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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44778 ***
+
+RELIGIOUS POEMS.
+
+    BY
+    HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
+
+    _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS._
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    BOSTON:
+    TICKNOR AND FIELDS.
+    1867.
+
+
+
+
+    Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by
+    HARRIET BEECHER STOWE,
+    in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District
+        of Massachusetts.
+
+
+    UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & CO.,
+    CAMBRIDGE.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                                 PAGE
+    ST. CATHERINE BORNE BY ANGELS                   1
+    THE CHARMER                                     6
+    KNOCKING                                       10
+    THE OLD PSALM TUNE                             15
+    THE OTHER WORLD                                19
+    MARY AT THE CROSS                              22
+    THE INNER VOICE                                28
+    ABIDE IN ME, AND I IN YOU                      30
+    THE SECRET                                     32
+    THINK NOT ALL IS OVER                          34
+    LINES TO THE MEMORY OF "ANNIE"                 36
+    THE CROCUS                                     39
+    CONSOLATION                                    41
+    "ONLY A YEAR"                                  44
+    BELOW                                          47
+    ABOVE                                          49
+    LINES ON THE DEATH OF MRS. STUART              53
+    SUMMER STUDIES                                 57
+
+
+HOURS OF THE NIGHT.
+
+      I. MIDNIGHT                                  65
+     II. FIRST HOUR                                68
+    III. SECOND HOUR                               71
+     IV. THIRD HOUR                                74
+     V. FOURTH HOUR                                77
+     VI. DAY DAWN                                  85
+    VII. WHEN I AWAKE I AM STILL WITH THEE         88
+
+
+PRESSED FLOWERS FROM ITALY.
+
+    A DAY IN THE PAMFILI DORIA                     93
+    THE GARDENS OF THE VATICAN                    102
+    ST. PETER'S CHURCH                            104
+    THE MISERERE                                  106
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+ST. CATHERINE BORNE BY ANGELS.[A]
+
+
+    SLOW through the solemn air, in silence sailing,
+      Borne by mysterious angels, strong and fair,
+    She sleeps at last, blest dreams her eyelids veiling,
+      Above this weary world of strife and care.
+
+    Lo how she passeth!--dreamy, slow, and calm:
+      Scarce wave those broad, white wings, so silvery bright;
+    Those cloudy robes, in star-emblazoned folding,
+      Sweep mistily athwart the evening light.
+
+    Far, far below, the dim, forsaken earth,
+      The foes that threaten, or the friends that weep;
+    Past, like a dream, the torture and the pain:
+      For so He giveth his beloved sleep.
+
+    The restless bosom of the surging ocean
+      Gives back the image as the cloud floats o'er,
+    Hushing in glassy awe his troubled motion;
+      For one blest moment he complains no more.
+
+    Like the transparent golden floor of heaven,
+      His charmed waters lie as in a dream,
+    And glistening wings, and starry robes unfolding,
+      And serious angel eyes far downward gleam.
+
+    O restless sea! thou seemest all enchanted
+      By that sweet vision of celestial rest;
+    Where are the winds and tides thy peace that haunted,--
+      So still thou seemest, so glorified and blest!
+
+    Ah, sea! to-morrow, that sweet scene forgotten,
+      Dark tides and tempests shall thy bosom rear;
+    And thy complaining waves, with restless motion,
+      Shall toss their hands in their old wild despair.
+
+    So o'er our hearts sometimes the sweet, sad story
+      Of suffering saints, borne homeward crowned and blest,
+    Shines down in stillness with a tender glory,
+      And makes a mirror there of breathless rest.
+
+    For not alone in those old Eastern regions
+      Are Christ's beloved ones tried by cross and chain;
+    In many a house are his elect ones hidden,
+      His martyrs suffering in their patient pain.
+
+    The rack, the cross, life's weary wrench of woe,
+      The world sees not, as slow, from day to day,
+    In calm, unspoken patience, sadly still,
+      The loving spirit bleeds itself away.
+
+    But there are hours when, from the heavens unfolding,
+      Come down the angels with the glad release;
+    And we look upward, to behold in glory
+      Our suffering loved ones borne away to peace.
+
+    Ah, brief the calm! the restless wave of feeling
+      Rises again when the bright cloud sweeps by,
+    And our unrestful souls reflect no longer
+      That tender vision of the upper sky.
+
+    Espoused Lord of the pure saints in glory,
+      To whom all faithful souls affianced are,
+    Breathe down thy peace into our restless spirits,
+      And make a lasting, heavenly vision there.
+
+    So the bright gates no more on us shall close;
+      No more the cloud of angels fade away;
+    And we shall walk, amid life's weary strife,
+      In the calm light of thine eternal day.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] According to this legend, Catherine was a noble maiden of
+Alexandria, distinguished alike by birth, riches, beauty, and the
+rarest gifts of genius and learning. In the flower of her life she
+consecrated herself to the service of her Redeemer, and cheerfully
+suffered for his sake the loss of wealth, friends, and the esteem of
+the world. Banishment, imprisonment, and torture were in vain tried to
+shake the constancy of her faith; and at last she was bound upon the
+torturing-wheel for a cruel death. But the angels descended, so says
+the story, rent the wheel, and bore her away, through the air, far over
+the sea, to Mount Sinai, where her body was left to repose, and her
+soul ascended with them to heaven.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHARMER.
+
+    "_Socrates._ However, you and Simmias appear to me as
+    if you wished to sift this subject more thoroughly,
+    and to be afraid, like children, lest, on the soul's
+    departure from the body, winds should blow it away.
+
+    "Upon this Cebes said, 'Endeavor to teach us better,
+    Socrates. Perhaps there is a childish spirit in
+    our breast that has such a dread. Let us endeavor
+    to persuade him not to be afraid of death, as of
+    hobgoblins.'
+
+    "'But you must charm him every day,' said Socrates,
+    'until you have quieted his fears.'
+
+    "'But whence, O Socrates,' he said, 'can we procure a
+    skilful charmer for such a case, now you are about to
+    leave us.'
+
+    "'Greece is wide, Cebes,' he said, 'and in it surely
+    there are skilful men; and there are many barbarous
+    nations, all of which you should search, seeking such a
+    charmer, sparing neither money nor toil.'"--Last words
+    of Socrates, as narrated by Plato in the _Phædo_.
+
+
+    WE need that charmer, for our hearts are sore
+      With longings for the things that may not be,
+    Faint for the friends that shall return no more,
+      Dark with distrust, or wrung with agony.
+
+    "What is this life? and what to us is death?
+      Whence came we? whither go? and where are those
+    Who, in a moment stricken from our side,
+      Passed to that land of shadow and repose?
+
+    "And are they all dust? and dust must we become?
+      Or are they living in some unknown clime?
+    Shall we regain them in that far-off home,
+      And live anew beyond the waves of time?
+
+    "O man divine! on thee our souls have hung;
+      Thou wert our teacher in these questions high;
+    But ah! this day divides thee from our side,
+      And veils in dust thy kindly-guiding eye.
+
+    "Where is that Charmer whom thou bidst us seek?
+      On what far shores may his sweet voice be heard?
+    When shall these questions of our yearning souls
+      Be answered by the bright Eternal Word?"
+
+    So spake the youth of Athens, weeping round,
+      When Socrates lay calmly down to die;
+    So spake the sage, prophetic of the hour
+      When earth's fair morning star should rise on high.
+
+    They found Him not, those youths of soul divine,
+      Long seeking, wandering, watching on life's shore;
+    Reasoning, aspiring, yearning for the light,
+      Death came and found them--doubting as before.
+
+    But years passed on; and lo! the Charmer came,
+      Pure, simple, sweet, as comes the silver dew,
+    And the world knew him not,--he walked alone,
+      Encircled only by his trusting few.
+
+    Like the Athenian sage, rejected, scorned,
+      Betrayed, condemned, his day of doom drew nigh;
+    He drew his faithful few more closely round,
+      And told them that his hour was come--to die.
+
+    "Let not your heart be troubled," then He said,
+      "My Father's house hath mansions large and fair;
+    I go before you to prepare your place,
+      I will return to take you with me there."
+
+    And since that hour the awful foe is charmed,
+      And life and death are glorified and fair;
+    Whither He went we know, the way we know,
+      And with firm step press on to meet him there.
+
+
+
+
+KNOCKING.
+
+    "Behold, I stand at the door and knock."
+
+
+    KNOCKING, knocking, ever knocking?
+        Who is there?
+    'Tis a pilgrim, strange and kingly,
+        Never such was seen before;--
+    Ah, sweet soul, for such a wonder
+        Undo the door.
+
+    No,--that door is hard to open;
+    Hinges rusty, latch is broken;
+        Bid Him go.
+    Wherefore, with that knocking dreary
+    Scare the sleep from one so weary?
+        Say Him,--no.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    Knocking, knocking, ever knocking?
+        What! Still there?
+    O, sweet soul, but once behold Him,
+    With the glory-crownéd hair;
+    And those eyes, so strange and tender,
+        Waiting there;
+    Open! Open! Once behold Him,--
+        Him, so fair.
+
+    Ah, that door! Why wilt Thou vex me,
+    Coming ever to perplex me?
+    For the key is stiffly rusty,
+    And the bolt is clogged and dusty;
+    Many-fingered ivy-vine
+    Seals it fast with twist and twine;
+    Weeds of years and years before
+    Choke the passage of that door.
+
+    Knocking! knocking! What! still knocking?
+        He still there?
+    What's the hour? The night is waning,--
+    In my heart a drear complaining,
+        And a chilly, sad unrest!
+    Ah, this knocking! It disturbs me,
+    Scares my sleep with dreams unblest!
+        Give me rest,
+        Rest,--ah, rest!
+
+    Rest, dear soul, He longs to give thee;
+    Thou hast only dreamed of pleasure,
+    Dreamed of gifts and golden treasure,
+    Dreamed of jewels in thy keeping,
+    Waked to weariness of weeping;--
+    Open to thy soul's one Lover,
+    And thy night of dreams is over,--
+    The true gifts He brings have seeming
+    More than all thy faded dreaming!
+
+    Did she open? Doth she? Will she?
+    So, as wondering we behold,
+    Grows the picture to a sign,
+    Pressed upon your soul and mine;
+    For in every breast that liveth
+    Is that strange mysterious door;--
+    Though forsaken and betangled,
+    Ivy-gnarled and weed-bejangled,
+    Dusty, rusty, and forgotten;--
+    There the piercéd hand still knocketh,
+    And with ever-patient watching,
+    With the sad eyes true and tender,
+    With the glory-crownéd hair,--
+    Still a God is waiting there.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD PSALM TUNE.
+
+
+    YOU asked, dear friend, the other day,
+      Why still my charméd ear
+    Rejoiceth in uncultured tone
+      That old psalm tune to hear?
+
+    I've heard full oft, in foreign lands,
+      The grand orchestral strain,
+    Where music's ancient masters live,
+      Revealed on earth again,--
+
+    Where breathing, solemn instruments,
+      In swaying clouds of sound,
+    Bore up the yearning, trancéd soul,
+      Like silver wings around;--
+
+    I've heard in old St. Peter's dome,
+      Where clouds of incense rise,
+    Most ravishing the choral swell
+      Mount upwards to the skies.
+
+    And well I feel the magic power,
+      When skilled and cultured art
+    Its cunning webs of sweetness weaves
+      Around the captured heart.
+
+    But yet, dear friend, though rudely sung,
+      That old psalm tune hath still
+    A pulse of power beyond them all
+      My inmost soul to thrill.
+
+    Those halting tones that sound to you,
+      Are not the tones I hear;
+    But voices of the loved and lost
+      There meet my longing ear.
+
+    I hear my angel mother's voice,--
+      Those were the words she sung;
+    I hear my brother's ringing tones,
+      As once on earth they rung;
+
+    And friends that walk in white above
+      Come round me like a cloud,
+    And far above those earthly notes
+      Their singing sounds aloud.
+
+    There may be discord, as you say;
+      Those voices poorly ring;
+    But there's no discord in the strain
+      Those upper spirits sing.
+
+    For they who sing are of the blest,
+      The calm and glorified,
+    Whose hours are one eternal rest
+      On heaven's sweet floating tide.
+
+    Their life is music and accord;
+      Their souls and hearts keep time
+    In one sweet concert with the Lord,--
+      One concert vast, sublime.
+
+    And through the hymns they sang on earth
+      Sometimes a sweetness falls
+    On those they loved and left below,
+      And softly homeward calls,--
+
+    Bells from our own dear fatherland,
+      Borne trembling o'er the sea,--
+    The narrow sea that they have crossed,
+      The shores where we shall be.
+
+    O sing, sing on, beloved souls!
+      Sing cares and griefs to rest;
+    Sing, till entrancéd we arise
+      To join you 'mong the blest.
+
+
+
+
+THE OTHER WORLD.
+
+
+    IT lies around us like a cloud,
+      A world we do not see;
+    Yet the sweet closing of an eye
+      May bring us there to be.
+
+    Its gentle breezes fan our cheek;
+      Amid our worldly cares,
+    Its gentle voices whisper love,
+      And mingle with our prayers.
+
+    Sweet hearts around us throb and beat,
+      Sweet helping hands are stirred,
+    And palpitates the veil between
+      With breathings almost heard.
+
+    The silence, awful, sweet, and calm,
+      They have no power to break;
+    For mortal words are not for them
+      To utter or partake.
+
+    So thin, so soft, so sweet, they glide,
+      So near to press they seem,
+    They lull us gently to our rest,
+      They melt into our dream.
+
+    And in the hush of rest they bring
+      'Tis easy now to see
+    How lovely and how sweet a pass
+      The hour of death may be;--
+
+    To close the eye, and close the ear,
+      Wrapped in a trance of bliss,
+    And, gently drawn in loving arms,
+      To swoon to that--from this,--
+
+    Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep,
+      Scarce asking where we are,
+    To feel all evil sink away,
+      All sorrow and all care.
+
+    Sweet souls around us! watch us still;
+      Press nearer to our side;
+    Into our thoughts, into our prayers,
+      With gentle helpings glide.
+
+    Let death between us be as naught,
+      A dried and vanished stream;
+    Your joy be the reality,
+      Our suffering life the dream.
+
+
+
+
+MARY AT THE CROSS.
+
+    "Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother."
+
+
+    O WONDROUS mother! since the dawn of time
+      Was ever love, was ever grief, like thine?
+    O highly favored in thy joy's deep flow,
+      And favored, even in this, thy bitterest woe!
+
+    Poor was that home in simple Nazareth
+      Where, fairly growing, like some silent flower,
+    Last of a kingly race, unknown and lowly,
+      O desert lily, passed thy childhood's hour.
+
+    The world knew not the tender, serious maiden,
+      Who through deep loving years so silent grew,
+    Full of high thought and holy aspiration,
+      Which the o'ershadowing God alone might view.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    And then it came, that message from the highest,
+      Such as to woman ne'er before descended,
+    The almighty wings thy prayerful soul o'erspread,
+      And with thy life the Life of worlds was blended.
+
+    What visions then of future glory filled thee,
+      The chosen mother of that King unknown,
+    Mother fulfiller of all prophecy
+      Which, through dim ages, wondering seers had shown!
+
+    Well did thy dark eye kindle, thy deep soul
+      Rise into billows, and thy heart rejoice;
+    Then woke the poet's fire, the prophet's song,
+      Tuned with strange burning words thy timid voice.
+
+    Then, in dark contrast, came the lowly manger,
+      The outcast shed, the tramp of brutal feet;
+    Again behold earth's learned and her lowly,
+      Sages and shepherds, prostrate at thy feet.
+
+    Then to the temple bearing--hark again
+      What strange conflicting tones of prophecy
+    Breathe o'er the child foreshadowing words of joy,
+      High triumph blent with bitter agony!
+
+    O, highly favored thou in many an hour
+      Spent in lone musings with thy wondrous Son,
+    When thou didst gaze into that glorious eye,
+      And hold that mighty hand within thine own.
+
+    Blest through those thirty years, when in thy dwelling
+      He lived a God disguised with unknown power;
+    And thou his sole adorer, his best love,
+      Trusting, revering, waited for his hour.
+
+    Blest in that hour, when called by opening heaven
+      With cloud and voice, and the baptizing flame,
+    Up from the Jordan walked th' acknowledged stranger,
+      And awe-struck crowds grew silent as he came.
+
+    Blessed, when full of grace, with glory crowned,
+      He from both hands almighty favors poured,
+    And, though He had not where to lay his head,
+      Brought to his feet alike the slave and lord.
+
+    Crowds followed; thousands shouted, "Lo, our King!"
+      Fast beat thy heart. Now, now the hour draws nigh:
+    Behold the crown, the throne, the nations bend!
+      Ah, no! fond mother, no! behold him die!
+
+    Now by that cross thou tak'st thy final station,
+      And shar'st the last dark trial of thy Son;
+    Not with weak tears or woman's lamentation,
+      But with high, silent anguish, like his own.
+
+    Hail! highly favored, even in this deep passion;
+      Hail! in this bitter anguish thou art blest,--
+    Blest in the holy power with Him to suffer
+      Those deep death-pangs that lead to higher rest.
+
+    All now is darkness; and in that deep stillness
+      The God-man wrestles with that mighty woe;
+    Hark to that cry, the rock of ages rending,--
+      "'Tis finished!" Mother, all is glory now!
+
+    By sufferings mighty as his mighty soul
+      Hath the Redeemer risen forever blest;
+    And through all ages must his heart-beloved
+      Through the same baptism enter the same rest.
+
+
+
+
+THE INNER VOICE.
+
+    "Come ye yourselves into a desert place and rest
+    awhile; for there were many coming and going, so that
+    they had no time so much as to eat."
+
+
+    'MID the mad whirl of life, its dim confusion,
+      Its jarring discords and poor vanity,
+    Breathing like music over troubled waters,
+      What gentle voice, O Christian, speaks to thee?
+
+    It is a stranger,--not of earth or earthly;
+      By the serene, deep fulness of that eye,--
+    By the calm, pitying smile, the gesture lowly,--
+      It is thy Saviour as he passeth by.
+
+    "Come, come," he saith, "O soul oppressed and weary,
+      Come to the shadows of my desert rest,
+    Come walk with me far from life's babbling discords,
+      And peace shall breathe like music in thy breast.
+
+    "Art thou bewildered by contesting voices,--
+      Sick to thy soul of party noise and strife?
+    Come, leave it all, and seek that solitude
+      Where thou shalt learn of me a purer life.
+
+    "When far behind the world's great tumult dieth,
+      Thou shalt look back and wonder at its roar;
+    But its far voice shall seem to thee a dream,
+      Its power to vex thy holier life be o'er.
+
+    "There shalt thou learn the secret of a power,
+      Mine to bestow, which heals the ills of living;
+    To overcome by love, to live by prayer,
+      To conquer man's worst evils by forgiving."
+
+
+
+
+ABIDE IN ME, AND I IN YOU.
+
+THE SOUL'S ANSWER.
+
+    THAT mystic word of thine, O sovereign Lord,
+      Is all too pure, too high, too deep for me;
+    Weary of striving, and with longing faint,
+      I breathe it back again in _prayer_ to thee.
+
+    Abide in me, I pray, and I in thee;
+      From this good hour, O, leave me nevermore;
+    Then shall the discord cease, the wound be healed,
+      The lifelong bleeding of the soul be o'er.
+
+    Abide in me; o'ershadow by thy love
+      Each half-formed purpose and dark thought of sin;
+    Quench, e'er it rise, each selfish, low desire,
+      And keep my soul as thine, calm and divine.
+
+    As some rare perfume in a vase of clay
+      Pervades it with a fragrance not its own,
+    So, when thou dwellest in a mortal soul,
+      All heaven's own sweetness seems around it thrown.
+
+    Abide in me: there have been moments blest
+      When I have heard thy voice and felt thy power;
+    Then evil lost its grasp, and passion, hushed,
+      Owned the divine enchantment of the hour.
+
+    These were but seasons, beautiful and rare;
+      Abide in me, and they shall ever be.
+    Fulfil at once thy precept and my prayer,--
+      Come, and abide in me, and I in thee.
+
+
+
+
+THE SECRET.
+
+    "Thou shalt keep them in the secret of thy presence
+    from the strife of tongues."
+
+
+    WHEN winds are raging o'er the upper ocean,
+      And billows wild contend with angry roar,
+    'Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotion,
+      That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore.
+
+    Far, far beneath, the noise of tempest dieth,
+      And silver waves chime ever peacefully;
+    And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth,
+      Disturbs the sabbath of that deeper sea.
+
+    So to the soul that knows thy love, O Purest,
+      There is a temple peaceful evermore!
+    And all the babble of life's angry voices
+      Die in hushed stillness at its sacred door.
+
+    Far, far away the noise of passion dieth,
+      And loving thoughts rise ever peacefully;
+    And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth
+     Disturbs that deeper rest, O Lord, in thee.
+
+    O rest of rests! O peace serene, eternal!
+      Thou ever livest and thou changest never;
+    And in the secret of thy presence dwelleth
+      Fulness of joy, forever and forever.
+
+
+
+
+THINK NOT ALL IS OVER.
+
+
+    THINK not, when the wailing winds of autumn
+    Drive the shivering leaflets from the tree,--
+    Think not all is over: spring returneth,
+    Buds and leaves and blossoms thou shalt see.
+
+    Think not, when the earth lies cold and sealed,
+    And the weary birds above her mourn,--
+    Think not all is over: God still liveth,
+    Songs and sunshine shall again return.
+
+    Think not, when thy heart is waste and dreary,
+    When thy cherished hopes lie chill and sere,--
+    Think not all is over: God still loveth,
+    He will wipe away thy every tear.
+
+    Weeping for a night alone endureth,
+    God at last shall bring a morning hour;
+    In the frozen buds of every winter
+    Sleep the blossoms of a future flower.
+
+
+
+
+LINES
+
+TO THE MEMORY OF "ANNIE," WHO DIED AT MILAN, JUNE 6, 1860.
+
+    "Jesus saith unto her, Woman, why weepest thou? whom
+    seekest thou? She, supposing him to be the gardener,
+    saith unto him, Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell
+    me where thou hast laid him."--JOHN xx. 15.
+
+
+    IN the fair gardens of celestial peace
+      Walketh a Gardener in meekness clad;
+    Fair are the flowers that wreathe his dewy locks,
+      And his mysterious eyes are sweet and sad.
+
+    Fair are the silent foldings of his robes,
+      Falling with saintly calmness to his feet;
+    And when he walks, each floweret to his will
+      With living pulse of sweet accord doth beat.
+
+    Every green leaf thrills to its tender heart,
+      In the mild summer radiance of his eye;
+    No fear of storm, or cold, or bitter frost,
+      Shadows the flowerets when their sun is nigh.
+
+    And all our pleasant haunts of earthly love
+      Are nurseries to those gardens of the air;
+    And his far-darting eye, with starry beam,
+      Watcheth the growing of his treasures there.
+
+    We call them ours, o'erwept with selfish tears,
+      O'erwatched with restless longings night and day;
+    Forgetful of the high, mysterious right
+      He holds to bear our cherished plants away.
+
+    But when some sunny spot in those bright fields
+      Needs the fair presence of an added flower,
+    Down sweeps a starry angel in the night:
+      At morn, the rose has vanished from our bower.
+
+    Where stood our tree, our flower, there is a grave!
+      Blank, silent, vacant, but in worlds above,
+    Like a new star outblossomed in the skies,
+      The angels hail an added flower of love.
+
+    Dear friend, no more upon that lonely mound,
+      Strewed with the red and yellow autumn leaf,
+    Drop thou the tear, but raise the fainting eye
+      Beyond the autumn mists of earthly grief.
+
+    Thy garden rose-bud bore, within its breast,
+      Those mysteries of color, warm and bright,
+    That the bleak climate of this lower sphere
+      Could never waken into form and light.
+
+    Yes, the sweet Gardener hath borne her hence,
+      Nor must thou ask to take her thence away;
+    Thou shalt behold her in some coming hour,
+      Full-blossomed in his fields of cloudless day.
+
+
+
+
+THE CROCUS.
+
+
+    BENEATH the sunny autumn sky,
+      With gold leaves dropping round,
+    We sought, my little friend and I,
+      The consecrated ground,
+    Where, calm beneath the holy cross,
+      O'ershadowed by sweet skies,
+    Sleeps tranquilly that youthful form,
+      Those blue unclouded eyes.
+
+    Around the soft, green swelling mound
+      We scooped the earth away,
+    And buried deep the crocus-bulbs
+      Against a coming day.
+    "These roots are dry, and brown, and sere;
+      Why plant them here?" he said,
+    "To leave them, all the winter long,
+      So desolate and dead."
+
+    "Dear child, within each sere dead form
+      There sleeps a living flower,
+    And angel-like it shall arise
+      In spring's returning hour."
+    Ah, deeper down--cold, dark, and chill--
+      We buried our heart's flower,
+    But angel-like shall he arise
+      In spring's immortal hour.
+
+    In blue and yellow from its grave
+      Springs up the crocus fair,
+    And God shall raise those bright blue eyes,
+      Those sunny waves of hair.
+    Not for a fading summer's morn,
+      Not for a fleeting hour,
+    But for an endless age of bliss,
+      Shall rise our heart's dear flower.
+
+
+
+
+CONSOLATION.
+
+WRITTEN AFTER THE SECOND BATTLE OF BULL RUN.
+
+    "And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first
+    heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there
+    was no more sea."
+
+
+    AH, many-voiced and angry! how the waves
+      Beat turbulent with terrible uproar!
+    Is there no rest from tossing,--no repose?
+      Where shall we find a haven and a shore?
+
+    What is secure from the loud-dashing wave?
+      There go our riches, and our hopes fly there;
+    There go the faces of our best beloved,
+      Whelmed in the vortex of its wild despair.
+
+    Whose son is safe? whose brother, and whose home?
+      The dashing spray beats out the household fire;
+    By blackened ashes weep our widowed souls
+      Over the embers of our lost desire.
+
+    By pauses, in the fitful moaning storm,
+      We hear triumphant notes of battle roll.
+    Too soon the triumph sinks in funeral wail;
+      The muffled drum, the death march, shakes the soul!
+
+    Rocks on all sides, and breakers! at the helm
+      Weak human hand and weary human eyes.
+    The shout and clamor of our dreary strife
+      Goes up conflicting to the angry skies.
+
+    But for all this, O timid hearts, be strong;
+      Be of good cheer, for, though the storm must be,
+    _It hath its Master:_ from the depths shall rise
+      New heavens, new earth, where shall be no more sea.
+
+    No sea, no tossing, no unrestful storm!
+      Forever past the anguish and the strife;
+    The poor old weary earth shall bloom again,
+      With the bright foliage of that better life.
+
+    And war, and strife, and hatred, shall be past,
+      And misery be a forgotten dream.
+    The Shepherd God shall lead his peaceful fold
+      By the calm meadows and the quiet stream.
+
+    Be still, be still, and know that he is God;
+      Be calm, be trustful; work, and watch, and pray,
+    Till from the throes of this last anguish rise
+      The light and gladness of that better day.
+
+
+
+
+"ONLY A YEAR."
+
+
+    ONE year ago,--a ringing voice,
+      A clear blue eye,
+    And clustering curls of sunny hair,
+      Too fair to die.
+
+    Only a year,--no voice, no smile,
+      No glance of eye,
+    No clustering curls of golden hair,
+      Fair but to die!
+
+    One year ago,--what loves, what schemes
+      Far into life!
+    What joyous hopes, what high resolves,
+      What generous strife!
+
+    The silent picture on the wall,
+      The burial stone,
+    Of all that beauty, life, and joy
+      Remain alone!
+
+    One year,--one year,--one little year,
+      And so much gone!
+    And yet the even flow of life
+      Moves calmly on.
+
+    The grave grows green, the flowers bloom fair,
+      Above that head;
+    No sorrowing tint of leaf or spray
+      Says he is dead.
+
+    No pause or hush of merry birds,
+      That sing above,
+    Tells us how coldly sleeps below
+      The form we love.
+
+    Where hast thou been this year, beloved?
+      What hast thou seen?
+    What visions fair, what glorious life,
+      Where thou hast been?
+
+    The veil! the veil! so thin, so strong!
+      'Twixt us and thee;
+    The mystic veil! when shall it fall,
+      That we may see?
+
+    Not dead, not sleeping, not even gone,
+      But present still,
+    And waiting for the coming hour
+      Of God's sweet will.
+
+    Lord of the living and the dead,
+      Our Saviour dear!
+    We lay in silence at thy feet
+      This sad, sad year!
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+BELOW.
+
+
+    LOUDLY sweep the winds of autumn
+    O'er that lone, beloved grave,
+    Where we laid those sunny ringlets,
+    When those blue eyes set like stars,
+    Leaving us to outer darkness.
+    O the longing and the aching!
+    O the sere deserted grave!
+
+    Let the grass turn brown upon thee,
+    Brown and withered like our dreams!
+    Let the wind moan through the pine-trees
+    With a dreary, dirge-like whistle,
+    Sweep the dead leaves on its bosom,--
+    Moaning, sobbing through the branches,
+    Where the summer laughed so gayly.
+
+    He is gone, our boy of summer,--
+    Gone the light of his blue eyes,
+    Gone the tender heart and manly,
+    Gone the dreams and the aspirings,--
+    Nothing but the _mound_ remaineth,
+    And the aching in our bosoms,
+    Ever aching, ever throbbing:
+    Who shall bring it unto rest?
+
+
+
+
+ABOVE.
+
+A VISION.
+
+
+    COMING down a golden street
+    I beheld my vanished one,
+    And he moveth on a cloud,
+    And his forehead wears a star;
+    And his blue eyes, deep and holy,
+    Fixed as in a blessed dream,
+    See some mystery of joy,
+    Some unuttered depth of love.
+
+    And his vesture is as blue
+    As the skies of summer are,
+    Falling with a saintly sweep,
+    With a sacred stillness swaying;
+    And he presseth to his bosom
+    Harp of strange and mystic fashion,
+    And his hands, like living pearls,
+    Wander o'er the golden strings.
+
+    And the music that ariseth,
+    Who can utter or divine it?
+    In that strange celestial thrilling,
+    Every memory of sorrow,
+    Every heart-ache, every anguish,
+    Every fear for the to-morrow,
+    Melt away in charméd rest.
+
+    And there be around him many,
+    Bright with robes like evening clouds,--
+    Tender green and clearest amber,
+    Crimson fading into rose,
+    Robes of flames and robes of silver,--
+    And their hues all thrill and tremble
+    With a living light of feeling,
+    Deepening with each heart's pulsation,
+    Till in vivid trance of color
+    That celestial rainbow glows.
+
+    How they float and wreathe and brighten,
+    Bending low their starry brows,
+    Singing with a tender cadence,
+    And their hands, like spotless lilies,
+    Folded on their prayerful breasts.
+    In their singing seem to mingle
+    Tender airs of by-gone days;--
+    Mother-hymnings by the cradle,
+    Mother-moanings by the grave,
+    Songs of human love and sorrow,
+    Songs of endless love and rest;--
+    In the pauses of that music
+    Every throb of sorrow dies.
+
+    O my own, my heart's belovéd,
+    Vainly have I wept above thee?
+    Would I call thee from thy glory
+    To this world's impurity?--
+    Lo! it passeth, it dissolveth,
+    All the vision melts away;
+    But as if a heavenly lily
+    Dropped into my aching breast,
+    With a healing sweetness laden,
+    With a mystic breath of rest,
+    I am charmed into forgetting
+    Autumn winds and dreary grave.
+
+
+
+
+LINES
+
+SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF MRS. PROFESSOR STUART OF ANDOVER, MASS.
+
+
+    HOW quiet, through the hazy autumn air,
+    The elm-boughs wave with many a gold-flecked leaf!
+    How calmly float the dreamy mantled clouds
+    Through these still days of autumn, fair and brief!
+
+    Our Andover stands thoughtful, fair, and calm,
+    Waiting to lay her summer glories by
+    E'er the bright flush shall kindle all her pines,
+    And her woods blaze with autumn's heraldry.
+
+    By the old mossy wall the golden-rod
+    Waves as aforetime, and the purple sprays
+    Of starry asters quiver to the breeze,
+    Rustling all stilly through the forest ways.
+
+    No voice of triumph from those silent skies
+    Breaks on the calm, and speaks of glories near,
+    Nor bright wings flutter, nor fair glistening robes
+    Proclaim that heavenly messengers are here.
+
+    Yet in our midst an angel hath come down,
+    Troubling the waters in a peaceful home;
+    And from that home, of life's long sickness healed,
+    A saint hath risen, where pain no more may come.
+
+    Christ's fair elect one, from a hidden life
+    Of loving deeds and words of gentleness,
+    Hath passed where all are loving and beloved,
+    Beyond all weariness and all distress.
+
+    Calm, like a lamb in shepherd's bosom borne,
+    Quiet and trustful hath she sunk to rest;
+    God breathed in tenderness the sweet "Well done!"
+    That scarce awoke a trance so still and blest.
+
+    Ye who remember the long loving years,
+    The patient mother's hourly martyrdom,
+    The self-renouncing wisdom, the calm trust,
+    Rejoice for her whose day of rest is come!
+
+    Father and mother, now united, stand
+    Waiting for you to bind the household chain;
+    The tent is struck, the home is gone before,
+    And tarries for you on the heavenly plain.
+
+    By every wish repressed and hope resigned,
+    Each cross accepted and each sorrow borne,
+    She dead yet speaketh, she doth beckon you
+    To tread the path her patient feet have worn.
+
+    Each year that world grows richer and more dear
+    With the bright freight washed from life's stormy shore;
+    O goodly clime, how lovely is thy strand,
+    With those dear faces seen on earth no more!
+
+    The veil between this world and that to come
+    Grows tremulous and quivers with their breath;
+    Dimly we hear their voices, see their hands,
+    Inviting us to the release of death.
+
+    O Thou, in whom thy saints above, below,
+    Are one and undivided, grant us grace
+    In patience yet to bear our daily cross,--
+    In patience run our hourly shortening race!
+
+    And while on earth we wear the servant's form,
+    And while life's labors ever toilful be,
+    Breathe in our souls the joyful confidence
+    We are already kings and priests with thee.
+
+
+
+
+SUMMER STUDIES.
+
+
+    WHY shouldst thou study in the month of June
+    In dusky books of Greek and Hebrew lore,
+    When the Great Teacher of all glorious things
+    Passes in hourly light before thy door?
+
+    There is a brighter book unrolling now;
+    Fair are its leaves as is the tree of heaven,
+    All veined and dewed and gemmed with wondrous signs,
+    To which a healing mystic power is given.
+
+    A thousand voices to its study call,
+    From the fair hill-top, from the waterfall,
+    Where the bird singeth, and the yellow bee,
+    And the breeze talketh from the airy tree.
+
+    Now is that glorious resurrection time
+    When all earth's buried beauties have new birth:
+    Behold the yearly miracle complete,--
+    God hath created a new heaven and earth!
+
+    No tree that wants its joyful garments now,
+    No flower but hastes his bravery to don;
+    God bids thee to this marriage feast of joy,
+    Let thy soul put the wedding garment on.
+
+    All fringed with festal gold the barberry stands;
+    The ferns, exultant, clap their new-made wings;
+    The hemlock rustles broideries of fresh green,
+    And thousand bells of pearl the blueberry rings.
+
+    The long, weird fingers of the old white-pines
+    Do beckon thee into the flickering wood,
+    Where moving spots of light show mystic flowers,
+    And wavering music fills the dreamy hours.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    Hast thou no _time_ for all this wondrous show,--
+    No thought to spare? Wilt thou forever be
+    With thy last year's dry flower-stalk and dead leaves,
+    And no new shoot or blossom on thy tree?
+
+    See how the pines push off their last year's leaves.
+    And stretch beyond them with exultant bound:
+    The grass and flowers, with living power, o'ergrow
+    Their last year's remnants on the greening ground.
+
+    Wilt thou, then, all thy wintry feelings keep,
+    The old dead routine of thy book-writ lore,
+    Nor deem that God can teach, by one bright hour,
+    What life hath never taught to thee before?
+
+    See what vast leisure, what unbounded rest,
+    Lie in the bending dome of the blue sky:
+    Ah! breathe that life-born languor from thy breast,
+    And know once more a child's unreasoning joy.
+
+    Cease, cease to _think_, and be content _to be_;
+    Swing safe at anchor in fair Nature's bay;
+    Reason no more, but o'er thy quiet soul
+    Let God's sweet teachings ripple their soft way.
+
+    Soar with the birds, and flutter with the leaf;
+    Dance with the seeded grass in fringy play;
+    Sail with the cloud, wave with the dreaming pine,
+    And float with Nature all the livelong day.
+
+    Call not such hours an idle waste of time,--
+    Land that lies fallow gains a quiet power;
+    It treasures, from the brooding of God's wings,
+    Strength to unfold the future tree and flower.
+
+    And when the summer's glorious show is past,
+    Its miracles no longer charm thy sight,
+    The treasured riches of those thoughtful hours
+    Shall make thy wintry musings warm and bright.
+
+
+
+
+HOURS OF THE NIGHT;
+
+OR,
+
+WATCHES OF SORROW.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+I.
+
+MIDNIGHT.
+
+    "He hath made me to dwell in darkness as those that
+    have been long dead."
+
+
+    ALL dark!--no light, no ray!
+    Sun, moon, and stars, all gone!
+    Dimness of anguish!--utter void!--
+            Crushed, and alone!
+
+    One waste of weary pain,
+    One dull, unmeaning ache,
+    A heart too weary even to throb,
+            Too bruised to break.
+
+    No longer anxious thoughts,
+    No longer hopes and fears,
+    No strife, no effort, no desire,
+              No tears.
+
+    Daylight and leaves and flowers,
+    Summer and song of bird!--
+    All vanished!--dreams forever gone,
+              Unseen, unheard!
+
+    Love, beauty, youth,--all gone!
+    The high, heroic vow,
+    The buoyant hope, the fond desire,--
+              All ashes now!
