 | Ballads and Other Poems |  |
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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
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THE SPIRIT OF POETRY.
Men build to thee no shrine,
Yet every holy place is filled with thee;
Dim groves and mountain-tops alike are thine,
Spirit of Poetry!
Island and ocean-peak;
Seas where the keel of ships shall never go;
Cots, palaces, and graves; whate'er can speak
Of human love or woe;
Yet every holy place is filled with thee;
Dim groves and mountain-tops alike are thine,
Spirit of Poetry!
Island and ocean-peak;
Seas where the keel of ships shall never go;
Cots, palaces, and graves; whate'er can speak
Of human love or woe;
All are the shrines where thou
Broodest with power, not visible, yet strong;
Like odour from the rose, we know not how
Borne to the sense along.
Oh! spirit, which art pure,
Mighty and holy, and of God art sprung;
Which teachest to aspire and to endure,
As ne'er taught human tongue;
Broodest with power, not visible, yet strong;
Like odour from the rose, we know not how
Borne to the sense along.
Oh! spirit, which art pure,
Mighty and holy, and of God art sprung;
Which teachest to aspire and to endure,
As ne'er taught human tongue;
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What art thou? A glad spirit,
Sent down, like Hope, when Eden was no more,
From the high heavenly place thou didst inherit,
An Eden to restore;
Sent down to teach as never
Taught worldly wisdom; to make known the right;
And the strong armour of sublime endeavour
To gird on for the fight.
Sent down, like Hope, when Eden was no more,
From the high heavenly place thou didst inherit,
An Eden to restore;
Sent down to teach as never
Taught worldly wisdom; to make known the right;
And the strong armour of sublime endeavour
To gird on for the fight.
I see whom thou hast called;
The mighty men, the chosen of the earth,
Strong minds invincible, and disenthralled,
Made freemen at their birth.
I see, on spirit-wings,
How thou hast set them high, each like a star,
More royal than the loftiest names of kings,
Mightier than conquerors are;
The mighty men, the chosen of the earth,
Strong minds invincible, and disenthralled,
Made freemen at their birth.
I see, on spirit-wings,
How thou hast set them high, each like a star,
More royal than the loftiest names of kings,
Mightier than conquerors are;
How hast thou cast a glory
Over the dust of him, sublimely wise,
The blind old man, with his immortal story
Of a lost Paradise;
How thou, by mountain-streams,
Met'st the poor peasant, and from passion's leaven
Refined his soul, wooing with holy themes
In Mary's voice from heaven.
Over the dust of him, sublimely wise,
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Of a lost Paradise;
How thou, by mountain-streams,
Met'st the poor peasant, and from passion's leaven
Refined his soul, wooing with holy themes
In Mary's voice from heaven.
'Twas thou didst give the key
Of human hearts to Goethe, to unlock
Their sealed-up depths, like that old mystery
Of the wand-stricken rock.
All these I see, and more;
All crowned with glory, loftier than their race;
And, trembling, I shrink back, abashed and poor,
Unworthy of thy grace.
Of human hearts to Goethe, to unlock
Their sealed-up depths, like that old mystery
Of the wand-stricken rock.
All these I see, and more;
All crowned with glory, loftier than their race;
And, trembling, I shrink back, abashed and poor,
Unworthy of thy grace.
For that am I, that thou
Shouldst visit me in love, and give me might
To touch, like these, man's heart, his pride to bow;
Or, erring, lead him right?
Oh! dost thou visit me?
Is it thy spirit that I feel in all;
Thy light, yet brighter than the sun's, I see?
Is thine this spiritual call?
Shouldst visit me in love, and give me might
To touch, like these, man's heart, his pride to bow;
Or, erring, lead him right?
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Is it thy spirit that I feel in all;
Thy light, yet brighter than the sun's, I see?
Is thine this spiritual call?
It is! it is! Though weak
And poor my spirit, thou dost condescend
Thy beauty to unveil, and with me speak
As gentle friend with friend.
With thee I walk the ways
Of daily life; and, human tears and sighs
Interpreting, so learn to love my race,
And with them sympathise.
And poor my spirit, thou dost condescend
Thy beauty to unveil, and with me speak
As gentle friend with friend.
With thee I walk the ways
Of daily life; and, human tears and sighs
Interpreting, so learn to love my race,
And with them sympathise.
Hence is it that all tears
Which human sorrow sheds are dear to me;
That the soul struggling with its mortal fears
Moveth me mightily.
Hence is it that the hearts
Of little children and unpractised youth
So gladden me with their unworldly arts,
Their kindness and their truth.
Which human sorrow sheds are dear to me;
That the soul struggling with its mortal fears
Moveth me mightily.
Hence is it that the hearts
Of little children and unpractised youth
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Their kindness and their truth.
Hence is it that the eye
And sunken cheek of poverty so move,
Seen only by a glimpse in passing by,
My soul, to human love.
Spirit, I will not say
Thou dost not visit me; nor yet repine,
Less mighty though I be, less great than they
Whom thou hast made divine.
And sunken cheek of poverty so move,
Seen only by a glimpse in passing by,
My soul, to human love.
Spirit, I will not say
Thou dost not visit me; nor yet repine,
Less mighty though I be, less great than they
Whom thou hast made divine.
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THE DYING SISTER.
What matters it, though spring-time
Upon the earth is glowing!
What, though a thousand tender flowers
On the garden beds are blowing!
Upon the earth is glowing!
What, though a thousand tender flowers
On the garden beds are blowing!
What matters it, though pleasant birds
Among the leaves are singing;
And a myriad lives, each passing hour,
From mother-earth are springing!
Among the leaves are singing;
And a myriad lives, each passing hour,
From mother-earth are springing!
What matters it! For one bright flower
Is pale, before them lying;
And one dear life, one precious life,
Is numbered with the dying.
Is pale, before them lying;
And one dear life, one precious life,
Is numbered with the dying.
Oh! spring may come, and spring may go;
Flowers, sunshine, cannot cheer them:
This loving heart, this bright young life,
Will be no longer near them.
Flowers, sunshine, cannot cheer them:
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Will be no longer near them.
Two lights there were within the house,
Like angels round them moving;
Oh! must these two be parted now,
So lovely and so loving!
Like angels round them moving;
Oh! must these two be parted now,
So lovely and so loving!
No longer on the same soft couch
Their pleasant rest be taking!
No longer by each other's smiles
Be greeted at their waking!
Their pleasant rest be taking!
No longer by each other's smiles
Be greeted at their waking!
No longer, by each other's side,
Over one book be bending!
Take thy last look, thy last embrace,
That joy, that life, is ending.
Over one book be bending!
Take thy last look, thy last embrace,
That joy, that life, is ending.
Henceforth thou wilt be all alone;
What shalt thou do, poor weeper?
Oh, human love! oh, human woe!
Is there a pang yet deeper?
What shalt thou do, poor weeper?
Oh, human love! oh, human woe!
Is there a pang yet deeper?
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Ah! yes, the eyes perceive no more;
The last dear word is spoken;
The hand returns no pressure now;
Heart, heart, thou must be broken!
The last dear word is spoken;
The hand returns no pressure now;
Heart, heart, thou must be broken!
Can it live on without that love
For which its pulse beat ever?
Alas, that loving, trusting hearts
Must ache, and bleed, and sever!
For which its pulse beat ever?
Alas, that loving, trusting hearts
Must ache, and bleed, and sever!
Child, cease thy murmuring; God is by
To unseal that mortal prison.
Mother, look up; for, like our Lord,
Thy blessëd one is risen:
To unseal that mortal prison.
Mother, look up; for, like our Lord,
Thy blessëd one is risen:
Raise thy bowed head, poor bruisëd reed;
Hope comes to the believing.
Father, be strong, be strong in faith;
The dead, the dead is living!
Hope comes to the believing.
Father, be strong, be strong in faith;
The dead, the dead is living!
Even from outward things draw peace;
The long night-watch is ended:
The morning sun upriseth now
In new day-glory splendid.
The long night-watch is ended:
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In new day-glory splendid.
So, through the night of mortal life,
Your angel one hath striven:
The eternal suns shine not so bright
As the redeemed in heaven.
Your angel one hath striven:
The eternal suns shine not so bright
As the redeemed in heaven.
To join the spirits of the just
Your chosen hath departed:
Be comforted, be comforted,
Ye bruised and broken-hearted!
Your chosen hath departed:
Be comforted, be comforted,
Ye bruised and broken-hearted!
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BIRDS IN SUMMER.
I.
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,Flitting about in each leafy tree;
In the leafy trees, so broad and tall,
Like a green and beautiful palace-hall,
With its airy chambers, light and boon,
That open to sun, and stars, and moon;
That open unto the bright blue sky,
And the frolicksome winds as they wander by!
II.
They have left their nests on the forest-bough,Those homes of delight they need not now;
And the young and the old they wander out,
And traverse their green world round about:
And hark! at the top of this leafy hall,
How one to the other in love they call.
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“Where the topmost twigs in the breezes sway.
III.
“Come up, come up! for the world is fairWhere the merry leaves dance in the summer air.”
And the birds below give back the cry,
“We come, we come to the branches high.”
How pleasant the lives of the birds must be,
Living in love in a leafy tree!
And, away through the air, what joy to go;
And to look on the green, bright earth below!
IV.
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,Skimming about on the breezy sea,
Cresting the billows like silvery foam,
Then wheeling away to its cliff-built home!
What joy it must be to sail, upborne
By a strong, free wing, through the rosy morn;
To meet the young sun face to face,
And pierce like a shaft the boundless space;
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V.
To pass through the bowers of the silver cloud;To sing in the thunder-halls aloud;
To spread out the wings for a wild, free flight
With the upper cloud-winds,—oh, what delight!
Oh, what would I give, like a bird, to go,
Right on through the arch of the sun-lit bow,
And see how the water-drops are kissed
Into green and yellow and amethyst!
VI.
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,Wherever it listeth there to flee;
To go, when a joyful fancy calls,
Dashing adown 'mong the waterfalls;
Then to wheel about with their mates at play,
Above and below and among the spray,
Hither and thither, with screams as wild
As the laughing mirth of a rosy child!
VII.
What joy it must be, like a living breeze,To flutter about 'mid the flowering trees;
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The wastes of the blossoming purple heath,
And the yellow furze, like fields of gold,
That gladdened some fairy region old!
On mountain-tops, on the billowy sea,
On the leafy stems of the forest-tree,
How pleasant the life of a bird must be!
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LYRICS OF LIFE.
I. FATHER IS COMING.
The clock is on the stroke of six,
The father's work is done;
Sweep up the hearth, and mend the fire,
And put the kettle on.
The wild night-wind is blowing cold,
'Tis dreary crossing o'er the wold.
The father's work is done;
Sweep up the hearth, and mend the fire,
And put the kettle on.
The wild night-wind is blowing cold,
'Tis dreary crossing o'er the wold.
He is crossing o'er the wold apace,
He is stronger than the storm;
He does not feel the cold, not he,
His heart it is so warm.
For father's heart is stout and true
As ever human bosom knew.
He is stronger than the storm;
He does not feel the cold, not he,
His heart it is so warm.
For father's heart is stout and true
As ever human bosom knew.
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He makes all toil, all hardship light:
Would all men were the same!
So ready to be pleased, so kind,
So very slow to blame!
Folks need not be unkind, austere,
For love hath readier will than fear.
Would all men were the same!
So ready to be pleased, so kind,
So very slow to blame!
Folks need not be unkind, austere,
For love hath readier will than fear.
Nay, do not close the shutters, child;
For far along the lane
The little window looks, and he
Can see it shining plain.
I've heard him say he loves to mark
The cheerful fire-light through the dark.
For far along the lane
The little window looks, and he
Can see it shining plain.
I've heard him say he loves to mark
The cheerful fire-light through the dark.
And we'll do all that father likes;
His wishes are so few.
Would they were more! that every hour
Some wish of his I knew!
I'm sure it makes a happy day,
When I can please him any way.
His wishes are so few.
Would they were more! that every hour
Some wish of his I knew!
I'm sure it makes a happy day,
When I can please him any way.
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I know he's coming by this sign,
That baby's almost wild;
See how he laughs and crows and stares—
Heaven bless the merry child!
He's father's self in face and limb,
And father's heart is strong in him.
That baby's almost wild;
See how he laughs and crows and stares—
Heaven bless the merry child!
He's father's self in face and limb,
And father's heart is strong in him.
Hark! hark! I hear his footsteps now;
He's through the garden gate.
Run, little Bess, and ope the door,
And do not let him wait.
Shout, baby, shout! and clap thy hands,
For father on the threshold stands.
He's through the garden gate.
Run, little Bess, and ope the door,
And do not let him wait.
Shout, baby, shout! and clap thy hands,
For father on the threshold stands.
