i LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 
 
 'f p^S^^srisM |, 
 
 t ^l^e// ,\i2.l^ : i 
 
 ^ UNITED STATES OP AMERICA. | 
 
<-^^\)J 
 
 A LEGEND 
 
 OF 
 
 The White Hills, 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 By MRS. V. G. RAMSEY. 
 
 V 
 
 
 BOSTON: j. 
 PUBLISHED BY D. LOTHROP & CO. 
 
 DOVER, N H. : G. T. DAY & CO. 
 1872. 
 
76iit73 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, 
 
 By D. LOTHROP & CO., 
 
 In tine Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washingtou. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Legend o the White Hills 5 
 
 The Hermit of the Alps i8 
 
 Poems Suggested by the Late War in Our Country. 
 
 Our Country 29 
 
 The Harvest 32 
 
 Autumn Song of 1862 34 
 
 Prayer Meeting of the Contrabands 36 
 
 The South Wind 39 
 
 Be Firm as Steel 41 
 
 The Soldier's Grave 43 
 
 Prayer • 44 
 
 Marian Lee 46 
 
 Mourning 49 
 
 Te Deum Laudamus 50 
 
 Then and Now 52 
 
 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 Midnight Thoughts 55 
 
 The Eleventh Hour 57 
 
 The Heavenly City 60 
 
 The New Year 63 
 
 The Shipwreck 65 
 
 " Watchman, What of the Night? " 67 
 
 The Departing Year , 69 
 
 The Dead Must Not Arise 71 
 
 He that Keepeth thee will not slumber 73 
 
 Night .• 75 
 
 Christ at the Well of Sychar 77 
 
 Hope 79 
 
 The Island of Disappointment 80 
 
 Ruth 82 
 
 The Beggar of Rarotonga 84 
 
 Peace in Believing 86 
 
 Little by Little 87 
 
 What is Life ? 89 
 
 It doth not yet appear what we shall be 93 
 
 The Bereaved 95 
 
 They are Not Lost 96 
 
 Homage to the Dead 98 
 
 Consolation , 100 
 
 3 
 
4 CONTENTS^ 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Spring 103 
 
 Eureka 105 
 
 Watching 106 
 
 " Blessed are the Dead." 107 
 
 The Cross 109 
 
 Glimpses of Heaven 1 10 
 
 The Dead 111 
 
 The Silver Mine 113 
 
 " Follow thou Me." 114 
 
 A Dream 116 
 
 Invocation 119 
 
 What is Truth ? , . 120 
 
 Friends 121 
 
 Thanksgiving 125 
 
 Security 127 
 
 Charity 128 
 
 Autumn 1 30 
 
 Hope in Christ 131 
 
 "What is that to thee?" 133 
 
 Waiting for the Spring 135 
 
 Nature 137 
 
 The Mountaineer Emigrant. ..^ 138 
 
 Who art thou ? 140 
 
 Let us Arise and Build 142 
 
 Lines on seeing the Picture of a Departed Friend 143 
 
 The Bridge of Faith 145 
 
 Christ my Refuge 148 
 
 Spirit of Song 150 
 
 Lady May 151 
 
 Destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah 154 
 
 A Door Opened in Heaven 158 
 
 The Fountain Isle 159 
 
 Summer Morning 163 
 
 The Birds i66 
 
 The Jewish Pilgrim on Mount Olivet 1G8 
 
 Solomon's Choice 173 
 
 Liberty. . . , 174 
 
 Hopes of Youth 178 
 
 In Memoriam. 
 
 To the Memory of Rev. E. Hutchins 181 
 
 To the Memory of William Burr 183 
 
 To the Memory of Mrs. Caroline A. Cheney 185 
 
 To the Memory of a Brother 1S7 
 
 It is Well with the Child 189 
 
POEMS 
 
 3j«<C 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE WHITE HILLS, 
 
 Amid thy hills, New Hampshire, I have strayed, 
 
 And wandered by thy brightly flowing streams ; 
 Have rested in the deep primeval shade 
 
 Of ancient forests, where the struggling beams 
 Of sunlight scarcely pierced the leafy screen 
 
 Above my head ; and when the cuckoo's wing 
 Or squirrel's foot disturbed the silent scene 
 
 With sounds of life, my busy thoughts would bring 
 Back to their ancient haunts the red men bold, 
 And prowling beasts of prey that walked these woods 
 of old. 
 
 Ah, many a wild and spirit-stirring tale 
 
 These rocks and hills, if they could speak, might 
 tell; 
 For deeds of blood, which make the cheek turn pale 
 With horror, have been wrought, where now we 
 dwell 
 
 5 
 
O POEMS. 
 
 In peace and safety ; and these rocks have rung 
 With the wild war-whoop of the savage foe, . 
 And glowed with mournful radiance o'er them flung 
 » From burning homes, where shrieks of mortal woe, 
 Outbursting from the awful tomb of fire, 
 Proclaimed the home was now a family's funeral pyre. 
 
 Let us go back to this historic age, 
 
 And bring a shadowy legend to the light; 
 Snatch from oblivion, and re-write the page, 
 
 Before it disappears from mortal sight. — 
 There is a valley, girt with mountains bare, 
 
 Where once an exile built his cabin walls. 
 Choosing the solitude of nature there. 
 
 Rather than pleasure in his father's halls ; 
 For of a proud and lordly race he came. 
 Who in their annals brooked no shadow on their 
 name. 
 
 But he had left that goodly heritage 
 
 Of wealth and power without a parting sigh ; 
 Deeming it joy beyond the bigot's rage. 
 
 Free as the eagle, 'neath the open sky 
 To breathe the air of heaven, for he had drawn 
 
 That air through dungeon grates, and felt the 
 chain 
 Cankering his weary limbs, while night or morn 
 
 Brought no relief from darkness or from pain. — 
 
A LEGEND OF THE WHITE HILLS. ^ 
 
 Henceforth for him the sunlight was a dower, 
 Passing all earthly gifts of pleasure, wealth, or 
 power. 
 
 And it was much, aye, more than all, to him. 
 
 To bow where none the free and chainless soul 
 Might mock with fetters, in the vast, and dim. 
 
 And pathless woods to hear the thunder roll. 
 To trace the lightning's fiery path, and feel 
 
 The blessed presence of the eternal One 
 Which nature's awful mysteries reveal ; 
 
 To feel, and bless the knowledge he had won 
 From the great Teacher, whose deep voice alone 
 Speaks to the human heart, and makes th' Almighty 
 known. 
 
 But not alone from England's shore he fled ; 
 
 With him a fair and noble lady came 
 To share his forest home. Though gently bred. 
 
 And heiress of a proud and ancient name, 
 A woman's love, a Christian's faith sublime. 
 
 With all a martyr's strength inspired her heart. 
 From home and friends, and from her native clime. 
 
 Not tearless but unmurmuring, to depart ; 
 Joying to cheer the exile's lonely way, 
 Which o'er the pathless deep and through the forest 
 lay. 
 
8 POEMS. 
 
 And sweet that forest home amid the hills, 
 
 Illumed with love, and faith, but deep and lone 
 The solitude ; the low voice of the rills 
 
 Soft murmuring through the glade, the deeper tone 
 Of far-off torrents on the mountain's side, 
 
 And the wild harpings of the faithful winds, — 
 These were their music. Oft at eventide 
 
 They listened to the voices of the pines. 
 As angel whispers, while their own glad song 
 Chimed with the wind and waves which bore its 
 notes along. 
 
 How mightily the voice of nature thrills 
 
 The listening human heart ! Around them there 
 Lay a dim world of shadows, such as fills 
 
 The soul with worship, and constrains to prayer. 
 Through pillared cloister, and through dim arcade 
 
 Of pine-tops woven, as through tinted glass 
 In some old minster's aisle, the sunbeam strayed 
 
 Mellow and beautiful, and, 'mid the grass, 
 Sweet scented flowers, of many a form and hue. 
 Unknown to other lands, beneath their footsteps 
 grew. 
 
 And children came to bless the lonely place, 
 Filling the forest paths with sounds of joy ; 
 
 And all the hopes and honors of their race 
 Seemed centering in their fair and noble boy 
 
A LTLGEND OF TPIE WHITE HILLS. 9 
 
 Ah, well ! Of all the visions which the heart be- 
 guile, 
 The fairest rose around the cradle bed ; 
 And hopes which blossom in an infant's smile 
 Form rosy chaplets round the youthful head. 
 And so they dwelt content ; like those above, 
 Their lives were calm with peace and beautiful with 
 love. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Around them dwelt the Red Men of the wood, 
 
 Trapping the mink, or following the deer 
 Through the dim forest, where the hemlock stood 
 
 Thick as a marshaled host, or o'er the clear 
 Bright waters gliding in their light canoe. 
 
 Singing the songs of peace ; for many a year 
 The war-whoop had not sounded, and they grew 
 
 Familiar with the Pale-face ; wrong and fear 
 No longer stung the demon into life. 
 Whose red hands flung abroad fire-brands of strife. 
 
 Chocorua, chief and prophet of his race, 
 Had built his cabin 'mid the forest trees. 
 
 And with his boy, "the seer with smiling face," — 
 So had he named the child, — he dwelt at ease. 
 
10 POEMS. 
 
 The people still with terror owned his sway, 
 Though from his arm the strength of youth had 
 fled, 
 
 For stronger grew within him day by day, 
 The wild, fierce power they feared, and it was said 
 
 That mighty spirits bowed to his control. 
 
 And to his eyes revealed the secrets of the soul. 
 
 Chocorua loved his child, the fair young boy 
 
 Who shared his wigwam, and the mountain 
 chase; — 
 That love the solitary fount of joy 
 
 In his stern bosom, for of all his race 
 He loved none other. He had seen a son 
 
 Fall by his side in fight, and now he knew 
 That in this child alone the current ran 
 
 Which warmed his own fierce heart, and so he grew 
 To love him with that wild and passionate love 
 Which solitary souls like him alone may prove. 
 
 To Campbell's home, — this was the exile's name, — 
 
 The Indian boy with pleasure often strayed. 
 Bearing them simple gifts of mountain game, 
 
 Which they with beads and blankets well repaid. 
 He loved the mother's sweet and patient smile. 
 
 And voice so soft with tenderness and love. 
 But more the little Mary, winsome child, 
 
 Whom he had fondly named the Blue-eyed Dove ; 
 
A LEGEND OF THE WHITE HILLS. II 
 
 And his chief joy it was to sit for hours, 
 Braiding with her bright wreaths of maples leaves 
 and flowers. 
 
 One day with childish eagerness he drank 
 
 A sweet but deadly potion he had found 
 In Campbell's house, and hastening home he sank 
 
 In mortal agony upon the ground. 
 In vain his father, wild with anguish, tried 
 
 Each medicine and charm, in vain he prayed, 
 And tore his thin gray hair; — the dear boy died! 
 
 And he sank down all powerless and dismayed, 
 Like one by lightning stricken ; not a tear 
 Cooled the hot fires which burned within his bosom 
 drear. 
 
 His blanket wrapped about his head, he lay 
 
 Silent and sullen on the wigwam floor; 
 Scorning complaint, he sternly thrust away 
 
 The hand that proffered' sympathy ; and bore 
 His grief, the while he nursed within his breast 
 
 Fierce thoughts of vengeance, till he seemed to 
 see 
 The lost one's form in every wreath of mist, 
 
 To hear his voice in every murmuring tree ; 
 And deemed that when the wailing wind went by, 
 His spirit, unavenged, reproached him from the sky. 
 
12 POEMS. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 The mellow fruit was falling on the hill, 
 
 The yellow corn was ripening in the field, 
 The wild vine bending o'er the babbling rill, 
 
 'Mid frosted leaves the purple grapes revealed ; 
 The gorgeous maple, in its robe of gold, 
 
 The crimson oak tree, and the sumac red, 
 Amid their fading glories sadly told 
 
 That summer with its warmth and bloom had fled, 
 That all this glow, though fair it might appear, 
 Was but the hectic flush of the decaying year. 
 
 The morning prayer was said, the hymn was sung. 
 
 And from his home the father turned to part, 
 Yet lingered fondly, for around him clung 
 
 His fair young children ; with a full glad heart 
 He turned to bless them, saying, " Ere the sun 
 
 Shall wrap the crimson clouds about his face, 
 And sink behind the hills, my labor done, 
 
 I will return again to your embrace." 
 Oh, came there then no warning on the blast, — 
 No shadow o'er his soul, from the sad future cast? 
 
 The sun was sinking, but his golden beams 
 Still lingered on the hill tops, white with snow, 
 
 Whose shifting shadows rested on the streams 
 And darkenins: forests in the vale below. 
 
A LEGEND OF THE WHITE HILLS. I3 
 
 When, ceasing from his toil, he homeward turned ; 
 
 Treading with cheerful steps the forest path. 
 He climbed a hill, from whence his eye discerned, — 
 
 Not the blue smoke up-curling from the hearth 
 Of his dear home, — but in its place, alas! 
 A dark and lurid cloud, a smoldering fiery mass. 
 
 O God ! the human heart has fearful power 
 
 To suffer and not break ! What woe and fear 
 Were pressed into that agonizing hour ! 
 
 What mute despair, without a prayer or tear, 
 While mid the embers of his ruined home 
 
 He found the burned and mutilated forms 
 Of murdered wife and babes ! The storm had come 
 
 And left him nothing, sweeping from his arms 
 All that he loved, and speechless in his woe. 
 He sat amid the dead and watched the lon^ night 
 through. 
 
 But pass we briefly o'er the funeral rite, 
 
 To which the settlers came from far and near ; 
 Nor strive to tell, what none might tell aright, 
 
 The mourner's fearful anguish o'er the bier. 
 Stern men were there, unused to pitying tears, 
 
 Who wept with him above the sacred sod 
 'Neath which they laid, with solemn hymns and 
 prayers, 
 
 The beautiful to sleep alone with God ; 
 
14 POEMS. 
 
 And, turning from the spot, with ruins spread. 
 They spoke of vengeance dire upon the murderer's 
 head. 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 Scarce dawned the morrow o'er the mountains, when 
 
 A bugle blast rang out o'er rock and rill, 
 And from their log-ribbed cabins, armed men 
 
 Came forth, and gathered quickly on the hill; 
 Among them Campbell, stern and tearless, stood. 
 
 And boldly claimed to lead the little band. 
 " Though all unused," he said, " to scenes of blood, 
 
 Yet mine the wrong, and mine the avenging hand ; 
 And what to me, bereft of every tie. 
 When this day's work is done, remains there but to 
 •die?" 
 
 Brief words sufficed, and through the beechen wood. 
 
 With eager steps they pressed, and gathered 
 round 
 The spot where late Chocorua's wigwam stood, — 
 
 The wigwam lay in ruins on the ground ; 
 And then they knew their subtle foe had fled 
 
 Into the mountains. Thither on his track 
 They moved relentless, following where it led. 
 
 O'er frowning rocks, and precipices black, 
 
A LEGEND OF THE WHITE HILLS. 1 5 
 
 O'er dashing torrents, and through tangled wood, 
 Where white man's foot before ne'er broke the 
 solitude. 
 
 High on a cliff which towered into the sky, 
 
 And overhung a fearful gulf below, 
 They found the Red Man, who with dauntless eye 
 
 Beheld the coming of his ruthless foe. 
 "Leap from the rock," the voice of Campbell cried, 
 
 " Nor wait thy death-stroke from the white man's 
 hand." 
 " Dog of thy people," fiercely he replied, 
 
 *' Know that Chocorua not at thy command 
 Gives back his life to God ; he will not fly. 
 Nor fawn to thee for mercy ; he can proudly die ! " 
 
 A rifle shot was heard ; a fearful cry 
 
 Burst from the Indian's lips, and while the tide 
 Flowed purple from his breast, with flashing eye. 
 
 And hands outstretched, his wrathful words rung 
 wide: 
 " Chocorua had a son, but where is he ? 
 
 The white man slew him when the sun was bright! 
 Not unavenged his spirit cried to me, — 
 
 The white man's home is desolate to-night ! 
 And o'er your homes of perfidy and pride. 
 Know ye, the Indian's curse forever shall abide ! 
 
£6 POEMS. 
 
 "My blood, which falls upon this rock, shall rise 
 
 And cry for vengeance till the just One hear, 
 And He will thunder in the angry skies, 
 
 And shake the mildew on the ripening ear; 
 And ye shall tremble at Chocorua's name, 
 
 For in the tempest ye shall hear his cry. 
 And see his form amid the smoke and flame 
 
 Of burning homes, where wives and children die ! 
 And ye shall fall beneath the Red Man's hand, 
 And wolves shall eat your bones where now your 
 cabins stand ! " 
 
 He died, pronouncing vengeful curses still, 
 
 While flowed life's current to its latest wave ; 
 And there they left him on the lonely hill, 
 
 The prophet of his race without a grave. 
 And it was said that round the fatal spot 
 
 His wrathful form was seen for many a year ; 
 The hunter in the moonlight passed it not, 
 
 But from the angry phantom turned with fear ; 
 And mothers told their little ones with awe. 
 Around the cabin fires, of what their fathers saw. 
 
 And o'er the valley, peaceful once and fair, 
 The terror of that curse was felt to rest ; 
 
 The thunder spoke it on the midnight air, 
 
 The lightning traced it on the mountain's crest ; 
 
A LEGEND OF THE WHITE HILLS. I'J 
 
 Their fields were blighted, and their cattle died, 
 Famine and sickness entered every door, 
 
 Their savage foes the midnight torch applied. 
 
 And stained the peaceful hearth with kindred 
 gore; 
 
 And, shuddering, they confessed in every ill, 
 
 Chocorua's fearful wrath was resting on them still. 
 
 Weary at last in struggling with their woe. 
 
 The sad survivors left the haunted vale, 
 And brambles undisturbed were left to grow 
 
 Where wheat fields late were waving in the gale ; 
 The timid red deer sought the place again, 
 
 And fearless through the lonely valley strayed ; 
 The gray wolf unmolested made her den 
 
 Upon the hearth where children once had played; — 
 Chocorua's spirit walked the hills alone. 
 And desolation claimed the fearful vale her own. 
 
THE HERMIT OF THE ALPS. 
 
 Deep in the shadows of an ancient wood, 
 
 Which o'er Chamouni's vine-clad valley hung, 
 
 A modest chapel, crowned with ivy, stood ; 
 
 And when the mighty Alps their shadows flung 
 Back towards the Orient, and their caverns rung 
 
 With wild, sweet echoes of the evening horn. 
 And vesper bells, a hermit knelt among 
 
 The dewy vines, and oft until the morn. 
 
 The words of fervent prayer were o'er the mountains 
 borne. 
 
 Long had he dwelt in that deep solitude. 
 From human hopes and human strife afar ; 
 
 The mighty mountains, and the solemn wood, 
 The dashing torrents, and the glaciers bare. 
 Were his companions ; and in converse there 
 
 With the sublime and awful, years had flown. 
 Blanching the raven luster of his hair 
 
 To snowy whiteness, and his step had grown 
 
 Too weak to scale the cliffs, yet still he dwelt alone. 
 28 
 
THE HERMIT OF THE ALPS. 19 
 
 Alone, save when the chamois hunter sought 
 
 Beneath his roof for shelter to abide, 
 When on its mighty wings the Fohn-wind =^ brought 
 
 Billows of snow adown the mountain side, 
 
 And from those bold and awful peaks, which hide 
 Their glittering crests amid the clouds on high. 
 
 The avalanche thundered in its ruthless pride, 
 Like an avenging spirit from the sky. 
 Which makes the earth quake as his broad wings 
 sweep by. 
 
 And oftentimes at twilight's quiet hour. 
 The peasant mother at her cottage door 
 
 Talked with her children of that peaceful bower 
 Where dwelt the holy man of wondrous lore. 
 And mighty faith ;• she said the marble floor, 
 
 Whereon he knelt as years had passed away, 
 The impress of his suppliant figure bore ; 
 
 And that oftimes, from early shut of day 
 
 Till morning's dewy dawn, he never ceased to pray. 
 
 She said, the mountain hunters, when they passed 
 That lowly chaplet in the midnight time. 
 
 Heard pealing anthems mingling with the blast, 
 And with the voice of waters, like the chime 
 
 A South-east wind much dreaded among the Alps. 
 
20 POEMS. 
 
 Of many minstrels, glorious and sublime ; 
 And they had seen the wings of angels gleam 
 
 Amid the branches of the oak and pine, — 
 Bright, glorious creatures, whose high home we deem 
 Is in that sinless land, the 'land of which we dream. 
 
 For unto him, through faith and prayer, was given 
 
 A blest and free communion with the skies ; 
 And they had come, those visitants from heaven. 
 
 To cheer him with the songs of Paradise ; 
 
 And they had shown him where the fountain lies, 
 Embosomed in the deep, umbrageous gloom. 
 
 Where gushing water evermore supplies 
 Unfailing health, and an immortal bloom. 
 And they that drink thereof may never fear the 
 tomb. 
 
 A mother thus, beneath the cottage eaves, . 
 
 Talked with her children ; and a stranger old, 
 Sitting in silence 'mid the dewy leaves. 
 
 Heard with deep thought the wondrous tale she 
 told j 
 
 His form unbent was of a princely mold, 
 His forhead ample 'neath his locks of gray, 
 
 His eye, un dimmed by years, was dark and bold ; 
 Yet in its troubled depths a shadow lay, 
 As if the soul were oft to anxious thoughts a prey. 
 
THE HERMIT OF THE ALPS. 21 
 
 A traveler he, whose weary feet had trod 
 
 Those spots of earth most glorious and renowned ; 
 
 Awed and transported, he had worshiped God 
 On Etna's fiery summit, when the ground 
 Heaved like the sea, and in the depths profound 
 
 The earthquake muttered ; from Olympus' hight 
 Had looked upon the sunny vales around. 
 
 Where every laurel leaf, and wavelet bright, 
 
 With busy murmuring tongues told of departed 
 might. 
 
 And he had wandered by the rolling Nile, 
 Where Pharaoh's daughter with her maidens stood, 
 
 And mused upon the wondrous tale the while. 
 How once that pure and silvery flowing flood 
 Was changed to waves of black and putrid blood ; 
 
 How darkness like a mantle wrapped the land 
 Which lay in mourning 'neath the wrath of God ; 
 
 How fiery tempests swept at His command, 
 
 When Moses' arm stretched forth the wonder work- 
 ing wand. 
 
 And he had borne against the Paynim hosts 
 The sacred banner of the Crucified ; 
 
 Had seen the Holy City won and lost. 
 
