f^^& LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. T"5 ^H ©i^aji.- ©opijriji^i l|a, Shelf..^.ll.S7 -'53i UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. \Ay^-e.-^C^ U^^MyV ^^^'-z-i-tio. STRAY PEBBLES FROM THE SHORES OF THOUGHT BY / ELIZABETH PORTER GOULD •AR ::92 I BOSTON Press of T. O. Metcalf & Co. 7S 3ri3 COPYRIGHT 1892 BY ELIZABETH PORTER GOULD CONTENTS. Poems of Nature PAGE To Walt Whitman . ii To Summer Hours . . 12 A True Vacation ■ 13 A Question . 14 To a Butterfly . . r6 In a Hammock . . 18 O rare, sweet summer day 'O An Old Man's Reverie 22 On Jefferson Hill On Sugar Hill . At " Fairfield's," Wenham . . Blossom-time • 31 The Primrose . • 33 Joy, all Joy . . . • 35 Among the Pines • 37 Conscious or Unconscious • 39 iv CONTENTS. Poems of Love : PAGE Love's How and Why . . . .43 Love's Guerdon • 44 A Birthday Greeting . • 45 Three Kisses 48 If I were only sure . 50 Absence 52 A Love Song . 53 In Her Garden . 55 Love's Wish 56 Is there anything purer 58 Longing 60 Young Love's Message 61 A Diary's Secret 63 A Monologue . 65 A Priceless Gift 66 The Ocean's Moan . 67 Love's Flower . 70 Renunciation 71 Love Discrowned 74 A Widow's Heart Cry 76 Together . 78 Shadowed Circles . 80 CONTENTS. Y 3ELLANEOUS POEMS : PAGE A Song of Success .... 85 The Under World .... 87 She Knows 88 At Pittsford, Vermont 90 Childhood's Days .... 92 An Answer 94 Where, What, Whence . 96 Heroes 98 A Magdalen's Easter Cry . 100 For the Anniversary of Mrs. Browning's Death 103 Robert Browning .... loS To Neptune, in behalf of S. C. G. . 107 To the Pansies growing on the grave oi A. S. D 109 A Broken Heart .... . Ill My Release "3 The god of music .... "5 To Wilhelm Gericke 118 For E. T. F. I, — After the birth of her son . 119 2. — Upon the death of her son . . 121 vi CONTENTS. M 1 SCELLANEOUS PoEMS : — CoiitUiued. PAGE To C. H. F • 123 An Anniversary Poem . 126 A Comfort .... . 128 An Anniversary • 129 To Miss Elizabeth P. Peabody ' 131 At Life's Setting • ^33 Grandma Waiting • 136 Does it Pay .... • 144 Auxilium ab Alto • 145 Limitations .... • 147 The Muse of History . 148 An Impromptu to G. H. T. • 151 To Mrs. Partington . • '53 Lines for the Seventieth Birthday Anni- versary of Walt Whitman . . 156 Sonnets : The Known God . 161 To Phillips Brooks . • 16s At the " Porter Manse " . . 165 Our Lady of the Manse . . 167 To B. P. Shillaber . . 169 To Our Mary .... • 171 CONTENTS. Sonnets : — Continued. A Birthday Remen)brance Josef Hofmann After the Denial Gethsemane On Lake Memphremagog Luke 23 : 24 To Members of my Home Club For my little Nephews and Nieces 175 177 179 181 183 185 Mamma's Lullaby . . . . .189 Warren's Song 190 Baby Mildred . . . . . .192 Rosamond and Mildred . . . .194 'Chilla 196 Childish Fancies 197 What little Bertram did . . . -199 " Dear little Mac "'..... 202 Willard and Florence on Mt. Wachusett . 207 A little Brazilian . . . . .210 The little doubter 213 Our Kitty's Trick 217 A Message 220 POEMS OF NATURE. TO WALT WHITMAN. " I loafe and invite my soul." And what do I feel .? An influx of life from the great central power That generates beauty from seedling to flower. "I loafe and invite my soul." And what do I hear ? Original harmonies piercing the din Of measureless tragedy, sorrow, and sin. "I loafe and invite my soul." And what do I see ? The temple of God in the perfected man Revealing the wisdom and end of earth's plan. August, i8gi. TO SUMMER HOURS. DAY. Trip lightly, joyous hours, While Day her heart reveals. Such wealth from secret bowers King Time himself ne'er steals. O joy, King Time ne'er steals ! NIGHT. Breathe gently, tireless hours, While Night in beauty sleeps. Hold back e'en softest showers,- Enough that mortal weeps. • Ah me, that my heart weeps ! A TRUE VACATION. IN A HAMMOCK. " Cradled thus and wind caressed," Under the trees, (Oh what ease.) Nature full of joyous greeting ; Dancing, singing, naught secreting, Ever glorious thoughts repeating — Pause, O Time, I'm satisfied ! Now all life Is glorified ! Porter Manse, Wenham, Mass. A QUESTION. Is life a farce ? Tell me, O breeze. Bearing the perfume of flowers and trees, While gaily decked birds Pour forth their gladness in songs beyond words, And cloudlets coquette in the fresh summer air Rejoicing in everything being so fair — Is life a farce ? How can it be, child, When Nature at heart Is but the great spirit of love and of art Eternally saying, " I must God impart." 14 A QUESTION. IS Is life a farce ? Tell me, O soul, Struggling to act out humanity's whole 'Midst Error and Wrong, And failure in sight of true victory's song ; With Wisdom and Virtue at times lost to view, And love for the many lost in love for the few — Is life a farce ? How can it be, child, When humanity's heart Is but the great spirit of love and of art Eternally crying, "I must God impart." TO A BUTTERFLY. O butterfly, now prancing Through the air, So glad to share The freedom of new living. Come, tell me my heart's seeking. Shall I too know After earth's throe Full freedom of my being ? Shall I, as you, Through law as true. Know life of fuller meaning ? O happy creature, dancing, Is time too short With pleasure fraught For you to heed my seeking ? i6 TO A BUTTERFLY, 17 Ah, well, you've left me thinking : If here on earth A second birth Can so transform a being, Why may not I In worlds on high Be changed beyond earth's dreaming ? IN A HAMMOCK. The rustling leaves above me, The breezes sighing round me, A network glimpse of bluest sky To meet the upturned seeing eye, The greenest lawn beneath me. Loved flowers