Chapter 5

A shadow slept folded in vestments, The dream of a smile on its face, Dim, soft as the gleam after sunset That hangs like a halo of grace Where the daylight hath died in the valley, And the twilight hath taken its place. A shadow! but still on the mortal There rested the tremulous trace Of the joy of a spirit immortal, Passed up to its God in His grace.

A shadow! hast seen in the summer A cloud wear the smile of the sun? On the shadow of death there is flashing The glory of noble deeds done; On the face of the dead there is glowing The light of a holy race run; And the smile of the face is reflecting The gleam of the crown he has won. Still, shadow! sleep on in the vestments Unstained by the priest who has gone.

And thro' all the nations the children Of Vincent de Paul wail his loss; But the glory that crowns him in heaven Illumines the gloom of their cross. They send to the shadow the tribute Of tears, from the fountains of love, And they send from their altars sweet prayers To the throne of their Father above.

Yea! sorrow weeps over the shadow, But faith looks aloft to the skies; And hope, like a rainbow, is flashing O'er the tears that rain down from their eyes. They murmur on earth "De Profundis", The low chant is mingled with sighs; "Laudate" rings out through the heavens -- The dead priest hath won his faith's prize.

His children in sorrow will honor His grave; every tear is a gem, And their prayers round his brow in the heavens Will brighten his fair diadem. I kneel at his grave and remember, In love, I am ~still~ one of them.

Tears

The tears that trickled down our eyes, They do not touch the earth to-day; But soar like angels to the skies, And, like the angels, may not die; For ah! our immortality Flows thro' each tear -- sounds in each sigh.

What waves of tears surge o'er the deep Of sorrow in our restless souls! And they are strong, not weak, who weep Those drops from out the sea that rolls Within their hearts forevermore, Without a depth -- without a shore.

But ah! the tears that are not wept, The tears that never outward fall; The tears that grief for years has kept Within us -- they are best of all; The tears our eyes shall never know, Are dearer than the tears that flow.

Each night upon earth's flowers below, The dew comes down from darkest skies, And every night our tears of woe Go up like dews to Paradise, To keep in bloom, and make more fair, The flowers of crowns we yet shall wear.

For ah! the surest way to God Is up the lonely streams of tears, That flow when bending 'neath His rod, And fill the tide of earthly years. On laughter's billows hearts are tossed, On waves of tears no heart is lost.

Flow on, ye tears! and bear me home; Flow not! ye tears of deeper woe; Flow on, ye tears! that are but foam Of deeper waves that will not flow. A little while -- I reach the shore Where tears flow not forevermore!

Lines (Two Loves)

Two loves came up a long, wide aisle, And knelt at a low, white gate; One -- tender and true, with the shyest smile, One -- strong, true, and elate.

Two lips spoke in a firm, true way, And two lips answered soft and low; In one true hand such a little hand lay Fluttering, frail as a flake of snow.

One stately head bent humbly there, Stilled were the throbbings of human love; One head drooped down like a lily fair, Two prayers went, wing to wing, above.

God blest them both in the holy place, A long, brief moment the rite was done; On the human love fell the heavenly grace, Making two hearts forever one.

Between two lengthening rows of smiles, One sweetly shy, one proud, elate, Two loves passed down the long, wide aisles, Will they ever forget the low, white gate?

The Land We Love

Land of the gentle and brave! Our love is as wide as thy woe; It deepens beside every grave Where the heart of a hero lies low.

Land of the sunniest skies! Our love glows the more for thy gloom; Our hearts, by the saddest of ties, Cling closest to thee in thy doom.

Land where the desolate weep In a sorrow no voice may console! Our tears are but streams, making deep The ocean of love in our soul.

Land where the victor's flag waves, Where only the dead are free! Each link of the chain that enslaves But binds us to them and to thee.

Land where the Sign of the Cross Its shadow hath everywhere shed! We measure our love by thy loss, Thy loss by the graves of our dead!

In Memoriam

Go! heart of mine! the way is long -- The night is dark -- the place is far; Go! kneel and pray, or chant a song, Beside two graves where Mary's star Shines o'er two children's hearts at rest, With Mary's medals on their breast.

