Hath a low murmur 'mid its glossy leaves
When the south wind sweeps by, that seems to be
Too deeply laden with sad thoughts of thee--
Of thee, our absent one!--
The roses blossom, and their beauties die,
And the sweet violet opes its pensive eye
By thee unseen; and from the old, beech tree
Thy robin pours his song unheard by thee,
Dally at set of sun!
Dearest, come home! Thy harp neglected lies,
Breathing no more its wonted melodies;
Thy favourite books, unopened, in their case,
Just as thy hands arranged them, keep their place,
And vacant is thy seat
Beside the hearth. At the still hour of prayer
Thou com'st no more with quiet, reverent air;
And when, around the social board, each face
Brings its warm welcome, there's one vacant place--
One smile we may not meet.
Come home!--_thy_ home was never wont to be
A place where clouds might rest; yet, wanting thee,
All pleasant scenes have dull and tasteless grown,
And shadows lower-shadows, erewhile unknown
Of ever-deepening gloom.
The halls where erst thy happy childhood played,
The pleasant garden by thy fair hands made,
The bower thy sunny presence made so fair,
Are all unchanged,--yet grief is everywhere;--
Dear one, come home!
Come home?--come home?--alas, what have I said?
Beyond the stars, beloved, thy feet have sped!
No more to press these garden paths with mine,
Or walk beside my own at day's decline--
No more--no more to come
To these old summer haunts! But I shall stay
A little while; and then, at fall of day,
I, too, like thee, shall sleep, and wake to see
Thy Lord and mine, and so shall ever be
_With Him and thee at home!_
BE IN EARNEST
Be in earnest, Christian toilers,
Life is not the summer, dream
Of the careless, child that gathers
Daisies in the noontide beam!
It hath conflict, it hath danger,
It hath sorrow, toil, and strife;
Yet the weak alone will falter
In the battle-field of life.
There are burdens you may lighten,
Toiling, struggling ones may cheer,
Tear-dimmed eyes that you may brighten,
Thorny paths that you may clear;--
Erring ones, despised, neglected,
You may lead to duty back,--
Beacon-lights to be erected,
All along life's crowded track.
There are wrongs that must be righted,
Sacred rights to be sustained,
Truths, though trampled long and slighted,
'Mid the strife to be maintained;--
Heavy, brooding mists to scatter--
Mists of ignorance and sin,--
Walls of adamant to shatter,
Thus to let God's sunlight in.
Boundless is the field and fertile,
Let the ploughshare deep be driven;
So, at length, the plenteous harvest
Shall look smiling up to heaven!
Sow the seed at early morning,
Nor at evening stay thy hand;
Precious fruits, the earth adorning,
Shall at length around thee stand
Be in earnest, Christian toilers,
Life is not the summer-dream
Of the careless child that gathers
Daisies in the noontide beam!
Life hath conflict, toil, and danger,--
It hath sorrow, pain, and strife,--
Yet the weak alone will falter
In the battle-field of life!
CHLODINE
We met one fresh June-morn, Chlodine,
Where two roads came together;
I'd travelled far through storm and rain,
And you, through pleasant weather.
I loved you for the light, Chlodine,
Of summer all around you,--
I loved you for the sweet June-flowers,
Whose dewy garlands bound you!
You loved me not, Chlodine, because
The storms had beat upon me;
Because there was no breath of flowers,
No summer sunshine on me;--
You could not see, Chlodine, that deep
Within my soul were growing
Fresh flowers that evermore would keep
The fragrance of their blowing.
And so we parted--you and I--
Your ways all fresh and flowering;
Mine, rocky steeps up mountains high,
'Neath skies with tempests lowering;
And yet the sunshine spoilt your flowers,--
Mine, bitter grief-drops nourished,
And while yours withered day by day,
Mine bloomed the more, and flourished
And now we're met again, Chlodine,
You love me for my flowers,
Their perfume scenting all the air.
Like breath of Eden-bowers;--
I love you not, Chlodine, alas!
You're changed since those old mornings,
Your regal summer-robes are lost,
With all their rare adornings!
