Chapter 2

Mother, is He not near, Who had not where to rest His tired head? Who, in the dreary wilderness alone, Hungry and faint, had none to give Him bread; Listening t' the damp wind's low and sullen moan O'er nature's bier."

"My child, my comforter, in this dark hour of love Thy faith and trust in God is like the pole star's glow To some benighted sailor; yes, e'en now a thought Has come to me like light from dawning sunbeam brought. My father, Ethel, was a Mason; ere he died He called me to him, and kneeling at his side, Gave me a jewel, charged me with his dying breath Never to give it up except for life or death, For when at last he died we were almost alone, And stranger's ears were those which heard his dying moan, The hands of strangers robed him for the grave, The feet of strangers laid him where the cedars wave. Weary, he had left England for the balmy breath Of summer climes he found fierce pain and death. I was his joy, his all on earth, for the dark hour That gave me breath took home his purest flower. And I have never known what means that place of rest, The sweeetest home on earth, a living mother's breast. All the night long, in which my father died, He kept me close beside him, oft he vainly tried To tell me about something, ever and anon He'd speak about his brothers--I knew he had none-- Then in faint accents he would say, 'When I am cold Tell them I left a lamb outside the fold.' 'Tell whom?' I cried. 'My brothers.' Then he'd fall asleep, And I supposed him wandering and would weep. A year or so before we spent a happy time On bonnie Scotland's hills of heather and wild thyme, And oft we watched the shepherd tending flocks of sheep In the soft grassy vales, or up the mountain steep, And sweet were the life lessons that I often took From that unsullied page of nature's open book. There came to me through that fair, hallowed summer scene, Bright glowing visions of the fadeless pastures green, And clearer views of One I trust my soul will keep, That sinless, Holy Shepherd of the helpless sheep. And so I thought when father moaned amid his pain, 'I leave an orphan lamb;' he had gone back again Through the fierce fevers, annihilating flight, To valley of the blue bell, or the heath crowned height. But, suddenly there came one quick and conscious gleam Of light with its belongings; that transforming beam Lit up the past a moment, then its God-sent light Flashed up the path he travelled. No more tears, no night Was there for him, he said, only love is shining day, And calling on his young wife's name he passed away. Ethel, I've been so hungry often, and so chill, And what is ten times worse, have seen you faint and ill, And never yet have I foresworn my pledge; but now Our duty to the dead must plead my broken vow. Ethel, if my loved Father is with us to-night, Will he not stamp forgiveness on this dead as right? Perhaps in the morning light this howling storm will stay Its fury, and God please to open up our way. So we can lay our dead in quiet rest at last, Then we, my child, go forth and dare the world's cold blast."

"Mother, oh let me tell Something I saw to-day: I went for bread; But when I came to pass the church, my way Was stopped by a procession, a neighbor said It was St. John's loved Festival, a day Masons keep well.

And while we were delayed She spoke of one who had kind words for all, She said his name was Roy, told me his home; He could'nt have heard her, yet he looked at me So strangely, yet so kindly, that my thoughts will roam To him for aid.

Yes, mother; yes, to-night, Trust me with that Masonic jewel, I Will keep it safe; perhaps this very man May know of some one who would like to buy, At least he'll let me know its worth, I can But do the right.

Mother, deny me not, I'll go as "Esther went unto the king, God will protect me if the night is wild; Perhaps some bright ray of sunshine I may bring, Pray that good angels may surround your child, And guard her lot."

Ethel's Mission.

Out in the blinding and pitiless sleet, The young girl goes on her errand blest; She starts at each sound on the lonely street, As she longs for, but dares not dream of rest.

She knows not the worth of the gem she holds Close to her breast, in her thinly clad hands; A martyr's courage her soul enfolds, And a guardian angel near her stands.

She shudders oft as she passes by Some staggering form, whose ribald curse Seems, 'mid the storms of that stormy sky, To make the loneliness ten times worse.

Now on the icy pavement she stands, Now is plunged deep in a drift of snow, Now she is rubbing her freezing hands Scarcely knowing which way she must go.

She thinks of the past, the long dark past, And blights that follow a drunkard's child, And the tears she strive's to check fall fast, And turn to ice in that night so wild.

For we all know how, in the darkest shade, Dreams of the sunniest light will come To one in a foreign hospital laid, No words so dear as, "My home, sweet home!"

And Ethel sees visions of sunny bowers Where once she played with the ring-doves mild, 'Mid the piercing blast she can scent the flowers She plucked with joy when a little child.

