The gates of yon city of light?--
Not walked in the flower-bordered pathway
Of the saved ones in raiment of white?--
Never stood on the bank of Life's River,
Where gather the glorified throng?
Or glowed with emotion ecstatic
'Neath the swell of their rapturous song--
That song _he_ has learned since he left me,
The redeemed ones' exultant, _new_ song?
O Saviour, the wounded heart's Healer!
I turn from my sorrow to thee,
The gracious and tender Revealer
Of glories thy ransomed shall see!
They will pass--the dark cloud that is o'er me,
The shadows that darken my sky,
And the desolate pathway before me
Will lead to thy mansions on high;--
And with _him I shall rest in thy presence,
Forever and ever on high!
FOUNT OF BLISS
"Yea I have loved thee with an everlasting love."
Love of God!--amazing love!
Height, above all other height,
Depth no creature thought can prove,
Boundless, endless, infinite!
Howsoe'er I sink or rise,
Stretch my powers beyond, abroad,
Pierce the depths or climb the skies,
Find I still the love of God--
_Fount of bliss, exhaustless, free,
Evermore unsealed for me!_
Love of Christ!--amazing love!
Vast as His eternity;
Theme of angel-tongues above,
Theme of souls redeemed like me!
Outward to creation's bound,
Up to Heaven's serenest height,
Universal space around,
Swells the chorus day and night--
_Fount of bliss, exhaustless, free,
Evermore unsealed for me!_
Oh, these tongues that falter so
When we sing of love like this!
Oh, these songs that, faint and low,
More than half their sweetness miss!
Saviour, lift our music higher
Till the notes to rapture spring!
Touch our lips with hallowed fire
From thine altar while we sing--
_Fount of bliss, exhaustless, free,
Evermore unsealed for me!_
AWAY TO THE HILLS
A HOLIDAY SONG.
Away to the hills, away!--
There is health in the summer air;--
The rustling bough, and the bending spray,
And the breath of flowers are there--
The honey-bee's hum and the wild bird's song,
And sunshine and summer winds all day long!
Away to the hills, away!
There are peace and calmness there--
White cloudlets floating in light all day
Through the blue transparent air,--
Rose-tinted mornings and noontides rare,
And sunsets of crimson and gold are there!
Away to the hills, away!
From your weariness and care--
From toil that has held on with tyrant sway,
To quiet and calmness there;
And bask in the beauty and bloom that fills
The cool, sweet depths of the summer hills!
FLOWERS BY A GRAVE
Alien blossoms! tell me why
Seek ye such a lonely place,
Thus to bloom, and droop, and die
Far away from all your race?
Wherefore, from the sunny bowers
Where your beauteous kindred bloom,
Have ye come, O banished flowers!
Thus to decorate a tomb?
"Mortal, dost thou question why
Thus beside the grave we bloom?
Why we hither come to die,
Aliens from our garden-home?
"'Twas Affection's gentle hand
Placed us thus her dead so near;--
Tis at weeping Love's command
That we breathe our fragrance here.
"Ask not why we wither here,
Thou who ne'er hast tasted woe,
Who hast never felt the tear
Of bereaved affection flow,--
"Ask not, till thy household band
By death's cruel stroke is riven,
Till some bright bird'scapes thy hand--
_Then_ thy answer will be given!"
"THREE FOR THREE."
"Giving up three for one!"--mother,
You said in the long ago,
When father, yourself, and John, mother,
I left, o'er the deep to go.
"Giving up three for one!"--mother,
You said, and it sank in my heart;
For tho' strong was my love for the one, mother,
It was hard from the three to part.
But to-day, as I sit alone, mother,
Rocking my little one's bed--
(Not Winnie's bed, dear, but her brother's--)
I am thinking of what you said;
And a sweet thought glads my heart, mother--
Can you guess what the thought can be?
'Tis, that tho' I'd but one in the start, mother,
Yet now I have _three_ for three.
Yes, three for three, my mother,
God is good to your wandering child,
So far from her father and brother,
And you, in this western wild!
And tho' her heart oftentimes yearneth
For its loved ones over the sea,
Yet ever it gratefully turneth
To its home-ties--_three_ for three.
