Jones Very : The Complete Poems

Slowly a Nation doth unfold its life,
A life, perhaps, in violence began;
Unfolding still through years of peace, or strife,
According to some high and noble plan.
It seeks Perfection in the social state;
Though oft astray by kings and conquerors led,
Or party leaders, skilful in debate;
To party, more than to their Country wed.
Yet still the People, as by instinct taught,
Or higher impulse moving every soul;
By various fortunes on their way are brought,
Till they shall reach at length the appointed goal;
When all in social harmony shall dwell,
And state 'gainst state no more again rebel.

Poem No. 425; c. 18 September 1868

415

II.
The Ends For Which A Nation Exists

Was it for mere existence, that we fought,
Contending only that the state might be?
Through war's dread scenes the higher ends we sought
Of Social Progress, civil Liberty;
For which, at first, our fathers did contend;
That here a true foundation might be laid,
That far and wide the mighty tree might send
Its roots into our soil, and spread its shade;
For Education, free alike for all,
For Temperance, Justice, Virtue, Order, Peace;
That ancient wrongs and errors here might fall,
And war on earth at length forever cease.
What is a nation, if for party ends,
Or for a mere existence it contends?

Poem No. 759; c. 18 September 1868

III.
Political Ambition

Again doth lust of Power lift up its head,
Seeking our Country for its ends to rule;
Feeding the flame, which it so long has fed,
Before war's lava torrents yet are cool.
What are the ends for which it power would seek?
To educate, to civilize, refine,
To raise the lowly and uphold the weak,
Develop, cherish every art benign?
To make our land, by Providence so blest,
Still onward in the path of progress move;
That here the heavy laden might find rest,
And nations dwell in brotherhood and love?
Ah no;—it strives not thus mankind to bless,
But only power to gain, and to possess.

Poem No. 28; c. 25 September 1868

416

IV.
National Unity

A unity complete, assured, and high,
Is that for which our Country still contends;
Fulfilling thus a nation's destiny;
For this its mighty energies it lends.
No more for party purposes it lives,
For it has entered on a nobler strife;
A higher motive higher objects gives,
Long years of progress, and of peaceful life;
In which it may its vast domain explore,
And with its commerce whiten every sea;
Stretch the strong iron bands from shore to shore,
Encourage Science, Art, and Industry;
That thus established firm on Nature's plan,
Might rise secure at length the work of man!

Poem No. 23; c. 29 September 1868

Reflections on the History of Nations

When I consider mighty nations' fate,
Their rise, their growth, their grandeur, and decline;
And all their varied history contemplate,
I see and own in each the Hand divine!
Not of themselves they rose to wealth and power,
And gained on earth a glory and a name;
Alike, to God, the nation of an hour,
And that which stands a thousand years the same.
To such as walk in righteousness and truth,
He gives long years of steady, sure increase;
They, like the eagle, shall renew their youth,
Their honor and their glory never cease;
While such as from his just commandments stray,
Shall sudden fall; or waste by slow decay.

Poem No. 788; 2 October 1868

417

Scepticism With Regard To The Gospels

Strange words are these, that little now we know
Of Him, who lived in ancient Palestine;
And mighty works performed so long ago,
Which all the ages since have called divine.
That all is legend, mystery, which we read
Of Him, who died mankind from death to save;
He, who man from death, and error freed,
Himself became the trophy of the grave.
Ah faithless age! which cannot see the light,
E'en though it does with noon-day brightness beam;
Which boasts its Science and its clearer sight,
Yet calls the Gospel histories but a dream.
It is not that the Light has never shined,
Nor shineth still; but we to it are blind!

Poem No. 446; c. 31 October 1868

The Tide

With daily ebb and flow
The waters by us glide,
They tell us of the mighty Power,
That rules their constant tide.

Yet, thoughtless still we gaze,
Untaught from day to day;
Unheeded still the unseen Hand,
That doth their motions sway.

As if thus, of itself,
The river's tide might flow;
Now fill its empty channels high,
Then back to ocean go.

As if attraction's force
Could be the only law;
And moon and sun could, of themselves,
The bulk of ocean draw.

418

Ah, who shall give us sight
This miracle to see?
In ocean's constant ebb and flow,
The work of Deity!

In Nature's constant law,
To own God's ceaseless power;
Who makes the sea to know its bounds,
And keep the appointed hour.

Poem No. 835; c. October 1868

The Spiritual Birth

Thy knowledge cannot reach
Unto the heavenly birth;
Thou knowest only what is done
Below, upon the earth.

Believe, and thou shalt know
Things holy and divine;
Things unperceived by mortal sense,
By faith alone are thine.

To naught the Lord compares
The Spirit, but the wind;
Whose voice indeed we listening hear,
But none its way can find.

It calls thee to repent,
Christ's kingdom enter in;
And while thou dwellest here below,
The heavenly life begin.

Obey the Spirit's call,
And by its voice be led;
And thou within the heavenly courts,
At length shall surely tread.

Poem No. 713; c. November 1868

419

The Youth and the Stream

The Youth.

Why so swift thou hurrying tide,
Why unto the ocean glide?
Why not here prolong your stay,
Through the long, bright summer's day?
Here are flowers of every hue,
Here are groves and fields to view;
Stay, and let them ever rest
Imaged on thy peaceful breast.

The Stream.

Why O mortal! thus replied,
To my quest, the rushing tide.
Why art thou, too, hurrying on,
And so soon from earth art gone?
All things here one law obey,
Naught in time can rest, or stay;
Use these moments as they fly,
Time well-spent can never die;
It but goes to fill the sea
Of a blessed eternity.
Mortal! raise your thoughts sublime,
Find eternity in time!
In the Christian's life is rest,
He alone in time is blest;
Living, in the passing hour,
With a life beyond its power.
Souls, made pure, do still retain
Earth's fair flowers on hill, and plain;
In their depths reflected are
Groves, and fields, and evening star;
Lit by Memory's golden ray
There they never fade away.

Poem No. 827; 1859–68?

420

The Daily News

As one who, standing safe upon the land,
Beholds a vessel tossing on the wave,
Or by the tempest driven on the strand,
Without the power the mariner to save;
So do I read, from danger's path afar,
Of many a sad event on field, and flood;
Of the fierce ravages of cruel war,
Of people perishing from want of food;
Of single sufferers, whom no help of mine
Can ever reach, whom I can never see;—
Why read the harrowing page, the mournful line,
If I can only give my sympathy?
Ah, say not so. Believe the Sacred Word,
Pray for all men, the prayer of faith is heard!

Poem No. 56; c. 9 January 1869

On A Hyacinth From Georgia

Fair flower! that, from the southern skies,
Hast reached us with thy bloom;
Thou dost our hearts with joy surprise,
And banish winter's gloom!
For oft, we know not, how or why,
Its gloom steals o'er the heart;
Earth's frozen breast, the stormy sky,
Seem of ourselves part.

Thou break'st the spell; as when the Spring
Returns to cheer our sight;
And, in her train, doth with her bring
The flowers, our chief delight;
She calls them, with her gentle voice,
And bids their tribes appear;
With southern fields our own rejoice,
For Spring again is here!

421

A bond thou art 'twixt state and state,
A link in Nature's chain;
That doth man's written laws out date,
That ever shall remain;
To tell us of God's boundless love
To all of human kind;
And, like the Gospel from above,
Their hearts in one to bind.

Poem No. 108; 20 January 1869

Things Unseen

With higher thoughts, O God, uplift
My sinking, feeble mind;
And let it, in the things unseen,.
Its rest and portion find.

For these are real;—though the world
Doth not in them believe;
Can worldly, carnal-minded men
The things of God receive?

Such things the Spirit doth reveal,
Things, like Itself, divine;
Oh that they might more real grow,
And be forever mine.

Around my spirit ever breathe
A calm, and holy joy;
Which earthly cares might not disturb,
Nor human power destroy.

Into my darkened spirit shine,
With ever brightening ray;
Till gone each cloud, which dims my sight,
And come the perfect day.

That thus I might, with truth and power,
To others too declare,
How great, how vast eternal things!
How wondrous and how fair!

Poem No. 836; c. 30 January 1869

422

The Oak And The Poplar

There grew upon a sandy hill
An oak and poplar tree;
The oak seemed almost to stand still,
Its growth you scarce could see;
For years its strong, and stubborn roots
Were burrowing 'neath the ground,
While on its trunk no lofty shoots,
Nor spreading limbs were found.
The poplar shot up tall and fast,
And looked around with pride;
And o'er the oak its shadow cast,
As 'twould its neighbor hide;
Its bright leaves glittered in the sun,
And danced in every breeze;
From all it admiration won;
While none the oak could please.
A century passed.—The tardy oak
Had reared its head on high,
And praise, and reverence bespoke
From every passer by;
A hundred arms it had outspread,
Its thick, and gnarled form
Seemed not the lightning's bolt to dread,
Nor fear the wildest storm!
Fit for man's use, it waiting stood
To rib the stout ship's side;
And bear him safely o'er the flood,
Without its aid denied;
Or form, with timbers tough and strong,
His dwelling's massive frame;
That should protect the builder long,
And still hand down his name.
And there, around the parent tree,
A thousand younger stood;
That, age on age, for man should be
A magazine of wood;
And, on its boughs, the acorns still
In countless numbers hung,

423

The falling forest's place to fill,
And keep it ever young.

The quick-grown poplar long had ceased
To be remembered there,
The old men told, “how it increased,
And flourished once so fair;
That many nurseries were made,
'Twas planted through the town,
And much admired for growth and shade,
But short-lived its renown!
For soon”, they said, “its tender frame
The blustering winds o'erthrew;”
And now 'tis scarcely known by name,
Where once in pride it grew.

Poem No. 611; 6 March 1869

The Yellow Violets

In a broad, grassy field,
By the old turnpike's side;
Once grew a bed of fairest flowers,
Of early Spring the pride.

Close to the craggy hill,
And near a walnut tree;
Those lilies fair, though years have fled,
I seem again to see!

Amidst green, speckled leaves,
The graceful flowers were found;
Each, pendant on a slender stem,
Bent gazing on the ground.

With playmates there I strayed,
When April days had come;
To search for buds, or opening flowers,
And bear my treasures home.

424

But, like my childhood's hours,
Their beauty now is fled;
Their flowers no more the field adorn,
And hid their lowly bed.

The grassy field's destroyed,
Where they so long had grown;
And the yellow violet now no more
By the children there is known!

Poem No. 297; c. 4 May 1869

The City of God

How strange the thought, that in the very light
Of God's own city we may walking be;
That holy city, where there is no night,
Nor yet the light, nor those about us see!
Its music, too, may fall upon the ear,
Celestial strains from the angelic choirs;
No soul-entrancing melody we hear,
For naught divine the heavenly strain inspires.
Without a warning, save a voice from heaven,
The holy city doth to earth descend;
To all alike its light is freely given,
And men and angels do their voices blend;
But oft, alas, within its streets we tread,
Nor know that to its scenes our souls are dead!

Poem No. 202; c. 5 June 1869

The Scholar Dreaming

Gazing, listless, from his book
Doth the scholar outward look,
Through the window, far away,
At the close of summer day.

425

Objects bright and fair he sees,
Feels the cool, refreshing breeze;
Which doth from the meadow blow,
Bending all its surface low.

Sees the rocky hills so steep,
Where he longs to climb and leap;
Hears the songs of birds so free,
As they sport from tree to tree.

Strange the words upon the page,
They no more his mind engage;
School and books unreal seem,
They have vanished like a dream!

Chide not, Teacher, chide him not,
Though his lesson be forgot;
Nature takes him by the hand,
He her words can understand.

Follow too her wiser plan,
Let the child instruct the man;
All his nature learn to train,
Or thy toil may prove in vain.

Through long years, the mind will grow
Ere its stature it shall know;
Soon the body's height is gained,
And its fullest powers attained.

Give him motives pure and high,
Point to earth, and sea, and sky;
Let him far and wide explore
Hill, and field, and rocky shore.

Give the body health and strength,
That it may not fail at length;
That the ever-active mind
May a fit companion find.

Poem No. 144; c. 29 June 1869

426

Hymn

Sung at the Dedication of the Peabody Academy of Science, Salem, Aug. 18, 1869.

The noble hall our fathers planned,
Where gathered were the rich and rare;
From every clime, and every land,
And long preserved with faithful care;

To Science now we dedicate,
That doth all Nature's realms explore;
New ways through continents create,
And cables stretch from shore to shore.

And higher still, on soaring wing,
The great Creative Thought would find;
And study, in each living thing,
The end for which it was designed.

That it may serve the lot of man,
And to the race a blessing prove;
Unfold the universal plan
Of God's beneficence, and love.

Honor to him, who, far and wide,
For these high ends his wealth bestows;
Which, like some mighty river's tide,
Through all our land exhaustless flows.

Poem No. 534; c. 18 August 1869

Spiritual Darkness

A darkness, like the middle of the night,
Clouds in the morn, and e'en the mid day hours;
Men wander round, as if devoid of sight,
Or led astray by false deluding powers.
The wise knew not its coming, nor can tell
Whence fell this darkness, like a plague, on all;
In vain they seek by knowledge to dispel

427

The gloom, that shrouds the earth as with a pall!
The astronomer the sun's eclipse foretells,
The day and hour, when quenched his glorious ray;
The moment, when his arrowy beam dispels
The sudden night, and brings returning day;
But who the dark eclipses of the mind
Can thus predict? by calculation find?

Poem No. 4; c. 9 October 1869

Friendship

How sweet the memory of a friend,
Whom now we meet no more!
How oft his looks do we recall,
Repeat his sayings o'er.

The places where with him we strayed,
The meadow, grove, and hill;
How oft we picture them to view,
And with fond memories fill!

Sad are our hearts, that now no more
His face, his form we see;
When we frequent the much-loved spots,
Where he was wont to be.

As wandering there the things we see
All seem to us more fair
Each thing he loved each flower & tree
When he was with us there.

Each well-remembered object makes
His image more complete;
Till earthly trials, sorrows past,
With him again we meet.

Poem No. 204; c. 1 January 1870

428

The Sparrows And The Crop of Weeds

Think not yon tall, rank growth of weeds
A useless crop is found;
Though man himself has sowed no seeds,
Nor tilled the fertile ground.

Though he neglect, as here we see,
The primal, great command;
Nor grain, nor plant, nor bush, nor tree,
Is witness of his hand.

For He, who all things, small and great,
Includes in one vast plan;
Did humble sparrows too create,
As well as nobler man.

He shelters them through winter's night,
So long, and drear, and cold;
In swamp, or wood, till morning light;
As shepherd keeps his fold.

And still the earth brings forth the weed,
Man's idleness to shame;
The birds in wintry time to feed,
Who naught from him can claim.

Thus doth the Lord for these provide,
Who neither sow nor reap;
Nor to the smallest is denied
His care, who all doth keep.

Poem No. 652; 15 February 1870

Ye have hoarded up treasure in the last days.—James 5:3.

Bring forth your gold and silver! They shall be
But as the dust that meets the passing eye;
You shall from all your idols break; be free!
And worship Him who made earth, sea and sky!
Ye who have hid within your learned pelf,

429

Ye who in gold alone your riches see,
Bring forth your idols! they are born of Self,
Nor longer in their worship bow the knee.
Each secret thing must now be brought to light,
For soon the day breaks on your hidden spoil;
Go, buy what then will give your souls delight,
Nor longer for earth's treasures vainly toil;
For each man's work must now be tried by fire,
Which shall consume each selfish, wrong desire.

Poem No. 81; c. 26 February 1870

Hymn

The Spiritual Body

Clothed upon with house from heaven,
See each bush and naked tree;
Unto us an image given
Of man's immortality!

Still the spirit needs a covering,
When the fleshly garment fails;
Like the snow flakes downward hovering,
It the new-born spirit veils.

Many a soiled, and time-worn raiment
Suddenly is laid aside;
And the humble, earthly claimant
With new body glorified!

Clothed is the weary spirit
With immortal vigor strong,
Angels' nature doth inherit,
Powers that unto them belong.

Not in vain the Resurrection
Doth the Church forever preach;
Nature doth to our reflection
The same wondrous lesson teach.

430

In the insect's new-found pinions,
Breaking from its sealéd tomb;
Heir of Summer's bright dominions,
Freed from winter's death and gloom;

In the grain of wheat, which springeth
With new beauty from the ground;
In the pure, white robe, that clingeth
Unto shrub, and tree around.

Poem No. 87; c. 9 April 1870

Hymn

The Efficacy of a Mother's Prayer

Pray, mother, for thy prayer may keep
Thy child in virtue's way;
A blessed harvest he shall reap,
For whom thou oft dost pray.

'Twill bless him in his early days,
And consecrate his home;
'Twill bless him mid the world's rough ways,
And wheresoe'er he roam.

Through manhood e'en to life's last close,
Thy prayers shall council, guide;
Keep pure his heart from deadly foes,
From hatred, lust, and pride.

Pray, mother, for thy prayer has power
To help, to save thy child;
To give him strength in evil hour,
By pleasure's voice beguiled.

And pray, O pray, when erring, frail,
Thy feeble child may fall;
Thy prayer, thy faith may still prevail,
And back to life recall!

431

For God the prayer of faith doth hear,
And answer from on high;
To those who seek Him, He is near,
Nor will their quest deny.

Poem No. 400; c. 9 July 1870

The Fireflies

The Summer's day has reached its close,
The darkness settles round;
The weary mower seeks repose,
And sinks in sleep profound.

But o'er the field of new-mown hay,
Behold a wondrous sight!
Though gone the brightness of the day,
The air is full of light.

Like sparkles, glancing to and fro
Among the new-mown grass,
The fireflies gleam; how strange the show!
As back and forth they pass;

Each with a lamp, like human kind;
They seek perchance their food;
Or, by its light, each other find,
As suits their varying mood.

Or, hiding them from dangerous foe,
They darken now its ray;
That none their secret path may know,
And seize them for their prey.

How marvelous the works of God,
His wisdom, skill, and power!
In starry hosts or glittering sod,
In insect, plant, or flower.

432

Oh may I not, whereere I turn,
Careless his works behold;
But from each thing some lesson learn,
Which He to man has told.

Poem No. 576; c. 19 July 1870

Be Not Many Teachers

James 3:1.

“Be ye not many teachers; for we all,”
The Apostle wrote, “in many things offend;”
His admonition let us oft recall,
As words of wisest teacher, and of friend.
“Be ye not many teachers”. First receive
The gift of Wisdom, ere ye claim to teach;
And first the Gospel's glorious truths believe,
Before that Gospel ye to others preach.
We all offend. Confession humble, meek,
To those who would instruct their fellow men;
That they may ever grace, and wisdom seek
To guide their speech; whether of tongue, or pen;
Lest they, as teachers, labor but in vain,
And but the greater condemnation gain!

Poem No. 62; c. 6 August 1870

Military surprises and the capture of capitals, are the events of a by-gone age. D'Israeli.

A by-gone age appears again,
Though gone its weapons, spear and shield;
Men's baser passions still the same,
Will the same fatal harvest yield.

433

Yea, deadlier weapons they contrive,
As aided by Satanic skill;
More wide destruction's bolts to hurl,
And with a surer aim to kill.

The march of armies trampling down
The harvests raised by care and toil,
The works of noblest skill destroyed,
And cities burnt, or given to spoil;

Homes made forever sad and lone,
For children in the battle slain;
These are the scenes of which we read,
A by-gone age appears again!

Ambition grasping wider power,
Involving nations in its plan,
Musters its hosts; appeals to arms;
Regarding neither God nor man.

The pomp and circumstance of war
No more the statesman's thoughts engage;
He views them but as idle shows,
The relics of a barbarous age;

Restored to deck despotic rule,
With semblance of its ancient power;
Its prestige and its name prolong
Beyond the fixed, allotted hour.

Poem No. 1; c. 9 September 1870

The Bible Does Not Sanction Polygamy

I.

The Word of God doth sanction nothing ill,
Nor low, nor base; whatever men may find
Written of old. The letter oft doth kill,
Or to the grovelling Past the spirit bind.
So they, who once did Slavery uphold,
Found in the Bible sanction for their deed;
Their hearts more hardened like the King of old,

434

When Israel was from Egypt's bondage freed.
So War, twin-relic of a barbarous age,
Claims too the sanction of the Holy Word;
And nations still in hostile strife engage,
And call themselves the followers of the Lord!
The Spirit only quickens; gives the light,
That we may read the Word of God aright.

II.

A loftier state of purity and bliss,
Than this man's mortal lot doth yet unfold;
In the new life, which shall succeed to this,
Was by the Savior to mankind foretold;
The Resurrection;—when no more we die,
Nor parted are by time, or cruel fate;
But as the angels are, who dwell on high;
And, made immortal, share their deathless state!
There soul meets soul, and heart to heart is known,
Nor sundered are the ties, which spirits bind;
There none is ere compelled to walk alone,
Or lacks the fellowship of kindred mind;
Would that such purity we now might share,
And for that blissful state might here prepare!

Poem No. 600; c. 16 September 1870

Bitter-Sweet Rocks

There is no spot so lonely, rough, and wild,
But Nature doth, with careful fingers, deck
With flowers, or vines, or ferns, or soft green moss,
To give to those, who to such haunts may stray,
A sweet surprise, a pleasure all their own.
To such a spot, an unfrequented dell,
When Autumn comes, some warm October day,
I love to wander, and in silence muse.
O'er rocky hills, where cattle roam and feed,
Cropping the meadows and the pastures green,

435

My way I take; pausing at times to view
The city's spires, or ocean's blue expanse;
Then down the narrow glen, shady and still,
Save when some startled bird has taken to flight,
Or cricket's song amid the grass is heard.
Here from the cliff whose vast rocks have fallen,
Thrown down by some convulsion, or by frost;
And at its base lie in confusion piled.
But not neglected doth this ruin lie,
For here a beauteous show hath Nature wrought
For those, who to this lonely spot have come.
Among these broken rocks the bitter-sweet
Has taken root, and clasped the fragments round
In close embrace, covering the mossy rocks
With leafy screen; where clustering bunches hang
Of purest gold. And, sight most beautiful!
As Nature sought yet more to please and charm;
Up to the very top of a high tree,
Which rooted grows amid'st the fallen crags,
A vine has clomb; and every bough and twig
Is laden with its golden berries ripe,
And from the top in gay festoons they hang;
Giving a wondrous beauty to the place.

