Part 3

O, puny mind! be still and catch the chant sublime, Of Nature’s psalm, that here is poured in never ending praise; Accept the truth that God, by His right hand, did raise These templed rocks, to stand thro’ an eternity of time, An altar place of worship, where All nations come, and every heart an offering lays Of mingled praise and prayer.

Blight, or Blessing.

“But saddest is the tho’t of joys That never yet were tasted.”—John Hay.

And yet the heart will never turn, Tho’ all its wealth beside were wasted— ’Twill never cease to plead and yearn For joys it covets, yet untasted: And at its secret altar kneeling, Whereon the life an offering lies, The soul will lift its one appealing For joy that Wisdom still denies.

It watches for the longed-for beaming With hidden, cherished, fond delight, As tho’ the hoping, wishing, dreaming Could make the shadowed pathway bright; As tho’ from out some shining mist, By radiant bow of promise kissed, That joy might come, to bless it yet And soothe the pain of long regret.

Tho’ at our feet fall blessing showers, All worthless in our grasp they seem, De-gloried, as are withered flowers, If still denied the soul’s fond dream. For lack of it—that single joy,— The life is robbed of sweet employ; Each cup seems blent with Upas drips, Each day seems gloomed with cold eclipse.

Sweet sleep will sometimes give the boon,— Possession’s own supreme delight,— Oh, sad that Day dissolves so soon The bright, warm vision—gift of Night! Brief joy! The rapturous dream diffused, Swims round the soul like golden mist, And life a moment seems suffused With dawn’s own rose and amethyst.

And shall it be,—this sorest need— To us, eternal, haunting loss? Or will this spirit-hunger lead Up, from this life-enduring cross, With sentience large, evolved by this, (When change the mortal veil shall rift,) To take our own supremest bliss From God’s infinitudes of gift?

O, For a Rainy Day.

BY REQUEST.

These days are hot, and dry, and dreary; The burning sun seems never weary The vine lies limp on the thirsty earth— The grass grows sere in the long, long dearth— The days are dusty, hot and dreary.

The sky is cloudless, brassy, dreary, The wind seems ever languid, weary But hope still clings to the gifts of the Past— We trust that the rain will come at last And the days be damp and cheery.

O, clouds sweep o’er, veil the sun’s hot shining! With copious rains, come, hush all repining, Swell the shrunken grains of the sun-burnt lands, With new, green grass clothe the arid sands, Then the days will be bright and cheery.

August, 1895.

The Great Poet.

Upon Parnassian heights he walked and gazed below;— From wing of Jove’s high soaring bird he plucked his pen; Attuned to poet soul, his lofty numbers flow— His stately verse ne’er stoops to common needs of men.

The earth-born, toiling throng, he saw, but from afar; No interlinking brotherhood bound him to them; For them no warmth his glory shed—a cold, bright star, On which they gazed as on a costly, dazzling gem.

To those who nearest reach his altitude of thought He bends himself to speak, but yet, with lofty mien; Of these, but few, familiar comradship, have sought; They stand, his far, dim height and earth’s green vales, between, To take his gift, which often falls like vivid lightning flashes, And crystalize, and link for comprehension’s reach— They trace his subtle thread, entangled with the shining meshes Of universal lore, and weave in wefts of wondrous speech.

Sometimes, it seems, an idea vast, his measure strains, When he doth crush the whole, as quartz is crushed for gold, And then, reject and cleanse, until there’s naught remains Of quartz or dross. The massive idea we behold Upon his page, aglow in shining, golden grains.

Then alchemistic souls, in study’s crucial heat, Must fuse and integrate—must clothe, and warm, And breathe into it soul, when lo, with life replete, The world will praise for breadth and depth, embracing form.

* * * * *

In this bright world of ours God placed some humble ones With loving hearts, o’erwelling with sweet tenderness; They soothe the wounds of war, they cheer earth’s toiling sons And where grief broods these faithful ones are there to bless; And e’en when fiends come forth with pestilential breath To pour their reeking poisons on the stagnant air, Forgetting self, they wrestle long with Death, And, with devotion’s strength, the black-winged demon, dare.

Tho’ humble these, their elder Brother sits enthroned At God’s right hand; His golden words, impressive, deep, Still speak to us in sweet monition, gentle toned, “_If ye love me feed my lambs,—aye feed my sheep_.”

