 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
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SACRED POEMS.
THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS.
I.
Serene in the moonlight the pure flowers lay;All was still save the plash of the fountain's soft play;
And white as its foam gleam'd the walls of the palace;
But within were hot lips quaffing fire from the chalice;
For Herod the Tetrarch was feasting that night
The lords of Machærus, and brave was the sight!
Yet mournful the contrast, without and within:
Here were purity, peace—there were riot and sin!
The vast and magnificent banqueting-room
Was of marble, Egyptian in form and in gloom;
And around, wild and dark as a demon's dread thought,
Strange shapes, full of terror, yet beauty, were wrought.
The ineffable sorrow that dwells in the face
Of the Sphinx wore a soft and mysterious grace,
Dim, even amid the full flood of light pour'd
From a thousand high clustering lamps on the board;
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That seem'd to hiss forth the fierce flame as it roll'd.
Back flash'd to that ray the rich vessels that lay
Profuse on the tables in brilliant array;
And clear through the crystal the glowing wine gleam'd,
And dazzling the robes of the revellers seem'd,
While Herod, the eagle-eyed, ruled o'er the scene,
A lion in spirit, a monarch in mien.
The goblet was foaming, the revel rose high,
There were pride and fierce joy in the haughty king's eye,
For his chiefs and his captains bow'd low at his word,
And the feast was right royal that burden'd the board.
Lo! light as a star through a gather'd cloud stealing,
What spirit glanced in mid the guard at the door?
Their stern bands divide, a fair figure revealing;
She bounds, in her beauty, the dim threshold o'er.
Her dark eyes are lovely with tenderest truth;
The bloom on her cheek is the blossom of youth;
And a smile, that steals through it, is rich with the ray
Of a heart full of love and of innocent play.
Soft fall her fair tresses her light form around;
Soft fall her fair tresses, nor braided nor bound;
And her white robe is loose, and her dimpled arms bare;
For she is but a child, without trouble or care.
Now round the glad vision wild music is heard,—
Is she gifted with winglets of fairy or bird?
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With white arms upwreathing, she floats from the ground.
Still glistens the goblet,—'tis heeded no more!
And the jest and the song of the banquet are o'er;
For the revellers, spell-bound by beauty and grace,
Have forgotten all earth, save that form and that face.
It is done!—for one moment, mute, motionless, fair,
The phantom of light pauses playfully there;
The next, blushing richly, once more it takes wing,
And she kneels at the footstool of Herod the King.
Her young head is drooping, her eyes are bent low,
Her hands meekly cross'd on her bosom of snow,
And, veiling her figure, her shining hair flows,
While Herod, flush'd high with the revel, arose.
Outspake the rash monarch,—“Now, maiden, impart,
Ere thou leave us, the loftiest hope of thy heart!
By the God of my fathers! whate'er it may be,—
To the half of my kingdom,—'tis granted to thee!”
The girl, half-bewilder'd, uplifted her eyes,
Dilated with timid delight and surprise,
And a swift, glowing smile o'er her happy face stole,
As if some sunny wish had just woke in her soul.
Will she tell it? Ah, no! She has caught the wild gleam
Of a soldier's dark eye, and she starts from her dream;
Falters forth her sweet gratitude,—veils her fair frame,—
And glides from the presence, all glowing with shame.
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II.
Of costly cedar, rarely carved,The royal chamber's ceiling,
The column'd walls, of marble rich,
Its brightest hues revealing.
Around the room a starry smile
The lamp of crystal shed;
But warmest lay its lustre
On a noble lady's head.
Her dark hair, bound with burning gems,
Whose fitful lightning glow
Is tame beside the wild, black eyes
That proudly flash below:
The Jewish rose and olive blend
Their beauty in her face;
She bears her in her high estate
With an imperial grace.
All gorgeous glows with orient gold
The broidery of her vest;
With precious stones its purple fold
Is clasp'd upon her breast.
She gazes from her lattice forth:
What sees the lady there?
A strange, wild beauty crowns the scene,—
But she has other care!
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And Jordan's lovely vale;
And nearer,—heights where fleetest foot
Of wild gazelle would fail;
While crowning every verdant ridge,
Like drifts of moonlit snow,
Rich palaces and temples rise,
Around, above, below,
Gleaming through groves of terebinth,
Of palm, and sycamore,
Where the swift torrents, dashing free,
Their mountain music pour;
And arch'd o'er all, the eastern heaven
Lights up with glory rare
The landscape's wild magnificence;—
But she has other care!
Why flings she thus, with gesture fierce,
Her silent lute aside?
Some deep emotion chafes her soul
With more than wonted pride;
But, hark! a sound has reach'd her heart,
Inaudible elsewhere,
And hush'd to melting tenderness,
The storm of passion there!
The far-off fall of fairy feet,
That fly in eager glee;
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Some Hebrew melody!
She comes! her own Salomé comes!
Her pure and blooming child!
She comes, and anger yields to love,
And sorrow is beguiled:
Her singing bird! low nestling now
Upon the parent breast,
She murmurs of the monarch's vow
With girlish laugh and jest:—
I.
“Now choose me a gift and well!There are so many joys I covet!
Shall I ask for a young gazelle?
'Twould be more than the world to me;
Fleet and wild as the wind,
Oh! how I would cherish and love it!
With flowers its neck I'd bind,
And joy in its graceful glee.
II.
“Shall I ask for a gem of light,
To braid in my flowing ringlets?
Like a star through the veil of night,
Would glisten its glorious hue;
Or a radiant bird, to close
Its beautiful, waving winglets
On my bosom in soft repose,
And share my love with you!”
To braid in my flowing ringlets?
Like a star through the veil of night,
Would glisten its glorious hue;
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Its beautiful, waving winglets
On my bosom in soft repose,
And share my love with you!”
She paused,—bewilder'd, terror-struck;
For, in her mother's soul,
Roused by the promise of the king
Beyond her weak control,
The exulting tempest of Revenge
And Pride raged wild and high,
And sent its storm-cloud to her brow,
Its lightning to her eye!
Her haughty lip was quivering
With anger and disdain,
Her beauteous, jewell'd hands were clench'd
As if from sudden pain.
For, in her mother's soul,
Roused by the promise of the king
Beyond her weak control,
The exulting tempest of Revenge
And Pride raged wild and high,
And sent its storm-cloud to her brow,
Its lightning to her eye!
Her haughty lip was quivering
With anger and disdain,
Her beauteous, jewell'd hands were clench'd
As if from sudden pain.
“Forgive,” Salomé faltering cried,
“Forgive my childish glee!
'Twas selfish, vain,—oh! look not thus,
But let me ask for thee!”
Then smiled—it was a deadly smile—
That lady on her child,
And, “Swear thou'lt do my bidding, now!”
She cried, in accents wild.
“Ah! when, from earliest childhood's hour,
Did I thine anger dare!
Yet, since an oath thy wish must seal,—
By Judah's hope, I swear!”
Herodias stoop'd,—one whisper brief!—
Was it a serpent's hiss,
That thus the maiden starts and shrinks
Beneath the woman's kiss?
A moment's pause of doubt and dread!
Then wild the victim knelt,—
“Take, take my worthless life instead!—
Oh! if thou e'er hast felt
A mother's love, thou canst not doom—
No, no! 'twas but a jest!
Speak!—speak! and let me fly once more,
Confiding, to thy breast!”
A hollow and sepulchral tone
Was hers who made reply:
“The oath! the oath!—remember, girl!
'Tis register'd on high!”
Salomé rose,—mute, moveless stood
As marble, save in breath;
Half senseless in her cold despair,
Her young cheek blanched like death!
