PART XII.
“But let us hence,” said Marien; And with the earliest morn, Within the slender carved boat, They left the isle forlorn.
A light breeze from the desert shore Over the waters blew, And the little boat sailed on before, Till the isle was out of view.
As friends long parted, met once more, They sat; and of times gone, And of the blessed dead conversed, As the slender boat sailed on.
And as they sailed, sweet Marien Over the Gospel bent, And read of joy that is in heaven O’er sinners that repent;
And of the weary prodigal Returning bowed with shame, And the good father hastening forth To meet him as he came;
And how he bade the fairest robe Be brought; the golden ring; Shoes for the feet; and music sweet, As if to hail a king.
“For this, my son,” said he, “was dead, And is alive; is found, Who was long lost: ’tis meet, therefore, That stintless joy abound!”
“Oh, child of woe,” said Marien, “Look up, for thou art he; And round about the father’s throne Many rejoice for thee!”
“Oh Lord, I bless thee,” said the youth, “That of thy mercy great, Thou hast vouchsafed to rescue me From my forlorn estate! And henceforth, to thy work of love Myself I dedicate!
“The meanest of thy creatures, low I bend before thy throne, And offer my poor self to make Thy loving-kindness known!
“Oh father, give me words of power, The stony hearts to move; Give me prevailing eloquence, To publish forth thy love!
“Thy love which wearieth not; which like Thy sun, on all doth shine! Oh Father, let me worship Thee Through life, by gladly serving Thee! I love not life; I ask not wealth; My heart and soul, my youth and health, My life, oh Lord, are thine!”
So spake the youth; but now the boat The glorious island neared, Which, like a cloudland realm of bliss, Above the sea appeared.
Skyward rose sunny peaks, pale-hued As if of opal glow; And crested palms, broad-leaved and tall, In valleys grew below.
A lovely land of flowers, as fair As Paradise, ere sin And sorrow, that corrupting pair, With death had entered in.
A lovely land!--“And even now,” Cried Marien, “see they come, Children of love, my brother, now To bid thee welcome home!
“For these, God kept thee in the wild, From sinful men apart! For these, his people, through distress Made pure thy trusting heart!
“Thy work is here! Go forth, ’mid these Meek children of the sun, Oh servant of the Lord, and tell What He for thee hath done!”
Down to the shore the thousands came, A joyous, peaceful host, To welcome Marien back, whom they Had sorrowed for as lost.
“And welcome to thee, little child!” They sang forth sweet and clear; “And welcome to the stranger poor, Who cometh with thee here!”
And then they brought him silken cloth, Since he was meanly dressed; And juicy, mellow fruits to eat, And perfumed waters for his feet, And mats whereon to rest.
And ever as they served him, They sang forth sweet and low, “Would this repose might solace thee, These apples cure thy woe!”
And though the twain knew not their speech Yet well they understood The looks of love that welcomed them, Their actions kind and good.
With them for many a year abode The youth, and learned their tongue; And with the sound of Christian praise The hills and valleys rung.
Oh beautiful beyond all lands That lay beneath the moon, Was that fair isle of Christian love Of Christian virtues boon.
A joyful people there they dwelt, Unsuffering from their birth; Of simplest life; benignly wise; As angels on the earth.
And with them dwelt the holy youth, Their chief, their priest, their friend, Beloved and loving, for their sakes Willing himself to spend.
Like to some ancient church of Christ, From worldly taint kept free, Lay this delicious isle of love Amid its summer sea.
But now the work he had to do Was done; and ere his day Approached its noon, his strength, his life, Was wearing fast away.
They saw his cheek grow thin and pale; His loving eye grow dim; And with surpassing tenderness They sorrowed over him.
Old men, and youths, and women meek, And children wild and young, Followed his steps with watchful care, And weeping round him hung.
In flowery thickets of the hills Sad mourners knelt in prayer, That God this servant so revered, This friend beloved would spare.
And round about his feet they sat, Observant, meek, and still, To gather up his latest words, To do his slightest will.
Now all this while good Marien Had wandered far and wide, Through divers realms, for many a year, The hand of Heaven her guide.
And now unto the glorious isle She came; but on the shore She saw no wandering company, As she had seen before.
