 | City legends |  |
Scene II.
a large number assembled in the parlor. It is not exactly a homogeneous company, but seems to be quite a happy one, nevertheless. Deacon Kindman has evidently followed his plan to the letter. Everybody that he invited is present, and a few that he did not, have happened in. The company have just risen from prayer with the good old-style preacher, who has thoroughly appreciated and improved the now unusual opportunity. He takes this occasion to combine two sermons—one on Thanksgiving Day, and one on Christmas—which have for many years been growing in his heart, waiting for a chance to be preached.Deacon Kindman.
Now in tuneful chorus, our thanks we will prolong,
And sing to the Father of fathers our own thanksgiving song.
With soul, as well as larynx, let all of us rejoice,
And not perform our worship entirely with the voice.
[Jeremiah, a neighboring poor man's son, passes round papers containing a hymn, which he has copied in an uncultured but very readable hand.
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sing.
HYMN OF THANKSGIVING.
To the air, “Portuguese Hymn.”
We thank thee, O Father, for all that is bright—
The gleam of the day, and the stars of the night;
The flowers of our youth, and the fruits of our prime,
And blessings e'er marching the path-way of time.
The gleam of the day, and the stars of the night;
The flowers of our youth, and the fruits of our prime,
And blessings e'er marching the path-way of time.
We thank thee, O Father, for all that is drear—
The sob of the tempest—the flow of the tear;
For never in blindness, and never in vain,
Thy mercy permitted a sorrow or pain.
The sob of the tempest—the flow of the tear;
For never in blindness, and never in vain,
Thy mercy permitted a sorrow or pain.
We thank thee, O Father, for song and for feast—
The harvest that glowed, and the wealth that increased;
For never a blessing encompassed thy child,
But thou in thy mercy looked downward and smiled.
The harvest that glowed, and the wealth that increased;
For never a blessing encompassed thy child,
But thou in thy mercy looked downward and smiled.
We thank thee, O Father of all! for the power
Of aiding each other in life's darkest hour;
The generous heart and the bountiful hand,
And all the soul-help that sad souls understand.
Of aiding each other in life's darkest hour;
The generous heart and the bountiful hand,
And all the soul-help that sad souls understand.
We thank thee, O Father! for days yet to be—
For hopes that our future will call us to thee;
That all our Eternity form, through thy love,
One Thanksgiving Day in the mansions above.
For hopes that our future will call us to thee;
That all our Eternity form, through thy love,
One Thanksgiving Day in the mansions above.
Deacon Kindman.
And now a neighbor's daughter, who—don't waste time to doubt—
Knows how to read a poem, and turn it inside out,
Who first sits down and invites it into her heart and soul,
And part of herself surrenders entire to its control,
Knows how to read a poem, and turn it inside out,
Who first sits down and invites it into her heart and soul,
And part of herself surrenders entire to its control,
And part of her mind keeps clear, like, when ready, as she ought
To be—to give to the author the aid of her own clear thought
(For face and form and gesture—be 't good or be it bad—
Add much to an author's meaning, or rob him of what he had);
To be—to give to the author the aid of her own clear thought
(For face and form and gesture—be 't good or be it bad—
Add much to an author's meaning, or rob him of what he had);
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Whose mental frills and tuckers are laid upon the shelf,
And who, in her well-conned subject, can partly forget herself;
This daughter of my good neighbor, who sits, himself, near by,
And needn't be blamed for looking at her with a partial eye;
And who, in her well-conned subject, can partly forget herself;
This daughter of my good neighbor, who sits, himself, near by,
And needn't be blamed for looking at her with a partial eye;
Will read a poem to us, presenting, I believe,
A legend of what happened on the first Christmas eve.
A legend of what happened on the first Christmas eve.
Alice
(the neighbor's daughter, reads, plainly, thoughtfully, spiritedly, and without affectation):
THE VOICE OF A STAR; OR, THE FIRST CHRISTMAS EVE.
Dark Night once more her tent unfurled
On Power's first-century home—
Upon the marble heart of the world—
The great, grand city of Rome;
And hushed at last were the chariot-tires,
And still the sandalled feet,
And dimmed the palace-window-fires
On many a noble street;
And to a roof a maiden came,
With eyes as angels love,
And looked up at the spheres of flame
That softly gleamed above.
