71b / ; /// THE VISION OF ECHARD AND OTHER POEMS. BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. BOSTON: HOUGHTON, OSGOOD AND COMPANY. 2Dtje Ktoersiur ptoss, Cambridge* 1878. COPYRIGHT, 1878, BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. All rights reserved. RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE : STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY PS CONTENTS. PAGE THE VISION OF ECHARD 5 THE WITCH OF WENHAM 20 SUNSET ON THE BEARCAMP 38 THE SEEKING OF THE WATERFALL 44 JUNE ON THE MERRIMAC 53 HYMN OF THE DUNKERS 62 IN THE OLD SOUTH 66 LEXINGTON 70 CENTENNIAL HYMN 74 THIERS 77 FITZ-GREENE HALLECK 79 WILLIAM FRANCIS BARTLETT ...... 84 THE Two ANGELS . 88 iv CONTENTS. THE LIBRARY 92 THE HENCHMAN 95 KING SOLOMON AND THE ANTS 99 RED RIDING HOOD 104 THE TRESSED GENTIAN 108 OVERRULED .in HYMN 113 GIVING AND TAKING .115 I WAS A STRANGER, AND YE TOOK ME IN . . . . 117 AT SCHOOL-CLOSE 120 AT EVENTIDE 125 THE PROBLEM 127 RESPONSE 130 THE VISION OF ECHARD. THE Benedictine Echard Sat, worn by wanderings far, Where Marsberg sees the bridal Of the Moselle and Sarre. Fair with its sloping vineyards And tawny chestnut bloom, The happy vale Ausonius sung For holy Treves made room. On the shrine Helena builded To keep the Christ coat well, THE VISION OF ECHARD. On minster tower and kloster cross, The westering sunshine fell. There, where the rock-hewn circles Overlooked the Roman's game, The veil of sleep fell on him, And his thought a dream became. He felt the heart of silence Throb with a soundless word, And -by the inward ear alone A spirit's voice he heard. And the spoken word seemed written On air and wave and sod, And the bending walls of sapphire Blazed with the thought of God : THE VISION OF ECHARD. " What lack I, O my children ? All things are in my hand ; The vast earth and the awful stars I hold as grains of sand. " Need I your alms ? The silver And gold are mine alone ; The gifts ye bring before me Were evermore my own. " Heed I the noise of viols, Your pomp of masque and show ? Have I not dawns and sunsets ? Have I not winds that blow ? " Do I smell your gums of incense ? Is my ear with chantings fed ? 8 THE VISION OF EC HARD. Taste I your wine of worship, Or eat your holy bread? " Of rank and name and honors Am I vain as ye are vain ? What can Eternal Fullness From your lip-service gain ? " Ye make me not your debtor Who serve yourselves alone ; Ye boast to me of homage Whose gain is all your own. " For you I gave the prophets, For you the Psalmist's lay ; For you the law's stone tables, And holy book and day. THE VISION OF ECHARD 9 " Ye change to weary burdens The helps that should uplift ; Ye lose in form the spirit, The Giver in the gift. " Who called ye to self-torment, To fast and penance vain? Dream ye Eternal Goodness Has joy in mortal pain ? " For the death in life of Nitria, For your Chartreuse ever dumb, What better is the neighbor, Or happier the home ? " Who counts his brother's welfare As sacred as his own, IO THE VISION OF ECHARD. And loves, forgives, and pities, He serveth me alone. " I note each gracious purpose, Each kindly word and deed ; Are ye not all my children ? Shall not the Father heed ? " No prayer for light and guidance Is lost upon mine ear: The child's cry in the darkness Shall not the Father hear ? " I loathe your wrangling councils, I tread upon your creeds; Who made ye mine avengers, Or told ye of my needs ? THE VISION OF ECHARD. II "I bless men and ye curse them, I love them and ye hate ; Ye bite and tear each other, I suffer long and wait. "Ye bow to ghastly symbols, To cross and scourge and thorn ; Ye seek his Syrian manger Who in the heart is born. "For the dead Christ, not the living, Ye watch his empty grave Whose life alone within you Has power to bless and save. "O blind ones, outward groping, The idle quest forego ; 12 THE VISION OF ECHARD. Who listens to his inward voice Alone of him shall know. " His love all love exceeding The heart must needs recall, Its self-surrendering freedom, Its loss that gaineth all. "Climb not the holy mountains, Their eagles know not me ; Seek not the Blessed Islands, I dwell not in the sea. "The gods are gone forever From Zanskar's glacier sides, And in the Buddha's footprints The Ceylon serpent glides. THE VISION OF ECHARD. 13 "No more from shaded Delphos The weird responses come ; Dodona's oaks are silent, The Hebrew Bath-Col dumb ! " No more from rocky Horeb The smitten waters gush ; Fallen is Bethel's ladder, Quenched is the burning bush. "The jewels of the Urim And Thummim all are dim ; The fire has left the altar, The sign the teraphim. " No more in ark or hill grove The Holiest abides ; 14 THE VISION OF ECHARD. Not in the scroll's dead letter The eternal secret hides. " The eye shall fail that searches For me the hollow sky ; The far is even as the near, The low is as the high. " What if the earth is hiding Her old faiths, long outworn ? What is it to the changeless truth That yours shall fail in turn ? "What if the o'erturned altar Lays bare the ancient lie ? What if the dreams and legends Of the world's childhood die? THE VISION OF ECHARD. 15 "Have ye not still my witness Within yourselves alway, My hand that on the keys of life For bliss or bale I lay ? " Still, in perpetual judgment, I hold assize within, With sure reward of holiness, And dread rebuke of sin. V " A light, a guide, a warning, A presence ever near, Through the deep silence of the flesh I reach the inward ear. " My Gerizim and Ebal Are in each human soul, 16 THE VISION OF ECHARD. The still, small voice of blessing, And Sinai's thunder-roll. "The stern behest of duty, The doom-book open thrown, The heaven ye seek, the hell ye fear, Are with yourselves alone." A gold and purple sunset Flowed down the broad Moselle ; On hills of vine and meadow lands The peace of twilight fell. A slow, cool wind of evening Blew over leaf and bloom ; And, faint and far, the Angelus Rang from Saint Matthew's tomb. THE VISION OF ECHARD. I/ Then up rose Master Echard, And marveled : " Can it be That here, in dream and vision, The Lord hath talked with me?" He went his way ; behind him The shrines of saintly dead, The holy coat and nail of cross, He left unvisited. He sought the vale of Eltzbach His burdened soul to free, Where the foot-hills of the Eifel Are glassed in Laachersee. And, in his Order's kloster, He sat, in night-long parle, 1 8 THE VISION OF ECHARD. With Tauler of the Friends of God, And Nicolas of Basle. And lo ! the twain made answer : " Yea, brother, even thus The Voice above all voices Hath spoken unto us. "The world will have its idols, And flesh and sense their sign ; But the blinded eyes shall open, And the gross ear be fine. " What if the vision tarry ? God's time is always best ; The true Light shall be witnessed, The Christ within confessed. THE VISION OF ECHARD. 