The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems, by Mary Baker Eddy
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems
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Title: Poems
Author: Mary Baker Eddy
Release date: November 30, 2008 [eBook #27370]
Language: English
Credits: E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Leonard Johnson, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***
E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Leonard Johnson,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net)
POEMS
BY MARY BAKER EDDY
AUTHOR OF "SCIENCE AND HEALTH WITH KEY TO THE SCRIPTURES"
Published by The Trustees under the Will of Mary Baker G. Eddy BOSTON, U.S.A.
Authorized Literature of The First Church of Christ, Scientist in Boston, Massachusetts
The poems garnered up in this little volume were written at different
periods in the life of the author, dating from her early girlhood up to
recent years. They were not written with a view of making a book, each
poem being the spontaneous outpouring of a deeply poetic nature and
called forth by some experience that claimed her attention.
The "Old Man of the Mountain," for instance, was written while the
author was contemplating this lofty New Hampshire crag, whose rugged
outlines resemble the profile of a human face. Inspired by the grandeur
of this masterpiece of nature's handiwork, and looking "up through
nature, unto nature's God," the poem began to take form in her thought,
and alighting from her carriage, she seated herself by the roadside and
began to write. Some tourists who were passing, and who made her
acquaintance, asked her what she was writing, and she replied by reading
the poem to them. They were so pleased with it that each requested a
copy, which was subsequently mailed to them. Similar requests continued
[Pg vi]to reach the author for years afterward, until the poem finally found
its way into print, appearing, together with "The Valley Cemetery," in a
book "Gems for You," published in Manchester, N. H., in 1850, and again
in Boston, in 1856.
The poem on the "Dedication of a Temperance Hall," in Lynn, Mass., in
1866, was written for that occasion, and was sung by the audience as a
dedicatory hymn. "The Liberty Bells" appeared in a Lynn, Mass.,
newspaper, under the date of February 3, 1865. A note from the author,
which was published with the poem, read as follows:
"Mr. Editor:—In 1835 a mob in Boston (although Boston has since been
the pioneer of anti-slavery) dispersed a meeting of the Female
Anti-Slavery Society, and assailed the person of William Lloyd Garrison
with such fury that the city authorities could protect him nowhere but
in the walls of a jail. To-day, by order of Governor Andrew, the bells
are ringing to celebrate the passing of a resolution in Congress
prohibiting slavery in the United States."
All of the author's best-known hymns are included in this collection,
as well as many poems written in girlhood and during the years she
resided in Lynn, Mass., and which appeared in various publications of
that day. Among her earliest poems are "Upward," "Resolutions for the
Day," "Autumn" (written in a maple grove), "Alphabet and Bayonet," and
[Pg vii]"The Country-Seat" (written while visiting a family friend in the
beautiful suburbs of Boston); yet, even these are characterized by the
same lofty trend of thought that reached its fulness in her later
productions.
In May, 1910, Mrs. Eddy requested her publisher to prepare a few bound
volumes of her poems, for private distribution. When this became known
to her friends, they urged her to allow a popular edition to be issued,
to which she assented. With grateful acknowledgment, therefore, of this
permission, this little volume is presented to the public, in the hope
that these gems of purest thought from this spiritually-minded author
will prove a joy to the heavy laden and a balm to the weary heart.
Gigantic sire, unfallen still thy crest! Primeval dweller where the wild winds rest, Beyond the ken of mortal e'er to tell What power sustains thee in thy rock-bound cell.
Or if, when first creation vast began, And far the universal fiat ran, "Let there be light"—from chaos dark set free, Ye rose, a monument of Deity,
Proud from yon cloud-crowned height to look henceforth On insignificance that peoples earth, Recalling oft the bitter draft which turns The mind to meditate on what it learns.[Pg 2]
Stern, passionless, no soul those looks betray; Though kindred rocks, to sport at mortal clay— Much as the chisel of the sculptor's art "Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart."
