
To Kerry's lakes of loveliness that dimple in the sun.
'Tis fair as any spot of earth that heaven's light shines upon.
O Erin, my mother Erin, dear land more kind than wise,
I think of thee till loving tears come thronging to my eyes.

Thou hast nourished on thy bosom many sons of deathless fame;
Who, while the world will last, shall shed a lustre on thy name.
While Foyle's proud swelling waters roll past Derry to the sea;
While yet a single vestige of old Limerick's walls there be;
Shall those who love thee well, fair land, lament that feuds divide
The sons of those who for each cause stood fast on either side.
From every ruined castle grey, well may the banshee cry
O'er bitter waters once let loose that have not yet run dry

O would the blessed time might come when, party feeling done,
The noble deeds of both sides will be gathered into one!
On the battle-fields of Europe thy sons quit themselves like men,
Till those who made them exiles longed for their good swords again,
Wherever fields were fought and won, in thickest of the fray,
Where steel bit steel, thy sons have fought and laurels bore away
And thou hast bards in deathless song thy heroes' praise to sing,
Or make hearts throb responsive when for love they touch the string

Thou hast lovely, white-armed daughters so tender and so true,
As modest as the daisies, and as spotless as the dew,
With flashes of sweet merriment, and virtue still and strong
They fire the patriot's heart and charm the poet into song
Thou hast nourished those right eloquent to plead with tongue and pen,
For those eternal rights which men so oft deny to men,
And land of saints in song like mine, but little can be said
Of those who stand for God between the living and the dead

Thou'rt not without His witnesses for children of thy sod,
In lofty and in lowly life, are found who walk with God
Land of the hearty welcome! who travels thy valleys o'er
Knows more of human kindness than he ever knew before.
While some are kind to friends alone, thy sons whate'er befal
More like the blessed sun and rain have kindliness for all.
O Erin, my mother Erin! much my love would say of thee,
Were my lips but half so eloquent as my heart would have them be.

As Moses longed for Lebanon, so I long that once again
My feet might press the shamrocks in the meadows by the Maine.
Oh to see the wee brown larks again, once more to hear them sing,
As up to heaven's blessed gates they soar on tireless wing!
I'd watch them till I'd half forget the burden of my years,
And tender thoughts of childhood would well up in happy tears.
I may never see thee more, _mo run_, but with each breath I draw
Thou art still to me _mavourneen_, so _an slainte leat gu bragh._

WRITTEN FOR THE O'CONNEL CENTENARY.

Sons of the bright, green island,
Gathered by the pine-fringed lake,
In honour of his memory,
Who battled for your sake,
Listen, we too pay our tribute
To a fame that well endures;
He, who ventured much for liberty,
Is ours as well as yours.

Men fought in vain for freedom,
And lay down in felon graves;
"Your noblest then were exiles,
Your proudest then were slaves"
When the people, blind and furious,
Maddened by oppression's scorn,
Struggled, seethed in wild upheaval,
Was the Liberator born.

Who took the sword fell by the sword,
This man was born to show,
How thoughts would win where steel had failed
One hundred years ago
By force the patriot tried in vain
To stem oppression's might,
This man arose and won the cause,
By pleading for the right.

He stood to plead for liberty
On Dunedin's Calton-hill;
No man had ever greater power
To move men's hearts at will
Erin, without name, senate, flag,
This, her advocate and son,
Pleaded for those who tried and lost,
With those who tried and won

He stood to ask for justice,
For ruth and mercy's grace,
For a people of another faith,
And of another race
He stood on ground made holy
By resistance unto wrong,
And Scotia's freemen gathered round,
Full twenty thousand strong

And rock and distant city,
The broad Forth gliding clear,
Yea, every heath-clad hill-top
Had hushed itself to hear,
From the shades of hero martyrs
Of patriotic fame,
From the land they thought worth fighting for,
High inspiration came

He won the cause he strove for,
With bold undaunted brow,
And his name and fame roll brightening on
Along the years till now,
All honour to his memory,
May his words, where'er they fall,
Bring forth the love of liberty,
And equal rights to all

WE LAMENT NOT FOR ONE BUT MANY

'At last he is dead'
So the wondering, horror-struck neighbours said,
A skilful touch of his knife
Has cut the thread of a wasted life
He has reached the end of the downward road,
And rushed unbidden to meet his God,
Over every duty past every tie,
Unwarned, unhindered, he rushed along,
Through the wild license of sin, and wrong,
And into the silent eternity

Relax thy anguished watch, O wife
And fold thy hands--and yet--and yet,
After all the tears which thou hast wept,
Through nights when happier mortals slept,
Thou only wilt weep with fond regret,
Over the corpse of the hopeless dead
For the cause accursed, of drink he has bled,
For that cause he lived and suffered and died
Many deaths in one horrible life,--
The death of his honour, the death of his pride,
On that altar he sacrificed child and wife
Hope, liberty, purity, more than life
Lifes life, God's image, he crushed and killed,
Tore and defaced, wasted and spoiled,
Uncurbed in passion, iron willed,
For _this_ long years he has laboured and toiled,
Devoted his talents, his time his breath,
And at the last his blood he has shed
Truly the wages of sin is death

