Chapter 2

And then, I think, thy soul shall feel A nobler thrill of true content, Than if presumptuous, eager zeal Had seized a crown for others meant.

And even that very deed shall shine In mystic sense, divine and true, More wholly and more purely thine-- Because it is another's too.

VERSE: A LOST CHORD

Seated one day at the Organ, I was weary and ill at ease, And my fingers wandered idly Over the noisy keys.

I do not know what I was playing, Or what I was dreaming then; But I struck one chord of music, Like the sound of a great Amen.

It flooded the crimson twilight Like the close of an Angel's Psalm, And it lay on my fevered spirit With a touch of infinite calm.

It quieted pain and sorrow, Like love overcoming strife; It seemed the harmonious echo From our discordant life.

It linked all perplexed meanings Into one perfect peace, And trembled away into silence As if it were loth to cease.

I have sought, but I seek it vainly, That one lost chord divine, Which came from the soul of the Organ, And entered into mine.

It may be that Death's bright angel Will speak in that chord again,-- It may be that only in Heaven I shall hear that grand Amen.

VERSE: TOO LATE

Hush! speak low; tread softly; Draw the sheet aside;-- Yes, she does look peaceful; With that smile she died.

Yet stern want and sorrow Even now you trace On the wan, worn features Of the still white face.

Restless, helpless, hopeless, Was her bitter part;-- Now--how still the Violets Lie upon her Heart!

She who toiled and laboured For her daily bread; See the velvet hangings Of this stately bed.

Yes, they did forgive her; Brought her home at last; Strove to cover over Their relentless past.

Ah, they would have given Wealth, and home, and pride, To see her just look happy Once before she died!

They strove hard to please her, But, when death is near All you know is deadened, Hope, and joy, and fear.

And besides, one sorrow Deeper still--one pain Was beyond them: healing Came to-day--in vain!

If she had but lingered Just a few hours more; Or had this letter reached her Just one day before!

I can almost pity Even him to-day; Though he let this anguish Eat her heart away.

Yet she never blamed him:- One day you shall know How this sorrow happened; It was long ago.

I have read the letter: Many a weary year, For one word she hungered-- There are thousands here.

If she could but hear it, Could but understand; See--I put the letter In her cold white hand.

Even these words, so longed for, Do not stir her rest; Well--I should not murmur, For God judges best.

She needs no more pity,-- But I mourn his fate, When he hears his letter Came a day too late.

VERSE: THE REQUITAL

Loud roared the Tempest, Fast fell the sleet; A little Child Angel Passed down the street, With trailing pinions, And weary feet.

The moon was hidden; No stars were bright; So she could not shelter In heaven that night, For the Angels' ladders Are rays of light.

She beat her wings At each window pane, And pleaded for shelter, But all in vain:-- "Listen," they said, "To the pelting rain!"

She sobbed, as the laughter And mirth grew higher, "Give me rest and shelter Beside your fire, And I will give you Your heart's desire."

The dreamer sat watching His embers gleam, While his heart was floating Down hope's bright stream; . . . So he wove her wailing Into his dream.

The worker toiled on, For his time was brief; The mourner was nursing Her own pale grief: They heard not the promise That brought relief.

But fiercer the Tempest Rose than before, When the Angel paused At a humble door, And asked for shelter And help once more.

A weary woman, Pale, worn, and thin, With the brand upon her Of want and sin, Heard the Child Angel And took her in.

Took her in gently, And did her best To dry her pinions; And made her rest With tender pity Upon her breast.

When the eastern morning Grew bright and red, Up the first sunbeam The Angel fled; Having kissed the woman And left her--dead.

VERSE: RETURNED--"MISSING" (FIVE YEARS AFTER)

Yes, I was sad and anxious, But now, dear, I am gay; I know that it is wisest To put all hope away:- Thank God that I have done so And can be calm to-day.

For hope deferred--you know it, Once made my heart so sick: Now, I expect no longer; It is but the old trick Of hope, that makes me tremble, And makes my heart beat quick.

All day I sit here calmly; Not as I did before, Watching for one whose footstep Comes never, never more . . . Hush! was that someone passing, Who paused beside the door?

For years I hung on chances, Longing for just one word; At last I feel it:- silence Will never more be stirred . . . Tell me once more that rumour, You fancied you had heard.