Go! heart! those children loved you so, Their little lips prayed oft for you! But ah! those necks are lying low Round which you twined the badge of blue. Go to their graves, this Virgin's feast, With poet's song and prayer of priest.

Go! like a pilgrim to a shrine, For that is holy ground where sleep Children of Mary and of thine; Go! kneel, and pray and sing and weep; Last summer how their faces smiled When each was blessed as Mary's child.

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My heart is gone! I cannot sing! Beside those children's grave, song dies; Hush! Poet! -- Priest! Prayer hath a wing To pass the stars and reach the skies; Sweet children! from the land of light Look down and bless my heart to-night.

Reverie ["We laugh when our souls are the saddest,"]

We laugh when our souls are the saddest, We shroud all our griefs in a smile; Our voices may warble their gladdest, And our souls mourn in anguish the while.

And our eyes wear a summer's bright glory, When winter is wailing beneath; And we tell not the world the sad story Of the thorn hidden back of the wreath.

Ah! fast flow the moments of laughter, And bright as the brook to the sea But ah! the dark hours that come after Of moaning for you and for me.

Yea, swift as the sunshine, and fleeting As birds, fly the moments of glee! And we smile, and mayhap grief is sleeting Its ice upon you and on me.

And the clouds of the tempest are shifting O'er the heart, tho' the face may be bright; And the snows of woe's winter are drifting Our souls; and each day hides a night.

For ah! when our souls are enjoying The mirth which our faces reveal, There is something -- a something -- alloying The sweetness of joy that we feel.

Life's loveliest sky hides the thunder Whose bolt in a moment may fall; And our path may be flowery, but under The flowers there are thorns for us all.

Ah! 'tis hard when our beautiful dreamings That flash down the valley of night, Wave their wing when the gloom hides their gleaming, And leave us, like eagles in flight;

And fly far away unreturning, And leave us in terror and tears, While vain is the spirit's wild yearning That they may come back in the years.

Come back! did I say it? but never Do eagles come back to the cage: They have gone -- they have gone -- and forever -- Does youth come back ever to age?

No! a joy that has left us in sorrow Smiles never again on our way, But we meet in the farthest to-morrow The face of the grief of to-day.

The brightness whose tremulous glimmer Has faded we cannot recall; And the light that grows dimmer and dimmer -- When gone -- 'tis forever and all.

Not a ray of it anywhere lingers, Not a gleam of it gilds the vast gloom; Youth's roses perfume not the fingers Of age groping nigh to the tomb.

For "the memory of joy is a sadness" -- The dim twilight after the day; And the grave where we bury a gladness Sends a grief like a ghost, on our way.

No day shall return that has faded, The dead come not back from the tomb; The vale of each life must be shaded, That we may see best from the gloom.

The height of the homes of our glory, All radiant with splendors of light; That we may read clearly life's story -- "The dark is the dawn of the bright."

I Often Wonder Why 'Tis So

Some find work where some find rest, And so the weary world goes on: I sometimes wonder which is best; The answer comes when life is gone.

Some eyes sleep when some eyes wake, And so the dreary night-hours go; Some hearts beat where some hearts break; I often wonder why 'tis so.

Some wills faint where some wills fight, Some love the tent, and some the field; I often wonder who are right -- The ones who strive, or those who yield?

Some hands fold where other hands Are lifted bravely in the strife; And so thro' ages and thro' lands Move on the two extremes of life.

Some feet halt where some feet tread, In tireless march, a thorny way; Some struggle on where some have fled; Some seek when others shun the fray.

Some swords rust where others clash, Some fall back where some move on; Some flags furl where others flash Until the battle has been won.

Some sleep on while others keep The vigils of the true and brave: They will not rest till roses creep Around their name above a grave.

A Blessing

Be you near, or be you far, Let my blessing, like a star, Shine upon you everywhere! And in each lone evening hour, When the twilight folds the flower, I will fold thy name in prayer.

In the dark and in the day, To my heart you know the way, Sorrow's pale hand keeps the key; In your sorrow or your sin You may always enter in; I will keep a place for thee.

If God's blessing pass away From your spirit; if you stray From his presence, do not wait. Come to my heart, for I keep For the hearts that wail and weep, Ever opened wide -- a gate.