Aye, three for three, sweet mother,
Say, am I not happy to-day?
Tho' something must ever be wanting,
While far from you all away;--
Then thank the dear Lord, my mother,
Who, afar o'er the lonely sea,
Is blessing your absent daughter,
With home ties--_three_ for three!
NOW.
"Now is the accepted time."
Now, sinner, now!
Not in the future, when thy longed-for measure
Thou hast attained, of fame, or power, or pleasure,
When thy full coffers swell with hoarded treasure,
Not then, but now.
God's time may not be thine. When _thou_ art willing,
His Spirit may have taken flight forever,
No more thy soul with keen conviction filling,
Softening thy spirit to repentance never,--
Now, sinner, now!
Now, Christian, now!
Look round, and see what souls are daily dying;
List!--everywhere the voice of human crying
Smiteth the ear;--the moan, the plaint, the sighing,
Come even now.
Rise! gird thyself;--go forth where sorrow weepeth
And ease the pang. Where sin holds guilty revel,
Go tell of God! Where man securely sleepeth
On ruin's verge, go, warn him of the evil
Now, Christian, now!
Now, sinner, now!
Day waneth fast! The noon is spent! To-morrow
Is God's, not thine!--and dost thou hope to borrow
An hour from doom, when bursts the cloud of sorrow
That darkens now?
Nay; the red bolt, e'en now, vindictive flashes
The thunder rolls nearer, and still more near!
Hourly the tide of wrath more sternly dashes
On ruin's rocks!--oh, that thou wouldst but hear
Now, sinner, now!
Now, Christian, now
Gather thy sheaves--the harvest time is hasting
Gather thy sheaves--the precious grain is wasting!
Too many hours Earth's cup of nectar tasting
Thou'st wasted now!
Up, up!--the Master's coming steps already
Echoing adown the steeps of heaven are heard!
The angel-reapers, with firm hand and steady,
Stand, dim-descried, waiting the signal-word
Now, Christian, now!
SUNSET
The glorious sun, behind the western hills,
Slowly, in gorgeous majesty, retires,
Flooding the founts and forests, fields and rills,
With the reflection of his golden fires.
How beauteous all, how calm, how still!
Yon star that trembles on the hill,
Yon crescent moon that raises high
Her beamy horns upon the sky,
Seem bending down a loving glance
From the unclouded skies,
On the green Earth that far away
In solemn beauty lies;--
And, like sweet Friendship in affliction's hour,
Grow brighter still the more the shadows lower.
SWEET EVENING BELLS
Soft evening bells!--sweet evening bells!
O'er vale and plain your music swells,
And far away
The echoes play
O'er shaggy mount and forest grey;
And every rock its secret tells
To your soft chime, sweet evening bells!
Soft evening bells!--sweet evening bells!
Now twilight drapes the woodland dells,
And shadows lie
On the closed eye
Of flowers that dream beneath the sky;
Yet fainter, sweeter, tenderer swells
Your dying chime, sweet evening bells!
O evening bells!--sweet evening bells!
With every note that sinks and swells,
Sadly and slow
The warm tears flow
In pensive pleasure more than woe,
As Mem'ry wakes her witching spells,
'Neath your soft chime, sweet evening bells!
UNKNOWN
Thou hast marked the lonely river,
On whose waveless bosom lay
Some deep mountain-shadow ever,
Dark'ning e'en the ripples' play--
Didst thou deem it had no murmur
Of soft music, though unheard?
Deem that, 'neath the quiet surface,
The calm waters never stirred?
Thou hast marked the pensive forest,
Where the moonbeams slept by night,
While the elm and drooping willow
Sorrowed in the misty light--
Didst thou think those depths so silent
Held no fount of tender song
That awoke to hallowed utt'rance
As the hushed hours swept along?
So, the heart hath much of music,
Deep within its fountains lone,
Very passionate and tender,
Never shaped to human tone!
Dream not that its depths are silent,
Though thou ne'er hast stooped to hear;
Haply, even thence some music
Floats to the All-Hearing ear!
