UC-NRLF 
 
 B E &3H t,Q7 
 
 
THE 
 
 \xtm 0f f gt|[Hg0ras 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 ^mma f at|am. 
 
 SECOND EDITION, 
 REVISED AND ENLARGED. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 LONGMAN AND CO.; SIMPKIN AND CO.; 
 
 HAMILTON AND CO.; BINNS AND GOODWIN. 
 
 EDINBURGH : OLIVER AND BOYD. DUBLIN: J. M^GLASHAN. 
 
LOAN STACK 
 
 BATH : PRINTED BY BINNS AND GOODWIN. 
 
Mai aJ 
 
 A BRIEF 
 
 MEMOIR OF EMMA TATHAM, 
 
 OF MARGATE. 
 
 IN the early autumn of 1854 a volume was published, bearing 
 title " The Dream of Pythagoras, and other Poems," from the 
 pen of this child of song. Her muse at once attracted general 
 admiration, and opinions of the press were given in a manner 
 unusually flattering. In influential quarters Miss Tatham was 
 commended for " great imagination, depth of thought and feeling, 
 exquisite tenderness, great power of expression, combined with a 
 harmony of metre rarely surpassed." One of her critics, selecting 
 for example a passage from her " Tempest Songs," does " not 
 fear the comparison with Shelly and Mrs. Hemans which it 
 provokes." "Our promising young poetess," says another, "is 
 still in the flower of her youth ; and, from the sample she 
 has given us of her powers, we prophecy that in process of 
 time she will achieve a lasting reputation. In the poem, 
 'Jordan's Lament,' the subject is treated in a manner worthy 
 of its grandeur." And (not to multiply these eulogies) even the 
 " Catholic Standard " ascribes to her pieces " a very high order of 
 merit ; " adding a sinister observation, wliich, as it is characteristic 
 of the reviewer's school, may be quoted : " There is a devout and 
 reverential tone about Miss Tatham's writings which we wish we 
 could detect more frequently in Protestant authors." 
 
 308 
 
4 MEMOIR OF EMMA TATHAM. 
 
 Not two short years have passed away, and the hand which so 
 gently yet so effectively struck the lyre is in the dust. The follow- 
 ing pathetic sketch will showwithwhat deep lowliness and unaffected 
 wonder the applauses of the puhlic were received ; and how truly 
 the religion of Jesus Clirist can refine, beautify, and hallow the 
 graces and accomplishments of the mind. Here is a voice that speaks 
 loudly to the young, the educated, the gifted. We stay not to re- 
 hearse its teachings: they will occur to every serious reader's 
 meditation. One word may suffice to indicate their tenor : Nothing 
 is great that is limited to time : nothing little that stretches into 
 eternity. " All flesh is grass, and all the goodhness thereof is as 
 the flower of the field: the grass withereth, the flower fadetli: 
 because the Spirit of the Lord bloweth upon it : surely the people 
 is grass. The grass withereth, the flower fadeth : but the word of 
 our God shall stand for ever.'' (Isai. xl. 6 — 8.) 
 
 Geoege and Ann Tatham, the parents of Emma, were residing, 
 at the time of her birth, — October 31st, 1829, — in the Boundary 
 House of the Bedford Charity Estate, Theobald's -road, Red-Lion 
 Square, Holborn, London. Their only other child, Charlotte, was 
 bom September 8th, 1827, and died September 6th, 1828. By the 
 time Emma reached her fourth year, she had leanied from her 
 parents to read and write. Her memory being strong, she was wont 
 thus early to recite with ease metrical pieces of considerable length. 
 An old and well-worn Bible of her grandfather's was her favourite 
 companion. The Books of Jonah and Job, and the history of Joseph, 
 had already engaged her mind so much, that, when between six 
 and seven years of age, she pharaphrased the whole of them in verse. 
 By reading the Scriptures, she was soon deeply inpressed with solemn 
 reverence, and a childlike love of God. One day, in a state of great 
 excitement, she ran to her mother, and said, ^*Ido — 1 do love God!** 
 Present every morning at family prayer and reading, she appeared 
 to take an interest in these sacred exercises, which is not very com- 
 mon in children of so tender an ii^e. Her mother taught her short 
 prayers, to be offered up to God on retiring to rest, and suffered her 
 
MEMOIR OF EMMA TATHAM. 5 
 
 also to express her wishes to God in her own simple way. An 
 instance is fondly remembered, which is in beautiful harmony with 
 a thousand later proofs of her strong fihal affection. Her father 
 having been absent for some time in the comitry on account of the 
 death of her grandmother, she felt much concerned, and one night 
 said, whilst on her knees, " Lord ! Lord ! bring my deai*, dear 
 father home; and never, never let him go again." — Another instance 
 will show her love for sacred engagements : Two little girls were 
 invited to spend an evening with her, and shortly after tea the dear 
 child invited them into a private room to pray loiih her. — At the 
 age of four she was sent to school ; but, the effect appearing to be 
 unfavourable, her parents felt it their duty to withdraw her for 
 some time. To keep her mind occupied, her father now gave her a 
 book to write in. On the first leaf she stated, in three verses, that 
 her intention was to fill the book with prose and poetry. And this 
 she did, adding an index, and one verse at the end, in evidence that 
 the design was accomplished. After that, she made a request, in 
 three or four verses, for a small writing table; and then set to in 
 earnest, and filled four books with passages on a variety of subjects. 
 When six years old, she composed on one Sunday night an essay on 
 the soul, and a hymn for the Saibath. In this way her time was 
 employed till she was nearly nine, when she was sent to school once 
 more. And now she made great progress in whatever she was led 
 to undertake. To the amusement of her governess,' but equally to 
 her delight, she still occasionaly indulged her taste for making verses^ 
 After three years spent here, her parents, seeing her great desire 
 for learning, added to superior capacities, sent her to another 
 school, where she had higher advantages. Ere long she justified 
 their decision, giving proof of her abilities in various departments 
 of elegant study ; the spirit of poetry still findind occasion of joyous 
 utterance, from time to time, in thanks to her parents for gifts of 
 books, and other favours. 
 
 To her governess she presented a few sweet verses, in which her 
 schoolfellows were compai'ed to the different flowers of the garden. 
 
6 MEMOIE OF EMMA TATHAM. 
 
 and herself to the daisy. Her French master testified by a reward 
 the progress she made in his class; and the lady who taught her 
 music said she had never met with a pupil before who, like her 
 mastered all the notes at the first lesson. 
 
 About this time she appeared to derive much spiritual profit 
 from the discourses of the Rev. Dr. Beaumont and B. Gregory, 
 She frequently brought home in memOTy the seniion, and para- 
 phrased in easy verse nearly the whole of it. 
 
 In March, 1846, her first contribution to a public journal 
 appeared. It was published in Edinburgh, with the title, ** Lovely 
 Spring," — ^in answer to a juece most strangely called, " Hateful 
 Spring." In the July following she was attacked with a violent 
 hooping-cough, which so prostrated her that her life seemed to liang 
 in suspense. Her medical attendant was much struck with the 
 patience she manifested during much suffering. But it pleased the 
 Lord to bring her up from the gates of death, to the delight of her 
 parents and friends. Such was her state of weakness, however, on 
 her return home, that it was not thought prudent for her at once 
 to resume her school-duties. Slowly recovering, she would be con- 
 stantly occupying herself either in music, or di*awing, or her sweet 
 task of poetry. 
 
 In the Decembei^ number of the " Youth's Instructor " appeared 
 a piece of hers, — * God is love.' She wrote much, indeed, about 
 this time ; and several of her friends urged it, both on her parents 
 and on herself, to give these effusions to the world. These impor- 
 tunities she answered in the touching lines which follow, — Hues but 
 too truly premonitory of her early fate : — 
 
 TO MY FEIEKDS WHEN THEY SPOKE OF PVBLISHING MY 
 POETRY. 
 
 Have patience with a baby -muse. 
 
 Whose harp is yet unstrung ; 
 Scarce tasting the Castilian dews, 
 
 Untutor'd, weak and young. 
 
MEMOIE or EMMA TATHAM. 
 
 A wilding bird of joyous wing, 
 
 Still heedless let her roam ; 
 A timid blossom, let her spring 
 
 In the sweet shades of home. 
 
 Why pluck the' unfolding floweret ? why ? 
 
 O, let it yet abide. 
 And from each cold, unhallowed eye. 
 
 In blest retirement hide. 
 
 A blight might touch its drooping leaf, 
 
 A blight ye could not heal : 
 At best, its summer day is brief ; 
 Then cloud it not with care and grief. 
 
 Nor teach it pain to feel. 
 
 O, let it in its own calm hour 
 
 Unbosom to the ray ! 
 And bloom alone, a hidden flower. 
 In contemplation's calmest bower. 
 
 And softly fade away. 
 
 I cannot stoop to court the fame 
 On which earth's minstrels live : 
 
 My laurels are of loftier name. 
 Such as my Lord doth give. 
 
 Wait, till a few fleet years are fled. 
 
 And / am pass'd mvmj. 
 And the spring flowers bloom o'er my head; 
 
 O, wait, till then I pray ! 
 
 And let me sing my little song. 
 
 In peace unmix'd with pain : 
 Have patience ; it is not for long 
 
 The early buds remain. 
 
 3Iarch, 1847. 
 
H MEMOIR OF EMMA TATHAM. 
 
 Ill June following, the family left High-Holborn, and removed 
 to Margate. 
 
 During the years 1848 and 1849, Emma suffered great mental 
 depression. It was the time of strong temptations, and she feared 
 slie would perish. After many a struggle ^vith sin, Satan and un- 
 belief. — added to a deep sense of unworthiness, — she obtained, 
 through faith in Christ, the victory over all her enemies ; and from 
 that time she went on her way looking to Jesus. The Lord gave 
 lier a deep and piercing view of the fall and depravity of human 
 nature, which kept her in the valley of humiliation, all through her 
 life, to the day of her passage through Jordan. She was imited in 
 church-fellowship with the Wesleyan Methodists worshipping at 
 Ha wley- Square Chapel, Margate. There she was, also a teacher in 
 the Sunday-School, and a true lover of the little children. But 
 she never could be induced to take " an upper class," — ^preferring 
 " the lambs," as she styled her favourite charge. Any who mani- 
 fested an inclination to be really serious, were objects of her tenderest 
 solicitude; and these she had once in the week at her own home, for 
 prayer, counsel, and free conversation. She was a collector for the 
 Bible Society, and ever willing to forward, to the extent of her 
 power, the Redeemer's kingdom. 
 
 It was at Margate, and when she was much depressed in spirits, 
 that she wrote most of her much-admired poems. The first edition, 
 consisting of five hundred copies, went off ^n a few weeks ; and a 
 second, enlarged and revised, appeared three montlis later. She 
 contributed, also, to various periodicals devoted to the interests of 
 reli^on and humanity ; besides devoting time and care to the gratifi- 
 cation of fi-iends who were continually invoking her nmse. She 
 was a letter- writer for ixx)r and aged widows, finding a genuine 
 pleasure in doing anything to add to the comfort of such parties. 
 Her sympathy was, indeed, peculiarly shown toward young children 
 and aged widows. 
 
 At the time when her poetry was passing under the notice of 
 various reviewers, and their opinions were coming under her eye. 
 
M.EMOIR OF EMMA TATHAM. 9 
 
 she never seemed to be moved by the high praises bestowed, — save 
 that she wondered exceedingly, and could not believe the flattering 
 award to be due. If any remarks were made for her improvement, 
 she received them with willing gratitude, and was ever ready to be 
 instructed, giving all praise to the grace of God. Hers was, cer- 
 tainly, one of the the most afi'ectionate, obliging, humble, sincere, 
 truthful, and teachable spirits that ever dwelt in fleshly tabernacle. 
 Whatever others chose to say, she had always most self-abasing 
 views of herself. 
 