O, many sheep have need of thee. Go feed them “In His Name,” Or seek that shelterless, that lone one that has strayed, Nor deem thy labor lost because, unknown to fame, For whoso lifts the cup, by which there’s _one_ soul’s thirst allayed, The same shall eat of hidden manna. He is blest of God. Tho’, but faintly we can echo the loving Shepherd’s call, We’ll find in Duty’s obscure ways, His sweetest blessings fall— In these same, lowly paths, earth’s sainted ones have trod.

It may be grand to tread Olympian heights and breathe Ambrosial airs,—to win high praise ’mong those whose souls Are lit with Heaven’s fire; but sweeter far to wreathe A simple worded song, whose swelling music rolls A tidal wave of feeling, thrilling into life A long chained serfdom. Greater mastery of the art Is his, who lifts to light, from savagery and strife, Earth’s darkened isles—whose pen can touch the world’s great heart With philanthropic fire,—whose verse has, throbbing thro’ the whole, In sympathy with man, a loving, human soul.

Love’s Riches.

Rich blessings are scattered around us— Why heedlessly trample them down And ask for the millionaire’s coffers, Or sigh for a kingdom and crown? We’ve ever the sunshine of loving, Unmixed with the drosses of gold— Its pleasures are not in wealth’s giving Or e’en in its power to withhold.

The jewels, whose splendors we covet, Gain much of their sparkle and glow From the flutter and tumult of bosoms Where heart-aches are throbbing below; In palaces, often, is hidden A skeleton presence of dread, That quenches the flame on Love’s altar While hope in the darkness lies dead.

A queen may be rich in dominions, Have crown and a scepter and throne, Yet all of the riches of loving To her be forever unknown; Far greater the kingdom for woman Where love is the power—her throne In a heart of unswerving devotion, Its measureless realms her own.

Thro’ the tapestried halls of the mansion The ghost of dead honor may glide— A sense of life’s holiest joys departed In the lordliest castle abide. Tho’ the chalice wealth drains should be golden, No sweeter to him is the draught Than the cup with the sparkle of water, That humble contentment has quaffed.

Earth’s mines, and her jewel-strewn caverns, With the station that title confers, All poured at her feet, would not purchase The treasure a mother counts hers. Ay, hid in your home you will find them— Love’s riches—vast treasures untold; More precious than worldly possessions, Though counted, by millions, in gold.

* * * * *

Then let not the demon of envy E’er enter the soul to enthrall; The Father is tenderly watching— Is keeping a record of all. Rewards we have missed in our earth-life We’ll find in that mansion above, All decked with the beauties of Heaven And lighted with Infinite Love.

Complainings.

Never a dove came to nestle by me, But green-eyed Envy was there to see— Soiling its plumage of spotless white, Making it vile as a raven of night. Never a rose in my garden was born, But was surrounded by many a thorn.

Never a sweet but was mingled with gall— And freedom, forever, is shadowed by thrall;— Fruit, that looked luscious while hanging in view, Is blighted ere ripe, by a blistering dew; Gold, that we gather and count as a joy, Has little of pleasure and much of alloy; Jealously burns, in her caustical fire, My tenderest hope, with malevolent ire— Ashes, of all, she has strewn in my path, And mocks at my pain with demoniac laugh.

But hush thy complaining, my heart, and be still— If Heaven, our measure, with blessings should fill, How soon would the soul with satiety cloy, And life would be robbed of delightsome employ,— Incentive would sleep, and all motive would die, If needs of our nature should utter no cry; But lacking the goal our ambition would gain Arouses our powers—gives strength to attain.

Our grandest achievements have birth in the throes Of Penury’s labor; and multiplied woes But nerve us to action—resist and endure, And highest endeavor gives aid to secure Success to the valiant in the struggle for right— Though failure may sometimes descend like a blight— Oft failure is blessing, that’s sent in disguise To turn us from groveling to gaze on the skies. Then learn through each trial, my soul, to rejoice, And e’en from the cloud will Compassion’s own voice Be heard thro’ the gloom, in response to your cry, “Fear not the tempest, my child, it is I.”

Questionings.

When the pallid lids have fallen O’er the eyes in dreamless sleep— Eyes that wake no more with watching Nor in loneliness will weep, Will a touch of pity soften— Warm that unimpassioned gaze? For a moment will affection Hallow all their clouded days?

