 | [Poems by Larcom in] The ladies' wreath and Parlor Annual |  |
217
BETHANY.
The pale moon lingers on the hills
O'erhanging peaceful Bethany—
Her silent glance the valley fills,
And follows one lone traveller; he
With dust upon his garment's hem
Slow walking from Jerusalem.
O'erhanging peaceful Bethany—
Her silent glance the valley fills,
And follows one lone traveller; he
With dust upon his garment's hem
Slow walking from Jerusalem.
'Tis moonlight silvering thus his hair,
It is not age retards his tread,—
Acquainted well with grief and care,
He hath not where to lay his head.
A King, disguised and outcast, wends
To rest among his lowly friends.
It is not age retards his tread,—
Acquainted well with grief and care,
He hath not where to lay his head.
A King, disguised and outcast, wends
To rest among his lowly friends.
They stay for him their evening meal;
And Mary lingers at the door
To see his coming shadow steal
Between the palms, along the floor,
And anxious Martha wonders why
The Master's footfall draws not nigh.
And Mary lingers at the door
To see his coming shadow steal
Between the palms, along the floor,
And anxious Martha wonders why
The Master's footfall draws not nigh.
The shadow falls. The step is heard,
Like dew descends his calm “All hail!”
The welcome accents of the Lord
Float in upon the evening gale,
And Lazarus and his sisters twain
Forget their orphanage again.
Like dew descends his calm “All hail!”
The welcome accents of the Lord
Float in upon the evening gale,
And Lazarus and his sisters twain
Forget their orphanage again.
For Jesus' words the heart could thrill,
Than tenderest mother's dearer far—
“Lo! ye who do my Father's will
My sisters and my brethren are—
His glory shall ye shew with me,
Your hearts our chosen house shall be.”
Than tenderest mother's dearer far—
“Lo! ye who do my Father's will
My sisters and my brethren are—
His glory shall ye shew with me,
Your hearts our chosen house shall be.”
He seats him by the open door,
Beneath the palm-tree's fan-like shade,
While Martha guards the household store,
Meek Mary will her hair unbraid
To wipe the Master's weary feet
That she hath bathed with ointment sweet.
Beneath the palm-tree's fan-like shade,
While Martha guards the household store,
Meek Mary will her hair unbraid
To wipe the Master's weary feet
That she hath bathed with ointment sweet.
While thus her lowly place she keeps,
The Saviour talks of death at hand—
And Mary bows her head, and weeps
At words she cannot understand.
One gentle whisper soothes her pain,
“Be sure the dead shall rise again.”
The Saviour talks of death at hand—
And Mary bows her head, and weeps
At words she cannot understand.
One gentle whisper soothes her pain,
“Be sure the dead shall rise again.”
218
Yet, as he speaks, within his eyes
A sadness grows, of tears unshed;
Tears that shall fall where Lazarus lies,
And not alone for Lazarus dead;
But pitying tears for unbelief—
For promises forgot in grief.
A sadness grows, of tears unshed;
Tears that shall fall where Lazarus lies,
And not alone for Lazarus dead;
But pitying tears for unbelief—
For promises forgot in grief.
And Lazarus reads, in musings dim,
His fate, foreshadowing the Lord's:
Oh blest! to die, to rise like Him!
While all the listening air records;
The moonlight, thro' the palms swept down,
Rests on the Saviour like a crown.
His fate, foreshadowing the Lord's:
Oh blest! to die, to rise like Him!
While all the listening air records;
The moonlight, thro' the palms swept down,
Rests on the Saviour like a crown.
Love crowned Thee, Lord, at Bethany—
Alas! a heavier coronet
Awaited in Gethsemane—
There, blood-drops round thy brows were set;
Rubies from Sorrow's deepest mine;
Mysterious crown of Love Divine.
Alas! a heavier coronet
Awaited in Gethsemane—
There, blood-drops round thy brows were set;
Rubies from Sorrow's deepest mine;
Mysterious crown of Love Divine.
Affection's meed we too would bring—
Thou wilt our Friend, our Brother be,
Who closer to each other cling,
Because we closely cleave to Thee.
By love o'ershone, by sorrow tried,
Forever, Lord, with us abide.
Thou wilt our Friend, our Brother be,
Who closer to each other cling,
Because we closely cleave to Thee.
By love o'ershone, by sorrow tried,
Forever, Lord, with us abide.
Behold, thy scattered family
Of human souls, in Thee complete,
Looks to the distant hills for Thee,
And listens for Thy coming feet,—
Oh, bid our guilty discords cease,
And let Thy Presence bring us peace!
Of human souls, in Thee complete,
Looks to the distant hills for Thee,
And listens for Thy coming feet,—
Oh, bid our guilty discords cease,
And let Thy Presence bring us peace!
272
ELIJAH IN THE DESERT.
Lo! it is twilight in the wilderness;
And while the graceful shadows of the trees
Nod to the whispering boughs, an aged man,
Whose faltering footstep fails him in the gloom,
Sinks wearily beneath a juniper.