’Twas Sabbath eve, and o’er the isle A solemn stillness lay; A stillness, how unlike the calm Of many a Sabbath day;
A hush, as of suspended breath, Ere some great grief began; For the mournful people silently Stood round the dying man.
Through the still vales went Marien, And came at length to where, ’Mid flowering trees, knelt many a one In agony of prayer.
Onward she went, not many steps, With heart of mournful ruth, When, like a dying angel laid, She saw the holy youth.
With closed eyes and pallid lips He lay, as one whose life Meeteth with death, yet waiteth still The last conflicting strife.
Beside him knelt she on the turf, And spoke in accents low Words of strong love, which like new life Seemed through the frame to go.
He raised himself, and blessing God, That He of him had care, And now in his dark trial-hour, Had sent his angel there;
With low-toned voice, more musical Than softest lute could make, Looking upon his weeping friends With fervent love, he spake.
“Oh friends, beloved friends! weep not, Nor be oppressed with woe; ’Tis of His will, who doeth right, That I am called to go!
“Fain would I tarry, but the cry Hath sounded in mine ear, ‘Haste to depart, the Lord hath need Of thee no longer here!’
“Even like the Master whom I serve, I pray ye not to grieve; But as ye have believed in me, Also in Him believe!
“I go, but leave you not forlorn, As sheep without a guide;-- For Christ the unfailing Comforter Shall still with you abide!
“Oh weep not, friends; a better home Awaits me, and I go, But to that home which is prepared For ye who love me so! Farewell, farewell! Unto my God, And unto yours, I go!”
The Sabbath sun went down amid A golden, cloudless sky; And the freed spirit, cleansed from sin, Arose to God on high.
Beneath the trees where he had died, They buried him, and there Enwove the flowery boughs to form A quiet house of prayer.
Long time with them dwelt Marien, Until she was sent forth, At the Lord’s bidding to perform New service on the earth.
Good speed to thee, thou blessed child, May angels guide thy bark, ’Mid slumbrous calm, ’mid tempests wild, And o’er the waters dark!
Good speed to thee, thou blessed child-- The angel of the poor-- And win from sorrow and from sin The world from shore to shore!
OLD CHRISTMAS.
Now he who knows old Christmas, He knows a carle of worth; For he is as good a fellow, As any upon the earth.
He comes warm cloaked and coated, And buttoned up to the chin, And soon as he comes a-nigh the door, We open and let him in.
We know that he will not fail us, So we sweep the hearth up clean; We set him the old armed chair, And a cushion whereon to lean.
And with sprigs of holly and ivy We make the house look gay, Just out of an old regard to him,-- For it was his ancient way.
We broach the strong ale barrel, And bring out wine and meat; And thus have all things ready, Our dear old friend to greet.
And soon as the time wears round, The good old carle we see, Coming a-near;--for a creditor Less punctual is than he!
He comes with a cordial voice That does one good to hear; He shakes one heartily by the hand, As he hath done many a year.
And after the little children He asks in a cheerful tone, Jack, Kate, and little Annie,-- He remembers them every one!
What a fine old fellow he is, With his faculties all as clear, And his heart as warm and light As a man’s in his fortieth year!
What a fine old fellow, in troth! Not one of your griping elves, Who, with plenty of money to spare, Think only about themselves!
Not he! for he loveth the children; And holiday begs for all; And comes with his pockets full of gifts, For the great ones and the small!
With a present for every servant;-- For in giving he doth not tire;-- From the red-faced, jovial butler, To the girl by the kitchen-fire.
And he tells us witty old stories, And singeth with might and main; And we talk of the old man’s visit Till the day that he comes again!
Oh he is a kind old fellow, For though that beef be dear, He giveth the parish paupers A good dinner once a year!
And all the workhouse children He sets them down in a row, And giveth them rare plum-pudding, And two-pence a piece also.
Oh, could you have seen those paupers, Have heard those children young, You would wish with them that Christmas Came oft and tarried long!
He must be a rich old fellow,-- What money he gives away! There is not a lord in England Could equal him any day!
Good luck unto old Christmas, And long life, let us sing, For he doth more good unto the poor Than many a crowned king!
THE TWELFTH HOUR.
My friends, the spirit is at peace; Oh do not trouble me with tears; Petition rather my release, Nor covet for me length of years, Which are but weariness and woe; Resign me friends, before I go!
