- • 
 
 
 ■■ 
 
FROM THE LIBRARY OF 
 REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D. 
 
 BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO 
 THE LIBRARY OF 
 
 PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 
 
 y?57 
 
 gNe 
 
 ■ 
 
 EXPORT BOOKSELLERS 
 32. GAY STREET. 
 

SONGS AMID THE SHADOWS. 
 
W. MACK, 38 PARK STREET, BRISTOL. 
 
\ 
 
 h of pmio> 
 
 j> MAR 22 1934 
 
 SONGS AMID THE SHADOWS: 
 
 BY THE LATE 
 
 HETTY BOWMAN, 
 
 AUTHOR OP "THOUGHTS FOR WORKERS AND SUFFERERS,' 
 
 "STUDIES IN THE PSALMS," "CHRISTIAN DAILY LIFE," 
 
 "ELSIE ELLIS," "THOUGHTS ON THE CHRISTIAN 
 
 LIFE," ETC. 
 
 WITH INTRODUCTORY SKETCH 
 
 MRS GO ED OX, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THE HOME LIFE OF SIR DAVID BREWSTER," " WORK,' 
 
 "WORKERS," "SUNBEAMS IN THE COTTAGE," " LADY 
 
 ELINOR," " LITTLE MILLIE," ETC. ETC. 
 
 £«onb (Ebitictt. — j?ktlj Cljousattb. 
 
 LONDON: 
 SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & CO., 
 
 stationers' hall court. 
 BRISTOL: W. MACK, 33 PARK STREET. 
 
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. 
 
 Some lives are so like the violet in their modest 
 beauty and fragrance, that it seems ruthless to drag 
 them before the public ; yet their lessons of rare 
 wisdom and holiness are so much needed by the 
 Church, in these days of glare and glitter, that one 
 cannot help longing to record them. All who knew 
 the authoress of these sweet " Songs amid the 
 Shadows," experience this double feeling. Her own 
 wish, expressed on her deathbed, settles the question, 
 however ; and, in accordance with that wish, these few 
 words are not to be in any sense biographical. 
 
 Over the lovely and holy life of Hetty Bowman, 
 the quiet home sufferer, who made " sunshine" in 
 many a " shady place," we draw a veil ; but Hetty 
 Bowman, the Christian worker, we may judge from 
 her works. At an early age she began to write, and 
 her books from first to last bear a strong stamp of 
 individuality, and, indeed, are almost autobiogra- 
 phical Like the architect who "built his great 
 heart into the stones," this gentle woman built hers 
 into her books, and thus reached many another 
 heart by the simple weapons of truth and reality. 
 
 Her first book, "Life, its Duties and Discipline," 
 was published in 1859, and her second, " Christian 
 
VI INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. ' 
 
 Daily Life/' in 1860. In both works, " Christianity " 
 as a "Life," and not a mere state, or profession, or 
 theory, is graphically and practically depicted. We 
 find much of the even balance of judgment, the 
 practical piety, the vivid knowledge of character, 
 which showed so remarkably in her after life. The 
 chapter in the former called " Lights and Shades of 
 the Inner Life," and, in the latter, " Heart Work," 
 are peculiarly searching and helpful. Years after 
 " Christian Daily Life" was written, it was a great 
 joy and encouragement to its author to hear 
 that it had been the means of conversion to two 
 sisters, — especially as she was often saddened by the 
 belief that she had been little used in direct conver- 
 sion work, though few writers had more abundant 
 testimony of the blessing conveyed by her " words 
 in season." 
 
 Her next book, " Our Village Girls," has reached a 
 sixth edition, and well deserves an even wider popu- 
 larity, being peculiarly suited for reading aloud at 
 girls' classes or working parties, while it has its 
 helpful message also to those who, like " Edith 
 Weston," desire to use their gifts of influence and 
 teaching over the future wives and mothers of their 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 "Thoughts for Workers and Sufferers" is perhaps 
 one of Hetty Bowman's best-known and most useful 
 writings, in which the union of work, suffering, and 
 consolation, so common in the lot of the Lord's own 
 children, is vividly depicted. The key-note of it may 
 be found in these lines, which, with other original 
 verses, are interspersed : — 
 
 " My Master and my Lord ! 
 
 I long to -do some work — some work for Thee ; 
 
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. 
 
 I long to bring some lowly gift of love, 
 For all Thy love to me ! 
 
 "The harvest-fields are white, — 
 
 Send me to gather there some scattered ears : 
 I have no sickle bright ; but I can glean, 
 And bind them in with tears." 
 
 And again — 
 
 " I have no strength, dear Lord! 
 
 Oh ! let me lie where I can kiss Thy feet, 
 And look up from the dust into Thine eyes, 
 That are so true and sweet ! 
 
 " And come, oh ! come to me, 
 
 And raise me to Thine arms, and teach me there 
 The strange deep secrets of Thy love, and bend 
 To listen this my prayer." 
 
 In this book, -in the chapter entitled " The Power 
 of Christ," we find the germ of views which she 
 adopted later, and brought out more fully in other 
 works. " Have you ever considered, reader, how 
 much the power of Christ might do for you in over- 
 coming besetting sin ? . . . You are passionate, per- 
 haps, or impatient, or indolent. You acknowledge 
 and often mourn over your fault, but there the matter 
 ends. You do not strive for mastery, determined to 
 give no quarter and allow no truce. On the con- 
 trary, you are very apt to compromise with your 
 enemy, treating him as a kind of pet wild-beast 
 given you to keep, for whose wilful outbreaks you 
 are hardly responsible. As to the day ever arriving 
 when your impatience or passion shall be under 
 thorough control, and your indolence roused to self- 
 denying effort, of this you have not the most remote 
 expectation. ... Is the pow T er of Christ too small 
 
Vlll INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. 
 
 to turn your passion to patience, or your pride to 
 meekness % . . . Our own power we may doubt, but 
 never His." 
 
 Some time after writing this book, she expressed 
 to me her yearnings after a higher state of holiness 
 and conformity to the will of the Lord. The doctrine 
 of holiness by faith — i.e., simply receiving " Christ 
 Jesus, who of God is made unto us wisdom and 
 righteousness and sanctification and redemption " (1 
 Cor. i. 30)— though as old as the Word of God itself, 
 was at that time being freshly developed in the 
 teaching and experience of the Church. I shall 
 never forget the eager interest with which she spoke 
 of this as likely to meet the inner need of entire 
 consecration, which so many of the Lord's people 
 have lately been brought to experience. It was not 
 till a visit to Malvern in 1869, where she enjoyed 
 many opportunities of Christian teaching, that she 
 saw the scriptural nature of the doctrine so strongly, 
 that, while her next work, " Studies in the Psalms/' 
 was passing through the press, she, at much trouble 
 and expense, cancelled the printed pages in which 
 she feared she had not been sufficiently explicit. 
 
 In the amended work, she writes on Ps. lxviii. 28, 
 with the Prayer-book version, " That which Thou 
 hast wrought in us," compared with Isa. xxvi. 12, 
 ' ' Thou also hast wrought all our works in us" — 
 >a Only let us remember through all that it is Christ 
 who ' worketh in us to will and to do of His good 
 pleasure/ He gives Himself to conquer sin in us, 
 as He gave Himself to conquer it for us. It is be- 
 cause we do not grasp this truth firmly that we have 
 to complain so much of the want of settled peace in 
 Him. We go on making efforts after holiness, in- 
 stead of giving ourselves up to Him to be made holy. 
 
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. 
 
 Hence we feel too sorrowfully that sin has i dominion 
 over us,' although God's command is (and He never 
 gives impossible precepts), that it ' shall not/ Must 
 we not confess that some who hold and teach with 
 noble clearness the truth of justification through 
 Christ alone do not so clearly teach, even if they 
 hold it, that of sanctiflcation through Christ alone 1 
 .... Here, too, is the point at which we must 
 aim, — not so much at subduing this sin or that, as 
 at deeper oneness of spirit with Him who fights in 
 us and overcomes. Compare John xv. 4, 5." 
 
 That she held fast to the end the precious reve- 
 lation or " unveiling" of Christ, who is " the Doer, 
 rather than the Helper" (as I have heard it well 
 put), we may see from her last work, completed 
 during the winter immediately preceding her death, 
 and published soon after. In her " Leaves from 
 Letters," there are two short but forcible chapters, 
 " Christ our King," in which she writes : — " I be- 
 lieve the whole secret of victory lies here, — in look- 
 ing, not to ourselves, for in us there is nothing 
 which can conquer, but straight up to our King. . . . 
 So, when temptation arises, let us not even try to 
 meet it, but in a moment throw ourselves helplessly 
 back on Christ, sending up the cry of the heart, 
 1 Lord, fight for me now, — Lord, undertake for me 
 now.' We cannot tell how He will do it. Sometimes 
 it may be by turning the battle aside altogether-^- 
 sometimes by so covering us with the shield of His 
 love, that we lose sight of everything else. But in 
 one way or other He will do it. Let us only trust 
 Him, and He will show us how." 
 
 This is well followed up by another chapter, called 
 " Salvation, Past, Present, and Future," which has 
 been honoured by being inserted as a leading article 
 
INTR OD UC TOR Y SKE TCH. 
 
 in a number of The Christian, that most helpful 
 of religious periodicals. 
 
 There was one feature of her natural character 
 which was sanctified and developed by grace into a 
 rare and useful gift, a candour and breadth of mind 
 which made her look at every subject from all sides. 
 While this enlarged her sympathies and developed a 
 sweet and rare charity, it enabled her to see the 
 dangers of even her own most cherished views, if in- 
 cautiously broached or unfaithfully held. The error 
 of expecting " perfection of the flesh " she carefully 
 guarded against, and was ever cautious lest she might 
 cause others to stumble. She wrote to me, however, 
 — "I think the Higher Life, like all of God's truths, 
 must be in some measure a sign which shall be 
 spoken against, that ' the thoughts of many hearts 
 may be revealed/ It is only those who, far beyond 
 the measure of most Christians, become as little 
 children, who receive it instead of stumbling at it. 
 But I am sure one needs mucli of Jesus' long-suffer- 
 ing in trying to show it to others — giving our own 
 testimony, and then waiting God's time to lead them 
 Himself. For the lessons, as well as the fruit-bearing 
 of His children, have their season, and we can't 
 anticipate them for one another. I have always 
 found myself that, if in any measure God has led 
 me to show it to others, it has been where I have 
 just asked Him to prepare the way, and open their 
 hearts to take it from His hand." * 
 
 Her wide sympathies, along with much playful 
 wit, and an observation of character so discerning, 
 that, had it not been sanctified, it might have proved 
 a foible and snare, pointed out another opening for 
 her literary powers — instruction in a narrative form, 
 fictitious, yet so simple and unsensational as to be 
 
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH, 
 
 little but the record of daily lives suck as our own, 
 and so true to nature as to be full of interest. " The 
 Autobiography of Elsie Ellis" peculiarly possesses 
 these qualities, and was believed by many readers to 
 be a real autobiography. Some of the earlier chap- 
 ters, indeed, describe her own childhood and girl- 
 hood, and the scenes amid which her early years were 
 passed. " Elsie Ellis," and another tale, " Lily Hope 
 and her Friends," were first published in the Chris- 
 tian Treasury; the former was soon after republished 
 separately, and the latter is about to appear in its 
 new form. In these works we see that intimate 
 knowledge and recognition of the trials and the pos- 
 sibilities of girlhood, which was such a great help to 
 her in the work of her last years. The " girls " of 
 these two works are very real girls — wayward and 
 trusting, tempted and conquering, headstrong yet 
 capable of guidance \ and just the necessary portion 
 is given to each, line gently put upon line, precept 
 tenderly added to precept. So was it in her personal 
 teaching. One special and favourite work was 
 teaching Bible-classes for young ladies, both during 
 her residence at Cliftou, and latterly at Southport. 
 Practically and ably she taught them out of the 
 Word of God ; but still more valuable were her per- 
 sonal dealings with each — often, when little able to 
 see any one, admitting their visits, encouraging their 
 confidence, and certainly helped in winning some of 
 their souls. 
 
