IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 1.1 Uit2^ 125 ■tt iU 12.2 S! 124 ^ LS. u ■ 2.0 L25 IIIU 11.6 - 6" Photographic Sdences Corporadon ■SJ \ ^"^ age8 appearing here are the best quality possible considering the condition and legibility of the original copy and in keeping with the filming contract specifications. Original copies in printed paper covers are filmed beginning with the front cover and ending on the last page with a printecf or illustrated Impres- sion, or the back cover wh«n appropriate. All other original copies are filmed beginning on the first page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impression. The last recorded frame on each microfiche shall contain the symbol ^»> (meaning "CON- TINUED"), or the symbol V (meaning "END"), whichever applies. Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. 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Un des symboles suivants apparaftra sur la dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: le symbole — ► signifie "A SUIVRE", le symbols y signifie "FIN". Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent Atre filmfo d des taux de reduction diff^rents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour hue reproduit en un seul cliche, il est filmA A psrtir de I'angle sup^rieur gauche, de gauche A drolte, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images n6cessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la m6thode. . 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 PR 9 CANAOiANA -30 FLOWERING THORNS. FLOWERING THORNS. BY GERTRUDE JERDON, (( AUTHOR OF KEYHOLE COUNTRY, ETC. '* We women have four seasons like the year ; Some miss one season — some another ; this Shall have them early, and that late ; but yet The year wears round with all as best it may." Philip Bailey. LONDON: JAMES NISBET & CO., 21 BERNERS STREET. mdccclxxxvi. FLOWERING THORNS. -M- I, Lilian Harwood— Lilian Gresham once— In turning over reverently the store Of papers in a certain much-used desk, Left to me by the will of one I loved With daughter love who knew no mother care — Found this, this poem, hidden 'neath a pile Of business notes and parish documents, Accounts of soup and medicine for the poor, As if the writer merely deemed it worth A reference now and then when time had raised A mist about the days of long ago. But I who read it now, 'mid blinding tears, Remembering well the day of which it speaks, Resolve to let it live a widfer life, And be perhaps to some unthinking mind Some part of what that day has been to me. The spring had come, and every lilac bud Was opening to the early breath of May ; Laburnums flashed amid the evergreens FL O WER ING THOR NS. Or pale spring foliage, and beneath my feet Was spread a wilderness of early flowers. I sauntered slow along the leafy lane Which skirted here the bounds of Wood- leigh Park, When, through the murmuring silence struck a voice. " Do spend this evening with us, Lilian '* (Such The broken colloquy in tones unknown), " For you can waste your time on any day With these absurd old maids. Such stupid things Are best left to themselves. Do come with us." " No, Lucy," said a voice I recognised As Lilian Gresham's. ** Do not tempt me, dear : FLOWERING THORNS. My word is pledged to meet my kind old friends At Willow Cottage/' Then the two passed on. I scarce had heard so much but that the paths Ran by each other here a while. I smiled, For I was one of these same " kind old friends " Whom Lilian was to meet at five o'clock— An early hour, but we were all old maids. Six friends, and six old maids, a sisterhood That helped the Vicar with his parish work, Held Mothers' Meetings, taught in Sunday- School, And undertook a hundred other things Too often left alone for us. We had Our friends amid both rich and poor, and oft Would wile away the time with pleasant chat FLOWERING THORNS. I Of their affairs, which converse had one aim, That we, by interchange of thought and scheme. Might learn how best to aid or comfort those In want, or grief, or need of sympathy. And each of us was full of tender love For Lilian Gresham, daughter of the squire At Woodleigh Manor. She that love re- turned In full to all our quiet sisterhood. Two were her aunts, her father's sisters ; one Of some far distant kin ; the other two Had known her since her baby years ; while I, 1 was her mother's dearest, earliest friend., And often when the summer days were long FLOWERING TliORSS. Would Lilian bring her work into our midst To hear our parish talk, and give us news Which she had gathered in her morning calls ; Or in the winter evenings, long and dark, She sat with us around a glowing fire And read or sang to us. Oh she was fair, And sweet, and lovable, and I was loth That she should learn to treat us with the scorn With which, alas ! the world so often treats The poor old maid ; and I resolved to-night To let her hear the stories of our lives, That she might keep a tender heart for age Unblest by all that woman holds most dear, Like some bare thorn when summer leaves are dead, Unwreathed with husband's or with chil- dren's love lO FLOWERING THORNS. (And SO, perhaps, too often thorny sharp), A slowly withering autumn time of life, With all the glory missing from the days. li I The Sisters Gresham lived at Woodleigh Lodge, A rambling gabled building ; ever green With ivy, and in autumn all aglow With crimson creepers. It was set in turf Of velvet softness, gemmed with beds of flowers. The gravelled drive was flanked by rows of limes. Whose branches flung their