+
+    The words they speak to me
+    Far off and distant seem,
+    As voices we have known and loved
+              Speak in a dream.
+
+    They bid me to submit;
+    I do,--I cannot strive;
+    I do not question,--I endure,
+          Endure and live.
+
+    I do not struggle more,
+    Nor pray, for prayer is vain;
+    I but lie still the weary hour,
+            And bear my pain.
+
+    A guiding God, a Friend,
+    A Father's gracious cheer,
+    Once seemed my own; but now even faith
+            Lies buried here.
+
+    This darkened, deathly life
+    Is all remains of me,
+    And but one conscious wish,--
+            To cease to be!
+
+
+
+
+II.
+
+FIRST HOUR.
+
+    "There was darkness over all the land from the sixth
+    hour unto the ninth hour.
+
+    "And Jesus cried and said, My God, my God, why hast
+    thou forsaken me?"
+
+
+    THAT cry hath stirred the deadness of my soul;
+    I feel a heart-string throb, as throbs a chord
+    When breaks the master chord of some great harp;
+    My heart responsive answers, "Why?" O Lord.
+
+    O cross of pain! O crown of cruel thorns!
+    O piercing nails! O spotless Sufferer there!
+    Wert _thou_ forsaken in thy deadly strife?
+    Then canst thou pity me in my despair.
+
+    Take my dead heart, O Jesus, down with thee
+    To that still sepulchre where thou didst rest;
+    Lay it in the fair linen's spicy folds,
+    As a dear mother lays her babe to rest.
+
+    I am so worn, so weary, so o'erspent,
+    To lie with thee in that calm trance were sweet;
+    The bitter myrrh of long-remembered pain
+    May work in me new strength to rise again.
+
+    This dark and weary mystery of woe,
+    This hopeless struggle, this most useless strife,--
+    Ah, let it end! I die with thee, my Lord,
+    To all I ever hoped or wished from life.
+
+    I die with thee: thy fellowship of grief,
+    Thy partnership with mortal misery,
+    The weary watching and the nameless dread,--
+    Let them be mine to make me one with thee.
+
+    Thou hast asked, "Why?" and God will answer thee,
+    Therefore I ask not, but in peace lie down,
+    For the three days of mystery and rest,
+    Till comes the resurrection and the crown.
+
+
+
+
+III.
+
+SECOND HOUR.
+
+    "They laid hold upon one Simon a Cyrenian, and on him
+    they laid the cross, that he might bear it after Jesus."
+
+
+    ALONG the dusty thoroughfare of life,
+      Upon his daily errands walking free,
+    Came a brave, honest man, untouched by pain,
+      Unchilled by sight or thought of misery.
+
+    But lo! a crowd:--he stops,--with curious eye
+      A fainting form all pressed to earth he sees;
+    The hard, rough burden of the bitter cross
+      Hath bowed the drooping head and feeble knees.
+
+    Ho! lay the cross upon yon stranger there,
+      For he hath breadth of chest and strength of limb.
+    Straight it is done; and heavy laden thus,
+      With Jesus' cross, he turns and follows him.
+
+    Unmurmuring, patient, cheerful, pitiful,
+      Prompt with the holy sufferer to endure,
+    Forsaking all to follow the dear Lord,--
+      Thus did he make his glorious calling sure.
+
+    O soul, whoe'er thou art, walking life's way,
+      As yet from touch of deadly sorrow free,
+    Learn from this story to forecast the day
+      When Jesus and his cross shall come to thee.
+
+    O, in that fearful, that decisive hour,
+      Rebel not, shrink not, seek not thence to flee,
+    But, humbly bending, take thy heavy load,
+      And bear it after Jesus patiently.
+
+    His cross is thine. If thou and he be one,
+      Some portion of his pain must still be thine;
+    Thus only mayst thou share his glorious crown,
+      And reign with him in majesty divine.
+
+    Master in sorrow! I accept my share
+      In the great anguish of life's mystery.
+    No more, alone, I sink beneath my load,
+      But bear my cross, O Jesus, after thee.
+
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+THIRD HOUR.
+
+THE MYSTERY OF LIFE.
+
+    "Let my heart calm itself in thee. Let the great sea
+    of my heart, that swelleth with waves, calm itself in
+    thee."
+
+    ST. AUGUSTINE'S MANUAL.
+
+
+    LIFE'S mystery--deep, restless as the ocean--
+      Hath surged and wailed for ages to and fro;
+    Earth's generations watch its ceaseless motion,
+      As in and out its hollow moanings flow.
+    Shivering and yearning by that unknown sea,
+    Let my soul calm itself, O Christ, in thee!
+
+    Life's sorrows, with inexorable power,
+      Sweep desolation o'er this mortal plain;
+    And human loves and hopes fly as the chaff
+      Borne by the whirlwind from the ripened grain.
+    Ah! when before that blast my hopes all flee,
+    Let my soul calm itself, O Christ, in thee!
+
+    Between the mysteries of death and life
+      Thou standest, loving, guiding, not explaining;
+    We ask, and thou art silent; yet we gaze,
+      And our charmed hearts forget their drear complaining.
+    No crushing fate, no stony destiny,
+    O Lamb that hast been slain, we find in thee!
+
+    The many waves of thought, the mighty tides,
+      The ground-swell that rolls up from other lands,
+    From far-off worlds, from dim, eternal shores,
+      Whose echo dashes on life's wave-worn strands,
+    This vague, dark tumult of the inner sea
+    Grows calm, grows bright, O risen Lord, in thee!
+
+    Thy piercéd hand guides the mysterious wheels;
+      Thy thorn-crowned brow now wears the crown of power;
+
+    And when the dread enigma presseth sore,
+      Thy patient voice saith, "Watch with me one hour."
+    As sinks the moaning river in the sea
+    In silver peace, so sinks my soul in thee!
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+V.
+
+FOURTH HOUR.
+
+THE SORROWS OF MARY.
+
+DEDICATED TO THE MOTHERS WHO HAVE LOST SONS IN THE LATE WAR.
+
+
+    I SLEPT, but my heart was waking,
+      And out in my dreams I sped,
+    Through the streets of an ancient city,
+      Where Jesus, the Lord, lay dead.
+
+    He was lying all cold and lowly,
+      And the sepulchre was sealed,
+    And the women that bore the spices
+      Had come from the holy field.
+
+    There is feasting in Pilate's palace,
+      There is revel in Herod's hall,
+    Where the lute and the sounding instrument
+      To mirth and merriment call.
+
+    "I have washed my hands," said Pilate,
+      "And what is the Jew to me?"
+    "I have missed my chance," said Herod,
+      "One of his wonders to see.
+
+    "But why should our courtly circle
+      To the thought give further place?
+    All dreams, save of pleasure and beauty,
+      Bid the dancers' feet efface."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    I saw a light from a casement,
+      And entered a lowly door,
+    Where a woman, stricken and mournful,
+      Sat in sackcloth on the floor.
+
+    There Mary, the mother of Jesus,
+      And John, the belovéd one,
+    With a few poor friends beside them,
+      Were mourning for Him that was gone.
+
+    And before the mother was lying
+      That crown of cruel thorn,
+    Wherewith they crowned that gentle brow
+      In mockery that morn.
+
+    And her ears yet ring with the anguish
+      Of that last dying cry,--
+    That mighty appeal of agony
+      That shook both earth and sky.
+
+    O God, what a shaft of anguish
+      Was that dying voice from the tree!--
+    From Him the only spotless,--
+      "Why hast Thou forsaken me?"
+
+    And was he of God forsaken?
+      They ask, appalled with dread;
+    Is evil crowned and triumphant,
+      And goodness vanquished and dead?
+
+    Is there, then, no God in Jacob?
+      Is the star of Judah dim?
+    For who would our God deliver,
+      If he would not deliver him?
+
+    If God _could_ not deliver,--what hope then?
+      If he _would_ not,--who ever shall dare
+    To be firm in his service hereafter?
+      To trust in his wisdom or care?
+
+    So darkly the Tempter was saying,
+      To hearts that with sorrow were dumb;
+    And the poor souls were clinging in darkness to God,
+      With hands that with anguish were numb.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    In my dreams came the third day morning,
+      And fairly the day-star shone;
+    But fairer, the solemn angel,
+      As he rolled away the stone.
+
+    In the lowly dwelling of Mary,
+      In the dusky twilight chill,
+    There was heard the sound of coming feet,
+      And her very heart grew still.
+
+    And in the glimmer of dawning,
+      She saw him enter the door,
+    Her Son, all living and real,
+      Risen, to die no more!
+
+    Her Son, all living and real,
+      Risen no more to die,--
+    With the power of an endless life in his face,
+      With the light of heaven in his eye.
+
+    O mourning mothers, so many,
+      Weeping o'er sons that are dead,
+    Have ye thought of the sorrows of Mary's heart,
+      Of the tears that Mary shed?
+
+    Is the crown of thorns before you?
+      Are there memories of cruel scorn?
+    Of hunger and thirst and bitter cold
+      That your beloved have borne?
+
+    Had ye ever a son like Jesus
+      To give to a death of pain?
+    Did ever a son so cruelly die,
+      But did he die in vain?
+
+    Have ye ever thought that all the hopes
+      That make our earth-life fair
+    Were born in those three bitter days
+      Of Mary's deep despair?
+
+    O mourning mothers, so many,
+      Weeping in woe and pain,
+    Think on the joy of Mary's heart
+      In a Son that is risen again.
+
+    Have faith in a third-day morning,
+      In a resurrection-hour;
+    For what ye sow in weakness,
+      He can raise again in power.
+
+    Have faith in the Lord of that thorny crown,
+      In the Lord of the piercéd hand;
+    For he reigneth now o'er earth and heaven,
+      And his power who may withstand?
+
+    And the hopes that never on earth shall bloom,
+      The sorrows forever new,
+    Lay silently down at the feet of Him
+      Who died and is risen for you.
+
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+DAY DAWN.
+
+
+    THE dim gray dawn, upon the eastern hills,
+      Brings back to light once more the cheerless scene;
+    But oh! no morning in my Father's house
+      Is dawning now, for there no night hath been.
+
+    Ten thousand thousand now, on Zion's hills,
+      All robed in white, with palmy crowns, do stray,
+    While I, an exile, far from fatherland,
+      Still wandering, faint along the desert way.
+
+    O home! dear home! my own, my native home!
+    O Father, friends! when shall I look on you?
+    When shall these weary wanderings be o'er,
+    And I be gathered back to stray no more?
+
+    O Thou, the brightness of whose gracious face
+    These weary, longing eyes have never seen,--
+    By whose dear thought, for whose belovéd sake,
+    My course, through toil and tears, I daily take,--
+
+    I think of thee when the myrrh-dropping morn
+      Steps forth upon the purple eastern steep;
+    I think of thee in the fair eventide,
+      When the bright-sandalled stars their watches keep.
+
+    And trembling hope, and fainting, sorrowing love,
+      On thy dear word for comfort doth rely;
+    And clear-eyed Faith, with strong forereaching gaze,
+      Beholds thee here, unseen, but ever nigh.
+
+    Walking in white with thee, she dimly sees,
+      All beautiful, these lovely ones withdrawn,
+    With whom my heart went upward, as they rose,
+      Like morning stars, to light a coming dawn.
+
+    All sinless now, and crowned and glorified,
+      Where'er thou movest move they still with thee,
+    As erst, in sweet communion by thy side,
+      Walked John and Mary in old Galilee.
+
+    But hush, my heart! 'T is but a day or two
+      Divides thee from that bright, immortal shore.
+    Rise up! rise up! and gird thee for the race!
+      Fast fly the hours, and all will soon be o'er.
+
+    Thou hast the new name written in thy soul;
+      Thou hast the mystic stone He gives his own.
+    Thy soul, made one with him, shall feel no more
+      That she is walking on her path alone.
+
+
+
+
+VII.
+
+WHEN I AWAKE I AM STILL WITH THEE.
+
+
+    STILL, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh,
+      When the bird waketh and the shadows flee;
+    Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight,
+      Dawns the sweet consciousness, _I am with Thee_!
+
+    Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadows,
+      The solemn hush of nature newly born;
+    Alone with Thee in breathless adoration,
+      In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.
+
+    As in the dawning o'er the waveless ocean
+      The image of the morning star doth rest,
+    So in this stillness Thou beholdest only
+      Thine image in the waters of my breast.
+
+    Still, still with Thee! as to each new-born morning
+      A fresh and solemn splendor still is given,
+    So doth this blessed consciousness, awaking,
+      Breathe, each day, nearness unto Thee and heaven.
+
+    When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,
+      Its closing eye looks up to Thee in prayer;
+    Sweet the repose beneath the wings o'ershading,
+      But sweeter still to wake and find Thee there.
+
+    So shall it be at last, in that bright morning
+      When the soul waketh and life's shadows flee;
+    O, in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning,
+      Shall rise the glorious thought, _I am with Thee_!
+
+
+
+
+PRESSED FLOWERS FROM ITALY.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: A DAY IN THE PAMFILI DORIA.]
+
+
+
+
+A DAY IN THE PAMFILI DORIA.
+
+
+    THOUGH the hills are cold and snowy,
+      And the wind drives chill to-day,
+    My heart goes back to a spring-time,
+      Far, far in the past away.
+
+    And I see a quaint old city,
+      Weary and worn and brown,
+    Where the spring and the birds are so early,
+      And the sun in such light goes down.
+
+    I remember that old-times villa,
+      Where our afternoons went by,
+    Where the suns of March flushed warmly,
+      And spring was in earth and sky.
+
+    Out of the mouldering city,
+      Mouldering, old, and gray,
+    We sped, with a lightsome heart-thrill,
+      For a sunny, gladsome day,--
+
+    For a revel of fresh spring verdure,
+      For a race 'mid springing flowers,
+    For a vision of plashing fountains,
+      Of birds and blossoming bowers.
+
+    There were violet banks in the shadows,
+      Violets white and blue;
+    And a world of bright anemones,
+      That over the terrace grew,--
+
+    Blue and orange and purple,
+      Rosy and yellow and white,
+    Rising in rainbow bubbles,
+      Streaking the lawns with light.
+
+    And down from the old stone pine-trees,
+      Those far off islands of air,
+    The birds are flinging the tidings
+      Of a joyful revel up there.
+
+    And now for the grand old fountains,
+      Tossing their silvery spray,
+    Those fountains so quaint and so many,
+      That are leaping and singing all day.
+
+    Those fountains of strange weird sculpture,
+      With lichens and moss o'ergrown,
+    Are they marble greening in moss-wreaths?
+      Or moss-wreaths whitening to stone?
+
+    Down many a wild, dim pathway
+      We ramble from morning till noon;
+    We linger, unheeding the hours,
+      Till evening comes all too soon.
+
+    And from out the ilex alleys,
+      Where lengthening shadows play,
+    We look on the dreamy Campagna,
+      All glowing with setting day,--
+
+    All melting in bands of purple,
+      In swathings and foldings of gold,
+    In ribands of azure and lilac,
+      Like a princely banner unrolled.
+
+    And the smoke of each distant cottage,
+      And the flash of each villa white,
+    Shines out with an opal glimmer,
+      Like gems in a casket of light.
+
+    And the dome of old St. Peter's
+      With a strange translucence glows,
+    Like a mighty bubble of amethyst
+      Floating in waves of rose.
+
+    In a trance of dreamy vagueness
+      We, gazing and yearning, behold
+    That city beheld by the prophet,
+      Whose walls were transparent gold.
+
+    And, dropping all solemn and slowly,
+      To hallow the softening spell,
+    There falls on the dying twilight
+      The Ave Maria bell.
+
+    With a mournful motherly softness,
+      With a weird and weary care,
+    That strange and ancient city
+      Seems calling the nations to prayer.
+
+    And the words that of old the angel
+      To the mother of Jesus brought,
+    Rise like a new evangel,
+      To hallow the trance of our thought.
+
+    With the smoke of the evening incense,
+      Our thoughts are ascending then
+    To Mary, the mother of Jesus,
+      To Jesus, the Master of men.
+
+    O city of prophets and martyrs,
+      O shrines of the sainted dead,
+    When, when shall the living day-spring
+      Once more on your towers be spread?
+
+    When He who is meek and lowly
+      Shall rule in those lordly halls,
+    And shall stand and feed as a shepherd
+      The flock which his mercy calls,--
+
+    O, then to those noble churches,
+      To picture and statue and gem,
+    To the pageant of solemn worship,
+      Shall the _meaning_ come back again.
+
+    And this strange and ancient city,
+      In that reign of His truth and love,
+    Shall _be_ what it _seems_ in the twilight,
+      The type of that City above.
+
+
+
+
+THE GARDENS OF THE VATICAN.
+
+
+    SWEET fountains, plashing with a dreamy fall,
+    And mosses green, and tremulous veils of fern,
+    And banks of blowing cyclamen, and stars,
+    Blue as the skies, of myrtle blossoming,
+    The twilight shade of ilex overhead
+    O'erbubbling with sweet song of nightingale,
+    With walks of strange, weird stillness, leading on
+    'Mid sculptured fragments half to green moss gone,
+    Or breaking forth amid the violet leaves
+    With some white gleam of an old world gone by.
+    Ah! strange, sweet quiet! wilderness of calm,
+    Gardens of dreamy rest, I long to lay
+    Beneath your shade the last long sigh, and say,
+    Here is my home, my Lord, thy home and mine;
+    And I, having searched the world with many a tear,
+    At last have found thee and will stray no more.
+    But vainly here I seek the Gardener
+    That Mary saw. These lovely halls beyond,
+    That airy, sky-like dome, that lofty fane,
+    Is as a palace whence the king is gone
+    And taken all the sweetness with himself.
+    Turn again, Jesus, and possess thine own!
+    Come to thy temple once more as of old!
+    Drive forth the money-changers, let it be
+    A house of prayer for nations. Even so,
+                          Amen! Amen!
+
+
+
+
+ST. PETER'S CHURCH.
+
+HOLY WEEK, APRIL, 1860.
+
+
+    O FAIREST mansion of a Father's love,
+    Harmonious! hospitable! with thine arms
+    Outspread to all, thy fountains ever full,
+    And, fair as heaven, thy misty, sky-like dome
+    Hung like the firmament with circling sweep
+    Above the constellated golden lamps
+    That burn forever round the holy tomb.
+    Most meet art thou to be the Father's house,
+    The house of prayer for nations. Come the time
+    When thou shalt be so! when a liberty,
+    Wide as thine arms, high as thy lofty dome,
+    Shall be proclaimed, by thy loud singing choirs,
+    Like voice of many waters! Then the Lord
+    Shall come into his temple, and make pure
+    The sons of Levi; then, as once of old,
+    The blind shall see, the lame leap as an hart,
+    And to the poor the Gospel shall be preached,
+    And Easter's silver-sounding trumpets tell,
+    "The Lord is risen indeed," to die no more.
+    Hasten it in its time. Amen! Amen!
+
+
+
+
+THE MISERERE.
+
+
+    NOT of the earth that music! all things fade;
+    Vanish the pictured walls! and, one by one,
+    The starry candles silently expire!
+
+    And now, O Jesus! round that silent cross
+    A moment's pause, a hush as of the grave.
+    Now rises slow a silver mist of sound,
+    And all the heavens break out in drops of grief;
+    A rain of sobbing sweetness, swelling, dying,
+    Voice into voice inweaving with sweet throbs,
+    And fluttering pulses of impassioned moan,--
+    Veiled voices, in whose wailing there is awe,
+    And mysteries of love and agony,
+    A yearning anguish of celestial souls,
+    A shiver as of wings trembling the air,
+    As if God's shining doves, his spotless birds,
+    Wailed with a nightingale's heart-break of grief,
+    In this their starless night, when for our sins
+    Their sun, their life, their love, hangs darkly there,
+    Like a slain lamb, bleeding his life away!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+    Cambridge: Electrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Religious Poems, by Harriet Beecher Stowe
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44778 ***
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+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44778 ***</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 469px;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="469" height="800" alt="Cover" />
+</div>
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h1>RELIGIOUS POEMS.</h1>
+
+<div class='center'>
+<small>BY</small><br />
+HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.<br />
+<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
+<i>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.</i><br /><br /><br />
+</div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="400" height="269" alt="house" />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />
+<br /><br /><br /><br />
+BOSTON:<br />
+TICKNOR AND FIELDS.<br />
+1867.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<div class='copyright'>
+Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by<br />
+HARRIET BEECHER STOWE,<br />
+in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">University Press: Welch, Bigelow, &amp; Co.,<br />
+Cambridge.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>CONTENTS.</h2>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents">
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'>&nbsp;</td>
+
+<td align="right"><span class="smcap">Page</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">St. Catherine borne by Angels</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">The Charmer</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_6">6</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Knocking</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">The Old Psalm Tune</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">The Other World</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Mary at the Cross</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">The Inner Voice</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Abide in me, and I in you</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">The Secret</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Think not all is over</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Lines to the Memory of "Annie"</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">The Crocus</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Consolation</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'>"<span class="smcap">Only a Year</span>"</td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Below</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Above</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Lines on the Death of Mrs. Stuart</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Summer Studies</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_57">57</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><br /><span class="smcap">Hours of the Night.</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="right">I.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Midnight</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="right">II.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">First Hour</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="right">III.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Second Hour</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="right">IV.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Third Hour</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="right">V.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Fourth Hour</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="right">VI.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Day Dawn</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="right">VII.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">When I awake I am still with Thee</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><br /><span class="smcap">Pressed Flowers from Italy.</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">A Day in the Pamfili Doria</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">The Gardens of the Vatican</span></td>
+
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">St. Peter's Church</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">The Miserere</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td>
+</tr>
+</table></div>
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/i001.jpg" width="600" height="406" alt="angel in flight with sword other angles in flight" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<h2>ST. CATHERINE BORNE BY ANGELS.<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a></h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+SLOW through the solemn air, in silence sailing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Borne by mysterious angels, strong and fair,</span><br />
+She sleeps at last, blest dreams her eyelids veiling,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Above this weary world of strife and care.</span><br />
+<br />
+Lo how she passeth!&mdash;dreamy, slow, and calm:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scarce wave those broad, white wings, so silvery bright;</span><br />
+Those cloudy robes, in star-emblazoned folding,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweep mistily athwart the evening light.</span><br />
+<br />
+Far, far below, the dim, forsaken earth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The foes that threaten, or the friends that weep;</span><br />
+Past, like a dream, the torture and the pain:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For so He giveth his beloved sleep.</span><br />
+<br />
+The restless bosom of the surging ocean<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gives back the image as the cloud floats o'er,</span><br />
+Hushing in glassy awe his troubled motion;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">For one blest moment he complains no more.</span><br />
+<br />
+Like the transparent golden floor of heaven,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His charmed waters lie as in a dream,</span><br />
+And glistening wings, and starry robes unfolding,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And serious angel eyes far downward gleam.</span><br />
+<br />
+O restless sea! thou seemest all enchanted<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By that sweet vision of celestial rest;</span><br />
+Where are the winds and tides thy peace that haunted,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So still thou seemest, so glorified and blest!</span><br />
+<br />
+Ah, sea! to-morrow, that sweet scene forgotten,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dark tides and tempests shall thy bosom rear;</span><br />
+And thy complaining waves, with restless motion,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall toss their hands in their old wild despair.</span><br />
+<br />
+So o'er our hearts sometimes the sweet, sad story<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of suffering saints, borne homeward crowned and blest,</span><br />
+Shines down in stillness with a tender glory,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And makes a mirror there of breathless rest.</span><br />
+<br />
+For not alone in those old Eastern regions<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are Christ's beloved ones tried by cross and chain;</span><br />
+In many a house are his elect ones hidden,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His martyrs suffering in their patient pain.</span><br />
+<br />
+The rack, the cross, life's weary wrench of woe,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The world sees not, as slow, from day to day,</span><br />
+In calm, unspoken patience, sadly still,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The loving spirit bleeds itself away.</span><br />
+<br />
+But there are hours when, from the heavens unfolding,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come down the angels with the glad release;</span><br />
+And we look upward, to behold in glory<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our suffering loved ones borne away to peace.</span><br />
+<br />
+Ah, brief the calm! the restless wave of feeling<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rises again when the bright cloud sweeps by,</span><br />
+And our unrestful souls reflect no longer<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">That tender vision of the upper sky.</span><br />
+<br />
+Espoused Lord of the pure saints in glory,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To whom all faithful souls affianced are,</span><br />
+Breathe down thy peace into our restless spirits,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And make a lasting, heavenly vision there.</span><br />
+<br />
+So the bright gates no more on us shall close;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No more the cloud of angels fade away;</span><br />
+And we shall walk, amid life's weary strife,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the calm light of thine eternal day.</span><br /><br /><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1">[A]</a> According to this legend, Catherine was a noble maiden
+of Alexandria, distinguished alike by birth, riches, beauty, and
+the rarest gifts of genius and learning. In the flower of her
+life she consecrated herself to the service of her Redeemer,
+and cheerfully suffered for his sake the loss of wealth, friends,
+and the esteem of the world. Banishment, imprisonment,
+and torture were in vain tried to shake the constancy of her
+faith; and at last she was bound upon the torturing-wheel for
+a cruel death. But the angels descended, so says the story,
+rent the wheel, and bore her away, through the air, far over
+the sea, to Mount Sinai, where her body was left to repose,
+and her soul ascended with them to heaven.</p></div></div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>THE CHARMER.</h2>
+
+<div class='blockquot'>
+
+<p>"<i>Socrates.</i> However, you and Simmias appear to me as if
+you wished to sift this subject more thoroughly, and to be
+afraid, like children, lest, on the soul's departure from the
+body, winds should blow it away.</p>
+
+<p>"Upon this Cebes said, 'Endeavor to teach us better, Socrates.
+Perhaps there is a childish spirit in our breast that
+has such a dread. Let us endeavor to persuade him not to
+be afraid of death, as of hobgoblins.'</p>
+
+<p>"'But you must charm him every day,' said Socrates, 'until
+you have quieted his fears.'</p>
+
+<p>"'But whence, O Socrates,' he said, 'can we procure a skilful
+charmer for such a case, now you are about to leave us.'</p>
+
+<p>"'Greece is wide, Cebes,' he said, 'and in it surely there
+are skilful men; and there are many barbarous nations, all of
+which you should search, seeking such a charmer, sparing
+neither money nor toil.'"&mdash;Last words of Socrates, as narrated
+by Plato in the <i>Phædo</i>.</p></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+WE need that charmer, for our hearts are sore<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With longings for the things that may not be,</span><br />
+Faint for the friends that shall return no more,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dark with distrust, or wrung with agony.</span><br />
+<br />
+"What is this life? and what to us is death?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whence came we? whither go? and where are those</span><br />
+Who, in a moment stricken from our side,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Passed to that land of shadow and repose?</span><br />
+<br />
+"And are they all dust? and dust must we become?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or are they living in some unknown clime?</span><br />
+Shall we regain them in that far-off home,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And live anew beyond the waves of time?</span><br />
+<br />
+"O man divine! on thee our souls have hung;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou wert our teacher in these questions high;</span><br />
+But ah! this day divides thee from our side,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And veils in dust thy kindly-guiding eye.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Where is that Charmer whom thou bidst us seek?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On what far shores may his sweet voice be heard?</span><br />
+When shall these questions of our yearning souls<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be answered by the bright Eternal Word?"</span><br />
+<br />
+So spake the youth of Athens, weeping round,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Socrates lay calmly down to die;</span><br />
+So spake the sage, prophetic of the hour<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When earth's fair morning star should rise on high.</span><br />
+<br />
+They found Him not, those youths of soul divine,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Long seeking, wandering, watching on life's shore;</span><br />
+Reasoning, aspiring, yearning for the light,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Death came and found them&mdash;doubting as before.</span><br />
+<br />
+But years passed on; and lo! the Charmer came,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pure, simple, sweet, as comes the silver dew,</span><br />
+And the world knew him not,&mdash;he walked alone,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Encircled only by his trusting few.</span><br />
+<br />
+Like the Athenian sage, rejected, scorned,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Betrayed, condemned, his day of doom drew nigh;</span><br />
+He drew his faithful few more closely round,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And told them that his hour was come&mdash;to die.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Let not your heart be troubled," then He said,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"My Father's house hath mansions large and fair;</span><br />
+I go before you to prepare your place,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I will return to take you with me there."</span><br />
+<br />
+And since that hour the awful foe is charmed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And life and death are glorified and fair;</span><br />
+Whither He went we know, the way we know,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And with firm step press on to meet him there.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>KNOCKING.</h2>
+
+<div class='verse'>"Behold, I stand at the door and knock."<br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+KNOCKING, knocking, ever knocking?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who is there?</span><br />
+'Tis a pilgrim, strange and kingly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Never such was seen before;&mdash;</span><br />
+Ah, sweet soul, for such a wonder<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Undo the door.</span><br />
+<br />
+No,&mdash;that door is hard to open;<br />
+Hinges rusty, latch is broken;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bid Him go.</span><br />
+Wherefore, with that knocking dreary<br />
+Scare the sleep from one so weary?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Say Him,&mdash;no.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 212px;">
+<img src="images/i011.jpg" width="212" height="400" alt="Jesus standing at the door knocking" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem1'>
+Knocking, knocking, ever knocking?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What! Still there?</span><br />
+O, sweet soul, but once behold Him,<br />
+With the glory-crownéd hair;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>And those eyes, so strange and tender,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Waiting there;</span><br />
+Open! Open! Once behold Him,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Him, so fair.</span><br />
+<br />
+Ah, that door! Why wilt Thou vex me,<br />
+Coming ever to perplex me?<br />
+For the key is stiffly rusty,<br />
+And the bolt is clogged and dusty;<br />
+Many-fingered ivy-vine<br />
+Seals it fast with twist and twine;<br />
+Weeds of years and years before<br />
+Choke the passage of that door.<br />
+<br />
+Knocking! knocking! What! still knocking?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He still there?</span><br />
+What's the hour? The night is waning,&mdash;<br />
+In my heart a drear complaining,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And a chilly, sad unrest!</span><br />
+Ah, this knocking! It disturbs me,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>Scares my sleep with dreams unblest!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Give me rest,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Rest,&mdash;ah, rest!</span><br />
+<br />
+Rest, dear soul, He longs to give thee;<br />
+Thou hast only dreamed of pleasure,<br />
+Dreamed of gifts and golden treasure,<br />
+Dreamed of jewels in thy keeping,<br />
+Waked to weariness of weeping;&mdash;<br />
+Open to thy soul's one Lover,<br />
+And thy night of dreams is over,&mdash;<br />
+The true gifts He brings have seeming<br />
+More than all thy faded dreaming!<br />
+<br />
+Did she open? Doth she? Will she?<br />
+So, as wondering we behold,<br />
+Grows the picture to a sign,<br />
+Pressed upon your soul and mine;<br />
+For in every breast that liveth<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>Is that strange mysterious door;&mdash;<br />
+Though forsaken and betangled,<br />
+Ivy-gnarled and weed-bejangled,<br />
+Dusty, rusty, and forgotten;&mdash;<br />
+There the piercéd hand still knocketh,<br />
+And with ever-patient watching,<br />
+With the sad eyes true and tender,<br />
+With the glory-crownéd hair,&mdash;<br />
+Still a God is waiting there.<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>THE OLD PSALM TUNE.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+YOU asked, dear friend, the other day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why still my charméd ear</span><br />
+Rejoiceth in uncultured tone<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That old psalm tune to hear?</span><br />
+<br />
+I've heard full oft, in foreign lands,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The grand orchestral strain,</span><br />
+Where music's ancient masters live,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Revealed on earth again,&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+Where breathing, solemn instruments,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In swaying clouds of sound,</span><br />
+Bore up the yearning, trancéd soul,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like silver wings around;&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+I've heard in old St. Peter's dome,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where clouds of incense rise,</span><br />
+Most ravishing the choral swell<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mount upwards to the skies.</span><br />
+<br />
+And well I feel the magic power,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When skilled and cultured art</span><br />
+Its cunning webs of sweetness weaves<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Around the captured heart.</span><br />
+<br />
+But yet, dear friend, though rudely sung,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That old psalm tune hath still</span><br />
+A pulse of power beyond them all<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My inmost soul to thrill.</span><br />
+<br />
+Those halting tones that sound to you,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are not the tones I hear;</span><br />
+But voices of the loved and lost<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">There meet my longing ear.</span><br />
+<br />
+I hear my angel mother's voice,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those were the words she sung;</span><br />
+I hear my brother's ringing tones,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As once on earth they rung;</span><br />
+<br />
+And friends that walk in white above<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come round me like a cloud,</span><br />
+And far above those earthly notes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their singing sounds aloud.</span><br />
+<br />
+There may be discord, as you say;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those voices poorly ring;</span><br />
+But there's no discord in the strain<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those upper spirits sing.</span><br />
+<br />
+For they who sing are of the blest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The calm and glorified,</span><br />
+Whose hours are one eternal rest<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">On heaven's sweet floating tide.</span><br />
+<br />
+Their life is music and accord;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their souls and hearts keep time</span><br />
+In one sweet concert with the Lord,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One concert vast, sublime.</span><br />
+<br />
+And through the hymns they sang on earth<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sometimes a sweetness falls</span><br />
+On those they loved and left below,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And softly homeward calls,&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+Bells from our own dear fatherland,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Borne trembling o'er the sea,&mdash;</span><br />
+The narrow sea that they have crossed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The shores where we shall be.</span><br />
+<br />
+O sing, sing on, beloved souls!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sing cares and griefs to rest;</span><br />
+Sing, till entrancéd we arise<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To join you 'mong the blest.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>THE OTHER WORLD.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+IT lies around us like a cloud,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A world we do not see;</span><br />
+Yet the sweet closing of an eye<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May bring us there to be.</span><br />
+<br />
+Its gentle breezes fan our cheek;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Amid our worldly cares,</span><br />
+Its gentle voices whisper love,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And mingle with our prayers.</span><br />
+<br />
+Sweet hearts around us throb and beat,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweet helping hands are stirred,</span><br />
+And palpitates the veil between<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">With breathings almost heard.</span><br />
+<br />
+The silence, awful, sweet, and calm,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They have no power to break;</span><br />
+For mortal words are not for them<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To utter or partake.</span><br />
+<br />
+So thin, so soft, so sweet, they glide,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So near to press they seem,</span><br />
+They lull us gently to our rest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They melt into our dream.</span><br />
+<br />
+And in the hush of rest they bring<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis easy now to see</span><br />
+How lovely and how sweet a pass<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The hour of death may be;&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+To close the eye, and close the ear,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wrapped in a trance of bliss,</span><br />
+And, gently drawn in loving arms,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">To swoon to that&mdash;from this,&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scarce asking where we are,</span><br />
+To feel all evil sink away,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All sorrow and all care.</span><br />
+<br />
+Sweet souls around us! watch us still;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Press nearer to our side;</span><br />
+Into our thoughts, into our prayers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With gentle helpings glide.</span><br />
+<br />
+Let death between us be as naught,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A dried and vanished stream;</span><br />
+Your joy be the reality,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our suffering life the dream.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>MARY AT THE CROSS.</h2>
+
+<div class='verse'>"Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother."<br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+O WONDROUS mother! since the dawn of time<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was ever love, was ever grief, like thine?</span><br />
+O highly favored in thy joy's deep flow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And favored, even in this, thy bitterest woe!</span><br />
+<br />
+Poor was that home in simple Nazareth<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where, fairly growing, like some silent flower,</span><br />
+Last of a kingly race, unknown and lowly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O desert lily, passed thy childhood's hour.</span><br />
+<br />
+The world knew not the tender, serious maiden,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who through deep loving years so silent grew,</span><br />
+Full of high thought and holy aspiration,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which the o'ershadowing God alone might view.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;">
+<img src="images/i023.jpg" width="250" height="400" alt="Mary and Baby Jesus under a crown" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem1'>
+And then it came, that message from the highest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Such as to woman ne'er before descended,</span><br />
+The almighty wings thy prayerful soul o'erspread,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And with thy life the Life of worlds was blended.</span><br />
+<br />
+What visions then of future glory filled thee,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The chosen mother of that King unknown,</span><br />
+Mother fulfiller of all prophecy<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which, through dim ages, wondering seers had shown!</span><br />
+<br />
+Well did thy dark eye kindle, thy deep soul<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rise into billows, and thy heart rejoice;</span><br />
+Then woke the poet's fire, the prophet's song,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tuned with strange burning words thy timid voice.</span><br />
+<br />
+Then, in dark contrast, came the lowly manger,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The outcast shed, the tramp of brutal feet;</span><br />
+Again behold earth's learned and her lowly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sages and shepherds, prostrate at thy feet.</span><br />
+<br />
+Then to the temple bearing&mdash;hark again<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What strange conflicting tones of prophecy</span><br />
+Breathe o'er the child foreshadowing words of joy,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">High triumph blent with bitter agony!</span><br />
+<br />
+O, highly favored thou in many an hour<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spent in lone musings with thy wondrous Son,</span><br />
+When thou didst gaze into that glorious eye,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hold that mighty hand within thine own.</span><br />
+<br />
+Blest through those thirty years, when in thy dwelling<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He lived a God disguised with unknown power;</span><br />
+And thou his sole adorer, his best love,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trusting, revering, waited for his hour.</span><br />
+<br />
+Blest in that hour, when called by opening heaven<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With cloud and voice, and the baptizing flame,</span><br />
+Up from the Jordan walked th' acknowledged stranger,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And awe-struck crowds grew silent as he came.</span><br />
+<br />
+Blessed, when full of grace, with glory crowned,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">He from both hands almighty favors poured,</span><br />
+And, though He had not where to lay his head,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brought to his feet alike the slave and lord.</span><br />
+<br />
+Crowds followed; thousands shouted, "Lo, our King!"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fast beat thy heart. Now, now the hour draws nigh:</span><br />
+Behold the crown, the throne, the nations bend!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ah, no! fond mother, no! behold him die!</span><br />
+<br />
+Now by that cross thou tak'st thy final station,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shar'st the last dark trial of thy Son;</span><br />
+Not with weak tears or woman's lamentation,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But with high, silent anguish, like his own.</span><br />
+<br />
+Hail! highly favored, even in this deep passion;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hail! in this bitter anguish thou art blest,&mdash;</span><br />
+Blest in the holy power with Him to suffer<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those deep death-pangs that lead to higher rest.</span><br />
+<br />
+All now is darkness; and in that deep stillness<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The God-man wrestles with that mighty woe;</span><br />
+Hark to that cry, the rock of ages rending,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"'Tis finished!" Mother, all is glory now!</span><br />
+<br />
+By sufferings mighty as his mighty soul<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hath the Redeemer risen forever blest;</span><br />
+And through all ages must his heart-beloved<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the same baptism enter the same rest.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>THE INNER VOICE.</h2>
+
+<div class='blockquot'>
+
+<p>"Come ye yourselves into a desert place and rest awhile;
+for there were many coming and going, so that they had no
+time so much as to eat."</p></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+'MID the mad whirl of life, its dim confusion,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its jarring discords and poor vanity,</span><br />
+Breathing like music over troubled waters,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What gentle voice, O Christian, speaks to thee?</span><br />
+<br />
+It is a stranger,&mdash;not of earth or earthly;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the serene, deep fulness of that eye,&mdash;</span><br />
+By the calm, pitying smile, the gesture lowly,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It is thy Saviour as he passeth by.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Come, come," he saith, "O soul oppressed and weary,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come to the shadows of my desert rest,</span><br />
+Come walk with me far from life's babbling discords,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And peace shall breathe like music in thy breast.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Art thou bewildered by contesting voices,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sick to thy soul of party noise and strife?</span><br />
+Come, leave it all, and seek that solitude<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where thou shalt learn of me a purer life.</span><br />
+<br />
+"When far behind the world's great tumult dieth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou shalt look back and wonder at its roar;</span><br />
+But its far voice shall seem to thee a dream,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its power to vex thy holier life be o'er.</span><br />
+<br />
+"There shalt thou learn the secret of a power,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mine to bestow, which heals the ills of living;</span><br />
+To overcome by love, to live by prayer,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To conquer man's worst evils by forgiving."</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>ABIDE IN ME, AND I IN YOU.</h2>
+
+<div class='verse'>THE SOUL'S ANSWER.</div>
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+THAT mystic word of thine, O sovereign Lord,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is all too pure, too high, too deep for me;</span><br />
+Weary of striving, and with longing faint,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I breathe it back again in <i>prayer</i> to thee.</span><br />
+<br />
+Abide in me, I pray, and I in thee;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From this good hour, O, leave me nevermore;</span><br />
+Then shall the discord cease, the wound be healed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The lifelong bleeding of the soul be o'er.</span><br />
+<br />
+Abide in me; o'ershadow by thy love<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each half-formed purpose and dark thought of sin;</span><br />
+Quench, e'er it rise, each selfish, low desire,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And keep my soul as thine, calm and divine.</span><br />
+<br />
+As some rare perfume in a vase of clay<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pervades it with a fragrance not its own,</span><br />
+So, when thou dwellest in a mortal soul,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All heaven's own sweetness seems around it thrown.</span><br />
+<br />
+Abide in me: there have been moments blest<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I have heard thy voice and felt thy power;</span><br />
+Then evil lost its grasp, and passion, hushed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Owned the divine enchantment of the hour.</span><br />
+<br />
+These were but seasons, beautiful and rare;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Abide in me, and they shall ever be.</span><br />
+Fulfil at once thy precept and my prayer,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, and abide in me, and I in thee.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>THE SECRET.</h2>
+
+<div class='blockquot'>
+
+<p>"Thou shalt keep them in the secret of thy presence from
+the strife of tongues."</p></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+WHEN winds are raging o'er the upper ocean,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And billows wild contend with angry roar,</span><br />
+'Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotion,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore.</span><br />
+<br />
+Far, far beneath, the noise of tempest dieth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And silver waves chime ever peacefully;</span><br />
+And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Disturbs the sabbath of that deeper sea.</span><br />
+<br />
+So to the soul that knows thy love, O Purest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is a temple peaceful evermore!</span><br />
+And all the babble of life's angry voices<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Die in hushed stillness at its sacred door.</span><br />
+<br />
+Far, far away the noise of passion dieth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And loving thoughts rise ever peacefully;</span><br />
+And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Disturbs that deeper rest, O Lord, in thee.</span><br />
+<br />
+O rest of rests! O peace serene, eternal!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou ever livest and thou changest never;</span><br />
+And in the secret of thy presence dwelleth<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fulness of joy, forever and forever.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>THINK NOT ALL IS OVER.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+THINK not, when the wailing winds of autumn<br />
