VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 BY 
 
 PHEBE A. MILLS. 
 
 =^«*=^^S2=:5==*!!j»» 
 
 ^j^ILLIAM ^ACNAB, II ^RINCE ^TR^EET. 
 
 1872. 
 
PRINTED BY WILLIAM MACNAB, 
 PRINCK ST., HALIFAX, N. 8. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Vespera ... 
 
 The Unknown Revealed 
 Thoughts at Close of Day 
 My Friend's Home 
 Friendship ... 
 Lines to My Friend at Cedar Grove 
 
 Sonnet to 
 
 Lines l\;n*M^8*^.. ^^^^jj-^'s Al^uraP 
 Stanzas to 
 
 c 
 
 The Ideal and the Real ... 
 
 The Beautiful Land - . - - 
 
 The Past ..... 
 
 Stanzas . - - . . 
 
 Whispers of Friendship ... 
 
 The Death of the First-Born 
 
 Little Emma ..... 
 
 Little Everett .... 
 
 The Graves of Loved Ones 
 
 Words of Hope . . . , 
 
 Stanzas to S. O. F. 
 
 Lines Suggested by the Death of James H. Keiver 
 
 Lines in Memory of Miss Susan J. Boss 
 
 Insufficiency ----.. 
 
 Reflections on the Last of Summer 
 
 Lines to My Friend in Cascade Valley 
 
 Adieu to Mount Clair .... 
 
 w ay ci^ 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 5 
 
 6 
 
 7 
 
 9 
 
 10 
 
 12 
 
 14 
 
 14 
 
 ir. 
 
 16 
 
 18 
 
 18 
 
 19 
 
 20 
 
 26 
 
 27 
 
 29 
 
 30 
 
 32 
 
 33 
 
 36 
 
 37 
 
 39 
 
 41 
 
 44 
 
 45 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 Lines to Brother S- 
 Our Forest Bride 
 Stanzas to 
 
 Autumn 
 Reconciled 
 
 To One at Rest 
 
 PAGE, 
 
 Lines in Memory of Miss Matilda Hillson - - - 48 
 
 Lines in Memory of Miss Mary A. Mills - . 50 
 
 " Pine Grove " - . . . 
 
 A Dream of Elysium ..... 
 
 " Scenes of Nature " - - - . . 
 
 My Sister -----.. 
 
 Tlie Other Shore 
 
 A Bud of Friendship - - - - . 
 
 Reminiscences of School Life - - . . 
 
 The Last Farewell --.... 
 The Coming of Spring - - . . . 
 
 " Breathings of Spring " ' ' • • 82 
 
 Summer Days ""■--- 84 
 
 Autumn Musings - - . . . q^ 
 
 A Good Night - - . - - - 89 
 
 The Moderate Drinker's Bride - - . . 90 
 
 Night ,j^ 
 
 Morning ----... 95 
 
 52 
 56 
 
 57 
 59 
 
 60 
 63 
 66 
 69 
 71 
 72 
 78 
 80 
 
 96 
 
 - - - - - 96 
 
 Last Words ------- gg 
 
 99 
 
 My Childhood's Friends ----- 101 
 
 The Poet's Dream - - . . . jQg 
 
 Sonnet to S •"---- 109 
 
 Died on the Race ..... jjq 
 
 " The Dream Warning " ----- 112 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 ^Y Phoebe A. Mills. 
 
 VESPERA. 
 
 Vespera comes and shadows dark 
 
 Are draping the brow of the mountain higli, 
 
 Hesperus shines on his ether throne, 
 
 And the Pleiads sparkle far up in the sky. 
 
 Nox from her ebon halls comes down. 
 And earth in her dark pavillion sleeps, 
 
 Morpheus steals softly through palace an^l cot, 
 A;id a watch over slumbering millions keeps. 
 
 Calmness sits throned on the cloudlets which float. 
 O'er the brow of the beautiful star-spangled zone. 
 
 The zephyrs have ceased their mild play in the west, 
 And the winds for awhile have forgotten to moan. 
 
 Freed from the trials and turmoils of day, 
 
 Earth's weary ones yield to the goddess repose. 
 
 The spirit eyes ope' on the dreamland of bliss, 
 
 Or gaze on the bowers where the amaranth grows. 
 
6 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 The wild din of battle hath ceased to resound, 
 The clash of the falchion no longer is heard. 
 
 On the still evening air no clarion voice 
 Breaks forth like the wail of a piteous bird. 
 
 The cold dews descend, and the warrior's brow 
 Is bathed in the balmy effulgence of night, 
 
 The dead heed it not, but the living take heart 
 
 As they gaze on the peai ly drops glittering and bright. 
 
 Deep silence prevails in tent and in grove, 
 
 Save where bacchanal hordes their wild festivals keep 
 
 Or Love holds its vigils in sorrow and tears 
 
 'Neath the shadow of Death — the twin angel of Sleep. 
 
 Soon these shadows for aye from the hill tops shall fade, 
 And the mists from the valleys of Time disappear ; 
 
 And the watchers by death with the sleepers shall meet 
 In the beautiful light of a glorified sphere. 
 
 THE UNKNOWN REVEALED. 
 
 The past we dimly comprehend, 
 
 A misty veil the future shrouds, 
 Our finite minds in vain may seek 
 
 To penetrate its sombre clouds ; 
 But when that other life shall dawn, 
 
 And we. with eyes of light unsealed 
 . Shall cast a backward glance to earth. 
 
 The now unknown shall be revealed. 
 
• VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 We know not now, but we shall know 
 
 The whys and wherefores here unknown ; 
 Our spirits all shall comprehend. 
 
 When we appear before the throne. 
 " Our soids shall pierce all mystic state, — 
 
 All glades of blue, all symbols deep, 
 And take from off the eyes of Fate 
 
 The lids of her unstirring sleep." 
 
 THOUGHTS AT CLOSE OF DAY, 
 
 The golden sun. 
 Has sunk beneath the western sky ; 
 Another night of rest is nigh, 
 
 And day is done. 
 
 The dying light 
 Gleams faintly in the far oflP west ; 
 . While softly ope' the gates of rest 
 To realms more bright. 
 
 Far up on high, 
 Like watch-fires in the azure blue, 
 Or eyes of angels peering through. 
 
 Stars gem the sky. 
 
 On the still air 
 A tide of lovv^, sweet music flows, 
 And whispers of calm repose 
 
 Dispel each care. 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 I love to dream 
 In the soft hush which evening brings ^ 
 Then far away and holy things 
 
 More real seem. 
 
 To charms of earth 
 Our fallen nature fondly clings ; 
 Our spirit yearns for higher things, 
 
 Of holier birth. 
 
 Joy hath its clouds, 
 And hope its chastened ministry ; 
 And strongest hearts will sometimes be 
 
 By sorrow bowed. 
 
 But there's a sphere. 
 Where joy ne'er comes with shadowing wings, 
 Nor hope in tones of sorrow sings. 
 
 Afar from here. 
 
 There fadeless flowers 
 On trees of life immortal bloom ; 
 No Sorrow there, nor shade of gloom, 
 
 Mars the bright hours. 
 
 land most blest ! 
 Thither my fettered spirit turns ; 
 'Mid earthly cares, my heart oft yearns 
 
 For its sweet rest. 
 
 Father above. 
 Lead thou my wandering feet aright, 
 Guide me into thy perfect light 
 
 And law of love. 
 
VESPER P'^MES. 9 
 
 MY FRIEND'S HOME. 
 
 Nature is beauteous everywhere, 
 
 Her varied charms are ever new, 
 But o'er a sylvan spot Hke this 
 
 Methinks she sheds a lovlier hue, 
 These giant poplars towering high, 
 
 All glorious in their summer prime. 
 Must surely charm the passers by. 
 
 And win from some a thought sublime. 
 
 Were I an artist, I would paint 
 
 A picture of this chai-ming bower. 
 Were I a poet, I would write 
 
 A stanza on each tree and flower. 
 For surely in this verdant bower, 
 
 Arrayed in emerald hues so bright, 
 Some kindly muse would deign to stop. 
 
 And fold awhile her wings of light. 
 
 How cheering 'tis to linger here 
 
 Beneath the shadow of these trees, 
 Which glorious even yet appear. 
 
 Though trembling in the autumn breeze, 
 Their summer garb remains unscathed 
 
 Though autumn sweeps o'er vale and hill, 
 The sunbeams kiss their emerald leaves. 
 
 And zephyrs play among them still. 
 
10 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 'Tis beautiful to gaze above, 
 
 Where giant trees their branches spread, 
 While underneath in meekness mild, 
 
 The trembling snow drop rears its head. 
 Here poplars wave, and willows weep, 
 
 And maples lift their towering forms. 
 A shadow from the summer's heat, 
 
 A shelter from the winter's storms. 
 
 Surrounded by this charming scene, 
 
 May you the joys of friendship prove. 
 May sweet contentment wreathe its chain 
 
 Around you and the friends you love. 
 And may you as each spring returns. 
 
 Find pleasure in this calm retreat. 
 And may succeeding autumns pour 
 
 Their golden treasures at your feet. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 " In the midst of earth's sorrows where sin holds so 
 s*id a sway, a few of the flowers of Paradise spring up 
 among the rocks, as if to remind us how lovely £den 
 was. Friendship is one of these." 
 
 Friendship, how sweet the name, 
 
 To those vrho friendship love. 
 Fair flower of Paradise below 
 
 Faint type of one above. 
 
 While journeying o'er the stormy wastes of this 
 world's wilderness, how soothing it is to know, that 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 11 
 
 although no Eden now blooms for man, a few of its 
 flowers still remain to cheer him in his onward pathway 
 to the Paradise above. Among these flowers, none 
 sheds a richer fragrance, or occupies a more extensive 
 sphere than friendship. Without this life would lose 
 its chief attraction, and become a burden too great to be 
 borne. This world is sometimes called " cold and 
 friendless," but if such were indeed the case, who 
 could wish to linger here ! 
 
 How few would wish to fix their dwellings, even for 
 a short season, upon these mortal shores, were it not for 
 friendship's soothing power ! 
 
 In sickness how soothing, in sorrow how consoling, 
 in trials how sympathizing, and in all the varied walks 
 of life how cheering is the companionship of friends ! 
 It is true we may not always be privileged with their 
 companionship ; still the thought, that though absent, 
 they arc unchanged in their affection, should inspire us 
 with fresli courage to pursue with unfaltering footsteps 
 the pathway of life. 
 
 What would earth be without friends ? Could we in 
 imagination draw the picture of a friendlecb one, how 
 dreary must that be ! To such, life would be unendu- 
 rable, and earth one vast chaotic waste. 
 
 How grateful, then, we should be to that Being who 
 has bestowed such an inestimable blessing upon us ! 
 Could heaven have bestowed a richer boon tlian this on 
 man, it surely had been done. 
 
 Friendship extends beyond the bounds of space ; 'tis 
 the connecting link between eiuth and heaven ; at one 
 
1^ VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 end stands the loving Saviour, clasping the golden links, 
 striving gently to draw us to himself; at the other end 
 stands fallen man, eagerly longing to participate in the 
 joys of an immortal friendship, yet strangely resisting 
 the efforts put forth to accomplish such an end. 
 
 Our earthly friends are very dear and the tie that 
 binds us together is strong ; but in heaven we have a 
 friend who is infinitely better, and whose love is 
 'infinitely richer than that of any earthly friend, and 
 this loving, this omnipotent friend, should, therefore, 
 receive the noblest and purest affections of our nature. 
 By loving Him our earthly friends will become dearer, 
 we ourselves better ; and the chain which binds us to 
 heaven — stronger and brighter. 
 
 LINES 
 
 TO MY FRIEND AT CEDAR GROVE. 
 
 I have written thy name on Friendship's page 
 
 In many a glowing line of light, 
 I have wreathed it in thought with a garland fair. 
 
 Of virtue, truth, and honour bright, 
 I have graven thy words of hope and trust 
 
 Which sought my wild, dark doubts to calm. 
 On memory's tablet, where holy and pure 
 
 They shall ever remain a soothing balm. 
 
 And to-night, while the soft winds murmur by 
 And the wild birds trill their songs of glee 
 
 I bow at Friendship's hallowed shrine, 
 And offer a simple lay to thee. 
 
VESPER CHIME3. 13 
 
 I know that the token thus kindly given, 
 And prompted by memory's holy spell. 
 
 As a relic of happy days now gone, 
 
 In thv heart's fountain shall ever dwell. 
 
 And though perchance in the coming time, 
 
 Our paths may be severed far and wide. 
 Though the friends who now our life-path cheer, 
 
 May drop and fall at our very side, 
 'lliough changes may come with a mighty flow, 
 
 And sweep our fairest dreams away. 
 Yet the star of memory shall ever cast 
 
 A halo of light athwart our way. 
 
 We are sailing now on the world's dark tide, 
 
 Facing the fierce rough storms of life, 
 Our frail l)arks toss on the foaming waves, 
 
 Shrouded sometimes in mist and strife, 
 We scarce can see through the blinding gloom ; 
 
 But by and by the storm will cease. 
 And our frail barks tempest-tossed no more 
 
 Shall glide in the haven of rest and peace. 
 
 ♦ ♦**«« 
 
 The lingering rays of the setting sun. 
 
 Gleam faintly now in the fiir off west. 
 The birds trill no longer their good-night songs, 
 
 And earth in her twilight robe is drest. 
 And while I gaze on day's lingering hues, 
 
 As they shimmer and gleam in the western sky, 
 I'll drop my pen and whisper once more, 
 
 'Mid the shadows of twilight, a kind "Good-bye.'' 
 
14 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 SONNET TO 
 
 Day's dying glories crown the distant hills, 
 I see afar the sunset's purple blaze, 
 Yon forest vast is wrapped in golden haze, 
 
 And nature's heart with unheard music thrills. 
 
 My thoughts go back to summers in the past, 
 
 To summer evenings shared alone with thee, 
 And I will hopi that in the years to be. 
 
 Their memory still may haloes 'round me cast. 
 
 And though perchance we'll follow parted ways, 
 Each knowing not the other's hopes or fears. 
 
 Yet now I feel that through all other days. 
 
 Cherished shall be the memory ot these years ; 
 
 Wiser and calmer life shall henceforth be. 
 
 Holier the friendship in my heart for thee. 
 
 LINES FOR MISS E. K 'S ALBUM. 
 
 Morn's bright cheer is round thee now, 
 Youth's fair flowers thy pathway strew, 
 
 Scarce a shadow dims thy sky, 
 Life to thee is pure and new. 
 
 On thy brow the spoiler care 
 Hath no lines of sorrow made. 
 
 And the roses on thy cheek 
 Have not yet begun to fade. 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 15 
 
 Sweet for thee life's promise glows. 
 Beauty, friendship, love are thine ; 
 
 Scenes enclianting to thy view. 
 Through the distant future shine. 
 
 Hope, in radiant haloes clad. 
 
 At her easel smiling stands, 
 While rare pictures of delight 
 
 Grow beneath her skilful hands. 
 
 Though a magic pen were mine. 
 
 Yet I could not tell how fair. 
 How enchanting to thy view 
 
 Are the garments Hope doth wear. 
 
 May thy path be always bright. 
 
 Ever glorious as to-day ; 
 May no sorrow ever fling 
 
 Blighting shadows o'er thy way. 
 
 When the rose leaf blush of youth 
 Fades and leaves thy cheek less fair. 
 
 May the flowers of friendship, love, 
 Then a richer glory wear. 
 
 May the richest boons be thine. 
 
 Earth's best joys to thee given. 
 And upon thee ever rest 
 
 Blessings of the pcai'ly heaven. 
 
16 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 STANZAS TO 
 
 I sit alone in this sweet summer twilight, 
 And beg my muse for one kind lay for thee, 
 
 But ah, I fear in vain will be my pleading, 
 My muse like thee keeps far away from me. 
 
 It seems so strange that both at once should leave me» 
 Is it because both love the hills so well, 
 
 I knew my muse was fickle, but my own friend 
 I said, — but what, 'twere better not to tell. 
 
 Suffice to say, that in this summer twilight. 
 
 While stars like eyes of love beam down on me, 
 
 My heart breathes forth a silent benediction. 
 That thou may'st ever blest and happy be. 
 
 May beautious stars of faith and hope attend thee. 
 And love, best of all earthly boons be thine ; 
 
 May friends, kind friends, surround thy pathway ever, 
 And round thy brow the brightest laurels twine. 
 
 THE IDEAL AND THE REAL. 
 
 To live, to dream in fancy's realm. 
 To paint a picture bright, 
 
 To trace the future's mystic scroll 
 With many a line of light. 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 17 
 
 To wreathe with flowers of rainbow hues 
 
 The years of coming time, 
 To Hsten to Hope's magic song 
 
 And Love's low, silvery chime, 
 To dwell amid affections bowers. 
 
 Drink oft from Friendship's fount, 
 And twine the laurel wreath of Fame 
 
 Upon Ambition's mount. 
 To have enshrined within the soul, 
 
 Some peerless image fair, 
 That in the coming time shall help 
 
 Life's blessed weal to share. 
 To visions fair and bright like these, 
 
 Our ideal life is given. 
 Yet scarce assume their airv form. 
 
 Ere by the real they're riven. 
 
 To live and learn that life is but 
 
 The counterpart of this. 
 To find how vain and false were all 
 
 Our ideal dreams of bliss. 
 To see the garland flide we wreathed, 
 
 For the far coming time. 
 To feel the bitter mockery 
 
 Of our young hopes sublime. 
 To feel affection's blight — to weep 
 
 At Friendship's broken shrine. 
 To watch Fame's laurels melt away, 
 
 That once we hoped to twine — 
 To find the form enshrined within, 
 
18 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 Naught save a fancy flower, 
 To concentrate our strength for the 
 
 Stern duties of the hour. 
 To bow to life's dark mysteries, 
 
 To wake, to live, to feel, 
 To toil, to suffer, and to weep, 
 
 Are portions of the real. 
 
 k THE BEAUTIFUL LAND. 
 
 They tell me of a land where fields are ever vernal, 
 
 Where skies are ever clear, and fiowers are ever fair, 
 Where shadows never linger among the groves supernal^ 
 
 Where joy is never sullied by mortal grief or care. 
 Where living streams forever in crystal beauty flowing. 
 
 Glide through empyrean bowers in fideless verdure 
 clad. 
 Where trees of life immortal beside the streams are 
 growing. 
 
 Where souls are never weary and hearts are never sad. 
 
 THE PAST. 
 
 The past, the past, how oft in thought 
 
 We linger 'mid its bowers, 
 And pluck in fancy once again 
 
 Rich boquets of wild flowers. 
 And oft we roam amid the scenes 
 
 Of childhood's blushing morn, 
 Ere yet the heart had felt the weight. 
 Of this cold, proud world's scorn,'* 
 
 « 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 19 
 
 We think upon the cherished past, 
 
 Of joys forever fled, 
 Of friends wlio once aroand us stood, 
 
 Now numbered with the dead , 
 And yet a deeper sigh we breathe, — 
 
 But 'tis not for the dead, — 
 'Tis for the weary ones of earth 
 
 Who still, life's pathway tread. 
 
 The past has thorns as well as flowers. 
 
 For we have learned to feel, 
 That friends can make a wound, which friends 
 
 j\Iay strive in vain to heal ; 
 We too have learned, that life at best 
 
 Is formed of light and shade. 
 That flowers will bloom, but where they bloom. 
 
 They too will droop and fade. 
 
 The past, the past, the cherished past, 
 
 Each spot is sacred there. 
 Each look, each smile, affection gave, 
 
 Is treasured up with care. 
 And O ! when earthly toils are o'er, 
 
 And time itself is past, 
 May we with loved ones gone before 
 
 Find rest in heaven at last. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 Life hath its sorrows and its joys. 
 
 Its mingled hopes and fears, 
 Its gleams of sunshine and its shade, 
 
 Its blended smiles and tears. 
 
