tTh#T#3~y~ BALLADS, L~MCSq AND llYMNS. BY ALICE CARY. POPULAR ~DITION. ~ ~.:: NEW~~ORK: PUBLISllLD BY AND llOUGllTON ~ibtr~t~t ~r~~ 1876. Eu~rcd according to Act of Congres~,`0 tile year 1865., by ALICE CAItY, in ~`.~ Clerk's O~ce of tile District Court for the Southern District of New York ~~ ~~Thu —~~DD@~~OCOCWDr aIVERSIDE, CAMflRIDGfl: S?lRZOTYPED AND PRINTED ~y `-~ -" - o EVER true and comfortable mate, For whom my love outwore the fleetii~g red Of my young cheeks, nor did one jot abate, I pray thee now, as by a dying bed, Wait yet a little longer! Hear me tell How much my will transcends my feeble powers: As one with blind eyes feeling out in flowers Their tender hues, or, with no skill to spell His poor, poor name, but only makes liis mark, And guesses at the sunshine in tlie dark, So I l~ave been. A sense of tl)ings divine Lying broad above the little things I knew, The while I made my poems for a sign Of the great melodies I felt were true. APOLOGY. Pray il~ee accept my sad apology, Sweet master, mending, as we go along, ~Iy homely fortunes with a thread of song, That all iny years harmoniously may run Less by the tasks accomplished judging me, ~`iian by il~e better things I would l~ave done. I would not lose thy gracious company Out of my house and ]~eart for all the good Besides, that ever comes to womanhood, And this is much: I know what I resign, But at that great price I woul~ have thee mine. CONTENTS. BALLADS. fIlE YOUNG SOLDTER....... a "0 wLNDS! YE ARE TOO ROUGIr, TOO ROUGH!".. 8 R~~r ANI) 1........ 9 HAG EN WA1~l)EH........ 12 "AMONG TIlE l~lTFALLS IN OUR WAY"... 14 OUR SCIIOOL?IASTER...... 15 "TilE BEST MAN SHOULD NEVER PASS BY".... 18 TIlE GRAY SWAN........ 19 THE`YASIlERWOMAN....... 22 GROWING RICH........ 25 "Too ~.iuCii joy is SORROWFUL,"..... 26 SANDY ~IAULEOD........ 27 THE Pl~URE-BOoK....... 29 "HE SPOILS IllS IlOUSE AND TIlBOWS HIS PAINS AWAY".. 31 A WALK THROUGH THE SNOW.... 32 "THE GLANCE THAT DOTlI ~lY NEIGHBOR DOUBT"... 34 THE WATER-BEARER....... 35 THE BEST JUDGMENT....... 43 HUGH TllOHNDYEE....... 46 "STILL FROM TIlE UNSATISFYING QUEST".... 48 `?AITHLESS........ 49 "Do NOT LOOK FOR WRONG AND EVIL"... 51 MY FADED SHAWL....... 52 CARE.......... 60 OLl) CHUMS........ 61 "APART FlIOM THE WOES THAT ARE DEAD AND GONE,".. 63 THE SHOEMAKER....... 64 To THE WLN1)........ 66 "WHAT COMFORT, WHEN WITH CWUDS OF WOE".. 6S Li~uz CYRUS........ 69 vi CONTENT. Page OUR GOD IS LOVE, AND THAT WHICH WE XISCALL". 73 MORNING....... 74 THE SUMMER STORM...... IF ANI) IF......... 79 "WE ARE THE MARINERS, AND Gon THE SEA... 84 AN ORDER FOE A PIGI'URE..... 85 FIFTEEN AND FIFTY....... 90 JENNY DUNLEATlI....... 97 TRICESEY'S RING....... 103 CRAZY ClIRISTOPHER....... 110 TilE FERRY OF GALLAWAY...... 116 REVOLUTIONARY STORY....... 119 "JUST IlERE AND TIlERE WITH SOME POOR LITTLE RAY". 123 "IIOPE IN OUR ERA RTS DOTH ONLY STAY".... 124 TIlOUGHTS AND THEORIES. TilANESGIVING........ 127 TIlE BRIDAL VEIL....... 143 TIlE SPEUlAL DARLING...... 145 A DREAM OF TIlE N\TEST....... 147 ON SEEING.~ DROWNLNG MOTH..... 149 GOOD AND J~v~~........ 152 STROLI~R'S SONG..... 1054 A LESSON......... 156 ON SEEING A ~VILD BIRD...... 158 i~ICII, TII()UGII POOR....... 160 SlXTKEN......... 162 PRAYER FOR LIGHT....... 164 TIlE UNCUT LEAF....... 166 TIlE MIGIlT OF TRUTH....... 168 COUNSEL......... 170 IRE LITTLE B~~CKSMITH....... 172 Pwo TRAVELLERS....... 174 TIlE BHND TRAVELLER...... 177 TIlE BLAUKRIRD........ 179 MY GOOD ANGEL........ 181 MORE LIFE....... 183 CONTRADICTORY..... 185 CONTENTS. vii Page ~~~s is A~........ 187 ~~ VAIN......... 189 BEST, TO TIlE BEST....... 191 TIlORNS......... 193 OLD ADAM........ 195 TIlE FARMER'S DAUGHTER....... 197 A PRAYER........ 199 ALONE......... 201 SO~IETIMES........ 202 TIlE SEA-SIDE CAVE....... 204 JANUARY........ 206 TIlE MEASURE OF TIME....... 209 IDLE F~~ES........ 211 1-lINTS.......... 213 To A STAGNANT RITER...... 215 COUNSEL......... 217 LATENT LIFE........ 219 How AND ~~IIERE........ 221 TIlE FELLED TREE....... 223 A DREAM......... 226 \TORk......... 227 COMFORT......... 229 FAITIl AND ~TORES....... 230 TIlE RUSTIC PAINTER....... 232 ONE OF MANY........ 234 TilE SilADOW........ 237 TIlE UNWISE CHOICE..... 239 SIGNS OF GRACE...... 241 PIlOVIDENCE........ 243 TIlE LIVING PERSENT....... 244 ONE DUST........ 246 TIlE ~VEAVER'S DREAM....... 248 NOT Now........ 250 CRAGS......... 252 MAN......... 254 To SOLITUDE........ 256 ~HE LAw OF LIBERTY.... 258 MT CIlEED........ 260 9FEN SECRETS........ 262 CONTENTS. Pa.' THE SADDEST SIGHT....... 264 TIlE B~DAL HOUR...... 266 IDLE.......... 267 HYMNS. THE SURE WIThESS....... 271 LOVE IS LIFE........ 273 "Tiiy WORKS, 0 LORD, INTERPRET THEE,".. 274 TIME.......... 275 CONSOlATION....... 276 SUPPLICATION........ 277 "WHY SIlOULD OUR SPIRITS BE OPPREST".... 278 WHITTIER......... 279 SURE ANClIOR........ 2S0 R~tEMBRR......... 282 LYRIC......... 284 SUNDAY MO~~INO.......`285 IN THE DARK........ 287 PARTLNG S()NG........ 289 MOURN NOT........ 291 THE IlEAVEN THAT`S IlERE...... 293 THE STPE~~M OF LIFE....... 295 DEAD AND ALIVE........ 296 INVOCATION........ 298 LIFE OF LIFE........ 300 MERCIES......... 302 PLEASURE AND PAIN....... 303 MYSTERIES........ 305 LYRIC.......... 307 TRUST......... 308 ALL IN ALL......... 310 FHE PURE IN HEART....... 312 UNSATISFIED......... 314 MOR~ LIFE........ 316 LIGHT AND DARKNKss....... 318 SUBSTANCE....... 320 LIFE'S MYSTERY........ 322 FOE SELF-HE~........ 824 CONTENTS. ix Page ~Y1NG IIYMN...... ~XTEEMITIES........ 327 IIE~E AND THERE....... 329 TIlE DAWN OFPEACE... 330 ~CcA~ON&L..... ~~$~~offiA{~}{~tton3 ~`, V. V t'OPTRAIT, ox SThEL~ BY R~cHIE TO THE SPIRIT OF SONG II0cii8ThL~ in TIlE YOUNG SOLDIER lIERRICK a THE GRAY SWAN FENN 19 THE WATER-BEARER BELLOWS 35 ~IY FADED SHAWL HILLON 52 LITTLE CYRUS CAREY 69 AN ORDER FOR A PICTURE GRANvILLE 1~ERKINS 85 CRAZY CHRISTOPHER IlOCIrSTEIN 110 THANKSGIVING IlILLON - 12~ ON SEEING A DROWNING MOTH.... FENN l4~. THE LITTLE BLACKSMITH J. G. BROWN 17 THE FAR~IER'S DAUGHTER WM. ll~wr 19 THE FELLED TREE 22 THE WEAVER'S DREAM LAUNY THOMPSON 24~ ~HE SURE WITNESS HOcHSTEIx 270 ~attab~. THE YOUNG SOLDIETh NTO the house ran Lettice, With hair so long and so bright, Crying, "Mother! Johnny has `listed He has`listed into the fight!" " Don't talk so wild, little Lettice! And she smoothed her darli~g~5 brow, "`T is true! you`11 see as true can be - He told me so just now!" BALLADS. "Ah, that`5 a likely story! Why, darling, don't you see, If Johnny bad`listed into the war lie would tell your father and me! "But lie is going to go, mother, Whether it`5 right or wrong; He is thinking of it all the whj!e, And he won't be with us long." "Our Johnny going to go to the war! "Ay, ay, and the time is near; lie said, when the corn was once in the ground, We could n't keep him here! "Hush, child! your brother Johnny Meant to give you a fright." "Mother, he`11 go, - I tell you I know lie`5`listed into the fight! "Plucking a rose from the bush, he said, Before its leaves were black lie`d have a soldier's cap on ijis head, And a knapsack on his back!" "A dream! a dream! little Lettice, A wild dream of the mght; Go find and fetch your brother in, And lie will set us right." BALLADS. So out of the house ran Lettice, Calling near and far, - "Johiiny, tell me, and tell me true, Are you going to go to the war?" At last she came and found him In il~e dusty cattle-close, Whistling Hail Columbia, And beating time with his rose. The rose he broke fi~om the bush, when he said, Before its leaves were black He`d have a soldier's cap on his head, And a knapsack on his back. Then all in gay mock-anger, He plucked her by il~e sleeve, Saying, "Dear little, sweet little rebel, I am going, by your leave!" "0 Johnny! Johnny!" low he stooped, And kissed her wet cheeks dry, And took her golden head in his hands, And told her he would not die. "But, Letty, if anything l~appen There won't! and he spoke more low - But if anything should, you must be twice as good As you are, to mother, you know! 6 BALLADS. "Not but that you are good, I~etty, As good as you can be; But then you know it might be so, You`d have to be good for me!" So straight to the house they went, his cheeks ~lus?iing under his bnm; Anti his two broad-shouldered oxen Turned their great eyes after him. That night in the good old farmstead Was many a sob of pain; o Johnny, stay! if you go away, It will never be home again! But Time its still sure comfort lent, Crawling, crawling past, And Johnny's gallant regiment Was going to march at last. And steadying up her stricken soul, The in other ~~ rned about, Took what wa~ Johnny's from the drawer And shook il~e rose-leaves out; And brought the cap she had lined with silk, And strapped his knapsack on, ~nd her heart, though it bled, was proud as she said, "You would hardly know our John!" BALLADS. 7 Another year, and the roses Were bright on the bush by the door; And into the house ran Letti~e, lier pale cheeks glad once more. O mother! news has come to-day! `T is flying all about; Our John's regiment, they say, Is all to be mustered out! O mother, you must buy me a dress, And nhbons of blue and buff! O what shall we say to make the day Merry and mad enough! "The brightest day that ever yet The sweet sun looked upon, When we shall be dressed in our very best, To wdcome home our John! So up and down ran Lettice, And all tlie farmstead ruii~g With where he would set l~is bayonet, And where his cap would be hung! And the mother put away her look Of weary, waiting gloom, And a feast was set and the neighbors met To welcome Johnny home. BALLADS. The good old father silent stood, With his eager face at the pane, And Lettice was out at the door to shout When she saw him in the lane. And by and by, a soldier Came o'er the grassy hill; It was not he il~ey looked to see, And every heart stood still. He brought them Johnny's knapsack, was all il~at he could do, And the cap lie bad worn begrimed and torn, W;th a bullet-hole straight through! o WINDS! ye are too rough, too rough! o Spring! thou art not long enough For sweetness; and for thee, o Love! thou still must overpass Time's low and dark and narrow glass, And fill eternity. BALLADS. 9 RUTH AND L IT was not day, and was not night; The eve had just begun to light, Along the lovely west, His golden candles, one by one, And girded up with clouds, the sw~ Was sunken to his rest. Between the furrows, brown and dry, We walked in silence - Ruth and I; We two had been, since morn Began her tender tunes to beat Upon tlie May4eaves young and sweet, Together, planting corn. Homeward the evening cattle went In patient, slow, full-fed content, Led by a rough, strong steer, His forehead all with burs thick set, His horns of silver tipt with jet, And shapeless shadow, near. 2 t() BALLADS. With timid, half-reluctant grace, Like lovers in some favored place, The light and darkness met, And the air trembled, near and far, With many a little tunefni jar Of milk-pans being set. We heard the house-maids at their cares, Pouring their hearts out unawares In some sad poet's ditty, And heard the fluttering echoes round Reply like souls all softly drowned In i;eavenly love and pity. All sights, all sounds in earth and air Were of the sweetest; everywhere Ear, eye, and heart were fed; The grass with one small burning flower Blushed bright, as if the elves that hour Their coats thereon had spread. One moment, where we crossed tlie brook Two little sunburnt hands I took, - Why did I let them go? I`ve been since then in many a land, Touched, held, kissed many a fairer hand, But none that thrilled me so. BALLADS 11 Why, when the bliss Heaven for us made Is in our very bosoms laid, Should we be all unmoved, And walk, as now do Ruth and I, `Twixt th' world's furrows, brown and dryq Unloving and unloved? y N t2 BALLADS. llAGEN WALDER. THE day, with a cold, dead color ~Vas rising over the bill, When little Hagen Walder Went out to gnnd in th' mlll. All vainly the light ill zigzags Fell through the frozen leaves, And like a broidery of gold Shone on his ragged sleeves. No mother bad he to brighten His cheek with a kiss, and say, "`T is cold for my little Hagen To grinJ in the mill to-day." And il~at was why the north winds Seemed all in his path to meet, And why the stones were so cruel And sbarp beneath his feet. And that was why he hid his face So oft, despite his will, Against the necks of the oxen That turned the wheel of th' mill. BALLADS. 13 And that was why the tear- drops So oft did fall and stand Upon their silken coats that were As white as a lady's hand. So little llagen Walder Looked at ilie sea and tli' sky, Ancj wished that he were a salmonq In tlie silver waves to lie And wished iliat lie were an eagle, Away through tli' air to soar, ~Yhere never the groaning mill-wheel Might vex him any more: And wished that he were a pirate, To burn some cottage down, And warm himself; or that he were A market-lad in tlie town, With bowls of bright red strawberries Shining on his stall, And il~at some gentle maiden Would come and buy them all! So little Hagen Walder Passed, as the story says, Through dreams, as through a golden gate, Into realities. t4 BALLADS. And when the years changed places, Like tlie billows, bright and still, In th' ocean, Hagen Walder Was the master of the mill. And all his bowls of strawberries Were not so fine a show As are his boys and girls at church Sitting in a row! AMONG the pitfalls in our way The best of us walk blindly; o man, be wary! watch and pray, And judge your brother kindly. Help back his teet, if tbey have slid, Nor count him still your debtor Perhaps the very wrong he did Has made yourself the better. BALLADS. 15 OUR SCHOOLMASTER. WE used to think it was so queer To see him, in his thin gray hair, Sticking our quills behind his ear, And straight forgetting they were there. ~7e used to think it was so strange That he should twist such hair to curls, And that his wnnkled cheek should change Its color like a bashful girl's. Our foolish mirth defied all rule, As glances, eaA~ of each, we stole, The rnofl~ing that lie wore to schoo~~ A rose-bud in his button-hole. And very sagely we agreed That such a dunce was never known - Fzftj~! and trying still to read Love-~erses with a tender tone! No joyous smile would ever stir Our sober looks, we often said, I?we were but a Schoolmaster, And had, withal, his old white head BALLADS. One day we cut his knotty staff Nearly in two, and each and all Of us declared that we should laugh To see it break and let him fall. Upon his old pine desk we drew His picture - pitiful to see, Wrinkled and bald - half false, half true, And wrote beneath it, Twenty-three! Next day came eight o'clock and nine, But he came not: our pulses quick With play, we said it would be fine If the old Schoolmaster were sick. And still the beech-trees bear the scars Of wounds which we that morning made, Cutting their silvery bark to stars Whereon to count the games we played. At last, as tired as we could be, Upon a clay-bank, strangely still, We sat down in a row to see His worn-out hat come up the hill. was hanging up at home - a quill Notched down, and sticking iii the band, And leaned against his arm-chair, still His staff was waiting for his hand. BALLADS. Across his feet his threadbare coat Was lying, stuffed with many a roll Of "copy-plates," and, sad to note, A dead rose in the button-hole. And he no more might take his place Our lessons and our lives to plan: Cold Death had kissed the wrinkled face Of that most gentle gentleman. Ah me, what bitter tears made blind Our yollng eyes, for our thoughtless sin, As two and two we walked behind The long black coffin he was in. And all, sad women now, and men With wriijkles and gray hairs, can see How he might wear a rose-bud the~i, And rea(t love-verses tenderly. 1$ BALLADS THE best man should never pass by The worst, but to brotherhood true, Entreat hini thus gently, "Lo, I Am tempted in all things as you." Of one dust all peoples are made, One sky doth above them extend, And whether il~rough sunshine or shade Their paths run, they meet at the end. And whatever his honors may be, Of nche~, or genius, or blood, God never made any man free To find out a separate good. - - ~ -- ____- ~ ___ - ___ A__ _____ -~~- ~~- — — = —: — — -~ --- - -- -~ -- - ~ THE GRAY SWAN "OH tell me, sailor, tell me true, Is my little lad, my Elihu, A-sailing with your ship?" The sailor's eyes were dim with dew, Your little lad, your Elihu?" He said, with trembling lip, - " ~hat little lad? what ship? "What little lad! as if il~ere could be Another such an one as lie What little lad, do you say? Why, Elilin, that took to the sea The moment I put him off my knee! It was just the other day The ~ray Swan sailed away." 20 BALLADS~ Tlie oil~cr day? " fl~e sailor's eyes Stood open with a great surprise, - "The other day? the Swan?" His heart began in his throat to rise. "Ay, ay, sir, here in tiie cupboard lies The jacket lie had on." "And so your lad is gone?" "Gone with tlie Swan." "And did she stand With lier anchor clutching hold of tiie sand, For a month, and never stir?" "Why, to be sure! I`ve seen from ilie land, Like a lover kissing liis lady's hand, The wild sea kissing her, - A sight to remember, sir." "But, my good mother, do you know All this was twenty years ago? I stood on il~e (#ray Swan's deck, And to that lad I saw you throw, Taking it off, as it might be, so! The kerchief fiom your neck." "Ay, and he`11 bring it back!" "And did the little lawless lad That has made you sick and inade you sad, Sail with ilie ~ray Swan's crew?" "Lawless! the man is going mad The best boy ever mother had, - BALLADS. 21 Be sure he sailed with the crew! What would you have him do?" And be has never wntten line, Nor sent you word, nor made you sigi) To say lie was alive?" "Hold! if`t was wrong, the wrong is mine; Besides, he may be in the brine, And could he write from the grave? Tut, man! what would you have?" "Gone twenty years, - a long, long crmse, `T was wicked thus your love to abuse; But if il~e lad still live, And come back home, tl~ink you you can Forgive him? "-" Miserable man, You`re mad as tlie sea, -you rave, - ~Vhat have I to forgive?" The sailor twitched his shirt so blue, And fi'om within his bosom drew The kerchief. She was wild. My God! my Father! is it true? ~Iy little lad, my Elihu My blessed boy, my child! My dead, my living child!" 22 BALLADS. THE W~SllERWOMAN. AT tlie north end of our village stands, ~Vitl0 gable black and high, A weather-beaten honse, I`ve stopt Often as I went by, To see tlie strip of bleaching grass Slipped brightly in between The long straight rows of hollyhocks, And current-bushes green; The clumsy benc}~ beside tl~e door, And oaken washing-tub, Where poor old Rachd used to stand, And rub, and rub, and rub! Her blue-checked apron speckled wiil~ The suds, so snowy white From morning when I went to school Till I went home at night, She never took her sunburnt arms Out of the steaming tub: We used to say`t was weary work Only to hear her rub. BALLADS. 23 With sleeves stretched straight upon the ~trass The washed shirts used to lie; By dozens I l~ave counted il~em So'ne days, as I WLIlt by. The burly blacksmith, battering at His red-hot iron bands, Would make a joke of wishing that He had old Rachel's bands! And when the sharp and ringing strokes Had doubled up his shoe, As crooked as old Rad~6l's back, He used to say`t would do. And every village housewife, witlj A conscience clear and light, Would send for her to come and wash An hour or two at night! Her hair beneath her cotton cap Grew silver-white and thin And tiie deep furrows in l~er face Ploughed all the roses in. Yet patiently she kept at work, - We school-girls used to say The smile about her sunken moutl~ Would quite go out some day. 24 BALLADS. Nobody ever thought the spark That in her sad eyes shone, Burned outward from a living soul Immortal as their own. And though a tender flush sometimes Into her cheek would start, Nobody dreamed old Rachel had A woman's loving heart! At last she left her heaps of clothes One quiet autumn day, And stript from off her sunburnt arms The weary suds away; That night within lier moonlit door Slie sat alone~ - her cliin Sunk in l~er hand, - her eyes shut up, As if to look within. Her face uplifted to the star That stood so sweet and low Against old crazy Peter's house - (He loved her long ago!) Her heart had worn her body to A handful of poor dust, - Her soul was gone to be arrayed In marriage-robes, I trust. BALLADS. 26 GROWING RICH. AND why are you pale, iny Nora? And why do you sigh and fret? Ti~e black ewe had twin lambs to-day, And we shall be rich folk yet. Do you mind the clover-ridge, Nora, That slopes to the crooked stream? The brown cow pastured there this week, And her milk is sweet as cream. The old gray mare that last year fell As thin as any ghost, Is getting a new white coat, and looks As young as her colt, almost. And if tlie corn4and should do well, And so, please God, it may, I`11 buy the white-faced bull a bell, To make the meadows gay. I know we are growing rich, JoLmy, And that is why I fret, For my little brother Phil is down In the dismal coal-pit yet. 26 BALLADS. And when fl~e sunshine sets in il~' corn, The tassels green and gay, It will not touch my father's eyes, That are going blind, they say. But if I were not sad for him, Nor yet for little Phil, Why, darling Molly's hand, last year, Was cut off in the mill. And so, nor mare nor brown milch-cow, Nor lambs can joy impart, For the blind old man and th' mill and mine Are all upon my heart. Too much of joy is sorrowful, So cares must needs abound; The vine that bears too many flowers Will trail upon the ground. BALLADS~ 27 SANDY MACLEOD. WHEN I il~ink of the weary nights and day~ Of poor, hard-working folk, always I see, with his head on his bosom bowed, The luckless shoemaker, Sandy Macleod. Jeering schoolboys used to say His chimney would never be raked away By flie moon, and you by a jest so rough May know that his cabin was low enough. Nothing throve with him; his colt and cow Got their living, he did n't know how, - Yokes on their scraggy necks swinging about, Beating and bruising them year in and out. Out at the e]bow lie used to go, - Alas for him il~at he did not know `1'he way to make poverty regal, - not he, If sneb W~~~ under the sun there be. Sundays all day in the door he sat, A string of withered~up crape on his hat, The crown half fallen against his head, And half sewed in with a shoemaker's thread. 28 BALLADS. Sometimes with his hard and toil-worn hand He would smooth and straighten th' faded band, Thinking perhaps of a little mound Black with nettles flie long year round. Blacksmith and carpenter, both were poor, And il~ere was the schoolmaster who, to be sure, Had seen rough weather, but after all When they met Sandy he went to the wall. His wife was a lady, they used to say, Repenting at leisure her wedding-day, And that she was come of a race too proud E'er to have mated with Sandy Macleod! So fretting she sat from December to Jun~, While Sandy, poor soul, to a faneral-tune Would beat out his hard, heavy leather, until He set himself up, and got streugdi to be still. It was not the full moon t}~at made it so ligl~t In il~e poor little dwelling of Sandy one night, It was not the candles all shining aroniid, - Ah, no!`t was the light of the day he had fomid BALLADS. THE PICTURE-BOOK. TIlE black waluut4ogs in the chimney Made ruddy the house with their light, And the pool in il~e hollow was covered ~itli ice like a lid, - it was night And Roslyn and I were together, - I know now the pleased look he wore, And tlie shapes of the shadows that checkered The hard yellow planks of il~e floor; And how, when the wind stirred il~e candle, Affrighted il~ey ran fi~m its gleams, And crept up il~e wall to the ceiling Of cedar, and hid by il~e beams. There were books on the mantel-shelf, dusty, And shut, and I see in my mind, Tlie pink-colored primer of pictures ~Ve stood on our tiptoes to find. We ~pened the leaves where a camel Was seen on a sand-covered track, A-snuffing for water, and bearing A great bag of gold on his back; 3() BALLADS. And talked of tlje free flowing rivers A tithe of his burden would buy, And said, when tlie lips of the sunshine Had sucked his last water-skin dry; ~Yith thick breath and mouth gaping open, And red eyes a-strain in liis head, His bones would push out as if buzzards Had picked 1dm before he was dead! Then turned fl~e leaf over, and finding A palace that banners made gay, Forgot the bright splendor of roses Tbat shone through our windows in May; And sighed for the great beds of princes, While pillows for hirn and for me Lay soft among ripples of ruffles As sweet and as white as could be. And sighed for their valleys, forgetting How warmly the morning sun kissed Our hills, as they shrugged their green shouId~rs Above the white sheets of the mist. Their carpets of dyed wool were softer, We said, than the planks of our floor, Forgetting il~e flowers that in summer Spread out their gold mats at our door. BALLAD.~ 81 The storm spit its wrath in the d~imney, And blew the cold ashes aside, And only one poor little fagot Hung out its red tongue as it died, When Roslyn and I through tlie darkness Crept off to our shivering beds, A thousand vague fancies and wishes Still wildly astir in our heads: Not guessing that we, too, were straying In thought on a sand-covered track, Like the camel a-dying for water, And bearing the gold on his back. HE spoils his house and throws his pains away N\Tho, as the sun veers, builds his windows o'er, For, should he wait, the Light, some tiine of day, Would come and sit beside him in his door. 32 BALLADS. A WALK THROUGH THE SNOW. I ~A~ED froni our wild north country on~, In a driving storm of snow; Forty and seven miles in a day - You smile, - do you think it slow? You would n't ~f ever you had ploughed Through a storm like that, I trow. There was n't a cloud as big as my hand, The summer before, in the sky; The grass in th' meadows was ground to dust, The springs and wells went dry; We must have corn, and three stout men Were picked to go and buy. Well, I was on~, two Dag~ I swung Across my shoulder, so! And kissed my wife and boys, - their eyes Were blind to see me go. was a bitter day, and just as th' sun Went down, w~ met the snow! BALLADS. 