He is alone, and sorrowful. But hush!
The anguish of his heart o'erflows:
“Enough!
I would not longer bear the load of life!
Alone, alone! I have not craved the smile
Of human sympathy. It has been mine
To talk with God as friend communes with friend.
And now, how terrible that word ‘alone!’
Through sunset clouds, the manes of winged steeds,
And glancing wheels, and white-robed charioteers,
Have flashed before me, while I caught a glimpse
Of a bright, upward road I hoped to tread,
A glorious outlet from the earth to God.
Yet were it only that mine eyes grew dim,
Holden to see what common mortals see,
I would not murmur. But alas, to feel
This heart, that scarce knew craven fear by name,
Fluttering and cowering like a hunted bird;—
To know my being of that Presence shorn,
Which made my soul a sun to other souls:
Jehovah! if Thou leave me, let me die!”
Now hath he laid his aching head to rest
In the dark shadow of the juniper.
The light winds gently move his silvery locks
That stream, like moonbeams, o'er the sombre turf;
His lips yet tremble with a moaning prayer;
But God hath given his beloved sleep.
Can this be he whose dauntless word withstood
The boast of Baal's prophets? whom the pomp
Of Ahab's regal throne could not abash?
Whose prayer brought down the living fire from heaven,
And made the blessed rain forsake the clouds?
What, he this pale old man who sighs for death?
And while the graceful shadows of the trees
Nod to the whispering boughs, an aged man,
Whose faltering footstep fails him in the gloom,
Sinks wearily beneath a juniper.
He is alone, and sorrowful. But hush!
The anguish of his heart o'erflows:
“Enough!
I would not longer bear the load of life!
Alone, alone! I have not craved the smile
Of human sympathy. It has been mine
To talk with God as friend communes with friend.
And now, how terrible that word ‘alone!’
Through sunset clouds, the manes of winged steeds,
And glancing wheels, and white-robed charioteers,
Have flashed before me, while I caught a glimpse
Of a bright, upward road I hoped to tread,
A glorious outlet from the earth to God.
Yet were it only that mine eyes grew dim,
Holden to see what common mortals see,
I would not murmur. But alas, to feel
This heart, that scarce knew craven fear by name,
Fluttering and cowering like a hunted bird;—
To know my being of that Presence shorn,
Which made my soul a sun to other souls:
Jehovah! if Thou leave me, let me die!”
Now hath he laid his aching head to rest
In the dark shadow of the juniper.
The light winds gently move his silvery locks
That stream, like moonbeams, o'er the sombre turf;
His lips yet tremble with a moaning prayer;
But God hath given his beloved sleep.
273
The boast of Baal's prophets? whom the pomp
Of Ahab's regal throne could not abash?
Whose prayer brought down the living fire from heaven,
And made the blessed rain forsake the clouds?
What, he this pale old man who sighs for death?
'Tis even so. By sudden flight escaped
The cruel fangs of fiendish Jezebel,
It is the man of God,—but yet a man.
Is he alone? Nay, listen to the rush
Of angel wings; and see the starry eyes
That guard the slumberer, oh, how tenderly!
Sleep veils to him the watcher bending there.
But a voice calls, “Elijah, rise and eat!”
He wakes, and in the cake and water-cruse,
He reads his Master's answer, “Thou must live!”
Again he sleeps; and lo, again the voice:
“Rise, eat, Elijah, there is work to do.”
And now, fresh vigor darting through his limbs,
Strengthened, and glad of heart, the prophet goes
To Horeb, to await Jehovah's will.
The cruel fangs of fiendish Jezebel,
It is the man of God,—but yet a man.
Is he alone? Nay, listen to the rush
Of angel wings; and see the starry eyes
That guard the slumberer, oh, how tenderly!
Sleep veils to him the watcher bending there.
But a voice calls, “Elijah, rise and eat!”
He wakes, and in the cake and water-cruse,
He reads his Master's answer, “Thou must live!”
Again he sleeps; and lo, again the voice:
“Rise, eat, Elijah, there is work to do.”
And now, fresh vigor darting through his limbs,
Strengthened, and glad of heart, the prophet goes
To Horeb, to await Jehovah's will.
How it consoles the tempted one, to know
That holy men of old, the men of God,
Passed through the same dark conflicts, and were saved.
The prayer of faith can never, never fail;
But the wild burst of mortal agony,
The wish that heedlessly would thwart His plans,
Our Father hears, refuses, and forgives.
Say, pilgrim to the New Jerusalem,
Into the darkness hast thou wandered far,
And weeping, counted thy dark unbelief
For God's forgetfulness? Ingrate and blind!
And yet thou hast a pitying Friend above,
Who knows thy weakness, and will surely chide.
Behold his promise through the gloom descend,
Like manna dropping in the wilderness:
Receive into thy soul that bread from heaven,
And thus grow strong to bear the journey home.
