POEMS BY ELIZA ALLEN STARR V. BY y. Eliza Allen 3'T^^f^^v PHILADELPHIA H McGRATH 1039 CHESTNUT STREET 1867 V Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by ELIZA ALLEN STARR, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. King & Baird, Printers, 607 Sansom St., Phila. P E D I C A T I O MY BELOVED FATHER, TO THE MEMORY, "iN BENEDICTION," OF MY BELOVED MOTHER, THESE FRUITS OF A HAPPY CHILDHOOD AND A C H E <^U E R E D LIFE gire Jaitbfullij pebicatcb. .<^f. Joieph^i Collar e^ Feast ol the Purification, 1867. Cv) CONTENTS. To my Father on his Birthday, ... I Mfere de Douleur, ...... 2 The Meadow Home, ...... 4 Autumn Flowers, ...... 5 The American Artist, ...... 7 The Lonely Window, . . 11 The First Snow-Flake, . • '4 The Ford, . 16 The Wapping Homestead, . 19 A Bed of Wild Violets in a Public Square, . 22 Song of Welcome, ....... 24 Song, .... .... 24 Parting, 25 Spring Birds, ..... .27 Robin Redbreast's Valentine, . . 27 Wishes, ....... 29 Essie's Omen, ....... 30 The Parlor Andirons, ...... 30 Spring Winds and Spring Flowers, ... ^2 (vii) Vlll Contents. A Reminiscence of Port Kent, 35 Faded, . . 36 The Palmer's Rosary, .... 37 My Oratory, ...... • 39 Early Called, 40 Forest Vespers, ..... • 42 The Evening Primrose, .... 44 The Fringed Gentian, .... • 45 The Woodland Grave, .... 46 From You, ...... • 47 A Sunset at Spring Park, .... 47 In the Timber, .... • 49 The Rest in Hope, ..... 5i In Winter, ...... • 52 Cold, 54 Stitches, ....... • 55 The Spring, ...... 56 Six Stone Steps, ..... • 59 The Evening Rain, ..... 62 Pruning, ...... . . 64 A Request, ...... 65 One Hour after Death, .... . • 67 A Leaf, 68 Song, • . . . 69 A May Breeze, ...... 70 Peace, • 71 Contents The Two Cities, . . . . 72 The Returned Regiment, . • 74 Col. James A. Mulligan, • • 76 Marian, ...... . 78 With Thee, 80 A Word, . 82 In Retreat, . . . . . 84 Lucifer Matutinus, .... . . . 85 The Death of St. Joseph, . 87 Our Neighbor, .... . 89 It is the World, 90 Occultation of Venus, . 91 The Golden Gate, .... 94 Edith's Birthday, .... • 95 The Faded Acorn, .... 95 Orion, . . ... . . . 96 Winter, ...... . . 98 Easter-Tide, . 100 The Altar and the Hearth, . 103 The Paschal Flower, . 106 Moths, ...... 107 The Confessor, .... . 109 Supplication, ... 1 1 1 The Orphans' Cry, . .11^ The Children's Mass, . 115 Isabel!, .... . 116 Contents. Robin Redbreast, , . . . . I 18 To Fanny, ...... . 119 Fido, 121 For Mary and Willie, . .^ . . 123 Playfellows, ...... 124 A Child's Question, .... . 126 "And the Virgin's Name was Mary," . 128 Christmas Carol, ..... . 130 The Holy Name of Jesus, . . . . 132 The Angelus, • 134 The Rosary, ...... . 136 First of May, .... . 139 Notre Dame, ...... 141 Mater Dei, ...... . 142 Ave Maria, ...... . 146 A Fancy, ...... , 147 Regina Virginum, . . . . . . 148 The Lily of the Purification, . 150 Our Lady of the Angels, . . . . 152 Our Lady's Lilies, ..... • 153 Our Lady of the Infirmary, . . . . 154 Regina, ...... . . 156 Our Shepherd, ...... . 158 A Child's "Requiescat in Pace," • '59 A Year, 160 The Holy Innocents, .... . 161 Contents. XI A Girl's Hymn to St. Agnes, 163 Saint Veronica, ...... 165 Saint Barnabas, ...... 166 Saint Gudula's Visit, ..... . 168 Perugino's Magdalene, ..... 170 The Bell of the House of the Good Shepherd, . • 171 Saint Lucy, ...... 173 Day of All Souls, . 176 Holy Saturday, . . . ... . 178 The Sign of the Cross, ..... • '79 Penance, ....... 181 Confession, ....... ■ 183 Absolution, ...... 186 Christ in the Eucharist, ..... • 187 Espousals, ....... 189 The Sacristan, ...... . 190 Thanksgiving, ...... »93 The Guest, .....*. • 19^' A Hidden God, •97 Early Mass, ....... . 201 Visit to an Empty Tabernacle, 203 "Behold I Stand at the Door and Knock," . 204 Sudden but not Unprovided, 206 A Family Motto, ...... . 208 Spinis Coronati, ...... 21 I The Divine Prisoner's Flower, .212 Xll Contents. SONNETS. The Good Shepherd, . Sonnet, . - • • Mount Hope Asylum, To the August Cricket, . To Snow-Flake, . Expectation, . The Dying Sumach, . The Violin and Violoncello, Anniversary, Delia, . . • • The Keokuk Pebble, . 214 . 215 216 • 217 218 . 219 220 . 221 222 • 223 224 POEMS To MY FaTH EPx V ON HIS BIRTHDAY. Relenting breezes greet thy natal day, iVIy honored father ; and the early shower, Though fruitless yet of leaf or opening flower. As genial falls as softest rains of May : So softly, and with reverent touch as they, My filial hand would turn, with sacred care, The page where all the dear memorials are Of thy parental love ; and ne'er decay, Or growth of new affection, or the stress Of life's increasing cares, shall dim the lines Through which such clear, benignant beauty shines ; Or make that touching record one the less, Whicli rather grateful memory entwines With budding wreaths mv fresh allegiance to express. Mere De Douleur. Mere De Douleur. 'Neath a picture of the blessed Ever Virgin Mother, dear, With its cheek of patient dolour Wetted with one holy tear. Sits my own beloved mother, In the meekness of her age. With a ripening patience turning Life's late, autumn-tinted page — Sits beneath its sacred shadow As beneath a lovely vine. On whose fair, benignant branches. Sweetest-smelling clusters shine. Placidly across her features Strays a meditative smile. Lighting up their tender pallor With a gleam of heaven ; the while Her soft lips in mildest silence Close upon a lovely thought, By the Virgin's mournful aspect To her inmost feeling brought. Mere De Dotileur. O my mother dear, as gentle As the south winds, breathing now O'er our richly flushing forests And thy softly furrowed brow, Never, never may thy spirit, 'Neath a darker shadow pine. Than beneath these pictured dolours Of this Mother, most benign. Never may more bitter juices Wet those patient lips of thine, Than the juices of the clusters Purpling o'er that virgin vine. And, O mortal mother, darling. May thy soul, in faith repose. Under its celestial shadow. When thy dying eyelids close On the flitting shades and sunshine Of thy swiftly fleeting race : Jesus! Mary! Joseph! aid her! Shield her in your loved embrace ! T^he Meadow Home. The Meadovs^ Wome. Of all fair abodes where I am welcome, One alone is home, howe'er I roam \ Dear attraction, swift returns compelling, Lovely birth-place, lovely Meadow Home. Nested in a quietness domestic, How serenely, pleasantly it stands. Mid the leafy shades and genial sunshine Of the fair, abounding meadow-lands. Orchard blooms float through the open window. Maple boughs upon the roof-tree rest. Soft blush-roses round the pathway cluster. In the sweetbrier redbreast makes her nest. Round the sunny " L " the grape-vines clamber. Barn-roofs rise in sunny peace beyond. Swarming bees range over fields of clover. Clucks the brooding hen with flutterings fond. P'ar off stretch the green and teeming acres To the circle of the wooded hills ; Here and there an elm-crest soars majestic. Watered by the moist turf's oozing rills. Autumn Flowers. Broadly flashing to the summer sunlight, Through the meads in peaceful windings long, Noisy shallows, deep-resounding rapids. Flows Pocomtuck, tuneful as a song. And my inmost heart is daily conscious Of a fresh contentment, new delight. In the mill-stream's near, familiar voices. And the hay-field's every pleasant sight — Ever conscious of a swelling feeling, Which would pour itself in sweetest sound, When, in wanderings, I am but reminded Of my Meadow Home's most distant bound. Autumn Flowers. The wild Asters and the Golden-rod, In their beautv and their prime, With the sun-light on their mingling leaves. In the bright September time — T^he Autumn Flowers, In copse, in glen, by the woodpath's green, And in every lonely place, The Asters bloom and the Golden-rod, Like a smile on nature's face. When the rustling corn is gathered in, And the days are warm and bright. When the orchard casts its mellow fruit In the deep autumnal light ; When the maple tops and sumach leaves Are flushed with a crimson stain, The Asters still and the Golden-rod Are fresh on meadow and plain. When the shivering leaves drop sear and dry To the cheerless earth to rest. And even the blue-fringed Gentian's blooms Lie dead on its desolate breast ; That bleak, sad pause in the pleasant year. When the harvest-fields are bare. The Asters wild and the Golden-rod In the sunshine cold are there. The autumn wind and the autumn rain. But they nod and bloom the while, T'he American Artist. And when the wind and the rain are past Look out with a quiet smile, From copse and glen, and the wood-paths drear, And the leaves, cold, damp and dun. With a golden crest and star-bright eye. To welcome a smiling sun. The American Artist. Upon his couch at eventide. With earnest, restless eye. An artist watched the paling tints Of sweet Italia's sky, As o'er fair temple, palace, dome. And aisles of glorious dead. And Coliseum of old Rome, The lingering light was shed. The crimson rays flashed proudly up ; And on that wasted cheek. So pensive in its manliness. So sadly, strangely meek. The American Artist. The hectic spot burned deep and bright, And those dark, troubled eyes Seemed, in their wild intensity. To melt into the skies. A sudden moisture o'er them passed, Like mist o'er some bright star That sheds above the solemn seas Its radiance afar. He bowed his head and pressed it close Within his fevered palm. As if to crush the thought that broke His spirit's lofty calm. His life's wild passion-flame was spent — His wildering dream of fame ; Amid the halls of glorious art He wearied of a name ! A melting thought of homely scenes O'er his weak spirit swept — A yearning for familiar things ; He bowed his head, and wept. " O, let me breathe my native air Once more before I die !" T'he American Artist. And raised his feeble hands to Heaven With agonizing cry. "O, let me tread my native hills, Their fields of stately corn, And stand beneath the elms that shade The spot where I was born !" They bore him from the city's heat. Its splendor's painful glare. To lovely Como's quiet lake. Its fresh and fragrant air. The vine-leaves clustered round his door, Young roses climbed the wall. And soothingly the wave's low voice Came up at even-fall. It mingled softly with his dreams Through all the starry night. While through the dewy orange boughs Quivered the pale moonlight. Yet from that nested loveliness Went out a wailing cry : " O, let me breathe my native air Once more before I die !" 1* lo 'The American Artist. His couch stood empty by the wall, And In his favorite bowers That sad young face was missed at morn, And at the shut of flowers. The Como rolled its crystal tide, Italia's groves were fair. But tenderly the peasant named The stranger in his prayer. He stood upon the vessel's deck, His pulse beat fast and high, And steadfast on the filling sails He fixed his eager eye. " O, for one glimpse of that dear shore ! I tearless could depart. If I might press its coldest clod Once more upon my heart !" Long weeks had passed ; a faint blue line In misty distance lay, And manly hearts and steady eyes Had sought it day by day. They sought it for the stranger's sake. To quench the mania thirst That strengthened on his wasting frame, And by his life was nurst. The Lonely Window. For he had grown a gentle care, Through that one, moving cry, " O, let me breathe my native air Once more before I die !" Land ! land ! they raised him from his couch. That on the deck was spread — One short, faint cry of wild delight — The artist's soul had fled. The Lonely Window, O how sadly looks out On the clear winter night That lone chamber window, ' Closely curtained in white. No dear hand now removes The still folds from their rest. Still and cold as the shroud 0*er some beautiful breast. 12 I' he Lonely Window. No light now ever streams That high, fair casement through, From it never outleans The shght form we once knew. The low bed is empty. And the cold pillows bear No more the fair temples And moist clustering hair. Ah me ! to remember That desolate chamber. And to think that such gloom Should e'er shadow his room, The sunniest hearted Of all who once parted With a smile and " Good night !" From the fireside so bright ! The hoarse winds sweeping chill That far burial hill — Alas ! how those winds smite Mv sad heart, if at night The Lonely Window. I but chance remember The warm sleep he once slept — So beloved, now so wept — In that white-curtained chamber. But rich consolation For such desolation, The promise Paternal Of mansions eternal, Where the weary may rest, And the soul be made strong To press to the meek throng Of the perfectly blessed ! And how close to my heart This one promise I press, And how soothes its sweet voice Every throb of distress, Though the tears may still gush As, returning at night, That lone casement I see, Closely curtained in white. T'he First Snow-Flake. The First Snow-Flake. I well remember how, a girl, I watched the first fair snow-flake whirl From cold November's evening sky, With pensive mind and thoughtful eye, And, almost hour by hour, would peer Through the gray, snowy atmosphere. For Leyden hills of distant blue, For Hoosac hills and pastures too. And the pale gleam of tombstones' chill Upon the lonely burying hill ; For many a homestead's chimney dear In village far, or village near. And catch the first far candle's light That glimmered through the coming night. And now, though I no longer dwell Among those scenes I loved so well. The first snow-flake I never see Fall, softly, through the air to me, But once, once more I nestle down A child among the homesteads brown. And by the same broad windows lean To watch the twilight's pensive scene. 'The First Snow-Flake. 15 How many a mossy roof I tain Would stand beneath but once again ! How many a fireside's mirth would share, Its last affliction or its care ; Its changes sad, or changes gay. Its marriage feast and holiday ; Its children, I have never seen, But whom I still should know, I ween ; And in a kindly gossip spend A pleasant evening with a friend. And often do I close my eyes Upon the world's old vanities ; The sigh for wealth, the pride of place, Not fear of sin but sin's disgrace ; And, leaving living foe or friend. Above those grass-grown hillocks bend. Where slumbers, on the darling dust In which affection put its trust. The fair, fresh face of joyous youth. The heart which keeps its guileless truth, The placid face of patient age, The matron mild, the hoary sage ; And wet again with faithful tears The graves I have not seen for years. 