-i&&* LIGHT FROM THE LIBRARY OF REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D. BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO THE LIBRARY OF PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY HD ' I .M SONGS IN THE TWILIGHT. 'Batlantgne fw^ BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. EDINBURGH AND LONDON SONGS IN THE TWILIGHT. REV. CHARLES D. BELL, D.D. RECTOR OF CHELTENHAM, AND HONORARY CANON OF CARLISLE | AUTHOR OF ''VOICES FROM THE LAKES, AND OTHER POEMS," " HILLS THAT BRING PEACE," " NIGHT SCENES OF THE BIBLE," ETC. ETC. LONDOX: JAMES XISBET & CO., 21 BERXEES STREET MDCCCLXXXF. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2013 http://archive.org/details/wilightOObell CONTENTS. THE TWILIGHT love's QUESTIONINGS EFFIE ONE LOOK MAY A soldier's STORY . WAR TIME THE SUMMERS OF THE LONG AGO LIFE'S CONTRASTS . PAGE 3 7 10 16 18 21 26 40 42 SONNETS — REFLECTIONS . . . , . . . -51 THE LAKE COUNTRY 53 PAST AND PRESENT . . , . . . -55 NIAGARA 58 THE HORSE-SHOE FALLS 60 LIFE 62 DEATH 63 u PER ANGUSTA AD AUGUSTA " 64 A VILLAGE LAY . A BRAND FROM THE BURNING THE LOCUST-EATEN YEARS . HOW SHOULD I LIKE TO DIE ? KING DAVID 66 73 79 82 CONTENTS. sonnets — continued. CHRIST AT THE DOOR COMPLETED JOY . THE SLEEP . god's CHASTENINGS THE SORROWFUL SEA MISERERE, DOMINE ! THE CHALLENGE TO THE SWORD THE CHALLENGE ANSWERED FROM THE DUST . IN MEMORIAM, W. D. CREWDSON WHAT IS YOUR LIFE ? . EVER WITH GOD . ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. HENRY WRIGHT A PROTEST 93 95 97 ioo 102 104 IO6 IO9 III 113 Il6 Il8 123 MISCELLANEOUS — THE CONVENT GRATE 1 29 WILLIAM D'ALBINEY 144 A LEGEND OF THE LAKES 1 57 LINES FOR MUSIC 1 72 '* I am no poet, and have never studied the laws of poetry ; but I do desire devoutly to express those harmonious moods of my spirit, with which God doth visit me, in harmonious numbers. " Edwaed Irving. (t> SONGS IN THE TWILIGHT. THE TWILIGHT. HERE lieth a silence on all the house, ftl^l A stillness as of the tomb : Xothing is stirring — not even a mouse, In the wainscoting of the room. Xonght is heard but the rain 'Gainst the window-pane, Like the sigh of a soul not cleansed from its stain. Here as I sit by the light of the fire Ear into the night alone, Watching the flame as in many a spire It curls from the old hearth-stone, Plaintive thoughts come and go, Now they ebb, now they flow, Borne in waves from the shore of the long-a^o. And many a face of the dead and dear Looks across from that distant shore, THE TWILIGHT. And many a voice is heard in mine ear, Now silent for evermore. And I dream by the blaze, Of the far, sweet days, Which pass in their glory before my gaze. The fair golden times are with me again, When I roamed the fields a boy ; When I sang to the echoes that answered the strain, With notes of a mocking joy : Days of brightness they were, Not a cloud or a care, A May-time with blossom and beauty fair. The hedges once more with the thorn are white, And the breezes about me play ; The green meadow-grass with the dew is bright, And scents are blown from the hay : While the clear little stream, With a flash and a gleam, Sounds sweet as some melody heard through a dream. I wander again 'neath the beechen shade, Where the sunbeams glint and glide, THE TWILIGHT. 5 Out to the pleasant and open glade With daisies and buttercups pied : And the blue pigeons coo, As they used to do, "While a mate for their nest they tenderly woo. And as loved ones return with the olden charms From the silent and ghostly land, I reach forth my longing and empty arms, To the places whereon they stand : For they come in the light, Of the embers bright, And together we talk in low tones through the night. Thus I muse and I dream by the fire alone, Through the shadows to morning grey ; And I feel that the bloom from my life has gone, And its colour is lost to the day : Anon, I grow calm, Hope sheddeth her balm, And God in the night gives a song and a psalm. Though the present be dark, I know that the dawn Will break, with its beauty and bloom, THE TWILIGHT. That soon I shall hear from the dewy lawn The songs of birds in my room : And my heart will sing too, With a music as true, As when smiles were many and tears were few. I think : — God is Love : He takes, but He lives To repair the great grief He hath sent ; As in nature, His hand ever tenderly gives The green lichen to cover the rent : Spring cometh again, With its sun and its rain, And summer brings flowers to gladden the plain. ( 7 ) LOVE'S QUESTIONINGS. ^HEX dead they carry me beyond the door, u\Nu ^ nc ^ ^ 0l1 s ^ ^ one ^y i n our pleasant room, TTill thoughts of days that can return no more, Rise up like ghosts that come back from the tomb? Will tendernesses of the olden time, That lent a sweetness to the vanished hours, Which, as they passed, struck each with silver chime, Be borne to you like scent of withered flowers ? Love ! will you remember that dear hour, The day when first I called you all my own, TVTien blossomed all my heart in sudden flower, And hope full-statured at a bound had grown 1 Then spring was in its fresh and April grace, Its odours borne to us in breezes soft ; Beauty and bloom were brightening every place, The little lambs were bleating in the croft. 8 LOVE'S QUESTIONINGS. That spring ! Its sweetness conies across me now, I see the dewy fields that round us lay, I feel its coolness on my fevered brow ; Ah, earth was nearer heaven that happy day ! Do you remember it ? and will it be A thought to comfort you when I am gone, When I myself am but a memory, And you sit musing at our hearth alone ? And what of after years when life grew sweet, When love robbed grief of more than half its pain, And days passed rapidly on flying feet, — Will there be yearnings they could come again ? Oh, will you sicken for the dear dead days, So happy, though they had some grief and care ? And will your glass reflect a weary face, Pale with the passion of a sad despair ? For those were days, beloved, when e'en our sighs Were often born of happiness, not pain ; And life was like the blue and summer skies, Where, if a cloud appeared, it passed again. LOVE'S QUESTIONINGS. So, will your heart ache as you sit and dream Fondly of me, now in the silent land, Whence looking wistfully across the stream, I long to welcome you to where I stand ? If able, I will come unto the place Where I sat with you, in the days gone by ; And, as I look unseen into your face, You'll feel, by love's true instinct, I am nigh. So do not weep, beloved, when I am gone ; Why should there fall for me one fruitless tear ! In life, or death, you still are all my own ; What matter, then, if I be there or here ? ( io ) EFFIE. " Love knows the secret of grief." —Mrs. Barrett Browning. r HE was here a little child, ^ S Not so very long ago ; Then spring-airs were blowing mild, Now the earth is cold with snow r . Then she w r as so young and bright, Flashing like a gleam of light, Playing 'midst the daisies white. Out and in amongst the trees, 'Neath the shadows cool and green ; Buoyant as the summer breeze Which the branches played between. How she floated here and there, Spirit-like, and sweet and fair, Scarce of earth and more of air ! EFFIF. Often have I seen her pass Through the young and sprouting corn, Stealing gently through the grass, Looking if the larks were born. Or a butterfly she'd chase, With a flush upon her face, And a nameless winsome grace. Lovely grew she clay by day — Hair of gold and eyes of blue ; Lresh as any flower in May ; Trusting, innocent, and true. Lips as red as rosy wine, Looks, although so infantine, Seeing into things divine. Music made she in our home ; Light she brought with her, and joy ; Hearts leaped up to see her come, Xow so bashful, now so coy. Ah, she was the sweetest thing ! Soft her voice, with silvery ring, Like as when a bird doth sing. EFFIE. Dead ; — for me she liveth still, Goeth with me where I go ; Tears for her run down at will, All my heart they overflow. For my darling she is gone, And I stand here all alone, Looking at her grave-yard stone. Oh, my Effie, dearest dear ! On this tomb I see thy name, Graven there well-nigh a year, Since God's angels for thee came. Oh, my own, my little one, Thou thy race hast quickly run — Ended it, ere well begun ! Does that twelvemonth seem to thee Short, my darling ; not a year 1 Very long it seems to me, Not an hour without its tear. Short to thee ; — for at thy feet God has placed all things sweet ; Heavenly joys, for heaven meet. EFFIE. 