Chapter 3
Our field is the world!--whether sowing or reaping, Or gleaning the handfuls that others have passed, Or waiting the growth of the seed that, with weeping, On rocky and desolate plains we have cast, Yet each for his toiling, and each for his mourning, Shall sometime rejoice when the harvest is done, And know, in the flush of Eternity's morning, That the toil, the reward, and the glory are one.
SAULT STE. MARIE
Laughing and singing With rhythmical flow, Leaping and springing, O light-hearted Sault!-- Tossing up snowy hands In thy glad play, Shaking out dewy locks Bright with the spray,-- Joyously ever Thy bright waters go, Yet wearying never, O beautiful Sault!
Kingly Superior Leaps to thy arms, And all his broad waters Are bright with thy charms; They sparkle, and glitter, And flash in their play, Chasing ripple and rainbow Away and away! Weary, I ween, Of his solemn repose, Gaily the mighty Flood Flashes and glows; And, buoyantly, brightly, Fleet-footed or slow, Doth dance with thee lightly, Unwearying Sault!
If I were a fairy I'd dance with thee too, Daily and nightly, Unfalt'ring and true;-- In sunlight and starlight, In darkness and day, As free as the breezes, As glad in our play! We'd sing in the darkness, We'd laugh in the light, We'd whirl in the eddies At noonday and night,-- We'd toss up the waters In sunshine, to see How they'd fling us back di'monds And gold in their glee;-- Such amethysts, topazes, Rubies and pearls, As we'd strew o'er the tide In our innocent whirls, And never be lonely, Or weariness know-- Ourselves, and us only-- O light-hearted Sault!
Yet the dance is thine own, And the song and the glee, Thou dwellest alone, Untrammelled and free Our ships may not glide O'er thy bosom,--our feet May not trace out one path, Or explore one retreat! We may hollow our channels To left or to right, And glide on our way With thy gambols in sight, Yet this, and this only, Of thee we may know, Thou lone, but not lonely, Free, fetterless Sault!
Farewell, ye bright waters,-- We part, and for aye!-- My pathway leads on O'er the billows away;-- These feet will grow weary In life's busy mart, These eyes be oft tear-dim, And heavy this heart; But thou wilt sing on In thy joyous unrest, Unchanging, unwearying, Buoyant and blest While the slow-footed centuries Glide on their way, And nations grow hoary, And sink in decay,-- Thou, tireless and tameless, Unchecked in thy flow, Shalt sing on as ever, O beautiful Sault!
BROTHER, REST.
IN MEMORY OF THE REV. J. E. V.
Rest, brother, rest! Thy eyes no more shall weep O'er unhealed anguish and unconquered sin; Thy peaceful slumber, tranquilized and deep, Is marred no more by Earth's discordant din. Calm are the skies above thy quiet bed, And calm is Earth in Summer-glories dressed, And cool and sweet the fresh mould richly spread Above thy folded hands and peaceful breast.
Oh, could my voice thy placid slumber break, And win thee back to mortal scenes again,-- Bid thee, unblamed, thy heavenly paths forsake, Once more to walk with me 'mid care and pain, I could not, dare not breathe the word, for thou Hast long enough toiled where the dark curse lies On all Earth's fairest fruitage;--brother, now Thou seest the "goodly land" with unveiled eyes!
Oh no! I would not breathe that word, though life For me be sadder for the smile I miss; For thou hast gained a home unreached by strife, Undimmed by tears--a home of changeless bliss! There, in sweet fellowship with angels blessed, And all the crowned and glorified above, In thy loved Saviour's longed-for presence rest, And bask forever in the light of LOVE!
LOVED AND LOST, --OR-- THE SKY-LARK AND THE VIOLET.
VIOLET'S SONG
I.
Come down from thy dazzling sphere, Bird of the gushing song! Come down where the young leaves whisper low, While the breeze steals in with a murmurous flow, And the tender branches wave to and fro In the soft air all day long!
I have watched thy daring wing Cleaving the sun-bright air, Where the snowy cloud is asleep in light, Or dreamily floating in robes of white, While thy soul gushed forth in its song's free might, Till my spirit is dim with care.