 And on Mount Calvary, where the Saviour died, 
 
22 POEMS. 
 
 Had heard profane and jeering lips deride 
 The Christian's faith, the while from Zion's hight, 
 
 The Moslem's crescent banner waved in pride; 
 And blest Moriah, once the temple's site, 
 Lay in its ruins, sad, profaned and desolate. 
 
 The woman ceased, and, rising from his place. 
 
 The stranger gazed with keen and anxious eye 
 On the dim mountain side, as if to trace 
 
 Some object which amid the shadows lay ; 
 
 Then seized his pilgrim staff and turned away. 
 " Adieu," he cried, 'T seek that wond'rous wave 
 
 Whereof thou speakest ; ere another day 
 Fades into night, in that bright fount I'll lave 
 My lips, where they who drink no more may fear the 
 grave." 
 
 "Oh, stay," the woman cried, "till morning dawn, 
 By needful rest thy weary limbs prepare 
 
 To climb the rugged path ; " — but he was gone, 
 And gazing long she saw him disappear 
 Amid the shadows darkly gathering, where 
 
 The dashing Arve flows through the flowery vale; — 
 On, on he passed, while o'er the valley fair, 
 
 And mountain's craggy side, the moonbeams pale, 
 
 And coldly beautiful, lay like a silvery veil. 
 
THE HERMIT OF THE ALPS. 2$ 
 
 Still on he passed, across the dewy glade, 
 O'er shivered rocks and precipices steep, 
 
 O'er foaming torrents whose wild voices made 
 Strange music with the winds, o'er ravines deep, 
 Starting the chamois from his midnight sleep. 
 
 And the lone mountain eagle from her nest 
 Amid the dark and beetling cliffs, which keep, 
 Like faithful sentinels who never sleep, 
 
 Eternal watch and ward around the mountain's 
 breast. 
 
 And when the morning ope'd her gates of gold. 
 And o'er the snowy peaks her banner flung, 
 
 The goatherds drove their flocks from out the fold. 
 And with glad sounds the mountain caverns rung, 
 As prayers were said and matin hymns were sung ; 
 
 And then with joy the weary traveler heard 
 The hermit's voice of prayer the vines among ; 
 
 Listening with awe to every solemn word. 
 
 The long closed fount of tears within his heart was 
 stirred. 
 
 The prayer w^as done, and at the hermit's feet 
 He bowed in reverence on the dewy ground ; 
 
 " Father," he said, "here joy and wdsdom meet. 
 And peace with lily hand thy brow hath crowned. 
 
24 POEMS. 
 
 Wandering in vain, no rest my soul liath found, 
 Though she hath sought it 'mid all earthly things ; 
 
 But like a captive eagle, caged and bound. 
 She beats her prison bars with weary wings, 
 Yet dares not break her chains, and to her fetters 
 clings ! 
 
 " Weary and worn, oh, let me dwell with thee 
 
 In the cool shadows of this quiet bower ! 
 I fain those angel visitants would see 
 
 Whose anthems soothe thee through the midnight 
 hour ; 
 
 Yet now, O father, grant this gracious dower; — 
 Conduct me where those healing waters flow. 
 
 Show me the blessed fount whose waves have 
 power 
 Immortal youth and vigor to bestow. 
 For still I would not die, though weary of life's woe." 
 
 " Arise," the hermit said, and laid his hands 
 
 Upon his feverish brow with gentle care ; 
 " Behold my humble door wide open stands. 
 
 And thou art welcome to my modest fare ; 
 
 My couch of leaves and loaf of bread I'll share 
 Gladly with thee, if thou wilt here abide. 
 
 And let thy heart, so sick of earth, prepare 
 To lay each human hope and fear aside. 
 And know God's peace was ne'er to contrite souls 
 denied. 
 
THE HERMIT OF THE ALPS. 2$ 
 
 " Thou fain would'st see those angels shining bright, 
 Who sing to me the harmonies of heaven, 
 
 And make these bowers Hls:e Eden, with the light 
 Of their white pinions, through the quiet even 
 And solemn night; know then to thee 'tis given 
 
 To win their ministrations, blest indeed. 
 Till every care is from thy bosom driven. 
 
 And God's best angel. Peace, shall gently spread 
 
 Her wings, distilling balm, above thy weary head. 
 
 "They err who deem those children of the skies, 
 Whose glorious presence blessed the earth of 
 yore. 
 
 Forever hence departed ; mortal eyes 
 
 May trace their footsteps on the sod no more, 
 Nor see the robes of heavenly light they wore, 
 
 Gleaming amid earth's shadows, and the ear 
 May never listen to the songs they pour 
 
 Over their golden lyres ; yet are they here. 
 
 And blest is he whose soul can ever feel them 
 near. 
 
 "Think not that to this mountain bower alone 
 The blessed come ; where'er by faith and prayer 
 
 The struggling soul looks upward to the throne 
 Of infinite compassion, they are there ; 
 
26 POEMS. 
 
 Their wings unseen shed odors on the air 
 Of dungeon cells, and many an aching head 
 
 Sleeps on an angel's bosom, when the bare 
 Cold stones alone might seem to be its bed, — 
 Sleeps sweet and dreams of heaven, though earthly 
 hopes are fled. 
 
 "The pure and holy, when the spirit's eye 
 Opens by faith divine, have power to see, 
 
 As Jacob saw them from the Syrian sky. 
 Descending to the earth, and blest is he 
 Whose soul exalted holds communion free 
 
 With high and sinless natures ; earth may pour 
 Her woes upon his head, yet they shall be 
 
 Present to hold his hands, and lead him o'er 
 
 Life's dark and billowy sea to th' fair celestial shore. 
 
 "Thou seek'st amid this mountain solitude 
 The spring of life. That sacred fountain lies 
 
 Deep hidden with the Lord ; but souls endued 
 With heavenly wisdom feel its waters rise, — 
 A stream forever flowing from the skies, — 
 
 Within their bosoms, holy, pure and deep. 
 
 Know thou, the soul thus nourished never dies ; 
 
 But while the form of dust with dust may sleep. 
 
 O'er heaven's high battlements its chainless wing 
 shall sweep." 
 
THE HERMIT OF THE ALPS. 2/ 
 
 With awe and wonder wrapped, the stranger heard 
 The hermit's holy teachings, "Let me dwell 
 
 With thee," he cried; "thy words my heart have 
 stirred 
 With new and holy hopes ; I bid farewell 
 To all erewhile my soul hath loved too well. 
 
 My spirit burns for converse with the high 
 And holy ones of whom I hear thee tell, 
 
 And pants to taste those waters from the sky; 
 
 God's hand shall ope the fount while at His feet I 
 lie." 
 
POEMS 
 
 SUGGESTED BY THE LATE WAR IN OUR OWN COUNTRY. 
 
 3>»4< 
 
 OUE COUNTRY. 
 
 Written in the Spring of i86 2\ 
 
 One year ago, aroused by muttering thunder, 
 And the loud murmurs of the tempest nigh, 
 
 The nation half arose from careless slumber, 
 And cast a look into the troubled sky. 
 
 Too sweet the sleep upon her couch of roses. 
 Too soft the strains the wily syren sung, 
 
 Nor moved she freely m.id the golden fetters 
 
 Which ease and mammon o'er her limbs had flung. 
 
 "There yet is peace," she said; "this muttering 
 thunder 
 Will die away on the horizon's rim ; 
 Like morning mists these stormy clouds will scatter, 
 Our noonday radiance they can never dim." 
 29 
 
30 POEMS. 
 
 With folded hands, to dream of peace and pleasure, 
 She closed her eyes amid the dangers dire, 
 
 And the pale flame on her unguarded altar 
 Flared like a taper ready to expire. 
 
 But lo ! a startling peal ! the bolt had fallen ! 
 
 She woke to see her banner in the dust, 
 To hear from distant shores derisive laughter, 
 
 And shouts of joy from traitorous lips accursed. 
 
 Awake at last, her golden fetters riven. 
 
 Her flowery wreaths dashed down, erect and tall 
 She stands, and like the clear notes of a clarion, 
 
 Rings through the land her startling battle call. 
 
 From wave-swept Maine, to where the gold fraught 
 waters 
 
 Of Sacramento mingle with the seas, 
 The fires of freedom burn on every hill-top. 
 
 The star-wrought banner floats on every breeze. 
 
 From every mart where wealth and commerce gather. 
 From every hamlet, every home and hearth, 
 
 A voice is heard like that of many waters. 
 Swept by the mighty tempest in its wrath. 
 
 My country, they had deemed thee blind, forsaken 
 Of pride and honor, said thy heart was cold, 
 
 Thy suffering long for cowardice mistaking. 
 Thy love of brotherhood for love of gold. 
 
OUR COUNTRY. 3 1 
 
 But lifting up to heaven thy hands unshackled, 
 And baring for the strife thy royal brow, 
 
 The wondering nations say, "Not dead, but sleeping; 
 The soul of Seventy-six is stirring now." 
 
 Aye, now as then lift up a glorious banner. 
 
 Inscribed with God's own truth, that man is free ; 
 
 Strike for the right, with heart whose fiery pulses 
 Leap to the bondman's shout of liberty. 
 
 Rise to the great occasion, all transcending 
 Of history past, which makes thy action fate ! 
 
 To-day God gives thee power to bless or ruin, 
 And on thy voice the coming nations wait. 
 
 In this the dread hour of the prophet's vision. 
 When good and evil meet for final strife, 
 
 Dream not for thee alone the fight is waging, — 
 Greater the hazard than a nation's life. 
 
 Lifting thy hand for justice and for freedom. 
 The hosts of God will join thee in the fi.ght, 
 
 Honor and glory guard thy starry banner. 
 And crown thee with a diadem of light. 
 
THE HAEVEST. 
 
 Rev. XIV. 14-20. 
 
 The flaming scroll of prophecy before us is unrolled, 
 And we behold the harvest time by ancient seers 
 
 foretold ; 
 We see the coming of the Lord, His fateful sword 
 
 revealed, 
 And read the mysteries of His word to other ages 
 
 sealed. 
 
 We've seen the angel on the cloud, the sickle in his 
 
 hand, 
 And from Jehovah's temple heard the stern and 
 
 dread command, 
 " Thrust in the sickle now, and reap the harvest ripe 
 
 and hoar, 
 And gather in the unflailed grain upon the threshing 
 
 floor." 
 
 And from the altar of the Lord another angel cries, 
 " Gather the grapes, for we must press the wine of 
 
 sacrifice ; 
 The vine is ripe, oh, spare it n.ot, but thrust the 
 
 sickle in, 
 And to the teeming wine-press bear the clustering 
 
 fruit of sin." 
 
 32 
 
THE HARVEST. 33 
 
 O God ! Thy angels do not wait, but over all the 
 
 land 
 They move with never wearying feet and unrelenting 
 
 hand ; 
 The sickles gleam in every field, the sickles bright 
 
 and cold, 
 With stern, unpitying eyes they reap, and bind the 
 
 sheaves untold. 
 
 The evil vine hath borne its fruit, from seed ac- 
 cursed grown. 
 
 The purple grapes of sin are ripe, we reap as we 
 have sown ; 
 
 And now the angels crowd the press, but fruit of 
 such a vine 
 
 Gives only streams of crimson blood instead of lus- 
 cious wine. 
 
 Father in heaven, we bow to Thee, and say, "Thy 
 will be done;" 
 
 Finish the work in righteousness which Thou hast 
 now begun ; 
 
 And while the angels press the grapes which give 
 us blood for wine, 
 
 Oh, bid the angels boldly strike the root of the ac- 
 cursed vine. 
 
AUTUMN SONG— 1862. 
 
 The summer has departed, birds and flowers 
 
 Which graced her gorgeous train, with her have fled; 
 
 And Autumn sits amid the fading bowers, 
 A mournful queen surrounded by the dead. 
 
 No more the harvest fields are glad with singing, 
 As 'mid the golden grain the sickle shines. 
 
 Nor shouts of laughter, through the vineyards ringing, 
 Tell when the children strip the loaded vines. 
 
 But low winds through the shuddering trees are sighing, 
 The sere leaves rustle to the passer's tread. 
 
 And to the darkening sky the earth, replying, 
 Whispers of music gone and beauty dead. 
 
 Yet 'tis not this which fills our souls with sadness, 
 And wrings these tears of anguish from our eyes, 
 
 For well we know that Spring returns the gladness 
 Of blooming fields and softly genial skies. 
 
 But ah ! the hopes have from our lives departed. 
 Which made them bright and joyous as the 
 Spring; 
 
 There is an Autumn for the broken hearted, 
 To which the rolling years no blossoms bring. 
 
 34 
 
AUTUMN SONG 1862. 35 
 
 Through all the Spring-time, and the Summer's 
 glory, 
 Through all these Autumn hours, so sweetly 
 grand, 
 Death has been reaping, not the harvest hoary. 
 But oh ! the hope and blossom of our land. 
 
 The life-blood of the nation is out-flowing; 
 
 The rivers bear it to the stormy main ; 
 Our strength and glory, loves and hopes are strew- 
 ing 
 
 Like worthless clods the gory battle plain. 
 
 Ah, well we weep these tears of bitter anguish. 
 But nature takes no note of all our woe : 
 
 Still with majestic steps that never languish. 
 Nor pause for us, the seasons come and go. 
 
 And though the stream of life, with mighty surges. 
 Dashes and breaks against the rocks of fate. 
 
 Though all the air is moved by funeral dirges, 
 
 And hearts are sick with grief or hot with hate, — 
 
 Yet still th' immortal pulse forever beateth 
 Sublimely calm through all her mighty frame ; 
 
 And day to night and night to day repeateth, 
 
 Through all our changes, " God is still the same." 
 
THE PRAYER MEETING OF THE CON- 
 TRABANDS. 
 
 Night unfurled her sable banner, gemmed with many 
 
 a starry ray, 
 Silence, too, her gentle sister, followed where the 
 
 shadows lay ; 
 Weary men were calmly sleeping, men who in the 
 
 conflict dire. 
 Through the anxious hours of daylight, wrought with 
 
 hearts of fire. 
 
 Wearily the watchful sentry paced beneath the for- 
 tress wall. 
 Musing how the land was troubled, how the brave 
 
 and good must fall ; 
 Thinking that perhaps his mother, in the home so 
 ! far away, 
 
 i Kept the lamp at midnight burning while she waked 
 j to pray. 
 
 Then he turned his head to listen, for the strange 
 
 notes of a song, 
 On the silent air of evening, rose with cadence full 
 
 and strong; 
 
THE PRAYER MEETING OF THE CONTRABANDS. 37 
 
 Many voices, wild yet mournful, mingled in its plain- 
 tive flow, — 
 This the burden of the anthem, " Let the people go." 
 
 How Jehovah led His people safely through the 
 
 parted wave, 
 When the mighty host of Pharaoh 'mid the billows 
 
 found a grave ; 
 How the cloud and fiery pillar went before them 
 
 night and day. 
 And the Angel of His presence ever led the way. 
 
 Thus they sang, and Israel's story seemed like a 
 
 prophetic strain. 
 As their voices rose triumphant in the loud and bold 
 
 refrain, — 
 "Let the people go; no longer we can bear this 
 
 weight of woe j 
 God will break the chains which bind us; — let the 
 
 people go ! " 
 Ceased the song, and yet the sentry paused another 
 
 song to hear ; 
 Words of praise and earnest pleading fell upon his 
 
 listening ear; — 
 " We have waited, still are waiting," cried the voice, 
 
 "O God! how long 
 Ere Thou ope the house of bondage, ere Thou crush 
 
 the wrong ? " 
 
325 POEMS. 
 
 Then they sang of Christ arisen, of that land beyond 
 
 the grave, 
 Where no master stern and haughty in God's 
 
 presence holds a slave ; 
 Still the choral notes triumphant answered every 
 
 closing strain, — 
 "Let the people go! for Jesus soon will break our 
 
 chain." 
 
 Then the holy calm of silence fell upon the midnight 
 air. 
 
 Over tent, and tower, and bastion, lay the moon- 
 beams cold and fair; 
 
 Yet the wakeful sentry listened, slowly pacing to and 
 fro. 
 
 For he heard a voice still crying, "Let the people 
 go!" 
 
 Over city, town and hamlet, over mountain, plain and 
 
 glen, 
 Rang the wild notes like a war-cry, bursting on the 
 
 hearts of men ; 
 And he knew that God was speaking, as He spake 
 
 so long ago. 
 When he said to haughty Pharaoh, " Let the people 
 
 go." 
 
THE SOUTH WESD. 
 
 Written after the Battle of Bull Run. 
 
 I STOOD beneath the oak tree's shade, 
 
 The South Wind kissed my brow, 
 And with its breezy pinions swayed 
 
 Each trembling bough ; 
 And the green leaves shivered as in fear; 
 What did they hear? 
 
 It wooed with soft cartssing touch 
 
 A lily bright and fair ; 
 She laid her sweet lip in the dust, 
 
 As if in prayer ; 
 It passed, and the rose-tree bowed full low 
 
 Her buds of snow. 
 
 "Tell me," I cried, "thou gentle wind. 
 
 Beloved of leaf and flower, 
 Why does the lily bow her head 
 
 In her leafy bower? 
 Why do the green leaves thrill with fear? 
 
 What do they hear ? " 
 
 39 
 
40 POEMS. 
 
 Then like a mourner sobbing low, 
 
 It whispered in mine»ear, — 
 "No more I bring them sounds of joy, 
 
 But woe and fear; — 
 No more the fragrant breath of flowers 
 
 From sunny bowers. 
 
 " For I have swept o'er a gory field 
 
 Where the dead unburied lie ; 
 Where the cannon's crash and bugle's blast 
 
 Have rocked the sky; 
 Where groans and shrieks of wild despair 
 Have rent the air. 
 
 " And echoes of ihese fearful sounds 
 
 To leaf and flower I bring, 
 The cannon's foul and sulphurous breath 
 
 Is on my wing ; 
 And nature shudders where I pass — 
 
 Alas! alas!" 
 
"BE FIKM AS STEEL.' 
 
 These were the last words of Capt. J. M. Jones, who fell storming the 
 defenses of Fredericksburg ; and to his memory the following is inscribed. 
 
 With arms all ready, and hearts of fire, 
 
 We stood on the barren shore, 
 Watching our banners beyond the stream, 
 
 And listening the cannon's roar. 
 The heart of the earth beneath our feet 
 
 Seemed beating against its bars. 
 And the sun, enwrapped in a cloud of smoke. 
 
 Looked red as the planet Mars. 
 We thought of the homes we might see no more, 
 
 We thought of our nameless graves ; 
 But calmly we stood by the sullen stream 
 
 And watched th' empurpled waves ; 
 For we heard our leader's voice anon, 
 Clear as a bugle's peal, — 
 " Be firm as steel ! " 
 
 Over the bridge, when the word was given, 
 
 We moved like a festal train ; 
 Over the bridge, 'raid the hissing shells. 
 
 And the shower of leaden rain : 
 
42 POEMS. 
 
 On through the streets of the burning town, 
 
 We marched to the fatal strife, 
 For we knew full well the stake that day 
 
 Was a nation's precious life. 
 On where the cannon plowed the field. 
 
 And mowed our ranks like grain, 
 We pressed, till the dead and dying were heaped 
 
 Like sheaves on the harvest plain ; 
 For we heard that voice, 'mid the crash of arms, 
 Clear as a bugle's peal, — 
 ''Be firm as steel!" 
 
 Up to the fiery lips of the guns 
 
 We pressed, till their sulphurous breath 
 Fell hot as flame on our burning cheeks, 
 
 And we knew that their hiss was death; 
 But we smiled in their teeth, for we felt that day, 
 
 It was better to die for the right, 
 Than to live in a country riven and torn. 
 
 And cursed with slavery's blight. 
 It was then we saw our leader fall, 
 
 And our faces were blanched with fear ; 
 But we heard his voice, ere 'twas lost in death, 
 
 Loud as a trumpet and clear; — 
 We heard it above the battle's roar, 
 
 As our columns began to reel, — 
 "Be firm as steel!" 
 
THE SOLDIEE'S GRxiVE. 
 
 To the memory of Capt. Henry H. Ayer, who fell on the i6th of May, 
 near Dmrr's BluS, Va.. and w-as buried by his friends on the battle-field 
 before their hasty retreat. 
 
 With faithful hearts that would not leave the form, 
 So loved and honored, neath the foeman's tread, 
 
 They paused amid the battle's awful storm, 
 To find a refuge for the honored dead. 
 
 While bugle notes were sounding wild and free, 
 And charging columns shook the field of death, 
 
 They made his grave beneath a forest tree. 
 Whose leaves were trembling in the cannon's 
 breath. 
 
 rhey smoothed the pillow where his head might rest, 
 Nor sounds of battle ever reach his ear ; 
 
 And piled the crimson turf upon his breast, 
 Which never more might thrill with hope or fear. 
 
 And then, with eyes which found no tears to weep. 
 
 Amid the horror of that direful day, 
 They left him to his long and dreamless sleep, 
 
 And turned with heavy, aching hearts away, 
 
 43 
 
44 POEMS. 
 
 Martyr of freedom, though no marble tell 
 To future years how nobly thou hast died, 
 
 Yet will thy country guard thy memory well, 
 And bless the spot thy blood has sanctified. 
 
 And though the hearts, which now in anguish break, 
 May never pour their tears above thy grave, 
 
 Yet will kind nature gently, for thy sake. 
 
 Plant sweetest flowers around the spot to wave. 
 
 And when the day shall come, the glorious day, 
 That Peace and Liberty walk side by side. 
 
 Then shall the ransomed nation proudly say, — 
 " This is the boon for which our heroes died." 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 Overwhelmed amid the billows, 
 
 On the dark and stormy sea. 
 
 Drifting helpless, in our anguish. 
 
 Lord, we look to Thee ! 
 
 In this hour of need extremest. 
 When all other hope is fled, 
 Speak, as thou didst speak to Peter, 
 Say, " Be not afraid." 
 
PRAYER. 45 
 
 Thou hadst mercy on the mother 
 
 Mourning helpless o'er the bier, 
 Leading back her lost and loved one 
 From the gate of fear. 
 
 Thou didst share the sisters' anguish, 
 
 Weeping o'er a brother's grave, 
 Asking but that they believe Thee 
 Able still to save. 
 
 Thou didst make the few loaves many 
 
 For the fainting multitude. 
 Feeding them, though vile and thankless. 
 With divinest food. 
 
 Look on us, O eyes of pity ! 
 
 See, our sons and brothers die ! 
 Hear the wail of hungry orphans, 
 Hear the widow's cry ! 
 
 Thou hast in this cup of trembling 
 
 Mingled every sorrow dire ; 
 And our pallid lips are pressing 
 Out the dregs of fire. 
 
 Thou, O Crucified and Risen ! 
 