+Drive the shivering leaflets from the tree,&mdash;<br />
+Think not all is over: spring returneth,<br />
+Buds and leaves and blossoms thou shalt see.<br />
+<br />
+Think not, when the earth lies cold and sealed,<br />
+And the weary birds above her mourn,&mdash;<br />
+Think not all is over: God still liveth,<br />
+Songs and sunshine shall again return.<br />
+<br />
+Think not, when thy heart is waste and dreary,<br />
+When thy cherished hopes lie chill and sere,&mdash;<br />
+Think not all is over: God still loveth,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>He will wipe away thy every tear.<br />
+<br />
+Weeping for a night alone endureth,<br />
+God at last shall bring a morning hour;<br />
+In the frozen buds of every winter<br />
+Sleep the blossoms of a future flower.<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>LINES</h2>
+
+<div class='verse'>TO THE MEMORY OF "ANNIE," WHO DIED AT MILAN,
+JUNE 6, 1860.</div>
+
+<div class='blockquot'>
+
+<p>"Jesus saith unto her, Woman, why weepest thou? whom
+seekest thou? She, supposing him to be the gardener, saith
+unto him, Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me
+where thou hast laid him."&mdash;<span class="smcap">John</span> xx. 15.</p></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+IN the fair gardens of celestial peace<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Walketh a Gardener in meekness clad;</span><br />
+Fair are the flowers that wreathe his dewy locks,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his mysterious eyes are sweet and sad.</span><br />
+<br />
+Fair are the silent foldings of his robes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Falling with saintly calmness to his feet;</span><br />
+And when he walks, each floweret to his will<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With living pulse of sweet accord doth beat.</span><br />
+<br />
+Every green leaf thrills to its tender heart,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the mild summer radiance of his eye;</span><br />
+No fear of storm, or cold, or bitter frost,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shadows the flowerets when their sun is nigh.</span><br />
+<br />
+And all our pleasant haunts of earthly love<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are nurseries to those gardens of the air;</span><br />
+And his far-darting eye, with starry beam,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Watcheth the growing of his treasures there.</span><br />
+<br />
+We call them ours, o'erwept with selfish tears,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'erwatched with restless longings night and day;</span><br />
+Forgetful of the high, mysterious right<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He holds to bear our cherished plants away.</span><br />
+<br />
+But when some sunny spot in those bright fields<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Needs the fair presence of an added flower,</span><br />
+Down sweeps a starry angel in the night:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At morn, the rose has vanished from our bower.</span><br />
+<br />
+Where stood our tree, our flower, there is a grave!<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blank, silent, vacant, but in worlds above,</span><br />
+Like a new star outblossomed in the skies,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The angels hail an added flower of love.</span><br />
+<br />
+Dear friend, no more upon that lonely mound,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strewed with the red and yellow autumn leaf,</span><br />
+Drop thou the tear, but raise the fainting eye<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beyond the autumn mists of earthly grief.</span><br />
+<br />
+Thy garden rose-bud bore, within its breast,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those mysteries of color, warm and bright,</span><br />
+That the bleak climate of this lower sphere<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Could never waken into form and light.</span><br />
+<br />
+Yes, the sweet Gardener hath borne her hence,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor must thou ask to take her thence away;</span><br />
+Thou shalt behold her in some coming hour,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Full-blossomed in his fields of cloudless day.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>THE CROCUS.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+BENEATH the sunny autumn sky,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With gold leaves dropping round,</span><br />
+We sought, my little friend and I,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The consecrated ground,</span><br />
+Where, calm beneath the holy cross,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'ershadowed by sweet skies,</span><br />
+Sleeps tranquilly that youthful form,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those blue unclouded eyes.</span><br />
+<br />
+Around the soft, green swelling mound<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We scooped the earth away,</span><br />
+And buried deep the crocus-bulbs<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Against a coming day.</span><br />
+"These roots are dry, and brown, and sere;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why plant them here?" he said,</span><br />
+"To leave them, all the winter long,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">So desolate and dead."</span><br />
+<br />
+"Dear child, within each sere dead form<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There sleeps a living flower,</span><br />
+And angel-like it shall arise<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In spring's returning hour."</span><br />
+Ah, deeper down&mdash;cold, dark, and chill&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We buried our heart's flower,</span><br />
+But angel-like shall he arise<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In spring's immortal hour.</span><br />
+<br />
+In blue and yellow from its grave<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Springs up the crocus fair,</span><br />
+And God shall raise those bright blue eyes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those sunny waves of hair.</span><br />
+Not for a fading summer's morn,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not for a fleeting hour,</span><br />
+But for an endless age of bliss,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall rise our heart's dear flower.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>CONSOLATION.</h2>
+
+<div class='verse'>WRITTEN AFTER THE SECOND BATTLE OF BULL RUN.</div>
+
+<div class='blockquot'>
+
+<p>"And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first
+heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there was
+no more sea."</p></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+AH, many-voiced and angry! how the waves<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beat turbulent with terrible uproar!</span><br />
+Is there no rest from tossing,&mdash;no repose?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where shall we find a haven and a shore?</span><br />
+<br />
+What is secure from the loud-dashing wave?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There go our riches, and our hopes fly there;</span><br />
+There go the faces of our best beloved,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whelmed in the vortex of its wild despair.</span><br />
+<br />
+Whose son is safe? whose brother, and whose home?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dashing spray beats out the household fire;</span><br />
+By blackened ashes weep our widowed souls<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over the embers of our lost desire.</span><br />
+<br />
+By pauses, in the fitful moaning storm,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We hear triumphant notes of battle roll.</span><br />
+Too soon the triumph sinks in funeral wail;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The muffled drum, the death march, shakes the soul!</span><br />
+<br />
+Rocks on all sides, and breakers! at the helm<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Weak human hand and weary human eyes.</span><br />
+The shout and clamor of our dreary strife<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Goes up conflicting to the angry skies.</span><br />
+<br />
+But for all this, O timid hearts, be strong;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be of good cheer, for, though the storm must be,</span><br />
+<i>It hath its Master:</i> from the depths shall rise<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">New heavens, new earth, where shall be no more sea.</span><br />
+<br />
+No sea, no tossing, no unrestful storm!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forever past the anguish and the strife;</span><br />
+The poor old weary earth shall bloom again,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the bright foliage of that better life.</span><br />
+<br />
+And war, and strife, and hatred, shall be past,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And misery be a forgotten dream.</span><br />
+The Shepherd God shall lead his peaceful fold<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the calm meadows and the quiet stream.</span><br />
+<br />
+Be still, be still, and know that he is God;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be calm, be trustful; work, and watch, and pray,</span><br />
+Till from the throes of this last anguish rise<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The light and gladness of that better day.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>"ONLY A YEAR."</h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+ONE year ago,&mdash;a ringing voice,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A clear blue eye,</span><br />
+And clustering curls of sunny hair,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Too fair to die.</span><br />
+<br />
+Only a year,&mdash;no voice, no smile,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No glance of eye,</span><br />
+No clustering curls of golden hair,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fair but to die!</span><br />
+<br />
+One year ago,&mdash;what loves, what schemes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far into life!</span><br />
+What joyous hopes, what high resolves,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">What generous strife!</span><br />
+<br />
+The silent picture on the wall,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The burial stone,</span><br />
+Of all that beauty, life, and joy<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Remain alone!</span><br />
+<br />
+One year,&mdash;one year,&mdash;one little year,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And so much gone!</span><br />
+And yet the even flow of life<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moves calmly on.</span><br />
+<br />
+The grave grows green, the flowers bloom fair,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Above that head;</span><br />
+No sorrowing tint of leaf or spray<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Says he is dead.</span><br />
+<br />
+No pause or hush of merry birds,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sing above,</span><br />
+Tells us how coldly sleeps below<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The form we love.</span><br />
+<br />
+Where hast thou been this year, beloved?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What hast thou seen?</span><br />
+What visions fair, what glorious life,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where thou hast been?</span><br />
+<br />
+The veil! the veil! so thin, so strong!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twixt us and thee;</span><br />
+The mystic veil! when shall it fall,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That we may see?</span><br />
+<br />
+Not dead, not sleeping, not even gone,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But present still,</span><br />
+And waiting for the coming hour<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of God's sweet will.</span><br />
+<br />
+Lord of the living and the dead,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our Saviour dear!</span><br />
+We lay in silence at thy feet<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This sad, sad year!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 303px;">
+<img src="images/i047.jpg" width="303" height="390" alt="Flying angel" />
+</div>
+
+
+<h2>BELOW.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+LOUDLY sweep the winds of autumn<br />
+O'er that lone, beloved grave,<br />
+Where we laid those sunny ringlets,<br />
+When those blue eyes set like stars,<br />
+Leaving us to outer darkness.<br />
+O the longing and the aching!<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>O the sere deserted grave!<br />
+<br />
+Let the grass turn brown upon thee,<br />
+Brown and withered like our dreams!<br />
+Let the wind moan through the pine-trees<br />
+With a dreary, dirge-like whistle,<br />
+Sweep the dead leaves on its bosom,&mdash;<br />
+Moaning, sobbing through the branches,<br />
+Where the summer laughed so gayly.<br />
+<br />
+He is gone, our boy of summer,&mdash;<br />
+Gone the light of his blue eyes,<br />
+Gone the tender heart and manly,<br />
+Gone the dreams and the aspirings,&mdash;<br />
+Nothing but the <i>mound</i> remaineth,<br />
+And the aching in our bosoms,<br />
+Ever aching, ever throbbing:<br />
+Who shall bring it unto rest?<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>ABOVE.</h2>
+
+<div class='verse'>A VISION.</div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+COMING down a golden street<br />
+I beheld my vanished one,<br />
+And he moveth on a cloud,<br />
+And his forehead wears a star;<br />
+And his blue eyes, deep and holy,<br />
+Fixed as in a blessed dream,<br />
+See some mystery of joy,<br />
+Some unuttered depth of love.<br />
+<br />
+And his vesture is as blue<br />
+As the skies of summer are,<br />
+Falling with a saintly sweep,<br />
+With a sacred stillness swaying;<br />
+And he presseth to his bosom<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>Harp of strange and mystic fashion,<br />
+And his hands, like living pearls,<br />
+Wander o'er the golden strings.<br />
+<br />
+And the music that ariseth,<br />
+Who can utter or divine it?<br />
+In that strange celestial thrilling,<br />
+Every memory of sorrow,<br />
+Every heart-ache, every anguish,<br />
+Every fear for the to-morrow,<br />
+Melt away in charméd rest.<br />
+<br />
+And there be around him many,<br />
+Bright with robes like evening clouds,&mdash;<br />
+Tender green and clearest amber,<br />
+Crimson fading into rose,<br />
+Robes of flames and robes of silver,&mdash;<br />
+And their hues all thrill and tremble<br />
+With a living light of feeling,<br />
+Deepening with each heart's pulsation,<br />
+Till in vivid trance of color<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>That celestial rainbow glows.<br />
+<br />
+How they float and wreathe and brighten,<br />
+Bending low their starry brows,<br />
+Singing with a tender cadence,<br />
+And their hands, like spotless lilies,<br />
+Folded on their prayerful breasts.<br />
+In their singing seem to mingle<br />
+Tender airs of by-gone days;&mdash;<br />
+Mother-hymnings by the cradle,<br />
+Mother-moanings by the grave,<br />
+Songs of human love and sorrow,<br />
+Songs of endless love and rest;&mdash;<br />
+In the pauses of that music<br />
+Every throb of sorrow dies.<br />
+<br />
+O my own, my heart's belovéd,<br />
+Vainly have I wept above thee?<br />
+Would I call thee from thy glory<br />
+To this world's impurity?&mdash;<br />
+Lo! it passeth, it dissolveth,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>All the vision melts away;<br />
+But as if a heavenly lily<br />
+Dropped into my aching breast,<br />
+With a healing sweetness laden,<br />
+With a mystic breath of rest,<br />
+I am charmed into forgetting<br />
+Autumn winds and dreary grave.<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>LINES</h2>
+
+<div class='verse'>SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF MRS. PROFESSOR STUART
+OF ANDOVER, MASS.</div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+HOW quiet, through the hazy autumn air,<br />
+The elm-boughs wave with many a gold-flecked leaf!<br />
+How calmly float the dreamy mantled clouds<br />
+Through these still days of autumn, fair and brief!<br />
+<br />
+Our Andover stands thoughtful, fair, and calm,<br />
+Waiting to lay her summer glories by<br />
+E'er the bright flush shall kindle all her pines,<br />
+And her woods blaze with autumn's heraldry.<br />
+<br />
+By the old mossy wall the golden-rod<br />
+Waves as aforetime, and the purple sprays<br />
+Of starry asters quiver to the breeze,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>Rustling all stilly through the forest ways.<br />
+<br />
+No voice of triumph from those silent skies<br />
+Breaks on the calm, and speaks of glories near,<br />
+Nor bright wings flutter, nor fair glistening robes<br />
+Proclaim that heavenly messengers are here.<br />
+<br />
+Yet in our midst an angel hath come down,<br />
+Troubling the waters in a peaceful home;<br />
+And from that home, of life's long sickness healed,<br />
+A saint hath risen, where pain no more may come.<br />
+<br />
+Christ's fair elect one, from a hidden life<br />
+Of loving deeds and words of gentleness,<br />
+Hath passed where all are loving and beloved,<br />
+Beyond all weariness and all distress.<br />
+<br />
+Calm, like a lamb in shepherd's bosom borne,<br />
+Quiet and trustful hath she sunk to rest;<br />
+God breathed in tenderness the sweet "Well done!"<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>That scarce awoke a trance so still and blest.<br />
+<br />
+Ye who remember the long loving years,<br />
+The patient mother's hourly martyrdom,<br />
+The self-renouncing wisdom, the calm trust,<br />
+Rejoice for her whose day of rest is come!<br />
+<br />
+Father and mother, now united, stand<br />
+Waiting for you to bind the household chain;<br />
+The tent is struck, the home is gone before,<br />
+And tarries for you on the heavenly plain.<br />
+<br />
+By every wish repressed and hope resigned,<br />
+Each cross accepted and each sorrow borne,<br />
+She dead yet speaketh, she doth beckon you<br />
+To tread the path her patient feet have worn.<br />
+<br />
+Each year that world grows richer and more dear<br />
+With the bright freight washed from life's stormy shore;<br />
+O goodly clime, how lovely is thy strand,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>With those dear faces seen on earth no more!<br />
+<br />
+The veil between this world and that to come<br />
+Grows tremulous and quivers with their breath;<br />
+Dimly we hear their voices, see their hands,<br />
+Inviting us to the release of death.<br />
+<br />
+O Thou, in whom thy saints above, below,<br />
+Are one and undivided, grant us grace<br />
+In patience yet to bear our daily cross,&mdash;<br />
+In patience run our hourly shortening race!<br />
+<br />
+And while on earth we wear the servant's form,<br />
+And while life's labors ever toilful be,<br />
+Breathe in our souls the joyful confidence<br />
+We are already kings and priests with thee.<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>SUMMER STUDIES.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+WHY shouldst thou study in the month of June<br />
+In dusky books of Greek and Hebrew lore,<br />
+When the Great Teacher of all glorious things<br />
+Passes in hourly light before thy door?<br />
+<br />
+There is a brighter book unrolling now;<br />
+Fair are its leaves as is the tree of heaven,<br />
+All veined and dewed and gemmed with wondrous signs,<br />
+To which a healing mystic power is given.<br />
+<br />
+A thousand voices to its study call,<br />
+From the fair hill-top, from the waterfall,<br />
+Where the bird singeth, and the yellow bee,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>And the breeze talketh from the airy tree.<br />
+<br />
+Now is that glorious resurrection time<br />
+When all earth's buried beauties have new birth:<br />
+Behold the yearly miracle complete,&mdash;<br />
+God hath created a new heaven and earth!<br />
+<br />
+No tree that wants its joyful garments now,<br />
+No flower but hastes his bravery to don;<br />
+God bids thee to this marriage feast of joy,<br />
+Let thy soul put the wedding garment on.<br />
+<br />
+All fringed with festal gold the barberry stands;<br />
+The ferns, exultant, clap their new-made wings;<br />
+The hemlock rustles broideries of fresh green,<br />
+And thousand bells of pearl the blueberry rings.<br />
+<br />
+The long, weird fingers of the old white-pines<br />
+Do beckon thee into the flickering wood,<br />
+Where moving spots of light show mystic flowers,<br />
+And wavering music fills the dreamy hours.<br />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p>
+
+<div>
+<img src="images/i059a.jpg" alt="top of landscape" width="537" height="378" class="split" />
+<img src="images/i059b.jpg" alt="side of landscape" width="205" height="456" class="split" />
+</div>
+<div class='poem1'>
+Hast thou no <i>time</i> for all this wondrous show,&mdash;<br />
+No thought to spare? Wilt thou forever be<br />
+With thy last year's dry flower-stalk and dead leaves,<br />
+And no new shoot or blossom on thy tree?<br />
+<br />
+See how the pines push off their last year's leaves.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>And stretch beyond them with exultant bound:<br />
+The grass and flowers, with living power, o'ergrow<br />
+Their last year's remnants on the greening ground.<br />
+<br />
+Wilt thou, then, all thy wintry feelings keep,<br />
+The old dead routine of thy book-writ lore,<br />
+Nor deem that God can teach, by one bright hour,<br />
+What life hath never taught to thee before?<br />
+<br />
+See what vast leisure, what unbounded rest,<br />
+Lie in the bending dome of the blue sky:<br />
+Ah! breathe that life-born languor from thy breast,<br />
+And know once more a child's unreasoning joy.<br />
+<br />
+Cease, cease to <i>think</i>, and be content <i>to be</i>;<br />
+Swing safe at anchor in fair Nature's bay;<br />
+Reason no more, but o'er thy quiet soul<br />
+Let God's sweet teachings ripple their soft way.<br />
+<br />
+Soar with the birds, and flutter with the leaf;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>Dance with the seeded grass in fringy play;<br />
+Sail with the cloud, wave with the dreaming pine,<br />
+And float with Nature all the livelong day.<br />
+<br />
+Call not such hours an idle waste of time,&mdash;<br />
+Land that lies fallow gains a quiet power;<br />
+It treasures, from the brooding of God's wings,<br />
+Strength to unfold the future tree and flower.<br />
+<br />
+And when the summer's glorious show is past,<br />
+Its miracles no longer charm thy sight,<br />
+The treasured riches of those thoughtful hours<br />
+Shall make thy wintry musings warm and bright.<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a><br /><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>HOURS OF THE NIGHT;<br />
+
+<small>OR,</small><br />
+<small>WATCHES OF SORROW.</small></h2>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a><br /><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 295px;">
+<img src="images/i065.jpg" width="295" height="324" alt="another flying angel" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2>I.<br />
+
+MIDNIGHT.</h2>
+
+<div class='blockquot'>
+
+<p>"He hath made me to dwell in darkness as those that have
+been long dead."</p></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+ALL dark!&mdash;no light, no ray!<br />
+Sun, moon, and stars, all gone!<br />
+Dimness of anguish!&mdash;utter void!&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Crushed, and alone!</span><br />
+<br />
+One waste of weary pain,<br />
+One dull, unmeaning ache,<br />
+A heart too weary even to throb,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Too bruised to break.</span><br />
+<br />
+No longer anxious thoughts,<br />
+No longer hopes and fears,<br />
+No strife, no effort, no desire,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">No tears.</span><br />
+<br />
+Daylight and leaves and flowers,<br />
+Summer and song of bird!&mdash;<br />
+All vanished!&mdash;dreams forever gone,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Unseen, unheard!</span><br />
+<br />
+Love, beauty, youth,&mdash;all gone!<br />
+The high, heroic vow,<br />
+The buoyant hope, the fond desire,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All ashes now!</span><br />
+<br />
+The words they speak to me<br />
+Far off and distant seem,<br />
+As voices we have known and loved<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 5em;">Speak in a dream.</span><br />
+<br />
+They bid me to submit;<br />
+I do,&mdash;I cannot strive;<br />
+I do not question,&mdash;I endure,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Endure and live.</span><br />
+<br />
+I do not struggle more,<br />
+Nor pray, for prayer is vain;<br />
+I but lie still the weary hour,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And bear my pain.</span><br />
+<br />
+A guiding God, a Friend,<br />
+A Father's gracious cheer,<br />
+Once seemed my own; but now even faith<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Lies buried here.</span><br />
+<br />
+This darkened, deathly life<br />
+Is all remains of me,<br />
+And but one conscious wish,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">To cease to be!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>II.<br />
+
+<small>FIRST HOUR.</small></h2>
+
+<div class='blockquot'>
+
+<p>"There was darkness over all the land from the sixth hour
+unto the ninth hour.</p>
+
+<p>"And Jesus cried and said, My God, my God, why hast
+thou forsaken me?"</p></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+THAT cry hath stirred the deadness of my soul;<br />
+I feel a heart-string throb, as throbs a chord<br />
+When breaks the master chord of some great harp;<br />
+My heart responsive answers, "Why?" O Lord.<br />
+<br />
+O cross of pain! O crown of cruel thorns!<br />
+O piercing nails! O spotless Sufferer there!<br />
+Wert <i>thou</i> forsaken in thy deadly strife?<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>Then canst thou pity me in my despair.<br />
+<br />
+Take my dead heart, O Jesus, down with thee<br />
+To that still sepulchre where thou didst rest;<br />
+Lay it in the fair linen's spicy folds,<br />
+As a dear mother lays her babe to rest.<br />
+<br />
+I am so worn, so weary, so o'erspent,<br />
+To lie with thee in that calm trance were sweet;<br />
+The bitter myrrh of long-remembered pain<br />
+May work in me new strength to rise again.<br />
+<br />
+This dark and weary mystery of woe,<br />
+This hopeless struggle, this most useless strife,&mdash;<br />
+Ah, let it end! I die with thee, my Lord,<br />
+To all I ever hoped or wished from life.<br />
+<br />
+I die with thee: thy fellowship of grief,<br />
+Thy partnership with mortal misery,<br />
+The weary watching and the nameless dread,&mdash;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>Let them be mine to make me one with thee.<br />
+<br />
+Thou hast asked, "Why?" and God will answer thee,<br />
+Therefore I ask not, but in peace lie down,<br />
+For the three days of mystery and rest,<br />
+Till comes the resurrection and the crown.<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>III.<br />
+
+<small>SECOND HOUR.</small></h2>
+
+<div class='blockquot'>
+
+<p>"They laid hold upon one Simon a Cyrenian, and on him
+they laid the cross, that he might bear it after Jesus."</p></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+ALONG the dusty thoroughfare of life,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon his daily errands walking free,</span><br />
+Came a brave, honest man, untouched by pain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unchilled by sight or thought of misery.</span><br />
+<br />
+But lo! a crowd:&mdash;he stops,&mdash;with curious eye<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A fainting form all pressed to earth he sees;</span><br />
+The hard, rough burden of the bitter cross<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hath bowed the drooping head and feeble knees.</span><br />
+<br />
+Ho! lay the cross upon yon stranger there,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For he hath breadth of chest and strength of limb.</span><br />
+Straight it is done; and heavy laden thus,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">With Jesus' cross, he turns and follows him.</span><br />
+<br />
+Unmurmuring, patient, cheerful, pitiful,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Prompt with the holy sufferer to endure,</span><br />
+Forsaking all to follow the dear Lord,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thus did he make his glorious calling sure.</span><br />
+<br />
+O soul, whoe'er thou art, walking life's way,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As yet from touch of deadly sorrow free,</span><br />
+Learn from this story to forecast the day<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Jesus and his cross shall come to thee.</span><br />
+<br />
+O, in that fearful, that decisive hour,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rebel not, shrink not, seek not thence to flee,</span><br />
+But, humbly bending, take thy heavy load,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bear it after Jesus patiently.</span><br />
+<br />
+His cross is thine. If thou and he be one,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some portion of his pain must still be thine;</span><br />
+Thus only mayst thou share his glorious crown,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And reign with him in majesty divine.</span><br />
+<br />
+Master in sorrow! I accept my share<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the great anguish of life's mystery.</span><br />
+No more, alone, I sink beneath my load,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But bear my cross, O Jesus, after thee.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>IV.<br />
+
+<small>THIRD HOUR.</small></h2>
+
+<div class='verse'>THE MYSTERY OF LIFE.</div>
+
+<div class='blockquot'>
+
+<p>"Let my heart calm itself in thee. Let the great sea of
+my heart, that swelleth with waves, calm itself in thee."</p>
+
+<div class='sig'>
+<span class="smcap">St. Augustine's Manual.</span><br />
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+LIFE'S mystery&mdash;deep, restless as the ocean&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hath surged and wailed for ages to and fro;</span><br />
+Earth's generations watch its ceaseless motion,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As in and out its hollow moanings flow.</span><br />
+Shivering and yearning by that unknown sea,<br />
+Let my soul calm itself, O Christ, in thee!<br />
+<br />
+Life's sorrows, with inexorable power,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweep desolation o'er this mortal plain;</span><br />
+And human loves and hopes fly as the chaff<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Borne by the whirlwind from the ripened grain.</span><br />
+Ah! when before that blast my hopes all flee,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>Let my soul calm itself, O Christ, in thee!<br />
+<br />
+Between the mysteries of death and life<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou standest, loving, guiding, not explaining;</span><br />
+We ask, and thou art silent; yet we gaze,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And our charmed hearts forget their drear complaining.</span><br />
+No crushing fate, no stony destiny,<br />
+O Lamb that hast been slain, we find in thee!<br />
+<br />
+The many waves of thought, the mighty tides,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The ground-swell that rolls up from other lands,</span><br />
+From far-off worlds, from dim, eternal shores,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose echo dashes on life's wave-worn strands,</span><br />
+This vague, dark tumult of the inner sea<br />
+Grows calm, grows bright, O risen Lord, in thee!<br />
+<br />
+Thy piercéd hand guides the mysterious wheels;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy thorn-crowned brow now wears the crown of power;</span><br />
+<br />
+And when the dread enigma presseth sore,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy patient voice saith, "Watch with me one hour."</span><br />
+As sinks the moaning river in the sea<br />
+In silver peace, so sinks my soul in thee!<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 387px;">
+<img src="images/i077.jpg" width="387" height="507" alt="couple" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>V.<br />
+
+FOURTH HOUR.</h2>
+
+<div class='verse'>THE SORROWS OF MARY.</div>
+
+<div class='verse'><small>DEDICATED TO THE MOTHERS WHO HAVE LOST SONS IN
+THE LATE WAR.</small></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+I SLEPT, but my heart was waking,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And out in my dreams I sped,</span><br />
+Through the streets of an ancient city,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where Jesus, the Lord, lay dead.</span><br />
+<br />
+He was lying all cold and lowly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the sepulchre was sealed,</span><br />
+And the women that bore the spices<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had come from the holy field.</span><br />
+<br />
+There is feasting in Pilate's palace,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is revel in Herod's hall,</span><br />
+Where the lute and the sounding instrument<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To mirth and merriment call.</span><br />
+<br />
+"I have washed my hands," said Pilate,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"And what is the Jew to me?"</span><br />
+"I have missed my chance," said Herod,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"One of his wonders to see.</span><br />
+<br />
+"But why should our courtly circle<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the thought give further place?</span><br />
+All dreams, save of pleasure and beauty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bid the dancers' feet efface."</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></div>
+
+<div class='poem1'>
+<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br />
+<br />
+I saw a light from a casement,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And entered a lowly door,</span><br />
+Where a woman, stricken and mournful,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sat in sackcloth on the floor.</span><br />
+<br />
+There Mary, the mother of Jesus,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And John, the belovéd one,</span><br />
+With a few poor friends beside them,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were mourning for Him that was gone.</span><br />
+<br />
+And before the mother was lying<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That crown of cruel thorn,</span><br />
+Wherewith they crowned that gentle brow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In mockery that morn.</span><br />
+<br />
+And her ears yet ring with the anguish<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of that last dying cry,&mdash;</span><br />
+That mighty appeal of agony<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">That shook both earth and sky.</span><br />
+<br />
+O God, what a shaft of anguish<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was that dying voice from the tree!&mdash;</span><br />
+From Him the only spotless,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Why hast Thou forsaken me?"</span><br />
+<br />
+And was he of God forsaken?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They ask, appalled with dread;</span><br />
+Is evil crowned and triumphant,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And goodness vanquished and dead?</span><br />
+<br />
+Is there, then, no God in Jacob?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is the star of Judah dim?</span><br />
+For who would our God deliver,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If he would not deliver him?</span><br />
+<br />
+If God <i>could</i> not deliver,&mdash;what hope then?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If he <i>would</i> not,&mdash;who ever shall dare</span><br />
+To be firm in his service hereafter?<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">To trust in his wisdom or care?</span><br />
+<br />
+So darkly the Tempter was saying,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hearts that with sorrow were dumb;</span><br />
+And the poor souls were clinging in darkness to God,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With hands that with anguish were numb.</span><br /><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br />
+<br />
+In my dreams came the third day morning,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fairly the day-star shone;</span><br />
+But fairer, the solemn angel,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As he rolled away the stone.</span><br />
+<br />
+In the lowly dwelling of Mary,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the dusky twilight chill,</span><br />
+There was heard the sound of coming feet,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And her very heart grew still.</span><br />
+<br />
+And in the glimmer of dawning,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She saw him enter the door,</span><br />
+Her Son, all living and real,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Risen, to die no more!</span><br />
+<br />
+Her Son, all living and real,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Risen no more to die,&mdash;</span><br />
+With the power of an endless life in his face,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the light of heaven in his eye.</span><br />
+<br />
+O mourning mothers, so many,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Weeping o'er sons that are dead,</span><br />
+Have ye thought of the sorrows of Mary's heart,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the tears that Mary shed?</span><br />
+<br />
+Is the crown of thorns before you?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are there memories of cruel scorn?</span><br />
+Of hunger and thirst and bitter cold<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That your beloved have borne?</span><br />
+<br />
+Had ye ever a son like Jesus<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To give to a death of pain?</span><br />
+Did ever a son so cruelly die,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">But did he die in vain?</span><br />
+<br />
+Have ye ever thought that all the hopes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That make our earth-life fair</span><br />
+Were born in those three bitter days<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Mary's deep despair?</span><br />
+<br />
+O mourning mothers, so many,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Weeping in woe and pain,</span><br />
+Think on the joy of Mary's heart<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a Son that is risen again.</span><br />
+<br />
+Have faith in a third-day morning,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a resurrection-hour;</span><br />
+For what ye sow in weakness,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He can raise again in power.</span><br />
+<br />
+Have faith in the Lord of that thorny crown,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the Lord of the piercéd hand;</span><br />
+For he reigneth now o'er earth and heaven,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his power who may withstand?</span><br />
+<br />
+And the hopes that never on earth shall bloom,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sorrows forever new,</span><br />
+Lay silently down at the feet of Him<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who died and is risen for you.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>VI.<br />
+
+<small>DAY DAWN.</small></h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+THE dim gray dawn, upon the eastern hills,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brings back to light once more the cheerless scene;</span><br />
+But oh! no morning in my Father's house<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is dawning now, for there no night hath been.</span><br />
+<br />
+Ten thousand thousand now, on Zion's hills,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All robed in white, with palmy crowns, do stray,</span><br />
+While I, an exile, far from fatherland,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still wandering, faint along the desert way.</span><br />
+<br />
+O home! dear home! my own, my native home!<br />
+O Father, friends! when shall I look on you?<br />
+When shall these weary wanderings be o'er,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>And I be gathered back to stray no more?<br />
+<br />
+O Thou, the brightness of whose gracious face<br />
+These weary, longing eyes have never seen,&mdash;<br />
+By whose dear thought, for whose belovéd sake,<br />
+My course, through toil and tears, I daily take,&mdash;<br />
+<br />
+I think of thee when the myrrh-dropping morn<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Steps forth upon the purple eastern steep;</span><br />
+I think of thee in the fair eventide,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the bright-sandalled stars their watches keep.</span><br />
+<br />
+And trembling hope, and fainting, sorrowing love,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On thy dear word for comfort doth rely;</span><br />
+And clear-eyed Faith, with strong forereaching gaze,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beholds thee here, unseen, but ever nigh.</span><br />
+<br />
+Walking in white with thee, she dimly sees,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All beautiful, these lovely ones withdrawn,</span><br />
+With whom my heart went upward, as they rose,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like morning stars, to light a coming dawn.</span><br />
+<br />
+All sinless now, and crowned and glorified,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where'er thou movest move they still with thee,</span><br />
+As erst, in sweet communion by thy side,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Walked John and Mary in old Galilee.</span><br />
+<br />
+But hush, my heart! 'T is but a day or two<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Divides thee from that bright, immortal shore.</span><br />
+Rise up! rise up! and gird thee for the race!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fast fly the hours, and all will soon be o'er.</span><br />
+<br />
+Thou hast the new name written in thy soul;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou hast the mystic stone He gives his own.</span><br />
+Thy soul, made one with him, shall feel no more<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That she is walking on her path alone.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>VII.<br />
+
+<small>WHEN I AWAKE I AM STILL WITH THEE.</small></h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+STILL, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the bird waketh and the shadows flee;</span><br />
+Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dawns the sweet consciousness, <i>I am with Thee</i>!</span><br />
+<br />
+Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadows,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The solemn hush of nature newly born;</span><br />
+Alone with Thee in breathless adoration,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.</span><br />
+<br />
+As in the dawning o'er the waveless ocean<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The image of the morning star doth rest,</span><br />
+So in this stillness Thou beholdest only<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thine image in the waters of my breast.</span><br />
+<br />
+Still, still with Thee! as to each new-born morning<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A fresh and solemn splendor still is given,</span><br />
+So doth this blessed consciousness, awaking,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Breathe, each day, nearness unto Thee and heaven.</span><br />
+<br />
+When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its closing eye looks up to Thee in prayer;</span><br />
+Sweet the repose beneath the wings o'ershading,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But sweeter still to wake and find Thee there.</span><br />
+<br />
+So shall it be at last, in that bright morning<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the soul waketh and life's shadows flee;</span><br />
+O, in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall rise the glorious thought, <i>I am with Thee</i>!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a><br /><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a><br /><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p>
+<h2>PRESSED FLOWERS FROM ITALY.</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a><br /><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i094.jpg" width="500" height="731" alt="A DAY IN THE PAMFILI DORIA." />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>A DAY IN THE PAMFILI DORIA.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+THOUGH the hills are cold and snowy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the wind drives chill to-day,</span><br />
+My heart goes back to a spring-time,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far, far in the past away.</span><br />
+<br />
+And I see a quaint old city,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Weary and worn and brown,</span><br />
+Where the spring and the birds are so early,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the sun in such light goes down.</span><br />
+<br />
+I remember that old-times villa,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where our afternoons went by,</span><br />
+Where the suns of March flushed warmly,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And spring was in earth and sky.</span><br />
+<br />
+Out of the mouldering city,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mouldering, old, and gray,</span><br />
+We sped, with a lightsome heart-thrill,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For a sunny, gladsome day,&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+For a revel of fresh spring verdure,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For a race 'mid springing flowers,</span><br />
+For a vision of plashing fountains,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of birds and blossoming bowers.</span><br />
+<br />
+There were violet banks in the shadows,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Violets white and blue;</span><br />
+And a world of bright anemones,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That over the terrace grew,&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+Blue and orange and purple,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rosy and yellow and white,</span><br />
+Rising in rainbow bubbles,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Streaking the lawns with light.</span><br />
+<br />
+And down from the old stone pine-trees,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those far off islands of air,</span><br />
+The birds are flinging the tidings<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of a joyful revel up there.</span><br />
+<br />
+And now for the grand old fountains,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tossing their silvery spray,</span><br />
+Those fountains so quaint and so many,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That are leaping and singing all day.</span><br />
+<br />
+Those fountains of strange weird sculpture,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With lichens and moss o'ergrown,</span><br />
+Are they marble greening in moss-wreaths?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or moss-wreaths whitening to stone?</span><br />
+<br />
+Down many a wild, dim pathway<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We ramble from morning till noon;</span><br />
+We linger, unheeding the hours,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till evening comes all too soon.</span><br />
+<br />
+And from out the ilex alleys,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where lengthening shadows play,</span><br />
+We look on the dreamy Campagna,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All glowing with setting day,&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+All melting in bands of purple,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In swathings and foldings of gold,</span><br />
+In ribands of azure and lilac,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a princely banner unrolled.</span><br />
+<br />
+And the smoke of each distant cottage,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the flash of each villa white,</span><br />
+Shines out with an opal glimmer,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like gems in a casket of light.</span><br />
+<br />
+And the dome of old St. Peter's<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a strange translucence glows,</span><br />
+Like a mighty bubble of amethyst<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Floating in waves of rose.</span><br />
+<br />
+In a trance of dreamy vagueness<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We, gazing and yearning, behold</span><br />
+That city beheld by the prophet,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose walls were transparent gold.</span><br />
+<br />
+And, dropping all solemn and slowly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hallow the softening spell,</span><br />
+There falls on the dying twilight<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Ave Maria bell.</span><br />
+<br />
+With a mournful motherly softness,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a weird and weary care,</span><br />
+That strange and ancient city<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seems calling the nations to prayer.</span><br />
+<br />
+And the words that of old the angel<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the mother of Jesus brought,</span><br />
+Rise like a new evangel,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hallow the trance of our thought.</span><br />
+<br />
+With the smoke of the evening incense,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our thoughts are ascending then</span><br />
+To Mary, the mother of Jesus,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Jesus, the Master of men.</span><br />
+<br />
+O city of prophets and martyrs,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O shrines of the sainted dead,</span><br />
+When, when shall the living day-spring<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Once more on your towers be spread?</span><br />
+<br />
+When He who is meek and lowly<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall rule in those lordly halls,</span><br />
+And shall stand and feed as a shepherd<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The flock which his mercy calls,&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+O, then to those noble churches,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To picture and statue and gem,</span><br />
+To the pageant of solemn worship,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall the <i>meaning</i> come back again.</span><br />
+<br />
+And this strange and ancient city,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In that reign of His truth and love,</span><br />
+Shall <i>be</i> what it <i>seems</i> in the twilight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The type of that City above.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>THE GARDENS OF THE VATICAN.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+SWEET fountains, plashing with a dreamy fall,<br />
+And mosses green, and tremulous veils of fern,<br />
+And banks of blowing cyclamen, and stars,<br />
+Blue as the skies, of myrtle blossoming,<br />
+The twilight shade of ilex overhead<br />
+O'erbubbling with sweet song of nightingale,<br />
+With walks of strange, weird stillness, leading on<br />
+'Mid sculptured fragments half to green moss gone,<br />
+Or breaking forth amid the violet leaves<br />
+With some white gleam of an old world gone by.<br />
+Ah! strange, sweet quiet! wilderness of calm,<br />
+Gardens of dreamy rest, I long to lay<br />
+Beneath your shade the last long sigh, and say,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>Here is my home, my Lord, thy home and mine;<br />
+And I, having searched the world with many a tear,<br />
+At last have found thee and will stray no more.<br />
+But vainly here I seek the Gardener<br />
+That Mary saw. These lovely halls beyond,<br />
+That airy, sky-like dome, that lofty fane,<br />
+Is as a palace whence the king is gone<br />
+And taken all the sweetness with himself.<br />
+Turn again, Jesus, and possess thine own!<br />
+Come to thy temple once more as of old!<br />
+Drive forth the money-changers, let it be<br />
+A house of prayer for nations. Even so,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Amen! Amen!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>ST. PETER'S CHURCH.</h2>
+
+<div class='verse'>HOLY WEEK, APRIL, 1860.</div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+O FAIREST mansion of a Father's love,<br />
+Harmonious! hospitable! with thine arms<br />
+Outspread to all, thy fountains ever full,<br />
+And, fair as heaven, thy misty, sky-like dome<br />
+Hung like the firmament with circling sweep<br />
+Above the constellated golden lamps<br />
+That burn forever round the holy tomb.<br />
+Most meet art thou to be the Father's house,<br />
+The house of prayer for nations. Come the time<br />
+When thou shalt be so! when a liberty,<br />
+Wide as thine arms, high as thy lofty dome,<br />
+Shall be proclaimed, by thy loud singing choirs,<br />
+Like voice of many waters! Then the Lord<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>Shall come into his temple, and make pure<br />
+The sons of Levi; then, as once of old,<br />
+The blind shall see, the lame leap as an hart,<br />
+And to the poor the Gospel shall be preached,<br />
+And Easter's silver-sounding trumpets tell,<br />
+"The Lord is risen indeed," to die no more.<br />
+Hasten it in its time. Amen! Amen!<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>THE MISERERE.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+NOT of the earth that music! all things fade;<br />
+Vanish the pictured walls! and, one by one,<br />
+The starry candles silently expire!<br />
+<br />
+And now, O Jesus! round that silent cross<br />
+A moment's pause, a hush as of the grave.<br />
+Now rises slow a silver mist of sound,<br />
+And all the heavens break out in drops of grief;<br />
+A rain of sobbing sweetness, swelling, dying,<br />
+Voice into voice inweaving with sweet throbs,<br />
+And fluttering pulses of impassioned moan,&mdash;<br />
+Veiled voices, in whose wailing there is awe,<br />
+And mysteries of love and agony,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>A yearning anguish of celestial souls,<br />
+A shiver as of wings trembling the air,<br />
+As if God's shining doves, his spotless birds,<br />
+Wailed with a nightingale's heart-break of grief,<br />
+In this their starless night, when for our sins<br />
+Their sun, their life, their love, hangs darkly there,<br />
+Like a slain lamb, bleeding his life away!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 224px;">
+<img src="images/i107.jpg" width="224" height="262" alt="cross and palm leaves" />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;<br />
+Cambridge: Electrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, &amp; Co.<br />
+</div>
+
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44778 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #44778 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44778)
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Religious Poems, by Harriet Beecher Stowe
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Religious Poems
+
+Author: Harriet Beecher Stowe
+
+Release Date: January 28, 2014 [EBook #44778]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RELIGIOUS POEMS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+RELIGIOUS POEMS.