!^0 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 Its blighted hopes, its dreams of bliss, 
 
 Its glory and its grief; 
 Truly a mixture strange is this, 
 
 Our mortal life so brief. 
 
 A changing world is this of ours, 
 
 And changing creatures we ; 
 To-day bright with visions is crowned, 
 
 To-morrow, lo they flee. 
 And thus we grope our weary way 
 
 To the dim and vast unknown ; 
 A myriad throng attend us there. 
 
 We enter in alone. 
 
 WHISPERS OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 1 would not tell thee all my wild, strange fancies, 
 All my weak thoughts I would not have thee know, 
 
 And sometimes when my heart is sad and lonely. 
 To thee for sympathy I scarce would go : 
 
 Yet often in my hours of silent musing, 
 When all the world is shadowed unto me, 
 
 And phantom shapes athwart my room are flitting. 
 
 And I alone amid the gloom am sitting, 
 
 I think of thee. 
 
 I think of thee, of hours we've spent together, 
 Of twiUght talks, and sober moonlit eves ; 
 
 Of saintly stars, and softly stealing zephyrs ; 
 
 Of blooming flowers, and gently rustling leaves : 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 21 
 
 But no vain yearnings for the past I cherish, 
 
 Though all too swiftly seem the hours to fly ; 
 For joys as pure are springing in the present, 
 And these long days to me are e'en as pleasant 
 
 As days gone by. 
 
 These summer days, how long they seemed in coming, — 
 So much I yearned for their deep, tranquil hours, — 
 
 Mow hushed they seem, how fair, and calm, and radiant ; 
 How bright the sunshine and the blooming flowers ; 
 
 Calmly tho hours flit by on golden pinions. 
 I scarce can deem them passing, yet I know 
 
 The summer's ])looming flowers soon will perish. 
 
 And the wild music which my heart doth cherish 
 
 Will cease to flow. 
 
 This golden summer with its wealth of beauty, — 
 Its long bright days, and eves of hushed repose. 
 
 Will soon have passed away ; but all i' s glory 
 Will fade not when its goigeous portals close : 
 
 The autumn-time in rival splendors glowing, 
 A sweet, though sadder beauty shall display, 
 
 And all around shall lesser blooms be springing, 
 
 And music still, through glen and glade be ringing 
 
 At close of rlay. 
 
 But not to tell of summer's waning glory. 
 Nor vet of autumn's rich and varied hues, 
 
 Nor of the past, with all its recollections, 
 Would I implore the spirit of the Muse ; 
 
 But of the future, strange and dim and mystic, 
 
 'I'hat stretches out unseen, unknown, afai", 
 2 
 
tit VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 Gleams there no light athwart its misty portals ? 
 Shines there upon its shores for watching mortals 
 
 No beacon star ? 
 
 I search in vain to learn its deep, dark mysteries ; 
 
 I cease to think I may its depths explore ; 
 Too frail am I, too dim my earthly vision, 
 
 Too weak my mind to grasp its hidden lore. 
 But this I know, that somewhere in the future, 
 
 Beyond that misty point which bounds our sight. 
 There lies a region where from hills immortal 
 We may look in through heaven's shining portal 
 
 On fields of light. 
 
 And sometimes when at twilight I sit dreaming, 
 And often in the still and solemn night, 
 
 My heart goes upward, in its restless yearnings. 
 Toward those hills, and to those fields of light. 
 
 Life is not joyless, but my feet grow weary. 
 
 And shrinks my spirit from earth's bitter strife ; 
 
 I yearn for rest, for joys that spring eternal. 
 
 For fruits that grow and flowers that bloom supernal 
 
 On trees of life. 
 
 And yet I would not murmur ; but with patience 
 Life's rugged mount ascend, till from its heights 
 
 My soul with eyes of light shall pierce those regions 
 Where no sin sullies and no sickness blights. 
 
 And if for those beside me in the conflict 
 
 Some sorrows I may soothe, assuage some pain, 
 
 Not all unblest will be my earthly mission. 
 
 More beautiful will be Hope's bright fruition, 
 
 And life not vain. 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 23 
 
 [ know that here, amid our earthly bowers, 
 
 Few flowers of Paradise now shed their bloom ; 
 
 Fiittle remains of that first earthly Eden, 
 
 Seat of man's innocence, downfall and doom ; 
 
 Yet surely to the wreck of man's high being 
 Some holy, heaven-born principle still clings. 
 
 Some spark of the Divine, some link celestial, 
 
 Some image dim amid the dross terrestrial 
 
 Of heavenly things. 
 
 • 
 
 I fain would think that when the night is over. 
 The long dark night of Time, so cold and drear, 
 
 'L'hat souls which in the darkness seemed unsightly, 
 Seen in the dawn shall beautiful appear ; 
 
 And that from out the general wreck and ruin 
 An Eden fairer than the first shall rise. 
 
 Where richer flowers shall bloom to wither never 
 
 And man restored to bliss shall live forever 
 
 Above the skies. 
 
 'Tis evening now, and myriad stars are gleaming 
 Like watchfires bright on the Empyrean hills, 
 
 And viewless zephyrs through the groves are stealing, 
 While night in pearly drops its dew distils. 
 
 Yet in my room alone I still sit dreaming, • 
 
 But one whom I could name in thought is here. 
 
 And oft, as thus I sit amid the gloaming. 
 
 My truant fancies ever will be roaming 
 
 To bring thee near. 
 
 Thou wilt not chide if thus my spirit seeketh 
 
J84 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 Companionship invisible with thine to hold ; 
 I love to think in time may spring that friendship 
 
 Which ne'er can wane, and never can grow cold ; 
 I love to think that souls may be so blended 
 
 That naught their perfect union can destroy, — 
 That neither time, nor space, nor death, can sever, — 
 But mingling once, they may go on forever 
 
 From joy to joy. 
 
 I would believe there is a mystic friendship . 
 
 O'er which time, space or death has no control, — 
 A link 'twixt kindred minds wliich naught can sever, — 
 
 A principle as deathless as the soul ; 
 A firm, pure trust, with waning years growing brightei", 
 
 A blended joy, calm as the stars above, — 
 A mute companionship, unseen communion, 
 A heaven-made tie, a seal of sacred union, 
 
 A holy love. 
 
 ik Ht * * * ik- 
 
 The night grows still ; a solemn silence reigneth, 
 
 A holy hush o'er all around is spread. 
 And Sleep, Death's sweet twin sister, softly flitteth 
 
 Throughout the earth with swift and noiseless tread. 
 I feel her presence in my chamber stealing, 
 
 So let me whisper unto thee " Good Night " — 
 And when the mists of Time from hills terrestrial 
 Have melted all, may we on shores celestial 
 
 Dwell in the light. 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 25 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE FIRST-BORN. 
 
 It was midnight. The voice of mirth no longer 
 sounded in Egyptian courts and halls. Even the 
 dark-browed king, beneath whose sceptre captive Israel 
 groaned, had cast aside his regal robes and laid himself 
 upon his couch to rest. Slumber-chained were his 
 mighty nobles, 
 
 " Those hcjirers of tlie casque and plume"; 
 yet none dreamed that the Death-angel was passing o'er 
 the land, and would soon snatch from the loving em- 
 braces of parents and friends the first-born of each dwell- 
 ing. Yet so it was. At midnight's dark, mysterious 
 hour, the ruthless destroyer replenished his quiver with 
 the arroAvs of destruction, and went forth to accomplish 
 his mission. * Noiselessly, as if by stealth, he passed 
 along through street, court and gallery, scattering his 
 poisoned arrows upon eveiy hand, until — 
 
 *' In slavery's hut, and haughty grandeur's hall, 
 In regal dome, in stall and open field, 
 Alike did death his iron dominion wield." 
 
 For a moment Egypt stood staggering beneath that 
 terrifying shock of woe, and then a wild, heartrending 
 cry ascended from every dwelling that might have moved 
 
 "The hearts of marhle sphynxes cold and nunih." 
 Ah, what an awful hour must that have been Avhich 
 caused the hearts of Egypt's proudest sons to quail with 
 fear, while terror-stricken women wrung their hands in 
 
26 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 speechless agony, or clasped their dead offspring to their 
 crushed and bleeding hearts. In all the writings of 
 sacred history we find i^o other record of such a sudden 
 and awful calamity as that which befel the haughty 
 Pharaoh and his proud subjects. In vain had God 
 threatened them with an outpouring of his vengeance. 
 In vain had they been urged to let the children of Israel 
 pass out of their land, until this last desperate woe had 
 fallen upon them. Not until then was the proud spirit 
 of the stubborn king humbled to obey the Divine com- 
 mand. 
 
 " O Egypt! Egypt! say, what was thy crime, 
 That God should bruise thee in liis an;;or so?" 
 
 What was thy crime, that God should pour upon thee 
 the cup of his indignation ? What was thy crime that 
 God should cast such a withering blight upon thy fair 
 prospects ? Answer it, ye who can ! Answer it, ye 
 '* Catacombs where dwell dead generationi !" Ansvrer 
 it, ye bones of Israel's captive dead, which lie beneath 
 its burning sands ! Echo it, ye heavens, beneath whose 
 scorching heat the children of Israel toiled in bondage j 
 Answer it yourselves, ye proud sons of Egypt, and tell 
 us why such a curse was brought upon you. Hark, 
 
 does not 
 
 " One cterniii groan 
 Come up from every hewn and sculptured sLone ! 
 That answers too significantly well, 
 Men's powers were never made for men lo buy and sell." 
 
 Where, then, is the glory which is reared upon unre- 
 warded labor ? Where is there a page in the " history 
 of wrong and spoil " upon which a curse is not written 
 
 ? 
 
VESPER CHIMES. ^ 
 
 Is not the brow, the soul, the very soil of the oppressor, 
 " branded with the mark of Cain ?" It surely is. 
 
 " And all the greatness tyranny can gain, 
 A id all the luxury wrung from freedom's soil, 
 Shall sink by slow decay, or sudden, swift recoil." 
 
 LITTLE EMMA. 
 
 where is little Emma gone ? 
 We miss her smiling face. 
 
 We miss her blithe and airy form, 
 
 At its accustomed place. 
 We miss her merry singing laugh, 
 
 Her bright and beaming eye, 
 Alas ! that one so young and fair, 
 
 And beauviful must die. 
 
 1 seem to see her even now. 
 
 As still in death she lay ; 
 I thought that I had never seen. 
 
 So fair a piece of clay ; 
 But ah, I knew that bitter tears 
 
 For her were vainly shed. 
 That hearts were breaking all the while, 
 
 Because the loved was dead. 
 
 Beneath the damp cold burial sod 
 
 We laid her down to rest, 
 Pale as the white Gazenta flowers, 
 
 Which lay upon her breast. 
 But she is happier, happier far, 
 
28 VESPEP OHIMBS. 
 
 Than mortal tongue din tell, 
 For she hath gone with white-robed saints. 
 And angels bright to dwell. 
 
 Within her Father's house on high 
 
 She claims a mansion bright ; 
 Where safe from sin and death she dwells 
 
 Arrayed in robes of light ; 
 Softly she treads the golden streets 
 
 With all the angelic throng, 
 Joining with ransomed ones to sing, 
 
 The new immortal song. 
 
 A little while she lingered here 
 
 Beside the household hearth ; 
 But ah, too beautiful was she. 
 
 Too fair and frail for earth. 
 And so her Father caught lier up 
 
 To yonder blissful sphere, 
 Where sighs of sorrow never come. 
 
 Nor falls the burning tear. 
 
 Then soirowing parents look above 
 
 Where sainted Emma stands ; 
 A crown she bears upon her head, 
 
 A harp within her hands ; 
 A little while, if faithful to 
 
 The help which God hath given, 
 Ye too shall bid this world farewell. 
 
 And go to live in heaven. 
 1863. 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 29 
 
 LITTLE EVERETT. 
 
 •Ho shall leather the lambs with his arm, anrl carry thorn in lii-, 
 bo.som.*' 
 
 Weep, mother, for thy babe. 
 
 Tears give the heart rehef ; 
 Weep for the tiny human bird, 
 
 Whose stay was here so brief 
 Weep, but rejoice to know 
 
 That in heaven's garden bowers 
 Thy bud, transLited, blooms anew 
 
 Amid celestial flowers. 
 
 Too frail was thy sweet boy. 
 
 Too pure and bright for earth. 
 Too beautiful to linger long 
 
 Beside the household hearth ; 
 And so the loving hand 
 
 Of Him who dwells on hiffh 
 Reached down and drew the tender bud 
 
 To gardens in the sky. 
 
 Thou wilt miss thy darling here, 
 
 Miss his sweet infmt smile ; 
 No more his tender winning ways 
 
 Shall passing hours beguile. 
 But, soothing thought, thy lamb 
 
 No pain or grief can know. 
 Safe sheltered in the Saviour's arms 
 
 From all the ills below. 
 
30 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 Evy is happy now 
 
 In his bright home on high, 
 Above the ethereal dome, 
 
 Beyond the starry sky, 
 Never shall he grow old, 
 
 Ne'er sad or weary be. 
 There in the light of heaven he waits, 
 
 Mother, to welcome thee. 
 
 THE GRAVES OF LOVED ONES. 
 
 The graves of loved ones far and wide 
 Are scattered o'er this dreary waste. 
 
 While onward, onward still we glide, 
 And to their hidden portals haste ; 
 
 Hoping that we at last may rest 
 
 Beside the friends we love the best. 
 
 Some in a foreign land repose. 
 
 And some beside their kindred lie, 
 
 Their epitaph the blushing rose. 
 Their canopy the calm blue sky ; 
 
 Yet all alike to us are dear. 
 
 Be they remote or be they near. 
 
 A seaweed pall o'er some is spread, 
 Who slumber in the awful deep, 
 
 Yet these within their ocean bed 
 Are not forgotten while we weep ; 
 
 Ah ! no, their parting gave us pain, 
 
 Still, we had hoped to meet again. 
 
VESPER CHIMES 31 
 
 And other loved ones, where are they 
 
 With whom we spent fan* chiklhood's hours ? 
 
 We watch for them at twilight gray, 
 Within the old familiar bowers. 
 
 But all our watching is in vain ; 
 
 They slumber on the battle plain. 
 
 So, earth is dotted o'er with graves, 
 
 And thousands in the ocean sleep, 
 Far, far beneath its surging waves 
 
 Death many a lonely watch doth keep ; 
 Yet still its surges wildly roar. 
 While none its secret depths explore. 
 
 It matters not where loved ones lie. 
 
 Their memory still to us is dear, 
 Whether beneath the calm blue sky 
 
 Or stretched upon a coral bier. 
 Old ocean may their bosoms lave. 
 But still we love the loved ones' grave. 
 
 'Tis true we fain would have them sleep 
 
 Where we might strew their graves with ilov,c:-.>. 
 
 And where we, too, might sit and weep 
 In memory of departed hours ; 
 
 'Twere sweet to guard a loved one's grave. 
 
 And see the flowers upon it wave. 
 
 We may not guard our loved ones' graves, 
 Nor see the flowers upon them bloom, 
 But O! how soothing 'tis to know 
 
 We all may meet beyond the tomb, — 
 May meet and find eternal rest 
 Within the mansions of the blest. 
 1864 
 
32 VESPEK CHIMES 
 
 WORDS OF HOPE. 
 
 " Our eternal youtli God will {^ive back to xis, even the most time, 
 burdened, at some future day. Wbo shall doubt it?" 
 
 Our youth, our lost eternal youtli, will God give back, 
 
 Pure and unsullied as when first He smiled 
 
 Upon His new Creation, ere the curse of sin 
 
 Or blight of death had fallen upon the world 
 
 And withered up the bloom of man's first Eden ; 
 
 Ere the birds had changed their triumph songs 
 
 To wild sad wailings, or the morning stars 
 
 Had hushed their first glad anthem ; ere had ceased 
 
 The shout of wondering adoration which burst forth 
 
 From heaven's angelic host, until the sound 
 
 Filled the immense above, trembled awhile 
 
 Upon the hill of God, then rolled in one grand chorus 
 
 Down through space filling this lower world, 
 
 And the eternal deep, waking an answering echo 
 
 To roll back and fill again the courts celestial. 
 
 Our youth, as then, and more, Avill God give back. 
 
 How many in our world to-day mourn for the strength 
 
 That never may come back ? How many sigh 
 
 For the lost youth, and health, and spirits of delight 
 
 That, like the vanished year-s, will ne'er return ? 
 
 How many who should yet be strong and young — 
 
 Whose years scarce reach the noon of life — 
 
 Feel that for them for aye have gone 
 
 The blush and bloom of their glad spring-time 1 
 
\*ESPER CHIMES. 33 
 
 How many e'en with youth upon their brows 
 
 Bciir in their hearts a burden that ere long 
 
 Sliall waste the strenijth and beautv from their Hves, 
 
 And leave for youth's sweet roses ashes and decay. 
 
 Hence sorrowful regrets and yearnings vain 
 
 For joys departed, sad forebodings of the years 
 
 That yet may come, and weary turnings from the strife. 
 
 And timid shiinkings from earth's burdens, 
 
 Fill the life of many human ones. 
 
 For these, for all, how sweet the thought 
 
 That God holds in Mis hand their vanished vouth. 
 
 And that ere long He will give back, 
 
 E'en to the most time-burdened ones, 
 
 Not the lost vouth of time, but vouth eternal, 
 
 Which from that other life shall never fade, 
 
 But which through endless years sliall bloom. 
 
 And brighter grow as the great cycles of eternity 
 
 Roll their unceasing round. 
 
 Eternal vouth ! and will God give it back ? 
 
 Shall we become immortal ? Shall Me wake 
 
 From death's deep ])ulseless sleep to live again ? 
 
 Shall we to immortality come forth who now 
 
 The image of the dving wear ? We shall : 
 
 And then will God give back to us our vouth. 
 
 STANZAS TO S. O. F. 
 
 Had I the Poet's burning brain, 
 
 Could I with speech my pen inspire, 
 I'd woo the Muses from their flight, 
 
34 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 To kindle here their mystic fire. 
 I'd wreathe a garland for thy harp, 
 
 For mine, alas, remains unstrung ; 
 Sadlv I touch the untuned wires 
 
 While on the willow bough 'tis hung. 
 
 No magic power to me is given 
 
 To wield a *• pure poetic pen ;" 
 That gift may ne'er be mine which sheds 
 
 Such lustre on the brows of men ; 
 But I can write of fields and fiowcrs, 
 
 Of forest glades and purling streams, 
 Can paint in fancy pictures bright. 
 
 Which haunt, perchance, the Poet's dreams. 
 
 To thee the magic power is given 
 
 To sweep the golden lyres of song. 
 Obedient to thy touch they pour 
 
 A flood of melody along. 
 To Chester's Mount the Muses bore 
 
 A low, sweet echo of the strain, 
 Then spread their glittering wings and soared 
 
 To hover o'er thy path again. 
 
 E'en now, perchance, with pinions bathed 
 
 In crystal seas of sunlight fair. 
 They waft the music of thy harp 
 
 Through unseen regions of the air ; 
 Softly ation the cadence floats 
 
 Through flowery dells and vales below, 
 And sweeter than the song-bird's notes 
 
 The measured numbers onward flow. 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 35 
 
 Then take thy harp and gently sweep 
 
 Its mystic strings again for me ; 
 The Muses will the strain repeat, 
 
 For they are good and kind to thee ; 
 And I shall thus a glimpse obtain 
 
 Of those ethereal beings fair, 
 While they, perchance, a lower strain 
 
 From me will kindly deign to bear. 
 
 Aye, sweep thy harp's bright golden strings, 
 
 And pour a flood of mystic song ; 
 Rehearse the memories of the past 
 
 Which often round our spirits throng ; 
 Thy strains shall soothe the present time. 
 
 And make it seem more bright and fair, — 
 Shall cheer the lonely hour and cast 
 
 A halo o'er the brow of care. 
 
