Ill fares the heart, when hope has fled;
That heart, to fate unreconciled,
Though throbbing, is as truly dead
As though by foul decay defiled;
That heart is as a grinning skull,
With smiling mockery, and stare
Of eyeless sockets, or the hull
Of shipwrecked vessel, bleached and bare,
Derelict, morbid, apathetic, dull,
As drowning men, who clutch the empty air,
The heart goes down, which feels but blind despair.
Hidden Sorrows.
For some the river of life would seem
Free from the shallow, the reef, or bar,
As they gently glide down the silvery stream
With scarcely a ripple, a lurch, or jar;
But under the surface, calm and fair,
Lurk the hidden snags, and the secret care;
The waters are deepest where still, and clear,
And the sternest anguish forbids a tear.
For others, the pathway of life is strewn
With many a thorn, for each rose or bud;
And their journey o'er mountain, o'er moor, and dune,
Can be plainly tracked by footprints of blood;
But deeper still lies the hidden smart
Of some secret sorrow, which gnaws the heart,
And rankles under a surface clear;
For the sternest anguish forbids a tear.
But, when the journey's end we see,
At the bar of the Judge of quick and dead,
The cross, which the one bore silently
May outweigh his of the bloodstained tread.
The cross unseen, and the cross of light,
May balance in that Judge's sight;
O'er the heart that is breaking a smile may appear,
For the sternest anguish forbids a tear.
O, a Beautiful Thing Is the Flower That Fadeth!
O, a beautiful thing is the flower that fadeth,
And perishing, smiles on the chill autumn wind;
A sweet desolation its ruin pervadeth,
A fragrant remembrance still lingers behind.
O, a beautiful thing is the glad consummation
Of a life that is upright, untarnished and pure;
That spirit, when freed from this earth's animation,
Shall live, as the heavens eternal endure!
Smiles.
There is the warm, congenial smile,
Benign, and honest, too,
Free from deception, fraud, and guile;
The smile of friendship true.
There is the smile most fair to see,
Which wreathes the modest glance
Of spotless maiden purity;
The smile of innocence.
There is the smile of woman's love,
That potent, siren spell,
Which uplifts men to heaven above,
Or lures them down to hell!
There is the vain, derisive smile,
Of cynical conceit;
The drunken leer, the grimace vile,
Of lives with crime replete.
There is the smile of vacancy,
Expressionless, we find
On idiot physiognomy,
The vacuum of a mind.
There is a smile, which more than tears
Or language can express;
The grim disguise which anguish wears,
The mask of dire distress
There is a smile of practiced art,
More false than treason's kiss;
But penetrate that dual heart,
And hear the serpent's hiss.
A smile, the visage shall embrace,
When nature's cup is full;
Behind the stern and frowning face
There lies a grinning skull.
A Request.
When close by my bed the Death Angel shall stand
And deliver his summons, at last;
When my brow feels the chill of his cold, clammy hand,
And mortality's struggles are past;
When my pain throbbing temples, with death sweat are cold,
And the spirit its strivings shall cease,
As with muscular shrug, it relaxes its hold,
And the suffering clay is at peace;
E'er my spirit shall plunge through the shadowy vale,
My lips shall this wish have expressed,
That all which remains of mortality frail,
In some fair enclosure may rest;
Where disorganized, this pale form shall sustain
The fragrant and beautiful flowers,
And reproduce beauty, again and again,
Through nature's grand organic powers.
Battle Hymn.
Almighty Power! Who through the past
Our Nation's course has safely led;
Behold again the sky o'ercast,
Again is heard the martial tread!
Our stay in each contingency,
Our Father's God, we turn to thee!
For lo! The bugle note of war
Is wafted from a southern strand!
O Lord of Battles! we implore
The guidance of Thy mighty hand,
While as of yore, the hero draws
His sword in Freedom's sacred cause!
And when at last the oaken wreath
Shall crown afresh the victor's brow;
And Peace the conquering sword resheath,
Be with us then, as well as now!
Our stay in each contingency,
In peace or war, we turn to Thee!
The Nations Peril.
_Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates and men decay.
--Goldsmith._
I fear the palace of the rich,
I fear the hovel of the poor;
Though fortified by moat and ditch,
The castle strong could not endure;
Nor can the squalid hovel be
A source of strength, and those who cause
This widening discrepancy
Infringe on God's eternal laws.
The heritage of man, the earth,
Was framed for homes, not vast estates;
A lowering scale of human worth
Each generation demonstrates,
Which feels the landlord's iron hand,
And hopeless, plod with effort brave;
Who love no home can love no land;
These own no home, until the grave.
The nation's strongest safeguards lie
In free and unencumbered homes;
Not in its hordes of vagrancy,
Nor in its proud, palatial domes;
Nor can the mercenary sword
E'er cross with that the freeman draws.
Nor oil upon the waters poured
Perpetuate an unjust cause.
Eternal Justice, still prevail
And stay this menace ere too late!
Ere sturdy manhood droop and fail,
The law, immutable, of fate;
No foe can daunt the stalwart heart
Of him who guards that sacred ground
Where every hero owns a part,
Where each an ample home has found.
No more shall battle's lurid gleam
The cloudless sky of peace obscure;
Nor blood becrimson field, or stream,
Nor avarice grind down the poor;
But onward let thy progress be
A pageant, beautiful and grand;
May He who e'er has guided thee
Protect thee still, my native land!
Echoes from Galilee.
What means this gathering multitude,
Upon thy shores, O, Galilee,
As various as the billows rude
That sweep thy ever restless sea?
Can but the mandate of a King
So varied an assemblage bring?
Behold the noble, rich, and great,
From Levite, Pharisee and Priest,
Down to the lowest dregs of fate,
From mightiest even to the least;
Yes, in this motley throng we find
The palsied, sick, mute, halt, and blind.
Is this some grand affair of state,
A coronation, or display,
By some vainglorious potentate,--
Or can this concourse mark the day
Of some victorious hero's march
Homeward, through triumphal arch?
Or, have they come to celebrate
Some sacred sacerdotal rite;
By civic feast, to emulate
Some deed, on history's pages bright?
Or can this grand occasion be
Some battle's anniversary?
But wherefore come the halt and blind?
What comfort can the pain-distressed
In such a tumult hope to find?
What is there here, to offer rest
To those, whom adverse fate has hurled,
Dismantled, on a hostile world?
Let us approach! A form we see,
Fairest beyond comparison;
For such an heavenly purity,
From other eyes, hath never shown;
Nor such a calm, majestic brow
On earth hath ne'er appeared, till now.
Draw nearer. Lo! a voice we hear,
Resonant, soft, pathetic, sweet;
In ringing accents, calm and clear,
He sways the thousands at his feet,
With more than mortal eloquence,
Or man's compassion, in his glance.
Ah! Strange, that such a form should stand
In raiment soiled, and travel stained;
Yes, mark the contour of that hand,
A hand by menial toil profaned.
Can one from such a station reach
All classes by sheer force of speech?
Can eloquence from mortal tongue
Break through the barriers, which divide
The toiling and down-trodden throng
From affluence, and official pride?
Then how can yonder speaker hold
An audience so manifold?
He spake as never orator
Before, or since, with burning thought,
In parable, and metaphor;
Each simple illustration taught
Some sacred truth, some truth which could
By sage, or fool, be understood.
With similes of common things,
The lilies of the field, the salt
Which lost its savour; gently brings
A lesson, from the common fault
Of self-admiring Pharisee,
Of ostentatious piety.
And from the prostrate penitent,
The Publican, who beat his breast,
Remorsefully his garment rent,
And thus, with tears, his sin confessed;
"Lord, Lord, a sinner vile am I,
Be merciful, and hear my cry!"
And from that man, beset by thieves,
And left upon the road, to die;
No aid or comfort he receives
From Priest, or Levite, passing by;
How the despised Samaritan
Proved the true neighbor to that man.
Yes, finished with such fervency
Of gesture, and similitude;
Such depths of love, and purity
His hearers marvelled, as they stood;
Nor through his discourse, was there heard,
Abusive, vain, or idle word.
Who may this wondrous speaker be?
Is he some judge, or orator?
Some one in high authority?
Physician, prince, or conqueror?
Answer, thou ever restless sea,
Who may this wondrous person be?
With echoes soft, the sea replies,
This is a Judge, and Orator;
A Judge, beyond all judges wise,
And eloquent, as none before;
A Judge, majestic, calm, serene;
And yet, an humble Nazarene.
He is a Ruler, whose command
The myriads of the skies obey,
As in the hollow of His hand
He holds all human destiny.
The tempest wild concedes his will,
And calms before His "Peace, be still."
A great Physician, too, is He,
Whose word, the leper purifies;
The mute converse, the blind ones see;
At his command, the dead arise;
He cures the ravages of sin,
And makes the foulest sinner clean.
He is a Prince, a Prince whose power
Knows neither limit nor degree,
Whose glory, not the passing hour,
Nor cycles of futurity,
Can augment, alter, or decrease--
Prince is He, the Prince of Peace.
He is earth's greatest Conqueror,
But conquers not with crimson sword;
Love is the weapon of His war,
Forgiveness, and gentle word;
But, greatest of all victories,
O'er the dark grave, His banner flies.
Go, And Sin No More.
When the poor, erring woman sought
In tears the Master's feet,
Her breast, with deep contrition fraught,
Repentance, full, complete,
Divine compassion filled His eyes,
He spake, says Sacred Lore,--
"O, erring heart, forgiven, rise,
Go, thou, and sin no more."
The tear of contrite sorrow, shed
By penitence, cast down,
Shall flash, when solar rays have fled,
In an eternal crown;
That tear shall scintillate, and shine,
When comets cease to soar;
If thou would'st wear that gem divine,
Go, thou, and sin no more!
Gently Lead Me, Star Divine.
Gently lead me, Star Divine,
Lead with bright unchanging ray;
O'er my lowly pathway shine,
I shall never lose my way;
Though uncertain be my tread,
Pitfalls deep, and mountains high,
Safely shall my feet be led,
By Thy beacon, in the sky.
Long ago, while journeying
Westward, o'er the desert wild,
Sages sought a promised King
In the person of a child;
By Thy bright illuminings,
To that manger, in the fold,
Thou did'st lead those shepherd kings;
Lead me, as Thou lead'st of old.
[Illustration:
"Wherever I wander my ears hear the sound,
Of thy waters which plunge with a turbulent sound."
BEAR CREEK FALLS, UNCOMPAHGRE CAÑON,
NEAR OURAY, COLORADO.]
Dying Hymn.
The hour-glass speeds its final sands,
In splendor sinks the golden sun,
So men must yield to death's demands
When human life its course has run.
We view the ruins of the past,
We stand surrounded by decay,
Our transient hours are speeding fast
And, e'er we think, have passed away.
Weep not, nor mourn with idle tear
That hour, inevitable and sure;
We move, our sojourn finished here,
To nobler realms which shall endure.
In Mortem Meditare.