When the heart, no longer beating, All its painful throbbings o’er— When it stirs life’s crimson current With its hopes and fears no more, Will another heart feel sorrow For the stillness resting there? Will it for a whole tomorrow Wear a saddened shade of care?

When the weary hands are folded For that long unbroken rest, And the spirit wings in freedom To its home among the blest, Will one tender feeling waken In that heart a fond regret, That will last thro’ summer’s blooming— That will never quite forget?

When the lips are cold and silent— Hushed for aye their gentle speech, With love’s whispers dying on them, Will their mute appealing reach To the rock-girt fount of feeling? Will Remorse with stinging rod, Smite and bring the welling tear-drops To bedew the new-laid sod?

Persecuted.

Alone, alone I tread the shore Where surges beat forevermore With deaf’ning, hollow wail; The sky, o’ercast with angry frown, Doth drop the loaded clouds, low down, To beat me with their hail.

And, helpless here upon the strand With no out-reaching friendly hand, I face the roaring sea. With reverent love my soul is stirred, And seeking TRUTH within Thy word I come, dear Lord, to Thee.

Aye, take my hand in thine Oh, God! And lead me, where Thine own have trod, By waters, pure and sweet. O, send thy Comforter to calm The aching heart with holy balm, And keep me at thy feet!

Nature’s gift had been more kind If a pulpy, plastic mind, To fit, with ease, their mold; Then self-assumed, “straight orthodox” Had gathered me, with petted flocks, Within the church’s fold.

O, loving Christ! Am I not thine? And Thy disciples, truly mine, Each my sister or my brother, By the heritage of heaven— By the new commandment given, That we all love one another?

O, help me Lord with thee to pray!— “Forgive them Father,” Thou didst say, “They know not what they do.” May sheltering love, dear Lord, be mine— O, keep my life thine, only thine, My soul to conscience true!

O, Kindly Speak.

The chiding word that chills the flow Of warm child-feeling, ere it gush In sparkling jets, to catch the glow And tinge of Life’s bright morning flush, Is the human thunder-bolt—its path Is marked by dwarfed and shrunken minds, Souls scarred, as trees by lightning scath, Which show, like them, the spoiler’s lines.

He Is Risen.

Crown of all our joys supernal Is the hope of life eternal; Burst in bloom ye lillies white! Wreathe the altar and the cross,— Dawn is born of brooding night, Heaven’s joy of earthly loss,— He is Risen!

In the starry fields of Heaven Mansions bright, to us, are given: Triumph o’er the grave He won In the resurrection morn— Life eternal is begun, Hope to all the world is born, He is Risen!

He hath passed thro’ Heaven’s portal, We, thro’ Him have life immortal— Death is met with faith and trust— The tomb is lighted by His love; Earth may claim the crumbling dust— Souls will dwell with Christ above. He is Risen!

Think not thou art left forsaken Tho’ by sorrow’s tempest shaken; From His son, God veiled his face— Heaven’s light was e’en withdrawn, But the cruel cross made place For the glorious Easter dawn— He is Risen!

The Christ.

In olive-crowned Gethsemane, Alone the Savior sought the power That wrought through him at Galilee, To stay the tide of that dark hour. With grief bowed soul he prayed, but grace Was His, to say: “Thy will be done.” From Christ the Father veiled his face And gave the world His only Son.

Tho’ His displeasure hid the day, Spread brooding terror o’er the land, Tho’ yielding hate its earth-born sway, O’er-ruling Love in wisdom planned; While human might did glut its greed With nod of law to sanction crime, A good, by higher law decreed, Went forth, encircling earth and time.

Far-reaching, ’twas to win the world— Their cruel deeds of blinded rage— Their mocking taunts like hell-brands hurled, Still echo from the sacred page; That bitter cup—the crown of thorn Upon His suffering, sinless brow— That wail, adown the ages borne— Are loving worship winning now.

O! blot the hard, blasphemous creed, “A sacrifice for wrath of God;” And teach the world ’twas human deed That stained with blood Golgotha’s sod. The reeling earth and darkened sun Proclaimed aloud Jehovah’s frown; Yet taught us that His holy one Had by life’s cross won Heaven’s crown.

That tho’ he passed thro’ death—the tomb To calm a world in maddened strife, From out its broken bars of gloom A joy would beam to beacon life, And bless for us that morning light That points the glory path he trod From persecution, death and night, Through Resurrection, up to God.