Needful to thee, oh pilgrim, is the night,
The trial-hour; needful to test thy faith
To quell thy pride, and teach thee where to lean.
Our Father often lets his children stray
In their own paths, that they may humbly come
Back to the way He shows them.
That holy men of old, the men of God,
Passed through the same dark conflicts, and were saved.
The prayer of faith can never, never fail;
But the wild burst of mortal agony,
The wish that heedlessly would thwart His plans,
Our Father hears, refuses, and forgives.
Say, pilgrim to the New Jerusalem,
Into the darkness hast thou wandered far,
And weeping, counted thy dark unbelief
For God's forgetfulness? Ingrate and blind!
And yet thou hast a pitying Friend above,
Who knows thy weakness, and will surely chide.
Behold his promise through the gloom descend,
Like manna dropping in the wilderness:
Receive into thy soul that bread from heaven,
And thus grow strong to bear the journey home.
Needful to thee, oh pilgrim, is the night,
The trial-hour; needful to test thy faith
To quell thy pride, and teach thee where to lean.
Our Father often lets his children stray
In their own paths, that they may humbly come
Back to the way He shows them.
And 'tis thus,
By bitter anguish and temptation strong,
He fits them through the earthquake and the wind,
Calmly to listen to the “still, small voice;”
And after, to go bravely through the world,
Bearing the banner with a steadfast hand,
Counting all shame and sorrow light,
Since they have known the hiding of his face.
By bitter anguish and temptation strong,
He fits them through the earthquake and the wind,
Calmly to listen to the “still, small voice;”
And after, to go bravely through the world,
Bearing the banner with a steadfast hand,
Counting all shame and sorrow light,
Since they have known the hiding of his face.
281
OUR FATHER'S HOUSE.
There shall be no more sighing
In our dear Father's house.
Upon the earth-road dreary,
Oh, we are growing weary
And homesick, till our Father
His children all shall gather
To that calm rest before us,
And all our lost restore us,
Then there will be no sighing
In our dear Father's house.
In our dear Father's house.
Upon the earth-road dreary,
Oh, we are growing weary
And homesick, till our Father
His children all shall gather
To that calm rest before us,
And all our lost restore us,
Then there will be no sighing
In our dear Father's house.
There shall be no more sinning
In our dear Father's house.
The earth-stains we inherit
Defile the captive spirit.
We've heard the tempter's wooing,
And risked our soul's undoing,
Our birth-right guilt hath taken
And left us crushed, forsaken;
But there will be no sinning
In our dear Father's house.
In our dear Father's house.
The earth-stains we inherit
Defile the captive spirit.
We've heard the tempter's wooing,
And risked our soul's undoing,
Our birth-right guilt hath taken
And left us crushed, forsaken;
But there will be no sinning
In our dear Father's house.
There shall be no more darkness
In our dear Father's house.
No sun will shine upon us;
But He whose love hath won us
Will lead us to the fountain
That flows from Zion's mountain,
And wash our robes to whiteness—
His smile is heaven's own brightness.
Oh, there will be no darkness
In our dear Father's house.
In our dear Father's house.
No sun will shine upon us;
But He whose love hath won us
Will lead us to the fountain
That flows from Zion's mountain,
And wash our robes to whiteness—
His smile is heaven's own brightness.
Oh, there will be no darkness
In our dear Father's house.
There shall be no more sorrow
In our dear Father's house.
All fetters shall be rended;
All mourning shall be ended;
No more of blinded straying;
No wordless anguish preying;
No partings, and no sadness,
But peace, and sacred gladness.
No, there will be no sorrow
In our dear Father's house.
In our dear Father's house.
All fetters shall be rended;
All mourning shall be ended;
No more of blinded straying;
No wordless anguish preying;
No partings, and no sadness,
But peace, and sacred gladness.
No, there will be no sorrow
In our dear Father's house.
282
No more of slavish toiling
In our dear Father's house.
We seek no slumberous bowers
For these unwearying powers.
Life is, to be a blessing.
O'er sin the vantage pressing
God's own with glad endeavor
Shall work his will forever,
And find sweet rest in toiling
In their dear Father's house.
In our dear Father's house.
We seek no slumberous bowers
For these unwearying powers.
Life is, to be a blessing.
O'er sin the vantage pressing
God's own with glad endeavor
Shall work his will forever,
And find sweet rest in toiling
In their dear Father's house.
Oh, for the many mansions
Of our dear Father's house!
For purity from soiling!
For peace from sin's turmoiling!
Give, Saviour, faith untiring,
Give steadfast hope aspiring,
Give hearts that tried and proved
Shall rest with Thee, Beloved,
Rest in the many mansions
Of our dear Father's house.
Of our dear Father's house!
For purity from soiling!
For peace from sin's turmoiling!
Give, Saviour, faith untiring,
Give steadfast hope aspiring,
Give hearts that tried and proved
Shall rest with Thee, Beloved,
Rest in the many mansions
Of our dear Father's house.
| [Poems by Larcom in] The ladies' wreath and Parlor Annual | |