+
+    BY
+    HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
+
+    _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS._
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    BOSTON:
+    TICKNOR AND FIELDS.
+    1867.
+
+
+
+
+    Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by
+    HARRIET BEECHER STOWE,
+    in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District
+        of Massachusetts.
+
+
+    UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & CO.,
+    CAMBRIDGE.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                                 PAGE
+    ST. CATHERINE BORNE BY ANGELS                   1
+    THE CHARMER                                     6
+    KNOCKING                                       10
+    THE OLD PSALM TUNE                             15
+    THE OTHER WORLD                                19
+    MARY AT THE CROSS                              22
+    THE INNER VOICE                                28
+    ABIDE IN ME, AND I IN YOU                      30
+    THE SECRET                                     32
+    THINK NOT ALL IS OVER                          34
+    LINES TO THE MEMORY OF "ANNIE"                 36
+    THE CROCUS                                     39
+    CONSOLATION                                    41
+    "ONLY A YEAR"                                  44
+    BELOW                                          47
+    ABOVE                                          49
+    LINES ON THE DEATH OF MRS. STUART              53
+    SUMMER STUDIES                                 57
+
+
+HOURS OF THE NIGHT.
+
+      I. MIDNIGHT                                  65
+     II. FIRST HOUR                                68
+    III. SECOND HOUR                               71
+     IV. THIRD HOUR                                74
+     V. FOURTH HOUR                                77
+     VI. DAY DAWN                                  85
+    VII. WHEN I AWAKE I AM STILL WITH THEE         88
+
+
+PRESSED FLOWERS FROM ITALY.
+
+    A DAY IN THE PAMFILI DORIA                     93
+    THE GARDENS OF THE VATICAN                    102
+    ST. PETER'S CHURCH                            104
+    THE MISERERE                                  106
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+ST. CATHERINE BORNE BY ANGELS.[A]
+
+
+    SLOW through the solemn air, in silence sailing,
+      Borne by mysterious angels, strong and fair,
+    She sleeps at last, blest dreams her eyelids veiling,
+      Above this weary world of strife and care.
+
+    Lo how she passeth!--dreamy, slow, and calm:
+      Scarce wave those broad, white wings, so silvery bright;
+    Those cloudy robes, in star-emblazoned folding,
+      Sweep mistily athwart the evening light.
+
+    Far, far below, the dim, forsaken earth,
+      The foes that threaten, or the friends that weep;
+    Past, like a dream, the torture and the pain:
+      For so He giveth his beloved sleep.
+
+    The restless bosom of the surging ocean
+      Gives back the image as the cloud floats o'er,
+    Hushing in glassy awe his troubled motion;
+      For one blest moment he complains no more.
+
+    Like the transparent golden floor of heaven,
+      His charmed waters lie as in a dream,
+    And glistening wings, and starry robes unfolding,
+      And serious angel eyes far downward gleam.
+
+    O restless sea! thou seemest all enchanted
+      By that sweet vision of celestial rest;
+    Where are the winds and tides thy peace that haunted,--
+      So still thou seemest, so glorified and blest!
+
+    Ah, sea! to-morrow, that sweet scene forgotten,
+      Dark tides and tempests shall thy bosom rear;
+    And thy complaining waves, with restless motion,
+      Shall toss their hands in their old wild despair.
+
+    So o'er our hearts sometimes the sweet, sad story
+      Of suffering saints, borne homeward crowned and blest,
+    Shines down in stillness with a tender glory,
+      And makes a mirror there of breathless rest.
+
+    For not alone in those old Eastern regions
+      Are Christ's beloved ones tried by cross and chain;
+    In many a house are his elect ones hidden,
+      His martyrs suffering in their patient pain.
+
+    The rack, the cross, life's weary wrench of woe,
+      The world sees not, as slow, from day to day,
+    In calm, unspoken patience, sadly still,
+      The loving spirit bleeds itself away.
+
+    But there are hours when, from the heavens unfolding,
+      Come down the angels with the glad release;
+    And we look upward, to behold in glory
+      Our suffering loved ones borne away to peace.
+
+    Ah, brief the calm! the restless wave of feeling
+      Rises again when the bright cloud sweeps by,
+    And our unrestful souls reflect no longer
+      That tender vision of the upper sky.
+
+    Espoused Lord of the pure saints in glory,
+      To whom all faithful souls affianced are,
+    Breathe down thy peace into our restless spirits,
+      And make a lasting, heavenly vision there.
+
+    So the bright gates no more on us shall close;
+      No more the cloud of angels fade away;
+    And we shall walk, amid life's weary strife,
+      In the calm light of thine eternal day.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] According to this legend, Catherine was a noble maiden of
+Alexandria, distinguished alike by birth, riches, beauty, and the
+rarest gifts of genius and learning. In the flower of her life she
+consecrated herself to the service of her Redeemer, and cheerfully
+suffered for his sake the loss of wealth, friends, and the esteem of
+the world. Banishment, imprisonment, and torture were in vain tried to
+shake the constancy of her faith; and at last she was bound upon the
+torturing-wheel for a cruel death. But the angels descended, so says
+the story, rent the wheel, and bore her away, through the air, far over
+the sea, to Mount Sinai, where her body was left to repose, and her
+soul ascended with them to heaven.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHARMER.
+
+    "_Socrates._ However, you and Simmias appear to me as
+    if you wished to sift this subject more thoroughly,
+    and to be afraid, like children, lest, on the soul's
+    departure from the body, winds should blow it away.
+
+    "Upon this Cebes said, 'Endeavor to teach us better,
+    Socrates. Perhaps there is a childish spirit in
+    our breast that has such a dread. Let us endeavor
+    to persuade him not to be afraid of death, as of
+    hobgoblins.'
+
+    "'But you must charm him every day,' said Socrates,
+    'until you have quieted his fears.'
+
+    "'But whence, O Socrates,' he said, 'can we procure a
+    skilful charmer for such a case, now you are about to
+    leave us.'
+
+    "'Greece is wide, Cebes,' he said, 'and in it surely
+    there are skilful men; and there are many barbarous
+    nations, all of which you should search, seeking such a
+    charmer, sparing neither money nor toil.'"--Last words
+    of Socrates, as narrated by Plato in the _Phædo_.
+
+
+    WE need that charmer, for our hearts are sore
+      With longings for the things that may not be,
+    Faint for the friends that shall return no more,
+      Dark with distrust, or wrung with agony.
+
+    "What is this life? and what to us is death?
+      Whence came we? whither go? and where are those
+    Who, in a moment stricken from our side,
+      Passed to that land of shadow and repose?
+
+    "And are they all dust? and dust must we become?
+      Or are they living in some unknown clime?
+    Shall we regain them in that far-off home,
+      And live anew beyond the waves of time?
+
+    "O man divine! on thee our souls have hung;
+      Thou wert our teacher in these questions high;
+    But ah! this day divides thee from our side,
+      And veils in dust thy kindly-guiding eye.
+
+    "Where is that Charmer whom thou bidst us seek?
+      On what far shores may his sweet voice be heard?
+    When shall these questions of our yearning souls
+      Be answered by the bright Eternal Word?"
+
+    So spake the youth of Athens, weeping round,
+      When Socrates lay calmly down to die;
+    So spake the sage, prophetic of the hour
+      When earth's fair morning star should rise on high.
+
+    They found Him not, those youths of soul divine,
+      Long seeking, wandering, watching on life's shore;
+    Reasoning, aspiring, yearning for the light,
+      Death came and found them--doubting as before.
+
+    But years passed on; and lo! the Charmer came,
+      Pure, simple, sweet, as comes the silver dew,
+    And the world knew him not,--he walked alone,
+      Encircled only by his trusting few.
+
+    Like the Athenian sage, rejected, scorned,
+      Betrayed, condemned, his day of doom drew nigh;
+    He drew his faithful few more closely round,
+      And told them that his hour was come--to die.
+
+    "Let not your heart be troubled," then He said,
+      "My Father's house hath mansions large and fair;
+    I go before you to prepare your place,
+      I will return to take you with me there."
+
+    And since that hour the awful foe is charmed,
+      And life and death are glorified and fair;
+    Whither He went we know, the way we know,
+      And with firm step press on to meet him there.
+
+
+
+
+KNOCKING.
+
+    "Behold, I stand at the door and knock."
+
+
+    KNOCKING, knocking, ever knocking?
+        Who is there?
+    'Tis a pilgrim, strange and kingly,
+        Never such was seen before;--
+    Ah, sweet soul, for such a wonder
+        Undo the door.
+
+    No,--that door is hard to open;
+    Hinges rusty, latch is broken;
+        Bid Him go.
+    Wherefore, with that knocking dreary
+    Scare the sleep from one so weary?
+        Say Him,--no.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    Knocking, knocking, ever knocking?
+        What! Still there?
+    O, sweet soul, but once behold Him,
+    With the glory-crownéd hair;
+    And those eyes, so strange and tender,
+        Waiting there;
+    Open! Open! Once behold Him,--
+        Him, so fair.
+
+    Ah, that door! Why wilt Thou vex me,
+    Coming ever to perplex me?
+    For the key is stiffly rusty,
+    And the bolt is clogged and dusty;
+    Many-fingered ivy-vine
+    Seals it fast with twist and twine;
+    Weeds of years and years before
+    Choke the passage of that door.
+
+    Knocking! knocking! What! still knocking?
+        He still there?
+    What's the hour? The night is waning,--
+    In my heart a drear complaining,
+        And a chilly, sad unrest!
+    Ah, this knocking! It disturbs me,
+    Scares my sleep with dreams unblest!
+        Give me rest,
+        Rest,--ah, rest!
+
+    Rest, dear soul, He longs to give thee;
+    Thou hast only dreamed of pleasure,
+    Dreamed of gifts and golden treasure,
+    Dreamed of jewels in thy keeping,
+    Waked to weariness of weeping;--
+    Open to thy soul's one Lover,
+    And thy night of dreams is over,--
+    The true gifts He brings have seeming
+    More than all thy faded dreaming!
+
+    Did she open? Doth she? Will she?
+    So, as wondering we behold,
+    Grows the picture to a sign,
+    Pressed upon your soul and mine;
+    For in every breast that liveth
+    Is that strange mysterious door;--
+    Though forsaken and betangled,
+    Ivy-gnarled and weed-bejangled,
+    Dusty, rusty, and forgotten;--
+    There the piercéd hand still knocketh,
+    And with ever-patient watching,
+    With the sad eyes true and tender,
+    With the glory-crownéd hair,--
+    Still a God is waiting there.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD PSALM TUNE.
+
+
+    YOU asked, dear friend, the other day,
+      Why still my charméd ear
+    Rejoiceth in uncultured tone
+      That old psalm tune to hear?
+
+    I've heard full oft, in foreign lands,
+      The grand orchestral strain,
+    Where music's ancient masters live,
+      Revealed on earth again,--
+
+    Where breathing, solemn instruments,
+      In swaying clouds of sound,
+    Bore up the yearning, trancéd soul,
+      Like silver wings around;--
+
+    I've heard in old St. Peter's dome,
+      Where clouds of incense rise,
+    Most ravishing the choral swell
+      Mount upwards to the skies.
+
+    And well I feel the magic power,
+      When skilled and cultured art
+    Its cunning webs of sweetness weaves
+      Around the captured heart.
+
+    But yet, dear friend, though rudely sung,
+      That old psalm tune hath still
+    A pulse of power beyond them all
+      My inmost soul to thrill.
+
+    Those halting tones that sound to you,
+      Are not the tones I hear;
+    But voices of the loved and lost
+      There meet my longing ear.
+
+    I hear my angel mother's voice,--
+      Those were the words she sung;
+    I hear my brother's ringing tones,
+      As once on earth they rung;
+
+    And friends that walk in white above
+      Come round me like a cloud,
+    And far above those earthly notes
+      Their singing sounds aloud.
+
+    There may be discord, as you say;
+      Those voices poorly ring;
+    But there's no discord in the strain
+      Those upper spirits sing.
+
+    For they who sing are of the blest,
+      The calm and glorified,
+    Whose hours are one eternal rest
+      On heaven's sweet floating tide.
+
+    Their life is music and accord;
+      Their souls and hearts keep time
+    In one sweet concert with the Lord,--
+      One concert vast, sublime.
+
+    And through the hymns they sang on earth
+      Sometimes a sweetness falls
+    On those they loved and left below,
+      And softly homeward calls,--
+
+    Bells from our own dear fatherland,
+      Borne trembling o'er the sea,--
+    The narrow sea that they have crossed,
+      The shores where we shall be.
+
+    O sing, sing on, beloved souls!
+      Sing cares and griefs to rest;
+    Sing, till entrancéd we arise
+      To join you 'mong the blest.
+
+
+
+
+THE OTHER WORLD.
+
+
+    IT lies around us like a cloud,
+      A world we do not see;
+    Yet the sweet closing of an eye
+      May bring us there to be.
+
+    Its gentle breezes fan our cheek;
+      Amid our worldly cares,
+    Its gentle voices whisper love,
+      And mingle with our prayers.
+
+    Sweet hearts around us throb and beat,
+      Sweet helping hands are stirred,
+    And palpitates the veil between
+      With breathings almost heard.
+
+    The silence, awful, sweet, and calm,
+      They have no power to break;
+    For mortal words are not for them
+      To utter or partake.
+
+    So thin, so soft, so sweet, they glide,
+      So near to press they seem,
+    They lull us gently to our rest,
+      They melt into our dream.
+
+    And in the hush of rest they bring
+      'Tis easy now to see
+    How lovely and how sweet a pass
+      The hour of death may be;--
+
+    To close the eye, and close the ear,
+      Wrapped in a trance of bliss,
+    And, gently drawn in loving arms,
+      To swoon to that--from this,--
+
+    Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep,
+      Scarce asking where we are,
+    To feel all evil sink away,
+      All sorrow and all care.
+
+    Sweet souls around us! watch us still;
+      Press nearer to our side;
+    Into our thoughts, into our prayers,
+      With gentle helpings glide.
+
+    Let death between us be as naught,
+      A dried and vanished stream;
+    Your joy be the reality,
+      Our suffering life the dream.
+
+
+
+
+MARY AT THE CROSS.
+
+    "Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother."
+
+
+    O WONDROUS mother! since the dawn of time
+      Was ever love, was ever grief, like thine?
+    O highly favored in thy joy's deep flow,
+      And favored, even in this, thy bitterest woe!
+
+    Poor was that home in simple Nazareth
+      Where, fairly growing, like some silent flower,
+    Last of a kingly race, unknown and lowly,
+      O desert lily, passed thy childhood's hour.
+
+    The world knew not the tender, serious maiden,
+      Who through deep loving years so silent grew,
+    Full of high thought and holy aspiration,
+      Which the o'ershadowing God alone might view.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    And then it came, that message from the highest,
+      Such as to woman ne'er before descended,
+    The almighty wings thy prayerful soul o'erspread,
+      And with thy life the Life of worlds was blended.
+
+    What visions then of future glory filled thee,
+      The chosen mother of that King unknown,
+    Mother fulfiller of all prophecy
+      Which, through dim ages, wondering seers had shown!
+
+    Well did thy dark eye kindle, thy deep soul
+      Rise into billows, and thy heart rejoice;
+    Then woke the poet's fire, the prophet's song,
+      Tuned with strange burning words thy timid voice.
+
+    Then, in dark contrast, came the lowly manger,
+      The outcast shed, the tramp of brutal feet;
+    Again behold earth's learned and her lowly,
+      Sages and shepherds, prostrate at thy feet.
+
+    Then to the temple bearing--hark again
+      What strange conflicting tones of prophecy
+    Breathe o'er the child foreshadowing words of joy,
+      High triumph blent with bitter agony!
+
+    O, highly favored thou in many an hour
+      Spent in lone musings with thy wondrous Son,
+    When thou didst gaze into that glorious eye,
+      And hold that mighty hand within thine own.
+
+    Blest through those thirty years, when in thy dwelling
+      He lived a God disguised with unknown power;
+    And thou his sole adorer, his best love,
+      Trusting, revering, waited for his hour.
+
+    Blest in that hour, when called by opening heaven
+      With cloud and voice, and the baptizing flame,
+    Up from the Jordan walked th' acknowledged stranger,
+      And awe-struck crowds grew silent as he came.
+
+    Blessed, when full of grace, with glory crowned,
+      He from both hands almighty favors poured,
+    And, though He had not where to lay his head,
+      Brought to his feet alike the slave and lord.
+
+    Crowds followed; thousands shouted, "Lo, our King!"
+      Fast beat thy heart. Now, now the hour draws nigh:
+    Behold the crown, the throne, the nations bend!
+      Ah, no! fond mother, no! behold him die!
+
+    Now by that cross thou tak'st thy final station,
+      And shar'st the last dark trial of thy Son;
+    Not with weak tears or woman's lamentation,
+      But with high, silent anguish, like his own.
+
+    Hail! highly favored, even in this deep passion;
+      Hail! in this bitter anguish thou art blest,--
+    Blest in the holy power with Him to suffer
+      Those deep death-pangs that lead to higher rest.
+
+    All now is darkness; and in that deep stillness
+      The God-man wrestles with that mighty woe;
+    Hark to that cry, the rock of ages rending,--
+      "'Tis finished!" Mother, all is glory now!
+
+    By sufferings mighty as his mighty soul
+      Hath the Redeemer risen forever blest;
+    And through all ages must his heart-beloved
+      Through the same baptism enter the same rest.
+
+
+
+
+THE INNER VOICE.
+
+    "Come ye yourselves into a desert place and rest
+    awhile; for there were many coming and going, so that
+    they had no time so much as to eat."
+
+
+    'MID the mad whirl of life, its dim confusion,
+      Its jarring discords and poor vanity,
+    Breathing like music over troubled waters,
+      What gentle voice, O Christian, speaks to thee?
+
+    It is a stranger,--not of earth or earthly;
+      By the serene, deep fulness of that eye,--
+    By the calm, pitying smile, the gesture lowly,--
+      It is thy Saviour as he passeth by.
+
+    "Come, come," he saith, "O soul oppressed and weary,
+      Come to the shadows of my desert rest,
+    Come walk with me far from life's babbling discords,
+      And peace shall breathe like music in thy breast.
+
+    "Art thou bewildered by contesting voices,--
+      Sick to thy soul of party noise and strife?
+    Come, leave it all, and seek that solitude
+      Where thou shalt learn of me a purer life.
+
+    "When far behind the world's great tumult dieth,
+      Thou shalt look back and wonder at its roar;
+    But its far voice shall seem to thee a dream,
+      Its power to vex thy holier life be o'er.
+
+    "There shalt thou learn the secret of a power,
+      Mine to bestow, which heals the ills of living;
+    To overcome by love, to live by prayer,
+      To conquer man's worst evils by forgiving."
+
+
+
+
+ABIDE IN ME, AND I IN YOU.
+
+THE SOUL'S ANSWER.
+
+    THAT mystic word of thine, O sovereign Lord,
+      Is all too pure, too high, too deep for me;
+    Weary of striving, and with longing faint,
+      I breathe it back again in _prayer_ to thee.
+
+    Abide in me, I pray, and I in thee;
+      From this good hour, O, leave me nevermore;
+    Then shall the discord cease, the wound be healed,
+      The lifelong bleeding of the soul be o'er.
+
+    Abide in me; o'ershadow by thy love
+      Each half-formed purpose and dark thought of sin;
+    Quench, e'er it rise, each selfish, low desire,
+      And keep my soul as thine, calm and divine.
+
+    As some rare perfume in a vase of clay
+      Pervades it with a fragrance not its own,
+    So, when thou dwellest in a mortal soul,
+      All heaven's own sweetness seems around it thrown.
+
+    Abide in me: there have been moments blest
+      When I have heard thy voice and felt thy power;
+    Then evil lost its grasp, and passion, hushed,
+      Owned the divine enchantment of the hour.
+
+    These were but seasons, beautiful and rare;
+      Abide in me, and they shall ever be.
+    Fulfil at once thy precept and my prayer,--
+      Come, and abide in me, and I in thee.
+
+
+
+
+THE SECRET.
+
+    "Thou shalt keep them in the secret of thy presence
+    from the strife of tongues."
+
+
+    WHEN winds are raging o'er the upper ocean,
+      And billows wild contend with angry roar,
+    'Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotion,
+      That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore.
+
+    Far, far beneath, the noise of tempest dieth,
+      And silver waves chime ever peacefully;
+    And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth,
+      Disturbs the sabbath of that deeper sea.
+
+    So to the soul that knows thy love, O Purest,
+      There is a temple peaceful evermore!
+    And all the babble of life's angry voices
+      Die in hushed stillness at its sacred door.
+
+    Far, far away the noise of passion dieth,
+      And loving thoughts rise ever peacefully;
+    And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth
+     Disturbs that deeper rest, O Lord, in thee.
+
+    O rest of rests! O peace serene, eternal!
+      Thou ever livest and thou changest never;
+    And in the secret of thy presence dwelleth
+      Fulness of joy, forever and forever.
+
+
+
+
+THINK NOT ALL IS OVER.
+
+
+    THINK not, when the wailing winds of autumn
+    Drive the shivering leaflets from the tree,--
+    Think not all is over: spring returneth,
+    Buds and leaves and blossoms thou shalt see.
+
+    Think not, when the earth lies cold and sealed,
+    And the weary birds above her mourn,--
+    Think not all is over: God still liveth,
+    Songs and sunshine shall again return.
+
+    Think not, when thy heart is waste and dreary,
+    When thy cherished hopes lie chill and sere,--
+    Think not all is over: God still loveth,
+    He will wipe away thy every tear.
+
+    Weeping for a night alone endureth,
+    God at last shall bring a morning hour;
+    In the frozen buds of every winter
+    Sleep the blossoms of a future flower.
+
+
+
+
+LINES
+
+TO THE MEMORY OF "ANNIE," WHO DIED AT MILAN, JUNE 6, 1860.
+
+    "Jesus saith unto her, Woman, why weepest thou? whom
+    seekest thou? She, supposing him to be the gardener,
+    saith unto him, Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell
+    me where thou hast laid him."--JOHN xx. 15.
+
+
+    IN the fair gardens of celestial peace
+      Walketh a Gardener in meekness clad;
+    Fair are the flowers that wreathe his dewy locks,
+      And his mysterious eyes are sweet and sad.
+
+    Fair are the silent foldings of his robes,
+      Falling with saintly calmness to his feet;
+    And when he walks, each floweret to his will
+      With living pulse of sweet accord doth beat.
+
+    Every green leaf thrills to its tender heart,
+      In the mild summer radiance of his eye;
+    No fear of storm, or cold, or bitter frost,
+      Shadows the flowerets when their sun is nigh.
+
+    And all our pleasant haunts of earthly love
+      Are nurseries to those gardens of the air;
+    And his far-darting eye, with starry beam,
+      Watcheth the growing of his treasures there.
+
+    We call them ours, o'erwept with selfish tears,
+      O'erwatched with restless longings night and day;
+    Forgetful of the high, mysterious right
+      He holds to bear our cherished plants away.
+
+    But when some sunny spot in those bright fields
+      Needs the fair presence of an added flower,
+    Down sweeps a starry angel in the night:
+      At morn, the rose has vanished from our bower.
+
+    Where stood our tree, our flower, there is a grave!
+      Blank, silent, vacant, but in worlds above,
+    Like a new star outblossomed in the skies,
+      The angels hail an added flower of love.
+
+    Dear friend, no more upon that lonely mound,
+      Strewed with the red and yellow autumn leaf,
+    Drop thou the tear, but raise the fainting eye
+      Beyond the autumn mists of earthly grief.
+
+    Thy garden rose-bud bore, within its breast,
+      Those mysteries of color, warm and bright,
+    That the bleak climate of this lower sphere
+      Could never waken into form and light.
+
+    Yes, the sweet Gardener hath borne her hence,
+      Nor must thou ask to take her thence away;
+    Thou shalt behold her in some coming hour,
+      Full-blossomed in his fields of cloudless day.
+
+
+
+
+THE CROCUS.
+
+
+    BENEATH the sunny autumn sky,
+      With gold leaves dropping round,
+    We sought, my little friend and I,
+      The consecrated ground,
+    Where, calm beneath the holy cross,
+      O'ershadowed by sweet skies,
+    Sleeps tranquilly that youthful form,
+      Those blue unclouded eyes.
+
+    Around the soft, green swelling mound
+      We scooped the earth away,
+    And buried deep the crocus-bulbs
+      Against a coming day.
+    "These roots are dry, and brown, and sere;
+      Why plant them here?" he said,
+    "To leave them, all the winter long,
+      So desolate and dead."
+
+    "Dear child, within each sere dead form
+      There sleeps a living flower,
+    And angel-like it shall arise
+      In spring's returning hour."
+    Ah, deeper down--cold, dark, and chill--
+      We buried our heart's flower,
+    But angel-like shall he arise
+      In spring's immortal hour.
+
+    In blue and yellow from its grave
+      Springs up the crocus fair,
+    And God shall raise those bright blue eyes,
+      Those sunny waves of hair.
+    Not for a fading summer's morn,
+      Not for a fleeting hour,
+    But for an endless age of bliss,
+      Shall rise our heart's dear flower.
+
+
+
+
+CONSOLATION.
+
+WRITTEN AFTER THE SECOND BATTLE OF BULL RUN.
+
+    "And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first
+    heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there
+    was no more sea."
+
+
+    AH, many-voiced and angry! how the waves
+      Beat turbulent with terrible uproar!
+    Is there no rest from tossing,--no repose?
+      Where shall we find a haven and a shore?
+
+    What is secure from the loud-dashing wave?
+      There go our riches, and our hopes fly there;
+    There go the faces of our best beloved,
+      Whelmed in the vortex of its wild despair.
+
+    Whose son is safe? whose brother, and whose home?
+      The dashing spray beats out the household fire;
+    By blackened ashes weep our widowed souls
+      Over the embers of our lost desire.
+
+    By pauses, in the fitful moaning storm,
+      We hear triumphant notes of battle roll.
+    Too soon the triumph sinks in funeral wail;
+      The muffled drum, the death march, shakes the soul!
+
+    Rocks on all sides, and breakers! at the helm
+      Weak human hand and weary human eyes.
+    The shout and clamor of our dreary strife
+      Goes up conflicting to the angry skies.
+
+    But for all this, O timid hearts, be strong;
+      Be of good cheer, for, though the storm must be,
+    _It hath its Master:_ from the depths shall rise
+      New heavens, new earth, where shall be no more sea.
+
+    No sea, no tossing, no unrestful storm!
+      Forever past the anguish and the strife;
+    The poor old weary earth shall bloom again,
+      With the bright foliage of that better life.
+
+    And war, and strife, and hatred, shall be past,
+      And misery be a forgotten dream.
+    The Shepherd God shall lead his peaceful fold
+      By the calm meadows and the quiet stream.
+
+    Be still, be still, and know that he is God;
+      Be calm, be trustful; work, and watch, and pray,
+    Till from the throes of this last anguish rise
+      The light and gladness of that better day.
+
+
+
+
+"ONLY A YEAR."
+
+
+    ONE year ago,--a ringing voice,
+      A clear blue eye,
+    And clustering curls of sunny hair,
+      Too fair to die.
+
+    Only a year,--no voice, no smile,
+      No glance of eye,
+    No clustering curls of golden hair,
+      Fair but to die!
+
+    One year ago,--what loves, what schemes
+      Far into life!
+    What joyous hopes, what high resolves,
+      What generous strife!
+
+    The silent picture on the wall,
+      The burial stone,
+    Of all that beauty, life, and joy
+      Remain alone!
+
+    One year,--one year,--one little year,
+      And so much gone!
+    And yet the even flow of life
+      Moves calmly on.
+
+    The grave grows green, the flowers bloom fair,
+      Above that head;
+    No sorrowing tint of leaf or spray
+      Says he is dead.
+
+    No pause or hush of merry birds,
+      That sing above,
+    Tells us how coldly sleeps below
+      The form we love.
+
+    Where hast thou been this year, beloved?
+      What hast thou seen?
+    What visions fair, what glorious life,
+      Where thou hast been?
+
+    The veil! the veil! so thin, so strong!
+      'Twixt us and thee;
+    The mystic veil! when shall it fall,
+      That we may see?
+
+    Not dead, not sleeping, not even gone,
+      But present still,
+    And waiting for the coming hour
+      Of God's sweet will.
+
+    Lord of the living and the dead,
+      Our Saviour dear!
+    We lay in silence at thy feet
+      This sad, sad year!
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+BELOW.
+
+
+    LOUDLY sweep the winds of autumn
+    O'er that lone, beloved grave,
+    Where we laid those sunny ringlets,
+    When those blue eyes set like stars,
+    Leaving us to outer darkness.
+    O the longing and the aching!
+    O the sere deserted grave!
+
+    Let the grass turn brown upon thee,
+    Brown and withered like our dreams!
+    Let the wind moan through the pine-trees
+    With a dreary, dirge-like whistle,
+    Sweep the dead leaves on its bosom,--
+    Moaning, sobbing through the branches,
+    Where the summer laughed so gayly.
