f: mm. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. ®|ap ®a{njrfg|t Ifu. Shelf .T.2i_£?6 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. if?. -■a ;*!x ^1 i-sasweffiA^JfrtC-' £^ t ^w^^^^mi - i ^ mm ^^~M^ ■::-. TJtir m^%^mmMM4W^ W^^ »k>iL*4^ Mw^^^^ WJ..,XS^K. 1:'hre^ad$ of^ C^old Birs OF Things PICKED UP IN LIFE'S PATHWAY. H. AND S. R. O. Concord, N. H. : PF^IJMTED BY EDWAf^D A. JEJMKS. 1889. COPYRIGHT By S. R. Steer. 1889. gttrirat^tr TO THE INNUMERABLE COMPANY OF THOSE WHO HAVE . f b £ b © n E s "OVER ON THE OTHER SHORE." THEY ALL HAVE FOUND THE PROMISED REST. " Why do we call them lost ? They are not lost : — They are within the door that shuts out loss and every hurtful thing." ^ ^^ W^ It-^ W^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^THESE poems and selections were gathered from various sources, and where it has been possible to do so the names of the authors have been appended. Many of them, however, are mere waifs, taken from discarded magazines and old newspapers, and which were culled by my mother and myself, as we read and talked together, while the years were passing by. S, R. S. Cincinnati, Ohio. Contents The Years God Keepeth i Mona's Song 3 Under the Leaves 4 Tired 6 Sonnet 7 Extract from Rachel's Secret 8 Let Your Light Shine ii Love 13 The Autumn of Life 15 A Little Talk with Jesus 18 Without and Within 19 The Burial of Moses 20 A Gem from Whittier 23 Make a Little Fence of Trust 24 Draxy's Hymn 25 Only a Little Way 26 Jesus Knows 28 The Valley of Shadows 29 Extract from a Prayer 32 The Loom of Life 33 Far Away 34 A Fragment 36 War on Christian Principles . . - yj Cardiphonia 40 A Scrap 43 But Why Not Now? ; 44 Vlll CONTENTS Brother and Sister 51 The Four Anchors 53 The Golden Robin's Nest 55 The Refuge 57 Find Him 58 Loving and Faithful 60 A Song of the Burden-Bearer 65 Sunset on the Bearcamp 68 A Little Lamb Astray 71 The Three Bidders 74 Jane Conquest 79 Six and Seven 89 Beautiful Hands 92 How do I love Thee ? 93 A Wondetful Baby 94 So Tired 95 Secret Communion 97 Fall's First Trophies 98 Stanza of Hymn 99 A Song of Expectation 100 Under Orders loi " Not a Speck on My Brow " 103 Faultless 104 Nonquit 107 All are not taken 109 My School no A Glove "2 The Secret 113 The Intercessor IH "Theo" 116 To the Memory of Grace C. Mellen 119 To a Little Child 120 To Mary on her Twelfth Birthday 122 CONTENTS IX Sister 12-^ My Bird 124 Heaven j2c Song of the Sparrow 127 The Pitman to his Wife 129 A Farewell j^^ Motto in a Wedding Ring i-.^ Walking in White j-^6 Glorified i^g Lines Written in Grief 140 His Blessed Angel, Sorrow 141 Regret 142 The Christian Mariner 144 The Story of Sir Arnulph 14^ Legend of the Beautiful Hands 148 Fragment 14^ Thy Loving Kindness 1^0 152 Why? Life Ideals i^^ The Children 154 She and I jgr Here and There 15^ Life and Death jgo Lay of a Silver Bridal . 171 After ! ! ! ! 177 Smgers of the Mystic Clime 178 I^yi»g 179 Are the Children at Home ? 180 My Bridge ' '. 183 Old Age J83 After Death in Arabia 185 A Fragment jgg Good-Bye jgg THREADS OF GOLD ^^^reads of dold. THE YEARS GOD KEEPETH. Rosa Evajigeline Angel. |\ YEARS beyond the summer sky, 2/ Beyond the harvest moon, What gifts within your circles lie? What gracious, heavenly boon ? Beneath the snows of winter long, What buds of promise swell? Within the happy springtime song, What hopes of summer dwell? O years beyond my seeking sight. Ye linger in God's hand ; He knows what day will bring, and night Is day, in God's dear land ! And though the shadows fall and cling Around my earthly way. Yet will my heart still trustful sing. Since God can send the dav. THREADS OF GOLD Do tear-drops fall for May's white bloom When harvest blushes red? And who remembers winter's gloom When June her roses spread? O hidden years, or good or ill Be what ye hold in store ; Yet will our God His word fulfil — True this day as of yore. Faithful from all eternity, Shall now His promise fail? Why should thy heart, then, faithless be, Or fear thy forehead pale ? O years beyond the summer sky. Your burdens He will bear ; So shall I neither faint nor die — He maketh me His care. And o'er the graves of love and hope Shall tender blossoms creep ; And sweetly on the grass-green slope My darlings soft shall sleep. And faith with folded wings shall wait, And love shall walk beside. And Christ hath opened death's dark gate " I shall be satisfied ! " BITS OF THINGS O unknown years ! ye hold no fear, Since love is all mine own ; As day by day He grows more dear. I cannot be alone. Keep close your secret ; I would know Naught but the dear Christ's word : "Fear not, for I am with thee ; lo, Let not thy heart be stirred " By doubt or trouble ; thou art Mine, Mine through all ages, sealed With Mine own blood !" O heart ! be thine His peace through love revealed. MONA'S SONG. LL day yesterday, as I spun, The knots came into my thread ; And the sound of my wheel went " Hum-a-drum,' "Hum-a-drum" — in my head. When I. milked, last night, my cows, and sung Of the maiden "all forlorn" — While the moon came up, a little star Leading by the horn, — THREADS OF GOLD I heard a leaping over the stile, And a whistle blithe and gay : The tame doves knew him, my lad, my love, And flew up out of his way ! I knew 't was a tenderness for me That made him save the moth That had dropped into my milking-pail, And was drowning in the froth. And when I saw the ripple of red Over his cheek that stole, I knew the golden jewel of Love Was sinking in his soul ! Not once have I stopped, as I spun to-day, To pull a knot apart ! The sound of my wheel goes "Marry me," " Marry me" — in my heart. UNDER THE LEAVES. >|^HICK green leaves from the soft brown earth- 1 Happy springtime hath called them forth ; First faint promise of summer bloom Breathes from the fragrance of sweet perfume Under the leaves. BITS OF THINGS Lift them ! What marvellous beauty lies Hidden beneath from our thoughtless eyes! Mayflowers, rosy or purest white, Lift their cups to the sudden light, Under the leaves. Are there no lives whose holy deeds, Seen by no eye save His who reads Motive and action, in silence grow Into rare beauty, and bud and blow, ^ Under the leaves ? Fair white flowers of faith and trust Springing from spirits bruised and crushed? Blossoms of love, rose-tinted and bright. Touched and painted with heaven's own light, Under the leaves ? Full fresh clusters of duty borne, Fairest of all in that shadow grown? — Wondrous the fragrance that sweet and rare Comes from the flower-cups hidden there Under the leaves. Though unseen by our vision dim, Bud- and blossom are known to Him. Wait we content for His heavenly ray, — Wait till the Master Himself some day Lifteth the leaves. THREADS OF GOLD TIRED. fIRED, tired, by the wayside Sit I down to weep, — And life's hill before me Seemeth so bare and steep ; — Weary of looking backward ; Weary of looking on ; Weary of calling for voices That I cannot think are gone. Tired, tired ! Tones of the living dear ones Unto my spirit's cry Give me answer coldly, And I know not why. Songs of the blessed angels Treading the shores unknown Are sounding to-night so faintly — Oh ! I have weary grown. Tired, tired ! Sometimes my soul can hear them, Singing so softly near ; Qiiickly I hasten forward, Full of glad hope and cheer ; — BITS OF THINGS But coldly the world's din rises, Drowning the angels' song. Father ! I 'm very weary : Oh ! let me rest ere long. Tired, tired ! SONNET. Joseph Blanco White. YSTERIOUS Night! When our first parent knew Thee from report divine, and heard thy name. Did he not tremble for this lovely frame. This glorious canopy of light and blue? Yet, 'neath a curtain of translucent dew. Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, Hesperus with the host of heaven came, And lo ! creation widened in man's view. Who could have thought such darkness lay con- cealed Within thy beams, O Sun ? — or who could find, Whils.t sky and leaf and insect stood revealed, That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind? Why do we thus shun death with anxious strife? If Light can thus deceive, wherefore not Life? 5 THREADS OF GOLD EXTRACT FROM "RACHEL'S SECRET." BEING AN ADMIRABLE PORTRAITURE OF FAITH AND FIDELITY. §ANDY was by no means a contemptible compan- ion when he was once wound up and fairly set agoing. There was originality and homely humor about him, though how he came by it some might won- der, seeing that for the last five and fifty years — as he was fond of telling — he had never slept a night out of the old stone cottage in which he was born, so that the horizon of his life had been none of the widest. " Fifty-five years, Sandy ! " echoed Dunstan. " That 's a long time, Sandy : there are not many men can say as much." Sandy perked up at the implied compli- ment. "Ay, sir, it's a longtime to look forrard to, but it's none so much to look back on. When I got wxd an' sattled doon, wi' my wife, in t' place that had been ni}^ father's before me, I should ha' wearied at the thought o' stopping there mekin' b^'ooms t' end o' my days, but noo that it lies aback o' me, it seems nobbut a step or two that I 've gone." " But its dull work, Sandy, is n't it, making brooms year after year, from Monday morning to Saturday night.?" BITS OF THINGS 9 '' Nay, sir, I can't say as it is. You see I brhtgs my mi7td to it, an' that meks it easy. An' then there's Sundays comes an' meks a change, an'I's allays h'ght'n on summit in t' Bible as gives me a lift," and Sandy hitched his chair a little forward and looked up, as if he had something coming that he would like to say. " Noo there was t' other Sunday I come over here to church, and there was the parson a preach'n away, an' all t' folks set a lookin' at him an' takin' of it in, forbys two or three on 'em that I seed asleep. 'An', says he, ' we mun all receive o' the deeds dun i' th' body : it's all writ down,' says he, ' what wiv been agat on do'n' here.' An', thinks I, it'll cut nob- but a poorish hgur', I doubt, when t' angel above sets down in t' book that Sand\^ Kays had med so many b7'oo7ns that week and done nowt else." Duiistan smiled, and Sandy went on : " Weel, an' thin when I gets home, an' sets me doon to read, there was that piece in the Bible about yon time when there wanted a bit o' floorin mended in the Lord's house, an' the book sed as the men did the work faithful. An' thinks I, if the Lord thought it worth while having that set doon, so as wherever t' Bible goes folks may hear tell" on 't, 's like as not He '11 have t' angels put doon in His Book above as Sandy Kays med so meny brooms a' week, an' med 'em well, too." I would n't like it to owt else, you know. Here 's t' missus '11 lO THREADS OF GOLD say as it 's alius a karakter for a broom if Sandy Kavs med it." "It is, indeed, Sandy," said Mrs. Doyle. "There's a deal of folks hereabouts would miss your good brooms if you was gone." " I doubt they would," said Sandy, shaking his head with a mingled expression of satisfaction and perplexity. " It's a thing as alius troubles me when I studies it over, where them as I 've served with brooms so long ud look, to get 'em as good. It 's th' only thing as sattles me, when I lies wakin' o' nights an' thinkin o' Esther an' t' bairns, that 's all been took afore me, I could almost be fit t' ax t' Lord to let me fa' asleep an' wake up wi' 'em." "Ay, it's like to be lonesome for you, Sandy, now Esther's gone," said Mrs. Doyle, with a touc4i of compassion in her voice. "I don't wonder you miss her, so many years as you 've been together." " Five an' forty years," said the old man, absently ; "an' te)i years come Christmas it '11 be sin' I brought her to Glinton church-yard ; — but them that has nawt but death between 'em is n't so very far apart. It 's nobbut waitin' a bit, an' I shall go to her, though she '11 never come back to me. She 's been a lookin' out for me sin' ever she went. It would na' be like her to be enjoyin' herself up there an' never givin' a tho't to me. An' the Lord lets me see her, now an' agin, tho' BITS OF THINGS II 't isn't wi' wakin' eyes. He thinks mebby I'd forget the looks o' her if He didn't. Last time was a bit afore Easter, 'An', ses she, ' I'm beginnin' to think it long o' you. Sandy,' ses she. ' You 're past seventy by a good bit ; I tho't you 'd a' been here afore noo,' ses she ; ' th' Lord 's a' keep'n you a long time at them brooms, Sandy,' ses she. 'Never heed, honey,' ses I, ' it '11 a' be right ; He '11 mek it up to us w^hen the time comes, honey,' ses I ; — an' He w^ill, too, I know ; I 've no fears on Him." LET YOUR LIGHT SHINE. |\FF the western coast of Scotland t) Lie the beauteous Hebrides — Skye, Lewis, Uist, lona. Mull — And many more than these. — An outer and an inner group Amid the stormy seas. Among these western islands There is one, the sailors say, Approached more easily by night Than in the calmest day ; For then the tidal wave sets in With less capricious play. 12 THREADS OF GOLD Yet beams thereon no Eddystone Its faithful watch to keep ; And many a gallant vessel's crew, Who dared the dangerous deep, Have gone down in the midnight storm To sleep a dreamless sleep. One widow's lowly cottage Stands near that wave-washed shore. The lamplight from whose widow-pane Looks out the waters o'er ; — For there her husband used to sail : He went, but came no more ! So night by night this widow, Within her window-pane. Lights up her little lamp to cheer Poor sailors on the main. It gives, indeed, a feeble light. But gives it not in vain. Storm-tossed on Minsh's waters, In danger's starless night. Ten thousand have this widow blessed For that meek cottage light Which nightly from her window-pane Shines steady, calm, and bright. BITS OF THINGS 1 3 That lowly light, they tell us, Has saved a thousand lives, — Has saved from tears and widow^hood A hundred loving wives. And still that cottage lamp burns on ! That widow still survives ! Go, Christian ! learn the lesson, Whate'er thy station be ; Go ! let thy lamp be lighted up ! There's sorrow on life's sea ; Ten thousand souls may yet be lost Forever — but for thee ! LOVE. DO not ask it thee. That is not love That waits to be entreated ; love is free As God's own life, and of itself doth move. Should I say, " Love me".'^ Rather let me prove Myself to be love-worthy ; then let be. And yet what wretched shams our sad eyes see ! " I love my Love because my Love loves me." Oh, pitiful ! Hast thou no gauge above Another's thought by which to rate thine own .^ 4 THREADS OF GOLD No worthier trust nor surer corner-stone To build thy temple of sweet hopes upon? God help thee at thy need, and give thee strength To bear the shock of trial, when at length Thine hour shall write thee desolate and undone ! Sitting in this sweet stillness all alone, I thank my God that, with mine eyes upon His'holy stars, I can say, reverently, "•I love my Love because in him I see Great nobleness, worthy of all love ; A soul all meannesses and feints above ; A manly front that dares to face the Right ; That, shouldering Truth, stands ready for the fight, And following Duty, walks in her sweet light." ye glad stars, that overspread the night, 1 cannot see you for these happy tears. Yet know you shining still. So Love appears. I cannot pierce these misty, human years That hide God's great hereafter, yet I know My Love still shining there, as here below, Only with purer, more ecstatic glow. For is not Love immortal? Stars shall fall. And the weird music of the jostling spheres Crash into silence. Love, my love, o'er all Shall throb its calm, grand pcean undismayed, — BITS OF THINGS 1 5 By nothing daunted, and of naught afraid, Though old worlds crumble, or though new be made. Yet I am human. Father, help me, lest Mid earth's defilements I should bear unblest The large contentment of my life's sweet lot, And in the gift, the Giver be forgot. Whose name is Love — without whom Love is not. Of Thine own fulness. Thine own strength bestow ; So, leaning ever on Thy gracious breast. Keeping my life's love sacred as a guest That shall shine on forever — nay, as part Of my own soul, immortal as the rest — I shall not need to pass the veil in quest Of Thee and Thy dear angels, but shall know My heaven on earth, my bliss begun below. Amen, my heart replies — "Amen, 'tis even so." THE AUTUMN OF LIFE. fLING down the faded blossoms of the spring. Nor clasp the roses with regretful hand ; The joy of summer is a vanished thing ; Let it depart, and learn to understand The gladness of great calm, the autumn rest ; The peace — of human joys the latest and the best ! 