1 6 The Ford. The F ORD. " One of the wonders, with us children, was the Ford : How your eye lights and kindles only at the word ! From the village, past the willow, elms, past the mill. Ran the road — every turn I can remember — till It reached the river's bank ; then, with a steep descent, Straight down into the shallows of the stream it went. Our heads grew giddy always, and a chill of dread Crept over us, when first we felt the stony bed Beneath the wheels ; how strong, too, seemed the current ; strayed The wagon, and we thought " old Sorrel " also swayed With head grown giddy like our owm ; and yet delight Was mingled strangely with this hush of childish fright : The running waters had a cool fresh sound ; the tip. Very tip of our longest finger but to dip In that clear stream beside us, was a joy untold. And only to be won by those who were most bold : With sharp regret we found ourselves brought safe to land Upon the other bank ; how tame the yielding sand. The Ford. 17 How quiet, too, the road along the sumach hedge, How quiet, too, our tongues ; but from each pine crowned ledge Of the winding, rocky, hillside road, as we soared, We turned wistful eyes, catching glimpses of the Ford. ^' In summer oft and oft we watched the heavy wain, Loaded high with fragrant hay, sunny sheaves of grain. Drawn by patient oxen 'cross the Ford ; how thev bent Their sturdy necks against the yoke, and bravely lent Their weight to stem the stream, as " hock-ho-haw !" called out The watchful farmer with his cheery guiding shout ; Then up the steep bank pressed, with panting, dripping side. To stand and breathe within the elm-grove's shadow wide. All these were pleasant pictures ; but below the Ford Whirled the mysterious Eddy, and with fear we heard Of youths adventurous suddenly drawn in to die. The widow's eldest son, you know she lived close by. They told us was drowned there : on her we looked with awe. As death had come to her through some peculiar law ; 1 8 The Ford. Beside, her idiot girl, with thick and gibberish speech, Or, in her fits of anger, wild unearthly screech, Who kept, year in, year out, her well -stuffed easy-chair. Stitching her bits of calico with aimless care. Her crippled, helpless figure, supple, gaunt and tall. And long fore-finger pointed at us like an awl, — The mother's mild-toned wish that we would ' often come,' A strange, strange charm gave to the widow's humble home." Thus Margaret chatted on, till, looking up, she caught Her good companion napping ; then her dreamy thought Took wings instead of words ; the " Vineyard's " pleasant road. Bordered with roses, to her wakened memory showed Aglow with morning, while the older one which led Southward to " The Bars' " far-famed and ancient homestead. With its well-treasured history of noble dead. Of how and where each fought, and where each vic- tim bled. All rose before her in that early, tender light. When all the world was strange and beautiful to sight. The Wapping Homestead. 19 The Ford no longer passable, the Eddy too Filled up, and those fair homesteads, crowned with honor due, Have passed to other hands ; scarce would poor Mar- garet know Those places now, but still her earnest cheeks will glow. And her quick memory kindles, onlv at a word Of the happy childhood spent in sight of The Ford. The Wapping Homestead, Tidings surely must be coming. For I waked this morning, dreaming Of my dear old uncle's homestead — Dear old uncle, long since dead : Rest eternal on his head ! Dear old homestead quaint and brown. From the green knoll looking down On the winding village street, Over which the green boughs meet — 20 T^he Wafping Homestead. On the homestead of the neighbors Rousing for their harvest labors, And the herd of lowing cows, Which along the roadside browse, On their way to pastures still — " Cooley pasture" on the hill. AK day long, a homesick feeling Has been o'er my senses stealing ; Memories of the olden time Run, despite me, into rhyme ; And, as in my childish days. Through the Hackmatacks I gaze, Down the winding village street. Over which the green elms meet, On the dear, familiar places — On the still far dearer faces ; In the garden pull ripe cherries. With my aunt pick black raspberries ; Watch the thrifty white rose-bush. And the lilac branches push Just one side to see again The ground nest of Lady Wren, Or the squirrel's bushy back Flitting through the Hackmatack ; The Wapping Homestead. 2i On the stepping-stone's broad face Take again my happy place, With hushed heart and hps quite mute While my cousin blows his flute, Till its cadences serene Tranquilize the moonlit scene. Lowly joys, how oft unprized ! Oft in youth perchance despised ; Or when passion's swifter tide Hurried to that ocean wide. On whose waste and beaten shore The wild billows, in uproar. Cast the wreck of hopes long o'er. Now, the heavy storm-clouds lifted, Into calmer waters drifted, From far off, the wild shores over. Floats the scent of summer clover ; Floats a vision, O how tender ! Summer fulness, autumn splendor. All in beauteous golden haze Of the far off, early days ; Memories which till death we cherish, Holier grown as round us perish. 22 JVild Violets in a Public Square. One by one, the brows so calm Which made Hfe a tuneful psalm, And the aged footsteps falter ; While we sigh before God's altar, ''Light eternal Jesus grant them," In thy paradise now plant them ! A Bed of y^ii^n Violets IN A PUBLIC SQUARE. Dear wildling violets, of the self-same hue As those I first in happy childhood knew. How like those nestling beauties ye beseem The vernal sunshine and the vernal green ; Though far from all the brookside's pleasant sounds. The cooling freshness of the meadow grounds, The only breeze that sweeps your lowly bed By all the city's dust and noises sped. IVild Violets in a Public Square. And with what peaceful singleness ot" heart I stand and gaze, from all the crowd apart, Upon your blue and meekly joyful eyes. As undisturbed, as tranquil as the skies ; Retaining still kind nature's simple grace, Unmindful of the joys or ills of place. O sweet refreshment which th' aspiring mind Can in your humble bloom and beauty find ; O sweet refreshment, that with blandest touch Soothes to repose the heart that asks too much ; The claiming wish subdued, its ache forgot While your mild presence charms this weary spot, Life's tuneful harmony at once restored. At nature's lowliest darling's gentle word. So fair the life, so calm the heayenly sense Of holy hearts, dear hearts of innocence. Within whose artless thoughts, like odorous bells, Such placid hopes, such mild contentment dwells ; Their joys, unsought, in steadfast peace abide, l^he rarest blooms of love untouched by pride. 24 Song. Song of Welcome: My lonely days grew lonelier, The shadows spread apace, When on me, like a morning sun. Arose thy smiling face ; Sad tears, sad tears, my joyful cheeks Keep not of you a trace. The summer skies, which o'er me bend In beauty so benign. Are not so blue as the happy eyes Now beaming into mine ! Heart's love, heart's love, what sun could cheer. If thine should cease to shine ! Song. When evening deepens into night And all the world is still. Save that clear stream whose ceaseless flow Must turn the laboring mill ; Parting. When not a breeze disturbs the clear Reflex on memory's lake, O, well I prize that silent hour For thy so cherished sake. I do not miss one happy voice Its music or its glee, For O, when farthest from the world, My love, I'm nearest thee. r- RTING, We watched him through the evening glim, We watched him from the trellis low, And felt our hearts within us swim As swam the branches to and fro. We heard his footstep on the grass. His parting footstep, O how sad ' And wondered, as we heard it pass, If we could ever more be glad. 2 26 Parting. The figure mingled with the gHm, The footfall ceased upon the air ; We almost shuddered — without him It was so silent everywhere. Ye orchard shades, ye maples green, Ye elms majestic, softly sigh, For ye that friendly face have seen And heard that footstep passing by. Ye summer blooms, ye flowering vines, Exhale from all your fragrant leaves The sweetest dews which night resigns, And weep with Laura as she grieves— As grieves she o'er the vanished bliss. As grieves she o'er the vanished eye ; And let your wet leaves mutely kiss Where parted they so silently. Robifi Redbreast's Valentine. 27 3pRING filRDS. . O ask no song of one whose heart Has not a hope of jov below, To whom the future's dread obscure Is heavy with impending woe. The wedded thrush beside its mate May sing of love, of hope, how dear, Nor sadden one delirious thrill With the remembrance of a tear. But grief is busy at my heart ; Life's Eden joys, how soon they wane Sing on, dear bird, and leave to me The secret tear, the silent pain. Robin Redbreast's Valentine. When little birds on fluttering wing Begin to chirp and then to sing. Each to his mate, with lusty throat, Love's first clear, delicious note. 28 Robin Redbreast's Valentine. Then doth my joyous heart attune, To measure sweet, its simple rune ; Yet its first strains are ever thine. My well-beloved Valentine. When maple buds begin to blush. And over every tree and bush The earliest tints of spring appear. The tenderest of all the year. Within their most secluded bower. Undecked as yet by leaf or flower. But sacred still to thee and thine, I hopeful wait my Valentine. Yet wherefore is it mine to wait ? The smallest bird can boast a mate ; And even last year's nestlings young Have each a story and a tongue. Yet none, I ween, could ever prove More faithful unto wedded love. Than he whose first and only line Has chosen thee his Valentine. Wishes. 29 f ISHES, O had I now a Carrier Dove To range on pinion free, How swiftly through the air would cleave Its faithful wings to thee ; And softer than the purple down That guards its gentle breast, The message that my heart would send To be thy evening guest. How quickly at thy window bright Its little bill would peck, Nor leave thee till thy hand had loosed The billet from its neck. And though I urged no fond request. Dear one, it could not be My pretty Post-bird would return Without a line for me. JO The Parlor Andirons. EssiE's Omen. I knew you would come ! — for what should I see To-night, as I gravely sat down to my tea, But a little tea-stick, with its head as straight up As your own curly pate, sailing round in my cup ? And who ever knew such an omen to fail. Though clouds in despite should rain, lighten, and hail ? Now pray, do not laugh ; and why think it unwise That such pleasant fancies find grace in my eyes ? For that is not trifling, whatever it be. Which brings me a word of glad tidings from thee, And that of all omens most happy and dear. Which tells me the friend so beloved is near. The Parlor Andirons. "I believe in the communion of saints." Credo. My father dozing in his favorite chair. The flickering firelight on his thin gray hair. The Parlor Andirons. The aged temples veined with tenderest hlue. So gently placid and so sweetly true — A picture only, yet it has for me Almost the charm of dear rcalitv- That quiet fireside-scene, the quaint arm-chair, The threaded locks of venerable hair. The folded hands, the andirons, polished, tall, The shadows thrown on that familiar wall. Bring back, with all the joy of living things. The dear old parlor's evening gatherings. How many an honored form and smiling face. Our romping games, our mother's quiet grace, Reflected have my eves, with wonder, seen Upon the stately andirons' polished sheen ! And memory, faithful to its early trust, A legion marshals from funereal dust. The sodded graves on many a hillside fair 'Neath monumental marbles set with care. The sunny prairie's gavly flowering swell. The silent copse or melancholy dell, And thv dread deeps, O surging, wintry sea. Give up their dead to spend this hour with me 32 spring Winds and Spring Flowers. Not lost, not severed ; only hid from view The ties which bind me, O my friends, to you ; The prayer I raise to aid your wished repose Flows back, through you, to soothe and bless my woes, While you whose lot is with the saints in peace From lurking dangers win me sweet release. Not lost, not severed ; — flow my happy tears ! Thrice happy loss which heaven itself endears ! O full exchange for earth's imperfect joy ! O fairest gold for earth's, at best, alloy ! A little sooner touching life's green shore. Your prayers speed my frail bark the breakers o'er. Spring Winds and Spring Flowers, Soft south airs, sweet airs so bland and tender, Quickening the cold earth where'er you pass. Waking by your greeting spring-buds slender. Kissing every strip of meadow grass ; spring IVinds and Spring Flowers. 33 Well, O well, your light touch I rcnicnibcr, In the early, far-off vernal clays, When a child, transported, I would wander Over all the x'allcys' pleasant ways. With a tireless foot, a heart unsatcd, Eager eyes and shouts of wildest glee ; — All those joyous rambles unabated. Thou art bringing back this dav to me. Odorous May-flowers on the ground supine. Close where pines and hemlocks darkling dwell. Meadow cowslips brimming with sunshine, Spotted adder's-tongue with drooping bell ; Violets, and honey-suckles brown. Streaked anemonies so fair, so frail. Shy hepatica, with stems of down. Azure banks of the houstonia pale ; Tufts of cool wort with its fringed lid Near the sun-tipped moss's flowery ridge. Pink, and red, and white wake-robin hid In the haunted shadow of the bridge : 2* 34 Spring Winds and Spring Flowers. Restless as the bee from bank to brae Rambling with the south wind, dreamy, glad. Living over many a vernal day Till the very joy grew strangely sad ; Thus all day my wayward thoughts have wandered, Bringing back fresh spoils from wood and mead ; Simple treasures which have never pandered To the world's gross taste or selfish need. Faces which have mouldered, mouldered slowly 'Neath the hillside turf these many years. Come back with you, O spring flowers so lowly. Filling my fond eyes with tender tears — Tender tears, not wholly sad ; untroubled By one harsh remembrance or regret ; Virtues, graces, death perchance has doubled ; Yet, like your frail blooms, their worth is set In a field of Paschal beauty, teeming With such hopes as make this mortal time Part of that grand choral song, redeeming Dust and ashes to a life sublime. A Reminiscence of Port Kent, 35 A Reminiscence of Port Kent. O'er yon gray crag the still dawn breaks ; The light clouds flush, and morning smiles Across the wondrous-tinted lake, With all its hundred isles. Those grand old peaks, aerial kings," With mystic, sunlit glories crowned ; The vessels spreading noiseless wings ; On shore what peace profound ! Thus limned by memory's faithful touch, Champlain, thy summer beauties stand. Transcending skill of mortal art. And mocking Time's unkindly hand. And often on my darkened room Of sickness, with a mild surprise. Thy tinted lake, thy cloud-wreathed peaks, And cottage on the shore arise. * Mansfield and Camel's Hump. ^6 Fade a. f ADED. They told me that her cheek had lost The richly mantling glow, Which told its own unconscious tale Of life's exulting flow. And well I knew they deemed her life, At its abounding May, Had felt some sky's unkindly blast. Some touch of still decay. But O they knew, they nothing knew Of all the nobler joys, Which fill the radiant circle up As fast as time destroys. And still I'll deem, though grace and bloom May silently depart, The glow but leaves the rose's cheek To deepen at the heart. 