13 Thou art where the angels move, Up and down before God's face, And where He whose name is Love, Doth all things in love embrace. Thou hast, Erne, entered in That safe place where is no sin ; Far from earth, and earth's sad din. In thine hand a harp of gold, Struck beneath the green life-tree, Maketh music manifold ; Ah, that it could reach to me ! Smiles are ever in thine eyes ; Smiles as if for victories, Won o'er Heaven's mysteries. Dost thou ever downward look On the world, so poor and vain ? Hast for ever from thee shook Thoughts of all its care and pain 1 Is to thee the past quite past, Xothing better than a waste, All its memories effaced ? 14 EFFIE. And thy father, Effie, say Has he grown a something dim i Hast with earth put far away Thoughts and memories of him ? Dost thou never, darling, miss, Just as I do, all the bliss When our mouths met kiss to kiss ? I would know if thou dost hear Voices that I send to thee ; Do they trouble the calm sphere, Discords in its melody ? Dost thou, sweet one, ever long I the angels were among, Joining in their choral song ? Lost, beloved, but loved still ; Do the thoughts of days behind Ever through thy spirit thrill, Press themselves upon thy mind ? And do wishes rise in vain Days gone by might come again, That the now were as the then ? EFFIE. 15 Efhe, 'midst the children there I shall know thee \ claim thee mine : Hardly, dear one, grown more fair, Though transfigured to divine. I shall know thee from the rest, Hold thee ever to this breast, Of all bliss and thee possest. Ah, I wrong myself and thee, Fretting thus against the rod ! Thou art happy : — let it be : Eest, until I come, with God. And I know that soon the door, Opening on the other shore, Will receive me evermore. ( 16 ) ONE LOOK. ) N~E look, but only one, luWfo Within the veil where God doth show His face ; Once but to see the radiance of the Throne ; But once, the wonders of that glorious place ; One look, but only one, Should I not wish the weary race were run 1 Could I but hear one song, Sung by the angels in harmonious voice, Floating the heart of heaven all along, As evermore they worship and rejoice ; Could I but hear one song, To join that glorious choir should I not long ? Could I the loved enfold, Taking the lost within these arms once more, To press them to my yearning heart, and hold, As I have done in happy days of yore ; ONE LOOK. 17 Could I the loved enfold, To front grim Death should I not then be bold ? Then should I, day by day, Eefore the golden doors of heaven wait ; Thatching for this alone, and this alway, That God would ope for me the blessed gate ; Then should I, day by day, Long like a prisoned bird to flee away. ( 18 ) MAY. HE day is clear, the air is cool, fp| The streamlet runs with murmurs sweet ; The swallows skim along the pool, The lark is singing o'er the wheat. The spring is in its early pride, Dressing each branch and spray with green ; And flowers bloom on every side, In hedge-rows and in thickets seen. Across the corn the west winds blow, In beechen woods doves coo and pair ; The cattle in the pastures low, The cuckoo's voice is everywhere. ; Tis joy to breathe on such a day, When beauty spreads before the eyes, To catch the fragrance of the May, To see the splendour of the skies. ma r. 19 The spring it maketh all things new, The fields, the trees ; the very sod, While sparkling with the morning dew, Seems fresh as from the hand of God. Let us be glad in these sweet hours, In all God givetli us to-day : The birds, the leaves, the op'ning flowers, For soon must glide from us the May. I would not that a care should cast A shadow over heart or brow, What though the spring will soon be past ? I'd live within the happy now. The thought of Autumn with its chill, Of Winter with its snows and frosts, Xeed not our sky with shadows fill, Our hearts with sense of pleasures lost. God gives us now this world so fair, "Why think we what far morrows bring ? Does He not clothe the lily fair ? Feed careless sparrow on the wing ? 20 MAT. Each fragile blossom on its stem, Each bird that carols in the air, Leaves God on high to think for them, And knows not either want or care, They teach us well to trust His love, Our hearts with happy faith to fill, To learn from all beneath, above, "Sufficient to the day the ill" ( 21 ) A SOLDIER'S STORY. &&BX the long sultry autumn day, . ^wjls Our armies met in fierce affray England and France were then at war, Fighting in Spanish fields afar. The corn that ripened on the plain TTas red with blood of brave men slain ; And, trampled meath the horses' tread, Formed a last pillow for the dead. All day our ranks stood firm and fast, Though thinned by many a rifle-blast ; Our men fought bravely, bravely fell, Mowed down by iron shot and shell. At last, before the stronger force Retired we all, both foot and horse, A SOLDIER'S STORY. Hoping in our retreat to gain A river swoll'n with summer's rain — Meaning to place its broad, deep flow, Between us and th' advancing foe. Our troops plunged in the rapid flood, Swam through, and on the far bank stood ; Then, pressing to the higher ground, Bank after rank in order wound Up the steep height ; no hint of dread Was heard in their fierce tramp and tread. We sought to gain the wooded hill, Marching to trump and bugle shrill ; But paused just half way up to see How with the foemen it might be — ■ And wishing, too, to give one cheer To fret and taunt the Frenchman's ear. On turning round, there met our sight, Where swarmed the foe to left and right, A SOLDIER 'S STOR Y. 2 3 And where our tents had lately stood, Beyond the rushing torrent's flood, A woman ! A great shudder ran Through all our troops from rear to van. This woman was a soldier's wife, A man sore hurt in that day's strife. We bore him with us faint and stunned, And bleeding from a gun-shot wound. Poor thing ! she had been left behind, Passed by, o'erlooked, or out of mind. Trembling she stood, wild with alarm, With face all pale, and outstretched arm, In dumb appeal. Her frenzied cry Lost in the roar of the stream hard by. " Halt ! " As they hear that stern command, Silently turn our men, and stand. " TThat man will go, on foot or horse, And save a life from death, — or worse ? " 24 A SOLDIER'S STORY. Our Captain sprang from out the rank, Struck spurs into his horse's flank — The snorting steed, in mettled might, Started, and dashed right down the height. We saw them then in the current's tide, Cleaving the waves to the other side. Eifle and rifle sent forth its ball, Bullets like raindrops round them fall, And the waters hiss, and flash, and steam, Under the shot that ruffles the stream. Our Captain, caring not, rode on, Till at length the farther side was won. He reached the shore without a wound, And climbed the bank near the Frenchman's ground, Then pricked his horse, and gained the place Where the woman stood with awe-struck face — And terror in her straining eye, Lest he had only come to die. A SOLDIER'S STORY. 