 | Poems of home and country |  |
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SOCIAL AMENITIES.
KIND GREETINGS.
THE FRIENDSHIPS WE FORMED.
HARVARD CLASS OF '29.
The friendships we formed when life was still young;The sports that we joined in, the songs we then sung,—
How oft from the chambers of memory they well,
Like the echo of waves in the beautiful shell.
The griefs we have met on the pathway of life,
The conquests won bravely amid the stern strife,
The light and the shadow, the joy and the woe,—
Form, like sunshine and raindrop, the radiant bow
That rests on the brow of the storms that are o'er,
That lights up the wave where it breaks on the shore,
That fades like the fair hues of hopes that are riven,
But sails, as it fades, thro' the blue arch of heaven.
The garlands we wove on the foretop of Time,
Tho' robbed of the freshness they wore in our prime;
The castles we built, so lofty and fair,
Tho' crumbled to dust, or vanished in air;
The barks we once freighted, with hearts beating high,
And launched on the sea without tremor or sigh,
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The more grand their career, the more sad and more brief;
Tho' the plants we have loved to angels are given,
Having climbed o'er the wall, and are blooming in heaven,—
Still this chain of our love does not weaken with years,
Nor wear with the friction of toil and of tears;
Nor crumble in dust, nor vanish like breath;
Nor chill with the darkness, and shadow of death;
Nor perish in shipwreck, nor waste in the tomb,—
A thing to be lost in earth's gathering gloom.
Tho' Time's jealous fingers make all things decay,
We brighten its links as the years pass away;
We fastened the lock in our youth and our glee,
Then wandered abroad and have lost the sole key.
But the heart-clasp unites so firmly the chain
That 't is welded by time, and must ever remain.
January 6, 1859.
TO A YOUNG FRIEND AT TWENTY-ONE.
Like a swift racer, clear the lines
That cross thy life's unfolding plan,
And leave the plays that please the child,
For toils that dignify the man.
That cross thy life's unfolding plan,
And leave the plays that please the child,
For toils that dignify the man.
The world before thee waits thy choice;
The coming years to thee belong.
With stern ambition climb the heights;
Let hardships only make thee strong.
The coming years to thee belong.
With stern ambition climb the heights;
Let hardships only make thee strong.
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Cleave to the good, the pure, the just;
Be thy whole life a life of love;
By noble thoughts and lofty aims,
Thyself to men and God approve.
Be thy whole life a life of love;
By noble thoughts and lofty aims,
Thyself to men and God approve.
Love the dear land that gave thee birth,—
The land thy fathers died to save;
They, the real nobles of the earth,
The true, the loyal, and the brave.
The land thy fathers died to save;
They, the real nobles of the earth,
The true, the loyal, and the brave.
Walk in the footsteps of the wise;
Frown on the wrong, the right defend;
Spurn from thy soul all selfish aims;
Do thy whole duty till the end.
Frown on the wrong, the right defend;
Spurn from thy soul all selfish aims;
Do thy whole duty till the end.
So shalt thou leave a fragrant fame;
Thy deeds thy monument shall raise;
The world shall bless thy honored name,
And men unborn shall speak thy praise.
Thy deeds thy monument shall raise;
The world shall bless thy honored name,
And men unborn shall speak thy praise.
TO A YOUNG MAIDEN.
As blushing tints still mantle o'er the shellWhose tiny owner dwells in it no more;
As fragrant rose-leaves to the traveller tell
Where nodded in its pride the beauteous flower,—
So may thy path through this fair world be strewn
With sweet remembrances, to rouse and cheer
The weary wanderer, gladly forced to own
Where thou hast trod, a joy still lingers there.
September 12, 1872.
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REV. JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE'S 70TH BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION.
Threescore and ten!—the crimson sunlight, waning,
Lights up the landscape with intenser glow;
The arch of days—some, bright; some, dull with raining—
Is spanned and clasped with heaven's fair, radiant bow.
Lights up the landscape with intenser glow;
The arch of days—some, bright; some, dull with raining—
Is spanned and clasped with heaven's fair, radiant bow.
Threescore and ten!—the years consumed in toiling,—
Honored and happy, how they fled away!
Earth of its woes, and time of stings despoiling,
Day ever brightening into fairer day!
Honored and happy, how they fled away!
Earth of its woes, and time of stings despoiling,
Day ever brightening into fairer day!
Threescore and ten!—how has the infant's prattle
Changed to the eloquence of active men!
How many, fallen in life's stern storm and battle,
Passed on, and crowned, will come no more again!
Changed to the eloquence of active men!
How many, fallen in life's stern storm and battle,
Passed on, and crowned, will come no more again!
Threescore and ten!—how fondly memory lingers
With friends and voices known and loved so well!
And deft with inspiration, Fancy's fingers
Weave the old histories with their magic spell.
With friends and voices known and loved so well!
And deft with inspiration, Fancy's fingers
Weave the old histories with their magic spell.
Threescore and ten!—yet marked by no decaying,
The juicy vine festoons the sunny hill,—
Its summer foliage, fresh and full, displaying,
And clusters ripening on the trellis still.
The juicy vine festoons the sunny hill,—
Its summer foliage, fresh and full, displaying,
And clusters ripening on the trellis still.
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Threescore and ten!—Oh, is it fact, or dreaming?
How strangely wrong our judgment is, of men;
In form and feature, strong and youthful seeming,
We lose the date, and think age young again.
How strangely wrong our judgment is, of men;
In form and feature, strong and youthful seeming,
We lose the date, and think age young again.
Threescore and ten!—the evening shadows lengthen,
And whispering winds their fragrant incense breathe;
Faith, hope, and love the pilgrim spirit strengthen,
And hands unseen their benedictions wreathe.
And whispering winds their fragrant incense breathe;
Faith, hope, and love the pilgrim spirit strengthen,
And hands unseen their benedictions wreathe.
O Life mysterious, whose slow unfolding
Evades the prying of our human ken!
We trust the future to His wise upholding
Whose love has watched the threescore years and ten!
Evades the prying of our human ken!
We trust the future to His wise upholding
Whose love has watched the threescore years and ten!
DEACON GEORGE W. CHIPMAN, AT SEVENTY.
'T is fitting thus to honor the man of threescore years and ten,
Who has fulfilled his mission nobly among the sons of men,—
Like a warrior, safe returning from a hundred well-fought fields,
Like a reaper, with his arms full of the sheaves good tillage yields.
Who has fulfilled his mission nobly among the sons of men,—
Like a warrior, safe returning from a hundred well-fought fields,
Like a reaper, with his arms full of the sheaves good tillage yields.
Some silver hairs are creeping, one by one, among the brown;
'T is always so when the angels set to weaving glory's crown,
Like the great sun in heaven, when it nears the horizon's rim;
Nor is his natural force abridged, nor his peerless sight grown dim.
