LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. ilap..- - inp^rig^t lo.- Shelf.--..- : UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. TEN YEARS OF SONG IPocm0 BY HORATIO NELSON POWERS AUTHOR OF "through THE YEAR," " POEMS EARLY AND LATE," AND ONE OF THE AUTHORS OF "THE HOMES AND HAUNTS OF OUR ELDER POETS " ^ I^^ BOSTON D LOTHROP COMPANY Fkankhn and Hawlky Streets \X \ Copyright, 1887, by D LOTHROP COMPANY. Electrotyped By C. J. Peters & Son, Boston. BESSIE McELRATH and ADELINE HOFFMAN, THESE POEMS ARE AFFECTIONATELV INSCRIBED. H. N. P. PREFACE. The poems included in the main part of this volume were produced, at intervals, during the last ten years. Nearly all of them have appeared in the current literature of that period, and a number of them have found a place in various collections and anthologies. They were not written to illustrate any skill in literary technique, or partiality for a particu- lar school of the poetic art, but to express feelings and sentiments whose most natural vehicle is verse. As such, they are now collected and offered to the public. The author chiefly values such compositions according to their helpfulness to sincere natures, and on this ground he desires his work to be judged. To Harper's Magazine, which holds the copyright of the initial poem, to The Century, St. Nicholas, Lippincott's, The Critic, and The Churchman, are made grateful acknowledgments for courtesies. H. N. P. March, 1887. CONTENTS. PAGB Sub Luna n Chimney Swallows 13 At School 15 Optimus 16 October Lilacs 18 Apple-Blossoms 20 Two Pictures by Hamerton 21 A Maiden 24 Delectatio Piscatoria 25 The Hudson 28 To Bayard Taylor ........ 30 A Golden Wedding 31 An Invitation 34 Deukalion 36 Concord Bridge 37 A Priest 39 A Sanctuary 41 In the Orchard 42 Fire-Flies 44 Clematis 45 Memorial Day— 1878 46 7 8 CONTENTS. The Voice of Pain, L, II 48 The Phantoms of Love 53 Iowa 54 A Portrait 55 The Tulip-Tree in Blossom 57 Golden-Rod 59 Pro Patria 60 In the Mountains 62 The Rev. Dr. Orville Dewey 63 Jessie 64 Burns 65 Sweet Clover . 68 Samuel Osgood 69 The Catskills in October 71 To C. E. P 72 Liberty Enlightening the World ... 74 The Burial of Grant 75 At Confession 77 The Color-Spirit 79 Intimations 80 Triumphant 81 Could the Poems Felt and Sung .... 83 The Anchorite in His Cell 84 Cor Cordium 86 IN THE CLOSET, AND OTHER POEMS. In the Closet 91 Our Dwelling-Place 93 CONTENTS. 9 Last Christmas 94 Transformed 95 Christmas 97 Hymn 99 Semper Ubique loo Reassurance 102 Easter 103 EccLESiA 105 EARLIER POEMS. One Year "3 A Rosebud "5 In the Lane 116 Pewaukee iiS A Voice in the Desert 119 The River of Tears 121 You and I 122 A Vision 123 The Fisher-Boy 125 To Bryant 127 A Birthday Lyric 129 Bryant 131 The Old Chimney-Place 132 Hymn of the Mothers of Our Volunteers . 134 A Lesson from the Sky 137 Our Sister ^3^ Bonnie ^9 Ariss MO lO CONTENTS. To Robert Collyer 141 A Sunset at Longmont, Colorado ... 142 Our Boy 144 The New Year 145 To William F. Coolbaugh 146 Memorial Day 147 With Bryant at His Birthplace . . . .149 The April Snow 152 Sunday Evening 153 The Angels' Bridge 154 A Murmur of May 155 Newness of Life 156 "Abide with us: for it is toward evening" . 157 POEMS. SUB LUNA. Suppose that we could read as in a book The moon's enchantments — all romantic lore Learned by the heart in her bewitching look — And every secret of her charm explore. What legends of sweet dreams would sate our eyes, And sumptuous pictures of untold desire ! What miracles of tenderness surprise, And hopes ablaze with pentecostal fire ! What pages writ in ecstasies and tears, And yearnings that have never had a tongue ! What loves, ambitions, lamentations, fears, What hymns of Beauty that are yet unsung ! Into what realms of wonder, what strange bowers, What palaces of pleasure would we go ! What music lull us, and what flowers Of unknown incense would about us blow ! 12 ^UB LUNA. What seas of mystic splendor would we sail, Enchanted isles and fairy shores along, And muse in gardens where the nightingale Interprets the overloaded heart in song ! Even now I hear youth's passionate appeal, Pleadings of parched lips that thirst to meet. Great sobs of joy that years of anguish heal, And Love's first kiss that makes a life-time sweet. And beauteous beings follow shapes that fade, And white hands droop that sacred treasures bore. And some in ghastly landscapes grow afraid, And find the paths that once looked bright no more. O wistful faces ! rapt, uplifted eyes ! Poor feet bewildered with a tearless pain ! And still earth's long processions rise and rise, And dream their moonlight dream of bliss again. Tell me the charm, dear girl, this balmy eve, That makes the luscious languor of thy trance ; How do the moonbeams with thy fancies weave, And common things transfigure to romance ? No wonder infants, seeing things unseen. Reach rosy hands to clasp thee, shining sphere ; That pure-eyed maidens at their casements lean, And hear a voice that only virgins hear ; CHIMNE V S IVALLO IVS. 13 That something in thy lustre overflows From heaven, like echoes of a low-breathed prayer, And lover's lips cling closer, till life's rose With perfect sweetness blossoms everywhere. White on the valley slopes the splendor lies, Touching a holy mound where pansies blow ; And in my heart, from depths of viewless skies. Burns one soft beam that lights the way I go. CHIMNEY SWALLOWS. I SLEPT in an old homestead by the sea ; And in their chimney nest. At night, the swallows told home-lore to me, As to a friendly guest. A liquid twitter low, confiding, glad, From many glossy throats, Was all the voice, and yet its accents had A poem's golden notes. Quaint legends of the fireside and the shore, And sounds of festal cheer. And tones of those whose tasks of love are o'er, Were breathed into mine ear. 14 CHIMNEY SWALLOWS. And wondrous lyrics felt, but never sung, — The heart's melodious bloom ; And histories whose perfumes long have clung About each hallowed room. I heard the dream of lovers as they found At last their hour of bliss. And fear and pain and long suspense were drowned In one heart-healing kiss. I heard the lullaby of babes, that grew To sons and daughters fair ; And childhood's angels, singing as they flew, And sobs of secret prayer. I heard the voyagers who seemed to sail Into the sapphire sky, And sad, weird voices in the autumn gale, As the swift ships went by ; And sighs suppressed and converse soft and low About the suif'rer's bed, And what is uttered when the stricken know That the dear one is dead ; And steps of those who in the Sabbath light Muse with transfigured face ; And hot lips pressing, through the long, dark night, The pillow's empty place ; AT SCHOOL. 15 And gracious greetings of old friends whose path In youth had gone apart, But to each other brought life's aftermath, With uncorroded heart. The music of the seasons touched the strain, Bird-joy and laugh of flowers, The orchard's bounty and the yellow grain, Snow-storm and sunny showers ; And secrets of the soul that doubts and yearns, And gropes in regions dim. Till, meeting Christ with raptured eye, discerns Its perfect life in Him. So, thinking of the Master and His tears, And how the birds are kept, I sank in arms that folded me from fears, And, like an infant, slept. AT SCHOOL. I HEAR the sigh of seeds that yearn To deck with pomp their burial urn. Ecstatic rhapsodies that run Along the bark that feels the sun. The laugh with which the buds unfold, The passion in the pollen's gold ; I hear the faint, delicious beat In hearts of roses, converse sweet OP TIM us. In airs that toy, at twilight's hour, With apple-bloom and orange-flower, The am'rous whispers of the grass As robins brood and fire-flies pass. The dews' desire, and griefs that make The thunder's fiery heart-strings break. To me are told the dreams that lie Deep in the lily's languid eye. Legends that ferns and corals store In books of rock and ocean's floor, The prayers that out of pastures cry When scorched beneath a brazen sky, Strange syllables that from the ground Speak like the naked soul of sound, And all the birds in love relate Of happy flight and tender mate. And what the tribes of insects tell Of their incessant miracle. Sea-song, and joy of human speech. And awful lore the star-depths teach ; And touching thus the inner Mind, I go enraptured, aw^ed, resigned. OP TIM US. Through all that is eternal order runs : No fragment is the scripture of the whole. Heaven over heaven, star-deeps, and countless suns Are tuned in concert with the inner soul. OP TIM us. 17 Seen and unseen in one perfection blend, — Cycle and epicycle without end. We see the edge of things, brief gleams of day. Twinkles and coruscations in the night ; We hear faint bits of symphonies that play Far in the awful depths beyond our sight : And so we doubt, grope, fear, and wonder why Our little life should just be born to die. And yet the Sovran Order still abides. Though phantoms of existence ever fade ; Though rise and vanish, on time's seething tides, Visions of joy in every charm arrayed. No discord in the Infinite can be — Calm in the fulness of eternity ! No loss, no death, no hostile conflict mars The inner Selfhood that is all in all. We are not bubbles, but immortal stars That from no shrivelled sky can ever fall. Lodged in the bosom of the perfect Good, Love gives us all that utter Justice should. All through the dark abysses, in the cells Discerned not yet by microscopic eye, The spirit of the Infinite compels The music of eternal harmony ; And every note, as if in one great word, Adores the Order, who is Life and Lord. 1 3 OCTOBER LILACS. Not vain the hunger which no meats supply ; The struggle and the anguish are not vain, As shapes of Beauty still before us fly, And in our freest moods we drag a chain. The Power that gave shall ne'er His charge resign, In all our gropings 'tis for Him we pine. O Wisdom of the Highest ! let us find In Thee the place for which our souls aspire ; In Love's alembic, may our inmost mind Be fused with Thee, as quenchless fire with fire, — Our wishes, wills, affections, all be Thine, And so life reach its end and be divine. 1886. OCTOBER LILACS. Could she who gave the flowers Know what sacred lore was taught me In the delicate fresh lilacs That rare October night ? Gliding from her garden bowers. Did she fancy that she brought me A trail of perfumed heart-tracks All aglow with vernal light .'' They were pure, sweet, pleading, tender, Like her own fresh maiden beautv : I OCTOBER LILACS. iq Enough that they were simply so To her whose life is May. But to me they had strange splendor ; I saw the spoils of duty, The heart's unsmothered glow, The child-smile framed in gray. 'Tis my creed that Kgt. should carry, 'Mid its strifes and cares and losses, The purple of its morning, April-bloom and choral air ; That Wisdom, Cheer should marry, That life ascends on crosses, And that its best adorning Is its joy in all things fair. With these lilacs in October — Falling leaf and russet stubble. And the landscape growing drear — True, I know the faith I cherish : There is heat in what is sober, A balsam flows with trouble, Pristine pleasures reappear, Naught beautiful can perish. Dear girl, when comes your Autumn, May the lilacs freshly blowing, Keep your days as sweet as those That breathe upon your Spring. 20 APPLE-BL OSSOMS. The pure heart shall be blithesome, To the new the old is growing ; Life its full perfection knows When Love is lord and king. October 28, 1878. A PPLE-BL OSSOMS. The apple-trees with bloom are all aglow — Soft drifts of perfumed light — A miracle of mingled fire and snov/ — A laugh of Spring's delight ! Their ranks of creamy splendor pillow deep The valley's pure repose ; On mossy walls, in meadow nooks they heap Surges of frosted rose. Around old homesteads, clustering thick, they shed Their sweets to murm'ring bees, And o'er hushed lanes and wayside fountains spread Their pictured canopies. Green-breasted knolls and forest edges wear Their beautiful array : And lonesome graves are sheltered, here and there. With their memorial spray. TIVO PICTURES BY HAMERTOX. 2 1 The efflorescence on unnumbered boughs Pants with delicious breath ; O'er me seem laughing eyes and fair, smooth brows, And shapes too sweet for death. Clusters of dimpled faces float between The soft caressing plumes, And lovely creatures 'mong the branches lean, Lulled by faint, flower-born tunes. A rude wind blows, and as the blossoms fall. My heart is borne away ; Fainter and fainter tender voices call Of my enamoured May. Fainter and fainter — oh, how strange it seems, With so much sweetness fled ! I go like one who dreams within his dreams That, living, he is dead ! TWO PICTURES BY HAMERTON* I. A duck's paradise. This rustic nook of sweet confiding charm A portal is to Nature's vaster shrine. A pool, a copse, a cottage half embowered, A broken cart, a flock of water-fowl, * Presented by the artist to the author. 22 TWO PICTURES BY HA ME R TON. A bit of meadow and a melting cloud, Glimpses of yellow harvests, far pale hills, And over all the soul of a blue sky. You gaze, and something wins you more and more- Something that, out of Nature's living heart, Her truth, and freshness, and her mystic power. Enters the subtlest fibre of your sense With gladness and with healing and with calm. Is it the lisping of ten thousand tongues In this bright grove ? — the poetry that flows In all the tree-tops ? Is it what the pool, With fowl, and water-flags, and summer sky, Tells as its ripples feel along the marge With pure soft hands and lips that sweetly breathe The idyl of the sunshine and the shade ? Is it the golden bounty of the mead Whose velvet kings might envy, or the gleam Of harvests and the blue Burgundian range ? Is it the dream that haunts this ancient lodge Caressed with leafy kisses all day long? Or the free boundless spirit of the air, Effulgent with an infinite delight ? I cannot tell, for all together make One glorious revelation. Yet I know That as the whole is good, each part of all Combines to show the gracious miracle Of Nature. And, so cheerful, brisk and strong. So dowered with fresh and tender sympathy, It seems as if a human heart held here Its healthy joy, its great and deep content, Tiro PICTURES BY HAMERTON. 23 And, in the fulness of its blessing, poured Music, and praise, and gratitude to God. II. STORKS AT A STREAM. Beneath these lusty trees the sylvan stream Is rich with colored shade, and round the curve Flows slowly to the solemn harmonies Of the old forest's haunted solitude. Across, the tangle opens to the sun, And, on beyond, a virgin meadow glows, Immaculate with sheen of verdant hre — Fit field for fairies and their sportive pranks When eve is soft with moonshine and the dew. Down through the splendid vista come the storks Great kingly birds endeared to human kind. They know their place of banquet, as the stream Knows its wild course. Already one alight Stands proudly in the mirror of the cove — A living statue in the gorgeous wave. Another, where the pebbly bank slopes down, On unfurled pinions pauses. In mid-air A third advances, terrorless and strong, To join his fellows in their woodland bower. Rest is pavilioned in this charmed retreat. The secret of the solitude is told In all this wonder of the earth and sky. Tranquillity herself is here unclothed — A perfect peace that sweetens everything. 24 A MAIDEN. The clouds, great floating blossoms of the air, Lounge in their beds of beauty ; and old trees That love the summer, shrubs and mingled boughs, All the infinite leafage, are alive, With radiant things begotten where the sun Makes nests of light and flashes feathery gold. And out of Heaven, far through the solemn wood, A sweet and holy benediction falls. A MAIDEN. Vain are the common metaphors of song To paint this lovely one ; All language does her wrong In which the praise of other maids is sung. The misty tenderness of Spring, A young dove with its lifted wing, A lily ere its dew is shed, Snow-drops with roses overhead, Fair coral blooming in a purple sea, Pure pearls and soft-carved ivor}% A gliding fawn in jasmine shade, A May-flower smiling half afraid, An airy cloudlet's fleecy tress. Tinged with the new moon's chaste caress, Faint odors of pale mignonette With Twilight's languid kisses wet, The Dawn's first blushes, and the look That gleams within a mountain brook — DELECTATIO PISCATORIA. 25 All hint of her, but none express Her nature's perfect loveliness — Her purity of look and tone, The light of love about her thrown, Her delicate and winsome grace, The chiseled clearness of her face, The sweet repose in which she lives, Unconscious of the joy she gives ; Of all that's finest, naught but her Can be her clear interpreter. Her beauty is a spirit true To all that is divine in you ; A sight of her is a new sense To one in love with innocence. DELECTATIO PISCATORIA. THE UPPER KENNEBEC. From the great mere set round with sun-bright mountains Full born the river leaps. Dashing the crystal of a thousand fountains Down its romantic steeps. 