 Thou art touched with mortal woe ; 
 Keep the bruised hearts from breaking. 
 Stay the tears that flow. 
 
46 POEMS. 
 
 Let us feel Thy gracious presence ; 
 
 Make us feel that Thou art near ; 
 Guide us, as Thou didst our fathers, 
 Through these hours of fear. 
 
 Send an Aaron, heaven-appointed ; 
 
 Send a Moses, meek and wise ; 
 Set the pillar that shall guide us, 
 In the stormy skies. 
 
 If we perish unbelieving, 
 In the waves or on the sand. 
 
 Let a Joshua lead our children 
 To the promised land. 
 
 MARIAN LEE. 
 
 It was Spring, and the blossoming maple was gor- 
 geous with crimson flowers, — 
 
 The maple, in every season a prince in the woodland 
 bowers. 
 
 The silvery sprays of the birch tree their flickering 
 
 shadows threw 
 O'er the bank where the purple violet and pale clay- 
 
 tonia grew. 
 
MARIAN LEE. 47 
 
 It was Spring ; in the deepening twilight they walked 
 
 by the restless sea, 
 And he said, with his arm around her, " I love you, 
 
 sweet Marian Lee. 
 
 ** And now, when my country calls me, and I go to 
 the field of strife. 
 
 Remember, my love, that I love you dearer and bet- 
 ter than life. 
 
 " And when in the evening twilight you hear the 
 
 sound of the wave. 
 Believe that my spirit is with you, though I sleep in 
 
 a soldier's grave." 
 
 They parted beneath the oak tree which stands by 
 
 her father's door, — 
 Alas ! for its verdant branches will wave o'er their 
 
 heads no more ! 
 
 Alas ! on the shore of that river whose waters ran 
 
 red to the sea, 
 He fell where the bravest were fighting, and died 
 
 'neath the flag of the free. 
 
 Looking up, as a comrade bent o'er him, he mur- 
 mured, " Tell Marian Lee, 
 
 I only have passed on before her ; I will wait for her 
 over the sea." 
 
48 POEMS. 
 
 Sweet Marian sat by the casement; the flowers of 
 
 the Summer were dead, 
 And the north wind w^as mournfully rustling the 
 
 leaves which the oak tree had shed. 
 
 She said, " He has passed on before me, he waits on 
 
 the opposite shore ; 
 I would the pale boatman were coming to carry me 
 
 speedily o'er ! " 
 
 Nor waited she long in her sorrow. One night, when 
 
 the wind on the sea 
 Swept the billows ashore in its fury, she was dying, 
 
 sweet Marian Lee. 
 
 She heard the sound of the ocean as it fretted and 
 
 moaned on the strand, 
 And she whispered, " My love, I am coming ; the 
 
 angels are holding my hand." 
 
 He sleeps by that sorrowful river, once red with the 
 
 blood of the brave, 
 And she, where the snows of winter are drifting over 
 
 her grave. 
 
MOURNING. 
 
 Written on the Death of the Lamented President Lincoln. 
 
 A CLOUD of sorrow rests o'er all the land ; 
 
 And while we mourn our proudest hopes laid low, 
 We bow, O God, beneath Thy mighty hand, 
 
 Which mingles in our cup its joy and woe. 
 
 The dark and silent shadow of the tomb 
 Sweeps over earth and sky, so lately fair. 
 
 And sobs are heard amid the gathering gloom, 
 And cries of woe which rent the quiet air. 
 
 The orphaned nation, hopeless in her grief. 
 Sends up her wail beside the open grave. 
 
 So soon to hide the father and the chief. 
 Whose hand hath led her tiiroigh the Red Sea's 
 wave. 
 
 But he hath graved his memory on the page 
 Of a great nation's history, and the blaze 
 
 Of his all-radiant life hath crowned the age 
 With light and glory for all coming days. « 
 
 49 4 
 
5° POEMS. 
 
 O God ! We thank Thee 'mid our bitter tears, 
 For the great benison of such a life ; — 
 
 A name which ever through the coming years 
 Shall nerve the patriot through the hour of strife. 
 
 Toll mournfully, O solemn funeral bell, 
 And give a voice to our unuttered woe ! 
 
 No more the nation's joy and triuxnph tell, 
 
 But speak of hopes that fail and tears that flow. 
 
 TE DEUM LAUDAMUS. 
 
 Was e'er the summer sky so wondrous fair 
 
 With such celestial blue ? 
 Was e'er so balmy sweet the evening air? 
 
 So briG:ht the mornini^ dew? 
 
 "&' 
 
 Has e'er the sunset shown such glorious dyes 
 
 Since Eden's gates were barred, 
 And the lost exiles saw with weeping eyes 
 
 The flaming angel guard ? 
 
 O'er all the land, so lately drenched in tears, 
 
 A new-born glory lies ; 
 The peace which angels know in other spheres 
 
 Has filled our stormy skies. 
 
TE DEUTVI LAUDAMUS. 5 1 
 
 The birds, which draw their music from the strains 
 
 Of the celestial choirs, 
 Repeat sweet echoes of the great refrains 
 
 They sing to golden lyres. 
 
 The wind, which sweeps from the eternal hills, 
 
 Bears incense on its wing ; 
 The mighty ocean and the murmuring rills 
 
 A holy anthem sing. 
 
 Benignly through the blue ethereal bars 
 
 The moon looks from the sky ; 
 And o'er the marshaled hosts of God-poised stars 
 
 We gaze with raptured eye. 
 
 From yonder sunset clouds, heaven's open door, 
 
 God's blessing comes anew. 
 Steals o'er me from the far celestial shore 
 
 With healing like the dew. 
 
 I bare my forehead to the blessed air, 
 
 Sweet as the breath of flowers, 
 And all my heart goes out to God in prayer 
 
 And praise for these sweet hours. 
 
 I thank Him that no more the sulphurous breath 
 
 Of battle fills the skies ; 
 No longer gleams the fiery sword of death 
 
 Before our aching eyes. 
 
$2 POEMS. 
 
 I thank Him that no more in all the land 
 Is heard the clank of chains; 
 
 But Peace with Liberty walks hand in hand 
 O'er all our sunny plains. 
 
 THEN AND NOW. 
 
 Written December, 1S65. 
 
 One year agone, the shadow of the tomb 
 
 On every hearth was flung, 
 The cloud of battle, red with fires of doom, 
 Wrapping the earth and sky in rayless gloom, 
 
 Above the nation hung. 
 
 The winds of winter fanned the camp-fire's flame, 
 
 O'er swept the fields of strife, 
 And crept through prison pens- — O grief and 
 
 shame ! — 
 WTiere starving men, with fainting, shivering frame, 
 
 Struggled in vain for life. 
 
 With anxious fears, in wild and wintry nights, 
 
 We spoke with bated breath 
 Of those who watched upon the stormy hights, 
 Of those who struggled in the desperate fights. 
 
 Or pressed the fields of death. 
 
THEN AND NOW. 53 
 
 And when the snow lay drifting round our door, 
 
 "Alas! alas!" we said, 
 "Perhaps our dearest sleeps to wake no more, 
 Or, wounded, bleeding, now the snow drifts o'er 
 
 His unprotected head ! " 
 
 But now a sword hangs idly on the wall 
 
 With no more work to do ; 
 A silent rifle resteth in the hall ; 
 And he who bore them long, — oh, best of all, — 
 
 Sits here with me and you. 
 
 Oh, golden peace ! Oh sweet and blessed calm I 
 
 Our deadly strife is o'er; 
 To Him who kept us mid the wild alarm, — 
 To Him who helped us with His own right arm, — 
 
 Give thanks forevermore I 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 MIDNIGHT THOUGHTS. 
 
 " The heavens declare the glory of God." 
 
 The night has come, the calm and wondrous night, 
 And all the heavens are decked with gems of light; 
 Arise, my soul, lift up thy wondering eyes, 
 And mount the golden stairway of the skies. 
 
 Go up beyond the clouds which dim thy sight, 
 And, standing on the far celestial hight, 
 Survey the spheres that circle round the sun. 
 And mark the mighty orbits where they run. 
 
 Still on, and on, — what hights above thee rise! 
 Explore the mysteries of the midnight skies ; 
 And, standing on yon dim and distant star. 
 See other orbs appearing dim and far. 
 
 Weak child of earth, I strive to rise in vain ! 
 Weary and sad, my soul sinks back again, 
 And cries, "O God, of thine infinity, 
 How small a part our mortal eyes may see ! " 
 
 55 
 
56 POEMS. 
 
 I see yon star; — the ray which meets mine eye 
 Has sped for centuries through the pathless sky, 
 With aim unerring, with the lightning's pace, 
 Crossing the bleak, unfathomed gulf of space. 
 
 The ray which, leaping from that urn of light. 
 This hour begins its mighty earthward flight, 
 Shall meet the human eye when mine no more 
 The wonders of the universe explore. 
 
 I see yon fleecy clouds of faintest light, 
 A pearly wreath upon the brow of night, 
 So faint and far, that, to a mortal's eye, 
 'Twere scarcely missed if blotted from the sky. 
 
 Yet there, they tell me, lies a phalanx deep 
 Of glorious suns and worlds, whose mighty sweep 
 And mazy dance no mortal thought has traced, 
 No eye but the Omnicient's e'er embraced. 
 
 And 'mid yon brooding mist which flecks the sky, 
 They say new worlds are growing 'neath His eye j 
 That He above the mighty forces stands. 
 And forms the spheres like atoms in His hands. 
 
 I hear a vast transcendent song of praise, 
 The mighty hymn which grateful .worlds upraise, — 
 The hymn which 'mid the whirling spheres has hung 
 Since first the mornin<r stars together sung. 
 
THE ELEVENTH HOUR. 57 
 
 And I have power to swell that wondrous song, 
 And through the universe its notes prolong; 
 To join with holy angel's while they sing 
 Hosannas to the great and glorious King. 
 
 For He is mine, — my King and Saviour too, 
 And I've a song which angels never knew ; * 
 
 And none should sing, of all who dwell above, 
 Like those v»^ho tell of His redeeming love. 
 
 For all His glory 'mid the rolling spheres 
 Not half so wondrous as His grace appears; 
 And not so loud should be their hymn of praise 
 As that new song which ransomed sinners raise. 
 
 THE ELEVENTH HOUE. 
 
 "And about the eleventh hour He went out and found others standing idle; 
 and He saiih unto them, Why stand ye here all the day idle? " — Matt. xx. 6. 
 
 Still He calleth ! Still he calleth I 
 Saying, "Wherefore idly here 
 
 Stand ye, while the sun, declining, 
 Warns you night is near?" 
 
58 POEMS. 
 
 In the morning, while the dew-drops 
 Sparkled in the rising beams, 
 
 Knocking at my door, He roused me 
 From my idle dreams. 
 
 Then He showed me how the vineyard 
 Fruitless and neglected lay, 
 
 And He bade me go and labor 
 Through the coming day. 
 
 But I said, " The hours of morning 
 Not to care and toil belong ;• 
 
 I will walk amid the roses 
 With the idle throng." 
 
 So I sought the bowers of pleasure, 
 Careless of my Lord's command; 
 
 But the thorns amid the roses 
 Pierced my eager hand. 
 
 When the morning dew had vanished. 
 And the earth was hot and dry, 
 
 Parched beneath the noontide radiance 
 Of the cloudless sky ; 
 
 Then He called me, and I answered, 
 "I must rest amid the flowers, 
 
 W^here the shades lie thick and coolest. 
 Through these sultry hours." 
 
THE ELEVENTH HOUR. 59 
 
 Feverish sleep on poisoned pillow 
 Brings no peace to heart or brain j 
 
 So the rest which I had chosen 
 Gives me only pain. 
 
 Now the cool and lengthening shadows 
 
 Warn me of the setting sun j 
 Pinched with hunger, naked, homeless, 
 
 All my work undone. 
 
 Still He calls me ! Still He calls me ! 
 
 Will this latest hour suffice ? 
 This poor remnant of a life-time 
 
 Will He not despise ? 
 
 Then, oh, teach me how to labor. 
 
 That, when this brief toil is o'er, 
 I may come not empty-handed 
 
 To the Master's door. 
 
 When the sheaves which they have gathered, 
 Homeward all His servants bring, 
 
 And the harvest hymn of triumph 
 Holy angels sing ; 
 
 Then may I, though latest, poorest. 
 
 Bring an offering to His feet, 
 And, with thanks for most forgiven, 
 
 Make the joy complete. 
 
THE HEAVENLY CITY. 
 
 Rev. XXI. 
 
 Midnight clouds of deepest darkness 
 Wrapped the earth and veiled the sky, 
 
 And the howling winds of Autumn 
 Swept in fury by. 
 
 Not a star or struggling moonbeam 
 Pierced the dense and raylcss gloom, 
 
 And the taper glimmered faintly 
 In my lonely room. 
 
 Thus, while all was dark and silent, 
 Visions passed before my sight, — 
 
 Visions of that holy city, 
 Beautiful and bright. 
 
 Oh, what wonders ! Mortals never 
 
 Such a city here behold, — 
 Gates of pearl, and walls of jasper. 
 
 Streets of shining gold. 
 
 There was neither tower nor temple, 
 Peasant's cot nor princely hall, 
 
 But the glory of the Highest 
 Overshadowed all. 
 60 
 
THE HEAVENLY CITY. 6 1 
 
 Such a glory ! Noonday splendor 
 
 Were as midnight to the blaze ; 
 Yet* as mellow as the moonlight 
 
 Were the golden rays. 
 
 How those battlements of crystal 
 Flamed beneath that flood of light! 
 
 Speechless and amazed I saw it, — 
 'Twas a glorious sight; — 
 
 And those massive pearly portals, 
 
 Glowing, flashing as they swung, 
 O'er whose wide and open entrance 
 
 Rainbow arches hung. 
 
 Through those golden streets a river 
 
 Bright as liquid silver flowed. 
 O'er whose bosom, like a mirror. 
 
 Forms of glory glowed. 
 
 Christ, the Lord of life and glory. 
 Showed His face benignly sweet; 
 
 Souls redeemed and holy angels 
 Worshiped at His feet ; — 
 
 Worshiped with such songs as never 
 
 From the lips of mortal fell. 
 So divinely sweet and soothing 
 
 Was the anthem's swell. 
 
62 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Every wave of that bright river 
 With their golden harps kept time, 
 
 Distant tones, as of an organ, 
 Mingling with the chime. 
 
 Breathless and entranced I listened, 
 While those sweet notes o'er me stole, 
 
 Melting, thrilling, as they glided 
 Through my inmost soul. 
 
 Then the vision paled and melted, 
 Gates of pearl, and jasper wall, 
 
 Angel bands, and crystal river, — 
 They had vanished all. 
 
 But I wept for very gladness. 
 That e'en here 'twas given me, 
 
 Mid earth's sorrows and temptations, 
 Aught so fair to see. 
 
 Still the memory of that city 
 Draws me upward like a spell; 
 
 Then I hope among the angels 
 Evermore to dwell. 
 
 Blessed city, death his pinions 
 Never o'er its streets unfurls. 
 
 And the shadowy night descends not 
 On those gates of pearls. 
 
THE NEW TEAIl. 
 
 Alone, alone; amid the gathering gloom 
 I hear soft whispers to my soul addressed; 
 
 Bright wings are folded in my lonely room, — 
 I have an angel guest. 
 
 But hark ! the clock strikes twelve ; another wave 
 Hath broken on the dim eternal shore; 
 
 Another year descends into the grave 
 With those which come no more ! 
 
 And now the angel's hand removes the seal, 
 And opens wide a volume old and vast; — 
 
 Ah me ! are these the pages which reveal 
 The history of the past ? 
 
 And he, who with the never wear}^ing hand. 
 
 Hath traced the sad but deathless record there, 
 
 Closes the latest page, and seems to stand 
 Waiting the coming year. 
 
 How lies the history of my own brief years, 
 
 Recorded in unfading lines of light, 
 Each liidden sin, each secret thought appears 
 
 To my astonished sight. 
 63 
 
64 POEMS. 
 
 Childhood with all its sunny smiles appears, 
 The brighter dreams, the deeper sins of youth, 
 
 The broken vows, the sad repentant tears. 
 Life's falsehood and its truth. 
 
 And is this all, kind angel, is this all ? 
 
 Where are the noble deeds, I fondly thought 
 In life's bright morn, ere this, at duty's call, 
 
 My hands had surely wrought ? 
 
 Where is the record of the victories won. 
 The high and holy purposes attained, 
 
 The self-consuming labors nobly done. 
 The precious guerdons gained ? 
 
 Alas ! alas ! Of three score years and ten, 
 Life's little span, already half are gone ! 
 
 Come back to me, ye squandered years again, 
 Ye golden hours, return ! 
 
 With sad, reproving eye the angel stands. 
 Pointing adown the dimly coming years ; 
 
 "Cease, mortal, cease," he cries, "thy vain demands. 
 And dry thy fruitless tears. 
 
 "The past returns not, and the future lies 
 
 Enwrapped in clouds, unfathomed and unknown ; 
 
 Seize then the present moment ere it flies, 
 This only is thine own. 
 
THE SHIPWRECK. 65 
 
 " Let earnest thougiits and noble deeds alone 
 Fill up the record of the coming years ; 
 
 So for the past thy future shall atone 
 More than repentant tears." 
 
 THE SHIPWEECK. 
 
 O VAST and treacherous Sea ! 
 How many hearts lie hushed beneath thy waves ! 
 How many hopes are buried in the graves 
 
 Deep, deep with thee, with thee ! 
 
 Upon the tranquil main 
 A bark went forth, by gentle breezes fanned. 
 Where, where are they, that brave and generous 
 
 band? 
 
 They come not back again ! 
 
 The wife, with tearful eye. 
 Hath watched their coming through the midnight 
 
 hours, 
 And 'mid the fading of the Autumn bowers. 
 
 And 'neath the wintry sk3^ 
 
66 POEMS. 
 
 The mother for her son 
 Asketh in vain, with many prayers and tears ; 
 The fair young child a look of mourning wears, — 
 
 O Sea, what hast thou done ! 
 
 Hast thou, in scornful play. 
 Dashed that fair ship upon a rock-bound strand? 
 Or in the ocean whelmed it, far from land? 
 
 O mighty Ocean, say ! 
 
 Was it amid the gloom 
 Of fearful midnight clouds, and wrathful waves, 
 White lipped, and howling from their ocean caves, 
 
 They heard the voice of doom ? 
 
 Brave, faithful hearts were there, 
 Hopeful and calm amid the billowy strife, 
 To whom unclosed the gates of endless life. 
 
 In that dark night of fear. 
 
 And know, thou mighty Sea, 
 Strong and triumphant in thy fearful power. 
 The God who rules thee hath ordained an hour 
 
 When thou shalt yield thy prey. 
 
 Then from the vaulted sky 
 Th' archangel's voice shall call the sleeping dead, 
 And they we mourn shall leave their watery bed, 
 
 No more, no more to die ! 
 
WATCHMAN, WHAT OF THE NIGHT? 
 
 The sky is black with many a cloud, the earth is 
 
 wrapped in gloom, 
 And distant thunders mutter loud dire prophecies of 
 
 doom; 
 Strange spectral forms around me glide, of sin and 
 
 darkness born ; 
 They haunt me through these midnight hours, — 
 
 Oh, when will it be morn ? 
 
 These mournful, wandering, midnight winds, in mur- 
 murs sad and low. 
 
 Are whispering to my weary soul, of crime, and want, 
 and woe; 
 
 Dread secrets of the fearful night their ghostly lips 
 unfold, — 
 
 How long, O watchman, ere the morn will ope her 
 gates of gold? 
 
 This darkness presses on my soul, it is so dread and 
 
 deep. 
 And through these long and weary hours a sleepless 
 
 watch I keepj 
 
 67 « 
 
6S POEMS. 
 
 With aching eyes I wait to see the first faint dawn- 
 ing ray; 
 
 watchman, tell me of the night, and when will it be 
 
 day ? 
 
 Hark! hark! I hear the watchman cry, "E'en now 
 
 the shadows flee, 
 And, flashing up the starless sky, the rising sun I 
 
 see ;" 
 
 1 hear a voice whose trumpet tones have pealed crea- 
 
 tion through, — 
 "Rejoice, O ransomed earth, rejoice, for I make all 
 things new ! 
 
 " Full long the land and sea have groaned beneath a 
 
 weight of woe ; 
 Full long have death and darkness reigned, no more 
 
 shall it be so ; 
 Earth's bosom, dressed in Eden bloom, and bathed 
 
 in fragrant dew, 
 Shall smile beneath the morning sun, for I make all 
 
 things new." 
 
THE DEPAETING YEAE. 
 
 The sad departing year 
 Glideth away from earth with noiseless wings; 
 Oh, could we see the record which it bears 
 
 Up to the King of kings ! 
 
 It came with gifts of love, 
 The snows of Winter and the Spring's soft showers, 
 The songs of happy birds in every grove, 
 
 The sisterhood of flowers. 
 
 It brought the Summer sun. 
 Ripening the fields of yellow waving grain, 
 Perfecting what the vernal rains begun 
 
 On every hill and plain. 
 
 It poured th' Autumnal horn, 
 And plenty hovered o'er with angel smile. 
 While singing reapers bound the golden corn. 
 
 And children laughed the while. 
 
 It came with days of grace ; 
 Each in itself a gem of price untold, 
 And dropping one by one, with solemn pace. 
 
 And finger still and cold. 
 69 
 
70 POEMS. 
 
 It pointed to the sea, — 
 That shoreless sea where endless ages roll j — 
 That dread and fathomless eternity 
 
 To which it bore the soul. 
 
 Its mission is fulfilled ; 
 Sadly and silently its latest hour 
 Stealeth away; — my soul is awed and thrilled 
 
 By its relentless power ! 
 
 Oh, whither hath it flown ? 
 And whither hath it borne me in its flight ? 
 Upward on angel pinions towards the throne, 
 
 The realm of joy and light? 
 
 Or downward, like the stream 
 Which bears the trembling bark to the abyss, 
 Where one wild plunge dissolves the idle dream 
 
 Of safety and of bliss ? 
 
 Awake, my careless soul ! 
 With solemn awe receive the coming year j 
 Let no vain hopes thy wayward thoughts control, 
 
 Eternal things are near ! 
 
THE DEAD MUST NOT AEISE. 
 
 Rev. Mr. Moffatt preached before Makaba, an African King. His 
 •words produced no effect till he spoke of the Resurrection, when the King 
 exclaimed, " The words of a resurrection are too great to be heard. The 
 dead can not arise ! The dead must not arise ! " The missionary inquired 
 why he refused to hear of a resurrection. Rising, and stretching out his arm, 
 which had been strong in battle, he cried, " I have slain my thousands ; shall 
 they arise ? " 
 
 The sun looked down from his throne on high, 
 
 On a parched and sultry plain, 
 Where the burning rays from his glowing eye 
 
 Fell like a fiery rain. 
 Drying the bed of the mountain stream. 
 