'T is always so when the angels set to weaving glory's crown,
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Nor is his natural force abridged, nor his peerless sight grown dim.
So a tall cathedral pillar, planted firm by ancient hands,
So a tree amid the forest, braving storm and tempest, stands;
So the lighthouse, sending forth its rays across the billowy foam,
Unmoved while the generations pass, guides many a pilgrim home.
So a tree amid the forest, braving storm and tempest, stands;
So the lighthouse, sending forth its rays across the billowy foam,
Unmoved while the generations pass, guides many a pilgrim home.
Where are the children he once knew? Methinks the birds are flown,—
The lisping girls are matrons; the boys, gray-beard men are grown;
The old nests, or others like them, on the old branches hang,
And the younger broods still warble as the birds of old time sang;
And the eye that saw, the voice that led, the heart that loved their trill,
Though fifty springs have vanished, sees them, leads them, loves them, still.
How the many earlier reapers from the field of toil have passed,
And memory round their absent forms has its mantle of glory cast!
They passed as the twilight passes into the noontide ray,
As the morning star is melted in the light of glowing day.
The pastors whom he loved and helped,—some still reap earth's harvests white;
Some, glorified, walk with the Lamb on high, in raiment of dazzling light.
Thank God, as suns at setting shed their glow on each purple hill,
One orb, that shone at morn and noon, in its brightness lingers still.
A Nestor, in the field he tilled, we cannot think him old!
No ice has chilled his tropic heart, no rust forms on the gold.
The lisping girls are matrons; the boys, gray-beard men are grown;
The old nests, or others like them, on the old branches hang,
And the younger broods still warble as the birds of old time sang;
And the eye that saw, the voice that led, the heart that loved their trill,
Though fifty springs have vanished, sees them, leads them, loves them, still.
How the many earlier reapers from the field of toil have passed,
And memory round their absent forms has its mantle of glory cast!
They passed as the twilight passes into the noontide ray,
As the morning star is melted in the light of glowing day.
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Some, glorified, walk with the Lamb on high, in raiment of dazzling light.
Thank God, as suns at setting shed their glow on each purple hill,
One orb, that shone at morn and noon, in its brightness lingers still.
A Nestor, in the field he tilled, we cannot think him old!
No ice has chilled his tropic heart, no rust forms on the gold.
His step is yet firm; his hand is strong; his mellow voice still rings.
He speaks,—men listen to his word; he moves, as if with wings.
Erect his form, and on his face not a channel left to show
How the glaciers of olden time slid down into the valleys below.
His bright meridian sun, perchance, down towards the horizon dips,
But sinks behind no shadowing cloud, is hid by no eclipse;
As new year follows new year, and day wakens after day,
Onward, and upward, upward still, it holds its shining way;
And setting, like the orbs of night behind the darkening west,
When the hours of noble toil have earned the fitting hours of rest,
It will set, alone to this lower sphere, but, by a law sublime,
Set only to rise in glorious light in a far brighter clime.
He speaks,—men listen to his word; he moves, as if with wings.
Erect his form, and on his face not a channel left to show
How the glaciers of olden time slid down into the valleys below.
His bright meridian sun, perchance, down towards the horizon dips,
But sinks behind no shadowing cloud, is hid by no eclipse;
As new year follows new year, and day wakens after day,
Onward, and upward, upward still, it holds its shining way;
And setting, like the orbs of night behind the darkening west,
When the hours of noble toil have earned the fitting hours of rest,
It will set, alone to this lower sphere, but, by a law sublime,
Set only to rise in glorious light in a far brighter clime.
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LYMAN JEWETT, D.D., ON HIS SEVENTY-FIFTH BIRTHDAY.
Honored by all, where'er thy name is heard,
Beloved apostle of thy loving Lord,
We greet thee gladly on thy festal day,
And gladly at thy feet our tribute lay.
Beloved apostle of thy loving Lord,
We greet thee gladly on thy festal day,
And gladly at thy feet our tribute lay.
Honored, to sow the seed with toil and tears;
Honored, to reap for God the joyful ears;
Honored, to pray the prayer of faith and love;
Honored, to hear the answer from above;
Honored, when wavering faith, advised to yield,
Bravely to fight in front, and hold the field,
With valiant heart and never-flinching eye,
Foreseeing Christ enthroned, and victory,—
Like soldiers, ere the battle's rage is done,
Sending reports of richest trophies won,
Of armies slain, and hostile banners furled,
Prophetic emblems of a conquered world;
Honored, to bring thy own despatches home,
“The battle gained! The hour of triumph come!”
Honored, to see the idol-temples fall,
And ransomed thousands crown the Lord of all;
Honored, in lonely trust, with wearing toils,
To heap, at Jesus' feet, uncounted spoils
Till “the Lone Star,” on heaven's immortal blue,
At last, a brilliant constellation grew.
Honored, to reap for God the joyful ears;
Honored, to pray the prayer of faith and love;
Honored, to hear the answer from above;
Honored, when wavering faith, advised to yield,
Bravely to fight in front, and hold the field,
With valiant heart and never-flinching eye,
Foreseeing Christ enthroned, and victory,—
Like soldiers, ere the battle's rage is done,
Sending reports of richest trophies won,
Of armies slain, and hostile banners furled,
Prophetic emblems of a conquered world;
Honored, to bring thy own despatches home,
“The battle gained! The hour of triumph come!”
Honored, to see the idol-temples fall,
And ransomed thousands crown the Lord of all;
Honored, in lonely trust, with wearing toils,
To heap, at Jesus' feet, uncounted spoils
Till “the Lone Star,” on heaven's immortal blue,
At last, a brilliant constellation grew.
O meek apostle, what rare bliss is thine!
What toils, what triumphs, in thy lot combine!
Wise, to discern the task thy Lord had given;
Faithful, to point the weeping eye to heaven;
Grand, a whole world in arms of love to embrace;
Patient, to fill, and grace, the humblest place;
Waiting, from youth to age, life's mystery,
And prompt, unquestioning, Lord, to follow Thee.
What toils, what triumphs, in thy lot combine!
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Faithful, to point the weeping eye to heaven;
Grand, a whole world in arms of love to embrace;
Patient, to fill, and grace, the humblest place;
Waiting, from youth to age, life's mystery,
And prompt, unquestioning, Lord, to follow Thee.
E'en now the light, that fills the world of bliss,
Shines o'er the battlements to illumine this;
The crowns, the crowns, almost thy eyes can see,
Bought by atoning blood, faith's mystery!
Songs of the ransomed thou canst almost hear,—
Their lofty melodies awake thine ear;
And earth, redeemed, the glorious pæan sings,
In mighty measures, to the King of kings.