'The Palmer s Rosary. 37 The Palmer's Rosary. No coral beads on costlv chain of gold The Palmer's pious lips at vespers told: No guards of art could Pilgrim's favor win Who only craved release from earth and sin. He from the Holy Land his rosary brought ; From sacred olive wood each bead was wrought, Whose grain was nurtured, ages long ago. By blood the Saviour sweated in His woe ; Then on the Holy Sepulchre was laid This crown of roses from His passion made ; The Sepulchre from which the Lord of all Arose from death's dark bed and icv thrall. Yet not complete that wreath of joy and pain. Which for the dead must sweet indulgence gain ; The pendent cross, on which with guileless art Some hand had graved what touches every heart, The image of the Lamb for sinners slain. From Bethlehem's crib, now shrine, his pravers obtain ; And tears and kisses tell the holv talc Of pilgrim love and penitential wail. 38 '^he Palmer s Rosary. The love, the tears which fed his pious flame, May well be thine, my heart, in very same; Since bead and cross, by Palmer prized so well, At vesper-hour these fingers softly tell. And press, through them, each dear and sacred spot Where God once walked, " yet men received him not.' And still with pious Palmer gray of yore. Thy lips can kiss the ground He wet with gore. Still at the Sepulchre with her delay Who found Him risen ere the break of day ; And hover round the crib with meek delight Where shepherds hasted from their flocks by night, To there adore Him whom a Virgin blessed. Bore in her arms and nourished at her breast. My Rosary dear ! my Bethlehem Cross so fair ! No rose, no lily can with thee compare ; No gems, no gold, no art or quaint device Could be my precious Rosary's priceless price ; For Heaven's eternal joys at holier speed, I trust to win through every sacred bead ; And still for suffering souls obtain release From cleansing fires to everlasting peace. My Oratory. 39 yviY p RATORY, From a shaded nook of my roof-trcc room, Shines a light like that of a virgin moon, Nor day unto day does the joy decline Of the light from that hidden, humble shrine ; So lowly, so poor, that I almost seem On Bethlehem's crib to gaze in a dream. The naked old beams, and the rafters brown. To others may seem to darken and frown ; But the light so calm from that shaded nook (jilds rafter and beam and rude timber's crook, And the chamber's hush at the hour of noon Is pleasant as thickets of woods in June. A crucifix there of most humble make. Which I prize for blessed poverty's sake ; And a picture, pure, O purer than snow. Immaculate Mother of God below. And a gleam of beads the sweet secret tells Which the gloom of the rustic room dispels. 40 Early Called^ There are griefs and woes for whose Uving wound No balsam of heahng with time is found : But the tender light from that humble shrine Heals every sorrow and hurt of mine ; And present, and past, and future to me Are safe in its merciful mystery. Early Called. Do you remember how he lay All through that glorious summer day. How beauteous even in lifeless clay ? Before the window at his head Late lilac blooms faint perfumes shed. Which floated in around his bed. The soft airs touched his forehead grand. Touched, too, the slender, boyish hand. Touched those young lips so pure and bland. Early Callea. CJpon his pillow you had laid Fresh garden-flowers ; the light wind strayed Among them as if half afraid ; For summer winds and fragrant air Stirred not one thread of slumbering hair; Death's dew had drenched those locks so fair. Without, the drowsy hum of noon, The robin's chirp, the pigeon's croon ; Within, the twilight's hush and gloom. O mortal love ! the dead alone. The dead vou with such tears bemoan, Can still be truly called your own. With them no change of first affection. Death saved their bloom of predilection. Brought virtues to a rare perfection. And now, as I recall that day When on his couch of death he lay, So beauteous even in lifeless clay. 42 Forest Vespers. 1 think — had our regretful tears Reclaimed him to these earthly spheres, What risks of sin had marred these years. Forest Vespers. In the twilight of a pensive mind, And the early hour of even, I watched the sunlight fade from earth. The stars come out in heaven. Around me creep the forest glooms, Around the misty meadow ; The very spots the sun most loved Lie now in deepest shadow. A sudden loneness strikes my heart ; The old, hushed grief returns. As ghosts of heroes grimly stalk From slowly-crumbling urns. Forest Vespers, 4j The phantoms of my carlv joys, A legion, round me rise ; A smile breaks through the dusk of years, A look from buried eyes. I strike mv breast in agony ; I bend a suppliant knee ; My God ! my God ! () let me fly And be at rest with Thee ! The sense of night is on my heart, The hush, the gloom, the chill ; The forest shadows touch my soul With their fingers wan and still. Blessed stars, that on your tranquil thrones In vestal beauty burn. To you, dear friends of youthful hours. My eyes now pleading turn. Draw me to your empyrean heights. Fair vesper lamps of even. To learn, for one quenched light of earth. Ten thousand wait in heayen. 44 'T^he Evening Primrose. yHE Evening Primrose. When first the twilight dews descend, And dusky glooms the landscape blend, And the grand shadows of the wood. Which makes our sylvan solitude. Creep o'er the garden's flowery slope. Where blushing buds at dawning ope ; Along its gayly-bordered walk, A brown, unsightly, common stalk Bursts into beauty, which might seem The rapture of an infant's dream ; The dry, coarse branches swift unfold To lovely chalices of gold. With perfumes like that spikenard sweet, Poured o'er the dear Redeemer's feet, And, like that precious spikenard, praise The Lord, who knows no length of days. Sweet vesper flower ! thy odors teach Our hearts, which words might never reach. The graces of this silent hour. Which on the waiting spirit pour ; 'The Fringed Gentian. 45 The hush of praise, the peace of prayer, The sigh for God, the rest from care ; Devotion's twilight perfumes shy, Which shun the noonday's torrid eye, But hide amid the mists of even. To be exhaled at morn to Heaven. The Fringed Gentian. October's loveliest flower, so wondrous blue. Whose eyelids, softly fringed, still hold the dew Of frosty autumn nights, Yet smiles anew When morn the hill-top lights ! Thou mindest me by thy celestial dye Of our most Virgin Ladv's heavenly eye ; So meekly hid Beneath its fringed lid ; With pity wet For man, with ills beset. 4-6 T^he Woodland Grave. For love of her I lay thee on her shrine ; Make my sweet duty to her, flowret mine, And beg that eye, for Jesus's sake, to turn On all who sigh and mourn In frosty vales, and drear : O Lady dear, accept and hear ! The Woodland Grave. A mound of moss, with tiny, mossy blooms Of red and yellow, streaked and speckled o'er. And set about with tufts of slender fern. And maiden-hair, on waving, ebon stalk; A gleam of beauty 'mid the solemn woods. Its deeps of summer verdure, rank on rank. And crumbling trunks of still more ancient growth ; A bed, perchance, by faithful nature made For some dear favorite perished from her arms, The cherished treasure of this woodland grave. So lovely death comes to the innocent, Till we almost forget, it is the price Of our lost Eden and its sinless joys. A Sunset at Spring Park. 17 From Y It was an unaimed shaft Which touched my heart ; Another might have hiughed Away the smart ; — But O ! it flew To me from you ! From any other quiver, I said, with tears ; Then kissed it with a shiver Of tender fears. For O ! it flew To me from you. / ^" NSET AT ^PRING ^ARK All day the clouds had been drifting, Drifting with wind and with rain ; All day my heart had been aching. Aching with sorrowful pain. 48 A Sunset at Spring Park. All day my brain had been thinking, All day my fingers had wrought, Spite the wild whirl of the tempest. Shaping the deed from the thought. What with the anguish of spirit. What with the rain and the toil. That was a day whose veiled merit My angel could claim as his spoil. Yet sweetness of God's consolation ! Of Love ne'er forgetting its own ! Far over that dark day of autumn A sunset of beauty was thrown. A gleam like the smile of a martyr Whose palm-branch and halo are won. Flooded forest, and meadow, and homestead, Till tempest and trouble were gone. O life's day of grief and temptation ! O struggle of right with the wrong ! The battle is wearily waging, And only God's angels are strong. In the timber, zj.q Yet far on the western horizon. True soul, battle-scarred, but well shriven, O'er all the barbed pangs of the death-bed Will gleam the first glories of heaven ! ■yr-TSSr In the Timber The woods so strangelv solemn and majestic. The awful noontide twilight 'ncath (2;rand trees, The hush like that of holy haunts monastic. While mighty branches, lifting with the breeze, Give glimpses of high heaven's cerulean sheen The autumn-tinted leaves and boughs between — Thus stands the picture. From the homestead door. Close in the timber's edge, I strayed one day To yonder knoll, where — as to some calm shore A mortal bark once drifted in decay — A great man lies in pulseless, dreamless sleep. Where those two oaks untiring sentry keep. 3 50 In the 'Timber. A few fresh flowers with reverent hand I placed Upon the grave — he loved fair nature's lore — And with a quickened memory retraced Our dear old village history once more, Made up of all the close familiar ties Of common country, lot, and families. Then, from the knoll, a greensward path I took Between the sunny cornfields and the wood. With southern aspect and a fair off-look ; Till suddenly, with pulses hushed, I stood Beneath this fretted vault, where branches high Wove their bright tufts of crimson with blue sky. The sombrous twilight with a breathless awe Fell on my heart ; the last year's rotting leaves Strewed thickly the soft turf, on which I saw Shy stalks of dark-stemmed maiden-hsir in threes ; While round me rose huge oaks, whose giant forms Had wrestled with a century's winds and storms. For life was there, strong life and struggle ; scars Seamed the firm bark closed over many a wound Born 'neath the tranquil eye of heaven's far stars ; For in their woe the oaks stood, never swooned • — The Rest in Hope. 51 The great trunks writhed and twisted, groanetl, then rose To nobler height and loftier repose. Faint heart, weak faith ! How oft in weary pain, In hfelong strife with hell's deceitful power, I turn me to the brave old woods again. Whose leafy coronals exultant tower. And all their gold and crimson banners tost On the wild wind like some victorious host. The Rest in Hope. R. I. p. In the deep night, before the dawn began. When sleep lies heaviest on the eyes of man. To a hushed chamber, where the only light Shone from the blessed candle, calm and bright, God's own death-angel came with kiss of peace, And gave the struggling spirit sweet release. 52 In H/ inter. We left our darling to the cold, We left her to the worm and mould ; To winter snow, to summer rain, Yet, like the seed of blessed grain. Our darling shall arise again. Arise — not as in weakness sown, But unto fair perfection grown ; A body of celestial grace. And lineage of that ransomed race. Beholding Godhead, face to face. Tn Winter^ How lonely on the hillside look the graves ! The summer green no longer o'er them waves ; No more, among the frosted boughs, are heard The mournful whippoorwill or singing bird. In Winter, 53 The rosebush, phmtcd with such tearful care, Stands in the winter sunshine stiff and bare; Save here and there its ling-erins; berries red Make the cold sunbeams warm above the dead. Through all the pines, and through the tall, dry grass. The fitful breezes with a shiver pass. While o'er the autumn's lately flowering weeds The snow-birds flit and peck the shelling seeds. Because those graves look lonely, bleak, and bare, Because thev are not, as in summer, fair, O, turn from comforts, cheery friends, and home, And mid their solemn desolation roam ! On each brown turf some fresh memorial lay ; O'er each dear hillock's dust a moment stav. To breathe a "Rest in Peace," for those who lie On lonelv hillsides 'neath a winter sky. 54 Cold. Cold. Sad heart, thou art a-cold With pressing to the mould Of that dead heart, Within whose dear retreat Thine own warm, hving beat First took its start. The sunny vernal day Charms not that cold away ; Its frozen pain Melts not with mountain snow, Nor iceberg drifting slow 'Neath April rain. It was no wintry blast O'er thee chill fetters cast ; — A cold, still breath Came o'er that icy main. Once sailed none sail again, Which men call Death. Stitches. 55 Fresh gales of hope divine From heavenly shores benign, Celestial airs ! Blow o'er this new-made bed Where my heart's heart lies dead, Embalmed in prayers. Breathe o'er this mournful sod ; And when, wild flowers, you nod 'Neath sun and dew Among its springing grass, Mv hope shall death surpass, And bloom with you. ^ TITCHES. I watched the aged fingers ply. With patient, faithful care. The needle's polished shaft, her eye Fast fading, but still fair ; 56 'The spring. A smile passed o'er her features strangely sweet, " It may be, dear, this is my winding-sheet !" How many a thought into that seam was stitched, Which more than threads of gold the web enriched ! Scarce three days passed ; the aged head Lay still upon its well-blessed bed ; A smile dwelt on those features, heavenly sweet, For she had claimed her winding-sheet. Young fingers, tender, rosy, round, By many a jeweled circlet bound. The needle's gleaming shaft you ply 'Neath laughing lip and sparkling eye ; O, who could dream those rosy fingers fleet Were gayly stitching their own winding-sheet ! Jhe ^ PRING. Through the twisted roots of stalwart oaks Chipped by the woodpecker's tiny strokes. Through the crevices of limestone ledges Mossed o'er and dripping at the edges, The Spring. 