I.
Storms gather o'er thy path,
Christian!--the sullen, tempest-darkened sky
Grows lurid with the elemental wrath,--
Say, whither wilt thou fly?
God is my Refuge!--let the tempests come,
They will but speed me sooner to my home!
II.
Night lowers in sullen gloom,
Christian!--a long, dark night awaiteth thee,
Dreary as Egypt's night of fear and doom,--
Where will thy hiding be?
God is my refuge!--in the dreary night
In Him I dwell, and have abundant light!
III.
Thine is a lonely way,
Christian!--and dangers all thy path infest;
Pitfalls and snares crowd all thy doubtful way,--
Where is thy place of rest?
God is my Refuge!--safe in Him I move,
And feel no fear, kept by sustaining Love.
IV.
The grave--that dreary place,
Christian, the lonely dwelling in the dust
Awaits thee; 'tis the doom of all thy race,--
Where, then, shall be thy trust?
God is my refuge! Sweet will be my rest
On the dear pillow that my Saviour pressed!
V.
Alas!--that dreamless sleep--
Christian, its chains are strong, and hard to break;
All thy belov'd sleep on in silence deep,
And dost _thou_ hope to wake?
God is my refuge! I shall wake and sing--
"O grave! where is thy vict'ry?--death thy sting?"
JUDSON'S GRAVE.
He sleeps where the billow
Lifts high its white crest
O'er his lone, sea-weed pillow
On Ocean's dark breast;
No shroud is around him,
No flowers bloom above,
No mourners surround him
With grief-drops of love.
But the limitless ocean
His requiem sings,
As, with tireless motion,
The green billow springs
Toward the infinite heaven,
Blue, bending above,
Where angels are watching
His slumbers in love.
Oh! boundless his tomb is,
Far-reaching, sublime,
Stretching forth in immenseness
To every clime;
Thus boundless his love was,
On every side
Spreading freely wherever
Man sorrowed or died.
Sleep, Judson! no grave-dust
Shall rest on thy head,
In sunlight or starlight
No marble shall shed
Its shadow sepulchral
Above thee,--no tomb
Save Earth's grandest and vastest,
May give to thee room!
Man marks not thy pillow
With yew-tree or stone;
But God, o'er the billow,
Keeps watch of His own;
And glorious thy rising,
O crowned one, will be,
When Jehovah shall summon
His dead from the sea!
SHALL BE FREE.
"ALL PERSON'S HELD AS SLAVES, within said designated States and parts
of States, ARE, AND HENCEFORWARD SHALL BE FREE!"
--_Proclamation of Emancipation, Jan. 1st, 1863._
"Shall be free! shall be free!"--lo, the strong winds have caught it,
And borne it from hill top to hill top afar,
And echo to answering echo has taught it,
Through the din of the conflict, the thunder of war!
It has flashed like the lightning from ocean to ocean,
Across the black face of the skies it has blazed,
And strong men have thrilled with unwonted emotion,
And shouted for joy as they listened and gazed!
"Shall be free! shall be free!"--the poor, manacled "chattel"
Has caught the sweet word amid fetters and blows;
It has burst on his ear through the tumult of battle,
Through the shoutings of friends and the cursings of foes;
And lifting his poor, fettered hands up to heaven,
He has joined in the song that ascended to God;
Or, kneeling in trembling rapture, has given
Thanksgiving to Him who has broken the rod!
"Shall be free! shall be free!"--there are ears that have listened,
There are lips that have prayed through long, agonized years,
There are eyes that with hope's fitful radiance have glistened
Yet, as hope was deferred, have grown heavy with tears
Joy! joy!--thou hast heard it at last, lonely weeper,
Look up, for the prayer of thy anguish is heard.
Look up, ye bruised spirits, for God is your keeper,
And the heart of His boundless compassion is stirred.
"Shall be free! shall be free!"--O Humanity, listen
The Dawn that long since on the pale "Watcher" shone
Now higher, and brighter, and clearer has risen,
As the Day star rides on toward the glories of noon.