Poem No. 627; c. 31 October 1870

Humanity Mourning For Her Children Slain In War

Humanity laments, and still will weep
Her slaughtered sons of every age and clime;
And hourly doth her fasts and vigils keep,
For millions perished since the birth of time!

And shall she never from the dust arise,
And put her robe of fleecy whiteness on;
And dry her swollen and ever flowing eyes
For wrongs, that man his brother man has done?

436

Yes; for though passing clouds now dim her sight,
They shall not long prevent the approaching day;
Already are the hill-tops glad with light,
And man's proud tyrants starting with dismay.

Soon shall she see her children dwell in peace
On all the earth, of every name and clime;
Their friendly intercourse of love increase,
Unfettered by the bonds of space and time.

A deep, abiding joy her soul shall fill,
Beholding thus her countless children blest;
Secure from rude alarms, and every ill,
And entering here on their eternal rest!

Poem No. 205; c. 15 November 1870

The Poor Clergyman

Long had Christ's servant preached the word of truth,
And labored in the vineyard of his Lord;
But gone his strength, his manhood, and his youth,
And age had come;—but what was his reward?
Men had forgot the laborer; rich had grown,
And added house to house, and land to land;
The truth he preached forgot, or never known;
Like those who heard, but did not understand.
Perhaps, neglected, in some poorhouse he
Might linger out his days, they never knew;
Or homeless roam in bitter poverty,
While they each day, and year the richer grew;
The riches of this world to them were given,
To him the treasure that's laid up in heaven!

Poem No. 320; c. 13 December 1870

437

The Teaching Of History Confirmed

Why look we to the distant past to learn
Lessons of wisdom from the days gone by?
When to the living present we may turn,
And read the teaching of all History.
Behold a mighty city, boasting all
That wealth, or splendor, or renown can give,
Encompassed now by armies, soon to fall;
No more the glory of the world to live!
One moment on the pinnacle of fame,
Another humbled to the very dust;
How vain the prestige of a Conqueror's name!
In arm of flesh how vain to place our trust!
And not in arts, whose glory shall endure,
By which great nations dwell in peace secure.

Poem No. 822; c. 7 January 1871

Childhood's Songs

“All the songs of my childhood float back to me, and I wander in far off realms.”

—William E. Clark.

I hear again my childhood's songs,
When life was bright and fair;
Their melodies my spirit hears,
They float upon the air.

In far off realms I seem to stray,
Mid childhood's early flowers;
And all my weariness forget,
Amid its happy bowers.

My mother's voice, it comes again
So clear, and pure, and sweet;
I seem a child again to be,
And listening at her feet!

438

They cheer and soothe my sinking heart,
As if from heaven they came;
In manhood, as in youthful hours,
Their power is still the same.

A power to purify and bless,
And thus my soul prepare;
With those I loved in early days,
The life of heaven to share.

Poem No. 237; c. 18 March 1871

Hymn,

Sung at the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Essex Historical Society, Salem. April 21, 1871.

Amid the swift onrushing years,
We hear a voice that bids us stay;
Back to the storied Past we turn,
And reverently its call obey.

For not dissevered, weak, alone,
Do we amid the Present live;
But to our lives the by-gone days
Their knowledge, and their virtues give.

Made wise by wisdom of the Past,
We for the Future shall prepare;
Sharing our Fathers' noble aims,
We shall their fame, and glory share.

But soon forgotten, or destroyed,
The records of that early age;
Had not their sons with loving care,
Memorials left for History's page.

Honor we give to those, who here
Recorded for our use their lore;
Whose names, and virtues we revere,
Though seen with us their forms no more!

439

Inspired by their example high,
May we their chosen path pursue;
Alike to Present, and to Past,
In all our thoughts, and acts be true.

Poem No. 38; c. 21 April 1871

The Lessons of History Unlearned

Again doth France, unhappy France, behold
Renewed the scenes of terror and of crime;
Still unprepared for Freedom, as of old,
Though passed almost a century of time.
Of her long history how sad the end,
Freedom by King and People both betrayed!
While faction doth the boastful city rend,
And for another age is Peace delayed.
So doth a noble river, that should bless
And fertilize its banks on either side,
Bursting its bounds, bring ruin and distress,
And desolate a happy region wide!
Ah, when shall man, if not by reason taught,
Learn from the wondrous works in Nature wrought?

Poem No. 27; c. 16 June 1871

The Fulness of The Gentiles

Swift speeds the time, the time long since foretold,
When all the nations shall be gathered in;
The scroll of Prophecy be all unrolled,
And a new Age, a grander Age begin.
By signs the day its coming doth portend,
In swifter intercourse the nations meet,
Old dynasties are hastening to their end,
The electric wire its circuits doth complete.
O Love, that did the Apostle's bosom swell,
And gave him knowledge of the mystery high,

440

And fitting words, that mystery to tell;
Would that like him, we saw Christ's Kingdom nigh!
Come, Church Triumphant! in thy glory come;
And gather all earth's weary children home!

Poem No. 453; c. 8 July 1871

To a Cloud

Whither, O Cloud! with richest treasures fraught,
From some unseen, and distant regions brought;
Whither so swiftly dost thou wing thy way,
And why not o'er this dusty city stay?
The grass is withered, and the flowers are dead,
From our fair gardens all their beauty fled;
And e'en the lofty trees, with foliage dry,
Imploring look as thou art passing by.
We know not why so swift thou passest on,
For, while we gaze, thou from our sight art gone!
Like glorious angel hastening to fulfil,
On pinions swift the great Creator's will.
How small our knowledge of the mighty plan
Controuling nature, since the world began!
Vainly would Science search the hidden cause,
Which wings thy flight, obedient to His laws;
Who fillest all things, and dost all contain,
Who sendeth, or withholds alike the rain.
Perhaps, beyond our own horizon's bound,
More needing thee, more dry and parched the ground;
And, with more earnest prayers, more anxious eyes,
Men turn their gaze unto the cloudless skies.
O'er the proud city thou wilt not remain,
Where dwell the sons of pleasure, and of gain;
But, where the toiling husbandman doth stand,
And mourning views his crops, his parched land,
Thou hastenest on; and drop'st thy fulness down,
And dost his toil, and prayers with plenty crown.

Poem No. 813; c. 1 September 1871

441

The Child's Dream of Reaching the Horizon

A child beheld the o'er arching heaven,
Where earth blends with the sky;
And longed to reach the blissful spot,
It seemed to him so nigh.

All night he could not sleep a wink,
As on his bed he lay;
And a bright day in June beheld
The dreamer on his way.

Not e'en his parents did he tell
For what, and where he went;
Lest they should laugh his thoughts to scorn,
And his fond hopes prevent.

Thus onward, on a summer's morn,
To earth's fair bound he sped;
And yet whene'er he reached the spot,
The blissful vision fled.

It was not where the hill he climbed,
Nor on the meadow green;
Nor where on the horizon's line,
The silver brook was seen.

Nor where the forest's branches waved,
And the birds sang so sweet;
He came; but reached not there the place,
Where heaven and earth did meet.

Ah, many a weary mile he went
To reach the bending sky,
But found at last 'twas still afar,
What he had dreamed so nigh.

Some laborers found the wandering child,
And homeward turned his face;
With slow, and toilsome steps once more
His path did he retrace.

442

Glad were his parents, when at eve,
He safely reached his home;
But sad the child; the dream had fled,
Which called his feet to roam!

Poem No. 2; c. 2 September 1871

Lead Me To The Rock That Is Higher Than I

In a barren land I wander,
And no tree, nor house I spy;
Lead me to a Rock for refuge,
Rock that higher is than I.

Fierce the sun has beat upon me
From a burning, cloudless sky;
Friendly shadow now I long for,
Rock that higher is than I.

Strange and wild the scenes around me,
And no help from man is nigh;
But a shelter Thou canst show me,
Rock that higher is than I.

Treacherous guides have me forsaken,
Many paths deceive my eye;
Thou alone canst guide, and show me
Rock that higher is than I.

Night is falling dark & dreary,
Help me, or I sink and die!
Show me, ere the light shall fail me,
Rock that higher is than I.

Then my soul shall sing thy praises,
And extol thy mercies high;
Praise and bless, through endless ages,
Rock that higher is than I.

Poem No. 296; c. 18 November 1871

443

Forevermore

A sad refrain I heard, from poet sad,
Which on my soul with deadening weight did fall;
But quick another word, which made me glad,
Did from the heavens above me seem to call.
The first was Nevermore: which, like a knell,
Struck on my ear with dull, funereal sound;
The last was Evermore; which like a bell,
In waves of music filled the air around.
Forevermore with loved and lost to be,
No more to suffer change, nor grief, nor pain,
From partings sad to be forever free,—
Such was that sweet bell's music; its refrain
Blended with voices from the heavenly shore,
Each whispering to my heart Forevermore.

Poem No. 18; c. 24 November 1871

Man's First Experience of Winter

When man, born 'mid luxuriant Tropic bowers,
Beheld, 'neath northern skies, all Nature change;
The falling leaves, the dying grass and flowers,—
How desolate the sight! the scene how strange!
And when the sun declined, and Winter's breath
Had frozen hard the river's rapid tide,
And spread o'er hills and fields the pall of death,—
Feared he not then, that Nature's self had died?
Yet in his heart a faith and trust did spring,
Faith conquering doubt, and trust in Power Divine;
That from this seeming death new life would bring,
And clothe again the tree, the grass, the vine;
And banish from the earth dark Winter's gloom,
And bid her hills and fields with beauty bloom.

Poem No. 791; c. 6 February 1872

444

Interpreting God's Ways

Interpret not God's ways, unless his light
Has shone upon thy dark, beclouded mind,
Making earth's scenes of sin and suffering bright,
That thou his way, his perfect way, may'st find.
Boast not thy knowledge of old Nature's laws,
Though thou may'st something of her secrets know;
Canst thou explain her being, or her cause?
Tell how a single blade of grass doth grow?
Or knowest thou how thine eye, or cunning hand,
Doth execute its work with nicest skill?
Canst thou the mind's swift motions understand,
Make all its movements subject to thy will?
Boast not thy knowledge, though, with angel's sight,
Thine eye could pierce the darkness as the light.

Poem No. 302; c. 10 February 1872

I Prayed, Thy Kingdom Come

I prayed, Thy kingdom come! For Winter long
Had held the frozen earth in fetters bound;
And wretchedness, and misery, war, and wrong,
Age after age, did in the world abound.
I prayed, Thy kingdom come! And lo, the Spring
Came with its warmth and joy to glad the earth;
New hope the sight did to my spirit bring,
That Man at length should share the quickening birth.
For He who worketh thus great Nature's change,
Works in the heart his miracles of power;
Than those we see more marvellous and strange!
Have faith in God, and wait his promised hour;
For He who doth the quickening Spring-time send,
Will sin destroy, bring suffering to an end.

Poem No. 251; c. 20 April 1872

445

Justification By Faith

Strongly did Luther seize the mighty thought,
Which the Apostle's mind had first conceived,
And which in him so mightily had wrought,
That he is Justified, who hath believed;
Freed from the observance of the Jewish law,
Which sought by fear man's nature to controul;
From higher motives did his thoughts withdraw,
And bound to forms and rites the aspiring soul.
By faith, and not by works, man lives; he said;
And, by his word, the nation's bondage broke!
From land to land quickly the tidings spread,
To life and thought the slumbering people woke!
From slavish forms, and slavish errors free,
And standing firm in Christian liberty.

Poem No. 448; c. 4 May 1872

The First of May

May has come, but flowers are rare,
Blooming only here and there,
In some sheltered, sunny spot,
Where the bleak winds reach them not.
Still the pastures pale and dry
With no verdure greet the eye,
Only on the turnpike seen
Narrow borders touched with green.
E'en the savins, hardy band,
Winter-killed and blasted stand;
And their green has yellow turned,
As by fire their boughs were burned.
But the children, on the hill
Love to keep the May-day still;
Love to search the fields around,
Though no flowers by them are found.
In vain they ask of passer-by,
Where is the anemony?

446

Where the violet's deep blue?
None can show them, but the few,
Who their favorite haunts may know,
And can tell them where to go.
There, though Spring elsewhere delays,
Each their beauteous tints displays;
And upon the breeze their bloom
Sheds its delicate perfume.
Call not then the custom vain,
For to seek is still to gain:
Though we find not that we prize,
In the seeking pleasure lies.
They who seek shall ever find
Health of body and of mind;
They who will not ask, nor seek,
Live in mind and body weak.

Poem No. 325; 1–7 May 1872

On the Great Divisions of the Christian Church, The Catholic, the Protestant, and the Greek

Still other sheep Thou hast, O Shepherd fair,
Than that one flock to which we may belong;
For all alike Thou dost provide and care,
And call them by thy voice, and tuneful song.
Though they, estranged, may not each other know,
And deem their fold, and theirs alone, is thine;
Thou dost to all the heavenly pastures show,
And watch and guard them all with love divine.
O that thy Church again might be but one,
One Shepherd and one flock, as once of old!
That Thou the wanderers who astray have gone,
And all the lost, might gather to thy fold;
That they, with thine, might in green pastures feed,
From want, and fear, and every danger freed.

Poem No. 440; c. 8 June 1872

447

The Nine O'Clock Bell

'Tis “nine o'clock;” but few the summons heed;
The street is full of passers to and fro;
No homes they seek, no homes they seem to need;
And some, alas! a home may never know.
They hear no voice of father, mother dear,
To bid them “sure return, when rings the bell;”
In its loud tones no friendly signal hear
Of household cares, and loving hearts to tell.
Trained in a different school the people now
No steady habits, nor obedience gain.
To keep good hours, when duty calls to go,
Are all forgot for pleasure, feasting, gain.
Ring on Old Bell! and from their ways recall
Gay, thoughtless youth, and warn them lest they fall!

Poem No. 726; c. 12 July 1872

“Are there Few that be Saved?”

Luke 13:23.

So questioned one of old, as we
Do often anxious ask;
And from our work we look around,
Forgetting our own task.

We see the busy multitudes,
That throng the world's highway;
We see the multitudes that meet
To worship and to pray.

Shall few, or shall all men be saved?
We question, too, the Lord;
But the same answer we receive,
As he who heard his word.

448

Strive earnestly to enter in
God's kingdom, given to all;
And while thou hear'st the Gospel preached,
Obey its gracious call.

Look not around, nor curious be
To learn another's fate;
But rather strive thyself to gain
An entrance ere too late.

When once the Master of the House
Has risen, and shut the door,
In vain they seek to enter in
Who welcomed were before.

For many then shall stand without,
And wait, and knock in vain;
Who, if they strove to enter now,
Might easy entrance gain.

Poem No. 426; c. 24 August 1872

On Seeing the White Mountains from Cook's Hill, in West Peabody

Far off I see, like a dim cloud, the hills,
Which, in my youth, I climbed with daring feet;
Whose memory still my mind with grandeur fills,
And pleasant thoughts of love and friendship sweet.
But nearer do the humble hill-tops rise,
On which my childhood loved to sit and stray;
Gazing on pastures wide, on sea and skies,
Lit by the sun's bright beams, or moon's soft ray.
And many a merry voice and sunny face
Of early playmates round my happy home
Come back to me, as the green paths I trace,
And craggy cliffs, 'mid which we loved to roam;
Nor long I now yon distant hills to climb,
Though grand their scenes, their summits more sublime.

Poem No. 115; c. 30 August 1872

449

Signs in the Natural World

The earth doth with the heavens sympathise!
When, by the civil war, our land was rent,
Scorched was the ground, and from the cloudless skies
The sun blazed fierce, no rain from heaven was sent:
Now, filled with vapor is the summer sky,
And drenched with frequent rains the needy ground;
On their dread errands oft the lightnings fly,
And echoes through heaven's vault the thunder's sound.
But dull the eye of sense, and dull its ear
Unto these signs; that wake the listening soul;
That doth in Nature more than Nature hear,
That sees the Hand that doth her powers controul;
And feels that earth and man, and sea and sky
Are bound in one by hidden sympathy.

Poem No. 491; c. 5 October 1872

A Walk in Harmony Grove

I walked the grove where rest the mortal forms
Of those we love, and still with tears deplore;
Unheard as yet the blasts of Winter's storms,
And still the trees their thickest foliage wore;
But through the forest came a soft, sad sound,
As Nature were attuned to human grief;
And, fluttering from the trees unto the ground,
In frequent showers fell many a dying leaf.
How oft does Nature speak unto the soul,
But we, alas! have not the listening ear;
In falling leaf, as in the mighty whole,
She speaks to man, would he her voices hear;
In sober Autumn, as in joyous spring,
To souls attuned she doth instruction bring.

Poem No. 282; c. 22 October 1872

450

The Prayer of Jabez

The prayer of Jabez, too, should be our prayer:
“Keep me from evil, that it may not grieve.”
How hard the sight of wrong and ill to bear,
When we cannot the sufferers relieve!
The child of sorrow, he for others' woe,
As if it were his own, did deeply feel;
Though he had naught of riches to bestow,
Nor power their wrongs and miseries to heal.
God heard his prayer, and answered his request;
And by his sympathy, did help impart
Unto the poor, the suffering, and opprest,
That healed their wounds and robbed them of their smart;
Nor suffered cruel deeds, nor words unkind
To grieve his heart, or rankle in his mind.

Poem No. 543; c. 9 November 1872

The Life of the Flower

Know'st thou the life of a single flower,
How it blooms from out the earth?
Whence came its beauty? and what the Power,
That gave its beauty birth?

How long has the seed of that flower been sown,
In the ages past away;
Since first on the earth its form was known,
And it oped to the light of day?

In the hardened rock its form is found,
Ere man the earth had trod;
Ere his toiling hands had tilled the ground,
Or sowed with its seed the sod.

Before the bird, or the beast was made,
The desolate earth still in gloom;
Ere a tree o'er the dry land had spread its shade,
Did the flower in its beauty bloom.

451

Thou may'st trace its life to the single cell,
By the aid which Science gives;
But can'st thou by searching the secret tell,
Whence the seed, or how it lives?

Oh no: for the secret is hid from thee,
Known to none save the Perfect Mind;
Whom thou in his works alone can see,
But not to perfection find.

For the life of the flower, like the life of the soul,
Is hid in God above;
And the humblest flower, like the mighty Whole,
Sprang forth from his boundless love.

Poem No. 313; c. 28 December 1872

The Old Danvers Burying-Ground

Above the ancient burying place
Looks calmly down the full orbed moon;
Each well known grave I plainly trace,
As in the effulgent light of noon.

And through the cold, transparent air,
The stars and planets brightly glow,
As if they listened to the prayer
Of dweller on this sphere below.

And is there not some secret spell,
Some influence from yon shining spheres;
Of the Immortal Life to tell
Beyond Time's few and fleeting years?

There is; for though no voice nor speech
May reach the mourner's listening ear,
The Resurrection's truth they teach,
By revelation's words made clear.

That though the mortal body die,
A nobler, fairer, shall succeed;
As stars in differing glory vie,
As springs the stalk from buried seed.

452

That as the earthly now we wear,
Subject to suffering, change, decay;
The heavenly image we shall bear,
That fadeth not, like that, away.

There is no death in scene like this,
Though mortal forms repose around;
My thoughts mount upward to the bliss
The immortal soul with God has found.

All live to Him! Though earth may hide
The forms of loved ones from our sight;
Our friends still live, with Him abide,
Who on the grave sheds holy light.

Poem No. 25a; c. 18 February 1873

Hymn

“He that loveth not, knoweth not God.”

He loveth not! he knows not God!
For God himself is love;
And dwelleth with his children here,
And in the heavens above.

To Him they pray to cleanse their hearts
From every guilty stain;
Nor is a single cry unheard,
Nor prayer breathed forth in vain.

His Spirit too doth in us dwell,
And teaches us to pray;
Though we from fear, or doubt, or sin,
May know not what to say.

It teaches others to forgive,
As we would be forgiven;
That we God's children here may be,
And dwell with Him in heaven.

453

It strengthens in temptation's hour,
When worldly foes assail;
And gives us courage strong to stand,
And o'er them all prevail.

Pray, pray for those who know not God,
Nor ask his help in prayer;
That they may know the Father's love,
And in his kingdom share.

Poem No. 162; c. 8 March 1873

Norman's Rocks

Along the base of Norman's Rocks
I stroll, as when a boy;
Or climb their steep and craggy sides
The prospect to enjoy;

Or feel the cool, refreshing breeze,
Which round their summit plays;
And makes this hill a favorite haunt,
In the warm Summer days.

This pleasant height a prospect gives
O'er fields, and pastures green;
While, on the far horizon's line,
The ocean's blue is seen.

Below, the city stretches far,
With many a shady street;
And all its homes, and gardens fair
Lie smiling at its feet.

More beautiful to me the scene,
Than painter's canvass shows;
For this in memory's brightest hues,
And fancy's colors glows.

Here did I climb, when Spring returned,
To pluck her earliest flowers;
Or mid the golden woodwax play,
In Summer's sultry hours.

454

Here picked the barberry's bunches red,
When Autumn time had come;
Or sought the bitter-sweet to deck
With gay festoons my home.

Though to the scene the musing mind
Doth its own coloring give;
Yet doth the prospect charm the more,
The longer still I live.

The lichens clinging to the rocks,
The moss forever green,
The saxifrage, with milk-white flowers,
The first in childhood seen;

Still many a pleasing lesson have,
As on their leaves I pore;
New beauties charm in manhood's prime,
Ne'er seen in years before.

For Science opens wide her book,
And bids her children read,
With wonder filled the hidden life
In flower and plant and seed.

And still the varying seasons bring
An ever new delight;
As from these cliffs I look around
On each familiar sight;

A picture that can never fade,
While life and memory last;
Made soft and fair by loveliest hues,
Reflected from the past.

Poem No. 35; c. 20 June 1873

455

On visiting the beautiful estate of H. H. Hunnewell, Esq., at Wellesley.