We stand together side by side,
And yet, at farthest, never,
Before stretched out so far and wide
The distance that did sever
Us, as to-day it does, Chlodine,
Though hand touch hand in greeting,
And never again shall we know, Chlodine,
Another June-day meeting.
THE BIRD AND THE STORM-CLOUD
Little bird, is that thy sphere,
Yonder threat'ning cloud so near?
Sunbeams blaze along its brow,
Yet what darkness reigns below!
There the sullen thunder mutt'ring,
Wrathful sounds is sternly utt'ring;--
There the red-eyed lightning gleameth,
Where no more the sunlight beameth,
And the strong wind, fiercely waking,
Wings of fearful might is taking;--
Creature of the calmer air,
Wherefore art thou soaring there?
Wert thou weary of the vale,
With its blossom-scented gale?--
Weary of thy breezy bowers?--
Weary of thy wild-wood flowers?--
Weary of thy wind-rocked nest
In the bright, green willow's breast?--
Didst thou sigh, on daring wing,
Up in heaven's blue depths to sing?--
Claim with storms companionship,
And in clouds thy free wings dip?--
And, where rushing winds are strong,
Pour thy melody of song?
Bird, thy wing is all too weak
Such adventurous heights to seek;
In the bower thou seem'dst to be
Trembling with timidity;
Now, with proud, unshrinking glance
Thou art daring yon expanse,
And, with wild, exultant singing,
Upward thy free flight art winging;--
Creature of the calmer air,
Wherefore art thou sporting there?
Bird, that cannot be thy sphere,
Yonder threatening cloud so near!--
With thy bright, unfearing eye,
Wherefore seek that troubled sky?
Ah! a hand is o'er thee spread,
To defend thy beauteous head;
Sheltering arms are round thee cast,
'Mid the lightning and the blast;
God doth shield thee, and shall He
_Thine_, and not _my_ guardian be?
No: He, who guards thy fragile form
Midst the dread, o'erwhelming storm,
Will His kind protection spread
O'er His child's defenceless head,--
Temper every blast severe,--
Mingle hope with every fear,--
Pour into the bleeding heart
Balm for sorrow's keenest smart,
And will gift the feeblest form
With a might to brave each storm!
Bird, thou well mayst soar and sing
High in heaven on raptured wing!
Thou hast never learned to fear
Blighting change, in thy bright sphere;
'Tis to us, and us alone,
Faith's mysterious might is known:
We, that tremble at the blast,
Shall o'ersweep the storms at last!
Though around us tempests lower,
We shall know our triumph-hour;
And on glad exultant wing
Soar, and with the angels sing
NO SOLITUDE
"Whither shall I go from thy Spirit?"
I stood where ocean lashed the sounding shore
With his unresting waves, and gazed far out
Upon the billowy strife. I saw the deep
Lifting his watery arms to grasp the clouds,
While the black clouds stooped from the sable arch
Of the storm-darkened heavens, and deep to deep
Answered responsive in the ceaseless roar
Of thunders and of floods.
"Here, then, I am alone,
And this is solitude, "I murmured low,
As in the presence of the risen storm
I bowed my head abashed. "Alone?"--
The echoing concave of the skies replied,--
"Alone?"--the waves responded, and the winds
In hollow murmurs answered back--"Alone?"
"Thou canst not be alone, _for God is here!_
Yon mighty waste of waters, whose deep voice
Goes up unceasingly to heaven, He holds
E'en as a drop within His hollow hand!
He makes His dark pavillion stormy clouds;
The winds and thunders are His uttered voice;
And the red flames that blaze athwart the sky
Are but the lightnings of His awful glance!"
* * * *
I stood at eve, where, high in upper air,
A mountain reared its solitary head,
Bathing its forehead in the ruddy light
Of cloudless sunset. Like a snowy veil
The white mist gathered o'er the distant plain,
While, over all, the sunset heavens shone
In burning glory, and the blushing West
Gathered all gorgeous hues into a wreath
Of wondrous radiance to twine around
The temples of her monarch, ere he sought
The chambers of his rest.
