 | Life and Poems of John Howard Bryant |  |
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THE HERMIT THRUSH.
When June's dark foliage clothes the forest boughsFar in the shady depths the hermit thrush
Pipes his sweet lay, that through the woodland aisles
Rings with Seraphic melody. No song
In all our range of wildwood charms like his.
Shyest of birds, hermit indeed is he;
His slender form, glancing from spray to spray
Even by sharpest eye is seldom seen.
He shuns all common haunts, and seeks afar,
The loneliest spot amid the thickest shade;
And flies from the intrusive step of man,
However stealthy his approach may be.
Sweetest, far sweetest, is his voice to me,
At the soft hour of twilight, when the world
Has hushed her din of voices, and her sons
Are gathering to their slumbers from their toil.
I sit whole hours upon a moss-grown stone,
In some sequestered spot, and hear his lay,
Unmindful of the things that near me pass,
Till all at once, as the dim shades of night
Fall thicker on the lessening landscape round,
He ceases, and my reverie is broke.
One summer eve, at twilight's quiet hour,
After a sultry day spent at my books,
I slipped forth from my study, to enjoy
The cool of evening. Leaning on my arm
Was one I loved, a girl of gentle mould:
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And long dark locks, that hung in native curls
Around her snowy bosom. The light wind
Tossed them aside, to kiss her lily neck,
Gently, as he were conscious what he touched.
Her step was light, light as the breeze that fanned
Her blushing cheek; gay was her heart, for youth
And innocence are ever gay; her form
Was stately as an angel's, and her brow
White as the mountain snow; her voice was sweet,
Sweet as the chiding of the brook that plays
Along its pebbly channel. Ruddy clouds
Were gathered east and south, high piled and seemed
Like rubby temples in a sapphire sky.
The west was bright with daylight still: no moon,
No stars were seen, save the bright star of love,
That sailed alone in heaven. 'Twas in this walk
We heard the hermit thrush in a lone wood
Near to the wayside, and we sat us down
Upon a mossy bank, to list awhile
To that sweet song. Peaceful before us lay
Woodlands, and orchards white with vernal bloom,
And flowering shrubs encircling happy homes,
And broad green meads with wild flowers sprinkled o'er:
The scent of these came on the gentle wind,
Sweet as the spicy breath of Araby.
The smoke above the clustering roofs curled blue
On the still air; the shout of running streams
Came from a leafy thicket by our side;
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Singing his evening hymn, perfected all.
The hour, the season, sounds, and scenery,
Mingling like these, and sweetly pleasing all,
Made the full heart o'erflow. That maiden wept—
Even at the sweetness of that song she wept.
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A REVERIE.
With the life the Creator has deemed wise to give;He has woven with each a deep yearning to live;
And existence is bliss if we follow the light,
Nor blot out in folly our sense of the right.
If I cannot live alway I would love to stay
Many years with the friends who are near me today.
For the earth and the sky, and the dark rolling sea
Have each day a new charm and fresh beauty for me.
I tire not to look on this beautiful world
Each morn as the curtains of night are unfurled;
I gaze on the vast dome of heaven at night,
And am thrilled with deep awe at the glorious sight.
Then the march of the seasons that pass swiftly on
'Till spring, summer, autumn, and winter are gone;
And spring comes again with its light and its bloom
To mock at the waste and the blight of the tomb.
These all have their charms and their pleasures to give,
And are all meant to gladden the life that we live.
'Tis not manly to grieve at the troubles of life,
'Tis not brave when we shrink from its cares and its strife.
The clouds and the shadows that hang o'er our way,
Let us buffet them bravely or smile them away.
To decry this fair world by His hand spread abroad
Is to sneer at the wisdom and goodness of God.
But “would I live alway?” Most surely I would,
If this body and mind would still serve me for good,
If the joys of my youth and my manhood could stay,
And the friends that I love could be with me alway.
But since all living creatures are doomed to decay,
It is idle to talk of not passing away.
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INVOCATION.
O, south wind! from thy chambers,
Where sleep the tropic isles,
Where bloom the lime and orange,
And endless summer smiles.
Where sleep the tropic isles,
Where bloom the lime and orange,
And endless summer smiles.
