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Title: Niagara, and Other Poems
Author: Copeland, Benjamin
Language: English
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Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

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                        NIAGARA, AND OTHER POEMS


                        Niagara, and Other Poems


                           Benjamin Copeland

                        _Buffalo and New York:_
                     _The Matthews-Northrup Works_


                           _Copyright, 1904,_


                          _Benjamin Copeland_



        NIAGARA                                               11

        THE MEADOW AIR IS SWEET                               13

        WHEN LIFE WAS LIKE A SUNNY STREAM                     15

        THE FIRST ROBIN                                       18

        THE GOAL                                              20

        THE REWARD                                            21

        STRENGTH AND BEAUTY                                   22

        VIOLET, ROSE, AND GOLDEN ROD                          23

        OCTOBER                                               25

        THE WINDOW OVER THE STABLE-DOOR                       27

        “HAIL TO THE CHIEF!” (PRESIDENT MCKINLEY)             30

        CUBA LIBRE                                            32

        THE GREATER REPUBLIC                                  34

        EMERSON                                               36

        DANIEL WEBSTER                                        39

        LINCOLN                                               40

        AGASSIZ—EMERSON                                       40

        WELCOME                                               41

        FAME                                                  43

        DEFEATED                                              44

        FIDELITY                                              45

        TRANSFIGURED!                                         46

        BETRAYED                                              47

        SUNSET                                                48

        FULFILLMENT                                           49

        CONTENTMENT                                           49

        COMPANIONSHIP                                         50

        ASPIRATION AND ATTAINMENT                             51

        A QUESTION OR TWO                                     53

        OTHER SHEEP                                           55

        BY MANY PATHS                                         57

        POOR LITTLE JOE!                                      58

        DARK, AND DAYS                                        59

        EXPERIENCE                                            59

        A SURE FOUNDATION                                     60

        THE VOYAGE                                            60

        THE STONECROFT                                        61

        PROGRESS                                              62

        A BENEDICTION                                         62

        LOVE AND TRUTH                                        63

        BEAUTY                                                64

        HEART OF LOVE                                         64

        THE CORONATION                                        65

        DISCIPLESHIP                                          65

        THE GREATER DEEP                                      66

        FAITH                                                 66

        THE GIFT                                              66

        SONSHIP                                               67

        REALITY                                               67

        INFINITY                                              67

        UNANSWERED                                            68

        SELF-SENTENCED                                        69

        A ROYAL PRIESTHOOD                                    70

        INSPIRATION                                           70

        UNCONSCIOUS INFLUENCE                                 71

        HOLD FAST THIS TRUTH                                  71

        GLORIA IN EXCELSIS!                                   72

        A CONTRAST                                            72

        CROWNED!                                              73

        THE MEASURE                                           73

        HUMILITY                                              74

        ENTREATY                                              74

        AT LAST!                                              75

        FORGIVE US, LORD!                                     75

        ASSURANCE                                             76

        THE LITTLE ONES                                       77

        LITTLE RUTH                                           79

        LITTLE THEODORE                                       81

        WHERE THERE IS NO MORE PAIN                           83

        THE EASTER ANSWER                                     85

        COMMUNION                                             87

        ST. AUGUSTINE                                         88

        BETHEL                                                90

        AN IDYL OF THE SPIRITUAL LIFE                         94

        OPPORTUNITY                                           95

        LET IN THE LIGHT!                                     96

        THE LAW OF LOVE                                       98

        SUPPLICATION                                          99

        OUR LIFE IS LENT                                     100

        LENTEN LESSONS                                       102

        REMEMBER!                                            103

        THE RECKONING                                        104

        THE FONT, THE ALTER, AND THE TOMB                    105

        THE EVENTIDE                                         107

        THE LARGER LIFE                                      108

        A PRAYER                                             109

        THE MESSAGE                                          110

        AS THOU WILT                                         111

        WE WOULD SING THE STORY!                             112

        CHRISTMAS                                            115

        “AS HE IS.”                                          117

        PASSION-TIDE                                         118

        IN BROTHERHOOD WITH ALL                              119

        CODE AND CREED                                       120

        EASTER-TIDE                                          121

        EASTER LILIES                                        123

        EASTER-TIDE ADORATION                                124

        THE KING                                             125

        AN EASTER-TIDE LYRIC                                 126

        AN EASTER IDYL                                       127

        ASCENSION-TIDE                                       128

        HOMEWARD                                             130

        CHRISTUS CONSOLATOR                                  131

        COMPENSATION                                         132

        FROM MORNING TO MORNING!                             133



         Majestic symbol of eternal power!
           Dread oracle of eons all unknown!
         Before thy presence Pomp and Passion cower,—
           All men are equal at thy awful throne.

         Abashed, the eager babble of the mart,—
           To silence shamed, the vulgar greed for gain;
         No more ambition goads the weary heart,
           And Toil forgets its unrequited pain.

         Stern type of Truth’s inexorable law!
           No room remains for envy or for pride;
         Here prince and pauper stand in common awe,
           Swayed by the spell of thy resistless tide.

         A rushing, seething Sinai,—thou dost pour
           On sluggish consciences the solemn sense
         Of justice infinite:—thy thunder’s roar
           Declares to Wrong relentless recompense.

         Against our arrogance thy strength doth plead;
           Deep unto deep imperiously calls;
         Impartial annalist! the nations read
           Their transient glory on thy ageless walls.

         Yet dost thou deign to dower the moment’s need,—
           Our dreams exceeding by thy bounteous sway;
         With power unrivaled thy proud flood shall speed
           The New World’s progress toward Time’s perfect day.

         O mighty monitor! O seer sublime!
           The soul’s surpassing grandeur thou dost show;—
         The fountains of thy immemorial prime
           Through man’s immortal being freely flow.

                        THE MEADOW AIR IS SWEET.

                  The meadow air is sweet;—
                    The cowslip’s cup of gold
                  Is full of fresh and fragrant dew,—
                    More full than it can hold.

                  The meadow air is sweet;—
                    The blackbird’s mellow note,
                  Like water in a little brook,
                    Flows gurgling from his throat.

                  The meadow air is sweet;—
                    The stream that cheers the lea
                  Will feel the willow’s tender kiss,
                    E’en to the distant sea.

                  The meadow air is sweet;—
                    Hark! from the old elm tree:—
                  Ah! only lovers understand
                    The oriole’s ecstasy.

                  The meadow air is sweet;—
                    The clover, handsome-white,
                  With dainty odors woos the bee,
                    And fills her with delight.

                  The meadow air is sweet;—
                    The bobolink is there!
                  When he is mute a faery flute
                    Seems echoing in the air.

                  The meadow air is sweet;—
                    The daisy in the grass
                  Looks up to see the clouds, and feel
                    Their shadow as they pass.

                  The meadow air is sweet;—
                    The swallow flashes by,
                  Too merry for a moment’s rest
                    Between the earth and sky.

                  The meadow air is sweet;—
                    The day wanes in the west,
                  And twilight’s soothing shadows lull
                    A weary world to rest.

                  The meadow air is sweet;—
                    Like altar incense rare,
                  It blends the robin’s even-song
                    With the little children’s prayer.


               Alas! it seemeth but a dream,—
                 My childhood’s bright, bright day,
               When life was like a sunny stream
                 Left to its own glad way.

               How wonderful the radiant Spring,
                 In garden, glade, and wood!
               Fresh from God’s hand seemed everything,
                 "And everything was good!"

               Close by the door, the apple tree,
                 From many a fruitful bough,
               Its richest blossoms spread for me;—
                 I feel their fragrance now!

               The robin and the oriole,
                 (I loved them both the same),
               Their sweetest songs to me did troll,—
                 I think they knew my name!

               A little brook, from hidden spring,
                 Ran babbling down the hill;
               It seemed to me a living thing,—
                 I hear its laughter still!

               Ah! ours was bliss without alloy,
                 And friendship fondly leal;—
               I brought it human love and joy,—
                 It turned my water-wheel!

               And, tired of play, what peace I found,
                 As the bright clouds sailed by,
               Just to lie down upon the ground
                 And look into the sky!

               Deep, deep, that look of calm delight,
                 So free from care and pain;—
               Would God I might its holy height,
                 Its sweet repose, regain!

               The meadow, and the old elm tree,
                 The woods, the waterfall,—
               Once more they all come back to me;
                 I see and hear them, all.

               I see and hear them, and rejoice;
                 For forms and faces dear,
               Lost long, long since to sight and voice,
                 Once more to me appear.

               And hark! a little child again,—
                 I hear, with heart abrim,
               That tender, ravishing refrain,—
                 The redbreast’s evening hymn!

               So God be praised for that sweet dream,
                 My childhood’s bright, bright day,—
               When life was like a sunny stream
                 Left to its own glad way.

                            THE FIRST ROBIN.

                Herald of the happy year,
                Robin redbreast, art thou here?
                Welcome to thy destined goal;
                Welcome, songster of the soul!

                Age and Childhood find, in thee,
                Kindred bond of sympathy;
                Hope and memory are one,
                In thy song’s sweet unison.

                Common freehold all hearts claim
                In thy nature’s artless aim;
                Best of priests and poets, thou,
                Singing on the leafless bough.

                Mead and mountain, wood and wold,
                Wait the rapture manifold,
                Which shall prove thee saint and seer,—
                Dearest minstrel of the year!

                Every note like April rain,—
                Thou transmutest, in thy strain,
                With the season’s subtle power,
                Winter’s dearth to summer’s dower.

