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Heart-Life in Song. 
 
 FANNIE H. MARR. 
 
 
 
 Know'st thou a noble action?— Tell it wide, 
 That fainter hearts may learn to do or bear. 
 Hast thou a worthy thought ? — Clothe it with words, 
 And it may live when thou hast passed away. 
 
 BALTIMORE: 
 
 TURNBULL BROTHERS. 
 
 1874. 
 
p/\3 H r 
 
Ubuafton. 
 
 To all who think and feel : 
 
 To all who suffer and mourn: 
 
 To all who labor and wait and hope, 
 
 This little volume is inscribed by the 
 
 Writer. 
 
 Warrenlon, Va., Oct., 187J. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 After Communion, 157 
 
 Before Communion, 156 
 
 Chiefest among Ten Thousand, Ill 
 
 Come unto Me, 114 
 
 Comfort ye, comfort ye my People, . . . .120 
 
 Doubt and Faith, 136 
 
 Family Portraits, . 49 
 
 Fisher's Evening Song, 143 
 
 From a Wife to her Husband, 67 
 
 God Knoweth Best, . . 147 
 
 Heathen Prayer, 62 
 
 He Leadeth Me, 109 
 
 Heaven, 183 
 
 I count the Hours that are serene, .... 52 
 
 In Memoriam, 84 
 
 In Sickness, 125 
 
 Jesus, 145 
 
 Koshagautami, 7 
 
 Life, 53 
 
 Life's Lessons, 78 
 
 Lines of Life, . 105 
 
 Longing, 57 
 
 My Dead, 85 
 
 Mission of Song, 101 
 
 No Hope : No Life, 96 
 
 Old Letters, 46 
 
 On Entering Church, 148 
 
 Pressing Onward, 139 
 
 She hath done what She could, 87 
 
6 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page, 
 
 Spero, Credo, Fido, ......... 89 
 
 St. James' Church, 153 
 
 Summer Evening 65 
 
 Sympathy, 73 
 
 The Blue Ridge, 68 
 
 The Captive, . . . . 93 
 
 The Dead in Christ, 151 
 
 The Gifts of Love, 82 
 
 The Invitation, 159 
 
 The Mother's Revenge, 15 
 
 The Orphans 33 
 
 The Present, 79 
 
 The Promises of God, . . . . . . ~ . . 129 
 
 The Saviour for Me, 141 
 
 The South, 98 
 
 The Word of God, . . . . ." . . . .118 
 
 The Workman and the Metal, 127 
 
 Thy Will be done, ......... 107 
 
 To an Infant, e3 
 
 To my Books, 58 
 
 To my Sewing Needle, 75 
 
 Trust 132 
 
 Unbelief, £8 
 
 Voice of the Dying, 91 
 
 We also bless Thy Holy Name, &c, . . . 162 
 
 What is Life's Greatest Blessing, ..... 72 
 
 What I believe, 123 
 
 Work while it is To-day, 148 
 
 Ye shall drink indeed of My Clip, . . 116 
 
KOSHAGA UTAML 
 
 A HINDOO LEGEND. 
 
 «§§♦ 
 
 [HEN Time was young, and Buddha 
 dwelt with men, 
 Uttering his precious words of wisdom; when 
 The wronged, the suffering, and the needy 
 
 came 
 To ask his counsel, or his aid to claim, 
 It chanced that by him oftentimes there stood 
 A simple, artless daughter of the wood, 
 Koshagautami, who with eager ear 
 And timid heart, like graceful fawn, drew near, 
 Listened awhile, then lightly disap})eared, 
 As if observing eye she shunned and feared. 
 Often had Buddha watched her standing by 
 With glowing, parted lips and kindling eye ; 
 But when he sought with prophet glance to 
 
 see 
 Her inner, hidden life — then even he, 
 Buddha, so great, and wise, and learned styled, 
 Was baffled, thwarted, by the woman-child. 
 1 co 
 
8 KOSHAGAUTAML 
 
 With all the buoyant hope and trust of wife, 
 She, with her chosen, was just entering life. 
 Far from the haunts of men, the happy two 
 Lived for each other, faithful, kind and true. 
 Rich in the treasure of a priceless love, 
 Guileless and peaceful as the gentle dove, 
 Their present flowed too smoothly, swiftly on 
 To leave one sigh for days or pleasures gone ; 
 And to their gaze the future only cast 
 A brightened image of the happy past. 
 
 One little boy made short the long, glad days. 
 With cooing laughter, and sweet, childish 
 
 ways, 
 And won, without an effort, without art, 
 The wild, deep worship of the mother's heart. 
 She loved — but not as we of colder climes, 
 Of calculating days and reasoning times, 
 Who give, despite of Nature's loud demand, 
 A measured love, with cautious heart and 
 
 hand. 
 Her love — a full, deep current strongly 
 
 flowed, 
 With every beat of pulse and stream of blood, 
 Intensified existence, calmed its strife, 
 And was her food, her air, her breath, her 
 
 life. 
 
KOSHA GA UTAML 9 
 
 One day the prattle ceased ; the laughter fled ; 
 The little limbs grew still ; the child was dead. 
 The wondering mother fondly, wildly pressed 
 The cold, stiff infant to her throbbing breast. 
 She rocked and shook him ; then she sang 
 
 and cooed ; 
 Then forced between his lips the savory food ; 
 Then rubbed and chafed him ; tossed him to 
 
 and fro ; 
 For oh, the heavy silence awed her so ! 
 She would have leaped with joy to hear again 
 The infant voice, although in moans of pain. 
 Alas ! where had the artless mother been 
 Ne'er to have known the penalty of sin ; 
 Ne'er to have known the chill, the vanished 
 
 breath, 
 The awful stillness of what we call death ? 
 
 With love that never curbs her strong desires ; 
 With love that never falters, never tires; 
 With love that never yields to cold despair, 
 But wills and acts though Eeason says " For- 
 bear," 
 Koshagautami placed the lifeless form 
 Upon her. hips, and on through sun and storm, 
 Wandered o'er plains, and up and down the 
 wood, 
 
1 KOSHA GA UTAMI. 
 
 Asking each passer what would do him good. 
 And all, with innate courtesy, gave place, 
 Looked pityingly into the wistful face 
 And hollow eyes that asked so strange a thing, 
 Yet never help, or ray of hope could bring. 
 And then the patient mother thought of one 
 To whom all things were easy, all things 
 
 known ; 
 And with a new, fresh hope she turned with 
 
 haste 
 To seek the aid of India's mighty Priest. 
 " Surely," she thought, stilling her bosom's 
 
 woes, 
 " Surely some help, some hope great Buddha 
 
 knows." 
 
 He sat beneath a spreading Banyan tree, 
 And men had gathered all around, while he 
 Unfolded to them from the mighty deep 
 Of his own soul, some thought, some truth 
 
 to keep. 
 O Buddha! when, like mountain capp'd with 
 
 snows, 
 Above the plain of common minds thou rose, 
 Seeking with only Nature's light and lore 
 To make men wiser, better than before, 
 
KOSHA GA UTA ML \ \ 
 
 Thou sought the noblest task that e'er was 
 
 given 
 To fallen man by an o'er-ruling Heaven. 
 And if in darkness thou didst blindly grope, 
 Striving in vain the close-barred gates to ope 
 That swelled the tide of ignorance and doubt, 
 And shut the floods of higher knowledge out, 
 Thy soaring spirit, in its daring flight, 
 Caught, now and then, a glimmer of the light. 
 
 The truly great are good, and when he saw 
 Koshagautami gently near him draw, 
 And read upon her young and clouded face 
 The lines that only spirit-grief can trace, 
 His heart with sympathising pity stirred, 
 And his kind ear waited her opening word. 
 
 How strong and brave love makes us! Ne'er 
 
 before, 
 Save in the distance humbly to adore, 
 Had she dared gaze on him ; yet now, without 
 One checking fear, or shade of blinding doubt, 
 Or thought of auo-ht save that she came to 
 
 crave, 
 And that he held the power to help and 
 
 save, 
 
12 KOSHA GA UTAMI. 
 
 She came — the lifeless burden on her hips, — 
 She came — the heart-wish trembling on her 
 lips. 
 
 "Behold," said she, "my child! How still he 
 
 .lies; 
 How cold and stiff his limbs; how strange 
 
 his eyes! 
 Vainly I've tried each simple charm and art; 
 No word, no laughter comes to cheer my 
 
 heart. 
 But dost not thou, O blessed Master, know 
 Something to make again the life-blood flow?" 
 
 As answering echo back on echo flies, 
 Eeflected sorrow glistened in his eyes, 
 As he replied : "Daughter, I do. Make speed, 
 Bring hither in thy hand some mustard seed 
 From the first home that thou canst find 
 
 where one 
 Hath never died, and I will heal thy son." 
 
 Back to the town, still bearing on her dead, 
 Koshagautami quickly, wildly sped ; 
 And at the first low house her footsteps 
 stayed, 
 
KOSHA GA UTA ML \ 3 
 
 And with faint voice her humble prayer she 
 
 made; 
 And as with trembling hand the seed she 
 
 took, 
 Said with an eager and imploring look, 
 "Tell me, hath any in this home e'er died?" 
 Alas ! the master shook his head and sighed, 
 " 'Twas but last moon death seized my fairest 
 
 one, 
 Him that my soul loved best — my first-born 
 
 son." 
 "The seed is worthless then," she sadly said, 
 And to another dwelling quickly sped: 
 And on, and on, until the day was spent. 
 But^ everywhere the sorrowing mother went, 
 She found a mightier one had been before, 
 And with a sickened heart she sought no 
 
 more. 
 
 As alchemists with patient, tireless thought, 
 Through centuries of time have vainly sought 
 Things not in Nature, yet have haply found 
 Their ill-directed efforts nobly crowned 
 With knowledge far more precious, far more 
 
 great, 
 Than all their wildest fancies could create, — 
 
14 KOSHA GA UTAML 
 
 So did this mother in her fruitless task 
 Find what she did not seek, and did not ask. 
 She found the seed that in each grief is sown ; 
 Found that in sorrow she stood not alone ; 
 And that the burden she accepted not, 
 Was but the common fate, the common lot. 
 
 Ashamed that she had dared to murmur o'er 
 What all the world in silent suffering bore, 
 She took the child, and, in a lonely place, 
 Covered with moss and leaves his form and face, 
 Then came again where Buddha sat, and said, 
 "Master, I found no seed such as you bade 
 Me bring. There is no home without its dead." 
 "No, daughter ; in this world of change and pain, 
 Thou long mayst ask, and seek such seed in vain. 
 Thine eye hath seen, thy heart doth feel it true, 
 The dead are many, and the living few. 
 But hast thou in thy searching nothing found 
 That, like a ligature, thy grief hath bound ? 
 The load beneath whose burden one would fall 
 Grows lighter if the weight is shared by all. 
 In shade and silence let thy grief be laid : 
 Earth has no home, no heart, without its dead." 
 
THE MOTHER'S REVENGE. 
 A maniac's tale. 
 
 — #§0 — 
 
 *00K on me, ye who idly pass this way;: 
 Ay, stop and gaze, as if with horror filled 
 Ye viewed a monster: one, from whose strong 
 
 power 
 And frightful passions ye w T ould shrink away. 
 Look w T ell upon this bent-up, shrivelled form ; 
 "lis mightier than a giant's. See this hand,, 
 Trembling and withered ; it has strength with 
 
 which 
 Ye dare not cope. But if ye'll stay and hear, 
 I'll tell of grief and suffering, such as ye 
 Have never dreamed of; and wh&n ye shall fall 
 Upon your knees to-night, pray God in heaven 
 That ye may never feel. Listen to me : 
 Fancy yourselves gifted, or cursed, by God, 
 As I have been, with passions deep and wild. 
 Stand ye where I have stood ; bear what I bore ;, 
 Feel all that I have felt; suffer as I 
 Have suffered ; turn each feeling to the light ;. 
 
 (15) 
 
16 THE MOTHER'S REVENGE. 
 
 Probe to the quick each passion ; and if ye 
 Can lift your hands to Heaven, and say ye had 
 More patient been, and stronger to endure, 
 Then may ye pass harsh judgment upon me 
 
 I once was young ; and innocent, and gay ; 
 Life was as dear, as beautiful to me 
 As now it seems to you. Each fleeting day 
 Brought new enjoyment ; night, a calm repose. 
 Hope walked beside me, and the air was filled 
 With love's rich perfume. To my lips, 
 My eager, thirsting lips, was pressed a cup 
 Full of delicious sweetness, and I drank. 
 
 I stood — a bride — beside the altar, as 
 
 A thousand forms before and since have 
 
 stood. 
 With all the fervency of youth I pledged 
 Myself to one, who gave his ail to me. 
 If ye have felt the freshness of young love ; 
 If ye have known each longing passion stilled, 
 And every hour and every moment filled 
 With so much joy there was no more to 
 
 crave, 
 Then may ye feel what bliss was mine. 
 The newer longings of a newer life 
 
THE MOTHER'S REVENGE. 17 
 
 God heard and answered; and I thought and 
 
 said 
 That He was good. A little form lay on 
 My breast ; lips ravishingly sweet met mine; 
 I looked in beauteous eyes whose depths 
 
 disclosed 
 A new-created world of rare delight. 
 My cup of joy, so brimming full before, 
 With blissful haj^piness ran o'er. 
 
 I thought my soul was more 
 Than filled with one ; but when six children 
 
 called 
 Me mother, there was room and love for all. 
 My first-born was my joy, my hope, my pride. 
 He was the fairest, dearest, best, where all 
 Were good and beautiful. I had no thought 
 Apart from him ; he filled my days with joy, 
 My slumbers with delight. I could not tear 
 Him from my present, or my future; and 
 The wonder was that I had ever lived 
 Without him. Then the shadows fell across 
 My path : my boy began to fade and droop, 
 As doth a tender plant whose stalk is snapt. 
 A little hump between his shoulders grew. 
 At which my husband laughed, and said my fears 
 
18 THE MOTHER'S REVENGE. 
 
 Were groundless, and as idle as a child's. 
 I sought the aid of science, and I watched 
 The doctor's face, as if within his hand 
 He held a fate more precious than my own. 
 His tones were cheerful, but his look was grave. 
 I knew my child was doomed. Words cannot 
 
 paint 
 My agony of soul. I begged, as men 
 Beside the stake or scaffold have been heard 
 To beg for life, that he would save my boy. 
 He calmed me, saying that he had not thought 
 Of death ; but — and he touched the little hump, 
 Then glanced across the street. My watchful 
 
 eye 
 Followed him as the fated victim doth 
 Its charmer, and I saw a hunchback pass, 
 Boys running at his heels, pointing at him, 
 With scoffs and jeers. u O God, be pitiful! 
 My boy, — my darling, beauteous boy, — my 
 
 pride, — 
 To live and be like that! Earth, open wide 
 A kindly grave and hide him from my sight ! " 
 
 So prayed my soul in its first agony. 
 Alas, for ignorance! I did not know 
 How suffering and affliction deepen love. 
 
THE MOTHER'S REVENGE. 19 
 
 I did not know that every pain he bore 
 Would make him nearer, dearer to my heart; 
 I knew not that the fell, the bitter stroke, 
 That severed him from others, would but bind 
 Him closer unto me. The love I nourished, 
 Deeper, wilder grew, until it was 
 No longer love, but soul-idolatry. 
 