 And withering the unripe grain. 
 
 Around were the tents of savage men, 
 
 A nation wild and rude, 
 Who follow their foes with bitter hate, 
 
 And smile in the midst of blood ; 
 More fierce are they than the beasts of prey 
 
 Which roam in their native wood. 
 
 But a son of peace had sought their land. 
 
 With a message from above ; 
 And lo ! he stands with outstretched hands 
 
 To tell them of heavenly love ; — 
 That love which molds the savage heart 
 
 To the meekness of the dove. 
 71 
 
72 POEMS. 
 
 Strange words are these upon his lips, — 
 
 Strange words to a savage ear; 
 He is telling them of the mighty God, 
 
 Whose awful voice they hear 
 When the lurid lightning rends the clouds, 
 
 And the thunder shakes the sphere. 
 
 He tells them too of the Holy One 
 
 Who left His throne on high, 
 To dwell with man, to share his woes, 
 
 And for his sin to die. 
 That He might raise the ruined race 
 
 To a home beyond the sky. 
 
 The melting story of Jesus' love 
 
 Unmoved the savage hears ; 
 The mercy of God inspires no joy. 
 
 His wrath awakes no fears ; 
 And the stranger's words, like an idle tale, 
 
 Fall on his listless ears. 
 
 But see, they start, and each sable face 
 
 Is upturned with anxious eye ; 
 He is telling them now of that awful day 
 
 When the dead, who slumbering lie. 
 Shall leave their graves, and the mighty Judge 
 
 Descend from the parting sky. 
 
HE THAT KEEPETH THEE WILL NOT SLUMBER. 7$ 
 
 "What words are these?" the Chief exclaims, 
 " I would hear these words no more, 
 
 For they pierce my heart with a pang of fear 
 Which it never felt before ; — 
 
 Say not that the dead will leave their graves, 
 When the days of earth are o'er. 
 
 " My arm is strong, and many a foe 
 Have I pierced on the battle plain. 
 
 They sleep secure in the desert sands. 
 And they must not rise again ; 
 
 For how shall I stand with my bloody hand 
 'Mid those whom I have slain?" 
 
 "HE THAT KEEPETH THEE WILL NOT 
 SLUMBEE." 
 
 Mourner, with the tearful eye. 
 
 Watching through the hours. 
 While the gathering dew-drops lie 
 
 On the half-shut flowers j 
 When no kindred heart is near. 
 
 In thy grief to share, 
 Then upon his watchful ear 
 
 Falls thy silent prayer. 
 
74 POEMS. 
 
 Who the midnight vigil keeps 
 Round thy bed; — God never sleeps. 
 
 Sailor, on the troubled sea, 
 
 When the night is dark, 
 And the winds, with pinions free, 
 
 Sweep thy trembling bark ; 
 When amid the quivering shrouds 
 
 Lurid lightnings fly. 
 And the thunder rends the clouds, 
 
 Upward raise thine eye j 
 Look to Him who holds the deep 
 In His hand ; — God does not sleep. 
 
 Captive, writhing in thy chains 
 
 Through the long, long day, 
 And while silent midnight reigns, 
 
 Waking still to pray. 
 Or, if sleeping, in thy dreams 
 
 Visiting thy home. 
 Where beside the silvery streams 
 
 Thy companions roam, — 
 Freedom cometh, cease to weep. 
 He who guards thee does not sleep. 
 
 Homeless wanderer, from whose heart 
 
 Earthly hope has flown. 
 Who hast seen the loved depart, 
 
 Leaving thee alone ; 
 
NIGHT. 75 
 
 Earth may hold no joys to come, 
 
 Sorrowing child of care ; 
 Look above, thy Father's home 
 
 Still is bright and fair ; 
 Waiting thee, the angels keep 
 Watch with Him who does not sleep. 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 I BLESS thy coming, melancholy Night, 
 
 With all thy gloom thou 'rt welcome unto me ; 
 Weary with toil, and the excess of light, 
 
 My spirit yearns for thee. 
 Oh, wrap thy curtains round me like a veil, 
 And let me rest amid thy shadows pale. 
 
 The morn is lovely, when the East unfolds 
 
 Her flaming portals to the king of day, 
 Who like a giant treads his path of gold. 
 
 And rolls the shades away ; 
 And noon is glorious with a flood of light, — 
 'Tis glorious, but it pains my weary sight. 
 
76 POEMS. 
 
 Solemn, majestic Night, to thee I turn. 
 
 Give me to breathe thy fragrance, while the dew 
 Lies cool and sparkling in the violet's urn, 
 
 And in th' unfathomed blue ; 
 Those shining worlds the Mighty Hand hath strewn 
 Pursue their course around th' eternal throne. 
 
 And bowing in thy presence, let me hold 
 
 Communion with thee, O thou wondrous Night ! 
 Thy glories and thy mysteries unfold 
 
 To my undazzled sight ; 
 Shine on me with thy stars, and let me feel 
 The joy of silence o'er my spirit steal. 
 
 The leaves are thrilled as by the touch intense 
 
 Of angel fingers, and the breeze goes by, 
 Bearing a murmur of that land from whence 
 
 No tones to ours reply. 
 O mystic Night, hast thou the solemn spell 
 Which opes the unseen world where spirits dwell? 
 
 Ah, then to me that wondrous realm disclose; — 
 
 My spirit pines for its communion high ; 
 Give me to taste the fellowship of those 
 
 Blest children of the sky, — 
 To know them near, to feel their sweet control, 
 Silent and gentle, stealing o'er my soul. 
 
CHRIST AT THE WELL OF SYCHAR. 77 
 
 With such companionship I fain would dwell 
 
 Afar from earthly care and human strife, 
 Learning with joy the wondrous truths they tell, 
 
 Of their unfailing life ; 
 Listing the blissful songs of heavenly spheres, 
 Which float around unheard by other ears. 
 
 CHEIST AT THE WELL OF SYCHAK. 
 
 'TwAS summer, and the fervid midday sun 
 Shone hot and cloudless ; panting 'neath his beams, 
 The flocks and herds had sought the deepest shades 
 Beside the brooks of water, where the leaves 
 Of the long willow boughs hung soft and still 
 Over the glassy pools, whose crystal depths. 
 Unruffled by a zephyr, mirrored back. 
 Clearly and beautifully, each stem and leaf. 
 
 Athirst and weary, by the ancient fount 
 Where Jacob led his flocks in olden times. 
 The Saviour sat, and waited for the twelve 
 Who in th' unfriendly city sought for food. 
 
 They came, and on the turf with loving care 
 Before their Master spread the humble meal, 
 
78 POEMS. 
 
 And, wondering much that He, so faint with toil 
 And hunger, tasted not the welcome fare 
 They kindly bade Him eat ; but He had food 
 They knew not of, — such food as angels eat ; 
 For, while they tarried, He had gently shed 
 Light on the pathway of a 'wildered soul ; 
 And this had been His meat, — such heavenly meat, 
 That while He feasted His worn frame had grown 
 Strong with immortal vigor, and His brow, 
 Radiant with love divine, had cast aside 
 All shade of mortal weakness. 
 
 Thou whose eyes 
 Grow dim with ceaseless weeping, and whose heart 
 Is sick with sorrow, lift thine aching head 
 From out the ashes; there is joy for thee; 
 For thou may'st share the Master's gracious work, 
 And in that work partake the wondrous bliss 
 Which filled His holy heart ; so shalt thou feel 
 The willow wreath unwinding from thy brow. 
 The sackcloth falling off, and, clothed with praise, — 
 The glorious garment which He giveth thee, — 
 Thou shalt be strong to bear the nooday sun. 
 The midnight storm and darkness ; and the spring 
 From which thy hand shall roll the stone away 
 For other weary pilgrims, shall burst forth 
 In streams of everlasting light for thee. 
 
HOPE. 
 
 On a deep and dangerous ocean sails my trembling 
 
 bark, 
 Where the winds are wildly sweeping, and the waves 
 
 are dark. 
 
 Yet though tempests round me gather, and the thun- 
 ders roar. 
 In my heart a fount of pleasure springeth evermore. 
 
 Hopes too great for mortal utterance, dreams I may 
 
 not tell. 
 Like the presence of an angel in my bosom dwell. 
 
 What to me this stormy ocean, and this troubled sky? 
 Just beyond, and half revealed, realms of glory lie. 
 
 There I hope to anchor safely when the voyage is 
 
 o'er. 
 For a Pilot, wise and gracious, guides me evermore. 
 
 'Mid the threatej^ing rocks He guides me, when the 
 breakers foam, 
 
 O'er the quicksands darkly hidden, towards my glo- 
 rious home. 
 
8o POEMS. 
 
 Glorious home, — no earthly region can with it com- 
 pare ; 
 Summer hath not half its beauty, Spring is not so fair. 
 
 O'er the azure of that heaven storm-clouds never 
 
 sweep, 
 And the sinless, happy dwellers never, never weep. 
 
 Shall I tremble when the tempest drives me towards 
 
 that shore? 
 Rather let a song of triumph rise the billows o'er ! 
 
 Every wave but beats me onward, let them rise and 
 
 sweep, 
 For I know that He who guides me does not tire or 
 
 sleep. 
 
 THE ISLAND OF DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 Far away in the ocean there's a beautiful isle. 
 Where the bright waters flash and the sunbeams 
 
 smile, 
 Where birds with fair plumage pour their songs on 
 
 the breeze. 
 And the cocoa and bread-fruit grow ripe on the trees. 
 
 * Commodore Byron discovered and named this island. He says they saw 
 the ripe b'-ead-fruit and smelled the flowers, but found it impossible <■© laud. 
 
THE ISLAND OF DISAPPOINTMENT. 8 1 
 
 And far o'er the waters, the fragrance of flowers 
 
 Is borne on the winds from those ne'er fading 
 
 bowers ; 
 And the sailor's heart leaps with a thrill of delight, 
 When he sees its green hill-sides and rivulets bright. 
 
 And fain would he rest in those spice-scented 
 
 bowers, 
 And fain would he breathe the breath of the flowers. 
 And fair to his eye is the fruit on the trees, 
 And sweet are the sounds that are borne on the 
 
 breeze. 
 
 But alas for his hopes ! his feet may not stand 
 
 By the bright gushing streams of that rock-guarded 
 
 land; 
 For the black cliffs are round it, a battlement proud, 
 Where for ages the waves have been moaning aloud. 
 
 How saddened the heart of the sailor must be, 
 As he turns to depart from the isle of the sea ; 
 Far away o'er the waves, he will think of its streams, 
 And oft will its beauty revisit his dreams. 
 
 And so, in life's journey, some bright sunny spot 
 Charms our hearts with a beauty which ne'er is 
 
 forgot; 
 But vainly we struggle and grasp at the prize, 
 Unapproached, yet before us, like that island it lies. 
 
RUTH. 
 
 " And Ruth said, Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from followmg 
 after thee ; for whither thou goest I will go, and where thou lodgest I will 
 lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God." — Ruth i. i6. 
 
 Thine is a deathless fame, 
 Daughter of Moab ; thou with willing feet 
 Didst turn thee from thy people's idol shrines, 
 To seek a shelter 'neath the shadowing wing 
 Of Israel's God. 
 
 Were there no yearnings deep. 
 No bitter pangs within thy woman's heart. 
 When thou didst bid thy native land farewell, 
 And turn away from those familiar paths. 
 Where thou hadst grown beneath the watchful eye 
 Of sweet maternal love ? How didst thou nerve 
 Thy soul to meet thy gentle mother's tears. 
 Thine aged father's stern reproachful words. 
 The cold and bitter taunts of those who said 
 That thou wast mad to leave thy nation's gods. 
 And wander forth into a distant land. 
 With that poor, friendless woman whom thou call'dst 
 With deepest love, thy mother ? 
 
 God, who saw 
 The purpose of thy heart, did strengthen thee 
 82 
 
RUTH. 83 
 
 In that stern trial, as He ever does 
 The weak and tempted ; watching o'er thy path, 
 And waking in thy heart deep thoughts of joy 
 Even when thy way was darkest. 
 
 'Mid the sheaves, 
 When thou didst rest at noon, perchance thy heart 
 Held sweet communion with the mighty One, 
 When Israel's promised King should bless the earth 
 With endless joy and peace. And didst thou dream, 
 My gentle sister, that His holy Name 
 With thine would be entwined? — that Judah's kings 
 Should spring from thee, and through thine honored 
 
 race, 
 The Lion of the tribe should yet appear ? 
 
 Thine is an honored name. 
 Daughter of Moab ! Would our hearts might burn. 
 Like thee, to turn from country, wealth, and friends. 
 Counting them all but loss, that we may win 
 The favor of our God. 
 
THE BEGGAR OF RAEOTONGA. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Williams relates that, in the island of Rarotonga, he was 
 saluted by a poor cripple who had lost both his hands and feet by leprosy. 
 Finding him well informed in regard to the truths of the gospel, and knowing 
 he had never been in the place of worship, the missionary inquired how he 
 had obtained his knowledge. He replied, *' As the people return from the 
 church, I sit by the way and beg a bit of the word as they pass. One gives 
 me one piece, and another another piece, and I put them together in my heart; 
 and by praying to God to make me know, I understand a little of His word." 
 
 On a sunny island, in a distant sea, 
 
 Sat an aged beggar 'neath a cocoa tree ; 
 
 Health and friends had left him, sick and poor was he. 
 
 Through the long bright hours of the Sabbath day, 
 'Neath the cocoa's shadow loved he well to stay. 
 Like blind Bartimeus, sitting by the way. 
 
 Towards the house of worship many feet went by. 
 Every step he followed with an anxious eye, 
 And a prayer to Heaven, wafted with a sigh. 
 
 Not for bread or water, not for gems or gold, 
 Not for home or shelter, asked that begger old, 
 But for richer treasures, of a price untold. 
 
 And he watched their coming from the house of 
 
 prayer. 
 Begging every passer for a little share 
 Of the heavenly manna he had gathered there. 
 84 
 
THE BEGGAR OF RAROTONGA. 85 
 
 Maidens young and gladsome, chieftains old and 
 
 gray, 
 'Neath the cocoa's shadow lingered on their way. 
 Telling him the story they had heard that day; — 
 
 Telling him of Jesus and His loving care, 
 
 How He died to save us, how He hears our prayer. 
 
 How He reigns in heaven, and will bring us there; — 
 
 How the graves will open and the dead will rise, 
 When the Judge descendeth from the vaulted skies, 
 Sommoning the nations to the great assize. 
 
 While the beggar listened to the tale they told, 
 Hoarding every sentence as misers hoard their gold. 
 Floods of light and glory o'er his spirit rolled. 
 
 He, the poor and friendless, was an heir of Heaven ; 
 Clouds of gloom and darkness from his soul were 
 
 driven ; 
 Light and hope and joy in their place were given. 
 
 Nations, like that beggar sitting by the way. 
 Lift their eyes imploring for the light of day ; 
 On their darkened spirits falls no quickening ray. 
 
 Haste the clouds to scatter, ye who have the light, 
 Poor the noontide radiance on their longing sight. 
 Till the earth's broad bosom glows with floods of 
 light. 
 
PEACE IN BELIEVING. 
 
 The night was dark ; the stars, as if in sadness, 
 
 Withdrew their silvery light ; 
 My heart was dark, no golden gleams of gladness 
 
 Illumed its solemn night. 
 
 I heard faint echoes of the joys departed, 
 
 Which never, never more 
 Return to bless the sad and broken-hearted. 
 
 Whose days of hope are o'er, 
 
 A dread and awful presence seemed to press me 
 
 In the unfathomed gloom ; 
 Low murmuring voices in the void distressed me 
 
 With whispered words of doom. 
 
 Then all my sad and weary thoughts looked inward, 
 
 If there they might find peace ; 
 As birds at sea, swept by the storm, fly landward, 
 
 Waiting for its surcease. 
 
 And suddenly the darkness was uplifted 
 
 Which on my spirit lay. 
 And like a morning mist, serenely drifted 
 
 The riven clouds away. 
 
 86 
 
LITTLE BY LITTLE. 87 
 
 A mighty Arm seemed gently to enfold me, 
 
 A radiant Form above 
 From hights sublime bent graciously, and told me 
 
 Of more than mortal love. 
 
 My heart, so lately troubled and despairing, 
 
 No longer was oppressed ; 
 His loving presence, all my sorrows bearing, 
 
 Had given me joyful rest. 
 
 This is the Friend, I said, in whom reposing, 
 
 This mortal strife shall cease ; 
 This everlasting Arm around me closing. 
 
 My soul shall dwell in peace. 
 
 LITTLE BY LITTLE. 
 
 " Little by little," the torrent said, 
 As it swept along in its narrow bed, 
 
 Chafing in wrath and pride ; 
 "Little by little, and day by day;" 
 And with every wave it bore away 
 A grain of sand, from the banks which lay 
 
 Like granite walls on either side. 
 
 I came again, and the rushing tide 
 Covered the valley far and wide, 
 
88 POEMS. 
 
 For the mighty banks were gone ; 
 Little by little, and day by day, 
 A grain at a time, they were swept away; 
 And now the fields and meadows lay 
 
 Under the waves, for the work was done. 
 
 " Little by little," the tempter said. 
 
 As a dark and cunning snare he spread 
 
 For the young unwary feet; 
 "Little by little, and day by day, 
 I will tempt the careless soul astray. 
 Into the broad and flowery way. 
 
 Till the ruin is made complete. 
 
 "That maiden's soul, so pure and true, 
 
 I will blacken with falsehood through and through ; 
 
 But first with a little sin, — 
 A little malice, a little pride, — 
 And when the stains grow deep and wide, 
 I will give her a mask of lies to hide 
 
 The ruin which lies within. 
 
 "That young man looks with an eager eye 
 Where the glittering guerdons of honor lie. 
 
 And girds himself for the strife ; 
 I will tempt his lips with the sparkling bowl, 
 Music and mirth shall ensnare his soul, 
 And so, while the endless ages roll. 
 
 He shall mourn o'er a wasted life." 
 
WHAT IS LIFE? 89 
 
 Little by little, sure and slow, 
 
 We fashion our future of bliss or woe, 
 
 As the present passes away; 
 Our feet are climbing the stairway bright, 
 Up to the region of endless light, 
 Or gliding downward into the night, 
 
 Little by little, and day by day. 
 
 WHAT IS LIFE? 
 
 A Free Translation from the French of Lamartine. 
 
 Musing in my heart I questioned, what with life have 
 
 I to do, — 
 Following where my fathers wandered, must I in 
 
 their steps pursue ? 
 Must I with the crowd press onward, to what goal I 
 
 do not know. 
 Like the simple lamb which follows wheresoe'er the 
 
 flock may go ? 
 
 Some there are who, boldly seeking golden treasures 
 
 on the sea. 
 Find their hopes, O stormy ocean, often swallowed 
 
 up in thee; 
 
90 POEMS. 
 
 Others, who with eager footsteps climb the slippeiy 
 
 steeps of fame, 
 Perish on the glittering summit, frenzied by an 
 
 empty name. ^ 
 
 Some, to rule o'er human passions, on the crater 
 
 build a throne, 
 And amid the flames and ashes, scarred and blasted, 
 
 dwell alone; 
 Some to love are willing captives ; some are victims 
 
 to the wine. 
 And while foundering 'mid the breakers, deem the 
 
 syren's song divine. 
 
 Careless waster of his moments, sloth will sleep in 
 
 hunger's arms ; 
 Thrift awakes before the sunlight, drives the plane 
 
 and tills the farms ; 
 Students burn the oil at midnight; warriors triumph 
 
 'mid the slain, 
 And the beggar by the wayside, lean and eager, 
 
 counts his gain. 
 
 Yet where go they? Where the leaves go which the 
 
 autumn winds pursue. 
 Back into the faithful bosom whence their transient 
 
 life they drew ; 
 
WHAT IS LIFE? 9 1 
 
 One by one they fall and perish 'mid the ceaseless 
 
 toil and strife, 
 Time, the reaper, gleans the harvest from the fruitful 
 
 field of life. 
 
 Vain they struggle ; generations, like the sands upon 
 
 the shore, 
 Which a rushing stream sweeps onward, pass away 
 
 and come no more ; 
 From the cradle to the grave-yard, how like flitting 
 
 shades they seem, — 
 Have they lived ? O Jesus, tell me, is not all of life a 
 
 dream ? 
 
 As for me, henceforth I'll labor not for earthly wealth 
 
 or fame. 
 But I'll sing of God my Maker, praise and magnify 
 
 His name; 
 In the quiet of the desert, 'mid the city's noise and 
 
 strife. 
 Morn and eve, on shore and ocean, this shall be the 
 
 work of life. 
 
 '*Who is He?" the earth-born question ; "Whom thou 
 
 singest, who is He ? " 
 He whose Spirit fills creation as the waters fill the 
 
 sea: 
 
92 POEMS. 
 
 He who with a step can measure boundless and 
 
 unfathomed space, 
 Who the universe illumines with the glories of His 
 
 face; — 
 
 He who spake and worlds unnumbered sprang from 
 
 nothing at His word ; 
 Who the power to trace its orbit on each whirling 
 
 sphere conferred ; 
 He to whom the endless ages, past and future, all 
 
 are known; 
 He who o'er the hosts of heaven reigns in majesty 
 
 alone. 
 
 This is He, the Lord of glory, He whose praise 
 
 inspires my tongue ; — 
 Sons of mortals, bow before Him, join the songs by 
 
 seraphs sung; 
 Golden harps about His altar, to their hallowed notes 
 
 I'll sing; 
 I will praise Him though He slay me, my Creator 
 
 and my King. 
 
"IT DOTH NOT YET APPEAK WHAT WE 
 SHALL BE." 
 
 I HAVE sweet visions of that glorious land 
 Which lies beyond the confines of the tomb ; 
 
 Of white-robed hosts with starry crowns, that stand 
 On those fair hills where flowers perennial bloom. 
 
 I know that, gathered in the blissful sphere, 
 The good and pure in holy peace repose ; 
 
 They never weep as when they wandered here, 
 Oppressed with sin and burdened with their woes. 
 
 I know the tempest never clouds that sky. 
 Nor veils the beauties of th' eternal day, — 
 
 That day whose noontide glories do not fly, 
 And fade like ours in twilight shades away. 
 
 I know they do not languish there in pain. 
 
 Nor walk with feeble steps those streets of gold; 
 
 No tolling bells, no mournful funeral train. 
 No open grave disturbs the bliss untold. 
 
