 | Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
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RELIGIOUS POEMS AND HYMNS.
A PRAYER.
My weary head hath lain a weary year
On these hot pillows, and most fearful fears
Have made my eyes acquainted with such tears
As lie to utter sadness very near.
On these hot pillows, and most fearful fears
Have made my eyes acquainted with such tears
As lie to utter sadness very near.
No coverlid, with borders like the spring
When roses come, and up and down o'erspread
With golden lilies, maketh fair my bed,
But only darkness is my covering.
When roses come, and up and down o'erspread
With golden lilies, maketh fair my bed,
But only darkness is my covering.
No daybreak gladness cometh with the day—
No pictured saint, so sweet and so divine,
Maketh the corners of my room to shine
When evening falleth round me, cold and gray.
No pictured saint, so sweet and so divine,
Maketh the corners of my room to shine
When evening falleth round me, cold and gray.
Steps, eager once, have taken a listless fall—
And eyes that seemed to give me tender grace
Have found their pleasure in another face—
Only its echo answers back my call.
And eyes that seemed to give me tender grace
Have found their pleasure in another face—
Only its echo answers back my call.
Some dread enchantment, all against my will,
Hath wrought this cruel charm against my life,
And vain are all my struggles, vain my strife—
Hear me, my Master, hear and help me still!
Hath wrought this cruel charm against my life,
And vain are all my struggles, vain my strife—
Hear me, my Master, hear and help me still!
Thou, who to light immortal life didst bring,
Rising from death, to walk and talk with men,
And teach the lesson, all unlearned till then—
The gain of loss and cross and suffering—
Rising from death, to walk and talk with men,
And teach the lesson, all unlearned till then—
The gain of loss and cross and suffering—
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Let not my sinful soul forsaken be!
This is my prayer all night, and all the day,
What is there I have heavier need to say?
My very hopes are only mine through Thee!
This is my prayer all night, and all the day,
What is there I have heavier need to say?
My very hopes are only mine through Thee!
Brother and friend, the dear familiar face,
The eyes beloved—let each and all depart—
Nor shall I yet be sad, or sick of heart,
So Thou but have, and hold me in Thy grace.
The eyes beloved—let each and all depart—
Nor shall I yet be sad, or sick of heart,
So Thou but have, and hold me in Thy grace.
GOING DOWN.
When, like the sinking sun, the year goes down
From the delighting of her flowery day;
While mists crawl coldly on, and leaves grow brown,
And all the golden glory dies away;
From the delighting of her flowery day;
While mists crawl coldly on, and leaves grow brown,
And all the golden glory dies away;
When we do see the monstrous might of death
In all that lately did so sweetly shine,—
Then do we lean our ear down close to faith,
And ask for evidence of things divine.
In all that lately did so sweetly shine,—
Then do we lean our ear down close to faith,
And ask for evidence of things divine.
Ask for a glimpse of that substantial land
Where no sad eyes are turned upon the past;
Where the loose footing of this mortal sand
Is builded to a rock that standeth fast.
Where no sad eyes are turned upon the past;
Where the loose footing of this mortal sand
Is builded to a rock that standeth fast.
Where even the memory of fear is o'er,
Where no rough wind nor rising cloud alarms,
And where our darlings never, never more
Shall flee away like shadows from our arms.
Where no rough wind nor rising cloud alarms,
And where our darlings never, never more
Shall flee away like shadows from our arms.
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For through the mournful fading of the wood,
And through the sickly flowers that cease to please,
It slowly cometh to be understood
That somewhere there are better things than these.
And through the sickly flowers that cease to please,
It slowly cometh to be understood
That somewhere there are better things than these.
But if there were continuance of delights,
The rock beneath us in the stead of sands,
Ah! should we seek to climb the rugged heights
Whereon the everlasting city stands!
The rock beneath us in the stead of sands,
Ah! should we seek to climb the rugged heights
Whereon the everlasting city stands!
Then fade, O flowery wreath that summer weaves,
And pleasant greenness, vanish from our sight,
Since through the thinning of the earthly leaves
There breaketh in upon us heavenly light.
And pleasant greenness, vanish from our sight,
Since through the thinning of the earthly leaves
There breaketh in upon us heavenly light.
DEATHLESS FLOWERS.
I tell you God is good, as well as just,
And some few flowers in every heart are sown,
Their black and crumpled leaves show but as dust,
Sometimes in the hard soil—sometimes o'ergrown
With wild, unfriendly weeds, they hidden lie
From the warm sunshine, but they do not die.
