Chapter 8
Onward, still on!--though the pathway be dreary,-- Though few be the fountains that gladden the way,-- Though the tired spirit grow feeble and weary, And droop in the heat of the toil-burdened day; Green in the distance the hills of thy Canaan Lift their bright heads in a tenderer light, Where the full boughs with rich fruits overladen Spread their luxurious treasures in sight.
Onward, still onward!--around us are falling Lengthening shadows as daylight departs; Up from the past mournful voices are calling, Often we pause with irresolute hearts. Wherefore look backward?--the flower thou didst gather Wounded thy hand with the thorn it concealed,-- Onward, and stay not!--the voice of thy Father Calls thee to glory and bliss unrevealed.
Onward!-Earth's radiance fadeth,--the glory That gilded her brow when the noon was in prime Faileth each hour, and the chill mist is hoary! Gathering thick on the dim shores of time. Yet as the stars come out brighter and clearer While the day faints in the slow-fading west, So do the home-lights grow larger and nearer, Clearer the ray on the hills of thy rest.
Onward, and stay not!--the fountain, the flower, Toward which thou'rt pressing with wearying haste. Are but the mirage that floats for an hour, Glowing and green o'er the desolate waste; Yet from the distance come tender home-melodies Borne from the Summer-land over the flood, Lovingly wooing thee homeward and Heavenward To the sweet rest of thy Saviour and God.
LOOKING BACK
Do the dancing leaves of summer To the time of buds look back?-- Does the river moan regretful For the brooklet's mountain-track? Does the ripened sheaf of summer, Heavy with precious grain, Ask for its hour of blossom, And the breath of Spring again?
Does the golden goblet, brimming With the precious, ruby wine, Look back with weary longing To the damp and dusky mine? Is the sparkling coin, that beareth A monarch's image, fain To seek the glowing furnace, Where they purged its dross again?
Would the chiselled marble gather Its rubbish back once more. And lie down, undistinguished, In the rough rock as before? Does the costly diamond, blazing On that crowned and queenly one, Look back with sorrowful gazing To the coarse unpolished stone?
And shall man, the grandly gifted, Earth's monarch, tho' Earth's son, Turn back to court the shadows Of existence scarce begun? Nay; with strong arm and helpful To aid the world's great lack, Press on, nor pause a moment, Supinely to look back!
MINNIEBEL
Where the willow weepeth By a fountain lone,-- Where the ivy creepeth O'er a mossy stone,-- With pale flowers above her, In a quiet dell. Far from those who love her, Slumbers Minniebel.
There thy bed I made thee, By that fountain side, And in anguish laid thee Down to rest, my bride! Tenderest and fairest, Who thy worth may tell! Flower of beauty rarest, Saintly Minniebel!
Weary years have borrowed From my eye its light, Time my cheek has furrowed, And these locks are white; But my heart will ever Mid its memories dwell, Fondly thine forever, Angel Minniebel!
WEARY.
Weary of dreaming what never comes true, Weary of thinking what never is new, Of endeav'ring, yet never succeeding to do.
Weary of walking the dusty, old ways, Weary of saying what every one says, Weary of singing old, obsolete lays.
Weary of laughing, to make others laugh, Weary of gleaning for nothing but chaff, Of giving the whole, and receiving but half.
Weary of making, so shortly to mend, Weary of patching, to turn round and rend, Weary of earning only to spend.
Weary of weeping when tears are so cheap, Weary of waking when longing to sleep, Of giving what nobody wishes to keep.
Weary of drinking to thirst ere I've done, Weary of eating what satisfies none, Weary of doing what still is undone.
Weary of glitter without any gold, Weary of ashes grown fireless and cold, Weary!--the half of it cannot be told!
THE BODY TO THE SOUL
RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO AN OVERWORKED STUDENT.
O tyrant soul of mine, What's the use Of this never-ceasing toil, Of this struggle, this turmoil, This abuse Of the body and the brain, Of this labor and this pain, Of this never-ceasing strain On the cords that bind us twain Each to each?
O tyrant soul of mine, Is it well Thus to waste and wear away The poor, fragile walls of clay Where you dwell? Was I made your slave to be-- I the abject, you the free, That you task me ceaselessly?-- Tyrant soul, come, answer me, _Is_ it well?