We wandered hours amid a lovely scene,
Which every moment brought a fresh surprise;
So beautiful the flowers, the grass so green,
It seemed like Paradise unto our eyes.
Is this all nature's work? or has man's art,
By nature taught, but perfected her plan?
So blended are they each in every part,
We know not nature's work from work of man.
What level lawns! what vistas opening fine
Through shady groves! with forest-fringed lake;
Which, in one whole, do every charm combine,
And soul and sense, as willing captives, take;
Which a new sense of nature's beauty give,
That in the grateful mind will ever live.

Poem No. 765; c. 1 July 1873

The Revelation of The Spirit Through The Material World

We call material this fair world of ours,
And so it seems to gross, material eyes;
That see no beauty in earth's fairest flowers,
No heavenly splendors in her sunset skies.
But are there not, in yonder gorgeous scene,
A beauty and a grandeur not of earth;
A glory breaking from yon cloudy screen
Revealing to the soul its nobler birth?
Can things material such fair forms assume,
And thus delight and charm the human mind;
Or doth the Spirit with its rays illume
Their inmost depths, from matter now refined;
That man may thus with it communion hold,
And learn of higher things than sense has told?

Poem No. 760; c. 26 July 1873

456

And a little child shall lead them. Isaiah XI. 6.

Thou call'st me, little child,
With thy voice sweet and mild,
To go with thee;
I take thy guiding hand,
For thou the happy land
Dost clearly see.

The land, where heard no more
The lion's angry roar;
Nor beast of prey
Doth ravage and devour;
And gone the tyrant's power,
To hurt, and slay.

The fields and pastures green
Through all the year are seen,
No drought they know;
There flowers of beauty rare,
Without man's fostering care,
Abundant grow.

There in a peaceful life,
Forgotten war's rude strife,
All men shall live;
No enemy shall spoil,
Earth without painful toil,
Shall plenty give.

There nevermore is heard
Harsh speech, nor angry word;
No more we hear
Of deeds of shame and crime,
Darkening the page of time;
Nor dwell in fear.

No sorrow there shall be,
New heavens and earth we'll see,
Where dwelleth Love;

457

There, there, O gentle guide,
May I with thee abide,
Blest land above.

Poem No. 666; c. 16 August 1873

The Blessing of Rain

How, like a blessing, falls the rain
On thirsty field, and parched hill,
And on the dry, and dusty plain,
Low swamp and pool the rain drops fill.

They wash the tall tree's withering leaves
And fresh the forest's branches wave;
The dying shrub the gift receives,
That comes its feeble life to save.

The birds their painful silence break,
And fill with joyful notes the grove;
The cattle now their thirst can slake,
Nor for a spring they vainly rove.

A pleasant smell the moist earth sends
To heaven for the reviving shower;
Which with unnumbered odors blends,
The incense sweet of many a flower.

And man, with every living thing,
With grateful heart his voice doth lift
In praise to God; and thanks doth bring
For every good and perfect gift.

Poem No. 189; c. 26 August 1873

458

On the Mountain Ash Tree

In front of the house of the late Capt. Robert W. Gould

He planted, years ago, before his door,
A mountain ash; which now a tree has grown,
And year by year its golden berries bore.
Could it to him who planted have been known,
How much more beautiful his home would be
In years to come! How much of joy and grace
The leaves, and flowers, and fruit of this one tree,
Would give to passers-by, and to the place?
Well I remember, passing through the street,
When but a boy, its beauty caught my eye;
And often now I pause the tree to greet,
As on my daily walk I pass it by;
Nor doth it fail, in winter cold, and drear,
With clustering berries red the eye to cheer.

Poem No. 164; c. 21 October 1873

October

How beautiful the sight of woods still fair,
That yet no heavy frost, nor rain has harmed;
And warm as summer is the autumn air,
As by some spell its chilly winds were charmed!
Still blooms the golden rod in many a glade,
And asters open still their mild blue eyes;
The Spring beyond its season long delayed,
The added warmth of Autumn well supplies.
'Tis pleasant, 'mid the grove's rich colored light,
Along its paths with musing mind to stray;
And meditate on Autumn's glories bright,
Which fully compensate the Spring's delay;
Learning a lesson of the varied year
Of patience, trust, and hope the heart to cheer.

Poem No. 177; October 1873

459

The Mound Builders.

On Reading the work of the late J. W. Foster

Strange record of a people past away,
Once numerous as the leaves the forests shed,
As mindful of man's frailty, and decay,
Upon their mounds, and grave-hills of their dead.
Here lived, and planned, and toiled another race,
A pre-historic race, forgotten long;
Who in the speech of men have left no trace,
Unknown alike to history, and to song.
Yet were they to ourselves, as men, allied,
In God's own image made, though of the earth;
And, though the help of Learning's stores denied,
Destined with us to an immortal birth.
With reverence may we ope their graves, and tread
With thoughtful minds the cities of the dead.

Poem No. 444 c. 1 November 1873

Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.

How hard the truth of words like these to feel,
To realize a promise such as this!
Yet have they balm the heart's deep wounds to heal,
That mourns the loss of friends, and earthly bliss.
For they were spoke by him, who knew our lot,
A sorrowing man, who felt, and shared our grief;
Who ne'er the lowliest sufferer forgot,
To whom his mighty power could bring relief.
Still, from on high, the Comforter he sends,
That fills with joy and peace the lonely heart;
As once he gave unto his dearest friends,
That should abide with them, and ne'er depart.
Oh that earth's sorrowing children all might know
The Heavenly Gift the Savior doth bestow!

Poem No. 187; c. 12 December 1873

460

There shall be one Flock, one Shepherd

Prophetic thought of Unity, and Peace,
That ever filled the blessed Saviour's mind!
When men from cruel wars and strife should cease,
And friendly intercourse the nations bind.
One Shepherd, and one Flock there then shall be,
By the good Shepherd guided, watched, and fed;
Dwelling in peace, or wandering safe and free
In pastures green, and by still waters led.
Not to exalt one nation did he come,
But all to gather in one sacred fold;
To make of earth, as heaven, a peaceful home,
By prophets long in prophecy foretold.
Hasten ye Ages, till the world fulfil
The word of Christ, and learn the Father's will.

Poem No. 403; c. 17 January 1874

Old Houses of Salem

Illustrated by George M. White

These humble dwellings, old, and quaint,
The artist bids us view,
A history have; which often shames
The modern, grand and new.

For here the wealthy, and the poor,
The high-born, and the low
Contented dwelt; nor cared for gain,
For grandeur, and for show.

Honest and true, and pure, and kind,
Their homes and hearths they loved;
And to each other in their need
They firm and faithful proved.

461

The wilderness they here subdued,
By manly toil, and pain;
Or on the ocean bravely strove
A livelihood to gain.

They worshipped God in purity,
In spirit, and in love;
And sought on earth a church to be,
Like to the church above.

They sought a Commonwealth to found,
A free and Christian State;
Now, through their toil and suffering,
Grown strong, and rich, and great.

A lesson may their children learn,
As here their homes they see;
That not in wealth or outward good
Is man's nobility.

To keep, improve the heritage,
Which they have handed down;
By virtuous lives, and noble deeds,
Our fathers' work to crown.

Poem No. 635; c. 23 January 1874

Columbines and Anemones

Prang's American chromos,—“Wild Flowers, after water-color by Miss Ellen Robbins, have been much admired, and are well suited to the decoration of boudoirs.”

Before the early flowers have faded quite,
That breathed their fragrance over vale and lea;
The Columbines, in scarlet vesture bright,
Quickly succeed the pale Anemone;

Crowning our rocky hills in gay attire,
Or nodding on the steep and craggy rock;
They bid us climb for that which we desire,
Or, far beyond our reach, with beauty mock.

462

In fancy groups of children there I see,
Gathering large bunches for their distant home;
And hear again their shouts, and merry glee,
As through the fields, and o'er the hills they roam.

Fair Flowers! my boyhood's love, and still so dear;
Thanks to the Artist, who has made you bloom,
When Winter's storms, and Winter's snows are here,
To cheer us through its months of cold, and gloom.

Poem No. 64; c. 14 February 1874

The Hepatica in Winter

Underneath its snowy bed,
The hepatica lies dead!
All its beauteous colors fled!

No, not dead, but sleeping; Spring
Shall again its beauty bring,
And its beauty poets sing.

There, protected from the cold,
Doth the plant its life still hold,
Woolly leaves the germ infold.

In the bud a flower survives,
Hidden from man's searching eyes;
'Tis not Beauty's self that dies!

Beauty still is born anew,
We again its tints shall view,
Rosy purple, deepest blue.

Poem No. 751; c. 24 February 1874

463

Reverence

We need more reverence in this froward age,
That doth forget the teachings of the past;
The wisdom of the old, the Sacred Page,
Whose truth shall fleeting time itself outlast.
Not by the light alone the present sheds,
Nor by the sun's bright beams alone we see;
Upon the path, in which man darkling treads,
Fall glimmering rays from far antiquity.
And all are needed, lest we go astray;
In our own wisdom confident and bold;
Careless to learn, too proud to ask the way,
Doubting, perhaps, when often plainly told;
Unwilling to confess the truth, whose light
Shone in the darkness of the ancient night.

Poem No. 762; c. 21 March 1874

Inward Phenomena

More strange than wonders of the earth, or skies,
The earthquake's shock, the fiery comet's train,
On which men gaze with terror and surprise,
Are those within; which scarce a thought may gain.
There sudden passion oft doth shake the soul,
Banishing reason from her kingly throne;
Owning no more her just and wise control,
Obedient to its own behests alone.
And there the dark eclipse, that clouds the mind,
When doubt at length doth over faith prevail;
And, in the light of truth, men wander blind,
Powerless to draw aside the murky veil!
Why should these outward wonders draw man's eye,
When in himself far mightier wonders lie?

Poem No. 331; c. 18 April 1874

464

To the Memory of Alpheus Crosby

A noble life, well spent in learning's cause,
And public good, has passed from earth away!
With saddened thoughts, in its swift round, we pause,
A heart-felt tribute to its worth to pay.
E'en from his youth, to studious lore inclined,
By day, by night, he turned the classic page,
And, by his studies cultured and refined,
He gave new grace and culture to the age.
Nor less he labored for the public good,
In every noble work an earnest man;
Boldly the power of Slavery, War, withstood,
A true reformer, ever in the van.
Our loss it is, not his, that we deplore,
That we on earth shall see his face no more!

Poem No. 15; c. April 1874

The Birds

The birds are singing still their songs
In vale, and leafy wood;
As when the earth itself was made,
And all was fair and good.

They sing as if no death were here,
No suffering, pain, disease;
And sweet their notes at morning's hour
Are borne upon the breeze.

No want they know, like suffering man,
Whom famine vexes sore;
For God doth for their wants provide,
From out his liberal store.

Ye heralds of the early Spring!
Would I your joy might share;
And learn, though evil still abounds,
That all is good and fair.

465

That every thing, which God has made,
E'en sinful, suffering man;
Is part, though dimly now perceived,
Of one all gracious plan.

For faith a future doth reveal,
To which all beings tend;
A future on the earth, in heaven,
And sin and suffering end.

Poem No. 464; c. 19 May 1874

Superfluities

How many things there are in common life
That needful seem, because they always lie
About us everywhere; we ask not why.
We were born with them, and in vain our strife;
For heavier grow the burdens we must bear,
Till childhood even has a look of care.
And, growing with our growth, the things of sense
Like to an army gather daily round;
Till scarce they have left a passage to us hence
Big as a needle's eye, so close they have bound.
Thus custom, luxury, do man's life control,
Pamper the body, starve the immortal soul;
Till we forget our high and heavenly birth,
And deem ourselves at length but sons of earth.

Continued

And what's the remedy? All at once to break
The thousand cords of this connected life,
And by one step, a hermit, end the strife?
Will selfish solitude man nobler make?
Or shall we leave our home the world to rove,
And to our social duties faithless prove?
Nay, let not rashness, haste, the burden try;
Nor pleasure-seeking mind, that loves to stray;
These are the very things we should deny,
For more than all our other evils they.

466

Rather be patience, suffering long the road,
On which we learn to bear life's 'customed load;
Perhaps, while through its darkling paths we tread,
A light shall beam, and prove its guiding thread.

Poem No. 194; c. 23 May 1874

Arethusa Meadow

Far off, among the distant hills,
A lonely meadow lies;
Where grows a flower of beauty rare,
But hid from careless eyes.

Though all around the woodwax spreads
Its brilliant cloth of gold,
More dazzling than was ever seen
By knights and kings of old;

And the azalea in the swamp,
Its fragrance sheds around;
Yet not for these my feet have sought
This unfrequented ground.

But for the Arethusa rare,
That in the meadow grows;
With petals blushing like the dawn,
Or like the summer's rose.

With down-cast look it bends its head,
As shunning human gaze;
Nor asking, like yon gorgeous flowers,
For words of human praise.

Like her, who gave to it its name,
From man's pursuit it hides;
And where his feet but seldom come
Midst blue eyed grass abides.

467

Sprinkling the low wet meadow o'er,
With flowers of loveliest bloom;
That shed upon the passing breeze
Their delicate perfume.

Poem No. 114; c. 3 July 1874

The Night Blooming Cereus

Strange flower, to ope when day is o'er,
Beneath the stars' faint light;
Shunning the sun's bright, cheering rays,
That other flowers delight.

The lily now has closed its leaves,
The pansy shut its eye;
While thy fair petals open wide
Beneath the evening sky.

And strange, that such an ugly stem
So fair a flower should bear;
That thus the contrast too should make
So fair a flower more fair.

A miracle thou truly art,
Waking when others sleep;
In thee we see the law reversed,
Which others faithful keep.

I watch the eager wondering throng,
As on thy form they look;
Half conscious of the lesson taught
In Nature's pictured book.

On which, as we more deeply pore,
New wonders still we find;
To raise our thoughts and hearts in love
To the All-perfect Mind.

Poem No. 442; c. 24 July 1874

468

On The Wild Flowers of the Art Exhibition

While Nature still delays her flowers to bring,
And all the fields around are white with snow,
With not a token of the coming Spring,
On Art's fair page we see their beauties glow.
The snowdrop with its slender stem is seen,
The houstonia with its pale blue flower,
Scattered by myriads o'er our pastures green,
When Spring returns to deck her faded bower.
And Summer's gorgeous colored flowers are here,
Lobelia with its brilliant, dazzling hue,
The lily red, and painted cup appear,
With the fair rose; and each to Nature true.
Art waits not for the tardy months of time;
All seasons are her own, and every clime.

Poem No. 812; c. 24 July 1874

Interpreting Nature

The sights we see, the sounds we hear,
Are fitted to the eye and ear;
They're not a dumb, unmeaning show,
But speak a language all men know.

The flower, the rock, the bush, the tree,
Have each some message unto me;
They give direction to my way,
And lead me on from day to day.

The storm-tost wave, the moaning wind,
Have meaning to the listening mind;
Oft the forgetful soul is stirred
By insect's hum, or song of bird.

We need not rove o'er land and sea
Ere we shall find this mystery;
Close to ourselves the wonder lies,
In things perhaps we little prize.

469

We wander on as in a dream,
O'er lofty hill, by wandering stream;
Yet in the scene no beauty find,
With heart untouched, or worldly mind.

Daily the sights and sounds return,
Till we the lesson taught shall learn
That Nature everywhere doth teach,
Though not in words of human speech.

Poem No. 560; c. 25 July 1874

The Incarnation

Time's greatest Mystery, the Word made man,
That took our nature, suffered on the tree;
Existing ere the world of sense began,
That was before all time, O God, with Thee!
To that mysterious moment would we soar,
When by the Word the heavens and earth were made;
And with a reverent, childlike faith adore
The glorious power in all thy works displayed.
But deeper reverence would our spirits feel
For Him, who in our human nature came,
The glory of the Father to reveal;
A glory that outshines the sun's bright flame,
Which shines into our hearts, where all was night,
With splendors that make dim the morning's light.

Poem No. 719; c. 8 August 1874

On a Lichen from North Cape

Gathered by Mr. J. M. Richards, July 3d, 1874

Where no tree nor grass can grow,
On a far northern hill,
This humble lichen brought to me,
Doth their place in Nature fill.

470

Food for the reindeer fleet,
And e'en for human kind,
Do such as live in that region cold
In thy tiny leaflets find.

There all is strange and new;
For there, there is no night;
On thy native hill the midnight sun,
Unquenched, shines warm and bright.

Long, long is the Winter time,
With no returning day;
But instead the moon, or stars' faint light,
And the red auroral ray.

And the ocean, like the land,
Doth its mystery retain;
No ship has sailed to the farther shore,
And returned o'er the trackless main.

Yet still, o'er that pathless sea,
Doth man's spirit restless go;
Seeking to reach its farthest bounds,
And its secrets all to know.

And thou, from that far-off Cape,
Hast come a new bond to be,
'Twixt this our land and the frozen North,
With its mysterious sea.

Poem No. 806; 3 July—18 August 1874

For we Walk by Faith, not by Sight

Not as beholding with our mortal sight
The things unseen, not yet to sense revealed;
Nor yet as those, who in the world delight,
From whom the glorious gospel is concealed;
We walk by faith; while many a vision sweet
Doth cheer us on our path from day to day:
And many a worldly show with grandeur cheat,
And seek to draw us from the narrow way.

471

The world doth walk by sight; its kingdom here,
To outward view, is builded high, and strong;
It knows not that the Lord is drawing near!
To whom the world and all therein belong;
Before whose face its towers shall melt away,
As swift dissolving clouds in morning's ray.

Poem No. 360; c. 22 August 1874

On the Neglect of Public Worship

“The interruption of public worship may consummate, in the period of a few years, the important work of a national revolution.”—

Gibbon.

I.

Worship declines; nor hidden is the cause;
'Tis found in pride, and in the greed for gold,
That larger crowds the voice of pleasure draws
Than does the Preacher gather in Christ's fold.
In pleasure's cup would men their sorrows drown.
“Come, let us eat and drink, for soon we die,”
We hear them say; “our heads with roses crown,
Enjoy the present moments as they fly.”
'Twas thus, as history tells, the nations spake
That in their pride have long since passed away;
May we in time its solemn warning take
That pride and luxury go before decay;
Where these prevail pure worship soon must end,
And noblest nations swift to ruin tend.

Worship we need, true worship, not the name;
Within the temples, 'neath the open sky;
Together, or alone, it is the same,
To the lone wanderer his God is nigh.
He heareth not our words, though 'neath the domes
Of costly temples we our voices raise;
Or worship Him apart within our homes,
If we are not his own; and love his praise.
Amid the scenes of Nature we may rove,

472

Nor see his Power, nor own his guiding Hand;
All Nature teaches of a Father's love,
But oft we fail to know and understand.
Lord, grant thy Spirit, hear our earnest prayer,
That we may praise and worship everywhere.

Poem No. 851; c. 5 September 1874

The Solitary Gentian

I searched the meadow far around,
Where once the Gentian grew;
And but a single flower I found,
With its dark, purple hue.

Nor summer suns, nor latter rain
Can now their life restore;
Beside the brook I search in vain,
There they are seen no more!

Man gathered, with unsparing hand,
Their beauty, and their bloom;
Nor dreamed he robbed the generous land,
And sealed the fair flower's doom.

Nor seed, nor even roots, were left,
New flowers again to yield;
Of all its beauty was bereft
The lovely meadow field.

A single, solitary flower
Yet lingered in the place;
The last to deck bright Autumn's bower,
The last of all its race!

The meadow mourns its darlings' fate,
And I, in plaintive song,
Would still to years of distant date
Their memory prolong.

Poem No. 265; c. 13 October 1874

473

Indian Remains

With ocean shell clasped to his breast,
The chief doth on the hillside rest;
As if he still could hear the roar
Of waves upon the rocky shore.

Or sign it was of high estate,
And buried only with the great;
His royal power and rule to show,
That all in death a king might know.

His bear skin robe is changed to dust,
Its ornaments consumed by rust;
And from the tiny, tinkling bell,
No sound is heard his name to tell.

Oft have the redmen's bones been found
On sloping hill, or field around;
No more the forest shade they rove,
Or feast beside yon sheltered cove!

We ponder on their strange, sad fate;
Whence was their origin? and date?
From rising, or from setting sun,
Was their long pilgrimage begun?

No record tells;—but as the shell
Doth of the distant ocean tell,
Far inland from its native beach,
These relics meaning have, and speech.

They show that sympathy can bind
In one all tribes of human kind;
That e'en their forms one image bear,
Their Maker's image, noble, fair.

Though through long ages soiled, debased,
In all one lineage may be traced;
As when from the Creative Hand
Man stood, the lord of sea and land.

474

And raised again, by Power Divine,
Their forms shall with new glory shine;
One destiny with them we share,
As they with us God's image bear.

Poem No. 839; c. 1 December 1874

English Sparrows

Here, where our fathers homeless came,
Nor rudest shelter found,
The English sparrows find a home,
And chirp and flit around.

They felt the blasts of wintry winds,
Ere they their cots could rear:
And deep the snows around them fell
O'er hills, and forest drear.

And oft in hunger here they pined,
And sickness wasting sore;
And yet with faith and courage strong,
They every trial bore.

But thoughtful minds and feeling hearts
Do for your wants provide;
And shelter from the winter's storms,
Where you may safe abide.

The sparrow-house we grateful place,
Where it can build its nest;
And, through the winter's cold, and storms,
Find shelter, food, and rest.

In token of that Providence,
That here our fathers led;
And gave them here a quiet home,
And with its bounty fed.

Poem No. 172; c. 25 December 1874

475

The Home

Love builds for us a bower,
As bird its nest;
E'en from life's earliest hour
A home, a rest.

There order dwells, and joys
That never cease;
Calm that no storm destroys,
And lasting peace.

It may be poor and spare,
A clay-built cot;
Or palace wondrous fair;
We heed it not.

For there each helping hand,
And loving heart,
And thoughtful mind that planned,
Have borne their part.

Father and mother dear,
And brothers kind,
And sisters' love are here,
Our souls to bind.

Shelter in youth and age,
To man 'tis given
To be his heritage
On earth, in heaven.

Poem No. 323; c. 2 January 1875

Behold, I Make All Things New

There's nothing new the Preacher cries,
With saddened heart, and weary mind;
That which hath been is that which is,
And nothing new on earth we find.

