Part 2
Into the Guardian Presence neither peril nor passion intrude, When low at the feet of the Saviour the fountain of life is renewed; As long as our country shall prosper, as long as our banner shall wave, Sever the bonds of oppression as they severed the bonds of the slave.
_ARISE, MY SOUL!_
Arise, my soul! forsake the shadows dreary, Where dark and dread battalions line the way; The grandest heights refuse to make us weary When we can struggle upward day by day.
Arise, my soul! do swift and valiant battle, Tread down the foe beneath thy steadfast feet; Fear not the stern assault, the cannon's rattle, A moment's failure makes the end more sweet.
Arise, my soul! lo! victory is waiting, Be not afraid to suffer and to dare; Push boldly on, no jot of strength abating, The crown is brighter for the cross we bear.
Arise, my soul! forsake the shadows dreary, Though dark and dread battalions line the way; The grandest heights can never make us weary If we but struggle upward day by day.
_A HYMN OF PRAISE._
O what gracious gifts are ours, when on every hand Bursting buds and blushing flowers beautify the land; Till a host of treasures lie, delicate and sweet, 'Neath the mantle of the sky, crushed by careless feet.
Many a floral gem is hid in a casket green, But a zephyr lifts the lid and its worth is seen; Through the meadows broad and fair, violets demure Scatter incense rich and rare, happy and secure.
As the seasons glide along, earth's a pleasant place, Just a miracle of song, typical of grace: Wondrous visions charm the eye while the moments flee, Each a message from on high sent to you and me.
See the swallows, how they roam in a ceaseless flight, Ever on the wing for home chanting their delight. Dare we steep our raptured souls in external bliss As life's mystery uprolls from fate's dull abyss?
Hark! the magic touch of Spring wakes a tender chord, O it is a joy to bring tribute to our Lord; Jesus calls us from despair, offers peace for strife; Our's the gift of praise and prayer; His, eternal life.
_BRIGHT AS THE SUNSHINE AFTER
SHOWERS._
When the heart lies crushed 'neath a load of sorrow, When life's broad river moves sad and slow; When hope is lost in a dread to-morrow, Where all is worry and weight and woe; When hands reject the cross they carry, When feet would falter and strength would fail, When better days seem bound to tarry; Eyes grow tearful and lips grow pale.
When even the pleasantest hours are dreary, And each new effort is like despair; When we are so worn and weak and weary, We fain would yield to the cruel care; Bright as the sunshine after showers, The smile of a friend illumes the way; Strewing the rugged path with flowers, Turning the even-tide to day.
_THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL._
No bridges stood uniting shore with shore And houses, bounded by the busy stream On either hand, were few; men caught a gleam Of crippled Boston, through whose highways tore The troops; embarking, on they swiftly bore 'Mid roaring cannon and the awful scream Of shells; poor puppets of a royal scheme To King Taxation's iron rule restore. The honest sod recoiled from their hot tread, But baffled fury trod with reckless haste Till hemmed about by their own slaughtered dead When twice the dizzy charge had been retraced; They found no weakling foe was that ahead And shivered at the task which yet they faced.
Above doomed Charlestown bombs were bursting shrill, And flaming steeples pierced the pitying sky As eager feet kept marching, marching by To where the cheer triumphant sent a thrill Athwart the loyal breast of Bunker Hill. "Aim low and fire!" Well might the red-coats fly Before the "echo" of brave Prescott's cry, A cry that speared them with defeat's cold chill. Though twice Columbia's pulse victorious stirred, Ere twilight could her sable shield prepare, A long derisive "British yell" was heard To summon forth battalions of despair; When it was only victory deferred To even lure the "Lion" from his lair.