’Tis through His bearing mortal woes We feel the throb of Love Divine! Though wrung with agonizing throes, His words with God-like mercy shine; They wake the world to faith and hope— E’en from old Memnon’s music trill, They turn the dusky Ethiope To catch their soul-impassioned thrill.

“Forgive—they know not what they do!”— O, holy prayer! In every tongue Its tender pleading pulses thro’, As when from Calvary’s cross it rung!— O, arms of Love’s infinitude! They still reach down to earth from Heaven To bind in one great brotherhood, Through Him, the rescued world—forgiven.

Feed My Lambs.

Jesus said, with tender pleading, “If ye love me, feed my lambs”; Thro’ His word He’s interceding— Feed my lambs, my precious lambs;

(Chorus)—If ye love me, feed my lambs, Feed my lambs, my precious lambs— If ye love me feed my lambs.

From the hedges and the highways, Bring the lambs all safely in; Seek the wanderers in the byways, Save them from the blight of sin. If ye love me, etc.

Find each little son and daughter, Bring them in with tender care; Lead them to the crystal water, In the pastures green and fair:— If ye love me, etc.

The Kingdom of Heaven.

“Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, in earth as in Heaven.”

O, the kingdom of Heaven will come!— When His will shall be done Upon earth, as above, And victory won Through a union of love, Then, the kingdom of Heaven will come.

Our Christian Endeavor Has linked, and forever, The lands of all climes Where the Savior is known. O, bright is the morning That brings us the dawning Of the day that’s to band, In one army, HIS OWN! O, the kingdom of heaven will come!

When Christians, uniting, The common foe fighting Forget every difference Of doctrine and creed, And, hushing their pleading For selfish succeeding, Beg Heaven’s best gift For humanity’s need, Then the kingdom of Heaven will come.

When fervent in action They trample on faction, Intolerance, arrogance, Tread them all down, And put forth endeavor, Through loving work ever, For the saving of souls With no thought of the crown, Then, the kingdom of Heaven will come.

When earnest endeavor— Most powerful lever— Is thrust under sin By all Christendom’s might, Its walls will soon crumble— The structure must tumble When hotly assailed By the legions of Right, Aye, the kingdom of heaven will come.

When Christians are one, Like the Father and Son, And sects of all names At one altar can kneel, In God’s love believing, For heaven achieving, This creed and this purpose Inspiring their zeal, Then the kingdom of heaven will come.

Supplication.

O, thou Savior, Brother, mine, God’s own love and tenderness, Sent of Him with power divine— Sent to soothe, sustain and bless:— Light of Life! Oh blessed Word, Be my help! Dear Savior come! Hear my spirit’s pleading, Lord— Pleading tho’ my lips are dumb.

Groping now in sorrow’s night Guide, oh, guide me, Lord, I pray, Quicken Thou my spirit’s sight That I walk in wisdom’s way— Be Thou, Lord, a presence nigh— Thou canst still the angry sea, Thou hast known Gethsemane— O, Compassion, hear my cry!

Deep in agony of soul Mother-love cries up to Thee— Fiends have bound him to the bowl— O, break his chains and set him free!

The Portrait.

O, arms of protection, now folded so still!— Alone in the world, so wide and so chill! O, eyes that would glow in a worshipful gaze!— They’ll bless me no more with their love-beaming rays! O, heart of devotion! thy warm throbbings o’er Can give me asylum from sorrow no more.

* * * * *

O, veil it!—this lifeless creation of art— The perfect is sacredly shrined in my heart! Not silent, compassionless, framed in with gold, Nor mantled with shadows of coffin and mould, But youthful and strong and warm with the fire That glows in a soul lit with noble desire.

Ay, thought gropeth not thro’ the darkness and gloom Where the mortal is held in the bonds of the tomb. PROGRESSION is stamped by the hand of God’s love; The life coming after to this is _above_! Our faith reaches up to the realms of bliss, The sphere He has fashioned—the Home beyond this.

The deeds that gave blessing in the pathways of earth Give impress and form to the Heavenly birth. That face, beaming ever with the glorified light Won here, in defending convictions of Right, My soul, in its holy of holies, where free From earth’s thronging distractions in spirit I see.

This portrait I gaze on—the glorified one— And that is, to this, as a star, to the sun.

Out in the Woods.