476

Night follows day, and day the night,
As the earth circles round the sun;
The rivers from the ocean rise,
And back into the ocean run.

Man cannot rise above himself,
And reason's calm behests obey;
Though for a time he heed her laws,
Soon will he yield to passion's sway.

The order of our daily life
May wild confusion yet succeed;
We see not yet those happy years,
Of which in prophecy we read.

For in a circle all things move,
They different seem, yet are the same;
That which the future now we call,
Is still the present but in name.

Not so the Spirit teaching saith,
New heavens and earth shall we behold;
A brighter, fairer, happier scene
Shall, even here, succeed the old.

The same, yet changed, improved, adorned
By skill of man, and Power Divine;
Coworking here to our great end,
Far-seeing, healthful, and benign.

No more disease, nor pain, nor death
Shall in that blessed world be known;
Nor sin can enter, and defile,
And make that paradise its own.

The former things have passed away,
Like the dark shadows of the night;
And God himself shall dwell with men,
And be their Everlasting Light.

Within, the spirit, quickened, sees
New power and love in all around;
And heavenly music greets the ear
In every voice, and every sound.

477

Behold, He maketh all things new,
It hears from angel harps above;
Come quickly Lord! on earth fulfil
Thy prophecy of joy and love.

Poem No. 634; c. 16 January 1875

Oliver C. Felton, Esq., of Brookfield

Far from his early charge, at four score years,
The aged Teacher passed from earth away;
With saddened heart each distant pupil hears,
Who knew so well his worth in life's young day.
Faithful, and earnest; to his calling true,
With knowledge he the gift of teaching brought;
For not the lore of books alone he knew,
But by his life, and friendly guidance taught.
With honor passed his peaceful, happy age,
Serving, in after years, his town, and state;
In rural labors loved he to engage,
Till gathered, like a shock of corn, full late!
Long will his pupils cherish here his fame,
In love and honor hold their teacher's name.

Poem No. 113; c. 29 January 1875

On the Increase of Crime since the Late Civil War

War brings increase of crime; itself a sin,
Unnumbered evils follow in its train;
With war at first did Slavery begin,
And, in the end, by war was Slavery slain.
For though a nation struggle to be free,
And conquer in the fratricidal strife,
Still unto sin in bondage it may be,
Nor gain a nobler, purer, higher life.
Intemperance, lust, and greed of gold may still
Follow war's triumph with their deadly blight;

478

More fatal far than arms the body kill,
Threatening our future with disastrous night;
Till ignorance, vice and crime fill all the land,
That else might Freedom's bulwark ever stand!

Poem No. 758; c. 20 February 1875

The Meteorologists

Ye watch the appearance of the earth and sky,
And oft with certainty predict a change;
Fair weather now, and now a storm is nigh,
As o'er our mighty continent they range.
And this is well; to study Nature's laws,
And all her hidden mysteries make known;
But if in these the immortal mind shall pause,
Content to know phaenomena alone;
If, with no grateful heart, no reverent mind,
The sunshine and the rain we shall receive;
To higher truths, to nobler knowledge blind,
In Nature and her laws alone believe;
What profits it? Wiser were men of old,
Who could each change with wonder, faith behold.

Poem No. 855; c. 6 March 1875

The Origin of Man

I.

Man has forgot his Origin; in vain
He searches for the record of his race
In ancient books, or seeks with toil to gain
From the deep cave, or rocks some primal trace.
And some have fancied, from a higher sphere,
Forgetful of his origin he came;
To dwell awhile a wandering exile here
Subject to sense, another, yet the same.

479

With mind bewildered, weak how should he know
The Source Divine from whom his being springs?
The darkened spirit does its shadow throw
On written record, and on outward things;
That else might plainly to his thought reveal
The wondrous truths, which now they but conceal.

II.

Not suffering for their sins in former state,
As some have taught, their system to explain;
Nor hither sent, as by the sport of fate,
Souls that nor memory, nor love retain,
Do men into this world of nature come;
But born of God; though earthy, frail and weak;
Not all unconscious of a heavenly home,
Which they through trial, suffering, here must seek.
A heavenly Guide has come the way to show,
To lead us to the Father's house above;
From Him he came, to Him, he said, I go;
Oh may we heed the message of his love!
That we no more in darkness, doubt, may roam,
But find while here we dwell our heavenly home.

Poem No. 324; c. 20 March 1875

Sailing on Cakes of Ice in the North River

The thick ice breaks, it floats away,
It sails towards the sea;
No longer on the shore 'twill stay,
Spring's breath has set it free.

For three long months, beneath, the tide
Has daily ebbed and flowed;
While fixed its frozen surface wide
Nor life nor motion showed.

480

Now all is changed! the river's face
Reflects the azure sky;
In fleets the cakes each other chase
To ocean hurrying by.

Methinks I see on many a cake
My schoolmates boldly sail;
Swiftly, or slow, their course they take,
As winds or calms prevail.

With various fates they onward steer,
Some stranded, broken, lost;
Some down the stream are sailing clear,
Some in mid current tost.

The merry laugh, the shout, the name,
Still echo from the shore;
All for a moment seems the same,
As long, long years before.

The scene my fancy doth recall,
With pleasing, fresh delight;
A picture hung in memory's hall,
Forever fair and bright.

Poem No. 583; c. 8 April 1875

Original Hymn

Not unto men alone has come
The Saviour's earnest call,
“Go, feed my sheep, that homeless roam;”
It comes alike to all.

It finds response in childhood's heart,
That, moved with others' need,
Would gladly do its humble part
Christ's suffering lambs to feed.

In many a city's streets they rove,
With none to shelter, bless,
With none to guide, instruct, and love,
As in a wilderness.

481

“Lov'st thou me?” the Saviour said
To him who had denied;
“Then feed my sheep, the feeblest aid;
To thee I them confide.”

That blessed mission may we all
Like Peter, too, fulfil;
So shall we heed the Saviour's call,
And do our Father's will.

Poem No. 369; c. 16 May 1875

The Faith of the First Christians

Blessed were they, who in the early time,
In Jesus saw the Christ, the Son of God;
Followed his footsteps with a faith sublime,
And the same path of duty, suffering trod.
They saw what prophets, kings desired to see,
And heard what they had longed to hear in vain;
The parable's deep truth, the mystery,
Hid from the multitude, to them was plain.
In him they saw the world redeemed, forgiven,
Suffering no more the blight and curse of sin;
And, still beyond, the encircling walls of heaven,
Whose radiant light bids all to enter in.
Would that like faith were ours, that we might be
Thus born of God, and thus his kingdom see!

Poem No. 71; c. 16 June 1875

On the Great Earthquake in New Grenada

For when Thy Judgments are in the earth, the inhabitants of the world will learn Righteousness Isa. 26:9.

Thy sudden terrors strike the world with dread,
Whole cities by the earthquake's shock laid low!
The maimed, and suffering buried with the dead,

482

The living stunned, bewildered by the blow!
Fair was the day, and joyously the throng
Filled all the streets, on gain, or pleasure bent;
The city full of revelry and song;
When by the shock the solid earth was rent!
So dost Thou teach the nations, Lord of heaven
And earth, to own Thy righteous sway;
Not unto them alone the lesson given,
But that all men might Thy commands obey.
Nor dost Thou teach them only by Thy Word,
But earth, too, trembles at Thy voice, O Lord!

Poem No. 717; c. 29 June 1875

The Woodwax in Bloom

We roam afar, o'er sea and land,
The grand and beautiful to see;
But things that near us lie, at hand,
See not; though grand and fair they be.

We have no sense to feel their power;
The ocean's grandeur and its might,
The beauty of the sunset hour,
How oft they fail to give delight!

Spread with a lavish wealth around,
The golden woodwax, see in bloom!
O'er hills and pastures wide 'tis found,
In rocky clefts its roots find room.

The rugged rocks a beauty wear,
That else we never should behold;
The barren hills grow wondrous fair,
Each covered with its cloth of gold!

A scene surpassing all that kings,
With all their riches, can display;
A glory every summer brings,
Effulgent pomp of summer's day!

483

Yet vainly is that glory shown
To careless eyes, and grovelling mind;
That dull to Nature's charms have grown,
And to her beauty, grandeur, blind.

Why do we roam, with discontent,
Afar; when Nature meets us here?
Such glory to our hills has lent,
Such grandeur in the ocean near?

Poem No. 763; c. 20 July 1875

On Visiting the Graves of Hawthorne and Thoreau

Beneath these shades, beside yon winding stream,
Lies Hawthorne's manly form, the mortal part!
The soul, that loved to meditate and dream,
Might linger here unwilling to depart,
But that a higher life has called away
To fairer scenes, to nobler work and thought.
Why should the spirit then on earth delay,
That has a glimpse of such bright regions caught
And near another, Nature's child, doth rest?
Thoreau, who loved each woodland path to tread;
So gently sleeping on his mother's breast!
Living, though numbered with the numerous dead.
We mourn! But hope will whisper in the heart,
We meet again! and meet no more to part.

Poem No. 68; c. 6 August 1875

On Viewing the Falls of Niagara, as Photographed by George Barker

Amidst those scenes of wonder do I stand,
Though not in bodily presence, but in thought;
Stupendous works of the Almighty's hand!
By artist's skill before my vision brought.

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The deep, strong floods, that downward ever pour,
The mists, that from their bosom ever rise,
I see; and almost seem to hear the roar
Of many waters, sounding to the skies.
The littleness of man, the power of God,
Doth to the sight as visible appear!
So felt the Indian, as these scenes he trod;
'Twas the Great Spirit's voice he seemed to hear,
That the deep silence of the forests broke,
And to his children in its thunders spoke.

Poem No. 45; c. 3 September 1875

Knowledge and Truth

Knowledge is not like truth, of heavenly birth,
It partial is, and may be done away;
Too often proud, and selfish, born of earth,
Its light grows dim before truth's purer ray.
One we acquire with eager, thirsting mind,
Curious to search, and prove possess and hold;
The other is a gift; who seek shall find;
Truth's ever young, but knowledge groweth old.
Increase of knowledge oft doth sorrow bring,
For it can never fill the human soul;
That longs to drink of a diviner spring,
To know the truth; man's rest, and highest goal.
While here we knowledge seek with restless mind,
May we not fail the heaven-born truth to find.

Poem No. 312; c. 9 October 1875

Mt. Shasta.

A Painting, by H. O. Young.

How, like a spiritual Presence, dost thou rise,
O lonely mountain, spotless, pure, and white!
While far beneath, in shade, the prairie lies,

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Thy snowy peak reflects the morning light!
Thy base is hidden from our searching gaze,
As if no earthly mountain thou might'st be;
But a creation of the sun's bright rays,
A spiritual mount, a mystery.
So have I seen a cloud, in summer's day,
Piercing with its white peak the azure sky;
Calling men's thoughts from earth and sense away,
Teaching man's spirit, through the outward eye,
To hold communion with the Mind, that made
Nature's forms, alike in all displayed.

Poem No. 190; c. 19 November 1875

Song

I Love the Light

I love the light, when first its beams
Steal o'er the earth and sky;
And gently wake the slumbering world,
And bid the shadows fly.

I love the light of noon-day sun,
Its full, effulgent ray;
That floods the earth, and sea, and sky,
And brings the perfect day.

I love the light of sunset hour,
Which lingers in the west;
Which soothes the weary heart and mind,
And gives the laborer rest.

I love the moon's soft, silvery light,
The light of stars, that keep
Their watches o'er a weary world,
When wrapt in slumbers deep.

Poem No. 245; c. 27 November 1875

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Nature Teaches Us of Time and its Duration

To show us time, its passing and its change,
Was Nature made; in which we all do live;
And all its mighty panorama strange
Doth the same lesson to earth's children give.
The seasons come and go, the flower, the leaf,
Teach us how quickly it has taken flight;
And setting suns, with golden splendors brief,
Warn us how soon to day succeeds the night.
And the bright stars that glitter in the sky,
And seem to mock our lives' short, busy round,
And, in their orbits, time itself defy,
Have yet, like man, their date, and certain bound.
What Nature teaches heed; no lesson miss;
And fleeting years shall bring eternal bliss.

Poem No. 740; c. 18 December 1875

Take ye heed, watch and pray: for ye know not when the time is. Mark 13:33.

Come suddenly, O Lord, or slowly come,
I wait thy will, thy servant ready is;
Thou hast prepared thy follower a home;
The heaven in which thou dwellest too is his.

Come in the morn, at noon, or midnight deep,
Come, for thy servant still doth watch and pray;
E'en when the world around is sunk in sleep,
I wake, and long to see thy glorious day.

I would not fix the time, the day, nor hour,
When Thou with all thine angels shall appear;
When in thy kingdom Thou shalt come with power,
E'en now, perhaps, the promised day is near!

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For though, in slumber deep, the world may lie,
And e'en thy Church forget thy great command;
Still year by year thy Coming draweth nigh,
And in its power thy kingdom is at hand.

Not in some future world alone 'twill be,
Beyond the grave, beyond the bounds of time;
But on the earth thy glory we shall see,
And share thy triumph, peaceful, pure, sublime.

Lord! help me that I faint not, weary grow,
Nor at thy Coming slumber too, and sleep;
For Thou hast promised, and full well I know
Thou wilt to us thy word of promise keep.

Poem No. 92; 1875

The Ancient Burial Places in Peabody

It was the custom in Danvers, now Peabody, for many families to bury their dead on their own farms; a custom not wholly discontinued. There are many such ancient burial places in this town.

They lie by the roadside, where they lived,
In the fields they loved to till;
And the landscape round a fitness lends,
Which the musing mind doth fill

With a peace and rest, in sweet accord
With the lives, which here they led;
As with honest toil, and frugal ways,
They toiled for their daily bread.

In sight of the homes to them so dear,
Of the woods, and hills they lie;
And the plaintive brook, with its soft, low voice,
Is heard as it glideth by.

With simple rites, by their neighbors' hands
They were laid in the kindly earth;
With heavenly words for the sorrowing heart,
That told of a higher birth.

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Though no costly tomb, nor e'en a stone,
May tell where their bodies rest;
Yet not less sacred the cherished spots,
Which are by their memory blest.

In the faith of their fathers they lived and died;
That the spirit survives the dust,
That the righteous shall wear a heavenly crown,
And receive the reward of the just.

Poem No. 643; c. 4 January 1876

Man's Need of a Spiritual Birth

How sayest thou we must be born again,
The Jewish teacher to Messias said;
Hast thou a message to the sons of men,
So different from what we have taught, and read?
Yet is it true; another birth we need,
Ere we the kingdom of our God shall see;
The heavenly plant is born of heavenly seed,
Its birth and growth to man a mystery.
The Spirit send, O Lord, and thus renew
Our feeble powers, make pure our hearts within,
As falls the quickening rain, or silent dew,
That we the heavenly life may here begin;
And, while we tread the sorrowing, sinful earth,
Be born of God, and know a higher birth.

Poem No. 200; c. 5 February 1876

On some Eternals from a friend's garden

Gone are the flowers, which bloomed so sweet and fair,
Where late I walked in Summer with delight;
Of all their beauties, Winter none would spare
Save these Eternals, that still charm the sight.
When fair Petunias lose their varied bloom,

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And Pansies rich are buried 'neath the snow;
With fadeless colors these adorn our room,
And oft recall thy garden's beauteous show.
Thus do they love, and friendship symbolize,
As well as Summer's fair and fragrant flowers;
Amid the winter's gloom, and stormy skies,
To fancy picture still her blooming bowers;
And in their fadeless colors we may find
Emblems of feelings lasting as the mind.

Poem No. 152; c. 11 February 1876

Hymn

The Rest of the Righteous

Sweet is the rest the righteous gain!
They to a higher life
Have come, through weariness and pain,
Through earthly toil and strife.

They rest in peace! no foes can harm,
Nor persecution kill;
No terrors strike them with alarm;
No power can work them ill.

No inward conflicts now they wage,
Their strife with self is o'er;
No doubts disturb, and passion's rage
Shall shake their souls no more.

They gaze, as from some hill serene,
Upon the world below;
Calmly they view the troubled scene,
And all its trials know.

Another, higher life is theirs;
Thus from their toils they rest;
For each the heavenly life now shares,
And in its work is blest.

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Their works bear witness to their faith,
And have a sure reward;
They follow them, the Spirit saith,
Their Judge, the risen Lord.

Poem No. 450; c. 4 March 1876

“Tuesday night, the schooner Weaver, of Glen Creek, N.J., went to pieces near Sandy Hook, and her entire crew were lost.”—Transcript, March 22d.

“For God's sake, help!” the drowning seaman cries,
But vain man's help! the shoremen cannot save!
The driving snow clouds blind their gazing eyes,
Vessel and crew are whelmed beneath the wave!
But trust in God still filled his fainting soul,
Whose power he witnessed on the raging deep;
May the same trust the mourners' hearts control,
And comfort those, who for their loved ones weep.
Have faith in God. Man's help, at times, is vain,
To reach the sufferers on life's dangerous coast;
His power alone can then their souls sustain;
In mortal aid, or skill how vain our boast!
But they who trust in Him, shall find him near,
To calm their minds, and banish every fear.

Poem No. 130; 22–31 March 1876

The Purification of the Temple

Lord! cleanse thine inner temple, as of old
Thou didst thy holy place of traffic vile;
Of those who in its precincts bought and sold;
With sheep and oxen did thy courts defile.
Purge Thou the inner temple of the mind,
The heart itself of man, O Lord, make pure,
That he may Thee and thy true worship find,

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Which through eternal ages shall endure.
Then will the offerings accepted be
Which he unto thy holy mount shall bear;
Fulfilled the word the prophet spake of Thee,
“My temple shall be called the House of Prayer”;
For every nation then shall hear thy Word,
And all the people know and serve the Lord.

Poem No. 321; c. 22 April 1876

The May Flower

I found upon our neighboring hills
A flower, there growing thick as dropping rain;
And from its friends removed it far,
And in strange company did it detain.

And far I took it from the old grey rocks,
And from the dark green wood wax spreading round,
From barberry bush with its prickly stems,
And placed it in the distant garden's ground.

Then I thought that it would quickly die,
When removed so far from the rocky hills;
Where the sun shines bright the live-long day,
And the bird's sweet song every covert fills.

For not lightly sundered frailest thread,
Which binds to its haunt the sweet May flower;
Mid the garden's bloom it droops and fades,
And pineth still in the fairest bower.

The floweret lived; but an exile seemed
That pined for his country far away;
In summer it seeded, in autumn
Grew sere; and it bloomed, once again, in May.

And I marked, as its little white flowers
Appeared, that still to its friends it was true;
Though afar from the spot of its birth,
They came forth as when by their side it grew.

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So we, though we roam to far distant lands,
Through the grandest and fairest of earth;
Can never forget mountain, river, and vale,
Trees, and flowers in the place of our birth.

For something there is in every place,
Where kind Providence places his lot;
Binds man to his home, like the humblest flower,
Which heralds the Spring in his natal spot.

Poem No. 229; c. 2 May 1876

The International Exhibition at Philadelphia

A joyful spirit to the world
The welcome poet brings,
And from the music in his heart
He to the people sings.

No more of war his numbers tell,
But of abiding peace;
When the whole world shall be renewed,
And nations' strife shall cease.

Their passions that ungoverned were
Shall yield to reason's sway;
Kings' hearts be, like the rivers, turned;
The law of love obey.

In friendly intercourse they meet,
From every land and clime;
In peaceful arts alone to vie,
A brotherhood sublime.

From Europe, Asia, Africa,
And islands of the sea,
They meet upon Columbia's soil,
The land of liberty.

Whate'er is useful, grand or fair,
The gifts of prince or king,
The people's workmanship and art,
They o'er the ocean bring.

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And to the city famed for peace
And love to man of old,
They come, this great Centennial year,
Their festival to hold.

Poem No. 10; c. 6 May 1876

Evolution

I.

Because the gradual growth of things we see,
And naught at once mature and perfect made;
From tiny seed the lofty branching tree,
Yielding at length its fruit and thick-leaved shade;
Or, from the egg, we see the bird, or beast,
By gradual growth to perfect stature grow;
Tracing all forms the mightiest from the least;
We think the origin of things we know.
In the same order we ourselves do live,
Nor aught immediate see, nor understand;
But to phenomena a meaning give,
As if man's narrow thought had Nature planned;
Nor rise with reverent mind and faith sublime,
Above the encircling bounds of space and time.

II.

Man's thoughts turn on himself; and whence is Man?
He asks. What countless forms, and changes vast,
Since first his life upon the earth began!
In vain do we interrogate the past;
The torch of knowledge doth but dimly show
His path from land to land, from clime to clime;
And who, by natural descent, can know
His origin, or era date in time?
Yet is he one, where'er his feet have trod;
Though changed in mind, as well as outward frame,
Created in the image of his God,

494

Though lost by some the knowledge of his Name;
Our brother still, and destined too, as we,
To show the ages of eternity.

Poem No. 63; c. 3 April 1875 (ll. 1–14); c. 12 May 1876 (ll. 15–28)

Capt. Samuel Cook

Well I remember him long years ago,
As on our vessel's deck I saw him stand;
When yet, the Crescent City far below,
He came to take my father by the hand.
And with him Noble, Felt, and Hooper there,
Brave captains then, like him, and in their prime,
Yet none more ruddy, and erect, and fair;
Remembered well through fifty years of time.
But all are gone! himself the last to leave
This changing scene for higher, nobler life!
Why for the aged seaman should we grieve,
Who bore so well life's storms, and ocean's strife?
Safe in the harbor of an endless rest,
With those he mourned and loved on earth the best.

Poem No. 769; c. 30 May 1876

Capt. Jones Very of the barque Aurelia, of Boston. Seeing signal, Capt. Cook of the ship Delphos, came down the river in his boat to meet us, before we arrived at the city.

On the Beautiful Roses,

In front of the Mansion of John Hodges, Esq.

Fair damask roses! that, from year to year,
Blush in your beauty on the busy street;
Thanks to the unknown hand that placed you here,
And made the spot with bloom and fragrance sweet.
The sun's hot rays upon the pavement beat,
Where not a blade of grass, or flower, can grow;

495

But you, within your pleasant, green retreat.
More pleasure give than garden's beauteous show.
How many from the sight have borne away
Some glad remembrance of your gorgeous bloom,
How many, in the sultry summer's day,
Borne on the air, have caught your sweet perfume!
Through coming years may still your beauties last,
And fragrant make the future as the past.