'Tis now a torrent whose untamed endeavor Is eager for the sea. Angry that rock or reef should hinder ever Its frantic liberty. 26 DELECTATIO P ISC A TORI A. Then, for a space, a lake and river blended, It sleeps with tranquil breast, As if its haste and rage at last were ended, And all it sought was rest. In spicy wood-paths by the rapids straying, I hear, with lingering feet. Its liquid organ and the tree-tops playing Te Deums strangely sweet. I break the covert : pictured far emerges On the enraptured sight The arrowy flow, green isles, a cascade's surges, Foam-flaked in rosy light. Still pools, and purples of the sleepy sedges, The skyward forest wall, Old sorrowing pines and hazy mountain ledges, And soft blue over all. O golden hours of summer's precious leisure ! From care and toil apart, Fresh drawn, I taste the angler's gentle pleasure With friend of equal heart. Trout leap and glitter, and the wild duck flutters Where beds of lilies blow ; A loon his long, weird lamentation utters, And Echo feels his woe. DELECTATIO PISCATORIA. 27 We see in hemlock shade, the reedy shallow, Where, screened by dusky leaves, The guileless moose comes down to browse and wallow On still balsamic eves. The great blue heron starts as if we sought her. On pinions of surprise. And to our lure the darlings of the water In pink and crimson rise. Still gliding on, how throng the sweet romances Of youth's enchanted land ! A lordly eagle, as our bark advances, Glares on us, sad and grand. Onward we float where mellow sunset glory Streams o'er the lakelet's breast, And every ripple tells a golden story Of the transfigured west. Onward, into the evening's calm and beauty, To camp and sleep we go : Thrice bless'd are lives, in tasks of love and duty. That end in such a glow ! 28 THE HUDSON. THE HUDSON, O THE eyes that glowed bright in the spell of thy beauty, When summers were sweetest in Hope's luscious clime ! O the hearts that, on errands of honor and duty, Were braced by thy grandeurs, O, river sublime ! O the loves and the dreams that were born where thy glories In sunset and moonlight their witchery wore, While the warm lips of youth breathed the tenderest stories Into ears that slill listened in rapture for more ! O the worn, and the weary, who, coming and go. ing. Have watched thy repose through the mist of their tears ! the gallant and wise who, with garlands still grow- ling, Will hallow thy banks till the earth disappears ! 1 think of the anguish, now ended and over, Of lonely ones journeying here with their dead ; Of patriot, scholar, and traitor, and lover, And poems in hearts that have never been read. THE HUDSOy. 29 I think, as I picture the mighty procession Of beauty, and genius, of greatness and fame, That here passed, up and down, with a ceaseless progression. How empty the honors of station and name! I summon the faces, the numberless faces That were turned to thee fondly, as onward they sped To their labors, their pleasures, their fireside places, And am dazed by the manifold meanings they shed. How the air seems to vibrate with sorrow and laughter, The hopes and the gladness, the griefs and des- pair Of those who have failed, and those who flee after The phantom of Joy that they dream is so fair. O beauty that glowed in the rose of our morning ! the promise that shone when our pathway was new ! blossom of love, our high noontide adorning, What a splendor o'er all this fair region ye threw ! 1 thrill with the vision, with the stress of emotion, As the swarm of the pageants, O Hudson, appear ; And yet, as a child dips his cup in the ocean, 1 receive but a sip of the glory that's here. 30 TO BAYARD TAYLOR, TO BAYARD TAYLOR. ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR GERMANY. Heir of the Bard's immortal line, God speed thy passage o'er the sea ! Two mighty realms thy laurels twine ; Farewell and welcome kiss for thee ! The winds that waft thee from the West Are charged with all that Nature breathes To him who knows her secrets best, And richly gives as he receives. In joy of thee the eager spring Kindles with earlier warmth, and sends On tinted air and perfumed wing The choicest blessing of thy friends. And all are friends of thine that stirred The pulses of thy youth to song — Green field, and wood, and brook, and bird, And blooms that round the seasons throng ; The sacred landscape where thy years Took their calm strength and royal hue, The stars that saw thy toils and tears. The hearth where love and honor grew ; A GOLDEN WEDDING. And marvels of the ancient climes, The scholar's scroll, the prophet's heart. The ages' sad, majestic rhymes Writ in the wondrous shapes of art. And lands and peoples send acclaim : *' Behold his manhood's grace and power, His wisdom, valor, spotless fame, A nation's pride ! the Muse's flower ! " And we, who know thy voice and hand Where all thy household virtues shine, Have seen thy rose of life expand. And quaffed thy friendship's precious wine, — We love thee ever. Go or come, Fresh bays shall crown thee, hence and here. In every land thou hast a home, And kingly natures call thee peer. April, 1878. A GOLDEN WEDDING. To Mr. and Mrs. Thomas McElrath, Feb. 9, 1882. Who come with garlands white and festal lay This Golden Wedding day To greet the happy pair — Never so dear before. Never so dear or fair t 31 32 A GOLDEN IVEDDIiYG. Not we alone ; — our trembling lips are weak To breathe the blessings that we fain would speak - But shining throngs whom vanished years restore ; These gratulations pour. What eager brows ! what gracious speech ! What thrilling pressure of the hands they reach ! They bring the benedictions of old friends We meet no more, And salutations sweet From bowery lane and busy street, And cosey nooks within the fireside glow. The fruitfulness of loving deeds they show ; — How gentle household graces grow ; How self-devotion serves with single eye ; How far the deeds of simple kindness fly : And so the wreaths they bring, And so the strains tliey sing, Enrich our feeble offering, As stars enrich the sky. II. What do they leave and what retain, Bridegroom and bride, as on they go Into the sunset's golden glow t They leave of earthiness the stain, They leave care's long, corroding chain. Their weary vigils, and the road Where sorrov/ staggered with its load ; — All this they leave, but fondly keep Their household feelings warm and deep, A GOLDEN WEDDING. The love that ripened through the stress Of toil, and trust, and watchfulness. And the child-heart whose simple sense Is life's bright shield and recompense. III. What is our bride's and bridegroom's dower ? What but the spirit's golden flower ? Ah ! picture all that makes their way- Grow brighter towards the perfect day, And consecrates sweet human life In noble husband, blameless wife, And I will celebrate the gain That crowns to-night this happy twain — Untarnished honor, virtues tried, In loss and suff'ring sanctified. Wisdom that learns in love its lore. And love by giving growing more. And peace, white blossom of the breast, Where Christ, the Master, is the guest. IV. And what their vision now while fold The curtains of their honored age About their lengthened pilgrimage ? See ! what a light of mellow gold Is on their faces, as they turn Where sunset's splendid roses burn : It touches all they love, and lies On grateful souls and happy eyes. 33 34 AN INVITATION. What golden stairs slant through the glow ! What dear ones smile above, below ! What greetings heard ! responses given ! Till earth seems but a step from heaven. AN INVITATION. TO THE REV. DR. S. OSGOOD. In delicate, coy ways, A spirit has been busy wooing forth Beauty and sweetness in the air and earth, All through these vernal days. The birds came long ago. And tender grasses early sought the sun ; Life through the pulses of the trees did run With warm, prolific glow, Till every bud unsheathed, And all the orchards burst to snowy bloom, And woods grew pink and yellow in the noon — Misty and silken-leaved ! O scholar, wise and strong. Haste where thy work is play each summer-tide. Waldstein is fresh with beauty like a bride That waits the festal thronsf. AiV INVITATION. The gold of morning showers 35 On lawn, and copse, and nooks of mantling vine ; And odors brewed in May-flowers' subtle wine Embalm the evenins: hours. '& The philosophic shade, Sacred to sages whom all times revere; Like Academus unprofaned and dear. For thee is well arrayed. The Muses' hill invites — Where Shakespeare's, Dante's, Milton's, Byrant's spell Proclaims the grace of Nature's miracle — With Song's refined delights. About the sylvan shrine Aerial hymns and viewless pinions float ; Love is the theme of every grateful note — Creative Love Divine. Come, Osgood, for thy speech Shall with the season sweetly harmonize. Thought with thy thought shall see with clearer eyes. And nobler landscapes reach. May 17, 1878. 36 DEUKALION. DEUKALION. * [Read at a Memorial Meeting of the Goethe Club, Niw York.] At my low hearth, one year ago, He sat and read with face aglow, And voice whose unaffected art Interpreted the minstrel's heart, A scroll, and myriad ages told Man's upward struggles manifold, Till his consummate life was won. He ceased : I knew Deukalion ! And to myself with reverence said, " To noble bards his fame is wed, He has the soul to understand The mystic faiths of every land. Through him the seas and mountains tell Their everlasting miracle. He knows what seers and sages seek ; The lover's kiss is on his cheek ; To him the pure-eyed saints confess. And nature bares her loveliness ; And choruses of all the years — Their hopes and conquests, raptures, tears, In him their lofty measures pour. That he may make their music more." And then I thought, " How passing sweet Will seasons come and seasons fleet, * This is the title of a remarkable Lyrical Drama by Bay- ard Taylor — his latest important production. The first copy from the press was put into his hands just before he died. CONCORD BRIDGE. As higher still in Friendship's land I hear his voice and touch his hand." Death smote him, but he cannot kill The joy his soulful songs distil. The sweetness of his love abides In lives uplifted by its tides. In homes and halls and courts he stands, With gifts of beauty in his hands. Each shrine of Truth and sacred place Glow with the fervor of his face ; And where a creature claims his own Speaks for mankind Deukalion. CONCORD BRIDGE. I GO where the pines of the lane Sing low to the beautiful stream, With an awe like the throbbing of pain, With a wonder like one in a dream. The scent of the meadows is sweet, The landscape in dewy calm lies. Holy ground is under my feet, And holy the light to my eyes. How still is the bridge in the sun. With the fairy reflections below ; How softly the cool waters run Where the beds of the pond-lilies blow 37 38 CONCORD BRIDGE. The splendid white hlies that lie Subtle-scented in passionless rest, With bosoms of gold to the sky, Like saints in the peace of the blest. Musing on in the musical shade. My heart like a dove drifts away : What now ? — gleaming banner and blade — Am I caught in the thick of the fray ? Faces set, musket flash, smoke and din. Whizzing shot, and the drum's pleading beat. Then huzzas from the yeomen who win, And curses from ranks that retreat. There is blood on the grass, and the stain Of the river is red by the shore ; I count not of battle the slain. For a nation is born in its roar. How hot grows its heart in the word Of Freedom's prophetic command, Hov/ terribly swift leaps the sword To defend the rights of the land ! I see through the wearisome years The patience. of faith unto death; 'Mid the gloom of disaster and tears Floats the flag on a pra3-er-laden breath : Stern and grim is the courage that's born As the blood of the martyrs is sown : A PRIEST. 29 Self-devotion, defiant with scorn, Meets the wiles and the threats of a throne. Oh! the strife where the timid grow brave, And the hands of the feeble grow strong, In a passion to succor and save, In a hatred of king-cradled wrong. I yearn with the heroes who bear In their trust the high hopes of a world. And pant in their triumph to share, When to dust the oppressor is hurled. Lo, the thunders ! — they suddenly cease ; The battle-clouds scatter and flee : Shine on, sacred sunshine of peace ! Lift your heads, O ye gates of the free ! The scent of the meadows is sweet. And pleasant is summer's soft beam, Koly ground is under my feet, And the lilies are white on the stream. A PRIEST. He led me to the depths of solemn woods. To lonely mere, and herbless mountain-top, And where weird chasms of the cloven hills Moan with the torrent's thunder ; led me on 40 A PRIEST. To shrines where all was worship in the spell Of music and of silence and of prayer. He led me, and I followed, till I felt The heart of nature passing into mine — The meanings of the flowers and winds and songs On moonlit shores and tracts of summer land — Of bird and beast and insect, and the growths Of rock and herbage, and the forms of men ; And veils were lifted, messages were blown, A glory passed through all that makes the worlds, A spirit moved that moves forevermore. I followed still, and saw the ages roll, And man's great travail ; reached with reverent breath. The holy seats where human life is fed With power and purpose to endure and do Its mightiest ; knew what the Seer saw, The Hero felt, what made the Martyr calm In torturing fire, the greatness that abides In royal lives that fear no hurt but sin. I had the clew to tasks that rid the world Of bondage, lust, and ignorance, and wrong ; Learned how to use misfortunes, how to turn One's gall and tears to wholesome medicine, And how to cull imperishable flowers, And sip the honey which is meat indeed, 'Mong poisons, thorns, and reptiles of the world. Ah, what that clears the soul and makes it strong Did he not give ? — priest of the hungry heart That asks so much in doubt and fear and pain. A SANCTUARY. 41 His voice revived, his sympathy restored ; The splendors that no eye but Faith's discerns, The deathless beauty that lures on and on To seek the perfect life that is beloved, And all that trembles on the lip of prayer, And all that out of trial prophesies Of God's great day to wronged and suffering men, He made me know upon my bended knees. From him I learned the secret things of peace. And wisdom's gentle lowlihood, and saw, With shriven spirit. Goodness first and last, Saw the great Order that inheres in all And all embraces, and man's high estate When evil dies, and everlasting Love To him is law, and vision, and pure joy. A SANCTUARY. It was a valley gentle as a dream, Cool with tree shadows, dewy, fragrant, sweet, Where ran, through bowery ways, a mountain stream — The troutlet's Eden and the fawn's retreat. Round black-gnarled roots that heaved the moistened ground, By leafy mounds, and banks of odorous grass, And in deep channels, out of sight, slow wound The brook — a murmur — then a braid of glass. 42 IN THE ORCHARD. Huge rocks whose frown was smothered in soft bloom Like altars rose ; faint as an infant's sigh A lone dove cooed ; and through the sylvan gloom Swam now and then a splendid butterfly. The very stillness worshipped, and I heard The untold secret of the heart of prayer ; The life that pulsed in all required no word To voice the spirit of devotion there. Upon me fell the Sanctuary's peace ; I met the soul of Beauty face to face ; My heart was in the hymn that did not cease To fill with tranquil joy the holy place. I sought no more. Within the veil I stood, And Nature's tenderest benison was mine, I heard all speech proclaim the perfect Good, And felt that simple living was divine. IN THE ORCHARD. Mellow lies the sunshine on the orchard slopes and meadows. On nooks of purple asters and the tints of leafy hills. The soft, warm haze is tender with a palpitating splendor, And a fresh delicious odor all the dozing valley fills. IN THE ORCHARD. 