But an hour since, so joyous, fond,
Without a grief or care,
Now struck with wo unspeakable,—
How dread a change was there!
“It shall be done!” Was that the voice
That rang so gayly sweet,
When, innocent and blest she came,
But now, with flying fleet?
“It shall be done!” She turns to go,
But, ere she gains the door,
One look of wordless, deep reproach
She backward casts,—no more!
But late she sprang the threshold o'er,
A light and blooming child;
Now, reckless, in her grief she goes
A woman stern and wild.
“Forgive my childish glee!
'Twas selfish, vain,—oh! look not thus,
But let me ask for thee!”
Then smiled—it was a deadly smile—
That lady on her child,
And, “Swear thou'lt do my bidding, now!”
She cried, in accents wild.
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Did I thine anger dare!
Yet, since an oath thy wish must seal,—
By Judah's hope, I swear!”
Herodias stoop'd,—one whisper brief!—
Was it a serpent's hiss,
That thus the maiden starts and shrinks
Beneath the woman's kiss?
A moment's pause of doubt and dread!
Then wild the victim knelt,—
“Take, take my worthless life instead!—
Oh! if thou e'er hast felt
A mother's love, thou canst not doom—
No, no! 'twas but a jest!
Speak!—speak! and let me fly once more,
Confiding, to thy breast!”
A hollow and sepulchral tone
Was hers who made reply:
“The oath! the oath!—remember, girl!
'Tis register'd on high!”
Salomé rose,—mute, moveless stood
As marble, save in breath;
Half senseless in her cold despair,
Her young cheek blanched like death!
But an hour since, so joyous, fond,
Without a grief or care,
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How dread a change was there!
“It shall be done!” Was that the voice
That rang so gayly sweet,
When, innocent and blest she came,
But now, with flying fleet?
“It shall be done!” She turns to go,
But, ere she gains the door,
One look of wordless, deep reproach
She backward casts,—no more!
But late she sprang the threshold o'er,
A light and blooming child;
Now, reckless, in her grief she goes
A woman stern and wild.
III.
With pallid cheek, dishevell'd hair,And wildly gleaming eyes,
Once more before the banqueters,
A fearful phantom flies!
Once more at Herod's feet it falls,
And cold with nameless dread
The wondering monarch bends to hear.
A voice, as from the dead,
From those pale lips, shrieks madly forth,—
“Thy promise, king, I claim,
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Not mine, not mine the blame!
Quick, quick recall that reckless vow,
Or strike thy dagger here,
Ere yet this voice demands a gift
That chills my soul with fear!
Heaven's curse upon the fatal grace
That idly charm'd thine eyes!
Oh! better had I ne'er been born
Than he the sacrifice!
The word I speak will blanch thy cheek,
If human heart be thine,
It was a fiend in human form
That murmur'd it to mine.
To die for me! a thoughtless child!
For me must blood be shed!
Bend low,—lest angels hear me ask!—
Oh, God!—the Baptist's head!”
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THE LIFE-BOAT.
The thunder spirits sound on highThe storm's wild tocsin, loud and deep;
And winds and waves, with maddening cry,
Fierce at the summons leap.
Flashes through heaven the lightning's wing;
The blinding rains now swiftly pour;
And the noble ship, a helpless thing,
Lies tossing toward the shore!
Now shriek the crew, “In mercy save!”
And rushing headlong to her side,
They launch the life-boat on the wave,
And tempt the fearful tide.
And there is One above the storm,
Who smiles upon that shallop light,
And sends an angel's viewless form
To guide the bark aright!
Boy! in the storms that shake the soul,
Quail not! there's still a life-boat nigh;
In which the angel Faith's control
May Grief's wild waves defy.
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SORROW AND JOY.
For ages circling with the accordant stars
To that immortal melody of love
By which all listening nature times her growth,
Our globe at last put forth its human flower;
And man, the wondrous child of earth and heaven,
The consummation of created things,
Nursed into being by all elements
Celestial or terrene, perfected, breathed.
When lo! entwined in beautiful embrace,
Two sister angels left the gates of heaven;
And both were lovely, yet unlike as are
Our radiant day, and night that sadly braids
Her dark and dewy locks with stars for gems.
The one all light and gladness; her soft hair,
Back floating from her child-like brow and eyes,
Had caught upon its waves the last warm ray
Of glory that stole through that closing gate;
And with a song her smiling lips did part,
That told the heavenly rapture of her heart.
The other, in majestic silence hush'd,
Her pale, pure face all luminous with thought,
Still turn'd her dark and eloquent eyes to heaven,
While through their tears a dream of beauty shone.
And so the mission'd twain descended swift,
While 'neath that close embrace of tears and light
A lovely rainbow bloom'd in air, and spann'd
With luminous arch the Earth; and, on the bridge
Alighting, they survey'd their destined home.
To that immortal melody of love
By which all listening nature times her growth,
Our globe at last put forth its human flower;
And man, the wondrous child of earth and heaven,
The consummation of created things,
Nursed into being by all elements
Celestial or terrene, perfected, breathed.
When lo! entwined in beautiful embrace,
Two sister angels left the gates of heaven;
And both were lovely, yet unlike as are
Our radiant day, and night that sadly braids
Her dark and dewy locks with stars for gems.
The one all light and gladness; her soft hair,
Back floating from her child-like brow and eyes,
Had caught upon its waves the last warm ray
Of glory that stole through that closing gate;
And with a song her smiling lips did part,
That told the heavenly rapture of her heart.
The other, in majestic silence hush'd,
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Still turn'd her dark and eloquent eyes to heaven,
While through their tears a dream of beauty shone.
And so the mission'd twain descended swift,
While 'neath that close embrace of tears and light
A lovely rainbow bloom'd in air, and spann'd
With luminous arch the Earth; and, on the bridge
Alighting, they survey'd their destined home.
Here still they wander, each by Heaven commission'd;
Sorrow and Joy, both equally divine.
But coward man from the sad spirit shrinks,
Who would so kindly take him by the hand
And teach him lessons of angelic love;
Who would up-lead his soul to wondrous scenes
Of joy and love unspeakable; who would fill
His heart with sacred tenderness and truth.
His eyes, that look this earth's gross dust, see not
The mournful seraph's more than mortal grace;
And even her radiant sister, “young-eyed” Joy.
He scarcely knows by name when she doth come,
Nor recognises as God's messenger;
Save when she turns, o'erwearied by his coldness,
To fly afar,—then would he fain recall her;
For by the glory playing o'er her locks,
That ray they caught from closing heaven, he knows
“He entertain'd an angel unaware.”
Sorrow and Joy, both equally divine.
But coward man from the sad spirit shrinks,
Who would so kindly take him by the hand
And teach him lessons of angelic love;
Who would up-lead his soul to wondrous scenes
Of joy and love unspeakable; who would fill
His heart with sacred tenderness and truth.
His eyes, that look this earth's gross dust, see not
The mournful seraph's more than mortal grace;
And even her radiant sister, “young-eyed” Joy.
He scarcely knows by name when she doth come,
Nor recognises as God's messenger;
Save when she turns, o'erwearied by his coldness,
To fly afar,—then would he fain recall her;
For by the glory playing o'er her locks,
That ray they caught from closing heaven, he knows
“He entertain'd an angel unaware.”
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LITTLE CHILDREN.
“Of such is the kingdom of heaven.”
And yet we check and chide
The airy angels as they float about us,
With rules of so-call'd wisdom, till they grow
The same tame slaves to custom and the world.