Poem No. 106; c. 23 June 1876

The Cows waiting at the Pasture Gate

The herd is standing on the hill,
Or lying on the ground;
Their number now is all complete,
The last stray wanderer found.

They wait the opening of the gate,
How peaceful their repose!
It soothes the mind, and o'er the scene
A quiet beauty throws.

O'er the wide pastures they have roamed
Through all the summer day,
Grazing at will o'er hill and vale,
Where'er they chanced to stray.

At some cool spring they quench their thirst,
Whose source is never dry;
The water trickling from the rock
Yields still a full supply.

O'er rocky hills their pathway winds,
Through swamps and meadows green;
Till resting 'neath the distant pines,
The herd at noon is seen.

When in the west the sun declines,
The cowherd's voice they hear,
And homeward turn; his barking dog
Still hanging on their rear.

496

And, winding slowly o'er the hills,
The deep worn path is trod;
Till on the last they waiting stand,
Or rest upon the sod.

The keeper opens wide the gate,
For now the hour is come;
And lowing down the busy street
The cows are driven home.

Poem No. 509; c. 4 August 1876

Song

The Summer Day

The day has gone, the summer day,
Fled on its golden wings away;
Why will it not yet longer stay?

'Tis gone to make still others blest,
Gone to its goal in the far west,
Leaving us here to quiet rest.

If we its hours have well employed,
The gifts it brought improved, enjoyed,
Our pleasure will be unalloyed.

No vain regrets will fill the mind,
The day has left us here behind;
But we from toil sweet rest shall find.

Poem No. 485; 5 August 1876

On some blue and golden Columbines from Pike's Peak, Colorado

O new-born State, what lovely flowers are thine!
Differing in color, but, in form, the same,
From mountain heights has come thy Columbine,

497

Which shares with ours in beauty and in name.
Our youngest State may grander scenes disclose,
Far loftier mountains, parks and vales more fair;
Yet where the Columbine on hillside grows,
Strange tho' the scene, one heritage we share.
The lonely emigrant beholds the flower,
Which in his boyhood's haunts far off he knew;
And, at the sight, imagination's power
Brings absent friends, and early home to view;
And he forgets, in thoughts and visions dear,
The mountain heights, which rise so grand and near.

Poem No. 377; c. 1 September 1876

The Stony Desert of Life

In far Australia's middle region lies
A stony desert, treeless, hot and bare;
All hope to pass it in the traveler dies;
No brook, nor stream, nor native well is there.
So do we in our lives some desert meet
Which seems impassable, so wild and drear,
Untrodden yet, perchance, by human feet;
Where naught is found the sinking heart to cheer.
Yet He who to such pass our steps may bring,
When human help shall fail, will grant his own;
E'en in the wild will show some cooling spring,
Nor leave us there to perish, weak, alone;
But guide our steps, if we but trust His care,
Beyond its bounds to pastures green and fair.

Poem No. 299; c. 2 September 1876

Cadmus

The ancient Greeks a fable had, that he
Who brought them letters sowed a dragon's teeth,
And armed men sprung up; some wisdom we

498

Perhaps may find the fable's form beneath.
No gift so great but may be turned to ill;
Thus e'en with letters may be born fierce strife,
And armed men spring up to fight and kill,
And that bring death which should have brought us life.
The Press may grow corrupt, deceitful words,
The seeds of war, scatter in every land;
Till men shall beat their ploughshares into swords,
And armed men spring up on every hand!
Ah, when will God's great gift of human speech
Naught but his love to all his children teach?

Poem No. 459; c. 16 September 1876

The True Worshipers

No outward service doth the Lord require,
So much as inward service of the mind;
The carnal mind doth carnal things desire,
In forms and ritual doth religion find.
The Temple service could not save, of old,
Though none so grand, imposing, in man's sight;
While the plain worship of the Christian fold
Accepted was, and did the Lord delight.
The Spirit doth a temple, forms, prepare,
The lowliest worship it doth choose and bless;
How blest are they who in its service share,
In spirit and in truth the Lord confess!
They in their worship shall accepted be,
And, born of God, e'en now his kingdom see.

Poem No. 357; c. 7 October 1876

499

Song

We Have No Ship at Sea

When thoughtlessly two lamps were burned,
'Twas in our poverty,
“We need but one,” we oft were told,
“We have no ship at sea.”

“For oil is dear, it will not do
To use it thus so free;
Two lamps we cannot now afford,
We have no ship at sea.”

How oft this proverb comes to mind,
As, looking round, I see
The idle, wasteful, ignorant,
Who have no ships at sea.

They will not work, they will not save,
That prosperous they may be;
That, when to manhood they have come,
They may have ships at sea.

In youth they will not knowledge seek,
Of wealth and power the key;
They learn no trades to live at home,
Nor how to sail the sea.

'Tis knowledge, thrift, and honest toil,
That brings prosperity;
These make men prosper on the land,
And have their ships at sea.

Poem No. 796; c. 10 October 1876

The Gospel the Reconciling Power

The word the Gospel brought was love and peace,
A reconciling word to sinful men;
That they from enmity and strife should cease,
And as one family should dwell again.

500

But, still estranged, behold the nations stand!
While over Europe hangs the cloud of war,
Which but of late made desolate our land,
But now, in mercy driven from us afar.
But still do enmity and hate remain.
One nation still we are, but not one race;
From human limbs have fallen Slavery's chain;
When from the mind shall vanish, too, its trace,
And in our hearts the Gospel's power be known,
And self, and sin, and hate be overthrown?

Poem No. 601; c. 4 November 1876

Every Day a Day of Freedom

A day of Freedom is each dawning day,
And day of Grace to sinful erring men;
While shines its sun they all may find their way
Back to the path of virtue truth again.
Its beauty all may love, its light all see,
Its noon-day glory fills the heaven and earth;
From night's dark bondage it the soul would free,
And make it heir of an immortal birth.
In it the Psalmist saw God's law made clear,
The law of freedom, purity, and right;
But Christ taught unto God all men were dear,
And called to be the children of the light;
In its warm beams, and rains that plenteous fall,
He saw a Father's love, that cares for all.

Poem No. 6; c. 25 November 1876

501

Hymn

Reflections at the Close of the Year

The flowers of Spring have faded fast,
The Summer's glories did not last,
Autumn is gone, and Winter near;
End of the varied, changeful year.

Deep in thy mind consider well
The lessons, which these changes tell,
Of birth, growth, ripeness, and decay,
How short man's life, how brief his stay.

'Tis His appointment here below,
Who doth our state, and nature know;
That we may thus submissive be
To His all-wise, and just decree.

Still may we own a Father's care
In every suffering, grief, we bear;
And through His works and Word, discern
His righteous will, His wisdom learn.

Oh, that some fruit we here may bear,
That shall our souls for heaven prepare;
Where days, and years, and seasons round,
And change, and death, no more are found.

Poem No. 500; c. 19 December 1876

On Hearing the Clock Strike, in Harmony Grove

Why heard, amidst these shades, the tongue of time,
Telling the number of the passing hours?
For other thoughts, and feelings more sublime,
Than those of earth, amidst these scenes are ours.
What thoughts are theirs of time, whose mortal part
Alone is subject to its stern controul;
Who in this life can have no more a part,
Living the life of the immortal soul?

502

Say, do they mourn their days, and years misspent,
Neglected opportunities recall;
Or joy, that they improved the talents lent,
Nor lived as though this earthly life were all?
Ah, who can tell what are their thoughts, but he,
Who with them shares their own eternity?

Poem No. 821; c. 29 December 1876

The Indians' Belief in a Future State

Beyond the river, they believe
A happy country still is found,
When their wild, roving life is o'er,
Where forests, streams and game abound.

Beyond the cañons' gloomy sides,
Where scarce can pierce the light of day,
A happy hunting-ground there is,
Though men know not the trackless way.

Beyond the mountains' distant heights
There is a fairer earth and sky,
Where, unmolested, they shall dwell
As warriors, hunters, when they die.

Beyond the ocean, where the sun
Sinks in his journey to the west,
They say their weary, wandering tribes
Shall find at length a home, a rest.

Thus dream they of the spirit-land,
Nor higher rest they hope to find;
They know no country of the soul,
No home for the immortal mind.

Beyond, and still beyond we gaze,
For the green earth is not our home;
A heavenly country, too, we seek,
Where we, like them, no more shall roam.

Poem No. 69; c. 27 January 1877

503

The Telephone

The marvel of our age, the Telephone!
What is the Telephone, do you inquire?
The marvel of our time, before unknown,
The human voice speaks through the electric wire!
The distant city hears the spoken word,
In waves of sound, transmitted o'er the line;
The notes of music in sweet strains are heard;
From Boston comes the song of “Auld Lang Syne.”
These triumphs o'er the world of space and time
The Telegraph and Telephone can show;
And Science now, with joy and faith sublime,
Doth a new gift upon the race bestow.
Beneath the ocean soon man's voice may reach,
And a new power be given to human speech.

Poem No. 524; c. 23 February 1877

Love Needing a Visible Object

How love whom we see not, and cannot see
With mortal sight, the Invisible, Unknown?
To highest angel still a mystery,
Who nearest stands before his awful throne.
Yet by the worlds we see is God revealed,
On earth below and in the starry sky;
The Invisible Spirit, else from man concealed,
Reveals his goodness, power, to every eye.
And by his son, who did his image bear,
The image of his mercy and his grace,
He doth his love, a Father's love declare,
That we, though sinful, yet might see his face.
Yea, our own hearts do tell us of his love,
And, though invisible, his presence prove.

Poem No. 191; c. 10 March 1877

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The Perfect Love that Casts out Fear

There is a state that all may know,
No fear, no shame we feel;
For God doth all his mercy show,
And all his love reveal.

His goodness manifested is,
And all his ways are clear;
The Spirit seals our souls as his,
For we to him are dear.

A Father's love, in our past years,
By us is clearly known;
For he has wiped away our tears,
And as his sons doth own.

And he has called us by his Son
To know a higher life,
With them forever to be one,
No more with sin at strife.

The darkness of the world has fled,
That dimmed our mortal sight;
We dwell no more in bondage, fear,
But walk in heavenly light.

Poem No. 615; c. 31 March 1877

The Glacial Marks on our Hills

Here on our rocks the marks we see,
Where once the glaciers moved on;
Man shares in Nature's mystery,
And lives in ages past and gone.

In these smooth lines we trace their course
From north to south across the land,
A steady, but resistless force,
That e'en the hills could not withstand.

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Up their rough slopes they onward go,
To where the hills abruptly end;
Then at their feet the fragments throw,
And onward to the ocean tend.

The boulders, which we see around,
Like pebbles on their surface borne,
Were in far distant regions found,
From craggy hills, and mountains torn.

The long moraine, which, like a road,
Stretches through forests, fields afar;
Tells where dissolved the icy flood,
With warmer suns and skies at war.

Imagination backward flies,
And views with wonder, and with fear,
The prospect which around her lies,
Where naught is seen the mind to cheer!

Yet in that scene man's thought can live,
Though wild, and desolate, and bare;
Can to these marks a meaning give,
And the long life of Nature share.

The present, like a fleeting dream,
Does from his musing spirit fade!
He gazes down Time's darkling stream,
When mountains and the hills were made!

Poem No. 171; c. 10 April 1877

The Future State of the Wicked and its Duration

Seek not with mortal sight to pierce the gloom
Which shrouds the wicked in a future state;
Foretell the nature of their righteous doom,
Nor seek to know how long or short its date.
In the few years which thou on earth dost spend,
Use well the time which God to thee has given;
Known unto him alone can be the end,
Make of thy home on earth a present heaven.

506

Trust in a father's love; no gloomy fear
Nor chilling doubts can then disturb thy mind;
But thou shalt find his presence with thee near;
Unto his will in patient hope resigned,
That what Time's shadows from our eyes conceal,
The eternal ages clearly will reveal.

Poem No. 415; c. 14 April 1877

Faith in the Resurrection Confirmed

That friends we loved, in dying did not die,
We do believe; but oft our faith is weak,
For error, doubt and fear our minds will try,
And for our faith we confirmation seek.
Imagination promises its aid,
And pictures them to us as still alive;
And brighter scenes than earth by it are made,
By which our souls do strength and hope derive.
But most the Word of God new hope doth bring,
And with its light our spirits' depths illume;
For Christ is risen! Death's conqueror and king!
And banished from the earth its night of gloom,
Which with its terrors did the soul assail,
And even o'er our faith at times prevail.

Poem No. 457; c. 5 May 1877

Spring and Summer Flowers

The mingling scent of flowers is in the air,
Gathered from piny wood and rocky dell;
Of roses, callas, that the fostering care
Of man through winter's stormy months can tell.
The seasons' differing hues together meet;
The gorgeous colors of the summer's flowers
The delicate tints of early spring-time greet,
That tell of wild wood haunts, and budding bowers.

507

Scarce can the mind such contrasts fair retain,
From each to each it turns with new delight;
The blushing roses now the thoughts detain,
And now the May flowers' beauties charm the sight;
Now, the glad Present bids us here to stay,
And now, the Future beckons us away.

Poem No. 525; c. 11 May 1877

The Return of the Columbine

Thou comest again, in bright scarlet drest,
To cheer the heart, and to please the eye;
To nod o'er the ground sparrow's lowly nest,
And lure the bee as he wanders by.

And the beauteous sight the prospect fills,
For wherever we turn we admire;
Thou comest again to our rocky hills,
Blushing deep with their summer attire.

In every crevice thou findest a place,
With thy beauty the rocks to adorn;
The dark, craggy hillside thou lovest to grace
With bright hues like the colors of morn.

And the children come o'er the hills to roam,
And gather in bunches thy flowers;
Sweetest tokens they are, in many a home,
Of their walks, and the glad summer hours.

Thou comest again; and oft hast returned,
With thy beauty and fragrance so sweet;
But we other lessons than Nature's have learned,
Nor hastened thy coming to greet.

Oh, would that the beauty, so lavish and free,
And that doth with each season return;
We might, with the glad heart of childhood see,
And the lesson it brings for us learn.

Poem No. 669; c. 25 May 1877

508

Man's Accountability

How shalt thou give account to God, O man,
For all that in the body thou hast done,
Since first thy life upon the earth began,
Recalling every action, one by one?
We cannot, save the memory quickened be,
And every deed shall in God's light appear;
And each the record of his life shall see,
The evil to condemn, the good to cheer.
Yet must thou give account, though weak and frail,
And memory to its trust unfaithful prove;
Say, shall the good, or evil then prevail?
Unrighteous deeds, or works of mercy, love?
For memory cannot die, but quickened lives,
And in heaven's light a perfect record gives.

Poem No. 201; c. 2 June 1877

Hymn

The Cause of Peace

The Ages pass;—yet still delayed
The Cause of Peace on earth;
The Cause for which the Savior prayed,
Proclaimed e'en at his birth.

The time of which the Angels sang
In sweet, prophetic strains;
When 'neath the stars, their voices rang
O'er Judah's favored plains.

Yes, still delayed; for passion, pride
Usurp calm reason's throne;
And nations in their power confide,
And not in God alone.

509

Yes, still delayed; but signs we see
The fainting soul to cheer;
That that blessed day is yet to be,
That it may still be near.

May we its glorious light behold
Of Peace, and Truth, and Love;
By Prophet-bards so long foretold,
And Angel-hosts above.

Poem No. 458; c. 16 June 1877

The Nodding Meadow Lily

How came this modest lily fair,
In this lone meadow here to grow;
When other meadows far around
Can no such beauteous treasure show?

Has it from some far centre come,
Where such fair flowers do most abound;
Brought by the winds, or flowing streams,
And here a soil congenial found?

Or did it spring spontaneous here,
When earth brought forth each plant and tree?
Was this the Eden of its race?
Can Science solve the mystery?

He who the soil could ready make,
And for each seed a place prepare,
Could here transplant from far thy germ,
Or here create, and for it care.

Here, or in meadow like to this,
Though far away, thy golden flowers
First opened to the light of day,
The pride of summer's sultry hours.

510

Enough for me thy flowers to find,
Admire their form and matchless grace;
And own His love, who thus has given
Peculiar beauty to the place.

Poem No. 180; c. 20 July 1877

The Destruction of Public Property by Mobs

With madness seized men their own works destroy,
Nay their own lives; they know not what they do;
Destruction for a time is their employ;
In peace they would the scenes of war renew.
'Tis their own work their maddened hands pull down!
For, in his Country, each one has his part,
And each is sharer too in her renown;
His are her works of skill, of use, of art.
For, sadder than the ruins, is the thought,
That men should lose their Patriotic Pride:
Nor feel the stain, which their own deeds have brought
On Liberty's fair name, they have denied;
In one short hour of riot and of spoil
Wasting the fruits of years of peaceful toil.

Poem No. 837; c. 10 August 1877

The Barberry-Pickers

The barberry's red with ripened fruit;
The merry children come,
And fill their baskets from its boughs,
And bear their burdens home.

What if their fingers oft are pricked
With the sharp-pointed thorn;
Or e'en a dress, by the thick briars,
Is rent and sadly torn?

511

A pleasant day among the hills
The barberry-pickers spend;
Nor passed in vain the happy hours,
That work with pleasure blend.

For many a lesson they shall learn
From this fair Autumn day;
Which, in the distant after years,
Their toil shall well repay.

New strength and health from labor come,
They breathe a purer air,
And in the bounty Nature yields
They feel that all may share.

Though learning of the school be lost,
Forgot the printed page,
The lessons Nature taught in youth
They'll treasure still in age.

Poem No. 461; c. 9 October 1877

Pompeii

Amidst the dwellings of a distant age,
As by the enchanter's wand we seem to stand!
Science and Art illume the historic page,
And far-off scenes we view as near at hand.
Pompeii's daily life again appears,
The noble Roman sunk in pleasure, ease;
Forgot the virtues of his earlier years,
When manly toil and deeds alone could please.
So slumbered they; till, on their midnight sleep,
Vesuvius showered its dense and murky rain,
Burying their city 'neath its ashes deep,
Like the doomed cities of Gomorrah's plain!
Like them, still warning, in a voice sublime,
Proud cities filled with luxury and crime.

Poem No. 41; c. 16 October 1877

512

The Communion

Why forms discuss, if that the soul is fled?
Is the communion in the wine and bread;
Or in the loving hearts, that would draw near
A dying Savior's last command to hear?
Ah, still have met again that little band,
And in their midst the Savior still doth stand:
Where Love doth break the bread and pour the wine,
And they are one in fellowship divine.
How few this fellowship of love profess!
How few a dying Savior's name confess!
For what are rites and forms? an empty show,
If we their meaning, life, have ceased to know.
Quicken in us, O Lord, the dying love,
Fit us on earth for fellowship above;
Where holy friendships shall be made complete,
And all who love on earth again shall meet.

Poem No. 819; c. 23 November 1877

The Winter Night

Brief is the day, and soon the hastening sun
Sinks in the west, its narrow circuit run.
How much there is, through the long winter night,
To cheer the mind, instruct us, and delight.
When darkness hides earth's beauty from our eyes,
We still may gaze upon the starry skies;
And own the mighty Maker's hand divine,
In suns and worlds, that with new lustre shine.
The glittering constellations, o'er our head,
Fill the deep musing mind with wonder, dread.
What secrets there have been from man concealed,
To angels' high intelligence revealed!
To sister planets oft our gaze we turn;
From each the thoughtful may some lesson learn.
Each has some different history of its own,
As each by its own color, form, is known.

513

Now in conjunction Mars and Saturn see,
As if almost one planet they might be;
Then ruddy Mars moves on with swifter pace,
And leaves behind slow Saturn in the race.
But beautiful and bright beyond compare,
Look, where the evening star shines silvery, fair,
The near companion of the crescent moon,
Again to part with her, alas, how soon!
Each onward moving in its diverse way,
While each doth still one heavenly law obey.
How many gaze, with unobservant eyes,
On all this beauty of the winter skies;
On stars and systems, that in glory burn
Yet from the sight no word of wisdom learn!
Seeing they see, and yet not understand
The works, and wonders of the Almighty's hand;
Who launched in space this vast terrestrial ball,
Yet notes the insect's flight, the sparrow's fall;
Who bids unnumbered worlds their courses run,
Yet guides the motes, that glitter in the sun.
The wise, the musing, meditative mind
More wisdom in the night, than day, may find;
Heaven's gifts are not alone to labor given:
E'en, in the hours of sleep, descend from heaven
High thoughts and feelings, visions too sublime,
That link eternity with fleeting time.

Poem No. 76; c. 25 December 1877

The Coasters

Upon the coasters' spreading sails
December's sun is shining bright;
And to their port, with favoring gales,
They'll safely come ere falls the night;
Secure from harm has been their way,
No wintry storms have swept the bay.

From yon high hill I saw their fleet,
By many a gallant crew 'twas manned;

514

A pleasant company they meet,
And steer their courses near the land;
Joyous, for now all danger's past,
The rocky shore, the icy blast.

But a few days; and others, tost,
Strive manfully their port to reach;
In storm and darkness they are lost,
Their spars and rigging strew the beach;
And frozen, stretched upon the sand,
Lie some of that brave sailor band!

In nobler fight they did contend
Than that, in which war's heroes fall;
In peaceful toil they found their end;
War's strife the world doth glory call;
But these should have a nobler name,
Than heroes, on the roll of fame.

Not with their fellow men they strove,
To waste the earth, destroy and kill;
But o'er the ocean loved to rove,
To toil with courage, strength, and skill;
And, midst the elements' fierce strife,
To conquer, or to yield their life.

Varied and strange life's shifting scene!
Like ocean's ever changing form;
To-day, all peaceful and serene,
To-morrow, dark with clouds and storm;
Oh, that we might in Him confide,
Who to blest ends doth all things guide.

Poem No. 753; c. 1 February 1878

The Message

On the bare alder bough,
I heard the sparrow sing;
To me a message it had brought
Of the returning Spring.

515

No leaf had yet unrolled
Its fresh and tender green,
No flower, in all its loveliness,
On hill or plain was seen.