                Glows the mold with vernal fire
                Kindled by thy love’s desire;
                Nature wakens, at thy call,
                To her Easter festival.

                Mateless messenger divine!
                Peerless privilege is thine:—
                Thou interpretest to Faith
                The deep mystery of death.

                               THE GOAL.

           Sweet scents, sweet sounds, sweet scenes!
           With all that intervenes
             In sweeter solemn silences profound,—
           Whereinto overflows,
           In forest, river, rose,
             Passionless being, beauty without bound.

           How deep the mind’s repose!
           The vagrant sea-breeze blows
             With kindred pulses through the fragrant shade;
           And sod and soul are blent
           In blest enfranchisement,—
             Prefiguring the end for all things made.

           For life and love, supreme
           Beyond the poet’s dream,
             Shall bear all being to its blissful goal;
           The wondrous word is true—
           "Lo! I make all things new;"
             The universe is ransomed with the soul!

                              THE REWARD.

                    From green to gold
                    The year grows old,
                      With beautiful increase;
                    The seasons wane
                    To ripened grain
                      And Nature’s deepest peace.

                    The same sure plan
                    Is thine, O man!
                      Alike for sod and soul,
                    The law of love,—
                    Enthroned above—
                      That guides thee to thy goal.

                    Have faith in God:—
                    Who gives the clod
                      Its meed of fruit or flower,
                    Shall crown thy cares,
                    Thy tears, thy prayers,
                      With an immortal dower.

                          STRENGTH AND BEAUTY.

                The Useful and the Beautiful,
                  Indissolubly blent,
                One law reveal, one Will and weal,
                  In sod and firmament.

                The earth below, the sky above,
                  With flowers and stars are sprent;—
                The child to cheer, the saint, the seer,
                  Their love and light are lent.

                For Strength and Beauty equal are,
                  In Nature’s kind intent,—
                The hawthorn hedge, and granite ledge
                  That binds the continent.

                Were wish and will more dutiful,
                  And life more nobly spent,
                Would we not know, with souls aglow,
                  What such high vision meant?

                Ah, yes! our lowliest tasks would then
                  In heaven’s own glory shine,
                And time be told on harps of gold,
                  In dream and deed divine.

                     VIOLET, ROSE, AND GOLDEN-ROD.

                  Violet, rose, and golden-rod!
                  Blossoms of the self-same sod,
                  Springing from the breathing mold
                  Into beauty manifold.

                  Each its season knoweth well,
                  Without sign or syllable,—
                  Faithful to the law benign
                  Potent over palm and pine.

                  Excellent in their degree,
                  Rivals they can never be;
                  Fashioned with divinest grace,
                  Each is perfect in its place.

                  Dear to Childhood and to Age,
                  Each hath ample heritage
                  In these human hearts of ours,
                  Kindred with the leaves and flowers.

                  Children of the shower and sun,
                  Soon, like theirs, our day is done;—
                  We are fading e’en as they,—
                  We with them must pass away.

                  But the flowers shall bloom again;
                  Ends, at last, the winter’s reign;—
                  Life is larger than a breath,—
                  Love is master over death!

                  Precious, in the sight of God,
                  Violet, rose, and golden-rod;—
                  Dearer far to Heaven are we,
                  Children of eternity!


          Crimson-and-gold, October’s boughs proclaim
            The approaching Passion of the waning year;
          By sacramental signs, for aye the same,
            Pathetic portents show the end is near.

          The landscape lessens in the shimmering haze;
            The songless silence chants the season’s grief;—
          Too soon shall follow, with the darkening days,
            The fading field-flower and the falling leaf.

          No more allures the lovely glade or glen;
            A nameless sorrow haunts the lonely shore;
          The frosts have fallen on the hearts of men;
            The little children seek the woods no more.

          For Nature holds us surely as her own,
            In sleet and snow, or under skies of blue;
          From birth to death we share her mirth or moan,—
            Forever to our faithful mother true.

          Yet, in our loneliest hours, alike we feel
            The comfort Heaven to wood and wold supplies,—
          A hope that doth the season’s sadness heal
            And binds us closer still, in tenderest ties.

          A kindred impulse stirs our common dust
            To look beyond the winter’s dearth and dole,
          And find in God, our Life, our Strength, our Trust,
            The everlasting summer of the soul.

                    THE WINDOW OVER THE STABLE-DOOR.

                      An Idyl of the Common Life.

            From the window over the stable-door,
            Hark! how the notes of gladness pour!
            Like playful brook, their free, clear flow,—
            But why such joy I do not know;
            For ’tis the coachman’s humble cot;—
            The horses share his lowly lot:—
            The same roof shelters beast and man;—
            So prudently doth Dives plan!

            Who here would look to see enshrin’d
            A happy heart, a peaceful mind?
            The fact exceeds my fancy’s range,—
            Yet ’tis as true as it is strange;—
            For hark! how the notes of gladness pour
            Through the window over the stable-door!

            In such secluded spot, I fear
            ’T were sacrilege to venture near;—
            Half guiltily I close the book,
            And turn, unseen, an eager look
            To the window over the stable-door,
            Whence still those notes of gladness pour.

            Ah! now the meaning plain I see
            Of that sweet-throated mystery;—
            For, rocking softly to and fro,
            With fair, fine forehead bending low,
            A mother lulls to slumber blest
            Her first-born babe upon her breast.
            A lovelier sight, through leafy screen,
            By faun or fairy ne’er was seen;
            And never more melodious word
            The sylvan silence ever stirred.

            Not hers to see the grace she wears,—
            Nor hers to dream the peace she bears,
            By such a blessed minstrelsy,
            Into the world’s wide misery;—
            But all unconsciously each thought
            Is into melting music wrought.
            She does not hear the song she sings,—
            Nor can she know the bliss it brings,
            Far, far beyond her babe, to me,—
            A life’s space from a mother’s knee!
            It tells me of a heart at rest,
            A quiet mind, contented, blest,—
            A little paradise, shut in
            From envy, vanity, and sin.

            She meekly shares her husband’s lot,
            And sanctifies this humble spot
            With trustful, sweet simplicity,
            In all her girlhood’s purity,—
            With word and look from murmuring free,
            And love’s unmeasured ministry.

            Hark! how the notes of gladness pour
            From the window over the stable door!

            And now as soft as vesper bells,
            The soul’s deep song more faintly swells.
            Is it because, the while she sings,
            Like Mary, pondering “these things,”
            She thinks of angels far away,
            And Him who in a manger lay?—
            The Blessed Babe the Virgin press’d
            Adoringly to her pure breast?
            The Holy Child, forever dear,—
            The Son of God, forever near,—
            The loving Christ, whose kingdom, sure,
            Is in the bosoms of the poor;—
            Who passed from out the stable-door
            All souls to serve, on sea or shore,
            And rule all worlds forevermore.

                          “HAIL TO THE CHIEF!”

                          (William McKinley.)

         Niagara-like the welcome which awaits
         The Nation’s Chief, approaching now our gates;
         From depths sincere the People’s joy shall pour
         Like many waters thundering on the shore,
         As to her heart her honored Guest she takes,—
         The Town we love,—the Empress of the Lakes!
         Nor ours alone the President to greet;—
         The North, the South, the East, the West, here meet,—
         Each Commonwealth contributing its share
         Of honor due, beneath one banner fair:—
         Brothers forevermore, from sea to sea,—
         One country dear, one hope, one destiny!
         Nor even here shall the wide welcome end;—
         Beyond our bounds its ardour shall extend;
         For neighboring Nations, each American,
         Admire with us the President, the man!
         And, sharing with delight the common feast,
         Shall feel anew their noblest aims increased.

         City of Light! Crown-jewel of our fame!
         Throw wide your gates to him of blameless name;—
         With peerless pageant swell the rising tide
         Of grateful joy and patriotic pride.
         Rehearse the thrilling history once more:—
         Manila’s bay and Santiago’s shore!
         Let glowing dome and pennoned turret tell,
         To God’s sole praise, the matchless miracle.
         Nor fail to voice the Present’s mighty plan,
         And justify the name American!
         Saxon, or Latin-born,—we’re all one blood:—
         The Exposition stands for brotherhood.

         So may the morrow dawn,—so pass away,
         In cheer prophetic of our widening sway;—
         And when the evening’s deepening shadows fall,
         And heaven’s sweet silence broodeth over all,
         May the blest memories of the day be blent
         In that fair Vision in mid-firmament,
         The Tower of Light! Niagara’s flood in flame!
         The radiant symbol of our Future’s fame:—
         Pledge of an age whose light shall never cease,—
         The boundless empire of the Prince of Peace!

     The above lines were written September 3, 1901, and printed
     the following afternoon in the Buffalo Commercial, an hour or
     two before President McKinley’s arrival in the city the
     evening before “President’s Day” at the Pan-American

                                                           B. C.

                              CUBA LIBRE.

                     (Tune: Maryland, My Maryland.)

               The work is wrought; the cannon’s roar
                 On sea or land is heard no more;
               The battle’s rage and tumult cease
                 In songs of victory and peace.
               The Heaven-appointed task is done;
                 The cause for which we fought is won;
               And Cuba Libre, fairest gem,
                 Is set in Freedom’s diadem!

               Havana’s waters, blue and broad,
                 Reflect the righteousness of God;
               And Santiago’s wreck-strewn shore
                 Resounds His praise for evermore.
               The islands of the sea rejoice;
                 The floods lift up their mighty voice;
               From shore to shore the anthems rise,—
                 A nation’s grateful sacrifice.