 Months — years — passed by, and wrought a 
 
 wondrous change. 
 Things somehow twisted and distorted grew : 
 Whether 'twas I or others, would be hard 
 For tongue to tell. It may be I had grown 
 Unloving and unlovable: — God knows. 
 My husband had become indifferent 
 And cold to me; harsh, cruel, to my child. 
 I little minded what he gave to me, 
 But when cross words, and heavy, stunning 
 
 blows 
 Came to my boy, the creeping, sluggish blood 
 Leaped, with a fever heat, from vein to vein ; 
 And passions that before bad calmly slept, 
 Coiled round the very centre of my soul, 
 Eaged fierce and wild, and would not be 
 
 subdued. 
 I saw my son grow fearful of his sire, 
 2 
 
20 THE MOTHER'S REVENGE. 
 
 Shrink from his glance, and shudder at his 
 
 step. 
 Oh! it is terrible when that dear name, 
 Which ought to be a sheltering tower of 
 
 strength, 
 A fountain of delight, becomes a dread 
 And terror; and the place that ought to be 
 A miniature of heaven, an earthly hell, 
 Where every sinful passion is unchained, 
 And discord, hatred, dwell — a place from 
 
 which 
 We long to flee, but cannot get away. 
 
 My boy was never aught but beautiful 
 
 To me. His face was like a fair, fresh flower 
 
 Upon a rude, unsightly rock; or as 
 
 A limpid, placid lake, enclosed by rough 
 
 And rugged cliffs. His growing mind was 
 
 like 
 A jewel set in stone; his rich, deep thoughts, 
 Clothed in the choicest drapery of w r ords, 
 Eevealed the mighty reservoir of wealth 
 Hid in that mis-shaped form. His eye was of 
 Heaven's deepest blue ; his brow of purest 
 
 snow, 
 On which the soft hair fell like sunny beam. 
 
THE MOTHER'S REVENGE. 21 
 
 His lip was pale, but beautifully curved. 
 His smile was not the meteor's quick, bright 
 
 flash ; 
 'Twas lingeringly sweet, as sunset hues. 
 His voice was softer than a flute ; no sound 
 In nature hath a depth so rich and full. 
 His hand was thin, and delicate, and white, 
 And its cool touch soft as a loving woman's. 
 Oh, if ye know aught beautiful and dear, 
 'Tis what my boy was like ! If ye have one 
 Ye prize above all others — one for whom 
 Ye would lie down and die, then is that one 
 Like my dear, sainted boy. 
 
 One day- the father came, 
 And said his child was growing like a girl; 
 That he must go and learn to be a man ; 
 Must rough it with the world; must measure 
 
 strength 
 With boys, and not forever hang upon 
 A woman's hand. 
 
 I said he should not go. He said he should. 
 I told him there were five ; that he could 
 
 take, 
 Or one, or all, if he would only leave 
 This stricken one with me. But he said " No." 
 
22 THE MOTHER'S REVENGE. 
 
 I knelt; upon my knees, to sinful man, 
 
 I prayed as unto God : I prayed and wept. 
 
 He only spurned and thrust me from his feet. 
 
 Then, after a long, bitter strife, after 
 
 Harsh, biting words, which, for slow, weary 
 
 years, 
 Have eaten like a canker in my heart, 
 I yielded — yielded, for his arm was strong. 
 The world, and law, and custom, all were on 
 His side, and only right on mine; and ye 
 Well know that they have power enough to 
 
 crush 
 Both truth and right to dust. 
 
 They bore him to a school, long widely famed 
 
 For its harsh discipline, its meagre fare, 
 
 Its almost Draco laws. 'Twas miles from 
 
 home ; 
 And when the boy wept sore and clung to me, 
 And said that he would die if sent away, 
 I marvel that I could have let him go. 
 But when his quick eye saw I suffered too, 
 He locked his feelings in his breast, and wept 
 No more ; but mutely took his place within 
 The noble line of martyrs. O my boy ! 
 Could I but bring thee back ; could I but see 
 
THE MOTHER'S REVENGE. 23 
 
 Thee as I saw thee then — not hell and earth 
 Combined should take thee from me ! I would 
 
 hurl 
 Defiance at them all ; and, seizing thee, 
 Would fly to some lone spot, and, if I could 
 Not live, would die with thee ! 
 
 My only pleasures were 
 The letters that he wrote, and mine to him. 
 My two great eras were the day he left, 
 And that he would return. One quiet noon, 
 After the whirl of morn had died away, 
 My husband came in hastily, and laid 
 A letter in my hand. A sudden fear 
 Seized on me, piercing to the very quick. 
 The paper quivered, rattled in my hand, 
 It trembled so. My sight grew dim, my brain 
 Confused ; the letters seemed so indistinct, 
 And blurred, and running all together, that 
 I could not read. And then my husband 
 
 spoke : 
 "Our boy is ill; and we will go to him." 
 It was as if he said " Our boy is dead." 
 My palsied tongue kept silence, but I looked 
 At him, and if a glance has power to speak, 
 Then did mine say, "He's dead: and by your 
 
 hand." 
 
24 THE MOTHER'S REVENGE. 
 
 We travelled side 
 By side, yet neither spoke a word. I know 
 Not what he thought ; but as for me, I knew 
 My boy was dead. And when we reached the 
 
 house, 
 I looked to see the crape upon the knob ; 
 And it was there. They led up broad steps 
 Into a little room where he had died. 
 The father stayed behind ; he dared not look 
 On him he had so sorely, deeply wronged. 
 And I was glad. I wished to be alone. 
 I found him stretched upon a narrow bed, 
 A single, tireless watcher at his side, 
 A pale-faced youth, who rose at my approach, 
 And left me with my dead. I did not weep. 
 Grief such as mine knows not the shallow 
 
 fount 
 Of tears. I drew the white cloth from his 
 
 face, 
 And looked — looked full upon my idol that 
 A mighty hand had in the night cast down. 
 His features were like fairest marble in . 
 Their calm and still repose. His thin, pale 
 
 hands, 
 Longer and whiter than before, were crossed 
 Above his breast. No vestige of a smile 
 
THE MOTHER'S REVENGE. 25 
 
 Lingered upon the wasted lips, that had 
 
 Forever closed with sighs of weariness. 
 
 The leaden-circled eyes half-opened were, 
 
 Yet dull and meaningless. But oh, his brow, 
 
 His fair, white brow I had so often kissed, 
 
 Was just the same ; and on it fell the soft 
 
 Bright hair, like cherub's golden wing. 
 
 I pressed his lips ; they gave no kiss again. 
 
 I called him ; but he heeded, answered not. 
 
 I lifted up the lids: the rayless orbs 
 
 So frightened me, I closed them from my 
 
 sight, 
 And sank upon the floor; yet did not weep, 
 Nor die. Death loves not to be wooed ; he 
 
 flies 
 From those who seek him. 'Tis the happy 
 
 die : 
 The wretched live. 
 
 A step behind aroused me, and I looked, 
 And saw the pale-faced boy, who came again. 
 
 " What do you know 
 Of him ? " I asked ; " how grew he sick ? how 
 
 died?" 
 "He ne'er seemed well to me," he said, "and 
 
 oft 
 
26 THE MOTHER'S REVENGE, 
 
 I marvelled how his friends could send him 
 
 here. 
 It takes an iron frame, a lion heart, 
 To scuffle with the life that meets us here. 
 But well I'll mind me what I say. These 
 
 walls 
 Have ears — ay, tongues that can repeat. 
 But could I see his parents, I would tell 
 A tale that they would rather die than hear." 
 " Say on ; I am his mother. Never fear ; 
 No harm shall come to thee. Say all thou 
 
 knowest." 
 " He died — well — just as many a sickly one 
 Has died before. They say, grew sick and 
 
 died : 
 I say, was starved and murdered. Now this 
 
 boy 
 Had tasks he could not learn, and then was 
 
 starved. 
 How could he learn when he was faint for 
 
 want 
 Of food and nourishment? Lift up his form, 
 And see the marks of blows, and do not ask 
 Me how, or why he died." " Hold, boy," I 
 
 said, 
 " Will you stand here by Death and God, and 
 
 swear 
 
THE MOTHER'S REVENGE. 27 
 
 The thing you say is true ? " He laid one 
 
 hand 
 Upon the corpse, raising the other, said, 
 " I swear." " And I too swear," I cried ; 
 
 "swear by 
 This murdered boy — by all the powers of 
 
 Heaven — 
 To be avenged! Yet fear not thou, dear boy; 
 I would not harm one hair of thy young head." 
 
 With tearless eyes 
 I saw my child laid in his narrow grave: 
 I saw them press and pile the cold, damp 
 
 earth 
 Upon him; and I knew they wondering saw 
 My calmness; but I let them wonder. Then 
 When all was o'er, 1 said I wanted change — 
 Would see my sister who lived far away. 
 I left ; but went not near my sister's. I 
 Went to the place where he, my boy, had 
 
 died. 
 I stole into the master's household; watched 
 Him there; noted his children one by one ; 
 Saw how he smiled on this, and frowned on 
 
 that. 
 I watched him in the quiet, evening hours, 
 
28 THE MOTHER'S REVENGE. 
 
 When life's sharp conflict, for a time, was o'er, 
 And all the thousand comforts he had bought 
 With his unrighteous gains, were heaped 
 
 around ; 
 When art made warm the air, and soft the 
 
 light, 
 Within the little world that he had formed. 
 And there, a living Nemesis, I stood, 
 Watching with flashing eyes, and clenching 
 
 teeth, 
 Hating with all my might, and brooding o'er 
 My wrongs, and nursing vengeance in my soul. 
 But what could he, poor man, what could he 
 
 give 
 That would be half the value of the one 
 That I had lost ? But it were well 
 To take such as he bad. This is earth's law, 
 And justice, and 'twas mine. He killed my 
 
 best 
 And dearest, and I claimed his most beloved. 
 I wanted life for life, and child for child. 
 And he loved best — not that young, laughing 
 
 girl, 
 Whose face was beauty's own, whose step was 
 
 grace, 
 And tone was love's ; nor yet the noble boy 
 
THE MOTHER'S REVENGE. 29 
 
 Whose warm blood coursed with vigor through 
 
 each vein, 
 Whose heart and form were strong with youth 
 
 and health ; 
 But the sweet babe, whose little winning ways 
 Made half the music of their happy home. 
 That one he loved; that one 1 marked my own. 
 Oh, how my spirit gloated o'er its prize ! 
 How sweet was slow, long vengeance to my 
 
 heart ! 
 How did I draw the pictures of his own 
 And mine, until they were daguerreotyped 
 Upon my inmost soul. He had kind tones, 
 Sweet smiles, and soft caresses for his own ; 
 Stern looks, harsh words, and cruel blows for 
 
 mine ! 
 The choicest food, the balmiest air, soft lights, 
 And silken couch for his: — hard, mouldy 
 
 crusts, 
 Darkness, and cold, and heaps of straw for 
 
 mine ! 
 
 When none were near, I stole the little babe 
 And bore him swiftly to my distant home, 
 And in the farthest cellar, cold, and dark, 
 And damp, I placed him. Then I took re- 
 venge, 
 
30 THE MOTHER'S REVENGE. 
 
 And it was sweet. I sat with forms 
 
 And voices all around, and when through 
 
 floors, 
 And walls of stone, and oaken doors, I heard 
 The distant, muffled sound of infant's w T ail, 
 I laughed aloud, and triumphed in my joy ! 
 Each day I went to see the little cheek 
 Grow thin, and thinner, and with measured 
 
 tape 
 Marked how the limbs were wasting day by 
 
 day. 
 'Twas triumph's self to hear of searching wide, 
 And of the father's bitter agony, 
 Of great rewards, and armies of police. 
 
 Of all the men on earth I feared but one, 
 And he was of my household. His keen 
 
 glance, 
 His searching gaze, I could not bear to meet. 
 Methought he eyed me as the tiger eyes 
 His prey; and more than once I had resolved 
 To rid and free myself and earth of him. 
 Well, he (my husband) watched and followed 
 
 me, 
 And found the child when it was almost 
 
 dead, 
 
THE MOTHER'S REVENGE. 31 
 
 And thwarted me as he had always done, 
 And took the one sweet drop out of my life ; 
 Grave back the child, and called me crazy 
 
 murderess, 
 And brought, and keeps me here, because, 
 
 forsooth, 
 I dared take vengeance in my hand. 
 
 They tell me years have passed since these 
 
 things were. 
 1 know not how to count and measure time ; 
 The sunbeams struggling through those iron 
 
 bars 
 Leave on the walls no trace. 
 Tall, stately men and matrons visit me, 
 And say they are my children. It may be. 
 But one absorbed my soul, and he is not ; 
 The others are as naught. 
 
 There comes, at times, a white-haired, saintly 
 
 man, 
 Who talks to me of God, and hope, and 
 
 heaven. 
 I love to hear him, for his words are like 
 The dew upon the flinty rock, which though 
 It does not moisten, softens it. 
 3 
 
32 THE MOTHER'S REVENGE. 
 
 He speaks of hope and heaven ; and hope 
 
 to me 
 Is the blest thought of seeing my beloved ; 
 And heaven is where he is. 
 Start not, you have your reason ; — mine is 
 
 gone. 
 Does your Grod seek what He has borne 
 
 away? 
 Or reason ask when reason is withdrawn ? 
 I wait — the years are long. I wait and 
 
 pray 
 That He will send a little hand to clip 
 Life's worn-out thread, and give me back 
 
 my lost. 
 
THE ORPHANS: 
 
 OB, 
 
 "OUR FATHER IN HEAVEN.' 7 
 
 <#§* 
 
 %f 'N a rickety house of a close, narrow street, 
 ™ Where suffering and sorrow were wont to 
 
 retreat, 
 Two pale little children sat watching the bed 
 Where their mother was sleeping, as wan as 
 the dead. 
 
 'Twas a comfortless room, with its old broken 
 panes, 
 
 And its dark, crumbling walls that were cov- 
 ered with stains ; 
 
 With only the bare, chilling floor for a seat, 
 
 And a pile of white ashes, long guiltless of heat ; 
 
 With only the flickering, glimmering light 
 
 Of a candle to make less hideous the night; 
 
 With a heap of damp straw for the sick wo- 
 man's bed, 
 
 And nothing but hope for the near morrow's 
 bread. 
 
 (33) 
 
34 THE ORPHANS. 
 
 With a motion of suffering the poor sleeper 
 stirred, 
 
 The eyelids unclosed, yet the lips gave no 
 word ; 
 
 But one quick little watcher raised gently her 
 head, 
 
 And the thin tattered coverlet tried to re- 
 spread ; 
 
 Then she smoothed the rough hair with a 
 womanly stroke, 
 
 And full of kind love were the words that 
 she spoke. 
 
 "You are better, dear mother; how sweetly 
 
 you slept, 
 While brother and I have so quietly kept! 
 I thought 'twould be so when I drew on your 
 
 cap; 
 There's no physic'so good as a nice little nap." 
 
 "No, darling. My words you must try to 
 
 believe ; 
 You well know your dear mother would never 
 
 deceive : 
 Think not I am better; this calm is the breath. 
 And this freedom from pain is the numbness, 
 
 of death." 
 
THE ORPHANS. 35 
 
 The little girl moaned — " Oh, what do I hear? 
 Can we work, can we live, with our mother 
 
 not near? 
 We never will trouble, we never will grieve ; 
 O mother, sweet mother, for us try to live ! 
 For what will become of me when you are 
 
 gone ? 
 Me — friendless, and fatherless, motherless 
 
 one?" 
 
 "Dear sister, can't God make our mother get 
 
 well, 
 If He does the kind things I have oft heard 
 
 you tell ? " 
 
 "Yes, brother, He can; He does good, and 
 
 not ill ; 
 And I've asked Him so often I think that 
 
 He will." 
 
 Dear children, we know that with God is 
 
 the power 
 To afflict and to heal ; to exalt and to lower ; 
 And we know that His wise, His unerring 
 
 behest 
 Is not as we think, but as He knoics is best. 
 
36 THE ORPHANS. 
 
 If it pleases Him now your mother to take, 
 That mother well knows He will never for- 
 sake 
 The heart that to Him its all can confide, 
 And can own Him as Father, as Friend, and 
 
 as Guide. 
 Whatever is taken, whatever is given, 
 Trust hopefully, children, your Father in 
 Heaven." 
 