He was once a babe on a mother's breast,
Tenderly nourished, cared for, caressed
Watched with a mother's love and pride
Dreams of the future warm and bright,
High hopes ambitions in rainbow light
Clustered around him a fairy swarm
Of tender fancies sweet and warm,
As she hung over his cradle bed,
In all this world there's none so bright,
So clever as mother's heart's delight
My child of promise," she proudly said

Oh would to God that he then had died
Died when the anguish of heartstrings torn,
The sudden stilling of childish laughter,
The awful vacance that fills the place
Of the soft, warm touch, of the dear, dear face,
Of the sweet dead child that the heart gropes after
For God's own voice to the mourner saith,
"Be still, I am God, there is hope in his death'

Alas! for the woe that under the sun
Can find no comfort! this child lived on.
What must be his mother's sorrow and sin,
If she held the glass to his infant lips
Taught him the taste of sweetened gin,
As a cure for every childish pain,
To be tried and tampered with once and again
If she taught him to worship at fashion's shrine,
In its magic circle to look on wine.
To pour it sparkling in ruby light,
The adder's sting the serpent's bite,
Came to him at last among evil men,
But he once was a boy,
A mother's joy,
Clever and gifted with tongue and pen,
The cup of temptation
Was inspiration,
Oh would to God he had died even then
The mother's tears shed over the slain,
Had then had hope in their bitter pain

O mothers, stronger than life is love
And your love is most like God's above,
And power likest God's to you is given,
With the greatest trust that is under heaven
He gives to your hands to have and to hold
More precious than rubies, better than gold
God's little children to teach and to train,
And to lead them upward to Him again
God keep you and save you from earning the curse
That shadows the life with hopeless remorse
He once was a lover an innocent maid
Into his keeping gave up her life,
Into his hand her own she laid
For better, for worse
As a blessing, a curse,
Took on her the sacred name of wife,
And stood at her post through all these years
Of sorrow and sin, of anguish and tears
There have been martyrs for God and right,
Passed through blood and fire into endless light
Count all the martyrs to right that died
Since Abel's blood to Jehovah cried
There are but few in that shining throng
Compared to the martyrs of sin and wrong
Count not that woman's life by years,
Count by the dropping of heart-wrung tears
To the common lot of toil and care,
That dims the eye and the heart strings wring,
He added, of woe that none could share,
Whole ages of sorrow and suffering

She bore her torture for duty's sake,
Firm as saint in the tower and at the stake,
Bore want and woe, and his evil name,
For him who for years was dead to shame
She saw his brood about her knee
Into an evil lot they were born
To bear for his sin the cruel scorn
Of the world unthinking, hard and cold
Prematurely saddened, early old,
They never knew home as a place of rest,
Except when their home was the mother's breast,
And worse than all she had to see
Them taught the secrets of sin and woe,
Which happier children never know
Alas! that such a thing should be
Her darlings were made to pass through the fire
To the Moloch of vice and sinful desire,
The father's example of life and tongue
Brought the knowledge of evil to them while young,
And in sorrow and shame,
That none may name,
In strife and sin all tempest-tost
The innocence God gives to babes was lost
All is over, nought's left but dishonoured clay,
But the evil men do lives longer than they.
Of a truth the saddest for tongue or pen
Are these words o'er a ruin--"He might have been,"
And sadder the words in jest set free
"This is; but alas! it should not be."
He has passed into darkness who lived in vain;
But what shall their future portion be,
Who, passing by on the other side,
Themselves from the curse secure and free,
No plan of relief or rescue tried?
Or worse, made profit out of his pain,
And lured him on to his death for gain?

LINES FOR THE BRIDAL

They will place a bridal wreath, maiden,
To crown all your shining hair;
The mist-like cloud of the bridal veil
Will float round a face most fair.

They will dress you in bridal robes, maiden,
And the holy words be said,
And the ring put on and two made one,
And the maiden we love be wed.

You'll give him your virgin hand, maiden,
And become a wedded wife;
That hand will mingle "honey for two"
To sweeten the bitter of life.

They will give you costly gifts, maiden,
And many a wish beside
Will rise in prayer in blessings come down
On thy head O fair young bride

And kind will the bridegroom be maiden
True and tender as years roll on
Who learns to love in the school of Christ
Will cherish what he has won

And so what can I say more maiden
Wooed and won and to be wed,
Pray that His blessing who loved till death
May rest on your fair young head

In the hollow of His hand maiden,
He will keep you who fainteth not
He will cause the splendour of His face
To shine on your happy lot

WELCOME HOME

You are coming home with the breath of spring
Flying home to a love-lined nest,
Most loving care hath made it fair
Your hands will do the rest

And the bridal robe you have laid aside
And the vail all of lacy foam,
The maiden's wed, the tour is sped
So welcome, welcome home

The past is laid by with the bridal wreath
The bride has come home a wife,
And now we pray that blessings may
Crown all your wedded life

What shall be the blessing, my dearest dear,
When it's all that we have to give?
That peace and love, from God above,
Be yours while ye both shall live.

That high love that makes of the wife a queen,
Of a cottage a palace home,
The coarse web fine, life's water wine,
The fire-side chair a throne.

Love that drops like dew from heaven to fill
With all blessing your earthly cup;
That draws you nigh to Him Most High,
Bidding your souls look up

Unto Him who has ordered all your lot,
To the Hand that will give the best,
That bids you come up to His home
To be His wedding guest.