83 At first we whistled and laughed ancL sung, Our blood so nimbly stirred; But as the snow-clogs dragged at our feet, And the air grew black and blurred, We ~alked together for miles and miles, And did not speak a word! I never saw a wilder storm: It blew and beat with a will; Beside me, like two men of sleet, Walked my two mates, until They fell asleep in their armor of ice, And both of them stood still. I knew that they were warm enougb, And yet I could not bear To strip them of their cloaks; tbeir ey~ Were open and a-stare; And so I laid their hands across Their breasts, and ieft them there. And ran, - 0 Lord, I cannot tell How fast! in my dismay I thought the fences and the trees - The cattle, where they lay So black against il~e~r stacks of snow All swam the other way! 5 g4 BALLADS. And when at dawn I saw a hut, With smoke upcurling wide, I thought it must have been my mates That lived, and I that died; was heaven to see through th' frosty panea The warm, red cheeks inside! TFE glance that doth thy neighbor doubt Turn thou, 0 man, within, And see if it will not bring out Some unsuspected sin. To hide from shame il~e branded brow, Make broad thy charity, And judge no man, except as thou Wouldst have him ju(tge of thee. THE WATER-BEARER. `T WAS in the middle of summer, And burning hot the sun, That Margaret sat on the low-roofed porch, A-singing as she spun: Singing a ditty of slighted love, That shook with every note The softly s~ining hair that fell In ripples round her throat. 36 BALLADS. The changeful color of her cheek At a breath would fall and rise, And even tli' sunny lights of hope Made shadows in her eyes. Beneath il~e snowy petticoat You guessed tlie feet were bare, By the slippers near lier on the floor, - A dainty little pair. She loved the low and tender tones The weaned summer yields, ~Vhen out of lier wheaten leash she slips And strays into frosty fields. And better il~an th' time that all The air with music fills, She loved tlie little sheltered nest Alive with yellow bills. But why delay my tale, to make A poem in her praise? Enough that truth and virtue shone In all her modest ways. was noon-day when the housewife said0 "New, Margaret, leave undone Your task of spinning-work, and set Your wheel out of the sirn; BALLADS. :-~ And +Ae your slippers on, and take The cedar-pail with bands Yellow as gold, and bear to the field (jiool water for the liands!" And Margaret set her wheel aside, And breaking off her thread, Went forth into the harvest-field Wid~ her pail upon her head, - Her pail of sweetest cedar-wood, With shining yellow bands, Through clover reaching its red tops Almost into her hands. Her ditty flowing on il~e air, For she did not break her song, And fl~e water dripping o'er th' grass, From her pail as she went along, - Over the grass that said to her, Trembling through all its leaves, "A bngl~t rose for some harvester To bind among his sheaves!" And clouds of gay green grasshoppers Flew up the way she went, And beat their wings against their sides, And chirped their discontent. BALLADS. And tlie blackbird left the piping of llis amorous, airy glee, And put his head beneath his wing, An evil sign to see. The meadow-herbs, as if tl~ey felt Some secret wound, in showers Shook down their bnght buds till her way Was ankle-deep with flowers. But Margaret never heard th' voice That sigl~ed in th' grassy leaves, "A bright rose for some harvester To bind among his sheaves!" Nor saw the clouds of grasshoppers Along her path arise, Nor tli' Jaisy hang her head aside And shut her golden eyes. She never saw the blackbird when lle hushed his amorous glee, And put his head beneath his wing, That evil sign to see. Nor did she know the meadow-herbs Shook down their buds in showers To choke her pathway, though her feet Were ankle-deep in flowers. BALLADS. But humming still of slighted love, That shook at every note The softly shining hair that fell In ripples round her throat, She came`twixt winrows heaped as high, And higher than her waist, And under a hush of sassafras The cedar-pail she placed. And with the drops like starry rain A-glittering in her hair, She gave to every harvester llis cool and grateful share. But il~ere was one with eyes so sweet Beneath his shady hrim, That il~nce wifl~in the cedar-pail She dipped her cup for him What wonder if a young mai~ 5 heart Should feel her heauty's charm, And in his fancy clasp her like The sheaf within his arm; What wonder if his tender looks, That seemed the sweet disguise Of sweeter things unsaid, should make A picture in her eyes! BALLADS. What wonder if the single rose That graced her cheek erewhile, Deepened its cloudy crimson, till It doubled ill his smile! Ah me! the housewife never said, Again, when Margaret spun, - "Now leave your task awhile, and set Your wheel out of the sun; And tie your slippers on, and take The pail with yellow bands, And bear into the harvest-field Cool water for the hands." For every day, and twice a-day, Did Margaret break her thread, And singing, hasten to the field, With her pail upon her head, - Her pail of sweetest cedar-wood, And shining yellow bands, - For all her care was now to bear Cool water to the hands. What marvel if the young man's love Unfolded leaf by leaf, Until within his arms ere long He clasped her like a sheaf! BALLADS. 41 What marvel if`t was Margaret's heart With fondest hopes that beat, ~Vhile th' young man's fancy idle lay As his sickle in the wheat. That, while her thought flew, maiden4ike, To years of marriage bliss, His lay like a bee in a flower, shut up Wiil~in the moment's kiss! What marvel if his love grew cold, And fell off leaf ~y leaf, And iliat her heart was choked to death, Like the rose within his sheaf. When autumn filled her lap with leaves, Ydlow, and cold, and wet, The bands of th' pail tm'ned black, and th' wheel On the porch-side, idle set. And Margaret's hair was combed and tied Uiider a cap of lace, And th' housewife held the baby up To kiss her quiet face; And all the sunburnt harvesters Stood round the door, - each one Telling of some good word or deed That she had said or done. 42 BALLADS. Nay, there was one that pulled about llis face his shady brim, As if it were his kiss, not Death's, That made her eyes so dim. And while the tearful women told That when they pinned her shroud, One tress from th' ripples round her neck Was gone, he wept aloud; And answered, pulling down his brim Until he could not see, It was some ghost that stole the tress, For that it was not he! `T is years since on the cedar-pall The yellow bands grew black, `T is years since in the harvest-field They turned th' green sod back To give poor ~argaret room, and all Who chance that way to pass, May see at the head of her narrow bed A bush of sassafras. Yet often in the time o' th' year When the hay is mown and spread, There walks a maid in th' midnight shade With a pail upon her head. BALLADS. 43 THE BEST JUDGMENT. GET up, my Jittle handmaid, And see what you will see; Tfle stubble-fields and all the field~ Are white as they can be. Put on your crimson cashmere, And hood so soft and warm, ~Vith all its woollen linings, And never heed the storm. For you must find the miller In the west of Wertburg-town, And bring me meal to feed my cows, Before the sun is down. Then woke the little handmaid, From sleeping on her arm, And took her crimson cashmere, And hood with woollen warm; And bridle, with its buckles Of silver, from the wall, And rode until il~e golden sun Was sloping to his fall. BALLADS. Then on the miller's door-stone, In the west of Wertburg-town, She dropt the bridle from her hands, And quietly slid down. And when to her sweet face her beast Turned round, as if he said, "liow cold I am!" she took her hood And put it on his head. Soft spoke she to the miller, "Nine cows ai~ stalled at home, And hither for three bags of meal, To feed them, I am come. Now when the miller saw tl~e price She brought was not by half Enough to buy three bags of meal, lie filled up two with chaff. The night was wild and windy, The moon was thin and old, As home the little handmaid rode, All shivering with the cold, Beside the river, black with ice, And through the lonesome wood; The snow upon her hair the while A-gathering like a hood. BALLADS. And when beside the roof-tree ller good beast neighed aloud, ller pretty crimson cas1~mere ~Yas whiter than a shroud. "Get down, you silly liandrn~id," The old dame cried, "get down, - You`ve been a long time riding From the west of ~Yertburg-town!" And fiom her oaken settle Forth hobbled she amain, - Alas! the slender little hands Were frozen to the rein. Then came the neighbors, one and all, With melancholy brows, Mourning because the dame had lost The keeper of her cows. And cursing tlie Ach miller, In blind, misguided zeal, Because he sent two bags of chaff And only one of meal. Dear Lord, how little man's award The right or wrong attest, And he who judges least, I think, Is he who judges best. BALLADS. HUGll THORNDYKE. EGALToN'S hills are sunny, And brave with oak and pine, And Egalton's sons and danght~~ Are tail and straight and fine. The harvests in il~e summer Cover the land like a smile, For Egalton's men and women Are busy all il~e while. `T is merry in the mowing To see the great swath fall, And the little laughing maidens Raking, one and all. Their heads like golden lilies Shining over the hay, And every one among fl~em As sweet as a rose in May. And yet despite the favor Which Heaven doth thus allot, Egalton has its goblin, As what good land has not? BALLADS. 47 Hugh Thorndyke - (peace be with him He is not living now) - Was tempted by this creature One day to leave his plow, And sit beside the furrow In a shadow cool and sweet, For the lying goblin told him That he would sow his wheat. And told him this, moreover, That if he would not mind, i?i~ h~use should burn to ashes, His children be struck blind! So, trusting half, half fi~ightened, Poor Hugh with many a groan Waited beside the furrow, But the wheat was never sown. And when the fields about him Grew white, - with very shame He told his story, giving The goHin all the blame. Now Hugh's wife loved her husband, And when he told her this, She took his brawny hands in hers And gave them each a kiss, BALLADS. Saying, we ourselves this goblii~ Shall straightway lay to rest, - The more he does his worst, dear Hugh, The more we`11 do our best! To work they went, and all turned out Just as the good wife said, And Hugh was blest,- his corn that year, Grew higher than his head. They sing a song in Egalton Hugh made there, long ago, Which says that honest love and work Are all we need below. STILL from the nnsatis~ing quest To know the final plan, I turn my soul to what is best In nature and in rnaii. BAUADS FMTHLE S S. SEVEN great windows looking seaward, Seven smooth columns white and high; h~re it was we made our bright plans, Mildred Jocelyn and I. Soft and sweet the water murmured By you stone wall, low and gray, was il~e moonlight and the midnight Of tl~e middle of the ThIay. On the porch, now dark and lonesome, Sat we as the hours went by, Fearing nothing, hoping all things, Mildred Jocelyn and I. Singing low and pleasant ditties, Kept the tireless wind his way, Through the moonlight and the midnight, Of tlie middle of the May. Not for sake of pleasant ditties, Such as winds may sing or sigh, Sat we on the porch together, Mildred Jocelyn and I. 50 BALLADS. Shrilly crew the cock so watchfiil, Answering to the watch.dog's bay, In the moonlight and the midnight Of the middle of the May. Had il~e gates of Heaven been open We would then have passed tbem by, Well content with earthly pleasures, Mildred Jocelyn and I. I have seen il~e bees thick-flying, - Azur&win ged and ringed with gold; I have seen tlie sheep from washing Come back snowy to the fold; And lier hair was bright as bees are, Bees with shining golden bands; And no wool was ever whiter Than her little dimpled hands. Oft we promised to be lovers, llowe'er fate our f~iith should try; Giving kisses back for kisses, Mildred Jocelyn and I. Tears, sad tears, be stayed from falling; Ye can bring no faintest ray From the moonlight and the midnight Of the middle of the May. BALLADS. 51 If some friend would come aiid tell me, On your Mildred's eyes so blue Grass has grown, but on her deafli-bed She was saying prayers for you;" llere beside the smooth white column~ I should not so gfleve to-day, For the moonlight and tl~e midnight Of tlie middle of the May. Do not look for wrong and evil You will find them if you do; As you measure for your neigl~bor lle will measure back to you. Look for goodness, look for gladness, You will meet them all the while ~ If you bring a smiling visage To tlie glass, you meet a smile. BALLADS. MY FADED SllAWL. TELL you a story, do you say? 1~~~ ~~ ~``~ ~ ~Vliatever n~y wits re & ~ member? eli, going down to the woods one day I - -.~ Through tlie winds -~ - - the wild November — ~-~-w - f met a l~d, called Char ley. ~Ve lived ol~ tlie crest 0' the Krumley rid~ And I was a farmer's daughter, Ai~d under tlie hill by the Krumley brid~e Of the crazy Krumley water, Li'~ed tbis peor lad, Charley. Right well I knew his ruddy cheek, And step as light as a feather, Althoug1~ we never were used to speak, And never to ~)lay together, I and this poor lad Charley. BALLADS. 53 So, when I saw him hurryiug down My pail~, will you believe me? I knit my brow to an ugly frown, - Forgive me, 0 forgive me Sweet shade of little Charley. The dull clouds dropped their skirts of sno~ On tlie hills, and made them colder; I was only twelve years old, or so, And may be a twelvemonth older Was Charley, dearest Charley. A faded shawl, with flowers 0' blue, All tenderly and fairly Euwrought by his mother's hand, I knew, lie wore that day, my Charley, My little love, my Charley. His great glad eyes witl~ light were lit Like the dewy light 0' the morning; His homespun jacket, not a whit Less proudly, for my scorning, He wore, brave-hearted Charley. I bore a pitcher, -`t was our pride, At the fair my father won it, And consciously I turned the side With tl~e golden lilies on it, To dazzle the eyes 0' Charley. 54 BALLADS. Tl)is pitcher, and a milk-white loaf, Piping hot from the platter, When, where the path turned sharply off To the crazy Krumley water, I came upon my Charley. lie ~~niled, - my pulses never stirred From their still and steady measures, Till tl~e wind came flapping down like a bird And caught away my treasures. liCIp me, 0 Cliadey! Cl~aAey! My loaf, my golden lilies gone! My heart was all a-flutter; For I saw them whirling. on and on To the frozen Krumley water, And then I saw my Charley, The frayed and faded shawl from his neck Unknot, with a quick, wise cunning, And speckled with snow-flakes, toss it back, That he might be free for running. My good, great-hearted Cliarl ey. I laid it softly on my arm, I warmed it in my bosom, And traced each broider-stitch to the form Of its wilding model blossom, For sake of my gentle Charley. BALLADS. 55 Away, away! like a shadow fleet! The air was thick and blinding; Ti~e icy stones were under his feet, And the way was steep and winding. Come back! come back, my Charley! lie waved liis ragged cap in the air, ~Iy childish fears to scatter; Dear Lord, was it Charley? Was he tijere, On il~' treacherous crust o' il~' water? No more!`t is death! my CbaAey. The thin blue glittering sheet of ice Bends, breaks, and falls asunder; His arms are lifted once, and twice My God! he is going under! He is drowned! he is dead! my Charley The wild c'~il stops, - the blood runs chill I dash t}~e tears fron~ my lasl~es, And straii~ n~y ~~ze to tli' foot o' th' hill, Who flies so flist tliron~li t}ie rushes? ~iy drowned love? my Cliarley? NIy brain is wild, - I laugh, I cry, - The chill blood thaws and rallies ~Vhat holds he thus, so safe and high? My loaf? and my golden lilies? Charley! my sweet, sweet Charley! 56 BALLADS. Across my mad brain word on word Of tenderness went whirling I kissed him, called him my little bird 0' th' woods, my dove, my darling, - My true, true love, my Charley. fn what sweet phrases he replied I know not now - no matter - This only, that he would have died In the crazy Krumley water To win my praise, - dear Chancy! He took il~e frayed and faded s}~awJ, For his sake warmed all over, And wrapped me round and round with all Tlie tenderness of a lover, My best, my bravest Charley! And when his shoes 0' the snows were flill, - Ay, full to their tops, - a-smiling He said they were lined with a fleece 0' wool., The pain o' th' frost beguiling. ~Vas ever a lad like Charley? So down the slope o' th' Krumley ridge, Our hands locked fast together, And over the crazy Krumley bridge, We went through the freezing weather, -~ I and my drowne'd Charley. BALLADS. 57 The cornfields all of ears were bare; But il~e stalks, so bright and brittle, And tlie black and empty husks were there For il~e mouths of the ht~ngry cattle. We passed them, I and Charley, And passed the willow-tree that went With tl~e wind, as light as a f~ather, And th' two proud oaks with their shoulders bci~t Till their faces came together, - Whispering, I said to Cliarley: The hollow sycamore, so white, The old gum, straight and solemn, With never the curve of a root in sight; But set in the ground like a column, - I, prattling to my ChaAey. We left behind the sumach hedge, And the waste of stubble crossing, Came at last to the dusky edge Of the woods, so wildly tossing, - I and my quiet Charley. Ankle-deep in the leaves we stood, - The leaves that were brown as leather, And saw the choppers chopping the wood, Seven rough men together, - I and my drooping Charley. 58 BALLADS. Isee him 110W aq I saw him stand ~Vith my loaf- he had hardly won it - And the beautifi~l pitcher in his hand, ~~rith the golden lilies on it, - My little saint, - my Charley. The stubs were burning here and there, The winds the fierce flames blowing, And the arms o' th' choppers, brown and bare, Now up, now down are going, - I turn to il~em from ChaAey. Rig}~t merrily the echoes ring From the sturdy work a-doing, And as il~e woodsmen chop, they sing Of tlie girls that H~ey are wooing. O what a song for Charley! This way an elm begins to lop, And that, its balance losing, And ilie squirrel comes from his nest in the top, And sits in the boughs a-musing. NVhat ails my little Charley? The loaf from out his hand he drops, llis eyelid flutters, closes; lle tries to speak, he whispers, stops, - llis mouth its rose-red loses, One look, just one, my Charley! BALLADS. 59 And now liis white and frozen cheek Each wild-eyed chopper fixes, And never a man is heard to speak As they set their steel-blue axes, And haste to the help 0' Charley! Say, wl~at does your beautiful pitcher hold? Come tell us if you can, sir! The chopper's question was loud and bold. But never a sign nor answer: All fast asleep was Charley. The stubs are burning low to th' earth, The winds the fierce flames flaring, And now to the edge of the crysta] hearth The men in tl~eir arms are bearing The clay-cold body of Charley. O'er heart, o'er temple those rude hands go, Each hand as light as a brother's, As they gather about him in the snow, Like a company of mothers, - My dead, my darling Charley. Before them all, (my heart grew bold,) From off my trembling bosom, I unwound the mantle, fold by fold, All for my blighted blossom, My sweet white flower, - my Charley. BALLADS. Ihave tokens large, I have tokens small Of all my life's lost pleasures, But that poor frayed and faded shawl Is tlie treasure of my treasures, The first, last gift of Charley. CARF. CARE is like a hushandman Wlio doth guard our treasures And the while, all ways he can, Spoils our harmless pleasures. Loving hearts and laughing brows~ Most lie seeks to plunder, And each furrow that he plor~h~ Turns the roses under. BALLADS. 61 OLD CHU~IS. Is it you, Jack? Old boy, is it really you? I should n't have known you but that I was told You might be expected; - pray, liow do you do? But what, under heaven, has made you so old? Your hair! why, you`ve only a little gray fuzz! Ai'd your beard 5 white! but that can be beautifully dyed; And your legs are n't but just half as long as they was; And then - stars and garters! your vest is so wide! Is this your hand? Lord, how I envied you that in tlie time of our courting, - so soft, and so small, Ai~d now it is callous inside, and so fat, ~Yell, you beat the very old deuce, that is all. Turn round! let me look at you! is n't it odd, llow strange in a few years a fellow's chum grows yrour eye is shruiik up like a bean in a pod, And what are these lines branching out from youi nose? 62 BALLADS. ~our back has gone up and your shoulders gone down, And all H~e old roses are under the plough; Why, Jack, if we`d happened to meet about town, I would n't have known you from Adam, I vow! You`ve had trouble, have you? I`m sorry; but, John, All trouble sits lightly at your time of life. llow`5 Billy, my namesake? You don't say he`5 gone To the war, John, and that you have buried yoi~r wife? Poor Kail~arh~e! so she has left you - ah me! I il~ougbt she would live to be fifty, or more. What is it you tell me? She was fifty-three o no, Jack! she was n't so mucb, by a score! Well, il~ere`5 little Katy, - was that her name, John? She`11 rule your house one of these days like a qu~en. T}tat baby! good Lord! is she married and gone? Wiil~ a Jack ten years old! and a Katy fourteen! Then I give it up! Why, you`re younger than I By ten or twelve years, and to think you`ve c~~me back ~ sober old graybeard, just ready to die! I don't understand how it is - do you, Jack? ~`ve got all my faculties yet, sound and bright; Slight fallure my eyes are beginning to hint; BALLADS. But still, with my spectacles on, and a light `Twixt them and the page, 1 can read any print. My hearing is dull, and my leg is more spare, Pe4~aps, than it was when I beat you at bail; ~Iy breath gives out, too, if I go up a stair, - But noil~h~g worth mentioning, nothing at all My hair is just turning a little, you see, And lately I`ve put on a broader-brimmed hat Tl~an I wore at your wedding, but you will agree Old fellow, I look all the better for that. r`m sometimes a little rlieumafic,`t is true, And my nose is n't quite on a straight line, they say; ~or all that, I don't think I`~e changed much, do you? AI0d ~ ~~n' t feel a day older, Jack, not a day. APART from the woes that are dead and gone, And the shadow of future care, The heaviest yoke of il~e present hour Is easy enough to bear. 64 BALLADS. TllE SHOEMAKER. Now tlie hickory wiil~ its hum Cheers il~e wild and rainy weather, And tlie shoemaker lias come With liis lapstone, last, and leather. With his head as white as wool, With the wrinkles getting bolder, And his heart with news as full As the wallet on lils shoulder. flow the children's hearts will beat, How their eyes will sliine with pl~asun As he sets their little feet, Bare and rosy, in his measure. And how, behind l~is chair, They will steal grave looks to summon, A 5 he ties away liis hair From his fbrel~ead, like a woman. When he tells tlie merry news flow their eyes will laugh and glisten, While il~e moil~er binds the shoes And they gather round and listen. BALLAbS. 65 But ead~ one, leaning low On l~is lapstone, will be crying, As he tells how little Jo, Witl~ a broken back, is dying. Of the way he came to fall In the flowery April weather, Of the new shoes on the wall That are hanging, tied together. llow tlie face of little Jo lias grown white, and they who love lii~ See the shadows come and go, As if angels flew above him. And the old sl~oemaker, true To the woe of the disaster, Will uplift his apron blue To his eyes, then work tlie faster. h6 BALLADS. TO THE WIND. STEER hither, rough old mariner, Keeping your jolly crew Beating about in the seas of life, Steer hither, and tell me true About my little son, Nlaximus, Who sailed away with you! Seven and twenty years ago He came to us, - ah me! Tlie snow that fell that whistliiig night Was not so pure as he, And 1 was rich enough, 1 tro~, NVl~en 1 took him on iny knee. 1 was ncl~ enough, aiid when 1 met A man, unthnft and lorn, Whom I a hundred times had met Witl~ less of pity than scorn, 1 opened my purse, - it was well for hiin That Maximus was born BALLADS. 67 ~Ve have five boys at home, erect Aiid straight of limb, and tall, Gej~tle, and loving all that God flas made, or great or small, But Nlaxiinus, our youngest born, ~Vas tlie gentlest of them all! Yet was he brave, - they all are brave, Not one for favor or frowi~ Tl~at fears to set his strength against The bravest of the town, But this, our little ~Iaximus, Could fight when lie was down. Six darlino~ boys! not one of all, If we liad liad to ehoose, Could we have singled from the rest To sail on such a cruise, But surely little ~Iaxii~us ~~Tas not the one to lose! Ilis hair divided into slips, And tumbled every way, - ilis mother always called them curls, Slie has one to this day, And th' nails of his hands were thin and red As il~e leaves of a rose in ~Iay. 68 BALL2I )s. Steer hither, rough mariner, and bring Some neWs of our little lad, - If he be anywhere out of th' grave It will make liis mother glad, Tho' he grieved her more with his way'var~iii~ Than all the boys she had. I know it was against himself, For he was good and kind, That he left us, though he saw our eyes With tears, for his sake, blind, - o l~ow can you give to such as lie, Your nature, wilful wind WHAT comfort, when with clouds of woe The heart is burdened, and must weep, To feel that pain must end, - to know, "He giveth his beloved sleep." When in the mid-day march we meet The outstretched shadows of ti~e night, The promise, how divinely sweet, At even-time it shall be light." LITTL~ CY~US. EMILY MAYFIELD all tlie day Sits and rocks her cradle alone, And ne~er a neighbor comes to say How pretty little Cyrus has grown. Meekly Emily's head is hung, Many a s~gh from her bosom breaks, And ne'er such pitiful tune was sung As that her lowl) lullaby makes. 70 BALLADS. Near where the village schoolhouse stands. On the grass by the mossy spring, Merry children are linking hands, But little Cyrus is not in the ring. They might make room fUr me, if they tned,' lie tl~iuks as he listens to call and shout, And his eyes so pretty are open wide, ~Vondering wliy they have left iiim out. Nightly hurrying home they go, Each, of the praise he has had, to boast But never an honor can Cyrus 5}1O\V, And yet lie studies liis book the most. Little Cyrus is out in the hay, - Not where ilie clover is sweet and red, ~VitJi mates of his tender years at play, But where il~e stubble is sharp, instead, And evei~ floweAess shrub and tree That takes the twinkling noontide heat, Is dry and dusty as it can be There with his tired, sunburnt feet Dragging wearily, Cyrus goes, Trying to sing as tlie others do, But never the stoutest ii and that mows Says, " It is work too hard f~r you, BALLADS. 