and birds to greet me, A well-kept house of ancient days To tell of human nature's ways, — Oh happy, happy hour ! Whence comes all this to bless me. The soft wind to caress me. The life which does my strength renew For purer visions of the true ? Alas ! no one can tell me. IN A HAMMOCK. i But, hush ! let Nature lead me. Let even wisest questions cease While I breathe in such life and peace This happy, happy hour. Porter Manse, Wenham, Mass. O RARE, SWEET SUMMER DAY. " The day is placid in its going, To a lingering motion bound, Like a river in its flowing — Can there be a softer sound? " — Wordsworth. O rare, sweet summer day, Could'st thou not longer stay ? The soothing, whispering wind's caress Was bliss to weary brain, The songs of birds had power to bless As in fair childhood's reign. The tinted clouds were free from showers, The sky was wondrous clear. The precious incense of rare flowers Made sweet the atmosphere ; O RARE, SWEET SUMMER DAY. 21 The shimmering haze of mid- day hour Was balm to restlessness, While thought of silent hidden power Was strength for helplessness — O rare, sweet summer day, Could'st thou not longer stay ? Porter Manse. AN OLD MAN'S REVERIE. Blow breezes, fresh breezes, on Love's swiftest wing. And bear her the message my heart dares Pause not on the highways where gathers earth's dust, Nor in the fair heavens, though cloudlets say must. But blow through the valleys where flowers await To give of their essence ere yielding to fate ; Or blow on the hill tops where atmospheres lie Imbued with the health which no money can buy. AJV OLD MAN'S REVERIE. 23 But fail not, O breezes, on Love's swiftest wing To bear her the message my heart dares to sing. The breezes, thus ladened, sped on in their flight. As, cradled in hammock, I sang in delight, On that blest summer day in the years long ago, When life was all sunshine and youth all aglow. The sweets of the valleys, the breath of the hills Were gathered — the best that our loved earth distills — As, obedient still to my wish, on they flew To the home of my darling they now so well knew. 24 AN OLD MAN'S REVERIE. Aias for the breezes, alas for my heart, Alas for my message, so full of love's art ! If only the breezes had followed their will, And loitered among the pure cloudlets so still, They'd have met a fair soul from the earth just set free In search of their help for its message to me ; The message my darling, with last fleeting breath, In vain tried to utter, o'ertaken by death. The breezes, fresh breezes, have blown on since then. With messages laden again and again. As for me, I send none. I wail only their will To bring me that message my lone heart to fill. AA^ OLD MAN'S REVERIE. 25 They'll find it some day in a light zephyr chase, For nothing is lost in pure love's boundless space. ON JEFFERSON HILL. (before the presidential range.) The sovereign mountains bask in sunset rays, The valleys rest in peace ; The lingering clouds melt into twilight haze, The birds their warbling cease ; The villagers' hour of welcome sleep is near, The cattle wander home, While wrapped in summer-scented atmos- phere. Calm evening comes to roam With gentle pace Through star-lit space, 26 ON JEFFERSON HILL. 27 Till moon-kissed Night holds all in her embrace, And Morning waits to show her dawn- flushed face. ON SUGAR HILL. TO F. B. F. The lovely valleys nestling in the arms Of glorious mountain peaks ; The purple tint of sunset hour, and charms The evening hour bespeaks ; The monarch peak kissed by the rising sun, While clouds keep guard below ; Grand, restful views, with foliage autumn- won, And Northern lights rare glow, — Will e'er recall, In memory's hall, The happy days when on fair " Look-Off 's " height. Sweet friendship cast her hues of golden light. Hotel Look-Off, September, iSgr. 28 AT FAIRFIELDS*, WENHAM. June, i8go. Buttercups and daisies, Clover red and white, Ferns and crown-topped grasses Waving with delight, Dainty locust-blossoms. All that glad June yields. Welcome me with gladness To dearly-loved " Fairfields." But Where's my happy collie dog, My Rosa ? The orioles sing greeting, The butterflies come near, Fairfields " is but another name for " Porter Manse. 29 30 AT FAIRF/ELDS, WEN HAM. The hens cease not their cackling, The horses neigh " I'm here," The cows nod " I have missed you," The pigs' eyes even shine, And from the red-house hearth-stone Comes pet cat Valentine. But where's my happy collie dog, My Rosa ? I miss her joyful greeting, Her handsome, high-bred face. Her vigorous, playful action In many a fair field chase. Not even lively Sancho Can fill for me her place. O Rosa, happy Rosa, Gone where the good dogs go. Dost find such fields as "Fairfields," More love than we could show ? BLOSSOM-TIME. Blossoms floating through the air, Bearing perfumes rich and rare, Free from trouble, toil, and care. Would I were a blossom ! Robins singing in the trees. Feeling every velvet breeze, Free from knowledge that bereaves. Would I were a robin ! Violets peaceful in the vale. Telling each its happy tale, Free from worldly noise and sale. Would I were a violet ! Blessed day of needed wealth, Full of Nature's perfect health, Fill me with thy power. 