BAPTISM IN LAKE ALLUMETTE

Oh Allumette, hemmed with thy fringe of pine,
Watched over by thy mountains far away,
Thy waters have been troubled oftentime,
Never before as they have been to day!

The red man on the war path, with light stroke,
Hath cleaved thy waters moving stealthily;
Hunter and hunted deer thy surface broke
With splash and struggle of the living prey.

Across thy bosom venturous Champlain
And faithful Brule have pursued their way;
Seeking for distant golden Indian vain
Finding Coulonge while searching for Cathay

The knights of industry the sons of toil,
Trouble thy waters in the eager strife
To win success and wealth, the glittering spoil
For which men daily peril more than life

'Twas a new motive from their homes to day
That drew an eager wondering people out,
Like those who from Mount Zion took their way,
From Judah and the regions round about

It might have been the Jordan flowed along
Or that, sweet stream where people met for prayer,
Still expectation held the gathering throng
By the lake shore, in the hushed Sabbath air

And earnest, fervent pleading prayer was made
Rose the sweet strains of the old Scottish psalm
And words of witness for God's truth were said,
The only sound that broke the sacred calm

Then down into the waters of the lake,
The preacher and believer slowly came,
Not heeding scornful words for His dear sake,
Who bore the cross for us despised the shame

Buried with Him by baptism to death
Following the path which He the Sa lour trod,
To rise with Him to that new life He saith
He hath laid up for us with Christ in God

GOOD-BYE.

(To Miss E E.)

I cannot write, my tears are flowing fast,
Yet weeping is unnatural to me;
Oh! that this hour of bitterness was past--
The parting hour with all I love and thee

If I had never met or loved thee so,
To part would not have caused me this sharp pain;
Parting so oft occurring here below,
And they who part so seldom meet again.

Yet over land or sea, where'er I go,
My home, my friends, shall flit before my eyes--
And oft I anxiously shall wish to know,
If in thy bosom thoughts of me arise.

Oh, I will think of bygone days of glee,
Though on each point of bitter sorrow driven;
I will not bid thee to remember me,
But oh! see to it that we meet in Heaven.

1844.

WEEP WITH THOSE WHO WEEP.

(Mary Maud.)

O friends, I cannot comfort, but will share with you your grieving,
In the valley of the shadow where you sit in helpless tears;
Greater is the parting anguish, than the joy of first receiving
The sweet gift that was your treasure through five happy, golden
years

When I laid within your arms the dear babe that God had given,
There was hidden in the future all the tears that you must weep,
Ah! the little ones so tangled in our heart-strings, they are riven
In the parting, are but treasures lent not given us to keep

There's silence in the places her voice filled with happy laughter,
Stillness waiting for the echo of the patter of her feet,
You are gazing on her picture, and your heart is longing after
The tender touch of the little hands, the mouth that was most sweet

In the valley of the shadow, where by God's will you are sitting,
Earthly sounds shut out and stilled, yea, and heaven so very near,
That the little golden head, through the open doorway flitting,
Might come smiling any moment and be greeted without fear

With earthly toil and serving we will not get encumbered,
Our hearts rise to our treasures that are laid up with the King,
There your little maiden, Maud, with His jewels fair are numbered,
There she learns the songs of gladness that the heavenly children
sing

Among those pure and precious who have known no earthly sinning,
The Beloved's fair white lilies in the Paradise of God,
Those He looked upon and loved, when their lives were but beginning,
And brought home before their tender feet grew weary of the road

There clothed on with his beauty, round the child all bliss will
gather,
All the brightness of the Father's face when looking on His own;
For the little children's angels see the bright face of the Father,
And gather on the rainbow steps that are around the throne.

For evermore in safety, by the Lamb led to the valleys,
Where the light of God is brooding, and life's storms are ever
furled;
No more watching, no more praying, no more guarding from the malice
Of all evil, lest her garments should be spotted by the world.

Heaven draws nearer in our sorrow, and the earth-born cares keep
silence,
And the still, small voice says kindly, "Though the child may come no
more,
Time is passing, and the moment approaches from the distance,
When the message to come after will appear within the door."

Oh, well it is for baby, safe, and past all toil and grieving,
The dear head is laid so early on a loving Saviour's breast;
Be not faithless, oh my friends, but submissive and believing,
The Hand that makes no blunders hath laid the babe at rest

TO ELIZABETH RAY

First of women, best of friends
Take what a village rhymer sends,
A tear wet trifle sent to tell
The giver must bid thee farewell!
And shall I then when o'er the sea
Forget thee? No, it cannot be
When thinking of much loved Grace Hill,
[1] Its drops of joy, its drafts of ill
I shed the fond regretting tear,
For those I did I do hold dear,
First shall mid those I parted with
Stand Friendship's Ray Elizabeth

[Footnote 1: Burns]

1844

FAREWELL TO LORD AND LADY DUFFERIN

In leaving us, whom thou hast governed well
Holding the helm of state through all these years
The land at large unites in a farewell
That's mingled with regret akin to tears

My Lord, we welcomed you in coming here
As one our gracious Queen thought fit to send
Your term of office hath so made you dear
We say farewell to you as friend to friend

It is not homage paid to honours worn
Lightly, as that which comes to one unsought;
Nor to thy high desent, oh nobly born
Nor to the aristocracy of thought.