II. TRUE LOVE.
There are furrows on thy brow, wife,
Thy hair is thin and grey,
And the light that once was in thine eye
Hath sorrow stolen away.
Thou art no longer fair, wife,
The rose has left thy cheek,
And thy once firm and graceful form
Is wasted now and weak.
Thy hair is thin and grey,
And the light that once was in thine eye
Hath sorrow stolen away.
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The rose has left thy cheek,
And thy once firm and graceful form
Is wasted now and weak.
But thy heart is just as warm, wife,
As when we first were wed;
As when thy merry eye was bright,
And thy smooth cheek was red.
Ah! that is long ago, wife,
We thought not then of care;
We then were spendthrifts of our joy,
We now have none to spare.
As when we first were wed;
As when thy merry eye was bright,
And thy smooth cheek was red.
Ah! that is long ago, wife,
We thought not then of care;
We then were spendthrifts of our joy,
We now have none to spare.
Well, well, dost thou remember, wife,
The little child we laid,
The three-years' darling, fair and pure,
Beneath the yew-tree's shade.
The worth from life was gone, wife,
We said with foolish tongue;
But we've blessed, since then, the Chastener
Who took the child so young.
The little child we laid,
The three-years' darling, fair and pure,
Beneath the yew-tree's shade.
The worth from life was gone, wife,
We said with foolish tongue;
But we've blessed, since then, the Chastener
Who took the child so young.
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There was John, thy boast and pride, wife,
Who lived to manhood's prime—
Would God I could have died for him
Who died before his time!
There is Jane, thy second self, wife,
A thing of sin and shame;
Our poorest neighbours pity us
When they but hear her name.
Who lived to manhood's prime—
Would God I could have died for him
Who died before his time!
There is Jane, thy second self, wife,
A thing of sin and shame;
Our poorest neighbours pity us
When they but hear her name.
Yet she's thy child and mine, wife,
I nursed her on my knee,
And the evil, woful ways she took
Were never taught by thee.
We were proud of her fair face, wife;
And I have tamely stood,
And not avenged her downfall
In her betrayer's blood.
I nursed her on my knee,
And the evil, woful ways she took
Were never taught by thee.
We were proud of her fair face, wife;
And I have tamely stood,
And not avenged her downfall
In her betrayer's blood.
The thought was in my mind, wife,
I cursed him to his face:
But he was rich, and I was poor;
The rich know no disgrace.
The gallows would have had me, wife;
For that I did not care:
The only thing that saved his life
Were thoughts of thy despair.
I cursed him to his face:
But he was rich, and I was poor;
The rich know no disgrace.
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For that I did not care:
The only thing that saved his life
Were thoughts of thy despair.
There's something in thy face, wife,
That calms my maddened brain:
Thy furrowed cheek, thy hollow eye,
Thy look of patient pain;
Thy lips that never smile, wife,
Thy bloodless cheeks and wan;
Thy form which once was beautiful.
Whose beauty now is gone;
That calms my maddened brain:
Thy furrowed cheek, thy hollow eye,
Thy look of patient pain;
Thy lips that never smile, wife,
Thy bloodless cheeks and wan;
Thy form which once was beautiful.
Whose beauty now is gone;
Oh! these they tell such tales, wife,
They fill my eyes with tears.
We have borne so much together
Through these long thirty years,
That I will meekly bear, wife,
What God appointeth here;
Nor add to thy o'erflowing cup
Another bitter tear.
They fill my eyes with tears.
We have borne so much together
Through these long thirty years,
That I will meekly bear, wife,
What God appointeth here;
Nor add to thy o'erflowing cup
Another bitter tear.
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Let the betrayer live, wife;
Be this our only prayer,
That grief may send our prodigal
Back to the father's care.
Give me thy faithful hand, wife—
O God, who reign'st above,
We bless thee, in our misery,
For one sure solace—love!
Be this our only prayer,
That grief may send our prodigal
Back to the father's care.
Give me thy faithful hand, wife—
O God, who reign'st above,
We bless thee, in our misery,
For one sure solace—love!
III. THE DYING CHILD.
My heart is very faint and low;
My thoughts, like spectres, come and go;
I feel a numbing sense of woe:
Until to-day it was not so,
I know not what this change may be.
The unseen Angel of Death.
My thoughts, like spectres, come and go;
I feel a numbing sense of woe:
Until to-day it was not so,
I know not what this change may be.
It is my voice within, that calls;
It is my shadow, child, that falls
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That hems thee in like dungeon walls;
My presence that o'ershadoweth thee.
Oh, mother, leave me not alone!
I am a-feared; my heart's like stone;
A dull pain cleaveth brain and bone;
I feel a pang till now unknown—
Stay with me for one little hour!
Oh! soothe me with thy low replies;
I cannot bear the children's cries;
And, when I hear their voices rise,
Impatient tears o'erflow my eyes;
My will seems not within my power.
I am a-feared; my heart's like stone;
A dull pain cleaveth brain and bone;
I feel a pang till now unknown—
Stay with me for one little hour!
Oh! soothe me with thy low replies;
I cannot bear the children's cries;
And, when I hear their voices rise,
Impatient tears o'erflow my eyes;
My will seems not within my power.
Poor Johnny brought me flowers last night,
The blue-bell and the violet white,
Then they were pleasant to my sight;
But now they give me no delight,
And yet I crave for something still.
Reach me the merry bulfinch here,
He knows my voice; I think 't will cheer
My heart, his piping song to hear.
—Ah! I forgot that bird so dear
Was sold to pay the baker's bill.
The blue-bell and the violet white,
Then they were pleasant to my sight;
But now they give me no delight,
And yet I crave for something still.
Reach me the merry bulfinch here,
He knows my voice; I think 't will cheer
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—Ah! I forgot that bird so dear
Was sold to pay the baker's bill.
Oh! why was Mary sent away?
I only asked that she might stay
Beside me for one little day;
I thought not to be answered nay,
Just once—I would have asked no more.
—Forgive me if I'm hard to please—
Mother, weep not! Oh, give me ease!
Raise me, and lay me on thy knees!
I know not what new pangs are these;
I never felt the like before.
I only asked that she might stay
Beside me for one little day;
I thought not to be answered nay,
Just once—I would have asked no more.
—Forgive me if I'm hard to please—
Mother, weep not! Oh, give me ease!
Raise me, and lay me on thy knees!
I know not what new pangs are these;
I never felt the like before.
It is so stifling in this room—
Can it be closer in the tomb?
I feel encompassed by a gloom.
O father, father, leave the loom,
It makes me dizzy like the mill.
Father, I feel thy hot tears fall;
If thou hast thought my patience small
Forgive me! Fain would I recall
Each hasty word—I love you all:
I will be patient, will be still.
The unseen Angel of Death.
Can it be closer in the tomb?
I feel encompassed by a gloom.
O father, father, leave the loom,
It makes me dizzy like the mill.
Father, I feel thy hot tears fall;
If thou hast thought my patience small
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Each hasty word—I love you all:
I will be patient, will be still.
Be still! My pinions o'er thee spread;
A duller, heavier weight than lead
Benumbs thee, and the life hath fled.
Child, thou hast passed the portals dread,
Thou now art of the earth no more.
Arise, thy spiritual wings unfold:
Poor slave of hunger, want, and cold,
Thou now hast wealth surpassing gold,
Hast bliss no poet's tongue hath told;
Rejoice! all pain, all fear is o'er.
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IV. JUDGMENT.
Name her not, the guilty one,
Virtue turns aside for shame
At the mention of her name:
Very evilly hath she done.
Pity is on her misspent:
She was born of guilty kin,
Her life's course hath guilty been;
Never unto school she went,
And whate'er she learned was sin;
Let her die!
Virtue turns aside for shame
At the mention of her name:
Very evilly hath she done.
Pity is on her misspent:
She was born of guilty kin,
Her life's course hath guilty been;
Never unto school she went,
And whate'er she learned was sin;
Let her die!
She was nurtured for her fate;
Beautiful she was, and vain;
Like a child of sinful Cain,
She was born a reprobate.
Lives like hers the world defile;
Plead not for her, let her die
As the child of infamy,
Ignorant and poor and vile,
Plague-spot in the public eye;
Let her die!
The Heart of the Outcast.
Beautiful she was, and vain;
Like a child of sinful Cain,
She was born a reprobate.
Lives like hers the world defile;
Plead not for her, let her die
As the child of infamy,
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Plague-spot in the public eye;
Let her die!
I am young, alas! so young;
And the world has been my foe;
And by hardship, wrong, and woe,
Hath my bleeding heart been stung.
There was none, O God! to teach me
What was wrong and what was right.
I have sinned before thy sight;
Let my cry of anguish reach thee,
Piercing through the glooms of night,
God of love!
And the world has been my foe;
And by hardship, wrong, and woe,
Hath my bleeding heart been stung.
There was none, O God! to teach me
What was wrong and what was right.
I have sinned before thy sight;
Let my cry of anguish reach thee,
Piercing through the glooms of night,
God of love!
Man is cruel, and doth smother
Tender mercy in his breast;
Lays fresh burdens on the oppressed;
Pities not an erring brother,
Pities not the stormy throes
Of the soul despair hath riven,
Nor the brain to madness driven.
No one but the sinner knows
What it means to be forgiven,
God of love!
Tender mercy in his breast;
Lays fresh burdens on the oppressed;
Pities not an erring brother,
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Of the soul despair hath riven,
Nor the brain to madness driven.
No one but the sinner knows
What it means to be forgiven,
God of love!
Therefore will I put my trust
In thy merey: and I cleave
To that love which can forgive;
To that judgment which is just;
Which can pity all my weakness;
Which hath seen the life-long strife
Of passions fiercer than the knife;
Known the desolating bleakness
Of my desert path through life,
God of love!
In thy merey: and I cleave
To that love which can forgive;
To that judgment which is just;
Which can pity all my weakness;
Which hath seen the life-long strife
Of passions fiercer than the knife;
Known the desolating bleakness
Of my desert path through life,
God of love!
I must perish in my youth;
And had I been better taught,
And did virtue as it ought,
And had grey-haired wisdom ruth,
I should not have fallen so low.
'Tis the power of circumstance,
'Tis the wretch's dire mischance,
To be born to sin and woe.
Pity thou my ignorance,
God of love!
And had I been better taught,
And did virtue as it ought,
And had grey-haired wisdom ruth,
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'Tis the power of circumstance,
'Tis the wretch's dire mischance,
To be born to sin and woe.
Pity thou my ignorance,
God of love!
V. A SUNDAY.
Our six days' toil is over:This is the day of rest;
The bee hums in the clover,
The lark springs from her nest.
The old thatch, grey and mossy,
With golden stonecrop gleams;
The pigeon, sleek and glossy,
Basks in the morning beams.
All living things are cheery
Upon this Sabbath morn;
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Of singing on the thorn;
The sheep within the meadow
Like driven snow they look;
The cows stand in the shadow,
Within the willowy brook.
'Tis like that famous picture
Which came from London down:
You must go and see that picture
When next you're in the town.
And then there's that engraving
I told you of last spring:
—I've been these six months saving,
To buy that lovely thing.
Well, both of them resemble
This view at early day,
When diamond dew-drops tremble
Upon the dog-rose spray:
In both there is the river,
The church-spire, and the mill;
The aspens seem to shiver;
The cloud floats o'er the hill.
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We'll forth this merry morn,
Among the fragrant clover,
And through the summer corn:
In the great church of Nature,
Where God himself is priest,
We'll join each joyful creature,
Flower, insect, bird, and beast.
The birds praise God in singing
Among the leafy sprays,
And a loving heart is worship,
A joyful soul is praise.
Dear wife, this day of seven,
God's gift to toil, shall be
A little bit of heaven
On earth for thee and me.
'Tis I the babe will carry,
My youngest, darling boy;
And Bess and little Harry,
They will be wild with joy:
For them the wild rose mingles
With woodbine on the bough,
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Shout welcomes to them now.
Sweet wife, make haste: down yonder,
Down by the miller's farm,
Through old field-paths we'll wander,
Thy hand within my arm.
For Sunday leisure heeding,
The books I've brought are these,
The very books for reading
Beneath the summer trees.
They're by that brave young poet
Who wrote of Locksley Hall;
That charming verse—you know it—
You saw it first of all.
And 'neath the lime trees shady,
Among the summer corn,
I'll read of Burleigh's lady,
A village maiden born.
Haste, haste, and get thee ready,
The morn is wearing on;
The woodland lawns are shady;
The dew dries; let's be gone!
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THE BARLEY-MOWERS' SONG.
Barley-mowers here we stand,
One, two, three, a steady band;
True of heart and strong of limb,
Ready in our harvest-trim;
All arow, with spirits blithe,
Now we whet the bended scythe.
Rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink-a-tink!