Ah, who can fathom thee! Ambitious man, Like a trained falcon in the Gallic van, Guided and led, can never reach to thee With all the strength of weakness—vanity!
Great as thou art, and paralleled by none, Admired by all, still art thou drear and lone! The moon looks down upon thine exiled height; The stars, so cold, so glitteringly bright,
On wings of morning gladly flit away, Yield to the sun's more genial, mighty ray; The white waves kiss the murmuring rill— But thy deep silence is unbroken still.
When starlight blends with morning's hue, I miss thee as the flower the dew! When noonday's length'ning shadows flee, I think of thee, I think of thee!
With evening, memories reappear— I watch thy chair, and wish thee here; Till sleep sets drooping fancy free To dream of thee, to dream of thee!
Since first we met, in weal or woe It hath been thus; and must be so Till bursting bonds our spirits part And Love divine doth fill my heart.
O gentle presence, peace and joy and power; O Life divine, that owns each waiting hour, Thou Love that guards the nestling's faltering flight! Keep Thou my child on upward wing tonight.
Love is our refuge; only with mine eye Can I behold the snare, the pit, the fall: His habitation high is here, and nigh, His arm encircles me, and mine, and all.
O make me glad for every scalding tear, For hope deferred, ingratitude, disdain! Wait, and love more for every hate, and fear No ill,—since God is good, and loss is gain.
Beneath the shadow of His mighty wing; In that sweet secret of the narrow way, Seeking and finding, with the angels sing: "Lo, I am with you alway,"—watch and pray.[Pg 5]
No snare, no fowler, pestilence or pain; No night drops down upon the troubled breast, When heaven's aftersmile earth's tear-drops gain, And mother finds her home and heav'nly rest.
Brood o'er us with Thy shelt'ring wing, 'Neath which our spirits blend Like brother birds, that soar and sing, And on the same branch bend. The arrow that doth wound the dove Darts not from those who watch and love.
If thou the bending reed wouldst break By thought or word unkind, Pray that his spirit you partake, Who loved and healed mankind: Seek holy thoughts and heavenly strain, That make men one in love remain.
Learn, too, that wisdom's rod is given For faith to kiss, and know; That greetings glorious from high heaven, Whence joys supernal flow, Come from that Love, divinely near, Which chastens pride and earth-born fear,[Pg 7] Through God, who gave that word of might Which swelled creation's lay: "Let there be light, and there was light." What chased the clouds away? 'Twas Love whose finger traced aloud A bow of promise on the cloud.
Thou to whose power our hope we give, Free us from human strife. Fed by Thy love divine we live, For Love alone is Life; And life most sweet, as heart to heart Speaks kindly when we meet and part.
I'm sitting alone where the shadows fall In somber groups at the vesper-call, Where tear-dews of night seek the loving rose, Her bosom to fill with mortal woes.
I'm waiting alone for the bridal hour Of nymph and naiad from woodland bower; Till vestal pearls that on leaflets lay, Ravished with beauty the eye of day.
I'm watching alone o'er the starlit glow, O'er the silv'ry moon and ocean flow; And sketching in light the heaven of my youth— Its starry hopes and its waves of truth.
I'm dreaming alone of its changeful sky— What rainbows of rapture floated by! Of a mother's love, that no words could speak When parting the ringlets to kiss my cheek.
I'm thinking alone of a fair young bride, The light of a home of love and pride;[Pg 9] How the glance of her husband's watchful eye Turned to his star of idolatry.
I'm picturing alone a glad young face, Upturned to his mother's in playful grace; And the unsealed fountains of grief and joy That gushed at the birth of that beautiful boy.
I'm weeping alone that the vision is fled, The leaves all faded, the fruitage shed, And wishing this earth more gifts from above, Our reason made right and hearts all love.