+
+    He is gone, our boy of summer,--
+    Gone the light of his blue eyes,
+    Gone the tender heart and manly,
+    Gone the dreams and the aspirings,--
+    Nothing but the _mound_ remaineth,
+    And the aching in our bosoms,
+    Ever aching, ever throbbing:
+    Who shall bring it unto rest?
+
+
+
+
+ABOVE.
+
+A VISION.
+
+
+    COMING down a golden street
+    I beheld my vanished one,
+    And he moveth on a cloud,
+    And his forehead wears a star;
+    And his blue eyes, deep and holy,
+    Fixed as in a blessed dream,
+    See some mystery of joy,
+    Some unuttered depth of love.
+
+    And his vesture is as blue
+    As the skies of summer are,
+    Falling with a saintly sweep,
+    With a sacred stillness swaying;
+    And he presseth to his bosom
+    Harp of strange and mystic fashion,
+    And his hands, like living pearls,
+    Wander o'er the golden strings.
+
+    And the music that ariseth,
+    Who can utter or divine it?
+    In that strange celestial thrilling,
+    Every memory of sorrow,
+    Every heart-ache, every anguish,
+    Every fear for the to-morrow,
+    Melt away in charméd rest.
+
+    And there be around him many,
+    Bright with robes like evening clouds,--
+    Tender green and clearest amber,
+    Crimson fading into rose,
+    Robes of flames and robes of silver,--
+    And their hues all thrill and tremble
+    With a living light of feeling,
+    Deepening with each heart's pulsation,
+    Till in vivid trance of color
+    That celestial rainbow glows.
+
+    How they float and wreathe and brighten,
+    Bending low their starry brows,
+    Singing with a tender cadence,
+    And their hands, like spotless lilies,
+    Folded on their prayerful breasts.
+    In their singing seem to mingle
+    Tender airs of by-gone days;--
+    Mother-hymnings by the cradle,
+    Mother-moanings by the grave,
+    Songs of human love and sorrow,
+    Songs of endless love and rest;--
+    In the pauses of that music
+    Every throb of sorrow dies.
+
+    O my own, my heart's belovéd,
+    Vainly have I wept above thee?
+    Would I call thee from thy glory
+    To this world's impurity?--
+    Lo! it passeth, it dissolveth,
+    All the vision melts away;
+    But as if a heavenly lily
+    Dropped into my aching breast,
+    With a healing sweetness laden,
+    With a mystic breath of rest,
+    I am charmed into forgetting
+    Autumn winds and dreary grave.
+
+
+
+
+LINES
+
+SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF MRS. PROFESSOR STUART OF ANDOVER, MASS.
+
+
+    HOW quiet, through the hazy autumn air,
+    The elm-boughs wave with many a gold-flecked leaf!
+    How calmly float the dreamy mantled clouds
+    Through these still days of autumn, fair and brief!
+
+    Our Andover stands thoughtful, fair, and calm,
+    Waiting to lay her summer glories by
+    E'er the bright flush shall kindle all her pines,
+    And her woods blaze with autumn's heraldry.
+
+    By the old mossy wall the golden-rod
+    Waves as aforetime, and the purple sprays
+    Of starry asters quiver to the breeze,
+    Rustling all stilly through the forest ways.
+
+    No voice of triumph from those silent skies
+    Breaks on the calm, and speaks of glories near,
+    Nor bright wings flutter, nor fair glistening robes
+    Proclaim that heavenly messengers are here.
+
+    Yet in our midst an angel hath come down,
+    Troubling the waters in a peaceful home;
+    And from that home, of life's long sickness healed,
+    A saint hath risen, where pain no more may come.
+
+    Christ's fair elect one, from a hidden life
+    Of loving deeds and words of gentleness,
+    Hath passed where all are loving and beloved,
+    Beyond all weariness and all distress.
+
+    Calm, like a lamb in shepherd's bosom borne,
+    Quiet and trustful hath she sunk to rest;
+    God breathed in tenderness the sweet "Well done!"
+    That scarce awoke a trance so still and blest.
+
+    Ye who remember the long loving years,
+    The patient mother's hourly martyrdom,
+    The self-renouncing wisdom, the calm trust,
+    Rejoice for her whose day of rest is come!
+
+    Father and mother, now united, stand
+    Waiting for you to bind the household chain;
+    The tent is struck, the home is gone before,
+    And tarries for you on the heavenly plain.
+
+    By every wish repressed and hope resigned,
+    Each cross accepted and each sorrow borne,
+    She dead yet speaketh, she doth beckon you
+    To tread the path her patient feet have worn.
+
+    Each year that world grows richer and more dear
+    With the bright freight washed from life's stormy shore;
+    O goodly clime, how lovely is thy strand,
+    With those dear faces seen on earth no more!
+
+    The veil between this world and that to come
+    Grows tremulous and quivers with their breath;
+    Dimly we hear their voices, see their hands,
+    Inviting us to the release of death.
+
+    O Thou, in whom thy saints above, below,
+    Are one and undivided, grant us grace
+    In patience yet to bear our daily cross,--
+    In patience run our hourly shortening race!
+
+    And while on earth we wear the servant's form,
+    And while life's labors ever toilful be,
+    Breathe in our souls the joyful confidence
+    We are already kings and priests with thee.
+
+
+
+
+SUMMER STUDIES.
+
+
+    WHY shouldst thou study in the month of June
+    In dusky books of Greek and Hebrew lore,
+    When the Great Teacher of all glorious things
+    Passes in hourly light before thy door?
+
+    There is a brighter book unrolling now;
+    Fair are its leaves as is the tree of heaven,
+    All veined and dewed and gemmed with wondrous signs,
+    To which a healing mystic power is given.
+
+    A thousand voices to its study call,
+    From the fair hill-top, from the waterfall,
+    Where the bird singeth, and the yellow bee,
+    And the breeze talketh from the airy tree.
+
+    Now is that glorious resurrection time
+    When all earth's buried beauties have new birth:
+    Behold the yearly miracle complete,--
+    God hath created a new heaven and earth!
+
+    No tree that wants its joyful garments now,
+    No flower but hastes his bravery to don;
+    God bids thee to this marriage feast of joy,
+    Let thy soul put the wedding garment on.
+
+    All fringed with festal gold the barberry stands;
+    The ferns, exultant, clap their new-made wings;
+    The hemlock rustles broideries of fresh green,
+    And thousand bells of pearl the blueberry rings.
+
+    The long, weird fingers of the old white-pines
+    Do beckon thee into the flickering wood,
+    Where moving spots of light show mystic flowers,
+    And wavering music fills the dreamy hours.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    Hast thou no _time_ for all this wondrous show,--
+    No thought to spare? Wilt thou forever be
+    With thy last year's dry flower-stalk and dead leaves,
+    And no new shoot or blossom on thy tree?
+
+    See how the pines push off their last year's leaves.
+    And stretch beyond them with exultant bound:
+    The grass and flowers, with living power, o'ergrow
+    Their last year's remnants on the greening ground.
+
+    Wilt thou, then, all thy wintry feelings keep,
+    The old dead routine of thy book-writ lore,
+    Nor deem that God can teach, by one bright hour,
+    What life hath never taught to thee before?
+
+    See what vast leisure, what unbounded rest,
+    Lie in the bending dome of the blue sky:
+    Ah! breathe that life-born languor from thy breast,
+    And know once more a child's unreasoning joy.
+
+    Cease, cease to _think_, and be content _to be_;
+    Swing safe at anchor in fair Nature's bay;
+    Reason no more, but o'er thy quiet soul
+    Let God's sweet teachings ripple their soft way.
+
+    Soar with the birds, and flutter with the leaf;
+    Dance with the seeded grass in fringy play;
+    Sail with the cloud, wave with the dreaming pine,
+    And float with Nature all the livelong day.
+
+    Call not such hours an idle waste of time,--
+    Land that lies fallow gains a quiet power;
+    It treasures, from the brooding of God's wings,
+    Strength to unfold the future tree and flower.
+
+    And when the summer's glorious show is past,
+    Its miracles no longer charm thy sight,
+    The treasured riches of those thoughtful hours
+    Shall make thy wintry musings warm and bright.
+
+
+
+
+HOURS OF THE NIGHT;
+
+OR,
+
+WATCHES OF SORROW.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+I.
+
+MIDNIGHT.
+
+    "He hath made me to dwell in darkness as those that
+    have been long dead."
+
+
+    ALL dark!--no light, no ray!
+    Sun, moon, and stars, all gone!
+    Dimness of anguish!--utter void!--
+            Crushed, and alone!
+
+    One waste of weary pain,
+    One dull, unmeaning ache,
+    A heart too weary even to throb,
+            Too bruised to break.
+
+    No longer anxious thoughts,
+    No longer hopes and fears,
+    No strife, no effort, no desire,
+              No tears.
+
+    Daylight and leaves and flowers,
+    Summer and song of bird!--
+    All vanished!--dreams forever gone,
+              Unseen, unheard!
+
+    Love, beauty, youth,--all gone!
+    The high, heroic vow,
+    The buoyant hope, the fond desire,--
+              All ashes now!
+
+    The words they speak to me
+    Far off and distant seem,
+    As voices we have known and loved
+              Speak in a dream.
+
+    They bid me to submit;
+    I do,--I cannot strive;
+    I do not question,--I endure,
+          Endure and live.
+
+    I do not struggle more,
+    Nor pray, for prayer is vain;
+    I but lie still the weary hour,
+            And bear my pain.
+
+    A guiding God, a Friend,
+    A Father's gracious cheer,
+    Once seemed my own; but now even faith
+            Lies buried here.
+
+    This darkened, deathly life
+    Is all remains of me,
+    And but one conscious wish,--
+            To cease to be!
+
+
+
+
+II.
+
+FIRST HOUR.
+
+    "There was darkness over all the land from the sixth
+    hour unto the ninth hour.
+
+    "And Jesus cried and said, My God, my God, why hast
+    thou forsaken me?"
+
+
+    THAT cry hath stirred the deadness of my soul;
+    I feel a heart-string throb, as throbs a chord
+    When breaks the master chord of some great harp;
+    My heart responsive answers, "Why?" O Lord.
+
+    O cross of pain! O crown of cruel thorns!
+    O piercing nails! O spotless Sufferer there!
+    Wert _thou_ forsaken in thy deadly strife?
+    Then canst thou pity me in my despair.
+
+    Take my dead heart, O Jesus, down with thee
+    To that still sepulchre where thou didst rest;
+    Lay it in the fair linen's spicy folds,
+    As a dear mother lays her babe to rest.
+
+    I am so worn, so weary, so o'erspent,
+    To lie with thee in that calm trance were sweet;
+    The bitter myrrh of long-remembered pain
+    May work in me new strength to rise again.
+
+    This dark and weary mystery of woe,
+    This hopeless struggle, this most useless strife,--
+    Ah, let it end! I die with thee, my Lord,
+    To all I ever hoped or wished from life.
+
+    I die with thee: thy fellowship of grief,
+    Thy partnership with mortal misery,
+    The weary watching and the nameless dread,--
+    Let them be mine to make me one with thee.
+
+    Thou hast asked, "Why?" and God will answer thee,
+    Therefore I ask not, but in peace lie down,
+    For the three days of mystery and rest,
+    Till comes the resurrection and the crown.
+
+
+
+
+III.
+
+SECOND HOUR.
+
+    "They laid hold upon one Simon a Cyrenian, and on him
+    they laid the cross, that he might bear it after Jesus."
+
+
+    ALONG the dusty thoroughfare of life,
+      Upon his daily errands walking free,
+    Came a brave, honest man, untouched by pain,
+      Unchilled by sight or thought of misery.
+
+    But lo! a crowd:--he stops,--with curious eye
+      A fainting form all pressed to earth he sees;
+    The hard, rough burden of the bitter cross
+      Hath bowed the drooping head and feeble knees.
+
+    Ho! lay the cross upon yon stranger there,
+      For he hath breadth of chest and strength of limb.
+    Straight it is done; and heavy laden thus,
+      With Jesus' cross, he turns and follows him.
+
+    Unmurmuring, patient, cheerful, pitiful,
+      Prompt with the holy sufferer to endure,
+    Forsaking all to follow the dear Lord,--
+      Thus did he make his glorious calling sure.
+
+    O soul, whoe'er thou art, walking life's way,
+      As yet from touch of deadly sorrow free,
+    Learn from this story to forecast the day
+      When Jesus and his cross shall come to thee.
+
+    O, in that fearful, that decisive hour,
+      Rebel not, shrink not, seek not thence to flee,
+    But, humbly bending, take thy heavy load,
+      And bear it after Jesus patiently.
+
+    His cross is thine. If thou and he be one,
+      Some portion of his pain must still be thine;
+    Thus only mayst thou share his glorious crown,
+      And reign with him in majesty divine.
+
+    Master in sorrow! I accept my share
+      In the great anguish of life's mystery.
+    No more, alone, I sink beneath my load,
+      But bear my cross, O Jesus, after thee.
+
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+THIRD HOUR.
+
+THE MYSTERY OF LIFE.
+
+    "Let my heart calm itself in thee. Let the great sea
+    of my heart, that swelleth with waves, calm itself in
+    thee."
+
+    ST. AUGUSTINE'S MANUAL.
+
+
+    LIFE'S mystery--deep, restless as the ocean--
+      Hath surged and wailed for ages to and fro;
+    Earth's generations watch its ceaseless motion,
+      As in and out its hollow moanings flow.
+    Shivering and yearning by that unknown sea,
+    Let my soul calm itself, O Christ, in thee!
+
+    Life's sorrows, with inexorable power,
+      Sweep desolation o'er this mortal plain;
+    And human loves and hopes fly as the chaff
+      Borne by the whirlwind from the ripened grain.
+    Ah! when before that blast my hopes all flee,
+    Let my soul calm itself, O Christ, in thee!
+
+    Between the mysteries of death and life
+      Thou standest, loving, guiding, not explaining;
+    We ask, and thou art silent; yet we gaze,
+      And our charmed hearts forget their drear complaining.
+    No crushing fate, no stony destiny,
+    O Lamb that hast been slain, we find in thee!
+
+    The many waves of thought, the mighty tides,
+      The ground-swell that rolls up from other lands,
+    From far-off worlds, from dim, eternal shores,
+      Whose echo dashes on life's wave-worn strands,
+    This vague, dark tumult of the inner sea
+    Grows calm, grows bright, O risen Lord, in thee!
+
+    Thy piercéd hand guides the mysterious wheels;
+      Thy thorn-crowned brow now wears the crown of power;
+
+    And when the dread enigma presseth sore,
+      Thy patient voice saith, "Watch with me one hour."
+    As sinks the moaning river in the sea
+    In silver peace, so sinks my soul in thee!
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+V.
+
+FOURTH HOUR.
+
+THE SORROWS OF MARY.
+
+DEDICATED TO THE MOTHERS WHO HAVE LOST SONS IN THE LATE WAR.
+
+
+    I SLEPT, but my heart was waking,
+      And out in my dreams I sped,
+    Through the streets of an ancient city,
+      Where Jesus, the Lord, lay dead.
+
+    He was lying all cold and lowly,
+      And the sepulchre was sealed,
+    And the women that bore the spices
+      Had come from the holy field.
+
+    There is feasting in Pilate's palace,
+      There is revel in Herod's hall,
+    Where the lute and the sounding instrument
+      To mirth and merriment call.
+
+    "I have washed my hands," said Pilate,
+      "And what is the Jew to me?"
+    "I have missed my chance," said Herod,
+      "One of his wonders to see.
+
+    "But why should our courtly circle
+      To the thought give further place?
+    All dreams, save of pleasure and beauty,
+      Bid the dancers' feet efface."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    I saw a light from a casement,
+      And entered a lowly door,
+    Where a woman, stricken and mournful,
+      Sat in sackcloth on the floor.
+
+    There Mary, the mother of Jesus,
+      And John, the belovéd one,
+    With a few poor friends beside them,
+      Were mourning for Him that was gone.
+
+    And before the mother was lying
+      That crown of cruel thorn,
+    Wherewith they crowned that gentle brow
+      In mockery that morn.
+
+    And her ears yet ring with the anguish
+      Of that last dying cry,--
+    That mighty appeal of agony
+      That shook both earth and sky.
+
+    O God, what a shaft of anguish
+      Was that dying voice from the tree!--
+    From Him the only spotless,--
+      "Why hast Thou forsaken me?"
+
+    And was he of God forsaken?
+      They ask, appalled with dread;
+    Is evil crowned and triumphant,
+      And goodness vanquished and dead?
+
+    Is there, then, no God in Jacob?
+      Is the star of Judah dim?
+    For who would our God deliver,
+      If he would not deliver him?
+
+    If God _could_ not deliver,--what hope then?
+      If he _would_ not,--who ever shall dare
+    To be firm in his service hereafter?
+      To trust in his wisdom or care?
+
+    So darkly the Tempter was saying,
+      To hearts that with sorrow were dumb;
+    And the poor souls were clinging in darkness to God,
+      With hands that with anguish were numb.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    In my dreams came the third day morning,
+      And fairly the day-star shone;
+    But fairer, the solemn angel,
+      As he rolled away the stone.
+
+    In the lowly dwelling of Mary,
+      In the dusky twilight chill,
+    There was heard the sound of coming feet,
+      And her very heart grew still.
+
+    And in the glimmer of dawning,
+      She saw him enter the door,
+    Her Son, all living and real,
+      Risen, to die no more!
+
+    Her Son, all living and real,
+      Risen no more to die,--
+    With the power of an endless life in his face,
+      With the light of heaven in his eye.
+
+    O mourning mothers, so many,
+      Weeping o'er sons that are dead,
+    Have ye thought of the sorrows of Mary's heart,
+      Of the tears that Mary shed?
+
+    Is the crown of thorns before you?
+      Are there memories of cruel scorn?
+    Of hunger and thirst and bitter cold
+      That your beloved have borne?
+
+    Had ye ever a son like Jesus
+      To give to a death of pain?
+    Did ever a son so cruelly die,
+      But did he die in vain?
+
+    Have ye ever thought that all the hopes
+      That make our earth-life fair
+    Were born in those three bitter days
+      Of Mary's deep despair?
+
+    O mourning mothers, so many,
+      Weeping in woe and pain,
+    Think on the joy of Mary's heart
+      In a Son that is risen again.
+
+    Have faith in a third-day morning,
+      In a resurrection-hour;
+    For what ye sow in weakness,
+      He can raise again in power.
+
+    Have faith in the Lord of that thorny crown,
+      In the Lord of the piercéd hand;
+    For he reigneth now o'er earth and heaven,
+      And his power who may withstand?
+
+    And the hopes that never on earth shall bloom,
+      The sorrows forever new,
+    Lay silently down at the feet of Him
+      Who died and is risen for you.
+
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+DAY DAWN.
+
+
+    THE dim gray dawn, upon the eastern hills,
+      Brings back to light once more the cheerless scene;
+    But oh! no morning in my Father's house
+      Is dawning now, for there no night hath been.
+
+    Ten thousand thousand now, on Zion's hills,
+      All robed in white, with palmy crowns, do stray,
+    While I, an exile, far from fatherland,
+      Still wandering, faint along the desert way.
+
+    O home! dear home! my own, my native home!
+    O Father, friends! when shall I look on you?
+    When shall these weary wanderings be o'er,
+    And I be gathered back to stray no more?
+
+    O Thou, the brightness of whose gracious face
+    These weary, longing eyes have never seen,--
+    By whose dear thought, for whose belovéd sake,
+    My course, through toil and tears, I daily take,--
+
+    I think of thee when the myrrh-dropping morn
+      Steps forth upon the purple eastern steep;
+    I think of thee in the fair eventide,
+      When the bright-sandalled stars their watches keep.
+
+    And trembling hope, and fainting, sorrowing love,
+      On thy dear word for comfort doth rely;
+    And clear-eyed Faith, with strong forereaching gaze,
+      Beholds thee here, unseen, but ever nigh.
+
+    Walking in white with thee, she dimly sees,
+      All beautiful, these lovely ones withdrawn,
+    With whom my heart went upward, as they rose,
+      Like morning stars, to light a coming dawn.
+
+    All sinless now, and crowned and glorified,
+      Where'er thou movest move they still with thee,
+    As erst, in sweet communion by thy side,
+      Walked John and Mary in old Galilee.
+
+    But hush, my heart! 'T is but a day or two
+      Divides thee from that bright, immortal shore.
+    Rise up! rise up! and gird thee for the race!
+      Fast fly the hours, and all will soon be o'er.
+
+    Thou hast the new name written in thy soul;
+      Thou hast the mystic stone He gives his own.
+    Thy soul, made one with him, shall feel no more
+      That she is walking on her path alone.
+
+
+
+
+VII.
+
+WHEN I AWAKE I AM STILL WITH THEE.
+
+
+    STILL, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh,
+      When the bird waketh and the shadows flee;
+    Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight,
+      Dawns the sweet consciousness, _I am with Thee_!
+
+    Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadows,
+      The solemn hush of nature newly born;
+    Alone with Thee in breathless adoration,
+      In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.
+
+    As in the dawning o'er the waveless ocean
+      The image of the morning star doth rest,
+    So in this stillness Thou beholdest only
+      Thine image in the waters of my breast.
+
+    Still, still with Thee! as to each new-born morning
+      A fresh and solemn splendor still is given,
+    So doth this blessed consciousness, awaking,
+      Breathe, each day, nearness unto Thee and heaven.
+
+    When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,
+      Its closing eye looks up to Thee in prayer;
+    Sweet the repose beneath the wings o'ershading,
+      But sweeter still to wake and find Thee there.
+
+    So shall it be at last, in that bright morning
+      When the soul waketh and life's shadows flee;
+    O, in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning,
+      Shall rise the glorious thought, _I am with Thee_!
+
+
+
+
+PRESSED FLOWERS FROM ITALY.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: A DAY IN THE PAMFILI DORIA.]
+
+
+
+
+A DAY IN THE PAMFILI DORIA.
+
+
+    THOUGH the hills are cold and snowy,
+      And the wind drives chill to-day,
+    My heart goes back to a spring-time,
+      Far, far in the past away.
+
+    And I see a quaint old city,
+      Weary and worn and brown,
+    Where the spring and the birds are so early,
+      And the sun in such light goes down.
+
+    I remember that old-times villa,
+      Where our afternoons went by,
+    Where the suns of March flushed warmly,
+      And spring was in earth and sky.
+
+    Out of the mouldering city,
+      Mouldering, old, and gray,
+    We sped, with a lightsome heart-thrill,
+      For a sunny, gladsome day,--
+
+    For a revel of fresh spring verdure,
+      For a race 'mid springing flowers,
+    For a vision of plashing fountains,
+      Of birds and blossoming bowers.
+
+    There were violet banks in the shadows,
+      Violets white and blue;
+    And a world of bright anemones,
+      That over the terrace grew,--
+
+    Blue and orange and purple,
+      Rosy and yellow and white,
+    Rising in rainbow bubbles,
+      Streaking the lawns with light.
+
+    And down from the old stone pine-trees,
+      Those far off islands of air,
+    The birds are flinging the tidings
+      Of a joyful revel up there.
+
+    And now for the grand old fountains,
+      Tossing their silvery spray,
+    Those fountains so quaint and so many,
+      That are leaping and singing all day.
+
+    Those fountains of strange weird sculpture,
+      With lichens and moss o'ergrown,
+    Are they marble greening in moss-wreaths?
+      Or moss-wreaths whitening to stone?
+
+    Down many a wild, dim pathway
+      We ramble from morning till noon;
+    We linger, unheeding the hours,
+      Till evening comes all too soon.
+
+    And from out the ilex alleys,
+      Where lengthening shadows play,
+    We look on the dreamy Campagna,
+      All glowing with setting day,--
+
+    All melting in bands of purple,
+      In swathings and foldings of gold,
+    In ribands of azure and lilac,
+      Like a princely banner unrolled.
+
+    And the smoke of each distant cottage,
+      And the flash of each villa white,
+    Shines out with an opal glimmer,
+      Like gems in a casket of light.
+
+    And the dome of old St. Peter's
+      With a strange translucence glows,
+    Like a mighty bubble of amethyst
+      Floating in waves of rose.
+
+    In a trance of dreamy vagueness
+      We, gazing and yearning, behold
+    That city beheld by the prophet,
+      Whose walls were transparent gold.
+
+    And, dropping all solemn and slowly,
+      To hallow the softening spell,
+    There falls on the dying twilight
+      The Ave Maria bell.
+
+    With a mournful motherly softness,
+      With a weird and weary care,
+    That strange and ancient city
+      Seems calling the nations to prayer.
+
+    And the words that of old the angel
+      To the mother of Jesus brought,
+    Rise like a new evangel,
+      To hallow the trance of our thought.
+
+    With the smoke of the evening incense,
+      Our thoughts are ascending then
+    To Mary, the mother of Jesus,
+      To Jesus, the Master of men.
+
+    O city of prophets and martyrs,
+      O shrines of the sainted dead,
+    When, when shall the living day-spring
+      Once more on your towers be spread?
+
+    When He who is meek and lowly
+      Shall rule in those lordly halls,
+    And shall stand and feed as a shepherd
+      The flock which his mercy calls,--
+
+    O, then to those noble churches,
+      To picture and statue and gem,
+    To the pageant of solemn worship,
+      Shall the _meaning_ come back again.
+
+    And this strange and ancient city,
+      In that reign of His truth and love,
+    Shall _be_ what it _seems_ in the twilight,
+      The type of that City above.
+
+
+
+
+THE GARDENS OF THE VATICAN.
+
+
+    SWEET fountains, plashing with a dreamy fall,
+    And mosses green, and tremulous veils of fern,
+    And banks of blowing cyclamen, and stars,
+    Blue as the skies, of myrtle blossoming,
+    The twilight shade of ilex overhead
+    O'erbubbling with sweet song of nightingale,
+    With walks of strange, weird stillness, leading on
+    'Mid sculptured fragments half to green moss gone,
+    Or breaking forth amid the violet leaves
+    With some white gleam of an old world gone by.
+    Ah! strange, sweet quiet! wilderness of calm,
+    Gardens of dreamy rest, I long to lay
+    Beneath your shade the last long sigh, and say,
+    Here is my home, my Lord, thy home and mine;
+    And I, having searched the world with many a tear,
+    At last have found thee and will stray no more.
+    But vainly here I seek the Gardener
+    That Mary saw. These lovely halls beyond,
+    That airy, sky-like dome, that lofty fane,
+    Is as a palace whence the king is gone
+    And taken all the sweetness with himself.
+    Turn again, Jesus, and possess thine own!
+    Come to thy temple once more as of old!
+    Drive forth the money-changers, let it be
+    A house of prayer for nations. Even so,
+                          Amen! Amen!
+
+
+
+
+ST. PETER'S CHURCH.
+
+HOLY WEEK, APRIL, 1860.
+
+
+    O FAIREST mansion of a Father's love,
+    Harmonious! hospitable! with thine arms
+    Outspread to all, thy fountains ever full,
+    And, fair as heaven, thy misty, sky-like dome
+    Hung like the firmament with circling sweep
+    Above the constellated golden lamps
+    That burn forever round the holy tomb.
+    Most meet art thou to be the Father's house,
+    The house of prayer for nations. Come the time
+    When thou shalt be so! when a liberty,
+    Wide as thine arms, high as thy lofty dome,
+    Shall be proclaimed, by thy loud singing choirs,
+    Like voice of many waters! Then the Lord
+    Shall come into his temple, and make pure
+    The sons of Levi; then, as once of old,
+    The blind shall see, the lame leap as an hart,
+    And to the poor the Gospel shall be preached,
+    And Easter's silver-sounding trumpets tell,
+    "The Lord is risen indeed," to die no more.
+    Hasten it in its time. Amen! Amen!
+
+
+
+
+THE MISERERE.
+
+
+    NOT of the earth that music! all things fade;
+    Vanish the pictured walls! and, one by one,
+    The starry candles silently expire!
+
+    And now, O Jesus! round that silent cross
+    A moment's pause, a hush as of the grave.
+    Now rises slow a silver mist of sound,
+    And all the heavens break out in drops of grief;
+    A rain of sobbing sweetness, swelling, dying,
+    Voice into voice inweaving with sweet throbs,
+    And fluttering pulses of impassioned moan,--
+    Veiled voices, in whose wailing there is awe,
+    And mysteries of love and agony,
+    A yearning anguish of celestial souls,
+    A shiver as of wings trembling the air,
+    As if God's shining doves, his spotless birds,
+    Wailed with a nightingale's heart-break of grief,
+    In this their starless night, when for our sins
+    Their sun, their life, their love, hangs darkly there,
+    Like a slain lamb, bleeding his life away!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+    Cambridge: Electrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Religious Poems, by Harriet Beecher Stowe
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Religious Poems, by Harriet Beecher Stowe
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Religious Poems
+
+Author: Harriet Beecher Stowe
+
+Release Date: January 28, 2014 [EBook #44778]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RELIGIOUS POEMS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 469px;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="469" height="800" alt="Cover" />
+</div>
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h1>RELIGIOUS POEMS.</h1>
+
+<div class='center'>
+<small>BY</small><br />
+HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.<br />
+<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
+<i>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.</i><br /><br /><br />
+</div>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="400" height="269" alt="house" />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br />
+<br /><br /><br /><br />
+BOSTON:<br />
+TICKNOR AND FIELDS.<br />
+1867.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<div class='copyright'>
+Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by<br />
+HARRIET BEECHER STOWE,<br />
+in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">University Press: Welch, Bigelow, &amp; Co.,<br />
+Cambridge.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>CONTENTS.</h2>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents">
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'>&nbsp;</td>
+
+<td align="right"><span class="smcap">Page</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">St. Catherine borne by Angels</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">The Charmer</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_6">6</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Knocking</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">The Old Psalm Tune</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">The Other World</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Mary at the Cross</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">The Inner Voice</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Abide in me, and I in you</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">The Secret</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Think not all is over</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Lines to the Memory of "Annie"</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">The Crocus</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Consolation</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'>"<span class="smcap">Only a Year</span>"</td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Below</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Above</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Lines on the Death of Mrs. Stuart</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Summer Studies</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_57">57</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><br /><span class="smcap">Hours of the Night.</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="right">I.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Midnight</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="right">II.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">First Hour</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="right">III.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Second Hour</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="right">IV.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Third Hour</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="right">V.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Fourth Hour</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="right">VI.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Day Dawn</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="right">VII.</td>
+<td align="left"><span class="smcap">When I awake I am still with Thee</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'><br /><span class="smcap">Pressed Flowers from Italy.</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">A Day in the Pamfili Doria</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">The Gardens of the Vatican</span></td>
+
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">St. Peter's Church</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr><td align="left" colspan='2'>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">The Miserere</span></td>
+<td align='right'><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td>
+</tr>
+</table></div>
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/i001.jpg" width="600" height="406" alt="angel in flight with sword other angles in flight" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<h2>ST. CATHERINE BORNE BY ANGELS.<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a></h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+SLOW through the solemn air, in silence sailing,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Borne by mysterious angels, strong and fair,</span><br />
+She sleeps at last, blest dreams her eyelids veiling,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Above this weary world of strife and care.</span><br />
+<br />
+Lo how she passeth!&mdash;dreamy, slow, and calm:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scarce wave those broad, white wings, so silvery bright;</span><br />
+Those cloudy robes, in star-emblazoned folding,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweep mistily athwart the evening light.</span><br />
+<br />
+Far, far below, the dim, forsaken earth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The foes that threaten, or the friends that weep;</span><br />
+Past, like a dream, the torture and the pain:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For so He giveth his beloved sleep.</span><br />
+<br />
+The restless bosom of the surging ocean<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gives back the image as the cloud floats o'er,</span><br />
+Hushing in glassy awe his troubled motion;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">For one blest moment he complains no more.</span><br />
+<br />
+Like the transparent golden floor of heaven,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His charmed waters lie as in a dream,</span><br />
+And glistening wings, and starry robes unfolding,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And serious angel eyes far downward gleam.</span><br />
+<br />
+O restless sea! thou seemest all enchanted<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By that sweet vision of celestial rest;</span><br />
+Where are the winds and tides thy peace that haunted,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So still thou seemest, so glorified and blest!</span><br />
+<br />
+Ah, sea! to-morrow, that sweet scene forgotten,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dark tides and tempests shall thy bosom rear;</span><br />
+And thy complaining waves, with restless motion,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall toss their hands in their old wild despair.</span><br />
+<br />
+So o'er our hearts sometimes the sweet, sad story<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of suffering saints, borne homeward crowned and blest,</span><br />
+Shines down in stillness with a tender glory,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And makes a mirror there of breathless rest.</span><br />
+<br />
+For not alone in those old Eastern regions<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are Christ's beloved ones tried by cross and chain;</span><br />
+In many a house are his elect ones hidden,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His martyrs suffering in their patient pain.</span><br />
+<br />
+The rack, the cross, life's weary wrench of woe,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The world sees not, as slow, from day to day,</span><br />
+In calm, unspoken patience, sadly still,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The loving spirit bleeds itself away.</span><br />
+<br />
+But there are hours when, from the heavens unfolding,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come down the angels with the glad release;</span><br />
+And we look upward, to behold in glory<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our suffering loved ones borne away to peace.</span><br />
+<br />
+Ah, brief the calm! the restless wave of feeling<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rises again when the bright cloud sweeps by,</span><br />
+And our unrestful souls reflect no longer<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">That tender vision of the upper sky.</span><br />
+<br />
+Espoused Lord of the pure saints in glory,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To whom all faithful souls affianced are,</span><br />
+Breathe down thy peace into our restless spirits,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And make a lasting, heavenly vision there.</span><br />
+<br />
+So the bright gates no more on us shall close;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No more the cloud of angels fade away;</span><br />
+And we shall walk, amid life's weary strife,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the calm light of thine eternal day.</span><br /><br /><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1">[A]</a> According to this legend, Catherine was a noble maiden
+of Alexandria, distinguished alike by birth, riches, beauty, and
+the rarest gifts of genius and learning. In the flower of her
+life she consecrated herself to the service of her Redeemer,
+and cheerfully suffered for his sake the loss of wealth, friends,
+and the esteem of the world. Banishment, imprisonment,
+and torture were in vain tried to shake the constancy of her
+faith; and at last she was bound upon the torturing-wheel for
+a cruel death. But the angels descended, so says the story,
+rent the wheel, and bore her away, through the air, far over
+the sea, to Mount Sinai, where her body was left to repose,
+and her soul ascended with them to heaven.</p></div></div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>THE CHARMER.</h2>
+
+<div class='blockquot'>
+
+<p>"<i>Socrates.</i> However, you and Simmias appear to me as if
+you wished to sift this subject more thoroughly, and to be
+afraid, like children, lest, on the soul's departure from the
+body, winds should blow it away.</p>
+
+<p>"Upon this Cebes said, 'Endeavor to teach us better, Socrates.