ONWARD
Onward, still on!--though the pathway be dreary,--
Though few be the fountains that gladden the way,--
Though the tired spirit grow feeble and weary,
And droop in the heat of the toil-burdened day;
Green in the distance the hills of thy Canaan
Lift their bright heads in a tenderer light,
Where the full boughs with rich fruits overladen
Spread their luxurious treasures in sight.
Onward, still onward!--around us are falling
Lengthening shadows as daylight departs;
Up from the past mournful voices are calling,
Often we pause with irresolute hearts.
Wherefore look backward?--the flower thou didst gather
Wounded thy hand with the thorn it concealed,--
Onward, and stay not!--the voice of thy Father
Calls thee to glory and bliss unrevealed.
Onward!-Earth's radiance fadeth,--the glory
That gilded her brow when the noon was in prime
Faileth each hour, and the chill mist is hoary!
Gathering thick on the dim shores of time.
Yet as the stars come out brighter and clearer
While the day faints in the slow-fading west,
So do the home-lights grow larger and nearer,
Clearer the ray on the hills of thy rest.
Onward, and stay not!--the fountain, the flower,
Toward which thou'rt pressing with wearying haste.
Are but the mirage that floats for an hour,
Glowing and green o'er the desolate waste;
Yet from the distance come tender home-melodies
Borne from the Summer-land over the flood,
Lovingly wooing thee homeward and Heavenward
To the sweet rest of thy Saviour and God.
LOOKING BACK
Do the dancing leaves of summer
To the time of buds look back?--
Does the river moan regretful
For the brooklet's mountain-track?
Does the ripened sheaf of summer,
Heavy with precious grain,
Ask for its hour of blossom,
And the breath of Spring again?
Does the golden goblet, brimming
With the precious, ruby wine,
Look back with weary longing
To the damp and dusky mine?
Is the sparkling coin, that beareth
A monarch's image, fain
To seek the glowing furnace,
Where they purged its dross again?
Would the chiselled marble gather
Its rubbish back once more.
And lie down, undistinguished,
In the rough rock as before?
Does the costly diamond, blazing
On that crowned and queenly one,
Look back with sorrowful gazing
To the coarse unpolished stone?
And shall man, the grandly gifted,
Earth's monarch, tho' Earth's son,
Turn back to court the shadows
Of existence scarce begun?
Nay; with strong arm and helpful
To aid the world's great lack,
Press on, nor pause a moment,
Supinely to look back!
MINNIEBEL
Where the willow weepeth
By a fountain lone,--
Where the ivy creepeth
O'er a mossy stone,--
With pale flowers above her,
In a quiet dell.
Far from those who love her,
Slumbers Minniebel.
There thy bed I made thee,
By that fountain side,
And in anguish laid thee
Down to rest, my bride!
Tenderest and fairest,
Who thy worth may tell!
Flower of beauty rarest,
Saintly Minniebel!
Weary years have borrowed
From my eye its light,
Time my cheek has furrowed,
And these locks are white;
But my heart will ever
Mid its memories dwell,
Fondly thine forever,
Angel Minniebel!
WEARY.
Weary of dreaming what never comes true,
Weary of thinking what never is new,
Of endeav'ring, yet never succeeding to do.
Weary of walking the dusty, old ways,
Weary of saying what every one says,
Weary of singing old, obsolete lays.
Weary of laughing, to make others laugh,
Weary of gleaning for nothing but chaff,
Of giving the whole, and receiving but half.
Weary of making, so shortly to mend,
Weary of patching, to turn round and rend,
Weary of earning only to spend.
Weary of weeping when tears are so cheap,
Weary of waking when longing to sleep,
Of giving what nobody wishes to keep.
Weary of drinking to thirst ere I've done,
Weary of eating what satisfies none,
Weary of doing what still is undone.
Weary of glitter without any gold,
Weary of ashes grown fireless and cold,
Weary!--the half of it cannot be told!
THE BODY TO THE SOUL
RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO AN OVERWORKED STUDENT.
O tyrant soul of mine,
What's the use
Of this never-ceasing toil,
Of this struggle, this turmoil,
This abuse
Of the body and the brain,
Of this labor and this pain,
Of this never-ceasing strain
On the cords that bind us twain
Each to each?