And yet we do not undervalue here
Honours the nobles of our land enjoy;
We hold in high esteem the British Peer,
Warm to the ancient name of Clandeboye.

Warmly we feel to one who is akin
To that most marvellous genius Sheridan;
But warmer still the tribute that you win,
Paid, not to Lord, or Viceroy, to the man,

Who of no party, yet both far and near,
In distant wilderness and crowded mart,
With words that rouse and stimulate and cheer,
Has drawn the whole Dominion to your heart.

From Essex, by thy waters, sweet St. Clair,
To Gaspe, sentry on a stormy coast;
From Prima Vista to Vancouver, where
Will your departure be regretted most?

No Viceroy of this land has ever left
Such large regrets, as you my Lord, will do;
For admiration, confidence, respect
Are felt for you the wide Dominion through.

The miner at his work, the axeman where
He hews out fortune with enduring toil;
The farmer with his plenty and to spare,
For laughing harvests crown our fruitful son.

The fisher on our coast, the pioneer
Who strives the distant wilderness to tame;
The Indian hunter, wild unknown to fear,
On his swift horse swooping upon his game

From settlers fanned by keen Atlantic air,
To those the broad Pacific's breezes cool,
To forest shade and prairie verdure, where
Sit Indian maidens in the mission school

Never did Governor before receive
Such loyal homage as your heart has won,
Nor left so fair a record as you leave,
Or stood so near to us as you have done

You have the kindly sympathetic heart
Of her who loved the common people well,
The noble lady who with witching art
Taught us to sing the "Emigrant's Farewell.'

And the dear lady who has reigned your queen
Over the gaieties of Rideau Hall,
Her genial, gracious courtesies have been,
A talisman to win the hearts of all

Oh, Earl, and Countess, if good wishes may
Add anything to your most brilliant state,
The wide Dominion with one heart will pray
You may be blessed of God as well as great

A WELCOME

THE CAMPBELLS ARE COMING

Gather, oh gather! gather, oh gather
On with the philabeg every man
And up with the bonnet and badge of your father,
Belt on the plaid of the great Campbell clan
From the heather clad hills of that island
In whose straths and glens your fathers were born
They come, and so gather, ye hearts that are Highland,
Welcome the Lord and the Lady of Lorne!
Gather, oh gather, &c.

Ocean to ocean the welcome is ringing,
Fair Indian summer, with blush and with smile,
O'er forests her right royal vesture is flinging
To welcome the bride and heir of Argyle.
Princess of Lorne, we rise to receive her,
First royal lady our country has seen,
To this, the wide land of the maple and beaver,
We welcome thee Princess, child of our Queen.
Gather, oh gather, &c.

We had regret we sought not to smother--
Kind Earl, dear Countess were called to depart;
But thoughtfully, kindly, the fair Queen our mother,
Sends the son of her choice, the child of her heart.
There is a stir, a bustle, a humming,
The tartans are waving, plumes floating free,
While trumpet and drum sound, "The Campbells are coming"
We are all Campbells in welcoming thee.
Gather, oh gather, &c.

Son of Argyle, so near to the sceptre,
And Princess Louise fair child of a throne,
We welcome to stand for our Queen in this empire,
Rule us, and love us, and make us your own
Blow, wild pibroch, that welcomes no other!
Shout million-voiced _failte_, wave banners the while;
She's worthy, fair child of so royal a mother,
He's worthy the name and fame of Argyle.
Gather, oh gather, &c.

DEATH OF NORMAN DEWAR

(Mr Norman Dewar, commission merchant, a native of Glengarry, Canada who had been assisting Captain McCabe as commissary of the Memphis Relief Committee, died of yellow fever after three days illness A brave and gentle nature, he was loved by a host of friends and will long be remembered as among the noblest of the band of gallant men who during this fearful epidemic died at the post of duty)

Far away from stricken Memphis
Came the tidings sad and sure
That among the many fallen,
Fell the clansman Norman Dewar

There are eyes unused to weeping
With the tears of sorrow dim,
Hearts with nature's anguish heaving,
Yet 'tis wrong to weep for him

None who fell in glorious battle,
In the shock of meeting steel,
Fell more bravely, died more nobly
More like son of true Lochiel

When the cry arose in Memphis
That the yellow death had come,
When the rich in fear were fleeing,
And the poor with terror dumb,

Famine following the fever,
Want of all things awful death,
When forsaken by their kindred,
Human souls gave up their breath,

There were men who felt God's pity,
Strong to do and to endure,
And among these brave and noble,
At his post stood Norman Dewar

Firm and gentle, true and tender,
Knowing all the danger well,
This true son of old Glengarry
Stood on duty till he fell

Highland hearts have breasted battle,
Highland veterans show their scars,
Highland blood has flowed like water
In our Gracious Sovereign's wars.

We have praised in song and story,
Those who bravely fought and fell,
For Old England's might and glory,
For the Queen they love so well.

And shall we this time be silent
O thou clansman firm and true,
Shall not loyal brave Glengarry,
Through her tears feel proud of you

Thou hast fought the sternest battle,
Thou hast met the grimmest foe;
Christ-like stood by the forsaken
Stood till death has laid thee low.