Breathe on this desolation—
This boundless waste of snow;
Unseal the silent fountains,
And bid the streamlets flow.
This boundless waste of snow;
Unseal the silent fountains,
And bid the streamlets flow.
Too long thy frost winds, Winter,
Have howled around the door
Of many a humble dwelling,
Where shrink the friendless poor.
Have howled around the door
Of many a humble dwelling,
Where shrink the friendless poor.
To long, the worn and weary,
The lonely and the sad,
Have pined for warmth and sunshine,
To cheer and make them glad.
The lonely and the sad,
Have pined for warmth and sunshine,
To cheer and make them glad.
All yearn for that sweet season
When children haunt the grove,
List to the wood birds singing
Their matin songs of love
When children haunt the grove,
List to the wood birds singing
Their matin songs of love
And seek, in sunny places,
Along the winding glen,
The first dear forest blossoms,
Far from the homes of men.
Along the winding glen,
The first dear forest blossoms,
Far from the homes of men.
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Our spirits, O, ye waters!
Shall be like you, unbound,
When ye break forth in music,
And verdure clothes the ground.
Shall be like you, unbound,
When ye break forth in music,
And verdure clothes the ground.
Though many years have vanished
Since first I saw the light,
Although my brow is wrinkled
And all my locks are white.
Since first I saw the light,
Although my brow is wrinkled
And all my locks are white.
Yet still I fain would linger
In life's mild evening ray,
Though few and pale the blossoms
That spring along my way.
In life's mild evening ray,
Though few and pale the blossoms
That spring along my way.
For nature kindly spares me,
Spite of the waste of time,
A firm elastic footstep,
The rugged steeps to climb.
Spite of the waste of time,
A firm elastic footstep,
The rugged steeps to climb.
And still, I love full often
Through woods and glades to stray,
And feel, and breathe the zephyrs,
That greet me on my way.
Through woods and glades to stray,
And feel, and breathe the zephyrs,
That greet me on my way.
And still, I love to wander,
Childlike, by gurgling brook,
To seek for spring's first blossoms,
In warm and sheltered nook.
Childlike, by gurgling brook,
To seek for spring's first blossoms,
In warm and sheltered nook.
Then haste! O, balmy south wind,
Breathe o'er this waste of snow;
Bring back the merry wood-birds,
And bid the violet blow.
Breathe o'er this waste of snow;
Bring back the merry wood-birds,
And bid the violet blow.
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SAD NEWS FROM HOME.
[_]
Written at Havana, while on my return from Mexico, March 24, 1872, on receiving news of the death of my grandson, John Howard Bryant.
The brightest gem has faded that lit my distant home.
One beautiful and lovely, to whom my name was given,
With cheeks like summer roses, and eyes as blue as heaven;
And I am grieved to weeping, that one I thought to press,
Soon to this throbbing bosom, with many a sweet caress,
Is laid away in darkness beneath the wasting snow,
No more my smile to answer, no more my love to know.
No more his gentle footfall shall patter on the floor,
No more his call at morning, be heard beside my door.
His vacant chair at table, the bed wherein he lay
And breathed in helpless anguish his little life away,
His garments and the baubles with which he used to play;
All these are sad reminders of one that's gone for aye.
How large the place made vacant, and how severe the blow,
That smote our hearts with anguish, none but ourselves can know.
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A MONODY.
My heart, to-day, is far away,
I seem to tread my native hills;
I see the flocks and mossy rocks,
I hear the gush of mountain rills.
I seem to tread my native hills;
I see the flocks and mossy rocks,
I hear the gush of mountain rills.
There with me walks and kindly talks,
The dear, dear friend of all my years;
We laid him low not long ago,
At Roslyn-side, with sobs and tears.
The dear, dear friend of all my years;
We laid him low not long ago,
At Roslyn-side, with sobs and tears.
But though I know that this is so,
I will not have it so to-day;
The illusion still, by force of will,
Shall give my wayward fancy play.
I will not have it so to-day;
The illusion still, by force of will,
Shall give my wayward fancy play.
With joy we roam around the home,
Where in our childhood days we played;
We tread the mead with verdure spread,
And seek the wood path's grateful shade.