O tyrant soul of mine,
Is it well
Thus to waste and wear away
The poor, fragile walls of clay
Where you dwell?
Was I made your slave to be--
I the abject, you the free,
That you task me ceaselessly?--
Tyrant soul, come, answer me,
_Is_ it well?
O tyrant soul of mine,
Don't you know
That in slow, but sure decay,
I am wasting day by day,
While you grow
None the better for the strain
On my nerves and on my brain,
For my head's incessant pain,
And my sick heart's longings vain
For repose?
O tyrant soul of mine,
God, the good,
Joined together you and me
In a wondrous unity,
That we should
Work together,-not that I,
You degrade and stupefy,
Nor that you His laws defy
By maltreating ceaselessly
Hapless me!
O tyrant soul of mine,
By and by,
Weary of your cruel reign,
Quite worn out with toil and pain,
I shall die
Then, when I have passed away,
And you're asked whose hand did slay
Your companion of the clay,
Much I wonder what you'll say,
Soul of mine!
NOT YET
"Go thy way, and when I have a more convenient season I will call for
thee."
* * * * *
"The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved."
Not yet, not yet, O Saviour,
Although thou callest me
In life's unclouded morning
Why should I follow thee?
The world and all its pleasures
Outspread before me lie,
When I have grasped its treasures
I'll hear thee, by and by.
Not yet, not yet, O Saviour!--
True, thou hast called me long,
Yet, almost more than ever,
I love the world's glad song!
Say not the years are hasting
With rapid footsteps by,--
Say not life's sands are wasting,
But call me by and by!
Not yet, not yet, O Saviour!
I have no time to stay;
The goal tow'rd which I hasten
Is now not far away.
Another day--and haply
The triumph I shall see,
And grasp my crown of vic'try,--
Then, I will call for thee!
* * *
No more, no more, O sinner,
The Saviour's call is o'er!
The door is shut forever,
To be unclosed no more!--
So late the hour and lonely,
So dark the night and drear,
And He who called thee only
To bless thee, will not hear!
Past is the harvest-gladness,
The summer-bloom is o'er,
Thy sun has set in sadness,
To rise-oh, nevermore!
So late the hour and lonely,
So dark the night and drear,
And He who called thee only
To bless thee, will not hear!
MARGUERITE
Lightly the shadows
Play through the trees,
Green are the meadows,
Soft is the breeze,--
June's early roses,
Pensive and sweet,
Droop where reposes
Lost Marguerite!
Meeting thee never
In the green bowers,--
Missing thee ever
'Mid the fresh flowers,--
Till the long hours die--
Hours once so fleet--
Hopelessly wait I,
Lost Marguerite!
Day has grown weary
In the blue sky,
Summer is dreary,
Melodies die;
Lowly the willow
Droopeth to meet
And kiss thy pillow,
Lost Marguerite!
Flower the fairest
Of sweet summer time,
Rosebud the rarest
Plucked ere its prime,
Mine to weep ever
Where the waves beat,
Meeting thee never,
Lost Marguerite!
"COME UNTO ME."
Weary soul, by care oppressed,
Wouldst thou find a place of rest?
Listen, Jesus calls to thee,
Come, and find thy rest in me!
Hungry soul, why pine and die
With exhaustless stores so nigh?
Lo, the board is spread for thee,
Come, and feast to-day with me!
Thirsty soul, earth's sweetest rill
Mocks thee with its promise still;
Hark, the Saviour calls to thee,
Here is water, come to me!
Homeless soul, thy path is drear,
Angry tempests gather near,
Night is darkening over thee,
Here is shelter, come to me!
Heavenly bread and heavenly wine,
Living waters, all are mine!--
Mine they are, and thine may be,
Weary wand'rer, come to me!
"I WILL NOT LET THEE GO."
Nay, I will not let thee go,
Though the midnight glideth slow,--
Though the darkness deep and long
Dim the sight and hush the song,
On thy tender, faithful breast,
Find I still my perfect rest--
Soothing sweet for keenest woe--
And I will not let thee go!