Full-orbed the moon
Rode slowly up the east; while, one by one,
Spirits of night lighted the lamps of heaven.
"This is to be alone!"--I whispered low,
For nature's solemn beauty had a spell
To awe my soul to silence.
"What, alone?"--
Murmured the mountain wind, as round my brow
It waved its rustling pinions. "What, alone?"--
Low voices questioned from the sighing pines,--
"Alone?"--the stars repeated to my soul--
"In the Eternal's presence, canst thou stand,
While, from above, His awful glories look,--
While all, around, beneath thee, and within,
Attest His presence, and thus idly deem
Thou art alone? No; thou art _not_ alone,
_For God is here!_"
* * * *
It was a summer noon.
The soft, south wind made music 'mid the boughs
Of the cool forest, whence glad bursts of song
Floated unceasing. On a mossy bank
Starred with pale flowers, I laid me down to rest,
Yet not to slumber. Tenderly, the sky
Glanced like a loving spirit through the leaves;
And, ever and anon, like fleecy gold,
The yellow sunbeams dropped amid the gloom
Startling the shadows. Twas a hallowed scene!
Each waving leaf seemed Instinct with glad life,
And every sound was richly freighted with
The wealth of harmony.
"Is this to be alone?"
I inly questioned, yet my secret soul
Needed from Nature no responsive voice;
For my whole being, with a thrill of joy.
Replied;--"In all the universe of God,
There is no solitude!"
O soul of mine,
Joy in thy wealth of being!--in the power
To grasp the Infinite where'er thou turn'st;--
To see Him, feel Him near, yet most of all,
Him to adore and love;--to hear His voice
In every breeze, in every gentle chime
Of the sweet waters, in the song of birds,
The hum of insects, and all deeper tones
Of Nature's wondrous music;--yet, far more,
To recognize His Spirit's gentle voice
Unto thy spirit, whisp'ring tenderly--
"I am thy Father, thy Redeemer, thine
Amid the devious paths that checker earth,
And thine in Heaven!"
THE STRAY LAMB.
A GRANDMOTHER'S STORY.
We had finished our pitiful morsel,
And both sat in silence a while;
At length we looked up at each other.
And I said, with the ghost of a smile,--
"Only two little potatoes
And a very small crust of bread--
And then?"--"God will care for us, Lucy!"
John, quietly answering, said.
"Yes, God _will_ provide for us, Lucy!"
He said, after musing a while--
I'd been quietly watching his features
With a feeble attempt at a smile--
"For, '_trust in the Lord, and do good_,'
Our Father in Heaven has said,
'_So shalt thou dwell in the land,
And verily thou shalt be fed!_'"
Scarcely the words had he spoken,
When a faint, little tap at the door
Surprised us,--for all the long morning
The rain had continued to pour.
I am sure I shall never remember
The pelting and pitiless rain
Of that desolate day in November,
Without a dull heart-throb of pain.
For work had grown scarcer and scarcer,
Till there seemed not a job to be done;
We had paid out our very last sixpence,
And of fuel and food we had none.
John had tried--no one ever tried harder--
For work, but his efforts were vain;
And I wondered all faith had not failed him
That morning when out in the rain.
"Come in!" said John, speaking quite softly.
And opening the door a small space,
For there stood a thin, little beggar
With such a blue, pitiful face!
"O sir, if you please sir, I'm hungry,
Do give me a small bit of bread!"
"Come in, then, you poor, little woman,
I am sure you are freezing!" John said.
We each caught a hand cold and dripping,
And drew the poor trembler in;
But she sank at our feet like a baby,
Half-frozen, and drenched to the skin.
John ran for our last bit of fuel;
And I, to an old box, where lay
Our own little Maggie's warm clothing,--
Our Maggie--dead many a day!
I tore off her old, dripping tatters,
And rubbed her blue, shivering form;
And then put those precious clothes on her,
And made her all glowing and warm.
"O ma'am, if you please, I'm _so_ hungry!"
Again the dear innocent said;
So John brought our two cold potatoes
And our one little morsel of bread.