 93 
 
94 POEMS. 
 
 No night, no sin, no sorrow, pain, or death ! ^ 
 
 O glorious land, enough I know of thee 
 To draw me upward, yet the Scripture saith, 
 
 " It doth not yet appear what we shall be." 
 
 Too weak, alas ! my sin-beclouded sight 
 
 To sweep th' abyss which earth from thee divides, 
 
 Or look with eye undazzled on the light 
 Which like a veil Jehovah's presence hides. 
 
 Those hallowed anthems never reach my ear 
 
 Which seraphs sing through all their ranks above ; 
 
 I do not know how sweet it is to hear 
 
 From sinless lips the words of truth and love. 
 
 And shall I ever reach that blessed clime, 
 And see those glories hid from mortal sight, 
 
 With saints and mart}TS, gathered from all time. 
 And holy angels, walk those fields of light? 
 
 And will they take my hand and lead me o'er 
 
 Those realms where mortal thoughts may never 
 stray. 
 
 While heavenly truth, revealing more and more, 
 Fills all the circle of th' eternal day ? 
 
THE BEREAVED. 
 
 Addressed to a Friend who had Lost her Husband. 
 
 The voice is hushed whose softest notes were 
 sweeter 
 
 To thy sad heart than music's melting strain, 
 Richer than odors which the south winds scatter ; 
 
 Yet may'st thou never hear its sound again. 
 Oft wilt thou listen when the night wind sigheth 
 
 Through the low branches of the household tree, 
 But no soft whisper to thine own replieth. 
 
 For he is gone whose love was all to thee. 
 
 Gone to the tomb, before the sun, declining. 
 
 Gave warning that the night of death was nigh. 
 While manhood's hopes around his heart were twin- 
 ing, 
 
 Hushed was that heart and quenched that ardent 
 eye;— 
 That eye, whose every glance with kindness beaming. 
 
 Gilded thy path like sunlight on the sea. 
 Is calmly slumbering where no anxious dreaming 
 
 Will e'er disturb his heart with thoughts of thee. 
 
 93 
 
g6 POEMS. 
 
 Yet art thou blessed, for in thy lonely bosom 
 
 The memory of his love will ever dwell, 
 Sweet as the incense of the dewy blossom, 
 
 And sad as murmurs of the ocean shell. 
 Then, when the world is dark, in calm communion 
 
 Thou wilt hold converse with the days gone b}^, 
 And the sweet promise of a better union 
 
 Will draw thee upward to that realm on high, — 
 
 That glorious realm, where love may know no sad- 
 ness, 
 
 Where sin, and death, and darkness may not come. 
 Where the freed spirit wakes to songs of gladness, 
 
 And hail in rapture its eternal home; — 
 There shalt thou find the lost, when life is over, 
 
 And with a purer love your souls shall blend, 
 In the glad presence of man's pitying Lover, 
 
 Your holy friendship will not fear an end. 
 
 THEY AEE NOT LOST. 
 
 Oh, wherefore do we weep and call them lost. 
 
 The good who early die ? 
 Surely our Heavenly Father loved them most, 
 And so He bade them lay their burdens by. 
 
 And pass into the sky. 
 
THEY ARE NOT LOST. 97 
 
 Here on this border of the unseen land, 
 
 This dim and shadowy shore, 
 Like shipwrecked mariners we waiting stand, 
 While at our feet the sullen waters roar, 
 
 Which we must needs pass o'er. 
 
 For just beyond a better country lies. 
 
 Whose wondrous glory beams 
 Upon us sometimes through the sunset skies ; 
 But very far beyond our happiest dreams 
 
 The golden city seems. 
 
 Yet those we mourn as lost have gained that shore, 
 
 And walk those streets of gold ; 
 And there, with glory crowned forevermore, 
 They see what mortal eyes may ne'er behold, 
 
 Nor mortal tongue unfold. 
 
 O faithless hearts which call the blest ones lost. 
 
 Because we miss them here; — 
 Wandering and tempted, we ourselves are lost. 
 And well may mourn our fate with many a tear ; 
 
 But they have done with fear. 
 
 Nothing that's good is lost, or e'er can be ; 
 
 Our hopes are all forecast, 
 Our joys are gathered in eternity. 
 And we, though weary, burdened, hasten fast 
 
 Again to meet the past. 
 
 7 
 
5 POEMS. 
 
 Let us be patient, death has made no breach 
 
 With those who've gone before ; 
 And though no outward sign our senses reach, 
 We feel that from the far celestial shore 
 They wait us evermore. 
 
 HOMAGE TO THE DEAD, 
 
 The body of Constantine The Great was adorned with the purple and the 
 diadem, and laid on a golden bed in a room in the palace which had been 
 magnificently furnished and illuminated; and every day, at the appointed 
 hour, the principal officers approached, and with bended knees offered their 
 homage. —J<?tf Gibion's Decline and Fall, Vol. II. p. 173. 
 
 Strangely blent, as if in mockery, in that grand and 
 
 gorgeous room, 
 Were the pageantry of power and the shadows of the 
 
 tomb; 
 Golden lamps a flood of splendor o'er the sculptured 
 
 marble shed, 
 And their radiance fell as brightly on the features of 
 
 the dead. 
 
 Gorgeous tapestry of purple, richly wrought with 
 
 glittering gold, 
 Sweeping from the fretted ceiling, hung in many a 
 
 massive fold ; 
 
HOMAGE TO THE DEAD. 99 
 
 But no zephyr, wandering lightly, stirred those folds 
 
 so strangely still. 
 And the sentry's mailed bosom scarcely seemed with 
 
 life to thrill. 
 
 Robed in the imperial purple, on a couch of 
 burnished gold, 
 
 Canopied with plumes and jewels, lay the monarch 
 still and cold ; 
 
 On his forehead, pale as marble, glowed the dia- 
 mond's quivering ray. 
 
 And his cold hand grasped the scepter which he 
 never more might sway. 
 
 Softly o'er the marble pavement came a train with 
 
 muffled tread, 
 Senator, and prince, and noble, bearing homage to 
 
 the dead; 
 Silently as gliding shadows came they in their proud 
 
 array. 
 And with spirits awed and shuddering bowed before 
 
 that form of clay. 
 
 There was something strange and fearful in that cold 
 
 and stony brow, 
 And the purple seemed a mockery of the shroud that 
 
 claimed him nowj 
 
100 POEMS. 
 
 Reverently those haughty Romans knelt with low 
 
 and bated breath, 
 Not to him, the crowned and sceptered, but to thee, 
 
 O mighty Death ! 
 
 Migiity Death, thy solemn presence awes the haughty 
 
 and the brave, 
 And thine arm alike enfoldeth prince and peasant, 
 
 lord and slave ; 
 Still he sleeps, the mighty monarch, cold and still in 
 
 thine embrace, 
 And to dust returns as surely as the humblest of his 
 
 race. 
 
 CONSOLATION. 
 
 "What are these which are arrayed in white robes, and whence came 
 they?" Rev. vii. 13. 
 
 On my pillow, sad and weary, 
 
 I had wept the hours away ; 
 For a sorrow, dark and heavy, 
 
 On my spirit lay. 
 
 Then I heard a voice which bade me 
 
 Lift my dim and tearful eye, ' 
 And I saw, — oh, glorious vision! — 
 
 That bright world on high. 
 
CONSOLATION. 101 
 
 Gazing, while a host unnumbered 
 
 Passed before my dazzled sight ; 
 "Who are these," I cried enraptured, 
 
 " Clothed in robes so white ? 
 
 " Never form of mortal beauty 
 
 Wore a garment half so fair, 
 And no crown of earthly monarch 
 
 Can with theirs compare." 
 
 Then an angel gently answered, 
 
 " Know, O mortal, these are they 
 Who, with feet all torn and bleeding. 
 
 Walked the narrow way. 
 
 " They have come from racks and dungeons, 
 They have passed through fire and flood ; 
 
 And their garments, now so radiant, 
 They have washed in blood. 
 
 " Not in vain and idle sorrow 
 
 Have they borne their cross and pain, 
 
 For they counted loss and labor 
 In Christ's service gain. 
 
 " Look, hath mortal care or suffering 
 
 Left a shadow on the brow. 
 Which the Father's hand of mercy 
 
 Crowns with glory now ? 
 
I02 POEMS. 
 
 "Wherefore then, with heart so heavy, 
 Goest thou mourning on thy way, — 
 
 Thou, the heir of joys immortal. 
 And eternal day? 
 
 " Though thou tread'st a thorny pathway, 
 Where thy feet may find no rest. 
 
 And the bitterest dregs of sorrow 
 To thy lip be pressed, — 
 
 " Wilt thou murmur that thou walkest 
 Where the saints and martyrs trod, 
 
 Knowing every weary footstep 
 Brings thee nearer God?" 
 
 So reproved, and yet rejoicing 
 That my Lord has given to me, 
 
 Though so weak and unbelieving. 
 That bright host to see ; 
 
 I have kept, through every sorrow. 
 Their sweet memory in my heart, 
 
 Hoping in their joys immortal 
 Soon to share a part. 
 
SPEINO. 
 
 I OPENED my sash in the morning 
 
 To hear the robins sing, 
 And sweet as the air elysian 
 
 I felt the breath of the Spring. 
 
 I looked where the snow-drifts at evening 
 
 Were lying cold and white ; 
 Like wreaths of mist they had vanished 
 
 Away in the silent night. 
 
 I heard the glad waters singing, 
 
 Free from their icy chains ; 
 And saw where the grass was springing 
 
 Out on the barren plains. 
 
 And the yellow boughs of the willows 
 
 Glowed in the sunlight bold, 
 As if their roots had been gathering 
 
 Sap in a mine of gold. 
 
 And my heart went back with a flutter 
 To the Springs of my early years, 
 
 To the green woods where I rambled. 
 And their memory moved my tears. 
 103 
 
104 POEMS. 
 
 Not tears of regretful sorrow, 
 
 Not of impatient woe, 
 But only the tender tribute 
 
 We pay to the long ago. 
 
 For years have not dimmed the glory 
 Of the Spring-time fair and bright. 
 
 And my spirit, as eager as ever. 
 Quaffs at the well of delight. 
 
 I long for the strength to wander 
 Free by the mountain streams. 
 
 To sit where the shimmering sunlight 
 Through the bowering hemlock gleams ; 
 
 To bow in the cool, dim arches 
 Where the forest bells are swung, 
 
 To breathe the heavenly incense 
 Abroad on the desert flung; 
 
 To hear when a thousand teachers 
 Speak from the blossoming sod, 
 
 And to feel that my soul is uplifted 
 Into the presence of God. 
 
 O Spring ! with the music and blossoms, 
 Teach me to think of that shore 
 
 Where beauty and joy are immortal, 
 And death shall disturb us no more. 
 
EUEEKA. 
 
 No more, no more I chase those flitting pleasures 
 Which earth presents before the dazzled eye ; 
 
 No more I toil to seize the winged treasures 
 That mock the eager grasp from which they fly. 
 
 No more I stretch my hand to pluck the roses 
 Whose thorns remain when all their charms are 
 dim, 
 
 No more I quaff the bowl in which reposes 
 A serpent hidden 'neath the sparkling brim. 
 
 No more I climb the mount with footsteps weary, 
 And look in vain to view the promised land; 
 
 No more across the desert, parched and dreary, 
 Pursue the mirage o'er the barren sand. 
 
 No more, for I have found the fountain holy, 
 Whose flow of living waters ne'er shall cease ; 
 
 And o'er whose shadowed bosom, still and lowly, 
 Forever bloom the lily-bells of Peace. 
 
 And I have found the tree whose leaves of healing 
 Cure all the sickness of the human breast. 
 
 Amid whose boughs, her snowy plumes concealing. 
 The Dove which bears the olive, builds her nest. 
 
I06 POEMS. 
 
 And I have found the rock, on which reposing, 
 In vain the floods may sweep, the storms may rise ; 
 
 The everlasting Arms around me closing, 
 I feel " the pillars of the steadfast skies." 
 
 I hear in every peril and temptation. 
 The voice once heard on stormy Galilee, 
 
 And walk the waves, secure in His salvation, 
 Whose Word controls the billows of the sea. 
 
 WATCHING. 
 
 " Blessed are those servants, whom the Lord, when He cometh, shall find 
 watching." — Luke xii. 37- 
 
 Sitting like Mary at the Saviour's feet. 
 
 To hear His lips those wondrous truths unfold. 
 
 Which saints and sages in the ages old 
 
 Desired in vain to hear ; in accents sweet. 
 
 Yet in their sweetness most sublimely bold, 
 
 I heard Him say, "Blest are those servants whom 
 
 The Master shall find watching when He comes ; 
 
 Who, even in midnight's deepest hour of gloom, 
 
 With lamps all burning and with sleepless eye. 
 
 Listen to hear the ever welcome cry, 
 
 Behold He cometh." 
 
107 
 
 Then I bowed me down, 
 And cried, O Saviour, help thy erring child, 
 Who with a spirit humble, undefiled, 
 Awaits thy coming, and the promised crown. 
 
 When day is o'er me, and earth's cares and strife 
 Oppress the heart and crowd the path of life, 
 Oh, then be near, and help me watch and pray ; 
 And when the night returns with solemn gloom, 
 May I remember Thou wilt not delay. 
 And every hour but hastens on the doom 
 Of those to whom in anger Thou wilt say. 
 When at Thy bolted door they knock, "Depart, 
 Ungrateful, slothful, prayerless soul, depart ! " 
 
 "BLESSED ARE THE DEAD." 
 
 I HEARD a voice which said, 
 
 " How blessed are the dead 
 Who rest in Jesus, all their sorrows o'er ! 
 
 Their feet have touched the strand 
 
 Of the immortal land. 
 
 And with the angel band 
 They soar and sing, and sing forever-more. 
 
Io8 POEMS. 
 
 And then I heard a cry 
 
 Of mortal agony, 
 A voice of wailing o'er the grassy bed, 
 
 When one, whose narrow life 
 
 Had been with sorrow rife. 
 
 Forsook the mortal strife, 
 And laid in peaceful rest her weary head. 
 
 " Oh, cease your grief," I said, 
 
 " For why should tears be shed 
 Because our Father calls an exile home ? 
 
 Can ye not be at rest 
 
 When she you love is blest. 
 
 Gathered to Jesus' breast. 
 No more to suffer and no more to roam ? " 
 
 Oh, blind and selfish love ! 
 
 Which asks that those above 
 Might share again our mortal toil and strife; 
 
 Far better might we say. 
 
 That blessed is the day 
 
 Which called them hence away. 
 And op'ed to them the gates of endless life. 
 
THE CEOSS. 
 
 Oh, blest memento of a Saviour's love, 
 Of death and Victory 1 Gazing through my tears, 
 The glittering jewel on a maiden's breast 
 Grows to the rugged Cross on which He dies; 
 And I, amazed, behold the wondrous scene 
 From which the sun in sackcloth veils his face. 
 And this is He Who dies that I may live, 
 The King of glory, the incarnate God, 
 Who for my sake endures the bitter taunts, 
 The cruel scourging, the blasphemous curse, 
 And, uncomplaining, yieldeth up His life 
 A sacrifice for sin upon the cross ! 
 
 Dear Lord, as Thou hast bought me with Thy blood, 
 
 Help me to bear Thy Cross, to crucify 
 
 These vain aspirings, passionate desires, 
 
 And earth-born hopes, which lead my soul from 
 
 Thee. 
 So following close along the narrow way 
 Which Thou hast trodden, when my feet shall stand 
 Beside the cold, dark river, may the light 
 Which beams around the Cross illume my. path. 
 Till, melting in the perfect light of heaven. 
 The righteous Judge bestow the victor's crown. 
 
GLIIVIPSES OF HEAVEN. 
 
 Sadly and wearily walk we the desert, 
 
 *Mid cares for the living and tears for the dead ; 
 Round us the darkness and dangers of midnight, 
 O'er us the wing of the tempest outspread. 
 
 Yet, 'mid the storms, the danger and darkness, 
 Glimpses of glory and flashes of light, 
 
 Down from the region which lieth above us, 
 Radiant and beautiful, burst on our sight, 
 
 Kindling our spirits with holy aspiring. 
 
 Rousing the careless, and nerving the weak, . 
 
 Clearing our sight from the mists which surround us. 
 And beckoning us on to the glory we seek. 
 
 Often when weary with toil and contention, 
 Sad and despairing we sit down to weep. 
 
 We hear 'mid our sobs the songs of the blessed, 
 Sweet as the music which visits our sleep. 
 
 Beautiful region, when shall we behold it? 
 
 When shall we dwell in that city of peace, 
 Clothed like the angels, and joining their anthems, 
 
 Holy and rapturous, and never to cease? 
 
THE DEAD. Ill 
 
 Hopefully onward, through every temptation, 
 Press we, for strength to the weary is given ; 
 
 Life is a pilgrimage, death is a portal, 
 Soon will it open the wonders of heaven. 
 
 THE DEAD. 
 
 The earth is one vast sepulcher where sleep the 
 
 buried dead. 
 And o'er the brave and beautiful with careless steps 
 
 we tread ; 
 And many a mighty hero's dust upon the winds is 
 
 strewn, 
 And many a noble king doth rest unnoticed and 
 
 unknown. 
 
 Amid the wreck of ages past the new-made graves 
 
 we see. 
 And mourners who have come to weep beneath the 
 
 cypress tree ; 
 For still the young and fair go down into the silent 
 
 grave, 
 And o'er the wise and reverent head the flowers of 
 
 summer wave. 
 
112 POEMS. 
 
 There were glad voices round our hearths which now 
 
 are hushed and still, 
 And in our homes there is a void which none again 
 
 may fill ; 
 For those whose love upon our hearts like dew and 
 
 sunshine fell, 
 Have joined the army of the dead within the grave 
 
 to dwell. 
 
 And soon beside their silent form.s our own shall 
 
 calmly sleep. 
 And o'er our graves, as over theirs, the living come 
 
 to weep ; 
 Oh, blest are they who sleep in Christ, — the dust, in 
 
 weakness sown. 
 He'll raise a new and glorious form, transfigured like 
 
 His own. 
 
 Ah yes, from many a nameless grave a form divine 
 
 shall rise. 
 For many a spot unmasked by man is watched by 
 
 angel eyes, 
 And many a child of want and woe^ outcast and 
 
 trodden down. 
 Shall burst in glory from the tomb and wear an 
 
 angel's crown. 
 
THE SILVER mNE. 
 
 Amid an ancient forest which clothed a mountain's 
 
 side, 
 An awful conflagration spread terror far and wide ; 
 On like the waves of ocean the fiery billows sped, 
 And from his burning eyrie the frightened eagle fled. 
 
 Wild beasts with fury howling forsook their wonted 
 
 lair. 
 As onward rushed the tempest of mingled smoke 
 
 and fire ; 
 Like the Chaldean's furnace the mountain caverns 
 
 glowed. 
 And from earth's heated bosom a stream of silver 
 
 flowed. 
 
 So when severe afflictions pass o'er the Christian's 
 
 soul, 
 And like that fiery tempest the waves of sorrow 
 
 roll;— 
 So, 'mid the wreck of fortune, of earthly hope and 
 
 pride, 
 Flows forth the spirit's silver as in a furnace tried. 
 
 113 8 
 
114 POEMS. 
 
 Why shrink we from the trials which but the soul 
 
 refine, 
 And fit it 'mid the angels a gem of light to shine ? 
 Ah, rather let us welcome our Father's chastening 
 
 rod. 
 If from the world it wean us and draw us near to 
 
 God. 
 
 FOLLOW THOU ME. 
 
 " Follow thou me," I hear the Saviour saying, 
 When storms arise and clouds are dark as night; 
 
 " What is there in the narrow path dismaying 
 To him who walks by faith and not by sight? 
 
 "Wh^t is it unto thee if some, returning 
 
 Back to their bondage, walk with thee no more ? 
 
 False and faint hearted, heavenly mansions spurning. 
 They build their houses on the sandy shore. 
 
 " Hast thou grown weary of the joys of Zion, 
 And weary of the freedom God has given ? 
 
 Wilt thou again take up thy chains of iron. 
 
 And wear the yoke that from thy neck was riven ? 
 
FOLLOW THOU ME. II5 
 
 " Hast thou forgot the gall of sins unpardoned, 
 The wormwood of repentance and despair ? 
 
 Would' St thou again, with heart more bold and 
 hardened, 
 The bitter chalice for thy lips prepare? 
 
 " Is it so hard to wear the armor always ? 
 
 To wake and watch upon the battle-field, 
 While others sleep, and know that he who follows 
 
 The Crucified may die, but must not yield ? 
 
 " Look up and onward when thy path is dreary. 
 And seize by faith the joys which are to come; 
 
 And when with care oppressed and labor weary. 
 Know thou each footstep bears thee nearer home. 
 
 " If clouds are dark, and stormy billows raging, 
 Lift up thy feeble head without dismay, 
 
 And know that, in the warfare thou art waging, 
 'Tis thine alone to follow and obey. 
 
 " Have I not told thee, that in all temptation 
 I will for thine escape a way prepare. 
 
 Nor leave thee in the time of tribulation, 
 To prove the bitter anguish of despair ? 
 
Il6 POEMS. 
 
 "Follow thou Me, nor look with longing vision 
 Back to the pleasures thou must seek no more ; 
 
 This narrow pathway leads to life elysian, 
 And death is but the porter at the door. 
 
 A DKEAM. 
 
 On my pillow, sad and weary, through the midnight 
 
 hours I lay, 
 Musing on the wrong and evil of our evil day. 
 
 Sleep at last, with downy pinions, bore me to the 
 
 dream-land fair. 
 But the phantoms, want and sorrow, followed even 
 
 there. 
 
 And before me, sadly gazing, passed a long and dark 
 
 array ; — 
 Cold with horror, I beheld it come and pass away. 
 
 There was famine, pale and ghastly, with the dying 
 
 wail for bread j 
 War, with frantic shrieks of anguish, fields with 
 
 carnage red; 
 
A DREAM. 117 
 
 There were marts where men and women were like 
 
 cattle bought and sold, 
 And where busy fiends were coining tears and blood 
 
 for gold ; 
 
 There was bloated, smooth-faced mammon, reveling 
 
 'mid a haggard train. 
 Wringing from the hand of labor every hard-earned' 
 
 gain j 
 
 There were bold and proud blasphemers, scorning 
 
 men, defying God ; 
 False disciples, kissing Jesus to betray His blood. 
 
 "Lord," I cried in sudden anger, "wherefore sleeps 
 
 the bolted fire ? 
 Seize the flaming sword of justice, let earth feel Thine 
 
 ire! 
 