Those words that rang out from the isles of the ocean,
Sarmatia has echoed from mountain to sea
And America, from her red field of commotion,
He echoes the same stirring words--"Shall be free!"
Hark!--all the wild air is astir with the tempest!
The swift lightnings leap in red arrows on high!
Winds shriek to mad winds, and the hoarse thunder answer
As it ploughs its dread path through the shuddering sky!
There are hisses of serpents, and howlings of demons,
And moanings of anguish by land and by sea,
But, clearer than angel tones, high o'er the tumult,
Rings out the glad utterance--"they shall be free!"
And lo! dimly seen, on the crest of the billow
Lashed white by the storm, undismayed and serene,
Moves that form that once bent o'er the sufferer's pillow,
And touched the dim eyes till strange glories were seen
And sweetly, to ears that will patiently listen,
That voice which spake "peace" to turbulent sea,
Now speaks through the roar of the tempest uprisen,
In tones unmistakable,--"THEY SHALL BE FREE!"
AFTER FIFTY YEARS
A MOTHER'S ADDRESS TO HER FAMILY ON HER GOLDEN-WEDDING DAY.
Just fifty years, my daughters,
Just fifty years, my son,
Since your sire and I together
The march of life begun.
It does not seem so long ago
As _half a hundred years_,
Since hand in hand we started out,
To face life's toils and tears.
And toils, and tears, too, we have met;
Yet sunbeams oft have come--
Many and beautiful, and bright--
To cheer our happy home;
Sweet infant faces, thro' the years,
Are smiling back to me;
And, God be praised, each precious one
Still at my side I see!
Yet ye are changed, my children three,
Your baby-bloom is gone;
And you are growing old, I see,
Grey hairs are coming on;
Yet when I, musing, close my eyes,
I see you as you were
In those old years when cloudless skies
Dropped sunshine on your hair.
The patter of your busy feet
Still rings upon the floor,
And song, and jest, and laughter sweet
Float round me as of yore;--
Yet when I open eager eyes,
To watch your pastimes gay,
Your children's faces round me rise--
Yourselves have done with play.
And there was one--a little one--
Who slumbered on my breast--
I loved and cherished as my own,
That dove that sought your nest;
And _she_ is here,--I see her face
Among my own to-day;--
Thank God for all the loves I trace,
Along life's devious way!
And yet there's one we miss to-day,--
The last to quit our side,--
The one who wandered far away
The day she was a bride.
Were she but here, our chain of love
No missing link would show,
And every face we called our own
Would still around us glow.
Well, _half a century_ is, I know,
A long, long stretch of time;
And truly once we deemed it so,
When we were in our prime.
But as we've glided down the years
They've shorter seemed to grow,
And now, how brief the time appears
Since fifty years ago!
And, husband, you and I have changed
Since that old wedding day;--
I viewed you then with partial eyes--
"Fond, girlish eyes" you'd say;--
But were my eyes as keen as then,
And I allowed to scan
The handsomest of handsome men,
_You_ still would be the man.
_The man of men!_--'twas so I thought
Just fifty years ago,
When you and I joined hands for life;
And yet, I did not know
Half--half as well as I do now,
How dear you were that day;
And ever dearer still you've grown
As years have rolled away!
And still this fiftieth wedding-day
I have thee by my side--
An old man, weary, bent, and grey,
My tall tree tempest tried.
And yet I do aver that thou
Art fairer in my sight,
As in thy face I gaze just now,
Than on our wedding night!
And husband--oh, the best of all,
We'll soon be young again,
And free to tread with buoyant feet
A brighter, holier plain;--
We'll soon have done with pain and age,
And weariness and strife,
Soon end our earthly pilgrimage
In new, exultant life.
For you and I, dear, have a home--
A mansion of our own--
Where change and blight can never come,
And sorrow is unknown;
And soon we're going to enter in,
And with our Lord sit down,--
Heirs of His glory and His bliss,
His kingdom and His crown!
