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IN NAZARETH TOWN 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
In Nazareth Town 
 
 ^ Cijristmas jFantasg 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 JOHN W. CHADWICK 
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 AUTHOR OF "A BOOK OF POEMS," ETC. 
 
 3^ 
 
 ^„. OF COJIffi^, 
 
 BOSTON 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS 
 
 1883 
 

 Copyright, 18S3, 
 By Roberts Brothers. 
 
 CambrtUsj : 
 
 PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON AND SON, 
 UNIVERSITY PRESS. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Mary 7 
 
 In Nazareth Town g 
 
 Lost and Found 16 
 
 Little Hannah 18 
 
 The Oldest Story 21 
 
 Heard from 24 
 
 Monadnock 25 
 
 A Wedding-Song 26 
 
 His Mother's Joy 28 
 
 To Jacob Abbott 30 
 
 In Dog-Days 31 
 
 In an Unknown Tongue 32 
 
 Lucretia Mott 36 
 
 Snow-Maidens 37 
 
 "Always Young for Liberty" 39 
 
 His Fortune 40 
 
 A Dedication 42 
 
 Mugford's Victory 43 
 
 The Silver Wedding 50 
 
 In the Wood 56 
 
6 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 An Ode on the Hundredth Anniversary of Chan- 
 
 ning's Birth 6i 
 
 Under the Snow 72 
 
 To A. W. R 75 
 
 The Ineffable Name 76 
 
 The Rise of Man 77 
 
 The Man Jesus 78 
 
 Starlight 79 
 
 The Golden Wedding 80 
 
 The Good Ship " Register " 85 
 
 Anti-Discouragement 91 
 
 Seven Times Eleven 96 
 
 Jan Steener's Ride 98 
 
 Storm and Shine 103 
 
 The Meeting-House •. ... 105 
 
 John Weiss 107 
 
 A Sonnet for the Day 109 
 
 Fate no 
 
MARY. 
 
 RINGING of one who bore this sweetest name 
 
 Long, lon^ ago, in bygone centuries, 
 Mother of One for whom otir Christmas trees 
 
 Are green and bright with never-ending fame, 
 I think of one whom ha ving seen we love, 
 
 A mother Mary of these latter days, — 
 Mother and wife and friend whose simplest praise 
 
 The tnemory of her tneekness woiild reprove; 
 Who, bouttd long years, was patient in her pain, 
 
 And still forgot her ow7t in others^ woe. 
 Blessing of blessings and itnmortal gaiii. 
 
 Such grace as hers to so divinely know; 
 Daring believe that not His mother trod 
 
 With whiter feet this highway of our God! 
 
IN NAZARETH TOWN. 
 
 A S to the rose's petals pure 
 The rose's heart of gold, 
 Was Nazareth to the encircUng hills 
 In the brave days of old. 
 
 The narrow street, a straggling vine, 
 Against the hillside clung ; 
 
 And from its stem the village homes 
 In meagre clusters hung. 
 
 And down the street, with eager feet, 
 The village motliers came : 
 
 Let fancy follow without fear, 
 And Usten void of blame. 
 
lO IN NAZARETH TOWN. 
 
 A simple tale they have to tell, 
 The bubbling spring beside : 
 
 The like doth come a thousand times 
 By every time and tide. 
 
 No more than this, — enough of bliss 
 For Mary, mother mild, — 
 
 Upon her breast there lies at rest 
 A little new-born child. 
 
 O happy women at the well, 
 For Mary's sake so glad, 
 
 Be tender with the tiny babe 
 And with the growing lad ! 
 
 Make sweet and pleasant to his feet 
 The path while yet you may ; 
 
 For steep and rough it yet shall be 
 For many a weary day. 
 
IN NAZARETH TOWN. II 
 
 The women climb the rugged street, 
 
 And two there are that come 
 With pleasant chatter to the door 
 
 Of good-man Joseph's home. 
 
 With them, unseen, we enter in : 
 
 We see the humble state ; 
 The gentle mother, innocent 
 
 Of all the impending fate. 
 
 How soft she sleeps, the blessed child 
 
 Upon her bended arm ! 
 How far away they seem to-day 
 
 From all the things that harm ! 
 
 O mother Mary, closer press 
 
 Your baby to your heart ! 
 There comes a day when nothing may 
 
 Allay its ciniel smart. 
 
12 IN NAZARETH TOWN. 
 
 Those little feet have errands long 
 
 For God and man to go ; 
 Those little hands the chains must break 
 
 Of many a grinding woe. 
 
 That little piping voice shall wax 
 
 So terrible and strong, 
 That it shall shatter dowoi the walls 
 
 Of many an ancient wrong. 
 
 O happy mother, were it thine 
 
 To see, as we can see. 
 All the fierce pain of heart and brain 
 
 That waits for him and thee, — 
 
 The wrath of men, the hate, the scorn, 
 The tried and tempted will. 
 
 The friends that falter and betray. 
 The enemies that kill, — 
 
IN NAZARETH TOWN. 13 
 
 Would strength be thine to bear the load, 
 
 To choose the fateful way 
 For him for whom thy life has gone 
 
 In pledge this happy day? 
 
 We may not guess ; nor yet conceive 
 
 Would joy or pain be thine, 
 If thou with prescient heart couldst all 
 
 The coming years divine, — 
 
 Couldst see beyond the scourge and cross, 
 
 Beyond the curse and shame, 
 Millenniums of godhead wait 
 
 To crown his glorious name. 
 
 Doth even now some vision come 
 
 Of all the things to be. 
 That troubled looks across thy face 
 
 Like conscious shadows flee? 
 
14 IN NAZARETH TOWN. 
 
 Till thou dost start, and seem to cry 
 " Oh, less and less of this ! 
 
 Your God is not the man I bore, 
 Whose lips I dared to kiss." 
 
 Dear mother of the holy child, 
 
 Thy plea is not in vain : 
 Behold the God of centuries long 
 
 Becomes a man again ! 
 
 Fade out the sophist's tangled schemes 
 
 As visions of the night ; 
 Breaks in the dawn of better things 
 
 As breaks the morning light. 
 
 O brother of the righteous will, 
 
 O brother full of grace ! 
 Once more the human glory bathes 
 
 Thy grave and earnest face. 
 
IN NAZARETH TOWN. 15 
 
 But all of this to thee is strange, 
 
 As, safe from every harm. 
 Thou liest soft and warm and sweet 
 
 Upon thy mother's arm. 
 
 And little dream the village folk. 
 
 Upon the hillside brown, 
 What wondrous fame their Jesus' name 
 
 Shall bring to Nazareth town. 
 
 December 2s, 1SS2. 
 
LOST AND FOUND. 
 
 T T THERE have they gone, the happy summer days, 
 With all their lovehness of earth and sky, 
 \Miich we have seen so gayly passing by, 
 Till now the last a moment more delays ? 
 
 Whither have fled their mornings cool and sweet? 
 
 Whither their dreamy haze of highest noon ? 
 
 Whither their sunset glories, and the croon 
 Of many waters murmurously fleet ? 
 
 O friends, dear friends, who have been with me here, 
 To-night, for all the miles that intervene. 
 There is no inch of space our hearts between ; 
 
 Come hark with me a voice of hope and cheer. 
 
LOST AND FOUND. 1/ 
 
 These summer days, that have so sweetly fled, 
 Have their Avallon, wherein they abide, 
 Like good King Arthur after he had died, 
 
 Or seemed to die, when still he was not dead. 
 
 It is a quiet place within the heart, 
 
 Where they live on for many an after day. 
 Blessing alike our labor and our play ; 
 
 And nevermore from us do they depart. 
 
 And when we know not why we are so gay. 
 And when we laugh, nor know the reason why, 
 God sees in us a gleam of summer sky, 
 
 Or hears some brook go laughing on its way. 
 
 And so in you I know God keeps for me 
 The sweetness of the unreturning days. 
 Safe from all harm and better than all praise : 
 
 Be mine, at least, such immortality. 
 
 September 23, iSSo. 
 
LITTLE HANNAH. 
 
 \ T THEN the earliest life of spring 
 
 First began to stir the sod, 
 And a blossom here and there 
 Softly sang the praise of God, 
 
 On a day of days there sprang, 
 Perfect from the dim unknown, 
 
 Such a flower as never yet 
 
 Had in field or meadow grown. 
 
 Yet indeed akin it was 
 
 To the blossoms, sweet and rare. 
 That in March their beauty bring 
 
 To the eager, waiting air. 
 
LITTLE HANNAH. 19 
 
 Little sister did she seem 
 
 Of the wind-flowers full of grace ; 
 
 Of the " Quaker-ladies " one, 
 Or the arbutus' gentle race. 
 
 Cousin of the violets too, 
 
 With their color in her eyes, 
 Greeting all the wonder new 
 
 With a look of sweet surprise. 
 
 All the flowers that with her came. 
 Had their hour and went away ; 
 
 But the little blue-eyed maid 
 Tarried many a pleasant day. 
 
 Thrice the spring to summer grew. 
 Thrice the merry autumn browned, 
 
 Thrice the winter whiteness fell 
 Tenderly adown, around. 
 
20 LITTLE HANNAH. 
 
 But before again the spring 
 'Gan to softly shoot and stir, 
 
 Happy ways that she had known, 
 Knew, alas, no more of her ! 
 