Life has more things to dwell on Than just one useless pain, Useless and past for ever; But noble things remain, And wait us all: . . . you too, dear, Do you think hope quite vain?

All others have forgotten, 'Tis right I should forget, Nor live on a keen longing Which shadows forth regret: . . . Are not the letters coming? The sun is almost set.

Now that my restless legion Of hopes and fears is fled, Reading is joy and comfort . . . . . . This very day I read, Oh, such a strange returning Of one whom all thought dead!

Not that I dream or fancy, You know all that is past; Earth has no hope to give me, And yet:- Time flies so fast That all but the impossible Might be brought back at last.

VERSE: IN THE WOOD

In the wood where shadows are deepest From the branches overhead, Where the wild wood-strawberries cluster And the softest moss is spread, I met to-day with a fairy, And I followed her where she led.

Some magical words she uttered, I alone could understand, For the sky grew bluer and brighter; While there rose on either hand The cloudy walls of a palace That was built in Fairy-land.

And I stood in a strange enchantment; I had known it all before: In my heart of hearts was the magic Of days that will come no more, The manic of joy departed, That Time can never restore.

That never, ah, never, never, Never again can be:- Shall I tell you what powerful fairy Built up this palace for me? It was only a little white Violet I found at the root of a tree.

VERSE: TWO WORLDS

God's world is bathed in beauty, God's world is steeped in light; It is the self-same glory That makes the day so bright, Which thrills the earth with music, Or hangs the stars in night.

Hid in earth's mines of silver, Floating on clouds above,-- Ringing in Autumn's tempest, Murmured by every dove; One thought fills God's creation-- His own great name of Love!

In God's world Strength is lovely, And so is Beauty strong, And Light--God's glorious shadow-- To both great gifts belong; And they all melt into sweetness, And fill the earth with Song.

Above God's world bends Heaven, With day's kiss pure and bright, Or folds her still more fondly In the tender shade of night; And she casts back Heaven's sweetness, In fragrant love and light.

God's world has one great echo; Whether calm blue mists are curled, Or lingering dew-drops quiver, Or red storms are unfurled; The same deep love is throbbing Through the great heart of God's world.

Man's world is black and blighted, Steeped through with self and sin; And should his feeble purpose Some feeble good begin, The work is marred and tainted By Leprosy within.

Man's world is bleak and bitter; Wherever he has trod He spoils the tender beauty That blossoms on the sod, And blasts the loving Heaven Of the great, good world of God.

There Strength on coward weakness In cruel might will roll; Beauty and Joy are cankers That eat away the soul; And Love--Oh God, avenge it-- The plague-spot of the whole.

Man's world is Pain and Terror; He found it pure and fair, And wove in nets of sorrow The golden summer air. Black, hideous, cold, and dreary, Man's curse, not God's, is there.

And yet God's world is speaking: Man will not hear it call; But listens where the echoes Of his own discords fall, Then clamours back to Heaven That God has done it all.

Oh God, man's heart is darkened, He will not understand! Show him Thy cloud and fire; And, with Thine own right hand Then lead him through his desert, Back to Thy Holy Land!

VERSE: A NEW MOTHER

I was with my lady when she died: I it was who guided her weak hand For a blessing on each little head, Laid her baby by her on the bed, Heard the words they could not understand.

And I drew them round my knee that night, Hushed their childish glee, and made them say They would keep her words with loving tears, They would not forget her dying fears Lest the thought of her should fade away.

I, who guessed what her last dread had been, Made a promise to that still, cold face, That her children's hearts, at any cost, Should be with the mother they had lost, When a stranger came to take her place.

And I knew so much! for I had lived With my lady since her childhood: known What her young and happy days had been, And the grief no other eyes had seen I had watched and sorrowed for alone.

Ah! she once had such a happy smile! I had known how sorely she was tried: Six short years before, her eyes were bright As her little blue-eyed May's that night, When she stood by her dead mother's side.

No--I will not say he was unkind; But she had been used to love and praise. He was somewhat grave--perhaps, in truth, Could not weave her joyous, smiling youth, Into all his stern and serious ways.

