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 1 I^Bl^l S
 
 BELLS AT EVENING 
 AND OTHER VERSES 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANCES J. CROSBY 
 
 WITH 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT LOWRY, D.D. 
 
 THIRD EDITION-ENLARGED 
 
 THE BIGLOW & MAIN COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK AND CHICAGO 
 
 1899
 
 Copyright, 1897, by 
 THE BIGLOW & MAIN COMPANY. 
 
 Copyright, 1898, by 
 THE BIGLOW & MAIN COMPANY.
 
 V*; 
 
 DEDICATED 
 
 ALL WHO SING MY HYMNS. 
 
 612973
 
 Thanks are due to Mr. John R. Sweney for per- 
 mission to use hymns on pages 174, 176, and 180 ; to 
 Mr. Wm. J. Kirkpatrick for those on pages 178, 179, 
 and 183 ; to Mrs. Jos. F. Knapp for hymn on page 146; 
 also to The Biglow & Main Company for permission 
 to use all the other hymns and poems in this little 
 volume. 
 
 F. J. C. 
 
 NOTE. The reprinting, in any form, of the poems and 
 hymns contained herein, without the written permission of the 
 owners of the copyright first having been obtained, is a violation 
 of the Copyright law. 
 
 4
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 FRANCES JANE CROSBY, the daughter of 
 John and Mercy Crosby, was born in South 
 East, Putnam County, New York, March 24, 
 1820. Her home was in a little valley, through 
 which ran a branch of the Croton River. The 
 murmur of the flowing water was the music of 
 her earliest childhood. Her fancy reveled in the 
 silvery tones that rose incessantly from the hum- 
 ble brook. They spoke to her in a language 
 which she could understand, and she learned to 
 translate them into her own vernacular. The 
 dancing measures of the little stream still linger 
 sweetly in her memory. 
 
 When she was only six weeks old an affection 
 of the eyes demanded medical treatment. Either 
 from lack of accurate diagnosis, or from the opera- 
 tion of causes beyond the reach of ordinary skill, 
 the remedies applied failed to accomplish the de- 
 sired end, and her sense of sight entirely disap- 
 peared. Happily for her peace of mind, this loss 
 of vision came upon her at so early an age that 
 she was relieved of those violent and painful con- 
 trasts which would have been her lot if this mis-
 
 6 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 fortune had overtaken her in later years. Indeed 
 so utterly foreign to her is our world of sight, she 
 does not feel the loss of what practically never 
 was in her possession. A calamity which would 
 be regarded by us as beyond all compensation 
 she looks upon as one of the commonplaces of 
 her normal condition. It is pathetic to hear her 
 gentle but earnest protest when tender sympathies 
 are expended upon her by honestly commiserating 
 friends ; but we cannot but admire the beautiful 
 contentment with which she accepts her place in 
 life, and even expresses a preference for what to 
 us would be only an unmitigated misfortune. 
 Her childhood was a period of unalloyed delight. 
 Her happy temperament threw sunshine over all 
 her surroundings. She discovered in time that 
 there was a sight-world in which she had no part, 
 but no knowledge of that deprivation could affect 
 the elasticity of her spirits. f As if to give notice 
 to all persons that they need not waste any con- 
 dolements on her, she wrote, at the age of eight 
 years, the following statement of the situation as 
 she viewed it : i 
 
 " O what a happy soul am I ! 
 
 Although I cannot see, 
 I am resolved that in this world 
 
 Contented I will be ; 
 How many blessings I enjoy 
 
 That other people don't ! 
 To weep and sigh because I'm blind, 
 
 I cannot, and I won't."
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 7 
 
 The poetry in this childish effusion may not be of 
 the highest order, but the philosophy it contains 
 is worthy of general adoption. 
 
 When she was about nine years old she was 
 taken by her parents to Ridgefield, Conn., where 
 the family remained four years. After the death 
 of her father her opportunities for mental im- 
 provement were in a degree interrupted. This 
 would have been a serious thing to her but for 
 the one happy event which turned and fixed the 
 course of her life. At the age of fifteen years she 
 entered the New York Institution for the Blind. 
 Here she remained as a pupil for twelve years. 
 In 1847 she became a teacher, in which position 
 she continued till 1858. She taught English 
 Grammar, Rhetoric, and Roman and American 
 History. This was the developing period in her 
 life. The darkness that was upon the face of the 
 deep gave place to the form and symmetry of in- 
 tellectual expansion. Her vivid imagination, 
 which had been running for years with but little 
 restraint, came under the control of her broaden- 
 ing intellect. Language, which, under the cir- 
 cumstances of her life, had been necessarily lim- 
 ited, came to her aid with a steadily increasing 
 vocabulary. The poetic faculty, which from early 
 childhood had been struggling within her for ex- 
 pression, found food and stimulus along all these 
 lines of intellectual development. Memory, al- 
 ways intensified and strengthened in the absence
 
 8 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 of external helps, became her ready and obedient 
 servitor. The schoolboy may forget the lesson 
 on the printed page, but the blind man retains it. 
 The man with clear vision may lose the face of a 
 friend in the distractions of the outside world, but 
 the blind man never mistakes the tone of a voice. 
 The expert organist, with his fingers on the key- 
 board or his pen marking the paper, may be 
 puzzled to know the correct outlet for a discord, 
 but the blind musician, almost by intuition, will 
 see the difficulty and give the true progression. 
 The Bible, studded with golden texts, became a 
 never-failing treasury to this blind girl passing 
 up into womanhood. So tenacious is her mem- 
 ory that in her early years she committed the 
 first four books of the Old Testament, and also 
 the four Gospels. Her hymns abound with 
 phrases of Scripture which readily adapt them- 
 selves to rhythmic expression. Her mind is 
 stored with much that she has learned from 
 various authors. Once in possession of a thought 
 of value, she assimilates it, reproduces it, makes 
 it her own by putting on it the stamp of her in- 
 dividuality. The versatility of her genius is re- 
 markable. Driven sometimes by a stress of work 
 there will slip from her a striking epithet or 
 phrase which she has used before; but, tak- 
 ing into view the many hymns which she has 
 written, besides songs and miscellaneous poems, 
 the wonder is that she expresses herself in such
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 9 
 
 manifold variety. Her mind is a storehouse of 
 things new and old, and her verse is constructed 
 from the abundant words and phrases which seem 
 to fall almost of their own accord into their appro- 
 priate places. 
 
 During her pupilage in the Institution for the 
 Blind her teachers did not fail to notice the poetic 
 quality of her mind, and the growing aptitude for 
 putting words together in metrical form and ta- 
 pering them off with rhymes. So prominently 
 did this gift assert itself, the managers were led 
 to utilize it for the benefit of the Institution. In 
 August, 1842, a tour was made through western 
 New York, in which a number of the pupils 
 made exhibition of the kind of work done in the 
 schoolroom. At all these meetings Miss Crosby 
 was put forward as conspicuously illustrating the 
 value of education to the blind. A poetic ad- 
 dress delivered at one of these meetings contains 
 the following stanza : 
 
 " Contented, happy, though a sightless band, 
 Dear friends, this evening we before you stand ; 
 We for a moment your attention claim. 
 And trust that boon will not be asked in vain." 
 
 In May, 1843, tne Institution for the Blind held 
 its anniversary in the Broadway Tabernacle, New 
 York. The occasion, always interesting, was 
 made doubly so by the recitation of an original 
 poem, of which the following is an extract :
 
 10 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 " The smile that decks the human face, 
 
 The brilliant eye, the joyous brow, 
 Are beauties we may never trace ; 
 
 A rayless midnight shrouds us now. 
 But why, O why the falling tear ? 
 
 Why heaves the sad, unbidden sigh ? 
 The lamp of knowledge, bright and clear, 
 
 Pours luster on our mental eye." 
 
 On June 22, 1843, the Senate of the State of 
 New York visited the Institution in a body. Here 
 again our blind girl was brought to the front, and 
 addressed the high dignitaries in a poem, of which 
 the following is a specimen : 
 
 " Yon glorious orb that gilds the azure skies 
 Sheds not a ray to cheer these sightless eyes ; 
 The dewy lawn, mild nature's sylvan bowers 
 To trace these lovely scenes must ne'er be ours ; 
 But education's pure refulgent light 
 Illumes our souls, dispels our mental night ; 
 Joy on each brow a smiling garland weaves ; 
 Here, too, her magic strain soft music breathes." 
 
 In the same year another tour was made 
 through central New York, and, as usual, Miss 
 Crosby was the chief performer with an original 
 poem. 
 
 In November, 1843, Count Bertrand was re- 
 ceived as an honored guest, and Miss Crosby 
 was selected to address him in poetic form. 
 She subsequently wrote a touching poem on 
 hearing of the Count's death. 
 
 On January 24, 1844, seventeen pupils were 
 taken to Washington to give a practical demon-
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 1 1 
 
 stration, before the Senate and House of Repre- 
 sentatives, of the good results attending a sys- 
 tematic instruction of the blind. In this august 
 presence, stirred by eloquent speeches and regaled 
 with sweet singing, our gifted poet poured her 
 heart out in words that held all hearers captive. 
 From a poem of thirteen stanzas we select the 
 following : 
 
 ' ' What though these orbs in rayless darkness roll ? 
 Instruction pours its radiance o'er the soul ; 
 And fancy pictures to the mental eye 
 The glittering hosts that 'lume the midnight sky. 
 O ye who here from every State convene, 
 Illustrious band ! may we not hope the scene 
 You now behold will prove to every mind 
 Instruction hath a ray to cheer the blind." 
 
 In the same year a company of twenty pupils 
 gave an exhibition of like character at Trenton, 
 N. J., before the Governor and Legislature. The 
 occasion was one of intense interest, not the least 
 feature of which was an original poem delivered 
 by her who had become so important a factor in 
 making the public familiar with the working of 
 the Institution to which she belonged. 
 
 While Miss Crosby was teaching she came in 
 contact with many distinguished men. An item 
 of interest which she takes pleasure in recalling 
 is the fact that, during a part of that time, Grover 
 Cleveland was attached to the office of the Institu- 
 tion. Her recollections of Mr. Cleveland are of 
 the most pleasant character, his bearing toward
 
 12 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 her being such as to impress her mind with a 
 sense of his courtesy and kindness. Among the 
 men whom she met were President Van Buren, 
 President Tyler, Governor William H. Seward, 
 General Winfield Scott, and Henry Clay. Con- 
 cerning Henry Clay, she tells the story that dur- 
 ing his last visit to New York he came to the 
 Institution, and she was appointed to give him 
 welcome in a poem. Six months before he had 
 lost a son in the Mexican war, and she had sent 
 him some verses. In her address she carefully 
 avoided any allusion to his sorrow. When she 
 had finished her poem of welcome he came up 
 to her and said, with tears in his eyes : " This is 
 not the first poem for which I am indebted to 
 this lady. Six months ago she sent me some 
 lines on the death of my dear son." Both of 
 them were overcome for the moment, and although 
 with an effort he recovered himself, it was im- 
 possible for her to restrain her tears. 
 
 In 1845 George F. Root began to give music 
 lessons in the New York Institution for the Blind. 
 In 1851 it occurred to him that a cantata or 
 musical play might be made useful in his classes, 
 especially those in Rutgers and Spingler Insti- 
 tutes. The floral concerts given by W. B. Brad- 
 bury in the Broadway Tabernacle suggested the 
 subject of the flowers choosing a queen, and he 
 finally determined that the little play should be 
 called The Flower Queen. In his autobiogra-
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 13 
 
 phy, entitled The Story of a Musical Life, Dr. 
 Root thus expresses his indebtedness to Miss 
 Crosby : 
 
 " At the Institution for the Blind there was at 
 that time a lady who had been a pupil there, but 
 was now a teacher, who had a great gift for 
 rhyming, and, better still, had a delicate and 
 poetic imagination. The name of Fanny Crosby 
 was not known then beyond the small circle of 
 her personal friends, but it is now familiar, espe- 
 cially wherever Gospel songs are sung. I used 
 to tell her one day in prose what I wanted the 
 Flowers or the Recluse to say, and the next day 
 the poem would be ready sometimes two or 
 three of them. I generally hummed enough of a 
 melody to give her an idea of the meter and 
 rhythmic swing wanted, and sometimes played to 
 her the entire music of a number before she un- 
 dertook her work. It was all the same. Like 
 many blind people her memory was great, and 
 she easily retained all I told her. After receiving 
 her poems, which rarely needed any modification, 
 I thought out the music, perhaps while going 
 from one lesson to another, and then I caught 
 the first moment of freedom to write it out. This 
 went on until the cantata was finished." 
 
 The same ready pen contributed largely to 
 Professor Root's cantata of " Daniel," and also 
 that of " The Pilgrim Fathers." Many songs were 
 written by her for Professor Root, among them
 
 14 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 "Rosalie the Prairie Flower," "Hazel Dell," 
 "The Honeysuckle Glen," "Proud World, 
 Good-By, I'm Going Home," " Music in the 
 Air," " All Together," " Never Forget the Dear 
 Ones, "and others. These songs became exceed- 
 ingly popular in their day, though it was not gen- 
 erally known at the time that she was the author 
 of them. The royalty on " Rosalie the Prairie 
 Flower " alone amounted to nearly three thou- 
 sand dollars. 
 
 Many of Miss Crosby's hymns and songs have 
 gone out into the world, though not by her in- 
 tent, either anonymously or under some pseu- 
 donym. John Julian, in his " Dictionary of 
 Hymnology," says of this questionable treat- 
 ment: 
 
 " The greater part are signed by a bewildering 
 number of initials and noms deplume; includ- 
 ing: 
 
 "A.; C.; D. H. W. ; F.; F. A. N.; F. C.; F. 
 J. C.; F. J. V. A.; J. C. F.; V.; V. A.; Ella Dale; 
 F. Crosby; F. J. Crosby; Fannie; Fannie Crosby; 
 Fanny Van Alstyne; Jenny V.; Mrs. Jenie Glenn; 
 Mrs. Kate Grinley; Miss V.; Miss Viola V. A.; Mrs. 
 V.; Viola." 
 
 To this crazy-quilt list may be added, Grace J. 
 Frances, Mrs. C. M. Wilson, Lizzie Edwards, 
 Henrietta E. Blair, Rose Atherton, Maud Mar- 
 ion, Leah Carlton, and others. 
 
 Miss Crosby was married to Alexander Van
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 15 
 
 Alstyne March 5, 1858. Mr. Van Alstyne was 
 a pupil in the Institution and a good musician. 
 Strong in their mutual love and sympathy, they 
 were willing to take the risks of a world they 
 could not see. With all, the disadvantages and 
 distractions of this independent life the new 
 bride never lost her thirst for knowledge, nor did 
 there come any diminution of that poetic afflatus 
 which made her a queen in her educational 
 home. She lived her life of song through all the 
 years, and finds in it still her greatest pleasure. 
 
 The diversity of names by which she is known 
 is sometimes confusing. One editor, with a 
 habit of precision which might well be emulated, 
 inscribes her in his hymnal as Mrs. Frances Jane 
 Crosby Van Alstyne. Another satisfies himself 
 with the briefer form of Mrs. F. J. Van Alstyne. 
 Less precise compilers content themselves with 
 Miss Frances J. Crosby, or Fanny J. Crosby, or, 
 more economically, Fanny Crosby. To the pub- 
 lic at large she will probably be known always as 
 Fanny Crosby, while to those who are nearest 
 to her, and who enjoy the privilege of her confi- 
 dence and affection, she is, simply and sweetly, 
 Fanny. 
 
 Three volumes of her poems have been pub- 
 lished. The first was issued in 1844, entitled 
 " The Blind Girl, and Other Poems," containing 
 an excellent lithograph portrait of the author. A 
 second volume followed in 1849, called "Mon-
 
 16 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 terey, and Other Poems;" and a third, "A 
 Wreath of Columbia's Flowers," was issued in 
 1858. While these productions are all credit- 
 able to the author, it is in no wise on them that 
 her fame is based. It is as a writer of hymns, 
 especially as popularized in Sunday-schools for 
 the last thirty years, that she has made a name 
 for herself wherever the English language is 
 spoken. Nor is her celebrity confined to people 
 of her native tongue ; in almost all quarters of 
 the world her hymns have been translated, and 
 are sung by Christian people everywhere. 
 
 It was on February 5, 1864, that she wrote the 
 first of that long series of hymns which has run up 
 into the thousands. This hymn was written for 
 W. B. Bradbury, who was then devoting himself 
 to musical service among the young, and was fol- 
 lowed by scores of others for use in various 
 books which Mr. Bradbury edited. The relation 
 thus formed between writer and publisher con- 
 tinued till the death of the latter in 1868. At 
 Mr. Bradbury's funeral, this first hymn became 
 invested with a kind of sacredness in being sung 
 in connection with the musical exercises. Its 
 opening lines read thus : 
 
 " We are going, we are going 
 To a home beyond the skies." 
 
 After the death of Mr. Bradbury, the relations 
 she sustained to that lamented composer were
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 17 
 
 continued with his successors, Biglow & Main, 
 which relations remain to this day. Biglow & 
 Main have accepted and paid for everything she 
 has written for them during all these years. As 
 a consequence of this arrangement, a large num- 
 ber of her hymns are now in their possession. 
 Some of these may yet be set to music, and, it is 
 hoped, may prove as useful as many of those 
 which have contributed so much to the popularity 
 of Fanny Crosby. 
 
 Fanny Crosby delights to recall the dates of 
 her first interviews with musical men. She tells 
 us that she met Sylvester Main on February 2, 
 1864, and renewed an acquaintanceship which 
 she had formed when a child in Ridgefield, 
 Conn., thirty-two years before. On June 4, 1864, 
 she made the friendship of Philip Phillips in Mr. 
 Bradbury's office. In the same place she met 
 Theo. E. Perkins June 6, 1864. In the same 
 year she met Hubert P. Main, for whom she has 
 written scores of hymns, and who has been in all 
 these years a faithful helper and friend. In 1866 
 she came in contact with Robert Lowry, with 
 whom she has had many a conference on the 
 phrasing of a hymn, and many a conversation on 
 the phases of Christian experience. About the 
 same time she met Mrs. Joseph F. Knapp, T. F. 
 Seward and C. G. Allen, who availed themselves 
 of her flowing pen. On November 25, 1867, she 
 had her first correspondence with W. H. Doane, 
 2
 
 18 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 for whom she has written a large quantity of 
 songs, besides the words for numerous cantatas, 
 sometimes spending weeks at his house elabora- 
 ting the material for special work. W. F. Sher- 
 win she met on the day after Mr. Bradbury's 
 funeral, and began a friendship which lasted till 
 his death. In 1877 she was introduced to John 
 R. Sweney and W. J. Kirkpatrick at the Ocean 
 Grove Camp Meeting, who frequently call upon 
 her for verses which they may use in their work. 
 In 1876 she met Ira D. Sankey, for whom she 
 has written some of her most effective songs, and 
 who has recently drawn upon her talent in large 
 measure for songs to be used in Gospel meetings. 
 In 1872 she began to furnish Silas J. Vail with 
 some hymns that became very popular. In 1878 
 she made some contributions to H. P. Banks, and 
 has continued to do so. In 1879 she met Samuel 
 Alman, and supplied him at intervals with ma- 
 terial for his singing service. L. H. Biglow has 
 been her steadfast friend as far back as Mr. 
 Bradbury's time, and has given her every facility 
 for the production and publication of her songs. 
 It would be easy to extend this list. She has 
 hosts of friends, and she is loyal to those who 
 have proved their friendship. She quarrels with 
 none, but she is quick to defend a friend who is 
 attacked. She never forgets a favor, but she 
 takes no revenge for a wrong done to herself. 
 It is her nature to be confiding, and a suspicion
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 19 
 
 once aroused becomes painful to her. She takes 
 it for granted that the world is honest, for she 
 sees no reason why it should be otherwise. She 
 is contented with the things that she has, and 
 carries the sunshine of a quiet mind wherever 
 she goes. The cheerfulness of her childhood 
 remains with her, and her presence is a rebuke 
 to every form of misanthropy. She takes pleas- 
 ure in a lively story, and is as ready to sym- 
 pathize in a case of distress. Her nervous tem- 
 perament keeps her continually on the alert, but, 
 when occasion requires, she can retire within 
 herself, and be oblivious to all her surroundings. 
 
 As has already been intimated, Fanny Crosby 
 does not mourn over the fact that she is blind. 
 On the contrary, the writer of this sketch has 
 frequently heard her say that if the gift of sight 
 were offered her she would choose rather to re- 
 main as she is. She is firmly of the opinion that 
 her blindness has proved a blessing. " If I had 
 not been deprived of sight," she says, " I should 
 never have received so good an education, nor 
 have cultivated so fine a memory, nor have been 
 able to do good to so many people." This is her 
 consolation and her joy. 
 
 She does not seem to need a special inspira- 
 tion in order to write. She has her moods, and 
 therefore her verses are not of uniform grade. 
 But she is very susceptible to a suggestion from 
 without. One day, while meditating on the
 
 20 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 leadings of Providence, a friend came into her 
 room and gave her ten dollars. The unexpected 
 gift awakened a train of thought that formulated 
 itself in one of her best hymns, " All the Way My 
 Saviour Leads Me." At another time her atten- 
 tion was called to the sweet sense of security felt 
 by the soul that puts its whole trust in Jesus. 
 Instantly the thought began to take metrical 
 form, and, almost as rapidly as the words could 
 be put together, she had struck off, in the white 
 heat of her own religious emotion, that hymn of 
 faith and comfort, " Safe in the Arms of Jesus," 
 which at once she adopted as her favorite. Un- 
 der a similar impulse she wrote " Rescue the 
 Perishing," a hymn of wonderful usefulness, and 
 which, in diction and sentiment, is scarcely to be 
 surpassed by anything she has ever produced. 
 Multitudes of persons have been aroused to a 
 better life, and multitudes more have been com- 
 forted in their time of sorrow, through the instru- 
 mentality of her hymns. Her influence over the 
 young is beyond all calculation, and thousands 
 who have passed through the Sunday-school dur- 
 ing the last thirty years hold her in the tenderest 
 regard as associated with the brightest days of 
 their childhood. In every community in which 
 her songs have been sung, stories are told of the 
 sweet influence of her lines on life and character. 
 She rarely appears in any assembly without call- 
 ing forth witnesses to her power for good.
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 21 
 
 Sometimes the demonstration is dramatic. One 
 evening she was present in a mission meeting 
 when " Rescue the Perishing " was sung. A 
 young man arose and told the story of his wan- 
 derings : Hungry and penniless, he was strolling 
 through the streets one night when he heard the 
 sound of singing. Entering the hall, he caught 
 the words of this hymn. His heart broke in 
 penitence. " I was just ready to perish," he said, 
 " but that hymn, by the grace of God, saved me." 
 Fancy the scene when the author and the 
 speaker stood face to face, their eyes filled with 
 tears, and the audience thrilled with the pathos 
 of the meeting. 
 
 It is difficult to determine what is that element 
 in a metrical composition by which it survives 
 the general wreck. Songs and hymns in great 
 numbers are thrown before the public, and kept 
 afloat for a time by a mellifluous or " catchy " 
 tune. They have their brief day, and then dis- 
 appear. Evidently there is something more 
 needed than a mere jingle of words in order to 
 give a hymn an abiding life. Not even the high- 
 est grade of poetry will secure a fixed place in 
 the service of praise if it be lacking in spiritual 
 quality. There must be in a hymn something 
 which is readily apprehended by the Christian 
 consciousness, coming forth from the experience 
 of the writer, and clothed in strong and inspiring 
 words, if it would hold its place as a permanent
 
 22 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 factor in Christian worship. The time has not 
 yet come when Fanny Crosby's place among the 
 hymn writers of Christendom may be deter- 
 mined ; but it is safe to say that, of the many 
 hymns which have come up from the throbbings 
 of her warm heart, there will be found in the 
 ultimate sifting no inconsiderable number which 
 the world will not willingly let die. 
 
 Passing now through the later seventies of her 
 useful life, she preserves all the sprightliness of 
 her early years. Her friendships are fervent, 
 and her hope is strong. She loves her work, and 
 she finds her rest in Christ. In her younger 
 days she joined the Methodist Episcopal Church, 
 and its fellowship is still her comfort and delight. 
 She engages in no doctrinal controversies, but 
 speaks the language of Zion with saints of every 
 name. She sits in her easy chair, holding an 
 open book before her closed eyes, working her 
 vivid concepts into hymnic phrases which her 
 amanuensis writes down. Thus she spends her 
 days, waiting her appointed time. When it 
 comes, she will open her eyes on the glory that 
 shall be revealed, and take her part in the new 
 song. 
 
 NOTE. The three earlier collections by F. J. Crosby, men- 
 tioned in this Biographical Sketch, are out of print, and can- 
 not be furnished.
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 
 
 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 I TURNED from the crowded city, 
 
 And strolled by myself alone, 
 Languidly musing, and humming a tune 
 
 In a dull and drowsy tone, 
 Till I came to a lovely village 
 
 That nestled among the dells ; 
 Then my heart leaped up with a strange, 
 wild thrill 
 
 At the sound of the evening bells, 
 
 Now bursting in sudden clangor, 
 
 Now melting in softer strains, 
 Till I felt the power of my soul entranced, 
 
 Held fast by unyielding chains ; 
 E'en now I can hear the echo 
 
 That floated among the dells ; 
 And I weep as then I wept for joy 
 
 At the sound of the evening bells. 
 
 Ah me, it is bright as ever, 
 
 The close of a halcyon day 
 That down in the vault of a moldering past 
 
 I thought I had laid away ;
 
 24 BELLS AT EVENING, 
 
 But the same warm gush of feeling 
 
 Again in my bosom swells ; 
 And I wonder if still from the old church spire 
 
 Ring out those evening bells. 
 
 I think of that rustic village, 
 
 Secluded as once it stood, 
 With its dwellings so unpretending, 
 
 That sheltered the pure and good ; 
 And a lone, sweet voice is blending 
 
 With the echoes among the dells ; 
 And a form trips by with a fairy tread, 
 
 As I list to the evening bells. 
 
 I stand where a whitethorn blossoms, 
 
 But not by myself alone ; 
 I am looking into a girlish face, 
 
 And catching her every tone ; 
 And this is our young love's dawning ; 
 
 What rapture its memory tells ! 
 And our hearts keep time with the mellow chime, 
 
 The chime of the evening bells. 
 
 O throb of a passing moment ! 
 
 O bliss that will come no more ! 
 We met, and too soon we parted ; 
 
 The dream of my life is o'er ; 
 The bells of my heart are silent ; 
 
 She sleeps in that distant clime ; 
 But I sometimes ask if her soul can hear 
 
 The bells at the evening time.
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 25 
 
 The bells of my heart are silent, 
 
 The springs of my youth are dry ; 
 And yet in my lonely musings 
 
 I long like a bird to fly ; 
 I yearn for one look at the village 
 
 That nestles among the dells ; 
 Then to pass away in the gloaming 
 
 'Mid the chiming of evening bells. 
 
 GREETING TO THE CITIZENS OF 
 BRIDGEPORT. 
 
 FRIENDS, around your growing city, 
 
 Rich in beauty, wealth and art, 
 Cling the best and purest feelings 
 
 Ever wakened in my heart. 
 Dear to me each laughing brooklet, 
 
 Dear to me each mossy rill, 
 And the home of my adoption, 
 
 May I call it, if I will ? 
 Home is where our memory lingers, 
 
 And our thoughts a vigil keep 
 O'er the graves our tears have hallowed, 
 
 Tears that only love can weep. 
 Rural cot and stately villa 
 
 Nestle 'mid your groves so fair ; 
 And in summer, O how sweetly 
 
 Comes the cool and fragrant air !
 
 26 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 Once at close of day I wandered, 
 
 Musing on your wave-girt shore, 
 Through your seaside park so lovely, 
 
 Where the crested billows roar ; 
 And I thought the birds sang sweeter 
 
 Than they ever sang before. 
 Then I saw in queenly beauty, 
 
 Radiance flashing from her eye, 
 Freedom's goddess bending graceful 
 
 From her chariot in the sky; 
 And she said in solemn accents, 
 
 While she held our banner bright, 
 Crimson with the blood of martyrs, 
 
 Gleaming in the rosy light : 
 From this patriotic city, 
 
 When the battle cry was heard, 
 And the fire of indignation 
 
 Every loyal bosom stirred 
 From this patriotic city, 
 
 Rank by rank and corps by corps, ' 
 Rushed they on with lion courage ; 
 
 Some, alas ! returned no more. 
 But their names are not forgotten ; 
 
 On this monument they stand, 
 Wreathed in amaranthine laurels 
 
 Twined by love's immortal hand. 
 Then she smiling laved her pinions 
 
 In the white foam's dashing spray, 
 Blessed the monument she guarded, 
 
 Spread her wings and soared away.
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 27 
 
 Then a burst of choral music, 
 
 Whence I knew not, filled the air ; 
 Were those patriot souls departed 
 
 Hovering in the sunset there ? 
 In that crimson, cloudless sunset 
 
 That before me shone so bright, 
 Did they vanish when its glory 
 
 Passed forever from my sight ? 
 