For oh, I have loved thee well, Thou of the soaring wing!-- And I fear lest the angels that sit on high, In the calm, still depths of the upper sky, Will love with a tenderer love than I, As they stoop to hear thee sing
Come down from the heights, my bird, And warble thy lays to me! I shall pine and droop in my grassy nook For the passionate song that my spirit shook, And the low, sad voice of the grieving brook Will murmur all night of thee!
I shall sit alone--_alone_, While the noontide hour steals by; And mournful the woodland's music will be,-- Mournful the blue, calm heavens to me,-- Mournful the glory on earth and sea,-- And mournful the sunset sky!
O voice of exulting song!-- O bright, unwavering eye!-- O free wing soaring in fetterless flight Up to the Fountain of quenchless Light!-- O, Earth that darken'st in sudden night, I shudder, and faint, and die!
SKY-LARK'S SONG
II.
From the dewy grass upspringing-- From my wing the pearl-drops flinging-- Upward, with exultant singing, Let me--let me fly! Sun, with gemmed and flashing banners, List my rapturous hosannas-- As I mount, on circling wing, Higher, o'er the fragrant meadow,-- O'er the forest's broken shadow,-- O'er the hill-tops green and golden,-- Where the ivied ruins olden Echo out with sudden gladness As I break their brooding sadness With the lays I sing!
Joy, joy!--I have caught the song Of the angels that sit above!-- And warble in musical chorus alway Those notes that oftentimes earthward stray So tenderly sweet at the fall of day, What time the rose-bud's trembling spray Thrills with their lays of love!-- Joy, joy!--I have caught the song Of bright ones that sit above!-- And the far-off Earth's a forgotten thing, As I mount on free and fetterless wing, Up to the sun-fields where they sing, Drawn on by their soul of love!
Hush! is it a voice of Earth-- Of the far-away Earth, I hear? Breathing of the fragrant meadow,-- Of the drooping willow's shadow,-- Of the breezes' gentle sighing,-- Of the brooklet's low replying,-- Of the blue, o'er-arching heaven,-- Of the violet-curtained even,-- Of the tender, dreamy starlight,-- Of the hushed, majestic midnight?-- And through all that murmur so sad and low, Meanings of passionate anguish flow, Till I feel a weight on my glancing wing Bearing me earthward while yet I sing, With its burden of heavy woe.
VIOLET'S SONG
III.
Bird, I am drooping in tears alone, Pressing my cheek 'gainst the cold, grey stone, And looking upward with aching eye, Through the tender depths of the morning sky;-- But thy form fades out in that glorious sea That lieth so calmly 'twixt thee and me; A speck--it is lost in the azure deep! And I droop in the deepening gloom, and weep My sorrowful life away!
O voice of passionate song!-- O bright, unwavering eye!-- O free wing soaring in limitless flight Beyond the stretch of my aching sight! How the cold earth darkens in sudden night! How I shudder, and faint, and die!
SKY-LARK'S SONG
IV.
Fainter and fainter--'tis heard no more-- That plaintive strain from Earth's lessening shore-- And I fling its weight from my fetterless wing, Higher and higher in heaven to sing, Afar from Earth's faded shore! I shall take my seat in the clouds, I shall sit beside the Sun,-- I shall gaze with calm, unfaltering eye On the face of the radiant one! O glorious, kingly Sun!-- O brightly beautiful one!-- O Monarch, sitting serenely bright, In thy quenchless glory on heaven's height, I am upward drawn to thee!-- And thy fiery spirit's ardent flame Is downward-drawn to me! Sun, with gemmed and flashing banners, List my rapturous hosannas, As I circle nearer,--nearer,-- Where your rays burn brighter, clearer,-- Up, on wings of strong desire, Higher still, and ever higher!
VIOLET'S SONG
V.
I droop by the cold, grey stone!-- I faint in the smitten day!-- I hear not the song of my own free bird Whose joyous music my glad heart stirred But yester-morn! I can see no more The humming-bird's wing as it flutters o'er The fragrant clover-bloom! The brook, with a far-off, sorrowful tone, Seemeth in measureless grief to moan As it hurrieth on its way-- The breath of my lost perfume Floats on the wandering breeze, Over the meadow's perishing bloom, Over the cold, blue seas! I would not gather it back, I would not fill anew With love's pure incense my broken urn, For the lost can never more return From the sky's encompassing blue!