25 He bent an instant \ stooping low, He swung her up to his saddle-bow ; He turned in haste his horse's head, And plunged again in the river's bed. Our hearts beat fast as we saw him come ; We hardly breathed ; stood still, and dumb \ But he rode not now a ride of death, There was no need to hold our breath ! The French had dropped their muskets all ; Xo bullets whiz, no ring of ball, Came whirring on our Captain's ear — ZSTo cause he had for care or fear \ For the cheer from the British lines that rose Was echoed back by our gallant foes, Whose hearts were stirred by that brave deed, "When our Captain bore, on panting steed, Back to our camp the soldier's wife, Rescued at risk of limb and life. ( 26 ) WAR TIME. %&£Sf ILEXTLY they sat together — not a whisper, not a word ; Only now and then a sobbing or a shuddering sigh was heard. Two sad women weeping sorely, — Robert's mother and his bride ; One was bent with years and sorrow, one was in her youthful pride. Yet both hearts were torn with anguish ; life for them had lost its bloom, Grief made wreck of all the future, not a ray to pierce the gloom. ^Yar, with all its bloody horrors, broke out many months ago, And there came the urgent summons, calling men to meet the foe ; WAR TIME. 27 There was gath'ring of the regiments, sounds of muster far and near, Xeigh of horses, martial music, trumpet-blast, and clarion clear. When the country asked for soldiers, who would dare to shrink from fight I All would strike for hearth and altar : for the true and for the right. All alive the Minster City with the call of bugle-horn, With the clash and clink of armour, and the muster night and morn ; Horses champed in street and stable, neighed as if they smelt afar, Borne for leagues across the valley, scent of strife and coming war. Every place was filled with clamour, noise of jingling spur and sword, And, through all, the ring of rifle and the roll of drums were heard. Robert marched with other soldiers, — parted from his clinging wife : Three months only were they wedded, ere there came the sound of strife ; 28 WAR TIME. And she bore herself right bravely, blessed him as she saw him go, For she felt he was his country's, and had noble work to do! But when came the last embraces, when she said the long " Good-bye," Then she felt the pang of parting, was as pang of those who die. They had loved from early childhood, — loved each other girl and boy, Played together in the meadows, shared each other's grief and joy ; Plucked the sweet and fragrant flowers in the long, bright summer days, Wandered all along the river, or through tangled wood- land ways, Knelt together in the Minster, where their prayers went up to heaven, In the flush of early morning, or the hush of solemn even. He had never told his feelings, — she had never probed her own, Till one evening in the May-time as they watched the sun go down, WAR TIME. 29 Flushing all the hills with colour, making all the land- scape bright, To his heart came sudden rapture, filling all his eye with light; And he poured out his deep passion, — breathed it in a willing ear, Told her how he loved her truly, and had loved for many a year. As he spake she blushed and trembled, thrilled to hear his fervent tale, Vainly tried to find an answer, voice and words both seemed to fail. But at length there came a whisper in a low and under- tone, — She was his, and ever had been — ever would be his alone. Life would not be life without him — of that life he was a part ; Yes ! she loved him dearly : only : with her woman's tender heart ! All the orchards were in blossom, — bloom on every branch and bough, Bloom on pear, and peach, and apple, like great heaps of scented snow ; 30 WAR TIME. All the copses rang with singing, and the lark sang in the blue, And the world was filled with music, and their hearts were singing too. All about them was so dream- like, — all so new, so very sweet. Hardly knew they if the heavens were above or ? neath their feet. They were one in vow and promise, as they were in heart before, And that summer caught a beauty that till now no sum- mer wore ; And the golden moon above them more than seemed fair, As to shining stars and planets she laid all her beauty bare; While the flowers that sprang around them, simplest daisy on the sod, Like the bush that burnt for Moses, burned to them as if with God. They were wedded in the Minster, where they often knelt to pray ; Left it in a happy dream-land, not a shadow on their way. WAR TIME. 31 Followed soon the sweet home-coming, with its rest, and peace, and grace ; Love, with all its light and lustre, glorified the common- place. And as days and weeks passed onward, each to other grew so dear, That a new and happy Eden seemed to bless this nether sphere. But their bliss was rudely broken : AVar came, filling homes with dread, And with sad forecasting bodings of the wounded and the dead, "With farewells and bitter partings, last embraces, passion- ate cries, Tears that started all unbidden from the heart to weep- ing eyes. "Wife," in faltering tones said Eobert — "I must go, and you must stay ; Blessings on your head, my darling; think of me, dear love, and pray." Mary and his aged mother lived together in one home, Sought to comfort each the other till he back again should come ; 32 WAR TIME, Bore with, patience Kobert's absence, went about their household ways, Longed and hoped for his returning — passed as best they might their days ; Trembled when news came of battle, borne in rumour from afar ; Sickened as they heard of fighting, and the horrors of the war. One sad morning brought the tidings, flashing all along the wire, Of a long and bloody battle, where beneath a deadly fire Hundreds were mowed down together in thick swathes along the plain, But as yet no names were given — who were living, who were slain; One thing only known as certain : All had nobly borne their part, England well might bear their memory 'mongst the bravest on her heart. Where was he — the son, the husband? Lying covered o'er with scars ? Sorely wounded ? dead or dying, with his wan face to the stars ? WAR TIME. 33 Was he living, weak and helpless, — not a friend or kins- man near J Didhe call for wife or mother? callforhelp, and they not hear? Oh, where was he ? Christ in heaven ! has the pity left Thine eyes ? Has Thine ear grown dull and heavy ? Is it deaf to all our cries ? Thus they spake while tears fell thickly, waiting till fresh tidings came, Dreading lest the next despatches should contain the hus- band's name. Scanned they every list with terror, with a quiv'ring, shrinking eye, With a blind and sick'ning anguish, and a feeling they must die, If the fear that thrilled and shook them, should at once take actual form, And the muttering of the tempest burst upon them in the storm. Came at length the worst they dreaded. In the list was Robert's name, 'Mongst the men who sold life dearly, and it burnt them like a flame : c 34 WAR TIME. Plain it lay upon the paper, just as if none else were there, — And they turned upon each other one blank look of great despair ; Love and hope for them were over ! earth was empty, life was vain ! In that moment nature taught them her capacities of pain. Then a shriek, a cry of anguish, followed by a shuddering wail, And they both sat broken-hearted, — sat with faces wild and pale ; Moved not, stirred not, sorrow-stricken, — just like statues, turned to stone, Life and feeling lost in anguish : for the moment dead and gone — Dry the eye-balls, seared and burning, not one tear did overflow ; Better stormy gusts of weeping, than this sullen, silent woe. Mary rose at last quite calmly, to her heart his mother pressed, Wound her loving arms around her, laid her head upon her breast, WAR TIME. 35 Wailed forth sadly, " Mother ! Mother ! " gave a cry of sharpest pain ; Then the pent-up grief was loosened, came the tears like showers of rain, And the women wept together, knelt, and prayed aloud to God; Prayed for patience, sought for mercy, bent to kiss the chastening rod. Followed days of desolation, — passing each with leaden pace, Dark and gloomy was the present, and the future hard to face : All the