 The conversation in her narrative writings is 
 sparkling and animated, while much instruction is 
 conveyed by its means. The " talk " carried on with 
 or in the presence of invalids is peculiarly rich in 
 grace and wisdom. Indeed, in every one of her books 
 there is a special portion for the sick ; and " Evelyn 
 
INTR OD UC TOR V SICE TCH. 
 
 Howard " is a small book, also in the narrative form, 
 which is entirely addressed to invalids. Her long years 
 of personal suffering taught her such varied aspects of 
 invalid life — itself a little world — that were all the 
 chapters dedicated to this subject gathered together, 
 and printed separately for circulation in sick-rooms, 
 a valuable boon would be bestowed ; while, on the 
 other side, the treatment of invalids receives many a 
 quiet and useful hint, — vide, that most practical chap- 
 ter in her " Letter Leaves", "On Visiting Invalids." 
 I find her, December 2, 1 871, writing thus : — ' This, 
 in the way of work, is all that I can attempt at pre- 
 sent — generally, indeed, I am able only to learn to do 
 God's will in doing nothing. I have never been so 
 weak and miserable as I am now, besides suffering 
 much more acute pain than formerly. Ah! how one 
 loves to remember the ' cleft of the rock ! ' The 
 Hand that put us there keeps us there ; there is no 
 opening save through that Hand, and so all that 
 comes to us through that mast be blessing. Do you 
 remember an idea of Denham Smith's, that the 
 branches which are being pruned are always near 
 to the hand of Jesus ? And don't you love the two 
 waitings in Isa. xxx. 18 — the Lord waiting to bless, 
 His people waiting for the blessing ? We little know 
 how much it may cost Him, so to speak, to keep us 
 there in suspense ; and yet He will grudge no pain 
 either to Himself or us in giving us the right educa- 
 tion for glory." 
 
 There is one way of " showing piety at home," 
 very little thought of even by Christian invalids ; 
 and Hetty Bowman, while inculcating it upon 
 others, was peculiarly careful to practise it herself. I 
 mean, the self-denial of a proper care of health. 
 Many a pleasant thing she gave up because "it would 
 
INTR OD UC TOR Y SKE TCH. Xlll 
 
 make them so anxious at home ;" while, on the 
 other hand, no one ever " gave in " so little to illness, 
 making just the right amount of " effort," and no 
 more — ready, in short, and thankful for the Lord's 
 will when He allowed her to be " half well " — a 
 much more trying state than absolute illness, which 
 precludes all effort. She truly thought that many 
 of the Lord's suffering ones err much in acting as if 
 quite well when any restoration appears, or keeping 
 themselves as confirmed invalids when, by some 
 exertion, they might greatly cheer their friends, and 
 really in the end improve their own state. To those 
 who remember her consistent and unselfish practice 
 of her own precepts, every one of her words to in- 
 valids comes with a double force. 
 
 In " Elsie Ellis " there is a very pretty sketch of 
 a young authoress, (i Grace -Monroe," which shows 
 us the strong views she herself entertained of the 
 responsibilities of such a position. Never, cer- 
 tainly, was there so " model " an authoress as Hetty 
 Bowman herself — retiring and feminine — knowing 
 her own powers exactly— never presuming on them 
 — never "aping humility" — because she possessed 
 the most real of all — the meek, lowly spirit of the 
 handmaiden of the Lord, working for Him with the 
 pen He gave her to wield — thankful for each token 
 of encouragement, yet well able to do without, be- 
 cause this is but the seed-time, and the joy of har- 
 vest is in the happy future. She wrote to me — 
 " Who is it that says — 
 
 1 It may be glorious to write thoughts that shall glad the 
 two or three 
 High souls like those far stars that come in sight once in 
 a century ; 
 
XIV INTR OD UC TOR Y SKE TCH. . 
 
 But better far is it to speak one simple word which, now 
 
 and then, 
 Shall waken a new life within the weak and sinful souls of 
 
 men.' 
 
 " But it is a i sowing in hope ' after all, and while 
 we ' wait for that we see not/ one does get terribly 
 cast down sometimes. Only, if we just give the 
 dear Lord ivhat we have, for Him to make what use 
 of it He will, there is such perfect rest in knowing 
 that He is doing something with it though He may 
 not show us what." 
 
 I remember once being struck with the rare 
 candour of her self-judgment. Her retiring char- 
 acter made her shrink from many manifestations of 
 feminine strong-mindedness passing in the world, 
 both among authoresses and workers; and after 
 speaking rather strongly on this subject, she said 
 penitently, " But I sometimes question whether, in 
 our way of it, there may not be as much of self. 
 Perhaps, after all, they are more simple than we are, 
 so we must be tender of judging others for what is 
 impossible for ourselves." 
 
 In all these works we find how a highly edu- 
 cated mind — of grasp beyond that of the generality 
 of women — recognised in daily life and teaching the 
 " power of littles," which is touchingly confirmed 
 by this short but full sentence, — " How one longs 
 to realise that we are called not only to fellow- 
 work, but fellow-feeling with God ! and if one does 
 not seize the opportunities for it in little things, 
 one misses them in greater." Besides the little 
 " deeds of kindness," the daily, hourly cups of cold 
 water which she gave to many, none ever experi- 
 enced more of a <{ child's pure delight in little 
 things." It was pleasant to see her eyes brightening 
 
IN TROD UC TOR Y SKE TCH. XV 
 
 over a new pattern, or a photograph, or a flower — her 
 mind fresh and ready for a tiny jest or a pleasant 
 thought, — and the vividness of her sympathy in the 
 little cares, joys, and sorrows of her friends. The 
 deftness of her fingers, too, was an ever-present 
 source of interest, dedicated like all else to her 
 Lord. The first sign of the extremity of suffering 
 in her numerous illnesses having passed, was the 
 call for her " crochet/' one of the few sorts of work 
 which did not hurt her delicate spine, and with 
 which she helped materially many a " beloved 
 mission." Her recognition of the Lord's daily 
 guidance was also, as might be expected, very 
 vivid. Thus she writes, — " We go to Harrogate 
 (d.v.) on the 25 th. Will you ask specially that 
 God may guide_ us about lodgings; for, having 
 no friends there to secure them beforehand, we are 
 just trusting entirely to Him, and I feel so sure 
 that we shall be taken to the right place." And 
 again, speaking of a new medical attendant, — " I 
 have found him a great comfort, so tenderly the dear 
 Lord cares." 
 
 Of her intense love of nature we see many traces 
 in her works, both of the noble "scenery of her native 
 " North Countrie," and also of that humbler but as 
 real beauty to be found in every nook and corner of 
 God's world. Thus she writes suggestively in " Elsie 
 Ellis " — " Very tame it seemed, even commonplace, 
 after the glory of form and colour which spread 
 itself over my beloved North ; and as nature will 
 only reveal herself to loving eyes, and to hearts that 
 receive with reverence her homeliest teachings, my 
 pride robbed me of much refreshment, and made 
 the daily walk rather an affair of duty than an 
 occasion of thanksgiving. Hence I failed, for a 
 
XVI IN TROD UC TOR Y SKE TCH. 
 
 long time, to perceive that in every bit of tangled 
 hedge or moss-grown wall there was enough to fill 
 me with wonder and delight." 
 
 I had the great delight of being with my beloved 
 friend when, for the first time for many years, she 
 took a drive among some of the loveliest scenes of 
 her native Cumberland ; and the quiet, chastened 
 beauty of that most expressive countenance, the far- 
 seeing gaze, and the union of reverent gladness and 
 mournful memory, was what I never can forget — it 
 haunts me like a beautiful dream. This rarely femi- 
 nine character combined some masculine powers. 
 She was thoroughly acquainted with Latin ; her 
 knowledge of Greek gave her much help in that 
 study of the Bible in which she attained to so much 
 sanctified intelligence ; and to this she added the 
 study of Hebrew in her later years, according as her 
 relief from suffering permitted. The delight she had 
 in the Word, and her anxiety to share it with others 
 in conversation and by letter, reminded one of " Ade- 
 laide Newton," whose delightful biography is such a 
 treasury of Bible-teaching. An hour over the Scrip- 
 tures with her was indeed a help in every way, 
 although her manner was so meek and lowly, her 
 humility so genuine, that it was not till afterwards 
 that one recalled how much one had been the 
 learner. She made her correspondence a channel of 
 much good in this way, always thus dropping a seed 
 by the wayside, yet in such a natural, easy manner, 
 that correspondence with her always possessed the 
 charm of being a conversation. This is but a speci- 
 men : — " Did you ever notice the contrast in Heb. 
 ii. 8 and 9 — ' We see not yet all things put under 
 Him ; ' ' But we see Jesus/ &c. They are different 
 words in the Greek — one implying sight by sense, , 
 
1NTR0D UCTOR Y SKETCH. XV11 
 
 the other rather by faith. It has struck me so 
 much lately as an intense comfort, when one looks at 
 all the confusion of the world ; we look at that — but 
 it cannot shake our trust — ' we see Jesus. 1 " Another 
 text has been my stay these weeks — ' Thou knowest 
 my simpleness.' It is such joy, in the midst of all 
 one's mistakes and blunders, that He knows it all, 
 and can never be surprised at anything we do." 
 Again : — " I have been dwelling much lately on 
 the 12th of Exodus. Don't you think the command, 
 ' Ye shall take it out from the sheep or from the 
 goats, implies two different aspects of Christ either 
 fulfilling the law or bearing its penalty — the lamb 
 or the scape-goat, the burnt-offering or the sin-offer- 
 ing, fulfilling all righteousness or bearing the curse 1 " 
 And so on, every letter containing some seed-thought. 
 As was to be expected in such a tender and deli- 
 cately organised mind and heart, she had much of 
 the poetic element ; and it was her delight to weave 
 her pleasant thoughts into most pleasant verse, by 
 which she has cheered many a mourner, and has been 
 privileged, indeed, to have her hymns used for help in 
 the last conflict of those passing away to glory. This 
 small volume, with its significant name, is a collection 
 of many of these, which she prepared for publication 
 two years preceding her death. I do not think that 
 it was their partiality which made her friends believe 
 that in it could be traced a very high promise of 
 future excellence as a sweet singer of Israel. But the 
 Lord's ways for her were more wise and loving than 
 ours ; and while we are still singing " the old songs," 
 she is singing the New Song, which has no notes 
 of sorrow in it. One criticism which I have heard 
 made on " Songs amid the Shadows " is, that the 
 tone is too sad and "too sentimental !" I believe 
 
 b 
 
XV111 INTRO D UCTOR V SKETCH. 
 
 that this special thing was a gift bestowed by the 
 Lord, to be used for the benefit of those whose case 
 cannot be reached by common hymns, and still less 
 by ordinary poetry. Many, many women through- 
 out the land know what it is to "wear pilgrim- 
 weeds," and to have their " hands clasped above a 
 hidden pain :" — 
 
 ' ' The bright wine lost from the chalice, 
 The chalice broken in twain." 
 
 And to such mourners the want of sympathy, and 
 the dread of incurring the charge of " sentimental 
 sorrow," leads to a repression and an isolation which 
 often turns to bitterness, and is perhaps the true 
 secret of many wasted lives among unmarried women. 
 When a healthy-minded Christian woman, who her- 
 self has passed through the ordeal of disappointed 
 affection, frankly meets such cases with the pure 
 overflowings of a once wounded but thoroughly 
 healed spirit, pointing to the remedy while recog- 
 nising the smart — ennobling the struggle and help- 
 ing to the victory — we may indeed say, " Thank God 
 for this means of _grace to many." We may be quite 
 sure that the loving, tender Master Himself, who 
 created the capacity for sentiment, would never deem 
 these records of heart-trial as " too sentimental." 
 " Love and Tears," " Past, Present, and Future," 
 "Lost," "Down by the River," " Tired," "Re- 
 sponses," and " It Pleased the Lord to Bruise Him," 
 are some of the pieces in this volume which seem to 
 me peculiarly graceful and gracious — full of grace 
 in the double acceptation of the word. 
 