71 Little Cyrus, your hands so small Bleed ~viil~ straining to keep your place, And the look iliat says I must bear it all Is sadder than tears in your childish face: So give me your knotty swaili to mow, And rest awhile on the shady sward, Else your body will crooked grow, Little Cyrus, from working hard." If he could listen to words like that, The stubble would not be half so rough To liis naked feet, and liis ragged liat Would shield him from sunshine well enough. But ne'er a moment the mowers check Song or whistle, to think of him, With blisters burning over liis i~eck, Under his straw hat's ragged brim. So, stooping over the field lie goes, With none to pity if he complain, And so the crook in his body grows, An~l he never can stand up straight again. The cattle lie down in the lane so still, - The scythes in the apple-tree shine bright, And Cyrus sits on the ashen sill Watching the motes, in the streaks of light, BALLADS. ~uietly slanting out of the sky, Over the hill to the porch so low, Wondering if in the world on high There will be any briery fields to mow. Emily Mayfield, pale and weak, Steals to his side in the light so dim, And the single rose in his swarthy cheek Grows double, the while she says to him, - Little Cyrus,`t is many a day Since one with just your own sweet eyes, And a voice as i4ch as a bird's in May, (Gently she kisses the boy and sighs,) Here on the porch when the work was done, Sat with a young girl, (not like me,) Her heart was light as the wool she spun, And her laughter merry as it could be; iler hair was silken, he used to say, When they sat on the porch-side, "woful whei~,' And I know the clover you mowed to-day Was not more red than her cheeks were then. He told her many a story wild, Like this, perhaps, which I tell to you, And she was a woman less than child, And tI)o~ght whatever he said was true. BALLADS. 73 From home and kindred, - ah me, ah me! \Vith only her faith in his love, she fled, was all like a dreaming, and when she could see She owned slie was sinfd and j~rayed to be dead. But always, hj-wever long she may live, Desolate, desolate, slie shall repine, And so with no love to receive or to give, 11cr face is as sad and as wrinkled as mine. Little Cyrus, trembling, lays His head on his mother's knee to cry, And kissii~g his sni~hurnt cheek, she says, `lush, my darling, it was not I." OUR God is love, and il~at which we miscall Evil, in this good world that lle has made, Is meant to be a little tender shade Between us and llis glory, - that is all; A nd he who loves the best his fellow man ts loving God, il~e holiest way he can. `C BALLADS. MORNING. WAKE, Dillie, my darling, and kiss me, The daybreak is nigh,I can see, through the half-open curtain, A strip of blue sky. You lake, in her valley-bed lying, Looks fair as a bride, And pushes, to gi'eet the sun's oming, The mist sheets aside. The birds, to the wood-temple flying, Their matins to chant, Are chirping their love to each other, With wings dropt aslant. Not a tree, that the morning's bright edge~ With silver illumes, But trembles and stirs with its pleasure Through all its green plumes. Wake, Dillie, and join in the praises All nature doth give; Clap hands, and rejoice in the goodness That leaves you to live. BALLADS. For what is the world in her glory To that which thou art? Thank God for the soul that is in you, - Thank God for your lieai~! The world that had never a lover 11cr brigl~t face to kiss, - ~ith her splendors of stars and of i~oontides How poor is her bliss ~Vake, Dilhe, - tl~e white vest of n~ori~iI1g With crimson is laced And why should delights of God's giving Be runnh~g to waste Full measures, pressed down, are awaiting Our provident use; And is il~ere no sin in neglecting As well as abuse? The cornstalk exults in its tassel, The flint in its spark, - And shall the seed planted within me Rot out in the dark? Shall I be ashamed to give culture To what God has sown? ~Vhen nature asks bread, shall I offer A serpent, or stone? BALLADS. For could I out-weary its yearnings By fasting, or pain, - ~Vould life have a better fulfilment, Or deaH~ have a gain? Nay, God will not leave us unanswered In any true need; Ilis ~`ill may be ~~At in an instinct, As well as a creed. And, Dillie, my darling, believe me, Tkat life is the best, That, loving here, truly and sweetky, ~Vitli Him leaves the rest. Its head to il~e sweep of tlie whirlwind The wise willow suits, - While the oak, il~at`5 t()0 stubborn for bendiiig, Comes up by the roots. Such lessons, each day, round about us, Our good ~Iother writes, - To show us that Nature, in some way, A~~enges her slights. BALLADS. TilE SUMMER STORi~L AT noon-time I stood in il~e door-way to see ~he spots, burnt like blisters, as white as could be. Aloiig the near meadow, shoved in like a wedge Betwixt tlie high-road, and the stubble-land's edge. The leaves of il~e elm-tree were dusty and brown, The birds sat with shut eyes and wings hanging dowi' The corn reacl~ed its blades out, as if in tlie pain Of crisping and scorching it felt for tlie rain. Their meek faces turning away from the sun, The cows waded up to their flanks in tlie run, Tl~e sheep, so herd-loving, divided tl~eir flocks, And singly lay down by the sides of the rocks. At snnset there rose and stood black in tlie east A cloud with the forehead and horns of a beast, J'hat quick to the zenith weiit higher and higher, \Vith feet il~at were il~uiider and eyes that were fire. Then came a hot sough, like a gust of his breath, And il~e leaves took the fremble and whiteness of death, - The dog; to his master, fiom kennel and kin, 3~'ime whining and shaking, with back croucl~ing in. 78 BALLAD&~ At twilight the darkness was fearful to see: I~Iake room," cried the children, " C) mother, for me! As climbing l~er chair and her lap, with alarm, And whisper, -" Was ev~r there seen such a storm!" At morning, the run where il~e cows cooled their flanks llad waA~ed Up a ii edge of white roots from its banks The turnpike was left a blue streak, and each side The gutters like rivers ran muddy and wide. The barefooted lad started merry to school, And the way was the nearest that led through il~e pool; The red-bird wore never so shining a coat, Nor the pigeon so glossy a ring on her throat. The teamster sat straight in his place, for tiie nonce, And sang to liis sweetheart and team, both at once; And neighbors shook hands o'er tlie fbnces that day, And talked of their homesteads instead of their hay. BALLADS. IF AND IF. IF I were a painter, I could paint The dwar&d and straggling wood, And the hillside where the meeting-house ~Vith the wooden belfry stood, A dozen steps from the door, - alone, On four square pillars of rough gray stone. N\Te schoolboys used to write our names WiH~ our finger-tips each day In th' dust o' th' cross-beams, - once it shone, I have beard the old folks say, (Praising the time past, as old folks will,) Like a pillar 0' fire on the side o' th' hill. I could paint the lonesome lime-kilus, And the lime-burners, wild and proud, Their red sleeves gleaming in the smoke Like a rainbow in a cloud, - - Their huts by the brook, and their mimicking crew -- Making believe to be lime-burners too! 80 BALLADS. I could paint the brawny wood-cutter, With the patches at l~is knees, - lle`5 been asleep these twenty years, Among his fi4ends, the trees: Tlie day that he died, the best oak 0' the wood Came up by the roots, and he lies where it stood I could paint the blacksmith's dingy shop, - Its sign, a pillar of smoke; The farm-horse halt, the rough-haired colt, And the jade with her neck in a yoke; The po~~y that made to himself a law, And would n't go under the saddle, nor draw! The poor old mare at il~e door-post, With joints as stiff as its pegs, - Her one white eye, and lier neck awiy, - Trembling the flies from her legs, And the thriftless farmer that used to stand And curry her ribs wid~ a kindly hand. I could paint his quaint old-fashioned house, With its windows, square and small, And the seams of clay running every way Between the stones 0' the wall: The roof, with furrows of mosses green, And new bright shingles set between. BALLADS. Si The oven, l)ulging big behind, And tI0C narrow porA~ before, And the weather-cock for on~ament 01) the pole beside the door; And th' row of milk-pans, shining bright As silver, in the summer light. Ai~d I could paint his girls and boys, Each and every one, llepzibah sweet, with her little bare feet, And Shuba], il~e stalwart son, And wWe and mother, with home-spun gown, And roses beginning to shade into brown. I could paint the garden, with its paths Cut smooil~, and running straight, - TIie gray sage bed, the poppies red, And the lady-grass at tije gate, - The black warped slab with its hive of bees. In the corner, under tlie apple-trees. I could paint tlie fields, in tlie mid~lle hush Of winter, bleak and bare, Some snow like a lamb that is caught in a bush, llanging here and there, - The mildewed haystacks, all a4op, And the old dead stub with the crow at the top. 11 82 BALLADS. The cow, with a board across lier eyes, Aiid her udder dry as dust, ller bide so browi~, her horn turned down, And her nose the color of rust, - The walnut-tree so stiff and high, ~Vid~ its black bark twisted all awry. The hillside, and tlie small space set ~Vith broken palings round, - The long loose grass, and the little grave ~Vith the head-stone on the ground, And the willow, like the spirit of grace Bending tenderly over the place. The miller's face, half smile, half frown, Were a picture I coidd paint, And the mill, with gable steep and brown, And dripping wheel aslant, - The weail~er-beaten door, set wide, And the heaps of meal-bags either side. The timbers cracked to gaping seams, The swallows' clay-built nests, And the rows of doves that sit on the beams With plump and glossy breasts, - The bear by his post sitting upright to eat, With half of his clumsy legs in his feet. BAUADS. 83 I could paint il~e mill-stream, cut in two By tl~e heat 0' the summer skies, And the sand-bar, with its long brown back, And round and bubbly eyes, And the bridge, that hung so high o'er the tide, Creaking and swinging from side to side. The miller's pretty little wife, In tlie cottage that she loves, - ller hand so white, and lier step so light, And her eyes as brown as tli' dove's, Her tiny waist, and belt of blue, And her hair il~at almost dazzles you. I could paint the White-llawk tavern, flanked With broken and wind-warped sheds, And the rock where the black clouds used to sit, And trim their watery heads With little sprinkles of shining light, Night and morning, morning and night. The road, where s!ow and weanly, The dusty teamster came, - The sign on its post and the round-faced host, And the high arched door, aflame With trumpet-flowers, - the well-sweep, high, And the flowing water-trough close by. B4 BALLADS. If I were a painter, and if my l~and Were cunning, a's it is not, I could paint you a picture that would stand When all the rest were f~rgot; But why should I tell you what it would he? I n~ver shall paint it, nor you ever see. WE ai~e il~e mariners, and God the Sea, And though we make false reckonings, and run Wide of a righteous course, and are undone, Out of his deeps of love, we cannot he. For by il~ose heavy strokes we misname ill, Through the fierce fire of sin, through tempering douht, Our natures more and more are beaten out To perfecter reflections of His will! _________________ 4 — _ 4 — - - y~~ffi~Th ______ ---- - #- WD H- - _____ 7 — AN ORDER FOR A PICTURE. o GOOD painter, tell me true, llas your hand the cnnning to draw Shapes of thiugs that you never saw? Ay? ~Vell, here is all order for you. Woods and cornfields, a little brown, The picture must not be over-bi4ght, Yet all in the golden and gracious light Of a cloud, when the summer sun is down. Alway and aiway, night and morn, Woods npon woods, with fields of corn Lying between them, not quite sere, And not in the fail, thick, leafy bloom, When the wind can hardly find breathing-room Under their tassels, - cattle near, Biting shorter the short green grass, And a hedge of sumach and sassafras, 86 BALLADS. With bluebirds twittering all arounj, - ~(AIi, good painter, you can't paint sonud!) -- These, and il~e house where I was bon~, Low and little, and black and old, `vitli children, many as it can hold, All at the windows, open wide, - heads and shoulders clear outside, And fair young faces all ablush: Perbaps you may bave seen, some day, Roses crowding the sel~same way, Out of a wildii~g, w~yside bush. Listen closer. When you bave done WiH~ woods and cornfields and grazing herds, A lady, il~e loveliest ever il~e sun Looked down upon you must paint for me: Oli, if I ol~ly could make you see The clear blue eyes, tlie tender smile, The sovereign sweetness, il~e gentle grace, The woman 5 soul, and tlie angel's face That are beaming on me all tlie while, I need not speak these foolish words: Yet one word tells you all I would say, - She is my mother: you will agree That all the rest may be thrown away. Two little urchins at her knee You must paint, sir: one like me, - The other with a clearer brow, BALLADS. 81 And the light of his adventurous eyes Flashing with boldest enterpflse At ten years old he went to sea, - God knoweth if he be living now, - lie sailed in tlie good ship "Commodore," - Nohody ever crossed her track To bring us news, and sl~e never came back. Ah,`t is twenty long years and more Since that Ad ship went out of the bay With my great-hearted brother on Jier deck I wntcli~d him till lie sl~rank to a speck, And his face was toward me all the way. Bright his hair was, a golden brown, The time we stood at our mother's knee: That beauteous head, if it did go down, Carried sunshine into tlie sea Out in the fields one summer night We were together, half afraid Of the corn-leaves' rustling, and of the shade Of tlie hi~h hills, stretching so still and far, Loitering till after the low little light Of the candle shone through the opeii door, And over the hay-stack's pointed tO1), All of a tremble and ready to drop, The first half-hour, the great yellow star, That we, with staring, ignorant eyes, Had often and often watched to see Propped and held in its place in ilie skies 88 BALLADS. J3y the fork of a tall red mulberry-tree, Which close in the edge of our flax-field grew, Dead at the top, - just one branch full Of leaves, notched round, and lined with wool, i?rom which it tenderly shook the dew Over our heads, when we came to play In its bandbreadth of shadow, day after day. Aflaid to go home, Sir; for one of us bore A nest full of speckled and thin-shelled eggs, - The other, a bird, held fast by il~e legs, Not so big as a straw of wheat: The berries we gave her slie would n't eat, But cried and cried, till we held her bill, So slim and shining, to keep her still. At last we stood at our mother's knee. Do you think, Sir, if you try, You can paint the look of a lie? If you can, pray have il~e grace To put it solely in the face Of tlie urchin that is likest me: I il~ink`t was solely mine, indeed: But that's no matter, - paint it so The eyes of om mother - (take good heed) Looking not on the nest-full of eggs, Nor the fluttering bird, held so fast by the legs, But straight through our faces down to our lies, ~nd, oh, with such injured, reproachful surprise! I felt my heart bleed where il~at glance went, as though A sharp blade struck through it. BALLAD~. 89 You, Sir, know ~hat you on the canvas are to repeat Ihings that are fairest, things most sweet, - ~Voods and corn~elds and mulberry-tree, - Ihe mother, - the lads, with their bird, at her knee: But, oh, that look of reproachfiil woe High as the heavens your name I'll shout, ~f you paint me the picture, and leave that out. 12 90 BALLADS. FIFTEEN AND FIFTY. COME, darling, put your frown aside! I own my fault,`t is true,`t is true, There is one picture that I hide, Even away from you! Why, then, I do not love you? Nay, You wrong me there, my pretty one: Remember you are in your May; My Summer days are done. My autumn days are come, in truth, And blighting frosts begin to fall; You are the sunny light of youth, That glorifies it all. Even when winter clouds shall break In storms, I shall not mind, my dear, For you within my heart shall make The springtime of tbe year! In short, life did its best for me, When first our paths together ran; But I had lived, you will agree, One life, ere yours began. BALLADS. 91 I must have smiled, I must have wept, Ere mirth or moan could do you wrong; But come, and see il~e picture, kept Hidden away so long! Tlie walk will not be strange nor far, - Across.il~e meadov;, to~vard the tree ~~i~om whose il~ick toI~ one silver star Uplifting slow, you see. So, darling, we have gained tlie height ~Vhere lights and shadows softly meet; Rest you a moment, - full in sight, My picture lies complete. A hill-side dark, witl~ woods behind, A strip of emerald grass before,A homely house; some trees that blind ~Vindow, and wall, and door. A singing streamlet, - either side Bordered wiH~ flowers, - geraniums gay, And pinks, with red mouths open wide For sunshine, all tiie day. A tasselled cornfield on one band, And on the other, meadows green, ~Vith angles of bright harvest bend ~Vedged sunnily between. BALLADS. A world of smiling ways and walks, The hop-vines twisting through the pales, The crimson cups 0' tl~e hollyhocks, The lilies, in white veils The porch with morning-glories gay, And sunken step, tlie well-sweep tall, The ban~, with roof`twixt black and gray, And warpt,`vind-sl~aken wall The garden with il~e fence of stone, The lane so dusky at the close, The door-yard gate all overgrown With one wild smothering rose; The honeysuckle that has blown Ilis trumpet till his il~roat is red, And the wild swallow, mateless flown Under the lonesome shed; The corn, with bean~~ods showing through. The fields that to the sunset lean, The crooked paths along the dew, Telling of flocks unseen. The bird in scarlet-colored coat Flying about the apple-tree; The new moon in her sliallow boat, Sailing a1oue, you see; BALLADS. 93. The aspen at the window-pane, - The pair of hlu~birds on the peachq - The yellow waves of upening grain, - Yoit see them all and each. The shadows stretching to the door, From far-off hills, and nearer trees I cannot sl~ow you any more, - The landscape holds but these. And yet, my darling, after all, `T is not m~ picture you bel~old Your house is ruined near to fall, - Your flowers are dew and mould. I wish that you could only see, While the glad garden shines its best, The little rose that was to me The queen of all the rest. The bluebirds, - he with scarlet wings, The silver brook, the sunset glow, To me are but the signs of things The landscape cannot show. That old house was our home - not ours! You were not born - how could it be ~ That window where you see the flowers, Is where she watched for me, 94 BALLADS. So pale, so patient, nigllt by night, Her eyes upon il~is pathway l~ere, Until at last I caine iii sight, - Nay, do. not frown, my dear, ~`Jiat was another world! and so BcI ween us there can be no strife I was but twenty, you must know, And she my baby-wife! Twin violets by a shady brook Were like her eyes, - their beauteousness Was in a rainy, moonlight look Of tears and tenderness. Her fingers had a dewy touch; Grace was in all her modest ways; Forgive my praising lier so much, - She cannot hear my praise. Beneath tiie window where you see The trembling, tearful flowers, she lay, Her arms as if they reached for ine, - ~ Her hair put smooth away. The clos~d mouth still smiling sweet, The waxen eyelids, drooping low, The marriage -slippers on the feet, - The marriage-dress of snow! I~ALLADS 95 And still, as in my dreams, I do, I kiss the sweet white hands, the Qves; My heart with pain is broken anew, My soul with sorrow dies. It was, they said, her spirit's birth, - That she was gone, a saint to be; Al as! a poor, pale piece of earth Was all il~at I could see. In tears, my darling! that fair brow With jealous shadows overrun? A score of flowers upon one bough May bloom as well as one! This ragged bush, from spring to fall, Stands here with living glories lit; And every flower a-blush, with all That doth belong to it: hook on it! learn the lesson then, - No more than we evoke, is ours! The great law holdeth good with men, T~~e same as with tlie flowers. And if that lost, that sweet white hand llad never blessed me with its light, You had not been, you understand, More than you are to-night. BALLADS. This foolish pride that women have To play upon us, - to enthrall, To absorb, doth hinder what they crave, - Their being loved at all Never the mistress of the arts They practise on us, still again And o'er again, they wring our hearts With pain that giveth pain! They make their tyranny a boast, And in their petulance will not see That he is always bound the most, Who in the most is free! They prize us more for what they screen From censure, il~an for what is best; And you, my darling, at fifteen, Why, you are like the rest! Your arms would find me now, though J Were low as ever guilt can fall; And that, my little love, is why I love you, after all! Smiling! "the pain is worth the cost, That wins a homily so wise?" Ah, little tyrant, I am lost, When thus you tyrannize. BALTADS JJ~'NNY bUNLEATll. JENNY DUNLEATH coming back to ilie town? \`\tl~at! coming back l~ere for good, and for all? \~Tell, that`5 tlie last thing for Jenny to do, - I`d go to the ends of tlie earth, - would n't you? Before I`d come back! She`11 be pushed to the wall Some slips, I can tell lier, are never lived down, And she ought to know it. It`s really true, You Hiink, that she`s coming? llow dreadfully bold! But one don't know what will be done, nowadays, And Jenny was never tlie girl to be moved By what the woMd said of lier. What she approved, Slie would do, in dcspite of its blame or its praise. She ought to be wiser by this time - let`5 see; \Vhy, sure as you live, she is forty years old! Tlie day I was man'ied she stood up with me, Aiid ~n~ I&ate is twenty: ah yes, it must be That Jenny is forty, at least - forty-three, It may be, or four. She was older, I know, A good deal, when she was my bridesmaid, than I, Al0d that`5 twenty years, now, and longer, ago; So if she iiitends to come back and deny 13 98 hAUADS. Her age, as`t is likely she will, I can show The plain honest truth, by tlie age of my Kate, And I will, too! To see an old maid tell a lie, Just to seem to be young, is a thing that I hate. ~ou thought we were fi'iends? No, my dear, not at all `T is true we were friendly, as friendliness goes, But one gets one's fi4ends as one chooses one's clotiies~ And just as the fashion goes out, lets them fall. I will not deny we were often together About the time Jenny was in her l~igh frather; And she was a beauty! No rose of the May Looked ever so lovely as she on the day I was married. She, somehow, could grace Whatever thing touched her. The knots of soft lace On her little white shoes, - the gay cap that half hid Her womanly fUrehead, - the bright hair that slid Like sunshine adown her bare shoulders, - il~e gauze That rippled about her sweet arms, just because was Jenny that wore it,- il~e flower in her belt, - No matter what color,`t was fittest, you felt. If she sighed, if she smiled, if she played with her f~tii A sort of religious coquettishness ran Through it all, - a bewitching and wildering way, All tearfully tender and graciously gay. If e'er you were foolish in word or in speech, The approval she gave with her serious eyes Would make your own fUolishness seem to you wise; So all from her magical presence, and each, BALLADS. W~nt happy away:`t was her art to confer ~ self-love, tbat ended in your loving her. And so slie is coming back l~ere! a mishap To her fi4ends, if slie have any friends, one would say \V'ell, well, she caii't take lier old place iii the lap Of holiday fortune: lier Ii cad must be gray; And tl~ose dazzling cheeks! I would just like to see LIo'v slie looks, if I could, without lier seeing me. To think of tl~e Jeiiny Dunleath that I knew, A dreary 01(1 n~aid, with nobody to love lier, - rIer bair silver-white and no roof-tree above her, - One ought to have pity upon her, -`t is true But I never liked her; in truth, I was glad In my o~~n secret beart when slie came to lier fall ~Vlien praise of her meekness was riliging the loudest I always would say she was proud as the proudest; That meekness was only a trick that she bad, - Sbe was too proud to seem to be proud, that was all She stood up with me, I was saying: that day ~Va~ tl~e last of her going abroad for long years; I never had seei~ lier so bright and so gay, Yet, spite of tlie lightness, I bad my own fears That all was not well wiH~ her:`t was but her pndc N ladeher sing il~e old songs when they asked her to sing, For when it was done with, and we were aside, 100 BALLADS. A look wan and weary came over lier brow, Ai~d still I can feel just as if it were now, lIow slie slipped up and down on niy finger, the rilig, Ai~d 50 ijid her face in n~ bosom and cried. ~~TIie1~ tlie fiddlers were come, and young Arcliibal~l ~!iIl ~\tas daiicing wiH~ lletty, I saw liow it was Nor was I misled when she said slie was ill, For tlie dews were not standii~g so thick in tlie grass As tl~e drops on her cheeks. So you never ii ave beard How slie fell in disgrace with young Archibald! No? I won't be the first, then, to whisper a word, - Poor tliii~g! if she o1~ly repent, let it go Let it go! let what go?`~Iy good in adam, I pi'ay, ~Vhereof do I stand l~ere accused? I wonid know, - I am Jeiiny Dunleath, that you knew long ago, A dreai'y old maid, and unloved, as you sQy: God keep you, my sister, fi'om knowing such woe Forty years old, madam, that I agree, Tlie roses wasl~ed out of iny checks by the tears; And counting iny barren and desolate years By the bright little heads dropj~ing over your knee, You look oI~ my sorrow with scon~, it appears. ~Vell, smile, if you can, as you hold up in sight Your matronly honors, for all men to see; But I cannot discern, n~adam, what there can be To move your proud mirth, in the wildness of night BALLADS. 101 Palling round me; no Ii earth for my coming alight, No rosy-red cheeks at il~e windows for me. ~Iy love is my shame, - in your love you are crowned, But as`ve are women, oiir natures are one By need of its nature, tlie dew and the sun B~long to the poorest, pale flowcr 0' the ground. And tI~ink you that He who created tlie heart IJas strnck it all lIell)lesS and hopeless apart 1?ron~ tl~ese lesser works? Nay, I hold lle J~as bound Our rights ~vitl~ oni' needs ii~ so sacred a knot, ~~~e cannot ui~do them witl~ any mere lie Nay, more, n~y proud lady, - tl~e love you have got, ~Iay belong to an~~ther as dreary as I You have all the world's recognition,-your bond,But have you tl~at better right, lying beyoiid? - Agreement witl~ Conscience?