Where in our childhood days we played;
We tread the mead with verdure spread,
And seek the wood path's grateful shade.
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We climb the steep where fresh winds sweep,
Where oft before our feet have trod,
And look far forth, east, south and north,
“Upon the glorious works of God.”
Where oft before our feet have trod,
And look far forth, east, south and north,
“Upon the glorious works of God.”
We thread again the rocky glen,
Where foaming waters dash along;
And sit alone on mossy stone,
Charmed by the thrushes' twilight song.
Where foaming waters dash along;
And sit alone on mossy stone,
Charmed by the thrushes' twilight song.
Anon we stray, far, far away,
The club-moss crumpling 'neath our tread,
Seeking the spot by most forgot
Where sleep the generations dead.
The club-moss crumpling 'neath our tread,
Seeking the spot by most forgot
Where sleep the generations dead.
And now we come into the home—
The dear old home our childhood knew;
And round the board with plenty stored,
We gather as we used to do.
The dear old home our childhood knew;
And round the board with plenty stored,
We gather as we used to do.
With reverence now, I see him bow
That head with many honors crowned,
All white his locks as are the flocks
That feed upon the hills around.
That head with many honors crowned,
All white his locks as are the flocks
That feed upon the hills around.
Again we meet in converse sweet,
Around the blazing cottage hearth;
And while away the closing day
With quiet talk and tales of mirth.
Around the blazing cottage hearth;
And while away the closing day
With quiet talk and tales of mirth.
The spell is broke! O, cruel stroke!
The illusive vision will not stay;
My fond, sweet dream was fancy's gleam,
Which stubborn fact has chased away.
The illusive vision will not stay;
My fond, sweet dream was fancy's gleam,
Which stubborn fact has chased away.
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I am alone, my friend is gone,
He'll seek no more that lovely scene;
His feet no more shall wander o'er
Those wooded hills and pastures green.
He'll seek no more that lovely scene;
His feet no more shall wander o'er
Those wooded hills and pastures green.
No more he'll look upon the brook,
Whose banks his infant feet had prest;
The little rill, whose waters still,
Come dancing from the rosy west.
Whose banks his infant feet had prest;
The little rill, whose waters still,
Come dancing from the rosy west.
Nor will he climb, at autumn time
Those hills, the glorious sight to view;
When in their best the woods are drest,
The same his raptured boyhood knew.
Those hills, the glorious sight to view;
When in their best the woods are drest,
The same his raptured boyhood knew.
The hermit thrush, at twilight hush,
He'll hear no more with deep delight;
No blossoms gay beside the way,
Attract his quick and eager sight.
He'll hear no more with deep delight;
No blossoms gay beside the way,
Attract his quick and eager sight.
The lulling sound, from pines around,
No more shall soothe his noonday rest,
Nor trailing cloud with misty shroud
For him the morning hills invest.
No more shall soothe his noonday rest,
Nor trailing cloud with misty shroud
For him the morning hills invest.
That voice so sweet, that late did greet
My ear, each passing summer tide,
Is silent now—that reverent brow
Rests in the grave at Roslyn-side.
My ear, each passing summer tide,
Is silent now—that reverent brow
Rests in the grave at Roslyn-side.
His was a life of toil and strife,
Against the wrong and for the good;
Through weary years of hopes and fears,
For Freedom, Truth and Right he stood.
Against the wrong and for the good;
Through weary years of hopes and fears,
For Freedom, Truth and Right he stood.
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At length, a gleam of broad esteem,
On his declining years was cast;
And a bright crown of high renown,
Enwreathed his hoary head at last.
On his declining years was cast;
And a bright crown of high renown,
Enwreathed his hoary head at last.
His love of song, so deep and strong
In boyhood, faded not in age;
At life's last hour, with noon-tide power,
His genius, lit the printed page.
In boyhood, faded not in age;
At life's last hour, with noon-tide power,
His genius, lit the printed page.
His sun has set, its twilight yet,
Flushes the chambers of the sky;
A softer flame, of spreading fame,
A glory that shall never die.
Flushes the chambers of the sky;
A softer flame, of spreading fame,
A glory that shall never die.
Princeton, Ill., August, 1878.