Praise thy sons, dear old Glengarry,
Prompt to do, calm to endure;
And among your very noblest,
Set God's hero Norman Dewar.

THE SHADOW OF THE ALMIGHTY

The Rev Mr Young was one stormy day visiting one of his people, an old man, who lived in great poverty in a lonely cottage a few miles from Jedsburg. He found him sitting with his Bible open upon his knees, but in outward circumstances of great discomfort, the snow drifting in through the roof and under the door, and scarcely any fire in the hearth. "What are you about to day, John?" asked Mr Young on entering "Ah, sir," said John, "I am sitting under His shadow with great delight."

They only see the snow heaped on the moor,
The bare trees shivering in the winter's breath,
The icy drift that sifteth through the door,
Me, old and poor, waiting the call of death.

They think my cot is bare and comfortless,
With broken roof and paper-mended pane,
They see but poverty and loneliness,
And think in pity that my death were gain.

They know not, Master, that Thou art so near,
Thou holdest me, I lean upon Thy might,
I know Thy voice, Thy whisperings I hear,
I stay beneath Thy shadow with delight.

The royal purple of Thy garment died,
From Bozrah, is spread over even me,
All my unworthiness, my want I hide
Under Thy princely vesture shelteringly.

Thy hand is underneath my weary head,
Thy strong right hand that saved me long ago;
I'm cradled in Thy arms and comforted,
What more have I to do with want or woe

What more indeed! so sheltered, so embraced,
For ever Thou art mine and I am Thine,
Thy banner's love, Thy fruit sweet to my taste,
Thou givest to my lips the Kingdom's wine.

How sweetly solemn is this awful place!
Where all of earth fades out and vanishes,
I cannot fear while I behold Thy face,
My help, my friend, the Lord my righteousness.

I do not feel the waters cold and deep,
Waters to swim in through whose waves I come,
The love that holds me up is strong to keep,
'Tis but a little way from this to home

My sight grows dim, my one Redeemer, Lord,
Bring nearer still the brightness of Thy face,
I hear Thy voice, assuring is Thy word,
Close to Thy heart is my abiding place.

We're nearing home--forever all is well,
In through the agate windows I can see
The place prepared--glory ineffable,
To which in royal love Thou leadest me

IN MEMORY OF JOHN LEACH CRAIG

In the midst of Life we are in Death.

What is it that has stilled the usual hurry,
Checking the eager tread of rapid feet?
Why does the business face look sad and sorry
Within the place where merchants choose to meet?
A something not unusual or strange,
One face is missing on the Corn Exchange.

Alas! they say he had uncommon merit,
High the esteem and confidence he won;
He brought to business life a joyous spirit,
And mixed commercial tact with boyish fun.
We miss his breezy laugh, his pleasant face,
The skill that marked him for the foremost place.

There is a ship steaming across the billow,
That should have brought him to his mother's knee;
Did warning dreams hover around her pillow,
Of the dear face she never more shall see?
She sits at home deeming that all is well,
Who shall the tale of her bereavement tell?

She waited for him in the bright May morning,
When the spring buds were blooming in their prime,
And the green earth was crowned with their adorning,
To greet his coming with the summer time.
The mists have fallen and her eyes are dim,
Looking across death's valley after him.

The good ship sailed upon the day of sailing,
And furled her sails in port the voyage o'er;
But in his home waiting is changed to wailing,
For he will come to them on earth no more.
The Master called--he answered speedily,
And sailed away across the "silent sea."

They praise him in the land of his adoption,
Say what he was, and what he might have been,
Speak of the honours that were at his option,
Since he came here a fair lad of nineteen.
That upward has his path been ever since,
To sit among the first a merchant prince.

The "never more" chills through the friendly praises,
Never to see his face, his coming form;
Never his foot shall stand on Antrim daisies,
Or tread again the Parks of old Galgorm;
Nor sleep among his fathers, silent, still,
Beneath the sycamores in fair Grace Hill.

His mother in her island home is weeping,
For what her eyes desired she shall not see;
The fair young wife her widowed vigil keeping
Among her babes on this side of the sea--
One in their sorrow which is all too deep
For comfort--theirs to sit apart and weep.

Mother and wife one in their poignant grieving,
One in their anguish over lifeless clay;
One in the consolation of believing
That he was worthy who has passed away.
By sorrow consecrate and set apart,
To ponder all the past within their heart.

The mother, with her heartstrings quivering after
The Master's stroke, sits underneath the cross;
The sad wife stilling all the childish laughter
Of his sweet babes, too young to feel their loss.
Who wonder in the quiet, darkened home,
Why their glad-voiced papa will never come.

So in his home beside the terraced mountain,
They sit within the shadow of his death;
So they who were the tardy moments counting,
Till he would come to them with summer's breath.
His kith and kin by the Maine water's side,
Weep very sore for love of him that died.

Oh Death is ever coming, loved ones going,
Hearts rent with sorrow because one is not;
The waves of trouble ever swelling, flowing,
Past the tall castle, past the sheltered cot!
"I am bereaved!" is the unceasing moan,
Rising forever to our Father's throne.