 And when thy harp shall cease to trill 
 
 The sad, sweet melody of earth. 
 May angels guide thy yearning soul 
 
 Up to the spirit's land of birth ; 
 A crown of life shall there be thine, 
 
 A spirit-harp to thee be given, 
 And thou, with all the angel choir, 
 
 Shalt sing the minstrelsy of heaven. 
 
36 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 LINES 
 
 SUfUiESTEI) BY THE DEATH OF JAMK3 II. KEIVKK. 
 
 The conflict o'er, the journey done, 
 The pale hands folded to their rest, 
 
 The dark ryes closed in slumber deep — ^^ 
 He dwell'^th now amid the blest. 
 
 A vacant seat beside tlie hearth, 
 
 A broken link in love's bright chain, 
 
 A flower faded with the morn, — 
 A young life blooming fair again, 
 
 A new grave in the burial ground, 
 A coiliued form enshrined within, — 
 
 .V patliAvay leading from the tomb, 
 A home in heaven free from sin. 
 
 These are the visions, we behold. 
 
 As memory, faitS.ful to her trust, 
 Points our hushed thoughts to one who sleeps, 
 
 A last long sleep amid the dust. 
 
 We weep, our tears fall tliick and fast, 
 For the young life gone out so soon ; 
 
 He weeps no more, a dweller 'mid 
 The splendors of Eternal noon. 
 
 No more at eveninsf's holv hour. 
 Shall he amid our circle stand ; 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 37 
 
 No more the Badge of Honour wear, 
 Or clasp with us the friendly hand. 
 
 But far above our mortal sight, 
 
 Beyond Death's dark and solemn main, 
 
 Clothed in adornments pure and white, 
 Our Brother lives and loves again. 
 
 Farewell, beloved one, may we 
 
 Whose feet still press the thorny way, 
 
 Ere long thy ransomed spirit greet 
 Amid the realms of perfect day. 
 
 LINES 
 
 IN MEMORY OF MISS SUSAN J. BOSS. 
 
 *' He giveth his beloved sleep," 
 
 Close the drooping eyelids now. 
 
 Fold the still hands on her breast, 
 Smooth the tresses from her brow. 
 
 Lay the quiet form to rest. 
 Move about with noiseless tread ; 
 
 Gaze ye on her face and weep ; 
 Say not that the loved is dead. 
 
 Whisper she hath gone to sleep. 
 
 Yea, she sleeps, but never more 
 Shall she wake to mortal's call , 
 
 Life's short pilgrimage is o'er. 
 Earthly ties are severed all. 
 
38 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 From the Upper World there came 
 Ticlmgs she alone might hear, 
 
 Then the angels called her name. 
 Bore her to another sphere. 
 
 Gone, ere yet life's morning sun 
 
 Shone from its meridian height. 
 Gone before the blaze of noon 
 
 Dazzled with its radiance bright ; 
 Gone in youth's sweet morning time, 
 
 Gone while life was fresh with bloom — 
 Summoned to that other clime, 
 
 'J hrough the gate-way of the tomb. 
 
 Veil thy light, O Rising Star ; 
 
 Star of Hope, be draped in gloom ; 
 Call thy members from afar, 
 
 Let them weep beside her tomb. 
 Soon her race w^ith us was run ; 
 
 Soon the battle fouffht and o'or. 
 Soon the victory she hath won, 
 
 Soon hath reached the other shore. 
 
 She is gone — w'e left behind, — 
 
 Who may solve tlie mystery strange, — 
 Human sight, alas, is blind, — 
 
 Death to all a mystic change ; 
 Dark life's pages oft appear, — 
 
 Dim the light from heaven's high dome, 
 But the mvsterv shall be clear, 
 
 When the ransomed all get home. 
 
VESPER CHIMES. .S9 
 
 Daughter, sister, friend we mourn, 
 
 Thoi! so soon from us art riven ; 
 But beyond life's mystic bourne, 
 
 Hope we thee to meet in heaven. 
 Thou hast only gone before, — 
 
 Only sooner ruji thy race, — 
 Only on the other shore, — 
 
 Sooner gained thy resting place. 
 
 INSUFFICIENCY. 
 
 " Amid earth's fairest scenes 
 There lurks the l)li<<liting mildew." 
 
 How passing fair the scenes of earth, 
 
 How ])right her song-birds and her flowers, 
 What varied glories greet the eye, 
 
 Though 'reft of bloom are Eden's bowers. 
 Each murmuring stream, each floweret rich, 
 
 Each glowing hue to nature given, 
 Each sunbright morn and purple eve 
 
 Bring some sweet whisperings of heaven. 
 
 Th(^ golden sun and silver spheres 
 
 That cheer us with their holv liaht. 
 The radiant glories of the dav. 
 
 The paler splendors of the night, 
 The mysteries of our lower world. 
 
 The deei)er mysteries of the sky, 
 All draw our wondering thoughts above, 
 
 All point to heaven-built worlds on high. 
 
40 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 We quaff in haste earth's rills of joy, 
 
 With eager hand we cull her flowers. 
 We grasp each proffered cup of bliss, 
 
 And reap the bloom from friendship's bowers ; 
 And yet unsatisfied we roam. 
 
 Our spirits filled with strange unrest. 
 While, sad and worn, our aching hearts 
 
 Yearn for a dwelling place more blest. 
 
 Not all the countless gifts of earth 
 May still the spirit's yearning cry ; 
 
 Not here below may weary souls 
 
 E'er find the bliss for which they sigh ; 
 
 Vainly we look for perfect good, 
 • Time's fleeting joys were ne'er designed 
 
 To quench the vast and deathless thirst 
 Of the unseen immortal mind. 
 
 Higher our aspirations rise, 
 
 For loftier themes our thoughts were given ; 
 We long to see the upper skies, 
 
 And scale the sun-bathed hills of heaven. 
 Our mortal sight is short and dim. 
 
 And clouds will sometimes intervene ; 
 We yearn to gaze where all is fair, 
 
 Without a cloud to mar the scene. 
 
 Upward our deepest feelings tend. 
 
 To heaven our holiest thoughts aspire ; 
 
 We learn our sweetest notes of praise 
 In echoes from an unseen choir. 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 41 
 
 Our iairest dreams, our soul's best hopes, 
 Are closely all to heaven allied ; 
 
 But perfect pleasures — joys complete — 
 Can only bloom " Beyond the tide." 
 
 REFLECTIONS ON T' E LAST OF SUMMER. 
 
 '• Farewell to Sumrner's gorgeous hues, 
 Its pleasant Ghovrers, its pearly ilewS; 
 Its sunny days, so calm and briprht, 
 Again have vanished from our sigiit." 
 
 Si'MMER is ended. Autumn has overtaken us. A 
 lew flowers still remain, as if to remind us how lovely 
 summer was ; but their glory is fast departing. Even 
 now the husbandman has gone forth with sickle in hand 
 to gather in the yellow harvest. Bending fruit trees, 
 choicely laden, show that the time for the ingathering 
 of fruit has come. The forest trees are fast changing 
 their garb of green for one of red and yellow. The first 
 dead leaves are beginning to fldl, and soon the autumnal 
 winds will sigh a requiem o*er the graves of summer. 
 No one, methinks, can gaze upon the fading glories of 
 this, the brightest season of our year, and watch the 
 gradual decay attending its departure, but must feel a 
 touch of sadness while contemplating the scene. 
 
 A few short weeks ago our earth was teeming with 
 myriads of floral tribes, ^vhile forest, glen, and woody 
 glade resounded with the merry songs of feathered 
 
42 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 warblers. How bright, how calm, how glorious, was 
 that golden summer time. Gaily, and with a bounding 
 step, the child went forth amid the forest's dark recesses 
 in search of wild boquets, while those of riper years list- 
 ened with pleasure to the joyous echo of their gladsome 
 voices. But the scene is changed. Instead of clustering 
 wreaths, there are withered garlands ; where the rose 
 once bloomed, thorns only remain. 
 
 The memory of summers past has ever to me a hal- 
 lowed influence ; for it was at the commencement of a 
 glorious summer season that a darling brother died. All 
 through the spring months he pined and languished ; 
 then, just as summer had begun to dawn, he exchanged 
 the transient bloom of earth for the fadeless bloom of the 
 summer land of bliss. 
 
 Sweet brother, I remember how much he prized the 
 fair young flowers, and how he would have the first 
 green leaves gathered, and placed beside his bed. 
 
 He is now where the flowers are unfading. By the 
 river of life he is twining immortal wreaths and garlands 
 that never wither. 
 
 That summer passed, and autumn came ; but where 
 was she who had gathered the year's first leaves and 
 placed them by the bedside of our dying brother ? Alas ! 
 scarcely had the sunny dyes of summer given place to 
 the variegated hues of autumn, ere she, too, passed away 
 from earth. Close by the side of her sleeping brother 
 they laid her down to rest, — there to remain until the 
 resurrection morn calls her forth, not as a dying mortal, 
 but a bright and glorious being in the kingdom of our 
 Father. 
 
%'ESPER CHIMES. 43 
 
 Ah, there are many withered flowers in the gardens 
 hei e below. This earth is rife with the ruins of decay. 
 Wander where we may, in the sunny cHmes of earth, or 
 among her cold and cheerless regions — by the streamlet's 
 grassy borders or on the banks of the mighty river ; ia 
 the cottages of the poor and lowly, or in the palaces of 
 the rich and mighty — the unmistakable signs of decay 
 street us upon every hand. 
 
 '' Go search the whole creation through, 
 Go linger 'mid her vine-clad bowers, 
 And yet a \Wthering blight is found 
 To blast the beauty of her flowers." 
 
 O, were this earth our only resting place, how dark 
 and drear this life would be. How soothing, then, to 
 know that beyond this world there is a land where the 
 brightness is undimned ; where sorrows shall no more 
 mingle \vith our joys ; where hopes and fears shall cease 
 to blend ; where sickness and suffering shall be forever 
 (lone away ; and where 
 
 *' Even death itself shall die." 
 
 There we shall not gaze in sadness on the fading glories 
 of summer, or mourn over the graves of departed loved 
 ones. There the river of life is eternally flowing, while 
 upon its banks grow the trees of life, clad in immortal 
 ^■erdure. There, too, are psalms, and harps, and crowns 
 of dazzling brightness. There flowers, too pure and 
 delicate for earth, flourish in undying bloom. There 
 countless hosts from life's great battle-fleld unite witii 
 angels to celebrate the praises of heaven. 
 1863. 
 
44 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 LINES 
 
 TO MY FRIEND IN CASCADE VALLEY. 
 
 I have never stood in thy valley home 
 
 Shut in by the purple hills, 
 I have heard not the voice of thy loved Cascade 
 
 Like the murmur of myriad rills ; 
 But I dream sometimes of a quiet spot,* 
 
 Half-hidden by whispering trees. 
 And a sound, like the murmur of waters wild. 
 
 Is borne to me on the breeze. 
 
 In thought I have roamed thro' the length and breadth 
 
 Of thy green and bowery vale, 
 I have found the place where the roses blush 
 
 And the lily blooms sweet and pale ; 
 I have heard the owl in his lonely haunts 
 
 Hooting his own wild hymn. 
 And the answering echoes come faintly back 
 
 Through the aisles of the forest dim. 
 
 I have found a place where the leafy boughs 
 
 Bend down to the emerald sod, 
 I have seen one there at the close of day 
 
 Talking alone with God. 
 I heard no whisper from unseen heights. 
 
 But I knew by his rapt smile. 
 That hi« soul looked in through the pearly doors 
 
 And gazed upon God the while. 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 45 
 
 How beautiful, e'en through the mists of earth, 
 
 Shines the light from that Upper Sphere ; 
 How glorious betimes from heights afar 
 
 Heaven's glittering courts appear. 
 How sweet o'er the troubled sea of Time 
 
 Is heard God's voice of Love, 
 Bidding us look from this " little while " 
 
 To the " sweet by-and-bye" above. 
 
 Thy valley home is sweet and fair. 
 
 Fair too are tKese summer hills. 
 The flowers bloom on from day to day. 
 
 And the bird its wild song trills. 
 We see the beauty and catch the song. 
 
 Mute rapture our heart-strings thrill. 
 For a moment life's wild unrest dies out 
 And the spirit's cry grows still. 
 
 May we yet a more saintly beauty lind, 
 
 And to holier heights aspire. 
 From life's unrest may we each at last 
 
 To the rest of Heaven retire. 
 When the battle is fought — the journey done — 
 
 The garment of flesh laid down. 
 May we wear, not the laurel wreath of earth. 
 
 But a starry unfading crown. 
 
 AN ADIEU TO MOUNT CLAIR. 
 
 Adieu Mount Clan* I 
 I have witnessed thy changing seasons all, — 
 I have watched from thy summits the snow-flakes fall 
 
 Through the wintry air. 
 
46 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 I have culled thy flowers 
 In the balmy days of the sweet spring time, 
 T have listened at morn to the wild birds' chime 
 
 In thy forest bowers. 
 
 I have stood at eve 
 When the summer's sun was sinking low, 
 And watched its hues in their circling glow 
 
 Bright visions weave. 
 
 I roamed thee still 
 When the birds from theix^ summer bowers had flown. 
 And autumn's tresses were widely blown 
 
 O'er vale and hill. 
 
 Faded and dead 
 Are the giirlands which clustered around thy brow ! 
 Silent and dim are thy forests now ! 
 
 Their bright hues fled. 
 
 Thy garden flowers 
 Have folded their petals and gone to sleep; 
 While o'er them the ever-greens softly weep 
 
 In silvery showers. 
 
 Not now at morn. 
 May I list to the birds in thy wild-wood bowers. 
 Not now may I linger where blushing flowers. 
 
 The fields adorn. 
 
 But still at eve 
 I watch the sun as he sinks to rest. 
 While his circling glories adown the west 
 
 Bright visions weave. 
 
VE3PER CHIMES. 47 
 
 I gaze once more 
 Oil the distant hills with their chaplet of blue ; 
 Once more from my window the mount I view 
 
 Which I've wandered o'er. 
 
 I must depart ; 
 Yet still for thee and thine Mount Clair, 
 Sweet memories I shall ever bear 
 
 Deep in my heart. 
 
 Treasured shall be 
 Each kindlj^ word in friendship spoken. 
 Cherished m thought each friendly token 
 
 Bestowed on me. 
 
 Perchance no more 
 Shall I linger amid thy quiet bowers, 
 Or roam in the brilliant summer hours 
 
 Thy hill tops o'er. 
 
 But memory bright 
 Shall bear me back to the vine-wreathed hills, 
 And down in thy glades where the laughing rills. 
 
 Sing day and night. 
 
 ♦ * ♦ * « « 
 
 Thy hill tops fair 
 Are shrouded now in a misty veil ; 
 Again I breathe in the twilight pale. 
 
 Adieu, Mount Claii- 
 
48 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 LINES 
 
 IN MEMORY OF MISS MATILDA HILLSON, DAUGHTER OF 
 JOHN AND MARGERY HILLSON, OF AMHERST, N. S. 
 
 " Weep not for her! Her memory is the shrine 
 
 Of pleasing thoughts, soft as the scent of flowers. 
 Calm as on windless eve the sun's decline, 
 Sweet as the song of birds among the bowers." 
 
 ** Weep not for her !" she dwelleth now 
 
 Where tears and farewells are unknown, 
 She walks in shining courts of light, 
 
 Her eyes behold the Eternal thi'one. 
 The lingering pangs of death are past. 
 
 Her weary days and nights are o'er. 
 No wasting pain, no fell disease 
 
 Can reach her on that other shore. 
 
 Slowly the silver cord was loosed. 
 
 Slowly her young life ebbed away. 
 While on her cheek the hectic bloom 
 
 Of death grew brighter day by day. 
 Earth's spring-time glory waxed and waned. 
 
 And summer garlands crowned the land. 
 Yet she, the human flower, still drooped 
 
 Beneath disease's withering hand.' 
 
 She watched the summer days go by — 
 Saw the red autumn sunset's glow — 
 
 But when the flowers had faded all. 
 The whisper came that she must go. 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 49 
 
 Her waiting spirit caught the sound, 
 
 The veil of earth dropped from her sight, 
 
 And through the unclosed gate of death 
 She saw the pearly gates of light. 
 
 With joy she hailed the mystic change, 
 
 And laid the robe of flesh aside ; 
 Calmly she met the boatman seni 
 
 To bear her o'er death's viewless tide. 
 One parting look — one last adieu — 
 
 A feeble fluttering breath — and then 
 The eyes so seldom known to sleep 
 
 Closed a e'er on earth to wake again. 
 
 " Weep not for her !" though ne*er again 
 
 Will she upon Time's threshold stand, 
 Her feet have gained a b'^tter shore, 
 
 Her home is in the sinless land. 
 No sorrow there can mai' her joy. 
 
 No night succeeds the glowing day. 
 No sickness there or touch of pain 
 
 Again shall waste her life away. 
 
 " Weep not for her !" star-crowned she walks 
 
 Beside the crystal sea of light, 
 She bears the victory palm of heaven. 
 
 And wears che saintly robe of white . 
 Her ga/e sweeps o'er unshadowed plains. 
 
 And boundless fields of living green, 
 There she beholds the face of God 
 
 Without a dimning veil between. 
 
50 VESPEK CHIMES. 
 
 [not ORIOINAL.J 
 
 LINES 
 
 IN iMEMOKY OF MISS MARY A. :N[ILLS, OF MOUNT MACCAN. 
 
 'I he spring flowers came with odors rife, 
 And verdant nature woke to Hfe, 
 Gay tints adorned the foliage d trees, 
 Sweet music swept the scented breeze, 
 
 And the freighted zephyrs sang. 
 The forest aisles awoke with glee, 
 Hnchimed with rural minstrelsy, 
 And counth^ss murmurs far and wide, 
 O'er echoing dell and mountain side, 
 
 On th(^ trembling breezes sang. 
 
 YouniiT hearts were arav, but th( re was one 
 Whose race of life was nearly run : 
 She listless gazed on flower and shade, 
 On gilded height and verdant glade, 
 
 As she thought of days gone by, — 
 Days when, with spirits light and free, 
 She tripped in girlhood's romping glee 
 O'er these dear scenes and 'mid these aisles. 
 Lit up by queenly Flora's smiles 
 
 And the wild bird's minstrelsy. 
 
 Disease had marked her for its prey 
 In early bloom of beautv's dav, 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 61 
 
 And (lay by day her form grew less, 
 With inward sapping pain's distress, 
 
 And the ebb of her fair young Hfe. 
 She lingered long by the maple tree, 
 And craved when death should set her free. 
 A simple grave beneath its shade, 
 "Where oft in girlhood's hours she played, 
 
 And sun and flowers were rife. 
 
 She lingered long where Friendship's smile 
 Oft lit the shady forest aisle. 
 And where fond Love had plucked the flowers — 
 The souvenirs of raptured hours — 
 
 Sweet gifts of the summer time. 
 She bowed, as thoughts of long ago 
 Bid silent tear-drops swiftly flow, 
 For sadly did her spirit grieve 
 For dear loved friends she soon must leave 
 
 In the bloom of her youthful prime. 
 
 But sweetly o'er that fair young face 
 
 Came smiles which could these shadows chase, 
 
 Sweet glimpses of a Saviour fond, 
 
 And a blest eternitv bevond, 
 
 AYhen her form lav 'neatli the sod. 
 And then when the roses were in bloom, 
 Thev laid her in her narrow tomb : 
 Her spirit soared in heaven to rest. 
 And sought companions 'mid the blest 
 
 Around the throne of (jrod. 
 
52 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 PINE GROVE. 
 
 It was autumn when I came to Pine Grove. There 
 were no sweet flowers, no green leaves, to smile me a 
 welcome ; but the great pines bent their lofty heads, 
 and swayed to and fro as if to welcome me beneath their 
 friendlv shade. On the other side of the hills I had 
 watched the golden summer dawn and fade, and deep in 
 my heart was still enshrined the memory of its brightest 
 days, — days whose strange quiet and peace had thrilled 
 my heart with wondering joy, — days which I had 
 yearned to grasp and bind so that they might not pass. 
 But they faded all, — the bright days, the blooming flow- 
 ers, my sweet joys, and the beautiful summer skies grew 
 shaded with the dark clouds of autumn, while the trees 
 shook off" their bright tresses into the lap of the once 
 green earth, and waited until the snow should hide 
 them in their wintrv tomb. It was then I bade adieu to 
 the bowers where I had watched the flowers bloom and 
 fade, — looked a farewell on the hills, and came to Pine 
 (irove. 
 