 Just then, with a sound of the mournfullest 
 strain, 
 
 The rough wind swept in through the thin, 
 broken pane ; 
 
 And through the bare room he went search- 
 ing around, 
 
 With a whisk and a whirl and a furious 
 bound, 
 
 Till the candle's faint glimmering caught his 
 
 eye, 
 
 And he quickened his pace as he went whist- 
 ling by, 
 
 Bearing on, like a victor, along his wild 
 track, 
 
 The spark that till then held the deep dark- 
 ness back. 
 
THE ORPHANS, 37 
 
 With a shuddering awe the little ones crept 
 To their sick mother's side, and piteously 
 
 wept ; 
 But fondly and softly she silenced each moan 
 With a tremulous touch, but an unmoved 
 
 tone, 
 As she quietly bade them beside her lie, 
 And then folded her hands in the darkness 
 
 to die. 
 
 In smiles the Morn awoke ; — awoke 
 
 As if there were no pain ; 
 As if he never glad dreams broke 
 Of those who, when they felt the stroke 
 Of pitying slumber's welcome yoke, 
 Hoped ne'er to wake again. 
 When Death, the iron King, held court, 
 It seemed almost a mocking sport 
 For the bright smiling Morn to come 
 And flood with light that wretched room, 
 And wake to suffering and to tears, 
 Children grown old with grief — not years. 
 And yet it came from the same Hand 
 That sped the darkness o'er the land ; 
 The very same that soothes and grieves — 
 That lowers and lifts — that takes and gives. 
 
38 THE ORPHANS. 
 
 The first one to waken to suffering and life 
 Was the youngest — the boy — too young for 
 
 such strife. 
 There was nothing but hope in his wakening 
 
 start, 
 There was nothing but trust in his innocent 
 
 heart ; 
 But not for the world would he utter a word 
 Till he saw that his sister from slumber had 
 
 stirred. 
 
 "See, sister, she's sleeping; she's better, I 
 
 know ; 
 How I love just to look at her slumbering so!" 
 
 The little girl gazed, and then drew in her 
 
 breath ; 
 She had looked once before on the features 
 
 of death ; 
 But her voice trembled not as softly she 
 
 spake, 
 "She's not sleeping — but dead. She will 
 
 never awake." 
 
 "Oh, yes, she will waken; I'm certain she 
 will." 
 
THE ORPHANS. 39 
 
 "Nay, just touch her; you see she is cold — 
 cold — and still." 
 
 "And so are we cold; and the room is all 
 
 cold ; 
 No wonder she's chilled in this dark, dismal 
 
 hold. 
 Oh, I wish I had something to make a bright 
 
 fire, 
 'Twould warm her to watch it rise higher 
 
 and higher." 
 
 "No, brother, it all would be worse than in 
 
 vain ; 
 She is gone, and we never can warm her 
 
 again." 
 
 "Gone away!" said the boy, with a tear in 
 
 his eye ; 
 " Would she go and not kiss us, and tell us 
 
 < Good-bye ' ? " 
 
 "The angels came down when the darkness 
 
 was deep. 
 And they took her away while we both were 
 
 asleep." 
 
40 THE ORPHANS. 
 
 "And what shall we do? — we — so little and 
 
 weak; 
 All alone in the world, what friend can we 
 
 seek ? " 
 
 "Not alone, dearest brother; we'll mind what 
 
 she said 
 In the night when her hands were placed on 
 
 each head : 
 1 Whatever is taken, whatever is given, 
 Trust hopefully, children, your Father in 
 
 Heaven.' 
 The morning has come, we will kneel at her 
 
 side 
 And ask that He now for us both will pro- 
 vide; 
 You know we must ask what we wish to be 
 
 given, 
 And there's no one to ask but the Father in 
 
 Heaven." 
 
 And then on the still morning air there arose 
 The words and the wish such a faith only 
 
 knows. 
 They knew when they'd prayed they had 
 
 done all they could, 
 
THE ORPHANS. 41 
 
 And calm in that knowledge they trustingly 
 
 stood, 
 In quietness waiting beside the cold dead 
 For the Father in Heaven to send them their 
 
 bread. 
 
 Of the millions of prayers that winged their 
 
 way 
 In the fresh, balmy air of the opening day, 
 Not one was there louder or mightier said 
 Than that of the orphans beside their dead. 
 It went through the room, and it went 
 
 through the street, 
 Like the flash of the lightning, clear, vivid, 
 
 and fleet ; 
 It rose on the air like a spirit forgiven, 
 Till it reached the bow r ed ear of the Father 
 in Heaven. 
 With magic stroke it ripples woke, 
 
 In the great sea of thought; 
 
 The swelling circles widened out, 
 
 As if a heart they sought, 
 
 That suffering much, believing much, 
 
 Could beat reponsive to their touch. 
 
 And such heart did they reach in a passer-by, 
 Who paused at the sound of the children's cry. 
 
42 THE ORPHANS. 
 
 Through the broken glass he had seen them 
 
 kneel, 
 And heard words that could soften a heart of 
 
 steel ; 
 But he reverently stood by the half-open door 
 Till the touching prayer of the children was 
 
 o'er. 
 Then softly he entered. One look round the 
 
 room 
 Told plainly the tale of their sorrow and gloom. 
 At sight of a stranger, the little ones crept 
 To the pallet of straw, as though they still kept 
 Their confident trust, as ever of yore, 
 In the spirit that never had failed them before. 
 But kindly he asked them the cause of their 
 
 grief, 
 And kindly he brought and proffered relief. 
 
 To their mother they pointed and sobbingly 
 
 said, 
 " She was all that we had, and behold ! she is 
 
 dead. 
 We did all we could that she easy might be, 
 But she died in the night, and we could not see. 
 We slept in the darkness, and she was alone 
 When she went to the place where death is 
 
 unknown. 
 
THE ORPHANS. 43 
 
 And there's none to take care of us, none to 
 
 us given, — 
 Unless it may be — the good Father in 
 
 Heaven ! " 
 
 Oh ! if it be anguish to die when the ones 
 That love us are near — when the tenderest 
 
 tones 
 And the kindliest of hands are smoothing the 
 
 way, 
 While the cold touch of death is unfastening 
 
 each stay,— 
 What must it be in the darkness to die, 
 And we know that no heart, no hand can be 
 
 nigh ! 
 If it's hard for a mother her babes to confide 
 To the hand of another herself has long tried, 
 What must the faith of that parent have been 
 In the One she had trusted without having 
 
 seen, 
 When alone she could leave helpless babes at 
 
 her side, 
 So sure that the God she had served would 
 
 provide ! 
 If it's hard to give up even one that we love, 
 When the void is soon filled as the years 
 
 onward move, 
 4 
 
44 THE ORPHANS. 
 
 How strong must the hearts of those children 
 
 have been, 
 As they saw the last hand upon which they 
 
 could lean 
 Grow lifeless and cold — yet could turn from 
 
 that dust, 
 Above and beyond, with a Christian-like trust, 
 And though from their reach every helper 
 
 seemed driven, 
 Could so hopefully cling to their Father in 
 
 Heaven ! 
 Oh! there was the fountain of tenderest love, 
 And there was the faith that mountains could 
 
 move ! 
 
 The good man wept sore as he drew to his side 
 
 The children who had none bat God to pro- 
 vide, 
 
 And he asked, "Will you go to my bright, 
 pleasant home, 
 
 Where suffering and want such as yours can- 
 not come ? " 
 
 But the little girl sighed, and shook sadly 
 
 her head, 
 As she meaningly glanced at the form on the 
 
 bed. 
 
THE ORPHANS. 45 
 
 Then he spake once again : " When we've laid 
 
 her to rest, 
 And the earth has been placed above her still 
 
 breast ? " 
 
 And she said, "We will go, and we ask not 
 
 your name, 
 ISTor whither you take us, for surely you came 
 From Him who provideth whatever is given, 
 And who careth for all — the good Father in 
 
 Heaven ! " 
 
OLD LETTERS, 
 
 — <%%> — . 
 
 If KEEP them still — though faded now and 
 
 II 
 
 T^ worn, 
 
 And of each trace of beauty long since shorn ; 
 
 To stranger's eyes a tattered pile and old, 
 
 Fit to be stored in some neglected hold, 
 
 With all the rubbish that we cast away, 
 
 As if unworthy of the light of day. 
 
 And yet from all that heaping round me lies 
 To charm with grace or use fastidious eyes, 
 Were I at danger's sudden call to wake 
 And bid my heart its valued treasure take, 
 This faded packet with its yellow strings 
 Would find a place among her precious things. 
 
 From many a happy, quiet, peaceful home 
 These fleet-winged messengers of love have 
 
 come, 
 O'er many a weary mile of land and sea 
 Have safely borne their costly freight to me; 
 
 (46) 
 
OLD LETTERS. 47 
 
 Brought to my sight with more than human 
 
 art 
 The priceless coinage of some loving heart. 
 
 The skill of man has taught the sun to trace 
 And fix the lineaments of form and face ; 
 Wrung from inexorable Time and Death, 
 Part of their stolen prey — a shade — a breath; 
 But these can paint with higher, nobler art, 
 The lasting photographs of mind and heart. 
 
 As when by life's sharp conflicts roughly tost, 
 Before the portraits of the early lost 
 We love at times in quietness to stand 
 And look with yearning heart and out- 
 stretched hand, 
 So on these pictures of my happier days 
 I love with soft and sad regret to o-aze. 
 
 They are not dead to me — but fresh and rife 
 
 With all the glow of animating life ; 
 
 Not homely — they are bright, and true, and 
 
 fair ; 
 Not worthless — mines of richest wealth they 
 
 bear ; 
 Not dumb — but ever eloquent with word, 
 And thought, and tone, affection loves to hoard. 
 
48 OLD LETTERS. 
 
 They are to me no rude unsightly heap, 
 But sacred tombs where hallowed memories 
 
 sleep ; 
 Where, on the rest-days of a working life, 
 I love to turn from toil, and care, and strife, 
 And o'er these urns of hearts, and hopes, and 
 
 years, 
 Let fall the sorrowing spirit's soothing tears. 
 
 Time holds enough, relentlessly and fast, 
 Within his wormy, mouldering, coffined past ; 
 Enough within that cold, decaying grave, 
 I would have died a thousand times to save ; 
 With my life's treasures as in sport he played, 
 Grasping the substance — let me keep the 
 shade ! 
 
 Keep, as the blinded Eastern devotee 
 The sacred stone no Christian eye may see ; 
 Keep, as the miser keeps his shining gold, 
 Safe in my house and spirit's strongest hold ; 
 Keep, till the life-long sacrifice is made, 
 And heart and memory in one grave are laid ! 
 
FAMILY PORTRAITS. 
 
 — #S* — 
 
 %f GAZE upon them one bj r one, 
 ™ Those faces loved so well of yore ; 
 And weep to think that on this earth 
 They shall be seen — ah, nevermore ! 
 
 Oh ! they were young, and fair, and good, 
 And life was but a joy to them ; 
 
 And they had strong, enduring hearts 
 That floods of ill and wrong could stem. 
 
 They came — they lingered for awhile — 
 They blessed the homes that gave them 
 birth ; 
 
 They hallowed every joy and grief, 
 Made dearer life, and fairer earth. 
 
 They vanished — as the hues of morn ; 
 
 They died — as dies the summer breeze ; 
 They swept like phantoms by, and left 
 
 Naught but a cold white stone — and these. 
 
 (49) 
 
50 FA MIL Y FOR TRAITS, 
 
 These silent, changeless semblances, 
 
 These beckoning shades that mock my 
 sight; 
 
 These fleshless, bloodless forms that cast 
 O'er memory's waste a meteor light, 
 
 And bring again long vanished joys 
 
 That mingle strangely with earth's din, 
 
 And words and tones that but for these 
 I could believe had never been. 
 
 O eyes, that kindled at my sight ! 
 
 lips, once wont to smile on me ! 
 
 hands, that warmly clasped my own, 
 Your sameness is but mockery ! 
 
 1 mourn — and still ye calmly smile; 
 
 1 weep — ye see unmoved the tear ; 
 I stretch my pleading hands, I call ; 
 
 Ye do not heed, ye will not hear. 
 
 I cannot gaze on features loved 
 
 As yours, and think ye thus estranged ; 
 
 Ah, no! — ye are to-day the same — 
 'Tis only life and I have changed. 
 
FAMILY PORTRAITS, 51 
 
 For ye do speak ; your voiceless lips 
 
 And changeless smile have but one tone, 
 
 Which bids my fainting soul be strong. 
 To do, and bear, and suffer on. 
 
 Then let me steal from earth away, 
 
 Steal from its pangs, its strifes, its storms; 
 
 And like a pilgrim to his shrine, 
 
 Come oft and gaze on your still forms, — 
 
 Until your calmness falls on me, 
 As evening shadows on the hill ; 
 
 And I upon life's changing tide 
 
 Can look as ye, unmoved and still. 
 
3 1 
 
 U I COUNT ONLY THE HOURS THAT 
 ARE SERENE." 
 
 MOTTO ON A SUN-DIAL IN VENICE. 
 
 — «§§* 
 
 LET the heavy days go by — 
 
 The days of woe when pain is queen ; 
 Let pass the sorrow and the grief ; 
 
 And u count the hours that are serene." 
 
 Quicker the creeping shadows glide 
 If memory does not intervene ; 
 
 Unsought they came, unnoticed die — 
 "I count the hours that are serene." 
 
 I mark the sunbeam — not the shade; 
 
 Of brightness, not of darkness glean \ 
 I know not how to trace the clouds — 
 
 " I count the hours that are serene." 
 
 O passers on the road of life, 
 
 O dials of a sun unseen, 
 Would ye of bliss the secret learn ? 
 
 "Count but the hours that are serene." 
 
 (52) 
 
LIFE. 
 
 :||IIAT is it? essence? spirit? breath? or 
 power ? 
 
 That universal, fine, ethereal thing, 
 Stretched o'er a thousand years, or to an hour 
 
 Compressed: — now coming and now van- 
 ishing. 
 Behold, within a world sustained by Heaven, 
 
 Where all with vexing mystery is rife. 
 The greatest, noblest boon to mortals given, 
 
 The grandest miracle of Nature — life. 
 
 The part that we may see, the part we know, 
 
 Is but an atom of the mighty whole ; 
 Is as one bud to all the flowers that grow, 
 
 One blade to all the grass whose leaves 
 unroll : 
 Is as a rushlight to the noonday sun • 
 
 One grain to all the sands of ocean's shore; 
 One stroke to all the toil conceived or done; 
 
 One infant wail to grand Niagara's roar. 
 
 (53) 
 
54 LIFE. 
 
 Beyond created time it stretches back, 
 
 In thick, impenetrable folds entwined ; 
 And, sweeping on in deepening, widening 
 track, 
 
 Leaves thought and calculation far behind. 
 Conception strains its utmost power in vain 
 
 To grasp the dark, mysterious one in three; 
 And droops ere it can reach the subtle chain 
 
 That binds the was, and is, and is to be. 
 
 As shipwrecked mariner on drifting spar, 
 
 Aroused to consciousness as from a trance, 
 Darting his wild, despairing eyes afar, 
 
 Beholds one boundless, fathomless expanse : 
 So we, still drifting, drifting on, may send 
 
 Our longing gaze behind, before, and see 
 On neither side, beginning, course, nor end ; 
 
 Only a shoreless, vast immensity. 
 
 Life is the fiat of the Eternal One; 
 
 An emanation of the Will Divine ; 
 The breath of Him who speaks and it is done ; 
 
 The working of His deep and wise design 
 His gift, incomprehensible and vast, — 
 
 Magnificent and god-like : — and to be, 
 To be, and last as He Himself shall last, 
 
 Is our eternal and fixed destiny. 
 
LIFE. 55 
 
 We may not choose: — who draws the breath 
 of God, 
 However feebly, draws that breath forever. 
 Unconscious heirs we change our state, our road, 
 We change our world — we end existence 
 never. 
 Life is the horologe whose secret springs 
 Our rude, rough hands may never press 
 upon ; 
 "lis the projectile the All Powerful flings ' 
 In empty space that must move ever on. 
 