In your joys to others go, When your feet walk ways of woe Only then come back to me; I will give you tear for tear, And our tears shall more endear Thee to me and me to thee.

For I make my heart the home Of all hearts in grief that come Seeking refuge and a rest. Do not fear me, for you know, Be your footsteps e'er so low, I know yours, of all, the best.

Once you came; and you brought sin; Did not my hand lead you in -- Into God's heart, thro' my own? Did not my voice speak a word You, for years, had never heard -- Mystic word in Mercy's tone?

And a grace fell on your brow, And I heard your murmured vow, When I whispered: "Go in peace." "Go in peace, and sin no more," Did you not touch Mercy's shore, Did not sin's wild tempest cease?

Go! then: thou art good and pure! If thou e'er shouldst fall, be sure, Back to me thy footsteps trace! In my heart for year and year, Be thou far away or near, I shall keep for thee a place.

Yes! I bless you -- near or far -- And my blessing, like a star, Shall shine on you everywhere; And in many a holy hour, As the sunshine folds the flower, I will fold thy heart in prayer.

July 9th, 1872

Between two pillared clouds of gold The beautiful gates of evening swung -- And far and wide from flashing fold The half-furled banners of light, that hung O'er green of wood and gray of wold And over the blue where the river rolled, The fading gleams of their glory flung.

The sky wore not a frown all day To mar the smile of the morning tide; The soft-voiced winds sang joyous lay -- You never would think they had ever sighed; The stream went on its sunlit way In ripples of laughter; happy they As the hearts that met at Riverside.

No cloudlet in the sky serene! Not a silver speck in the golden hue! But where the woods waved low and green, And seldom would let the sunlight through, Sweet shadows fell, and in their screen, The faces of children might be seen, And the flash of ribbons of blue.

It was a children's simple feast, Yet many were there whose faces told How far they are from childhood's East Who have reached the evening of the old! And father -- mother -- sister -- priest -- They seemed all day like the very least Of the little children of the fold.

The old forgot they were not young, The young forgot they would e'er be old, And all day long the trees among, Where'er their footsteps stayed or strolled, Came wittiest word from tireless tongue, And the merriest peals of laughter rung Where the woods drooped low and the river rolled.

No cloud upon the faces there, Not a sorrow came from its hiding place To cast the shadow of a care On the fair, sweet brows in that fairest place For in the sky and in the air, And in their spirits, and everywhere, Joy reigned in the fullness of her grace.

The day was long, but ah! too brief! Swift to the West bright-winged she fled; Too soon on ev'ry look and leaf The last rays flushed which her plumage shed From an evening cloud -- was it a sign of grief? And the bright day passed -- is there much relief That its dream dies not when its gleam is dead?

Great sky, thou art a prophet still! And by thy shadows and by thy rays We read the future if we will, And all the fates of our future ways; To-morrows meet us in vale and hill, And under the trees, and by the rill, Thou givest the sign of our coming days.

That evening cloud was a sign, I ween -- For the sister of that summer day Shall come next year to the selfsame scene; The winds will sing the selfsame lay; The selfsame woods will wave as green, And Riverside, thy skies serene Shall robe thee again in a golden sheen; Yet though thy shadows may weave a screen Where the children's faces may be seen, Thou ne'er shall be as thou hast been, For a face they loved has passed away.

Wake Me a Song

Out of the silences wake me a song, Beautiful, sad, and soft, and low; Let the loveliest music sound along, And wing each note with a wail of woe: Dim and drear As hope's last tear; Out of the silences wake me a hymn, Whose sounds are like shadows soft and dim.

Out of the stillness in your heart -- A thousand songs are sleeping there -- Wake me a song, thou child of art! The song of a hope in a last despair: Dark and low, A chant of woe; Out of the stillness, tone by tone, Cold as a snowflake, low as a moan.

Out of the darkness flash me a song, Brightly dark and darkly bright; Let it sweep as a lone star sweeps along The mystical shadows of the night: Sing it sweet; Where nothing is drear, or dark, or dim, And earth-song soars into heavenly hymn.

In Memoriam (David J. Ryan, C.S.A.)

Thou art sleeping, brother, sleeping In thy lonely battle grave; Shadows o'er the past are creeping, Death, the reaper, still is reaping, Years have swept, and years are sweeping Many a memory from my keeping, But I'm waiting still, and weeping For my beautiful and brave.