She, who should have reigned a blooming flower, First in pride and honour, as in grace,-- She, whose will had once ruled all around, Queen and darling of us all--she found Change indeed in that cold, stately place.

Yet she would not blame him, even to me, Though she often sat and wept alone; But she could not hide it near her death, When she said with her last struggling breath, "Let my babies still remain my own!"

I it was who drew the sheet aside, When he saw his dead wife's face. That test Seemed to strike right to his heart. He said, In a strange, low whisper, to the dead, "God knows, love, I did it for the best!"

And he wept--Oh yes, I will be just-- When I brought the children to him there-- Wondering sorrow in their baby eyes; And he soothed them with his fond replies, Bidding me give double love and care.

Ah, I loved them well for her dear sake: Little Arthur, with his serious air; May, with all her mother's pretty ways, Blushing, and at any word of praise Shaking out her sunny golden hair.

And the little one of all--poor child! She had cost that dear and precious life. Once Sir Arthur spoke my lady's name, When the baby's gloomy christening came, And he called her "Olga--like my wife!"

Save that time, he never spoke of her; He grew graver, sterner, every day; And the children felt it, for they dropped Low their voices, and their laughter stopped While he stood and watched them at their play.

No, he never named their mother's name. But I told them of her: told them all She had been; so gentle, good, and bright; And I always took them every night Where her picture hung in the great hall.

There she stood: white daisies in her hand, And her red lips parted as to speak With a smile; the blue and sunny air Seemed to stir her floating golden hair, And to bring a faint blush on her cheek.

Well, so time passed on; a year was gone, And Sir Arthur had been much away. Then the news came! I shed many tears When I saw the truth of all my fears Rise before me on that bitter day.

Any one but her I could have borne! But my lady loved her as her friend. Through their childhood and their early youth, How she used to count upon the truth Of this friendship that would never end!

Older, graver than my lady was, Whose young, gentle heart on her relied, She would give advice, and praise, and blame, And my lady leant on Margaret's name, As her dearest comfort, help, and guide.

I had never liked her, and I think That my lady grew to doubt her too, Since her marriage; for she named her less, Never saw her, and I used to guess At some secret wrong I never knew.

That might be or not. But now, to hear She would come and reign here in her stead, With the pomp and splendour of a bride: Would no thought reproach her in her pride With the silent memory of the dead?

So, the day came, and the bells rang out, And I laid the children's black aside; And I held each little trembling hand, As I strove to make them understand They must greet their father's new-made bride.

Ah, Sir Arthur might look grave and stern, And his lady's eyes might well grow dim, When the children shrank in fear away,-- Little Arthur hid his face, and May Would not raise her eyes, or speak to him.

When Sir Arthur bade them greet their "mother," I was forced to chide, yet proud to hear How my little loving May replied, With her mother's pretty air of pride,-- "Our dear mother has been dead a year!"

Ah, the lady's tears might well fall fast, As she kissed them, and then turned away. She might strive to smile or to forget, But I think some shadow of regret Must have risen to blight her wedding-day.

She had some strange touch of self-reproach; For she used to linger day by day, By the nursery door, or garden gate, With a sad, calm, wistful look, and wait Watching the three children at their play.

But they always shrank away from her When she strove to comfort their alarms, And their grave, cold silence to beguile: Even little Olga's baby-smile Quivered into tears when in her arms.

I could never chide them: for I saw How their mother's memory grew more deep In their hearts. Each night I had to tell Stories of her whom I loved so well When a child, to send them off to sleep.

But Sir Arthur--Oh, this was too hard!-- He, who had been always stern and sad In my lady's time, seemed to rejoice Each day more; and I could hear his voice Even, sounding younger and more glad.

He might perhaps have blamed them, but his wife Never failed to take the children's part: She would stay him with her pleading tone, Saying she would strive, and strive alone, Till she gained each little wayward heart.

And she strove indeed, and seemed to be Always waiting for their love, in vain; Yet, when May had most her mother's look, Then the lady's calm, cold accents shook With some memory of reproachful pain.

Little May would never call her Mother: So, one day, the lady, bending low, Kissed her golden curls, and softly said, "Sweet one, call me Margaret, instead,-- Your dear mother used to call me so."