Shepherd, show me how to go O'er the hillside steep, How to gather, how to sow,— How to feed Thy sheep; I will listen for Thy voice, Lest my footsteps stray; I will follow and rejoice All the rugged way.
Thou wilt bind the stubborn will, Wound the callous breast, Make self-righteousness be still, Break earth's stupid rest. Strangers on a barren shore, Lab'ring long and lone, We would enter by the door, And Thou know'st Thine own;
So, when day grows dark and cold, Tear or triumph harms, Lead Thy lambkins to the fold, Take them in Thine arms; Feed the hungry, heal the heart, Till the morning's beam; White as wool, ere they depart, Shepherd, wash them clean.
Ye soft sighing zephyrs through foliage and vine! Ye echoing moans from the footsteps of time! Break not on the silence, unless thou canst bear A message from heaven—"No partings are there."
Here gloom hath enchantment in beauty's array, And whispering voices are calling away— Their wooings are soft as the vision more vain— I would live in their empire, or die in their chain.
Here smileth the blossom and sunshine not dead— Flowers fresh as the pang in the bosom that bled,— Yes, constant as love that outliveth the grave, And time cannot quench in oblivion's wave.[Pg 16]
And thou, gentle cypress, in evergreen tears, Art constant and hopeful though winter appears. My heart hath thy verdure, it blossoms above; Like thee, it endureth and liveth in love.
Ambition, come hither! These vaults will unfold The sequel of power, of glory, or gold; Then rush into life, and roll on with its tide, And bustle and toil for its pomp and its pride.
The tired wings flitting through far crimson glow, Which steepeth the trees when the day-god is low; The voice of the night-bird must here send a thrill To the heart of the leaves when the winds are all still.
'Mid graves do I hear the glad voices that swell, And call to my spirit with seraphs to dwell; They come with a breath from the verdant springtime, And waken my joy, as in earliest prime.[Pg 17]
Blest beings departed! Ye echoes at dawn! O tell of their radiant home and its morn! Then I'll think of its glory, and rest till I see My loved ones in glory still waiting for me.
I've watched in the azure the eagle's proud wing, His soaring majestic, and feathersome fling— Careening in liberty higher and higher— Like genius unfolding a quenchless desire.
Would a tear dim his eye, or pinion lose power To gaze on the lark in her emerald bower? When higher he soareth to compass his rest, What vision so bright as the dream in his breast!
God's eye is upon him. He penciled his path Whose omniscient notice the frail fledgling hath. Though lightnings be lurid and earthquakes may shock, He rides on the whirlwind or rests on the rock.[Pg 19]
My course, like the eagle's, oh, still be it high, Celestial the breezes that waft o'er its sky! God's eye is upon me—I am not alone When onward and upward and heavenward borne.
Oh, mountain monarch, at whose feet I stand,— Clouds to adorn thy brow, skies clasp thy hand,— Nature divine, in harmony profound, With peaceful presence hath begirt thee round.
And thou, majestic oak, from yon high place Guard'st thou the earth, asleep in night's embrace,— And from thy lofty summit, pouring down Thy sheltering shade, her noonday glories crown?
Whate'er thy mission, mountain sentinel, To my lone heart thou art a power and spell; A lesson grave, of life, that teacheth me To love the Hebrew figure of a tree.
Faithful and patient be my life as thine; As strong to wrestle with the storms of time; As deeply rooted in a soil of love; As grandly rising to the heavens above.
Thou God-crowned, patient century, Thine hour hath come! Eternity Draws nigh—and, beckoning from above, One hundred years, aflame with Love, Again shall bid old earth good-by— And, lo, the light! far heaven is nigh! New themes seraphic, Life divine, And bliss that wipes the tears of time Away, will enter, when they may, And bask in one eternal day.
'Tis writ on earth, on leaf and flower: Love hath one race, one realm, one power. Dear God! how great, how good Thou art To heal humanity's sore heart; To probe the wound, then pour the balm— A life perfected, strong and calm. The dark domain of pain and sin Surrenders—Love doth enter in, And peace is won, and lost is vice: Right reigns, and blood was not its price.