Then she starts in fear, and a nameless dread, As she thinks of her mother o'er and o'er, Keeping lone watch with one lying dead, In that fearful stillness, behind the door;.

And, raising her trembling heart to Heaven, She asks of Him, who careth for birds, That help and strength may to her be given, And not in air die her earnest words.

She reaches the end of the lonely gloom, She scarcely knows if in fear or joy, She passes on to a snug warm room And stands in the presence of Victor Roy.

With tremulous efforts the timid girl Strives to utter her story of grief, all things grow of a dizzy whirl As she shivering stands like an aspen leaf.

He looks at the eyes so earnest and sad, He hears the voice that is sweet and mild, He sees a figure scantily clad, And only mutters, "Why, that is the child."

He looks at the snowflakes melting fast From the faded hood and the mantle fold, While his thoughts go dreamily into the past, And now he is young and now he is old.

He has taken the jewel in his hand, He knows the mark which that Key-stone bears; Upon any sea, upon any land, The sign of a brother that jewel wears.

He looks at the Key-stone, with eyes whose ray Grows dreamy like a somnambulist, and Ethel murmurs, "I saw you to-day At the church of St. John, the Evangelist.

Have I done any wrong in coming here? 'Twas only this evening my father died, And mother is lonely and full of fear; We have no friend in this world so wide."

And hearing the mournful voice again, Seemed the unexplained spell to break; And, in tones which were partly born of pain And partly of hopefulness, Victor spake:

"Come nearer the fire, little girl, and tell me why here you came. Why did you bring this jewel to me? How did you learn my name? Your father is dead, this was not his; your name is Ethel Adair. Adair, Adair, it seems like a dream; I have heard that name, but where? There, rest yourself child, it's cold to-night, you can tell me by and by Where you are from, and where you live--what do you say, will I buy? Do not fear little girl, I am your friend; you cannot speak the word Of thanks you wish to say, never mind, for there's One above has heard. Were you born in America? No; in Spain by the Darro's waters bright, Your parents went there from western skies, 'neath the Rocky mountain's height. Where do you live? What there, in that wretched barn of a place! A man who can rent such dens should meet the contempt of his race. What have you had to eat to-day? Why, how have you lived it out? Your mother and you did sewing; oh yes, at starvation prices, no doubt. Him? I know the man you have worked for then, he keeps his carriage and pair, Gives largely to missionary funds, and is long and loud in grayer. Never mind, the same All-Seeing Eye watches them come and go, That noted the whited sepulchre two thousand years ago. There, take that coffee and cake, and when you are rested I'll come And see what has to be done in your lonely, desolate home. And Jasper, you'll come along to take care of us both, and please bring Something to eat; a basket? yes, filled with every good thing. There, don't be long Jasper, time flies; yes, I know it is growing late, And Una and her lion have not so very long to wait. You used to read of Una, and wonder what made the lion stay; Lions are useful, Ethel, sometimes to keep the jackals away. Why child, are you ready so soon? Will you be my little guide? Oh, I cannot tell you the worth of this; do you know where your grandpa died? You would rather I bought it--all right--who is at home, only your mother, dear? A brother's daughter and orphan child must not perish while I am near. You knew that God would help you, have you learnt to trust and love Him too? There's another link between us then, ever old and ever new. You're afraid the storm will hurt me, you are used to the frosty air; We'll brave it together for once, so come little Ethel Adair.

Aimee's Soliloquy.

And has she gone--that fair, frail, gentle flower-- Out in this scene of winter's frost-forged power? Oh, heaven, have I been selfish in my woe? Sweet angels guard her through the blinding snow. Ethel, my child, my comforter, my stay, It seems a long dream since the summer day When first she came to me, in that far land Where the bright Darro laves the gleaming sand. 'Neath the blue skies of Spain her baby feet First walked amid the southern bowers, sweet With breath of jasemine; and the green vines twined Their gentle arms, clasping the golden rind Of ripened oranges, and the rose-hung bowers Glowed with the glory of a thousand flowers. And oft at night, up the dark waters came The splash of oars, beneath the stars white flame Sounded the solemn chant of sailors nigh, "Ave Maria! save us, hear our cry." But to my babe and I there came no hymn, No hallowing words amid the olives dim, Only the same dark blight on every scene, The leper's mournful cry, "Unclean, unclean." For then 'twas whispered that dark deeds of shame Wreathed with a viper's slime our household name. I know not all the truth, but I am sure The path of sin is downward, and the poor Weak soul that yields is bound by fetters tight 'Till comes the end as it has come to-night. And he lies there; oh, in this bitter cup Which Thou, my Father, bids't me drink up. I bless thy strong, calm power, which, through the years, The long, dark, downward time of change and tears Hast kept before my dimmed and fading sight One word which warned with an undying light, When love had proved an "_ignis fatuus_" gleam. Duty stood forward with a godlike beam, And brought before the fainting sickened heart, The words God listened to, "till death us part," Two short words, Love and Duty, when together How bearable the rains of stormy weather; But when they unclasp hands, e'en then the dew Grows into ice-points, piercing through and through. "Till death us part," and am I really free? Is the chain severed for eternity? Look back my conscience, for the hours go fast, Through the dim corridors of the far past. Oh memory, from what point will thou start, Back to the time when Victor won my heart; He was my idol, bright star of my life, Our home was planned, I was to be his wife; When off to India he sailed far away, Expecting to return an early day. Ah, that last night when he put out to sea, When by his side I sang "Abide with me;" Ah, mournful days, yet hopes bright fires would burn, Giving warm promise of his quick return, Oft would I stand beside the untiring seas, And send him words of love and trust like these:

"Evening's gloom is round me now, Evening's breeze is whispering low, Gentle murmuring voices wake From the ripples of the lake. Maker of the land and sea, Hear my humble evening plea, Father, hear me as I pray, One I love is far away.

Guide the bark that bears him on, Up the mountain's towering height, And the misty damps of night, In the city's moving throng, With the wood-dove's sweetest song, By the lonely river's marge, O'er him give Thy angels charge.

In his hours of gladsome mirth, Round some warm and welcome hearth, In the halls of keen debate, And the pomp and pride of state, Cheer his spirit with love's beams Lighten up his midnight dreams; In his wanderings free and wild, Father, keep him, as Thy child.

From the pestilential blight, From the sun-beams scorching light, From temptation's mighty power, In some lone unguarded hour. From the dangers that we know, From the dark undreamt of foe, From the death-splash of the wave, Father, hear and help and save."

Then came the tidings brought by Robert's hand, Victor lay buried in a far off land; Died, wafting my name up to Heaven in prayer, Leaving his promised bride to Robert's care. Oft it has puzzled me, until my brain Has racked itself from thinking into pain, Why Victor left me thus, for in the past He surely loved not Robert, perhaps at last He saw things differently and thought it best And had his wishes writ, e're he could rest. But oh, the agony of those past hours; It seems on looking back, that all my flowers Looked mournfully at me and drooped their heads, And lay like dying children in their beds; And the bright birds in the vine-covered wall Sang the sad chords of "The Dead March in Saul;" And I was living, but all else were dead, The sunbeam shimmered sickly o'er my head, As when a ray peers in a darkened room, Where one beneath a pall awaits his tomb. Robert was ever near when Victor died, And soon he sought to win me for his bride; He told me how he'd loved me many years, Loved him I loved, kindly he dried my tears, Pictured my desolate and lonely lot, Urged me to go with him to some new spot Where all the past should be but as a dream, And our lives glide gently down life's stream. I told him that my heart was far away, Beneath the palm where Victor's body lay; That nightly in my dreams I heard the splash Upon the shores where Ganges' waters dash. I told him all my hope now was to stand Amid the quiet of God's summerland; Beneath another palm tree's shade to be, And list the murmurs of the crystal sea. But Robert loved me; I became his wife; Could I forsee the sunken rocks of life? And he was handsome then, and kind, and bright; Could I foretell eclipses? then the night. Oh, I have looked sometimes upon that face, When robbed of every lineament of grace, And I have cried unto the heavens above, "It was not this, O God, I pledged to love; Unsteady gait, wild brain and selfish heart--" Flashed the red lights of danger "till death part." Tell me, soul-searching ray, if erst I strove To cherish, feed and guard where grew no love. We sailed away to far Australia's shore, Oh, the long days passed near the ocean's roar. For him on whom I leaned in hope and trust, Proved but coarse clay that crumbled soon to dust. Drinking and gambling, sharks that swallow whole, Homes, jewels, money, reason, body, soul. Alone, for weeks to hear none call my name, And happier alone; then baby came, My firstborn, precious boy, I lived for him For months; then his bright eyes grew dim, And where the reeds and grass grew rank and wild, We made a grave for Willie, darling child. Ah, well I ween the night we laid him there, I went to watch his grave; day had been fair, But eve came up with thunder's muttered growl, And ever and anon the lightning's scowl Flashed angrily upon me as I viewed The breakers dashing on the sea beach rude. I grew passionate amid the whirlwind's sigh, It had no word of comfort, loud was its cry, And deep, dark was the struggle of my soul, As I watched the billows onward roll. There came no ray of hope across my breast, As I turned toward my place of wild unrest; I looked in vain for calmness, up on high, It was not God's time for rainbows in the sky. I went again next eve; there was no storm, The full moon lighted up each darkening form; 'Twas the glory of a summer's bloom, And I went onward to my baby's tomb. I laid fresh flowers above the cold in death, I felt upon my cheek warm zephyr's breath, It seemed as if an angel had swept by Across the grass where I too longed to lie; And I saw the glorious sweep of moonbeams Gilding the white rocks, circling all the streams With rays of glory; I knelt on the bank, Watching the picture, till my lone heart sank Down to the depths; I could have slept to death, My wounds seemed to defy the balmy breath Of nature to restore my peace; my hands I stretched out o'er the sea to northern lands, I moved so swiftly o'er the moon gilt foam, I stood once more within my father's home, Could almost hear the village bells ring out, Could almost hear the merry children's shout, Could breathe the scent of violet and rose, Walked down the dells where the pale primrose grows. Ah, tell the truth, felt once again the bliss Of Victor's loving clasp and burning kiss, Felt his fond arms enfold me to his breast, And I a bird safe in its shadowy nest, And then the vision vanished; I was there, A prey to sorrow, loneliness and care, Like one who spends in a dark mine his life, My baby dead, and I a drunkard's wife. Then came a thought on Him of Mary born, Who turned not back for spear or cross or thorn, And through the murmurings of breeze and bay, A voice seemed whispering to me, "Watch and pray." I knelt as He knelt on the grassy sod, And following Him I prayed for strength from God; A sweet bird suddenly broke into song, A soft air trembled through the branches strong, And my soul rose on the pure air to Heaven, Thus to my heart was hope and comfort given. While by that grave I sang "Abide with me," As on the night when Victor went to sea; Ah, I was leaning then upon the breast That five-and-twenty years has been at rest. Oh, Victor! art thou gone so far away That thou cans't hear no earth tone night or day? Sometimes it seems as if thou wert not far, Nearer and warmer than the nearest star. How the wind moans--Ethel, my precious one, Where shall we wander by to-morrow's sun? Homeless and friendless in a stranger land, Our Saviour help and aid; Thy mighty hand Can save, Thine ear can list each bitter moan. Hark! Ethel's voice, she comes, and not alone!