31 32 BL OSSOM- TIME. Then like blossoms I shall be, Wafting only purity, Or like robins, singing free 'Midst the deepening mystery, Or like violets, caring naught Only to reflect God's thought." Porter Manse. THE PRIMROSE. Who tells you, sweet primrose, 'tis time to wake up After dreaming all day ? Who changes so quickly your sombre green dress To the yellow one gay, And makes you the pet of the twilight's caress, And of poet's sweet lay ? Who does, primrose, pray ? The primrose, secure on his emerald throne, Looked up quickly to say, " A dear lovely fairy glides down from his throne In the sun's golden ray, 33 34 THE PRIMROSE. And with a sweet kiss opens wide all our eyes, Saying, ' Now is your day.' And lo ! when he's gone we are filled with surprise At our wondrous array, So fresh and so gay. Do tell us the name of this fairy, I pray, Who gives of his beauty, and then hies away Without thanks, without pay. Does he linger your way ? " JOY, ALL JOY. Lying on the new-mown hay, in a sightly field, On a summer day, With no care to weigh, Or a bitter thought to stay all that sense might yield — What a joy to have alway ! Sky as blue as blue can be, perfect green all round, Birdlings on the wing Ere they pause to sing On the top of bush or tree, or on sweet hay-mound — Restful joy in everything ! 35 36 JOY, ALL JOY. Butterflies just come to light, proud of free- dom's hour, Cows in pastures near, Wondering why I'm here. Chipmunks now and then in sight, bees in clover-flower — Added joy when these appear ! Happy children far and near climbing loads of hay. Running here and there. Farmer's work to share, Skipping, shouting loud and clear, full of daring play — Children's joy ! Joy everywhere ! AMONG THE PINES. Far up in air the pines are murmuring Love songs sweet and low, With a rhythmic flow, Worthy of the glad sun's glow. The airy clouds are o'er them bending. Captured by the sound Of such pleasure found In a playful daily round. The birds pause in their flight to listen, Wondering all the while How the trees can smile Rooted so to earthly guile. 37 38 AMONG THE PINES. The hush of summer noon enwraps them Perfumed from below By the flowers that show They, too, murmuring love songs know. All nature finds a joy in loving — Oh, that I could hear Love songs once so dear Death has hushed forever here ! Intervale Woods, North Conway. CONSCIOUS OR UNCONSCIOUS? The earthquake's shock, the thunder's roar, The lightning's vivid chain, The ocean's strength, the deluge's pour, The wildest hurricane, Are moods that Nature loves to show To man who boasts his birth From conscious force she could not know Because denied soul-worth. But is it true she does not share A knowledge in God's plan ? Must not she His own secret bear To so touch soul of man ? 39 40 CONSCIOUS OR UNCONSCIOUS. Those who deny this see not clear Into the heart of things ; For how could otherwise God here Reveal His wanderings ? POEMS OF LOVE. LOVE'S HOW AND WHY. How do I love thee ? Oh, who knows How the blush of the rose Can its secret disclose ? Oh, .who knows ? Why do I love thee ? Ah, who cares Sound a passion he shares With the angels^.? Who dares, Yes, who dares ? 43 LOVE'S GUERDON. Thine eyes are stars to hold me To love's pure rapturous height. Thy thoughts are pearls to lead me To truth beyond earth's sight. Thy love is life to keep me Forever in God's light. 44 A BIRTHDAY GREETING. Thy birthday, dear ? Oh, would I had the poet's art By which I could my wish impart For thy new year ; But e'en a poet's pen of gold Would fail my wish to thee unfold In earthly sphere. Thy birthday, dear ? Oh, would I had the painter's skill Prophetic visions to fulfill For thy new year ; But e'en a painter's rarest brush Would but my holy visions crush. Or fail to cheer. 45 46 A BIRTHDAY GREETING. Thy birthday, dear ? Oh, would I had sweet music's aid To vitaUze the prayers I've made For thy new year ; Alas ! not even music's best Could put in form my soul's behest For thee, my dear. That only will expression find In purest depths of thine own mind This coming year ; As, guided by the inner light, There'll come to thee the new-born sight Of ravished seer. But in this sight thou may'st so feel Eternal beauty o'er thee steal — God's gift, my dear — That thou can'st find the blessed art A BIRTHDAY GREETING. 47 By which to make e'en depths of heart In form appear. Yet, it may be a heaven's birthday Will have to dawn for us to say Our best things, dear. For, as thou know'st, Truth's deepest well Must e'er reflect, its depths to tell Heaven's atmosphere. THREE KISSES. The kiss still burns upon my brow, That kiss of long ago, When in the flush of love's first hour He said he loved me so. Another burns yet deeper still, The kiss of wedded bliss, When soul met soul in rapture sweet — Oh, pure love's burning kiss ! The third was laid away with him, A kiss for heaven's day, (O heart abide God's way) — When in the life beyond earth's change, 48 THREE KISSES. 49 Beyond these mysteries sad and strange, New life will spring from out the old, New thoughts will larger truth unfold. And love have endless sway. IF I WERE ONLY SURE. If I were only sure He loves me still, As in the realms of beauteous space (Alas ! so far from my embrace) He bides God's will, I could be more content to bear The bitter anguish and despair Which now me fill. If I were only sure He waits for me To join him in the heavenly realm (Oh, how the thought does overwhelm) When body-free, 50 IF I WERE ONLY SURE. I could the better bear my fate, As day by day I learn to wait In silent agony. O Father, in my doubt One thing is sure. That Thou, all love, could ne'er destroy (Death only is in earth's alloy) Such love so pure As that which blessed our union here. The love which knew no change nor fear Such must endure. ABSENCE. The days are happy here, dear, But happier would they be Could'st thou be near to bless me With love's sweet ministry ; Then all this beauty round me Would on my memory lie, As prayers of sainted mother, Or childhood's lullaby. Hotel Look-Off, Sugar Hill, N.H. 52 A LOVE SONG. Oh ! ecstasy rare Comes down to share The heart that with human love trembles While all on the earth Is crowned with new birth And everything heaven resembles. But grief and despair Have latent their share In hearts that with human love tremble, Since fires of love Enkindled above In frail earthen vessels assemble. Still, ecstasy rare Comes down to share 53 54 A LOVE SONG. The heart that with human love trembles : While all on the earth Is crowned with new birth And everything heaven resembles. IN HER GARDEN. She picks me June roses. Were ever such roses ? Their fragrance would honor The heavenly halls. She finds me pet pansies. Such wondrous-eyed pansies, And lovely nasturtiums That run on the walls. Sweet peas she's now bringing, While all the time singing. And I ? Ask the flowers To tell what befalls. 55 LOVE'S WISH. Would I were beautiful ! Then you at Beauty's shrine might freely dine, A welcome guest For joy's bequest. But, dear, if this were so, — If I were Beauty's child, all undefiled, To make you blest In beauty's quest. You might forget to see The soul's pure hidden shrine wherein e'er shine The things that test Love's true behest. 56 LOVE'S WISH. 57 Would I were beautiful, That you might better see the soul in me ! That wish is best, Is't not, dearest ? IS THERE ANYTHING PURER? Oh, the prayer of a dear virgin-heart, Breathed forth with true love's gentle art ! Is there anything purer On land or on sea. More laden with blessing For you or for me ? It is sweeter than song ever heard, More precious than love's spoken word. It is fraught with a keen recognition Of truest soul-need and fruition. Is there anything purer On land or on sea, More laden with comfort For you or for me ? 5S IS THERE ANYTHING PURER? 59 It is oftentimes born in great pain, With no ray of hope's blessed gain. But as lulled by the angels at midnight Ere reaching the infinite daylight Is there anything surer, On land or on sea, To bring the God-Father To you or to me ? LONGING. Through all this summer joy and rest, Though lying on fair Nature's breast, There breathes the longing heart's desire, Would he were here ! The thrill of pain kind Nature feels ; For all the while there o'er me steals Like holy chimes in midnight air, " He'll soon be here." And flowers and trees, vales, hills, and birds Make haste to echo her glad words, " He'll soon be here." 60 YOUNG LOVE'S MESSAGE. Sing too, little bird, what my heart sings to-day. Dost thou know ? — I'll speak low — " Oh, I do love him so." Hold safe, waving grass, in thy rhythmical flow, What I say, Till the day When as sweet new-mown hay Thou can'st bear it to him in the fragrance loved best. 6i 62 YOUNG LOVE'S MESSAGE. Thou dost fear? — Oh, love dear, How I wish thou wert here ! But pause, little cloud, thou canst carry it now, I am sure, Sweet and pure. Though the winds do allure ; For thou art on the way to the west where he is. But dost know ? — Tell him low, " That I do love him so. Oh ! I do love him so." A DIARY'S SECRET. Jamiary /, iSby. God's love was once enough My heart to satisfy, When in the days of childhood's faith I knew not doubt or sigh. But since 1 saw Roy's face, And knew his love's sweet cheer, And felt the anguish and despair Which come from partings here, So hungry have I grown No love can satisfy, And all my childhood's faith in God Doth mock me as a lie. 63 64 A DIARY'S SECRET. But Still in these dark hours I hold one anchor fast : Perhaps this is the tvomaii's way To reach God's love at last. January /, iSSj. The deepening years have proved Love's conquest justified. The woman's hungry heart at last In God is satisfied. A MONOLOGUE. Has Love come ? Ah, too late ! Already Death stands o'er me With hungry eyes that bore me — O cruel fate, That after all life's years Of sacrifice and tears, 'Tis Death, not Love, that wins. But, stay ! This message bear,, Ere yet Death's work begins : " In other realms earth's losses Will change from saddening crosses To love-crowned joy, Where Death shall have no mission. But Love his sweet fruition Without alloy." 65 A PRICELESS GIFT. 'T was much he asked — a virgin heart Unknown to worldly ways. What could he give ? Ah, well he knew He lacked sweet virtue's praise. The virgin heart was given to him Without a doubting thought, When, lo ! through seeming sacrifice A miracle was wrought ; A miracle of love and grace, Revealing woman's power ; For, clothed in purity, he rose To meet the cominjr hour. 66 THE OCEAN'S MOAN. Last night the ocean's moan Was to my ears The deep sad undertone Of vanished years, Bearing a burden, A bliss unattained, A strife and a longing, A life sad and pained. To the shores vast and free Of eternity's sea. But in that undertone Of restless pain. Came at length a monotone Of sweet refrain, 67 68 THE OCEAN'S MOAN. Bearing a passion Long known to the sea — Told in moments of silence A sad heart to free — To be borne me some day In the ocean's own way. And this rare monotone Of mystery Was now that passion-moan Of secrecy, Bearing, " I love her, My moaning ne'er'll cease Till she on my breast Findeth love's perfect peace ; Till she on my breast Findeth love's perfect rest." Oh, is there tenderer tone For mortal ear, THE OCEAN'S A/0 AM 69 Than such a monotone, Distinct and clear, Bearing its comfort, Its heavenly peace. Its help for all sorrow, Its heart-pain release. To a soul waiting