Come to me, joys of heaven! Breathe through the summer air A balm—the long-lost leaven Dissolving death, despair! O little heart, To me thou art A sign that never can depart.
Come to me, peace on earth! From out life's billowy sea,— A wave of welcome birth,— The Life that lives in Thee! O Love divine, This heart of Thine Is all I need to comfort mine.
Come when the shadows fall, And night grows deeply dark; The barren brood, O call With song of morning lark; And from above, Dear heart of Love, Send us thy white-winged dove.
Mirrors of morn Whence the dewdrop is born, Soft tints of the rainbow and skies— Sisters of song, What a shadowy throng Around you in memory rise!
Far do ye flee, From your green bowers free, Fair floral apostles of love, Sweetly to shed Fragrance fresh round the dead, And breath of the living above.
Flowers for the brave— Be he monarch or slave, Whose heart bore its grief and is still! Flowers for the kind— Aye, the Christians who wind Wreaths for the triumphs o'er ill!
Pass on, returnless year! The track behind thee is with glory crowned; The turf where thou hast trod is holy ground. Pass proudly to thy bier!
Chill was thy midnight day, While Justice grasped the sword to hold her throne, And on her altar our loved Lincoln's own Great willing heart did lay.
Thy purpose hath been won! Thou point'st thy phantom finger, grim and cold, To the dark record of our guilt unrolled, And smiling, say'st, "'Tis done!
"This record I will bear To the dim chambers of eternity— The chain and charter I have lived to see Purged by the cannon's prayer;[Pg 27]
"Convulsion, carnage, war; The pomp and tinsel of unrighteous power; Bloated oppression in its awful hour,— I, dying, dare abhor!"
One word, receding year, Ere thou grow tremulous with shadowy night! Say, will the young year dawn with wisdom's light To brighten o'er thy bier?
Or we the past forget, And heal her wounds too tenderly to last? Or let today grow difficult and vast With traitors unvoiced yet?
Though thou must leave the tear,— Hearts bleeding ere they break in silence yet, Wrong jubilant and right with bright eye wet,— Thou fast expiring year,
Thy work is done, and well: Thou hast borne burdens, and may take thy rest, Pillow thy head on time's untired breast. Illustrious year, farewell!
Gently thou beckonest from the giant hills The new-born beauty in the emerald sky, And wakening murmurs from the drowsy rills— O gladsome dayspring! 'reft of mortal sigh To glorify all time—eternity— With thy still fathomless Christ-majesty.
E'en as Thou gildest gladdened joy, dear God, Give risen power to prayer; fan Thou the flame Of right with might; and midst the rod, And stern, dark shadows cast on Thy blest name, Lift Thou a patient love above earth's ire, Piercing the clouds with its triumphal spire.
While sacred song and loudest breath of praise Echo amid the hymning spheres of light,— With heaven's lyres and angels' loving lays,[Pg 31]— Send to the loyal struggler for the right, Joy—not of time, nor yet by nature sown, But the celestial seed dropped from Love's throne.
Prolong the strain "Christ risen!" Sad sense, annoy No more the peace of Soul's sweet solitude! Deep loneness, tear-filled tones of distant joy, Depart! Glad Easter glows with gratitude— Love's verdure veils the leaflet's wondrous birth— Rich rays, rare footprints on the dust of earth.
Not life, the vassal of the changeful hour, Nor burdened bliss, but Truth and Love attest The solemn splendor of immortal power,— The ever Christ, and glorified behest, Poured on the sense which deems no suffering vain That wipes away the sting of death—sin, pain.