streams of life were frozen — gone its sweet and pleasant spring — Love and joy, that once made sunshine, had for ever taken wing ; Hope had burned down to the socket ; in its ashes lived no fire ; One great, dismal, helpless sorrow, slew the present, killed desire. As they sat one summer's evening in the garden 'neath the shade, Looking on the shining glory which the west'ring sunshine made, 36 WAR TIME. Listening to the merry singing of the throstle in the tree, Catching just the drowsy murmur in the linden of the bee, Talking sometimes, sometimes silent, all their thoughts on that dear time When he, too, was sitting with them, underneath this very lime — Heard they through a pause a footstep, passing by the wicker gate ; All they thought was, — " 'Tis some neighbour come to pay a visit late." So they moved not at his coming, waiting till he reached the place, Hoping then to bid him welcome, with the sad smile on their face. Friends came oft to cheer the sorrow of their dark and lonely life, Grieving for the mourning mother, for the early widowed wife ! As the steps drew nearer, closer, turned they round their heads to see — God of grace ! Who stood before them ? Some pale ghost ? or was it he ? WAR TIME. 37 Throbbed their hearts, and thrilled their pulses, and their soul was in their eyes : Ah, did graves give back their tenants? Did the dead from death arise ? Were they mad, or were they dreaming ? Was he come to them once more? Come to home, and arms all empty, — come to heal the hearts so sore ? Had suspense a moment longer held them in its cruel sway, Mary must have maddened surely — brain and sense had given way. There she stood with eyes dilated, brow and bosom all aflame, "While through parted lips the breathing in great shud- d'ring spasms came ; Then a cry — half shriek, half whisper — "Robert ! Robert! is it you ? my God, can this be real ? Am I mad ? Or is it true ? " " Mary ! Mother ! Darling Mary ! " And the voice upon her ear Sounded like a voice from heaven, — banished every doubt and fear. 38 WAR TIME. Then she sprang into his arms, dropped her face upon his breast, Wept sweet tears of holy rapture, with a sense of blessed rest; Felt this hour was compensation for the anguish now gone by, Felt if death had come that moment, then it were most blest to die. Fondly gazed they on their lost one — found again — their own — their own — Who brought back to life its sweetness when all hope was dead and gone : Saw that he was bronzed and bearded, and on either cheek a scar, Thought he never looked so noble, as with those deep marks of war ; For they spake of dauntless courage, how he braved the shot and shell, Bore him in the battle bravely, rushed through fire and smoke of hell. Then he told them all his story, how he had been left for slain, 'Mongsta heap of dead and dying, on the bloody battle-plain; WAR TIME. 39 How they found him faint and bleeding, with a wound on breast and head ; How for weeks he was unconscious, lying on a fever-bed ; How life conquered in the struggle, after long delirious days ; " Kay, what matter now, my darling ? to our God be all the praise." ( 40 ) THE SUMMERS OF THE LONG AGO. "I sleep, but my heart waketh." HEN silence falls upon the solemn night, Mrs And all in house and street is hushed and still, Bright visions rise before my happy sight, And come and go at will ; And days long fled, Ghosts of the past, come to me from the dead. And friends I see in dreams, as fair and sweet As were the summers of the long ago, When in the golden days we used to meet And talk in voices low, And often stand Within the sphere of an enchanted land. THE SUMMERS OF THE LOXG AGO. 41 Awake, I die ; in dreams, I live again, For then return the hopes I knew of old ; Ere I had wept, or love had grown to pain, And left me sad and cold ; "When all the hours Were scented with the fragrant breath of flowers. So when the waking comes, it comes too soon, For with it pass my bright and blessed dreams ; My sun sinks suddenly ; goes down at noon ; Leaving behind no gleams ; Gone is my spring, And life becomes a wintry frozen thing. So would I dream, and wake, and dream again — love ! hope ! come back a little while. What though the wak'ning must be full of pain? In blissful sleep I smile — Come vanished years, Let me dream still, although I wake to tears ! ^■^-V^ ( 42 ) LIFE'S CONTRASTS. $E wooed her in the sweet spring days, Smrrl When flowers were scenting all the air, And soft winds whispered in the leaves, And skies were blue, and life was fair. He won her on a summer eve, Beneath a stretch of purple sky, And through the fields they walked that night, Pledged to each other till they die. Upon them fell the sweet moonshine : Was it a dream 1 or was it true 1 The world at once had grown so bright That sooth to say they hardly knew. He wedded her in the long, long days ; The bells rang out ; he bore her home ; And time flew by on rapid wing — Across two lives new light had come. LIFE'S CONTRASTS. 43 Dear household ways, and household truth, And homely peace, and gentle cheer ; And days and nights of full content, In which each grew to each more dear. Then came a boy to crown their love, With rose-bud lips for mother's kiss, To give the earth a richer joy, To lend each day a fresher bliss. Ah ! why should summers ever wane, Or tempest sweep across the sky ; Or change pass o'er a happy dream — Love grow to pain ; — and pleasures die J Why should the face be wan with grief, Or heart, o'ercharged with weight of care, Sicken beneath a hope deferred, And nurse a keen and dark despair ? "Why not all life be as that night, 'Mid breath of flowers — 'neath shining skies, When the fair girl was wooed as wife, With whispered words and sweet replies ? 44 LIFE'S CONTRASTS. The din of war shook all the land, And harshly grated on the ear, And loving homes sent forth their best, And loving hearts forced back the tear. The cause of freedom, truth, and right, Summoned the noble and the brave ; And he must march down to the West, And fill, if need, a soldier's grave. "He dared not shrink from such a call," So spoke he to the trembling wife ; Where others went he too must go, Honour was dearer far than life ! She listened weeping to his words, Close held him to her breaking heart, And all the world grew dark and cold • 'Twas death in life from him to part. " Dora, my wife, my life, my love, The great God lives in yonder sky ; Trust Him ; — I leave but for a time : Is He not, darling, always nigh ? LIFE'S CONTRASTS. 45 " Sweet heart, lift up thy drooping head ; Look with Lrave eyes straight into mine ; When far away on tented field, Their light will often on me shine. "I would he strong, not weak, true wife — Help me to say the last ' good-bye ; ' For here, or there, where'er I be, Am I not thine until I die 1 " Yea, after death : if I should fall 'Mid battle's storm upon the plain, Thou and our boy will join me soon ; And life is little : death is gain." Then, after many a clinging kiss, He gently tore himself away ; And she, with sorrow in her heart, Was left alone to wait and pray. She sought for patience, and was calm — She stilled the sorrow at her heart ; She went about her household ways — The child to soothe her did his part. 46 LIFE'S CONTRASTS. So went the days, a weary round, Telling each other as they passed, All bearing this one weight of care — ■ And still the saddest was the last. Then flashed a message 'neath the sea, Which smote upon the startled ear, And emptied Christmas homes of joy, Filling a nation's heart with fear. A battle had been fought and won, The balls of death left many slain, Hundreds died righting in the breach, Hundreds lay wounded on the plain. A whole brigade was under fire, Each shot a gallant soldier's knell ; Hardly a man escaped with life, So murd'rous was the fatal shell — Friends came to break the fatal news, But faltered, and their voices shook ; She raised her eyes in sudden fear, And searched each face with eager look- LIFE'S CONTRASTS. 