O Christ Thou dost remember earthly weeping,
When the bereaved at Thy dear feet have cried,
Beside the grave where the much loved lay sleeping,
"Lord if Thou hadst been here he had not died."
Comfort the mourning friends, the sorrowing wife,
O Thou the Resurrection and the life!

FAREWELL

My brother George has gone from me,
Far away o'er the trackless sea.
His gladdening voice I hear not now,
I see not the light of his sunny brow.
My cheeks with lonely tears are wet;
But go where he will he will love me yet.
O Thou whose blessings the heart enlarge,
Keep from all evil my brother George!

1842.

THE PRINCE OF ANHALT DESSAU.

From Carlisle.

The young Prince of Anhalt Dessau,
The Dowager's only son,
Was a sturdy strong-limbed fellow
And a most determined one.

Shook the tutor his locks of silver,
"And if I have any skill,
This young Prince of Anhalt Dessau,
He will always work his will.

"I cry to the Wise for wisdom,
I cry for strength to the Strong,
That I train him to stand firmly
For the right against the wrong.

"If he grow to gracious manhood,
I shall not have wrought in vain,
And my Fatherland so noble
Shall most surely reap the gain."

The Dowager in her chamber,
With pride did her blue eyes shine;
"Fatherland hath many princes,
But none of them all like mine.

"He has courage, fire and wisdom,
Yet tender of heart is he;
Proud, but just and full of pity;
This is as a prince should be.

"My son, growing up so worthy,
Shall comfort my widowed fears;
And he shall be my strong right hand,
Through the cares of future years."

The Dowager's waiting women
Said; "Our Prince gives up the chase,
And every day his steed reins he
Down there in the market-place.

"He forgets his rank so princely,
To his grievous harm and loss;
A trap for his youth so tender
Is laid by the damsel Fos."

The Princess rode in her chariot,
Away to the market-place,
With her own proud eyes beholding
The beautiful tempter's face.

But she saw a stately maiden,
With such pure and dove-like eyes,
Clothed in beauty like a flower,
Or a saint from Paradise.

"No wonder my son, so youthful,
Fixed his heart on one like thee;
For if I were a Prince of Dessau,
Willing captive I might be.

"But you are a doctor's daughter,
My son's of a princely line;
You may wed with one more humble,
But never with son of mine.

"But my son is very wilful,
We must conquer him with guile;
To foreign courts he shall away,
Where most noble ladies smile.

"One he'll see whose rank is princely,
Fair of form and fair of face;
She shall win him by her beauty
From his love in the market-place."

Said the lily maiden weeping,
"'Twere well we had never met,
Go, my Prince, to be with princes,
Be happy, and so forget."

Said the Prince of Anhalt Dessau:
"What's to be God keeps in store;
I am Prince of Anhalt Dessau,
But your lover for evermore.

"Duty is the yoke of princes,
It is good I go away;
For that widow's son there's blessing,
Who his mother can obey.

"But we who are ruling princes,
Should be patterns of faith and truth,
The Prince thou hast loved, my lily,
Shall never deceive thy youth.

"For as sure as to the ocean
Arrow-swift flows on the Rhine,
I go for my mother's pleasure,
I am coming back for thine."

A year past--the waiting-women
Said: "Our Prince is back again,"
And he shows before the Empire,
That his mother's plans are vain.

He came from the courts of Europe,
He came to his mother's knee;
But first went to the market-place,
The maiden he loved to see.

Said the Princess, "Son, you're welcome,
Anhalt Dessau's hope and pride;
Have you well and wisely chosen
For Dessau a high-born bride?"

"I saw many royal beauties,
Dames courtly and fair and kind,
But with married eyes I saw them,
For my heart was left behind."

Said the lady to her council:
"So our plans have failed thus far,
He'll forget his low-born chosen
When he learns to look on war.

"While he's gone I'll seek to rid me
Of the beauty which I dread,
I will give a precious dower
To him who shall woo and wed."

Said the Doctor to his daughter:
"Here's a life of wealth and ease,
And a fair bridegroom too, daughter,
For we must our Princess please."

"Ah me!" said the lily maiden,
"That I am the cause of strife!
Woeful is the gift of beauty--
I'll be an unwilling wife.

"I have no strength for the battle,
No more than a wounded dove;
O Leopold Anhalt Dessau,
Where art thou, my only love?"

With a moan of helpless sorrow,
From the bridegroom turned her face,
And saw a gallant troop of horse
Drawn up in the market-place.

A strong arm is soon around her,
Young Dessau is by her side,
"Draw and defend yourself, you wretch!
Who would dare to claim my bride."

Then he stood before his mother,
With a stern and angry face;
"I have stopped a gallant wedding,
Begun in the market-place.

"The maid thou wouldst give in marriage,
Is mine by her plighted word;
And his blood who would supplant me,
Has reddened on my good sword.

"Be a queen in Anhalt Dessau,
Let tower and town be thine;
But leave unto me my treasure,
This fair low-born love of mine.

"She's my first love and my last one,
And never we two shall part;
I'll take her--with rites most holy
I will bind her to my heart."

Now the holy words are spoken,
At the young Dessau's command.
He wedded the lily maiden,
And he gave her his left hand.

"What's to be," said Anhalt Dessau,
"Is known but to God above,
But I have obeyed my mother,
Been true to my early love.