O tyrant soul of mine, Don't you know That in slow, but sure decay, I am wasting day by day, While you grow None the better for the strain On my nerves and on my brain, For my head's incessant pain, And my sick heart's longings vain For repose?
O tyrant soul of mine, God, the good, Joined together you and me In a wondrous unity, That we should Work together,-not that I, You degrade and stupefy, Nor that you His laws defy By maltreating ceaselessly Hapless me!
O tyrant soul of mine, By and by, Weary of your cruel reign, Quite worn out with toil and pain, I shall die Then, when I have passed away, And you're asked whose hand did slay Your companion of the clay, Much I wonder what you'll say, Soul of mine!
NOT YET
"Go thy way, and when I have a more convenient season I will call for thee."
* * * * *
"The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved."
Not yet, not yet, O Saviour, Although thou callest me In life's unclouded morning Why should I follow thee? The world and all its pleasures Outspread before me lie, When I have grasped its treasures I'll hear thee, by and by.
Not yet, not yet, O Saviour!-- True, thou hast called me long, Yet, almost more than ever, I love the world's glad song! Say not the years are hasting With rapid footsteps by,-- Say not life's sands are wasting, But call me by and by!
Not yet, not yet, O Saviour! I have no time to stay; The goal tow'rd which I hasten Is now not far away. Another day--and haply The triumph I shall see, And grasp my crown of vic'try,-- Then, I will call for thee!
* * *
No more, no more, O sinner, The Saviour's call is o'er! The door is shut forever, To be unclosed no more!-- So late the hour and lonely, So dark the night and drear, And He who called thee only To bless thee, will not hear!
Past is the harvest-gladness, The summer-bloom is o'er, Thy sun has set in sadness, To rise-oh, nevermore! So late the hour and lonely, So dark the night and drear, And He who called thee only To bless thee, will not hear!
MARGUERITE
Lightly the shadows Play through the trees, Green are the meadows, Soft is the breeze,-- June's early roses, Pensive and sweet, Droop where reposes Lost Marguerite!
Meeting thee never In the green bowers,-- Missing thee ever 'Mid the fresh flowers,-- Till the long hours die-- Hours once so fleet-- Hopelessly wait I, Lost Marguerite!
Day has grown weary In the blue sky, Summer is dreary, Melodies die; Lowly the willow Droopeth to meet And kiss thy pillow, Lost Marguerite!
Flower the fairest Of sweet summer time, Rosebud the rarest Plucked ere its prime, Mine to weep ever Where the waves beat, Meeting thee never, Lost Marguerite!
"COME UNTO ME."
Weary soul, by care oppressed, Wouldst thou find a place of rest? Listen, Jesus calls to thee, Come, and find thy rest in me!
Hungry soul, why pine and die With exhaustless stores so nigh? Lo, the board is spread for thee, Come, and feast to-day with me!
Thirsty soul, earth's sweetest rill Mocks thee with its promise still; Hark, the Saviour calls to thee, Here is water, come to me!
Homeless soul, thy path is drear, Angry tempests gather near, Night is darkening over thee, Here is shelter, come to me!
Heavenly bread and heavenly wine, Living waters, all are mine!-- Mine they are, and thine may be, Weary wand'rer, come to me!
"I WILL NOT LET THEE GO."
Nay, I will not let thee go, Though the midnight glideth slow,-- Though the darkness deep and long Dim the sight and hush the song, On thy tender, faithful breast, Find I still my perfect rest-- Soothing sweet for keenest woe-- And I will not let thee go!
Nay, I will not let thee go, Though the morn's enkindling glow Flame along the mountain-height. Flooding all the hills with light; What can morning bring to me, Tender Shepherd, wanting thee? What its songs but sobs of woe? Nay, I will not let thee go!
Nay, I will not let thee go, Though the day no shadows know; Though, the sky's serene to dim, Lower no storm-cloud dark and grim; Whom have I in Heaven but thee?-- What beside hath earth for me?-- Thou, the only trust I know,-- Nay, I will not let thee go!
