Chapter 9

Bird, that cannot be thy sphere, Yonder threatening cloud so near!-- With thy bright, unfearing eye, Wherefore seek that troubled sky? Ah! a hand is o'er thee spread, To defend thy beauteous head; Sheltering arms are round thee cast, 'Mid the lightning and the blast; God doth shield thee, and shall He _Thine_, and not _my_ guardian be?

No: He, who guards thy fragile form Midst the dread, o'erwhelming storm, Will His kind protection spread O'er His child's defenceless head,-- Temper every blast severe,-- Mingle hope with every fear,-- Pour into the bleeding heart Balm for sorrow's keenest smart, And will gift the feeblest form With a might to brave each storm!

Bird, thou well mayst soar and sing High in heaven on raptured wing! Thou hast never learned to fear Blighting change, in thy bright sphere; 'Tis to us, and us alone, Faith's mysterious might is known: We, that tremble at the blast, Shall o'ersweep the storms at last! Though around us tempests lower, We shall know our triumph-hour; And on glad exultant wing Soar, and with the angels sing

NO SOLITUDE

"Whither shall I go from thy Spirit?"

I stood where ocean lashed the sounding shore With his unresting waves, and gazed far out Upon the billowy strife. I saw the deep Lifting his watery arms to grasp the clouds, While the black clouds stooped from the sable arch Of the storm-darkened heavens, and deep to deep Answered responsive in the ceaseless roar Of thunders and of floods.

"Here, then, I am alone, And this is solitude, "I murmured low, As in the presence of the risen storm I bowed my head abashed. "Alone?"-- The echoing concave of the skies replied,-- "Alone?"--the waves responded, and the winds In hollow murmurs answered back--"Alone?"

"Thou canst not be alone, _for God is here!_ Yon mighty waste of waters, whose deep voice Goes up unceasingly to heaven, He holds E'en as a drop within His hollow hand! He makes His dark pavillion stormy clouds; The winds and thunders are His uttered voice; And the red flames that blaze athwart the sky Are but the lightnings of His awful glance!"

* * * *

I stood at eve, where, high in upper air, A mountain reared its solitary head, Bathing its forehead in the ruddy light Of cloudless sunset. Like a snowy veil The white mist gathered o'er the distant plain, While, over all, the sunset heavens shone In burning glory, and the blushing West Gathered all gorgeous hues into a wreath Of wondrous radiance to twine around The temples of her monarch, ere he sought The chambers of his rest.

Full-orbed the moon Rode slowly up the east; while, one by one, Spirits of night lighted the lamps of heaven. "This is to be alone!"--I whispered low, For nature's solemn beauty had a spell To awe my soul to silence.

"What, alone?"-- Murmured the mountain wind, as round my brow It waved its rustling pinions. "What, alone?"-- Low voices questioned from the sighing pines,-- "Alone?"--the stars repeated to my soul-- "In the Eternal's presence, canst thou stand, While, from above, His awful glories look,-- While all, around, beneath thee, and within, Attest His presence, and thus idly deem Thou art alone? No; thou art _not_ alone, _For God is here!_"

* * * *

It was a summer noon. The soft, south wind made music 'mid the boughs Of the cool forest, whence glad bursts of song Floated unceasing. On a mossy bank Starred with pale flowers, I laid me down to rest, Yet not to slumber. Tenderly, the sky Glanced like a loving spirit through the leaves; And, ever and anon, like fleecy gold, The yellow sunbeams dropped amid the gloom Startling the shadows. Twas a hallowed scene! Each waving leaf seemed Instinct with glad life, And every sound was richly freighted with The wealth of harmony.

"Is this to be alone?" I inly questioned, yet my secret soul Needed from Nature no responsive voice; For my whole being, with a thrill of joy. Replied;--"In all the universe of God, There is no solitude!"

O soul of mine, Joy in thy wealth of being!--in the power To grasp the Infinite where'er thou turn'st;-- To see Him, feel Him near, yet most of all, Him to adore and love;--to hear His voice In every breeze, in every gentle chime Of the sweet waters, in the song of birds, The hum of insects, and all deeper tones Of Nature's wondrous music;--yet, far more, To recognize His Spirit's gentle voice Unto thy spirit, whisp'ring tenderly-- "I am thy Father, thy Redeemer, thine Amid the devious paths that checker earth, And thine in Heaven!"