43 Colors like a prairie in the glory of its blossoms Gleam amid the grasses where the luscious fruit- age lies, And in their cosey places on the boughs with tempt- ing faces, Peep and nestle myriad apples like birds of many dyes. Golden, green, and russet, and warm with scarlet blushes, Basking in the silent noon upon their perches 'mong the leaves — How they glow like royal roses where the loving sun reposes. How they fall from their own fatness on the crisp autumnal eves. O apples, fragrant apples, piled high beside the presses. And heaped in wain and basket 'neath the broad- branched, mossy trees, Can we fairly call him sober — the splendid, rich October — Pouring out his sweets and beauty in such lavish gifts as these ? Children frolicking and feasting on the ripeness to the core — Monarchs of the orchard kingdom, with every tree a throne — 44 FIRE-FLIES. What are spring days for your praises, or wood-paths, or the daisies, To these provinces of sweetness which, by right of love, ye own ? Sadly may the aged ponder life's decays and changes. But youth sees no dark omen as the mellow ap- ples fall. O children, keep your gladness ; may you have no more of sadness. Than while, romping in the orchards, you are kings and queens of all. FIRE-FLIES. On the warm and perfumed dark Glows the fire-fly's tender spark. Copse, and dell, and lonesome plain Catch the drops of lambent rain. Scattered swarms are snarled among Boughs where thrushes brood their young. Little cups of daisies hold Tapers that illume their gold. See ! they light their floating lamps Where the katydid encamps. Glint the ripples soft and cool On the grassy-cinctured pool. Poise where blood-red roses burn. And rills creep under drooping fern, CLE MA TIS. 45 Weave inconstant spangles through Vines that drip with fragrant dew, And 'mid clumps of dusky pine In the mournful silence shine. They cling to tufts of the morass ; The meadow lilies feel them pass ; They deck the turf about the feet Of lovers hid in shadows sweet, And round the musing poet gleam Like scintillations of his dream. O winged spark ! effulgent mite ! Live atom of the Infinite ! Thou doest what for thee is done — In thy place faithful as the sun. Love's highest law compels thy heart ; All that thou hast thou dost impart ; Thy life is lighted at its core — Sages and saints achieve no more. CLEMATIS. It was meet that beauty should greet her In sweets of the pure " Virgin's Bower ; " But fairer, and fresher, and sweeter. Was she of all flowers the Flower. Where she moved the wood seemed enchanted ; The Clematis over her fluns: 46 MEMORIAL DAY—187S. Its fragrant pavilion, still haunted With music the thrushes had sung. Its arbors swung open before her With garlands and banners of bloom; It crept on the ground to adore her, It poured out its praise in perfume. To the ledges it clung with sweet fingers, Alert for a sight of her face. Swaying low, where the ferny brook lingers, It mimicked her exquisite grace. The woodland was lit with its splendor, Yet she was its Vestal of light ; All the whiteness about could not lend her A ray to her spirit of white. MEMORIAL DAY—iZ-jZ. Crowns for our heroes living and the dead ! Crowns brightest of the anadems of May. Scatter the flowers ! Let loving words be said ! A nation bows by sacred graves to-day. Thanks for sweet Peace by dauntless valor won, For patriot love that sacrificed its best ; Thanks for the fairest realm beneath the sun. Which holds no slave, and makes mankind its guest. MEMORIAL DAY— 1878. ^j True Hearts ! that beat to Freedom's lofty strain, Honor's pure impulse woke your battle-cry. No loss ye counted in your country's gain ; In man's great cause 'twas beautiful to die. Into the fiery cloud and in the sea Of blood and tears, with fearless eyes ye went ; Out of the surges rose the Union free ! A Nation's life becomes your monument ! Crowns for our heroes ! Read the deathless scroll, Whose names are set with stars in heaven's own blue, And, as unfolds the long and shining roll. What pictures rise that speak our martyrs' due ! Baptized in such a deluge of distress, Redeemed by breaking hearts and myriads slain, What symbol shall our heritage express ? Or tell what duty bids us to maintain 1 Sum all the rights won through affliction's fire, The civic treasures of all times and lands, Hopes that are sweetest of mankind's desire, Then see the trust committed to our hands ! And shall we fail to whom this trust is lent ? Lo ! clouds arise ; foes burrow under ground. The air is raw with muttered discontent, Afar are rumblings like an army's sound. 48 THE VOICE OF PAIN. If we prove recreant, where is hope for man ? The ages out of awful travail cry, " Be true ! O people marching in the van ! On you is fixed the world's appealing eye. " Heed Wisdom's counsel ; rend each wicked snare ; Catch the keen ardor of heroic days ; See what men free indeed should do and dare, Till every heart with patriot purpose blaze. " Live by the faith that conquers and endures — Life that in love and justice draws its breath ; Trust God, who makes the high example yours. And the Republic shall not taste of death." THE VOICE OF PAIN. I. Who has not shuddered at the Voice of Pain t Glib with a world's distress, its hateful tongue Is heard in every language, and it tells The secret of immedicable ills, And sorrows borne when tears relieve no more. How cries the voice in hut and holy place. In dens where Guilt abides, and lonesome homes Lying among the shadows of the hills. The whole earth grieves. Bleak lane, and storied Hall, And languid bowers where Innocence is snared, THE VOICE OF PAIN. 49 Breathe horrid tales, and lamentations rise Amid the paeans of victorious fields, And where Plague slays the remnant Famine spared. In barques aflame amid the cruel seas. In ghastly mines, in crashing cars that reel To watery gulfs, where cyclones brush away Hamlet and harvest, and earth yawns, and hurls On pallid crowds their fast dissolving homes, And conflagr-ation quaffs with lips of fire Imperial towns and licks the ashen hills, The Voice wails on. Its deep, incessant moan, Unheeded, inarticulate, forlorn. Pleads in uncounted creatures free of wrong. Jungle and desert, fruits of luscious breath, Fringes of tender flowers, and hoary woods, Have their own tragedies ; and streams that sing 'Mong meads and mountains, ocean's soundless floor, The prairie's bloomy waste, and trackless strands Prolong Pain's weary, melancholy strain. List what it tells of watching, torment, fear. And prayer made dumb by overmuch desire. Rage, envy, madness, and a still despair. O, how it cries — that unrecorded Voice — From lonely couch, and violated hearth, From bloody scaft'olds, and demolished thrones, In rack, and stake, and infamies of wrong. And awful nightmare of the soul, whose dream Is shame, and darkness, and the Second Death. I hear it as hands clutch at phantom shapes In fever's frenzy, as, with clenched teeth, 50 THE VOICE OF PAIN. Men writhe and stare on faces that are dear, And little children all night long moan on, Starved and forsaken ; where, to see once more A bit of tender sky, the prisoner crawls On fleshless limbs across his clammy cell And gasps his last ; and blinded devotees Die while they live, and genius is impaled. And mothers perish as their babes are born, And maidens wish they never had been born. And hopeless Love feels round in empty air. And, as I listen, shapes of shadowy mien Recite the horrors of primeval years — Annals of all the anguish of the race In its long birth-pang unto higher things. Weird landscapes of the elder world appear — Ambush, and forest-lodge, and rocky lair — And gaunt and supple forms that hide and spring, Monsters that crouch, and crunch their savage prey, And stealthy bands, cat-like, and fierce, and strong, ■ Gliding upon their unprotected foes, | And writhing limbs, and faces agonized. And hideous rites amid sepulchral vales By midnight fires, and at the moon's eclipse. And the great Voice that bears the ancient woe Mingles with that which daily prophesies. II. O sleepless Warder at the gate of life ! Prophet of human needs 'mid ruthless woes ! Avenger of transgression ! Earth-born Pain ! y THE VOICE OF PAIN. Harsh is thy voice and dreadful, as it tells The anguish of a world, but thou dost teach Redemption, and deliverance, and the path To glorious triumphs as thy scourges fall. Thou dost rebuke the profligate, thy tones Frighten from guilty pleasure, and subdue The stony-hearted. Startled mid their ease, Hearts look within and find their secret sin. Thou smitest, and old errors slink away. And truth is honored, and great deeds are done That make the ages worthy of their fame. It is the lore of suffering that inspires The gracious tasks that renovate the world. Probed are the causes of calamity — Disease and serfdom, ignorance and crime. Through purging fires are evils burned away, And virtue ripened, and the good revealed. Sorrow provokes the ministries of love. And, in the gentle touch and soothing word. Spring hopes, and fortitude, and high resolves. The frail are sheltered, innocence revered, And temples rise of holy charity : Friends find the friendless ; into squalid homes Go angels of a sweet benevolence ; The instruments of torture are consumed. Old wrongs are slain and brutal enmities, And Nature's secrets made to serve mankind. Through Pain the race sloughs off its savage garb, And its majestic triumphs tell how vast 51 52 THE VOICE OF PAIN. And sore its sorrows. Its appealing cry Pierces kings' closets, ancient senate halls, The seats of justice, and the despot's lair. And fetters fall apart, and life expands, And chartered rights assure the weak their own. Pain built the engines whose benignant play Quickens the world, taught arts and brotherhood, Led forth the fecund colonies, whence sprung Cities and proud republics, found the road On which the great procession of mankind Marches to knowledge, virtue, liberty. So homes are glad with fruits of happy toil, And wisdom sits on thrones, and laws are good. And shines the promise of the Golden Year. That sweetness of compassion sprang from Pain, That greatness of the spirit which endures The crush of many burdens and contrives The blessed medications of the world. Ah, mystic power ! how strange the alchemy That, out of life's most bitter chalices. Transmutes elixirs that exalt, and heal. And stimulate a holy thirst for heaven. No more art thou dread prompter of despair, Chastiser, fiend whose awful face appalls, But friend, instructor, mediator thou. Thy cross, in perfect sacrifice, lit up The path to God, and shows the godlike life. I hear thy voice, O Pain, and look afar To realms of light where perfect love is King. The morning of eternity has come. And Pain and tears are all forgotten now. THE PHANTOMS OF LOVE. 53 THE PHANTOMS OF LOVE. " Every feeling o£ love gives birth involuntarily to an invisible or spirit which yearns to complete its existence." — Aniiel, from The Talmud. O Phantom offspring, love-born in the spirit, Unborn to sense, and wandering spirit-bound In the soul's limbo, yearning to inherit The substance of the being we have found, Do ye not ofttimes visit us, and hover About our pillows, pensive, uncaressed ? And do we never, waking, just discover The fading features of our shadowy guest ? In mellow moonlight and by hearth-fires waning. While tender thoughts our truest selves restore, Do our hearts never reach, with eager straining. For something gone, but lovely evermore ? And out of darkness, when the seas are breaking, Hear we no plaintive cries, through wind and wave, As if we were ungraciously forsaking The helpless kindred that we ought to save ? Ah, what are these who, for an instant smiling. Melt into air and leave the heart so sore. While we but catch a breath of their beguiling — A fragrant breath, a glimpse, and nothing more ? 54 IOWA. O love ! that gave these apparitions being, Of their caresses must ye ever fail ? Pining, and yearning, and but dimly seeing What does the ano:uish of desire avail ? "43* ( Born and unborn, unreal, and yet revealing, Aroma of affection never fed. Soothing, disturbing, tenderly appealing — Ye keep alive the soul's immortal dead ! IOWA. Midland, where mighty torrents run. Of placid brow and modest mien. With glowing bosom to the sun. Sits the majestic Prairie Queen. Imperial rivers kiss her feet. The free winds through her tresses blow. Her breath with unsown flowers is sweet. Her cheeks are flushed with Morning's glow. Grand in her beauty, what cares she For jewelled cliffs, and rills of gold, For seats along the sounding sea. Or storied monuments of old? Her hands are strong, her fame secure. Her praise on lips whose praise is dear, Her heart and hope and purpose pure, And God in all her landscapes near. A PORTIA A IT. Aye, splendid in her ample lap Are annual harvests heaped sublime : Earth bears not on her proudest map A fatter soil, a fairer clime. How sing her billowy seas of grain ! How laugh her fruits on vine and tree ! How glad her homes, in Plenty's reign, Where Love is Lord and Worship free ! Land of the generous heart and brave ! Thy hosts leaped in the fiercest fray When bled the noblest sons to save Our mighty realm for Freedom's sway. Thy children know where honor lies. The deeds that greatness consecrate, And on their stalwart virtues rise The pillars of the peerless State. A PORTRAIT. Her face I do not seek to show — It would have charmed Angelico — It is her spirit that I try To picture to the spirit's eye — Try, though I fail — words lack the power To paint the essence of a flower. Her simple presence touches one As if a new life had begun. To my own self I am more dear By merely knowing she is near. 55 56 A PORTRAIT. And yet, like healing mountain air, She breathes her sweetness unaware. Caressing clouds, the soul of May, The blossom of a perfect day. The lapse of moonlit waves that tells Its sympathy with dying bells. The forest calm, when one is heard Who worships without wish or word, The Sabbath of untrodden snows, Are metaphors of her repose. She walks within a world that lies Concealed from unanointed eyes. Her heart has guests that never come To any but a virgin home : In hers, what friends of wisdom meet, What lips of stainless honor greet ; With what supreme contentment rest The doves of peace in such a nest ; Angels of Beauty flock to see The lilies of her purity ; — And well they may, for she is one Who stands unsullied in the sun. Her inmost selfhood is a shrine Lighted and fed by love divine. Naught breaks the fine accord that flows In what she is and what she does. The morning meal, the evening chore. Her converse Vvith the wronged and poor, The simple handling of a book. The poem of her artless look, THE TULIP-TREE IN BLOSSOM. The little motions of her feet, Her silences, and breathings sweet, Are time-beats void of earthly din, Of hymns and harmonies within. THE TULIP-TREE IN BLOSSOM. Sylvan splendor! Meadow's pride ! Pet of lawns, and Summer's bride ! Naught but perfumed airs, and words Culled from madrigals of birds. Strains of lapsing brooks between Rosy rocks and banks of green. Whispers in the scented grass As the robins pause and pass, Echoes of far-off cascades In the gleam of moonlit glades, Suit the mellow roundelays That should carol in thy praise. As if I should try to paint Sacred raptures of a saint. So I strive with loving strain — Strive, and strive, alas ! in vain, All thy witching charms to tell — Flora's woodland miracle ! Tell me, therefore, gracious one. Of thy dalliance with the sun. 57 58 THE TULIP-TREE IN BLOSSOM. What elixir feeds thy shoots, The alembic at thy roots, That thy life so fair should be — Spirit breathing in a tree ! Tell me of thy trance at noon In the luscious kiss of June, All thy languors, heats, desire, Till thy blossoms glow like fire ; Why the zephyrs ne'er refuse Thee the secret forest news. How is caught the tender gold That thy royal pitchers hold, And to all as freely pour As if Danae felt the shower. Do the birds thy boughs among Learn a catch of fresher song ? Why does every vagrant bee Feel so much at home with thee ? Tell me why, beside thy feet. Love, to lovers, seems more sweet Happy children think they stand In the bower of fairy-land, And the poet's heart is pressed Closer still to Beauty's breast. Vain I ask — but still I feel All I pray thee to reveal. Life of thine is life to me, — High-born, peerless Tulip-Tree ! GOLDEN-ROD. GOLDEN-ROD. 59 Yon meadow edge, low ridge, and briery dell Are splendid with the Golden-rod's array. And shafts of gold in thicket and by stream Catch on their glitt'ring spires the morning ray. Along a path whose gleaming broidery Feels now and then her finger-tips caress, A maiden comes, and all its fringe of gold Is richer for her simple loveliness. The quaint, old school-house, where she ministers. Stands weather-stained against a bank of bloom, And golden sprays, which little hands have brought, Deck with a sunny air its single room. Among the children she is as a child. Guileless, and artless, innocent as they. Wise without thinking how much wisdom lies In doing love's sweet service day by day. Her eyes reflect their trust, her hand is soft. As with a heart-pulse on each shining head ; And humoring their childish wonderment. Their thirst for knowing grows as it is fed. '£3 to' Unconsciously, she plants the deathless germs Of what in ripened lives shall noblest be : 6o PJ^O P ATRIA. And tasks are play, and duty a delight, In the glad sunshine of her sympathy. The pages conned in her approving smile Become illumined by her tender face. Whose soulful light, in after years, shines on With a consoling, animating grace. O, blessed service ! Happy hearts that find In such companionship the light of God ! The best of all in life's great school ye learn, Led by the love that wields the Golden Rod. PRO P ATRIA. And has it come to this ? Is conscience dead ? Are glorious hopes that lit the nation's wvn Already fading ? and of truth instead Are fraud and lies ? Is civic honor gone ? Have crowns, enwrought of every virtue's flower, To tempt to noble deeds no quickening power ? Where are the lofty passions that inspire Heroic service ? that, with impulse strong. Feed will and purpose with a quenchless fire That 'lumines truth, and brands the blatant wrong ? Shall juggling pelf instead of justice reign ? And grovelling lusts God's image still profane ? PRO PATRTA. 