+Perhaps there is a childish spirit in our breast that
+has such a dread. Let us endeavor to persuade him not to
+be afraid of death, as of hobgoblins.'</p>
+
+<p>"'But you must charm him every day,' said Socrates, 'until
+you have quieted his fears.'</p>
+
+<p>"'But whence, O Socrates,' he said, 'can we procure a skilful
+charmer for such a case, now you are about to leave us.'</p>
+
+<p>"'Greece is wide, Cebes,' he said, 'and in it surely there
+are skilful men; and there are many barbarous nations, all of
+which you should search, seeking such a charmer, sparing
+neither money nor toil.'"&mdash;Last words of Socrates, as narrated
+by Plato in the <i>Phædo</i>.</p></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+WE need that charmer, for our hearts are sore<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With longings for the things that may not be,</span><br />
+Faint for the friends that shall return no more,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dark with distrust, or wrung with agony.</span><br />
+<br />
+"What is this life? and what to us is death?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whence came we? whither go? and where are those</span><br />
+Who, in a moment stricken from our side,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Passed to that land of shadow and repose?</span><br />
+<br />
+"And are they all dust? and dust must we become?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or are they living in some unknown clime?</span><br />
+Shall we regain them in that far-off home,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And live anew beyond the waves of time?</span><br />
+<br />
+"O man divine! on thee our souls have hung;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou wert our teacher in these questions high;</span><br />
+But ah! this day divides thee from our side,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And veils in dust thy kindly-guiding eye.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Where is that Charmer whom thou bidst us seek?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On what far shores may his sweet voice be heard?</span><br />
+When shall these questions of our yearning souls<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be answered by the bright Eternal Word?"</span><br />
+<br />
+So spake the youth of Athens, weeping round,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Socrates lay calmly down to die;</span><br />
+So spake the sage, prophetic of the hour<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When earth's fair morning star should rise on high.</span><br />
+<br />
+They found Him not, those youths of soul divine,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Long seeking, wandering, watching on life's shore;</span><br />
+Reasoning, aspiring, yearning for the light,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Death came and found them&mdash;doubting as before.</span><br />
+<br />
+But years passed on; and lo! the Charmer came,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pure, simple, sweet, as comes the silver dew,</span><br />
+And the world knew him not,&mdash;he walked alone,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Encircled only by his trusting few.</span><br />
+<br />
+Like the Athenian sage, rejected, scorned,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Betrayed, condemned, his day of doom drew nigh;</span><br />
+He drew his faithful few more closely round,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And told them that his hour was come&mdash;to die.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Let not your heart be troubled," then He said,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"My Father's house hath mansions large and fair;</span><br />
+I go before you to prepare your place,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I will return to take you with me there."</span><br />
+<br />
+And since that hour the awful foe is charmed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And life and death are glorified and fair;</span><br />
+Whither He went we know, the way we know,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And with firm step press on to meet him there.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>KNOCKING.</h2>
+
+<div class='verse'>"Behold, I stand at the door and knock."<br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+KNOCKING, knocking, ever knocking?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who is there?</span><br />
+'Tis a pilgrim, strange and kingly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Never such was seen before;&mdash;</span><br />
+Ah, sweet soul, for such a wonder<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Undo the door.</span><br />
+<br />
+No,&mdash;that door is hard to open;<br />
+Hinges rusty, latch is broken;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bid Him go.</span><br />
+Wherefore, with that knocking dreary<br />
+Scare the sleep from one so weary?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Say Him,&mdash;no.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 212px;">
+<img src="images/i011.jpg" width="212" height="400" alt="Jesus standing at the door knocking" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem1'>
+Knocking, knocking, ever knocking?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What! Still there?</span><br />
+O, sweet soul, but once behold Him,<br />
+With the glory-crownéd hair;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>And those eyes, so strange and tender,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Waiting there;</span><br />
+Open! Open! Once behold Him,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Him, so fair.</span><br />
+<br />
+Ah, that door! Why wilt Thou vex me,<br />
+Coming ever to perplex me?<br />
+For the key is stiffly rusty,<br />
+And the bolt is clogged and dusty;<br />
+Many-fingered ivy-vine<br />
+Seals it fast with twist and twine;<br />
+Weeds of years and years before<br />
+Choke the passage of that door.<br />
+<br />
+Knocking! knocking! What! still knocking?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He still there?</span><br />
+What's the hour? The night is waning,&mdash;<br />
+In my heart a drear complaining,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And a chilly, sad unrest!</span><br />
+Ah, this knocking! It disturbs me,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>Scares my sleep with dreams unblest!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Give me rest,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Rest,&mdash;ah, rest!</span><br />
+<br />
+Rest, dear soul, He longs to give thee;<br />
+Thou hast only dreamed of pleasure,<br />
+Dreamed of gifts and golden treasure,<br />
+Dreamed of jewels in thy keeping,<br />
+Waked to weariness of weeping;&mdash;<br />
+Open to thy soul's one Lover,<br />
+And thy night of dreams is over,&mdash;<br />
+The true gifts He brings have seeming<br />
+More than all thy faded dreaming!<br />
+<br />
+Did she open? Doth she? Will she?<br />
+So, as wondering we behold,<br />
+Grows the picture to a sign,<br />
+Pressed upon your soul and mine;<br />
+For in every breast that liveth<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>Is that strange mysterious door;&mdash;<br />
+Though forsaken and betangled,<br />
+Ivy-gnarled and weed-bejangled,<br />
+Dusty, rusty, and forgotten;&mdash;<br />
+There the piercéd hand still knocketh,<br />
+And with ever-patient watching,<br />
+With the sad eyes true and tender,<br />
+With the glory-crownéd hair,&mdash;<br />
+Still a God is waiting there.<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>THE OLD PSALM TUNE.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+YOU asked, dear friend, the other day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why still my charméd ear</span><br />
+Rejoiceth in uncultured tone<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That old psalm tune to hear?</span><br />
+<br />
+I've heard full oft, in foreign lands,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The grand orchestral strain,</span><br />
+Where music's ancient masters live,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Revealed on earth again,&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+Where breathing, solemn instruments,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In swaying clouds of sound,</span><br />
+Bore up the yearning, trancéd soul,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like silver wings around;&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+I've heard in old St. Peter's dome,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where clouds of incense rise,</span><br />
+Most ravishing the choral swell<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mount upwards to the skies.</span><br />
+<br />
+And well I feel the magic power,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When skilled and cultured art</span><br />
+Its cunning webs of sweetness weaves<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Around the captured heart.</span><br />
+<br />
+But yet, dear friend, though rudely sung,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That old psalm tune hath still</span><br />
+A pulse of power beyond them all<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My inmost soul to thrill.</span><br />
+<br />
+Those halting tones that sound to you,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are not the tones I hear;</span><br />
+But voices of the loved and lost<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">There meet my longing ear.</span><br />
+<br />
+I hear my angel mother's voice,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those were the words she sung;</span><br />
+I hear my brother's ringing tones,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As once on earth they rung;</span><br />
+<br />
+And friends that walk in white above<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come round me like a cloud,</span><br />
+And far above those earthly notes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their singing sounds aloud.</span><br />
+<br />
+There may be discord, as you say;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those voices poorly ring;</span><br />
+But there's no discord in the strain<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those upper spirits sing.</span><br />
+<br />
+For they who sing are of the blest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The calm and glorified,</span><br />
+Whose hours are one eternal rest<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">On heaven's sweet floating tide.</span><br />
+<br />
+Their life is music and accord;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their souls and hearts keep time</span><br />
+In one sweet concert with the Lord,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One concert vast, sublime.</span><br />
+<br />
+And through the hymns they sang on earth<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sometimes a sweetness falls</span><br />
+On those they loved and left below,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And softly homeward calls,&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+Bells from our own dear fatherland,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Borne trembling o'er the sea,&mdash;</span><br />
+The narrow sea that they have crossed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The shores where we shall be.</span><br />
+<br />
+O sing, sing on, beloved souls!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sing cares and griefs to rest;</span><br />
+Sing, till entrancéd we arise<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To join you 'mong the blest.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>THE OTHER WORLD.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+IT lies around us like a cloud,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A world we do not see;</span><br />
+Yet the sweet closing of an eye<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May bring us there to be.</span><br />
+<br />
+Its gentle breezes fan our cheek;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Amid our worldly cares,</span><br />
+Its gentle voices whisper love,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And mingle with our prayers.</span><br />
+<br />
+Sweet hearts around us throb and beat,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweet helping hands are stirred,</span><br />
+And palpitates the veil between<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">With breathings almost heard.</span><br />
+<br />
+The silence, awful, sweet, and calm,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They have no power to break;</span><br />
+For mortal words are not for them<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To utter or partake.</span><br />
+<br />
+So thin, so soft, so sweet, they glide,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So near to press they seem,</span><br />
+They lull us gently to our rest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They melt into our dream.</span><br />
+<br />
+And in the hush of rest they bring<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis easy now to see</span><br />
+How lovely and how sweet a pass<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The hour of death may be;&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+To close the eye, and close the ear,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wrapped in a trance of bliss,</span><br />
+And, gently drawn in loving arms,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">To swoon to that&mdash;from this,&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scarce asking where we are,</span><br />
+To feel all evil sink away,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All sorrow and all care.</span><br />
+<br />
+Sweet souls around us! watch us still;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Press nearer to our side;</span><br />
+Into our thoughts, into our prayers,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With gentle helpings glide.</span><br />
+<br />
+Let death between us be as naught,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A dried and vanished stream;</span><br />
+Your joy be the reality,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our suffering life the dream.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>MARY AT THE CROSS.</h2>
+
+<div class='verse'>"Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother."<br /></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+O WONDROUS mother! since the dawn of time<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was ever love, was ever grief, like thine?</span><br />
+O highly favored in thy joy's deep flow,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And favored, even in this, thy bitterest woe!</span><br />
+<br />
+Poor was that home in simple Nazareth<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where, fairly growing, like some silent flower,</span><br />
+Last of a kingly race, unknown and lowly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O desert lily, passed thy childhood's hour.</span><br />
+<br />
+The world knew not the tender, serious maiden,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who through deep loving years so silent grew,</span><br />
+Full of high thought and holy aspiration,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which the o'ershadowing God alone might view.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;">
+<img src="images/i023.jpg" width="250" height="400" alt="Mary and Baby Jesus under a crown" />
+</div>
+
+<div class='poem1'>
+And then it came, that message from the highest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Such as to woman ne'er before descended,</span><br />
+The almighty wings thy prayerful soul o'erspread,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And with thy life the Life of worlds was blended.</span><br />
+<br />
+What visions then of future glory filled thee,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The chosen mother of that King unknown,</span><br />
+Mother fulfiller of all prophecy<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which, through dim ages, wondering seers had shown!</span><br />
+<br />
+Well did thy dark eye kindle, thy deep soul<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rise into billows, and thy heart rejoice;</span><br />
+Then woke the poet's fire, the prophet's song,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tuned with strange burning words thy timid voice.</span><br />
+<br />
+Then, in dark contrast, came the lowly manger,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The outcast shed, the tramp of brutal feet;</span><br />
+Again behold earth's learned and her lowly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sages and shepherds, prostrate at thy feet.</span><br />
+<br />
+Then to the temple bearing&mdash;hark again<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What strange conflicting tones of prophecy</span><br />
+Breathe o'er the child foreshadowing words of joy,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">High triumph blent with bitter agony!</span><br />
+<br />
+O, highly favored thou in many an hour<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spent in lone musings with thy wondrous Son,</span><br />
+When thou didst gaze into that glorious eye,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hold that mighty hand within thine own.</span><br />
+<br />
+Blest through those thirty years, when in thy dwelling<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He lived a God disguised with unknown power;</span><br />
+And thou his sole adorer, his best love,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trusting, revering, waited for his hour.</span><br />
+<br />
+Blest in that hour, when called by opening heaven<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With cloud and voice, and the baptizing flame,</span><br />
+Up from the Jordan walked th' acknowledged stranger,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And awe-struck crowds grew silent as he came.</span><br />
+<br />
+Blessed, when full of grace, with glory crowned,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">He from both hands almighty favors poured,</span><br />
+And, though He had not where to lay his head,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brought to his feet alike the slave and lord.</span><br />
+<br />
+Crowds followed; thousands shouted, "Lo, our King!"<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fast beat thy heart. Now, now the hour draws nigh:</span><br />
+Behold the crown, the throne, the nations bend!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ah, no! fond mother, no! behold him die!</span><br />
+<br />
+Now by that cross thou tak'st thy final station,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shar'st the last dark trial of thy Son;</span><br />
+Not with weak tears or woman's lamentation,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But with high, silent anguish, like his own.</span><br />
+<br />
+Hail! highly favored, even in this deep passion;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hail! in this bitter anguish thou art blest,&mdash;</span><br />
+Blest in the holy power with Him to suffer<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those deep death-pangs that lead to higher rest.</span><br />
+<br />
+All now is darkness; and in that deep stillness<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The God-man wrestles with that mighty woe;</span><br />
+Hark to that cry, the rock of ages rending,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"'Tis finished!" Mother, all is glory now!</span><br />
+<br />
+By sufferings mighty as his mighty soul<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hath the Redeemer risen forever blest;</span><br />
+And through all ages must his heart-beloved<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the same baptism enter the same rest.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>THE INNER VOICE.</h2>
+
+<div class='blockquot'>
+
+<p>"Come ye yourselves into a desert place and rest awhile;
+for there were many coming and going, so that they had no
+time so much as to eat."</p></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+'MID the mad whirl of life, its dim confusion,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its jarring discords and poor vanity,</span><br />
+Breathing like music over troubled waters,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What gentle voice, O Christian, speaks to thee?</span><br />
+<br />
+It is a stranger,&mdash;not of earth or earthly;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the serene, deep fulness of that eye,&mdash;</span><br />
+By the calm, pitying smile, the gesture lowly,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It is thy Saviour as he passeth by.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Come, come," he saith, "O soul oppressed and weary,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come to the shadows of my desert rest,</span><br />
+Come walk with me far from life's babbling discords,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And peace shall breathe like music in thy breast.</span><br />
+<br />
+"Art thou bewildered by contesting voices,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sick to thy soul of party noise and strife?</span><br />
+Come, leave it all, and seek that solitude<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where thou shalt learn of me a purer life.</span><br />
+<br />
+"When far behind the world's great tumult dieth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou shalt look back and wonder at its roar;</span><br />
+But its far voice shall seem to thee a dream,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its power to vex thy holier life be o'er.</span><br />
+<br />
+"There shalt thou learn the secret of a power,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mine to bestow, which heals the ills of living;</span><br />
+To overcome by love, to live by prayer,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To conquer man's worst evils by forgiving."</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>ABIDE IN ME, AND I IN YOU.</h2>
+
+<div class='verse'>THE SOUL'S ANSWER.</div>
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+THAT mystic word of thine, O sovereign Lord,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is all too pure, too high, too deep for me;</span><br />
+Weary of striving, and with longing faint,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I breathe it back again in <i>prayer</i> to thee.</span><br />
+<br />
+Abide in me, I pray, and I in thee;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From this good hour, O, leave me nevermore;</span><br />
+Then shall the discord cease, the wound be healed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The lifelong bleeding of the soul be o'er.</span><br />
+<br />
+Abide in me; o'ershadow by thy love<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Each half-formed purpose and dark thought of sin;</span><br />
+Quench, e'er it rise, each selfish, low desire,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And keep my soul as thine, calm and divine.</span><br />
+<br />
+As some rare perfume in a vase of clay<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pervades it with a fragrance not its own,</span><br />
+So, when thou dwellest in a mortal soul,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All heaven's own sweetness seems around it thrown.</span><br />
+<br />
+Abide in me: there have been moments blest<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I have heard thy voice and felt thy power;</span><br />
+Then evil lost its grasp, and passion, hushed,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Owned the divine enchantment of the hour.</span><br />
+<br />
+These were but seasons, beautiful and rare;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Abide in me, and they shall ever be.</span><br />
+Fulfil at once thy precept and my prayer,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, and abide in me, and I in thee.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>THE SECRET.</h2>
+
+<div class='blockquot'>
+
+<p>"Thou shalt keep them in the secret of thy presence from
+the strife of tongues."</p></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+WHEN winds are raging o'er the upper ocean,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And billows wild contend with angry roar,</span><br />
+'Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotion,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore.</span><br />
+<br />
+Far, far beneath, the noise of tempest dieth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And silver waves chime ever peacefully;</span><br />
+And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Disturbs the sabbath of that deeper sea.</span><br />
+<br />
+So to the soul that knows thy love, O Purest,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is a temple peaceful evermore!</span><br />
+And all the babble of life's angry voices<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Die in hushed stillness at its sacred door.</span><br />
+<br />
+Far, far away the noise of passion dieth,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And loving thoughts rise ever peacefully;</span><br />
+And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Disturbs that deeper rest, O Lord, in thee.</span><br />
+<br />
+O rest of rests! O peace serene, eternal!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou ever livest and thou changest never;</span><br />
+And in the secret of thy presence dwelleth<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fulness of joy, forever and forever.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>THINK NOT ALL IS OVER.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+THINK not, when the wailing winds of autumn<br />
+Drive the shivering leaflets from the tree,&mdash;<br />
+Think not all is over: spring returneth,<br />
+Buds and leaves and blossoms thou shalt see.<br />
+<br />
+Think not, when the earth lies cold and sealed,<br />
+And the weary birds above her mourn,&mdash;<br />
+Think not all is over: God still liveth,<br />
+Songs and sunshine shall again return.<br />
+<br />
+Think not, when thy heart is waste and dreary,<br />
+When thy cherished hopes lie chill and sere,&mdash;<br />
+Think not all is over: God still loveth,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>He will wipe away thy every tear.<br />
+<br />
+Weeping for a night alone endureth,<br />
+God at last shall bring a morning hour;<br />
+In the frozen buds of every winter<br />
+Sleep the blossoms of a future flower.<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>LINES</h2>
+
+<div class='verse'>TO THE MEMORY OF "ANNIE," WHO DIED AT MILAN,
+JUNE 6, 1860.</div>
+
+<div class='blockquot'>
+
+<p>"Jesus saith unto her, Woman, why weepest thou? whom
+seekest thou? She, supposing him to be the gardener, saith
+unto him, Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me
+where thou hast laid him."&mdash;<span class="smcap">John</span> xx. 15.</p></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+IN the fair gardens of celestial peace<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Walketh a Gardener in meekness clad;</span><br />
+Fair are the flowers that wreathe his dewy locks,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his mysterious eyes are sweet and sad.</span><br />
+<br />
+Fair are the silent foldings of his robes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Falling with saintly calmness to his feet;</span><br />
+And when he walks, each floweret to his will<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With living pulse of sweet accord doth beat.</span><br />
+<br />
+Every green leaf thrills to its tender heart,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the mild summer radiance of his eye;</span><br />
+No fear of storm, or cold, or bitter frost,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shadows the flowerets when their sun is nigh.</span><br />
+<br />
+And all our pleasant haunts of earthly love<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are nurseries to those gardens of the air;</span><br />
+And his far-darting eye, with starry beam,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Watcheth the growing of his treasures there.</span><br />
+<br />
+We call them ours, o'erwept with selfish tears,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'erwatched with restless longings night and day;</span><br />
+Forgetful of the high, mysterious right<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He holds to bear our cherished plants away.</span><br />
+<br />
+But when some sunny spot in those bright fields<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Needs the fair presence of an added flower,</span><br />
+Down sweeps a starry angel in the night:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At morn, the rose has vanished from our bower.</span><br />
+<br />
+Where stood our tree, our flower, there is a grave!<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blank, silent, vacant, but in worlds above,</span><br />
+Like a new star outblossomed in the skies,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The angels hail an added flower of love.</span><br />
+<br />
+Dear friend, no more upon that lonely mound,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strewed with the red and yellow autumn leaf,</span><br />
+Drop thou the tear, but raise the fainting eye<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beyond the autumn mists of earthly grief.</span><br />
+<br />
+Thy garden rose-bud bore, within its breast,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those mysteries of color, warm and bright,</span><br />
+That the bleak climate of this lower sphere<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Could never waken into form and light.</span><br />
+<br />
+Yes, the sweet Gardener hath borne her hence,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor must thou ask to take her thence away;</span><br />
+Thou shalt behold her in some coming hour,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Full-blossomed in his fields of cloudless day.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>THE CROCUS.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+BENEATH the sunny autumn sky,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With gold leaves dropping round,</span><br />
+We sought, my little friend and I,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The consecrated ground,</span><br />
+Where, calm beneath the holy cross,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'ershadowed by sweet skies,</span><br />
+Sleeps tranquilly that youthful form,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those blue unclouded eyes.</span><br />
+<br />
+Around the soft, green swelling mound<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We scooped the earth away,</span><br />
+And buried deep the crocus-bulbs<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Against a coming day.</span><br />
+"These roots are dry, and brown, and sere;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why plant them here?" he said,</span><br />
+"To leave them, all the winter long,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">So desolate and dead."</span><br />
+<br />
+"Dear child, within each sere dead form<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There sleeps a living flower,</span><br />
+And angel-like it shall arise<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In spring's returning hour."</span><br />
+Ah, deeper down&mdash;cold, dark, and chill&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We buried our heart's flower,</span><br />
+But angel-like shall he arise<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In spring's immortal hour.</span><br />
+<br />
+In blue and yellow from its grave<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Springs up the crocus fair,</span><br />
+And God shall raise those bright blue eyes,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those sunny waves of hair.</span><br />
+Not for a fading summer's morn,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not for a fleeting hour,</span><br />
+But for an endless age of bliss,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall rise our heart's dear flower.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>CONSOLATION.</h2>
+
+<div class='verse'>WRITTEN AFTER THE SECOND BATTLE OF BULL RUN.</div>
+
+<div class='blockquot'>
+
+<p>"And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first
+heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there was
+no more sea."</p></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+AH, many-voiced and angry! how the waves<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beat turbulent with terrible uproar!</span><br />
+Is there no rest from tossing,&mdash;no repose?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where shall we find a haven and a shore?</span><br />
+<br />
+What is secure from the loud-dashing wave?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There go our riches, and our hopes fly there;</span><br />
+There go the faces of our best beloved,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whelmed in the vortex of its wild despair.</span><br />
+<br />
+Whose son is safe? whose brother, and whose home?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dashing spray beats out the household fire;</span><br />
+By blackened ashes weep our widowed souls<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Over the embers of our lost desire.</span><br />
+<br />
+By pauses, in the fitful moaning storm,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We hear triumphant notes of battle roll.</span><br />
+Too soon the triumph sinks in funeral wail;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The muffled drum, the death march, shakes the soul!</span><br />
+<br />
+Rocks on all sides, and breakers! at the helm<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Weak human hand and weary human eyes.</span><br />
+The shout and clamor of our dreary strife<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Goes up conflicting to the angry skies.</span><br />
+<br />
+But for all this, O timid hearts, be strong;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be of good cheer, for, though the storm must be,</span><br />
+<i>It hath its Master:</i> from the depths shall rise<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">New heavens, new earth, where shall be no more sea.</span><br />
+<br />
+No sea, no tossing, no unrestful storm!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forever past the anguish and the strife;</span><br />
+The poor old weary earth shall bloom again,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the bright foliage of that better life.</span><br />
+<br />
+And war, and strife, and hatred, shall be past,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And misery be a forgotten dream.</span><br />
+The Shepherd God shall lead his peaceful fold<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the calm meadows and the quiet stream.</span><br />
+<br />
+Be still, be still, and know that he is God;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Be calm, be trustful; work, and watch, and pray,</span><br />
+Till from the throes of this last anguish rise<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The light and gladness of that better day.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>"ONLY A YEAR."</h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+ONE year ago,&mdash;a ringing voice,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A clear blue eye,</span><br />
+And clustering curls of sunny hair,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Too fair to die.</span><br />
+<br />
+Only a year,&mdash;no voice, no smile,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No glance of eye,</span><br />
+No clustering curls of golden hair,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fair but to die!</span><br />
+<br />
+One year ago,&mdash;what loves, what schemes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far into life!</span><br />
+What joyous hopes, what high resolves,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">What generous strife!</span><br />
+<br />
+The silent picture on the wall,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The burial stone,</span><br />
+Of all that beauty, life, and joy<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Remain alone!</span><br />
+<br />
+One year,&mdash;one year,&mdash;one little year,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And so much gone!</span><br />
+And yet the even flow of life<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moves calmly on.</span><br />
+<br />
+The grave grows green, the flowers bloom fair,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Above that head;</span><br />
+No sorrowing tint of leaf or spray<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Says he is dead.</span><br />
+<br />
+No pause or hush of merry birds,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That sing above,</span><br />
+Tells us how coldly sleeps below<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The form we love.</span><br />
+<br />
+Where hast thou been this year, beloved?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What hast thou seen?</span><br />
+What visions fair, what glorious life,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where thou hast been?</span><br />
+<br />
+The veil! the veil! so thin, so strong!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Twixt us and thee;</span><br />
+The mystic veil! when shall it fall,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That we may see?</span><br />
+<br />
+Not dead, not sleeping, not even gone,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But present still,</span><br />
+And waiting for the coming hour<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of God's sweet will.</span><br />
+<br />
+Lord of the living and the dead,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our Saviour dear!</span><br />
+We lay in silence at thy feet<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This sad, sad year!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 303px;">
+<img src="images/i047.jpg" width="303" height="390" alt="Flying angel" />
+</div>
+
+
+<h2>BELOW.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+LOUDLY sweep the winds of autumn<br />
+O'er that lone, beloved grave,<br />
+Where we laid those sunny ringlets,<br />
+When those blue eyes set like stars,<br />
+Leaving us to outer darkness.<br />
+O the longing and the aching!<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>O the sere deserted grave!<br />
+<br />
+Let the grass turn brown upon thee,<br />
+Brown and withered like our dreams!<br />
+Let the wind moan through the pine-trees<br />
+With a dreary, dirge-like whistle,<br />
+Sweep the dead leaves on its bosom,&mdash;<br />
+Moaning, sobbing through the branches,<br />
+Where the summer laughed so gayly.<br />
+<br />
+He is gone, our boy of summer,&mdash;<br />
+Gone the light of his blue eyes,<br />
+Gone the tender heart and manly,<br />
+Gone the dreams and the aspirings,&mdash;<br />
+Nothing but the <i>mound</i> remaineth,<br />
+And the aching in our bosoms,<br />
+Ever aching, ever throbbing:<br />
+Who shall bring it unto rest?<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>ABOVE.</h2>
+
+<div class='verse'>A VISION.</div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+COMING down a golden street<br />
+I beheld my vanished one,<br />
+And he moveth on a cloud,<br />
+And his forehead wears a star;<br />
+And his blue eyes, deep and holy,<br />
+Fixed as in a blessed dream,<br />
+See some mystery of joy,<br />
+Some unuttered depth of love.<br />
+<br />
+And his vesture is as blue<br />
+As the skies of summer are,<br />
+Falling with a saintly sweep,<br />
+With a sacred stillness swaying;<br />
+And he presseth to his bosom<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>Harp of strange and mystic fashion,<br />
+And his hands, like living pearls,<br />
+Wander o'er the golden strings.<br />
+<br />
+And the music that ariseth,<br />
+Who can utter or divine it?<br />
+In that strange celestial thrilling,<br />
+Every memory of sorrow,<br />
+Every heart-ache, every anguish,<br />
+Every fear for the to-morrow,<br />
+Melt away in charméd rest.<br />
+<br />
+And there be around him many,<br />
+Bright with robes like evening clouds,&mdash;<br />
+Tender green and clearest amber,<br />
+Crimson fading into rose,<br />
+Robes of flames and robes of silver,&mdash;<br />
+And their hues all thrill and tremble<br />
+With a living light of feeling,<br />
+Deepening with each heart's pulsation,<br />
+Till in vivid trance of color<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>That celestial rainbow glows.<br />
+<br />
+How they float and wreathe and brighten,<br />
+Bending low their starry brows,<br />
+Singing with a tender cadence,<br />
+And their hands, like spotless lilies,<br />
+Folded on their prayerful breasts.<br />
+In their singing seem to mingle<br />
+Tender airs of by-gone days;&mdash;<br />
+Mother-hymnings by the cradle,<br />
+Mother-moanings by the grave,<br />
+Songs of human love and sorrow,<br />
+Songs of endless love and rest;&mdash;<br />
+In the pauses of that music<br />
+Every throb of sorrow dies.<br />
+<br />
+O my own, my heart's belovéd,<br />
+Vainly have I wept above thee?<br />
+Would I call thee from thy glory<br />
+To this world's impurity?&mdash;<br />
+Lo! it passeth, it dissolveth,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>All the vision melts away;<br />
+But as if a heavenly lily<br />
+Dropped into my aching breast,<br />
+With a healing sweetness laden,<br />
+With a mystic breath of rest,<br />
+I am charmed into forgetting<br />
+Autumn winds and dreary grave.<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>LINES</h2>
+
+<div class='verse'>SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF MRS. PROFESSOR STUART
+OF ANDOVER, MASS.</div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+HOW quiet, through the hazy autumn air,<br />
+The elm-boughs wave with many a gold-flecked leaf!<br />
+How calmly float the dreamy mantled clouds<br />
+Through these still days of autumn, fair and brief!<br />
+<br />
+Our Andover stands thoughtful, fair, and calm,<br />
+Waiting to lay her summer glories by<br />
+E'er the bright flush shall kindle all her pines,<br />
+And her woods blaze with autumn's heraldry.<br />
+<br />
+By the old mossy wall the golden-rod<br />
+Waves as aforetime, and the purple sprays<br />
+Of starry asters quiver to the breeze,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>Rustling all stilly through the forest ways.<br />
+<br />
+No voice of triumph from those silent skies<br />
+Breaks on the calm, and speaks of glories near,<br />
+Nor bright wings flutter, nor fair glistening robes<br />
+Proclaim that heavenly messengers are here.<br />
+<br />
+Yet in our midst an angel hath come down,<br />
+Troubling the waters in a peaceful home;<br />
+And from that home, of life's long sickness healed,<br />
+A saint hath risen, where pain no more may come.<br />
+<br />
+Christ's fair elect one, from a hidden life<br />
+Of loving deeds and words of gentleness,<br />
+Hath passed where all are loving and beloved,<br />
+Beyond all weariness and all distress.<br />
+<br />
+Calm, like a lamb in shepherd's bosom borne,<br />
+Quiet and trustful hath she sunk to rest;<br />
+God breathed in tenderness the sweet "Well done!"<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>That scarce awoke a trance so still and blest.<br />
+<br />
+Ye who remember the long loving years,<br />
+The patient mother's hourly martyrdom,<br />
+The self-renouncing wisdom, the calm trust,<br />
+Rejoice for her whose day of rest is come!<br />
+<br />
+Father and mother, now united, stand<br />
+Waiting for you to bind the household chain;<br />
+The tent is struck, the home is gone before,<br />
+And tarries for you on the heavenly plain.<br />
+<br />
+By every wish repressed and hope resigned,<br />
+Each cross accepted and each sorrow borne,<br />
+She dead yet speaketh, she doth beckon you<br />
+To tread the path her patient feet have worn.<br />
+<br />
+Each year that world grows richer and more dear<br />
+With the bright freight washed from life's stormy shore;<br />
+O goodly clime, how lovely is thy strand,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>With those dear faces seen on earth no more!<br />
+<br />
+The veil between this world and that to come<br />
+Grows tremulous and quivers with their breath;<br />
+Dimly we hear their voices, see their hands,<br />
+Inviting us to the release of death.<br />
+<br />
+O Thou, in whom thy saints above, below,<br />
+Are one and undivided, grant us grace<br />
+In patience yet to bear our daily cross,&mdash;<br />
+In patience run our hourly shortening race!<br />
+<br />
+And while on earth we wear the servant's form,<br />
+And while life's labors ever toilful be,<br />
+Breathe in our souls the joyful confidence<br />
+We are already kings and priests with thee.<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>SUMMER STUDIES.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+WHY shouldst thou study in the month of June<br />
+In dusky books of Greek and Hebrew lore,<br />
+When the Great Teacher of all glorious things<br />
+Passes in hourly light before thy door?<br />
+<br />
+There is a brighter book unrolling now;<br />
+Fair are its leaves as is the tree of heaven,<br />
+All veined and dewed and gemmed with wondrous signs,<br />
+To which a healing mystic power is given.<br />
+<br />
+A thousand voices to its study call,<br />
+From the fair hill-top, from the waterfall,<br />
+Where the bird singeth, and the yellow bee,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>And the breeze talketh from the airy tree.<br />
+<br />
+Now is that glorious resurrection time<br />
+When all earth's buried beauties have new birth:<br />
+Behold the yearly miracle complete,&mdash;<br />
+God hath created a new heaven and earth!<br />
+<br />
+No tree that wants its joyful garments now,<br />
+No flower but hastes his bravery to don;<br />
+God bids thee to this marriage feast of joy,<br />
+Let thy soul put the wedding garment on.<br />
+<br />
+All fringed with festal gold the barberry stands;<br />
+The ferns, exultant, clap their new-made wings;<br />
+The hemlock rustles broideries of fresh green,<br />
+And thousand bells of pearl the blueberry rings.<br />
+<br />
+The long, weird fingers of the old white-pines<br />
+Do beckon thee into the flickering wood,<br />
+Where moving spots of light show mystic flowers,<br />
+And wavering music fills the dreamy hours.<br />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p>
+
+<div>
+<img src="images/i059a.jpg" alt="top of landscape" width="537" height="378" class="split" />
+<img src="images/i059b.jpg" alt="side of landscape" width="205" height="456" class="split" />
+</div>
+<div class='poem1'>
+Hast thou no <i>time</i> for all this wondrous show,&mdash;<br />
+No thought to spare? Wilt thou forever be<br />
+With thy last year's dry flower-stalk and dead leaves,<br />
+And no new shoot or blossom on thy tree?<br />
+<br />
+See how the pines push off their last year's leaves.<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>And stretch beyond them with exultant bound:<br />
+The grass and flowers, with living power, o'ergrow<br />
+Their last year's remnants on the greening ground.<br />
+<br />
+Wilt thou, then, all thy wintry feelings keep,<br />
+The old dead routine of thy book-writ lore,<br />
+Nor deem that God can teach, by one bright hour,<br />
+What life hath never taught to thee before?<br />
+<br />
+See what vast leisure, what unbounded rest,<br />
+Lie in the bending dome of the blue sky:<br />
+Ah! breathe that life-born languor from thy breast,<br />
+And know once more a child's unreasoning joy.<br />
+<br />
+Cease, cease to <i>think</i>, and be content <i>to be</i>;<br />
+Swing safe at anchor in fair Nature's bay;<br />
+Reason no more, but o'er thy quiet soul<br />
+Let God's sweet teachings ripple their soft way.<br />
+<br />
+Soar with the birds, and flutter with the leaf;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>Dance with the seeded grass in fringy play;<br />
+Sail with the cloud, wave with the dreaming pine,<br />
+And float with Nature all the livelong day.<br />
+<br />
+Call not such hours an idle waste of time,&mdash;<br />
+Land that lies fallow gains a quiet power;<br />
+It treasures, from the brooding of God's wings,<br />
+Strength to unfold the future tree and flower.<br />
+<br />
+And when the summer's glorious show is past,<br />
+Its miracles no longer charm thy sight,<br />
+The treasured riches of those thoughtful hours<br />
+Shall make thy wintry musings warm and bright.<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a><br /><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>HOURS OF THE NIGHT;<br />
+
+<small>OR,</small><br />
+<small>WATCHES OF SORROW.</small></h2>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a><br /><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 295px;">
+<img src="images/i065.jpg" width="295" height="324" alt="another flying angel" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h2>I.<br />
+
+MIDNIGHT.</h2>
+
+<div class='blockquot'>
+
+<p>"He hath made me to dwell in darkness as those that have
+been long dead."</p></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+ALL dark!&mdash;no light, no ray!<br />
+Sun, moon, and stars, all gone!<br />
+Dimness of anguish!&mdash;utter void!&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Crushed, and alone!</span><br />
+<br />
+One waste of weary pain,<br />
+One dull, unmeaning ache,<br />
+A heart too weary even to throb,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 4em;">Too bruised to break.</span><br />
+<br />
+No longer anxious thoughts,<br />
+No longer hopes and fears,<br />
+No strife, no effort, no desire,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">No tears.</span><br />
+<br />
+Daylight and leaves and flowers,<br />
+Summer and song of bird!&mdash;<br />
+All vanished!&mdash;dreams forever gone,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Unseen, unheard!</span><br />
+<br />
+Love, beauty, youth,&mdash;all gone!<br />
+The high, heroic vow,<br />
+The buoyant hope, the fond desire,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">All ashes now!</span><br />
+<br />
+The words they speak to me<br />
+Far off and distant seem,<br />
+As voices we have known and loved<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 5em;">Speak in a dream.</span><br />
+<br />
+They bid me to submit;<br />
+I do,&mdash;I cannot strive;<br />
+I do not question,&mdash;I endure,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Endure and live.</span><br />
+<br />
+I do not struggle more,<br />
+Nor pray, for prayer is vain;<br />
+I but lie still the weary hour,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And bear my pain.</span><br />
+<br />
+A guiding God, a Friend,<br />
+A Father's gracious cheer,<br />
+Once seemed my own; but now even faith<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Lies buried here.</span><br />
+<br />
+This darkened, deathly life<br />
+Is all remains of me,<br />
+And but one conscious wish,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">To cease to be!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>II.<br />
+
+<small>FIRST HOUR.</small></h2>
+
+<div class='blockquot'>
+
+<p>"There was darkness over all the land from the sixth hour
+unto the ninth hour.</p>
+
+<p>"And Jesus cried and said, My God, my God, why hast
+thou forsaken me?"</p></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+THAT cry hath stirred the deadness of my soul;<br />