- that sanction whereby You ~~~ live ii~ tlie face of tlie cruelest scorns? Ay, set your bare bosom against the sharp thorns Of jealousy, l~atred, - against all the harms Bad fertune can gather, - and say, ~~ith these arms About ine, I stand here to live and to die! I take yoi~ to keep for my patron and saint, Ai0d you shall be bound hy that sweetest constraint Of a liberty wide as the love that you give; And so to the glory of God we will live, Through l~ealth and through sickness, dear lover an( friend, Throucrh light and il~rough d~rkness, through all, tc the end! ~O2 BALLADS. Let it go! Let what go? Make me answer, I pray You were speaking just now of some terrible fall, - ~1y love for young Archibald Mill, - is il~at all? I loved liim witli all my young l~eart, as you say, - Nay, what is more, madam, I love l~im to-day, - ~1y cheeks thin and wan, and my hair gray on gray! Ai0d so I am bold to come back to the town, Iii hope that at last I may lay my bones down, And have the green grasses blow over my face, Among the old hills where my love had its biril~! If love were a trifle, fl~e morning to grace, And fade`vi~en tlie night came, ~vhy, what were it worth? lie is married! and I am come hither too late? Your vision misleads you, - so pray you, untie That knot from your sweet brow, -I come here to die1 And not to make moan for the chances of fate! I know that all love il~at is true is divine, And when this low incident, Time, shall have sped, I know the desire of my soul shall be mine, That, weaThy, or wounded, or dying, or dead, Tl~e end is secure, so I hear the estate - Despised of the world's favored women - and wait. RAtLADS. Lo~ TRlCKSEY'S RING. o WHAT a day it was to us, - NIy wits were upside down, ~Vlien cousin Joseph NiA~olas Came visiting from to~vn! llis curls they were so smooth and bright, His frills they were so fine, I il~ought perhaps the stars il~at night ~Vould be ashamed to shine. But when il~e dews had toucl~ed il~e grass, Tl~ey came out, large and small, As if our cousin Nid~olas Had not been there at all! Our old house never seemed to me So poor and mean a tl~ing As then, and just because that he ~V'as come a-visiting! I never il~ought the sun prolonged His light a single whit Too in uch, till il~en, nor thought he wronged My face, by kissing it. 104 BALLAi)s. But now I sougl~t t~ pull my dres Of faded bomespun down, Because my cousiii Nicl~olas NVould see my feet were brown. Tl~e butterflies - brigl~t airy things - From off tlie lilac buds I scared, for llaviI0g on their wings Tlie sl~adows of tlie woods. I thonglit my straight ai~d jet black Lair ~Vas almost a disgrace, Since Joseph Nicholas liad fair Smooth cuMs about his face. I wished our rosy window sprays ~Vere laces, dropping down, That he might think we knew the ways Of rich folks in the town. I wished the twitteAng swallow had A finer tune to sing, Since such a stylish city lad Was come a-visiting. I wished the hedges, as they swayed, Were each a solid wall, And that our grassy lane were made A market street withal. BALLADS. 105 I wished tl~e drooping heads of rye, Set ft~ll of silver de~vs, ~Vere s~lkei~ tassels all to tie Tlie ribbons of liis shoes Ai~d ~vben, by l~on~ely lionseliold slight, They called me Tricksey True, I tl~ouglit iny cheeks ~vould blaze, in spite Of all that I could do. Tricksey - tl~at name would surely he A sl~ock to ears polite; In short I tl~ouglit il~at nothing we Could say or do was right. For inji~red pride I could have wept, Until my heart and I FeU musing how my mother kept So equable and higl~. She did not cast lie eyelids down, Asl~arned of being poor .fo h~r a gay young man fi'om town, Was no discomfiture. She reverenced honor's sacred laws As much, ay more than he, And was not put about because ll~ haJ more go~d il~an slle; 14 106 BALLADS. But held her li~use heneatlt a hand As steady and serene, As though it ~vere a palace, and As il~ough she were a queen. And when she set our silver cup Upon t}~e cloth of snow, For Nicholas, I lifted up ~Iy timid eyes, I know And saw a ring, as needs I must, Upon his finger shine; o how I longed to have it just A minute upon mine I thougl~t of fairy folk tljat led Their lives in sylvan sliades, And brought fine il~ings, as I liad read, To little rustic n~aids. And so I mused within my heart, How I would search ah out The fields and woodlands, for my part, Till I should spy them out. And so when down the western sky The sun had dropped at last, Right softly and right cunningly From out the house I passed. BALLADS. 107 It was as if awake I dreamed, All Nature was so sweet Tl~e sn~all round dandelions seemed Like st~rs beneatb my feet. J?res}i greenness as I went along Tlie grass did see in to take, And birds beyond tlie time of song liept singing for iny sake. Tlie dew o'erran tite lily's cup, Tlie ground-moss shone so well, That if tlie sky were down or up, ~NTas bard for me to tell. I never fblt my l~eart to sit So ligl0tly on its throne Ab, wlio knew what would come of it, ~Vith fitil%v folk al~~i~e An hour, -`~iiotl~er l~our wont by, Al] liarniloss arts I tried, And tried iii ~~ain, and wearily ThIy hopes within me died. No tent of moonsbine, and no ring Of dancers could I find, - The fairy rich flAk and their king For once would be m~kind! 108 BALLADS. My spirit, nameless fear oppressed My co~irage wei~t adrift, As all out of tl~e low dark west The clouds began to lift. I lost my way wiH~in il~e wood, - The path I could not guess, ~Vhen,`leaven be praised, befi're me stood i~Iy cousin Nicholas Right tendeAy within liis arm My shrinking l~and lie drew lie spoke so low, "these damps will har~ My little Tricksey True." I know not l~ow it was: my shame In new delight was drowned; `lis accent gave my rustic name Almost a royal sound. He bent his cheek against my face, - lie whispered ill my ear, " Wl~y came you to this dismal place? Tell me, my little dear! 13etwixt the boughs that o'er us hung The light began to fall His praises loosed my silent tongue, - At last I told him all. BALLADS. LO9 I felt his lips my forehead tonch 1 shook and could not stand The flug 1 coveted so much ~as sliiiiii~g on n0y hand! ~~e talked about the little elves And faii'ies of tlie grove, And then ~ve talked about ourselves, And then ~ve talked of love. ~~as at the ending of tlie lai~e, - The garden yet to pass, 1 offered back his ring agalil To my good Nicholas. Dear Tricksey, doii't you understand, You foolisl~ little tl~ing," He said, " that 1 must have tlie hand, As ~vell as l~ave t1~e ring? "To-nigl~t -just now! 1 pray you wait! The hand is little wortl~! "Nay darling - now! we`re at the gate! And so he had them both! -4 C~AZY ~V\~~~s?TC)Fj~L~F\& -~ - -~. - 27- -`w;~}iyf' - -~~ — ~~ - - -.~~~- ~2~ ElGIlBORED by a maple wood, - - ~)i)\ Diii~ ai~~1 dnsty, old and lo~v — ~ Thus oiir littl~ schoolhouse stood, - T~vo ai~d t~veuty years ago. -On the roof of clapboards, drie~1 ~ Smood~ly in tlie summer l~eat, ~ Of the hundred boys that ti4ed, H Never ouc could keep his feet. Near the door tlie cross-roads were, A stone's tliro~v, perl~aps, a~vay, And to read tlie sign-hoard tl~ere, ~Iade a pastime every Jay. lle ~vho turned tlie index down, So it pointed on tlie sign fo the nearest market-town, we thought, a painter fine And il~e childish wonder rose, As we gazed with puzzled looks On tlie letters,good as tl~ose Printed in our spelling-books. BALL~WS. 111 Near it was a well, - how deep! ~With its bucket warped and dry, Broken curb, and leaning sweep, And a plum-tree growing by, ~~hich, with low and tangly top, ~Iade il~e grass so b nglit and cool, Travellers would somet mes stop, For a half-hour's rest - in school, Not an eye could keep the place Of the lesson then, - intent Each to con the stranger's face, And to see il~e road he went. Scattered are we far and wide, - Careless, cui4ous children then; Wanderers some, and some have died Some, il~ank God, are honest men. But, as playmates, large or small, Noisy, thoughtful, or demure, I can see them, one and all, The great woAd in miniature. Common flowers, with common names, Filled the woods and meadows round: Dandelions with their flames Smothered flat against il~e ground; BALLADS. ~Iullein stocks, ~vith gray braids set ~`ull of yeIlo~; thisHes, speared Violets, purple i~ear to jet; Crowfoot, and the old-man's-beard. And along the dusty way, Thick as priats of naked feet, Iron-weeds and ft~iinel gay Blosson~ed in the sun~mer l~eat. Hedges of wild blackberries, Pears, aad honey-locusts tall, Spice~wood, and " good apple-trees," - ~Vell enough we knew them all. But tlie ripest blackberries, Nor the mulleins topped with gold, Peach nor honey.locust trees, Nor the flowers, when all. are told, Pleased us like tlie cabin, near Which a silver river ran, And where lived, for many a year, Christopl~er, the crazy mal). Hair as white as snow lie had, Mixing with a beard that fell D~'wn his bi'east; if l~e were mad, Passed our little wits to tell. BALLADS. 113 In his eyes' unf~thomett blue Burned a ray so clear and bright, Oftentimes we said we k!)ew it would shame the candlelight. ~iystic was the iife lie led; Picking herbs ill secret nooks, - Finding, as the old folks said, Tongnes in trees aiid books in brooks." Wakii~g sometimes ill the gloom Of tlie solemn midjie night, lle bad seei~ liis narrow room Full of angels dressed in white; So he said in all good faith, And oiie day, with tearful eye, Told us that lie heard old Death Sliar~~ening liis scythe, close by. Whether it were prophecy, Or a dream, I cannot say; But good little Emily Died the evening of that day. In tlie woods, where up and down \Ve had searched, and only seen Adder's-tongue, with dull, dead brown, ~iottled with the heavy green 1.5 114 BALLADS. May-apples, or wild birds sweet, Going through the shadows dim, Spirits, with white, noiseless feet, Walked, he said, and talked with h~ffl~ " What is all tlie toiling for, And the spinning? " he would say; " See il~e lilies at my door, - Never dressed a queen as they. "lle who gives the ravens food For oui' wants as well will care; o my children! lle is good, - Better than your fathers are." So he lived fi'oin year to year, Never toiling, mystery-clad, - Spirits, if they did appear, Being all the friends lie had. Alternating seasons sped, And there fell no night so rough, ~ But his cabin fire, he said, ~Iade it light and warm enough. Soft and slow our steps would be, As the silver river ran, Day~ when we had been to see Christopher, the crazy inan. BALLADS. 11~ Soft and slow, to number o'er The delights he said lie had; Wondenng always, more and more, Wliether he were wise or mad. On a hill-side next the 51110, Where il~e schoolboys quiet keep, And to seed the clovers run, He is lying, fast asleep. But at last, (to Heaven be praise,) Gabi4el his bed will find, Giving love for lonely days, And for visions, his right mind. Sometimes, when I think about How he lived among the flowers, Gently going in and out, With no cares nor fretful hours, Of the deep serene of light, In his blue, unflthoined eyes, Seems the childish f~ncy right, That could half believe him wise. 1 ~ 6 BALLADS. THE FERRY OF GALLAWAY. IN the stormy waters of Gallaway N~Iy boat bad been idle the livelong day, Tossii~g and tumbling to and fro, For the wind was high and the tide was low. The tide was low and tlie wind was high,. And we were heavy, my heart and I, For not a traveller all il~e day Had crossed il~e ferry of Gallaway. At set o' th' sun, the clouds outspread Like wings of darkness overhead, ~Vhen, out o' th' west, iny eyes took heed Of a lady, riding at full speed. The hoof.strokes struck on the flinty hill Like silver ringing on silver, till I saw il~e veil in her fiiir hand float, And flutter a signal for my boat. The waves ran backward as if`ware Of a presence more than mortal fair, And my little craft leaned down and lay With her side to fl~' sands o' th' Gallaway. BALLADS. 117 "llaste, good boatman! haste!" she cried, "And row me over the otber side And she stript from her finger tlie shining ring, And gave it me for il~e ferrying. "~Voe`5 me! my Lady, I may not go, For the wind is high and th' tide is low, And rocks like dragons lie in the wave, - Slip back on your finger the ring you gave!" "Nay, nay! for the rocks will be mclted down, And tlie waters, il~ey never will let me drown, And the wind a pilot will prove to il~ee, For my dying lover, he waits for me! Then bridle-nbbon and silver spur She put in my hand, but I answered her " The wind is high and the tide is low, - I must not, dare not, and will not go!" ller face grew deadly white widi pain, And she took her champing steed by th' mane, And bent his neck to th' ribbon and spur That lay in my hand, - but I answered her: ` Though you should proffer me twice and thrice Of ring and ribbon and steed, the price, - The leave of kissing your lily4ike hand! I never could row you safe to th' land." lIs BALLADS. "Then God have mercy!" she faintly cried, "For iny lover is dying il~e other side! o cruel, 0 ~ruellest Gallaway, Be parted, and make me a path, I pray!" Of a sudden, the sun shone large and bright As if he were staying away the night, And il~e rain on the river fell as sweet As tlle pitying tread of an angel's feet. And spanning the water froin edge to edge A rainbow stretched like a golden bridge, And I put the rein in her band so fair, And she sat in her saddle, tli' queen o' th' air. And over the river, from edge to edge, She rode on the shifting and shimmering bridge, And landing safe on the farH~er side, - "Love is il~y conqueror, Deail~! " she cried. OUR unwise purposes are wisely crossed; Being small ourselves, we must essay small fl~ings: Th' adventurous mote, with wide, outwearied wing~ Crawling across a water-drop, is lost. BliLADS. RFVOLUTIONARY STORY. "GOOD mother, wbat quaint legend are you readiiig. In that old-fttshioned book? Beside your door I`ve been this bM~hour pleading All vainly for one look. "About your chair tlie little birds fly bolder Than in tiie ~voods il~ey fly, ~Vitl0 heads dropt slautwise, as if o'er your shoulder They read as they went by Each with his glossy collar ruffling double Around his neck so slin~, Even as with that atiuospliere of trouble, Through which our blessings swim. " Is it that years tl~ro~v on us chillier shadows, The longer time they run, That, with your sad face flouting yonder meadows, Yon creep into the sun? I`11 sit upon the ground and hear your stoi~." Sadly she shook her head, And, pushing back the thin, white veil of glory `Twixt her and heaven, she said: 120 BALLADS. Ali! wondenng child, I knew not of your pleading; ~Iy thoughts were chained, indeed, Upon my book, and yet wl~at you call reading I have no skill to read. There was a time once when I f~ad a lover; ~Vhy look you in such donbt? True, I am old now - ninety years and over: A crumpled flower ft~ll out From`twixt il~e Look-leaves. " Seventy years they`ve pressed it: `T was like a living flame, \~Then he il~at plucked it, by H~e plucking blessed it: I knew the smile il~at came, And flickered on her lips in wannish splendor, ~Vas lighted at that flower, For even yet its radiance, ft~int and tender, Reached to its primal hour. "God bless you! seventy years since it was gathered?' "Ay, I remember well And in her old hand, palsy-struck, and witl~ered, She hAd it up to smell. And is it true, as poets say, good mother, That love can never die? ~nd that for all it gives unto another It grows the richer? " " Ay, BALLADS. 121 L~ The wild wall-brier, fi'orn spring till summer closes, All the great woAd around, Hangs by its thorny arms to keep its roses From off the low, black ground; And love is like it: sufferings but try it; Death but evokes il~e might That, all too mighty to be thwarted by it, Breaks through into the light." Then frosty age may wr~p about its bosom The light of fires loi~g dead?" I~issiug il~e piece of dust she called a blossom. She shut the book, and said You see you ash-tree wid~ its thick leaves, blowing The blue side out? (Great Power, Keep its head green!) ~Iy sweetheart, in the mowing Beneath it found my flower. "A mile off all il~at day the shots were flying, And mothers, from il~e door, t~ooked for the sons, who, on their faces lying, ~Vould come home never more. Across il~e battle-field the dogs went whining I saw, from where I stood, lIorses with quivering flanks, and strained eyes, shiniiig Like thin skins full of blood. 16 122 BALLADS. "Brave fellows we had then: there`vas my neighbor, The BAtish lines he saw Took liis old scyil~e and ground it to a sabre, And mowed il~ern down like straw! " And tl~cre were women, il~en, of giant spirit, - Nay, though tl~e blushes start, The garfl~ents H~eir degenerate race inherit liang loose about tl~e heart. "~Vhere was I, child? how is my story going?" ~Vhy, where by yonder tree Wiil~ leaves so rough your sweetheart, in the mowing, Gail~ered your flower!" "Ah me! "My poor lad dreamed not of the red-coat devil, That, just for pastin~e, drew To his bright epaulet his musket level, And shot him tl~rougli and through. Beside him I was kuceling the next minute From il~e red grass lie took The shaftered hand up, and the flower ~vas in it You saw within my book." "lle dicd." "Then you have seen some stormy wea4~er? more of foul than fair; Ai~d all the snows we should have shared together Have fallen on my hair." BALLADS. 12e~ "And has your life been worth the living, moil~er, With all its sorrows? " I`d live it o'er again, were there no oil~er, For this one memory." I. answered soft, - I felt the place was holy, - One ~naxim stands approved: "They know the best of life, however lowly, Who ever have been loved." JUST here and there with ~ome poor little ray Of lovely sort, the web of life is crossed; Where a good impulse found in action play, - Where a true word was said: the rest is lost. 124 BALLADS. HOPE in our hearts doth oi0ly stay Like a traveller at an inn, Who Aseth up at the break of day His journey to begin. Faith, when her soul l~as known il~e blight Of noisy doubts ai~d fears, Goes thencefbrward claJ in the light Of the still eternal years. Truth is Truth: no more in the prayers Of the righteous Pharisee; No t~ss in the humblest sinner that wears This poor mortality. But Love is greatest of all: no loss Can shadow its face with gloom, - As glorious hanging oi~ the cross As breaking out of the tomb. ~~oug~t~ aub ~~t~rt'~. THANKSGIVING. FOR the sharp conflicts I have had with sin, ~Vherein I have been wedged and pressed Nigh unto death, I thank Thee, with il~e rest Of my befallings, Lord, of brighter guise, And named by mortals, good, \Yhich to my hungry heart have given food, Or costly entertainment to my eyes. For I can only see, ~~~rith spirit truly reco~ciled to Thee, In the sad evils with our lives that blend, A means, and not an end: Since Thou wert free To do thy will - knewest the bitter worth Of sin, and all its possibility, Ere that, by thy decree, ~28 TflOU(;HTh AND THEORIES. The ancient silence of eternity Was broken by tlie music of`nan's birth. Theiefore I lay my brows Discrowned of youtli, within tl)y gracious hands, Or rise while daybreak dew is oi~ tlie boughs To strew tliy road with sweets, for tl)y commands Do make tlie current of my life to run Through lost aiid cavernous ways, Bordered with cloudy days, Iii its slow woi'kh~g out into il~e sun. llills, clap your hands, and all ye mountains, shout; Ilie, fainting hart, to where the waters flow Children of men, put off your fear and doubt; The Lord who chasteneil~, loveth you, for, lo! The wild herb's wounded stalk lie cares about, And shields the ravens when tlie rough winds blow lie sendetli down the drop of shining dew To ligl~t the daisy from l~er house of death, And shall lie, tl~en, fbrget il~e like of you, 0 ye, of little fi~ith lie speaketh to the willing soul and heart By dreams, and in the visions of the night, And happy is the man who, for his part, Rejoicetli in the light Of all liis revelations, whether found In the old books, so sacredly upbound, TilOUOHTh AND THEORIES. 129 And clasped with golden clasps, or whether writ Throngli later instillations of Ilis power, ~here lie that runnetli still perceiveth it Illuminating every humble flower That springetli from tlie gi'ouiid. rJ~~ te.~tiinony all the time is sure Flie sn~a~lest star that keepetli in tlie night Ilis silver candle bright, And every deed of good tliat anywhere ~Iakctli tlie hands of holy women white ~ll sw~ct religious work, all earnest prayer, ar utteucd, or unutterable speech; \Vl~atcvcr things are peaceable and pore, ~Vliatever things are right, These are I~is witnesses, ay, all and each Thrice liappy is the man who dotli obey The Lord of Love, through love; wlio fears to break The ri~liteous law for tli' law's ngliteous sake; And wiio, by daily use of blessings, gives Th~nks f~~r the daily blessings lie receives Ilis spi1'it grown so reverent, it dares (~ast tlie poor shows of reverence away, 1~elieving they ~Iore pl~~rify the Giver, who partake Of I~is good gifts, than they who fast nnd make Burnt ~ifferings and Pharisaic prayers. 17 130 THOUGHTS AND TREORiES. The wintry snows that blind The air, and blight what things were glorified By summer's reign, we do not think unkind ~Vhen that we see them cIiai~geJ, afar and wide, To rain, il~at, fretting in the rose's face, Bungs out a softer grace, Aiid makes tlie troops of rustic daffodils Sl~ake out tlieir yellow skirts along il~e hills, And all tlie valleys blush from side to side. And as we climb the stair Of rough and ugly fortune, by the proj)s Of fi~ith and charity, and hope and prayer, To tlie serene and beauteous mountain-tops Of our best I~uman possibility, ~liere haunts tl~e spirit of eternity, Tlie world below looks fair, - Its seelniiig inequalities subdued, And level, all, to pu'~oses of good. I il~ank thee, Gracious Lord, For the divine award Of strength il~at helps me up the heavy height~ Of mortal sorrow, where, through tears forlorn, My eyes get glimpses of the authentic lights Of love's eternal morn. For thereby do I trust That our afflictions spring not from the dust, iifOUGHTh AND THEORIES. 131 And tl~at they are not sent In arbitrary chastisement, Nor as avengers to put out the light And let our souls loose in some damn~d night Tbat holds the balance of thy glory, just; But rather, that as lessons they are meant, And as tlie fire tempers the iron, so Are we refined by woe. I ti~ank Thee for my common blessings, still Rained through tl)y ~vill Upon my head; the air That knows so many tunes wbicli grief beguile, Breathing its light love to me every~vliere, And fhat will still be kissing all tiie while. I thank Thee that my childhood's vanished days ~Vere cast in i~untl ways, ~Yhere I beheld, with gladness ever new, That sort of vagrant dew ~Vhicli lodges in tlie beggarly tents of such Vile weeds as virtuous plants disdain to touch, And with rough-bearded burs, night after night, Ifpgathered by the morning, tender and true, Into her clear, chaste light. Such ways I learned to know That flee will cannot go ~utside o~ mercy; learned to bless llis name 132 THOUGHTh AND THE OR JES. Whose revelations, ever il~us renewed Along the vai4ed year, in field and wood, jlis loving care proclaim. I thank Thee that the glass and the red rose Do what il~ey can to tell llo~v spirit tl~rougli all forms of matter flows For every thistle by tlie common way ~Vearing its 1ion~ely beauty, - for each spring That s~veet and homeless, runneili where it will, For nigl~t and day, For tlie alternate seasons, - eve~~tliing Pertaining to life's marvellous miracle. Even for fl~e lowly flower T1~at, living, dwarfed and bent Under some beetling rock, in gloom pro~und, Far from her pretty sisters of the ground, And shut fi~oa~ sun and shower, Seemeth endowed with human discontent. Ah! what a tender hold She taketh of us in our own despite, - A sadly-solemn creature, Crooked, despoiled of nature, Leaning from out the shadows, dnll and cold, To lay her little white face in the light. The chopper going by her rude abode, TllOUGfli?S AND TllEOi?1ES~ 13~ Ibinks of his own rough but, his old wife's smile, And of the bare young feet That run tlirougb tli' frost to meet His coming, and forgets the weary load Of sticks that beads his shoulders down tlie wblle. I thank thee, Lord, il~at Nature is so ~vise, So capable of painting in men 5 eyes Pictures whose airy lines Do blend and interfuse ~~ritli all the darkness that about us lies, - That clearly in our hearts Her law slie writes, Reservin~ cunnin~ ast our mortal arts, Whereby slie is avenged for all lier slights. And I would make tlianksgivii~g For the sweet, double living, That gives tlie pleasures that have passed away, The sweetness and the sunshine of to-day. I see the furrows ploughed and see iliem plaiited, See tlie young cornstalks rising green ai~d fair Mute things are fi'iendly, and I an~ acquainted With all tlie luininous creatures of tlie air ~nd with the cunning workers of tlie ground That have their trades born with them, and with all The insects, large and sa~all, That fill the Summer with a wave of sound. t34 THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. I watch the wood-bird line ~er pretty nest, with eyes that never tire, And watcl~ tlie sunbean~s trail their wisps of fire Along the bloomless bushes, till they shine. Tlie ~~iolet, gatbeAng up her tender blue From tli' dull ground, is a good sight to see And it deligliteth me To bave the mushroom push his round head through Tlie dry ai~d brittle stubble, as I pass1 Ilis smooth and sl~ining coat, half rose half fawn, But just put on And to have April slip her showery grass Under my feet, as sl0e was used to do, In the dear Spring-times gone. I make the brook, my Nile, And hour by hour beguile, Tracking its devious course Through briery banks to its mysterious source, That I discover, always, at my will, - A little silver star, Under the shaggy forehead of some hill, From travelled ways afar. Forgetting wind and flood, I build my house of unsubstantial sand, Shaping the roof upon my double hand, Ai~d setting up the dry and sliding grains, THOUGHTS AY%L) THEORIES. 13.~ With infinite pains, In the similitude Of beam and rafter, - then ~~iiere to the oround tlie dock its broad leaf crooks, I hunt long`vbiles to find ilie little men `~bat I have read of in my story-books. Often, h~ la~vless`vise, Some obvious work of duty I delay, Taking my fill Of an uneasy liberty, and still Close shutting up my eyes, As though it were not given me to see The avenging gli ost of opportunity Thus slighted, far away. I linger when I know That I should fbrward go; Now, haply for the katydid's wild shrill, Now listening to the low, Dull noise of mill-wheds - counting, now, the row Of clouds about the shoulder of the hill. My heart anew rejoices Iii th' old familiar voices That come back to me like a lullaby; Now`t is the church-bell's call, ~nd now a teamster's whistl~, - now, perhaps, The silvery lapse 136 THOUGhTS AND TIlEOLIES. Of waters in among the reeds that meet; And now, dow~-dropping to a whispery fall, Some milkmaid, chiding ~vitli love's privilege, Through tlie green wall Of tlie dividii~g hedge, Aiid the so sadly eloquent reply Of il~e belated cow-b~v, low and sweet. I see, as in a dream, Tiie fi~rmer plodding home behind l'is team, ~ith all the tired shadows following, And see liim staudii~g in l~is threshing-floor, The hungry cattle gathered in a ring About tlie great barn-door. I see him in tlie sowing, And see liim in tlie mowing, The air about liim thick with gray-winged moths; The day's work nearly over, And ilie long meadow ndged with double swatlis Of sunset4ight and clover. Wl~en falls the time of solemn Sabbath rest, In all he lias of best I see him going (for he never fails) To church, in either equitable hand A shining little olie, aiid all his band Trooping about him like a flock of quails. 