With muskets clubbed our fathers held the slope Which midnight saw them arming for the fray, And still they strove to keep the foe at bay; Beside the fence they saw their comrades cope With those who would fore'er the star of hope Eclipse behind the slavery cloud and say:— "Thus Monarchy subdues her rebel prey." Although the fields were red they would not grope But dared the "Glasgow," dared the lance, the gun; And, founders of a nation, boldly sought On Prospect's brow the rest so nobly won, While other lands the blessed tidings caught Of daring deeds by "mere provincials" done, And marveled at the skill with which they fought.
_RISING TIDE._
Foam flecked the fragrant waves rush gayly up The creamy beach, or sport amid the reefs, With song's triumphant, on and on they come; And as the fair horizon bends her bow To guard the bay, a "liner" dim discerned Is signaled ere she softly sinks from view Behind the purple curtain of the deep.
Glance, graceful gull,— Through rifts of spray, until my raptured soul Baptized with joy attunes its eager harp To Ocean's mood ... so redolent with life, And hope, and destiny.
_THE GLORIOUS FOURTH._
On echo's pinions words inspired went ringing through the land, To bid the colonies as one for Independence stand, And Adams, Franklin, Livingston, were typical of men Who watched the march prophetic of the Jeffersonian pen, Which wrote: "We are and ought to be" and lo! they seemed to see A wreath of golden glory frame the magic emblem "_free!_" Oh, deep the joy that stirred the brave as Philadelphia's bell Gave forth the grateful tidings in a fervent "all is well!"
And sternest voices quivered while the laughter born of tears Disclosed a richer cadence in the quick, triumphant cheers; Though gazing down the vale of time, how could they then behold The beauty of a government of so divine a mould? While booming cannon shook the shore for many a dreary day, Columbia stood majestic 'mid the ardor of the fray; And in the act which swept aside the royalty of birth Beheld a matchless kingdom, and the emperor was _Worth_.
No more could Monarchy pretend to plant an iron heel Upon a weary people or the last forlorn appeal; And when Britannia rashly strove to break the spell defeat, She only made the footing of the Union more complete. For, by Mount Vernon's sacred shade, on Erie's broad expanse, The foe again was banished by the steady cry: "Advance!" And laurel wreathed must Perry's name indelibly be traced Upon the roll of honor which can never be effaced.
The "Glorious Fourth" of Sixty-three saw Vicksburg doomed to fall, As gallant sons of Freedom pressed rebellion to the wall; And while progression's brilliant light illumes the tender sky The heroes of the present must the present need supply. What happiness to meditate on how the nation grew Till swift electric chargers dare the steeds of steam pursue; How good it is to feel, to know, the truth of this decree That "God made all men equal" and beyond denial "Free."
_THE LORD WILL PROVIDE._
"The Lord will provide," a blackbird sings, Folding to rest his raptured wings; List to the song of the drowsy wind,— "The Lord will provide for he is kind."
"The Lord will provide," a farmer's stay, When storms, like foemen, throng the way; "Though blight bewilder the crops this year, The Lord will provide, good wife, no fear."
"The Lord will provide," a widow's moan Longing for joy the past has known; The weary needle forgets its woe As "He will provide," she whispers low.
"The Lord will provide," a sore heart sighed, "I in his boundless love confide." A step came staggering to the door; The Lord will provide forever more.
"The Lord will provide," a father said, My darlings will not want for bread; He who sees the wounded sparrow fall Will surely provide for one and all.
"The Lord will provide," sang Baby Nell; How sweetly the assurance fell On the spirit worn with grief and pain, Till the fainting faith revived again.
"The Lord will provide, my mamma, dear," And swift she kisses the healing tear From the grateful mother's pallid cheek; "The Lord provides for the poor and weak."
"The Lord will provide," an orphan wails, As every spring of living fails; "The Lord will provide," the martyr cries And, lo! with a smiling face he dies.
_JOY._
I sought for it everywhere In the circuit of earth and of air; In the blessing's ambition will bring; In beautiful, bountiful spring. I sought for it high and low, Where thought of a mortal may go; But never a trace could I find; I could not, for lo! I was blind.