To rise in the morning and drink in the view— The home where I dwell in the vale, The blossoms whose fragrance and charms ever new Are scattered o'er hillside and dale;
To gaze on the sunbeams enkindling the sky— A loftier life to invite— A light that illumines my spiritual eye, And inspires my pen as I write;
To form resolutions, with strength from on high, Such physical laws to obey, As reason with appetite, pleasures deny, That health may my efforts repay;
To kneel at the altar of mercy and pray That pardon and grace, through His Son, May comfort my soul all the wearisome day, And cheer me with hope when 'tis done;[Pg 33]
To daily remember my blessings and charge, And make this my humble request: Increase Thou my faith and my vision enlarge, And bless me with Christ's promised rest;
To hourly seek for deliverance strong From selfishness, sinfulness, dearth, From vanity, folly, and all that is wrong— With ambition that binds us to earth;
To kindly pass over a wound, or a foe (And mem'ry but part us awhile), To breathe forth a prayer that His love I may know, Whose mercies my sorrows beguile,—
If these resolutions are acted up to, And faith spreads her pinions abroad, 'Twill be sweet when I ponder the days may be few That waft me away to my God.
Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer.—Moore.
Was that fold for the lambkin soft virtue's repose, Where the weary and earth-stricken lay down their woes,— When the fountain and leaflet are frozen and sere, And the mountains more friendless,—their home is not here?
When the herd had forsaken, and left them to stray From the green sunny slopes of the woodland away; Where the music of waters had fled to the sea, And this life but one given to suffer and be?
Was it then thou didst call them to banish all pain, And the harpstring, just breaking, reecho again To a strain of enchantment that flowed as the wave, Where they waited to welcome the murmur it gave?[Pg 42]
Oh, there's never a shadow where sunshine is not, And never the sunshine without a dark spot; Yet there's one will be victor, for glory and fame, Without heart to define them, were only a name!
Jesus loves you! so does mother: Glad thy Eastertide: Loving God and one another, You in Him abide. Ours through Him who gave you to us,— Gentle as the dove, Fondling e'en the lion furious, Leading kine with love.
Father, in Thy great heart hold them Ever thus as Thine! Shield and guide and guard them; and, when At some siren shrine They would lay their pure hearts' off'ring, Light with wisdom's ray— Beacon beams—athwart the weakly, Rough or treacherous way.
Temper every trembling footfall, Till they gain at last— Safe in Science, bright with glory— Just the way Thou hast:[Pg 44] Then, O tender Love and wisdom, Crown the lives thus blest With the guerdon of Thy bosom, Whereon they may rest!
Tis borne on the zephyr at eventide's hour; It falls on the heart like the dew on the flower,— An infinite essence from tropic to pole, The promise, the home, and the heaven of Soul.
Hope happifies life, at the altar or bower, And loosens the fetters of pride and of power; It comes through our tears, as the soft summer rain, To beautify, bless, and make joyful again.
The harp of the minstrel, the treasure of time; A rainbow of rapture, o'erarching, divine; The God-given mandate that speaks from above,— No place for earth's idols, but hope thou, and love.
Joy for thee, happy friend! thy bark is past The dangerous sea, and safely moored at last— Beyond rough foam. Soft gales celestial, in sweet music bore— Spirit emancipate for this far shore— Thee to thy home.
"You've traveled long, and far from mortal joys, To Soul's diviner sense, that spurns such toys, Brave wrestler, lone. Now see thy ever-self; Life never fled; Man is not mortal, never of the dead: The dark unknown.
"When hope soared high, and joy was eagle-plumed, Thy pinions drooped; the flesh was weak, and doomed To pass away. But faith triumphant round thy death-couch shed[Pg 49] Majestic forms; and radiant glory sped The dawning day.
"Intensely grand and glorious life's sphere,— Beyond the shadow, infinite appear Life, Love divine,— Where mortal yearnings come not, sighs are stilled, And home and peace and hearts are found and filled, Thine, ever thine.
"Bearest thou no tidings from our loved on earth, The toiler tireless for Truth's new birth All-unbeguiled? Our joy is gathered from her parting sigh: This hour looks on her heart with pitying eye,— What of my child?"