 Gone the dainty little maid ! 
 
 Gone the blossom heavenly fair ! 
 Gone, — but leaving all around 
 
 Wondrous sweetness in the air. 
 
 Flowers are still her next of kin, 
 Flowers that are so dainty sweet ; 
 
 Pansies are for thoughts of her, 
 Roses for her gladness meet. 
 
 And in all her little world, 
 If you can, the smallest spot 
 
 Find, that does not sweetly show 
 Blossoms of forget-me-not. 
 
 January 28, 1S83. 
 
THE OLDEST STORY. 
 
 T TNDER the coverlet's snowy fold 
 
 The tiniest stir that ever was seen, 
 And the tiniest sound, as if fairy folk 
 Were cuddling under a leaf, I ween. 
 
 That is the baby : he came to town 
 
 Only a day or two ago ; 
 But he looks as wise as if he knew 
 
 All that a baby can ever know. 
 
 There he lies in a little heap, 
 
 As soft as velvet, as warm as toast, 
 
 As rosy-red as the harvest moon 
 
 Which I saw so big on the hazy coast. 
 
22 THE OLDEST STORY. 
 
 Hear him gurgle and sputter and sigh, 
 
 As if his dear little heart would break, 
 And scold away as if all the world 
 
 Were only meant for his littleness' sake. 
 
 Blink, Httle eyes, at the strange new light ; 
 
 Hark, little ears, at the strange n^w sound : 
 Wonderful things shall you see and hear 
 
 As the days and the months and the years go round. 
 
 Hardly you seem a Life at all ; 
 
 Only a Something with hands and feet. 
 Only a Feeling that things are warm. 
 
 Only a Longing for something to eat. 
 
 Have you a thought in your downy head ? 
 
 Can you say to yourself so much as " I " ? 
 Have you found out yet that you are yourself? 
 
 Or has God what you will be by and by ? 
 
THE OLDEST STORY. 23 
 
 It 's only a little that we can guess, 
 
 But it 's quite as much as we care to know ; 
 
 The rest will come with the fleeting years, 
 Little by little, — and better so. 
 
 Enough for the day is the good thereof : 
 The speck of a thing that is lying there. 
 
 And the presence that fills the silent house 
 With the tender hush of a voiceless prayer. 
 
 October 29, 1S77. 
 
HEARD FROM. 
 
 T) LODDING a weary way, before untried, 
 It chanced I came upon a group of men 
 
 Busy about their work with eager ken. 
 I spoke to them of one who late had died, — 
 Knowing that he along this country-side 
 
 Had toiled with such as these, o'er hill and fen ; 
 
 Asked, had they known my friend? Oh, gladness 
 when 
 Man after man with tender voice replied, 
 
 And spoke his praise ; told of his earnest will, 
 The love which they had borne him deep and true. 
 
 The generous passion of his noble skill, 
 Still doing well whate'er was his to do. . 
 
 Again afoot, I said, " Pray God that I 
 
 May so be hea7-d from when I come to die." 
 
 ZoAR, ;\Iass., i8;5. 
 
MONADNOCK. 
 
 'T^HE merest bulge above the horizon's rim 
 
 Of purplish blue, which you might think a cloud 
 Low lying there, — that is Monadnock proud. 
 Full seventy miles away. But far and dim 
 Although it be, I still can without glass 
 Descry, as I were standing happy there 
 Upon the topmost ledges gray and bare, 
 Something which with the shadows will not pass, — 
 A vision that abides : a fair young girl 
 Lying her length ; her hair all disarrayed 
 
 By the bold mountain-wind ; her cheeks aglow ; 
 As if that rocky summit should unfurl 
 A rose of June ! And what if I had said, 
 " Thrice fair Monadnock with her lying so ! " 
 
 Chesterfield, August 24, 1S79. 
 
A WEDDING-SONG. 
 
 T SAID : " My heart, now let us sing a song 
 For a fair lady on her wedding-day ; 
 Some solemn hymn or pretty roundelay, 
 
 That shall be with her as she goes along 
 To meet her joy, and for her happy feet 
 Shall make a pleasant music, low and sweet." 
 
 Then said my heart : " It is right bold of thee 
 To think that any song that we could sing 
 Would for this lady be an offering 
 
 Meet for such gladness as hers needs must be, 
 What time she goes to don her bridal ring. 
 And her own heart makes sweetest carolling." 
 
A WEDDING-SONG. 27 
 
 And so it is that with my lute unstrung, 
 Lady, I come to greet thy wedding-day ; 
 But once, methinks, I heard a poet say, 
 
 The sweetest songs remain for aye unsung. 
 So mine, unsung, at thy dear feet I lay. 
 And wdth a " Peace be with you ! " go my way. 
 
 October 8, 1879. 
 
HIS MOTHER'S JOY. 
 
 T ITTLE, I ween, did Mary guess, 
 
 As on her arm her baby lay. 
 What tides of joy would swell and beat, 
 Through ages long, on Christmas day. 
 
 And what if she had known it all, — 
 The awful splendor of his fame ? 
 
 The inmost heart of all her joy 
 
 Would still, methinks, have been the same 
 
 The joy that every mother knows 
 
 Who feels her babe against her breast : 
 
 The voyage long is overpast. 
 
 And now is calm and peace and rest. 
 
HIS MOTHER'S JOY. 29 
 
 " Art thou the Christ? " The wonder came 
 
 As easy as her infant's breath : 
 But answer none. Enough for her, 
 
 That love had triumphed over death. 
 
 December 25, 1S77. 
 
TO JACOB ABBOTT. 
 
 "r~\EAR charmer of a thousand happy hours, 
 My earliest guide into those blessed ways 
 Wherein I have delighted all my days, 
 
 Sweeter to me than laggard August showers 
 
 To thirsty fields, it was, to hear thee tell 
 Of happy Rollo, and of Jonas wise. 
 And Lucy with her meek inquiring eyes, 
 
 And all that happed to dearest Mary Bell. 
 
 Now thou art gone, so long the children's friend ! 
 But, as I muse, I seem at heaven's door 
 To hear a sound which there I heard before. 
 
 When Danish Hans that way did softly wend, — 
 A sound of children making merriest din 
 Of welcome, as the old man enters in. 
 
 Brooklyn, iSSi. 
 
IN DOG-DAYS. 
 
 T SEE the landscape tremble in the heat, 
 
 I hear the murmur of the rustling trees ; 
 I close my eyes, and to myself I seem 
 
 As one who floats mid odorous Indian seas. 
 Scarce draw the sails in the dull opiate air ; 
 
 Scarce stirs the breeze the opalescent calm ; 
 Upon the sleeping islands that we pass, 
 
 Scarce move the fringes of the shadowy palm. 
 And, as I sail, I seem to hear the voice 
 
 Of one who reads some drowsy Eastern tale, 
 Telling of men untouched of all the ills 
 
 Which for our hands and for our hearts prevail ; 
 Ay, to be living in those days I seem, 
 And in those days still dreaming that I dream. 
 
 Chesterfield, iSSi. 
 
IN AN UNKNOWN TONGUE. 
 
 T KNOW full weU what saith St. Paul ; 
 
 For unknown tongues he did not care ; 
 It was as much as he could do 
 To speak them good and fair. 
 
 Give Mm the known and understood ; 
 
 Five words of this he counted more 
 Than thousands ten of all the rest 
 
 That men could babble o'er. 
 
 But then he did n't, as he might, 
 
 Like Peter, take a wife about. 
 To tend his thorn, and soothe his heart, 
 
 With combat wearied out. 
 
IN AN UNKNOWN TONGUE. 33 
 
 And so he had no tiny Paul, 
 
 No nonsense-prating, wee Pauline, 
 
 To make him half forget the strife 
 His Jew and Greek between. 
 
 I cannot glory, as could he. 
 
 In perils both by sea and land ; 
 Of visions I have had a few, — 
 
 Some hard to understand. 
 
 But I can glory in a Boy, 
 
 As dear as ever poet sung ; 
 And all his speech, from morn till eve, 
 
 Is in an unknown tongue. 
 
 Strange, bubbling, rippling, gurgling sounds 
 
 His pouting lips still overflow ; 
 But what the meaning of them is, 
 
 The wisest do not know. 
 3 
 
34 IN AN UNKNOWN TONGUE. 
 
 Friends have I, learned in the Greek, 
 In Latin, Hebrew, Spanish, Dutch, 
 
 In French and German ; and a few 
 Of Sanscrit know — not much. 
 
 They come and hear the Baby's speech. 
 As bHthe as any song of bird ; 
 
 They wonder much, but go away, 
 Nor understand a word. 
 
 It minds me now of mountain rills. 
 And now of zigzag droning bees, 
 
 And now of sounds the summer makes 
 Among the leafy trees. 
 
 And yet, if I should say the truth, 
 Five words of his to me are more 
 
 Than of the words I understand 
 Five hundred times a score. 
 
IN AN UNKNOWN TONGUE. 35 
 
 For whatsoever they may mean 
 To him, or to my learned friends, 
 
 One meaning, of all meanings best, 
 He still to me commends : 
 
 That life is sweet for him and me, 
 
 Though half its meaning be not guessed ; 
 
 That God is good, and I a child 
 Upon his tender breast. 
 
 1S78. 
 
LUCRETIA MOTT. 
 