               Long as the stars shall shine o’erhead,
                 In deathless fame shall live the dead;
               Their country’s glory and renown
                 Their fadeless, everlasting crown.
               The morning breaks! the shadows flee!
                 Christ’s kingdom comes on land and sea:—
               The rule of love, the reign of good,—
                 The whole round world one brotherhood!

                         THE GREATER REPUBLIC.

    Our destiny was cast in an imperial mold,—
      Our mission drawn on an immenser plan
    Than marked, in deathless lines, our sires’ high faith of old,—
      Earth’s broadest-visioned prophecy of man.

    From ancient feuds removed, and favoring seas between,
      In isolation enviable, supreme,
    We dwelt apart content,—self-center’d and serene,—
      The Old World’s wonder and the Ages’ dream.

    When suddenly a cry from out the surging deep
      We fondly deemed the guardian of our peace:—
    A wail of anguish sore from breaking hearts that weep
      Sweet Freedom’s doom and savage Wrong’s release.

    Deep calling unto deep! the Island’s bitter cry
      Awakes the Continent to sleep no more:—
    Heart ever answers heart:—America’s reply
      Is Santiago’s world-resounding shore.

    Nor here, alone, the Hand mysterious and divine;—
      Manila’s equal miracle foreshowed
    The Providential path, with yet unsealèd sign,
      Where first our arms to scathless triumph rode.

    True to the unsought task we could not comprehend,—
      By foes maligned, by friends misunderstood,
    This faith sustained us still, to the appointed end:—
      Heaven serves the Sword unsheath’d for human good.

    Clear, now, the purpose of the Highest,—plain His plan:—
      To mould the Nation after His own mind,
    And give, in common emprise with the Son of Man,
      The moral leadership of all mankind.


                 Bard of the soaring soul,
                   Of thought sublime, serene,—
                 Lord of the Pleiades
                   And all the stars between!

                 And further still thy sway:—
                   Thy realm, that vaster deep
                 Where galaxies unseen
                   Their radiant courses keep.

                 With measure masterful
                   Thou raisest our desire,
                 Till to thy boldest flight
                   Our eager souls aspire.

                 But not alone thy thought
                   In star-sprent spaces strown;
                 Thy largess manifold
                   Hath nearer harvests sown.

                 Ah! yes;—a richer crop
                   We gather, in thy song,
                 Than ever homeward brought
                   The Wain with “oxen strong.”

                 The Snow Storm, and Wood Notes,
                   Forerunners, and May-Days,
                 To the dear earth belong,
                   And grace our lowliest ways.

                 Concord, and Boston “Hymn,”—
                   They stir our pulses still,
                 And hold, for Freedom’s need,
                   The patriot heart and will.

                 The Problem,—Each and All,
                   Thy kind theology!
                 And like the Lord Christ’s heart,
                   Thy sweet Apology.

                 The Dirge,—the Threnody,
                   Our tenderest tears unseal;—
                 We know their loneliness,
                   And all their sorrow feel.

                 To Virtue’s holiest heights
                   Leads, still, thy dauntless strain,
                 And on our follies falls
                   “Its beautiful disdain.”

                 Between Rhodora’s bloom
                   And Merlin’s mighty rhyme,
                 Our largest thoughts find room,
                   O World-Soul seer sublime!

                 But little need hast thou
                   Of tribute we may bring;—
                 Thy fame hath Eastertide
                   With each returning Spring.

                 The centuries shall guard
                   The glory of thy verse,
                 And worthier song than ours
                   Its golden notes rehearse.

                 Thou buildest thy renown
                   With ageless masonry:—
                 Monadnock’s granite walls
                   Thy monument shall be!

                            DANIEL WEBSTER.

                   The grandeur of the mountains
                     Is in his deep tones heard;—
                   Atlantic’s mighty fountains
                     Inundate every word.

                   Torrential thought and feeling
                     In tides of passion pour,—
                   To patriot hearts appealing,
                     As sea to storm-swept shore.

                   Columbia’s star-crown’d daughters
                     Own his majestic will;—
                   Like voice of many waters,
                     His name is potent still.

                   In loftiest communion
                     With seer and sage of yore,
                   For Liberty and Union
                     He pleads for evermore!


                  Like monarch of the forest
                    He looms out of the Past:—
                  Our strength when need was sorest,—
                    Our pride while Time shall last.

                  To God, the gracious Giver,
                    All praise and glory be,
                  While flows each free-born river
                    Unfettered to the sea.


                Far different the task assigned,
                  Yet were they one in loftiest aim;
                True mirror, each, of the Eternal Mind,
                  They share a common fadeless fame.

                One Will they owned, with rapturous awe,
                  One sway supreme from man to Mars,—
                Chanting the chorus of the moral law
                  With Seraphim and Morning Stars!


                 With love no words may measure,
                   Deep as life’s hidden wells,—
                 With sweetest, purest pleasure,
                   Chautauqua’s bosom swells.

                 A memory true and tender,
                   At which the warm tears start,—
                 Her Founder and Defender—
                   His home is in her heart!

                 O gratefully she meets him,
                   Restored to her once more;
                 And rapturously greets him,
                   With welcomes o’er and o’er.

                 Her joy untold confessing,
                   (Now be God’s goodness prais’d!)
                 As for a father’s blessing,
                   Her eyes to his are raised.

                 Full well she knows attend her
                   His prayers on sea and shore—
                 His spotless fame her splendor,
                   Her pride for evermore!

                 St. Vincent, we would name him,
                   Ere yet his crown is won,—
                 Before the skies shall claim him
                   For Christ’s dear word, “Well done!”
                                  Chautauqua, 1902.


         In empty rumor sown to woful ruth,
         How many reputations pass like chaff,
         Before Time’s judgment winnowing for Truth
         Immortal morrow and eternal youth.
         Recalled for mirth,—remembered with a laugh!
         Poor fames! that flower and wither with the grass,—
         Once fondly deemed more durable than brass.
         Heed well the clarion sounding through the sky,
         Impartial herald of the Voice of God!
         Proclaiming to the ages wide abroad
         The mighty names that were not born to die.
         Hark! ’tis the centuries’ roll-call, calm and clear,—
         From thrones of fadeless glory answered, “Here!”
         By souls supreme whose record is on high.


                I raise a pillar, fine and fair,—
                The monument of my despair;
                No fame of conqueror or king
                E’er won a nobler offering:—
                Behold, where strength and beauty meet
                To celebrate a life’s defeat!

                From hearts of stone to heart of stone,
                The soul appeals, as to her own;—
                The stainless granite, stately, strong,
                Shall chant my failure’s deathless song;
                Severe as Truth, this shaft shall shame
                The poor world’s pitiable blame.


                    The sunbeam in the hovel,
                      And in the Hall, are one,—
                    Each in his station faithful,
                      Until his task is done.

                    In soul and service, brothers,
                      To one blest birth-right born,
                    Nor chance nor change can sever
                      The children of the Morn.

                    Co-workers in one purpose,
                      Co-partners of one plan,
                    Each bears on stainless pinions,
                      The love of Heaven to man.

                    If true to God, what matters,
                      Where’er our work is done?
                    The sunbeam in the hovel,
                      And in the Hall, are one.


                      (“The Word was made flesh.”)

                Garment of Flesh, to thee was given
                  The virgin glow of sun and sod:—
                Dawn-woven in the loom of Heaven,—
                  The last, the tenderest touch of God!

                With human passion dear, divine,
                  Thou dost the deathless soul supply;
                Altar and hearth alike are thine,
                  Sweet bridal of the earth and sky!

                The glory of Eternity
                  Rests like a crown upon thy brow;
                Celestial light o’ershadows thee:—
                  Blest mother of my Lord art thou!


            Deceived, deflowered, despoiled!
              O drooping lily, late with light aglow!
            Around thy root is coiled
              The hidden horror of a nameless woe.

            Deceived, defiled, despoiled!
              Is there no healing for a broken heart?
            O God! hadst Thou but foiled
              The fatal spell of the betrayer’s art.

            Deceived, despised, despoiled!
              The blight has fallen on thy peerless bloom;
            To bless thy bridal eager ages toiled;—
              A moment’s glamour leaves thee endless gloom.


                  Crimson and cloth-of-gold,
                    His cloud-couch, rarely wrought;—
                  To bower so beautiful
                    No bride was ever brought.

                  Save his,—of tender grace,—
                    Dear Twilight, faithful, fair,
                  On whose sweet lips he seeks
                    Surcease of toil and care.

                  O light ineffable!
                    Wonder of wood and wold;—
                  The vision and the pledge
                    Of rapture manifold.


                Lips to lips in rapture pressed,—
                Dearest secret of the breast
                In a moment all confessed;—
                Love is best; love is best!

                Worn with care, by pain oppressed,—
                Empty arms and aching breast,—
                Longing for release and rest;—
                Death is best; death is best!

                Home at last! O welcome blest!
                Heart to heart our loved ones pressed,—
                Of eternal life possessed;—
                Heaven is best! heaven is best!


             Content with life’s allotted hours,
               Or brook or river,—may mine be
             Forever cheered by its unfailing Source,—
               A happy stream unhasting to the Sea,—
             With little children, birds and flowers,
               The dear companions of its tranquil course.


               Lured by no lower goal between,
                 From light to light still upward move,
               Aspiring to the heights serene
                 Of magnanimity and love.

               Thou shalt not take thy way alone;—
                 The Beautiful, the True, the Good,
               Shall draw to thee, undream’d, unknown,
                 Heaven’s fairest First-Born Brotherhood!

