Chapter 7

Somewhere, I know, there wait for me Sweet tones that wander back betimes Through the charmed gates of Memory, Like far-off swell of Sabbath chimes; And fair, sweet faces, dimly seen In the uncertain light of dreams, And glances, tender and serene As star-beams mirrored soft in streams;-- They wait for me who long have missed, From the lone paths I since have pressed, The hands I clasped, the lips I kissed, The loves that life's young morning blessed,-- Wait long, while still, through mist and tears I darkly wend my pilgrim way, Until for me the dawn appears And night gives place to perfect day

IV.

Somewhere, I know, in brighter lands, ONE waits--"the Fairest of the Fair"-- With loving words and gentle hands, To welcome all who gather there. "Father, I will," we heard Him say, "That those whom thou hast given me Be with me where I am, that they My glory evermore may see!" And there, without a veil between, The sweetness of His face to hide, Him whom I've loved yet never seen, I shall behold well satisfied-- And, viewing Him, shall sweetly be Transformed into His image bright, And through a glad Eternity Walk in His love's unclouded light!

THE TIDE.

Landward the tide setteth buoyantly breezily,-- Landward the waves ripple sparkling and free,-- Ho, the proud ship, like a thing of life, easily, Gracefully sweeps o'er the white-crested sea! In from the far-away lands she is steering now, Straight for her anchorage, fearless and free,-- Lo, as I gaze, how she seems to be nearing now, Sun-lighted shores, a still haven, _and me_!

Landward the tide setteth!--mark my proud argosy As the breeze flutters her pennons of snow, Wafting from far the glad mariner's melody O'er the blue waters in rhythmical flow! Tell me, oh, soul of mine, what is the freightage fair 'Neath her white wings that she beareth to thee? Treasures of golden ore, gems from Golconda's shore, Lo, she is bringing me over, the sea!

* * * * *

Seaward the tide setteth hoarsely and heavily,-- Seaward the tide setteth steady and stern;-- Oh, my proud ship!--she has missed the still haven! see, Baffled and drifting, far out she is borne!-- Far from the shore, and the weak arms that helplessly, Wildly, are stretched toward the lessening sail!-- Far, far from shore, and the white hands that hopelessly Flutter in vain in the loud shrieking gale!

Seaward the tide setteth--oh my rich argosy, Freighted with treasures ungrasped and unwon!-- Oh, the dark rocks!--the dread crash!--the fierce agony!-- And seaward more madly the tide rushes on! Gems and red gold won from Earth's richest treasury Straw the dark floor of the pitiless sea, Buried for aye--and my wealth-freighted argosy Fades like the mist from the ocean _and me_!

ELOISE.

Eloise! Eloise! It is morn on the seas, And the waters are curling and flashing; And our rock-sheltered seat, Where the waves ever beat With a cadenced and rhythmical dashing, Is here--just here, But I miss thee, dear! And the sun-beams around me are flashing O seat, by the lonely sea, O seat, that she shared with me, Thou art all unfilled to day! And the plaintive, grieving main Hath a moan of hopeless pain That it had not yesterday.

Eloise! Eloise! It is noon; and the breeze Through the shadowy woodland is straying; And our green, mossy seat, Where the flowers kissed thy feet While the zephyrs around thee were playing, Is here--just here; But I miss thee, dear! And the breezes around me are straying. O seat, by the greenwood tree, O seat, that she shared with me, Thou art all unfilled to-day! And the sighing, shivering leaves Have a voice like one that grieves That they had not yesterday.

Eloise! Eloise! It is eve; and the trees With the gold of the sunset are glowing; And our low, grassy seat, With the brook at its feet Ever singing, and rippling, and flowing, Is here--just here; But I miss thee, dear! And the sunset is over me glowing. O seat, by the brooklet free, O seat, that she shared with me, Thou art all unfilled to-day! And the brook, to me alone, Hath a tender, grieving tone, That it had not yesterday.