 Sooner might we exclude the light of day, 
 
 Call on the flowers to bloom, or winds to 
 blow ; 
 Sooner might animate the senseless clay, 
 
 Bid comets stand, or rivers cease to flow : 
 Might make of stars a pathway for our feet, 
 
 Or laws to other, higher worlds decree ; 
 Or hurl the Eternal from His heavenly seat, 
 
 Than for a single moment cease to be! 
 
 Strip life of its externals ; lay it bare 
 
 Of honor, wealth, and comfort ; yet if free 
 
 From crime's polluting touch, it still is fair, — 
 Ay more, — 'tis great and glorious to be ! 
 5 
 
56 LIFE. 
 
 With lips of dust to draw the kingly breath 
 Whose source and fountain is eternity ; 
 
 And sheathed in mail impregnable to death, 
 As God, and angels, and just men — to be! 
 
 O mortal, where and whatsoe'er thou art, 
 
 Outcast and banned, this yet remains to 
 thee: 
 Lift up thy drooping head, and let thy heart 
 
 Rejoice in that thou art — rejoice to be! 
 O peer and mate of angels, even now 
 
 A radiant light on thy lone path doth shine ; 
 A crown of glory rests upon thy brow — 
 
 The boon of immortality is thine ! 
 
LONGING. 
 
 *HE restless water strives 
 And struggles in its course ; 
 Its single, constant aim to reach 
 The level of its source. 
 
 And so the fettered soul, 
 
 Through mist, and film, and clod, 
 Is ever striving to attain 
 
 Its source and fountain — God. 
 
 (57) 
 
TO MY BOOKS. 
 
 40MEADES long tried! Friends of my 
 lonely heart ! 
 Who ne'er to me could aught but joy impart, 
 I love to gaze on your familiar forms — 
 The same through summer's suns and winter's 
 
 storms — 
 And feel whate'er I am, where'er I range, 
 There are some things that weary not, nor 
 
 change. 
 I have been in the world — and I have sought 
 Its brightest scenes — its dearest pleasures 
 
 bought ; 
 With hot and thirsting lip advanced to drain 
 Its proffered cup of mingled joy and pain : 
 And, as the man who long at Bacchus' shrine 
 Hath knelt, turns sickened from the spark- 
 ling wine 
 To purer streams that kinder Nature gives, 
 And like a child, stoops down, and drinks,. 
 and lives ; 
 
 (58) 
 
TO MY BOOKS. 59 
 
 So does my weary, aching heart, grown tired 
 Of joys that sated not, though long desired, 
 Turn to the ever-gushing fount, where first 
 This eager spirit slaked its burning thirst. 
 
 Ye never turned from me in proud disdain, 
 Laughed at my ignorance, nor mocked my 
 
 pain ; 
 Ye never chid me for perception slow, 
 But patiently, with tender voice and low, 
 As doth a mother, ye went went o'er and o'er 
 The lessons learned with labor long and sore. 
 No cold neglect your warmth could ever chill, 
 No wilful wanderings your chidings still; 
 Kind, faithful friends! how turns my heart 
 
 w T ith true 
 And yearning tenderness again to you! 
 
 Soothe me, as once of yore, with winsome art 
 Ye soothed my panting soul and feverish 
 
 heart ; 
 Bring to me Hope's receding form again, 
 And while, like cheerful friends, my weary 
 
 pain ; 
 Raise from the dust this mute, despairing soul; 
 Show to these downcast eyes a loftier goal ; 
 
60 TO MY BOOKS. 
 
 With Mercy's hand your sparkling cordial 
 
 give, 
 That these faint lips may drink once more 
 
 and live ! 
 
 Tell me of all the great and good of earth ; 
 Of suffering patience and of struggling worth ; 
 Eehearse each noble thought, each glorious 
 
 deed, 
 Till spirit shall on kindred spirit feed ; 
 In my still chamber wide unfold to me 
 The dens of cunning, intrigue, misery. 
 
 With power prophetic and magician art, 
 Sound to its lowest depths the human heart ; 
 Bring to the light the hidden things of time, 
 The hoarded, prized, and sought of ever} r 
 
 clime; 
 Wage with decay and change a ceaseless strife, 
 And give the dead the form, the voice of life. 
 
 Teach me to emulate their noble deeds, 
 
 To turn my feet where stainless glory leads : 
 
 Climbing, like them, the rugged road and 
 
 rough, 
 Following their footsteps, though it be far off: 
 
TO MY BOOKS. 61 
 
 And, as Elisha, gaze until on me 
 
 May fall the shadow of their drapery. 
 
 Like them, a faithful, friendly light hold 
 
 forth, 
 Over the wild, dark paths and moors of earth ; 
 Breathing the words that point men on and 
 
 higher, 
 Touched, like the prophet's lips, with holy fire. 
 
HEATHEN PRAYER. 
 
 — *§§* — 
 
 LOKD, what is good bestow, 
 Though how to ask for it we do not know; 
 
 And take from us all ill, 
 Though in our blindness we desire it still. 
 
 (62) 
 
TO AN INFANT. 
 
 o§§o— 
 
 *ITTLE stranger, dost thou come 
 Seeking on this earth a home? 
 Nestler in thy mother's heart, 
 Dost thou seek with us a part? 
 Seek the pleasure and the woe 
 Mingled in each cup below? 
 
 Joy of earth and heir of heaven, 
 Child of love in mercy given ; 
 Drawing us with winning ways 
 Back to our own infant days : 
 Blessed days ! when we within 
 Were as free as thou from sin. 
 
 Yfhen we fondly look as now 
 On thy fair, thy stainless brow; 
 And with hearts that know so well — 
 As our own worn spirits tell — 
 What the strife of earth must be : 
 Can we gladly welcome thee? 
 
 (63) 
 
G4 TO AN INFANT. 
 
 Welcome thee with joy among 
 Life's soul-weary, laboring throng? 
 Welcome thee to pains and tears, 
 Mocking hopes and sorrowing years ? 
 Welcome thee, sweet, guileless one, 
 To each grief that we have known ? 
 
 Yes! with hearts that know full well 
 What the lips refuse to tell ; 
 Know the bitter pangs and strife; 
 Know the joys, the bliss of life ; 
 And its depths, its fulness see, 
 Gladly do we welcome thee. 
 
 For thou hast the power to bless 
 In our hours of bitterness ; 
 And with winsome smile and voice 
 Thou dost bid us here rejoice ; 
 Pointing, as we onward glide, 
 To the brightest, sunniest side. 
 
 And we know life endeth not 
 
 With- earth's weary, sorrowing lot ; 
 
 But above, beyond the sky, 
 
 Is thy spirit's destiny ; 
 
 And we watch thee fitting here 
 
 For thy higher, holier sphere. 
 
SUMMER EVENING'. 
 
 — «§§* — 
 
 df DOWN the West, 
 
 (tfy In crimson drest, 
 The kingly Sun sinks to his rest ; 
 
 And robed in state 
 
 Meet for the great. 
 The clouds, like princely courtiers, wait. 
 
 The weary Day 
 
 Sees pass away 
 To feebler hands his powerful sway ; 
 
 And from his seat, 
 
 With blushes sweet, 
 Bends low his sister, Night, to greet. 
 
 In distant view, 
 
 The mountains blue 
 Blend with the skies their changeless hue, 
 
 As if they strove 
 
 In deed to prove 
 Our nearness to the world above. 
 
 (65) 
 
6Q SUMMER EVENING. 
 
 The gushing note 
 
 From birdling throat 
 Across the fields hath ceased to float ; 
 
 But round the hill, 
 
 The tricksome rill 
 In measured cadence ripples still. 
 
 With transient blaze 
 
 The fire-fly strays 
 O'er many a wild and tangled maze ; 
 
 And loud and shrill, 
 
 The whip-poor-will 
 Repeats his sad, unvaried trill. 
 
 Then all about, 
 
 As half in doubt, 
 The trembling stars peep coyly out; 
 
 An.d like a pall 
 
 Enrobing all, 
 The deepened shades and shadows fall. 
 
FROM A WIFE TO HER HUSBAND. 
 
 — <*§* — 
 
 UJ|F I have sought by art the gifts 
 ™ Of nature to supply, 
 Or ever asked for beauty's charm, 
 'Twas but to please thine eye. 
 
 If I with labor strove to make 
 
 The stores of learning mine, 
 'Twas that I might befittingly 
 
 As thy companion shine. 
 
 If I have seemed with tireless zeal 
 
 To seek for earthly fame, 
 'Twas that thy heart with pride might thrill 
 
 At mention of my name. 
 
 The praise of other lips than thine 
 
 Is less than naught to me : 
 I know no world where thou art not, 
 
 No life apart from thee. 
 
 (67) 
 
THE BLUE RIDGE. 
 
 MOUNTAINS of Blue, like sentinels 
 guarding 
 
 The vale and the plain with vigilance true; 
 Like bulwarks of strength, or citadels warding, 
 Unyielding ye stand, sweet Mountains of 
 Blue. 
 
 Ye rise like monarchs of proud, olden spirit, 
 Eeceiving the homage they feel is their due ; 
 
 Like Genius, exalted by virtue and merit, 
 Far off and above us, sweet Mountains of 
 Blue. 
 
 Like Faith, holy Faith, who, serene and un- 
 daunted, 
 Still bears on her forehead heaven's pure 
 beaming hue; 
 And walking a world by sin and guilt haunted, 
 Yet points us above, sweet Mountains of 
 Blue. 
 
 (68) 
 
THE BLUE RIDGE. 69 
 
 Ye catch the first glimpse of the smile-beam- 
 ing morning, 
 Whose clear, heavenly rays your glories 
 renew; 
 And with sunlight and purple your summits 
 adorning, 
 In splendor they crown you, sweet Moun- 
 tains of Blue. 
 
 When day has departed, and evening has 
 lighted 
 With soft, quiet beauty each tranquilling 
 view, 
 The splendors of morn, noon, and eve are 
 united 
 In glory around you, sweet Mountains of 
 Blue. 
 
 Time sweeps from our grasp the hopes that 
 we cherish, 
 Change marketh the paths our footsteps 
 pursue ; 
 Yet ye stand while men rise, flourish, and 
 perish, 
 Forever the same, sweet Mountains of 
 Blue. 
 
70 THE BLUE RIDGE. 
 
 Fair emblems of Truth, unchanged and un- 
 changing, 
 Though tempests may veil awhile from our 
 view ; 
 Beyond the dark clouds and thunderbolts 
 ranging, 
 Like Truth above Error, sweet Mountains 
 of Blue. 
 
 No wonder the heathen bow down and adore 
 you, 
 So majestic and grand and unchangeably true : 
 Had I stood like them untutored before you, 
 I too would have worshipped, sweet Moun- 
 tains of Blue. 
 
 And now, when away from time's bitter strife 
 turning, 
 I seek the pure joys of my youth to renew, 
 I gaze on your summits, and with you re- 
 turning, 
 Greet high holy visions, sw^eet Mountains 
 of Blue. 
 
 For if ever the peace heaven giveth here fills me, 
 If ever the world recedes from my view, 
 
THE BLUE RIDGE. 71 
 
 It is when the light of a Sabbath eve thrills 
 me 
 Beneath your pure azure, sweet Mountains 
 of Blue. 
 
 Let me stand though earth's tempests around 
 me are riven, 
 Serene, and unmoved, and unheeding, like 
 you, 
 With my heart and my eyes still lifted to 
 heaven, 
 Forever the same, sweet Mountains of Blue. 
 
 Bend o'er me while life's pulses through me 
 are leaping, 
 Speak to me of thoughts and deeds noble 
 and true; 
 And when low in silence and dust I am 
 sleeping, 
 Keep watch o'er my ashes, sweet Mountains 
 of Blue. 
 
WHAT IS LIFE'S GREATEST 
 BLESSING t 
 
 <#§< 
 
 ASKED the sick man, and he said, "'Tis 
 health." 
 I asked the poor man, and he answered 
 
 "Wealth," 
 I asked the lonely prisoner : " Ah ! " said he, 
 "The greatest boon of life is to be free." 
 I asked the laborer, with toil oppressed, 
 He wiped his aching brow, and answered 
 
 " Best." 
 So I have learned this truth — that each man 
 
 counts 
 Life's greatest blessing is the one he wants. 
 
 (72) 
 
SYMPA THY. 
 
 — m> — 
 
 After all, it is but a little way that our friends can go 
 with us; and sympathy, like everything human, has 
 bounds that it cannot pass. 
 
 |j|f HAVE had friends — and they were dear : 
 ™ How dear, this heart so fondly keeping 
 Sad vigils o'er them year by year, 
 Tells in its secret, ceaseless weeping. 
 
 I have had friends — and they were true 
 To every pulse of generous feeling; 
 
 Their memory o'er me, like the dew, 
 With fragrant freshness now is stealing. 
 
 But in my bosom hangs a veil 
 Before the holiest of her holies ; 
 
 No common priest the covering frail 
 May lift to scan its depths or glories. 
 
 For feelings lie beyond the reach 3 
 
 The softest, tenderest touch of mortal, 
 
 That cannot don the robe of speech, 
 Nov pass the spirit's outer portal. 
 
 (73) 
 
74 SYMPATHY. 
 
 A little way along life's path 
 
 Friends come, not leading, following rather ; 
 For unto them the Master saith, 
 
 a Thus far ye may go and no farther." 
 
 Thus far — it is the clasp of hand, 
 The tone that says, "I also suffer; 
 
 My feet have pressed as cold a strand, 
 And trod a pathway lonelier, rougher." 
 
 And this is all. Up the steep sides 
 
 We climb, there is for them no wending; 
 
 And down into the flowing tides 
 
 And hidden depths there's no descending. 
 
 Who leans his strength upon the reed, 
 The broken reed of human feeling, 
 
 Will find within his sorest need 
 
 A wound that hath no balm of healing. 
 
 The soul that finds on earth no rest, 
 No heart to share her choicest treasure, 
 
 Must seek that higher, stronger breast 
 
 Whose heights and depths she cannot 
 measure. 
 
TO MY SEWING NEEDLE. 
 
 cf#> 
 
 (NEVER loved thee. In my earlier days 
 I scorned and shunned thee : to my child- 
 ish gaze 
 Thy skilful nimbleness and shining form 
 No beauty brought, no potency, or charm ; 
 I only viewed thee, spurning all thy pleas, 
 Sworn foe to freedom, idleness, and ease. 
 
 But thou hast clung to me in spite of all, 
 Like a true friend who minds not change or 
 
 fall ; 
 I have not found — existence never gave — 
 More ready, willing, and obedient slave ; 
 And somehow I have come to look at thee, 
 If not with pleasure, with complacency. 
 
 It may be as the galley-slave has learned 
 Something of love for toil that once he 
 
 spurned ; 
 Or as a man condemned for life to dwell 
 
 Go) 
 
76 TO MY SEWING NEEDLE. 
 
 A prisoner, grows in time to like his cell. 
 Many the things 'tis wise to take in gross — 
 Few feelings can be analysed too close. 
 
 I ought to love thee. Thou hast ever been 
 To sorrowing woman near as blood in kin ; 
 And many an hour of anguish hast thou 
 
 whiled 
 As back and forward thou hast flashed and 
 
 smiled, 
 Bringing sweet memories and pleasant thought 
 As fair and graceful figures thou hast wrought. 
 
 Thou hast from Nature borrowed light and 
 
 shade, 
 Hast many an ancient battle-scene portrayed; 
 Wrought banners men were proud to wave 
 
 on high, 
 Decked castle walls with gorgeous tapestry ; 
 The transient, perishing of earth engraved, 
 And noble deeds and words of wisdom saved. 
 
 Thou hast filled homes with plenty; thousands 
 
 wait 
 On thee as mendicants at castle gate : 
 Thou hast the naked clothed, the hungry fed, 
 
TO MY SEWING NEEDLE. 77 
 
 Adorned the blushing bride, and robed the 
 
 dead ; 
 And worlds of might work by thine unseen 
 
 aid, 
 Since thou by Dorcas hast been sacred made. 
 