+I feel a heart-string throb, as throbs a chord<br />
+When breaks the master chord of some great harp;<br />
+My heart responsive answers, "Why?" O Lord.<br />
+<br />
+O cross of pain! O crown of cruel thorns!<br />
+O piercing nails! O spotless Sufferer there!<br />
+Wert <i>thou</i> forsaken in thy deadly strife?<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>Then canst thou pity me in my despair.<br />
+<br />
+Take my dead heart, O Jesus, down with thee<br />
+To that still sepulchre where thou didst rest;<br />
+Lay it in the fair linen's spicy folds,<br />
+As a dear mother lays her babe to rest.<br />
+<br />
+I am so worn, so weary, so o'erspent,<br />
+To lie with thee in that calm trance were sweet;<br />
+The bitter myrrh of long-remembered pain<br />
+May work in me new strength to rise again.<br />
+<br />
+This dark and weary mystery of woe,<br />
+This hopeless struggle, this most useless strife,&mdash;<br />
+Ah, let it end! I die with thee, my Lord,<br />
+To all I ever hoped or wished from life.<br />
+<br />
+I die with thee: thy fellowship of grief,<br />
+Thy partnership with mortal misery,<br />
+The weary watching and the nameless dread,&mdash;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>Let them be mine to make me one with thee.<br />
+<br />
+Thou hast asked, "Why?" and God will answer thee,<br />
+Therefore I ask not, but in peace lie down,<br />
+For the three days of mystery and rest,<br />
+Till comes the resurrection and the crown.<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>III.<br />
+
+<small>SECOND HOUR.</small></h2>
+
+<div class='blockquot'>
+
+<p>"They laid hold upon one Simon a Cyrenian, and on him
+they laid the cross, that he might bear it after Jesus."</p></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+ALONG the dusty thoroughfare of life,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon his daily errands walking free,</span><br />
+Came a brave, honest man, untouched by pain,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unchilled by sight or thought of misery.</span><br />
+<br />
+But lo! a crowd:&mdash;he stops,&mdash;with curious eye<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A fainting form all pressed to earth he sees;</span><br />
+The hard, rough burden of the bitter cross<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hath bowed the drooping head and feeble knees.</span><br />
+<br />
+Ho! lay the cross upon yon stranger there,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For he hath breadth of chest and strength of limb.</span><br />
+Straight it is done; and heavy laden thus,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">With Jesus' cross, he turns and follows him.</span><br />
+<br />
+Unmurmuring, patient, cheerful, pitiful,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Prompt with the holy sufferer to endure,</span><br />
+Forsaking all to follow the dear Lord,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thus did he make his glorious calling sure.</span><br />
+<br />
+O soul, whoe'er thou art, walking life's way,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As yet from touch of deadly sorrow free,</span><br />
+Learn from this story to forecast the day<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Jesus and his cross shall come to thee.</span><br />
+<br />
+O, in that fearful, that decisive hour,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rebel not, shrink not, seek not thence to flee,</span><br />
+But, humbly bending, take thy heavy load,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bear it after Jesus patiently.</span><br />
+<br />
+His cross is thine. If thou and he be one,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some portion of his pain must still be thine;</span><br />
+Thus only mayst thou share his glorious crown,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And reign with him in majesty divine.</span><br />
+<br />
+Master in sorrow! I accept my share<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the great anguish of life's mystery.</span><br />
+No more, alone, I sink beneath my load,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But bear my cross, O Jesus, after thee.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>IV.<br />
+
+<small>THIRD HOUR.</small></h2>
+
+<div class='verse'>THE MYSTERY OF LIFE.</div>
+
+<div class='blockquot'>
+
+<p>"Let my heart calm itself in thee. Let the great sea of
+my heart, that swelleth with waves, calm itself in thee."</p>
+
+<div class='sig'>
+<span class="smcap">St. Augustine's Manual.</span><br />
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+LIFE'S mystery&mdash;deep, restless as the ocean&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hath surged and wailed for ages to and fro;</span><br />
+Earth's generations watch its ceaseless motion,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As in and out its hollow moanings flow.</span><br />
+Shivering and yearning by that unknown sea,<br />
+Let my soul calm itself, O Christ, in thee!<br />
+<br />
+Life's sorrows, with inexorable power,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweep desolation o'er this mortal plain;</span><br />
+And human loves and hopes fly as the chaff<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Borne by the whirlwind from the ripened grain.</span><br />
+Ah! when before that blast my hopes all flee,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>Let my soul calm itself, O Christ, in thee!<br />
+<br />
+Between the mysteries of death and life<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou standest, loving, guiding, not explaining;</span><br />
+We ask, and thou art silent; yet we gaze,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And our charmed hearts forget their drear complaining.</span><br />
+No crushing fate, no stony destiny,<br />
+O Lamb that hast been slain, we find in thee!<br />
+<br />
+The many waves of thought, the mighty tides,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The ground-swell that rolls up from other lands,</span><br />
+From far-off worlds, from dim, eternal shores,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose echo dashes on life's wave-worn strands,</span><br />
+This vague, dark tumult of the inner sea<br />
+Grows calm, grows bright, O risen Lord, in thee!<br />
+<br />
+Thy piercéd hand guides the mysterious wheels;<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy thorn-crowned brow now wears the crown of power;</span><br />
+<br />
+And when the dread enigma presseth sore,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy patient voice saith, "Watch with me one hour."</span><br />
+As sinks the moaning river in the sea<br />
+In silver peace, so sinks my soul in thee!<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 387px;">
+<img src="images/i077.jpg" width="387" height="507" alt="couple" />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>V.<br />
+
+FOURTH HOUR.</h2>
+
+<div class='verse'>THE SORROWS OF MARY.</div>
+
+<div class='verse'><small>DEDICATED TO THE MOTHERS WHO HAVE LOST SONS IN
+THE LATE WAR.</small></div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+I SLEPT, but my heart was waking,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And out in my dreams I sped,</span><br />
+Through the streets of an ancient city,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where Jesus, the Lord, lay dead.</span><br />
+<br />
+He was lying all cold and lowly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the sepulchre was sealed,</span><br />
+And the women that bore the spices<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had come from the holy field.</span><br />
+<br />
+There is feasting in Pilate's palace,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is revel in Herod's hall,</span><br />
+Where the lute and the sounding instrument<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To mirth and merriment call.</span><br />
+<br />
+"I have washed my hands," said Pilate,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"And what is the Jew to me?"</span><br />
+"I have missed my chance," said Herod,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"One of his wonders to see.</span><br />
+<br />
+"But why should our courtly circle<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the thought give further place?</span><br />
+All dreams, save of pleasure and beauty,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bid the dancers' feet efface."</span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></div>
+
+<div class='poem1'>
+<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br />
+<br />
+I saw a light from a casement,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And entered a lowly door,</span><br />
+Where a woman, stricken and mournful,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sat in sackcloth on the floor.</span><br />
+<br />
+There Mary, the mother of Jesus,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And John, the belovéd one,</span><br />
+With a few poor friends beside them,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were mourning for Him that was gone.</span><br />
+<br />
+And before the mother was lying<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That crown of cruel thorn,</span><br />
+Wherewith they crowned that gentle brow<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In mockery that morn.</span><br />
+<br />
+And her ears yet ring with the anguish<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of that last dying cry,&mdash;</span><br />
+That mighty appeal of agony<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">That shook both earth and sky.</span><br />
+<br />
+O God, what a shaft of anguish<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was that dying voice from the tree!&mdash;</span><br />
+From Him the only spotless,&mdash;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Why hast Thou forsaken me?"</span><br />
+<br />
+And was he of God forsaken?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They ask, appalled with dread;</span><br />
+Is evil crowned and triumphant,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And goodness vanquished and dead?</span><br />
+<br />
+Is there, then, no God in Jacob?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is the star of Judah dim?</span><br />
+For who would our God deliver,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If he would not deliver him?</span><br />
+<br />
+If God <i>could</i> not deliver,&mdash;what hope then?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If he <i>would</i> not,&mdash;who ever shall dare</span><br />
+To be firm in his service hereafter?<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">To trust in his wisdom or care?</span><br />
+<br />
+So darkly the Tempter was saying,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hearts that with sorrow were dumb;</span><br />
+And the poor souls were clinging in darkness to God,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With hands that with anguish were numb.</span><br /><br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br />
+<br />
+In my dreams came the third day morning,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fairly the day-star shone;</span><br />
+But fairer, the solemn angel,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As he rolled away the stone.</span><br />
+<br />
+In the lowly dwelling of Mary,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the dusky twilight chill,</span><br />
+There was heard the sound of coming feet,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And her very heart grew still.</span><br />
+<br />
+And in the glimmer of dawning,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She saw him enter the door,</span><br />
+Her Son, all living and real,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Risen, to die no more!</span><br />
+<br />
+Her Son, all living and real,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Risen no more to die,&mdash;</span><br />
+With the power of an endless life in his face,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With the light of heaven in his eye.</span><br />
+<br />
+O mourning mothers, so many,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Weeping o'er sons that are dead,</span><br />
+Have ye thought of the sorrows of Mary's heart,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the tears that Mary shed?</span><br />
+<br />
+Is the crown of thorns before you?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are there memories of cruel scorn?</span><br />
+Of hunger and thirst and bitter cold<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That your beloved have borne?</span><br />
+<br />
+Had ye ever a son like Jesus<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To give to a death of pain?</span><br />
+Did ever a son so cruelly die,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">But did he die in vain?</span><br />
+<br />
+Have ye ever thought that all the hopes<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That make our earth-life fair</span><br />
+Were born in those three bitter days<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Mary's deep despair?</span><br />
+<br />
+O mourning mothers, so many,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Weeping in woe and pain,</span><br />
+Think on the joy of Mary's heart<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a Son that is risen again.</span><br />
+<br />
+Have faith in a third-day morning,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a resurrection-hour;</span><br />
+For what ye sow in weakness,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He can raise again in power.</span><br />
+<br />
+Have faith in the Lord of that thorny crown,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the Lord of the piercéd hand;</span><br />
+For he reigneth now o'er earth and heaven,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And his power who may withstand?</span><br />
+<br />
+And the hopes that never on earth shall bloom,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sorrows forever new,</span><br />
+Lay silently down at the feet of Him<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who died and is risen for you.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>VI.<br />
+
+<small>DAY DAWN.</small></h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+THE dim gray dawn, upon the eastern hills,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brings back to light once more the cheerless scene;</span><br />
+But oh! no morning in my Father's house<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is dawning now, for there no night hath been.</span><br />
+<br />
+Ten thousand thousand now, on Zion's hills,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All robed in white, with palmy crowns, do stray,</span><br />
+While I, an exile, far from fatherland,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still wandering, faint along the desert way.</span><br />
+<br />
+O home! dear home! my own, my native home!<br />
+O Father, friends! when shall I look on you?<br />
+When shall these weary wanderings be o'er,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>And I be gathered back to stray no more?<br />
+<br />
+O Thou, the brightness of whose gracious face<br />
+These weary, longing eyes have never seen,&mdash;<br />
+By whose dear thought, for whose belovéd sake,<br />
+My course, through toil and tears, I daily take,&mdash;<br />
+<br />
+I think of thee when the myrrh-dropping morn<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Steps forth upon the purple eastern steep;</span><br />
+I think of thee in the fair eventide,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the bright-sandalled stars their watches keep.</span><br />
+<br />
+And trembling hope, and fainting, sorrowing love,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On thy dear word for comfort doth rely;</span><br />
+And clear-eyed Faith, with strong forereaching gaze,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beholds thee here, unseen, but ever nigh.</span><br />
+<br />
+Walking in white with thee, she dimly sees,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All beautiful, these lovely ones withdrawn,</span><br />
+With whom my heart went upward, as they rose,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like morning stars, to light a coming dawn.</span><br />
+<br />
+All sinless now, and crowned and glorified,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where'er thou movest move they still with thee,</span><br />
+As erst, in sweet communion by thy side,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Walked John and Mary in old Galilee.</span><br />
+<br />
+But hush, my heart! 'T is but a day or two<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Divides thee from that bright, immortal shore.</span><br />
+Rise up! rise up! and gird thee for the race!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fast fly the hours, and all will soon be o'er.</span><br />
+<br />
+Thou hast the new name written in thy soul;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou hast the mystic stone He gives his own.</span><br />
+Thy soul, made one with him, shall feel no more<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That she is walking on her path alone.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>VII.<br />
+
+<small>WHEN I AWAKE I AM STILL WITH THEE.</small></h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+STILL, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the bird waketh and the shadows flee;</span><br />
+Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dawns the sweet consciousness, <i>I am with Thee</i>!</span><br />
+<br />
+Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadows,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The solemn hush of nature newly born;</span><br />
+Alone with Thee in breathless adoration,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.</span><br />
+<br />
+As in the dawning o'er the waveless ocean<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The image of the morning star doth rest,</span><br />
+So in this stillness Thou beholdest only<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thine image in the waters of my breast.</span><br />
+<br />
+Still, still with Thee! as to each new-born morning<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A fresh and solemn splendor still is given,</span><br />
+So doth this blessed consciousness, awaking,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Breathe, each day, nearness unto Thee and heaven.</span><br />
+<br />
+When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its closing eye looks up to Thee in prayer;</span><br />
+Sweet the repose beneath the wings o'ershading,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But sweeter still to wake and find Thee there.</span><br />
+<br />
+So shall it be at last, in that bright morning<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the soul waketh and life's shadows flee;</span><br />
+O, in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall rise the glorious thought, <i>I am with Thee</i>!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a><br /><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a><br /><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p>
+<h2>PRESSED FLOWERS FROM ITALY.</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a><br /><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
+<img src="images/i094.jpg" width="500" height="731" alt="A DAY IN THE PAMFILI DORIA." />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>A DAY IN THE PAMFILI DORIA.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+THOUGH the hills are cold and snowy,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the wind drives chill to-day,</span><br />
+My heart goes back to a spring-time,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far, far in the past away.</span><br />
+<br />
+And I see a quaint old city,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Weary and worn and brown,</span><br />
+Where the spring and the birds are so early,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the sun in such light goes down.</span><br />
+<br />
+I remember that old-times villa,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where our afternoons went by,</span><br />
+Where the suns of March flushed warmly,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And spring was in earth and sky.</span><br />
+<br />
+Out of the mouldering city,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mouldering, old, and gray,</span><br />
+We sped, with a lightsome heart-thrill,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For a sunny, gladsome day,&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+For a revel of fresh spring verdure,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For a race 'mid springing flowers,</span><br />
+For a vision of plashing fountains,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of birds and blossoming bowers.</span><br />
+<br />
+There were violet banks in the shadows,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Violets white and blue;</span><br />
+And a world of bright anemones,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That over the terrace grew,&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+Blue and orange and purple,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rosy and yellow and white,</span><br />
+Rising in rainbow bubbles,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Streaking the lawns with light.</span><br />
+<br />
+And down from the old stone pine-trees,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those far off islands of air,</span><br />
+The birds are flinging the tidings<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of a joyful revel up there.</span><br />
+<br />
+And now for the grand old fountains,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tossing their silvery spray,</span><br />
+Those fountains so quaint and so many,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That are leaping and singing all day.</span><br />
+<br />
+Those fountains of strange weird sculpture,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With lichens and moss o'ergrown,</span><br />
+Are they marble greening in moss-wreaths?<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or moss-wreaths whitening to stone?</span><br />
+<br />
+Down many a wild, dim pathway<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We ramble from morning till noon;</span><br />
+We linger, unheeding the hours,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till evening comes all too soon.</span><br />
+<br />
+And from out the ilex alleys,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where lengthening shadows play,</span><br />
+We look on the dreamy Campagna,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All glowing with setting day,&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+All melting in bands of purple,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In swathings and foldings of gold,</span><br />
+In ribands of azure and lilac,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a princely banner unrolled.</span><br />
+<br />
+And the smoke of each distant cottage,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the flash of each villa white,</span><br />
+Shines out with an opal glimmer,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like gems in a casket of light.</span><br />
+<br />
+And the dome of old St. Peter's<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a strange translucence glows,</span><br />
+Like a mighty bubble of amethyst<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Floating in waves of rose.</span><br />
+<br />
+In a trance of dreamy vagueness<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We, gazing and yearning, behold</span><br />
+That city beheld by the prophet,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose walls were transparent gold.</span><br />
+<br />
+And, dropping all solemn and slowly,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hallow the softening spell,</span><br />
+There falls on the dying twilight<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Ave Maria bell.</span><br />
+<br />
+With a mournful motherly softness,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a weird and weary care,</span><br />
+That strange and ancient city<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seems calling the nations to prayer.</span><br />
+<br />
+And the words that of old the angel<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the mother of Jesus brought,</span><br />
+Rise like a new evangel,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hallow the trance of our thought.</span><br />
+<br />
+With the smoke of the evening incense,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our thoughts are ascending then</span><br />
+To Mary, the mother of Jesus,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Jesus, the Master of men.</span><br />
+<br />
+O city of prophets and martyrs,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O shrines of the sainted dead,</span><br />
+When, when shall the living day-spring<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Once more on your towers be spread?</span><br />
+<br />
+When He who is meek and lowly<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall rule in those lordly halls,</span><br />
+And shall stand and feed as a shepherd<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The flock which his mercy calls,&mdash;</span><br />
+<br />
+O, then to those noble churches,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To picture and statue and gem,</span><br />
+To the pageant of solemn worship,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall the <i>meaning</i> come back again.</span><br />
+<br />
+And this strange and ancient city,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In that reign of His truth and love,</span><br />
+Shall <i>be</i> what it <i>seems</i> in the twilight,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The type of that City above.</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>THE GARDENS OF THE VATICAN.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+SWEET fountains, plashing with a dreamy fall,<br />
+And mosses green, and tremulous veils of fern,<br />
+And banks of blowing cyclamen, and stars,<br />
+Blue as the skies, of myrtle blossoming,<br />
+The twilight shade of ilex overhead<br />
+O'erbubbling with sweet song of nightingale,<br />
+With walks of strange, weird stillness, leading on<br />
+'Mid sculptured fragments half to green moss gone,<br />
+Or breaking forth amid the violet leaves<br />
+With some white gleam of an old world gone by.<br />
+Ah! strange, sweet quiet! wilderness of calm,<br />
+Gardens of dreamy rest, I long to lay<br />
+Beneath your shade the last long sigh, and say,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>Here is my home, my Lord, thy home and mine;<br />
+And I, having searched the world with many a tear,<br />
+At last have found thee and will stray no more.<br />
+But vainly here I seek the Gardener<br />
+That Mary saw. These lovely halls beyond,<br />
+That airy, sky-like dome, that lofty fane,<br />
+Is as a palace whence the king is gone<br />
+And taken all the sweetness with himself.<br />
+Turn again, Jesus, and possess thine own!<br />
+Come to thy temple once more as of old!<br />
+Drive forth the money-changers, let it be<br />
+A house of prayer for nations. Even so,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Amen! Amen!</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>ST. PETER'S CHURCH.</h2>
+
+<div class='verse'>HOLY WEEK, APRIL, 1860.</div>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+O FAIREST mansion of a Father's love,<br />
+Harmonious! hospitable! with thine arms<br />
+Outspread to all, thy fountains ever full,<br />
+And, fair as heaven, thy misty, sky-like dome<br />
+Hung like the firmament with circling sweep<br />
+Above the constellated golden lamps<br />
+That burn forever round the holy tomb.<br />
+Most meet art thou to be the Father's house,<br />
+The house of prayer for nations. Come the time<br />
+When thou shalt be so! when a liberty,<br />
+Wide as thine arms, high as thy lofty dome,<br />
+Shall be proclaimed, by thy loud singing choirs,<br />
+Like voice of many waters! Then the Lord<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>Shall come into his temple, and make pure<br />
+The sons of Levi; then, as once of old,<br />
+The blind shall see, the lame leap as an hart,<br />
+And to the poor the Gospel shall be preached,<br />
+And Easter's silver-sounding trumpets tell,<br />
+"The Lord is risen indeed," to die no more.<br />
+Hasten it in its time. Amen! Amen!<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h2>THE MISERERE.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='drop-cap'>
+NOT of the earth that music! all things fade;<br />
+Vanish the pictured walls! and, one by one,<br />
+The starry candles silently expire!<br />
+<br />
+And now, O Jesus! round that silent cross<br />
+A moment's pause, a hush as of the grave.<br />
+Now rises slow a silver mist of sound,<br />
+And all the heavens break out in drops of grief;<br />
+A rain of sobbing sweetness, swelling, dying,<br />
+Voice into voice inweaving with sweet throbs,<br />
+And fluttering pulses of impassioned moan,&mdash;<br />
+Veiled voices, in whose wailing there is awe,<br />
+And mysteries of love and agony,<br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>A yearning anguish of celestial souls,<br />
+A shiver as of wings trembling the air,<br />
+As if God's shining doves, his spotless birds,<br />
+Wailed with a nightingale's heart-break of grief,<br />
+In this their starless night, when for our sins<br />
+Their sun, their life, their love, hangs darkly there,<br />
+Like a slain lamb, bleeding his life away!<br />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 224px;">
+<img src="images/i107.jpg" width="224" height="262" alt="cross and palm leaves" />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='center'>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;<br />
+Cambridge: Electrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, &amp; Co.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Religious Poems, by Harriet Beecher Stowe
+
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+</pre>
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+</body>
+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,2294 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Religious Poems, by Harriet Beecher Stowe
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Religious Poems
+
+Author: Harriet Beecher Stowe
+
+Release Date: January 28, 2014 [EBook #44778]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RELIGIOUS POEMS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+RELIGIOUS POEMS.
+
+    BY
+    HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
+
+    _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS._
+
+    [Illustration]
+
+    BOSTON:
+    TICKNOR AND FIELDS.
+    1867.
+
+
+
+
+    Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by
+    HARRIET BEECHER STOWE,
+    in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District
+        of Massachusetts.
+
+
+    UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & CO.,
+    CAMBRIDGE.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                                 PAGE
+    ST. CATHERINE BORNE BY ANGELS                   1
+    THE CHARMER                                     6
+    KNOCKING                                       10
+    THE OLD PSALM TUNE                             15
+    THE OTHER WORLD                                19
+    MARY AT THE CROSS                              22
+    THE INNER VOICE                                28
+    ABIDE IN ME, AND I IN YOU                      30
+    THE SECRET                                     32
+    THINK NOT ALL IS OVER                          34
+    LINES TO THE MEMORY OF "ANNIE"                 36
+    THE CROCUS                                     39
+    CONSOLATION                                    41
+    "ONLY A YEAR"                                  44
+    BELOW                                          47
+    ABOVE                                          49
+    LINES ON THE DEATH OF MRS. STUART              53
+    SUMMER STUDIES                                 57
+
+
+HOURS OF THE NIGHT.
+
+      I. MIDNIGHT                                  65
+     II. FIRST HOUR                                68
+    III. SECOND HOUR                               71
+     IV. THIRD HOUR                                74
+     V. FOURTH HOUR                                77
+     VI. DAY DAWN                                  85
+    VII. WHEN I AWAKE I AM STILL WITH THEE         88
+
+
+PRESSED FLOWERS FROM ITALY.
+
+    A DAY IN THE PAMFILI DORIA                     93
+    THE GARDENS OF THE VATICAN                    102
+    ST. PETER'S CHURCH                            104
+    THE MISERERE                                  106
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+ST. CATHERINE BORNE BY ANGELS.[A]
+
+
+    SLOW through the solemn air, in silence sailing,
+      Borne by mysterious angels, strong and fair,
+    She sleeps at last, blest dreams her eyelids veiling,
+      Above this weary world of strife and care.
+
+    Lo how she passeth!--dreamy, slow, and calm:
+      Scarce wave those broad, white wings, so silvery bright;
+    Those cloudy robes, in star-emblazoned folding,
+      Sweep mistily athwart the evening light.
+
+    Far, far below, the dim, forsaken earth,
+      The foes that threaten, or the friends that weep;
+    Past, like a dream, the torture and the pain:
+      For so He giveth his beloved sleep.
+
+    The restless bosom of the surging ocean
+      Gives back the image as the cloud floats o'er,
+    Hushing in glassy awe his troubled motion;
+      For one blest moment he complains no more.
+
+    Like the transparent golden floor of heaven,
+      His charmed waters lie as in a dream,
+    And glistening wings, and starry robes unfolding,
+      And serious angel eyes far downward gleam.
+
+    O restless sea! thou seemest all enchanted
+      By that sweet vision of celestial rest;
+    Where are the winds and tides thy peace that haunted,--
+      So still thou seemest, so glorified and blest!
+
+    Ah, sea! to-morrow, that sweet scene forgotten,
+      Dark tides and tempests shall thy bosom rear;
+    And thy complaining waves, with restless motion,
+      Shall toss their hands in their old wild despair.
+
+    So o'er our hearts sometimes the sweet, sad story
+      Of suffering saints, borne homeward crowned and blest,
+    Shines down in stillness with a tender glory,
+      And makes a mirror there of breathless rest.
+
+    For not alone in those old Eastern regions
+      Are Christ's beloved ones tried by cross and chain;
+    In many a house are his elect ones hidden,
+      His martyrs suffering in their patient pain.
+
+    The rack, the cross, life's weary wrench of woe,
+      The world sees not, as slow, from day to day,
+    In calm, unspoken patience, sadly still,
+      The loving spirit bleeds itself away.
+
+    But there are hours when, from the heavens unfolding,
+      Come down the angels with the glad release;
+    And we look upward, to behold in glory
+      Our suffering loved ones borne away to peace.
+
+    Ah, brief the calm! the restless wave of feeling
+      Rises again when the bright cloud sweeps by,
+    And our unrestful souls reflect no longer
+      That tender vision of the upper sky.
+
+    Espoused Lord of the pure saints in glory,
+      To whom all faithful souls affianced are,
+    Breathe down thy peace into our restless spirits,
+      And make a lasting, heavenly vision there.
+
+    So the bright gates no more on us shall close;
+      No more the cloud of angels fade away;
+    And we shall walk, amid life's weary strife,
+      In the calm light of thine eternal day.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] According to this legend, Catherine was a noble maiden of
+Alexandria, distinguished alike by birth, riches, beauty, and the
+rarest gifts of genius and learning. In the flower of her life she
+consecrated herself to the service of her Redeemer, and cheerfully
+suffered for his sake the loss of wealth, friends, and the esteem of
+the world. Banishment, imprisonment, and torture were in vain tried to
+shake the constancy of her faith; and at last she was bound upon the
+torturing-wheel for a cruel death. But the angels descended, so says
+the story, rent the wheel, and bore her away, through the air, far over
+the sea, to Mount Sinai, where her body was left to repose, and her
+soul ascended with them to heaven.
+
+
+
+
+THE CHARMER.
+
+    "_Socrates._ However, you and Simmias appear to me as
+    if you wished to sift this subject more thoroughly,
+    and to be afraid, like children, lest, on the soul's
+    departure from the body, winds should blow it away.
+
+    "Upon this Cebes said, 'Endeavor to teach us better,
+    Socrates. Perhaps there is a childish spirit in
+    our breast that has such a dread. Let us endeavor
+    to persuade him not to be afraid of death, as of
+    hobgoblins.'
+
+    "'But you must charm him every day,' said Socrates,
+    'until you have quieted his fears.'
+
+    "'But whence, O Socrates,' he said, 'can we procure a
+    skilful charmer for such a case, now you are about to
+    leave us.'
+
+    "'Greece is wide, Cebes,' he said, 'and in it surely
+    there are skilful men; and there are many barbarous
+    nations, all of which you should search, seeking such a
+    charmer, sparing neither money nor toil.'"--Last words
+    of Socrates, as narrated by Plato in the _Phaedo_.
+
+
+    WE need that charmer, for our hearts are sore
+      With longings for the things that may not be,
+    Faint for the friends that shall return no more,
+      Dark with distrust, or wrung with agony.
+
+    "What is this life? and what to us is death?
+      Whence came we? whither go? and where are those
+    Who, in a moment stricken from our side,
+      Passed to that land of shadow and repose?
+
+    "And are they all dust? and dust must we become?
+      Or are they living in some unknown clime?
+    Shall we regain them in that far-off home,
+      And live anew beyond the waves of time?
+
+    "O man divine! on thee our souls have hung;
+      Thou wert our teacher in these questions high;
+    But ah! this day divides thee from our side,
+      And veils in dust thy kindly-guiding eye.
+
+    "Where is that Charmer whom thou bidst us seek?
+      On what far shores may his sweet voice be heard?
+    When shall these questions of our yearning souls
+      Be answered by the bright Eternal Word?"
+
+    So spake the youth of Athens, weeping round,
+      When Socrates lay calmly down to die;
+    So spake the sage, prophetic of the hour
+      When earth's fair morning star should rise on high.
+
+    They found Him not, those youths of soul divine,
+      Long seeking, wandering, watching on life's shore;
+    Reasoning, aspiring, yearning for the light,
+      Death came and found them--doubting as before.
+
+    But years passed on; and lo! the Charmer came,
+      Pure, simple, sweet, as comes the silver dew,
+    And the world knew him not,--he walked alone,
+      Encircled only by his trusting few.
+
+    Like the Athenian sage, rejected, scorned,
+      Betrayed, condemned, his day of doom drew nigh;
+    He drew his faithful few more closely round,
+      And told them that his hour was come--to die.
+
+    "Let not your heart be troubled," then He said,
+      "My Father's house hath mansions large and fair;
+    I go before you to prepare your place,
+      I will return to take you with me there."
+
+    And since that hour the awful foe is charmed,
+      And life and death are glorified and fair;
+    Whither He went we know, the way we know,
+      And with firm step press on to meet him there.
+
+
+
+
+KNOCKING.
+
+    "Behold, I stand at the door and knock."
+
+
+    KNOCKING, knocking, ever knocking?
+        Who is there?
+    'Tis a pilgrim, strange and kingly,
+        Never such was seen before;--
+    Ah, sweet soul, for such a wonder
+        Undo the door.
+
+    No,--that door is hard to open;
+    Hinges rusty, latch is broken;
+        Bid Him go.
+    Wherefore, with that knocking dreary
+    Scare the sleep from one so weary?
+        Say Him,--no.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    Knocking, knocking, ever knocking?
+        What! Still there?
+    O, sweet soul, but once behold Him,
+    With the glory-crowned hair;
+    And those eyes, so strange and tender,
+        Waiting there;
+    Open! Open! Once behold Him,--
+        Him, so fair.
+
+    Ah, that door! Why wilt Thou vex me,
+    Coming ever to perplex me?
+    For the key is stiffly rusty,
+    And the bolt is clogged and dusty;
+    Many-fingered ivy-vine
+    Seals it fast with twist and twine;
+    Weeds of years and years before
+    Choke the passage of that door.
+
+    Knocking! knocking! What! still knocking?
+        He still there?
+    What's the hour? The night is waning,--
+    In my heart a drear complaining,
+        And a chilly, sad unrest!
+    Ah, this knocking! It disturbs me,
+    Scares my sleep with dreams unblest!
+        Give me rest,
+        Rest,--ah, rest!
+
+    Rest, dear soul, He longs to give thee;
+    Thou hast only dreamed of pleasure,
+    Dreamed of gifts and golden treasure,
+    Dreamed of jewels in thy keeping,
+    Waked to weariness of weeping;--
+    Open to thy soul's one Lover,
+    And thy night of dreams is over,--
+    The true gifts He brings have seeming
+    More than all thy faded dreaming!
+
+    Did she open? Doth she? Will she?
+    So, as wondering we behold,
+    Grows the picture to a sign,
+    Pressed upon your soul and mine;
+    For in every breast that liveth
+    Is that strange mysterious door;--
+    Though forsaken and betangled,
+    Ivy-gnarled and weed-bejangled,
+    Dusty, rusty, and forgotten;--
+    There the pierced hand still knocketh,
+    And with ever-patient watching,
+    With the sad eyes true and tender,
+    With the glory-crowned hair,--
+    Still a God is waiting there.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD PSALM TUNE.
+
+
+    YOU asked, dear friend, the other day,
+      Why still my charmed ear
+    Rejoiceth in uncultured tone
+      That old psalm tune to hear?
+
+    I've heard full oft, in foreign lands,
+      The grand orchestral strain,
+    Where music's ancient masters live,
+      Revealed on earth again,--
+
+    Where breathing, solemn instruments,
+      In swaying clouds of sound,
+    Bore up the yearning, tranced soul,
+      Like silver wings around;--
+
+    I've heard in old St. Peter's dome,
+      Where clouds of incense rise,
+    Most ravishing the choral swell
+      Mount upwards to the skies.
+
+    And well I feel the magic power,
+      When skilled and cultured art
+    Its cunning webs of sweetness weaves
+      Around the captured heart.
+
+    But yet, dear friend, though rudely sung,
+      That old psalm tune hath still
+    A pulse of power beyond them all
+      My inmost soul to thrill.
+
+    Those halting tones that sound to you,
+      Are not the tones I hear;
+    But voices of the loved and lost
+      There meet my longing ear.
+
+    I hear my angel mother's voice,--
+      Those were the words she sung;
+    I hear my brother's ringing tones,
+      As once on earth they rung;
+
+    And friends that walk in white above
+      Come round me like a cloud,
+    And far above those earthly notes
+      Their singing sounds aloud.
+
+    There may be discord, as you say;
+      Those voices poorly ring;
+    But there's no discord in the strain
+      Those upper spirits sing.
+
+    For they who sing are of the blest,
+      The calm and glorified,
+    Whose hours are one eternal rest
+      On heaven's sweet floating tide.
+
+    Their life is music and accord;
+      Their souls and hearts keep time
+    In one sweet concert with the Lord,--
+      One concert vast, sublime.
+
+    And through the hymns they sang on earth
+      Sometimes a sweetness falls
+    On those they loved and left below,
+      And softly homeward calls,--
+
+    Bells from our own dear fatherland,
+      Borne trembling o'er the sea,--
+    The narrow sea that they have crossed,
+      The shores where we shall be.
+
+    O sing, sing on, beloved souls!
+      Sing cares and griefs to rest;
+    Sing, till entranced we arise
+      To join you 'mong the blest.
+
+
+
+
+THE OTHER WORLD.
+
+
+    IT lies around us like a cloud,
+      A world we do not see;
+    Yet the sweet closing of an eye
+      May bring us there to be.
+
+    Its gentle breezes fan our cheek;
+      Amid our worldly cares,
+    Its gentle voices whisper love,
+      And mingle with our prayers.
+
+    Sweet hearts around us throb and beat,
+      Sweet helping hands are stirred,
+    And palpitates the veil between
+      With breathings almost heard.
+
+    The silence, awful, sweet, and calm,
+      They have no power to break;
+    For mortal words are not for them
+      To utter or partake.
+
+    So thin, so soft, so sweet, they glide,
+      So near to press they seem,
+    They lull us gently to our rest,
+      They melt into our dream.
+
+    And in the hush of rest they bring
+      'Tis easy now to see
+    How lovely and how sweet a pass
+      The hour of death may be;--
+
+    To close the eye, and close the ear,
+      Wrapped in a trance of bliss,
+    And, gently drawn in loving arms,
+      To swoon to that--from this,--
+
+    Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep,
+      Scarce asking where we are,
+    To feel all evil sink away,
+      All sorrow and all care.
+
+    Sweet souls around us! watch us still;
+      Press nearer to our side;
+    Into our thoughts, into our prayers,
+      With gentle helpings glide.
+
+    Let death between us be as naught,
+      A dried and vanished stream;
+    Your joy be the reality,
+      Our suffering life the dream.
+
+
+
+
+MARY AT THE CROSS.
+
+    "Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother."
+
+
+    O WONDROUS mother! since the dawn of time
+      Was ever love, was ever grief, like thine?
+    O highly favored in thy joy's deep flow,
+      And favored, even in this, thy bitterest woe!
+
+    Poor was that home in simple Nazareth
+      Where, fairly growing, like some silent flower,
+    Last of a kingly race, unknown and lowly,
+      O desert lily, passed thy childhood's hour.
+
+    The world knew not the tender, serious maiden,
+      Who through deep loving years so silent grew,
+    Full of high thought and holy aspiration,
+      Which the o'ershadowing God alone might view.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    And then it came, that message from the highest,
+      Such as to woman ne'er before descended,
+    The almighty wings thy prayerful soul o'erspread,
+      And with thy life the Life of worlds was blended.
+
+    What visions then of future glory filled thee,
+      The chosen mother of that King unknown,
+    Mother fulfiller of all prophecy
+      Which, through dim ages, wondering seers had shown!
+
+    Well did thy dark eye kindle, thy deep soul
+      Rise into billows, and thy heart rejoice;
+    Then woke the poet's fire, the prophet's song,
+      Tuned with strange burning words thy timid voice.
+
+    Then, in dark contrast, came the lowly manger,
+      The outcast shed, the tramp of brutal feet;
+    Again behold earth's learned and her lowly,
+      Sages and shepherds, prostrate at thy feet.
+
+    Then to the temple bearing--hark again
+      What strange conflicting tones of prophecy
+    Breathe o'er the child foreshadowing words of joy,
+      High triumph blent with bitter agony!
+
+    O, highly favored thou in many an hour
+      Spent in lone musings with thy wondrous Son,
+    When thou didst gaze into that glorious eye,
+      And hold that mighty hand within thine own.
+
+    Blest through those thirty years, when in thy dwelling
+      He lived a God disguised with unknown power;
+    And thou his sole adorer, his best love,
+      Trusting, revering, waited for his hour.
+
+    Blest in that hour, when called by opening heaven
+      With cloud and voice, and the baptizing flame,
+    Up from the Jordan walked th' acknowledged stranger,
+      And awe-struck crowds grew silent as he came.
+
+    Blessed, when full of grace, with glory crowned,
+      He from both hands almighty favors poured,
+    And, though He had not where to lay his head,
+      Brought to his feet alike the slave and lord.
+
+    Crowds followed; thousands shouted, "Lo, our King!"
+      Fast beat thy heart. Now, now the hour draws nigh:
+    Behold the crown, the throne, the nations bend!
+      Ah, no! fond mother, no! behold him die!
+
+    Now by that cross thou tak'st thy final station,
+      And shar'st the last dark trial of thy Son;
+    Not with weak tears or woman's lamentation,
+      But with high, silent anguish, like his own.
+
+    Hail! highly favored, even in this deep passion;
+      Hail! in this bitter anguish thou art blest,--
+    Blest in the holy power with Him to suffer
+      Those deep death-pangs that lead to higher rest.
+
+    All now is darkness; and in that deep stillness
+      The God-man wrestles with that mighty woe;
+    Hark to that cry, the rock of ages rending,--
+      "'Tis finished!" Mother, all is glory now!
+
+    By sufferings mighty as his mighty soul
+      Hath the Redeemer risen forever blest;
+    And through all ages must his heart-beloved
+      Through the same baptism enter the same rest.
+
+
+
+
+THE INNER VOICE.
+
+    "Come ye yourselves into a desert place and rest
+    awhile; for there were many coming and going, so that
+    they had no time so much as to eat."
+
+
+    'MID the mad whirl of life, its dim confusion,
+      Its jarring discords and poor vanity,
+    Breathing like music over troubled waters,
+      What gentle voice, O Christian, speaks to thee?
+
+    It is a stranger,--not of earth or earthly;
+      By the serene, deep fulness of that eye,--
+    By the calm, pitying smile, the gesture lowly,--
+      It is thy Saviour as he passeth by.
+
+    "Come, come," he saith, "O soul oppressed and weary,
+      Come to the shadows of my desert rest,
+    Come walk with me far from life's babbling discords,
+      And peace shall breathe like music in thy breast.
+
+    "Art thou bewildered by contesting voices,--
+      Sick to thy soul of party noise and strife?
+    Come, leave it all, and seek that solitude
+      Where thou shalt learn of me a purer life.
+
+    "When far behind the world's great tumult dieth,
+      Thou shalt look back and wonder at its roar;
+    But its far voice shall seem to thee a dream,
+      Its power to vex thy holier life be o'er.
+
+    "There shalt thou learn the secret of a power,
+      Mine to bestow, which heals the ills of living;
+    To overcome by love, to live by prayer,
+      To conquer man's worst evils by forgiving."
+
+
+
+
+ABIDE IN ME, AND I IN YOU.
+
+THE SOUL'S ANSWER.
+
+    THAT mystic word of thine, O sovereign Lord,
+      Is all too pure, too high, too deep for me;
+    Weary of striving, and with longing faint,
+      I breathe it back again in _prayer_ to thee.
+
+    Abide in me, I pray, and I in thee;
+      From this good hour, O, leave me nevermore;
+    Then shall the discord cease, the wound be healed,
+      The lifelong bleeding of the soul be o'er.
+
+    Abide in me; o'ershadow by thy love
+      Each half-formed purpose and dark thought of sin;
+    Quench, e'er it rise, each selfish, low desire,
+      And keep my soul as thine, calm and divine.
+
+    As some rare perfume in a vase of clay
+      Pervades it with a fragrance not its own,
+    So, when thou dwellest in a mortal soul,
+      All heaven's own sweetness seems around it thrown.
+
+    Abide in me: there have been moments blest
+      When I have heard thy voice and felt thy power;
+    Then evil lost its grasp, and passion, hushed,
+      Owned the divine enchantment of the hour.