1 6 THREADS OF GOLD Ah ! I remember how in early days The primrose and the wild-flower grew beside My tangled desert paths, whose devious ways Filled we with joy of mysteries untried ; And terror, that was more than half delight, And sense of budding life and longings infinite. And I remember how in life's hot noon Around my path the lavish roses shed Color and fragrance, and the air of June Breathed rapture. Now those summer days are fled— Days of sweet peril, when the serpent lay In every devious turn of life's enchanted way ! The light of spring, the summer glow, are o'er, And I rejoice in knowing that for me The woodbine and the roses bloom no more. The tender green is gone from leaf and tree ; Brown, barren sprays stand close against the blue, And leaves fall fast and let the truthful sunlight through. For me the hooded herbs of autumn grow, Square-stemmed and sober tinted, — mint and .sage, Hoarhound and balm, — such plants as healers know, And the decline of life's long pilgrimage BITS OF THINGS 1 7 Is soft and sweet with marjoram and thj^me, Bright with pure evening dew— not serpents' glit- tering sh'me ! And round my path the aromatic air Breathes health and perfume, and the turf}^ ground Is soft for weary feet, and smooth and fair,— With h'ttle thornless blossoms, that abound In safe, dry places, where the mountain-side Lies to the setting sun,— and no ill beast can hide ! What is there to regret? Why should I mourn To leave the forest and the marsh behind? Or tow^ard the rank, low meadows sadly turn, Since here another loveliness I find. Safer, and not less beautiful, and blest With glimpses, faint and far, of the long-wished- for rest? Is it an evil to be drawing near The time when I shall know as I am known? Is it an evil that the sky grows clear, That sunset light upon my path is thrown? That truth grows fairer, that temptations cease, And that I see afar a path that leads to peace? l8 THREADS OF GOLD Is it not joy to feel the lapsing years Calm down one's spirit? — as at eventide, After long storm, the far horizon clears, The skies shine golden, and the stars subside : Stern outlines soften in the sunlit air, — And still, as day declines, the restful earth grows fair. And so I drop the roses from my hand, And let the thorn-pricks heal, and take my way Down hill, across a fair and peaceful land, Lapt in the golden calm of dying day ; Glad that the night is near, and g-lad to know That, rough or smooth the way, I have not far to go. ^ LITTLE talk with Jesus, how it smooths the ^ rugged road ! How it seems to help me onward when I faint beneath my load ! When my heart is crushed with sorrow and my eyes with tears are dim, There's nothing yields such comfort as a little talk with Him. BITS OF THINGS 19 WITHOUT AND WITHIN. Abba Goold Woolson. WALKED ankle deep in the new-fallen snow, And stood in amaze on the wold, To hear how a bird from a desolate bouofh Was singing in spite of the cold ; — Little thought of the wind or the weather had he, For it seemed that his bosom was bursting with glee. No midsummer carol was ever so sweet. With swells and with jubilant closes : I thought, while he sang, there was grass at my feet, And the hedges were crimson with roses ; When I had but to turn from my wonder to see White gusts of the tempest sweep over the lea. The faster the wind whirled the eddying snow, The louder he sang through the storm ; No touch of the shivering blast did he know. For his rapture was keeping him warm. O brave little bird on the desolate tree. Didst thou know that my heart sang a paean with thee? 20 THREADS OF GOLD THE BURIAL OF MOSES. Mrs. Cecil Frances Alexander. §Y Nebo's lonely mountain, On this side Jordan's wave, In a vale in the land of Moab, There lies a lonely grave ; But no man built that sepulchre, And no man saw it e'er ; For the angels of God upturned the sod. And laid the dead man there. That was the grandest funeral That ever passed on earth ; Yet no man heard the trampling. Or saw the train go forth Noiselessly as the daylight Comes when the night is done. And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek Grows into the great sun. Noiselessly as the springtime Her crown of verdure weaves. And all the trees on all the hills Unfold their thousand leaves, — BITS OF THINGS 21 So, without sound of music Or voice of them that wept, Silently down from the mountain's crown The great procession swept. Perchance the bald old eagle On gray Beth-Peor's height, Out of his rocky eyrie Looked on the wondrous sight ! Perchance the lion, stalking. Still shuns that hallowed spot, — For beast and bird have seen and heard That which man knoweth not. But when the warrior dieth, His comrades of the war. With arms reversed and muffled drums, Follow the funeral car : They show the banners taken ; They tell his battles won ; And after him lead his masterless steed, While peals the minute-gun. Amid the noblest of the land Men lay the sage to rest. And give the bard an honored place. With costly marbles drest, 22 THREADS OF GOLD In the great minster transept Where hghts like glories fall, And the sweet choir sings, and the organ rings Along the emblazoned wall. This was the bravest warrior That ever buckled sword ; This the most gifted poet That ever breathed a word ; And never earth's philosopher Traced with his golden pen. On the deathless page, truths half so sage, As he wrote down for men. And had he not high honor? — The hillside for a pall ! To lie in state while angels wait, With stars for tapers tall ! And the dark rock-pines, like tossing plumes, Over his bier to wave. And God's own hand, in that lonely land. To lay him in his'grave ! — In that strange grave, without a name, Whence his uncoffined clay Shall break again — O wondrous thought ! — Before the judgment day. BITS OF THINGS 23 And stand with glory wrapped around On the hills he never trod, And speak of the strife that won our life With the Incarnate Son of God. O lonely tomb in Moab's land ! O dark Beth-Peor's hill ! Speak to these curious hearts of ours, And teach them to be still : God hath His mysteries of grace, — Ways that we cannot tell ; He hides them deep, like the secret sleep Of him He loved so well. A GEM FROM WHITTIER. To appreciate the truth and beauty of the follow- ing lines from the pen of Whittier, it is necessary to know the circumstances under which they were writ- ten. A friend of Whittier's youth, who spent most of his life on the Illinois prairies, called on the poet at his home in Amesbury, and together they recalled the scenes of their childhood, and briefly recounted the course of their after lives. Whittier seemed much affect- ed by the allusions of his friend to his prairie home, where a wife, children, and grandchild, " Constance," 24 THREADS OF GOLD awaited his return ; and, on being asked for his auto- graph, replied, — " Call on your way to the cars, and I will hand it to you." The friend called and received this. The lines show tlie delicate texture of the poet's heart, the tendrils of which were stretchinsf after something beyond his reach. *fc3 ^HE years that, since we met, have flown, Ir Leave as they found me — still alone ; Nor wife, nor child, nor grandchild dear, Are mine, the heart of age to cheer. More favored, thou, with hair less gray Than mine, canst let thy fancy stray To where thy little Constance sees The prairie ripple in the breeze. For one like her to lisp my name, ^Were better than the voice oi fame. AKE a little fence of trust Around to-day ; Fill the space with loving work, And therein stay. Look not through the sheltering bars At to-morrow ; God will help in all that comes, Of joy or sorrow. BITS OF THINGS 25 DRAXY'S HYMN. Saxe Holme (Scribner, June, 1872.) CANNOT think but God must know About the thing I long for so ; I know He is so good and kind, I cannot think but He will find Some way to help, some way to show Me to the thing I long for so. I stretch my hand — it lies so near ! It looks so sweet — it looks so dear ! " Dear Lord," I pray, *' oh ! let me know If it is wrong to want it so ! " He only smiles — He does not speak ; My heart grows weaker, and more weak, • With looking at the thing so dear. Which lies so far, and yet so near ! Now, Lord, I leave at Thy loved feet This thing which looks so near, so sweet ; I will not seek — I will not long ; I almost fear I have been wrong. I '11 .go and work the harder. Lord, And wait till by some loud, clear word Thou callest me to Thy loved feet. To take the thing so dear, so sweet. 26 THREADS OF GOLD ONLY A LITTLE WAY. gr LITTLE way !— I know it is not far 5[ To that dear home where my beloved are ; And yet, my faith grows weaker as I stand, A poor, lone pilgrim, in a dreary land Where present pain the futm'e bliss obscures. And yet my heart sits like a bird upon The empty nest, and mourns its treasures gone- Plumed for their flight, And vanished quite. Ah me ! where is the comfort? — though I say They have but journeyed on a little way ! A little way ! — at times they seem so near Their voices ever murmur at my ear ; To all my duties loving presence lend, And with sweet ministry my steps attend. And bring my soul the luxury of tears. 'T was here we met, and parted company ; Why should their gain be such a grief to me.^* This sense of loss ! This heavy cross ! Dear Saviour, take the burden off, I pray. And show me heaven is but a little way ! BITS OF THINGS 27 These sombre robes, these saddened faces, all The bitterness and pain of death recall. Ah ! let me turn my face wliere'er I may, I see the traces of a sure decay ; And parting takes the marrow out of life. Secure in bliss, we hold the golden chain Which death, with scarce a warning, snaps in twain ; And nevermore Shall time restore The broken links ; — 't was only yesterday They vanished from our^ight a little way. A little way ! — this sentence I repeat, Hoping and longing to extract some sweet To mingle with the bitter. From Thy hand I take the cup I cannot understand, And in my sorrow give myself to Thee ! Although it seems so very, very far To that dear home where my beloved are, I know — I know It is not so. Oh ! give me faith to feel it, when I say That they are gone — gone but a little way. 28 THREADS OF GOLD JESUS KNOWS. CANNOT understand, when o'er time's ocean My life bark sailed, Why tempests came, and why, in dim confusion, My way seemed veiled. The reasons are not very clear to my weak vision : I look in vain For that fair port and for those fields Elysian I thought to gain. But this is plain : God saw it best, and therefore The storm arose ; * And though I cannot see the why and wherefore, Yet Jesus knows. I cannot tell why, when the day seemed clearest, Dark clouds should lower ; Or why the hopes that my fond heart held dearest Failed in that hour. I know not why the morning's glorious shining Was veiled ere noon. Or why the fragrant garlands love was twining Should fade so soon. But this I know, — though God His whys and wherefores Does not disclose, BITS OF THINGS 29 His purposes are ever best, — and therefore My Jesus knows. I know not now, but Jesus knows, why shadows Shut out the light ; Why treasures we deemed deathless felt so soon The touch of blight ; Why hearts we leaned our own against, believing That truth held sway, Crushed our fond, trusting love with drear deceiving, Darkening our way. I ciinnot tell ; but God the why and wherefore May yet disclose. He doeth all things well ; and therefore My Jesus knows. THE VALLEY OF SHADOWS. Ma7-garet J. Pi'eston, WAS sitting in my study one evening, when a message came to me that one of the godliest among the shepherds, w^ho. tended their flocks upon the slopes of our highland hills, was dying, and wanted to see the minister. Without loss of time I crossed the wide heath to his comfortable little home. 30 THREADS OF GOLD When I entered the low room, I found the old shep- herd propped up with pillows, and breathing with such difficulty that it was apparent he was near his end. "Jean," he said, " gi'e the minister a stool, an' leave us for a bit, for I wad see the minister alone." As soon as the door closed, he turned the most pathetic pair of gray eyes upon me I had ever looked into, and said, in a voice shaken with emotion, — " Minister, I 'm dying, and — and — I 'm afraid ! " I began at once to repeat some of the strongest promises in the Bible ; but in the midst of it he stopped me. " I ken them a', but somehow they dinna gi'e com- fort." " Do you believe in them } " " Wi' a' my heart," he replied earnestly. "Where, then, is any room for fear.?" " For a' that, minister. I 'm afraid — I 'm afraid ! " I took up the well worn Bible which lay on his bed. "You remember the twenty-third Psalm.?" And I began to read. " Remember it? " he said, " I kenned in long afore ve were born ; ye need na read it. I 've conned it a thousand times on the hill-side." " But there is one verse you have not taken in." He turned upon me with a half reproachful and BITS OF THINGS 3 1 even stern look. '' Did I not tell ye I kenned it, every word, lang afore ye w^ere born ? " I slowly repeated the verse — "'Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me.' You have been a shepherd all your life, and you have watched the heavy shadows pass over the hills, hiding for a little while all the light of the sun. Did those shadows ever frighten you ? " " Frighten me ! " he said quickly. " Na, na ! Dave Donaldson has Covenanter's bluid in his veins ; nei- ther shadow nor substance could weel frighten him." "But did those shadows never make you believe you would never see the sun again — that it was gone forever } " " Na, na ! I cud na be sic a simpleton as that." "Nevertheless, that is just what you are doing now." He looked at me with incredulous eyes. "Yes," I continued, "the shadow of death is over you, and it hides for a little time the Sun of Right- eousness, which shines all the same behind; but it's only a shadow — remember that's what the Psalmist calls it — ' a shadow that will pass ; ' and when it has passed, before you will be the everlasting hills, in their unclouded glory. The old shepherd covered his face with his hands, and for a few minutes maintained unbroken silence ; 32 THREADS OF GOLD then he said, as if musing to himself, — " Aweel, aweel ! I 've conned that verse a thousand times amang th' heather, and I never understood it afore — afraid of a shadow ! " Then turning upon me a face now bright with ahnost supernatural radiance, he exclaimed, — "Aye, aye, I see it a' noo ! Death is only a shadow — a shadow wi' Christ behind it — a shadow that will pass. Na, na, I 'm afraid nae mair." EXTRACT FROM A PRAYER. C. H. Spurgeon. fOME in, O strong and deep love of Jesus, like the sea at the flood in spring tides ; — cover all mv powers ; drown all my sins ; wash out all my cares ; lift up my earth-bound soul, and float it right up to my Lord's feet ; and there let me lie, a poor, broken shell, washed up by His love, having no virtue or value, — only venturing to whisper to Him that if He will put His ear to me. He shall hear within my heart faint echoes of the waves of His own love, which have brought me where it is my delight to lie — even at His blessed feet forever. BITS OF THINGS 33 THE LOOM OF LIFE. Eben E. Rexford. ^ LL day — all night — I can hear the jar 5^ Of the loom of life ; and near and far It thrills with its deep and muffled sound, As the tireless wheels go round and round. Busily, ceaselessly goes the loom In the light of day, and in midnight's gloom ; The wheels are turning early and late, And the woof is wound in the warp of fate. Click-clack ! there 's a thread of love wove in ; Click-clack ! another — of wrong and sin ; What a checkered thing this life-web will be. When we see it unrolled in eternity ! Time, with his face like a mystery. And hands as busy as hands can be, Sits at the loom with his warp outspread, To catch in its meshes each glancing thread. When shall this wonderful web be done } In a thousand years, perhaps in one, Or to-morrow. Who knoweth ? Not you nor I, But the wheels turn on, and the shuttles fly. 34 THREADS OF GOLD Ah ! sad-eyed weaver, the years are slow, But each one is nearer the end, I know, And each day a thread must be woven in : God grant it be love instead of sin. Are we spinners of time, for this life-web — say? Do we furnish the weaver a thread each day? It were better by far, O friends, to spin A beautiful thread of love than of sin. FAR AWAY. ." The land that is very far off." — IsA. xxxiii : 17. ^IJPON the shore (^l Of evermore, We sport like children at their play, And gather shells Where sinks and swells The mighty sea from far away. Upon that beach Nor voice nor speech Doth things intelligible say, But through our souls A whisper rolls That comes to us from far away. BITS OF THINGS 35 Into our ears The voice of years Comes deeper, deeper, day by day : We stoop to hear. As it draws near, Its messages from far away. At what it tells We drop the shells We were so full of yesterday. And pick no more Upon that shore. But dream of brighter, far away. And o'er that tide. Far out and wide. The yearnings of our souls do stray ; We long to go, We do not know Where it may be, but far away. The mighty deep Doth slowly creep Upon the shore where we did play ; The very sand Where we did stand A moment since, — swept far away. THREADS OF GOLD Our playmates all, Beyond our call, Are passing hence, as we, too, may, Unto that shore Of evermore, Beyond the boundless far away. We '11 trust the wave, And Him to save, Beneath whose feet as marble lay The rolling deep. For He can keep Our souls in that dim far away. A FRAGMENT. §E happy now. For now the joy of life is thine ! And Pleasure, in her rich array. Comes smiling o'er her sunny way With gay delight ; And every flower that blooms Doth seem to bloom for thee. Thy mates are Joy and purity From hour to hour ! BITS OF THINGS 37 WAR ON CHRISTIAN PRINCIPLES. From the " Wheat-Sheaf.^'' §NE of the conditions of the treaty with Mexico, it is said, is that any future war which may break out between the two countries shall be conducted on Christian principles. Now we all know that this is an age of progress, and that all sorts of improvements are constantly taking place in all sorts of matters ; but war on Christian principles is certainly the latest, and, if it be carried out, we think it will prove the greatest of all. Just imagine it! We seem to see two armies-draw out in battle array. A fair field is before them. The ranks are formed, the positions are taken, the great guns are unlimbered. Gen. Scott is just about to give the command to fire, when an aide comes up and respectfully reminds him that " war is to be conduct- ed on Christian principles," and that it will not do to fire. " Very true, very true," says the commander-in- chief; "but what are they? I have studied Vau- ban, and Schilder, and Turenne, and Coehorn. I have read the lives of the old conquerors, and have studied the campaigns of the greatest soldiers, but I never happened to come across these principles in any S8 THREADS OF GOLD work upon military art. Do you know anything about it, colonel?" " No." ' ' Nor you major .^" " Nor I, either." " I really do n't know how to begin. I suppose it would not do to shoot. Suppose we send for the chaplain." The chaplain arrives. " Do you know anything about this fighting on Christian principles.^" " Oh, yes ; it is the easiest thing in the world." " Where are the books. ^" " Here," and the chaplain takes out a Bible. " Really," says the general, " we ought to have thought of this before. It is a bad time to study tactics when the enemy is right before us ; but I suppose we are bound by the treaty. What is the first thing, Mr. Chaplain.?" " Thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt love thy neigh- bor as thyself." "But these are not neighbors. They are, Mexi- cans." "The same Book tells us, a little further on, that the opportunity to do good to a man makes him our neighbor." " Will you go on, Mr. Chaplain.?" " Love your enemies. Do good to them that hate BITS OF THINGS 39 you. Pray for them that despitefully use you. If a man smite you on one cheek, turn to him the other." " But while we are praying for the Mexicans, they will be firing into us." " No, they are bound by the treaty also. It works both ways." " Then what is the use of our arms } " " This is also provided for in the same Book. Beat your swords into ploughshares, and your spears into pruning-hooks." "Then I do n't see as there is anything for us to do here." " Nothing, unless you send over and ask Santa Anna if he needs anything in the way of medicines, or provisions, or clothing. I rather think the treaty requires this of us. And I do n't know but we ought to send them a few teachers — for I understand that they are shockingly ignorant people." " But how do you ever know which party conquers in this fighting on Christian principles ? " '^ That is the beauty of it. Both sides conquer, and there are never any killed or wounded." Example has a secret magnetic virtue like the load-stone : it attracts by a power of which we can give no account. 40 THREADS OF GOLD CARDIPHONIA. Hannah Lloyd. F the hard heart must be smitten ere the springs of life can flow, As the waters locked in Horeb gushed beneath the prophet's blow ; If the veil before the temple where our idols are en- shrined, Must be rent in twain to teach us we are weak, and frail, and blind ; If the whirlwind and the fire must the still small voice precede, Wakening in our souls the echo, Earth is but a failing reed ; If the waves that overwhelm us may not in their wrath be stayed. Grant us still to feel, O Father, — " It is I — be not afraid." If beside our household altars we grow weary of our trust ; If the wing of faith is broken, and her pinions trail in dust ; If we faint beneath our burdens, as we vainly ques- tion why BITS OF THINGS 4 1 All our springs of consolation and our wells of hope are dry ; If our cup from Marah's fountain be replenished o'er and o'er Till the dregs are drops of bitter, earth has not a solace for, — Though our strength be born of suffering, though our hearts be sore dismayed. Oh ! sustain us with thy presence : " It is I — be not afraid." If our pleasant pictures, fading, leave a back-ground of despair. Let a ray of light from heaven beam upon the dark- ness there ; As, in some time-worn painting which the dust has gathered o'er, Light discloses to the gazer beauty all unknown be- fore, — So the bright rays, piercing downward through the mist which round us lies. May illume life's darkened canvas, and reveal before our eyes Glimpses sweet of pleasant waters, where our foot- steps shall be stayed. As we hearken to the whisper, — " It is I — be not afraid." 