Chapter 11

Yea! nature is His shadow, and how bright Must that face be which such a shadow casts? We walk within it, for "we live and move And have our being" in His ev'rywhere. Why is God shy? Why doth He hide Himself? The tiniest grain of sand on ocean's shore Entemples Him; the fragrance of the rose Folds Him around as blessed incense folds The altars of His Christ: yet some will walk Along the temple's wondrous vestibule And look on and admire -- yet enter not To find within the Presence, and the Light Which sheds its rays on all that is without. And nature is His voice; who list may hear His name low-murmured every -- everywhere. In songs of birds, in rustle of the flowers, In swaying of the trees, and on the seas The blue lips of the wavelets tell the ships That come and go, His holy, holy name. The winds, or still or stormy, breathe the same; And some have ears and yet they will not hear The soundless voice re-echoed everywhere; And some have hearts that never are enthrilled By all the grand Hosannahs nature sings. List! Sanctus! Sanctus! Sanctus! without pause Sounds sweetly out of all creation's heart, That hearts with power to love may echo back Their Sanctus! Sanctus! Sanctus! to the hymn.

Passing Away

Life's Vesper-bells are ringing In the temple of my heart, And yon sunset, sure, is singing "Nunc dimittis -- Now depart!" Ah! the eve is golden-clouded, But to-morrow's sun shall shine On this weary body shrouded; But my soul doth not repine.

"Let me see the sun descending, I will see his light no more, For my life, this eve, is ending; And to-morrow on the shore That is fair, and white, and golden, I will meet my God; and ye Will forget not all the olden, Happy hours ye spent with me.

"I am glad that I am going; What a strange and sweet delight Is thro' all my being flowing When I know that, sure, to-night I will pass from earth and meet Him Whom I loved thro' all the years, Who will crown me when I greet Him, And will kiss away my tears.

"My last sun! haste! hurry westward! In the dark of this to-night My poor soul that hastens rest-ward `With the Lamb' will find the light; Death is coming -- and I hear him, Soft and stealthy cometh he; But I do not believe I fear him, God is now so close to me."

* * * * *

Fell the daylight's fading glimmer On a face so wan and white; Brighter was his soul, while dimmer Grew the shadows of the night; And he died -- and God was near him; I knelt by him to forgive; And I sometimes seem to hear him Whisper -- "Live as I did live."

The Pilgrim (A Christmas Legend for Children)

The shades of night were brooding O'er the sea, the earth, the sky; The passing winds were wailing In a low, unearthly sigh; The darkness gathered deeper, For no starry light was shed, And silence reigned unbroken, As the silence of the dead.

The wintry clouds were hanging From the starless sky so low, While 'neath them earth lay folded In a winding shroud of snow. 'Twas cold, 'twas dark, 'twas dreary, And the blast that swept along The mountains hoarsely murmured A fierce, discordant song.

And mortal men were resting From the turmoil of the day, And broken hearts were dreaming Of the friends long passed away; And saintly men were keeping Their vigils through the night, While angel spirits hovered near Around their lonely light.

And wicked men were sinning In the midnight banquet halls, Forgetful of that sentence traced On proud Belshazzar's walls. On that night, so dark and dismal, Unillumed by faintest ray, Might be seen the lonely pilgrim Wending on his darksome way.

Slow his steps, for he was weary, And betimes he paused to rest; Then he rose, and, pressing onward, Murmured lowly: "I must haste." In his hand he held a chaplet, And his lips were moved in prayer, For the darkness and the silence Seemed to whisper God was there.

On the lonely pilgrim journeyed, Nought disturbed him on his way, And his prayers he softly murmured As the midnight stole away. Hark! amid the stillness rises On his ears a distant strain Softly sounding -- now it ceases -- Sweetly now it comes again.

In his path he paused to wonder While he listened to the sound: On it came, so sweet, so pensive, 'Mid the blast that howled around; And the restless winds seemed soothed By that music, gentle, mild, And they slept, as when a mother Rocks to rest her cradled child.

Strange and sweet the calm that followed, Stealing through the midnight air; Strange and sweet the sounds that floated Like an angel breathing there. From the sky the clouds were drifting Swiftly one by one away, And the sinless stars were shedding Here and there a silver ray.