 ^ I ^HRICE noble woman, who hast lived so long 
 
 And served so well the people's sorest need ! 
 
 Who still, howe'er thy heart might inly bleed, 
 Hast ever sung thy cheery household song ; 
 Turning from strenuous battle against wrong, 
 
 With wholesome care thy growing flock to feed, 
 
 In pastures green their frolic feet to lead, 
 To thee the laurel crown doth well belong ; 
 
 For thou hast shown an unbelieving world. 
 Most womanly of women, that no less 
 
 In the hot field where deadly shafts are hurled. 
 Women may keep their spirit's gentleness, 
 
 Than when at home, in soft seclusion curled. 
 They live unmindful of the world's distress. 
 
 Philadelphia, iS;8. 
 
SNOW-MAIDENS. 
 
 A WINTER day upon the hiU 
 
 Where we our summer joyance took, 
 And all things to our pleasure bent 
 As willows to a winding brook. 
 
 And there, upon the spot that knew 
 Of baby joy and maiden grace, 
 
 Whirling about in ghostly dance, 
 Are creatures of another race. 
 
 Tall, pale, and wonderfully fair, 
 
 The chilly sunlight through them shines : 
 They dance with interAvoven curves ; 
 
 They move in wavy, mystic lines. 
 
3 8 SNO W-MA WENS. 
 
 Weird sisterhood, your secret tell ! 
 
 Are ye the ghosts of vanished days, — 
 Of joys that will no more return, 
 
 Of summers sweeter than all praise, — 
 
 Of hours when earth and heaven seemed 
 To meet and touch and interblend, 
 
 And, face to face, we talked with God, 
 As friend most dear with dearest friend ? 
 
 O foolish heart, be not afraid. 
 
 No plaint, but prophecy, is here ; 
 The spring shall come, and Life and Love 
 
 Shall crown another golden year. 
 
 Chesterfield, 1S79. 
 
"ALWAYS YOUNG FOR LIBERTY." 
 
 /'"^HANNING, when thou wast Hving among men, 
 Thy pulse, that beat not ahvays with the strong 
 
 Full tide of health, when thou didst hear of wrong 
 O'erthrown, of freedom won, was once again 
 As quick and warm as in thy childhood, when 
 
 Thou heard'st old ocean's mighty thunder-song 
 
 Beating familiar cliffs and crags along ; 
 And thou didst glow as ardently as then. 
 Yes, thou wast always young for liberty ; 
 
 And when a hundred years have passed away, 
 
 Ay ! and a thousand from thy natal day, 
 Thy never dying spirit still shall be 
 
 As young for Freedom as when here of old. 
 
 In her great name, thou wast the boldest of the 
 bold! 
 
 iSSo. 
 
HIS FORTUNE. 
 
 W. H. W. 
 
 TN the pleasant time of spring 
 
 Came my noble friend to me, 
 Full of life as any leaf 
 Budding on the orchard tree. 
 
 " I am going forth," he said, 
 " Sailing down the busy world : 
 
 Fame and fortune I must make 
 Ere again my sails are furled." 
 
 Comes the winter crisp and clear : 
 What was that the message said ? 
 
 Spring will come another year : 
 Not for him, for he is — dead ! 
 
H/S FORTUNE. 41 
 
 Yes, thou hast made thy fortune, noble friend ! 
 
 We shall live on, and coax with weary toil 
 
 Some scanty pittance from the grudging soil, 
 Or strain an aching back long years to tend 
 Sticks in the desert, striving still to mend 
 
 Some social wrong, or with a few to moil 
 
 For truths from which the many still recoil : 
 Long is the way and doubtful is the end. 
 But thou hast made thy fortufie, found release 
 
 From sordid care and every grief and pain ; 
 
 Such things shall trouble thee no more again : 
 From every sorrow thine is sweet surcease. 
 
 Sailing straight on across the unfathomed main, 
 Death hast thou found, and finding that is peace. 
 
 1879. 
 
A DEDICATION. 
 
 "|\ /FY darling boy, kissed but a moment since, 
 
 And laid away all rosy in the dark, 
 Is talking to himself. What does he say? 
 Not much, in truth, that I can understand ; 
 But now and then, among the pretty sounds 
 That he is making, falls upon my ear 
 My name. And then the sand-man softly comes 
 Upon him and he sleeps. 
 
 And what am I, 
 Here in my book, but as a little child 
 Trying to cheer the big and silent dark 
 With foolish words ? But listen, O my God, 
 My Father, and among them thou shalt hear 
 Thy name. And soon I too shall sleep. 
 When I awake I shall be still with thee. 
 1879. 
 
MUGFORD'S VICTORY. 
 
 Read in Marblehead, Mass., May 17, 1876, on the hundredth anniver- 
 sary of the death of Captain James Mugford. 
 
 /'~\UR mother, the pride of us all, 
 
 She sits on her crags by the shore, 
 And her feet they are wet with the waves 
 Whose foam is as flowers from the graves 
 
 Of her sons whom she welcomes no more, 
 And who answer no more to her call. 
 
 Amid weeds and sea-tangle and shells 
 They are buried far down in the deep, — 
 
 The deep which they loved to career. 
 Oh, might we awake them from sleep ! 
 
 Oh, might they our voices but hear, 
 
 And the sound of our holiday bells ! 
 
44 MUGFORD'S VICTORY. 
 
 Can it be she is thinking of them, 
 Her face is so proud and so still, 
 
 And her lashes are moistened with tears ? 
 
 Ho, little ones ! pluck at her hem, 
 Her lap with your jollity fill, 
 
 And ask of her thoughts and her fears. 
 
 " Fears ! " — we have roused her at last ; 
 
 See ! her lips part with a smile. 
 And laughter breaks forth from her eyes, — 
 " Fears ! whence should they ever arise 
 
 In our hearts, O my children, the while 
 We can remember the past ? 
 
 " Can remember that morning of May, 
 When Mugford went forth with his men, 
 
 Twenty, and all of them ours. 
 
 'Tis a hundred years to a day, 
 And the sea and the shore are as then. 
 
 And as bright are the grass and the flowers ; 
 But our twenty — they come not again ! 
 
MUG FORD'S VICTORY. 45 
 
 " He had heard of the terrible need 
 
 Of the patriot army there 
 In Boston town. Now for a deed 
 
 To save it from despair ! 
 To thrill with joy the great commander's heart, 
 And hope new-born to all the land impart ! 
 
 " Hope ! ay ; that was the very name 
 Of the good ship that came 
 
 From England far away, 
 Laden with enginery of death. 
 Food for the cannon's fiery breath ; 
 Hope-laden for great Washington, 
 Who, but for her, was quite undone 
 
 A hundred years ago to-day. 
 
 " ' Oh, but to meet her there, 
 And grapple with her fair, 
 Out in the open bay ! ' 
 Mugford to Glover said. 
 
46 MUG FORD'S VICTORY. 
 
 How could he answer nay? 
 And Mugford sailed away, 
 Brave heart and newly wed. 
 
 " But what are woman's tears, 
 
 And rosy cheeks made pale, 
 To one who far off hears 
 
 The generations hail 
 A deed like this we celebrate to-day, 
 A hundred years since Mugford sailed away 
 
 " I love to picture him. 
 
 Clear-eyed and strong of limb, 
 
 Gazing his last upon the rocky shore 
 
 His feet should press no more ; 
 
 Seeing the tall church-steeples fade away 
 
 In distance soft and gray ; 
 
 So dropping down below the horizon's rim 
 
 Where fame awaited him. 
 
MUGFORD'S VICTORY. 47 
 
 " Slow sailing from the east his victim came. 
 They met ; brief parley j struggle brief and tame, 
 
 And she was ours ; 
 In Boston harbor safe ere set of sun, 
 Great joy for Washington ! 
 
 But heavy grew the hours 
 On Mugford's hands, longing to bring to me, 
 His mother proud, news of his victory ; 
 But that was not to be ! 
 
 " Abreast Nantasket's narrow strip of gray 
 
 The British cruisers lay : 
 
 They saw the daring skipper dropping down 
 
 From the much hated rebel-haunted town, 
 
 And in the twilight dim 
 
 Their boats awaited him, 
 
 While wind and tide conspired 
 
 To grant what they desired. 
 
 " Thickly they swarmed about his tiny craft ; 
 But Mugford gayly laughed 
 
48 MUGFORD'S VICTORY. 
 
 And gave them blow for blow ; 
 And many a hapless foe 
 Went hurtling down below. 
 
 Upon the schooner's rail 
 
 Fell, like a thresher's flail, 
 The strokes that beat tlie soul and sense apart, 
 And pistol-crack through many an eager heart 
 
 Sent deadly hail. 
 But when the fight was o'er 
 Brave Mugford was no more. 
 
 Crying, with death-white lip, 
 
 ' Boys, don't give up the ship ! ' 
 His soul struck out for heaven's peaceful shore. 
 
 " We gave him burial meet ; 
 
 Through every sobbing street 
 A thousand men marched with their arms reversed 
 
 And Parson Story told, 
 
 In sentences of gold. 
 The tale since then a thousand times rehearsed." 
 
MUG FORD'S VICTORY. 49 
 
 Such is the story she tells, 
 
 Our mother, the pride of us all. 
 Ring out your music, O bells, 
 
 That ever such things could befall ! 
 Ring not for Mugford alone, 
 Ring for the twenty unknown. 
 Who fought hand-to-hand at his side, 
 Wlio saw his last look when he died, 
 And who brought him, though dead, to his own ! 
 