19 "In mercy or in judgment He shall turn and overturn, Till the heart shall be his temple Where all of Him shall learn." THE WITCH OF WENHAM. i. ALONG Crane River's sunny slopes Blew warm the winds of May, And over Naumkeag's ancient oaks The green outgrew the gray. The grass was green on Rial-side, The early birds at will Waked up the violet in its dell, The wind-flower on its hill. " Where go you, in your Sunday coat ? Son Andrew, tell me, pray." THE WITCH OF WENHAM. 21 "For striped perch in Wenham Lake I go to fish to-day." " Unharmed of thee in Wenham Lake The mottled perch shall be : A blue-eyed witch sits on the bank And weaves her net for thee. " She weaves her golden hair ; she sings Her spell-song low and faint ; The wickedest witch in Salem jail Is to that girl a saint." " Nay, mother, hold thy cruel tongue ; God knows," the young man cried, " He never made a whiter soul Than hers by Wenham side. 22 THE WITCH OF WENHAM. " She tends her mother sick and blind, And every want supplies ; To her above the blessed Book She lends her soft blue eyes. " Her voice is glad with holy songs, Her lips are sweet with prayer ; Go where you will, in ten miles round Is none more good and fair." " Son Andrew, for the love of God And of thy mother, stay ! " She clasped her hands, she wept aloud, But Andrew rode away. " O reverend sir, my Andrew's soul The Wenham witch has caught ; THE WITCH OF WENHAM. 23 She holds him with the curled gold Whereof her snare is wrought. " She charms him with her great blue eyes, She binds him with her hair ; Oh, break the spell with holy words, Unbind him with a prayer ! " "Take heart," the painful preacher said, " This mischief shall not be ; The witch shall perish in her sins And Andrew shall go free. " Our poor Ann Putnam testifies She saw her weave a spell, Bare-armed, loose-haired, at full of moon, Around a dried-up well. 24 THE WITCH OF WENHAM. "'Spring up, O well!' she softly sang The Hebrew's old refrain (For Satan uses Bible words), Till water flowed amain. " And many a goodwife heard her speak By Wenham water words That made the buttercups take wings And turn to yellow birds. " They say that swarming wild bees seek The hive at her command ; And fishes swim to take their food From out her dainty hand. " Meek as she sits in meeting-time, The godly minister THE WITCH OF WENHAM. 25 Notes well the spell that doth compel The young men's eyes to her. " The mole upon her dimpled chin Is Satan's seal and sign ; Her lips are red with evil bread And stain of unblest wine. " For Tituba, my Indian, saith At Quasycung she took The Black Man's godless sacrament And signed his dreadful book. " Last night my sore-afflicted child Against the young witch cried. To take her Marshal Herrick rides Even now to Wenham side." 26 THE WITCH OF WENHAM. The marshal in his saddle sat, His daughter at his knee ; " I go to fetch that arrant witch, Thy fair playmate," quoth he. " Her spectre walks the parsonage, And haunts both hall and stair ; They know her by the great blue eyes And floating gold of hair." " They lie, they lie, my father dear ! No foul old witch is she, But sweet and good and crystal-pure As Wenham waters be." " I tell thee, child, the Lord hath set Before us good and ill, THE WITCH OF WENHAM. 2 And woe to all whose carnal loves Oppose his righteous will. " Between Him and the powers of hell Choose thou, my child, to-day: No sparing hand, no pitying eye, When God commands to slay ! " He went his way ; the old wives shook With fear as he drew nigh ; The children in the dooryards held Their breath as he passed by. Too well they knew the gaunt gray horse The grim witch-hunter rode The pale Apocalyptic beast By grisly Death bestrode. 28 THE WITCH OF WENHAM. II. Oh, fair the face of Wenham Lake Upon the young girl's shone, Her tender mouth, her dreaming eyes, Her yellow hair outblown. By happy youth and love attuned To natural harmonies, The singing birds, the whispering wind, She sat beneath the trees. Sat shaping for her bridal dress Her mother's wedding gown, When lo ! the marshal, writ in hand, From Alford hill rode down. THE WITCH OF WENHAM. 29 His face was hard with cruel fear, He grasped the maiden's hands : " Come with me unto Salem town, For so the law commands ! " " Oh, let me to my mother say Farewell before I- go ! " He closer tied her little hands Unto his saddle bow. " Unhand me," cried she piteously, " For thy sweet daughter's sake." " I '11 keep my daughter safe," he said, " From the witch of Wenham Lake." " Oh, leave me for my mother's sake, She needs my eyes to see." 30 THE WITCH OF WENHAM. " Those eyes, young witch, the crows shall peck From off the gallows-tree." He bore her to a farm-house old, And up its stairway long, And closed on her the garret- door With iron bolted strong. The day died out, the night came down ; Her evening prayer she said, While, through the dark, strange faces seemed To mock her as she prayed. The present horror deepened all The fears her childhood knew ; The awe wherewith the air was filled With every breath she drew. THE WITCH OF WENHAM. 31 And could it be, she trembling asked, Some secret thought or sin Had shut good angels from her heart And let the bad ones in ? Had she in some forgotten dream Let go her hold on Heaven, And sold herself unwittingly To spirits unforgiven ? Oh, weird and still the dark hours passed; No human sound she heard, But up and down the chimney stack The swallows moaned and stirred. And o'er her, with a dread surmise Of evil sight and sound, 32 THE WITCH OF WENHAM. The blind bats on their leathern wings Went wheeling round and round. Low hanging in the midnight sky Looked in a half-faced moon. Was it a dream, or did she hear Her lover's whistled tune ? She forced the oaken scuttle back ; A whisper reached her ear : "Slide down the roof to me," it said, " So softly none may hear." She slid along the sloping roof Till from its eaves she hung, And felt the loosened shingles yield To which her fingers clung. THE WITCH OF WENHAM. 33 Below, her lover stretched his hands And touched her feet so small ; "Drop down to me, dear heart," he said, " My arms shall break the fall." He set her on his pillion soft, Her arms about him twined ; And, noiseless as if velvet-shod, They left the house behind. But when they reached the open way, Full free the rein he cast ; Oh, never through the mirk midnight Rode man and maid more fast. Along the wild wood-paths they sped, The bridgeless streams they swam ; 3 34 THE WITCH OF WENHAM. At set of moon they passed the Bass, At sunrise Agawam. At high noon on the Merrimac The ancient ferryman Forgot, at times, his idle oars, So fair a freight to scan. And when from off his grounded boat He saw them mount and ride, " God keep her from the evil eye, And harm of witch ! " he cried. The maiden laughed, as youth will laugh At all its fears gone by ; " He does not know," she whispered low, "A little witch am I." THE WITCH OF WENHAM. 