 And here, for some moments, let us commune with her in secret, 
 as " under the shadow of the Almighty." A touching record has 
 been found, — or, more correctly, a fragment of such record — which 
 enables us to estimate the tone of her inmost devotions. It is 
 solemnly inscribed to her " best Friend, the Lord Jesus Christ," — 
 a memorial of his mercies, and of her own ever-deepening penitence. 
 " I would have it," she observes, " to be my complete submission 
 and outpouring of all that is within me unto Him." A few sentences 
 of this journal shall be given, without enfeebling comment : — 
 
 "I was not: thou didst create me in pure love to my happiness. 
 Thou didst, of Thy own will alone, create me to enjoy thy love for 
 ever ; to be washed in Thy blood more white than snow, and be with 
 Thee in glory. Thou hadst died for me ere Thou madest me. 
 Thou breathedst into me a soul immortal, capable of enjoying Thy 
 favour ; a mind to comprehend Thy sweet truth ; a heart to obey 
 
 and love Thee : eyes to see a thousand lovely things Ah ! why 
 
 bestow on such a wi*etch as I am the pleasure of gazing on thy fair 
 works, of hearing pleasant music and the sweet tones of affection ? 
 Why cause me to enjoy the pure fragrance of thy flowers ? and why 
 
 make my food so sweet to me, so various ? Thou didst choose 
 
 for me praying and loving parents. Beloved Saviour ! when I was 
 a helpless babe. Thy gentle hand laid me tenderly on my mother's 
 bosom. Tliou didst plead for me in their hearts, putting into them 
 such deep, glowing, u.ndying love to me, a creatm'e totally hateful, 
 that it has never left me, but has been my soft pillow, my cool shade. 
 
10 MEMOIR OF EMMA TATHAM, 
 
 my chariot, my banquet, my palace, all my life. This was Thy gift 
 of love, ^i^ow didst incline them to toil for me, a creature that 
 neither asked nor thanked nor helped them, nor cared for them, 
 day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year 
 
 Blessed be Thou for giving me such a father and mother, 
 
 and for sparing them ! O, may I dwell \vith them in heaven for 
 
 ever ! Thou didst sustain me through my thankless, helpless 
 
 infency, and my more evil childhood. Thou gavest me Thy Book, 
 and many other books, and many, many enjoyments. Thou didst 
 take care of me during every night, and many great storms when 
 I neither asked Thee nor thanked Thee Thou didst pre- 
 serve me from fire, earthquake, and robbers Thou alone hast 
 
 loved me, knowing me altogether ; loved me with perfect, boundless 
 love, — all the love my soul desireth. Thou couldst not have loved 
 me more. Thou hast loved me with boundless love : far, far above 
 the burning love af angels, the love of lovers, the love of mothers. 
 Thou art nought toward me but infinite love : I would be nought 
 
 but love to Thee ! O, what an infinite distance betwixt Thee 
 
 and me ! Thee, the Holiest, loveliest ; me the foulest, basest, most 
 loathesome. Yet Thou, with dying pain, with infinite love and 
 pity, didst give Thy glorious self to me : didst with thine own blood 
 buy for me every breath I draw, every beat of my pulse, every throb 
 of my heart, every moment of grace, every desire, every prayer, 
 every feeling of hope, love, joy, fiiith, or penitence, I ever knew ; 
 intellect, poetry, all my parents love, my valuable books, my Bible, 
 
 my chapel, my dear Ministers and Christian friends Thou 
 
 hast borne all my shame,[my curse, my sentence, all that I deserve : 
 Thou liast bought for me the full, perfect, honourable, free forgive- 
 ness of all my sins. TJiou hast pitrchased for me as much as if I 
 were the only sinner. Thou hast given me'a glorious, glorious par- 
 don: a full admission to Thy Father's eternal smile; an ocean of 
 love ; perfect peace, living faith, the Spirit of adoption, communion 
 with the Father : all His care, and all Thy promises ; the victory 
 over the world, over the devil, over myself, over death and the 
 
MEMOIR OF EMMA TATHAM. 11 
 
 grave. Thou hast, with incomprehensible pain and love, bought 
 for me an endless home with Thee ; entire purity of nature ; unspot- 
 ted joy ; a white robe washed in Thy blood, a golden harp, a bright, 
 eternal crown ; the dehcious society of angels, and [all] Thy lovely 
 followers. Thy bosom, my home, my own rest ; Thy smile, my 
 feast for ever, for ever, for ever ! Boundless joy 1 Thou hast — 
 yes ! Thou hast— bestowed it all on me : I know it. Therefore, 
 since all Thy love was given, is given, to me, my whole love is 
 Thine for ever. Do to me as Thou wilt. Thou art all I love : I 
 
 love all Thou doest My heart is Thine: make me all Thou 
 
 lovest. Reign in my every word, thought, feeling, look, and action. 
 What wilt Thou have me to do ? O, tell me everything ! " 
 * * * * =^ 
 
 But the story of this young Christian is as brief as beautiful. — In 
 the spring of 1855 she was frequently troubled with a pain in her 
 chest, and sometimes in her side. There was much weakness, also, 
 at times, but she was most unfiling to complain. A change of 
 air being thought desirable, her mother accompanied her, June 22d, 
 1855, to Redbourn, Hertfortshire, on a visit to the Rev. J. C. and 
 Mrs. Westbrook. Up to July the 31st, she appeared to improve 
 in health, in consequence of which her stay was prolonged; but 
 arrangements were made for her return home on the 18th of August. 
 From the tone of her correspondence, her parents cherished the hope 
 of receiving her back in a much improved state. But "O the depth 
 of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God ! How un- 
 searchable are His judgments, and His ways past finding out !'' 
 
 It appears that on Lord's day, August 5th, she attended Divine 
 service in the morning, but was unable to go either in the after- 
 noon or the evening. She continued to vary, up to Thursday, the 
 9th, when a violent sickness made it necessary to call in medical 
 aid. On Saturday slie appeared to improve a little ; but on Sunday, 
 the 12th, she was not able to leave her room. Her sufferings now 
 became alarming, and her mother was desired to hasten to Redbourn. 
 On her arrival, Mrs. Tatham was greatly distressed to see her 
 
12 MEMOIR OF EMMA TATHAM. 
 
 beloved child reduced by acute suffering, to a state of total prostra- 
 tion. Duiing this season of anguish, however, the sufferer manifested 
 the most Christian patience. The Rev. G. I. Johnson, an aged 
 Minister of Christ, inquired of her what he should particularly pray 
 for; and received answer, "That I may have entire resignation,** 
 Mrs. Westbrook observed, " How good it is to have Jesus near us in 
 the hour of trial!" "Yes! "said MissTatham; "but I cannot 
 either pray or trust him as I ought: I feel I deserve to perish. 
 Jesus! Saviour ! help me to come to Thee ! Save me ! Thou art all, 
 — all in all. My Saviour ! be thou near me tlu'ough Hfe's night. 
 Give, give me Thy Holy Spirit ! Jesus ! Jesus ! may I not be im- 
 patient or ungratefiil ! " 
 
 As it appeared doubtful how the affliction would terminate, her 
 father was sent for. When he arrived on Saturday, the 18th, he 
 found her in some degree relieved ; and his deep sorrow was assuaged 
 by her expressions of entire resignation, to the will of God. Her 
 mind was calm and peaceful, simply resting on the merits of her 
 Bedeemer. 
 
 On the 27th she left her room for a short time, and a trembling 
 hope was now entertained that she would recover. In consequence, 
 her father ventured to take his departure on the 28th, leaving the 
 mother and daughter to return, by easy stages, as soon as the 
 medical attendant should consider it safe so to do. Her parting 
 words to her father were in answer to some remark on the resur- 
 rection of Lazarus. " Yes ! yes ! dear father," she exclaimed ; 
 " Jesus is ofb Life." In the course of the same day a difficulty 
 of breathing came on ; but it yielded to medical treatment. On 
 Wednesday, the 29th, she requested Mr, Westbrook to come to 
 her bedside, and take down in pencil, whilst she dictated, the fol- 
 lowing verses ;— 
 
MEMOIE OF EMMA TATHAM. 1^ 
 
 PRAISE FOR THE HARVEST.* 
 
 Father, with what goodness Thou hast crown'd the glad year 
 
 now! 
 How happy is the crown of gold that sparkles on her brow ! 
 Thy silver ship, the joyous moon, rolls o'er a yellow sea, 
 Where every trembling billow lifts and claps its hands to Thee. 
 
 O flood of overflowing Love ! O shame on hearts so chill ! 
 Our fears are like the mountains, but Loves deluge drown them still. 
 Those hands that fed by Galilee — those on the cross outspread — 
 O ! wherefore did we ever doubt those hands would give us bread ? 
 
 See where the tribes together stream beneath their Father's hand. 
 Which doth the countless manna teem all over Britain's land ; 
 One broad, blest banquet for the world, the princely and the poor, — 
 Type of the Bread which giveth life to souls for evermore ! 
 
 Early in the morning of Saturday, September 1st, she requested 
 that her friends might come near to pray with her, as she was 
 suffering greatly from pain in her side and throat. It now became 
 evident that she was failing fast. But her spirit was on the wing 
 of hope for glory. Some considerable time after, she again begged 
 her mother to call her friends to her bedside : and, addressing Mr. 
 Westbrook, she said, " Please fetch all you can, all I know, that 
 they may see hovj happij I am" Soon a number of young female 
 teachers belonging to the Sunday-school, iind some few of the neigh- 
 bours, were at her bed-side. To each she addressed a few words, 
 and gave a parting kiss ; then saying to all present, with much 
 
 * This was her last effusion of verse. In the July preceding, she had 
 Avritten, '* Moses on Pisgah : " — 
 
 " O that I might go over — might but tread 
 One moment that fair land, whose sacred soil 
 The feet of Abraham and Isaac trod! " &c. 
 See Wesleyan-Melhodist Magazine, 1855, p. 1046. 
 
 Many of her Manuscripts have not seen the light. The admirers of the one 
 volume, already named, will be glad to hear that there is ample material for a 
 second; and that the occasion of publishing will not improbably elicit a more 
 copious biography. 
 
14 ME^lOIB or EMMA TATHAM. 
 
 fervour, "Loye Jesus ! Love Him with all your heart and strength. 
 I love Him very much ; He loves me ; He will love me to the end/' 
 At this point she was interrupted by returning agony ; but she 
 soon resumed ; " A little pain, — only a little : He will help me to 
 
 bear it O, love Jesus, all of you : tell all I know to love Hun 
 
 with all their hearts ! Tell my dear friend " (naming the medical 
 attendant) " there is nothing like loving Jesus." Then, looking 
 again at her young friends, she said, with much force and eflfect, 
 "There is nothing so hateful as sin. 0! hate sin — hate sin/^ 
 Turning to Mr. Westbrook, she said, " Meet me in glory," On 
 seeing her friends weep, she earnestly said, " Do not weep — do not 
 weep. O, no ! See, how happy I am ! I cannot help telling you 
 Blessed Jesus ! He is with me; He is here. Tell my dear father, — 
 
 *Jesus can make a dying bed 
 
 Feel soft as downy pillows are ; 
 Whilst on his breast I lean my head. 
 
 And breathe my life out sweetly there.' ' 
 
 Again and again she softly repeated, 
 
 " And breathe my life out sweetly there." 
 
 "Though 1 walk through the valley of the shadow of death," — Mr. 
 Westbrook quoted Psalm xxiii. 4, — " I Avill fear no evil : for Thou 
 art with me ; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me." " The 
 valley !" she rejoined : "it is not dark. Jesus is with me. This is 
 the happiest time of my life." And again : " Is this dying ? Death 
 has no sting for me : Christ has taken it away. Glorious — glorious 
 — glorious! Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly! I tliink I shall die 
 without much pain ; but, if not. His will be done. / /lave not a 
 single fear : it is all joy T 
 
 Her face seemed now to glow with more radiance than ever ; and, 
 sitting up in bed, and clapping her hands in an ecstacy, she cried out 
 aloud, " Glory ! Glory ! Glory ! He is coming ! I shall soon 
 be with Him. I am so happy that I ciinnot help singing. I must 
 — I cannot help it. This^ this is not madness ! I knoio what I 
 
MEMOIR OV EMMA TATHAM. 15 
 
 say." Again : " Tell my dear father, death was so sweet. Tell him, 
 Jesus was with me all through. Tell him, I soon shall be singing 
 sweeter poetry. Tell him, Cheist is my Life. Because He 
 DIED, I shall live, — LIVE FOR EVER WITH HiM. I shall see my 
 dear aunt, and my sweet sister Charlotte ; and it will be all glory 
 
 — glory — glory Do not mind if you see me change : it will 
 
 soon be over Hate sin, — O ! hate sin, — all of you ! " 
 
 Mr. Westbrook said, 
 
 " There we shall see His face. 
 
 And never, never sin ; 
 There from the rivers of his grace. 
 