 O Power, so small and silent, yet so strong 
 And wonder-working of the laboring throng, 
 Still be thy might, thy glory felt and known, 
 And in the van of life still hold thy own : 
 Still keep thine ancient place at home and 
 
 hearth, 
 Among the least, yet mightiest of the earth. 
 
 For long; as thou dost there in honor reign, 
 The world may place her glittering baits in 
 
 vain ; 
 As long as thou dost in thy patience toil, 
 A might remains the tempter's power to spoil ; 
 As long as thou dost help her to endure, 
 No charm can woman from her place allure. 
 
LIFE'S LESSONS. 
 
 — <%%* — 
 
 ^bPEEAD o'er a page our sorrowing tears 
 <^T have blurred. 
 
 Whose letters we know not by sight or 
 sound, 
 
 Whose syllables so oddly, strangely bound, 
 Make up an unintelligible word 
 We vainly strive in memory to hoard, 
 
 And whose design and beauty, use and end 
 (Of which as foreign things we may have 
 heard) 
 
 Our childish spirits fail to comprehend. 
 Sometimes unwittingly, as breathed upon 
 
 By inspiration, we may rightly call 
 A single letter, or w^ith sigh and moan, 
 
 Upon a proper word may chance to fall; 
 But ere one-half the meaning has been learned, 
 A newer and a harder page is turned. 
 
 (78) 
 
THE PRESENT. 
 
 — *§§* — 
 
 "HY need we to the dim, dark Past recede, 
 And search her record for soul-stirring 
 deed. 
 When so much in the teeming Present lies, 
 To animate our hearts and fill our eyes? 
 
 Why need we seek to taint and soil our page 
 With horrors that disgraced a former age; 
 Or drag again, as curious things, to light, 
 The sins it were more wise to hide from sight : 
 
 When time reveals no hour, and earth no place, 
 Where crime shows not her bold unblushing 
 
 face ; 
 And our sad Present bears enough, enough, 
 To crowd the page of warning and reproof? 
 
 Why search the darkness of a vanished night, 
 Or trace the glimmers of a dawning light, 
 When o'er our clearer path and higher way 
 Shines the full radiance of perfected day ? 
 
 7 (<9) 
 
80 THE PRESENT. 
 
 Why need we bid the quiet, sleeping dead 
 Again for us their bloody paths re-tread, 
 When bolder heroes, through as loud a din, 
 Still walk the earth, still nobly strive and 
 win? 
 
 No fires are kindled now, no stakes are driven 
 To horrify the earth and insult heaven; 
 But still unseen the life-drops trickle down, 
 And suffering earns, to-day, a martyr's crown. 
 
 Earth's future heroes, glorious and wise, 
 Are given to our unconscious hearts and eyes ; 
 And heaven's blest angels through the shades 
 
 and glooms, 
 Walk by our sides and dwell within our homes. 
 
 We strive to grope into the shadowed past, 
 Or o'er the future our dim light to cast ; 
 And let the present, freighted full, slip by, 
 Without one throb of heart, one glance of eye. 
 
 Time dulls the sinking echoes of the past. 
 While o'er the future mercy's veil is cast ; 
 And our short sight of life can see no more 
 Than a few steps behind, a few before. 
 
THE PRESENT. 81 
 
 Oh, could we view our lives, our days aright, 
 How would our hearts enkindle at the sight! 
 How would we droop, or lift our beaming eyes, 
 To see how low we fall, how high might rise ! 
 
THE GIFTS OF LOVE. 
 
 — •§§• — • 
 
 ^•HE gave not much as counts the world, 
 <^j A little here and there ; 
 A few small coins, a crust of bread, 
 A softly whispered prayer. 
 
 She gave a kindly smile, a word 
 
 Of comfort and of cheer ; 
 A silent, loving clasp of hand, 
 
 A sympathising tear. 
 
 Blessed like the widow's mites, those coins 
 Unclosed wealth's grasping hand ; 
 
 Opened a gushing fount that spread 
 Wide o'er the thirsty land. 
 
 That kindly smile, that cheering word, 
 
 Fell on a breaking heart ; 
 And closed and bound a wound unseen, 
 
 And healed a secret smart. 
 
 (82) 
 
THE GIFTS OF LOVE. 83 
 
 That silent, loving clasp which said, 
 
 "Look up, O sister mine," 
 Drew from the clutch of death a soul 
 
 That shall in glory shine. 
 
 That whispered prayer, unheard on earth, 
 
 So faintly was it given, 
 Rose on the spirit wings of faith, 
 
 And moved the throne of heaven. 
 
 Such were her gifts; — and half their worth 
 
 By words can ne'er be told ; 
 Nor is earth wise enough to heed, 
 
 Or large enough to hold. 
 
IN MEMOBIAM. 
 
 — *§» — 
 
 4*AEEWELL! I will not weep that thou 
 Art resting with the blessed now; 
 Or that the Father's wise design 
 
 Hath made thy path more short than mine. 
 
 Farewell! a stronger than our love 
 Hath borne thee to thy home above ; 
 
 And though the world may be less fair, 
 Heaven is more dear since thou art there. 
 
 (84) 
 
MY DEAD. 
 
 «§§» 
 
 %f COUNT not those among my dead 
 T (Though from my sight and presence fled) 
 Whom, safe beyond the realms of change, 
 No time, no mortal can estrange ; 
 Their love and trust but brighter shine 
 Whom death has made forever mine. 
 
 They are my dead who, living yet, 
 Make life one long and sad regret ; 
 Who, false to every memory, 
 Still walk the earth, more dead to me 
 Than if with chilling, threatening mien 
 The cold, damp grave were walled between. 
 
 They are my dead — the vanished years 
 I mourn with unavailing tears ; 
 The long-fled, joyous years that seem 
 Like pleasant tale or beauteous dream ; 
 The full-pressed, teeming years that hold 
 Treasures ungathered and untold. 
 
 (85) 
 
86 MY DEAD. 
 
 They are my dead — the hopes that sprung 
 In life's glad morning strong and young; 
 Yet, nurtured with the tenderest care, 
 They faded like earth's bright and fair; 
 Perished, as sink into the grave 
 Whom neither love nor skill can save. 
 
 Uncovered to the gazer's eye, 
 
 Behold my dead unburied lie; 
 
 Like men, unshriven and unblest, 
 
 They cannot sleep in peaceful rest ; 
 
 But loud above life's whirl and din, 
 
 They mock me with, "It might have been." 
 
 O Time, these dead so cold and white, 
 Help me to bury from my sight: 
 Bury the mocking hopes and years, 
 Bury in silence and in tears : 
 Bury them deep — they were too bright: 
 Bury them deep — far out of sight! 
 
"SHE HATH BONE WHAT SHE 
 COULDr 
 
 
 %i CANNOT seek my Father's house, 
 ™ And in His temple pray ; 
 But in this quiet room my heart 
 May silent homage pay. 
 
 I cannot toil as others do 
 
 Along the world's broad mart; 
 
 But where He placed me I can stand, 
 With patient, watchful heart. 
 
 I cannot open wide my hand 
 Whene'er the suffering plead ; 
 
 But I can bear their woes to Him 
 Who doth the sparrows feed. . 
 
 And when the whole is measured by 
 Not what I did, but ivould, 
 
 It may be He will say of me, 
 
 " She hath done what she could." 
 
 (87) 
 
UNBELIEF. 
 
 — *fr — 
 
 *&g IS strange when God throws wide His 
 Tfy door 
 
 And lets the needy suppliant in, 
 Declaring he who asks shall have, 
 
 And he who strives shall surely w T in, 
 We do not oftener seek that door. 
 And boldly ask and plead for more. 
 
 And strange that after we have prayed, 
 And after God has heard our prayer, 
 
 And angels to our waiting hearts 
 The Fathers ready message bear, 
 
 We marvel He should answer make, 
 
 And scarcely will the blessing take. 
 
 O fools, and slow of heart to trust 
 And feel his tenderness and power! 
 
 O fools, and slow to rest upon 
 
 The strength that is a mighty tower! 
 
 Afraid the promise to believe, 
 
 Afraid the blessing to receive. 
 
 (88) 
 
SPEEO, CREDO, FIDO. 
 
 — m> — 
 
 %$ CANNOT tell man's labored proofs 
 ™^ In subtle, rare device, 
 Of the Unseen, Eternal One, 
 
 The Soul of mysteries. 
 The creature the Creator shows : 
 
 1 am — therefore He is. 
 
 I know not how Jehovah could 
 
 With men in converse be ; 
 Nor ask of that recorded word 
 
 A learned proof to see : 
 I am too glad to think that God 
 
 Has given a book to me. 
 
 I cannot tell how Mercy may 
 
 Justice and Law survive ; 
 Nor comprehend how Jesus' death 
 
 Eternal life can give : 
 I only know that He hath said, 
 
 " Look unto Me and live." 
 
 (89) 
 
90 SRERO, CREDO, FIDO. 
 
 I know not how a dying breath, 
 
 A human, sin-stained plea, 
 Can span the space 'twixt man and God, 
 
 And alter Heaven's decree : 
 But I have heard the Father's word, 
 
 '•In trouble call on Me." 
 
 I know not how life's ceaseless ills 
 
 Can blessings antedate ; 
 Nor how the bitter will be sweet, 
 
 And crooked places straight : 
 'Tis written, all will work for good 
 
 To those who love and wait. 
 
 I cannot tell where Heaven may be, 
 
 Isoy what its glories are ; 
 Save that it waits the faithful soul, 
 
 And God and Christ are there ; 
 And that the happy spirits rest 
 
 From sin, and death, and care. 
 
 For secret things belong to God, 
 
 And not to finite dust; 
 And high as human mind may soar, 
 
 It owns the wisdom just 
 That veils the deepest, and to man 
 
 Gives hope, belief, and trust. 
 
VOICE OF THE DYING. 
 
 WEEP not for me! 
 I am the captive sighing 
 One glimpse of warm, reviving life to see; 
 And this cold, hideous thing that ye call 
 dying 
 Is but the welcome friend that sets me free. 
 
 Weep not for me ! 
 I am the traveller weary 
 Who o'er rough seas and desert wilds has come; 
 And dreaming yet of pathways long and 
 dreary, 
 With transport sees the gleaming lights of 
 home. 
 
 Weep not for me ! 
 I am the sick one longing 
 Eor one brief respite from pain's ceaseless strife; 
 Who in one moment through the visions 
 thronging, 
 Sees in her grasp eternal health and life. 
 
 ft (91) 
 
92 VOICE OF THE DYING. 
 
 Eejoice for me ! 
 My path was rough and dreary ; 
 Faint was my heart, and torn my aching feet ; 
 Life's burden pressed me sore and I was 
 weary — 
 The rest our Father gives is long and sweet. 
 
 Eejoice for me ! 
 Even now do I behold Him 
 Whom I have loved, whom I have sought so 
 long ; 
 Even now my eager spirit-arms enfold Him, 
 And these dull ears have caught the angel song. 
 
 Rejoice for me! m 
 When ceased the labored watching, 
 
 Ye fold the hands above my painless breast ; 
 And nevermore the labored whisper catching, 
 
 Ye close the weary eyes in endless rest. 
 
 Eejoice for me ! 
 When o'er the hillock ben ding- 
 Where toil may sleep, and peace and stillness 
 dwell, 
 And holy thought is ever heavenward 
 wending, 
 Ye say with quiet heart, "She sleepeth well." 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 
 — **> — 
 
 ^ITHIX his grated cell 
 
 A captive sat and sighed ; 
 His skeleton band, like a shadow, fell 
 
 On the tasteless crust at his side. 
 His hair was damp with the prison mould, 
 
 His eye was hollow and wild ; 
 And the arm that once could giants fell, 
 
 Was weaker than a child. 
 
 He, in that cell, for years 
 
 Had waited^ watched, and prayed ; 
 Till, numb alike to hopes and fears, 
 
 He asked and wished no aid. 
 A breathing corpse within a tomb, 
 
 Xo eye but Heaven's could see ; 
 All that he heard was his keeper's step, 
 
 And the turn of the iron key. 
 
 Yet was there something that bound 
 
 His senses still to earth ; 
 To the world of action, light, and sound, 
 
 Of happiness and mirth. 
 
 (93) 
 
94 THE CAPTIVE. 
 
 A tiny sunbeam daily came 
 
 From its home of light and bliss ; 
 
 And stole, as a living thing, to his side, 
 And fell on his cheek, like a kiss. 
 
 He watched and watched it fall 
 
 Down through the rusty grate ; 
 He saw it climbing o'er the wall, 
 
 And o'er his fettered feet. 
 It sweetly spoke of bright green fields, 
 
 Of trees, and cool, clear stream ; 
 It said there was light and hope on earth, — 
 
 Ay, light and hope for him. 
 
 Was he forgotten? STo; 
 
 Fond eyes had long been dim; 
 True hearts had shared his every throe, 
 
 And lips had prayed for him. 
 But evil can rule with iron hand ; 
 
 And hatred is bitter and strong : 
 And what is the might of a woman's love 
 
 Against the power of wrong? 
 
 The captive raised his eye 
 
 To greet his sunny friend, 
 And breathed for it the latest sigh 
 
 His weary soul might send. 
 
THE CAPTIVE. 95 
 
 It came at last; and his eye grew bright, 
 
 Watching its noiseless tread ; 
 But when it reached the pallid cheek, 
 
 It lighted the face of the dead. 
 
 Weep not for him who lieth 
 
 On fields where fame is won ; 
 But weep for him who dieth 
 
 A thousand deaths in one. 
 Ay, weep for him that languisheth 
 
 Where hope may never come ; 
 Who, drop by drop, gives up his life 
 
 For liberty and home. 
 
NO HOPE — NO LIFE. 
 
 [HILE Hope remained I lived, I toiled: 
 Hope fled, life was of all despoiled 
 That gave it worth. 
 
 I did not weep when Yandal hands 
 
 My treasures bore away; 
 Nor when I saw the lurid flames 
 
 My home in ashes lay ; 
 But on the ruin gazed, and said, 
 
 " O native Land, for thee 
 Far more than this I'd gladly bear, 
 
 If thou may'st yet be free." 
 
 I did not weep when sorrowing men 
 
 With slow and measured tread, 
 Brought back the strong man of my house, 
 
 To lay him with his dead ; 
 But stilled the beating of my heart, 
 
 And stifled down the sigh, 
 And said, " 'Tis great and glorious 
 
 For one's own land to die." 
 
 (96) 
 
 
NO HOPE — NO LIFE. 97 
 
 And when the bitter ending came, 
 
 And all was given and lost, 
 And I was like a severed leaf 
 
 By wind and tempest tost : 
 I gathered up my strength and said, 
 
 " The Future yet remains, 
 And in her opening hands are laid 
 
 Strong, honest Labor's gains." 
 
 But when I felt the bitterness 
 
 Of unrequited toil, 
 And saw the base and wicked rise, 
 
 Eich with the orphan's spoil ; 
 When starving children cried for bread, 
 
 And there was none to give, 
 And all the weak were trampled down, 
 
 Just that the strong might live : 
 
 When every coming year disclosed 
 
 More labor and less gain, 
 And life was but another name 
 
 For weariness and pain ; 
 When love at death bequeathed to love 
 
 Such heritage of woe, 
 The tears that Hope so long had stayed, 
 
 Despair allowed to flow. 
 
THE SO UTS. 
 
 — ** — 
 
 |E loved her when she sat queen among 
 nations, 
 
 A crown of glory on her stainless brow ; 
 Rich with the incense of world-adulations, 
 And strong in powers that right and truth 
 endow. 
 
 When o'er her blooming plains and shining- 
 waters, 
 Plenty and Wealth swept on with even tide ; 
 When noble-hearted sons and beauteous daugh- 
 ters 
 Made gla_d her thousand homes of joy and 
 pride : 
 
 When the Past gave no echoing sound of 
 sorrow, 
 The happy Present banished care away; 
 And the wished future was the glad To- 
 morrow, 
 That lengthened and intensified To-day. 
 