Shines o'er the battlements to illumine this;
The crowns, the crowns, almost thy eyes can see,
Bought by atoning blood, faith's mystery!
Songs of the ransomed thou canst almost hear,—
Their lofty melodies awake thine ear;
And earth, redeemed, the glorious pæan sings,
In mighty measures, to the King of kings.
Should thy dear life a rounded century see,
Thy feet three-fourths have trod towards immortality.
Thy feet three-fourths have trod towards immortality.
March 8, 1888.
TO DEACON J. W. CONVERSE, ON HIS EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY.
Hail! friend and brother, on this bright birthday!
Bright in its thoughts, its memories, hopes, and feeling;
The years have scarcely tinged thy locks with gray,
Thy honored age revealing, yet concealing.
Bright in its thoughts, its memories, hopes, and feeling;
The years have scarcely tinged thy locks with gray,
Thy honored age revealing, yet concealing.
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O'er what long, winding ways thy steps have trod!
What varied cares and trusts, successive pressing,
Have taught thee, leaning on the arm of God,
The rugged path becomes the path of blessing!
What varied cares and trusts, successive pressing,
Have taught thee, leaning on the arm of God,
The rugged path becomes the path of blessing!
What changes to thy wondering eyes have come!
A scroll of miracles, slowly unfolding,—
Some, grandly understood; mysterious, some,—
But one dear Hand above, thy own hand holding.
A scroll of miracles, slowly unfolding,—
Some, grandly understood; mysterious, some,—
But one dear Hand above, thy own hand holding.
And yet, so quick thy step, so lithe thy frame,
The tell-tale years seeming so little weighty,
Thy buoyant, youthful vigor still the same,—
It might be but eighteen, instead of eighty.
The tell-tale years seeming so little weighty,
Thy buoyant, youthful vigor still the same,—
It might be but eighteen, instead of eighty.
Sheltered and guided by that Power above
To reverend age, up from the infant's prattle;
Living for Christ's dear cause a life of love;
Honored to dare and do in life's great battle.
To reverend age, up from the infant's prattle;
Living for Christ's dear cause a life of love;
Honored to dare and do in life's great battle.
'T is thine to bring forth fruit still, even in age,—
Thou to whom fruitful years have long been granted,
Like trees, still verdant 'mid the winter's rage,
Like the rich palms in God's own garden planted.
Thou to whom fruitful years have long been granted,
Like trees, still verdant 'mid the winter's rage,
Like the rich palms in God's own garden planted.
The years roll on; so from the mountain-thread
Swells and expands the deepening, widening river;
So life grows onward from its infant seed,
Broadening, prophetic of the grand forever.
Swells and expands the deepening, widening river;
So life grows onward from its infant seed,
Broadening, prophetic of the grand forever.
Long may thy well-strung bow in strength abide;
And far the day, thou to whom much is given,
Ere the celestial gates shall open wide
To add to all the crown of life in heaven.
And far the day, thou to whom much is given,
Ere the celestial gates shall open wide
To add to all the crown of life in heaven.
January 11, 1888.
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A GOLDEN WEDDING SONG.
REV. AND MRS. W. C. RICHARDS, 1841.
Blest are these years of wedded love,—
Gifts which attest God's loving hand,
Bright years in all their varied course,
Like streams that glide o'er golden sand.
Gifts which attest God's loving hand,
Bright years in all their varied course,
Like streams that glide o'er golden sand.
These fifty years,—so long, so short,
Ten thousand blessings in their train,
Fraught with unnumbered passing joys,—
Well might we live them o'er again!
Ten thousand blessings in their train,
Fraught with unnumbered passing joys,—
Well might we live them o'er again!
The wedding song of love we sung,—
To-day revives the sweet refrain;
Love is undying in its source;
Bridegroom and bride, we live again.
To-day revives the sweet refrain;
Love is undying in its source;
Bridegroom and bride, we live again.
And who are these in stalwart frame;
And these arrayed in sunny curls?
“Our children, and their children fair,—
Pledges of love, our boys and girls.”
And these arrayed in sunny curls?
“Our children, and their children fair,—
Pledges of love, our boys and girls.”
How blest the way thy feet have trod,
Brother, to whom the trust was given;
To feed the happy flock of God,
And guide the wanderer's steps to heaven.
Brother, to whom the trust was given;
To feed the happy flock of God,
And guide the wanderer's steps to heaven.
Nor this alone; the world to thee,
Has opened all its secret heart,
And taught her wonders to explore,—
A miracle in every part.
Has opened all its secret heart,
And taught her wonders to explore,—
A miracle in every part.
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Happy the pair whose gracious lives
In long enduring love combine;
His, the firm trellis for support,
And hers, the sweet and clustering vine.
In long enduring love combine;
His, the firm trellis for support,
And hers, the sweet and clustering vine.
The fire by night, the cloud by day,
Guided and kept the loving twain;
And storms that swept the desert path
Fell round their tent like gentle rain.
Guided and kept the loving twain;
And storms that swept the desert path
Fell round their tent like gentle rain.
Long may the bow abide in strength!
Oh, linger long thy peaceful days;
Let life be one long wedding feast,
And its whole course, a psalm of praise!
Oh, linger long thy peaceful days;
Let life be one long wedding feast,
And its whole course, a psalm of praise!
Sing on, sweet singer, while the years
Add to thy honors and thy fame;
Till heaven, on some far distant day,
Bids to the wedding of the Lamb.
Add to thy honors and thy fame;
Till heaven, on some far distant day,
Bids to the wedding of the Lamb.
A GOLDEN WEDDING.
DR. AND MRS. J. W. PARKER.
Fifty full years!—how fair and grand the record!
Fifty full years! with every virtue rife;
Sweetly and sacredly bound to each other,
A faithful husband and a faithful wife!
Fifty full years! with every virtue rife;
Sweetly and sacredly bound to each other,
A faithful husband and a faithful wife!
Bound to each other in devout affection,
Witnessed by loving lives and loving word;
Made nobly one by heaven's divine selection,—
One in each other, one in Christ their Lord!
Witnessed by loving lives and loving word;
Made nobly one by heaven's divine selection,—
One in each other, one in Christ their Lord!
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Bound to each other, whether joy or sorrow,
Sickness or health, prevailed, sunshine or shade;
Skilful from good or ill some boon to borrow,
Each on the other's arm, both on God stayed.
Sickness or health, prevailed, sunshine or shade;
Skilful from good or ill some boon to borrow,
Each on the other's arm, both on God stayed.
Dear herald of the everlasting gospel!
Filled with the grateful memories of the past,
Thanks that thy other self, like God's fair angel,
Is spared to hover round thee to the last.