 Drink endless pleasures in." 
 *'0 yes ! " she continued; "endless — endless ! — Dear Mr. Westbrook, 
 bring as many bright sheaves with you as you can. Preach Jesus ! 
 Preach Jesus !" To a friend, who had just come in to see hei*, she 
 
 said, " Love Jesus !" no one else can make you happy I shall 
 
 soon see Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob." A little later she asked 
 for some slight refreshing beverage, and then said, " I shall soon 
 drink the sweet watei*s of life, for which I have so longed, and which 
 I once feared I should never taste. I prayed Jesus to give me the 
 Holy Spirit, and it was wrong to doubt if He would bestow the 
 gift. None of you need fear to ask Him for the Holy Spirit ; for 
 He will give with more delight than the most affectionate father 
 
 or mother." She now paused, as she did frequently, to look 
 
 at the beloved parent who hung over her bed of languisliing, and 
 to requite her care with some utterance of grateful affection. Slie 
 soon resumed : " Jesus has washed my soul in His precious blood, 
 and made me clean." Again ; " I have several messages for you, 
 dear mother, to give to my dear absent friends. Tell Mr. Thomas, 
 Rowe" (a venerable Class-leader at Hawley-square chapel, Margate) 
 — " tell him what a happy death mine was. Thank him for his 
 kindness and counsels. Say, I was much distressed sometimes hi 
 my life j but now I have not one fear. My Saviour is with me. 
 He has washed all my sins away. — Tell Mr. Mowatt" (the Minister 
 
16 MEMOIR OP EMMA TATHAM. 
 
 of the same chapel) "to preach Jesus." In a like affecting 
 
 strain she sent last messages to other cherished friends, begging 
 them to love Jesus, and teach the young to love Him. " Tell Mrs. 
 Sun," she said, " Emma sent her last dying kiss ; and tell her to 
 love Jesus. Tell Mr. Sim that Jesus gives the victory over death. 
 
 It will not be long before he is with me in glory Tell my 
 
 deal' cousin not to love Jesus with halfhev heart, but with her 
 
 whole soul. Tell her she must meet me, for she is the sister of my 
 heart. She must come to me in glory. To love Christ is glory. Tell 
 
 he must not love money. He cannot be happy wibhout 
 
 Jesus, if he had all the gold, pleasure, or fame, that the world could 
 give. Tell my dear little Alice that she must read the Bible every 
 
 day." "Thank Mr. Dean for his kindness tome; but tell 
 
 him all imisi he to the 'praise of Jesus. Every thing must be as 
 clear as sunlight, and as white as snow, or it will not do for God."/ 
 The gentleman named, who took a lively interest in the introduction 
 of her writings to the public, had collected a number of most en- 
 comiastic notices from the public papers and reviews, — which, 
 reprinted, and entitled " Golden Opinions," were presented to her 
 on her birth-day, October 31st, 1854. " Tell him," she said, re- 
 ferring to his obliging offices, " he was a very kind and affectionate 
 friend, but that Jesus is * a Friend that sticketh closer than a 
 brother.* Not one line of mine, that is not to the praise of Jesus ^ 
 atid in harmony with His pure truths must ever he printed." Other 
 messages to friends, a considerable number of whom she named with 
 tender care, contain such particulars as the following : — " Death iis 
 sweet with Jesus : He is all our true joy." " Tell Mrs. J." (a blind 
 lady) " to look to Christ. He is the Light of the world. He will 
 be her Light. There is no night in heaven : she will meet me there. 
 Jesus will opfen her eyes, and she shall look on Him." 
 
 Recovering from fresh paroxysms of suffering, she began again 
 to console her heart-stricken friends: "Everything yon sn w dark wjis 
 the valley i everything you saw strange, was temptation/. I could 
 scarcely tell where I was. You will, all of you, have to pass througli 
 
MEMOIR OF EMMA TATHAM. 17 
 
 it. But faith in Jesus gives the victory. A Uttle darkness : but 
 soon all wiVL be light — all will be brightness for ever.^' "These 
 pains come when the shadow of death is passmg before me ; but by 
 faith I shall conquer all." " Tell my dear father, (for he will not 
 deny my last request,) if he loves me, he wiU not let one word of 
 mine be printed, which is not as pure, and holy, and true, as human 
 frailty could [hope to] write, with the aid of the Holy Spirit. 
 
 She now continued quiet for an hour or two, until severe agony 
 returned. As soon as this abated, she said, " The pain is gone. I 
 have no fear : Jesus is with me. I shall soon be in heaven. Jesus, 
 my Saviour ! I cast myself altogether on Thy mercy. Let me 
 
 triumph by faith in Thee. Do Thou receive me." She was 
 
 now silent, and her friends left the room. Some considerable time 
 after, fever set in, and she had a very restless night. But on the 
 following morning (the morning of the Lord's day) she sang, with 
 soft, sweet voice, the animating lines, — 
 
 " My Jesus to know, and feel His blood flow, 
 'Tis life everlasting, 'tis heaven below ; 
 And this I shall prove, till with joy I remove 
 To the heaven of heavens in Jesus's love V 
 
 And now, after praying with great fervour for her friends, present 
 and absent, she gathered herself up to die. The chills of mortality 
 were on her forehead ; but she revived a little, and partook of slight 
 refreshment. During the night she slept calmly. The next day 
 she spoke but little : once or twice, however, the words, " Glory ! 
 Grlory ! " escaped her lips. Toward evening she became weaker and 
 weaker, and gradually sank to her everlasting rest in Jesus. She 
 ceased to breathe about the hour of one, on Tuesday morning, 
 September 4th, 1855. Thus the immortal spirit escaped from its 
 prison, which was broken dowTi by death. — To quote her own sweet 
 lines ; — 
 
 " The babe dies peacefully in the warm arms 
 Of its sweet mother, while the glowing life 
 
18 MEMOIR OF EMMA TATHAM. 
 
 Of the fond heart whereto she presses it 
 Half bmds the fluttering dove to its white cage. 
 And keeps the pulse at play. 0, she would pour 
 Her own hfe into the cold cold babe with joy ! 
 Therefore she binds him so about her heart, 
 To make him still live on, thinking to blend 
 Her being with the babe : but lo ! the bud 
 Of immortality, nursed in her breast. 
 Hath blossom'd into heaven. So let me die 
 Where the warm life of Jesus shall inspire 
 My fainting spirit, and His heart shall beat 
 New pulses into mine ! " 
 
 Her prayer was auswered ; for thus she died. — Her mortal re- 
 mains were interred, according to her own request, in the burial- 
 ground of the chapel, Redbourn, Herts. A large number of sor- 
 rowing friends attended on the mournM occasion, — some of whom 
 had come from considerable distances. On the folio (ving Sunday 
 evening, a most impressive discourse was delivered by the Rev. 
 J. C. Westbrook, founded on the text, a favourite one with the dear 
 departed, — "Christ is our Life." 
 
 The Volume, ivith Memoir, price hs., postage free (which may 
 be remitted in stamps,) on application to Mr. Keble, High Street ; 
 or Mr. G. Tatham, 7, Addington Square, Margate, Kent. 
 
 KKBLE, PRINTER. 
 
POEMS. 
 
Thou who dost write Thy name 
 In rapture's tears upon the rainbow's arch; 
 And trace it on the mountains with a swift 
 And eloquent lightning pen; and on the flowers 
 With pencil dipp'd in honey and the dye 
 Of morning's ruddy cheek and golden hair; 
 And on the eyes of childhood with sunbeams; 
 And on the wings of glorious butterfly 
 With powdery gems and gold ; 
 On angels' foreheads with the flaming plumb 
 Of intellect's white wing, dipp'd in the fire 
 Of inspiration; on the martyr's brow 
 With blood; and on the cataracts in heaps 
 Of thunder visible; and on clouds of storm 
 In rapturous blackness; and on morning's eyes 
 With fading stars; and on the hearts op saints 
 In Thy own beautiful image crimson-traced 
 
 As BY A pierced HAND: 
 
 O Thou whose poetry and love in one, 
 
 Walk forth where'er Thou art, and hand in hand 
 
 Encircle heaven and earth, Thou above praise ! 
 
 Exalted infinitely ; O great GOD ! 
 
 Hear me, and make me a pure golden harp 
 
 For Thy soft finger. Might I be Thy bird, 
 
 Hidden from all, singing to Thee alone. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The Dream of Pythagoras ., 
 
 God is Love 
 
 The Mother's Vigil 
 
 The Call of Samuel 
 
 The Tempest Hymn ... 
 
 The Church of Christ ... 
 
 "Thine is the Kingdom" 
 
 The Beloved Star 
 
 The Greater Bliss ... 
 
 To Live 
 
 To Die 
 
 Harps of God ... 
 
 The Fallen Angel ... 
 
 Tempest Songs ... 
 
 The Children of the Year . 
 
 Lovely Spring 
 
 A Mother's Love ... 
 
 To the Little Children ... 
 
 The Sunbeam and the River 
 
 To Music 
 
 To THE White Rose 
 
 To the Sea -Bird 
 
 Learn from a Flower 
 
 To Alice 
 
 Cowper's Wilderness 
 
 Sleeping Babes 
 
 1 
 
 16 
 31 
 42 
 
 49 
 55 
 60 
 65 
 
 70 
 74 
 78 
 
 107 
 111 
 116 
 121 
 125 
 128 
 131 
 134 
 137 
 140 
 142 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 P&OB 
 
 The Gathered Snowdrops ... ... ... ... 143 
 
 Summer Night ... ... ... ... 144 
 
 An Eastern Twilight ... ... ... ... 145 
 
 The Wind ... ... ... ... ... 145 
 
 Evening ... ... ... ... ... ... 143 
 
 The Young Moon ... ... ... ... 149 
 
 The Rainbow ... ... ... ... ... 151 
 
 To MY Bride ... ... ... ... ... 153 
 
 The Broken Lily ... ... ... ... ... 155 
 
 Why do they die? ... ... ... ... 157 
 
 The Hour of Prayer ... .. ... ... 153 - 
 
 To MY Child in Heaven... ... ... ... 159 
 
 A Tear ... ... ... ... ... ... I6I 
 
 Evening Wish ... ... ... ... ... 163 
 
 Mother's Song to Little Bobby ... ... ... 165 
 
 Lament of the Bedford "Times" Coach ... ... 168 
 
 The Electric Telegraph ... ... ... ... 170 
 
 Milton's Daughter to her Father ... ... 173 
 
 To Miss Nightingale ... ... ... ... 175 
 
 Hubert ... ... ... ... ... 178 
 
 Thanksgiving Harvest Hymn ... ... ... 179 
 
 Jordan's Lament ... ... ... ... 184 
 
 Providence ... ... ... ... ... 186 
 
 The Eve of Martyrdom ... ... .. ... 187 
 
 William Penn ... ... ... ... ... 189 
 
 Wisdom ... ... ... ... ... 193 
 
 Faith ... ... ... ... ... ... 196 
 
 "Grieve not the Holy Spirit" ... ... ... 197 
 
 "The Desire of all Nations" ... ... ... 199 
 
 "To Him give all the Prophets witness" ... ... 201 
 
 *'as thy days, so shall thy strength be " ... ... 204 
 
 Elizabeth Fry's Farewell Visit to the "Maria" Female 
 
 Convict Ship, off Deptford ... ... ... 206 
 
 To the Wind . ... ... ... ... 212 
 
THE 
 
 DREAM OF PYTHAGORAS, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 THE DEEAM OF PTTHAGOEAS. 
 
 *'The soul was not then imprisoned in a gross mortal body, as it is 
 now ; it was united to a luminous, heavenly, ethereal body, which 
 served it as a vehicle to fly through the air, rise to the stars, and 
 wander over all the regions of immensity." 
 
 Pythagoras, Travels of Cyrus, Book vi. p. 178. 
 
 Pythagoras, amidst Crotona's groves, 
 One summer eve, sat ; whilst the sacred few 
 And favour'd at his feet reclin'd, entranc'd, 
 List'ning to his great teachings. O'er their heads 
 A lofty oak spread out his hundred hands 
 
 B 
 
2 THE DREAM OF PYTHAGORAS. 
 
 Umbrageous, and a thousand slant sunbeams 
 
 Play'd o'er them ; but beneath all was obscure 
 
 And solemn, save that, as the sun went down. 
 
 One pale and tremulous sunbeam, stealing in 
 
 Through the unconscious leaves her silent way, 
 
 Fell on the forehead of Pythagoras 
 
 Like spiritual radiance ; all else wrapt 
 
 In gloom delicious ; while the murmuring wind, 
 
 Oft moving through the forest as in dreams, 
 
 Made melancholy music. Then the sage 
 
 Thus spoke : " My children, listen ; let the soul 
 
 Hear her mysterious origin, and trace 
 
 Her backward path to heaven. 'Twas but a dream ; 
 
 And yet from shadows may we learn the shape 
 
 And substance of undying truth. Methought 
 
 In vision I beheld the first beginning 
 
 And after-changes of my soul. joy ! 
 
 She is of no mean origin, but sprang 
 
 From loftier source than stars or sunbeams know. 
 