Eloise! Eloise! It is night on the seas, And the winds and the waters are sleeping; And the seat where we prayed, 'Neath our home's blessed shade, With the soft shadows over us creeping, Is here-just here; But I miss thee, dear! And the drear night around me is sleeping. O seat, where she prayed of yore, O seat, where she prays no more, I am kneeling alone to-night! And the stern, unyielding grave Will restore not the gift I gave To its bosom yesternight.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

No martyr-blood hath ever flowed in vain!-- No patriot bled, that proved not freedom's gain! Those tones, which despots heard with fear and dread From living lips, ring sterner from the dead; And he who dies, lives, oft, more truly so Than had he never felt the untimely blow.

And so with him thus, in an instant, hurled From earthly hopes and converse with the world. Each trickling blood-drop shall, with sudden power Achieve the work of years in one short hour, And his faint death-sigh more strong arms unite In stern defence of Freedom and of Right, Than all he could have said by word or pen, In a whole life of threescore years and ten!

Dead! fell assassin! did you think him _dead_, When, with unmurmuring lips, he bowed his head, While round him bent pale, stricken-hearted men? Never more grandly did he live than then! Never that voice had such unmeasured power To fire men's souls, as in that solemn hour, When, on a startled world's affrighted ear, "_E'er so with tyrants!_" rang out wildly clear. And the red bolt that pierced his quiv'ring brain Maddened a million hearts with burning pain!

Dead?--frenzied demon of the lash and whip, What time you let your dogs of ruin slip At his unguarded throat with murd'rous cry, And passion-howl of rage and agony?-- Nay:--in that deathful hour, from shore to shore, Men heard his voice who never heard before; And, pale with horror by his bloody clay, Vowed from that hour his mandate to obey,-- Nor rest till all your fiends of Crime and Lust, 'Neath Freedom's heel, lie weltering in the dust!

Dead? dead?--Nay!--'tis not thus that good men _die_! Tis thus they win fame's immortality! Thus does their every utt'rance grow sublime,-- A voice of power,--a watchword for all time!-- And the dead arm a mightier scepter sways, Than his, who, living, half a world obeys!

Sleep, uncorrupted Patriot! faithful one! Friend of the friendless! Freedom's martyred son! Henceforth no land shall call thee all its own,-- The World, Humanity, the bruised and lone,-- The oppressed and burdened ones of every clime Shall claim thee theirs, and bless thee thro' all time, And "_are, and shall be free!_" from shore to shore Speed grandly on till serfdom is no more, And gentle brotherhood our sorrowing race Link man to man in warm and true embrace!

GOD'S BLESSINGS.

"For thou, Lord, wilt bless the righteous; with favour wilt thou compass him as with a shield."

Like the dew-drops that fall Through the chill, midnight hours, Unheeded by all, On the close-folded flowers,-- E'en so, on thy chosen, Grief stricken that bend, Thy tenderest blessings In silence descend.

Like the showers that moisten The tree's shrivelled root, And quicken its branches To flower and fruit, E'en thus, on thy people Descend from above, In richest abundance The showers of thy love

Like the glad light that never Our sad Earth forsakes, But, as day fadeth, ever In the star beam awakes, So certain and constant, So rich and unspent, Thy blessings unstinted From Heaven are sent.

Like the waters that fail not Their course to fulfil, Like the wind's tireless pinions That never are still, Like the day in its rising, The night in its fall, Thus constant thy blessing, Great Father of all!

THE SILENT MESSENGER

I sat beside a bed of pain, And all the muffled hours were still; The breeze that bent the summer grain, Scarce sighed along the pine-clad hill; The pensive stars, the silvery moon Seemed sleeping in a sea of calm. And all the leafy bowers of June Were steeped in midnight's dewy balm.

She seemed to sleep, for lull of pain Had calmed the fevered pulse a while, But, as I watched, she woke again, With wondering glance and eager smile. The pale lips moved as if to speak, The thin hand trembled in my own, Then, with a sigh for words too weak, The eyelids closed, and she was gone.

Gone! gone!--but where, or how, or when? I had not seen or form or face; Unmarked God's messenger had been Beside me in that sacred place-- No sound of footsteps as he came, No gleam of glory as he went, Swift as the lightning's arrowy flame, Still as the dew the flowers that bent.