Glad haunts of the summer!—the dim forest aisles, Where Sylva receives us with welcoming smiles— Gives couch of soft mosses, embowered with vines, And smoothes from the forehead, care’s deep written lines. Refreshing, she brings, for the world-weary brain And soothes, with her silence, its fever and pain!— Bids Somnus pour sweets from which restfulness flows, And, hushing her realm into holiest calm, She lulls the sick soul into gentle repose, While winds, with the leafage, are chanting a psalm That charms with its rythm. Rev’ry’s doorways unclose— We slip to forgetfulness—sleep that is balm.

* * * * *

The musical tinkle of the murmuring stream Gave warp, for the web, of a beautiful dream, And woof for the weaving, the slumber-god chose From fragrance of violets, and queenly wild-rose. The sunshine that sifted thro’ the crowns of the trees, Made threadings of gold with the shadows of these! The breeze, touching lightly, with cool finger tips Was the kiss of an angel on the tired spirit’s lips. O, the eider-down couches of slumberous ease, And the tapestried halls that the millionaires please, Can never, such rest, on the weary bestow, As we find in this palace, where the luxuries grow.

Majestical forest!—Asylum of REST, Where the crowd-jostled soul is ineffably blest— Where primeval old trees, in their grandeur and might, Guard Solitude’s shrine, from the vandal-world’s sight; Where spice-bearing shrubs, and the sweet-scented ferns Float odors as rich as when frankincense burns, And the praise-breathing song of the thrush, from the boughs, Wakes worship unknown thro’ the low-muttered vows. “First temples of God!”—and still nearest His throne, Where the spirit may drink, at the fountain, alone, Receiving His blessing through the still, small voice, While Nature’s true Acolytes whisper—rejoice.

Unforgiven.

Ah! that “Past”—that bitter parting, Long ago, yet vivid seems— Oft in midnight’s black arms folded I have lived it o’er in dreams; As a presence it has shadowed Every path of life I’ve tried— If I joined the festive circle It was stalking by my side.

If I sat at hush of even With a sense of love and trust, It would come and stand before me, Hissing out the word—unjust; It has stretched its ghostly fingers For all blessings to destroy, And has poured its gall and wormwood In each lifted cup of joy.

Had you winged a sweet forgiveness, Sent it o’er the “silent line,” It had proved a benediction Falling on your life and mine. Through the years that phantom presence, Like a black bird o’er my door, Seemed to say, by silent glowering, “I will leave thee nevermore.”

_You_ can drive this haunting demon, Send in place a snowy dove— Only breathe the longed for blessing, Not youth’s fervent tale of love, And on friendship’s sacred altar Light a pure and holy flame, That may burn before the angels Without blanch or blush of shame.

The Evening and the Morning.

“At Evening time it shall be light.”—Bible.

“The evening twilight of this life meets the morning twilight of the next and they kiss each other.”—L. H. F.

When Life’s evening twilight gathers Darkling shadows from the tomb, Then a bright celestial morning Kisses back the gathering gloom; Robed in beauty’s bright adorning This aurora—dawning glory, Kisses back the gathering gloom.

When the crimson tide is throbbing With the hopes that wildly mount, And the sensuous soul is drinking From enjoyment’s sparkling fount, Then the thoughts will turn with shrinking From the coming of life’s gloaming— Death seems then a Stygian fount.

But when life’s weary day is closing— When the lengthening shadows fall, Sweetly singing angel voices Come with blessing in their call! The departing soul rejoices With prevision, of Elysian, Gladly welcoming the call.

As the spirit fetters loosen And the soul gains greater height, It will see the evening shadows Meet and kiss the dawning light; And, dispelling all the shadows, This supernal life eternal, Opens into morning light.

Aye, the golden gates swing open! To reveal the splendors bright; From His throne the glory streaming Haloes Death with holy light; Angels voicing their rejoicing— Heaven’s mansions brightly gleaming, Flood Life’s evening time with light.

The Unseen.

Do you feel my spirit with you— Feel my kiss upon your lips? Doth your heart throb with the message That the messenger outstrips?

Ay, I know your thought, responding, Know this soul-touch is of thine, That you send me tender soothing O’er love’s subtile, unseen line.

Soul to soul can tell its sorrow, Sympathy response impart— Joy can flash o’er lines of distance, Touch and thrill a kindred heart.