It is well!--I would not hang A weight on his fetterless wing; For was he not made for the sun-bright sky?-- To face the glories that burn on high?-- And I, to sit 'mid Earth's fading bloom, And waste my life in the faint perfume I fling to the thankless breeze?-- Let him cleave the azure infinite!-- Let him pour his soul out in song's free might!-- Till the white-robed seraphs that dwell in light Shall stoop to hear him sing!-- Be it mine to fade ere the day-beams die, And alone in the sighing grass to lie, With my dull face turned to the tearless sky, A faded, forgotten thing!
THE GRACIOUS PROVIDER.
_"They need not go away!"_ the Master said, _"Give ye to them."_ Ah, Lord, behold our store-- These loaves, these fishes,--see, we have no more! How shall this fainting throng with these be fed? _"Make them sit down!"_--and the disciples sped To do His will. He blessed, and brake, and gave And as they ate, each heart grew strong and brave, Filled, till they craved no more, with hallowed bread. Thus, when our hearts grow faint, and stores are small, And thou demandest all that we possess, O, help us, Lord, to bring that little all, Knowing shouldst thou the gift accept and bless, Our worthless store, so changed and glorified, Ourselves shall feed, and fainting throngs beside.
REST IN HEAVEN
When tossed on time's tempestuous tide, By angry storms resistless driven, One hope can bid our fears subside-- It is the hope of rest in Heaven.
With trusting heart we lift our eyes Above the dark clouds, tempest-driven, And view, beyond those troubled skies, The peaceful, stormless rest of Heaven.
No more to shed the exile's tears,-- No more the heart by anguish riven,-- No longer bent 'neath toilful years,-- How sweet will be the rest of Heaven
GOOD NIGHT
Good night, good night!--the day Slowly has borne away, Music and light; Once more the starry train Sweeps over vale and plain, Soft falls the dews again-- Good night-good night!
Day's weary toils are done, Set is the glorious sun, Faded the light;-- Now, to the weary breast Ever a welcome guest,-- Comes the sweet hour of rest-- Good night--good night!
Evening's cool shadows lie Calmly o'er earth and sky; And, from the height Of the far, wooded hill, Sends the lone whip-poor-will, Softer and sweeter still, Plaintive good night.
Gently let slumber lie On every weary eye Tired of the light! E'en as the folded flowers Sleep in the forest bowers, Rest, through the silent hours-- Good night--good night!
THE OLD CHURCH CHOIR
I am slowly treading the mazy track That leadeth, through sunshine and shadows, back-- Through freshest meads where the dews yet cling As erst they did to each lowly thing, Where flowers bloom and where streamlets flow With the tender music of long ago-- To the far-off past that, through mists of tears, In its spring time loveliness still appears, And wooes me back to the gleaming shore Of sunny years that return no more.
And to night, all weary, and sad, and lone, I return in thought to those bright years flown, Whose lingering sweetness, e'en yet, I feel Like the breath of flower-scents over me steal I am treading o'er mounds where the dead repose,-- I am stirring the dust of life's perished rose,-- I am rustling the withered leaves that lie Thick in the pathway of Memory,-- And calling out from each lonely hill Echoes of voices forever still.
And I pause again where I stood of yore In the Sabbath light at an old church door, And, ling'ring a moment, I turn to view The green hills leaning against the blue As erewhile they stood in the golden calm Of morning's sunlight and breath of balm, With clustering verdure, and blossoming trees, And gush of bird song and hum of bees, And glancing shadows that came and went Of soft clouds high in the firmament, Floating away in their robes of white On snowy pinions through realms of light.
And I see again through the azure sky The same white cloudlets still floating by; And a greener line through the meadow shows Where a little streamlet still, singing, flows; And out from a woodland there floats again Of joyous warblers the old, sweet strain; While still, with serious, reverent air, Aged and young seek the house of prayer.
And with them I enter the narrow door That open stands as it stood of yore; And look up again at the windows tall,-- At the narrow aisles and the naked wall,-- At the high, straight pulpit with cushion red, And its worn, old Bible still open spread,-- At the pews where, unhindered, the slant rays fall,-- At the long, plain gallery over all Where maid and matron, and son and sire, Together sang in the old church-choir.
