Chapter 7

Child, you have never loved, and cannot know How drear and hopeless youth itself may seem; The long, blank loveless years to wonder through, With nought, save memory of a bygone dream.

But sorrow kills not, we may laugh or weep, Still Time by stealthy gliding steals away; And Winter snows again lay white and deep, And once again they welcomed Christmas day.

I watched them with sad eyes that knew no smile, And a dull mind from which all hope had flown, A listless heart that nothing could beguile Back to the gladness that it once had known.

The dull December twilight grey and cold, Fell weird and grim upon the lonely moor; The wild wind raged o'er wintry waste and old, And in the storm a stranger sought our door.

He asked a shelter from the bitter night My father's brown cheek blanched to hear _that_ tone, He led him forward to the yule-log's light, A lost--a mourned, but now a new-found son!

Oh! sweetest welcomes on the wanderer fell! The last of our long race--returning home; Home to the long-tired hearts that loved him well No more an exile, by strange shores to roam.

"Bid me not rest" he said, "until you know, I have a friend who claims his welcome now, For, but for him, the depth of Alpines snow Had been my grave, and you had lost your son."

"Then wherefore wait?" my mother gently said, "Let him come hither till I bless his name!" And Roderick turned, and forth the stranger led And once again, I looked on Hector Graem.

No welcome-glow lit up the old man's eye, Surprise or anger seemed to hold him dumb, My mother clasped his hand with sob and sigh, But to full hearts the fewest words will come

Then Hector kissed her hand with courtly grace,-- Bowed lowly to my father, half in scorn, "Old ills" he said "are hardest to erase From hearts where gratitude was never born"

But as he spoke the glistening tear drops fell From those old eyes, that seldom tear drops know. "You here" he said "love breaks hates baleful spell, And gratitude comes forth to yield her due!"

"Let feuds and errors perish with the Past,-- 'Tis thus I lay them in a deep dug-grave'" And, beckoning me beside him, there, at last, His blessing, once refused, he fondly gave!

Ah! life is very fair, and love is sweet! The dark sky cleared, the sun shone out again, Earth seemed a heaven, with perfect bliss replete, And new-born gladness healed the sting of pain

And standing by the window hand in hand, Hearing the storm howl o'er the wastes of snow. We were the happiest of the happy band That merry Christmas fifty years ago!

BEGINNINGS.

At dawn sweet flushes softly creep Along the brightening sky, Pale watchers whom lone vigils keep Perceive the sign, and cry, The night is gone, the bright day comes, And gladsome light the East illumes!

Bright blossoms on the branches burst, Then Autumn fruits grow there; So, dreams that sickly hope had burst Grown real, make life fair. And dreams we prize as holy things That haunt our path on mystic wings.

And so, across life's weary road, Made dark by many a woe, We hear the tender words of God, "Come, follow where I go!" And listening to that gentle voice Is fixed the best and earliest choice.

First, we must pray, and watch, and wait, And bear the daily cross, And, till we reach the Master's gate, Count earthly gain as lost, Then hear, "good servant, nobly done," By patience hath the crown been won.

IN REPLY TO "ALONE."

It is the joyous time of June, And Nature glads the smiling land Arrayed in garments gay and green Bestowed by nature's lavish hand. Oh! soft the lullaby of streams 'Neath shadow of o'er arching trees, When all sweet, summer music seems To float around us on the breeze. It greets us in the greenwood glades-- By forest aisles and alleys lone, Where, wandering in the twilight shades The poet calls the hour his own. Perchance he dreams some minstrel hand, Wakes woodland harps to heavenly song, While spirits from the golden land On white wings bear the notes along.

But to thine eyes the world is grim, And life is dark through falling tears; Hath Hope's soft ray grown dull and dim And paled the brightness of your years? I know your woe--for I have knelt Beside the new made, grassy mound-- The anguish of bereavement felt And moaned beneath the piercing wound.

Through the soft azur veil of e'en The stars look down with watching eyes, Beacons to life our souls to heaven And tell of love beyond the skies To tell, tho' earth is bright and fair, Still Heaven must be our lasting home; A land untouched by sin and care Where pain and parting never come.

Not far away; scarce out of sight, A shadowy veil, a misty cloud, Is roll'd between us and the light, From mortal eyes the bliss to shroud.

Oh, thou whose poet-mind can feel The magic spell of beauty's powers Let these, His "meaner works" reveal That fairer life that shall be ours. Where we shall find in fadeless bloom The love Time's withering blast had slain, Restored from death and from the tomb To life, immortal life again. And while we weep for earth-joys fled, Or sigh to feel ourselves "alone," While fragrant memories of the dead, Like perfumes round our path are strewn; Let us not think them wholly lost;-- These flowers that glad the wondering vision, Slept 'neath the winter storm and frost Then sprung to beauty half Elysian. Fair blossoms deck the orchard bough The promise-fruit of harvest hours; Nought have we but that promise now, Yet faith already shows it ours. Oh! sweet the light around our tombs, Where promise-buds in faith are sown; Faith's eye descerns eternal blooms, In stature of God's fullness blown. Still ours--the true and tender heart,-- The form that trod these paths awhile; We said "good-night" content to part Until the morning light shall shine. Oh! blessed hope! Oh! promise sweet The harvest of the Lord is sure; His Hand shall give the guerdon meet To all that to the end endure!