4 2 THREADS OF GOLD It may be the spirit strengthens, and tiie soul grows purer white, When the clouds of sorrow darken, and all starless is the night ; That within their gloom is gathered gentle and re- freshing rain, Every little germ of patience quickening into life again ! But we fain would come before Thee, ere the evil days draw nigh, Ere the sun and moon are darkened, or the clouds are in our sky, While life's silver cord is binding us to gladness and to mirth, And its golden bowl is filling from the choicest founts of earth . While the beauty of our morning in its fragrance round us lies. We would of the heart's libation pour to Thee a sacrifice ; Trustful that the hand which scatters blessings every morning new, Would refill the urn of offering, as a floweret with the dew : Pure and sweet the exhalations from a grateful heart to heaven, ^ITS OF THINGS 43 Unto Thee then be the incense of our Cardiphonia given,— Ere the noontide sun shall wither, or the gathering twilight hour Closes the outpouring chalice of the morn's expanded flower. A SCRAP. ^TRANGE we never prize the music Till the sweet-voiced bird has fl own Strange that we should slight the violets Till the lovely flowers are gone ! Strange that summer skies and sunshine Never seem one half so fair As when winter's snowy pinions Shake their white down in the air ! ****** Let us gather up the sunbeams Lying all along life's path ; Let us keep the wheat and roses, Casting out the thorns and chaft^; — Let us find our sweetest comfort In the blessings of to-day, With a patient hand removing All the briers from the way. 44 THREADS OF GOLD ''BUT WHY NOT NOW?" " Ye did it not to Me?'' — Matt, xxv: 45. T^ SAT and gazed upon my sunny home : £ All pleasant things were there — Bright things to look at ; and sweet soothing sounds Still came, and went, upon the perfumed air. The sunbeams glanced and quivered Through the many-colored pane, And the marble floor at the open door Mirrored it back again. I looked, and listened, and I thanked my Father That it was all for me. And then I thought of One who had been here In days of yore. Wearily walking in the world He made — The Son of man — and yet the Son of God — Despised and poor ! I thought of Him, when first His infant form Needed a resting-place — and there was none ; The King of heaven was waiting to be housed — Earth's dwellings had no room ! I thought of Him upon the mountain-side When all night long The silent stars looked down upon His loneliness ; For Jesus had no home ! BITS OF THINGS 45 I thought and thought, until my aching heart Groaned forth its longings : " Oh ! had I been there, What tender ministry, what fostering care, Wouldst Thou have known, Thou blessed One ! What kindly words. What thoughts and deeds of love !" " The hot tears gathered fast : I laid me down and wept. Was it a breeze that stole into my room. So like a voice? That came quite close — close to my burning brow — And whispered, " Why not now ? " It came again : I brushed the tears away, And as I bent my head down very low, I thought I heard Him say, " But why not now ? " There is a doorway in a narrow street, And close beside that door a broken stair. And then a low, dark room ; The room is bare, But in a corner lies A worn-out form upon a hard straw bed — No pillow underneath his aching head — A face grown wan with suffering, and a hand 46 THREADS OF GOLD Scarce strong enough to reach the small dry crust That lies upon the chair. Go in, for I am there : I have been waiting wearily in that cold room — Waiting long, lonely hours — Waiting for thee to come ! "There's a low, quiet corner in a green church- yard Where deep, sad shadows lie, And sound of passing feet goes seldom by ; I want thee there. In that still place, beside a new-made grave, A woman has been weeping all day long ; None marked her where she sate, And now 't is getting late, And stars are coming out — Beautiful stars — my stars — That used to shine on me at Olivet. The chill night dews are creeping through her frame ; She dares not venture back from whence she came ; She needs a home ! I called for thee, and w^aited — But thou didst not come. I want thy pitying tears, that fell just now Upon the polished slab, to fall upon her cheek, — For tears can speak. BITS OF THINGS 47 Lay thy warm hand upon the fainting one ; Leave me not there to watch and wait alone ! " There is one seated near an open door, Where to and fro, all through the busy day. The sorrowing and the poor Have found their way, And now for very weakness His eyes are closed, — Kind, earnest eyes, that have looked lovingly On many a ghastly spectacle of woe — Looked into depths where loathesome miseries lie. And never wept mere idle tears of sympathy. The heavy hand has fallen by his side — The strong brave hand That waited my command. And then did deadly battle with the foe. He never flinched from any task To which I called ; Were the way smooth or rough. My bidding was enough. Go in and look. For tears. have dropped upon the open book ! That heart is burdened. Burdened for my sake ; Thou, in thy thoughtless ease, would let it break ! 48 THREADS OF GOLD " 'Twas on a summer's day, long years ago, I called two willing servants to my feet ; I took them by the hand, and said to each, ' I shed my blood for thee : Lovest thou me ? And then I gave hirii work, Large work within my fold. He had no earthly store Wherewith to feed my poor : It mattered not — I 'd given thee my gold. Where is it now? Look at that pallid brow, Sunk in its weary sleep ! The furrows are too deep ; They tell the tale of many an anxious grief — Not his — but mine I Whence comes the wasting of that haggard cheek? The guilt is thine I He gave me all his time and strength and health : I took them, and then asked thee for thy wealth — Thy given wealth ! — asked that it might be free. Held in thitie open palm, for him and me. Then came the years of conflict and of care — The days of labor and the nights of prayer ; Souls perishing in sin — Few hands to fetch them in ; The hungry to be fed. The naked to be clothed, — BITS OF THINGS 49 The outcast and the poor Gathering about my door. I wanted money, and I wanted bread, I wanted all that willing hands could do ; I \vanted the quick ear and ready eye, Ay, and the deep, true soul of sympathy. I wanted help — and so I called for thee : I called, and waited, and then called again. Oh ! could it be that I should call in vain.? I called and waited, — And thou didst not come !" I tried to hold my breath, and hear Him speak. But 'twas as though my throbbing heart must break ; I could not lift my head — I could not sigh ; The crimson shame had burned into my cheek. I had no tears : the very font was dry. Oh ! it was long — I cannot tell how long — That strange, cold stillness ; But I felt that He was waiting there, — Waiting for me to speak. I knelt upon the floor and breathed His name. Then, struggling, one by one the faint words came ! " Jesus ! I thought I loved Thee ; I remember well The day when Thou didst hold 4 so THREADS OF GOLD My trembling fingers in Thy pierced hand, And take me for Thine own. And I did love Thee — This poor heart beat true ; It was no fancied echo when the voice That spoke Thee mine Responded, I am Thine ! But, O my Master ! can I dare to tell, — Thy faithless child has loved Thy gifts too well ! I looked on all things beautiful and rare, Looked on earth's flowers, And thought them very fair. I hid me from the rude and vulgar throng. And hoped it was Thy will That I might turn away from common men, And love Thee still. I dwelt among the pleasant sounds of life ; I did not like the turmoil and the strife To come too near ; And Thou wast in the thickest battle tide When Thou didst call Thy servant to Thy side ; — But I was too far oft'. And so I did not hear ; — My Lord ! I will come nearer — I will take my seat Close at Thy feet. I will come down where the gray shadows lie. And there I '11 listen — listen every day BITS OF THINGS 5 1 To hear Thy voice ! It may be I must take a lower place ; But let me have the shining of Thy face. It may be I must seek a humbler home ; Let it be one w^here Thou wilt often come ; Its door shall be upon the latch for Thee, And for the needy ones who claim An interest in Thy name ; And I will stand and watch and wait to greet The first faint echoes of Thy coming- feet ! " BROTHER AND SISTER. Lillie Morris. §EYOND the depths of the azure blue ; Beyond the stars that are peeping through ; Beyond the realm that intervenes The gate of heaven and earthly scenes ; Beyond the wall that of jasper alone Was founded, and garnished with precious stone ; Beyond the saints that swell the throng That join in the chorus of heavenly song. Clothed in the glory of Christ their King, Adoring, worshipping, wondering, — They meet again, where none shall sever ; 52 THREADS OF GOLD They meet so soon in the sweet forever ; They meet at the throne in the city of God, The pavements of which they never had trod. We scarce had heard the dip of the oar — His feet but touched on Eternity's shore — When the wave and the tide again made way, And her vessel was launched, and the shadows gray Had hidden forever from mortal view The loved one so cherished, so kind, so true. Beyond the mists and the vapors of years ; Beyond earth's chain of joys and of fears ; Beyond the kingdoms that glitter here. But heirs of a King in a brighter sphere ; Beyond the fret and the friction and strife. The wear and the tear of the wheels of life ; Beyond the time of sorrow and weeping, But never beyond the smiling and reaping, — Reaping rewards for the good they have done. Receiving the prize for the race they have run, — Knowing no end to the rapturous pleasure Which God meteth out in His own perfect measure, They meet in the fulness of heavenly bliss ; God prepared this for them, — prepared them for this. They meet in the light of that sun which alone Shineth forever. "They know as they're known." But we wait in the dim, dusky twilight below ; BITS OF THINGS 53 By hope we are anchored ; by faith we shall know, When the clouds from our vision roll up and away, And our souls are unfettered in eternal day. Beyond the repining for what "might have been ; " Be3^ond the inclining to tamper with sin ; Beyond the enduring the " all things" of earth, The continual weighing of gold against worth ; Beyond this existence, which is but a span In the infinite length of the measure of man ; Beyond — yet forever, with palm-branch and crown — The brother and sister are still looking down On the world they have left from the world they have found, To guide us unerring, that grace may abound. THE FOUR ANCHORS. " The day is Thine, the night also is Thine."— PsA. Ixxiv : 16. " The darkness and the light are both alike to Thee."— Psa. cxxxix : 12. " They cast four anchors out of the stern, and wished for the day." — Acts xxvii : 29. ^HE night is dark !— but God, my God, ^ Is here, and in command ; And sure am I when morning breaks I shall be "at the land." 54 THREADS OF GOLD And since I know the darkness is To Him as sunniest day, I '11 cast the anchor, Patience, out, And wish, but wait, for day. Fierce drives the storm, but winds and waves Within His hand are held. And, trusting in Omnipotence, My fears are sweetly quelled. If wrecked — I 'm in His faithful grasp — I'll trust Him, though He slay ; So, letting go the anchor. Faith, I'll wish, but wait, for day. Still seem the moments dreary, long.? I rest upon my Lord ; I muse on His " eternal years," And feast upon His word. His promises, so rich and great. Are my support and stay : I '11 cast the anchor, Hope, ahead, And wish, but wait, for day. O wisdom infinite ! O light And love, supreme, divine ! How can I feel one fluttering doubt, In hands so dear as Thine.? BITS OF THINGS 55 I '11 lean on Thee, my best Beloved ; My heart on Thy heart lay ; And, casting out the anchor. Love, I '11 w^ish, but wait, for day. THE GOLDEN ROBIN'S NEST. O" GOLDEN robin came to build his nest 3 High in the elm tree's ever-nodding crest. And all day long, upon his task intent, Backw^ard and forward busily he went. Gathering from far and near the tiny threads That birdies weave for little birdies' beds, — Now bits of grass, now bits of vagrant string. And now some queerer, dearer sort of thing. For on the lawn, where he was wont to come In search for stuff' to build his pretty home. We dropped, one day, a lock of golden hair, Which our wee darling easily could spare ; And close beside it tenderly we placed A lock that had the stooping shoulders graced Of her old grandsire. It was white as snow. Or cherry-trees when they are all ablow. 56 THREADS OF GOLD Then throve the golden robin's work apace ! Hundreds of times he sought the happy place. Where, sure, he tliouglit, in his bird fashion dim, Wondrous provision had been made for him. Both locks — the w^hite and golden — disappeared ; The nest was finished, and the brood was reared ; And then there came a pleasant summer day When the last golden robin flew away. Ere long, in triumph from its leafy height We bore the nest, so wonderfully light. And saw how prettily the white and gold Made warp and woof of many a gleaming fold. But when again the golden robin came. Cleaving the orchard with his breast aflame, Grandsire's white locks and baby's golden head Were lying low — both in one grassy bed. And so more dear than ever is the nest, Ta'en from the elm-tree's ever-nodding crest. Little the golden robins thought how rare A thing they wrought of white and golden hair. Comfort comes to us when we are comforting the comfortless. BITS OF THINGS 57 THE REFUGE. <<1TESUS, lover of my soul," (2i Bids me in His bosom stay, And though "^billows round me roll," I am safely hid away, — For He holds me in His arms, Quite beyond the tempter's reach, And He whispers to my heart Words unknown to human speech. "Other refuge have I none," — He my habitation is ; Here no evil can befall, I am kept in perfect peace ; I am covered all day long " With the shadow of His wing ; " Dwell in safety through the night. Waking, this is what I sing,— "Thou, O Christ! art all I w^ant;" Rests my helpless soul on Thee ; Thou wilt never leave alone. Ne'er forget to comfort me. Thou hast saved my .soul from death. Thou hast scattered doubts and fears. And the sunshine of Thy face Sweetly drieth all my tears. 58 THREADS OF GOLD "Thou of life the fountain art," Thou dost wash me white as snow I'm content to dwell apart From all else, Thyself to know. Blessed Sun of Righteousness, I so love to look on Thee, That my eyes are growing blind To the things once dear to me. FIND HIM. Rosa Evangelifie Angel. fHROUGH the house there sounds a sobbing, And a little tear-stained face. With its golden curls a-bobbing, Finds me in my hiding-place ; And a voice, half choked with sorrow, Says, — " My little doggy 's lost. And he '11 be so cold to-morrow ; Find him, find him, for he 's lost ! " In her home a lonely mother Weeps her wayward boy to-night ; And the sobs she fain would smother Reach me in my corner bright ; BITS OF THINGS 59 And the silver head bends lowly, And the loving eyes are dim, And the pale lips whisper slowly, — " Find him, — my lost boy, — find him ! " Childhood's days are not all pleasure ; Grief and loss come all too fast ; Loving hearts must know the measure Of some woe ere morn is past, — And the heart that age has cumbered With a mighty weight of pain, Till its pangs could ne'er be numbered — Yet doth loss o'erbalance gain. Ever thus some heart is breaking, Seeking long with bitter tears ; In the still night-watches waiting, Calling, calling through the years, — "Find him ! find him ! only find him ! Let me kiss him ere I die ; If ye love me, find him, find him ! " Countless hearts repeat the cry. Still the heart must seek its treasure, — Oh ! the loved, the loved and lost ! Still the faithful heart doth measure Love for cruelty. The cost 6o THREADS OF GOLD Of earth's love is life's surrender, And the truest love must bear Sorest grief; for hearts most tender Know earth's deepest pain and care. O thou soul ! lost, lost in blindness, Far from home, and love, and friends, Lo ! One waits in patient kindness, — One whose tender love ne'er ends ; He alone can give thee gladness For thy sorrow ; to the brim Fill with joy thy cup of sadness ; Find Him ! O lost soul, find Him ! LOVING AND FAITHFUL. Written after witnessing Friends marriage ceremony. E. Lloyd, Jr. I OVING and faithful, even unto death " — If Well may it falter, The lip this solemn promise saith Before that altar Where, o'er the trembling covenanters, lean Recording angel and high priest, unseen. BITS OF THINGS 6 1 " Loving and faithful " — What, is it to be Now and forever ? The heart is asking as it puts to sea, To turn back never, If it can keep the promise of to-day In its full meaning, faithful and alway ! Loving and faithful while a boundless reach Of spotless azure O'erarches hearts too full for common speech Their bliss to measure, — Loving and faithful when the first clouds lie In rolls of silver fleece along your sky. Loving and faithful through the common lot. Rejoicing, weeping, Whether in palace-home or humble cot Their high trust keeping, And when life's daily wear to light shall bring The spots that round poor human nature cling ! Loving and faithful through the spirit's strife, On heights, in hollows ; In lonely by-ways struggling for its life, Where no eye follows ; In earnest wrestling with its household foes, How many and how strong. One only knows. 62 THREADS OF GOLD ****** I had been reading in the life of two, A sire and mother, Whom care, and change, and sorrow nearer drew To one another, Closer and closer, till the winter's sod Lay on his breast, whose soul went up to God. They shared together many a bitter cup And tear-wet pillow, But each the other's sinking head bore up O'er wave and billow ; For they had pitched their tent with faith-lit eyes, One window opening toward Paradise. And there they often sat at ev^e and read Aloud together. Or, watching — when dark days were overhead And stormy weather — The far blue hills, which earth from heaven divide, Tipped with the glory of the eventide. They had their sunny days and simple joys And fireside pleasures. And gifts of merry-hearted girls and boys For household treasures. BITS OF THINGS 6^^ These grew and left them : children's children came Back, with their mother's look and father's name. Their tiny feet went pattering all about The old waste places ; Recovered sunbeams — peeping in and out — Their sweet round faces And loving ways, and little clinging arms, To care and toil perpetual counter-charms. They had their friends, — the warm, the tried, the true. Some great, some lowly ; Their unassuming goodness round them drew The pure, the holy ; Sweet singers came, and heaven-ascending prayer The low-roofed dwelling filled with odorous air. Their hearth-stone was a broad and pleasant space Where many mingled ; Where none for honor. and the highest place Apart were singled. This their example has bequeathed to others : The children of one Father — all are brothers. 