6 1 Shall self-indulgence be the only aim Of souls that of the ages have the dower ? Shall sordid arts our later annals shame, And flesh o'er spirit sway derisive power ? What is the end of living, but to know The Master's life, and in his likeness grow ? O cursed greed ! O baleful breath that blasts The dewy bloom of Youth's enchanted morn ! O godless Mammon ! whose ambition grasps At what the pure and single-hearted scorn ; Must ye still flaunt your shows, and basely use The gifts that ye Christ's little ones refuse ? Shall the strong faith in the eternal Good Die in the languor of a weak desire ? Shall manhood waste the iron of its blood For what conceit and indolence admire ? Majestic Spirit of the brave and wise ! Breathe life and health — O, in thy might arise ! O great thoughts of the fathers ! deeds as great ! O spirit valiant in a will that's pure ! What shall renew, maintain, exalt the state, Unless the greatness of the soul endure ? How shall the Christ take earth's abiding throne Lest human lives are modelled from his own ? Courage, true heart! firm the Ideal hold That charmed at first thy high impassioned dreams ; 62 ^^ THE MOUNTAINS. Thy glorious quest is not for place nor gold, But on where Duty's spotless scutcheon gleams. What though thy comrades flinch, and friends resign ? Strike swift and hard, the triumph shall be thine. IN THE MOUNTAINS. Wild, rocky slopes, stern peaks that gleam and soar, Gorges that cleave the battlemented dome, Sun-lighted cliffs that hear the torrents' roar, Dark haunts where herdless creatures hide and roam. Grand forest-aisle, cool grot, and templed shrine, — All hail ! and thanks for welcome to your guest ! The blessing of the mountains now is mine. I lie in silent rapture on their breast. Ah, how the greedy world of strife and sin Fades in the holy solitude I've found ; Silent are all the discords of its din. In the divine tranquillity around. Naught harsher than the cooing of a dove Salutes me in this sanctuary's shade ; The air is sacramental with the Love Whose soul is here in every charm arrayed. 'Tis life in all. I feel its healing power From gushing spring to hoary crags on high. In darkling glen, and tender mountain flower, In odorous breeze, and palpitating sky : 63 THE REV. DR. ORVILLE DEWEY. Out of the mossy rock, and from the steep Graved with the signet of uncounted years, Where droop the ferns, and mighty forests sleep, I feel the life that all the scene endears. Here is the place of worship. O, how sweet These voices of the wilderness that speak Of the Eternal Goodness, and repeat Praises and thanks for which my own are weak ! O, Spirit of the mountains ! make me strong : Breathe through me airs that freshen and renew ; And may I keep the key-note of the song That in these grandeurs is forever true. THE REV. DR. ORVILLE DEWEY. [Read at his Memorial Service, Sheffield, Mass.] See in the West how grand yon mountain stands. Its base rock-rooted, and its lofty brow Serene, alike in sunshine and the storm. In its recesses birds and runlets sing; Its groves are fresh with beauty, fountains gush Amidst its thickets, and the wild flowers blow By sylvan paths all through its templed shade. About its borders quiet farms are tilled. And life is nourished there, and praise ascends Through all the days to Him w^ho is unseen. So, strong and firm, upon the Living Rock, Whose waters slake the cravings of the world. 64 /ESSIE. Stood our great friend in God's eternal day, Clothed on with beauty, making music sweet, That held in holy thrall the hearts of men, Till Christ should enter in and sup with them, Unmoved by storms that prostrate faithless souls, And calmly waiting the new earth and Heaven. JESSIE. [April 14, 1884.] Perfect peace and perfect rest ! There she lies without a stain. " Best ? " how can we say 'tis best, In the anguish of our pain ? Best, when such a joy is gone ? Best, with life so maimed and rent ? Best, because she has withdrawn Where her guardian angels went ? Never did this household dove Pine for alien skies and bowers : She was well content to love, And with human love like ours. All our hopes with hers were blent ; Flower of love, in love she grew, Her unfolding sweetness lent Freshness to our hearts like dew. BUR .vs. O the days, the nights, the tears — Evermore her vacant place — While we wait through barren years, For her step, her voice, her face ; Nevermore to feel her cheek Softly pressed against our own, Nevermore to hear her speak In the old familiar tone ; Wondering if her sight discerns All we daily have to bear — If she never fondly yearns Our companionship to share ! Tender Comforter, abide With us till the shadows flee : Hide us in Thy fulness, hide, Till with our beloved we be. BURA'S. The Voice of a wondrous Seer ! The voice of a soul that is strong ! As true as Love, and as swift as Fear In the mazes of marvellous song. Far over the mountains bare. Red heather, and ridges of sea. It flows in the pulse of the living air. And throbs in the veins of the free. 6s 66 BURNS. It whispers in Summer's breath, It lisps on the creamy shore, It sings in the lips that smile at death, In the storm and cataract's roar. It murmurs in brae and birk, It pleads in the daisy's eye, Where hands are toughened by honest work, And bairns in their cradles lie ; In cottage, in kirk, and bower. In hall, in court, and in mart. In the chirp of the mavis, and hawthorn flower, And the maiden's simple heart. It croons in the blaze of the inn. Where the droughty neighbors bide, It shrieks in the ghastly glare and din, Where the witches dance and ride. Its mirth is a tempest of glee, Its grief is the smart of fire, Its solemn strain is the trump of the sea. Its chorus the world's desire ! I listen, and brooklet and wold. Wild bird and the darkling wood Are breathing secrets before untold Of the perfect and passionless Good. BURNS. I list to the Voice as it flies, And sings to the lands and the years, And the light is clearer in Freedom's eyes, And Poverty wipes his tears. I see that the Poet's heart Is brother to all who feel, That the tender touch of its artless art Is stronger than rivets of steel. I see how that man is great Because he is simply man ; That the minions of grandeur and state On manhood can fasten no ban. I see how to peoples and times The life of the singer leaps on. And gladdens the welcoming climes, Like Spring-bursts of blossom and sun. I ache with the stress of the strain — Its music, and wildness, and heat ; Yet pressed on the heart of my pain Are the lips of its prophecy sweet. And singing myself I go — Unconscious of frown or of rod — To the work whose choruses flow With the joy and the praises of God. 67 ^ SWEET CLOVER. SWEET CLOVER. I HAVE breathed a tinted air Of delicate odor Feeling something new and rare Since first I saw her. Sudden glow in garden glade Where she's a rover ; We meet — I give her, half afraid, Sprays of sweet clover. She is reading now her book, I'll not disturb her ; Merely o'er her shoulder look — Lo ! the sweet clover. It was twilight's softest hour, Fragrant and tender — Life burst to glorious flower In her surrender. It's all one splendid rose — Perfect completeness ! Who cares how the world goes ? We've all its sweetness ! We journey here and there In various weather, SAMUEL OSGOOD. Little reck we how or where, Since we're together. Fair home all sheltered sweet, Caressing and caressed ; Children playing at our feet, Blessing and blest. Love's sacred volume read Over and over, Every page, since we were wed. Scented with clover. A sweet-leafed mound apart. Green in October ; Alone ? — Ah ! she left her heart — Soul of sweet clover ! SAMUEL OSGOOD. Wail on, O winds of April, wail ! Sweet month of flowers and song, delay ! Why should the softer airs prevail ? What gladness now can come with May ? For he to whom the springtime brought Such joy of heart and rest of brain Shall feel no more the healing wrought By meadow bloom and springing grain. 69 70 SAMUEL OSGOOD. But yet the vernal days shall shed Their vital breath in earth and air, And birds shall build, and young leaves spread Their palms abroad in praise and prayer. And paths that every season grew More sacred to his reverent feet Shall all their ancient charms renew. In beauteous Waldstein's dear retreat. But who shall enter where he stood, And worshipped Love in highest law, And saw and grasped the inner good. With childlike faith and holy awe t In vain the orchard's bloom shall glow, The shadows play upon the grass. The west winds sing, the roses blow. And Nature's grand procession pass. But we shall think, with tender tears. Of what he was in this green earth. And, as each gentle flower appears. Shall more and more revere his worth. And still our hearts will ache and yearn To look into his tranquil eyes, To hear his voice, and from him learn The wisdom that is trulv wise. THE CATSKILLS IN OCTOBER. yi Fairfield, by his pure life more fair, More lovely by the love he gave, Of all thy beauty he can share Only the turf that wraps his grave. April 17, 1880. THE CATSKILLS IN OCTOBER. The forests blaze with colors manifold. Lighting the stately peaks and yawning deep With scarlet flame and waves of living gold, And pouring crimson cascades down the steep. Piled like commingled rainbows, heap on heap, Along the far horizon's purple line. The tinted summits, in their mighty sweep Of bannered ranks, in sovran grandeur shine. And all the lands beneath wear Autumn's splendid sign. Ah, how delicious is the morning's breath Poured from the font of heaven's untainted air! Who, in its luxury, can think of death ? Or heed the voices of corroding Care ? Whoever in this sumptuous show may share, Feels Nature's throbbing heart against his own. 'Tis one vast sea of beauty everywhere. Whose deep with lovely argosies is sown, Where souls can bathe, and take, clear-eyed, a high- er throne. 72 TO C. E. P. Now, 'neath noon's gauzy cloudlets overhead, A golden haze its mystery distils : The mellow sky and distant peaks seem wed ; A subtle odor all the woodland fills, As if the goblet of the Seasons spills The rich aroma of their ripened wine — Vintage of fruitful vales and flowering hills ! I yield to the intoxication fine, And seem to walk with gods and feel their empire mine. Inebriate with beauty ! let me hold These peerless pictures that enamour so, Embalmed in love and set in Memor}''s gold, Through all the weary paths where I must go. A charm o'er blighted prospects they shall throw, And calm me with their glorified repose 'Mid the confusion of the world below. The secret of the universe who knows 1 To him who deepest sees, the wonder grows and grows. TO C. E. P. [In her absence, on her birthday.] Alone in the hush of the darkness I watch while the city sleeps, And my heart is restless and weary With the vigil that it keeps. I TO C. E. P. I think of the years that have vanished — Their toils, and trials, and tears ; And, soft through the sorrow and distance, A beautiful face appears. 'Tis the face of a delicate maiden, Tender, and trustful, and sweet. And my life and its hopes and treasures Are lying beside her feet. And then 'tis the face of a mother With her babe against her cheek, And a joy in her bosom richer Than eloquent words can speak. And then 'mid the household duties, Lovingly doing her part. That face is a gleam of the sunshine That glows in her gentle heart. I see, 'mid the cares that encumber, And the pain that gnaws and stings. The look that is sweet with patience. And the smile that courage brings. And as, in the silent chamber. By our darling dead we stand. Her brow is touched with the lustre That falls from the Better Land. 73 74 LIBERTY ENLIGHTENING THE WORLD. And, on through the years with their changes, Fairer still, that pure, dear face Sheds on me its calm, healing blessing Of Love's ineffable grace. And now all the picture is holy — It glows in the depths of my life. O victor ! in suffering unceasing, God keep thee, my true-hearted wife. LIBERTY ENLIGHTENING THE WORLD. [On the unveiling of the Statue.] This is the glorious Sign That Freedom stands secure. Swaying by right divine A power that shall endure. Upward she points her glowing hand In gesture all can understand. She tells of justice gained. Of serfdom overthrown. She shows a cause unstained. And truth to stature grown : And lights the way where human kind Their long-sought Canaan-rest may find. How wide her reign extends ! How blessed her domain ! THE BURIAL OF GRANT. 75 Empire to empire sends Thanksgivings in her name ; And plenteous homes and harvests grow Where her benignant lustres glow. Ye despots, tremble now ! Poor trampled slaves, awake ! The crown upon her brow Is glorious for your sake. See what a heritage appears To those who ate the bread of tears ! The trump of doom has blown To haters of mankind : The seeds of love are sown Which coming men shall find. And one great brotherhood, at last, Shall bind the severed nations fast ! THE BURIAL OF GRANT. Whom do they bear, in this supreme array, Along the shrouded streets to-day, With dirge, and drooping flag, and booming gun, 'Mid reverent throngs whose grateful hearts are one In affluent praises, and whose memories blend In one strong picture of a nation's friend ? What is there in this cold and coffined clay That breathes a spell so grand. ^6 THE BURIAL OF GRANT. Of homage and command, To stir the conscious heart of every land ? A nation's chaplets strew the funeral way ; Thrones make obeisance : through Earth's distant zones Applauding peoples, in accordant tones, Hail one great name, for whose immortal sound Fame's wide-mouthed trump a loftier note has found. Ah ! 'tis the faithful life that is approved ! It is the champion of the Right that's loved ! He is the Voice of that deep undertone That asks for man what God has made liis own. He is the Valor that, 'mid scoffs and foes, Without debate, to duty calmly goes. He is the Will unswerving, unsubdued. That does the honest work because 'tis good. He is the Honor that more lustrous shines As envy snarls and calumny maligns. He is the Captain whose supreme campaign Is fought that peace and brotherhood may reign. He is the King whose royal realm extends Where hostile ranks embrace and States are friends. He is the glorious Conqueror whose breath Is caught to endless life by kindly death. Let the martial files with solemn tread Follow the mighty dead : Let civic bands with tearful reverence move Beside the pall of him who earned our love. Through the vast tides of life that pour Around the hearse that bears the Hero on. AT CONFESSION. 77 One thought is regnant now, and shall be evermore, With those who through the ages make the State : The work he sought to do is done. His fight for blessed peace is won, The Union free and strong, Clean from the curse of wrong. Welded by sacred ties, and consecrate By all that makes an empire great — The noblest birth of time — Shall be his monument sublime. AT CONFESSION. How much he said that the poets know — That wrinkled and artless man — 'Neath the apple-boughs, in the eve's warm glow, And like this his queries ran : — Why seems the wind in the haunted dell A troubled spirit's cry ? And why did you feel in the midnight spell Some horrible Thing was nigh ? Can you tell what soothed with a luscious charm Your heart in the dewy wood ? And the creeping dread of a boding harm Have you ever understood ? 78 AT CONFESSION. As your dream was sweet where the sea sung low With the pines of the rock-ribbed beach, Did you learn where the shapes of Beauty go That your spirit yearned to reach ? When the roses bloomed, and the night was still In the trance of the great, soft moon. Were you told the tender secrets that fill The passionate heart of June ? Why did you feel in your common ways, Like a ghost unbidden, rise The awful Marvel of life, and gaze At yourself with frightened eyes ? And teased with thoughts of the myriad whole Of the Infinite around, Why did you gasp, as your aching soul In the boundless deep seemed drowned ? 'Mid the wrecks of hope that strew life's shore, And the woes you cannot flee, Why mused you thus, " I will love no more, It is better not to be ? " And I took his hand, as he gazed above — Past the apple-blooms — and said, " Love on, as if there were naught but love, Though millions of lovers are dead." THE COLOR-SPIRIT. 