"When, severed by death's dream, I woke to Life, She deemed I died, and could not know the strife At first to fill That waking with a love that steady turns[Pg 50] To God; a hope that ever upward yearns, Bowed to His will.
"Years had passed o'er thy broken household band, When angels beckoned me to this bright land, With thee to meet. She that has wept o'er thee, kissed my cold brow, Rears the sad marble to our memory now, In lone retreat.
"By the remembrance of her loyal life, And parting prayer, I only know my wife, Thy child, shall come— Where farewells cloud not o'er our ransomed rest— Hither to reap, with all the crowned and blest, Of bliss the sum.
"When Love's rapt sense the heartstrings gently sweep With joy divinely fair, the high and deep, To call her home, She shall mount upward unto purer skies; We shall be waiting, in what glad surprise, Our spirits' own!"
Whence are thy wooings, gentle June? Thou hast a naiad's charm; Thy breezes scent the rose's breath; Old Time gives thee her palm. The lark's shrill song doth wake the dawn: The eve-bird's forest flute Gives back some maiden melody, Too pure for aught so mute.
The fairy-peopled world of flowers, Enraptured by thy spell, Looks love unto the laughing hours, Through woodland, grove, and dell; And soft thy footstep falls upon The verdant grass it weaves; To melting murmurs ye have stirred The timid, trembling leaves.
When sunshine beautifies the shower, As smiles through teardrops seen, Ask of its June, the long-hushed heart, What hath the record been?[Pg 56] And thou wilt find that harmonies, In which the Soul hath part, Ne'er perish young, like things of earth, In records of the heart.
The flowers of June The gates of memory unbar: The flowers of June Such old-time harmonies retune, I fain would keep the gates ajar,— So full of sweet enchantment are The flowers of June.
—James T. White.
Who loves not June Is out of tune With love and God; The rose his rival reigns, The stars reject his pains, His home the clod!
And yet I trow, When sweet rondeau Doth play a part, The curtain drops on June; Veiled is the modest moon— Hushed is the heart.
If fancy plumes aerial flight, Go fix thy restless mind On learning's lore and wisdom's might, And live to bless mankind. The sword is sheathed, 'tis freedom's hour, No despot bears misrule, Where knowledge plants the foot of power In our God-blessed free school.
Forth from this fount the streamlets flow, That widen in their course. Hero and sage arise to show Science the mighty source, And laud the land whose talents rock The cradle of her power, And wreaths are twined round Plymouth Rock, From erudition's bower.
Farther than feet of chamois fall, Free as the generous air, Strains nobler far than clarion call Wake freedom's welcome, where[Pg 61] Minerva's silver sandals still Are loosed, and not effete; Where echoes still my day-dreams thrill, Woke by her fancied feet.
Wild spirit of song,—midst the zephyrs at play In bowers of beauty,—I bend to thy lay, And woo, while I worship in deep sylvan spot, The Muses' soft echoes to kindle the grot. Wake chords of my lyre, with musical kiss, To vibrate and tremble with accents of bliss.
Here morning peers out, from her crimson repose, On proud Prairie Queen and the modest Moss-rose; And vesper reclines—when the dewdrop is shed On the heart of the pink—in its odorous bed; But Flora has stolen the rainbow and sky, To sprinkle the flowers with exquisite dye.
Here fame-honored hickory rears his bold form, And bares a brave breast to the lightning and storm,[Pg 63] While palm, bay, and laurel, in classical glee, Chase tulip, magnolia, and fragrant fringe-tree; And sturdy horse-chestnut for centuries hath given Its feathery blossom and branches to heaven.