THE SISTER ELMS.
These sisters, daughters of the wood,Through many passing years have stood
Beside a path I often tread,
From spring's first bloom to autumn's red;
And sometimes when the winter sleet
Lies cold and white beneath the feet,
These comely trees, when first I knew,
Lithe saplings by the brookside grew,
So small indeed, they were unmeet
To plant beside the public street.
Since then, her circuit round the sun
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Yet these fair trees, unscathed by Time,
Have barely reached their youthful prime,
While I, young, full of hope that day,
Am old and soon shall pass away;
For youth and length of years like thine
Are not for this frail race of mine.
Here nursed by April's chilly showers
Oft have I sought Springs first bright flowers
That clustered round the forest stems—
Frail, but more fair than costly gems—
And listened to the wind that weaves
Its playful way among the leaves;
And to the early birds that sing
Sweet notes to hail the dawn of Spring.
Treading alone these woodland ways
My thoughts go back to other days
And distant scenes, where, when a child,
I sought Spring flowers in forests wild.
How throbbed my heart with wild delight,
When the Spring beauty met my sight,
And violet and windflower gay
Joined in the gladness of the day.
How eagerly in sunny glen
I plucked the Erythronium then.
O comely sisters, long may you
Stretch upward in the etherial blue,
Wide and more wide your branches sweep,
Your stems more strong, your roots more deep,
And may you ne'er be doomed to feel
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O when this life shall pass from me
And these dim eyes no more shall see
The glory that around me lies,
This broad green earth and radiant skies,
And when perchance these pleasant lands
May pass into a stranger's hands,
These winding paths and wooded fells,
These sunny nooks and shady dells,
This murmuring brook whose waters run
Glittering and glimmering in the sun,
And all these scenes I've cherished long,
With love that years have made more strong.
Still may these sisters have a friend
To love them, cherish and defend;
Till they in grace and grandeur stand
The pride and wonder of the land.
And when at some far distant day
They fall at last into decay,
And squirrels, bats and owlets come
To seek and find a cozy home,
May reverence then withhold the hand
That fain would smite, and let them stand.
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ST. AUGUSTINE.
When Spain, in grandeur, pride and power,
The peer of all the nations stood,
And gems and gold, a sparkling shower,
Swept through her portals in a flood,—
The peer of all the nations stood,
And gems and gold, a sparkling shower,
Swept through her portals in a flood,—
Her flag waved free on many a shore,
In distant ports her sails were furled;
She sought out realms unknown before;
Her desperate rovers spanned the world.
In distant ports her sails were furled;
She sought out realms unknown before;
Her desperate rovers spanned the world.
In that far age almost forgot,
'Mid wanderings long and toil and truth,
'Twas here that Ponce de Leon sought
The fountain of perpetual youth.
'Mid wanderings long and toil and truth,
'Twas here that Ponce de Leon sought
The fountain of perpetual youth.
His shallop ploughed this restless deep,
These breakers dashed around his prow,
These rippling waters lulled to sleep,
In those old days, the same as now.
These breakers dashed around his prow,
These rippling waters lulled to sleep,
In those old days, the same as now.
That age of wild romance is passed,
Those times of dark adventure o'er,
Freedom and peace are come at last,
To brood o'er this delightful shore.
Those times of dark adventure o'er,
Freedom and peace are come at last,
To brood o'er this delightful shore.
And was it all a shadowy myth,
That led those rude adventurers here?
See! still to this calm ocean Frith,
Life-seeking crowds come year by year.
That led those rude adventurers here?
See! still to this calm ocean Frith,
Life-seeking crowds come year by year.
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The sick, the faint and weary come,
Age, seeking warm and sunny hours;
Wan childhood finds a pleasant home,
And wantons here amid the flowers.
Age, seeking warm and sunny hours;
Wan childhood finds a pleasant home,
And wantons here amid the flowers.
'Tis winter, but no snows come here;
'Mid orange blooms the mockbirds sing,
This warm blue sky is full of cheer,
And nature wears the robes of spring.
'Mid orange blooms the mockbirds sing,
This warm blue sky is full of cheer,
And nature wears the robes of spring.