Its sweet out-pouring joy
The winter's silence broke;
Of the green trees, and vernal flowers,
In plainest language spoke.

Not by man's voice alone,
God's messages are brought;
The birds' sweet strain, the opening flower,
Convey to us his thought.

The sparrows' welcome song
Will tell us of his love,
And, though the Maker is unseen,
His Presence with us prove.

Its notes of joy and praise
Proclaim his love, and care;
And far and wide through all our land,
Spring's joyful message bear.

Poem No. 389; c. 11 April 1878

Do Nations Ever Become Insane?

May not whole nations, as the single man,
Become insane; and know not what they do:
Deep-reasoning Butler asked. Past history scan,
How oft its page proves his suggestion true.
Founded on force, they their own law obey;
The slaves of passion, and the lust of power;
With no strong love for peace, or reason's sway,
They folly serve, the madness of the hour!
When will the law of Peace by all be known,
Discord and war be banished from the earth;
His lower nature be by man outgrown,
And men assert their higher, nobler birth;

516

And Arbitration rule, and not the sword,
And history cease war's madness to record?

Poem No. 326; c. 30 April 1878

Know Thyself

Suggested by hearing Dr. A. E. Miller's Lectures on the Human Body.

Who, with dull mind, can view man's wondrous frame;
And not with deepest reverence and awe?
For from the hand of God at first it came,
And from his breath did life and motion draw.
The bones, which show such marvellous strength and skill,
The blood, which circulates through every vein,
The ever-moving lungs the air doth fill,
The pulsing heart, the all-directing brain.
What higher knowledge than thyself to know?
Though countless objects gain our time, and thought,
On our own frame we scarce a thought bestow,
The body thus so marvellously wrought;
The type of that, which shall immortal be,
From pain, disease, and death forever free.

Poem No. 815; c. 3 May 1878

The Blueberry Blossoms

Why pluck their flowers? Each might have been
A ripe and luscious fruit,
When summer months had fully come,
And well the palate suit.

The birds might there have found a meal;
The children love their taste;
Why pluck and bring the useless flowers,
And thus God's bounty waste?

517

Thus sense doth plead; nor for a flower
A higher use can see,
Than that it may become a seed,
Or ripened berry be.

The poet, in its blossoms fair,
A nobler use can find;
Of which, who love the fruit alone
Are ignorant, and blind.

In their sweet fragrance he delights,
Their beauty fills his heart;
And he on others would bestow
What they to him impart.

Nor deems it loss to sacrifice
The low to higher need,
That thus what might but please the sense,
The mind and heart may feed.

Man's life is not for bread alone,
Nor worldly toil and gain;
For beauty doth the soul inspire
To reach a higher plane.

Enough God's bounty too has given
For all alike to share;
Nor only for our earthly wants,
But higher needs doth care.

Poem No. 823; c. 28 May 1878

William Cullen Bryant

No gloom o'er Nature's face is spread,
Though to his rest her son is gone;
He who her choir in song has led,
And her bright crown, and laurel won.

She comes in all her beauty bloom,
To deck the forest, field, and hill;
Her roses breathe their sweet perfume,
Her songs the groves with music fill.

518

Why should we mourn? with honors crowned,
And length of days, he passed away;
A nobler life than this has found,
Why on the earth prolong his stay?

Why mourn the Patriot, and the Man,
Lover of Country, and his race;
Who, in his broad, far reaching plan,
Could all mankind as one embrace?

Why do we mourn? for still shall live
The strains, which Nature's self inspired;
To other minds his genius give,
And other hearts by his be fired.

Poem No. 354; 12–21 June 1878

“Agriculture the Source of Individual and of National Prosperity.”—Anne Pratt.

[I]

The husbandman doth still go out to hire
Men for his vineyard, which doth labor need;
And of the idlers in the land to inquire,
“Why stand ye idle?” “Up, and sow the seed,
That in the Autumn shall rich harvests yield;
Plant fruitful trees, and vines on every side,
On every hill, and in each fertile field;
Like a fair garden make your Country wide.”
But idle in the market place they stand,
With folded hands, and discontented mind;
While all untilled, unpeopled lies the land!
Murmuring, that none can now employment find;
Or of the goodman of the house complain,
That others for their labor more should gain.

II.

Where spring the cornfields in their tender green,
Or bend and rustle in the summer breeze,

519

Where in the Autumn, year by year, are seen
The reapers gathering in their golden sheaves,
There dwell domestic happiness and peace;
No more wild savage wanderers men rove;
From their fierce strifes, and idleness they cease,
And in the peaceful arts of life improve.
Dwellings are reared, beneath their roofs are born
Children, with beauty, strength the home to grace;
The virtues, which humanity adorn,
Can find on earth no more congenial place;
The love of kindred, neighbors, country, friends,
Unto the spot a heavenly glory lends.

Poem No. 514; c. 26 July 1878

Pleasure

With business haste, or with a worldly mind
Men Pleasure seek, as they some work would do;
But in the beaten track they fail to find
The rest they need, or prize that they pursue.
In some by-path, or quiet nook she hides,
Away from public haunts, and worldly eyes;
With those who love her truly there abides,
And with her choicest gifts doth them surprise.
The tired laborer doth find her there,
At home returning from his daily toil;
The city dweller doth her visits share,
Fleeing the city's dust, and loud turmoil;
While crowds, that speed in haste o'er land and sea,
But seldom meet, or share her company.

Poem No. 834; c. 16 August 1878

520

On The Late Tornado, At Wallingford, Conn.

With aimless fury hurries on its path,
For so it seems unto man's narrow mind,
The dread tornado, messenger of wrath!
Like to some maddened giant strong and blind.
Yet Mercy guides its course, confines its sway,
From the beginning to the appointed end;
For Nature's forces all One law obey,
And none can its allotted bounds transcend.
The stormy winds, O God, thy word fulfil,
As doth the gentle breeze, that whispers peace;
All are obedient to thy holy will;
Thou dost command, and fiercest tempests cease;
And men, with grateful hearts, again rejoice;
Awed, chastened, humbled, by thy Sovereign Voice.

Poem No. 832; c. 30 August 1878

Hymn

Though few, with noble purpose came
Our fathers to this distant wild;
A Commonwealth they sought to frame,
From country, and from friends exiled.

Religious freedom here they sought,
In their own land to them denied;
With courage, and with faith they wrought,
Nor monarch feared, nor prelate's pride.

That Commonwealth to power has grown,
Religious liberty is ours;
What now we reap their hands have sown,
And changed the wild to garden bowers.

The trees they planted year by year
Still yield their precious fruit, and shade;
Fair Learning's gifts still flourish here,
And Law man's rights has sacred made.

521

They from their labors long have ceased,
On the green hill-sides saintly rest;
Their sons, in wealth, and power increased,
Have by their fathers' God been blest.

Their noble deeds our souls inspire,
Be ours their faith, and courage still;
Keep pure the home, the altar's fire,
And thus their cherished hopes fulfil.

Poem No. 94–706; c. 18 September 1878

On the Neglect of the Study of History

History repeats her lessons; oft in vain!
For we to profit by her page are slow;
She shows how States may eminence attain,
How ignorance and vice their power o'erthrow;
How Government was formed for noble ends,
To establish order, vice and crime remove;
But these, neglected, it to ruin tends,
And what was made for good doth evil prove.
So doth a noble river, that should bless
And fertilize its banks on either side,
Bursting its bounds, bring ruin and distress,
And desolate a happy region wide!
Ah, when shall man, if not by History taught,
Learn from the wondrous works in Nature wrought?

Poem No. 174; c. 29 October 1878

Christ's Final Victory

Over men's graves we lightly tread!
Ah, soon forgotten are the dead!
“Christ is not risen,” we hear men say,
“There is no Resurrection Day.”

522

“Death over us will soon have power,
To pleasure give life's little hour;
Like leaves the generations fall,
Death still is sovereign over all.”

Ah thoughtless men, ah faithless Age,
Not to believe the Sacred Page;
That Christ at length o'er death shall reign,
The final victory shall gain.

That to the dead, who in Him sleep,
He will his faithful promise keep;
That, at his coming, they shall rise,
Welcomed by angels to the skies.

That e'en mortality shall be
A sharer in his victory;
Changed to immortal, it shall wear
The heavenly image, wondrous fair.

Let these high thoughts our souls inspire,
Fill us with earnest, pure desire,
That we the prize in Christ may win,
His victory over death and sin.

Poem No. 395; 26 November 1878

Thanksgiving Flowers

Bright flowers! November's frosts and cold have spared,
To greet us on this late Thanksgiving morn;
A tender love for you, as us, has cared;
The pansies still our garden plot adorn,
Chrysanthemums, that, with the waning year,
Round many homes in golden clusters bloom;
And e'en December's stormy month can cheer,
Stealing from many a clouded day its gloom.
While grateful for the harvest we would be,
Which with abundance fills our wide domain;
In these bright flowers new tokens, too, we see
Of the same Love, which gives the fruits and grain;

523

And makes November's bare and cheerless bowers
Bright with the hues of Memory's fadeless flowers.

Poem No. 77; c. 6 December 1878

Original Hymn

We welcome, with the opening year,
Our Pastor, to this ancient fold;
With words of love, and hope to cheer,
The gracious Gospel, never old.

In cultured ground the seed is sown,
As in a good and fruitful soil;
Long has this field the blessing known
Of faithful laborers' care and toil.

As come the swift returning years,
May nobler aims our spirits raise;
Faith triumph over doubts and fears,
Move grateful hearts, inspire our praise.

Our Father, may thy gracious word
Quicken in all the life divine;
'Till we from error, sin, restored,
Through Christ, thy Son, are wholly thine.

Poem No. 767; c. 2 January 1879

Our Lighthouses

The sun has set; but lit the Light,
Which guides the vessels on their way;
Far o'er the ocean's gathering gloom
It sends its bright and cheering ray.

Nor this alone; but many a lamp
Along our coast and lakes will burn;
Each, through the night, a guiding star,
Till day's o'erpowering beams return.

524

And faithful men their watches keep
Through the cold, stormy, winter nights;
They slumber not when duty calls,
But rise, and trim their warning lights.

Were one, before the morning dawns,
To dim, or quench its guiding ray,
How many souls might meet their doom!
How many wrecks might strew the bay!

Returning from a distant land,
Joyful the Light the sailor hails;
And guided by its friendly beams,
Soon, safe in port, he furls his sails.

Poem No. 578; c. 4 February 1879

The African's First Sight of the Ocean

Dr. Livingstone's Travels.

Without an end the world had seemed,
A boundless plain, where they were born;
Stretching beyond the setting sun,
And where again it rose at morn.

And so the ancients them had taught,
Their fathers' fathers all believed;
Nor of an end they ere had dreamed,
But as the truth their words received.

But when they saw the ocean wide,
And all its grandeur on them broke;
With wonder and amazement filled,
The voice of Nature in them spoke.

The world itself they seemed to hear
Say, “I am finished! I am no more!”
The world your fathers boundless thought,
Is ended at the ocean's shore.

525

The end! Oh thought beyond our grasp,
Which earth, and sky, and ocean teach;
To which all Nature witness bears,
Though not in transient human speech.

Poem No. 850; 4 March 1879

The Zodiacal Light

Strange light, long lingering in the west,
With its pale saffron glow!
In vain thy origin we seek,
Or mystery strive to know.

Unlike the noonday's dazzling beams,
Or sunset's colors bright,
Or the moon's faint, reflected rays,
Or the stars' silvery light;

Art thou a radiance from the earth?
Corona of the sun?
Or light of meteor's golden band,
Which round the globe doth run?

We know not whence the radiant glow,
That fills us with delight;
On which, admiring, oft we gaze
Till fading into night!

A light, whose mystery allures
The thoughtful, musing mind;
And leads it on in wonder, awe,
The hidden cause to find.

Poem No. 443; c. 28 March 1879

526

Education

What is it to educate a human soul?
Is it to teach it how to read, and write,
Grammar, Arithmetic; is this the whole?
Can these alone teach it to live aright?
Such knowledge is but means unto an end,
Too oft to earth's brief, narrow sphere confined;
But higher thoughts there are, that these transcend,
Motives enduring as the human mind;
The love of knowledge, human and divine,
The love of goodness, purity, and truth;
Happy the teacher, who can souls incline
To virtuous ends, in early days of youth;
And, while he useful knowledge doth impart,
Inspires the soul, the teacher's noblest art.

Poem No. 775; c. 11 April 1879

The Kingdom of Heaven

In Its Growth and Coming a Mystery

As swift the changing seasons come and go,
That Summer comes before we are aware;
And we are living midst its beauteous show,
A new creation wonderful and fair;
So, unperceived, God's kingdom cometh too!
Hid from the slothful and the worldly wise;
The heavenly seed is to its nature true,
And in the harvest will thy soul surprise.
By night, by day, there is an Unseen Power,
That to perfection brings each word, and deed;
Surely as buried grain or blooming flower
Become in Autumn the perfected seed.
We sleep, and rise; they grow we know not how,
And soon the harvest waves, where went the plough.

Poem No. 57; c. 6 June 1879

527

Azalea Swamp

Just o'er the stony wall,
And near the travelled way,
The wild Azalea's fragrant flowers
Their richest bloom display.

The travellers, as they pass,
Stop to admire their bloom;
Or, wafted on the summer breeze,
To catch the sweet perfume.

Why seek in distant lands
Azaleas costly, rare;
When by the roadside bloom, for all,
These, not less fragrant, fair?

Here too the woodwax spreads
Its brilliant cloth of gold,
Richer by far than princes' halls
Or palaces behold.

Nor can their artists show,
With e'en their highest skill,
Such colors as are lavished here
On swamp and rocky hill.

Renewed from year to year,
The picture never tires;
Awakening thoughts and feelings deep
No artist's work inspires.

Poem No. 310; c. 27 June 1879

Guido's Aurora

Not with bright forms alone, that please the eye,
Aurora comes encircled by the Hours;
Whose feet, in measure, tread the purple sky,
Such forms as love to sport in Summer's bowers;
But nobler forms, for duty's calls sublime,

528

With garments fitted for life's daily toil;
Knowing the worth to man of fleeting time,
Nor fearing lest their shining robes they soil.
Their earnest looks are on their business bent,
To finish every task ere day shall fade;
To use each moment for the purpose lent,
Till falls on earth again the evening's shade;
When the day's labors and its noises cease,
And the night brings its gifts of rest and peace.

Poem No. 370; c. July 1879

The Humming Bird

Like thoughts that flit across the mind,
Leaving no lasting trace behind;
The humming bird darts to and fro,
Comes, vanishes before we know.

While thoughts may be but airy things,
That come and go on viewless wings,
Nor form, nor substance e'en possess,
Nor number know, or more, or less;

This leaves an image, well defined,
To be a picture of the mind;
Its tiny form and colors bright
In memory live, when lost to sight.

There oft it comes at evening's hour,
To flutter still from flower to flower;
Then vanish midst the gathering shade,
Its momentary visit paid.

Poem No. 317; c. 8 August 1879

529

Jupiter as the Evening Star

Calm o'er the hills the evening star
Majestic rises on the sight,
Sending its brilliant rays afar
To wake our wonder and delight.

The evening shadows gently fall
On all the varied landscape round,
And a deep silence broods o'er all,
As Nature sinks in sleep profound.

And stilled the tumults in the breast,
As on the lovely scene I gaze;
For every feeling is at rest,
Save that which fills the heart with praise.

The hills are touched by the soft beams;
As Memory lights the gathering shade,
Where youth's bright hopes and golden dreams,
In years long past, grow dim and fade.

Shine lonely Star! the heart to cheer
With feelings pure, serene, and high,
Above this dark and earthly sphere,
Where youth's fair visions never die.

Poem No. 86; c. 16 September 1879

The National Thanksgiving

The harvests with abundance fill the land,
And call for gratitude and festive song;
And industry revives on every hand,
Which from war's wasteful scourge has suffered long.
And fell disease, that wasted day by day,
Is checked and staid, confined to narrow bound;
That else might thousands and ten thousands slay,
And desolate a fertile region round!
Our fathers' God! who, in their sore distress,
Did'st save from famine and from dangers dire,

530

And gav'st them shelter in the wilderness;
Our hearts with praise and gratitude inspire,
For all thy mercies to our fathers shown,
And for unnumbered blessings all our own.

Poem No. 507; c. 27 November 1879

The Stock-Gilly Flowers

When hides the sun behind the hills,
And shortest days are seen;
How beautiful are Christmas flowers,
Or wreaths of Christmas green!

All else has faded from my mind,
That dark December day;
Save that full wagon load of flowers,
That stood beside the way.

Stock-Gilly plants in bloom, for sale,
Sprinkled with falling snow;
That made the chill and wintry scene
With warmest colors glow.

And many a home those flowers made bright,
When earth was brown and sere,
Or buried deep beneath the snows,
And naught around to cheer.

And there, as in the open air,
They shed their sweet perfume;
Long years have passed, but linger still
Their fragrance and their bloom.

Poem No. 787; c. 23 December 1879

531

Spiritual Intercourse

They cannot come to us though we
May long for them to come;
And leave, with us on earth to be,
Their blest, eternal home;
The parents we have loved so well,
The children that we mourn,
They cannot come, with us to dwell,
From that mysterious bourn.

They cannot come to dwell on earth,
And leave their heavenly sphere;
A life there is of higher birth,
As earthly life is here;
A life of holy service, love,
Which here we but begin,
Employs them in that home above,
Which they have entered in!

Yet in the brightness of the day,
And in the shades of night,
We are with them, with us are they
Though not revealed to sight;
For memory's bright unbroken chain
Doth bind us heart to heart,
Hope whispers we shall meet again,
Meet nevermore to part.

Ah, who would have them here again,
To suffer and to die;
To leave, for the abodes of men,
Their happy homes on high?
Better that we should patience learn,
And strive like them to be;
Than vainly sigh for their return,
That we our friends may see.

Cold winter's blasts they feel no more,
Nor summer's burning rage,
Disease, and pain, and death are o'er,
The want and ills of age;

532

And, in that peaceful, happy clime,
War cannot hurt, nor kill;
For past the fleeting years of time,
Their mingled good and ill.

No more with doubts they struggle on,
Nor walk in Error's night;
Their doubts and errors all are gone
In heaven's unclouded light;
For God their light and glory is,
His truth their minds doth fill;
And Christ doth own them now as his,
Who did his Father's will.

They come not; but to them we go,
That higher life to share;
The life begun by them below
Midst earthly toil, and care;
Whate'er of good, or ill we've sown,
We then with them shall reap;
We then shall know as we are known,
No soul its secret keep.

And, in our Heavenly Father's time,
We shall united be;
To share that intercourse sublime
Of joy and purity;
Oh, let us then for this prepare,
While yet the light is given;
That we the life and bliss may share
Of those we love in heaven.

Poem No. 638; c. 3 February 1880

Invitation to the Robin

Come, Robin, come, and sing to me,
—The winter time has gone—
Upon the ancient locust tree,
That silent stands, and lone.

533

For pleasant now the spring-like days,
I long thy voice to hear,
And listen to thy morning lays,
So full of joy and cheer.

Thou art a Messenger of love,
And dost glad tidings bring;
Thy prophecy our hearts doth move,
True Herald of the Spring!

That soon the pastures will be green,
The early flowers appear,
The blossoms and the leaves be seen,
And May's fair month be here.

In thy glad message we rejoice,
No longer then delay!
We long to hear thy cheerful voice,
And list thy morning lay.

Poem No. 91; c. 12 March 1880

The Influence of Channing

Stern creeds and outward forms must pass away,
Their purpose served to guard the Life within;
We hail the Advent of a milder Day,
Whose dawn on earth at length we see begin!
Channing, though thy frail form no more we see,
Nor hear, as once, thy calm persuasive voice,
Thou livest still! we hail thy Jubilee,
And in thy growing influence would rejoice.
The love of God and man thy simple creed;
The love of man as an immortal soul,
That has the slave from cruel bondage freed,
And shall War's desolating wrath controul.
Still may thy influence spread from clime to clime,
And win new victories with the years of time.

Poem No. 435; c. 8 April 1880

534

The Calling

The Voice that spake to Abraham of old,
Go, leave thy Country, to our fathers spake;
And made them, with like faith and courage bold,
The ties of kindred and of home to break.
Austere and strict were they, yet kind and pure;
Above the common level they had risen,
And, taught by Persecution to endure,
Their faith and hopes were fixed on God and heaven.
Why name, among those worthies bold and true,
Brave-hearted Endicott, who led the van;
Or Higginson, who, midst the suffering few,
Lent glory to the name of Puritan?
Beyond the western ocean's farthest bound
New homes they sought, a Commonwealth to found.

Poem No. 587; c. 1878–80

Endecott

Amidst a band of worthies bold and true
The noble Endecott was in the van,
The gallant leader of the suffering few,
Who gloried in the name of Puritan.
Austere and strict was he, yet kind and pure,
Above the common level he had risen;
And, taught by Persecution to endure,
His hopes, like theirs, were fixed on God, and heaven.
His wife and children with him too embark,
His firm attachment to the cause to prove;
What precious freight was trusted to that ark!
Of Faith and Hope, of Purity and Love;
When were such treasures on the ocean cast
The sport of the wild waves, and stormy blast?

Poem No. 39; c. 1878–80

535

Farewell

“Farewell dear England, and thy Church farewell!
Farewell all Christian friends abiding there!”
Such were the words from Puritans that fell;
A holy benediction, and a prayer,
As from old England's coast our fathers sailed;
Sweet memories and tender filled each heart,
And o'er the sense of loss & wrongs prevailed,
How hard from homes and dearest friends to part!
What gave them courage, o'er the ocean wide,
To seek upon this wild, and unknown shore,
Freedom to worship God, at home denied?
And what sustained them in the toils they bore?
Conscience, that doth self-sacrifice approve,
And trust in God's protecting care and love.

Poem No. 116; c. 1878–80

The Departure

The tall white cliffs of England fade away,
They leave with tears their father land behind;
The monsters of the deep around them play,
And onward swift they speed before the wind.
Backward they gaze, alas! how soon have fled
Their happy homes, green fields, and village spires;
While all around the waves of ocean spread,
As if the grave of all their heart's desires!
Seaward they turn; but lonely, dim, and drear,
The ocean stretches on as without end;
And fancy peoples it with shapes of fear,
And trials hard, with which they must contend;
With many an anxious thought they seek their rest,
Dreaming of home, though tossed on ocean's breast.