Filled with the grateful memories of the past,
Thanks that thy other self, like God's fair angel,
Is spared to hover round thee to the last.
The last! Oh, no, earth's last is heaven's beginning!
Earth's ties, dissevered, are but joined above;
Earth's service changed to service without sinning,
And earth's imperfect, to heaven's perfect love.
Earth's ties, dissevered, are but joined above;
Earth's service changed to service without sinning,
And earth's imperfect, to heaven's perfect love.
Ye have walked nobly through these earthly shadows,
As years to years were added, sun by sun,
Weaving the threads of life, or dark or shining,
Still one in heart,—in love and purpose one.
As years to years were added, sun by sun,
Weaving the threads of life, or dark or shining,
Still one in heart,—in love and purpose one.
God's choicest blessings o'er your heads will hover,
Till the brave warrior wears the conqueror's crown,
Till the tired reaper in the gathering evening,
Released from toil, shall lay the sickle down.
Till the brave warrior wears the conqueror's crown,
Till the tired reaper in the gathering evening,
Released from toil, shall lay the sickle down.
Then shall earth's fifty years, at heaven's bright portal,
No more a symbol, marred by life's dull fever,
Expanding, change into the joy immortal,
And souls, now one on earth, be one forever.
No more a symbol, marred by life's dull fever,
Expanding, change into the joy immortal,
And souls, now one on earth, be one forever.
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MRS. JOSEPH W. PARKER, LOS ANGELES, CAL., ON HER EIGHTY-THIRD BIRTHDAY.
Did I hear you say, “'T is eighty”?
Methinks it cannot be;
I see no frosts nor snowflakes
Gathered on the sunny tree;
There are only white-browed pansies,
Not a snowdrift to be found.
Oh, the snows are all white rose-leaves
Which flutter o'er the ground!
Methinks it cannot be;
I see no frosts nor snowflakes
Gathered on the sunny tree;
There are only white-browed pansies,
Not a snowdrift to be found.
Oh, the snows are all white rose-leaves
Which flutter o'er the ground!
Did you tell me, “Eighty spring-tides,
With their tender buds, have passed,”
And how you watch expectant,
The fading of the last?
I only see the blossoms,
And hear the sweet birds sing,
Prophetic of the beauty
Of the immortal spring.
With their tender buds, have passed,”
And how you watch expectant,
The fading of the last?
I only see the blossoms,
And hear the sweet birds sing,
Prophetic of the beauty
Of the immortal spring.
Do you whisper, “Eighty summers
With their grace and glow have fled”?
Do you mourn the early blossoms,
Now sleeping with the dead?
'T is but a mortal counting,
That dotes on tide and clime;
Your youthful heart is weaving
Summer garlands all the time.
With their grace and glow have fled”?
Do you mourn the early blossoms,
Now sleeping with the dead?
'T is but a mortal counting,
That dotes on tide and clime;
Your youthful heart is weaving
Summer garlands all the time.
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Do you tell me, “Eighty autumns
Have heaped their harvests in,
And the wintry winds come, blowing,
Where the waving crops have been”?
You are reaping, gentle lady,
Richest harvests, day by day;
The fruits of your bright seed-time
Ever press your pilgrim way.
Have heaped their harvests in,
And the wintry winds come, blowing,
Where the waving crops have been”?
You are reaping, gentle lady,
Richest harvests, day by day;
The fruits of your bright seed-time
Ever press your pilgrim way.
As the glad sun approaches,
And all the stars grow dim,
The fringe of coming glory
Lights up the horizon's rim;
And the dear Hand that guided,
Till the tale became fourscore,
Never weary, never fainting,
Will be sure forevermore.
And all the stars grow dim,
The fringe of coming glory
Lights up the horizon's rim;
And the dear Hand that guided,
Till the tale became fourscore,
Never weary, never fainting,
Will be sure forevermore.
Yes, 't is eighty,—truly, eighty!
How swiftly the seasons glide!
'T is eighty,—more than eighty,—
And three happy years beside!
Why should we wish them fewer,—
The years that God has given?
The more the finished years of earth,
The nearer, rest and heaven.
How swiftly the seasons glide!
'T is eighty,—more than eighty,—
And three happy years beside!
Why should we wish them fewer,—
The years that God has given?
The more the finished years of earth,
The nearer, rest and heaven.
January, 1893.
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GEORGE C. LORIMER.
Brother and friend, with joy we meet
Thy welcome form at home again;
With joy thy honored face we greet,
Like the glad rainbow after rain.
Thy welcome form at home again;
With joy thy honored face we greet,
Like the glad rainbow after rain.
Not as a stranger in the fold,
Not as a hireling for the flock,
Thy well known call sounds as of old;
The ancient key just fits the lock.
Not as a hireling for the flock,
Thy well known call sounds as of old;
The ancient key just fits the lock.
Come as a soldier from the field,
From battles fought and victories won,—
Thy old commission newly sealed,
A fresh and grand campaign begun.
From battles fought and victories won,—
Thy old commission newly sealed,
A fresh and grand campaign begun.
Come 'neath the banner of the Cross;
The Prince of life shall lead the way,
Marshal the troops, or gain or loss,
His Arm, resistless, wins the day.
The Prince of life shall lead the way,
Marshal the troops, or gain or loss,
His Arm, resistless, wins the day.
So, in the tide of ripening life,
The warrior yearns to tread again,
And bless, the fields of mortal strife,—
The peaceful bivouac of the slain.
The warrior yearns to tread again,
And bless, the fields of mortal strife,—
The peaceful bivouac of the slain.
We know thee well; our throbbing hearts
In ardent love respond to thine,—
The new love, like the former, starts
From the one Root of Life Divine.
In ardent love respond to thine,—
The new love, like the former, starts
From the one Root of Life Divine.
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Thy star will suffer no eclipse,
If God thy burning words inspire;
We trust in Him to touch thy lips,
Dear prophet, with His hallowed fire.
If God thy burning words inspire;
We trust in Him to touch thy lips,
Dear prophet, with His hallowed fire.
March on, march on, triumphant band,
Obedient to your Leader's call!
Wave the red banner o'er the land,
And crown the Saviour Lord of all!
Obedient to your Leader's call!
Wave the red banner o'er the land,
And crown the Saviour Lord of all!
ADONIRAM JUDSON GORDON.
ON THE TWENTY-FIFTH ANNIVERSARY OF HIS PASTORATE AT CLARENDON ST., BOSTON, DECEMBER, 26 1894.
Shepherd and Heavenly Friend,
Almighty to defend
Thy little flock,
In verdant pastures fed,
To living waters led,
We cling to Thee our Head.
Our sheltering Rock.
Almighty to defend
Thy little flock,
In verdant pastures fed,
To living waters led,
We cling to Thee our Head.