7YIOUGIlTS AND 1'WEORlE~ 137 \Vith necks bowed low, and bid to half their length Under ilie jutting load of new-made hay, I see tlie oxen give their liberal strength Day after day, And see tlie mower stay His scythe, and leave a patei~ of grass to spread Its shelter round the bed Of tlie poor fliglited ground-bird ii~ liis way. I see il~e joyous vine, And see tlie wheat set up its rustling spears, And see ti~e Snn with golden fingers sign The promise of full ears. I see tiie slender Thloon Time after time grow old and round b~ tii' face1 And see the Autumn take tiie Summer's place, And shake the ripe nuts do'vi~, In their thick, bitter hulls of green and brown, To make the periods of the school-boy's tune I see the apples,`vitl~ their russet cheeks Shaming tile wealth of June And see the bean-pods, gay wiU~ purple freaks, AI0d all the hills with yellow leaves o'erblo~~'n, As tbrougl~ the fading woods I walk alone, And hear the wind o'erhead ~ouching the joyless boughs ai~d making ~noan1 Like some old crone, \Vho on her withered fingers counts her dead 18 THOUGHTS AND TH~OR1ES. I hear the beetle's hum, and see tiie gnats ~a~~~in~ alon~ tlie air in strincrs of ~et, b And from their stubs 1 see the weak-eyed bats ~lyii~g an lioui' hefo~e tlie Sun is set. Pictui~e on picture crowds, And by tlie gray and priestlike silence led, ()omes the first star through evening's steely gates And chides il~e day to bed Within the ruddy curtains of tlie clouds; So gently com'st thou, Death, To liim who waits, in tlie assurance of our blessed faith, To be acquaiiited with tliy quiet arms, Ilis good deeds, great and small, Builded about him like a silver wall, And beanug back tlie deluge of alarms. The mother doth not tenderer appear ~\Then, from her heart her tired daAing laid, She tnms liis cradle all about wiH~ shade, And will not kiss liis sleepy eyes for fear. [ see the windows of the homestead bright With the warm evening- light, And by the winter-fire 1 see the gray-haired sire Serenely sitting, Forgetf\~l of the work-day toil and care, The old wife by his elbow, at her knitting; THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. 139 The cricket on the h~arth-stone siliging shnll, And the spoiled darling of the house at will Climbing the good man's chab~, A furtive glimpse to catch Of her fair face in his round silver watch, That she in lier high privilege must wear, And listen to the music that is in it, Though only for a minute. f thank thee, Lord, for every saddest cross; Gain comes to us through loss, The while we go, Blind travellers holding by the wall of time, And seeking out through woe The things that are eternal and sublime. Ah! sad are they of whom no poet writes Nor ever any story-teller hears, - The childless nioil~ers, who on lonesome nights Sit by their fires and weep, having the chores Done for tlie day, and time enough to see All the wide floors [3wept clean of playthings; they, as needs must be, liave time enough for tears. But there are griefs more sad Than ever any childless mother liad, - ~ou know them, who do smother Nature's cries Under poor masks ~4O THOUGHTh AND THEORIRS. Of smiling, slow despair, - \Vho put your white and unadorning hair Out of your way, and keep at homdy tasks, Unbiest wifl~ any praises of men's eyes, Till DeaH~ coa~es to you with his piteous care, And to unmarriageable beds you go, Saying, "1t is not much;`t is well, if so ~Ve only be made fair And looks of love await us wheu we rise:' ~1y cross is ~~ot as hard as theirs to bear, And yet alike to Inc are storms, or cairns; iNly life's young joy, The brown-checked farmer-boy, ~Vho led the daisies with liirn like his lambs, - Carved his sweet picture ou my milkii~g-pail, And cut my name npon liis tlirasliii~g- fl~il, Oiie day stopped singing at liis plough; a' as Before tl~at sunimer-tirne was gone, tlie grass lIad choked il~e path which to tl~e sheep-field led, ~Vhere 1 bad watched lii in tread So oft 011 evening's trail, - A shining oat-sheaf J~alanced on his head, And nodding to the gale. Rough wintry weather came, and when it sped, The emerald wave Swelling above my little sweetheart's grave, With such bright, bubbly flowers was set about, i~HOUGHTS AND TIlEORIES. Lii I thought be blew il~em out, And so took comfbrt that lie was not dead. For I was of a rude and ignorai~t crew, And hence believed whatever things I saw ~Vei'e tlie expression of a hidden law And, with a wisdom wiser tl~an I knew, Evoked tlie sin~ple meaniz0gs out of things By childlike questionings. And lie they named with sliudderings of fear lIad never, in liis life, been half so near As wl~eii I sat all day with cheeks uiikissed, And listened to tlie whisper, very low, TJ~at said our love above death's wave of woe ~Vas joined together like tlie seamless mist. God's yea and nay Are not so fi~r away, I said, but I caii l~ear them wliei~ I please Nor could I niiderstai~~i Their doiibtii~g fiiitl~, wlio only touch IJis hand Across tlie bi ad, bewildering celituries. And often yet, upon the shining track Of -tl~e old fi~itb, come back r'\Iy childish fancies, never quite subd~ed; And when the sunset shuts up in the wood The wliispery sweetness of uncertainty, 112 THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. And Night, with misty locks that loosely drop About his ears, brings rest, a welcome boon, Flaying his pipe with mai~y a starry stop That makes a golden snarling in his tune; I see my little lad TInder the leafy shelter of il~e boughs, Driving his noiseless, visionary cows, Clad in a beauty I alone can see: Laugh, you, who never had Your dead come back, but do not take from mc The harmless comfbrt of my fbolish dream, That these, our mortal eyes, Which outwardly reflect tlie earth and skies Do introvert upon eternity: And tbat the shapes you deem Imaginations, just as clearly fall; Each from its own divine ongin al, And through some snbtle element of light, Upon the inward, spiritual eye, As do il~e things which round about them lie, Gross and material, on the exten~al sight. THOUGll7~ AND THEORIES 1.43 TllE BRIDAL VEIL. ~VE`RE maiti4ed, they say, and you think ~ou have won me, - ~Vell, take this white veil from my head, and look on me: Ilere`5 matter to vex you, and matter to gfleve you, flere`5 doubt to distrust you, and faith to believe you, - I am all as you see, common earth, common de~v Be wary, and mould me to roses, not rue! Ah! sba~e out the filmy thing, fold after fold, And see if you have me to keep and to hold, - Look close on my heart - see tl~e worst of its sinning - It is not yours to~day for il~e yesterday's w~nning - The I)ast is not mine - I am too proud to bon~ow - You must grow to new heights if I love you to-morrow. \Yc`re married! I`m plighted to hold up your I)r9ises, As tlie tui~ at your feet does its handful of daisies; That way lies my honor, - my pathway of pride, But, mark you, if greener grass grow eifl~er side, I shall know it, and keeping in body with you, Shall walk in my spirit with feet on ~e dew! 144 iWOUCHi'S AND THEO1?iLS. We`re niarried! Oli, pray that our love do not fail! I have wings flatten~~d down and hid under my veil: They are subtle as light - you can never undo them, And swift in their flight - you can never pursue them And spite of al~ c1~sping, and spite o~ all l~ands, can slip like a shadow, a dream, fiom your hands. Nay, call me not cruel, and fear not to take me, I am yours for my lifbtin~e, to be what you make me, - To wear my white veil for a sign, or a cover, As you sliall be proven my lord, or my lover A cover for peace tl~at is dead, or a token Of bliss that can never be wntten or spoken. ~`HOUGflTh AND THEORIES. 14b THE SPECIAL DARLING ALoNG tbe grassy lane one day, Outside the dull dd-f~shioned town, A dozen children were at play; From noontide till tlie even-fall, CuAy-beads flaxen and curly4~eads brown ~Yere busily bobbing up and down Behind tlie blackberj7-wall. And near these merry-makers wlld A piteous little creature was, With face unlike the face of a chlld, - Eyes fixed, and seeming fitozen still, And legs all doubled up in tli' grass, Disjointed fi'om liis will. No dream deceived liis dreary hours, Nor made him merry nor made him grave; He did not hear tlie children call, Tumbling under il~e blackberry-wall, With shoulders white with flowers But sat with gre at wide eyes one way, And body limberly asway, Like a water-plant in a wave. He did not hear tbe little stir The ants made, working in their hills, ~ 14~ TllOUGHTS AND THEORIES. Nor see the pale, gray daffodils Lifting about him il~eir dull points, ~~ yet the ciirious grasshopper Transport his green and angular joints From bush to bush. Poor simple boy, His senses cheated of their birth, He might as well have grown in th' earth, For all he knew of joy. Near wii~r~ tne children took their fill Of play, outside the dull old town, And neighbored by a wide-flanked hill, - Where mists like phantoms up and down Moved all the time, a homestead was, With window toward the plot of grass Where sat ti'~s child, and oft and again Tender ey~s peered through the pane, Whose glances still were dim, Till leaping over the blackberry-wall, Curly-heads flaxen, brown and all, They rested at last on him. Ah, who shall say but that such love Is the type of His who made us all, And that from the Kingdom up above The eyes that note the sparrow's fail, O'er the incapable, weak and small, Watch with tenderest care: Such is my hope and prayer. TilOUGflTh AND 7liEORIES. I4~ A DREAM OF THE WEST. SUNSET! a hush is in the air, - Their gray old heads the mountains bare, As if il~e winds were saying prayer. The woodland, with its broad, green wing, Shuts up tlie insect-whispering, And lo! the Sea gets up to sing. The last red splendor fades and dies, And shadows one by one arise, To light the candles of the skies. O wildflowers, wet with silver dew! O woods, with starlight shining through! My heart is in the West, with you. Mow well I know each shrub and tree, Each climbing vine and brier I see; Like friends they seem to welcome me. Musing, I go along the streams, Sweetly believing in my dreams, For Fancy like a prophet seems. 148 TllOUGHTh AND Tll~ORIES. Beside me soft steps tread il~e sod, As in the t~viliglits gone they trod, And I unlearn my doubts, tiiai~k God. Unlearn my doubts, forget my fears, And iliat bad carelessness that sears, And makes me older ilian my years. I hear a dear, familiar tone, A loving hand clasps close iny o~vn, And earth seems made for me alone. If I my fi)rtunes could have planned, I would not have let go that band, But they must fall who learn to stand And ]iow to blend life's varied lines, What ill to find, what good to lose, ~Iy Father knoweth best to choose. ON SEEING A DROWNING MOTTh. POOR little moth! thy summer sports were done, Ilad I not happened by this pool to lie; But thou hast pierced my conscience very sore ~Vitb thy vaiu flounderings, so come ashore in the safe hollow of my helpfal hand, - Rest thee a little on the warin~, dry sand, Then crawling out into the friendly sun, As best thou mayest, get thy wet wings dry. 150 THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. Ay, it lias touched my conscience, little moth, To see thy bright wings made for other use, Haply for just a moment's chance abuse, Dragging il~ee, thus, to death; yet am I lot ii To heed il~e lesson, for I fain would jie Along tiie margin of this water low And watch the sunshine run in tender gleams Down the gray elders - watch those flowers of light If flowers they be, and not the golden dreams Left in lier grassy pillows by the night, - The dandelions, that trim the shadows so, And watch tlie wild flag, with her eyes of blue ~Vide ~pen for tlie sun to look into, - Her green skirts laid along the wind, and she, As if to mar fair fortune wantonly, ~Vading along tlie water, half her height. Fain would I lie, with arms across my breast, As quiet as you wood-duck on her nest, That sits tl~e livelong day with ruffled quills, Waiting to see the little yellow bills Breach the white walls about il~em, - would that I Could find out some sweet charm wherewith to buy A too uneasy conscience, - fl~en would Rest Gather and fold me to itself; and last, Forgetting the hereafter and the past, My soul would have the present for its guest, And grow immortal. So, my little fool, Thou`rt back upon the water! Lord! liow vain THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. 1~r1 The strife to save or man or moth from pain Merited justly, having thy wild way To travel all the air, thou comest here To try with spongy feet the treacherous pool; Well, thou at least hast made one truth more clear, ~Ien make their fate, and do not fate obey. L52 1`HO UGH7'S AYD 7'ilEORTFS. GOOD AND EVII~. The evil that men do lives after them, The good is oft interred wiUi their bones. JUMUS C~sA~ ONCE wl~en ti~e messenger that stays For all, beside me Stood, I mused on what great Sl~akspeare says Of evil and of good. And shall the evil I have done Live after me? I said; Whei lo! a splendor like ti~e sun Shon~ round about my bed. Ai~d a sweet spirit of the skies Near me, yet all apart, In whispers like the low wind's sigils, Spake to my listening heart; Saying, your poet, reverenced ilrn~ For once hath been unwise; The good we do lives after us, The evil`t is that dies! TilOUGHTS AND THEORIES. 158 Evil is eartily, of tile earth, - A thi~ig of pain and crime, That scarcely sends a shadow forth Beyond the bounds o~ time. But good, in substance, dwells above This discontented sphere, Extending only, through God's love, Uncertain shadows here. 7'HOUGH7'S AND THEORIES STROLLER'S SONG. THE clouds all round the sky are black, As it never would shine again; But I`11 sling my wallet over my back, And trudge in spite of il~e rain! And if there rise no star to guide My feet when day is gone, I`11 shift my wallet the other side, And trudge right on and on. For this of a truth I always note, And shape my course thereby, That Nature has never an overcoat To keep her flirrows dry. And how should the hills be clothed with grain, The vales with flowers be crowned, But for the chain of the silver rain That draws them out ~f the ground! THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. 15u~ So I will trudge with heart eJate, And feet with courage shod, For that wiud~ men call diance and fate Is the handiwork of God. There`5 time for tlie night as well as t]~e morn, For the dark as tlie siJilling sky Tlie grain of the corn and tlie flower unborn liave i4glits as wefl as I. 7YfOU&HTS AND TfiEORiES. A LESSON. ONE Autumn-time I went into the woods ~ ~Vhen Nature grieves, And wails il~e drying up of the bright floods Of Summer leaves. The rose bad drawn the green quilt of the grass Over her head, And, taking off her pretty, rustling Jiess, Had gone to bed. And, while the wind went ruffling through her h~~wer To do her harm, Slielay and slept away the frosty hour, All safe and warm. The little bird that came when May was new, And sang her best, Had gone, - I put my double hand into Her chilly nest. TllOUGH1~ AND 7WEOlllES. Flien, sitting down beneath a naked tree, I looked about,Saying, in these, if there a l~sson be, I`11 spy it out. And presently the teaching that was meant I thought I saw, - That I, in tnal should patiently consent To God's great law. I~8 THOtIGHTS AND TiiEO1~1ES ON S~El~G A WILD BIRD. EAUTTFUL symbol of a fi'eer life, Knowing no purpose, and yet true to one; Would I could learn thy wisdom, I who i~n This way and that, striving against my strife. No fancy vague, no object half unknown, Diverts il~ee fi'oin thysdf. By stops and starts I live tlie while by little broken parts A thousand lives, - not one of all, my own. Thou sing'st thy full heart out, and low or high Flyest at pleasiire; wlio of us can say lle lives liis inmost self e'en for a day, And does the thing he would? alas, not I. We hesitate, go backward, and return, And when the earil~ with living sunshine gleams We make a darkness round us with our dreams, And Wait for that which we ourselves should earn. For we shall work out answers to our needs If we have continuity of will To hold our shifting purposes until They germinate, and bring forth fruit b~ deeds. THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. 159 ~Ve ask and hope too much, - too lightly press Toward the end sought, and haply jearn, at length, That we have vainly dissipated strength ~Vbich, concentrated, would have brought success. But Truth is sure, and can afford to wait Our slow perception, (error ebbs and flows;) ITer cssence is eternal, and she knows The world must swing round to her, soon or late. 160 THOUCHTS A1\tD THEORIES. RICH, THOUGH POOR. RED in the east tl~e morning broke, And in three chambers three men woke; One il~rough curtains wove that night In the loom of the spider, saw the light Lighting fl~e rafters black and old, And sighed for tlie genii to make them gold. One in a chamber, high and fair, With panelled ceilings, enamelled rare, On the purple canopy of his bed Saw the light with a sluggard's dread, And buried his sullen and sickly face Deep in his pillow fringed with lace. One, from a low and grassy bed, With the golden air for a coverlet; No ornaments had he to wear But his curling beard and his coal-black hair; His wealth was his acres, and oxen twain, And health was his cheerfiil chamberlain. THOUc~HTh AND THEORiES~ 160 Night fell stormy -" Woe is me!" Sighed so wearily two of the three; "The corn I planted to-day will sprout," Said one, "and the roses be blushing out;" And his heart with its joyful hope o'erran: Think you he was the poorest man? 21 162 THOUGHTS AAD THEO~E~ SIXTEEN. SUi~P0SE your hand with power supplied, Say, would you slip it`neath my hair, And turn it to il~e golden side Of sixteen years? Suppose you dare? And I stood here with smiling mouil~, Red cheeks, and hands all softly white, Exceeding beautiful with youth, And that some sly, consenting sprite, Brought dreams as bright as dreams can be, To keep the shadows from my brow, And plucked down hearts to pleasure me, As you would roses from a bough; What could I do then? idly wear While all my mates went on before - The bashful looks and golden hair Of sixteen years, and nothing more~ Nay, done with youth is my desire, To Time I give no false abuse, Experience is the marvellous fire That wdds our knowledge into use. TJJOUGHTS AND THEORIES. ~63 And all its fires of heart, or brain, Whcre purpose into power was wrought, I`d bear, and gladly bear again, Rather than be put back one il~ought. So sigh no more, my gentle friend, That I have reached the time of day When white hairs come, and heart-beats send No blushes through the cheeks astray. For, could you mould my destiny As clay within your loving hand, I`d leave my youil~'s sweet company, And suffer back to wliere I stand. 164 THOUGHTS AND THEORJ~S. PRAYER FOR LIGllT. O WHAT is Tiiy will toward us mortals, Most lioly and High? Shall we die unto life whlle we`re living? Or live while we die? Can we serve Thee and wait on Thee only In cells, dark and low? Must the altars we build Thee be built with The stones of our woe? Shall we only attain the great measures Of grace and of bliss In the life il~at awaits us, by cruelly Warring on il~is? Or, may we still watch while we work, and Be glad while we pray? So reverent, we east the poor shows of Our reverence away! Shall the nature Thou gav'st us, pronouncing it Good, and not ill, Be warped by our pride or our passion Outside of Tiiy will? 1WOUGHi~ AND THEORIES. Shall the sins which we do in our blindness Thy mercy transtend, And drag us down deeper and deeper Through worlds without end? Or, are we stayed back in sure limits, And Thou, high above, O'enuling our trials for our triumph, Our hatreds for love? And is each soul rising, though slowly, As onward it fares, And ai;e li&"s good things and its evil The steps in the stairs? All day with my heart and my spirit, In fear and in awe, I strive to feel out through my darkness Thy light and Thy law. And this, when the sun from his shining Goes sadly away, And the moon looketh out of her chamber, Is all I can say; That lle who foresaw of transgression The might and the length, llas fashioned the law to exceed not Our poor human strengil~! 1(16 7'HOUGflTh AND THEORIES THE UNCUT LEAF. You think I do not love you! Why, Because I Lave my secret grief? Because in reading I pass by, Time and again, the uncut leaf? One rainy night you read to me Ii~ some old book, I know not what, About the woods of Eldersie, And a great hunt - I have forgot What all the story was-ah, well, It touched me, and I felt the pain With which the poor dumb creature fell To bis weak knees, then rose again, And shuddering, dying, turned about, Lifted liis antlered head in pride, And from his wounded face shook out The bloody arrows ere he died! That night I almost dared, I il~ink, To cut the leaf, and let the sun Shine in upon the mouldy ink, - You ask me why it was not done. THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. 167 Because I rail~er feel than know The truth which every soul rec~ives From kindred souls, that long ago You read me through the double leaves! So pray you, leave my tears to blot The record of my secret grief, And though I know you know, seem not Ever to see the uncut leaf. 168 THOUGHTh AND THEORiES. THE MIGHT OF TRUTH. WE are proclaimed, even against our wills - If we are silent, il~en our silence speaks - Children from tumbling on the summer-hills Come home with roses rooted in their cheeks. I think no man can make his lie hold good, - One way or other, truth is understood. The still sweet influence of a life of prayer Quickens their hearts who never bow the knee, - So come fresh draughts of living inland air To weary homesick men, far out at sea. Acquaint thyself with God, 0 man, and lo! His light shall, like a garment, round thee flow. The selfishness that with our lives has grown, Though outward grace its full expression bar, Will crop out here and there like belts of stone From shallow soil, discovering what we are. The thing most specious cannot stead the true, - Who would appear clean, must be clean all through THOUGHTS AND 7YlEORHS. 16~ In vain doth Satan say, "~Iy heart is glad, I wear of Paradise the morning gem;" While on his brow, magnificently sad, llangs like a crag his blasted diadem. Sti]l doth the truth the hollow lie invest, And al] the immortal ruin stands confessed. ~ 170 THOUGHTS AND THE O~E S. COUNSEL. TIlOUGH sin hath marked thy brother's brow Love him in sin's despite, But for his darkness, haply thou lladst never known the light. Be thou an angel to his life, And not a demon grim,Since with himself he is at strife, 0 be at peace with him. Speak gently of his evil ways And all his pleas allow, For since he knows not why he strays From virtue, how shouldst thou? Love him, though all thy love he slights, For ah, thou canst not say But that his prayerless days and nights llave taught thee how to pray. THOUGH7'S AND THEORiE& Otitside themselves all things have lLW~, The atom and ti'e sun, Thou art thysdf, perhaps, the cause Of sins which he has done. If guiltless thou, why surely tl'en Thy place is by his side, - It was for sinners, not just men, That Christ the Saviour died THE LITTLE BL ~CKSMITH. WE beard his hammer all day long On the anvil ring and ring, But he always came when the sun went down To sit on il~e gate and sing. llis little bands so hard and brown Crossed idly on his knee, And straw-hat lopping over cheeks As red as tbey could be; THOUGHTh AND THEORIES. 173 Nis blue and faded jacket trimmed ~Vith signs of work, - his feet All bare and fair upon tlie grass, lie made a picture sweet. ~`or still liis shoes, with iron shod, On tlie smithy-wall he hung; As forth lie came when the sun went down, And sat on the gate and sung. Tlie whistling rustic tending cows, ~Vould keep in pastures near, And half tlie busy villagers Lean fi~om their doors to hear. And fiom tlie time tlie bluebirds came And made the hedges bright, Until the stubble yellow grew, lie never missed a night. The hammer's stroke on tlie anvil filled liis heart wit Ii a happy ring, And that was wliy, when tlie sun`vent down, lie caine to the gate to sing. 174 THOUGHTS AND THEO~E& TWO TRAVELLERS. Two travcllers, meehng by the way, Arose, and at the peep of day Brake bread, paid reckoning, and they say Set out together, and so trode Till where upon the forking road A gray and good old man abode. There each began liis heart to strip, And all that light companiousbip That cometh of tlie eye and lip llad sudden end, for eaA~ began To ask the gray and good old man ~Vhither the roads before them ran. One, as they saw, was shining bright, With such a great and gracious light, It seemed that heaven must be in sight. "This," said the old man, "doth begin Full sweefly, but its end is in The dark and desert-place of sin. THOUGHTS AYD THEORIES. I~6, "And tliis, that seemeth all to lie In gloomy shadow, - by-and-by, Maketh the gateway of tlie sky. "Bide ye a little; fast and pray, And`twixt the good and evil way, Choose ye, my brethren, this day." And as the day was at il~e close The two wayfaring men arose, And eac1~ the road that pleased him chos~ One took il~e pathway that began So brightly, and so smoothly ran Through flowery fields, - deluded man! Ere long he saw, alas! alas! All darkly, and as through a glass, Flames, and not flowers, along the grass. Then shadows round about him fell, And in his soul he knew full well His feet were taking hold on hell. He tried all vainly to retrace His pathway; horrors blocked the place, And demons mocked him to liis face. 1~6 THOU~HTh AND THEORIES. Broken in spirit, crushed in pride, One morning by the highway-side lie fell, and all unfi4ended, die~ The other, after fast and prayer, Pursued the road that seemed less fair, And peace went with him, unaware. And when the old man saw where lay The traveller's choice, he said, "I pray, Take this to help you on the way;" And gave to him a lovely book, Wherein for guidance he must look, He told him, if the path should crook. And so, through labyrinths of shade, When terror pressed, or doubt dismayed, He walked in armor all arrayed. So, over pitfalls travelled be, And passed the gates of harlotry, Safe with his heavenly company. And when the road did low descend, He found a good inn, and a friend, And made a comfortable end. THOUGH7'S AND THEORIES. THE BLIND TRAVELLER. A POOR blind man was travelling one day, The guiding staff from out his band was gone, And the road crooked, so lie lost his way, And the night fell, and a great storm came on. He was not, therefore, troubled and afraid, Nor did lie vex the silence`viHi liis cries, But on the rainy grass his cheek lie laid, And waited for the morning sun to rise. Saying to his heart, - Be still, my heart, and wait. For if a good man happen to go by, He will not leave us to our dark estate And the cold cover of the storm, to die But lie will sweetly take us by the ii and, And lead us back into the straight highway; Full soon the clouds will have evanished, and All the wide east be blazoned with the day. 178 THOUGilTS AND THEOMES. And we are like il~at blind man, all of us, Benighted, lost! But while the storm doth fall Shall we not stay our sinking hearts up, thus, - Above us there is One who sees it all And if His name be Love, as we are told, He will not leave us to unequal strife; But to that city with the streets of golti Bnng us, and give us eveHa~~ng ~ife. TifOUGllJ'S AND 77iEORiES. 