64 THREADS OF GOLD And so their souls' lives glided into one ; The tie that bound them Seemed lovelier with each day's duty done, To those around them ; The bridal ring grev^ brighter and more bright, As on they journeyed with the sons of light. They had the Christian's fare — hard, rugged steeps To travel over ; But He His faithful ones who ever keeps Safe under cover Shook down upon them, from their silver lining, The healing of His wings, above them shining. Age brought them sicknesses and silver hairs. But morn and even Still found them higher up the narrow stairs That wind towards heaven. Just at the landing-place they missed each other : God parted them — that father and that mother. From the hushed chamber where the dying lay, Sweet rose their hymning ; The tears from her weak eyes he wiped away, His own fast dimming : We thank Thee, Father, that our spirits see No shadow on the path that leads to Thee. BITS OF THINGS 65 By the sick father sat the aged mother, Watching and bending O'er him with love he counted like no other, To the still ending : It found them, with clasped hands and mingling breath, " Loving and faithful eve72 unto death.'' A SONG OF THE BURDEN-BEARER. " I'll drop my burden at His feet, And bear a song away." ®VER the narrow footpath That led from my lowly door, I went, with a thought of the Master, As oft I had walked before. My heart was heavily laden, And with tears my eyes were dim ; But I knew I should lose the burden, Could I get a glimpse of Him. It "was more than I could carry, If I carried it alone. And none in my home might share it — Only One, upon the throne. 66 THREADS OF GOLD It came between me and pleasure, Between my work and me ; But our Lord could understand it, And His touch could set me free. Over the trodden pathway. To the fields all shorn and bare, I went with a step that faltered, And a face that told of care. I had lost the light of the morning With its shimmer of sun and dew. But a gracious look from the Master Would the strength of morn renew. While yet my courage wavered, And the sky before me blurred, I heard a voice beside me Saying a tender word ; And I turned, to see the brightness Of heaven upon the road, And suddenly lost the pressure Of the weary, crushing load. Nothing that hour was altered ; I had still the weight of care, But I bore, now, with the gladness Which comes of answered prayer. BITS OF THINGS 67 Not a grief the soul can fetter, Nor cloud its vision, when The dear Lord gives the spirit To breathe to His will, "Amen ! " O friends, if the greater burdens His love can make so light. Why should His wonderful goodness Our halting credence slight? The little sharp vexations — And the briers that catch and fret — Oh, take them to the Helper Who has never failed us yet ! Tell Him about the heartache, And tell Him the longing, too ; Tell Him the baffled purpose. When we scarce know what to do : Then, leaving all our weakness With the One divinely strong, Forget that we bear a burden. And carry away a song ! Troubles are in God's catalogue of mercies. 68 THREADS OF GOLD SUNSET ON THE BEARCAMP. JoJm G. Whittier. ^pr GOLD fringe on the purpling hem ^^L Of hills the river runs, As down its long green valley falls The last of summer's suns. Along its tawny gravel-bed, Broad-flowing, swift, and still, As if its meadow levels felt The hurry of the hill. Noiseless between its banks of green From curve to curve it slips : The drows}' maple-shadows rest Like fingers on its lips. A waif from Carroll's wildest hills, Unstoried and unknown ; The ursine legend of its name Prowls on its banks alone. Yet flowers as fair its slopes adorn As ever Yarrow knew, Or, under rainy Lish skies, By Spenser's Mulla grew ; And through the gaps of leaning trees Its mountain cradle shows — BITS OF THINGS 69 The gold against the amethyst, The green against the rose. Touched by a light that hath no name, A glory never sung, Aloft on sky and mountain wall Are God's great pictures hung. How changed the summits vast and old ! No longer granite-browed. They melt in rosy mist ; the rock Is softer than the cloud ; The valley holds its breath ; no leaf Of all its elms is twirled : The silence of eternity Seems falling on the world. The pause before the breaking seals Of mystery is this : Yon miracle-play of night and day Makes dumb its witnesses. What unseen altar crowns the hills That reach up stair on stair? What eyes look through, what white wings fan, These purple veils of air.? What presence from the heavenly heights To those of earth stoops down.^^ Not vainly Hellas dreamed of gods On Ida's snowy crown. 70 THREADS OF GOLD Slow fades the vision of the sky, The golden water pales, And over all the valley-land A gray-winged vapor sails. . I go the common way of all ; The sunset fires will burn, The flowers will blow, the river flow. When I no more return. No whisper from the mountain pine. Nor lapsing stream, shall tell The stranger, treading where I tread. Of him who loved them well. But beauty seen is never lost, God's colors all are fast ; The glory of this sunset heaven Into my soul has passed, — A sense of gladness, unconfined To mortal date or clime : As .the soul liveth, it shall live Beyond the years of time. Beside the mystic asphodels Shall bloom the home-born flowers. And new horizons flush and glow With sunset hues of ours. Farewell ! These smiling hills must wear Too soon their wintrv frown. BITS OF THINGS 7 1 And snow-cold winds from off them shake The maple's red leaves down. But I shall see a summer sun Still setting, broad and low ; The mountain slopes shall blush and bloom, The golden water flow. A lover's claim is mine on all I see to have and hold, — The rose-light of perpetual hills, And sunsets never cold ! A LITTLE LAMB ASTRAY. |\H ! I wonder if there ever a/ Was a little girl like me, With so many, many heart-aches That nobody seems to see ! Oft I 've heard the great, wise preachers. And the deacons good and kind, Tell about the way to heaven. And how easy 'tis to find. And I 've thought and thought upon it, Yox I long to know the way ; But I 'm such an awful sinner That I am afraid to pray. 72 THREADS OF GOLD Now I wish they'd come and tell me How their Jesus I might meet, For the}^ say He loves the children, And will guide their tender feet Into pastures green and pleasant. And by waters calm and still ; Make them gems of brilliant beauty, Their Redeemer's crown to fill. But 't was just the other Sunday, When our pastor preached so good. That I thought he saw me listening, And would stop and speak a word, — When he only said " Good morning," And the usual " Are you well ? " Though I pressed the hand he gave me, Hoping thus my grief to tell. Then I stole away in secret. And I cried so very long. That mamma was greatly troubled. For she feared I had done wrong. And at night she tucked me snugly In my little trundle-bed. And so softly pressed the tear-stains In a loving kiss, but said BITS OF THINGS 73 Not a word about her Jesus I was hungering so to know. Oh ! my poor, poor heart seemed breaking, For I longed to find Him so. I have tried so hard to find Him, But I do not know the way, And nobody seems to notice There's a little lamb astray. Does Jesus care, I wonder. If I never find His fold? I 'm almost sure I love Him, Though I'm not so very old. I should think the grown up people Would so love to speak His name. When He did so much to bring them To the home from v^^ience He came ! And when I'm a Christian mamma, I will tell my little girl Just the way to come to Jesus — How to find the priceless Pearl. Then I '11 tell the dear, good pastors, Who know the way so well. To stop the little children, And the sweet old storv tell ! 74 THREADS OF GOLD THE THREE BIDDERS. AN INCIDENT IN THE LIEE OF ROWLAND HILL. T. K., Jr. (Friends' Review). ILL you listen, young friends, for a moment, While a story I unfold ? — A marvellous tale of a wonderful sale Of a noble lady of old ; — How hand and heart, at an auction mart, And soul and body, she sold ! 'Twas in the broad, king's highway, Near a century ago. That a preacher stood — though of noble blood — Telling the fallen and low Of a Saviour's love, and a home above. And a peace that they all might know. All crowded around to listen ; And they wept at the wondrous love That could cleanse their sin, and receive them in His spotless mansions above ; — While slow through the crowd a lady proud Her gilded chariot drove. BITS OF THINGS 75 "Make room !" cried the haughty outrider; " You are closing the king's highway ; My lady is late, and their Majesties wait ; Give way, then, good people, I pray." The preacher heard, and his so«l was stirred. And he cried to the rider, " Nay ! " His eye like the lightning flashes ; His voice like a trumpet rings, — " Your grand fete days, and your fashions and ways, Are all but perishing things. 'Tis the king's highway, but I hold it to-da In the name of the King of kings. LV Then, bending his gaze on the lady. And marking her soft eye fall, — " And now, in His name, a sale I proclaim, And bids for this lady call. Who will purchase the whole — her body and soul, Coronet, jewels, and all.? " I see, fair lady, three bidders : The World steps up as the first." " I will her my treasures, and all of the pleasures • For which my votaries thirst ; She shall dance through each daj^, more joyous and gay, With — a quiet grave, at the worst." 76 THREADS OF GOLD But out spake the Devil, boldly : " The kingdoms of earth are mine. Fair lady, thy name, with an envied fame, On their brightest tablets shall shine ; Only give me thy^oul, and I give thee the whole- Their glory and wealth — to be thine !" " And what hast Thou to offer, Thou Man of Sorrows, unknown ? " And He gently said, — " My blood I have shed To purchase her for mine own : To conquer the grave, and her soul to save, I trod the wine-press alone. " I will give her my cross of suffering. My cup of sorrow to share ; But with endless love, in my home above, All shall be righted there : She shall walk in white, in a robe of light, And a radiant crown shall wear." •" Thou hast heard the terms, fair lady. That each has offered for thee. Which wilt thou choose, and which wilt thou lose,- This life, or the life to be? The fable was mine, but the choice is yet thine, — Sweet lady, which of the three ? " BITS OF THINGS 77 Nearer the stand of the preacher The gilded chariot stole ; And each head was bowed, as over the crowd The thundering accents roll ; And every word, as the lady heard, Burned into her very soul. "Pardon, good people," she murmured. As she rose from her cushioned seat. Full well, they say, as the crowd made way, You could hear her pulses beat ; And each head was bare, as the lady fair Knelt at the preacher's feet. She took from her hand the jewels, The coronet from her brow : " Lord Jesus," she said, as she bowed her head, " The highest bidder art Thou ; Thou gavest, for my sake. Thy life, and I take Thy offer ; and take it now. " I know the world and its pleasures : At best they weary and cloy : And the Tempter is bold, and his honors and gold Prove ever a fatal decoy. I long for thy rest— Thy bid is the best ; Lord, I accept it with joy ! 78 THREADS OF GOLD " Give me Thy cup of suffering: Welcome earth's sorrow and loss : Let my portion be to win souls to Thee : Perish earth's glittering dross. I gladly lay down its coveted crown, Saviour, to take Thy cross." "Amen !" said the holy preacher. And the people wept aloud. Years have rolled on, and they all have gone. Around that altar who bowed. Lady and throng have been swept along On the wind, like a morning cloud. But the Saviour has claimed His purchase, And around His radiant seat A mightier throng, in an endless song, The wonderful story repeat ; And a form more fair is bending there. Laying her crown at His feet. So, now, in eternal glory. She rests from her cross and care ; But her spirit above, with a longing love. Seems calling on you to share Her endless reward in the joy of her Lord ! Oh, will you not answer her there .^ BITS OF THINGS 79 JANE CONQUEST, AND HOW SHE RANG THE CHURCH BELL IN A STORM. Emily Faithful. tBOUT the time of Christmas (Not many years ago), When the sky was black With wrath and rack. And the earth was white with snow. When loudly rang the tumult Of the winds and waves at strife, In her home by the sea, With her babe on her knee. Sat Harry Conquest's wife. And he was on the waters, Although she knew not where, For never a lip Could tell of the ship To lighten her heart's despair ; — ■ And her babe was fading and dying ; • The pulse at the tiny wrist Was all but still, And the brow was chill, And pale as the white sea mist. 8o THREADS OF GOLD Jane Conquest's heart was hopeless ; She could only weep and pray That the Shepherd mild Would take her child Without a pain away. The night grew dark, and darker, And the storm grew stronger still, And buried deep In dreamless sleep Lay the hamlet under the hill. The fire was dead on the hearth-stone Within Jane Conquest's room. And still sat she With her babe on her knee, At prayer amid the gloom, — When, borne above the tempest, A sound fell on her ear, Thrilling her through. For well she knew 'T was the voice of mortal fear. And a light leaped in at the lattice, Sudden, and swift, and red, Crimsoning all The whited wall, And the floor and the roof overhead. BITS OF THINGS It shone with a radiant glory On the face of the dying child, Like a fair first ray Of the shadowless day Of the land of the undefiled. And it lighted the mother's features With a glow so strange and new, That the white despair That had gathered there Seemed changed to hope's own hue. For one brief moment heedless Of the babe upon her knee, With the frenzied start Of a frighted hart, Upon her feet rose she. And through the quaint old casement She looked upon the sea. Thank God that the sight She saw that night So rare a sight should be ! Hemmed in by many a billow, With mad and foaming lip, A mile from shore. Or hardly more, She saw a gallant ship Aflame from deck to topmast. Aflame from stem to stern, 6 THREADS OF GOLD For there semed no speck Of all that wreck Where the fierce fire did not burn, — Till the night was like a sunset, And the sea like a sea of blood, And the rocks and the shore Were bathed all o'er. And drenched with the gory flood. She looked — and looked — till the terror Went creeping through every limb, And her breath came quick, And her heart turned sick, And her sight grew dizzy and dim, And her lips had lost their utterance, For she tried, but could not speak. And her feelings found No channel of sound In prayer, or sob, or shriek. Silent she stood and rigid, With her child to her bosom pressed, Like a woman of stone With a stiff arm thrown Round a sculptured babe at her breast. Once more that cry of anguish Thrilled through the tempest's strife, BITS OF THINGS 83 And it stirred again In her heart and brain, The active, thinking life ; And the light of an inspiration Leaped to her brightened eye, And on lip and brow Were written now A purpose pure and high. Swiftly she turned, and softly She crossed the chamber floor, And faltering not. In its tiny cot She placed the babe she bore ; And then with a holy impulse She sank on her knees, and made A lowly prayer. In the silence there, — And this is the prayer she prayed : " O Christ ! who didst bear the scourging, But who now. dost wear the crown, I at Thy feet, O-True and Sweet, Would lay my burden down. Thou bad'st me love and cherish The babe Thou gavest me, 84 THREADS OF GOLD And I have kept Thy word, nor stept Aside from following Thee. "And, lo ! the boy is dying, And vain is all my care, And my burden's weight Is very great. Yea, greater than I can bear. O Lord, Thou knowest what peril Doth threat those poor men's lives, And I, a woman. Most weak and human, Do plead for their waiting wives. Thou canst not let them perish : Up, Lord, in Thy strength, and save From the scorching breath Of this terrible death On the cruel winter wave ! Take Thou my babe, and watch it — No care is like to Thine — And let Thy power In this perilous hour Supply what lack is mine." And so her prayer she ended, And, rising to her feet, BITS OF THINGS 85 Gave one long look • At the cradle nook Where the child's faint pulses beat, — And then with softest footsteps Retrod the chamber floor, And noiselessly groped For the latch, and oped And crossed the cottage door. The snow lay deep and drifted As far as sight could reach, Save where alone The dank weed strown Did mark the sloping beach. But whether 'twere land or ocean, Or rock, or sand, or snow. Or sky overhead, On all was shed The same fierce, fiiteful glow. And through the tempest bravely Jane Conquest fought her way, By snowy deep And slippery steep. To where her duty lay. And she journeyed onward, breathless. And weary, and sore, and faint, 86 THREADS OF GOLD Yet forward pressed With the strength and the zest And the ardor of a saint. Silent, and weird, and lonely. Amid its countless graves, Stood the old gray church On its tall rock perch, Secure from the sea and its waves ; And beneath its sacred shadow Lay the hamlet, safe and still, For however the sea And the wind might be, There was quiet under the hill. Jane Conquest reached the church-yard. And stood by the old church door ; But the oak was tough, And had bolts enough, And her strength was frail and poor. So she crept through a narrow wmdow, And climbed the belfry stair, And grasped the rope. Sole cord of hope For the mariners in despair ; And the wild wind helped her bravely. And she wrought with an earnest will, And the clamorous bell BITS OF THINGS 87 Spoke out right well To the hamlet under the hill. And it roused the slumbering fishers, Nor its warning task gave o'er Till a hundred fleet And eager feet Were hurrying ta the shore : And then it ceased its ringing, For the woman's work was done, And many a boat That was now afloat Showed jnart's work was begun. But the ringer in the belfry Lay motionless and cold, With the cord of hope, The church bell-rope, Still in her frozen hold. How long she lay it boots not. But she woke from her swoon at last In her own bright room. To find the gloom And the grief and the peril past ; With a sense of joy within her. And the Christ's sweet presence near. And friends around. And the cooing sound Of her babe's voice in her ear. 88 THREADS OF GOLD And they told her all the storv — How a brave and gallant few O'ercame each check, And reached the wreck, And saved the hapless crew ; And how the curious sexton Had climbed the belfry stair. And of his fright, When, cold and white, He found her lying there ; And how when they had borne her Back to her home again. The child she left With a heart bereft Of hope, and weary with pain. Was found within its cradle In a quiet slumber laid. With a peaceful smile On its lips the while, And the wasting sickness stayed. And she said 't was the Christ who watched it. And brought it safely through. And she praised His truth, And His tender ruth, Who had saved her darling too. And then there came a letter Across the surging foam, BITS OF THINGS And then the breeze Across the seas Bore Harry Conquest home. And they told him all the storj^ — That still their children tell— Of the fearful sight On that winter night, And the woman who rang the bell ! SIX AND SEVEN. 