 | Poems of home and country |  |
61
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.
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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.
63
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!”
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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.
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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.
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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.
| Poems of home and country | |