"Now must I go to the battle,
Leave mother and bride behind;
My wife, be a child to my mother,
Mother, to my love be kind.

"A soldier's life is uncertain,
Let us sternly do our best,
Love and duty be our watchword,
And leave to our God the rest."

And thus the high Prince of Dessau,
While giving obedience due
To his gracious lady mother,
To his own first love was true.

* * *

He is gone away to battle,
He's always in high command;
As a man of vast resources,
Who is as the king's right hand.

Drilling, battling, planning, seiging,
The bravest of all the brave;
The wisest of all in counsel,
Loyal, courteous, kind and grave.

This was in the time of battles,
Battles for the native land;
Whatever was in safe keeping,
Was held by the strong right hand.

Anhalt Dessau, bold and daring,
Anhalt Dessau wise and slow,
With a brain full of expedients,
To subdue or outwit the foe.

In each conflict still to conquer,
In each counsel wiser grown,
Till he stood above his fellows,
A supporter of the throne.

Till the king in council chamber,
Said: "My lords we must devise
New honours for Anhalt Dessau,
My general brave and wise.

"Leopold of Anhalt Dessau,
First in counsel, first in fight,
What high reward you choose to name
Is yours by undoubted right."

"My Liege, to have served my country
And King till the strife is o'er,
To be Sovereign Prince of Dessau,
Is so much that I ask no more.

"Nought for me but that I labour
For my country all my life,
If you wish to do me honour,
Make a princess of my wife.

"I married her with my left hand,
For she was of low degree,
I'd wed her with my right--with both,
For so dear is she to me."

"We will make thy wife a princess."
Said the King with kindling brow,
"God grant she may bring to Dessau,
Many sons so brave as thou.

"You are Sovereign Prince of Dessau
By the right of princely birth,
She is Sovereign Queen of Beauty,
As fair as there walks the earth.

"She's fairest, and you the bravest,
With love for a joining band,
Shall rank equal with the noblest
That walks in our Fatherland."

* * *

Tears passed over Anhalt Dessau,
And sprinkled his locks with snow,
He had wealth, success and honours,
And his share of human woe.

His fair wife and his goodly sons
Filled his heart with joy and pride;
But that heart was wrung with sorrow,
When his only daughter died.

For ah! she was long in dying,
And his love was strong and warm;
To keep her from an early grave,
He'd have given his right arm.

She was a most winsome maiden,
And she had her mother's face;
She brought back all his wooing time,
His love in the market place.

"My daughter," he said, "you're dying,
You are fading fast away;
What is there you would have me do,
Love, before your dying day."

"Thou the kindest and the bravest,
My father most dear!" she said,
"Whate'er you've done has pleased me,
Take that comfort when I'm dead.

"But if you would do me pleasure,"
She said with a lovely smile,
"The men whom you've led in battle,
Poor fellows! the rank and file.

"I'd like to see them marching,
To feast them with mirth and glee;
When laid in my grave so early,
They'll think kindly thoughts of me."

"My daughter, of all my treasures,
The loveliest and the best;
I know that my king so gracious,
Will grant you your last request."

With banners and martial music,
With drum-beat and trumpet-blare,
They all marched to Anhalt Bernberg,
To the palace court-yard there.

With all martial pomp and clangour,
Were the salutations made,
Where, supported at the window,
The dying one was laid.

And tables were spread to feast them,
With plenty that made them groan,
But away by the Saale river,
Old Leopold wept alone.

* * *

Leopold of Anhalt Dessau,
He has reached three score and ten;
They think it time he step aside,
Giving place to younger men.

For old fashioned are his tactics,
And old fashioned too is he,
And a new king has arisen,
And new counsellors there be.

Still the old man leads the army,
But he gets no word of cheer;
For the young king is impatient,
And the courtiers laugh and jeer.

The troops are drawn up for battle,
For the long expected fight;
"'Tis my last," said Anhalt Dessau,
"May our God defend the right!"

He stood among the veterans,
Whom he had so often led;
And, according to his custom,
He uncovered his grey head.

"We are going into battle;
How many shall come away
Is known to the God of armies,
Who shall lead us through this day.

"For we have come here to conquer,
As we conquered everywhere;
Uncover, my lads, and ask for
The help that we need, in prayer.

"O God, who through life hast led me,
Help me still, this once I pray;
Nor let the shame of first defeat,
Come now when my head is grey!

"Be thou present with our army,
Do Thou let Thy might decide;
But oh! if Thou be not with us,
Be not on the other side.

"But leave it to drill and manhood,
Amen. In God's name come on."
So Leopold Anhalt Dessau,
His last battle fought and won.

And the King rescued from danger,
By the victory that day,
Lighted from his horse to greet him,
Clad in his roquelaure grey

Bowed low to him as a master
In all the warrior's art,
And then, as a friend in greeting,
Pressed the hero to his heart

Now his sword rests in the scabbard,
He has done for aye with war,
For Leopold Anhalt Dessau,
Now sleeps with the sons of Thor.

MARY'S DEATH

Mary, ah me! gentle Mary,
Can it be you're lying there,
Pale and still, and cold as marble,
You that was so young and fair.

Seemeth it as yestereven,
When the golden autumn smiled,
On our meeting, gentle Mary,
You were then a very child.