79 THE COLOR-SPIRIT, Through hazy noons, crisp night, and luscious morn- ing, A Spirit has been busy everywhere. The happy fields with gorgeous hues adorning, Till color seemed to animate the air. It breathed upon the forests which, enchanted, Waved fiery plumes, and banner-pomp unrolled ; And the mysterious mountain-depths it haunted, Till they were changed to palaces of gold. It wrapped a glittering vest of scarlet splendor Round quiet meads between the billowy hills. And lit the cliffs, and sifted radiance tender Through glowing boughs that screen the bickering rills. Through briery dell and over vine-draped ledges In trailing fire its devious wanderings sped ; It broidered sedgy pools and meadow edges With scarfs of saffron tied with crimson thread. Softly upon the bosses of the lea-lands It wrote sweet poems in commingled hues. And where the barberry droops beside the sea- sands, It told in colored script the autumn news. 8o IN TIM A TIONS. How dost thou paint, O Spirit, in such glory The circling landscape and refulgent even ? The pictures wrought in thy illumined story Are like a page torn from the book of Heaven. What witchery works mutations so amazing ? How comes the art that the design conceives ? Who mixes colors when the lands are blazing With seas of sunshine and transfigured leaves O the enchantment of the myriad beauty ! Wrought as in some delirium divine : Be it the word of love, or trust, or duty, The rapture of the message now is mine ! INTIMATIONS. I WENT into the woods, and where Black rocks and cedar shade A solemn twilight made, A sense of something awful in the air Crept through me unaware. I wandered to the lonely mere. And from its dismal sedge And dead trunks on its edge, I felt the breath of some strange phantom near Whose face did not appear. TRIUMPHANT. 8 1 Upon the mountain-peak I stood, And, while through splendid skies I saw the sun arise, A power that glorified the solitude Upon me seemed to brood. By the ocean's trackless strand, And in the waste and roar Of breakers on the shore, A presence, neither of the sea nor land, Touched me with mystic hand. Am I, or not, of this a part ? Where'er my footsteps stray I never get away From thee. O wonder, whatsoe'er thou art, That teasest at mv heart. TRIUMPHANT. " So it ends — all is o'er — Cold lips to cold clay." What ? she living no more ? Is that what you say ? I say she is not dead : Her life could not cease : Only its husk is shed — But she has release. 82 TRIUMPHANT. She there under the sod, — In the black earth laid ? Do you think the good God Would kill what he made So radiant, so fair. So sweet, and so pure ? Creature with gifts so rare He made to endure. She's not there — could not die What, weeping, they bore To the grave, she put by As needed no more. She lives, and her beauty Was never so sweet, Her service of duty Was never so fleet. With the highest she flies In the heavenly place, With joy in her eyes. And light on her face. Hush 3'Our railing at death. Soul smiles at decay ; She has life's fullest breath — Its luminous day. COULD THE POEMS EELT AND SUNG. 83 COULD THE POEMS FELT AND SUNG, Could the poems felt and sung In the praise of beauteous maid On the circling air be flung, And in bloom of flowers arrayed, They would wreathe the earth around, Till it was a rosy sphere, And a heaven of witching sound Make the boundless atmosphere. Though, since Adam woke to find Woman as his better self, Love has been accused as blind. Fooled by shams and won by pelf ; Though, who love must, perforce, cry, " One is lovely, only one," Inly can I smile, for I Know viifie is that only one. For the gracious charms of all That inflames with sacred fire, That can ravish and enthrall. Tender awe and trust inspire : All of sweetness that is sweet, — Loveliest love of name divine, — In the peerless beauty meet Of the paragon that's mine. 84 THE ANCHORITE IN HIS CELL. Lovers, then, may hug their dreams, Claim their charmers sweetest, best ; Boast as theirs what only seems To the heated heart expressed : Let them rave ; their dazzled eyes See not whence the light is poured ; Only in my Paradise Is the flawless Eve restored. THE ANCHORITE IN HIS CELL. A. D. 370. I DO not ask, O Christ, how long These festering thralls must hold me down ; Smite on — but only make me strong To earn my long-expected crown. From this lone bed of rock I rise To scourgings, fastings, wrestling prayer, And, in my nightly sacrifice, My sinful flesh I do not spare. Come balmy airs, or blistering heat. Let landscapes bloom, or tempests rave, Naught nature sends is sad or sweet, With a polluted soul to save. Fools are the greedy herd below — The fools of Mammon's whims and smirk ; THE ANCHORITE IN HIS CELL. 85 They cheat, and strut, nor care to know How well they do the devil's work. Some laugh, and joke, and take their ease, And sing their songs, and self admire, Contented, if the present please. While roars beneath the pit of fire. I know the hollowness that lies In all the silly shows of earth ; I know the fiends who feast their eyes And dance in sight of human mirth. It is a mass of foulness all — Their gilded pleasures, sordid gains ; They wanton 'neath a funeral pall, The blood is poison in their veins. I hate the sounds of street and home, The cheerful talk, and pleasant ways, And quiet mind that seems to come To those who spend laborious days. I hate the lustful, boastful world, Its painted face and rotten heart, And wait to see its minions hurled To endless flame, ere I depart. Yet all goes on the same. How long. How long, O Lord, shall Satan reign ? 36 COR CORDIUM. When judgment come ? Forgive the wrong, If of thy mercy I complain. Here have I fled. I bless my pains, Though round me mocking faces grin : I hope ere long to purge my stains, And out of torture leave my sin. COR CORDIUM. The freshness of the woods is mine. I lie in baths of mountain air ; The forest's depths of beech and pine Fold grandly round me everywhere. The thrush's song is sweet and low ; A water-spirit stirs the ferns Down where the silvery trickles flow O'er em'rald brims of sylvan urns. On leafy glade and granite walls The sunshine's misty splendors stream. Afar a lone dove sorrowing calls As if the wood moaned in its dream. I see where purple lichens glow, Where mosses drink supreme content, Where spreads the clematis, like snow, The curtains of its spotless tent. COR CORDIUM. I see what chronicles are graved On splintered cliff and weird ravine, And how the teeming ground is paved With beauteous forms of what has been. The pine tree's sigh and brooklet's mirth Are in my heart with joy and pain, And all the sad and sweet of earth Pleads in the pathos of the strain. Far o'er me palpitates the blue. As if Love hovered softly there, And, from her tender bosom, drew The holy calm that fills the air. O sky above and world below ! What is the secret of your speech ? Oh, why, beyond your glorious show, Does soul with restless yearnings reach ? What is the Life that life conceals ? The inner force ? the primal fire ? The potency that makes, and feels, And baffles most as we aspire ? What is the end, the good at last. When each appointed task is done. When every phase of change is past. And being's goal of conquest won ? 87 88 COR CORDIUM. The mystic pageant comes and goes ; The old is new ; the sad is gay ; The Everlasting Order flows While hearts grow still and suns decay. Amid the Infinite I grope ; I faint with reaching for a shore, But hear the angels Faith and Hope, — " To Love shall life be more and more.' IN THE CLOSET AND OTHER POEMS. IN THE CLOSET. Lord, though Thou knowest all I am and wish to be, My weary soul must fall And rest itself on Thee. I thank Thee for my tears ; I praise Thee in my pain ; I feel, through all my years, No chastening has been vain. I do not ask release From daily toil and care ; Nor that my heart should cease The griefs of men to share. Thy grace I do not claim Because my cross is sore ; I know that all he blame Of sin is mine, and more. 91 92 IN THE CLOSET. But I must praise and plead, And tell how I aspire, Though but a bruised reed, Though flax of smothered fire. Thou knowest how I long Like the dear Christ to be, Gentle, and pure, and strong. In Love's sweet liberty; Like Christ to walk each day 'Mong men with hopeful eyes, And serve them as I may In bounteous sacrifice. Thou knowest I would use Life after Thy design ; O mould it, Lord, and fuse Purpose and will with Thine. Show me Thy beauty so That I shall be constrained In holier paths to go. Though glorious heights be gained ; So that I shall not see Myself, except that I In Love's immensity, A deeper deep descry. OUR DWELLING-PLACE. In vain my lips essay- To tell my full request ; Thou hearest all I'd say, If I could breathe the rest. And so I simply cast All doubt and fear aside, And on Thy goodness vast In speechless trust abide. 93 OUR DWELLING-PLACE. ' Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations." — Psalm xc. I. I SEEK His dwelling-place. Afar I range abysses without bound ; I touch a sun, I touch a star. But nowhere feel the solid ground. Darkness in constellated height ! Darkness in gulfs of stellar sea ! On, on, and yet no home in sight ! Where can the gracious refuge be ? The deeps devour my wordless cry : Fainting, I feel no friendly shore ; The myriad worlds go hurtling by — The voids are colder than before. 94 LAST CHRISTMAS. O nameless Good ! O Thou in whom Is all that was and is to be, Is there not in Thy bosom room For a poor, houseless wretch like me ? 'Tis warmth and light, 'tis love, 'tis home, Rest, calm and sweet, for which I pine : From Thee I came, to Thee I come — How shall Thy dwelling-place be mine ? Ah ! who is this that takes my hand ? That lifts me from the pit and mire ? That heals, consoles, and makes me stand, And gives the rest that I desire ? Dear Son of God ! Thy blessed face Shows where the hungry soul may flee. Thy heart is Home and hiding-place, And I am satisfied with Thee. LAST CHRISTMAS. Twelve months ago, the Christmas chimes Blent with her softly murmured prayer : To-day, she does not lisp a word For all that makes the world so fair. Twelve months ago, the Christmas chimes Blent with her softly murmured prayer : TRANSFORMED, 95 To-day, her voice more purely sweet Is wafted through celestial air. Twelve months ago, with radiant brow, She meekly passed the minster-door : To-day, she makes no lowly sign, As Christ's dear name is chanted o'er. Twelve months ago, with radiant brow, She meekly passed the minster-door : To-day, her life is perfect praise Where temples are not needed more. Twelve months ago, she thought how blest The lips that kissed the Master's feet : To-day, the heart that loved so well Is folded in the winding sheet. Twelve months ago, she thought how blest The lips that kissed the Master's feet : To-day, she has her Lord's own joy. And all that makes his friendship sweet. TRANSFORMED. The gray, old church, I am its guest once more ; O blessed refuge ! like a child I come And kneel where I so often knelt, before My long, bleak exile. This is home, sweet home ! 96 TRANSFORMED. O heart be still, nor count the cruel years — Thy fair, fresh trusts to this dear place belong. The people gather and the priest appears ; There is confession, Scripture, sermon, song. The same great words are on the sculptured wall. The same high hopes in storied window flame, Chancel, and nave, and splendid roof, and all Are as they were, yet nothing is the same. Ah, bitter change ! how grievous it has grown ! Tears burn my heart — the very organ grieves : Through chant and hymn, a pining undertone Of plaintive protest dolorously breathes. Dead are the roses in the oriel's blaze, The lilies of the altar are not fair. And sad the pictured saints whose pensive gaze Rebukes the dead discourse and soulless prayer. He is not here whose life's unsullied beam To beauteous service showed the joyous way; Who made the truth, to eager spirits, seem The deathless good they loved and sought alway. * He ate the hidden manna, and he wore The white stone graven with the dear, new name ; The little ones in tender arms he bore. And took a cross to spare a brother's shame. * Rev. ii. 17. CHRISTMAS. g^ What peerless landscapes rose, what spectres fled, In desert wilds what springs bedewed the sod, As with persuasive voice the flock he led To living pastures on the mount of God. O strong, pure heart that all its sweetness gave ! O tender soul that suffered so for men ! Gentle, and true, and merciful, and brave — How vain my life, if thine had never been. The shadows deepen at the noontide hour ; He is not here, and he will never come. Ah ! could I wear his spirit's perfect flower. Where'er I wander, it would still be home. CHRISTMAS. Whither, O shepherds, ere the stars expire Out of the deep Judean sky. Spurred by the joy of a fulfilled desire, Haste ye, and what descry 1 There 'neath the inn's bare shed, In the rude manger-bed, Is found the Wonder all the ages sought. The Good-News pulsates in angelic song, Which time shall bear to its last breath, along The very earth with gladness seems rewrought, And groping life has light, whose ray Shines to the brightness of the perfect day. 98 CHRISTMAS. See ! here is Motherhood supreme — Its pure content and its unfading dream, All that it meekly bears In toils and tender cares — And blessed Infancy whose face Makes luminous the lowly place, And whose unconscious sweetness lies On hearts that watch with awed and rapt surprise. And here is all fair Childhood will unfold, And all that's written in Youth's book of gold : And here is the majestic prophecy Of what mankind in full-orbed growth may be, — God-born, benign, exultant, wise, and free, — Set mid the splendors of eternity ! O gentle Christ ! O child that ever lives, And to the child-life gives The loveliness that's heralded in Thine, All that enamours earth Attends Thy glorious birth ; The eager heart of nations bends Before Thee, peerless Sign Of Heaven's compassions and redemption done. From Thee the hope of all the race extends, Thou well-beloved Son ! Dear Christ-child ! who shall tell Thy reign's incessant miracle ? Thine image in each infant face I see. All household gladness gets its charm from Thee : HYMN. 99 Thou art the beauty that survives In worn and weary lives : In squaUd chambers resonant of woe, Breaks an immortal glow, And moans are hushed, and suff'ring children rise — A new world smiling on their happy eyes : The hopes of life grow large and sweet ; Plague-spots are cleansed, the sin-sick healed, Joy comes to home on little pattering feet ; And little hands home's potent sceptre wield. Youth lives in Age, and sorrow has surcease In that great Friend who gently whispers, " Peace." The flowers of Heaven in time-worn pathways spring, For Love is King ! HYMN. There remaineth therefore a rest to the people of God. — Heb. iv. 9. Bowed with the burden and the heat Of time's delusive quest, And sick at heart and sore of feet, We yearn, O God, for rest. Thou knowest all our toil and pain. Our conflicts and our tears ; Far seem the heights we strive to gain. And long our troubled years. lOO SEMPER UBIQUE. Out of our weariness we cry', 'Mid burdens and distress ; For everlasting peace we sigh, And the Divine caress. Oh, better than we ask or think To us is Thy sweet will ; Life from Thy living Word we drink. And every fear is still. We yet can bear the cross, whose load Is lightened by Thy hand, And follow on, although the road Is through a weary land. It is enough that Christ has trod Each step and goes before ; Enough, if safe with thee, O God, We sin nor suffer more. May 10, 1878. SEMPER UBIQUE. Soft through the shimmering sunshine The wind of April breathes, And the soothing touch of a spirit Is the tender kiss it leaves. Ah ! what is the breath that caresses. The lustre and charm that fall SEMPER UBIQUE. iqi On my heart, but the dehcate greeting Of the Life that is over all ? I roam through the quiet of woodlands, As the buds begin to swell, And the early flowers are peeping Where last year's dead leaves fell ; And I know 'tis the pulses of Beauty That under the surface move, And that everywhere all that is lovely Is born in the light of Love. By the streams that laugh through the meadows, In the birds that sing and fly. In the moss of the rock, in the mountains, And the tender blue of the sky. Where the sea in the moon is gleaming, And the stars in their grandeur roll, I feel that the heart of Goodness Is throbbing through the whole. I look on the faces of mothers With their children cheek to cheek, On lovers whose silent rapture No lips can ever speak, I hear the songs that are sweetest Of all that the happy sing. And know each joy is a rill that flows From one eternal Spring. 