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The Human Inheritance

The New Hope, Motherhood. By William Sharp
Sharp, William,1855-1905
  
[epigraph]
  
[dedication]

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[section]
  
To E. A. S.
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THE HUMAN INHERITANCE.
  
[prologue]
 I. 
CYCLE I. CHILDHOOD'S INHERITANCE.
 II. 
CYCLE II. YOUTH'S INHERITANCE.
 III. 
CYCLE III. MANHOOD AND WOMANHOOD'S INHERITANCE.
 IV. 
CYCLE IV. OLD AGE'S INHERITANCE.
  
THE NEW HOPE.
  
MOTHERHOOD.
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TRANSCRIPTS FROM NATURE.
 I. 
I. SUNRISE ABOVE BROAD WHEAT-FIELDS.
 II. 
II. THE STONE-BREAKER.
 III. 
III. WILD-ROSES.
 IV. 
IV. LIGHT OF THE SETTING SUN ON MOUNTAIN-ASH BERRIES.
 V. 
V. PINE-WOODS.
 VI. 
VI. THE WINDMILL.
 VII. 
VII. SEA-WRACK.
 VIII. 
VIII. THE BLUE HERON.
 IX. 
IX. SHELLS ON THE SEA-SHORE.
 X. 
X. THE NIGHTINGALE.
 XI. 
XI. THE SWOLLEN RIVER.
 XII. 
XII. MOONLIGHT AT SEA.
 XIII. 
XIII. A DEAD CALM AND MIST.
 XIV. 
XIV. LABOURERS RETURNING HOME.
 XV. 
XV. A GREEN WAVE.
 XVI. 
XVI. MORNING GLORY.
 XVII. 
XVII. DAWN AMID SCOTCH FIRS.
 XVIII. 
XVIII. GROUND-LIGHTNING.
 XIX. 
XIX. THE EBBING TIDE.
 XX. 
XX. THE INCOMING TIDE.
 XXI. 
XXI. TWO OLD YEWS.
 XXII. 
XXII. PHOSPHORESCENT SEA. (I.)
 XXIII. 
XXIII. PHOSPHORESCENT SEA. (II.)
 XXIV. 
XXIV. PHOSPHORESCENT SEA. (III.)
 XXV. 
XXV. MOUNTAIN MISTS.
 XXVI. 
XXVI. MOONRISE.
 XXVII. 
XXVII. MOONRISE.
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII. MOONRISE.
 XXIX. 
XXIX.—PINES IN STORM.
 XXX. 
XXX.—THE LONELY LARCH.
  
THE TIDES OF VENICE.
  
A DIALOGUE.
  
DESOLATION.
  
CHRISTMAS-EVE.
  
LIFE.
  
SIGHT.
  
YOUNG LOVE.
  
DREAM LAND.
  
A GREETING
  
REVELATION.
  
POSSIBILITIES.
  
PAIN.
  
BEN-A-CHAOLAIS
  
SPRING-WIND.
  
TO THE SPIRIT CALLED LAUDANUM.
  
LINES.
  
THE REDEEMER.
  
LAST WORDS.

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164

CHRISTMAS-EVE.

One eve, when the cold snow lay white
Along the silent street,
A little child, all clothed in light
And with a smile most sweet,
Did enter my dim lonely room
As chimed the midnight bell:—
“I am thy Life, thy Death, thy Doom,
For thee I entered Hell!”
“O little child,” I said, “art thou
Some messenger divine?”
He pointed to his tender brow
Round which soft light did shine,
And there I saw a shadowy crown,
Of plaited thorns 'twas wrought,
And from each thorn there trickled down
A liquid crimson spot.
165

And while I looked he faded slow
And vanish'd from my sight:
Only the gusty wind did blow
The wild snow through the night.
And when in after-dreams I lay
I heard the white hosts cry
“Hosanna! on this day
The Christ comes from on high!”
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