 (98) 
 
THE SOUTH 99 
 
 But more, far more, when with just indigna- 
 tion 
 At but the thought of cherished rights o'er- 
 thrown, 
 She rose against a vaunting usurpation, 
 And dared assert, and dared to claim, her 
 own : 
 
 When to the holy God of Heaven appealing, 
 She bared her breast to meet a murdering 
 sword ; 
 And with life-blood her words and actions seal- 
 ing, 
 Lost all she prized and sought, gained all 
 she feared. 
 
 Yet more we love her as in desolation 
 
 She mourns her name, her rights, her 
 children gone, 
 
 And breathes but one wild wail of lamentation, 
 Whose depth of agony might move a stone. 
 
 As the fond mother who, when health is flow- 
 ing 
 In red, rich streams, but little heeds her 
 child, 
 
100 THE SOUTH. 
 
 Finds warmer love and stronger feeling glow- 
 ing, 
 If suffering blight where late enjoyment 
 smiled : 
 
 So with hearts throbbing with a tenderer 
 yearning, 
 
 We gaze upon our prostrate, stricken, land ; 
 And with a deeper, wilder passion burning, 
 
 Sad, tireless watchers at her side we stand. 
 
 Dearer her quivering form all scarr'd and gory, 
 And faint with strife against a world of 
 foes ; 
 
 Dearer a thousand times her touching story 
 Of unexampled sufferings, deeds, and woes. 
 
 And we are learning, like the hope-forsaken, 
 To speak of her, our loved, our prized, our 
 own, 
 Softly, as names of those whom death has 
 taken 
 Are only breathed with low and reverent 
 tone. 
 
MISSION OF SONG. 
 
 ARTH was not banned to angels : myriad 
 forms 
 
 Speed here and there on heavenly mission 
 sent. 
 Earth Was not cursed for them ; its raging 
 storms 
 Break not the even calm of their content. 
 Tireless and swift on wings of wind they 
 
 Xo other will than His who sent them know. 
 
 *. 
 
 A thousand forms are round us ; noiseless feet 
 
 Keep measured pace with ours o'er thorny 
 
 wastes ; 
 
 Eyes that we see not, our dim glances meet, 
 
 And strength unsought to our assistance 
 
 hastes ; 
 
 Hands that we feel not. our worn fingers 
 
 take, 
 And voices speak as never mortal spake. 
 
 (101) 
 
102 MISSION OF SONG. 
 
 One hath long walked with us ; was with the 
 
 stars 
 That sang together when creation woke ; 
 And close to man. through all life's shocks 
 
 and jars, 
 Hath made more strong his heart, more 
 
 light his yoke : 
 We know not, ask not, if she may belong 
 To earth or heaven, but we have called her 
 
 Song. 
 
 She hath a holy mission ; it is hers 
 
 To speed o'er every land, and clime, and race, 
 
 And rescue from oblivion, change, and years, 
 The noble and sublime of every age and place. 
 
 When marble falls and crumbles into dust, 
 
 Song, living Song, shall guard with care her 
 trust. 
 
 She loves to dwell with Nature; she hath lent 
 Her voice to wind, and bird, and stream, 
 and sea; 
 
 There is no spot o'er which she bath not bent, 
 No space she hath not filled with melody ; 
 
 To listening ear there is no sound but brings 
 
 Some echo from her harp of thousand strings. 
 
MISSION OF SONG. 103 
 
 Through her passion finds words, love whis- 
 pers soft, 
 Anger and hatred rage, and sorrow weeps ; 
 Through her devotion quickens, soars aloft, 
 Hope brighter smiles, and faith more stead- 
 fast keeps ; 
 Spirit communes with spirit, and hearts 
 
 speak, 
 That else, all other voice denied, would break. 
 
 Lands have no history that have no song ; 
 
 Their heroes lie forgotten in their graves ; 
 No living voice awakens in their young 
 
 The emulating zeal that dares and braves : 
 The thought ungarnered, and the deed un- 
 sung, 
 Are treasures to the winds and waters flung. 
 
 She is the baffler of decay and time, 
 
 The wielder of a weapon keen and strong ; 
 The bold discloser of high-seated crime, 
 
 The dreaded foe of tyrants and of wrong : 
 Oppression's power all right may crush — 
 
 deny — 
 But truth embalmed by Song can never 
 die. 
 9 
 
104 MISSION OF SONG. 
 
 Well should we love thee; we, the tempest-tost, 
 Bereft of name and country ; we, who cast 
 
 Our all on one wild fearful throw^ and lost 
 All but the waning memory of the past : 
 
 We give thee, noble and high-minded Song, 
 
 Our name, our deeds, our suffering, and our 
 wrong. 
 
 Guard thou our unmarked dead ; watch o'er 
 their dust, 
 Embalm their actions, and their honor keep ; 
 Tell how they fought and died with un- 
 dimmed trust 
 In God and Eight, and with the uncon- 
 quered sleep : 
 Thy sweetest, softest, saddest notes belong 
 To her who has no history but — Song. 
 
LINES OF LIFE. 
 
 o»fo 
 
 ||T was not smooth — the path that God 
 
 ™ Appointed unto me ; 
 
 Nor always pleasant — but it led 
 
 Where He would have me be. 
 And if I felt alone the thorns, 
 
 And failed the flowers to greet, 
 It was because I would not see 
 
 The blossoms at my feet. 
 
 The cup presented to my lips, — 
 
 The cup designed for all — 
 Most strangely, skilfully was mixed 
 
 With honey and with gall. 
 And though my tongue no sweet could taste, 
 
 My heart no good could guess, 
 Yet now I know that strength was hid 
 
 Within its bitterness. 
 
 .Nor was it only light that fell 
 
 Across my onward path ; 
 But darkness deep, that seemed to me 
 
 A harbinger of wrath. 
 
 (105) 
 
106 LINES OF LIFE. 
 
 Yet over all this truth still shone 
 
 Like silvery lining clear, 
 That only in a cloud can God 
 
 To fallen man draw near. 
 
 Thus thorn and flower, bitter and sweet, 
 
 Glad sunshine and dark shade, 
 With skilful weavings in and out, 
 
 A checkered life have made. 
 Only the taught of God may see 
 
 How evenly they blend, 
 And the Divine, the glorious plan 
 
 Begin to comprehend. 
 
 Then, looking back on what has been, 
 
 Or on to what may be, 
 Be still, my heart, and calmly wait 
 
 The blessed whole to see. 
 And may this lowly, humbling thought 
 
 Bid every murmur flee : 
 The good is more, the evil less 
 
 Than is deserved by me. 
 
THY WILL BE DONE:' 
 
 — W> — 
 
 |HEN all my days were bright, and life 
 With radiant joy and hope was rife ; 
 And all I asked, and all I sought; 
 As if on angel wing was brought: 
 How easy then Thy power to own. 
 And cheerful say, " Thy will be done/' 
 
 But when Thy hand pressed on me sore, 
 With weight I never felt before ; 
 When sorrow and affliction came, 
 And Death brought in a fearful claim, 
 And took my best and dearest one, 
 * I could not say, " Thy will be done.' ? 
 
 'Tis hard to think that good can spring 
 From such an evil, bitter thing; 
 'Tis hard to think that it can be 
 The hand of Love thus laid on me ; 
 And hard to see my hopes o'erthrown, 
 And yet to say, "Thy will be done." 
 
 (107) 
 
108 "THY WILL BE DONE," 
 
 Thy heavenly grace Thou must impart. 
 Thy Spirit breathe upon this heart, 
 And every quivering pulse must thrill 
 With thy soft whisper, "Peace, be still," 
 Ere I can turn each weary moan 
 Into the words, "Thy will be done." 
 
 I can but bring to Thee my grief, 
 And cry, "Lord, help my unbelief!" 
 I can but at Thy footstool stay, 
 Till Thou shalt teach my heart to say, 
 With upward glance and childlike tone, 
 And patient trust, " Thy will be done." 
 
HE LEADETH ME. 
 
 Psalrn xxiii. 2. 
 
 *§§o 
 
 ^OMETIMES through pleasant shades, 
 &T By softly murmuring streams ; 
 Along sweet-scented glades. 
 Lighted by golden beams: 
 And He who walks beside me there, 
 Makes all its loveliness more fair. 
 
 Sometimes o'er thorny ways, 
 
 That wound and pierce my feet; 
 
 And danger round me plays, 
 And tempests o'er me beat : 
 
 Though never path so dark and dread, 
 
 I do but follow in His tread. 
 
 Sometimes through blazing fires, 
 That singe, and scorch, and burn, 
 
 Lifting their lurid spires 
 Whichever way I turn : 
 
 Yet through the hottest flames I see 
 
 The same dear Hand that leadeth me. 
 
 (109) 
 
110 HE LEADETH ME. 
 
 Sometimes through raging streams, 
 That lash, and fright, and chill ; 
 
 Where echo wakes wild screams, 
 That numbing senses thrill: 
 
 Yet is He ever at my side 
 
 Whose voice can still the roaring tide. 
 
 He leads, whose tender love 
 My yearning heart enfolds ; 
 
 He guides, who leads above, 
 And, as He guides, upholds : 
 
 I follow — though I see no more 
 
 Than one short footstep just before. 
 
 He leads, who ruleth all ; 
 
 He guides, who never errs: 
 With Him, how can I fall? 
 
 Or how give place to fears ? 
 All faith in self forever gone, 
 I trust in Him, and am led on. 
 
Chiefest among ten thousand* and altogether lovely. — Sol- 
 omon's Song. 
 
 f MjAKTHLY friends with bliss surround me, 
 J^Y Love's own air I gently breathe ; 
 Beauties new, above, around me, 
 Their beguiling witcheries wreathe ; 
 But their temptings, 
 Sweet, soft temptings, 
 On me vainly, coldly fall ; 
 For my Saviour, 
 My own Saviour, 
 Is more fair, more dear than all. 
 
 They can bitterly deceive me ; 
 
 They can promise and not give ; 
 In my darkest hours they leave me, 
 Hopelessly alone to grieve : 
 In my sorrow, 
 Pain and sorrow, 
 They have naught that can avail ; 
 But my Saviour, 
 My strong Saviour, 
 
 Cannot leave me, cannot fail, 
 mi) 
 
112 SOLOMON'S SONG v. 10-16. 
 
 He is all my joy, my pleasure, 
 
 All my might, my hope, my trust ; 
 Here my soul's abiding treasure, 
 Firm and faithful, true and just : 
 
 In the future, 
 
 Dim, dark future, 
 He is all the light I see ; 
 
 my Saviour, 
 
 My dear Saviour, 
 Heaven is nothing without Thee ! 
 
 When I see my strength departing 
 
 Like the early morning dew, 
 Waves of anguish o'er me starting, 
 And earth gliding from my view : 
 
 No cold doubting, 
 
 Fear or doubting, 
 Then shall dim my closing eye ; 
 
 On my Saviour, 
 
 My dear Saviour, 
 I will calmly rest, and die. 
 
 In the world of bliss above me, 
 With unending joys in store ; 
 
 With t^ie spirits pure that love me, 
 And the self-same Lord adore: 
 
SOLOMON'S SONG v. 10-16. 113 
 
 There in safety, 
 
 Eest and safety, 
 From all sin, all sorrow free — 
 
 O my Saviour, 
 
 My dear Saviour, 
 May I ever live with Thee! 
 
"COME UNTO ME.". 
 
 S. Matthew xi. 28. 
 
 *§§* 
 
 fll ET thou weary? Wouldst thou rest?" 
 e^ Come, and lean upon this breast : 
 Come, and find a place with Me, 
 Long ago prepared for thee. 
 
 Art thou thirsty? From the brink 
 Of destruction turn, and drink 
 Of the water I will give, 
 And thou shalt forever live. 
 
 Art thou on doubt's billows tost, 
 All thy charts, thy reckoning lost? 
 Come, to Me thy woes confide ; 
 Come, and I will be thy guide. 
 
 Dost thou fear the chilling breath 
 Of the mighty conqueror, Death ? 
 Come, with Me there is no strife; 
 Come, I am eternal life. 
 
 Cl 14) * * 
 
"COME UNTO ME:' 115 
 
 Come, I long have sought for thee ; 
 Come, unending bliss foresee ; 
 Come, thy highest powers employ ; 
 Come, and fill the heavens with joy. 
 
 10 
 
Ye shall drink indeed of my cup, and be baptized with the 
 baptism I am baptized with.—S. Matthew xx. 23. 
 
 IE dream of the triumph y we speak of 
 the crown, 
 
 We look for the harvest, we long to lie down 
 With the martyrs and saints who have passed 
 
 on before, 
 And are safe with their palms on the " bright 
 
 shining shore." 
 
 We forget the long labor, the race, and the 
 cross, 
 
 The hungerings, the thirstings, the wander- 
 ings, the loss ; 
 
 We forget the proud charge when He mar- 
 shalled us forth, 
 
 And we ask our reward and our rest upon 
 earth. 
 
 But He told us, "The cup that 1 drink, ye 
 
 must drain ; 
 Ye must taste of the anguish, the bitter, the 
 
 pain : 
 
 (116) 
 
S. MATTHEW xx. 23. 117 
 
 Ye have asked in my might and my glory to 
 
 share, 
 But my sorrow, and suffering, and shame can 
 
 ye bear?" 
 
 Oh, measure the distance, weigh justly the 
 
 cost; 
 Go over the reckoning, or all may be lost ; 
 For the scourge must be felt, and the cross 
 
 must be borne, 
 Ere the throne can be gained, or the crown 
 
 can be worn. 
 
 He told us of treasures, of blessings, and gains ; 
 And he told of bereavements, of struggles, and 
 
 pains : 
 He spake of a rest, and a comfort in store, 
 But the rest is to come when the conflict 
 
 is o'er. 
 
 Then more of the cross, and less of the crown ; 
 Long more for the struggle, and less to lie 
 
 down : 
 Not always the rest and the end are in view, 
 But He who hath promised is faithful and 
 
 true. 
 
THE WORD OF GOD. 
 
 Thy word have 1 hid in niy heart.— Psalm cxix. 11. 
 How sweet are Thy words.— Psalm cxix. 
 
 — m> — 
 
 kNE word of my God in the morning, 
 When the labors of life must be done ; 
 One strong, quickening word of the Father, 
 
 That my spirit may feed upon. 
 Let me hear then the voice that sayeth, 
 
 "This is the path and the way; " 
 Let me see the clear light that shineth 
 
 Brighter and brighter each day : 
 That my feet may not stumble or falter 
 
 In pathways untried and untrod, 
 And my soul go forth to the conflict 
 
 Equipped with the armor of God. 
 
 One word of my God in the noon-day ; 
 
 When weary of struggling with sin, 
 The shield of my faith is all tarnished, 
 
 And my spirit is fainting within. 
 
 (118) 
 
THE WORD OF GOD. 1J9 
 
 Let me hear that Jehovah still reigneth 
 
 Unchanged and unchanging above ; 
 And no power that darkness engenders 
 
 His throne eternal can move : 
 That my hope and my faith may be brightened, 
 
 And my spirit again grow strong 
 In the thought of the patient long-suffering^ 
 
 Of God, that alloweth the wrong. 
 
 One word of my God in the evening : 
 
 Ere forgetfulness steal o'er my frame, 
 Let the day's last whisperings echo 
 
 The One, Omnipotent j^ame. 
 Let me read of the beautiful city, 
 
 Of the rest that remaineth above; 
 When my soul, like a child that is weary, * 
 
 Is yearning for comfort and love : 
 That my sleep may be deeper and sweeter 
 
 For thought of the fadeless and fair; 
 And my dreams may be of the mansions 
 
 That Jesus hath gone to prepare. 
 
COMFORT YE, COMFORT YE MY 
 PEOPLE. 
 
 Isaiah xl. 1. 
 