THE SILVER WEDDING. 
 
 I. 
 
 '' I ''HE stream and river bear a single name, 
 Yet are they not the same. 
 
 This hath the greater rest, 
 
 And bears upon its breast 
 Vessels of deeper hold. 
 And freights more manifold. 
 The old is not the new, the new is not the old. 
 
 And you, dear hearts, are not the youthful pair, 
 To whom that day the whole world looked so fair ; 
 
 WTien in the future's face 
 
 You could no omen trace 
 Of aught you might not safely dare. 
 
 The same, yet not the same. 
 You have no word of blame 
 
THE SILVER WEDDING. SI 
 
 For any fate that hath befallen you, 
 
 Howe'er, with fond regret, 
 
 Your lashes may be wet 
 For stars withdrawn into the heavenly blue. 
 
 II. 
 
 Bright was that morning hour, 
 
 But, could you have the power. 
 Would you renew its rapture, sweet and fond ; 
 
 Be now as you were then, 
 
 For all the bitter pain 
 That makes the Here seem less than the Beyond ? 
 
 Life deepens as it goes ; 
 
 The river seaward flows, 
 And as it flows there come from far away. 
 From out the heart of some mysterious day 
 That hath no night, but shineth on alway, 
 Yet other streams to swell the mystic tide, 
 And make it flow more strong and deep and wide. 
 
52 THE SILVER WEDDING. 
 
 Still holding gay and free 
 
 Their ovvn identity, 
 As doth the Rhone what time it shoots amain 
 Through placid Leman's mountain-girded plain. 
 
 III. 
 
 Sing, Muse, the happy day 
 
 When I, a stripling gay, 
 By happy fate and ordination led, 
 First in these faces dear their welcome read ; 
 
 Then heard the voices clear, 
 
 That grow each day more dear, 
 And felt their good right hands. 
 As strong as iron bands, 
 
 To hold me up hi days of doubt and fear, 
 
 And brace my heart with friendship and good cheer. 
 
 Ay, merry were the days 
 When soft October's haze 
 
THE SILVER WEDDING. 53 
 
 Hung o'er the Island's various shifting scene, 
 And our good nag along the Serpentine 
 Whirled us full fast ! 
 And merry were the nights 
 With manifold delights 
 Of books and talk before the glowing fire ; 
 Nirvana's bliss, with nothing to deske 
 But that these things might last. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Dear hearts, how many years, 
 
 How many hopes and fears, 
 Have come and gone since that dear morn of joy ! 
 
 What joy of summer weather 
 
 Upon the hills together ! 
 What joy of friends and books without alloy ! 
 
 How wide our feet have ranged. 
 How many things have changed. 
 
54 THE SILVER WEDDING. 
 
 How many friends have fallen by the way ! 
 
 The Mothers full of grace ; 
 
 The Boy whose earnest face 
 Kindled with larger promise every day ! 
 
 Dear Boy ! by what far shore, 
 
 Thine earthly conflict o'er, 
 And all the struggle hard and small return, 
 
 Wander thy tireless feet ? 
 
 And what companions sweet 
 Assuage thy heart lest it too sorely yearn, 
 As ours for thee, till we God's patience learn ? 
 
 V. 
 
 But, friends, I do you A\Tong. 
 
 Not such should be the song 
 That sings your silver wedding's dear delight. 
 
 True hearts, when most bereft, 
 
 Have countless treasures left ; 
 These should I sing, and bid you sing to-night. 
 
THE SILVER WEDDING. 55 
 
 Thanks for the vanished years, 
 
 With all their hopes and fears ! 
 Ring ! silver bells, across the winter snow ! 
 
 Ring out all care and fret. 
 
 Ring out all vain regret ; 
 Ring in the joy which only lovers know, 
 Lovers whose love is ripened as they go. 
 
 Ring ! happy silver bells ! 
 
 Your merry clamor tells 
 Of love and joy and blessings manifold. 
 
 Draw nearer, each to each. 
 
 And say, with reverent speech, 
 " God give us grace to ring our bells of gold." 
 
 February 5, 1S76. 
 
IN THE WOOD. 
 
 " Midway upon the journey of our life 
 I found mj'self within a forest dim. 
 
 Ah me ! how hard a thing it is to say 
 
 What was this forest .... 
 
 But of the good to speak which there I found. 
 
 Dante, Inferno, Book I. 
 
 T~^ EAR friend whom many a testing year 
 ^^^ Hath drawn unto my life more near, 
 Hath made unto my soul more dear ! 
 
 My pen would thank thee, if it could, 
 For all the sweet and various good 
 Which thou hast done me in the wood ; 
 
 That mystic wood where on a day 
 Great Dante's feet had gone astray, 
 And Virgil met him in the way : 
 
IN THE WOOD. 57 
 
 Its name is Life, and long had been 
 My stay among its brown and green 
 Ere first your happy tent was seen ; 
 
 And entering to your welcome free 
 I found a pleasant company, 
 And one as merry as could be. 
 
 Since then how many pleasant days, 
 Wandering along the forest ways, 
 We have been full of joy and praise. 
 
 What dear companions we have found. 
 Until where'er we look around 
 We cannot fail of holy ground. 
 
 For some that walked with us of yore 
 
 Have gone a little on before, 
 
 And we can speak with them no more. 
 
58 IN THE WOOD. 
 
 Dark, dark the shadows now and then ! 
 But sunshine ever comes again, — 
 The sunshine sweeter for the rain. 
 
 And even while with sorrow blind, 
 Our Mother Earth, so rarely kind. 
 Has blessed us in our heart and mind ; 
 
 Still showing us by day and night 
 A thousand visions of delight, — 
 The summer fields with daisies white, 
 
 The river ^\'inding through the hills. 
 The beauty every^vhere that thrills 
 The heart until it overfills. 
 
 This have we knoAvn ; all this and more, 
 The tug of thought, the pleasant lore 
 Of poets, and the gracious store 
 
IN THE WOOD. 59 
 
 Of those for whom each beauteous thing 
 So in their hearts doth build and sing, 
 As robins in the later spring 
 
 In orchard trees ; whose blessed fate 
 It is God's world to recreate 
 And give to Beauty endless date. 
 
 Much have we found of sweet and good 
 While here together in the wood ; 
 And some things hardly understood. 
 
 But spite of sorrow and regret 
 I am so glad we came and met, 
 That some small space is left us yet 
 
 To clasp the moments fair and fleet, 
 To lie at Beauty's perfect feet. 
 To take the bitter with the sweet. 
 
6o IN THE WOOD. 
 
 Late into heaven mayst thou return ; 
 Long may it be ere I must learn 
 To miss thee every way I turn. 
 
 Still keep for me a place apart 
 
 In the warm precincts of thy heart ; 
 
 Still be to me as now thou art, — 
 
 A light on every darkening way, 
 Thy hand in mine as on we stray. 
 Till solemn night succeeds the day. 
 
 December, 1880. 
 
AN ODE 
 
 FOR THE BROOKLYN CELEBRATION OF THE HUNDREDTH ANNI- 
 VERSARY OF CHANNING'S birth, APRIL "], 1880. 
 
 A HUNDRED years ago to-day ! 
 How often in this latter time, 
 In fond memorial speech or rhyme, 
 Has it been ours these words to say ! 
 
 A hundred years to-day, we said, 
 Since Concord bridge and Lexington 
 Saw the great struggle well begun 
 
 And the first heroes lying dead. 
 
 A hundred years since Bunker Hill 
 Saw the red-coated foemen reel 
 Once and again before the steel 
 
 Of Prescott's men, victorious still 
 
62 THE HUNDRED TH A NNIVERSA R Y 
 
 In their defeat : a hundred years 
 Since Independence bell rang out 
 To all the people round about, 
 
 Who answered it with deafening cheers, 
 
 Proclaiming, spite the scorner's scorn, 
 That then and there — the womb of Time 
 Through sufferance triumphing sublime — 
 
 Another nation had been born. 
 
 " All men are equal in their birth," 
 Rang out the steeple-rocking bell : 
 Rejoice, O heaven ! Give heed, O hell ! 
 
 Here was good news to all the earth. 
 
 And still our hearts have kept the count 
 Of things that daily brought more near, 
 Through various hap of hope or fear, 
 
 The pattern visioned in the Mount. 
 
OF CHANNING'S BIRTH. 6^ 
 
 Nor yet the tale is fully told 
 
 Of all the years that brought us pain, 
 And through the age of iron again 
 
 The dawning of the age of gold. 
 
 But naught of this has brought us here, 
 With the old saying on our lips, 
 What time the rolling planet dips 
 
 Into the spring-tide of the year. 
 
 Apart from all the dire alarms 
 
 Of field and flood in that old time, 
 With reverent feet our fancies climb 
 
 To where a mother's circling arms 
 
 Enraptured hold a babe new born ; 
 And who was there to prophesy. 
 Though loving hearts beat strong and high, 
 
 Of what a day this was the morn ? 
 
64 THE HUNDREDTH ANNIVERSARY 
 
 For in that life but just begun 
 The prescient fates a gift had bound, 
 As dear to man as any found 
 
 Within the courses of the sun. 
 