Here is life! Here is youth! Here the poet's world-wish,— Cool waters at play with the gold-gleaming fish; While cactus a mellower glory receives From light colored softly by blossom and leaves; And nestling alder is whispering low, In lap of the pear-tree, with musical flow.[1]
Dark sentinel hedgerow is guarding repose, Midst grotto and songlet and streamlet that flows Where beauty and perfume from buds burst away, And ope their closed cells to the bright, laughing day;[Pg 64] Yet, dwellers in Eden, earth yields you her tear,— Oft plucked for the banquet, but laid on the bier.
Earth's beauty and glory delude as the shrine Or fount of real joy and of visions divine; But hope, as the eaglet that spurneth the sod, May soar above matter, to fasten on God, And freely adore all His spirit hath made, Where rapture and radiance and glory ne'er fade.
Oh, give me the spot where affection may dwell In sacred communion with home's magic spell! Where flowers of feeling are fragrant and fair, And those we most love find a happiness rare; But clouds are a presage,—they darken my lay: This life is a shadow, and hastens away.
[1] An alder growing from the bent branch of a pear-tree.
O Sing me that song! My spirit is sad, Life's pulses move fitful and slow; A meeting with loved ones in dreams I have had, Whose robes were as spotless as snow: A phantom of joy, it fled with the light, And left but a parting in air. My soul is enchained to life's dreary night, O sing me "Sweet hour of prayer"!
Ah, sleep, twin sister of death and of night! My thoughts 'neath thy drap'ry still lie. Alas! that from dreams so boundless and bright We waken to life's dreary sigh. Those moments most sweet are fleetest alway, For love claspeth earth's raptures not long, Till darkness and death like mist melt away, To rise to a seraph's new song.
O'er ocean or Alps, the stranger who roams But gathers a wreath for his bier; For life hath its music in low minor tones, And man is the cause of its tear.[Pg 66] But drops of pure nectar our brimming cup fill, When we walk by that murmuring stream; Or when, like the thrill of that mountain rill, Your songs float in memory's dream.
Sweet spirit of love, at soft eventide Wake gently the chords of her lyre, And whisper of one who sat by her side To join with the neighboring choir; And tell how that heart is silent and sad, No melody sweeps o'er its strings! 'Tis breaking alone, but a young heart and glad— Might cheer it, perchance, when she sings.
Ah, why should the brief bliss of life's little day Grow cold in this spot as the spiritless clay, And thought be at work with the long-buried hours, And tears be bedewing these fresh-smiling flowers!
Ah, wherefore the memory of dear ones deemed dead Should bow thee, as winds bow the tall willow's head! Beside you they walk while you weep, and but pass From your sight as the shade o'er the dark wavy grass.
The cypress may mourn with her evergreen tears, And, like the blue hyacinth, change not with years; Yea, flowers of feeling may blossom above, To yield earth the fragrance of goodness and love;[Pg 68]
So one heart is left me—she breathes in my ear, "I'm living to bless thee; for this are we here." And when this sweet pledge to my lone heart was given, Earth held but this joy, or this happiness heaven!
Here the rock and the sea and the tall waving pine Enchant deep the senses,—subduing, sublime; Yet stronger than these is the spell that hath power To sweep o'er the heartstrings in memory's hour.
Of the past 'tis the talisman, when we three met, When the star of our friendship arose not to set; And pure as its rising, and bright as the star, Be its course through our heavens, whether near or afar.
Beyond the clouds, away In the dim distance, lay A bright and golden shower At sunset's radiant hour,— Like to the soul's glad immortality, Making this life divine, Making its waters wine, Giving the glory that eye cannot see.
In God there is no night,— Truth is eternal light, A help forever near; For sinless sense is here In Truth, the Life, the Principle of man. Away, then, mortal sense! Then, error, get thee hence, Thy discord ne'er in harmony began!
Immortal Truth,—since heaven rang, The while the glad stars sang To hail creation's glorious morn— As when this babe was born, A painless heraldry of Soul, not sense,— Shine on our 'wildered way, Give God's idea sway, And sickness, sin, and death are banished hence.
This is the hour they then foretold— When earth, inebriate with crime, Laughed right to scorn, and guilt, grown bold, Knelt worshiping at mammon's shrine.
This is the hour! Corruption's band Is driven back; and periled right, Rescued by the "fanatic" hand, Spans our broad heaven of light.
Righteousness ne'er—awestruck or dumb— Feared for an hour the tyrant's heel! Injustice to the combat sprang; God to the rescue—Liberty, peal!
Joy is in every belfry bell— Joy for the captive! Sound it long! Ye who have wept fourscore can tell The holy meaning of their song.
'Tis freedom's birthday—blood-bought boon! O war-rent flag! O soldier-shroud! Thine be the glory—nor too soon Is heard your "Cry aloud!"[Pg 72]
O not too soon is rent the chain And charter, trampling right in dust! Till God is God no longer—ne'er again Quench liberty that's just.
I come to thee O'er the moonlit sea, When the hoarse wave revisits thy shore! When waters shout, And the stars peep out, I am with thee in spirit once more.
Then list the moan Of the billows' foam, Laving with surges thy silv'ry beach! Night's dewy eye, The sea-mew's lone cry, Witness my presence and utter my speech.
Pleasant a grave By the "Rock" or wave, And afar from life's turmoil its goal. No sculptured lie, Or hypocrite sigh, E'er to mock the bright truth of the soul.[Pg 74]
Friends, will not ye Think kindly of me, In those moments to memory bestowed? Smile on me yet, O blue eyes and jet, Soft as when parting thy sympathy glowed!
Saw ye my Saviour? Heard ye the glad sound? Felt ye the power of the Word? 'Twas the Truth that made us free, And was found by you and me In the life and the love of our Lord.
Mourner, it calls you,—"Come to my bosom, Love wipes your tears all away, And will lift the shade of gloom, And for you make radiant room Midst the glories of one endless day."
Sinner, it calls you,—"Come to this fountain, Cleanse the foul senses within; 'Tis the Spirit that makes pure, That exalts thee, and will cure All thy sorrow and sickness and sin."
Strongest deliverer, friend of the friendless, Life of all being divine: Thou the Christ, and not the creed; Thou the Truth in thought and deed; Thou the water, the bread, and the wine.
God of the rolling year! to Thee we raise A nation's holiest hymn in grateful praise! Plenty and peace abound at Thy behest, Yet wherefore this Thy love? Thou knowest best!
Thou who, impartial, blessings spreadst abroad, Thou wisdom, Love, and Truth,—divinely God! Who giveth joy and tears, conflict and rest, Teaching us thus of Thee, who knowest best!
Ruler Supreme! to Thee we'll meekly bow, When we have learned of Truth what Thou doest now— Why from this festive hour some dear lost guest Bears hence its sunlit glow—Thou knowest best![Pg 78]
How have our honored dead fought on in gloom! Peace her white wings will spread over their tomb; Why waited their reward, triumph and rest, Till molds the hero form? Thou knowest best!
Shades of our heroes! the Union now is one, The star whose destiny none may outrun; Tears of the bleeding slave poured on her breast, When to be wiped away, Thou knowest best!
Thou who in the Christ hallowed its grief,— O meekest of mourners, while yet the chief,— Give to the pleading hearts comfort and rest, In that benediction which knoweth best!
It matters not what be thy lot, So Love doth guide; For storm or shine, pure peace is thine, Whate'er betide.
And of these stones, or tyrants' thrones, God able is To raise up seed—in thought and deed— To faithful His.
Aye, darkling sense, arise, go hence! Our God is good. False fears are foes—truth tatters those, When understood.
Love looseth thee, and lifteth me, Ayont hate's thrall: There Life is light, and wisdom might, And God is All.
The centuries break, the earth-bound wake, God's glorified! Who doth His will—His likeness still— Is satisfied.
Pleasant View, Concord, N. H., January, 1900.
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