 | Shamrocks |  |
138
IN A GARDEN.
I know a garden, lone and grey,
Winds are wandering there all day;
Sweet hands laid there long ago
Seeds of all the flowers that blow.
Winds are wandering there all day;
Sweet hands laid there long ago
Seeds of all the flowers that blow.
Sweet hands fenced it round with care,
Planned and shaped each bright parterre,
Made it fruitful, made it good,
Yea, with dew of red heart's blood!
Planned and shaped each bright parterre,
Made it fruitful, made it good,
Yea, with dew of red heart's blood!
Rained the rains, and laughed the sun,
Still the patient hands toiled on:
Grew the garden all one plot
Roses and forget-me-not.
Still the patient hands toiled on:
Grew the garden all one plot
Roses and forget-me-not.
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There, like angels carved in stone,
Silver-winged, the lilies shone;
Heart-strings fashioned as a lute
With the music standing mute.
Silver-winged, the lilies shone;
Heart-strings fashioned as a lute
With the music standing mute.
Pansies, dusk and velvety,
And all other flowers that be,
Raised their innocent eyes and smiled,
All within my garden wild.
And all other flowers that be,
Raised their innocent eyes and smiled,
All within my garden wild.
In the midst, the water clear
Of a little happy mere
Laughed to heaven in baby glee;
Sang one brown bird goldenly.
Of a little happy mere
Laughed to heaven in baby glee;
Sang one brown bird goldenly.
Oh, but all the place was fair!
Sweetest eyes that ever were
Gazed across the bowers and through,
Saw no other thing to do.
Sweetest eyes that ever were
Gazed across the bowers and through,
Saw no other thing to do.
Then the Master to His side
Called one: “Wilt thou here abide?
With My agony and sweat,
Toiling in the noon-day heat,
Called one: “Wilt thou here abide?
With My agony and sweat,
Toiling in the noon-day heat,
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“I have made it fair for thee:
Keep it fair for thee and Me.
Wends my pathway far away;
I will come another day.”
Keep it fair for thee and Me.
Wends my pathway far away;
I will come another day.”
As He turned, and set His face
From the innocent garden ways,
Sang my bird in leafage dim
Lustily in praise of Him.
From the innocent garden ways,
Sang my bird in leafage dim
Lustily in praise of Him.
Grew the time from green to gold,
Summer's treasures manifold
Lay upon the lap of June—
Overflowed her full hands soon.
Summer's treasures manifold
Lay upon the lap of June—
Overflowed her full hands soon.
In a starlight, strange and sweet,
Who comes by with bleeding feet?
On His weary golden head
Dank and cold the dews are shed.
Who comes by with bleeding feet?
On His weary golden head
Dank and cold the dews are shed.
“I am wounded sore,” He saith,
And a sob is in His breath;
“I have borne a grievous load,
Travelled on a thorny road.
And a sob is in His breath;
“I have borne a grievous load,
Travelled on a thorny road.
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“I am weary nigh to death,
And Mine own are cold,” He saith;
“In yon hamlet by the shore
I have knocked at many a door.
And Mine own are cold,” He saith;
“In yon hamlet by the shore
I have knocked at many a door.
“I have called all night,” He saith,
“But the village slumbereth;
Lights are out and all asleep—
None My weary watch to keep;
“But the village slumbereth;
Lights are out and all asleep—
None My weary watch to keep;
“Dark it is, and night-dews fall.
But I know a banquet-hall,
Steeped in warm and radiant air
In a palace past compare.
But I know a banquet-hall,
Steeped in warm and radiant air
In a palace past compare.
“I will seek that fair abode,
Rest Me from My weary load;
Nay,” He saith, “but here should be
Garden bowers that bloom for Me.
Rest Me from My weary load;
Nay,” He saith, “but here should be
Garden bowers that bloom for Me.
“Here a bird in olden time,
Sang from Matin song to Prime,
And his pipe was clearer far
Than the lutes and viols are.
Sang from Matin song to Prime,
And his pipe was clearer far
Than the lutes and viols are.
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“Lilies angel-fair of face
Stood about a peaceful place,
With their moon-pale wings and sweet,
Folding them from head to feet.
Stood about a peaceful place,
With their moon-pale wings and sweet,
Folding them from head to feet.
“While they dreamed of Me,” He saith,
“Roses praised Me with their breath;
Laughed a small mere goldenly
With a tender joy for me.
“Roses praised Me with their breath;
Laughed a small mere goldenly
With a tender joy for me.
“I will rest Me here,” He saith,
“Ere I cross yon lonely heath;
Sweet 'twill be an hour to go
Through the bowers that love Me so.”
“Ere I cross yon lonely heath;
Sweet 'twill be an hour to go
Through the bowers that love Me so.”
So He gladly turns aside;
Yonder swings the wicket wide,
Enters in—oh, sad surprise!
Wreck and ruin meet His eyes.
Yonder swings the wicket wide,
Enters in—oh, sad surprise!
Wreck and ruin meet His eyes.
Everywhere His swift gaze goes,
Broken lily, dying rose;
Thorns o'ercreep the dark earth's face,
In this strange unwholesome place.
Broken lily, dying rose;
Thorns o'ercreep the dark earth's face,
In this strange unwholesome place.
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Strong the nettles, rank and tall,
Poppy flaunteth over all,
Deadly nightshade hath o'ergrown
Sweetest flowers were ever blown.
Poppy flaunteth over all,
Deadly nightshade hath o'ergrown
Sweetest flowers were ever blown.