 A gift of manhood strong and wise, 
 Nor foreign to the lowUest earth. 
 Whereon the Word has human birth, 
 
 Howe'er conversant with the skies. 
 
 A hundred years ago to-day. 
 Since Channing's individual life 
 From out the depths of being, rife 
 
 With spiritual essence, found a way, 
 
 And welcome here, and forces kind 
 To gently nurse his gro\ving power 
 With steady help until the flower 
 
 Of instinct was a conscious mind. 
 
OF CHANNING'S BIRTH. 65 
 
 To him the sea its message brought, 
 Filling his mind with sacred awe, 
 What time his eye enraptured saw 
 
 Its wildest tumult, or he caught 
 
 From its deep calm some peace of heart. 
 To him the ages brought their lore 
 Of books, and living men their store 
 
 Of thought ; and still the better part 
 
 Of all his nurture was the eye 
 
 Turned inward, seeking in the mind 
 Some higher, deeper law to find 
 
 Than that which spheres the starry sky. 
 
 And so the youth to manhood came : 
 A being frail, — with nameless eyes, 
 That seemed to look on Paradise, — 
 
 As clear as dew, as clean as flame. 
 5 
 
(56 THE HUNDREDTH ANNIVERSARY 
 
 He willed in quiet to abide, 
 
 Leading his flock through pastures green, 
 And by the waters still, where lean 
 
 The mystic trees on either side. 
 
 But on his listening ear there fell 
 The jarring discord of the sects, 
 Still making, with their war of texts, 
 
 The pleasant earth a kind of hell. 
 
 He saw the Father's sacred name 
 
 Made dim by Calvary's suffering rood ; 
 Man devil-born, — a spawning flood, 
 
 Engendering naught but curse and shame. 
 
 He saw the freedom of the mind 
 
 Denied, and doubt esteemed a crime, — 
 The path whereby the boldest climb 
 
 To heights which cowards never find. 
 
OF CHAXNING'S BIRTH. 6/ 
 
 He saw the manhood which to him 
 
 Was image of the highest God 
 
 Trodden, as if it were a clod, 
 'Neath slavery's idol-chariot grim. 
 
 He saw it fouled with various sin, 
 Sick'ning from lack of air and light, 
 Abjuring glories infinite 
 
 To fatten at the sensual bin. 
 
 He heard and saw : his shepherd's rod 
 Witli grieving heart he broke in twain ; 
 The wondering world beheld again 
 
 A prophet of the living God. 
 
 Then, as of old, was heard a voice : 
 
 " His way prepare," and, " Come with me. 
 All ye that heavy-laden be ; 
 
 Take up my burden and rejoice ! " 
 
eg THE HUNDREDTH ANNIVERSARY 
 
 It rang tlirough all the sleepy land 
 In tones so sweet and silver clear, 
 The waking people seemed to hear 
 
 The accents of divine command. 
 
 The statesman heard it in his place ; 
 
 The oppressor in his cursbd field ; 
 
 And hearts beyond the ocean yield 
 Allegiance to his truth and grace. 
 
 Our Father, God ; our Brother, man, — 
 On these commandments twain he hung 
 The law and prophets all ; and rung — 
 
 For all the churches' eager ban — 
 
 A hundred changes deep and strong ; 
 Let who would hear him or forbear, 
 The ancient lie he would not spare, 
 
 The doubtful right, the vested wrong. 
 
OF CHANNING'S BIRTH. 
 
 What words were his of purest flame, 
 
 When, straining up from height to height, 
 He felt the Presence infinite, 
 
 And named the Everlasting Name ? 
 
 With him the thought and deed were one : 
 Man was indeed the Son of God ; 
 " ^Vhat, strike a man ! " * Break every rod 
 
 Of hate beneath the all-seeing sun. 
 
 So greatly bom, how dare to trail 
 
 Our festal garlands in the mire ! 
 
 How dare not evermore aspire 
 To Him w^ho is within the veil ! 
 
 69 
 
 In weakness made each day more strong, 
 Softly his days went trooping past. 
 Till robed in beauty came the last, 
 
 And with the sun he went along : 
 
 * His argument against flogging in the navy. 
 
70 THE HUNDREDTH ANNIVERSARY 
 
 Not to oblhion's dreamless sleep, 
 But, like the sun, on other lands 
 To shine, where other busier hands 
 
 The fields immortal sow and reap. 
 
 And he is ours ! Yes, if we dare, 
 Leaving the letter of his creed, 
 Say to his mighty spirit, " Lead ; 
 
 We follow hard ; " — yes, if no care 
 
 Is ours for aught but this : to know 
 What is God's truth, and knowing this 
 To count it still our dearest bliss 
 
 To go with that where'er it go. 
 
 So shall we go with him ; so feel 
 
 That comfort which the Spirit of Truth 
 Gives all who with his loving ruth 
 
 Are pledged to her for woe or weal. 
 
OF CHANNING'S BIRTH. 
 
 O thou whom, though we have not seen, 
 We love ! upon our toilsome way 
 Be thy pure spirit as a ray 
 
 From out that Light which is too clean 
 
 Uncleanness to behold ; shine clear, 
 That to our dimly peering eyes 
 All hidden truths, all specious lies, 
 
 That which they are may straight appear. 
 
 There is no ending to thy road, 
 No limit to thy fleeting goal, 
 But speeds the ever-greatening soul 
 
 From truth to truth, from God to God, 
 
 71 
 
UNDER THE SNOW. 
 
 TT^EEP under snow the mountain world 
 
 For many a week had lain ; 
 Deep in my heart for many a year 
 Had hid its viewless pain. 
 
 There came a day of warmer sun 
 
 From out the winter sky, 
 And premonitions of the spring 
 
 Went wandering softly by. 
 
 And lo, a bit of earth revealed ! 
 
 And lo, at little feet 
 Pressing the cold and cheerless sod, 
 
 One pansy, pure and sweet ! 
 
UNDER THE SNOW. 73 
 
 " Pansies for thoughts ! " and oh, for me 
 
 This pansy of the snow 
 Has thoughts that deeper than the depths 
 
 Of mountain bases go, — 
 
 Thoughts of my little baby flower 
 
 Beneath the mounded sod ; 
 Thoughts of the baby life that lives 
 
 Forevermore with God. 
 
 Oh, gently falls the glistening snow 
 
 Where he so long has lain ! 
 Oh, gently fall the years of God 
 
 Upon my bitter pain ! 
 
 Fall deeper yet, O years of God ! 
 
 There comes another day 
 When winds from off the hills beyond 
 
 Shall melt your snows away, 
 
74 
 
 UNDER THE SNOW. 
 
 And many a dear, long-hidden thing 
 Shall then be brought to light ; 
 
 And then who knows but my lost Face 
 Shall bloom again as bright 
 
 As this wee blossom, hid so long, 
 
 But waiting tenderly 
 Till it could bring to me a thought 
 
 Of Immortality ! 
 
 February 12, 1S81. 
 
TO A. W. R. 
 
 ON READING HER BOOK OF POEMS CALLED "THE RING OF 
 AMETHYST." 
 
 T T came to me one perfect summer day 
 Amid the tender beauty of the hills, 
 
 Wliose every niche a poet's memory fills 
 With echoes of his own resounding lay. 
 Died out the children's voices at their play, 
 
 While sweet for me as lapse of mountain rills, 
 
 Or fragrance that some rose's heart distils, 
 Your gentle verses had with me their way. 
 I read and read : the scene was all forgot ; 
 
 Down dropped the sun above the poet's home ; 
 
 The first faint stars came out in heaven's dome ; 
 Alone with you, all other things were not ; 
 
 Till sudden, pausing, lo, the purple mist 
 
 Had made the hills a ruig of amethyst ! 
 
 Chesterfield, July 5, 1878. 
 
THE INEFFABLE NAME. 
 
 T SEE an angel with dilated eyes 
 
 Filled with a wonder sweet beyond compare, 
 
 Around whose brows her wind-blown golden hair 
 Makes aureole splendor, and her finger Hes 
 Upon her lips. Dear angel of surprise, 
 
 The symbol thou of spirits high and fair, 
 
 Who to be silent still serenely dare, 
 Before all wonders of the earth and skies. 
 How name aright the Power that surges through 
 
 All times and worlds, nature and humankind ? 
 
 O Light of light, such spirits are not blind 
 To thy perfections, old yet ever new ! 
 
 When speech but mocks the overburdened heart. 
 
 They, choosing silence, choose the better part. 
 
 April 12, 1883. 
 
THE RISE OF MAN. 
 
 'nr^HOU for whose birth the whole creation yearned 
 Through countless ages of the morning world, 
 
 Who, first in fiery vapors dimly hurled. 
 Next to the senseless crystal slowly turned. 
 
 Then to the plant which grew to something more, — 
 Humblest of creatures that draw breath of life, — 
 Wherefrom through infinites of patient pain 
 
 Came conscious man to reason and adore : 
 Shall we be shamed because such things have been. 
 
 Or bate one jot of our ancestral pride ? 
 
 Nay, in thyself art thou not deified 
 That from such depths thou couldst such summits win ? 
 
 While the long way behind is prophecy 
 
 Of those perfections which are yet to be. 
 
 March 15, 1883. 
 
THE MAN JESUS. 
 
 TO C. P. G. 
 