Nay, I will not let thee go,
Though the morn's enkindling glow
Flame along the mountain-height.
Flooding all the hills with light;
What can morning bring to me,
Tender Shepherd, wanting thee?
What its songs but sobs of woe?
Nay, I will not let thee go!
Nay, I will not let thee go,
Though the day no shadows know;
Though, the sky's serene to dim,
Lower no storm-cloud dark and grim;
Whom have I in Heaven but thee?--
What beside hath earth for me?--
Thou, the only trust I know,--
Nay, I will not let thee go!
Let thee go?--my Saviour, nay
Thou my night's unfailing day,
Thou my dawning's tenderest gleam,
Thou my noonday's richest beam,--
Night is day if thou art near,
Day without thee, joyless, drear,--
Wanting thee, all bliss were woe,--
Nay, I will not let thee go!
GREETING HYMN.
Written for the Alumni of Albion College, Michigan; and sung at their
last re-union, June, 1881.
The gliding years have rolled along,
And once again we come,
With greeting hand and choral song,
To our old college-home;--
Sweet college-home! dear college-home!
We gladly gather here,
Old friends to greet,
Old faces meet,
And sing our songs of cheer!
A welcome true for those we meet,
For those we miss, a sigh;
Of some we ne'er again may greet,
We speak with tearful eye;
Some rest with God, whose feet once trod
These halls with ours of yore;
And some there are
Who wander far
On many a distant shore!
God, bless and keep the ones who roam,
And us who meet again;
And lit us each for that bright home
Where comes no parting pain;--
Oh, aid us still, thro' good or ill
Still earnest for the right,
With spirits true,
To dare and do,
With Heaven and thee in sight!
And as the lingering years go by,
And changeful seasons come,
Still let thine eye rest lovingly
On this old college-home;--
Sweet college-home! dear college-home!
We gladly gather here,
Old friends to meet,
Old faces greet,
And sing our songs of cheer!
ONE BY ONE
One by one, ye are passing, beloved,
Out of the shadow into the light.
One by one,
Are your tasks all done.
Ended the toil, and the swift race run.
Child and maiden, mother and sire,
Sister and brother,
Ye follow each other,
Out of the darkness where we stand weeping,
Weary and faint with our virgil-keeping,
Into the summer-land, peaceful and bright!
One by one, ye are passing, beloved,
Out of the darkness round us that lies--
One by one,
Gliding on alone,
Hearing nor heeding our plaint and moan.
Friend and lover, the fondest, best,
Most tender and true,
Ye pass from our view,
Out of the night that enfolds us ever,
Out of the mists where we moan and shiver;
Into the joy-light of sunniest skies!
One by one, we are hasting, beloved,
Out of the midnight into the day.
One by one,
Are _our_ tasks all done,
And the race that is set us with swift feet run.
Loved and parted ones, still our own,
Nearing you ever
We press toward the river.
Over whose waters ye passed on before us,
Shortly to join in your rapturous chorus,
And swell the hosannas of Heaven for aye!
One by one, ye are greeting, beloved,
Those whom you left for a while in tears.
One by one
Is the bright goal won
By those ye lost sight of at set of sun.
Child and maiden, mother and sire,
Sister and brother,
Ye're greeting each other,
Up where the holy ones round you are singing,
Up where the new song of Heaven is ringing,
Never to part through eternity's years!
LOVE
God so loved me that He gave
Jesus for my sins to die;
Jesus loved me in the grave,
Jesus loves me still on high,--
Father-love and Saviour-love,
Mine on earth and mine above!
Love, from highest heights that stooped,--
Love, to deepest depths that came,--
Love, that 'neath my burden drooped,--
Bore my anguish and my shame--
Died, that I may never die,--
Living, lifts me to the sky!
Love, the arm that reached me first,--
Love, the hand that raised me up,--
Love, my prison-bars that burst,--
Love, that filled my brimming cup--
Filled it full of Heavenly wine--
Filled, and blessed, and made it mine!
Love, the holy, cleansing fount
Where I wash my garments white,--
Love, my Tabor, hallowed mount,
Where I stand with Him in sight,--
Love, my watch-tower, till the day
Chase all earth-born mists away!