               And with them, steadfast to the end,
                 The sons of God of like degree,
               Earth’s noblest souls shall thee attend
                 With kingliest, kindliest company.

                       ASPIRATION AND ATTAINMENT.

                 Two natures, ours,—two lives
                   Attest our heavenly birth;—
                 In “the third heaven,” one,—
                   The other, on the earth.

                 One soars to realms above,
                   Where saints and angels dwell;
                 The other strives alone
                   With all the powers of hell.

                 The soul’s clear vision, one,
                   And ecstacy untold;
                 The other, darkness, doubt,
                   And sorrow manifold.

                   The one is triumph, rest;
                     The other, struggle, pain:—
                   A fearful fight, wherein
                     Both prayers and tears seem vain.

                 And yet they are but one,
                   Though worlds between them roll;
                 One, also, their reward
                   In God, their glorious goal.

                 For duty, in the dust,
                   Is equally divine
                 With victor wreath and crown
                   Which in His presence shine.

                           A QUESTION OR TWO.

               If, as you say, like dogs we die,
                 Why, then, like angels live?
               Let faithless Reason make reply,
                 And honest answer give.

               What power shall check the downward trend
                 Of wilful hearts of men,
               If in eternal nothing end
                 Their three score years and ten?

               That Virtue is its own reward—
                 Think you sufficient cause
               To move men to the due regard
                 Of Heaven’s holiest laws?

               While blood is blood, and gold is gold,
                 Alas, you vainly try,
               With fine-spun calculations cold,
                 To lure us to the sky.

               Be naught beyond to hold in awe
                 The beast in every breast,
               Then tooth and claw shall be our law;—
                 Why need to paint the rest?

               Grant us for our protection here,
                 This boon, Philosophy,
               If not the hope, the wholesome fear,
                 Of immortality.

               And, meanwhile, in our memory keep
                 That earnest word of old:—
               Whate’er thou sowest thou shalt reap,
                 In measure manifold.

                              OTHER SHEEP.

                  Pagan, Papist, Protestant!
                    What is that to thee or me?
                  Make not Heaven’s mercy scant
                    With thy pampered bigotry.

                  Who made thee the judge to be
                  Of thy brother’s destiny?
                  Deem not that thy shibboleth
                  Holds the keys of life and death.

                  Ah, that secret, sullen sign!
                  Call it not decree divine;
                  For a letter, more, or less,
                  Measures not God’s tenderness.

                   “Other sheep I have,” said One
                  Who was more than Mary’s son;—
                  Eyes as blind as thine shall see
                  His amazing charity.

                  When it claims the judgment-throne,
                    What is creed but craft and cant?
                  God will surely know His own:—
                    Pagan, Papist, Protestant.

                             BY MANY PATHS.

             By many names the one true God is known;
             By many shrines man’s faith in Him is shown;—
             Varuna, Vishnu, Agni, Indra,—One!
             As stars confess the all-sustaining sun.
             By many paths true, humble hearts are brought
             At last to Him whom they in darkness sought.

             All lands alike the Father’s mercies share;
             No age was ever orphaned of His care;—
             For souls sincere, forever has sufficed
             The boundless merit of the blessed Christ;
             And over all forever shall extend
             The love that knows no measure and no end.

                          [A]POOR LITTLE JOE!

                “Poor little Joe!” the poet said,
                When it was told him she was dead;—
                “Poor little Joe!” the warm tears start
                From the deep fountains of his heart;—
                “Poor little Joe!” he loved her so.

                “Poor little Joe!” he knows too well
                What darkness on his darling fell,
                When, in her loneliness and pain,
                “Papa!” she called,—but called in vain;—
                “Poor little Joe!” she missed him so.

                “Poor little Joe!” she loved him so,
                And wished to stay, yet longed to go;—
                One fond caress, one sweet “Good-night,”
                Had made the way to heaven so bright!
                “Poor little Joe!” she loved him so.

                “Poor little Joe!” was all he said,
                When it was told him she was dead;
                But everywhere the warm tears start
                Responsive to his breaking heart;—
                “Poor little Joe!” we loved her so.

Footnote A:

      Josephine Kipling—eldest child of Rudyard Kipling.

                            DARK, AND DAYS.

               The same old problems vex mankind;
                 In meager beams the light is given;
               Nor may the race e’er hope to find
                 The rest for which each age has striven.

               The same old problems vex mankind;
                 But to our fears this faith is given:—
               Broods over all the Eternal Mind,
                 And night on earth is day in heaven.


              Slowly is life revealed, and slowlier still
              The mystic scroll of the Eternal Will;
              But, calming our impatience, Hope replies,—
              “The days are ignorant,—the years are wise.”

                           A SURE FOUNDATION.

                  Hold firmly, for thy soul’s behoof,
                    This holy faith, divinely broad:—
                  The good in us is blessed proof
                    Of goodness infinite in God!

                              THE VOYAGE.

               Embarked upon an unknown sea,
                 And borne by tide which ne’er returns,—
               Awed by the deepening mystery,
                 The stoutest heart for comfort yearns.

               Fear not;—we are not left alone;
                 To wiser hands the helm is given;—
               A guidance better than our own
                 Directs our way from earth to heaven.

                            THE STONECROFT.

                  Dauntless in drouth and dearth,
                    Its pure, bright bloom is given
                  Not by the damps of earth,
                    But by the dews of heaven.

                  O soul shut in with pain,—
                    By want and woe oppressed,
                  Look up,—take heart again;
                    In God’s sure keeping rest.

                  The bounty of thy birth
                    Remains, whate’er be given;
                  Denied the damps of earth,
                    Thine, still, the dews of heaven!


              Onward and upward moves the world,—
                As toward the sun the seasons roll;—
              Aspiring, striving, struggling, still,—
                Onward and upward toward the goal.

              Onward and upward moves the world!
                The night is spent; and, clear and broad,
              The dawn predicts the perfect day:—
                Onward and upward still toward God!

                             A BENEDICTION.

                   The Christ of Cana brighten
                     The bliss thy heart may share;—
                   The Christ of Calvary lighten
                     The cross thy soul must bear.

                            LOVE AND TRUTH.

              Like shy arbutus’ bloom,
                Half hidden, half revealed,
              Her heart for love makes sweetest room,—
                Disclosed, and yet concealed.

              Ah! it was ever so,—
                Disclosed, and yet concealed:
              As to her eyes her breasts of snow,
                Half hidden, half revealed!

              And darkly truth is known,—
                Half hidden, half revealed;
              And dimly, still, Christ’s dear face shown,—
                Disclosed, and yet concealed.

              Will it be ever so,—
                Disclosed, and yet concealed?
              All that we most desire to know,
                Half hidden, half revealed?


              What is it, but the point where meet
              The finite and the infinite?
              The light on childhood’s brow that hovers,—
              The all-revealing glance of lovers;
              The troth of flowers and stars on high,—
              The bridal of the earth and sky;
              The sheen of heaven on soul and sod,—
              The glory and the grace of God;—
              The gleam of Sun beyond the sun,—
              The mortal and immortal, one!

                             HEART OF LOVE.

              Out of the heart of Love all beauty blows,
                Of star-sprent sky or flower-sweet sod;—
              One Source all being owns, one sure repose,—
                The bosom of the life of God!

                            THE CORONATION.

                  ’Tis not enough to hold the faith
                    To saints and sages given;
                  Truth asks of thee a fealty
                    Like her fair throne in heaven.

                  Transmute it into character,—
                    Translate it into life;
                  And crown thy creed with golden deed
                    And love that conquers strife.


                  Be thine thy Master’s portion,
                    Who found, where all seemed loss,
                  His Kinghood in His serving,
                    His kingdom in His cross.

                           THE GREATER DEEP.

                  O vast and variable Sea!
                    Image alike of peace and strife,—
                  Like that immenser mystery
                    Which shrouds our little life.


                Dim mirrors are our mortal minds,
                  In which all truth is darkly seen;
                Our only wisdom is to love,
                  And leave to God what death may mean.

                               THE GIFT.

            Unhasting, yet advancing evermore,
            The morning breaks, at last, on every shore;
            And through the gloom, until the day-star beam,
            To us Heaven grants the vision and the dream.


                 Adapted to infinity,
                   Our souls, O God, aspire to Thee;—
                 Created in Thy likeness blest,
                   In Thee alone our hearts find rest.


                 Truth is the soul’s eternal quest,—
                 Reality its only rest;—
                 Shadow for substance ne’er sufficed,—
                 Symbol nor sacrament,—but Christ!


             To confines infinitely lonely,
               Extends, unknown, Creation’s shoreless sea:—
             The sun itself a porch-light, only,
               To the fair palace of Eternity.


          Whither away, ye argosies of Heaven,
          In solemn state advancing from afar?
          What mission marshals you? What chivalrous emprise
          Darkens the glory of the sapphire skies?
          Say, was your empire’s ancient quiet riven
          With rumor ominous of distant wrong and war?
          Or speed ye forth with snowy sails unfurled,
          And radiant pennons shimmering in the haze,
          To bring with proper pomp, to his empyreal throne,
          Your monarch with his bride? he loveth her alone,
          Dear daughter of the Sun, the peerless virgin world,
          Long cloistered in his bosom’s brightest rays.
                 *     *     *     *     *     *     *
          No answer but a deeper shadow cast,—
          And lo! the splendid mystery is passed.


                Though born a man, he lives a mole;
                In vain for him the seasons roll;
                Poor earth-worm; in a world of light,
                Still deeper digging into night.