 Invalids will find their portion in such pieces as 
 "A Sunday at Home," "A Butterfly in a Sick- 
 Room," " In Illness,' ' &c, while the many women 
 
INTR OD UCTORY SKE TCH. XIX 
 
 workers of our days, with their peculiar tempta- 
 tions to bustle and excitement, will do well to lay 
 the first sweet Song of Persis, with its calm, quiet 
 lessons, well to heart. With regard to this little 
 volume she thus wrote — "I don't feel at all as if I 
 were publishing a volume of poems. It is below 
 criticism as such. But I have got so much help and 
 comfort myself from very simple verses, that I just 
 hope these may carry their message to some hearts 
 that are waiting for it. I am bothered about some of 
 the pieces — they are so much myself. And yet they 
 are the best naturally, and, I believe, have most 
 in them for others. So I try to think of 'the 
 public ' as a great big animal, without keen percep- 
 tions and intuitions ; and for the initiated few one 
 does not care. I send you a specimen of the ' Letter 
 Leaves/ and you will tell me your mind frankly. ' ; 
 
 Hetty Bowman was warmly attached to the Epis- 
 copal Church, and was herself the daughter and 
 niece of clergymen of that communion ; but her spirit 
 was one of the most truly "catholic," in its right 
 meaning, that I ever met, and singularly gifted with 
 the power of seeing eye to eye with all the Lord's 
 people on all possible points of union, and content- 
 edly waiting for the rest till " the Lord bringeth 
 again Zion." It was natural that she should take 
 the deepest interest in the question, which so rent the 
 land a few years ago, of the disestablishment of the 
 Church of Ireland. In the lamentation of friends 
 she saw more shame and danger than in the machin- 
 ations of enemies, — a thought which she embodied 
 in the noble lyric " The Church — the Church in 
 Danger." I never saw her more gratified and grate- 
 ful than when, some time after it was first published 
 as a leaflet, she heard of its being enthusiastically sung 
 
XX INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. 
 
 at a large and influential meeting of friends in Ire- 
 land of the Irish Church. " Cissy " is a specimen of 
 another light and graceful key, sometimes, though 
 not often, touched by those versatile fingers. It is 
 a sparkling vision of some such real child as we all 
 know or have known — 
 
 " Down again upon the floor, 
 Pulling Pussy's ear, 
 Not a bit ' too good, to live ; ' 
 Mother need not fear. 
 
 Questions on the little tongue, 
 
 Lisped in silver speech, 
 Glancing into mysteries 
 
 Angels cannot reach ! 
 
 Broken bits of baby prayers ; 
 
 Do we think them odd ? 
 May be neither yours nor mine 
 
 Go more straight to God." 
 
 We have another style, not in this collection, but 
 printed separately, u Oh ! what shall I do for a 
 bonnet ? " in which the good-humoured satire upon 
 the bonnets of the period closes in its own touch- 
 ing little bit of poetry. Her last poetical compo- 
 sition was a graceful poem called " Every Day," 
 written as a preface to a little volume of scriptural 
 meditation, published under that name ; it has since 
 been printed as a leaflet. 
 
 Owing to her known wishes, little has been writ- 
 ten about Hetty Bowman, but that little has been 
 irrepressible, being the outpourings of the affection, 
 which feels that we shall never look upon her like 
 again, and that some record is indispensable. A 
 simple and pathetic sketch, " In Memoriam," ap- 
 peared in " Woman's Work," by her friend Miss 
 Savill; while in the same periodical a poem ad- 
 
I NT ROD UC TOR Y SKE TCH. XXI 
 
 dressed to her shows so just an appreciation of the 
 peculiar aspect in which she lives in many memories, 
 that I cannot forbear quoting three verses — 
 
 " I found her, not upon the gay parterre, 
 Beneath the sunshine bright, or noonday glare, 
 But in the quiet of the silent glade, 
 Our pleasant lily blossomed in the shade. 
 
 Protected by a sharp but friendly thorn, 
 She grew in beauty, fitted to adorn 
 A fairer garden ; and, while all unseen, 
 Soft buds unfolded, and ' her leaf was green.' 
 
 Her roots struck far into the soil of love, 
 The dews of heaven refreshed her from above, 
 The south wind came, and softly o'er her blew, 
 What wonder then that our sweet lily grew ! " 
 
 And now we must stop. Much would I have liked 
 to have taken my readers to a quiet, simple room, 
 where, with more of cloud and conflict than we looked 
 for in the setting of our bright sunbeam, there was 
 the voice of that sure victory which awaits those who 
 possess the Victor — where the love and patience, 
 long taught by pen and lips and life, shone con- 
 spicuous, during a breaking of " the golden bowl " 
 characterised by intense physical suffering. But it 
 is enough — she being dead yet speaketh in many 
 other ways. May the readers of her works lay their 
 lessons to heart, and resolve to live on the earth 
 some such holy life as that of our beloved one; for — 
 
 " All may have if they dare choose, 
 A glorious life and grave." 
 
 I cannot forbear adding — what has only now come 
 to my knowledge — that months after Hetty Bow- 
 man's scarcely recorded death, a letter was sent to 
 her under cover to one of her publishers, telling (as 
 
XX11 INTR OD UCTORY SKE TCH. 
 
 many have told) of the comfort given by her writ- 
 ings, especially by " Thoughts for Workers and 
 Sufferers," which the writer of the letter had read to 
 a blind person; and the request was earnestly made, 
 and I trust will be carried out, that this work should 
 be printed in embossed letters for the benefit of the 
 blind. I have just seen a photograph of a beau- 
 tifully simple marble memorial in the cemetery of 
 Southport, erected by the loving care of the young 
 ladies of her Bible -class, with this simple inscription 
 — " In loving remembrance of Hetty Bowman, who 
 died February 13, 1872, aged 33 years. ' Mighty 
 to save/ ;? — the last three words forming the weapon 
 of her last victory. The spot was chosen by herself, 
 that these and other dear ones might sometimes visit 
 the place where she sleeps so restingly. And there 
 we leave her for a little while, — there — and yet 
 not there. I close in her own singularly applicable 
 words — 
 
 " Lay her to rest ! 
 With folded hands on quiet breast, 
 With white lids closed on cheek as white, 
 Lay her to rest till dawn of light ! 
 
 Though no reply- 
 Comes back from her to yearning cry, 
 Though, for a dreary, dreary space 
 We may not see each other's face, 
 
 She is with Thee ! 
 Not far away." 
 
 Margaret Maria Gordon. 
 
 Pitlurg, October 1872. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PERSIS .... 
 
 . . 1 
 
 LOVE AND TEARS 
 
 3 
 
 PAST — PRESENT — FUTURE 
 
 5 
 
 " MIGHTY TO SAVE " . 
 
 6 
 
 THE BATTLE FOUGHT AND WON 
 
 8 
 
 " TEACH ME TO DO THY WILL " 
 
 10 
 
 NEAR — AND FAR 
 
 12 
 
 FAR — AND NEAR 
 
 13 
 
 CISSY .... 
 
 14 
 
 ONLY A FLOWER 
 
 16 
 
 " THE CHURCH IN DANGER " 
 
 18 
 
 " COME OVER AND HELP US " 
 
 20 
 
 MEETING .... 
 
 22 
 
 FAIRY BELLS 
 
 24 
 
 THE MASTER'S VOICE 
 
 26 
 
 RECEIVING .... 
 
 28 
 
 LOSS .... 
 
 30 
 
 DREAMING AND WAKING 
 
 31 
 
 "'DRAW NIGH TO GOD, AND HE WILL DRAVi 
 
 1 NIGH TO YOU " 33 
 
 TO A FRIEND 
 
 35 
 
 DOWN BY THE RIVER 
 
 37 
 
XXIV 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 TIRED .... 
 
 40 
 
 IN MEMORIAM 
 
 43 
 
 A SUNDAY AT HOME . 
 
 45 
 
 LITTLE MAY .... 
 
 4 
 
 TO A BUTTERFLY IN A SICK-ROOM 
 
 49 
 
 "IT PLEASED THE LORD TO BRUISE HIM " 
 
 53 
 
 A PRAYER .... 
 
 56 
 
 NOT ALONE . . 
 
 57 
 
 SUNSET DREAMS 
 
 59 
 
 IN ILLNESS ..... 
 
 61 
 
 RESPONSES .... 
 
 63 
 
 "LORD, WHAT WILT THOU HAVE ME TO DO ? " . 64 
 
 THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE 
 
 66 
 
 GUIDANCE .... 
 
 69 
 
 WEARINESS AND REST 
 
 71 
 
 CONSOLATION 
 
 73 
 
PERSIS. 
 
 " Salute the beloved Persis, which laboured much in the Lord.' 
 Rom. xvi. 12. 
 
 She laboured much ! H$r heart was bent, 
 In strength of love and deep content, 
 To pour itself, like healing balm, 
 Like the low music of .a psalm, 
 O'er all the aching wounds of life, 
 O'er all the discord of its strife. 
 
 She laboured much ! From age to age, 
 That record, from the holy page, 
 Gleams out in colours rare and dim, 
 Soft glowing with the touch of Him, 
 Whose blessing falls, with tenderest grace, 
 To glorify the lowliest place. 
 
 She laboured much ! We may not know 
 
 If lofty was her lot, or low — 
 
 If love met hers from kindred eyes, 
 
 If, girded round by sweetest ties, 
 
 Or, from a home, like nest all torn, 
 
 Left to the bitter wind forlorn, 
 
2 PERSIS. 
 
 She went, her sorrow hid the while 
 Beneath an nnrevealing smile, 
 On other brows the pain to read, 
 None careth on her own to heed : 
 Taught by a grief that will not sleep, 
 True comfortings for them that weep. 
 
 We cannot tell : we only know 
 That, from those days of long ago, 
 There comes to us a fragrant breath, 
 Like rose leaves falling fair in death ; — 
 A memory — earth has few of such — 
 Of one who loved, — and laboured much. 
 
 Not for herself, 'twas " in the Lord," 
 Her calm heart leaning on His Word — 
 His Love the joy which made her strong, 
 In darkest night, her quiet song — 
 Through all her life one under-tone 
 That whispered softly — " Not your own." 
 
 She laboured much ! Two women stand 
 With pure, true faces hand-in-hand — 
 Persis — beloved — and she, the one', 
 Who meekly " what she could" hath done,- 
 With voices loving still, and clear, 
 Floating o'er many a silent year, — 
 Bidding their sisters evermore 
 Follow, where they have gone before. 
 
LOVE AND TEARS, 
 
 LOVE AND TEARS. 
 
 Love ! Love and Tears ! 
 Ye have too many meetings on this earth : — 
 For Love is always lonely-hearted, mourning 
 
 The country of her birth. 
 
 She weareth pilgrim-weeds : 
 Her hands are clasped above a hidden pain ; 
 Her lips are parted in a sweet sad singing, 
 
 Like the lone dove's low plain. 
 
 The bird turns to its nest, 
 And Love's heart yearneth for another breast 
 Whereon to lean — the weight of its own riches 
 
 So hindereth its rest. 
 
 Yet, when she findeth one 
 On whom to pour the treasure of her store, 
 She only gaineth, through her eager clasping, 
 
 A wound that pierceth sore. 
 