One, two, three, a steady band;
True of heart and strong of limb,
Ready in our harvest-trim;
All arow, with spirits blithe,
Now we whet the bended scythe.
Rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink-a-tink!
Side by side now, bending low,
Down the swaths of barley go;
Stroke by stroke, as true as chime
Of the bells we keep in time:
Then we whet the ringing scythe,
Standing 'mid the barley lithe.
Rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink-a-tink!
Down the swaths of barley go;
Stroke by stroke, as true as chime
Of the bells we keep in time:
Then we whet the ringing scythe,
Standing 'mid the barley lithe.
Rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink-a-tink!
After labour cometh case;
Sitting now beneath the trees,
Round we send the barley-wine,
Life-infusing, clear and fine;
Then refreshed, alert and blithe,
Rise we all, and whet the scythe.
Rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink-a-tink!
Sitting now beneath the trees,
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Life-infusing, clear and fine;
Then refreshed, alert and blithe,
Rise we all, and whet the scythe.
Rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink-a-tink!
Barley-mowers must be true,
Keeping still the end in view;
One with all, and all with one,
Working on till set of sun;
Bending all with spirits blithe,
Whetting all at once the scythe.
Rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink-a-tink!
Keeping still the end in view;
One with all, and all with one,
Working on till set of sun;
Bending all with spirits blithe,
Whetting all at once the scythe.
Rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink-a-tink!
Day and night, and night and day,
Time, the mower, will not stay:
We may hear him in our path
By the falling barley-swath;
While we sing with spirits blithe,
We may hear his ringing scythe.
Rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink-a-tink!
Time, the mower, will not stay:
We may hear him in our path
By the falling barley-swath;
While we sing with spirits blithe,
We may hear his ringing scythe.
Rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink-a-tink!
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Time the mower cuts down all,
High and low, and great and small:
Fear him not, for we will grow
Ready like the field we mow;
Like the bending barley lithe,
Ready for Time's whetted scythe.
Rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink-a-tink!
High and low, and great and small:
Fear him not, for we will grow
Ready like the field we mow;
Like the bending barley lithe,
Ready for Time's whetted scythe.
Rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink-a-tink!
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MOUNTAIN CHILDREN.
Dwellers by lake and hill,
Merry companions of the bird and bee,
Go gladly forth and drink of joy your fill,
With unconstrainëd step and spirit free.
Merry companions of the bird and bee,
Go gladly forth and drink of joy your fill,
With unconstrainëd step and spirit free.
No crowd impedes your way,
No city wall proscribes your further bounds,
Where the wild flocks can wander, ye may stray
The long day through, 'mid summer sights and sounds.
No city wall proscribes your further bounds,
Where the wild flocks can wander, ye may stray
The long day through, 'mid summer sights and sounds.
The sunshine and the flowers,
And the old trees that cast a solemn shade;
The pleasant evening, the fresh dewy hours,
And the green hills whereon your fathers played;
And the old trees that cast a solemn shade;
The pleasant evening, the fresh dewy hours,
And the green hills whereon your fathers played;
The grey and ancient peaks,
Round which the silent clouds hang day and night;
And the low voice of water, as it makes,
Like a glad creature, murmurings of delight:
Round which the silent clouds hang day and night;
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Like a glad creature, murmurings of delight:
These are your joys. Go forth,
Give your hearts up unto their mighty power;
For in his spirit God has clothed the earth,
And speaks in love from every tree and flower.
Give your hearts up unto their mighty power;
For in his spirit God has clothed the earth,
And speaks in love from every tree and flower.
The voice of hidden rills
Its quiet way into your spirits finds;
And awfully the everlasting hills
Address you in their many-tonëd winds.
Its quiet way into your spirits finds;
And awfully the everlasting hills
Address you in their many-tonëd winds.
Ye sit upon the earth
Twining its flowers, and shouting, full of glee;
And a pure mighty influence, 'mid your mirth,
Moulds your unconscious spirits silently.
Twining its flowers, and shouting, full of glee;
And a pure mighty influence, 'mid your mirth,
Moulds your unconscious spirits silently.
Hence is it that the lands
Of storm and mountain have the noblest sons;
Whom the world reverences, the patriot bands,
Were of the hills like you, ye little ones!
Of storm and mountain have the noblest sons;
Whom the world reverences, the patriot bands,
Were of the hills like you, ye little ones!
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Children of pleasant song
Are taught within the mountain solitudes;
For hoary legends to your wilds belong,
And yours are haunts where inspiration broods.
Are taught within the mountain solitudes;
For hoary legends to your wilds belong,
And yours are haunts where inspiration broods.
Then go forth: earth and sky
To you are tributary; joys are spread
Profusely, like the summer flowers that lie
In the green path, beneath your gamesome tread.
To you are tributary; joys are spread
Profusely, like the summer flowers that lie
In the green path, beneath your gamesome tread.
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THE RICH AND THE POOR.
Go, child, and take them meat and drink,
And see that they be fed:
Alas, it is a cruel thing
The lack of daily bread!
And see that they be fed:
Alas, it is a cruel thing
The lack of daily bread!
Then come that I may speak with thee
Of things severely true;
Love thou the poor, for Jesus Christ,
He was a poor man too.
Of things severely true;
Love thou the poor, for Jesus Christ,
He was a poor man too.
They told me, when I was a child,
I was of English birth;
They called a free-born Englishman
The noblest man on earth.
I was of English birth;
They called a free-born Englishman
The noblest man on earth.
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My home was in a pleasant place,
In England's history known:
And pride in being English-born
Still with my growth had grown.
In England's history known:
And pride in being English-born
Still with my growth had grown.
I thought all rich men good, the poor
Content with life's award;
I thought each church throughout the land
A temple of the Lord.
Content with life's award;
I thought each church throughout the land
A temple of the Lord.
I saw the high-born and the poor
Low bending side by side,
And the meek bishop's holy hands
Diffuse a blessing wide:
Low bending side by side,
And the meek bishop's holy hands
Diffuse a blessing wide:
And round and round the sacred pile,
My reverent fancy went,
Till God and good King George at once
Within my heart were blent.
My reverent fancy went,
Till God and good King George at once
Within my heart were blent.
These were my days of innocence,
Of ignorance and mirth;
When my wild heart leapt up in joy
Of my pure English birth.
Of ignorance and mirth;
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Of my pure English birth.
Oh! England, mother England,
Proud nurse of thriving men,
I've learned to look on many things
With other eyes since then.
Proud nurse of thriving men,
I've learned to look on many things
With other eyes since then.
I've learnëd divers lessons;
Have seen and heard and thought;
And oftentimes the truest lore
By human woe was taught.
Have seen and heard and thought;
And oftentimes the truest lore
By human woe was taught.
Thus, on a day I saw a man,
An old man bent and hoar,
And he broke flints upon the road
With labour long and sore.
An old man bent and hoar,
And he broke flints upon the road
With labour long and sore.
The day, it was a day in June,
The nightingales sung loud,
And with their loads of snowy bloom
The hawthorn branches bowed.
The nightingales sung loud,
And with their loads of snowy bloom
The hawthorn branches bowed.
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The highway side was bright with flowers;
The leafy oak-trees wove,
Above me and the brooding bird,
A peaceful, green alcove.
The leafy oak-trees wove,
Above me and the brooding bird,
A peaceful, green alcove.
The earth, the air, the sun-lit sky,
Of gladness they were full;
My heart rejoiced; just then I heard
Laborious sounds and dull.
Of gladness they were full;
My heart rejoiced; just then I heard
Laborious sounds and dull.
They were the old man's hammer strokes,
That fell upon the stone,
Stroke after stroke, with bootless aim;
Yet he kept striving on.
That fell upon the stone,
Stroke after stroke, with bootless aim;
Yet he kept striving on.
I watched him: coach and chariot bright
Rolled past him at full speed,
Horsemen and peasants went along;
And yet he took no heed.
Rolled past him at full speed,
Horsemen and peasants went along;
And yet he took no heed.
Stroke after stroke, the hammer fell
Upon the self-same stone;
A child had been as strong as he;
Yet he kept toiling on.
Upon the self-same stone;
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Yet he kept toiling on.
Before him lay a heap of flints,
Hard flints not yet begun,
His day's work, 'mid the singing birds
And 'neath the joyous sun.
Hard flints not yet begun,
His day's work, 'mid the singing birds
And 'neath the joyous sun.
I watched him still; and still he toiled
Upon the self-same stone,
Nor ever raised his head to me,
But still kept toiling on.
Upon the self-same stone,
Nor ever raised his head to me,
But still kept toiling on.
“My friend,” said I, “your task is hard,
And bootless seems your labour;
The strokes you give go here and there,
A waste of power, good neighbour.”
And bootless seems your labour;
The strokes you give go here and there,
A waste of power, good neighbour.”
Upon his tool he propped himself,
And turned toward me his eye,
Yet did not raise his head the while;
Then slowly made reply:
And turned toward me his eye,
Yet did not raise his head the while;
Then slowly made reply:
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“The parish metes me out my work,
Twelve pence my daily fee;
I'm weak, God knows, and I am old,
Fourscore my age and three.
Twelve pence my daily fee;
I'm weak, God knows, and I am old,
Fourscore my age and three.
“Five weeks I could not strike a stroke;
The parish helped me then;
Now, I must pay them back the cost;
Hard times for aged men.
The parish helped me then;
Now, I must pay them back the cost;
Hard times for aged men.
“I have been palsied, agued, racked
With pains enough to kill;
I cannot lift my head, and yet
I must keep working still,
For I've the parish loan to pay;
Yet I am weak and ill.”
With pains enough to kill;
I cannot lift my head, and yet
I must keep working still,
For I've the parish loan to pay;
Yet I am weak and ill.”
Then slowly lifting up his tool,
The minute strokes went on;
I left him, as I found him first,
At work upon that stone.
The minute strokes went on;
I left him, as I found him first,
At work upon that stone.
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The nightingales sang loudly out;
Joy through all nature ran;
But my very soul was sick, to think
On this poor Englishman.
Joy through all nature ran;
But my very soul was sick, to think
On this poor Englishman.
Again: it was the young spring time,
When natural hearts o'erflow
With love to breathe the genial air,
To see the wild flowers blow.
When natural hearts o'erflow
With love to breathe the genial air,
To see the wild flowers blow.
Anear a populous town, I walked
In meadows green and fair;
And, as I sauntered slowly on,
A little child came there.
In meadows green and fair;
And, as I sauntered slowly on,
A little child came there.
A child she was of ten years old,
Yet with no mirth of mien;
With sunken eyes and thin pale face,
And body small and lean.
Yet with no mirth of mien;
With sunken eyes and thin pale face,
And body small and lean.
Yet walked she on among the flowers,
For all her pallid hue;
And gathered them with eager hands,
As merry children do.
For all her pallid hue;
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As merry children do.
Poor child! the tears were in my eyes,
Her thin small hands to see
Grasping the healthy flowers that looked
More full of life than she.
Her thin small hands to see
Grasping the healthy flowers that looked
More full of life than she.
“You take delight in flowers,” I said,
And looked into her face:
“No wonder; they 're so beautiful!
Dwell you anear this place?”
And looked into her face:
“No wonder; they 're so beautiful!
Dwell you anear this place?”
“No,” said the child: “within the town
I live; but here I run
Just for a flower, at dinner time,
And just to feel the sun.
I live; but here I run
Just for a flower, at dinner time,
And just to feel the sun.
“For oh! the factory is so hot,
And so doth daze my brain;
I just run here to breathe the air,
And then run back again.
And so doth daze my brain;
I just run here to breathe the air,
And then run back again.
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“And now the fields are fresh and green,
I cannot help but stay,
And get for Tommy's garden-plot
These pretty flowers to-day.”
I cannot help but stay,
And get for Tommy's garden-plot
These pretty flowers to-day.”
“And Tommy, who is he?” I asked.
“My brother,” she replied.
“The engine-wheels they broke his arms,
And sorely hurt his side:
“My brother,” she replied.
“The engine-wheels they broke his arms,
And sorely hurt his side:
“He'll be a cripple all his days.
For him these flowers I got:
He has a garden in the yard,
The neighbours harm it not;
The drunken blacksmith strides across
Poor Tommy's garden plot.”
For him these flowers I got:
He has a garden in the yard,
The neighbours harm it not;
The drunken blacksmith strides across
Poor Tommy's garden plot.”
As thus we talked we neared the town,
When, like a heavy knell,
Amid the jarring sounds was heard
A distant factory bell.
When, like a heavy knell,
Amid the jarring sounds was heard
A distant factory bell.
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The child she made a sudden pause,
Like one who could not move;
Then threw poor Tommy's flowers away,
For fear had mastered love:
Like one who could not move;
Then threw poor Tommy's flowers away,
For fear had mastered love:
And with unnatural speed she ran
Down alleys dense and warm;
A frightened toiling thing of care,
Amid the toiling swarm.
Down alleys dense and warm;
A frightened toiling thing of care,
Amid the toiling swarm.
Her scattered flowers lay in the street,
To wither in the sun,
Or to be crushed by passing feet;
They were of worth to none.
The factory-bell had cut down joy,
And still kept ringing on.
To wither in the sun,
Or to be crushed by passing feet;
They were of worth to none.
The factory-bell had cut down joy,
And still kept ringing on.
Proud was I, when I was a child,
To be of English birth;
For I surely thought the English-born
Had not a care on earth.
To be of English birth;
For I surely thought the English-born
Had not a care on earth.
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That was my creed when I was young,
It is my creed no more;
For I know, woe's me! the difference now
Betwixt the rich and poor.
It is my creed no more;
For I know, woe's me! the difference now
Betwixt the rich and poor.
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THE ASCENT OF THE SPIRIT.
MOURNING ON EARTH.
She lay down in her poverty,
Toil-stricken, though so young;
And words of human sorrow
Fell trembling from her tongue.
Toil-stricken, though so young;
And words of human sorrow
Fell trembling from her tongue.
There were palace-homes around her;
And pomp and pride swept by
The poor deserted chamber,
Where she lay down to die.
And pomp and pride swept by
The poor deserted chamber,
Where she lay down to die.
She lay down in her poverty,
Toil-stricken, though so young;
And words of human anguish
Fell trembling from her tongue.
Toil-stricken, though so young;
And words of human anguish
Fell trembling from her tongue.
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“Oh Lord! thick clouds of darkness
About my soul are spread,
And the waters of affliction
Have gathered o'er my head;
About my soul are spread,
And the waters of affliction
Have gathered o'er my head;
“My life has been a desert
Whose cheering springs are dry,
A weary, barren wilderness:
Yet it is hard to die.
Whose cheering springs are dry,
A weary, barren wilderness:
Yet it is hard to die.
“For love, the clinging, deathless,
Is with my life entwined,
And the feeble spirit doth rebel
To leave the loved behind.
Is with my life entwined,
And the feeble spirit doth rebel
To leave the loved behind.
“Dear Saviour, who didst drain the dregs
Of human woe and pain,
In this, the fiercest trial-hour,
My doubting soul sustain!
Of human woe and pain,
In this, the fiercest trial-hour,
My doubting soul sustain!
“I sink! I sink! support me!
Deep waters round me roll.
I fear! I faint! Oh Saviour,
Sustain my sinking soul!
Deep waters round me roll.
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Sustain my sinking soul!
REJOICING IN HEAVEN.
Young spirit, freed from bondage,
Rejoice! Thy work is done;
The weary world is 'neath thy feet;
Thou, brighter than the sun.
Rejoice! Thy work is done;
The weary world is 'neath thy feet;
Thou, brighter than the sun.
Arise! Put on the garments
Which the redeemëd win.
Now, sorrow hath no part in thee,
Thou, sanctified from sin.
Which the redeemëd win.
Now, sorrow hath no part in thee,
Thou, sanctified from sin.
Awake, and breathe the living air
Of our celestial clime!
Awake to love which knows no change,
Thou, who hast done with time!
Of our celestial clime!
Awake to love which knows no change,
Thou, who hast done with time!
Awake! Lift up thy joyful eyes,
See, all heaven's host appears;
And be thou glad exceedingly,
Thou, who hast done with tears.
See, all heaven's host appears;
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Thou, who hast done with tears.
Awake! ascend! Thou art not now
With those of mortal birth;
The living God hath touched thy lips,
Thou, who hast done with earth.
With those of mortal birth;
The living God hath touched thy lips,
Thou, who hast done with earth.
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FAR-OFF VISIONS.
Steeped in fresh dews and rosy light,
A land was opened to my sight
In the sweet hour 'twixt day and night.
A light, not of the sun, was there;
A breeze, but not of common air;
A joy that circled everywhere.
The land had hills, not bare and rent,
But each imparadised ascent
Rose green up to heaven's firmament;
And trees that cast impervious shade:
Yet all was fresh and undecayed,
As they could neither die nor fade.
The waters of that land were clear
As its serenest atmosphere;
Their flow was music to the ear:
And all around the air was stirred
With the sweet song of many a bird
Whose voice I ne'er before had heard.
And in the mountain's golden sheen,
And in the distant valleys green,
Fair, shining companies were seen.
I saw each separate face from far,
A beauty which no time could mar,
Beaming serenely, like a star.
They neared me, and my heart beat high
As those strange, lovely forms drew nigh:
They saw me not, and passed me by.
Some passed on with deliberate feet,
Together, rapt in converse sweet,
As friends who from long partings meet.
Some bounded on in joyful madness,
So full of youth and life and gladness:
What could they know of pain or sadness?
Some slowly wandered through the wood,
As they some pleasant quest pursued,
And these were nearest where I stood.
A land was opened to my sight
In the sweet hour 'twixt day and night.
A light, not of the sun, was there;
A breeze, but not of common air;
A joy that circled everywhere.
The land had hills, not bare and rent,
But each imparadised ascent
Rose green up to heaven's firmament;
And trees that cast impervious shade:
Yet all was fresh and undecayed,
As they could neither die nor fade.
The waters of that land were clear
As its serenest atmosphere;
Their flow was music to the ear:
And all around the air was stirred
With the sweet song of many a bird
Whose voice I ne'er before had heard.
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And in the distant valleys green,
Fair, shining companies were seen.
I saw each separate face from far,
A beauty which no time could mar,
Beaming serenely, like a star.
They neared me, and my heart beat high
As those strange, lovely forms drew nigh:
They saw me not, and passed me by.
Some passed on with deliberate feet,
Together, rapt in converse sweet,
As friends who from long partings meet.
Some bounded on in joyful madness,
So full of youth and life and gladness:
What could they know of pain or sadness?
Some slowly wandered through the wood,
As they some pleasant quest pursued,
And these were nearest where I stood.
Concealed from them within that place,
I gazed upon them face to face;
I marvelled at their wondrous grace.
Their faces beamed with love and ruth;
Their speech was full of earnest truth,
Of wisdom with the warmth of youth.
And while I gazed my soul was wrought
Into the urgency of thought;
I spoke the words my feelings brought.
I gazed upon them face to face;
I marvelled at their wondrous grace.
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Their speech was full of earnest truth,
Of wisdom with the warmth of youth.
And while I gazed my soul was wrought
Into the urgency of thought;
I spoke the words my feelings brought.
“Oh beings pure and blest and bright!”
Exclaimed my spirit in delight,
“How have I panted for your sight!
Ye are my kindred; well I know
The bonds of soul that make us so;
Let me go with you where ye go.
The toil of earth is hard and vain;
There strive we heights and depths to gain,
And are withheld as by a chain.
There man is mean, suspicious, cold;
There crafty villany is bold;
There nothing is esteemed but gold.
Oh! I am weary of the strife,
The selfish, sordid ways of life,
Where only evil schemes are rife.
My strift hath ever been for good;
I have pressed onward unsubdued,
Though disappointment hath ensued.
But this is hard: and weak and low
The ever-striving heart must grow,
Which no requited hope doth know;
And mine is faint: but now I see
My kindred in your spirits free,
In your pure natures. Let me be
One of your joyful company!”
My spirit-words were all too faint,
Or bore too much the earthly taint
Of fear and petulant complaint.
I was unheard; no voice replied,
The woodland sounds on every side
Filled all the air with concord wide.
None turned on me his ardent gaze,
None looked in sorrow or amaze,
But threaded still the wooded ways.
I turned me round and wept for pain,
To think no audience I could gain,
To think that I had pled in vain.
Again, with tear-half-blinded eyes,
I turned to that bright paradise,
And saw two forms of beauteous guise.
The sight at once my woe dispelled;
The one was old whom I beheld,
His strength was crowned by age, not quelled.
The beauty of a life well-spent,
A nobler boast than long descent,
Was his majestic ornament.
By him a woman sate, benign;
A creature of such grace divine
As man alone describes by sign;
Of perfect form, angelic face,
The visible type of inward grace
Which nothing outward can efface.
No sculptor's art or poet's dream
Made their divinest woman seem
So worthy of the soul's esteem,
As was the woman whom I viewed
Beside the old man in the wood,
Tender and pure and nobly good,
A vision fair of womanhood.
They spake: like balm their words were sent
Into my heart; my soul intent
Listened their lofty argument.
Their converse was on themes sublime,
Themes worthy of immortal rhyme,
Solving the mysteries of time.
Light dawned within my soul, as still
They spoke of life, of good and ill,
Of man and the Eternal Will.
Exclaimed my spirit in delight,
“How have I panted for your sight!
Ye are my kindred; well I know
The bonds of soul that make us so;
Let me go with you where ye go.
The toil of earth is hard and vain;
There strive we heights and depths to gain,
And are withheld as by a chain.
There man is mean, suspicious, cold;
There crafty villany is bold;
There nothing is esteemed but gold.
Oh! I am weary of the strife,
The selfish, sordid ways of life,
Where only evil schemes are rife.
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I have pressed onward unsubdued,
Though disappointment hath ensued.
But this is hard: and weak and low
The ever-striving heart must grow,
Which no requited hope doth know;
And mine is faint: but now I see
My kindred in your spirits free,
In your pure natures. Let me be
One of your joyful company!”
My spirit-words were all too faint,
Or bore too much the earthly taint
Of fear and petulant complaint.
I was unheard; no voice replied,
The woodland sounds on every side
Filled all the air with concord wide.
None turned on me his ardent gaze,
None looked in sorrow or amaze,
But threaded still the wooded ways.
I turned me round and wept for pain,
To think no audience I could gain,
To think that I had pled in vain.
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I turned to that bright paradise,
And saw two forms of beauteous guise.
The sight at once my woe dispelled;
The one was old whom I beheld,
His strength was crowned by age, not quelled.
The beauty of a life well-spent,
A nobler boast than long descent,
Was his majestic ornament.
By him a woman sate, benign;
A creature of such grace divine
As man alone describes by sign;
Of perfect form, angelic face,
The visible type of inward grace
Which nothing outward can efface.
No sculptor's art or poet's dream
Made their divinest woman seem
So worthy of the soul's esteem,
As was the woman whom I viewed
Beside the old man in the wood,
Tender and pure and nobly good,
A vision fair of womanhood.
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Into my heart; my soul intent
Listened their lofty argument.
Their converse was on themes sublime,
Themes worthy of immortal rhyme,
Solving the mysteries of time.
Light dawned within my soul, as still
They spoke of life, of good and ill,
Of man and the Eternal Will.
I heard them tell why guilt so long
Goes unrebuked: why crime is strong;
And right yields trembling to the wrong:
Why still the weak and poor must bear
Through life an unrequited share
Of toil and hardship and despair:
Why wealth begetteth wealth: why they
Who have from others take away:
Why power goes forth to crush and slay.
And then I heard the old man cast
His memory backward through the past,
Which was to him a treasury vast.
I heard him tell how he had borne
For seventy years the rich man's scorn,
Fresh toil beginning every morn.
His toil had won him daily bread,
And ofttimes he was scantly fed,
And had not where to lay his head.
A bruised heart was his, a mind
That as a pinioned eagle pined,
Seeking for what it could not find.
His life it was a trial stern;
A school wherein he had to learn
'Mid evil what to good should turn.
Goes unrebuked: why crime is strong;
And right yields trembling to the wrong:
Why still the weak and poor must bear
Through life an unrequited share
Of toil and hardship and despair:
Why wealth begetteth wealth: why they
Who have from others take away:
Why power goes forth to crush and slay.
And then I heard the old man cast
His memory backward through the past,
Which was to him a treasury vast.
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For seventy years the rich man's scorn,
Fresh toil beginning every morn.
His toil had won him daily bread,
And ofttimes he was scantly fed,
And had not where to lay his head.
A bruised heart was his, a mind
That as a pinioned eagle pined,
Seeking for what it could not find.
His life it was a trial stern;
A school wherein he had to learn
'Mid evil what to good should turn.
By this I knew those creatures bright
Were the redeemëd heirs of light.
My soul rose into day from night:
For these I saw so greatly blest
Had been on earth the poor oppressed.
I saw that toil shall yet have rest;
I saw that tears have joy in store:
I said, I will repine no more,
But trust as never heretofore.
Were the redeemëd heirs of light.
My soul rose into day from night:
For these I saw so greatly blest
Had been on earth the poor oppressed.
I saw that toil shall yet have rest;
I saw that tears have joy in store:
I said, I will repine no more,
But trust as never heretofore.
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A LIFE.
I. PART I. MORNING PRAYER.
Mother and child in their chamber.
Our dear ones are torn from us; one by one
The golden links of our soul's love are severed;
And 'mid the quicksands and the shoals of life
The heavy billows of adversity
Cast us forlorn and naked. It is well,
For God hath stricken us. Still, from the depths
Of our great desolation goeth up,
Like his, the frail disciple on the sea,
Our feeble cry: “Lord, help us or we perish!”
The golden links of our soul's love are severed;
And 'mid the quicksands and the shoals of life
The heavy billows of adversity
Cast us forlorn and naked. It is well,
For God hath stricken us. Still, from the depths
Of our great desolation goeth up,
Like his, the frail disciple on the sea,
Our feeble cry: “Lord, help us or we perish!”
Yet, though thou chastenest me, I flee unto thee,
And put my trust in thee, and at thy feet
Lay down my precious things; nor would I murmur
Though thy good Providence saw meet to strip me
Even of the one dear blessing thou hast left.
And, for thou yet art mereiful, my soul
Shall not withhold aught from thee. Oh! my Father,
Accept mine offering: this one poor lamb
I dedicate to thee in life or death;
Accept thou him; thou hast mine other treasures!
And put my trust in thee, and at thy feet
Lay down my precious things; nor would I murmur
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Even of the one dear blessing thou hast left.
And, for thou yet art mereiful, my soul
Shall not withhold aught from thee. Oh! my Father,
Accept mine offering: this one poor lamb
I dedicate to thee in life or death;
Accept thou him; thou hast mine other treasures!
Boy, clasp thy hands, and raise thy heart to God;
And here, before him, in the face of day,
Here, in the chamber of our poverty,
With our sore desolation round about us,
I dedicate thy life and all thy powers
To him and his great human family.
Father! behold thy child; and what in him
Comes short of thy requirings, give him further.
Give him true courage: not such as makes men
Stand, sword in hand, to meet their enemy;
But such as nerved the Saviour to drive forth
The traders from the Temple; as sustained him
'Mid the revilers in the outer court,
When, crowned with thorns, he answered not again.
Give him persuasive speech: not with bland lies
To win the ear of courts, or to take captive
The hearts of women, but with eloquent words
To lure men's souls to virtue; to make felt
How beautiful is love, and to instil
The spirit of love, even like a holy essence,
Where'er his presence comes. Oh! gracious Father,
That this poor child of mine might be thy herald
Among mankind! to the lorn prisoner,
Within the hopeless dungeon, carrying knowledge
Better than life, light better than the day;
That to the judge upon the high tribunal
He might impart mercy and charity!
Oh! let him sit by death beds, and in homes
Made desolate, and with the faint in heart,
And the poor weary sinner! Let him compass
Both land and sea to speak peace to the mourner!
And here, before him, in the face of day,
Here, in the chamber of our poverty,
With our sore desolation round about us,
I dedicate thy life and all thy powers
To him and his great human family.
Father! behold thy child; and what in him
Comes short of thy requirings, give him further.
Give him true courage: not such as makes men
Stand, sword in hand, to meet their enemy;
But such as nerved the Saviour to drive forth
The traders from the Temple; as sustained him
'Mid the revilers in the outer court,
When, crowned with thorns, he answered not again.
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To win the ear of courts, or to take captive
The hearts of women, but with eloquent words
To lure men's souls to virtue; to make felt
How beautiful is love, and to instil
The spirit of love, even like a holy essence,
Where'er his presence comes. Oh! gracious Father,
That this poor child of mine might be thy herald
Among mankind! to the lorn prisoner,
Within the hopeless dungeon, carrying knowledge
Better than life, light better than the day;
That to the judge upon the high tribunal
He might impart mercy and charity!
Oh! let him sit by death beds, and in homes
Made desolate, and with the faint in heart,
And the poor weary sinner! Let him compass
Both land and sea to speak peace to the mourner!
Father, I ask not wealth, nor length of days,
But bread to eat and raiment to put on,
And that thou wilt support me to make fit
This child for thy great works.
But bread to eat and raiment to put on,
And that thou wilt support me to make fit
This child for thy great works.
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II. PART I. THE LAST HOUR.
The interior of a poor dwelling.Woman.
Speak low, methinks he sleeps. I smoothed his pillow
Scarce fifteen minutes past, and he since then
Hath hardly moved.
Man.
Sleeps he? He will do well;
God grant he sleep till eve!
Child.
I will not stir;
But I will lay me down upon the hearth
And sleep too, lest I wake him. But think you
That really he will die?
Man.
Come life or death,
All will be well with him. I heard last eve
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Have known him and the holy life he led.
'Twas he, who like an angel stood between
The living and the dead, when raged the plague
I' th' city; it was he, who in the war-time
Lived in the hospital among the wounded,
Tending them with the kindness of a woman,
And comforting and cheering them in death.
Woman.
God's blessing on him!
Man.
He was one time sent for,
When or wherefore I know not, to the court;
And lands were offered him and place and wealth,
So he would sell himself to do their will,
Which was for evil.
Woman.
That would he not.
Gold could not bribe him to an evil deed.
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Yet he was poor, and had an aged mother
Dependent on him, but they could not buy him.
He loved, he said, far more his peace of mind
Than lands or wealth; and that the favour of God
Was higher than that of kings.
Woman.
'Twas a brave man!
Man.
Brave! thou shouldst hear old Nathan talk of him.
Nathan and his grand children were in bed
When flames burst forth, and all the house was fire,
For 't was a gusty night. The neighbours stood
In panie terror, wildly looking on;
And, though poor Nathan and the little children
Cried out for help, none dared to rescue them:
When suddenly that young man, hurrying forward,
Without reproaching those whom fear made cowards,
Seized on a ladder, rushed into the chamber,
And, amid raging fire, brought forth the inmates,
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Ay, thou shouldst hear old Nathan speak of him.
Woman.
The deed was like him: thus he ever did;
His life was a self-sacrifice. Those whom
The world looked coldly on, and, with hard judgment,
Spurned from its presence as a thing unholy,
He sought out, pitying their blind ignorance,
—Harsh was he unto no one but himself;—
And first he taught them to respect themselves,
And then with goodness lured them on to virtue.
He hated sin, but the poor outcast sinner
Was still his human brother. This was goodness,
And this was greatness too; but, to my thinking,
It does not show such strength of innate virtue
As that refusal of the offered wealth,
Seeing he was poor, and had an aged mother
Dependent on him, loving so that mother.
Why, most men would have snatched the gold in triumph,
Smoothing the prize on 't to an easy conscience.
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He was not of their sort.
Woman.
But I must to him.
How calm he lies with parted smiling lips!
—Oh God, thou hast ta'en thine own!
Man.
Ah! is he dead?
Yes, this is death; sleep ne'er was calm like this.
But what an angel's face it is in death!
Woman.
He's with his mother now, a saint in heaven.
Man.
Well mayst thou weep, nor can I keep back tears.
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THE FAËRY OATH.
“Thy voice is weak, thine eyes are dim,”
The holy father said to him;
“The damp of death is on thy brow,
Whate'er thy sin, confess it now,
Confess it, ere it be too late.
Is it blood, or pride, or restless hate?”
The holy father said to him;
“The damp of death is on thy brow,
Whate'er thy sin, confess it now,
Confess it, ere it be too late.
Is it blood, or pride, or restless hate?”
“I have shed no blood,” he thus replied,
“I have hated none, I have known no pride,
Yet have sinned as few men sin beside.
I have bound myself, by oath and spell,
To the faëry people of field and fell,
With solemn rites and mysteries.
Can the church absolve from sins like these?”
“I have hated none, I have known no pride,
Yet have sinned as few men sin beside.
I have bound myself, by oath and spell,
To the faëry people of field and fell,
With solemn rites and mysteries.
Can the church absolve from sins like these?”
“My son,” said the friar, “tell to me
How such enchantment fell on thee.
Thou must have sold thyself to sin,
Ere such enchantment power could win.”
How such enchantment fell on thee.
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Ere such enchantment power could win.”
The sick man lay on the greensward low,
But he raised himself, and his words were slow:
But he raised himself, and his words were slow:
“I dwelt as the minstrel dwells at best,
The thymy wold was my couch of rest;
I watched on the ancient mountains grey,
I dwelt in the greenwood day by day;
I knew each bird that singeth free;
I had knowledge of each herb and tree;
I called each little star by name;
I watched the lightning's subtle flame;
I was learnëd in the skies and seas,
And earth's profoundest mysteries:
But best I loved, in the moonlight glade,
To be where the faëry people played;
And to list their music sweet and low,
Too soft for joy, too wild for woe;
And I tuned my harp, both even and morn,
To the witching airs of the faëry horn,
Till I knew them all, and at will could bring
The revellers wild from their grassy ring.
Then I sate with them at a banquet spread,
I drank their wine that was ruby red,
And a deadly sleep came o'er my brain:
But, when I opened my eyes again,
I was not beneath any earthly tree;
A heavy darkness hung o'er me.
I lay in a couch-like chariot wide,
And one who drove me sate beside:
I heard him urge the horses fleet;
I heard the sound of their ceaseless feet.
On they went, o'er the rugged road,
For days and days, with their easy load:
Swiftly we sped, and the passing air
Was cool on my cheek and lifted my hair.
On we went over mountains high,
And roaring waters we journeyed by,
And through thick woods where the air was cold,
O'er sandy wastes and the furzy wold,
Day after day, as it seemed to me,
In a gloom, like the night of eternity.
The thymy wold was my couch of rest;
I watched on the ancient mountains grey,
I dwelt in the greenwood day by day;
I knew each bird that singeth free;
I had knowledge of each herb and tree;
I called each little star by name;
I watched the lightning's subtle flame;
I was learnëd in the skies and seas,
And earth's profoundest mysteries:
But best I loved, in the moonlight glade,
To be where the faëry people played;
And to list their music sweet and low,
Too soft for joy, too wild for woe;
And I tuned my harp, both even and morn,
To the witching airs of the faëry horn,
337
The revellers wild from their grassy ring.
Then I sate with them at a banquet spread,
I drank their wine that was ruby red,
And a deadly sleep came o'er my brain:
But, when I opened my eyes again,
I was not beneath any earthly tree;
A heavy darkness hung o'er me.
I lay in a couch-like chariot wide,
And one who drove me sate beside:
I heard him urge the horses fleet;
I heard the sound of their ceaseless feet.
On they went, o'er the rugged road,
For days and days, with their easy load:
Swiftly we sped, and the passing air
Was cool on my cheek and lifted my hair.
On we went over mountains high,
And roaring waters we journeyed by,
And through thick woods where the air was cold,
O'er sandy wastes and the furzy wold,
Day after day, as it seemed to me,
In a gloom, like the night of eternity.
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At length I sate in another land,
With the faëry people on either hand.
Where was that land I cannot say:
Its light was not like the light of day;
The air was not like the air of earth;
'Twas the wondrous land where dreams have birth.
There were marvellous things of shape divine;
There were fountains that poured forth purple wine;
There were trees that bent with their golden load
Of fruits, that all gifts of mind bestowed;
The very air did breathe and sigh,
As if o'erburdened with melody.
But then there were frightful creeping things;
The coil of the adder, the harpy's wings,
The screech of the owl, the death-bed moan,
And eyes that would turn the blood to stone.
I was set to the feast, and half in dread
I drank of the cup, and I ate the bread;
I was told to bathe, and half in fear
I bathed myself in those waters clear:
I ate, I drank, I bathed, and then
I could no longer have part with men.
I dwelt 'mid the faëries, their merry king;
I danced on the earth, in the charmëd ring;
I learned the songs of awful mirth
That were made ere man abode on earth,
In the time of chaos, stern and grey,
'Mid the ruins of old worlds passed away.
With the faëry people on either hand.
Where was that land I cannot say:
Its light was not like the light of day;
The air was not like the air of earth;
'Twas the wondrous land where dreams have birth.
There were marvellous things of shape divine;
There were fountains that poured forth purple wine;
There were trees that bent with their golden load
Of fruits, that all gifts of mind bestowed;
The very air did breathe and sigh,
As if o'erburdened with melody.
But then there were frightful creeping things;
The coil of the adder, the harpy's wings,
The screech of the owl, the death-bed moan,
And eyes that would turn the blood to stone.
I was set to the feast, and half in dread
I drank of the cup, and I ate the bread;
I was told to bathe, and half in fear
I bathed myself in those waters clear:
I ate, I drank, I bathed, and then
I could no longer have part with men.
339
I danced on the earth, in the charmëd ring;
I learned the songs of awful mirth
That were made ere man abode on earth,
In the time of chaos, stern and grey,
'Mid the ruins of old worlds passed away.
A careless joyful life I led
Till thrice seven years, as a day, had sped;
Then a longing wish was in my mind
To dwell once more among my kind:
So up I rose, but I told to none
What journey I was departing on;
And at the close of a summer's day
I laid me down on the flowery brae.
Till thrice seven years, as a day, had sped;
Then a longing wish was in my mind
To dwell once more among my kind:
So up I rose, but I told to none
What journey I was departing on;
And at the close of a summer's day
I laid me down on the flowery brae.
Ere long came one, and a friar was he,
Muttering over his rosary:
He was lean and crabbed and old;
His voice was thick, and his prayers were cold;
He moved not my heart. Then came there by
A fair child, chasing a butterfly:
'Twas a lovely boy, with his free, bright hair,
Like a sunny cloud, o'er his shoulders bare;
And, as he danced in his glee along,
He filled the air with a joyful song.
I blessed the child, from my inmost heart,
With a faëry gift that could ne'er depart.
Next came a maiden, all alone,
And down she sate on a mossy stone:
Fair was she as the morning's smile;
But her serious eye had a tear the while.
Then she raised to heaven her thoughtful look,
And drew from her bosom a claspëd book.
Page by page of that book she read;
Hour by hour I listenëd.
Still on she read sedate and low,
And at every word I was wrung with woe;
For she taught what I ne'er had known before,
The holy truths of the Christian lore.
And I saw the sinful life I led,
And my human heart was shook with dread;
And I, who had lived in pleasures wild,
Now wept in awe, like a stricken child.
Muttering over his rosary:
He was lean and crabbed and old;
His voice was thick, and his prayers were cold;
He moved not my heart. Then came there by
A fair child, chasing a butterfly:
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Like a sunny cloud, o'er his shoulders bare;
And, as he danced in his glee along,
He filled the air with a joyful song.
I blessed the child, from my inmost heart,
With a faëry gift that could ne'er depart.
Next came a maiden, all alone,
And down she sate on a mossy stone:
Fair was she as the morning's smile;
But her serious eye had a tear the while.
Then she raised to heaven her thoughtful look,
And drew from her bosom a claspëd book.
Page by page of that book she read;
Hour by hour I listenëd.
Still on she read sedate and low,
And at every word I was wrung with woe;
For she taught what I ne'er had known before,
The holy truths of the Christian lore.
And I saw the sinful life I led,
And my human heart was shook with dread;
And I, who had lived in pleasures wild,
Now wept in awe, like a stricken child.
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Down I knelt, and I strove to pray,
But never a hope to my soul found way;
For with that spell I was bound and bound,
And with elvish snares was compassed round:
But a prayer was ever on my tongue,
For soon I learned that prayers were strong
To unweave the webs that were in my track
To win my soul to the faëry back.
I have wrestled hard, I have vainly striven
'Gainst them, and for my peace with Heaven;
But now my strength doth ebb apace.
“Father, can the Church award me grace,
And among the blessed a dwelling-place?”
But never a hope to my soul found way;
For with that spell I was bound and bound,
And with elvish snares was compassed round:
But a prayer was ever on my tongue,
For soon I learned that prayers were strong
To unweave the webs that were in my track
To win my soul to the faëry back.
I have wrestled hard, I have vainly striven
'Gainst them, and for my peace with Heaven;
But now my strength doth ebb apace.
“Father, can the Church award me grace,
And among the blessed a dwelling-place?”
“My son,” the reverend friar spake,
“Behold how the faëry webs shall break.
Thou hast fought the fight, thou hast battled long,
And the victor here is not the strong;
But the gates of heaven stand open wide,
And the contrite heart is the sanctified.
Give up; stand, like the Hebrews, still,
And behold the wonders of God's will.
Lay down thy strife, lay down thy pride,
Lay all thy hope on Christ who died,
And thou art saved; for, at his spell,
Not faëry webs, but the gates of hell
Are dashed aside like the morning's mist.
Oh, vainly might fay or fiend resist!
Have faith; 'tis the spell of glory, given
To burst all bars on the way to heaven.
Have faith, have heaven, my son!”
“Behold how the faëry webs shall break.
Thou hast fought the fight, thou hast battled long,
And the victor here is not the strong;
But the gates of heaven stand open wide,
And the contrite heart is the sanctified.
Give up; stand, like the Hebrews, still,
And behold the wonders of God's will.
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Lay all thy hope on Christ who died,
And thou art saved; for, at his spell,
Not faëry webs, but the gates of hell
Are dashed aside like the morning's mist.
Oh, vainly might fay or fiend resist!
Have faith; 'tis the spell of glory, given
To burst all bars on the way to heaven.
Have faith, have heaven, my son!”
There ran
A sudden joy through the dying man;
And the holy father bent his knee,
Chanting “Te laudamus, Domine!”
A sudden joy through the dying man;
And the holy father bent his knee,
Chanting “Te laudamus, Domine!”
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VILLAGE CHILDREN.
Like the wild birds on the trees,
Like the wingëd autumn breeze,
Like whate'er has life and gladness,
Unallied to thought and sadness,
Are ye, children blithe and boon,
Shouting to the harvest-moon;
And your joy, like waters free,
Bubbles forth perpetually.
Nought ye heed that ye must toil,
Sons and daughters of the soil;
That within this quiet place
Ye must run your simple race,
Never know the stir and strife
Of a loftier, nobler life;
That your bones, where ye have played,
By your fathers' shall be laid.
Nought ye care for learning vain,
Which but dulleth pulse and brain:
Ye are neither deep nor wise;
Ye shall ne'er philosophise.
Lowly ones, that matters not,
Doth not gloom your humble lot,
Doth not make one ray depart
From the sunshine of your heart.
Like the wingëd autumn breeze,
Like whate'er has life and gladness,
Unallied to thought and sadness,
Are ye, children blithe and boon,
Shouting to the harvest-moon;
And your joy, like waters free,
Bubbles forth perpetually.
Nought ye heed that ye must toil,
Sons and daughters of the soil;
That within this quiet place
Ye must run your simple race,
Never know the stir and strife
Of a loftier, nobler life;
That your bones, where ye have played,
By your fathers' shall be laid.
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Which but dulleth pulse and brain:
Ye are neither deep nor wise;
Ye shall ne'er philosophise.
Lowly ones, that matters not,
Doth not gloom your humble lot,
Doth not make one ray depart
From the sunshine of your heart.
Happy children! here ye run
Gaily in the summer's sun;
'Neath this village tree ye play;
Down these shadowy lanes ye stray
Gathering flowers, or singing wild
To some younger laughing child.
'Tis a kindly life ye lead;
Such as poet hath decreed
To that earlier, happy time,
Ere the earth was gloomed by crime.
Gaily in the summer's sun;
'Neath this village tree ye play;
Down these shadowy lanes ye stray
Gathering flowers, or singing wild
To some younger laughing child.
'Tis a kindly life ye lead;
Such as poet hath decreed
To that earlier, happy time,
Ere the earth was gloomed by crime.
Simple ones, and full of gladness,
Ye shall school my spirit's sadness.
Never-ending joy ye find
In your own contented mind;
Sending not your spirits out
Searching wearily about
For ideal things, that lie
Nowhere underneath the sky.
I, like you, will find delight
On the left hand and the right,
Nor o'erlook the treasure sweet
Which is lying at my feet.
Ye shall school my spirit's sadness.
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In your own contented mind;
Sending not your spirits out
Searching wearily about
For ideal things, that lie
Nowhere underneath the sky.
I, like you, will find delight
On the left hand and the right,
Nor o'erlook the treasure sweet
Which is lying at my feet.
Children, though untaught ye be,
Thus ye shall be guides to me.
Thus ye shall be guides to me.
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THE SEA FOWLER.
The baron hath the landward park, the fisher hath the sea,
But the rocky haunts of the sea-fowl belong alone to me.
But the rocky haunts of the sea-fowl belong alone to me.
The baron hunts the running deer, the fisher nets the brine;
But every bird that builds a nest on ocean-cliffs is mine.
But every bird that builds a nest on ocean-cliffs is mine.
Come on then, Jock and Alick, let's to the sea-rocks bold:
I was trained to take the sea-fowl ere I was five years old.
I was trained to take the sea-fowl ere I was five years old.
The wild sea roars, and lashes the granite crags below;
And round the misty islets the loud strong tempests blow.
And round the misty islets the loud strong tempests blow.
And let them blow! Roar wind and wave, they shall not me dismay;
I've faced the eagle in her nest and snatched her young away.
I've faced the eagle in her nest and snatched her young away.
The eagle shall not build her nest, proud bird although she be,
Nor yet the strong-winged cormorant, without the leave of me.
Nor yet the strong-winged cormorant, without the leave of me.
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The eider-duck has laid her eggs, the tern doth hatch her young,
And the merry gull screams o'er her brood; but all to me belong.
And the merry gull screams o'er her brood; but all to me belong.
Away, then, in the daylight, and back again ere eve;
The eagle could not rear her young, unless I gave her leave.
The eagle could not rear her young, unless I gave her leave.
The baron hath the landward park, the fisher hath the sea;
But the rocky haunts of the sea-fowl belong alone to me.
But the rocky haunts of the sea-fowl belong alone to me.
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THE FISHING-BOAT.
GOING OUT.
Briskly blows the evening gale,Fresh and free it blows;
Blessings on the fishing-boat,
How merrily she goes!
Christ he loved the fishermen;
Walking by the sea,
How he blessed the fishing-boats
Down in Galilee!
Dark the night, and wild the wave,
Christ the boat is keeping;
Trust in him, and have no fear,
Though he seemeth sleeping.
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COMING IN.
Briskly blows the morning breeze,Fresh and strong it blows;
Blessings on the fishing-boat,
How steadily she goes!
Christ he loved the fishermen;
And he blessed the net
Which the hopeless fishers threw
In Genesaret.
He has blessed our going out,
Blessed too our returning;
Given us laden nets at night,
And fair wind in the morning.
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THE PREACHER'S STORY.
Mine is no idle legend of romance,
No flowery tale of knights and chivalrie,
Of love-lorn damsel, or of elfin dance
Held in the moonlight 'neath some haunted tree;
Nor fabled marvels of the far-off sea:
Such lighter themes I leave to younger men;
Ill would it suit an ancient man like me,
Whose days are verging to fourscore and ten,
On light and trivial tale toemploy my feeble pen.
No flowery tale of knights and chivalrie,
Of love-lorn damsel, or of elfin dance
Held in the moonlight 'neath some haunted tree;
Nor fabled marvels of the far-off sea:
Such lighter themes I leave to younger men;
Ill would it suit an ancient man like me,
Whose days are verging to fourscore and ten,
On light and trivial tale toemploy my feeble pen.
Fain would I, from my long experience,
Teach you what well beseemeth all to know:
How good it is to trust in Providence,
Who clothes the lilies in their vests of snow,
And from his high heaven sees our want and woe,
Counts every tear, and hears each secret sigh;
Who bids the floods of righteous vengeance flow,
Yet bounds their devastation. Even I
Have seen his love displayed, and of it testify.
Teach you what well beseemeth all to know:
How good it is to trust in Providence,
Who clothes the lilies in their vests of snow,
And from his high heaven sees our want and woe,
Counts every tear, and hears each secret sigh;
Who bids the floods of righteous vengeance flow,
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Have seen his love displayed, and of it testify.
Bonds unto death my pious fathers knew,
For conscience' sake: the might of bigot power,
Even on their hearths and at their altars, slew,
As a fierce Moloch greedy to devour.
How strong the weak in persecution's hour,
Who put their trust in God! Fair women stood
Like the mailed champion in his vantage tower;
And tender little ones, through fire and blood,
Maintained their holy faith, pure martyrs unsubdued.
For conscience' sake: the might of bigot power,
Even on their hearths and at their altars, slew,
As a fierce Moloch greedy to devour.
How strong the weak in persecution's hour,
Who put their trust in God! Fair women stood
Like the mailed champion in his vantage tower;
And tender little ones, through fire and blood,
Maintained their holy faith, pure martyrs unsubdued.
God saw his little band in their distress,
And heard their cry rise from the prison cell;
For them he oped the pathless wilderness,
And led them from captivity, to dwell
In a broad land of summer rest, where fell
On them no bigot fury, no behest
Of king or priest their conscience to compel.
No! in the wide free forests of the West
Fearless they worshipped God as they believed it best.
And heard their cry rise from the prison cell;
For them he oped the pathless wilderness,
And led them from captivity, to dwell
In a broad land of summer rest, where fell
On them no bigot fury, no behest
Of king or priest their conscience to compel.
No! in the wide free forests of the West
Fearless they worshipped God as they believed it best.
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Hemmed by the mountains and the forests round,
Beside the margin of a mighty lake,
How quiet was the heritage they found!
How tranquilly each morning did they wake!
How tranquilly, when day was done, betake
Themselves to rest! and on the genial air
What holy sounds of psalmody did break
Forth from the silence of the forest, where
Those humble people met for fervent praise and prayer!
Beside the margin of a mighty lake,
How quiet was the heritage they found!
How tranquilly each morning did they wake!
How tranquilly, when day was done, betake
Themselves to rest! and on the genial air
What holy sounds of psalmody did break
Forth from the silence of the forest, where
Those humble people met for fervent praise and prayer!
They laid their dead beneath the spreading trees,
Making the place about them holy ground.
Years passed: the men grew old, and on their knees
Seated their children's children, and the sound
Of prosperous human life rang gaily round.
No storms had been within their homes of peace;
God's blessing went with them; and they had found,
In flocks, and herds, and stores, a vast increase;
In daughters and in sons, as though the blessing would not cease.
Making the place about them holy ground.
Years passed: the men grew old, and on their knees
Seated their children's children, and the sound
Of prosperous human life rang gaily round.
No storms had been within their homes of peace;
God's blessing went with them; and they had found,
In flocks, and herds, and stores, a vast increase;
In daughters and in sons, as though the blessing would not cease.
I was among the children of those sires.
The forest in its beauty was our own;
And the wild creatures, and the woodland quires,
To us were as familiar playmates known;
And every flower by liberal nature sown
We gathered in our sylvan revelry:
For gladness, as a robe, was o'er us thrown;
And our grey fathers 'neath some forest tree
Sate in their pleasant rest, as joyfully as we.
The forest in its beauty was our own;
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To us were as familiar playmates known;
And every flower by liberal nature sown
We gathered in our sylvan revelry:
For gladness, as a robe, was o'er us thrown;
And our grey fathers 'neath some forest tree
Sate in their pleasant rest, as joyfully as we.
More joyfully; for their tried hearts could measure
Their rest by knowledge all unknown to ours.
Alas! upon that dream of summer pleasure
Broke whirlwind rumours of contending powers;
A quick alarm ran through those sylvan bowers,
With the wild tumult of approaching war;
And in the deep hush of the midnight hours
The dismal war-whoop sounded from afar,
Rousing the slumberers up with its unearthly jar.
Their rest by knowledge all unknown to ours.
Alas! upon that dream of summer pleasure
Broke whirlwind rumours of contending powers;
A quick alarm ran through those sylvan bowers,
With the wild tumult of approaching war;
And in the deep hush of the midnight hours
The dismal war-whoop sounded from afar,
Rousing the slumberers up with its unearthly jar.
And then, with morning's light we sadly traced
Where those wild dwellers of the woods had gone;
Behind them lay a black and smoking waste,
As carrying fire and terror they went on.
Then passed the hostile army; and anon
Our flocks and herds were driven from the stall,
The harvests of our summer trampled down;
And we were left in penury, stripped of all;
Yet dreading worse distress and terror to befall.
Where those wild dwellers of the woods had gone;
Behind them lay a black and smoking waste,
As carrying fire and terror they went on.
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Our flocks and herds were driven from the stall,
The harvests of our summer trampled down;
And we were left in penury, stripped of all;
Yet dreading worse distress and terror to befall.
Trouble on trouble came, and woe on woe,
And famine triumphed o'er our sylvan town;
No more the hunters to the woods could go;
For the fierce Indian ranging up and down,
Or skulking 'neath the dark low boughs, had done
His work of death so frequently and well,
That often of the hunter bands not one
Returned unto the desolate town, to tell
How hopeless was their quest, or where their brethren fell.
And famine triumphed o'er our sylvan town;
No more the hunters to the woods could go;
For the fierce Indian ranging up and down,
Or skulking 'neath the dark low boughs, had done
His work of death so frequently and well,
That often of the hunter bands not one
Returned unto the desolate town, to tell
How hopeless was their quest, or where their brethren fell.
The winter came. Oh, sorrowful to see!
No longer food within the frozen lake,
Nor corn, nor fruits, nor venison store had we,
Nor refuge was there whither to betake
Ourselves from wasting want; and famine spake
Appalling truths in hale men's feebleness;
But it was saddest, when the child did make
Piteous appeal, to dole forth less and less
Of miserable food, a mockery of distress.
No longer food within the frozen lake,
Nor corn, nor fruits, nor venison store had we,
Nor refuge was there whither to betake
Ourselves from wasting want; and famine spake
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But it was saddest, when the child did make
Piteous appeal, to dole forth less and less
Of miserable food, a mockery of distress.
One Sabbath night, one Christmas Sabbath night,
When the bright stars looked from the frosty sky,
And all around the silent earth was white
With the crisp snow, which all untracked did lie,
A blank expanse 'neath Heaven's eternal eye,
We met, as was our wont, for prayer and praise,
Beneath the roof which in long years gone by
Our fathers in the wilderness did raise,
That they might serve the Lord who had redeemed their days.
When the bright stars looked from the frosty sky,
And all around the silent earth was white
With the crisp snow, which all untracked did lie,
A blank expanse 'neath Heaven's eternal eye,
We met, as was our wont, for prayer and praise,
Beneath the roof which in long years gone by
Our fathers in the wilderness did raise,
That they might serve the Lord who had redeemed their days.
My years were few: I was a thoughtless child,
Thoughtless till then; but ne'er shall I forget
That solemn time. My hoary sire, a mild,
Strong-hearted man; I can recall him yet;
He was our minister, and there he met
His little flock, a pale dejected band.
He stood amid them, and his cheeks were wet
With sorrow which his strength could ill withstand,
And love, that o'er his soul had absolute command.
Thoughtless till then; but ne'er shall I forget
That solemn time. My hoary sire, a mild,
Strong-hearted man; I can recall him yet;
He was our minister, and there he met
His little flock, a pale dejected band.
He stood amid them, and his cheeks were wet
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And love, that o'er his soul had absolute command.
He prayed, and he exhorted all to hope,
And put in God undoubting confidence;
He culled from Holy Writ the glorious scope
Of mercy, miracle, and providence,
Proving how faith 'gainst woe is sure defence.
He told of Israel, through the desert led,
Eating of food that came they knew not whence;
And the seven thousand on the mountain fed,
In humble, holy faith, by Christ, the Living Bread.
And put in God undoubting confidence;
He culled from Holy Writ the glorious scope
Of mercy, miracle, and providence,
Proving how faith 'gainst woe is sure defence.
He told of Israel, through the desert led,
Eating of food that came they knew not whence;
And the seven thousand on the mountain fed,
In humble, holy faith, by Christ, the Living Bread.
Strong were his words, mighty and eloquent,
Unlike the usual tenor of his speech;
And to all hearts a clear conviction w en
That God spoke through him, graciously to reach
Their drooping spirits, to console, to teach
How He the fountain of all good would be.
Thus did the Apostles to the churches preach.
All bowed, that blessed night, the trembling knee,
Knowing that God could save, and praying fervently.
Unlike the usual tenor of his speech;
And to all hearts a clear conviction w en
That God spoke through him, graciously to reach
Their drooping spirits, to console, to teach
How He the fountain of all good would be.
Thus did the Apostles to the churches preach.
All bowed, that blessed night, the trembling knee,
Knowing that God could save, and praying fervently.
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Oh, marvel of God's love! The morning light
Put doubt and misbelieving fear to shame;
For, from the forest, in the silent night,
Herds of the wild-deer trooping onward came
Into our empty folds, as come the tame
Flocks from the pasture. To the very door
Those shy, wild creatures, which all art disclaim,
Came a free sacrifice, a living store
Sent by their God and ours, that we might want no more.
Put doubt and misbelieving fear to shame;
For, from the forest, in the silent night,
Herds of the wild-deer trooping onward came
Into our empty folds, as come the tame
Flocks from the pasture. To the very door
Those shy, wild creatures, which all art disclaim,
Came a free sacrifice, a living store
Sent by their God and ours, that we might want no more.
Pity it seemed those gentle beasts to slay:
But hunger hath no mercies; and so great
Had been our want, that on their easy prey
They fell and slew, and, thankfully elate,
They and their famished households freely ate.
There was no longer want, no longer fear,
All saw that God, in love compassionate,
Had in their sorest need vouchsafed to hear,
And given unto their prayers food to sustain and cheer.
But hunger hath no mercies; and so great
Had been our want, that on their easy prey
They fell and slew, and, thankfully elate,
They and their famished households freely ate.
There was no longer want, no longer fear,
All saw that God, in love compassionate,
Had in their sorest need vouchsafed to hear,
And given unto their prayers food to sustain and cheer.
From that day forth all vain and idle thought,
All cold and sinful doubt, I put aside;
I felt that a strong power within me wrought,
Which changed my foolish heart and purified;
God's power I saw, which could not be belied;
His arm outstretched, as in the ancient day;
Therefore, abasing all unholy pride,
I vowed to be his minister alway,
And preach to all His love, which hath no stint nor stay.
All cold and sinful doubt, I put aside;
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Which changed my foolish heart and purified;
God's power I saw, which could not be belied;
His arm outstretched, as in the ancient day;
Therefore, abasing all unholy pride,
I vowed to be his minister alway,
And preach to all His love, which hath no stint nor stay.
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THE GOLDEN AGE.
They had a lovely dream of old,
Of a pure age, an Age of Gold,
Wherein they neither bought nor sold:
A reign of bliss, ere care was known,
Or sin the seed of death had sown;
Ere human hearts had ached in sorrow,
Or human eyes had shed a tear;
Ere men grew careful for the morrow,
Or pined in hope, or drooped in fear;
Ere trusting faith had felt a blight,
Or love had aught to hide or shun;
Ere the day's thought, from morn to night,
Was but to keep what it had won;
Or the night's rest was broken from pain
Of weary count of loss and gain;
When all was kind and fair and pure,
And love and joy, like truth, were sure.
Of a pure age, an Age of Gold,
Wherein they neither bought nor sold:
A reign of bliss, ere care was known,
Or sin the seed of death had sown;
Ere human hearts had ached in sorrow,
Or human eyes had shed a tear;
Ere men grew careful for the morrow,
Or pined in hope, or drooped in fear;
Ere trusting faith had felt a blight,
Or love had aught to hide or shun;
Ere the day's thought, from morn to night,
Was but to keep what it had won;
Or the night's rest was broken from pain
Of weary count of loss and gain;
When all was kind and fair and pure,
And love and joy, like truth, were sure.
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Oh, Age of Gold! wert thou a vision
By some enthusiast poet seen?
The unveiling of the land Elysian,
Where death has never been?
The foretaste of a happier lot,
The prelude of a state to be,
To show that this dim earth was not
The home of man's nativity?
For what the aspiring soul desired,
And traced in its excursive flight,
Was truth in fancy's garb attired,
The shadowing forth of its delight,
A glimpse of glory infinite;
The dawning of a perfect day,
Which prophet bards had long foretold,
When sin and woe should pass away,
And bring once more the Age of Gold.
By some enthusiast poet seen?
The unveiling of the land Elysian,
Where death has never been?
The foretaste of a happier lot,
The prelude of a state to be,
To show that this dim earth was not
The home of man's nativity?
For what the aspiring soul desired,
And traced in its excursive flight,
Was truth in fancy's garb attired,
The shadowing forth of its delight,
A glimpse of glory infinite;
The dawning of a perfect day,
Which prophet bards had long foretold,
When sin and woe should pass away,
And bring once more the Age of Gold.
Nay, leave these speculative themes,
Leave to the poet his sweet dreams,
And I will show thee a delicious page
Of living poetry, the real Golden Age.
A brighter, gladder Age of Gold, in sooth,
Than poets feigned, the Golden Age of Youth.
Leave to the poet his sweet dreams,
And I will show thee a delicious page
Of living poetry, the real Golden Age.
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Than poets feigned, the Golden Age of Youth.
Oh, Youth! thou hast a wealth beyond
What careful men do spend their souls to gain:
A trustful heart, that knows not to despond;
A joy unmixed with pain.
A world of beauty lies within thy ken;
Another paradise becomes thy lot;
Thou walk'st amid the ways of toiling men,
And yet thou knowest it not.
Thou thinkëst not to plot and circumvent;
Thou dost not calculate from morn till eve;
They speak of guile, thou know'st not what is meant;
Of broken faith, thou canst not it conceive.
What careful men do spend their souls to gain:
A trustful heart, that knows not to despond;
A joy unmixed with pain.
A world of beauty lies within thy ken;
Another paradise becomes thy lot;
Thou walk'st amid the ways of toiling men,
And yet thou knowest it not.
Thou thinkëst not to plot and circumvent;
Thou dost not calculate from morn till eve;
They speak of guile, thou know'st not what is meant;
Of broken faith, thou canst not it conceive.
Oh, happy Golden Age! thy limbs are strong,
Thou boundest like the fawn amid its play;
Thy speech is as the melody of song;
Thy pulse like waters on their cheerful way;
Beauty enrobes thee as a garment's fold;
And, as a spring within thy heart's recess,
Wells up, more precious than the sands of gold,
Thy own great happiness.
Thou boundest like the fawn amid its play;
Thy speech is as the melody of song;
Thy pulse like waters on their cheerful way;
Beauty enrobes thee as a garment's fold;
And, as a spring within thy heart's recess,
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Thy own great happiness.
Oh, beautiful and bright! That thou mightst keep
The kindness of thy soul as it is now!
That o'er thy heart no selfish chill might creep!
No sorrow dim thy brow!
That thou mightst gather up life's flowers,
Love, joy, and meditative hours,
And twine them as an amaranthine wreath
Around thy brows in death!
My daughter! my own life! to thee I turn,
And with a warm solicitude do yearn
Toward thee, in thy unpractised innocence,
And pour my longings out in fervent prayer:
God be thy blessing, thy assured defence,
Thy Comforter, thy Father, everywhere!
The kindness of thy soul as it is now!
That o'er thy heart no selfish chill might creep!
No sorrow dim thy brow!
That thou mightst gather up life's flowers,
Love, joy, and meditative hours,
And twine them as an amaranthine wreath
Around thy brows in death!
My daughter! my own life! to thee I turn,
And with a warm solicitude do yearn
Toward thee, in thy unpractised innocence,
And pour my longings out in fervent prayer:
God be thy blessing, thy assured defence,
Thy Comforter, thy Father, everywhere!
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DEATH.
The flower-strewn earth is wondrous fair,
But Death, the strong, is everywhere.
It matters not how bright, how still,
Is valley green, or cloud-capped hill,
Death, like a hard unpitying foe,
Is there to strike the certain blow.
Thus, yesterday, to-day, to-morrow,
Till time is done, shall be this sorrow.
Thus is it in all distant climes;
Thus was it in the ancient times.
The prophets are of former days;
All those whom we delight to praise;
The bard, whose soul was love and light;
The arm that combated for right;
The patriot-king; the wise, the brave;
All, all, are mouldering in the grave.
The gain was thine when rose on high
The Egyptian mothers' midnight cry;
When God's strong angel, with a blast
Which smote, among the Assyrians passed;
When the unnumbered Persians lay
On Salamis at break of day;
And when, 'mid revelry, came down
Darkness on the Italian town:
Then Death, thou hadst the victory.
But Death, the strong, is everywhere.
It matters not how bright, how still,
Is valley green, or cloud-capped hill,
Death, like a hard unpitying foe,
Is there to strike the certain blow.
Thus, yesterday, to-day, to-morrow,
Till time is done, shall be this sorrow.
Thus is it in all distant climes;
Thus was it in the ancient times.
The prophets are of former days;
All those whom we delight to praise;
The bard, whose soul was love and light;
The arm that combated for right;
The patriot-king; the wise, the brave;
All, all, are mouldering in the grave.
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The Egyptian mothers' midnight cry;
When God's strong angel, with a blast
Which smote, among the Assyrians passed;
When the unnumbered Persians lay
On Salamis at break of day;
And when, 'mid revelry, came down
Darkness on the Italian town:
Then Death, thou hadst the victory.
Oh, Death! oh, spoiler, stern and strong!
The sea, the isles, to thee belong.
The hoary hills are all thine own,
With the grey cairn and cromlech-stone;
The groves of oak, the woods of pine,
The sunless ocean-caves are thine.
Thy ancient slumbers lie beneath
The untilled verdure of the heath;
The merchant meets thee 'mid his gold,
The hunter on the breezy wold;
The seaman finds no unknown bay,
But there thou lurkest for thy prey.
Thou spoiler of life's charm! thou cold
Defacer of time's purest gold!
Where is the spot to thee unknown?
The whole wide world by thee is sown,
And years must pass in misery steeped,
Ere that dread harvest shall be reaped.
The sea, the isles, to thee belong.
The hoary hills are all thine own,
With the grey cairn and cromlech-stone;
The groves of oak, the woods of pine,
The sunless ocean-caves are thine.
Thy ancient slumbers lie beneath
The untilled verdure of the heath;
The merchant meets thee 'mid his gold,
The hunter on the breezy wold;
The seaman finds no unknown bay,
But there thou lurkest for thy prey.
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Defacer of time's purest gold!
Where is the spot to thee unknown?
The whole wide world by thee is sown,
And years must pass in misery steeped,
Ere that dread harvest shall be reaped.
Yet, conqueror of conquerors stern!
Yet, deaf despoiler! who dost spurn
All prayers, all tears; thou yet must bow
Unto a mightier than thou.
Long in thy night was man forlorn,
Long didst thou laugh his hopes to scorn;
Vain were philosophy's faint dreams,
Their light was but as meteor gleams;
Till rose the conqueror of Death,
The humble man of Nazareth;
He stood between us and despair;
He bore, and gave us strength to bear;
The mysteries of the grave unsealed,
And our high destiny revealed.
Nor bard, nor sage, may comprehend
The heaven of rest to which we tend.
Our home is not this mortal clime;
Our life hath not its bounds in time;
And death is but the cloud that lies
Between our souls and paradise!
Yet, deaf despoiler! who dost spurn
All prayers, all tears; thou yet must bow
Unto a mightier than thou.
Long in thy night was man forlorn,
Long didst thou laugh his hopes to scorn;
Vain were philosophy's faint dreams,
Their light was but as meteor gleams;
Till rose the conqueror of Death,
The humble man of Nazareth;
He stood between us and despair;
He bore, and gave us strength to bear;
The mysteries of the grave unsealed,
And our high destiny revealed.
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The heaven of rest to which we tend.
Our home is not this mortal clime;
Our life hath not its bounds in time;
And death is but the cloud that lies
Between our souls and paradise!
Oh, Death! well might each thoughtful race
Give thee the high and holy place;
Earth's loveliest scenes are meet for thee,
Thou portal of Eternity!
Give thee the high and holy place;
Earth's loveliest scenes are meet for thee,
Thou portal of Eternity!
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SPRING CROCUSES.
Not to cold-hearted, weary care
Give up thy heart, a votary won;
Come now, a simple pleasure seize,
Where a thousand thousand crocuses
Are shining in the sun.
Give up thy heart, a votary won;
Come now, a simple pleasure seize,
Where a thousand thousand crocuses
Are shining in the sun.
I have seen them oft, and loved them long,
Comparing them, in wild vagary,
To some enchanted lake that lies
Beneath the bright, enchanted skies,
In the old land of faëry.
Comparing them, in wild vagary,
To some enchanted lake that lies
Beneath the bright, enchanted skies,
In the old land of faëry.
But why need we comparisons,
They are themselves so beautiful:
Are they not flowers, dear English flowers,
Growing in meadows that are ours,
For any child to pull?
They are themselves so beautiful:
Are they not flowers, dear English flowers,
Growing in meadows that are ours,
For any child to pull?
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And from the dim and treeless town
The little children have gone forth,
Running and leaping, happy bands,
With little baskets in their hands,
And hearts brimful of mirth.
The little children have gone forth,
Running and leaping, happy bands,
With little baskets in their hands,
And hearts brimful of mirth.
And, darkly pondering on the past,
Slowly have come down aged men,
Feeble with years, and bent and hoar,
To gaze upon the flowers once more;
Never to gaze again.
Slowly have come down aged men,
Feeble with years, and bent and hoar,
To gaze upon the flowers once more;
Never to gaze again.
Here come the children of the poor,
Leaving their early cares behind,
Gamesome as the wild forest herd,
And free as is the mountain bird,
Or as the mountain wind.
Leaving their early cares behind,
Gamesome as the wild forest herd,
And free as is the mountain bird,
Or as the mountain wind.
Some like strong lambs at play; and some
Culling of choicest flowers a few;
And some, like gleaners, bending low,
Keep gathering in a steady row,
And never have enow.
Culling of choicest flowers a few;
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Keep gathering in a steady row,
And never have enow.
The little infant 'mong the grass
Sits, meekly thinking to itself;
Until comes out a gaudy fly,
Or a small bee goes humming by,
Then shouts the merry elf.
Sits, meekly thinking to itself;
Until comes out a gaudy fly,
Or a small bee goes humming by,
Then shouts the merry elf.
Ay, sing unto the lark above ye,
And freely wander where ye list;
And glean up, from the abounding earth,
Strong joy and rosy health and mirth;
Good gifts too often missed:
And freely wander where ye list;
And glean up, from the abounding earth,
Strong joy and rosy health and mirth;
Good gifts too often missed:
For carelessly ye wander now;
But passing life brings deepening shadows,
And ye, in some far burning clime,
May oft retrace the youthful time
Spent in your native meadows.
But passing life brings deepening shadows,
And ye, in some far burning clime,
May oft retrace the youthful time
Spent in your native meadows.
370
And God sent flowers to beautify
The earth, and cheer man's careful mood;
And he is happiest who has power
To gather wisdom from a flower,
And wake his heart in every hour
To wholesome gratitude.
The earth, and cheer man's careful mood;
And he is happiest who has power
To gather wisdom from a flower,
And wake his heart in every hour
To wholesome gratitude.
371
THE LOST ONE.
We meet around the board, thou art not there;
Over our household joys hath passed a gloom;
Beside the fire we see thy empty chair,
And miss thy sweet voice in the silent room.
What hopeless longings after thee arise!
Even for the touch of thy small hand I pine;
And for the sound of thy dear little feet.
Alas! tears dim mine eyes,
Meeting in every place some joy of thine,
Or when fair children pass me in the street.
Over our household joys hath passed a gloom;
Beside the fire we see thy empty chair,
And miss thy sweet voice in the silent room.
What hopeless longings after thee arise!
Even for the touch of thy small hand I pine;
And for the sound of thy dear little feet.
Alas! tears dim mine eyes,
Meeting in every place some joy of thine,
Or when fair children pass me in the street.
Beauty was on thy cheek; and thou didst seem
A privileged being, chartered from decay;
And thy free spirit, like a mountain stream
That hath no ebb, kept on its cheerful way.
Thy laugh was like the inspiring breath of spring,
That thrills the heart, and cannot be unfelt.
The sun, the moon, the green leaves and the flowers,
And every living thing,
Were a strong joy to thee; thy spirit dwelt
Gladly in life, rejoicing in its powers.
A privileged being, chartered from decay;
And thy free spirit, like a mountain stream
That hath no ebb, kept on its cheerful way.
372
That thrills the heart, and cannot be unfelt.
The sun, the moon, the green leaves and the flowers,
And every living thing,
Were a strong joy to thee; thy spirit dwelt
Gladly in life, rejoicing in its powers.
Oh! what had death to do with one like thee,
Thou young and loving one; whose soul did cling,
Even as the ivy clings unto the tree,
To those that loved thee? Thou, whose tears would spring
Dreading a short day's absence, didst thou go
Alone into the future world unseen,
Solving each awful untried mystery,
The dread unknown to know;
To be where mortal traveller hath not been,
Whence welcome tidings cannot come from thee?
Thou young and loving one; whose soul did cling,
Even as the ivy clings unto the tree,
To those that loved thee? Thou, whose tears would spring
Dreading a short day's absence, didst thou go
Alone into the future world unseen,
Solving each awful untried mystery,
The dread unknown to know;
To be where mortal traveller hath not been,
Whence welcome tidings cannot come from thee?
My happy boy! and murmur I that death
Over thy young and buoyant frame had power?
In yon bright land love never perisheth,
Hope may not mock, nor grief the heart devour.
The beautiful are round thee; thou dost keep
Within the Eternal Presence; and no more
Mayst death, or pain, or separation, dread:
Thy bright eyes cannot weep,
Nor they with whom thou art thy loss deplore;
For ye are of the living, not the dead.
Over thy young and buoyant frame had power?
In yon bright land love never perisheth,
Hope may not mock, nor grief the heart devour.
373
Within the Eternal Presence; and no more
Mayst death, or pain, or separation, dread:
Thy bright eyes cannot weep,
Nor they with whom thou art thy loss deplore;
For ye are of the living, not the dead.
Thou dweller with the unseen, who hast explored
The immense unknown; thou to whom death and heaven
Are mysteries no more; whose soul is stored
With knowledge for which man hath vainly striven;
Beloved child, oh! when shall I lie down
With thee beneath fair trees that cannot fade?
When from the immortal rivers quench my thirst?
Life's journey speedeth on;
Yet for a little while we walk in shade;
Anon, by death the cloud is all dispersed;
Then o'er the hills of heaven the eternal day doth burst.
The immense unknown; thou to whom death and heaven
Are mysteries no more; whose soul is stored
With knowledge for which man hath vainly striven;
Beloved child, oh! when shall I lie down
With thee beneath fair trees that cannot fade?
When from the immortal rivers quench my thirst?
Life's journey speedeth on;
Yet for a little while we walk in shade;
Anon, by death the cloud is all dispersed;
Then o'er the hills of heaven the eternal day doth burst.
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