"Why this change?" the pilgrim whispered -- "Whence that music? whence its power? Earthly sounds are not so lovely! Angels love the midnight hour!" Bending o'er his staff, he wondered, Loath to leave that sacred place: "I must hasten," said he, sadly -- On he pressed with quickened pace.

Just before him rose a mountain, Dark its outline, steep its side -- Down its slopes that midnight music Seemed so soothingly to glide. "I will find it," said the pilgrim, "Though this mountain I must scale" -- Scarcely said, when on his vision Shone a distant light, and pale.

Glad he was; and now he hastened -- Brighter, brighter grew the ray -- Stronger, stronger swelled the music As he struggled on his way. Soon he gained the mountain summit, Lo! a church bursts on his view: From the church that light was flowing, And that gentle music, too.

Near he came -- its door stood open -- Still he stood in awe and fear; "Shall I enter spot so holy? Am I unforbidden here? I will enter -- something bids me -- Saintly men are praying here; Vigils sacred they are keeping, 'Tis their Matin song I hear."

Softly, noiselessly, he glided Through the portal; on his sight Shone a vision, bright, strange, thrilling; Down he knelt -- 'twas Christmas night -- Down, in deepest adoration, Knelt the lonely pilgrim there; Joy unearthly, rapture holy, Blended with his whispered prayer.

Wrapped his senses were in wonder, On his soul an awe profound, As the vision burst upon him, 'Mid sweet light and sweeter sound. "Is it real? is it earthly? Is it all a fleeting dream? Hark! those choral voices ringing, Lo! those forms like angels seem."

On his view there rose an altar, Glittering 'mid a thousand beams, Flowing from the burning tapers In bright, sparkling, silver streams. From unnumbered crystal vases, Rose and bloomed the fairest flowers, Shedding 'round their balmy fragrance 'Mid the lights in sweetest showers.

Rich and gorgeous was the altar, Decked it was in purest white. Mortal hands had not arrayed it Thus, upon that Christmas night. Amid its lights and lovely flowers, The little tabernacle stood; Around it all was rich and golden, It alone was poor and rude.

Hark! Venite Adoremus! Round the golden altar sounds -- See that band of angels kneeling Prostrate, with their sparkling crowns! And the pilgrim looked and listened, And he saw the angels there, And their snow-white wings were folded, As they bent in silent prayer.

Twelve they were; bright rays of glory Round their brows effulgent shone; But a wreath of nobler beauty Seemed to grace and circle one; And he, beauteous, rose and opened Wide the tabernacle door: Hark! Venite Adoremus Rises -- bending, they adore.

Lo! a sound of censers swinging! Clouds of incense weave around The altar rich a silver mantle, As the angels' hymns resound. List! Venite Adoremus Swells aloud in stronger strain, And the angels swing the censers, And they prostrate bend again.

Rising now, with voice of rapture, Bursts aloud, in thrilling tone, "Gloria in Excelsis Deo" Round the sacramental throne. Oh! 'twas sweet, 'twas sweet and charming As the notes triumphant flowed! Oh! 'twas sweet, while wreathes of incense Curled, and countless tapers glowed.

Oh! 'twas grand! that hymn of glory Earthly sounds cannot compare; Oh! 'twas grand! it breath'd of heaven, As the angels sung it there. Ravished by the strains ecstatic, Raptured by the vision grand, Gazed the pilgrim on the altar, Gazed upon the angel band.

All was hushed! the floating echoes Of the hymn had died away; Vanished were the clouds of incense, And the censers ceased to sway. Lo! their wings are gently waving, And the angels softly rise, Bending towards the tabernacle, Worship beaming from their eyes.

One last, lowly genuflection! From their brows love burning shone -- Ah! they're going, they've departed, All but one, the brightest one. "Why remains he?" thought the pilgrim, Ah! he rises beauteously -- "Listen!" and the angel murmured Sweetly: "Pilgrim, hail to thee!"

"Come unto the golden altar, I'm an angel -- banish fear -- Come, unite in adoration With me, for our God is here. Come thy Jesus here reposes, Come! He'll bless thy mortal sight -- Come! adore the Infant Saviour With me -- for 'tis Christmas night."