O quaint old city by the sea,
Where comes the ocean's muffled roar,
There is no other spot like thee,
On all our stretch of land or shore.
Where comes the ocean's muffled roar,
There is no other spot like thee,
On all our stretch of land or shore.
Yes thou art old, still thou art fair,
Men love to tread thy winding ways,
To breathe thy soft and balmy air,
And feel thy sun's life-giving rays.
Men love to tread thy winding ways,
To breathe thy soft and balmy air,
And feel thy sun's life-giving rays.
Here built, for centuries to last,
Slow rising as the months go by,
A seamless structure, wide and vast,
Ere long shall charm the wondering eye.
Slow rising as the months go by,
A seamless structure, wide and vast,
Ere long shall charm the wondering eye.
And here the famed Zorayda stands,
Old Orient forms revived again,
Brought o'er the sea from distant lands—
The cunning of the Saracen.
Old Orient forms revived again,
Brought o'er the sea from distant lands—
The cunning of the Saracen.
Ages of bloody strife were thine,
Thy years of grandeur now are nigh.
Rise to new beauty, rise and shine!
Thine aureole gilds the morning sky.
Thy years of grandeur now are nigh.
Rise to new beauty, rise and shine!
Thine aureole gilds the morning sky.
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FUNERAL ODE.
With solemn requiems o'er the dead,
This nation bows to-day in grief;
He, who our host to victory led,
Has fallen before a mightier chief.
This nation bows to-day in grief;
He, who our host to victory led,
Has fallen before a mightier chief.
Toll for the brave, his heart no more
Throbs with the patriot's noble aim;
The battles of his life are o'er—
Nor cares he now for praise or blame.
Throbs with the patriot's noble aim;
The battles of his life are o'er—
Nor cares he now for praise or blame.
Of modest, unpretentious soul,
Yet great in silent thought was he,
Great in the wise and firm control
Of those he led to victory.
Yet great in silent thought was he,
Great in the wise and firm control
Of those he led to victory.
The strife and jealousies, that oft
Burn in the warrior's fiery breast,
He never knew, but held aloft;
His nation's flag—the victor's crest.
Burn in the warrior's fiery breast,
He never knew, but held aloft;
His nation's flag—the victor's crest.
He scorned deceit and flattering art,
Dealt his opponent blow for blow;
And yet his great and noble heart,
Frowned not upon a fallen foe.
Dealt his opponent blow for blow;
And yet his great and noble heart,
Frowned not upon a fallen foe.
Whatever he designed to do,
He did with patient, quiet toil;
To his convictions ever true,
Fought for submission, not for spoil.
He did with patient, quiet toil;
To his convictions ever true,
Fought for submission, not for spoil.
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To him all gratitude is due
From the freed bondman, for he broke
His tripple chain, and overthrew
The oppressors with relentless stroke.
From the freed bondman, for he broke
His tripple chain, and overthrew
The oppressors with relentless stroke.
He strove not for a despots crown,
But a great nation's life to save;
He laid a conqueror's honors down,
His is the conqueror's honored grave.
But a great nation's life to save;
He laid a conqueror's honors down,
His is the conqueror's honored grave.
When Lee, the proud yet debonair,
Laid down his pow'r at Richmond's gate,
He met him not with haughty air,
Nor with a conqueror's regal state;
Laid down his pow'r at Richmond's gate,
He met him not with haughty air,
Nor with a conqueror's regal state;
But grasped him warmly by the hand,
His generous soul could do no less;
For there he saw before him stand,
A brother soldier in distress.
His generous soul could do no less;
For there he saw before him stand,
A brother soldier in distress.
This mighty realm, whose gentle sway,
Stretches afar from sea to sea,
A heartfelt tribute pays to-day,
To her dead hero's memory.
Stretches afar from sea to sea,
A heartfelt tribute pays to-day,
To her dead hero's memory.
Through ages the great captain's tomb,
A hallowed shrine for us shall be;
Where crowds from all the land shall come,
And pilgrims from beyond the sea.
A hallowed shrine for us shall be;
Where crowds from all the land shall come,
And pilgrims from beyond the sea.
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MEMORIAL HYMN.