_THE MISSING PATH._
Why should it seem so pleasant, the path we missed to-day? With flowers fair and fragrant that ran along the way; The sky all bright above it; the breezes balmy sweet, Why should it seem so pleasant, the path we fain would meet.
Why should it seem so pleasant, although we could not see Its living lines of beauty unfolding full and free? Well we knew each winding would our weary feet invite, Gliding upward, onward, through the realms of life and light.
Why should it seem so pleasant, the path we missed to-day, Blooming fresh and fragrant as the flowers of the May? The sky all bright above it; the breezes balmy sweet, Why should it seem so pleasant, the path we fain would meet?
_LIFE._
Life is like the ocean Broad and deep; Billows of emotion O'er it sweep; We must battle boldly With the tide, Lest it waft us coldly Far and wide.
Life is bright or dreary Where we dwell; Though our feet are weary, All is well, Ever bravely pressing On our way; Fairer is the blessing Day by day.
Life is like a jewel In the rough; Cut it, be not cruel Just enough. Polish, till its glory Full, divine, Tells a noble story; Even thine.
_ANOTHER DAY._
Another day, another day, How swiftly it has sailed away. It brought us moments,—precious things, Of fairy frame and willing wings; But as they flee, we sigh and say, "Alas, for thee, another day!"
Another day, another day Is riding boldly on its way; May we be brave to do and bear, And in its full fruition share! For sweet it is when we can say, "How good to have another day."
_THE FUTURE._
The work of the future! How much it may mean To you and to me. 'Mid the wide-sweeping meadows of truth we may glean Unchallenged, unseen; As blithe as a bee.
And then of a sudden, on some golden morn, The world shall agree Of the mother, Ambition, a genius is born; Nay! be not forlorn, The future is free.
_DO NOT SAY THAT THE WORLD IS COLD._
Do not say that the world is cold, The world is a glorious place, And friends are the same as of old For each has a generous face. It is only ourselves that have changed, The present eclipses the past, And we are too early estranged From the love which endures to the last.
This pride, is it never to blame? Is the word so easy to speak Withheld, while we barter for fame The life we are yearning to seek? 'Mid the desolate tracks of the soul, Full oft an oasis is hid By turning aside from the goal, Or the too sudden droop of a lid.
Alas! as we go on alone, How little we value the cost Of sacrifice, save for our own, In the joy another has lost. Should we pause to consider the heart, And fathom the depth of its grief, No power could keep us apart, Though the parting were never so brief.
It is ours to bask if we will Within the bright sunlight of truth: To sip of the cup which we fill In the fair, sweet morning of youth. And our friends, they are ever our own To comfort, to cherish, sustain; Though often the care is unknown, 'Tis enough if we banish the pain.
Enough, when we give of our best, A brother is cheered on his way; Enough, if the weary may rest 'Mid the fervid heat of the day. 'Tis enough if the burden we bear But eases the load of a friend; Enough, if the burden we share, We are worthy to share to the end.
_A SONG TO THE ZEPHYR._
The drowsy waves are lulled to rest, Are lulled to rest on ocean's breast; On ocean's breast that gently swells Like Moore's delightful "Evening Bells."
Those bells that with bewitching chime Go pealing down the vale of time; On echo's wing they swiftly spring, And then athwart the world they ring.
Oh, dainty zephyr sweep the deep And bid the languid pulses leap; Oh, sweep the deep with fragrant sighs, In sweet communion with the skies.
From favored regions far beyond, We catch a glimmer of thy wand; Thy magic wand whose happy charm Shall every foe of love disarm.
So what care we for idle fear, For idle fear when thou art near; When thou art near to waft along The kindred graces—joy and song.
Oh, dainty zephyr, sweep the deep Where dimpled muses softly sleep; Asleep in ocean's arms they lie, Like autumn in the tranquil sky.
Fulfil the soul's supreme desire, To liquid notes the harp inspire; To music sweet as wood and lake When fair Aurora cries "Awake!"