 Yea, like a small and feeble rill that bursts 
 
 From everlasting mountain's coronet, 
 
 And, winding through a thousand labyrinths 
 
 Of darkness, deserts, and di'ear solitudes, 
 
 Yet never dies, but, gaining depth and power, 
 
THE DREAM OF PYTHAGORAS. 
 
 Leaps forth at last with uncontrollable might 
 
 Into immortal sunshine and the breast 
 
 Of boundless ocean, — so is this my soul. 
 
 I felt myself spring like a sunbeam out 
 
 From the Eternal, and my first abode 
 
 Was a pure particle of light, wherein 
 
 Shrined like a beam in crystal, I did ride 
 
 Gloriously through the firmament on wings 
 
 Of floating flowers, ethereal gems, and wreaths 
 
 Of vernal rainbows. I did paint a rose 
 
 With blush of day-dawn, and a lily-bell 
 
 With mine own essence ; every morn I dipt 
 
 My robe in the full sun, then all day long 
 
 Shook out its dew on earth, and was content 
 
 To be unmark'd, unworshipp'd, and unknown, 
 
 And only lov'd of heaven. Thus did my soul 
 
 Live spotless like her Source. 'Twas mine t' illume 
 
 The palaces of nature, and explore 
 
 Her hidden cabinets, and, raptur'd, read 
 
 Her joyous secrets. return, thou life 
 
 Of purity ! I flew from mountain-top 
 
 To mountain, building rainbow-bridges up— 
 
 From hill to hill, and over boundless seas : 
 
 Ecstasy was such life, and on the verge 
 
4 THE DREAM OF PYTHAGORAa 
 
 Of ripe perfection. But, alas ! I saw 
 
 And envied the bold lightning, who could blind 
 
 And stai'tle nations, and I long'd to be 
 
 A conqueror strong to destroy, like him. 
 
 Methought it was a glorious joy, indeed, 
 
 To shut and open heaven as he did. 
 
 And have the thunders for my retinue. 
 
 And tear the clouds, and blacken palaces. 
 
 And in a moment whiten sky, and sea, 
 
 And earth : therefore I murmur'd at my lot. 
 
 Beautiful as it was, and that one murmur 
 
 Despoil'd me of my glory. I became 
 
 A dark and tyrant cloud driven by the storm, 
 
 Too earthly to be bright, too hard of heart 
 
 To drop in mercy on the thirsty land ; 
 
 And so no creature lov'd me. I was felt 
 
 A blot where'er I came. Fair Summer scom'd 
 
 And spurn'd me from her blueness, for, she said, 
 
 I would not wear her golden fringe, and so 
 
 She could not rank me in her sparkling train. 
 
 Soft Spring refused me, for she could not paint 
 
 Her rainbows on a nature cold as mine, 
 
 Incapable of tears. Autumn despis'd 
 
 One who could do no good. Dark Winter frown'd, 
 
THE DREAM OF PYTHAGORAS, 
 
 And number'd me among his ruffian host 
 
 Of racers. Then unceasingly I fled 
 
 Despairing through the murky firmament, 
 
 Like a lone wreck athwart a midnight sea, 
 
 Chased by the howling spirits of the storm, 
 
 And without rest. At last, one day I saw. 
 
 In my continual flight, a desert blank 
 
 And broad beneath me, where no water was ; 
 
 And there I mark'd a weary antelope. 
 
 Dying for thirst, all stretch'd out on the sand, 
 
 "With her poor trembling lips in agony 
 
 Press'd to a scorch'd-up spring ; then, then, at last 
 
 My hard heart broke, and I could weep. At once 
 
 My terrible race was stopp'd, and I did melt 
 
 Into the desert's heart, and with my tears 
 
 T quench'd the thirst of the poor antelope. 
 
 So having pour'd myself into the dry 
 
 And desolate waste, I sprang up a wild flower 
 
 In solitary beauty. There I grew 
 
 Alone and feverish, for the hot sun burn'd. 
 
 And parch'd my tender leaves, and not a sigh 
 
 Came from the winds. I seem'd to breathe an air 
 
 Of fire, and had resigned myself to death. 
 
 When lo ! a solitary dewdrop fell 
 
6 THE DREAM OF PYTHAGORAS. 
 
 Into my burning bosom ; then, for joy, 
 
 My spirit rush'd into my lovely guest, 
 
 And I became a dewdrop. Then, once more, 
 
 My life was joyous, for the kingly sun 
 
 Carried me up into the firmament. 
 
 And hung me in a rainbow, and my soul 
 
 Was robed in seven bright colours, and became 
 
 A jewel in the sky. So did I learn 
 
 The first great lessons ; mark ye them, my sons. 
 
 Obedience is nobility ; and meek 
 
 Humility is glory ; self alone 
 
 Is base ; and pride is pain ; patience is power ; 
 
 Beneficence is bliss. And now first brought 
 
 To know myself and feel my littleness, 
 
 I was to learn what greatness is prepar'd 
 
 For virtuous souls, what mighty war they wage, 
 
 What vast impossibilities o'ercome. 
 
 What kingdoms^ and infinitude of love. 
 
 And harmony, and never-ending joy. 
 
 And converse and communion with the great 
 
 And glorious Mind unknown, — are given to high. 
 
 And godlike souls. 
 
 " Therefore the winds arose. 
 And shook me from the rainbow where I hung, 
 
THE DREAM OF PYTHAGORAS. 7 
 
 Into the depths of ocean ; then I dived 
 
 Down to the coral citadels, and roved 
 
 Through crystal mazes, among pearls and gems, 
 
 And lovely buried creatures, who had sunk 
 
 To find the jewel of eternal life. 
 
 Sweet babes I saw clasp'd in their mothers' arms ; 
 
 Kings of the north, each with his oozy crown ; 
 
 Pale maidens, with their golden streaming hair 
 
 Floating in solemn beauty, calm and still, 
 
 In the deep, silent, tideless wave ; I saw 
 
 Young beauteous boys wash'd down from reeling masts 
 
 By sudden storm ; and brothers sleeping soft, 
 
 Lock'd in each others' arms ; and countless wealth, 
 
 And curling weed, and treasur'd knots of hair, , 
 
 And mouldering masts, and giant hulls that sank 
 
 With thunder sobbing ; and blue palaces 
 
 Where moonbeams, hand in hand, did dance with me 
 
 To the soft music of the surging shells. 
 
 Where all else was at rest. Calm, calm, and hush'd. 
 
 And stormless, were those hidden deeps, and clear 
 
 And pure as crystal. There I wander'd long 
 
 In speechless dreamings, and well nigh forgot 
 
 My corporeal nature, for it seem'd 
 
 Melting into the silent infinite 
 
8 THE DREAM OF PYTHAGORAS. 
 
 Around me, and I peacefully began 
 To feel the mighty universe commune 
 And converse with me, and my soul became 
 One note in nature's harmony. So sweet 
 And soothing was that dream-Uke ecstasy, 
 I could have slept into a wave and roll'd 
 Away through the blue mysteries for ever, 
 Dreaming my soul to nothing ; I could well 
 Have drown'd my spark of immortality 
 In drunkenness of peace ; I knew not yet 
 The warrior life of virtue, and the high 
 And honourable strife and storm that cleanse 
 And exercise her pinions. I was now 
 To learn the rapture of the struggle made 
 For immortality and truth ; therefore 
 The ocean toss'd me to his mountain chains. 
 Bidding me front the tempest ; fires of heaven 
 Were dancing o'er his cataracts, and scaring 
 His sounding billows ; glorious thunders roll'd 
 Beneath, above, around ; the strong winds fought. 
 Lifting up pyramids of tortur'd waves. 
 Then dashing them to foam. I saw great ships 
 As feathers on the opening sepulchi'es 
 And starting monuments, 
 
THE DREAM OF PYTHAGORAS. 9 
 
 And the gaunt waves leap'd up like fountains fierce, 
 And snatch'd down frighten'd clouds, then, shouting, 
 
 fell. 
 And rose again. I, whirling on their tops, 
 Dizzy flew over masts of staggering ships. 
 Then plunged into black night. My soul grew mad, 
 Kavish'd with the intense magnificence 
 Of the harmonious chaos, for I heard 
 Music amidst the thunders, and I saw 
 Measure in all the madness of the waves 
 And whirlpools ; yea, I lifted up my voice 
 In praise to the Eternal, for I felt 
 Rock'd in His hand, as in a cradling couch, 
 Rejoicing in His strength ; yea, I found rest 
 In the unbounded roar, and fearless sang 
 Glad echo to the thunder, and flash'd back 
 The bright look of the lightning, and did fly 
 On the dark pinions of the hurricane spirit 
 In rapturous repose ; till suddenly 
 My soul expanded, and I sprang aloft 
 Into the lightning flame, leaping for joy 
 From cloud to cloud. Then, first I felt my wings 
 Wave into immortality, and flew 
 Across the ocean with a shouting host 
 
10 THE DREAM OF PYTHAGORAS. 
 
 Of thunders at my heels, and lit up heaven, 
 
 And earth, and sea, with one quick lamp, and crown'd 
 
 The mountains with a momentary gold. 
 
 Then cover'd them with blackness. Then I glanced 
 
 Upon the mighty city in her sleep, 
 
 Pierced all her mysteries with one swift look, 
 
 Then bade my thunders shout. The city trembled ; 
 
 And, charm'd with the sublime outcry, I paus'd 
 
 And listen'd. Yet had I to rise and learn 
 
 A loftier lesson. I was lifted high 
 
 Into the heavens, and there became a star, 
 
 And on my new-form'd orb two angels sat. 
 
 The one thus spoke : ^ spirit, young and pure ! 
 
 Say, wilt thou be my shrine ? I am of old. 
 
 The first of all things, and of all the greatest ; 
 
 I am the Sovereign Majesty to whom 
 
 The universe is given ; though for awhile 
 
 I war with rebels strong ; my name is Truth. 
 
 I am the Spirit of wisdom, love, and power, 
 
 And come to claim thee ; and if thou obey 
 
 My guiding, I will give thee thy desire, 
 
 Even eternal life.' He ceas'd, and then 
 
 The second angel spoke. ' Ask not, soul ! 
 
 My name ; I bid thee free thyself, and know 
 
THE BREAM OF PYTHAGORAS. 11 
 
 Thou hast the fount of life in thy own breast, 
 And need'st no guiding ; be a child no longer ; 
 Throw oif thy fetters, and with me enjoy 
 Thy native independence, and assert 
 Thy innate majesty ; Truth binds not me, 
 And yet I am immortal ; be thou, too, 
 A god unto thyself.' 
 
 "But I had learn 'd 
 My own deep insufficiency, and gazed 
 Indignant on th' unholy angel's face. 
 And pierced its false refulgence, knowing well 
 Obedience only is true Hberty 
 For spirits form'd to obey ; so best they reign. 
 Straight the base rebel fled, and, rul'd by Truth, 
 I roU'd unerring on my shining road 
 Around a glorious centre ; free, though bound, 
 Because love bound me, and my law became 
 My life and nature, and my lustrous orb 
 Pure spirits visited ; I wore a light 
 That shone across infinitude, and serv'd 
 To guide returning wanderers. I sang 
 With all my starry sisters, and we danced 
 Around the throne of Time, and wash'd the base 
 Of high Eternity like golden sands. 
 
12 THE DREAM OF PYTHAGORAS. 
 
 There first my soul drank music, and was taught 
 
 That melody is part of heaven, and lives 
 
 In every heaven-bom spirit like her breath ; 
 
 There did I learn, that music without end 
 
 Breathes, murmurs, swells, echoes, and floats, and peals, 
 
 And thunders through creation, and in truth 
 
 Is the celestial language, and the voice 
 
 Of love ; and now my soul began to speak 
 
 The speech of immortality. But yet 
 
 I was to learn a lesson more severe — 
 
 To shine alone in darkness, and the deeps 
 
 Of sordid earth. So did I fall from heaven 
 
 Far into night, beneath the mountains' roots, 
 
 There, as a diamond burning, amidst things 
 
 Too base for utterance. Then, alas ! I felt 
 
 The stirrings of impatience, pining sore 
 
 For freedom, and communion with the fires 
 
 And majesties of heaven, with whom erewhile 
 
 I walk'd their equal. I had not yet learn'd 
 
 That our appointed place is loftiest, 
 
 However lowly. I was made to feel 
 
 The dignity of suffering. 0, my sons ! 
 
 Sorrow and joy are but the spirit's life. 
 