Yet she had heard the coming feet, Had seen the glory of that face, And, with unuttered raptures sweet, Had sprung to welcome his embrace As the swift arrow leaves the string,-- As the glad lark ascends the sky;-- And 'neath that soft o'ershadowing wing, Swept past the radiant spheres on high.

O track of light! O car of flame! The calm sky bears no trace of you; The tranquil orbs sleep on the same, In heaven's unclouded fields of blue; And yet, upon this placid clay, There lingers still that radiance blest,-- Sweet token that her untracked way Led up to bowers of heavenly rest!

UNDER THE SNOW

Over the mountains, under the snow Lieth a valley cold and low, 'Neath a white, immovable pall, Desolate, dreary, soulless all, And soundless, save when the wintry blast Sweeps with funeral music past.

Yet was that valley not always so, For I trod its summer-paths long ago; And I gathered flowers of fairest dyes Where now the snow-drift heaviest lies; And I drank from rills that, with murmurous song, Wandered in golden light along Through bowers, whose ever-fragrant air Was heavy with perfume of flowrets fair,-- Through cool, green meadows where, all day long, The wild bee droned his voluptuous song; While over all shone the eye of Love In the violet-tinted heavens above.

And through that valley ran veins of gold, And the rivers o'er beds of amber rolled;-- There were pearls in the white sands thickly sown, And rocks that diamond-crusted shone;-- All richest fruitage, all rarest flowers, All sweetest music of summer-bowers, All sounds the softest, all sights most fair, Made Earth a paradise everywhere.

Over the mountains, under the snow Lieth that valley cold and low; There came no slowly-consuming blight, But the snow swept silently down at night, And when the morning looked forth again, The seal of silence was on the plain; And fount and forest, and bower and stream, Were shrouded all from his pallid beam.

And there, deep-hidden under the snow, Is buried the wealth of the long-ago-- Pearls and diamonds, veins of gold, Priceless treasures of worth untold, Harps of wonderful sweetness stilled While yet the air was with music filled,-- Hands that stirred the resounding string To melodies such as the angels sing,-- Faces radiant with smile and tear That bent enraptured the strains to hear,-- And high, calm foreheads, and earnest eyes That came and went beneath sunset skies.

There they are lying under the snow, And the winds moan over them sad and low. Pale, still faces that smile no more, Calm, closed eyelids whose light is o'er, Silent lips that will never again, Move to music's entrancing strain, White hands folded o'er marble breasts, Each under the mantling snow-drift rests; And the wind their requiem sounds o'er and o'er, In the oft-repeated "no more--_no more_"

"No more--no more!" I shall ever hear That funeral dirge in its meanings drear, But I may not linger with faltering tread Anear my treasures--anear my dead. On, through many a thorny maze, Up slippery rocks, and through tangled ways, Lieth my cloud-mantled path, afar From that buried vale where my treasures are.

But there bursts a light through the heavy gloom, From the sun-bright towers of my distant home; And fainter the wail of the sad "no more" Is heard as slowly I near that shore; And sweet home-voices come soft and low, Half drowning that requiem's dirge-like flow.

I know it is Sorrow's baptism stern That hath given me thus for my home to yearn,-- That has quickened my ear to the tender call That down from the jasper heights doth fall,-- And lifted my soul from the songs of Earth To music of higher and holier birth, Turning the tide of a yearning love To the beautiful things that are found above;-- And I bless my Father, through blinding tears, For the chastening love of departed years,-- For hiding my idols so low--_so low_-- Over the mountains, under the snow.

LONGINGS

Sleep, gentle, mysterious healer, Come down with thy balm-cup to me! Come down, O thou mystic revealer Of glories the day may not see! For dark is the cloud that is o'er me, And heavy the shadows that fall, And lone is the pathway before me, And far-off the voice that doth call-- Faintly, yet tenderly ever, From over the dark river, call.

Let me bask for an hour in the sun-ray That wraps him forever in light; Awhile tread his flowery pathway Through bowers of unfailing delight;-- Again clasp the hands I lost sight of In the chill mist that hung o'er the tide, What time, with the pale, silent boatman, I saw him away from me glide-- Out into the fathomless myst'ry, All silent and tranquillized, glide!