 A chill c>;cpt to my heart as I looked over the faded 
 earth, and up to the dreary November skies, and I half 
 sighed for the warmth and light of the days that were no 
 more. 
 
 But I had little time to waste in vain regrets. Stern 
 duties awaited me, from the performance of which I 
 might not shrink. yVgain the pine trees bowed their 
 
, VESPER CHIMES. 58 
 
 heads and waved their branches, and I said, These shall 
 be my friends. In mute whispers will we converse to- 
 gether, and if weary or sad, their silent sympathy shall 
 cheer me ever. 
 
 Many times since that cheerless autumn morn have I 
 come to Pine Grove. Sometimes through cold white 
 showers of falling snows, — sometimes with the rain trem- 
 bling down in great drops, — sometimes 'neath cold, dark, 
 drizzly skies, with the chill winds sweeping around me, 
 — sometimes with the sun peering out through banners 
 of fleecy cloud ; but the pines and I have been friends 
 through all, and to-aight, while I linger among the 
 vacant seats in my quiet school-room, I hear them whis- 
 pering without, and, looking up, I see them waving their 
 branches as on that first drear November morn. 
 
 To me there is something inexpressibly sweet in com- 
 munion with nature. For me trees, flowers and rills, 
 mountains, forests and rivers, have all a silent and pecu- 
 Har language. 
 
 I love nature at every season and in every place ; but 
 most when her great heart is throbbing to the glad 
 pulses of the spring and summer time. 
 
 It was autumn when I came to Pine (irove, but 'tis 
 spring-time now. The cold winter is over ; the snows 
 have melted from the hills ; the rills agnin sing through 
 the vales, and earth is once Ynore preparing to don her 
 
 k emerald robes, and tM'ine bright flowers among her 
 tresses. There has been an unwonted fluttering and 
 
 ^ chattering among the pines to-day, for the birds have 
 come back and are building imew their tiny homes. 
 
54 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 Sometimes, as I stand beneath the sheltering bought 
 of the i-ines, and watch their heavy tassels trembling in 
 the breeze, I think of one who erst lingered beneath 
 them, — who listened to their mystic language, — wooed 
 the gentle muse amid their slumbering solitude, — sang 
 her beautiful songs until the quaint, dim arches rang 
 with answering echoes, which floated away and mingled 
 with the tender warblings of nature's wildwood min- 
 strels. Why visits she no more her cherished bower — 
 her sweet sylvan solitude ? Ah, she dwells now in the 
 vale of Hymen, and she hears Erato sing, and she list* 
 no more for the simple songs of her Mountain Muse 
 She has given her heart and hand to Adonis, and by his 
 side alone she will henceforth linger ; for him only will 
 she sing and shine. • 
 
 In a few short days I shall bid adieu to Pine Grove, 
 and go away over the hills to Forest Retreat. Through 
 the long summer months I shall go in and out ami 1 its 
 lights and shadows. Amid its groves, — but not of Tine. 
 — I shall watch the wild rose blush, and the liiy of the 
 valley string its tiny bells. There I shall hear the 
 
 birds sing at 
 
 " Blusliing morn and diwy eve." 
 
 There I shall meet the little ones as they come from the 
 green lanes and Howery valleys to con their lessons in 
 the pleasant school-room. yVnd there, — but I will look 
 only on the bright side of the picture now, and let no 
 shadow of to-morrow dim the glory of to-day. 
 
 ♦ ♦♦*♦* 
 
 One year has passed since I bade adieu to l*inr 
 Grove, and the voice of spring is again heard, and the 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 55 
 
 trees arc once more hanging forth then* green tassels in 
 t!ie breeze. One year ! It seems l)iit a Httle while, and 
 vet, during that time, how many changes have occurred 
 in the lives of thousands of human beings. How 
 many realize that life has changed — that it will never 
 again be ([uite the same as it has l)een — that new 
 hopes and fears, new pleasures and pursuits, will hence- 
 forth take the place of the old ? Time brings changes 
 to all, and 'tis well. The world would grow desperate 
 were sucli not the case. 
 
 I sometimes wonder how it will l)c in that other life ; 
 whether we shall have some fixed, changeless employ- 
 ment, or whether we shall go on and on, ever tracing 
 some new design, or watching the unfolding of some 
 fresh glory. Will their be no heights to reach, no goal 
 to attain, even there, or will our admission into heaven 
 be the highest height — the only goal ? " Will not 
 uol)le work still go nobly on," and love and thought 
 make a grander scope when the fetters of earth are un- 
 <'lasped ajid thrown aside i 
 
 We do not know. We shall never in this life unravel 
 the mystery of that other ; but this we know, — that if 
 our lives are pure and true as (iod alone can make 
 
 them, 
 
 '• SuinuwlierL' it) that large, beautiful unknuwn 
 
 Our jtlucc will be, 
 And soiiu'whc'i'i' clasped witliin its boundless zone 
 We .'«liall fulfil our dreams ot'imiuortality." 
 
56 VESPER CHIAIES. 
 
 LINES TO BROTHER S- 
 
 Dear Brother S 'tis a bright May morn, 
 
 And wild birds carol loud and free, 
 While soft warm airs through the window float, 
 
 As I take up my pen to write to thee. 
 
 Spring with her smiles is here again. 
 
 Clothing with green the wild-wood bowers. 
 
 Spreading soft verdure o'er hill and dale. 
 
 Sprinkling the glade with sweet May-flowers. 
 
 Mild are the breezes which fan my brow. 
 Sweet are the songs which greet my ear. 
 
 The day -king smiles in the orient sky. 
 And the azure seas are calm and clear. 
 
 In my sanctum window I sit and gaze 
 
 Out on the fields and forest wild. 
 And my thoughts go back to the long bright days 
 
 When I roamed the forest — a little child. 
 
 How well I remember our long glad walks. 
 On the glorious summer and autumn eves, 
 
 When a laughing group of our little friends 
 Made a path with us through the rustling leaves 
 
 But our childhood's friends are scattered now. 
 They gather not at the twilight hour, 
 
 They meet no more in the leafy glade. 
 Nor a shelter seek in some forest bower. 
 
VE3BER CHIMES. W 
 
 Some seats by the hearth are vacant too, 
 We linger in vain some forms to meet, 
 
 They have gone from our sight and their sunny smile, 
 Never more on earth shall our coming greet. 
 
 ""^vjl life still hath duties for you and me, 
 Demanding our earnest thought and care, 
 
 We too must expect to share a part 
 
 In the trials and conflicts all must bear. 
 
 Life is not merelv an idle dream, 
 
 Earth is not all one rose-bed fair. 
 And though there are roses, remember thou. 
 
 In plucking the rose, the thorn is there. 
 
 Be true and gentle, and kind to all, 
 
 Be a man in the conflict, — a man in the strife. 
 
 Act well thy part, and may'st thou at last 
 Wear the victor's crown of unending Life. 
 
 OUR FOREST BRIDE. 
 
 Black eyes glowing and sparkling, 
 
 Tresses of dark brown hair, 
 Cheeks with wee bright dimples 
 
 Lurking *mid blushes fair, 
 liips like red-ripe cherries, 
 
 Wreathed with bewitching smiles, 
 Small white hands deftly weaving 
 
 Tender innocent wiles. 
 
bS VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 Flitting about lik(? a fairy, 
 
 Gleeful as any child, 
 Glad as the laughing sunshine, 
 
 tSweet as th<^ flowerets wild, 
 Yet 'neath the fair exterior, 
 
 Wearing a woman's heait. 
 True and tiMider and earnest , 
 
 Governed hv nature, not art. 
 
 Star of a wide home eirele, 
 
 The beautiful bride of one, 
 The gen\ of gems 'mid his treasures, 
 
 In the sky of his glories — the sun ; 
 Joy of his shaded seclusion, 
 
 His rose in the forest dim, 
 Nestling alone in his bower, 
 
 IMushing and blooming for him. 
 
 Parted awhile from her home-friends» 
 
 Wins she all hearts to Ikm* side. 
 None know but to love and revcie her 
 
 Our beautiful forest Bride. 
 Loving and loved may she gather 
 
 Bright flowers life's journey along, 
 May the years in the far away future 
 
 Gush sweetly with sunshine and song. 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 59 
 
 STANZAS TO- 
 
 Wafchiiig the sliadows afar at play 
 
 Oil tlic hrow of the forest wild, 
 My thoui^lits went bark to the ([uiet hours 
 
 When I, when I was a little child. 
 
 1 thoiipfht again of the wildwood haunts 
 
 And of friends who roamed with me, 
 And one stray thought from the others soanul, 
 
 And Huttere(l'^lway to thee. 
 
 And I M'ondered if yon were dreaming too 
 
 O'er the scenes of your childhood's hours. 
 If your thoughts went hack to the long bright days 
 
 When you dwelt 'mid our Mountain bowers ; 
 If the little group that had gathered oft 
 
 In our homes on the bill-side fair, 
 Still hehl a ])la('c in your manhood's heart 
 
 Or claimed in your thoughts a share. 
 
 The g(Mitle zephyrs swept softly by, 
 
 And I listened to hear them tell 
 If the changing years as they hurried by 
 
 Had broken the youthful spell. 
 But one through the lattice softly crept, 
 
 And breathed in a magic tone 
 That the heart of the boy was still unchanged, 
 
 Though the face had older grown. 
 
•0 VESPER CHIMES 
 
 The shadows have ceased their quiet play. 
 
 And yet I sit and dream 
 O'er the hallowed scenes of the cherished past. 
 
 Which still o'er my pathway gleam. 
 Their glory wanes not through the mist of years 
 
 In the changes that come and go, 
 But ever a placid and mellow light 
 
 O'er the paths of the present throw. 
 
 May haloes bright from the past e'er shed 
 
 Their radiance athwart your way. 
 May the present hours be fraught with joy, 
 
 Serene as a cloudless day. 
 May rays from the future's unseen realm 
 
 Encircle your brow with light, 
 And may you at last wear a starry crown. 
 
 In a land where there is no night. 
 
 A DREAM OF ELYSIUM. 
 
 All tit once thev stood before me — 
 They the beautiful, the good ones. 
 Stood before me 'mid the shadows. 
 Smiled upon me through the twilight, 
 Whispered to me gently, softly. 
 Of the far-ofF'land Elysium — 
 Summer Land of the Hereafter — 
 Where the storm-cloud never lowers. 
 Where the tempest echoes never. 
 Where the flowers ne'er fade nor wither. 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 61 
 
 Where the shadows never gather, 
 Oil the hills of the Forever, 
 'Mid the groves of the Eternal, 
 In the home-bowers of the Blessed, 
 ).i the simbright land Elysium. 
 Lovingly they pressed around me — 
 They, the beautiful, the good ones — 
 Caught me in their strong arms gently. 
 Bore me upward through the twilight. 
 Far above the strife and earth-mist. 
 Far beyond the clouds of Even ; 
 Up through regions bright and airy. 
 Past the portals of the Sunset, 
 Past the starry hosts of Heaven, 
 Past the hills of the Empyrean, 
 To the sweet fields of Elysium, — 
 To the gardens of the Amaranth, 
 To the fountains ever springing. 
 To a mystic sea of splendor, 
 Dotted o'er with Happy Islands, 
 Brighter than the seas of Sunrise 
 Sprinkled o'er with gems of crystal. 
 Or the pearly tears of night time 
 Glistening in the eyes of Morning . 
 They, the beautiful, the good ones, 
 Led me to the happy spirits 
 Singing 'mid the groves of Amaranth, 
 Clad in trailing robes of brightness. 
 Wearing crowns with jewels radiant. 
 Sitting under golden banners. 
 Twining fadeless morning-glories 
 
6^ VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 With the purple sprays of Amaranth ; 
 
 Singing all the while so sweetly 
 
 Songs without a trill of sadness, 
 
 Sweeter than yEolian harp notes 
 
 Or the fabled strains of Orpheus. 
 
 They, the beautiful, the good ones, 
 
 Tjed me on through glittering portals, 
 
 Under shining domes and arches, 
 
 To the gateway of the city — 
 
 Sunborn city of Elysium — 
 
 With its palaces unending, 
 
 Walled with Amethist and Beryl, 
 
 To the Temple of the Great One, 
 
 To the Sajiphire throne within it, 
 
 Canopied with purple splendor. 
 
 Curtained round with golden drapery. 
 
 Till the fflorv dimned my vision. 
 
 And my heart grew still with wonder. 
 
 Then they bore me back, the good ones. 
 
 From the Temple of the Great One, 
 
 Downward from the hills Supernal, 
 
 Past the watchers on the Empyrean, 
 
 Past the rosy gates of Morning, 
 
 Past the portals of the Sunrise, 
 
 Down amid the vales of earth-mist, 
 
 'Mid the bitter strife and conflict, — 
 
 Whispering, Keep thy garments holy, 
 
 Keep thy heart pure from the earth-taint, 
 
 And when morning dawns Eternal, 
 Holy arms shall bear thee upward. 
 And the Great One shall receive thee 
 In His home of Love forever. 
 
VESPER CHIMES. ^ 63 
 
 SCENES OF NATURE. 
 
 " Pleasant were many scene.*, but most to me 
 The solitude of vast extent, untouched 
 By hand of art, where Nature sowed herself 
 And reaped her crops; whose frarnients were the cloud. 
 Whose minstrels brooks; whose lamps the moon and stars; 
 Whose orj^an choir the voice of many waters; 
 Whose banquets morning dews ; whose lovers flowers ; 
 Whose orators the thuncierbolts of God; 
 Wiiose palaces tiie everlastinj; hills ; 
 Whose ceilinj^ heaven's unfathomable blue; 
 And from whose rof';y turrets, battled \n\ih, 
 Prospect immense spread out on nil sides round; 
 Lost now between the welkin and the main, 
 Now walled with hills that slept above the storm." 
 
 Earth must have been a glorious place indeed ere the 
 feet of the spoiler left their deadly impress upon its hal- 
 lowed soil. We gaze not now upon the glories of Cre- 
 ation's morning, nor listen to the melting music which 
 echoed through the bowers of Eden ; yet as we wander 
 forth through Nature's wide domain, we behold scenes that 
 are really beautiful and glorious, and we almost imagine, 
 as we gaze upon the surpassing loveliness of the pros- 
 pect spread out before us, and listen to the glad, sweet 
 songs of the feathered warblers, that we are standing 
 within the precincts of the " sacred garden, listening to 
 the echoing notes of Eden's 'organ choir.' " Eden's 
 bowers have faded, and her myriad choristers are dead. 
 He. groves of Amaranth could not bloom beneath the 
 spoiler's touch. Her glad musicians ceased to sing, or 
 sang in tones of woe, in view of such a scene. And 
 man, the crowning glory of creation, destined by God to 
 be a holy, happy being, how must his soul have thrilled 
 
64 ^ VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 with agony when called his punishment to hear, in sor 
 rowing exile from his home and God ! 
 
 Despite the withering hlight which has followed in 
 the trail of the destroyer, nature is grand and glorious 
 still. I have never gazed on the lofty summits of the 
 Andes, crowned with eternal snows, nor yet o'er Alpine 
 regions trod. I have never seen the Niagara, with its 
 "glorious robe of terror and of beauty," nor listened to 
 the "peals sublime of its tremendous hymn." I have 
 never roamed through classic Greece, nor gazed upon its 
 famous mounts, — 
 
 " Where Muses stay their mystic flight, 
 And Poets' thrilling numbers breathe." 
 
 I have never trodden Italia's vales, nor paused amid her 
 vine-clad bowers — "the embodiment of earthlv loveli- 
 ness." I have never dwelt amid the gorgeous hues and 
 glorious dyes of Southern climes, nor beheld the cold 
 splendors of Northern regions, but amid the humble hills 
 and dales of Nova Scotia I claim my home. 
 
 " Sweet land of my childhood, sweet land of my birth, 
 The dearest and best in this wide-peopled earth ; 
 My heart shall be with thee where'er I may roam ; 
 I love thee, Nova Scotia, my sweet native home. 
 I love thee. Nova Scotia, I love thy cool bowers, 
 I love thy dark groves where I've wandered for hours ; 
 And should the wild ocean between us e'er foam, 
 I'll remember thee ever, my loved native home." 
 
 Nature is beauteous everywhere. I love her at every 
 season, and in every place. Every leaf that trembles in 
 the br jeze ; every flower that blooms in meekness at our 
 feet ; every blade of grass that helps to clothe our fields 
 with green ; every moss and lichen ; every shrub and 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 65 
 
 plant which grow around the abodes of men, are cheering 
 to the sight ; but when we wander forth amid the " soli- 
 tude of vast extent untouched by hand of art," and be- 
 hold nature as planted by herself, language is powerless 
 to describe the beauty, glory, grandeur and sublimity of 
 the scene. 
 
 Far away from the " busy haunts of men," in the 
 depths of the trackless forest, or on the summit of the 
 mountain high, the scenes of nature flourish in grand, 
 wild beauty. Nestled amid the forest bowers are flow- 
 ers of richest hues ; miu-muring through the forest glades 
 are streams of crystal brightness ; singing in the forest 
 groves are birds with bright and gay plumage ; playing 
 amid the forest trees are soft, cooling zephyrs, laden with 
 the perfume of a thousand flowers. 
 
 " O. I dearly love the forest, 
 With its dark and shadj bowers, 
 W ith its deep and cool recesses. 
 Perfumed with the breath of flowers ; 
 With its streams of crystal brightiess, 
 Murmuring gently as they flow 
 Through the green and verdant wildwood 
 Where the gentle zephyrs blow." 
 
 And the mountains, too, are beautiful with their 
 arched summits reposing beneath the calm azure sky. I 
 love to gaze, when day is departing, upon the distant 
 hill-tops, crowned with bright golden rays. 
 
 Methinks if there is one scene in nature more beauti- 
 ful than another, it is sunset upon the hills. 
 
 If earth is still so beautiful, notwithstanding the blight 
 that has fallen upon it, to what can heaven be com- 
 pared ? 
 
66 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 Earth is not all sunshine, not all beauty, not all glad- 
 ness ! 
 
 Here is night and darkness, and faded flowers, and 
 sorrow, and tears, and death ! But in heaven there is 
 no night. There flowers nev >r fade, and sorrow never 
 enters There tears are wiped forever from all faces, 
 and death is unknown ! Its garments are robes of spot- 
 less white ; its minstrels " angels that excel in strength ;" 
 its "organ choir" " the spirits of the just made per- 
 fect ;" its palace the throne of God ; its ceiling jasper 
 and emerald, its streets shining gold, and its prospect an 
 eternity of rest, and peace, and pure, unalloyed liap- 
 
 j.iness. 
 
 *' Wln'ti (tur lifi' on eartli is oiidctl, 
 
 Willi its min^fli'd hopes iiiid fi-ars, 
 ♦VIk'M our R'l-t sliiill ci'iisc to wander 
 
 Tlirouul* tiiis .vhadowy ' valf of tears,' 
 When the seenes of nature" Vi^nisiu 
 
 And shall tail life's tliekeriuji hreath ; 
 Whi-n th'.se forms lie still and pulseless, 
 
 In the eold ''nihrace of death ; 
 Muy we lind a place of rest 
 
 In the inantions of the hlest." ' 
 
 1865. 
 
 xMY MSTER. 
 
 Low in the damp cold ground 
 IJeneath a snow-capped mound, 
 Where storm winds wail around, 
 My sister sleeps. 
 