THE STRAY LAMB.

A GRANDMOTHER'S STORY.

We had finished our pitiful morsel, And both sat in silence a while; At length we looked up at each other. And I said, with the ghost of a smile,-- "Only two little potatoes And a very small crust of bread-- And then?"--"God will care for us, Lucy!" John, quietly answering, said.

"Yes, God _will_ provide for us, Lucy!" He said, after musing a while-- I'd been quietly watching his features With a feeble attempt at a smile-- "For, '_trust in the Lord, and do good_,' Our Father in Heaven has said, '_So shalt thou dwell in the land, And verily thou shalt be fed!_'"

Scarcely the words had he spoken, When a faint, little tap at the door Surprised us,--for all the long morning The rain had continued to pour. I am sure I shall never remember The pelting and pitiless rain Of that desolate day in November, Without a dull heart-throb of pain.

For work had grown scarcer and scarcer, Till there seemed not a job to be done; We had paid out our very last sixpence, And of fuel and food we had none. John had tried--no one ever tried harder-- For work, but his efforts were vain; And I wondered all faith had not failed him That morning when out in the rain.

"Come in!" said John, speaking quite softly. And opening the door a small space, For there stood a thin, little beggar With such a blue, pitiful face! "O sir, if you please sir, I'm hungry, Do give me a small bit of bread!" "Come in, then, you poor, little woman, I am sure you are freezing!" John said.

We each caught a hand cold and dripping, And drew the poor trembler in; But she sank at our feet like a baby, Half-frozen, and drenched to the skin. John ran for our last bit of fuel; And I, to an old box, where lay Our own little Maggie's warm clothing,-- Our Maggie--dead many a day!

I tore off her old, dripping tatters, And rubbed her blue, shivering form; And then put those precious clothes on her, And made her all glowing and warm. "O ma'am, if you please, I'm _so_ hungry!" Again the dear innocent said; So John brought our two cold potatoes And our one little morsel of bread.

"Here, take this,"--he said; and she snatched it, And ate till the last bit was done; And we two looked on, never grudging Our all to the famishing one. I looked up a half-minute after, But John had slipped out in the rain; And the wind was still howling and raging Like some great, cruel monster in pain.

Soon the pale, little eyelids grew heavy, And I watched till the weary one slept;-- Then I, a poor weak-hearted woman, Held her closer, and oh, how I wept! With our fire all burned out to black ashes,-- Our very last bit of food gone,-- Poor John, too, out facing the tempest,-- And I left there shiv'ring alone!

But the little, warm head on my bosom Seemed so strangely like hers that I lost; And the soft, little hands I was holding, So like the dear hands that I crossed In their last quiet rest,--and those garments-- _Ah, those garments!_--I mused till it seemed, I had got back my own little Maggie;-- And then, for long hours. I dreamed.

* * * *

"Why Lucy, my girl, you are sleeping!-- Come, rouse up, and get us some tea!"-- It was John, who'd returned, and was speaking-- "Poor wife, you're as cold as can be! See, here are some coals for the firing; And here is a nice loaf of bread,-- A steak, and a morsel of butter, Some tea and some sugar"--he said. "Nay now, do not ask any questions!-- Let me just lay this lammie in bed, And when we have had a nice supper, I'll tell you, dear, all how it sped."

And so, when the supper was over-- That supper!--I'll never forget The warm, glowing fire--oh, so cozy-- I can see every coal of it yet-- We knelt down, and John thanked the dear Father For all He had sent us that day;-- Yes: e'en for thee dear, pretty baby His own little lamb gone astray!

And then, in a few words, John told me Of his desperate walk in the storm-- Every minute believing, expecting, That God would His promise perform;-- Of the merchant up town who had hailed him, (One of his men being sick,) And hired him to run of a message; And, because he'd been trusty and quick, Had trebled his wages, and told him To come the next morning again; "Just because," added John, softly laughing, "I'd been willing _to work in the rain!_"

Well, long ere the morning dawned on us, The child had grown frantic with pain; And for many long days she lay moaning With the fever that burned in her brain. Every morning John prayed by her pillow, Then went to his work; and I stayed, And kept my sad watch the long day through, And at night he returned to my aid.