 And so her eyes are dim, 
 Shining through tears — like violets drenched 
 
 with dew ; — 
 Yet clear, as stars thro' pale grey mist of even 
 
 Look softly from the blue. 
 
LOVE AND TEARS. 
 
 Turn thee to One, Love ! 
 There is one Heart thou canst not press too 
 
 near : — 
 Rest ! rest ! the Eyes that watch thee still 
 are keeping 
 The memory of a tear. 
 
 And, as thou leanest there, 
 There cometh healing for thy bitter pain; — 
 The touch of Hands once pierced can still thy 
 weeping, 
 
 And turn thy loss to gain. 
 
PAST — PRESENT — FUTURE. 
 
 PAST— PRESENT— FUTURE. 
 
 THEN 
 
 A springing foot on the heather — 
 
 A dream too fair to be told — 
 The dawn of a coming morning 
 
 Flushing the east with gold : — 
 The thought of a happy secret, 
 
 Hid in the heart's deep shrine — 
 A little chalice of blessing, 
 
 Filled from Life's choicest wine. 
 now — 
 A step that is weary ever — 
 
 A restless fevered dream — 
 The moaning wind and the storm- wrack, 
 
 Instead of the golden gleam : — 
 A secret of silent yearning, 
 
 Guarded with bitter pain — 
 The bright wine lost from the chalice — 
 
 The chalice broken in twain. 
 then — 
 The weariness gone for ever — 
 
 No dream — but a waking bright ; — 
 The dawn of a day that is endless, 
 
 A day that is living light : — 
 A secret, whose fair unfolding, 
 
 Thou, Christ, art keeping for me, 
 Till I drink the new wine of the kingdom, 
 
 For ever — oh ! ever — with Thee ! 
 
" MIGHTY TO SAVE." 
 
 "MIGHTY TO SAVEr 
 
 Saviour dear ! 
 Thine eye is on Thy wandering sheep — 
 Thou knowest where they are, and Thou wilt 
 keep 
 
 And bring them Home. 
 
 Our hearts grow sick 
 With sickness for a hope deferred : 
 We rest them only on Thy faithful Word, 
 
 Thou God of truth ! 
 
 Our human love 
 Faints with its passion. Hear our cry, 
 Thou — Brother-Man, — Who reignest still on 
 high — 
 
 Hear us — and save. 
 
 Our dear, too dear, 
 Who love not Thee ! We cannot reach 
 The hearts that are too deaf for any speech, 
 
 But only Thine. 
 
 But Thou canst show 
 To them in errors night that lie, 
 The light of Thine own truth — that cannot die ! 
 
 Arise, and shine, 
 
''MIGHTY TO SA VE. 
 
 And let them see, 
 How still, still near them standeth One 
 They know not, — though, with craving blind 
 and dumb, 
 
 They long for Him. 
 
 Oh ! come to them ! 
 Like one of old they sit beside the way — 
 Groping in shadow — waiting for the day : 
 
 Be Thou 'their Light, 
 
 Thou lovest them ! 
 Again, and yet again we tell 
 To our sore hearts, this, which alone can quell 
 
 Their bitter pain. 
 
 Thy Love is calm, 
 And strong, and patient : — it can wait, — 
 Yet sure — although its purpose ripens late, 
 
 For us — too late. 
 
 Only with Thee, 
 Our Father — there is no " too late : " 
 And so hearts love, and break not — while 
 they wait 
 
 For Thee to save. 
 
THE BATTLE FOUGHT AND WON. 
 
 THE BATTLE FOUGHT AND WON. 
 
 Exod. xiv. 14 ; i Cor [xv. 57. 
 
 Come, Lord, and fight the battle, 
 
 My hands are tired and faint : 
 I have no strength to struggle, 
 
 " Consider my complaint." 
 One of Thy weakest soldiers 
 
 Is weary in the field ; — ■ 
 Yet Thine is all the victory, 
 
 Thy love is all my shield. 
 
 'Tis not that I am weary 
 
 Of service done for Thee ; — 
 'Tis not that I would alter 
 
 Thy loving will for me ; — 
 Sweet is the vineyard labour, 
 
 Through all the toil and heat ; 
 And sweet the lonely night-watch 
 
 Safe resting at Thy feet. 
 
 Yet, Lord, there is a warfare 
 No eye but Thine may see ; 
 
 Oh ! hear my cry for succour, 
 Come Thou, and fight for me. 
 
THE BATTLE FOUGHT AND WON 
 
 The self I cannot conquer, 
 The will that still is mine, 
 
 Oh ! take them both, Lord Jesus, 
 And make them one with Thine. 
 
 Take them ! I cannot yield them — 
 
 I am not what I seemed : 
 I have no power, Lord Jesus, 
 
 To do what once I dreamed. 
 The yearning of the earth-life 
 
 Is stronger than my strength ; 
 When may the spell be broken, 
 
 And freedom come at length ? 
 
 Like dew on drooping blossoms, 
 
 Like breath from holy place, 
 Laden w^ith health and healing, 
 
 Come thy deep words of grace ; 
 " Thy strength is all in leaning 
 
 On One who fights for thee ; 
 Thine is the helpless clinging, 
 
 And Mine the victory." 
 
10 " TEACH ME TO DO THY WILL. 
 
 "TEACH ME TO DO THY WILL." 
 
 Teach me to do Thy will ! 
 
 I cannot see my way ; 
 I only pray Thy gentle Hand 
 
 May lead me, lest I stray. 
 
 Teach me to do Thy will ! 
 
 Bid the wild storm-wind cease. 
 And, o'er my soul's deep surging sea, 
 
 Breathe Thy sweet words of peace. 
 
 Teach me to do Thy will ! 
 
 To toil with patient love, 
 To win earth's weary-hearted ones 
 
 Unto Thy rest above. 
 
 Teach me to do Thy will ! 
 
 To walk in robes of white, — 
 Bright with the radiance of that Land 
 
 Where dwell Thy saints in light. 
 
 Teach me to do Thy will ! 
 
 Meekly to wear Thy yoke, 
 Gladly to drink Thy bitterest cup, 
 
 To bear Thy keenest stroke. 
 
" TEACH ME TO DO THY WILL." II 
 
 Teach me to do Tliy will ! 
 
 Christ, the Blessed One ; 
 Help me in Thy deep strength to say, 
 
 My Lord— Thy will be done. 
 
NEAR — AND FAR. 
 
 NEAR— AND FAR. 
 
 So near, and yet so far apart ! 
 
 No silver link of common speech. 
 To bridge the shadowy space across 
 
 That separates us, each from each. 
 We move on lines that never meet — 
 
 We never touch each other's life : 
 Unknown, unread, in tone or look, 
 
 The token of a hidden strife. 
 
 May be, hereafter, when our tongues 
 
 Have learned the speech of Father-land, 
 The depths we seal in silence now, 
 
 We utter then, and understand. 
 What life has set so far apart 
 
 Death joins for ever. Patience, friend ! 
 For we are friends, in heart and truth, 
 
 Though unacknowledged, till the end. 
 
 And then, among the joys that wait 
 
 The coming Home of tired feet, 
 This shines — a little spot of light, 
 
 That I shall know thee when we meet : 
 Shall know thee — with no yearning sense 
 
 Of dumb, blank wondering, as here, 
 For, in the clearness of God's Throne, 
 
 The deeps of human souls are clear. 
 
FAR — AND NEAR. 1 3 
 
 FAR— AND NEAR. 
 
 So far apart, and yet so near ! 
 
 For all the distances that lie 
 Between us have no power to break 
 
 The golden chains that draw us nigh. 
 My spirit reaches through the dark 
 
 Of time and space, and touches thine — 
 The inner currents of thy life 
 
 Mingle, I know not how, with mine. 
 
 Our feet are set on one same path, 
 
 Though I look on from far behind, 
 And only see thy beckoning hand, 
 
 And darkly follow — weak and blind. 
 Oh ! still before me in the race, 
 
 Yet still my friend ! For silently 
 Beneath the outward stir of things 
 
 There lies a hidden thought of thee, — 
 
 A well of gladness in my heart, 
 
 That freshens all the springs of life, 
 
 And nerves for days that come and go 
 Through dusty rounds of narrow strife ; — 
 
 And bids me grasp a hope unseen, 
 And lingers on the breath of prayer, 
 
 And points beyond, to Love's dear Home, 
 And speeds me on to meet thee there ! 
 
T4 "CISSY. 
 
 "CISSY." 
 
 Little restless, pattering feet, 
 
 Curious wistful eyes ; — 
 Little pouting, rosy mouth 
 
 Framing quick replies. 
 Little eager, busy hands, 
 
 Never still a minute ; 
 If there 's mischief anywhere, 
 
 Surely they '11 be in it ! 
 
 Gazing through the window-pane 
 
 Up into the blue 
 Just above the elm-tree top — 
 
 Heaven is near to you ! 
 Down again upon the floor 
 
 Pulling Pussy's ear — 
 Not a bit " too good to live," 
 
 Mother need not fear ! 
 
 " Tell a story ? " Bless the child ! 
 
 Yes, if you '11 be quiet ! 
 Tiny fingers in my hair, 
 
 How they 're running riot ! 
 Now, an April shower of tears ; — 
 
 Half a minute after, 
 While the dimpled cheeks are wet, 
 
 Peals of rippling laughter. 
 
"cissy. 15 
 
 Questions on the little tongue 
 
 Lisped in silver speech — 
 Glancing into mysteries 
 
 Angels cannot reach ! 
 Broken bits of baby-prayers — 
 
 Do we think them odd ? 
 May be, neither yours nor mine 
 Go more straight to God. 
 
1 6 ONLY A FLOWER. 
 
 ONLY A FLOWER. 
 
 Down by the sedgy brook, 
 
 Where alder-blossoms shook 
 A dim, white foam upon the sleepy pool, 
 
 Where meadow-sweet bloomed fair 
 
 Through brooding, fragrant air, 
 And summer leaves hung over, dark and cool — 
 
 There grew, through sun and shower, 
 
 A fragile, fairy flower, 
 Making a gleam of light in shady place ; — 
 
 Looking, with fearless eyes, 
 
 Up to the quiet skies, — 
 Clothing a hidden home with tender grace. 
 
 None saw the little flower 
 
 Within her secret bower ; — 
 The swallow darted past her on the stream, — 
 
 From golden shade above 
 
 Birds poured their songs of love, 
 Heedless if they might wake her in her dream. 
 
 The west wind hurried by 
 
 Regardless of her sigh — 
 Only one little sunbeam softly crept 
 
 To cheer her loneliness 
 
 With gentle, fond caress, 
 And kiss away the tears which she had wept. 
 
ONLY A FLOWER. I 7 
 
 And so she lived her day, 
 
 Then meekly passed away 
 Unloved, unwatched by any human eyes — 
 
 She faded on no breast, 
 
 To warm lips never pressed — 
 Her lot — unprized to live, unmissed to die. 
 
 Only a tiny flower, 
 
 That withered in an hour, 
 And only knew to yield her scent and bloom; 
 
 And yet, before God's Face, 
 
 She had her chosen place, 
 And, in His' world, for use He gave her room. 
 
k THE CHURCH IN DANGERJ 
 
 " THE CHURCH IF DANGER:' 
 
 The Church — the Church in danger ! 
 
 Now shame upon the cry ! 
 And shame on all the coward hearts 
 
 That answer with a sigh. 
 For Truth is strong, and Love is strong, 
 
 And darkness turns to light; 
 And by His pledged, unbroken word, 
 
 God will defend the right ! 
 
 The Church — the Church in danger ! 
 
 And what if danger loom ? 
 What if the storm that threatens her 
 
 Shall break at last in doom ? 
 Is there no Hand upon the helm, 
 
 No Voice of holy cheer 
 To bid nor hope nor courage fail, 
 
 Since Christ her Lord is near ? 
 
 The Church — the Church in danger ! 
 