VESPER CH1ME3 H' 
 
 Pale as the flowers that bloom 
 In Slimmer o'er her tomb, 
 There death in sombre ijloom 
 His vigil keeps. 
 
 n' 
 
 Calm as the dviniif rav 
 Of summer's closing clay, 
 Her votiiii*- life el)bed awav, 
 
 And she was gone. 
 Broken were life's frail bands, 
 Folded the icv hands, 
 While we o'er time's dark sands, 
 
 Still wandered on. 
 
 I could not thiidv her dead, 
 ThouLjh o'er her dreiunlcss bed 
 Death's drapery was sjnead, 
 
 I said she slept : 
 But when [ saw her face 
 So pale in death's embrace, 
 Yet stamped m ith heavenly grace, 
 
 I stood and wept. 
 
 The riule T)eccnd)er gale, 
 Sweeps now o'er hill and dale, 
 Chanting a ])ite()us wail 
 
 O'er withei-ed flowers. 
 Rut thou art sale at rest, 
 In heaven among the blest, 
 No more by sin opprest, 
 
 'Mid amaranth bowers. 
 
H8 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 We may not meet again 
 In this cold world of pain. 
 Darkened by sin's deep stain, 
 
 But we shall meet 
 Around the throne on high, 
 Far, far, above the sky, 
 
 Where death itself shall die.— 
 Our friends to greet. 
 
 Then sleep, sweet sister, sleep ! 
 The grave thy form may keep, 
 And friends may o'er thee weep, 
 
 But thou art blest ; 
 Thy spirit pure and bright, 
 Hath reached the plains of light. 
 Safe from death's withering blight. 
 
 In heaven to rest. 
 
 And when this life is o'er, 
 And wo 'mid storms no more 
 Shall walk this mortal shore, 
 
 Then shall we nu'Ct 
 Above the starlit zone, 
 Where parting is unknown. 
 Around the (heat White Throne 
 
 To take our seat. 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 69 
 
 THE OTHER SHORE. 
 
 On rho other slioi-c they jire waiting for me. 
 
 And the) beckon me hence to the better lanci ; 
 In fancy a shining group I see, 
 
 Standing there with the angel band. 
 There; is one with brow of marble mould. 
 
 And eyes that gleam through lashes dark ; 
 We know he has gone to return no more 
 
 To gladden the hearts in his childhoocrs home ; 
 ])ur sranding now on the other shore 
 
 Mv brother oeckons the loved to come. 
 
 Ou the other shore another sfands, 
 
 Sweeping the stilugs of her g<dden lyre ; 
 Her Miowv r()b(^s trail on shining sands 
 
 As slu- joins in the chant of the augcl choir. 
 She passed aM ;iy in tli(» dim gi'cy light, 
 
 Wliicli ii>heis in the approach of day ; 
 We saw hoy fade from our y( arning sight. 
 
 And knew she h;id u'one from our honu.' Ibi" ;ive. 
 We knoN\ w (' shall sec our loved no moi'e, 
 
 Save with spiiit's eyes or in dreams of the night ; 
 l»ut standing now on the other >hore, 
 
 She bcH'kons um hence to realms of light. 
 
 And yet another is waiting for me, 
 
 On the (|uiet banks of that other shore ; 
 
 1 ler angel form now methinks I sec, 
 
 Standing with those who had gone before. 
 6 " . 
 
70 VESPER CHIME*. 
 
 Sadly we watched her day by day, 
 
 As she slowly faded away from view, 
 We knew that the angels had called her away. 
 
 And nerved our hearts for a long adieu : 
 The solemn midnight vigil had passed, 
 
 And the morning stars .shone with fainter lights 
 When the angel of deatli o'ei* the threshold crossed,. 
 
 And boiC her away from our yearning sight. 
 
 And there are others who waiting stand. 
 
 On the shining shore by the? crystal sea. 
 Pilgrims no move in a stranger land, 
 
 Ihey from life's conflict for aye are free. 
 Weary no more with earth's toils shall they grow ; 
 
 Sorrow no more o'er their bosoms shall sweep ; 
 Freed from the ills which beset them below, 
 
 The ransomed of heaven, no more shall they weep. 
 Darkly on me fall the shadows of time, 
 
 Weary am I of the toil and the strife, 
 But I rejoice that in yondei* bright clime, 
 
 My loved ones are wearing the garlands of life. 
 
 And thus they are broken, love's golden ties. 
 
 Which bind us to beings of kindred birth ; 
 Our loved ones depart, and with tears and sighs, 
 
 We lay them to rest in the damp, cold earth. 
 Life's sunshine grows dark as we sadly remain 
 
 In the desolate places which death hath made, 
 Yet a little while, we shall meet them again, 
 
 Where liiciido never die, anU Howei s never lade ; 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 71 
 
 When the sorrows and conflicts of earth are o'er, 
 And our barks shall have gained the glittering strand. 
 We shall join the loved who have gone before, 
 On the other shore, in the better land. 
 
 A lUTD OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Friend, besi beloved, m;i thoughts to-night 
 
 Flit through the silence unto thee, 
 While fancy *mid the gloaming sweet, 
 
 A form like unto thine doth see ; 
 And while the air is filled with songs, 
 
 'J'rilled by the choristers of spring, 
 On friendship's altar I would lay 
 
 For thee this trivial offering. 
 
 \ trivial offering, yet had I 
 
 A better, thine the boon should be ; 
 My soul would haunt the realms of song 
 
 To find one fitting lay for thee ; 
 But, friend beloved, the shadows creep, 
 
 More faintly glows the dying light, 
 My lips iu-e silent, but my heart 
 
 Goes forth to meet thine own. Good Night. 
 
72 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 reminiscen(;ks of school life. 
 
 Among th(3 recollections most dear to my heart are 
 some of the memories of school life. 
 
 Awav hack across the misty tide of years shines tl" 
 light of glad summers passed with sweet child-com])a- 
 nions in the (juaint old school house on the hill. Often, 
 as I look upon the happy, eager faces of school cliildren 
 of the present day, or watch their merry sports, and 
 listen to theii* joyous shouts of (;areless, gleeful laughter, 
 I am carried hick in tlious^lir to my own school (la\ s, 
 Whil(^ 1 write a vision of that fu- aw.iy time comes up 
 before* inc. I see again tlie large old fashioned school- 
 room with its l()ngl)enches ranged against the wail. \\ 
 one end of the room is the nianunoth fire-place, in 
 winter piled high witli \n iziug logs, sending a ruddy 
 glow even to remote corucrs of tlie school-room, and 
 making the short and (otherwise dark days seem almost 
 lustrous. On on,' side, is ;i small eminence where the 
 mail of (fod s'ood on the holy da\ — for the place s(Mvod 
 for '•hurcli i> well as school-house, and proclaimed in 
 reverent tones the glad news of Salvation. At the other 
 side of the room, and opposite the " saci'cd desk," i^thc 
 du»)r through whic;h we pasNed morning, noon, and night. 
 and which was sometimes so hoisteiously assailed as to 
 siM-iously try the strength of the hinges, and hring the 
 good teacher to inquire into the clause of disturbance, 
 and set matters right again. 
 
 'liie school-house of our more modcrii days is a vor_\ 
 
vespp:k chimes. 73 
 
 different structure from tlie one described, but whether 
 ple;isanter iissociutions chister round it or not, wo leave 
 for the chikhvn of to-day to telh 
 
 Of my first teacher I retain but few recollections, and 
 even those are not of a very pleasant rvituro He was 
 an elderly man, and I tliiuk suff -rea almost constantly 
 from ill-health, lie seldom if over smiled, and I do not 
 remoniher that ho over awarded to one of his pui)ils a 
 word of praise, whether it was dos -rvcnl or not. Some- 
 times ills health did not permit him to coiije to the school 
 room at all, and on sucli days his pi ice was occupied bv 
 his brorher, whose treitmcnt of us was us different from 
 that of the other as can well be im lu^iiiod. If tbo 
 other never smiled, lio seemed dotormined to make 
 up for the loss by smihm^ upon us almost constantlv. 
 And how he praised us — how oftoji liis hand icsted 
 upon our head, and how our youni^ hearts warmed, 
 and thrilled with love for the new, kind teacher. — 
 How wo would liked to have bad him remain w itii us 
 alwavs. As it was, I am afraid we did not hail the re- 
 turn of our old teacher to the school-room with many 
 demonstrations of joy. I am not certain that we did 
 not think it an adverse fate that sent liim back to us so 
 soon. But we had ngt to endure the riu^id rule of master 
 
 D , very loniif. The time allotted for his services 
 
 soon expired, and he went we none of us knew whither, 
 and I do not think curiosity ever prompted us toincjuire. 
 lie left us no pleasant memories of himself to cherish, 
 and childhood seldom cares to linger over a dark picture, 
 80 he soon ceased to be spoken of among us ; but some- 
 times during these later years, I have thought I should 
 
74 VESPER ('HIMES 
 
 like to know what beciimc of my first teacher. I shiil! 
 never learn to ihink that his system of teaching was 
 perfect, or even good, hat I can make many allowances 
 for the failings of one from whom the hand of disease 
 was never quite lifted, and to whom no hours entirely 
 free from pain ever came. 
 
 The recollections of my next teacher are more vivid. 
 The -ong bright days that followed his coming, can never, 
 I think, be quite forgotten by any of the little group 
 that th(»n sharpd his teachings. He seemed scarcely 
 less youthful than some of the tender " buds of 
 promise " over which he was expected with dignity to 
 preside, and for the proper shooting of whose " young 
 ideas" fond Papas and Mamas held him responsible. — 
 If he did not find the task a delightful one we never knew 
 it. We knew his rule was delightful, that 
 
 •• ills Ii)Vi' WMStlM- l.i'.v of tlic school." 
 
 ■Mid fiuthor than this we did not care to know. 
 
 Wow often from the sterner scenes that have since 
 coloured my lite h;)s my mind turned l)ack to tho.se 
 bright days. 
 
 liow often in fancy 1 re-visit tiie old place. As brightly 
 as ever glciuns before me even now the glory of those 
 early years. 
 
 1 look in again upon the old .<(hool-room. I see the 
 same long benches ranged against the wall, and upon 
 them the sweet forms of mv plav-mates. There is a 
 Hober light in their young eyes, for the teacher is reading 
 the morning lesson. A deeper hush falls on the little 
 group, and each head is reverently bowed, as he closes 
 the Holv Book, and in low, solemn tones craves the 
 
VliSI'ER CHIMES. <5 
 
 blessing and wise gnidnnre of " Our Father in Heaven,'* 
 during the day, and His love and protection duiing all 
 the coming days. 
 
 Study, with the exception of a short recess, occupies 
 the hours till noon, and now we hail the hour, brighter 
 and more jubdant, than aiiv other. — the i'lad noon hour. 
 We scarcely have patience to s^\•a]low our dinners ere 
 we run awav to our noon-da\ luuints. We firsi visit the 
 " SpriiJH" """ and enjoy ourselves awhile by sporting with 
 its cool crv>tal waters. Next wo hie awav to Sweet- fern 
 Hill, whcrx' some of the more courageous delight them- 
 selves by rolling from the top to the bottom, while others 
 of less boisterous temperament, amuse themselves bv 
 twining slight i)oughs of evergreen, and fragrant stalks 
 of the sweet -fern together. 'L'hc restlessness of child- 
 hood seizing us again, we all go down to the bottom ot" 
 the hill, where are a number of long sticks, and some 
 mysterious holes in the earth. A disciission al)out King- 
 fishers ensues, and a wonder aiises in the minds of some 
 whether the holes we have taken such j)ains to excavate 
 mav not at s«ome future time lu'come tiie real abode of 
 King-fishers, For my ov, n })ar;. I feel quite awed by this: 
 opinion, aj.\d 1 almost expect the next time a stick is 
 drawn out to Nce a King-lisher clinging to the end of it. 
 
 8o)n. too soon, we think tlu^ noon-hour passed, and 
 we go back again to our studies. 
 
 Pleasantly the aft^unoon flits by. The tasks are all 
 said, the lessons ended, — the hour for dismissal is come. 
 Slates and books are laid aside, little heads are again 
 bowed reverentlv — the solemn voice of our Teacher once 
 more ascends to *'()ur Father in Heaven," — kisses are 
 
76 * VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 given — iifood nights spoken, and — " school is dismissed." 
 
 For all of mv teachers 1 cherish a iifratet'ul remeni- 
 brance ; to some 1 owe a great debt of gratitude for their 
 wise counsels and faithful teaching. To one esj)eciidly 
 iim I indebted for many bright glimpses of the beautiful, 
 both from this and that other life. 
 
 May the i)lessings he so earnestly craves for others, be 
 poured abundantly into his own life; and may the beau- 
 tiful pearls of thought he scatters so freely, and the bright 
 garlands his poetic fancy is ever wreathing for other brows 
 he twined in one grand garland at last, to shed its glory 
 forever over his own brow. 
 
 From only two lady teachers have I received instruc- 
 tion, and the time spent under their tuition was so short 
 that I cannot accurately judge of the benefit I might have 
 derived from their teachings, C( uld I have remained their 
 pupil a longer time 
 
 To another t(»acher — one of later yeais — I owe much. 
 His kindness, his goodness, his patience, I shall never 
 forsjet. I used to wonder, and it is a mvsterv tome still, 
 how he could be so calm and foibcaring among such a 
 boisterous representation of "young Nova Scotia," ?.s 
 that school contained. I had read of such things, I had 
 even pictured them in fuu^y, but T confess 1 had never 
 expected to behold the living reality. Each day, as some 
 breach of order more flagrant than the last occurred, 1 
 expt^cted to see his patience fiil ; but no, there he stood 
 calm, patient, immovable, not even a frown shadowing his 
 brow, but if any had chosen to look, they might have 
 seen a sad, grieved expression in his earnest eyes ; and 1 
 am sure even the most thoughtless, must have felt how 
 
VESPER (;HlMKf^. ' 77 
 
 just, how truly kind, were his words of rcproval ; lor 
 heiiiEf a faithful toarlier he failed not to reprove when 
 Qccasion demanded ir. Xor was his teaehini; confined 
 merely to hranehes of erudite lore, or ahstruse science. 
 Wliolesome, i^enerons princijdes, rcjafarding life and its 
 (hities, Mere assid»iously inculcated. Education in its 
 hroad sense, in all its practical l)(>arin<»s, and such oidv 
 as is calculated to insure the development of true man- 
 liood and Moniiinhood, was his theme. Not all in vain 
 were his unwearied exertions. Not soon will the im- 
 pression made on one nnnd at least, pass away, and 
 (hough in time, perchance, will never he known the 
 numher whose lives are "wiser and hetter " for his 
 teachings — his judiciou • counsels and unsullied exam- 
 ple, yet, the rcord is on high, the rich reward will hv 
 and hv he given. 
 
 Toil oti, kind TcaeluT, t'lil. 
 
 Scattir the {uvfious sci'tl ; 
 Kicii. shall thy h;uvr.>t hi- at la>l. 
 
 And j^teat tliy irlorious nu-'MJ. 
 
 It is an encouraging fact, that the ficilities for getting 
 an educfition are heing placed more nearly within the 
 reach of all than at any former period ; hut of educa- 
 tion, as well as of temperance, it may he said, " much 
 yet r(>mains to he done." There are still many errors to 
 (•omhat, many prejudices to contend with. For teachers 
 there is a wide field of lahoi-. None need fold their 
 liands for lack of something to do. There is not onlv 
 an opportnnity, hut an actual necessity, for more high- 
 souled, generous endeavors on the part of teachers in 
 general. If the " rising generation " is to he trained 
 in the principles of true manhood and womanhood, the 
 
78 NKSrEi: CIIIMKS. 
 
 tC'iciuM's must: lio (Mnirst rnon and womon. Tliey uwi'-^ 
 think — they must feel thei'c is a responsibility restinir 
 upon them <iffec'ting the destinies of their pupils dnrln^ 
 all coming time ; and if thi'V are wise teachers, they Mill 
 sometimes look beyond the labors of to-day, into th« 
 i'lFeus tliev m iv produce in the loiiij C()nnni{ to-morroNr. 
 
 Kiir i-acli, for all, tli-Ti' is soiiu' work lo do, 
 Siiiiu' iinpieiiKMit for every li.'inil to wield; 
 
 None need exclaim, I licit' liiive tioimlit to do; 
 (lod xivos to every life ;i lal;<iur-field. 
 
 i:HE LAST FAREWELL. 
 
 Farewell ! close the eyelids gently, 
 
 Wipe the death damps from her brow, 
 Fold the pale hands o'er her bosom, 
 
 She hath done with sorrow now. 
 (Jare no more shall dim her vision. 
 
 Fain nor sickness blight her joy, 
 Resting 'mid the courts of heaven, 
 
 Nothing shall her peace destroy. 
 
 Weeping friends, come, gather closer, 
 
 That last conflict now is o'er. 
 Death, the latest foe is vanquished, 
 
 And she suffers grief no more ; 
 But amid the i ealms of glory. 
 
 Where a blood-washed band appears, 
 She a spotless robe is wearing, 
 
 Safe from sins, and doubts, and fears. 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 79 
 
 Fold lier in ;i .snowy mantle. 
 
 Scatter rosebuds in her hair, 
 Bind a wreath oi floweis i>ently 
 
 On that l)row so pure and lair ; 
 There now calmly lot her sliiml)er, 
 
 (), ve would noL ciill hor hdrk 
 From the blissful couits of heaven, 
 
 Here to tread life's thornv track. 
 
 Farewell ! yet a little Ioniser 
 
 (iaze we on that marhlc brow, 
 Once so fair, so briii^ht with sunshine, 
 
 Rut so calm and heavenly now. 
 (/lasp once more the hands now lifeless, 
 
 Kiss again the clay-cold cheek, 
 Vainly for her voice ve listen, 
 
 She on earth no more will speak. 
 
 Farewell ! 'tis the last fond token, 
 
 One more garland we will wreathe, 
 Draw the snowy folds still closer 
 
 Kre we sadly take our leave. 
 She seems only sleeping sweetly ; 
 
 One more kiss, it is the last ! 
 Farewell ! heeds she not the tear drops 
 
 Falling now so thick and fast ! 
 
 Farewell ! softly, gently bear her, 
 
 To the dark and silent tomb ; 
 Weep not that a flower so lovely 
 
 Perished in its spring-tide bloom. 
 
^0 ' VKSl'KU CHIMKS 
 
 AVorp not fhat lior stny Avns tiiiisiont, 
 III this (l;uk, fold world of ])aiii ; 
 
 Only until dciitli |)rov(' liiitlifiil, 
 Yc shall meet thi> lovod aiifain. 
 
 Farewrll ! ^a^('^^(dl ! we wi'l leave her 
 
 In the silent totnh to rest, 
 iJul her spirit, puic and <'entle, 
 
 Minifies now aiiiid the hiest. 
 'I'liC'C, 'neatli trre> ol I'adidess verdnfe, 
 
 AVhere hii^dit Hovvers immortal hlooin. 
 Sh(? a crou n oi Hie is wearini^. 
 
 In her home beyond tlie tomh. 
 
 THE ('()MIN(i OF SPKMNli. 
 
 Sprint^ is cominn",! know, thoui^h her voice hath not stirred 
 The floweret's sleep, or the son,<( of the bird ; 
 Though snow-wreaths yet circle the hrow of the hills, 
 And ic('-ch tins still fett(»r the low 1 lUi^hiiiL;; lills ; 
 Thoiii^h no hud h ith yet hur>.t on the verdur(d(;ss trees. 
 Or blossom or a})ple spray floats on the bree/e ; 
 Yet soon will her footste])s be? heard on tiie lea, 
 [ know, for her wise onivs have told it to me. 
 
 I have lish'ned and heard her soft winds playini^ by, 
 I. Iiave seen h(»r brii^ht i^ irment-* huii'^ out from the sky ; 
 I have eau<>;ht a sweet echo from fir southern bowers, 
 Where th<' wiid bird trills softlv its lav 'nud the flowers ; 
 
\ KSl'Ell (II I. MRS 
 
 81 
 
 And down In my soul's sccrot d(»j)ths h;ivo hvvu stirred, 
 rrccious uKMHoiics w liich loni' vie were sliniihiMuii' un- 
 
 ljc;n<l ; 
 And my spii it lias tluillt'd to low Ijicatliiiii^s ol'soni; 
 Like the uchoin^s hoiiu- (V,)m .-^onic Seraphim thron<^. 
 
 riieroare \'oi<c> that w hi>pi'i to me of her hirth. 
 