179 THE BLACKBIRD. "I could not think so plain a bird Could sing so fine a song." ONE on another against the wall Pile up the books, - I am done wiU~ them all I shall be wise, if I ever am wise, Out of my own ears, and of my own eyes. One day of tlie woods and il~eir balmy light, - One hour on il~e top of a breezy l~ill, ~Tllere in il~e sassafras all out of sight The blackbird is splitting his slender bill For ilie ease of his heart! Do you think if he sai~l I ~~~ill sing like tl~is bird with the mud~colored back And the two little spots o~ gold over his eyes, Or like to this sl~y little creature H~at flies So low to the ground, with the amethyst rings About her small throat, - all alive wliei~ she sings ~Tith a glitter of shivenng green, - for il~e rest, Gray shading to gray, witl~ tlie sheen of her breast ~alf rose and half fawn, - THOUGHTS AND 7J1{?ORtES. Or like this one so prou~I, That flutters so restless, and cries out so loud, With stiff horny beak and a topknotted head, And a lining of scarlet laid under his wings, Do you think, if he said, "I`rn ashamed to be black! Tl~at he could have shaken the sassafras-tree As he does with the song he was born to? not be! ~`HOUGHTS AND THEORIES. i~1 MY GOOD ANGEL. VERY simple are my pleasures, - o good angel, stay with me, ~Yliile I number wliat il~ey be, - Easy`t is to count my treasures. Easy`t is, - they are not many: Friends for love and company, o good angel grant to me; Strength to work; and is there any Man or woman, evil seeing In my daily walk and way, Grant, and give me grace to pray For a less imperfect being. Grant a larger light, and better, To inform my foe and me, So we quickly shall agree; Grant forgiveness to my debtor. 182 THOUGHTS AND THEORTh~. Make my heart, I pray, of kindness Always full, as clouds of showers; Keep my mortal eyes from blindness; I would see the sun and flowers. From temptation pray deliver; And, good angel, grant to me That my heart be grateful ever: Herein all my askings be.. TH&UGflTS AND THEORIES. 18a' MORE LIFE. ~VHEN spring-time prospers in the grass, And fills the vales with tender bloom, And licrht winds whisper as they pass Of snnnier days to come: In spite of all the joy she brings To flood and field, to hill and grove, This is the song my spirit sings, - More light, more life, more love! And when, her time flIlfilled, she goes So gently from her vernal place, And meadow wide and woodland glows With sober summer grace: When on the stalk the ear is set, With all the harvest promise bright, My spirit sings the old song yet, - More love, more life, more light! TllOUGHTh AND THEORIES. When stubble takes the place of grain, And shrunken streams steal slow along, And all tlie faded woods complain Like one who suffers wrong; ~Vhen fires are lit, and everywhere The pleasures of the housA~old rife, My song is solemnized to prayer, - More love, more light, more TflOUGH7~ AND 7ViEO1~1E~ CONTRADICTORY. ~VE contradictory creatures Have something in us alien to our birth, That dot ii suffuse us with the infinite, While downward through our natures Run adverse il~oughts, that only fiiid delight In the poor, perishable things of earth. Blindly we feel about Our little circle, - ever on il~e quest Of knowledge, which is only, at the best, Pushing the boundaries of our ignorai)ce out. But while we know all things are miracles, And that we cannot set ear of corn, nor tell a blade of grass The way to grow, our vanity o'erswells The limit of our wisdom, and we yet Audaciously o'erpass This narrow promontory Of low, dark laud, into the unseen glory, And with unhallowed zeal Unto our fellow.men God's judgments deal. 24 186 TflOUGllTS AND THEORIES. Sometimes along the gloom We meet a traveller, sti4king hands with whom, ~Iaketh a little sweet and tender light To bless our sight, And change the clouds around us and above rnto celestial shapes, - and this is love. Morn coineth, trailing storms, Even while she wakes a thousand grateful psalms And with her golden calms All the wide valley fills; Darkly il~ey lie below The purple fire, - tlie glow, ~~here, on d~e high tops of il~e easteru hllls, She rests her cloudy arms. And we are like the morning, - heavenly light Blowing about our heads, aiid th' dumb i~ight Before us and behind us; ceaseless ills Make up our years; and as fi'om off tlie l~ills The white mists melt, and leave tl~ei~ bare and rough, So melt fi~om us il~e fancies of our youth Until we stand against il~e last black truth Naked, and cold, and desolate enough. THOU(;llTS AND 7'HEORiES. 1S7 THIS IS ALL. TRYING, trying - always trying Falling down to save a fall; Living by the dint of dying, This is all! Giving, giving - always giving - Gail~ering just abroad to cast; Dying by il~e dint of living At the last! Sighing, smiling - smiling, sighing Sun in shade, and shade in sun; Dying, living - living, dying - Both in one! Hoping in our very fearing, Striving hard against our strife; Drifting in the stead of steering, - This is life! L8~ THOUGUTh AND THEORIES. Seeming to believe in seeming, Half disproving, to approve; Knowing that we dream, in dreaming, This is love! Being in our weakness stronger, - Living where there is no breath; Feeling harm can harm no longer, - Tl~is is death (( TIIOUGHTh AIVD 7WEORiES. 18~ IN VAIN. Do~v~ the peach-tree slid The milk-white drops of tli' dew, All in that merry time of tli' year When the woAd is made anew. The daisy dressed in white, The paw-paw flower in brown, And tli' violet sat by loer lover, tli' brook, With her golden eyelids down. Gayly its owii best 10 lie Shone in each lea~ and stem, Gayly the children rolled on th' grass, With their shadows after them. I said, Be sweet for me, o little wild flowers! for I Have larger need, and shut in myself, I wither and waste and die! 190 TIlOUGHTS AND THEORIES. Pity me, sing f\)r me! I cried to the tuneful bird; My heart is full of th' spii4t of song1 And I cannot sing a word! Like a buried stream that longs Through tl~' upper world to run, And kiss the dawn in lier rosy mouth, And lie in th' light of th' sun; So in me, is my soul, ~~asting in darkness the hours. Ever fi~tted and sullen and sad ~Vith a sense of its unused powers. In vain! each little flower Must be sweet for itsdf, nor part ~Vith its white or brown, and every bird Must sing from its own full heart. TflOU&IITh AND TllEORThS. BE ST, TO THE BEST. THE wind blows where it listeth, OL~t of tlie east and west, And the sinneit's way is as dark as death, And life is best, to the best. The toucl~ of evil corrupteth; Tarry not on its track The grass where the serpent crawls is stirred As if it grew on his back. To know the beauty of cleanness The heart must be clean and sweet; We must love our neighbor to get his love, - As we measure, he will mete. Cold black crusts to the beggar, A cloak of rags and woe; And the furrows are warm to the sower's feet, And his bread is white as snow. t99 THOUGH1~ Ai\TD 7WEOA1E~. Can biind eyes see the even, As he hangs on tli' days' soft close, Like a lusty boy on his mother's ~eck, Bright in the face as a rose? Tlie grave is cold and cruel, - Rest, pregnant with unrest And woman must moan and mnn must groan; But life is best, to the best. THOUGH7~ AND THEORIES. I (,~ T nO RNS. I DO not think the Providence unkind That gives its bad il~ings to tl)i5 life of ours; They are the thorns whereby we, travellers blind, Feel out our flowers. I think hate shows il~e quality of love, - That wrong attests that somewhere there is right: Do not the darkest shadows serve to prove The power of light? On tyrannous ways t100 feet of Freedom press The green bough broken off, lets sunshine in; A~0d where sin is, aboundeth righteousness, ~1urli more than sin. Man cannot be all selfish; separate good Is nowhere found beneath the shining sun. All adverse interests, truly understood, Resolve to one! 25 THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. I do believe all worship doth ascend, - Whether from temple floors by heathen trod, Or from the shrines where Christian praises blend, - To the true God, Blessed forever: that His love prepares The raven's food; the sparrow's fall dotli see; And, simple, sinflil as I am, He cares Even for me. THOUGHTS AiVD TREORlES. 195 OLD ADAM. THE wind is blowing cold from the west, And your hair is gray and thin Come in, old Adam, and shut the door, Come in, old Adam, come in! "The wind is blowing out 0' fl~e west, Cold, cold, and my hair is thin; But it is not there, that face so fair, And why should I go in?" The wind is blowing cold from the west The day is almost gone; The cock is abed, the cattle fed, And the night is coming on! Come in, old Adam, and shut the door, And leave without your care. "Nay, nay, for the sun of my life is down, And the night is everywhere." The cricket chirps, and your cli air is set Where the fire shines warm and clear; 19(; TlfOU(;llTS AND 7'HEw?IT;s. Come in, o}d Adam, and you will forget It is not the spring 0' the year. Come in! the wind blows wild from the west, And your hair is gray and thin. `T is not there flow, that sweet, sweet brow, Aiid wliy should I go iii?~` ~)) ~" `CM ~~ - - - - - ~D — -__ ___ ____ _ -- -- -#7 ____ THE FARMER'S DAUGHTER. flER voice was tendcr as a lullaby, Making you think of milk-white dews that creep Among th' mid-May violets, when they lie, All in il~e yellow moonlight fast asleep. Ay, tender as that most melodious tone The lark has, when within some covert dim ~Vith leaves, he talks with morning all alone, Persuading her to rise and come to him. Shy in her ways; her father's cattle knew - No neighbor half so well - her footstep light, 1?or by the pond where mint and mallows grew Always she came and calle't them home at night 198 THOUGHTS AND THE OR`ES. A sad, low pond that cut the field in two Wherein they ran, and never billow sent To play with any breeze, but still withdrew Into itsdf, iii wriukled, dull content. And here, through mint and mallows she would stray, Musing the while she called, as it might be On th' cold clouds, or winds that with rough gray Shingled the laudward slope of the near sea. God knows! not I, on what she mused 0' nights Straying about the pond: she had no woe To thiiik upon, they said, nor such delights As maids are wont to hide. I only know We do not know the weakness or tlie worth Of any one: th' Sun as he will may trim His golden lights; lie cannot see the earth He loves, but on the side she turns to him. I only know that when this lonesome pond Lifted the buried lilies from its breast One warm, wet day (I nothing know beyond), It lifted her white face up with the rest. THOUCrHTS AND TllEORIES. A PRAYER~ I HAVE been little used to frame Wishes to speech and call it prayer; To-day, my Father, in Thy name, I ask to have my soul stript bare Of all its vain pretence, - to see Myself, as I am seen by Thee. I want to know how much il~e pain And passion here, its powers abate; To take its il~oughts, a tangled skein, And stretch them out all smooth and straight; To track its wavering course through sin And sorrow, to its origin. I want to know if in the night Of evil, grace doth so abound, That from its darkness we draw light, As flowers do beauty from the ground; Or, if the sins of time shall be The shadows of eternity. 200 7'HOUGHlW AYD i'HEOATh'~ I want, though only for an ii our, To be myse]f, - to get more near Tlie wondrous mystery and power Of love, whose echoes floating here, Between us and tlie waiting grave, ~1ake all of light, of lj~a ven, we have. THOUGIlI'S AND THEORIES. 201 ALONE. AT shall I do when I stand in my place, Uncl~~thed of this garment of cloud and dust, Unclothed of this garment of sclfish lust, \\~itli my i~1aker, face to face \Vl~at shall I say for my worldly pride? ~Vhat for il~e things I have done and not done? There will be no cloud il~en over the sun, And no grave wherein to hide. No time for waiting, no time for prayer, - No frie~d that with me my life-path trod To help me, - only my soul and my God, And all my sins laid bare. No dear human pity, no low loving speech, About me that terrible day shall there be, Remitted back into myself, I shall see All ~weetest il~ings out of reach. But why should I tremble before tlj' unknown, And put off the blushing and shame? Now, - to-day The friend close beside me seems far, far away, ~nd I stand at God's judgment alone! 26 THOUGHTh AND THFORiES SOMETIMES. SoMETIMES for days Mong the fields that I of time have leased, I go, nor find a single leaf increased; And hopeless, graze With forehead stooping downward like a beas~ 0 heavy hours! My life seems all a failure, and I sigh, What is there left for me to do, but die? So small my powers That I can only stretch them to a cry! But while I stretch What strength I have, though only to a cry, I gain an utterance that men know me by; Create, and fetch A something out of chaos, - that is I. Good comes to pass We know not when nor how, for, looking to What seemed a barren waste, there starts to view Some bunch of grass, Or snarl of violets, shining with the dew. THOUGHTS AM) THEORIE~ 203 I do believe The very impotence to pray, is prayer; The hope that all will end, is in despair, And while we grieve, Comfort abideth with us, unaware. 204 THOUGH7'S AYD THEORIES. THE SEA-SIDE CAVE. A bis j ~f the air shall ~ny the voice, and that which hath wings tell the matter." AT lie dead of night by the side of the Sea I met my gray-li aired enemy, - Tlie glittering light of his serpent eye Was all I had to see him by. At the dead of night, and stormy weather We went b~to a cave together, - Into a cave by the side of the Sea, And - he never came out with me! The flower that up through the April mould Comes like a miser dragging his gold, Never made spot of earth so bright As was ilie ground in the cave that night. Dead of night, and stormy weather! Who should see us going together Under the black and dripping stone Of the cave from whence I came alone! THOUGllTS AND THEORIES. 205 Next day as my boy sat on my knee lle picked the gray Lairs off from me, And told with eyes brimfnl of fear liow a bird in the meadow near Ov~r her clay-built nest had spread Sticks and leaves all bloody red, Brought from a cave by the side of the Sea ~Vi~ere some murdered man must be. `~O6 THOUGHTh AND THEORlE~ JANUARY. THE year has lost its leaves again, The world looks old and grim; &od folds his robe of glory thus, That we may see but Him. And all liis stormy messengers, That come with whirlwind breath, Beat out our chaff of vanity, And leave the grains of faith. We wlll not feel, while summer waits Her rich delights to share,' What sinners, miserably bad, - How weak and poor we are. We tread through fields pf speckled flowers As if we did not know Our Father made them beautiful, Because He loves us so. We hold his splendors in our hands As if we held the dust, And deal his judgment, as if man Than God could be more just. THOUGHTS AND THEORIE& 20 We seek, in prayers and penances, To do the martyr's part, Remembering not, the promises Are to the pure in heart. From evil and forbidden t~~ings, Some good we think to win, And to the last analysis Experiment wiil~ sin. We seek no oil in summer time Our winter lamp to trim, But strive to bring God down to us, More than to rise to Him. And when that He is nearest, most Our weaiC complaints we raise, Lacking the wisdom to perceive The mystery of his ways. For, when drawn closest to himself, Then least his love we mark; The very wings that shelter us From peril, make it dark. Sometimes He takes his hands from us, When storms the loudest blow, That we may learn how weak, alone, How strong in Him, we grow. 208 THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. Tl~rough fl~e cross iron of our free will And fate, we plead for light, As if God gave us not enough To do our work ariglit. ~Ve will not see, but madly take The wrong and crooked path, And in our own hearts light tlie fires Of a consuming wrath. The fashion of liis Providence Our way is so above, We serve Him most who take the most Of liis exl~austless love. serve Him in tlie good we do, The blessings we embrace, Not lighting farfl~ing candles for The palace of his grace. He has no need of our poor aid His purpose to pursue; `T is for our pleasure, not for his, That we liis work must do. Then blow, 0 wild winds, as ye list, And let the world look grim, - God folds his robe of glory thus That we may see but Him. THOUGHTS AYD'THEORlES. 209 THE MEASURE OF TIME. A BREATH, like the wind's breath, may carry A name far and wide, But the measure of time does not tally With any man's pride. `T is not a wild chorus of praises, Nor chance, nor yet fate, - `T is fl~e greatness born with him, and in him, That makes tlie man great. And when in the calm self-possession That birthright confers, The man is stretched out to her measure, Fame claims liim for hers. Too proud to fall back on achievement, With work in his sight, His tnumph may not overtake him This side of tlie nigl~t. And men, with his honors about tl~em, His grave-mound may pass, Nor dream what a great heart lies under Its s]iort knotty grass. 27 210 THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. But fliough he has lived thus unprospered, And died thus, alone, His face may not always be hid by A bandbreadth of stone. The long years are wiser than any ~Vise day of them all, And the hero at last shall stand upright, - Tlie base image fall. The counterfeit may for a season Deceive the wide earth, But the lie, waxing great, comes to labor. And truth has its birth. THOUGHi'S AND 2'llEORiES. 211 IDLE FEARS. IN my lost childhood old folks said to me, Now is the time and season of your bliss; All joy is in the hope of joy to be, Not in possession; and in after years You will look back with longing sighs and tears To il~e young days when you from care were free." It was not true; they nurtured idle fears; I never saw so good a day as this! And youth and I have parted: long ago I looked into my glass, and saw one day A little silver line that told me s(): At first I shut my eyes and cried, and then I hid it under giilish flowers, but when Persuasion would not make my mate to stay, I bowed my faded head, and said, "Amen!" And all my peace is since she went away. My window opens toward the autumn woods; I see the ghosts of thistles walk the air O'er the long, level stubble4and that broods; Beneath the herbiess rocks that jutting lie, 212 THOUGHTS AND THEOM~S. Summer has gathered lier white family Of shnnking daisies; all the hills are bare, And in tlie meadows not a limb of buds Through tI~e brown bushes showeth ai~ywl~ere. Dear, beauteous season, we must say good-bye, And can afford to, we have been so blest, And farewells suit fl~e time; the year doth lie With cloudy skirts composed, and pallid face Hid under ydlow leaves, with touching grace, So that her bright-haired swectheart of tiie sky The image of her prime may not displaca. ~IIOUGHTh AND 7llEORIES. 21n mNTs. Two il~irsty travellers chanced one day to meet ~Yhere a spring bubbled fi'om the burning sand; One drank out of the hollow of his hand, And found the water very cool and sweet. The other waited for a smith to beat And fashion for his use a golden cup And while he waited, fainting in the heat, The sunshine came and drank the fountain up! In a green field two little flowers there were, And both were fair in th' face and tender-eyed; One took the light and dew that heaven supplied, And all the summer gusts were sweet with her. The other, to her nature false, denied That she had any need of sun and dew, And hung her silly head, and sickly grew, And flayed and faded, all untimely died. 2I~ THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. A vine o' th' bean, that had been early wed To a tall peach, conceiving that he hid Her glories from the world, unwisely slid Out of his arms, and vainly chafing, said~: This fellow is an enemy of mine, And dwarfs me with his shade": she would not see That she was made a vine, and not a tree, And that a tree is stronger tnan a vine. THOUGliTh AND THEORIES. 2Th TO A STAGNANT RIVER. O RiVER, why lie with your beautiful face To the hill? Can you move him away from his place? You may moan, - you may clasp him with soft arms forever, - He will still be a flinty hill, - you be a river. `T is wilful,`t is wicked to waste in despair The treasure so mai~y are dying to share, The gifts that we have, Heaven lends for right using, And not for ignoring, and not for abusing. Let the moss have his love, and the grass and the dew, By God's law he cannot be mated with you. His friend is the stubble, his life is the dust, You are not what you would, - you must be what you must. If into his keeping your fortune you cast, I tell you the end will be hatred at last, Or death through stagnation; your rest is in motion; The aim of your being, the cloud and the ocean. 216 7H6UGHTh AND THEORIES. Love cannot be love, with itself set at stn&; To sin against Nature is death a~id not li&. You may fleeze in tlie shadow or seethe in the sun, But the oil and fl~e water will not be at one. Your pride and your peace, when this passion is crossed ~ViiI pay for the struggle whatever it cost But though earth dissolve, though fl~e heavens should fall, To yourself, your Creator, be true first of all. THOUGHTS AND 7'llEORTh'S. ~1T COUNSEL SEEK not to walk by borrowed light, But keep unto thine own: Do what thou doest with thy might, And trust thyself alone! Work for some good, nor idly lie Within the human hive And, though the outward man should die, Keep thou tile heart alive Strive not to banish pain and doubt, In pleasure's noisy din; The peace thou seekest for without Is only found within. If fortune disregard thy claim, By worth, her slight attest Nor blush and hang the head for sl~ame When thou hast done thy best. 28 THG~GHTS AND THE OME S. What thy experience teaches true, Be vigilant to heed; The wisdom that we suffer to, Is wiser than a creed. Disdain neglect, ignore despair, On loves and fi'iendships gone Plant thou thy feet, as on a stair, And mount right up aiid on! %$~w1 ~:~~1:i{?~::~~ THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. 219 LATENT LIFE. THoUGff never shown by word or de~'d, ~Yithin us lies some germ of power, As lies unguessed, within tlie seed, The latent flower. And under every common sense That doth its daily use fulfil, There lies another, more intense, And beauteous still. This dusty house, wherein is shrined The soul, is but the counterfeit Of that which shall be, more refined, And exquisite. The light which to our sight belongs, Enfolds a light more broad and clear; Music but intimates the songs We do not hear. The fond embrace, the tender kiss Which love to its expression brings, Are but the husk the chrysalis Wears on its wings. 220 TllOUGHTS AND TIwOMES The vigor falling to decay, Hopes, impulses that fade and die, Are but the layers peeled' away From life more high. When death shall come and disallow These rough and ugly masks we wear, I think that we shall be as now, Only more fair. And He who makes his love to be Always around me, sure and calm, Sees what is possible to me, Not what I am. THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. 221 HOW AND WHERE. How are we living? Like herbs in a garden il~at stand in a row, And ii ave nothing to do hut to stand there and grow? Our powers of perceiving So dull and so dead, They simply extend to the objects about us, - The moth, having all liis dark pleasure without us, - Tlie worm in his bed! If thus we are living, And fading, and falling, and rotting, alas! - Like the grass, or the flowers that grow in the grass, Is life worth our having? The insect a4~umming, The wlld bird is better, tl~at sings as it flies, - The ox, that turns up his great face to the skies, ~Vhen the thunder is coming. Where are we living? In passion, and pain, and remorse do we dwell, ~reating, yet terribly hating, our hell? No triumph achieving? 222 THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. No grossness refining? The wild tree does more; for his coat of rough barks lIe trims with green mosses, and checks with the marks Of tiie long summer shining. ~Ye`re dying, not Ii ving: ()ur sense-~ shut up, and our hearts faint and cold Upholding old things just because they are old; Our good spirits grieving, We suffer our springs Of promise to pass without sowing the land, And hungry and sad in the harvest-time staud, Ex~ecting good flungs! _________ - ~7M~{~~ —Th z~~M~ __ __ - - ~~ —ffTh~ —- -- - _ - ~ - -~-,/,~ - -;~;;;;;~;;{ — — —? -~~ —D THE FELLED TREE. THEY set me up, and bade me stand Beside a dark, dark sea, In the befogged, low4ying land, Of this mortality. I slipped my roots round the stony soil Like rings on the hand of a bride, And my boughs took hold of the summer's smile And grew out green and wide. 224 THOUGHTS AND TflEORIES. Crooked, and shaggy on all sides, I was homeliest of trees, But the cattle rubbed their speckled hides Against my knotty knees; And lambs, in white rows on the grass, Lay down within my shade; So I knew, all homely as I was, For a good use I was made. And my contentment served me well ~Iy heart grew strong and sweet, And iny shaggy bark cracked off and fell In layers at my feet. I felt when the darkest storm was nfe Tlie day of its wrath was bnef, And that I drew from the centre of life Tlie life of my smallest leaf. At last a woodman came one day ~Vith axe to a sharp edge ground, And hewed at my heart till I stood a-sway, But I never felt the wound. I knew im~ortal seed was sown ~Viil~in me at my birth, And I fell without a single groan, ~Vith my green face to the earth. THOUGRTS AND 7WEOME~ 22.