 " Peace has fled and faith is dying, love is seen with 
 
 man no more ! 
 Rise, and teach the haughty nations God defends the 
 
 poor." 
 
 Then an angel stood before me, with a form than 
 
 mortal higher. 
 In his hands he bore a balance, and a sword of fire. 
 
Il8 POEMS. 
 
 " Mortal," cried he, "art thou weary of the Just One's 
 
 long delay ? 
 Would'st thou speed the bolts of vengeance on their 
 
 flaming way? 
 
 "Fearlessly for justice calling; — if the sword un- 
 sheathed be, 
 =Unprotected by His mercy, it must fall on thee. 
 
 " Know, O child of mortal weakness, in thy heart the 
 
 germs of wrong, 
 If unchecked by heavenly mercy, had been rank and 
 
 strong. 
 
 "God, through all the dark surroundings, sees the 
 
 hidden springs within ; 
 Not as man doth judge his brother ju(Jgeth He of 
 
 sin." ' 
 
 Awed, and trembling at the glances of his mild 
 
 rebuking eyes, 
 " Spare," I cried, " a wretch unholy who before Thee 
 
 lies." 
 
 Then with pitying hand he raised me, while he said 
 
 in accents mild, 
 "In thy zeal henceforth remember, none are un- 
 
 defiled. 
 
INVOCATION. 119 
 
 " Though earth's wrongs and woes and follies deep- 
 est scorn or pity move, 
 
 With the sternest condemnation mingle words of 
 love." 
 
 INVOCATION. 
 
 Come, Holy Spirit, come ! 
 Spirit of peace, of righteousness, and love. 
 We cry to Thee ; Oh, spread Thy wings and come 
 
 From the bright realm above ! 
 
 The world is dark and cold ; 
 Sin like a midnight cloud o'ershadows all, — 
 A cloud surcharged with wrath, which doth enfold 
 
 And wrap us like a pall. 
 
 We struggle 'mid the gloom 
 Which presses on the soul like bands of steel ; 
 We cry to Thee, — O Holy Spirit, come, 
 
 Thy mighty power reveal ! 
 
 God said, " Let there be light," 
 And o'er the earth a flood of glory rolled ; 
 Disperse the shades which wrap our souls in night, 
 
 And bid the clouds unfold I 
 
I20 POEMS. 
 
 Shine on us with the beams 
 Of Hght divine, and bid our spirits live ; 
 We faint with thirst, unclose the hidden streams, 
 
 The healing waters give. 
 
 Dissolve the iron chain 
 Which binds us down, and help us to arise, 
 And, stretching out the hand of faith, to gain 
 
 Our birth-ridit in the skies. 
 
 "WHAT IS TRUTH?" 
 
 I SIT and muse, silence and darkness round, 
 
 " Silence how dead and darkness how profound." 
 
 I muse ; my heart with troubled thoughts oppressed, 
 Yearns like the Hebrew prophet's when he sighed 
 
 For wings to fly away and be at rest. 
 
 It is not that the world has been unkind j 
 No blasted hopes of fortune fill my mind. 
 
 Nor wild remorseful thoughts which will not cease ; 
 But Oh, the mystery of our life and death ! 
 
 ' Tis this which robs my troubled soul of peace. 
 
 We plant the seed of wisdom in the soil. 
 And hope the harvest may repay our toil, 
 
FRIENDS. 121 
 
 Yet do we gather only mist and doubt; 
 The truth eludes us 'mid the errors wild, 
 
 And shadowy falsehoods all our paths about. 
 
 We thirst, and, sparkling in the distance, seem 
 The flowing fountain and the murmuring stream ; 
 
 With eager steps we haste our lips to lave, 
 And weep to find the stream a shining mist, 
 
 The fountain but a black and bitter wave. 
 
 In vain we struggle 'mid the rayless gloom. 
 The silence and the shadows of the tomb ; 
 
 For to our souls we win back no reply. 
 Father of life and light, I turn to Thee ; — 
 
 Lord, " What is truth ? " like one of old I cry. 
 
 FRIENDS. 
 
 O'er earth's cold and quiet bosom lies a thin and 
 
 silvery veil. 
 Woven of the mellow moon-beams, and the star-light 
 
 cold and pale ; 
 In my room so still and lonely, with the taper's 
 
 flickering light, 
 I invoke you, O my dear ones, come and sit with me 
 
 to-night ! 
 
122 POEMS. 
 
 Faithful memory, like an angel, comes with whispers 
 
 sweet and low. 
 Tones and voices heard full often in the time of long 
 
 ago; 
 On your sweet and gentle faces, friends so dear, she 
 
 pours a light. 
 As with noiseless steps ye gather in my lonely room 
 
 to-night. 
 
 I can see thee, O my father, with thy dear familiar 
 
 brow. 
 And my mother, kind and faithful, fondly looks upon 
 
 me now. 
 Fond as when in youth and childhood she hath 
 
 watched her wayward child, 
 Or beside my couch in sickness, bending o'er my 
 
 pillow, smiled. 
 
 Welcome, welcome, best and dearest, ye who round 
 
 our mother's knee. 
 In the holy hush of twilight, gathered oftentimes 
 
 with me ; 
 Ye with whom tlirough fields and wildwoods I have 
 
 wandered hand in hand. 
 Braiding wreaths of sweet wild blossoms, gathering 
 
 pebbles from the sand. 
 
FRIENDS. 123 
 
 I can see upon your faces, my beloved, lines of 
 
 care, 
 Tears and toil have left their traces on the features 
 
 once so fair ; 
 One is absent from our number, one whom we shall 
 
 see no more. 
 Till we meet beyond the river, on the bright eternal 
 
 shore. 
 
 Here are young and happy faces, looking fondly into 
 
 mine; 
 Here the friends for whose embraces in the stranger's 
 
 home I pine ; 
 Years on years their sacred places I have kept within 
 
 my heart, 
 Quiet nooks where none might enter, for the old 
 
 friends set apart. 
 
 And the tokens which they gave me, tokens of their 
 
 loving care. 
 Words and deeds by them forgotten, all are fondly 
 
 cherished there ; 
 Faithful memory unfoldeth one by one this precious 
 
 store. 
 Each grows brighter as I view it, sweeter now than 
 
 ere before. 
 
124 POEMS. 
 
 Weary heart, for love that yearneth, hold a festival 
 to-night, 
 
 Revel 'mid these bright illusions, grasp these phan- 
 toms with delight. 
 
 Count thy treasures and be hapjpy, think not of to- 
 morrow's sun, 
 
 For of all that life assured thee, love is all that thou 
 hast won. 
 
 Fare ye well! They fade and vanish, leaving me 
 
 alone, alone ; 
 Thick and heavy lies the darkness where so late the 
 
 moonbeams shone. 
 Unobserved my flickering taper slowly fading hath 
 
 gone out. 
 In the fire-light's fitful radiance gloomy shadows 
 
 flit about. 
 
 Yet, kind Memory, I thank thee for the blessings of 
 
 to-night, 
 And I pray thee, on thy tablets keep those faces fair 
 
 and bright ; 
 Keep the tones of those sweet voices, keep those 
 
 kind and gentle words. 
 When my heart is sick and weary pour them o'er it* 
 
 aching chords. 
 
THANKSGIVrNG. 
 
 Father in heaven, the holy angels sing 
 Loud hallelujahs round Thy throne above ; 
 
 I would a glad though humble tribute bring, 
 And join their songs to magnify Thy love ; 
 
 For more than theirs the debt of grace I owe, 
 
 And louder should my grateful praises flow. 
 
 I thank Thee that Thou mak'st the world so fair, 
 Though cursed 'tis not forsaken of Thy grace ; 
 
 For in the tiniest wing that moves the air, 
 Or humblest flower. Thy loving care I trace ; 
 
 I see it in the grass which clothes the fields. 
 
 And in the harvest which the Autumn yields. 
 
 I bless Thy Name for every pleasant sound 
 Which fills the Summer air with sweet delight, 
 
 The thundering anthem of the waves profound, 
 The low, soft murmur of the insects' flight, 
 
 The harping of the many-fingered breeze. 
 
 The songs of birds among the household trees. 
 
 125 
 
126 POEMS. 
 
 I thank Thee that Thy glory fills the sky, 
 Beaming benignly from the farthest star; 
 
 For every ray which meets my wondering eye 
 Tells of a realm of beauty, passing far 
 
 All that our fancy paints of good and fair ; — 
 The home of beauty, for thou dwellest there. 
 
 I thank Thee that to all this loveliness 
 
 Of earth and heaven Thou hast unsealed mine 
 eyes; 
 That, though I wander through a wilderness, 
 
 I find the wells of joy with sweet surprise, — 
 Cool, silvery fountains 'mid the burning sand, 
 And gleams of glory from the better land. 
 
 I thank Thee that I am not taught to stand, 
 A wretched votary at an idol's shrine ; 
 
 But Thou hast given me being in a land 
 
 Made glad and glorious with the light divine ; 
 
 The cup of blessing to my lip is pressed. 
 
 The pearl of price upon my bosom rests. 
 
 I thank Thee for the deep, unfathomed love 
 Which condescends my faintest sigh to hear ; 
 
 That, 'midst the anthems of the hosts above, 
 Thou giv'st to mortal wants a listening ear; — 
 
SECURITY. 127 
 
 free unbounded grace, O love divine ! 
 Would that my love to Thee was worthy Thine. 
 
 1 thank Thee for the hope, when life is o'er, 
 Of sweet communion with the angel bands. 
 
 With fitting anthems, on the shining shore. 
 To tell the love which evermore expands, 
 As rolling cycles magnify the grace 
 That with the sinless gives the sinner place. 
 
 SECUEITY. 
 
 " I will both lay me down in peace and sleep ; for Thou, Lord, only makest 
 me dwell in safety." — Ps. iv. 8. 
 
 Darkness is round me ; o'er the midnight sky, 
 
 Starless and black, the tempest sweeps to-night ; 
 And o'er the earth the shifting snow-drifts lie. 
 Spectral, and cold, and white. 
 
 Silence is round me, save the wind's low wail 
 
 Among the leafless branches of the trees, 
 And the deep pattering of the heavy hailj — 
 And mournful sounds are these. 
 
128 POEMS. 
 
 And yet alone I lay me clown in peace, 
 
 And close my eyes without a thought of fear, 
 For He whose loving care can never cease, 
 Is with me even here. 
 
 To Him the gloom and darkness of the night 
 
 Are as the noon-tide radiance of the day ; 
 And so secure, because within His sight, 
 I sleep without dismay. 
 
 The armed bands which guard a monarch's throne 
 
 Can no such sleep command, or peace bestow. 
 As this Thou giv'st me, when to Thee alone. 
 My God, for help I go. 
 
 Then let me rest upon Thy mighty Arm, 
 
 And ever feel Thy loving presence near ; 
 So shall the sleep of death bring no alarm. 
 The grave itself no fear. 
 
 CHAKITY. 
 
 Methought I saw a form than mortal fairer, 
 Moving serenely 'mid the sons of men. 
 
 In all their weary toil a patient sharer. 
 In all their sorrows and in all their pain. 
 
CHARITY. 129 
 
 No eyes have worn such looks of melting pity, 
 No lips so breathed the accents of the dove. 
 
 Since Jesus wept above the doomed city 
 
 Which scorned His mercy and despised His love. 
 
 Above the restless couch I saw her bending 
 To smooth the pillow for the aching head ; 
 
 Through prison cells, with silent footsteps wending, 
 To speak of heaven where earthly hope had fled ; — 
 
 Beside the fettered slave, a guardian holy, 
 With pitying tears to melt the heart of steel ; 
 
 Bearing the burdens of the poor and lowly. 
 Assuaging sorrows which she could not heal. 
 
 With those who o'er the loved and lost were weeping 
 In hopeless grief, I saw her calmly stand. 
 
 And heard her say, " They are not dead, but sleeping. 
 And you shall meet them in the better land." 
 
 And this, I said, is that divinest angel 
 Of all that walk the earth, sweet Charity ; 
 
 And still she brings to man the glad evangel 
 For which the Master died on Calvary. 
 
AUTUMN. 
 
 The woods are dim with dying foliage clad, 
 
 The Autumn breezes sigh, 
 The sear leaves fall, and many voices sad 
 
 Whisper that we must die. 
 
 Let me recline amid these withering flowers. 
 
 And listen to their speech ; 
 And let me gather from these fading bowers 
 
 The lessons which they teach. 
 
 Is man, the strong, the gifted and the proud. 
 
 The fearful in his power. 
 The heaven-derived, the gloriously endowed. 
 
 Like thee, thou fading flower ? 
 
 Is he whose haughty mandate shakes the land 
 
 As when a storm sweeps by, 
 Frail as the grass that withers on the sand, — 
 
 Or leaves that fall and die ? 
 
 With reverent heart let me the truth receive, 
 
 The solemn warning hear ; 
 Nor let the flattering hopes of life deceive 
 
 My soul when death is near. 
 
HOPE IN CHRIST. 
 
 131 
 
 With reverent heart let me the truth receive, 
 
 Ere their last leaves are shed ; 
 The winds may bear tliem where my grave is made, 
 
 And sweep them o'er my bed. 
 
 Thus standing on the verge of worlds unseen, 
 
 Why rest my joy or care 
 On idle pageants of this shifting scene, 
 
 Where all is false as fair? 
 
 Henceforth my hopes shall dwell beyond the skies. 
 
 My treasures rest above ; 
 No aching hearts are there, no fading eyes. 
 
 No tears o'er those we love. 
 
 HOPE IN CHEIST. 
 
 I SAID at morn, my feet to-day 
 Shall walk in wisdom's pleasant way ; 
 Its hours, like threaded pearls, shall be 
 From every stain and shadow free; 
 A chaplet for the Master meet. 
 Which I will offer at His feet. 
 
 But now, alas ! at eventide 
 
 I see my chaplet scattered wide ; 
 
132 POEMS. 
 
 The hours I should have kept so fair 
 Are stained with sin and marred by care; 
 And, empty-handed as before, 
 I come my failure to deplore. 
 
 A spirit whispers, "Why again 
 Resolve? — thou wilt but strive in vain ; 
 Too blind to walk the narrow way, 
 Thy sinful feet forever stray ; 
 Too weak to stem the rushing tide, 
 Thy bark must with the current glide." 
 
 " 'Tis not for thee when He appear., 
 Thy Lord's approving words to hear ; 
 The gifts He gave thee have not grown, 
 Thou scarce can give him back His own ; 
 Then hope no more the crown to wear. 
 But wrap thy future in despair." 
 
 Like Peter sinking in the sea, 
 Jesus, my Lord, I cry to Thee ; 
 Stretch out Thy mighty arm to save. 
 And snatch me from the whelming wave; 
 Though weaker than the bruised reed, 
 Thy grace is equal to my need. 
 
 Not what I am, but what Thou art, 
 With hope inspires my fainting heart j 
 
WHAT IS THAT TO THEE? 
 
 The soul which, ruined, Thou hast sought, 
 And from its hopeless thraldom bought 
 With toil and blood, a countless cost, 
 Thou wilt not suffer to be lost. 
 
 So will I strive with faith and prayer, 
 Nor in my weakness e'er despair ; 
 Though broken, soiled, and incomplete, 
 The pearls I lay before Thy feet ; 
 Yet washed with tears, perhaps Thy grace 
 Will give them with Thy gems a place. 
 
 133 
 
 WHAT IS THAT TO THEE? 
 
 Toiling in my barren vineyard, fainting 'neath the 
 
 pain 
 Of the Summer heat and labor, pressing heart and 
 
 brain, 
 
 I beheld my vines decaying, none had bloom or 
 
 fruit. 
 And the seeds my tears had watered died for lack of 
 
 root. 
 
134 POEMS. 
 
 Like the mountain, doomed and fatal, on whose 
 
 desert crest 
 Neither rain nor dew descendeth, seemed my field 
 
 unblessed. 
 
 Then I heard the Master saying, "What is that to 
 
 thee? 
 If no harvest bless thy labor, leave thy work with 
 
 Me." 
 
 "Lord," I cried, "my brother's vineyard fair as Eden 
 
 stands, 
 Even now the purple clusters fill his loaded hands. 
 
 "On his ground the rain descending, cheers his care 
 
 and toil. 
 And the sunshine warms and quickens all the fertile 
 
 soil. 
 
 "Why should I, of all Thy servants, weep and toil 
 
 In vain ? 
 On the vines which I have planted send the blessed 
 
 rain." 
 
 Then again the Master answered, " What is that to 
 
 thee ? 
 Are not mine the barren vineyard and the fruitless 
 
 tree ? 
 
WAITING FOR THE SPRING. I35 
 
 "Though from all thy field no blossom grace thy 
 
 weary hand, 
 Sow thy seed without despairing o'er the sterile land. 
 
 " Know that in the grand hereafter which before thee 
 
 lies, 
 Thon shalt see the bud and blossom which the earth 
 
 denies. 
 
 "All thy toil shall be remembered, and thy crown 
 
 shall be 
 Tears which love transmutes to jewels, works which 
 
 follow thee." 
 
 WAITING FOR THE SPRING, 
 
 Fall soft and warm, ye vernal rains. 
 
 From gently bending skies, 
 Fall soft and warm, for here asleep 
 
 My Daffodilly lies ; 
 
 And here my Snow-drop shuts her bells 
 
 Within the frozen mold ; 
 And here my Crocus in her heart 
 
 Doth nurse her buds of gold. 
 
136 POEMS. 
 
 Shine bright and warm, O generous Sun ! 
 
 Ye gentle South winds, blow, 
 Dissolve the chains which bind my flowers, 
 
 The chains of ice and snow. 
 
 For they are waiting for the Spring, 
 
 The promise of the year ; 
 And though so dark and cold, they wait 
 
 Without distrust or fear; — 
 
 Waiting to hear her welcome voice, 
 
 And, springing from the sod, 
 To offer, first of Flora's train, 
 
 Their incense unto God. 
 
 The Maple, and the sturdy Oak, 
 The Elm tree strong and high, 
 
 Stretch out their arms imploringly 
 Towards the wintry sky; 
 
 For buds are waiting on each bough 
 The coming of the Spring; — 
 
 Waiting to see the streamlets flash. 
 And hear the robins sing. 
 
 Then come, O sunbeams warm and bright, 
 
 And balmly breezes blow ! 
 Dissolve the chains which bind my flowers, 
 
 The chains of ice and snow ! 
 
NATUEE. 
 
 Benignant Nature, beautiful and true ! 
 
 Take me, I pray thee, to thy faithful breast, 
 The gracious lessons of my youth renew. 
 
 And with thy beauty soothe my heart to rest. 
 
 This summer morn is glorious with the light 
 
 Gleaming through diamond dew-drojos on the 
 flowers. 
 And flashing from the streamlets pure and bright. 
 Which dance and bubble through the woodland 
 bowers. 
 
 The trees are gorgeous in their robes of green, 
 Through which the south wind murmurs with a 
 sigh, 
 
 And singing birds, amid the leafy screen, 
 With rapturous warblings fill the quiet sky. 
 
 Bright, silvery clouds, like fairy isles of light. 
 
 Float in the pure illimitable blue ; 
 I sometimes dream they are pavilions bright 
 
 Wherein the angels hide from mortal view. 
 
138 POEMS. 
 
 I feel the gladness and the life around 
 Like sweetest music o'er my spirit steal ; 
 
 Can sadness dwell where every sight and sound 
 Beauty, and joy, and harmony reveal ? 
 
 Would it were mine, in this sequestered spot, 
 Afar from human care, and sin, and strife, 
 
 The world alike forgetting and forgot, 
 To spend with thee the residue of life ! 
 
 THE MOUNTAINEER EMIGRANT. 
 
 Translated from the French of Chateaubriand. 
 
 "How sweet the memory of our home," he cried, 
 " Of that dear spot upon the green hill side 
 
 Where we were born ! 
 O sister mine, how blest those days of France, 
 The noontide rest, the merry evening dance. 
 
 The dewy morn ! 
 
 "Dost thou remember, — thou canst not forget, — 
 The time we gathered, when the sun was set, 
 
 Around the hearth ; 
 How then our mother clasped us to her breast. 
 And we her hair, so white, with kisses pressed, 
 
 In playful mirth ? 
 
THE MOUNTAINEER EMIGRANT. 1 39 
 
 *' Dost mind thee of that castle old and hoar, 
 Bathed by the waters of the silvery Dore, 
 
 So pure and bright ? 
 And, sister dear, that ivy-mantled tower. 
 Where shining bells proclaimed the vesper hour. 
 
 And morning light? 
 
 " Dost mind thee of the lake whose waters bright 
 Were rippled by the swallows' airy flight, 
 
 And sweet South-west, 
 Which gently swayed the reeds as it went by? • 
 And how like one asleep the sun did lie 
 
 Upon its breast? 
 
 " Dost thou remember, — yes, I see thy tears, — 
 The sweet companion of my life's young years. 
 
 My Helene blest? 
 Can I forget the flowers and woodland shade. 
 Where on my bosom first the blushing maid 
 
 Her love confessed ? 
 
 " Oh, who shall give me back my own Helene ? 
 And who the mountains and the woods again 
 
 To me restore? 
 Their memory makes my anguish night and day; — 
 My country, thou shall be my love alway, 
 
 Till life is o'er!" 
 
WHO ART THOU? 
 
 Oh, who art thou, whose warm and gentle hand 
 Unlocks the frozen fountains, and sends forth 
 The bright and laughing waters ? Who art thou. 
 Whose noiseless feet have trod the barren earth, 
 And every step is marked with springing green, 
 And brightly blooming flowers? Who from the south 
 Has called these singing birds, and made them know 
 That now thy hand would spread the leafy screen. 
 Wherein secure they build their quiet nests, 
 And sing their songs of love ? 
 
 Oh, who art thou? 
 We call thee Spring, and bless the stars that mark 
 Thine annual coming. Yet we see thee not, 
 Spirit of beauty ! 
 
 Even now I feel 
 Thy breath upon my cheek, and hear thy voice 
 Soft whispering 'mid the gently waving trees 
 With whose unfolding buds thy fingers toy, 
 And yet I know thee not. My heart goes out 
 With infinite longings, and my soul in vain 
 Struggles to speak the thoughts which nature stirs 
 
WHO ART THOU? 14^ 
 
 Within my bosom, thoughts unutterable 
 
 Of that Ah-nighty Power which wraps me round, 
 
 Enfolds and holds me in its viewless arms 
 
 Forever. Even now, beneath my feet 
 
 A hand unseen is lifting up a flower 
 
 Which, when to-morrow's sun shall rise and shine, 
 
 Will like a priestess bear a golden cup 
 
 Of fragrant dew, — oblation pure and meet 
 
 For the great altar ; and with perfumed breath 
 
 Will join the glorious symphonies that rise 
 
 From thousand times ten thousand vestal trains 
 
 Which minister to God. 
 