She was gentle, kind, and patient too, Yet in vain: the children held apart. Ah, their mother's gentle memory dwelt Near them, and her little orphans felt She had the first claim upon their heart.

So three years passed; then the war broke out; And a rumour seemed to spread and rise; First we guessed what sorrow must befall, Then all doubt fled, for we read it all In the depths of her despairing eyes.

Yes; Sir Arthur had been called away To that scene of slaughter, fear, and strife,-- Now he seemed to know with double pain, The cold, bitter gulf that must remain To divide his children from his wife.

Nearer came the day he was to sail, Deeper grew the coming woe and fear, When, one night, the children at my knee Knelt to say their evening prayer to me, I looked up and saw Sir Arthur near.

There they knelt with folded hands, and said Low, soft words in stammering accents sweet; In the firelight shone their golden hair And white robes: my darlings looked so fair, With their little bare and rosy feet!

There he waited till their low "Amen;" Stopped the rosy lips raised for "Good night!"-- Drew them with a fond clasp, close and near, As he bade them stay with him, and hear Something that would make his heart more light.

Little Olga crept into his arms; Arthur leant upon his shoulder; May Knelt beside him, with her earnest eyes Lifted up in patient, calm surprise-- I can almost hear his words to-day.

"Years ago, my children, years ago, When your mother was a child, she came From her northern home, and here she met Love for love, and comfort for regret, In one early friend,--you know her name.

"And this friend--a few years older--gave Such fond care, such love, that day by day The new home grew happy, joy complete, Studies easier, and play more sweet, While all childish sorrows passed away.

"And your mother--fragile, like my May-- Leant on this deep love,--nor leant in vain. For this friend (strong, generous, noble heart!) Gave the sweet, and took the bitter part,-- Brought her all the joy, and kept the pain.

"Years passed on, and then I saw them first: It was hard to say which was most fair, Your sweet mother's bright and blushing face, Or the graver Margaret's stately grace; Golden locks, or braided raven hair.

"Then it happened, by a strange, sad fate, One thought entered into each young soul: Joy for one--if for the other pain; Loss for one--if for the other gain: One must lose, and one possess the whole.

"And so this--this--what they cared for--came And belonged to Margaret: was her own. But she laid the gift aside, to take Pain and sorrow for your mother's sake, And none knew it but herself alone.

"Then she travelled far away, and none The strange mystery of her absence knew. Margaret's secret thought was never told: Even your mother thought her changed and cold, And for many years I thought so too.

"She was gone; and then your mother took That poor gift which Margaret laid aside: Flower, or toy, or trinket, matters not: What it was had better be forgot . . . It was just then she became my bride.

"Now, I think May knows the hope I have. Arthur, darling, can you guess the rest? Even my little Olga understands Great gifts can be given by little hands, Since of all gifts Love is still the best.

"Margaret is my dear and honoured wife, And I hold her so. But she can claim From your hearts, dear ones, a loving debt I can neither pay, nor yet forget: You can give it in your mother's name.

"Earth spoils even Love, and here a shade On the purest, noblest heart may fall: Now your mother dwells in perfect light, She will bless us, I believe, to-night,-- She is happy now, and she knows all."

Next day was farewell--a day of tears; Yet Sir Arthur, as he rode away, And turned back to see his lady stand With the children clinging to her hand, Looked as if it were a happy day.

Ah, they loved her soon! The little one Crept into her arms as to a nest; Arthur always with her now; and May Growing nearer to her every day:-- --Well, I loved my own dear lady best.

VERSE: GIVE PLACE

Starry Crowns of Heaven Set in azure night! Linger yet a little Ere you hide your light:- --Nay; let Starlight fade away Heralding the day!

Snowflakes pure and spotless, Still, oh, still remain, Binding dreary winter, In your silver chain:- --Nay; but melt at once and bring Radiant sunny Spring!

Blossoms, gentle blossoms, Do not wither yet; Still for you the sun shines, Still the dews are wet:-- --Nay; but fade and wither last, Fruit must come at last!

Joy, so true and tender, Dare you not abide? Will you spread your pinions, Must you leave our side? --Nay; an Angel's shining grace Waits to fill your place!

VERSE: MY WILL

Since I have no lands or houses, And no hoarded golden store, What can I leave those who love me When they see my face no more? Do not smile; I am not jesting, Though my words sound gay and light, Listen to me, dearest Alice, I will make my Will to-night.