long For love's tender, true song ? And now the ocean's moan Is to my ears The dearest undertone Of all the years. Bearing a memory, A sweet bliss attained, A gratified longing, A life's joys regained, To the shores vast and free Of eternity's sea. Boar's Head, Hainpton, iV.H. LOVE'S FLOWER. Love's sweet and tender flower Of pure, perennial life, Blooms ever fresh in power O'er all earth's wrong and strife. Pluck not in haste, young man. This flower of wondrous hue. Nor dare to crush, nor fail to scan^ Such beauty ever new. Gaze at it long, young girl. And guard its sacred blush ; Then shall its treasures old unfurl Your yearning soul to hush. 70 LOVE DISCROWNED. (/// Four Scejies.) SCENE I. " When he comes, my darhng, I shall tell him all : All the secret ecstasy, All the peace and joy, All my heart's sweet fantasy. Free from self's alloy, — All — O blessed power Of love's sweet hour. When I shall tell him all. Shall tell him all ! " 72 LOVE DISCROWNED. SCENE II. *' Hark, hark ! he's come. I hear his step. joy, love's hour is here. I knew that he was true and pure, 1 could not feel love's fear. Oh, no ; I could not, dear." SCENE III. She gave one look, one piercing look, Drew back her anguished soul, Then murmured low, " O bitter hour ! But — God — forgive — the — whole — Forgive — O bitter power Of love's death-hour, I thought to tell him all, To tell him all." LOVE DISCROWNED. 73 SCENE IV. He gazed upon her lifeless face, He held her lifeless hand. Was this the form he once had loved ? He did not understand. Once loved ? Yes, that was so. He'd loved since, one or two, And — well, what was a woman for, If not for man to woo 1 MORAL. Alas, for broken hearts and lives Of those who can but trust ! Alas, for those who see no law But that of selfish must ! RENUNCIATION. " Oh, is not love eternal When once the heart be won ? Oh, is not love infernal When love can be undone ? " So sighed a gentle maiden In light of memory dear, xA.s, sad and heavy-laden, She longed for knowledge clear. But soon the bitter heart-ache Gave way to victory's cheer ; For, brave, she chose for His sake The life which knows no peer ; 74 RENUNCIATION. 75 The life of abnegation Which gives the Christ's own peace, But leaves the sad temptation To ask for life's release. A WIDOW'S HEART- CRY. "Thy will, not mine, be done ! " So breathe I when the day's begun, So breathe I when the day is done. I whisper it in blinding tears, I pause and listen, till appears The welcome voice for listening ears ; The voice which checks my wayward will And makes my longing heart to thrill With love for those who need me still. But, O, how long must I so pray ? When will I learn to calmly say, ^'Thy will is mine," both night and day.'* 76 A WIDOW'S HEART-CRY. 77 Ah ! this can never be on earth, Since he who gladly gave me birth To everything that was of worth Has gone from out my sense and sight, To what ? O ye who still invite To heaven's sure realm and faith's own right, Reveal some clue for me to see What life is his, what he's to me. Alas ! ye can't. Then what can be More precious when the day is done, Or when the morning is begun. Than, "Not my will, but Thine, be done."" TOGETHER. Transformed, redeemed from all that dwarfs or blights, In perect harmony with beauteous sights Beyond imagination's highest flights Ere reached by seer, We shall together walk the golden streets Sometime, my dear. But how, you ask, shall we each other know, So changed from what we were while here below, When, caged like birds, we longed and suf- fered so ? Ah, do not fear. 78 TOGETHER. 79 Will not the soul, when free, seek like the bird Its own, my dear ? It may not be at once or soon, 'tis true. For you may be among the blessed few Who'll sooner reach the blissful heights — your due For pure life here — But sometime, sure as God is love and truth, We'll meet, my dear. Some precious, long-forgotten look or word Breathed through the softest, sweetest music heard. Or some vibration rare of soul depths stirred By memory's tear. Will, like a flash of light, reveal our souls Together, dear. To live the fuller life we've dreamed of here. SHADOWED CIRCLES. Why weepest thou, O dear one ? Do sorrows press ? Beneath the weight of sorrow Is love's caress. Why joyest thou, O dear one ? Is love thine own ? Ah ! 'neath love's deep rejoicing Is sorrow's moan. Indeed, all earth's great passions Is it not so ? — Are circled in the shadow Of joy or woe. 80 SNA D O WED CIR CL ES. But why should we bemoan this ? Could otherwise Truth's dazzling light be subject To mortal eyes ? Could otherwise we enter The endless light, Beyond the shadowed circle Of mortal sight ? MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, A SONG OF SUCCESS. YOUTH. I am dancing along. Just to live is a joy, I'm so happy and free. I know not nor care what will tame or de- stroy, Life now satisfies me. Oh, there's naught like dear youth To reveal the glad truth That 'tis pure, healthful joy just to know and to be ! MIDDLE AGE. I am marching along, full of work and of plan To alleviate wrong. 85 86 A SOA'G OF SUCCESS. With a heart full of love both to God and to man, And an arm free and strong. Oh, there's naught like mid-life To make sure without strife The beauty of progress through action and song. OLD AGE. I am living along, sitting down by the way. My work is all done. I have fought the good fight, known the full of each day, And true victory won. Oh, there's naught like old age To declare with the sage, Life ending on earth is but heaven begun. THE UNDER-WORLD. Under the restless surface Of ocean's vast domain, The god of perfect quiet Holds ever peaceful reign. Under the restless surface Of passions strong and wild, The still small voice of conscience Is heard in accents mild. Under the restless surface Of all man's life on earth, The Christ of sacred story Renews each day his birth. 