57 Deep in cool shadows from morn to night, Its brim with pale jewel-weed bedight, Gushes the spring, with a noiseless flow, Like a pulse, mysterious, strong, and slow. To that noiseless spring below the hill. Winter and summer, we go to fill Pitcher and pail ; and over the brink Dips Dolly's pitcher, for "dolls must drink :" The cocoanut cup stands on the edge Of the mossy, dripping, limestone ledge. And the thirsty traveller loves the cool Plash of the cup in that living pool. Out of the shadow into the sun The waters with rippling gladness run ; And where they break into full sunshine Come neighing horses and meek-eyed kine. With gamboling younglings at their side, To quaff at the brook ; their nostrils wide Laid close to the clear, refreshing stream, Where flashing sunbeams twinkle and gleam. Out of the shadow, through sunny mead. Where the mother-ducks their young broods lead 8* 58 . The Spring. To float all day on the tranquil tide, Past the willow copse to wheel and glide ; The wild drake comes with his mate to stray All summer along its margin gay, And their screams, and quackle of delight, Are heard till the brook winds out of sight. Such is the household spring of to-day ; And far, far back, I have heard men say. The lordly chiefs of another race Loved the doe and antlered buck to chase O'er these wooded knolls ; and from the spring The hands of the children often bring An arrow-head, long, shapely, and fair, To ask its story, then keep with care. Man's generations have come and gone. And the noiseless spring still gushes on ; The path to that spring below the hill By merry prattlers is threaded still ; And, with the shadows that o'er it play, A shadow, more shadowy still than they. Walks toward the spring at a thoughtful pace, A pensive smile on the aged face. Six Stone Steps. . 59 Often that shadow flits in between My eyes, and the landscape's summer sheen ; The shoulders bent, and the cap, snow white. Flecked with the pathway's shadow and light ; Yet something more than the mortal grace Now hovers over the tender face. And the eyes are turned, with an infinite peace, To that place where all labors and sorrows cease. ^ix Stone Steps. / The October sun is lighting up The sunnv limestone wall, The five-leaved ivy's crimson leaves Have not begun to fall. Blackberries on a carmine stem Are ripening over all — And I ? I gaze through blinded eyes, On six steps in the wall. 6o Six Stone Steps. Six rough stone steps, which bear to me The record of a life ; God knows, O how I longed to smooth Such steps for thee, sweet wife ; But He had hedged us close within A lot with labor rife ; Ofttimes it seemed like wasted bloom. Thou and thy toilsome life. The noonday sunshine, calm and warm, Is pausing on the stair, — My heart with all its memories Is also pausing there. Recalling one whose weary tread Came less from years than care ; But a world of patient love was in That slow step on the stair. Time was my heart swelled up against The crosses of our state ; For us, too early fortune's smile, Or, misery ! too late ; Six Stone Steps. 6i Till when I saw thy taint, wan smile I cursed what seemed a fate ; But, O ! I learned by that pale gleam To read aright our state. To thee, the landscape never lost Its beauty or delight. The peaceful wild flower raised its eye To one as tranquil, quite ; The Eden glory lingering still On all that met thy sight ; I see thee now upon the stair Tranced in a calm delight. Rough steps I could not smooth for thee Were smoothed by thy sweet will, Which sucked the honey-drop of good From every draught of ill. Th' ideal grace was born with thee, But, O ! a holier still Caught the odor of high sanctity From thy transfigured will. Gi "The Evening Rain. November's sun will blink upon A cheerless, cold stone wall, The five-leaved ivy's crimson leaves Will soon begin to fall, And lonely birds will come to peck The clinging berries small : Sweet wife, thy dead heart speaks to mine P'rom six steps in the wall. The Evening Rain. I hear the soft low rain Falling on the window pane. Feel it too upon my brain — Hardly pleasure, hardly pain. Yet I feel it on my brain As upon the window pane Falls the dreamy evening rain. Softly through these quiet hours On the scarcely budded flowers. On the newly glinting green Through the fragrant woodlands seen. "The Evening Rain. Gi^ On the Havvley pastures brown Come the still showers kindly down, And the prairie's fertile swell Blossoms like a fairy dcll ; While the graves whose sods I cherish, Bloom with hopes that cannot perish. Under this mild April rain Falling on my window pane, Which I feel upon my brain. Hardly pleasure, hardly pain Is this sense upon my brain. Yet the tears gush to my eyes With the rain from vernal skies : Something in my memory stirred Which has never lived in word. Which in thought is scarce defined. Yet an image on the mind ; Something sweeter than a pleasure Which with tender tears I treasure. And comes back upon my brain. With the vernal evening rain Falling on my window pane. 64 Pruning. Pruning, It is well, although the heart is aching; It is well, although the heart is sore ; For there must be grieving and heart-breaking, As there must be scandals, evermore. It is but another stroke of sorrow ; It is but another twinge of pain ; Presently will dawn that other morrow, And this mortal loss prove heavenly gain. Thus I bandaged up her great disaster; I could weep to see her suffering so. But I said, more gentle is the Master, Who has sent this child her bitter woe. Wherefore should I bind with bootless pity That deep wound which needs a saving balm ? Keep thy tears for some unreal ditty ; To this soul, on which waits crown and palm, A Request. 65 Bring the chrism of a high anointing, Or those holy oils, of grace benign, Which are brought, by hands of God's appointing. To the dying, as salvation's sign. There is kindness in this early anguish ; There is blessing in this overthrow ; Head may droop and those dear smiles may languish. But there is a strength within, I know, Waiting only for this time of pruning ; We shall see choice clusters on this vine — Hark ! do you not hear o'er heaven's rapt tuning, " i\line I know, and I am known of mine." jK Request. No other symbol ask I at my grave, Than that rude cross of Him who came to save My helpless soul, all tainted through with sin Till He alone could make and keep it clean. 66 A Request. Beneath the shadow of that symbol dear, I'll rest, secure from all that mortals fear, Whether among my green ancestral trees. Or on the dreary shore of frozen seas. No need of friendly hands my turf to weed Or plant the faithful myrtle's tender seed ; Eyes that must weep for me themselves must close And find in death their long-desired repose, Till none, of all I love, on earth will dwell To guard my senseless dust's low citadel. The tramp of ages o'er my grave may sound. The earthquake shake what seems the solid ground. And sacrilegious hands perchance may dare To cast my dust, like ashes, on the air \ Yet He whose will creative doth preside O'er laws which man would number in his pride. Still to the hollow of His hand will draw What men despise by his serenest law. Nor one least grain will He forget to win From the dominion of the curse of sin. One Hour After Death. 67 One Hour After Death. ' I could envy thee thy solemn sleep, Thy scaled lid, thy rosary-folding palm, Thy brow, scarce cold, whose wasted outlines keep The " Bona Mors" sublime, unfathomcd calm. 1 sigh to wear m)sclf that burial robe Anointed hands have blessed with pious care : What nuptial garb on all this mortal globe Could with thy habit's peaceful brown compare ? Beneath its hallowed folds thy feeble dust Shall rest securely through the night of time. Unharmed by worm, or damp, or century's rust ; But fresh, as youth, shall greet th' eternal prime Of that clear morn, before whose faintest ray Earth's bliss will pale, a taper's flickering gleam ; I see it break ! the pure, celestial day. And stars of mortal hope already dim. 68 A Leaf. " In pace," Lord, O ! let her sweetly rest In Paradise, this very day with thee ; Her faithful lips her dying Lord confessed, Then let her soul thy risen glory see ! / y EAF. Within a small, choice book of pious lore, A single, crumbling leaflet guarded lies ; Long years have robbed it of its spicy scent, Its vernal dyes. Pale, dying fingers, out of love for me. Its fragrant stem broke from the parent stalk ; Mid sadly flickering smiles, and, well we knew, Our last, last earthly talk. No word, no sigh of parting ; one wan smile, A cheery word with trembling fondness spoken, And our full past was garnered, griefs and joys, All in this token. Song. 69 So frail, so worthless ; yet the leaf outlives The hand that plucked, the eye that beamed its meaning ; The faithful, fervent heart, the noble brain, With wisdom teeming. The worm has claimed that which the soul made precious ; The leaf survives the touch that made its worth: Behold, O heart, what rest for thee rcmaineth With* things of earth ! SoN' I knew she was loved by another, I knew. Yes — I knew it was hopeless, vet still I loved on^ As if but to let that illusion depart Was to blot out all loveliness under the sun." 70 A May Breeze. How could I the dream of my boyhood resign, O how break the fair spell which my soul had en- tranced ! The first burst of sunshine on life's early way Which had all other joys by its gladness enhanced ! Transfigured, the dream of my boyhood now dwells, As remote as yon star, as a vestal serene ; Untouched in its beauty, unsullied by aught Of a world whose celestial is lost in terrene. A May Breeze As fragrant blooms by blushing orchard shed. When spring's advancing season ripens fast, O such the blossoms which the heart has fed With all the dewy sweetness of the past. But like those winds whose stormy passage sweeps The wailing trees, but leaves fair fruit behind. Life's changing scenes, which man still hourly weeps, Pledge fruit, than blooms, more constant and more kind. Peace. 7 1 Peace. *' Not as the world giveth do I give to you." St. John xi^, 27. Break not its sleep, the faithful grief, still tender ; God gives at length His own beloved rest ; How worn the suffering brow ! yet those meek fingers Still press the cross of patience to her breast. Stir not the air with one sweet, lingering cadence From life's fair prime of love and hope and song ; Serener airs, from martyr hosts celestial, To that high trance of conquered peace belong. Hush mortal joy or wail, hush mortal pneans ; Ye cannot reach that Thabor height sublime Where God's eternal joy, in tranquil \ision. Seems nearer than the sights and sounds of time. 72 T^he 'Two Cities. The Two Cities. A lonely mortal, wasted, faint, yet staid, Paused in the deep Cathedral-portal's shade ; The footworn threshold-stone his lips salute, A moment pause in adoration mute. Then with uplifted eye and forehead bare Those fasting lips his purpose grand declare : — Upon those lowly ways thy saints have trod, My weary feet would enter, O my God ! Flinty, perchance, those ways, and hard to find To feet unused like mine how steep to climb Yet safe while kept, they all my heart ensnare Of Jesu's pilgrims meek the sacred garb to wear. Behind me lies the city of my life. Its once dear joys, their rapture and their strife ; Hope's smiling temple and triumphal arch. Ambition's sculptured wreaths ; the festive march Still sounding in my ear, and dearer still Young love's Arcadian pipes with tender memories fill. Weep, O my heart, yet break not nor despair. Though vanquished lies that city once so fair! 1.fie Two Cities. Death sacked its temples — colonnades of joy ; . Its playful fountains did his hand destroy, And round me laid its crested towers of pride, In mournful, hopeless ruins, crumbling side by side. Forth from their beauty's melancholy waste Meekly my feet essay, my God, to haste ; The ashes of my pleasant places, lo ! I scatter on my head as forth I go. Like penitential dust, and tear and sigh Arc offered at the shrine of Majesty on high. My pilgrim staff, my scallop shell, are all I covet of world's wealth ; and poor and small The crucifix I place upon my breast. My all of solace and my all of rest ; My book, my guide, my wisdom here are stored, T^hou suffering image of th' Incarnate Word ! Afar, quite melting in my western sky. And mingling with its ever gorgeous dye. The walls celestial of a city fair I can discern, most beauteous and most rare ; Towards that my pilgrim footsteps quickening turn. For those eternal gates, alone, 1 sigh and burn ! \ 13 74 '^he Returned Regiment. "The Returned jR^egiment. A shrill fife and a drum's wild beat, And the throngs on the busy street Give way ; For with banners blood-stained and rent, And its strong men with shoulders bent, Returns a brave regiment To-day. Stalwart men who would laugh at fear. Lovely women with children dear. Matron and sire — Tender maidens in beauty coy. Ardent youths with their pulse of joy And souls of fire — Pause with a lingering gaze In the midst of the crowded ways : And moistening eyes Watch the worn, battle-thinned line. Stepping true to the martial time. Till the beat of heroic rhyme In distance dies. The Returned Regiment. 75 The waves of that human sea Of life and of destiny Roll on once more ; Yet, over the city's roar, The fife and the drum's wild strain, Like some battle-song's refrain. Catch my still listening ear ; Start anew the lingering tear ; And I know, I know full well. By my own heart's aching swell. How the pulses, gentle and rude. Of that pausing multitude With a nameless feeling beat, A sympathy noble and sweet. To the rhythm of patriot feet : — How the battle's terrible joy Surged up in the heart of the boy ; While the man who knew not fear Was not ashamed of a tear, As the story of marches sore, Of rivers on rivers of gore Mid the musketry's sulphurous breath. And still, stark death. 