Let thee go?--my Saviour, nay Thou my night's unfailing day, Thou my dawning's tenderest gleam, Thou my noonday's richest beam,-- Night is day if thou art near, Day without thee, joyless, drear,-- Wanting thee, all bliss were woe,-- Nay, I will not let thee go!
GREETING HYMN.
Written for the Alumni of Albion College, Michigan; and sung at their last re-union, June, 1881.
The gliding years have rolled along, And once again we come, With greeting hand and choral song, To our old college-home;-- Sweet college-home! dear college-home! We gladly gather here, Old friends to greet, Old faces meet, And sing our songs of cheer!
A welcome true for those we meet, For those we miss, a sigh; Of some we ne'er again may greet, We speak with tearful eye; Some rest with God, whose feet once trod These halls with ours of yore; And some there are Who wander far On many a distant shore!
God, bless and keep the ones who roam, And us who meet again; And lit us each for that bright home Where comes no parting pain;-- Oh, aid us still, thro' good or ill Still earnest for the right, With spirits true, To dare and do, With Heaven and thee in sight!
And as the lingering years go by, And changeful seasons come, Still let thine eye rest lovingly On this old college-home;-- Sweet college-home! dear college-home! We gladly gather here, Old friends to meet, Old faces greet, And sing our songs of cheer!
ONE BY ONE
One by one, ye are passing, beloved, Out of the shadow into the light. One by one, Are your tasks all done. Ended the toil, and the swift race run. Child and maiden, mother and sire, Sister and brother, Ye follow each other, Out of the darkness where we stand weeping, Weary and faint with our virgil-keeping, Into the summer-land, peaceful and bright!
One by one, ye are passing, beloved, Out of the darkness round us that lies-- One by one, Gliding on alone, Hearing nor heeding our plaint and moan. Friend and lover, the fondest, best, Most tender and true, Ye pass from our view, Out of the night that enfolds us ever, Out of the mists where we moan and shiver; Into the joy-light of sunniest skies!
One by one, we are hasting, beloved, Out of the midnight into the day. One by one, Are _our_ tasks all done, And the race that is set us with swift feet run. Loved and parted ones, still our own, Nearing you ever We press toward the river. Over whose waters ye passed on before us, Shortly to join in your rapturous chorus, And swell the hosannas of Heaven for aye!
One by one, ye are greeting, beloved, Those whom you left for a while in tears. One by one Is the bright goal won By those ye lost sight of at set of sun. Child and maiden, mother and sire, Sister and brother, Ye're greeting each other, Up where the holy ones round you are singing, Up where the new song of Heaven is ringing, Never to part through eternity's years!
LOVE
God so loved me that He gave Jesus for my sins to die; Jesus loved me in the grave, Jesus loves me still on high,-- Father-love and Saviour-love, Mine on earth and mine above!
Love, from highest heights that stooped,-- Love, to deepest depths that came,-- Love, that 'neath my burden drooped,-- Bore my anguish and my shame-- Died, that I may never die,-- Living, lifts me to the sky!
Love, the arm that reached me first,-- Love, the hand that raised me up,-- Love, my prison-bars that burst,-- Love, that filled my brimming cup-- Filled it full of Heavenly wine-- Filled, and blessed, and made it mine!
Love, the holy, cleansing fount Where I wash my garments white,-- Love, my Tabor, hallowed mount, Where I stand with Him in sight,-- Love, my watch-tower, till the day Chase all earth-born mists away!
AN EVENING HYMN
"I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep; for thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety"
The tranquil hours steal by On drowsy wings and slow, And over all the peaceful sky The stars of evening glow.
No gathering clouds I see, I hear no rising blast, I fold my tired hands restfully, As though all storms were past.
Yet, whether so or not, O Lord, thou knowest best! This night, let every anxious thought And trembling fear have rest
This night I will lie down In peace beneath thine eye, Nor heed what ills unseen may frown, Since thou art ever nigh.
I will lie down and sleep, From every terror free; Nor wake to tremble or to weep, Secure, O Lord, with thee!
DEATH
'Tis but to fold the arms in peace, To close the tear-dimmed, aching eye, From sin and suffering to cease, And wake to sinless life on high.