87 SHE KNOWS. (^Written at Mountain Cottage, on Mount Wachusett, wfure Louisa M. Alcott spent the last summer of her life.) Last summer she believed that in and through these beauteous scenes God's loving self did flow, But now she knows 'tis so. For, having crossed the boundary lines of honest doubt and fear, She sees with spirit-eye What sense could not descry. Her firm belief, thus blossomed into perfect flower of sight, Becomes a restful cheer To all who linger here, SHE KNOWS. 89 Still asking for the secret of these changing, beauteous scenes, And troubled with the why Of all earth's sorrowing cry. Her presence here has filled the place with memory of a soul Made beautiful through pain Eternity to gain. August, 1888. AT PITTSFORD, VERMONT. TO J. A. C. As winds the lovely Otter Creek through vales of summer green, Ne'er pausing on its way, Though love its tribute pay. So gently winds my loving thought through memory's changing scenes, To days of long ago When thee I first did know. Thy heartfelt sympathy and help were to my fresh young soul What these dear Vermont hills Are to the little rills ; 90 AT PITTSFORD, VERMONT. 91 A presence near, a faithful strength, life- giving and serene — Oh, hills, be now as much To her who feels Time's touch ! In different paths, through various ways, we've known the world since then. Together now we rest On Nature's peaceful breast. CHILDHOOD'S DAYS. TO M. C. If knowledge gained in later years May wholly cloud from sight The glimpse which childhood's eye hath caught Of heaven's celestial light, Then need we not the atmosphere Of second childhood's days To catch another broader glimpse Of heaven's immortal rays ? Ah, yes ; we even need to seek, Through earth's illusive hour-, Immortal childhood's heavenly days Of sweet, revealing power ; 92 CHILDHOOD'S DAYS. 95- For how can otherwise we catch The deeper glimpses yet Of life eternal, glorious, pure, Where sun hath never set ? AN ANSWER. TO B. P. S. " Why don't I write a story ? " Ah, friend, if you could see The depths of hidden heart-life Alas ! so known to me. You'd find the truest story Flashed out in gleams of light, Before which all pens falter And vanish out of sight. And as they vanish from me They leave the impress clear, That only Heaven's pen could write Such stories acted here. 94 AN ANSWER, 95 So in His book of life, Revealed to all some day, You'll find my story grand and true. Worked out in His own way. WHERE ? WHAT ? WHENCE ? The kingdom of heaven is where ? Oh, where ? Would that the heart which with pity o'er- flows, While deigning love's burdens to share, Could disclose ! The kingdom of heaven is what ? Oh, what ? Would that the Infinite Presence which flows Through a life on the earth finely cut Might disclose ! The kingdom of heaven is whence ? Oh, whence ? 96 WHERE? WHAT? WHENCE? 97 Ah ! let the wind and the breath of the rose Their secrets of hfe and of sense Dare disclose ! Could we then see the better whence spirit arose ? Who knows ? Oh, who knows ? HEROES. The heroes on the battlefield are calm in death, Their fighting o'er ; They feel no more the fevered breath Of battle's war ; They hear at last the voice that saith " Fight on no more." But oh, the heroes on the grander field of peace, Who know no rest ! Whose hearts ne'er feel the full release From mortal quest. Nor breathe the air where struggles cease The soul to test. 98 HEROES. 99 For such we mourn, O purifying soul of life, For such we pray. Let Nature free them from the strife Of falsehood's way, And Love through every struggle rife Have free, full play. A MAGDALEN'S EASTER CRY. In the diiierent mansions of heavenly space Prepared for the faithful and pure, (Ah me, for the faithful and pure !) Can I dare hope to find e'en a small resting place Free from sin and all earthly allure ? Can a soul such as mine, that has wasted life's wealth On the baubles knd gewgaws of time, (Ah me, on the baubles of time !) Have a fitting strength left to regain needed health For the life of a heavenly clime ? A MAGDALEN'S i: ASTER CRY. loi For a life where the laws of the spirit, not sense, Bring their perfect eternal reward, (Ah me, their eternal reward !) And the pleasures obtained with such fever intense Can find nowhere a vibrating chord ? Oh, woe is me, woe is me, this Easter day ! No hope riseth up in my soul. (Ah me, my poor sin-laden soul !) I have only the dregs of my pleasure to pay. And such wrong, bitter thoughts of life's whole. But, listen ! What's that ? What's that mes- sage I hear Bearing down on my sad troubled heart 'i (Ah me, on my sad troubled heart !) I02 A MAGDALEN'S EASTER CRY. " Christ is risen indeed. He is risen to cheer, And His strength to the weakest impart." O Christ, can it be that Thine own risen strength Can give life, added Hfe, to my soul, To my sin-laden, weak, starving soul ? Yes, 'tis true. I'll believe, and rejoice now at length To feel Easter's sweet joy o'er me roll. FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF MRS. BROWNING'S DEATH. Jzine 2g, 1861. " 'Tis beautiful," she faintly cried, Then closed her weary eyes and died. So stands plain fact on history's page, Attested to by friend and sage. But in our hearts the fact grows bright, Illumined with immortal light. For open eyes saw heaven's shores, And life, not death, revealed its stores. " 'Tis beautiful ! " It must be so. If such a soul 'midst parting's woe, 103 104 J-Vh' 77//-: ./.A-.W/V'.A'AV/AM", KyV. Could with liiilirs perfect clearness see 'i'he secret of life's mystery; Could /.