 I bow me down, 
 Awed and entranced, and join the wondrous son^ 
 And universal worship ; and with heart 
 Open to all sweet influences, beg to know 
 More of Thyself, my Father, and those laws 
 Immortal, good and wise, by which Thy works 
 Forever move around us. 
 
"LET US AEISE AISTD BUILD." 
 
 We are building here a temple ; day by day its walls 
 
 arise ; 
 Christ hath laid the sure foundation, and its top shall 
 
 reach the skies ; 
 Every good deed, howe'er humble, in the structure 
 
 finds a place. 
 And the mighty Master-builder fashions all with 
 
 heavenly grace. 
 
 Patient servant of the Saviour, humble toiler for the 
 
 right, 
 Sore beset and almost conquered in the fierce and 
 
 constant fight. 
 Oh, remember and take courage, thou canst never 
 
 fail nor lose. 
 If thou bringest to the Master blocks which He will 
 
 not refuse. 
 
 Hast thou raised a prostrate brother? hast thou 
 
 saved a soul from sin ? 
 Though thy humble work forgotten or despised of 
 
 man has been, 
 142 
 
143 
 
 God has wrought it in the temple, it is whiter than 
 
 the snow, 
 Brighter than the flashing ruby, purer than the 
 
 diamond's glow. 
 
 Time hath now no power to mar it, 'tis immortal as 
 
 thy soul. 
 It shall be a thing of beauty while eternal ages roll ; 
 When the mighty walls are finished, and the temple 
 
 is complete. 
 It shall be for thee a trophy, making all the joy 
 
 more sweet. 
 
 ON SEEING THE PICTURE OF A DE- 
 PARTED FRIEND. 
 
 I SEE the shadow of thy saintly face, — 
 
 Thanks to the cunning of an artist hand, — 
 
 Thy wonted smile upon the lips I trace. 
 
 And in the eye thy glance so calm and bland. 
 
 I know the crystal gates are closed on thee, 
 Thou art a dweller on the unseen shore 
 
 Of that dread river, o'er whose stormy waves 
 The feet that journey may return no more. 
 
144 POEMS. 
 
 No more, no more, thou wilt return no more ! 
 
 Yet while I gaze my soul goes forth to thee, 
 And stretches out her hand to lift the veil, 
 
 So dread and dark, that hides thy home from me. 
 
 And though no mortal hand that curtain move, 
 Nor mortal vision pierce that cloudy screen. 
 
 The patient angels. Faith, and Hope, and Love, 
 Bring tidings often of that land unseen. 
 
 They tell me of that river, silvery bright, 
 
 Whose waves make music in their softest flow ; 
 
 Of trees, where flowers perpetual bless the sight, 
 And fruits which angels taste forever grow. 
 
 And there thou dwellest with the good and pure, 
 No more to sin or weep, no more to die ; 
 
 O happy soul, redeemed from all thy woes. 
 
 We would not call thee from thy home on high. 
 
 Yet will we joy that we have known thy love, 
 And feel its holy influence o'er us still, 
 
 A balm of healing to the wounded heart, 
 A power to soothe in every earthly ill. 
 
 And when we too shall cross the narrow stream, 
 And dwell upon the fair celestial shore, 
 
 Oh, may we there renew the holy tie. 
 
 Blissful and pure, which death shall break no more. 
 
THE BEIDGE OF FAITH. 
 
 " Faith builds a bridge from this world to the next. 
 O'er death's dark gulf, and all its horrors hides." 
 
 Young. 
 
 Trumpet tones from burning Sinai 
 Roused me from a careless sleep, 
 
 Then I saw my feet were standing 
 On a dread and slippery steep. 
 
 Downward, downward as the current 
 
 Drifted in its ceaseless flow, 
 So my steps were gliding ever 
 
 Towards the fearful gulf below. 
 
 Iron chains were wreathed around me, 
 Every link with poison fraught ; 
 
 In the fires of sinful passion 
 
 Had those baleful chains been wrought. 
 
 Yet beyond that gulf unfathomed 
 
 Lay a land of joy and light ; 
 Glimpses of its dazzling glory 
 
 Burst upon my longing sight. ' 
 us 
 
146 POEMS. 
 
 And the songs of happy angels, 
 Floating on the zephyr's breath, 
 
 Mingled with the wail and murmur 
 Of the mournful stream of death. 
 
 Then I cried, "Oh, must I perish 
 Gazing on the shores of bliss ? 
 
 Who shall break these chains of iron ? 
 Who shall bridge this dark abyss? " 
 
 Answering mine, I heard a speaker, 
 Saying, " Faith dissolves the chain, 
 
 And the tears of contrite sorrow 
 Falling like the gentle rain. 
 
 "Thou must also rise and labor, 
 There is much for thee to do ; 
 
 Thou by faith must bridge the chasm 
 Which thou tremblest now to view." 
 
 " Vain," I cried, " thy words are fruitless. 
 These are hopes which but deceive ; 
 Hands like mine, so weak and sinful, 
 Such a work can ne'er achieve." 
 
 " Faith," he said, " is strong and holy. 
 Grasping God's eternal throne. 
 
 Reaching to the sure foundation, 
 Jesus Chfist the Corner Stone. 
 
THE BRIDGE OF FAITH. I47 
 
 "Therefore cease thine anxious doubting, 
 
 Rise and build the structure fair; 
 If thy hands are weak and sinful, 
 
 Lay the stones with tears and prayer. 
 
 " On this strong and sure foundation 
 
 Place the pillars of thy faith, 
 Work until the arch uprising 
 
 Spans the fearful gulf of death. 
 
 " Every deed to bless a brother. 
 
 Every word to honor God, 
 Shall be wrought into the structure, 
 
 Fair as angel feet have trod. 
 
 " Day by day, as time flows onward. 
 
 Toiling, thou shalt see it rise, 
 Till it bear thy trembling footsteps 
 
 To the portal of the skies." 
 
 Then I rose, and lo ! the fetters 
 From my ransomed soul were gone. 
 
 And the clouds, so black with vengeance, 
 Like a curtain were withdrawn. 
 
 And I said, " I'll bridge the chasm. 
 
 Laying every stone with care. 
 Wreathing every snowy pillar 
 
 'With the golden chain of prayer.'" 
 
CHRIST MY REFUGE. 
 
 " Refuge failed me. No man cared for my soul. "—Psa. cxlii, 3—4. 
 
 Darkly o'er my dubious pathway gloomy clouds of 
 
 wrath appeared, 
 And the thunder, muttering hoarsely, warned me 
 
 that the tempest neared. 
 
 Then I said, "I'll seek the covert which I made in 
 
 days gone by, 
 There in safety will I hide me while the tempest 
 
 sweeps the sky." 
 
 But amazed and all confounded, soon I saw my 
 
 refuge fly. 
 And I heard a voice proclaiming, "Woe to those 
 
 who trust a lie. 
 
 "Woe to those who 'neath a falsehood seek for 
 
 shelter; in that day 
 When the storm of vengeance falleth it shall sweep 
 
 their hopes away." 
 148 
 
CHRIST MY REFUGE. 149 
 
 All exposed, I saw the tempest gathering darker 
 
 every hour, 
 While with wild despairing efforts sought I shelter 
 
 from its power. 
 
 Though the flaming sword of justice flashed around 
 
 my naked head, 
 No man cared for my destruction, friend and brother 
 
 all had fled. 
 
 Then I heard a voice of pity, crying, "Wherefore wilt 
 
 thou die ? " 
 And I saw a form of glory stooping o'er me from the 
 
 sky;— 
 
 Stooping o'er me, love and mercy mingling in His 
 
 pitying face, 
 And with outstretched arms He bade me hide from 
 
 harm in His embrace. 
 
 Saw I then the cross beside Him, and the thorns 
 
 which crowned His head. 
 And I knew 'twas Christ who called me now when 
 
 every hope had fled. 
 
INVOCATION. 
 
 " Spirit of song, be mine, be mine ! " 
 
 Here where the shadows of the oak and pine 
 
 Lie dim and cool upon the dewy turf, 
 
 Which mellow sunbeams, stealing through the boughs, 
 
 Spangle with flecks of gold, oh, come to me, 
 
 Sweet spirit, come ! Is not thy dwelling here 
 
 In these green shades, amid these gentle flowers. 
 
 Dewy and incense laden, where the birds, 
 
 The murmuring breezes, and the gushing streams 
 
 Sing a perpetual anthem ? 
 
 I have sought 
 Thy presence vainly in the breezy marts 
 Where men do congregate, and 'mid the gay, 
 The young, the beautiful, I find thee not ; 
 But here, where all is peace, sweet spirit, come, 
 And o'er my weary heart which pines for thee, 
 Breathe rapturous music, as in other days. 
 When, all entranced, I heard thy gentle voice ; 
 And to my aching eyes, so dim with tears. 
 Unveil the glories of that land of dreams, 
 The bright, the beautiful, the undefiled, 
 Where thou dost reign. 
 
 ISO 
 
LADY MAY. 
 
 I would a while cast off 
 The memory of earth's cares, and toils, and sins ; 
 I would forget those once bright hopes which lie 
 Scattered and withered all along my path, 
 And in thy bright and unsubstantial world 
 Wander with thee. 
 
 LADY MAY. 
 
 Years ago, a gentle lady, sitting in a lofty room. 
 Read a worn and ancient volume in the twilight 
 gloom. 
 
 From the early hours of morning she had sat 
 
 entranced, alone, 
 Reading while the sun had mounted to his noonday 
 
 throne 3 — 
 
 Reading, while the sun declining hid his face behind 
 
 the hill, 
 And the shadows of the evening gathered cool and 
 
 still. 
 
 She had youth and. wondrous beauty, wherefore sat 
 
 she lonely there ? 
 Hark ! the merry shout of hunters rends the evening 
 
 air. 
 
152 POEMS. 
 
 Looked she then towards the hill-side where a gallant 
 
 train came dov/n, 
 Noble dames on prancing coursers, knights with hawk 
 
 and hound. 
 
 All day long with bugles sounding they had rode in 
 
 merry train, 
 Following where the red deer led them over hill and 
 
 plain. 
 
 Why is she, the Baron's daughter, fair and noble 
 
 Lady May, 
 Sitting lonely in her chamber while all else are gay ? 
 
 Bold St. John, the lord of Westland, begged that she 
 
 would ride that day, 
 Her proud father had entreated, still she answered, 
 
 nay; — 
 
 Answered nay, and sought her chamber, saying, "I 
 
 will hunt no more 
 Save among these wondrous pages for truth's hidden 
 
 lore." 
 
 So all day, with earnest spirit, she had read the holy 
 
 Book, 
 Though she knew the church had called it sin thereon 
 
 to look. 
 
LADY MAY. 
 
 153 
 
 She had read of Christ the Saviour, of the wondrous 
 
 works He wrought, 
 What He suffered, what He promised, what the 
 
 truths He taught. 
 
 And her soul, with joyful wonder, looked as through 
 
 an open door 
 On that world unknown and dreadful to her thoughts 
 
 before 
 
 Looked, and through the mists receding, saw a land 
 
 of joy and light, 
 Saw a city golden streeted, beautiful and bright ; — 
 
 Saw His throne before whose glory white-robed hosts 
 
 in rapture bowed, — 
 Saw the crowns they cast before Him, heard theii 
 
 anthems loud. 
 
 AH earth's splendor paled and faded to her heaven 
 
 enraptured eye ; 
 All its pleasure seemed but sadness to the joys on 
 
 high. 
 
 Bold she grew to do and suffer, reading how the Lord 
 
 had died, 
 Strong to follow in the footsteps of the Crucified. 
 
154 POEMS. 
 
 And she followed, though He led her through the 
 
 dungeon, fire and flood. 
 And they bade her, for His favor, answer with her 
 
 blood. 
 
 THE DESTRUCTION OF SODOM AND 
 GOMORRAH. 
 
 Soft as a silken curtain, o'er the streams 
 
 And bosky hills the mists of morning hung. 
 And Mamre's vale, fair as the land of dreams, 
 
 With tuneful voices 'mid the palm trees rung ; 
 
 The birds, awaking, joyful matins sung ; 
 And fragrant flowers, with balmy dewdrops bright, 
 
 Their grateful incense on the breezes flung, 
 And ope'd their petals soft to catch the light. 
 When first the orient beams dispelled the shades of 
 night. 
 
 From troubled sleep the aged patriarch rose. 
 
 And sought with anxious steps the mountain's 
 brow; 
 
 O'er the broad vale where Jordan proudly flows 
 He cast his eyes ; and while the golden glow 
 Of morning clouds seemed kindling all below, 
 
DESTRUCTION OF SODOM AND GOMORRAH. 155 
 
 The towers of Sodom burst upon his view. 
 
 Fair seemed those cities in the valley low, 
 Girt with green hills and wet with glittering dew, 
 Nor dreamed they that so near the hour of vengeance 
 drew. 
 
 As yet no harbinger of wrath appeared,* 
 
 No sign of danger in the peaceful sky. 
 In the blue vault no thunder tones were heard. 
 
 No warning voice proclaimed destruction nigh ; 
 
 But on the summit of that mountain high 
 The prophet stood, and where those cities lay 
 
 He fixed the vision of his anxious eye ; 
 For well he knew that morn would bring a day 
 Whose memory from the earth would never pass 
 away. 
 
 For in the east the dazzling sun arose, 
 
 And o'er the earth a flood of glory flung, 
 And thousands, waking from their short repose. 
 
 With buoyant hearts to life and motion sprung ; 
 
 With noisy shouts the streets of Sodom rung, 
 And answering sounds were heard from Admah's 
 towers, 
 
 And many a wanton song was gaily sung, 
 Amid Zeboim's fair and fragrant bowers. 
 And many a fair young brow was wreathed with 
 dewy flowers. 
 
156 POEMS. 
 
 But in the sky a low black cloud appeared, 
 
 Its dark edge fringed with strange, unearthly fire, 
 
 And in the heavens such fearful sounds were heard 
 As when the raging elements conspire 
 To shake the trembling nations in their ire. 
 
 On like a whirlwind came that fiery cloud, 
 Till o'er the plain it hung in horror dire, 
 
 And from its bosom, on those cities proud, 
 
 It poured the burning shower, a nation's awful 
 shroud. 
 
 And fearful was the horror and despair 
 
 When burst that fiery tempest in the sky ; 
 And 'mid the curling smoke and lurid glare 
 
 Of sulphurous flames poured on them from on 
 high. 
 
 There rose to heaven a wild appalling cry, 
 From thousands waking to their awful doom, 
 
 No hope of mercy, no deliverer nigh ! 
 Oh, who may tell how dread that hour of gloom 
 Which wrapped that guilty race in such a fiery tomb ! 
 
 On swept the flames o'er many a palmy bower 
 Where pleasure erst had led her wanton train ; 
 
 Wild burst the blaze from many a princely tower 
 Which oft had rung with music's softest strain j 
 The peasant's cot, the consecrated fane 
 
DESTRUCTION OF SODOM AND GOMORRAH. 157 
 
 Where men had blindly bowed to wood and stone, 
 
 All, all were wrapped in that devouring flame. 
 Which 'mid the gloom in awful grandeur shone, 
 And like a banner waved o'er ruins all its own. 
 
 But soon, the work of stern destruction o'er, 
 
 The cloud retired, the sulphurous vapor fled, 
 And in the sky the glorious sun once more * 
 
 Shone o'er those smoldering cities of the dead ; 
 
 And in their place the sullen billows spread, 
 With many a fearful wreck and ruin strewn. 
 
 Dashing a shore whence life and joy had fled; 
 For desolation claimed the spot his own. 
 And o'er the ruins reared his solitary throne. 
 
 And there still rolls that dark, sepulchral sea. 
 
 As first it rolled above that smoking plain ; 
 And on the shore is seen no fruitful tree. 
 
 No blushing flowers in Spring, nor ripening grain ; 
 
 No healthful breezes sweep its dark domain, 
 No cheerful canvas on its breast is spread, 
 
 But mournfully the bitter waves complain. 
 And sigh their requiem o'er tli' unnumbered dead 
 Who sleep amid the caves of its unfathomed bed. 
 
A DOOR OPENED IN HEAVEN. 
 
 I looked, and behold a door was opened in heaven " — Rev. iv. i. 
 
 I DID not dream, but visions bright 
 Of heavenly bliss my spirit thrilled; 
 
 I saw the golden gates of light 
 
 Thrown open, and with rapture filled; 
 
 I marked the seraph's dazzling wing, 
 
 And heard the songs which angels sing. 
 
 I saw the bright and fragrant flowers 
 Which are not of the things that die, 
 
 And 'mid the ever verdant bowers 
 
 The sparkling fountains met mine eye ; 
 
 Oh, blest are they who on that shore 
 
 Shall taste those streams and thirst no more. 
 
 Henceforth the earth has not for me 
 A fount to quench my spirit's thirst ; 
 
 I pine again those bowers to see 
 Where springs of living water burst; — 
 
 To join those sweet and wondrous strains 
 
 Which float o'er the celestial plains. 
 is8 
 
THE FOUNTAIN ISLE. 159 
 
 I pause not o'er the flowers of earth 
 Which blossom round my thorny way j 
 
 I heed no more the songs of mirth 
 Which tempt me from my home away ; 
 
 I would the joys of heaven behold, 
 
 And walk those streets of shining gold. 
 
 THE FOUNTAIN ISLE, 
 
 Far o'er the dark blue waters, 
 
 Amid Castilian bowers. 
 There stood an ancient castle, 
 
 With proud o'ershadowing towers ; 
 And there an aged baron 
 
 Kept court with regal sway. 
 And the glorious deeds of his youth were sung 
 
 In many a minstrel's lay. 
 
 And there were songs and feasting 
 
 Amid those princely halls. 
 Where many a gorgeous banner 
 
 O'erhung the massive walls; 
 And there was red wine foaming 
 
 In bowls with ivy crowned, 
 And the gleam of many a captive's shield 
 
 As the torch-light blazed around 
 
l6o POEMS. 
 
 But the frosts of time had fallen 
 
 On the warrior's haughty brow ; 
 His flashing eye had faded, 
 
 And his step was feeble now ; 
 And his heart was sadly pining, 
 
 Amid his proud domain, 
 That his hand no more might guide the steed 
 
 On the stormy battle plain. 
 
 Then came a youthful minstrel 
 
 To the baron's castle door, 
 He sang, and the old man listened 
 
 To the tales of many a shore ; 
 He sang of glorious conflicts, 
 
 On the plains of Palestine, 
 Where the sign of the Christian's hope was placed 
 
 Above the holy shrine. 
 
 He sang of a glorious region 
 
 Far over the restless deep ; 
 Of an isle whose fragrant breezes 
 
 Unfading verdure sweep ; 
 Where trees which angels planted 
 
 In matchless beauty stand, 
 Where the yellow gold and the diamonds gleam 
 
 Amid the purple sand. 
 
THE FOUNTAIN ISLE. l6l 
 
 He sang of a wondrous fountain 
 
 Whose flashing waters glow 
 With the hue of rubies gleaming 
 
 In the crystal urn below ; — 
 A fount whose softest murmur 
 
 Like the gushing music seems, 
 Which angels pour o'er their golden harps 
 
 In the far-off land of dreams. 
 
 He sang of their blessed mission 
 
 Who seek that happy shore ; 
 For there the worn and weary 
 
 May drink and thirst no more ; 
 And there the sick and dying 
 
 Immortal health obtain, 
 And the aged feel, through every pulse, 
 
 The fires of youth again. 
 
 The old man heard with rapture 
 
 The minstrel's welcome tale, 
 And he bade them make him ready 
 
 Ere life and hope should fail ; 
 That he might seek that fountain 
 
 Far o'er the watery main. 
 And, bathing in its wondrous waves, 
 
 The joys of youth regain. 
 
l62 POEMS. 
 
 And soon his train departed 
 
 From his ancient castle door, 
 And soon his bark was sailing 
 
 From the fair Iberian shore ; 
 Onward the breezes bore him, 
 
 And the ocean's ceaseless flow. 
 To the sunny land where the princely palm 
 
 And golden orange grow. 
 
 Through many a trackless forest, 
 
 O'er many a sunny plain, 
 Unawed by pain and peril. 
 
 He sought that fount in vain. 
 Weary at last, and hopeless, 
 
 He laid him down to die 
 Amid the tents of savage men. 
 
 Beneath a burning sky. 
 
 And yet there is a fountain 
 
 Where living waters flow, 
 A land where fruits immortal 
 
 And flowers unfading grow ; 
 The pure in heart shall find it 
 
 Beyond this gloomy shore. 
 The Lamb Himself shall guide them there 
 
 When all their toils are o'er. 
 
SUMMEE MORNING. 
 
 Summer morning bright and joyous, 
 
 Let me forth to breathe the air ; 
 Birds are singing, streams are flashing, 
 
 Flowers are blooming everywhere. 
 Brightly o'er the fields and meadows 
 
 Quivering rays of sunlight rest, 
 Every little leaf adorning 
 
 With a diamond on its breast. 
 
 When my heart was young and happy, . 
 
 Then I loved these forest bowers. 
 Then my friends and faithful teachers 
 
 Were the birds, and trees, and flowers; 
 Here I learned the deepest lessons 
 
 Which my spirit ever knew ; 
 Here I find my old companions, 
 
 Ever gentle, ever true. 
 
 I have learned that human friendship 
 Oft deceives our fondest trust ; 
 
 Those I loved and those who loved me 
 Now are sleeping in the dust. 
 163 
 
l64 POEMS. 
 
 Sick of worldly hopes and pleasures, 
 Turns my weary heart to you ; 
 
 Let me hear your gentle voices, 
 Teach me as ye used to do. 
 
 Trees and flowers, ye are unchanged ;- 
 
 Still the violet's azure eye 
 Opes amid the tangled grasses, 
 
 Looking upward to the sky ; 
 Still the blue flag gently bendeth 
 
 O'er the stream with loving look; 
 Still the purple cypripedium 
 
 Springeth in its lonely nook ; 
 
 Still the myriad leaves are whispering 
 
 Softly to the sighing breeze. 
 While it lingereth like a lover 
 
 'Mid these old familiar trees; 
 Sweetly falls their softest murmur 
 
 On my heart to soothe its care; 
 Every note my spirit answereth 
 
 With a blessing and a prayer. 
 
 Here I learned how nature mocketh 
 All the pride of wealth and power, 
 
 More than princely robes bestowing 
 On the humblest shrub and flower; 
 
SUMMER MORNING. l6$ 
 
 Here, within this leafy temple, 
 
 On this cold and dewy sod, 
 'Mid these singing birds and waters, 
 
 First I learned to worship God. 
 