Our sheltering Rock.
Our shepherd heeds Thy voice,—
The shepherd of our choice,
The proved, the tried;
Strong to obey Thy will,
Thy service to fulfil,
Our loving shepherd still,
Our friend, our guide.
The shepherd of our choice,
The proved, the tried;
Strong to obey Thy will,
Thy service to fulfil,
Our loving shepherd still,
Our friend, our guide.
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Kept near Thy gracious side,
Long may his arm abide,
Strong in Thy might;
Speak through his lips that word
Which listening chaos heard,
And all its depths were stirred,
“Let there be light.”
Long may his arm abide,
Strong in Thy might;
Speak through his lips that word
Which listening chaos heard,
And all its depths were stirred,
“Let there be light.”
Head of the Church, to Thee
Immortal glory be,—
We wait Thy word!
Thy glorious kingdom bring,
Bid heaven's great anthem ring;
Christ, Thou of kings art King,
Of lords art Lord!
Immortal glory be,—
We wait Thy word!
Thy glorious kingdom bring,
Bid heaven's great anthem ring;
Christ, Thou of kings art King,
Of lords art Lord!
December 12, 1894.
Dr. Gordon died on Saturday, February 2, 1895 (after a brief illness), universally esteemed and honored, representatives of other church organizations, and many religious and benevolent associations, joining in a tribute to his memory and character.
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IN MEMORY AND CONDOLENCE.
WILLIAM HAGUE, D. D.
We emulate the path thy feet have trod,
Brother, beloved of men, approved of God;
Thou of the brilliant speech and silver tongue,
On thy dear lips have wondering thousands hung.
Preacher and pastor,—faithful, polished, mild,
A man in stature, and in love, a child,
Whose look was eloquence, his words, a power,
His life a magic force, his faith, a tower,
His memory vast, an unexhausted store,
His soul, a volume of historic lore;
Man of the people, whom he swayed at will,
Man of the study and the polished quill,—
All good he praised; he pitied where he scorned,
And wise, as just, whate'er he touched, adorned.
Skilful expounder of the sacred word,
Quick to discern, prompt to reveal his Lord,
Profound in thought, wise to observe the times,
His mind, capacious, could embrace all climes,
Lived in all ages, took in land and sea,
The past, the present, and the yet-to-be;
His fervent heart no years could make grow cold,
And age, advancing, never made him old.
To the old standards of the Gospel true,
Nor spurned the old, nor pined for doctrines new;
Maintained the ancient truth with courage bold,—
That truth, forever new, forever old;
And as he died,—heeding the Master's call,—
Pronounced that truth enough for him, for all.
How nobly fitting was the parting hour:
One pulse, the bud,—the next, the full-blown flower;
One instant, here,—the next, beyond the skies;
Now, earth's high noon,—now, noon in Paradise.
This moment, bound by human woes and bars,
The next, in peerless light, beyond the stars;
From earth's high summer snatched, and blooming bowers,
To heaven's immortal glow and fadeless flowers;
Now, on the threshold of the temple here,
Now, bowed before its inmost altar there;
With what strange joy the conqueror upward rode,
To worship, reverent, at the throne of God!
Brother, beloved of men, approved of God;
Thou of the brilliant speech and silver tongue,
On thy dear lips have wondering thousands hung.
Preacher and pastor,—faithful, polished, mild,
A man in stature, and in love, a child,
Whose look was eloquence, his words, a power,
His life a magic force, his faith, a tower,
His memory vast, an unexhausted store,
His soul, a volume of historic lore;
Man of the people, whom he swayed at will,
Man of the study and the polished quill,—
All good he praised; he pitied where he scorned,
And wise, as just, whate'er he touched, adorned.
Skilful expounder of the sacred word,
Quick to discern, prompt to reveal his Lord,
Profound in thought, wise to observe the times,
His mind, capacious, could embrace all climes,
Lived in all ages, took in land and sea,
The past, the present, and the yet-to-be;
His fervent heart no years could make grow cold,
And age, advancing, never made him old.
To the old standards of the Gospel true,
Nor spurned the old, nor pined for doctrines new;
Maintained the ancient truth with courage bold,—
That truth, forever new, forever old;
And as he died,—heeding the Master's call,—
Pronounced that truth enough for him, for all.
62
One pulse, the bud,—the next, the full-blown flower;
One instant, here,—the next, beyond the skies;
Now, earth's high noon,—now, noon in Paradise.
This moment, bound by human woes and bars,
The next, in peerless light, beyond the stars;
From earth's high summer snatched, and blooming bowers,
To heaven's immortal glow and fadeless flowers;
Now, on the threshold of the temple here,
Now, bowed before its inmost altar there;
With what strange joy the conqueror upward rode,
To worship, reverent, at the throne of God!
Ascended brother, may the mantle blest,
That fell from thee, on many a prophet rest;
Thy trumpet voice still sound the loud alarm,
Thy magic notes linger, to rouse and charm,
And, Heaven's high heralds, Heaven's high service done,
Achieve the honors, brother, thou hast won.
That fell from thee, on many a prophet rest;
Thy trumpet voice still sound the loud alarm,
Thy magic notes linger, to rouse and charm,
And, Heaven's high heralds, Heaven's high service done,
Achieve the honors, brother, thou hast won.
September 26, 1887.
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GARDNER COLBY.
[_]
The Legislature of Maine changed the title of Waterville College to that of Colby University, January 23d, 1867, in honor of Gardner Colby, of Newton, Massachusetts, who contributed $50,000 towards its endowment, and afterwards increased the amount by a bequest of $120,000.
Passed from our sight, but grandly living still,—
As glows the light behind the western hill
When towering summits hide the vanished sun,
And the long course of weary day is run;
The disk concealed, the brightness backward turns,—
For other lands the same full radiance burns.
A noble life, cut off, still journeys on,—
A trail of light behind it,—when 't is gone,—
And life before,—a faithful life's reward,—
A joy to earth,—and ever with the Lord!
As glows the light behind the western hill
When towering summits hide the vanished sun,
And the long course of weary day is run;
The disk concealed, the brightness backward turns,—
For other lands the same full radiance burns.
A noble life, cut off, still journeys on,—
A trail of light behind it,—when 't is gone,—
And life before,—a faithful life's reward,—
A joy to earth,—and ever with the Lord!
We hail thee, brother, favored now to see,
Unveiled at last, life's doubt and mystery:
What fields thy works have blessed; what conquests, won,
Attest the worthy deeds thy hands have done;
What hungry mouths thy willing love has fed;
What souls enjoyed, through thee, the living Bread;
To what rich seeds thy life has given wings,—
Sheaves for the garner of the King of kings;
What halls of learning, fostered by thy care,
Have nurtured men whose lips are trained to bear
To nations born, and nations yet to be,
Tidings of life and immortality.