~ Now all men pity me, and must, Who see me lie so low, But the Power tl~at cbanges me to duSt Is the same H~at made me grow. K );~~~y{1 ~~;{; 1;;; {~{{1{;i~{{{i\%, THOUGll7'S AND 77iEORIL~ A DREML I DREAMED I had a plot of ground, Once when I chanced asle~p to drop, And that a green hedge f~nced it round, Cloudy with roses at il~e top. I sa~v a hundred mornings rise, - So far a little dream may reach, - And SpAng with Summer in her eyes ~Iakin g the chiefest cli arm of each. A il~ousand vines were climbing o'er hedge, I thought, but as I tried To pull them down, fbrevermore The flowers dropt off t1~e other side! Waking, I said, these things are signs Sent to instruct us that`t is ours Duly to keep and dress our vines, - Waiting in patience for the flowers. And whe~ the angel feared of all Across my hearth its shadow spread' The rose that climbed my garden wall Has bloomed the other side, I said. THOUGlli~ AND THEO~I~S. WORK. DowN and up, and up and down, Over and over and over; Turn in tiie little seed, dry and brown, Tu~ ii out tlie bright red clover. Work, and tlie sun your work will share, And tlie rain in its time ~vlll fall For Nature, she woA~e Hi everywhere, Ai~d the grace of God through all. With hand on ilie spade and lieai~ in tlie sky, Dress the ground, and till it; Turn in tlie little seed, brown and dry, Turn out il~e golden millet. Work, and your house shall be dtily fed; Work, and rest shall be won I hold that a man l~ad better be dead Than alive, when his work is done Down and up, and up and dow~ On the hill-top, lo~v in the valley Turn iii the little seed, dry and brown, Tun~ out il~e rose and lily. 22S THOUGllTS IND 7iIEORIES. ~Vork with a plan, or without a plan, And your ends they shall be shaped true; ~V'ork, and learn at first hand, like a man, - The best way to know, is to do! Down and up till life shall close, Ceasii~g not your praises; Tun~ in the wild white winter snows, Turn out the sweet spring daisies. Work, and the sun your work will share. Anci the rain in its time will fall For Natui'e, she worketh everywhere, And tlie grace of God through all. JWOUGHTh AND THEORiES 229 COMFORt BOATMAN, boatman! my brain is wild, As wild as tlie stormy seas My poor little child, my sweet little child. Is a corpse upon my knees. No holy choir to sing so low, No priest to kneel in prayer, No tire-woman to help me sew A cap for liis golden hair. Dropping his oars in the rainy sea, Tiie pious boatman cried, Not without Him who is li~ to thee Could tl~e little d~ild have died! His grace il~e same, and tlie same His power~ Demanding our love and trust, N\7hether He makes of the dust a flower, Or changes a flower to dust. On the land and the water, all in all, The strength to be still or pray, To bligl~t the leaves in their time to fall, Or light up the hills with May. 230 THOUGHTS AND THEt~fl1~S. P~MTH AND WORKS. NOT what we il~ink, but what we (lo, Makes saints of us: all stiff and cold, Tlie outlines of the corpse show il~rough The cloth of gold. And in despite tlie outward sin, - Despite belief with creeds at strife, - The principle of love wiaiin Leavens tlie life. For,`t is fbr fancied good, I claim, That men do wrong, - not wrong's desire; Wrapping il~emselves, as`t were, in flame To cheat the fire. Not what God gives, but what lle takes, Uplifts us to the holiest height; On truth's rough crags life's current breaks To diamond light. From transient evil I do trust That we a final good shall draw; That in confusion, death, and dust, Are light and law. THOUGH7'S A]VD 7'HEORIES. 231 That He whose glory shines among The eternal stars, descends to mark Thjs foolish little atom swung Loose in the dark. But though I should not il~us receive A sense of order and control, My God, I could not disbelieve My sense of soul. For though, alas! I can but see A hand's breadth backward, or before, I am, and since I am, must be Forevermore. 232 THOUGllTS AND THEORiE~ THE RUSTIC PAINTER. I~is sheep went idly over the hills, - Idly down and up, - As he sat and painted his sweetheart's face On a little ivory cup. All round bim roses lay in the grass That were hardly out of buds; For sake of her mouth and cheek, I knew He had murdered them in the woods. The ant, that good little housekeeper, Was not at work so hard; And yet the semblance of a smile Was all of his reward: And the golden-belted gentleman That travels in the air, Hummed not so sweet to the clover-buds As he to his picture there. 7YtOUGllTh ANQ i'YIEORiES. 23~ The while for his ivory cup he made An easel of his knee, And painted liis little sweetheart's face Truly and tenderly. Thus we are marking on all our work ~rhatever we have of grace; As the rustic painted liis ivory cup ~V~tl~ liis little sw~etheart's face. THOUGHTS AND TIlEOBIES ONE OF MANY. I KNEW a man - I know l~irn still In part, in all I ever knew, - ~Vhose life runs counter to his will, Leavit~g the things he fain would ao, Undone. His hopes are shapes of sands, That cannot with il~emselves agree As one whose eager, outstretched hands Take boA on water - so is he. Fame is a bauble, to his ken Mirth cannot move his aspect grim; The holidays of ofl~er men Are (`nly battle-days to liim. He locks his heart within his breast, Believing life to such as he Is but a change of ills, at best, - A crossed and crazy tragedy. His cheek is wan; his limbs are faint With fetters which they never wore; No wheel il~at ever crushed a saint, But breaks his body o'er and o'er. THOUGHTS AND TIlEOMES. 235 Though woman's grace he never sought By tender look, or word of praise, lie dwells upon her in liis thought, ~Vith all a lover's lingering phrase. A very l~artyr to the truth, All that`5 best in liim is belied IJuu~ble, yet proud`v~tl1(~l; i10 sooth His pnde is liis disdain of pride. lie sees in what lie does amiss A continuity of ill; Tlie next life dropping out of this, Stained with its many colors still His kindliest pity is for those ~Vlio are the slaves of guilty lusts; And virtue, shining till it shows Another's frailty, he disti'usts. Nature, lie holds, since time bega~~ Has been reviled, - mistinderst~~~~d And that we first must love a man To judge liim,-be lie b~d or good. Often his path is crook'd and low, And is so in his own despite For still the path he meant to go Runs straight, and level with the righ~ 23~ THOUGH7'S AND THEOMES. No heart has he to strive' with fate For less things than our great nien gone Achieved, who, with their single weigl~t, Turned time's slow wheels a centm'y on llis waitin~ silence is his prayer; llis darkness is liis plea for light And loving all men everywhere, lie lives, a more than anchonte. o friends, if you this man should see, Be not your scorn too hardly hurled, Bdieve me, whatsoe'er he be, There be more like him in the wofid. THOUGHTS AND TllEORiE~ 237 THE SHADOW. ONE summer night, The`full moon,`tired in her golden cloak, Di~ beckon me, I thought; and I awoke, And saw a light, Most soft and fair, Shine in tlie brook, as if~ in love's distress, The parting sitn l~ad shear'd a dazzling tress, And lQft it there. Toward tlie sweet banks Of the bright stream straightly I bent my way And in my heart good thoughts the while did stay, Giving God thanks. The wheat-stocks stood Along the field like little fairy men, And mists stole, white and bashful, through the glen, As maidens would. In nd~ content My soul was growing toward immortal height, When, lo! I saw il~at by me, through the light, A shadow went. ~38 THOUGHTS AYD THEORIES. I stopped, afraid: It was the bad sign of some evil done; That stopping, too, right swiftly did I run,; So did the shade. At length I drew Ciose to the bank of the delightful brook, And sitting in the moonshine, turn'd to look; It sat there too. kre long I spied A weed wiH~ goodly flowers upon its top; Ai~d when I saw that such sweet tliings did drop black shadows, cried, - Lo! I ii ave fbund, Ilid in this ugly riddle, a good sign; ~Iy life is twofbld, earthly and divine, - Buried and crown'd. -Sown darkly; raised Light within ligl~t, wl~en death from mortal sGil Undresses me, and makes me spiritual: - Dear Lord, be praised. THOUGH7'S AYD 7WEOi?JES. THE UNWISE CHOICE. Two young men, when I was poor, Caine and stood at my open door; One said to me, "I have gold to give;" And one, "I will love you while I live!" ~Iy sight was dazzled; woe`5 tlie day! And I sent tlie poor young man away; Sent him away, I know not where, An~ my heart went witli him, iinawar~. lie did not give me any sighs, But he left his picture in my eyes; And in my eyes it has always been: I have no heart to keep it in! Beside the lane with hedges sweet, ~Vhere we parted, never more to meet, He pulled a flower of love's own hue, And where it had been came out two! ~4O THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. And in il~' grass ~vhere he stood, fbr years, The dews of ti)' morning looked like tears. Still smiles tiie house where I was born Among its fields of wheat and corn. ~Vheat and corn that strangers bind, I reap as I sowed, and I sowed to tli' Wjfld: As one`vl~o feels the truH~ break through llis dream, and knows liis dream untrue, I live where splendors shine, and sigh, For tlie peace that splendor cannot buy; Sigh for tlie day I was rich tho' poor, And saw tli' two young men at my door! THOUGI?TS AND THEORIES. 241 ~JGNS O~ GI?ACi~. CO~iE tl~ou, my heavy soul, ~~id lay Tiiy sorrows all aside, Aiid let us see, if so we may, How God is glorified. Forget the storms tl~at darkly ~&a?1 Forget the woe and crime, And tie of consolations sweet A posie for tlie time. Some blessed token everywhere Dotl~ giace to men allow; The daisy sets her silver share Beside tlie rustic's plough. The wintry wind that naked strips The bushes, stoopeth low, Arid round their rugged arms enwraps The fleece.~ of the snow. Tije blackbird, idly whistling till The storm begins to pour, Finds ever with his golden bill A hospitable door. 31 242 THOUGHTS AND 7'llEOl IF S. From love, and lo~~'s protecting pow~ ~Ve cannot go apaft; Tlie shadows round tlie fainting flower Rebu&e the drooping heart. Our strivings are not reckoned les~ Although ~~e fail to win Tlie lily wears a royal di'ess, And yet slie dotli not spin. S(), Soul, forget thy evil days, Tliy sorrow lay aside, And strive to see in all His way~ How God is glorified. 2'ffOUGHTh AND TREOltIES ~d. PROVIDENCE. "From seeming evil, still educing good." THE stone upon the wayside seed that fell, And kept tlie spring rain from it, kept it too From il~e bird's mouth; and in that silent cell It quickened, after many days, and grew, Till, by-and-by, a rose, a single one, Lifted its little fi~ce into the sun. It chanced a wicked man approached one day, And saw il~e tender, piteous look it wore: Perhaps one like it somewhere far away Grew in a garden-bed, or by the door That he in childish days had played around, For his knees, trembling, sunk upon il~e ground. Then, o'er this piece of bleeding earth, the tears Of penitence were wrung, until at last The golden key of love, that sin for years In his unquiet soul had rusted fast, Was loosened, and liis heart, that very hour, Opened to God's good sunshine, like a flower. 244 THOUGHTS AND TREORrES. THE LIVING PRESENT. FRI~NDs, let us slight no pleasant spring That bubbles up in life's dry sands, And yet be careful what good tiling We touch with sacrilegious hands. Our blessings should be sought, not claimed, Cherished, not watched with jealous eye; Love is too precious to be named, Save with a reverence deep and high. In all that lives, exists the power To avenge the invasion of its right; We cannot braise and break our flow~r, And have our flower, alive and bright. Let us tbink less of what appears, - More of what is; for this, hold I, It is the sentence no man hears That makes us live, or makes us die. THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. Trust hearsay less; seek more to prove And know if things be what they seem; ~Not sink supindy in some groove, And hope and hppe, and dream and dream. Some days must needs be full of gloom, Yet must we use them as we may; Talk less about the years to come, Live, love, and labor more, to-day. What our hand findetli, do with might; Ask less for hel p, but stand or fall, Each one of us, in life's great fight, As if himself and God were all. 246 THOUGHTS AND TllEORIES ONE DUST. THoU, under Satan's fierce control, Shall lleaven its final rest bestow? Iknow not, but I know a soul That might have fallen as darkly low Ijudge thee not, what depths of ill Soe'er il~ feet have found, or trod; Iknow a spirit and a will As weak, but for the grace of God. Shalt thou with full-day laborers stand, Who bardly canst have pruned one vine? Iknow not, but I know a hand With an inflimity like tl~ine. Shalt thou who hast with scoffers part, E'er wear the crown the Chnstian wears? Iknow not, but I know a heart As flinty, but for tears and prayers. l"HOUGHTS A]\TD 7YIEORIES. 247 Have mercy, 0 Thou Crucified! For even while I name Thy name, I know a tongue that might have lied Like Peter's, and am bowed with sham~. Fighters of good ~gl)ts, -just, niijust, - The weak who faint, tiie fi'ail who fall, Of oi~e blood, of tlie self-same dust, Tbou, God of love, liast made them all. THE WEAVER'S DREAM. HE sat all alone in his dark little room, His fingers aweary with work at the loom, His eyes seeing not the fine threads, for the tears, As he carefully counted the months and the years He had been a poor weaver. Not a traveller went on the dusty highw'iy, )3ut he thongl~t, "lie has nothing to do but be gay;" No matter liow b~rdened or bent he might be, The weaver believed him more happy than he, And sighed at his weaving. lie saw not tlie roses so sweet and so red That looked ilirough his window; lie thought to be d~aci THOUGllTS AND TJ1EORIE&~. ~nd carried away fi~m liis dark little room, \Vrapt up in the linen he had in his loom, ~Vere better than weavii)g. Just then a white angel came out of the skies, ~~nd shut up his senses, aiid sealed Ul) liis eyes, Ai~d bore him away from tile work at 10i5 loom In a vision, and left liin~ alo~e by tlie tomb Of liis dear little dauglite~. "~Iy darling!" lie cries, "what a blessing was mine! How 1 sinned, having you, against goodness divine! Awake! 0 my lost one, my sweet one, awake! And 1 never, as long as 1 live, for your sake, ~Viil sigh at my weaving! The sunset was gilding his low little room When the weaver awoke from his dream at the loom, And close at his knee saw a dear little head Alight with long curls, - she was living, not dead, - His pride and his treasure. He winds the fine thread on his shuttle anew, (At thought of his blessing`t was easy to do,) Aiid sings as he weaves, for the joy in his breast, Feace cometh of striving, and labor is rest: Grown wise was the weaver. 32 2~O THOUGIlTS AND TilEORlES. NOT NOW. THE path of duty I clearly trace, I stand wifl~ Conscience face to face, And all her pleas allow; Calling and crying the`while for grace, - "Some other time, and some other place: 0, not to-day; not now!" I know`t is a demon boding ill, I know I have power to do if I will, And I put my hand to th' plough; I have fair, sweet seeds in my ban~, and lo! When all the furrows are ready to sow, The voic~ says, "0, not now l ~Iy peace I sell at il~e price of woe; In heaft and in spirit I suffer so, The anguish wrii)gs my brow; But still I linger and cry for grace, "Some other time, and Some other place: 0, not to-day; not now!" THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. 251 I talk to my stubborn heart and say, The work I must do I will do to-day; I will make to the Lord a vow: And I will not rest and I will not sleep Till tlie vow I have vowed I rise and keep And tlie demon cries, "Not now! And so the days and the years go by, And so I register lie upon lie, And break with lleaven iny vow; For when I would boldly take iny stand, This terrible demon stays my liand, - "0, not to-day: not now! " 252 THOUGllTS AND THEORiE~ CRAGS. TilERE was a good and reverend man ~Vhose day of life, serene and brigl~t, ~\tas weaflng hard upon tlie gloom I3eyond which we can see no light. And as ijis vision back to morn, And forward to tlie evening sped, He bowed ljimself upoi~ liis staff~ And with liis licait communing, said Fr~~m mystery on to mystery ~Iy way lias been; yet as I near Tlie et~ri'al shore, against tl~e sky These crags of truth stand sharp and clear. ~Vhere'er its hidden fountain be, Time is a many-colored jet Of good and evil, light and shade, And we evoke the things we get. Tlie hues that our to-morrows wear Are by our yesterdays forecast; Our future takes into itself The true impression of our past. `~HoUGHrs AND THEORIES. 252 The attrition of conflicting thoughts To clear conclusions, wears the groove; The love il~at seems to die, dies not, But is absorbed in lai~ger love. N\re cannot cramp ourselves, unharmcd, In bonds of iron, nor of creeds; The rights that riglitftilly bcloiig To man, are measured by liis needs. Tlie daisy is entitled to The nurture of tlie dew and light; The green house of tl~e grasshopper Is his by Nature's sacred right. 254 TlIOUGll7\s AAD 7'HEORiEs. MAN. IN wbat a kingly fashion man doth dwell: lIe bath but to prefer llis want, and Nature, like a servitor, ~1aketl1 iiim answer with some miracle. And yet his thoughts do keep along tlie ground, And neither leap nor run, Though capable to climb above the sun; lle seemeth free, and yet is strangely bound. ~Vhat name would suit his case, or great -or small? Poor, but exceeding proud; Importunate and still, humble and loud; Most wise, and yet most ignorant, withal. The world that lieth in the golden air, Like a great emerald, Knoweth the law by which she is upheld, And in lier motions keepeth steady there. TIlOUGHTS AND THEORiES. 2t~5 But in bis foolisliness proud man defies The la~v, ~vhere~vith is bound The peace lie seeks, and fluttering moth-like round Some dangerous light, expenmenting, dies. And all liis subtle reasoning can obtain To tell Iiis fortune by, Is only that lie livefl~ and must die, And dieth in the hope to live again. 256 TilO UGil TS AND 7`lIE OJ~1ES. Tu SOHTUD~ I 4M weary of il~e working, Weary of tl~e long day's heat; To thy comfortable bosom, Wilt thou take me, spirit sweet? Weary of the long, blind struggle For a pathway bright and high, Weary of the dimly dying Hopes il~at never quite all die. Weary searching a bad cipher For a good il~at must be meant; Discontent with being weary, - Weary with my discontent. 1 am weary of the trusting Where my trusts but torments prove; Wilt thou keep faifli with me? wilt thou Be my true and tender love? TUOUGHTS AND THEOMES. 25~ I am weary drifting, driving Like a lielmless bark at sea; Kindly, comfortable spirit, Wilt thou give thyself to me? Give tliy birds to sii0g nie sonnets? Give tliy wiiids my cheeks to kiss? And tiiy mossy rocks to stand for Tlie memonals of our bliss? I in reverence will hold thee, Never vexed with jealous ills, Though thy wild and wimpling waters Wind about a thousand hills. 33 258 THOUGHTS AND TilEORIES. THE LAW OF LIBERTY. THIS extent hath freedom's groun I, - In my fi'eedom I am bound Never any soul to wound. Not my own: it is not mine, Lord, except to make it thine, By good works through grace divine. Not another's: Thou alone Keepest judgment for thine own; Only unto Thee is known What to pity, what to blame; How the fierce temptation came: What is honor, what is shame. Right is bound in this to win Good till injury begin; That, and only iliat, is sin. Selfish good may not befall Any man, or great or small; Best for one is best for all. THOUGHTS AYD THEORIES. 25~ And wlio vainly doth desire Good through evil to acquire, In his bosom taketh fire. Wronging no man, Lord, nor Thee Vexing1 I do pray to be In my soul, my body, free. Free to freely leave behind When the better il~ings I find, Worser things, howe'er enshrined. So that pain may peace enhance, And through every change and chance, I upon myself, advance. 2~O THOUGH7tS iND THEORIES. MY CREED. I HOLD that Christian grace abounds Where chanty is seen; that when We climb to lleaven,`t is on the rounds Of love to men. I hold all else, named piety, A selfish scheme, a vain pretence Where centre is not - can there be Circumference? This I moreover hold, and dare Affirm where'er my rhyme may go, - Whatever things be sweet or fair, Love makes them so. Whether it be the lullabies That cl~arm to rest the nursling bird, Or that sweet confidence of sighs And blushes, made without a word. Whether the dazzling and the flush Of softly sumptuous garden bowers, Or by some cabin door, a bush Of ragged flowers. THOU~llTs AND THE CRIES. 261 `Tis not the wide phylactery, Nor stubborn fast, nor stated prayers, That make us saints: we judge the tree By what it bears. And when a man can live apart From works, on theologic trust, I know the blood about his heart Is dry as du~. 262 THOUGHTS AND THEORiF& OPEN SECRETS. THE truth lies round about us, all Too closely to be sought, - So open to our vision that `T is hidden to our il~ought. We know not what the glories Of the grass, the flower, may be; We needs must struggle for the sight Of what we always see. Waiting for storms and whirlwinds, And to have a sign appear, We deem not God is speaking in The still small voice we hear. In reasoning proud, blind leaders of The blind, through life we go, And do not know the things we see, Nor see the things we know. TROUGH7'S AND HiEOMES. 26d~ Single and indivisible, We pass fi~om change to change, Familiar with the strangest things, And with familiar, strange. We make the light through which we see The light, and make the dark; To hear the lark sing, we must be At heaven's gate wiili the lark. 1.~64 THOU&HTh AND THEORIES. THE SADDEST SIGHT. As one that leadetli a blind man In a city, to and flo, Tl~ought, even so, 1~eadeth me still wherever it will Through scenes of joy and woe. I have seen Lear, his wbite head crowned ~Viil~ poor straws, playing King; And, wearying Her cl~eA~s' young flowers "with true-love si~owers,' I have heard Ophdia sing. I have been in battles, and I have seen Stones at the martyrs hurled, - Seen il~' flames curled Round fbrebeads bold, and lips whence rolled The litanies of the world. But of all sad sights that ever I saw, The saddest under the sun, Is a little one, Whos~ poor pale face was despoiled of grace Ere y(~t its life begun. TH 0 UGil 7'S AND 7~HEOR TE S. 265 No glimpse of the good green Nature To gladden with sweet surprise The staring eyes, That only ha~~e seen, close walls between, A hand-breadth of the skies. Al~, never a bird is heard to sing At the windows under ground, The long year rou~~d; There, never the morn on her pipes of corn Maketh a cheerful sound. Oh, little white cloud of witnesses Against your parentage, May IIeaven assuage The woes that wait on your dark estate, Unorphaned orphanage. S' ~66 THOUGHTh AND THEO1~iES THE BRIDAL HOUR. "THE moon's gray tent is up: another hour, And yet another one will bring the time To which, through many cares and checks, so slowly, The golden day did climb. "Take all the books away, and let no noises Be in the house wiule softly I undress My soul from broideries of disguise, and wait for My own true love's caress. "The sweetest sound would tire to-night; the dewdrops Setting the green ears in the corn and wheat, Would ~~~ke a discord in the heart attuned to The bridegroom's coming feet. "Love! blessed Love! if we could hang our walls witb The splendors of a thousand rosy Mays, Surely they would not shine so well as thou dost, Lighting our dusty days. "Without thee, what a dim and woful story Our years would be, oh, excellence sublime! Slip of the life eternal, brightly growing In the low soll of time!" THOUGHTh AND TREORIES 26~ IDLE. I HEARD the gay spring coming, I saw the clover blooming, Red and white along the meadows, Red and white along the streams; I heard the bluebird singing, I saw the green grass springing, All as I lay a-dreaming, - A-dreaming idle dreams. I heard the ploughman's whistle, I ~aw the rough burr thistle In the sharp teeth of the harrow, Saw the summer's ydlow gleams In the walnuts, in the fennel, In the mulleins, lined with flannel, All as I lay a-dreaming, - A-dreaming idle dreams. I felt the warm, bright weather; Saw the harvest, - saw them gather Corn and millet, wheat and apples, - Saw the gray barns with their seams 2G8 THOUGHTS AND THEORIES. Pressing wide, - the bare-an~ed sliearers, The ruddy water-bearers, - All as I lay a-dreaming, - A-dreaming idle dreams. Tl~e bluebird and her nestling Flew away; the leaves fell rustlin~ The cold rain killed tlie roses, The sun withdrew his beams No creature cared about me, The world could do without me, All as I lay a-dreaming, - A-dreaming idle dreams. 45:, -,~, ~~#` :7k; ~/M~, ~ THE SURE WITNESS. THE solemn wood had spread Shadows around my head, - Curtains they are," I said, "Hung dim and still about the house of prayer; Softly among the 1 jiubs, Turning the leaves of hymns, I heard the winds, and asked if God were there. No voice replied, but while I listening stood, Sweet peace made holy hushes through the woo~ ~Vith ruddy, open hand, I saw the wild rose stand Besidethe green gate of the summer hills, And pulling at her dress, I cried, " Sweet hermitess, Hast thou beheld Him who the dew distils?" No voice replied, but while I listening bent, Her gracious beauty made my heart content. 272 HYJiNS. The moon in splendor shone, - "She`valketh Heaven alone, And seeth all things," to myself I mnsed "Hast thou beheld Him, then, Who hides himself from men In that great power through Nature interfused?" No speech made answer, and no sign appeared, But in the silence I was soothed and cheered. Waking one time, strange awe Thrilling my soul, I saw A kingly splendor round about the night; Such cunning work the hand Of spinner never planned, - The finest wool may not be washed so white. "Hast thou come out of Heaven?" I asked; and lo The snow was all the answer of the snow. Then my heart said, " Give o'er Question no more, no more! The wind, the snow-storm, the wild hermit flower, The illuminated air, The pleasure after prayer, Proclaim the unoriginated Power! The mystery that hides Him here and there, Bears the sure witness He is everywhere." llYMNS. LOVE IS LIFE. OUR days are ft~w a'id full of strife; Like leaves our pleasures fade and fali But Thou wlio art tlie all iii all, Tliy name is Love, and love is Life! ~Ve walk in sleep and thil)k we see; Our little lives are clothed with dreams; For that to us which snbstaiice seems Is shadow,`twixt ourselves and Thee. \Ve are immortal now, and here, Chances and ellanges, night and da~r, Are landmarks in the eternal way; Our fear is all we have to fear. Our lives are d~w-drops in Thy sun; Thou breakest them, and lo! we see A thousand gracious shapes of Thee, A thousand shapes, instead of one. The soul that drifts all darkly dim Through floods that seem outside of grace, Is only surging toward the place Which Thou hast made and meant for him. 35 HYMNS. For this we hold, - ill could not be ~Vere there no po~ver beyond tlie ill; Our wills are held witliiii Tliy will Tlie eiids of goodi~ess rest wifl~ Thee. Fail sLorins of wiuter as you may, The dry boughs iu tlie`varu~ spring i~ain Shall put their green leaves forth again, And surely we are n~ore than they. THY works, 0 Lord, interpret Thee, And t)irough tlieu~ all Tliy love is show vi Flowing about us like a sea, Yet steadfast as tlie eternal throne. Out of tlie light that runneth il~rough Tliy hand, the lily's dress is spun Thine is the bnghtness of the dew, And fl~ine the glory of the sun. HYM~VS. 2T~ TIME. WHAT is time, 0, glorious Giver, With its restlessness and might, But a lost and wandering river Working back into the ligl~t? Every gloomy rock that troubles Its smooth passage, strikes to life Beautiful and joyous bubbles That are only bon~ through stnfr OverI~ung ~vitl~ mist-like shadows, Stretch its shores away, away, To tl)e long, delightful meadows Shining with in~mortal May Where its moaning reaches never, Passion, pnil~, or fear t9 move, And the cl~anges bring us ever Sal~baths and new moons of love. 276 HYAfN~ CONSOLATION. o FRIENDS, we are drawincr nearer home As day by day goes by; Nearer the fields of fadeless bloom, The joys that never die. Ye doubting souls, fi'om doubt be free, - Ye moun~ers, mourn no more, For every wave of Death's dark sea Breaks on that blissful shore. God's ways are high above our ways, So sball we learn at length,~ And tune our lives to sing His praise ~Yith all our mind, might, strength. About our devious paths of ill He sets His stern decrees, And works the wonders of llis will Tbrough pains and promises. Strange are the mysteries He employs, Yet ~~e His love will trust, Though it should blight our dearest joy~ And bruise us into dust. HYMNS. SUPPLICATION. O THOU, who all my life liast crowned ~Vith better things il~an I could ask, Be it to-day my humble task To own from depths of grief profound, Tlie many sins, wl~icli darken through ~Vhat litde good I do. I have been too much used, I own, To tell my needs in fretful words; The clamoring of the silly birds, Impatient till tl~eir wings be grown, Have Tliy forgiveness. 