Now approached the pilgrim, trembling, Now beside the angel bent, And the deepest, blissful gladness, With his fervent worship blent. "Pilgrim," said the spirit, softly, "Thou hast seen bright angels here, And hast heard our sacred anthems, Filled with rapture, filled with fear.

"We are twelve -- 'twas we who chanted First the Saviour's lowly birth, We who brought the joyful tidings Of His coming, to the earth; We who sung unto the shepherds, Watching on the mountain height, That the Word was made Incarnate For them on that blessed night.

"And since then we love to linger On that festal night on earth; And we leave our thrones of glory Here to keep the Saviour's birth. Happy mortals! happy mortals! To-night the angels would be men; And they leave their thrones in heaven, For the Crib of Bethlehem."

And the angel led the pilgrim To the tabernacle door; Lo! an Infant there was sleeping, And the angel said: "Adore! He is sleeping, yet he watches, See that beam of love divine; Pilgrim! pay your worship holy To your Infant God and mine."

And the spirit slowly, slowly, Closed the tabernacle door, While the pilgrim lowly, lowly, Bent in rapture to adore. "Pilgrim," spoke the angel sweetly, "I must bid thee my adieu; Love! oh! love the Infant Jesus! --" And he vanished from his view.

* * * * *

All was silent -- silent -- silent -- Faded was the vision bright -- But the pilgrim long remembered In his heart that Christmas night.

A Reverie ["Those hearts of ours -- how strange! how strange!"]

Those hearts of ours -- how strange! how strange! How they yearn to ramble and love to range Down through the vales of the years long gone, Up through the future that fast rolls on.

To-days are dull -- so they wend their ways Back to their beautiful yesterdays; The present is blank -- so they wing their flight To future to-morrows where all seems bright.

Build them a bright and beautiful home, They'll soon grow weary and want to roam; Find them a spot without sorrow or pain, They may stay a day, but they're off again.

Those hearts of ours -- how wild! how wild! They're as hard to tame as an Indian child; They're as restless as waves on the sounding sea, Like the breeze and the bird are they fickle and free.

Those hearts of ours -- how lone! how lone! Ever, forever, they mourn and moan; Let them revel in joy, let them riot in cheer; The revelry o'er, they're all the more drear.

Those hearts of ours -- how warm! how warm! Like the sun's bright rays, like the Summer's charm; How they beam and burn! how they gleam and glow Their flash and flame hide but ashes below.

Those hearts of ours -- how cold! how cold! Like December's snow on the waste or wold; And though our Decembers melt soon into May, Hearts know Decembers that pass not away.

Those hearts of ours -- how deep! how deep! You may sound the sea where the corals sleep, Where never a billow hath rumbled or rolled -- Depths still the deeper our hearts hide and hold.

Where the wild storm's tramp hath ne'er been known The wrecks of the sea lie low and lone; Thus the heart's surface may sparkle and glow, There are wrecks far down -- there are graves below.

Those hearts of ours -- but, after all, How shallow and narrow, how tiny and small; Like scantiest streamlet or Summer's least rill, They're as easy to empty -- as easy to fill.

One hour of storm and how the streams pour! One hour of sun and the streams are no more; One little grief -- how the tears gush and glide! One smile -- flow they ever so fast, they are dried.

Those hearts of ours -- how wise! how wise! They can lift their thoughts till they touch the skies; They can sink their shafts, like a miner bold, Where wisdom's mines hide their pearls and gold.

Aloft they soar with undazzled gaze, Where the halls of the Day-King burn and blaze; Or they fly with a wing that will never fail, O'er the sky's dark sea where the star-ships sail.

Those hearts of ours -- what fools! what fools! How they laugh at wisdom, her cant and rules! How they waste their powers, and, when wasted, grieve For what they have squandered, but cannot retrieve.

Those hearts of ours -- how strong! how strong! Let a thousand sorrows around them throng, They can bear them all, and a thousand more, And they're stronger then than they were before.

Those hearts of ours -- how weak! how weak! But a single word of unkindness speak, Like a poisoned shaft, like a viper's fang, That one slight word leaves a life-long pang.

Those hearts of ours -- but I've said enough, As I find that my rhyme grows rude and rough; I'll rest me now, but I'll come again Some other day, to resume my strain.