"Here, take this,"--he said; and she snatched it,
And ate till the last bit was done;
And we two looked on, never grudging
Our all to the famishing one.
I looked up a half-minute after,
But John had slipped out in the rain;
And the wind was still howling and raging
Like some great, cruel monster in pain.
Soon the pale, little eyelids grew heavy,
And I watched till the weary one slept;--
Then I, a poor weak-hearted woman,
Held her closer, and oh, how I wept!
With our fire all burned out to black ashes,--
Our very last bit of food gone,--
Poor John, too, out facing the tempest,--
And I left there shiv'ring alone!
But the little, warm head on my bosom
Seemed so strangely like hers that I lost;
And the soft, little hands I was holding,
So like the dear hands that I crossed
In their last quiet rest,--and those garments--
_Ah, those garments!_--I mused till it seemed,
I had got back my own little Maggie;--
And then, for long hours. I dreamed.
* * * *
"Why Lucy, my girl, you are sleeping!--
Come, rouse up, and get us some tea!"--
It was John, who'd returned, and was speaking--
"Poor wife, you're as cold as can be!
See, here are some coals for the firing;
And here is a nice loaf of bread,--
A steak, and a morsel of butter,
Some tea and some sugar"--he said.
"Nay now, do not ask any questions!--
Let me just lay this lammie in bed,
And when we have had a nice supper,
I'll tell you, dear, all how it sped."
And so, when the supper was over--
That supper!--I'll never forget
The warm, glowing fire--oh, so cozy--
I can see every coal of it yet--
We knelt down, and John thanked the dear Father
For all He had sent us that day;--
Yes: e'en for thee dear, pretty baby
His own little lamb gone astray!
And then, in a few words, John told me
Of his desperate walk in the storm--
Every minute believing, expecting,
That God would His promise perform;--
Of the merchant up town who had hailed him,
(One of his men being sick,)
And hired him to run of a message;
And, because he'd been trusty and quick,
Had trebled his wages, and told him
To come the next morning again;
"Just because," added John, softly laughing,
"I'd been willing _to work in the rain!_"
Well, long ere the morning dawned on us,
The child had grown frantic with pain;
And for many long days she lay moaning
With the fever that burned in her brain.
Every morning John prayed by her pillow,
Then went to his work; and I stayed,
And kept my sad watch the long day through,
And at night he returned to my aid.
At length the fierce struggle was over,
She lived, and we both were content,
For we knew God had given her to us--
His lamb, through the wintry storm sent
The fever had burned every record
Of home and friends out of her mind;
And though we sought long, yet we never
Any traces of either could find.
And so she grew up by our fireside,
And we called her--not Maggie--oh no!--
That name we had laid up in Heaven,
And no one must wear it below!--
But we just called her, Pet; and her husband
Calls her nothing but Pet to this day:--
She's a grown woman now, and a mother,
How swiftly the years glide away!
Well, John never has lacked for employment,
And we never have wanted a home;
We never said nay to a beggar,
Or refused one that asked it a crumb.
Pet grew up a dear, loving woman--
"God's light in our house," John would say--
And when a good man came and took her,
He took _us_, too, the very same day.
But here she comes now with the baby,
And grandmother never says nay;
So here's a good bye to my story,
For baby has come for a play!
STAY, MOTHER, STAY!
"Stay, mother, stay, for the storm is abroad,
And the tempest is very wild;
It's a fearful night with no ray of light,
Oh stay with your little child!"
"Hush darling!" the mother, with white lips said--
"Lie still till I come again,
God's angels blest will watch o'er thy rest
While I am abroad in the rain!
Thy father, child?--oh, I quake with fear
When I think where he may be,
And I dare not stay till the dawn of day--
I must hasten forth to see!"
Then the young child buried her tangled curls
In the ragged counterpane,
While the half-clad mother went forth alone
In the blinding wind and rain.