 Friends, your city, from my girlhood, 
 
 Was a treasured spot to me ; 
 Many a summer's glad vacation 
 
 'Mid its wilds 'twas mine to see. 
 Time has added to its beauty, 
 
 Changed the haunts I still recall, 
 But a light from past enjoyment 
 
 Is reflected over all. 
 I can see the picnic gathered 
 
 On the beach at evening time; 
 I can see the full moon rising 
 
 In her majesty sublime ; 
 And the fairy boat so graceful 
 
 As it glided from the shore, 
 Till we scarcely heard the echo 
 
 Of its lightly dipping oar. 
 Ah, perchance those simple customs 
 
 Are not held so dear as then, 
 But have dwindled into shadows 
 
 Of the things that once have been.
 
 28 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 They were pleasant in their nature, 
 
 They were social of their kind, 
 And they left a healthful pleasure 
 
 In the young and eager mind. 
 Oft I clasp the hands of many 
 
 That in early days I met 
 When I hither came to visit 
 
 Mother, sisters, spared me yet ; 
 But some tender links have parted 
 
 From the chain affection wove, 
 And their hallowed dust is sleeping 
 
 In your lovely Mountain Grove. 
 And my full heart bending o'er them 
 
 Weeps not hopeless where they lie, 
 But believing through the Saviour 
 
 I shall meet them by and by 
 Meet them in the soul's hereafter, 
 
 Meet them on the palmy shore, 
 In the sunny land of roses, 
 
 In the Christian's evermore. 
 Once I stood beside their gravestones, 
 
 When the leaves around me fell, 
 And the branches swayed above me, 
 
 And their moan was like a knell ; 
 For a funeral train passed near me 
 
 To a grave but newly made, 
 And an infant in its beauty 
 
 Like a lily there was laid. 
 What a calm steals o'er my spirit 
 
 While in pensive thought I rove
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 29 
 
 Through the shaded walks that circle 
 Round your quiet Mountain Grove. 
 
 It was well and wisely chosen; 
 And, when future years have fled, 
 
 Let no changes that may follow 
 E'er disturb the silent dead. 
 
 O'er your city may the blessing 
 
 Of the holy One descend ; 
 May its onward march continue, 
 
 And its commerce wide extend ; 
 And among its sweet environs 
 
 May the yearly fruits abound ; 
 With the smiles of peace and plenty 
 
 May the farmer's toil be crowned. 
 
 THE RAINDROP. 
 
 A GOLDEN cloud came flitting by 
 
 On the clear blue arch of a summer's sky ; 
 
 And a crystal drop, as it lightly fell, 
 
 Like an orient pearl in a lily bell, 
 
 Had stolen a blush from the cheek of day 
 
 That lingered there in its idle play, 
 
 And spangled the raindrop pure and white 
 
 With the wavy tints of its crimson light, 
 
 Then flitted away in its sportive glee 
 
 To a star that rose o'er the twilight sea. 
 
 'Twas only its mirrored glance that shone, 
 
 Like the memory sweet of some whispered tone,
 
 30 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 And the beautiful raindrop looked in vain 
 For the beam that had gone to its source again, 
 Then turned to the bosom that loved it best, 
 And sighed as it wearily sank to rest. 
 
 And the lily smiled as it lingered there 
 
 And nestled soft in her petals fair, 
 
 And drank of the snowy cup she filled 
 
 With the balmy breath from her heart distilled ; 
 
 But a zephyr came, and it murmured low 
 
 As the tender cadence of streams that flow 
 
 Where the date tree bends like a stately queen 
 
 Her leaf-crowned head to the olive green ; 
 
 And aromas sweet from the flowers it bore, 
 
 That bloom in the vales of that far-off shore, 
 
 And the last wild song of a woodland bird, 
 
 And a sigh that a maiden's heart had stirred, 
 
 And a silver note as it lightly fell 
 
 From a lover's lute in a fairy dell ; 
 
 But while with the lily it seemed to play, 
 
 It wooed from her bosom the drop away 
 
 Ere the rosy morn from the dewy steep 
 
 Awakened the birds from their dreamy sleep ; 
 
 On her slender stem she had pined alone ; 
 
 Her heart and her life with that drop had flown. 
 
 And where was the truant ? O'er hill and glade 
 
 With the zephyr it passed through the forest shade 
 
 To a couch where a dying infant lay, 
 
 And a pale young mother had knelt to pray ;
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 31 
 
 And it moistened the lips that with fever burned, 
 And a light to the half-closed eyes returned ; 
 And it cooled his brow, and lulled his pain, 
 And dimpled his cheek with a smile again. 
 A warrior looked on his blushing bride 
 As she drew for a moment her veil aside, 
 And it shone on a wreath like a diamond rare, 
 'Mid the clustering curls of her auburn hair. 
 But dreary and sad was its fate at last, 
 For the roses died and the summer passed ; 
 And the zephyr, too, on its idle wing 
 Had left it alone like a blighted thing ; 
 And the frost spirit came when the night was still, 
 And it froze at the touch of his fingers chill ; 
 And the tale of the raindrop, bright and brief, 
 Is heard in the moan of the autumn leaf. 
 
 THE VIOLET'S ANSWER. 
 
 " LITTLE violet, thou art lonely ; 
 
 Wilt thou come and bloom with me ? 
 All thy sister flowers have faded ; 
 
 None are left to care for thee." 
 " No," she answered, " let me rather 
 
 In this quiet valley stay ; 
 Near the graves of those I cherish 
 
 Let me live my life away, 
 
 Till I wither and decay."
 
 32 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 THE MAIDEN AND HER CANOE. 
 
 SPEEDING along so fleetly 
 
 Over the waters blue, 
 Who is that dark-eyed maiden 
 
 Guiding her bark canoe ? 
 Swiftly the tide is flowing ; 
 
 Is there no danger near, 
 Danger to her now gliding 
 
 Over the waters clear ? 
 Ah, she has reached the forest, 
 
 Gayly she drops the oar ; 
 Now like a fawn we see her 
 
 Leap to the emerald shore ; 
 Laughing, she hurls an arrow 
 
 Quick from her painted bow ; 
 Is it a promised signal ? 
 
 Where will the arrow go ? 
 Yonder a stalwart hunter 
 
 Peers through the deepening shade, 
 Catches the lover's token, 
 
 Welcomes the gentle maid. 
 Now in her queenly beauty 
 
 Rises the summer moon ; 
 All the young flowers are sleeping, 
 
 All the sweet flowers of June ; 
 What doth the hunter whisper 
 
 Soft in the maiden's ear ? 
 Why is her warm cheek blushing ? 
 
 Say, shall we pause and hear ?
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 33 
 
 Ah, there are vows repeated, 
 
 Pledges of love are given, 
 Pure as the stars that glisten 
 
 Bright in the arch of heaven. 
 Now to her home returning 
 
 Over the waters blue, 
 Lightly the happy maiden 
 
 Sings in her bark canoe. 
 Wind of the east, old Wabun, 
 
 Wake from thy drowsy sleep, 
 Scatter the breath of lilies 
 
 Over the crystal deep ; 
 Touch not the maiden's tresses ; 
 
 Love hath her heart beguiled ; 
 Spirits of air, watch o'er her, 
 
 Rose of the forest wild. 
 
 MINNIE'S BIRTHDAY. 
 
 I SAT in the soft gray twilight, 
 
 And mused on a single star 
 That shone like a sparkling jewel 
 
 And scattered its beams afar ; 
 I sat by a murmuring brooklet, 
 
 And, low on a mossy bed 
 That cradled a pure white lily, 
 
 I pillowed my weary head ; 
 A balmy sleep stole o'er me, 
 
 And lightly I sped away 
 3
 
 34 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 Where a social group had gathered 
 
 On a maiden's natal day ; 
 And the maiden was young and happy ; 
 
 And her mild eyes seemed so bright, 
 I thought they had caught a luster 
 
 From the star that had blessed my sight; 
 I saw it ere slumber wooed me ; 
 
 And now to that rustic bower 
 It came with the smile of the angel 
 
 That guarded that festive hour. 
 
 I sat in the soft gray twilight, 
 
 Unseen by that goodly throng, 
 And I heard their voices blending 
 
 In many a joyous song ; 
 And the maiden was young and gentle ; 
 
 So gentle was she and kind, 
 The lily beside the brooklet 
 
 Was still with my dream entwined ; 
 And many a wish was tendered, 
 
 And sealed with affection's tears, 
 That the roses which then were budding 
 
 Might bloom in her after years ; 
 And a mother's heart beat fondly 
 
 As she looked on her daughter fair, 
 And the dewy breeze bore upward 
 
 A sigh and a fervent prayer 
 A prayer that no lips but a mother's 
 
 With feelings so warm can breathe 
 A prayer that a Saviour's blessing 
 
 Might follow that birthday eve.
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 35 
 
 Like the parting of summer wavelets 
 
 As they sink to a calm repose, 
 Were the sweet good-byes that were spoken 
 
 At that festive evening's close ; 
 But the star of the soft gray twilight 
 
 Will ne'er from the maiden part, 
 And the lily beside the brooklet 
 
 Will live in her guileless heart. 
 
 What meaneth this play of fancy ? 
 
 And who can the maiden be ? 
 Say, Minnie, canst thou not guess it ? 
 
 I'll help thee, for thou art she ; 
 And I pray that thy life may ever 
 
 Flow onward as calmly bright 
 As the star and the smile of the angel 
 
 That rest on thy brow to-night. 
 
 NANNETTE. 
 
 'TlS years since first she came to me 
 In all her merry girlish glee ; 
 And yet my fancy now can trace 
 Her sylphlike form, her modest grace, 
 Her dimpled cheeks of rosy hue, 
 Her coral lips, and eyes so blue 
 That from their azure depths serene 
 The lovelight of her soul was seen. 
 O never can my heart forget 
 Our little Queen of May, Nannette.
 
 36 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 How timid, when we chose her queen, 
 
 And crowned her on the village green ! 
 
 Yet in a moment, self-possessed, 
 
 A few brief words her thanks expressed, 
 
 And then in song and artless play 
 
 The hours went by till close of day. 
 
 And Harry Lee remembers yet 
 
 Our little Queen of May, Nannette ; 
 
 He sought her 'neath a rustic shade 
 
 To which from mazy dance she strayed ; 
 
 And, not unwilling, did she hear 
 
 His honest vows of love sincere ; 
 
 Nor was it strange ere set of sun 
 
 Their hearts had melted into one. 
 
 Three happy summers came and went, 
 And Harry all his powers had bent 
 To one great object, which had proved 
 How hard he toiled, how deep he loved. 
 'Twas gained at last ; he saw complete 
 A simple dwelling, plain and neat, 
 And dear Nannette, his loving bride, 
 Its happy mistress and its pride. 
 I know he never will forget 
 Our little Queen of May, Nannette.
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 37 
 
 TO A BIRD. 
 
 THE clewdrops are melting away, my bird, 
 The sunbeams are kissing the flowers; 
 
 And hast thou no greeting, no song of delight, 
 To welcome these lovely hours ? 
 
 why art thou drooping and sad, my bird ? 
 And why dost thou cease to sing? 
 
 Wouldst thou fly to the groves of thine own fair 
 
 isle? 
 Art thou eager to spread thy wing ? 
 
 And what if I let thee go, my bird? 
 
 How heartless I then should be ; 
 For the journey is long, and thy strength would fail; 
 
 Thou wouldst never come back to me. 
 
 1 will give thee a glad surprise, my bird ; 
 Thou shalt play with the laughing breeze ; 
 
 I will hang thy cage in a shady nook ; 
 It shall swing in the leafy trees. 
 
 Ah, now thou art happy again, my bird, 
 
 And thy voice rings out so clear 
 That the robin, the wren, and the bluebird, too, 
 
 Are coming its thrill to hear. 
 
 Ah, yes, thou art happy again, my bird, 
 
 And lonely thou ne'er shalt be ; 
 I will make thy life like a sweet spring day, 
 
 If still thou wilt carol for me.
 
 38 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 VOICE OF THE NIGHT WIND. 
 
 VOICE of the night wind, mournfully stealing 
 
 Forth from the depths of thy dark ocean cave, 
 Shrieking in terror, wailing in pity, 
 
 Chanting a dirge o'er the mariner's grave, 
 What art thou saying ? eager, I listen, 
 
 Catching each note of thy tremulous moan, 
 While my worn spirit, pining with anguish, 
 
 Sighs for the friends that have left it alone. 
 
 Voice of the night wind, speak to me gently, 
 
 Tell of the days that were cloudless and bright ; 
 Bring, if thou canst, the fond hopes I have cher- 
 ished, 
 
 Clothe them in beauty and deck them with light ; 
 Still thou art sighing, drearily sighing, 
 
 Fitfully breathing thy desolate moan, 
 While my worn spirit, crushed and forsaken, 
 
 Weeps for the friends that have left it alone. 
 
 THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 SHALL I weep for thee, Old Year? 
 
 I rejoiced when thou wert born ; 
 And, with mirth and festive cheer, 
 
 Hpw I hailed the blushing morn, 
 Cold and crisp, and yet so clear ! 
 
 Shall I weep for thee, Old Year?
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 39 
 
 Thou art dying, and the bell 
 Soon will toll thy parting knell 
 Through the lonely, silent dell, 
 
 Where, with footstep light and free, 
 
 When the dew was on the lea, 
 And the violets came in spring, 
 Like a bird I used to sing ; 
 
 But the winter now is here ; 
 
 Shall I weep for thee, Old Year ? 
 
 O the winter of the heart 
 
 When it hears the stormwinds blow, 
 When it sees each flower depart, 
 
 When it lays them 'neath the snow, 
 
 'Neath the white and feathery snow ! 
 
 How it longs like thee to go ! 
 For its days are dark and drear; 
 Shall I weep for thee, Old Year ? 
 
 Thou art gone, and in thy place, 
 With a bright and smiling face, 
 
 Comes the New Year, fair as thou, 
 
 With a chaplet on his brow ; 
 And his voice is sweet and clear; 
 Shall I weep for thee, Old Year ? 
 
 But the spring will come ere long, 
 And my heart will then be gay, 
 
 When I hear the wild bird's song 
 As in many a bygone day, 
 
 And the sky will be as clear 
 
 As thine own, O vanished year.
 
 40 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 AMERICAN HEARTS AND HOMES. 
 
 YE may sing of the palmy isles that sleep 
 
 Like pearls on the ocean's breast, 
 Where the spirits of beauty their vigil keep, 
 
 And the oriole builds her nest ; 
 Ye may tell of the classic founts that flow 
 
 In the sweet Arcadian bowers, 
 Where the mellow tints of the sunlight glow 
 
 As they play with the rosy hours. 
 
 But give me the land of the rocking pine 
 
 And the brave old forest oak, 
 That rang with the lofty strains sublime 
 
 That our Pilgrim Fathers woke, 
 When their barque was moored and its anchor cast 
 
 'Mid the glow of the setting sun, 
 When the storms of the troubled deep were passed, 
 
 And their weary voyage was done. 
 
 There was joy in the hearts of our Pilgrim Sires 
 
 As on Plymouth Rock they stood, 
 And the welcome light of their crackling fires 
 
 Loomed up through the forest wood ; 
 And they praised the Lord and adored His grace 
 
 Who had brought them o'er the sea ; 
 For now they had found a resting place, 
 
 And to worship Him were free. 
 
 Though dreary and wild was that wave-girt shore, 
 And cold was the wintry air,
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 41 
 
 The voice of the tyrant was heard no more ; 
 
 The angel of peace was there ; 
 And a radiant gem from her crown she set 
 
 In the path where the moonlight roams 
 A star that in glory is shining yet 
 
 O'er American hearts and homes. 
 
 O, that beacon of hope in the darkest hour 
 
 That hung o'er oppression's night, 
 Was the guard of the brave; and they felt its 
 power 
 
 As they looked on its steady light ; 
 But over each link of the tyrant's chain 
 
 The surge of old ocean foams, 
 And Freedom the goddess that dwells and reigns 
 
 In American hearts and homes. 
 
 Now the Stars and Stripes of our country wave 
 
 Far, far o'er the distant sea, 
 And herald the deeds of the gallant brave. 
 
 And tell of the noble free ; 
 And the lonely exile worn with grief, 
 
 As weary and sad he roams, 
 May find for each sorrow a sweet relief 
 
 In American hearts and homes. 
 
 Let me die in the land where my native streams 
 
 In their stately grandeur flow ; 
 Where the tender smile of affection beams, 
 
 And the skies in their beauty glow ;
 
 42 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 On the standard of Freedom my eyes would rest 
 Ere my spirit heavenward roams ; 
 
 I would give the last sigh of a faithful breast 
 To American hearts and homes. 
 
 THANKSGIVING DAY. 
 
 " THEY'RE coming home to-morrow night 
 
 A happy time 'twill be ; " 
 The old man wiped his spectacles, 
 
 And rubbed his hands with glee; 
 " We'll have the candles lighted, 
 
 And burning in the hall ; 
 They're coming home to-morrow night, 
 
 The little ones and all. 
 
 " Now, Susie, don't be idle ; 
 
 There's heaps of work to do ; 
 The pumpkin pies are yet to make, 
 
 The tarts and doughnuts, too ; 
 Your limbs are young and supple, 
 
 And therefore you should be 
 As nimble as a cricket, 
 
 And busy as a bee. 
 
 " Poor grandma can't do everything, 
 
 For she is growing old ; 
 And yet, for all, I tell you 
 
 She's worth your weight in gold.
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 43 
 
 There, grandpa was not scolding ; 
 
 Don't cry, but run away ; 
 They're coming home to-morrow night, 
 
 To spend Thanksgiving Day. 
 
 " I am too harsh with Susie ; 
 
 I wish I was not so ; 
 She always tries to please me, 
 
 And does her best, I know ; 
 She left her home and parents, 
 
 And came with us to stay ; 
 Well, she shall have a brand-new comb 
 
 To wear Thanksgiving Day. 
 
 " Ah, there she comes with grandma, 
 
 As chipper as a bird, 
 Her face all smiles and sunshine ; 
 
 She has not told a word ; 
 She never tells, but hides them, 
 
 The cruel words I say ; 
 But she'll not be the loser 
 
 On next Thanksgiving Day. 
 
 " They're coming home to-morrow night, 
 
 Ruth, Phoebe, Grace, and Ann, 
 Josiah, David, Benjamin, 
 
 Luke, Abel, Nate, and Dan, 
 Their children, wives, and husbands, too ; 
 
 Some now are on their way ; 
 They'll all be home to-morrow night, 
 
 To spend Thanksgiving Day.
 
 44 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 " Our Dan is Susie's father ; 
 
 A likely boy was he ; 
 He married very early ; 
 
 His wife was Patience Lee, 
 The finest girl in Springfield, 
 
 And well-to-do beside ; 
 The Worcester folks turned out, I guess, 
 
 When Dan brought home his bride. 
 
 " Our children are not handsome, 
 
 But, like their mother, good ; 
 She never spared the rod on them, 
 
 But trained them as she should ; 
 They're every one a credit ; 
 
 And proud am I to say, 
 They're coming home to-morrow night, 
 
 To spend Thanksgiving Day." 
 
 Up rose that stalwart farmer 
 
 Of threescore years and ten, 
 And one might almost fancy 
 
 He was growing young again ; 
 He stepped around so quickly ; 
 
 And oft was heard to say, 
 " They're coming home to-morrow night, 
 
 To spend Thanksgiving Day." 
 
 He walked about the farmyard, 
 
 Among the poultry there, 
 And looked to see that all were fed, 
 
 With more than usual care ;
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 45 
 
 And then he met a neighbor, 
 And stopped him just to say, 
 
 " They'll all be home to-morrow night, 
 To spend Thanksgiving Day." 
 
 At length the morrow's morning 
 
 Broke cloudless and serene, 
 And Farmer Jones was early 
 
 A watcher of the scene ; 
 His consort, too, had risen ; 
 
 And Susie, glad and gay, 
 Called out, " Good morning, grandpa ; 
 
 I'm just fifteen to-day." 
 
 " Then you shall have a present," 
 
 Her grandpa smiling said; 
 " What shall I bring you, Daisy ? " 
 
 He stroked her glossy head ; 
 She looked at him and answered, 
 
 Through tears that glistened bright, 
 " O love me just a little 
 
 When they all come home to-night." 
 
 And long before the shadows 
 
 Had gathered in the west, 
 The baking was completed, 
 
 The poultry killed and dressed ; 
 The pretty comb was purchased, 
 
 And Susie heard to say, 
 " Dear grandpa, how I thank you ; 
 
 You've cheered my heart to-day."
 
 46 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 Soon wagon after wagon 
 
 Rolled up before the door ; 
 The house was filled with music 
 
 And merriment once more ; 
 The candles, too, were lighted, 
 
 And burning in the hall, 
 And Farmer Jones was shaking hands 
 
 With little ones and all. 
 
 The evening meal concluded, 
 
 The children snug in bed, 
 The older ones grew thoughtful, 
 
 And then a prayer was said ; 
 And Farmer Jones with reverence 
 
 Did not forget to say, 
 " I praise Thee, Lord, that all are here, 
 
 To spend Thanksgiving Day." 
 
 And once again 'twas morning ; 
 
 In health they all arose; 
 Beneath their own paternal roof 
 
 How tranquil their repose ! 
 The day was soft and balmy, 
 
 And all to church had gone. 
 Except the little ones they left 
 
 To play upon the lawn. 
 
 The sermon was impressive, 
 It spoke of by-gone years ; 
 
 And all the congregation 
 Were melted into tears
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 47 
 
 Glad tears they were, and grateful 
 
 To Him who from above 
 Had blessed their yearly harvest, 
 
 And crowned it with His love. 
 
 A simple prayer was offered, 
 
 And then the Pastor came, 
 Shook hands with all so warmly, 
 
 And greeted each by name ; 
 The poor were not forgotten, 
 
 Nor slighted by the way, 
 But shared his benediction 
 
 On that Thanksgiving Day. 
 
 Home went our friends delighted ; 
 
 The hour was somewhat late ; 
 The large, old-fashioned table groaned 
 
 Beneath its heavy weight 
 Of poultry, pies, and puddings, 
 
 Of every name and kind, 
 And fragrant tea that so revives 
 
 And renovates the mind. 
 
 And thus the day wore onward, 
 
 Till all its joys were passed ; 
 The stars came out at twilight, 
 
 The evening closed at last ; 
 And, when to rest retiring, 
 
 They all were heard to say, 
 " God bless our clear New England 
 
 For such a glorious day."
 
 48 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 CORA LEE: A CHRISTMAS STORY 
 
 FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 ' TWAS Christmas Eve, and from the street 
 Was heard the tread of merry feet, 
 And happy voices. All were glad ; 
 How could a single heart be sad 
 When such a festival was near, 
 The greatest one of all the year ? 
 The bells gave out a clearer tone, 
 The lamps with dazzling beauty shone 
 From windows filled with costly toys, 
 Inviting groups of girls and boys 
 To come and purchase if they would ; 
 And wealth and want together stood 
 The one with lavish hand to buy, 
 The other with a wishful eye 
 To gaze, admire, and turn away 
 Dejected from that bright array. 
 
 Now busy toil gave place to rest, 
 And homes were brilliant, churches dressed 
 With evergreens, festooned with flowers, 
 To greet the blessed Christmas hours ; 
 And children's parties, too, there were, 
 And trees all hung with presents rare, 
 And cherry lips that pouting said, 
 As wearily the golden head
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 49 
 
 Dropped on its pillow soft and white, 
 " O nurse, my stocking is so small 
 That, when old Santa comes to-night, 
 He will not know it's there at all ; 
 I want a bigger one than this ; " 
 And then, in sweet forgetfulness, 
 How soon beneath each silken lid 
 Those lovely, laughing orbs were hid ! 
 " Joy ! joy ! mamma," cried Cora Lee, 
 " Look what papa has brought for me 
 A set of jewels, pin and rings, 
 A pair of bracelets, just the things ; 
 See how they glitter in the light ; 
 I know I'll be a belle to-night ; 
 These jewels make my dress complete ; 
 Mamma, do you not think them sweet ? " 
 Her mother shook her head and sighed ; 
 " Why, Cora, darling," she replied, 
 " I thought your dress complete before ; 
 It really needed nothing more ; 
 Papa's indulgent love, I fear, 
 Has made you proud and vain, my dear; 
 Now while your gathering ought to be 
 A scene of gay festivity, 
 While every face with joy should glow, 
 No time your vanity to show ; 
 Remember why this eve we keep, 
 And, ere you close your eyes to sleep, 
 Kneel down, my child, and ask of Heaven 
 That this your fault may be forgiven." 
 4
 
 50 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 That moment, by her conscience swayed. 
 
 Had Cora listened and obeyed, 
 
 The evening pleasantly had passed ; 
 
 But now a shade is o'er it cast ; 
 
 With marked displeasure on her face, 
 
 That pained her mother's heart to trace, 
 
 She sought her room, and closed the door 
 
 And in the mirror o'er and o'er 
 
 Surveyed her form, indulged her pride, 
 
 And yet, with all dissatisfied, 
 
 She would have given worlds to feel 
 
 One loving arm around her steal ; 
 
 But merry voices from below 
 
 Were calling her, and she must go. 
 
 She met her friends, and tried to say 
 
 As many cheerful things as they ; 
 
 Her mother joined the happy throng, 
 
 And led them in a choral song ; 
 
 And Santa Claus in furs arrayed 
 
 His annual Christmas visit paid, 
 
 And, as he many times had done, 
 
 A present gave to everyone ; 
 
 'Twas strange that Cora's gift should be 
 
 A book, its name " Humility." 
 
 With wishes for the coming day, 
 
 The guests delighted went away ; 
 
 And Cora in her room once more 
 
 Took up her book and looked it o'er. 
 
 She knew who Santa Claus had been, 
 
 And needed not to ask again
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 51 
 
 What mamma meant ; she knew it all ; 
 
 And sadly did her thoughts recall 
 
 Her ill-timed anger when reproved, 
 
 And justly, too, by one she loved. 
 
 And now that little work explained 
 
 Humility, and how 'twas gained 
 
 By sacrifice of worldly pride. 
 
 And, taken as our only guide, 
 
 The words of Him who came on earth, 
 
 Despised, oppressed, of lowly birth, 
 
 And bore our sins upon the tree 
 
 That cleansed from sin we all might be. 
 
 And, as she read, the midnight bell 
 
 Upon the air like music fell ; 
 
 Then, kneeling there, she asked of Heaven 
 
 That all her faults might be forgiven. 
 
 O, did a voice to hers reply ? 
 
 Was Bethlehem's star in yonder sky ? 
 
 And did its glory shine again 
 
 As when it rose on Bethlehem's plain, 
 
 While multitudes of angels sang, 
 
 And heaven with hallelujahs rang? 
 
 Too happy she for sleep that night, 
 
 But with the blush of morning light 
 
 She told her parents what had passed, 
 
 And how her faith had found at last 
 
 A jewel, fadeless, priceless, rare, 
 
 That in her soul she meant to wear, 
 
 Till, in her crown of life divine, 
 
 Its luster should forever shine.
 
 52 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 BID ME GOOD NIGHT. 
 
 BID me good night with those eloquent eyes, 
 Blue as the depths of the star-jeweled skies, 
 Pure as the soul that looks out in their gaze ; 
 Blame not, O blame not my tribute of praise ; 
 Come, for the moments are speeding their flight 
 Bid me good night, darling, bid me good night. 
 
 Bid me good night with a smile that will say 
 More than thy language can ever portray ; 
 Then let me carry that smile in my heart, 
 Changed to a pearl by love's magical art ; 
 Come, for the moments are speeding their flight 
 Bid me good night, darling, bid me good night. 
 
 Bid me good night with a sigh that will tell 
 Every sweet impulse thou knowest so well, 
 All thy affection confided to me, 
 All the fond vows I have whispered to thee ; 
 Come, for the moments are speeding their flight ; 
 Bid me good night, darling, bid me good night. 
 
 Bid me good night with a word that can speak 
 All I am hoping and all that I seek; 
 Wishing my dreams may be happy and bright, 
 Bid me good night, darling, bid me good night ; 
 Come, for the moments are speeding their flight ; 
 Bid me good night, darling, bid me good night.
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 53 
 
 A TRIBUTE TO CINCINNATI. 
 