 Glad am I, my gentle teachers. 
 
 That ye taught my soul to prize 
 Treasures which the rich man never 
 
 Hideth from the poor man's eyes ; 
 Now I envy not the monarch 
 
 All his gems and all his gold ; 
 I have treasures purer, richer. 
 
 Which are never bought or sold; — 
 
 Treasures in each flower and dewdrop, 
 
 Treasures in all living things ; 
 These are mine, and so I heed not 
 
 Those which fortune takes or brings. 
 I have hopes that soon in heaven 
 
 I shall see the tree that grows 
 O'er that fountain, clear as crystal, 
 
 Where the living water flows. 
 
THE BIKDS. 
 
 The birds are singing ever)rwhere, the birds of sum- 
 mer hours, 
 
 They're flitting 'mid the leafy trees and o'er the 
 summer flowers ; 
 
 They pour their gushing melodies by every mur- 
 muring rill, 
 
 They build their soft and quiet nests on every woody 
 hill. 
 
 They sweep the waves with venturous wings, they 
 
 seek the mountain hight, 
 They soar amid the clouds of heaven with proud and 
 
 fearless flight ; 
 They're where the shifting desert sands beneath the 
 
 tropics glow, 
 They're where the piercing wintry blasts sweep o'er 
 
 the arctic snow. 
 
 When morning gilds the glowing east, we hear their 
 silvery call, — 
 
 Their grateful, gushing matin songs where'er the sun- 
 beams fall ; 
 
 z66 
 
THE BIRDS. 167 
 
 The morning brings them naught but joy amid their 
 
 leafy bowers, 
 The dew-drops sparkling on their wings, the fragrant 
 
 breath of flowers. 
 
 They sing around the poor man's door where want 
 
 and hunger dwell, 
 And o'er the sufferer's couch of pain their holy 
 
 anthems swell; 
 Joyous and free, they hover near and pour their 
 
 mellow lays, 
 As if to wake in human hearts an answering note of 
 
 praise. 
 
 They're happy 'mid the winter storms and 'mid the 
 
 summer's bloom, 
 For God doth hold them in His hand and mark the 
 
 sparrow's doom ; 
 They sow not, neither do they reap, yet are their 
 
 wants supplied, — 
 Oh, would my heart might learn from them to cast 
 
 its cares aside. 
 
THE JEWISH PH.GRIM ON MOUNT 
 OLIVET. 
 
 With weary steps and slow the pilgrim climbed 
 The side of Olivet, and sat him down 
 Beneath an aged tree, whose gnarled trunk 
 And leafless branches seemed a fitting type 
 Of him and of his people. Like a map 
 Outspread beneath his view the city lay, 
 It mosques, and towers, and peasants' cottages 
 Bathed in the mellow light. 
 
 With anxious e}^e 
 He sadly gazed upon the glittering dome 
 And marble colonnades, which proudly ran 
 Where once the smoke of sacrifice was seen, 
 And the loud anthem of a nation's praise 
 Uprose to Israel's God ; when loud and clear 
 From that bright minaret, a voice was heard 
 Echoing o'er hill and plain, — " Lo, God is God ! 
 Before Him come, before Him come for prayer ! " 
 A thousand tongues took up the sound and bore 
 The summons onward, till each Moslem's ear 
 Had heard the solemn call. 
 
 i68 
 
THE JEWISH PILGRIM ON MOUNT OLIVET. 169 
 
 The pilgrim bowed 
 His forehead in the dust, and while the tears 
 Flowed o'er his manly cheeks, his soul burst forth 
 In lamentation for his people's woe: — 
 
 " Land of my fathers' sepulchers I Land of my life- 
 long dreams! 
 
 Oft has my spirit been amid thy holy hills and 
 streams ; 
 
 Though far away in other climes my weary feet might 
 roam, 
 
 Still was the wanderer's heart with thee, my home, 
 my father's home ! 
 
 " I've seen the vineyards on thy hills, the flocks upon 
 
 the plain, 
 I've heard the merry reapers shout amid the golden 
 
 grain, 
 And to the songs thy maidens sung I've listened in 
 
 my dreams, 
 Ere they in silent grief sat down beside the distant 
 
 streams. 
 
 "On Mount Moriah's sacred brow I've seen the 
 
 temple stand, — 
 The glorioqs temple of our God, the praise of every 
 
 land. 
 
lyo POEMS. 
 
 Where 'neath the cherubs' glittering wings the bright 
 
 Shekinah shone, 
 And where for sin with holy rites the priesthood 
 
 might atone. 
 
 " I've seen thy gathering tribes come up with anthems 
 
 long and loud, 
 And with them in thy hallowed courts my spirit oft 
 
 has bowed, 
 And with thy hosts upon the plain I've joined the 
 
 glorious fray 
 When like the chaff before the wind their foes were 
 
 swept away. 
 
 "Alas! alas! Jerusalem, mine eyes behold thee now, 
 
 A captive mourning in the dust, with ashes on thy 
 brow! 
 
 Of all thine honor and thy pride no vestige now re- 
 mains, 
 
 How is thy glory changed to woe, thy liberty to 
 chains ! 
 
 "Thy holy hills, where angels walked, the heathen 
 now defile. 
 
 And on thine outcast people's tears with proud de- 
 rision smile ; 
 
THE JEWISH PILGRIM ON MOUNT OLIVET. 171 
 
 Where once thy prophets sang I hear the bold 
 
 muezzin's cry, — 
 Jerusalem, thy child would fain among thy ruins 
 
 die! 
 
 "Land of my sires, I bring to thee the tribute of my 
 
 tears, 
 I kiss the sod, for here have walked thy princes and 
 
 thy seers ; 
 I bare my forehead to the breeze, I love this blessed 
 
 air, 
 In other days it bore to heaven the tones of joy and 
 
 prayer. 
 
 " Belove'd Zion, oh, how long must thou be trodden 
 
 down ? 
 How long in sorrow must thou sit beneath thy 
 
 Sovereign's frown.? 
 When shall thy broken walls again 'mid shout and 
 
 song arise. 
 And here at morn and eve be seen the smoke of 
 
 sacrifice ? 
 
 " When shall thy temple's sacred towers all glorious 
 
 re-appear, 
 And David's holy hymns be sung by priests and 
 
 people here.? — 
 
172 POEMS. 
 
 Those hymns, which once like incense rose from 
 
 every hill and plain, 
 From every hearth and every heart, when will they 
 
 rise again ? 
 
 " Thou shalt arise, Jerusalem, our God the word hath 
 
 spoken, 
 Thine enemies shall be abased, thy fetters shall be 
 
 broken. 
 And outcast Israel shall return, though now so 
 
 widely riven. 
 And meet in thee, the beautiful, the blest of earth 
 
 and heaven. 
 
 "The storm is passing by which threw its darkness 
 
 on our path ; 
 The Sun of mercy shineth yet beyond the clouds of 
 
 wrath ; 
 Full soon his beams may burst on us, our promised 
 
 Prince may come. 
 To raise our cities from the dust and lead our exiles 
 
 home. 
 
 "Our promised Prince! — unwelcome thoughts within 
 
 my bosom spring, 
 A bleeding form on Calvary ! Could this have beer 
 
 our King? 
 
Solomon's choice. 173 
 
 A trembling seizes on the earth, a darkness veils the 
 
 skies ! 
 'Father, forgive mine enemies,' he murmurs ere he 
 
 dies. 
 
 "Was he indeed the Son of God who then so meekly 
 died ? 
 
 Then woe to us, for we must bow before the Cru- 
 cified ! 
 
 And woe to thee, Jerusalem, in sackcloth veil thy 
 brow. 
 
 The cup of vengeance is not full, His blood is on 
 thee now!" 
 
 SOLOMON'S CHOICE. 
 
 On Gibeon's holy hill 
 The smoke of sacrifice had passed away, 
 
 And in the royal tent 
 Calmly asleep the youthful monarch lay. 
 
 To him, amid his dreams. 
 With gracious words of love the Mightiest came, 
 
 And bade him from the gifts 
 Which Heaven bestows, the richest bounty claim. 
 
174 POEMS. 
 
 Not gold, nor length of days, 
 Nor fame, the phantom which so many choose, 
 
 He asked, but meekly said, 
 "Lord, give me wisdom all Thy gifts to use." 
 
 His God the choice approved, 
 Nor gave alone the answer to his prayer, 
 
 But golden gifts conferred, 
 And honors, such as few of earth may share. 
 
 Oh, may we learn to prize 
 Wisdom above the treasures earth bestows, 
 
 And seek it first of Him 
 From whom all truth, and light, and knowledge flows. 
 
 LIBERTY. 
 
 In those dim and distant ages, 
 When the earth herself was young, 
 
 And the freshness of her beauty 
 O'er her like a robe was flung; 
 
 When the footprints of the angels 
 On her bosom still were seen, 
 
 And the echo of their anthems 
 Lingered on her hills of green j 
 
LIBERTY. 175 
 
 Then commenced the bitter struggle, 
 Might arrayed against the Right, 
 
 Love and Truth and Justice dying 
 In the sad, unequal fight. 
 
 Then the shouts of the oppressor. 
 And the groans of the oppressed, 
 
 And the tears which fell like raindrops, 
 Moved a pitying angel's breast. 
 
 Downward from the happy region 
 Where she had her glorious birth. 
 
 Came she on the wings of mercy, 
 Fairest visitant of earth. 
 
 Like the rainbow were her garments. 
 
 Woven of the beams of light. 
 And her face was like a seraph's, 
 
 Very beautiful and bright. 
 
 'Mid the clouds of sin and error 
 Gleamed the glories of her form. 
 
 And the radiance of her pinions 
 Flashed like sunshine 'mid a storm. 
 
 Then arose the fettered millions. 
 
 Looking up with longing eyes. 
 Vainly hoping, wildly struggling 
 
 Towards that vision in the skies. 
 
176 POEMS. 
 
 Vainly struggling; chains of iron 
 Wrapped them like a serpent's coil ; 
 
 The oppressor's hand had forged them 
 For the suffering sons of toil. 
 
 Through the long and weary ages, 
 Which have since been sweeping by, 
 
 Men at times have seen that angel 
 Smiling in the stormy sky. 
 
 When the May-flower plowed the ocean, 
 And the billows round her rolled. 
 
 Then the Pilgrim Fathers saw her 
 Hovering o'er with wing of gold. 
 
 'Mid the snows they built their cabins, 
 On the lone and ice-bound shore. 
 
 Choosing Liberty with exile, — 
 Liberty forevermore ! 
 
 And the glory of her presence 
 Made the humblest cottage fair, 
 
 While the dim old forest echoed 
 To the voice of song and prayer. 
 
 Then a temple they would build her ; 
 
 Here they said should be her home ; 
 And, before her altar bowing, 
 
 Earth's remotest realms should come. 
 
LIBERTY. 177 
 
 So with many prayers and offerings, 
 Deep they laid the corner stone ; 
 
 But meanwhile they raised the structure, 
 Lo ! the angel fair was gone. 
 
 She amid the songs of triumph 
 
 Heard the groans of the oppressed, 
 
 And she saw the blood-drops sprinkling 
 E'en her altars and her priests. 
 
 Sorrowful, but undismayed, 
 
 Back into the sky she fled, 
 Where her golden wings she foldeth 
 
 In the clouds above her head. 
 
 Pealing through the heavenly arches, 
 
 Oft her startling voice is heard, 
 And the nations 'mid their fetters 
 
 Still are listening for her word. 
 
 And the star of hope is beaming 
 Through the clouds of their despair ; 
 
 For she cries, " The fires of vengeance 
 Shall dissolve the chains ye wear. 
 
 " Oh, be patient and take courage, 
 
 God is still upon the throne ! 
 And the day is drawing nearer 
 
 When the Right shall rule alone." 
 
HOPES OF YOUTH. 
 
 Hopes of youth, how are they perished ! 
 
 Hopes that grew within my heart 
 Till I felt that of my being 
 They had formed a part ! 
 
 Hopes which tinged the shadowy future 
 
 With a gorgeous golden dye, 
 Making life a fairy vision 
 To my ardent eye. 
 
 One by one I've marked their going, 
 
 Leaving in th^ir place a pain ; — 
 Hopes of youth, oh, will ye never, 
 Never come again ? 
 
 Hard and bare the future rises 
 
 To my disenchanted sight. 
 Bitter are the winds of winter, 
 Fierce the summer's light. 
 
 Withered are the flowers once glorious 
 
 With the morning light and dew, 
 From the leaden sky around me 
 Fled the golden hue. 
 17B 
 
HOPE OF YOUTH. 1 79 
 
 O my heart, art thou forsaken ? 
 
 Bring the swiftly coming years 
 Only storms to blast thy blossoms, — 
 Only care and tears ? 
 
 Nay, for though the blossoms wither, 
 
 There remain the ripening fruits, 
 As the tree of life expanding 
 Downward strikes its roots. 
 
 Erom the ashes where have perished 
 
 All the hopes which we deplore, 
 Like a Phoenix one ariseth. 
 Living evermore ; — 
 
 One that o'er the fearful river 
 
 Sends a flood of glorious light, 
 Making all the shore untrodden 
 Beautiful and bright 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 TO THE 
 
 MEMORY OF REV. E. HUTCHINS, 
 
 To Mrs. M. M. Hutchins, on the Death of her Husband, Rev. & 
 
 HUTCHINS. 
 
 To thee, dear sister, in thy great affliction, 
 The depth whereof no other heart may know, 
 
 My spirit turns with silent benediction, 
 And asks to share the burden of thy woe ; 
 
 Or if I may not, yet some consolation 
 
 I fain would bring thee in thy hour of need, 
 
 Strengthening to bear this mournful dispensation, 
 Which bows thy spirit like a broken reed. 
 
 Then let me say what thine own heart approveth. 
 Bidding thee bow before the will of God, 
 
 Knowing that though He chasteneth whom He 
 loveth, 
 The hand of mercy ever holds the rod. 
 
 i8i 
 
l82 POEMS. 
 
 To him thou mourn'st, the pure and tranquil-hearted, 
 Death brought no terror and the grave no fear, 
 
 True had he lived, and calmly he departed 
 To seek the glories of a higher sphere. 
 
 The coming of the dread and solemn angel 
 To him was not unwelcome or unkind ; 
 
 He heard the summons as a glad evangel, 
 And only wept for {hose he left behind. 
 
 Ah, then take comfort, for thy heart forever 
 Will hold the memory of his priceless love, 
 
 A sacred presence, like an atigel's, ever 
 Linking the pleasant past with joys above. 
 
 But not alone on thee hath fallen this trial ; 
 
 The church mourns with thee for a leader dead, 
 A friend proved true by many a self-denial, 
 
 A light gone out, a holy presence fled. 
 
 In distant lands, the heralds of salvation 
 Will in thy sorrow and thy tears have part. 
 
 And souls redeefhed from heathen degradation 
 Will hold his memory with a grateful heart. 
 
 The fettered slave, the outcast poor and lowly. 
 Will weep with thee, for they have lost a friend ; 
 
 And on his humble grave, an offering holy. 
 The blessings of the friendless will descend. 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF WILLIAM BURR. 1 83 
 
 He is not dead ; we feel his presence ever ; 
 
 We hear his teachings as in days gone by , 
 And by this influence which forsakes us never, 
 
 We know our friend and brother could not die. 
 
 Oh, let this joyful thought assuage thy sadness, 
 
 And lift thy vision to the better land. 
 Where wait the loved and lost with songs of gladness, 
 
 To hail thee welcome to their happy band. 
 
 TO THE MEMOEY OF WILLIAM BUER. 
 
 I KNOW that in the narrow house he sleepeth, 
 Afar from mortal joys and mortal fears. 
 
 Nor answereth e'en the undying love that keepeth 
 The flowers above his pillow fresh with tears. 
 
 I know full well, beyond the pearly portal 
 Which shuts the Golden City from our eyes, 
 
 Forever blest, he dwells with the immortal. 
 Where beauty never fades nor friendship dies. 
 
 And yet so deeply is his memory graven. 
 Time has no power the record to efface ; 
 
 His influence lives with us, the while in heaven 
 He sees the glory of the Father's face. 
 
184 POEMS. 
 
 For with a patient zeal, and loVe untiring, 
 He labored faithfully through good and ill. 
 
 Asking not honor, nor to wealth aspiring, — 
 He sought alone to do the Master's will. 
 
 With lamp all burning, and his sheaves around him, 
 He heard the midnight cry the Bridegroom sends; 
 
 The summons came unheralded, but found him 
 Robed for the feast where Jesus meets His friends. 
 
 And when with sorrowing hearts and tearful faces, 
 We heard the tidings that his work was done, 
 
 We said, " The Saviour to His own embraces 
 
 Has called the servant whom His grace had won." 
 
 O gracious Lord, beneath Thy wing abiding, 
 And closely pressing to Thy wounded side. 
 
 Help us, with patient trust and Iqvc confiding, 
 To do Thy will though good or ill betide. 
 
 So may we hope, when this brief life is over, 
 And all the work Thou givest us is done, 
 
 That Thou, O Jesus, pitying Friend and Brother, . 
 Wilt crown us with the joys which he has won. 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. CAROLINE 
 ADELIA CHENEY. 
 
 Green wave the willows o'er thy bed, O thou so 
 
 early blest ! 
 Who in the grave's o'ershadowing gloom hast laid 
 
 thee down to rest; 
 Before the joyous dreams of youth had faded from 
 
 thine eye 
 Thy Father kindly bade thee lay earth's cares and 
 
 sorrows by. 
 
 We weep, but ah ! 'tis not for thee our hearts in 
 
 sorrow bow, 
 We know that in the better land thy spirit resteth 
 
 now ; 
 For even here a glorious hope to thy rapt soul was 
 
 given, 
 W^ich pointed through the mists of earth e'en to the 
 
 gates of heaven. 
 
 And we will joy that thou hast gained that bright and 
 
 blissful shore. 
 Where sin and sorrow, pain and death shall pierce 
 
 thy heart no more J — 
 185 
 
l86 POEMS. 
 
 That blissful shore where sparkling streams of living 
 
 water flow, 
 And rays of glory ever crown thy pure seraphic 
 
 brow. 
 
 Thy memory is a blessdd boon to our sad spirits 
 
 given, 
 A precious record, breathing less, far less of earth 
 
 than heaven ; 
 And we will bear it in our hearts till our last hour 
 
 shall come, 
 That with a holy faith like thine we may approach 
 
 the tomb ; — 
 
 A faith like thine which conquered death, and 
 triumphed o'er the grave. 
 
 And bade a song of rapture rise o'er Jordan's whelm- 
 ing wave. 
 
 Which hushed the voice of earthly love that bade 
 thee longer stay. 
 
 And opened to thy raptured sight the realm of end- 
 less day. 
 
 Farewell! we'll follow in the path which diou so 
 
 meekly trod. 
 Seeking with joy thy glorious home, the presence of 
 
 our God j 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF THADDEUS C. MORRELL. 187 
 
 There may we join the rapturous songs which never, 
 
 never end, 
 And with a pure, unchanging love our souls with thine 
 
 shall blend. 
 
 TO THE 
 
 ]MEMORY OF MY BELOVED BROTHEE, 
 THADDEUS C. MORRELL. 
 
 How mournfully the breezes sigh, how pale the 
 
 moonbeams fall. 
 And melancholy shadows flit across my chamber 
 
 wall ! 
 Here on my sleepless couch I count the tardy hours 
 
 and weep, 
 For my heart is very, very sad with sorrows dark 
 
 and deep. 
 
 I knew my cherished ones were dust, I knew that 
 
 they must die ; 
 Alas ! alas ! I had not dreamed the hour had been 
 
 so nigh, 
 That while amid the summer flowers with careless 
 
 steps I trod. 
 Far, far away they laid thee down, my brother, 'neath 
 
 the sod. 
 
l88 POEMS. 
 
 There's mourning in thy childhood's home, for 
 aching hearts are there, 
 
 Who spend like me these midnight hours in weep- 
 ing and in prayer j 
 
 Oh, would that o'er thy distant grave our bitter 
 tears might blend ! 
 
 E'en that would seem a blessed boon, my brother, 
 and my friend ! 
 
 We'd teach the sweetest flowers to bloom around thy 
 
 lowly bed, 
 And o'er the consecrated spot their withered leaves 
 
 to shedj 
 And bowing 'neath the Father's hand that lays our 
 
 hopes so low. 
 We'd murmur in His pitying ear the burden of our 
 
 woe. 
 
 But wherefore weep for thee, beloved? oh, wherefore 
 
 weep for thee? 
 Though dust is on thy faded brow, thy soul is glad 
 
 and free ; 
 In that bright home where spirits dwell, no mourners 
 
 weep and sigh, 
 " For there are none who say farewell, and there are 
 
 none who die." 
 
IT IS WELL WITH THE CHILD.'* 
 
 To Mrs. P. G. Curtis, on the death of her only child. 
 
 'Tis midnight, and the glorious stars on high 
 
 Around the eternal throne their watch are keeping; 
 
 The silvery moon, low in the western sky, 
 Looks down upon a world in silence sleeping ; 
 
 But death, forever eager for his prey, 
 
 Heeds not the holy hour, nor waits the coming day. 
 
 Fair as a broken lily, there she lies ! 
 
 Her soft eyes closed in sleep that knows no 
 waking, 
 And o'er her form the sounds of mourning rise, — 
 
 Those stifled sobs which tell the heart is breaking; 
 The childless mother, speechless in her woe. 
 Is bowing 'neath the stroke that lays her loved one 
 low. 
 
 But hark ! resounding through the vaulted skies, 
 The sweetest notes from atigel harps are blending; 
 
 And, freed from earth, the ransomed spirit flies 
 With brightest Cherubim to heaven ascending. 
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190 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 And Christ, who loves her, hides her in His arms. 
 And crowns her spotless brow with more than mortal 
 charms. 
 
 Ere grief had dimmed her bright and joyous eye, 
 Or the soft rose-leaf on her cheek had faded, 
 
 Ere she had trembled 'neath our stormy sky. 
 Or seen the sun of hope by sorrow shaded, 
 
 God claims again the gift so lately given, 
 
 And she, so loved on earth, is welcomed now in 
 heaven. 
 
 Then weep no more for her, the early blest. 
 
 For Jesus guardeth well thy priceless treasure ; 
 Her feet the thoifny pathway had not pressed. 
 Yet hath she gained the bowers of endless 
 pleasure ; 
 Forever beautiful and undefiled. 
 She waits to meet thee there, thy glorious angel 
 child 1 
 
 THE END.