And some few flowers in every heart are sown,
Their black and crumpled leaves show but as dust,
Sometimes in the hard soil—sometimes o'ergrown
With wild, unfriendly weeds, they hidden lie
From the warm sunshine, but they do not die.
Pressed from a natural quickening by the might
Of sin, or circumstance, through the evil days,
They find their way at last into the light,
Weakly and pale, giving their little praise
Of modest beauty, and with grace most sweet
Making the garden of the Lord complete.
Of sin, or circumstance, through the evil days,
They find their way at last into the light,
Weakly and pale, giving their little praise
Of modest beauty, and with grace most sweet
Making the garden of the Lord complete.
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A VISION.
Once kneeling with my soul alone,
When all was dark as dark may be,
A great light round about me shone,
And God the Spirit came to me.
When all was dark as dark may be,
A great light round about me shone,
And God the Spirit came to me.
Along my garden, where there grew
Sharp thistles at the daylight's close,
In the clear morning, wet with dew,
Came up the cedar and the rose.
Sharp thistles at the daylight's close,
In the clear morning, wet with dew,
Came up the cedar and the rose.
Ambition, pride—how dwarfed and vain!
And from my forehead, bowed in prayer,
Fell off the burning crown of pain,
And God the Son was with me there.
And from my forehead, bowed in prayer,
Fell off the burning crown of pain,
And God the Son was with me there.
No more with sinful sorrow bowed,
How pleasant seemed the Christian strife!
The angel coming in the cloud
Had brightened all the hills of life.
How pleasant seemed the Christian strife!
The angel coming in the cloud
Had brightened all the hills of life.
I saw the bruisèd serpent go
From Eden, lately darkly dim;
Man to his ancient stature grow,
And God the Father talk with him.
From Eden, lately darkly dim;
Man to his ancient stature grow,
And God the Father talk with him.
Was some great inspiration there
That o'er me never more shall be?
Or could I make my life as fair
As in that vision, Holy Three?
That o'er me never more shall be?
Or could I make my life as fair
As in that vision, Holy Three?
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SHAPING INFLUENCES.
Lead me, O my guardian angel,
So I pray, and ever pray,
Where the light winds sing their lightest,
Where the bright things bloom their brightest,
And the flowery fields of May
Stretch away, and still away!
So I pray, and ever pray,
Where the light winds sing their lightest,
Where the bright things bloom their brightest,
And the flowery fields of May
Stretch away, and still away!
Lead and leave me, O my angel,
Where the wild birds, day by day,
Chirp and sing their light love-stories,
All among the golden glories
Of the flowery fields of May,
Stretched away, and still away!
Where the wild birds, day by day,
Chirp and sing their light love-stories,
All among the golden glories
Of the flowery fields of May,
Stretched away, and still away!
Where the rose doth wear her blushes
Like a garment, and the fair
And modest violets sit together,
Weaving in the mild May weather
Purples, out of dew and air,
Fit for any queen to wear.
Like a garment, and the fair
And modest violets sit together,
Weaving in the mild May weather
Purples, out of dew and air,
Fit for any queen to wear.
But, my angel, my good angel,
This much more I have to say—
O'er the blooming and the singing,
O'er the weaving and the winging,
Grant to live with me, I pray,
In these flowery fields of May;
This much more I have to say—
O'er the blooming and the singing,
O'er the weaving and the winging,
Grant to live with me, I pray,
In these flowery fields of May;
Friends to love with love that only
Lives of men and women sway—
Over and above the hushes
Of all birds, above the blushes
Of the reddest rose in May—
And yet once again I pray,
Lives of men and women sway—
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Of all birds, above the blushes
Of the reddest rose in May—
And yet once again I pray,
That when thou shalt give them to me,
Alway, heart in heart to beat,
They shall make all flowery places
Fairer for their smiling faces,
And whatever things are sweet—
Brighter, better, more complete.
Alway, heart in heart to beat,
They shall make all flowery places
Fairer for their smiling faces,
And whatever things are sweet—
Brighter, better, more complete.
Not for time and sense, O angel,
Dare I thus entreat of thee
Into flowery fields to take me—
'T is the things I see that make me
For the things I cannot see—
For the long eternity.
Dare I thus entreat of thee
Into flowery fields to take me—
'T is the things I see that make me
For the things I cannot see—
For the long eternity.