35 All day he urged his weary horse, And, in the red sundown, Drew rein before a friendly door In distant Berwick town. A fellow-feeling for the wronged The Quaker people felt ; And safe beside their kindly hearths The hunted maiden dwelt, Until from off its breast the land The haunting horror threw, And hatred, born of ghastly dreams, To shame and pity grew. Sad were the year's spring morns, and sad Its golden summer day, 36 THE WITCH OF WENHAM. But blithe and glad its withered fields, And skies of ashen gray ; For spell and charm had power no more, The spectres ceased to roam, And scattered households knelt again Around the hearths of home. And when once more by Beaver Dam The meadow-lark outsang, And once again on all the hills The early violets sprang, And all the windy pasture slopes Lay green within the arms Of creeks that bore the salted sea To pleasant inland farms, THE WITCH OF WENHAM. 37 The smith filed off the chains he forged, The jail-bolts backward fell ; And youth and hoary age came forth Like souls escaped from hell. SUNSET ON THE BEARCAMP. A GOLD fringe on the purpling hem Of hills the river runs, As down its long, green valley falls The last of summer's suns. Along its tawny gravel-bed Broad-flowing, swift, and still, As if its meadow levels felt The hurry of the hill, Noiseless between its banks of green From curve to curve it slips ; The drowsy maple-shadows rest Like fingers on its lips. SUNSET ON THE BEARCAMP. 39 A waif from Carroll's wildest hills, Unstoried and unknown ; The ursine legend of its name Prowls on its banks alone. Yet flowers as fair its slopes adorn As ever Yarrow knew, Or, under rainy Irish skies, By Spenser's Mulla grew ; And through the gaps of leaning trees Its mountain cradle shows : The gold against the amethyst, The green against the rose. Touched by a light that hath no name, A glory never sung, Aloft on sky and mountain wall Are God's great pictures hung. 40 SUNSET ON THE BEARCAMP. How changed the summits vast and old ! No longer granite-browed, They melt in rosy mist ; the rock Is softer than the cloud ; The valley holds its breath ; no leaf Of all its elms is twirled : The silence of eternity Seems falling on the world. The pause before the breaking seals Of mystery is this ; Yon miracle-play of night and day Makes dumb its witnesses. What unseen altar crowns the hills That reach up stair on stair? What eyes look through, what white wings fan These purple veils of air? SUNSET ON THE BEARCAMP. 41 What Presence from the heavenly heights To those of earth stoops down ? Not vainly Hellas dreamed of gods On Ida's snowy crown ! Slow fades the vision of the sky, The golden water pales, And over all the valley-land A gray-winged vapor sails. I go the common way of all ; The sunset fires will burn, The flowers will blow, the river flow, When I no more return. No whisper from the mountain pine Nor lapsing stream shall tell The stranger, treading where I tread, Of him who loved them well. 42 SUNSET ON THE BEARCAMP. But beauty seen is never lost, God's colors all are fast ; The glory of this sunset heaven Into my soul has passed, A sense of gladness unconfined To mortal date or clime ; As the soul liveth, it shall live Beyond the years of time. Beside the mystic asphodels Shall bloom the home-born flowers, And new horizons flush and glow With sunset hues of ours. Farewell ! these smiling hills must wear Too soon their wintry frown, And snow-cold winds from off them shake The maple's red leaves down. SUNSET ON THE BEARCAMP. 43 But I shall see a summer sun Still setting broad and low ; The mountain slopes shall blush and bloom, The golden water flow. A lover's claim is mine on all I see to have and hold, The rose-light of perpetual hills, And sunsets never cold ! THE SEEKING OF THE WATERFALL. THEY left their home of summer ease Beneath the lowland's sheltering trees, To seek, by ways unknown to all, The promise of the waterfall. Some vague, faint rumor to the vale Had crept perchance a hunter's tale Of its wild mirth of waters lost On the dark woods through which it tossed. Somewhere it laughed and sang ; somewhere Whirled in mad dance its misty hair ; THE SEEKING OF THE WATERFALL. 45 But who had raised its veil, or seen The rainbow skirts of that Undine ? They sought it where the mountain brook Its swift way to the valley took ; Along the rugged slope they clomb, Their guide a thread of sound and foam. Height after height they slowly won ; The fiery javelins of the sun Smote the bare ledge ; the tangled shade With rock and vine their steps delayed. But, through leaf-openings, now and then They saw the cheerful homes of men, And the great mountains with their wall Of misty purple girdling all. 46 THE SEEKING OF THE WATERFALL. The leaves through which the glad winds blew Shared the wild dance the waters knew ; And where the shadows deepest fell The wood-thrush rang his silver bell. Fringing the stream, at every turn Swung low the waving fronds of fern ; From stony cleft and mossy sod Pale asters sprang, and golden-rod. And still the water sang the sweet, Glad song that stirred its gliding feet, And found in rock and root the keys Of its beguiling melodies. Beyond, above, its signals flew Of tossing foam the birch-trees through ; THE SEEKING OF THE WATERFALL, 47 Now seen, now lost, but baffling still The weary seekers' slackening will. Each called to each : " Lo here ! Lo there ! Its white scarf flutters in the air ! " They climbed anew ; the vision fled, To beckon higher overhead. So toiled they up the mountain-slope With faint and ever fainter hope ; With faint and fainter voice the brook Still bade them listen, pause, and look. Meanwhile below the day was done ; Above the tall peaks saw the sun Sink, beam-shorn, to its misty set Behind the hills of violet. 48 THE SEEKING OF THE WATERFALL. " Here ends our quest ! " the seekers cried, " The brook and rumor both have lied ! The phantom of a waterfall Has led us at its beck and call." But one, with years grown wiser, said : " So, always baffled, not misled, We follow where before us runs The vision of the shining ones. " Not where they seem their signals fly, Their voices while we listen die ; We cannot keep, however fleet, The quick time of their winged feet. " From youth to age unresting stray These kindly mockers in our way; THE SEEKING OF THE WATERFALL. 49 Yet lead they not, the baffling elves, To something better than themselves ? " Here, though unreached the goal we sought, Its own reward our toil has brought : The winding water's sounding rush, The long note of the hermit thrush, "The turquoise lakes, the glimpse of pond And river track, and, vast, beyond Broad meadows belted round with pines, The grand uplift of mountain lines ! "What matter though we seek with pain The garden of the gods in vain, If lured thereby we climb to greet Some wayside blossom Eden-sweet? 