 WHAT ? forget thee, Cincinnati, 
 
 Lovely city of the West ? 
 Never till the pulse of feeling 
 
 Throbs its last within my breast. 
 I have spent such days of pleasure, 
 
 O, such months of joy in thee, 
 That the very thought of leaving 
 
 Brought unwelcome tears to me. 
 I can see thy stately buildings ; 
 
 They are all before me yet ; 
 I can see thy fountain goddess 
 
 Throw aloft a spray of jet ; 
 Taste, magnificence and splendor 
 
 In that work of art are shown, 
 Far exceeding in impression 
 
 Anything I e'er have known. 
 Churches, Sunday-schools and missions 
 
 Do thee credit, every one ; 
 For the humble and the lowly 
 
 Thou a noble work hast done. 
 In a church I heard, one Sabbath 
 
 And it seemed to me sublime 
 Fifteen hundred children singing 
 
 " Precious Name " in perfect time. 
 Thou canst boast a hall of learning 
 
 Filled with books of endless store ; 
 And that Wesleyan College numbers 
 
 Half a century and more.
 
 54 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 What a glorious scene to view it 
 
 Grouped with girls of talents rare, 
 Poring o'er its ponderous volumes 
 
 Not a moment wasted there ! 
 And, among thy sweet environs, 
 
 Pleasant thoughts are clinging still 
 Round the names of dear Mount Auburn, 
 
 Clifton Park, and Corryville. 
 There's a dwelling on Mount Auburn 
 
 That my heart remembers well ; 
 I ascend to its veranda, 
 
 And my hand is on the bell. 
 Just the same as when I left it, 
 
 Comes the old familiar sound ; 
 Now the door flies quickly open, 
 
 And I enter with a bound. 
 I must calm this burst of transport, 
 
 I must stay its sudden flight, 
 For my brain is growing giddy 
 
 'Mid a whirl of gay delight. 
 With the first warm greeting over, 
 
 Up the easy stairs I glide ; 
 By a cheerful grate they place me, 
 
 All my wrappings thrown aside. 
 Then begins a conversation. 
 
 And the time flies quick and fast ; 
 By and by a summons calls us 
 
 To the closing day's repast. 
 This is not a dreamy picture 
 
 Drawn from fancies floating free ;
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 55 
 
 That Mount Auburn home is real, 
 
 True to life as truth can be. 
 What? forget thee, Cincinnati, 
 
 Lovely city of the West ? 
 Never till the pulse of feeling 
 
 Throbs its last within my breast. 
 
 POETS' CORNER. 
 
 THOMAS MOORE. 
 
 O BARD of Erin, who like thee 
 Could paint that boat on Omar's sea ; 
 Those frightful rocks where, blade in hand, 
 Around their chief the Ghebers stand ; 
 The unequal strife, the flames that rise 
 Where Hafed vanquished falls and dies, 
 While Hinda, shrieking for the brave, 
 Is lost forever 'neath the wave ? 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON. 
 Among thy rich, prolific lays, 
 I most of all admire and praise 
 King Arthur's passing ; this has won 
 Thy brightest laurels, Tennyson. 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 Canst thou behold, from yonder sky, 
 Where once the breaking waves dashed high 
 On rock-bound coast, and, midst their roar 
 Upon the wild New England shore, 
 While night hung heavy, cold and dark, 
 A band of exiles moored their barque ?
 
 56 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 ELIZA COOK. 
 
 I treasure yet the old armchair, 
 And on my heart its memory bear; 
 And still Britannia loudly cheers 
 Thy banner of a thousand years. 
 
 JAMES MONTGOMERY. 
 
 Prayer was thy burden of a sigh, 
 
 The upward glancing of thine eye, 
 
 Thy vital breath, thy native air, 
 
 And thou did'st enter Heaven with prayer. 
 
 HORATIUS BONAR. 
 
 Thy harp was made and tuned above ; 
 Its songs are of a Saviour's love, 
 Of palm and crown, and city fair, 
 And spotless robes the righteous wear. 
 
 H. W. LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Sweet Laughing Water ! dear to me 
 
 That Indian tale will ever be, 
 
 So blent with every witching art 
 
 That lures the sense and charms the heart. 
 
 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 Didst hear thy summons when it came, 
 When soft the angel breathed thy name? 
 Didst round thee fold thy drapery white, 
 And, bidding all the world good night, 
 Beneath that star from heaven that beams, 
 Didst lay thee down to pleasant dreams ?
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 57 
 
 J. G. WHITTIER. 
 
 I would be Snow Bound many a day 
 If I could sit and hear thee say, 
 " Of all sad words of tongue or pen 
 The saddest are these, it might have been." 
 
 N. P. WILLIS. 
 
 Thy Hagar when the tent she left, 
 Of all except her pride bereft, 
 Thy leper cleansed by power divine 
 All at this moment round me twine; 
 O Willis, would thy muse were mine. 
 
 LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. 
 
 What transport in my heart awoke 
 When first I heard thy Charter Oak ! 
 That seemed an inspiration given 
 By Him who called thee home to Heaven. 
 
 GEORGE P. MORRIS. 
 
 Yes, poet, yes, I weep for thee ; 
 
 Parted for aye on earth are we, 
 
 Like mountain streams that shall unite 
 
 In that vast river of delight 
 
 Which hath its source in yonder clime 
 
 Where bells of joy forever chime. 
 
 FRANCES R. HAVERGAL. 
 
 Dear sister, o'er the wave-girt sea 
 A kindred spirit yearns for thee, 
 And longs in heart to clasp thy hand, 
 And greet thee in her native land,
 
 58 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 To mingle friendship's tones with thine, 
 To kneel with thee at that loved shrine 
 Where both, perchance, at evening meet, 
 And hold with God communion sweet. 
 
 You from whose garners I have gleaned 
 Such precious fruit, the task has seemed 
 So pleasant that my humble pen 
 Would fain resume its work again ; 
 In your bright realms 'twere bliss to stay ; 
 But time forbids, and I obey. 
 
 THE MONARCH AND THE MINSTREL 
 " PEACE, minstrel, peace; I'll hear no more; 
 
 I have been weary long; 
 There is no music in thy heart, 
 
 Nor passion in thy song ; 
 Back to thy dungeon ; thou hast failed 
 
 To give me what I crave ; 
 Go, wear thy chains ; they suit thee well , 
 
 Go, thou art still a slave ; 
 What care I for thy prosy tales ? 
 
 They have no charm for me ; 
 I want the strains of bards that lived 
 
 In times of chivalry, 
 When cross and crescent lit a spark 
 
 That fired the daring brave ; 
 But, like a statue, thou art dumb, 
 
 And thou should'st die a slave.
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 59 
 
 " Thou knowest naught of Palestine, 
 
 Or of the bold crusade 
 Against the rude and savage hordes 
 
 On eastern fields arrayed. 
 I've stood upon the very spot ; 
 
 E'en now in thought I stand 
 Where lion-hearted Richard stood 
 
 Among his trusty band 
 Of noble warriors clad in steel, 
 
 And proof against the foe ; 
 Their glittering swords where'er they came 
 
 Struck death at every blow. 
 Thy words are false ; thou canst not sing 
 
 Their deeds, those champions brave ; 
 But thou shall quail beneath my wrath, 
 
 And be tenfold a slave. 
 I had, and well I mind him now, 
 
 A page of talent rare, 
 A slender boy of graceful mien, 
 
 And like a maiden fair ; 
 He had the skill to comprehend 
 
 What pleased his monarch best, 
 And when that monarch's heart grew faint, 
 
 He hushed its care to rest ; 
 His lute (methought the gods had tuned 
 
 Its wild, ecstatic thrill) 
 Could soothe me in my fiercest moods, 
 
 And bend me to its will ; 
 He sang of beauty, fame, and love, 
 
 Of victory and the brave ;
 
 60 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 He sang as thou canst never sing ; 
 No, thou shalt die a slave." 
 
 "Hold, monarch, hold," the minstrel cried, 
 
 With bloodless lip and cheek, 
 "Thou art unjust to blame me thus; 
 
 My fettered limbs are weak ; 
 How can I wake my lute's proud strings 
 
 To victory and the brave ? 
 How can I sing the song thou lov'st 
 
 When I am but a slave ? 
 Remove these cruel manacles, 
 
 Unclasp this heavy chain, 
 And let me breathe the blessed air 
 
 Of freedom once again. 
 I've seen thy colors o'er and o'er 
 
 In many a battle wave ; 
 I was thy pampered favorite then, 
 
 But now I'm but thy slave. 
 Thou drov'st me hence ; dost thou forget 
 
 The wrong I bore from thee ? 
 Did'st thou not brand me with a crime 
 
 Of which my soul was free ? 
 Though but a humble peasant boy, 
 
 I ne'er purloined thy ring ; 
 And now, a prisoner, and thy slave, 
 
 I have no heart to sing. 
 Why did'st thou bear me from the field 
 
 Where sick and faint I lay ? 
 For life and song in one brief hour 
 
 Would both have passed away.
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 61 
 
 Unknown to thee, above my head 
 
 I saw thy dagger wave ; 
 Far better thou had'st slain me then 
 
 Than let me live thy slave." 
 
 " Take heed, take heed," the monarch said ; 
 
 " Play thou no prank with me, 
 For by my sword and by rny crown 
 
 Thy skill shall tested be." 
 
 His chains fell off, and o'er the lute 
 
 His fingers quickly ran, 
 And sang he of the glorious time 
 
 When Richard led the van. 
 " 'Tis he ! 'tis he ! " the monarch cried, 
 
 And clasped him to his heart ; 
 "O minstrel, minstrel, thou art free, 
 
 From me thou ne'er shalt part. 
 Forgive me, boy, forgive thy liege, 
 
 And grant the boon I crave ; 
 Be thou my pampered favorite still, 
 
 My minstrel, not my slave." 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE. 
 
 WITH starry flag and sable plume 
 They bore him to his rest, 
 
 And laid the green and fragrant sod 
 Upon the warrior's breast ;
 
 62 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 And slowly, softly, chanted they 
 
 A requiem o'er the brave, 
 Then left the watchers in the sky 
 
 To guard the soldier's grave. 
 
 He stood among the shattered ranks 
 
 On that dread field afar, 
 Where with the dawning Sabbath shone 
 
 The panoply of war ; 
 And foaming steeds dashed madly on 
 
 With hot and fiery breath, 
 Whose riders, e'er the twilight came, 
 
 Were cold and still in death. 
 
 The vulture to its ghastly prey 
 
 Flew screaming through the air, 
 Its cruel talons buried deep 
 
 In many a victim there ; 
 And, all that ne'er forgotten night, 
 
 Sad wail and bitter groan 
 Came struggling up from anguished hearts 
 
 That broke and died alone. 
 
 The soldier's grave how sweet to think 
 
 He saw his home once more ; 
 And though he had but strength to reach 
 
 The threshold of its door, 
 The tender light of kindred eyes 
 
 His soul a comfort gave ; 
 He knew that love would gather flowers 
 
 To deck the soldier's grave.
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 63 
 
 The soldier's grave disturb it not, 
 
 But let one grateful tear 
 Drop gently o'er the sacred urn 
 
 Of him who slumbers here ; 
 Touch not a leaf on yonder tree 
 
 Whose branches o'er him wave ; 
 By friendship's hand 'twas planted there 
 
 To grace the soldier's grave. 
 
 Though on no sculptured monument 
 
 Is carved his well-earned fame, 
 And only on a simple stone 
 
 We read his age and name, 
 Yet they who saw him wield his sword 
 
 With arm so strong and brave 
 Will hallow with their hearts' best tears 
 
 The comrade soldier's grave. 
 
 Alas ! that noble, honest worth 
 
 Should thus unhonored sleep, 
 With only those who know it best 
 
 Above its dust to weep, 
 While vaunting, boasting, selfish pride, 
 
 To cowardice a slave, 
 Oft wears a wreath it never won, 
 
 And shares a patriot's grave ! 
 
 Yet in that great decisive day 
 When right shall claim its own, 
 
 When every thought and word and work 
 Now hidden shall be known,
 
 64 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 When peace shall hush the clang of war. 
 And love her standard wave, 
 
 Then, with the palms they died to win, 
 Shall truth reward the brave. 
 
 ONLY A LEAF. 
 
 'TIS only a leaf, a withered leaf, 
 
 But its story is fraught with pain ; 
 'Twas the gift of one who is far away, 
 
 And will never return again ; 
 'Tis only a leaf, a withered leaf, 
 
 And yet I prize it so, 
 For it brings to my memory the brightest hour 
 
 I ever on earth shall know. 
 
 Ah, smile if you will ; your lot is cast 
 
 Where pleasures around you twine, 
 And your heart in its gladness can never know 
 
 The grief that is breaking mine ; 
 You have wealth and friends and a happy home, 
 
 With never a thought of gloom ; 
 But my life is cold, and its hopes are dead, 
 
 And my heart is a living tomb. 
 
 He was all I had in the world to love, 
 
 He was all who cared for me ; 
 And I watched his boat till I saw it sail 
 
 Like a speck on the broad blue sea ;
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 65 
 
 And there came a voice, 'twas a dirgelike voice, 
 
 Out of the deep, dark wave ; 
 And it told of one in a stranger land 
 
 That would sleep in a stranger's grave. 
 
 And I closed my eyes, and hid my face, 
 
 And uttered a low, sad cry, 
 As I laid me down on that lonely shore 
 
 And prayed that I might die ; 
 And though my prayer was a selfish prayer, 
 
 I know it was all forgiven, 
 For a beam shot down that illumed my soul 
 
 From a pitying eye in heaven. 
 
 'Twas only a leaf, a withered leaf, 
 
 But I gaze on it o'er and o'er, 
 And I think of a hand that held it first, 
 
 A hand I shall clasp no more ; 
 I know not how, but a message came, 
 
 A message that briefly said, 
 " Farewell, my own, it is over now ; 
 
 The dream of our youth has fled." 
 
 I pressed the scroll to my burning lips, 
 
 And the leaf to my lonely breast 
 That beat and throbbed with an aching throb, 
 
 And was filled with a wild unrest ; 
 And I still live on, like a captive bird 
 
 That pines in its cage so fair, 
 And longs for a breath from the orange groves, 
 
 And thinks that its mate is there. 
 5
 
 66 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 'Tis only a leaf, a withered leaf, 
 
 But its story is fraught with pain ; 
 'Twas the gift of one who is far away, 
 
 And will never return again ; 
 He will never return ; but I feel ere long 
 
 My spirit with his shall be, 
 And the old-time love shall be sweeter there 
 
 Where I know that he waits for me. 
 
 CORA BELL. 
 
 WHERE the brooklet from the hillside 
 
 Laughs and sparkles on its way, 
 And the downy crested robin 
 
 Trills and carols all the day, 
 Where the springtime lingers longest, 
 
 And the summer loves to dwell, 
 Where the autumn fruits are sweetest, 
 
 Bloomed our darling Cora Bell. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 There was gladness in her footstep, 
 
 And her song was like a spell ; 
 Every birdling in the valley 
 Knew the voice of Cora Bell. 
 
 Now among the roses hiding, 
 
 Now, in merry childish glee, 
 Breathing strains our lips had taught her, 
 
 O, 'twas joy her form to see ;
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 67 
 
 What a treasure heaven had lent us ! 
 
 How we loved her none can tell ; 
 Sweetest bud that ever blossomed 
 
 Was our darling Cora Bell. 
 
 Silent, voiceless, to our dwelling 
 
 Came a stranger wan and pale, 
 Laid his cold and icy fingers 
 
 On our lily of the vale ; 
 While we watched her drooping, fading, 
 
 O'er our hearts a sorrow fell, 
 And the zephyr, moaning, sighing, 
 
 Called in vain our Cora Bell. 
 
 Where the brooklet from the hillside 
 
 Wanders on its pretty way, 
 And the ringdove for its playmate 
 
 Sits and pines the long, long day, 
 There we laid a broken casket, 
 
 But the soul we know full well 
 Through the gate of life has entered ; 
 
 There we'll meet our Cora Bell. 
 
 OUR BABY. 
 
 You have never seen our baby, 
 
 Never felt our Dottie's kiss 
 From her pretty lips of coral, 
 
 Or your heart would thrill with bliss ;
 
 68 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 You may think your own a treasure, 
 And the fairest of your flowers ; 
 
 Though she may be all you paint her, 
 She's not half so sweet as ours. 
 
 No, you never saw our baby, 
 
 And her laugh you never heard ; 
 She is winsome, she is playful, 
 
 Ever cooing like a bird ; 
 And her brow is white as snowflakes, 
 
 Rosy dimples on her cheek; 
 And her brown eyes, bright as diamonds, 
 
 How they sparkle when we speak ! 
 
 O, you ought to see our baby ; 
 
 She is growing every day ; 
 Every moment she beguiles us 
 
 With some artless, winning way ; 
 And we know the angels guard her, 
 
 And a loving watch they keep ; 
 And we fancy 'tis their whisper 
 
 Makes her smile when fast asleep. 
 
 O, you should have seen our baby 
 
 Only just an hour ago, 
 Dancing in our arms so lightly 
 
 While her face was all aglow ; 
 While her little chubby fingers 
 
 Tried to catch a sunlit ray 
 As it darted through the window, 
 
 And as quickly ran away.
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 69 
 
 Would you like to see our baby ? 
 
 Like a lily she is fair ; 
 Would you throw your arms around her ? 
 
 Would you kneel with us in prayer 
 That the God of love and mercy 
 
 Would protect her for our sake ? 
 For should aught betide our darling, 
 
 I am sure our hearts would break. 
 
 Did you say, " God bless our baby ? " 
 
 How we thank you for the word ; 
 And the best and purest feelings 
 
 In our bosoms you have stirred ; 
 Did you say, " God keep our baby ? " 
 
 We'll remember you for this, 
 And our Dottie, when she sees you, 
 
 Will reward you with a kiss. 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S REVERIE. 
 
 How the ever fleeting seasons 
 
 Like an arrow speed away ! 
 What ! another year departed, 
 
 And another floral day ! 
 Wheel my chair beside the window, 
 
 That my eyes may look oncf more 
 On the few surviving comrades 
 
 Who will pass my cottage door.
 
 70 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 They are coming in the distance, 
 
 With a slow and measured tread ; 
 They are coming with their garlands 
 
 For our country's hallowed dead ; 
 And how oft I sit and wonder, 
 
 When my form entombed shall be, 
 If, among those noble veterans, 
 
 There'll be one to care for me! 
 
 In the foremost of the battle, 
 
 'Mid the scream of shot and shell, 
 Side by side we fought together 
 
 For the flag we loved so well ; 
 But those dreadful scenes are over, 
 
 And their gloom has passed away ; 
 There's no North nor South, but Union, 
 
 In our native land to-day. 
 
 O that sound of martial music ! 
 
 How it thrills me with its strain, 
 Bringing back my soldier courage 
 
 And my patriot pride again ! 
 Though the sands of life are ebbing, 
 
 And I have not long to stay, 
 Yet I love the sacred memories 
 
 Of this grand Memorial Day. 
 
 When the march of life is ending, 
 And its closing hour draws near, 
 
 When before our great Commander 
 We are summoned to appear,
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 71 
 
 To the roll-call that shall echo 
 Like a trumpet through the sky, 
 
 May we each of us be ready 
 With the answer, " Here am I." 
 
 THE HEART. 
 
 THE heart ! the heart ! O wound it not, 
 
 That fond yet fragile thing ; 
 Whose tendrils, like the clustering vine, 
 
 Around thine own would cling. 
 
 Though sunny beams may o'er thee play, 
 And smiles thy lip may wreathe, 
 
 And tender blossoms, pure and white, 
 Their dewy fragrance breathe, 
 
 Thou canst not tell in after years 
 
 How dark thy fate may be ; 
 Then spurn thou not the trusting heart 
 
 That warmly beats for thee. 
 
 The heart ! the heart ! O crush it not ; 
 
 'Tis but a fragile thing ; 
 An altered look, a chilling word, 
 
 Might break its sweetest string. 
 
 When, one by one, thy treasured hopes 
 Like withered leaves shall fall, 
 
 Then wilt thou mourn, alas, too late, 
 What tears can ne'er recall.
 
 72 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 TWILIGHT HOUR. 
 
 VOICE of the twilight hour, 
 
 How sweet is thy sound to me ! 
 For my soul is entranced by thy soothing power, 
 
 And its sorrows are lost in thee ; 
 Thou art heard in the trembling strings 
 
 Of the harp which the breezes wake ; 
 In the bird, as her farewell note she sings 
 To the golden hues which the sunset flings 
 
 O'er the breast of the silver lake. 
 
 THEY ARE GONE. 
 
 THEY are gone, those bright and blissful hours 
 When the soft wind laughed 'mid the greenwood 
 
 bowers, 
 
 And the night bird caroled her pensive lay 
 As faded the crimson tints of day ; 
 
 And the dewdrops came at the evening's close 
 To sleep on the breast of the mountain rose ; 
 They are gone ; those blissful hours are past, 
 And a snow-white robe on the earth is cast. 
 
 And O, when our friends beloved have fled 
 To the cold, cold mansions of the dead, 
 Like the fragrant flowers may we cease to bloom, 
 And sleep with them in the peaceful tomb.
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 73 
 
 SPEAK NOT HARSHLY. 
 
 SPEAK not harshly when reproving 
 Those from duty's path who stray ; 
 
 If we would reclaim the erring, 
 Kindness must each action sway. 
 
 Speak not harshly to the wayward ; 
 Win their confidence their love ; 
 
 They will feel how pure the motive 
 That hath led us to reprove. 
 
 Speak not harshly to the stranger, 
 Though he comes in humble guise ; 
 
 Think how slight a thing would kindle 
 Gladness in a stranger's eyes. 
 
 Speak not harshly to the felon, 
 Though like adamant his heart ; 
 
 Touch one chord of fond affection, 
 And the scalding tear may start. 
 
 Speak not harshly to the orphan, 
 He has borne of grief his share ; 
 
 Add not to his heavy burden, 
 Add not to corroding care. 
 
 Speak not harshly, was the precept 
 Which to man the Saviour taught ; 
 
 May that precept ever guide us 
 Gentle words will cost us naught.
 
 74 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 MAMMA'S LULLABY. 
 
 TIRED, so tired, my baby, thou art, 
 Beautiful sunbeam, the joy of my heart ; 
 Tired, so tired, but why dost thou weep ? 
 Mamma will rock thee and sing thee to sleep ; 
 Lullaby, lullaby, hush thee to rest, 
 Pillowed so gently and warm on my breast ; 
 Love o'er thy cradle a vigil will keep, 
 Mamma will rock thee and sing thee to sleep. 
 
 Dear little baby, so lovely and fair, 
 Sweet Easter lily, my treasure and care, 
 Mamma will rock thee through all the long hours, 
 Mamma will sing thee of fairies and flowers ; 
 What though the twilight is stealing away 
 All the young birdlings that carol to-day ? 
 What though the shadows around thee may 
 
 creep ? 
 Mamma will rock thee and sing thee to sleep. 
 
 Hide 'neath their lashes those pretty blue eyes, 
 Till in its splendor the morning shall rise ; 
 Angels above thee their bright watches keep ; 
 Mamma will rock thee and sing thee to sleep ; 
 Lullaby, lullaby, hush thee to rest, 
 Tenderly guarded and fondly caressed ; 
 Child of affection so hallowed and deep, 
 Mamma will rock thee and sing thee to sleep.
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 75 
 
 LUCY'S AND EMMA'S CONQUEST. 
 
 LUCY and Emma, two bright little girls, 
 
 With brown, glossy ringlets and teeth white as 
 
 pearls, 
 
 Stood watching a butterfly busy at play 
 Among the sweet clover that grew in their way, 
 Along a green meadow that led to their home, 
 And where, after school, 'twas their custom to 
 
 roam. 
 
 The school was just out, and the teacher had said 
 To Lucy and Emma, a hand on each head, 
 " My children, your parents to-night you must tell 
 How happy I am you are learning so well ; 
 And if you continue I am sure you will be 
 A credit to them and an honor to me." 
 " We thank you," said Lucy, " both Emma and I ; 
 We hope to be teachers like you by and by ; 
 But, sir, you'll not think we are going to tease 
 If we ask you to write in a note, if you please, 
 What you told us just now about being so good ; 
 'T would look better written ; don't you think it 
 
 would ? 
 Besides, 'twould be something our parents could 
 
 keep, 
 
 And read it together when we were asleep." 
 " I'll write it with pleasure," the teacher replied, 
 " I am glad my remark did not waken your pride ; 
 And now, in a word, this advice I will give, 
 Remember it, children, as long as you live,
 
 76 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 E'en though you come down to life's short winter 
 
 days, 
 
 Do right for the sake of the right, not for praise." 
 The note was concluded, directed, and sealed ; 
 A sweet satisfaction their faces revealed, 
 Not lost on the teacher, who inwardly prayed 
 That these dear little lambs in the fold might be 
 
 stayed 
 Where the eyes of the Shepherd a watch ever 
 
 keep, 
 The Shepherd who laid down his life for the 
 
 sheep. 
 
 And now to the meadow these bright little girls 
 Went dancing, and skipping, and shaking their 
 
 curls, 
 
 And thinking of all their dear parents would say, 
 Till they came to the butterfly busy at play. 
 " O Lucy," cried Emma, " did ever you see 
 Such beautiful wings ? Won't you catch him for 
 
 me ? " 
 " O, no," answered Lucy ; " the poor, helpless 
 
 thing 
 
 Would die in your hand if you crippled his wing ; 
 Why, not for the world would I catch him for you ; 
 Let's watch him a moment and see what he'll do." 
 
 Will Blair and Frank Ellis, two boys from the 
 
 school, 
 Who boasted so oft that they ne'er kept a rule,
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 77 
 
 Sprang over the fence, and, on mischief intent, 
 Toward Lucy and Emma their footsteps they 
 
 bent. 
 Their coming was seen, but the girls never 
 
 stirred, 
 Though they knew very well all they said had 
 
 been heard. 
 " So, so, we have found you," cried Will with a 
 
 sneer ; 
 
 " What's this you are guarding so carefully here ? 
 Frank, lend me your kerchief; but stay, never 
 
 mind, 
 
 An easier way to entrap him I'll find." 
 " Please, Willie," said Lucy, her mild, pleading 
 
 eyes 
 
 As soft in their light as the blue ether skies, 
 " Please, Willie, don't harm that poor innocent 
 
 thing, 
 
 But leave him to sport on his beautiful wing ; 
 For if you should hurt him how cruel 'twould be. 
 And how you would pain sister Emma and me ; 
 She is talking to Frank ; there's a blush on his 
 
 cheek ; 
 And there's good in your heart ; let me just hear 
 
 you speak, 
 
 And say you will never be naughty again, 
 But always obey our kind teacher, and then 
 How happy you'll make us ; come, Will, won't 
 
 you try ? " 
 The boy hung his head, but he could not reply ;
 
 78 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 He was conquered, subdued, and resolved from 
 
 that day 
 
 To lead a new life and to find the good way ; 
 While Frank, whom the kindness of Emma had 
 
 won, 
 
 Was equally sorry for what he had done, 
 And promised henceforth to be honest and true, 
 And love in his heart everyone that he knew. 
 
 The butterfly left, for his mission was o'er ; 
 They searched through the clover, but saw him 
 
 no more ; 
 
 The girls hastened home to their parents, and then 
 Their note was read over and over again ; 
 The teacher dropped in while they sat at their 
 
 tea; 
 
 By parents and children right welcome was he ; 
 He sat down among them, delighted to share 
 The real enjoyment that greeted him there. 
 
 It happened, years after, when Willie and Frank, 
 Whose names were enrolled in the school's high- 
 est rank, 
 
 Had finished their studies, and then settled down 
 Among the most worthy young men of the town 
 It happened, we say, that two bright, merry girls 
 With brown, glossy ringlets, and teeth white as 
 
 pearls, 
 
 Our Lucy and Emma, were chosen their wives, 
 To cherish and love for the rest of their lives.
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 79 
 
 [Written in answer to the question, Do you love children ?] 
 
 DO YOU LOVE CHILDREN ? 
 
 LOVE the children ? What a question ! 
 
 Cold indeed the heart must be 
 That can turn without emotion 
 
 From their laughter gushing free ; 
 Yes, with all my heart I love them ; 
 
 Bless the children, every one ! 
 I can be a child among them, 
 
 And enjoy their freaks and fun. 
 
 Quick, impulsive, and confiding, 
 
 Innocent without disguise, 
 Faces all aglow with pleasure, 
 
 Mischief dancing in their eyes 
 In my garden of affection 
 
 They will share the greenest spot ; 
 And I say without compunction, 
 
 Woe to those who love them not ! 
 
 They are buds of hope and promise, 
 
 Blessed by Him whose name is Love ; 
 Lent us here to train and nourish 
 
 For a better life above ; 
 Tender plants by angels guarded, 
 
 Clinging vines the children are ; 
 Jewels in our hearts to glisten, 
 
 Precious treasures, O how fair !
 
 80 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 Parents, on your own example 
 
 That your children daily see, 
 On your patient, careful training, 
 
 Rests their future destiny ; 
 Though responsible for service, 
 
 God will surely bring you through ; 
 Go to Him for strength and guidance ; 
 
 He is wiser far than you. 
 