Again, the Spring unfolds her blooms,
Beneath this radiant sky of May;
Again, we gather at the tombs,
Where our dear boys were laid away.
Beneath this radiant sky of May;
Again, we gather at the tombs,
Where our dear boys were laid away.
Those, who amid the battle's strife,
Gave all that heroes have to give,
Gave up the hopes and joys of life,
And bravely died that we might live.
Gave all that heroes have to give,
Gave up the hopes and joys of life,
And bravely died that we might live.
Long years since then have passed away,
But still with reverent hearts we bring,
Upon these humble graves to lay,
The fairest blossoms of the Spring.
But still with reverent hearts we bring,
Upon these humble graves to lay,
The fairest blossoms of the Spring.
Blest is the spot supremely blest,
Where our dead heroes slumbering lie,
For Heaven's eternal smile shall rest,
On those who for their country die.
Where our dead heroes slumbering lie,
For Heaven's eternal smile shall rest,
On those who for their country die.
THE CHASE.
In the chill of the frosty autumn morn,A hunter blew a loud blast on his horn,
It echoed afar over valley and hill,
Fainter and fainter till all was still.
The hounds in the kennel came forth with a bound,
For they heard their master's call in that sound.
Far away in a valley's shadowy mist,
A wild deer lifted his head to list,
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The light of the morn glanced back from his eye;
An eye so beautiful, clear and bright,
It seemed to gleam with its own pure light.
He snuffed the danger in that wild sound,
And away he leaped with a mighty bound;
A moment seen on the grassy lawn,
Only a moment and then he was gone.
But the bellowing hounds came on apace,
The hunter followed in eager chase,
And long ere the shadows of evening fell,
In the shade of a distant woodland dell,
The hunter beside the dead deer stood,
And the panting hounds were lapping his blood.
Beautiful creature! so graceful and fleet,
All cold and dead at your murderer's feet.
What a savage is man, to delight in the blood
Of the beautiful, innocent creatures of God.
For he heedlessly takes what no mortal can give,
And wantonly slaughters all creatures that live.
The duck with bright plumage, he hunts where it feeds,
Secure as he deems hid by grasses and weeds;
The gay, frisky squirrel he shoots, and the hare,
He lures to his death with a trap or a snare.
He slays the dear wood birds, that joyously sing,
To cheer him and hail the first blossoms of spring;
And fiercer than all, makes war on his kind,
With treachery, vengeance and cunning combined;
And yet with a murderous heart in his breast,
He claims he's God's noblest and purest and best.
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JOHNSTOWN.
“O, it was pitiful
Near half a city full,”
Swept to their graves
By the merciless waves.
Near half a city full,”
Swept to their graves
By the merciless waves.
Suddenly pouring,
Came the flood roaring
Down the steep valley;
No time to rally,
No time for help to sue,
No time to bid adieu;
On went the slaughter,
In the black water.
Came the flood roaring
Down the steep valley;
No time to rally,
No time for help to sue,
No time to bid adieu;
On went the slaughter,
In the black water.
Babes without number
Torn from their slumber;
Mothers so dutiful,
Daughters so beautiful,
Husband and wife
Struggling for life;
Many a child
With eyes staring wild,
Old men and youth
Crying for ruth;
The weak and the strong
All hurried along
Before the chill breath
Of the Angel of Death.
Torn from their slumber;
Mothers so dutiful,
Daughters so beautiful,
Husband and wife
Struggling for life;
Many a child
With eyes staring wild,
Old men and youth
Crying for ruth;
The weak and the strong
All hurried along
Before the chill breath
Of the Angel of Death.
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No one the tide can stem,
No hand can succor them,
Nothing can stay the wave,
No power the city save.
Like a steep mountain wall,
Rolls the flood over all;
And on goes the slaughter
In the dark water.
Thousands, but yesterday
Happy at home,
Vanished to-day,
To the shade of the tomb.
No hand can succor them,
Nothing can stay the wave,
No power the city save.
Like a steep mountain wall,
Rolls the flood over all;
And on goes the slaughter
In the dark water.
Thousands, but yesterday
Happy at home,
Vanished to-day,
To the shade of the tomb.
O, the anguish and sighs,
The tear streaming eyes!