shade beyond the wall That barred from vulgar or intrusive gaze The sacred haunts of aristocracy. It was a lovely and a peaceful home, FLOWERING THORNS, XX Well fitted for the sisters of the squire. And not far off, where the long village street Broke from the country, where each house made two, And fronted tiny lawns with garden gates, Stood Willow Cottage (halved with Maple Lodge) ; And here lived Ursula, who seldom crossed Its little threshold, but for weeks would lie A patient sufferer on a couch of pain, And watch the sun set over Woodleigh Church, Or springes green touch upon the forest trees Across the road. And lower down again. Just where the village heart beat fastest, o'er An unpretentious shop, had Grace two rooms, Because the rent was low, and Grace was poor. ts FLOWERING THORNS, . " And Grace, have you no tale of early days To tell us ? " ' Grace made answer quietly : " Such record as I have to give of life Bears no impress of love, or intellect ; Yet do I now accept my lonely lot As from God's Hands, the lot of one too weak ' To bear the bliss of love, the weight of thought, • The joy of usefulness. My life was all Along the flats of earth, and every day • I 11 ! 1«'. I' r *: i 48 FLOWERING THORNS. Repeated yesterday. For we were poor — Too poor to mingle with our equals born On whom was set the ' guinea stamp of rank* And wealth, and yet not low enough to range With village folk. So was our place between. And thus we got the good of neither, while What was not good in both was ours. The years Sped on in loneliness, and yet were they Not altogether sad, bejause our home Was very sweet to us, albeit no home Grew from it. From the firsc I surely felt It was my only home. I could not dress To please the eye, and I had never learned The things to fit me for a rich man's wife. FL O I VER IiVG THOR NS, 49 I could not play, or paint, or speak a tongue Besides my own, though I could bake and sew. But no one wanted that. The men I met (And they were very few) could find no charm In me that drew them to me. So my life Went round unchangingly, until at last My parents died. My brother went away To toil in foreign climes, and I was left A simple lonely woman, an * old maid,' Not mourning broken hearts, or parted loves, But just to live the remnant of my days In quietude ; the uneventful end That well befits an uneventful life.'' Grace told her tale as one too used to meet The hard side of the world, to see how sad D . * so FLOWERING THORNS. :h il! % i^ M A\ 2f it;; It rose before the others. All the buds Of life had opened for her 'neath a sky So sunless, that she scarcely seemed tc think There could be sun at all; and her pale face Had caught the grey reflection of her life. But Lilian took scant interest in the tale, It was too wholly cold and dim to fire Her sympathy, — the sympathy of youth, Which blazes up responsive to the touch Of agony or rapture, still untried By youth, so leaving space for wildest flights Of young imagination to conceive The glory and the pain. So Lilian turned To Agnes, whose deep thoughtful eyes seemed scarce FLOWERING THORNS. 51 To veil some secret, ever-present grief; And looked, what she was half afraid to ask. Then Agnes, reading righl the mute appeal, Turned to us, and in accents low and sad Began : ** Be thankful, O my friends, that pain Alone has fallen to you — not remorse. And truly once I thought that our estate Was holy from its isolation. God, I thought, was chiefly honoured by a prompt Renunciation of all earthly ties. That virgin souls were precious in His sight I found, or thought I found, in His true Word. So in the freshness of my youth I laid The gift of all my life before Him. Oft The vow of dedication I renewed t Sa FLOWERING THORNS. When kneeling at His altar rails, and oft I planned my future in some sisterhood, Where all the work was God's, and all the rest Was contemplation of the things of God ; And all my days should be entirely His, No earthly care or joy to claim the hours. And in the rapture of the great resolve, — In the first glory of self-sacrifice — It seemed a Heaven below. But ere my fate Was sealed for ever, to our parish came One who was called to minister to us In holy things, whose heart was glowing too With zeal and love, and mine would some- times catch New fire from his, as his would catch from mine. Our thoughts were equal, and our daily paths FLOWERING THORNS. 53 Oft led US to the same sad haunts of sii. Or sorrow. In the same small church we knelt ; His voice it was that told our wants, and sins, And thanks to God ; and all the prayers to me Seemed interwoven with his tones ; and yet I never dreamed of love, except the love That is half reverence we bear to those Set o'er our souls. With him it was not so. And one calm evening when we chanced to meet, He told me that he loved me. Could I leave The darling visions of my life to be His helpmeet ? .:> 1 i^ u i''''r. 54 FLOWERING THORNS. % \ 5' t. i'> !^:i I was stunned from all reply, Nor spoke until the bell for Evensong Rang out its summons. 'Afterwards/ I said. What could I say 1 It seemed a glorious thing To crown the life of one so good as he. But, as he entered, robed, to lead our prayers. It flashed across me, — how I cannot tell, — That I, too, loved him, as my very soul ! And God demands a sacrifice of self. My life of single piety had turned With sudden shudder to a cross; and who Was I, then, to refuse to take it up ? Would God consent to share a throne ? ' O friends, I dare not tell you all I thought of then ! FLOWERING THORNS. 