First for Mabel--who will never Let the dust of future years Dim the thought of me, but keep it Brighter still: perhaps with tears. In whose eyes, whate'er I glance at, Touch, or praise, will always shine, Through a strange and sacred radiance, By Love's Charter, wholly mine; She will never lend to others Slenderest link of thought I claim, I will, therefore, to her keeping Leave my memory and my name.

Bertha will do truer service To her kind than I have done, So I leave to her young spirit The long Work I have begun. Well! the threads are tangled, broken, And the colours do not blend, She will bend her earnest striving Both to finish and amend: And, when it is all completed, Strong with care and rich with skill, Just because my hands began it, She will love it better still.

Ruth shall have my dearest token, The one link I dread to break, The one duty that I live for, She, when I am gone, will take. Sacred is the trust I leave her, Needing patience, prayer, and tears; I have striven to fulfil it, As she knows--these many years. Sometimes hopeless, faint, and weary Yet a blessing shall remain With the task, and Ruth will prize it For my many hours of pain.

What must I leave you, my Alice? Nothing, Love, to do or bear, Nothing that can dim your blue eyes With the slightest cloud of care. I will leave my heart to love you, With the tender faith of old; Still to comfort, warm, and light you, Should your life grow dark or cold. No one else, my child, can claim it; Though you find old scars of pain, They were only wounds, my darling, There is not, I trust, one stain.

Are my gifts indeed so worthless Now the slender sum is told? Well, I know not: years may bless them With a nobler price than gold. Am I poor? ah no, most wealthy, Not in these poor gifts you take, But in the true hearts that tell me You will keep them for my sake.

VERSE: KING AND SLAVE

If in my soul, dear, An omen should dwell, Bidding me pause, ere I love thee too well; If the whole circle, Of noble and wise, With stern forebodings, Between us should rise.

I will tell them, dear, That Love reigns--a King, Where storms cannot reach him, And words cannot sting; He counts it dishonour His faith to recall; He trusts;--and for ever He gives--and gives all!

I will tell thee, dear, That Love is--a Slave, Who dreads thought of freedom, As life dreads the grave; And if doubt or peril Of change there may be, Such fear would but drive him Still nearer to thee!

VERSE: A CHANT

"Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini."

I.

Who is the Angel that cometh? Life! Let us not question what he brings, Peace or Strife, Under the shade of his mighty wings, One by one, Are his secrets told; One by one, Lit by the rays of each morning sun, Shall a new flower its petals unfold, With the mystery hid in its heart of gold. We will arise and go forth to greet him, Singly, gladly, with one accord;-- "Blessed is he that cometh In the name of the Lord!"

II.

Who is the Angel that cometh? Joy! Look at his glittering rainbow wings-- No alloy Lies in the radiant gifts he brings; Tender and sweet, He is come to-day, Tender and sweet: While chains of love on his silver feet Will hold him in lingering fond delay. But greet him quickly, he will not stay, Soon he will leave us; but though for others All his brightest treasures are stored;-- "Blessed is he that cometh In the name of the Lord!"

III.

Who is the Angel that cometh? Pain! Let us arise and go forth to greet him; Not in vain Is the summons come for us to meet him; He will stay, And darken our sun; He will stay A desolate night, a weary day. Since in that shadow our work is done, And in that shadow our crowns are won, Let us say still, while his bitter chalice Slowly into our hearts is poured,-- "Blessed is he that cometh In the name of the Lord!"

IV.

Who is the Angel that cometh? Death! But do not shudder and do not fear; Hold your breath, For a kingly presence is drawing near. Cold and bright Is his flashing steel, Cold and bright The smile that comes like a starry light To calm the terror and grief we feel; He comes to help and to save and heal: Then let us, baring our hearts and kneeling, Sing, while we wait this Angel's sword,-- "Blessed is he that cometh In the name of the Lord!"

VERSE: DREAM-LIFE

Listen, friend, and I will tell you Why I sometimes seem so glad, Then, without a reason changing, Soon become so grave and sad.

Half my life I live a beggar, Ragged, helpless, and alone; But the other half a monarch, With my courtiers round my throne.