                Indifferent to life and law,
                He knoweth neither love nor awe;—
                Askance he eyes the daisied sod,
                And turns a Ghetto face on God.

                With servile mind and sordid soul,
                He shall not miss the chosen goal;
                Though all the path with gold be paved,
                He cannot from himself be saved.

                          A ROYAL PRIESTHOOD.

                 To lift and lighten the heart of man,
                 Was ever the Poet’s lofty plan;—
                 Confederate with stars and sun,
                 His songs their radiant courses run.


                 Genius is only common dust,
                   Unkindled by the Breath of Heaven;—
                 Except God be their light and life,
                   Vainly the richest gifts are given.

                 Dark as a row of silver lamps,
                   Fair, all, as fancy’s fine desire,
                 And furnished, each, with rarest oil,
                   But all untouched with fire.

                 For noblest service, man’s first need
                   Is inspiration from on high;
                 The finite needs the Infinite,
                   As flower and forest need the sky.

                         UNCONSCIOUS INFLUENCE.

           Faint not, though fruitless still the labor seems
             Wherewith love serves the Master dear, divine;
           You do not know how far it throws its beams,
             The lamp which you keep burning at His shrine.

                         HOLD FAST THIS TRUTH.

                Hold fast this truth, whoe’er thou art,
                  And through all sorrow take it:—
                God did not make the human heart
                  Simply that He might break it.

                For not in vain love yearns for love;—
                  Beyond the grave’s dark portal,
                In everlasting bliss above,
                  Awaits the life immortal!

                          GLORIA IN EXCELSIS!

                       The infinitely High
                         Is the infinitely Near,—
                       And the infinitely Holy
                         Is the infinitely Dear.

                       A single ray from heaven—
                         And all is understood,—
                       For the infinitely Great
                         Is the infinitely Good.

                              A CONTRAST.

                 Stone by stone the palace grows,
                   Haughtily, mid dust and din;
                 On the garden wall the rose
                   Drinks the quiet sunshine in.

                 Stone by stone the prison rears,
                   Frowningly, its bars of night;—
                 Like a bride with love’s sweet fears,
                   Leans the lily to the light.


               With peaceful brow, and eyes beneath
                 Disclosing memories, tender, dear,
               And hopes secure from earthly strife,
                 She stands—good angels know how near
               To heaven,—crown’d with the harvest-wreath
                 Of a fair, fruitful life:—
               A lovelier diadem, I ween,
               On seraph brow was never seen.

                              THE MEASURE.

        From what a depth within the poet’s heart,
        The sorrow Dante weds to deathless Art!
        From what a height within the poet’s brain,
        The immortal notes of Shakespeare’s star-bright strain!


                   Naught is new beneath the sun:
                   Ages since the deed was done;—
                   Ay! a thousand wrought like one,—
                   And a thousand thought like one.
                   Greatest souls are first to own
                   None is wise or strong alone.


                  O Lord of life and death!
                    To whom all souls belong,
                  Let not the thread be cut,
                    While yet I weave my song.

                  Let not the workman’s form
                    Be broken ere the time;—
                  Oh shatter not, with “Dust to Dust,”
                    The marble’s dream sublime!

                                AT LAST!

               Faint not because so far away
               Seems, still, the world’s redemption day;
               Though deepest night the sky o’ercast,
               The glorious morn shall break at last.

               For strife shall close in fadeless peace,
               And wrong and woe forever cease,—
               And end, in rapturous notes sublime,
               The whole long requiem of Time.

                           FORGIVE US, LORD!

                  Forgive us, Lord, our foolish fears;
                    For, to Thy patient sway,
                  A day is as a thousand years,
                    And a thousand years as a day.

                  Thy will, O God, is sure alway;—
                    This faith our darkness cheers:—
                  Thine, equally, the flying day,
                    And the march of a thousand years!


          Not where the Martyrs knelt, but where _we_ kneel,
            Is holy ground for us and ours;—
          Not what the Saints have felt, but what _we_ feel,
            With strength divine the fainting soul empowers.

          Not what the Apostles held, but what _we_ hold,
            Makes radiant death’s dread mystery;—
          From _living_ faith, deep-welled, has onward rolled
            The widening stream of Christian history.

                            THE LITTLE ONES.

                   Heaven bless the little children!
                     Their lives to earth are lent
                   From some dear clime serener
                     Than star-sown firmament.

                   The sunshine of God’s glory,
                     Their happy spirits are;—
                   Each soul, in His pure likeness,
                     Refulgent as a star!

                   Their free, abundant beauty,
                     (Love’s largess, manifold),
                   They shed with lavish splendor
                     On all that they behold.

                   Their joy the morning brightens,—
                     And loveliest flowers are fair
                   With radiance strangely tender,
                     Which their sweet rapture share.

                   And holier still their mission,—
                     And sweeter still their charm;
                   Like angels they attend us,
                     To guard our hearts from harm.

                   Their looks, so kind, confiding,
                     Our fevered pulses calm,—
                   And on the wounded spirit
                     They pour their love like balm.

                   And ever they remind us
                     Of our dear home on high,
                   Beyond all sin and sorrow,—
                     Eternal in the sky!

                   God bless the little children,
                     Or here, or there above,
                   The sunshine of His glory,
                     The sweetness of His love.

                              LITTLE RUTH.

                I cannot feel that she is gone
                  So far, so far away;
                Her little heart close to my own
                  Is beating day by day.

                Ah! tender are these human ties;—
                  May heaven at last reveal
                Why on her eyes a slumber lies
                  E’en tears cannot unseal.

                A look this darkness would displace
                  With a divine delight;
                The soul’s rare grace in her fair face,—
                  It was a blessed sight!

                Her hair a happy halo wore,
                  That lit the hearth and hall;
                Alas! no more my study door
                  Heeds her confiding call.

                Dear lips! where mirth and music wrote
                  The lore in Eden sung;
                Seemed every note from her sweet throat
                  By elf or angel strung.

                The robin, hark! is here again,
                  To woo the wondrous child;
                But all in vain his ardent strain,—
                  Death may not be beguiled.

                Sleep, Darling, sleep; we will not weep,
                  Nor moan or murmur make;
                But oh! how deep the dreamless sleep,—
                  Would God she might awake!

                Asleep? awake! the Shepherd takes
                  His little lamb above;
                And where she wakes the morning breaks
                  In everlasting love.

                But I cannot feel that she is gone
                  So far, so far away;
                For her little heart close to my own
                  Keeps beating day by day.

                            LITTLE THEODORE.

                       Lay them in his little hand;—
                       He will know,—and understand.


             Darling, shall we meet again,
               In a world that knows no sorrow?
             Where there shall be no more pain,
               And no parting comes to-morrow?

             Precious gift! love’s priceless dower—
               Still our yearning hearts deplore thee,
             Marking many a lonely hour,
               Still, with tears, till Heaven restore thee.

             Bright thy little life’s brief day,
               With the rose and lily number’d;—
             Waken, darling; rise and play;—
               Those sweet eyes too long have slumber’d.

             Falling flower and fading spray,
               Tenderly thy kind look noted;—
             Did they beckon thee away,
               Dear, dear child, to death devoted?

             Flowers will bloom where snow-flakes fall;
               Birds return;—but thou, oh, never!
             Comes no answer to my call;—
               Have I lost thee, Love, forever?

             Hush, my heart,—it cannot be;—
               Lo! beyond the grave’s dark portal,
             Where thy dearest wait for thee,
               Breaks the morning, blest, immortal!


                  Darling _we shall meet again_,
                    In the home that knows no sorrow,—
                  Where there shall be no more pain,
                    And no parting comes to-morrow.

                      WHERE THERE IS NO MORE PAIN.

                The sharpest pang, the tenderest tear,
                  Not yet are known to thee,
                Unless thy heart has learned how dear
                  A little grave can be.

                A little grave—but oh, how wide
                  The room it left for grief!
                A grief which, like the ebbing tide,
                  Returns without relief.

                Dear child! by death made doubly dear,—
                  God grant it may not be
                That thou in heaven should’st ever hear
                  How much we mourn for thee.

                One after one the seasons wane,—
                  Our loss, it grows not less;
                Time’s balm is vain to heal the pain
                  Of such a loneliness.

                O little grave, that darkened so
                  The path by Sorrow trod,
                Sometimes the sunset’s golden glow
                  Rests on thy daisied sod;—

                And then we feel that God is good,
                  And we take heart again,—
                Assured 'twill all be understood
                  Where there is no more pain.

                Where there is no more pain—’tis there,
                  ’Tis there we long to be!
                O Thou, who didst our sorrows bear,
                  Bring us to dwell with Thee.

                Where there is no more pain—how blest
                  Love’s kingdom, fadeless, fair!
                That blissful rest naught shall molest,—
                  _Death cannot enter there_.

                           THE EASTER ANSWER.

             There is no light in sun or star,
               Nor any voice in wind or wave,
             To tell us where our loved ones are,
               And cheer our journey to the grave.

             The wedding garment and the shroud,
               From the same texture, Nature weaves;—
             Alike to her are sky and cloud:
               She neither joys with us nor grieves.

             Indifferent to life and death,
               She heedeth not our hopes or fears;
             Our days seem bounded by a breath;—
               Why should she note our smiles or tears.

             From depths of sorrow manifold
               We call, and, weeping, wait reply;—
             No answer comes from wood or wold,
               And silent are the sea and sky.

             O pitying Christ, to Thee we turn,
               In loneliest grief uncomforted;
             For Thee and Thy sure love we yearn,
               Light of the living and the dead!