And day by day the fresh frank soul that looked
Out of those wistful eyes, and smiling play'd
With the wild roses of that changing cheek,
And modulated all those earnest tones,
And danced in those light foot-falls to a tune
Heart-heard by them, inaudible to us,
Folds closer its pure wings, whereon the hues
They caught in heaven already pale and pine,
And shrinks amazed and scared back from our gaze.
And so the evil grows. The graceful flower
May have its own sweet way in bud and bloom—
May drink, and dare with upturn'd gaze the light,
Or nestle 'neath the guardian leaf, or wave
Its fragrant bells to ever-roving breeze,
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In bashful loveliness. The wild wood-bird
May plume at will his wings, and soar or sing;
The mountain brook may wind where'er it would,
Dash in wild music down the deep ravine,
Or, rippling drowsily in forest haunts,
Dream of the floating cloud, the waving flower,
And murmur to itself sweet lulling words
In broken tones so like the faltering speech
Of early childhood: but our human flowers,
Our soul-birds, caged and pining—they must sing
And grow, not as their own but our caprice
Suggests, and so the blossom and the lay
Are but half bloom and music at the best.
And if by chance some brave and buoyant soul,
More bold or less forgetful of the lessons
God taught them first, disdain the rule—the bar—
And, wildly beautiful, rebellious rise,
How the hard world, half startled from itself,
Frowns the bright wanderer down, or turns away,
And leaves her lonely in her upward path.
Thank God! to such His smile is not denied.
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A SERMON.
Thou discord in this choral harmony!
That dost profane the loveliest light and air
God ever gave: be still, and look, and listen!
Canst see yon fair cloud floating in the sun,
And blush not, watching its serener life?
Canst hear the fragrant grass grow up toward God,
With low, perpetual chant of praise and prayer,
Nor grieve that your soul grows the other way?
Forego that tone, made harsh by a hard heart,
And hearken, if you're not afraid to hearken,
Yon robin's careless carol, glad and sweet,
Mocking the sunshine with his merry trill:
Suppose you try to chord your voice with his—
But first, learn love and wisdom of him, lady!
That dost profane the loveliest light and air
God ever gave: be still, and look, and listen!
Canst see yon fair cloud floating in the sun,
And blush not, watching its serener life?
Canst hear the fragrant grass grow up toward God,
With low, perpetual chant of praise and prayer,
Nor grieve that your soul grows the other way?
Forego that tone, made harsh by a hard heart,
And hearken, if you're not afraid to hearken,
Yon robin's careless carol, glad and sweet,
Mocking the sunshine with his merry trill:
Suppose you try to chord your voice with his—
But first, learn love and wisdom of him, lady!
How dare you bring your inharmonious heart
To such a scene? How dare you let your voice
Talk out of tune so with the voice of God
In earth and sky? The balmy air about you
Is Heaven's great gift, vouchsafed to you to make
Vocal with all melodious truths, and you
Fret it with false words from a falser soul,
And poison it with the breath of calumny!
Learn reverence, bold one, for true Nature's heart,
If not for that your sister woman bears!
For Nature's heart, pleading in every wave
That wastes its wistful music at your feet.
To such a scene? How dare you let your voice
Talk out of tune so with the voice of God
In earth and sky? The balmy air about you
Is Heaven's great gift, vouchsafed to you to make
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Fret it with false words from a falser soul,
And poison it with the breath of calumny!
Learn reverence, bold one, for true Nature's heart,
If not for that your sister woman bears!
For Nature's heart, pleading in every wave
That wastes its wistful music at your feet.
Take back your cold, inane, and carping mind
Into the world you came from and belong to—
The world of common cares and sordid aims:
These happy haunts can spare you, little one!
The dew-fed grass will grow as well without you,
The woodland choirs will scarce require your voice,
The starlit wave without your smile will glisten,
The proud patrician trees will miss you not.
Into the world you came from and belong to—
The world of common cares and sordid aims:
These happy haunts can spare you, little one!
The dew-fed grass will grow as well without you,
The woodland choirs will scarce require your voice,
The starlit wave without your smile will glisten,
The proud patrician trees will miss you not.
Go, waste God's glorious boon of summer hours
Among your mates, as shallow, in small talk
Of dress, or weather, or the last elopement!
Go, mar the canvas with distorted face
Of dog or cat; or worse, profanely mock,
With gaudy beads, the pure light-painted flower!
Go, trim your cap, embroider your visite,
Crocher a purse, do any petty thing;
But, in the name of truth, religion, beauty,
Let Nature's marvellous mystery alone,
Nor ask such airs, such skies, to waste the wealth
They keep for nobler beings, upon you!
Or stay, and learn of every bird and bloom,
That sends its heart to heaven in song or sigh,
The lesson that you need—the law of love!
Among your mates, as shallow, in small talk
Of dress, or weather, or the last elopement!
Go, mar the canvas with distorted face
Of dog or cat; or worse, profanely mock,
With gaudy beads, the pure light-painted flower!
Go, trim your cap, embroider your visite,
Crocher a purse, do any petty thing;
But, in the name of truth, religion, beauty,
Let Nature's marvellous mystery alone,
Nor ask such airs, such skies, to waste the wealth
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Or stay, and learn of every bird and bloom,
That sends its heart to heaven in song or sigh,
The lesson that you need—the law of love!
A MOTHER'S PRAYER IN ILLNESS.
Yes, take them first, my Father! Let my doves
Fold their white wings in heaven, safe on thy breast,
Ere I am call'd away: I dare not leave
Their young hearts here, their innocent, thoughtless hearts!
Ah! how the shadowy train of future ills
Comes sweeping down life's vista as I gaze!
Fold their white wings in heaven, safe on thy breast,
Ere I am call'd away: I dare not leave
Their young hearts here, their innocent, thoughtless hearts!
Ah! how the shadowy train of future ills
Comes sweeping down life's vista as I gaze!
My May! my careless, ardent-temper'd May—
My frank and frolic child, in whose blue eyes
Wild joy and passionate wo alternate rise;
Whose cheek the morning in her soul illumes;
Whose little, loving heart a word, a glance,
Can sway to grief or glee; who leaves her play,
And puts up her sweet mouth and dimpled arms
Each moment for a kiss, and softly asks,
With her clear, flutelike voice, “Do you love me?”
Ah, let me stay! ah, let me still be by,
To answer her and meet her warm caress!
For I away, how oft in this rough world
That earnest question will be ask'd in vain!
How oft that eager, passionate, petted heart,
Will shrink abash'd and chill'd, to learn at length
The hateful, withering lesson of distrust!
Ah! let her nestle still upon this breast,
In which each shade that dims her darling face
Is felt and answer'd, as the lake reflects
The clouds that cross yon smiling heaven!—And thou,
My modest Ellen—tender, thoughtful, true;
Thy soul attuned to all sweet harmonies:
My pure, proud, noble Ellen! with thy gifts
Of genius, grace, and loveliness, half hidden
'Neath the soft veil of innate modesty,
How will the world's wild discord reach thy heart
To startle and appal! Thy generous scorn
Of all things base and mean—thy quick, keen taste,
Dainty and delicate—thy instinctive fear
Of those unworthy of a soul so pure,
Thy rare, unchildlike dignity of mien,
All—they will all bring pain to thee, my child!
And oh, if even their grace and goodness meet
Cold looks and careless greetings, how will all
The latent evil yet undisciplined
In their young, timid souls, forgiveness find?
Forgiveness, and forbearance, and soft chidings,
Which I, their mother, learn'd of Love to give!
Ah, let me stay!—albeit my heart is weary,
Weary and worn, tired of its own sad beat,
That finds no echo in this busy world
Which cannot pause to answer—tired alike
Of joy and sorrow, of the day and night:
Ah, take them first, my Father, and then me!