 Are your children sometimes wayward ? 
 
 Teachers, are your scholars wild ? 
 Do not blame them, but remember 
 
 Each of you was once a child ; 
 Learn to govern with discretion, 
 
 Govern with a loving hand ; 
 Ne'er correct them in your anger, 
 
 Learn with mildness to command. 
 
 Do not crush their tender feelings ; 
 
 Win their confidence, their trust ; 
 Treat them kindly, and be always 
 
 Merciful as well as just ; 
 Pastors, don't forget the children ; 
 
 They are looking up to you ; 
 By a word of admonition, 
 
 There is much that you can do. 
 
 O how many are neglected ! 
 
 And your sympathy they claim ; 
 Wretchedness their sole companion, 
 
 Home to them is but a name ;
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 81 
 
 Seek them out, and, when you find them, 
 Show their feet the narrow way ; 
 
 Feed their souls and clothe their bodies ; 
 All you give the Lord will pay. 
 
 Love the children ? I can never, 
 
 Never pass them in the street 
 But my every pulse awaking 
 
 Thrills with love to all I meet ; 
 I have heard the children singing 
 
 When my heart was lone and sad ; 
 I have heard them in the distance, 
 
 And their music made me glad. 
 But their voices cheer and charm me 
 
 In the Sabbath homes they love ; 
 And I think they will be sweetest 
 
 In the saintly choirs above. 
 
 TWILIGHT. 
 
 O TWILIGHT ! ever welcome hour, 
 That by a strange, mysterious power 
 Brings back the past, and bids me feel 
 Its happy sunshine o'er me steal, 
 Till all the buds and blossoms fair 
 That memory's garland used to bear 
 Are fresh and blooming as they seemed 
 When first my heart of friendship dreamed. 
 
 O twilight ! let me dream once more, 
 Dream all my early pleasures o'er,
 
 82 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 And give me, just a little while, 
 
 The earnest clasp, the heart-warm smile, 
 
 Of those whose dust I hallow yet, 
 
 Of those too sacred to forget. 
 
 CONFIDENCE. 
 
 THE trust another hath reposed in thee 
 
 Is sacred as thy life, whate'er it be ; 
 
 And in the promise which thy lips have given, 
 
 If thou shall fail, thou wilt be judged of Heaven. 
 
 Betray it not, nor to thy interest use 
 
 What thou hast heard, nor confidence abuse ; 
 
 However trivial, by a look or tone 
 
 Betray it not ; 'twas for thine ear alone ; 
 
 Forget or hide it in thy inmost heart ; 
 
 Do anything but act the cruel part 
 
 To wrong thy friend, who, seeking thy relief, 
 
 Has come, and in the bitterness of grief 
 
 Would pillow on thy breast an aching brow, 
 
 And whisper all, yea, e'en the broken vow 
 
 Of recreant love, young hope forever crushed, 
 
 Its lamp gone out, its tender music hushed. 
 
 What ! canst thou listen and a traitor be, 
 
 Revealing what hath been revealed to thee 
 
 In strictest faith ? Then thou art not sincere, 
 
 And all to trust and counsel thee should fear. 
 
 It was a secret in a cloister told, 
 
 And should be guarded like a purse of gold,
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 83 
 
 Not thine, but in thy keeping, and no right 
 
 Hast thou to ope or bring it to the light, 
 
 Nor take one coin, though hundreds thou shouldst 
 
 gain ; 
 
 As thou receivest it let it still remain. 
 So guard thy trust, and in thy heart's deep cell, 
 Untold, unheard, let every secret dwell. 
 There be the urn where others' tears may fall, 
 And love keep faithful vigil o'er them all, 
 And thou shall live a comfort in thy day, 
 And scatter flowers o'er many a thorny way. 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 COME, if thou art true to me, 
 If yet thou lov'st me well, 
 
 And meet me at our trysting place 
 
 Within the mossy dell ; 
 Yes, meet me as when first we met 
 
 Beneath a summer sky, 
 Long, long before our lips had learned 
 
 That cruel word, good-bye. 
 
 There's not a rose on yonder bush, 
 Nor flower we used to twine ; 
 
 The birds have left that rural spot ; 
 Perhaps the fault is mine ; 
 
 1 know my looks were cold and stern, 
 
 A frown was on my brow ;
 
 84 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 But I regret that fatal hour ; 
 Wilt thou forgive me now ? 
 
 O come, and let us plight once more 
 
 The faith of other years, 
 And bathe each link of sacred love 
 
 In sweet repentant tears ; 
 Yet not one shadow would I cast 
 
 Around thy peerless name ; 
 Mine, mine the wrong ; I'll bear it all, 
 
 And I deserve the blame. 
 
 SEEKING FOR VIOLETS. 
 
 ROAMING all day in the meadow so green, 
 
 Seeking for violets, art thou, my queen ? 
 
 Where have you hid them ? Down deep in your 
 
 heart ? 
 
 Why are you blushing ? And why do you start ? 
 Seeking for violets ? When do they grow ? 
 Think you to find them in summer? No, no; 
 Not such a thought ever entered your head, 
 Nor is there a truth in a word you have said. 
 
 Seeking for violets ? happy excuse 
 Thus to avoid me ; and yet, 'tis no use ; 
 Cupid, I fancy, has lent to these hours 
 Something more pleasant than searching for 
 flowers ;
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 85 
 
 What is that something, you shy little fay ? 
 Naught in your looks will the secret betray: 
 Ah, but you wish me, and that I can trace 
 Plainly enough in each line of your face, 
 Out on the ocean, or some other place. 
 
 Merry your laugh as a clear ringing bell ; 
 Laugh with the lightest ; 'tis all very well ; 
 Only be candid, for I should regret 
 If I should find you a heartless coquet ; 
 Is there another more favored than I ? 
 One who is dearer? Then why not reply? 
 If your affections have wandered away, 
 Not for the world would I ask you to stay. 
 
 No, it were better to part with you here 
 Seeking for violets all the long year ; 
 Better to bless you, and leave you alone 
 Seeking for violets withered and strown ; 
 What do you ask as you whisper my name ? 
 Will I forgive and receive you again ? 
 Love you as fondly and true as of yore ? 
 Yes, and more fondly than ever before. 
 
 If in the future you promise to be 
 Loving and constant and faithful to me, 
 Then I will bury this scene with the past ; 
 Over its memory a veil will I cast. 
 Seeking for violets ? daisies, I mean ; 
 Here are the fairest that ever were seen ;
 
 86 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 Take the sweet nosegay ; 'twas gathered for you ; 
 Come, I will show you the spot where they grew, 
 Down where I met you one morn in the lane ; 
 Say, were you seeking for violets then ? 
 
 TO BESSIE. 
 
 WHAT disturbed thee, pretty one, 
 Woke thee e'er thy dream was done ? 
 Did some quick and sudden start 
 Rouse the pulses of thy heart ? 
 Hush thee, darling, sleep once more, 
 Dream the happy vision o'er ; 
 Dream as only dreams can be 
 In thy guileless infancy. 
 
 There are lakes that murmur low 
 
 ' Neath the calm cerulean skies, 
 Where the sweetest lilies grow, 
 
 Where their beauty never dies ; 
 Odors from their leaves so fair 
 
 Come across the jasper sea ; 
 Balm and music fill the air, 
 
 Felt and heard alone by thee. 
 
 Angel forms, to whom 'tis given 
 To behold our Father's face, 
 
 And perform his will in heaven, 
 Round thy cradle have their place ;
 
 SECULAR POEMS. 87 
 
 'Tis their pinions fan thy brow; 
 Hush thee, darling, slumber now ; 
 Sleep as only sleep can be 
 In thy guileless infancy. 
 
 Thou art smiling, pretty one ; 
 Ah, 'tis well ; thy dream is done ; 
 Did thy spirit leave its home 
 For a little while to roam 
 Where the chime of Eden's bells 
 On the breeze forever swells ? 
 Did'st thou catch some thrilling air 
 From the children singing there? 
 
 Thou art smiling, pretty one ; 
 Yes, thy halcyon dream is done ; 
 Other thoughts thy mind employ, 
 Other scenes of mirth and joy 
 Call thee now from sleep away ; 
 Just begun thy life's young day ; 
 Bright as days can only be 
 In thy guileless infancy. 
 
 Darling Bessie, He whose eye 
 Numbers all the stars on high, 
 Counts the waves upon the sea, 
 Watcheth o'er and loveth thee ; 
 And amid this world of ours 
 Thou wilt gather buds and flowers, 
 Sweet as flowers can only be 
 In thy guileless infancy.
 
 88 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 When from childhood thou art grown, 
 When thine artless years have flown, 
 May the prayer once learned by thee 
 Kneeling at a mother's knee, 
 And the words thy father said 
 When he laid thy infant head 
 On his breast with fondest love, 
 Lead thy soul to things above.
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. 
 
 TRIAL OF THE FAITH OF ABRAHAM. 
 
 'TWAS past the hour for sacrifice ; and now 
 The aged patriarch, leaning on his staff, 
 Stood in the doorway of his tent, and watched 
 The gayly painted clouds which here and there 
 Were floating in the quiet evening sky, 
 In strange fantastic forms, till, brushed away 
 By the light breath of the cool zephyr's wing, 
 They melted into air, and left the moon 
 Sole monarch of a train of radiant stars, 
 The bright attendants of her mighty reign. 
 And forth in brilliant majesty she came, 
 Touched with her silvery wand the tiny flowers, 
 And bade them fold their leaves, and lay their 
 
 heads 
 Upon the bosom of their mother earth. 
 
 His boy came bounding quickly to his side, 
 Like a young fawn, and caught his father's hand, 
 And drew him down, and kissed his furrowed 
 
 cheek 
 
 His boy, his darling, shall we say his pride, 
 Of whom the King of all the world had said 
 In him and in his seed, in after years,
 
 90 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 Shall all the nations of the earth be blessed. 
 And as the old man held him to his heart, 
 And looked into the depth of his dark eyes, 
 That seemed so like his mother's in her youth, 
 His thoughts went backward to the long ago, 
 When, in his native country far away, 
 He wooed the maiden who became his wife. 
 And Sarah loved him yet ; the lapse of years 
 Had strengthened and renewed her early vows. 
 They err who tell us love is all a dream, 
 And warn the young to fly its dangerous power ; 
 'Tis not a dream ; but, constant, true, sublime, 
 Where once its germ is planted in the soul, 
 Twill, like the evergreen, bloom on and on ; 
 For love is born of heaven, and cannot die. 
 
 " Isaac, my son," the doting father said, 
 
 " Long since thy mother to her couch hath gone, 
 
 And thou, methinks, hast quite o'erstepped thy 
 
 bounds. 
 Not thine the fault, but mine ; and now, good 
 
 night." 
 
 How beautiful he was ! how graceful he 
 In every movement as he tripped away ! 
 His merry laugh rang out so cheerily, 
 The birds awoke and started from their nests 
 As if they feared a rival in their song. 
 Still Abraham mused on the ways of God ; 
 He could not solve, nor was it his to know, 
 Almighty wisdom, but to trust and live,
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. 91 
 
 As he had done, by faith and not by sight. 
 
 The Lord had promised that from him should 
 
 spring 
 
 A mighty nation, numerous as the stars, 
 And numberless as sands upon the shore, 
 And that the goodly land in which he dwelt 
 They should possess ; the promise he believed 
 Implicitly ; he knew 'twould come to pass, 
 For unto him the word of God was law. 
 
 And now he slept ; and in a vision came 
 
 A voice that called him. " Abraham," it said, 
 
 " Take now thine only son whom thou dost love, 
 
 The idol of thy heart, and offer him 
 
 As a burnt offering in Moriah's land, 
 
 Upon a mountain I will tell thee of." 
 
 Did love rebel ? Did faith refuse to yield 
 
 In this sore trial, most severe of all, 
 
 Obedience to its author and its God ? 
 
 Did Abraham question His supreme command, 
 
 Who has the right to govern as He will ? 
 
 Morn oped her golden eye, tinged with her blush 
 The eastern hills, and sent her dewy smile 
 O'er groves of cedar, and the lovely vales 
 Bathed in her light and sang aloud for joy. 
 The patriarch rose ; a secret on his mind, 
 Which e'en to Sarah he might not betray ; 
 He had received a message from the Lord, 
 And he must go ; he dared not tell her more ;
 
 92 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 Then with the lad, and with his two young men 
 As their attendants, Abraham left his home. 
 For two long days they journeyed, and the third 
 He lifted up his eyes and saw the place ; 
 Bade his young men abide and wait him there ; 
 He and the lad would yonder go, he said, 
 And worship, and return to them again. 
 Silent their walk, till Isaac wondering cried, 
 " Behold the wood and fire, but where the 
 
 lamb ? " 
 
 To whom the father answered, " All is well, 
 My son ; God will provide Himself a lamb." 
 And so together to the mount they came ; 
 And Abraham built an altar to the Lord. 
 And when the boy looked on with sudden fear, 
 And turned those mournful, pleading eyes to his, 
 He waited but to clasp him to his breast ; 
 Then firmly bound with cords those tender limbs, 
 And on the altar laid the sacrifice. 
 O what a moment ! Will he stand the test ? 
 Behold the knife ; its edge is keen and sure ; 
 See how it glitters as the sunlight falls ; 
 His arm is raised ; but, ere the blade descends, 
 His hand is stayed ; God calls him out of heaven : 
 " Touch not the lad ; forbear to do him harm ; 
 For now indeed I know thou lovest me, 
 Since thou hast not withheld thine only son, 
 But wouldst have offered him at my command."
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. 93 
 
 THE MEETING OF JACOB AND JOSEPH. 
 
 ALL Egypt's land was parched, the scorching 
 
 beams 
 
 Fell with relentless heat upon the soil, 
 And every herb was withered, and the leaves 
 Dropped from the boughs that could no longer hold 
 Their blighted forms, and sighing, let them go; 
 The breeze that from the^vaters of the Nile 
 Played with the reeds that grew along its banks 
 Was listless now, and nature groaning saw 
 On every plant and every blade of grass 
 Dearth written, for the famine yet was sore. 
 What stirred the heart of Egypt's governor ? 
 Had that illumination of the soul, 
 That gift of faith, which God alone transmits, 
 Confirmed the startling truth so oft revealed, 
 That he who most a doting father loved, 
 And whom his envious brethren hated most, 
 He whom they sold and dipped his coat in blood, 
 And scrupled not to wring their parent's heart 
 With the dark falsehood of his Joseph's death, 
 That he. the victim of malicious wrong, 
 The injured tenant of a prison cell, 
 Wasting his years in solitude and grief, 
 Then from a dungeon brought, and clothed in 
 
 power 
 
 Till next to Egypt's potentate he stood, 
 Was working out the grand design of Heaven 
 Was thither sent by agency divine
 
 94 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 To guard a mighty nation's destiny ? 
 All this and more had moved him ; he had seen 
 His brethren ; they had come to purchase food ; 
 For Juda's fields were wasted by the scourge 
 Of that dread famine, and her fruitless vales 
 No more were lovely ; all her groves of palm 
 Bent their proud heads if haply they might catch 
 One cooling drop from the capricious clouds 
 That mocked their thirst and vanished like the dew. 
 And Jacob's sons arose ; for he had said, 
 "Why look ye on each other? I have heard 
 That there is corn in Egypt ; get ye down, 
 And buy for us, our wives and little ones, 
 That thus we may survive and perish not ; 
 Go, all of you but one ; him I retain, 
 The youngest born, left motherless at birth ; 
 My fair-haired Benjamin shall not go forth, 
 Lest, like his brother, he return no more, 
 And ye who robbed me of the son I loved 
 Again bereave me, and your second wound 
 Bring my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave." 
 
 Before the imperious ruler, proudly stern, 
 Whose quick perception noted every face, 
 They stood appalled, and bowed them to the earth ; 
 Yea, bowed themselves as in his boyhood dreams 
 He saw their sheaves obeisance make to his. 
 Rude were his words, denouncing them as spies ; 
 And then, in softer tone and milder mood, 
 He questioned of their parentage and home ;
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. 95 
 
 They knew him not, nor guessed by whose com- 
 mand 
 
 Their sacks were laden and their gold replaced. 
 Twice had they come ; but now his eyes beheld 
 His brother Benjamin, his mother's son, 
 The child he once had dandled on his knee, 
 And every sleeping passion of his soul 
 Roused in a moment, and his every nerve, 
 Strained to its utmost tension, would have burst 
 But for the tears that he made haste to shed. 
 O Time, whose finger doth erase the bloom 
 From beauty's cheek, and with thy winter frost 
 Sprinkle the locks of manhood till their hue 
 Is changed to whiteness, and the eye grows dim, 
 And the sweet sounds of merriment and joy 
 Are heard but as the echoes of the past 
 Thank God ! there yet is left untouched by thee 
 One little spot, one shrine where feeling dwells, 
 Immortal feeling, whose Promethean spark 
 An infant's breath might kindle to a flame. 
 
 But see ! at Jacob's tent the panting steeds 
 That bring his sons, returned, and with good news; 
 Who shall be first to break it ? can their sire 
 Bear the recital ? Judah, go thou first ; 
 Thy plea, so masterly, hath done it all ; 
 Take Benjamin, to whom no harm has come, 
 And tell thy father Joseph is alive ; 
 Tell him but stay, be guarded of thy speech, 
 Lest, if the heart too suddenly be filled
 
 96 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 With unexpected joy, its cords may break. 
 The old man heard as if believing not, 
 Till One who stood upon the topmost round 
 Of that great ladder reaching up to heaven, 
 That he beheld at Bethel while he slept, 
 Breathed on his soul, and all its strength revived, 
 And in the fullness of his heart he cried, 
 " Joseph, my son Joseph, is yet alive ; 
 I will go down and see him ere I die." 
 
 The Nile flowed sluggishly, not as of yore 
 When the glad waves caught the delicious breath 
 Of fragrant winds that floated o'er the tide, 
 And busy laborers reaped their harvest grain ; 
 All wore the gloom of desolation now, 
 And five long years of famine yet remained. 
 The day was sultry with its first gray dawn ; 
 Israel awoke, for they had stopped at night, 
 And laid them down to rest upon the plains. 
 And now once more the caravan moved on ; 
 And as the shadow of the sun at noon 
 Fell on the dial, they neared the journey's end. 
 Who in his chariot doth so swiftly ride ? 
 And now he reins his coursers, now alights, 
 Looks round him with a fond, expectant gaze, 
 And steps aside for one short interval 
 To calm his thoughts and still his heart 's wild throb; 
 Yonder his father comes ; O Heaven ! 'tis he .' 
 That waving beard white as the driven snow, 
 Unshorn as when with soft, caressing hand
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. 97 
 
 He stroked it, and went forth, nor came again 
 
 To bear the tidings he was sent to glean 
 
 Let the famed artist on his canvas draw 
 
 That matchless scene and paint it to the world ; 
 
 And thou, O bard, if words thou canst command, 
 
 Speak with impassioned eloquence, and tell 
 
 The hope, the joy, the ecstasy, that crowned 
 
 A meeting which no parallel can trace, 
 
 A meeting that dispelled a cloud of years, 
 
 And for a single moment lent to both 
 
 A vision of the heavenly Paradise. 
 
 See how he weeps upon his father's neck, 
 
 And how that father clasps him to his heart 
 
 As if he feared that he again might lose 
 
 The treasure he believed the grave had won ; 
 
 O that was pathos ; that undying love 
 
 Who can recall, or from the inspired page, 
 
 God's sacred word, can read that brief account, 
 
 So touching and so sweetly beautiful, 
 
 Nor feel one tender yearning of the soul 
 
 To reach for something purer than is found 
 
 Among the gewgaws of a flattering world ? 
 
 Before the king was Joseph's father brought, 
 King Pharaoh, who rejoiced and gave him cheer, 
 And, sitting down beside him, many things 
 Did he relate of Joseph's bright career, 
 And how the land of Egypt he had saved 
 By wisdom not his own but of the Lord ; 
 And then of Jacob asked, " How old art thou? " 
 7
 
 98 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 To whom the noble patriarch replied, 
 
 " The days that mark my life of pilgrimage, 
 
 Evil and few as they indeed have been, 
 
 Nor have they to my fathers yet attained, 
 
 A hundred years and thirty number now ; " 
 
 And Pharaoh blessed him, and a promise gave 
 
 Of an inheritance, a goodly place 
 
 That he and his might ever call their own, 
 
 To dwell therein, and rear their flocks and herds. 
 
 And Joseph bade his brethren be content, 
 
 For all was past, and all had been forgiven ; 
 
 And so he dwelt with them for many years, 
 
 Nourished his father till his latest hour, 
 
 And saw him laid within Machpelah's tomb. 
 
 SAMSON WITH THE PHILISTINES. 
 
 " Down with the Hebrew ! " From the infuriate 
 
 crowds 
 
 That like a whirlwind madly urged their way 
 Through Gaza's streets, a deafening shout arose ; 
 " Down with the Hebrew, Samson ! he is cursed ; 
 Dagon, our God, hath cursed him and his race." 
 " Hold !" cried a voice in loud, imperious tones, 
 " Hold ! I command you let this tumult cease 
 Till I, your chief, Altharius, bid you speak ; 
 Then glut your vengeance to your heart's con- 
 tent ; 
 
 Revile, insult, mock your defenseless foe, 
 Till he shall learn how sweet it is to feel
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. 99 
 
 The poisoned arrow of remorseless hate. 
 
 Behold the lion tamed and like a lamb ; 
 
 No need of bonds but to prevent all harm 
 
 Against himself ; I have secured him thus, 
 
 For from their sockets must his eyes be torn, 
 
 Lest peradventure other foxes come 
 
 With brands of fire and burn our harvest fields. 
 
 He like a pestilence hath scourged our land, 
 
 Laid waste our cities, robbed us of our homes, 
 
 And slain his thousands in a single day ; 
 
 But where his prowess now? Where did it lie? 
 
 Fool to unlock a secret he had kept 
 
 Through all his life, and might have kept it still ! 
 
 Fool to confide in her who, false as fair, 
 
 Sought only to betray his trust for gold ! 
 
 But she had served our purpose, and 'tis well ; 
 
 She was the fowler ; we the prey have won, 
 
 Not, like the hungry vulture, to devour, 
 
 But save alive ; death were a boon too great 
 
 For him to ask at a Philistine's hand ; 
 
 But let him, like the eagle from the sun 
 
 Hurled by a shaft that wounds no vital part, 
 
 Beat his proud wings against his prison bars, 
 
 Till hope's last beam expires and all is dark. 
 
 Now to my task ; such mercy will I show 
 
 As hath been shown by him to me and mine. 
 
 Ah, how he struggles ! but he must not faint ; 
 
 Quick ! bathe his temples, bring him goodly wine, 
 
 Choice wine from Kisma, cooled in Caspian snow ; 
 
 He shall not faint ; far greater our revenge
 
 100 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 To see him tortured to his utmost power, 
 
 Yet, nerved by stimulants and conscious still, 
 
 To see him writhe, half frantic with his pain, 
 
 Then laugh his misery to bitter scorn. 
 
 O say, what is it that doth o'er me creep, 
 
 So like a venom coiling in my veins ? 
 
 Have I not from my boyhood looked on blood ? 
 
 Was I not cradled in the arms of war? 
 
 But this ah me ! not that I pity him, 
 
 But 'tis a deed at which my soul revolts ; 
 
 Would it were past ; but half is yet to do ; 
 
 Would it were past ; but shall I falter? No ; 
 
 I'll finish, though my hands were paralyzed. 
 
 There, I have done ; and shall I more inflict ? 
 
 For I am sated, sickened, horrified 
 
 With this dread scene. Stand back and let me 
 
 forth ; 
 
 Nay, touch him not ; are ye men or fiends ? 
 Guards, bear him hence ; and if perchance there 
 
 come 
 
 A pitying friend, or one of nearer kin, 
 Ye shall not hinder such, but let them pass 
 And, as they will, relieve and succor him." 
 
 The crowd had gone ; their hateful, mocking 
 
 sounds 
 
 Of rude and impious mirth were heard no more, 
 And, save the measured tramp along the court 
 Of sentinels whose dull monotony 
 Broke ever and anon upon the ear,
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. 101 
 
 'Twas still. O what a boon from Israel's God, 
 E'en this to that poor, lonely, suffering one, 
 Who, faint, exhausted by the sudden shock 
 Of twofold anguish, prayed that death might 
 
 come, 
 
 Kind, gentle death, and let his spirit forth 
 Into the region of the vast unknown ! 
 Tossing he lay ; none came to slake his thirst ; 
 His quivering eyelids burned and throbbed with 
 
 pain 
 
 Till reason sometimes trembled on its throne ; 
 And she whose hand had shorn his wavy locks, 
 And wove the network of deceit and guile 
 In whose dark meshes he was caught at last 
 Where was she then? O when with victory 
 
 crowned 
 
 He sought his home, rich with the spoils of war, 
 Or in the twilight's gloaming thither came, 
 How was he wont with lighter step to move, 
 And heart more buoyant, while her siren voice 
 Poured out its music, and his soul drank in 
 Its every tone as some delicious draught 
 Too pure for earth and only made for heaven ! 
 Where was she then, whose lightest touch could 
 
 soothe 
 
 His restless moanings, and whose softest word 
 Could lull him to a sweet forgetfulness ? 
 
 Delilah, false Delilah, what ! asleep? 
 Beneath the silken folds of thine own couch
 
 102 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 Canst thou repose ? dost think the dove would rest 
 If aught of danger brooded o'er her mate ? 
 Or, robbed of him, would she not pine and die? 
 She hath what thou hast not a changeless love ; 
 Thou didst not love, else thou hadst loyal been ; 
 Was not thy husband's fate in thine own hands ? 
 Not his, but thine, the falsehood that must be 
 A skeleton through all thy after years. 
 Thou didst not love, else thou hadst never played 
 The craven part and bartered love for gold ; 
 Love hides its secret with a miser's care ; 
 It wounds to heal, but never to betray. 
 
 And now awoke the morn ; the playful winds 
 Were toying with the leaves and jessamine stems, 
 Curling the wavelets on the limpid streams, 
 Or stealing nectar from the dewy cups 
 Of the young virgin lilies as they passed. 
 Time, and the hand that lifteth from the ground 
 The trembling sparrow fallen from its bough, 
 The balm of health to Samson had restored ; 
 Long days had intervened, and weary nights, 
 Not lonely like the first, for friends were there ; 
 And tottering age, that nursed him when a babe, 
 Its tender, sympathizing tears had shed 
 So lovingly upon his wasted cheek, 
 That half his burden seemed already gone ; 
 And waking from his sleep on that sweet morn, 
 He rose, and leaning on a soldier's arm, 
 Stood in the outer court where he was led.
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. 103 
 
 His hair had grown ; he knew it ; but, his eyes 
 
 Would they return ? would he again behold 
 
 Or sun or moon or stars or human face ? 
 
 O Heaven ! in all our catalogue of woes 
 
 Can there be one that so afflicts the mind 
 
 And rends the very fibers of the heart, 
 
 Like that which comes when in our riper years 
 
 We lose, and by a single stroke of Thine, 
 
 That sense which of all others most we prize, 
 
 That glorious avenue through which we range 
 
 The fields of science, poesy, and art, 
 
 And trace Thee in Thy excellence divine 
 
 Where Thou hast left Thy name in living light 
 
 On truth's immortal page, Thy Holy Book? 
 
 O to be left at midday in the dark ! 
 
 To wander on and on in moonless night ! 
 
 To know the windows of the soul are closed, 
 
 And closed till opened in eternity ! 
 
 They who have felt can tell how deep the gloom ; 
 
 And only they who in their souls have learned 
 
 To walk by faith, and lean on God for help, 
 
 To such a lot can e'er be reconciled. 
 
 The chief, Ahharius, had a feast proclaimed, 
 
 A royal feast to Dagon on that day, 
 
 In honor of his signal victory 
 
 In Samson's capture. Gaza's streets again 
 
 Were vocal with the shouts of revelry ; 
 
 Upon the housetop where the feast was held, 
 
 Philistia's sons were gathered ; young and old,
 
 104 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 In motley groups, were walking to and fro, 
 Whiling the hours in thoughtless merriment. 
 Loud peals of laughter rose, and then a call 
 That Samson should be brought to make them 
 
 sport ; 
 
 The message came, he heard, and bowed his head, 
 Then, with a look of triumph in his face, 
 Was borne to where that reckless multitude 
 Deemed his affliction but an idle jest ; 
 Scoffed at, he came, and then, with cruel taunt, 
 Mocking, they bade him lead them in the dance. 
 So passed the time; but Samson's hour drew near; 
 He leaned against the pillars ; all his hopes 
 Were clustering around a single thought; 
 To one he said, " Put thou my hand on these, 
 For I would know their size ; and tell thou me, 
 Are these the pillars where the building rests ? " 
 They left him to himself ; he stood alone, 
 And, lifting up his sightless orbs, he said, 
 " O Thou who didst behold me at my birth, 
 God of my fathers, hear my prayer this once ; 
 Lo, I am stricken down, helpless and blind ; 
 Thy mighty works are hidden from me now ; 
 The smiling meadow and the vineclad hill 
 And spicy grove are now as things that were ; 
 I joy no more in that which charmed me once ; 
 Yet I have tried to serve Thee all my life ; 
 And now, O Lord, I pray Thee let my strength 
 Tenfold return, that, in this last, last hour, 
 I of mine enemies may be avenged
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. 105 
 
 For this great wrong which they to me have 
 
 done; 
 
 And let these heathen, who believe Thee not, 
 Know for themselves this day that Thou art 
 
 God." 
 