When the battle songs were chanted, And war's stirring tocsin pealed, By those songs thy heart was haunted, And thy spirit, proud, undaunted, Clamored wildly -- wildly panted: "Mother! let my wish be granted; I will ne'er be mocked and taunted That I fear to meet our vaunted Foemen on the bloody field.

"They are thronging, mother! thronging, To a thousand fields of fame; Let me go -- 'tis wrong, and wronging God and thee to crush this longing; On the muster-roll of glory, In my country's future story, On the field of battle gory I must consecrate my name.

"Mother! gird my sword around me, Kiss thy soldier-boy `good-bye.'" In her arms she wildly wound thee, To thy birth-land's cause she bound thee, With fond prayers and blessings crowned thee, And she sobbed: "When foes surround thee, If you fall, I'll know they found thee Where the bravest love to die."

At the altar of their nation, Stood that mother and her son, He, the victim of oblation, Panting for his immolation; She, in priestess' holy station, Weeping words of consecration, While God smiled his approbation, Blessed the boy's self-abnegation, Cheered the mother's desolation, When the sacrifice was done.

Forth, like many a noble other, Went he, whispering soft and low: "Good-bye -- pray for me, my mother; Sister! kiss me -- farewell, brother;" And he strove his grief to smother. Forth, with footsteps firm and fearless, And his parting gaze was tearless Though his heart was lone and cheerless, Thus from all he loved to go.

Lo! yon flag of freedom flashing In the sunny Southern sky: On, to death and glory dashing, On, where swords are clanging, clashing, On, where balls are crushing, crashing, On, 'mid perils dread, appalling, On, they're falling, falling, falling. On, they're growing fewer, fewer, On, their hearts beat all the truer, On, on, on, no fear, no falter, On, though round the battle-altar There were wounded victims moaning, There were dying soldiers groaning; On, right on, death's danger braving, Warring where their flag was waving, While Baptismal blood was laving All that field of death and slaughter; On, still on; that bloody lava Made them braver and made them braver, On, with never a halt or waver, On in battle -- bleeding -- bounding, While the glorious shout swept sounding, "We will win the day or die!"

And they won it; routed -- riven -- Reeled the foemen's proud array: They had struggled hard, and striven, Blood in torrents they had given, But their ranks, dispersed and driven, Fled, in sullenness, away.

Many a heart was lonely lying That would never throb again; Some were dead, and some were dying; Those were silent, these were sighing; Thus to die alone, unattended, Unbewept and unbefriended, On that bloody battle-plain.

When the twilight sadly, slowly Wrapped its mantle o'er them all, Thousands, thousands lying lowly, Hushed in silence deep and holy, There was one, his blood was flowing And his last of life was going,

And his pulse faint, fainter beating Told his hours were few and fleeting; And his brow grew white and whiter, While his eyes grew strangely brighter; There he lay -- like infant dreaming, With his sword beside him gleaming, For the hand in life that grasped it, True in death still fondly clasped it; There his comrades found him lying 'Mid the heaps of dead and dying, And the sternest bent down weeping O'er the lonely sleeper sleeping: 'Twas the midnight; stars shone round him, And they told us how they found him Where the bravest love to fall.

Where the woods, like banners bending, Drooped in starlight and in gloom, There, when that sad night was ending, And the faint, far dawn was blending With the stars now fast descending; There they mute and mournful bore him, With the stars and shadows o'er him, And they laid him down -- so tender -- And the next day's sun, in splendor, Flashed above my brother's tomb.

What? (To Ethel)

At the golden gates of the visions I knelt me adown one day; But sudden my prayer was a silence, For I heard from the "Far away" The murmur of many voices And a silvery censer's sway.

I bowed in awe, and I listened -- The deeps of my soul were stirred, But deepest of all was the meaning Of the far-off music I heard, And yet it was stiller than silence, Its notes were the "Dream of a Word".

A word that is whispered in heaven, But cannot be heard below; It lives on the lips of the angels Where'er their pure wings glow; Yet only the "Dream of its Echo" Ever reaches this valley of woe.