4 50 THE SEEKING OF THE WATERFALL. "To seek is better than to gain, The fond hope dies as we attain ; Life's fairest things are those which seem, The best is that of which we dream. "Then let us trust our waterfall Still flashes down its rocky wall, With rainbow crescent curved across Its sunlit spray from moss to moss. "And we, forgetful of our pain, In thought shall seek it oft again ; Shall see this aster-blossomed sod, This sunshine of the golden-rod, "And haply gain, through parting boughs, Grand glimpses of great mountain brows THE SEEKING OF THE WATERFALL. 51 Cloud-turbaned, and the sharp steel sheen Of lakes deep set in valleys green. " So failure wins ; the consequence Of loss becomes its recompense ; And evermore the end shall tell The unreached ideal guided well. " Our sweet illusions only die Fulfilling love's sure prophecy; And every wish for better things An undreamed beauty nearer brings. " For fate is servitor of love ; Desire and hope and longing prove The secret of immortal youth, And Nature cheats us into truth. 52 THE SEEKING OF THE WATERFALL. " O kind allurers, wisely sent, Beguiling with benign intent, Still move us, through divine unrest, To seek the loveliest and the best ! " Go with us when our souls go free, And, in the clear, white light to be, Add unto Heaven's beatitude The old delight of seeking good ! " JUNE ON THE MERRIMAC. O DWELLERS in the stately towns, What come ye out to see? This common earth, this common sky, This water flowing free? As gayly as these kalmia flowers Your door-yard blossoms spring ; As sweetly as these wild wood birds Your caged minstrels sing. You find but common bloom and green, The rippling river's rune, 54 JUNE ON THE MERRIMAC. The beauty which is everywhere Beneath the skies of June; The Hawkswood oaks, the storm-torn plumes Of old pine-forest kings, Beneath whose century-woven shade Deer Island's mistress sings. And here are pictured Artichoke, And Curson's bowery mill ; And Pleasant Valley smiles between The river and the hill. You know full well these banks of bloom, The upland's wavy line, And how the sunshine tips with fire The needles of the pine. JUNE ON THE MERRIMAC. 55 Yet, like some old remembered psalm, Or sweet, familiar face, Not less because of commonness You love the day and place. And not in vain in this soft air Shall hard-strung nerves relax, Not all in vain the o'erworn brain Forego its daily tax. The lust of power, the greed of gain Have all the year their own ; The haunting demons well may let Our one bright day alone. Unheeded let the newsboy call, Aside the ledger lay; 56 JUNE ON THE MERRIMAC. The world will keep his tread-mill step Though we fall not to-day. The truants of life's weary school, Without excuse from thrift We change for once the gains of toil For God's unpurchased gift. From ceiled rooms, from silent books, From crowded car and town, Dear Mother Earth, upon thy lap We lay our tired heads down. Cool, summer wind, our heated brows ; Blue river, through the green Of clustering pines, refresh the eyes Which all too much have seen. JUNE ON THE ME^RIMAC. 57 For us these pleasant woodland ways Are thronged with memories old, Have felt the grasp of friendly hands And heard love's story told. A sacred presence overbroods The earth whereon we meet ; These winding forest-paths are trod By more than mortal feet. Old friends called from us by the voice Which they alone could hear, From mystery to mystery, From life to life, draw near. More closely for the sake of them Each other's hands we press ; $8 JUNE ON THE MERRIMAC. Our voices take from them a tone Of deeper tenderness. Our joy is theirs, their trust is ours, Alike below, above, Or here or there, about us fold The arms of one great love ! We ask to-day no countersign, No party names we own ; Unlabeled, individual, We bring ourselves alone. What cares the unconventioned wood For pass-words of the town ? The sound of fashion's shibboleth The laughing waters drown. JUNE ON THE MERRIMAC. 59 Here cant forgets his dreary tone, And care his face forlorn ; The liberal air and sunshine laugh The bigot's zeal to scorn. From manhood's weary shoulder falls His load of selfish cares ; And woman takes her rights as flowers And brooks and birds take theirs. The license of the happy woods, The brook's release, are ours ; The freedom of the unshamed wind Among the glad-eyed flowers. Yet here no evil thought finds place, Nor foot profane comes in ; 60 JUNE ON THE MERRIMAC. Our grove, like that of Samothrace, Is set apart from sin. We walk on holy ground ; above A sky more holy smiles ; The chant of the beatitudes Swells down these leafy aisles. Thanks to the gracious Providence That brings us here once more ; For memories of the good behind And hopes of good before! And if, unknown to us, sweet days Of June like this must come, Unseen of us these laurels clothe The river-banks, with bloom ; JUNE ON THE MERRIMAC. 6l And these green paths must soon be trod By other feet than ours, Full long may annual pilgrims come To keep the Feast of Flowers ; The matron be a girl once more, The bearded man a boy, And we, in heaven's eternal June, Be glad for earthly joy ! HYMN OF THE BUNKERS. KLOSTER KEDAR, EPHRATA, PENNSYLVANIA. 1738. SISTER MARIA CHRISTINA sings. WAKE, sisters, wake ! the day-star shines ; Above Ephrata's eastern pines The dawn is breaking, cool and calm. Wake, sisters, wake to prayer and psalm ! Praised be the Lord for shade and light, For toil by day, for rest by night ! Praised be His name who deigns to bless Our Kedar of the wilderness! Our refuge when the spoiler's hand Was heavy on our native land ; HYMN OF THE BUNKERS. 63 And freedom, to her children due, The wolf and vulture only knew. We praised Him when to prison led, We owned Him when the stake blazed red ; We knew, whatever might befall, His love and power were over all. He heard our prayers ; with outstretched arm He led us forth from cruel harm ; Still, wheresoe'er our steps were bent, His cloud and fire before us went! The watch of faith and prayer He set, We kept it then, we keep it yet. At midnight, crow of cock, or noon, He cometh sure, He cometh soon. 64 HYMN OF THE BUNKERS. He comes to chasten, not destroy, To purge the earth from sin's alloy. At last, at last shall all confess His mercy as His righteousness. The dead shall live, the sick be whole, The scarlet sin be white as wool ; No discord mar below, above, The music of eternal love ! Sound, welcome trump, the last alarm ! Lord God of hosts, make bare thine arm, Fulfill this day our long desire, Make sweet and clean the world with fire Sweep, flaming besom, sweep from sight The lies of time ; be swift to smite, HYMN OF THE BUNKERS. 6$ Sharp sword of God, all idols down, Genevan creed and Roman crown. Quake, earth, through all thy zones, till all The fanes of pride and priestcraft fall; And lift thou up in place of them Thy gates of pearl, Jerusalem ! Lo ! rising from baptismal flame, Transfigured, glorious, yet the same, Within the heavenly city's bound Our Kloster Kedar shall be found. He cometh soon ! at dawn or noon Or set of sun, He cometh soon. Our prayers shall meet Him on his way ; Wake, sisters, wake ! arise and pray ! $ IN THE "OLD SOUTH." 