5\N a golden summer dav, 1/ Sweetened by the breath of May, Laughing children were at play. Ancient wood and meadow rung With the joyous music flung Out from many a noisy tongue. Warbling bird and waving tree, Tinkling bell and droning bee, Mingled in the melody. Little wild flowers, one by one, Looking upward, had begun Morning worship to the sun. 90 THREADS OF GOLD Far away one little maid , From the shouting ramblers strayed, And her name was Adalaid. With a face half fear, half joy, And with footsteps light and coy, Followed her a blue-eyed boy. O'er the spotless vault of heaven Shadowy clouds had not been driven ;- She was six, and he was seven. Where the partridge seeks his coop, Marching with his wings adroop. Drummer to the sylvan troop, — Where the bubbling rivulet brims, Singing low its vernal hymns, Sat they 'neath the alder limbs. Dimpled waters, soft and sweet. Curled around their mossy seat — Dimpled waves and dimpled feet. By that drooping alder shade. Into one two hearts were made, — Theodore and Adalaid. BITS OF THINGS True love ne'er to earth was given : True love hurries home to heaven : She was six, and he was seven ! Soon from scented fields and bowers Autumn chased the summer hours, Scattering, as they fled, the flowers. Ripe nuts rustling to the ground. Young ears catch the magic sound. Young feet to the forest bound. But from all that happy throng, Shouting loud and shouting long, Absent was the sweetest song. One June day a mound was made By the drooping alder's shade. Adalaid, O Adalaid ! On the turf, so svs^eet and low. Fell the first cold winter's snow, Six and seventy years ago ! Near it still, each morn and even. Stands an old man, ripe for heaven. She was six, and he was seven ! 91 92 THREADS OF GOLD BEAUTIFUL HANDS. (^UCH beautiful, beautiful hands ! )^ They 're neither white, nor small, And you, I know, would scarcely think That they were fair at all. I 've looked on hands whose form and hue A sculptor's dream might be. Yet are these aged, wrinkled hands Most beautiful to me. Such beautiful, beautiful hands ! Though heart were weary and sad, These patient hands kept toiling on, ' That the children might be glad. I almost weep, as, looking back To childhood's distant day, I think how those hands rested not. While mine were at their play. Such beautiful, beautiful hands ! They 're growing feeble now, For time and pain have left their mark On hand, and heart, and brow. Alas ! alas ! the nearing time, And the sad, sad day to me, When 'neath the '' daisies, out of sight," Those hands will folded be. BITS OF THINGS 93 But, oh ! beyond this shadow-land, Where all is bright and fair, I know full well those dear old hands Will palms of victory bear. Where crystal streams through endless years Flow over golden sands, And where the old grow young again, I '11 clasp my mother's hands. HOW DO I LOVE THEE ? yean Ingelow. 'TJTOW do I love thee?" Let me count the ways : J^[ I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal grace ! I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candle light ; I love thee freely, as men strive for right ; I love thee purely, as men turn from praise ; I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith ; I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints ; I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears of all my life, — and, if God please, I shall but love thee better after death. 94 THREADS OF GOLD A WONDERFUL BABY. ^IM^ IS a wonderful baby — I cannot deny it — P The loveliest, dearest, that ever v^as made ! And no silver or gold in the country could buy it. Nor jewels, though e'en a queen's casket were paid. We humor and fondle, we kiss and caress it, Are anxious whenever it's out of our sight; We call it pet names, such as "Pet lamb" and "Blessed," " Dear old precious darling," from morning till night. If we have any joy, if we have any trouble. If over our pathway a dark shadow lowers, Our griefs we divide, and our pleasures we double, Because of this wonderful baby of ours. It never is cross, or impatient, or fretful. Like some other babies that you and I know, And we never can be unkind or forgetful Of all that to this precious darling we owe. Its face is all wrinkled — now isn't that funny ! — Its step has been feeble for many a day. And over the brow where were ringlets once sunny, There now are soft folds of clear silvery gray. BITS OF THINGS 95 You '11 think I am foolish, and frivolous maybe, Declaring the truth I have surely not told, But this precious old darling, this wonderful baby, So dear to our hearts, is eighty years old. By cares and caresses we give to no other, Her care and her kindness we try to repay. And we thank the dear Father in heaven that mother, With heart young as ever, is with us to-day. SO TIRED. W. K. Lewis. ^O tired, Lord ! — but not too tired 1^ To place my hand in Thine, To lay my head upon Thy breast, i\.nd know Thy love is mine. So tired, Lord ! — this soothing lull. Succeeds a night of pain ; I am too weak to pray, or think, Or rouse my throbbing brain. • So tired, Lord ! — I cannot speak, But stillness is more sweet ; I nestle in the sunshine That soothes me at Thy feet. 96 THREADS OF GOLD So tired, Lord ! — no need to speak, I feel that Thou art near ; But I am weak, so weak, dear Lord, Too weak to shed a tear. So tired, Lord ! — the twilight hour Is drawing near again ; I cannot pray, but Thou canst see The words that haunt my brain. So tired, Lord ! — my kindest friends Can never, never tell. The depth of weariness and pain, For they are strong and well. So tired, Lord ! — Thou know^est all — O welcome, happy thought ! I need not tell Thee — Thou hast seen The happiness it brought. So tired, Lord ! — Thou hast been tired ! Ah, when I think of Thee, My keenest anguish melts away In Thy deep love for me. So tired. Lord ! — my by-gone friends Have gently passed away ; But Thou art still the same, dear Lord, Thou knowest no decay. BITS OF THINGS 97 So tired, Lord ! — but not too tired To place my hand in Thine, To lay my head upon Thy breast, And know Thy love is mine. SECRET COMMUNION. '^1 ORD, I have shut my door, ^ Shut out life's busy cares and fretting noise ; Here in the silence they intrude no more, — Speak Thou, and heavenly joy shall fill my heart With music sweet and calm, A holy psalm. Yes, I have shut my door From all the splendid beauties of Thine earth. From its blue ceiling to its emerald floor. Filled with spring's bloom and mirth ; — from these Thy works, I turn Thyself to see — I speak to Thee. Lord, I have shut my door On earthly passions, all its yearning love. 98 THREADS OF GOLD Its tender friendships and its earthly store Of human ties ; — above all these my heart Aspires to Thine ; Stoop Thou to mine. Lord, I have shut my door, — I am alone. Come Thou and visit me. As w^hen the doors were shut in days of yore Thou visitedst Thine own ; — my Lord, I kneel In reverent love and fear, For Thou art near ! FALL'S FIRST TROPHIES. Laura Updegraff. |V LITTLE leaves ! %) Soft yellow leaves ! Your silent voice my spirit grieves ; The air is warm, skies blue and clear. And yet you whisper, " Fall is here ! " The restless leaves — Sweet summer leaves — Have left for aye the fickle breeze This message in my heart to burn, As from my printed page I turn. BITS OF THINGS 99 O sun-kissed leaves And dew-blessed leaves ! Your fall my fond heart undeceives ; It seemed that spring was scarcely done, That summer's promise scarcely rung Among the leaves — The green June leaves — Whose whisperings every heart believes : Each promise is but half fulfilled, The promised nectar half distilled. O quiet leaves ! Tired, wind-tossed leaves ! Your rest a solemn lesson breathes : Although unfilled life's promise fleet, May I at last rest at His feet ! STANZA OF HYMN. Mrs. Ranyard. Y mistakes His free grace will cover. My sins He will wash away, And the feet that shrink and falter Shall walk through the gates of day. lOO THREADS OF GOLD A SONG OF EXPECTATION. E. T. R. (1861). ^^HE kingdom of Christ, — Is it near? Is it near? 1® Are His chariot wheels the sounds that we hear? Are His angel couriers nigh? While nations are shaking, and storms, stooping low, Seem winged with disaster and freighted with woe, Are the angels halfway down the sky? O eyes dim with weeping, and hearts faint with fear, The millennial morning, serenely and clear, Shall dawn on humanity yet. These terrible sounds will die out from the air, And Peace, walking slowly, gather flowers for her hair From fields where the fierce armies met. The name of Christ Jesus, like music, shall sound, Eternal, immortal, invisible, crowned King over a kingdom sublime ! Great Leader, and Ruler, and Lord over all ; The empire of Satan before Him shall fall — Dark dust in the rubbish of time. BITS OF THINGS lOI Great King, we await thee ! From watch-towers of prayer, Expectant, we gaze through the sin-troubled air, And, with far reaching vision, we see That Thy throne standeth firmly, eternal, sublime. While still, through the mists and confusion of time, The earth climbeth upward to Thee ! UNDER ORDERS. L. A. T. E know not what is expedient. But we may know what is right ; And we never need grope in darkness If we look to heaven for light. Deep down in the hold of the vessel The ponderous engine lies, And faithfully there the engineer His labor steadily plies. He knows not the course of the vessel. He knows not the way he should go ; He minds his simple duty, And keeps the fires aglow. I02 THREADS OF GOLD He knows not whether the billows The bark may overwhelm ; He knows and obeys the orders Of the pilot at the helm. And so, in the wearisome journey Over life's troubled sea, I know not the v^ay I am going, But Jesus shall pilot me. I see not the rocks and the quick-sands. For my sight is dull and dim ; But I know that Christ is my Captain, And I take my orders from Him. Speak, Lord, for Thy servant heareth ! Speak peace to my anxious soul ; And help me to feel that all my ways Are under Thy wise control ; That He who cares for the lily, And heeds the sparrow's fall. Shall tenderly lead His loving child ; For He made and loveth all. And so, when wearied and baffled. And I know not which way to go, I will simply do my duty. And keep the fires aglow ! BITS OF THINGS IO3 "NOT A SPECK ON MY BROW." DYING WORDS OF E. L. H. Mary Rhoads. ^FOT a speck on her brow — not a speck on her J^ brow ! It is beaming with beauty and holiness now. No shadow of sorrow, no traces of care, No chilHng impressions of earth are now there. The form that we loved so well sleeps 'neath the sod. And the spirit, in glory, rejoices in God. The summer had passed, with its warm, pleasant hours. But autmnn's light step had not withered the flowers, When a reaper stole forth from the pearl gates of heaven. To gather the flowers our Father had given To gladden the earth and cast fragrance around, Till a garden more meet for these blossoms was found. That garden was ready : the gleaner, in love, Was sent on the errand of peace from above. He came to our circle, and carried away The gem that was dearest, the heart that was gay. The eye that was brightest, the step that was fleetest. The flowers we cherished, the voice that was sweetest. The one whom the Saviour had marked for His own — The Reaper had found her, and gathered her home. I04 THREADS OF GOLD At times that sweet garden is open to view, And I see its blest garlands of many a hue — All pure and all spotless, all dazzlingly bright, And amid that perfection, one bud of pure white ; And I know 't is our loved one, so radiantly fair — 'T is the lily hue she in her new home would wear ; And may all who have loved her, so think of her now- No shadow is on her, no speck on her brow. (( FAULTLESS. Friends' Review, IMAULTLESS in His glory's presence ! " |[® All the soul within me stirred. All my heart reached up to heaven, At the wonder of that word. ''Able to present me faultless ! " Lord, forgive the doubt, I cried ; Thou didst once to loving doubt show Hands and feet and riven side. Oh ! for me build up some ladder, Bright, with golden round on round. That my hope this word may compass. Reaching faith's high vantage-ground. BITS OF THINGS IO5 Praying thus, behold my ladder, — Reaching unto perfect day, — Grew from out a simple story Dropped by some one on the way. Once a queen — so runs the story — Seeking far for something new, Found it in a mill, where, strangely. Naught but rags repaid her view. Rags, from out the very gutters ; Rags, of every shape and hue ; While the squalid children, picking. Seemed but rags from hair to shoe. • What, then," ran the eager question, "Can you do with things so vile?" ' Mould them into perfect whiteness," Said the master, with a smile. " Whiteness ! " quoth the queen, half doubtin " But these reddest; crimson dyes, — Surely naught can ever whiten These to fitness, in your eyes ? " ^g; [o6 THREADS OF GOLD "Yes," he said, " though these are colors Hardest to remove of all ; Still I have the power to make them Like the snow-flake in its fall." Through my heart the words so simple Throbbed with echo in and out : "Crimson" — "scarlet" — "white as snow-flake ! " Can this man — and can God not? '' Now, upon a day thereafter (Thus the tale went on at will) To the queen there came a present From the master at the mill. Fold on fold of fairest texture Lay the paper, purest white ; On each sheet there gleamed the letters Of her name in golden light. " Precious lesson," wrote the master, " Hath my mill thus given me, — Showing how our Christ can gather Vilest hearts from land and sea ! " In some heavenly alembic Snowy white from crimson bring ! Stamp His name on each, and bear them To the palace of the King ! " BITS OF THINGS 107 Oh, what wondrous vision wrapped me ! Heaven's gate seemed open wide ; Even I stood, clean and faultless, Close beneath the pierced side. Faultless in His glory's presence ! Faultless in that dazzling light ! Christ's own love, — majestic, tender, — Makes my crimson snowy white ! NONQUIT. §UMMER has flashed her golden shuttle by My dreaming eye ; Its shining web of days, so soft and fair, Without a care. Is folding down into the silent past — Too bright to last ! "Night unto night" has told its peace serene, While Luna, queen. Paved her white, shimmering path above the deep, That stirred in sleep To lisp its dreaming bliss around the shore Forever more. Io8 THREADS OF GOLD "Day unto day " ushered its beauty in With happy din, Thrush and song sparrow twittering through the hours, While myriad flowers Bespangled dewy grass and fragrant wood, — And all was good. The odorous breeze wafted its music round — A varied sound. Called from the wild campaign ; the whistling quail The tern's shrill wail Answered afar ; and boomed from rock to rock The billows' shock. Here have I sat, without my cottage door. And watched the shore, Followed its curving line to where the town Lies, sloping down, Its clustering gems in simple beauty set — Fair Coronet ! And still along its amber thread of strand Stretches the land. Till the grim fortress at the harbor's mouth Looks threatening south. Yet hears no sound but dash of waves, that wet Its parapet ! BITS OF THINGS I09 Then on and on the rippling waters spread, By cHfF and head ; By long, low neck and sunny-sanded isles The blue bay smiles, — Till, like a soul within the conscious seas, Sits Penekese. And to and fro the opal sails have sped, Or glimmered red The seven coast lights about the land-locked bay ; While night and day A broad, blue sky, with sun or star, has lit Light-bathed Nonquit. But now the slopes are shadowing with wings, — And southward swings The clamoring host of swallows o'er the sea. 'Tis time for me To seek my closer eaves, and, sighing, fold This cloth of gold ! All are hot taken ! there are left behind Living beloveds, tender looks to bring And make the daylight still a happy thing. And tender voices to make soft the wind. E. B. Browning. no THREADS OF GOLD MY SCHOOL. American Tract Society. SAT in the school of Sorrow : The Master was teaching there, But my eyes were dim with weeping, And my heart oppressed with care. Instead of looking upward And seeing His face divine, So full of tender compassion For weary, sad hearts like mine, I only thought of the burden Of the cross that before me lay, Of the clouds that hung thick above me. Darkening the light of day. So I could not learn my lesson. And say " Thy will be done ; " And the Master came not near me As the leaden hours went on. At last, in despair, I lifted My streaming eyes above. And I saw the Master was watching With a look of pitying love. BITS OF THINGS III To the cross before me He pointed, And I thought I he'ard Him say, — " My child, thou must take thy burden, And learn thy task to-day. " Not now may I tell the reason : 'Tis enough for thee to know That I, the Master, am teaching, And appoint thee all thy woe." Then, kneeling, the cross I lifted, For one glimpse of that face divine Had given me strength to bear it, And say, — " Thy will, not mine." And so I learned my lesson : And through the weary years His helping hand sustained me, And wiped away my tears. And ever the glorious sunlight From the heavenly home streams down, Till the school tasks all are ended. And the cross exchanged for the crown. 