Busy fingers, flitting footsteps,
Never resting all day long;
Shy and bashful, and the sweet voice
Ever breaking into song

Always gentle, kind and thoughtful,
Blameless and so free from art,
'Twas no wonder one so lovely
Found a place within my heart.

You, while life was in its spring time,
Made the Scripture Mary's choice;
Jesus saw you, loved you, called you,
And you listened to His voice.

Ever patient and rejoicing,
Shielded thus from unseen harm;
On you journeyed, safely leaning
On an everlasting arm.

Three short years have not yet passed us
Flitting rapidly away,
Since we shared in the rejoicing
On your happy bridal day.

He, the lover of your childhood,
Won a bride both good and fair;
Three short years have not yet passed us,
Mary dear--and now you're there.

Well may he grow sick with weeping,
And with sore heart mourn his loss;
Sadly look on those two babies,
Left so early motherless.

Not for thee we weep, my darling,
An eternal gain is thine;
We weep because we dearly loved thee,
And for those you left behind.

TO ISABEL.

I often thought to write to thee, what time
I almost fancied heaven-born, genius mine,
And fondly hoped my island harp to wake,
To some new strain sung for my country's sake.
'Twas a vain hope and yet its presence smiled
Upon my day dreams when I was a child,
And only faded when my heart grew cold,
For head and heart alike are getting old.
Had I been gifted, some bright lay would be,
With touching melody, poured forth for thee.
Now, what I think the best I wish for thee.

* * *

May you never be a stranger;
Ever living with your own,
With the same eyes beaming round you,
That on your childhood shone.

Friendship knitting true hearts to you,
From youth to kindly age;
And affection brightening, gladdening
Your pleasant heritage.

Yet not wishing to live always,
Or shrinking back afraid,
When you come--as come we all must
And pass over to the dead.

With a hope then firmly anchored,
Of a living faith possessed,
Passing from among your kindred
Into everlasting rest.

LINES ON ANNEXATION.

We honour Brother Jonathan,
For what he has done and dared;
Nobly and firmly he hath stood
His freeborn rights to guard.

And when we see him, go ahead,
We are not with envy vexed;
We wish him all prosperity
Yet will not be annexed.

We know he has much moral force;
Much that is good and great;
Much enterprise and energy,
Which we would imitate.

But there's upon his scutcheon stains,
Which we lament to see;
And will not share--will not annex--
Our soil and air are free--

And far more glorious is the flag
Which o'er the Briton waves,
Than that whose stars of freedom shine
Upon the stripes of slaves.

We love our Queen--we love our laws;
We feel that we are free--
As independently we sit,
Each 'neath his maple tree.

Serene, while over other lands
Rolls revolution's storm,
Where they can't speak their grievances--
Dare not demand reform.

We can, as freeborn subjects, make
Our wants and wishes known--
Our voices move the parliament
And vibrate to the throne.

We're Britons and as such we'll not
For annexation sue.
Our prayer is still, God save the Queen
And bless our country too.

1850.

TO MY FRIEND.

Dearest of all, whose tenderness could rise
To share all sorrow and to soothe all pain;
The blessings breathed for thee with weeping eyes
Will come to thee as sunshine after rain.

My spirit clings to thine, dear, in this hour;
Thy sorrow touches me as though 'twere mine;
And pleading prayers for thee shall have the power
To draw down comfort from my Lord and thine.

For thou hast felt the sorrow and the care
Of other lives, as though they were thine own;
And grateful prayers, for a memorial are
Laid up for thee before the great white throne.

You sit bereaved, and I sit with you there
In sympathy, my soul and yours can meet;
Missing the face that was so very fair,
Missing the voice that was so very sweet.

I know how hard to bear heart-hunger is
For her quaint words and bits of bird-like song;
The touch of dimpled hands, the soft warm kiss,
O Friend, it makes the "little while" so long!

Take comfort, dear, the "little while" is brief,
It is His love sends pain to thee or me,
We gather fruit of peace from blossomed grief
And where our treasure is our hearts shall be

'Tis good to suffer, as He knows whose hand
Mixes the bitterness for every cup,
No grief befals but love divine has planned,
Every bereavement cries to us, look up

Dearest, look up, and see where, sweet and fair,
Flow the bright waters ruffled by no storm,
Under the trees whose leaves for healing are,
See 'mid the blessed throng one angel form

The tired pet, who wanted to go home,
The Elder Brother drew her to his breast,
Earth weariness earth soil alike unknown,
Crowned without conflict, bore her into rest

Among the shining ones she walks my friend,
Robed in the garments of her Fatherland,
And your earth-weary feet shall upward tend,
Drawn by the beck of that dear pierced hand

Who in his arms enfolds your little one,
And calls you, "Come up higher where we are,
For with the well belov'd the child is gone,
Follow and faint not, friend, it is not far

"The little one for whom your fond heart bleeds,
The dear, dear lamb who sees her Father's face,
Up to the great white throne the rough path leads,
Where Christ shall fold you both in one embrace"

LITTLE MINNIE.

Is it well with the child? and she answered, it is well.

If earth's weariness for rest is changed,
Rest on the far off shore,
If earth's sighing's changed for singing
Psalms of praise for evermore.

And the bed of pain for roaming free,
Beneath the living trees,
Whose leaves of healing wither not
In any earthly breeze.