 Apart from the voirc> liiat tell it to earth. 
 
 Thcic are sonys s\\ eefei' iar than the /ej>hvis wait hv. 
 
 There are >miles that aie i)i-inhte:- than hhish on the skv : 
 
 There aic ha!])iii;;> ! h il come liom a land where th«' 
 
 Howcr^ 
 Tnlold tiicir hrl^lst petal- "mid amaianlh nowci's ; 
 W^heic sprini;-lime ctern.d mi •ea>iiiL;ly reiiiiiN, 
 And >'.Mtlers her LTirlaiid^ alh.w art tli ■ ^'ii-en plains. 
 
 Sprini,^ i> i nmini;, and .>ooii ;]ie now \ei(hir(dess tree> 
 Sludl iliii^'tlui. ,a_\ t)K».-.-('iu> aiimad on the hree/e ; 
 And the |o\v-ia;iLchi.iu" rill .-i.all meandei- aLTain 
 'riirouuh the meado.i -> di i^iccii and dai'k nook-^ orthci^len. 
 I'he hirds will eonu' ha* 1. !(. uu: \sarm miiiiiN liowa'is, 
 Vn<l the wild I)ee retnni lo hi> h iiint> 'mid I he tlo\Ner> : 
 \nd nature a:'0!is>d I'rom her >dumhei'> shall >\\\'j; 
 llrri^lad _i;ii>hin|-j son_u:s ai thead\«Mit oi'-'piinii. 
 
^kJ vesper chimes. 
 
 BREATHINGS OF SPRING. 
 
 •• I sfi- il)i; gliinuKT of t!ie roi'es 1)1 Sprini,' cominj,', not far awjiv 
 !ur coroiifl of rjiys. I see- licr in tlu' twilight, in tl'.f azure of ihi* 
 iouth, like a luuunous way to lieaviMi." 
 
 " Not far away," already we 
 
 " The glimmer ol her robes ""' desoi-y, 
 ** Her coronet of ravs " Me see, 
 
 And banners blue along the sky, 
 And clouds like ** argosies from heaven " 
 
 Sail up and down the azure seas, 
 While softlv throusfh the air of even' 
 
 Sweet songs come iloaiing on the breeze. 
 
 (y'reation feels the wondrous thrill, 
 
 Her great heart throbs and b^ats anew, 
 \ soft blush steals o'er vale and hill, 
 
 And tender violets wet with dew 
 Ope their meek eyes in glades unseen. 
 
 In paths of human feet untrod, 
 Deep down amid their emerald sheen 
 
 Send up sweet incense breath to God. 
 
 New life in everything is titirred. 
 
 New scenes of jo)' glow everywhere ; 
 Gild songs of insect and of bird. 
 
 And breath of verdure fill the air ; 
 And murmuring sounds of unpent rills, 
 
 And gush of waters glad and free. 
 And voice of zephyrs from the hills, 
 
 All join the mingled minstrelsy. 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 8? 
 
 And deeper ])reuthings still arc heard, 
 
 Echoes long mute within the soul, 
 And slumheiing tides of thought are stirred. 
 
 While memories dear assert control. 
 And aspirations none may tell 
 
 From hidden depths spring into life, 
 f.ifting the soul awhile to dwell 
 
 Ahove the eartli-mist and the strife. 
 
 Spring-time glorious, opring-time bright : 
 
 How soothing after Winter's reign 
 To feel thy genial warmth and light. 
 
 And taste thy ** dear delights " again ; 
 Sad must the soul be which can feel 
 
 ^io joy thrill at thy advent chimes, 
 And dark as sad o'er which doth steal 
 
 No thoughts of ever spring bright climes. 
 
 These earthly Springs are fair, but soon 
 W anes the glad light, the glorious dyes, 
 
 Not long remains the radiant noon, 
 Not long the bright unshadowed skies ; 
 
 Hut when 'J'ime's Springs have faded all. 
 
 When earth's fair flowers forget to bloom, 
 And rills to murmur, — birds to call, 
 
 Shall dawn that Spring beyond the tomb. 
 
84 
 
 VKSI'KK CHIMKM 
 
 SlMMKIl DAYS. 
 
 () liL' tutitiil ^>mlllu•l (lavs, 
 
 () cloiidlos^ cc'riilcini skies, 
 () haiuu'is oi' L(<)1(1(H lls^ht, 
 
 uarimMits of cMUciald (Iv('>. 
 llow \{)\\y L>'lMr\ I'lirills my soul 
 
 Like (li'i.'iinjs of llit' oldcu time, 
 Or magical (•llim^^, \\lii(li ring 
 
 riiroii^li llic _i(r()vcs of ail Mdcii cliuu'. 
 
 ('an this he (lie simc hrown carfli 
 
 Wliich slept 'iieatli (lie winter's snow ^ 
 U'liosc hand !iath adorne*! the l)()\vers, 
 
 And I)idden the Mowers urow !* 
 Who is making' the rills to lani^h 
 
 And ciow iiinn' the hills with i^icen .'' 
 Who hath covered the ou'e i)i()\\ n earth 
 
 With a Ljold and emerald sheen? 
 
 There's a mvstical hand at work 
 
 1 nder the IxmU of flowers ; 
 
 U is ( iod who is crowninu" fh<' hills, 
 And (dosim; the forest howers, 
 
 lie whisjK'rs and natnre oheys ; 
 The rills lu'ar his voice and slii«^ ; 
 
 III' ;onehes the earth with his wand, 
 
 And (lowers from their '•Inmher-- spriiiiif. 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 85. 
 
 His mandate the seasons know ; 
 
 Spring blushes at His command. 
 And the beautiful summer time 
 
 Like a gem drops from His hand. 
 A glory is flashing now 
 
 ()n river, and hill, and plain. 
 And banners of golden haze 
 
 Hang out from the sky again. 
 
 O beautiful summer days. 
 
 Why must ye pass a^ay ? 
 O sunshine, and song, and flowers, 
 
 Can ye not always stay { 
 Not till the changeful veil 
 
 Tlrops from the brow of Time, 
 Not until summer blooms 
 
 On the shores of the Upper Clime. 
 
 AUTUMN MUSINGS. 
 
 Earth's summer tresses have faded, and autumn is 
 strewing on hill and plain her garlands of varied beauty, 
 'j'lie wild-wood haunts are silent and dim, and no longer 
 give back the echoing notes of nature's feathered choir. 
 The forests have laid by their brilliant summer garments, 
 and donned their gorgeous autumn robes. The air has 
 lest its l.;.ii^)y fragrance — the perfumed breath of flowers. 
 1 he skies aie a deeper blue,- -the stars more intensely 
 
SB VESPER (HIMES. 
 
 bright ; while all around breathes a holy calmness, so 
 like the subdued hush that precedes the coming of tin* 
 Angel of Death, that we almost involuntarily look up, 
 expecting to see his dark wings overshadowing us. 
 
 O, Autumn ! Thou awakcst echoes in the soul that 
 have long been mute. Thou unlockest the secret portals 
 of memory ; and the graves of the past are opened, while 
 phantom visions of its glory and grief Hash vividly before 
 us. 
 
 I was thinking, as I sat amid the dim shadows of the 
 last still eve. and looked out upon night's radiant glory, 
 while my soul drank in the deep stillness of the hour, 
 what numberless changes had taken place since autumn 
 last strewed her golden treasures upon the lap ot caith ! 
 The moon shone down with the same mild radiance, and 
 the stars glittered as brightly amid their curtain of ether ; 
 but other scenes than those wliich greeted me last au- 
 tumn were present to my view. I saw not the low val- 
 ley with dark hills towering on either side. I saw not 
 the winding river, nor listened to its silvery chimings I 
 saw not the dark grove of evergreens where the zephyrs 
 chanted their nightly greetings. I saw not the little 
 church with its blinded windows, looking so quiet and 
 holy, nor the graveyaid on the hill beyond with it* 
 white tombstones glistening in the moonlight. I saw 
 not the pale invaUd girl by whose couch I sometimes 
 sat in the hushed autumn twilight Her I shall see uo 
 more ; for when summcx next kissed the flowers into 
 bloom she closed her eyes to the scenes of earth and went 
 out upon the mystic waters of the sea of Death. She 
 has gone to join her kindred — those of the family circle 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 87 
 
 who at an earlier period went out from beneath the shel- 
 ter of home's leafy boughs, and shadoAvy shores of time, 
 and passed out through the gates of the Unseen. 
 
 Ah ! many who one short year ago sat in the social 
 circle, beneath the genial glow of the cheerful autumn 
 fires, shall sit there no more Nevermore shall they list 
 to tbo sounds of earth ; nevermore in time return the 
 kindly greetings of loved ones whose feet still linger on 
 mortal shores. Their lives young and bright perchance, 
 ami glowing with visions of the coming time, have been 
 quenched in the restless tide of death. Because of this, 
 iiearts once thrilHng with fondest pleasure have become 
 sorrowful, and eyes unused to M'eeping dim with bitter 
 tears. And is this- all ? Shall the lives thus quenched 
 never re-bloom ? Shall the smitten and bereaved hearts 
 never regain their freshness ? Shall there be no reunion 
 between spirits which here grew and blended together 
 sweetly ? Shall the severed links in *' love's golden 
 chain " never be re-united ? If not, alas for us ? 
 
 *' Aliis, for love if this were all, 
 And naught beyond an earth ! " 
 
 Alas ! earth with its countless mines of pleasure, its 
 golden visions of good, its hallowed dreams of bliss, its 
 thousand balms for human suffering, possesses no balm 
 that can heal the wounded spirit or restore freshness to 
 the smitten heart. All that wealth can procure, all that 
 luxury can give, all that honor can bestow, all that friend- 
 ship can obtain, in short, all earth's blessings, are insuffi- 
 cient to satisfy the wants of the soul. These things per- 
 chance might satisfy the desires of our earthly nature 
 but can they satisfy the soul panting and struggling in 
 
88 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 the conflict of life. Can they still its restless throbbings ? 
 Can they allay its burning thirst ? Can they still its 
 yearning cries ? Can they appease its deathless desires ? 
 
 Ah, no ! 
 
 '* Earth's best promises but speak 
 Arrowy words to bleeding hearts. " 
 
 Earth has no home secure from sorrow, no clime where 
 
 shadows do not fall — no covert where storms never 
 
 penetrate, — no island retreat, around which ever slumber 
 
 tranquil seas — no spot in all its wide domain 
 
 *♦ Whore sor "ow never lives, 
 And friendship never dies." 
 
 Where then shall the soul find the rest for which it 
 gighs ? Listen ! Soothingly sweet and full of Divine 
 pathos is the voice of the Son of (jod, as He breathes the 
 invitation " Come unto Me all ye that labor and are 
 heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Chastened and 
 mellowed by the lapse of time, yet holy and pure, as 
 when breathed by the lips of the Saviour, the invitation 
 comes to us, and with its acceptance the sweet promise 
 of rest. Rest ! O how soothing ! i low often amid the 
 din and heat of life, we yearn for the precious balm. 
 How often our hearts echo the language of the Psalmist, 
 " O that I had wings like a dove, for then would I ily 
 away and be at rest." Not here may the spirit gain the 
 goal for which it pants, but beyond this changing scene 
 
 " There is a land where every pulse is thrilling 
 With rapture earth's sojourners may not know, 
 Where Heaven's repose the weary heart is stilling 
 And peacefully life's time-tossed currents flow." 
 
 We may not behold that land with our "dim earthly 
 vision," may not see its towers or gates of pearl, or 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 89 
 
 shining streets, or crystal sea, or robes of white, or 
 
 crowns of gold, nor breathe its balmy airs, nor pluck its 
 
 fruit, nor hear the songs that echo through its bowers ; 
 
 but 'tis there, just on the other side, just beyond the 
 
 valley of death. We are treading almost on its margin, 
 
 our barks nearly touch its shores. A step, a fluttering 
 
 breath, a closing of the eye, a loosening of life's silver 
 
 cord, and we are there. Whatever desires for good we 
 
 here have cherished, shall then be fully realized ; and 
 
 there, in the highest and holiest sense of the word, we 
 
 shall rest. 
 
 " Hero is thy rest, weary and bowed in spirit, 
 The soul's full UieuHure, 'mid the unrest of earth. 
 Of deep content, of joy the saints inherit, 
 In the sweet mystery of the second birth : 
 This is the promise of His cominj^, earnest 
 To us of the eternal great reward, 
 O Lamb of God I may we when Thou returnest 
 Be of that band for whom is ' rest' prepared." 
 
 A GOOD NIGH'l. 
 
 Good night, though daylight yet lingers 
 
 On the brow of the fiir distant west ; 
 The cool evening breezes sigh gently, 
 
 As they lull wearv nature to rest. 
 Far up, 'mid the depths of the ether, 
 
 One star sheds its silvery light, 
 As in fancy I gather the absent 
 
 And wish them a kindly good night." 
 
90 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 The absent ' O, tell me where are they ; 
 
 'Tis only in fimcy I see 
 The forms of the friends who have gatheied 
 
 In days that are vanished with me. 
 Yet in I'ancv 'tis sweet to be with them : 
 
 I feel a glad thrill of delight 
 As I list for the sound of their voices, 
 
 And their kind, gently whispered. Good Niglit. 
 
 THE MODERATE DRINKER'S BRIDE. 
 
 She is a doating father's pride, 
 
 A loving mother's hope and stay ; 
 One stands and whispers by her side, • 
 
 Will you leave these and c;ome away ? 
 He tells her of a vine- wreathed cot, 
 
 Waiting the sunshine of her love ; 
 He pictures out an Eden spot, 
 
 Onlv less fair than one above. 
 
 She listens to his pleading voice, 
 
 And leaves her girlhood's home behind ; 
 She journeys with her youthful choice, 
 
 That other promised home to find. 
 They reach the place, 'tis passing fair, — 
 
 Fair even as her fairest dreams ; 
 Art, wealth, and luxury are there, 
 
 A very fairy bower it seems. 
 
VK3PER CinME3. 91 
 
 She entereth on her new-found sphere ; 
 
 She takes the title now of wife ; 
 She piitteth hy each girlish fear, 
 
 And goeth forth to her new life. 
 Iler liome almost an Eden seems — 
 
 So fair and bright its sunny hours, 
 So free from grief — she never dreams 
 
 A serpent coils beneath its flowers. 
 
 Awhile the golden days Hit by 
 
 Like rays let down from courts above, 
 But soon a shadow dims the sky 
 
 In her new atmosphere of love. 
 A shade steals o'er that Eden place, 
 
 A blight falls on her choicest flowers, 
 A sadness gathers o'er her face, 
 
 A gloom pervades her gayest hours. 
 
 Alas, for all her glowing dreams. 
 
 Her new-found joys where are they now? 
 Upon her cheek shame's hectic gleams, 
 
 A hot flush mantles o'er her brow. 
 What is it rends her feelini's so t 
 
 What is it wounds her woman's pride ? 
 Ah, she has learned the truth to know, 
 
 She is a moderate drinker's bride. 
 
 The galling truth has been revealed, 
 The hidden serpent brought to view, 
 
 No longer 'neath the flowers concealed, 
 He comes his work of death to do. 
 
92 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 With breaking heart she views his spoils. 
 And strives to break his fatal spell, 
 
 Seeks to unbind his clinging coils, 
 And wean his victim back from helL 
 
 Vain all her love — he who had vowed 
 
 To cherish and protect till death — 
 Behold him now, his manhood bowed. 
 
 With bloated face and poison breath. 
 The drunkard's blight is on his brow. 
 
 His withering curse within his soul ; 
 His lips have breathed a later vow. 
 
 Allegiance to the drunkard's bowl. 
 
 Gone is the promise of his youth, 
 
 Lost in the wine cup's maddening glow. 
 Each principle of love and truth 
 
 Buried in misery and woe. 
 Madly he threads the downward way 
 
 Close in the serpent's deadly trail ; 
 Love pleads in vain his course to stay. 
 
 Sighs, tears and prayers have no avail. 
 
 And she, the once fond happy bride. 
 
 Whose path seemed strewn with fairest flowers, 
 Moui-ns by her darkened fireside, 
 
 And counts with tears the lonely hours. 
 She looks back to the happy past, 
 
 Then at her blighted, weary life, 
 No marvel that her tears fall fast. 
 
 For she is now the drunkard's wife- 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 93 
 
 The years go by — long weary years, 
 
 Of misery, and want, and pain ; 
 Meekly she struggles with her fears, 
 
 And strives her burdens to sustain. 
 Small, sickly forms surround her hearth, 
 
 Low, feeble voices cry for bread ; 
 For these she gladly clings to earth. 
 
 She labors that these may be fed. 
 
 Death entereth now, and then the door, 
 
 Small, feeble hands grow strangely still ; 
 Small feet no longer press the floor, 
 
 Small, wasted forms lie pale and still. 
 The mother crusheth back her grief. 
 
 And mourns in silence for her dead ; 
 For her there comes no blest relief. 
 
 She still the weary way must tread. 
 
 Her steps grow feebler day by day. 
 
 Her sands of life are nearly run ; 
 Her feet fail in her weary way. 
 
 Her sufferings here are alntost done. 
 But one frail life-link stUl remains. 
 
 One darkened tie yet binds to ear:h ; 
 Her trusting heart yet hope retains 
 
 For him who sits beside her hearth. 
 
 True to her earlv vows she stanr's. 
 By the poor crushed inebriate's side, 
 
 Gentle as when he clasped her hands, 
 And claimed her for his promised bride. 
 
94 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 Deep lines of care now mar her brow, 
 Grief's silver threads are in her hair; 
 The last faint hope is shattered now, 
 
 liife's sunlight quenched in dark despair. 
 
 Again, l)eside a grave she stands. 
 
 Her last sad tie to earth is riven. 
 Meekly she folds her patient hands. 
 
 And sighs for the sweet rest of heaven. 
 It comes at last, life's wished -for close. 
 
 Death's blessed sleep her eyelids seal ; 
 She bears no more life's bitter woes, 
 
 Her feet the thorns no longer feel. 
 
 They dig a grave, and kindly hands 
 
 Bury her where bet children sleep ; 
 Beside her grave no loved one stands. 
 
 And only strangers o'er her weep. 
 They leave her to her dreamless rest. 
 
 Her parents' once fond hope and pride; 
 Far from her girlhood's home so blest. 
 
 She sleeps, the moderate drinktr's bride. 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 Night's starry banners hang athwart the sky ; 
 
 The moon in hev high orbit sails serene ; 
 A soft white mist sleeps the long hills between, 
 
 The gentle winds have " died into a sigh." 
 
VEvSPER CHIMES. 95 
 
 No sound of life throug-h the still air is hejiid, 
 
 A silence dim and vast o'er all is spread ; 
 All nature sleeps : the daisy bows its head 
 
 Low in the dewy grass. The warbling bird 
 iiath ceased its lay to trill, and in its ik nI, 
 
 Beneath the hedge it rests with xblded winff. 
 No longer play the zephyrs in the west, 
 
 Or to the " forest aisles " swt et fragrance 
 Night spreads on the still earth her dewy \) 
 And lets her jewelled splendors flash o'er a ' 
 
 MORNINrx. 
 
 Morn spreads her rosy mantle o'er the work' 
 The day -king rises in his orient car, 
 I see his smile upon the hills afar ; 
 The banners of the night are backward furled, 
 T^he sleepy mists rise from the valley's bed, 
 
 And curl in soft white wreaths toward the skies, 
 The lark to greet the sunrise upwiird flies, 
 T'he meek white daisy lifts its trembling head. 
 And opes its timid eyes to greet the light ; 
 
 The birds call out anew amid the bowers,. 
 Like pearls fallen from the crown of night. 
 