I know how strong are human ties; I know how strong is human fear! But visions open to mine eyes, And words of power are in mine ear; My friends, my friends, can ye not see, Nor hear what voices speak to me?
“Thou human soul,” they seem to say, “We are commissioned from above, Through the dark portal to convey Thee to the paradise of love; Thou needest not shrink, thou need’st not fear; We, thy sure help, are gathered near!
“Thy weakness on our strength confide; Thy doubt upon our steadfast trust; And rise up, pure and glorified, From thine infirm and sinful dust, Rise up, rise up! the eternal day Begins to dawn--why wilt thou stay?
“Look forth--the day begins to dawn; The future openeth to thy view; The veil of mystery is undrawn; The old things are becoming new; The night of time is passing by: Poor trembler, do not fear to die!
“Come, come! the gates of pearl unfold: The eternal glory shines on thee; Body, relax thy lingering hold, And set the struggling spirit free!” ’Tis done, ’tis done!--before my sight Opens the awful infinite: I see, I hear, I live anew! Oh friends, dear friends,--adieu, adieu!
THE BLIND BOY AND HIS SISTER.
“Oh brother,” said fair Annie, To the blind boy at her side: “Would thou could’st see the sunshine lie On hill and valley, and the sky Hung like a glorious canopy O’er all things far and wide!
“Would thou could’st see the waters In many a distant glen; The mountain flocks that gaze around; Nay, even this patch of stony ground, These crags, with silver lichen crowned, I would that thou could’st ken!
“Would thou could’st see my face, brother, As well as I see thine; For always what I cannot see It is but half a joy to me. Brother, I often weep for thee, Yet thou dost ne’er repine!”
“And why should I repine, Annie?” Said the blind boy with a smile; “I ken the blue sky and the grey; The sunny and the misty day: The moorland valley stretched away For many and many a mile!
“I ken the night and day, Annie, For all ye may believe; And often in my spirit lies A clear light as of mid-day skies; And splendours on my vision rise, Like gorgeous hues of eve.
“I sit upon the stone, Annie, Beside our cottage door, And people say, ‘that boy is blind,’ And pity me, although I find A world of beauty in my mind, A never-ceasing store.
“I hear you talk of mountains, The beautiful, the grand; Of splintered peaks so grey and tall; Of lake, and glen, and waterfall; Of flowers and trees;--I ken them all;-- Their difference understand.
“The harebell and the gowan Are not alike to me, Are different as the herd and flock, The blasted pine-tree of the rock, The waving birch, the broad, green oak, The river and the sea.
“And oh, the heavenly music, That as I sit alone, Comes to mine inward sense as clear As if the angel voices were Singing to harp and dulcimer Before the mighty throne!
“It is not as of outward sound, Of breeze, or singing bird; But wondrous melody refined; A gift of God unto the blind; An inward harmony of mind, By inward senses heard!
“And all the old-world stories That neighbours tell o’ nights; Of fairies on the fairy mound, Of brownies dwelling under ground, Of elves careering round and round, Of fays and water-sprites;
“All this to me is pleasantness,-- Is all a merry show; I see the antic people play,-- Brownie and kelpie, elf and fay, In a sweet country far away, Yet where I seem to go.
“But better far than this, Annie, Is when thou read’st to me Of the dear Saviour meek and kind, And how he healed the lame and blind. Am I not healed!--for in my mind His blessed form I see?
“Oh, love is not of sight, Annie, Is not of outward things; For, in my inmost soul I know, His pity for all mortal woe; His words of love, spoke long ago, Unseal its deepest springs!
“Then do not mourn for me, Annie, Because that I am blind;-- The beauty of all outward sight; The wondrous shows of day and night; All love, all faith, and all delight, Are strong in heart and mind!”
THE POOR CHILD’S HYMN.
We are poor and lowly born; With the poor we bide; Labour is our heritage, Care and want beside. What of this? our blessed Lord Was of lowly birth, And poor, toiling fishermen Were his friends on earth!
We are ignorant and young; Simple children all; Gifted with but humble powers, And of learning small. What of this? our blessed Lord Loved such as we;-- How he blessed the little ones Sitting on his knee!
THE BOY OF THE SOUTHERN ISLE.
AN OLD SEAMAN’S STORY.