At length the fierce struggle was over, She lived, and we both were content, For we knew God had given her to us-- His lamb, through the wintry storm sent The fever had burned every record Of home and friends out of her mind; And though we sought long, yet we never Any traces of either could find.

And so she grew up by our fireside, And we called her--not Maggie--oh no!-- That name we had laid up in Heaven, And no one must wear it below!-- But we just called her, Pet; and her husband Calls her nothing but Pet to this day:-- She's a grown woman now, and a mother, How swiftly the years glide away!

Well, John never has lacked for employment, And we never have wanted a home; We never said nay to a beggar, Or refused one that asked it a crumb. Pet grew up a dear, loving woman-- "God's light in our house," John would say-- And when a good man came and took her, He took _us_, too, the very same day. But here she comes now with the baby, And grandmother never says nay; So here's a good bye to my story, For baby has come for a play!

STAY, MOTHER, STAY!

"Stay, mother, stay, for the storm is abroad, And the tempest is very wild; It's a fearful night with no ray of light, Oh stay with your little child!"

"Hush darling!" the mother, with white lips said-- "Lie still till I come again, God's angels blest will watch o'er thy rest While I am abroad in the rain! Thy father, child?--oh, I quake with fear When I think where he may be, And I dare not stay till the dawn of day-- I must hasten forth to see!"

Then the young child buried her tangled curls In the ragged counterpane, While the half-clad mother went forth alone In the blinding wind and rain.

Down many a narrow, slippery lane, Down many a long, dark street, Went that shivering form thro' the pelting storm Of wind, and rain, and sleet; Till, nearing a den where inebriate men, With Bacchanal oath and yell, And curse and jeer, spent the midnight drear, She reeled in the gloom and fell; For a prostrate form, in the pitiless storm And inky darkness, lay Helpless and prone on the pavement-stone, Across her desolate way.

She knelt alone by the fallen one, And murmured in accents low, A name, how dear to her girlhood's ear In the beautiful long ago! But no voice, no tone replied to her own, And the cold hand fell like lead; And her wailing cry brought back no reply, As she shrieked "he is dead!--he's dead!"

Aye, "dead!"--God pity thee, stricken wife! God pity thee, orphan child! Poor slave to wine, what a death was thine, In that wintry tempest wild!

We know not how long that wild, drunken song And those curses assailed her ear, But the morning-ray found its early way To one who no more could hear; For the faithful heart that had borne its part Awhile, through those watches lone, Had grown still it last as the pitiless blast Swept by her with wrathful tone;-- But the rumseller-he slept quietly In his chamber of gilded pride, For little he cared how his victims fared, Or whether they lived or died!

Oh! the old, old strain with its old refrain, Of agony, death, and woe!-- Oh! the bitter tears that, through all the years, Have been flowing, and ever flow! Must the ghastly tragedy never cease? Will Manhood never awake? And, by God's great might made strong for the right. Stand up for Humanity's sake, And wipe the horrible stain away From his country and his home-- The dark, ensangnined, loathsome stain Of the merciless monster, Rum?

TIME FOR BED

"Time for bed!"--the weary day With its toils has passed away Sol has wrapped his forehead bright In the curtains of the night, And his glorious lamp again Lowered behind the western main Leaving all heaven's pure expanse Radiant with his parting glance

Just a few, faint stars are seen Ranged around the midnight queen-- A select and glorious band Who alone may waiting stand Around the monarch of the night, Bearing up their urns of light, Her majestic path to cheer Till the shadows disappear.

"Time for bed!" the folded flowers Hang their heads in forest bowers; Nestled in each downy nest Day's sweet songsters calmly rest; And the night-bird's plaintive hymn Echoes through the forest dim; Dew-drops on the birchen-bough In the star-beams sparkle now, Scarce a zephyr stirs the rose So profound is Earth's repose.