112 THREADS OF GOLD A GLOVE. U H, yesterday I found a glove, — ^i Grown shabby — full of tiny rips — But dear to me, because my love Once through it thrust her finger tips. A glove one would not care to see Upon his arm, in public street ; Yet here, I own, there is for me No relic in the world so sweet. A faint, far scent of lavender Steals from it — as the clover smelt When through the fields I walked with her, And plucked the blossoms for her belt. Faith ! but I loved the little hand That used to wear this time-stained thing: ! Its slightest gesture of command Would set my glad heart fluttering. Or if it touched my finger, so — Or smoothed my hair Why should I speak Of those old days ? It makes — d' you know ? — The tears brim over on mv cheek. BITS OF THINGS I13 Poor, stained, worn-out, long-wristed glove ! I think it almost understands That reverently, and with love, I hold it in my trembling hands,— And that it is so dear to me, With its old fragrance, far and faint, Because my mothe7' wore it, — she, On earth my love, in heaven my saint. THE SECRET. H. B. Stowe. HEN winds are raging o'er the upper ocean. And billows wild contend with angry roar, 'T is said, far down, beneath the wild commotion, That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore. Far, far beneath, the noise of tempest dieth, And silver waves chime ever peacefully ; And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it flieth, Disturbs the Sabbath of that deeper sea. So to the soul that knows Thy love, O Purest ! There is a temple peaceful evermore ; And all the bubble of life's angry voices Dies in hushed stillness at its sacred door. 114 THREADS OF GOLD Far, far away the noise of passion dieth, And loving thoughts rise ever peacefully ; And no rude storm, how^ fierce soe'er it flieth. Disturbs that deeper rest, O Lord, in Thee. O Rest of rests ! O Peace, serene, eternal ! Thou ever livest, and thou changest never ; And in the secret of Thy presence dwelleth Fulness of joy forever and forever. THE INTERCESSOR. pATHER, I bring this worthless child to Thee, ® To claim Thy pardon once — yet once again : Receive him at my hands, for he is mine : He is a worthless child ; he owns his guilt. Look but on me ; I hide his filthy garments. He pleads not for himself — he dare not plead. His cause is mine ; I am his Intercessor. By that unchanged, unchanging oath of mine — By each pure drop of blood I shed for him — By all the sorrow graven on my soul — By every wound I bear — I claim it. Father Divine ! I would not have him lost. He is a worthless child, but he is mine. BITS OF THINGS II5 Sin has destroyed him — I have borne his sins : Death has affrighted him, but I have conquered death. My Father, hear him now — not him, but me. I would not have him lost for all the worlds Thou hast long since created for my glory, Because he is a poor and worthless child, And all — his every hope — on me relies. I know my children, and I know him mine By all the tears he wept upon my bosom. By that full heart that beats against my own, That contrite anguish that my children know, By all the rights for outcast Israel, By all the prayers he breathes for Judah's sons. I know him by the signs my children bear, — That bursting love with which he clings to me. I could not bear to see him cast away, Vile as he is — the vilest of my flock — The one that grieves me most, that loves me least — Yea, though his sins should dim each speck of love. I measure not my love by his returns. And though the stripes I send to bring him home Should serve to drive him farther from my breast. Still he is mine ; — I loved him from the first. He has no right, no home, but in my love. Though earth and hell combined against him rise, I'm bound to rescue him, for he is mine ! Il6 THREADS OF GOLD O sinner ! what an Advocate hast thou ! Methinks I see Him lead the culprit in, — Poor, sorrowful, ashamed, trembling with fear, Shrinking behind his Lord, accused, condemned, Well pleased to hide the form himself abhors With that all-spotless garment of his Friend. And hear the Father's words : " For him, for Thee, My Son : his cause is Thine, and Thine is Mine. Take Thy poor, worthless child. He is forgiven ! '' "THEO." H. Lloyd Neale. ^HE while I listened to the sounding glory I® Of the far-reaching sea, A mother's voice was telling the sweet story Of "Theo" unto me,— The tender, solemn story of sweet "Theo" unto me. How all her life was rounded into beauty ; And passing days But saw her treading higher slopes of duty And gladder ways, And how the springtime blossomed 'neath the ray Of love, which made an azure of her heaven. And round her threw BITS OF THINGS II7 Soft shadows, such as glorify at even The drifting blue When dying sunlight sends spent arrows through ; And all the while the day was slowly paling Away from sight, — Yet on the sky a gold and sapphire railing Barred out the light. ■fc>" A sweet, sad story — sweet in that recalling Beside the sea ; It seemed as though a lovely star were falling Away from me, A star whose unseen, trackless path was all eternity. For " Theo " died. Alas! the mournful meaning Athwart my soul Fell, like a shadow over all things leaning. And dirge and dole Thenceforth were surging in the wild waves' roll. Alas ! methought, life is a flickering taper, — And death may come To quench its flame as a mephitic vapor ; Then, cold and numb. In the drear darkness, Hope itself sits dumb : Nay, some sweet spirit whispered, as the glory Of the far-reaching sea Became a requiem and nienietito mori Of " Theo " unto me. Il8 THREADS OF GOLD God early sets His chosen angels free, And she was gathered, a sweet-odored blossom. While yet the dew Was lying, like a pearl, upon her bosom, And all the blue. Perpetual sunlight round about her threw ! Would ye have kept her till the winds had rifted The bud apart? And one by one the tender leaves had drifted, Leaving her heart Bare and unsheltered for the Archer's dart? Ye know not now ; ye may not hear the singing Of glad release ; How Death, the white-winged, unto her was bringing The boon of peace : Your lamb was folded with unspotted fleece. O father — mother — well I know the weeping Beneath the smile : Ye whisper, each to each, " So pure, so free from guile,— Why could it be?" Oh, God's mysterious dealing We may not scan. And Life and Death are wheels to carry out His plan. Then rest in this, the silent, inward teaching. E'en while ye weep ; BITS OF THINGS II9 And ever, as your thoughts are upward reaching, The memory keep Of that sweet psalm, "God giveth His beloved sleep ! " TO THE MEMORY OF GRACE C. MELLEN. Lizzie N. Florer. T^ AST year, when blue violets bloomed, iS. You sent some blossoms to me ; — To-day you gather the lilies That bloom in eternity. Just one year since you, worn out with suffering. Most unselfishly thoughtful and sweet, Sent me the fond remembrance. Knowing how gladly I 'd greet The gift from the dear one, with whom I 'd passed many a happy hour Ere sickness had shadowed the household, Or blighted the fragile flower. So, oft when the twilight falleth. My thoughts will wander to thee, And I long for a glimpse, little friend. Of the face I used often to see. I20 THREADS OF GOLD No longer tortured by suffering That racked thee for so many years, But, beaming with heaven's splendor. Having smiles for the " droppings of tears,' Aye ! radiant as roseate morning, With never one throb of pain To suffer : but the happy heart beats To recall the olden strain. Clasping the hands of angels, Thou art soothed into perfect rest. While those in thy desolate household Are bereaved and sadly oppressed By the heavy load they must carry Till called to Paradise fair ; For night must blend with life's morning. And garland each heart with care. TO A LITTLE CHILD. Marian A. Murphy. |N LITTLE feet, before whose steps U The rugged path of life is laid, — Wilt stumble on the rough-hewn way? Wilt walk in sunshine, or in shade? BITS OF THINGS 121 O little hands, so dimpled, white, Nestling in mother's loving clasp, Wilt stronger grow, to daily sow The kindly seed of thoughtful deed, Or drop in sin's relentless grasp? O little eyes, so w^onder-wise. So bright and clear, so full of cheer ; Wilt ever shine with light divine. Or tear-dimmed grow, and full of woe? O little lips, where love oft dips For honey-sips, so soft and sweet ; Wilt always be from guile as free? Wilt moan and sigh as days go by ? Or pass along, with happy song, Till all the world thy music greet? O little heart, shalt bear a part In toil and strife, and through this life Shalt weary go? Shalt sorrow know? Or stout and brave, shalt reach the grave, Thy work well done and victory won? O precious child, now undefiled ! God grant thee grace to run life's race. With feet and hands, eyes, lips, and heart For His own service set apart ! 122 THREADS OF GOLD TO MARY ON HER TWELFTH BIRTHDAY. Edward A. Jenks. {N that far land where Jordan's silver stream Rolls onward, pensive, to the silent sea, Dwelt Mary, lovely as an angel's dream. The sweetest flower that bloomed in Galilee. So beautiful was she, so queenly fair. So full of purity and heavenly worth, The Father chose her from the maidens there To be the one beloved of all the earth. So, in the vale where Sugar River sings Its love-songs to the music of the bells. And all the throbbing air is full of wings Of bees and birds, another Mary dwells — My Alary, darling of her father's heart. The centre of a thousand hopes and fears ; — Through all her future life mav Heaven impart Love, joy, and peace, leaving no room for tears ! BITS OF THINGS 1 23 SISTER. |[ISTER ! Oh, I love that name ! W Sweet as breath of morn to me, Sweeter far than voice of fame, Sweet as hite-Hke sound can be ! Sister ! Never lute has known From its silvery strings to part Softer, dearer, gentler tone, Than this music from the heart. Sister ! Let that name be heard In some dark and clouded hour ; Breathe it then — the soothing word : In it dwells a magic power. Sister ! Though it be in sadness. That fond name is doubly dear ; Yet it hath a sound of gladness — Fitting song, and not the tear. Sister ! Oh, 'tis sweet to link Holy thoughts with that dear name. Sister ! Yes, 'tis sweet to think Our bright heaven shall be the same. R. A. U. 124 THREADS OF GOLD MY BIRD. ADDRESSED TO HER INFANT DAUGHTER. Emily C. Jiidson. W RE last year's moon had left the sky, iM A birdling sought my India nest, And folded, oh, so lovingly, Her tiny wings above my breast. From morn to evening's purple tinge, In winsome helplessness she lies ; Two rose leaves, with a silken fringe, Shut gently o'er her starry eyes. There 's not in Ind a lovelier bird ; Broad earth owns not a happier nest ! O God ! Thou hast a fountain stirred. Whose waters nevermore shall rest ! The pulse first caught its tiny stroke. The blood its crimson hue, from mine ; This life, which I have dared invoke, Henceforth is parallel with Thine. BITS OF THINGS 1 25 A silent awe is in my room ; I tremble with delicious fear ; The future with its light and gloom, Time and eternity, are here ! I lift toward heaven my faith-lit eyes, — Hear, O my God, one earnest prayer : " Room for my bird in Paradise, And give her angel-plumage there ! " HEAVEN. |\H, heaven is nearer than mortals think, U When they look with a trembling dread At the misty future that stretches on From the silent home of the dead. 'T is no lone isle on a boundless main, No brilliant but distant shore, Where the lovely ones who are called away Must go, to return no more. No, heaven is near us ; — the mighty veil Of mortality blinds our e3^e ; And we cannot see the angel bands On the shores of eternity. 126 THREADS OF GOLD The eye that shuts in the dying hour Will open the next in bliss ; The welcome will sound in the heavenly world Ere the farewell is hushed in this. We pass from the clasp of mourning friends To the arms of the loved and lost ; And those smiling faces will greet us there, Which on earth we have valued most. Yet oft in the hours of holy thought, To the thirsting soul is given That power to pierce through the mist of sense To the beauteous scenes of heaven. Then very near seem its pearly gates. And sweetly its harpings fall, Till the soul is restless to soar away, And longs for the angels' call. I know when the silver cord is loosed. When the veil is rent away, Not long and dark shall the passage be, To the realm of endless day. BITS OF THINGS 1 27 SONG OF THE SPARROW. Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgot- ten before. God ? . . . Fear not, therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows. LuKExii:6, 7. 'M only a little sparrow, A bird of low degree ; My life is of little value, But the dear Lord cares for me. He gives me a coat of feathers — It is very plain, I know, Without a speck of crimson : For 't was not made for show. But it keeps me warm in winter. And it shields me from the rain : Were it bordered with gold and purple, Perhaps it would make me vain. And now that the spring-time cometh, I will build me a little nest, With many a chirp of pleasure. In the spot I like the best. 128 THREADS OF GOLD I have no barn nor storehouse ; I neither sow, nor reap ; God gives me a sparrow's portion, And never a seed to keep. If my meat is sometimes scanty. Close picking makes it sweet ; I have always enough to feed me, And life is more than meat. I know there are many sparrows — - All over the world they are found ; But our Heavenly Father knoweth When one of us falls to the ground. Though small, we are never forgotten ; Though weak, we are never afraid : For we know that the dear Lord keepeth The life of the creatures He made. I fly through the thickest forest ; I alight on many a spray ; I have no chart nor compass. But I never lose my way. I just fold my wings at nightfall Wherever I happen to be ; For the Father is always watching, And no harm can happen to me. BITS OF THINGS I2( I am only a little sparrow, A bird of low degree ; But I know that the Father loves me — Dost thou know His love for thee? THE PITMAN TO HIS WIFE. Dora Greenwell. vIT ye down on the settle here by me, I've got P something to say to thee, wife ; I want to be a new sort of a man, and to lead a new sort of a life. There 's but little pleasure and little gain in spend- ing the days I spend. Just to work like a horse all the days of my life, and to die like a dog at the end. For where 's the profit, and where 's the good, if one once begins to think, In making away with what little sense one had at the first, through drink .-^ Or in spending one's time, and one's money too with a lot of chaps that would go To see you hanged, and like it, too, as well as any other kind of show ? 130 THREADS OF GOLD And as for the pleasure that some folks find in cards, or in pitch and toss, It's little they've ever brought to me but only a vast of loss. We 'd be sure to light on some great dispute, and then, to set all right. The shortest way was to argue it out in a regular stand-up fight. I 've got a will, dear wife, I say I 've got a will to be A kinder father to my poor bairns, and a better man to thee ; And to leave off' drinking and swearing and all, no matter what folks may say ; For I see what's the end of such things as these, and I know this is not the way. You '11 wonder to hear me talk like this, as I 've never talked before. But I've got a word in my heart that has made it glad, and yet has made it sore ; I 've got a word, like a fire in my heart, that will not let me be, — "Jesus, the Son of God, who loved, and who gave Himself for me." I Ve got a word, like a sword in my heart, that has pierced me through and through. BITS OF THINGS 131 When a message comes to a man from heaven, he need n't to ask if its true. There 's none on earth could frame such a tale, for as strange as the tale may be, — Jesus, my Saviour, that Thou should'st die for love of a man like me ! Why, only think now^, if it had been Peter, or blessed Paul, Or John, who used to lean on His breast, one could n't have v^^ondered at all If He 'd loved and He 'd died for men like these, who loved Him so well, — but you see It was me that Jesus loved, wife ! He gave Him- self for me ! It was for me that Jesus died, — for me, and a world of men Just as sinful and just as slow to give back His love again. He didn't wait till I came to Him, but He loved me at my worst ; He needn't ever have died for me if I could have loved Him first. Oh, couldst Thou love such a man as me, my Sav- iour.? Then I '11 take 132 THREADS OF GOLD More heed to this perishing soul of mine, if its only for Thy sake ; For it wasn't that I might spend my days just in work, and in drink, and in strife, That Jesus, the Son of God, has given His love, and has given His life ! It wasn't that I might spend my life just as my life 's been spent That He 's brought me so near to His mighty cross, and has told me what it meant. He does n't need me to die for Him : He only asks me to live ! There's nothing of mine that He wants but my heart, and that's all that I've got to give. I 've got a Friend, dear wife, I say I 've got a heaven- ly Friend, That will show me when I go astray, and will help me how to mend ; That will make me better to my poor bairns, that'll make me better to thee : Jesus, the Son of God, who loved and who gave Himself for me. BITS OF THINGS 1 33 A FAREWELL. By S. S., 1829. fAREWELL to the land where so long I have cherished The hope that my days might be peacefully num- bered : Now, alas ! the bright vision has fled and has per- ished Ere my summer has sped, or my autumn has slum- bered. Perhaps in a far distant land I may languish. Vainly look with regret to my friends in the West, Whose hearts would in sympathy share all my an- guish, And waft the tired soul to its haven of rest. The hand of a stranger has offered a dwelling ; His countenance, beaming with candor and love, Invites us to come, while our bosoms are swelling With gratitude, raised to the Father above. 134 THREADS OF GOLD MOTTO IN A WEDDING RING. ■ra" LOVER gave the wedding ring v^[ Into the goldsmith's hand. " Grave me," he said, '* a tender thought Within this golden band." The goldsmith graved. With careful art, "Till death us part." So up the hill and down the hill, Through fifty changing years, They shared each other's happiness. They dried each other's tears. Alas ! alas ! That death's cold dart Such love can part ! But one sad day she stood alone Beside his narrow bed : She drew the ring from off her hand, And to the goldsmith said, — " O man, who graved, With careful art, * Till death us part,' BITS OF THINGS 1 35 " Now grave four other words for me, — ' Till death us join.' " He took The precious golden band once more, With solemn, wistful look, And wrought with care, For love, not coin, "Till death us join." 'Twas she that lifted now his hand, (O love, that this should be !) Then on it placed the golden band. And whispered tenderly, — " Till death us join, Lo, thou art mine And I am thine ! "And when death joins, we nevermore Shall know an aching heart ; The bridal of that better love Death has no power to part. That troth will be, For thee and me, Eternity." 136 THREADS OF GOLD WALKING IN WHITE. §LORD, my God ! 't is early dawn, And I would walk with Thee to-day ; Clothe me in garments white and clean, All bright and beautiful, I pray. Grant I may walk with greatest care, So I may keep their lustre bright : To-day, my Father, hear my prayer. And let me walk with Thee in white. The road was thorny yesterday. Because I walked so far from Thee, Yet oft I heard Thee kindly say. Come nearer, child, come near to Me. With garments soiled on yester eve, I grieved to view the painful sight : To-day, my Father, oh, reprieve. And let me walk with Thee in white. Now may I plunge within the tide — That fount for all our guilt and woe, Once opened in my Saviour's side ; 'T will make my garments white as snow. With hands and feet, with head and heart, All clean and pure before Thy sight, Not for one moment. Lord, depart, But let me walk with Thee in white. BITS OF THINGS 137 No thought, no word, no deed to-day, Which may displease my blessed Lord ; No idle loitering by the way, But simply trusting in Thy word. Whate'er my hands may find to do, That may I do with all my might ; To-day, my Father, pure and true, Grant T may walk with Thee in white. The failures of the yesterday, The cares which may to-morrow come. Each tear, each fear now chase away. And guide me on my journey home. And when the evening shadows fall, And I come bending in Thy sight. Then may I feel,— my God, my all, — That I have walked with Thee in white. And can I walk each day with Thee, With robes all white, and pure, and clean? Oh tell me. Saviour, can I flee. Forever from that monster. Sin ? I know that in our home above. Thy saints, in all their full delight. Shall bask within redeeming love. And always walk with Thee in white ! 