 T F, where thou art, thou knowest more than I 
 Can know, amid these earthly vapors dim, 
 Of that great Soul, who often, in the days 
 That are no more, allured our common thought, 
 And made our homeward talk grow strangely deep 
 And tender, underneath the quiet stars, — 
 If there thou knowest I have done him wrong. 
 Failing in aught to give him reverence due, 
 Thou wilt forgive, being right well assured 
 That still for simplest truth my spirit yearns 
 As in those dear and unforgotten days 
 When life was sweeter than it e'er can be 
 Again, until again I am with thee. 
 
 1881. 
 
STARLICxHT. 
 
 " T OOK up," she said ; and all the heavens blazed 
 
 With countless myriads of quiet stars, 
 Whereon a moment silently he gazed, 
 
 And drank that peace no trouble ever mars. 
 Then looking down into her face upturned, 
 
 Two other stars that did outshine the rest 
 Upward to him with such soft splendor yearned 
 
 That all her secret was at once confessed. 
 Then he with kisses did put out their light, 
 
 And said, " O strange, but more dear love to me 
 Are thy pure eyes than all the stars of night 
 
 That shine in heaven everlastingly ! 
 Night still is night, with every star aglow ; 
 But light were night didst thou not love me so." 
 
 1878. 
 
THE GOLDEN WEDDING. 
 
 November 8, 1S82. 
 
 /'~\H, many are the songs of love 
 
 The blessed poets sing ! 
 Fain to your happy meeting, friends, 
 
 Would I some message bring ; 
 Some song of theirs like marriage bells 
 
 To jubilantly swing. 
 
 But when I turn their pages o'er 
 And read their honeyed verse, 
 
 I find, alas ! this love, which they 
 So tenderly rehearse, 
 
 Is not the love which time has proved 
 For better or for worse. 
 
THE GOLDEN WEDDING. 8 1 
 
 Theirs is the love of youth and maid, 
 
 With May and June aglow, 
 Who reck not of the falling leaf 
 
 Nor of November's snow ; 
 Enough for them the joyous hours 
 
 That sweetly come and go. 
 
 We need another song to-night, 
 
 This love to celebrate, 
 Which first began so long ago 
 
 And still, by happy fate, 
 Has hope of other years to come, 
 
 To bless and consecrate. 
 
 The love of youth is warm and sweet. 
 
 But theirs is better far 
 Who walk together from the dawn 
 
 Till shines the evening star. 
 As late I saw it shining clear 
 
 Above the horizon's bar. 
 6 
 
82 THE GOLDEN WEDDING. 
 
 Fade out the Present's happy scene, 
 The laughter and the glow ; 
 
 Shine once again the faces dear 
 Of fifty years ago ; 
 
 And set the merry wedding bells 
 A ringing to and fro ! 
 
 Dear hearts, is there a face that comes 
 To bless your golden year 
 
 Of all the happy swarm that ringed 
 With tenderness and cheer 
 
 Your wedding joy, so tremulous 
 It seemed almost a fear? 
 
 How few remain ; but God is good, 
 And from the dim unknown 
 
 How many blessed things have come 
 For you to call your own. 
 
 For loss of that which might not stay 
 To graciously atone ! 
 
THE GOLDEN WEDDING. 83 
 
 What joy of children in the house 
 
 To nourish and caress, 
 And grow with every added year 
 
 In love and faithfulness, 
 Till children's children gather round 
 
 To honor and to bless. 
 
 Not unacquainted have the years 
 
 With various sorrow been ; 
 Full many a day of tears has come 
 
 The happy days between. 
 And veiled the brightness of the world 
 
 As with a cloudy screen. 
 
 But humble hearts that love aright 
 
 From sorrow as from joy. 
 Draw out a blessing sweet and pure 
 
 From every base alloy ; 
 The peace of God which nothing can 
 
 Endanger or annoy. 
 
84 THE GOLDEN WEDDING. 
 
 Now blessings on the happy bride 
 
 Of fifty years ago ! 
 And blessings on the husband fond, 
 
 Who then could httle know 
 What grace of God the hidden times 
 
 Were waiting to bestow ! 
 
 Better than any hope or dream 
 Has been the lengthening way ; 
 
 Look back and see the tender lights 
 Among the shadows play, 
 
 While forward brighter shines the path, 
 Till comes the perfect day. 
 
 Dear Father, Mother, words are weak 
 To prove our kindly will ; 
 
 More than we hope in this glad hour 
 May God's high grace fulfil, 
 
 And all the great immortal years 
 But find you lovers still. 
 
THE GOOD SHIP "REGISTER." 
 
 Written for a Celebration of the Sixtieth Anniversary of the founding 
 of the "Christian Register," April, iSSi. 
 
 nr^HIS is a song of the brave old ship 
 
 That lias carried aloft for sixty years 
 The flag of a country of dateless time, 
 
 The country of all men's hopes and fears, 
 Of all men's longings on land or sea 
 For the better things that are yet to be. 
 
 New-England built was the ship I sing : 
 
 Never in forest her timbers grew ; 
 Nay, but in soil where the drenching rain 
 
 And the needful sun and the sparkUng dew 
 Were of that pure essence which only can 
 Come from the great, deep heart of man. 
 
86 THE GOOD SHIP '' REGISTERr 
 
 " Come," said the builders, " and let us make 
 Such a ship as never was seen before, 
 
 Sharp in the bows and broad in the beam, 
 And deep in the hold for the mighty store 
 
 Of truth and love which her freight will be. 
 
 As she breasts the waves of the stormy sea." 
 
 Great was the scorn of the scorners then : 
 " Build you as we in the good old way. 
 
 Or the time and the storm will come," they cried, 
 " When the crew of your ship shall rue the day 
 
 When in craft of yours they dared the sea." 
 
 But the doom which they promised is yet to be. 
 
 For the builders built in the scorners' spite 
 
 After the pattern untried before, 
 And there came in April a pleasant day 
 
 When they gave the ship from the quiet shore 
 To the seas that WTCStle and tug and strain, 
 To the boundless sweep of the roaring main. 
 
THE GOOD SHIP ''REGISTER:' 87 
 
 Long ago was that April day ; 
 
 Many times since then has the year gone round \ 
 Many a voyage the ship has made ; 
 
 Often outward and inward bound, 
 The hghts that never were known to fail 
 Have given her greeting or parting hail. 
 
 On peaceful errands her sails have filled ; 
 
 News she has carried of joy and peace ; 
 Souls that have suffered in darkness long 
 
 Have at her coming found glad release ; 
 And souls in famine and mortal fear 
 Have read on her pennon " Good cheer ! Good cheer ! " 
 
 No man of war, but the time has been, 
 
 When, flinging their insolent challenge abroad, 
 
 The great three-deckers of ancient wrong 
 Have heard her thunder for man and God, 
 
 And felt her answer of rattling hail 
 
 Beat on their decks like an iron flail. 
 
8 THE GOOD SHIP ''REGISTERS 
 
 Best she has loved the common way 
 
 Of the great high seas, where a thousand ships 
 
 Freighted with simplest loves and cares 
 Sail where the wide horizon dips 
 
 To friendly shores, and to havens calm. 
 
 And to islands breathing an air of balm. 
 
 But when she has heard of the ships that have gone 
 
 Sounding a dim and perilous way. 
 Seeking a land that is still unknown. 
 
 Where the light is not of our common day, 
 Stranger than seas of the frozen pole, 
 The infinite vast of the human soul, — 
 
 Then she has said, in her Captain's voice, 
 
 " Why do we always tarry here, 
 Keeping the dear familiar ways, 
 
 Hearing the voices of homely cheer ? 
 Tempt we, good vessel, the unknown sea, 
 And learn of its tidings, whatever they be." 
 
THE GOOD SHIP ''REGISTERS 89 
 
 So many a time she has steered her way 
 
 Far remote from the beaten track, 
 Sounding and searching for many a day, 
 
 But ever bringing one message back : 
 " Much have we learned on our voyage lone. 
 But we have not fathomed the great Unknown." 
 
 1 
 Tried and true have her Captains been, — 
 
 The brave old ship's that has sailed so long, — 
 Some of them here we meet no more, 
 
 And some there are whom my foolish song 
 Will little please, as a landsman's strain 
 Of things that are done on the open main. 
 
 And one there was whom I called my friend, — 
 Whom I loved, and I know that he loved me, — 
 
 O Mumford, where are you sailing now, 
 Across what wonderful, secret sea ? 
 
 Shall we meet again ? Shall I ever hear 
 
 Again your greeting of tenderest cheer ? 
 
90 THE GOOD SHIP ''REGISTER." 
 
 I give you joy that the good ship flies 
 The same old flag of the former days. 
 
 I give you joy that her Captain still 
 Is a man of the same old simple ways 
 
 You loved so well, — a man you knew, 
 
 And found him tender and trusty and true. 
 
 But now it is time that I make an end : 
 Long may the good ship keep the sea ! 
 
 Ever honest and simple and brave 
 
 May her Captain and all her sailors be ! 
 
 And ever with gladness all good men hail 
 
 The cheerful gleam of her coming sail ! 
 
 April, iSSi. 
 
ANTI-DISCOURAGEMENT. 
 