-/loii' that fullest life of man Needs heaven's lii;ht to round Cod's plan. O woman-soul without a peer, ^^'e thank thee more and more each year For this sweet \^\-ooi of l>eauty's power r.eyond earth's transitory hour. It calms our hours of doubt and pain, And beautifies earth's troubled reign, To feel that thou art sending still This same sweet message of God's will, r.orn of fruition's grander sight, ()f perfect beauty, peace, and light. ROBKRT JiROVVNINC;. "A peace out of pain, Then a liRlit, then thy breast. •O tlioii soul of my soul, I sliall clasp thee again, And with Clod be the rest ! " — Prospice, I'HlJillni Piunnhn- /3, /88g. Oh, the Ijlcsscd fruition Of peace out of pain ! Of a light without darkness, A clasping again ! Of a full soul reunion In Love's endless reign ! Sing, O earth, with new joy At this victory won ! For the faitli that endured Till the setting of sur) ! 105 io6 ROBERT BROWNING. For the hope that shone clear Through the mighty work done ! For the love that sought God To guide love here begun ! Sing, O earth, with new joy For such victory won ! TO NEPTUNE, IN BEHALF OF S. C. G. O Neptune, in thy vast survey Of all the ships that sail, Watch lovingly the well-known way Of one we wait to hail. The Cephalonia is her name — But why need I tell more ? Thou knowest indeed the well earned fame She bears from shore to shore. But since among her company's band Is one who 's life to me, O Neptune, bear her in thy hand E'en yet more tenderly, 107 io8 TO NEPTUNE, ETC. O'er gentle waves, 'neath fair blue sky, 'Midst winds that only blow To make the time more swiftly fly For hearts that hunger so. Boston, Septembe7' 4, 1886. TO THE TANSIES GROWING ON THE GRAVE OF A. S. D. Beautiful pansies, ye must know Your sacred mission here, For how could otherwise ye grow So sweet and full of cheer ? Your watchful love we can't o'errate, As, lingering here in tears, Fond memory brings the precious weight Of friendship's golden years. Ye are the symbols, pure and sweet, Of heartsease and of life. Through which our thought may dare retreat From pain and death so rife, 1 09 no TO THE TANSIES, ETC. To realms of light and peace above, From earth's alloy set free, Wherein abide immortal love And deathless ministry. But still, while we your comfort seek, Our hearts will wildly yearn To hear once more the loved one speak, Once more the form discern. At Woodlawn Cemetery, May, 1886. A BROKEN HEART. Must I always look for sorrow On the morrow ? Must I never have the hope That a life of larger scope Will before my vision ope ? Ah, 'tis true there is but sorrow On the morrow For the broken hearts that wait, Bearing secretly their fate. Yet the opening of the gate To the blessed heaven's morrow, When the aching, longing heart 112 A BROKEN HEART. Shall be free from pain and sorrow^ Comes before my tired eyes With a wondrous sweet surprise. III. But this joy is not for me, Not for me. Alas ! for my poor broken heart, With its poisoned arrow's dart. Without hope, alone, apart. MY RELEASE. I hear in the ocean's restless moan My soul's lament. Will it ever cease ? I feel in the rumbling earthquake's groan Deep anguish spent. Shall I now know peace ? I see in the smallest heaven's loan Enough for content — But is that release ? O no! My release is but found in the pure under- tone, Coming nearer and dearer to me, "3 114 MY RELEASE, Of a great human love beyond Nature at best, Eternal, inspiring, and free. Oh, that's my release. Happy me, happy me ! THE GOD OF MUSIC. TO E. T. G. Out from the depths of silence The god of music came, To echo heavenly cadence On earth's fair shores of fame. Full-orbed, with heavenly glory, He met the lords of earth. But 'twas the old, old story. They blind were to his worth. So back to depths of silence He flew on wings of light, " To bide their time of nonsense," He sang when out of sight. 115 ii6 THE GOD OF MUSIC. And as rolled on the ages, He ever and anon Sent down to earth his pages The lords to breathe upon. At length he felt vibrations, From Germany's fair clime, Of sweetest modulations E'er heard in realms of time. So forth he flew in rapture To that dear father-land, To seize — ere earth could capture A spirit pure and grand. To which he could surrender Himself with perfect ease, And weave the music tender, Of heaven's own harmonies. THE GOD OF MUSIC. 117 He found the child Beethoven ; On him his blessing fell. And in his soul was woven The sounds we know so well. TO WILHELM GERICKE. {On the completion of his conchictorship of the Boston Sym- phony Orchestra.') i884-/88g. Great poets can without the aid Of kindred mind Reveal to us the secrets laid On them to find ; l>ut music-kings need ministries To sound their hidden harmonies. ]*or showing us the inmost heart Of these great kings, And making clear with wondrous art Their wanderings, We thank thee, while we tender here A "bon voyage" to home's loved sphere. FOR E. T. F. AFTER THE BIRTH OF HER SON, R. A. F. Afay 28, 1887. Vd rather hear my baby's coo, That little gurgling coo, Than rarest song or symphony Born out of music's mystery Which once did woo. I'd rather see my baby's face, That lovely dimpled face, Than all the choicest works of art, Inspired by loving hand or heart. Contained in space. 