 Without these she is scarcely animate ; 
 
THE DREAM OF PYTHAGORAS. 13 
 
 Anguish and bliss ennoble : either proves 
 
 The greatness of its subject, and expands 
 
 Her nature into power ; her every pulse 
 
 Beats into new-born force, urging her on 
 
 To conquering energy. Then was I cast 
 
 Into hot fires and flaming furnaces, 
 
 Deep in the hollow globe ; there did I bum 
 
 Deathless in agony, without one murmur, 
 
 Longing to die, until my patient soul 
 
 Fainted into perfection ; at that hour, 
 
 Being victorious, I was snatch'd away 
 
 To yet another lesson. I became 
 
 A date-tree in the desert, to pour out 
 
 My life in dumb benevolence, and full 
 
 Obedience to each wind of heaven that blew. 
 
 The traveller came — I gave him all my shade, 
 
 Asking for no reward ; the lost bird flew 
 
 For shelter to my branches, and I hid 
 
 Her nest among my leaves ; the sunbeams ask'd 
 
 To rest their hot and weary feet awhile 
 
 On me, and I spread out my every arm 
 
 T ' embrace them, fanning them with all my plumes. 
 
 Beneath my shade the dying pilgrim fell, 
 
 Praying for water ; I cool dewdrops caught 
 
14 THE DREAM OF PYTHAGORAS. 
 
 And shook them on his lip ; I gave my fruit 
 To streDgthen the faint stranger, and I sang 
 Soft echoes to the winds, living in nought 
 For self ; but in all things for others' good. 
 The storm arose, and patiently I bore 
 And yielded to his tyranny ; I bow'd 
 My tenderest foliage to his angry blast, 
 And sujffer'd him to tear it without sigh, 
 And scatter on the waste my all of wealth. 
 The billowing sands o'erwhelm'd me, yet I stood 
 Silent beneath them ; so they roU'd away. 
 And rending up my roots, left me a wreck 
 Upon the wilderness. 
 
 " ' Twas thus, my sons, 
 I dream'd my spirit wander'd, till at length, 
 As desolate 1 mourn'd my helpless woe, 
 My guardian angel took me to his heart. 
 And thus he said : ' Spirit, well tried and true ! 
 Conqueror I have made thee, and prepar'd 
 For human life ; behold ! I wave the palm 
 Of immortality before thine eyes : 
 'Tis thine ; it shall be thine, if thou aright 
 Acquit thee of the part which yet remains, 
 And teach what thou hast leam'd.' 
 
THE DREAM OF PYTHAGORAS. ]5 
 
 " This said, he smil'd, 
 And gently laid me in my mother's arms. 
 Thus far the vision brought me — then it fled, 
 And all was silence. Ah ! 'twas but a dream ; 
 This soul in vain struggles for purity ; 
 This self-tormenting essence may exist 
 For ever ; but what joy can being give 
 Without perfection ? vainly do I seek 
 That bliss for which I languish. Surely yet 
 The Day-spring of our nature is to come ; 
 Mournful we wait that dawning ; until then 
 We grovel in the dust — in midnight grope, 
 For ever seeking, never satisfied." 
 
 Thus spake the solemn seer, then pausing, sigh'd. 
 For all was darkness. 
 
(16) 
 
 GOD IS LOVE. 
 
 THOU whose heart 
 Is crush'd within thee, and whose eyes grow dim 
 When watching childhood's rapture — ^thou whose youth 
 Is wither'd by affliction — thou whose soul 
 Kebels and contradicts this truth of truths, 
 Yet bend thine ear, incline thy bleeding heart. 
 Hadst thou a beauteous daughter, whose young cheek 
 Grew pale, and brow grew heavy 1 didst thou watch 
 Her daily fading, like a tender flower, 
 Which, though with constant zealousness of love 
 Water'd and shaded, will hang down its head 
 And wither 1 did she also thus depart — 
 Thy beauteous daughter 1 or did sudden stroke 
 Snatch the unwrinkled brow to paradise, 
 Pluck the unfaded lily from its stem. 
 And plant it in the southern sunniness 
 Of Eden ? Or hadst thou a noble son, 
 
GOD IS LOVE. 17 
 
 Thy first-born, or thine only one, perchance, 
 Smitten and sever'd from thee 1 was he rich 
 In promise — and did hope long hold her wing 
 Over each opening bud of beauty found 
 In the young plant 1 and did one moment blight 
 All the dear, cherish'd promise ? 
 
 Eachel ! thou 
 Art weeping for thy babes — dumb angels caught 
 Up to heaven's bowers by Jesus, ere their lips 
 Were sullied with earth's language. Or, perchance, 
 Dear orphan, thou hast lost a mother's voice, 
 Or father's soothing smile, and thy full heart 
 Doth ache and shiver in the murderous blast 
 Of this cold world's bleak sympathy ; 
 Or thy sweet sister, or thy dearest friend, 
 Hath sigh'd out last farewell. Your Father saith, 
 " For you I gave up my beloved Son — 
 For you I watch'd Him low and meanly laid 
 In Bethlehem's poor manger — saw Him lone 
 In the drear wilderness, amidst wild beasts. 
 Tempted by Satan ; 
 
 For you, endur'd to see mine Image bend 
 Over the grave and weep : He wept for you. 
 I saw Him for your sakes sore burden 'd fall 
 
 
 
18 GOD IB LOVE. 
 
 Before Me in Gethsemane ; I saw 
 
 When sinners, bowing in derisive scorn, 
 
 Mock'd me in Him my Brightness ; saw them smite 
 
 The Dweller in my heart, and bind His brow 
 
 Immaculate with thorns. Did I then launch 
 
 One thunder 1 did I spare my Son one pain — 
 
 One torture ? Yea, and more ; did I not lead 
 
 My own pure Lramb to the dark cross, and bind, 
 
 Like Abraham bis Isaac, my one Son 
 
 To the accursed alfcar 1 wilt thou, then, 
 
 Deny the little gift I ask from thee 1 
 
 Thou knewest what I sought of thee — thy love. 
 
 Long did I wait and warn, but when I saw 
 
 Thou didst not think Me half so fair and dear 
 
 As the lost jewel I have tak'n away, 
 
 I tore it from thee, that thenceforth thy soul 
 
 Might be at rest in Me ; and this I did 
 
 Not for Myself, for I, thou knowest, need not 
 
 The adoring of my creatures, but for thee. 
 
 For never canst thou rest without my love. 
 
 Then doubt it not, for whatsoe'er I take, 
 
 I leave thee all Myself, and am I then 
 
 So light a gift, so small a joy — that thou 
 
 Preferrest thy lost idol to thy God 1 " 
 
-^' GOD IS LOVE. 19 
 
 Say, hast thou lost thy wealth, and must thou stoop 
 
 From the full flowing luxuries of life 
 
 Down to its scant necessities % think 
 
 Who gave up heaven's rich diadem for thee : 
 
 Who from the majesty of God came down 
 
 To be a weeping Babe, a weary Man, 
 
 Unpillow'd and unshelter'd, all for love 
 
 Of thee ; and oh ! forget not this stern strdte 
 
 Is but to drive thee to Himself, that He 
 
 May be thy treasure, thine eternal wealth. 
 
 Or wert thou always poor % hast struggled long 
 And bravely with a hard and crushing world % 
 Hast been oppress'd, hast seen thy little ones 
 Pine for a morsel of life's bread % — oh think ! 
 If thou but trust in Jesus, what great love 
 Is treasur'd up for thee ; to thee He saith, 
 " Bread shall be giv'n thee ; to thy soul the truth 
 Of God shall come ; thou shalt be rich in faith ; 
 Thou shalt possess the kingdom ; follow Me, 
 Be as thy Master was, for I was poor 
 That thou should'st be made rich ; to thee I give 
 These words for consolation ; I am Love. 
 Never will I forsake thee \ thou art one 
 
20 GOD IS LOVE 
 
 With Me — in all thy sufferings I partake. 
 When thy heart aches, come lay it down on Mine ; 
 When thine eyes weep, come weep upon my feet ; 
 I too have wept ; and, when thy head sinks down, 
 In the chill wave of death, cling but to Me, 
 The mantle of my love, around thee thrown, 
 Shall part the Jordan ; for I too have died — 
 And died for thee." 
 
 Or thy unnumber'd sins 
 Have risen like murdered ghosts before thine eyes. 
 And thou dost think none ever sinn'd like thee. 
 But is that heart of thine broken indeed 1 
 Oh, it is broken hearts the Saviour calls 
 His bruised flowers ; the sighs of penitence 
 Are fragrance in His presence. Kiss His feet ; 
 Think, they were pierc'd for thee — ^how can they then 
 Keject thee ? 
 
 Or if thou dost dread to die, 
 Cast but thy spirit into His kind hands, 
 Even as a babe sinks on its mother's breast, 
 And gently as a mother wiU He bear 
 Thee through the valley, and will hold thy hand 
 And lead thee smiling to thy Father's throne. 
 
GOD IS LOVE. 21 
 
 If thou be young, come to the God of love, 
 And satisfy the thirstings of thy heart 
 With the warm, gushing waves, that issued forth 
 From One that bled on Calvary. 
 
 Kage 
 Have press'd his freezing finger on thy pulse. 
 Come, rest thy trembling spirit in those arms 
 That wait to take thee in. Draw nigh and grasp 
 The red robe of thy Saviour ; ne'er will He 
 Shake off thy feeble hold, but clasp thy hand 
 Tenderly in His own, and thou shalt lean 
 On His eternal strength all through the vale 
 Of death's cold shadow. 
 
 Be thou rich or poor. 
 Joyful or sorrowful, in cities loud 
 Or cottage lonely, by the surging shore, 
 Amidst the mountains, 'neath the waving palms, 
 Among the citron groves, in the dark wilds 
 Of pathless forests, on the heaving deep, 
 Far in the icy zone, or compass'd round 
 With the hot equinoctial — ^love is there. 
 Love omnipresent still surrounds thy paths. 
 Meets thee where'er thou goest ; He hath thrown 
 
22 GOD IS LOVE. 
 
 His arms wide as the shadow of the cross 
 Extends, and from that infinite embrace 
 Only by sin canst thou thy soul exclude. 
 Yes, God is Love ; this pricdess truth alone 
 Is balm for all thy sickness ; words so rich 
 In harmony and joy ne'er startled yet 
 The ear of echo. 'Tis truth's ecstasy, 
 And from the moment when, reveal'd, it dropp'd 
 Through all the stars to earth, clad in the form 
 Of a fair Babe in Bethlehem, and wrote 
 Its solemn signature in crimson lines 
 Upon the tree of Calvary, the stars 
 Cease not to sing it ; ocean's choristers 
 Chant infinite amen ; the sounding shores 
 Waft on the music, and the glorious flowers 
 Breathe silent hallelujahs ; the hot sun 
 Seals it in summer royalty ; the winds 
 Shout it around the palm-trees, and proclaim 
 Amid the bower'd cathedrals ; the rich clouds 
 Hang out their furled draperies to show 
 Heaven's beautiful device ; the thunders chase 
 The winged lightnings, jealous that they first 
 Speak the delicious story ; oh ! they raise 
 Their giant voices to the stars, and say 
 
GOD IS LOVE. 23 
 
 That God is Love. Sweet cordial to our souls ! 
 Why do we live, but to receive this truth 
 Engraven on our hearts, and then to teach 
 The world that it is true 1 
 
 But who can doubt 1 
 Canst thou, little butterfly? Although 
 Brief be thy life, is it not fiU'd to th' brim 
 With sweetness and pure glee ? What rais'd thee up 
 So radiant from thy death-like sleepiness ? 
 Whence sprang those waving wings ? what pencil laid 
 Those massy colours on them, if not that 
 Which gloss'd the clouds of evening, and soft dyed 
 The silky sunbeams 1 Say, is it not true, 
 Sweet nightingale 1 thou whose delicious hymn 
 Seemeth love's echo, thou whose gushing notes, 
 Like leaping rivers of clear crystal music, 
 Hasten so crowded from thy burden'd heart, 
 Chasing each other, pouring streams of joy 
 Into the thirsty moonbeams. 0, ye flowers ! 
 Soft, silent orators — ^transcendent forms 
 Of perfect loveliness — ^beautiful shapes 
 Of heavenly elegance, graces that mock 
 The marvels of the chisel ; tints that shame 
 The glories of the pencil ; 0, ye beams 
 
24 GOD IS LOVE. 
 
 Of beauty, wliich no words of eartb can show, 
 
 Bright, fair-complexion'd angels, say ye not 
 
 That God is Love ? Thou babe-like buttercup, 
 
 Nurs'd on the fragrant bosom of young Spring ; 
 
 Thou lady primrose ; and thou snowdrop saint ; 
 
 Thou royal rose ; thou holiest lily white ; 
 
 Thou honied violet, the very type 
 
 Of woman's youngest sweetness ; and thou gem, 
 
 Wee, winning, lowly, tender, spotless flower, 
 
 Pure lily of the vale ! do we not right 
 
 Interpret all your language into this. 
 