47 And when she heard that he had died Amongst the foremost in the fight, The hand of death was at her heart, And on her fell a cloud like night. They strove to speak some healing words, To take from sorrow's edge the pain — Poor breaking heart ! What comfort now t — With love both life and hope were slain. Then with a brain all sick and blind, And with a sharp, unconscious cry, Stricken, she shrank upon the ground : Ah, well indeed if she could die ! But not for her such sweet release ; She woke to life, not love again ; And crept about as one whose heart Is daily hurt by some great pain. She bowed her head to God's decree, " Thy will," she meekly said, " be done ; " But the deep wound still bled within, And often forced from her a moan. LIFE'S CONTRASTS. Her child too sickened, pined, and died ; And when she laid it in its shroud, She wept, but not as mothers weep, Whose grief is violent and loud. She could not sorrow for the boy, That she had given life to save, But only wished she too could die, And lie beside him in the grave. — Her face grew hollow, and a fire Like crimson burned on either cheek ; Her eyes had caught the wistful look- Of one who far-off worlds doth seek. They buried her in winter clays, When all the land was white with snow ; Thankful to God her pain had passed, And restful death had crowned her woe. SONNETS. ( 5i ) REFLECTIONS. &&£ STOOD beside a sheltered tranquil lake, isftj^e Wlien earth wore all the hoi}' hush and calm /e^ That in a temple follow prayer and psalm. Nature kept Sabbath : not a breath did shake A leaf, or branch, or dew-drop in the brake, And winds were still, and every air was balm ; And as I gazed into the waters sweet, All heaven seemed lying at my very feet. Far in the depths, translucent, pure and clear, Unruffled even by a ripple's flow, "Were glassed the stars that in the azure sphere With silver fires made all the skies aglow. And yearned I then that, as within that mere. High heaven were mirror'd in my heart below. 52 REFLECTIONS. II. I would that heaven were niirror'd in my heart, Distinct, defined, as in this tranquil lake, Which each reflection is so quick to take That here it sleeps, the sky's true counterpart, With not a cloudlet passing it athwart. See, in its depths a thousand glories shine, Flooded and fulgent with a light divine. Ah, would that I were only as thou art, Thou mirror, radiant with celestial sheen ! Thou glass, to image forth that world on high Which o'er me in its tender grace doth lean, Clad in a fair and stainless purity ! God, that heaven in me were clearly seen, As yonder stars within this wave serene ! ( 53 ) THE LAKE COUNTRY. ffifJEb LAXD of wondrous beauty, where each scene &JsmJ Reveals fresh grandeur and some novel grace ; ^^ "Where glory clothes from sunny top to base The hills which spring from lakes and meadows green ; Where tarns, blue as the skies which o'er them lean, Lie cradled in the mountains' fond embrace, That bend to see themselves within their face. Lovely at all times ; either when the rain Comes driving 'thwart the heavens from rifted cloud ; Or shrieks the storm like some lost soul in pain j Or roaring thunder wakes the echoes loud. Most beautiful when valleys smile again, And landscapes throwing off their misty shroud, The golden sunlight glorifies the plain. 54 THE LAKE COUNTRY. II. No spot without its beauty, far or near ; Green glen and glade, huge scaur, and wood-clothed hill, Fair field and fell, and silver mountain-rill, And lakes where lilies, flowering all the mere, Glass their white loveliness in waters clear That sleep beneath them, pure and cool and still. Here have I drunk of beauty to my fill. As friends who better known become more dear, So with thy charms. When life draws near the end, Ye shall be with me, hills and valleys green ; And dying eyes from dying bed shall send A yearning look to each remembered scene, Fresh in my heart as though beheld yestreen ; And thoughts of you with hopes of heaven shall blend. ( 55 ) PAST AND PRESENT. fdsggrilJ) scenes are here ; here is the ivied grange, i^t^Tb ^- n( ^ ^ ere ^ e ^ a ^ e » ^ e Ya ^ e 3 r 5 an( i the hill, Vi*t3P x ne ^vood, the stream that turns the busy mill- The same as when by them I used to range. Though years have fled, yet nothing looketh strange, And as I gaze the Past seems with me still ; The Past ! the thought of which has power to thrill — The same, yet not the same. There is a change, And all around a different aspect wears. 'What is it ? Friends, the good and true, are gone, And with them gone the charm of happy years, And much that hope had fondly built upon ; So from my heart well up unbidden tears, Tor dear ones who have left me one by one. 56 PAST AND PRESENT. II. Ah me ! I sicken for the dear old days, When friends and youth and joy enriched the time, And all came well : summer, or winter's rime, December's cold, or sweet and blooming Mays, The stretch of wold, or shady forest-ways, Scent of bright gorse, or wafts of fragrant thyme, Silence of noon, or birds' song in the Lime ; And yet I feel the old charm as I gaze — 'Tis gone ! departed with the friends, who lie Nearer than all to hearts that yearn in vain, To keep them still, — not keeping them to die : — 'Twas they who made the light of days gone by. Our crown of sorrow this, — its keenest pain, — Loved ones must go, and only things remain. in. Yet be it so. Glide on, thou rushing stream ; Eaise still your tops to heaven, ye sunlit hills ; Flash down the mountain's side, ye foaming rills ; And wear, ye valleys, still your radiant gleam, The tender beauty of the Painter's dream. PAST AND PRESENT. 57 If friends must go, they only seem to die ; Lost for a time to touch and ear and eye ; And passed a moment from our loving sight, But yet to be restored to our embrace. For if like them we seek the true and right, Clad in the strength of love's transcendent grace, And climb the upward path from height to height, We too shall stand where God's uplifted face Fills all high heaven's sphere with holy light. ( 58 ) NIAGARA/ ET there be silence ; it befits a scene Glorious as when God first pronounced all good ; Let not the world upon the thoughts intrude, For He is here who through all time hath been. His greatness in the cataract is seen, Whose rush of whirling waters offers food For solemn meditation's reverent mood. Oh, let the eye be vigilant, and keen To hold the torrent leaping from yon height, Pure, radiant, glittering, exquisitely clear, Till worlds of beauty open on the sight, And earth and all its trifles disappear. So to thine ear the loud harmonious roar Will come with echoes from the eternal shore. * September 1879. NIAGARA. 59 II. How fine the sweep of seething billowy sea, "Which, o'er the precipice so grandly breaks, And with its thunders earth and heaven shakes, As down it rolls in awful majesty, Untamed, unfettered, strong, resistless, free, Fed by the waters of four mighty lakes ! The foaming cataract, a joy to see, The awed and dazzled eye with beauty takes, As o'er the rock green sheets of emerald flow, Which rise again in clouds of luminous spray, While the sun smites the mists till rainbows glow To crown the waters, which upon their way Impetuous hurry to the gulf below, In milk-white torrents of tumultuous snow. ( 6o ) THE HORSE-SHOE FALLS, in. HAFED seas of weltering waters met in fight, Confused floods, mingled in wild affray, Plunge crashing downwards in their headlong might, And in the wild abyss are churned to spray, Then tossed to heaven in tremulous clouds of white, Making a glory of the common day. Beyond imagination is this sight, This rush of waters roaring on their way. Here, as I stand, watching the torrent's leap, There comes across the current, borne to me, Voices as from a far eternity, Music of many waters loud and deep, Scene beyond words ! glories of fall and stream, Ye wake a transport and a joy supreme. THE HORSE-SHOE FALLS. 