"Time for bed!" put by thy books, Learner, with thy studious looks;-- Poet, lay the pen away, Candle-light will spoil thy lay;-- Leave it till the morning hours Come with sunshine to the flowers,-- Leave it till from shrub and tree Birds pour forth their minstrelsy,-- Till the sun on wood and wold Turns the drops of dew to gold,-- Till the bee comes forth to sip Nectar from the flow'rets lip,-- Till the light-winged zephyrs wake Dancing ripples on the lake, And the cloudlets in the height Don their fleecy robes of white;-- Then, with graceful Euterpe, Seek the spreading greenwood tree, And with joy, and light, and love, All around thee and above, Tune thy lyre to praiseful mirth With all happy things of Earth!

"Time for bed!"--thou man of toil, Why consume the midnight oil?-- Night was made for slumbers blest, Thou art weary, therefore rest!

"Time for bed!"--poor "Martha," thou Long enough hast labored now; All the day's bright hours are numbered, Yet art thou "with toiling cumbered." Lay that tedious work away Till the blest return of day,-- Thou art care-worn and oppressed, Thou art weary "Martha," rest!

"Time for bed!"--shut up the stove, To its place the table move, Lay the books into their case, Wheel the sofa to its place, Wind the clock, brush up the floor, Close the shutters, lock the door, That will do--put out the light, Toil and trouble, all good night!

FROM THE OLD TO THE NEW

LINES FOR THE NEW YEAR

I hear the beat of the unresting tide On either shore as swiftly on I glide With eager haste the narrow channel o'er, Which links the floods behind with those before. I hear behind me as I onward glide, Faint, farewell voices blending with the tide, While from beyond, now near, now far away, Come stronger voices chiding each delay; And drowning, oft, with wild, discordant burst, The melancholy minor of the first

"Farewell! farewell!--ye leave us far behind you!"-- Tis thus the bright-winged Hours sigh from the Past-- "Ye leave us, and the coming ones will find you Still vainly dreaming they will ever last,-- Still trifling with the gifts all fresh and glowing, Each in its turn will scatter in your way,-- Still chasing airy phantoms, though well-knowing That, ere you grasp them, they will melt away-- Farewell! farewell!"

"Haste! haste! haste!"-- Thus from the Future the voices ring-- "The air is balmy with breath of spring, The waters sleep in the morning light, The storms are hushed, and the skies are bright, Haste! haste! haste!

"Isles of beauty and bloom are here, Groves, whose leafage is never sere, Teeming harvests of boundless wealth, Peace, and plenty, and buoyant health-- Haste! haste! haste!

"Joy-bells ring in the sunny air, Mirth and music are everywhere,-- Bend to the oars, and away, away While the ripples dance and the breezes play-- Haste! haste! haste!"

"Farewell! farewell!--ye leave us far behind you-- Us, the lost Hours that would have blessed you so! Yet, as ye leave us, let our strains remind you That we, not empty-handed, Heavenward go. Records we bear of all the good we brought you,-- Of all we offered,-all that ye refused,-- Of all the lessons we in patience taught you,-- Of wasted time, of privilege abused; To God's tribunal we those records bear, Sometime, remember, they will meet you there-- Farewell! farewell!"

THE VOICE OF SPRING

I heard a voice--twas the voice of Spring, Up from the rivulets murmuring, Singing of freedom,--thus the lay On the breezes floated away-- "Joy! joy!--the chains that bound us Now disappear, Sunlight pours its treasures round us, Warm, warm and clear, Onward, speeding onward To the bright main, Chainless, free, unfettered, Are we again!"

I heard a voice--'twas the voice of Spring, Out from the hill sides whispering, And a tender strain from the woodland lone Blended with it in murmurous tone-- "Joy! joy!--the world is waking From her long rest,-- Earth a glow of warmth is taking To her chill breast,-- Tiny flower germs, hidden Long out of sight, Stealing forth unbidden, Seek the warm light!"

I heard a voice--'twas the voice of Spring, Over the waters wandering, As to the wilds came the song birds back, Singing still in their homeward track-- "Joy! joy!--we're home returning To the free hills, From our long and far sojourning, Now, to the rills, To the echoing forest. Orchard and plain, With our old-time music, Speed we again!"