Let me look in those eyes so much brighter For the years they have gazed on the Son,-- On that pure brow grown purer and whiter In the smile of God's glorified One;-- Let me rest for a while with closed eyelids, On the bank of Life's river, to hear The song he has learned since he left me, Breathed tenderly sweet in my ear-- The song he has learned of the angels And saved ones, breathed soft in my ear!

_Thou canst not?_--what! hast thou not entered The gates of yon city of light?-- Not walked in the flower-bordered pathway Of the saved ones in raiment of white?-- Never stood on the bank of Life's River, Where gather the glorified throng? Or glowed with emotion ecstatic 'Neath the swell of their rapturous song-- That song _he_ has learned since he left me, The redeemed ones' exultant, _new_ song?

O Saviour, the wounded heart's Healer! I turn from my sorrow to thee, The gracious and tender Revealer Of glories thy ransomed shall see! They will pass--the dark cloud that is o'er me, The shadows that darken my sky, And the desolate pathway before me Will lead to thy mansions on high;-- And with _him I shall rest in thy presence, Forever and ever on high!

FOUNT OF BLISS

"Yea I have loved thee with an everlasting love."

Love of God!--amazing love! Height, above all other height, Depth no creature thought can prove, Boundless, endless, infinite! Howsoe'er I sink or rise, Stretch my powers beyond, abroad, Pierce the depths or climb the skies, Find I still the love of God-- _Fount of bliss, exhaustless, free, Evermore unsealed for me!_

Love of Christ!--amazing love! Vast as His eternity; Theme of angel-tongues above, Theme of souls redeemed like me! Outward to creation's bound, Up to Heaven's serenest height, Universal space around, Swells the chorus day and night-- _Fount of bliss, exhaustless, free, Evermore unsealed for me!_

Oh, these tongues that falter so When we sing of love like this! Oh, these songs that, faint and low, More than half their sweetness miss! Saviour, lift our music higher Till the notes to rapture spring! Touch our lips with hallowed fire From thine altar while we sing-- _Fount of bliss, exhaustless, free, Evermore unsealed for me!_

AWAY TO THE HILLS

A HOLIDAY SONG.

Away to the hills, away!-- There is health in the summer air;-- The rustling bough, and the bending spray, And the breath of flowers are there-- The honey-bee's hum and the wild bird's song, And sunshine and summer winds all day long!

Away to the hills, away! There are peace and calmness there-- White cloudlets floating in light all day Through the blue transparent air,-- Rose-tinted mornings and noontides rare, And sunsets of crimson and gold are there!

Away to the hills, away! From your weariness and care-- From toil that has held on with tyrant sway, To quiet and calmness there; And bask in the beauty and bloom that fills The cool, sweet depths of the summer hills!

FLOWERS BY A GRAVE

Alien blossoms! tell me why Seek ye such a lonely place, Thus to bloom, and droop, and die Far away from all your race?

Wherefore, from the sunny bowers Where your beauteous kindred bloom, Have ye come, O banished flowers! Thus to decorate a tomb?

"Mortal, dost thou question why Thus beside the grave we bloom? Why we hither come to die, Aliens from our garden-home?

"'Twas Affection's gentle hand Placed us thus her dead so near;-- Tis at weeping Love's command That we breathe our fragrance here.

"Ask not why we wither here, Thou who ne'er hast tasted woe, Who hast never felt the tear Of bereaved affection flow,--

"Ask not, till thy household band By death's cruel stroke is riven, Till some bright bird'scapes thy hand-- _Then_ thy answer will be given!"

"THREE FOR THREE."

"Giving up three for one!"--mother, You said in the long ago, When father, yourself, and John, mother, I left, o'er the deep to go. "Giving up three for one!"--mother, You said, and it sank in my heart; For tho' strong was my love for the one, mother, It was hard from the three to part.

But to-day, as I sit alone, mother, Rocking my little one's bed-- (Not Winnie's bed, dear, but her brother's--) I am thinking of what you said; And a sweet thought glads my heart, mother-- Can you guess what the thought can be? 'Tis, that tho' I'd but one in the start, mother, Yet now I have _three_ for three.