Many we love have thither gone,
And soon we'll be there too,--
And, children, you will follow on,
We shall look out for you
Oh, may we, in that blessed throng
Of saved ones robed in white,
Not miss a single dear loved face
That smiles on ours to night!
Just fifty years of wedded life
In the dear past I see,
Before us spreads--not fifty years--
But all Eternity
And while, 'mid ever deepening bliss,
The tranquil ages glide,
Still, hand in hand and heart in heart,
With Christ we shall abide!
THE EARTH VOICE AND ITS ANSWER
I plucked a fair flower that grew
In the shadow of summer's green trees--
A rose petalled flower,
Of all in the bower,
Best beloved of the bee and the breeze
I plucked it, and kissed it, and called it my own--
This beautiful, beautiful flower
That alone in the cool, tender shadow had grown,
Fairest and first in the bower
Then a murmur I heard at my feet--
A pensive and sorrowful sound,
And I stooped me to hear,
While tear after tear
Rained down from my eyes to the ground,
As I, listening, heard
This sorrowful word,
So breathing of anguish profound:--
"I have gathered the fairest and best,
I have gathered the rarest and sweetest,
My life-blood I've given
As an off'ring to Heaven
In this flower, of all flowers the completest
Through the long, quiet night,
With the pale stars in sight,--
Through the sun-lighted day
Of the balm-breathing May,
I have toiled on, in silence, to bring
To perfection this beautiful flower,
The pride of the blossoming bower--
The queenliest blossom of spring.
"But I am forgotten;--none heed
Me--the brown soil where it grew,
That drank in by day
The sun's blessed ray,
And gathered at twilight the dew;--
That fed it by night and by day
With nectar drops slowly distilled
In the secret alembic of earth,
And diffused through each delicate vein
Till the sunbeams were charmed to remain,
Entranced in a dream of delight,
Stealing in with their arrows of light
Through the calyx of delicate green,
The close-folded petals between,
Down into its warm hidden heart--
Until, with an ecstatic start
At the rapture, so wondrous and new,
That throbbed at its innermost heart,
Wide opened the beautiful eyes,
And lo! with a sudden surprise
Caught the glance of the glorious sun--
The ardent and worshipful one--
Looking down from his heavenly place,
And the blush of delighted surprise
Remained in its warm glowing dyes,
Evermore on that radiant face
"Then mortals, in worshipful mood,
Bent over my wonderful flower,
And called it 'the fairest,'
The richest, the rarest,
The pride of the blossoming bower
But I am forgotten. Ah me!
I, the brown soil where it grew,
That cherished and nourished
The stem where it flourished,
And fed it with sunshine and dew
"O Man! will it always be thus?--
Will you take the rich gifts that are given
By the tireless workers of earth,
By the bountiful Father in heaven,
And, intent on the worth of the gift,
Never think of the maker, the giver?--
Of the long patient effort,--the thought
That secretly grew in the brain
Of the Poet to measure and strain,
Till it burst on your ear, richly fraught
With the rapturous sweetness of song?--
What availeth it, then, that ye toil,
You, thought's patient producers, to be
Unloved and unprized,
Trodden down and despised
By those whom you toil for, like me--
Forgotten and trampled like me?--"
Then my heart made indignant reply,
In spite of my fast falling tears--
In spite of the wearisome years
Of toil unrequited that lay
In the track of the past, and the way
Thorn-girded I'd trod in those years--
"So be it, if so it _must_ be!--
May I know that the thing
I so patiently bring
From the depths of the heart and the brain,
A creature of _beauty_ goes forth,
Midst the hideous phantoms that press
And crowd the lone paths of this work-weary life,
Midst the labor and care, the temptation and strife,
To gladden and comfort and bless!
"So be it, if so it _must_ be!--
May I know that the thing
I so patiently bring
From the depths of the heart and the brain,
Goes forth with a conquerors might,
Through the gloom of this turbulent world,
Potent for truth and for right,
Where truth has so often been hurled
'Neath the feet of the throng--
The hurrying, passionate throng!--
"What matter though I _be_ forgot,
Since toil is itself a delight?--
Since the _power_ to do,
To the soul that is true,
Is the uttered command of the Lord
To labor and faint not, but still
To pursue and achieve,
And ever believe.
That ACHIEVEMENT ALONE IS REWARD!"
BEYOND THE SHADOWS.
Thou hast entered the land without shadows,
Thou who, 'neath the shadow, so long
Hast sat with thy white hands close-folded,
And lips that could utter no song;
Through a rift in the cloud, for an instant,
Thine eyes caught a glimpse of that shore,
And Earth with its gloom was forgotten,
And Heaven is thine own evermore!
We see not the glorious vision,
Nor the welcoming melodies hear,
That, from bowers of beauty Elysian,
Float tenderly sweet to thine ear;
Round us, lie Earth's desolate midnight,
Her winter-plains bare and untrod,--
Round thee, is the glad, morning sunlight
That beams from the City of God!
Our eyes have grown heavy with weeping,--
Thine, "the King in his beauty" behold
And thou leanest thy head on His bosom,
Like him, the beloved, of old;
The days of thy weeping are ended,
Thy sorrow and suffering done,
And angels thy flight have attended
To the side of the Crucified One.
On thy hearth-stone the ashes are fireless,
In thy dark home the lights never burn,
In thy garden the sweet flowers have perished,
To thy bower no song-birds return!
Yet a mansion of bliss glory-lighted,
Where anguish and death are unknown,
Where beauty and bloom are unblighted,
Henceforth is forever thine own!
Oh! joy for thee, glorified spirit!
With Jesus forever to be,
And with sinless and sainted companions
The bliss of His Paradise see!
Joy, joy!--for thy warfare is finished,
Thy perilous journeying o'er,
And, above the deep gloom of Earth's shadows,
Thou art dwelling in Light evermore!
AUTUMN AND WINTER.
I.
Beautiful Autumn is dead and gone--
Weep for her!
Calm, and gracious, and very fair,
With sunny robe and with shining hair,
And a tender light in her dreamy eye,
She came to earth but to smile and die--
Weep for her!
Nay, nay, I will not weep!
She came with a smile,
And tarried awhile,
Quieting Nature to sleep;--
Then went on her way
O'er the hill-tops grey,
And yet--and yet, _she is dead_, you say!
Nay!--she brought us blessings, and left us cheer,
And alive and well shell return next year!--
Why should I weep?
II.
Desolate Winter has come again--
Frown on him!
He comes with a withering breath,
With a gloomy scowl,
With a shriek and a howl,
Freezing Nature to death!
He stamps on the hills,
He fetters the rills,
And every hollow with snow he fills!
Frown on the monster grim and old,
With snowy robes and with fingers cold,
And a gusty breath!
Nay, nay! I shall give him a smile!--
For I know by the sleet,
And the snow in the street,
He has come to tarry awhile.
Ho, for the sleigh-bells merrily ringing!
Ho, for the skaters joyously singing--
Over the ice-fields gliding, swinging!--
So let the Winter-king whiten the plain!
Fetter the fountains and frost the pane,
His greeting shall be--
Not a frown from me,
But a smile--a smile!
TILL TO-MORROW.
Good night! good night!--the golden day
Has veiled its sunset beam,
And twilight's star its beauteous ray
Has mirrored in the stream;--
Low voices come from vale and height,
And murmur soft, good night! good night!
Good night!--the bee with folded wings
Sleeps sweet in honeyed flowers,
And far away the night-bird sings
In dreamy forest bowers,
And slowly fades the western light
In deepening shade,--good night! good night!
Good night! good night!--in whispers low
The ling'ring zephyr sighs,
And softly, in its dreamy flow,
The murm'ring brook replies;
And, where yon casement still is bright,
A softer voice has breathed good-night!
Good night!--as steals the cooling dew
Where the young violet lies,
E'en so may slumber steal anew
To weary human eyes,
And softly steep the aching sight
In dewy rest--good night! good night!
OUR COUNTRY;
--OR,--
A CENTURY OF PROGRESS.
Over the waves of the Western sea,
Led by the hand of Hope she came--
The beautiful Angel of Liberty--
When the sky was red with the sunset's flame,--
Came to a rocky and surf-beat shore,
Lone, and wintry, and stern, and wild,
The waves behind her, and wastes before,
And the Angel of Liberty, pausing, smiled.
"Here, O Sister, shall be our rest!"
Softly she sang, and the waters shone
While a mellower radiance flushed the west,
Lingering mountain and vale upon;--
Sweetly the murmurous melody blent
With flow of rivers and woodland song,
And wandering breezes that singing went,
Joyously wafted the notes along.
Acadia lifted her mist-wreathed brow,
Westerly gazing with eager eye,
And lakes that sat in the sunset glow
Flashed back upon her in glad reply;--
On, with every murmuring stream,
On, with every wandering breeze,
Floated the strain through the New World's dream,
Till it died on the far Pacific seas.
* * *
Many a season came and went,--
Many a changeful year sped by,--
Many a forest its proud head bent,--
Many a valley looked up to the sky;
Patient Labor and bold Emprise,
Art, Invention, Science, Skill,
Each for each 'neath those northern skies
Toiled together with earnest will.
Up the mountain, and down the glen,
And far away to the level West,
Hosts of dauntless, unwearied men
Onward ever with firm foot pressed;
The blue axe gleamed in the wintry light,
And forests melted like mist away,
Through virgin soils went the ploughshare bright.
And harvests brightened the summer day.
Learning gathered around her feet
Listening crowds of aspiring youth;
Meek Religion with accents sweet
Guided her vot'ries in ways o' truth;
Countless church-spires pierced the skies,
Countless temples of Science wooed
To thought's arena of high emprise
An eager, emulous multitude.
White sails dotted the waters blue,
Hamlets smiled amid valleys green,
Populous cities sprang and grew
Where swamp and wilderness erst were seen;
Fleet as the tempest the iron-steed
Shook the hills with his thunderous tread;
From shore to shore, with the lightning's speed,
Couriers electric man's errands sped.
Then kindred States that had stood apart
Stretched to each other fraternal hands,
And, each to all, with a loyal heart,
Bound themselves with enduring bands;--
Then the Angel of Liberty smiled once more,
Softly singing--"O Lands, well done!"
And the strains were wafted from shore to shore
To the far-off climes of the setting sun.
"Here, O Sister, shall be our rest!"
--Again the beautiful Angel sung--
Long, oh long, shall these climes be blessed,
Free and fetterless, brave and young,
If only loyal to Him who reigns
Over all nations the Lord Most-High,
Monarch of Heaven's serene domains,
Ruler of all things below the sky.
"Bow to His service, O young, bright lands!
Give Him the bloom of your joyous youth!
Lift to Him alway adoring hands!
Worship Him ever in love and truth!
So shall ye still, as the glad years rise,
Ever more stable and glorious be,
Heir of all loftiest destinies,
HOPE OF HUMANITY! HOME OF THE FREE!"
JESUS THE SOULS REST.
"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and
_I will give you rest._"
I gave myself to Jesus
In my sunny childhood's years,
When on my young, unsullied cheek
There lay no trace of tears;
I little knew what gift I gave,
Nor yet what gift I took;
For life without and life within
Were each a sealed-up book.
But soon enough unfolding years
Brought sorrow, toil, and pain,--
Brought disappointment's burning tears,
And yearnings wild and vain;
And then I learned what precious Gift
In Jesus I received
In that still hour of childish trust,
When my young heart believed.
'Twas then I knew what arm unseen
Was round me 'mid the strife,
The blighted hope, the toil uncheered,
The cold, rude storms of life;
And when the reeds on which I leaned
All failed me one by one,
I clasped my pierced and bleeding hands,
And wept, but _not alone._
For He was near me midst the strife,
And, leaning on His arm,
I trod the thorny paths of life,
Safe sheltered from all harm;
The while He whispered to my heart,
"I gave my life for thee!
Then, heavy laden as thou art,
Cast all thy care on me!"
"_On me!_ ON ME!"--oh, gentle word!--
O Sympathy divine!--
O Fount of joy, how deeply stirred,
Within this heart of mine!--
O cool, sweet Waters, how ye stilled
The fever of my brain,--
And soothed the heart-strings that had thrilled
With agonizing pain!
My own,--My Rock!--the heavy tide
May beat in uproar dread,
Calmly 'gainst its unmoving side
I rest my weary head;--
For well I know how deep it strikes
Beneath the raging flood--
My Soul's firm Anchor 'mid the strife,
My Refuge and my God!
THE BEAUTIFUL ARTIST.
There's a beautiful Artist abroad in the world,
And her pencil is dipped in heaven,--
The gorgeous hues of Italian skies,
The radiant sunset's richest dyes,
The light of Aurora's laughing eyes,
Are each to her pictures given.
As I walked abroad yestere'en, what time
The sunset was fairest to see,
I saw where her wonderful brush had been
Over a maple tree--half of it green--
And the fairiest col'ring that ever was seen
She had left on that maple tree.
There was red of every possible hue,
There was yellow of every dye,
From the faintest straw-tint to orange bright,
Fluttering, waving, flashing in light,
With the delicate, green leaves still in sight,
Peeping out at the sunset sky.
She had touched the beech, and the scraggy thing.
In a bright new suit was dressed;
Very queer, indeed, it looked to me,
The sober old beech tree thus to see,
So different from what he used to be,
Rigged out in a holiday vest.
Red, and russet, and green, and grey--
He had little indeed of gold--
For the beech was never known to be gay,
Being noted a very grave tree alway,
Never flaunting out in a fanciful way
Like other trees, we are told.
But the beautiful artist had touched him off
With an extra tint or so;
And he held his own very well with the rest,
On which, I am sure, she had done her best,
Dressing each in the fairiest kind of a vest,
Till the forest was all aglow.
There were the willow that grew by the brook,
And the old oak on the hill;
The graceful elm tree down in the swale,
The birch, the ash, and the bass-wood pale,
The orchard trees clustering over the vale,
And weeds that fringed the rill.
One, she had gilt with a flood of gold,
And one, she had tipped with flame;
One, she had dashed with every hue
That the laughing sunset ever knew,
And one--she had colored it through and through
Russet, all sober and tame.
Now this beautiful artist will only stay
A very few days, and then,
She will finish her gorgeous pictures all,
And hurry away ere the gusty squall
Ruins her work, and the sere leaves fall
Darkly in copse and glen.
Then welcome these pictures, so soon to fade,
While they're fresh, and bright, and new,
For a frosty night, and a gusty day,
And a withering blight are not far away,
So enjoy the beautiful while you may,
It was given, good friend, _for you!_
"LET US PRAY"
[Footnote: A precious memory is associated with these words. The voice
that uttered them is silent now but the solemnity of their utterance
has not passed away. The [below] is a feeble attempt to give it
something like permanency.]
Bow the head in supplication,
Lowly, penitent, sincere,
Worthiest of adoration,
God, the Holy One is here!--
Here, while through the open casement
Gently beams the rising day,
While, in contrite self abasement,
Rev'rently we kneel and pray!
Let us pray!--we're weak and weary,
Faint of heart and slow of limb,
Over mountains dark and dreary
Lies our pathway--narrow, dim,
Thorn beset and demon-haunted,
Steep and slipp'ry is the way,
Would we tread it all undaunted,
Firm of footstep?--let us pray!
Let us pray!--on every spirit,
Secret, solemn records lie,
Of transgression and demerit,
Only seen by God's pure eye,--
Secret sins, desires unholy,
Thoughts impure that once held sway,--
Oh, in penitence most lowly,
Deeply contrite, let us pray!
Let us pray!--we need forgiveness,--
Strength and patience to endure,--
For our arduous labors fitness,--
Spirits consecrate and pure,
Shelter need when storms are round us,--
Bread of Heavenly life each day,--
Help when hidden snares surround us,--
Guidance always--let us pray!
RICH AND POOR