But I know the word and its meaning; I reached to its height that day, When prayer sank into a silence And my heart was so far away; But I may not murmur the music, Nor the word may my lips yet say.

But some day far in the future, And up from the dust of the dead, And out of my lips when speechless The mystical word shall be said, 'Twill come to thee, still as a spirit, When the soul of the bard has fled.

The Master's Voice

The waves were weary, and they went to sleep; The winds were hushed; The starlight flushed The furrowed face of all the mighty deep.

The billows yester eve so dark and wild, Wore strangely now A calm upon their brow, Like that which rests upon a cradled child.

The sky was bright, and every single star, With gleaming face, Was in its place, And looked upon the sea -- so fair and far.

And all was still -- still as a temple dim, When low and faint, As murmurs plaint, Dies the last note of the Vesper hymn.

A bark slept on the sea, and in the bark Slept Mary's Son -- The only One Whose face is light! where all, all else, is dark.

His brow was heavenward turned, His face was fair He dreamed of me On that still sea -- The stars He made were gleaming through His hair.

And lo! a moan moved o'er the mighty deep; The sky grew dark: The little bark Felt all the waves awaking from their sleep.

The winds wailed wild, and wilder billows beat; The bark was tossed: Shall all be lost? But Mary's Son slept on, serene and sweet.

The tempest raged in all its mighty wrath, The winds howled on, All hope seemed gone, And darker waves surged round the bark's lone path.

The sleeper woke! He gazed upon the deep; He whispered: "Peace! Winds -- wild waves, cease! Be still!" The tempest fled -- the ocean fell asleep.

And ah! when human hearts by storms are tossed, When life's lone bark Drifts through the dark And 'mid the wildest waves where all seems lost,

He now, as then, with words of power and peace, Murmurs: "Stormy deep, Be still -- still -- and sleep!" And lo! a great calm comes -- the tempest's perils cease.

A "Thought-Flower"

Silently -- shadowly -- some lives go, And the sound of their voices is all unheard; Or, if heard at all, 'tis as faint as the flow Of beautiful waves which no storm hath stirred. Deep lives these As the pearl-strewn seas.

Softly and noiselessly some feet tread Lone ways on earth, without leaving a mark; They move 'mid the living, they pass to the dead, As still as the gleam of a star thro' the dark. Sweet lives those In their strange repose.

Calmly and lowly some hearts beat, And none may know that they beat at all; They muffle their music whenever they meet A few in a hut or a crowd in a hall. Great hearts those -- God only knows!

Soundlessly -- shadowly -- such move on, Dim as the dream of a child asleep; And no one knoweth 'till they are gone How lofty their souls -- their hearts how deep. Bright souls these -- God only sees.

Lonely and hiddenly in the world -- Tho' in the world 'tis their lot to stay -- The tremulous wings of their hearts are furled Until they fly from the world away, And find their rest On "Our Father's" breast, Where earth's unknown shall be known the best, And the hidden hearts shall be brightest blest.

A Death

Crushed with a burden of woe, Wrecked in the tempest of sin: Death came, and two lips murmured low, "Ah! once I was white as the snow, In the happy and pure long ago; But they say God is sweet -- is it so? Will He let a poor wayward one in -- In where the innocent are? Ah! justice stands guard at the gate; Does it mock at a poor sinner's fate? Alas! I have fallen so far! Oh, God! Oh, my God! 'tis too late! I have fallen as falls a lost star:

"The sky does not miss the gone gleam, But my heart, like the lost star, can dream Of the sky it has fall'n from. Nay! I have wandered too far -- far away. Oh! would that my mother were here; Is God like a mother? Has He Any love for a sinner like me?"

Her face wore the wildness of woe -- Her words, the wild tones of despair; Ah! how can a heart sink so low? How a face that was once bright and so fair, Can be furrowed and darkened with care? Wild rushed the hot tears from her eyes, From her lips rushed the wildest of sighs, Her poor heart was broken; but then Her God was far gentler than men.

A voice whispered low at her side, "Child! God is more gentle than men, He watches by passion's dark tide, He sees a wreck drifting -- and then He beckons with hand and with voice, And he sees the poor wreck floating in To the haven on Mercy's bright shore; And He whispers the whisper of yore: `The angels of heaven rejoice O'er the sinner repenting of sin.'"

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