1677. SHE came and stood in the Old South Church, A wonder and a sign, With a look the old time sibyls wore, Half-crazed and half-divine. Save the mournful sackcloth about her wound Unclothed as the primal mother, With limbs that trembled and eyes that blazed With a fire she dared not smother. Loose on her shoulders fell her hair With sprinkled ashes gray, IN THE "OLD SOUTH." 6/ She stood in the broad aisle strange and weird As a soul at the judgment day. And the minister paused in his sermon's midst, And the people held their breath, For these were the words the maiden spoke Through lips as pale as death : " Thus saith the Lord, with equal feet All men my courts shall tread, And priest and ruler no more shall eat My people up like bread ! " Repent ! repent ! ere the Lord shall speak In thunder and breaking seals ! Let all souls worship Him in the way His light within reveals." 68 IN THE "OLD SOUTH." She shook the dust from her naked feet, And her sackcloth closer drew, And into the porch of the awe-hushed church She passed like a ghost from view. They whipped her away at the tail o' the cart Through half the streets of the town, But the words she uttered that day nor fire Could burn nor water drown. And now the aisles of the ancient church By equal feet are trod, And the bell that swings in its belfry rings Freedom to worship God ! And now whenever a wrong is done It thrills the conscious walls ; IN THE "OLD SOUTH." 69 The stone from the basement cries aloud And the beam from the timber calls. There are steeple-houses on every hand, And pulpits that bless and ban, And the Lord will not grudge the single church That is set apart for man. For in two commandments are all the law And the prophets under the sun, And the first is last and the last is first, And the twain are verily one. So, long as Boston shall Boston be, And her bay-tides rise and fall, Shall freedom stand in the Old South Church And plead for the rights of all ! LEXINGTON. No Berserk thirst of blood had they, No battle-joy was theirs, who set Against the alien bayonet Their homespun breasts in that old day. Their feet had trodden peaceful ways ; They loved not strife, they dreaded pain ; They saw not, what to us is plain, That God would make man's wrath his praise. No seers were they, but simple men ; Its vast results the future hid : LEXINGTON. Ji The meaning of the work they did Was strange and dark and doubtful then. Swift as their summons came they left The plow mid-furrow standing still, The half-ground corn grist in the mill, The spade in earth, the axe in cleft. They went where duty seemed to call, They scarcely asked the reason why; They only knew they could but die, And death was not the worst of all ! Of man for man the sacrifice, All that was theirs to give, they gave. The flowers that blossomed from their grave Have sown themselves beneath all skies. 72 LEXINGTON. Their death-shot shook the feudal tower, And shattered slavery's chain as well ; On the sky's dome, as on a bell, Its echo struck the world's great hour. That fateful echo is not dumb : The nations listening to its sound Wait, from a century's vantage-ground, The holier triumphs yet to come, The bridal time of Law and Love, The gladness of the world's release, When, war-sick, at the feet of Peace The hawk shall nestle with the dove! The golden age of brotherhood Unknown to other rivalries LEXINGTON, . 73 Than of the mild humanities, And gracious interchange of good, When closer strand shall lean to strand, Till meet, beneath saluting flags, The eagle of our mountain-crags, The lion of our Motherland ! CENTENNIAL HYMN. i. OUR fathers' God ! from out whose hand The centuries fall like grains of sand, We meet to-day, united, free, And loyal to our land and Thee, To thank Thee for the era done, And trust Thee for the opening one. II. Here, where of old, by Thy design, The fathers spake that word of Thine Whose echo is the glad refrain Of rended bolt and falling chain, CENTENNIAL HYMN. 75 To grace our festal time, from all The zones of earth our guests we call. in. Be with us while the New World greets The Old World thronging all its streets, Unveiling all the triumphs won By art or toil beneath the sun ; And unto common good ordain This rivalship of hand and brain. IV. Thou, who hast here in concord furled The war flags of a gathered world, Beneath our Western skies fulfill The Orient's mission of good-will, And, freighted with love's Golden Fleece, Send back its Argonauts of peace. 76 CENTENNIAL HYMN. V. For art and labor met in truce, For beauty made the bride of use, We thank Thee ; but, withal, we crave The austere virtues strong to save, The honor proof to place or gold, The manhood never bought nor sold ! VI. Oh make Thou us, through centuries long, In peace secure, in justice strong ; Around our gift of freedom draw The safeguards of Thy righteous law ; And, cast in some diviner mold, Let the new cycle shame the old ! THIERS. i. FATE summoned, in gray-bearded age, to act A history stranger than his written fact, Him who portrayed the splendor and the gloom Of that great hour when throne and altar fell With long death-groan which still is audible. He, when around the walls of Paris rung The Prussian bugle like the blast of doom, And every ill which follows unblest war Maddened all France from Finistere to Var, The weight of fourscore from his shoulders flung, And guided Freedom in the path he saw Lead out of chaos into light and law, 78 THIERS. Peace, not imperial, but republican, And order pledged to all the Rights of Man. ii. Death called him from a need as imminent As that from which the Silent William went When powers of evil, like the smiting seas On Holland's dikes, assailed her liberties. Sadly, while yet in doubtful balance hung The weal and woe of France, the bells were rung For her lost leader. Paralyzed of will, Above his bier the hearts of men stood still. Then, as if set to his dead lips, the horn Of Roland wound once more to rouse and warn, The old voice filled the air ! His last brave word Not vainly France to all her boundaries stirred. Strong as in life, he still for Freedom wrought, As the dead Cid at red Toloso fought. FITZ-GREENE HALLECK. AT THE UNVEILING OF HIS STATUE. AMONG their graven shapes to whom Thy civic wreaths belong, O city of his love, make room For one whose gift was song. Not his the soldier's sword to wield. Nor his the helm of state, Nor glory of the stricken field, Nor triumph of debate. In common ways, with common men, He served his race and time 80 FITZ-GREENE HALLECK. As well as if his clerkly pen Had never danced to rhyme. If, in the thronged and noisy mart, The Muses found their son, Could any say his tuneful art A duty left undone ? He toiled and sang ; and year by year Men found their homes more sweet, t And through a tenderer atmosphere Looked down the brick-walled street. The Greek's wild onset Wall Street knew; The Red King walked Broadway ; And Alnwick Castle's roses blew From Palisades to Bay. FITZ-GREENE HALLECK. 8 1 Fair City by the Sea ! upraise His veil with reverent hands ; And mingle with thy own the praise And pride of other lands. Let Greece his fiery lyric breathe Above her hero-urns ; And Scotland, with her holly, wreathe The flower he culled for Burns. O, stately stand, thy palace walls, Thy tall ships ride the seas ; To-day thy poet's name recalls A prouder thought than these. Not less thy pulse of trade shall beat, Nor less thy tall fleets swim, 6 82 FITZ-GREENE HALLECK. That shaded square and dusty street Are classic ground through him. Alive, he loved, like all who sing, The echoes of his song; Too late the tardy meed we bring, The praise delayed so long. Too late, alas ! Of all who knew The living man, to-day Before his unveiled face, how few Make bare their locks of gray ! Our lips of praise must soon be dumb, Our grateful eyes be dim ; O brothers of the days to come, Take tender charge of him ! FITZ-GREENE HALLECK. 83 New hands the wires of song may sweep, New voices challenge fame ; But let no moss of years o'ercreep The lines of Halleck's name. WILLIAM FRANCIS BARTLETT. O, WELL may Essex sit forlorn Beside her sea-blown shore ; Her well beloved, her noblest born, Is hers in life no more ! No lapse of years can render less Her memory's sacred claim ; No fountain of forgetfulness Can wet the lips of Fame*. A grief alike to wound and heal, A thought to soothe and pain, WILLIAM FRANCIS BARTLETT. 85 The sad, sweet pride that mothers feel To her must still remain. Good men and true she has not lacked, And brave men yet shall be ; The perfect flower, the crowning fact, Of all her years was he ! As Galahad pure, as Merlin sage, What worthier knight was found To grace in Arthur's golden age The fabled Table Round ? A voice, the battle's trumpet-note, To welcome and restore ; A hand, that all unwilling smote, To heal and build once more ! 86 WILLIAM FRANCIS BARTLETT. A soul of fire, a tender heart Too warm for hate, he knew The generous victor's graceful part To sheathe the sword he drew. When Earth, as if on evil dreams, Looks back upon her wars, And the white light of Christ outstreams From the red disk of Mars, His fame who led the stormy van Of battle well may cease, But never that which crowns the man Whose victory was Peace. Mourn, Essex, on thy sea-blown shore Thy beautiful and brave, WILLIAM FRANCIS BARTLETT. 8/ Whose failing hand the olive bore, Whose dying lips forgave! Let age lament the youthful chief, And tender eyes be dim ; The tears are more of joy than grief That fall for one like him ! THE TWO ANGELS. GOD called the nearest angels who dwell with Him above : The tenderest one was Pity, the dearest one was Love. " Arise," He said, " my angels ! a wail of woe and sin Steals through the gates of heaven, and saddens all within. "My harps take up the mournful strain that from a lost world swells, The smoke of torment clouds the light and blights the asphodels. THE TWO ANGELS. 89 "Fly downward to that under world, and on its souls of pain Let Love drop smiles like sunshine, and Pity tears like rain ! " Two faces bowed before the Throne veiled in their golden hair; Four white wings lessened swiftly down the dark abyss of air. The way was strange, the flight was long ; at last the angels came Where swung the lost and nether world, red- wrapped in rayless flame. There Pity, shuddering, wept ; but Love, with faith too strong for fear, 90 THE TWO ANGELS. Took heart from God's almightiness and smiled a smile of cheer. And lo ! that tear of Pity quenched the flame whereon it fell, And, with the sunshine of that smile, hope en- tered into hell ! Two unveiled faces full of joy looked upward to the Throne, Four white wings folded at the feet of Him who sat thereon ! And deeper than the sound of seas, more soft than falling flake, Amidst the hush of wing and song the Voice Eternal spake : THE TWO ANGELS. 91 " Welcome, my angels ! ye have brought a holier joy to heaven ; Henceforth its sweetest song shall be the song of " sin forgiven ! " THE LIBRARY. SUNG AT THE OPENING OF THE HAVERHILL LIBRARY. " LET THERE BE LIGHT ! " God spake of old, And over chaos dark and cold, And, through the dead and formless frame Of nature, life and order came. Faint was the light at first that shone On giant fern and mastodon, On half-formed plant and beast of prey, And man as rude and wild as they. Age after age, like waves, o'erran The earth, uplifting brute and man ; THE LIBRARY. 93 And mind, at length, in symbols dark Its meanings traced on stone and bark. On leaf of palm, on sedge-wrought roll, On plastic clay and leathern scroll, Man wrote his thoughts ; the ages passed, And lo ! the Press was found at last ! Then dead souls woke ; the thoughts of men Whose bones were dust revived again ; The cloister's silence found a tongue, Old prophets spake, old poets sung. And here, to-day, the dead look down, The kings of mind again we crown ; We hear the voices lost so long, The sage's word, the sibyl's song. 94 THE LIBRARY. Here Greek and Roman find themselves Alive along these crowded shelves ; And Shakespeare treads again his stage, And Chaucer paints anew his age. As if some Pantheon's marbles broke Their stony trance, and lived and spoke, Life thrills along the alcoved hall, The lords of thought await our call ! THE HENCHMAN. MY lady walks her morning round, My lady's page her fleet greyhound, My lady's hair the fond winds stir, And all the birds make songs for her. Her thrushes sing in Rathburn bowers, And Rathburn side is gay with flowers ; But ne'er like hers, in flower or bird, Was beauty seen or music heard. The distance of the stars is hers ; The least of all her worshipers, The dust beneath her dainty heel, She knows not that I see or feel. 96 THE HENCHMAN. O proud and calm ! she cannot know Where'er she goes with her I go ; cold and fair ! she cannot guess 1 kneel to share her hound's caress ! Gay knights beside her hunt and hawk, I rob their ears of her sweet talk ; Her suitors come from east and west, I steal her smiles from every guest. Unheard of her, in loving words, I greet her with the song of birds ; I reach her with her green- armed bowers, I kiss her with the lips of flowers. The hound and I are on her trail, The wind and I uplift her veil ; THE HENCHMAN. 97 As if the calm, cold moon she were, And I the tide, I follow her. As unrebuked as they, I share The license of the sun and air, And in a common homage hide My worship from her scorn and pride. World-wide apart, and yet so near, I breathe her charmed atmosphere, Wherein to her my service brings The reverence due to holy things. Her maiden pride, her haughty name, My dumb devotion shall not shame ; The love that no return doth crave To knightly levels lifts the slave. 7 98 THE HENCHMAN. No lance have I, in joust or fight, To splinter in my lady's sight ; But, at her feet, how blest were I For any need of hers to die ! KING SOLOMON AND THE ANTS. OUT from Jerusalem The kkig rode with his great War chiefs and lords of state, And Sheba's queen with them, Comely, but black withal, To whom, perchance, belongs That wondrous Song of songs, Sensuous and mystical, Whereto devout souls turn In fond, ecstatic dream, IOO KING SOLOMON AND THE ANTS. And through its earth-born theme The Love of loves discern. Proud in the Syrian sun, In gold and purple sheen, The dusky Ethiop queen Smiled on King Solomon. Wisest of men, he knew The languages of all The creatures great or small That trod the earth or flew. Across an ant-hill led The king's path, and he heard Its small folk, and their word He thus interpreted : KING SOLOMON AND THE ANTS. IOI " Here comes the king men greet As wise and good and just, To crush us in the dust Under his heedless feet." The great king bowed his head, And saw the wide surprise Of the Queen of Sheba's eyes As he told her what they said. " O king ! " she whispered sweet, "Too happy fate have they Who perish in thy way Beneath thy gracious feet ! " Thou of the God-lent crown, Shall these vile creatures dare 102 KING SOLOMON AND THE ANTS. Murmur against thee where The knees of kings kneel down ? " "Nay," Solomon replied, "The wise and strong should seek The welfare of the weak," And turned his horse aside. His train, with quick alarm, Curved with their leader round The ant-hill's peopled mound, And left it free from harm. The jeweled head bent low; " O king ! " she said, " henceforth The secret of thy worth And wisdom well I know. KING SOLOMON AND THE ANTS. 1 03 " Happy must be the State Whose ruler heedeth more The murmurs of the poor Than flatteries of the great." RED RIDING-HOOD. ON the wide lawn the snow lay deep, Ridged o'er with many a drifted heap ; The wind that through the pine-trees sung The naked elm-boughs tossed and swung ; While, through the window, frosty-starred, Against the sunset purple barred, We saw the sombre crow flap by, The hawk's gray fleck along the sky, The crested blue-jay flitting swift, The squirrel poising on the drift, Erect, alert, his broad gray tail Set to the north wind like a sail. RED RIDING-HOOD. IO$ It came to pass, our little lass, With flattened face against the glass, And eyes in which the tender dew Of pity shone, stood gazing through The narrow space her rosy lips Had melted from the frost's eclipse : "Oh, see," she cried, "the poor blue-jays! What is it that the black crow says ? The squirrel lifts his little legs Because he has no hands, and begs ; He 's asking for my nuts, I know : May I not feed them on the snow?" Half lost within her boots, her head Warm-sheltered in her hood of red, Her plaid skirt close about her drawn, She floundered down the wintry lawn ; IO6 RED RIDING-HOOD. Now struggling through the misty veil Blown round her by the shrieking gale ; Now sinking in a drift so low Her scarlet hood could scarcely show Its dash of color on the snow. She dropped for bird and beast forlorn Her little store of nuts and corn, And thus her timid guests bespoke: "Come, squirrel, from your hollow oak, Come, black old crow, come, poor blue-jay, Before your supper 's blown away ! Don't be afraid, we all are good ; And I 'm mamma's Red Riding-Hood ! " O Thou whose care is over all, Who heedest even the sparrow's fall, RED RIDING-HOOD. JO? Keep in the little maiden's breast The pity which is now its guest ! Let not her cultured years make less The childhood charm of tenderness, But let her feel as well as know, Nor harder with her polish grow! Unmoved by sentimental grief That wails along some printed leaf, But, prompt with kindly word and deed To own the claims of all who need, Let the grown woman's self make good The promise of Red Riding-Hood ! THE PRESSED GENTIAN. THE time of gifts has come again, And, on my northern window-pane, Outlined against the day's brief light, A Christmas token hangs in sight. The wayside travelers, as they pass, Mark the gray disk of clouded glass ; And the dull blankness seems, perchance, Folly to their wise ignorance. They cannot from their outlook see The perfect grace it hath for me ; For there the flower, whose fringes through The frosty breath of autumn blew, THE PRESSED GENTIAN. 109 Turns from without its face of bloom To the warm tropic of my room, As fair as when beside its brook The hue of bending skies it took. So, from the trodden ways of earth, Seem some sweet souls who veil their worth, And offer to the careless glance The clouding gray of circumstance. They blossom best where hearth-fires burn, To loving eyes alone they turn The flowers of inward grace, that hide Their beauty from the world outside. But deeper meanings come to me, My half-immortal flower, from thee ! 110 THE PRESSED GENTIAN. Man judges from a partial view, None ever yet his brother knew ; The Eternal Eye that sees the whole May better read the darkened soul, And find, to outward sense denied, The flower upon its inmost side ! OVERRULED. THE threads our hands in blindness spin No self-determined plan weaves in ; The shuttle of the unseen powers Works out a pattern not as ours. Ah ! small the choice of him who sings What sound shall leave the smitten strings ; Fate holds and guides the hand of art ; The singer's is the servant's part. The wind-harp chooses not the tone That through its trembling threads is blown ; 112 OVERRULED. The patient organ cannot guess What hand its passive keys shall press. Through wish, resolve, and act, our will Is moved by undreamed forces still ; And no man measures in advance His strength with untried circumstance. As streams take hue from shade and sun, As runs the life the song must run ; But, glad or sad, to his good end God grant the varying notes may tend ! HYMN. MISSION, BOSTON, 1 8/8. THINE are all the gifts, O God ! Thine the broken bread ; Let the naked feet be shod, And the starving fed. Let Thy children, by Thy grace, Give as they abound, Till the poor have breathing-space, And the lost are found. Wiser than the miser's hoards Is the giver's choice ; - 8 1 14 HYMN. Sweeter than the song of birds Is the thankful voice. Welcome smiles on faces sad As the flowers of spring ; Let the tender hearts be glad With the joy they bring. Happier for their pity's sake Make their sports and plays, And from lips of childhood take Thy perfected praise ! GIVING AND TAKING. 1 WHO gives and hides the giving hand, Nor counts on favor, fame, or praise, Shall find his smallest gift outweighs The burden of the sea and land. Who gives to whom hath naught been given, His gift in need, though small indeed As is the grass-blade's wind-blown seed, Is large as earth and rich as heaven. Forget it not, O man, to whom A gift shall fall, while yet on earth ; 1 I have attempted to put in English verse a prose translation of a poem by Tinnevaluva, a Hindoo poet of the third century of our era. Il6 GIVING AND TAKING. Yea, even to thy seven-fold birth Recall it in the lives to come. Who broods above a wrong in thought Sins much; but greater sin is his Who, fed and clothed with kindnesses, Shall count the holy alms as nought. Who dares to curse the hands that bless Shall know of sin the deadliest cost ; The patience of the heavens is lost Beholding man's unthankfulness. For he who breaks all laws may still In Sivam's mercy be forgiven ; But none can save, in earth or heaven, The wretch who answers good with ill " I WAS A STRANGER, AND YE TOOK ME IN." 'NEATH skies that winter never knew The air was full of light and balm, And warm and soft the Gulf wind blew Through orange bloom and groves of palm. A stranger from the frozen North, Who sought the fount of health in vain, Sank homeless on the alien earth, And breathed the languid air with pain. God's angel came ! The tender shade Of pity made her blue eye dim ; Il8 "I WAS A STRANGER, AND YE TOOK ME IN." Against her woman's breast she laid The drooping, fainting head of him. She bore him to a pleasant room, Flower-sweet and cool with salt sea air, And watched beside his bed, for whom His far-off sisters might not care. She fanned his feverish brow and smoothed Its lines of pain with tenderest touch. With holy hymn and prayer she soothed The trembling soul that feared so much. Through her the peace that passeth sight Came to him, as he lapsed away As one whose troubled dreams of night Slide slowly into tranquil day. "I WAS A STRANGER, AND YE TOOK ME IN." 1 19 The sweetness of the Land of Flowers Upon his lonely grave she laid: The jasmine dropped its golden showers, The orange lent its bloom and shade. And something whispered in her thought, More sweet than mortal voices be : " The service thou for him hast wrought O daughter! hath been done for me." AT SCHOOL-CLOSE. BOWDOIN STREET, 1 8/7. THE end has come, as come it must To all things ; in these sweet June days The teacher and the scholar trust Their parting feet to separate ways. They part: but in the years to be Shall pleasant memories cling to each, As shells bear inland from the sea The murmur of the rhythmic beach. One knew the joy the sculptor knows When, plastic to his lightest touch, AT SCHOOL-CLOSE. 121 His clay- wrought model slowly grows To that fine grace desired so much. So daily grew before her eyes The living shapes whereon she wrought, Strong, tender, innocently wise, The child's heart with the woman's thought. And one shall never quite forget The voice that called from dream and play, The firm but kindly hand that set Her feet in learning's pleasant way, The joy of Undine soul-possessed, The wakening sense, the strange delight That swelled the fabled statue's breast And filled its clouded eyes with sight ! 122 AT SCHOOL-CLOSE. O Youth and Beauty, loved of all ! Ye pass from girlhood's gate of dreams ; In broader ways your footsteps fall, Ye test the truth of all that seems. Her little realm the teacher leaves, She breaks her wand of power apart, While, for your love and trust, she gives The warm .thanks of a grateful heart. Hers is the sober summer noon Contrasted with your morn of spring ; The waning with the waxing moon, The folded with the outspread wing. Across the distance of the years She sends her God-speed back to you ; AT SCHOOL-CLOSE. 123 She has no thought of doubts or fears: Be but yourselves, be pure, be true, And prompt in duty ; heed the deep, Low voice of conscience ; through the ill And discord round about you, keep Your faith in human nature still. Be gentle : unto griefs and needs, Be pitiful as woman should, And, spite of all the lies of creeds, Hold fast the truth that God is good. Give and receive ; go forth and bless The world that needs the hand and heart Of Martha's helpful carefulness No less, than Mary's better part. 124 AT SCHOOL-CLOSE. So shall the stream of time flow by And leave each year a richer good, And matron loveliness outvie The nameless charm of maidenhood. And, when the world shall link your names With gracious lives and manners fine, The teacher shall assert her claims, And proudly whisper, " These were mine ! " AT EVENTIDE. POOR and inadequate the shadow-play Of gain and loss, of waking and of dream, Against life's solemn background needs must seem At this late hour. Yet, riot unthankfully, I call to mind the fountains by the way, The breath of flowers, the bird-song on the spray, Dear friends, sweet human loves, the joy of giving And of receiving, the great boon of living In grand historic years when Liberty Had need of word and work, quick sympathies For all who fail and surfer, song's relief, Nature's uncloying loveliness ; and chief, 126 AT EVENTIDE. The kind restraining hand of Providence, The inward witness, the assuring sense Of an Eternal Good which overlies The sorrow of the world, Love which outlives All sin and wrong, Compassion which forgives To the uttermost, and Justice whose clear eyes Through lapse and failure look to the intent, And judge our frailty by the life we meant. THE PROBLEM. NOT without envy Wealth at times must look On their brown strength who wield the reaping- hook And scythe, or, at the forge-fire shape the plow Or the steel harness of the steeds of steam ; All who, by skill and patience, anyhow Make service noble, and the earth redeem From savageness. By kingly accolade Than theirs was never worthier knighthood made. Well for them, if, while demagogues their vain And evil counsels proffer, they maintain 128 THE PROBLEM. Their honest manhood unseduced, and wage No war with Labor's right to Labor's gain Of sweet home-comfort, rest of hand and brain, And softer pillow for the head of Age. ii. And well for Gain if it ungrudging yields Labor its just demand ; and well for Ease If in the uses of its own, it sees No wrong to him who tills its pleasant fields And spreads the table of its luxuries. The interests of the rich man and the poor Are one and same, inseparable evermore ; And, when scant wage or labor fail to give Food, shelter, raiment, wherewithal to live, Need has its rights, necessity its claim. Yea, even self-wrought misery and shame THE PROBLEM. 1 29 Test well the charity suffering long and kind. The home-pressed question of the age can find No answer in the catch-words of the blind Leaders of blind. Solution there is none Save in the Golden Rule of Christ alone. 9 RESPONSE. 1877. BESIDE that milestone where the level sun, Nigh unto setting, sheds his last, low rays On word and work irrevocably done, Life's blending threads of good and ill outspun, I hear, O friends ! your words of cheer and praise, Half doubtful if myself or otherwise. Like him who, in the old Arabian joke, A beggar slept and crowned Caliph woke. Thanks not the less. With not unglad surprise I see my life-work through your partial eyes ; RESPONSE. 131 Assured, in giving to my home-taught songs A higher value than of right belongs, You do but read between the written lines The finer grace of unfulfilled designs. TORED AT NRLt /// I fc THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SANTA CRUZ This book is due on the last DATE stamped below. i-6,'67(H2523s8)2373 / PS3269.V4 1878 3 2106 00208 442