And for their sakes, for their sweet sakes, my Father,
Let me find rest beside them, at thy feet!
My frank and frolic child, in whose blue eyes
Wild joy and passionate wo alternate rise;
Whose cheek the morning in her soul illumes;
Whose little, loving heart a word, a glance,
Can sway to grief or glee; who leaves her play,
And puts up her sweet mouth and dimpled arms
Each moment for a kiss, and softly asks,
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Ah, let me stay! ah, let me still be by,
To answer her and meet her warm caress!
For I away, how oft in this rough world
That earnest question will be ask'd in vain!
How oft that eager, passionate, petted heart,
Will shrink abash'd and chill'd, to learn at length
The hateful, withering lesson of distrust!
Ah! let her nestle still upon this breast,
In which each shade that dims her darling face
Is felt and answer'd, as the lake reflects
The clouds that cross yon smiling heaven!—And thou,
My modest Ellen—tender, thoughtful, true;
Thy soul attuned to all sweet harmonies:
My pure, proud, noble Ellen! with thy gifts
Of genius, grace, and loveliness, half hidden
'Neath the soft veil of innate modesty,
How will the world's wild discord reach thy heart
To startle and appal! Thy generous scorn
Of all things base and mean—thy quick, keen taste,
Dainty and delicate—thy instinctive fear
Of those unworthy of a soul so pure,
Thy rare, unchildlike dignity of mien,
All—they will all bring pain to thee, my child!
And oh, if even their grace and goodness meet
Cold looks and careless greetings, how will all
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In their young, timid souls, forgiveness find?
Forgiveness, and forbearance, and soft chidings,
Which I, their mother, learn'd of Love to give!
Ah, let me stay!—albeit my heart is weary,
Weary and worn, tired of its own sad beat,
That finds no echo in this busy world
Which cannot pause to answer—tired alike
Of joy and sorrow, of the day and night:
Ah, take them first, my Father, and then me!
And for their sakes, for their sweet sakes, my Father,
Let me find rest beside them, at thy feet!
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“ASHES OF ROSES.”
I pray'd that God would take my child—I could not bear to see
The look of suffering, strange and wild, with which she gazed on me:
I pray'd that God would take her back; but ah! I did not know
What agony at last 'twould be to let my darling go.
The look of suffering, strange and wild, with which she gazed on me:
I pray'd that God would take her back; but ah! I did not know
What agony at last 'twould be to let my darling go.
She faded—faded in my arms, and with a faint, slow sigh,
Her fair, young spirit went away. Ah, God! I felt her die!
But oh! so lightly to her form Death's kindly angel came,
It only seem'd a zephyr pass'd, and quench'd a taper's flame,—
A little flower might so have died!—so tranquilly she closed
Her lovely mouth, and on my breast her helpless head reposed.
Her fair, young spirit went away. Ah, God! I felt her die!
But oh! so lightly to her form Death's kindly angel came,
It only seem'd a zephyr pass'd, and quench'd a taper's flame,—
A little flower might so have died!—so tranquilly she closed
Her lovely mouth, and on my breast her helpless head reposed.
Where'er I go, I hear her low and plaintive murmuring;
I feel her little fairy clasp around my finger cling,
For oh! it seem'd the darling dream'd that while she clung to me,
Safe from all harm of death or pain she could not help but be;
That I, who watch'd in helpless grief my flower fade away,
That I—ah, heaven! had life and strength to keep her from decay!
I feel her little fairy clasp around my finger cling,
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Safe from all harm of death or pain she could not help but be;
That I, who watch'd in helpless grief my flower fade away,
That I—ah, heaven! had life and strength to keep her from decay!
She clung there to the very last—I knew that all was o'er
Only because that dear, dear hand could press mine own no more.
Oh God! give back, give back my child! but one, one hour, that I
May tell her all my passionate love before I let her die!
Call not the prayer an impious one, for Thou didst fill my soul
With this fond, yearning tenderness, that nothing can control!
But say, instead, “Beside thy bed thy child's sweet spirit glides,
For pitying love has heard the prayer which heavenly wisdom chides!”
Only because that dear, dear hand could press mine own no more.
Oh God! give back, give back my child! but one, one hour, that I
May tell her all my passionate love before I let her die!
Call not the prayer an impious one, for Thou didst fill my soul
With this fond, yearning tenderness, that nothing can control!
But say, instead, “Beside thy bed thy child's sweet spirit glides,
For pitying love has heard the prayer which heavenly wisdom chides!”
I know—I know that she is blest: but oh! I pine to see
Once more the pretty, pleading smile she used to give to me;
I pine to hear that low, sweet trill, with which, whene'er I came,
Her little, soft voice called to me, half welcome and half blame!
Once more the pretty, pleading smile she used to give to me;
I pine to hear that low, sweet trill, with which, whene'er I came,
Her little, soft voice called to me, half welcome and half blame!
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I know her little heart is glad; some gentle angel guides
My loved one on her joyous way, where'er in heaven she glides;
Some angel far more wisely kind than ever I could be,
With all my blind, wild, mother-love,—my Fanny, tends on thee!
And every sweet want of thy heart her care benign fulfils,
And every whisper'd wish for me, with lulling love she stills.
My loved one on her joyous way, where'er in heaven she glides;
Some angel far more wisely kind than ever I could be,
With all my blind, wild, mother-love,—my Fanny, tends on thee!
And every sweet want of thy heart her care benign fulfils,
And every whisper'd wish for me, with lulling love she stills.
Upborne by its own purity, thy light form floats away,
And heaven's fair children round it throng, and woo thee to their play,
Where flowers of wondrous beauty rise, and birds of splendour rare,
And balm and bloom and melody divinely fill the air.
And heaven's fair children round it throng, and woo thee to their play,
Where flowers of wondrous beauty rise, and birds of splendour rare,
And balm and bloom and melody divinely fill the air.
I hush my heart, I hide my tears, lest he my grief should guess,
Who watch'd thee, darling, day and night, with patient tenderness;
'Twould grieve his generous soul to see this anguish, wild and vain,
And he would deem it sin in me to wish thee back again:
But oh! when I am all alone, I cannot calm my grief;
I think of all thy touching ways, and find a sweet relief:
Thy dark, blue, wishful eyes look up once more into my own;
Thy faint, soft smile one moment plays—one moment thrills thy tone.
The next—the vision vanishes, and all is still and cold;
I see thy little, tender form—oh misery!—in the mould!
I shut my eyes, and pitying Heaven a happier vision gives,
Thy spirit dawns upon my dream—I know my treasure lives.
Who watch'd thee, darling, day and night, with patient tenderness;
'Twould grieve his generous soul to see this anguish, wild and vain,
And he would deem it sin in me to wish thee back again:
But oh! when I am all alone, I cannot calm my grief;
I think of all thy touching ways, and find a sweet relief:
Thy dark, blue, wishful eyes look up once more into my own;
Thy faint, soft smile one moment plays—one moment thrills thy tone.
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I see thy little, tender form—oh misery!—in the mould!
I shut my eyes, and pitying Heaven a happier vision gives,
Thy spirit dawns upon my dream—I know my treasure lives.
No, no—I must not wish thee back, but might I go to thee!
Were there no other loved ones here, who need my love and me;
I am so weary of the world—its falsehood and its strife—
So weary of the wrong and ruth that mar our human life!
Where thou art, Fanny, all is love and peace and pure delight;
The soul that here must hide its face—there lives serene in right;
And ever, in its lovely path, some new, great truth divine,
Like a clear star, that dawns in heaven, undyingly doth shine.