5S I cannot tell you how the die was cast, Nor how I smothered both our hopes in one Gigantic ignorance of God's intents For us. I did not know that human love Is sent us to interpret the Divine (So he that loves knows God, 'twas written once) — And thus we parted. Since has passed no day I have not rued my choice, for both our lives Were spoilt. He for a while fought on, Half-hearted, in the war of good with ill : But blighted hopes had crushed hi^ aoul from all Its early aims. The promise never bloomed Which we had nursed together in the bud. He died. No more of that, his death lies still ■I ■jt; 56 FLOWERING THORNS. W , I I r.:..! i To mv account. But what became of me ? Think not that I have any more fulfilled The dream for which I sold reality. I could not offer unto God by life Of virgin consecration to His will A soul less spotless (so I wildly thought) By this one taint of holy human love. My vigour flagged, my zeal burnt low, and now I only live to do the work God meant That we should do together." Agnes rose And stood beside the window, fo^" her eyes Were all too full of tear s to meet a look However kindly. Nature's evening smile Was sweetest for her then, and Ursula, With truest kindness left her to herself. FLOWERING THORNS, 57 Her tale was one that few, perhaps, have read In common life, and yet it stirred to tears The sympathies of Lilian. Love that soars So high above itself, that it can lay Its own best treasures as a sacrifice Before some great ideal — false or true — Will ever touch the depths of finer minds, And such was Lilian's. But her gentle tears Fell scarcely noticed. It is good for youth To weep some tears over the sins and woes Of others, so we sat in silence all. The evening sky was deepening to the clear Dark blue of night, and in the west was yet The lingering radiance of a vanished sun. The air was very calm, the bells had ceased, And scarce a rustle stirred the hawthorn tree i ■■ ■^1 58 FLOWERING THORNS. 'm 'I ;t1 Or shook the bent laburnum's golden tears ; We, too, were silent, for our narratives Had grown too surely from our hearts to bear The ** common air of speech." No human hand Could reach to those past years with healing touch, And no one had the right to soothe our griefs Or claim our confidence. But still o'er all The level of our lives there lies a soft And mellow light, which at the close of day May brighten to a glorious sunset, when The purple clouds part to the shining feet Of God's sweet angels. Then the lonely hearts FLOWERING THORNS. 5d Which never have been satisfied on earth — That never have been rounded to the sphere Of perfected existence here — shall find The full accomplishment of every pain Beneath a Father's smile. If on the earth We missed the blossoming of Summer-tide, And Autumn stretched itself across the void To v^rither up the leaf buds of the Spring, Yet is there time and space in Heaven for hearts To bloom beneath the sun of Perfect Love ; Perhaps their beauty may be more complete. Because so long suppressed ; and who can know The rest of satisfaction who has felt No need of it ? But even on earth our lot 6o FLOWERING THORNS. V :?. i hi Is not unlovely, or unblest, for God Makes flowering thorns. Though bare, and sharp, and lone, He wreathes some snowy blossoms round our lives Of usefulness or love. And — crowning thought For every quiet reverie — not ours The choosing of our parts. The Master Mind Which guides the world has fixed them. So we bow Our souls in worship, saying, ^^ Be it so, If so it seemeth good to Thee, our God." ( 6i ) Beneath the ivy-smothered elm that stands Hoar watcher of the graves round Woodleigh Church, There rises from the daisy-sprinkled sod A fresh mound, which has not yet clothed itself In green, but draws the casual traveller's eye By the white wreaths that shroud the unsightly earth And tell of grief fresh even as their flowers. Here was she laid a few short hours ago Who wrote the words I now give to the world — Words that have made my sorrow somewhat less, Because that in my dreamings of her now I do not see her as I saw her here, Too obviously alone ; but though I know That to be in His Presence Who is Love And Satisfaction was her chief desire, The one hope of her last weak words, yet I With human sympathies and human love Strong in me, please myself with the belief ( 62 ) r-;i. i:^ f That His first gift unto His ransomed one Would be the half soul whose denial here Had left her life so shorn of human joy. And even now in rapturous soul converse They may be glorifying that only now They meet ; seeing in God's revealing light How, had they known of love's completeness here, The things of Heaven perchance had seemed less sweet, And this unutterable spirit-bliss Had never been. But now to endless years They are together, with their Saviour's smile, To make the clouds impossible. 1, ^1 Iff ^ i w ( 63 ) Love is not all, in this broad world of ours, Not all, though lives lie waste, though hearts may break. And souls have perished, all for Love's sweet sake. But as in gardens there are other flowers Than roses, so in life are other powers Less passionately perfumed that can take Firm hold on hves left bare of love, and make The world seem greenly clad through winter hours. The sober ivy clasps a ruined wall, It keeps it fair, and shields it from decay ; And though God's Providence at times deprives Our hearts of Love, yet round our broken lives He twines some surer good ; and in this way He gently teaches us— Love is not all. Mfl I:' |;5 HALLANTYNE PRESS: EDINBURGH AND LONDON. ( I ^ i Jl 51