 The gentleness of God 1 What else could breathe 
 
 So exquisite a perfume 1 who hath taste 
 
 So consummate as His 1 and what but love 
 
 (And whose love if not His ?) could pour such wealth 
 
 Of silent eloquence, truth, tenderness, 
 
 And consolation, over things so small 
 
 And delicate 1 what hand but thine, Love ! 
 
 Could fashion all this melting, dewy mass 
 
 Of powdery, ethereal loveliness. 
 
 Nor crush one petal, nor one stroke forget, 
 
 Nor mar one waxen forehead, nor even bruise 
 
 One slightest stem ; but, with the perfect touch 
 
GOD IS LOVE. 25 
 
 Of tenderness, mould all to finish'd gi'ace, 
 Then strew them in free millions o'er the earth 1 
 
 Oh, speak your faith, 
 Ye sunny harvest fields ! proclaim His love. 
 What know ye of your Maker 1 hath He rear'd 
 Your graceful heads so lofty on the stems 
 That look like sunbeams gushing from the earth, 
 And not inscrib'd His name there 1 bend, O bend. 
 Sweet wavers to the winds, that we may read 
 His golden seal upon your foreheads bent 
 So beautifully ; whisper forth the word 
 To the warm summer, sighing as he floats. 
 With level wings outspread, over your waves 
 Of sunny glory ; let the reaper's ear 
 Eeceive it, as ye roll your ample wealth 
 Into his joyous bosom. " He who gives 
 Thy daily bread, man, His name is Love." 
 
 Dissent ye, ye forests ? is your voice 
 A discord in the chorus ? List ! I hear 
 Ten thousand harps ^Eolian breathing forth 
 The boundless harmony ; the surging tops 
 Of the gigantic trees shake all their robes, 
 
250 GOD IS LOVE. 
 
 And drop their crowns in autumn to the sound 
 
 Of the eternal music. " Thou art Love ! 
 
 Thou at whose breath the infant buds leap out, 
 
 The laughing life throbs through our naked arms, 
 
 And dances in our hearts ; Thou who dost crown 
 
 Thy forests with their new and vernal grace 
 
 And summer fulness, till a world of leaves 
 
 Waves on the pinions of the autumn storm, 
 
 And surges like an ocean to the joy 
 
 Of feeling Thy great step ; where eye of man 
 
 Ne'er rested, where no shaft hath ever sung, 
 
 Nor axe disturb'd th' unbroken loneliness 
 
 Sacred to Thee and Thy green worshippers 
 
 Alone ; where pillar around pillar twin'd, 
 
 And fretted roofs or domes impenetrable. 
 
 And long, mysterious, ever-sounding aisles, 
 
 And altars of thick darkness that admit 
 
 No priests, but trembling starbeams, make for Thee 
 
 A mighty temple. Here the weary storms 
 
 Sleep and then worship ; here the thunderbolts, 
 
 Impetuous to adore, push down our heads 
 
 And leap from bough to bough, and when they burst 
 
 In brilliance and in thunder, then begins 
 
 The sounding hallelujah ; then we lay 
 
GOD IS LOVE. 27 
 
 Our crowns before our Maker's feet, whicli tread 
 The wings of the strong winds. Oh then we sing ! 
 And this is all the chorus : God is Love." 
 
 What sayest thou, deep ocean ? giant soul 
 Living in every drop — stupendous heart. 
 Whose pulses throb in each metropolis, 
 And make all shores to vibrate : thy blue veins 
 Intersect earth, bearing to thee her wealth, 
 Then bearing thine to her. Thou art a glass 
 For man's own spirit ; thou like genius art ; 
 Oft fearful in thy wilful-seeming pride, 
 The mandate of earth's monarchs could not change 
 One spray-drop on thy forehead ; yet ere long 
 So gentle that the youngest moonbeams come 
 And dance among thy tresses. Thou dost roll 
 The same for ever ; still thy lidless eye 
 Looketh on heaven as in continual praise. 
 As is the sun above, so thou on earth, 
 A lonely, peerless thing, without a mate. 
 Hast thou no song for Him who made thee so 
 Sublime in solitude 1 Speak, wondrous shade 
 Of His lone majesty, for thou hast tongiies 
 In every billow ; speak thou as thou wilt : 
 
28 GOD IS LOVE. 
 
 Whisper it from thy dreamy smiles, if thus 
 It please thee, when upon the placid breast 
 Of thy glad mother earth, thou, thou child 
 Of perfect beauty ! sleepest with thine eyes, 
 Those soft blue eyes, wide open, when the beams 
 Of heaven are playing with thy curling locks, 
 Weaving them into knots for thee to snap. 
 When, in thy passionate waking, thou shalt rise. 
 Or speak as when in storm-pomp thou dost keep 
 BHthe marriage -day with thy beloved bride. 
 The Spirit of the Wind, the eldest-born 
 Of clouds and waters. Thou dost pave her path 
 With sparkling foam, and toss the white spray up 
 To rainbow round her head, and oft in play 
 Prison her in thine arches, and then chase 
 Her steps invisible, as like a bird 
 She slips from thy great arms ; then thou dost throw 
 Whole navies at her feet for playthings light. 
 Speak, wild old minstrel, sweep thy deep-ton'd harp. 
 And tell me what thou knowest of thy God. 
 "Oh, I know whom thou meanest ! I will tell 
 What once He did with me. I saw Him lead 
 His new -freed thousands to my very shore : 
 The fiery pillar lighten'd o'er my wave ; 
 
GOD IS LOVE. 29 
 
 I heard his voicGj and roU'd in rapture back 
 
 To kiss His feet, and spread my pearls abroad 
 
 To pave His march. With deep, rejoicing awe 
 
 I held my breath till all his flock had pass'd, 
 
 Then at His call I lifted up my voice 
 
 In battle with His foes, and joy'd to lay 
 
 Their glories at His feet. But I have yet 
 
 A softer story. 'Twas the solemn night, 
 
 And He and some He loved were tempest-toss'd 
 
 By me and the strong Angel of the Wind, 
 
 Unconscious of His presence, else with joy 
 
 Like doves we would have drawn His sacred bark, 
 
 Which we too roughly rock'd, till every heart 
 
 She carried changed to terror and despair, 
 
 Save His, who, sleeping as a cradled babe, 
 
 Repos'd upon a pillow, till the cry 
 
 Of fear arous'd Him ; then, arising great 
 
 As when He spoke to chaos, and ordain'd 
 
 That light should be, He spoke soft peace to us. 
 
 Commanding silence ; then we knew our Lord, 
 
 And, dumb with reverence, worshipp'd. He is Love." 
 
 And what sayest thou, 
 little child ? who, 'midst the flowers, and birds, 
 
30 GOD IS LOVE. 
 
 And boughs, and beams, hast open'd thy fresh eyes, 
 And just begun to live, all thy warm heart 
 Leaping at every pulse : though thy flower-lips 
 Scarce have unfurl'd their rose-buds, and the seal 
 Of infant dumbness, like the morning dew, 
 Hangs heavy on their beauty — say, say ! 
 Are there not countless sensibilities 
 To joy within thee opening ? art thou not 
 Like an ethereal harp, which, every hour. 
 Some rapture-finger touches ] Art thou not 
 A soft spring flower, whose every waking cell 
 Some sunbeam kisses open 1 wilt thou doubt 
 When first thy mother sings to thy glad ear 
 That He who made thee thus, and makes thy bliss, 
 Is Love ? Ah no ! that joyous truth is graven 
 Already by His Spirit on thy heart, 
 And though the icy breath of that dire serpent 
 Which coils around thy root, beloved flower, 
 May half ofiace the golden seal of heaven. 
 Love's Spirit, if thou wilt, afresh shall write 
 His Name upon thee. 
 
(31) 
 
 THE MOTHEE'S VIGIL. 
 
 It was the dying of an April day, 
 
 And softly o'er the young and graceful earth 
 
 The whispering twilight wav'd her dewy wings. 
 
 Sweet sounds were in the woods, for naurmuring Spring 
 
 Was wafting a low lullaby along 
 
 The edges of the sunbeams, to the hearts 
 
 Of the bright baby-buds, that on her breast 
 
 Droop'd their fair heads, heavy with sparkling tears 
 
 Of childish laughter — so they went to sleep. 
 
 And she, that beautiful young mother, smil'd. 
 
 And rock'd them with the breathing of her breast, 
 
 And wrapt them all up tenderly and warm 
 
 In her own soft blue mantle ; then she laid 
 
 Her golden-curled head upon the arms 
 
 Of the old forest fathers, and look'd up 
 
 To the fair stars ; and then the nightingale 
 
32 THE mother's vigil. 
 
 Sung her to sleep, and the warm western wind 
 
 Quietly fann'd her — so the young Spring slept. 
 
 Oh that all were such sleepers ! Night long through 
 
 The calm and equal breathings of her heart 
 
 riow'd on the air like music ; all her dreams 
 
 Were pure and peaceful, shadows sweet and kind 
 
 Of angels passing by, and rainbows stretch'd 
 
 From hill to hill, and vernal valleys dim 
 
 With silver moonlight shades, and echoes deep 
 
 Repeating the young nightingale's first notes. 
 
 Then rose from her blue couch the infant moon, 
 
 And drew the curtain jealous night had dropp'd 
 
 Over the sleeping Spring, yet with a step 
 
 So slow and silent, and a touch so soft 
 
 And stealthy, that the slumberer startled not, 
 
 Nor was one blossom waken'd, till at last 
 
 Young Luna held her silver lamp too near 
 
 A timid cereus, who was rous'd, and wept, ^ 
 
 But silently ; so Spring still slumber'd on. 
 
 Her face calm shining in the placid gleam 
 
 Of Luna's lamp, and touch'd with shadows light 
 
 Of grace so exquisite as day ne'er saw. 
 
 Then wak'd the fays. 
 
 And, leaping from a thousand dew-drops, shook 
 
THE mother's vigil. 33 
 
 A thousand sleeping flowers, making their hearts 
 Drop music out, to which they mov'd their feet 
 And wings in lovely measure. The young moon 
 Smil'd at the froUc scene, then, bending down, 
 She press'd her lips refulgent to the brow 
 Of the delicious dreamer, and again 
 Let fall the curtain, stealing soft away 
 Her silver lamp, and gliding noiselessly 
 Into the ocean — so the young Spring slept. 
 
 Oh that all were such sleepers ! There was yet 
 The roar of the great city rising up. 
 Like ceaseless, far-off thunder ; in its heart, 
 Alone, in a dark chamber, silent watch'd 
 A weeping woman. He who should have shar'd 
 And sooth'd her vigils was, alas ! far distant, 
 Lost in his own base joys, thoughtless of her 
 Whose heart he had beguil'd from its green nest 
 In a sweet cottage home ; a heart it was 
 Which could have lov'd its city cage, and sung 
 All day like a free bird, if but his own 
 Had borne it company ; but he was gone, 
 And she was desolate. 'Twas midnight hour, 
 While the poor loving Mary, all forsaken, 
 
 D 
 
34 THE mother's vigil. 
 
 Sat in the sickly light of one pale taper, 
 Close o'er a wretched cradle bending down 
 Her fix'd and faded face, placid, and pure, 
 And passionless, to watch her sole love-light 
 Sink in the waves of death. Oh, there she bent 
 Over her dying baby : with one hand 
 She smooth'd unconsciously his languid curls, 
 Half rocking with the other his low bed. 
 
 All was hush'd and dumb. 
 Save the wild roar of passing carriages, ' 
 
 That ever and anon shook the dark street, 
 And the quick sigh of the fair, feverish babe, 
 Panting for immortality; all hush'd ; 
 And almost could she hear, or thought she could, 
 Th' approach of Death's slow step. Yes, the sweet boy 
 Lay sickening like the spirit of a flower 
 Ejss'd by the sun to heav'n ; there was not left 
 A red drop in his cheek ; it was as cold 
 And fair as alabaster, and the damp 
 Of life's last agony was oozing there. 
 The lips were parted, ev'n as if to wait 
 The passing of the flutt'ring soul between, 
 Borne on the heavy wings of the last sigh ; 
 And ever and anon they gently trembled 
 
THE mother's vigil. 36 
 
 Like the pale blossoms of the night, disturb'd 
 
 By the soft summer air. 
 
 The brow was even as a waveless stream 
 
 Just touching the blue ocean ; it was shap'd, 
 
 Like the young mind it thron'd, in heavenly mould 
 
 Cherubic, and a spiritual light 
 
 Seem'd dawning round its deep and deathly whiteness, 
 
 As when day's first-born beam the snowdrop bathes. 
 