My child, while joy and wisdom go through that calm sphere with thee—
Oh, wilt thou not sometimes look back my pining heart to see?
For now a strange fear chills my soul—a feeling like despair—
Lest thou forget me mid those scenes—thou dost not need me there;
Ah no: the spirit-love that look'd from those dear eyes of thine
Was not of earth—it could not die! It still responds to mine!
And it may be—(how thrills the hope through all my soul again!)
That I may tend my child in heaven, since here my watch was vain!
Were there no other loved ones here, who need my love and me;
I am so weary of the world—its falsehood and its strife—
So weary of the wrong and ruth that mar our human life!
Where thou art, Fanny, all is love and peace and pure delight;
The soul that here must hide its face—there lives serene in right;
And ever, in its lovely path, some new, great truth divine,
Like a clear star, that dawns in heaven, undyingly doth shine.
My child, while joy and wisdom go through that calm sphere with thee—
Oh, wilt thou not sometimes look back my pining heart to see?
For now a strange fear chills my soul—a feeling like despair—
Lest thou forget me mid those scenes—thou dost not need me there;
Ah no: the spirit-love that look'd from those dear eyes of thine
Was not of earth—it could not die! It still responds to mine!
And it may be—(how thrills the hope through all my soul again!)
That I may tend my child in heaven, since here my watch was vain!
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ASPIRATIONS.
I waste no more in idle dreams my life, my soul away;
I wake to know my better self—I wake to watch and pray.
Thought, feeling, time, on idols vain I've lavish'd all too long:
Henceforth to holier purposes I pledge myself, my song!
I wake to know my better self—I wake to watch and pray.
Thought, feeling, time, on idols vain I've lavish'd all too long:
Henceforth to holier purposes I pledge myself, my song!
Oh! still within the inner veil, upon the spirit's shrine,
Still unprofaned by evil, burns the one pure spark divine
Which God has kindled in us all, and be it mine to tend
Henceforth, with vestal thought and care, the light that lamp may lend.
Still unprofaned by evil, burns the one pure spark divine
Which God has kindled in us all, and be it mine to tend
Henceforth, with vestal thought and care, the light that lamp may lend.
I shut mine eyes in grief and shame upon the dreary past,
My heart, my soul pour'd recklessly on dreams that could not last.
My bark has drifted down the stream, at will of wind or wave,
An idle, light, and fragile thing that few had cared to save.
My heart, my soul pour'd recklessly on dreams that could not last.
My bark has drifted down the stream, at will of wind or wave,
An idle, light, and fragile thing that few had cared to save.
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Henceforth the tiller Truth shall hold, and steer as Conscience tells;
And I will brave the storms of Fate, though wild the ocean swells.
I know my soul is strong and high, if once I give it sway;
I feel a glorious power within, though light I seem and gay.
And I will brave the storms of Fate, though wild the ocean swells.
I know my soul is strong and high, if once I give it sway;
I feel a glorious power within, though light I seem and gay.
Oh! laggard soul! unclose thine eyes. No more in luxury soft
Of joy ideal waste thyself! Awake, and soar aloft!
Unfurl this hour thy mental wings which thou dost fold too long;
Raise to the skies thy lightning gaze, and sing thy loftiest song.
Of joy ideal waste thyself! Awake, and soar aloft!
Unfurl this hour thy mental wings which thou dost fold too long;
Raise to the skies thy lightning gaze, and sing thy loftiest song.
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A DEAF GIRL RESTORED.
The world—the beautiful world around,
A still, bright dream, stole silently by;
For a viewless fetter my senses bound,
And life—my life was one wistful sigh!
A still, bright dream, stole silently by;
For a viewless fetter my senses bound,
And life—my life was one wistful sigh!
The hand of pity and wondrous skill
Has riven for ever that fearful chain,
And joy—wild, fathomless joy doth fill
My beating heart and my startled brain!
Has riven for ever that fearful chain,
And joy—wild, fathomless joy doth fill
My beating heart and my startled brain!
A world of melody wakes around,
Each leaf of the tree has its tremulous tone,
And the rippling rivulet's lullaby sound,
And the wood-bird's warble are all mine own!
Each leaf of the tree has its tremulous tone,
And the rippling rivulet's lullaby sound,
And the wood-bird's warble are all mine own!
But nothing—oh! nothing that I have heard,
Not the lay of the lark, nor the coo of the dove,
Can match, with its music, one fond, sweet word,
That thrills to my soul, from the lips I love!
Not the lay of the lark, nor the coo of the dove,
Can match, with its music, one fond, sweet word,
That thrills to my soul, from the lips I love!
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I dream'd of melody long before,
My yearning senses were yet unseal'd;
I tried to fancy it o'er and o'er,
And thought its meaning at last reveal'd;—
My yearning senses were yet unseal'd;
I tried to fancy it o'er and o'er,
And thought its meaning at last reveal'd;—
For suddenly down through a showery mist,
A rainbow stole with its shining span;
And e'en while the flowers its soft feet kiss'd,
I read—“'Tis a promise from God to man!”
A rainbow stole with its shining span;
And e'en while the flowers its soft feet kiss'd,
I read—“'Tis a promise from God to man!”
A promise? its glory had language then!
There was meaning and truth in each radiant line!
And I look'd on the heavenly band again,
To trace those letters of love divine.
There was meaning and truth in each radiant line!
And I look'd on the heavenly band again,
To trace those letters of love divine.
Ah, no! they were but to be felt, not read,
And when its soft colours were blent in the sun,
And one rich hue on the scene was shed,
I imagined that music and light were one!
And when its soft colours were blent in the sun,
And one rich hue on the scene was shed,
I imagined that music and light were one!
Each tint, I thought, is an angel's tone,
And blending above us in chorus sweet,
With the light of creation its hymn goes on,
As the quivering colours in melody meet!
And blending above us in chorus sweet,
With the light of creation its hymn goes on,
As the quivering colours in melody meet!
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THE TALISMAN.
My darling child! beside my knee
She lingers, pleading low
For “just one more sweet fairy tale,
And then I'll let you go!”
She lingers, pleading low
For “just one more sweet fairy tale,
And then I'll let you go!”
“So listen, dear, and I will tell
How once to man was given,
An instrument so heavenly sweet
'Twas thought it came from heaven.
How once to man was given,
An instrument so heavenly sweet
'Twas thought it came from heaven.
“So daintily its strings were wrought,
So exquisitely fine,
A breath from Him who made, could break
The talisman divine.
So exquisitely fine,
A breath from Him who made, could break
The talisman divine.
“So prompt, too, with its eloquent tones,
This rare device, they say,
That, without touch of human hands,
A wish could bid it play!
This rare device, they say,
That, without touch of human hands,
A wish could bid it play!
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“In radiant Eden first 'twas heard,
Harmonious, mild, and clear;
And at the sound, each singing-bird
Its warble hush'd, to hear.
Harmonious, mild, and clear;
And at the sound, each singing-bird
Its warble hush'd, to hear.
“From thence, with varying melody,
But never with a tone
So pure, so free as then it had,
It pass'd from sire to son.
But never with a tone
So pure, so free as then it had,
It pass'd from sire to son.
“And now, in murmurs soft and low
As rippling rills, it sang,
And now with wild, impassion'd flow,
Its clarion-music rang!
As rippling rills, it sang,
And now with wild, impassion'd flow,
Its clarion-music rang!
“If Love or Pity tuned the string,
Or Memory ask'd its aid,
Sweet, pleading notes, the charméd thing
In tender cadence play'd.
Or Memory ask'd its aid,
Sweet, pleading notes, the charméd thing
In tender cadence play'd.