O, the hearts that are broke
By the terrible stroke!
O, who can condole
With the desolate soul
Whose dear ones are gone,
And who stands all alone,
A wreck on the shore
When the tempest is o'er!
The tear streaming eyes!
O, the hearts that are broke
By the terrible stroke!
O, who can condole
With the desolate soul
Whose dear ones are gone,
And who stands all alone,
A wreck on the shore
When the tempest is o'er!
'Midst roarings like thunder,
Thousands, went under!
The terror is o'er,
The city no more.
Thousands, went under!
The terror is o'er,
The city no more.
225
INTROSPECTION,
Now four score years have passed me by;
My sun is in the evening sky;
Its time of setting must be nigh.
My sun is in the evening sky;
Its time of setting must be nigh.
Through all the course my life has run,
Few wrongs I've felt by others done;
But kindly deeds from many a one.
Few wrongs I've felt by others done;
But kindly deeds from many a one.
Much of the trouble I have known,
Has sprung from seed that I have sown;
From wrong, or folly, all my own.
Has sprung from seed that I have sown;
From wrong, or folly, all my own.
Friends of my youth and manhood gone;
Alas! they left me one by one,
And sleep beneath the graveyard stone.
Alas! they left me one by one,
And sleep beneath the graveyard stone.
Yet, spite of all life's pains and fears;
Its disappointments, griefs and tears,
Kind Heaven I thank for all my years.
Its disappointments, griefs and tears,
Kind Heaven I thank for all my years.
Still, earth is beautiful and bright;
Glorious each day's returning light;
Welcome, the peaceful hours of night.
Glorious each day's returning light;
Welcome, the peaceful hours of night.
Flowers still I love, the woodbird's psalm,
The Summer evening's breath of balm,
And fruitful Autumn's sunny calm.
The Summer evening's breath of balm,
And fruitful Autumn's sunny calm.
And loving friends are near me still,
Who serve me with a free good will,
As I go tottering down the hill.
Who serve me with a free good will,
As I go tottering down the hill.
226
Borne on by Time's eternal flow,
The hour is near when I must go;
But when or where, I cannot know.
The hour is near when I must go;
But when or where, I cannot know.
Standing by the departing gate,
Without a fear of future fate,
Still loving life, I calmly wait.
Without a fear of future fate,
Still loving life, I calmly wait.
RETROSPECTION.
I love the song birds. There is naught in Nature,E'er moved me with so deep an inspiration,
As when the hermit thrush, that tiny creature,
Poured out at eventide, his sweet libation
Of heavenly music through the lonely wood,
'Twas long ago when I, in childhood years,
First heard that song celestial as I stood
Transfused with ecstacy that moved to tears.
Now as I seek my native home again—
The streams and wood paths, were the wild flowers blow,—
I yearn to hear once more the joyous strain
That thrilled my bosom seventy years ago;
But age-dulled nerves, can never know again
The heartfelt rapture that o'ercame me then.
227
THE STREAMS OF LIFE.
These Streams of Life that ever flow
Through Earth's unnumbered living things;
Whence come they, whither do they go,
And where are their exhaustless springs?
Through Earth's unnumbered living things;
Whence come they, whither do they go,
And where are their exhaustless springs?
Our little lives are here to-day,
Where, when these throbbing hearts are still,
To me there comes no certain ray
Of light, the dark abyss to fill.
Where, when these throbbing hearts are still,
To me there comes no certain ray
Of light, the dark abyss to fill.
And do these fountains outward flow,
Wherever sweeps the Almighty's wand,
Farther than human thought can go,
Throughout the Measureless Beyond?
Wherever sweeps the Almighty's wand,
Farther than human thought can go,
Throughout the Measureless Beyond?
Or, is it only on the earth,
This little speck of love and strife,
That thought and being have their birth,
And matter quickens into life?
This little speck of love and strife,
That thought and being have their birth,
And matter quickens into life?
O! Mysteries of Mysteries,
Who shall the vast unknown explore?
Who sail the illimitable Seas
That stretch beyond this earthly shore?
Who shall the vast unknown explore?
Who sail the illimitable Seas
That stretch beyond this earthly shore?