             Thou healest, Lord, the heart’s sore strife;—
               With Thee, with Thee our dearest dwell—
             Crowned, in Thy grace, O Prince of life,
               With peace and joy ineffable.

             And ours, at last, the home above!
               We, too, from sin and sorrow free,
             Shall share that life of cloudless love
               For evermore with them and Thee.


                 Some meet memorial I would raise,
                   O gracious God, to Thy kind care:—
                 A fane for silent, unshared praise,
                   A shrine for solitary prayer.

                 An altar in the wilderness,
                   Known only to the stars above,—
                 Whose grateful incense shall confess
                   The comfort of Thy sheltering love.

                 Such monument my heart would rear,
                   O blessed God, _my_ God! to Thee;
                 Thy presence ever proving near,
                   My Strength, my Song, eternally!

                             ST. AUGUSTINE.

                O Thou my inmost life, my God!
                  How blind the soul can be!
                Thou wert within, and I abroad,
                  And there I searched for Thee.

                A stranger to my own poor heart,
                  A stranger, Lord, to Thee,
                I sought Thee, from Thyself apart,
                  Throughout immensity.

                In vain the weary, painful quest,—
                  Still further did I stray
                From Thee, my being’s only rest,—
                  Thyself the Truth, the Way.

                I found Thee not, O sovereign Good!
                  Though seeking Thee alone;
                I found Thee not,—nor understood
                  Thy grace, Thy love unknown.

                For Thou hast chosen, in Thy grace,
                  As all who seek Thee find,
                To make Thy dearest dwelling-place
                  The lowly, loving mind.

                Close to the fountain of our tears
                  Dost Thou set up Thy rest;
                And nearer than our doubts and fears
                  Art Thou, the Heavenly Guest.

                O child of sorrow and of pain!
                  Know this, where’er thou art,—
                Thy long and lonely quest is vain;—
                  Return into thy heart.

                The Blessed Presence is enshrined
                  Deep, deep within the breast;—
                Who seeks Thee there, O God, shall find
                  The soul’s abiding rest.


                 Not on couch of ivory,
                 Cushioned, curtained, daintily,—
                 But upon the flinty ground,
                 The dread wilderness around,
                 Jacob sleeps, afar, alone,—
                 And his pillow is a stone!
                 Ah! poor friendless fugitive,
                 What can now thy birth-right give?

                 Pitiless the stars look down,
                 Like his brother’s haunting frown;—
                 In his heart are many fears,—
                 In his eyes are bitter tears;
                 Even in his sleep he groans;
                 Even as he sleeps he moans,
                 “God be merciful to me!
                 Pity, Lord, my misery.”

                 Rest thee, pilgrim; not in vain
                 Thy repentance and thy pain.
                 Wonderful the grace divine!
                 Thine the covenant,—still thine,
                 Sealed to Abraham of old,—
                 Bearing blessing manifold
                 Unto ages yet unborn,
                 Through thee, desolate, forlorn.

                 Ay! e’en now to him is given
                 Token of the love of Heaven;
                 For behold! about him stand
                 Ministers of God’s right hand:
                 Angels excellent in might,
                 Radiant in robes of light;—
                 And, before his ravished eyes,
                 Lo, the ladder to the skies!

                 Oh, that blessed, wondrous sight!
                 Making all the midnight bright,—
                 Bringing hope and healing in,
                 To the spirit stained with sin,—
                 Driving grief and gloom away,
                 With the breaking of the day,—
                 Wakening every tender chord
                 With the glory of the Lord!

                 Passed the Vision;—it is dawn;
                 Shining sons of light are gone;—
                 Wakes the servant of the Lord,
                 Wondering, at His gracious word;—
                 From his lips in language meet,
                 Faith’s confession, grateful, sweet:—
                 “Surely God was in this place,
                 And upon me shone His face!”

                 So, upon the holy ground
                 Where the gate of heaven he found,
                 Buildeth he with pious care,
                 Joining praise with humble prayer,
                 From the stones of that blest place,
                 A memorial to God’s grace:—
                 “Bethel, Lord, its name shall be,—
                 Covenant ’twixt Thee and me.”

                 Glory to Thy holy Name,—
                 Thou, O Lord, art still the same!
                 Angel-guides _our_ way attend;
                 Angel-guards _our_ souls defend;—
                 We, too, know the blessed ground
                 Where the shining gate was found:—
                 Trysting-place of earth and heaven,—
                 Let the same sweet name be given:—
                 Bethel, through the ages past,—
                 Bethel still, while time shall last;
                 Bethel, then, its dear name be,—
                 Bethel, through eternity!

                     AN IDYL OF THE SPIRITUAL LIFE.

               Silently, to lowly minds,
                 God communicates His grace,
               And the wondering spirit finds
                 The dear favor of His face.

               Secretly the Voice divine
                 Whispers low to each, apart;
               Suddenly, without a sign,
                 Glows His presence in the heart.

               Like the light of evening star,
                 Reigns the peace that heals all strife;
               Passionless as lilies are,
                 Love enthrones the heavenly life.

               Silently the morning breaks,
                 And the shadows flee away;
               So, in death, the soul awakes
                 To the light of endless day!


               Before this truth be bared each brow,—
                 The infinite is here and now!
               As sacred as the stars, the sod,—
                 As near to Heaven, as close to God.

               Call nothing common or unclean,—
                 Nor deem thou any service mean;
               Forevermore this faith be thine,—
                 All days, all duties, are divine.

               E’en now, at thy reluctant feet,
                 The seed-time and the harvest meet;
               “The morrow in the moment lies:”
                 Heed well the Voice; awake! arise!

               He, only he, is free indeed,
                 Who in his heart holds fast this creed,—
               (A fadeless wreath for every brow),
                 The infinite is here and now!

                           LET IN THE LIGHT!

                    Let in the light!
                    The sky is bright,
                      The air is flowing free;
                    The mountains glow,—
                    The vale, below,
                      Is holding jubilee.

                    Let in the light!
                    Sad oversight
                      To miss so sweet a morn;—
                    The vision flies;
                    Awake! arise!
                      Each dawn is life reborn.

                    Let in the light!
                    O, read aright
                      The day’s Apocalypse;
                    Its hours enfold
                    The age of gold,
                      And all thy dreams eclipse.

                    Let in the light!
                    'Twill soon be night;—
                      Prize every moment given;
                    With all thy might
                    Serve thou the right,
                      And leave the rest to Heaven.

                            THE LAW OF LOVE.

       O, the sky is blue above me,
         And the earth beneath is green,
       And softly bright the flowing light
         Floods the boundless space between.

       But what if the day should darken,
         And death’s dread shadows fall?
       I need not fear; with heaven so near,
         Why should the night appall?

       ’Tis but the peaceful portal
       Unto a morn immortal;
       For the light that once gladdened the garden’s deep gloom,
       At last shall transfigure all blight into bloom.

       For over and under the soul’s sore strife
       Is the blessed law of an endless life;
       From the sod to the stars, and the stars to the sod,
       Sways the everlasting love of God.


              A cup of pleasure passing sweet,
                Sometimes, this life of hopes and fears,—
              But oft, a fountain full of grief,
                O’erflowing still with lonely tears.

              When brightest skies above us bend,
                Dark o’er our heads the tempest lowers;—
              At best, a sombre happiness,
                A partial light, at best, is ours.

              What waits beyond,—of good or ill,
                We vainly struggle to discern;—
              Poor, sinful, blind, and comfortless,
                O pitying Christ! to Thee we turn.

              Our only help and refuge, Thou;—
                Give joy for sorrow, peace for strife;
              We bring our burdened hearts to Thee,
                O Love divine! our Light, our Life.

                           OUR LIFE IS LENT.

                     Our life is Lent:—
                     Our years are spent
                       In penance for the past;
                     Our songs are sighs;
                     Our brightest skies
                       With clouds are overcast.

                     Our life is Lent:—
                     The old lament—
                      “All, all is vanity;”
                     And Youth, in tears,
                     Awaits with fears
                       The morrow’s mystery.

                     Our life is Lent:—
                     Lord, we repent
                       Each folly, fault, and fall;
                     Our best resolve
                     Do thou absolve,—
                       Forgive, forget it all.

                     Our life is Lent:—
                     Our hearts are rent,
                       As we Thy gifts recount,
                     And mark again,
                     With bitter pain,
                       “The pattern in the mount.”

                     Our life is Lent:—
                     Our strength is spent;
                       O holy Judge, and just,
                     Receive our prayer,—
                     Poor sinners spare;
                       Remember we are dust.

                     Our life is Lent:—
                     But Jesus went
                       This way; in Him confide;—
                     'Twill soon be past;
                     Then, for thy fast,
                       Eternal Eastertide!

                            LENTEN LESSONS.

              Not of one day or age alone,
                In unfeared Future far away,—
              But here, and now, the Great White Throne:—
                To-day, to-day, the Judgment-Day!

              On every heart, O God, impress
                This truth,—for all souls given,—
              That heaven does not make holiness,
                But holiness makes heaven.

              Thy rightful dower Earth cannot give;
                Far other, thou, than sun and sod;—
              The soul of man can only live
                By living in the life of God.

              The creed of a contracted heart,
                The code of a self-serving will,
              Ne’er matched thy nature’s nobler part,
                Nor could thy being’s end fulfill.

              Peace is not here; in vain thy quest;—
                Thou art not brother to the clod;
              The heart of man can only rest
                By resting on the heart of God.