Dost thou, from heaven, the honest praise disclaim,
Caring no more for earth or earthly fame?
Not for thyself we weave these honored bays,
Yet for thyself, and for the Saviour's praise.
All that was great in thee, we cherish still,
All that accorded with the Master's will;
Thousands the lessons of thy life shall read,—
The kind in word; the generous in deed;
The ready, helpful hand; the open heart;
The soul to feel; the tender tear to start;
The wealth of hand and brain to yield supply
To every worthy work, or low, or high,
Accounting nothing small which God deems great,
So prompt to act, so patient, too, to wait,
Holding of right with men an honored seat,
But laying all things at the Master's feet.
Unveiled at last, life's doubt and mystery:
What fields thy works have blessed; what conquests, won,
Attest the worthy deeds thy hands have done;
What hungry mouths thy willing love has fed;
What souls enjoyed, through thee, the living Bread;
To what rich seeds thy life has given wings,—
Sheaves for the garner of the King of kings;
What halls of learning, fostered by thy care,
Have nurtured men whose lips are trained to bear
To nations born, and nations yet to be,
Tidings of life and immortality.
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Caring no more for earth or earthly fame?
Not for thyself we weave these honored bays,
Yet for thyself, and for the Saviour's praise.
All that was great in thee, we cherish still,
All that accorded with the Master's will;
Thousands the lessons of thy life shall read,—
The kind in word; the generous in deed;
The ready, helpful hand; the open heart;
The soul to feel; the tender tear to start;
The wealth of hand and brain to yield supply
To every worthy work, or low, or high,
Accounting nothing small which God deems great,
So prompt to act, so patient, too, to wait,
Holding of right with men an honored seat,
But laying all things at the Master's feet.
Long will his memory live in many a land,
Long the foundations which he planted stand;
And grateful thousands shall with glad acclaim
Breathe from full hearts their blessings on his name.
Long the foundations which he planted stand;
And grateful thousands shall with glad acclaim
Breathe from full hearts their blessings on his name.
We leave thee, brother, and our way pursue,
Patient to bear, and prompt, like thee, to do;
Be ours, like thine, through grace the victory won,
And ours, like thine, the Master's glad “Well done!”
Patient to bear, and prompt, like thee, to do;
Be ours, like thine, through grace the victory won,
And ours, like thine, the Master's glad “Well done!”
65
REV. ISAAC BACKUS,
ON UNVEILING A MONUMENT TO HIS MEMORY.
Sacred the ground we tread,—
Where sleep the pious dead,
Supremely blest;
Their honored course is run,
The crown of victory won,
Bright as the glorious sun,
In Christ they rest.
Where sleep the pious dead,
Supremely blest;
Their honored course is run,
The crown of victory won,
Bright as the glorious sun,
In Christ they rest.
Blest be the man of God
Who once these pathways trod
In Christ's own way;
His faith as noontide clear,
He sought in holy fear
The Master's voice to hear,
And, glad, obey.
Who once these pathways trod
In Christ's own way;
His faith as noontide clear,
He sought in holy fear
The Master's voice to hear,
And, glad, obey.
Here in this solemn shade
(Tribute too long delayed),
This shrine we rear;
And carve his reverend name,
Worthy immortal fame;—
His holy labors claim
Such record here.
(Tribute too long delayed),
This shrine we rear;
And carve his reverend name,
Worthy immortal fame;—
His holy labors claim
Such record here.
Mark well each lowly grave
Where rest the true and brave,
Till morn shall break;
Peaceful in Christ they sleep,
Heaven will their memory keep,
Till from their slumbers deep,
Joyful, they wake.
Where rest the true and brave,
Till morn shall break;
Peaceful in Christ they sleep,
Heaven will their memory keep,
Till from their slumbers deep,
Joyful, they wake.
March 10, 1893.
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A LOVING BEQUEST.
[_]
On the unveiling of a portrait of a lady who devised funds for building a church at Mattapan, Massachusetts.
Living, she loved the house of prayer;
Loving, she lived to plant it here,
And left what love could well afford,
A noble offering to her Lord.
Loving, she lived to plant it here,
And left what love could well afford,
A noble offering to her Lord.
No better monument could tell
What her heart loved, and loved so well,—
Such holy love breathed in her breath,
Lived in her life, survived her death.
What her heart loved, and loved so well,—
Such holy love breathed in her breath,
Lived in her life, survived her death.
Though marble piles in dust decay,
And human glory melts away,
Her gift abides in sins forgiven,
In souls redeemed, and heirs of heaven.
And human glory melts away,
Her gift abides in sins forgiven,
In souls redeemed, and heirs of heaven.
Blessings be on this favored spot,—
No act of love shall be forgot;
And Christ's approving word shall be,
She, what she could, had done for me.
No act of love shall be forgot;
And Christ's approving word shall be,
She, what she could, had done for me.
May 8, 1889.
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MARY POND.
Yes, “fell asleep,”—but sleep implies two wakings
One in the weary past, one, yet to be;
One in this life of labor and heart-breakings,
One in the bliss of immortality.
One in the weary past, one, yet to be;
One in this life of labor and heart-breakings,
One in the bliss of immortality.
Yes, “fell asleep,”—tired watch no longer keeping,
With ever restless hands and busy brain;
All sorrow past,—no grief, no sigh, no weeping,
Like a sweet summer evening, after rain.
With ever restless hands and busy brain;
All sorrow past,—no grief, no sigh, no weeping,
Like a sweet summer evening, after rain.
Yes, “fell asleep,”—no more with dim surmising,
Questioning what may be the life to come;
She feels, in the freed spirit's glad uprising,
Joy, peace, rest, grandeur, glory, heaven, home.
Questioning what may be the life to come;
She feels, in the freed spirit's glad uprising,
Joy, peace, rest, grandeur, glory, heaven, home.
Yes, “fell asleep,”—we watch for her low breathing,
Like fragrant night-winds floating gently by;
Like noiseless clouds of incense, upward wreathing,
Her spirit, silent, points us to the sky.
Like fragrant night-winds floating gently by;
Like noiseless clouds of incense, upward wreathing,
Her spirit, silent, points us to the sky.
Yes, “fell asleep,”—the touch of those dear fingers
Created life and beauty where it fell;
Around her cherished works her spirit lingers,
Like strains of music o'er the quivering shell.
Created life and beauty where it fell;
Around her cherished works her spirit lingers,
Like strains of music o'er the quivering shell.
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Yes, “fell asleep,”—so early quenched life's fever,
So brilliant promise clouded o'er so soon;
Faith, be thou strong; God's purpose faileth never;
Earth had the radiant morning; heaven, the noon.