 He paused, his chest expanded, and again 
 Firmly he held with superhuman power 
 Those massive pillars in his giant grasp ; 
 A shout the building to its center shook, 
 And, in a moment, that vast multitude 
 Mangled and crushed beneath its ruins lay, 
 And he among them ; thus was he avenged ; 
 For they, 'tis said, who perished at his death 
 Were more than all that in his life he slew. 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 GOD heareth prayer, whether in secret place, 
 Or in His sacred courts, it matters not ; 
 Where two or three are gathered in His Name, 
 There will He deign to meet them and to bless. 
 God heareth prayer, O thou desponding one, 
 When dark temptation's cloud o'erspreads thy 
 
 soul, 
 
 Turn from the busy and the giddy throng, 
 Haste thou to nature's solitude, commune 
 With thy own heart, and humbly bend thy knee, 
 For in that hour thy God will hear thy prayer.
 
 106 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 IMMORTAL LOVE. 
 
 IMMORTAL love ! O theme of heavenly birth ! 
 How shall I dare to speak thy matchless worth? 
 Source of unending life, celestial dove, 
 Fountain of wisdom who thyself art love, 
 Thee I invoke, who only canst inspire 
 My languid soul, and tune my trembling lyre. 
 Immortal love, who shall thy depths explore, 
 Vast as eternity's unbounded shore ? 
 Thou art the spark that lights th' eternal flame 
 On heaven's high altars ; thou the sacred name 
 That fills those realms no mortal e'er has trod ; 
 Thou the pulsation of the heart of God, 
 Which, to the Church, His body here below, 
 Doth now.throughChristourgreat Redeemer, flow. 
 Immortal love, how gentle and how mild 
 Appear thy workings in a lisping child ! 
 Confiding, trusting, innocent, and kind, 
 Thou art the first pure impulse of its mind ; 
 Thou art a breath from that untainted clime 
 Where heavenly choirs their ceaseless anthems 
 
 chime ; 
 
 God's law to man in thee we comprehend, 
 Thou its beginning art, and thou its end. 
 The noblest of the Christian virtues thou, 
 The crown of grace that decks the Christian's 
 
 brow, 
 
 Jehovah's mighty arm that doth enfold 
 A universe with tenderness untold.
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. 107 
 
 Immortal love, O theme of heavenly birth, 
 
 No mortal tongue can speak thy matchless 
 
 worth ; 
 
 To ransomed ones such lofty strains belong ; 
 They, only they, can swell th' enraptured song. 
 
 HOPE ON, HOPE EVER. 
 
 HOPE on, hope ever. Earth is not so drear, 
 Nor life a comfortless and empty dream ; 
 
 The darkest clouds that gather o'er us here 
 Are not the harbingers we sometimes deem; 
 
 For lo ! how brilliant the returning ray, 
 
 As one by one their shadows pass away ! 
 
 Hope on, hope ever. Is thy heart bereft 
 Of all that rendered life once dear to thee ? 
 
 Amid the wreck the quenchless spark is left, 
 Whose light, though feeble, shall thy beacon be ; 
 
 Though death's cold hand some kindred tie may 
 sever, 
 
 Still let thy motto be, Hope on, hope ever. 
 
 Hope on, hope ever. Weary and oppressed, 
 Care's pallid seal stamped on thy sunken cheek, 
 
 There is a haven of eternal rest 
 
 Whose sacred joy no mortal tongue can speak ; 
 
 Look upward in thine hour of dark despair 
 Hope points to heaven, and drops her anchor 
 there.
 
 108 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 REST. 
 
 COME, heavy laden one, 
 
 Where'er thou art, 
 Lay at the Master's feet 
 
 Thy broken heart ; 
 Cast thou on Him thy care ; 
 Though hard thy cross to bear, 
 Jesus, who answers prayer, 
 
 Sweet rest will give. 
 
 Think of His tender love, 
 
 Boundless and free ; 
 Think of His precious words 
 
 Spoken to thee ; 
 
 What though thy faith be small ? 
 What though thy tears may fall ? 
 Jesus, who knows them all, 
 
 Sweet rest will give. 
 
 Long though the weary night, 
 
 Joy will be thine ; 
 See through the rifting clouds 
 
 Hope brightly shine ; 
 Rest from the tide of woes, 
 Rest and a calm repose, 
 Rest that shall never close, 
 
 Jesus will give.
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. 109 
 
 NO TEARS IN HEAVEN. 
 
 WITH careworn heart and throbbing brow 
 
 I watched the orb of day, 
 That set in tears behind the clouds 
 
 That veiled its golden ray ; 
 And bending o'er the sacred page 
 
 Of truth divinely given, 
 I heard a loving voice that said, 
 
 There'll be no tears in Heaven. 
 
 My thoughts grew calm, and, in a dream, 
 
 Bright angels sang to me 
 A choral song of Eden land 
 
 Beyond the jasper sea ; 
 And though too soon its chords were lost, 
 
 Its tones afar were driven ; 
 One hallowed strain I yet recall : 
 
 There'll be no tears in Heaven. 
 
 No tears, no pain, no dreary night 
 
 With starless gloom o'ercast, 
 The joy our blessed Saviour gives 
 
 Will there forever last ; 
 O eyes that weep, O hearts that mourn, 
 
 By storm and tempest driven, 
 Look up, look up ; 'twill soon be o'er; 
 
 There'll be no tears in Heaven.
 
 110 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 RETROSPECT. 
 
 ONLY a thought concealed 
 
 In the leaves of a withered flower, 
 That came in its bloom from the giver's hand, 
 
 And drooped in a single hour ! 
 Only a whispered word, 
 
 In the ear of a trusting heart ! 
 But its memory clung to the trembling strings, 
 
 And it broke them all apart. 
 
 Only a fleeting dream ! 
 
 'Twas bright, but it came no more ; 
 Only a sigh, and a sob of pain, 
 
 A parting and all was o'er ! 
 Only a storm-tossed barque, 
 
 Alone on the restless deep ! 
 Only the path of a dreary night, 
 
 And a tireless watch to keep ! 
 
 O thought, O word, O dream, 
 
 Sad tales of the past ye tell ; 
 Your lesson of life, it was hard to learn, 
 
 But O it has served me well ; 
 What matter if still my barque 
 
 On a restless sea be driven ? 
 Its anchor is firm, and I know ere long 
 
 'Twill rest in the port of Heaven.
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. Ill 
 
 UNSEEN. 
 
 THOU great Supreme, whom angel choirs adore, 
 High over all exalted evermore, 
 No mortal eye hath seen at any time 
 The matchless glory of Thy throne sublime ; 
 Yet unto us Thou dost Thyself reveal ; 
 Within our souls Thy presence, Lord, we feel, 
 And know that we from death to life have passed, 
 That with Thy chosen ones our lot is cast. 
 
 Unseen, yet when in prayer we breathe Thy name, 
 Our love inspired is kindled to a flame ; 
 Till, upward borne on eagle wings, we soar 
 Beyond the clouds that veil the eternal shore. 
 And view by faith Thy regal diadem, 
 And in a vision touch Thy garment's hem. 
 
 Unseen, Thou lead'st us by Thine own right hand ; 
 Thus saith Thy word, upon whose truth we stand ; 
 And still again we hear in tones divine, 
 " Fear not ; I have redeemed you ; ye are mine.' 
 
 Unseen, but O how precious, Lord, Thou art ! 
 How sweet Thy voice to every trusting heart ! 
 We praise and bless Thee for the promise given 
 Of endless joy and perfect rest in Heaven, 
 Where, Thou hast said, through Thy abundant 
 
 grace, 
 We shall in righteousness behold Thy face.
 
 112 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 OCEAN GROVE. 
 
 WE stepped upon the crowded car 
 
 That rapidly began to move, 
 And ere we thought two hours had passed, 
 
 We found ourselves at Ocean Grove ; 
 And there we parted, said Good-bye, 
 
 My new-made friend his home to seek, 
 And I their honored guest to be 
 
 Whose kindness words can never speak. 
 
 The camp ground, thronged with pious souls, 
 
 Was from their home not far away, 
 Divided by a fairy lake 
 
 So mirrorlike and still it lay 
 That, as we rowed, and softly came 
 
 In measured tones the dipping oar, 
 We heard the rustling of the leaves 
 
 Among the pines along the shore. 
 O who could breathe the fragrant air 
 
 Of that cool lake, or lightly rove 
 Among the avenues and shades 
 
 And winding paths of Ocean Grove, 
 Without a realistic sense 
 
 Of holy blessedness that flows 
 When over nature and its works 
 
 Religion's power an influence throws ? 
 
 That night the morrow O what joy ! 
 
 The very hills with gladness rang ; 
 We felt that we had almost reached 
 
 The " Beulah Land " of which we sang.
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. 113 
 
 To see those cottages and tents, 
 
 Where praise ascended to the sky, 
 Was bliss ; ah, more ; 'twas heaven below ; 
 
 In such a scene how sweet to die ! 
 We heard the Word of Life proclaimed, 
 
 We heard the deep and fervent prayer, 
 We heard with hearts so filled with love 
 
 They scarce another drop could bear. 
 God bless the Church that keeps alive, 
 
 From year to year, that custom old 
 Of tenting in some rural wood, 
 
 And gathering wanderers to the fold. 
 
 We stood at eve on ocean's beach, 
 
 And heard the waves like thunder roll ; 
 And as we knelt upon the sand, 
 
 God came and spoke to every soul ; 
 The sky was radiant ; varied tints 
 
 Of crimson, gold, and blue it wore ; 
 O never seemed the glowing West 
 
 More bright and beautiful before. 
 And should we never meet again 
 
 As then we met at sunset hour, 
 We'll talk it over by and by 
 
 In some delightful shady bower 
 Of Eden's land ; ah, yes ; and there, 
 
 While rapture tunes our souls to love, 
 We'll praise the Lord in higher strains 
 
 For those bright days at Ocean Grove.
 
 114 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 GRANDPA'S BLESSING. 
 
 WE were sitting after supper, 
 
 On a cold and frosty night, 
 In our cozy little parlor, 
 
 O so cheerful, warm, and bright ! 
 And our grandpa said, " My children, 
 
 Have you all been good to-day ? " 
 Then each little voice grew silent 
 
 As we knelt with him to pray. 
 I shall ne'er forget the burden iX 
 
 Of that simple, fervent prayer : 
 " Lord, I thank thee for Thy mercy, 
 
 And Thy ever watchful care ; 
 I shall soon lay down my armor, 
 
 For my days are well-nigh told, 
 But I long to see these dear ones 
 
 Gathered safely in Thy fold ; 
 Keep us through the night, our Father ; 
 
 May we all in safety wake ; 
 Guide us to Thy heavenly mansions ; 
 
 This we ask for Jesus' sake." 
 
 Then he kissed us all so fondly, 
 
 Laid his hands on every head, 
 Gave us each a parting blessing 
 
 As we tripped away to bed ; 
 But an angel came at midnight, 
 
 And his wings were white as snow ; 
 Grandpa knew the voice that called him. 
 
 And his soul was glad to go ;
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. 115 
 
 But he bade our mother tell us 
 
 He had only gone before, 
 And, if faithful, we should meet him 
 
 On the happy golden shore. 
 
 THE CHILD AND THE ANGEL. 
 
 A MOTHER sat musing at close of day 
 By the cradle bed where her firstborn lay ; 
 On the dimpled cheek of that cherub fair 
 Had fallen a ringlet of golden hair ; 
 And thither a truant sunbeam strayed, 
 And long with that beautiful tress it played, 
 Till it faded away in the crimson west, 
 And sank like the innocent child to rest. 
 
 Why trembled a tear in that mother's eye 
 
 As she warbled her simple lullaby, 
 
 And her soulfelt prayer on the breath of even 
 
 Went up to the throne of her God in heaven ? 
 
 Can ye fathom the ocean, dark and deep, 
 
 Where the mighty waves in their grandeur sweep ? 
 
 Or number the radiant orbs above ? 
 
 Ah, then may ye fathom a mother's love ; 
 
 That pearly tear was a gem more fair 
 
 Than the ruby bright or the diamond rare, 
 
 For it told what language could ne'er reveal, 
 
 A love which a mother alone can feel.
 
 116 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 From the fount of life and the source of light, 
 From the sacred fields of Elysium bright, 
 Through the cloudless depths of ethereal blue, 
 Quickly the form of an angel flew ; 
 O soft was the breath of the balmy air 
 As it felt the touch of his pinions fair 
 Diffusing aromas sweet from flowers 
 Of amaranth cradled in Eden's bowers. 
 
 A tear was still in that mother's eye 
 
 As she warbled her simple lullaby, 
 
 For she looked on the angel form that smiled 
 
 On the cherub face of her sleeping child ; 
 
 And she heard low music of heavenly joy 
 
 Wooing the soul of her darling boy. 
 
 There were anxious thoughts in her throbbing 
 
 breast 
 
 As his pallid lips to her own were pressed ; 
 A moment his eye grew strangely bright, 
 Then closed in a long and last good night ; 
 The angel of mercy, the child of love, 
 Together had flown to the realms above.
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. 117 
 
 A RHAPSODY. 
 
 [Written while standing by a fountain in one of our city jparks.] 
 
 PLAYING away, playing away, 
 
 Cooling my brow with thy silvery spray, 
 
 Beautiful fountain, pure and bright, 
 
 Throwing thy drops like jets of light, 
 
 There's a voice that comes from thy depths so clear, 
 
 A strange, wild voice that I love to hear. 
 
 Playing away, playing away, 
 
 Telling thy story by night and day, 
 
 While a rainbow hangs on thy sparkling crest, 
 
 Pointing the soul to a home of rest 
 
 Not here, not here, but in yonder clime 
 
 That needs no dial to mark its time ; 
 
 The years are ages, and days are years ; 
 
 There is neither sorrow nor night nor tears ; 
 
 And the Fountain of Life with its crystal spray 
 
 Forever and ever is playing away. 
 
 OUR LORD AT THE GRAVE OF 
 
 LAZARUS. 
 
 " WHERE have ye laid him ? " Once that God- 
 like voice 
 Rebuked the winds and bade them seek their 
 
 caves ; 
 
 Commanded, and the wild, tempestuous sea, 
 Whose wrathful billows lashed the vessel's side 
 As if to plunge her 'neath their foaming surge,
 
 118 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 Was in a moment calm and motionless; 
 
 The thunder heard His mandate, and was mute ; 
 
 The parting clouds let forth the prisoned light 
 
 To sparkle on the bosom of the deep. 
 
 But now that voice was tremulous and sad ; 
 
 His very soul was rent, convulsed with grief ; 
 
 His human nature felt and suffered, too, 
 
 With those who, crushed beneath affliction's rod, 
 
 Looked up to Him for hope in their despair. 
 
 He knew and loved those stricken ones, who came 
 
 In their bereavement, and were kneeling there, 
 
 And who in turn had said amid their tears, 
 
 " Lord, if Thou hadst been here this bitter cup 
 
 Thou wouldst have stayed ; our brother had not 
 
 died ; " 
 
 And He who spake as man could never speak, 
 To one of them had answered, " Fear thou not ; 
 Behold, thy brother from the dead shall rise ; 
 I am the Resurrection and the Life; 
 He that on me believeth, know thou this, 
 Though he were dead, yet shall he live again, 
 And whosoever living doth believe 
 And trust in me, shall never, never die." 
 Then as the wound of sorrow flowed afresh 
 From those lone hearts, he looked around, and saw 
 The weeping Jews, whom sympathy had moved 
 To follow Mary as she quickly rose, 
 Believing that she sought her brother's grave. 
 He in the spirit groaned, and, troubled, said, 
 " Where have ye laid him ? " Sadly they replied,
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. 119 
 
 " Lord, come and see ; " and lo, Messiah wept. 
 
 O consecrated tears ! shall one be lost ? 
 
 No ; in an urn held by a cherub hand, 
 
 An infant cherub He had blessed on earth, 
 
 Each hallowed drop preserved was borne to 
 
 heaven. 
 
 And on the glorious battlements of light, 
 From whence the angel hosts our world survey, 
 They stood in wonder, bowed their reverent 
 
 heads, 
 
 Hushed every harp, and silently adored 
 His love who thus could pity mortal woe. 
 Slowly He followed where the mourners led ; 
 And some there were who questioned, " Could not 
 
 He 
 
 Who oped the sightless eyes and gave them light 
 Have caused that e'en this man should not have 
 
 died ? " 
 
 Again the Saviour, groaning in Himself, 
 Oppressed and careworn, cometh to the grave. 
 No verdant mound laved with the falling spray 
 Of silvery fountain or transparent lake 
 Received the dust of the departed one, 
 Nor bud nor blossom marked his resting place ; 
 It was a cave on which a stone was laid ; 
 They rolled it back, and then each heart was still, 
 For Jesus lifted up His eyes and said, 
 "Father, I thank Thee that my prayer is heard; 
 And while I know Thou alway hearest me, 
 Yet for their sake, the people gathered here,
 
 120 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 I thus invoke Thee, thus Thy throne address, 
 That they may know that I am sent by Thee." 
 A moment's pause, and then He cried aloud, 
 " Lazarus, come forth ! " and through each quiver- 
 ing vein 
 The lifeblood coursed, the warm pulse throbbed 
 
 anew, 
 
 And, starting to his feet, perfect and sound, 
 The dead was raised and Jesus glorified. 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 A REMINISCENCE. 
 
 Go, busy care, awhile depart ; 
 
 These moments have no place for thee ; 
 Go, take thy burden from my heart, 
 
 And leave this hallowed hour to me ; 
 The sun has gone, his farewell ray 
 
 Has kissed the rosy-tinted west ; 
 The swallow twittering hies away, 
 
 And gathers all her brood to rest. 
 
 Go, busy care, and let me feel 
 
 The touch of evening's grateful breeze, 
 And hear its whisper lightly steal 
 
 Among these long familiar trees ; 
 I love to sit beneath their shade 
 
 That overlook yon ruined dome, 
 And count the years when first I played 
 
 Beside its porch and called it home.
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. 121 
 
 I had no care, no sorrow, then ; 
 
 My life was like a summer day, 
 My world this lovely sylvan glen, 
 
 Nor had I thought or wish to stray, 
 But tarry with its birds and flowers, 
 
 Its autumn leaves and winter snow; 
 They brought their merry, laughing hours, 
 
 And bade my heart with pleasure glow. 
 
 And then, that lake whose glossy wave 
 
 So like a burnished mirror seems, 
 Where swans their graceful beauty lave 
 
 And, in my happy childhood dreams, 
 How oft I've rowed my tiny boat 
 
 Along its bosom calm and still, 
 And caroled to the silver note 
 
 Of echo from the distant hill. 
 
 Sweet native wild, to me so dear, 
 
 How changed, how sadly changed, thou art ! 
 But love hath still its altar here, 
 
 And thou art sacred to my heart ; 
 Yes, sacred ; for alone I weep 
 
 O'er broken ties and moss-grown graves, 
 Where daisies come their watch to keep, 
 
 And memory's drooping cypress waves. 
 
 One mound is left ; I mind it well ; 
 
 And oft the sod my feet have pressed, 
 Where, by and by, the old church bell 
 
 Will toll me softly to my rest ;
 
 122 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 And when I close these weary eyes, 
 May He, who knows my every care, 
 
 From His great temple in the skies 
 Stoop down and take my spirit there 
 
 Where purer joys than ever thrilled 
 
 My bosom here shall come to me, 
 And every throbbing pulse be stilled 
 
 In that sweet immortality 
 That world of song, from whose bright shore 
 
 All gloom and cloud and storm are driven, 
 And love keeps vigil evermore, 
 
 Nor weeps o'er broken ties in Heaven. 
 
 MOTHER, PRAY FOR ME. 
 
 MOTHER, mother, I am waiting 
 
 For your blessing ere I go ; 
 But your head is bowed in sorrow ; 
 
 Can I leave you weeping so ? 
 Wipe away your tears, my mother, 
 
 I must brave a stormy sea ; 
 But my heart will fear no danger 
 
 While my mother prays for me. 
 
 You have taught me to remember 
 
 My Creator in my youth ; 
 You have taught me words of comfort 
 
 From the page of life and truth ;
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. 123 
 
 And those blessed words, repeated 
 Morn and eve beside your knee, 
 
 Will be sweeter now ; but, mother, 
 Don't forget to pray for me. 
 
 When you watch the sky at evening, 
 
 Dark with threatening clouds o'ercast, 
 And you hear the restless moaning 
 
 Of the cold, foreboding blast; 
 When you think your boy is tossing 
 
 On a wild and angry sea, 
 I shall know at such a moment 
 
 That my mother prays for me. 
 
 PEACE; BE STILL. 
 
 WHEN, o'er the billows wild and dark, 
 Was rudely tossed the Saviour's barque, 
 He calmed them by His sovereign will, 
 And bade the angry storm be still. 
 
 The wild winds cease the billows sleep 
 
 In silence on the mighty deep ; 
 
 For God, omnipotent to save, 
 
 Can calm the wind and rule the wave. 
 
 Thus when tempestuous passions swell, 
 And we against His law rebel, 
 O, may our hearts His Spirit fill, 
 And bid the angry storm be still.
 
 124 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 And O, in sorrow's gloomy hour 
 Still may we own His sovereign power ; 
 Bow meekly to His gracious will, 
 And bid the throbbing heart be still. 
 
 THE BAPTISM OF OUR LORD. 
 
 HIGH in his zenith rode the King of day, 
 
 And, from his flaming chariot as it passed, 
 
 Let down his glory like a flood of gold 
 
 On Jordan's waters, famed on history's page, 
 
 Where Israel's mighty host whom Joshua led 
 
 To their inheritance, fair Canaan's land, 
 
 Beheld the river parted in the midst ; 
 
 The waters, like a wall on either side, 
 
 Moved not till every footstep died away 
 
 And all were safe ; and then Jehovah's voice 
 
 Bade them return to their own place again, 
 
 The Jordan on whose brink Elijah stood, 
 
 And with his mantle smote the turbid waves, 
 
 And they divided; he on solid ground 
 
 Trod fearless, for he knew God's hand was there 
 
 How beautiful that ancient river now, 
 Its waters placid, while the idle breeze 
 Slept on its bosom, and the noontide sun 
 Kissed every wave, chased every cloud away, 
 Lest they should break that sweet tranquillity ! 
 And he whose raiment was of camel's hair, 
 Whose meat was locusts and the honey wild,
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. 125 
 
 Who in Judea's wilderness had cried, 
 " Repent ye, for God's kingdom is at hand," 
 Stood on those lovely banks amid the throng 
 That from the region round about had come 
 To hear his words, and, penitent for sin, 
 With due confession, meekly to receive 
 The holy sign, the one baptismal rite, 
 To whom in tones prophetic thus he spoke : 
 " Now at the root the sharpened ax is laid, 
 And every tree that bears not goodly fruit 
 Shall have no more a place amid the soil. 
 But, severed branch by branch, shall fuel be 
 To feed the flames that must forever burn. 
 With water to repentance I baptize ; 
 But lo, among you shall another come, 
 Greater than I, the latchet of whose shoes, 
 Behold, I am not worthy to unloose, 
 He shall baptize you with the Holy Ghost, 
 Yea, and with fire ; of Him I witness bear." 
 
 See now the Baptist ; what hath moved his soul ? 
 Why fixed his gaze upon that stranger form, 
 Mild, eloquent, serene, majestic, pure ? 
 Who would not love that more than earthly face, 
 Those gentle looks with tender sadness twined, 
 Those olive eyes to whose expression deep 
 His soul benignant lent a heavenly beam 
 That found its way to many a grief-worn heart, 
 And left a smile of peace and comfort there ? 
 And this was He whose birth the angels sang.
 
 126 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 And o'er whose cradle shone His natal star 
 So brightly when the Orient wise men came, 
 And laid their costly treasures at His feet ; 
 This, too, was He whom Simeon in his arms 
 Took up, and blessed, and said, " Lord, now I 
 
 may 
 
 Depart in peace, for lo, these aged eyes 
 In this fair Child have Thy salvation seen." 
 
 Then cometh Jesus, saith the inspired page, 
 
 From Galilee to Jordan, unto John, 
 
 To be baptized of him ; but John refused ; 
 
 " No, I have need to be baptized of Thee," 
 
 His meek reply, " and comest Thou to me ? " 
 
 But Jesus answered, " Let it be so now, 
 
 For thus it doth become us to fulfill 
 
 All righteousness." The Baptist urged no more. 
 
 They bent their steps down toward the river's 
 
 brink ; 
 
 The waves adoring murmured as His form 
 Plunged 'neath their depths, and sparkled when 
 
 He rose. 
 
 Out of the water upward as He came, 
 Harps rang in chorus by the Tree of Life, 
 And angels sang hosannas round the throne ; 
 The heavens were opened with ecstatic joy ; 
 The Spirit thence descending like a dove 
 Abode upon Him, and the Father's voice 
 Proclaimed to all, " This is My Beloved Son 
 In whom I am well pleased; believe in Him."
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. 127 
 
 WE KNOW NOT WHAT THOU DOEST. 
 
 LORD, we know not what Thou doest, 
 
 But Thy ways are kind and just ; 
 And Thy word of life has taught us 
 
 To believe, obey, and trust ; 
 Lord, we know not what Thou doest ; 
 
 But, in yonder morning land, 
 When our spirit eyes are opened, 
 
 We shall know and understand. 
 
 Thou wilt show us why 'twas needful 
 
 Our request should be denied ; 
 Why our dearest hopes were blighted, 
 
 And our faith so oft was tried ; 
 Yes, beyond the vale of shadows, 
 
 In the golden reaping land, 
 Why our hearts were bowed in sorrow 
 
 We shall know and understand. 
 
 Though we know not what Thou doest. 
 
 We will trust Thee to the end ; 
 Thou hast veiled from us in wisdom 
 
 What we could not comprehend ; 
 Yet, beyond the silent river, 
 
 When our souls with joy expand, 
 Then Thy dealings, blessed Saviour, 
 
 We shall know and understand.
 
 128 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 THE DYING BOY. 
 
 SAY, why are you weeping, dear mother ? 
 
 Sit down ; I have something to tell ; 
 I heard a sweet voice, and it told me 
 
 That all with my spirit was well ; 
 It came to my heart, and that moment 
 
 I felt not a struggle or pain ; 
 It whispered I soon should be happy, 
 
 And never know sorrow again. 
 
 Say, why are you weeping, dear mother ? 
 
 How grateful to God you should be 
 That He in His love has provided 
 
 A home of such beauty for me 
 A home on the banks of a river 
 
 Whose waters are crystal and fair ; 
 There hunger and cold cannot reach me ; 
 
 And, mother, the Saviour is there. 
 
 Say, why are you weeping, dear mother ? 
 
 How hard you have toiled for my sake ! 
 But now you can sleep, and so calmly 
 
 You need not so early awake ; 
 Come nearer ; one kiss, gentle mother; 
 
 I'm going, I'm speeding my flight ; 
 Not long will you tarry behind me ; 
 
 I'll come for you, mother. Good night.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 THERE'S MUSIC IN THE AIR. 
 
 THERE'S music in the air 
 
 When the infant morn is nigh, 
 And faint its blush is seen 
 
 On the bright and laughing sky ; 
 Many a harp's ecstatic sound 
 Comes with thrill of joy profound, 
 While we list enchanted there 
 To the music in the air. 
 
 There's music in the air 
 
 When the noontide's sultry beam 
 Reflects a golden light 
 
 On the distant mountain stream ; 
 When beneath some grateful shade 
 Sorrow's aching head is laid, 
 Sweetly to the spirit there 
 Comes the music in the air. 
 
 There's music in the air 
 
 When the twilight's gentle sigh 
 Is lost on evening's breast 
 
 As its pensive beauties die ; 
 129
 
 130 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 Then, O then, the loved ones gone 
 Wake the pure celestial song ; 
 Angel voices greet us there 
 In the music in the air. 
 1855. 
 
 THE HAZEL DELL. 
 