 Around the cradle knelt three watchers pure. 
 
 Whom Mary saw not — they were angels come 
 
 To carry the young spirit to its God. 
 
 One o'er the babe-brow bent, and gently wav'd 
 
 His graceful hand above it, to allay 
 
 Its burning fever, softly fanning back 
 
 The pale, pale drooping curls, that scarce had form'd 
 
 Their slender satin threads to circles yet. 
 
 The second held the small hand, tenderly 
 
 Twin'd in his own cool, fragrant fingers, soft 
 
 As Eden's blossoms, oft-times bathing it 
 
 With balmy kisses ; the third angel touch'd not 
 
 The dying loveliness, but gently fann'd 
 
 Th' immortal flame within it, and in tones 
 
 That melted as they gush'd, warbled a song 
 
 Of everlasting love. 
 
39 THE mother's vigil. 
 
 SOIfG. 
 
 " Sweet eyes, close, close in sleep, 
 No longer shall ye weep ; 
 Death's slumber, damp and deep, 
 
 Presses your lids so white ; 
 Pale temple of the infant saint, 
 Thy pillars shake, thy lamp grows faint, 
 Dying in heaven's light. 
 
 " Slumbering soul, arouse ; 
 Fann'd by the waving boughs 
 
 Of life's immortal tree ; 
 Shine forth, thou spark struck from God's fire-harp 
 
 strings, 
 Flash to the fannings of our bending wings, 
 And mingle in the flame of seraph kings. 
 In the deep crystal sea. 
 
 " Ah ! thou art waking now ! 
 Eternity's broad shade hath touch'd thy brow ; 
 Awake, belov'd, thy angels o'er thee bow ; 
 Bedemption's lamb newborn. 
 
THE mother's vigil. 37 
 
 Forsake thy trembling shrine ; ah ! let it be 
 To thy sad mother a dear gift from thee ; 
 Why dost thou shudder 1 leave it, thou art free ! 
 This is thy life's first mom. 
 
 " Start not ! our mighty arms are twin'd beneath the^, 
 Our golden feathers white and warm enwreath thee, 
 
 And death the chain will sever 
 That links thee to thy cell ; his shaft is gold ; 
 Fear not, 'tis wing'd with kisses, though so cold. 
 'Tis past — ^the pang across thy breast hath roll'd : 
 Now thou art free for ever. 
 
 *^ Fall into our arms, and wide above thee 
 We will spread a canopy of wings ; 
 We will bear thee home to those that love thee. 
 Where the cherub choir for ever sings. 
 
 ' Sparkling spirit ! now thou, shouting, leapest 
 
 Out into life's everlasting sea ; 
 Measure with the heart of heaven thou keepest. 
 And thy pulse is feverless and free. 
 
38 THE mother's vigil. 
 
 " Spread your pinions, angels, wave them lightly, 
 
 Ruffle not the sacred, sleeping air ; 
 To the zenith cleave your passage brightly. 
 Seek the throne, and drop the jewel there." 
 
 Then paus'd the white-rob'd warbler, and the three 
 
 Made their soft arms a cradle beautiful 
 
 To take the graceful spirit, as, alone 
 
 And blushing with the first pulse of fresh life, 
 
 Disrob'd and spotless, in the Lamb's pure blood 
 
 From every stain wash'd, with her wings spread wide. 
 
 She rose ethereal from the pallid clay. 
 
 And open'd her bright eyes to wonder's touch. 
 
 And, speechless with astonishment and bliss, 
 
 Drew her first breath in broad eternity. 
 
 Then sinking down into the angels' arms. 
 
 Smiling she watch'd them as they fondly stretch'd 
 
 Their wide, warm, downy pinions o'er her head, 
 
 Exulting as the softly waving pomp 
 
 Rose graceful, fanning on the air, and soar'd 
 
 Above the midnight city, whence arose 
 
 The glow of million lamps, like countless lights 
 
 In some vast roofless temple. Then they left 
 
 The city far below, and gently gain'd 
 
THE mother's vigil. 
 
 Upon the silent stars ; then the glad spirit, 
 Seeing the pavement of her native home, 
 Clapp'd her unspotted hands, and, like a spring 
 Out-gushing from the mountain, pour'd her heart 
 Into its first and everlasting song. 
 
 '^ Oh life ! thou glad and throbbing heat — 
 Oh life ! thou cup of heavenly sweet ! 
 Past is the dim gate of death, 
 See, I draw immortal breath. 
 
 " From Eedemption's crimson wave 
 Kising free, baptiz'd, and white, 
 Lo ! my beaming wings I lave 
 In the uncreated light. 
 
 " See, my infant tears are dried, 
 
 And my darksome slumbers broken ; 
 See, in angels' arms I ride, 
 Hear the music seraph-spoken. 
 
 "Hark ! I hear the boundless chorus 
 Rolling on from star to star ; 
 Hark ! it thunders full before us— 
 Hark ! it dies and echoes far. 
 
40 THE mother's VIGHi. 
 
 *' See, oh see the flashing gold 
 
 Of a thousand suns outglancing ; 
 See the starry heavens unroll'd, 
 And the skies around me dancing. 
 
 " Oh how beautiful and warm 
 To my newly-open'd eyes ! 
 Oh what majesties of form, 
 And what melodies arise I 
 
 ^ Yet I feel a softer splendour 
 
 Flowing o'er my heart like balm ; 
 Oh how thrilling and how tender I 
 It is Christ — Creation's Calm. 
 
 " Lovely angels ! raise me higher, 
 For my spirit leaps to be 
 Where, above the crowns of fire, 
 My Kedeemer's face I see.** 
 
 And now the fragrant air of Paradise 
 
 Breath'd o'er the exquisite group, and peaHng clouds 
 
 Of harmony rode on the balmy gale 
 
 In melting richness, and the baby-soul 
 
 Dissolv'd in dewy love, and like perfume, 
 
THE mother's YIGIL. 41 
 
 Pour'd jfrom an alabaster vase, did melt 
 On her Redeemer's feet, in speechless joy 
 Exhaling to His bosom — ^kiss'd away 
 By ravishment of rapture, till He bent 
 And touch'd the fainting blossom with a beam 
 Of His own perfect peace : then did she raise 
 Her forehead to receive its royal crown, 
 Enwreath'd with infant lilies — then she wav'd 
 Her shining wings, and upward shap'd her flight 
 On the great heaven of high eternity, 
 Beneath the smile of Jesus, to behold 
 His glory, and to learn the wondrous tale 
 Of her redemption. 
 
(42) 
 
 THE CALL OF SAMUEL. 
 
 1 SAMUEL in. 
 
 It was the silent night 
 In sacred Shiloh. Over curtain'd gloom 
 And solenm mysteries, fell the pale light 
 Of the lone holy lamp, and shadows dense, 
 Profound, and motionless ; thou might'st have stood 
 And watch'd the altar-embers for a spark 
 In vain : the flame had parted up to heaven 
 And vanish'd ; and there was but a faint warmth. 
 Memorial of its presence ; yet the air 
 Breath'd of the dying incense, Hke the dreams 
 Of heavenly souls who pray even in sleep. 
 Thou might'st have stood amidst that solemn gloom 
 And Usten'd for an echo, but in vain. 
 The song had wreath'd to heaven, and not one note 
 Linger'd on earth ; there was no angel-harp 
 
THE CALL OF SAMUEL. 43 
 
 Upon the charm'd repose. 
 
 It was as if eternity had press'd 
 
 Her silent finger on the holy shrine, 
 
 Or the calm, overwhelming presence of God 
 
 Fallen upon it as an adamant shroud. 
 
 Yet, hush ! 
 There is a sound that trembles on the air ; 
 It is not motion, and it is not music, 
 But far more sweet. 'Tis as a soft stiU wave. 
 Like the half-raising of an angel's hand, 
 And sinking down again : or like the stir 
 Of sleeping winds in summer, when, in dreams. 
 They dance with the young moonbeams, and half move 
 The delicate feathers of the plumy palm. 
 Such and so soft that sound — ^hush ! for 'tis sweet, 
 And flows like melody and fragrance mix'd, 
 Upon the list'ning sanctitude and shade 
 Of the mute oracle. 
 
 Hark ! from beneath this canopy it flows ; 
 Draw, delicately draw, the curtain by. 
 And gaze. Oh ! what a shape of loveliness 
 Alone and slumbering ! tranquil as the ray. 
 And holy as the incense, of the lamp ; 
 
44 THE CALL OP SAMUEL. 
 
 And like a solitary starbeam cradled 
 
 Upon the midnight ocean, sleeping sweetly 
 
 In the full gaze of the omnipotent 
 
 And sleepless Presence. Oh, how lone he seems ! 
 
 There is no little arm to clasp his neck, 
 
 No kindred rose to pillow the red flower 
 
 Upon his cheek ; no sister's lullaby 
 
 Hath whisper'd him to rest ; no mother wakes 
 
 To soothe him if he startle. Yet he hath 
 
 A mother, and perchance in dream is gone 
 
 To visit her ; perchance doth feel her arms 
 
 Around him, and her lip upon his brow. 
 
 And she, too, from her distant home, e'en now 
 
 In vision may be hovering o'er his couch ; 
 
 For so pure spirits mingle, and in dreams 
 
 The parted meet — for lordly love can shape 
 
 Dim shadows into mystic loveliness, 
 
 And nothings into rapture. The sweet child 
 
 Is all alone, and yet how passing fair 
 
 And feverless his slumbers ! it might seem 
 
 The very angels' fingers had smooth'd down 
 
 That curling gold upon his brow, and bath'd 
 
 Those long and beauteous lashes with the dew 
 
 Distill'd from some rich incense-wreath in heaven. 
 
THE CALL OF SAMUEL. 45 
 
 His breath is music, and his very sigh 
 Nought but the overflowing wave of peace 
 From his full bosom stealing. Oh ! he rests 
 Even in the heart of peace ; and the blind eyes 
 Of the dumb cherubim, that, awful, shade 
 The ark, do seem to wake and watch him. Hush ! 
 What voice is that 1 God ! those tones are Thine ! 
 Man — angels — cannot frame such accents — melting 
 In dying music. Thou art here, then. Lord : 
 Let the scar'd foot of sin affrighted flee, 
 Since, at such hour, and in such scene august, 
 Thou boldest conference so high, and yet 
 So lowly, with the spirit of a child. 
 
 And say, what thing so fitting to receive 
 The breath, the smile of God, as that clear cup 
 Of life transparent — that white open flower — 
 That looking-glass uncover'd — that blue stream 
 Kevealing all its depths— which we do call 
 The spirit of a child 1 
 
 'Twas but one word ; 
 No flash of sudden splendour lit the shrine — 
 No tremor shook the silence — all was calm — 
 So doth God come to purity alone. 
 
46 THE CALL OF SAMUEL. 
 
 His steps are earthquakes when He visits guilt, 
 
 His voice is thunder ; 
 
 But when He cometh to the upright soul, 
 
 'Tis with a silent gentleness of love 
 
 Which soothes and sanctifies ; His voice more sweet 
 
 And soft than even mothers'. Yea, perchance. 
 
 The infant prophet dream'd his mother called. 
 
 And, raptur'd, wak'd ; but when he look'd and saw 
 
 The cold dark pillars round him, and the dim 
 
 Solemnity unchanged, remembrance brought 
 
 The knowledge where he was ; and so he ran 
 
 To the old priest, who, startled, wond'ring gaz'd. 
 
 By the pale lamp-light, on th' enthusiast face 
 
 Of the bright boy : " Behold me : thou didst call." 
 
 *' Nay ; thou hast dream'd — I call'd not ; sleep, fair 
 
 chnd." 
 Three times the mystic but mistaken call 
 Drew the young seer to the astonish'd priest, 
 Who late discern'd the Caller. " Oh, my son ! 
 Go, lay thee down again ; and when that voice 
 Calleth, reply, * Speak, Lord, Thy servant heareth.' " 
 
 All is still. 
 And the lone child watcheth and Usten^th, rapt 
 
THE CALL OF SAMUEL. 47 
 
 And wond'ring ; yet no fright hath chill'd his bold 
 Beautiful innocence. Hearken — it is — 
 It is the voice of God I and twice He calls 
 Upon the child — or was it that the charm'd 
 And ravish'd echoes of the shrine took up 
 Th' exquisite music, and did dare to breathe 
 The solemn sweetness over ? 
 
