Chapter 7

I do not wonder that the Druids built Their sacred altars in the sacred groves. Fit place to worship God. The native guilt Of our poor weak humanity behoves That we should set aside no little part Of the devotion of the yearning heart To rest and peace, as typical of that Sweet tranquil rest to which the good aspire. Calm thoughts are as the purifying fire That burns the useless dross from life's mixed gold, And lights the torch of mind. While grasping at The shadow for the substance, youth grows old, And groves of palm spring up in every heart-- Temples to God, wherein we pray and sit apart.

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XIX.

How my heart yearns towards my friends at home! Poor suffering souls, whose lives are like the trees, Bent, crushed, and broken in the storm of life! A whirlwind of existence seems to roam Through some poor hearts continually. These Have neither rest nor pause; one day is rife With tempest, and another dashed with gloom; And the few rays of light that might illume Their thorny path are drenched with tearful rain. Yet these pure souls live not their lives in vain; For they become as spiritual guides And lights to others; rising with the tides Of their full being into higher spheres, Brighter and brighter still through all the coming years.

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XX.

I sat within the temple of her heart, And watched the living Soul as it passed through, Arrayed in pearly vestments, white and pure. The calm, immortal Presence made me start. It searched through all the chambers of her mind With one mild glance of love, and smiled to view The fastnesses of feeling, strong--secure, And safe from all surprise. It sits enshrined And offers incense in her heart, as on An altar sacred unto God. The dawn Of an imperishable love passed through The lattice of my senses, and I, too, Did offer incense in that solemn place-- A woman's heart made pure and sanctified by Grace.

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XXI.

Intense young soul, that takest hearts by storm, And chills them into sorrow with a look! Some minds are open as a well-read book; But here the leaves are still uncut--unscanned, The volume clasped and sealed, and all the warm And passionate exuberance of love Held in submission to these threadbare flaws And creeds of weaknesses, poor human laws. Stand up erect--nay kneel--for from above God's light is streaming on thee. Fashion's daws May fawn and natter like a cringing pack Of servile hounds beneath the keeper's hand, But these are not thy peers; they drive thee back: Urge on the car of Thought, and take a higher stand!

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XXII.

Dark, dismal day--the first of many such! The wind is sighing through the plaintive trees, In fitful gusts of a half-frenzied woe; Affrighted clouds the hand might almost touch, Their black wings bend so mournfully and low, Sweep through the skies like night-winds o'er the seas. There is no chirp of bird through all the grove, Save that of the young fledgeling rudely flung From its warm nest; and like the clouds above My soul is dark, and restless as the breeze That leaps and dances over Couchiching. Soon will the last duett be sweetly sung; But through the years to come our hearts will ring With memories, as dear as time and love can bring.

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AU REVOIR.

That morn our hearts were like artesian wells, Both deep and calm, and brimming with pure love. And in each one, like to an April day, Truth smiled and wept, while Courage wound his horn, Dispatching echoes that are whispering still Through all the vacant chambers of our souls; While Sorrow sat with drooped and aimless wing, Within the solitary fane of thought. We wished some warlike Joshua were there To make the sun stand still, or to put back The dial to the brighter side of time. A cloud hung over Couchiching; a cloud Eclipsed the merry sunshine of our hearts. We needed no philosopher to teach That laughter is not always born of joy. "All's for the best," the fair Eliza said; And we derived new courage from her lips, That spake the maxim of her trusting heart. We even smiled, at some portentous sign That signified--well, if it turn out true, Then, I'll believe it. Heaven works in signs More parting words, more lingering farewells, Pressure of hands, and thrilling touch of lips, A waving of white handkerchiefs, and Love Grew prayerful, and knelt down, and wept His scattered rosary of human hearts.

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Soon looking back, we saw where Ramah lay; Cold, wan, and cheerless as the race it holds. And as we neared the Lake the sun came forth, As tardily as if the sluggard day Had slept more soundly for the piping storm, That, veering round, had flung its challenge out In sullen menace to the western sky, Now black with clouds. A flash, a muffled roll Of elemental passion, broke the spell, And down on Simcoe fell the sudden rain, Veiling the gloomy landscape from our sight. Throughout the changeful day, alternate cloud And sunshine left their traces on our hearts, Until the evening reared its dreamy piles Of cloud-built cháteaux steeped in gorgeous tints, That from celestial censers are outpoured When the grand miracle of sunset draws Our souls, all yearning with a joy divine, To share the fleeting glory, ere it goes To glean new splendors for the ruby morn. 'Tis ever thus with true impassioned love; Love's sun, like that of day, may set, and set, It hath as bright a rising in the morn. True love has no gray hairs; his golden looks Can never whiten with the snows of time. Sorrow lies drear on many a youthful heart, Like snow upon the evergreens; but love Can gather sweetest honey by the way, E'en from the carcass of some prostrate grief. We have been spoiled with blessings. Though the world

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Holds nothing dearer than the hope that's fled, God ever opens up new founts of bliss-- Spiritual Bethsaidas where the soul Can wash the earth-stains from its fevered loins. We carve our sorrows on the face of joy, Reversing the true image; we are weak Where strength is needed most, and most is given.

Thus musing, as they chatted in the train, The whistle broke my reverie, as one Might be awakened from a truthful dream. The city gas-lights flashed into our eyes; And we, half-shrinking from the glare and din, Thought but of two more partings on the morn, When Love should be enfettered, hand and foot, For the long aeon of a human year.

THE END.