 The dew in glittering drops lies on the flowers. 
 Earth's toiling ones take up life's load again. 
 And sounds of labor rise from hill and glen. 
 
96 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 A shade steals o'er the landscape's " green and gold," 
 The sky takes on a tinge of deeper blue. 
 The winds sigh sadly the dim woodlands through, 
 
 And tender flowerets tremble in the cold ; 
 
 The birds have ceased their gayer songs to trill, 
 And pipe in saddened lays the bowers among. 
 The insect world is still : nor hum nor song 
 
 Breaks forth from valley low or towering hill. 
 
 The forests vast their colored banners spread. 
 Where late the emerald tints of nature glowed. 
 
 'i'he robin from his summer haunts has fled, 
 The cheerful wren seeks out a new abode. 
 
 Earth lavs her faded treasures in the dust. 
 
 And life to death gives up the seal of trust. 
 
 RECONCILED. 
 
 Adieu ! sweet visions of the past. 
 
 Fair hopes I've treasured many a year, 
 
 Subdued I yield them up at last. 
 
 E'en those my heart enshrined most dear. 
 
 I give them up without a sigh, 
 
 Though I have worn them next my heart ; 
 I bow to life's stern destiny, 
 
 Which bids me with my idols part. 
 
VE3PER CHIMES. 97 
 
 hong since I learned they could not bloom, 
 At least amid these earthly bowers — 
 
 Too bright the light, too deep the gloom — 
 Vainly I tried to save my flowers. 
 
 I counted all the glorious dyes. 
 
 Which in the opening buds appeared ; 
 
 Alas, I know tears filled my eyes 
 
 When I beheld them brown and seared. 
 
 Fair flowers of friendship, buds of love, 
 
 I asked if I must give them up ; 
 Low came the answer from above, 
 
 And they were taken from my cup. 
 
 And yet "'tis well some joys have fled ; 
 
 Some friends I've known are friends no more ; 
 Some flowers are perished, some hopes dead, 
 
 And many golden dreams are o'er. 
 
 But joys are springing round me still, 
 And friendship yet illumes my way ; 
 
 While flowers no blight of time can kill 
 Are blooming in my path to-day. 
 
 New visions for the old are given, 
 
 " And wingless hopes the soul to cheer ;" 
 
 I'hough dark sometimes the ways of heaven, 
 " Bevond the tide " shall all be clear. 
 
 Then perish, visions of the past : 
 
 Let every golden dream depart. 
 If only I may win at last, 
 
 A title with the pure in heart. 
 
^>8 VESPEU CHIMES. 
 
 LAST WORDS. 
 
 " Bury m«- in the sunshine." 
 
 " Bury me in the sunshine," 
 
 I \\ouhl not have my tomb 
 Where the vaulted dead are sleeping, 
 
 Shrouded iti sculptured gloom. 
 But out where the clear bright sunshine 
 
 Its golden splendors shed. 
 Away on some flowery hillside 
 
 I'd slumber when I am dead. 
 
 " Bury me in the sunshine," 
 
 Malv(^ me a quiet grave 
 Where the zephyrs may play above mc 
 
 And the long grass o'er me wave. 
 But raise no stone to my memory, 
 
 Plant but a single tree 
 Where the wild birds morn and even 
 
 May trill their songs o'er me. • 
 
 ** Bury me in the sunshine," 
 
 Lay me away to sleep 
 Where violets and sun-eyed daisies 
 
 Theii" vigils in summer keep. 
 But raise no stone to my memory, 
 
 Let the breezes my requiem be, 
 Out in the quiet sunshine, 
 
 *Mid the flowers, oh bury me. 
 
VESPER CHIMES 99 
 
 TO ONE AT REST. 
 
 " Tliou Imst first begun the travel of eternity. 
 
 I gaze upon the stars and tliink that thou art there 
 Unfefti'refl as the thought that f()lh)\vs thee." 
 
 (Jail it be so, art thou walking to-day, 
 
 In tliat shadowless region hy mortals untrod ? 
 Have thy feet left this dusty arena for aye, 
 
 ft * • ■^ 
 
 To walk in the courts of the city of God ? 
 .\it thou safe evermore from the storm and the strife, 
 
 Which shadow the homes of the dwellers below ? 
 Art thou wearing the cro^^ n, and the garments of Life 
 
 Where rivers of crystal unceasinglv flow ? 
 
 »' O ft' 
 
 J know thou art gone, that thy feet never more 
 
 Shall walk on the banks of the river of Time, 
 But somewhere beyond on the unsinning shore. 
 
 Thou breathest the air of a glori^ed clime. 
 'i\) faith thou art visible, though from my view 
 
 Thou art hidden awhile, as I wander o'er earth, 
 But when morning shall dawn, and the dark night is 
 through, 
 
 I shall greet thee again in the land of thy birth. 
 
 I rejoice thou art there in that region of light, 
 
 Where the din of the conflict and strife is unheard. 
 Where darkness ne'er falls from the pinions of night. 
 
 Nor the air by the wing of the tempest is stirred. 
 Where the sun-blaze ne'er scorches, the star-beams ne'er 
 chill. 
 
 Nor thorns lurk unseen 'mid the beautiful flowers ; 
 Where the voice of the tempter forever is still. 
 
 And the wail of the stricken unheard 'mid the bowers. 
 
100 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 [ wonder if there thou dolt ever behold 
 
 " The river of time in its turbulent flow ;" 
 Dost thou ever look down from the city of gold 
 
 On the home of thy sojourn in valleys below ? 
 Dost thou hear all the words I am whispering to thee. 
 
 As I walk *mid the sunshine and shadow of earth ; 
 Wilt thou come to the gates of the city for me. 
 
 To welcome me into the land of thy birth. 
 
 I know thou art there, in the land of the blest. 
 
 Though my feet still must tread the rough paths oi 
 the world; 
 Thou art there where the earth-worn and wearv find 
 rest, 
 
 And the banner of peace is forever unfurled. 
 I would not recall thee, though one whispered word 
 
 Would bring thee again to the tent-ground of time, 
 I rejoice thou art there where earth's strife is unhealed, 
 
 " In the sweet fields of Eden," in glory sublime. 
 
 'I'hou art there, blissful thought, where the shadow of sin 
 
 Ne'er darkens the light of that beautiful place ; 
 'i'hou art there with thy Saviour and angels shut in. 
 
 And tear-stains forever are wiped from thy face. 
 My garments are dark with the mildew of eaith, 
 
 And my heart is oft burdened with sorrow and cai*e, 
 But I think of the beautiful home of thy birth. 
 
 And rejoice in my sorrow to know thou art there. 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 101 
 
 MY CHILDHOOD'S FRIENDS. 
 
 nVImmi' ;iri' llu'v tii-ni'4l:t, ti'.e frit-nds of (he p;»st? 
 
 ^Vliy coiiH' tlicy iiDt iit my earmst call? 
 Wliy sit I iiloiii' iiiid the \viinit\.y; ii,U;ht, 
 
 Aii'l iisr in vain for the'ir toot>U'p's fall? 
 
 Sitting here in tlie still liurili of the autumn twilight, 
 my thoughts float back through the dreary mazes of the 
 past, to the fir niy.stlc realms of childhood. How quick- 
 ly the years of childhoDil passed, and though the days 
 seemed long and bright ve scarcely deemed them pass- 
 ing initil thev were gone. I love sometimes to bid adieu 
 to the stern, cold present and steal back to those sunny 
 years. Often a-^ I sir and mvisc in th:' dim light of clos- 
 ing day the memoi'v of them iiashes before me like a 
 dream of delight, tuirl the sweet happy faces of child- 
 hood's friends in fancy ihrong around me. There is u 
 vision of a little group of childhood's friends before me 
 to-night. Life-like they appear in all the glory and fresh- 
 ness of their earlv voutli. There are mv three cousins, 
 Jennie, Bi^-ss and May ; our mutual friends Mary, Sue, 
 Ettie and Side, and mv own sweet sister Lula. 
 
 [n fancy 1 'oehold them as they appeared, to me at that 
 eai'ly tini'^ ; Jennie, with deep thoughtful eyes, and dark, 
 rich curls falling down over her neck and shouhlers ; 
 Bess, with eyes of sparkling black and cheeks like roses . 
 Mav, with soft hazel eves and hair of golden broAvn • 
 M;ii*y, with pure intellectual brow and eyes of melting 
 
 blue ; Sue, with pale, sweet face and eyes in which sun- 
 
 7 
 
102 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 beams seemed ever playing ; Ettie, with rosy diniplea 
 cheeks, am.l roguish, laughing eyes; Side, with pale, lofty 
 brow and long, brown tresses ; and laugliing ^sister Lula, 
 with eyes deep as midnight stars, and tresses of raveii 
 blackness 
 
 Swiftly the years flew by on golden pinions, and the 
 members of Uiat little group in their mituring lovelims:-^ 
 mingled in their sunny homes, nor dieamed that a time 
 would come when their joys should be less. 
 
 O, happy childhood, which sees ]io ill ])e\ond the sha- 
 dow of a passing cloud, well would it be if more of thy 
 unquestioning trust were carried along the pathway of 
 maturer years. " But change with time will come." 
 All too quicklv the smiling years sped away, while each 
 as it passed stole some sweet pleasure from our grasp^ 
 Silently, cdmost imperceptibly, childhood gave place to 
 the radiant dawn of youth, and yet our little group re- 
 mnined unbroken. But not long were we thus to re- 
 main. One sweet Mav morn, Bess, with the £?lorv of 
 seventeen springs mantling her brow and Hushing her 
 cheeks, put on her bridal robes, bade adieu to hf.r child- 
 hood's home, and went to another home bv the side of 
 the murmuriniz sea, Jennie's dark e^■es were iilled with 
 teai's, and ]May's simny brow grew strangely sorrowful, 
 a? they bade their sister the first sad adieu. 
 
 A lessened but joyous group, we watched the golden 
 summer pass, and while the impress of her latest kiss 
 still lingered on field and forest, and the last peals of her 
 joyous song echoed through glen and glade, Sue left us. 
 Radiantly beautiful she looked us she stood in the rich 
 
VE:?rER CHIMES. 103 
 
 glow of the autumn sunlight, with the snowy folds of 
 her hrifliil ro])es filling loosely about her, while in low 
 sAvcet tones she plighted her betrothal vows with one of 
 Scotia's sons. When next we met there was a sad va- 
 cancy in our little circle, but alas, a sadder change yet 
 awaited us. 
 
 One chill 1 December morn, ere vet the stars had left 
 their watch-tower on the empyrean hills, the death angel 
 came on viewless pinions, and bore away our darling 
 Lula. For liours she had seemed lingering on the 
 threshold of her unseen home, and when at last the mes- 
 senger arrived to bear her hence, she gave one parting 
 look to the loved of (\irth, then reached out her white 
 hands to go unto the Evermore. One day later the cof- 
 fined form of her we loved was borne away forever from 
 oiu' sight ! In the faded earth, beneath weeping skies, 
 they laid her down to her dreamless rest, never more to 
 waken until a voice from the skies shall bid the slumber- 
 ing dead come forth in the fresh immortal vigor of the 
 Resurrection. 
 
 Sleep on beloved one ! and may we who watched thy 
 entrance into heaven, one day join thee within the 
 pearly gates of the Eternal city. 
 
 Slowly the cold chill winter passed, and when spring 
 was again kissing the flo vers into bloom, the quiet, 
 thoui^htful Jennie bade adieu to the home of her i^irl- 
 hood, and went to the light of another. One year more 
 and the gifted .Mary too bade adieu to her home and 
 friends, and went with her heart's chosen one to a dis- 
 tant scene of toil. 
 
104 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 More than half the little group that had formed the 
 circle of childhood's friends was now fronc. Of those 
 who had often i(ath.ered at tlie holy hush of eve, lour 
 onlv remained. Chastened and subdued these vet lin- 
 gered in the old familiar places, hut when the golden 
 summer again came round, anothei- was missing from 
 our number. With the fading flowers our beaiitiiul 
 May began to droop. l>ay by day her brow giew paler, 
 and the hectic flush ujion her cheek deepened, but we 
 who watched beside her fondly hoi)ed that the spring- 
 time with its warm sund)ine and balmy airs would restoic 
 her wasted bloom. Alas, vain hope! Tlie spring-time 
 came with its budding glo^iesj and incense of all things 
 lovely, and natu?'e aroused fi'om her slumbers once more 
 smiled beneath her coro)i il of flowers ; l)ut she the lov(>ly 
 human flower still paled beneatli disease's Avitbering touch. 
 To those who watched her f iding, her beauty each day 
 waxed more ethei'eal, and when the budding s])ring had 
 gone, and summei' was flinging her flrst golden showri's 
 into the lap of nature, she closed her eyes o the world 
 of beauty around her, and wvni to blooni anew in the 
 gardens of the song-blest land. 
 
 " And .so delightful iirc Iut \('!ii>* 
 
 In tli.1t trjnisccndcnt world of Itliss ; 
 Tlu' pK'iuUniivS of our (.'arthly lovr 
 
 Have never niiulr iicr vfarn for thi"^. 
 O what a hiossod thiiiy it is. 
 
 For those who cro-> that r^oleniii main. 
 There i? no voyage of return 
 
 IJaek to il world of death aijain." 
 
 Earth, thy glories are fiail and fleeting ; we reach out 
 the hand to grasp them and they aie gone. And so 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 105 
 
 must it ever be ; for ;iniid earth's brightest glories — 
 *' there hirks the bUghtiiig mihlew." 
 
 Two of mv childhooir.s fj-iends vet liiii^^er beneath the 
 slielterin^ boiii'hs of tlieir earlv home. We meet some- 
 times to recount our mutual joys and sorrows, but those 
 who leathered with us at youth's earlv morn «reet us not. 
 In fancy sometimes we recall them — 
 
 " Hut till' liirlit ot their t\ .>s airl tlioir sweet sunny sjuile 
 Only lliisli "rDiUKl tiu' iiL-iirL wit.i a 'wililoi-ini^' wile, 
 And Iciive us ti) know 'tis Ixit dreiiiniiiL^'." 
 
 Some day, perchance, we shall all meet again. In the 
 mansion-house of our Father we shall renev,^ our early 
 friendship, and the severed links in love's golden chain 
 shall forever be re-united. 
 
 THE POET'S DREAM. 
 
 TO S. O. Fri/rON, TMK EAHI.V TEACHER, AM> VERT IIIUIILT ESTEEMED FRIEND 
 OK TriE AfTIIOItr.SS, THIS I'OEM IS Al TECTIONATEI.V DEDIC'ATl D. 
 
 The Poet sat in his favorite bower, 
 
 'Mid clustering vines and ilowerets fair; 
 And the sunbeams stole through the emerald leaves, 
 
 And tenderly nestled amid his hair. 
 And the summer breeze as it floated by, 
 
 Paused, a kiss to K'ave on his upturned brow, 
 While a brisfht-winyred bird trilled its son*' of love 
 
 From its chosen perch on a leafy bough. 
 
106 VESPER CHlMi^S 
 
 The wild bees hummed, as they homeward hied, 
 
 From the honeyed bowers of their garden wild ; 
 The great world rang with the din of care, 
 
 And childhood playing, the hours beguiled. 
 Through the half closed boughs came an echo faint. 
 
 Of the far off hum of the busy strife, 
 And it stirred a wish in the Poet's soul 
 
 To traverse the mystic ways of life. 
 
 The sun crept down from his southern zone. 
 
 To his home mid the purple hills of the west ; ' 
 The goldfinch hopped from his leafy bough. 
 
 And stole away to his downy nest. 
 Yet the Poet lingered his flowers among, 
 
 Nor knew that the angel sleep drew nigh. 
 Till he felt the touch of her passing wings, 
 
 And her snowy plumes swept his dreamy eye. 
 
 The Poet slept, and the sheltering vines 
 
 Bent lower, as if a guard to keep ; 
 But a vision brighter than tree or flower, 
 , Illumined for him the realms of sleep. 
 He dreamed he roamed throuo'h the mvstic wavs 
 
 He had yearned in his waking hours to tread ; 
 He quaffed the golden '* Elixir of Life," 
 
 And with Venus through groves of enchantment sped. 
 
 Rare scenes of beauty were everywhere, 
 
 Gay birds and butterflies thronged the bowers ; 
 
 Sweet music flowed on the scented breeze, 
 
 And the landscape blushed with its wealth of flowers. 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 107 
 
 A))ove him smiled fair cerulean -kics, 
 
 Undimiied by the shade of a passing cloud, 
 
 And the grand old trees of the forest wild, 
 
 'Xeath the weight of their leafv garlands bowed. 
 
 On, on, tlirough migical realms he passed, 
 
 Where gems of lore shed a lustre bright, 
 And white hands pointed his raptui-ed gaze 
 
 lo a temple fu- up on a glittering height. 
 And one in the bloom of her tender yo'ith. 
 
 With white flowers twined in her shining hair, 
 Laid her hand in his ;it the shrine of Love, 
 
 And whispered her vows to Hymen there. 
 
 New joy awoke in the Poet's soul ; 
 
 Strange bliss in his trembling heart was stirred, 
 While strains more entrancing tilled the air 
 
 'riian the matin songs of an Eden bird. 
 The golden hours as thev flitted bv 
 
 No shadow of evil or sorrow cast ; 
 Sweet haloes encircled the star of his hopes, 
 
 And bright eyes brightened where'er he passed. 
 
 And ever l)eside him, in hall or bower. 
 
 Walked the gifted being his love had won ; — 
 Hif? own — his beautiful — l)ride of his heart, — 
 
 In the sky of his glories the star — the sun, 
 No frown e'er shadowed her radiant brow. 
 
 Nought marred the smiles on her rose-lips fiur, 
 And ever for him she donned white robes. 
 
 And wore sweet flowers in her shining hair. 
 
108 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 The 1'oet awoke, — his bower was dark, 
 
 With oiilv the licflit of stars above ; 
 The flew lay chill on the folded flowers, 
 
 And the ni^^ht bird chavmted its song of love. 
 Long the l*oet mused on his rnysiic dream, — 
 
 'Twas onlv a dream he knew full well, — 
 Yet it stirred new depths in his \carning soul^ 
 
 And bound his heart by its magic spell. 
 
 ^p "^ " V ^^ '^ 
 
 The Poet went forth in the great world's strife, 
 
 Afai- from his home,* his friends, his flowers ; 
 And the strains of his star-tuned liarp liowed oft 
 
 Through hall, and grove, and vine-wreathed 
 bowers ; 
 But he found no clime like the land of his dream ; — 
 
 No skies so bright, — no flowers so fair ; — 
 For sorrow anon would its shadow rest, 
 
 And bow he must to the spoiler Care. 
 
 Alas for die dreams of this mortal life, 
 
 Alas for the hopes our youth holds fast, 
 They come, they pass, and our vouning hearts 
 
 Learn all too soon that the\' uav not last ; 
 But there is a clime where the flowers ne'er fade, 
 
 Fairer than anv our dreams have known, 
 Where the heart with " hope deferred " ne'er pines. 
 
 And the eye never weeps over pleasures flown I 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 109 
 
 A laiul \vli<'rc tlie beautiful ever blooms, — 
 
 A clime wlu're tlie .star-beains cease to cliill, — 
 A rci'iou ue'i r shadowed bv sorrow or bliijrlit, — 
 
 Wlu^e oven death has no power to kill ; 
 A honi',' — wbrrc the treasures we've laid away, 
 
 Pa!(> and cold 'ueath the vallev's sod, 
 Shall wake, and brighten, and bloom anew, — 
 
 No more to die — in the garden of God. 
 