“If Anger touch'd the quivering chords
With trembling hand of fire,
What demon-tones—what burning words
Resounded from the lyre!
With trembling hand of fire,
What demon-tones—what burning words
Resounded from the lyre!
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“But oh! when soft Forgiveness came,
And o'er the discord sigh'd,—
How like an angel's lute of love
That fairy lyre replied!
And o'er the discord sigh'd,—
How like an angel's lute of love
That fairy lyre replied!
“A fearful power the gift possess'd,
A power for good or ill;—
Each passion of the human breast
Could sweep the strings at will.
A power for good or ill;—
Each passion of the human breast
Could sweep the strings at will.
“And it could melt to softest tears,
Or madden into crime,
The hearts that heard its thrilling strains,
Wild, plaintive, or sublime.
Or madden into crime,
The hearts that heard its thrilling strains,
Wild, plaintive, or sublime.
“The oath within the murderer's heart,
Fair childhood's sinless prayer,
Hope's eager sigh, Affection's vow,
All found an echo there!
Fair childhood's sinless prayer,
Hope's eager sigh, Affection's vow,
All found an echo there!
“What pity, that a gift so rich,
Attuned by love divine,
Was thus profaned by impious man,
At Guilt's unhallow'd shrine!”
Attuned by love divine,
Was thus profaned by impious man,
At Guilt's unhallow'd shrine!”
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“Her eyes in innocent wonder raised,
As gravely still I spoke,
The child into my face had gazed,
But now the pause she broke:—
As gravely still I spoke,
The child into my face had gazed,
But now the pause she broke:—
“Oh! were it mine, that wondrous toy,
That but a wish could wake!
Mamma, 'twould be my pride, my joy,
Soft melody to make!
That but a wish could wake!
Mamma, 'twould be my pride, my joy,
Soft melody to make!
“The evil spirits, tempting youth,
Should ne'er approach my treasure,
I'd keep it pure for Love, for Truth,
For Pity, Hope, and Pleasure!
Should ne'er approach my treasure,
I'd keep it pure for Love, for Truth,
For Pity, Hope, and Pleasure!
“And they should play so blest a strain
Upon the enchanted lyre,—
That heaven would claim it back again,
To join its own sweet choir.”
Upon the enchanted lyre,—
That heaven would claim it back again,
To join its own sweet choir.”
“Keep, keep, my child, that promise still,
‘The wondrous toy' is thine!
E'en now thy spirit tuned it;—'tis
The human voice divine!
‘The wondrous toy' is thine!
E'en now thy spirit tuned it;—'tis
The human voice divine!
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“Oh! ask of Heaven to teach thy tongue
A true, a reverent tone,—
Full oft attuned to praise and prayer,
And still to vice unknown!
A true, a reverent tone,—
Full oft attuned to praise and prayer,
And still to vice unknown!
“And rather be it mute for aye,
Than yield its music sweet
To Malice, Scorn, Impiety,
To Slander, or Deceit!
Than yield its music sweet
To Malice, Scorn, Impiety,
To Slander, or Deceit!
“Degrade not thou the instrument
That God has given to thee,
But, till its latest breath be spent,
Let Conscience keep the key!”
That God has given to thee,
But, till its latest breath be spent,
Let Conscience keep the key!”
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THE SHUNAMITE.
“Is it well with those thou lovest?
Is thy husband safe? thy child?
Pale, and lone, and sad, thou rovest!
Speak!” he said, in accents mild.
Is thy husband safe? thy child?
Pale, and lone, and sad, thou rovest!
Speak!” he said, in accents mild.
Agony and Faith were blending
In the mother's trembling soul,
Human, heavenly thoughts, contending,
O'er her troubled spirit roll.
In the mother's trembling soul,
Human, heavenly thoughts, contending,
O'er her troubled spirit roll.
Pale in death, her darling boy
In that darken'd dwelling lay,
Blooming late with love and joy,
Now a soulless shape of clay.
In that darken'd dwelling lay,
Blooming late with love and joy,
Now a soulless shape of clay.
Quivering with her deep emotion,
All in vain her cold lips part;
But the still strength of devotion
Calms, at last, her heaving heart.
All in vain her cold lips part;
But the still strength of devotion
Calms, at last, her heaving heart.
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Lifting to unclouded heaven
Eyes whose tears she may not quell,—
Be her moment's doubt forgiven!—
Low she murmur'd, “It is well!”
Eyes whose tears she may not quell,—
Be her moment's doubt forgiven!—
Low she murmur'd, “It is well!”
PRAYERS OF THE CHILDREN.
“Come hither, George and Marion,
Come hither, Isabelle!”
Far off, the mother's voice, and low,
But on their hearts it fell.
Come hither, Isabelle!”
Far off, the mother's voice, and low,
But on their hearts it fell.
And George—the rosy, dark-eyed rogue,
Came bounding at her will;
And Isabelle—the darling,
And Marion, meek and still.
Came bounding at her will;
And Isabelle—the darling,
And Marion, meek and still.
“Now if you each one prayer to Heaven,
And only one, might say,
For what, my precious little ones,
Would you this moment pray?”
And only one, might say,
For what, my precious little ones,
Would you this moment pray?”
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“Oh! I would pray that God would send
His bright heaven down to earth.
Nor take us from our tender friends,”
Said George, in thoughtless mirth.
His bright heaven down to earth.
Nor take us from our tender friends,”
Said George, in thoughtless mirth.
“And I,” said loving Isabelle,
“Would ask, my darling mother,
That we might go together there—
Thou, Marion, I, and brother.”
“Would ask, my darling mother,
That we might go together there—
Thou, Marion, I, and brother.”
Then Marion raised her thoughtful eyes—
Our little, dreaming nun—
“And thou?”—Serene the child replies,
“I'd say,—Thy will be done!”
Our little, dreaming nun—
“And thou?”—Serene the child replies,
“I'd say,—Thy will be done!”
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THE SOUL'S APPEAL.
O Father! wandering far from home,
Lone, weary, lost, astray,
In dim and tangled paths I roam—
I cannot find the way.
Lone, weary, lost, astray,
In dim and tangled paths I roam—
I cannot find the way.
And evil shapes beset my path,
And evil eyes I meet;
I seek in vain my long-lost home,
With faltering pilgrim feet.
And evil eyes I meet;
I seek in vain my long-lost home,
With faltering pilgrim feet.
At rosy dawn I left, elate
With thoughtless joy and pride,
Afar thy golden palace gate
That swung, in music, wide.
With thoughtless joy and pride,
Afar thy golden palace gate
That swung, in music, wide.
And now 'tis noon, and weird, wild clouds
Are gathering in the sky,
Terrific thunder rolls around,
The storm goes sweeping by.
Are gathering in the sky,
Terrific thunder rolls around,
The storm goes sweeping by.
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The flowers I found at early morn
Are wither'd in my hand;
I hear a gliding serpent's hiss—
In doubt and dread I stand.
Are wither'd in my hand;
I hear a gliding serpent's hiss—
In doubt and dread I stand.
The seraph-shapes that walk'd with me
At sunrise, long have fled;
The birdlike hopes that flew before,
On starry wings, are dead.
At sunrise, long have fled;
The birdlike hopes that flew before,
On starry wings, are dead.
And yet, at times, a vision dawns
Adown through vistas dim,
The lovely palace gleams afar,
Soft falls a faint, sweet hymn.
Adown through vistas dim,
The lovely palace gleams afar,
Soft falls a faint, sweet hymn.
I see the shining turrets rise,
I hear my sisters sing;
Ah me! the sweet dream dims and dies
Ere I can wave my wing.