 IN the Hazel Dell my Nelly's sleeping, 
 
 Nelly loved so long ! 
 And my lonely, lonely watch I'm keeping, 
 
 Nelly lost and gone ; 
 Here in moonlight often we have wandered 
 
 Through the silent shade ; 
 Now where leafy trees are drooping downward 
 
 Little Nelly's laid. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 All alone my watch I'm keeping 
 
 In the Hazel Dell, 
 For my darling Nelly's near me sleeping, 
 
 Nelly dear, farewell. 
 
 In the Hazel Dell my Nelly's sleeping, 
 
 Where the flowers wave, 
 And the silent stars are nightly weeping 
 
 O'er poor Nelly's grave ; 
 Hopes that once my bosom fondly cherished 
 
 Smile no more on me; 
 Every dream of joy, alas, has perished, 
 
 Nelly dear, with thee.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 131 
 
 Now I'm weary, friendless, and forsaken, 
 
 Watching here alone ; 
 Nelly, thou no more wilt fondly cheer me 
 
 With thy loving tone ; 
 Yet forever shall thy gentle image 
 
 In my memory dwell, 
 And my tears thy lonely grave shall moisten ; 
 
 Nelly dear, farewell. 
 1852.
 
 132 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 ROSALIE, THE PRAIRIE FLOWER. 
 
 ON the distant prairie, where the heather wild, 
 In its quiet beauty, lived and smiled, 
 Stands a little cottage, and a creeping vine 
 Loves around its porch to twine ; 
 In that peaceful dwelling was a lovely child, 
 With her blue eyes beaming soft and mild, 
 And the wavy ringlets of her flaxen hair 
 Floating in the summer air. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Fair as a lily, joyous and free, 
 Light of that prairie home was she ; 
 Everyone who knew her felt the gentle power 
 Of Rosalie, the Prairie Flower. 
 
 On that distant prairie, when the days were long, 
 
 Tripping like a fairy, sweet her song, 
 
 With the sunny blossoms and the birds at play, 
 
 Beautiful and bright as they ; 
 
 When the twilight shadows gathered in the west, 
 
 And the voice of nature sank to rest, 
 
 Like a cherub kneeling seemed the lovely child, 
 
 With her gentle eyes so mild. 
 
 But the summer faded, and a chilly blast 
 O'er that happy cottage swept at last ; 
 When the autumn song-bird woke the dewy morn, 
 Little Prairie Flower was gone ;
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 133 
 
 For the angels whispered softly in her ear, 
 " Child, thy Father calls thee ; stay not here ; " 
 And they gently bore her, robed in spotless white, 
 To their blissful home in light. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Though we shall never look on her more, 
 Gone with the love and joy she bore, 
 Far away she's blooming in a fadeless bower, 
 Sweet Rosalie, the Prairie Flower. 
 
 1855.
 
 134 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 THE HONEYSUCKLE GLEN. 
 
 IN the honeysuckle glen, where odors sweet 
 
 Perfume the breeze that floats along, 
 And the rosy tints of morn with blushes greet 
 
 The lark as she trills her song ; 
 In the honeysuckle glen, how pleasantly 
 
 The happy summer days would glide, 
 When I wandered by the rill, so merrily, 
 
 And Lilla was by my side. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Lilla, Lilla, wake again 
 
 From thy sleep in the honeysuckle glen ; 
 
 Lilla, dearest, all is o'er, 
 
 Thou wilt return no more. 
 
 In the honeysuckle glen, secluded far, 
 
 The home of nature's fairest bowers, 
 When with mild and gentle light the evening star 
 
 Looks forth on the dewy flowers ; 
 In the honeysuckle glen, how tenderly 
 
 I looked upon my lovely bride, 
 And I never dreamed that care could reach me there 
 
 When Lilla was by my side. 
 
 Through the honeysuckle glen I've wandered now 
 
 For many weary years alone ; 
 O, I never more shall see her angel brow, 
 
 Or list to her winning tone ;
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POfiMS. 135 
 
 But the parting words she spoke I cherish still, 
 And wear them on my breaking heart, 
 
 Till I meet her on that shore, our sorrows o'er, 
 Where loved ones no more shall part. 
 
 1855.
 
 136 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 MOTHER'S GOOD-BYE. 
 
 SIT down by the side of your mother, my boy ; 
 
 You have only a moment, I know; 
 But you'll stay till I give you my parting advice ; 
 
 'Tis all that I have to bestow ; 
 You leave us to seek for employment, my boy ; 
 
 By the world you have yet to be tried ; 
 But in all the temptations and struggles you meet, 
 
 May your heart in the Saviour confide. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Hold fast to the right, hold fast to the right, 
 Wherever your footsteps may roam ; 
 
 forsake not the way of salvation, my boy, 
 That you learned from your mother at home. 
 
 You'll find in your satchel a Bible, my boy ; 
 
 'Tis the book of all others the best ; 
 It will teach you to live, it will help you to die, 
 
 And lead to the gates of the blest ; 
 
 1 gave you to God in your cradle, my boy ; 
 
 I have taught you the best that I knew ; 
 And as long as His mercy permits me to live, 
 I shall never cease praying for you. 
 
 Your father is coming to bid you good-bye ; 
 O, how lonely and sad we shall be !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 137 
 
 But when far from the scenes of your childhood 
 and youth, 
 
 You'll think of your father and me ; 
 I want you to feel every word I have said, 
 
 For it came from the depths of my love ; 
 And, my boy, if we never behold you on earth, 
 
 Will you promise to meet us above ? 
 1878.
 
 138 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 THREESCORE YEARS AND TEN. 
 
 His locks were white as winter's snow, 
 
 His form was bent with age ; 
 And while he gazed with reverent eyes 
 
 Upon the sacred page, 
 A sudden joy lit up his face, 
 
 And o'er and o'er again 
 He praised the Lord, his strength and shield, 
 
 For threescore years and ten. 
 
 " O love, amazing love," he cried, 
 
 " For one like me to die ! 
 I've tried to read my title clear 
 
 To mansions in the sky ; 
 And though, alas, this heart of mine 
 
 Has oft unfaithful been, 
 The Lord hath not forsaken me 
 
 For threescore years and ten. 
 
 " I have no home to call my own, 
 
 No dwelling here below ; 
 Of those who gathered round me once 
 
 I am the last to go ; 
 I bore them to their resting place 
 
 In yonder silent glen ; 
 And yet to-day my life has reached 
 
 Its threescore years and ten.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 139 
 
 " 1 am not weary of the cross, 
 
 Nor would I lay it down 
 Till Jesus with His own dear hand 
 
 Puts on my promised crown, 
 Till, in His righteousness arrayed, 
 
 I stand complete, and then 
 I'll shout the grace that kept my soul 
 
 For threescore years and ten." 
 
 He leaned a moment on his staff, 
 
 Then laid him down to rest ; 
 His aged hands as if in sleep 
 
 Were folded on his breast ; 
 A smile of peace was on his lips ; 
 
 He breathed a prayer, and then 
 His soul was with the God he served 
 
 For threescore years and ten.
 
 140 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 UNDER A CLOUD. 
 
 WHEN my heart was almost breaking 
 
 'Neath its heavy weight of care, 
 And the cross that lay before me 
 
 Seemed too great for me to bear, 
 Came a voice that whispered gently, 
 
 " Why discouraged shouldst thou be ? 
 Answer this, and answer truly, 
 
 Art thou faithful ? lovest thou Me ? " 
 
 And I answered, " O my Saviour, 
 In my weakness make me strong; 
 
 Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee, 
 And Thy love shall be my song." 
 
 When I tried to work for Jesus, 
 
 And I pleaded at His throne 
 For the witness of the Spirit 
 
 That my heart was still His own, 
 How I felt reproved and humbled 
 
 When again He said to me, 
 " Answer this, and answer truly, 
 
 Have I e'er forsaken thee ? " 
 
 And I answered, "O my Saviour, 
 In my weakness make me strong; 
 
 Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee, 
 And Thy love shall be my song."
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 141 
 
 Now I rest securely, calmly, 
 
 For I know that He is nigh ; 
 Pain or sickness, if He send it 
 
 Not a murmur, not a sigh ; 
 Still I hear His voice repeating, 
 
 " Once I bore the cross for thee ; 
 Answer truly ; art thou willing 
 
 Now to bear thine own for Me ? " 
 
 Still I answer, "O my Saviour, 
 In my weakness make me strong ; 
 
 Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee, 
 And Thy love shall be my song."
 
 142 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 THE SINGER AND THE HARP. 
 
 SLOWLY the day was fading, 
 
 A day I shall ne'er forget ; 
 Its scenes, like the ivy tendrils, 
 
 Are clinging around me yet. 
 Drearily passed the moments, 
 
 And wearily passed the hours, 
 And I longed for a breath of the early spring, 
 
 And a smile from the young year flowers 
 I knelt where a heart was breaking 
 
 Alone in its anguish deep, 
 And tenderly tried to whisper 
 
 God's promise to those that weep. 
 But a cloud came over the sunlight 
 
 That shone in the radiant sky, 
 And the truth that I sought to utter 
 
 Seemed drifting unheeded by. 
 Soft as a wild bird's carol, 
 
 A harp on the twilight rang, 
 And a singer, its chords awaking, 
 
 These words to the music sang: 
 " O cast on the Lord thy burden, 
 
 And trust in thy soul's best friend, 
 To comfort, sustain, and keep thee 
 
 Till life and its cares shall end." 
 Thrice were the words repeated ; 
 
 The melody, sweet and clear,
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 143 
 
 Was caught by a listening angel 
 
 Who lingered its tones to hear. 
 The singer and harp had triumphed, 
 
 The weary had found a rest ; 
 The door of a heart was opened 
 
 To welcome its heavenly guest. 
 O harp on the twilight stealing, 
 
 O singer at God's behest, 
 Still breathe in the ear of sorrow, 
 
 And say to the toil-oppressed : 
 " O cast on the Lord thy burden, 
 
 And trust in thy soul's best friend, 
 To comfort, sustain, and keep thee 
 
 Till time and its cares shall end."
 
 144 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 GRANDMA'S ROCKING-CHAIR. 
 
 I am thinking of a cottage, 
 
 In a quiet, rural dell, 
 And a brook that ran beside it, 
 
 That I used to love so well ; 
 I have sat for hours and listened, 
 
 While it rippled at my feet, 
 And I thought no other music 
 
 In the world was half so sweet. 
 
 There are forms that flit before me ; 
 
 Those are times I yet recall ; 
 But the voice of gentle Grandma 
 
 I remember best of all ; 
 In her loving arms she held me, 
 
 And beneath her patient care 
 I was borne away to dreamland, 
 
 In her dear old rocking-chair. 
 
 I am thinking of a promise 
 
 That I made when last we met ; 
 Twas a rosy summer twilight 
 
 That I never shall forget ; 
 " Grandma's going home," she whispered, 
 
 " And the time is drawing nigh ; 
 Tell me, darling, will you meet her 
 
 In our Father's house on high ? "
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 143 
 
 She was looking down upon me ; 
 
 For a moment all was still ; 
 Then I answered with emotion : 
 
 " By the grace of God, I will." 
 How she clasped me to her bosom ! 
 
 And we bowed our heads in prayer 
 Where so oft we knelt together, 
 
 By her dear old rocking-chair. 
 
 She has passed the vale of shadows, 
 
 She has crossed the narrow sea, 
 And beyond the crystal river 
 
 She is waiting now for me : 
 But in fancy I recall her, 
 
 And again we kneel in prayer, 
 While my heart renews its promise 
 
 By her dear old rocking-chair.
 
 146 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 THE WHITE SAIL. 
 
 WE stood and gazed on the ebbing tide, 
 
 Under an arch of ethereal blue ; 
 From a motley group we had turned aside, 
 
 And near to the water's edge we drew. 
 'Twas a cloudless day, and a magic scene 
 
 That held us its captives, my friend and me 
 Those beautiful isles in their robes of green, 
 
 Stretching as far as the eye could see, 
 Covered with blossoms and birds and trees, 
 Playing bo-peep with the summer breeze ; 
 Those rocks in their grandeur that stood sublime, 
 
 Rearing their heads in the golden sun, 
 Counted not years on the dial of time, 
 
 But numbered their centuries one by one. 
 And well I remember how strangely sweet 
 
 The voice of the wind as we heard it then, 
 And the waves that were singing beneath our feet 
 
 A song that will never come back again. 
 It fluttered away to the seagull's home, 
 
 And its tones were lost in the ocean's roar ; 
 It flitted afar like youth's bright star 
 
 That rises and sets, and returns no more. 
 And still as we gazed on the ebbing tide, 
 
 And the boats came hurrying to and fro, 
 Our eyes in the distance a sail descried 
 
 Over the water, bending low, 
 
 White as the downy, drifting snow.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 147 
 
 Over the billows that calmly slept, 
 
 A vessel approaching we now could trace ; 
 How steadily onward her course she kept ! 
 
 We wondered where was her mooring place. 
 Nor wondered long, for the old flag true 
 
 Fluttered aloft from her gallant mast ; 
 And we heard the shouts of a hardy crew, 
 
 And they waved their hands as they quickly 
 
 passed ; 
 And their welcome home was the laughing gale 
 
 That played with the folds of that snow-white 
 
 sail. 
 And then as we talked of that radiant shore 
 
 Our barque would reach when our voyage 
 
 should cease, 
 
 When we thought of the loved ones gone before, 
 River and island and rock and sky 
 
 Were lost in a vision more bright and fair; 
 For our faith went up to the gates on high, 
 
 And we almost felt we had entered there. 
 The day has gone, and its sun has set, 
 
 The tide rolls on with its ebb and flow, 
 But that snow-white sail we shall ne'er forget; 
 
 It will live in the heart of the Long Ago.
 
 148 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 ALMOST IN SIGHT OF THE HARBOR. 
 
 [On recovering from a serious illness.] 
 
 ALMOST in sight of the harbor ; 
 
 O what a beautiful throng 
 Over me lovingly bending, 
 
 Singing a lullaby song ! 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Almost in sight of the harbor, 
 
 Almost at home on the shore ; 
 Only the signal to enter, 
 
 Only a stroke of the oar. 
 
 Almost in sight of the harbor ; 
 
 Never a wish nor a care ; 
 Never a doubt nor a sorrow 
 
 Clouded that vision so fair. 
 
 Almost in sight of the harbor ; 
 
 Perfect and peaceful my rest, 
 Trusting my precious Redeemer, 
 
 Sheltered and safe on His breast. 
 
 Almost in sight of the harbor 
 
 Surely my spirit has been ; 
 Yet, to the dear ones I cherish, 
 
 Prayer has restored me again. 
 1896.
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 WE ARE GOING. 
 
 WE are going, we are going 
 
 To a home beyond the skies, 
 Where the fields are robed in beauty, 
 
 And the sunlight never dies ; 
 Where the fount of joy is flowing 
 
 In the valley green and fair, 
 We shall dwell in love together; 
 
 There -will be no parting there. 
 
 We are going, we are going, 
 
 And the music we have heard 
 Like the echo of the woodland, 
 
 Or the carol of a bird ; 
 With the rosy light of morning, 
 
 On the calm and fragrant air, 
 Still it murmurs, softly murmurs, 
 
 There will be no parting there. 
 
 We are going, we are going, 
 
 When the day of life is o'er, 
 To that pure and happy region 
 
 Where our friends have gone before 
 They are singing with the angels 
 
 In that land so bright and fair ; 
 We shall dwell with them forever; 
 
 There will be no parting there. 
 1864. 149
 
 150 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 CLOSING HYMN FOR THE NORTH- 
 FIELD CONVENTIONS. 
 
 WITHIN these consecrated walls, 
 
 Convened from year to year, 
 We all have said, like one of old, 
 
 " 'Tis good to linger here ; " 
 Though from the mount we must descend, 
 
 And toil amid the plain, 
 Yet we can sing, with joyful hearts, 
 Good night, we'll meet again. 
 Chorus : 
 
 Good night till we meet again, 
 Good night till we meet again ; 
 God keep us in bonds of love 
 Until we meet again. 
 
 From North and South, from East and West, 
 
 From o'er the ocean wide, 
 Among these rural scenes we came, 
 
 To lay our cares aside ; 
 To breathe the mountain air so sweet, 
 
 In Northfield's fair domain ; 
 But now our resting time is o'er ; 
 
 Good night, we'll meet again. 
 
 O blessed days, how soon they've passed, 
 
 While, at the Master's feet, 
 We sat to hear and learn of Him, 
 
 In this beloved retreat !
 
 HYMNS. i5l 
 
 We've gathered gems of precious truth, 
 
 Whose light will long remain, 
 And keep our bond of union bright 
 
 Until we meet again. 
 
 And now, in deep and earnest tones, 
 
 The words of blessing fall : 
 " May grace and peace from Christ our Lord 
 
 Henceforth be with you all ! " 
 With such a prayer to cheer us on, 
 
 Let us from doubts refrain, 
 And go and work with joyful hearts 
 
 Until we meet again. 
 1888. 
 
 YES, THERE IS PARDON FOR YOU. 
 
 O COME to the Saviour, believe in His name, 
 And ask Him your heart to renew ; 
 
 He waits to be gracious ; O turn not away, 
 For now there is pardon for you. 
 
 The way of transgression that leads unto death, 
 
 O, why will you longer pursue ? 
 How can you reject the sweet message of love 
 
 That offers full pardon for you ? 
 
 Be warned of your danger ; escape to the cross ; 
 
 Your only salvation is there ; 
 Believe, and that moment the Spirit of grace 
 
 Will answer your penitent prayer. 
 1875.
 
 152 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN. 
 
 JOY ! joy ! joy ! there is joy in heaven with the 
 angels ; 
 
 Joy ! joy ! joy ! for the prodigal's return ; 
 He has come, he has come 
 
 To his Father's house at last ; 
 He was lost, he is found, 
 
 And the night of gloom is past. 
 Blessed hour of joy and communion sweet, 
 For his heart is full and his love complete ; 
 His Father sees him and hastes to meet, 
 
 And bid him welcome home. 
 
 Chorus : 
 Joy ! joy ! joy ! there is joy in heaven with the 
 
 angels ; 
 Joy ! joy ! joy ! for the prodigal's return ! 
 
 Joy ! joy ! joy ! in the courts of heaven resounding; 
 
 Joy ! joy ! joy ! o'er the prodigal's return ; 
 Hark ! the song, hark ! the song, 
 
 'Tis a joyful, joyful strain ; 
 Welcome home, welcome home 
 
 To thy Father's house again. 
 While his eye is dim with the falling tears 
 Of repentant grief over wasted years, 
 The pardoning voice of his Father cheers, 
 
 And bids him welcome home.
 
 HYMNS. 153 
 
 Joy ! joy ! joy ! in the radiant fields of glory ; 
 
 Joy ! joy ! joy ! when a wandering soul returns; 
 Let us haste, let us haste, 
 
 While the morning sun is bright ; 
 Jesus calls, Jesus calls 
 
 To a land of love and light. 
 We will journey on till our pilgrim feet 
 Shall be found at last in the golden street ; 
 Our glorious Saviour will smile to greet, 
 
 And bid us welcome home. 
 1867.
 
 154 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 MORE LIKE JESUS. 
 
 MORE like Jesus would I be ; 
 Let my Saviour dwell with me, 
 Fill my soul with peace and love, 
 Make me gentle as the dove ; 
 More like Jesus while I go, 
 Pilgrim in this world below; 
 Poor in spirit would I be 
 Let my Saviour dwell in me. 
 
 If He hears the raven's cry, 
 If His ever-watchful eye 
 Marks the sparrows when they fall, 
 Surely He will hear my call ; 
 He will teach me how to live, 
 All my sinful thoughts forgive ; 
 Pure in heart I still would be 
 Let my Saviour dwell in me. 
 
 More like Jesus when I pray, 
 More like Jesus day by day, 
 May I rest me by His side, 
 Where the tranquil waters glide ; 
 Born of Him, through grace renewed, 
 By His love my will subdued, 
 Rich in faith I still would be 
 Let my Saviour dwell in me. 
 1867.
 
 HYMNS. 155 
 
 JESUS, DEAR, I COME TO THEE. 
 
 JESUS dear, I come to Thee, 
 
 Thou hast said I may ; 
 Tell me what my life should be. 
 
 Take my sins away ; 
 Jesus dear, I learn of Thee 
 
 In Thy word divine ; 
 Every promise there I see, 
 
 May I call it mine. 
 
 Jesus dear, I long for Thee, 
 
 Long Thy peace to know ; 
 Grant those purer joys to me 
 
 Earth can ne'er bestow ; 
 Jesus dear, I cling to Thee ; 
 
 When my heart is sad, 
 Thou wilt kindly speak to me, 
 
 Thou wilt make me glad. 
 
 Jesus dear, I trust in Thee, 
 
 Trust Thy tender love ; 
 There's a happy home for me 
 
 With Thy saints above ; 
 Jesus, I would come to Thee, 
 
 Thou hast said I may ; 
 Tell me what my life should be, 
 
 Take my sins away. 
 1867.
 
 156 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 SAFE IN THE ARMS OF JESUS. 
 
 SAFE in the arms of Jesus, 
 
 Safe on His gentle breast, 
 There by His love o'ershaded, 
 
 Sweetly my soul shall rest. 
 Hark ! 'tis the voice of angels, 
 
 Borne in a song to me, 
 Over the fields of glory, 
 
 Over the jasper sea. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Safe in the arms of Jesus, 
 
 Safe on His gentle breast, 
 There by His love o'ershaded, 
 
 Sweetly my soul shall rest. 
 
 Safe in the arms of Jesus, 
 
 Safe from corroding care, 
 Safe from the world's temptations, 
 
 Sin cannot harm me there. 
 Free from the blight of sorrow, 
 
 Free from my doubts and fears ; 
 Only a few more trials, 
 
 Only a few more tears ! 
 
 Jesus, my heart's dear refuge, 
 
 Jesus has died for me ; 
 Firm on the Rock of Ages 
 
 Ever my trust shall be.
 
 HYMNS. 157 
 
 Here let me wait with patience, 
 Wait till the night is o'er; 
 
 Wait till I see the morning 
 
 Break on the golden shore. 
 1868. 
 
 LET THE GOOD ANGELS COME IN. 
 
 THEY hover around us, bright angels are near, 
 
 To glory immortal they win ; 
 Then gladly we'll open the door of our hearts, 
 
 And let the good angels come in ; 
 How kindly our Father has sent them to keep 
 
 A watch o'er His children below ; 
 They're with us in slumber, their eyes never sleep, 
 
 They're with us wherever we go. 
 
 Refrain : 
 
 Let them come in, let them come in, 
 Let the good angels come in. 
 
 To comfort the lonely, and strengthen the weak, 
 
 Their mission of mercy and love ; 
 And oft on their beautiful pinions of light 
 
 They bear our petitions above ; 
 O let them come in, they are holy and pure, 
 
 Their presence how tenderly sweet : 
 They echo the song of the happy and blest, 
 
 They learn at Immanuel's feet. 
 1867.
 
 158 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 PASS ME NOT. 
 
 PASS me not, O gentle Saviour, 
 
 Hear my humble cry ; 
 While on others Thou art smiling, 
 
 Do not pass me by. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Saviour, Saviour, 
 
 Hear my humble cry. 
 While on others Thou art calling, 
 
 Do not pass me by. 
 
 Let me at a throne of mercy 
 
 Find a sweet relief; 
 Kneeling there in deep contrition, 
 
 Help my unbelief. 
 
 Trusting only in Thy merit, 
 Would I seek Thy face ; 
 
 Heal my wounded, broken spirit, 
 Save me by Thy grace. 
 
 Thou the Spring of all my comfort, 
 
 More than life to me, 
 Whom have I on earth beside Thee? 
 
 Whom in heaven but Thee ? 
 1868.
 
 HYMNS. 159 
 
 I COME TO THEE. 
 
 I COME to Thee, I come to Thee, 
 Thou precious Lamb once slain for me ; 
 I rest confiding in Thy word, 
 And "cast my burden on the Lord." 
 I come to Thee with all my grief; 
 Dear Saviour, help my unbelief; 
 Thy blessed name my only plea, 
 With this, O Lord, I come to Thee. 
 
 I come to Thee, whose sovereign power 
 Can cheer me in the darkest hour ; 
 I come to Thee, through storm and shade, 
 For Thou hast said, " Be not afraid." 
 I come to Thee with all my tears, 
 My pain and sorrow, doubts and fears ; 
 Thou precious Lamb, once slain for me, 
 I come to Thee, I come to Thee. 
 
 To Thee my trembling spirit flies 
 
 When faith grows weak and comfort dies ; 
 
 I bow adoring at Thy feet, 
 
 And hold with Thee communion sweet. 
 
 wondrous love, O joy divine, 
 
 To feel Thee near and call Thee mine ! 
 Thou precious Lamb, once slain for me, 
 
 1 come to Thee, I come to Thee. 
 1868.
 
 160 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 RESCUE THE PERISHING. 
 
 RESCUE the perishing, 
 
 Care for the dying, 
 Snatch them in pity from sin and the grave ; 
 
 Weep o'er the erring one, 
 
 Lift up the fallen, 
 Tell them of Jesus, the mighty to save. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Rescue the perishing, 
 Care for the dying ; 
 Jesus is merciful, 
 Jesus will save. 
 
 Though they are slighting Him, 
 
 Still He is waiting, 
 Waiting the penitent child to receive ; 
 
 Plead with them earnestly, 
 
 Plead with them gently ; 
 He will forgive if they only believe. 
 
 Down in the human heart, 
 
 Crushed by the tempter, 
 Feelings lie buried that grace can restore ; 
 
 Touched by a loving heart, 
 
 Wakened by kindness, 
 Chords that were broken will vibrate once more.
 
 HYMNS. 161 
 
 Rescue the perishing ; 
 
 Duty demands it ; 
 Strength for thy labor the Lord will provide ; 
 
 Back to the narrow way 
 
 Patiently win them ; 
 
 Tell the poor wanderer a Saviour has died. 
 1869. 
 
 TWILL NOT BE LONG. 
 
 'TWILL not be long, our journey here ; 
 Each broken sigh and falling tear 
 Will soon be gone, and all will be 
 A cloudless sky, a waveless sea. 
 
 'Twill not be long ; the yearning heart 
 May feel its every hope depart, 
 And grief be mingled with its song ; 
 We'll meet again ; 'twill not be long. 
 
 Though sad we mark the closing eye 
 Of those we loved in days gone by, 
 Yet sweet in death their latest song 
 We'll meet again ; 'twill not be long. 
 
 These checkered wilds, with thorns o'erspread, 
 Through which our way so oft is led 
 This march of time, with truth so strong, 
 Will end in bliss ; 'twill not be long. 
 1868.
 
 162 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 STRIKE THE HARP OF ZION. 
 
 STRIKE the harp of Zion, wake the tuneful lay, 
 Bear the joyful tidings far away ; 
 Lo ! the morn is breaking, morn of purest love ; 
 Praise forever, praise to God above. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Glory ! glory ! hark ! the angels sing ; 
 Glory ! glory ! hear the echo ring ; 
 Strike the harp of Zion, wake the tuneful lay, 
 Bear the joyful tidings far away. 
 
 Over distant regions veiled in error's night, 
 See the holy dawn of Gospel light ; 
 See the nations coming at the Saviour's call, 
 Coming now to crown Him Lord of all. 
 
 O the joyful story, life to every soul ! 
 Like a mighty ocean let it roll, 
 Bringing home the lost ones from the path of sin, 
 Till the world shall all be gathered in. 
 1869.
 
 HYMNS. 163 
 
 HOLY IS THE LORD. 
 
 HOLY, holy, holy is the Lord ! 
 
 Sing, O ye people, gladly adore Him ; 
 Let the mountains tremble at His word, 
 
 Let the hills be joyful before Him ; 
 Mighty in wisdom, boundless in mercy, 
 
 Great is Jehovah, King over all. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Holy, holy, holy is the Lord ! 
 Let the hills be joyful before Him. 
 
 Praise Him, praise Him, shout aloud for joy ! 
 
 Watchman of Zion, herald the story ; 
 Sin and death His kingdom shall destroy ; 
 
 All the earth shall sing of His glory ; 
 Praise Him, ye angels, ye who behold Him 
 
 Robed in His splendor, matchless, divine. 
 
 King eternal, blessed be His name ! 
 
 So may His children gladly adore Him, 
 When in heaven we join the happy strain, 
 
 When we cast our bright crowns before Him ; 
 There in His likeness joyful awaking, 
 
 There we shall see Him, there we shall sing. 
 1869.
 
 164 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 KEEP THOU MY WAY, O LORD. 
 
 KEEP thou my way, O Lord ; 
 
 Myself I cannot guide ; 
 Nor dare I trust my erring steps 
 
 One moment from Thy side ; 
 I cannot think aright, 
 
 Unless inspired by Thee ; 
 My heart would faint without Thy aid ; 
 
 Choose Thou my thoughts for me. 
 