And having scanned the realms of space,
The countless worlds that circle there,
Shall come again, and face to face,
To us, the wondrous truth declare.
The countless worlds that circle there,
Shall come again, and face to face,
To us, the wondrous truth declare.
228
A life of idle luxury
For restless, earnest, thinking mind,
I cannot deem, would even be,
A happy life in Heaven to find.
For restless, earnest, thinking mind,
I cannot deem, would even be,
A happy life in Heaven to find.
Then search for truth, even though ye fail,
Bold delvers in the mine of thought,
To look beyond life's parting veil;
Your labor shall not be for naught.
Bold delvers in the mine of thought,
To look beyond life's parting veil;
Your labor shall not be for naught.
But give me still where'er I be,
All nature's beauty bathed in light,
The glory of earth, sky and sea,
The solemn majesty of night.
All nature's beauty bathed in light,
The glory of earth, sky and sea,
The solemn majesty of night.
For there's no breath of common air,
No ray of light from star or sun,
No shade of beauty anywhere
But whispers of the Almighty One.
No ray of light from star or sun,
No shade of beauty anywhere
But whispers of the Almighty One.
His law supreme, rules every place,
The invisible dust that floats around,
The mighty orbs that roll through space,
All life, all motion, light and sound.
The invisible dust that floats around,
The mighty orbs that roll through space,
All life, all motion, light and sound.
229
AT EIGHTY SEVEN
Alone, Alone! why wait I here,
When all most loved have passed away;
Parents and wife and children dear,
Brothers and sisters, where are they?
When all most loved have passed away;
Parents and wife and children dear,
Brothers and sisters, where are they?
Gone to the boundless silent past,—
And will that past return again,
Restore its conquests wide and vast;
Or is this yearning hope in vain?
And will that past return again,
Restore its conquests wide and vast;
Or is this yearning hope in vain?
I know not and I cannot know,
I only know a mighty wave,
Resistless in its onward flow,
Sweeps all things living to the grave.
I only know a mighty wave,
Resistless in its onward flow,
Sweeps all things living to the grave.
No voice from that reluctant sphere,
Or whisper of the stilly night,
E'er falls upon my waiting ear,
Nor faintest shadow meets my sight.
Or whisper of the stilly night,
E'er falls upon my waiting ear,
Nor faintest shadow meets my sight.
Still Hope eternal looks away
Beyond the darkness of the tomb,
Where friends departed meet, or stray
Through bowers of light and joy and bloom.
Beyond the darkness of the tomb,
Where friends departed meet, or stray
Through bowers of light and joy and bloom.
Though thus bereft, life still is sweet,
All nature doth her promise fill,
The wild flowers blossom at my feet,
These glorious heavens are round me still.
All nature doth her promise fill,
The wild flowers blossom at my feet,
These glorious heavens are round me still.
230
The changing seasons come and go,
Full harvests ripen on the plain,
The autumn woods resume their glow,
And winter snows return again.
Full harvests ripen on the plain,
The autumn woods resume their glow,
And winter snows return again.
Alone, I said! O, not alone,
For loving friends still wait around,
Sweet voices yet of silvery tone
Greet my dull ear with grateful sound.
For loving friends still wait around,
Sweet voices yet of silvery tone
Greet my dull ear with grateful sound.
Goodness and mercy day by day,
From birth unto the present hour,
Have followed me or led the way,—
The guidance of Almighty power.
From birth unto the present hour,
Have followed me or led the way,—
The guidance of Almighty power.
And now amid the fading light
With faltering steps I journey on,
Waiting the coming of the night
When earthly light and life are gone.
With faltering steps I journey on,
Waiting the coming of the night
When earthly light and life are gone.
And shall there rise a brighter day
Beyond this scene of calm and strife,
Where love and peace shall rule for aye,
And goodness be the rule of life?
Beyond this scene of calm and strife,
Where love and peace shall rule for aye,
And goodness be the rule of life?
I lean on the Almighty arm,
The Good, the Merciful and Just,
His love and care all fears disarm,
On His unchanging law I rest.
The Good, the Merciful and Just,
His love and care all fears disarm,
On His unchanging law I rest.
July 1894.
| Life and Poems of John Howard Bryant | |