 *§€♦ 
 
 PILGBIM weary and oppressed, 
 Dost thou seek and sigh for rest ? 
 Is thy pathway long and drear? 
 Full of danger, void of cheer? 
 Bough and thorny though it be, 
 Know it is the best for thee. 
 
 Not by fortune, not by chance, 
 Not by human vigilance, 
 Were the windings of one hour 
 Marked by earthly wisdom's power; 
 All was drawn and traced above 
 By the heart and hand of Love. 
 
 Just the station, good or ill, 
 Thou, and thou alone, canst fill ; 
 Just the sorrow, just the care, 
 Just the pleasure thou canst bear ; 
 Just Heaven's wise and vast design, 
 Sad and murmuring soul, is thine. 
 
 (120) 
 
COMFORT YE MY PEOPLE. 121 
 
 Not some great, some mighty task 
 Does thy patient Saviour ask ; 
 Kindly, gently, doth He bear 
 With thy weakness, with thy fear : 
 Little things He gives to thee, 
 Faithful in that little be. 
 
 In thy sufferings meekly borne, 
 In reproach, contempt, and scorn ; 
 In the humble round of life 
 Spreading peace and stilling strife ; 
 In each thought, and deed, and word, 
 Thou mayst glorify thy Lord. 
 
 He has given to thee a place, 
 
 See thou fillest it with grace ; 
 
 He hath portioned out thy tasks, 
 
 Patient faithfulness He asks : 
 
 Daily by hope's cheering beam 
 
 Thou mayst bear and work with Him. 
 
 'Work with Him ! — transporting thought ! 
 Work with Him who wonders wrought ! 
 Him, whose power all time transcends ; 
 Him, to whom creation bends ; 
 Work with Him, to share above 
 In His glory, grace, and love. 
 
122 COMFORT YE MY PEOPLE. 
 
 Weary! there is yet a rest, 
 Deep, unbroken, perfect, blest ! 
 Mourner ! there is joy for thee 
 Where no grief, no pain can be! 
 To the faithful shall be given 
 Best, and joy, and peace, in heaven ! 
 
WHAT I BELIEVE. 
 
 Fear not: only believe.— S. Mark v. 30. 
 
 (DO believe that Jesus did 
 Himself an offering give, 
 That fully, freely pardoned, I 
 Eternally might live. 
 
 I do believe that He can take 
 This tainted heart of sin, 
 
 And purify and make it fit 
 For Him to dwell within. 
 
 I do believe that Jesus hears 
 My every prayer and plea; 
 
 And measures not His gifts by what 
 My poor, weak faith may be. 
 
 I do believe that life nor death, 
 
 Xor any other thing, 
 Can separate me from the love 
 
 Of Christ, my Saviour King. 
 
 (123) 
 
124 WHAT I BELIEVE. 
 
 I do believe that He hath gone 
 
 A mansion to prepare 
 Within His Father's house, and He 
 
 Will come and take me there. 
 
 I do believe if I endure 
 With patience to the end, 
 
 Resisting unto death, that He 
 Will sure deliverance send. 
 
 I do believe that as He rose, 
 The first-fruits of the dead, 
 
 So from the grave I too shall rise 
 To Christ, my living Head. 
 
 I do believe I shall the King- 
 In all His beauty see ; 
 
 And that where'er my Saviour is 
 I shall forever be ! 
 
IN SICKNESS. 
 
 %f ASK not why in God's decree 
 ™ This weary sickness comes to me ; 
 Why days of pain and nights of woe, 
 With, laggard footsteps come and go. 
 
 Whether it be to try my faith 
 And patience in His seeming wrath ; 
 Or to correct some ill in me 
 Only the eye of Heaven can see. 
 
 I may not tell: but this I know, 
 "lis God who thus hath laid me low : 
 God — who hath measured out our days, 
 God — just and good in all His ways. 
 
 The Father chasteneth whom He loves, 
 And in His chastening pity moves : 
 'Tis for our endless good ; that we 
 Sharers of cross and crown may be. 
 
 (125) 
 
126 IN SICKNESS. 
 
 K~o greater comfort can we know 
 Than thus to be like Christ below; 
 Suffering with Him; like Him to rise 
 Through suffering perfect to the skies. 
 
 Father, I take it. 'Tis from Thee ; 
 Mingled, like all Thy gifts to me ; 
 And if no thanks my lips unclose, 
 My heart Thy tender pity knows. 
 
 Oh, let me, bending to Thy will, 
 And trusting Thy great love, lie still : 
 So shall these painful moments be 
 Strong cords to draw me nearer Thee. 
 
THE WORKMAN AND THE METAL. 
 
 The workman sits at the door of his furnace watching 
 the metal within. When he sees his own image reflected 
 from the molten metal, he knows the process is success- 
 ful, and abates the fury of the flames. 
 
 £^HE workman lights his glowing fire 
 ^f And puts the ore within the blaze, 
 And sits beside the furnace door, 
 And turns the metal o'er and o'er; 
 And when in it his eye can trace 
 The clear reflection of his face, 
 He knows it pure, and then allays 
 The fierceness of the burning rays. 
 
 So Jesus lights his glowing fire 
 
 And puts the soul within the blaze ; 
 And then beside the furnace door 
 He sits and turns it o'er and o'er ; 
 And when He sees reflected there 
 His own sweet image clear and fair, 
 He knows the process is complete, 
 And lowers the cleansing, melting heat. 
 
 11 (127) 
 
128 THE WORKMAN AND THE METAL. 
 
 Jesus, hotly glows the fire ! 
 
 I know Thy breath hath fanned the blaze ; 
 
 1 know Thou art beside the door, 
 Looking my spirit o'er and o'er : 
 Withdraw not Thou the burning heat 
 Until the process is complete; 
 
 Till every eye in me may trace 
 The bright reflection of Thy face. 
 
THE PROMISES OF GOD, 
 
 IKE the lovely flowers of spring-time, 
 gemming earth's soft, velvet sod, 
 Gently breathing full, rich fragrance, come 
 the promises of God. 
 
 Like stars within the firmament, lighting life's 
 
 long night of sorrow 
 With their pure and steady lustre, leading on 
 
 the glad Tomorrow. 
 
 Like the cool soft breath of evening, when 
 
 the heated day is done, 
 Whispering of the rest that cometh when 
 
 our race of life is run. 
 
 Like raindrops fresh and cooling, on the 
 
 withered, scorched plain, 
 Bringing with their liquid touch a living 
 
 freshness back again. 
 
 (129) 
 
130 THE PROMISES OF GOD. 
 
 Like a cordial to the fainting, like a staff 
 
 unto the weary, 
 Like struggling sunbeams stealing through a 
 
 prison damp and dreary. 
 
 Like all the blessings sent by Heaven where- 
 
 ever man hath trod ; 
 Eich, full, and bounteous, — open to all — blest 
 
 promises of God ! 
 
 Hands they are stretched out to help us \ 
 voices clear and sweet that call us \ 
 
 Bocks, on which our feet may safely step, 
 though hideous depths appal us. 
 
 Suns they are that light and cheer. us, all 
 
 life's long and gloomy day; 
 Milestones, that careful, loving hands have 
 
 placed along our way. 
 
 Cool and quiet streamlets flowing from the 
 
 fountains of the blest ; 
 Green and tranquil islets where the soul may 
 
 pause awhile and rest. 
 
 Purer than the pearly dewdrops, fresher than 
 
 the breath of morning; 
 Sweeter than the scent of flowerets, earth's 
 
 jewelled form adorning. 
 
THE PROMISES OF GOD. 131 
 
 Softer than the airs of summer, brighter than 
 
 the stars of heaven ; 
 Eicher than the golden, gorgeous hues that 
 
 drape the couch of even. 
 
 Breathing health, and strength, and freshness, 
 
 as our onward path we plod : 
 Full of joy, and hope, and gladness, come the 
 
 promises of God. 
 
 Blessed be He who hath not left us without 
 
 comfort, without hope, 
 But hath sent His bright- winged promises, 
 
 wide, generous doors to ope. 
 
 The holy, glorious promises, raising guilt- 
 stained souls from earth ; 
 
 Quickening every palsying nerve, giving 
 sweetest comfort birth. 
 
 Lifting up the fainting spirit, giving heavenly 
 
 air and breath ; 
 Healing every wound and sorrow, lighting 
 
 e'en the vale of death. 
 
 As God, eternal, perfect, true, deep, fathom- 
 less, and broad, 
 
 Forever sure — forever ours — blest promises 
 of God ! 
 
TB UST. 
 
 — «§§* — 
 
 S the tender parent heareth, 
 
 Though his hand no gift doth bring, 
 When his wayward children, crying, 
 Ask some pleasant, harmful thing: 
 So our tender heavenly Father 
 
 Sees and hears, but answers not, 
 When His wayward children, crying, 
 Ask some harmful thing or lot. 
 
 As the best and happiest children 
 
 Still their little cries and woes, 
 In the thought so calming, sheltering, 
 
 "Father gives not — Father knows:" 
 So the patient, faithful Christian 
 
 Calms the struggle in his breast, 
 And his cross and station beareth, 
 
 With " Our Father knoweth best." 
 
 (132) 
 
HEAVEN. 
 
 t HEBE'S a city above with its pearly gates, 
 Its walls of jasper, and streets of gold ; 
 Its great white throne, its river of life, 
 
 And mansions whose glories may never be 
 told. 
 To the faithful of earth that city is given ; 
 But city, and mansion, and throne, are not 
 Heaven. 
 
 There are soft, cooling shades, there are 
 
 pastures and streams, 
 There are airs that breathe but perfume 
 
 and life; 
 There's a glory of light that unfadingly gleams, 
 And echoes that whisper of peace — not of 
 
 strife : 
 Where never a cloud o'er the brightness is 
 
 driven, — 
 But pastures, and light, and streams are not 
 
 Heaven. 
 
 (133) 
 
134 HE A VEN. 
 
 There are angels that stand in the presence 
 of God, 
 There are prophets who spake as the Spirit 
 gave word; 
 
 There are martyrs who sealed their faith with 
 their blood, 
 And saints who rejoiced on earth in the 
 Lord. 
 
 All spotless they stand, all washed and for- 
 given ; 
 
 But angels, and prophets, and saints are not 
 Heaven. 
 
 There are songs whose melody never shall end ; 
 There are crowns that neither press heavy 
 nor fade ; 
 
 There are harps whose tones all fancy tran- 
 scend, 
 And joys that never a grief can invade; 
 
 There's a rapture from which every sorrow 
 is driven ; 
 
 But anthems, and harps, and crowns are not 
 Heaven. 
 
 All glorious, and perfect, and pure as they are, 
 They still not the spirit, they fill not the 
 heart ; 
 
HE A VEN. 135 
 
 Still higher it seeks its life-giving air, 
 
 Still struggles and sighs for a nobler part ; 
 And something more than these must be given, 
 Ere the raptured soul exults in its Heaven. 
 
 For what are the cities, the pastures, the 
 streams, 
 The angels, the prophets, the crowns and 
 the songs ? 
 What is the joy, the radiance, that gleams 
 Eternal and pure o'er the numberless- 
 throngs ? 
 Glorious, and perfect, and fadeless, and fair, 
 What are they all if Christ be not there ? 
 
 Where the presence of God eternally dwells,. 
 And the Saviour that loved us is seen and 
 
 known ; 
 Where the glory that gleams, and the rapture 
 
 that swells, 
 Are joys that flow from His favor alone : — 
 Where the smile of Jehovah to each one is 
 
 given, 
 Where Father, Son, Spirit are, there is our 
 
 Heaven ! 
 
DOUBT AND FAITH. 
 
 |OUBT is the nerveless arm that hangs 
 and quakes ; 
 Faith is the hand that reaches forth and 
 takes. 
 
 Doubt is the mist that earth and heaven can 
 
 shroud ; 
 Faith is the undimmed sun above the cloud. 
 
 Doubt is the silent, fearing to begin ; 
 
 Faith, the importunate, whose pleadings wiru 
 
 Doubt is the pendant, swaying to and fro ; 
 Faith is the needle our lost path to show. 
 
 Doubt is the rebel who dishonors God; 
 Faith is the subject, yielding to His rod. 
 
 Doubt is the raw recruit, who shrinks with 
 
 fright ; 
 Faith is the long-tried warrior, strong to fight. 
 
 (136) 
 
DOUBT AND FAITH. 137 
 
 Doubt asks, " How can I know my prayers 
 
 are heard? " 
 And Faith replies, " I trust His gracious 
 
 word." 
 
 Doubt says, " The promise is too good for me." 
 Faith answers, " Gifts of Kings should kingly 
 be." 
 
 Doubt says, " He lays mine honor in the dust." 
 And Faith, <; Though he should slay, yet will 
 I trust." 
 
 Doubt moans, "I strive with tears, but sins 
 
 abound." 
 Faith says, " In Christ my righteousness is 
 
 found." 
 
 Doubt fixes on the earth his downcast eye; 
 Faith lifts her clear and steadfast gaze on 
 high. 
 
 Doubt haunts the darkened borders of despair ; 
 Faith soars to regions lofty, pure and fair. 
 
 Doubt is of troubled and unquiet mien ; 
 But Faith is steadfast, tranquil, and serene. 
 
138 DOUBT AND FAITH, 
 
 Doubt is of earth, and with the earth must 
 
 die; 
 But Faith shall live, where now she points, 
 
 on high. 
 
 O Lord, this blinding, clogging, deadening 
 
 doubt, 
 As Thou of old the demons didst, cast out. 
 
 And let me pray along life's darkened path, 
 As Thy disciples, " Lord, increase my faith. " 
 
PRESSING ONWARD. 
 
 I press toward the mark for the prize of the high call 
 iug of God in Christ Jesus.— Philippians iii. 14. 
 
 N, on, I press toward the mark, 
 On, at the call of God; 
 On, through the rough, but heavenward paths 
 
 By holy footsteps trod. 
 I hear the words, " If thou endure," 
 
 I feel the shock of strife, 
 And see clear shining overhead 
 The prize — eternal life. 
 
 The fainting heart may cry for rest, 
 
 The feet refuse to run ; 
 Home, kindred, country, fade behind ; 
 
 And still the cry is "On!" 
 On, through the flying, whirling days 
 
 Of labor, care, and gain ; 
 On, through the laggard, weary hours 
 
 Of suffering and pain. 
 12 (OT 
 
140 PRESSING ONWARD. 
 
 On, through the beams of faith and hope, 
 
 On, through despair and fears ; 
 On, through the light and smiles of joy, 
 
 On through the mists of tears. 
 On, with the higher, holier zeal 
 
 That dares to live and strive ; 
 On, till the Judge upon the Throne 
 
 His blest " Well done " shall give. 
 
 On, though the world may call me back ; 
 
 On, though the way be long ; 
 The prize to him who runneth well, 
 
 The battle to the strong. 
 Who falls but him who looks not up ? 
 
 Who faints, but first lies down ? 
 Not one, but all may win the race, 
 
 May wear the victor's crown. 
 
 Since time began, till time shall end, 
 
 The tramp of march goes on ; 
 The thousand paths the thousands tread 
 
 Will meet at last in one. 
 One just Awarder of the prize 
 
 To him that runneth given ; 
 One race, one struggle, and one goal, 
 
 One God, one home, one heaven ! 
 
THE SAVIOUR FOR ME. 
 
 — <S* — 
 
 *HEY tell me the Saviour is near me, 
 Near me and ready to aid ; 
 That He bends from His mansion to hear me, 
 
 Never to scorn or upbraid. 
 But surely my eyes with tears must be dim ; 
 They have sought, but alas! have found not 
 Him. 
 
 They tell me He speaks to His chosen 
 
 In accents loving and sweet, 
 That soften a heart almost frozen, 
 
 Till she rises her Master to greet. 
 Ah, me ! that my ear is too heavy to hear 
 A speaker so gentle, so mighty, so near. 
 