Poem No. 476–581; c. 1878–80

536

The Petrels

Day dawns again, with wondering gaze they see
The stormy petrels skim the waves' rough crests,
Or, lighting in the hollows of the sea,
Securely sit as on their shore-built nests.
And shall not He, who doth for these provide,
Without a shelter and without a home,
His children keep, and guard whate'er betide,
Whate'er their straits, or wheresoe'er they roam?
Such thoughts sustain;—for oft, by humble means,
The Lord instructs the lowly, trusting mind;
Who on his arm alone for safety leans,
Shall, in his Word and works, direction find;
Whether on land, or sea, afar they rove,
His guardian care and love alike, they prove.

Poem No. 96; c. 1878–80

At Sea

Day follows day, and week succeeds to week,
And still they sail across the boundless main;
New homes in distant regions far to seek,
And civil and religious freedom gain.
How little do the timid landsmen know
Of sailors' toils, and watches on the sea;
When night returns, when loud the tempests blow,
What hardships, and what perils there may be!
While safe beneath the sheltering roof they sleep,
Nor heed the rising blast, nor dashing wave;
The seamen must their watchful vigils keep,
Lest ocean, at each moment, prove their grave;
Or, driven by tempests on some desert shore,
They see their native land and friends no more.

Poem No. 97; c. 1878–80

537

At Sea

Frail woman there and childhood's tender years
Endure the hardships of the seaman's life;
Yielding at times, unto their natural fears,
While gazing on the ocean's fearful strife;
How strange on the wide ocean thus to be!
Where naught is seen around but sea and skies;
Shall they again the shore in safety see,
They ask? and westward gaze with longing eyes.
The gorgeous clouds at sunset mock their sight
With mountains, valleys, forests, harbors near;
But, as they fade away, with fading light,
Their high-raised hopes as often disappear;
And farther e'en than ever seems the land,
Which but an hour before, looked close at hand.

Poem No. 137; c. 1878–80

The Sabbath

Bright is the morn, and hushed is every sound,—
For e'en the sea has stilled its tossing breast;—
With reverent looks the seamen gather round,
And, with the passengers, from labor rest.
Hark, rising on the still, bright morning air,
Their blended voices charm the listening deep;
Succeeded by the solemn words of prayer,
As, on the ocean, they the sabbath keep:
The preacher then his lesson doth impart,
Drawn from God's Word, and works, which they behold;
His simple teachings touch and cheer the heart,
As he the text of Scripture doth unfold,
Of Trust in God; on sea, as on the land;
Who holds us ever in his mighty hand.

Poem No. 79; c. 1878–80

538

Land

They near the coast; the land-birds hover round,
Far out upon the ocean sent before;
With flowers and leaves the rippling waves abound,
Washed by the tide from off their native shore;
The air with fragrant odors too is filled,
Borne o'er the sea, from unseen, flowery fields,
Forerunning signals to the seaman skilled,
To whom each trifling thing some knowledge yields.
No Lights on island, cape, or rock they see,
By which to steer their courses through the night,
They shorten sail, lest danger there may be,
And anxious wait for morning's cheerful light;
Day dawns at length, the land! the land! they cry,
And the New World is seen by every eye.

Poem No. 646; c. 1878–80

Salem

They reach a harbor spacious and secure,
With wooded islands at its entrance found;
And fair, green pastures, springs of water pure,
And pleasant groves of different wood abound;
The rocky hills, that round about it stand,
O'erlook the sea and country far and wide;
Like the stern chieftains of their native land,
They wear a look of freedom, and of pride:
Salem they call the spot. Here peace and rest
From prelates proud and kings they hope to find,
With civil and religious Freedom blest;
Such blessings God will give to all mankind;
And break the double yoke and heavy chain,
Which tyrants, for their race, have forged in vain.

Poem No. 647; c. 1878–80

539

The Landing

With flag unfurled along the shore they sail
By pleasant cove and by the rippling beach,
Till heard from land the joyous Planters' hail,
As they a fitting place for anchorage search.
These Planters welcome them with homely cheer,
In their log cabins, on the rising ground;
O'erjoyed from distant friends again to hear,
That with success at length their prayers are crowned!
Their joy how full how deep they only know,
Who, sick with hope deferred, have waited long;
What solitude was theirs, who here had dwelt
Through two long winters in this forest wild,
And many a storm and sad privation felt,
By hope of aid from father-land beguiled!

Poem No. 428–835a; c. 1878–80

The Old Planters

Nor slightly pass those early planters by,
Whose names and fortunes are less known to fame;
Who can the nobleness and worth deny,
Which ever must adorn a Conant's name?
Or who o'erlook the few, brave pioneers,
Who with him to this spot in duty clung,
With none to help, through two, long, trying years.
Would that by worthier verse their praise were sung!
The Christian love that seeketh not her own,
That envieth not another's gifts, was theirs;
And while the name of Salem shall be known,
Or one descendant in her glory shares,
The memory of their virtues shall remain
A theme for history and the poet's strain.

Poem No. 359; c. 1878–80

540

Paradise

How lovely in the warm September days,
The hills, and groves, and winding rivers clear;
Across the stream, where now I love to gaze,
They named it Paradise, who first came here;
And such, when Autumn changed the forests' hue,
Dying their leaves a thousand varied dies,
Did Salem seem unto the pilgrims' view,
Bathed in the golden light of Autumn's skies!
The grapes hung clustering from the lofty trees,
The nut groves showered their ripened fruit around,
'Twas all their own to settle where they please,
The scattered Planters only here they found;
Or Indians roving still from place to place,
As seasons came for fishing, or the chase.

Poem No. 192; c. 1878–80

Naumkeck River

Up Naumkeck they sail, and far explore,
Upon each side, the unknown region round;
Upon the left, the locusts line the shore,
Where on the sandy bank they still are found;
Upon the right, the oak and walnut grow,
Towards the west, high rocky hills arise,
Where pines and savins dark their shadows throw;
While, at their feet, the grassy meadow lies;
Within the woods strange birds unnumbered sing,
The lively squirrels leap from tree to tree,
The sun-bright brooks their crystal tribute bring
To swell the tide that's hastening to the sea;
On every side, where'er they turn their eyes,
New sights and sounds the voyagers surprise.

Poem No. 752; c. 1878–80

541

The Same

Much they admire the wild flowers scattered wide,
Their gorgeous asters, purple, white, and blue,
The golden rod that fringed the river's side,
And the wild rose on every side that grew.
To each new object, bird, or flower, or tree,
They give the old and fond-remembered name;
And, though but slight resemblance there may be,
Called by the self-same word, they seem the same.
Another robin-red breast here they find,
Their morn and evening meals with them to share,
They teach their children to it to be kind,
And oft, in winter, crumbs for it to spare;
For not mere creatures of the earth we live,
But to each scene ideal life we give.

Poem No. 332; c. 1878–80

Winter

The perils of the ocean safely o'er,
Their hearts with glad emotions free expand;
Ah, little think they of the trials sore,
That wait them inexperienced on the land;
Swift fly the warm and pleasant Autumn days,
And Winter comes before they are aware;
The falling leaf its near approach betrays,
And morn and eve the keen and frosty air;
The rudest dwellings they can scarcely rear,
Before the blasts of Winter howl around;
With their cold breath glassing the waters clear,
And burying deep with snow the frozen ground,
Making the unknown wilderness more wild,
That late with such a pleasant welcome smiled.

Poem No. 539; c. 1878–80

542

Location

With sturdy blows the echoing woods resound,
Startling their tenants from their leafy lairs;
The lofty oaks and pines soon strew the ground,
Where each a shelter for himself prepares.
Between the rivers, on the highest land,
They build their cabins to each other near;
That they may thus the savage foe withstand;
Though brave of heart, his cunning wiles they fear.
Soon curls the smoke above the forest trees,
Marking amidst the wild their chosen spot;
Think not that palaces alone can please;
Contentment loves to dwell in humble cot,
Where Piety and Industry reside;
But shuns the gilded domes and halls of pride.

Poem No. 845; c. 1878–80

The Home

See! from yon low-roofed cottage shines a light,
To guide the absent homeward on his way;
On mantled bush, and tree, and meadow white,
It throws its ruddy glare and cheerful ray.
There, sheltered from the cold, the aged sire,
And mother with their children gather round;
Beside the hearthstone and the blazing fire,
When day is o'er, their chief delights are found.
The absent one they welcome from his toil,
And for them all is spread the frugal board;
Perhaps from sea he brings the fisher's spoil,
Or home returns with what the woods afford;
The sire doth bless, with grateful heart, the food,
Sent from the bounteous Source of every good.

Poem No. 412; c. 1878–80

543

The Home

The supper o'er, with books, or converse sweet,
Or lightsome tasks the happy hours they spend;
Perhaps some tale of olden time repeat,
Or welcome give to neighbor, and to friend;
Of the new Country and its sights they tell,
Of Indian wiles and savage beasts of prey;
And now their voices loud in concert swell,
As pleased they sing some simple, household lay.
Dear Social Joys! that, on our journey here,
Reflect the hues of heaven's serener clime;
Through the dark vista seen of many a year,
How brightly shines your lamp, undimmed by time,
To guide the wanderer, wheresoe'er he roam,
Till he shall gain his sure, eternal home!

Poem No. 579; c. 1878–80

Sickness

With sickness and with famine they contend,
No help can reach them till another year;
The dreary Winter seems to have no end,
And oft the savage foe awakes their fear;
From want, exposure, and attendant ills,
Full eighty of their number sink and die;
Grave after grave Death unrelenting fills,
And side by side the strong and feeble lie!
How dear is sympathy in our distress,
As did the Puritans in trouble prove;
A kind physician comes to heal and bless,
The messenger of Plymouth's early love;
Such help as sufferers can to sufferers send,
The Plymouth pilgrims to their brethren lend.

Poem No. 842; c. 1878–80

544

Longing

How oft, with homesick hearts, their fancy flies
Back to Old England o'er the wintry main;
And thoughts of distant friends bedew their eyes,
Whom they on earth may never see again;
Musing they start! amid the deepening gloom,
And think the forms of distant friends they see;
And e'en at times, within the darkened room,
The buried dead with them would seem to be!
Sickly and weak how oft, with anxious gaze,
From yonder hills they searched the ocean o'er?
Spring slowly comes, with many backward days,
Before the longed-for fleet has reached the shore;
When scarce provisions for a week remain,
Their failing strength and courage to sustain.

Poem No. 196; c. 1878–80

Winthrop's Fleet

But help arrives! The welcome fleet appears!
From the high hill-top first by one perceived
Far out at sea; then up the harbor steers;
Scarcely for joy the tidings are believed;
Soon friend clasps friend in heartfelt warm embrace,
Awhile their mutual sufferings are forgot;
Mindful alone they see each other's face,
And share again for life each other's lot.
And welcome too the comforts, and supplies,
Which, in their strait, the timely vessels bring;
From house to house the message quickly flies,
To each how precious then the smallest thing;
Taught by stern want, and hard necessity,
In things we little prize their wealth to see.

Poem No. 83; c. 1878–80

545

Arabella Johnson

As fades the delicate flower of Southern skies,
Transplanted to our cold New England shore,
At the first chilling touch of Winter dies,
And we behold its beauteous tints no more;
So did the Lady Arabella fade!
The fairest flower of Winthrop's numerous band;
Near yonder shore her fragile form is laid,
Mourned by each plaintive wave that beats the strand!
A courtly splendor and a life of ease
She left for one of trial, want, and pain;
Seeking her conscience, and her God to please,
And counting loss for Christ eternal gain!
A ministering angel to his suffering fold,
She shared the hardships of the strong and bold.

Poem No. 53; c. 1878–80

Spring

The Spring returns, and, with fresh ardor filled,
Their interrupted labors they renew;
The land is cleared, the virgin soil is tilled,
Some the stout oaks for houses fell and hew,
Some build a fort against their savage foe,
Some guard from beasts and birds the springing grain,
While some in boats to sea a fishing go,
To dare the perils of the stormy main;
With energy and zeal the work proceeds,
No one is idle, and they all unite
In common cause, as each assistance needs,
By which the heaviest labors are made light;
For the same ardor every bosom fires,
And one great object here on earth inspires.

Poem No. 572; c. 1878–80

546

Motive

They came not from afar from lust of gain,
Which lures adventurers to a distant shore;
Nor followed they some mighty conqueror's train,
Whose track through earth is red with human gore;
No common purpose did their souls inspire,
No earthly object did their vision fill;
God's Kingdom here to found their sole desire,
And, unmolested, here to do his will;
For this He called them from their native land,
For this He led them through the pathless sea,
For this upheld them by his mighty hand,
In sickness, death, and bitter poverty;
Causing e'en savage hearts to melt, and share
With them, in their distress, their scanty fare.

Poem No. 637; c. 1878–80

The Church

Soon to his Name they rear a temple rude,
Where they may worship God, the Lord of all;
First Church of Christ, in this vast solitude,
Gathered and formed obedient to his call.
With simple forms, they, for themselves, ordain
A pastor, and a teacher them to lead;
Their minds in their great trials to sustain,
And with the bread of Life their hunger feed.
Amidst the service, lo! a pilgrim band,
By adverse winds and waves, till then delayed,
From Plymouth comes; to offer the right hand,
With messages of love, and cheer conveyed;
May sacred bonds, thus formed in early day,
Endure when temples built with hands decay.

Poem No. 431; c. 1878–80

547

Worship

But, still preserved by pious care behold,
As if too sacred for Time's ruthless hand,
The house our fathers built to God of old,
Its ancient form unchanged as once they planned!
Assembling there they meet for praise and prayer,
And reverent listen to the preachéd word;
As Higginson, with eloquence, declares
The truths of God with which his soul is stirred.
In psalms and hymns together too they raise
Their notes of gratitude and holy joy,
No tremblings mingle with their tuneful lays,
For none there are their worship to annoy;
Inspired with Christian liberty they sing,
And with their songs the desert places ring!

Poem No. 84; c. 1878–80

Song

They sing of Zion, city built of old,
Jerusalem compacted, high, and fair;
Whither the tribes went up their feasts to hold,
And where established thrones of judgement were.
They sing how God, in ancient times, had led
His chosen people through a desert way,
How He by miracle their hunger fed,
And mighty acts by Moses did display;
How He drove out the heathen from their place,
And gave his people in their land to dwell;
That they might ever stand before His face,
And of his deeds to children's children tell;
And while they kept his holy just command,
Inherit still, as theirs, the promised land.

Poem No. 648; c. 1878–80

548

[Here let the Church her holy mission prove]

Here let the Church her holy mission prove
Of Truth and Liberty of Love and Joy
The image of that heavenly House above
Which naught again shall threaten or destroy
Within her walls wide as the social state
Through countless years may all the people throng
With joyful hearts and countenances sedate
To bow in worship and to join in song
No more without her fold may Childhood stray
To wander in the desert parched and wild
Forgetful of the strait and narrow way
By Pleasure's voice from virtue's path beguiled
But happy in her sacred courts remain
Its heart still young its robe without a stain.

Poem No. 170; c. 1878–80

The Puritan Church and State

I.

They envied not the vast Cathedral's pile,
Its high-hung roof filled with the organ's sound,
Its pictured windows, and the long-drawn aisle,
With dim religious light o'er all around;
Its ceremonial forms seemed stiff and cold,
No more the vesture of Immortal Truth;
But rather like her cast off garments old,
Which once she wore in infancy and youth.
In manhood's form to them did she appear,
From childish rites and childish errors free,
In virtue and in discipline severe,
And beckoned them across an unknown sea;
In a new world, with worship free and pure,
To found a Church which ever should endure.

Poem No. 641; c. 1878–80

549

II.

New depths of truth within God's holy Word,
They saw from age to age would be revealed;
As men, to Revelation's light restored,
Pondered the Book by Priestcraft long concealed.
By this the Reformation of the Church they sought,
That pure and perfect it might rise again;
Built on the Corner Stone, that brings to naught
The creeds and systems formed by erring men:
The right to search the Scriptures they maintained,
Each for himself, unbiassed and alone;
Such was the right, which Christ himself proclaimed,
Who would to every soul his truth make known;
That each from human bondage might be free,
And all in one great family agree.

Poem No. 352; c. 1878–80

III.

Not bound by slavish bondage to the Past,
They a new form of Government unfold;
Which shall the mighty monarchies outlast,
Founded by kings and conquerors of old;
For this was founded on the Rights of man,
And all alike might in its freedom share;
No worldly scheme, no narrow, selfish plan
Did they for this vast continent prepare.
Self government their high and noble aim,
Events their teacher, Providence their guide,
Their Polity a gradual growth became;
Oft was the State by error, conflict tried;
Yet still advancing towards the perfect goal,
The highest good and welfare of the whole.

Poem No. 361; c. 1878–80

550

Appeal

Ye who behold the State in grandeur rise,
By Industry and Virtue still sustained;
Learn, from the page of History, to be wise!
By the same arts it rose a state's maintained.
Remember too your fathers' early toil,
When first adventuring to this distant shore;
How slowly they subdued the stubborn soil,
And every want and every suffering bore,
For Conscience' sake, that doth uphold the just;
From their example learn ye to endure,
And in your fathers' God, still place your trust;
So shall you find his word of promise sure,
And, when you hear of Massachusetts' name,
Blush with an honest pride to own her fame.

Poem No. 857; c. 1878–80

Influence of Puritanism

See, gentle as the light, their Influence spread
From state to state, from east to western shore;
Till, like the night, the shadows all are fled,
And Ignorance shall cloud our land no more.
The Indian tribes, far wandering shall behold
The beams of knowledge on their pathway shine;
And of the Gospel's sacred truths be told,
And own their power and influence all divine.
The African, with new awakened mind,
Rejoice in Freedom's full and perfect day;
And blessings, in the coming ages, find,
Far more than shall for all his wrongs repay;
And universal as the race of man,
Shall be the name and praise of Puritan.

Poem No. 413; c. 1878–80

551

The Bible

That Church they founded on the Word of God,
Thy Word is Truth, their single, only creed;
Obeying this they feared not princes' nod,
And this from prelates' iron yoke had freed.
As the One Spirit did its words reveal,
They strove its holy precepts to obey;
From this in Church and State was no appeal,
For none God's just commandments could gainsay.
Within the family, and in the school,
That Word was morn and eve devoutly read;
Ye, their descendants still observe the rule,
Not by the letter, but the Spirit led;
So shall our social fabric stand secure,
Long as the sun, and moon, and stars endure!

Poem No. 456; c. 1878–80

The Common School

The School-house next they build, a structure small,
Near to the Meeting House, upon the green;
A noble structure built, like that, for all,
Noble, though in appearance rough, and mean;
But judge not by the sight, the purpose scan;
An angel guest oft comes in lowly guise;
And, on some narrow scale, the mightiest plan
Works unperceived, at first, by human eyes:
Here all the young were taught to read and write,
The rich, and poor the same great boon enjoyed;
So long withheld in Superstition's night,
Who would the mind's fair Temple have destroyed;
And those, who sought to instruct, and bless mankind,
Within her dungeons' rayless depths confined.

Poem No. 555; c. 1878–80

552

A Christian Commonwealth

Seeking a Christian Commonwealth to found,
Our fathers deep its true foundations laid
In pure Religion and in Learning sound,
By wise instructors to the young conveyed;
They sought no harvest, where they had not sown
Broad cast the seeds of Christian knowledge pure,
They knew that by its fruit the tree is known,
By Virtue only can a State endure.
In vain did they unto the red men preach
The truths, revealed by God mankind to save;
In vain the arts of life they sought to teach,
And Learning's lore upon their minds engrave;
Heedless of knowledge, they must soon decay,
Before a wiser race they melt away!

Poem No. 416; c. 1878–80

Discontent

Sigh not for richer lands, nor milder skies,
Ye whom these hills and ocean's prospect bound;
Within the mind itself man's fortune lies,
And where men are, are power and riches found.
Sigh not for California's golden strand,
Nor covet the broad prairies' richer soil;
By steady industry on sea and land,
Your frugal wants supply by honest toil;
And richer harvests in the virtues reap
Of those, who made these rocky shores their home,
And here on sunny hill-sides saintly sleep;
Than they, who to earth's farthest borders roam;
For these have left to earth, and sea, and sky,
A beauty of the soul that cannot die!

Poem No. 421; c. 1878–80

553

Conclusion

Descendants of the Puritans! whose fame
Shall brighter grow with every coming age,
See that ye tarnish not their honest name,
But add new lustre to the historic page;
Yours are the Church and State for which they fled
Their father land, and sought this distant shore;
For which in after times they fought and bled,
And every want and every suffering bore;
In their free spirit still your rights maintain
'Gainst every secret, every open foe;
The laws of God above all laws sustain,
And in your minds and hearts His precepts know;
Till earth, restored from error and from sin,
Her great Millennial Day of Love and Peace begin!

Poem No. 99; c. 1878—80

The Old Organ

Of The East Society Salem

Burdened with precious memories of the past,
How oft again thy mighty voice I hear;
Now rising, like the solemn swelling blast,
Now falling sweet and plaintive on the ear!
Expressing all the heart unuttered feels,
Its longing for another, higher life;
The grief and sorrow that no word reveals,
The outward conflict, and the inward strife.
And as the organist, with ready skill,
Touches the keys; again the School I see
Gathered around, and all the choir they fill;
Still lingers in my heart the melody
Of youthful voices, joined in concert sweet,
Within the choir, where we were wont to meet.

Poem No. 82; date unknown

554

On Some Beautiful Crocuses

In Front of the House of B. H. Silsbee, Esq.

Fair flowers! that open to the April sun
Your beauteous petals, purple, white, and gold,—
We joy with you that winter's race is run,
And gone its months of barrenness and cold.
There breathes around us now a softer air;
In frequent showers descends the quickening rain,
That doth the frozen earth for man prepare,
That he may sow for food the fruitful grain.
Not vain your beauty, though no outward good
You minister to man, and quickly die;
You fill his soul with hope, with heavenly food,
And higher wants than those of earth supply,
Long may you bloom, with each returning year,
The passer-by with pleasant looks to cheer!