138 THREADS OF GOLD GLORIFIED. ^^'^TOT changed, but glorified!" O beauteous Ian- J^ guage For those who weep, Mourning the loss of some dear face departed, — Fallen asleep : Hushed into silence — nevermore to comfort The hearts of men ; Gone, like the sunshine of another country, Beyond our ken. O dearest dead ! we saw thy white soul shining Behind the face Bright with the beauty and celestial glory Of an immortal grace. What wonder that we stumble, faint and weeping, And sick with fears, Since Thou hast left us all alone with sorrow And blind with tears ! Can it be possible no words shall welcome Our coming feet? How will it took, that face that we have cherished, When next we meet? BITS OF THINGS 1 39 Will it be changed, so glorified and saintly, That we shall know it not? Will there be nothing that shall say, " I love thee," And " I have not forgot " ? O faithless heart ! the same loved face, transfigured Shall meet thee there, Less sad, less wistful, in immortal beauty Divinely fair. The mortal veil, washed pure with many weepings. Is rent away ; And the great soul that sat within its prison Hath found the day. In the clear morning of that other country — In Paradise — With the same face that we have loved and cherished. She shall arise ! Let us be patient, we who mourn, with weeping, Some vanished face : The Lord has taken, but to add more beauty And a diviner grace. And WG shall find once more beyond earth's sorrows, Beyond these skies, In the faircity of the " sure foundations " Those heavenly eyes, 140 THREADS OF GOLD With the same welcome shining through their sweet- ness That met us here, — Eyes from whose beauty God has banished weeping, And wiped away the tear. Think of us, dearest one, while o'er life's waters We seek the land. Missing thy voice, thy touch, and the true helping Of thy pure hand, Till, through the storm and tempest safely anchored, Just on the other side, We find thy dear face, looking through death's shad- ows, " Not changed — but glorified." LINES WRITTEN IN GRIEF. " Oh, leave us in a world of sin, unrest, and trouble — to be sad! " SPAKE, and thought to weep, — A settled grief to keep : When, lo ! as day from night — As day from out the breast of night forlorn — So was that gladness from that sorrow born, E'en in mine own despite. BITS OF THINGS I41 Yet was not that by this Excluded ; at the coming of that joy Fled not that grief, nor did that grief destroy The newly risen bliss. But side by side they flow. Two fountains flowing from one smitten heart, And ofttimes scarcely to be known apart, — That gladness and that woe. And both are sweet and calm, And flowers upon the banks of either blow ; Both fertilize the soul, and where they flow, Shed round them holy balm ! SCRAP. Dr. Clark. %JlS blessed angel. Sorrow — she hath walked .'^[ For years beside, and we two have talked As chosen friends together ; — thus I know Trouble and Sorrow are not near of kin. Trouble distrusteth God, and ever wears Upon her brow the seal of anxious cares, — - But Sorrow oft hath deepest peace within : She sits with patience in perpetual calm, Waiting for Heaven to send the healing balm. 142 THREADS OF GOLD REGRET. Jean Ingelow. §THAT word Regret ! There have been nights and morns when we have sighed, " Let us alone, Regret ! we are content To throw thee all our past, so thou wilt sleep For aye." But it is patient, and it wakes ; It hath not learned to cry itself to sleep, But plaineth on the bed that it is hard. We did amiss when we did wish it gone And over : sorrows humanize our race ; Tears are the showers that fertilize this world, And memory of things precious keepeth warm The heart that once did hold them. They are poor That have lost nothing ! they are poorer far Who, losing, have forgotten ; they most poor Of all, who lose and wish they might forget. For life is one, and in its warp and woof There runs a thread of gold that glitters fair, And sometimes in the pattern shows most sweet Where there are sombre colors. It is true That we have wept. But oh, this thread of gold — BITS OF THINGS 1 43 We would not have it tarnish ! Let us turn Oft and look back upon the wondrous web, And when it shineth, sometimes we shall know That memory is possession ! When I remember something which I had, But which is gone, and I must do without, I sometimes wonder how I can be glad. Even in cowslip time when hedges sprout ; It makes me sigh to think on it, — but yet My days will not be happy days, should I forget ! II. When I remember something promised me. But which I never had, nor can have now, Because the promiser we no more see In countries that accord with mortal vow, — When I remember this, I mourn, — but yet My happier days are not the days when I forget. T iTiatters little at what hour of day The righteous fall asleep ; — death cannot come To him untimely who is fit to die. ■Milnii 144 THREADS OF GOLD THE CHRISTIAN MARINER. 'Yp AUNCH thy bark, mariner ! l/l'f Christian, God speed thee ! Let loose the rudder bands, — Good angels lead thee ! Set thy sails warily, Tempests may come ; Steer thy course steadily. Christian, steer home ! Look to the weather bow ! Breakers are round thee ; Let fall the plummet now ! Shallows may ground thee. Reef in the foresail there ! Hold the helm fast ! So — let the vessel wear ; There swept the blast ! What of the night, watchman? What of the night? Cloudy, — all's quiet, — No land yet — all's right. Be watchful ! be vigilant ! Dangers may be At an hour when all seemeth Securest to thee. BITS OF THINGS 145 How gains the leak so fast? Clear out the hold ! Hoist up the merchandise, — Heave out the gold ! There ! let the ingots go ! Now the ship rights. Courage ! the harbor 's near ; Lo ! the red lights ! Slacken not sail yet At inlet or island ; Straight for the beacon steer, — Straight for the highland ! Crowd all thy canvas on ! Cut through the foam ! Christian, cast anchor now ! Heaven is thy home I THE STORY OF SIR ARNULPH. Selected by M. H. G. 'D' N earnest man, in long forgotten years, ^M\ Relieved the maladies and staunched the tears Of pining multitudes who sought his aid When death their homesteads threatened to invade. 10 146 THREADS OF GOLD Blest with one only son (a gentle youth, Trained in the fear of God and love of truth), He fondly hoped that Arnulph might aspire Disease and death to baffle, like his sire. But the boy, musing gloomily apart. Avowed at length the impulse of his heart : " To some calm cloister, father, I would go. And there serve God." His father answered, " No. " Thou doest well to wish to serve the Lord, By thy whole life imperfectly adored ; But choose thy work amid the world, and then Thou canst serve God and bless thy fellow-men." The boy, still yearning to achieve his plan. Spake, — " It were better to serve God than man." " Pray God for help," the father said, " and He Will solve the riddle of thy doubt to thee." So Arnulph to his chamber went, and prayed That in his doubts the Lord would give him aid ; And in a vision of the silent night A phantom stood before him clothed in white — A form for earth too beautiful and grand, With crimson roses blooming in each hand. BITS OF THINGS 1 47 And Arnulph asked the angel, "Are these flowers Fresh culled from Eden's amaranthine bowers?" He answered, " Nay, — these offerings are from all Whom God the doers of His will doth call." "And can I offer nothing? " sighed the boy. " May I not also serve the Lord with joy ? " '' Surely thou may'st," replied tlifc seraph fair ; "In my left hand behold thy gift I bear." Then Arnulph " I pray thee tell me why ; In thy left hand the flowers all scentless lie, But in thy right they yield a gracious smell. Which long within the conscious sense may dwell ! " The angel answered, with pathetic tone, " In my left hand I bear the gifts alone Of those who worship God, the sire above, But for His children testify no love ; While these sweet roses, which shall ne'er grow wan, Come from the lovers of both God and man." The vision faded. Arnulph cried, — "Alas ! My soul was blinded ! " And so it came to pass That the changed boy a cloister entered not. But with God's working men took part and lot. 148 THREADS OF GOLD LEGEND OF THE BEAUTIFUL HAND. 7^ HERE was a dispute among three ladies as to (p which had the most beautiful hand. One sat by a stream and dipped her hand into the water and held it up ; another plucked strawberries until the ends of her fingers were pink ; and another gathered violets until her hands were fragrant. An old and haggard woman passing by, asked, — "Who will give me a gift, for I am poor?" All three denied her ; but another, who sat near, unwashed in the stream, unstained with fruit, un- adorned with flowers, gave her a little gift, and satis- fied the poor woman. And then she asked them what was the dispute. They told her, and lifted up before her their beautiful hands. "Beautiful indeed," said she, when she saw them. But when they asked her which was the most beauti- ful, she said, — "It is not the hand that is washed in the brook ; it is not the hand that is tipped with red ; it. is not the hand that is garlanded with fragrant flowers, — but the hand that gives to the poor is the most beautiful." As she said these words her wrinkles fled, her staff' was thrown away, and she stood before them an angel from heaven, with authority to decide the question in dispute. And that decision has stood the test of all time. BITS OF THINGS 1 49 FRAGMENT. George Macdonald. ND should the. twilight darken into night, And sorrow grow to anguish, be thou strong ; Thou art in God, and nothing can go wrong Which a fresh life-pulse cannot set aright : That thou dost know the darkness, proves the light. Weep if thou wilt, but weep not all too long ; Or weep and work, for work will lead to song. And do not fear to hope. Each time we smell the autumn's dying scent. We know the primrose time will come again : Not more we hope, nor less would soothe our pain. Be bounteous in thy faith, for not misspent Is confidence unto the Father lent : Thy need is sown and rooted for His rain. Work on. One day, beyond all thoughts of praise, A sunny joy will crown thee with its rays, — No other than thy need, thy recompense. 150 THREADS OF GOLD THY LOVING-KINDNESS. Margaret E. Sangster. §ITTING alone in the shadow Of a grief that was all my own, — Silently thinking it over, Silently making a moan, — Sudden there swept the music Of a gladness great and deep Over the chords of feeling, Till my heart forgot to weep. " Because of Thy loving-kindness : " The words stole into my brain. Like a cool hand soothing its fever, And charming away the pain. Because of Thy loving-kindness. Better than life to me. My life shall be keyed to the measure Of praise unchecked and free. Not always the path is easy : There are thickets hung with gloom ; There are rough and stony places, Where never the roses bloom ; BITS OF THINGS 151 But oft when the way is hardest, I am conscious of One at my side Whose hands and whose feet are wounded, And I 'm happy and safe with my Guide. Better than friends and kindred, Better than love and rest, Dearer than hope and triumph, Is the name I wear on my breast. I feel my way through the shadows With a confident heart and brave ; I shall live in the light beyond them, I shall conquer death and the grave. Often when tried and tempted. Often ashamed of sin, That, strong as an armed invader, Has made wreck of the peace within, — That wonderful loving-kindness, Patient, and full, and free. Has stooped for my consolation. Has brought a blessing to me. Therefore my lips shall praise Thee ; Therefore, let come what may. To the height of a solemn gladness My song shall arise to-day. 152 THREADS OF GOLD Not on the drooping willow Shall I hang my harp in the land, When the Lord Himself has cheered me By the touch of His pierced hand. WHY? SOMETIMES how near you are, p Sometimes how dear you are ; Then, then, so far — so far — Like some far star you are. Sometimes, through you, through you, I see the gray sky blue. And feel the warmth of May In the December day. Sometimes, sometimes, I let All burdens fall — forget All cares, and every fear. In your sweet atmosphere. Then, then, alas ! alas ! Why does it come to pass? Before the hour goes by. Before my dream doth die, BITS OF THINGS 153 I drift and drift away Out of your light of day, Out of your warmth and cheer, Your blessed atmosphere. Wh}'^ does it come to pass ? Alas ! and still alas ! Why doth the world prevail, Why doth the spirit fail, And hide itself away Behind its wall of clay. Since time began — alas ! Why does it come to pass? LIFE IDEALS. WHERE the woods and meadows meet, Seeking May-time blossoms sweet, Little Effie's dainty feet Lightly stray, — Where the elm tree's shadow passes O'er the flower-scented grasses. By the brooklet's silver way. 154 THREADS OF GOLD April buds are blooming yet, And the tender violet Lifts its blue cup, dewy wet, Toward the sun ; From the nests in willows swinging Comes the prelude low of singing From the bird-life just begun. Resting by the dimpled tide, Where the tiny beck grows wide, And the pendent branches hide — Qiiiet nook — In the fringe of light and shadow, Effie sits, with dreamy look. Fairy wind-bells, two and two. On the breezes swing their blue, — Golden sun-beams streaming through, Round her shine ; And the light clouds sail above her White as angel forms that hover Twixt the human and divine. Overhead the May boughs cross, And from leafy, green homes toss To the starry depth of moss Blossoms down ; BITS OF THINGS 1 55 But to dream-life just awaking, In the silence she was making Sweetest pictures, all her own. Clear and calm, her hazel eyes Hold a look half sad, half wise ; What sweet life-veiled prophecies Do they hide? What bright boons do dream-gods render To that life so pure and tender Opening on the sunny side ? " I am happy," murmured she, " For the nestling birds are three, Swinging in the hawthorn tree. Just anear ; And I know where buds are blowing. Where the violets are growing, And where daffodils appear. "But when autumn days are nigh. When the blossoms droop and die, Birds of summer southward fly. One by one. To the far off sunny bowers. To the rice fields and the flowers, Underneath a warmer sun. 156 THREADS OF GOLD " E'en the brook, with murmured hymn, Floweth to the meadow's rim, Floweth to the blue hills dim. On and on, — Till I sometimes long to follow, Through the reedy marshy hollow. To the wide, wide world beyond. " When my years are six times three, Happier still I then shall be, In the farther earth to see More and more. I will search beyond the granges. And the misty blue hill ranges. To the sunset's golden door. "Life is strange ! I do not know Where the rippling waters flow, W^hy the sunny summers go. It may be. In the far oft' future gleaming, I shall find the great world's meaning And my unknown destiny." Robin seeks his leafy nest ; Dewy blossoms, folded, rest ; Low adown the gorgeous west Sinks the sun. BITS OF THINGS 1 57 Far above the fading splendor Shines the starlight, calm and tender, With a Father's benison. Elms, in greener beauty dressed. On the thorn a milk-white crest. From the song-birds out of nest Fuller tune, — O'er the sunny slopes and meadows Brighter gold and deeper shadows In the mellow light of June. On the reedy, mossy shore. With the lindens closing o'er, Eflie pondereth once more Life's young dream. Three times three have blossoms faded. Three times three the leaves have shaded Grassy bank and meadow stream. Life hath harder lessons taught. Sunny hair hath shadows caught, Hazel eyes show deeper thought, — Tearful now ; And that slightest shade of sadness, Which is sometimes born of gladness, Rests upon her maiden brow. 158 THREADS OF GOLD Doth a shadow, dim and brief, Of some far off hidden grief Cross the sunlight of belief, Shining clear? As she dreams of joy and splendor Which the future years will render, Doth there come a doubt or fear? Murmurs she, " Sweet fancies flown, Life hath fuller, deeper grown ; Still I see, in the Unknown, Visions high, And my heart is ever burning With a strange and restless yearning That I may not satisfy. " Angel of the starry wing. With thy promise glittering, Bid this phantom Future bring Joy or strife. Through the mysteries and changes I would rise to wider ranges, And a nobler, better life. " Though my fortune smile or frown, I would win a pure renown ; Fame with laurel wreath shall crown Deeds of earth ; BITS OF THINGS 1 59 I shall know the blessed sweetness, Unity and full completeness, Of a life of truest worth. '^ One grand purpose shall control Every power of my soul. Till it reach the shining goal, Bravel}^ won. When earth's stronger hearts are heeding Our humanity's sad pleading For a life-work nobly done. " One frail human bark is mine, And, with spirit touch divine, I would add one hallowed line To earth's song. In the life-depth of a nation. Only one self-abnegation Sometimes turns the tide of wrong. " From my fears, that earthward cling, Come the heart-hopes, all awing. As the vernal blossoms spring From the sod. Be the life-path high or lowly. Dreams and action make it holy With the blessed peace of God. l6o THREADS OF GOLD " Father, I would come to Thee, Evermore my guide to be, For the life Thou gavest me Is Thine own. Grant me strength for every hour. Will to conquer, — grace and power For the way Thy light hath shown. In the far off western skies Melt the sunset's gorgeous dyes ; On the verge of twilight lies Day's decline ; Far above the fading splendor Shines the starlight, calm and tender, With a holy strength divine. Summer's sunny days have flown. Autumn winds breathe sadder tone, From afar the partridge lone Pipes her song ; Over meads, in sunlight sleeping. Over corn-fields ripe for reaping. One stray swallow wheels along. Where the meadows meet the wood, Effie, in her womanhood, Muses in a deeper mood. Backward flow BITS OF THINGS l6l Thoughts that fuller hope have lifted, By a sweet abstraction drifted To the dreams of long ago. Fifty summers since have sped ; Golden locks with silver wed ; Where the shadows overspread Winds her way ; But life's stilly twilight hour, With its calm and holy power. Is iwx sweeter than the day. Murmurs she, — " Life dreams vs^ere bright. With no tinge of shadow-blight, Bringing, in its dreary night, Care and woe : But the happy youthful dreaming Was, alas ! too fond a seeming To be realized below. " Hope fulfilled I sought to find In my life-path, dimly lined. For I thought I saw it wind Clearly through. But the long, long years have taught me, By the sorrow they have brought me, That my w^ay and God's were two. 11 1 62 THREADS OF GOLD ^' In the mingled doubts and fears Of the swiftly vanished years, In the misty rain of tears, I have found Not the bright and sweet ideal, But the strong and bitter real, With the present compassed round ! " But from all the bitter-sweet Of a life-work incomplete, In my heart this lesson meet Is enshrined : God His finite plans doth fashion With an infinite compassion, And a purpose ever kind. " Though we may not lift the screen From the mysteries unseen, And the mystic bond between Life and Death ; Yet God willeth, and God knoweth : All His love around us floweth. And the key of life is Faith. " How the seeming good and ill Of our being shall fulfil His own tender, loving will Is not shown. BITS OF THINGS 1 63 Starry hopes are ever fleeting, Life ideals want completing, And the meaning is unknown. " When we touch the shining strand Where the waiting angels stand. In the far oft' Fatherland, We shall know, In the happiness unending Of a blissful comprehending. What our life-work meant below. " In the fulness, deep and wide, Weary souls, by sorrow tried, Knowing, shall be satisfied In His rest : Finding, in the perfect sweetness Of an infinite completeness. That God's ways are always best. " In the sunset's crimson glow Gleams the white clouds' fleecy snow ; Twilight murmurings below Softly cease ; Far above the fading splendor Shines the starlight, calm and tender. With a holy love and peace ! " 164 THREADS OF GOLD THE CHILDREN. Ed-ward A. Jenks. fHE children— O the children !