---- Their Story Runneth Thus

Two little children played among the flowers, Their mothers were of kin, tho' far apart; The children's ages were the very same E'en to an hour -- and Ethel was her name, A fair, sweet girl, with great, brown, wond'ring eyes That seemed to listen just as if they held The gift of hearing with the power of sight. Six summers slept upon her low white brow, And dreamed amid the roses of her cheeks. Her voice was sweetly low; and when she spoke Her words were music; and her laughter rang So like an altar-bell that, had you heard Its silvery sound a-ringing, you would think Of kneeling down and worshiping the pure.

They played among the roses -- it was May -- And "hide and seek", and "seek and hide", all eve They played together till the sun went down. Earth held no happier hearts than theirs that day: And tired at last she plucked a crimson rose And gave to him, her playmate, cousin-kin; And he went thro' the garden till he found The whitest rose of all the roses there, And placed it in her long, brown, waving hair. "I give you red -- and you -- you give me white: What is the meaning?" said she, while a smile, As radiant as the light of angels' wings, Swept bright across her face; the while her eyes Seemed infinite purities half asleep In sweetest pearls; and he did make reply: "Sweet Ethel! white dies first; you know, the snow, (And it is not as white as thy pure face) Melts soon away; but roses red as mine Will bloom when all the snow hath passed away."

She sighed a little sigh, then laughed again, And hand in hand they walked the winding ways Of that fair garden till they reached her home. A good-bye and a kiss -- and he was gone.

She leaned her head upon her mother's breast, And ere she fell asleep she, sighing, called: "Does white die first? my mother! and does red Live longer?" And her mother wondered much At such strange speech. She fell asleep With murmurs on her lips of red and white.

Those children loved as only children can -- With nothing in their love save their whole selves. When in their cradles they had been betroth'd; They knew it in a manner vague and dim -- Unconscious yet of what betrothal meant.

The boy -- she called him Merlin -- a love name -- (And he -- he called her always Ullainee, No matter why); the boy was full of moods. Upon his soul and face the dark and bright Were strangely intermingled. Hours would pass Rippling with his bright prattle; and then, hours Would come and go, and never hear a word Fall from his lips, and never see a smile Upon his face. He was so like a cloud With ever-changeful hues, as she was like A golden sunbeam shining on its face.

* * * * *

Ten years passed on. They parted and they met Not often in each year; yet as they grew In years, a consciousness unto them came Of human love. But it was sweet and pure. There was no passion in it. Reverence, Like Guardian-Angel, watched o'er Innocence.

One night in mid of May their faces met As pure as all the stars that gazed on them. They met to part from themselves and the world; Their hearts just touched to separate and bleed; Their eyes were linked in look, while saddest tears Fell down, like rain, upon the cheeks of each: They were to meet no more. Their hands were clasped To tear the clasp in twain; and all the stars Looked proudly down on them, while shadows knelt, Or seemed to kneel, around them with the awe Evoked from any heart by sacrifice. And in the heart of that last parting hour Eternity was beating. And he said: "We part to go to Calvary and to God -- This is our garden of Gethsemane; And here we bow our heads and breathe His prayer Whose heart was bleeding, while the angels heard: Not my will, Father! but Thine own be done." Raptures meet agonies in such heart-hours; Gladness doth often fling her bright, warm arms Around the cold, white neck of grief -- and thus The while they parted -- sorrow swept their hearts Like a great, dark stormy sea -- but sudden A joy, like sunshine -- did it come from God? --

Flung over every wave that swept o'er them A more than golden glory. Merlin said: "Our loves must soar aloft to spheres divine; The human satisfies nor you nor me, (No human love shall ever satisfy -- Or ever did -- the hearts that lean on it); You sigh for something higher as do I, So let our spirits be espoused in God, And let our wedlock be as soul to soul; And prayer shall be the golden marriage ring, And God will bless us both." She sweetly said: "Your words are echoes of my own soul's thoughts; Let God's own heart be our own holy home And let us live as only angels live; And let us love as our own angels love. 'Tis hard to part -- but it is better so -- God's will is ours, and -- Merlin! let us go."

And then she sobbed as if her heart would break -- Perhaps it did; an awful minute passed, Long as an age and briefer than a flash Of lightning in the skies. No word was said -- Only a look which never was forgot. Between them fell the shadows of the night. Their faces went away into the dark, And never met again; and yet their souls Were twined together in the heart of Christ.