6r IV. If ye are glorious ye are awful too, And touch the springs of terror at their source, As watch we your inexorable force, And feel your pity it were vain to woo. For, deaf to voice of prayer, ye would pursue All pitiless and passionless your course ; [Nothing your flashing waters would subdue, With all the thunders of the ages hoarse. We quail before you, torrents, in your pride ; The strongest swimmer caught within your power 'Were but your plaything, helpless as the flower Eorne on the rapids' swift resistless tide. Ah, well that o'er the chasm deep and broad The rainbow glitters like the smile of God ! ( 62 ) LIFE. LIFE, Life, Life ! full and bounteous Life ! lu-WTfc Bright with thy glowing suns and mellow moons, And homes with smiles and happy faces rife ; Fair morns, and tender eves, and amber noons, — I love thee and this upper world, the flowers, The woods, the dells, the streams, and grassy glade, The quiet forest-paths where leafy bowers By interlacing boughs are greenly made. Well love I too the joyous birds' sweet song, That fills the copses in the budding spring ; Yet for a higher life than this I long, Which will with it a true completeness bring ; And did the Dove's swift power to me belong, I'd prune for upward flight my rapid wing. ( 63 ) DEATH. DEATH, Death, Death ! unlovely, cruel Death ! hoB)15 Grim King of Terrors, with thy barbed dart ! Why should I fear thee, dreadful though thou art, Or speak thy name with low and bated breath, And eyes that fill with swelling tears beneath Their quivering lids, as throbs my timid heart ? Why should I shrink at thought of thee, or start ? What though thy curse still sadly lingereth ? Xought art thou but the travail pangs before The birth which ushers in a higher life ; The surge which bears the vessel to that shore Where storms shall rage no more, and joys are rife ; A Port of quiet rest for evermore, Beyond the reach of sorrow, sin, and strife. ( 64 ) "PER ANGUSTA AD AUGUSTA." THIS INSCRIPTION IS PLACED OVER THE DOOR OF AN OLD HOUSE IN COIRE. jHEOTJGH narrow things to great." So the words run, Carved in rude letters 'bove an antique door ; And as I scanned the legend o'er and o'er, Busy imagination had begun To muse what truth could from the scroll be won. This first : Oft through the dark and grim defile, We reach the open where rich cornfields smile, And grapes grow purple 'neath the mellow sun. Thus, oft through Duty's uninviting gate We enter on a broad and rich domain, "PER ANGUSTA AD AUGUSTA." 65 And win the triumphs that on virtue wait, Reaching through seeming loss the highest gain. All pass this straitened door who would be great ; And find in front an ever-widening plain. 11. " From narrow things to great," The words might stand Fit motto for Death's portal, grim and black, From which we shrink and shudder, and look back With yearning eyes on this familiar land Where we have lived and loved, enjoyed and planned. But think we that upon the other side This gate is life ; beyond, it opens wide On everlasting hills, aglow with light, Caught from the lustrous shinings of God's face, Scenes of surpassing beauty and delight, Eivers of pleasure, noons without a night, Marvels of glory and surpassing grace ? Ah, fools and blind, to tremble at the door Through which we pass to joys for evermore. ( 66 ) A VILLAGE LAY. IXTEEN to-day, just sweet sixteen, She moves along with step of queen, The sunshine clasps in warm embrace Her youthful form, and radiant face. Pure her cheek, as the snow-wreath fair, Like ruddy gold her curling hair. Then ring, oh bells, oh strong and clear, Chime out your music on the ear ; Sweetly, oh sweetly let it flow, From your turret tower to men below. See ! she comes up the garden way, Fresh as the dawn of an April day, Clad in a kirtle green, like spring, She with her scent of flowers doth bring. Her child-eyes, full of sweet content, Look on the world in wonderment. A VILLAGE LAY. 67 ring out, bells ! oil clear and strong, And as ye swing the notes prolong : Tell out, tell out, to all who hear, The birthday 'tis of one so dear. Glad parents of such maiden sweet ! Proud ground that feels the little feet ! Eich gems that glisten on her breast I Oh happy rose, to her bosom prest I She moves among the lilies tall, Herself the fairest lily of all. Eing out, oh bells, oh loudly ring : Out on the breeze your rich strains fling, And swell until the silver sound Is wafted all the country round ! Two summers have flown quickly by, The flowers bloom, the flowers die ; Two winters clothe the earth with snows, But lightly touch our sweetest rose. They bear to her the crown of life, Betrothed maid — then happy wife, Eing out, oh bells ! ring out your chime, Glad tidings give of this golden time ; 68 A VILLAGE LAY. Oh ring and swing from your turrets high, And bless the ears of the passers-by ! She cometh up the alleys green, With drooping head and modest mien ; Her bridesmaids follow close behind, 'Neath veils just stirred by the whispering wind. Now she has reached the carved porch, And now has entered holy church. King, ring, oh bells ! but soft and low, And let your music sweetly flow ; Floating along the charmed air, As suits the hour of holy prayer. And now she kneels a happy bride, The bridegroom kneeling at her side ; And prayers ascend to God above, For peace, and joy, and truth, and love ; And o'er each bowed and reverent head The prayer is made, the blessing said. Ring out, ring out ! again, again ! Ring out, oh bells, a joyful strain ! Another peal, to swell and die In notes of sweetest harmony ! A VILLAGE LAY. 69 Plighted the troth, the ring is given, And one they are in sight of Heaven. Slowly they leave the house of prayer, Both so young, and one so fair ; And people bless them as they tread By grassy graves of the sainted dead. Then ring, oh bells ! oh, sweeter still ; And as ye all the silence fill, Give promise rich of the coming time — Sound out, sound out, a full-voiced chime ! Their home is lighted from above With trustful faith, and fervent love, And happy hope, and deep content, And pleasures sweet and innocent. And children come — a girl and boy — To fill their brimming cup with joy. Ring on, oh bells, ring as of yore ! But still more joyful than before ; Tell of bright hours and cloudless days, Of peace and prayer and grateful praise. Oh happy time ! oh pleasant years ! So full of smiles, so scant of tears ! 70 A VILLAGE LAY. Alas ! that life's full harmony Should pass into the minor key, And death turn passion into pain, And prayer be fruitless, love be vain ! Eing, then, ye chimes, but soft and low- Solemn and sad, toll out our woe. Oh ring a muffled, deep-toned knell, The mournful peal of passing bell ! Oh Angel with the purple wings ! That o'er all life a shadow flings ; Death ! thou dost teach the heart to sound The depths of agony profound. When sorrow, voiceless as the tomb, Weeps in the silence, and is dumb. Then ring, ye bells, a deep, sad knell, In solemn tones of last farewell ; Nor balm nor lethe for such ill, The gnawing grief will live on still. Death claimed as his the tender wife ; The husband's joy, life of his life : He saw her drooping day by day, As droops the flower and fades away, A VILLA GE LA Y. 7 1 Until at last she passed and fled, And the living stood above the dead. Oh ring, ye bells, a muffled peal, Which on the ear shall slowly steal ; Sadly swing again, again, As well befits a day of pain. A long procession, winding slow, Doth through the churchyard darkly go ; Mourners and bearers weeping all, As with trembling hands they bear the pall — And now they pause, — the words are said Which tell of rest for the sainted dead. Oh bells ! toll solemnly, oh, toll ! From the world has passed a loving soul. Dead is she, the tender