On Power's first-century home—
Upon the marble heart of the world—
The great, grand city of Rome;
And hushed at last were the chariot-tires,
And still the sandalled feet,
And dimmed the palace-window-fires
On many a noble street;
And to a roof a maiden came,
With eyes as angels love,
And looked up at the spheres of flame
That softly gleamed above.
She gazed at them with a misty eye,
And spoke, in accents sad:
“O tell me, gold-birds of the sky
(If ever a voice you had!),
Is justice dull from a palsy stroke,
And deaf, as well as blind?
Else why must e'er the heaviest yoke
Be placed on womankind?
Why should the solace of man's heart
Be oft his meanest slave?
Why is her life e'er torn apart
By those she has toiled to save?
And spoke, in accents sad:
“O tell me, gold-birds of the sky
(If ever a voice you had!),
Is justice dull from a palsy stroke,
And deaf, as well as blind?
Else why must e'er the heaviest yoke
Be placed on womankind?
Why should the solace of man's heart
Be oft his meanest slave?
Why is her life e'er torn apart
By those she has toiled to save?
“Why should the mould of the human race
Be crushed and thrown away,
Whenever it lacks the outward grace
That wooes the stronger clay?
Why must the mothers of men be bought
And sold, like beasts that die?
Why are they scourged, for little or naught,
And barred of all reply?
Why are we women of Rome e'er told
That we should happy be,
Because not kept like flocks in fold,
Like those across the sea?
Be crushed and thrown away,
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That wooes the stronger clay?
Why must the mothers of men be bought
And sold, like beasts that die?
Why are they scourged, for little or naught,
And barred of all reply?
Why are we women of Rome e'er told
That we should happy be,
Because not kept like flocks in fold,
Like those across the sea?
“Have we no heart? Have we no mind?
Must not our conscience speak?
Say! must our souls be dumb or blind,
Because our hands are weak?
Must we be ever the laughing-stock
Of man's fond, fickle heart?
Were we but born for Fate to mock—
To play a menial part?
Must all our triumphs be a lie—
Our joys in fetters clad?
O tell me, gold-birds of the sky
(If ever a voice you had!).”
Must not our conscience speak?
Say! must our souls be dumb or blind,
Because our hands are weak?
Must we be ever the laughing-stock
Of man's fond, fickle heart?
Were we but born for Fate to mock—
To play a menial part?
Must all our triumphs be a lie—
Our joys in fetters clad?
O tell me, gold-birds of the sky
(If ever a voice you had!).”
Then from the east, a new, bright star
Flashed to her flashing eye,
And seemed to speak to her from afar,
With courteous, kind reply:
“Why weep, fair maid, upon the eve
Of Victory's coming morn?
It is o'er-strange for one to grieve,
Whose champion's to be born!
To-morrow a new, old king appears,
With dimpled, mighty hand;
And He shall reign a million years,
O'er many a princely land.
Flashed to her flashing eye,
And seemed to speak to her from afar,
With courteous, kind reply:
“Why weep, fair maid, upon the eve
Of Victory's coming morn?
It is o'er-strange for one to grieve,
Whose champion's to be born!
To-morrow a new, old king appears,
With dimpled, mighty hand;
And He shall reign a million years,
O'er many a princely land.
“His mother a queen the world shall see,
Whose reign doth e'er endure;
All women shall his sisters be,
Whose ways are just and pure;
A woman's fault shall not be her death,
By men or angels seen;
Repentance, and His God-strewn breath,
May always step between.
A woman's fame, by merit won,
Shall add to her queenly grace;
And higher, as the years march on,
Shall be her destined place.
Whose reign doth e'er endure;
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Whose ways are just and pure;
A woman's fault shall not be her death,
By men or angels seen;
Repentance, and His God-strewn breath,
May always step between.
A woman's fame, by merit won,
Shall add to her queenly grace;
And higher, as the years march on,
Shall be her destined place.
“And four great words the world shall see
Enwoven with man's life:
Mother and sister two shall be,
And two be daughter and wife.
It shall be felt that she whose care
The lamp of thrift makes burn,
Can take with him an equal share
Of all their lives may earn;
That she whose soft and healing hand
Can soothe, with blessing bright,
Is no less great and true and grand,
Than he who leads the fight.”
Enwoven with man's life:
Mother and sister two shall be,
And two be daughter and wife.