HYMN.
When earthly pleasures fade and flee,
When clouds of care obscure the light,
Uplift thine eyes, O man, and see
The long sweet day beyond the night.
When clouds of care obscure the light,
Uplift thine eyes, O man, and see
The long sweet day beyond the night.
When summer's soft delights are gone,
And flowers are closed in icy walls,
Think of the beauteous hills whereon
The frost of winter never falls.
And flowers are closed in icy walls,
Think of the beauteous hills whereon
The frost of winter never falls.
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When the fierce tempest mows a path
Of dreadful darkness through the land,
Remember, thou of little faith,
Who holds the whirlwind in His hand.
Of dreadful darkness through the land,
Remember, thou of little faith,
Who holds the whirlwind in His hand.
When pestilence infects the air,
And the beloved lies smitten sore,
Think of the heavenly country where
The inhabitants are sick no more.
And the beloved lies smitten sore,
Think of the heavenly country where
The inhabitants are sick no more.
And when thy good days all are run
Even to the last low fluttering breath,
Know, sinking soul, that pain is done,
That dying is the death of death.
Even to the last low fluttering breath,
Know, sinking soul, that pain is done,
That dying is the death of death.
LIGHT AND DARKNESS.
The sun is shining bright, so bright,
And the bee to the rose is humming,
But the day is hurrying down to the night,
And the cloud and the storm are coming;
So, little bee, hum sweetly on,
For the day of the rose will soon be gone.
And the bee to the rose is humming,
But the day is hurrying down to the night,
And the cloud and the storm are coming;
So, little bee, hum sweetly on,
For the day of the rose will soon be gone.
The leaves are green, so green in the wood,
And the bird is wildly winging
His way in the air, for he maketh good
His little time of singing;
Right on, my pretty one, right on!
For the light o' the summer will soon be gone.
And the bird is wildly winging
His way in the air, for he maketh good
His little time of singing;
Right on, my pretty one, right on!
For the light o' the summer will soon be gone.
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The blood is bright in the young man's heart,
And his footstep gayly roameth,
But he and his pleasure soon must part,
For the enemy surely cometh:
So, light young heart, beat lightly on,
Ere the time for the dreaming of dreams be gone.
And his footstep gayly roameth,
But he and his pleasure soon must part,
For the enemy surely cometh:
So, light young heart, beat lightly on,
Ere the time for the dreaming of dreams be gone.
The frost it falls on the brightest tress,
And sweetness is mixed with sadness,
But the maiden seweth her bridal dress,
And maketh her veil with gladness;
And whether the rain or the sunshine fall.
The holy heaven is over it all.
And sweetness is mixed with sadness,
But the maiden seweth her bridal dress,
And maketh her veil with gladness;
And whether the rain or the sunshine fall.
The holy heaven is over it all.
The body lies in a lowly bed,
And the darkness is its cover,
But the soul shall safe through the night be fed,
And the Lord shall be her lover;
For He who promised us life shall keep
His promises, whether we wake or sleep.
And the darkness is its cover,
But the soul shall safe through the night be fed,
And the Lord shall be her lover;
For He who promised us life shall keep
His promises, whether we wake or sleep.
CHRISTMAS EVE.
No flowers were left in the meadows;
All empty and cold was the nest;
And the sun, in a white, cold bank of light,
Was going down in the west.
All empty and cold was the nest;
And the sun, in a white, cold bank of light,
Was going down in the west.
'T was the day before the Christmas;
And with young hearts all astir,
Now turning the reel and now the wheel,
And making the spindle whir,
And with young hearts all astir,
Now turning the reel and now the wheel,
And making the spindle whir,
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We two were alone in the garret—
My playmate Harley and I;
But the light sped fast, and we ceased at last
From making the spindle fly.
My playmate Harley and I;
But the light sped fast, and we ceased at last
From making the spindle fly.
Yet still through the darkening window
(You might cover it all with your hands)
We could see the wood, where the schoolhouse stood,
With its border of level lands.
(You might cover it all with your hands)
We could see the wood, where the schoolhouse stood,
With its border of level lands.
We could tell the elms from the walnuts,
And the oaks from all the rest,
As covered with snow and row after row
They shimmered against the west.
And the oaks from all the rest,
As covered with snow and row after row
They shimmered against the west.
We could see the barn with great square door,
And the stacks that beyond it rose,
The open sheds full of skeleton sleds,
And harrows and plows and hoes.