Down many a narrow, slippery lane,
Down many a long, dark street,
Went that shivering form thro' the pelting storm
Of wind, and rain, and sleet;
Till, nearing a den where inebriate men,
With Bacchanal oath and yell,
And curse and jeer, spent the midnight drear,
She reeled in the gloom and fell;
For a prostrate form, in the pitiless storm
And inky darkness, lay
Helpless and prone on the pavement-stone,
Across her desolate way.
She knelt alone by the fallen one,
And murmured in accents low,
A name, how dear to her girlhood's ear
In the beautiful long ago!
But no voice, no tone replied to her own,
And the cold hand fell like lead;
And her wailing cry brought back no reply,
As she shrieked "he is dead!--he's dead!"
Aye, "dead!"--God pity thee, stricken wife!
God pity thee, orphan child!
Poor slave to wine, what a death was thine,
In that wintry tempest wild!
We know not how long that wild, drunken song
And those curses assailed her ear,
But the morning-ray found its early way
To one who no more could hear;
For the faithful heart that had borne its part
Awhile, through those watches lone,
Had grown still it last as the pitiless blast
Swept by her with wrathful tone;--
But the rumseller-he slept quietly
In his chamber of gilded pride,
For little he cared how his victims fared,
Or whether they lived or died!
Oh! the old, old strain with its old refrain,
Of agony, death, and woe!--
Oh! the bitter tears that, through all the years,
Have been flowing, and ever flow!
Must the ghastly tragedy never cease?
Will Manhood never awake?
And, by God's great might made strong for the right.
Stand up for Humanity's sake,
And wipe the horrible stain away
From his country and his home--
The dark, ensangnined, loathsome stain
Of the merciless monster, Rum?
TIME FOR BED
"Time for bed!"--the weary day
With its toils has passed away
Sol has wrapped his forehead bright
In the curtains of the night,
And his glorious lamp again
Lowered behind the western main
Leaving all heaven's pure expanse
Radiant with his parting glance
Just a few, faint stars are seen
Ranged around the midnight queen--
A select and glorious band
Who alone may waiting stand
Around the monarch of the night,
Bearing up their urns of light,
Her majestic path to cheer
Till the shadows disappear.
"Time for bed!" the folded flowers
Hang their heads in forest bowers;
Nestled in each downy nest
Day's sweet songsters calmly rest;
And the night-bird's plaintive hymn
Echoes through the forest dim;
Dew-drops on the birchen-bough
In the star-beams sparkle now,
Scarce a zephyr stirs the rose
So profound is Earth's repose.
"Time for bed!" put by thy books,
Learner, with thy studious looks;--
Poet, lay the pen away,
Candle-light will spoil thy lay;--
Leave it till the morning hours
Come with sunshine to the flowers,--
Leave it till from shrub and tree
Birds pour forth their minstrelsy,--
Till the sun on wood and wold
Turns the drops of dew to gold,--
Till the bee comes forth to sip
Nectar from the flow'rets lip,--
Till the light-winged zephyrs wake
Dancing ripples on the lake,
And the cloudlets in the height
Don their fleecy robes of white;--
Then, with graceful Euterpe,
Seek the spreading greenwood tree,
And with joy, and light, and love,
All around thee and above,
Tune thy lyre to praiseful mirth
With all happy things of Earth!
"Time for bed!"--thou man of toil,
Why consume the midnight oil?--
Night was made for slumbers blest,
Thou art weary, therefore rest!
"Time for bed!"--poor "Martha," thou
Long enough hast labored now;
All the day's bright hours are numbered,
Yet art thou "with toiling cumbered."
Lay that tedious work away
Till the blest return of day,--
Thou art care-worn and oppressed,
Thou art weary "Martha," rest!
"Time for bed!"--shut up the stove,
To its place the table move,
Lay the books into their case,
Wheel the sofa to its place,
Wind the clock, brush up the floor,
Close the shutters, lock the door,
That will do--put out the light,
Toil and trouble, all good night!
FROM THE OLD TO THE NEW
LINES FOR THE NEW YEAR
I hear the beat of the unresting tide
On either shore as swiftly on I glide
With eager haste the narrow channel o'er,
Which links the floods behind with those before.