And Ethel went from earthland long ago; But Merlin stays still hanging on his cross. He would not move a nail that nails him there, He would not pluck a thorn that crowns him there. He hung himself upon the blessed cross With Ethel; she has gone to wear the crown That wreathes the brows of virgins who have kept Their bodies with their souls from earthly taint.

And years and years, and weary years, passed on Into the past. One Autumn afternoon, When flowers were in their agony of death, And winds sang "De Profundis" over them, And skies were sad with shadows, he did walk Where, in a resting place as calm as sweet, The dead were lying down; the Autumn sun Was half way down the west; the hour was three -- The holiest hour of all the twenty-four, For Jesus leaned His head on it, and died. He walked alone amid the virgin's graves Where virgins slept; a convent stood near by, And from the solitary cells of nuns Unto the cells of death the way was short. Low, simple stones and white watched o'er each grave, While in the hollows 'tween them sweet flowers grew, Entwining grave and grave. He read the names Engraven on the stones, and "Rest in peace" Was written 'neath them all, and o'er each name A cross was graven on the lowly stone. He passed each grave with reverential awe, As if he passed an altar, where the Host Had left a memory of its sacrifice. And o'er the buried virgins' virgin dust He walked as prayerfully as tho' he trod The holy floor of fair Loretta's shrine. He passed from grave to grave, and read the names Of those whose own pure lips had changed the names By which this world had known them into names Of sacrifice known only to their God; Veiling their faces they had veiled their names; The very ones who played with them as girls, Had they passed there, would know no more than he Or any stranger where their playmates slept; And then he wondered all about their lives, their hearts, Their thoughts, their feelings, and their dreams, Their joys and sorrows, and their smiles and tears. He wondered at the stories that were hid Forever down within those simple graves. In a lone corner of that resting-place Uprose a low white slab that marked a grave Apart from all the others; long, sad grass Drooped o'er the little mound, and mantled it With veil of purest green; around the slab The whitest of white roses 'twined their arms -- Roses cold as the snows and pure as songs Of angels -- and the pale leaflets and thorns Hid e'en the very name of her who slept Beneath. He walked on to the grave, but when He reached its side a spell fell on his heart So suddenly -- he knew not why -- and tears Went up into his eyes and trickled down Upon the grass; he was so strangely moved As if he met a long-gone face he loved. I believe he prayed. He lifted then the leaves That hid the name; but as he did, the thorns Did pierce his hand, and lo! amazed, he read The very word -- the very, very name He gave the girl in golden days before --

"ULLAINEE".

He sat beside that lonely grave for long, He took its grasses in his trembling hand, He toyed with them and wet them with his tears, He read the name again, and still again, He thought a thousand thoughts, and then he thought It all might be a dream -- then rubbed his eyes And read the name again to be more sure; Then wondered and then wept -- then asked himself: "What means it all? Can this be Ethel's grave? I dreamed her soul had fled. Was she the white dove that I saw in dream Fly o'er the sleeping sea so long ago?"

The convent bell Rang sweet upon the breeze, and answered him His question. And he rose and went his way Unto the convent gate; long shadows marked One hour before the sunset, and the birds Were singing Vespers in the convent trees. As silent as a star-gleam came a nun In answer to his summons at the gate; Her face was like the picture of a saint, Or like an angel's smile; her downcast eyes Were like a half-closed tabernacle, where God's presence glowed; her lips were pale and worn By ceaseless prayer; and when she sweetly spoke, And bade him enter, 'twas in such a tone As only voices own which day and night Sing hymns to God.

She locked the massive gate. He followed her along a flower-fringed walk That, gently rising, led up to the home Of virgin hearts. The very flowers that bloomed Within the place, in beds of sacred shapes, (For they had fashioned them with holy care, Into all holy forms -- a chalice, a cross, And sacred hearts -- and many saintly names, That, when their eyes would fall upon the flowers, Their souls might feast upon some mystic sign), Were fairer far within the convent walls, And purer in their fragrance and their bloom Than all their sisters in the outer world.

He went into a wide and humble room -- The floor was painted, and upon the walls, In humble frames, most holy paintings hung; Jesus and Mary and many an olden saint Were there. And she, the veil-clad Sister, spoke: "I'll call the mother," and she bowed and went.