119 !0 FOR E. T. F. I'd rather feel my baby's eyes, Such deep blue heavenly eyes, Than all the world's delighted gaze, Proclaiming with continued praise My power to rise. O yes, 'tis true, my baby dear, My precious baby dear. Is more than music, art, or fame, Or anything that bears the name Of pleasure here. For in this joy 1 find a rest, A soul-inspiring rest, Beyond the wealth of fame or art, To satisfy my woman-heart, Or make it blest. And as I live in this my gift, My heaven-sent, blessed gift, FOK E. T. F. 121 Thoughts such as Mary pondered o'er Deep in her heart in days of yore Come to uplift, And make the claims of motherhood, Dear sacred motherhood, Become creation's mountain height, Whereon e'er shines the beacon-light Of womanhood. Chelsea, Mass. II AFTER THE DEATH OF R. A. F. February J, 1888. Would I could see my baby's face, That lovely dimpled face, — '■2 /■<)/,• /■■. r. /•'. () (i()(l, liow can I Ix'ar {\\v pain Of lU'vcT st'cini; i( a^ain. My l)al)y's face ; Of never seeing in lliosc eyes, Those deep l)lue lieavenly eyes, Tlie wondrous glimpses of soul-li^^ht Which iilled my heart with stran<;e delight And sweet surprise ; Of never hearini.; l)al)y's coo, 'I'hat little L;ur^ling coo- (lod, how can I l)ear the pain Of never liearing it again, My l)al)y's coo. Ahis! "Thy will, not mine, he done." Not mine, but 'I'hine, he done. 1 can but breathe again this i:)rayer, As in the; days of i)ast (les|)air. When |)eace was won. I'O ('. H. I'. ( Upo7t rcceivitti^ n fiiiii^ <>/ j^rei;>r from the grniw of Helen r I utit Jackson, Octobfr, /8S8.) With reverent touch and j^rateful heart, Dear thoughtful friend, I hold this precious bit of green You kindly send From Cheyenne's holy, lonely grave, Where pilgrims tend. It touciies springs of tenderest life I ns[)ircd by her, Who, child of poetry and ease, Did not demur From sacrificing all to l)e Wrong's arbiter. .23 2 4 TO c. //. /: That rare mosaic it suggests Made by the hand Of those who seek this favored spot In chosen land, Where, oft in life, she penned her soul At Truth's command. 'Tis true, she wished no monument To mark the place ; But must she not be satisfied To see the space Thus blessed and open to the heart Of every race ? O brain of power and heart of fire, America's pride, No wonder that the mountain height. Above sin's tide. Was chosen as the resting place With death to hide ; TO C. H. F. 125 For such could give the needed rest On earth denied, Could satisfy the poet's thought, Unsatisfied, And symbolize the soul's true rest When glorified. AN ANNIVERSARY POEM. And is time marked in heaven ? Dost know, () spirit friend, 'Tis just a year ago to-day Thou went so suddenly away, And left me in my loneliness the weary days to spend ? — Ah, weary days, Denied thy praise And all thy many helpful ways ! And is earth known in heaven ? Dost see, O clear-eyed soul, The present changing life of man Still working out the wondrous plan 126 AN ANNIVERSARY POEM. 127 Of making even broken lives add to the complete whole? — Ah, broken lives That death deprives Of help like thine that heavenward strives! And are we known in heaven ? Do I, thy once fond care, Still have that patient yearning love Which longed to lift my soul above The sweet though transitory joys of even earth's best fare ? — Ah, earth's best fare Cannot compare With thy ideal of me laid bare ! A COMFORT. TO S. R. H. I have sowed in tears, — Shall I reap in joy ? Shall my human heart be satisfied, And sorrow and pain be justified ? Shall full fruition free my soul From limitation's sad control. And all my faculties of mind Their perfect rest and freedom find ? " They that sow in tears Shall reap in joy," Sang a poet-heart in the long ago, 'Midst depths of sorrow, pain, and woe And what to him was truth and life Has shone through all the ages' strife, To be at last our beacon-light Of comfort in the darkest night. 128 AN ANNIVERSARY. The autumn tints of these loved hills Outlined against the sky, Are dearer far to me this year Than in the years gone by ; For they are colors Nature wears To celebrate the time When her pet child changed life on earth For that of heavenly clime. She thus rejoices, while our hearts Wear not their flowers of joy. Alas ! could she but give us back Our gifted artist boy ! 129 130 AN ANNIVERSARY. But then she sees that it was best That he, Uke her, should know Death, and the Resurrection too, The fullest life to show. A THANK-OFFERING. TO MISS ELIZABETH P. PEABODY. Thou priestess of pure childhood's heart, Wherein God's spirit lies, Thou willing priestess of the art Of true self-sacrifice, Ere thy rare spirit takes its flight To realms beyond our praise, Where childhood's pure eternal light Shines through the blessed days. We thank thee for thy legacy Of thought wrought out in deed, 131 32 A THANK-OFFERING. By which love's sweet supremacy Becomes man's potent need. Our nation must thy secret share, Ere it can fully rise To heights of truth and insight where True wisdom's glory lies. AT LIFE'S SETTING. Put your arms around me. There — like that. I want a little petting At life's setting. For "tis harder to be brave When feeble age comes creeping, And finds me weeping (Dear ones gone), Or brings before my tired eyes Sweet visions of my youth's fair prize (There is a pain in sacrifice), Denied me then and ever. Left me alone ? No, never. For in God's love I nestled, While with deep thought I wrestled, 133 34 AT LIFE'S SEJ'T/NG. Till all my busy life at length Was spent in giving others strength, In making others' homes more bright, In makin