0, my blessed Lord, Tlie like to me accord. Of grace, as much as will complete Thy will in me, I pray Tl~ee for; Even as a rose shut in a drawer That maketli all about it sweet, I would be, rather than the cedar fine Help me, thou Power divine. With charity fill Thou my heart, As Summer fills the grass with dews, 27~ HYMNS. And as th' year itself renews In th' sun, when Winter days depart, Blessed ft~rc~'er, gral~t Ti iou me To be reiiewed in Thee. WHY should our spirits be opprest When days of darkness fall? Our Father knowetli wl~at is best, And lIe liat1~ made them all. He made them, and to all their length Set parallels of gain W gat1~er fiom our pain tlie stre'~gtli To rise above our pain. All, all beneafl~ il~e shining sun Is vanity and dust; Help us, 0 l~igh and holy One, To fix in Thee our trust; And in the change, and interfuse Of change, with every hour, To recognize the shifting hues Of never-changing Power. HYIlINS. 279 ~YllITllE R. ALL tl~e time my sonl is calling, ~~~liitber, ~vliitlier do I go? For my d~ys like leaves are flilling From my tree of life below. N\rho will come and be my lover ~Vlio is strong enough to save, ~Vhen that I am leaning over Tlie dark silence of tlie grave? ~Vl~erefbre should my sonl be calling. ~Vhither, whither do I go? For my days like leaves are falling In the l~and of God, I know. As il~e seasons touch their ending, As tlie diin years flide and flee, Let me rail~er still be sending Some good deed to plead for me. Then, tl~ongh ~one should stay to weep me, Lover-like, within tl~e shade, lie will hold me, lie will keep me, And I will not be afi'aid. 2~O YYMN~% SUR~ ANCHOR. OUT of fl~e heavens come down to me, O Lord, and hear my earnest prayer On life above tlie life I see Fix Thou my soul, and keep it there. The richest joys of earth are poor; The fairest fi~rms are all unfair; On what is peaceable and pure Set Thou iny heart, and keep it there. Pride builds her house upon tiie sand; Ambition treads the spider's stair; On whatsoever things will stand Set Tl~ou my feet, and keep them there. The past is vanished in the past; The future doth a shadow wear; On whatsoever fl~ings are fast Fix Thou mine eyes, and keep them there. HYMNS. 281 In spite of slander's tongue, in spite Of burdens grievous hard to bear, To whatsoever things are right Set Thou my hand, and keep it there. Life is a little troubled breath, Love but another name for care; Lord, anchor Thou my hope and faitb In things eternal, - only there. 36 282 IfYAiNS. REMEMBER. IN thy fime, and times of moUfl~illg, When grief doeth all she can To hide the prosperous snnsliine, Remember this, 0 man, - lle setteth an end to darkness." Sad saint, of the world fUi~gotten, ~Vlio workest il~y work apart, Take thou this promise for com~ort, And hold it in tl)y heart, - "lie searcheth out all l)eljection o foolish and faithless sailor, ~Vhen the ship is driven away, When il~e waves forget their places, And the anchor will not stay, - lie weigheth the waters by measure." o outcast, homeless, bewildered, Let no~v tliy murmurs be still, ~ Go in at tlie gates of gladness And eat of tlie feast at will, - "For wisdom is better than riches." d~&1FNS. o diligeiit, diligent sower, ~V1io sowest tliy seed in vaiii, When the corn iii tlie ear is withered, And tl~e youj~g flax dies for rain, - " Through ro~ks tie ~nttetli out rivers 284 HYMNS. LYRIC. Ttiou givest, Lord, to Nature law, And she in turn doti) give Her poorest flower a right to draw ~Vhate'er she needs to live. The dews upon her forehead fall, The sunbeams round her lean, And dress her humble form with all The glory of a queen. In thickets wild, in woodland bowers, By waysides, everywhere, The plainest flower of all the flowers Is shining with Thy care. And shMl I through my fear and doubt Be less fl~an one of these, And come from seeking Thee without Thy blessed influences? Thou who hast crowned my life with powers So large,-so high above The fairest flower of all the flowers, Forbid it by Thy love. HY3INS. 28~ SUNDAY MORNING. O DAY to sweet religious thought So wisely set apart, Back to the silent strengH~ of life llelp thou my wavering heart. Nor let tiie obtrusive lies of sense My meditations draw From tlie composed, majestic real iii Of everlasting law. Break down ~liatever hindering sIiiii~es I see, or seem to see, Aiid make my soul acquainted with Celestial company. Beyoi~d the wintry waste of death Shine fields of heavenly light; Let not this incident of time Absorb me from their' sight. 286 HKlfNS I L~0ow these outward forms wberein S() much my lioi)es I St('4~, Are but t]ie shadowy liiiits of t]~at ~~1iic'1i ct ii 10ot pass away. That just outside the work-day path By man's volition trod, Lie tite resistless iss~tcs of Tie things ordained ~r God. HYilLYS. IN THE DARK. OUT of the earthly years we How small a profit springs 1~annot think but life should give LIiglier and better tl~ings. The very gi~ound wl~ere~~ we tread Is ~lotlied t() please onr sight Icannot tliii0k that ~ve have read Our dnsty lesson right. So little comfbrt we receive, Except through what we see, Icannot think we half believe On r immortality. We disallow and trample so Tlie rights of poor, weak mei~, Icannot think we fed and know They are our brethren. So rarely our affections move Without a selfish guard, Icannot think we know that love Is all of love's reward. 28~ Hl~iiYS T~ liim who smites, tlie cheek is turned With such a ~low consent, I cannot think that we have learned The holy Testament. Blind, ignorant, we grope along A path misunderstood, Mingling with folly and with wrong Some providential good. Striving with vain and idle strife In outward shows to live, We famish, knowiiig not il~at life Has better iliings to give. HYMNS. 289 PARTING SONG. THE long day is closing,. Ah, why should you weep? `T is thus il~at God gives His betoved ones sleep. I see the wide water So deep and so black, - Love waits me beyond it, - I would not go back! I would not go back Where its joys scarce may gleam, - Where even in dreaming We know that we dream; For though life filled for me All measures of bliss, Has it anything better Or sweeter than this? I would not go back To the torment of fear, - To the wastes of ~ncomfort When home is so near. 37 290 HYMNS. Each night is a prison-bar Broken and gone,Each morning a golden gate, On,-farther on! On, on toward the city So shining and f~ir And lie il~at hath loved me - Died for me - is there. ii~7~ATS. 2~1 MOURN NOT. o MOURNER, mourn not v~nished light, But fix your fearful hopes above; The ~vatcher, through the long, dai~k night, Shall see the daybreak of God's love. A land all green and bright and fair, Lies just beyond this vale of tears, And we shall meet, immortM there, The pleasures of our mortal years. He who to death has doomed our race, ~Vith ~eadfast faith our souls has armed, And made us children of His grace To go into the grave, unharmed. The storm may beat, the night may close, The face may change, the blood run cbill, But llis great love no limit knows, And fl~erefore we should fear no ill. 292 Hy~ThTs. Dust as we are, and steeped in guilt, How strange, bow wondrous, how divine, That He bath for us mansions built, Where everlasting splendors sbine. Our days with beauty let us trim, As Nature trims with flowers the sod; Giving il~e glory all to Him, - Our Fn'end, our Father. and our God. HYMNS. THE HEAVEN THAT'S HERE. M~ God, I feel Thy wondrous might In Nature's various shows, - The whirlwind's breath, - the tender light Of the rejoicing rose. For doth not that same power enfol Whatever il~iiigs are new, Which shone about tl0C saints of old And struck the seas in two? Ashamed, I veil my fearful eyes From this, Thy earthly reign; What shall I do when I arise From death, but die again What shall I do but prostrate fall Before the splendor tl~ere, That here, so dazzles me through all The dusty robes I wear. Life's outward and material laws, - Love, sunshine, all things bright, - Are curtains which Thy mercy draws To shield us from il~at light. 2~j4 HYMNS. Ifalter when I try to seek The world which these conceal; Istammer when I fain would speak The reverence that I feel. Idare not pray to Thee to give That heaven which shall appear; My cry is, llelp me, Thou, to live ~Yithin the heaven that`5 here. llYMN~~ 29.~ THE STREAM OF LIFE~ Tfl~ stream of life is going dry Thank God, fl~at more and more I s~e the golden sands, which I Could never see before. The banks are dark with graves of friends; Thank God, for faith sublime In the eternity that sends Its shadows into time. The flowers are gone that with their glow Of sunshine filled the grass; Thank God, they were but dim and low Reflections in a glass. The autumn winds are blowing chill; The summer warmth is done; Thank God, the little dew-drop still I drawn into the sun. Strange stream, to be exhaled so fast In cloudy cares and tears; Thank God, that it should shine at last Along tlie immortal years. 296 HYMNS. DEAD AND ALIVE. TILL I learned to love TIiy name, Lord, Ti~y grace de~iying, I was lost in sin and shame, Dying, dying, dying! Nothii~g could the world impart Darkness held no morrow; In my soul and in my heart Sorrow, sorrow, sorrow! All il~e blossoms came to blight; Noon was dull and dreary; Night and day, and day and night, ~Veary, weary, weary! ~Yhen I learned to love Thy name, Peace beyond all measure Came, and in the~ stead of shame, Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure! IIYMNS. 2~J7 Winds may beat, and storms may fall, Thou, il~e meek and lowly, Reignest, and I sing through Lll~ Holy, holy, holy! Life may henceforth never be Like a dismal story, For beyond its bound I see Glory, glory, glory! 38 2q.~ HYAlYS. INVO CATION. COME down to us, l~elp and heal us, Thou that once jife's pathway trod, Knowing all its gloom and glory, - Son of n~an, and Son of God. Come down to us, help and heal us, ~Vlien our hopes before us flee; Tl~ou liast been a man of sorrows, Tried and tempted, even as we. By tlie weakness of our nature, By the burdens of our care, Steady up our fainting courage, - Save, 0 save us fiom despair! By tlie still and strong temptation Of consenting hearts wifliin; By the power of outward evil, Save, 0 save us from our sin! By il~e infirm and bowed together, - By the demons far and near, - By all sick and sad possessions, Save, 0 save us from our fear! HYMNS. ~~tJ(J From the dim and dreary doubtii~g That with faith a warfare make, Save us, through Thy sweet compassion, Save us, for Thy own name's sake. And when all of life is finished To the last low fainting breath, Meet us in the awful shadows, And deliver ~LS from deatn. ~YMNS LIFE OF LIFE. To Him who is tlie Life of life, I~Iy soul its vows would pay; He leads the flowery seasons on, And gives tlie storm its way. The wii~ds run backward to il~eir caves At His divine command, A~~d tl~e great deep Lie folds withiij The hollow of His hand. He clot]~es il~e grass, He makes tlie rose To wear her good attire; The moon fle gives her patient grace, And all il~e stars their fire. He l~ears the hungry raven's cry, And se~ds her young their food, And through our evil intimates His purposes of good. llYMNS. 300 He stretches out the north, He binds The tempest in His care; The mountains cannot strike their r~' ~ts So deep He is not there. Hid iii the garment of His works, ~Ve feel His presence still Witb us, and il~rough us fashioning The mystery of His will. 302 HYMNS. MERCIES. LEST tlie great glory fi'om on high Should make o~r senses swim, Our blessed Lord bath spread the sky Between oursd~~s and Him. He niade the Sabbath shine before The work-days and the care, And set about its golden door The messengers of prayer. Across our earthly pleasures fled He sends His heavenly light, Like morning streaming broad and red Adown the skirts of night. He nearest comes when most His face Is wrapt in clouds of gloom; The firmest pillars of His grace Are planted in the tomb. Oh shall we not the power of sin And vanity withstand, When thus our Father holds us in The hollow of His hand? HYAiNS. 303 PLEASURE AND PMN. PLEASURE and pain walk hand in hand, Each is il~e other's poise The borders of flie silent land Are full of troubled noise. Wliiie harvests yellow as the day In plenteous billows roll, Men go about in blank dismay, Hungry of heart and soul. Like chance-sown weeds il~ey grow, and drift On to the drowning main; Oh, for a lever iliat would lift Thought to a higher plane! Sin is destructive: lie is dead Whose soul is lost to truth While virtue makes the hoary head Bright wid~ eternal youth. There is a courage that partakes Of cowardice; a high M~d honest-hearted fear that makes The man afraid to lie. 304 HYAiNS. When no low thoughts of self intrude, Angels adjust our rights; And love that seeks its selfish good Dies in its own delights. How much we take, - how little give, - Yet every life is meant To help all lives; each man should live For all men's betterment. $~{; ~) HI'~iNS~ 805 ~IY'STE RIES. CLOUDS, with a little light between; Pain, passion, fear, and doubt, - What voice shall tell me what they mean? I cannot find them out! Hopeless my task is, to begin, Wlio fail with all my power, To read t]ie crimson lettering in Tiie modest meadow flower. Death, with shut eyes and icy cheek, Bearing il~at bitter cup; Oh, who is wise enough to speak, And break its silence up! Or read the evil wflting on The wall of good, for, oh, The more my reason sl)ines upon Its lines, the less I know: Or show liow dust becomes a rose, And what it is above All mysteries that doth compose Discordance into Love. 39 306 HYMNS. -I only know that Wisdom planned, And that it is my part To trust, who cannot understand The beating of my neart. HYMNS. 307 LYRIC. THOU givest, Lord, to Nature law, And she in turn dofl~ give Her poorest flower a right to draw ~Vhate'er she needs to live. The dews upon her forehead fall, The sunbeams round her lean, And dress her humble form with all The glory of a queen. In iliickets wild, in woodland bowers, By waysides, everywhere, The plainest flower of all the flowers Is shining with Thy care. And shall I, il~rough my fear and doubt, Be less than one of these, And come from seeking Thee without Thy blessed influences? Thou who hast crowned my life with powers So large,-so high above The fairest flower of all the flowers, - Forbid it by Thy love. ao~ HYMN~~ TRUST. Aw~~ with all life's memories, Away with hopes, away! Lord, take me up into Thy love, Ai~d keep me there to-day. I cannot trust to mortal eyes My weakness and my sin; Temptations He alone can judge, Wi~o knows what they have been. But I can trust Him who provides The thirsty ground with dew, And round il~e wounded beetle builds His grassy house anew. For the same hand fl~at smites with pain, And sends the wintry snows, Dotli mould il~e frozen clod agaill Into tlie summer rose. My soul is melted by that love, So tender and so true; I can but cry, My Lord and God, What wilt Thou have me do? NYMNS..c\09 My blessings all come back to me, And round about me stand; Help me to climb their dizzy staiti Until I touch Thy hand. A, d'~() HYMN.~ ALL IN ALL. AwEARY, wounded unto death, - Unfavored of men's eyes, I have a house not made with hands, Eternal, in the skies. A house where but the steps of faith Through the white light have trod, Steadfast among the mansions of The City of our God. There never shall the sun go down From the lamenting day There storms shall never rise to beat The light of love away. There living streams through deaH~less flowers Are flowing free and wide There souls that tI'irsted l~ere below Drink, and are satisfied. I know my longing shall be filled ~Vhen this weak, wasting clay Is folded like a garment from My soul, and laid away. RYAINS. 811 I know it by th' immortal liopes That wrestle down my fear, By all the awful mystenes That hide J~eaven fi'oin us here. Oh, what a blissful heritage On such as I to fall; Possessed of Thee, my Lord and God, I am possessed of all. B12 HYMNS. THE PURE IN HEA~T. `~Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." I ASKED the angels in my prayer, ~\titli bitter tears and pains, To show mine eyes the kingdom where Tlie Lord of glory reigns. I said, ~fy way with doubt is dim, ~1y heart is sick with fear; Oli come, and help me build to Him A tabernacle here! The storms of sorrow wildly beat, TIie clouds with death are chill I loi~g to hear His voice so sweet, ~Viio whispered, " Peace; be still! Tlie angels said, God giveth you Ilis love, - what more is ours? And even as il~e gentle dew Descends upon tlie flowers, HYIlINS 3I~ His grace descends; and, as of old, He walks with man apart, Keeping the promise, as foretold, With all the pure in heart. Thou needst not ask the angels where His habitations be; Keep thou thy spirit clean and fair, And He shall dwel! with thee. 40 314 HYMNS. UNSATISFIED. COME out from beaven, 0 Lord, and be my guide, Come, I implore To my dark questionings unsatisfied, Leave me no more, - No more, 0 Lord, no more! Forgetting how my nights and bow my days Run sweetly by, - Forgetting tbat Tliy ways above our ways Are all so Jiigli, - I cry, and ~ver cry - Since that Thou leavest not the wildest glen, For flowers to wait, How leavest Ti iou tlie l~earts of living men So desolate, - So darkly desolate? Tl~~u keepest safe beneath the wintry snow The little seed, And leavest under all its weights of woe, The heart to bleed, And vainly, vainly plead. HYMNS. 315 In the dry root Thou stirrest up the sap; At Thy commands Cometh flie rain, and all the busi~es clap Their rosy hands: Man only, thirsting, stands. Is it for envy, or from wratl~ that springs From foolisl~ pride, Thou lea vest liim to liis dark questionings Unsatisfied, - Al ways unsatisfied? 316 HY~K~. MORE LIFE. ~VHEN spring-time prospers in fl~e grass, And fills the vales with tender bloom, And light ~vinds ~vhisper as they pass Of sunnier days to come; In spite ~~ all the joy she brings To flood and field, to hill and grove, This is the song my spirit sings, ~Iore light, more lifi~, more love! And when, her time fi~l(1lled, slie goes So gently fi~m her vernal place, And all the outstretched landscape glows ~Vith sober summer grace; ~Vhen on the stalk the ear is set, ~Vith all the harvest promise bright, ~Iy spirit sings the old song yet, ~Iore love, more life, more light! HYMNS. 317 When stubble takes the place of grain, And shrunken streams steal slow along, And all il~e faded woods complain Like one who suffers wrong; ~7hen fires are lit, and everywhere The pleasures of the household rife, My song is solemnized to prayer, - More love, more light, more life! HYAfYS LIGllT AND DARKNESS. DA RKNESS, blind darkness every way, ~Vith low illuminings of ligl~t; Hints, intimations of il~e day That never breaks to full, clear light. High longing for a larger light Urges us onward o'er life's hlll; Low fbar of darkness and of night Pr~sses ns back and holds ns still. So while to Hope we give one hand, The other hand to Fear we lend; And thus`twixt high and low w~ stand, ~Yaiting and waveflng to the end. Eager for some ungotten good, We mind the false and miss the true; Leaving undone the things we would, We do the things we would not do. For ill in good and good in ill, The verity, the thing that seems, - They run into each other still, Like dreams in fruth, like truth in dreams. `tYMNS. 31~ Seeing fl~e world with sin imbued, ~e trust that in il~e eternal plan Some little drop of brightest blood Runs il~rough il~e darkest heart of man. Living afar from what is near, Uplooking ~~liile ~ve do~vn~vard tertd; In light and shadow, hope and fear, We sin and suffer to the end. .320 rIYMN& SU13STANC~ EAcTI fearful storm that o'er us rolls, Eac1~ path of peril trod, Is but a means whereby our souls Acquaint themselves with God. Our want and weakness, shame and sin, His pitying kindness prove; And all our lives are folded in The mystery of His love. The grassy land, tlie flowering trees, The waters, wild and dim, - These are the cloud of witnesses That testify of Him. His sun is shining, sure and fast, O'er all our nights of dread; Our darkness by His light, at last Shall be interpreted. H YJtA ~ 321 No pi~onlise shall He fail to keep Until ~ve see His fl~ce; E~eii &leatli is but a teI~dLr sleep Iii tlie eteitnal i'aee. Tin~e's en~pty sliado~v cheats our eyes, BLit all tlie heavens declare Tlie substance of tlie things we ~)ri'ze Is there, and only t'iiere. 11 322 HYJiNS. LIFE'S MYSTER~i. LIFE'S sadly solemn mystery Hangs o'er me like a we~Iit; The glorious longing to be free, The gloomy bars of fate. Alternatdy tlie good and ill, The light and dark, are sfrung,Fountains of love within n~y heart, And hate upon my tongue. Beneath my feet the unstable grounj, Above my head the skies; Immortal longings in my soul, And death before my eyes. No purely pure, and perfect good, No high, unhindered power; -A beauteous promise in the bud, And mildew on the flower. HYMNS. The glad, green brightness of the spring; The summer, soft and warm; The faded autumn's fluttering gold, The whirlwind and the storm. To find some sure interpreter My spirit vainly tries; I only know that God is love, And know that love is wise. P~24 HYMNS FOR SELF-HELP. MASTER, I do not ask il~at Thou With milk and wine my table spread, So mud~, as for tl~e will to plough And sow my fields, and earn iny bread; Lest at Thy coming I be fbui~d A useless cumberer of tlie ground. I do not ask fl~at Thou wilt bless With gifts of heavenly sort iuy day, So much, as that my hands may dress The borders of my lowly way With constant deeds of good ai~d right, Thereby reflecting heavenly light. I do not ask that Thou shouldst lift My feet to mountain-heights sublime, So much, as for the heavenly gift Of strength, with which myself may climb, Making the power Thou madest mine For using, by that use, divine. flY~0iNS. 325 Ido not ask tiiat there may flow Glory about me from the skies; The knowledge that doth knowledge know The wisdom that is not too`vise To see in all things good and fair, Ti~y love attested, is my prayer. 326 HYMNS. DYING HYMN. EARTH, with its dark and dreadful ills, Recedes, and fades away; Lift up your heads, ye heavenly hills; Ye gates of death, give way! My soul is full of whispered song; My blindness is my sight; The shadows that I feared so long Are all alive with light. The while my pulses faintly beat, My faith doth so abound, 1 feel grow firm beneath my feet The green immortal ground. That faith to me a courage gives, Low as the grave, to go; I know that my Redeemer lives: That I shall live, I know. The palace walls I almost see, Where dwells my Lord and King; o grave, where is thy victory! 0 death, where is thy sting! HYMNS. 327 EXTREMITIES. WHEN fl~e mlldew~s blight we see Over all the harvest spread, Humbly, Lord, we cry to Thee, Give, 0 give us, daily bread! But the full and plenteous ears Many a time we reap with tears. ~Yhen the whirlwind rocLs the land, ~Yhen the gathenug clouds alarm, Lord, within Thy sheltering hand, Hide, 0 hide us from the storm! So with trembling souls we cry, Till the cloud and noise- pass by. When our pleasures fade away, When our hopes delusive prove, Prostrate at Thy feet we pray, Shield, 0 shield us with Thy love! ISut, our anxious plea allowed, We grow petulant and proud. .~28 HYMNS. When life's little day turns diii], ~Tlieu tlie aven~iflO shades be~iii, Save us, 0 ~Iost ~~Q1'ci(\Il, Save us, s~ive ~is f\~oiii ()ur sin So, tlie last dread foe being near, ~Ve entreat Thee, through our feai'. Ere tlie darl~ our light eff}~ce, Ere our pleasure fleeth far, Atake us worthier of Tiiy grace, Stubborn rebels that we are ~Vliile our good days r~~i~nd us shine, 0 our Father, make u~ fhine. HYMNS. 32~ HERE AND THERE. HERE is the sorrow, the sigh ng, Here are il~e cloud and il~e night; Here is the sickness, the dying, There are the life and tlie light! Here is the fading, the wasting, The foe that so watchfully waits; There are il~e hills everlasting, The city with beautiful gates. Here are the locks growing hoary, The glass with tlie vanisl~ing sands There are the crown and the glory, The house that is made not with hands. Here is the longing, the vision, The hopes that so swiftly remove; There is the blessed fruition, The feast, and the fulness of love. Here are the heart-strings a-tremble, And here is the chastening rod; There is the song and the cymbal, And there is our Father and God. 42 HYM~~ THE DAWN OF PEACE AFTER the cloud and tiie whirlwind, After tlie long, dark night, Aft~r the dull, slow marches, And the tliiA~, tumultuous ~ght, Thai~k God, we see tlie lifting Of tlie golden, glorious light! After the son~owful partings, After the sickening fear, And after the bitter sealing With blood, of year to year, Thank God, the light is breaking; Thank God, the day is here! The land is filled with mourning For husbands and brothers slain, But a hymn of glad il~anksgiving Rises over the pain; Thank God, our gallant soldiers Have not gone down in vain! HYMNS 331 The cloud is spent; the whirlwind Tl~at vexed the night is past; And the day whose blessed dawniiig We see, shall surely last, Till all the broken fetters To ploughshares shall be cast! When over the field of battle The grass grows green, and when The Spirit of Peace shal! have planted Her olives once again, Oh, how the hosts of the people Shall cry, Amen, Amen! 3~2 H1'MN~. OCCASIONAL. OUR inig]itiest ii~ our n~idst is slain Tlie n~ouruers ~veep around, I3rokeii and bowed with bitter pain, And bleediiig through l~is wound. Prostrate, o'er~vheln~ed, ~vitli anguish torn, ~Ve cry, great God, for aid; Night fell upon us, even at i~orn, And we are sore aflaid. Afraid of OUF inflrmities, In this, our ~voful ~voe, Afraid to breast the bloody seas That hard against us flow. The sword we sheathed, our enemy lias bared, ai~d struck us tl~rongh And heart, and soul, and spirit cry, ~V ii at wilt Thou have us do HYAINS. 333 I~)C`vifli our country in this grief Tl~at lies across lier path, Lest that sbe rnonn~ her martyr~d chief ~Vith an unrighteous wrath. Give lier that steadft~st fiiitli aiid trust That look tlirougl~ all, to Thee; Ai~d in her iiiercy keep lier just, Ai~d through lier justice, free. THE END. ~)