Ay, dainty zephyr, fan the sea And bid yon schooner dance with glee; Yon schooner dance with glee, to breast The billows in their vague unrest.
Come, O spirit of the breeze, I hear a whisper in the trees; A whisper in the trees, and now I feel fair fingers on my brow.
The harp to sweeter pitch is strung, To sweeter pitch the chords are rung Till liquid sweetness stirs the air, As if an angel floated there.
Floated there in bliss divine, In bliss too holy to define; In bliss so high I sigh, I faint, The image of that bliss to paint.
_LAUGH AND BE HAPPY._
Laugh and be happy, laugh while you may, Laugh 'mid the wild, rushing storms of to-day; Breasting the current when downward it trends, Grand is the battle if grandly it ends.
Laugh and be happy; laugh, it is best, Sailing the wide sweeping sea of unrest; Though the dark billows are running so high, Courage! my brother, the haven is nigh.
Laugh and be happy, laugh while you may, Laugh 'mid the wild, rushing storms of to-day; Faith, like a beacon light, woos us along, Fill the glad moments with laughter and song.
_SPARE THE TREES._
The noble trees that boldly guard the brave In pride serene; their lofty domes are sweet To pavement-weary eyes, and town-worn feet Move with a freer step as o'er the grave Of Ladd, of Whitney, their cool banners wave. How passing fair upon the thriving street The soothing beauty of this calm retreat; Awake, O city! and thine ancients save. What grace the tone refined of sylvan shade Sheds on the busy square; the Hall, embossed With figures quaint by Sol himself inlaid. Throw down the pruning axe and count the cost; Ay, spare the trees; let none the theme evade, For what is "time," when such as these are lost.
_THOUGHTS OF YOU._
I have thought of you many times On blissful heights; in the vale of woe; Memory's chorus smoothly chimes To a rhythmic measure's mellow flow, The joyful echo of long ago.
I have prayed for you o'er and o'er, 'Mid a fleet of shadows dark and drear Coasting close by the silent shore; My grateful spirit is ever near, Unchecked by peril, unawed by fear.
I have trusted you, faithful, true, Though the tempest's wrathful fingers rend Hope's tortured sails and doubts pursue, What matter whither the storm may trend? With love my compass and you my friend.
I have wanted you more and more While threading the world's delusive maze; Deaf to its ceaseless rush and roar Through a dreary medley of weary days, We still could journey in kindred ways.
I have watched for you, watched in vain, To the smiling future clinging fast; The even-time of grief, of pain Must yield to a beautiful dawn at last When the heavy clouds have drifted past.
_TRUE, AH, TRUE, THE ROSES FALL._
_Companion to "Leaf by Leaf the Roses Fall."_
True, ah, true, the roses fall, And in drops the springs run dry; Slowly, surely, past recall, Summer beauties hasten by. True, the roses bloom again And the springs gush forth anew, Singing sweeter for the pain That could check but not subdue.
Ay, we know how deepest gloom Makes the springs of gladness fail; But when in their richest bloom Droop the roses, wan and pale; Search and find the hope that strives, Poor, downtrodden germ apart; Nurture kindly till it thrives, Fairest blossom of the heart.
Dark may be the days and years Strewn with leaves of roses dead; Smile we brighter for the tears When the northern winds have fled. Singer sweet, the thought is true,— Roses fade and springs run dry; But there's nothing old or new That has life can ever die.
Sweetest hopes must needs be fed If they'd spring to life anew, When grief's winter shall have fled, Giving place to sun and dew; When earth withers like the rose, All its treasure leaves closed up, Then that other blossom blows Life immortal in its cup.
_LAUGH ON._
Laugh on! happy heart, For the sunshine part Is sweetest to play; It works in a way, The acme of art.
With a merry start Let it onward dart; Through the night, the day, Laugh on.
In the busy mart, The worry and smart; Of living be gay And banish dismay; Laugh on! happy heart, Laugh on.