And again, as I listen, I seem to hear The strains of old, half-forgotten Mear, And solemn China, and grave Dundee, And stately Rockingham, calm and free, And rare Old-Hundred's majestic swell, And tender Hebron we loved so well, And tuneful Stonefield's melodies sweet, Bridgewater, Windham, and Silver-street, And rich St. Martin, and yet again Old Coronation's exultant strain, And sweet Devizes' slow, warbled tone, Resounding Lenox and Arlington, And gentle Boyleston, and many more Which Memory holds in her treasured store, That rise and fall on the tranquil air, As they did of old, in this house of prayer; Where, Sabbath by Sabbath, for many a year, Often and often we sang them here.
For many a year--but they all are flown, The band is broken, and hushed each tone, And voices that mingled in tuneful breath, Are silent now in the hush of death! Scattered like Autumn-leaves far and near Are those who clustered together here,-- Gone, like flowers in the swift stream cast, Like wandering birds when the summer's past, Like perfume shed in the tempest's track, Never again to be gathered back!
I am thinking now of a young, fair face, A brow of beauty, a form of grace, The tender tones of whose sweet voice long Swelled richly forth in our Sabbath-song; But she laid her own, in a loved one's hand, And he led her forth to a distant land, Where a home, all radiant with love's pure beam, Fulfilled her girlhood's enraptured dream;-- Yet she only pined 'neath the stranger's sky, And he brought her back to her own--to die!
The breath of Spring-time was on the plain, And flowers were bursting to life again, And birds were carolling full and free On the leafy boughs of the forest tree, When the sweetest voice in our tuneful throng Faltered and failed from our choral song, And we laid her down at her pure life's close, Peaceful and pale in her last repose.
The silvery Thames, as it glides along, Murmurs anear her its old, sweet song;-- The tuneful robin sings still, as when He warbled for her in the woodland glen;-- The star she loved, through the long, still night Keeps his old, calm watch 'mid the planets bright;-- Her favorite flowers are still as fair As when twined 'mid the braids of her raven hair;-- But the voice we missed in that far-off Spring Is only heard where the angels sing!
And yet another,--I see him now, With his manly bearing and noble brow-- Who turned away from our old church-choir, To sing with the angels in worship higher --As an alien bird 'neath inclement skies Foldeth its pinions to earth and dies, So he, o'erwearied with life's unrest, Folded his mantle around his breast, And, meekly bowing his weary head, Went down to rest with the quiet dead, And long were the hearts that had loved him lone For the absent form and the missing tone!
There was still another. I yet behold That form as I saw it in days of old, As we stood in the calm of those Sabbath days, And mingled our voices in hymns of praise. --Ah! little we dreamed as we saw him there In his proud, young beauty, with brow so fair, And eye so lustrous, and tones so clear, That the cruel spoiler was then so near;-- We dreamed it not, till we saw the light Of his clear eyes growing so strangely bright. And the flush of health on his cheek give place To the deadly hectic's burning trace!
There's a tranquil isle amid Southern seas-- A fair isle, swept by no wintry breeze-- Where the wandering zephyr through long, bright hours Gathers the perfume of orange bowers, And roses droop in the fragrant bloom Of their summer life o'er a nameless tomb, --In that nameless tomb he is laid to rest, And the dust of the stranger is on his breast, And the breath of the South sweeps its viewless lyre O'er another lost from our old church-choir
One dreamt of wealth on a distant shore, And he wandered far to return no more, For the deadly pestilence swept his path, And the strong man drooped 'neath its burning wrath, And he sleeps alone in the shining dust Whose golden promises mocked his trust!
By a lonely lake in the boundless West, Another reposes in dreamless rest,-- And yet another--her pure life done-- Slumbers far off toward the setting sun, And the youngest voice in our old church-choir Is to-day attuned to a seraph's lyre
That old church choir--I am standing lone Where we stood together in days by gone, But the tranquil air by no voice is stirred Save the lonely call of a distant bird. The grey, old church is no longer seen, But the rank grass over its site grows green, And, 'mid the tomb-stones, with sighing breath, The sad wind whispers of change and death
Hush! is it fancy?--or do I hear A far-off melody, faint yet clear, Of gentle voices, sweet tones of yore, Tenderly borne from an unseen shore? --Ah! loved, long parted, ye're joined once more In the Sabbath light of a changeless shore! And there, with never a jarring note, Your joyous anthems forever float In sweet accord with the seraph strains That sweep unchecked o'er celestial plains; And I long to rejoin you in regions higher, Loved ones, long lost from our old church-choir!