Poem No. 109; date unknown

The Return of the Savior

Lo Christ returns! But where is love,
The love he showed for men;
Does he behold it, here on earth,
Returned to earth again?

Lo Christ returns! But where the faith,
Which here on earth he sought;
The faith which overcomes the world,
And mighty works has wrought?

And where is hope, which cheers the soul,
The Spirit's fruit and joy;
Which doth like faith, and hope abide,
And naught can ere destroy?

555

Ah, where are these? we see them not;
But, Lord, we still believe;
Increase our faith, increase our love,
That we may thee receive.

Poem No. 318; date unknown

The Kingdom of the Truth

Not of one sect thy kingdom is,
O Savior, Guide of man;
'Tis his whoever loves the truth;
E'en since the world began.

A kingdom 'tis of Righteousness,
Of Purity, and Love;
Which all on earth, who seek, may find;
As in the heavens above.

Whoever does confess thy name,
Whoever hears thy voice;
Shall in that kingdom have a part,
And in its light rejoice.

It shall destroy the works of sin,
Which in the world abound;
The lofty towers of error, pride,
Shall level with the ground.

Great is the truth, omnipotent;
It cannot faint, nor fail;
O'er all the earth, in every land
It shall at last prevail.

May each a faithful witness bear,
Truth's kingdom enter in;
And, while on the earth we dwell,
Its heavenly life begin.

Poem No. 365; date unknown

556

Sunset after a Clouded Day in April

O'er all the city comes a glow
From the red setting sun;
Clouded since morn, it doth bestow
A smile when day is done.

Its dwellings and their chimneys blaze
With the red crimson light;
The lofty steeples catch the rays,
And draw the admiring sight.

The leafless elms a glory wear;
Their buds of golden brown,
Touched by the parting sunbeams fair,
Become a beauteous crown.

The busy streets the radiance fills,
We walk on heavenly ground;
The sudden glow lights up the hills,
And all the prospect round.

Too bright, too beautiful to last,
This light o'er Nature spread;
A few short moments, and 'tis past!
The golden gleam has fled!

Poem No. 379; date unknown

Hymn

Prayer for the Gift of the Holy Spirit

Oh, heavenly gift of Love Divine,
The Spirit's grace and power;
Come, in our hearts abide, and shine;
How long delayed thine hour!

“Ask and receive,” the Savior said,
“And seek, and ye shall find;”
For we are weak without thine aid,
Without thy light are blind.

557

Our heavenly Father loves us all;
More ready He to give,
Than we upon his name to call,
To turn to Him and live.

Lord, for thy coming us prepare,
As Spring's soft showers the earth;
That we may, in the harvest, share,
The soul's new life, and birth.

Oh, make us worthy of thy love,
May we thy words believe;
Thy faithfulness now these shall prove
And thy best gift receive.

Poem No. 382; date unknown

Hymn

Our voices with our hearts we lift
To thee, O God, in grateful praise;
For every good, and perfect gift
A song of gratitude we raise.

Thine is the seed in Spring we sow,
And thine the harvests that we see;
Sunshine, and rain Thou dost bestow,
And strength to labor comes from Thee.

Thine is the fragrance of the flowers,
And beauty, that delights the eye;
And thine the hues of Autumn's bowers,
Which in transfigured glory die.

O God, with all thy gifts still give
The grateful, and the trusting heart;
So shall our souls have learned to live,
When called from earthly scenes to part.

Poem No. 394; date unknown

558

Hymn

The Forms of Nature, and the Unity of their Origin

Seek not, in outward things,
The origin and birth
Of animal, and plant, and seed,
In air, or sea, or earth;
In vain their history we trace
Through ages vast, through time and space.

From One Eternal Mind
Have come the forms we see;
Those countless forms, whose difference make
Nature's variety;
Each stamped with impress of its kind,
And each to its own sphere confined.

No atom but obeys
The One Creative Will;
Whose Word, beneficent and good,
The universe doth fill;
Without which naught was made, or born,
Which was before Creation's morn.

Globule and secret cell
A history contain;
Which Science, with its marvellous powers,
Still seeks to read in vain;
To the All Perfect Mind alone
Their origin, and types are known.

In Nature's primal plan
Prophetic types we see;
Which lead us onward up to Man,
Their end, and destiny;
A unity of mind and thought
Through every form and being wrought.

But, in her labyrinth lost,
Too oft we miss the clue;
Which, midst her ever varying forms,
Runs through the old, and new;

559

And in phenomena we rest,
As of the truth itself possest.

Rest not, O Soul, till thou
That clue, that thread shall find;
Without whose constant, guiding help,
We wander dark and blind;
In endless mazes led astray,
Missing the strait and narrow way.

For this still upward leads;
Steep is the mount of Thought;
Which we, aspiring still, must climb,
Till to the summit brought;
Where, with clear vision, we discern
Nature's vast realm, her mysteries learn.

Poem No. 414; date unknown

Friendship

To J. M. S.

Sweet as it is for seamen, who have sailed
Long weeks with naught but sea and sky in view;
When they some friendly barque at length have hailed,
And the same course with her awhile pursue.
With gently-wafting wind they onward glide,
In pleasant converse pass the favored hour;
They part; but on the lonely ocean wide,
Midst other scenes, how oft they feel its power!
So sweet it is upon the voyage of life,
Midst heartless intercourse to meet a friend;
And for a time forget its cares and strife,
While mind with mind and soul with soul doth blend!
Would thus my friend that we might often meet
To enjoy the hours, alas, how few and fleet!

Poem No. 449; date unknown

560

Hymn

The Good Fight

The battle is within,
And not on outward plain;
'Tis there the conflicts first begin
And longest shall remain.

Our word, our thought, our deed,
That battle still makes known;
We are not from the conflict freed,
Till sin be overthrown.

The world doth claim the soul,
As well as outward things;
It seeks the spirit to controul,
Its hidden, vital springs.

The motive thou must scan,
Which doth thy spirit move;
For 'tis the motive makes the man,
And doth his virtue prove.

Thou needst a heavenly power,
A mightier strength than thine,
To guard thee in temptation's hour;
O, seek for strength divine.

Not with an outward foe
Must thou the battle wage,
A mightier contest thou must know,
Than warriors' martial rage.

Watch, pray, that thou mayst be
A victor in the strife;
And God from sin shall set thee free,
And give eternal life.

Poem No. 462; date unknown

561

The Day calling us to a New Life

The day goes on, but we are left behind,
Bright with its robes it travels o'er the earth,
Seeking its sons, in every land, to find,
And tells earth's children of a heavenly birth.
From early dawn to eve it travels on,
But few its beauty see, or hear its voice;
When, in the west, its glorious form is gone,
How few are they, who in its light rejoice!
'Tis but the natural day, that we perceive,
Its spiritual beauty's hidden from our sight;
The gifts of sense full gladly we receive
But fail in higher gifts to find delight;
We live but as the children of the earth,
When the day calls us to a nobler birth.

Poem No. 484; date unknown

To the Misses Williams,

On seeing their beautiful Paintings of Wild Flowers

The flowers of Spring had faded from my sight,
The summer flowers had come, and quickly gone;
Autumn was here; of Flora's children bright
Asters and goldenrods were left alone.
But, in thy pleasant room, their beauteous hues
And forms we saw restored by hand of Art,
That Nature's vanished scenes again renews,
To charm the mind, and cheer the saddened heart.
There violets and houstonia sweet,
Bloodroot and blue hepatica still bloom,
And blushing roses, from their wild retreat,
Make Spring and Summer inmates of thy room;
Why roam, O Artist, to a distant land,
With lovely scenes, and flowers so near at hand?

Poem No. 499; date unknown

562

Jacob wrestling with the Angel

The Patriarch wrestled with the angel long,
For though of mortal race, yet he was strong;
Nor would release him at the break of day,
That he might take his upward, heavenly way.
Bless me, he cried, ere I shall let thee go,
Thou art an angel, and no mortal foe;
Who, through the night's dark hours, couldst thus maintain
With me a contest on the starry plain.
What is thy name? the angel asked again,
For thou hast power alike with God, and men.
Jacob, he said. The angel blessed him there,
Henceforth the name of Israel thou shalt bear;
Thou hast prevailed, thou art a Prince indeed,
A blessing rest on thee, and on thy seed.
Deem not that to those ancient times belong
The wonders told in history, and in song;
Men may with angels now, as then, prevail;
Too oft, alas! they in the contest fail.
Their blessed help is not from man withdrawn,
Contend thou with the angel till the dawn;
A blessing he to earth for thee doth bring,
Then back to heaven again his flight will wing.

Poem No. 538; date unknown

Rain Clouds

The promises they give, alas, to fail!
They bring not to our hills and fields relief;
To distant regions onward still they sail,
Leaving the hopeful husbandman to grief.

Perhaps less earnest for the gift he prays
Than others where the rain clouds hastening go
Thus to our coast the blessing God delays
Who freely doth on all his gifts bestow.

563

Perhaps more needed than with us the rain,
More dry and parched than ours some distant shore,
Without its aid man's labors prove in vain,
And he his blighted harvest sad deplore.

How little still of what we need we know,
How soon we yield to doubt, or dark despair,
How are our minds engrossed with things below,
How weak our faith in God, our trust in prayer!

To us, perhaps, upon its humid wings
Already doth the wind commissioned speed
To swell the rivers, fill the falling springs
Relieve distress provide for future need.

Poem No. 545; date unknown

The Soul in Dreams

The soul heeds not, though darkest night
Each object doth conceal;
In dreams it sees the noonday light,
Which all things doth reveal.

Nor doth it heed the Winter's snow,
That deep around it lies,
Nor wintry winds that piercing blow;
But in sweet dreams it flies

Where Summer clothes each vale and hill,
And plucks its fruits and flowers;
And wanders freely at its will
Amid its blooming bowers.

To gardens ever green and fair,
Where blooms the deathless rose,
Where deathless lilies scent the air,
It oft in slumber goes.

'Tis not to sense, nor Nature kin,
Nor grows it ever old;
Though dim the eye, and mind within,
It can its youth behold.

564

For 'tis of a celestial birth,
And casts around it here
A glory, that is not of earth,
But of its native sphere.

Poem No. 569; date unknown

Our Native Sparrows

The sparrows still are lingering here,
Though winter-time has come;
Within the swamp, or piny wood,
They find a sheltering home.

They flit along the turnpike's side,
As in the early Spring;
Though they no songs of pleasant cheer
May to the passer bring.

Nor are they left, when Autumn's past,
To perish in their need;
They still find every want supplied
With berries, grain and seed.

They need no care of man to feed,
Nor for them to provide
A shelter, in the wintry storm,
Where they may safe abide.

Our heavenly Father cares for them,
Who cares alike for all;
He made their shelter from the cold,
And hears their feeble call.

Poem No. 570; date unknown

565

Hymn

I Am The Way

The way! ah, who could tell, as well as thou,
The way to God, the way no man had found;
Wherein who walk shall never go astray,
Where joy, and peace forevermore abound?

The narrow way of suffering, pain, and death,
Thou didst pursue enduring mortal ill;
That thou might'st teach mankind the way of life,
Obedient to thy Heavenly Father's will.

Thus plainly didst thou show that way to men,
Thou wast the way, the way and thou were one;
And, when thy course was finished, thou didst say,
The work thou gavest me, O God, is done.

Then to the Father, thou didst upward soar,
To strengthen fainting souls with gift divine;
The Spirit thou didst send to guide, and help,
And make thy feeble followers wholly thine.

Ah, why should men that perfect way neglect,
Or having found, still from it go astray?
Is there another path than this more plain,
Is there another guide than Christ, the Way?

To whom, O Savior, may his followers say,
To whom, but thee, for guidance shall we go,
Thou art the Christ, the anointed Son of God,
And dost to all the Heavenly Father show.

Poem No. 590; date unknown

Early Companions

They are not dead, but gone before!
Their love doth still remain;
Another life will them restore,
Unite the broken chain.

566

They loved the things, which here we love,
Their hearts were kind and true;
And in the glorious world above,
Their friendship shall renew.

But here we wander sad and lone,
As in a foreign clime;
Till we again shall meet our own,
Beyond the shore of time.

They wait us in that happy land,
As we are waiting here;
With warm embrace with clasping hand,
For each they love so dear.

There death no more can friends divide,
Nor sorrow grieve the heart;
Beyond time's bounds, death's narrow tide,
They meet no more to part.

Poem No. 636; date unknown

The Gift

Thou gav'st me many a fragrant flower,
But I have given them all away;
To restore thy gifts I have no power,
And when Thou ask'st;—what shall I say?

I'll say Thou taught'st me too to give,
And I but did what Thou hast done;
By doing what Thou do'st I live;—
And then Thou'lt call me, Lord, thy son.

'Twas Thou who gav'st them all their bloom,
Each colored leaf its differing hue;
And could I selfishly presume
What Thou hast made for all to view?

Their sweet perfume they caught from Thee,
That scented hill and lonely vale;
And could there dwell aught good in me,
And not for others too avail?

567

'Tis not thy gift; but that thy love
Is infinite in great & small
For even the humblest flower can prove
And show Thee Father all in all.

Poem No. 675; date unknown

The Soul's Opportunities

To every soul, howe'er obscure its birth,
A boundless heritage is freely given;
The wealth, and beauty of the spacious earth,
And the bright glories of the starry heaven.
This goodly world, and all which it doth hold
Were for man's use, and pleasure too designed;
A school, in which he might his powers unfold,
His various faculties of heart and mind.
From such a school shall man go forth in vain,
Squandered in foolish play its precious hours?
Or from its lessons higher wisdom gain,
And nobler use of his immortal powers;
Till for an endless state he shall prepare,
And in an angel's bliss, and knowledge share.

Poem No. 736; date unknown

The Book of Life

My hands have long been busy cutting from each
Day's paper the short tale or verse, that told
To many that around me dwell the shade of grief,
Or note of joy; as to my opening eye
They flitted half-seen by. These pasted in
The blank pages of my unfilled book stand as
Life's true memorial. There every word
The heart unconscious uttered, finding wings,
Has flown to sing of its sweet birth. As birds
From out some thicket scaped to tell to the open

568

Fields and travelled ways the secrets of their
Bower. There live! the record of the Past!
To tell of him who from his labors ceased
Enjoys the goodman's rest forevermore.

Poem No. 338; date unknown

For the Sailors' Fair

Like gallant barque, with canvas spread,
And streamers fluttering in the wind;
The youthful sailor leaves his home,
And all he loves on earth behind.

His Country calls;—he hears her voice,
And boldly o'er the ocean sails;
He cares not for its fiercest storms,
Nor for an armed foe he fears.

Nor, when, in port, disease has laid
Its hand upon his manly frame,
And far from home and friends he dies,
Is he forgetful of her fame.

His Country's flag, his chief delight,
As bright it waved above his head;
Is folded round his lifeless form,
In honor of the noble dead!

And shall the living back return
Aged and sick, infirm and poor;
Without a shelter, or a home,
Begging their bread from door to door?

No! Let them, conflicts wanderings o'er,
In their last years find peace and rest;
The comforts which the body needs
The hopes with which the soul is blest.

569

Here Christian Love's kind voice and hand
Shall for their wants a Home prepare,
And bid each friendless seaman come,
And freely all her blessings share.

Poem No. 316; date unknown

Parting Hymn

[_]

Air—“Auld Lang Syne.”

I.

Now, parting from the festive board,
A grateful hymn we raise;
For all our favored fields afford,
To God be all the praise.
'Tis He who gives each cloudless sun,
'Tis He who sends the rain;
He blesses, when man's work is done,
The fields of ripening grain.

II.

'Tis He who gives us home and friends,
All that we here receive;
And gifts of Grace from Heaven He sends,
By which our souls may live.
Then, parting from the festive board,
A grateful hymn we raise;
For all the joys our lives afford,
To God be all the praise.

Poem No. 372; date unknown

570

The Peace Congress the Promise of a Higher Civilization

Thanks for the omen, that War's rule is spent,
And Europe from a barbarous custom free!
Too long her statesmen have their influence lent,
And to the idol bowed a willing knee;
A thousand voices heralded its fame,
And History adorned each bloody strife;
The nations gloried in their deeds of shame,
And not in saving, but destroying life.
In peaceful arbitration we behold
The dawn of a new era for the race,
That milder day, by prophets long foretold,
When Reason's sway shall violence displace,
Nations in peaceful arts alone contend,
And War's dread conflicts shall forever end.

Poem No. 455; date unknown

Hymn to the Living

The voiceless spirits, they who have given up
The being that God gave; till hand, foot, and voice,
Apart from him whom once they honored,
Find their tasks without forethought or wish,
These ever give thee back unto thyself,
When wandering thou wouldst stray, a new-born man.
I sing of them, for they have fallen asleep;
And no voice comes back, nor motion shows them
Living amid the dead, yet living still.
Where are they? in your midst; the forms that night
Radiant with fires discloses o'er your head,
And day walks forth with, when bright-girt he comes;
And thou but findst a lamp for thine own task,
A moon and stars that still may light thee on
Till finished the short race thy day begun.
Motionless yet moving roll on their orbs,
Measuring in shining planes thy little life
Of days, and months, and years unnoticed save

571

For them.
Hail Forms, the eye sees not; and Tones, that speak
But in the silent hymn of nature's praise!
Hail ye, who touch no lyre, but that low harp
That man can never hear till woke in God!
Come forth, ye whom the tombs have held so long!
Though but the shadows of your greatness fall
Upon the sight, and echoes reach the ear;
'Twill strengthen us to rise, who now are dead,
And follow on, where you have led the way.
Long have we sought you, and in distant worlds;
When ye were here amongst us; on your lives
We live, yet ask we who you are, as men
Forgotten. With the bud and leaf comes forth
Daily the record of your excellence,
In words that will not die upon our ear,
Ye hidden all; as is the current sap,
That weaves Spring's robe, or light that gives it hue.
In you as her we lose our little selves,
Forgetting in your bounties they who give.
Great Teachers! born to be with God, and teach
The letters of His wisdom; may we all
Count costless till with you we live as brothers;
Of the same Father, born to hear His word.
Come! we will sit as children at your feet,
And throw away the pride, that made us call
They who were sent from Him, the Good, our equals.
Pour, pour the rain from out your burial urns,
Scatter the sun-beams on our wasted fields,
Till blossoms, flowers, and fruit scent hill and plain;
Yet will we shut our eyes on all, to see
The Giver, and who teach to give like Him.
Ye stand not on the numbered page of Time;
But have withdrawn yourselves beyond the praise,
The short-lived praise of men, to hear of God.
The day on which you speak is called his own;
The hour on which He calls us children bids
Wait on you to learn our Father's acts;
Whom first He honored with the name of sons.
The world that is has vanished from your sight;
Its journeys with your last-day's march complete:
Teach us to walk the road that you have been,

572

Made plain at every step by what you were;
Invisible; still be to us as seen;
Fresh breathing on us with each gale that blows,
Our way still lighting with each sun that shines.
Ye Unseen Messengers! Apostles sent
By Christ, moving and finding voice in words!
Forms! that visit human hearts as dwellings;
Be near us ever, ever be our guests!
The night is dying out; and ye begin
To walk among us, Gigantic Shadows
Flung before the rising sun; in early
Morning's pale light seen, noticing the Day.
And Thou, who givest all, whose children these;
Ever Invisible! The Day in which all see!
Amid thy gifts may we walk fearfully;
Lest, lost in their profession, we find them
Instead of Thee. Straying amid thy works
We know Thee not; best seen in these thy sons;
In whom Thine Image shines to light our way.

Poem No. 589; date unknown

University of Virginia Library

SONNETS ON RECONSTRUCTION

I. A Nation's Life Of Slow Growth

II. The Ends For Which A Nation Exists

III. Political Ambition

IV. National Unity

Reflections on the History of Nations

Scepticism With Regard To The Gospels

The Tide

The Spiritual Birth

The Youth and the Stream

The Youth.

The Daily News

On A Hyacinth From Georgia

Things Unseen

The Oak And The Poplar

The Yellow Violets

The City of God

The Scholar Dreaming

Hymn

Sung at the Dedication of the Peabody Academy of Science, Salem, Aug. 18, 1869.

Spiritual Darkness

Friendship

The Sparrows And The Crop of Weeds

Ye have hoarded up treasure in the last days.—James 5:3.

Hymn

The Spiritual Body

Hymn

The Efficacy of a Mother's Prayer

The Fireflies

Be Not Many Teachers

Military surprises and the capture of capitals, are the events of a by-gone age. D'Israeli.

The Bible Does Not Sanction Polygamy

I.

II.

Bitter-Sweet Rocks

Humanity Mourning For Her Children Slain In War

The Poor Clergyman

The Teaching Of History Confirmed

Childhood's Songs

Hymn,

Sung at the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Essex Historical Society, Salem. April 21, 1871.

The Lessons of History Unlearned

The Fulness of The Gentiles

To a Cloud

The Child's Dream of Reaching the Horizon

Lead Me To The Rock That Is Higher Than I

Forevermore

Man's First Experience of Winter

Interpreting God's Ways

I Prayed, Thy Kingdom Come

Justification By Faith

The First of May

On the Great Divisions of the Christian Church, The Catholic, the Protestant, and the Greek

The Nine O'Clock Bell

“Are there Few that be Saved?”

Luke 13:23.

On Seeing the White Mountains from Cook's Hill, in West Peabody

Signs in the Natural World

A Walk in Harmony Grove

The Prayer of Jabez

The Life of the Flower

The Old Danvers Burying-Ground

Hymn

Norman's Rocks

On visiting the beautiful estate of H. H. Hunnewell, Esq., at Wellesley.

The Revelation of The Spirit Through The Material World

And a little child shall lead them. Isaiah XI. 6.

The Blessing of Rain

On the Mountain Ash Tree

In front of the house of the late Capt. Robert W. Gould

October

The Mound Builders.

On Reading the work of the late J. W. Foster

Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.

There shall be one Flock, one Shepherd

Old Houses of Salem

Illustrated by George M. White

Columbines and Anemones

The Hepatica in Winter

I.
A Nation's Life Of Slow Growth

II.
The Ends For Which A Nation Exists

III.
Political Ambition

IV.
National Unity