102 REASSURANCE. Yes, the Lord of all ages is with me — The centre and Sun of life, My Light in the dreariest darkness, My Peace 'mid the storms of strife. Of Him is the beauty that trances, The blessing in all that is blest, The worlds are safe on His bosom, And on His bosom I rest. REASSURANCE. Through scalding tears I fiercely strove to see If there was any light — a little ray — Any poor sign that I should ever be From my dark path led to a clearer way. For the hard yoke pressed harder — I grew sore With hope deferred and fruitless toil and loss ; And, reeling 'neath the galling weight I wore, It seemed I could no further bear my cross. The faintness of the way was at my heart ; " Is there aught more to live for ? " now I cried, " My hopes, my friends, my early faiths depart. And bitter things, I would escape, abide." And, groping in my weariness for rest, I saw, 'mid scenes of grievous human ill. That there were some, though terribly distressed, Who bore their lot with meek and cheerful will. EASTER. 103 I saw the feeble ones in sorrow's flame, Walking unscathed, as with a Friend unseen. And many a tender soul, through one dear Name, In blight and storm, submissive and serene. And to myself I said, " If these can bear So much with patient mind, why may not I ? Why should not I the blessed spirit share Of those who nobly live, yet daily die ? " And a strange power possessed me — entered in With light and balm my bruised, repining heart ; And then I knew it was the Christ within That courage gave and shield from evil art. And so I took my burden up again. Made easy by a stronger hand than mine. And learned that every earthly loss and sting of pain, By love transfigured, makes one's life divine. EASTER. You are bringing the lustrous lilies And pure, white blooms, to lay On the Church's holy altar For the risen Christ to-day. It seems that a sacred presence Caresses the Easter air. And you move as if you feared to break One's solitude of prayer. I04 EASTER. As you wreathe the fair, sweet blossoms, You think of Mary's tears. And her joy in the early morning. As the living Christ appears ; You think of the two disciples Whose hearts burned with His word, As, on their way to Emmaus, They listened to the Lord. You think of the shining Angels Who watched the empty tomb. And how His wondering followers felt As He entered the upper room ; And you picture His tender greetings, Sweet converse, blessings sweet, And His look, as trembling Thomas Came and touched His hands and feet. But in your own heart's garden Do the pure, fresh lilies blow t Are your sins, which once were scarlet, In His love as white as snow ? Out of your baser selfhood Does the new, pure self arise ? Do you find your life as you lose it, In noble sacrifice ? Is light on your vision breaking As you feel the travail of earth, Yearning for Christ's dominion In the promised Easter's birth ? ECCLESIA. Does life wear an awful grandeur As you see where the Master trod In patience the wine-press of sorrow, To open the gates of God ? Does the Christ that you haste to welcome Go with you where you go ? Do you love Him in all the lovely ones That His resurrection know ? As you join in the Church's anthems, And kneel in the breaking of bread, Is your heart with the poor and forsaken, And babes in their lowly shed ? Ah ! Love is yet in his grave-clothes With many who swiftly run This morning with odors of worship, To welcome the risen One. And many a flower-decked temple Is vocal with praise to-day. Where the Christ of the heart and the ages Is cruelly thrust away. ECCLESIA. A VISION came. I saw the Bride descending Arrayed in spotless white, and fairer far Than sun, or moon, or splendid morning star, And songs of triumph sweet and never ending Were from the blessed company ascending, 105 I06 ECCLESIA. And all was beautiful in life and doing, Pure in high purpose and in heart and will Souls the ideal duty were pursuing, And, 'mid their painful paths, were faithful still. The strong sustained the feeble ; great and small, The wise and mighty, and the little child To the Redeemer consecrated all. Love was sole monarch ; in his kingdom mild The virtues flourished strong and undefiled ; And faith was kept, and justice gave to all Their righteous dues without the suppliant's call. To serve, to gain the good, to make a name That pleased the Master was the only fame Sought by the eager hearts that Mammon spurned. Great was the peace. In " sweetness and in light" Each for the other crowns and comforts earned, And found in mutual charities delight. O glorious Church ! O body unified Of many members, but through all supplied By the informing Spirit, in whose power Each wrought his part and grew to heavenly flow- er — How peerless in thy beauty ! . . . Ah! I dreamed — Sweet dream that vanished ! lo, instead. Symbol I saw, and decorated shrine : Out of the darkness curious relics gleamed ; Ascriptions rose, and sacred words were read. And manv wrang^led over things divine. ECCLESIA. 107 A few were dying to the world and sin, A few were faithful, counting all things loss So they the image of the Christ might win ; A few still bore the sacrificial cross, Patient and gentle, sweetening all the air With loving deeds and interceding prayer. And, more appeared — O tear-compelling sight ! — Forgotten vows, lives wrapped in sloth and pride. Vassals of fashion, shunners of the light. I saw the prophets stoned, and men deride The truth they swore to honor ; saw the poor Famish around the sanctuary's door ; And some in sacred garb, with solemn face. Denied the Master in His holy place ; And some defaced His image, as they strove For power and pelf, and trampled on the love That yearned to heal a troubled world's distress. I saw the pious shams that mock the Lord, And gaudy shows usurp the living Word ; And there were blessings mouthed that did not bless. And bargains struck in what is not for sale, And Folly sat in Wisdom's august throne, And smoothed its robes, and smiled amid the wail Of hearts that asked for bread, and gave a stone. " O God, is this Thy Holy Church ? " I cried, "Truth's Witness, Keeper of the Word, Christ's Bride ? " O living Lord ! appear in power again ! Renew, and cleanse, and consummate Thy reign. EARLIER POEMS. The following Poems are reprinted from the author's first volume of verse whose original dedication is retained. TO CLEMENCE. It has been your lot to suffer, and to be denied, withal, a deal that is suited to soften the hardship of your secluded life. But trial has not repressed your sympathy with whatever is engaging and enttobling ift hujuan existence , and you have never failed to make home attractive by a spirit whose patience and sweetness have hallowed all the years of our companionship. In some way that may assiire you of my appreciation and gratitude^ I wish to connect your beloved name with this little cluster of verse — the offspring of my heart ; but I can think of no words that tvill mean so much to you, or be so acceptable, as the simple statement, that / DEDICA TE THIS VOL UME. ONE YEAR. A YEAR of sweets — a little year That vanished with our darling's breath. So strange ! it doth not yet appear What is the blessing hid in death. One little year, yet oh ! how long. With such a love as made our light ; Each day was a delicious song, Whose rapture lasted through the night. There came with him the keener sense Of what the perfect life may be ; And sad years had their recompense In what he gave unknowingly. The household voices caught his glee, The tasks of home were changed to play The freshness of his infancy On every pleasant prospect lay. 113 114 ONE YEAR. How restful the contented heart Held his rare sweetness to its core, And turned from empty shows apart — Rich in his riches more and more. O shining brow, and golden hair, And eyes that looked beyond the blue ! Dear face that grew from fair to fair, The same, yet always something new ! A sweeter dream whoever dreamed Than came with his soft lips to ours ? Blent with his life, our being seemed Drowned in the glowing soul of flowers. All through the years his beauty shone ; His path and ours appeared the same ; And every good we called our own Was linked with his beloved name. O heart of God that pities all ! O Love that gives and takes away ! Confused and faint, on Thee we fall, Yet know not how we ought to pray, Save this, that in our doubt and fear We wait as loving children should. We cannot see, nor far nor near. But trust that somehow all is good. A ROSEBUD. A ROSEBUD. 115 It was merely the bud of a blood-red rose That I found 'tween the lids of my book to-day. What of it ? Nothing to you, I suppose — Sweet ashes a breath would scatter away. Yet here I am holding the dead, faded thing, As the sun drops out of the August sky, And the dew-drunken blossoms their odors fling On the twilight air — do you ask me why ? The years are gathered in this little tomb — (Strange that a grave in my hand I should hold) — Springs that showered their kisses of bloom, And summers that revelled in fruits of gold. No breath of the meadows nor orange bough Sheds to my spirit an odor so rare. You see not — how can you ? — what I see now — That marvellous face — are the angels so fair.? She gave me this bud and a single leaf — Geranium — it has crumbled away: — What a glory touched life then, but how grief Drives to tasks that sprinkle the head with gray ! Half doubting, I number the seasons since flown ; Like a star she just trembled on womanhood's eve ; To what in the garden of God has she grown ? Naught more fair than she was can my fancy con- ceive. Il6 IN THE LANE. For the roses of morning, and music, and light, The motions of birds, and the freshness of June, The glimmer of lilies, and childhood's delight, In her exquisite nature were blended in tune. Its sweetness yet lingers, like perfume that clings To the air when the splendor of blossoms has fled, More tender than touch of invisible wings The spell of her presence around me seems shed. And now, while this faded bud in my palm Grows dim in the darkness and still is dear, All over my sorrow is sprinkled a balm From the depths of a heavenly atmosphere. A hand long vanished I seem to hold. The years their glory of dreams restore, I see a face that can never grow old. And life looks large on the other shore. IN THE LANE. The roses lingering in the west, Soft lustre swooning through the sky, The meadow blossoms kissed to rest, A dying bird-song floating by. Old dusky woodlands soothed with balm On mountains hushed in twilight trance. The glossy eve's delicious calm, Drowsed by the stream's voluptuous dance. IN THE LANE. The soft dew silvering hawthorn bloom, Faint crimson buds along the ledge — Two faces in the tender gloom, Between the lindens and the hedge : — Two beamy faces young and sweet. Cheek meeting cheek in tenderest trust, White garlands strewn by waiting feet. And fire-flies showering golden dust. They made in this familiar place The sweet completion Nature sought, And all the scene's divinest grace Perfection from their beauty caught. There were no vows nor splendid speech To break love's tranced and golden dream. Heart flowed as truly, each to each, As in one channel stream with stream. There, in the May's embalmed repose. Fair as it always nursed with May, Their red lips flushing in one rose. Whose sweetness in each bosom lay. They seemed the perfect dream that steals. At times, adown our morning sky. And for one blessed hour reveals The joy that haunts us till we die. 117 Il8 PEWAUKEE. Like silvered raven-down the dark Kept floating through the hawthorn lane, And still the fire-fly's lustrous spark Fell on the dust like amber rain. A tremor through the daisied grass, A murmur like a happy bird, A low bough befit for one to pass, And all as if no leaf had stirred. The silvery dusk along the lane Kept stealing by the creamy hedge, And felt for those warm lips in vain. Clear to the runlets' grassy edge. Gone through the shadows — never more With cheek to cheek they hither came ; The great world crushes on, and o'er Its sweetest blossoms leaves no name. PEWAUKEE, The blackbirds are wooing, Reed-warblers are cooing, The marsh-hens are chatt'ring and scolding away ; The young leaves are gleaming In the soft sunshine streaming. From the blue, tender heaven of blossoming May. Pewaukee ! Pewaukee ! A VOICE IN THE DESERT. uq O lovely Pewaukee! We hasten to greet thee this beautiful day. The black bass are leaping, Where the still pools are sleeping, And the birds in the reeds trill their operas o'er ; While over us hover Like the breath of a lover The odors of apple-boughs white on the shore. Pewaukee ! Pewaukee ! Delicious Pewaukee ! We hail thee, and love thee, and taste thee once more ! A VOICE IN THE DESERT. The West was gorgeous with the sunset's splendors — The gathered flowers of light's resplendent crown ; Bloom after bloom did Paradise surrender, As if the gardens of the blest came down. The East was piled with clouds of storm and thun der — Huge mountains seamed with bolts of hurtling fire — Now swept by gales that tore their cliffs asunder, And then in weird convulsions heaving higher. O'er the Sun's couch the roses still kept blowing, And royal lilies starred with purple eyes ; I20 ^ VOICE IN THE DESERT. And banks of golden daffodils kept growing, Soft ridge on ridge, along the glowing skies. But down the gorges of the storm's sierras, The rain and hail in roaring cascades fell ; The lightning, playing like a dance of furies, Pictured the nameless scenery of hell. On the vast Plains where I beheld the vision — On one side beauty, on the other dread — Between the Tempest and the scene Elysian — An antelope unfrighted bowed its head. Beside a stunted shrub, alone, unfriended. It waited midst the awful desert place, As if at home and tenderly defended — Eve's radiance and the storm-glare on its face. I saw the dying of the western splendor, I saw the darkness of the tempest fall, And heard a mystic voice, in accents tender. Out of the brooding Terror to me call : — " O wanderer o'er life's deserts and its mountains, In storm and sunshine, with uncertain feet, Pining for joy of the immortal fountains. And clinging still to all of earth that's sweet, One heart is in the thunder and the roses. One hand the honey and the gall distils ; THE RIVER OF TEARS. 121 He who upon the Infinite reposes, His place in Heaven's grand order meetly fills. Whate'er his path, however sad its seeming, — The glory or the darkness overhead. Upon it Love's unchanging smile is beaming, And to the Perfect Good his steps are led." THE RIVER OF TEARS, In the ghastly dusk of cypress shade, O'er the beaten sands of a dismal glade, The River of Tears, with ceaseless flow. Rolls its bitter waves of human woe. The herbless mountains that gird the vale In an endless dawn stand cold and pale ; And the lustreless clouds droop down so low They touch the face of the stream below. No honeyed blossoms breathe balm around. In the funeral gloom that shrouds the ground, But dark, rank weeds reach greedily o'er To sip the surge on the level shore. Wild shrieks oft startle the dusky air, And the smothered howl of mad despair. While the pleading wai] of love's last cry Floats o'er the waves to the leaden sky. 122 yOC/ AND I, In aimless courses deep foot-prints go, Of the suffering ones of long ago, — As the sad procession, with clasped hands, Went wandering over the barren sands. In the sullen shadows brooding here. Stalk pallid Sorrow and shivering Fear, Frail Youth, bent Age, and the bad and bold, And the gentle and good whose lives grow cold. In hopeless anguish some hide their eyes. And with pale, wan looks some watch the skies, Some beat their bosoms with frenzied stare, And some feel round in the empty air. Thus, in mournful groups they come and go; None tells to another his weight of woe ; And the swollen stream, 'neath the dusky shroud, Goes down to its sea of noiseless cloud. YOU AND L Sweet longings hinted at and guessed — Tender spiritual unrest — We cannot near each other live Unless we something take and give, — You and I. A VISION. 123 PIa3ang with old regrets, we wait, Half happy, half accusing fate. A broken Hope is like a ghost ! We both seek something we have lost — You and I. Not often may such natures meet. So sweetly tender, subtly sweet : The instincts of pure souls are just — Now we may know in whom to trust — You and I. The world is cold, the world is vain : Apart, we both shall wear the chain. Our griefs make each the other's guest. Two hearts m one give perfect rest — You and I. A VISION. Before me rose a realm Silent, and vast, and vague with shapes unborn, Which fiery hands, with fateful force, did whelm, Ere dawned the natal morn. Myriads whose pulses beat Delicious tune with the maternal blood. Struck where Love's trusts are most divinely sweet. Sank in the shoreless flood. 124 A VISION. The frailest frames of man, Faint embr3'o forms that held the soul in place, Dim miniatures of all that fills the plan Of the great human race. What might have been, I said. Had these pale buds but come to Nature's flower ; What perfect fruits from royal boughs been shed — The ages' golden dower ! What stalwart sons of light, Regal with Wisdom's sceptre and its crown ! What daughters making Love's dominion bright, With virginal renown ! What lips of glorious speech, What clear-browed sovereigns o'er Thought's choiring spheres, What valiant hands to guard the Right and reach The prize of waiting years ! What souls to take the morn Of God's great glory in their eager eyes. And, trampling down all baseness with swift scorn, To Duty's summits rise ! What that is fair and true — Beauty whose splendors awe profane caress. Imperial natures that exhale the dew Of marvellous loveliness. THE FISHER BOY. 125 What that might not have grown To lordliest stature, grand in heart and brain, Bequeathing gifts that flash, from zone to zone, An unextinguished flame ! Victims of cruel doom, What are they, or what not, in that strange deep. Where, smitten birthless, falls the leaden gloom Of their mysterious sleep ? Shall cold oblivion fold Her pall forever o'er this countless host ? Or shall they yet with starry angels hold The crowns their mothers lost ? THE FISHER BOY. A statue by Hiram Powers. Moulded in pure and perfect grace, His white feet poised on silent sands, And boyhood's spirit on his face, A shape of life's best hour he stands. His net droops on the idle oar, He listens as to whispers dear — What hears he on the mighty shore. Pressing the sea-shell to his ear ? 126 ^^^ FISHER BOY. Is it the soft-toned rapture caught From rosy hps of Naiades, That brims with pictured joy his thought Of the rare beauty of the seas ? Is it some loved unuttered name, Wooed by the waves from lands remote, Or echo of forgotten Fame, Kept in the shell's vermilion throat ? Or some strange syllables he seeks Of ancient Ocean's mystic lore — The solemn measures that she speaks With charmed tongues for evermore ? Still, listening in that keen suspense, What curious fancies come and go ; What pleasant wishes thrill his sense For what he ne'er, ah, ne'er shall know ! O artist ! in whose deathless thought This radiant being lived and grew. More glorious meaning hast thou wrought. Than first thy fair conception knew. For 'tis the type of Youth's rich trance Beside the wide world's unknown sea, Weaving the sweet tones of romance Into the promised bliss to be ; TO BRYANT. 127 Of Youth that, on life's golden brim, Hears many a sweet, mysterious strain, And by sees splendid visions swim, It ne'er shall meet to love again : Youth yet all freshness — frail and fair — Whose tender trusts and loving will, Ere chilled by scorn or scarred by care, All time with speechless glory fill. TO BRYANT. Read at the Festival held by the Century Club, New York, in honor of his seventieth birthday, Nov. 3, 1864. Thy patient feet have reached to-day The allotted goal of human years. Thanks, thanks to Him who bids thee stay Awhile yet from the timeless spheres. Thanks for thy journey brave and long : A glorious pathway has it been, Melodious with majestic song. And hallowed in the hearts of men. Earth's face is dearer for thy gaze ; The fields that thou hast travelled o'er Are fuller-blossomed, and the ways Of toil more pleasant than before. 128 TO BRYANT. The April pastures breathe more sweet, The brooks in deeper musings glide, Old woodlands grander hymns repeat, And holier seems the Autumntide. The crystal founts and Summer rains Are haunted now with pictured grace ; The winds have learned more tender strains, And greet us with more kind embrace. More meekly pleads each flow'ret's eye, On gentler errands comes the snow. And birds write on the evening sky More gracious lessons as they go. The stars, the clouds, the sea, the grave, Wide prairie wastes and crowded marts. All that is fair, and good, and brave, In peaceful homes and generous hearts Through thee their wondrous meanings tell ; And as men go to work and pray — Feeling thy song's persuasive spell — Love's face seems closer o'er their way. Before thee Error howled and fled ; And in thy path, though bold and strong. Oppression quailed. From thy hand sped The glittering shafts that crippled Wrong. A BIR THDA V L YRIC. \ 29 And thy lips swelled the thrilling peal That roused the people to uphold The sacred cause of common weal. Oh, may thy happy eyes behold Fair Freedom's triumph, and the sway Of Peace which, after strife and pain, Shall usher the illustrious day Of a great Nation born again ! Smooth be thy latest stages here, Revered, and loved, and watched by those To whom thou seemest still more dear, The further on thy journey goes. And keeping still the childlike heart — Pure home of every sacred guest — At last, in perfect peace, depart, O Bryant, to thy blissful rest. A BIRTHDAY LYRIC. Lead me 'mong blossoms white In the early amber light. Away from teasing care, And let the charmed air With luscious tone Soothe me with strains unknown. 130 A BIRTHDAY LYRIC. Oh ! heap the blossoms sweet About my face and feet, Till half the blushing sky, And the nook wherein I lie Are curtained most deliciously. With odors deluge me, With rose-light and low melody ; — For I would dream, until earth seems What once it promised m my dreams. radiant land ! where my young eyes Saw angels in the happy skies. And felt Love's arms in all the air, And heard Hope singing everywhere, — Sweet land of boyhood ! Rose unblown ! Delicious, heart-enfolded Zone ! How soon — too soon The burning Noon Drank all thy dew from bud and leaf, And seared the bowers of young Belief. The drifting sands before me spread With murky redness overhead ; 1 faint with fighting wrong and sin. To-day, oh, let me enter in The gardens beautiful of yore. And live again my May-life o'er. I may come forth more firm and strong To deal with error, blame, and wrong ; Upon my heart fresh dew shall lie. And heaven seem nearer to mine eve. BRYANT. 131 BRYANT. Read at the celebration of his eightieth birthday by the Chicago Literary Club. The sweetest blossoms any bring To deck, to-day, thy muse's throne. Are those that out of pure hearts spring From seed thy fruitful life has sown. How deep thy living thought struck down In grateful souls throughout the land ; The splendid flowers of thy renown In myriad leaves of light expand. They bloom in virtues strong and true. In deeds that make our kinship sweet, Chaste homes, and lives of spotless hue, In love that serves with tireless feet ; In patriot Zeal ; in Honor's breast ; Where Duty runs without debate ; Where Nature feasts her reverent guest, And Faith waits calmly "At the Gate.'* These garlands of the spirit live While festal splendors pass away : Thousands on thousands tribute give To thee, O kingly bard, to-day. 132 THE OLD CHIMNEY PLACE. Thanks for thy pure, majestic song, Thy golden years o'er measured span, Thy valiant will to smite the wrong. Thy vast, unconquered love of man. Thanks for thy simple faith and truth : Thanks for thy wisdom deep and calm, The freshness kept of generous youth. Thy life — a sweet, triumphant psalm. Earth's children catch its strains sublime As ages bear along thy name. And down the glowing fields of time The wise and good reflect thy fame. THE OLD CHIMNEY PLACE. A STACK of stones, a dingy wall. O'er which the brambles cling and creep, A path on which no shadows fall, A door-step where long dock-weeds sleep, A broken rafter in the grass, A sunken hearthstone stained and cold, — Naught left but these, fair home, alas 1 And the dear memories of old. Around this hearth, this sacred place, All humble household virtues grew, — THE OLD CHIMNEY PLACE. 133 The grandsire's lore, the maiden's grace, The matron's instincts deep and true : Here first sweet words were lisped ; here broke Life's morning dream, and, yet more dear, The love that life's best impulse woke. Grew warmer, gentler, year by year. How cheerful, while the storm without Muffled the earth and iced the night, The ruddy glow gushed laughing out On merry groups and faces bright ; How chimed the crackling, freakish flame With rosy mirth and thoughtful ease. Or, may be, syllabled the name Of one rocked o'er the shivering seas. What fairy scenes, what golden lands. What pageants of romantic pride. In the weird deep of glowing brands, Saw the fair boy, the dreamy-eyed ; Till, musing here, his spirit drew Strong inspiration, and his years, By Beauty's subtle nurture, knew The paths of Nature's inner spheres. Here, as the swooning embers sent A faint flush through the quiet gloom, In the warm hush have lovers blent The fragrance of the heart's fresh bloom ; And veiling in soft-drooping eyes Her tremulous joy, here blushed the bride ; 134 HYMN. Here, o'er pale forms in funeral guise, Farewells from stricken hearts were sighed. This spot the pilgrim, 'neath strange skies, Saw in his wayside dream ; here stood Old friends with gladness in their eyes : Here grew the beautiful and good — Sweet friendships — faith serene and sure — Manhood's strong purpose warm and bold — Courage to labor and endure, And household feelings never cold. Here, leaning in the twilight dim. All round me seems a haunted air: I hear the old familiar hymn. My heart goes upwards in the prayer That made the night so full of peace ; Kind lips are on my brow — my ear Hums with sweet sounds — they faint — they cease — And night o'er all broods calm and clear. 1854. HYMN OF THE MOTHERS OF OUR VOL- UNTEERS. Home calls each loved familiar name With precious memories stored : Deal gently, Lord ! 'twas not for fame Our children took the sword. HYMN. 135 We never thought when each young face First softly touched our own, And Httle hands with sweet embrace About our necks were thrown, That our own veins were nursing then The holy cause of Right, And that from our own bosoms men Would spring to Freedom's fight. We cannot deem the offering vain, Our dearest though we give ; Nor do we ask release from pain, If but the Nation live. Still, sometimes, as alone we kneel Where once the cradle stood. So much comes back, 'tis hard to feel That all our grief is good. The rosy cheeks, so round and fair. The pattering little feet, The laughing eyes and silken hair Of those whose touch was sweet, Rise up amid the glare and din Of battle's fiery tide. And flit past prison bars, within Which Love is crucified ! 136 HYMN. We know we bade them go, when stirred The land from sea to sea, For 'twas thy voice, O Christ, they heard Proclaiming liberty. But, oh, this travail long and sore, Watching their woful way, And never able to do more Than serve at home and pray. It seems as if the mother's hand Might soothe the suffering best, And that the mother ought to stand By children laid at rest. Forgive us all our doubts and fears While Thy great work goes on ; We do rejoice amid our tears. And pray, " Thy will be done." Thy will — good will — its message now Of promised peace grows strong, And flashing on War's awful brow, Declares the doom of Wrong. It is enough. Out from the gloom Rises a Nation free ! Still, at the cross and by the tomb, We cling, O Lord, to Thee. January, 1865. A LESSON FROM THE SKY. 137 A LESSON FROM THE SKY. The sun is set, and still as Time The great sky broods benign and calm Neglected, like some ancient rhyme, I stand and wonder that I am ! Athwart the portals of the west One fiery cloud slopes still and stern, While, waking from delicious rest, A single star begins to burn. The glory of the western throne By yon red arm is guarded now : O young heart ! toiling here alone, What to the world's great strength art thou ? But lo ! I see the star-urn pour Its soothing light beyond the skies, While, pale as sand-ribs on the shore. The shrunken cloud in darkness lies. Young heart, be strong ! for thee the star In heaven's serene and tender deep : The world's dread arm thy course may bar, — It wastes with every watch ye keep. 1853. 138 OUR SISTER. OUR SISTER, Her face was very fair to see — So luminous with purity ; It had no roses, but the hue Of lilies lustrous with their dew — Her very soul seemed shining through ! Her quiet nature seemed to be Tuned to each season's harmony. The holy sky bent near to her ; She saw a spirit in the stir Of solemn woods. The rills that beat Their mosses with voluptuous feet, Went dripping music through her thought. Sweet impulse came to her unsought From graceful things, and Beauty took A sacred meaning in her look. In the great Master's steps went she With patience and humility. The casual gazer could not guess Half of her veiled loveliness ; Yet, ah ! what precious things lay hid Beneath her bosom's snowy lid : — What tenderness and sympathy. What beauty of sincerity, What fancies chaste, and loves that grew In heaven's own stainless light and dew. BONNIE. 1 39 True woman was she day by day In suffering, toil, and victory. Her life, made holy and serene By faith, was hid with things unseen. She knew what they alone can know Who live above, but dwell below. BONNIE. Under the crimson trees that sighed, Under the sod whose flowers were sere, We laid our fair young Bonnie aside 'Mid the hectic glow of the dying year. Little the change to most, indeed — A sunbeam less to gladden the earth, A frail blossom broken that few would heed, — How mean is the great world's measure of worth 1 Filling our hearts with a calm content. Tinting our future with hues of gold — How faded the lustre her presence lent To common things, when her lips grew cold ! Tenderest face that won us so, Softest eyes where we used to see Love on its heavenly journey go, — As God's will is, it is best to be. 140 ARISS. Best, we trust, though the cloud is dark ; The Smiter to her was more than dear : Her spirit rose to Him as the lark Rises and sings when the sky is clear. All for the best, though it seems not so — Losing our treasures that we may save. Little of all love is can we know Till we leave our darling asleep in the grave. ARISS. Our loves were so inwove and blent, So rich in trust and calm content, It did not seem that love could draw Her from us by its mystic law. Yet, somehow, in her look and tone We felt she was not all our own ; Something within her nature bore The fragrance of the heavenly shore : The bud could only blossom where God's perfect smile was light and air. How many pictures did we make Of years to come for her dear sake. We saw her beauty gather bloom, And love for deeper love make room, Her spirit ripen as it drew From all things lovely light and dew, TO ROBERT COLL YE R. i^t And, breathing sweetness everywhere, Her life reach upward like a prayer. Alas ! for summers never born, For purple eve and golden morn. For hearts that ache, and eyes that swim In sorrow till the world is dim. In her fair face we shall not see The tenderness which was to be : We shall not feel through quiet days The blessing of her graceful ways ; The seasons shall not nurse and teach With soft caress and golden speech Her tender thought, nor shall we view In her love daily something new. Nor see Christ making lustrous white The life He fills with peace and light. TO ROBERT COLLYER. I MISS thy face, dear friend, thy voice, thy hand — Thy rugged face through which the clear soul shines. Thy voice, now plaintive as the moan of pines. And then a trumpet mighty in command ; Thy honest palm whose grasp all understand. Though pleasant be the places where the lines Are fallen to me, yet my heart repines Oft for the gardens of that goodly land 142 A SUNSET AT LONG MO NT, COLORADO, Where our souls wandered, when they haply met, With yearnings strong for man's diviner day. And landscapes blossomed which no tears could wet. Till old things fit to perish passed away, And life to God's great harmony was set. And Love was monarch with unhindered sway. A SUNSET AT LONGMONT, COLORADO. We've journeyed through the mountains. There they stand, Broad-based, majestic, in a grand repose, Some three leagues westward. Longmont welcomes us; And, while we rest this balmy summer eve At hospitable thresholds, all the sky, As if to consecrate our holiday. And make our precious memories more dear, Puts on unwonted glory : and our eyes. Like those of Moses in the mount, are smit With sudden splendor. For the sinking sun Hidden, is not repressed, but pours its light Upward and far aslant on flocks of cloud Along the clear horizon's narrow rim, Down the great gulfs of everlasting rock,. O'er shining peaks, the distant Snowy Range, And Long's high crown, while all the nearer hills, In tender shadow, watch the miracle. A SCINSE T AT L ONGMOA'T, COL OR A DO. 1^3 Spread to the right, and gleaming, fold on fold, Vermilion, saffron, pink, and pearly white, The gorgeous banners of the clouds are flung, Waving and tossing in resplendent surge, Above a belt of deep, delicious sky, Whose liquid opal, perfect, passionless, Runs to a field of luminous emerald, Broidered with swaying fringe of crimson fire. More southward, fleecy draperies touched with rose Float on the air, and, here and there, droop low Upon the shoulders of the purple peaks. O'erhead the arrows of the hidden sun Flash, now and then, on cliffs of ragged cloud : And plumes of radiance like strange tropic birds. Flit through the open spaces of the blue. High up, amid the awful gaps of rock. Between the ranges, a soft sea of bloom — The lustrous pollen of this sunset-flower — Throbs, wave on wave, against the granite shore. Wondrous the billows of this golden mist, — Sweet, tender, lucent, as if purest dews Of Paradise had washed the starry sheen From heaven's choicest blossoms, and poured all, A perfect incense to the unseen God. Unasked we join the worship of the hour. Breathless with indescribable applause. The sacred spell of Beauty on us lies. And Power that dwells in light's essential throne, And Love in which all that is good is born. The curtains of the glowing deep are drawn. 