 '' I ^HE legend runs, that on his toilsome way 
 
 To reach the Buddha's crown of sacred joy, 
 Gautama lived a hundred various lives, 
 Deeming no task too mean for his employ, 
 
 So might he come at length to that high seat 
 Which is the topmost sovereignty of good, 
 
 And for a thousand ages bless the world 
 With the hell-deep salvation of the Buddh. 
 
 Of Buddhas there had been before his day 
 Twoscore and five ; and when the first of all 
 
 Was on this earth, it chanced he came anear 
 A hermit's cell, Gautama's, who did fall 
 
92 ANTI-DISCOURAGEMENT. 
 
 Prone on his face, and of his body made 
 A living bridge, whereby the teacher crossed 
 
 A rushing stream ; and for this service he 
 Had gained, instead of that poor hfe he lost, 
 
 At once the Buddha's own ; but " No," he said, 
 " I still will go the round of life and death 
 
 Some ages more, if so I may at length 
 
 Redeem all creatures that draw painful breath." 
 
 And of the many forms in which abode 
 The spirit wliich is now the Lord of all, 
 
 One was a small red squirrel, and full oft 
 Lower than this, for love's sake, did he fall. 
 
 A nd lo ! there came a dreadful storm, which tore 
 Gautama's squirrel-nest from off its tree. 
 
 And bore it, with its freight of helpless life. 
 Far out upon a black and raging sea. 
 
A NTI-DISCO URA CEMENT. 93 
 
 How save his young ? Audacity of love ! 
 
 Quoth he, " At length this pretty brush of mine 
 Shall serve me well, for with it I will dry 
 
 This deep sea up of all its weltering brine." 
 
 And so with valiant heart he went to work 
 
 To save his brood ; and seven days he wrought, 
 
 SprinkUng the sea on the unconscious land. 
 Nor would beUeve that it was all for naught. 
 
 Then Sekra, ruler of the heavens, saw 
 
 What he was at, and laughed right merrily 
 
 To think a squirrel, with his tail, should deem 
 That he could dry the unfathomable sea. 
 
 " Ho, there ! " he cried, " a hundred thousand men 
 Could not accompUsh what thou dost essay 
 
 If they should toil a hundred thousand years, 
 And all the hours were years of every day." 
 
94 A NTI-DISCO URA CEMENT. 
 
 " Thou speakest true," the squirrel-saint repHed ; 
 
 " So would it be if all were like to thee : 
 But mind, old imbecile, thine own affairs — 
 
 /shall go on till I have dried the sea." 
 
 So with new ardor he frisked up and down 
 
 The wild sea's edge, hearing his young ones cry. 
 
 Till Sekra ceased to laugh, and, looking down 
 With wondering pity from the inclement sky, 
 
 That such vast courage could have found a home 
 In such a feeble creature's tiny breast. 
 
 Soothed all his winds to sleep, and o'er the deep 
 Spread suddenly a sweet and perfect rest, 
 
 Save where one kindly zephyr gently pressed 
 Landward the leafy squirrel-laden bough. 
 
 Till there was laughter in the heart which then 
 Was a red squirrel's, but is Buddha's now. 
 
ANTI-DISCOURAGEMENT. 95 
 
 O mighty power of love ! O heart that dares 
 All things for its beloved ! To you alone 
 
 All things are possible ; the heavens bend, 
 
 And powers that scoffed will help you to your own ! 
 
 iSSo. 
 
SEVEN TIMES ELEVEN. 
 
 1 ]^ROM seven times one the tender song went on 
 
 To seven times seven, and there made an end ; 
 But so, thank God, it has not been with thee 
 And thy good years, O dear and blessed friend ! 
 
 Thy seven times eight had passed ere first I knew 
 The kindly welcome of thy pleasant face ; 
 
 Thy seven times nine beheld thee full of years, 
 But yet more full of gentleness and grace. 
 
 Then came the goal, — the threescore years and ten ; 
 
 Still sang thy heart its sweet and natural song : 
 " Labor and sorrow " ? Nay, to thee I deem 
 
 Labor and joy forevermore belong. 
 
SEVEN TIMES ELEVEN. 97 
 
 For thou hast ever found thy sweetest joy 
 In simple tasks of love and friendliness ; 
 
 Finding, like one to me forever dear, 
 That naught is easier than to cheer and bless. 
 
 And so thy seven times eleven comes 
 
 And finds thee laboring and loving still ; 
 
 Striving, ere yet the day is wholly done. 
 To fit thy task yet closer to His will. 
 
 Work on, love on, in sorrow, yet in joy ; 
 
 Another song of seven live to sing 
 Ere, life well spent, thy winter turn at last 
 
 To sudden freshness Hke this month of spring. 
 
 Somehow my lyre is broken in these days, 
 Nor makes the music that it made of yore ; 
 
 But mid the jar this note at least sounds true : 
 God's peace be with thee now and evermore ! 
 
 April 23, 1882. 
 
 7 
 
JAN STEENER'S RIDE. 
 
 A STORY is it, you want, little man ? 
 
 Well, come and sit on your grandfather's knee, 
 And I '11 do the best that ever I can — 
 It 's one my grandfather told to me. 
 
 Folks think me young for eighty ; well, 
 He was almost ninety, and hale and bright, 
 
 And I was sitting, as you are now. 
 Snug in his arms one winter night. 
 
 Said he : " When I was a smart young man — 
 Before the Dutch had the country lost — 
 
 There stood a church on the village green, 
 Right in the middle where two roads crossed. 
 
JAN S TEENER'S RIDE. 99 
 
 " It stood as flush with the village street 
 
 As the top o' your head with the palm o' my hand, — 
 So ; and running from east to west, 
 
 Open each end to the pleasant land, 
 
 " Spread out like a picture, the broad aisle ran, 
 With the dominie's pulpit a bit one side 
 
 Of the upper end ; and there he stood. 
 Sounding his trumpet far and wide, 
 
 " One Sabbath morning, as pretty a day 
 
 As ever the Lord God chose to make ; 
 And what do you think was the Bible text 
 
 The dear old dominie chanced to take 
 
 " That morning, but one from the 'Pocalypse 
 
 'Bout the great white horse and his rider, Death ? 
 
 He was just beginning on ' ninthly,' and 
 The people were most of them holding their breath. 
 
lOO JAN STEENER'S RIDE. 
 
 " When all at once, in at the open door, 
 And up the aisle with a thunderous sound, 
 
 Riding as white a horse as a man 
 Could find in all the country round, 
 
 " There came a horseman galloping fast — 
 A single flash — he had come and gone, 
 
 Leaving a hundred Dutch-folk there 
 With their hearts in their breasts like an icy stone. 
 
 " And the dominie he was scared the worst 
 
 Of 'em all ; he trembled and shivered and shook, 
 
 And gripped the pulpit as if he thought 
 The dreadful day of the Holy Book 
 
 " Had come for sure ; and at last he said : 
 ' What we have seen I dare not say ; 
 
 But if it be a sign of the end. 
 
 There is need for us all to watch and pray. ' 
 
JAN STEENER'S RIDE. 10 1 
 
 " So with prayer and blessing the frightened folk 
 Were all to their various homes dismissed ; 
 
 But one old burgher said, and swore, 
 
 As he shook like a hammer his grimy fist, 
 
 " He 'd bet a thousand thalers to one 
 That the man who rode and the clattering steed 
 
 Were just a younker of flesh and blood 
 
 And a handsome horse of the Flemish breed. 
 
 " And, in truth, he was n't much out, my lad ! 
 
 I ought to know, for the horse was mine, 
 And I was the younker that struck aghast 
 
 The dominie preaching his number nine. 
 
 " Don't look so solemn ! You see, that day 
 
 I was bound to see the prettiest girl 
 That ever looked in a looking-glass 
 
 To conquer a wilful and wandering curl. 
 
102 JAN S TEENER'S RIDE. 
 
 " And the shortest way to her side was through 
 The meeting-house aisle ; so through I went. 
 
 A minute's difference, more or less ; 
 
 But life at the longest will soon be spent, 
 
 " And the love of a girl who is sweet and true 
 Is a thing so precious beneath the sun 
 
 That one of its minutes is worth an age 
 Of hearts that never such bliss have won." 
 
 This is the story my grandfather told 
 To yours ; it was fourscore years ago. 
 
 That is my grandmother's picture there ; 
 Do you wonder much that he loved her so ? 
 
 1875. 
 
STORM AND SHINE. 
 
 A NOTHER sunless, dreary, weary day ! 
 
 How the poor tree-tops shiver ! The dead leaves 
 Fall sullenly upon the rain-soaked earth ; 
 
 Loud and more loud the wild nor'easter grieves. 
 
 And can it be that ever sunlight shone ? 
 
 And can it be that ever skies were blue ? 
 And can it be that ever breezes soft 
 
 The windward bee scarce hindered as he flew ? 
 
 And what if nevermore the earth should lie 
 By the warm wind enchanted and caressed ? 
 
 And what if this gray shroud which now she wears 
 Were that of her last, long, eternal rest ? 
 
104 STORM AND SHINE. 
 
 11. 
 
 Was ever day so beautiful as this ? 
 
 Was ever wind so soft, or sky so fair ? 
 Was ever grass so green, and all the world 
 
 So fresh and pure and sweet beyond compare? 
 
 How the glad tree-tops glisten in the sun ! 
 