76 Col. James A, Mulligan. Was told by an awful sign In the worn and battle-thinned line, And the strong men with shoulders bent, Of the brave returned regiment. Col. James A. Mulligan. INSCRIBED TO THE " IRISH BRIGADE." O comrades dear. Well may a tear Drop on this bier : More gentle dust Earth never took in trust, And ne'er resigned A mortal mind Of temper more heroic or more kind. Malice could harm not, envy could not stir. Nor mammon tempt this soul to worship her ; Brief honors paled before his generous heart. For such choice souls earth has no price, no mart. Col. James A. Mulligan. 77 O brave true heart, O pulses strong and good, Which throbbed as Christian patriot's only could ; O calm, wise will, O swift impetuous thought, O valorous joy which deeds for history wrought ; O noble presence, with a chieftain's grace Lighting the tall, grand form, the poet's face ; O sweet, clear voice, which through hoarse battles rang With all a trumpet's gladness, not its clang ! Weep strong men must. Since all before us now is lifeless dust ; Majestic clay Is all, good friends, death leaves to us to-dav ; And well the tear Beseems this Christian dust, this patriot bier. Strip the sad altars \ Priest in sable stole. Breathe your best benison upon his soul : Dread " Dies Irae," sound the depths forlorn Of death and judgment ; and then Hope, Christ-born, Tune thy serenest voice to chant at morn " Requiescat in pace !" 7 8 Marian. JA ARIAN, Now the great Rebellion's over And this cruel war is done, All the troops are gayly marching To the tune of " Home, sweet Home ;' O my God, my God, forgive me ! Mary, aid me by thy prayer ! P'or the anguish of my spirit Seems too great for me to bear. All the valleys teem with echoed Meetings, greetings, heart's delight, Like the sound of pleasant fountains In the fragrant summer night ; Till I cower before my sorrow. Cease to wrestle with my grief. Only crying, " God forgive me ! Mary, Mother, bring relief!" Could his fame my heart-break solace, Well I know the valorous story. All the deeds of generous daring Which have steeped his name in glory ; Marian. 79 And our darlings, O my hero ! Shall those deeds with pride repeat, Yet I cry — may God forgive me — " Life seemed long and love was sweet !" While the battle's din was raging, And the conflict wild and hot, I could almost say, '' for country Be my own heart's woe forgot ;" But the great Rebellion's over. And this cruel war quite done. And the soldiers gavly marching To the tune of " Home, sweet Home ;" Now I cower before my anguish, All this life-time left to me. Only crying, " God forgiving. Holy Mother, comfort me !" 8o With "thee. With Thee, How shall I follow thee, my heart's beloved, Dear soul, the twin of mine ; How cross these dismal wastes of separation And round thy pathway shine ? How lift to thy sad lips the cup of comfort. How be thy oil, thy wine. How meet thy swift temptation at the threshold With shield of faith divine ? O, how shall I secure my place beside thee. When o'er thy filming eye Creep those dread mists which tell affrighted nature The time has come to die ? Talk not of written word or lightning message ; Too slow for love's behest ; Upon that wasted moment may be pending Life, Heaven, all graces best. IFith Thee. 8i Not occult science, aught of man's invention, Can keep thy hand in mine : My prayer must track thee through the weary distance. And sign thee with its sign. Although wild snow-drifts block the mountain passes. Though storms lash ocean's brine. My still persistent prayer shall win an answer For each sore need of thine. My hand upon my mouth, my mouth in ashes, Thus prostrate, Lord, I pray ; Myself of dust an atom ; Thou, Creator, Whence all benignly ray ! The children's suppliant call is ne'er unheeded ; Omnipotence doth lend Itself, through saint, through angel, fire and water. To be the creature's friend. My cry shall conquer distance, all sad forces Which fallen nature boasts ; For Heaven will send to thee, in sweet attendance, Its beatific hosts. 4* 82 A Word, O'er treacherous death itself, all foresight mocking, Shall thus prevail my prayer, For Jesus, Mary, Joseph will be with thee However, when and where ! /y ORD, "Aura !" gayly whispered in my ear As the merry dancers floated near. Like a sudden ray of sunshine clear Told how to his soul I was most dear. Light, and music, and companions gay. In my joy like snow-wreaths passed away ; Vernal gladness on my spirit lay Like still valleys lapped in blooming May. "Aura !" all our happy love was told In that word ; volumes could not hold Though illumined all in gems and gold ; Music never could its sense unfold. A Word. 83 Many weary years have come and gone, I have counted them, each, one by one. Since they laid him under that cold stone. Under the sweet June turf, all alone. But that word thus whispered from his heart Into mine, can never thence depart ; Often, even now, I turn and start. The old sunshine flooding world and heart. It may be — God knows I , ne'er repine — On that shore not fanned by aught of time. And which God himself makes all sublime, It may be that true heart waiteth mine: Waiteth, with a high angelic sense. Rapture of celestial innocence Of th' eternal joy an effluence ; Purged in the eye of God's omnipotence. Thus, without a sigh of courage faint. Ceased what was a memory more than plaint ; Mortal love outgrown its mortal taint. All the woman verging to the saint. In Retreat. ]^ji ETREAT. Dear shades of St. Mary's ! how calm is the beat Of the heart's warmest pulse in thy hallowed retreat ; How softly the flow of thy penitent's tears Washes off the sad trace of less fortunate years. Before thy still shrine, a worn pilgrim, I kneel, Awaiting the touch which has promised to heal : How kind, on the heart which has suffered, descends The benison mild of the mildest of friends ! Dear shades of St. Mary's ! again I must take A pilgrim's rough staff, loved for poverty's sake ; Yet brightly the lamp of Loretto will shine O'er every dark pathway and trouble of mine. O clear be the sunshine, and kindly the showers, And tranquil the moonlight o'er all thy fair bowers; And sweet, as thy own vesper cadence, the flow Of St. Joseph, thy steep wooded bankments below. Lucifer Matutinus. 85 O still may thy hare-bells in loveliness dwell Along thy shy paths, overhanging each dell ; And never may time, with its pitiless damp, Quench the vestal-fed flame of Loretto's dear lamp ! Lucifer Matutinus. From a heart of infinite longing the youth Looks out on the world ; " Where, spirit of candor, where, spirit of truth, Are thy banners unfurled ? " O chivalrous chastity, lovely as morn. The dew on thy helmet, I hail thee afar ; Like Lucifer, beautiful angel of dawn, I wear thy deep azure, 1 follow thy star. " Not mammon, not lucre ; though white as sea-gulls The broad sails I watch studding ocean's blue deep. To droop their gay pennons where dreamily lulls The tropical breeze, and the Lotus-flower sleeps. 86 Lucifer Matuttnus. "But glory ! but honor ! the joy of a name Not written on sand ; which for ao;es will stir All hearts that are noble, or kindle the flame Of devotion consuming the rapt worshipper." Thus from heart of infinite longing, the youth, Looking out on the world. Cries ever, " Woo wisdom, woo beauty, woo truth ;" The sordid world, jaded with care, answers, " Ruth Waits on thy wild dreamings, O turbulent youth ;" And with laughter uncouth Mocks life's fairest banners in brightness unfurled. O heart of the ostrich ! above its own graves Of innocent hopes the world every day raves, And moans, with a pitiful droon of despair. O'er candor and honor, once blooming so fair ; Yet treads with a wanton, unpitying scorn, To earth every sweet aspiration of morn, True mark of a soul to infinity born ; Or leaves, to the chance of the desert, the good Which God, at creating, charged angels to brood. And martyrs have guarded with rivers of blood. The Death of St. Joseph. 87 The Death of St. Joseph. " Let me die the death of the just, and may my last end be like his " A simple print from hand of high renown Upon my low bed's head looks kindlv down ; — The patriarch Joseph, foster-father mild Of Nazareth's Virgin Mother's heavenly Child, His dying head pressed close against the knee Of the Incarnate Son and Deity; — The Virgin Mother kneeling gently near Dissolved in prayer, on that mild cheek a tear ; Thus has the Christian Master's pious mind, Great Overbeck, the "Just man's" death designed. The Picture, breathing all the holy peace Of souls which find in death, from death, release. Thus placed, a wish long cherished found expression — When I shall come to my death-bed confession ; When fiiithful priest shall that last unction give Which bids these lapsing, dying senses live On God's own day of happy resurrection. As long tried vessels of most sweet election ; 88 I'he Death of St. Joseph. When on my parched, enfeebled tongue shall lie Jesus, himself, in loving mystery ; Then may three friends, in fair, celestial state, Unseen, around my bed benignly wait : Thus shall I win, while yielding up my breath, Life's last and crowning grace, a happy death. O Jesus, Mary, Joseph ! thus I sigh Each night as 'neath that picture's wing I lie ; O Jesus, Mary, Joseph ! me befriend When this so troubled life shall near its end ; O Jesus, Mary, Joseph ! with you near Death's dreaded spectres all will disappear ; And though no friend be near with pious care To wipe the death-sweat, lift the last sweet prayer, Contentedly, serenely, I can die In your most dear and holy company. Our Neighbor. pUR 1^ EIGHBOR, Set it down gently at the altar rail The faithful, aged dust with honors meet ; Long have we seen that pious face, so pale. Bowed meekly at her Saviour's blessed feet. These many years her heart was hidden, where Nor moth, nor rust, nor craft of man could harm ; The blue eyes, seldom lifted, save in prayer, Beamed with her wished-for heaven's celestial ca^m. As innocent as childhood's was the face. Though sorrow oft had touched that tender heart •, Each trouble came as winged by special grace, And resignation saved the wound from smart. On bead and crucifix her fingers kept. Until the last, their fond accustomed hold ; " My Jesus," breathed the lips ; the raised eves slept, The placid brow, the gentle hand grew cold. 90 // is the World. The choicely ripening cluster, lingering late Into October on Its shrivelled vine, Wins mellow juices, which In patience wait Upon those long, long days of deep sunshine. Then set It gently at the altar rail. The faithful, aged dust with honors meet ; How can we hope If such as she can fall Before the Eternal God's high judgment-seat ! T IS THE WORLD »' '' It Is the world," the good religious said. Then sighed a pitying sigh, and shook her head ; " It Is the world :" so, for a double sin. Not one reproach did those chaste lips begin. She who with vigils long and fastings strait Sought to pass safely through the heavenly gate, For that young creature's guilt, her wrong and shame, Had only words of sorrow — none of blame. Occult ation of Venus. 91 O, selfish worldlings, who the bird decoy With such sweet flatteries only to destroy ; O, selfish worldlings, who the misery see To pass in censure or in mockery ; O, selfish worldlings, who, like whited tombs. Are filled at heart with passion's festering bones. Shrink like the murderer from the dead man's corse. Thank heaven that with thee it has proved no worse, And wholesome penance shall a lesson teach Of charity, beyond the grace of speech. OCCULTATION OF VeNUS. [April 2Ist, i860.] The virgin moon with one clear star Poised lightly on its shining horn, A vestal lamp, whose beauteous flame Was for an evening's wonder born — Occultation of Venus. Thus Venus paused with kindling beams O'er lovely Dian's crescent white ; A moment quivered, flashed anew, Then slowly passed from eager sight. O grandest star of matin hours ! O loveliest star of tranquil even ! What doom has quenched thy peerless ray, And robbed the azure dome of heaven ? O pain of loss, how sharp thy blade ! How keen thy search, bereaved eyes ! While swift as thought our glances range The glittering spaces of the skies. In vain for me red Saturn's rings Or Jupiter's revolting moons ; Their light, like thine, can never charm The silent evening's pensive glooms. Love's faithful eye will miss thy gleam As twilight steals o'er lake and shore, And weep to think those joyous waves Reflect thy beauties never more. Occuhation of Venus, 93 One twinkling gleam, and lo ! the star Now mourned as lost, fair Dian, glides Beside thee, loved companion still, On thy calm orbit's tranquil tides. Unshorn its ray, undimmed its light. But hidden, not withdrawn from view, Again the star of love and joy Gleams softly from the vaulted blue. O friend, whose genius like a star Once o'er my life as fairly shone. In vain I wait thy swift return In death's long occultation gone ! Suns, systems, cycles, duly turn On thy short axle, finite time. And only man still grandly claims Eternal spaces, God's sublime Infinitude of place, beyond Thy blue, and vasty firmament ; From whence, to time, none e'er return. Though hearts may break in sharp lament. 94 '^he Golden Gate, The Golden Gate. In thy still haze of golden light. The masted ships float out of sight ; The merchandise of distant shores, The light skiff with its dipping oars, The steaming tug with all the strife The laboring pant of present life. All, all serenely pass the strait Lost in thy haze, O Golden Gate. Upon the nearer billow's crest My bark drifts on, in wild unrest ; The swelling wave, the pitch, the heave, Around the sobbing waters grieve. While onward through the Golden Gate The ships still pass in tranquil state ; Till Love, which fain would Hope believe. Cries, " Can those distant waves deceive ?" The Faded Acorn. 95 Edith'S Birthday. ACROSTIC. Edith, " Saxon Edith" brings, Darling child, to mind stern things In the history of kings ; Tender strains of ancient story, Human anguish, human glory. Happier far than princess gay Ever sung in roundelay. Artless Edith makes this day Live on home's dear page in glory : Youth, sweet harpist, tune the story. The Faded Acorn. Eight years agone, this very morn. Young Jamie brought in playful mood This acorn, as the prettiest culled From all the acorns of the wood. 96 Orion, O summer morning gay with hope ! O summer evening chill with horror ! Let young larks sing the morning's joy But whippoorwill the evening's sorrow. Her cypress wreaths with acorns fair, And tufts of oak, Fidela weaves ; And many a slowly sliding tear Drops, heavy, on their mingling leaves. P RION. Orion's belt and sword of power Flash brightly, through the clear, keen night, And bring to mind one happy hour. Like some wild glacier's beauteous flower Abloom amid the Arctic white. It was no joy of summer time. Of flowering hedge, of breezes warm : Love gives all seasons one charmed prime ; Softly to love the fierce winds chime Alean on the beloved arm. Orion. 