'Tis but to leave the dusty way Our pilgrim feet so long have pressed, And pass on angel-wings away, Forever with the Lord to rest.
'Tis but with noiseless step to glide Behind the curtain's mystic screen That from our mortal gaze doth hide The glories of the world unseen.
Tis but to sleep a passing hour, Serene as cradled infants sleep; Then wake in glory and in power, An endless Sabbath day to keep.
I SHALL BE SATISFIED
I shall be satisfied when I awaken In thy dear likeness, my King and my Lord,-- When the dark prison of death shall be shaken, And the freed spirit comes forth at thy word!-- I shall be satisfied, Saviour, be satisfied, Wearing thy likeness and near to thy side! Sinless and sorrowless, robed in thy righteousness, What can I ask for in glory beside?
I shall be satisfied loving thee ever, Hearing thy accents and sharing thy joy, Fearing nor change nor estrangement to sever Me from my Lord and His blissful employ!-- Satisfied, satisfied, evermore satisfied, Wearing thy likeness and near to thy side! Sinless and sorrowless, robed in thy righteousness, What can I ask for in glory beside?
I shall be satisfied when I behold thee, I shall be like thee, my Saviour and King! And, in the radiance that will enfold thee, I shall enfolded be, too, while I sing-- Lo, I am satisfied, Saviour, am satisfied, Wearing thy likeness and near thy side! Sinless and sorrowless, robed in thy righteousness, What can I ask for in glory beside!
AT THE GRAVE OF A YOUNG MOTHER
A transient day, A troubled night, The swift decay, The certain blight, And death and dust;--
And are these all?-- Nay: those are past; And she who sleeps Shall wake at last Among the just!
GO, DREAM NO MORE
Go, dream no more of a sun-bright sky With never a cloud to dim!-- Thou hast seen the storm in its robes of night, Thou hast felt the rush of the whirlwind's might, Thou hast shrunk from the lightning's arrowy flight, When the Spirit of Storms went by!
Go, dream no more of a crystal sea Where never a tempest sweeps!-- For thy riven bark on a surf-beat shore, Where the wild winds shriek, and the billows roar, A shattered wreck to be launched no more, Will mock at thy dream and thee!
Go, dream no more of a fadeless flower With never a cankering blight'-- For the queenliest rose in thy garden bed, The pride of the morn, ere the noon is fled, With the worm at its heart, withers cold and dead In the Spoiler s fearful power!
Go, dream no more--for the cloud will rise, And the tempest will sweep the sea, Yet grieve not thou, for beyond the strife, The storm and the gloom with which Earth is rife, Gleam out the light of a calmer life, And the glow of serener skies!
COME HOME
Come home! come home! O loved and lost, we sigh Thus, ever, while the weary days go by, And bring thee not. We miss thy bright, young face, Thy bounding step, thy form of girlish grace, Thy pleasant, tuneful voice,-- We miss thee when the dewy evening hours Come with their coolness to our garden bowers,-- We miss thee when the warbler's tuneful lay Welcomes the rising glories of the day And all glad things rejoice!
Come home!--the vine that climbs our cottage eaves, Hath a low murmur 'mid its glossy leaves When the south wind sweeps by, that seems to be Too deeply laden with sad thoughts of thee-- Of thee, our absent one!-- The roses blossom, and their beauties die, And the sweet violet opes its pensive eye By thee unseen; and from the old, beech tree Thy robin pours his song unheard by thee, Dally at set of sun!
Dearest, come home! Thy harp neglected lies, Breathing no more its wonted melodies; Thy favourite books, unopened, in their case, Just as thy hands arranged them, keep their place, And vacant is thy seat Beside the hearth. At the still hour of prayer Thou com'st no more with quiet, reverent air; And when, around the social board, each face Brings its warm welcome, there's one vacant place-- One smile we may not meet.
Come home!--_thy_ home was never wont to be A place where clouds might rest; yet, wanting thee, All pleasant scenes have dull and tasteless grown, And shadows lower-shadows, erewhile unknown Of ever-deepening gloom. The halls where erst thy happy childhood played, The pleasant garden by thy fair hands made, The bower thy sunny presence made so fair, Are all unchanged,--yet grief is everywhere;-- Dear one, come home!