               Remember, Soul, the solemn word,
               Still uttered by thy loving Lord:—
               “That which thou sowest, thou shalt reap.”
               Let not thy nobler nature sleep;
               The word the Voice within thee saith,
               Reveals the law of life and death.
               That law, inexorably just,
               For good or ill, binds soul and dust,—
               And sways, with equal sovereignty,
               The shoreless sea of Destiny!
               Choose well; for baser choice endures:—
               Each heedless hour its age ensures,—
               Planting, in place of memories blest,
               A cypress forest in the breast.

                             THE RECKONING.

                  Search well thy ways, thy wishes,—
                    Thy deepest life lay bare;
                  Against to-morrow’s daylight,
                    Desire and deed prepare.

                  Of reckless ease and pleasure,
                    And slothful will, beware;
                  Against to-morrow’s daylight,
                    Thy stewardship prepare.

                  Ambition, aim, and motive,—
                    To each give honest care;
                  Against to-morrow’s daylight,
                    Thy character prepare.

                  O Judgment-journeying brother!
                    Thyself shall meet thee there;—
                  Against to-morrow’s daylight,
                    Thy destiny prepare.

                  Choose well; thy choice is endless!
                    Be this our earnest prayer:—
                  “Against to-morrow’s daylight,
                    O God, my soul prepare.”

                   THE FONT, THE ALTAR, AND THE TOMB.

               The font, the altar, and the tomb,—
                 And but a step between!
               A pulse, a breath, ’twixt birth and death—
                 And ends life’s sombre scene.

               The font, the altar, and the tomb!
                 How swift through mirth and moan,
               The silent shuttles of life’s loom,
                 Guided by hands unknown!

               The font, the altar, and the tomb!
                 Poor heart, seek not in vain
               To move the unrelenting gloom,
                 For short surcease of pain.

               The font, the altar, and the tomb!
                 Accept frail nature’s dower;—
               To thee, to all, an equal doom,—
                 The inevitable hour!

               The font, the altar, and the tomb!
                 Faint not at “Dust to Dust;”—
               The love of God leaves ample room
                 For deathless hope and trust.

               The font, the altar, and the tomb!
                 Christ crowns the soul’s sore strife;—
               The morning breaks! the victor wakes
                 To everlasting life!


                 The evening shadows deepen fast,
                   Enshrouding sea and shore;
                 The day so bright, so quickly past,
                   Returneth nevermore.

                 The night is come; but lo! on high
                   The steadfast stars appear;
                 A holy calm is in the sky,
                   And heaven seems very near.

                 So fades, at last, life’s little day,—
                   So falls death’s deepening gloom;
                 We hasten, each a different way,
                   To reach one goal,—the tomb!

                 But God is good, whate’er may come;—
                   To every heart is given
                 A tender memory of home,
                   A trembling hope of heaven.

                            THE LARGER LIFE.

                My years are very few, O God!
                  More rapidly they pass
                Than clouds whose transient tale is told
                  In shadows on the grass.

                My years are very few, O God!
                  But they are full of Thee:—
                A drop of being in Thy life’s
                  Unfathomable sea.

                My years are very few, O God!
                  Oh, let me clearly see
                How they grow strong and beautiful
                  In Thy immensity.

                My years are very few, O God!
                  The sum of them is small,—
                But each may serve Thy blessed will,
                  And Thou shalt have them all.

                My years are very few, O God!
                  On earth, but not in heaven;—
                To Thee, eternal Life and Love,
                  Be endless praises given.

                               A PRAYER.

                 Deepen, Lord, the light divine,
                 In this darkened heart of mine;
                 On my inmost spirit shine,
                 Radiance of th’ Eternal Trine!

                 Deepen, Lord, the life divine,
                 In this barren heart of mine;—
                 As the branch is to the vine,
                 Hangs my helpless soul on Thine.

                 Deepen, Lord, the love divine,
                 In this lonely heart of mine;
                 Surest seal and sweetest sign,—
                 There thy perfect peace enshrine.

                 Light, and life, and love, Thou art;—
                 With thy grace, Thyself impart;
                 Rest and Rapture of the heart,
                 Come, and nevermore depart.

                              THE MESSAGE.

             Sweet message of the Holy Dove,
             In mercy brought us from above,—
             O haste, my soul, its peace to prove:—
             “God, the Eternal God, is love!”

             In Jesus, full of truth and grace,—
             Dear brightness of the Father’s face,
             Each radiant letter we can trace:—
             “God, the Eternal God, is love!”

             All other word is empty, vain;
             Naught else can heal the heart’s sore pain,
             And faith and hope revive again:—
             “God, the Eternal God, is love!”

             Through all life’s dangers, doubts and fears,—
             In all our trials, toils and tears,
             This promise spans the darkest years:—
             “God, the Eternal God, is love!”

             Blest tidings, borne by Holy Dove,
             Of welcome waiting us above,—
             Through endless ages there to prove—
             “God, the Eternal God, is love!”

                             AS THOU WILT.

                     Give what Thou wilt,
                       And what Thou wilt, withold;
                     Only, O Lord, bestow
                       Thy mercy manifold.

                     Give what Thou wilt,
                       And what Thou wilt, recall;
                     Thou still art ours, O God,
                       And Thou art all in all.

                     Rich in Thy gifts,
                       But richer in Thy grace,
                     What bliss, what glory, ours,
                       When we behold Thy face!

                        WE WOULD SING THE STORY!

                   We would sing the story
                     Of Thy wondrous love,
                   Jesus, King of glory,
                     On Thy throne above.

                   Once in a rude manger
                     Thou didst lowly lie,—
                   Sweetest little stranger
                     From the world on high.

                   Sister none, nor brother,
                     There to welcome Thee,—
                   Only Thy dear mother
                     Watching tenderly.

                   Yet, unseen, around Thee,
                     (Oh how kind and good!)
                   Glad that they had found Thee,—
                     Shining angels stood.

                   Angels who from heaven
                     Brought the wondrous word,
                   To the whole world given,—
                     First by shepherds heard.

                   For, while they were tending
                     Their lone flocks by night,
                   Over them were bending
                     Angels pure and bright.

                   And they heard them singing,
                     “Peace, good will to men!”
                   God’s sweet message bringing;—
                     Near was heaven, then!

                   Happy shepherds! speeding
                     Unto Bethlehem,
                   Eagerly all heeding
                     What was told to them.

                   And they found Thee sleeping
                     There upon the hay,—
                   And, with wonder weeping,
                     They knelt down to pray.

                   And the Wise Men sought Thee,
                     Guided by a star!
                   Treasures rare they brought Thee,—
                     From their home afar.

                   We would seek Thee, Saviour,—
                     We would kneel and pray,
                   And in kind behaviour
                     Serve Thee day by day.

                   And while we are singing,—
                     Like the kings of old,
                   We would still be bringing
                     Frankincense and gold.

                   Pearls of priceless beauty,
                     Every precious gem,—
                   Faith, and love, and duty,—
                     For Thy diadem!

                   So would we adore Thee,
                     Now, and till we die,—
                   Then, with Thee in glory,
                     Reign above the sky.


                   O holy, happy morning,
                     That saw the Saviour’s birth!
                   The star, thy brow adorning,
                     Beams mercy on the earth;—
                   For shepherds, and for sages,
                     Thy cheer, impartial, free,—
                   The travail of the Ages
                     Finds recompense in thee.

                   My soul, be thou believing,—
                     No more thy past deplore;
                   In Christ, all loss retrieving,
                     Rejoice forevermore.
                   By love unknown attended,
                     Thy weary watch and ward:—
                   Behold the vision splendid!
                     The angel of the Lord!

                   And hark! the herald angel!
                     The radiant, rapturous throng!
                   The ravishing evangel
                     Floods all the hills with song:—
                   “To God, in heaven, glory;
                     Good will to men, below;—”
                   Speed, speed the blessed story,
                     That all the world may know.

                   Repeat it softly, slowly;
                     For still, in hut and hall,
                   Are lonely hearts and lowly,
                   That hunger for it all.
                   Again, again the story,—
                     Till sin and sorrow cease:
                   “To God, the Father, glory,
                     And to His children, peace.”

                              “AS HE IS.”

                 God in man, and man in God!
                 Speed the glorious word abroad;
                 Heart’s best hope, and Heaven’s plan—
                 Man in God, and God in man!

                 Into human history
                 Blooms the blessed mystery;—
                 Dayspring darkest night doth span:—
                 Lo, the Christ! the Son of Man!

                 Brother, thine the call divine;
                 Thine the grace, the glory thine;
                 Life’s ideal in Jesus see:—
                 As He is, so we may be.

                 O, how high, how deep, how broad—
                 Infinite the love of God!
                 Heaven shall crown the wondrous plan,—
                 Man in God, and God in man!


                The Way of Sorrows Thou hast trod,
                Dear suffering Saviour, Lamb of God!
                And now, O nameless agony!
                They nail Thee to the cruel Tree.

                With bleeding brow and breaking heart,
                Thou bearest, Lord, Thy baleful part;—
                And sorer far than we can see,
                Thy Passion’s painful mystery.

                Yet here, triumphant o’er our sins,
                Thy blessed reign on earth begins,—
                And boundless empire waits for Thee,
                O thorn-crowned King of Calvary!

                Before Thy Cross the world shall bow;
                Victor, because the Victim, Thou:—
                Thy dying love, O Christ, shall be
                The bond that draws all hearts to Thee.

                        IN BROTHERHOOD WITH ALL.