_THE WORKER BEE._
Through the fields of nodding clover Comes a dainty little rover; On from bud to blossom hasting, Not the smallest moment wasting. Ever gay and uncomplaining, Nature's honeyed chalice draining; Merry little worker bee, Ev'ry day a jubilee.
Past the "red-cap's" fragrant bower To a modest sister flower, In whose tender heart reposes All the sweets of all the roses; Then with golden trophies laden Homeward hums this busy _maiden_; Merry little worker bee, Ev'ry day a jubilee.
_THE COMFORTER._
He seeketh the rich and the poor, The weary, long suffering, sad; He giveth them strength to endure, He maketh them glad. Out of the midst of their sorrow He bringeth them peace; Ruleth to-day as to-morrow, When sorrow shall cease.
_THE CLOUDS CANNOT LAST FOREVER._
The clouds cannot last forever, my friend, To-day or to-morrow the sun must shine; The heaviest showers must have an end, For that is the Will Divine. Our hearts are heavy when clouds hang low And tempests of sorrow sweep the land; But sooner or later they all must go, And then we shall understand.
_THE HEART THAT IS HARD TO WIN._
Is there a heart that is hard to win, A heart to itself untrue? Never is heart so wrapped in sin That the light cannot creep through. Never are feet so slow to climb As the feet too softly shod; Never is life so full, sublime, As the life that leads to God.
_SLEEP, MINSTREL, SLEEP!_
_Celia Thaxter._
Sleep, minstrel, sleep! The island home is lonely, dear, to-day, And moaning billows ceaseless vigil keep. Sleep, minstrel, sleep!
Sleep, minstrel, sleep! A hallowed light illuminates the bay, Where thy sweet spirit loved to hymn the deep. Sleep, minstrel, sleep!
Sleep, minstrel, sleep! Though generations rise and pass away, Thy songs sublime shall still the silence sweep. Sleep, minstrel, sleep!
Sleep, minstrel, sleep! Beside thy couch eternal fountains play And angels hover near thee:—yet, we weep. Sleep, minstrel, sleep!
_THE STORM._
Off fair Nahant the gulls are sweeping low, And waves beat wild against the rugged wall By yonder point. Afar, twin schooners crawl Close reefed; they well may shun the ruddy glow That climbs the West, but boldly face the foe. From boat to boat resounds a warning call As shore and ocean shiver 'neath a pall Flame lit. When, tempest-tortured, to and fro We flee before the gale, while lances flash From passion-freighted clouds; to hope we cling, Though thought runs riot. Storm battalions clash! Can sail survive? Ay, scorn the cruel sting! One effort more, just one more fearless dash— And white-browed breakers with rejoicings ring.
_'MID ETERNAL SNOW._
Alone, amid the wild secluded heights Where Winter holds his solitary sway, We wrestle with the fury of the storm, The savage sleet and passion-laden gale; A sleeping avalanche beneath our feet And ice-capped giants menacing the way. Behold, athwart the ebon brow of night The "fire-zoned orb" with beauteous light illumes A distant mountain's irridescent rim; And morning flits with swift, impetuous step Adown the snow-clad slopes, benignant, free. Below us lie the valleys, urns of gloom, Concealing nature's precious treasure trove. From thence a hundred peaks Proclaim the royal conquest of the dawn; All rosy-robed and golden-crowned they stand, Their rich prismatic splendors softly limned Upon the dappled curtain of the sky.
_OUR DEAR ONES._
How tender we are of our dear ones, we never can smile at their pain; We never can laugh when they sorrow, we never can love them in vain. How careful we are of our dear ones, what sympathy wakes at a glance; What happiness waits on their presence to ev'ry new blessing enhance.
How patient we are with our dear ones, though hearts may with anguish be wrung; We ever are one with their sadness, no matter how timid or young. How gentle we are with our dear ones when swiftly the tide rushes by; How ready to share in each trouble, how ready to echo each sigh.