Come home?--come home?--alas, what have I said? Beyond the stars, beloved, thy feet have sped! No more to press these garden paths with mine, Or walk beside my own at day's decline-- No more--no more to come To these old summer haunts! But I shall stay A little while; and then, at fall of day, I, too, like thee, shall sleep, and wake to see Thy Lord and mine, and so shall ever be _With Him and thee at home!_
BE IN EARNEST
Be in earnest, Christian toilers, Life is not the summer, dream Of the careless, child that gathers Daisies in the noontide beam! It hath conflict, it hath danger, It hath sorrow, toil, and strife; Yet the weak alone will falter In the battle-field of life.
There are burdens you may lighten, Toiling, struggling ones may cheer, Tear-dimmed eyes that you may brighten, Thorny paths that you may clear;-- Erring ones, despised, neglected, You may lead to duty back,-- Beacon-lights to be erected, All along life's crowded track.
There are wrongs that must be righted, Sacred rights to be sustained, Truths, though trampled long and slighted, 'Mid the strife to be maintained;-- Heavy, brooding mists to scatter-- Mists of ignorance and sin,-- Walls of adamant to shatter, Thus to let God's sunlight in.
Boundless is the field and fertile, Let the ploughshare deep be driven; So, at length, the plenteous harvest Shall look smiling up to heaven! Sow the seed at early morning, Nor at evening stay thy hand; Precious fruits, the earth adorning, Shall at length around thee stand
Be in earnest, Christian toilers, Life is not the summer-dream Of the careless child that gathers Daisies in the noontide beam! Life hath conflict, toil, and danger,-- It hath sorrow, pain, and strife,-- Yet the weak alone will falter In the battle-field of life!
CHLODINE
We met one fresh June-morn, Chlodine, Where two roads came together; I'd travelled far through storm and rain, And you, through pleasant weather. I loved you for the light, Chlodine, Of summer all around you,-- I loved you for the sweet June-flowers, Whose dewy garlands bound you!
You loved me not, Chlodine, because The storms had beat upon me; Because there was no breath of flowers, No summer sunshine on me;-- You could not see, Chlodine, that deep Within my soul were growing Fresh flowers that evermore would keep The fragrance of their blowing.
And so we parted--you and I-- Your ways all fresh and flowering; Mine, rocky steeps up mountains high, 'Neath skies with tempests lowering; And yet the sunshine spoilt your flowers,-- Mine, bitter grief-drops nourished, And while yours withered day by day, Mine bloomed the more, and flourished
And now we're met again, Chlodine, You love me for my flowers, Their perfume scenting all the air. Like breath of Eden-bowers;-- I love you not, Chlodine, alas! You're changed since those old mornings, Your regal summer-robes are lost, With all their rare adornings!
We stand together side by side, And yet, at farthest, never, Before stretched out so far and wide The distance that did sever Us, as to-day it does, Chlodine, Though hand touch hand in greeting, And never again shall we know, Chlodine, Another June-day meeting.
THE BIRD AND THE STORM-CLOUD
Little bird, is that thy sphere, Yonder threat'ning cloud so near? Sunbeams blaze along its brow, Yet what darkness reigns below! There the sullen thunder mutt'ring, Wrathful sounds is sternly utt'ring;-- There the red-eyed lightning gleameth, Where no more the sunlight beameth, And the strong wind, fiercely waking, Wings of fearful might is taking;-- Creature of the calmer air, Wherefore art thou soaring there?
Wert thou weary of the vale, With its blossom-scented gale?-- Weary of thy breezy bowers?-- Weary of thy wild-wood flowers?-- Weary of thy wind-rocked nest In the bright, green willow's breast?-- Didst thou sigh, on daring wing, Up in heaven's blue depths to sing?-- Claim with storms companionship, And in clouds thy free wings dip?-- And, where rushing winds are strong, Pour thy melody of song?
Bird, thy wing is all too weak Such adventurous heights to seek; In the bower thou seem'dst to be Trembling with timidity; Now, with proud, unshrinking glance Thou art daring yon expanse, And, with wild, exultant singing, Upward thy free flight art winging;-- Creature of the calmer air, Wherefore art thou sporting there?