97 So passed wc clown the wide, bleak street •, The lights flared wildly mid the gloom, The snow-path crisped beneath our teet, Hut love's dear converse kept the sweet Key-note of woods in leafy June. The wildest, bleakest corner turned, Orion caught that master eye For which the Southern cross had burned, Which had through ocean's leisure learned The mystic groups of every sky. The winds piped on ; Orion's stars We counted, flashing through the night \ Thenceforth not Venus, not red Mars, I watch at night through lattice bars. But grave Orion's girded might. Strange stars ! above a grass-grown tomb, I ne'er have seen, you nightly shine ; Watch gently through the midnight gloom Where, waiting God's dread trump of doom. Lies that dear dust I claimed as mine. 5 Winter. 1 INTER. On the street, I hear the crispy tread of snowy feet ; Everywhere, Through doors, through windows, creeps the icy air. I shiver As twilight settles over town and river. Looking forth So drearily towards the frozen north. In the grate Glows to its heart the fiery anthracite ; Yet the chill Of the season pierces through me still. But the poor — God help them ! To Thy mercy's open door Must we bring Thy poor ones, Jesus, as their low4y King. JV inter. 99 Hands drop down Fainting with hunger, and the well -ted frown When they see The pinched and pleading face of poverty. Poor and thin Are the soiled garments they must wander in ; While the proud Still claim the warm, soft cashmere for a shroud. Old teeth must Break with slow, patient toil the refuse crust. While a dish Suits the young gourmand's every varying wish. Yet the poor, Jesus, are Thine ; and, as to make it sure. For their sake Thou didst Thy cradle of a manger make. All Thy years. Thy thrce-and-thirty, passed in toil and tears ; And no bed Hadst Thou at night on which to lay Thy head. lOO Easter-T^ide. In Thy mind Thy poor ones live, and still Thy heart so kind Remembers Bethlehem, and the chill of our Decembers. Therefore take The shivering to Thy arms for Bethlehem's sake ; While sweet heed Will Mary take for little ones in need. Easter-Tide. '* My flesh also shall rest in hope." With the spring come happy voices On the street, Merry greetings, infant laughter Gay and sweet. With the spring what rush of waters To the sea ! Brooks run races down the mountains In their glee. Easter-l'ide. lOl With the spring come happy odors ; Skies how blue ! Grass — you almost see it growing — Tipped with dew. With the spring, on brookside, hillside, In the glen, Tangled woodlands, wastes of prairies Far from men — Everywhere are wild flowers springing, Banks of bloom ; Snowv clusters break the bearded Forest's gloom. With the spring, a low, sweet twitter Thrills the leaves, Where the robin at her nest-work * Deftly weaves. With the spring ! God knows — God only — That dear pain. Pressing hearts, whose mortal treasure Comes again I02 Easter-'Tide. Not with leaf-buds, or the sprouting Of the grain, When its tender blade clothes softly All the plain. Yet with spring, than spring more precious, Comes a hope : For this flesh an expectation, Strong to cope With thee. Death, its deathless pulses Beating life. Fresh as Heaven's eternal spring-time. Which thy strife. Blessed Christ, in dying won us ; Life, through death. Bringing to this weary mortal Yielding breath. With the spring, then, happy nature Keeps with me. In this hope of resurrection. Jubilee. 'I' lie Altar and the Hearth. 103 Blossoms, song-birds, all spring voices The world wide. Chant thy solemn Paschal blessings, Easter-tide. The /tLTAR^ AND THE MeARTH, High in heaven the full moon rideth, High in heaven the moon shines clear. Only on the lake's blue distance Films the frosty atmosphere. With a half regretful feeling Drops my shade between the moon And the cozy, evening comfort Of my softly-lighted room. O'er the pictures flicks the firelight. O'er the little tropic bower. Which before the southern window Beareth manv an altar flower. T04 '^he Altar ana the Hearth, With a sense of blessed quiet, Culling out a favorite book Rich in lore of sacred sweetness From its carved and shaded nook, Sorrows, labors, are remembered But to point my picture's white ; Sophie enters, with a " Please, ma'am. Vespers will be sung to-night." Chill the firelight, blank the moonlight ; Shame, false heart, shame, faint desire ! Shame upon the creature comforts Which thus quench devotion's fire ! From the firelight, from the quiet,- Out into the glittering air. Pass I with an humbled conscience Pass I with a contrite prayer Into the Cathedral's shadow. Broad and solemn 'neath the moon ; Till the portal shows the altar Far, far off in blaze of noon ; 'The Altar and the Hearth. 105 Blazing with a tranquil rapture Like the vision of a saint, Mid the screen-work's massive recess And the traceries dark and quaint ; While the organ's tender anthem, Like a palpitating prayer, Thrills the arches, where the incense Falters, lost in shadows there. Hush ! — hushed the grand " Magnificat ;" Hushed the " Tantum ergo " 's swell ; Only through the odorous incense Chimes the beat of silver bell. Hushed the crowd in bending silence, Adoration, sweet, profound ; Till the "Gloria " 's solemn gladness Pours its peal on peal of sound. Once more in the frosty moonlight ; Once more by the hearth's kind blaze ; I^ut my heart from its old eyrie Spreads its eagle wing of praise. 5* io6 ^he Paschal Flower. The Paschal Flow^er^ From a crown of pale leaves like the thorny, Dry crown of the passion, Springs a fresh, tender, purple corolla. In grace and fair fashion Like the crocus, save as in wild roses Are clustered its anthers \ And to all eager questionings from us Serenely it answers : — Paschal blossom, the simple folks call us. For at this glad season Our pale purple-blooms come as mementoes Of Jesus arisen. In His hands still the prints of His passion; And still we are born With this circlet, in ghostly remembrance Of His dolorous thorn. Moths, 1 07 As the fold of our Lady's blue mantle, Spite all her glad morrow, Ever keeps in its lining's faint purple The hint of her sorrow ; The good Jesus with this has endowed us In mystical token — The sad tint of His bruise in His anguish. And sweet body broken. Therefore " Paschal flower " simple folks call us. And at this glad season Our buds come to them gentle remindals Of Jesus arisen. Moth s. An India shawl — of texture wondrous fair, Wrought in with rich devices quaint and rare, And coloring dcftlv gorgeous, such as blooms Only in solemn Asia's handilooms, Worn but on pageant days of human pride. And, stately service ended, laid aside — io8 Moths. One day was taken from its choice retreat, A camphor box inlaid with spice-woods sweet, When lo ! through fold on fold precisely laid, Each steeped in purest dyes of loveliest shade, A single moth, with dull, and sullen tooth, Had cut in silent but relentless ruth. O lives of costly leisure, through your years Adorned with graceful culture v/hich endears. And blessed opportunities, which would Delight an angel, for all service good. Cuts no dull sluggard tooth of selfish ease — Yourselves content because yourselves you please ? The good you might have done and did not do. Left, like some silent malison, with you To work its own revenge, to breed the moth, The unsightly worm of spiritual sloth. That web of life, of texture wondrous fair. Enriched with colors, and devices rare. Which God had fashioned from His boundless will To such consummate beauty, thwarts His skill : What should have been a wedding garment wrought With threads of golden deeds, and generous thought The Confessor. 109 Of others' weal or wo, kept bright with use, Clean as baptismal robe from sin's abuse. Is but a moth-cut tissue, to surprise In that dread light which visits dying eyes. JHE p ONFESSOR. Father, I am faint with toil, am weary, Weary of my life ; how long and dreary Seems the road. Leading, though I know it leads, to God : Tell me how my courage still to stay On this road of toil, this upward way — " Pray, child, pray !" Oft I hear God's blessed truth condemned. Oft I hear His Holy Church contemned ; Men revile. At the sacred mysteries carp and smile : O my Father, thou art learned and wise. Some persuasive argument devise — " Pray, child, pray !" I lO T^he Confessor. There is dread temptation, full of wrath, Waiting for that soul ; alas ! Heaven's path Through it lies : He is passing on with blinded eyes ; Help me, O my Father, I am weak. Some good word of warning well to speak : — " Pray, child, pray !" O my Father, fervent souls have grown Lukewarm, thankless ; Jesus claims his own. Yet they leave His fond heart o'er man's neglect to grieve : Father, from thy treasures old and new Lend me some sweet shaft to pierce them through '' Pray, child, pray !" Supplication. p. PPLICATION For all who grope, yet do not know they grope, O God ! for Thee— For souls who sigh, vet do not know thev sigh. Sweet Lord, for Thee — For all who light would love if but that light They once could see — We supplicate, anew, Thv loving charity. For those who light receive, and yet that light, O Lord, reject — For those who truth perceive, yet more than truth Man's eyes respect. And, with perverse desire, while claiming good The wrong elect — From their own wilful blindness, patient Lord, protect. iMan cannot scan man's heart ; God's eye alone Its secret reads ; We see the ill, yet cannot trace the wound From which it bleeds, 112 Supplication. And our poor skill stops close upon the edge Of sorest needs ; We sow, yet know not where will spring the goodly seeds. With tears, and prayers, we labor for that soul Whose peace we crave ; Tribes, nations, generations go their way; But this to save Fire, tempest, shipwreck, calumny if need — All we could brave. Or moulder slowly on within an unnamed grave. The tear, the sigh, the agony of prayer, Of all request. We give to Thee, great God, for near or far As serves Thee best : All, all are dear to Thee ; we sink the choice In Thy behest : Canst Thou the hearts withstand which on Thee blindly rest ? 'The Orphans Cry. 113 The Orphans' Cry. " O, the dreary, cheerless winter ! O, the fearful, bitter cold !" And the little orphans shiver. Little orphans of Christ's fold, As He shivered, through December, In harsh Bethlehem's crib of old. Do you hear them, hear them. Christians, In your homes, so fair and warm ? In your homes where you have clustered All your little ones from harm, Where the baby lies so snugly. Pillowed on Its mother's arm ? Do you hear their cry, O mothers. Mothers of a happy brood, Do you hear the orphans pleading, " O, sweet Christian, kind and good, Give us, for the love of Jesus, Give us clothing, give us food !" 1 14 T^he Orphans Cry, Happy fathers, happy mothers, Brothers, sisters, children all, Do you hear, with "-Merry Christmas !" This sad plea, the orphans' call. As they huddle in discomfort, God's own younglings, dear and small ? We have heard your tender pleadings. We have heard your shivering sigh : Never, surely, can a Christian Pass the needy orphan by ; Never hope for pard'ning mercy, Should he slight your helpless cry. Christ, in you, O tender children, As in Bethlehem's crib we see ; Like His feeble, infant wailing, Is the little orphan's plea ; For He said, 'VThe cup of water. In My name, is given Me !" T^he Children s Mass. The Children's Mass. On these blessed Sunday mornings, All the early Masses done, And before, in all the churches. The grand High-Mass is begun ; Comes the Mass for you, my children. Others cannot pass the door ; From the loft peals forth the organ. And the children are the choir. Yes, for you, O happy children, God is in the Host adored. For you His sweet body lifted. For you His sweet blood is poured. All to bring your childhood graces In its hour of special need ; Make you, of the dear child Jesus, Faithful followers indeed. 1 1 6 Isabell. Happy, happy, happy children ! In your Innocence thrice blessed. He who made you, claimed you, saved you. Is become your special guest. Never let us grown-up people Crowd upon the children's Mass ; On their little souls so tender All Its floods of mercy pass : And, O children dear, remember — With it let your young hearts burn — For this special grace and mercy Make your Jesus sweet return. SABELL. I asked a poet, could he tell In his song I loved so well. Something of our Isabell ? IsabelL nj Could he to charmed numbers set This choice bud, with spring dews wet, My heart's child, my violet ? Eyes, I said, which caught their hue. With a mystic transport too. From the sky's high heaven of blue. Blushes, smiles, and winning graces. Ever tempting new caresses. While like sunlight gleam her tresses. Such her beauty's dazzling store -, Yet, O poet, far, far more Is this child to my heart's core. Blush, and smile, and winsome air. But my darling's love declare ; Eyes but mirror soul more fair. Thus as to my heart I press her, In sweet silence I caress her. Praying, " Heart of Jesus, bless her !" 