144 ^^^ ^^^* And, through the vista garlanded with gold, O'er amethystine herbage, lawns of rose, Pure streams where lilies of the angels blow, Far towards the sightless glory of the Lord, Our hearts are borne in utterless content, Renewed and resting on the Infinite. OUR BOY. He came, we know not how, 'mid fears And sorrows ripening with the years. Dropped out of Heaven in our distress, — Incarnate dream of loveliness, — Flushing to rose our cloud-draped days And voicing our unrest with praise. His trustful eyes God's grace beamed through The earth in his sweet smile was new ; His life set all discordant strains To cheerful tune and glad refrains. Interpreted the deeper speech Our hearts would fain each other teach, Bade us Love's vaster world descry, And spelled its tenderest mystery. He greets us now a dancing beam In which Hope's deathless pictures gleam, A Flower on which Christ's peace is sent, A Star of Love's clear firmament, THE NEW YEAR. j^^ A breath of Eden's lost perfume That scents the house from room to room, A wingbd Joy that hovers where The old ache was so hard to bear. THE NEW YEAR. A Flower unblown : a Book unread : A Tree with fruit unharvested : A Path untrod : a House whose rooms Lack yet the heart's divine perfumes : A Landscape whose wide border lies In silent shade 'neath silent skies : A wondrous Fountain yet unsealed : A Casket with its gifts concealed : — This is the Year that for you waits Beyond To-morrow's mystic gates. Oh, may this Flower unfold to you Visions of beauty sweet and new ; This Book on golden pages trace Your sacred joys and deeds of grace. May all the fruit of this strange Tree Luscious and rosy-tinted be ; This Path through fields of knowledge go ; This House with love's content o'erflow ; This Landscape glitter with the dew Of blessed hopes and friendships true ; 146 TO WILLIAM F. COOLBAUGH. This Fountain's living crystal cheer, As fail the springs that once were dear; This Casket with such gems be stored As shine in lives that love the Lord. TO WILLIAM F. COOLBAUGH. On his Birthday. Like one who waits 'neath an embowering vine, On some green cliff that looks upon the sea, And far away o'er mountain, vale, and lea. Where the enchantment to his senses fine — The subtile charm of Nature's sacred wine — Breathes joy, and awe, and tender mystery ; So thou, to-day, confronting all thy years. Dost view the landscape which thy heart endears — Youth's rosy fields and skies with promise set. Paths that in manhood led to fair renown. And holy graves with memory's dew-drops wet. Care's rugged steps, and labor's splendid crown. What pageants pass ! what hands are waved afar ! How strangely sweet the ancient voices are ! Thy household treasures show their dimless gold : Young faces look in thine, and young lips teach Thy heart life's sweetest truths in songful speech : Home's peerless Flower festoons the new and old. Thanks to thy helpful hand and tireless brain. The graces learned in Friendship's gentle school, MEMORIAL DAY. ^A7 The wisdom that can cheer and guide and rule, The spirit that in virtue reckons gain. How many barques are wrecked whose pennons flew In softer airs than ever favored thine ! Rough seas or fair, our way is always through The unknown deep : but fadeless landscapes shine For him whose life is freighted with the store Of that which thrives on the immortal shore. MEMORIAL DAY. Out of thine azure depths, O sun benign ! Shower thy golden kisses on the May ; Drink, fertile fields, kind Nature's mystic wine Till every herb throbs with a life divine — Let not a single dew-drop go astray. Brood, moistened airs, with warm and fragrant wing On all the vales, and haste with glowing feet, Ye soft-lipped Hours, to make the landscape sweet, Till earth shall burst to flowers — a perfect spring ! O vernal season ! give your richest blooms — Rare radiance woven in celestial looms, The subtlest meanings of each tint and tone That Beauty keeps about her peerless throne ; Our hearts ache with unsyllabled applause. We are unworthy, but for those who lie In graves made holy by their life-blood shed — The hero youth who took our perilled cause 1^8 MEMORIAL DAY. And thought it sweet and beautiful to die, That freedom's fields by us be harvested, We crave the choicest emblems to impart The sense of that which blossoms in the heart. Even then how meagre is our speech to breathe Our thanks, our praise, our love, our joyous pride, — Seraphic hands alone are fit to wreathe Chaplets for those who kissed our flag and died. O sacred dust ! O precious seed that bears The blessed fruits that make a people strong, — Life out of death ; Right victor over Wrong. We bow to Him who wisely smites and spares, Who gives the spirit that endures and dares, The love of man and the heroic will. He is the Lord, our strength and refuge still ! The nation lives. After War's bloody showers. The air is sweet with Freedom's stainless flowers. Let praise ascend and gratulations grand, — The graves of martyrs consecrate the land. O shrines of Duty ! Honor's deathless urns ! By you more deep our patriot ardor burns. The gates are lifted of th' historic years, — Lo ! musterings, partings, watchings, sudden fears, The march, the fiery charge, the loved and slain, Foul prison-pens, and all the hope and pain Of war's suspense, our prayers, the welcome word That smote the bondsman's fetters like a sword, Our Lincoln dead ! — what pictures rise and rise, Until the tears well up from heart to eyes, And then with light across our future gleaming, WITH BRYANT AT HIS BIRTHPLACE. Rainbows of promise beautiful and bright Span all the years, and all the sky is streaming With Union banners red and blue and white : The Truth is strong, God will defend the Right. WITH BRYANT AT HIS BIRTHPLACE. Upon the hills where first he saw the day, Broad-shouldered hills with dusky glens between. And solemn groves of immemorial trees, Where fountains gush, and birds of plaintive note Make the strange stillness seem a living soul ; Past meadow-slopes, down arcades of green lanes, And over fields but little trod of men, 'Mid stunted herbs and beds of straggling briar, We rambled oft and long. Now strayed our feet To the wild margin of the mountain-stream. And where the cornice of the wood hung low, And in the orchard's forest-walled recess ; And then they paused where we could look afar On village spires and homesteads in the haze, As on a picture in the land of dreams ; Or o'er huge, highland bosses, past Deerhill, To Graylock silent in the summer sky. At times we sauntered on the public way, Free from the scrutiny of curious eyes ; And sometimes on the rocks, his youthful seat At noon between the Sunday services. In hollows where 'twas twilight all day long, 49 ISO WITH BRYANT A T HIS BIRTHPLACE. On sunny summit and by shaded spring, We stood and lingered ; he meanwhile Greeting with kindly converse all the shows Of wondrous Nature, quoting aptly verse Of richest flavor, giving voice again To old traditions of the place, which shed A tender light on his own tender years, And, with such anecdote as genius tells To make the truth more like her own true self, Coining the gold of wisdom as he spake. And then, perchance, slight bent, with folded arms, Rapt in the scene that filled his inner eye, He walked a king of undisputed realms. Unconscious of his greatness and his sway. 'Twas here in this old forest, when a boy, As on him fell the Seer's sacred fire. He hymned his Thanatopsis. This wild field Contains the unmarked Graves that wooed his muse To tender descent o'er the aged pair Who sleep together on the lone, bleak hill. Here glides the little Rivulet whose birth Is in the thicket's borders, prattling still As in the Poet's childhood, and as sweet As when it taught him its pathetic song. Before the entrance to this noble wood, For which the grand Inscription was designed, We mused as by some hoary sanctuary. And, entering 'mid its coolness and repose. Talked in low tones of what is most august In all the marvel of our human life. WITH BR YAXT A T HIS BIR TIIPLA CE. \ ^ i There, under the great canopy of green, He stooped and plucked, with the same reverent hand That threescore years and ten had plucked before, The Yellow Violet — not the blossom now (For 'twas midsummer), but the pods of seed, And gave me. As he bent like one in prayer, And lifted tenderly the lowly leaves, And with caressing fingers showed me how The plant was fashioned in its moist, cool bed, I wondered at the thoughts that in his heart Must blossom now, as Memory looked back, And at the pictures of his pilgrimage That rose and glowed before him, touched with hues Of all that made his life so beautiful. Since, in fair youth, he learned the lesson breathed By this meek floweret of the early Spring. So passed the days, where, in his manhood's strength. Returning to his native hills, he led His fair young daughter with delighted eye To look upon the landscape that he loved ; And where the blue Fringed Gentian not in vain Pleaded for trust in Heaven, and where he drew The dazzling stores that make his Winter Piece ; Where, too, in these late years his thrifty hand Had planted groves of larch and birch, and set Orchards of pear and apple, built for miles A highway firm along the mountain-side, For public use, and where, with generous aim, 152 THE APRIL SNOW. In a sweet nook beside the river's curve, He reared a solid structure proof to fire — A Library free to all the region round. Sweet days like Sabbaths ministering life ! Walks leading ever to a holier place ! A clearer air is round me, and calm forms Of the immortals look upon my face. August, 1S76. THE APRIL SNOW. Four Aprils only had she known, Four days the pansies blew ; The spring, though scarcely half outblown, Such sweetness never knew. Her joy was in these flowers, they wore For her their tenderest grace ; Sweet fortunes seemed for both in store, To see them face to face. A cold cloud muffled up the blue, A shadow crossed the stair, A strange fear chilled us through and through, Ere v;e were half aware. Without, the darkness seemed to flow With sorrows never said. Within, our hearts heaved to and fro About a little bed. SUNDAY EVENING. Mom shook its light, a golden shower, On snows o'er pansies blown ; Faith saw the shroud about our Flower To marvellous beauty grown. Soon from the wasted snow the bloom Of flowers glowed more bright, — Well knew we she would leave the tomb, A radiant child of light. SUNDA Y E VENING, The twilight of the evening lies On quiet homes and tender skies ; The sacred silence seems to bring A blessing on its brooding wing, And all the hallowed Sabbath air Is like the calm of silent prayer. O precious calm ! O healing rest ! That broods so warmly in my breast ; It seems that on my life doth lie The peace that soothes the upper sky ; — A large contentment, in whose grace Joy wells like light in liberal space, A tranquil trust, a hope whose eye Is full of immortality. And love whose sweetness freshens through My being like celestial dew. 153 154 ^-^^ ANGELS' BRIDGE. Thanks ! Father, that thy Church once more On life's vain strife has shut the door, And to a holy feast doth win Her waiting, wandering children in. Thanks ! for Thy grace hath been to-day More than we dared to hope or pray ; The cloud of mercy hung above Has broken with the weight of love. THE ANGELS' BRIDGE. Whene'er a rainbow slept along the sky The gracious child expected angel-bands Would glide upon its gorgeous path of light With half-furled wings and meekly folded hands. For he had dreamed the rainbow was a bridge On which came bright ones from a far-off shore, — A strange and pleasant dream — but he believed — And his young heart with love's sweet faith ran o'er. How full of dreamy hopefulness his face. How many tender welcomes filled his eyes When, for celestial visitants, he watched. In mute and holy converse with the skies. The gentle child grew very wan and weak ; And as he lay upon the bed of pain, One day of storm, to those who watched him, said, " When will the Angels' Bridge reach down again t " A MURMUR OF MAY. 155 In musing trance, while gazing on the clouds A flood of sunlight lit the humid air, And springing forth as if from God's own arms, A royal rainbow shone divinely there. A tender smile played o'er the sufferer's lips — " Down the bright arch the white-robed Angels come ! O see their shining pinions ! — their sweet eyes ! " He said — and 'mid their soft embraces floated home. A MURMUR OF MAY. I AM cropping the violets to-day in the meadows, Where in childhood I gathered them blameless as they ; The birds in the sunshine float singing around me, And heaven is over me tender with May. I am waiting to-day by the streamlet which prattles And laughs through the vale, as it glides to the sea : — The same happy brooklet that, in my bright spring- time, So charmed me with stories of what I should be. I am straying to-day 'mid the orchard whose odors Touched my heart with an exquisite rapture when young : — 56 NEWNESS OF LIFE, The blossoms, and robins, and gladness of children, Make a poem more perfect than ever was sung. I am musing to-day where the fresh grass is growing On mounds that were not when my summers were few, And the violets, the brook, and the apple-boughs bring me All the sweetness and sadness I have tasted life through. NEWNESS OF LIFE. Yes, all is plain ! I see ! I live, I am made free ! Love, my new-found guest ! Sweet peace, and sweetest rest I What shall I do, what say In this rare morn which is true life's first day ? All round are odors blowr And, with soft undertone. Faint music pants in all the glowing air ; The waters call in many a flower-fringed stream The earth is very fair. And, through the depths of tender sky, Floats many a cloud-bright argosy ; But I have tasted something more divine. 1 see a glory brighter than the May, I hear what seraphs to each other say, A heavenly heart is throbbing against mine. ABIDE WITH US, j^y These earthly blossoms cannot make my crown, Celestial strains this earthly music drown, I look, as through an open door, On landscapes that shall fade no more. O Saviour, Jesus, it is all of Thee — This sacred sense of what I'm made to be, Thy perfect self and my infirmity, — All, all of Thee, — the veil removed, The joy that springs in being loved, The faith that asks no higher place Than sight of Thy forgiving face. Nearer and nearer, Lord, and nearer still, Thy work begun, fulfil, Shape all my life according to Thy will. Thou knowest how I aspire : Accept my strong desire, Hope, heart, and mind — my spirit's deepest deep, — Take all to feed and keep, Till my whole soul to Love's full flower is blown. And Love's full flower to perfect fruit is grown. ''ABIDE WITH US: FOR IT IS TOWARD EVENINGr The tender light is fading where We pause and linger still, And, through the dim and saddened air, We feel the evening chill. 158 ABIDE WITH US. Long hast thou journeyed with us, Lord, Ere we thy face did know ; O still Thy fellowship afford, As dark the shadows grow. For passed is many a beauteous field Beside our morning road ; And many a fount to us is sealed, That once so freshly flowed. The splendor of the noon-tide lies On other paths than ours : The dews that lave yon fragrant skies, Will not revive our flowers. It is not now as in the glow Of life's impassioned heat, When to the heart there seemed to flow All that of earth was sweet. Something has faded — something died, Without us and within : We more than ever need a guide, Blinded and weak with sin. The weight is heavy that we bear, Our strength more feeble grows : Weary with toil, and pain, and care, We long for sweet repose. ABIDE WITH US. Stay with us, gracious Saviour, stay, While friends and hopes depart ; Fainting, on Thee we wish to lay The burden of our heart. Abide with us : dear Lord, remain, Our Life, our Truth, our Way, So shall our loss be turned to gain, Night dawn to endless day. 159