NO OTHER NAME
"For there is none other name under heaven, given among men, whereby we must be saved."
Jesus! the only name that's given, Through which salvation we may claim; This, this alone, we breathe to Heaven, For God accepts no other name.
No other name when skies are bright. And sunshine glows on field and flower; No other name when, dark as night, The heavy clouds tempestuous lower.
No other name when, drooping low, O'erburdened by sin's heavy load, The contrite spirit pines to know The way to hope, to Heaven, to God.
No other name when, like a flood, Temptations beat upon the soul; Faith, breathing that one name to God, The raging billows shall control.
In peace or conflict, toil or rest, In wealth or want, in praise or blame, Still wear it graven on thy breast, And, dying, plead _no other name!_
HEART-PICTURES
Two pictures, strangely beautiful, I hold In Mem'ry's chambers, stored with loving care Among the precious things I prized of old, And hid away with tender tear and prayer The first, an aged woman's placid face Full of the saintly calm of well spent years, Yet bearing in its pensive lines the trace Of weariness, and care, and many tears.
We sat together in our Sabbath-place, Through the hushed hours of many a holy day, And sweet it was to watch the gentle grace Of that bowed form with those who knelt to pray, And lifted face, when swelled the sacred psalm, And the rich promise of God's word was shed Upon her waiting heart like heavenly balm, And all our souls with angels' meat were fed.
There came a day when missing was that face,-- The form so meekly bent in prayer was gone,-- Those lifted eyes, so radiant with praise, Beyond the spheres in saintly beauty shone!-- Another crowned one swelling Heaven's high train-- Another loved one missed from our low shrine,-- Hers, the rich wealth of Heaven's eternal gain,-- A tearful trust, a tender memory, mine!
The other picture is a young, fair child-- A gentle boy, with curls of clustered gold, And calm, dark eyes that seldom more than smiled As though his life had grown too grave and old-- Too full of earnest thought, and anxious quest, And silent searchings after things unseen;-- And yet, the quiet child seemed strangely blest, As one who inly feels Heaven's peace serene.
So close beside me, in his Sabbath-place, He sat or stood, my hand I might have laid Upon his rippling curls, or dropped a kiss Upon his fair, white forehead while he prayed. Frail, beauteous boy!--upon his little feet-- Though all unheard by love's quick ear attent-- E'en then Death's chilling waters sternly beat, And with his sweet child-hymns their murmurs blent.
One Sabbath day there was an empty seat-- I could not see for blinding tears that hour-- But by and by, where Living waters meet In God's fair Paradise, I saw my flower, And ceased to weep!-Henceforth with loving care, These precious pictures in my heart I shrine-- Food for sweet thought, incentive to sweet prayer-- My own, until I reach _their_ home and _mine!_
FELLOWSHIP WITH CHRIST
To pray as Jesus prayed, When faithless brethren sleep,-- To weep the ruin sin has made-- The only ones that weep,-- To bear the heavy cross,-- To toil, yet murmur not,-- To suffer pain, reproach, and loss,-- Be such our earthly lot.
Yet oh, how richly blest The Master's cup to share,-- The aching grief that wrung His breast,-- His broken-hearted prayer,-- If thus we may but gain One sheaf of golden wheat Gleaned from Earth's sultry harvest-plain, To lay at His dear feet!--
If thus we may but win One precious earthly gem Snatched from the mire of vice and sin, For His rich diadem!-- Here, sorrow, patience, prayer; In Heaven, the rich reward! Here, the sharp thorns, the cross,--and there "Forever with the Lord"!
AN ALLEGORY
AN OLD LESSON IN A NEW DRESS.
"Here is a lantern, my little boy," Said a father to his child, "And yonder's a wood, a lonely wood, Tangled, and rough, and wild; And now, this night,--this very hour, Though gloomy and dark it be, By the single light of this lamp alone, You must cross the wild to me!