And the stacks that beyond it rose,
The open sheds full of skeleton sleds,
And harrows and plows and hoes.
We could see the horns of the cattle
As they tossed o'er the hay-filled racks,
Where together they fed with head over head,
And saddles of snow on their backs.
As they tossed o'er the hay-filled racks,
Where together they fed with head over head,
And saddles of snow on their backs.
Like pillars of salt in the garden,
We could see the hives of the bees,
And hear the wind's song as it hurried along
To waltz with the tops of the trees.
We could see the hives of the bees,
And hear the wind's song as it hurried along
To waltz with the tops of the trees.
We could see o'er the roofs of the village
The old St. Xavier's shine,
The Paternity, and the Holy Three,
With its steeple tall and fine.
The old St. Xavier's shine,
The Paternity, and the Holy Three,
With its steeple tall and fine.
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And my playmate Harley questioned:
“Can there be three Gods above?
Then how shall we pray, and who shall say
Which one is the God of Love?”
“Can there be three Gods above?
Then how shall we pray, and who shall say
Which one is the God of Love?”
And hand in hand from the window,
As sunk the sun from the earth,
We crossed the room, now dim with gloom,
And kneeling beside the hearth,
As sunk the sun from the earth,
We crossed the room, now dim with gloom,
And kneeling beside the hearth,
We gathered the faded embers
All out of their ashen bed,
And blew and blew, on our knees, we two,
Till the flame shot up, blood-red.
All out of their ashen bed,
And blew and blew, on our knees, we two,
Till the flame shot up, blood-red.
“Now, then,” said my playmate Harley.
“I will find it out for myself!”
And he gave a look to the old, old Book
That lay on the dusty shelf.
“I will find it out for myself!”
And he gave a look to the old, old Book
That lay on the dusty shelf.
And so, one over the other,
He piled up chair upon chair,
Then up he stept and on he crept
To the top of the trembling stair.
He piled up chair upon chair,
Then up he stept and on he crept
To the top of the trembling stair.
Then down with the Book on his shoulder,
And back to the fire he came,
And so, eager-eyed, he held it wide
With page aslant to the flame.
And back to the fire he came,
And so, eager-eyed, he held it wide
With page aslant to the flame.
Leaf after leaf of the yellow leaves
He turned them o'er so fast,
Till at length he said, with uplifted head:—
“I have found it out at last
He turned them o'er so fast,
Till at length he said, with uplifted head:—
“I have found it out at last
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“In the prayer which the Lord and Master
Has taught us all to say;
For surely He, if He prayed to three,
Would have taught us so to pray!
Has taught us all to say;
For surely He, if He prayed to three,
Would have taught us so to pray!
“And I don't care now if the steeples
Be three, or six, or seven!”—
And he read so loud it was almost proud—
“Our Father who art in Heaven.”
Be three, or six, or seven!”—
And he read so loud it was almost proud—
“Our Father who art in Heaven.”
And there in the dim old garret,
While the winds the rafters shook,
And with head bent low to the firelight glow,
And our two cheeks, over the Book,
While the winds the rafters shook,
And with head bent low to the firelight glow,
And our two cheeks, over the Book,
Like a rose that is growing double,—
We read, in an under-breath,
Of the holy morn when Christ was born,
And of all his life and death.
We read, in an under-breath,
Of the holy morn when Christ was born,
And of all his life and death.
How He gave himself our ransom,
And drank to the very brim
The bitter cup, to lift us up,
The whole great world, to Him.
And drank to the very brim
The bitter cup, to lift us up,
The whole great world, to Him.
And full and sweet was the comfort
Of the faith that there and then
To our hearts we took, as we closed the Book
With an all unbreathed Amen.
Of the faith that there and then
To our hearts we took, as we closed the Book
With an all unbreathed Amen.
And many and many a Christmas
Has come and gone with its light,
And all the years, through smiles or tears,
We have kept the old faith bright.
Has come and gone with its light,
And all the years, through smiles or tears,
We have kept the old faith bright.
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HIDDEN THINGS.
The lily she has gone to bed,
And the little meadow-mouse
Has thatched the roof above her head,
And carpeted her house
All soft and warm, because she knows
The clouds will shortly bring the snows.
And the little meadow-mouse
Has thatched the roof above her head,
And carpeted her house
All soft and warm, because she knows
The clouds will shortly bring the snows.