 Not if her friends are true ; 
 Not if they do what loyal hearts 
 
 And willing hands may do ; 
 Not if they keep the good old path 
 
 Which martyred feet have trod, 
 And hold, as dearer life than life, 
 
 The heaven-sent Word of God. 
 
" THE CHURCH IN DANGER, 1 9 
 
 The Church — the Church in danger ! 
 
 Then let her take her place, 
 And preach the gospel to the poor 
 
 In Christ's own words of grace. 
 Let her go down to deepest depths, 
 
 Where He has gone before, 
 Like Him, to seek and save the lost, 
 
 The found, for evermore. 
 
 The Church — the Church in danger ! 
 
 What if the gold and lands, 
 Once freely given by loving hearts, 
 
 Are touched by careless hands ? 
 They cannot mar her hidden strength, 
 
 Or reach her truest life, — 
 The life deep "hid with Christ in God' 
 
 Beyond the reach of strife. 
 
 The Church — the Church in danger ! 
 
 Not in the furnace hot : 
 Its trial shall but purify, 
 
 Its scorching harms her not : 
 For Truth is strong, and Love is strong, 
 
 And darkness turns to light ; 
 And by His pledged, unbroken word, 
 
 God will defend the right. 
 
20 "COME OVER AND HELP VS. 
 
 "COME OVER AND HELP US." 
 
 " Pray ye, therefore, the Lord of the harvest, that He will send 
 forth labourers into His harvest." — Matt. ix. 38. 
 
 Yes, pray ! for the fields are white, 
 The sunlight dies in the west; 
 Shadows are falling, long and low, 
 And, one by one, the reapers go 
 Home — home — to rest. 
 
 Nobly they toiled, and well ! 
 Bearing the burden and heat ; 
 Joy — for the sheaves they gathered in, 
 And joy — for the burst of their Harvest 
 Hymn; 
 Glad — glad and sweet. 
 
 Yet pray — for a yearning cry 
 Comes up from them that stay — 
 " Help, for the work they left undone, 
 " Help, for the work not yet begun — 
 " Pray for us, pray ! 
 
 " We envy not the sleep 
 " God giveth to His own ; 
 " Better toil on, with tired feet, 
 " Than dream of rest, however sweet, 
 "Till He call Home. 
 
"COME OVER AND HELP US. 21 
 
 " But pray that the Master's eye 
 " May fall on the empty place — 
 " May look on the sickle, that lieth still, 
 " And give it to one who loves His will, 
 "Meet, by His grace." 
 
 The labourers He will send ; 
 Oh ! He knoweth where to seek — 
 He chooseth well — our eyes are dim — 
 He chooseth workers meet for Him, 
 Brave, loyal, meek. 
 
 Then pray ye the Master, pray — 
 Ye whom He biddeth be still, 
 "Watching the reapers, through your tears- 
 Tears, for the gleaning of bygone years — 
 Bearing His will. 
 
 Oh ! pray — 'tis the Master's word ! 
 Grieve not, that the reapers fall ; 
 But rather, yield ye Him " hearty thanks," 
 Who liveth ever, to fill the ranks — 
 Lord — Lord of all. 
 
2 2 MEETING. 
 
 MEETING. 
 
 So much to tell — so little told, 
 
 So many thoughts unsaid ; 
 And yet we spoke with voices hushed, 
 
 As those who watch the dead ; 
 As those who plant, with trembling hands, 
 
 On graves not yet grown green, 
 The fair spring flowers, whose gentle breath 
 
 Recalls what might have been. 
 
 We sate together, hand in hand ; 
 
 We smiled, through tears unwept ; 
 We stirred all memories, save those 
 
 Deep in our souls that slept. 
 We have been nearer, when apart, 
 
 And yet we felt it sweet 
 That, once more, heart should beat with 
 heart, 
 
 And glance with glance should meet. 
 
 Once we had grieved, that space so short 
 
 Was granted us for speech ; 
 Scorning the less, because the more 
 
 Was put beyond our reach. 
 Now we give thanks, with meeker faith, 
 
 For " fragments that remain," 
 Though all the feast of life is bare, 
 
 And joy is sometimes pain. 
 
MEETIXG. 23 
 
 Farewell ! we have a hope too bright 
 
 To water it with tears ; — 
 We question not of "when" and "where" 
 
 Our paths cross through the years. 
 We look for One, Who draweth nigh, — 
 
 We hear His coming feet ; 
 We know that, in their rest with Him, 
 
 His parted ones shall meet. 
 
24 FAIRY BELLS. 
 
 FAIRY BELLS. 
 
 There are fairy bells ringing — ringing, 
 Faint and clear — faint and clear, — 
 
 Silver-bright music flinging — flinging 
 Over the mere — over the mere. 
 
 Do yon not hear them? Hark again ! 
 
 You smile — but I can hear them plain, 
 Ringing — ever ringing ! 
 
 Many a day I have heard them chime, 
 Merry and glad — merry and glad ! 
 
 Now they ring out, from the dear old time, 
 Soft and sad — soft and sad. 
 
 Out from the sunshine of long ago, 
 
 Into the shadows that wrap me now, 
 Ringing — ever ringing. 
 
 One day I heard them — no matter where, 
 
 Oh ! so sweet — Oh ! so sweet — 
 Joyous and bright as a marriage peal, 
 
 Oh ! so sweet — Oh ! so sweet ! 
 Borne, by the west wind, far through the 
 
 blue; 
 One was with me, who heard them too, 
 Ringing — ever ringing. 
 
FAIRY BELLS. 2$ 
 
 The peal rang out — its echoes ring on, 
 
 Oh ! so dear — Oh ! so dear ! 
 No one is with me to hear them now, 
 
 None may hear — none may hear ! 
 Sometimes they change to a wild regret, 
 Sometimes they whisper — Forget, forget ! 
 Ringing — ever ringing ! 
 
 Yet often their voice is joyous too — 
 Clear and bright — clear and bright — ■ 
 
 Telling of gladness somewhere for me, 
 Clear and bright — clear and bright. 
 
 Telling of Hope that draweth nigh, 
 
 Telling of Love that cannot die — 
 Ringing ever ringing ! 
 
2 6 THE MASTER'S VOICE. 
 
 THE MASTERS VOICE. 
 
 Master — say on ! Thy words are sweet, 
 
 I hush my heart to hear : 
 I wait in silence for Thy Voice 
 
 That is so true and clear. 
 It quiets all unrestful thought — 
 
 It stills the throbbing brain, 
 It soothes, like hymn from mother-lips, 
 
 The weary ache of pain. 
 
 Is it indeed the Master's Voice ? 
 
 It speaks in altered tone ; — 
 It bids me follow through the dark, 
 
 And bear my cross alone : 
 It bids me leave the pastures green, 
 
 "Where quiet waters flow — 
 And climb the rugged mountain height, 
 
 That lieth cold in snow. 
 
 Oh, no ! not there. My steps are weak — 
 
 There are dear faces here — 
 There are dear hands I clasp in mine — 
 
 Dear voices in my ear. 
 I cannot leave the sunny way 
 
 And take that heavy cross : 
 I cannot bear to wake and sleep 
 
 With bitter sense of loss. 
 
THE MASTERS VOICE. 27 
 
 Once more He speaks. No stern rebuke, 
 
 No anger in the word — 
 " Is it so hard to turn from all, 
 
 And walk with Me, Thy Lord ? 
 I do not say the way is fair 
 
 For tear-dimmed eyes to see, — 
 I only say through all its pain 
 
 Thine heart shall lean on Me. 
 
 " Come ! thou hast never heard My Voice 
 
 As thou shalt hear it now : 
 I have no words for brighter days 
 
 Like those the dark ones know. 
 I cannot speak them here ; yet come — 
 
 The desert-path lies bare, 
 And better far the wilderness 
 
 If I am with thee there." 
 
28 RECEIVING. 
 
 RECEIVING. 
 
 I sate, one evening, in a quiet Toom, 
 In summer twilight. Through the tender 
 gloom 
 
 The jasmine stars gleamed white, 
 Watching me through the casement in my 
 
 grief, 
 Mourning a day all cloudy : fruit, nor leaf, 
 
 Nor blossom rich and bright, 
 "Would ripen or unfold, that I might bring 
 Some fitting offering to my Lord the King. 
 
 And now the night was near, and I was sad. 
 I had done nothing — how could I be glad ? 
 
 Even the secret cross 
 Had pressed me lightly : scent of bruised 
 
 myrrh, 
 The Master loveth well — and sweet it were, 
 
 Though heaviness of loss 
 Had crushed it forth — yea, surely, it were 
 
 sweet, 
 What though with tears — to lay it at His feet. 
 
 But I had nothing ; I could only come 
 With empty hands, and lips that grief made 
 dumb — 
 
RECEIVING. 29 
 
 For now it was too late — 
 I could not go forth to the field and glean, 
 Some handfuls scattered from the harvest 
 sheen. 
 I heard Him say — " I wait ; 
 What art thou bringing for thy Lord to-day ? " 
 And I could only cling around His feet, and 
 pray. 
 
 And, as I clung, there fell upon my heart, 
 Like drops of fragrant balm, that healed its 
 smart, 
 
 A tender word and sweet — 
 " Yea, bring Me empty hands — I ask no more, 
 That I may fill them from My own rich store — 
 
 May give thee blessing meet ; 
 Thou provest well thy love by meek believing 
 That Mine is satisfied in thy receiving." 
 
30 LOSS. 
 
 LOSS. 
 
 The knell of a dead, dead hope, 
 
 No one heard it but I — 
 No one knew, that the world grew dark, 
 
 Just with a smothered sigh. 
 
 What shall I do with my hope ? 
 
 Shall I bury it out of sight ? 
 Lay it in a forgotten grave, 
 
 Out with the dark, dark night ? 
 
 But the grave is in my heart — 
 
 Too near to be forgot — 
 And the leaves of a broken wreath, 
 
 Are lying to mark the spot. 
 
 It may be, that long, long hence, 
 
 When the moan of " might have been "- 
 
 Is stilled by a Pierced Hand, 
 I may come — and find it green. 
 
DREAMING AND WAKING. 3 I 
 
 BREAMING AND WAKING. 
 
 I thought that I was free, Lord, 
 
 From fetters of self-will — 
 And lo, their iron bondage 
 
 Fretteth and weareth still ! 
 I thought my deepest yearning 
 
 Had entered into rest, 
 Hushed into perfect patience 
 
 By Thine own peace possessed. 
 I thought my eager choosing, 
 
 Was yielded up to Thee, 
 Thine own smile in the yielding, 
 
 Thy sweetest gift to me. 
 
 The dream has passed away, Lorcl- 
 
 'Twas born of summer days — 
 It was not hard to follow 
 
 Thy steps thro' quiet ways, — 
 Down in the fair green pastures, 
 
 Down where the lilies lie, 
 Where the still waters murmur 
 
 And low soft breezes sigh. 
 But now, the " Follow— follow ! " 
 
 Falls with a dreary chill, 
 My heart moans, in its anguish. 
 
 " I cannot love Thy will ! " 
 
32 DREAMING AND WAKING. 
 
 Better the dream is past, Lord — 
 
 Better the touch of pain 
 Should wake me from my slumber, 
 
 And bid me fight again. 
 Not till, beside the River, 
 
 The desert way all done, 
 I linger in the twilight 
 
 To watch the sinking sun, 
 While softly, through the shadows, 
 
 Falleth the Captain's word — 
 " Now come — for I am waiting 
 
 And give Me back My sword." 
 Not till I hear that summons, 
 
 The song of rest for me, 
 My watchword only — " Patience ! " 
 
 Until the victory. 
 
DRAW NIGH TO GOD. 33 
 
 "DRAW NIGH TO GOD, AND HE WILL 
 DRAW NIGH TO YOU." 
 
 James iv. 8. 
 