+
+    These were but seasons, beautiful and rare;
+      Abide in me, and they shall ever be.
+    Fulfil at once thy precept and my prayer,--
+      Come, and abide in me, and I in thee.
+
+
+
+
+THE SECRET.
+
+    "Thou shalt keep them in the secret of thy presence
+    from the strife of tongues."
+
+
+    WHEN winds are raging o'er the upper ocean,
+      And billows wild contend with angry roar,
+    'Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotion,
+      That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore.
+
+    Far, far beneath, the noise of tempest dieth,
+      And silver waves chime ever peacefully;
+    And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth,
+      Disturbs the sabbath of that deeper sea.
+
+    So to the soul that knows thy love, O Purest,
+      There is a temple peaceful evermore!
+    And all the babble of life's angry voices
+      Die in hushed stillness at its sacred door.
+
+    Far, far away the noise of passion dieth,
+      And loving thoughts rise ever peacefully;
+    And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth
+     Disturbs that deeper rest, O Lord, in thee.
+
+    O rest of rests! O peace serene, eternal!
+      Thou ever livest and thou changest never;
+    And in the secret of thy presence dwelleth
+      Fulness of joy, forever and forever.
+
+
+
+
+THINK NOT ALL IS OVER.
+
+
+    THINK not, when the wailing winds of autumn
+    Drive the shivering leaflets from the tree,--
+    Think not all is over: spring returneth,
+    Buds and leaves and blossoms thou shalt see.
+
+    Think not, when the earth lies cold and sealed,
+    And the weary birds above her mourn,--
+    Think not all is over: God still liveth,
+    Songs and sunshine shall again return.
+
+    Think not, when thy heart is waste and dreary,
+    When thy cherished hopes lie chill and sere,--
+    Think not all is over: God still loveth,
+    He will wipe away thy every tear.
+
+    Weeping for a night alone endureth,
+    God at last shall bring a morning hour;
+    In the frozen buds of every winter
+    Sleep the blossoms of a future flower.
+
+
+
+
+LINES
+
+TO THE MEMORY OF "ANNIE," WHO DIED AT MILAN, JUNE 6, 1860.
+
+    "Jesus saith unto her, Woman, why weepest thou? whom
+    seekest thou? She, supposing him to be the gardener,
+    saith unto him, Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell
+    me where thou hast laid him."--JOHN xx. 15.
+
+
+    IN the fair gardens of celestial peace
+      Walketh a Gardener in meekness clad;
+    Fair are the flowers that wreathe his dewy locks,
+      And his mysterious eyes are sweet and sad.
+
+    Fair are the silent foldings of his robes,
+      Falling with saintly calmness to his feet;
+    And when he walks, each floweret to his will
+      With living pulse of sweet accord doth beat.
+
+    Every green leaf thrills to its tender heart,
+      In the mild summer radiance of his eye;
+    No fear of storm, or cold, or bitter frost,
+      Shadows the flowerets when their sun is nigh.
+
+    And all our pleasant haunts of earthly love
+      Are nurseries to those gardens of the air;
+    And his far-darting eye, with starry beam,
+      Watcheth the growing of his treasures there.
+
+    We call them ours, o'erwept with selfish tears,
+      O'erwatched with restless longings night and day;
+    Forgetful of the high, mysterious right
+      He holds to bear our cherished plants away.
+
+    But when some sunny spot in those bright fields
+      Needs the fair presence of an added flower,
+    Down sweeps a starry angel in the night:
+      At morn, the rose has vanished from our bower.
+
+    Where stood our tree, our flower, there is a grave!
+      Blank, silent, vacant, but in worlds above,
+    Like a new star outblossomed in the skies,
+      The angels hail an added flower of love.
+
+    Dear friend, no more upon that lonely mound,
+      Strewed with the red and yellow autumn leaf,
+    Drop thou the tear, but raise the fainting eye
+      Beyond the autumn mists of earthly grief.
+
+    Thy garden rose-bud bore, within its breast,
+      Those mysteries of color, warm and bright,
+    That the bleak climate of this lower sphere
+      Could never waken into form and light.
+
+    Yes, the sweet Gardener hath borne her hence,
+      Nor must thou ask to take her thence away;
+    Thou shalt behold her in some coming hour,
+      Full-blossomed in his fields of cloudless day.
+
+
+
+
+THE CROCUS.
+
+
+    BENEATH the sunny autumn sky,
+      With gold leaves dropping round,
+    We sought, my little friend and I,
+      The consecrated ground,
+    Where, calm beneath the holy cross,
+      O'ershadowed by sweet skies,
+    Sleeps tranquilly that youthful form,
+      Those blue unclouded eyes.
+
+    Around the soft, green swelling mound
+      We scooped the earth away,
+    And buried deep the crocus-bulbs
+      Against a coming day.
+    "These roots are dry, and brown, and sere;
+      Why plant them here?" he said,
+    "To leave them, all the winter long,
+      So desolate and dead."
+
+    "Dear child, within each sere dead form
+      There sleeps a living flower,
+    And angel-like it shall arise
+      In spring's returning hour."
+    Ah, deeper down--cold, dark, and chill--
+      We buried our heart's flower,
+    But angel-like shall he arise
+      In spring's immortal hour.
+
+    In blue and yellow from its grave
+      Springs up the crocus fair,
+    And God shall raise those bright blue eyes,
+      Those sunny waves of hair.
+    Not for a fading summer's morn,
+      Not for a fleeting hour,
+    But for an endless age of bliss,
+      Shall rise our heart's dear flower.
+
+
+
+
+CONSOLATION.
+
+WRITTEN AFTER THE SECOND BATTLE OF BULL RUN.
+
+    "And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first
+    heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there
+    was no more sea."
+
+
+    AH, many-voiced and angry! how the waves
+      Beat turbulent with terrible uproar!
+    Is there no rest from tossing,--no repose?
+      Where shall we find a haven and a shore?
+
+    What is secure from the loud-dashing wave?
+      There go our riches, and our hopes fly there;
+    There go the faces of our best beloved,
+      Whelmed in the vortex of its wild despair.
+
+    Whose son is safe? whose brother, and whose home?
+      The dashing spray beats out the household fire;
+    By blackened ashes weep our widowed souls
+      Over the embers of our lost desire.
+
+    By pauses, in the fitful moaning storm,
+      We hear triumphant notes of battle roll.
+    Too soon the triumph sinks in funeral wail;
+      The muffled drum, the death march, shakes the soul!
+
+    Rocks on all sides, and breakers! at the helm
+      Weak human hand and weary human eyes.
+    The shout and clamor of our dreary strife
+      Goes up conflicting to the angry skies.
+
+    But for all this, O timid hearts, be strong;
+      Be of good cheer, for, though the storm must be,
+    _It hath its Master:_ from the depths shall rise
+      New heavens, new earth, where shall be no more sea.
+
+    No sea, no tossing, no unrestful storm!
+      Forever past the anguish and the strife;
+    The poor old weary earth shall bloom again,
+      With the bright foliage of that better life.
+
+    And war, and strife, and hatred, shall be past,
+      And misery be a forgotten dream.
+    The Shepherd God shall lead his peaceful fold
+      By the calm meadows and the quiet stream.
+
+    Be still, be still, and know that he is God;
+      Be calm, be trustful; work, and watch, and pray,
+    Till from the throes of this last anguish rise
+      The light and gladness of that better day.
+
+
+
+
+"ONLY A YEAR."
+
+
+    ONE year ago,--a ringing voice,
+      A clear blue eye,
+    And clustering curls of sunny hair,
+      Too fair to die.
+
+    Only a year,--no voice, no smile,
+      No glance of eye,
+    No clustering curls of golden hair,
+      Fair but to die!
+
+    One year ago,--what loves, what schemes
+      Far into life!
+    What joyous hopes, what high resolves,
+      What generous strife!
+
+    The silent picture on the wall,
+      The burial stone,
+    Of all that beauty, life, and joy
+      Remain alone!
+
+    One year,--one year,--one little year,
+      And so much gone!
+    And yet the even flow of life
+      Moves calmly on.
+
+    The grave grows green, the flowers bloom fair,
+      Above that head;
+    No sorrowing tint of leaf or spray
+      Says he is dead.
+
+    No pause or hush of merry birds,
+      That sing above,
+    Tells us how coldly sleeps below
+      The form we love.
+
+    Where hast thou been this year, beloved?
+      What hast thou seen?
+    What visions fair, what glorious life,
+      Where thou hast been?
+
+    The veil! the veil! so thin, so strong!
+      'Twixt us and thee;
+    The mystic veil! when shall it fall,
+      That we may see?
+
+    Not dead, not sleeping, not even gone,
+      But present still,
+    And waiting for the coming hour
+      Of God's sweet will.
+
+    Lord of the living and the dead,
+      Our Saviour dear!
+    We lay in silence at thy feet
+      This sad, sad year!
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+BELOW.
+
+
+    LOUDLY sweep the winds of autumn
+    O'er that lone, beloved grave,
+    Where we laid those sunny ringlets,
+    When those blue eyes set like stars,
+    Leaving us to outer darkness.
+    O the longing and the aching!
+    O the sere deserted grave!
+
+    Let the grass turn brown upon thee,
+    Brown and withered like our dreams!
+    Let the wind moan through the pine-trees
+    With a dreary, dirge-like whistle,
+    Sweep the dead leaves on its bosom,--
+    Moaning, sobbing through the branches,
+    Where the summer laughed so gayly.
+
+    He is gone, our boy of summer,--
+    Gone the light of his blue eyes,
+    Gone the tender heart and manly,
+    Gone the dreams and the aspirings,--
+    Nothing but the _mound_ remaineth,
+    And the aching in our bosoms,
+    Ever aching, ever throbbing:
+    Who shall bring it unto rest?
+
+
+
+
+ABOVE.
+
+A VISION.
+
+
+    COMING down a golden street
+    I beheld my vanished one,
+    And he moveth on a cloud,
+    And his forehead wears a star;
+    And his blue eyes, deep and holy,
+    Fixed as in a blessed dream,
+    See some mystery of joy,
+    Some unuttered depth of love.
+
+    And his vesture is as blue
+    As the skies of summer are,
+    Falling with a saintly sweep,
+    With a sacred stillness swaying;
+    And he presseth to his bosom
+    Harp of strange and mystic fashion,
+    And his hands, like living pearls,
+    Wander o'er the golden strings.
+
+    And the music that ariseth,
+    Who can utter or divine it?
+    In that strange celestial thrilling,
+    Every memory of sorrow,
+    Every heart-ache, every anguish,
+    Every fear for the to-morrow,
+    Melt away in charmed rest.
+
+    And there be around him many,
+    Bright with robes like evening clouds,--
+    Tender green and clearest amber,
+    Crimson fading into rose,
+    Robes of flames and robes of silver,--
+    And their hues all thrill and tremble
+    With a living light of feeling,
+    Deepening with each heart's pulsation,
+    Till in vivid trance of color
+    That celestial rainbow glows.
+
+    How they float and wreathe and brighten,
+    Bending low their starry brows,
+    Singing with a tender cadence,
+    And their hands, like spotless lilies,
+    Folded on their prayerful breasts.
+    In their singing seem to mingle
+    Tender airs of by-gone days;--
+    Mother-hymnings by the cradle,
+    Mother-moanings by the grave,
+    Songs of human love and sorrow,
+    Songs of endless love and rest;--
+    In the pauses of that music
+    Every throb of sorrow dies.
+
+    O my own, my heart's beloved,
+    Vainly have I wept above thee?
+    Would I call thee from thy glory
+    To this world's impurity?--
+    Lo! it passeth, it dissolveth,
+    All the vision melts away;
+    But as if a heavenly lily
+    Dropped into my aching breast,
+    With a healing sweetness laden,
+    With a mystic breath of rest,
+    I am charmed into forgetting
+    Autumn winds and dreary grave.
+
+
+
+
+LINES
+
+SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF MRS. PROFESSOR STUART OF ANDOVER, MASS.
+
+
+    HOW quiet, through the hazy autumn air,
+    The elm-boughs wave with many a gold-flecked leaf!
+    How calmly float the dreamy mantled clouds
+    Through these still days of autumn, fair and brief!
+
+    Our Andover stands thoughtful, fair, and calm,
+    Waiting to lay her summer glories by
+    E'er the bright flush shall kindle all her pines,
+    And her woods blaze with autumn's heraldry.
+
+    By the old mossy wall the golden-rod
+    Waves as aforetime, and the purple sprays
+    Of starry asters quiver to the breeze,
+    Rustling all stilly through the forest ways.
+
+    No voice of triumph from those silent skies
+    Breaks on the calm, and speaks of glories near,
+    Nor bright wings flutter, nor fair glistening robes
+    Proclaim that heavenly messengers are here.
+
+    Yet in our midst an angel hath come down,
+    Troubling the waters in a peaceful home;
+    And from that home, of life's long sickness healed,
+    A saint hath risen, where pain no more may come.
+
+    Christ's fair elect one, from a hidden life
+    Of loving deeds and words of gentleness,
+    Hath passed where all are loving and beloved,
+    Beyond all weariness and all distress.
+
+    Calm, like a lamb in shepherd's bosom borne,
+    Quiet and trustful hath she sunk to rest;
+    God breathed in tenderness the sweet "Well done!"
+    That scarce awoke a trance so still and blest.
+
+    Ye who remember the long loving years,
+    The patient mother's hourly martyrdom,
+    The self-renouncing wisdom, the calm trust,
+    Rejoice for her whose day of rest is come!
+
+    Father and mother, now united, stand
+    Waiting for you to bind the household chain;
+    The tent is struck, the home is gone before,
+    And tarries for you on the heavenly plain.
+
+    By every wish repressed and hope resigned,
+    Each cross accepted and each sorrow borne,
+    She dead yet speaketh, she doth beckon you
+    To tread the path her patient feet have worn.
+
+    Each year that world grows richer and more dear
+    With the bright freight washed from life's stormy shore;
+    O goodly clime, how lovely is thy strand,
+    With those dear faces seen on earth no more!
+
+    The veil between this world and that to come
+    Grows tremulous and quivers with their breath;
+    Dimly we hear their voices, see their hands,
+    Inviting us to the release of death.
+
+    O Thou, in whom thy saints above, below,
+    Are one and undivided, grant us grace
+    In patience yet to bear our daily cross,--
+    In patience run our hourly shortening race!
+
+    And while on earth we wear the servant's form,
+    And while life's labors ever toilful be,
+    Breathe in our souls the joyful confidence
+    We are already kings and priests with thee.
+
+
+
+
+SUMMER STUDIES.
+
+
+    WHY shouldst thou study in the month of June
+    In dusky books of Greek and Hebrew lore,
+    When the Great Teacher of all glorious things
+    Passes in hourly light before thy door?
+
+    There is a brighter book unrolling now;
+    Fair are its leaves as is the tree of heaven,
+    All veined and dewed and gemmed with wondrous signs,
+    To which a healing mystic power is given.
+
+    A thousand voices to its study call,
+    From the fair hill-top, from the waterfall,
+    Where the bird singeth, and the yellow bee,
+    And the breeze talketh from the airy tree.
+
+    Now is that glorious resurrection time
+    When all earth's buried beauties have new birth:
+    Behold the yearly miracle complete,--
+    God hath created a new heaven and earth!
+
+    No tree that wants its joyful garments now,
+    No flower but hastes his bravery to don;
+    God bids thee to this marriage feast of joy,
+    Let thy soul put the wedding garment on.
+
+    All fringed with festal gold the barberry stands;
+    The ferns, exultant, clap their new-made wings;
+    The hemlock rustles broideries of fresh green,
+    And thousand bells of pearl the blueberry rings.
+
+    The long, weird fingers of the old white-pines
+    Do beckon thee into the flickering wood,
+    Where moving spots of light show mystic flowers,
+    And wavering music fills the dreamy hours.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+    Hast thou no _time_ for all this wondrous show,--
+    No thought to spare? Wilt thou forever be
+    With thy last year's dry flower-stalk and dead leaves,
+    And no new shoot or blossom on thy tree?
+
+    See how the pines push off their last year's leaves.
+    And stretch beyond them with exultant bound:
+    The grass and flowers, with living power, o'ergrow
+    Their last year's remnants on the greening ground.
+
+    Wilt thou, then, all thy wintry feelings keep,
+    The old dead routine of thy book-writ lore,
+    Nor deem that God can teach, by one bright hour,
+    What life hath never taught to thee before?
+
+    See what vast leisure, what unbounded rest,
+    Lie in the bending dome of the blue sky:
+    Ah! breathe that life-born languor from thy breast,
+    And know once more a child's unreasoning joy.
+
+    Cease, cease to _think_, and be content _to be_;
+    Swing safe at anchor in fair Nature's bay;
+    Reason no more, but o'er thy quiet soul
+    Let God's sweet teachings ripple their soft way.
+
+    Soar with the birds, and flutter with the leaf;
+    Dance with the seeded grass in fringy play;
+    Sail with the cloud, wave with the dreaming pine,
+    And float with Nature all the livelong day.
+
+    Call not such hours an idle waste of time,--
+    Land that lies fallow gains a quiet power;
+    It treasures, from the brooding of God's wings,
+    Strength to unfold the future tree and flower.
+
+    And when the summer's glorious show is past,
+    Its miracles no longer charm thy sight,
+    The treasured riches of those thoughtful hours
+    Shall make thy wintry musings warm and bright.
+
+
+
+
+HOURS OF THE NIGHT;
+
+OR,
+
+WATCHES OF SORROW.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+I.
+
+MIDNIGHT.
+
+    "He hath made me to dwell in darkness as those that
+    have been long dead."
+
+
+    ALL dark!--no light, no ray!
+    Sun, moon, and stars, all gone!
+    Dimness of anguish!--utter void!--
+            Crushed, and alone!
+
+    One waste of weary pain,
+    One dull, unmeaning ache,
+    A heart too weary even to throb,
+            Too bruised to break.
+
+    No longer anxious thoughts,
+    No longer hopes and fears,
+    No strife, no effort, no desire,
+              No tears.
+
+    Daylight and leaves and flowers,
+    Summer and song of bird!--
+    All vanished!--dreams forever gone,
+              Unseen, unheard!
+
+    Love, beauty, youth,--all gone!
+    The high, heroic vow,
+    The buoyant hope, the fond desire,--
+              All ashes now!
+
+    The words they speak to me
+    Far off and distant seem,
+    As voices we have known and loved
+              Speak in a dream.
+
+    They bid me to submit;
+    I do,--I cannot strive;
+    I do not question,--I endure,
+          Endure and live.
+
+    I do not struggle more,
+    Nor pray, for prayer is vain;
+    I but lie still the weary hour,
+            And bear my pain.
+
+    A guiding God, a Friend,
+    A Father's gracious cheer,
+    Once seemed my own; but now even faith
+            Lies buried here.
+
+    This darkened, deathly life
+    Is all remains of me,
+    And but one conscious wish,--
+            To cease to be!
+
+
+
+
+II.
+
+FIRST HOUR.
+
+    "There was darkness over all the land from the sixth
+    hour unto the ninth hour.
+
+    "And Jesus cried and said, My God, my God, why hast
+    thou forsaken me?"
+
+
+    THAT cry hath stirred the deadness of my soul;
+    I feel a heart-string throb, as throbs a chord
+    When breaks the master chord of some great harp;
+    My heart responsive answers, "Why?" O Lord.
+
+    O cross of pain! O crown of cruel thorns!
+    O piercing nails! O spotless Sufferer there!
+    Wert _thou_ forsaken in thy deadly strife?
+    Then canst thou pity me in my despair.
+
+    Take my dead heart, O Jesus, down with thee
+    To that still sepulchre where thou didst rest;
+    Lay it in the fair linen's spicy folds,
+    As a dear mother lays her babe to rest.
+
+    I am so worn, so weary, so o'erspent,
+    To lie with thee in that calm trance were sweet;
+    The bitter myrrh of long-remembered pain
+    May work in me new strength to rise again.
+
+    This dark and weary mystery of woe,
+    This hopeless struggle, this most useless strife,--
+    Ah, let it end! I die with thee, my Lord,
+    To all I ever hoped or wished from life.
+
+    I die with thee: thy fellowship of grief,
+    Thy partnership with mortal misery,
+    The weary watching and the nameless dread,--
+    Let them be mine to make me one with thee.
+
+    Thou hast asked, "Why?" and God will answer thee,
+    Therefore I ask not, but in peace lie down,
+    For the three days of mystery and rest,
+    Till comes the resurrection and the crown.
+
+
+
+
+III.
+
+SECOND HOUR.
+
+    "They laid hold upon one Simon a Cyrenian, and on him
+    they laid the cross, that he might bear it after Jesus."
+
+
+    ALONG the dusty thoroughfare of life,
+      Upon his daily errands walking free,
+    Came a brave, honest man, untouched by pain,
+      Unchilled by sight or thought of misery.
+
+    But lo! a crowd:--he stops,--with curious eye
+      A fainting form all pressed to earth he sees;
+    The hard, rough burden of the bitter cross
+      Hath bowed the drooping head and feeble knees.
+
+    Ho! lay the cross upon yon stranger there,
+      For he hath breadth of chest and strength of limb.
+    Straight it is done; and heavy laden thus,
+      With Jesus' cross, he turns and follows him.
+
+    Unmurmuring, patient, cheerful, pitiful,
+      Prompt with the holy sufferer to endure,
+    Forsaking all to follow the dear Lord,--
+      Thus did he make his glorious calling sure.
+
+    O soul, whoe'er thou art, walking life's way,
+      As yet from touch of deadly sorrow free,
+    Learn from this story to forecast the day
+      When Jesus and his cross shall come to thee.
+
+    O, in that fearful, that decisive hour,
+      Rebel not, shrink not, seek not thence to flee,
+    But, humbly bending, take thy heavy load,
+      And bear it after Jesus patiently.
+
+    His cross is thine. If thou and he be one,
+      Some portion of his pain must still be thine;
+    Thus only mayst thou share his glorious crown,
+      And reign with him in majesty divine.
+
+    Master in sorrow! I accept my share
+      In the great anguish of life's mystery.
+    No more, alone, I sink beneath my load,
+      But bear my cross, O Jesus, after thee.
+
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+THIRD HOUR.
+
+THE MYSTERY OF LIFE.
+
+    "Let my heart calm itself in thee. Let the great sea
+    of my heart, that swelleth with waves, calm itself in
+    thee."
+
+    ST. AUGUSTINE'S MANUAL.
+
+
+    LIFE'S mystery--deep, restless as the ocean--
+      Hath surged and wailed for ages to and fro;
+    Earth's generations watch its ceaseless motion,
+      As in and out its hollow moanings flow.
+    Shivering and yearning by that unknown sea,
+    Let my soul calm itself, O Christ, in thee!
+
+    Life's sorrows, with inexorable power,
+      Sweep desolation o'er this mortal plain;
+    And human loves and hopes fly as the chaff
+      Borne by the whirlwind from the ripened grain.
+    Ah! when before that blast my hopes all flee,
+    Let my soul calm itself, O Christ, in thee!
+
+    Between the mysteries of death and life
+      Thou standest, loving, guiding, not explaining;
+    We ask, and thou art silent; yet we gaze,
+      And our charmed hearts forget their drear complaining.
+    No crushing fate, no stony destiny,
+    O Lamb that hast been slain, we find in thee!
+
+    The many waves of thought, the mighty tides,
+      The ground-swell that rolls up from other lands,
+    From far-off worlds, from dim, eternal shores,
+      Whose echo dashes on life's wave-worn strands,
+    This vague, dark tumult of the inner sea
+    Grows calm, grows bright, O risen Lord, in thee!
+
+    Thy pierced hand guides the mysterious wheels;
+      Thy thorn-crowned brow now wears the crown of power;
+
+    And when the dread enigma presseth sore,
+      Thy patient voice saith, "Watch with me one hour."
+    As sinks the moaning river in the sea
+    In silver peace, so sinks my soul in thee!
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+V.
+
+FOURTH HOUR.
+
+THE SORROWS OF MARY.
+
+DEDICATED TO THE MOTHERS WHO HAVE LOST SONS IN THE LATE WAR.
+
+
+    I SLEPT, but my heart was waking,
+      And out in my dreams I sped,
+    Through the streets of an ancient city,
+      Where Jesus, the Lord, lay dead.
+
+    He was lying all cold and lowly,
+      And the sepulchre was sealed,
+    And the women that bore the spices
+      Had come from the holy field.
+
+    There is feasting in Pilate's palace,
+      There is revel in Herod's hall,
+    Where the lute and the sounding instrument
+      To mirth and merriment call.
+
+    "I have washed my hands," said Pilate,
+      "And what is the Jew to me?"
+    "I have missed my chance," said Herod,
+      "One of his wonders to see.
+
+    "But why should our courtly circle
+      To the thought give further place?
+    All dreams, save of pleasure and beauty,
+      Bid the dancers' feet efface."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    I saw a light from a casement,
+      And entered a lowly door,
+    Where a woman, stricken and mournful,
+      Sat in sackcloth on the floor.
+
+    There Mary, the mother of Jesus,
+      And John, the beloved one,
+    With a few poor friends beside them,
+      Were mourning for Him that was gone.
+
+    And before the mother was lying
+      That crown of cruel thorn,
+    Wherewith they crowned that gentle brow
+      In mockery that morn.
+
+    And her ears yet ring with the anguish
+      Of that last dying cry,--
+    That mighty appeal of agony
+      That shook both earth and sky.
+
+    O God, what a shaft of anguish
+      Was that dying voice from the tree!--
+    From Him the only spotless,--
+      "Why hast Thou forsaken me?"
+
+    And was he of God forsaken?
+      They ask, appalled with dread;
+    Is evil crowned and triumphant,
+      And goodness vanquished and dead?
+
+    Is there, then, no God in Jacob?
+      Is the star of Judah dim?
+    For who would our God deliver,
+      If he would not deliver him?
+
+    If God _could_ not deliver,--what hope then?
+      If he _would_ not,--who ever shall dare
+    To be firm in his service hereafter?
+      To trust in his wisdom or care?
+
+    So darkly the Tempter was saying,
+      To hearts that with sorrow were dumb;
+    And the poor souls were clinging in darkness to God,
+      With hands that with anguish were numb.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    In my dreams came the third day morning,
+      And fairly the day-star shone;
+    But fairer, the solemn angel,
+      As he rolled away the stone.
+
+    In the lowly dwelling of Mary,
+      In the dusky twilight chill,
+    There was heard the sound of coming feet,
+      And her very heart grew still.
+
+    And in the glimmer of dawning,
+      She saw him enter the door,
+    Her Son, all living and real,
+      Risen, to die no more!
+
+    Her Son, all living and real,
+      Risen no more to die,--
+    With the power of an endless life in his face,
+      With the light of heaven in his eye.
+
+    O mourning mothers, so many,
+      Weeping o'er sons that are dead,
+    Have ye thought of the sorrows of Mary's heart,
+      Of the tears that Mary shed?
+
+    Is the crown of thorns before you?
+      Are there memories of cruel scorn?
+    Of hunger and thirst and bitter cold
+      That your beloved have borne?
+
+    Had ye ever a son like Jesus
+      To give to a death of pain?
+    Did ever a son so cruelly die,
+      But did he die in vain?
+
+    Have ye ever thought that all the hopes
+      That make our earth-life fair
+    Were born in those three bitter days
+      Of Mary's deep despair?
+
+    O mourning mothers, so many,
+      Weeping in woe and pain,
+    Think on the joy of Mary's heart
+      In a Son that is risen again.
+
+    Have faith in a third-day morning,
+      In a resurrection-hour;
+    For what ye sow in weakness,
+      He can raise again in power.
+
+    Have faith in the Lord of that thorny crown,
+      In the Lord of the pierced hand;
+    For he reigneth now o'er earth and heaven,
+      And his power who may withstand?
+
+    And the hopes that never on earth shall bloom,
+      The sorrows forever new,
+    Lay silently down at the feet of Him
+      Who died and is risen for you.
+
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+DAY DAWN.
+
+
+    THE dim gray dawn, upon the eastern hills,
+      Brings back to light once more the cheerless scene;
+    But oh! no morning in my Father's house
+      Is dawning now, for there no night hath been.
+
+    Ten thousand thousand now, on Zion's hills,
+      All robed in white, with palmy crowns, do stray,
+    While I, an exile, far from fatherland,
+      Still wandering, faint along the desert way.
+
+    O home! dear home! my own, my native home!
+    O Father, friends! when shall I look on you?
+    When shall these weary wanderings be o'er,
+    And I be gathered back to stray no more?
+
+    O Thou, the brightness of whose gracious face
+    These weary, longing eyes have never seen,--
+    By whose dear thought, for whose beloved sake,
+    My course, through toil and tears, I daily take,--
+
+    I think of thee when the myrrh-dropping morn
+      Steps forth upon the purple eastern steep;
+    I think of thee in the fair eventide,
+      When the bright-sandalled stars their watches keep.
+
+    And trembling hope, and fainting, sorrowing love,
+      On thy dear word for comfort doth rely;
+    And clear-eyed Faith, with strong forereaching gaze,
+      Beholds thee here, unseen, but ever nigh.
+
+    Walking in white with thee, she dimly sees,
+      All beautiful, these lovely ones withdrawn,
+    With whom my heart went upward, as they rose,
+      Like morning stars, to light a coming dawn.
+
+    All sinless now, and crowned and glorified,
+      Where'er thou movest move they still with thee,
+    As erst, in sweet communion by thy side,
+      Walked John and Mary in old Galilee.
+
+    But hush, my heart! 'T is but a day or two
+      Divides thee from that bright, immortal shore.
+    Rise up! rise up! and gird thee for the race!
+      Fast fly the hours, and all will soon be o'er.
+
+    Thou hast the new name written in thy soul;
+      Thou hast the mystic stone He gives his own.
+    Thy soul, made one with him, shall feel no more
+      That she is walking on her path alone.
+
+
+
+
+VII.
+
+WHEN I AWAKE I AM STILL WITH THEE.
+
+
+    STILL, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh,
+      When the bird waketh and the shadows flee;
+    Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight,
+      Dawns the sweet consciousness, _I am with Thee_!
+
+    Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadows,
+      The solemn hush of nature newly born;
+    Alone with Thee in breathless adoration,
+      In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.
+
+    As in the dawning o'er the waveless ocean
+      The image of the morning star doth rest,
+    So in this stillness Thou beholdest only
+      Thine image in the waters of my breast.
+
+    Still, still with Thee! as to each new-born morning
+      A fresh and solemn splendor still is given,
+    So doth this blessed consciousness, awaking,
+      Breathe, each day, nearness unto Thee and heaven.
+
+    When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,
+      Its closing eye looks up to Thee in prayer;
+    Sweet the repose beneath the wings o'ershading,
+      But sweeter still to wake and find Thee there.
+
+    So shall it be at last, in that bright morning
+      When the soul waketh and life's shadows flee;
+    O, in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning,
+      Shall rise the glorious thought, _I am with Thee_!
+
+
+
+
+PRESSED FLOWERS FROM ITALY.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: A DAY IN THE PAMFILI DORIA.]
+
+
+
+
+A DAY IN THE PAMFILI DORIA.
+
+
+    THOUGH the hills are cold and snowy,
+      And the wind drives chill to-day,
+    My heart goes back to a spring-time,
+      Far, far in the past away.
+
+    And I see a quaint old city,
+      Weary and worn and brown,
+    Where the spring and the birds are so early,
+      And the sun in such light goes down.
+
+    I remember that old-times villa,
+      Where our afternoons went by,
+    Where the suns of March flushed warmly,
+      And spring was in earth and sky.
+
+    Out of the mouldering city,
+      Mouldering, old, and gray,
+    We sped, with a lightsome heart-thrill,
+      For a sunny, gladsome day,--
+
+    For a revel of fresh spring verdure,
+      For a race 'mid springing flowers,
+    For a vision of plashing fountains,
+      Of birds and blossoming bowers.
+
+    There were violet banks in the shadows,
+      Violets white and blue;
+    And a world of bright anemones,
+      That over the terrace grew,--
+
+    Blue and orange and purple,
+      Rosy and yellow and white,
+    Rising in rainbow bubbles,
+      Streaking the lawns with light.
+
+    And down from the old stone pine-trees,
+      Those far off islands of air,
+    The birds are flinging the tidings
+      Of a joyful revel up there.
+
+    And now for the grand old fountains,
+      Tossing their silvery spray,
+    Those fountains so quaint and so many,
+      That are leaping and singing all day.
+
+    Those fountains of strange weird sculpture,
+      With lichens and moss o'ergrown,
+    Are they marble greening in moss-wreaths?
+      Or moss-wreaths whitening to stone?
+
+    Down many a wild, dim pathway
+      We ramble from morning till noon;
+    We linger, unheeding the hours,
+      Till evening comes all too soon.
+
+    And from out the ilex alleys,
+      Where lengthening shadows play,
+    We look on the dreamy Campagna,
+      All glowing with setting day,--
+
+    All melting in bands of purple,
+      In swathings and foldings of gold,
+    In ribands of azure and lilac,
+      Like a princely banner unrolled.
+
+    And the smoke of each distant cottage,
+      And the flash of each villa white,
+    Shines out with an opal glimmer,
+      Like gems in a casket of light.
+
+    And the dome of old St. Peter's
+      With a strange translucence glows,
+    Like a mighty bubble of amethyst
+      Floating in waves of rose.
+
+    In a trance of dreamy vagueness
+      We, gazing and yearning, behold
+    That city beheld by the prophet,
+      Whose walls were transparent gold.
+
+    And, dropping all solemn and slowly,
+      To hallow the softening spell,
+    There falls on the dying twilight
+      The Ave Maria bell.
+
+    With a mournful motherly softness,
+      With a weird and weary care,
+    That strange and ancient city
+      Seems calling the nations to prayer.
+
+    And the words that of old the angel
+      To the mother of Jesus brought,
+    Rise like a new evangel,
+      To hallow the trance of our thought.
+
+    With the smoke of the evening incense,
+      Our thoughts are ascending then
+    To Mary, the mother of Jesus,
+      To Jesus, the Master of men.
+
+    O city of prophets and martyrs,
+      O shrines of the sainted dead,
+    When, when shall the living day-spring
+      Once more on your towers be spread?
+
+    When He who is meek and lowly
+      Shall rule in those lordly halls,
+    And shall stand and feed as a shepherd
+      The flock which his mercy calls,--
+
+    O, then to those noble churches,
+      To picture and statue and gem,
+    To the pageant of solemn worship,
+      Shall the _meaning_ come back again.
+
+    And this strange and ancient city,
+      In that reign of His truth and love,
+    Shall _be_ what it _seems_ in the twilight,
+      The type of that City above.
+
+
+
+
+THE GARDENS OF THE VATICAN.
+
+
+    SWEET fountains, plashing with a dreamy fall,
+    And mosses green, and tremulous veils of fern,
+    And banks of blowing cyclamen, and stars,
+    Blue as the skies, of myrtle blossoming,
+    The twilight shade of ilex overhead
+    O'erbubbling with sweet song of nightingale,
+    With walks of strange, weird stillness, leading on
+    'Mid sculptured fragments half to green moss gone,
+    Or breaking forth amid the violet leaves
+    With some white gleam of an old world gone by.
+    Ah! strange, sweet quiet! wilderness of calm,
+    Gardens of dreamy rest, I long to lay
+    Beneath your shade the last long sigh, and say,
+    Here is my home, my Lord, thy home and mine;
+    And I, having searched the world with many a tear,
+    At last have found thee and will stray no more.
+    But vainly here I seek the Gardener
+    That Mary saw. These lovely halls beyond,
+    That airy, sky-like dome, that lofty fane,
+    Is as a palace whence the king is gone
+    And taken all the sweetness with himself.
+    Turn again, Jesus, and possess thine own!
+    Come to thy temple once more as of old!
+    Drive forth the money-changers, let it be
+    A house of prayer for nations. Even so,
+                          Amen! Amen!
+
+
+
+
+ST. PETER'S CHURCH.
+
+HOLY WEEK, APRIL, 1860.
+
+
+    O FAIREST mansion of a Father's love,
+    Harmonious! hospitable! with thine arms
+    Outspread to all, thy fountains ever full,
+    And, fair as heaven, thy misty, sky-like dome
+    Hung like the firmament with circling sweep
+    Above the constellated golden lamps
+    That burn forever round the holy tomb.
+    Most meet art thou to be the Father's house,
+    The house of prayer for nations. Come the time
+    When thou shalt be so! when a liberty,
+    Wide as thine arms, high as thy lofty dome,
+    Shall be proclaimed, by thy loud singing choirs,
+    Like voice of many waters! Then the Lord
+    Shall come into his temple, and make pure
+    The sons of Levi; then, as once of old,
+    The blind shall see, the lame leap as an hart,
+    And to the poor the Gospel shall be preached,
+    And Easter's silver-sounding trumpets tell,
+    "The Lord is risen indeed," to die no more.
+    Hasten it in its time. Amen! Amen!
+
+
+
+
+THE MISERERE.
+
+
+    NOT of the earth that music! all things fade;
+    Vanish the pictured walls! and, one by one,
+    The starry candles silently expire!
+
+    And now, O Jesus! round that silent cross
+    A moment's pause, a hush as of the grave.
+    Now rises slow a silver mist of sound,
+    And all the heavens break out in drops of grief;
+    A rain of sobbing sweetness, swelling, dying,
+    Voice into voice inweaving with sweet throbs,
+    And fluttering pulses of impassioned moan,--
+    Veiled voices, in whose wailing there is awe,
+    And mysteries of love and agony,
+    A yearning anguish of celestial souls,
+    A shiver as of wings trembling the air,
+    As if God's shining doves, his spotless birds,
+    Wailed with a nightingale's heart-break of grief,
+    In this their starless night, when for our sins
+    Their sun, their life, their love, hangs darkly there,
+    Like a slain lamb, bleeding his life away!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+    Cambridge: Electrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Religious Poems, by Harriet Beecher Stowe
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