That solemn bird that loves so well
To be superbly dressed,
Has taken his gorgeous chasuble
And left an empty nest;
He knows, the lily being gone,
That winter will come whistling on.
To be superbly dressed,
Has taken his gorgeous chasuble
And left an empty nest;
He knows, the lily being gone,
That winter will come whistling on.
The partridge now has ceased to drum,
And the bee, so sweet and brown,
Has left the barley-fields, and come
To her humming-house in town;
Her honeyed joys aforetime planned,
And all these things I understand.
And the bee, so sweet and brown,
Has left the barley-fields, and come
To her humming-house in town;
Her honeyed joys aforetime planned,
And all these things I understand.
But I neither understand nor know,
Though I strive with all my care,
When I do see the winter snow
A-gathering on my hair;
And see my youth quite fled away,
Why I do wish, nay, long to stay!
Though I strive with all my care,
When I do see the winter snow
A-gathering on my hair;
And see my youth quite fled away,
Why I do wish, nay, long to stay!
I know that only virtues thrive,
And know that folly hath no praise;
Yet, as the foolish women live,
I live, nor seek to mend my ways.
This is the mystery that I call
The hardest, saddest of them all.
And know that folly hath no praise;
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I live, nor seek to mend my ways.
This is the mystery that I call
The hardest, saddest of them all.
I know that I must shortly lie
In the cold silence of the grave,
And I believe He reigns on high
Who died, and rose, and lives to save;
Yea, I believe, yet cry in grief,
Help, Lord, help thou mine unbelief!
In the cold silence of the grave,
And I believe He reigns on high
Who died, and rose, and lives to save;
Yea, I believe, yet cry in grief,
Help, Lord, help thou mine unbelief!
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HEAVEN OUR HOME.
The fields with flowers a-blowing,
They all behind us lie—
Our autumn, it draweth nigh;
But oh, my friends, we are going
To the summer hills on high!
They all behind us lie—
Our autumn, it draweth nigh;
But oh, my friends, we are going
To the summer hills on high!
We are vexed with wars and warring—
Our strifes with our days increase,
But there cometh a swift release—
For oh, my friends, we are nearing
The life of eternal peace!
Our strifes with our days increase,
But there cometh a swift release—
For oh, my friends, we are nearing
The life of eternal peace!
Our roof-tree drops asunder—
Our floor-planks slide like sands—
In our doors the darkness stands;
But oh, my friends, there is splendor
In the house not made with hands!
Our floor-planks slide like sands—
In our doors the darkness stands;
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In the house not made with hands!
We know no full completeness;—
In the sky of the day most clear
Some shadow is sure to appear;
But oh, my friends, there is sweetness
In the days of the endless year.
In the sky of the day most clear
Some shadow is sure to appear;
But oh, my friends, there is sweetness
In the days of the endless year.
The winds are beating and blowing—
The frost on our heads is white—
We are drawing near to the night;
But oh, my friends, we are going
To the morning land of light!
The frost on our heads is white—
We are drawing near to the night;
But oh, my friends, we are going
To the morning land of light!
In spite of the fast possession,
Our thoughts they flutter and flee,
Like wild birds out to sea—
For we long to know the fashion
Of the life that is to be.
Our thoughts they flutter and flee,
Like wild birds out to sea—
For we long to know the fashion
Of the life that is to be.
Our golden gains we are losing,
Our hopes are dim with dust,
But oh, my friends, we trust
What seemeth lost is for using
Where there is nor moth nor rust.
Our hopes are dim with dust,
But oh, my friends, we trust
What seemeth lost is for using
Where there is nor moth nor rust.
Our life is a twice-told story
That charm no longer lends;
But oh, my friends, my friends,
We are coming close to the glory
That never fades nor ends.
That charm no longer lends;
But oh, my friends, my friends,
We are coming close to the glory
That never fades nor ends.
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We stand of our strength forsaken,
And sick unto death, in sooth,
But this we know of a truth,
That out of the dust we shall waken,
To a life of immortal youth.
And sick unto death, in sooth,
But this we know of a truth,
That out of the dust we shall waken,
To a life of immortal youth.
The winter brings rough weather,
And into the chill and the gloom
We go, and we never come;
But oh, my friends, we shall gather
Together in Heaven—our home.
And into the chill and the gloom
We go, and we never come;
But oh, my friends, we shall gather
Together in Heaven—our home.
| Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |