SaU 
 
 ♦Vw 
 
MY SOUL, 
 
 ^\\m l{a$t ijftttl! ^fftrib, 
 
 BY 
 
 1/ 
 
 HELEN R. EDSON. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 
 PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION, 
 
 No. 1354 Chestnut Street. 
 

 Copyright, 1885, by 
 
 the trustees of the 
 
 PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION. 
 
 ^/./, RIGHTS RESERVED. 
 
 WESTCOTT & Thomson, 
 
 Stereotyfers and Electrotypers, PhUacia. 
 
Soul, what would life have brought to thee and me 
 Had we been coupled in some darker land ? 
 
 To me a listening, as of one who dreamed 
 He heard a voice, yet vainly calls again — 
 Who hears the clanking of a ghostly chain, 
 But cannot see the Thing that's linked to him; 
 To thee a waiting, as a beggar blind 
 "Waits for a guiding hand that's long delayed. 
 Till, hunger-pressed, he tries to grope his way, 
 Pushed hither, thither, by unkindly throngs, 
 And falls at last beneath their trampling feet. 
 
 But I have heard thy call and know thy voice, 
 And we have held sweet converse through the veil 
 Of flesh that hides my eyes from thee, my Soul ! 
 And thou hast grasped a Hand that leadeth thee, 
 And maketh sure thy steps, and feedeth thee. 
 
A HINDU WIDOW'S PRAYER. 
 
 The following prayer was written in Hindu- 
 stani by a heathen widow who has been taught in 
 her zenana by one of the lady-missionaries of the 
 Indian Female Normal School and Instruction 
 Society. Sitting over against our treasury, she 
 breathes this prayer to the Father whom she does 
 not know : 
 
 "O Lord, hear my prayer! No one has 
 turned an eye on the oppression that we poor 
 women suffer, though with weeping and crying 
 and desire we have turned to all sides, hoping 
 that some would save us. No one has lifted 
 up his eyelids to look upon us or inquire into 
 our case. We have searched above and below, 
 but thou art the only One who wilt hear our 
 complaint. Thou knowest our impotence, our 
 degradation, our dishonor. 
 
 " O Lord, inquire into our case. For ages 
 dark ignorance has brooded over our minds 
 
6 A Hindu Widozv's Prayer. 
 
 and spirits. Like a cloud of dust it rises and 
 wraps us round, and we are like prisoners in 
 an old and mouldering house, choked and 
 buried in the dust of custom, and we have no 
 strength to ga out. Bruised and beaten, we 
 are like the dry husks of the sugarcane when 
 the sweet juice has been extracted. All-know- 
 ing God, hear our prayer, forgive our sins and 
 give us power to escape, that we may see some- 
 thing of thy world. O Father, when shall we 
 be set free from this jail ? For what sin have 
 we been born to live in this prison ? From thy 
 throne of judgment justice flows, but it does not 
 reach us. In this our lifelong misery only in- 
 justice comes near us. O thou Hearer of 
 prayer, if we have sinned against thee, for- 
 give ; but we are too ignorant to know what 
 sin is. Must the punishment of sin fall on 
 those who are too ignorant to know what it is ? 
 O great Lord, our name is written with drunk- 
 ards, with lunatics, with imbeciles, with the 
 very animals. As they are not responsible, we 
 are not. Criminals confined in the jails for life 
 are happier than we, for they know something 
 
 \ 
 
A Hindit Widoiv's Pi'ayer. 7 
 
 of thy world. They were not born in prison, 
 but we have not for one day — no, not even in 
 our dreams — seen thy world : to us it is noth- 
 ing but a name. And, not having seen the 
 world, we cannot know thee its Maker. Those 
 who have seen thy works may learn to under- 
 stand thee, but for us who are shut in it is not 
 possible to learn to know thee. We see only 
 the four walls of the house. Shall we call 
 them the world, or India ? We have been born 
 in this jail, and we have died here, and are dying. 
 "O Father of the world, hast thou not cre- 
 ated us ? Or has, perchance, some other god 
 made us ? Dost thou care only for men ? Hast 
 thou no thought for us women ? Why hast thou 
 created our race , male and female ? O Al- 
 mighty, hast thou not power to make us other 
 than we are, that we too might have some 
 share in the comforts of this life ? The cry 
 of the oppressed is heard even in the world. 
 Then canst thou look upon our victim-hosts 
 and shut thy doors of justice ? O God, al- 
 mighty and unapproachable, think upon thy 
 mercy, which is like a vast sea, and remember 
 
8 A Hindu Widow's Prayer. 
 
 us ! O Lord, save us, for we cannot bear our 
 hard lot ! Many of us have killed ourselves, 
 and we are still killing ourselves. O God of 
 mercy, our prayer to thee is this — that the curse 
 may be removed from the women of India. 
 Create in the hearts of the men some sympa- 
 thy, that our lives may no longer be passed in 
 vain longing — that, saved by thy mercy, we 
 may taste something of the joys of life." 
 
MY SOUL, THOU HAST MUCH 
 GOODS. 
 
 My Soul, thou hast much goods laid up. 
 
 The years, 
 Even though they be like the lean kine 
 
 that ate 
 The fat ones and were lean and hungry 
 
 still, 
 Cannot devour thy store. 
 
 Come, sit thee down 
 Before thy treasure-house, and let me 
 
 bring 
 Out from its depths thy precious hoard, 
 
 and thou 
 
lO My Soul, 
 
 Mayst feast thine eyes a while upon thy 
 
 wealth, 
 And tell me, after, where it shall be 
 
 stored. 
 
 But sit not thou with puffed-out eyes, 
 
 and heart 
 Bursting with vanity; spread not thy 
 
 hands 
 As if to say, " See what these earned 
 
 for me !" 
 And stretch not out thine arms, not 
 
 smooth thy lap, 
 To clasp and hold thy treasures : I must 
 
 tell 
 Thee how they came to thy possession 
 
 first. 
 
 II. 
 
 Remember that thou art a woman's 
 
 soul — 
 Not as the eldest son, dashing away 
 
Thott hast Much Goods. ii 
 
 His tears, steps boldly up unto the 
 throne 
 
 And crowns himself, none challenging 
 his right. 
 
 As the King's son, to sit in royal 
 state ; 
 
 Not as a man's soul comest thou to- 
 day 
 
 To bid thy comrade to display for thee 
 
 The things thou hast laid up in thy 
 storehouse. 
 
 Remember that thou art a woman's soul, 
 
 And learn that all that makes thee 
 strong and rich 
 
 Thou hast inherited from One who died. 
 
 There is but one King in the universe 
 To whom a woman's soul seems law- 
 ful heir.^ 
 
 1 The religion of Jesus Christ is the only one in 
 which women are recognized as aclive agents and 
 equal participants. 
 
12 My Soul, 
 
 The Enemy would call thee bastard 
 child, 
 
 Would leave thee nameless, poor, for- 
 gotten — yea, 
 
 Unnumbered, save to swell thy broth- 
 er's train. 
 
 This King has owned thee for his daugh- 
 ter, called 
 
 Thee by his name, and made for thee a 
 crown 
 
 And sceptre, and a seat upon the 
 throne. 
 
 He "guided wittingly"^ the patriarch's 
 hands 
 
 To bless the younger with the first-born 
 child. 
 
 And his own right hand seeks the lower 
 head. 
 
 1 Gen. xlviii. 14: "And Israel stretched out his 
 right hand, and laid it upon Ephraim's head, who 
 was the younger, and his left hand upon Manasseh's 
 head, guiding his hands wittingly, for Manasseh 
 
 was the first-born.' 
 
Thou hast Much Goods. 13 
 
 III. 
 It is a gift to thee, not thine own wage 
 At eventide for day of sweaty toil : 
 No single precious treasure is there here 
 But came by will of Him who died for 
 
 thee; 
 And thou wast made his heir partly to 
 
 keep 
 In trust for others/ whom he loved as 
 
 well, 
 The heritage they could not yet re- 
 ceive. 
 The narrow circle of whose outward life 
 Was built up into barriers too high 
 For spirits with clipped wings to over-fly. 
 
 Perhaps to-night he will require of thee 
 Swift reckoning of thy trust from him 
 for them : 
 
 * I Pet. iv. 10 : " As every man hath received the 
 gift, even so minister the same one to another, as 
 good stewards of the manifold grace of Gody 
 
My Soul, 
 
 Shall he find all the treasure locked 
 away, 
 
 And hear the groaning of these burst- 
 ing doors, 
 
 And see the triumph of the Enemy, 
 
 Who counts what thou dost hide his 
 lawful spoils ? 
 
 Hast thou thought thou wast the only 
 daughter. 
 
 That all thy Father's jewels were for 
 thee. 
 
 That all the crowns of gold, and robes 
 of white, 
 
 Scarlet and purple, and fine linen 
 twined. 
 
 Were given to enhance thy comeli- 
 ness ? 
 
 Hast thou been mocked so by the En- 
 emy? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Sit in a lower seat where thou canst look 
 Into the eyes of some who see not thee, 
 
Thou hast Much Goods. 15 
 
 And see not what of theirs thou hast in 
 store, 
 
 Whose eyes are dim with tears and look- 
 ing long 
 
 For that which thou art keeping to thy- 
 self. 
 
 Sit low, my Soul, where thou canst hear 
 their sighs 
 
 And count the throbbing of their heavy 
 hearts. 
 
 Sit near ! It may be, in a little while. 
 When thou hast seen the half of what 
 
 thou hast. 
 Thou wilt incline to share with them, 
 
 to fling 
 Into their empty laps some trinket 
 
 small 
 That pales like morning star beside the 
 
 blaze 
 Of greater gems, and so may well be 
 spai-ed. 
 
1 6 My Soul, 
 
 Or thou mayst long to staunch their 
 
 bleeding tears, 
 To draw their heads down on thy happy 
 
 breast 
 And teach their hearts to sing, in time 
 
 with thine. 
 The joyous Song of songs — which thou 
 
 canst scarce 
 Remember having learned — thou'st 
 
 sung so long. 
 
 Sit close that thou mayst warm the stif- 
 fened limbs 
 
 That never tried to walk : maybe the time 
 
 Of healing draweth near and thou canst 
 dip 
 
 The helpless in the pool.^ How many 
 years 
 
 Have they lain here waiting thy help- 
 ing hand? 
 
 * John V. 7 : " The impotent man answered him, 
 Sir, I have no man, when the water is troubled, 
 to put me into the pool." 
 
Thou hast Much Goods. 17 
 
 And oh, forget not to step in thyself, 
 For well 1 know thee for a halting 
 
 soul, 
 Unequal in thy pace and fainting oft. 
 Ah ! couldst thou learn of them to leap 
 
 and praise, 
 And never weary, or limp back to sin, 
 Or turn thy face toward him who hat- 
 
 eth thee ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Take off thy shoes : this is an holy 
 
 place ; 
 For first among thy treasures is a cross 
 Heavy with blood and tears. 
 
 Was it the King 
 Whose tears and blood are sodden in 
 
 this wood? 
 Was this the measure of thy Father's 
 
 love, 
 That from his veins he traced his will 
 
 for thee, 
 
 2 
 
1 8 My Soul, 
 
 And welcomed death because it made 
 thee rich ? 
 
 Come, dry thy tears : his eyes thy bot- 
 tle filled ; 
 
 And look upon this cross ! Where wilt 
 thou keep 
 
 The best thou hast ? 
 
 Shall it be laid again 
 
 In its dark corner, where thou mayst 
 come in 
 
 And worship it apart from common 
 herds, 
 
 With silken cushion 'neath thy silken 
 knee? 
 
 Hast thou done this to please the En- 
 emy? 
 
 Or shall I lift it up for dying eyes 
 
 To light their fires of life by, and for 
 
 lips 
 Quivering with grief to kiss and smile 
 
 aeain? 
 
TJwii hast MiicJi Goods. 19 
 
 And shall I set it high to show the 
 
 world 
 The way out of Despond's deep mire 
 
 and filth 
 To the clean road thy feet have learned 
 
 to tread ? 
 
 Nay, then, take it in thine own hand, 
 
 and let 
 Its shadow cover like a brooding wing 
 The storm-beat nestlings shivering by 
 
 thy side. 
 
 Was ever cross like this of thine ? 
 
 It is 
 
 For them like mother-bird^ with soft, 
 warm breast ; 
 
 For floundering wanderers a beacon- 
 light; 
 
 For yearning exiles signal for return ; 
 
 1 Ps. xci. 4 : " He shall cover thee with his feath< 
 ers, and under his wings slialt thou trust." 
 
20 My Soul, 
 
 For men whose brows are marked a 
 
 refuge sure ; 
 Pillar of fire and cloud to lead the host 
 That marches, never halting, night and 
 
 day. 
 With eyelids sealed and hands crossed 
 
 on still breasts, 
 Through earthen portals to the Great 
 
 White Throne. 
 
 VI. 
 
 What shall I show thee next ? 
 
 Wilt see thy crown. 
 
 Fashioned of purest gold, as would befit 
 
 Thy Father's daughter? but there are 
 no stars 
 
 Upon the circlet. Shall thy crown go 
 bare 
 
 While other diadems are lighting heav- 
 en? 
 
 Lead by the hand these heavy-laden 
 souls 
 
Thou hast Much Goods. 21 
 
 Up to the hill where burdens roll away, 
 And, parting, they will leave within thy 
 
 hand 
 Guerdon of gems to shine upon thy 
 
 brow.^ 
 
 VII. 
 
 And how much owest thou unto thy 
 
 Lord 
 For giving thee a Christian parentage ? 
 Here are a father's and a mother's 
 
 prayers, 
 Angels upon the ladder's stairs to bear 
 Upward thy needs and back a quick 
 
 supply. 
 Before I knew thee was thy fibre spun 
 By faithful souls that hoped and loved 
 
 and prayed, 
 
 1 Dan. xii. 3 : " And they that be wise shall shine 
 as the brightness of the firmament; and they that 
 turn many to righteousness as the stars for ever 
 and ever." 
 
22 My Soul, 
 
 And stretched thy warp of life both 
 
 strong and clean. 
 What threads and colors hast thou 
 
 woven in, 
 And whose design is in this pattern 
 
 wrought ? 
 Here it is close and firm, the texture 
 
 fine : 
 Thy hand was careful all along this 
 
 length, 
 As if the Master stood and watched 
 
 thee weave; 
 But here 'tis loose and thin, my easy 
 
 Soul! 
 And here and there some ugly rag is 
 
 drawn 
 Which thou hast borrowed from the 
 
 Enemy. 
 Carest thou not enough for thine own 
 
 life 
 To make it worthy of thy Father's 
 
 child ? 
 
TJioiL hast Much Goods. 23 
 
 And here the shuttle hangs, still full of 
 thread : 
 
 Didst think the fabric rich and long 
 enough 
 
 To clip out of the loom ere it was 
 noon ? 
 
 Thou wouldst not be content with meas- 
 ure scant, 
 
 That clothes thyself, but has no length 
 to spare 
 
 To warm these who have never learned 
 to weave. 
 
 Whose life begins and ends in tangled 
 skeins, 
 
 Soiled by the enemy and thrown 
 away. 
 
 Thou couldst not walk serene in flow- 
 ing robes 
 
 To give a reckoning of thy steward- 
 ship 
 
 With these thy sisters naked by thy 
 side : 
 
24 My Soul, 
 
 What if the King should strip thee, to 
 thy shame, 
 
 Before the eyes that scarce dare scan 
 thee now? 
 
 Back to thy work, with all thy strength 
 and skill ! 
 
 Only when they are clad and day is 
 done 
 
 Thou'lt draw the shuttle from thy fin- 
 ished life. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Is it thy talent in this napkin wrapped, 
 
 My slothful Soul ? 
 
 Nay, frame me no excuse. 
 
 Nor try to look as thou wast innocent. 
 
 'Tis well that I have brought this treas- 
 ure out 
 
 In time to send it forth to seek a mate : 
 
 If other hand than mine had oped these 
 doors 
 
 And found thy talent single still, how 
 could 
 
Thou hast Much Goods. 25 
 
 I bear to see thee cast away, my Soul, 
 And ever hear thee weep and gnash thy 
 
 teeth,^ 
 And hear the laughter of the Enemy ? 
 Thou temptest me to wish I knew thee 
 
 not: 
 Without thee I might live like flitting 
 
 bird. 
 Forgetting yester-storms, unheeding 
 
 clouds, 
 And end my life in death as bubbles burst. 
 But I am linked to thee, O faithless 
 
 Soul! 
 Carest thou not if thou and I be lost. 
 That thou wouldst leave so easy task 
 
 undone ? 
 Lend it to these who sit by thee, and 
 
 they 
 Shall quickly shower back into thy lap 
 
 1 Matt. XXV. 30 : " And cast ye the unprofitable 
 servant into outer darkness : there shall be weep- 
 ing and gnashing of teeth." 
 
26 My Soul, 
 
 So rich return that thou wilt hail the 
 
 day 
 Of reckoning with joy. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Here is thy home, 
 Where Love hath rule supreme. With 
 
 jealous eyes 
 She watches all that comes nigh thee ; 
 
 she guards 
 Thy happiness, and gives thee room to 
 
 grow 
 And prove what is the stature of a soul. 
 Remember that thou art a woman's soul, 
 And thank the King with every rising 
 
 sun 
 For giving thee a home that is a shrine 
 Crowded with household gods, where 
 
 highest sits 
 The one that bears thy countenance. 
 
 How rich 
 A blessing waits on woman in a land 
 
TJwii hast Much Goods. 27 
 
 Where mother, wife and home and 
 
 honored love 
 Are kindred words — a chain of costly 
 
 links : 
 Move either one, and thou hast stirred 
 
 them all. 
 
 What would these sister-women's starv- 
 ing hearts 
 
 Count dear to pay for one short day of 
 love 
 
 And honor ? — they thy Father's daugh- 
 ters too, 
 
 Beaten and empty sent away whene'er 
 
 They lift a hand to ask an alms of love ! 
 
 Thou canst not share thy fireside joys 
 
 with those 
 Whose home is but a shelter dearly 
 
 bought, 
 And thou thyself wouldst not be satisfied 
 With earthly love alone ; albeit sweet, 
 
28 My Soul, 
 
 It leaves a lingering taste of clay behind. 
 And earthly love can neither make a 
 
 shield 
 To turn the arrows of thine Enemy, 
 Nor hear thy wounds, nor nerve thy 
 
 failing arm. 
 But when, in times of conflict, thou art 
 
 pressed. 
 Must stand outside and wring its help- 
 less hands. 
 My woman-soul. 
 
 Remember Him who stands 
 Within the veil of thine own templed 
 
 life, 
 Strong to defend and quick to feel thy 
 
 need. 
 How often thou hast seen the Enemy 
 Driven away at thy first cry for help ! 
 Since thou art never left to fight 
 
 alone, 
 Thou needst not be afraid, for he is 
 
 near. 
 
Tho2i hast Much Goods. 29 
 
 Remember these poor sister-women's 
 
 souls, 
 Wounded and left for dead upon the 
 
 ground : 
 They know no god beside the Enemy 
 Who smites the mouths that bend to 
 
 kiss his sword. 
 Go lift them up, for thou hast words of 
 
 cheer 
 To pour into their wounds for oil and 
 
 wine. 
 
 Ah ! tell them there is One whose love 
 for them 
 
 Is like a welling spring which over- 
 brims 
 
 And runs to meet the parching traveler ; 
 
 Or like a father who with shaded eyes 
 
 Stands peering down the old familiar 
 lane 
 
 To hail the wand'rer's shadow as it creeps 
 
 Before him at the turning, while his lips 
 
30 My Soul, 
 
 Are budding welcomes, at a breath to 
 
 bloom ; 
 Or like a mother with full aching breast 
 Who hastens home to bless, and sees 
 
 her babe 
 Turn from her listless, cloyed with 
 
 meaner food. 
 A woman may forget her sucking child/ 
 Forget the pain of pent-up fount of love, 
 But He cannot forget his little ones. 
 And so, if *' father " seem too harsh a 
 
 name 
 To ears that hear withal a hissing lash. 
 By answering chords in their own wo- 
 man-hearts 
 Thou'lt win them to the motherhood^ 
 of God. 
 
 1 Isa. xlix. 15 : "Can a woman forget her suck- 
 ing child? . . . Yea, they may forget, yet will I 
 not forget thee.*' 
 
 2 Isa. Ixvi. 13: "As one whom his mother com- 
 forteth, so I will comfort you." 
 
ThoiL hast Mtich Goods. 31 
 
 Oh, father-mother love so rich, so 
 
 free ! — 
 A well whence no man's hand need help 
 
 thee draw, 
 A love that waits with golden chain and 
 
 ring 
 To seal forgiveness ere the sinner craves ; 
 Love that is anguish if it may not flow 
 In pulsing current from the heart of God 
 To nourish feeble souls and comfort 
 
 them ; 
 A love that flashes keen as sword 
 
 from sheath 
 To save His darlings from the Enemy ! 
 
 X. 
 
 Now art thou strong enough to have 
 
 thy griefs 
 Borne out and laid before thine eyes ? 
 
 Since thou 
 Hast stored them with thy blessings, it 
 
 would seem 
 
32 My Soul, 
 
 That thou hast learned to read their 
 
 worth aright. 
 How long a time thou didst bewail and 
 
 cry, 
 And tear thy wounds agape with willful 
 
 hand 
 To make thee cry again whene'er thy lips 
 Forgot to tremble and essay to smile, 
 Till some who loved thee, weary of thy 
 
 noise. 
 Marveled within them how the Hand 
 
 that gave, 
 And, after, culled thy flowers to bloom 
 
 for aye, 
 Could bear with thine unreason, and 
 
 not send 
 Them back to wilt upon thy selfish breast! 
 
 How greatly art thou changed since 
 
 thou hast let 
 The Healer come and heal thee ! Thou 
 
 hast gained 
 
Thoti hast Much Goods. 33 
 
 A finer beauty, never bloomed of joy, 
 And even the beggar at the gate can 
 
 feel 
 Thy voice has caught its sweeter key 
 
 from heaven. 
 
 I know a tree, late-grafted at the top, 
 
 Whose lower boughs droop low with 
 native fruit 
 
 That almost marks it for the wood- 
 man's axe; 
 
 For they who walk beneath would nev- 
 er know 
 
 That it is crowned with fruitage ripened 
 sweet, 
 
 Pecked at by birds and swung by idle 
 winds. 
 
 Only that storms and frosts make some 
 to fall. 
 
 It will be little missed when it is felled 
 
 To clear a path to trees whose veins 
 run sweet. 
 3 
 
34 -^y Sotd, 
 
 Thus did the good thou hadst hang 
 
 out of reach 
 Of thirsty wayfarers and children's 
 
 hands, 
 Held high for harvesters that bruised 
 
 and rent 
 And flung its tender beauty on the 
 
 ground. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Where shall thy griefs be laid ? 
 
 Not out of sight 
 On burial-towers/ stripped bare for 
 vultures' beaks : 
 
 1 The Parsees in India lay the naked bodies of 
 their dead on high towers, where they are com- 
 pletely stripped of flesh in an incredibly short time 
 by birds of prey. A traveler says : " One of the 
 painful recollections of my visit to Bombay is that 
 of the sound of the heavily-flapping wings of 
 crowds of vultures returning every day to seek 
 that food ! There can be no forgetting possible 
 to the living in Bombay." 
 
 The writer has chosen this illustration, having 
 
TJioii hast Mitch C">ods. 35 
 
 Birds of Oblivion, once they're fed, re- 
 turn 
 
 On loudly-flapping wings to seek fresh 
 prey. 
 
 If thou art loth to rise and serve thy 
 guests, 
 
 They'll tear thy empty hands to make 
 their feast. 
 
 Open the flood-gates and let Lethe roll 
 In smooth black tide to bury deep thy 
 
 past, 
 And, lo ! thy first glance backward shall 
 
 reveal 
 Dead faces floating on its treach'rous 
 
 breast. 
 Grief hath a shallow grave, and Memory 
 Steals out by night, leaving the Will 
 
 asleep, 
 
 learned by both experience and observation that 
 the sorrowful thoughts and memories which one 
 is most determined to put away are most impor- 
 tunate and poignant. 
 
36 My Soul, 
 
 And digs her up, and brings her home 
 again, 
 
 Wraps her cold form in robes Joy left 
 behind. 
 
 Turns back the hands upon the dial- 
 plate 
 
 To point again to happy hours gone 
 
 by, 
 
 Calls up a throng of loved ones van- 
 ished long, 
 And plays at merrymaking till the dawn. 
 
 The Will, awakening, routs poor Mem- 
 ory's guests. 
 
 And buries Grief alive with ruthless 
 hand. 
 
 Then rules the busy household through 
 the day. 
 
 But Memory lies down and feigns to 
 sleep. 
 
 And restless bides his time till night 
 returns 
 
Thou hast Much Goods. 37 
 
 To set him free to seek his darhng's 
 
 side; 
 And Grief lies dumb and open-eyed all 
 
 day, 
 Peeping 'tween clods to see the sun go 
 
 down, 
 Assured of being disentombed at night. 
 Sometimes the twain rebel and bind the 
 
 Will, 
 And make him sit and watch the revel 
 
 through. 
 
 Grief cannot be destroyed or hid 
 away, 
 
 And cannot be forgot, since Mem- 
 ory 
 
 Doth rove with lidless eyes that never 
 sleep. 
 
 Can Time with tireless cunning knot 
 the grass 
 
 Above her grave and keep her there 
 for aye ? 
 
38 Mf Son/, 
 
 Jacob was borne upon a tide of 
 years 
 
 So far that he could almost touch the 
 heights 
 
 Where Rachel waited for her lover 
 true. 
 
 Old Age had kindly dimmed his eyes 
 to earth, 
 
 Swarming with faces and new tiresome 
 scenes, 
 
 And then with softest fingers stopped 
 his ears 
 
 And muffled sounds that pressed to en- 
 ter in. 
 
 So oft his mute thoughts slipped the 
 darkened cage 
 
 To wander back to their old nesting- 
 place, 
 
 Folding their wings in every best-loved 
 spot : 
 
 Here, Rachel talked with him beside 
 the well. 
 
'Ihoit fiast Much Lrooas. 39 
 
 And there, he walked with her in La- 
 ban's fields, 
 
 Telling the story of his flight from 
 home, 
 
 And planning how he might return to 
 take 
 
 Possession of his heritage ; and she 
 
 Should go back with him to his father- 
 land, 
 
 Where he would be a king, with her 
 for queen. 
 
 ^^And Rachel died by me zvhile in the 
 way r^ 
 
 1 There are few more touching incidents in the 
 Bible than the death of . Jacob. Full of years 
 and honors, his ambitions satisfied, the old man's 
 thoughts turn back to Rachel; he is mourning for 
 her still. Rachel loved him, and her heart still 
 beats in the faithful breasts of Benjamin and Jo- 
 seph. Every other loss has been made up to him ; 
 Joseph is restored to him; he lives in plenty; but 
 the tears that " God shall wipe away " from Jacob's 
 face well up when he remembers, on his dying- 
 
40 My Soul, 
 
 Only a little way lay yet beyond, 
 
 A few more steps, to wealth and hon- 
 ored place; 
 
 *'And Rachel died by me while in the 
 ivay r 
 
 So Jacob mourned for Rachel all his 
 days. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Where shall thy griefs be kept ? 
 
 I would not have 
 Them borne through life before thee on 
 
 a bier. 
 Darkening the highways with thy pomp 
 
 of woe 
 And curbing all thy steps to funeral 
 
 pace, 
 Since He who raised the widow's son 
 
 at Nain 
 
 day, how he started for Canaan with Rachel, and 
 how she died " when there was yet but a little way 
 to come unto Ephrath." 
 
Thou hast Much Goods. 
 
 Walks on the earth no more to meet 
 
 the train; 
 Nor worn next to thee, hke a friar's 
 
 shirt 
 Of barbed cloth, to rasp and flay thy 
 
 skin 
 And fret away thy needed strength for 
 
 work. 
 
 Did ever mother of a new-crowned 
 king 
 
 Follow his throneward steps in sable 
 veil, 
 
 Beating her breast that gave him nour- 
 ishment 
 
 Because he lies not there a baby still ? 
 
 Did ever parent-bird whose full-fledged 
 brood 
 
 On oft-taught wings have soared to 
 heaven's blue 
 
 Refuse to sing, and 'wail the empty 
 nest, 
 
42 My Soul, 
 
 And wish them crowded back in fragile 
 
 shells ? 
 And shall the mother of an angel 
 
 hide 
 Her face to wring out sorrow from her 
 
 heart, 
 And long to pluck from him his new- 
 found wings, 
 And make him tread life's thorny road 
 
 with her^ 
 To drag him back from heights once 
 
 safely gained 
 And make him climb, perchance with 
 
 slipping feet, 
 The painful steep, led by her own weak 
 
 hand? 
 This is the measureful of love: 
 
 enough 
 To love those whom we clasp, to loose 
 
 our hold 
 And watch their upward flight as one 
 would stand 
 
Thou hast Much Goods. 43 
 
 Smiling and throwing kisses on the 
 
 shore, 
 Then turn to toil a while ere following.^ 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Ah ! even in thy griefs thou'rt blest, my 
 Soul! 
 
 Thy feet go lightly, half upborne by 
 wings, 
 
 And oftentimes thy thoughts fly up 
 like birds 
 
 To sing in company with thy be- 
 loved ; 
 
 And, like the faithful dove loosed from 
 the ark. 
 
 They always bring a token back to thee 
 
 That they have found a place of rest 
 and peace. 
 
 ^ I Thess. iv. 13 : " But I would not have you to 
 be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are 
 asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which 
 have no hope." 
 
44 My Soul, 
 
 How Cometh grief to those who have 
 
 no hope ? 
 As heavy blows fall on a poor blind 
 
 beast 
 That gasps and shudders, helpless in its 
 
 thrall- 
 That knows not whence they come, nor 
 
 why, and fears 
 To try to flee away lest worse befall. 
 
 Nay, what is grief to those who have 
 
 no hope? 
 What is the grinding of the uppei 
 
 stone 
 Upon the nether, with a heart between ? 
 
 And what is life to those who have no 
 
 hope? 
 A little space upon a rock-bound shore, 
 A little time to watch a crawling tide 
 Ere it shall spring to claim them as its 
 
 prey. 
 
Thou hast Mnch Goods. 45 
 
 XIV. 
 
 My Soul, thou hast indeed much goods 
 laid up ! 
 
 Come, tell me where this blessing shall 
 be stored : 
 
 Must grief alone, of all I have dis- 
 played, 
 
 Lie idle in the empty treasury 
 
 To swell the riches of the enemy ? 
 
 And has the King bestowed one gift 
 for thee 
 
 To keep or hide away, if so thou 
 wilt. 
 
 Unblessed to those thou'rt learning fast 
 to love ? 
 
 Christ thought it worth his while to 
 
 prove its use : 
 He joined the ranks and marched with 
 
 even step 
 Shoulder to shoulder with the men he 
 
 made 
 
46 My Soul, 
 
 The long way from the cradle to the 
 
 grave. 
 He shrank not when he came to Ma- 
 
 rah's brink/ 
 Nor shut his lips against the bitter 
 
 draught 
 That always lent some sharper pang to 
 
 thirst ; 
 His tears fell in and made it sweet 
 
 thenceforth : 
 Earth's tears were turned to wine when 
 
 Jesus wept. 
 
 "^ man of sorrows and acquaint with 
 grief;' 
 
 He knows its many shapes and uses 
 well; 
 
 He could not gird mankind about him- 
 self: 
 
 The bond would be too short, this length 
 untwined. 
 
 ^ John xi. 35 : "Jesus wept." 
 
Thou hast Much Goods. 47 
 
 Since grief was plunged into his human 
 
 heart 
 It is no more a hiltless two-edged blade, 
 But in his master-hand becomes a tool 
 To hew a stone and show an angel's 
 
 face. 
 
 And he can make it still, like summer 
 
 showers 
 Whose softly-tapping fingers waken 
 
 wide 
 The beauty slumbering 'mid ranks of 
 
 thorns. 
 
 And he can mould it to the surest key 
 To open hearts and let his love come in. 
 
 And he can use thy griefs, by Hope at- 
 tuned, 
 
 To teach thy sisters' hearts to sing like 
 thine, 
 
 If thou wilt only lay thy heart to theirs. 
 
48 My Soul, 
 
 The bridge that spans the gulf 'twixt 
 rich and poor 
 
 Must have foundations laid on either 
 side : 
 
 None are so strong and deep as little 
 graves. 
 
 When eyes look into eyes through fall- 
 ing tears, 
 
 Easy a bow of promise springs across, 
 
 And thou mayst pass to them and they 
 to thee. 
 
 Then clasp them in thine arms as kin- 
 dred meet 
 
 In alien lands to tell the news from home. 
 
 From home ! And hast thou news for 
 
 them from home ? 
 Mothers of angels,^ dreaming not of 
 
 heaven, 
 
 ^ It is an accepted fact that one-third of the 
 human race die in infancy. The statistics having 
 been gathered in Christian lands, where natural 
 
Thou hast Much Goods. 49 
 
 Not knowing even that life on earth is 
 
 but 
 The narrow threshold of an endless 
 
 life, 
 Watching the thickening clouds in shal- 
 
 low skies, 
 
 affection is strong and self-asserting and Science 
 uses her best efforts to save and guard the lives 
 of little children, the conclusion is unavoidable 
 that in heathen lands the proportion is far greater. 
 Not only are the conditions unfavorable — the ten- 
 der age at which the women marry, and the cruel 
 neglect of them at times when they most need 
 care; the singularly crazy, ill-contrived rules for 
 the care of infants, and the callousness of their 
 parents' hearts toward them — but, as if this were 
 not enough, they have been systematically de- 
 stroyed in many heathen lands from time imme- 
 morial. In our day many are born ; few are reared. 
 It would be hard to find a Chinese, Hindu, Per- 
 sian or African woman twenty-five years of age 
 who is not a " mother of angels." The writer 
 felt a tugging at her heart that almost tore it when 
 the Lord shov/ed her this bond between herself and 
 her heathen sisters. 
 4 
 
50 My Soul, 
 
 But thinking not to search their depths 
 
 to see 
 The crowds of Httle faces bending down ! 
 
 Mothers of angels, 
 
 When they laid away 
 ; The swiftly-purpling flesh to turn to 
 dust, 
 
 They flung in Hope and Love and cov- 
 ered them, 
 
 And thought that Love and Hope had 
 died as well. 
 
 Thou knowst the hallowed words that 
 open graves, 
 
 That call forth Hope and Love, though 
 buried long, 
 
 And send them back to bless a home 
 again. 
 
 Sweet Hope, that's born of Faith ! 
 
 She makes the earth 
 
Thou hast Mitch Goods. 51 
 
 Lie lightly on the forms thou lay'st 
 
 away, 
 And whispers that thy dead shall live 
 
 again 
 To cheer thy steps back to thine empty 
 
 home. 
 How. couldst thou come away from 
 
 new-made graves 
 And turn again to daily rounds of 
 
 toil 
 With wonted strength if Hope lay dead 
 
 behind ? 
 
 Sweet Love ! 
 
 She stays to bind the riven heart 
 
 That's torn in twain and one half hid 
 away, 
 
 While half a heart is left to try to beat. 
 
 Love's cord, 'twixt hearts that go and 
 hearts that stay. 
 
 Holds fast ; and hearts that go can nev- 
 er stray 
 
52 My Soul, 
 
 More than the tether's length from 
 hearts that stay. 
 
 And Love can teach the lower heart 
 to spring 
 
 To join its upper half in closer bond 
 
 Whene'er 'tis loosened from the body's 
 weight. 
 
 Ah ! thou wouldst turn away from new- 
 made graves 
 
 To bleed and faint if Love lay dead be- 
 hind. 
 
 Oh, pray to be the clay^ in hands divine 
 
 To open their blind eyes and let them 
 see 
 
 The gates of pearl, the streets of shin- 
 ing gold. 
 
 The many mansions long prepared for 
 them, 
 
 The smiling, loving One upon the 
 throne, 
 
 1 John ix, 6 : " And he anointed the eyes of the 
 blind man with the clay." 
 
ThoiL hast Miich Goods. 53 
 
 And, leaning on his breast, clasped in 
 
 his arms, 
 The little ones they lost all safe at home. 
 
 What is it to the snow-bound trav- 
 eler, 
 
 Laid down to die in his own circling 
 track. 
 
 Darkness enshrouding him while yet 
 alive. 
 
 Death crouching near like fierce and 
 cunning beast. 
 
 Lulling his prey to sleep ere breaking 
 fast, 
 
 To lift his drowsy eyes to bid fare- 
 well 
 
 To earth and see a new-lit windoiv 
 near, 
 
 With rosy faces pressed against the 
 pane^ 
 
 In cheerfiil talk to watch for his re- 
 turn ? 
 
54 My Soul, 
 
 What is it to the sleeper racked with 
 
 dreams 
 To wake and hear his loved one's 
 
 breathing soft? 
 
 XV. 
 
 And thou hast news from home — their 
 home and thine ! 
 
 Tell them all's well at home. 
 
 The lions Sin 
 
 And Pain and Want, securely chained 
 outside, 
 
 Can never enter in to vex or harm ; ^ 
 
 And life flows on in smooth and end- 
 less course, 
 
 Unstirred by troubling thought of want 
 or woe. 
 
 Once safe within the gates, the souls 
 they love 
 
 1 Rev. xxi. 4, 27 : " Neither shall there be any 
 more pain. And there shall in nowise enter into 
 it anything that defileth," 
 
TJlou hast MncJi Goods. 55 
 
 Will no more listen to the lying 
 
 tongue 
 Or fear the hatred of the Enemy. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Tell them about the marriage-feast : 
 
 'Tis spread 
 With careful bounty for each bidden 
 
 guest ; 
 "The Spirit and the bride say, Come,"^ 
 
 and they 
 Who hear must summon them who 
 
 hear it not. 
 But who will bid them come if thou 
 
 art slack ? 
 How wilt thou sit thee down to eat and 
 
 drink 
 And make excuse for some thou didst 
 
 not ask ? 
 
 ^ Rev. xxii. 17: "The Spirit and the bride say, 
 Come. And let him that heareth say, Come." 
 
56 My Soul, 
 
 Is there in heaven a flowing tide of 
 bliss 
 
 That at the full will hide their empty 
 seats ? 
 
 Thou knowst how Joseph sought a 
 place to weep — 
 
 Loathing the sight of his own sleek, 
 plump skin, 
 
 And Egypt reeling 'neath her load of 
 corn — 
 
 Because his poor old father drooped at 
 home 
 
 And fleetest messengers might be too 
 late; 
 
 And Dives asked no respite for him- 
 self, 
 
 But only longed to warn those left be- 
 hind. 
 
 Is this one fire of hell — to lift our 
 eyes 
 
 And see the souls we love fast follow- 
 ing? 
 
TJioii hast Much Goods, 57 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Tell them they're missed at home.^ 
 
 Death's crucible 
 Consumes not love. Hearts that have 
 
 learned to beat 
 By listening to a mother's beating heart, 
 Long folded close, could never quite 
 
 forget 
 To beat most restfully when near her 
 
 heart. 
 What though there be no night, no 
 
 sleepy-time, 
 No need of lullaby or evening prayer. 
 No pang of hunger and no burn of 
 
 thirst. 
 No hurt to bind, no tear to kiss away ?^ 
 Heaven never echoed to a baby's cry, 
 
 ^ Luke XV. 10 : " There is joy in the presence of 
 the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth." 
 
 2 Rev. xxi. 4: "And God shall wipe away all 
 tears from their eyes, and there shall be no more 
 death, neither soitow, nor ciying." 
 
58 My Soul, 
 
 But some must wonder why the time is 
 
 long, 
 And miss their mothers in the shining 
 
 throng. 
 
 How does the baby laugh and crow 
 
 and seem 
 To be beguiled from loneliness ! and yet 
 It drops its toys and reaches out its arms 
 At the first sound of mother's home- 
 ward steps, 
 And cuddles in her arm-nest, cooing 
 
 low. 
 'Tzvas happy then, but noiv is satisfied ! 
 
 XVIIL 
 
 Yea, they are missed at home : 
 
 Christ's bleeding hands, 
 Telling the jewels that he earned with 
 
 them. 
 Find many lacking. In his kingly 
 
 crown 
 
TJioii J last MiicJi Goods. 59 
 
 How many empty settings there must 
 be! 
 
 He loves them. When the spear's 
 point cleft his side, 
 
 It pierced their names inscribed upon 
 his heart. 
 
 What though the "ninety-nine" be fold- 
 ed safe ? ^ 
 
 He cannot rest content if one be lost. 
 
 *' For Jesus' sake," we pray, and always 
 wield 
 
 A lever, thus, to move Omnipo- 
 tence, 
 
 Because bestowing riches makes him 
 rich, 
 
 " For Jesus' sake ;" because he died to 
 save, 
 
 And yearns to keep, " for Jesus' sake, 
 amen !" 
 
 ^ Matt, xviii. 12 : " Doth he not leave the ninety 
 and nine, and goeth into the mountains, and seek- 
 eth that which is gone astray?" 
 
6o My Soul, 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Tell them there's rest at home — 
 
 Not as the slave 
 
 Drops in the furrow, pillowed on his 
 yoke, 
 
 After a day of toil, while taskmas- 
 ters 
 
 Are wooed and won by sleep on beds 
 of down : 
 
 Not so thy Father giveth rest in heav- 
 
 Thy King came down and tilled the 
 earth he made; 
 
 Yoked with the slave, he shared his 
 scanty crumbs. 
 
 Homeless and hungry in his own do- 
 main, 
 
 1 Rev. xiv. 13 : " Blessed are the dead which die 
 in the Lord from henceforth : Yea, saith the Spirit, 
 that they may rest from their labors; and their 
 works do follow them," 
 
Thou hast Much Goods. 6i 
 
 He stooped to toil to win sweet rest for 
 slaves, 
 
 That at the furrow's end their weary 
 souls 
 
 Might find the Everlasting Arms out- 
 stretched 
 
 To bear them straight away to Para- 
 dise; 
 
 And so thy Father giveth rest in heav- 
 en. 
 
 See how a mother lifts her sleeping 
 child 
 
 With fondling arms, and lays it close 
 by her. 
 
 She sleeps, but sets her waking heart 
 to watch, 
 
 And sound alarm at Danger's first ap- 
 proach ; 
 
 And when the morning opens flowers 
 
 and eyes. 
 Though Sleep hath taken wing, sweet 
 Rest remains. 
 
62 My Soul, 
 
 XX. 
 
 Tell them the way. 
 
 Lo ! thou hast strained thine eyes 
 
 To follow thy loved ones within the 
 gates. 
 
 The path they trod has shining foot- 
 prints still, 
 
 And the same Guide who led them 
 safely through 
 
 Stands by, with waiting hand and plead- 
 ing face. 
 
 For thee to lay thy sisters' hands in 
 his. 
 
 That he may joyfully convey tl^ 
 home. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Now look no more. 
 
 Thou couldst not bear to sit 
 In the rock's cleft and see the world 
 pass by 
 
Thou hast Much Goods. 63 
 
 Without the hand of God to cover thee. 
 
 He only looks and lives. 
 
 See ! I have shown 
 
 Thee but some difference between thy- 
 self, 
 
 Since thou'st crept up to kiss his gar- 
 ment's hem, 
 
 And risen to the height of a saved soul, 
 
 And women's souls still bowed — bent, 
 crippled souls 
 
 That hardly lift their eyes above the 
 ground ; 
 
 And I can feel thee trembling with de- 
 sire 
 
 To break the chain that binds thee fast 
 
 to me, 
 Fretting because my feet are rooted 
 
 here, 
 For thou wouldst fly to carry help to 
 
 all. 
 At last thou'st learned to love thy sis- 
 ters' souls ! 
 
64 My S021I, TJioii hast Much Goods. 
 
 Now, wilt thou ever sit at ease again 
 Or call thy treasures back to bide with 
 
 thee? 
 O Soul ! rejoice that it is not too late 
 To bless thy sisters with their Father's 
 
 wealth. 
 Thou wilt not say, " What is my little 
 
 store ?" 
 A world is filled if his hand breaks a 
 
 loaf. 
 Share all thou hast with them; and 
 
 when thy hands 
 Have learned to give as fast as they 
 
 receive, 
 Thou'lt have much goods laid up in 
 
 heaven. 
 
 My Soul ! 
 
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