1 1 8 Robin Redbreast. Heart of Jesus, meek and tender. Heart of Mary, O, defend her. Never unto ill surrender, "Jesus ! Mary !" lisping plead Her young lips for daily need ; Jesus ! Mary ! sweetly heed. Robin Redbreast. An early bird is our Robin, bold Rob, The first of the frosty spring, A russet blush on his rounded breast. And sunlight tipping his wing. With a chirp how he hops from bough to bush. And his song how blithe and clear ! Our youngest darling knows Robin Redbreast, The merriest bird of the year. On the sweetbrier bush, just under the eaves. See, Robin has built his nest ; And where is the child with hand so rude As Robin's home to molest ? To Fanny. i 1 9 But mamma will slide the shutter each morn To give a glimpse, on the sly, At the lovely blue eggs by Redbreast laid. In the nest so snug and shy. From the topmost bough of that loftv elm He sings to his mate so dear. And four little robins will Redbreast raise To sing us sweet songs next year. And when the four little robins are fledged^ If our own Robins are good, They shall hear a story of Robin Redbreasts And two dear " Babes in the Wood." Jo p NNY, ON HER FIRST BIRTHDAY, One milestone you have passed alrcadv. Little ladv. On the slippery wav we mortals walk Before we talk. I20 '1^0 Fanny. Many a baby, dearly loved as thou, Has drooped its brow. Closing, with a look of awed surprise, Its beauteous eyes. Lilies were they, under mystic doom Never to bloom This side Heaven -, the while an angel said, " Spare earth this maid." Angel, who thus claimed her for us, lend Yourself her friend ; Unkindly stayed from Heaven, if not to share Your duteous care. Tiny feet to our rough ways unused Are sadly bruised ; Innocence sees not through the disguise Of practised lies. Angel ! take her softly by the hand ; Her foes withstand ; Shield her, with your wings so heavenly bright, From envious sprite. Fido. 1 2 I Win her, by your sweet effectual plea, Security, When death's dark stream and fast At length is past. f IDO. We miss something from the house Which is quiet as a mouse, Miss the chccrv bark and bound. When our well-known footsteps sound On the nicely-gravelled walk. Past the flowering hollyhock. Past the woodbine's clambering vine, Past the sweeter eglantine ; Miss the lifted, shaggy paw Sheathing every dangerous claw. Miss the frisking, joyful race And poor Fido's loving face. 6 1 2 2 Fido. He was always at the door, If not at the gate before, And his innocent caress Gave a moment's happiness When my weary, wayworn feet. Turning slowly from the street. Sought the peaceful, sheltering home Which was P'ido's and my own \ And, though weary, I would bend To salute my little friend, Pat the wagging, tuited head As he to the doorstep led. And declare, no prettier, merrier Dog e'er lived than my Skyc terrier. Now I feel an aching start, P'eel a pain upon my heart, When a happy bark 1 hear And there is no Fido near ; And I think, 1 might have been Kinder even, had 1 then Dreamed this faithful little friend Would so soon his good life end. For Mary and J Til lie, \ 2 j For I cannot now recall One false trick, of this so small Type of fealty and trust, Turning fast to caitli and dust ; And a tear mv eyelids wet, Saying, I will not forget. With both tongue and pen, to praise f/ittle Fido's pleasant ways. Fop^^ Mary and Willie. My dear little kitty, my Tabby so fair, As gay as a feather just dancing in air ! No leopard can boast of more beautiful dyes ; Fhe blue of the sky is the blue of your eyes ; Like four lovely roses your four little paws. And set like sharp thorns are your dainty white claws So faultless in beauty, so artlessly gay, You charm from my heart half its sadness away. Delighted I watch all your innocent wiles. No shadow of malice your beauty defiles ; 24 Piayfeilo ws. Your innocent archness, your delicate grace, With something most human I see in your face, Recalls, with a gentleness dear to my mind. An airy young figure, words have not defined. And dear, as they only are dear, who again Ah ! never will solace our loneness or pain. And now you have come from your frolic and play. And mousing your pretty, light fancies so gay. To curl yourself up for a while on my lap, And close your blue eyes in a soft pussy nap ; While tenderly over your warm little fur, I pass my fond fingers and list for your purr, And think, what a darling, and treasure, and jov. Is our dear little Tabby, so graceful and coy. f LAYFELLOWS. Dash and Nellie were babies together ; Now does not this sound very droll ? For, poor Dash, he was only a puppy, And Nellie, dear child, had a soul. Playfellows, 125 Nellie toddled, while Dash he could scamper, And merrily roll on the floor ; But, their wild frolic happily ended. Both basked in the sun at the door. Nellie's round, tender arm, so confiding. Lay safe on his wide open jaw. And his wise, watchful eyes looked on baby's As if her least wish was his law. If she moved, he moved too, like her shadow ; And when she the truant would play, Dash would pull at her little blue apron As if he to Nellie would say, " Little girl, you know well, never, never Beyond this small gate can we go. And to all disobedient children Come trouble and danger, you know." > Dash has grown to a farm-dog majestic. White collar, and high bushy tail X^hich looks like a white plume in the distance, And makes all intruders to quail. 126 A C^nld's ^estion. And old Dash, too, like every good watch-dog, Keeps guard o'er the household at night, While he welcomes each member returning With gambols, and bark of delight. Our dear Nellie has grown to a school-girl. But still she will make up a plate Of nice fragments, for Dash, her playfellow, Who never would pass the small gate. A Chil-Id's Question. " What is this ?" said little Bertie, Pet and youngest one of all, In his eyes a mighty question, While his hand, so plump and small. Held a crucifix extended — " Bertie knows ; a cross, my dear ;" " Yes," said he, '' but who is on it ?" With a look surpassing fear. A Child's ^lestion. 127 '' That is Jesus Christ, my darling, Jesus, Saviour of the world ;" Still he pondering stood, and wistful. But no word the wish unfurled. Next day came, with sunshine, pastime ; Bertie, darling, just past three, Made the old house ring with laughter. Brought life's sunshine back to me. Flitted in and out the children, By my side, now here, now there ; To their music set my duty. Lent a cadence to my praver. But the wings of the immortal Fledge, while mortal forces sleep, And a question left unanswered Childhood's heart will safely keep. So again mid sunshine, pastime, That poor crucifix he brought, In his st)lemn eyes the shadow Of an awed, adoring thought. 128 ^^ And the Virgin s Name was Mary.'' Pointing with persistent finger To the suffering image dear, " Is that God ?" he asked, in whisper Such as angels bend to hear. Theologians had been cautioned Not to stir, with mysteries dread. Childish wonder or emotion ; " Reason is by reason fed." And that law, unto the letter, Had been kept : " Sweet Christ," I sighed, " Thou art drawing all hearts to thee By thy shame of crucified." II And the Virgin's Name was M.ary, LUKE I, 27. In a pleasant old village of blessed Judea, That beautiful land we all love and revere, Remote from the dust and the sin of the town. In a low, shaded cottage, quite mossy and brown. Lived a pious, meek couple, Joachim and Ann, Beloved of God, tjuite untroubled by man. ^^And the Virgin s Name was MaryT 129 Fresh roses bloomed sweetly around the low door, And lilies bloomed meekly In pots on the floor, But no rose was so sweet and no lily so fair. As the child of their love, the one pearl of their care j So lovely, so gentle, so modest, so chary. And the name of this dear little virgin was Mary, Ah, never a shade of displeasure was seen On the beautiful brow of this virgin serene ; No lamb of the flock so contented and meek, Yet the first blush of morn was less bright than her cheek. And no carol of bird was so sweet, as the tone Of her clear, happy laugh. In her brown cottage home. So tenderly due was the reverence, paid To her parents so dear, by this dear little maid. So willing her feet, and her smile was so gay. When she turned, at their call, from her Innocent play. That never, I deem, were there parents so blessed. As Joachim and Ann, of this treasure possessed. The foam of mid ocean, the snow wreath that curls On the crest of HImmaleh, the ocean's best pearls, I JO Christmas Carol. Are less pure than her thoughts, whose clear white- ness was dim With no shadow of birth and no shadow of sin ; And more precious than incense the prayers that were given, From her innocent heart, to the Father in Heaven. 'Ah, never the name of that virgin I hear. Called " blessed " by angels, to mortals how dear ! But a throb of quick feeling beats strong at my heart And this wish ot my soul to her ear I impart \ O, Virgin so lovely, so modest, so chary. To the child of our hearts be most gracious, sweet Lady, For the name of our dear little treasure is Alary ! Christmas Parol. Have you heard the wondrous story, Bethlehem*s story, sv/eet and old. Of an Infant's raying glory From a manger bare and cold ? Christmas Carol. i j i Bleak the stable, cold the manger, But the " Word made flesh " was seen Bv the shepherds, by the Magi, Radiant, lovely and serene. Icy winds of bleak December Shook the stable, rude and worn ; But the angels well remember Where their King, the Christ was born ; Well remember how His Mother, Mary, Virgin Mother blessed, With a worship like no other Mother, her own babe caressed. Mother's love with adoration. Tender, rapturous, profound — He had come, the world's salvation. And her arms her (jod surround ! We would hasten with the shepherds Through the midnight to adore, Join the Magi's band intrepid. Incense, mvrrh, and ^old in stDre. 132 'The Holy Name of Jesus. Never can a gift too costly Touch the manger's humble shrine ; Never can a gift too lowly, Jesus, touch that throne of thine. On the straw, which made thy pillow. Poverty contented lies ; While our pride, like some spent billow. Breaks against that crib, and dies. Infant Jesus ! Bethlehem's Wonder ! Mary's Babe ! My God ! My All ! By thy manger, can no wanderer Vainly on thy mercy call. The Woly Name of Jesus. Sweet Name, which makes the dying live, Which gives the blind their sight. The source of all my faith, my hope. My safety, my delight ! '•The Holy Name of Jesus. 133 Sweet Name, which cooled the martyr's tire, And o'er each torment new A charm of heavenly comfort shed, A fresh, celestial dew ! Sweet Name, which bids temptation flv. And baffles Satan's power ; What name like thine can bear me up In death's appalling hour ! On Mary's lip, o'er Bethlehem's Crib That Name of sweetness clung. And I can learn its accent best From her transported tongue. O Mary ! teach me to pronounce That Name of names most dear, And softly bend adoring head When Jesu's Name 1 hear. 17'. T^he Anzelus. T" Angelus. Hark ! count the strokes, — three — four — five — six ; Come all my dear children dear, Let us recite the Angelus^ Our Lady's heart to cheer. In cities large and populous, From all the belfries round, Three times a day the Angelus Rings out with joyful sound. Three times a day dear Gabriel's " Hail," The faithful all repeat ; Three times a day " Thy handmaid, Lord !" Our Lady's answer meet. Three times a day " The Word made flesh," Repeat on bended knee. The meekness of redeeming love Adoring reverently. The Angelas, 135 In our dear home, so still and green, There is no belfry near. Whose goodly bell the Angelus Rings out with solemn cheer. But still the house-clock's tuneful stroke At six, at twelve, and six. Should never fail, my children dear, Your wandering thoughts to fix Upon that loveliest mystery Of God's Incarnate Word, Which Alary first, from Gabriel's '^ Hail !", With loving wonder heard. And year by year the Angelus W^ill have a tenderer sound. With something more of heaven within Its mvstcry profound. 136 The Rosary, Jhe f. O^KBJX. Now we have said the Angelus, Will not my children see Who will, with most devotion, say Our Lady's rosary ? And baby, though she cannot tell Her beads, her beads will hold. To learn to love them more than toys. Or pearls, or gems, or gold. Her little serious face bespeaks A gentle, pious mind, And soon the rosy fingers small Will learn the bead to find. In those three Names in which we all Were solemnly baptized, The lovely rosary begins. By saints so dearly prized. The Rosary. 13 Hien " 1 believe ;" and every voice Will make responses clear, While pressing close the crucifix With faith, love, hope, and fear. A sacred mystery belongs To every decade fair. On which we all must meditate With love and studious care. While, bead by bead, " Our Father " first, Then ten " Hail Maries " say, And " Glory to the Father, Son, And Holy Ghost" alway. '' Our Father," as my children know. Is that best form of prayer Our Lord to his disciples gave -, They taught it everywhere. And Gabriel, Archangel bright. The first " Hail Mary " said. When from high heaven with message grand More swift than light he sped. ijS T^he Rosary. That blessed " Hail," like some sweet strain Of music left unsung, Was finished by Elizabeth's Devout, prophetic tongue. And we to their glad " Hail " would add This meekly suppliant cry, " O Mary, pray for us both now And when we come to die." Fifteen mysteries, on fifteen Decades of blessed beads. The Rosary makes : he says it best Who best each mystery heeds. Five joyful mysteries, like five Spring roses, snowy white, Tell of the Holy Infancy Of Jesus with delight. Five mysteries sorrowful, like five June roses, deep, and red. Tell of our Saviour's sufferings, And how for us he bled. First of May. 139 Five mysteries glorious, like five Large roses, tint like gold, The resurrection wonderful And bliss of heaven unfold. The longest life would not suffice, Should we each day recite, To say the beads and ponder all The mvsteries aright. Yet day by day the Rosary Still dearer will become, And lead our thoughts more earnestly To our eternal home. First of May. Songsters on the budding spray Sing, blessed May, blessed May ; Lark and linnet lend your throat ; Robin, too, your clearest note ; To our Lady's month of song Sweetest canticles belonLi. 140 First of May, Rippling rills through woodlands heard, Join your voice with singing bird ; Rivers through the flowery mead Your glad chorus too we need ; To our Lady's month of song Sweetest canticles belong. Round Saint Mary's fair domain, Breezes, breathe a soft refrain ; Fragrant birch and odorous pine Lift your sighs at day's decline ; To our Lady's month of song Sweetest canticles belong. Thankful heart of childhood gay With the birds sing, blessed May •, " Sing with stream and odorous pine Round Loretto's lovely shrine. For to Mary's month of song Sweetest canticles belong. Notre Dame. 14 Notre Dame. Crown her Queen of Ang-els, Queen of Patriarchs too ; Crown her Queen of Prophets, And Apostles true. Crown her Queen of Martyrs, Of Confessors strong ; Crown her Queen of Virgins, Staid and beauteous throng. Of All-Saints we crown her Ever gracious Queen, Aiding mortal struggles With her prayer serene. Crown her, with sweet anthems, Queen of Heavenly Love ; Sweeter songs surround her In the courts above. 