— How dark the world, and gloomy, How wide, and cold, and roomy. To the mother's loving heart, Did not the breezes waft her The songs and merry laughter Of the blessed, blessed children ! The children— O the children I— How the sun would pale his glory. And the beautiful in story Die out of all the lands. Could they not hear us calling. When the twilight dews are falling. Come home — come home, O children ! The children— O the children !— Very sweet the sacred pages. Floating down through all the ages, Telling of the Christ-child born Where the mild-eyed oxen ponder. With a sort of wistful wonder. O'er the Prince of all the children ! BITS OF THINGS 1 65 The children— O the children !— See them blood-red roses strowing In the path where Christ is going To Jerusalem the doomed : See them wave their cool green banners ; Hear them shout their glad hosannas To the Saviour of the children ! SHE AND I. SAID, " She is dead." I could not brook Again on that marvellous face to look ! But they took my hand, and led me in. And left me with her of my dearest kin. And I could not speak, and I could not stir, But I stood, and with love I gazed on her : With love, and rapture, and strange surprise, I looked on the lips and the close-shut eyes, — On the perfect rest, and the calm content, And the peace that were in her features blent, 1 66 THREADS OF GOLD And the thin white hands that had wrought so much, Now nerveless to kisses or fevered touch, — My beautiful dead, who had left the strife. The pain, and the grieving that we call life, — Who had never faltered beneath her cross, Nor murmured when loss followed swift on loss ; And the smile that sweetened her face alway Lay light on her blessed mouth that day. I smoothed from her hair a silver thread. And I wept, but I could not make her — dead ! I felt, with a feeling too deep for speech. She could teach me only what angels teach, — x\nd down to her lips I leaned my ear. Lest there might be something I could not hear. Then out of the silence between us stole A message from her to my inmost soul : "Why weep you to-day, who have wept before That the road was rough I must journey o'er? "Why weep you, whose tears'have been used to fall That I could not gather earth's sweetness all ? BITS OF THINGS 1 67 "Why mourn that you come, and T greet you not? Now anguish and sorrow are both forgot. " Behold ! all my life I have longed for rest, Yea, e'en when I held you against my breast ; " And now that I lie in a breathless sleep, Instead of rejoicing, you sigh and weep. " My dearest, I know that you would not break, If you could, my slumber, and have me wake, " For, though what is past, I can love and bless : Till now I have never known happiness." So I dried my tears, and, w^ith noiseless tread, I lefC my mother — my beautiful dead ! HERE AND THERE. g/^E sit beside the lower feast to-day, ^ She at the higher ; Our voices falter, as we bend to pray ; In the great choir Of happy saints, she sings and does not tire. 1 68 THREADS OF GOLD We break the bread of patience, and the wine Of tears we share ; She tastes the vintage of the glorious Vine Whose branches fair Set for the healing of the nations are. I wonder, — Is she sorry for our pain? Or if, grown wise. She wond'ring smiles, and counts them idle, vain, These heavy sighs, These longings for her face, and happy eyes? Smile on, then, darling ! As God wills is best ; We loose our hold. Content to leave thee to the deeper rest — The safer fold — To joy's immortal youth, while we grow old. Content the cold and wintry day to bear, The icy wave, And know thee in perpetual summer there Beyond the grave : Content to give thee to the love that gave. BITS OF THINGS 1 69 LIFE IN DEATH. E. M. B. ^j^EAR, should'st thou stand beside my coffined \MJ head, Sorrowful and mute to know that I am dead, And tears fall because I look not up to thee As I have looked, thine answering face to see, — And the rush of mem'ries old On thy spirit take such hold That new pain shall enter in At the thought of what we've been, — I'd speak to thee some sweet word while I may. That shall prove helpful on that bitter day. And, dear, this first, — that it will easier be P'or thee to look on me than I on thee In cerement and shroud, for thou hast been So much to me : my heart would break within. And to save me pain, I know Thou would'st rather have it so. Then do thou look, and not refuse What we both in life did choose ; But be comforted, and glad to think that we. One in life and one in death, do still agree. lyo THREADS OF GOLD And, dear, remember that I 've gone to be With Him whose face I have so longed to see ; That though I lie so still while thou dost grieve, I am alive — have just begun to live. life ! thou art strange, thou art sweet : Thou comest forth from death more meet, More rich and full and grand and free Than when death's hand was laid on thee. From the dead wheat beneath thou yet art seen In nobler form of waving, beauteotis green. And, dear, remember, in that upper life Where I am gone, beyond the sin and strife. In blest companionship that shall be mine. In joy and work, the glad, unnoted time, 1 shall think of thee, and wait For thy coming, soon or late. This is what I now would say For thy help on that sad day : And thus in death, as in the life gone by, Reach out my hand to thee from where I lie. BITS OF THINGS 171 LAY OF A SILVER BRIDAL, JUNE, 1868, ' OR THE TWO BRIDALS. Dedicated to the Two Brides. " The Bride of 1843." "The Bride of 1868." Bridal Lay. Part I. To the Bridegroom and Bride of\%\T,. jTUNE'S bridal light is o'er the world 0/ In glancing rainbow gleams. And o'er a hundred happy hearts Hope's morning radiance streams. The silver light is on our hearts, She sings her silver lay ; And love blooms out in silver gifts On this silver wedding day. Just five and twenty years ago Two voyagers set sail : " For better or for worse " — their pledge, — For storm, or favoring gale ! 172 THREADS OF GOLD A hundred ships set sail that day On the matrimonial sea : Hope freighted all, none knowing what Their future course might be. Bright banners floating, white sails set, Songs ringing o'er the decks : Alas ! how many of them all Are now but drifting wrecks ! To some, fierce matrimonial storms In blinding wrath have come ; Gaunt ice-bergs of adversity Have wildly shattered some ; Some have gone down into the deep, To ride the seas no more ; But few of all those many ships Now sail the waters o'er. Your bark has ever prospered been, Unharmed by tempest's blast, With not a rent in sail or shroud — No broken spar or mast. It has glided on round many a cape. And island of delight. Sometimes through gleaming caves, where hung The crystal stalactite ; — • Three hundred waning moons, till now The silver mine 's in sig-ht 1 BITS OF THINGS 1 73 The years that thus have swept you on To this anniversary June, Find your ship on stormless tide, In the silver light of noon. The daughter of your tender love To-day will leave your side : Enter this day another's bark, With another pilot-guide ! So to this anniversary June Now double interests cling : The Long Ago, and By and By, Meeting, clasp hands and sing. The waves of memory gently wash The shores of the bright To-Be, And the music of young, happy hearts Floats o'er a shining sea. Part II. To the Gathered Friends. How purely radiant is the world Upon one's bridal day ! Earthy breeze, and sky, in choral song, Seem holding hilary. She's starting on an unknown sea, — She sees no tempest there ; . , 174 THREADS OF GOLD To her the sky has not a cloud, The world has not a care ; Not e'en a foe would wish her ill, No friend but bends to bless ; — Oh, life hath not a bonnier time For radiant happiness ! But brides, like albums, are o'erwhelmed With compliment display ; All gather round to kiss the bride. To wish her well, and say, — " May flowers be ever round thy path. Thy life one cloudless day ! " — And a thousand just such pretty words. And glossy, well meant speeches, Which real life soon proves but air. As all experience teaches, — While she, fond heart, who dreams of stars, And flights on angel's wing, Wakes up to find — she 's keeping house ! And life 's a prosy thing. For " roses springing in her path" She finds a room to sweep. Servants to scold, coal bills to pay, Household accounts to keep. The chimera soon floats away With all that vision pleasant ; BITS OF THINGS 1^5 Romance may have the " angel's wings," But real living has n't. We will withdraw from fancy's flights For the plain and actual present. Part III. f To the Bridegroo7n and Bride of iS6S. A kindly wish we 'd breathe to you, Who on your new life start : Your life is practical, but if There 's sunshine in the heart, To duties plain, and common tasks, A brightness you '11 impart. And so our wish is not ^' undimmed. Uninterrupted bliss " — (Which ne'er was known, and ne'er will be. In a changeful world like this) — But that your hopes be steeled with will. Your dreams be bound to truth. That when age comes, your hearts will live In an atmosphere of truth ; That you will find from sorrow's cup The wine of joy oft flows ; That you will twine in one sweet braid Life's poetry and prose ; 176 THREADS OF GOLD And the pleasant tasks of daily life, So practical and real, The heart-light shining o'er, transform To the beautiful ideal ! Part IV. Our Orison — then Our Parting. Father in heaven ! our hearts to-day O'erflow with grateful tears ; We ask Thy blessing on this band Yet five and twenty years, Till a gold and silver wedding month May happy come together ; And let Time's wing, in passing o'er. Drop many a joy-tipped feather. When age, with silver coronet, Has crowned the reverend locks. The gold-plumed birds of memory Will thither come in flocks, And, resting 'mid the ruins old, Where afl^ection's tendrils cling, Will sing a sweeter song of now Than we to-day can sing. BITS OF THINGS 177 Then when the '^ silver cord is loosed, And the golden bowl is broken," — When harps are rusted, songs are hushed, And farewell words all spoken, — Then in the golden palace, where The countless blessed throng. And the silver light is streaming clear. May you sing the endless song ! AFTER. Let it i a Katherine Vannah. ^^1 'M sorry, and I hurried back .£ To tell you so," a sweet voice said ; But I was wounded then, and pride Forbade me e'en to turn my head. To-night I grieve and pray beside Her grave, yet cannot shed a tear ; Death parted us ere I could say The words which now she cannot hear. I know, I know she pardoned me — She was so gentle with me ever — Yet, all the same, wet, wistful eyes Do follow me, and will forever. 12 178 THREADS OF GOLD SINGERS OF THE MYSTIC CLIME. ^ James R. Murray. ® SINGERS ofthe Mystic Clime, Ye are not far away ; For sweetly to my spirit's ear Come angel-songs to-day ; And gently o'er my weary heart — Storm-tossed and tempest-driven — Ye pour the balm of healing sounds, The melodies of heaven. Oh, not beyond the distant stars. The homes of those we love ; And never on a far-off shore. And never far above ; But ever present at my side The dear ones walk along, To guide my feet in surer ways. And cheer me with their song. I cannot touch their hands, I know ; Their forms I cannot see ; But still I hear their music sweet. And still they walk with me. 1 By permission of the John Church Co. BITS OF THINGS 1 79 I follow where their voices lead, While earthly sounds grow dim ; The dear Lord's messengers are they, To bring me up to Him. The following lines, composed the day before her death, were written by Mrs. Mary Sexton McCreary, as an expression of her unshaken faith in the Redeemer, and which she appropriately styled, — "THE LAST LEAF IN THE BOOK OF MY LIFE." DYING. SWING in the golden hammock of prayer, Fastened above the eternal stars ; Each shining mesh, so firm and fair, Hung on the promise's glittering bars. The sweetness of heaven and earth combine In glorifying this bed of mine ; Hearts, loving and saintly, have twisted each cord. And fastened the end with the gems of His Word ; And the dear, loving Jesus, so pure and so sweet. Has gathered the strands that were laid at His feet. And bears up my hammock of prayer. So, I quiet lie 'Neath the Father's eye, Biding my hour to be called on high From my Christ-held hammock of prayer. l8o THREADS OF GOLD ARE THE CHILDREN AT HOME? Margaret Elizabeth Sangster. ly ACH day when the glow of sunset rl)f Fades in the western sky, And the wee ones, tired of playing, Go tripping lightly by, I steal away from my husband. Asleep in his easy-chair. And watch from the open doorway Their faces fresh and fair. Alone in the dear old homestead That once was full of life, Ringing with girlish laughter. Echoing boyish strife, — We two are waiting together ; And oft, as the shadows come, With tremulous voice he calls me : "It is night ! are the children home?" "Yes, love ! " I answer him gently, " They 're all home, long ago ; " And I sing, in my quavering treble, A song so soft and low, BITS OF THINGS l8l Till the old man drops to slumber, With his head upon his hand, And I tell to myself the number Home in a better land. Home, where never a sorrow Shall dim their eyes with tears ! Where the smile of God is on them Through all the summer years ! I know, — yet my arms are empty That fondly folded seven, And the mother heart within me Is almost starved for heaven. Sometimes, in the dusk of evening, I only shut my eyes. And the children are all about me, A vision from the skies : The babes whose dimpled fingers Lost the way to my breast, And the beautiful ones, the angels. Passed to the world of the blest. With never a cloud upon them, I see their radiant brows : My boys that I gave to freedom, — The red sword sealed their vows ! 1 82 THREADS OF GOLD In a tangled Southern forest, Twin brothers, bold and brave They fell ; and the flag they died for, Thank God ! floats o'er their grave. A breath, and the vision is lifted Away on wings of light. And again we two are together. All alone in the night. They tell me his mind is failing. But I smile at idle fears : He is only back with the children, In the dear and peaceful years. And stiU, as the summer sunset Fades away in the west. And the wee ones, tired of playing, Go trooping home to rest, My husband calls from his corner : "Say, love ! have the children come?" And I answer, with eyes uplifted, — "Yes, dear ! they are all at home ! " BITS OF THINGS 1 83 MY BRIDGE. N the mystic region where Fancy's light Gleams over the waves of Thought's dee^D sea, I am building an airy bridge to-night, A bridge, dear friend, that may reach to thee ! Come forth on my bridge, dear heart, to-night ! Thy thought, like mine, can o'ermaster space ;- Our faces are hid from each other's sight, But our hearts can meet in a close embrace. OLD AGE. From The Friend. MHE golden grain, how beautiful ! P Waiting the reaper's hand ! Bowed it may be, yet is it not The glory of the land } Just so do aged Christians wait, With locks all silvery white. Shining as if a ray from heaven Had touched their brow with light. 184 THREADS OF GOLD Old age ! I love thee ; — thou hast been A loving friend to me : Dear are thy trembling tones, and sweet Thy kindly sympathy. I love the gently beaming eye, The smiles so full of love. As if it heavenly converse held With holy ones above. I love to press the trembling hand, And hold it in my own. And think perhaps a prayer went up For me before the throne. Yes, age looks beautiful when lit With beams of grace divine. And oft from out its frail disguise An angel seems to shine. Thus did my own sweet mother wait. Ere yet she took her flight, — An angel trembling on the brink Of life, and love, and light. If, beautiful in holiness. Thou shinedst even here. How must thou, in the light of heaven, All glorious appear ! BITS OF THINGS 1 85 AFTER DEATH IN ARABIA. Edwin Arnold. He that died at Azan sends This to coi77fort all his friends. PAITHFUL friends ! It lies, I know, i) Pale and white and cold as snow ; And ye say, " Abdallah 's dead ! " Weeping at his feet and head, I can see your falling tears, I can hear your sighs and prayers ; Yet I smile, and whisper this, — "/am not the thing ye kiss ; Cease your tears, and let it lie ; It was mine, — it is not I." Sweet friends ! What the women lave For its last bed of the grave. Is a tent which I am quitting. Is a garment no more fitting, Is a cage from which, at last. Like a hawk my soul hath passed. Love the inmate, not the room, — The wearer, not the garb, — the plume Of the falcon, not the bars Which kept him from these splendid stars. 13 1 86 THREADS OF GOLD Loving friends ! Be wise, and dry Straightway every weeping eye : What ye lift upon the bier Is not worth a wistful tear. 'T is an empty sea-shell, — one Out of which the pearl is gone ; The shell is broken, it lies there ; The pearl, the all, the soul, is here. 'T is an earthen jar, whose lid Allah sealed, the while it hid That treasure of his treasury, A mind that loved him : let it lie ! Let the shard be earth's once more, vSince the gold shines in his store ! Allah glorious ! Allah good ! Now thy world is understood ; Now the long, long wonder ends ; Yet ye weep, my erring friends. While the man whom ye call dead. In unspoken bliss instead. Lives, and loves you — lost, 't is true, By such light as shines for you ; But in light ye cannot see Of unfulfilled felicity, In enlarging paradise. Lives a life that never dies ! BITS OF THINGS 1 87 Farewell, friends ! Yet not farewell ; Where I am, ye, too, shall dwell ; I am gone before your face, A moment's time, a little space. When ye come where I have stepped, Ye will wonder why ye wept ; Ye will know, by wise Jove taught. That here is all, and there is naught. Weep awhile, if ye are fain, — Sunshine still must follow rain ; Only not at death, — for death, Now I know, is that first breath Which our souls draw when we enter Life, which is of all life centre. Be ye certain all seems love, Viewed from Allah's throne above : Be ye stout of heart, and come Bravely onward to your home ! La Allah ilia Allah I yea ! Thou love divine ! Thou love alway ! He that died at Azan gave • This to those who made his grave. 1 88 THREADS OF GOLD A FRAGMENT. yo/in G. Whittier. WHEN over dizzy heights we go, One soft hand bh'nds our eyes ; The other leads us safe and slow — O love of God most wise ! We know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air, — We only know we cannot drift Beyond His love and care. GOOD-BYE. Shakespeare. Here's my hand. And mine, with my heart in 't. And now, Farewell ! :- ^V^J^J^'^EM iV ^^ y/a iWi-^- -id K■J«M!i^^^?«^ -«»***«?■,-*!» Mom /«, ^k-^^ l^^X'^lf