 How, tilting there, the robin flings abroad 
 A song so gay that all the earth through hira 
 
 Seems giving thanks and praises to our God ! 
 
 And can it be that skies were ever dark ? 
 
 That sunlight ever was desired in vain ? 
 That ever fell, day after weary day. 
 
 The hoarded torrents of the cheerless rain ? 
 
 So beautiful, it seems it cannot die ! 
 
 Or die but to bring others to their birth, — 
 Days fair as this, that with unending joy 
 
 Shall stir the pulses of the happy earth. 
 
THE MEETING-HOUSE. 
 
 " /^^OME," said the fathers, "let us build 
 
 A beacon here beside the sea, 
 And trim its lamp for those who toss 
 On the wide waters wearily." 
 
 They built it broad ; they built it high ; 
 
 They crowned the work with prayer and song ; 
 They set a watchman in the tower 
 
 To tend the hght and keep it strong. 
 
 Oh, many a frail and wandering bark 
 Since then has seen our beacon light, 
 
 And hastened home across the dark, 
 Rejoicing in the goodly sight ! 
 
I06 THE MEETING-HOUSE. 
 
 Long may its starry welcome gleam ; 
 
 Long may it guide the weary home ; 
 Long may its tender message stream 
 
 Across the waste of wind and foam ! 
 
 1S79. 
 
JOHN WEISS. 
 
 /^VER all the land to-day, 
 ^-'^ Where our heroes sleeping lie, 
 Blooms the amaranthine flower 
 That shall never fade or die. 
 
 But for us a newer grave 
 
 Flushes with as fair a bloom. — 
 Bluest of forget-me-nots 
 
 On a stainless soldier's tomb. 
 
 He was fellow with them all, 
 
 Wearers of the blue and gray, — 
 
 Men who, told that they must die, 
 Only asked to know the way. 
 
I08 JOHN WEISS. 
 
 Ever first in fi-eedom's van, 
 Took his breast the sheaf of spears ; 
 
 Here is loss too deep for words, 
 Here is grief too proud for tears. 
 
 Onward, where he led the way ! 
 
 Many more will have to fall 
 Ere the glorious banner waves 
 
 Peace and triumph over all. 
 
 Decoration .Day, 1879. 
 
A SONNET FOR THE DAY 
 
 FOR WHICH A WEATHER-PROPHET HAD PREDICTED A TERRIFIC 
 STORM. 
 
 A STORM of sunshine ! How it plays and beats 
 On the chill gardens and the frozen sods ! 
 
 How the blue heaven seems as if the gods 
 Of old with nectarous and ambrosial sweets 
 Made holiday ! How the very streets, 
 
 Where fashion pours and weary labor plods, 
 
 Seem to laugh out ! What ! Is 't the golden-rod's 
 Midsummer splendor that my vision greets ? 
 
 Nay, 't is the golden sunshine. There is naught 
 That can withstand its gracious power. 
 The winter's reign is broken from this hour, 
 
 And all its terrors are to nothing brought. 
 O heart, my heart, greet thou the opening year, 
 Sing with the birds and make a sweeter cheer ! 
 
 March 9, 1883. 
 
FATE. 
 
 A LL unconscious I beheld her ; 
 
 Knew not that my fate was nigh, 
 Fate that wears such various aspect 
 To the victim's laughing eye. 
 
 Poets, painters, still to paint her 
 Dark and gloomy, do their best ; 
 
 Were I painter, I would paint her 
 All in cherry-color dressed. 
 
 She should be a little maiden, 
 Modest, shrinking, sweet, and fair, 
 
 At a party, playing forfeits. 
 
 Looking, " Kiss me if you dare ! " 
 
FATE. Ill 
 
 Did I kiss you ? If I did n't, 
 
 'T was the blunder of my life. 
 Was the last the hundred millionth ? 
 
 Just one more then, little wife. 
 
 January 3, iS 
 
 University Press, Cambridge : John Wilson & Son. 
 
; 
 
MESSES. EGBERTS BEOTHEES' PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE MAN JESUS. 
 
 A COURSE OF LECTURES. 
 By JOHN W. CHADWICK, 
 
 Author of "The Faith of Reason," "The Bible of To-Day," 
 "A Book of Poems," etc., etc. 
 
 " It lias done for many minds the grateful work of bringing Jesus for the first 
 time near men as a living and real person." — Rev. J. H. Allen, in Unitarian 
 Review. 
 
 "A very interesting and remarkable book. It is strange that the familiar 
 incidents can be made so fresh." — Boston Advertiser. 
 
 "There is a frankness and freedom that will sometimes be found startling, 
 but there is a reverence for truth, and a conception of real greatness, that will 
 recommend it to all open and honest minds." — Si. Louis Spectator. 
 
 " Even the bitterest opponents of the views which Mr. Chadwick adopts must 
 acknowledge that in the field of literature it is a masterful performance, luminous 
 with the teachings of the gospel of humanity and a wonderful knowledge of the 
 time and place of which he treats." — Boston Traveller. 
 
 " Mr. Chadwick is no dreary fact grinder, no vaporing theorist, and he en- 
 livens a subject usually treated with impressive dulness with flashes of wit and 
 bits of natural writing as refreshing as they are unexpected." — Brooklyti Times. 
 
 " It is forcible and noble thought strongly and beautifully expressed, and 
 commends itself to all thinking people." — Indianapolis Joitrnal. 
 
 *' No Italian Perugino could have undertaken a picture of the Divine Son of 
 Man in a spirit more tender, loving, and at times even tearful, than has Mr. 
 Chadv\ick his portraiture of Jesus." — Boston Sunday Herald. 
 
 Second Edition. One volume. 16mo. Price, $1.00. 
 
 Sold by all booksellers. Mailed., post-paid, on receipt of 
 the advertised price, by 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, 
 
 BOSTON. 
 
MESSES. EOBEETS BEOTKEES' PnBLICATIOHS. 
 
 The Faith of Reason. 
 
 A SERIES OF DISCOURSES ON THE LEADING 
 TOPICS OF RELIGION. 
 
 By JOHN W. CHADWICK, 
 
 Author of "The Man Jesus," "The Bible of To-Day, " "A 
 Book of Poems," &c. 
 
 "Free, original, brave, manly speech is here; never prosy, always earnest, 
 often curiously apt, and sometimes swelling with its theme into fervid eloquence. 
 . . . When we consider their quality, we marvel, for what sermons of the day can 
 compare with these in richness, force, and beauty?" — Rev. Dr. F. H. Hedge, 
 in tlie Unitarian Review. 
 
 " In tliis externally negative theology there is an earnestness, a trustfulness in 
 truth and lionesty, a fearlessness as to the results of patient and reverent thinkmg, 
 which has more of the freshness and fragrance of genuine faith than half the 
 orthodox apologies and sermons of the day." — Brooklyn Eagle. 
 
 " The gravest fault of this book will be the difficulty of answering it. It is the 
 result of long and patient thinking on the greatest themes that can occupy the 
 human mind." — Dr. Bellows, in Christian Register. 
 
 " Everywhere pervaded by a spirit of profound reflection." — New York 
 Tribune. 
 
 " There is extraordinary vigor and scope of thought in the treatment of these 
 themes." — Boston Transcript. 
 
 " They are packed full of bold, strong, original thought. Perhaps their most 
 striking feature is their utter fearlessness. . . . We venture to say that no book of 
 equal volume issued from the press for years contains more vigorous and searching 
 thought on more momentous themes." — Chicago Satitrday Evening Herald. 
 
 Second Edition. One volume. 16mo. Price, Si. 00. 
 
 Sold by all Booksellers. Mailed, post-paid, on receipt of 
 the advertised price, by 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, 
 
 BOSTON. 
 
MESSES. EOBEETS BEOTHEES' PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 A Book of Poems. 
 
 By JOHN W. CHADWICK, 
 
 Author of "The Man Jesus," "The Faith of Reason," "The Bible 
 of To-Day." 
 
 " It is the very life we live and all of it, the very place we live in, the very 
 sorrows and joys of our present day that the poet finds full of cheer and peace and 
 suggestion." — Liberal Christian. 
 
 "Their chief worth is in their abounding human tenderness." — Portland 
 Press- 
 
 "Mr. Chadwick has evidently written because he could not help it, and his 
 verses are genuine poetry. He has taken counsel with his own mind and heart ; 
 his verse is sincere and truthful, and its melody is perfect." — New York Times. 
 
 " With a full, rich nature, and a keen poetic sense, Mr. Chadwick has put 
 into these little pieces sweetness and light, tenderness and subtle beauty." — 
 New York Evening Post. 
 
 " Mr. Chadwick's fine poetic sensibility and mastery of form find even more 
 natural expression here than in his vigorous and thoughtful preaching." — 
 Christian Register. 
 
 " He has many new things and many new old things to sing, and God made 
 him a singer. With high praise in short space we bid him welcome." — New 
 York Evening Mail. 
 
 " Mr. Chadwick is an independent and intrepid thinker, but the sentiment 
 that pervades and chastens these pieces is singularly pure and sweet, trustful and 
 devout, tonic and cheering." — New York Graphic. 
 
 8ixth Edition. One volume. Square 16uio. Red edges. 
 Price, $1.00. 
 
 Sold by all booksellers. Mailed, post-paid, on receipt of 
 the advertised price, by 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS', Publishers, 
 
 BOSTON. 
 
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