So brilliant promise clouded o'er so soon;
Faith, be thou strong; God's purpose faileth never;
Earth had the radiant morning; heaven, the noon.
Man gathers heaps of ore, a grasping miner,
Toiling and burdened through the scorching day,
But sleeps at last; and God, the great Refiner,
Saves all the gold, and melts the dross away.
Toiling and burdened through the scorching day,
But sleeps at last; and God, the great Refiner,
Saves all the gold, and melts the dross away.
Yes, “fell asleep,”—just as the curious kernel
Of flower-life hides within the rigid grain;
But, with the warm breath of the season vernal,
It waves luxuriant o'er the fields again.
Of flower-life hides within the rigid grain;
But, with the warm breath of the season vernal,
It waves luxuriant o'er the fields again.
Yes, “fell asleep,”—resting in God's safe keeping.
So hides the worm within his narrow cell,
But bursts his chrysalis, and, heavenward leaping,
Shining, proclaims that God does all things well.
So hides the worm within his narrow cell,
But bursts his chrysalis, and, heavenward leaping,
Shining, proclaims that God does all things well.
Yes, “fell asleep,”—O rest divine, immortal!
Knowing nor pain, nor grief, nor death, nor sin;
Rest that conveys the soul to heaven's high portal,
And bids the weary wanderer enter in.
Knowing nor pain, nor grief, nor death, nor sin;
Rest that conveys the soul to heaven's high portal,
And bids the weary wanderer enter in.
Yes, “fell asleep,”—O mystery past our knowing!
Beyond thick clouds we cannot see the sun;
But patient, trustingly, we wait Heaven's showing,
'T is God's own hand,—thy will, O Lord, be done.
Beyond thick clouds we cannot see the sun;
But patient, trustingly, we wait Heaven's showing,
'T is God's own hand,—thy will, O Lord, be done.
Dresden, October 7, 1875.
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“BLIND ANNA.”
We are all like blind men groping in the dark,—we cannot see;
The lives we here are living are full of mystery.
How the plans of God are working, we strive in vain to tell;
But faith can safely trust Him, for He doeth all things well.
The lives we here are living are full of mystery.
How the plans of God are working, we strive in vain to tell;
But faith can safely trust Him, for He doeth all things well.
His Providence leads wisely, like the pillared cloud and flame;
And so on every milestone we record His blessed name.
All the happy Ebenezers His love and praises tell:
His arm has never failed us; He doeth all things well.
And so on every milestone we record His blessed name.
All the happy Ebenezers His love and praises tell:
His arm has never failed us; He doeth all things well.
If the keen, sharp eye can see Him, as sees the soaring lark;
If, blinded, through His wisdom, we only trace Him in the dark,
In the glowing, glorious noontide, or in the deepest cell,—
We will trust Him, we will love Him, for He doeth all things well.
If, blinded, through His wisdom, we only trace Him in the dark,
In the glowing, glorious noontide, or in the deepest cell,—
We will trust Him, we will love Him, for He doeth all things well.
If the blessed light is darkened, if the eye is dull and blind,—
'T is ordered by a Father who is ever good and kind.
His purpose is in mercy, though His plan He does not tell,
Wait till the seal is broken; He doeth all things well.
'T is ordered by a Father who is ever good and kind.
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Wait till the seal is broken; He doeth all things well.
There 's a world where all that tries us shall be made divinely clear,
The eye no more be sightless, no longer deaf the ear;
The day shall rise in glory,—why should the heart rebel?
God sees, and we shall see Him, for He doeth all things well.
The eye no more be sightless, no longer deaf the ear;
The day shall rise in glory,—why should the heart rebel?
God sees, and we shall see Him, for He doeth all things well.
Chicago, January, 1893.
BLOSSOMING ON THE OTHER SIDE.
Oh, weep not, ye whose child hath won
A dwelling in yon glorious sphere,
Where sin is past, and labor done;
'T is better than to linger here!
A dwelling in yon glorious sphere,
Where sin is past, and labor done;
'T is better than to linger here!
Oh, weep not, ye whose offspring wears
A heavenly crown upon her brow,
Whose hand a harp of worship bears,
Who sings the angelic anthem now!
A heavenly crown upon her brow,
Whose hand a harp of worship bears,
Who sings the angelic anthem now!
Oh, weep not, ye whose child hath passed
Thus early from earth's tempting scene;
In heaven, temptation's furious blast
Can never reach the soul again!
Thus early from earth's tempting scene;
In heaven, temptation's furious blast
Can never reach the soul again!
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Oh, weep not, ye whose child hath soared,
A seraph, to the world above,
Where endless day is round her poured,
And happy spirits dwell in love!
A seraph, to the world above,
Where endless day is round her poured,
And happy spirits dwell in love!
Oh, weep not, ye whom God hath left
To mourn a tie so early riven;
She lives,—while ye are thus bereft,—
First of your household, safe in heaven!
To mourn a tie so early riven;
She lives,—while ye are thus bereft,—
First of your household, safe in heaven!
TO A SORROWING MOTHER.
Oh, mourn not, fond mother, the joys that depart;
There is comfort and peace for the stricken in heart!
God has taken the spirit that basked in thy love;
The beautiful angels have borne it above.
There is comfort and peace for the stricken in heart!
God has taken the spirit that basked in thy love;
The beautiful angels have borne it above.
The plant thou hast reared to brighten earth's gloom,
Had fastened its roots in the soil of the tomb.
It smiled in thy garden, so gentle and fair;
It has climbed o'er the wall, and is blossoming there.
Had fastened its roots in the soil of the tomb.
It smiled in thy garden, so gentle and fair;
It has climbed o'er the wall, and is blossoming there.
The jewel once worn with pride on thy breast,
Now flashes its light in the land of the blest;
The rose is still fragrant, though torn from the stem,—
The setting is ruined, but safe is the gem.
Now flashes its light in the land of the blest;
The rose is still fragrant, though torn from the stem,—
The setting is ruined, but safe is the gem.
Then gird thee to labor, to trial, to love;
The treasure, still thine, awaits thee above.
Be faithful, be earnest, night soon will be riven,
And the lost one of earth, be thy jewel in heaven.
The treasure, still thine, awaits thee above.
Be faithful, be earnest, night soon will be riven,
And the lost one of earth, be thy jewel in heaven.
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AGATHA E. CLAFLIN.
Is thy final rest more peaceful,—
Is thy sleep more sweet, dear child,
Brought from Rome's gorgeous sepulchres,
Back to thy native wild?
Or breathes the wind more gently,
Where the chestnut and the pine
Above the tomb that holds thy dust
Their clustering branches twine?
Is thy sleep more sweet, dear child,
Brought from Rome's gorgeous sepulchres,
Back to thy native wild?