I heard a voice--'twas the voice of Spring,-- Nature, all Nature awoke to sing; And every valley, and grove, and plain Had its share in the welcome strain:-- "Joy! joy!--the chains are broken, Spring smiles again,-- Joy for every blessed token Of her glad reign,-- Joy on all the waters, Joy on each shore.-- Sunlight, song, sweet odors, Welcome once more!"

HONOR TO LABOR

HONOR TO LABOR!--it giveth health; Honor to labor!--it bringeth wealth; Honor to labor!--our glorious land Displayeth its triumphs on every hand. It has smoothed the plains, laid the forests low, And brightened the vales with the harvest's glow,-- Reared cities vast with their marts of trade, Where erst undisturbed lay the woodland shade,-- Brought up from the depths of the teeming mine, Its treasured stores in the light to shine,-- Sent Commerce forth on his tireless wings In search of all precious and goodly things-- Forth to the ice-bound Northern seas, And to bright isles fanned by the Southern breeze, Where the Orange deepens its sunset dyes, And the Cocoa ripens 'neath glowing skies,-- To the sunny islands of Austral climes,-- To lands undreamt of in elder times,-- Till every region, and clime, and zone, Has yielded its treasures to bless our own.

Honor to Labor!--it diveth deep To dim sea-caves where bright treasures sleep, And dareth with curious quest explore The ancient wonders of Ocean's floor. It fearless roams over Deserts vast, Where destruction rides on the Simoom's blast, And trackless sands have for ages frowned O'er cities in ancient song renowned. It climbs where the dazzling glaciers lie, Changeless and cold, 'neath a glowing sky, And leaves the trace of its triumphs proud Above the regions of storm and cloud.

The Ocean, once an untravelled waste, By feet adventurous never passed, Spread forth to the solemn skies alone Its restless waters to man unknown. Imagination, with eager quest, Went forth o'er its bosom with vague unrest, To loneliest regions devoid of light, Where dark Cimmerii dwelt in night,-- Or peopled its realms, undiscovered, lone, With phantoms of horror and shapes unknown.

But Labor came, and with kindling glance Boldly he traversed the far expanse, Scatt'ring the shadows of ancient night, And lifting a glad New World to light. Now, a realm of life is the glorious Sea-- A peopled realm of the bold and free-- Where the proud ship glides like a thing of life, And laughs at the storms and the billows' strife,-- Vast highway of nations, above whose deeps Commerce with tireless navies sweeps, And Life goes forth in its glad unrest, Buoyantly treading the waves' white crest.

Honor to Labor!--his strong right hand Old, frightful chasms has boldly spanned, And hung his teeming thoroughfares high 'Twixt rushing torrent and bending sky. He has harnessed Steam to the flying car, And sent it from ocean to ocean afar,-- Pierced strong-ribbed mountains that barred his way, And oped through their caverns a broad highway,-- Taught the lightning to carry his messages forth From West to East, and from South to North, And flash his thoughts through the depths profound Of Ocean, the Earth's circumference round,-- Made Light his servant to do his will-- With faultless pencil and subtlest skill Limning the features most dear in life, Of friend, or husband, or child, or wife, And compressing into a single hour The work of months of artistic power.

Honor to Labor!--with steady eye He has fearlessly traversed the midnight sky, And followed the mazy, perplexing dance Of planets and moons thro' the far expanse,-- Their orbits, periods, weight and size, Studied with heedful and cautious eyes, And forced the haughty, imperial sun To answer his inquiries one by one. He has tracked the comet's erratic flight Through the silent star-fields of primal night,-- Walked through the depths of old nebulae With flashing glance and with footstep free, And seen spin round him in wildering flight Systems and suns, while the infinite Of God's great universe stretched away Farther far than e'en thought might stray

"Honor to Labor!"--the mariner sings, As forth to the breezes his sails he flings;-- "It has made us lords of the boundless deep-- Fearlessly over the waves we sweep!"

"Honor to Labor!"--the traveller cries, As forth in the rushing tram he flies;-- "We may rival the speed of the bird's swift wing As he joyously soars thro' the skies of Spring, And the fetterless wind on its pinions free, Is scarcely more fleet in its course than we!"