It shall be felt that she whose care
The lamp of thrift makes burn,
Can take with him an equal share
Of all their lives may earn;
That she whose soft and healing hand
Can soothe, with blessing bright,
Is no less great and true and grand,
Than he who leads the fight.”
Like one who through the woods may grope
Till light comes to his eyes,
The maiden thrilled with new-born hope,
And seized the glad surprise.
The voice of the star she understood;
Its glorious meaning knew;
And all her dreams of woman's good
Seemed likely to come true.
And when once more the twilight gray
Was brightened by the morn,
Within a manger far away,
The infant Christ was born.
Till light comes to his eyes,
The maiden thrilled with new-born hope,
And seized the glad surprise.
The voice of the star she understood;
Its glorious meaning knew;
And all her dreams of woman's good
Seemed likely to come true.
And when once more the twilight gray
Was brightened by the morn,
Within a manger far away,
The infant Christ was born.
[All the ladies present applaud vigorously. The men nod, in mild approbation. The old clergyman
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Deacon Kindman
(holding the hymn-book in his hand).
Not alone in the country, where God's first work was done,
Is found the true religion that came from His mighty Son;
Hear what an author's fancy heard a city brother say
When just about to be “moving,” upon the First of May.
[A small orphaned boy, whose residence just now is the neighboring poor-house, and who, even in that environment, has developed wonderful taste and talent, recites:
THE OLD HYMN-BOOK.
Yes, wife, we're going to move once more;
The last time, I declare,
Until the everlasting shore
Sends word it wants us there!
Some things this time with us we'll take,
Some leave here in disgust,
And some we'll lose, and some we'll break,
As movers always must.
The family Bible we will find
Devoutly carried through;
But also, wife, don't fail to mind
And save the hymn-book, too!
The last time, I declare,
Until the everlasting shore
Sends word it wants us there!
Some things this time with us we'll take,
Some leave here in disgust,
And some we'll lose, and some we'll break,
As movers always must.
The family Bible we will find
Devoutly carried through;
But also, wife, don't fail to mind
And save the hymn-book, too!
Though finger-marked and cupboard-worn,
And shabby in its looks,
I prize that volume, soiled and torn,
Next to the Book of books;
When David trimmed his golden lyre
With song forget-me-nots,
He left a flame of sacred fire
For Wesley and for Watts.
And many other singers, wife,
Have made God's glory known
In hymns and tunes that drew their life
From echoes round the throne!
And shabby in its looks,
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Next to the Book of books;
When David trimmed his golden lyre
With song forget-me-nots,
He left a flame of sacred fire
For Wesley and for Watts.
And many other singers, wife,
Have made God's glory known
In hymns and tunes that drew their life
From echoes round the throne!
I've sung them when, on lofty track,
My heart soared through the sky,
And every word and tone brought back
A telegraph-reply;
I've hummed them when my soul with grief
Feared all its prayers were vain,
Till they have braced up my belief,
And soothed my doubting-pain;
I've told them to the woods, and stirred
The trees up to rejoice;
I've joined in meetings where God heard
Ten thousand in one voice!
My heart soared through the sky,
And every word and tone brought back
A telegraph-reply;
I've hummed them when my soul with grief
Feared all its prayers were vain,
Till they have braced up my belief,
And soothed my doubting-pain;
I've told them to the woods, and stirred
The trees up to rejoice;
I've joined in meetings where God heard
Ten thousand in one voice!
I've paused—those sacred words to hear—
When life was gay and bright,
And every sound that charmed the ear
Brought glory to the sight;
I've heard them when the sexton's spade
Had cut my life in two,
And my sad heart, by their sweet aid,
Has walked the valley through.
Ah, wife! when heaven's great music-burst
Awakes my senses dim,
I humbly hope they'll give me first
A good old-fashioned hymn!
When life was gay and bright,
And every sound that charmed the ear
Brought glory to the sight;
I've heard them when the sexton's spade
Had cut my life in two,
And my sad heart, by their sweet aid,
Has walked the valley through.
Ah, wife! when heaven's great music-burst
Awakes my senses dim,
I humbly hope they'll give me first
A good old-fashioned hymn!