I hear behind me as I onward glide,
Faint, farewell voices blending with the tide,
While from beyond, now near, now far away,
Come stronger voices chiding each delay;
And drowning, oft, with wild, discordant burst,
The melancholy minor of the first
"Farewell! farewell!--ye leave us far behind you!"--
Tis thus the bright-winged Hours sigh from the Past--
"Ye leave us, and the coming ones will find you
Still vainly dreaming they will ever last,--
Still trifling with the gifts all fresh and glowing,
Each in its turn will scatter in your way,--
Still chasing airy phantoms, though well-knowing
That, ere you grasp them, they will melt away--
Farewell! farewell!"
"Haste! haste! haste!"--
Thus from the Future the voices ring--
"The air is balmy with breath of spring,
The waters sleep in the morning light,
The storms are hushed, and the skies are bright,
Haste! haste! haste!
"Isles of beauty and bloom are here,
Groves, whose leafage is never sere,
Teeming harvests of boundless wealth,
Peace, and plenty, and buoyant health--
Haste! haste! haste!
"Joy-bells ring in the sunny air,
Mirth and music are everywhere,--
Bend to the oars, and away, away
While the ripples dance and the breezes play--
Haste! haste! haste!"
"Farewell! farewell!--ye leave us far behind you--
Us, the lost Hours that would have blessed you so!
Yet, as ye leave us, let our strains remind you
That we, not empty-handed, Heavenward go.
Records we bear of all the good we brought you,--
Of all we offered,-all that ye refused,--
Of all the lessons we in patience taught you,--
Of wasted time, of privilege abused;
To God's tribunal we those records bear,
Sometime, remember, they will meet you there--
Farewell! farewell!"
THE VOICE OF SPRING
I heard a voice--twas the voice of Spring,
Up from the rivulets murmuring,
Singing of freedom,--thus the lay
On the breezes floated away--
"Joy! joy!--the chains that bound us
Now disappear,
Sunlight pours its treasures round us,
Warm, warm and clear,
Onward, speeding onward
To the bright main,
Chainless, free, unfettered,
Are we again!"
I heard a voice--'twas the voice of Spring,
Out from the hill sides whispering,
And a tender strain from the woodland lone
Blended with it in murmurous tone--
"Joy! joy!--the world is waking
From her long rest,--
Earth a glow of warmth is taking
To her chill breast,--
Tiny flower germs, hidden
Long out of sight,
Stealing forth unbidden,
Seek the warm light!"
I heard a voice--'twas the voice of Spring,
Over the waters wandering,
As to the wilds came the song birds back,
Singing still in their homeward track--
"Joy! joy!--we're home returning
To the free hills,
From our long and far sojourning,
Now, to the rills,
To the echoing forest.
Orchard and plain,
With our old-time music,
Speed we again!"
I heard a voice--'twas the voice of Spring,--
Nature, all Nature awoke to sing;
And every valley, and grove, and plain
Had its share in the welcome strain:--
"Joy! joy!--the chains are broken,
Spring smiles again,--
Joy for every blessed token
Of her glad reign,--
Joy on all the waters,
Joy on each shore.--
Sunlight, song, sweet odors,
Welcome once more!"
HONOR TO LABOR
HONOR TO LABOR!--it giveth health;
Honor to labor!--it bringeth wealth;
Honor to labor!--our glorious land
Displayeth its triumphs on every hand.
It has smoothed the plains, laid the forests low,
And brightened the vales with the harvest's glow,--
Reared cities vast with their marts of trade,
Where erst undisturbed lay the woodland shade,--
Brought up from the depths of the teeming mine,
Its treasured stores in the light to shine,--
Sent Commerce forth on his tireless wings
In search of all precious and goodly things--
Forth to the ice-bound Northern seas,
And to bright isles fanned by the Southern breeze,
Where the Orange deepens its sunset dyes,
And the Cocoa ripens 'neath glowing skies,--
To the sunny islands of Austral climes,--
To lands undreamt of in elder times,--
Till every region, and clime, and zone,
Has yielded its treasures to bless our own.