                O Christ, the light of all that live,
                  In heaven above, in earth beneath,
                To all Thou dost Thy blessing give,
                  In brotherhood with all that breathe.

                In brotherhood with all that breathe!
                  Redeemer, Saviour, Thee we laud,
                And thy dear cross with glory wreathe,
                  O Son of Mary! Son of God!

                Thy loving spirit, Jesus, give
                  To us who serve Thee here beneath,
                That we, henceforth, like Thee may live
                  In brotherhood with all that breathe.

                            CODE AND CREED.

             Christ’s life our code,—His Cross our creed,
               Our common glad confession be;—
             Our deepest wants, our highest aims,
               Find their fulfillment, Lord, in Thee.

             Dear Son of God! Thy blessed will,
               Our hearts would own with saints above;
             All life is larger for Thy law,—
               All service sweeter for Thy love.

             Thy life our code! in letters clear
               We read our duty, day by day,—
             Thy footsteps tracing eagerly,
               Who art the Truth, the Life, the Way.

             Thy Cross our creed! Thy boundless love
               A ransomed world at last shall laud,
             And crown Thee their eternal King,
               O Lord of Glory! Lamb of God!

             Till then, to Thee our souls aspire,
               In ardent prayer and earnest deed,—
             With love like Thine, confessing, still,
               Christ’s life our code,—His Cross our creed!


                    Easter bells are ringing,
                      Easter anthems rise,—
                    Age and Childhood singing
                      Strains that seek the skies;
                    Seek their source, ascending
                      Where, in rapture sweet,
                    Song and service blending,
                      Saint and seraph meet.

                    “Christ, the Lord, is risen!”
                      Wondering angels cry;
                    “Broken, Death’s dread prison!”
                      Sons of men reply.
                    Blessed song and story!
                      Doubt and fear depart,—
                    Resurrection glory
                      Floods the faithful heart.

                    Purest, purest pleasure
                      In each bosom wells;
                    Happy, happy measure—
                      How the choral swells!
                    By that song supplanted,
                      Wrath and wrong shall cease;
                    From this hour undaunted
                      Reigns the Prince of Peace!

                    Easter lilies, blowing,
                      Breathe His praise abroad,—
                    All their grace bestowing
                      On the Son of God.
                    Lo! His brow adorning,
                      Kings their homage pay;
                    Hark! the stars of morning
                      Hail His boundless sway.

                             EASTER LILIES.

                  In faith sincere we bear the sign
                  Of Thy dear cross, O Christ divine!
                  And in our hearts the lilies bloom
                  That blossom by Thy radiant tomb.

            Thy dying love, Thy glorious power
              Triumphant over sin and death,
            Shall be our song till life’s last hour,
              And thrill with praise life’s parting breath.

            Then, then, O bliss beyond compare!
              Thy face, Thy glory, we shall see,
            And in the home immortal share
              Eternal life and love with Thee.

                  In faith sincere we bear the sign
                  Of Thy dear cross, O Christ divine!
                  And in our hearts the lilies bloom
                  That blossom by Thy radiant tomb.

                         EASTER-TIDE ADORATION.

                O Lamb of God, for sinners slain,
                To loving hearts restored again!
                Our Light, our Life, Redeemer, Lord,—
                Forever be Thy name adored.

                Victorious over death and hell,—
                Incarnate Word, Immanuel!
                Thou comest, Saviour, to Thine own:
                Thy cross is now Thy glorious throne!

                The Earth her richest gains shall bring,
                To crown Thee Conqueror and King;
                And the abundance of the sea
                Shall be converted unto Thee.

                Kings at Thy feet their scepters lay;
                The Ages own Thy widening sway;
                Thy rule shall over all extend,
                And Thy dominion never end!

                               THE KING.

               With all Thy saints, below, above,
                 Thy triumph over death we sing,
               And crown Thy cross with wreaths of love,
                 O Christ, our Saviour, and our King!

               Rejoicing in Thy widening sway,
                 We hail Thy coming, gracious Lord;
               The dawn predicts the perfect day,—
                 The world redeemed, renewed, restored!

               Her richest gains Earth brings to Thee:—
                 The East, her reverence and awe,—
               The West, her boundless energy,
                 Her learning, liberty, and law.

               Where’er stars shine or dews shall fall,
                 Thine is the power, the kingdom Thine;
               Thou by Thy cross hast conquered all,
                 O Jesus, Saviour, Love divine!

                         AN EASTER-TIDE LYRIC.

                  Thine was the cross, O Christ,—
                    The brow thorn-crown’d and gory;
                  Thine, blessed Saviour, now,
                    The kingdom, power, and glory!

                  The ages own Thy sway;—
                    All kings shall bow before Thee,
                  And to Thy service bring
                    Their honor, power and glory,

                  All that Thy grace bestowed,
                    The world shall yet restore Thee,—
                  Enshrining in its heart
                    The bitter cross that bore Thee.

                  With saints and seraphim,
                    Let us, O Lord, adore Thee,—
                  Ascribing to Thy name
                    The kingdom, power, and glory!

                  And in the hour of death,
                    Receive us, we implore Thee,
                  To share, forevermore,
                    Thy kingdom, power, and glory!

                            AN EASTER IDYL.

                 Between two twilights folded in,—
                   Kiss’d by the day’s sweet breath,
                 Frail as the flowers of fairest bloom,
                   We pass from birth to death.

                 Between two twilights,—dawn and dusk,—
                   Two twilights,—dusk and dawn!
                 We shall not know that we have slept,—
                   So soon the night has gone.

                 For dearer far, to God, are we,
                   Than fairest flowers of earth;—
                 Breaks on the soul eternal day,—
                   _Death is another birth!_


              Lamb of the riven side,—
              Lord of lords, glorified!
          Victim and Victor, Thee we adore;
              Shepherd of Israel,
              Saviour from death and hell,
          Mighty Immanuel! reign evermore.

              Lion of Judah,
              From Brahm and from Buddha
          Seize for Thy glory the sea and the land;
              Where age-long error thralls,
              Where blackest night appalls,
          There, with her radiant walls, let Zion stand.

            The gates of the morning,
            Thy temple adorning,
          Shall beacon the uttermost isles of the sea;
              And nations, now unknown,
              Shall bow before Thy throne,
          And Thee their Sovereign own, with saintly jubilee.

              Orient, and Occident,
              Hail Him the Father sent!
          Greet Him with shoutings, and joyfully sing;
              On love’s blest mission bent,
              Through Death’s wide realm He went
          Conq’ror omnipotent;—crown Him your King!

              Martyr with gory brow,
              Monarch in glory, now,—
          Victim and Victor, Thee we adore;
              Shepherd of Israel,
              Saviour from death and hell,
          Mighty Immanuel! reign evermore.


              O Jesus, sole, sufficient source
                Of hope that heals the sad heart’s strife,
              Direct us on our darkened course,—
                Thyself the Way, the Truth, the Life.

              Thou knowest the way we take, O Lord!
                Didst Thou not prove its painful length?
              Help of the helpless, still afford
                Thy pitying love, Thy tender strength.

              In every trial, every care,
                Thy patient footsteps may we see;—
              The sorrows of Thy cross to share
                Shall then our joy and glory be.

              Secure in Thy unchanging love,
                No toil, no suffering will we flee,—
              Assured that death itself shall prove
                The path that leads to heaven and Thee.

                          CHRISTUS CONSOLATOR.

                  In the day of tribulation,
                  In the hour of sore temptation,
                  With the strength of Thy salvation,
                    Jesus, Saviour, comfort me!

                  When no more the heart may borrow
                  Hope and courage from the morrow,—
                  In the darkest depths of sorrow,
                    Jesus, Saviour, comfort me!

                  When all aid is unavailing,
                  Flesh and heart together failing,
                  Sin and death the soul assailing,—
                    Jesus, Saviour, comfort me!

                  On Thy word alone relying,—
                  Never Thy dear name denying,—
                  Oh, forsake me not when dying!
                    Jesus, Saviour, comfort me!

                  Crowned, at last, in light supernal,
                  Victor over foes infernal,—
                  With Thy love, supreme, eternal,
                    Jesus, Saviour, comfort me!


                   The mystery of sorrow,
                     The mystery of pain,
                   Shall sure, some happy morrow,
                     To every heart be plain.

                   Till then, O loving Master,
                   Thy footsteps may we see,
                   And only press the faster
                     Through darkest days to Thee.

                   Choose Thou each care, each trial,
                     As serves Thy will divine,
                   And be our self-denial,
                     And sacrifice, like Thine.

                   Strung on the string of duty,
                     Life’s toils and tears shall be
                   Like pearls of priceless beauty,—
                     The soul’s fair rosary!

                   And dearer yet, and dearer,
                     Thy cross, O Christ, shall be,
                   As nearer yet, and nearer,
                     We draw to heaven and Thee!

                        FROM MORNING TO MORNING!

                   Lovingly the morning glows
                   On the lily and the rose;
                   So the heart of God o’erflows!

                   Quietly the sky looks down
                   On the turmoil of the town,—
                   Face divine, without a frown.

                   Peacefully, when toil is o’er,
                   Twilight comes to sea and shore,—
                   Pledge of rest for evermore.

                   Tenderly the moonbeams fall
                   On the hovel and the hall;—
                   So God’s pity shelters all.

                   Soft the light on lea and lawn,
                   Till the faithful stars are gone,—
                   Then—the rapture of the dawn!

                          Transcriber’s Notes

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected.

Odd outdent of next to last line on page 43 was omitted.

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