 For every act of faith, 
 
 And every pure design, 
 For all of good my soul can know, 
 
 The glory, Lord, be Thine ; 
 Free grace my pardon seals, 
 
 Thro' Thy atoning blood ; 
 Free grace the full assurance brings 
 
 Of peace with Thee, my God. 
 
 O speak, and I will hear ; 
 
 Command, and I obey ; 
 My willing feet with joy will haste 
 
 To run the heavenly way ; 
 Keep Thou my wandering heart, 
 
 And bid it cease to roam ; 
 O bear me safe o'er death's cold wave 
 
 To heaven, my blissful home. 
 1869.
 
 HYMNS. 165 
 
 SING ALWAYS. 
 
 SING with a tuneful spirit, 
 
 Sing with a cheerful lay, 
 Praise to thy great Creator, 
 
 While on the pilgrim way. 
 Sing when the birds are waking, 
 
 Sing with the morning light ; 
 Sing in the noontide's golden beam, 
 
 Sing in the hush of night. 
 
 Sing when the heart is troubled, 
 
 Sing when the hours are long, 
 Sing when the storm-cloud gathers ; 
 
 Sweet is the voice of song. 
 Sing when the sky is darkest, 
 
 Sing when the thunders roll ; 
 Sing of the land where rest remains, 
 
 Rest for the weary soul. 
 
 Sing in the vale of shadows, 
 
 Sing in the hour of death, 
 And, when the eyes are closing, 
 
 Sing with the latest breath. 
 Sing till the heart's deep longings 
 
 Cease on the other shore ; 
 Then, with the countless numbers there, 
 
 Sing on for evermore. 
 1869.
 
 166 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 TO JESUS I WILL GO. 
 
 THERE'S a gentle voice within calls away, 
 'Tis a warning I have heard o'er and o'er; 
 
 But my heart is melted now ; I obey ; 
 
 From my Saviour I will wander no more. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Yes, I will go ; yes, I will go ; 
 To Jesus I will go and be saved. 
 
 He has promised all my sins to forgive, 
 If I ask in simple faith for His love ; 
 
 In His holy word I learn how to live, 
 And to labor for His kingdom above. 
 
 I will try to bear the cross in my youth, 
 And be faithful to its cause till I die ; 
 
 If with cheerful step I walk in the truth, 
 I shall wear a starry crown by and by. 
 
 Still the gentle voice within calls away, 
 
 And its warning I have heard o'er and o'er ; 
 
 But my heart is melted now ; I obey ; 
 
 From my Saviour I will wander no more. 
 1869.
 
 HYMNS. 167 
 
 GREAT IS JEHOVAH. 
 
 GREAT is Jehovah, King of kings ; 
 
 O magnify His name; 
 Praise Him, ye nations of the earth, 
 
 His mighty works proclaim ; 
 When darkness hovered o'er the deep, 
 
 And all was veiled in night, 
 At His command, in beauty smiled 
 
 A morn of purest light. 
 
 Great is Jehovah, King of kings ; 
 
 The stars together sang ; 
 Sweetly the new created earth 
 
 In joyful concert rang; 
 But O, our souls ! in wonder lost, 
 
 Behold, by faith sublime, 
 In man's redemption from the fall 
 
 God's greatest wisdom shine. 
 
 Glory to Him whose boundless love 
 
 The debt of sin has paid ; 
 Glory to Him whose precious blood 
 
 Our sacrifice was made ; 
 With Him we die, through Him we rise ; 
 
 To Him all praise be given, 
 Who lives, exalted and adored 
 
 By all the hosts of heaven. 
 1871.
 
 168 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 THE BRIGHT FOREVER. 
 
 BREAKING through the clouds that gather 
 
 O'er the Christian's natal skies, 
 Distant beams, like floods of glory, 
 
 Fill the soul with glad surprise ; 
 And we almost hear the echo 
 
 Of the pure and holy throng, 
 In the bright, the bright forever, 
 
 In the summer-land of song. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 On the banks beyond the river, 
 
 We shall meet, no more to sever, 
 In the bright, the bright forever, 
 
 In the summer-land of song. 
 
 Yet a little while we linger, 
 
 Ere we reach our journey's end ; 
 Yet a little while of labor, 
 
 Ere the evening shades descend ; 
 Then we'll lay us down to slumber, 
 
 But the night will soon be o'er; 
 In the bright, the bright forever, 
 
 We shall slumber nevermore. 
 
 O the bliss of life eternal ! 
 
 O the long, unbroken rest 
 In the golden fields of pleasure, 
 
 In the region of the blest !
 
 HYMNS. 169 
 
 But to see our dear Redeemer, 
 And before His throne to fall, 
 
 There to hear His gracious welcome, 
 Will be sweeter far than all. 
 
 lo/I. 
 
 NEAR THE CROSS. 
 
 JESUS, keep me near the Cross ; 
 
 There a precious fountain, 
 Free to all, a healing stream, 
 
 Flows from Calvary's mountain. 
 Chorus: 
 
 In the Cross, in the Cross, 
 
 Be my glory ever, 
 Till my raptured soul shall find 
 
 Rest beyond the river. 
 Near the Cross, a trembling soul, 
 
 Love and mercy found me ; 
 There the Bright and Morning Star 
 
 Shed its beams around me. 
 Near the Cross ! O Lamb of God, 
 
 Bring its scenes before me ; 
 Help me walk from day to day, 
 
 With its shadow o'er me. 
 Near the Cross I'll watch and wait, 
 
 Hoping, trusting ever, 
 Till I reach the golden strand, 
 Just beyond the river.
 
 170 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 BLESSED ASSURANCE. 
 
 BLESSED assurance, Jesus is mine ! 
 
 what a foretaste of glory divine ! 
 Heir of salvation, purchase of God, 
 Born of His Spirit, washed in His blood ! 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 This is my story, this is my song, 
 Praising my Saviour all the day long. 
 
 Perfect submission, perfect delight, 
 Visions of rapture now burst on my sight ; 
 Angels descending bring from above 
 Echoes of mercy, whispers of love. 
 
 Perfect submission, all is at rest, 
 
 1 in my Saviour am happy and blest, 
 Watching and waiting, looking above, 
 Filled with His goodness, lost in His love. 
 
 1873-
 
 HYMNS. 171 
 
 ONLY A STEP TO JESUS. 
 
 ONLY a step to Jesus ! 
 
 Then why not take it now ? 
 Come, and, thy sin confessing, 
 
 To Him, thy Saviour, bow. 
 
 Refrain : 
 
 Only a step, only a step ; 
 
 Come, He waits for thee ; 
 Come, and, thy sin confessing, 
 
 Thou shalt receive a blessing ; 
 Do not reject the mercy 
 
 He freely offers thee. 
 
 Only a step to Jesus ! 
 
 Believe, and thou shalt live ; 
 Lovingly now He is waiting, 
 
 And ready to forgive. 
 
 Only a step to Jesus ! 
 
 A step from sin to grace ; 
 What has thy heart decided ? 
 
 The moments fly apace. 
 
 Only a step to Jesus ! 
 
 why not come and say, 
 Gladly to Thee, my Saviour, 
 
 1 give myself away? 
 1873-
 
 172 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 GOD OF ETERNITY. 
 
 GOD of eternity, Author of time, 
 
 Giver and Source of life, Ruler sublime, 
 
 Thou uncreated Lord, Ancient of Days, 
 Glorious in holiness, fearful in praise, 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 High over all Thy works, blest evermore, 
 God of the universe, Thee we adore. 
 
 Wondrous in majesty, wisdom and might, 
 Lo ! 'twas Thy voice that said, " Let there be 
 
 light;" 
 
 Vast realms and numberless, Lord, are Thy 
 own ; 
 
 Nations and sceptered kings bow at Thy 
 throne. 
 
 Thine is a perfect law, Thy word is pure ; 
 Righteous are all Thy ways, Thy judgments 
 
 sure; 
 Mercy and truth abide ever with Thee ; 
 
 Love like a river flows, deep as the sea. 
 1873-
 
 HYMNS. 173 
 
 NEARER THE CROSS. 
 
 " NEARER the cross ! " my heart can say, 
 
 I am coming nearer ; 
 Nearer the cross from day to day, 
 
 I am coming nearer ; 
 Nearer the cross where Jesus died, 
 Nearer the fountain's crimson tide, 
 Nearer my Saviour's wounded side, 
 
 I am coming nearer. 
 
 Nearer the Christian's mercy seat, 
 
 I am coming nearer ; 
 Feasting my soul on manna sweet, 
 
 I am coming nearer ; 
 Stronger in faith, more clear I see 
 Jesus who gave Himself for me ; 
 Nearer to Him I still would be ; 
 
 Still I'm coming nearer. 
 
 Nearer in prayer my hope aspires, 
 
 I am coming nearer ; 
 Deeper the love my soul desires, 
 
 I am coming nearer; 
 Nearer the end of toil and care, 
 Nearer the joy I long to share, 
 Nearer the crown I soon shall wear, 
 
 I am coming nearer. 
 1873-
 
 174 HYMNS. 
 
 HOLD THOU MY HAND. 
 
 HOLD Thou my hand ; so weak I am, and helpless, 
 I dare not take one step without Thy aid ; 
 
 Hold Thou my hand ; for then, O loving Saviour, 
 No dread of ill shall make my soul afraid. 
 
 Hold Thou my hand, and closer, closer draw me 
 To Thy dear self my hope, my joy, my all ; 
 
 Hold Thou my hand, lest haply I should wander, 
 And, missing Thee, my trembling feet should 
 fall. 
 
 Hold Thou my hand ; the way is dark before me 
 Without the sunlight of Thy face divine ; 
 
 But when by faith I catch its radiant glory, 
 What heights of joy, what rapturous songs, are 
 
 Hold Thou my hand, that when I reach the mar- 
 gin 
 
 Of that lone river Thou didst cross for me, 
 A heavenly light may flash along its waters, 
 
 And every wave like crystal bright shall be. 
 1874.
 
 BELLS AT EVENING. 175 
 
 CLOSE TO THEE. 
 
 THOU, my everlasting portion, 
 More than friend or life to me, 
 
 All along my pilgrim journey, 
 Saviour, let me walk with Thee. 
 
 Close to Thee, close to Thee ; 
 
 All along my pilgrim journey, 
 Saviour, let me walk with Thee. 
 
 Not for ease or worldly pleasure, 
 Nor for fame, my prayer shall be ; 
 
 Gladly will I toil and suffer, 
 Only let me walk with Thee. 
 
 Close to Thee, close to Thee ; 
 Gladly will I toil and suffer, 
 Only let me walk with Thee. 
 
 Lead me through the vale of shadows, 
 Bear me o'er life's fitful sea ; 
 
 Then the gate of life eternal 
 May I enter, Lord, with Thee. 
 
 Close to Thee, close to Thee ; 
 
 Then the gate of life eternal 
 
 May I enter, Lord, with Thee.
 
 176 HYMNS. 
 
 EVERY DAY AND HOUR. 
 
 SAVIOUR, more than life to me, 
 I am clinging close to Thee ; 
 Let Thy precious blood applied 
 Keep me ever near Thy side. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Every day, every hour, 
 Let me feel Thy cleansing power 
 May Thy tender love to me 
 Bind me closer, Lord, to Thee. 
 
 Through this changing world below, 
 Lead me gently as I go ; 
 Trusting Thee, I cannot stray, 
 I can never lose my way. 
 
 Let me love Thee more and more, 
 Till this fleeting life is o'er ; 
 Till my soul is lost in love, 
 In a brighter world above. 
 1874.
 
 BELLS AT EVENING. 177 
 
 LIKE THE SOUND OF MANY WATERS. 
 
 LIKE the sound of many waters 
 Rolling on through ages long, 
 
 In a tide of rapture breaking, 
 Hark ! the mighty choral song ! 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Hallelujah ! Hallelujah ! 
 
 Let the heavenly portals ring ; 
 Christ is born, the Prince of glory, 
 
 Christ the Lord, our mighty King. 
 
 Lo, the Morning Star appeareth, 
 O'er the world His beams are cast ; 
 
 He the Alpha and Omega, 
 He the Great, the First, the Last. 
 
 Clap your hands with exultation ; 
 
 Sing aloud, rejoice with mirth ; 
 Peace her silver wings hath folded, 
 
 Lo, she comes to dwell on earth. 
 
 Saviour, not with costly treasure 
 Do we gather at Thy throne ; 
 
 All we have, our hearts, we give Thee, 
 
 Consecrate them Thine alone. 
 1874-
 
 178 HYMNS. 
 
 SHOUT ALOUD, ALL YE LANDS. 
 
 ACROSS the blue waters the message of grace 
 O'er kingdom and empire is flying apace ; 
 The day-beam is breaking, majestic and bright, 
 And millions are turning from darkness to light. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Shout aloud, all ye lands, and be glad while ye sing ; 
 Shout aloud, all ye lands, for the Saviour is King ! 
 And the sound that went forth on the night of 
 
 His birth 
 
 Shall be heard to the uttermost bounds of the 
 earth. 
 
 All creatures adoring shall bow at His word, 
 All tongues shall confess Him their Saviour and 
 
 Lord; 
 
 His truth and its glory extended shall be, 
 And cover the earth as the waters the sea. 
 
 How gently and kindly there comes from above 
 His scepter of mercy, His standard of love ! 
 He ruleth in wisdom, the Monarch of peace, 
 His reign shall be glorious, and never shall cease. 
 
 The day is approaching, the time draweth nigh, 
 When nation to nation " Hosanna! " shall cry ; 
 The idols they worship in dust shall be laid, 
 And Jesus be honored, exalted, obeyed. 
 1875.
 
 BELLS AT EVENING. 179 
 
 NEVER SHONE A LIGHT SO FAIR. 
 
 NEVER shone a light so fair, 
 Never fell so sweet a song, 
 As the chorus in the air 
 
 Chanted by the angel-throng ; 
 Every star took up the story : 
 Christ has come, the Prince of glory, 
 Come in humble hearts to dwell, 
 God with us, Immanuel. 
 
 Still that jubilee of song 
 Breaks upon the rising morn ; 
 
 While the anthem rolls along, 
 Floods of light the earth adorn ; 
 
 Old and young take up the story : 
 
 Christ has come, etc. 
 
 Welcome now the blessed day 
 
 When we praise the Lord our King ; 
 
 When we meet to praise and pray, 
 And His love with gladness sing; 
 
 Let the world take up the story : 
 
 Christ has come, etc. 
 1875.
 
 180 HYMNS. 
 
 I AM THINE, O LORD. 
 
 I AM Thine, O Lord, I have heard Thy voice, 
 
 And it told Thy love to me ; 
 But I long to rise in the arms of faith, 
 
 And be closer drawn to Thee. 
 
 Chorus : 
 Draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord, 
 
 To the cross where Thou hast died ; 
 Draw me nearer, nearer, nearer, blessed Lord, 
 
 To Thy precious bleeding side. 
 
 Consecrate me now to Thy service, Lord, 
 
 By the power of grace divine ; 
 Let my soul look up with a steadfast hope, 
 
 And my will be lost in Thine. 
 
 O the pure delight of a single hour 
 
 That before Thy throne I spend, 
 When I kneel in prayer, and with Thee, my God, 
 
 I commune as friend with friend ! 
 
 There are depths of love that I cannot know 
 
 Till I cross the narrow sea, 
 There are heights of joy that I may not reach 
 
 Till I rest in peace with Thee. 
 1875.
 
 BELLS AT EVENING. 181 
 
 ALL THE WAY. 
 
 ALL the way my Saviour leads me ; 
 
 What have I to ask beside ? 
 Can I doubt His tender mercy, 
 
 Who through life has been my guide ? 
 Heavenly peace, divinest comfort, 
 
 Here by faith in Him to dwell ! 
 For I know, whate'er befall me, 
 
 Jesus doeth all things well. 
 
 All the way my Saviour leads me, 
 
 Cheers each winding path I tread ; 
 Gives me grace for every trial, 
 
 Feeds me with the living bread ; 
 Though my weary steps may falter, 
 
 And my soul athirst may be, 
 Gushing from the Rock before me, 
 
 Lo, a spring of joy I see. 
 
 All the way my Saviour leads me ; 
 
 O the fullness of His love ! 
 Perfect rest to me is promised 
 
 In my Father's house above ; 
 When my spirit, clothed, immortal, 
 
 Wings its flight to realms of day, 
 This my song through endless ages 
 
 Jesus led me all the way. 
 1875.
 
 182 HYMNS. 
 
 SO NEAR TO THE KINGDOM. 
 
 So near to the kingdom ! yet what dost thou lack ? 
 So near to the kingdom ! what keepeth thee back ? 
 Renounce every idol, though dear it may be, 
 And come to the Saviour now pleading with thee. 
 
 Refrain : 
 
 Pleading with thee, 
 
 The Saviour is pleading with thee. 
 
 So near that thou hearest the songs that resound 
 From those who, believing, a pardon have found ! 
 So near, yet unwilling to give up thy sin, 
 When Jesus is waiting to welcome thee in ! 
 
 O come, or thy season of grace will be past, 
 The door will be closed, and this call be thy last ; 
 O where wouldst thou turn if the light should 
 
 depart 
 That comes from the Spirit,' and shines on thy 
 
 heart ? 
 
 To die with no hope ! hast thou counted the 
 
 cost ? 
 
 To die out of Christ, and thy soul to be lost ! 
 So near to the kingdom ! O come, we implore, 
 While Jesus is pleading, come enter the door. 
 1875.
 
 BELLS AT EVENING. 183 
 
 HIDE THOU ME. 
 
 IN Thy cleft, O Rock of Ages, 
 
 Hide Thou me ; 
 When the fitful tempest rages, 
 
 Hide Thou me ; 
 
 Where no mortal arm can sever 
 From my heart Thy love forever, 
 Hide me, O thou Rock of Ages, 
 
 Safe in Thee. 
 
 From the snare of sinful pleasure, 
 
 Hide Thou me ; 
 Thou, my soul's eternal treasure, 
 
 Hide Thou me ; 
 
 When the world its power is wielding, 
 And my heart is almost yielding, 
 Hide me, O Thou Rock of Ages, 
 
 Safe in Thee. 
 
 In the lonely night of sorrow, 
 
 Hide Thou me ; 
 Till in glory dawns the morrow, 
 
 Hide Thou me ; 
 In the sight of Jordan's billow, 
 Let Thy bosom be my pillow ; 
 Hide me, O Thou Rock of Ages, 
 
 Safe in Thee. 
 1876.
 
 184 HYMNS. 
 
 BY AND BY. 
 
 BY and by, when the reapers come, 
 And we hear the song of the harvest home, 
 'Twill be sweet to think of our labor done, 
 Of the golden sheaves in the setting sun. 
 
 Refrain : 
 
 By and by, when the angel reapers come, 
 We shall join the song of the harvest home ; 
 O by and by, when the angel reapers come, 
 We shall join the song of the harvest home. 
 
 By and by, when at home we meet, 
 
 When we cast our sheaves at the Master's feet, 
 
 In the land of rest 'twill be joy to know 
 
 It was not in vain that we toiled below. 
 
 By and by, if we watch and wait, 
 We shall enter in at the pearly gate ; 
 We shall sit us down with our friends above, 
 'Mid the songs of joy in a feast of love. 
 1876.
 
 BELLS AT EVENING. 185 
 
 BLESSED HOME-LAND. 
 
 GLIDING o'er life's fitful waters, 
 Heavy surges sometimes roll ; 
 
 And we sigh for yonder haven, 
 For the home-land of the soul. 
 
 Refrain : 
 
 Blessed home-land, ever fair ! 
 Sin can never enter there ; 
 But the soul, to life awaking, 
 Everlasting bloom shall wear. 
 
 Oft we catch a faint reflection 
 Of its bright and vernal hills ; 
 
 And, though distant, how we hail it ! 
 How each heart with rapture thrills ! 
 
 To our Father, and our Saviour, 
 To the Spirit, Three in One, 
 
 We shall sing glad songs of triumph 
 When our harvest work is done. 
 
 'Tis the weary pilgrim's home-land, 
 Where each throbbing care shall cease, 
 
 And our longings and our yearnings, 
 
 Like the waves, be hushed to peace. 
 1877.
 
 186 HYMNS. 
 
 THIS I KNOW. 
 
 LORD, my trust I repose in Thee ; 
 
 how great is Thy love to me ! 
 Thou the strength of my life shall be ; 
 
 This I know, this I know. 
 
 Refrain : 
 
 Thine, Thine, and only Thine, 
 Now and ever Thine ; 
 Thou dost love me, Saviour mine ; 
 This I know, this I know. 
 
 Thou dost lead with a sweet command, 
 Thou dost lead with a gentle hand ; 
 On the rock of Thy truth I stand ; 
 This I know, this I know. 
 
 1 shall rise to a world of light, 
 
 I shall rest in a mansion bright ; 
 Then my faith shall be lost in sight ; 
 
 This I know, this I know. 
 1877.
 
 BELLS AT EVENING. 187 
 
 LEARN OF THE MEEK AND LOWLY. 
 
 COME, learn of the meek and lowly ; 
 
 Come, sit at the Master's feet ; 
 No place in the world so holy, 
 
 No place in the world so sweet ; 
 His lessons are plain and simple, 
 
 A balm to the wounded breast ; 
 He maketh our burden lighter, 
 
 And giveth His children rest. 
 
 O if we were more like Jesus, 
 
 And more from the world apart, 
 Communing with Him in spirit, 
 
 And nearer to Him in heart, 
 We should not complain so sadly 
 
 When trouble and care we meet, 
 But carry at once our sorrows, 
 
 And lay them at Jesus' feet. 
 
 He wept o'er the holy city, 
 
 He wept o'er a loved one dead ; 
 He knoweth our every trial, 
 
 And seeth the tears we shed ; 
 O live that our souls may enter 
 
 His kingdom with joy complete ; 
 And there, thro' eternal ages, 
 
 We'll sit at the Master's feet, 
 1877.
 
 188 HYMNS. 
 
 PARTING HYMN. 
 
 HEAVENLY Father, we beseech Thee, 
 Grant Thy blessing ere we part ; 
 
 Take us in Thy care and keeping, 
 Guard from evil every heart. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Bless the words we here have spoken, 
 Offered prayer and cheerful strain ; 
 If Thy will, O Lord, we pray Thee, 
 Grant we all may meet again. 
 
 Loving Saviour, go Thou with us, 
 Be our comfort and our stay; 
 
 Grateful praise to Thee we render 
 For the joy we feel to-day. 
 
 Holy Spirit, dwell within us, 
 May our souls Thy temple be ; 
 
 May we tread the path to glory, 
 Led and guided still by Thee. 
 
 Heavenly Father, loving Saviour, 
 
 Holy Spirit, Three in One, 
 As among Thy saints and angels, 
 So on earth, Thy will be done. 
 1878.
 
 BELLS AT EVENING. 189 
 
 'TIS THE BLESSED HOUR OF PRAYER. 
 
 'TIS the blessed hour of prayer, when our 
 
 hearts lowly bend, 
 
 And we gather to Jesus, our Saviour and Friend ; 
 If we come to Him in faith, His protection to share, 
 What a balm for the weary ! O how sweet to be 
 
 there! 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Blessed hour of prayer, blessed hour of prayer ! 
 x yhat a balm for the weary ! O how sweet to be 
 there ! 
 
 ' Tis the blessed hour of prayer, when the Sav- 
 iour draws near, 
 
 With a tender compassion His children to hear ; 
 
 When He tells us we may cast at His feet every 
 care, 
 
 What a balm for the weary ! O how sweet to be 
 there ! 
 
 ' Tis the blessed hour of prayer, when the tempted 
 and tried 
 
 To the Saviour who loves them their sorrow con- 
 fide; 
 
 With a sympathizing heart He removes every care ; 
 
 What a balm for the weary ! O how sweet to be 
 there J 
 
 1880.
 
 190 HYMNS. 
 
 WEARY WANDERER, STOP AND 
 LISTEN. 
 
 WEARY wanderer, stop and listen; 
 
 Happy news we bring to thee ; 
 Jesus has prepared a banquet ; 
 
 Come, and welcome thou shalt be. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Make no longer vain excuses ; 
 
 Jesus calls, and calls thee now ; 
 Come, for everything is ready ; 
 Weary soul, why waitest thou ? 
 
 Are thy sins a heavy burden ? 
 
 Come to God ; confess them now ; 
 He is willing to forgive thee ; 
 
 Ask, receive ; why waitest thou ? 
 
 On the loving arm of Jesus 
 
 Wouldst thou lean, and trust Him now ? 
 Let Him cleanse thee at the fountain ; 
 
 Come at once ; why waitest thou ? 
 
 See the beauteous wedding garment ; 
 
 In His hands He holds it now ; 
 Haste, O haste thee to the banquet ; 
 
 Enter in ; why waitest thou ? 
 1880.
 
 BELLS AT EVENING. 191 
 
 I KNOW THERE'S A REST. 
 
 I KNOW there's a rest that remaineth for me, 
 
 A rest when my journey is o'er ; 
 I know that the ransomed in bliss I shall see, 
 
 And labor and sorrow no more. 
 
 Chorus: 
 Then onward I'll go, and with courage I'll tread 
 
 The path my Redeemer has trod, 
 Since He hath declared there remaineth a rest, 
 
 A rest for the people of God. 
 
 I know there's a rest that remaineth for me, 
 
 A rest with my Saviour above, 
 Where, clothed in His image, His face I shall see, 
 
 And feast on the smile of His love. 
 
 I know there's a rest that remaineth for me ; 
 
 I'll patiently wait till it come, 
 Till angels shall bear me away on their wings, 
 
 And Jesus shall welcome me home. 
 1881.
 
 192 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 A FEW MORE MARCHINGS. 
 
 A FEW more marchings weary, 
 
 Then we'll gather home ; 
 A few more storm-clouds dreary, 
 
 Then we'll gather home ; 
 A few more days the cross to bear, 
 And then with Christ a crown to wear , 
 A few more marchings weary, 
 
 Then we'll gather home. 
 
 Refrain : 
 
 O'er time's rapid river, 
 Soon we'll rest forever ; 
 No more marchings weary 
 When we gather home. 
 
 A few more nights of weeping, 
 
 Then we'll gather home ; 
 A few more watches keeping, 
 
 Then we'll gather home; 
 A few more victories over sin, 
 A few more sheaves to gather in, 
 A few more marchings weary, 
 
 Then we'll gather home. 
 
 A few more sweet links broken, 
 
 Then we'll gather home ; 
 A few more kind words spoken, 
 
 Then we'll gather home ;
 
 HYMNS. 193 
 
 A few more partings on the strand, 
 And then away to Canaan's land ; 
 A few more marchings weary, 
 
 Then we'll gather home. 
 1882. 
 
 NOT ALWAY. 
 
 NOT alway where the quiet waters flow 
 
 My Saviour leads, 
 Nor where the sunlight falls with tender glow 
 
 O'er dewy meads ; 
 
 I follow where He will my path should be, 
 Content to know but this : He leadeth me. 
 
 He from my cradle watched my infant years, 
 
 And chose my way ; 
 O how His wisdom in my life appears 
 
 From day to day ! 
 
 Though oft my journey leads through shadows 
 deep, 
 
 I fear no ill ; 
 For, lo, He gives His angels charge to keep 
 
 And guard me still. 
 
 Sometimes I falter, and the way seems long 
 
 To yonder land ; 
 But in His strength made perfect I am strong ; 
 
 He holds my hand. 
 1 8 .
 
 194 HYMNS. 
 
 WELLS OF ELIM. 
 
 COOL from the wells of Elim, 
 
 Softly the waters bright, 
 Under the waving palm trees, 
 
 Smiled in the peaceful light ; 
 There were the tents so goodly, 
 
 There was a nation strong, 
 Resting awhile by Elim's wells, 
 
 Praising the Lord in song. 
 Chorus : 
 
 O how a soul in Jesus 
 
 Loves of a stream to tell, 
 One that shall flow forever on, 
 Drawn from the living well ! 
 
 Out from the rock of Horeb, 
 
 Smote by a wondrous rod, 
 Quickly the gushing waters 
 
 Came at the voice of God ; 
 They who athirst were pining, 
 
 They who rebelled before, 
 Now, with delight and wonder filled, 
 
 Drank, and were glad once more. 
 
 Purer than wells of Elim 
 
 Under the palm trees fair, 
 Sweeter than Horeb's waters 
 
 Hailed by the fainting there, 
 Lo, at the feet of mercy. 
 
 Fresh from the springs above, 
 Jesus the living water gives, 
 
 Bought with redeeming love. 
 1883.
 
 BELLS AT EVENING. 195 
 
 O CHILD OF GOD, WAIT PATIENTLY. 
 
 O CHILD of God, wait patiently 
 
 When dark thy path may be, 
 And let thy faith lean trustingly 
 
 On Him who cares for thee ; 
 And though the clouds hang drearily 
 
 Upon the brow of night, 
 Yet in the morning joy will come, 
 
 And fill thy soul with light. 
 