 SONNE! TO S- 
 
 I sit alone in twilight's dew}' hvish, 
 
 And w ikli the shadows as they come and go ; 
 
 AVithont I hear the gentle zephyrs blow, 
 While iVoni the west pales day's last lingering blush. 
 I wonder if thou too dost watch like me 
 
 This dav's declininq; glorv : dost thou hear 
 
 The footsteps of the night approaching near ? 
 The full-orbed moon in beauty dost thou see I 
 Through the dim distance dost thou deign to send 
 
 To nie one thought ? perchance our thoughts sh;dl 
 meet 
 Somewhere in the dividing space, and blend, 
 
 If such may be, in mystic union sweet : 
 And thus though we from each may dwell afar, 
 One joy is ours no space nor time can mar. 
 
110 V3LSPE11 CHIMES. 
 
 DIED ON THE RACE. 
 
 Lines fiiKfjoxh^d hy liearing of the dcdth of Renforth, the 
 
 (Jhjim/ihm Oar'i^m'tn, mho died in the (/n^at Aiif/lo- 
 
 Canadian Boat Race, Aug. 23/yZ, 1S71. 
 
 The race unfinished, and afar 
 
 The goal still unrevealed to view ; 
 ,\ round the peace till slumbering waves 
 
 Before the silent rival crew, 
 The champion oarsman views the scene, 
 
 As forward turns his stead}' eye, 
 He sees the Avidening space between. 
 
 •A-iid breathes his watchword " win or die." 
 
 Dense throngs of watchers line the shores, 
 
 With eager eye and batetl breath, 
 i'hey natch the swiftly gliding boats. 
 
 But know not one whose name is Death 
 Is out upon the waters too ; 
 
 They know not that his fatal dart 
 Ts lodged, and rankles even now 
 
 Deep in the champion oarsman's heart. 
 
 None see the phantom boat glide near. 
 
 Or dream the Death is on the race ; 
 'The rival crews sweep boldly on, 
 
 While hope of victory lights each face. 
 But see ! the champion's arm is still, 
 
 His oar laid down, his failing eye 
 Turns to the shore again, while he 
 
 Plead;3 to be taken back to die, 
 
\'ESrEK CHIMKS. Ill 
 
 His comrades row towards the shore ; 
 
 Gone is the hope of victory now ; 
 One thought directs, they only see 
 
 That look upon their champion's brow. 
 Unheeded fall the crowd's strange shouts 
 
 As hurrvini? to and fro thev run. 
 For one the race is finished now 
 The mvstic; 2:oal of life is won. 
 
 Strange mystery all — strange jiuwer, before 
 
 Whom mi^'htiest champions bend the knee, 
 Strange, viewless presence, felt alike 
 
 On peopled land or sail-spread sea. 
 Once unto all thy message comes, 
 
 Within thy quiver thou dost bear 
 An arrow for each human heart, 
 
 And seal which every brow must wear. 
 
 All bow to thv stern swav, O. Death : 
 
 All vield to thy relentless hand ; 
 All hear thy summons and go forth ; 
 
 None disobev thv mute command. 
 Invinci])le thou walk'st the earth, 
 
 The mightiest fall beneath thy breath ; 
 And victors lay their laurels down, 
 
 And yield the palm to thee, O, Death. 
 
112 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 "THE DREAM WARNING." 
 
 'Twiis the close of a brii'ht Miiv (lav. The sun had 
 just gone doAvn in a flood of crimson glory, and earth was 
 being enveloped in the soft dreamy folds of twilight. 
 The shops in the busy thoroughfares were already closed, 
 and the echo of feet in the streets was beconiinn' less fre- 
 quent, though numbers still lingered without to enjoy 
 the tranquility of the hour, and draw a generous breath 
 after the close and fatiguing labors of the day. One 
 there was who had not vet left the shadow of his office, 
 though its duties no longer demanded his attention. 
 
 The doctor, for he it was, still lingered in his place of 
 business. His duties of late had pressed heavily upon him. 
 
 His calls for some days past had been almost more than 
 he could meet, and even the shadowy hours frequently 
 found him on his way to the bedside of the suiFering, or in 
 the chamber of the sick. His mind too of late had been 
 ill at ease, and this particular evening found it in a more 
 perturbed state than usual. 
 
 Finding himself alone, he did not attempt to dismiss his 
 unpleasant reflections, but sinking into his office chair, he 
 soon became so absorbed in his contemplations, as to be 
 oblivious to evervthing else. 
 
 And what was the important subject which so weighed 
 upon the mind of the young doctor ? For he was young, 
 — the dews of youth still lay brightly on his brow, and no 
 thread of silver yet gleamed among his dark locks. Ah, 
 it was enough to disturb a more hardened conscience 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 113 
 
 than his. The cup of heahng was not the only one he 
 heUI to the lips of others. Another, whose crimson drops 
 aroused the deadliest passions, amid the dregs of which 
 death and woe eternal slumhered. had too heen lifted hy 
 his hand, and pioftercd to others. His conscience had 
 never failed to uphraid him for the act, and now that he 
 had leisure to think calmly, the deed seemed more ap- 
 palling than ever. He was not a stranger to the evil 
 effects of the traffic. Instances were not wanting of 
 those in his own profession, who had sacrificed a promis- 
 ing manhood, a good practice, uid the confidence ;uid 
 respect of friends, at the shrine of this same poAver. He 
 had melancholy proof, even iu liis own village, almost 
 at his owu door, of the tnitli of tlic words of the wise 
 man ; •' Wine is a mocker ; strong drink is raging ; who- 
 soever is deceived thereby is not wise." But the love of 
 gain was strong within him. " Good, respectable men " 
 he argued, " were in the business, — men mIio had at one 
 time occupied the temperance platform. Surely they 
 wovdd not have forsaken their post, had they not been 
 certain it w;is safe to do so. And they seemed to pros- 
 per. Their fi'iends were not less numevous than before. 
 Their 'minds appeared perfectly at ease, and joy and 
 phnty suri-ounded them. It might not be so very 
 wrong after all ; peihaj^s there ^\ as no harm in it, but if 
 he found there was, he would give it up. Jt did not 
 make much difference anv wav. If he ditl not ens^a<^e 
 in the business some person else would. The pid)lic 
 would b(^ furnished with the beverage ; why not he reap 
 the gain as well as another ? " 
 
 Thus reasoning, he had suffered himself to be led into 
 
114 VRSl'KU OHIMKS. 
 
 the snare; hut l)ottor thoiii^lits ofion stirrod his ir.iiid, and 
 his conscience, in spite of all tlie ari>Mimcnts invented to 
 appease it, was often anxious and ti'onhled. VaiJCiie fears 
 took possession of his heart, and sometimes he half re- 
 solved to let the tcrrihle business alone ; but the love 
 and hope of i^iin lured him on, former excuses were 
 reviv(Hl, and each succcu^diui? dav found him more 
 securely lettered by the toils of the Tempter. 
 
 His relatives and friciids sadly deplored the step he 
 had taken. His wife, in the depth of her great sorrow, 
 sometimes remonstrated with liim. His aiired mother 
 refused to believe that he, her idolized son, her good, 
 her l)eautiful, high-souled boy, had stoo])ed so low. Ah! 
 well for the loving heart that she has such implicit 
 liith ! Inciter that sweet trust in her bov's innocence 
 than the bitter truth ! 
 
 Twilight faded, and the darkness of night settled in 
 heavy folds upon the quiet village^ ; still tlie Doctor sa* 
 with head bowed low, unmindful of the darktiess, heed- 
 less of the lateness of the hour, pondering the solemn 
 question which "vvas becoming like a tire in his heart, 
 precluding the possibility of rest or peace. 
 
 After a time, there came a lull in the tempest of 
 thought Mdiich was deluging his soul. The gates of 
 dream-land unclosed, and he glided noiselessly through. 
 He next found himself in a broad green valley, through 
 which coursed a majestic river, adown which myriads of 
 crafts of all sizes and descriptions were constantly float- 
 ing; some with gay pennons streaming on the breeze, 
 others dim and shadowy like phantom ships drifting away 
 to the sea of Death. A dark and seemingly intermina- 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 115 
 
 i)lo iorcst stretc'li(Ml away to tlic hit, while on tlie y'vj;\\t 
 rose a I'oiiu'li, iau'ured inouutaln, whose heiLfhts seemed to 
 peiietfate the eh)U Is. A jiath wound from the hase ol' 
 the mount. lui u}) iinon*;' ils h)i'ty stinnnits. As the Doe- 
 tor i^'azed upon ihe mountain, towerinj:^ thus l)eyond the 
 limit oi' his Nision, an impulse seized him to try the 
 aseent. At fiisi ]!(; thre.ided his way with diilieuhy, hut 
 higher up the p.uh hecame hroader, and presented lewer 
 ohstaeles. Finally he reached the summit, but here a 
 spectacle met his sight that made him almost wish him- 
 sell' hack again In the valley below. Not I'ar i'rom him 
 on a huge ro.'k sat a being (d*giga?itic proportions. Mis 
 hair, white as j)olar snows, streamed far doMii over 
 his shouhlei's. His form was env(>lop((l in a lor.g, gtcw 
 mantle, that looked as though it might hav(» been rent 
 from the clouds i'oating just, above him. His counte- 
 nance was kind ])ut inflexible. Before him was spre:id 
 an immense paichment, pait of ^\hicli was covered with 
 singular looking inscriptions, which he appeared to be 
 intensely sludying, while he occasionally added another 
 to the number liaising himself to an upright position 
 and lifting his (v,es from the p.uchment before him, his 
 gaze met that of the Doctor. Immechately he advance! 
 towards him. '■• Thou comcst," said he, " from the val- 
 lev below Be thankful that no evil has befallen thee, 
 and come with me, I may perhaps show thee something 
 that may be of benefit to thee at some future time." lie 
 then led him to the rock upon which he had been pre- 
 viously seated, and resumed his former position. " I 
 am," said he, '" the Scribe of Time. I have kept his re- 
 cords since the beginning, and shall until the close. The 
 
116 
 
 VESI'ER CmMIiS. 
 
 events of e;irK century fill a scroll. As each one is iiu- 
 Islicd it is taken by the (Jreat One and laid up anioii<^ the 
 archives oi' his kingdom, to ho preserved until the nntions 
 are brought to judgment. 'I'lic parclnueui wldcli tliou 
 heholdest s]))"ead oui: upon tliis rock coutnius (he record 
 of the present century initil now. The In-iory of thy 
 life is here iaithfully and im])aitially chioni'led. l^nch 
 act, whether good or evil, is Mritien do^^ll. /\]1 who 
 ascend this mountain are recpiired to read tlie j-ecords I 
 have made concerning them. The chiinirters [ have 
 used ap])ear uiiintelligi1)le to tliee, hut I \iu\o. au insfru- 
 ment v.hicli will make them ])1 lin. I cam )' talk to thee 
 lonii'cr now. 1 lere is the instrument thi'ou.'Ji w hich thou 
 must look, vv-]iich at nresent is all that is necc.>s;u'V."' 
 
 The scribe tlien went on with his A\()i'k, and the 
 Doctoj-, trembiiug M'ith vague iear, prepared to foilo-M- his 
 directions. 
 
 •'J'he history of liis chihlhood was brlel". and corita.ined 
 no verv startling events. That of youth woj'e a fieeper 
 coloring. There Avere the high resolves, tiie no])l{; pur- 
 poses with which he had started out in tlie vrorld — his 
 choice oi' a pi-olession, ))is struggle wirli di-i'licu!ties ; his 
 final triumph. Then followed tlie events of I'is profes- 
 sional career ; not only his acts but the moti\es undcr- 
 Ivhiij them. At fii'st thc^ noble determiu.iti'in oi' Ix'uding 
 everv eiiej'H'v to stem in some decree the ter-ible tide of 
 disease in the world ; — his uinemitting exertions in be- 
 half of the sufferinf( ; — his adhei-ence to and arlvocacv 
 of the principles of temperance ; — his steady success and 
 more than anticipated profits Gladly would he have 
 left the remainder of his life-historv unread ; but he had 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 117 
 
 no power to stop ; he must trace it to the close. Next 
 followed his sad degeneracy, — his ambition for gain, — his 
 forgetfulness of the high resolves and noble purposes of 
 his earlier years, — his yielding up of principle for tlic 
 sake of sordid pelf, — his struggle with conscience, — his 
 obedience to the suggestions of the tempter, and at last 
 his terrible engagement in the traffic which maddens its 
 victims ere it sends them down to death. Dai'ker and 
 darker grew the record. Every character seemed to be 
 inscribed in blood. He saw no longer the scribe at his 
 side ; but a hand which he knew to be the hand of God 
 pointed to the record before him, and an invisible power 
 compelled him to read on — " Wine is a mocker ; strong 
 drink is raging ; whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise. 
 Woe unto him that giveth his neighbor drink, that 
 putteth the bottle to him and maketh him drunken also." 
 The words flashed up before him like miniature tongues 
 of flame. Again thej seemed like serpents with fiery 
 gleaming eyes, thrusting their poisonous fangs into his 
 face. A terrible darkness settled around him. The 
 mountain trembled violently, as though shaken by some 
 internal power. The earth yawned beneath him, and 
 he sank down, down through the pitchy darkness, amid 
 yells of demoniac triumph, into what seemed the very 
 jaws of hell. A terrible horror seized him. Feariul 
 questions flashed through his mind. ** Was he meeting 
 his final doom ? Were the dreadful sounds he heard the 
 wail of lost spirits ? Would he never go back to earth 
 again, never look again upon the face of his wife, nor 
 hold in his arms their l)eautiful boy? O if he could 
 
 8 
 
118 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 only go back, how much wiser and bettei he would 
 be, how differently he would act." Fimly through the 
 pitchy darkness flickered a pale, fitful light. A number 
 of dark forms were gathered near it, and a confused 
 sound of voices echoed through the dismal place. Some 
 of the dark ones had met in council. Gradually their 
 voices became more distinct ; and the Doctor, suspended 
 just above, could not avoid hearing the discussion that 
 ensued. 
 
 " It appears to me," said the first speaker, " that 
 our Prince has been in too great haste this time." — 
 " Why," inquired another, *' what has he done ?" — 
 " You know that Doctor who lives at S . He en- 
 gaged in the liquor traflfic not long since. He had a 
 few qualms of conscience about it I believe, but his 
 love of gain held him captive, and he would have over- 
 come them in a little time ; but by some means he 
 found his way up the mountain where the scribe of 
 Time keeps the records of the world, and he was of 
 course compelled to read the record of his own life. 
 There were some things toward the last which rather 
 alarmed him, as his conscience was still a little tender, 
 and the Enemy of our Prince, thinking this a favorable 
 moment to still further alarm him and induce him to 
 give up the traffic altogether, added some still more 
 alarming characters to the record, until I suppose the 
 poor man really wished himself out of the business. 
 Our Prince, passing along, at once saw the state of 
 affairs, and fearful of losing the Doctor from his rank, 
 called in haste a number of his friends around him 
 
VESPER CHIMES. 119 
 
 and I believe they are bringing the man down through 
 a chasm in the mountain, but for my part I think it 
 a very short-sighted piece of work, and I wonder at our 
 Prince very much." 
 
 " I think his satanic majesty was very wise to do 
 so," said a third friend. — " Better to bring the Doctor 
 here than to lose his services entirely. Very likely, if 
 he had not been nabbed just at the moment he was, 
 he would have escaped us altogether, and perhaps gone 
 back to his discai'ded temperance principles, and undone 
 the service he has rendered us, and there is no telling 
 how many others he might have induced to imbibe the 
 same views. Indeed, I think it is much better to have 
 him where he can have no power to injure oiu* cause." 
 
 The fiend that had first spoken laughed a derisive 
 laugh. Addressing himself to the last speaker, he said : 
 " You might learn something if you would take a tour 
 with me s&i.ie day through the world. Do not imagine 
 that men are so easily frightened out of their cherished 
 sins. They love them too dearly to give them up for a 
 slight warning, whereas they are easily enticed into 
 
 them. Why, there is a man living at A who, a 
 
 few years ago, was looked up to as a nian of inflexible 
 temperance principles, and he can now deal out liquor 
 as placidly as he then advocated temperance, and I 
 believe his heart is more in the work. Nothing very 
 powerful was brought to influence him either. I just 
 appeared before him in the guise of a friend, and whis- 
 pered confidentially in his eai' that there was a favorable 
 opening for him to make money, and that he had better 
 
120 VESPER OHIMES. 
 
 take advantage of it. In fact, I made it quite appear 
 tliat it was his duty, by representing to liini that a neigh- 
 hor of his, wlio had l)eeu in tlie hu.sin< ss for some time, 
 kept spurious liciuors which were injurious to liis cus- 
 tomers, and that it wouhl really he a henefit to thi^ com- 
 munity if some honest person, such as I kni^w liim to 
 he, would provide pure li(|uors for the acconnnodation of 
 travellers and otluu's who might deem it necessary to 
 take an oc.asional glass. He thought my suggc^stions 
 were excellent, and determined at once to act upon them. 
 
 "' There is another man at G who not long since 
 
 occupied an im])ortant ])ost in a certain temperance 
 organization, l)ut who can now not o'dy dv,\\ owi \]\c 
 liquid tiie to others, hut swallow it nimseif \vitlu>iil a 
 single compunctious feeling. And there is no scairity 
 of such men. 'Ihev hardly need the '"are of our frater- 
 nitv. 'L'hev will come to us ere long, lad(Mi with spoils 
 almost as great as any that we can hoast of And this 
 Doctor we were talking ahout. It is just a stiq)id j)i(Mc 
 of short-sightedness to hring him among us so soon. He 
 Avould no douht in a very little time have recovered 
 tiom his flight, and hi^comc a greater devot(H> of ou 
 Prince than before. We will not stand half so good a 
 chance of getting that boy of his either, for his mother 
 is bitterly opposed to the traific, and she will do all in 
 her power to prevent him from ever becoming (MitangVd 
 in its suare. But 1 wonder they are not here with tiic 
 Doctor by this time. We ought to have souk^ of our 
 best fiery beverage prepared to treat him with when he 
 does arrive. AVe will give him a somewhat hotter dose 
 
VKSrKH (lUMES. 121 
 
 than his ('ustoincrsaio used to getting. 'Ihc services he 
 1ms rendennl our fraternity deserve at least some recom- 
 pense, though he might have aided us more if he had 
 not heen hurried away from tlic work so socm." 
 
 Terrified beyond descrij)tion, the IX)ctor liad Hstened 
 to the remarks of the (hcadful fiend. Tlie darkness 
 al)()ve and around him was as pitchy as ever, and \u\ 
 (Expected every moment to he pr(!cipitated among the 
 tiei\ds helow. Su(hlenly a ycdl more fierce and terrible 
 than any he had Ix^fore heard pierced the waves of dark- 
 ness, and the dark domain shook to its v(My centre. 
 
 Tremhling with fear, the Doctor awoke; ])ut so deep 
 was th(^ darkness in his office, and so vivid to his mind 
 the sc(Mies lluougli wliich he had just j)ass('(i, that he 
 liad some dilliculty in collecting his scatt(>red senses 
 suflicicMitly to remember where he was. 
 
 When lie became thoroughly awake, hv. arose, left his 
 oflice, and proccu'ded slowly hom(3Wa.rd. Tlu! vision he 
 had seen was not calculated to allay the fears that had 
 previously disturbed his mind. The words, *- Woe 
 unto him that giveth his neighbor drink, that purtc^th 
 the bottle to him and maketh him drunken also," lloatcil 
 through his mind with a. new and solemn nujaning. 
 
 The (juestion, " What shall it profit a man if he gains 
 the whole world and loses his own soul .'*" seemed 
 s(Min(ling to him from anothei- Morld. '' What, ind(!cd, 
 shall it i)r()lit- me .'''' he iej)eated, and he shuddered as iic 
 again thought of the awful woe pronounced upon the 
 man who shouhl hold the poison cup to the lips of his 
 fibdlow. 
 
122 VESPER CHIMES. 
 
 " Did he go back to the traffic in death and his eager 
 money-getting ?" 
 
 We do not know, but let us hope not. The dream 
 was doubtless sent in mercy ; and we would fain believe 
 that his after life was such as to prove that the warning 
 was not in vain.