AN EVENING HYMN
"I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep; for thou, Lord, only
makest me dwell in safety"
The tranquil hours steal by
On drowsy wings and slow,
And over all the peaceful sky
The stars of evening glow.
No gathering clouds I see,
I hear no rising blast,
I fold my tired hands restfully,
As though all storms were past.
Yet, whether so or not,
O Lord, thou knowest best!
This night, let every anxious thought
And trembling fear have rest
This night I will lie down
In peace beneath thine eye,
Nor heed what ills unseen may frown,
Since thou art ever nigh.
I will lie down and sleep,
From every terror free;
Nor wake to tremble or to weep,
Secure, O Lord, with thee!
DEATH
'Tis but to fold the arms in peace,
To close the tear-dimmed, aching eye,
From sin and suffering to cease,
And wake to sinless life on high.
'Tis but to leave the dusty way
Our pilgrim feet so long have pressed,
And pass on angel-wings away,
Forever with the Lord to rest.
'Tis but with noiseless step to glide
Behind the curtain's mystic screen
That from our mortal gaze doth hide
The glories of the world unseen.
Tis but to sleep a passing hour,
Serene as cradled infants sleep;
Then wake in glory and in power,
An endless Sabbath day to keep.
I SHALL BE SATISFIED
I shall be satisfied when I awaken
In thy dear likeness, my King and my Lord,--
When the dark prison of death shall be shaken,
And the freed spirit comes forth at thy word!--
I shall be satisfied, Saviour, be satisfied,
Wearing thy likeness and near to thy side!
Sinless and sorrowless, robed in thy righteousness,
What can I ask for in glory beside?
I shall be satisfied loving thee ever,
Hearing thy accents and sharing thy joy,
Fearing nor change nor estrangement to sever
Me from my Lord and His blissful employ!--
Satisfied, satisfied, evermore satisfied,
Wearing thy likeness and near to thy side!
Sinless and sorrowless, robed in thy righteousness,
What can I ask for in glory beside?
I shall be satisfied when I behold thee,
I shall be like thee, my Saviour and King!
And, in the radiance that will enfold thee,
I shall enfolded be, too, while I sing--
Lo, I am satisfied, Saviour, am satisfied,
Wearing thy likeness and near thy side!
Sinless and sorrowless, robed in thy righteousness,
What can I ask for in glory beside!
AT THE GRAVE OF A YOUNG MOTHER
A transient day,
A troubled night,
The swift decay,
The certain blight,
And death and dust;--
And are these all?--
Nay: those are past;
And she who sleeps
Shall wake at last
Among the just!
GO, DREAM NO MORE
Go, dream no more of a sun-bright sky
With never a cloud to dim!--
Thou hast seen the storm in its robes of night,
Thou hast felt the rush of the whirlwind's might,
Thou hast shrunk from the lightning's arrowy flight,
When the Spirit of Storms went by!
Go, dream no more of a crystal sea
Where never a tempest sweeps!--
For thy riven bark on a surf-beat shore,
Where the wild winds shriek, and the billows roar,
A shattered wreck to be launched no more,
Will mock at thy dream and thee!
Go, dream no more of a fadeless flower
With never a cankering blight'--
For the queenliest rose in thy garden bed,
The pride of the morn, ere the noon is fled,
With the worm at its heart, withers cold and dead
In the Spoiler s fearful power!
Go, dream no more--for the cloud will rise,
And the tempest will sweep the sea,
Yet grieve not thou, for beyond the strife,
The storm and the gloom with which Earth is rife,
Gleam out the light of a calmer life,
And the glow of serener skies!
COME HOME
Come home! come home! O loved and lost, we sigh
Thus, ever, while the weary days go by,
And bring thee not. We miss thy bright, young face,
Thy bounding step, thy form of girlish grace,
Thy pleasant, tuneful voice,--
We miss thee when the dewy evening hours
Come with their coolness to our garden bowers,--
We miss thee when the warbler's tuneful lay
Welcomes the rising glories of the day
And all glad things rejoice!