 Weary and faint. 
 Our garments stained with sin and soiled 
 
 with tears — 
 Not tears that fall like blessed summer rain, 
 
 But heavy drops of pain, 
 Wrung from the heart's deep passion and 
 
 distress, 
 Wrung from the yearning of its tenderness — 
 Thus — with the guilt and grief of days and 
 years 
 We do draw nigh. 
 
 Yes — we draw nigh ! 
 We are not worthy, Lord, to seek Thy Face — 
 Not worthy — for our need is all our plea — 
 
 Yet may we come to Thee — 
 Nor fear to bring our darkness to Thy light, 
 All pure and holy in Thy perfect sight, 
 Clad in the white robe of our Saviour's grace — 
 
 So we draw nigh. 
 
34 DRA IV NIGH TO GOD. 
 
 Yes, we draw nigh — 
 To Thee, the Comforter, we come for peace, — 
 Thou knowest, Lord, our weakness and our 
 fear, 
 
 And Thou wilt surely hear, — 
 Wilt hear the cry that from life's wild wide sea 
 Rises from hearts that only cling to Thee ; — 
 One look, one word, can bid our anguish 
 cease — 
 
 So we draw nigh. 
 
 Thou wilt draw nigh ! 
 Father — it is no dream that Thou art near — 
 No dream that, in my sin and misery, 
 
 I may look up to Thee, — 
 May hide beneath the shadow of Thy wings, 
 From all the restlessness of outward things, 
 And from my own heart's self-accusing fear — 
 
 For Thou art ni^h ! 
 
TO A FRIEND. 35 
 
 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 Just a day like this, 
 
 Years on years ago ! 
 Moans of dreary wind, 
 
 Driving showers of snow ! 
 Gleams of wintry gold 
 
 Shining on hills afar, 
 Like thought of bygone joy 
 
 The present cannot mar. 
 
 We heeded not the storm- wind, 
 
 We heeded not the snow, 
 The bitter blight of winter 
 
 Chilled not our summer glow. 
 We looked not far for sunshine, 
 
 It lay around our feet — 
 We did not speak its blessing, 
 
 The silence was too sweet. 
 
 We sate until the darkness 
 
 Soft filled our little room — 
 Warm in our own heart's firelight 
 
 We heeded not its gloom. 
 It could not hide the shining 
 
 Of truth from steadfast eyes — 
 Flashes of sudden brightness 
 
 That came with sweet surprise. 
 
36 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 And now — well — we remember ! 
 
 Perhaps we would forget ! 
 No pain of broken friendship 
 
 Where friends have never met. 
 We shed no tears for gladness, 
 
 We never counted ours, — 
 We mourn no withered blossoms 
 
 But where we gathered flowers. 
 
 Yet still — I would remember ! 
 
 The joy that once hath been 
 Is where no hand may spoil it, 
 
 In golden distance seen. 
 And we have one possession 
 
 Beyond the power of years, — 
 That day in dark November 
 
 That lies behind our tears. 
 
DOWN BY THE RIVER. 37 
 
 DOWN BY THE RIVER. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 I am going down by the river, 
 
 "Where the willow branches droop, 
 And clear brown water leapeth up 
 
 To kiss them as they stoop, — 
 Then hasteth on to the far blue sea, 
 
 As if, in its merry play, 
 It heard the moan of a homeless heart — 
 
 " I wait thee — come away ! " 
 
 I am going down by the river, 
 
 Where the light lies cool and deep, 
 Down where the pebbles gleam with gold, 
 
 Down where the minnows sleep, 
 W^here swallows dip to the quiet blue — 
 
 Does it seem another sky, 
 That looketh up, as one looks down, 
 
 As distant, yet as nigh ? 
 
 I am going down by the river — 
 
 Oh ! we went there long ago — 
 Do you remember how we sate 
 
 To hear its music low, 
 That night when the silence seemed so sweet, 
 
 We held it dearest treasure, 
 The priceless gift of priceless love, 
 
 Never words might measure ! 
 
3& DOWN BY THE RIVER. 
 
 I am going down by the river — 
 
 But I go alone to-day — 
 And, perhaps, if you were with me, 
 
 Some words we might not say; 
 For the waves of another river 
 
 Whose waters are grey and wide, 
 Broke on the love and the silence, 
 
 And bore us apart on its tide. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 I am going down by the river — 
 
 Only in memory now. 
 Cold from the winter Heaven 
 
 Falleth the winter snow; 
 I sit in the crimson firelight, 
 
 That shineth through my tears ; 
 But the old low song of the river 
 
 It ringeth still in my ears. 
 
 I am going down by the river — 
 
 But the words touch deeper thought ; 
 From wells of holiest meaning 
 
 Their hidden joy is brought : 
 For there is a stream that floweth 
 
 Between me and the shore, 
 Where my Lord and Master waiteth, 
 
 And His servants weep no more. 
 
DOWN BY THE RIVER. 39 
 
 I am going down by the river — 
 
 To wait in the sunset glow, 
 Till a token from the Master 
 
 Shall bid me rise and go. 
 But even while I am waiting, 
 
 And longing with Him to be, 
 The song of the old, old river 
 
 Will ever come back to me. 
 
40 TIRED. 
 
 TIRED. 
 
 Tired — only tired ! Oh ! but life is hard to 
 bear, 
 
 Full of thorns and very dreary — full of bitter- 
 ness and pain — 
 
 And my heart it crieth — crieth — till I cannot 
 still its cry, 
 
 For the faded gleams of sunshine, that come 
 not back again. 
 
 Tired — only tired ! but I may not call it hard, 
 For sweet is in the bitterness, and in all the 
 
 sweet is love ; — 
 Love — yet faith can only watch it, like the 
 
 brightness on the hills, 
 Too high, too far above me, in lowlands where 
 
 I move. 
 
 The mist is thick around me — lying cold upon 
 
 my heart, — 
 It will part, I know, in God's good time, and 
 
 show the heavenly blue ; — 
 But the now is not the shall be — and the 
 
 darkness is not light — 
 And while the grey clouds wrap me, I cannot 
 
 pierce them through. 
 
TIRED. 4 1 
 
 Tired — only tired ! Let me lean my head and 
 
 rest, 
 While the voices and the laughter ripple 
 
 softly through my thought ; — 
 While with tones of living music mingle 
 
 others sweeter yet, 
 Though from lips for ever hushed their deepest 
 
 thrill is caught. 
 
 For ever ! Nay, I know not — for oft I hear 
 
 them speak ; 
 Clear as ever in the old time I can listen to 
 
 them now — 
 And e'en while their whisper falleth like cool 
 
 dew on drooping flowers — 
 The touch of spirit-fingers lieth soft upon my 
 
 brow. 
 
 And one day I shall hear them ! Oh ! sure 
 
 the hope and sweet — 
 For while I watch and listen He is coming 
 
 near, and nearer — 
 And the " sleeping " and the " waking " shall 
 
 be gathered unto Him, 
 The broken links all bound again, the lost 
 
 love dearer. 
 
 D 
 
42 TIRED. 
 
 Tired — only tired ! I can bear my burden 
 
 still, 
 For though sore the strain and heavy, they 
 
 have borne, and are at peace : 
 It has fallen, fallen from them, at the touch 
 
 of God's own Hand, — 
 I can hear the bells of the city — ringing their 
 
 release. 
 
 And He Who led them thither — the Lord on 
 
 Whom they leaned — 
 Speaketh still to hearts a-weary as He spoke 
 
 in days of yore : — 
 " I have borne the sultry noon-tide — I have 
 
 watched the lonely night — 
 Patience ! My rest is round thee — My peace 
 
 — for evermore ! " 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 43 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 E. L. 
 
 December 22, 1869. 
 
 Lay her to rest ! 
 With folded hands on quiet breast, 
 With white lids closed on cheek as white 
 Lay her to rest till dawn of light ! 
 
 God — we come 
 Humbly to Thee, though lips are dumb. 
 Tears ! this is grief they come not nigh, 
 For hearts bleed most when tears are dry. 
 
 Yet still we come ; — 
 Within Thy heart is sorrow's Home — 
 For there is silence ; — otherwhere 
 Is speech that only mocks despair. 
 
 It cannot be ! 
 God — give light Thy face to see ! 
 Shadow of death hath shadowed life — 
 The blow is love — but keen the knife. 
 
 Jesu ! our Lord ! 
 Thou Who hast loved, speak Thou the word, 
 The only word our hearts can hear, 
 Bidding us trust — for Thou art near. 
 
44 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 Although no hand 
 Eeach us in darkness where we stand, 
 Yet, from the glory where Thou art 
 We feel the throb of Brother-heart. 
 
 And Thou dost know 
 The dumb, dumb grief — the aching woe ; 
 This darkness is too dark for prayer 
 But Thou dost know, and Thou wilt care. 
 
 Though no reply 
 Comes back from her to yearning cry, 
 Though, for a dreary, dreary space 
 We may not see each other's face, 
 
 She is with Thee ! 
 Not far away — for she and we 
 Are one in Love that knows not death, 
 Keeping the word the Master saith, 
 
 " I am the Life "— 
 Once slain, now Victor in the strife ; 
 And erewhile, gathered at Thy feet, 
 Earth's parted ones again shall meet ! 
 
A SUNDAY AT HOME. 45 
 
 A SUNDAY AT HOME. 
 
 There are showers of rose and white 
 
 Soft falling on orchard grass — 
 There are changes of dark and bright 
 
 Where flitting shadows pass. — 
 There are little drifts of blue, 
 
 On banks where hyacinths grow, 
 There are gleams of sunny gold 
 
 In meadows where cowslips blow. 
 
 There is music in the air — 
 
 There are songs that are sweet — so sweet- 
 Carolling, vibrating everywhere, 
 
 Where elm-tree branches meet. — 
 A " temple, not made with hands," 
 
 Yet its worship reaches Him 
 Who hears on His glorious throne 
 
 The singing of Cherubim. 
 
 I sit and listen alone 
 
 For the sound of passing feet, 
 Dying in silence, one by one, 
 
 Along the village street. 
 The sweet Church bells are done, 
 
 But through the open door 
 The soft Amens of the children, 
 
 The notes of the organ pour. 
 
46 A SUNDA Y AT HOME. 
 
 There is Sabbath calm on the hills, 
 
 The white mist lieth fair — 
 - Calm in the dreamy murmur of rills, 
 
 Soft through the brooding air : 
 And Sabbath calm for me, 
 
 The hush of a Presence near, — 
 The light of a smile that I know, 
 
 The joy of a Voice that I hear. 
 
 Thou knowest I bring Thee nought 
 Bi}t silence and longing, Lord — 
 
 Silence that waits to be taught, 
 That listens for Thy Word. 
 
 And longing that is not love, 
 % But a yearning cry towards Thee— 
 
 And a clinging hold, in my need, 
 Of a hand held out to me. 
 
 But still, through all the press 
 
 Of the multitude to-day — 
 This longing in loneliness 
 
 Goes up with them that pray. 
 It reaches the Master's heart, — 
 
 'Tis all I ask to know 
 Till from silent Sundays here, 
 
 He bids me rise and go. 
 
LITTLE MAY. 47 
 
 LITTLE MA Y. 
 
 I cannot speak to bless thee, 
 
 Our darling baby May ! 
 Tears should not come to greet thee, 
 
 And yet they will not stay ! 
 When love and joy are strongest, 
 
 They falter in their speech, 
 The heart's still depths of feeling 
 
 Lie somewhere out of reach. 
 
 Sweet bird of Spring's own sunshine ! 
 
 Sweet dove in love's own nest ! 
 Our tender cooing birdie, 
 
 Caressing and caressed ! 
 God's gift of purest blessing, 
 
 Full little cup of bliss ! 
 No gift of gold or jewels 
 
 Could be so dear as this. 
 