 They tell me He smiles on the holy, 
 And comforts the mourning in heart ; 
 
 That He dwells with the humble and lowly, 
 His blessing, His peace to impart. 
 
 But I am not holy, nor humble, nor meek ; 
 
 Only weary and lonely — for such would He 
 seek? 
 
 <141) 
 
142 THE SAVIOUR FOR ME. 
 
 They tell me the Saviour descended 
 
 To ransom the sinful and lost ; 
 And that guilt though deep and extended. 
 
 His mercy can never exhaust. 
 The dullness, the dimness are gone : — I can see 
 The Saviour of sinners the Saviour for me ! 
 
FISHER'S EVENING SONG. 
 
 On the shores of the Adriatic Sea it is customary for the 
 wives of the fishermen to come down about sunset and 
 sing a melody. After singing the first stanza, they listen 
 awhile for the answering strain off the water; and con- 
 tinue to sing and listen till the well-known voices come 
 borne on the tide, telling them that the loved ones are 
 almost home. 
 
 *§§» 
 
 Tjl|l|HEX sunset floods with amber hue 
 ^TT ^he lovely Adrian shore, 
 The fishers' happy wives come down, 
 
 Singing a stanza o'er : 
 And listening till across the main 
 Is borne to them an answering strain. 
 
 How sweetly to the fisherman, 
 Fainting with toil, must come, 
 
 At eve, those dear, familiar notes 
 From the loved ones at home ! 
 
 How strong they make his weary hand 
 
 Striving to reach the distant land ! 
 
 (H3) 
 
 
 
144 FISHER'S EVENING SONG. 
 
 And thus in life's still eventide 
 The blessed spirits come ; 
 
 Singing to us angelic songs, 
 Singing of rest and home : 
 
 And listening at the golden gate. 
 
 They for the faint earth-echoes wait. 
 
 And thus do weary, toiling ones, 
 
 Their hours of labor o'er, 
 At even turn their longing eyes, 
 
 Towards the shining shore : 
 Thus hear familiar voices come, 
 Welcoming them to Heaven and homo. 
 
JESUS. 
 — >§§* — 
 
 (LOYE to read of Jesus, 
 Of all He said and taught, 
 And. o£ the -.jn jghty wonders 
 
 He on the earth hath wrought. 
 No story wild and thrilling, 
 
 By lip of mortal told, 
 Hath ever moved my spirit 
 Like that sweet tale of old. 
 
 I love to think of Jesus, 
 
 The true and steadfast friend, 
 Whose love so deep and wondrous 
 
 Can never change or end. 
 It warms my faith to action, 
 
 It bids my fears depart ; 
 It stays my fainting spirit, 
 
 And rests my weary heart. 
 
 I love to talk of Jesus, 
 
 With those who know Him well ; 
 And of His sweet compassion 
 
 In holy converse tell. 
 
 045) 
 
146 JJ2SVS. 
 
 To find how very many 
 Adore and love my Lord ; 
 
 And how His grace unfailing 
 Doth health and strength afford. 
 
 I love to work for Jesus ; 
 
 To feel that all I do 
 Is for the Heavenly Master, 
 
 Who asks a service true. 
 Yet all my toil is nothing 
 
 To what He did for me ; 
 Oh, may I ne'er grow weary 
 
 Of working, Lord, for Thee ! 
 
 I soon shall be with Jesus, 
 
 "Who sits enthroned above ; 
 I soon shall be with Jesus, 
 
 Whom here, unseen, I love. 
 And oh, the thought that maketh 
 
 The spirit world so fair, 
 And floods it o'er with glory, 
 
 Is — Jesus will be there! 
 
GOD KJSOWETH BEST. 
 
 — <€•§* — 
 
 ^E took them from me, one by one. 
 The things I set my heart upon; 
 They looked so harmless, fair, and blest ; — 
 Would they have hurt me? God knows best- 
 He loves me so, He would not wrest 
 Them from me, if it were not best. 
 
 He took them from me, one by one, 
 
 The friends I set my heart upon ; 
 
 Oh, did they come, — they and their love, — 
 
 Between me and my Lord above ? 
 
 Were they as idols in my breast ? 
 
 It may be : — God in Heaven knows best. 
 
 I will not say I did not weep, 
 As doth a child that wants to keep 
 The pleasant things in hurtful play 
 His wiser parent takes away ; 
 But in this comfort I will rest — 
 He who hath taken knoweth best. 
 
 (147) 
 
WORK WHILE IT IS TO-DAY. 
 
 |OEK while it is to-day ; 
 The hour will pass away ; 
 Another's hand will do 
 What was designed for you ; 
 Another's crown will bear 
 The star you ought to wear. 
 
 Work while it is to-day ; 
 
 The need will pass away; 
 
 The heart that you might soothe, 
 
 The path that you might smooth, 
 
 The soul you might beseech, 
 
 Will be beyond your reach. 
 
 AVork while it is to-day; 
 
 You soon will pass away 
 
 Where neither strength nor skill 
 
 Can any work fulfil ; 
 
 Or suffering atone 
 
 For that here left undone. 
 
 (148) 
 
ON ENTERING CHURCH. 
 — ** — 
 AGAIN, let me 
 Within Thy courts bend the adoring knee, 
 Thankful to be once more near Heaven and 
 Thee. 
 
 Oh, send away 
 The thoughts of earth that lingering 'round 
 
 me stay, 
 And let me be alone with Thee to-day. 
 
 Hear from on high 
 My spirit's earnest and repentant cry, 
 And save me — for to Thee alone I fly. 
 
 Weary of strife, 
 With earth's unsatisfying longings rife, 
 Hungering and thirsting for eternal life, — 
 
 I come to Thee. 
 Low at Thy footstool let my station be, 
 And with Thy love and mercy shelter me. 
 
 (149) 
 
150 ON ENTERING CHURCH. 
 
 Feed me to-day : 
 Oh, send me not to faint beside the wa3 r , 
 But be Thyself my sure and certain stay. 
 
 I need Thy power 
 And tender guidance every trying hour; — 
 There is for me no other shield or tower. 
 
 Eeveal to me 
 Thyself, till Thy full loveliness I see, 
 And with unfettered spirit worship Thee. 
 
THE DEAD IN CHRIST. 
 
 — «§§* — 
 
 ^H, call them not dead — they are not now 
 sleeping 
 
 In the cold earth where we laid them to 
 rest; 
 But while o'er their ashes we bend fondly 
 weeping, 
 They smile on our tears from the homes 
 of the blest. 
 
 They toiled once below as we are now toiling, 
 
 They suffered and wept as their crosses 
 
 they bore ; 
 
 But now where no tempter may ever come 
 spoiling, 
 
 They rest where they suffer — they sorrow 
 no more. 
 
 Not alone in our anguish and grief have they 
 left us, 
 To struggle with dangers that compass us 
 here ; 
 13 asi) 
 
152 THE DEAD IN CHRIST. 
 
 But through the hot trials that mould us and 
 sift us, 
 They utter sweet whispers of comfort and 
 cheer. 
 
ST. JAMES 9 CHURCH* 
 
 %f LOVE this church ; I love to sit 
 ™ Within this hallowed place ; 
 The air, the books, the very walls 
 
 My flagging spirits brace. 
 I love to leave the world without, 
 
 With every care and fear, 
 And come in earnest, childlike trust, 
 
 To feel that God is here. 
 
 Oh, 'mid the vexing scenes of life, 
 
 Its anxious toil and care, 
 How often have I sought this house 
 
 In earnest faith and prayer ! 
 This house — where never yet e'er came 
 
 In anguish and dismay, 
 A sorrowing heart in humble trust 
 
 That went unblessed away. 
 
 *Warrenton, Va. 
 
 (153) 
 
154 ST. JAMES' CHURCH. 
 
 The holiest memories of my soul 
 
 Are mingled with this place ; 
 Nor time, nor change, nor life, nor death 
 
 Their record can efface. 
 Here, in meek worship, often bowed 
 
 All whom my heart held dear ; 
 And all I ever knew of good — 
 
 Of God, was taught me here. 
 
 Here, on my brow in infancy, 
 
 The Cross of Christ was traced ; 
 And on my head in after years 
 
 A Prelate's hands were placed. 
 Here have I knelt in humble faith 
 
 Before my Saviour's board ; 
 And felt, as only here is felt, 
 
 The pardoning peace of God. 
 
 The spirits of the sainted dead 
 
 About this temple move, 
 Whose voices mingled once with mine 
 
 In words of praise and love. 
 I feel that they are here to-day, 
 
 Those unseen worshippers, 
 Blending the feeble songs of earth 
 
 With heavenly choristers. 
 
ST. JAMES' CHURCH. 155 
 
 I love this Church! I love her words 
 
 Of holy prayer and praise, 
 That far above this world of sin 
 
 Our fettered spirits raise. 
 In her, the sweetest, purest joys 
 
 That crown my life are found ; 
 And o'er my sleeping dust her voice 
 
 Of heavenly hope shall sound. 
 
 Church of my heart ! thy lasting peace 
 
 Shall claim my latest breath ; 
 And when my feeble heart and tongue 
 
 Are cold and mute in death : 
 Still may thy sacred songs be sung, 
 
 Still may thy prayers ascend, 
 Until in triumph He shall come 
 
 Whose reign shall have no end. 
 
COMMUNION THOUGHTS. 
 
 — *§* — 
 
 Before Communion. 
 
 ^AVIOUB, I hear Thy loving voice, 
 j Bidding me come to Thee; 
 I see Thy board before me spread 
 With mercy wide and free. 
 
 Unworthy to pick up the crumbs 
 
 That from Thy table fall, 
 My guilty soul would shrink away 
 
 But for Thy pleading call. 
 
 I dare not slight that gracious voice, — 
 
 I dare not turn away 
 While Mercy stands with open arms, 
 
 And Jesus bids me stay. 
 
 Forgetting all but Thj^ own words, 
 I, trembling, come to Thee ; 
 
 No other plea upon my lips 
 But — Thou hast died for me. 
 
 (156) 
 
COMMUNION THOUGHTS. 157 
 
 Oh, may Thy kind, forgiving love 
 
 My heavenly portion be ; 
 Pardon, and strength, and peace I need, 
 
 And they are found in Thee. 
 
 After Communion. 
 
 All glory be to Thee, Most High, 
 
 Most Wonderful and Good, 
 That Thou hast given for love of me 
 
 Thy body and Thy blood. 
 
 Love, that gave, that bore so much, 
 O Love, so vast and deep, 
 
 Safely within Thy sheltering folds 
 My wandering spirit keep. 
 
 For I am Thine — called by Thy name,- 
 
 Thy seal is on my brow ; 
 Angels and men have witnessed here 
 
 My world-renouncing vow. 
 
 Oh, may this bread and wine of life 
 So fill my soul and heart, 
 
 1 ne'er will seek for other food, 
 Will ne'er from Thee depart. 
 
158 COMMUNION THOUGHTS. 
 
 Each day to me this feast renew, 
 And keep me one in Thee; 
 
 That I henceforth in Thee may live, 
 And Thou mayst dwell in me. 
 
THE INVITATION. 
 
 " Draw near with faith, and take this Holy Sacrament 
 to your comfort."— Prayer Book. 
 
 JlEAW near with faith ; behold the Saviour 
 
 *Tr stands, 
 
 With tender, yearning heart, and outstretched 
 
 hands ; 
 With pleading voice He meekly deigns to 
 
 crave, 
 Eeady to hear, to pity, and to save. 
 
 Draw near with faith ; leave all thy doubts 
 
 behind ; 
 Distrust Him not who is so true and kind. 
 Draw near and see thy timid fears grow 
 
 less — 
 He greets with love : He only waits to bless. 
 
 Draw near with faith. Unworthy though, 
 thou art, 
 
 (159) 
 
160 THE INVITATION. 
 
 Offer to Him — 'tis all He asks — thy heart. 
 Not here He stands to call the righteous 
 
 home ; 
 He calls the sinner — as a sinner come. 
 
 Come with repentance, earnest, deep, and 
 
 true ; 
 With love for Him to whom all love is due ; 
 Forgiving as thou art of God forgiven, 
 At peace with men, with conscience and with 
 
 Heaven. 
 
 Draw near with faith ; bring all thy heavy 
 
 care : 
 Thou hast no load thy Saviour will not bear; 
 He knows thy grief, He feels thy bitterest 
 
 woe; 
 Himself hath walked the weary path below. 
 
 Draw near with faith ; dost thou not sorely 
 
 need 
 Comfort and strength thy fainting soul to 
 
 speed ? 
 Draw near, and see how^ true, how strong 
 
 His heart, 
 And find the power He only can impart. 
 
THE INVITATION. 161 
 
 Draw near with faith. Oh, can that voice of 
 
 love 
 One cold, or careless spirit fail to move ? 
 Turn not away ; this pleading call may be 
 The last thou canst reject — the last for thee. 
 
" We also bless Thy Holy Name for all Thy servants de- 
 parted this life in Thy faith and fear; beseeching Thee to 
 give us grace so to follow their good examples, that with 
 them we may be partakers of Thy Heavenly Kingdom."— 
 Prayer Book. 
 
 |B bless Thee for the holy ones departed, 
 
 The good of every land, and age, and 
 
 clime ; 
 
 The meek, the constant, and the noble-hearted, 
 
 Whose glorious deeds illume the shores of 
 
 time, 
 
 And life's high paths and noble aims revealing, 
 
 For God and Truth shall never cease appealing. 
 
 In bitter grief a heavy cross they carried, 
 And blood and tears their weary steps be- 
 dewed ; 
 And oft they sank while their Deliverer 
 tarried, 
 Yet at His word, refreshed and unsubdued, 
 They fearless met each hellish foe assailing, 
 And faithful stood, with Christ, the Lord, 
 prevailing. 
 
 (162) 
 
WE ALSO BLESS, &c, 163 
 
 They lived to earth a very scorn and wonder, 
 
 Afflicted and tormented, tortured, slain ; 
 Were mocked and scourged, were stoned, and 
 sawn asunder, 
 Were tried and tempted, bound with bond 
 and chain ; 
 Forsaken, homeless, — yet with songs ascending 
 The heavenly court whose glories know no 
 ending. 
 
 We bless Thee that the world has seen such 
 
 holy, 
 Such hearts that never swerved from truth 
 
 and Thee ; 
 But with a faith undaunted and yet lowly, 
 Served Thee through blood, fire, death, and 
 
 infamy, 
 That she may know there are who faithful 
 
 bearing 
 Their cross on earth, their crowns in heaven 
 
 are wearing. 
 
 We bless Thee for the saintly ones among us, 
 Whom we have loved, and mourned, and laid 
 to rest; 
 14 
 
164 WE ALSO BLESS, &>c. 
 
 Whose parting words with quivering anguish 
 
 wrung us, 
 Though breathed upon the threshold of the 
 
 blest ; 
 Whose fair examples ever shining o'er us, 
 Make bright the paths their footsteps pressed 
 
 before us. 
 
 We bless Thee, though the bitter tears are 
 
 falling, 
 Though lone our hearts, and sad our firesides 
 
 be ; 
 Though for them still our yearning souls are 
 
 calling, 
 We bless Thee that they are at rest with 
 
 Thee, 
 Where everlasting joys and pleasures centre, 
 And never pain, nor sin, nor death may enter. 
 
 We bless Thee that Thou once didst lend them 
 to us, 
 The precious jewels Thou wilt keep and 
 wear ; 
 We bless Thee that familiar voices woo us 
 To the blest land where all our treasures are : 
 
WE ALSO BLESS, &*c. 165 
 
 And when we reach that shore, loved forms 
 
 will meet us. 
 And hearts that we have known and missed 
 
 will greet us. 
 
 Lord, give us grace their shining steps to follow, 
 
 To live and die, as they have lived and died ; 
 
 In, but not of, a world false-hearted, hollow, 
 
 Seeking above our Saviour, Friend, and 
 
 Guide : 
 
 And faithful to the end to Thee, the Giver, 
 
 Sit clown with them at Thy blest board 
 
 forever.