Or breathes the wind more gently,
Where the chestnut and the pine
Above the tomb that holds thy dust
Their clustering branches twine?
What was wanting in the shadows
Of old imperial Rome,
That thou sighedst, midst its grandeur,
For thy dearer western home?
Those fragrant airs and sunny bowers,—
Could they not weave a spell,
With power to win, above the spot
Thy young heart loved so well?
Of old imperial Rome,
That thou sighedst, midst its grandeur,
For thy dearer western home?
Those fragrant airs and sunny bowers,—
Could they not weave a spell,
With power to win, above the spot
Thy young heart loved so well?
'T was there the proud Jugurtha,
Subdued by famine, died;
But there, with bread immortal,
Was thy spirit satisfied?
He, in his lonely prison chained,
Perished in heathen gloom;
Thou soaredst upward, free of wing,
And angels bade thee come.
Subdued by famine, died;
But there, with bread immortal,
Was thy spirit satisfied?
He, in his lonely prison chained,
Perished in heathen gloom;
Thou soaredst upward, free of wing,
And angels bade thee come.
And there a mightier warrior
Waited his heavenly crown,
Found a martyr's wreath around his brow,
And laid his armor down.
Brave Christian souls in Roman soil
Repose in holy rest,
As sinks the gorgeous, crimson sun
In glory in the west.
Waited his heavenly crown,
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And laid his armor down.
Brave Christian souls in Roman soil
Repose in holy rest,
As sinks the gorgeous, crimson sun
In glory in the west.
Thy footsteps trod the pathways
Of grand, historic Rome;
Thy gaze, admiring, rested
On picture, church, and dome.
Why, yearning with a tender love,
Did thine eyes look back to see
The landscape round that cherished home,
Where thy young soul longed to be?
Of grand, historic Rome;
Thy gaze, admiring, rested
On picture, church, and dome.
Why, yearning with a tender love,
Did thine eyes look back to see
The landscape round that cherished home,
Where thy young soul longed to be?
Thy weary wanderings ended
In a city grander far
Than home, or Rome,—in heaven,—
As the sun outshines a star;
Earth on thy young eyes faded,
As fades a glittering toy,
Bright opened on thy vision
Heaven's home of love and joy.
In a city grander far
Than home, or Rome,—in heaven,—
As the sun outshines a star;
Earth on thy young eyes faded,
As fades a glittering toy,
Bright opened on thy vision
Heaven's home of love and joy.
Welcome again, fair sleeper!
Peace to thy precious dust!
Rest calmly with thy kindred
Till the rising of the just.
The winds shall sing above thee,
Where the chestnut and the pine,
In thy own dear native forests,
Their clustering branches twine.
Peace to thy precious dust!
Rest calmly with thy kindred
Till the rising of the just.
The winds shall sing above thee,
Where the chestnut and the pine,
In thy own dear native forests,
Their clustering branches twine.
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Thy life, too early smitten,
Lingers around us still,
As day-beams, after sunset,
Shine, radiant, o'er the hill;
Thy loving voice, still sounding,
Forbids us to rebel,—
God gave, and God hath taken,—
God, who does all things well.
Lingers around us still,
As day-beams, after sunset,
Shine, radiant, o'er the hill;
Thy loving voice, still sounding,
Forbids us to rebel,—
God gave, and God hath taken,—
God, who does all things well.
May, 1874.
HARRIET J. WARDWELL.
Brought home, where the dust of her kindred reposes,
To sleep 'mid the dew, and the breath of the roses,
In June,—of all seasons the sweetest and fairest,
Herself, of its blossoms the purest and rarest.
To sleep 'mid the dew, and the breath of the roses,
In June,—of all seasons the sweetest and fairest,
Herself, of its blossoms the purest and rarest.
She sleeps her last sleep, while all nature rejoices,
And melody breaks from earth's thousands of voices;
Like distant sweet chimes on evening winds singing,
The music she breathed is in echoes still ringing.
And melody breaks from earth's thousands of voices;
Like distant sweet chimes on evening winds singing,
The music she breathed is in echoes still ringing.
Life's silver cord loosed, and the golden bowl broken,—
We bow to the mandate Jehovah has spoken;
God's promise proclaims, o'er the loved and lamented,
The silver cord, loosed, shall again be cemented.
We bow to the mandate Jehovah has spoken;
God's promise proclaims, o'er the loved and lamented,
The silver cord, loosed, shall again be cemented.
We lay her in love 'neath the rose and the willow;
Peace sits by her ashes,—Peace breathes round her pillow.
How well that such graces and gifts should be given,
Like precious first fruits, an offering to Heaven!
Peace sits by her ashes,—Peace breathes round her pillow.
75
Like precious first fruits, an offering to Heaven!
God gave, and we bless Him; God took, and though parted,
Still trusting, still loving, we yield, broken-hearted.
Again, in the home of the blest, we shall greet her,
And youth bloom immortal, when, joyful, we meet her.
Still trusting, still loving, we yield, broken-hearted.
Again, in the home of the blest, we shall greet her,
And youth bloom immortal, when, joyful, we meet her.
EPITAPHS.
Short was thy pilgrimage, dear child;
Sweet is thy dreamless rest.
God on thy homeward spirit smiled,
And made thee early blest.
Sweet is thy dreamless rest.
God on thy homeward spirit smiled,
And made thee early blest.
Her ardent love, her spotless worth,
Her humble faith were given,
Like buds of promise, plucked on earth,
To bloom, transferred to heaven.
Her humble faith were given,
Like buds of promise, plucked on earth,
To bloom, transferred to heaven.
Her life to toil, her gains to God were given;
Sweet is her rest, and bright her crown, in heaven.
Sweet is her rest, and bright her crown, in heaven.
76
IN MEMORY OF A YOUNG MAIDEN.
Sister, thou wast mild and lovely,
Gentle as the summer breeze,
Pleasant as the air of evening,
When it floats among the trees.
Gentle as the summer breeze,
Pleasant as the air of evening,
When it floats among the trees.
Peaceful by thy silent slumber,—
Peaceful in the grave so low.
Thou no more wilt join our number;
Thou no more our songs shalt know.
Peaceful in the grave so low.
Thou no more wilt join our number;
Thou no more our songs shalt know.
Dearest sister, thou hast left us;
Here thy loss we deeply feel.
But 't is God that hath bereft us;
He can all our sorrows heal.
Here thy loss we deeply feel.
But 't is God that hath bereft us;
He can all our sorrows heal.
Yet again we hope to meet thee,
When the day of life is fled;
Then in heaven with joy to greet thee,
Where no farewell tear is shed.
When the day of life is fled;
Then in heaven with joy to greet thee,
Where no farewell tear is shed.
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