I trust, when our last moving-day
Has shown us God's good love,
And we have settled down to stay
In colonies above,
We'll find a hundred earthly things
Our hearts had twined about,
And which—so tight the memory clings—
Heaven wouldn't be heaven without;
And somewhere, in that blesséd place,
God grant I may behold,
Near by the precious word of grace,
My hymn-book, bound in gold!
Has shown us God's good love,
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In colonies above,
We'll find a hundred earthly things
Our hearts had twined about,
And which—so tight the memory clings—
Heaven wouldn't be heaven without;
And somewhere, in that blesséd place,
God grant I may behold,
Near by the precious word of grace,
My hymn-book, bound in gold!
[A great deal of appreciation is expressed of the reading of this poem. No one seems much struck by the subject-matter, except the old clergyman, who remarks that he has a series of fourteen sermons upon the influence of hymns on the human race, which he will be happy to give at the school-house, or any other place where an audience will assemble to hear them. Deacon Kindman makes arrangements to have the first of the series delivered in his parlor, upon the ensuing Thursday evening, and all the company promise to be present, if possible.
Deacon Kindman.
And now our good old pastor, whose heart is ever alive
To other good old pastors, and how they toil and strive,
Will read that a city preacher, with fame in his well-filled hand,
Became as little children, when near to the heavenly land.
The old Clergyman
reads:
THE PASTOR'S FAREWELL.
The sermon was o'er—the prayer—the song—
And dimmed was the mellow light;
With Summer at heart, the homeward throng
Went out in the Winter night.
And dimmed was the mellow light;
With Summer at heart, the homeward throng
Went out in the Winter night.
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But the pastor stayed, at his tired heart's choice,
To list to the chanted word;
For the organ-loft and the human voice
Still sung to the pastor's Lord.
To list to the chanted word;
For the organ-loft and the human voice
Still sung to the pastor's Lord.
The sweet tones brought to his wearied heart
Their mingled smiles and tears;
And he felt that night full loath to part
From the shrine of forty years.
Their mingled smiles and tears;
And he felt that night full loath to part
From the shrine of forty years.
The scene of a thousand wondrous hours
He saw as he glanced around;
The vase of affection's faithful flowers—
The blood of a battle-ground.
He saw as he glanced around;
The vase of affection's faithful flowers—
The blood of a battle-ground.
'Twas here he had preached with tones of love,
Or the clarion call of strife,
Of God within, as well as above;
And sweetened the bread of life.
Or the clarion call of strife,
Of God within, as well as above;
And sweetened the bread of life.
And here, with gesture of brave command,
And tenderly beaming face,
He reached to the world a thrilling hand,
And fought for the human race.
And tenderly beaming face,
He reached to the world a thrilling hand,
And fought for the human race.
'Twas here, with a strength by anguish bought,
And a love that never slept,
He rocked the cradle of new-born thought,
While the century smiled and wept.
And a love that never slept,
He rocked the cradle of new-born thought,
While the century smiled and wept.
He saw the thousands that o'er this track
Had walked to the country of day;
And now they seemed to be reaching back,
And beckoning him away.
Had walked to the country of day;
And now they seemed to be reaching back,
And beckoning him away.
But ere long time his soul had been
By olden memories stirred,
Two boys from the street came wandering in,
To list to the chanted word.
By olden memories stirred,
Two boys from the street came wandering in,
To list to the chanted word.
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Two young, fresh hearts, with a goodly sum
Of Innocence' saving leaven,
Like such it is said ours must become
Before we can enter heaven.
Of Innocence' saving leaven,
Like such it is said ours must become
Before we can enter heaven.
They heard in silence, with face upturned,
And tremulous, deep surprise,
And all the fire of the music burned
Within their youthful eyes!
And tremulous, deep surprise,
And all the fire of the music burned
Within their youthful eyes!
There crept to the old man's eyes a mist;
And down the pulpit stair
He gently came, and tenderly kissed
The children lingering there;
And down the pulpit stair
He gently came, and tenderly kissed
The children lingering there;
And o'er their shoulders his arms he threw,
This king with the crown of gray:
And finally, like three comrades true,
Together they walked away.
This king with the crown of gray:
And finally, like three comrades true,
Together they walked away.
And two went out in the Winter night,
Their earth-toil just begun;
The other, forth to eternal light—
His work for the planet done.
Their earth-toil just begun;
The other, forth to eternal light—
His work for the planet done.
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