wife, — Dead in the bloom and bliss of life. Toll ! < ; Earth to earth, and dust to dust." Toll ! sobs are drowned in words of trust. Toll ! tears flow fast as, still and cold, They lay her down in the churchyard mould. Toll, toll again, oh sad bells, toll ! On the troubled ear vour dirges roll. 72 A VILLAGE LAY. Yet hope doth mingle with your sound, And light breaks through grief's night profound. For " Blest the dead/'— so says " the Word,"— " Who dying rest in Christ the Lord.' 7 ( 73 ) A BRAND FROM THE BURNING. JT was a close and stifling summer day, The August sun blazed hot upon the street ; The little children were too tired to play, And on the pavement was no sound of feet. I passed through many an alley, many a lane, Until I reached a low half-opened door, Whose panels bore the mark of blotch and stain, And with foul words were smirched and scribbled o'er. This was the house I sought. I entered in, And climbed at once the narrow winding stair Which led me to the dark abode of sin — A dismal chamber, wretched, poor, and bare. With noiseless step I trod the darkened room, And found myself beside a little bed ; There, in the silence of the sultry gloom, Upon the pillow lay a fair young head. 74 A BRAND FROM THE BURNING. Bright were the eyes, dilated, restless, wild, And in their depths there burned the fever-bale ; In years she looked but little more than child ; Her cheek, save for one hectic spot, was pale. A girl in years, but prematurely old, Her haggard face showed signs of wasting pain — Spake of a story sad as e'er was told, A heart despairing and a wildered brain. And was this she whom in the bygone years I well had known — a maiden good and pure — Before her eyes were wet with many tears, Or she been caught within a tempter's lure % Her glance met mine ; a sudden cry and shrill, As from some hunted thing in deadly fear, Eang through the room ; then all again was still, Though lingered yet the echo on the ear. And then rose up the old familiar days — The croft, the village, and the little stream, Orchards in bloom, green lanes, and quiet ways — These came before me as a waking dream. A BRAND FROM THE BURNING. 75 And Lilian — her parents' joy and pride, Fairest in all the country, near or far, — Had she crept here, her guilty shame to hide, Lost in the darkness like a wandering star ! Without a word I sat down by the bed, As rapidly ran out life's failing sands ; I smoothed the pillow for her dying head, And gently took in mine her burning hands. For she had sinned ; and, lost to fame and name, And leaving home, became a waif and stray ; Upon her brow was stamped the brand of shame — She wandered forth at night and shunned the day. I knew her well ; she was a neighbour's child ; We played together on the upland lea, And chased the butterflies on commons wild, And sang our songs beneath the spreading tree. And so my thoughts went wandering o'er the past, Musing on all the sorrow and the sin, " God ! " I cried, " how long is this to last ! When will the better, brighter time come in ? " 76 A BRAND FROM THE BURNING. Man ! Come and see the work that thou hast done, Matching thy strength against a woman weak ; Mark well the victory that thou hast won, See it in haggard eye and hollow cheek. Here in this soul God's image didst thou mar, Betraying love, and innocence, and trust ; Leaving behind a stain, an unhealed scar ; Laying its glory even with the dust. I turned, as low she moaned with labouring breath — The death-sweat stood in drops upon her brow ; Her face was white and wan as ghastly death — Horror and anguish held it fully now. " Lost ! Lost ! " she cried, " Lost ! Lost ! " and sobbed and wept, And wrung her faded hands, and raised her eyes ; A shudd'ring tremor o'er her slowly crept, And shook her bosom with a storm of sighs. I spake low words of comfort and of hope ; Of One who on the Cross for sin sufficed, Whose grace with all her guiltiness could cope, And magnified the boundless love of Christ. A BRAND FROM THE BURNING. 77 Oh, never did a hopeless, drowning wretch, Sinking beneath the overwhelming wave, More eagerly a dying hand outstretch To clutch the rope which grasped might fully save. Thus caught she at the tender loving word I. breathed with yearnings in her hungry ear; Once and again she cried, " Lord, good Lord ! Jesu, have mercy ; a poor outcast hear ! " " And may I take," she said, " such sweet relief, And may I, can I, hope to be forgiven 1 " I gently whispered of the dying thief Who from a cross stepped up at once to heaven. II And such the matchless grace for thee," I said, " Xo need is there that even thou despair; " At which she meekly bowed a lowly head, "While trembled on her lips an earnest prayer. A light came to her restless, fevered eye — The flushed and troubled face at once grew calm ; Peace took the place of stormy agony, And o'er the tortured spirit shed its balm. 78 A BRAND FROM THE BURNING. But still the rapid death-march beat apace, Through every quivering pulse and through her blood; I saw the shadows steal across her face, As by her bed, in silent prayer, I stood. I marked the coming change on cheek and brow, I heard the moan, the catchings of the breath ; The bitter right was being fought out now, And to that room had come dread ruthless death. A sudden start : a low but thrilling cry : Upon the face a quivering gleam of light : Methought I heard the sound quick rushing by As of a liberated spirit's flight. Then all was still. A silence filled the room, And ended was the long and painful strife ; Another soul had gone to meet its doom — From out the world had passed another life. ( 79 ) THE LOCUST-EATEN YEARS. 1 And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten." — Joel ii. 25. &sMJ WORDS of wonder ! What ! restore the past. WbSxo Renew the olden days, the happy times, <*T^ The joys and pleasures that fled all too fast. The hours that struck sweet music from their chimes ! Restore the trust in man that once we knew, When no suspicion chilled or slew our love, And all we met were good, and pure, and true, Clear as the wave that glasses heaven above J Restore the hope that threw a tender light O'er the near future, and the distant years, When life was full of fresh and sweet delight. And held no hint of grief or Litter tears ! 80 THE LOCUST-EATEN YEARS. Kestore full-hearted love, which knew not yet That coldness can repay affection's smile ; That lips can lightly promise, and forget That 'neath the honeyed words lie cruel guile ? Oh, can it be, and shall I stand once more In the full light of childhood's early spring, When every hour some fresh enjoyment bore, And sang the heart as birds in May-time sing ? Can even God to us the past restore, Or cause the withered flower again to bloom, The locust-eaten years give back once more, Eenewing joys long buried in the tomb ? 'Tis even so — He can give back the years By locusts eaten, fretted by the worm ; Can make us reap in joy who sowed in tears ; Can bring tranquillity from out the storm. The barren wastes shall blossom all with flowers, And roses spring from out the arid sands : Bright suns shall shine, and fall the tender showers, And verdure crown with beauty all the lands. THE LOCUST-EATEN YEARS. 