 I cannot read thy future, 
 
 child of hopes and fears ! 
 The track of tiny footsteps 
 
 Fades through the mist of years. 
 But one Hand surely guides thee 
 
 Along life's mystic race, 
 And I know thine angel standeth 
 
 Before the Father's Face. 
 
4 8 LITTLE MAY. 
 
 Then too — it may be fancy — 
 
 Perchance — I cannot tell — 
 The simple name we give thee 
 
 Seems like a holy spell — 
 Since the meek Mother bore it, 
 
 The " handmaid of the Lord/' 
 And she, the Jewish maiden, 
 
 Who heard the Saviour's word. 
 
 And one, — baby darling ! 
 
 She would have loved thee well, 
 But she passed beneath the shadow 
 
 Of God's own peace to dwell, — 
 Safe there from all the tossing 
 
 Of life's unquiet sea, — 
 God grant our gentle sister 
 
 May live again in Thee ! 
 
 God bless thee, little Mary, 
 
 I have no words beside ! 
 All others are but shadows 
 
 The heart's deep love to hide : 
 But these are borne to Heaven, 
 
 On the strong breath of prayer, 
 And I know that He Who hears them 
 
 Will give the blessing there. 
 
TO A BUTTERFLY IN A SICK-ROOM. 49 
 
 TO A BUTTERFLY IN A SICK-ROOM. 
 
 From brakes of fern and meadows of clover,— 
 Where the brown bee sucks, and the lark 
 
 sings over, 
 From shady dells where the long grass groweth, 
 And the brook sings on and on as it floweth, — 
 From the fresh free world that I may not see 
 Thou bringest a whisper of joy to me. 
 
 Thou hast floated on through the summer day, 
 And the children have watched thee in their 
 
 play- 
 Under the hedges — out on the heather, 
 Merry and glad in the summer weather — 
 No shadow round them but rayeth with light, 
 No sorrow o'er them that lives through the 
 
 night. 
 
 And all the summer glory, 
 And all the summer glow, 
 
 Come with thy noiseless flutter, 
 My glow and glory now ! 
 
 I close my eyes and see it — 
 I smell the sweet wild thyme,— 
 
 I hear the old low murmur 
 Under the waving lime. 
 
50 TO A BUTTERFLY IN A SICK-ROOM. 
 
 Oh ! once, once more to hear it ! 
 
 Oh ! once, once more to lie 
 And look through parted branches 
 
 Up to the blue, blue sky ! 
 Oh ! once to see the sunset 
 
 Fade on the mountains blue — 
 While over wood and valley 
 
 The daylight dies in dew ! 
 
 Oh ! once — for the old freedom, 
 
 That was so sweet and fair ! 
 The bounding, tireless footstep, 
 
 That knew no drag of care ! 
 No shade from Past or Future, 
 
 Darkening the bright To-day- 
 No word in the heart's keeping, 
 
 That the lips might not say. 
 
 Nay, hush ! — I may not murmur ! 
 
 My Father chooseth well — 
 Some " better thing" He gives me 
 
 Than my dim sight can tell. 
 Slowly, through pain and silence, 
 
 Through weariness and tears, 
 He answers now the yearning, 
 
 He read in bygone years. 
 
TO A BUTTERFLY IN A SICK-ROOM. 5 I 
 
 He sends me blessing richer 
 
 And fuller than I sought, 
 For He could tell the meaning 
 
 Of prayers beyond my thought. 
 What though the gift He giveth 
 
 Comes with its weight of pain, — 
 His loving-kindness turneth 
 
 All seeming loss to gain. 
 
 The cross is sharp and heavy, 
 
 The crown is fair to see — 
 They only reign who suffer, 
 
 Lord Jesus, here with Thee. 
 And sweetest in the anguish 
 
 Of bruised heart and will — 
 The rest of tying helpless, 
 
 Thy peace around me still. 
 
 There is a hope before me, 
 
 Which yet I may not see — 
 The Lord of Life and Glory 
 
 Is keeping it for me. 
 I "wait for the adoption," 
 
 It is not long to wait ! 
 The " image of the Heavenly " 
 
 It wil] not come too late ! 
 
52 TO A BUTTERFLY IN A SICK-ROOM. 
 
 Poor little tired wanderer ! 
 
 Now speed thee on thy way — 
 The message thou hast brought me 
 
 Is sunshine for to-day. 
 Oh ! hope of Resurrection, 
 
 Oh ! morning after night — 
 Now patience through the shadows, 
 
 Behind them lies the Li^ht ! 
 
77 PLEASED THE LORD TO BRUISE HIM. 53 
 
 "IT PLEASED THE LORD TO BRUISE 
 HIM. n 
 
 Oh ! but for one sharp blow, however keen, 
 
 If only after it my heart may breathe 
 
 A little space ! Oh ! but for one dark cloud, 
 
 However black — if I may look beyond 
 
 Into the blue ! Better than this grey sky, 
 
 That seems to wrap me round and press me down , 
 
 Unvarying, unbroken. Better far 
 
 The shrieking blast that bends the forest 
 
 boughs, 
 Yet leaves them free to rise when it hath passed, 
 Than the drip, drip of never-ceasing rain, 
 Weighing on leaf and blossom. 
 
 Days go on 
 In one grey, narrow round of care and pain 
 That frets the finer springs of life away — 
 And yet I am not living. There are powers 
 Sleeping within me ; — nay, for they sleep not! 
 They only yearn — a yearning passionate — 
 So passionate that it is dumb for very ruth, 
 Because it findeth only words too cold, 
 And scorns them even with a bitter scorn, 
 Too cold and colourless to paint the glow 
 That half consumes, like core of pent-up heat. 
 There is no beauty in my life — no grace 
 
54 IT PLEASED THE LORD TO BRUISE HIM. 
 
 Of noble deeds. I only dream of them, 
 When I am weary with the days that pass 
 And bring no change, but only pain for pain — 
 Or talk that babbles on of this and that, 
 And leaves me wearier : — dreams that die 
 Unwedded to their aim. 
 
 I murmured thus, 
 In all the restlessness of discontent, 
 Like one who chafes in tossing to and fro 
 Under a fetter which he cannot break, 
 And makes it heavier. But a Voice replied — 
 A Voice with depths of patience in its tone, 
 And meek endurance — not reproving me, 
 Save by the force of very gentleness, 
 And by the echo of a suffering 
 Beyond allmortalknowledge — " It hath pleased 
 The Lord to bruise Him." Silence afterward — 
 I heard no more — nor needed. For the words 
 Fell softly on the fever of my soul, 
 And stilled it. Not alone the bitter shame, 
 And the sharp agony of Calvary's Cross, 
 Is shrouded in their depths of mystery — 
 But the long, lonely years of homely toil, 
 When, for Him also, day on day passed by, 
 And brought no outlet to a wider life : — 
 When, in a solitude from which His will 
 Shrank even as mine, He mingled with the 
 groups 
 
"it pleased the lord to bruise him. 55 
 
 That thronged the streets, or gossipped in the 
 
 house, 
 Talking of all the narrow village ways, 
 Or stirring the small pool of village thought 
 With now and then a pebble. He alone 
 Met with no answering glance ; — no kindred 
 
 touch 
 Stirred the lone depths wherein His Spirit dwelt 
 Apart — save, it might be, some look or tone 
 From the meek Mother, who had " kept these 
 
 things 
 And pondered them." 
 
 Was there no bruising there 
 Of heart and soul ? Thepressure, hard andslow, 
 Of days and years that were not wholly dark, 
 But only joyless. He, the Master, trod 
 This path — and shall the servant shrink ? He 
 
 knows 
 Each single step — the morning and the night, 
 That mark an empty day. I hear Him say — 
 " Oh ! blind and wilful one — be still — be still! 
 Do not I lead thee through the wastes of life, 
 As well as through its floods ? To thee the fields 
 Seem bare of beauty — but I gather there 
 The wine and myrrh of costliest sacrifice — 
 Fruit of the yielded will — the subject heart 
 That bears the bruising as I bore it once, 
 And crieth in its pain, but murmurs not." 
 
56 A PRAYER, 
 
 A PRAYER. 
 
 Lord, I have left my prayer with Thee, 
 Yet give me one thing more — 
 
 One blessing still I ask, dear Lord, 
 The richest in Thy store — 
 
 Oh ! make me willing by Thy power — 
 Yes, glad, with no regret, 
 
 That this my prayer may wait, and wait- 
 Heard, but unanswered yet. 
 
 For though I say, " Thy will be done," 
 
 My heart makes its own moan — 
 I have no spell to still it, Lord — 
 
 Speak Thou the word alone ! 
 And surely, if the perfect flower, 
 
 Lies folded in the seed — 
 Thou, in the yearning, struggling will, 
 
 Wilt take, and own the deed ! 
 
NOT ALONE. 57 
 
 NOT ALONE. 
 
 " I am not alone, because the Father is with me." 
 John xvi. 32. 
 
 No — not alone ! not in the wilderness — 
 
 Where the dark shadows lie, 
 Where the very air has a shivering thrill, 
 
 As of a parting sigh ; 
 Something dropped out of life, 
 
 Leaving it grey and chill — 
 A ray of its sunshine dark, 
 
 A tone of its music still. 
 
 Still — not alone ! my Lord, my life is near — 
 
 The shining of His Face 
 Can touch the cold grey shadows into light, 
 
 E'en in a desert place. 
 I lay my hand on His. 
 
 Through all the roughen'd way — 
 I lean my heart on His, 
 
 Through all the dreary day. 
 
 No — not alone ! not in the silent night, 
 
 Weary with throbs of pain, 
 And heavy with pressure of fevered thoughts 
 
 Weighing on heart and brain. 
 
 E 
 
5 8 NOT ALONE. 
 
 Does He not watch with me ? 
 
 Can I not hear His voice, 
 Nearer and dearer than all of earth, 
 
 Bidding my heart rejoice ? 
 
 No — not alone ! Is there no other voice 
 
 Far off, I know not where, 
 Of one who weeps and prays — hot tears like 
 mine — 
 
 Can I not hear the prayer ? 
 Pale lips, that softly say, 
 
 " Father, it is Thy will;" 
 Meek hands, that bear the cross, 
 
 Folded in patience still, — 
 
 Are ye not one with me, 
 
 One in our deep true love, 
 One in the hope we " see not yet " 
 
 Of rest and light above ? 
 We are watching through the night, 
 
 Veiled from each other's ken — 
 But the morning light is fair and sweet, 
 
 We shall know each other then ? 
 
5" UNSE T DREA MS. 5 9 
 
 SUXSET DREAMS. 
 
 Slowly the light is fading 
 
 Down in the crimson west — 
 Songs half heard in the twilight 
 
 Dying softly to rest. 
 Broken snatches of music, 
 
 Stirring the depths that sleep, 
 Where Memory patient bideth 
 
 Her silent watch to keep. 
 
 Oh songs ! Oh light ! Oh silence ! 
 
 Oh thoughts that come and go ! 
 Oh sad, sweet dreams of sunset, 
 
 Whose yearning none may know — 
 Sad, for their backward looking 
 
 To sunsets out of sight — 
 Sweet, for a hope rings through them, 
 
 Of yet undying Light. 
 
 Why can I never utter 
 
 My dreamings as they rise — ■ 
 Frame them in worthy setting, 
 
 Meet for other eyes ? 
 Why must I bear it always, 
 
 This weight of thoughts unsaid ? 
 Words hide, but never sound them, 
 
 Those depths unfathomed. 
 
6 O S UNSE T DREA MS. 
 
 The hidden core of meaning 
 
 Lies always out of reach — * 
 A shy, withdrawing secret, 
 
 That will not yield to speech. 
 None but the masters show it — 
 
 For me — my lips are sealed — 
 I only know of something 
 
 That lieth unrevealed. 
 
 Perhaps, beyond the sunsets, 
 
 The opened lips may come ; — 
 Down, down among the shadows. 
 
 We wander, blind and dumb. 
 But there the free expression, 
 
 The purged eye and ear, 
 The ripened, full fruition 
 
 Of all we wait for here 
 
IN ILLNESS. 6 1 
 
 IN ILLXESS. 
 
 Dear Lord, I have no thoughts, 
 No happy thoughts of Thee ! 
 
 I cannot grasp the joys 
 Of Thy great love to me. 
 
 Like the wild autumn clouds, 
 Drifting across the sky, 
 
 Dark fancies come and go, 
 Wearily — drearily. 
 
 Like the torn autumn leaves, 
 Whirled in the driving rain, 
 
 My prayers seem only lost, 
 Falling to earth again. 
 
 One little gleam of light, 
 
 Oh! joy — that Thou art near ! 
 
 And then the dark — so dark — 
 Thou yonder, and I here ! 
 
 And yet I hardly care 
 
 For all the blank cold space, 
 That seems to shut from me 
 
 The shining of Thy Face. 
 
62 IN ILLNESS. 
 
 I have no power to think, 
 
 I have no will to pray, 
 I only lie and dream, 
 
 Through the long silent day. 
 
 My hands are weak — too weak — 
 
 I cannot cling to Thee, 
 But, Lord, I surely know 
 
 That Thou w r ilt cling to me. 
 
 Thou art not far away — 
 
 It is my wandering thought — 
 
 Thy Presence still doth keep 
 
 Those whom Thy blood hath bought. 
 
 I need not strive to feel ! 
 
 Enough that Thou hast died! 
 My spirit leans on Thee, 
 
 Jesus — the Crucified. 
 
RESPONSES. 63 
 
 RESPONSES. 
 
 Oh ! eyes that ache with the burden 
 
 Of tears ye may not shed — = 
 Oh ! lips that close on cry of pain, 
 
 For love and hope long dead; — 
 There is One Who knows the anguish 
 
 Of longing that will not sleep, — 
 There is One Who toucheth softly 
 
 Wounds that are lying deep. 
 
 Oh ! brows that are hot and weary 
 
 With weight of thoughts and dreams— 
 Oh ! hands that are lying empty, 
 
 Grasping what only seems ; — 
 There is Love that " yieldeth seven' 
 
 For all that life may lose, — 
 There is rest that falleth sweeter 
 
 Than fragrant summer dews. 
 
 Oh ! hearts that faint in the conflict, 
 
 The wild fierce war within — 
 That only pray as ye wrestle, 
 
 " Lord, make me pure of sin ! " 
 There is One Who hears your sighing, 
 
 And answers from Holy Place — 
 " My blood is thy cleansing Fountain — 
 
 Thy victory — My grace." 
 
64 "lord, what wilt thou 
 
 "LORD, WHAT WILT THOU HAVE 
 ME TO DO?" 
 
 My Master and my Lord ! 
 I long to do some work, some work for Thee ; 
 I long to bring some lowly gift of love, 
 
 For all Thy love to me ! 
 
 The harvest fields are white, — 
 Send me to gather there some scattered ears : 
 I have no sickle bright ; — but I can glean, 
 
 And bind them in with tears. 
 
 I would not choose my work ; — 
 The field is Thine, my Father, and my Guide ; 
 Send Thou me forth; oh! send me where Thou 
 wilt, 
 
 So Thou be glorified ! 
 
 I need Thy strength, Lord ; 
 I need the quiet heart, the subject will : 
 I need the patient faith that" makes no haste," 
 
 The love that follows still. 
 
 And, if Thou wilt not send, 
 Then take my will, and bend it to Thine own : 
 Till, in the peace no restless thought can break, 
 
 I wait, — with Thee alone. 
 
HA VE ME TO DO ? " 65 
 
 It is not hard to wait, — 
 To lean my weariness on Thee for rest ; 
 To feel, in suffering or in service still, 
 
 My Father's choice is best. 
 
 I said, "It is not hard ; " — 
 And yet, — and yet, — Father, forgive Thy 
 
 child ! 
 And, through my soul's deep tumult, let me 
 hear 
 Thy whisper, low and mild. 
 
 The darkness is not light, — 
 The " chastening is not joy; " — it is Thy word, 
 Saviour, one with us in tears and pain, 
 
 Our Brother and our Lord. 
 
 Yet choose Thou still for me 
 The harvest toil, amid the noonday heat ; 
 Where I may gather fruit that shall not die, 
 
 And lay it at Thy feet, — 
 
 Or the slow, silent hours, 
 When I must wait, and suffer, and be still ; 
 And, in the patience which I learn from Thee, 
 
 Accept Thy perfect will. 
 
66 THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE. 
 
 TEE ANGEL OF PATIENCE. 
 
 "Ye have need of patience." — Heb. x. 36. 
 
 Angel fair, whose healing touch 
 Falls soft upon the brow of care ; 
 
 Whose quiet tones can strangely still 
 Earth's long, wild wailing of despair : 
 
 1 need thy gentle presence now, 
 
 I need thy power to soothe and bless ; 
 And though thy face is grave and sad, 
 My heart shall greet thee none the less. 
 
 I do not ask joy's sparkling glance, 
 
 I do not ask her gleeful song : 
 She often comes and smiles on me, 
 
 But will not tarry with me long. 
 But thou wilt be a constant guest — 
 
 A friend, whose ever watchful love 
 Shall guide and cheer my daily steps, 
 
 Till they shall reach the Home above. 
 
 I need thee in the toil and din, 
 
 The unseen discipline of life, 
 Where, but for thee, the strongest will 
 
 Would sink o'erwearied in the strife. 
 For hope is in thy steadfast eye, 
 
 And courage in thy patient smile, 
 That nerve my spirit to endure 
 
 The conflict of earth's " little while." 
 
THE ANGEL OF PA TIEXCE. 67 
 
 I need thee when the furnace fires, 
 
 The fires of pain, gleam red and bright, 
 And all the garlands Fancy twined 
 
 Are withered in their scorching light. 
 For thou canst teach my soul to see, 
 
 How every wreath may be a chain 
 To bind me fast, — unless the heat 
 
 Shall melt the molten links in twain. 
 
 And thou canst show me how the chain, 
 
 When by the furnace purified, 
 Becomes a fetter, pure and strong, 
 
 To draw me to my Saviour's side : 
 And how, although His faithful love 
 
 May make the " nether springs " to fail, 
 He gives my thirsting soul to drink 
 
 The " upper springs " within the veil. 
 
 I need thee in the harvest-field, 
 
 When, dazzled with the glare and heat, 
 1 cannot see the "many sheaves" 
 
 That I would lay at Jesus' feet : 
 But " Patience " — is thy watchword still, 
 
 Till, when the desert path is trod, 
 With thankful joy I find the grain, 
 
 Safe in the treasure-house of God. 
 
68 THE ANGEL OF PA TIENCE. 
 
 And often, too, when faith grows dim, 
 
 And doubts, like pale, cold spectres, rise, 
 When full of anxious questionings, 
 
 I turn on thee my wistful eyes, 
 Thine answer is a quiet word, 
 
 That half rebukes my faithless fear : 
 " God's light shall one day clearly shine 
 
 On all that seems mysterious here." 
 
 Angel-friend ! so rich to bless, 
 So firm my waywardness to chide, 
 
 1 daily pray that I may see 
 Thy holy presence by my side. 
 
 But when at length my Father's voice 
 Shall call me to His mansions fair, 
 
 I may not grieve to part from thee, 
 Because I shall not need thee there. 
 
GUIDANCE. 69 
 
 GUIDANCE. 
 
 "Lead me in Thy truth, and teach me.'' — Ps. xxv. 5. 
 
 Lead me, my Saviour, lead me, 
 Let Thine arms be round me still ; 
 
 Let Thy loving Spirit teach me, 
 Day by day, Thy perfect will. 
 
 Lead, oh ! lead me ! In my weakness, 
 Let me lay my hand in Thine ; 
 
 Through the mists of doubt and darkness, 
 Let Thy light around me shine. 
 
 Teach me ! for the noise and clamour 
 Of man's teaching dins my ear ; 
 
 Through the ever-surging tumult 
 Let Thy voice fall soft and clear. 
 
 Lead me, when the happy sunshine 
 Streams around my quiet way ; 
 
 Lest the frail heart, in its weakness, 
 Clasp too close some earthly stay. 
 
 Lead me when the path is dreary, 
 When the bitter north winds blow, 
 
 When the joy-bells of the morning 
 Ring out, mournfully and slow. 
 
70 GUIDANCE. 
 
 Lead me, my Saviour, lead me, 
 Day by day, from grace to grace, 
 
 Then before Thy throne of glory, 
 Grant me, in Thy love, a place ; 
 
 All life's aching "pain of patience," 
 All its tears for ever past ; 
 
 All its yearnings and its strivings 
 Stilled to endless peace at last. 
 
 Jesus, Saviour, lead, oh ! lead me ; 
 
 Let me lean upon Thy breast ; 
 Let Thy smile, Thy presence, cheer me, 
 
 While I journey on to rest I 
 
WE A R I NESS AND REST. 7 I 
 
 WEARINESS AXD REST. 
 
 Saviour, I come to Thee, 
 A weary child, with pain and care opprest ; 
 Oh ! let me lean this aching, burdened heart 
 
 Upon Thy loving breast ! 
 
 The way is very dark ; 
 I cannot see it, Lord, through these my tears ; 
 Take Thou my hand, and draw me up to Thee 
 
 Through all the lonely years. 
 
 I have no strength, dear Lord ; 
 Oh ! let me lie where I can kiss Thy feet, 
 And look up from the dust into Thine eyes 
 
 That are so true and sweet ! 
 
 And come, oh ! come to me, 
 And raise me to Thine arms, and teach me 
 
 there 
 The strange, deep secrets of Thy love, and 
 bend 
 To listen this my prayer. 
 
 Speak to me, soft and low, 
 My spirit yearneth for one little word 
 To cheer the still, sad silence of my life ; 
 
 One word from Thee, my Lord ! 
 
72 WEARINESS AND REST. 
 
 Speak to me, my God ! 
 There are sweet voices falling on mine ear, 
 Long known, long loved, but in my inmost 
 soul 
 
 Their tones I cannot hear. 
 
 But Thou wilt speak to me ; 
 And, as the river falls into the sea, 
 And sinks to sleep, so this my wearied heart 
 
 Shall find its rest in Thee. 
 
CON SO LA TION. J 3 
 
 CONSOLATION. 
 
 Dark are the clouds above me, 
 
 Xo blue is in the sky ; 
 Yet, clear through storm and tempest. 
 
 Looks down one friendly Eye. 
 
 Long is the night and cheerless, 
 The storm is wild and drear ; 
 
 Yet, in my soul's deep trembling, 
 She feels her Saviour near. 
 
 Fain would she reach the glory. 
 The mansions fair and still ; 
 
 Yet waiteth, calm and patient, 
 Her Father's blessed will. 
 
 On earth is no abiding, 
 
 'Tis but a sinking boat, 
 Shattered by many a tempest, 
 
 Wave-driven and scarce afloat. 
 
 With eyes of wistful longing, 
 And eager, outstretched hand, 
 
 I stand a lonely watcher, 
 To hail the far-off land. 
 
7 4 CONSOL A TION. 
 
 Thou, my Friend, my Brother, 
 Fain would I reach Thy side ! 
 
 Yet if in storm and darkness 
 Thou bid'st me still abide ; 
 
 Keep Thou my spirit steadfast, 
 By Thine unfailing grace, 
 
 Until Thy summons calls me 
 To see Thee face to face. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 W. MACK, PRINTER, 38 PARK STREET, BRISTOL 
 
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THE HAVEN OF BEST, 
 
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 THE VOYAGE TO IT. 
 
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