 O child of God, He loveth thee, 
 
 And thou art all His own ; 
 With gentle hand He leadeth thee ; 
 
 Thou dost not walk alone ; 
 And though thou watchest wearily 
 
 The long and stormy night, 
 Yet in the morning joy will come, 
 
 And fill thy soul with light. 
 
 O child of God, how peacefully 
 
 He calms thy fears to rest, 
 And draws thee upward tenderly, 
 
 Where dwell the pure and blest ! 
 And He who bendeth silently 
 
 Above the gloom of night, 
 Will take thee home where endless joy 
 
 Shall fill thy soul with light. 
 1886.
 
 196 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 WHAT A GATHERING. 
 
 ON that bright and golden morning, when the 
 
 Son of man shall come, 
 And the radiance of His glory we shall see ; 
 When from every clime and nation He shall call 
 
 His people home, 
 What a gathering of the ransomed that will be ! 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 What a gathering, what a gathering, 
 What a gathering of the ransomed in the 
 
 summer land of love ! 
 What a gathering, what a gathering 
 
 Of the ransomed in that happy home above ! 
 
 When the blest who sleep in Jesus, at His bid- 
 ding shall arise 
 
 From the silence of the grave and from the sea, 
 And with bodies all celestial they shall meet Him 
 
 in the skies, 
 What a gathering and rejoicing there will be ! 
 
 When our eyes behold the city, with its many 
 
 mansions bright, 
 
 And its river, calm and restful, flowing free ; 
 When the friends that death has parted shall in 
 
 bliss again unite, 
 What a gathering and a greeting there will be !
 
 HYMNS. 197 
 
 O the King is surely coming, and the time is 
 
 drawing nigh 
 When the blessed day of promise we shall see ; 
 
 Then the changing " in a moment," " in the twin- 
 kling of an eye," 
 
 And forever in his presence we shall be. 
 
 1887. 
 
 'TIS ONLY A LITTLE WAY. 
 
 'TIS only a little way on to my home, 
 And there in its sunshine forever I'll roam ; 
 While all the day long I journey with song, 
 O beautiful Eden-land, thou art my home. 
 
 Refrain : 
 
 "Pis only a little way, only a little way, 
 Tis only a little way on to my home. 
 
 'Tis only a little way farther to go, 
 
 O'er mountain and valley where dark waters flow; 
 
 My Saviour is near with blessings to cheer; 
 
 His word is my guiding star why should I fear ? 
 
 'Tis only a little way ; there I shall see 
 The friends that in glory are waiting for me ; 
 Their voices from home now float on the air 
 They're calling me tenderly, calling me there. 
 1886.
 
 198 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 EARLY MORN. 
 
 AT early morn, with trembling step, 
 
 A faithful band drew near, 
 And stood at last beside the grave 
 
 Of Him they loved so dear. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 He lives again ! He lives again ! 
 
 Rang out o'er all that sunlit plain ; 
 The Lamb of God, for sinners slain, 
 
 Has conquered death, and lives again. 
 
 And as the rosy, blushing light 
 
 Shot forth its brilliant rays, 
 Their fears were gone, their night was o'er, 
 
 And grief was lost in praise. 
 
 To-day our hearts, with rapture filled, 
 
 The hallowed strains repeat, 
 And haste, within the house of prayer, 
 
 Our risen Lord to meet. 
 1889.
 
 HYMNS. 199 
 
 JESUS IS CALLING. 
 
 OUT on the mountain, sad and forsaken, 
 Lost in its mazes, no light canst thou see ; 
 
 Yet in His mercy, full of compassion, 
 
 Lo, the Good Shepherd is calling to thee. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Calling to thee, calling to thee, 
 
 Jesus is calling, " Come unto me; " 
 
 Calling to thee, calling to thee, 
 
 Hear the Good Shepherd calling to thee. 
 
 Far on the mountain, why wilt thou wander? 
 
 Deeper in darkness thy pathway will be ; 
 Turn from thy roaming, fly from its dangers, 
 
 While the Good Shepherd is calling to thee. 
 
 Flee from thy bondage ; Jesus will help thee ; 
 
 Only believe Him, and thou shalt be free ; 
 Wonderful mercy ! boundless compassion ! 
 
 Still the Good Shepherd is calling to thee. 
 1890.
 
 200 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 ENDURE TO THE END. 
 
 WE cannot fold our hands at ease, 
 
 And look for heaven at last ; 
 We cannot shout the victory won 
 
 Until the war is past. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Blessed are they that endure to the end, 
 
 For with them it shall be well ; 
 They shall eat of the fruit of the tree of life, 
 
 And with Jesus forever dwell. 
 
 We cannot hope to win the prize, 
 
 Unless the race we run ; 
 Nor reap the fruits of endless joy 
 
 If we no work have done. 
 
 We cannot slumber at our post, 
 
 Nor lay our armor down ; 
 And only they who bear the cross 
 
 Can ever wear the crown. 
 
 Then let the cross be all our boast, 
 
 And Jesus all our song, 
 Till in His robe of righteousness 
 
 We join the ransomed throng. 
 1890.
 
 HYMNS. 201 
 
 SAVED BY GRACE. 
 
 SOME day the silver cord will break, 
 And I no more as now shall sing ; 
 
 But, O the joy when I shall wake 
 Within the palace of the King ! 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 And I shall see Him face to face, 
 And tell the story Saved by Grace. 
 
 Some day my earthly house will fall ; 
 
 I cannot tell how soon 'twill be ; 
 But this I know my All in All 
 
 Has now a place in heaven for me. 
 
 Some day, when fades the golden sun 
 
 Beneath the rosy-tinted west, 
 My blessed Lord will say, " Well done ! " 
 
 And I shall enter into rest. 
 
 Some day, till then I'll watch and wait, 
 
 My lamp all trimmed and burning bright, 
 That when my Saviour opes the gate, 
 My soul to Him may wing its flight. 
 1891.
 
 202 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 MY SAVIOUR FIRST OF ALL. 
 
 WHEN my lifework is ended, and I cross the 
 
 swelling tide, 
 When the bright and glorious morning I shall 
 
 see, 
 I shall know my Redeemer when I reach the other 
 
 side, 
 And His smile will be the first to welcome me. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 I shall know Him, I shall know Him, 
 
 And alone by His side I shall stand ; 
 I shall know Him, I shall know Him, 
 
 By the print of the nails in His hand. 
 
 O the soul-thrilling rapture when I view His 
 
 blessed face, 
 
 And the luster of His kindly beaming eye ! 
 How my full heart will praise Him for the mercy, 
 
 love, and grace, 
 That prepares for me a mansion in the sky ! 
 
 O the dear ones in glory, how they beckon me to 
 
 come! 
 
 And our parting at the river I recall ; 
 To the sweet vales of Eden they will sing my wel- 
 come home ; 
 But I long to meet my Saviour first of all.
 
 HYMNS. 203 
 
 Through the gates to the city, in a robe of spot- 
 less white, 
 He will lead me where no tears will ever fall ; 
 
 In the glad song of ages I shall mingle with de- 
 light ; 
 
 But I long to meet my Saviour first of all. 
 
 1891. 
 
 OUR CHEERFUL SABBATH HOME. 
 
 How sweet the chiming Sabbath bells ! 
 
 We love the welcome sound ; 
 And haste, with glad and willing heart, 
 
 Where purest joys are found. 
 
 From Christian friends and teachers there, 
 
 We learn the heavenly way 
 That leads to Him who kindly gave 
 
 This holy, happy day. 
 
 We sing our Saviour's wondrous love, 
 
 And all His tender care ; 
 We sing of joy beyond the sky, 
 
 In mansions bright and fair. 
 
 The angels, robed in purest white, 
 
 Surround the throne above ; 
 And there our happy souls may join 
 
 To sing redeeming love. 
 1869.
 
 204 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 OUT of the shadow into the light, 
 Shining in glory transcendently bright ; 
 Out of the gloaming into the day, 
 Beaming in splendor that fades not away. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Out of the sighing, fading and dying, 
 Into the perfect, lovely and bright ; 
 Out of the darkness into the dawning, 
 Out of the shadow into the light. 
 
 Out of the shadow, lonely and drear, 
 Into the future that knows not a fear ; 
 Out of the conflict, weary and sore, 
 Into the home-land of bliss evermore. 
 
 Out of the shadow, voiceless and cold, 
 Into the sunshine of rapture untold ; 
 Out of the hoping into the blest, 
 Out of the longing with Jesus at rest. 
 
 Over the river soon we shall be, 
 
 Over the river, dear Saviour, with Thee 
 
 Out of the shadow into the light, 
 
 Clothed in the garments Thy blood hath 
 
 made white. 
 1891.
 
 HYMNS. 205 
 
 GOOD NIGHT. 
 
 O THE morning, happy morning, 
 
 That will break on yonder shore, 
 When the march of life is ended, 
 
 And our harvest work is o'er; 
 When we stand amid the gloaming, 
 
 And our hearts with joy are bright, 
 While we say to those around us, 
 
 With a loving smile, Good night ! 
 
 O the morning, blissful morning, 
 
 That from every care is free, 
 And forever with our Saviour 
 
 And Redeemer we shall be ; 
 When the silver cord is broken, 
 
 And our spirits wing their flight, 
 Only pausing till our dear ones 
 
 Catch the loving words, Good night ! 
 
 O the morning, golden morning ! 
 
 We shall see it by and by ; 
 Faith beholds it in the distance, 
 
 And its dawning draweth nigh ; 
 Here we part, for time is fleeting, 
 
 Ever fading from our sight, 
 But in yonder happy morrow 
 
 We shall never say Good night. 
 1891.
 
 206 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 TRUST ON. 
 
 TRUST on ; is not the Saviour at thy side, 
 In darkest hour thy faltering steps to guide ? 
 Take thou the hand outreaching now to thee ; 
 He bids thee walk in faith ; so let it be. 
 
 Trust on ; though thorns may thrust thy weary 
 
 feet, 
 
 Yet pain or bliss with Jesus will be sweet ; 
 If thou believe, it shall be well with thee ; 
 If He would test thy faith, so let it be. 
 
 Trust on ; no trial can thy way befall 
 But He, thy Lord and Saviour, knows it all ; 
 And if, to make His love more pure in thee, 
 Thou need'st His chastening rod, so let it be. 
 
 Trust on ; as clouds of evening glide away, 
 And leave the calm reflection of the day, 
 Soon shall thy waiting eyes His glory see, 
 And though through clouds it come, so let it be. 
 1891.
 
 HYMNS. 207 
 
 CHRIST THE SEAL OF DEATH HAS 
 BROKEN. 
 
 Christ the seal of death has broken, 
 Forth He comes with power divine ; 
 
 Heavenly guards behold Him rising, 
 Heavenly glories round Him shine. 
 
 At the tomb that cannot bind Him, 
 Angels linger robed in white ; 
 
 While the watchmen, pale and trembling, 
 Fall in terror from the sight. 
 
 Ye who bore the joyful tidings 
 Of a Prince and Saviour born, 
 
 Higher raise your song of triumph 
 On the resurrection morn. 
 
 Christ the seal of death has broken ; 
 
 Let the world before Him fall ; 
 Lift your heads, ye saints, and hail Him, 
 
 Hail the mighty Lord of all. 
 1892.
 
 208 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 TRUSTFULLY COME I TO THEE. 
 
 TRUSTFULLY, trustfully 
 
 Come I to Thee ; 
 Jesus, Thou blessed One, 
 
 Thine would I be ; 
 Then shall I cheerfully, 
 
 Truly and earnestly 
 Walk in Thy spirit, 
 
 Saviour, with Thee. 
 
 Peacefully, peacefully 
 
 Come I to Thee ; 
 More of Thy presence, Lord. 
 
 Grant Thou to me; 
 Then shall I carefully, 
 
 Watchfully, prayerfully, 
 Walk in Thy spirit, 
 
 Closer to Thee. 
 
 Joyfully, joyfully 
 
 Come I to Thee ; 
 Thou art my loving Friend, 
 
 Precious to me; 
 O may I restfully, 
 
 Calmly and lovingly 
 Dwell in Thy spirit, 
 
 Saviour, with Thee. 
 1893.
 
 HYMNS. 209 
 
 BLESSED DAY. 
 
 BLESSED day, when pure devotions 
 Rise to God on wings of love ; 
 
 When we catch the distant music 
 Of the angel choirs above. 
 
 Blessed day, when bells are calling 
 Weary souls from earthly care, 
 
 And we come, with hearts uplifted, 
 To the holy place of prayer. 
 
 Blessed day, so calm and restful, 
 Bringing joy and peace to all, 
 
 Linger yet in tranquil beauty, 
 Ere the shades of evening fall. 
 
 Blessed day, thy light is fading ; 
 
 One by one its beams depart ; 
 May their calm and sweet reflection 
 
 Still abide in every heart. 
 1894.
 
 210 HYMNS. 
 
 RESTING BY THE RIVER. 
 
 WHEN I'm resting by the river, in the beautiful 
 
 forever, 
 
 Light will seem the cares and crosses that ap- 
 pear so heavy now ; 
 Then I'll see that pathway lonely God marked out 
 
 in kindness only, 
 
 When I'm resting by the river, with life's crown 
 upon my brow. 
 
 When I'm resting by the river, where no sorrow 
 
 cometh ever, 
 I shall feel that earthly darkness made more 
 
 welcome heaven's light ; 
 I shall learn how each affliction brought a blessed 
 
 benediction, 
 
 When I'm resting by the river, in the land 
 where falls no night. 
 
 When I'm resting by the river, 'neath the healing 
 
 trees that quiver 
 In the sweet balm-laden breezes blown from 
 
 hills of Paradise, 
 I shall see with vision clearer loss made heaven's 
 
 treasures dearer. 
 
 When I'm resting by the river, in the home be- 
 yond the skies.
 
 BELLS AT EVENING. 211 
 
 When I'm resting by the river, where fond ties 
 
 are broken never, 
 I shall find that separation made reunion there 
 
 more sweet ; 
 Past for aye all tears and sighing, mine shall be a 
 
 joy undying, 
 When I'm resting by the river, where the happy 
 
 saved ones meet. 
 1894,
 
 212 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 NEVER SAY GOOD-BYE. 
 
 O BLESSED home where those who meet 
 
 Shall never say Good-bye ; 
 Where kindred souls each other greet. 
 
 And never say Good-bye. 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 We'll never say Good-bye, 
 We'll never say Good-bye ; 
 In that fair land beyond the sky, 
 We'll never say Good-bye. 
 
 Beyond this vale of toil and care, 
 
 We'll never say Good-bye ; 
 We part in tears on earth, but there 
 
 We'll never say Good-bye. 
 
 When safe among the ransomed throng, 
 
 We'll never say Good-bye ; 
 Where life is one eternal song, 
 
 We'll never say Good-bye. 
 
 On yonder fair and peaceful shore, 
 
 We'll never say Good-bye ; 
 But dwell with Christ for evermore, 
 
 And never say Good-bye. 
 1894.
 
 HYMNS. 213 
 
 THY WILL BE DONE IN ME. 
 
 THOU to whom, without reserve, 
 My all I would resign, 
 
 1 ask for grace and faith to say, 
 "Thy will, O Lord, not mine ! " 
 
 In joy or grief, in bliss or pain, 
 This prayer shall rise to Thee, 
 
 " Thy will, not mine, O blessed Lord, 
 Thy will be done in me ! " 
 
 Though thorns may pierce my weary feet, 
 
 Yet would I ne'er repine, 
 But meekly say, as Thou hast said, 
 
 "Thy will, O Lord, not mine!" 
 And though I pass beneath Thy rod, 
 
 Amen, so let it be ! 
 Whate'er Thou wilt, O blessed Lord, 
 
 I know is best for me. 
 
 So would I live that I may feel 
 
 Thy perfect peace divine, 
 And still Thy pure example show 
 
 In every act of mine ; 
 And till I reach the silent vale, 
 
 And cross the narrow sea, 
 Be this my prayer, O blessed Lord, 
 
 " Thy will be done in me ! " 
 1895.
 
 214 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 WHEN THE KING SHALL COME. 
 
 O THE weary night is waning, 
 
 And the clouds are rolling by ; 
 See, the long-expected morning 
 
 Now is dawning in the sky ; 
 When from Zion's lofty mountain 
 
 We shall hear the watchman cry, 
 And rejoicing we shall gather 
 
 When the King shall come. 
 
 Chorus : 
 O Zion ! O Zion ! Great will be thy triumph 
 
 When the King shall come ; 
 O Zion ! O Zion ! Thou shalt be exalted 
 
 When the King shall come. 
 
 When the ransomed of Jehovah, 
 
 From the East and from the West, 
 Shall return with joy and gladness, 
 
 To receive the promised rest, 
 Then shall every tribe and nation 
 
 Out of every land be blessed, 
 And rejoicing they shall gather 
 
 When the King shall come. 
 
 May He find us, when He cometh, 
 Faithful watchers day and night, 
 
 At our royal post of duty, 
 With our armor shining bright ;
 
 HYMNS. 21 5 
 
 May our lamps be trimmed and burning 
 
 With a clear and steady light, 
 That rejoicing we may gather 
 When the King shall come. 
 1896. 
 
 SECRET PRAYER. 
 
 THERE is an hour of calm relief 
 From every throbbing care ; 
 
 'Tis when, before a throne of grace, 
 I kneel in secret prayer. 
 
 When one by one, like threads of gold, 
 The hues of twilight fall, 
 
 sweet communion with my God, 
 My Saviour and my all ! 
 
 1 hear seraphic tones that float 
 Amid celestial air, 
 
 And bathe my soul in streams of joy, 
 Alone in secret prayer. 
 
 O when the hour of death shall come, 
 How sweet trom thence to rise, 
 
 With prayer on earth my latest breath, 
 
 My watchword to the skies ! 
 1873-
 
 216 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 LOVING SAVIOUR, WITH THY 
 BLESSING. 
 
 LOVING Saviour, with Thy blessing 
 
 Thou hast filled our souls to-day ; 
 How the moments, bright with pleasure, 
 
 Like a dream have flown away ! 
 But to think that we must sever 
 
 How it wrings our hearts with pain ! 
 Loving Saviour, in Thy mercy 
 
 Spare us all to meet again. 
 
 Mid these scenes of happy childhood, 
 
 O 'tis sweet awhile to dwell ; 
 But our joy is tinged with sadness, 
 
 For we now must say, Farewell ; 
 May the chain of Love and Friendship 
 
 Long unbroken still remain ; 
 Loving Saviour, in Thy mercy 
 
 Spare us all to meet again. 
 
 When our fleeting years are ended, 
 
 And the day of life is o'er ; 
 When our voices here are silent, 
 
 And our songs are heard no more, 
 In the realm of kindred spirits, 
 
 Free from every throb of pain, 
 Loving Saviour, in Thy mercy 
 
 Bring us all to meet again. 
 1897.
 
 A SEEING HEART. 
 
 BY FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. 
 TO "FANNY CROSBY.'' 
 
 SWEET blind singer over the sea, 
 
 Tuneful and jubilant ! how can it be 
 
 That the songs of gladness, which float so far, 
 
 As if they fell from the evening star, 
 
 Are the notes of one who never may see 
 
 "Visible music " of flower and tree, 
 
 Purple of mountain, or glitter of snow, 
 
 Ruby and gold of the sunset glow, 
 
 And never the light of a loving face ? 
 
 Must not the world be a desolate place 
 
 For eyes that are sealed with the seal of years, 
 
 Eyes that are open only for tears ? 
 
 How can she sing in the dark like this ? 
 
 What is her fountain of light and bliss ? 
 
 O, her heart can see, her heart can see ! 
 And its sight is strong, and swift and free; 
 Never the ken of mortal eye 
 Could pierce so deep, and far, and high 
 As the eagle vision of hearts that dwell 
 In the lofty, sunlit citadel 
 Of Faith that overcomes the world, 
 With banners of Hope and Joy unfurled, 
 Garrisoned with God's perfect Peace, 
 Ringing with pasans that never cease, 
 217
 
 218 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 Flooded with splendor bright and broad, 
 The glorious light of the Love of God. 
 
 Her heart can see, her heart can see ! 
 Well may she sing so joyously ! 
 For the King Himself, in His tender grace, 
 Hath shown her the brightness of His face ; 
 And who shall pine for a glow-worm light 
 When the Sun goes forth in His radiant might ? 
 She can read His law, as a shining chart, 
 For His finger hath written it on her heart ; 
 She can read His love, for on all her way 
 His hand is writing it every day. 
 " Bright cloud " indeed must that darkness be, 
 Where " Jesus only " the heart can see. 
 
 Her heart can see ! her heart can see, 
 Beyond the glooms and the mystery, 
 Glimpses of glory not far away, 
 Nearing and brightening day by day ; 
 Golden crystal and emerald bow, 
 Luster of pearl and sapphire glow, 
 Sparkling river and healing tree, 
 Evergreen palms of victory, 
 Harp and crown and raiment white, 
 Holy and beautiful dwellers in light ; 
 A throne, and One thereon, whose face 
 Is the glory of that glorious place. .
 
 TO FANNY CROSBY. 219 
 
 Dear blind sister over the sea ! 
 An English heart goes forth to thee. 
 We are linked by a cable of faith and song, 
 Flashing bright sympathy swift along ; 
 One in the East and one in the West, 
 Singing for Him whom our souls love best, 
 " Singing for Jesus," telling His love 
 All the way to our home above, 
 Where the severing sea, with its restless tide, 
 Never shall hinder, and never divide. 
 Sister ! what will our meeting be, 
 When our hearts shall sing and our eyes shall see ! 
 May 10, 1872. 
 
 NOTE. Many sweet hymns by Fanny Crosby have become 
 known, and are warmly appreciated, in England and Scotland. 
 In answer to the inquiry, " Who is ' Fanny Crosby ? ' " the fol- 
 lowing beautiful reply was received : " She is a blind lady whose 
 heart can see splendidly in the sunshine of God's love." Hence 
 the above greeting to a far-off fellow-minister of song. From 
 The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal, Authorized 
 Edition.
 
 INDEX OF CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 5-22 
 
 SECULAR POEMS 23-88 
 
 AMERICAN HEARTS AND HOMES 40 
 
 A SONG 83 
 
 A TRIBUTE TO CINCINNATI 53 
 
 BELLS AT EVENING 23 
 
 BID ME GOOD NIGHT 52 
 
 CONFIDENCE 82 
 
 CORA BELL 66 
 
 CORA LEE : A CHRISTMAS STORY 48 
 
 Do You LOVE CHILDREN ? 79 
 
 GREETING TO THE CITIZENS OF BRIDGEPORT. 25 
 
 LUCY'S AND EMMA'S CONQUEST 75 
 
 MAMMA'S LULLABY 74 
 
 MINNIE'S BIRTHDAY 33 
 
 NANNETTE 35 
 
 ONLY A LEAF 64 
 
 OUR BABY 67 
 
 POET'S CORNER 55 
 
 SEEKING FOR VIOLETS 84 
 
 SPEAK NOT HARSHLY 73 
 
 THANKSGIVING DAY 42 
 
 THE HEART 71 
 
 THE MAIDEN AND HER CANOE 32
 
 INDEX OF CONTENTS. 221 
 
 SECULAR POEMS continued. PAGE 
 
 THE MONARCH AND THE MINSTREL 58 
 
 THE OLD YEAR 38 
 
 THE RAINDROP 29 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE 61 
 
 THESOLDIER'S REVERIE 69 
 
 THE VIOLET'S ANSWER 31 
 
 THEY ARE GONE 72 
 
 To A BIRD 37 
 
 To BESSIE 86 
 
 TWILIGHT 81 
 
 TWILIGHT HOUR 72 
 
 VOICE OF THE NIGHT WIND 38 
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS 89-128 
 
 A RHAPSODY 117 
 
 EVENING 120 
 
 GRANDPA'S BLESSING 114 
 
 HOPE ON, HOPE EVER 107 
 
 IMMORTAL LOVE 106 
 
 MOTHER, PRAY FOR ME 122 
 
 No TEARS IN HEAVEN 109 
 
 OCEAN GROVE 112 
 
 OUR LORD AT THE GRAVE OF LAZARUS 117 
 
 PEACE, BE STILL 123 
 
 PRAYER 105 
 
 REST 108 
 
 RETROSPECT no 
 
 SAMSON WITH THE PHILISTINES 98 
 
 THE BAPTISM OF OUR LORD 124 
 
 THE CHILD AND THE ANGEL 115 
 
 THE DYING BOY 128
 
 222 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS continued. PAGE 
 
 THE MEETING OF JACOB AND JOSEPH 93 
 
 TRIAL OF THE FAITH OF ABRAHAM 89 
 
 UNSEEN in 
 
 WE KNOW NOT WHAT THOU DOEST 127 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS SONGS AND POEMS. .. 129-148 
 
 ALMOST IN SIGHT OF THE HARBOR 148 
 
 GRANDMA'S ROCKING-CHAIR 144 
 
 MOTHER'S GOOD-BYE 136 
 
 ROSALIE, THE PRAIRIE FLOWER 132 
 
 THE HAZEL DELL 130 
 
 THE HONEYSUCKLE GLEN 134 
 
 THE SINGER AND THE HARP 143 
 
 THE WHITE SAIL 146 
 
 THERE'S Music IN THE AIR 129 
 
 THREESCORE YEARS AND TEN 138 
 
 UNDER A CLOUD 140 
 
 HYMNS 149-216 
 
 A FEW MORE MARCHINGS 192 
 
 ALL THE WAY 181 
 
 BLESSED ASSURANCE 170 
 
 BLESSED DAY 209 
 
 BLESSED HOMELAND 185 
 
 BY AND BY 184 
 
 CHRIST THE SEAL OF DEATH HAS BROKEN. . . 207 
 
 CLOSE TO THEE 175 
 
 CLOSING HYMN 150 
 
 EARLY MORN 198 
 
 ENDURE TO THE END 200 
 
 EVERY DAY AND HOUR 176 
 
 GOD OF ETERNITY 172 
 
 GOOD NIGHT 205 
 
 GREAT is JEHOVAH 167
 
 INDEX OF CONTENTS. 223 
 
 HYMNS continued. PAGE 
 
 HIDE THOU ME 183 
 
 HOLD THOU MY HAND 174 
 
 HOLY is THE LORD 163 
 
 I AM THINE, O LORD 180 
 
 I COME TO THEE 159 
 
 I KNOW THERE'S A REST 191 
 
 JESUS DEAR, I COME TO THEE 155 
 
 JESUS is CALLING 199 
 
 KEEP THOU MY WAY, O LORD 164 
 
 LEARN OF THE MEEK AND LOWLY 187 
 
 LET THE GOOD ANGELS COME IN 157 
 
 LIKE THE SOUND OF MANY WATERS 177 
 
 LOVING SAVIOUR, WITH THY BLESSING 216 
 
 MORE LIKE JESUS. 154 
 
 MY SAVIOUR FIRST OF ALL 202 
 
 NEAR THE CROSS 169 
 
 NEARER THE CROSS 173 
 
 NEVER SAY GOOD-BYE 212 
 
 NEVER SHONE A LIGHT so FAIR 179 
 
 NOT ALWAY 193 
 
 O CHILD OF GOD, WAIT PATIENTLY 195 
 
 ONLY A STEP TO JESUS 171 
 
 OUR CHEERFUL SABBATH HOME 203 
 
 OUT OF THE SHADOW 204 
 
 PARTING HYMN 188 
 
 PASS ME NOT 158 
 
 RESCUE THE PERISHING 160 
 
 RESTING BY THE RIVER 210 
 
 SAFE IN THE ARMS OF JESUS 156 
 
 SAVED BY GRACE 201 
 
 SECRET PRAYER 215 
 
 SHOUT ALOUD, ALL YE LANDS 178 
 
 SING ALWAYS 165 
 
 So NEAR TO THE KINGDOM 182
 
 224 BELLS AT EVENING. 
 
 HYMNS continued. PAGE 
 
 STRIKE THE H"ARP OF ZION 162 
 
 THE BRIGHT FOREVER 168 
 
 THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN 152 
 
 THIS I KNOW 186 
 
 THY WILL BE DONE IN ME 213 
 
 'Tis ONLY A LITTLE WAY 197 
 
 'Tis THE BLESSED HOUR OF PRAYER 189 
 
 To JESUS I WILL Go 166 
 
 TRUST ON 206 
 
 TRUSTFULLY COME I TO THEE 208 
 
 'TWILL NOT BE LONG 161 
 
 WE ARE GOING 149 
 
 WEARY WANDERER, STOP AND LISTEN 190 
 
 WELLS OF ELIM 194 
 
 WHAT A GATHERING 196 
 
 WHEN THE KING SHALL COME 214 
 
 YES, THERE is PARDON FOR You 151 
 
 A TRIBUTE TO F. J. CROSBY 217-219 
 
 A SEEING HEART 217
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
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