Dead the bird, or singing is
In some brighter bower than this;
Goes the Master on and on,
With His fair face strange and wan.
In some brighter bower than this;
Goes the Master on and on,
With His fair face strange and wan.
With a tremor and a thrill
Cometh morn across the hill;
Rose-gold from her clear lamp shed
Falleth on the Master's head.
Cometh morn across the hill;
Rose-gold from her clear lamp shed
Falleth on the Master's head.
Streameth very still and clear
On the waters of the mere,
Grown a marish choked with weeds;
Tall and slender stand the reeds:
On the waters of the mere,
Grown a marish choked with weeds;
Tall and slender stand the reeds:
Tall and slender and forlorn,
Frail against the risen morn.
Lo! across the radiant mists,
Wind that bloweth where it lists,
Frail against the risen morn.
Lo! across the radiant mists,
Wind that bloweth where it lists,
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Taketh them with sudden breath,
O'er each reed-mouth murmureth,
With a mighty quivering,
Hark! the reeds begin to sing.
O'er each reed-mouth murmureth,
With a mighty quivering,
Hark! the reeds begin to sing.
With a sudden wailing cry,
With a grieving melody
Strangely plaintive, shrill, and clear,
In the golden atmosphere:
With a grieving melody
Strangely plaintive, shrill, and clear,
In the golden atmosphere:
Passionate, as though one should take
Some lost heart grown like to break;
Wild with woe, and loss, and love,
And should make a lute thereof;
Some lost heart grown like to break;
Wild with woe, and loss, and love,
And should make a lute thereof;
With his mind on music bent,
Should lean o'er his instrument,
Striking out some deathless strain,
From the straitened heart-strings' pain
Should lean o'er his instrument,
Striking out some deathless strain,
From the straitened heart-strings' pain
So the wind leans over these,
While his fingers touch the keys,
Striking clear wild notes and thin,
From the breaking hearts within.
While his fingers touch the keys,
Striking clear wild notes and thin,
From the breaking hearts within.
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One who standeth by the mere,
Bendeth very low to hear;
Flusheth the wan mere to flame,—
Hush! the sad reeds sob His name.
Bendeth very low to hear;
Flusheth the wan mere to flame,—
Hush! the sad reeds sob His name.
These had held some memory dim,
In their lonely hearts, of Him—
Some old echo it might be
Of the lost bird's melody.
In their lonely hearts, of Him—
Some old echo it might be
Of the lost bird's melody.
Wanes the music, ebbs and dies;
Grave and pitying are His eyes,
And His lips grown tenderer,
For that desolate music fair.
Grave and pitying are His eyes,
And His lips grown tenderer,
For that desolate music fair.
So He turns, and takes His way
Down the garden flushed with day;
Now, who lieth in the dust?
He who hath betrayed his trust.
Down the garden flushed with day;
Now, who lieth in the dust?
He who hath betrayed his trust.
Fevered sleep doth hold him bound,
With dead wreaths his brows are crowned,
Fumes of last night's revelries
Bring strange phantoms to his eyes.
With dead wreaths his brows are crowned,
Fumes of last night's revelries
Bring strange phantoms to his eyes.
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But he riseth hastily
With a sudden anguished cry,
Falleth at his Master's feet;
Shrinketh from His gaze so sweet—
With a sudden anguished cry,
Falleth at his Master's feet;
Shrinketh from His gaze so sweet—
Shrinketh from the pallid face;
Casts his arms in mute embrace
Round the blessed feet, that bleed
From the thorny road they tread;
Casts his arms in mute embrace
Round the blessed feet, that bleed
From the thorny road they tread;
Lays his shameful face to them,
Kisseth wild the garment's hem;
Sayeth nought, his lips are dumb,
For his shame no words will come:
Kisseth wild the garment's hem;
Sayeth nought, his lips are dumb,
For his shame no words will come:
Cowereth he in woe and dread.
Lo! a kind hand on his head;
Lo! a sad voice sayeth low,
“Look at Me, nor fear Me so.
Lo! a kind hand on his head;
Lo! a sad voice sayeth low,
“Look at Me, nor fear Me so.
“Here one thought of Me,” He saith,
“Hath remained 'mid sin and death:
Sing thy frail reeds silverly
Unforgetful songs for Me.
“Hath remained 'mid sin and death:
Sing thy frail reeds silverly
Unforgetful songs for Me.
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“Shall Mine enemy despoil
This, made fruitful by My toil,
Watered with My blood and sweat,
Working in the noontide heat?
This, made fruitful by My toil,
Watered with My blood and sweat,
Working in the noontide heat?
“Nay, indeed, it shall not be.
Come, dear heart! wilt strive with Me
Till thy garden desolate
Hath regained its old estate;
Come, dear heart! wilt strive with Me
Till thy garden desolate
Hath regained its old estate;
“Till the lone, death-stricken bowers
Flush with fruit and flame with flowers,
And a new bird wings its way
Here, in some fair future day,
Flush with fruit and flame with flowers,
And a new bird wings its way
Here, in some fair future day,
“Who shall learn with patient meed
From the wailing of each reed,
How to sing so goldenly,
That My heart shall gladdened be,
From the wailing of each reed,
How to sing so goldenly,
That My heart shall gladdened be,
“When, grown weary, sore distressed,
I shall come for welcome rest,
To the lovely bower apart,
Of Mine own beloved's heart?”
I shall come for welcome rest,
To the lovely bower apart,
Of Mine own beloved's heart?”
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