142 Mater 'Dei, }kKi:'£.Yi. Dei, Who would our Virgin Lady fitly sing, Must of his heart make lowly offering To that meek Heart of the Incarnate Word, Where love for Mary is most richly stored. Who at that mother's venerable side, With such a duteous silence did preside, Who of her virgin flesh. His flesh did take. Yet not that vase of sweet perfection break \ Who raised to her an infant's pleading cry ; Who at her breast did thirsty lips apply. And in her tender arms contented dwell — That Son can best His mother's praises tell. Not Bethlehem's crib alone or trembling flight To Egypt, lest rash Herod's hand should smite The world's Redeemer, or the worship paid In that small workshop under Nazareth's shade. Mater Dei. 143 Can compass that strange tale of sacred lore O'er which the ages still delighted pore To see, wherever Jesus' self appears, The Virgin Mother smiling through her tears. The miracle by Cana's wedding guest, The Lord vouchsafed at her most dear request ; An act of deference to her began The three years' ministry of love to man. While eager crowds in listening silence hung Upon each word from the Messiah's tongue, In court or temple, or, when pushed from shore. His fisher's boat lay meekly on its oar ; Or in the desert wild to which He fled. Yet turned in pity, breaking first the bread Of life and truth, and then dispensing food Unto the fainting throng which round Him stood. Could Mary of her nation singly stand Unmoved by that attraction, humble, grand. To follow through the dust of field or street The shining prints of those benignant feet ? 144 Mater 'Dei. That tender form, that mantle's virgin grace Which held in softest shade th' adoring face, How often must have met His gentle eye. While Scribe and Pharisee stood carping by ! But as at Bethlehem so on Calvary's height The Mother claimed and won a mother's right ; For she who said, " Behold Thy handmaid. Lord !" As meekly stood beside the expiring Word. O grace of meekness, of humility. Surpassing even her virginity. Which thus would teach a mother's heart to chime With her Redeemer's sacrifice sublime ! Not Mary's woes alone broke Mary's heart ; Of Jesus' " every wound she felt the smart," As that same sinless blood she gave His veins. The rough, hard Cross, and skulls on Calvary stains. Who then would Mary from her Son divide, Would take that faithful Mother from His side, Who kept her watch upon that direful spot Where soldiers on His vesture cast their lot ? Mater Dei. 145 While from the hca\'cns the sun withdrew his head, And riven rocks gave up the " sheeted dead," While stern centurions beat their breasts with fright. His dying eyes above attract her sight. Amid the dreadful gloom, those dying eyes Seek Mary's, and, through agonizing sighs. Of His own Mother He makes sweet bequest ; Of men, through John, disciple, one request. " Thy son, O mother ! Me in him behold ! O son, thy mother take !" O heart most cold Which would to such a mother measure forth Its loving tenderness or sense of worth ! Then, Mary, for my Mother dear I take To cherish evermore for Jesus' sake ; Nor other title crave than that most broad Of Marv, Blessed Mother of mv God ! 146 Ave Maria. Aye Maria Ave Maria ! an angel said, To lowly Nazareth's lowly maid ; Ave Maria ! those accents sweet, My lips with transport oft repeat. For still that name's beloved sound Makes all my happy pulses bound, And still its lingering, saintly charm, I softly shield from loss or harm. Remember, dear, whose blessed name Is your bright privilege to claim. And each remembrance fond shall win Defence from danger, grief, and sin ! A Fancy. 147 /P NCY. Something you may call a fancy Struck my heart again to-day, As I turned, dear Salvadora, Towards mv little shrine to pray ; Pray For dear Salva, did 1 say ? But the fancy I must tell you, For an old Castilian sound Rings, as if from precious metal, When thy name is breathed around ; Spain In its high chivalric reign. And within that fancy hideth Yet another, dearer still ; As love hides its dearest treasures From world's eyes with wondrous skill Blame Not the friend who loves thy name. 148 Regina Virginum, Every morning, every evening, Often through the crowded day, Comes a prayer to soothe my sorrow, Waft my heart to heaven alway ; " Salve ! Salve ! Regina !" thus I pray. " Salve ! Salve !" thus the fancy Fastened on my mind to-day ; " Salve ! Salve !" thus in anthem Prays thy name for thee alway : Pray With thy name, dear friend, this day. Regina Virginum Mary " Queen of Virgins :" Thus we love to call Her who Is, through Jesus, Mother of us all. Regina Virginum. 149 To this '' Qiieen of Virgins" Lilies of the field, As she walked the meadows, Did sweet homage yield. But a sweeter homage Than the lilies even, Can a Christian maiden Yield the Qiieen of Heaven. Thou2;hts whose guarded whiteness With her lilies vie. Hearts whose chaste affections Keep a heavenward eye ; Courage, meekness, patience, Modest look and mien, Win the dearest favor Of our blessed Qiieen. Mary, " Queen of Virgins," Aid us by thy prayer ; Lilies never needed. As we need, thy care. 50 The Lily of the Purification. The Lily of the Purification, Haste for our Lady's feast, dear bud, to bloom, Opening so fresh mid winter's sterile gloom ; Thy petal, virgin white, Unfold for her delight ; With thy still 'prisoned sweets Incense her shrine. Whose odorous prayer entreats Her Son divine ! For this, thy bulb's slow growth I watched for years, While thy broad leaves unsheathed, tipped with strange tears ; From frost protected, and from glaring sun ; And now I see so lovely guerdon won. No mortal sense shall claim thy chaste perfumes — For thee, O Virgin Blessed ! my sacred lily blooms. The Liiy of the Purification. 1 5 i In this pure cup of sweetness, I present My contrite tears, my sighs of banishment ; O win for me her prayer, Who bloomed so rare In Nazareth's garden fair ; O win her prayer, who at ecstatic height Dwells, crowned and beauteous, in that blaze of light Which stuns the archangel's sight ; Tranced in the Eternal Eye Of Triune Deity. With soul assoiled and eyes abashed, I stand. The peerless lily in my trembling hand. Before thy humble shrine, O Virgin most benign : Thou Qiicen of Mercy, hear my contrite sigh ; Commend me to the Majesty on high. Who without spot or stain Did thee, heayen's pearl, retain -, And from my soul's dark mould, with smiles, inyite The lily*s fragrant bloom in more than Eden white. 152 Our Lady of the Angels. Our Lady of the Angels. The roses of summer are faded, quite gone, Not a lingering bud can we see ; But the hedges of autumn are gay in the sun, They are blooming, sweet Lady, for thee. The asters in pomp of variety stand. Where the Golden Rod's sceptre appears. While, low in the meadow, "Our Lady's fringed eye" Is still lifted in beauty and tears. The fairest and freshest from meadow and hedge, On thy altar. Blessed Mother, we lay. For Mary is Queen of the Angels, and we Keep the feast of our Angels to-day. From all the flushed woodlands the songsters are flown. Not a thrush or a robin we hear; But above, in the courts of our Beautiful One, Music ceases not, all the glad year. \ Our Lady's Lilies. 153 O teach us, bright Guardians, that song of delight, Which was ancient when Eden was new, And Mary will offer the praises we sing. In concert, dear Angels, with you. Our Lady's Lilies. You wonder why my tropic lilies thrive, In this small room, this crowded busy hive I call my home, More freelv than beneath thy marble dome ; And then declare Some charm lies in mv touch, or in the air, And this is why my lilies bloom so fair. Sweet friend, the mystery 1 will frankly tell ; Upon it let thy heart one moment dwell : The lilies know. As well as you and I, where they will go, And from the root Their snow-white arrows ever duly shoot. Our Lady's feasts with gladness to salute. 54 Our Lady of the Infirmary. Our Lady's place, her own dear Son beside, Is where her hhes ever choose to bide, And there adore In ecstasy of silence evermore : Their perfumes plead For us, poor pilgrims, in our sorest need, And Jesus must his Mother's lilies heed. Our Lady of the Infirmary, '*Salus infirmoium, ora pro nobis !" All clothed in white the tiny beds Head closely to the wall ; " Our Lady of the Infirmary" Smiles sweetly down on all. The children moan upon their beds, They toss in feverish plight ; " Look up, O weary little ones. And ease your aching sight. Our Lady of the Infirmary. 155 "Upon you all tVom yonder wall Smiles our own Lady dear !" The children gaze in soft amaze. And with a wondrous cheer. The Sister's voice goes mildly on : '' So smiled, that Christmas day, Our Lady as she laid her son Upon His bed of hay. '' The tears stood on her babe's pale cheek- But Jesus as a child Gave back a look of blessedness Whenever Mary smiled. " She smiles on vou, my little ones, Just as she smiled that day On her dear Jesus, as he moaned Li his rough crib of hay. "And who, of all my children dear. Will not a grateful smile Return to Mary, who thus deigns His anguish to beguile ?" 1 5 6 Regina. The suffering faces brightening turned To Mary on the wall, And beams of Bethlenem's cradle love Transfigured each and all. ]^ EGINA, To-day, Our dear Regina was the Qiieen of May ; In her hand A snow-white Lily bearing for a wand, Type to be Of our own blessed Lady's purity: Rose-buds wild. And meadow violets with blue eyes mild. Peeped from the basket of the happy child, P'or to-day Our dear Regina was the Queen of May. Regina. 157 All the unsipped honey of the year Yi'om eglantine, And cdlumbinc, And white clover tufts both far and near, Could but hint the innocent excess Of Reglna's artless happiness : In her hand A snow-white Lily bearing for a wand — Type to be Of our Virgin Mother's purity : Meadow violets, with blue eyes mild, Like our Blessed Lady's, bore the child — Types to be Of our Lady's dear humility : Roses, too. Nursed by vernal rain and vernal dew — Types to be Of our heavenly Lady's charity : For to-day Our dear Regina was the Queen of May. Thus were typified, in childish guise. Heavenly graces, Heavenly mysteries ; 8 Our Shepherd. We may deem our own sweet Lady smiled On the simple pageant which beguiled Life of one short hour of busy care, Winning even pain bright smiles to wear, As forth walked in happy state to-day Our dear Regina, reigning Queen of May. Our Shepherd. To lambs astray o'er mountains bleak How sweet the Shepherd's gracious call ; He cheers the faint, supports the weak, And words of fondness speaks to all. Beneath his bosom's sheltering vest The tenderest of the flock he bears — The helpless ones, above the rest. Divide the Shepherd's patient cares. A Child's ''Requiescat in Pace.'' 159 So welcome, O thou Saviour dear, To contrite souls thv voice benign. Mid sad bewilderments we hear And bless the Shepherd's call divine. Our mournful wounds, our loss, our blame. But make us dearer still to thee. Our helplessness, our sweetest claim, Our merit, Lord, our misery. A Child's ..REquiEscAT in Pace. With the gray dawn's faintest break. Mother, faithfully I wake. Whispering softlv for thy sake, Requiescat in pace ! When the sun's broad disk at height Floods the busy world with light, Breathes my soul, with sighs contrite, Requiescat in pace ! 6o A Tear. When the twilight shadows lone Wrap the home once, once thine own, Sobs my heart with broken moan, Requiescat in pace ! Night, so solemn, grand, and still. Trances forest, meadow, rill \ Hush, fond heart, adore His will ; Requiescat in pace ! / T EAR. A year ! The mother smiled upon her baby ; "See four white teeth have budded out so fair; No longer creeping, like a young explorer He gayly toddles round from chair to chair." Thus jubilant, she smothers with caresses The struggling babe, which crows, and laughs, and cries ; The year, to her, is but another naming Of all the youthful mother's ecstasies. ^he Holy Innocents. i6i A year ! — A stony pallor, a light shudder, A filming of the eye, a pausing breath ; Aghast she stands beside the icy River ! Aghast she meets thee face to face, O Death ! The cold, cold breath, the little heart's last struggle, The eye's last look unutterably fond, The sudden silence, sudden cease of motion — And Death had snapped life's first and holiest bond. The floLY Innocents. Each with its rosy crown The infant martyrs stand ; Each with a tiny palm In its small hand. O little martyred Saints ! How blest above all others Of tender, spotless babes Snatched from fond mothers ! 1 62 T^he Holy Innocents. Not innocent alone, But crowned with that starred merit Which they who win through blood Alone inherit. Ten thousand, thousand tongues Of little children, sing The infant graces meek Of Bethlehem's King. But sweetest must their song Of loving praises sound. Whose blood, for that meek King, Soaked Bethlehem's ground. Within Heaven's shining ranks Of martyrs, grand and old, These babes with rapture strike Their harps of gold. Close by the Lamb they stand ; They follow where He goes ; Who smiles ineffable On them bestows. A GirFs Hymn to St. Agnes, 1 6 1^ O Jesus ! at death's hour With Mary ! Joseph ! send One martyred Innocent To be mv friend ! A GiRL's Wymn to St. Agnes. O Virgin mild, in whose chaste pulses beat All kindly thoughts in maiden pureness sweet, The placid wavings of whose unbound hair All saintly odors heavenward meetly bear. While thy calm hands in guileless pity hold The new-born lamb in thy warm mantle's fold ! O Martyr-saint, who with such mystic vows Didst thy sweet Lord, the blessed Christ, espouse. And thy so lovely limbs with haste invest In bridal garments of celestial test. In fierce, unpitying flames with joy to prove The heroic passion of thy sacred love ! — 164 A Girl's Hymn to St. Agnes. Lo ! I invoke thee, shining from afar, Of maidenhood the dear pecuUar star, Mid all the saintly host whose radiance shines In constellations grand and hallowed signs ; In thy clear light, serenely fair, abide, O Virgin Martyr, Heaven's unsullied bride! For still I deem within thy gentle side, The same chaste heart all kindly doth preside ; And in my soul the same transfigured will Doth lose itself in thy dear Master's still ; And I can feel my maiden sorrows pressed. Like the young lamb, within thy sheltering vest S/. I'eronica. 165 ^x. y ERONICA When on thy direful Passion's direst day, Thou, Jesu dear, didst track thy painful way With sacred blood, which in their reckless ire The maddened thousands tramped in worthless mire, While guards profane and wildly-hooting mob Drowned faithful Magdalene's reproachful sob; Through Roman