Twelve Month's After.

Still rolleth onward time's mystical tide, Ebbing and flowing by night and day; Gladness and misery scattering wide, Gladness and misery turning away.

Fair Spring has been with her emerald leaves, Red Summer with roses of crimson ray, Brown Autumn has passed with its golden sheaves, Again St. John the Evangelist's day.

Since the morning came, Masonic bands Have gathered, old friendship's ties to renew; True hands have been clasped in a brother's hands, Calm rest and refreshment fall like dew.

Far over the roll of the billowy seas, Strangers have met on the lodge-room floor, And like Israel encamped beneath Elim's trees, Have thirsted for love's cool draught no more.

From the ice-wrought chain of the Arctic zone, To the silver-lit sands of rich Peru; From the shores which guard Victoria's throne, To the woods of the west, unshorn and new.

In the crowded street, full of noise and cheer, In hamlets and villages, still and calm; Where the northern bear glides cold and clear, Or the southern cross tints the sacred palm.

Over the face of this wonderful earth, Templars haye met in Encampment dear, Prisoners of hope have changed sighing for rest, Pilgrims have tarried where angels were near.

Souls that were longing for far better things, Their faith growing dulled by the Siroc's blight, Have shaken the dust from their weary wings, And plumed them again for a higher flight.

They have spoke of the work of the by-gone year, Of Ashlers now perfected true and square, Of weary hands folded upon the bier, Of souls passed on to a lodge room fair.

They have told of storms from the North, so chill, How dark was the South when the daylight ceased; They have watched the sun neath the Western hill, They have hailed his light in the holy East.

They have sang of the victor knights whose swords, Are sharpened to slay the dark hosts of sin; Still marching on through Saracen hordes, Till the King's Encampment at last they win.

They have knelt in prayer round the altar's shade, And implored what man never asks in vain, That creation's Grand Architect will aid, The builders to build till calm rest they gain.

Brave hearts have brightened love's armor anew, And so shall the magical spell last on, Till all who have worked by his pattern true, Shall meet face to face their beloved St. John.

Within the dwelling of Victor Roy, A fair girl awakens soft music's power, And a woman listens in silent joy, To the thrilling strains at that quiet hour.