I hear my sisters sing;
Ah me! the sweet dream dims and dies
Ere I can wave my wing.
My Father! look upon thy child,
Alone, athirst, astray—
O, take my helpless, outstretch'd hand,
And lead me home, I pray!
Alone, athirst, astray—
O, take my helpless, outstretch'd hand,
And lead me home, I pray!
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THE RAINBOW OF THE SOUL.
When summer clouds are flying
Before the king of day,
And tears to smiles replying,
The moist leaves meet his ray:
Before the king of day,
And tears to smiles replying,
The moist leaves meet his ray:
How softly leans the rainbow
Above the weeping flowers,
As if the Peris wove it
In their aerial bowers:
Above the weeping flowers,
As if the Peris wove it
In their aerial bowers:
To guard within its circle—
Its mystic spell of love—
Their pure and pleading beauty
From storms that rage above:
Its mystic spell of love—
Their pure and pleading beauty
From storms that rage above:
But holier seems its splendour,
If Faith but whisper low,
In accents soft and tender,
“'Tis God who bends the bow!”
If Faith but whisper low,
In accents soft and tender,
“'Tis God who bends the bow!”
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The child of gloom and glory,
Of smiles and tears enwove;
The blending of earth's sorrow
With heaven's joy and love.
Of smiles and tears enwove;
The blending of earth's sorrow
With heaven's joy and love.
The chain, the radiant garland,
That links this world of ours
With that unseen and far land
Where grow the rainbow's flowers.
That links this world of ours
With that unseen and far land
Where grow the rainbow's flowers.
And not when Nature, lonely,
Mourns for the smile of Heaven,
Not then, my Father, only
Thy promise bow is given.
Mourns for the smile of Heaven,
Not then, my Father, only
Thy promise bow is given.
When to some sacred duty
We turn with soul intent,
Then beams that braid of beauty
About our path-way bent.
We turn with soul intent,
Then beams that braid of beauty
About our path-way bent.
It spans the fount of Feeling,
In Pity's path it springs,
And floats o'er Love, revealing,
To Him, its angel wings.
In Pity's path it springs,
And floats o'er Love, revealing,
To Him, its angel wings.
267
When up through Sorrow's mourning
We trusting look to Thee,
In soften'd glory burning,
Hope's sunny bow we see.
We trusting look to Thee,
In soften'd glory burning,
Hope's sunny bow we see.
When Error's clouds are riven,
And Truth's calm voice is heard,
It glides in light from heaven,
Like some celestial bird.
And Truth's calm voice is heard,
It glides in light from heaven,
Like some celestial bird.
When o'er some fault or failing
Our tears repentant flow,
Its tenderest tints unveiling,
Descends that shining bow.
Our tears repentant flow,
Its tenderest tints unveiling,
Descends that shining bow.
When Passion's storm is conquer'd,
And Peace looks smiling through,
Its glowing garland circles
The spirit pure and true.
And Peace looks smiling through,
Its glowing garland circles
The spirit pure and true.
But most—oh! most divinely,
When o'er a foe forgiven
We lean in love benignly,
The Iris bends from heaven.
When o'er a foe forgiven
We lean in love benignly,
The Iris bends from heaven.
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Oh, Father! from all error
So clear our spirit's eyes
That we may see thy promise
For ever in the skies.
So clear our spirit's eyes
That we may see thy promise
For ever in the skies.
HYMN.
Approach not the altar
With gloom in thy soul;
Nor let thy feet falter
From terror's control!
With gloom in thy soul;
Nor let thy feet falter
From terror's control!
God loves not the sadness
Of fear and mistrust;
Oh serve Him with gladness—
The Gentle, the Just!
Of fear and mistrust;
Oh serve Him with gladness—
The Gentle, the Just!
His bounty is tender,
His being is Love,—
His smile fills with splendour
The blue arch above.
His being is Love,—
His smile fills with splendour
The blue arch above.
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Confiding, believing,
Oh! enter always
“His courts with thanksgiving—
His portals with praise!”
Oh! enter always
“His courts with thanksgiving—
His portals with praise!”
Nor come to the temple
With pride in thy mien;
But lowly and simple,
In courage serene.
With pride in thy mien;
But lowly and simple,
In courage serene.
Bring meekly before Him
The faith of a child:
Bow down and adore him,
With heart undefiled;
The faith of a child:
Bow down and adore him,
With heart undefiled;
And “by the still waters,”
And through the green shade,
With Zion's glad daughters,
Thy path shall be made!
And through the green shade,
With Zion's glad daughters,
Thy path shall be made!
270
A HYMN AT SUNSET.
Father of all! my Father!
Oh, name revered and sweet!
Bend Thou benignly to my heart,
And hear its blissful beat.
Oh, name revered and sweet!
Bend Thou benignly to my heart,
And hear its blissful beat.
It thanks thee fondly, fervently,
For all this changeful day,—
For the soft cloud, that floats through heaven,—
The wavelet's luminous play,—
For all this changeful day,—
For the soft cloud, that floats through heaven,—
The wavelet's luminous play,—
The pleasant light,—the azure air,—
The balmy breath of flowers,—
For every bright and beautiful thing
That gilds the gliding hours:
The balmy breath of flowers,—
For every bright and beautiful thing
That gilds the gliding hours:
For the calm, thoughtful tenderness
That watches o'er my way,
So truly and so trustfully,
I cannot go astray:
That watches o'er my way,
So truly and so trustfully,
I cannot go astray:
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For the two little soul-flowers
Thou gavest to my care,
Who, to my spirit, pleading, look
For dew and light and air;
Thou gavest to my care,
Who, to my spirit, pleading, look
For dew and light and air;
And for that rare and dear delight,
All earthly joy above,
The frank and eloquent interchange
Of thought, with one I love;—
All earthly joy above,
The frank and eloquent interchange
Of thought, with one I love;—
But most I thank thee, Father!
With faith undimm'd and free,
For the deep, sacred, treasured grief,
Which brought me first to Thee!
With faith undimm'd and free,
For the deep, sacred, treasured grief,
Which brought me first to Thee!
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FOR THE DEDICATION OF THE HOME OF THE FRIENDLESS.
Thou, whose love is always o'er us,
Wheresoe'er our wanderings be,—
Thou, whose angels float before us,
Viewless, luring all to Thee!—
Wheresoe'er our wanderings be,—
Thou, whose angels float before us,
Viewless, luring all to Thee!—
Gazing through the clouds of sorrow,
With a pitying smile, whose ray
Paints thy promise for the morrow,
In the glowing rainbow's play:—
With a pitying smile, whose ray
Paints thy promise for the morrow,
In the glowing rainbow's play:—
Thou, who speakest worlds to being,
Deign our humble Home to bless!
Where the lone and friendless, fleeing,
Shall Thy guiding hand confess.
Deign our humble Home to bless!
Where the lone and friendless, fleeing,
Shall Thy guiding hand confess.
Unto Thee thus consecrating
Our glad work, in happy bands,
Here may we abide, awaiting
Thine own “house not made with hands.”
Our glad work, in happy bands,
Here may we abide, awaiting
Thine own “house not made with hands.”
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GOD LOVES HIM STILL.
Remember ye, who, in your pride,
A guilty brother cast aside,
All human hearts to love will thrill,
And though he sin—God loves him still!
A guilty brother cast aside,
All human hearts to love will thrill,
And though he sin—God loves him still!
God loves him still—and loves the more,
Because to all he knew before,
A heavier weight of wo and pain
Is added by your cold disdain.
Because to all he knew before,
A heavier weight of wo and pain
Is added by your cold disdain.