Yes, three for three, my mother, God is good to your wandering child, So far from her father and brother, And you, in this western wild! And tho' her heart oftentimes yearneth For its loved ones over the sea, Yet ever it gratefully turneth To its home-ties--_three_ for three.

Aye, three for three, sweet mother, Say, am I not happy to-day? Tho' something must ever be wanting, While far from you all away;-- Then thank the dear Lord, my mother, Who, afar o'er the lonely sea, Is blessing your absent daughter, With home ties--_three_ for three!

NOW.

"Now is the accepted time."

Now, sinner, now! Not in the future, when thy longed-for measure Thou hast attained, of fame, or power, or pleasure, When thy full coffers swell with hoarded treasure, Not then, but now. God's time may not be thine. When _thou_ art willing, His Spirit may have taken flight forever, No more thy soul with keen conviction filling, Softening thy spirit to repentance never,-- Now, sinner, now!

Now, Christian, now! Look round, and see what souls are daily dying; List!--everywhere the voice of human crying Smiteth the ear;--the moan, the plaint, the sighing, Come even now. Rise! gird thyself;--go forth where sorrow weepeth And ease the pang. Where sin holds guilty revel, Go tell of God! Where man securely sleepeth On ruin's verge, go, warn him of the evil Now, Christian, now!

Now, sinner, now! Day waneth fast! The noon is spent! To-morrow Is God's, not thine!--and dost thou hope to borrow An hour from doom, when bursts the cloud of sorrow That darkens now? Nay; the red bolt, e'en now, vindictive flashes The thunder rolls nearer, and still more near! Hourly the tide of wrath more sternly dashes On ruin's rocks!--oh, that thou wouldst but hear Now, sinner, now!

Now, Christian, now Gather thy sheaves--the harvest time is hasting Gather thy sheaves--the precious grain is wasting! Too many hours Earth's cup of nectar tasting Thou'st wasted now! Up, up!--the Master's coming steps already Echoing adown the steeps of heaven are heard! The angel-reapers, with firm hand and steady, Stand, dim-descried, waiting the signal-word Now, Christian, now!

SUNSET

The glorious sun, behind the western hills, Slowly, in gorgeous majesty, retires, Flooding the founts and forests, fields and rills, With the reflection of his golden fires. How beauteous all, how calm, how still! Yon star that trembles on the hill, Yon crescent moon that raises high Her beamy horns upon the sky, Seem bending down a loving glance From the unclouded skies, On the green Earth that far away In solemn beauty lies;-- And, like sweet Friendship in affliction's hour, Grow brighter still the more the shadows lower.

SWEET EVENING BELLS

Soft evening bells!--sweet evening bells! O'er vale and plain your music swells, And far away The echoes play O'er shaggy mount and forest grey; And every rock its secret tells To your soft chime, sweet evening bells!

Soft evening bells!--sweet evening bells! Now twilight drapes the woodland dells, And shadows lie On the closed eye Of flowers that dream beneath the sky; Yet fainter, sweeter, tenderer swells Your dying chime, sweet evening bells!

O evening bells!--sweet evening bells! With every note that sinks and swells, Sadly and slow The warm tears flow In pensive pleasure more than woe, As Mem'ry wakes her witching spells, 'Neath your soft chime, sweet evening bells!

UNKNOWN

Thou hast marked the lonely river, On whose waveless bosom lay Some deep mountain-shadow ever, Dark'ning e'en the ripples' play-- Didst thou deem it had no murmur Of soft music, though unheard? Deem that, 'neath the quiet surface, The calm waters never stirred?

Thou hast marked the pensive forest, Where the moonbeams slept by night, While the elm and drooping willow Sorrowed in the misty light-- Didst thou think those depths so silent Held no fount of tender song That awoke to hallowed utt'rance As the hushed hours swept along?

So, the heart hath much of music, Deep within its fountains lone, Very passionate and tender, Never shaped to human tone! Dream not that its depths are silent, Though thou ne'er hast stooped to hear; Haply, even thence some music Floats to the All-Hearing ear!

ONWARD