81 Fear not ; the floors shall all be full of wheat, The fats shall overflow with ruddy wine, And for the bitter God shall give the sweet, And for the earthly grant us the Divine. Let us not cast regretful looks behind, Rather believe God will the past restore, That when we enter heaven we shall find, The years are ours again for evermore. ( 82 ) HOW SHOULD I LIKE TO DIE? KvQfo II "Well, ^ ^vvill try to give an answer true ; ***2A9^ I have not made these questions much my care — They have not troubled me ; Friend, have they you ? How would I die ? Not in a far-off land, 'Mid faces strange, and voices all unknown ; No, let me feel the touch of friendly hand ; I fain would fall asleep anear mine own. For it were sweet to die 'mongst those loved best, The true, the tender, and the near and dear ; To lay my dying head upon their breast, And have their kindly voices in my ear. Pleasant to see, down-bending from above, Affection's yearning gaze, and on it dwell ; To pass away 'mid looks and tones of love ; To catch the words of low and fond farewell. HOW SHOULD I LIKE TO DIE? 83 Where would I die ? I would the call might come 'Mid old familiar scenes and cherished ties ; In some dear chamber of the hallowed home, There would I close on earth my dying eyes. When earthly lights are burning dim and low, And earthly faces fade from out my sight, And earthly voices faintly come and go, And round me gather shadows of the night — I then would rest my last and parting gaze On things and persons known to me of yore, Who made the sweetness of the happy days 'When all the hours some pleasure to me bore. So would I calmly pass from earth away, When life is wearing to the welcome ev'n, Falling asleep, to wake when dawns the day, And find myself with Christ in home and hear n. KING DAVID. M Wh& P and down his lonely chamber Paced the King with breaking heart, Struggling with a hopeless sorrow, — Like a stricken deer, apart ; Wan his face, and very haggard — Furrowed all his brow with care ; Great drops stood upon his forehead ; From his eyes stared grim despair. Wrung he sore his hands in anguish, Whilst the tears fell thick and fast, And his manly frame was shaken Like a reed before the blast. Oft in faltering broken accents, Which betrayed a soul undone, Eaising weeping eyes to heaven, Wailed he out, " My son ! my son 1 " KING DA VII). 85 " Absalom, my own, my dear one, Dearer than all sons to me ; Absalom, my loved and lost one, Would that I had died for thee ! " Thus he sobbed forth his deep sorrow, Moaning ever, moaning low ; All the spirit torn and tortured With the greatness of his woe. Where were now the fascination, Glories of the hair and face, All the grace and all the glamour, Pride of honour, pomp of place 1 Dimmed the splendour and the beauty, Sullied, faded, soiled, brought low ; On his lips the seal of silence, Death's cold hand upon his brow. In that grief so wild and piteous, Did the King recall his shame 1 Did no thought of foul transgression Scorch and scathe his soul like flame ? 86 KING DA VID. Passed before his mind the murder, Dead Uriah's bloody grave ; How, by craft and cruel counsel, He was slain the true and brave ? Thought he how his guilty passion Struck at honour, name, and fame ; Wrought the husband's dark undoing, And Bath-Shua's utter shame ? Through his weeping and his mourning Thrilled no voice upon his ear, Like the trump of judgment sounding, Shaking all his soul with fear ? Ah, what mem'ries wrung his spirit. Desolate, bereft, undone, Forced that cry of desolation — " Absalom, my son ! my son ! " For again the Prophet's judgment, Terrible, intrepid, calm, Smote with fear the quailing monarch, Robber of the poor man's lamb. KING DA TIB. 87 Now he sees the flashing aspect, Hears once more the damning ban, As the Seer "brands the sinner, " Thou, David, art the man ! " But the climax of his anguish, Torture added to his pain, TVas the deed of dark rebellion In which Absalom was slain. Absalom, the loved and cherished, Xearest, dearest to his heart, Traitor to his crown and kingdom ! — This it was that barbed the dart. Was there hope for one so guilty, Cut off reckless in his sin ? TTould for him God's heaven open ? Could such sinner enter in ? This the crown of all his sorrow ; All, this left him woe-begone. Wrung that cry of sore bereavement, "Absalom, my son ! my son !" 88 KING DA VII). In this world where woe and sadness Are but as a common thing, Grief for life gone out in darkness, Has than all a fiercer sting. Ah, no pang is half so poignant, Sorrow greater there is none, Than beside a hopeless death-bed, To wail out, " My son ! my son ! " Then the racked and tortured spirit, Musing on the dark to be, Sobs aloud in piteous angish, " Would God I had died for thee ! " CHRIST AT THE DOOR. HE night had drawn her dusky veil |ip§ 0' er a ^ the landscape far and nigh, And in the heavens the moonlight pale Shed lustre from the solemn sky. The world was wrapped in slumber deep, Save where a mourner waked to weep. Who is it knocks at yonder door, His face so strangely sweet and fair, Standing and knocking evermore, With urgent hand and tender air ? A crown of thorns is on His head ; His eyes are full of tears unshed. Wet are His locks with dews of night ; The eager winds blow cold and chill ; But in His eyes there burns the light Of love that overcometh ill. 90 CHRIST AT THE DOOR. Patient, untired, He waits before That long-closed, barred, and bolted door. The latch is rusted, and the way Is all o'ergrown with thorns and weeds ; Dark are the panels, stained and grey, And here the canker-worm feeds. All so neglected and forlorn, That one might pass it by in scorn. It is the Saviour at the door, Wooing the sullen soul behind, Who in His pity doth implore That He an entrance there may find. " Open," He cries, " poor soul, to Me ; I will come in and sup with thee. " Behold, I stand, I stand and knock — Open, dear heart, and let me in ; Wilt thou My mercy scorn and mock, For siren laughter, lust, and sin ? Dreary the night, the dawn is late ; Ah ! must I here for ever wait 1 CHRIST AT TUE DOOR. 91 " Through, days of heat, and days of cold. Through nights all wild and dark and chill, I stand as I have stood of old, Seeking to overcome thy will. Lo, here I am ; I knock again ; Let not this knocking be in vain. " 'Tis love alone that keeps Me here, Blessings to thee that I may bring ; Open, there is no cause for fear ; I'll make thy very heart to sing. Eeceive Me as thy friend, and rest Shall fill and flood thy weary breast. " And then when in the days to come, The world has passed and time is o'er, Thou seekest entrance to My home, And standest knocking at My door, Then will I open unto thee, And thou shalt ever live with Me. " A royal banquet shall be thine, A feast of bliss that cannot cloy : 9 2 CHRIST AT THE DOOR. The bread of God, and heaven's own wine, Whate'er can fill thy soul with joy. Open, dear soul, the long-closed door, And I am thine for evermore." ( 93 ) COMPLETED JOY. SJ^SWF all the words that fill the ear with gladness, ^V^ty$ And like rich treasure in the heart we hide, Of all the promises that banish sadness, What passes this, " I shall be satisfied " ? What satisfied ? The soul's immortal longing ; The thirsting for the good, the true, the right ; The vast desires that come upon us thronging ; The hungering for knowledge and for light 1 Shall there no wish be ever on us growing, That ours were service pure as saints' above ? No wish : since we are filled to overflowing With all the fulness of the Godhead's love. blessed hope ; hope that no more for ever Desires unsatisfied shall vex the soul ; That yearnings unfulfilled shall trouble never The peace of those that reach the heavenly goal, 94 COMPLETED JOY. I cannot tell the glories of that heaven Where God in Christ, and Christ in God, is all ; Where burn the lamps, the mystic wondrous Seven, And saints in lowly adoration fall. Enough for hearts weary of sin and sorrow, And still athirst when earthly streams are tried, Enough that soon shall dawn that glorious morrow When we, awaking, shall be satisfied. Xo longer then bewildered by false seemings, The substance shall be ours, the shadow gone ; Beguiled no longer by unstable dreamings, We from the dark shall pass into the sun. Here, then, I rest at peace, all doubtings over ; " Here," can I say, " I will with joy abide \ " Xo bliss beyond this wish I to discover ; Enough for me, " I shall be satisfied. ; ' ( 95 ) THE SLEEP- _ HE is not dead. She only lies a sleeping, §b^v^J Her dear head pillowed on her Saviour's ^