Ah! once, in dimpled childhood's hour,
As pure, as guileless as the flower
That in his little hand he press'd,
He smiled—by all around caress'd!
As pure, as guileless as the flower
That in his little hand he press'd,
He smiled—by all around caress'd!
Ye ne'er can know, how, ray by ray,
And tint by tint, in Life's affray,
His soul—a wilted, faded flower,
Has lost the light of childhood's hour!
And tint by tint, in Life's affray,
His soul—a wilted, faded flower,
Has lost the light of childhood's hour!
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Ye ne'er can know what mighty grief
Perchance in madness sought relief,
Or how, by Error led astray,
At last the wanderer lost his way!
Perchance in madness sought relief,
Or how, by Error led astray,
At last the wanderer lost his way!
Ye ne'er can know what wrong or strife
Has blurr'd for him the leaf of Life;
But He who reads it—good or ill—
With pitying eyes—He loves him still!
Has blurr'd for him the leaf of Life;
But He who reads it—good or ill—
With pitying eyes—He loves him still!
Ah! to no heart, though dark and drear
From Heaven it stray, can sin be dear!
And they, who most the siren know,
Must loathe the most her haunts of wo.
From Heaven it stray, can sin be dear!
And they, who most the siren know,
Must loathe the most her haunts of wo.
Beware, lest, while that erring heart,
By suffering learns “the better part,”
Your own, secure in pride, be steel'd,
And meet the judgment unanneal'd!
By suffering learns “the better part,”
Your own, secure in pride, be steel'd,
And meet the judgment unanneal'd!
And thou, poor sinner, who dost know,
Of guilt, the shame, the wrong, the wo;
Who feel'st too well that sin can claim
The only sorrow worth the name;
Of guilt, the shame, the wrong, the wo;
Who feel'st too well that sin can claim
The only sorrow worth the name;
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Turn thou from those, who turn from thee—
From him who should thy brother be,
And while thou weep'st, with grateful thrill,
Look up to Heaven—God loves thee still!
From him who should thy brother be,
And while thou weep'st, with grateful thrill,
Look up to Heaven—God loves thee still!
MUSIC.
The Father spake! In grand reverberations
Through space roll'd on the mighty music-tide,
While to its low, majestic modulations,
The clouds of chaos slowly swept aside.
Through space roll'd on the mighty music-tide,
While to its low, majestic modulations,
The clouds of chaos slowly swept aside.
The Father spake—a dream, that had been lying
Hush'd from eternity in silence there,
Heard the pure melody, and low replying,
Grew to that music in the wondering air—
Hush'd from eternity in silence there,
Heard the pure melody, and low replying,
Grew to that music in the wondering air—
Grew to that music—slowly, grandly waking,
Till bathed in beauty—it became a world!
Led by his voice, its spheric pathway taking,
While glorious clouds their wings around it furl'd.
Till bathed in beauty—it became a world!
Led by his voice, its spheric pathway taking,
While glorious clouds their wings around it furl'd.
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Nor yet has ceased that sound, his love revealing,
Though, in response, a universe moves by;
Throughout eternity its echo pealing,
World after world awakes in glad reply.
Though, in response, a universe moves by;
Throughout eternity its echo pealing,
World after world awakes in glad reply.
And wheresoever, in his grand creation,
Sweet music breathes—in wave, or bird, or soul—
'Tis but the faint and far reverberation
Of that great tune to which the planets roll.
Sweet music breathes—in wave, or bird, or soul—
'Tis but the faint and far reverberation
Of that great tune to which the planets roll.
THE WORSHIP OF NATURE.
A living poem round me breathes
Light, colour, melody, and air—
In all, divinest music wreathes,
Through earth and sky—Creation's prayer.
Light, colour, melody, and air—
In all, divinest music wreathes,
Through earth and sky—Creation's prayer.
The dreaming cloud sails by in heaven,
Its gliding shadow dims the grass,
That tranquil takes whate'er is given,
Breeze, shade, and sunshine as they pass;
Its gliding shadow dims the grass,
That tranquil takes whate'er is given,
Breeze, shade, and sunshine as they pass;
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And ever as it grows, it sings
Its own sweet hymn of lowly love;
Soft on its faintly fragrant wings,
The fairy murmur floats above.
Its own sweet hymn of lowly love;
Soft on its faintly fragrant wings,
The fairy murmur floats above.
The lightest chord of Nature's lyre,
For ever tuned to joy and praise!—
O, happy heart! join thou the choir—
With breeze and bird the anthem raise.
For ever tuned to joy and praise!—
O, happy heart! join thou the choir—
With breeze and bird the anthem raise.
As meekly springs the dew-fed grass,
With softest song, through shade and shine,
Oh! trustful let the shadows pass,
And grow to meet the light divine.
With softest song, through shade and shine,
Oh! trustful let the shadows pass,
And grow to meet the light divine.
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THE SOUL'S LAMENT FOR HOME.
As 'plains the home-sick ocean-shell,
Far from its own remember'd sea,
Repeating, like a fairy spell
Of love, the charméd melody
It learn'd within that whispering wave,
Whose wondrous and mysterious tone
Still wildly haunts its winding cave
Of pearl, with softest music-moan—
Far from its own remember'd sea,
Repeating, like a fairy spell
Of love, the charméd melody
It learn'd within that whispering wave,
Whose wondrous and mysterious tone
Still wildly haunts its winding cave
Of pearl, with softest music-moan—
So asks my home-sick soul below,
For something loved, yet undefined;
So mourns to mingle with the flow
Of music, from the Eternal Mind;
So murmurs, with its child-like sigh,
The melody it learn'd above,
To which no echo may reply,
Save from thy voice, Celestial Love!
For something loved, yet undefined;
So mourns to mingle with the flow
Of music, from the Eternal Mind;
So murmurs, with its child-like sigh,
The melody it learn'd above,
To which no echo may reply,
Save from thy voice, Celestial Love!
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HYMN TO THE VIRGIN.
Mother of the spirit-child!
Of the guileless and the meek
Mournful are thine eyes, but mild
With a beauty from above;
Pale, but eloquent with love,
Thy youthful brow and cheek!
Thou, oh! thou hast known a parent's wasting grief!
A suppliant parent kneels, imploring thy relief!
Of the guileless and the meek
Mournful are thine eyes, but mild
With a beauty from above;
Pale, but eloquent with love,
Thy youthful brow and cheek!
Thou, oh! thou hast known a parent's wasting grief!
A suppliant parent kneels, imploring thy relief!
By the pure and solemn joy
Filling all thy maiden breast,
When the precious heaven-born boy,
Glowing with celestial charms,
Lay within those virgin arms
A bright and wondrous guest!
Hear, in mercy, hear the faltering voice of grief!
A suppliant mother kneels, imploring thy relief!
Filling all thy maiden breast,
When the precious heaven-born boy,
Glowing with celestial charms,
Lay within those virgin arms
A bright and wondrous guest!
Hear, in mercy, hear the faltering voice of grief!
A suppliant mother kneels, imploring thy relief!
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By thine anguish in that hour,
Hour of wo and dread, when Death
Dared to stay the awful power,
High, majestic, yet benign;
Dared to seal the truths divine
Which dwelt upon his breath!
By thy hope, thy trust, thy rapture, and thy grief,
Oh! sainted Marie! send this breaking heart relief!
Hour of wo and dread, when Death
Dared to stay the awful power,
High, majestic, yet benign;
Dared to seal the truths divine
Which dwelt upon his breath!
By thy hope, thy trust, thy rapture, and thy grief,
Oh! sainted Marie! send this breaking heart relief!
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |