-^€:^A 
 
 B 
 
 
 JEM E. U. NEALIJS. 
 
 METM M. WMMWM^QM 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. JAMES SADLIER. 
 
 ^ 
 
 '•.V- 
 
 V 
 
 Pouttral: 
 
 D. 6- J. SADLIER <Sr^ CO., 
 NoTRB Dame S'ntBBT* 
 
 V_ 
 
//, S I b 
 
 / 
 
ontents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Dedication 5 ^ 
 
 Preface ^ 
 
 At Last ^3 
 
 r ■ l6 
 
 Longing 
 
 Sand Cove Beach 
 
 20 
 A Shepherd True 
 
 My Crucifix • ^ 
 
 Neai ing Home ^ 
 
 A Farewell ' , 
 
 The Reason • * ^ ^ 
 
 Vox Dei 3^ ■ 
 
 Frozen Flowers ^ 
 
 For the Last Time ^^ 
 
 For Me ^^ 
 
 By the Firelight ^ 
 
 At Sunset • * * * * ' * * ^ 
 
 My Knight ^^ 
 
 Drifting..... ^^ 
 
 Ashes 
 
 The Bells 
 
 43 
 
 On the Pier , -^ ' ^^ 
 
 At Memramcook • ^ 
 
 At St. Joseph's Altar ' 49 
 
 Rest at Last ^^ 
 
 Sir Galahad • • * -^ 
 
 A Violin Solo 53 
 
 The Irish Flag ^5 
 
 Venijjesu • ^' 
 
"* CONTENTS. 
 
 ast Greeting 5^ 
 
 In Umbra Mortis ^2 
 
 The Sanctuary Choir . . , , 5 ^ 
 
 Doves ^ - 
 
 Dead Roses ^5 
 
 Unanswered ^ 5- 
 
 Cum Ipso 5g 
 
 The Heavenly Country ^q 
 
 My Medal ^2 
 
 Pax Tecum „5 
 
 -^11 .......".■.■.;■..";■..■;.■;.■■..■.■.■.■.■■.;.■.■ 78 
 
 Too Late . . . , -^q 
 
 At Eventide j^ j 
 
 Masks. , 32 
 
 After the Rain g^ 
 
 ^'^'ting g^ 
 
 InMemoriam.c g^ 
 
 Mary AjLines , gg 
 
 Rest and Peace , q^ 
 
 At the " Hermitage.'* o j 
 
 Stronger than Death 02 
 
 At his Grave . ^. 
 
 94 
 
 '^'""^ 97 
 
 ft V * -» K, ^- ", ^' -, , :'■ • 
 

 nmxtn in '^mmti 
 
 '-^•i 
 
 ^ 
 ^ 
 
 jFrancis, 
 Marg, iWargaret. 
 
 
 Oh, Saints in Heaven may pray with earnest will 
 And pity for their weak and erring brothers. 
 
 But there is a prayer in Heaven more tender still— 
 The liU/e childi-en pleading for their Jucikers. 
 
 ' Adelaid a. Proctor. 
 
/• 
 
 ^ 
 
 Only the ** Drift " that is idly tossed 
 
 On the changing tides that ebb and flow,— 
 
 Pieces of " wreck " from fair hopes—lost 
 In life's troubled waters, long ago. 
 
 Only the " Drift " that comes floating in, 
 Some to be gathered from off the shore, 
 
 Some, like the dreams of what " might have been, 
 To go softly out, and be seen no more. 
 
 
Prepace. 
 
 ^m 
 
 It is with very great pleasure that I comply with the request 
 
 of the amiable and gifted Author of this unpretending little 
 
 volume, to write a preface thereto. To my thinking, a preface 
 
 is hardly necessary to such a collection of poetic flowers, 
 
 springing direct from a tender, loving heart, and shedding their 
 
 ' own sweet perfume of love and sorrow and religious fervor 
 
 on all who may come within their gracious influence. Yes, 
 
 truly, these charming versicles do, in the words of our greatest 
 
 American poet : 
 
 ** Gush from the heart, 
 As rain from the clouds of summer, 
 Or tears from the eyelids start." 
 
 What Ossian calls the *' joy of grief" runs, hke a deep under- 
 tone, through the poetry of Mrs. NeaUs. It is evidently a 
 sorrowful mysterious joy to her finely-tuned mind to sing of 
 the sorrows that have darkened her life ; and those who know 
 her history can fully understand the piteous wail that ever 
 and anon rings out like the wild death-song of the old Celtic 
 "keeners." 
 
 The touching dedication, " To my Children in Heaven ; " 
 strikes the key-note of a tragic and pathetic life epic. Some of 
 
10 PREFACE. * 
 
 those children, so tenderly beloved, were snatched from a 
 mother's arms under circmiistances the most distressing, and 
 their early death crushed aU hope and brightness out of that 
 mother's life, till then so full of promise. - 
 
 Yet nothing is more admirable than the true Christian resig- 
 nation wherewith the sacrifice of those loved ones is made on 
 the^ altar of the heart whose life they had been. Only 
 the most tender piety, the most assured hope, could have 
 drawn from out that crushed heart the exquisite and most per- 
 fect acts of sublime resignation to thi Divine will which we 
 find so touchingly expressed in many of these poems. 
 
 But the poems, although for the most part sad and pathetic, 
 are not all of a sombre character. 
 
 We here and there come upon rare glimpses of the beauti- 
 ful inner life over which sorrow has too early cast a veil. We 
 find graceful communings with nature in her calm and restful 
 solitudes, — genial outpourings of grateful affection are there, 
 elicited by the sympathetic kindness of many friends, which has, 
 all through, cheered the lone heart of the gentle poetess in her 
 passage through the gloomy Vale of Shadows. 
 
 The joy of that purity and peace which, like the beauty of 
 the King's daughter, mentioned in Holy Writ, is all from with- 
 in, that joy shines through even the darkest pages of the little 
 volume in which so many tender "oetic fancies are enshrined. 
 
 Atnid this '* Drift " which goes floating out from the quiet 
 
' PREFACE. 11 
 
 ways of a gentle, unobtrusive life to the mighty stream wherein 
 
 all human lives and human interests commingle, much genuine 
 
 poetry may be found, especially by those whose hearts are 
 
 tuned to the sad music which forms the ceaseless monotone 
 
 of the World's great voice. It is a modest message of love 
 
 and peace, and yearning sympathy to those who have, Hke 
 
 the author, suffered much and loved much, and whose hopes, 
 
 blighted on earth, are anchored in heaven. 
 
 That the message may be welcomed with kindly greeting by 
 
 that ** gentle public" whose favor is humbly sought by all 
 
 authors, whether of high or low degree in the world of letters, I 
 
 sincerely hope, for the sake of the modest aspirant, who now 
 
 presents herself for the first time to its notice. 
 
 M. A. S. 
 Montreal, Canada, 
 June 12, 1884. 
 
P0B 
 
 "Hj^^ 
 
 
 AT LAST. 
 
 ^ ** Credo, — in remissionem peccatorum." 
 
 Lord it is ^ate, I know, 
 
 Yet I have come, opprest, 
 With the great burden of my Past, 
 Weary and heavy laden, O, at last, 
 
 I've come, for r^/ / 
 
 My patient Lord! whose loving yoke , 
 
 So easy is, and light ! 
 I have left a//, and come to Thee ; 
 To struggle longer with the world would be 
 
 But an unequal fight. 
 
 I thought I was so strong and brave, 
 
 In years gone by ; 
 I marked my flaunting banner, " Victory," 
 But, ah ! 'twas for my foes, not me — 
 
 So weak was I ! 
 
 Yet, Lord, I come, tho' it be dark and late, 
 
 O let me in ; 
 Vanquished and humbled, yet I would, 
 Make some poor reparation, if I could, 
 
 For what has been. 
 
14 , - DRIFT. 
 
 I have left all for Thee — and yet there are 
 
 Memories that cHng 
 To the old life, that I shall live no more — 
 Of love and parting, death, and suffering sore — 
 
 To me that bring 
 
 Anguish intolerable ! 
 
 Yet still 
 I do resign them to Thy holy keeping, — 
 Tis meet and just ; and I, the whirlwind reaping, 
 But do Thy will. 
 ♦ " * ; m . * ♦ 
 
 I see the Altar Lamp is burning yet, 
 
 Just as in days gone by ; 
 I see the Crucifix of silver gleaming 
 ^bove the lamp's unwearied beaming. 
 
 Waiting — for me! 
 
 All is the same ; 'tis I alone am changed. 
 
 By care and sin ; 
 O, from the bitter ways of wrong and strife, 
 From the dark memories of a wasted life — 
 
 Lord, let Thy pilgrim in ! 
 
 A holy calm o'er my unquiet soul 
 
 Comes gently stealing — 
 I have come back, O Great Unchanging One, 
 Witii darkness past and a new life begun 
 
 Where I am kneeling ; 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 15 
 
 Kneeling in hope— before Thy blessed Shrine 
 
 In hope at length ! 
 And with a rain of sad remorseful tears 
 I wash away the burden of past years, 
 
 And plead for strength. 
 
 Strength to be faithful to the very end— 
 
 Thy grateful, loving slave for evermore to be : 
 And now— beneath Thy Feet my heart I lay, 
 In night or morning, life or death, I pray 
 Thy Holy Will be done— in me— alway, 
 Eternally 1 
 
 April, t88i. 
 
 -. t 
 
16 DRIFT. 
 
 .N 
 
 LONGING. 
 
 I wonder if the violets blossom still 
 
 In the old familiar places, ' 
 
 Or if they, too, are changed and gone 
 Or altered — growing pale and wan — 
 Like the well-beloved faces! 
 
 I wonder if the tall green rushes grow 
 
 Beside the peaceful river, 
 Or if upon its bosom, floating down, 
 The autumn leaves are falling, red and brown 
 Drifting slowly past the quiet town, 
 
 Just the same as ever ! 
 
 I wonder if the maple leaves are turning 
 
 To a crimson sea of glory, 
 Far up, upon the dear old '' College Hill," 
 And down below the '' Old Bridge," by the Mill, 
 And if sweet " Maple Falls " are singing still 
 
 The same romantic story ! 
 
 Ah, no, the leaves and whispering streams 
 
 Have changed and altered voices. 
 That hold no more the tunes I used to treasure, 
 Nor sing the old sweet strains of hope and pleasure, 
 But sadly mingle, in a mournful measure, 
 
 With other, harsher noises. 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 17 
 
 O, Fredericton, I see your beauteous gardens 
 
 In my dreaming only, 
 And wake, with wistful longing— weak and vain ; 
 For me to tread, your pleasant streets again i 
 Would be to find, with a remorseful pain, 
 
 The graveyard walks less lonely ! 
 
 O *^ Hermitage " beside the peaceful river, 
 
 How I pray with restless yearning 
 For the quiet of thy long-desired breast — 
 For the shelter of the Cross that guards their rest. 
 For thy " welcome" to a long-expected guest, 
 A wanderer, home returning ! 
 
 Oct., 1882. 
 
 B 
 
18 DRIFT. 
 
 SAND COVE BEACH. 
 
 Sitting alone upon the beach, 
 
 With weary heart and hand, 
 
 I watch the slowly-creeping tide 
 Come in across the sand. 
 
 Thinking of one I loved, who watched 
 The salt tides ebb and flow, 
 
 And gathered shells and stones with me- 
 Only a year ago. 
 
 Only one little year ago 
 
 Siiice he stood at my side, 
 
 And, now, — I watch, alone, alone, 
 The coming of the tide! 
 
 And as the waves come creeping up, 
 And almost touch my feet, 
 
 I think of all that cama with him — 
 The love and joy so sweet. 
 
 Thtn^ as the tide goes slowly out, 
 
 Over the pebbly shore, 
 I think of all that went with Mm^ 
 
 To come back — nevermore ! 
 
 ^^ ^J^ *^ ^(^ J|^ ^|s *K 
 
 A mist is rising, damp and chill. 
 From off the heaving bay. 
 
 My heart is breaking, and mine eyes 
 Are blind jd — by the spiay 1 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 Night must be near, dim shadows brood 
 
 O'er all the land about : 
 And, God knows best ! and, life is short. 
 
 And, — the moaning tide is out. 
 
 Aug., 1879, 
 
2Q TRIFT. 
 
 A SHEPHERD TRUE. 
 
 **Nunc scio vere quia misit Dominus Angelum Suiim, et eripuit me. " 
 
 Eager and earnest, he spoke to me, 
 
 Kindly, yet firmly, till 
 I had to listen to his words. 
 
 Sorely against my will. 
 
 For I wondered much what it was to ///;;/, 
 My sorrowful bitter life ! - 
 
 Or why he should seek to probe its pain 
 Or learn of its wrongs and strife. 
 
 And I only half-believed him, when 
 He said, he would be vay friend ; 
 
 I had trusted too often, and knew too well 
 How such professions end. 
 
 And he might tire of me, too, 
 
 When he should come to know 
 
 How selfish, and bitter, and cruel, 
 A human heart can grow. 
 
 For he was young, and all the world 
 Lay bright before his gaze. 
 
 While /was only reaping the tears 
 I had sown in other days. 
 
DRIFT 
 
 Still, there was something in his voice 
 
 Different from all the rest ; 
 And a strange and wistful wonder 
 
 Arose within my breast : . 
 
 PVas there then, in this selfish world, 
 
 To me so bitter grown, 
 One who would really prove a friend. 
 
 For the love of God alone ? 
 
 Yes, one who had lost all sight of self 
 When he put the world aside, 
 
 To follow the bleeding Footsteps 
 Of his Master — crucified. 
 
 Whose gift was the gift of " whinifig souls 
 From the grasp of sin away — 
 
 Oh ! surely it was God's angel 
 Who spoke to me that day, 
 
 And broke the heart that for years had been 
 
 As hard as a heart of stone ; 
 For his words were Christlike, and his face 
 
 Pure as an angel's shone ! 
 
 * * * * * * * 
 
 Gladly I follow the shepherd true 
 
 God's Jove to me hath given, 
 To guide my faltering steps aright — -~ 
 
 On the narrow path to Heaven, 
 
 21 
 
 '» 
 
22 DRIFT. 
 
 With a reverent love, no words of speech 
 
 Its meaning can supply ; 
 For I think when I meet him anywhere, 
 
 I should kneel till he passes by ! 
 
 For the peace of God shines on his face, 
 And love of God his deeds inspire, 
 
 And his heart for lost and wandering souls 
 Burns with a holy fire. 
 
 His patient zeal no respite knows 
 
 No bounds his charity, 
 And the prayers and blessings of the poor 
 
 His strength and crown shall be. 
 
 March, 1881. 
 
DRIFT. 2;\ 
 
 MY CRUCIFIX. 
 
 * Mihi absit gloriars, nisi in cruce Domine Nostri Jesu Chrisii." 
 
 last and only treasure left 
 Of many long, sad years ! 
 
 1 clasp thee to my breaking heart 
 And bathe thy wounds with tears. 
 
 My Crucifix ! — What endless peace 
 
 Thou shewest unto me ! 
 Comfort in sorrow, hope in pain 
 
 And joy in agony. 
 
 Father and Mother, Sister true, 
 
 And Brother kind thou art, 
 Husband and Son, my Crucifix ! 
 
 Close clasped against my heart. 
 When earthly friends grew cold or changed, 
 
 When cherished ones have died, 
 Thou didst remain, unchanging, true, 
 
 My dear Lord, crucified. 
 
 As from my desolated home, 
 
 A pilgrim lone, I go 
 To follow thee, O best beloved. 
 
 No other love to know, 
 What wonder if I hold thee clos3 
 
 Against my aching breast, — * 
 Who but thyself can comfort me ? - - 
 
 What other, send me res', f — ^- _ .^___ 
 
2i DRIFT. 
 
 When dews of death my flesh shall chill, 
 And my soul shrinks in fear, 
 
 O then ! these failing eyes shall seek 
 Thee^ Crucifix, most dear ! 
 
 My last, long, lingering, loving gaze 
 Thy dying form shall trace, 
 
 The last of earth I e'er may know 
 Sha'l fade, — upon t'ly face. 
 
 And then, beneath my coffin lid, 
 By stiffened fingers piessed, 
 
 My blessed Crucifix shall lie 
 Upon my quiet breast, 
 
 Beneath hands clasped in mute appeal 
 For — an Eternal Rest. 
 
 July, 1 88 1. 
 
DRIFT. 25 
 
 NEARING HOME. 
 
 To Sr. P. 
 
 Do you sometimes, in the twilight, 
 
 Hear the far off slumberous roar " 
 
 Of the waves of peace that, ceaseless, 
 Roll along th' eternal shore ? 
 
 Do you, in the calm, still midnight, 
 
 Sometimes think the voyage is past, 
 
 Think you hear the keel's low grating 
 On the shining sands at last ? 
 
 Are the world's tumultuous noises 
 
 Full of infinite complaint, 
 And the wrangling, and the fretting 
 
 Growing strangely dim and faint? 
 
 And do sounds of chants celestial 
 
 Lay a spell on tired eyes. 
 And soothe to gentlest slumbering 
 
 With their restful harmonies ? 
 
 Does a longing for the Vision 
 
 Burn and fire all your breast, 
 
 With so sweet yet fierce a yearning 
 That it cannot be expressed ? 
 
20 DRIFT. 
 
 O, when the " seeming " over, 
 You have cahnly entered in, 
 
 Purged from every taint or shadow 
 Of the smallest stain of sin, 
 
 When your eyes behold the splendor 
 
 Of your Bridegroom's majesty, 
 And your soul is steeped in rapture, 
 Sister will you think of me f 
 
 Ah, some mornmg to the Chapel 
 I shall go, to find you gone, 
 
 To miss the patient smile that lit 
 That face — so pale and wan. 
 
 To miss the kind clasp of a hand. 
 And the earnest voice that said, 
 
 " Be patient !'' Who shall comfort me 
 That day — when you are dead I 
 
DRIFT. 27 
 
 A FAREWELL. 
 
 A stranger and a pilgrim, I 
 
 Sought once a quiet rest — 
 
 Wearied and worn, and here I found 
 A home, secure and blest. 
 
 Now, I must leave it, to return 
 To the old life once more, 
 
 But, ah, 'tis so reluctantly, 
 So fearful and heart-sore ! 
 
 I gather up my scattered work. 
 
 And put it all away. 
 Thro' the open window comes the sound 
 Of children as they play. 
 
 I take my faded flowers, too, 
 And kiss them ere I throw 
 
 Them out upon the Convent roof 
 Down to the steps below ; 
 
 Then turn, and look around the room, . 
 
 My peaceful home so long, 
 And all my heart swells up and breaks 
 In weeping, fierce and strong. 
 
 O must I leave you, little room, 
 That the setting sun shines on? 
 Some better, happier soul, perhaps, 
 May dwell here when Tm gone. 
 
28 
 
 DRIFT. 
 
 To-morrow I shall stand without 
 This peaceful Convent's door, 
 And bid the gentle Nuns good-bye, 
 Perhaps forevermore. 
 
 " Forever more " I said ? Ah, no ! 
 
 We shall meet again, I pray, 
 When all need of parting shall have passed 
 
 Forever more away ; 
 
 Where there's no more gathering up the threads 
 
 Of unfinished work laid past. 
 When toil has ceased, and rest has come 
 To all weary ones at last. 
 
 ♦ . * ^ sf: 
 
 Now the fair white Convent tower fades, 
 
 In the early morning gray. 
 As I watch to the last its cross on high. 
 Shining golden and bright against the sky, 
 And, comforted — I know not why— 
 
 I go, on my outward way. 
 
 Sept,. 1 88 1. 
 
DRIFT. 29 
 
 THE REASON. 
 
 To. Sr. M. P. : 
 
 You say the songs I sing 
 Seem all one strain, 
 
 That thro' each one there runs 
 Some sad refrain. 
 
 It is because my harp 
 
 Is strung for me, 
 By Hands Divine, upon 
 
 A mijior key. 
 
 And, where I fain would sing 
 
 Of joy or praise, 
 The sweetest chords I strike 
 
 Are sad — always. 
 
 Ah, soon my mournful harp • 
 Unstrung shall be ; 
 
 Its sad vibrations hushed 
 And stilled, for me. 
 
 Perhaps in Heaven it may 
 
 Be tuned again 
 To thrill with songs that hold 
 
 1^0 notes of pain. 
 
30 DRIFT. 
 
 VOX DEI. 
 
 ^' Be still, and bear it all, 
 
 The shame, and wrong 
 The cruel taunt, whose poisoned sting, — 
 Hath so embittered everything. 
 
 It won't be long ! 
 
 It cannot last forever , 
 
 Stay where you are, be stilly 
 Bear all'm. patience, for God's sake. '' 
 It was the Voice of God that spake, 
 
 And I tried to say '' I will ; " 
 
 But O, it was not, from my hearty 
 
 That still begged piteously, 
 For the calm quiet of a different life, 
 A respite from the never-ending strife 
 
 That so encompassed me. 
 
 Again and yet again, importunate, 
 
 I prayed to go ; 
 I wearied Him, complaining, day by day, 
 While kind, yet firm, He ever bid me stay, 
 
 'Tis better so. 
 
 ** There is no "easy way " to follow Christ, 
 
 No resting-place^ 
 Upon His road ; but, though the way be long, 
 The battle is not always to the strongs 
 
 Nor to the swift the race. 
 
.^..;^;;ii:; DRIFT. ''''-,:y^^f-y,.^''':''^^^--\:':- 31 
 
 *' Bat, to \ht patient hearts who bear 
 
 \x\\owmg fait li^ 
 He will go with them, on their lonely way, 
 And, tlio the world despise them. He will stay, 
 
 Faithful, to death. 
 
 " Lift up your cross, poor child. 
 
 Nor fear to fall, 
 Unquestioning obedience is best, ^ ^ 
 Strength will be given you, and—for the rest, 
 
 Trust God for all." 
 
 At last, I understood, and stooped 
 
 To kiss the rod ; 
 My poor despised cross ! and, since, rejoice. 
 Obeying, in His wise Anointed's voice, 
 
 The Voice of God ! 
 
52 DRIFT. 
 
 FROZEN FLOWERS. 
 
 Poor little flowers ! are you all 
 
 Blasted with the frost's cold breath ? 
 So green and fair you were yesterday, 
 Now — touched by the hand of Death. 
 
 Poor little flowers ! Gifts you were 
 
 From the friends of a summer's day, 
 But the summer is gone and — dearer things 
 Than flowers must fade away. 
 
 Poor little flowers ! Your drooping leaves 
 Tell of hopes that can die in a night, 
 
 Of a colder frost, and a bitterer death, 
 And a darker, ghastlier, blight ! 
 
 Poor little flowers 1 I will bring you in. 
 And hide your dead beauty away — 
 
 I have hidden a blacker death than this 
 In the grave of my heart — to-day. 
 
 Dec, 1882. 
 
DRIFT. 33 
 
 **FOR THE LAST TIME." 
 
 It is all over, and the lights are out, 
 
 The Missal closed, the Mass is done. 
 
 And the dear Nuns, like shadows, one by one 
 
 Have left the chapel, and we are alone. 
 
 My God and I — My God, whose Will is done ! 
 
 Whose Will is done — so be it evermore! " 
 But we, my soul, must pile the sods up high 
 Upon this corpse, that was so dear to you and me, 
 This last poor " human consolation *' that doth lie, 
 With white, dumb lips, sealed for Eternity. 
 
 Fill in the grave, and heap the stones up high, 
 It must not *' rise again " ! It is dead — for aye. 
 We have done with it, my soul and I, to-day ! 
 We have sinned, we have trusted in earth and clay, 
 And it has failed us. Let us kneel and pray ; 
 
 Pray in the silence, by this new made-grave. 
 Pray that God only, from henceforth, may be 
 
 Our refuge in the storm ; that none but He 
 
 May ever comfort us ; and O, my soul, that we 
 
 May kiss the Hand that smites us so relentlessly ; 
 
 C 
 
34 DRIFT. 
 
 Yet we may weep, poor soul, — tliat is no sin, 
 We cannot help it, God will not deny 
 Us this, oux last poor solace. Like a Litany 
 Each salt tear pleads — " Be merciful to me, " 
 It is the last, last, time. — " Beati Mortui ! " 
 
 It is all over, and the lights are out. 
 
 The Missal closed, the Mass is said, 
 
 And we go out into the empty world, to tread 
 
 New paths, and learn new lessons, and be led 
 
 Another way. — " Beati Mortui ! " 
 
 Dec. ist., 1882. *l • 
 
DRIFT. 35 
 
 FOR ME. 
 
 " Et desiderabunt mori, et fiiget mors ab eis." 
 
 mother earth, in years gone by, 
 I've loved upon your breast to lie, 
 And, looking upward to the sky, 
 Between the trees' green canopy, 
 
 Have thought that life was sweet ; but now. 
 With breaking heart and furrowed brow, 
 
 1 only ask — your charity, 
 
 O mother earth, make room for me. 
 
 A little corner, all alone, 
 
 With never mark of cross or stone, ^ • 
 
 But just the tangled soft grey moss, ^ -; 
 
 Or winter snow to drift across; 
 
 Then, when the morning, sweet and fair, 
 
 Shines down upon me, sleeping there. 
 
 With placid face, turned to the skies, 
 
 Its glory will not blind mine e)es ; 
 
 Or when, at noon, the woods prolong 
 The burden of the birds' clear song. 
 Their maddest, sweetest minstrelsy 
 Will have no power to waken me ; 
 And when the silent night comes down, 
 And broods o'er valley, hill, and town. 
 No deeper peace can ever be 
 Than that which will have come for me. 
 
36 DRII-T. 
 
 BY THE FIRELIGHT. 
 
 I sit alone, this blessed Christmas night, 
 
 Amid the silence of my lonely room, 
 And watch the flickering sad firelight 
 
 Throw ghostly shadows in the quiet gloom. 
 
 Ah, me ! the house, so strangely still has grown, 
 I miss the Christmas songs thit used to be. 
 
 And sitting, silent by the fire alone, 
 I sadly wonder if this can be me? * 
 
 This grey-haired woman, with such wistful face. 
 
 Who from the mantle glass, looks wondering down. 
 
 Where the red firelight throws a shadowy grace 
 On weary, folded hands and sombre gown. , - - 
 
 Now, there are pictures hanging on the wall, 
 Whose sweet cnild-faces keep me company, 
 
 Whose long-stilled voices answer at my call, 
 And my dead baby nestles on my knee. 
 
 And my own love, my first-born and my pride, 
 His head upon my shoulder, as of old. 
 
 In mute protecting love kneels at my side, 
 
 And strong young arms his mother's neck enfold. 
 
 Another face, angelic, radiant, sweet. 
 
 Crowned with a wreath of shining golden hair, 
 
 Looks up from where she sitteth at my feet. 
 And smiles, my blessed one ! upon me there. 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 There are two other shadows near my side, 
 That fade and vanish in the deepening gloom, 
 
 Yet seem to wave a blessing as they glide, 
 In solemn silence, from this haunted room. 
 
 So, tho' the house is still, this Christmas night, 
 And tho' things are not as they used to be, 
 
 I am not lonely in the warm firelight. 
 
 My dear, dead children have been here with me I 
 
 But the gloom deepens, and the ashes grey 
 Drop stealthily into the empty grate, — 
 
 I am alone once more, they could not stay 
 But in a more enduring Home they wait ; 
 
 They wait ! and well I know they pray, for me 
 I shall not always be alone on Christmas Day, 
 
 With shadows comforted, but hope to be 
 With all my loved ones, in sweet company, 
 
 ** After a while," when God shall please, and we 
 Have dj// reached Home, no more to " go away." 
 
 Xmas. 1882. ^vT" ■ "' ■:-^^^'^,^-:--^v---^^^iv--^■;A;;f■; 
 
 37 
 
38 DRIFT. 
 
 AT SUNSET. 
 
 With heavy heart and blinded eyes, I look, 
 And watch the sun go down on Memramcook. 
 
 A lurid line against the darkening sky 
 Foretells the day is done ; and wistfully 
 
 I think of how my holiday is past 
 
 And to the bitter bonds that bind so fast 
 
 I must return once more. How like a dream 
 These hours of restful happiness shall seem ! 
 
 A dream that I have been and talked with Saints, 
 A dream that with the morning fades and fa'nts ; 
 
 And I awake to feel the iron chain, 
 
 That frets and chafes, with a relentless pain. 
 
 Memramcook, with all my heart I pray 
 
 1 may return to you some happier day ; 
 
 I may return to find, if so God wills. 
 His peace among thine everlasting bills ! 
 
 Dec, I882. 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 39 
 
 MY KNIGHT, v 
 
 I watch your portrait, till there glows 
 
 A halo round your head, 
 And those mute lips half part and smile, 
 Your eyes look kindly all the while, ; 
 
 And I am comforted. 
 
 I watch that picture, till I think 
 
 TiiQ lips are saying this : 
 "Tho' far away, be sure, that I am truej 
 And many times a day I think of you. 
 And many times, I bless ! " 
 
 I watch that picture, till there seems 
 
 A presence very near, 
 A tender presence like a faint perfume 
 That fills and softly glorifies the room 
 
 Like answered prayer. 
 
 I watch your picture, till there falls 
 
 On folded hands a tear, 
 And, somehow, all these watchings end 
 In, '* God protect and bless my friend, 
 
 My brave true Knight and dear 1 " 
 
40 
 
 DRIFT. 
 
 DRIFTING. 
 
 O, I have clutched at straws 
 
 My whole life long, 
 But the eternal tide still bears me on, 
 
 And, one by one, my fickle straw^s are gone. 
 
 Ever and ever sure, 
 
 The last would sta} 
 Like all the rest, it, too, floats far away. 
 
 And leaves me sinking at the close of day , 
 
 So, now, I fold my hands 
 
 Upon my breast 
 And, looking up to Heaven, 
 
 Lay still and rest. 
 Nor heed, nor care, what drifteth by — 
 
 My heart and hope in yonder sky. 
 
 No more on brittle reeds 
 
 I lean,— at length, 
 I trust in stronger love, 
 
 In surer strength ; 
 Beyond the ocean line, my sun goes down, 
 
 But One upholdeth me, I shall not drown ! 
 
 Feb., 1883. 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 41 
 
 ASHES. 
 
 I knelt by the open fire to-day, 
 
 And laid 
 My Sacrifice upon the coals, and then, 
 V/ith anguish that no hand may pen, 
 
 I prayed. > 
 
 With dull, dry, aching eyes I watched 
 
 Them burn. 
 Only a few old letters, half a score, 
 Poor relics of a dream that may no more 
 
 Return. 
 
 Ah 1 How they crisped and writhed, as if 
 
 In pain ! 
 Poor leaves, whose unforgiven sin was such 
 Must needs be cleansed by fire : ah, so much 
 
 In vain I 
 
 It might have been my tortured heart 
 
 I laid 
 Upon those burning coals, such dread I felt, 
 As, dumb with suffering, to-day I knelt 
 
 And prayed. 
 
 Prayed that I might never " dream " again. 
 
 To wake 
 And find the world so empty and so cold. 
 To feel my heart, beneath my raiments' fold, 
 
 Fast break — 
 
42 DRIFT. 
 
 f*rayed for the coming of a Day of Rest, 
 
 When I 
 Need look no longer for " kind words, " nor ask 
 For love, — but only lay aside the mask. 
 
 And die. 
 
 This was the last ! The one thing I had left. 
 
 O loving Christ, 
 What am I in Thy sight but dust and clay ! 
 Accept my Sacrifice, Just God, and say 
 
 " It hath sufficed." 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 43 
 
 THE BELLS. 
 
 "Estenim illuc manus tua deducet me I " 
 
 'Thro the clear frosty air there swells 
 The sweet melodious music of the bells, 
 Whose harmony my soul with rapture fills, 
 Till their last echo dies among the hills. 
 
 Along the winding road, and down the street, 
 Across the valley bridge, with willing feet. 
 They come unto the House where God doth dwell. 
 Led by the music of that sweet- voiced bell. 
 
 And all along the snow-capped hills the breeze 
 Makes answering echo, thro' the leafless trees. 
 To those clear bells slow-swinging, solemn, there, 
 Whose sweet tones vibrate in the frosty air. 
 
 wide-spread valley, gleaming in the sun, 
 Across whose whiteness those dark waters run, 
 
 1 think my soul is like that stream that flows. 
 Athwart the silver glory of thy spotless snows ; 
 
 Among these souls, whose whiteness rivals thine, 
 A shadow on their brightness is this soul of mine ! 
 
44 DRIFT. 
 
 Yet, who can tell, 
 But some day, not far off, that sweet-toned bell 
 Shall ring for even me that all is well. 
 And I, so long by stormy tempests driven, 
 May find a peaceful harbor, close to Heaven, - 
 
 Memramcook, Feb., 1883. 
 
DRIFT. ^*r 
 
 ON THE PIER. 
 
 / 
 
 Like those who stand upon the beach, 
 And shade their eyes with nervous hands, 
 
 To watch their long-lost ships come in, 
 From weary voyages in far lands, 
 
 I stand to-day upon the pier, 
 And shade my tired eyes, to see 
 
 The cold grey waters, rough and deep, 
 That bear no tidings home tome. 
 
 To see the rocks where, long ago, 
 
 Aly ship went down, in sight of home, 
 
 To hear the billows heave, and break. 
 Against the pier, in hissing foam. 
 
 I stand and shade mine eyes, and long. 
 With eager longing, fain to see 
 
 A star arise from out the blue 
 Of yonder firmament, for me ; 
 
 A star that brightens all the sky, 
 My evening star, for which I wait, 
 
 Whose glory blindeth, perhaps because ; 
 It dawns for me so late, so late. 
 
46 DRIFT. 
 
 Yet as I slowly loosen hold 
 
 On '* love, life, all things," and decrease, 
 That star shall lend a tender light 
 
 As I go down to rest and peace. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 O star of hope, I see you rise, 
 
 Clear, radiant, calm, above the sea, 
 So far beyond the wrecks that lie 
 Between thy gracious face and me. 
 
 St. John, Feb., 1883. 
 
4SiJ^ 
 
 f FREMRAMCeeK. 
 
 1 1 '^'^Y 
 
 ytnam^.tni ^amxno hctxt noHstutn: fncti sumus t^tantcs. 
 
 
BRIFT. 
 
 AT ST. JOSEPH'S ALTAR. 
 
 During the '• Novena," March i8, 1883. St. Thomas Churcn, Meraramcook. 
 
 O, send me not away ! 
 At thy dear home in Nazareth 
 
 Thou wouldst have bid me " stay/' 
 If; a tired beggar, travel-stained, 
 My weary feet, thy door had gained ! 
 
 Then send me not away, 
 Kind Foster Father of my King, 
 
 Outcast and poor, I pray 
 For leave to die here at thy shrine ; 
 Grant thou my prayer, God will gfant thine j 
 
 O, send me not away. 
 Back to the bitter road I've come, 
 
 Where gloomy pitfalls lay. 
 Wearied, thou, too, once, longed for rest, 
 On desert sands,— grant my request, 
 
 And send me not away. 
 Soul-sick and sorrowful, I plead, 
 
 O, dear St. Joseph say : 
 ** Poor pilgrim, all thy wandering cease. 
 Thou needst not go — remain in peace ! '* 
 
 little lamps, that glow, 
 All red and golden, at his feet, 
 
 1 would, that, even so, 
 
 Might be consumed, this heart of mine, 
 Before Saint Joseph's blessed shrine. 
 
 D 
 
 41) 
 
50 DRIFT. 
 
 REST AT LAST. 
 
 " Convertere anima mea in requiem tuam : quia Dominus benefecet tibi ! " 
 
 Alone, with God ! 
 O heart of mine and is it thus 
 So sweet a Rest has come — to us ? ' > 
 
 Alone with God ! 
 While morning dawns, and daylight dies, 
 And stars shine out from darkening skies, 
 The world and all it holds — forgot, 
 And our dark past as it were not ! 
 O solitude, supremely blest, 
 O silent, satisfying rest I 
 
 Alone with God ! 
 And all the stormy deeps pass'd o'er, 
 At anchor — calmed, forever more, 
 Beside His Tabernacle door I 
 Where the lone Sanctuary light 
 Gleams redly through the solemn night, 
 Like a Nun's heart that, wasting, burns, 
 And for His Presence pants and yearns ! 
 So, my poor heart, tho' faint its fire. 
 Longs with a passionate desire 
 Here, 'mid the crimson shadows dim, 
 To stay and die — alone with Him I 
 
 Ap., 18S3. 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 SIR GALAHAD. 
 
 51 
 
 Not in that palace olden, 
 
 At towered Camelot, 
 Where hung the banner golden, 
 
 Of bold Sir Launcelot. 
 
 Where, 'mid the ancient splendor 
 . Of knights in armour clad, : 
 With dreamy eyes and tender, 
 * Mused pure Sir Galahad ; 
 
 Not where the gleaming lances, 
 Clashed in the tournament, 
 
 Where ladies' smiling glances 
 
 On valiant knights were bent ; 
 
 Not in that old-time story, 
 
 With marvelous legends bright, 
 'Mid scenes of love and glory 
 
 Dwelleth this other knight. 
 
 With spirit brave and fearless. 
 With heart as light and glad, 
 
 With soul as true and blameless. 
 As that other Galahad. 
 
 Upon His banner shining 
 
 '' St. Joseph's lilies " bright, 
 
 With shamrocks intertwining— 
 A fair and pleasant sight ! 
 
52 
 
 DRIFT. 
 
 Upon His shield there gloweth, 
 
 Bright with a silver gloss, 
 A quaint device, which sheweth 
 
 "Two anchors and a Cross." 
 
 No silver trumpets sounded, 
 
 When the challenge forth He hurled, 
 And they came out to meet Him, 
 
 Sin, Satan, and the World. 
 
 But their armor He hath riven. 
 
 They lie vanquished at His feet. 
 
 And the trumpets up in Heaven 
 Ring ravishingly sweet 1 
 
 O, when all strife is over, 
 
 And life's tournament is past, 
 
 And He shall kneel victorious, 
 To receive his crown at last, 
 
 Among the countless thousands 
 
 That his triumph song shall sing — 
 
 May MY voice, swell the anthem 
 01 his royal welcoming — 
 
 When his sweet and Sinless Mother 
 Shall crown him Priest and King. 
 
DRIFT. 53 
 
 A VIOLIN SOLO. 
 
 With organ accompaniment, during the High Mass at St. 
 Joseph's Chapel, Memramcook. Feast of the Patronage of 
 St. Joseph, 1883. I 
 
 My soul is haunted all day long 
 
 And all last night, since yesterday, 
 
 With the sweet echoing of a sound, 
 
 So beautiful, so soft, and clear, 
 
 Filled with a mystic, charmed melody ! 
 
 Thro* all my dreams, last night, I heard 
 
 It rise, and swell — then softly die away, 
 
 Like the low roll of waves along the shore ; — 
 
 Then, soaring, — with a sweet shrill harmony, 
 
 Fill all the Holy Place with ecstasy — 
 
 Vibrating, thrilling, pleading, like a soul, 
 
 Late learned to love, impetuous, eager ; with 
 
 A passionate desire to rise above 
 
 All other weaker sounds, and sing, alone ! 
 
 Thus, — piercing upward, far into the sky. 
 
 With yearning inexpressible, to swell and die 
 
 Before the feet of God, in one, long, rapturous a^ony / 
 
 O perfect melody ! I hid mine eyes 
 As angels hide their faces with their wings ; 
 It was a pain to breathe, to pray ; 
 Thy glorious music bore v^ soul away. 
 Ah, far beyond the shifting shadows of to-day. 
 Straight to that Presence where no shadows stay ! 
 
54 DRIFT. 
 
 O Harmony, unutterably sweet ! 
 More touching than a Great ArchangeFs song, 
 For in its undertone there rang a sound of pain, 
 The yearning cry of grateful love^ forgiven^ 
 The wild sweet moan oi love, unsatisfied — ^ 
 * That cannot be^ — in Heaven. 
 
 O minster organs, peal your grandest swells, 
 And make the lofty aisles resound again ! 
 Let all God's temple tremble with the roar 
 Of thy majestic chords ! — but, O, 
 You cannot reach the deepest depths of love, 
 And thrill my soul with longings, infinite. 
 As did, on yestermom, the quivering string 
 Of that enchanted, rare, sweet violin ! 
 
DRIFT. 55 
 
 THE IRISH FLAG. 
 
 Written on the completion of the Flag for St. Patrick's 
 Academy, St. Joseph's College, Memramcook. , 
 
 I love it ! I love it ! yes, every fold 
 Of that darling Flag, with its green and gold, 
 With its silent harp, whose every string 
 To a low, sweet strain seems vibrating. 
 And is keeping time to a happy song 
 That sings in my heart the whole day long. 
 
 I love it ! I love it ! Its shamrocks hold 
 A long-lost dream in their vines of gold, 
 And bound in its graceful circling wreath 
 Is a faithful love — more strong than death, 
 And no exiled Irish heart can glow 
 With a truer love than mine, I know ! 
 
 I love it ! I love it ! Its folds of green 
 Are bound with no bitterer chain, I ween, 
 Than the iron links that, with cruel strain, 
 Bind my struggling heart to a life-long pain. 
 O, when will its '* Sunburst " dawn, I wonder, 
 And my prison bars be wrenched asunder. 
 
 O, I love to think, with a proud, glad thrill, 
 Of its outlines, my hands have helped to fill, 
 When the hours sped jpon fairy wings, — 
 Of the tender song that still harp sings. 
 Of the thoughts worked in with a golden thread 
 Of the thoughts to a far green isle that fled ! 
 
56 DRIFT. 
 
 I love it ! I love it ! No power can drag 
 ^ My heart from the folds of this dear old Flag; ! 
 I shall know, in my rest in the graveyard lone, 
 When the days of its darkness are past and g;one 
 I shall know when it floats over vale and hill 
 In my " stranger's grave," — I am sure I will ! 
 
 I love it ! I love it ! and wonder much 
 
 If another's hand could as loving touch 
 
 Its green and gold, where the shamrocks run, 
 
 Or caress it as fondly as I have done, 
 
 Or pray with a yearning as strong as mine 
 
 For the sun of its freedom at last to shine : 
 
 When far over turret, and tower, and crag, 
 
 It shall float in proud splendor, the Irish Flag I 
 
 April, 1883. 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 m 
 
 VENI, JESU. 
 
 Sung at the Offertory by College Choir, during the Mass for the 
 Boys' First Communion, Feast of Pentecost, May 13, 1883, 
 St. Joseph's Chapel, Memramcook. 
 
 " Veni, Veni, Jesu ! " Flute-like and soft 
 The boys' sweet voices bear the strain aloft, 
 And Thou wilt come, O Holy Child, to be 
 Their food to-day ; ''O Jesu, amor mi ! *' 
 
 O Boy of Nazareth ! we weeping pray 
 That Thou wilt strengthen these dear boys to-day 
 For their hard battle, that has just begun — 
 Shield them from sin, O sinless Mary's Son ! 
 
 Let no temptation have the power to sway 
 The hearts that Thou will sanctify to-day ; 
 O be their loved Companion until death — 
 Dear, Blessed Child ! Jesus of Nazareth ! 
 
 And when in days to come they shall have gone 
 Back to the reckless world, its snares among. 
 Let nothing come Thy heart and theirs between, 
 But make them like Thine own, pure, white, and clean. 
 
 Parting and death may dim the coming years, 
 
 And fill their hearts with pain, their eyes with tears, 
 
 O teach them i7te/i, how precious Thou canst be ! 
 
 Who cannot die ! — O Jesu, amor mi ! 
 
 .-jL_ 
 
58 DRIFT. 
 
 " Veni, Veni, Jesu ! " Flute-like and soft 
 Those seraph voices bear the strain aloft, — 
 In life, in death, for all eternity 
 Keep Thou their souls — O Jesu, amor mi ! 
 
 O noble Priest, your burning words have rent 
 Their hearts with love for this sweet Sacrament, 
 Ah, who could hear your touching words to-day 
 And go unmoved from their appeal away ? 
 
 " O Veni, veni, Jesu ! " Sweet refrain, 
 It floods my soul with a deep, nameless pain ; 
 Kind, tender Shepherd, all I have is Thine, 
 Yet take unto Thy Breast this lamh of mine. 
 
 Guard his young life, and make it all Thine own, 
 That, when a few more restless years have flown. 
 He may not ask to leave the hallowed place 
 Where he to-day has found such wondrous grace. 
 
 O call him from the world's deceit and guile, 
 Its hollow friendships and its mocking smile, 
 Its broken faith, and cruel treachery — 
 And bid him. Royal Master, follow Thee ! 
 
 O veni, Jesu ! into all our souls 
 The while that thrilling music Heavenward rolls 
 To them, to us, life's dearest treasure be 
 And J3eac6 in death, O Jesu, amor mi ! 
 
DRIFT. ^^ 
 
 Dear, happy children knelt the rail around, 
 With tear-stained faces, yet in peace profound, 
 God bless you ! every one, we humbly pray. 
 And keep you always what you are to-day ! 
 
60 
 
 DRIFT. 
 
 LAST GREETING. 
 
 Thro' dead leaves all damp and sodden 
 With the rain of yesterday, 
 
 Over grass, sere and down-trodden, 
 Bleak and lonely, lies my way. 
 
 On the bridge I wait, and hearken. 
 For the last time, to those bells. 
 
 And my tears the landscape darken. 
 As that music Heavenward swells. 
 
 Darkens, like a twilight falling, 
 And the flowing waters seem 
 
 Far-off voices, softly calling, 
 Like the voices in a dream. 
 
 By-gone joys, like corpse-lights burning, 
 Gleam along my backward track ; 
 
 But for them there's no returning, 
 Nor, for me, a going back. 
 
 At the future, spread before me. 
 
 Heart and soul in terror shrink, 
 
 'Tis a black sky looming o'er me, 
 Circled by a sea of ink ! 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 61 
 
 And I linger, sadly saying 
 
 Mute farewell to vale and hill, 
 
 Faint and fearful, yet obeying 
 God's unfathomable Will. 
 
 Soon, when heart and brain are aching, 
 With their helpless weight of pain, 
 
 Thoughts of Memramcook shall waken . 
 Failing strength to life again. 
 
 I shall see it, O, how often ! 
 
 In the weariness to come, 
 When the twilights fade and soften, 
 
 And my heart grows sick for '' Home. ;; 
 
 Kow, I pray, with lips that quiver 
 
 In a pain no words can tell, 
 *' God bless your true hearts forever, 
 
 Memramcook, a long farewell ! " 
 
 All-Souls Day, 1883. 
 
62 DRIFT. 
 
 IN UMBRA MORTIS. 
 
 mine own brother, let me hold your hand, 
 The day so strangely cold and dark has grown, 
 
 1 feel the end is near, so long desired, 
 And I am glad, — for I am weak and tired, 
 
 Yet fear to tread Death's awful Pass alone ! 
 
 So, hold my hand a little longer still, ^ 
 
 In soft, close clasp, and warm ; 'twill soon be o'er ; 
 To-morrow you may fold them as you will. 
 For I, beyond mans judgment, good or ill. 
 Shall have passed out, thank God, forevermore ! 
 
 So, hold my hand j it is the one last thing 
 
 I need, of human love, to comfort me, 
 Just hold my hand, until the night shall bring 
 Eternal rest, for which I'm hungering, — 
 Eternal rest, beyond life's stormy sea ! 
 
 Then, fold these hands, that never more shall crave 
 
 Aught that they should not ask, or asking have ; 
 Close in the blinds, and, thro' the darkened room. 
 Let blessed candles lighten up its gloom. 
 
 And pray thou for my soul, gone to its doom, l 
 
 For there is no remembrance in the grave. 
 
DRIFT. 63 
 
 THE SANCTUARY CHOIR. 
 
 Holy Cross Cathedral, Boston. 
 
 Through the vast Temple a deep silence reigned, 
 
 When, suddenly, unutterably sweet, 
 Rang out a voice, — like some glad soul just gained, 
 
 After long Purgatory, peace — complete. 
 
 That sighed, for very rapture ! a low sigh 
 
 Of joy ineffable. Then, like a sound 
 Of silver trumpets, chorus rose on high ; 
 * I knew, at last, some human souls had found 
 
 Voices of Seraphs and of Cherubim, 
 
 Meet to give utterance to the psalms cf praise 
 
 With which His Bride so loves to honor Him, 
 Her risen Spouse, upon His day of days. 
 
 While that angelic harmony arose. 
 
 In sweet unearthly chords, I held my breath, 
 
 And thought to see the Golden Gates unclose 
 And lost loves come to meet me, before death ! 
 
 O wondrous Choir ! O children's voices clear ! 
 
 While you gave greeting to your Risen King 
 Adoring Angels hushed their harps to hear, 
 
 And knelt, like me, enraptured, listening ! '"^ 
 
64 DRIFT. 
 
 No more my heart shall wonder wistfully, 
 As on the journey Heavenward I go, 
 
 What it's soul thrilling symphonies must be, 
 For I have heard their echoes here below. 
 
 And ever, till these fleshly bonds be riven. 
 Must long with an insatiable desire 
 
 To hear again, like a foretaste of Heaven, 
 The music of that Sanctuary Choir ! 
 
 Easter Sunday, 1884. "\ 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 G5 
 
 DOVES. 
 
 I heard a sweet bell ring, to call, 
 The faint and hungry, to His Banquet sweet, 
 
 And, like a flock of startled doves, 
 
 Each answering a call she loves, 
 I saw His chosen nestle Jiear His Feet, 
 
 Their white hoods wavhig, like the wings 
 Of doves around the Temple Gates, of old : 
 Perhaps, I thought, it may be so, 
 They pray for those who dare not go 
 To feast with them, because of hearts so cold ! 
 
 At that, the tears came, one by one 
 Falling, upon my pain-\vrung hands — so fast ! 
 It must have been some strained heart-string 
 That with new hope was vibrating, 
 Because their garments touched me as they passed ! 
 
 £ 
 
()6 DRIFT, 
 
 DEAD OSES. 
 
 I kissed them, softly, reverently, " * 
 
 As we kiss our dead with love's last caress, 
 
 And held them close against my heart, " 
 That their light touch might soothe its smart 
 And sweeten its waters of bitterness. 
 
 But, O, their subtle, sweet perfume 
 
 Drove spears of memory thro' my throbbing brain, 
 A year ago — one year ago ! — 
 Earth's hopes and roses wither so — 
 
 Nothing endureth save life's ceaseless pain. 
 
 And so I laid them by, as lay 
 
 Our quiet dead, wrapped in a shroud of white, 
 Then wrote a name, and then a date, 
 And underneath the words — " Too late," 
 
 And hid them all, forever out of sight. 
 
 Some day, upon a brighter shore, 
 Where no sweet flowers ever fade or die, - 
 We two shall meet, long-parted friends. 
 And that glad day shall make amends 
 For all this bitterness of death, gone by. 
 Sept., 1883. 
 
DRIFT, 
 
 67 
 
 UNANSWERED, 
 
 *' Abysus abyssum invocat." .» 
 
 No answer ! O lost love ! no need to tell 
 
 What depths impassable between us flow, 
 What seas of sorrow, tireless rage and swell 
 Between mt/ life and thinej where all is well, 
 
 Beyond these piercing winds and wastes of snow ! 
 
 No answer ! Yet the tides that mournfully 
 Come rolling in along the hollow shore 
 
 Seem ever calling to some far-off sea. 
 
 That answers solemnly, — but unto me 
 Never an answer cometh, anymore, 
 
 Feb. 9, 1884. 
 
68 
 
 DRIFT. 
 
 CUM IPSO. * 
 
 Only to kneel in His Presence, 
 
 Low down in the dust at His Feet, 
 
 In the peace of His solemn silence, 
 Unutterably sweet. " 
 
 Only to feel that He knows us, 
 
 Knows us, each one, by name, 
 
 And, tho' all the world may despise us, 
 He loveth us just the same. 
 
 Only to know He is waiting, 
 
 Anxiously, patiently, there 
 To hear, and then lovingly answer. 
 
 The poorest and humblest^ prayer.. 
 
 To know that, thro' all, He loves us, 
 No matter how sinful or poor, 
 
 And we cannot come too often 
 Thro' His ever-open door. 
 
 Only to kneel in His Presence, 
 
 While our hearts are ready to break 
 
 With sorrow for sinning, and love for Him ! 
 And all for His dear love's sake ! 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 Only to kneel there, imploring 
 
 To be taken away from sin, 
 Not from the fear of its punishment, 
 
 But for fear of displeasing Him. 
 
 Only to kneel in His Presence ! 
 
 What more can Heaven bestow? 
 Only this : that, when there^ we need never 
 
 Away from that Presence go. 
 
 May, '82. 
 
 69 
 
 
70 DRIFT. 
 
 THE HEAVENLY COUNTRY. 
 
 (From the German.) . 
 
 An humble little village lad 
 Once heard a pilgrim say 
 
 That he sought a " Heavenly country '* 
 That was very '' far away; ** 
 
 Whose walls were gloriously bright, 
 
 Of precious stones its gate, 
 Within rolled wondrous harmonies. 
 
 And — " the way to it was straight.^* 
 * <t :i: m m 
 
 His little pale face all aglow, 
 He started, — straight ahead. 
 
 Nor turned he to the right or left, 
 But where the straight road led. 
 
 For long, long miles the weary child, 
 Toiled on, nor feared to fall. 
 
 Until he reached, at close of day, 
 A strange large city's wall. 
 
 He entered in, footsore and weak, 
 
 A bell was ringing clear, 
 He turned into a lighted church 
 
 And to the " rail," drew near. 
 
 The Altar gleamed all fair and bright, 
 Sweet incense filled the air, -^ — — 
 
 And a glory from the Holy Place 
 Shone on the poor child, there, 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 With hands uplifted, and his face 
 
 In rapture — all aglow ! 
 And when the Benediction ceased 
 
 He never seemed to know. 
 4E m mm ^ * 
 
 The lights were out, save one alone, 
 That burned unfaiHng there ; 
 
 When Priest and Sacristan beheld 
 The little pilgrim, where 
 
 He knelt, with reverent-folded hands 
 And tangled yellow hair, 
 
 Yet with a light upon his face 
 It awed them much to see. 
 
 And so they asked him, tenderly, 
 
 Who was, and whence came, he ? 
 
 He answered softly, " from afar, 
 
 I came, by a long, straight way ; 
 
 This is the * Heavenly Country,' and, 
 I pray you — let me stay ! 
 
 71 
 
 >» 
 
 His head drooped, slowly, wearily — . 
 
 And fainter came his breath ! 
 Then on the holy altar ste'^ 
 
 He fell asleep, in death. 
 
 Then the good Priest stooped and lifted him 
 
 And closed his eyes, so blue. 
 For thus, by the " straight road, " had he found 
 __ — -The Heavenly country true. - - - - 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 MY MEDAL. _ 
 
 Only a Medal, on 
 
 Whose silver gloss .^ 
 Is carved a Burning Heart 
 Pierced with a cross ; 
 Beneath whose wreath of thorn there doth appear 
 Love's last bequest, a Wound made by a spear 
 
 Whose soundless depths man's thought ^ 
 
 Can never reach. 
 Not even eternity 
 
 Its measure teach ; 
 But lonel> hearts find there Home and a Friend 
 And sinners, coming back, peace without end ! 
 
 Upon its " other side,'' ^ 
 Star-crowned and sweet. 
 Stands Heaven's Queen, with earth, 
 Beneath her feet. 
 Star of the sea, and Heaven's eternal Gate, 
 Our Mother ! evermore Immaculate ! 
 
 Mother! O blessed name ! 
 
 How strong thou art 
 To thrill the pulses of 
 
 My drooping heart ! -^^ - --^ — 
 
 No longe*- ** motherless," ah, '* Full of Grace ! ^ 
 Weary and worn, I seek a little place 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 73 
 
 Among the least of those 
 
 Who follow thee, 
 Though, all unworthy, called 
 Thy *' Child" to be; 
 Yet the unworthy and the sinful claim 
 Sure help from Jesus, asked in Mary's name ! 
 
 When tempted, I need only 
 
 Look on this 
 Dear Heart, lance-pierced for me, 
 And softly kiss . 
 
 My medal, with a prayer, and humbly say 
 " Let me not wound thee, loving Heart to-day ! " 
 
 Or, when my daily cross 
 
 Grows heavier, 
 ril turn the *' other side " 
 And think oi her 
 Who bore a sword-pierced heart, her whole life long. 
 And, kissing her blest feet, grow brave and strong. 
 
 If friends should change or die, 
 
 Or " sail away," 
 Leaving me desolate, 
 Some bitter day, 
 ]^ I will look on my breast, where shines the " star," 
 That pointeth heavenward, where no partings are ! 
 
74 DRIFT. 
 
 So, precious Medal, lie 
 
 Upon my breast, 
 Each heart-throb shall prociaim, 
 Her praises blest ; 
 Lie there, to rise and fall with every breath, 
 Lie there, till I am cold and dumb in death. 
 
 Lie on my silent heart, 
 
 And speak for me ! 
 O silver Heart of Christ 
 My passport be 
 Into Thy Father's house, when, all alone. 
 Through jthe dark gate cl aeath I shall have gone ! 
 
 When, trembling before Him, 
 My Judge most jiist^ 
 
 My soul, in dread and shame, 
 
 n Cleaves to the dust, 
 With not one word to plead why it should not 
 Be doomed to endless pain, lost, and forgot ! 
 
 , Remember, then^ O Heart 
 - Pierced for my sin, 
 
 My Af other pleads with thee, 
 To let me in ! 
 Saying: ** O Son, behold my Child, shall she 
 Be disappointed who has called on mel 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 *' O, by those past sad hours 
 Of dread and gloom 
 ^ When / stood by Thy cross, 
 And at Thy tomb ! 
 By all the sorrow 1 have shared with Thee, 
 By all the glory thou hast given me, 
 
 " Let not this Child of mine. 
 
 Whose soul hath cost 
 So dear a ransom, now 
 Be doomed and lost. 
 With deep repentance she hath mourned her sin. 
 Jesus, Beloved, let my daughter in." 
 
 And O, be sure, t/iat Son 
 
 Will, smiling, say 
 " Have thy sweet will, my Mother, 
 Mine alway ! 
 No soul you guard, shall ever die unshriven, 
 Or ' Child of Mary ' be shut out from Heaven ! " 
 
 Feb. 2, 1884. 
 
 75 
 
76 DRIFT. 
 
 PAX TECUM. 
 
 In Memoriam M. E, B. 
 
 Rage on, O wild night wind and sobbing rain, 
 
 You may not stir 
 That pale, calm sleeper, — all earth's storms are vain 
 
 To waken her. 
 
 O snow-white Figure, with thine arms outspread. 
 
 And face so sweet ! 
 Keep thou a gracious guard above this bed 
 
 Laid at thy feet. 
 
 Whereon, amid earth's fairest blossoms strewn, 
 
 One still more fair, 
 A pale and radL-wit Liyl, fully blown, 
 
 Lies broken there. 
 
 The taper's flames, by low night-breezes stirred, 
 
 Flicker and gleam 
 Upon that placid face, but not a word 
 
 Disturbs her dream. 
 
 So swift her soul hath pierced Death's dark eclipse 
 
 And found release, 
 When her own angel kissed her patient lips, 
 
 And brought her peace, 
 
 Only our sad hushed voices, speaking low, 
 
 W^ith measured breath. 
 And a strange solemn stillness, let us know 
 
 That this is Death ! 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 77 
 
 Else we would think she just " to sleep " had gone ; 
 
 And, O, our breast 
 Is full of envy, as we look upon 
 
 Such perfect rest I 
 
 calm, closed eyes, you never more need wake 
 
 To tears and pain ; 
 And you, O silent heart, with care shall break 
 
 Never again. 
 
 Those waxen fingers clasp the Blessed Sign 
 
 Of hope— God-given, 
 The precious key that, thanks to Love Divine, 
 
 Hath opened Heaven 1 
 
 While, over all, that Faithful Mother stands, 
 
 Pure, sweet, and mild. 
 With yearning tenderness and outstretched hands. 
 
 To guard her child! 
 
 Sleep, " Child of Mary, " at our Mother's feet 
 
 Eer prayers will keep 
 All evil from her own /—So, calm and sweet. 
 
 Sleep, Sister, sleep. 
 
 Rage on, O stormy wind and sobbing rain, 
 
 Your fiercest sound 
 Shall never waken to earth's care again 
 
 That sleep profound. 
 
 Sept. 25, '82. 
 
78 
 
 DRIFT. 
 
 ALL. 
 
 ToS.F. 
 
 mothers, over all the earth, 
 
 To you I make my moan : 
 You have your burdens, all of you. 
 
 And each one knows her own ; 
 But you around whose necks a babe's arms twine 
 Pity me, desolate,— God took a// mine ! 
 
 1 know the most of you have graves 
 
 Where some sweet flower lies, 
 That drooped too soon. Yet you may look 
 With loving happy eyes 
 On others, playing in the Spring sunshine. 
 
 pray for me to-night,— God took all mine I 
 
 Perhaps, losing many, you have kept, 
 
 Thro' God's kind mercy, one, 
 
 O when you kiss her, say : " God help 
 
 The mothers who have none / " 
 
 1 had four, — but trailing mosses twine 
 About his grave and theirs ! God took all mine ! 
 
 Not sparing one, although I prayed 
 
 So hard to keep this last. 
 My little Mary,— one sweet flower! 
 
 But, — tis a prayer gone past. • 
 
 My God ! not my will, any more, but Thine ! 
 All Thou hast done was best — for me and mine t 
 
 Boston, May, 1884. 
 
DRIFT. 79 
 
 TOO LATE. 
 
 I thought to clasp ler hand once more, 
 
 Once more to kiss her face ; 
 Once more to hold her to my heart ^ 
 
 In the old fond embrace ; 
 Once more to gaz(i into her eyes, and see, 
 The old-time tenderness creep there for me. 
 
 To hear the last beat of her heart, 
 
 Dear heart ! that only knew 
 How to be loving, past all words, 
 
 And most sublimely true ; 
 The heart that never drew a selfish breath, 
 Thro' change and sorrow, " Faithful unto Death !" 
 
 All yesterday, while journeying 
 
 Unto my childhood's home, 
 To reach her side, my thoughts were fain 
 
 To backward turn and roam 
 By hill and valley, and low-whispering stream. 
 Where we once kvandered,in that long past dream. 
 
 O long-past meriy gatherings. 
 
 By river, field and shore, 
 O dear old playmates, dead or gone. 
 
 We meet on earth no more ! 
 No more upon the river's breast we row, - ^^ — 
 Our voices singing — as we homeward go — 
 The old *' Canadian Boat Song," soft and low. 
 
80 DRIFT. 
 
 No more, with gay, light hearts, we pluck 
 The traihng, sweet May-bloom, 
 
 Alas ! we gather oftenest now 
 
 Dead leaves from some loved tomb. 
 
 The dear old faces ! all are missing now, 
 
 Or meet us with strange lines upon their brow. 
 
 The hands that soothed our childish griefs 
 Have long since turned to clay ; 
 
 The feet we loved to walk beside 
 Have gone another way. 
 
 That leadeth past the narrow graveyard sod, — 
 
 Past sin and death, unto the " Hills of God.'* 
 
 And yesterday I came and stood 
 
 Beside the well-known door, 
 
 To see my friend, my life-long friend. 
 And speak with her once more, 
 
 To kiss her lips, one last farewell to say, 
 
 Then, sadly satisfied, to go my way. 
 
 But all the house was strangely still, 
 
 I waited, — then — a hand 
 Grasped mine with sympathetic clasp, 
 
 Easy to understand. 
 I entered in, to kiss, — a coffin plate I 
 With eyes too blind to read the name, or date,- 
 I only knew that I had come too late, 
 
 St. Johu N.B., July 30, 1884. 
 
DRIFT. 81 
 
 AT EVENTIDE. 
 
 As when the sun has gone unto his rest, 
 In crimson glow, behind the purple hill, 
 Some gentle radiance of a glory past. 
 On spire and cottage window lingers still. 
 
 So, too, when with worn feet, down life's hill-side 
 We take our lonely way, at eventide. 
 The glow of sunset in the crimson West 
 Lights up our faces, with the hope of rest J 
 
 All clearly outlined 'gainst the flaming sky, 
 Black hills nud gabled roofs in shadow lie, 
 'Tis thus O'lr sorrows and our wrongs sink low 
 And are forgotton in life's sunset glow. 
 
 For, O, behind those grim black hills' dark crest 
 Lies a sweet valley of eternal rest ; 
 And safe beyond this life's last dying gleam 
 Lies the/riu*^io/i of our heart's dear dream ! 
 
 O lurid glow of vanishing daylight I 
 Upon thy fading beauty falls the night ; 
 So, on our faces, Heaven wara turned, at last 
 Shine light of eventide when day is past. 
 
 F 
 
82 DRIFT. 
 
 MASKS. 
 
 O God 1 the mask our face is \ 
 
 With its smiles and laughter lit f 
 While beneath, like some wild ocean. 
 Our heart, in fierce commotion, 
 Writhes, tortured under it. 
 
 How we speak, with quiet voices. 
 
 And no tremor of a breath 
 Tells of all the grim restriction,^- 
 Hiding pangs of crucifixion, 
 
 And worse agony than death I 
 
 Look up 1 O poor masked faces, 
 
 Where the clouds the Heavens hide ; 
 
 All your heart-wrung smiles and laughter 
 
 Shall be understood — hereafttr 
 When the masks are laid aside. 
 
 June Jith, 1884. 
 
DRIFT. SI 
 
 AFTER THE RAIN. 
 
 Shining and green are the maple leaves, 
 
 Washed from the soiling of dust and stain, 
 Filled with a murmuring grateful breeze, 
 
 After the rain. 
 
 How the wild storm on my red rose bed 
 
 Beat out its pitiless floods amain, 
 Sweeter than ever each lifts its head, 
 
 After the rain. 
 
 Down by the river a waving field 
 
 Of daisies and buttercups, nodding, vain, 
 Glimmers and gleams, like a golden shield, 
 
 After the rain. 
 
 Freshness and beauty the showers bring ; 
 
 And from the wayside-dust low lain, 
 Down-trodden, hidden, new blossoms spring, 
 
 i^fter the rain. 
 
 Deeper the blue upon sky and sea, 
 
 Whiter the sails on the heaving main, 
 Laden the winds with new melody. 
 
 After the rain. 
 
 Sweetest the eyes that have had to weep, 
 
 Tend' rest the hearts that have borne most pain, 
 Brightest the sun thai, through storm-clouds deep. 
 
 Breaks — After ihe rain. 
 
84 
 
 DRIFT. 
 
 WAITING. 
 
 The years have gone by that were squandered and lost, 
 And with pale shaking lips I have counted the cost 
 Of the love I have wasted, and shipwrecked, for just 
 A poor *' handful " of wind-scattered ashes and dust. 
 
 I sit by a hearthstone whose embers are dead, 
 And stretch out my hands for a warmth that has fled ; 
 I watch for a shadow to darken the wall , 
 And listen, and wait, for a longed-for footfall. 
 
 I start at the rustle of leaves, or the sigh 
 Of the wind in the elms, as it hurrieth by ; 
 While the darkness comes down like a funeral-pall, 
 As I wearily wait for that cherished footfall. 
 
 O, form that has vanished, O love that has flown — 
 That has crossed my life's threshold, and left me alone 1 
 'Tis in vain that I wait in the darkness, and call ; 
 You may not return ! — O, beloved footfall ! 
 
 O, open the shroud that enfoldeth your breast, 
 And let me share with you its quiet and rest. 
 What is * living' without you? what is death, after all, 
 But the coming at last, of a longed-for footfall ? 
 

 <^5 
 
 mmM< 
 
 f.i5t?[§^ 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 M. J. N. 
 Born July, 1869 ; Died Feb,, 1870. 
 
 O, Baby Margaret, my Pearl, 
 My little summer blossom ! 
 
 Blooming ever more, in peace, 
 Upon Our Lady's bosom ! 
 
 Sweet fair Baby Margaret, 
 
 In my selfish blindness, 
 I begged hard to keep you, pet ; 
 
 God, in truer kindness. 
 
 Took my little Margaret, 
 My little fair white blossom. 
 
 And laid her tenderly upon 
 His Blessed Mother's bosom. 
 
 She will give you back to me 
 Some quiet, quiet even, — 
 
 When, my purgatory past, 
 I may enter Heaven. 
 
 O, my darling, I am glad, 
 
 When the thought comes o'er me, 
 That when I am called to go, 
 
 Vou are there before me ! 
 
 O my little Margaret, 
 
 Snow-white, sinless blossom ! 
 Pray for " mother," where you lie, 
 
 On our Lady's bosom. 
 
 87 
 
88 
 
 DRIFT. 
 
 MARY AGNES. 
 
 Born Aug., 1867; Drowned Aug. , 1874. 
 
 Her last words every night — 
 
 " Good night, Papa, and God bless you.'* 
 
 When all the " night prayers '* reverently 
 
 By her sweet lips are said, 
 And all she loves best prayed for, both 
 
 The living and the dead. 
 She lifts her blue eyes dreamily, 
 
 Aglow with loving light, 
 And throws her arms around his neck : — 
 
 " Good night. Papa, good night. 
 
 And God bless you ! *' 
 
 Good night, Mary ! a long good night 1 
 
 My loving, sweetest pet. 
 Your voice still rings within mine ears, 
 I think I hear it yet : 
 
 " Good night. Papa, good night, 
 And God bless you ! *' 
 
 O little Mary, little love ! 
 
 Lent for so short a space — 
 The ^* night " will never end for us, 
 
 Until we see your face. 
 
D«IIFT. 
 
 Ah when the cruel waters closed 
 Above those sweet blue eyes ! 
 
 What hope and joy went down with them, 
 No more on Earth to rise ! 
 
 But you, O darHng child, awoke 
 With God — in Paradise ! 
 
 89 
 
 Ql 
 
90 
 
 DRIFT. 
 
 REST AND PEACE. 
 
 FRANCIS B. LIGUORI. 
 Born July, 1865 ; Died June, 1879. 
 
 'Tis over now — and pain is past, 
 Close the blue eyes, so dim ! 
 
 For rest and peace have come at last, 
 Have come at last — to him I 
 
 But not to me, ah, not to 77ie ! 
 
 My pain has but begun, 
 And all my soul in anguish cries, 
 
 " Francis ! my son ! my son ! " 
 
 His poor white hands, so worn and ih.in, 
 
 Cross on his silent breast, 
 His wounded feet together lay — 
 
 " So — rest, my darling, rest ! *' 
 
 But " rest,'' for me ? No, nevermore, 
 
 Till my sad life shall cease. 
 And God shall send my darling down 
 
 To bring me rest and peace. 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 91 
 
 AT THE '* HERMITAGE." 
 
 R. C. Cemetery. 
 
 O peaceful city, so silent are thy streets, 
 
 I hear no sound save my own steps that tread 
 
 Thy lonely walks, with weary feet and slow, 
 To find the spot where my love lieth dead. 
 
 The snow has drifted o'er that narrow grave. 
 And the March wind goes thro' me, as I kneel 
 
 Beside my darling's bed, who heeds me not, 
 Nor hears the " Vesper Bells," that faintly peal 
 
 Thro' the still air this Sunday afternoon, 
 
 A year ago, earth did not seem so drear ! 
 For hope and love were living f now they lie. 
 
 Coffined and buried deep, in this grave, here. 
 
 Hc * * * * * 
 
 O silent hearts, I, sick with grief and weeping 
 
 And sense of such irreparable loss. 
 Must turn my steps, and leave you, in God's holy keeping, 
 
 Beneath the peaceful shadow of the graveyard cross 1 
 
 March, 1880. 
 
92 / DRIFl. 
 
 STRONGER THAN DEATH. 
 
 Tho' it is all past and over now, 
 
 And hardly worth recalling, 
 Yet I cannot help looking back again / 
 Upon all the useless, bitter pain. 
 Knowing now it was all in vain. 
 
 While quiet tears are falling. * : ' * 
 
 O, fruitless prayers, that could not keep 
 
 My love one hour longer ! 
 O clinging arms ! O heart that bled ! * 
 
 tears that scalded like molten lead ! 
 How I prayed to die^ because he was dead ; 
 
 And death than love was stronger. 
 
 1 never - ught of that wise God J 
 
 My wild, wild grief offended, 
 
 For, numb with pain, I could not pray, 
 
 I never knew the night from day, 
 
 I only knew where my dead love lay, — 
 The world for me had ended. 
 
 * 
 
"■ >v 
 
 DRIFT. 
 
 tong years have passed since then, and I 
 
 Have learned, as I tarry longer, 
 That /Iving sorrows are hardest to bear, 
 Death is but sweet release from care, 
 And God is good, and answers prayer. 
 Keeping my darling for me, where 
 
 ms love than death is stronger. - 
 
 April, 1882. ; _ - .... 
 
 93 
 
9i DRIFT. 
 
 AT HIS grave; X 
 
 "Qui non praecesserunt cum signo Fidei, et dormiunt in somno Pacis.' 
 
 How soundly thou hast slept 
 
 Thro' all these years ! ' ^ ^ 
 
 No moan or sad complaint ^ v 
 
 Hath reached thine ears, 
 
 Or pangs of sorrow wet 
 
 Thine eyes with tears. • 
 
 No one hath wakened thee 
 
 From thy long sleep, 
 No one hath bidden thee, 
 
 " Arise," to weep, 
 No storms disturb thy rest, 
 
 So calm, so deep ! 
 
 Thou hast not heard my prayer, 
 
 So faraway ! 
 Thou hast not missed my care 
 
 By night or day, — 
 Sleeping so soundly there, /^ ' 
 
 In peace, I pray. 
 
 For thee, the morning brings 
 
 No dread or pain 
 For thee, the night wind moaneth 
 
 All in vain ; — 
 Thou hearest, my lost love ! 
 
 A sweeter strain. 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 1)5 
 
 No phantoms mock thy dreams, 
 
 No ice nor snow 
 Can chili thee with their breath, 
 
 Or summer's glow 
 Warm thy young breast again 
 
 My love to know. 
 
 No words of mine can reach 
 To where thou art, , 
 
 Nor sign from thee may come 
 To heal my heart, 
 
 So vast the heights that hold 
 Our souls apart. 
 
 Sleep on, for tliee the years. 
 
 Unheeded fly. 
 Thy dreams are full of rest, 
 
 But 1 
 Grow weary, waiting for 
 Thy company. 
 
 O sleep, m.y darling, sleep; 
 
 Tho' deep and wide 
 The sea, that our two souls 
 
 Doth now divide. 
 Shall -irift us, afterwards, 
 
 Close, side by side. 
 
96 
 
 DRIFT. 
 
 Sleep on, in peace. Some day, 
 
 A little space 
 Of matted grass and weeds, 
 
 That hide thy face, 
 Shall be upturned, to make 
 
 For me a place. - i 
 
 V 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 97 
 
 TIRED. 
 
 So tired waiting, — 
 
 Waiting for the end, 
 The end of all this useless, thankless, striving. 
 This long, long weariness that we call "living" — 
 The end of dreams that bring such sad awaking 
 Of disappointment, and the heart's slow breaking, 
 So tired waiting, 
 
 Waiting for the end 1 
 
 So tired waiting, — 
 
 Waiting for the night 
 That ends the heart's delirium and fever, 
 When all its fears are lulled to rest, forever ; 
 The still, sweet night, with starlight shining over, 
 And we, asleep, beneath the blooming clover ! 
 So tired waiting. 
 
 Waiting for the night I 
 
 So tired waitings- 
 Waiting for ihe end 
 Of all misunderstandings and soul-hunger, 
 When lack of love shall trouble us no longer. 
 When a white shroud shall cover up our faces, 
 And better people fill our vacant places. 
 So tired waiting, 
 
 Waiting for the end. 
 
98 DRIFT. 
 
 So tired waiting, — 
 
 Waiting to go Home, 
 Where those who loved us, all, are gone before us, 
 And miss our voices from the Heavenly chorus. 
 Before the looming shadows thicker gather, 
 Before we lose our way, O God, our Father, 
 
 We are so tired, 
 Let us go Home ! 
 
 Bay Shore, Carleton, Aug., 1884.