 Child, fear »ot ; 
 There is no anger in thy Father's tone, 
 There is no terror in that soft appeal. 
 Conscience, in some, is like the storm-fraught cloud 
 Scowling in sullen East at evening time, 
 Where, if the sun but touch it with a beam. 
 Deep thunder riseth up ; 
 In others, it is like Spring's weeping face. 
 Which, when the sun looks on it, melts and smiles 
 Into a rainbow. 
 
 In some, the voice of God comes like the West 
 To soft ^olian harp — to others, sounds 
 As tempest echoing in a thousand depths 
 Of fathomless caverns, where the hollow gloom 
 Is instinct with dread echoes, and prolongs 
 The awful mockery. Not thus to thee. 
 
48 THE CALL OF SAMUEL. 
 
 Thou consecrated child, thou prophet pure, 
 Cometh the Mightiest. Thou may'st reply 
 Undaunted and untrembHng. 
 
 Lo ! the babe 
 Speaks in the presence of the Infinite. 
 Th' Eternal speaketh to the babe, and poureth 
 His fathomless counsels into the tiny heart 
 Of infancy. O, Everlasting Father ! 
 Let me be such in childhood and in love. 
 That, visit me as Thou wilt, by night or day, 
 In cities or in solitudes, in storms 
 Or inspiration — gloom or glory — bliss 
 Or agony — or life or death — still may 
 Thy voice fall peaceful on my soul, and draw 
 The calm, deep, echo out, " Speak, Father, speak. 
 Thy child doth listen." 
 
(49) 
 
 THE TEMPEST HYMN. 
 
 Almighty God ! whose hand of power the raging winds 
 
 can tame, . 
 The mighty Tempest echoes with the thunder of Thy 
 
 name ; 
 I hear him through the city rush, Hfting his voice on 
 
 high, 
 Dark terror rides his stormy wings, and pallid death is 
 
 nigh. 
 ' Tis night, deep night ! the city sleeps, and listens in 
 
 her sleep 
 To thy gigantic voice, storm ! to thy tremendous 
 
 sweep. 
 Thou rollest o'er her countless roofs, in glory wild and 
 
 free. 
 And I, a trembling watcher, am alone with God and 
 
 thee. 
 
 E 
 
50 THE TEMPEST HYMN. 
 
 Who walks upon thy boundless wings that shake the 
 
 land and ocean ? 
 Who speaks in thy stupendous voice, and guides thy 
 
 mighty motion 1 
 Oh, God of night, and storm, and power! oh God, 
 
 all praise above ! 
 Hear me, great God of majesty ! hear me, great God of 
 
 love ! 
 I worship Thee in solitude, I worship Thee in fear ; 
 But the sighings of a lonely heart Thou wilt not scorn 
 
 to hear : 
 I listen to Thy awful voice, I feel Thy weight of power, 
 I bend my soul beneath Thy hand in this tremendous 
 
 hour ! 
 Yet art Thou not my Father still, though storm and 
 
 darkness reign 1 
 Who, in all tempest past, hast saved, wilt Thou not save 
 
 again ? 
 Praise to Thee, high Omnipotent ! Even now methinks 
 
 I hear, 
 Amidst the blast, the angel-song around Thy glory 
 
 clear ; 
 Thy countless choirs above the stars, in pealing chant 
 
 sublime. 
 
THE TEMPEST HYMN. 51 
 
 Are praising Thee in solemn joy, higli o'er this stormy 
 
 clime. 
 Hark, the loud hallelujah shout ! bursting from throne 
 
 to throne, 
 From star to star, from sun to sun, in everlasting tone ! 
 The saints adore th' exalted Lamb, and all the heavens 
 
 reply : 
 could I but hear the blissful strain, and join the 
 
 glorious cry ! . 
 
 Even the tempest as he roars — the night-winds as they 
 
 roU— 
 Seem thund'ring forth Thy lofty praise ; praise is crea- 
 tion's soul. 
 Is not a spirit in the storm, and on the blast a voice ? 
 Hark ! the giant Wind his anthem sings ; earth ! 
 
 tremble and rejoice ! 
 And listen ! ocean far away has caught the lofty key. 
 He is thundering through his fathomless depths majestic 
 
 psalmody ; 
 His seething waves are mad with bliss ; they rise in 
 
 glory crown'd, 
 Then sink into the grand abyss in reverence profound. 
 Stand on yon lonely bark and gaze — look round on 
 
 every hand, 
 
52 THE TEMPEST HYMN. 
 
 She is rolling out in the raving deep, a thousand miles 
 
 from land ; 
 Kecking over the mountain heights, cleaving the waves 
 
 asunder, 
 She reels along her terrible road in darkness, death, and 
 
 thunder. 
 Hark ! the surging forests roar aloud, th' eternal moun- 
 tains shake, 
 The list'ning stars in solemn strain the boundless 
 
 chorus take. 
 And swelling, as they flash and fly, the everlasting song, 
 Infinite hallelujah soars from every burning throng. 
 The storm wakes man to worship ; rise, sleeper, rise ! 
 
 and see 
 All holy things and spirits belov'd are praising God, 
 
 but thee. 
 Jehovah, we adore Thee, thron'd the heaven of heavens 
 
 above. 
 Speak to us with Thy solemn storm, but let Thy voice 
 
 be love. 
 Come not in anger, Mighty One ! receive our lowly 
 
 prayer, 
 God, most high and merciful! God, Thy people 
 
 spare ! 
 
THE TEMPEST HYMN. 53 
 
 We are guilty, we are sinful, yet the spotless Lamb 
 hath bled, 
 
 The lightnings of Thy justice fell on His most lowly 
 head; 
 
 Then spare us, Lord ; send forth Thy peace, the calm- 
 creating Dove, 
 
 Speak to us with Thy solemn storm, but let Thy voice 
 be love. 
 
 Earth ! rise and join thy sister-stars, roll shining on 
 thy way. 
 
 And, as thou roUest, beam as bright, and sing as loud 
 as they, 
 
 *' The new creation dawneth, and the Lamb of God shall 
 reign ; 
 
 The Prince of peace shall triumph over war, and death, 
 and pain." 
 
 All glory to Jehovah ! our Father, Saviour, King ! 
 
 Shout, shout, triumphant hurricane ! stars, saints, and 
 angels, sing ! 
 
 All glory to Jehovah ! Let creation swell with song ! 
 
 Praise, power, and worship infinite, to Him alone be- 
 long; 
 
 Glory to Christ, our Saviour ! Jesus, Thy name we 
 bless, 
 
54 THE TEMPEST HYMK 
 
 And give our lowly hearts to Thee in faith and thank- 
 fulness ; 
 The storms of life —the storms that rage in each un- 
 
 hallow'd soul — 
 Dissolving in thy potent breath, to cradled calm shall 
 
 roll, 
 As when on old Gennesaret the tempest heard thy 
 
 wiU, 
 And wildest winds and waves confess'd Thy mighty 
 
 "Peace, be still!" 
 Oh, when our heart is overwhelm'd, when flesh and 
 
 spirit fail. 
 When terrors seize the trembling breast, and sin and 
 
 hell assail ; 
 Compassionate our wretchedness, let mercy be Thy 
 
 will. 
 Speak peace unto the trembling soul, and bid the storm 
 
 be still. 
 
(55) 
 
 THE CHUECH OF CHEIST. 
 
 First as a fearless babe she trod the earth 
 All leaning on her Saviour, full of faith 
 And love's simplicity ; the angry world 
 Hated and scom'd her, but her feeble hand 
 Was clasp'd in that betroth'd Omnipotence 
 Which late had borne the piercing of the nail. 
 And drop by drop shed out its crimson life 
 In love for her. So, 'midst the war, and storm, 
 And midnight of that darksome world, she grew, 
 A miracle of beauty, a lone star 
 Of loveliness amidst the desert depths, 
 A radiant flower, and in the gross abyss 
 A pearl of tearful light, which kindled up 
 Brilliance so powerful, that the blazing suns 
 And flashing stars grew dim. But as she grew, 
 The world at last perceiv'd her beauteousness 
 And crav'd alliance. In that fearful hour, 
 Alas for the bright maiden ! she had seen 
 
56 THE CHURCH OF CHRIST. 
 
 Her tempter's gold and glorj ; she beheld 
 
 The purple robe he proffer' d, and the crown 
 
 Imperial which hung trembling o'er her brows. 
 
 Ah ! then she held forth ling'ringly her hand, 
 
 That weak but red-ring'd hand, to the base grasp 
 
 Of the old miser world, and when she felt 
 
 His hard and crimson'd fingers wresting off 
 
 The ring of her betrothal, blush'd and turn'd 
 
 Her heavenly face away. It met a look 
 
 From her own faithful Lord, and dumb with shame 
 
 She snatch'd her hand from the false world's embrace, 
 
 And dash'd his diadem disdainfully 
 
 Off from her heavenly forehead, and did spurn 
 
 His purple robe, and with indignant step 
 
 Left the seven hills. Then the false, blinded world 
 
 Bought of the fall'n archangel a mock shape 
 
 Of her, the image of the only Fair, 
 
 And dress'd it in the robe she had thrown off, 
 
 And crown'd it, and enthron'd, and boldly call'd 
 
 The hideous image by her name, and said 
 
 It was the Church of Christ, and by its side 
 
 Sat down elate, and bade creation bring 
 
 Her incense and her treasure to his feet. 
 
THE CHURCH OF CHRIST. 57 
 
 Then tlie true Bride, all weeping and forlorn, 
 Hid in dark solitudes, and the blind world 
 Became her hunter, and, with envious rage, 
 Chas'd the lone dove of God, piercing her oft 
 With poison'd arrows, till her white wings dropp'd 
 Her own heart's blood, and every hand was free 
 To wound her weakness, every shaft let loose 
 To smite her and destroy. They smote, indeed, 
 Destroy they covld not ; even the floods of tears 
 And streams of sacred blood that roU'd so free 
 Over her shiv'ring form, serv'd but to bleach. 
 And blanch, and beautify her bridal dress. 
 How lovely rose she from her baptism ! 
 The prince of hell brought flames from his own fires 
 And laid them in her path, thinking to burn 
 Her spotless feet, so that she might no more 
 Disturb his kingdom by her radiancy. 
 He marvell'd when he saw that, though they shrank 
 And shudder'd in the test, they yet came out 
 Adorn'd with golden sandals, for the fires 
 Themselves had lov'd her, and, enraptur'd, twin'd 
 Around her bleeding feet. Then did he launch 
 A fiery arrow at her lowly brow ; 
 
58 THE CHURCH OF CHRIST. 
 
 But where it fell it gush'd a sunbeam back ; 
 
 Thus did the flame and flood her handmaids grow, 
 
 And dress her gloriously ; the very storms 
 
 Were ministering angels ; the hot beams 
 
 Of noon caught up her tears, and set tliem all 
 
 In rainbow shrines, and wove them round her head. 
 
 The thorns wherewith they crown'd her breath'd and 
 
 bloom'd 
 In amaranthine roses, and the sparks 
 Hell blew into her face, soon as they felt 
 Her sighs, became fair stars, and group'd themselves 
 Around her forehead. So, 'midst flames she grew, 
 And, in the brightness of her Saviour, shone 
 With boundless beams o'er the rejoicing earth. 
 Light gush'd from all her steps ; where'er she trod 
 Young flowers sprang up and smil'd ; the heaving deep 
 Arose to kiss her feet, for she walk'd forth 
 On every ocean, like her Bridegroom once. 
 Having her hand in His, and breathing warm 
 His peace where'er she went. Her breath became 
 A presence universal, and her voice 
 Was heard in every land ; her holy hymn 
 From shore to shore wide floated, and went up 
 From the blue sea and from the forest depths. 
 
THE CHURCH OF CHRIST. Oh 
 
 Angels the rapture caught, the sweet new song, 
 The song of Moses and the Lamb, and swept 
 Their harps in chorus. 
 
 Hark ! the dying stars 
 Are ringing out their last great choral hymn. 
 This pomp of broad magnificence must pave 
 Her homeward road. Behold, love-yok'd, the steeds 
 Of lightning feet to Christ's triumphal car ! 
 He goeth forth in glory, that His bride 
 May rise to share it. He Himself hath built 
 The fair, the New Jerusalem, for her 
 T' inhabit evermore. He will roll up 
 These heavens in honour of her marriage-day 
 And open coronation. Oh I see 
 Already the first flutter of her robe 
 Of dazzling whiteness, and methinks I hear 
 Her heavenly voice in music breathing forth 
 The sweet name of her Lord. Already, hark ! 
 The thunder of the dissolution-storm 
 KoUs on the distant heavens, and boundless flames, 
 Bright fountains open'd by Almighty breath, 
 Gush up from every orb, and dance aloft 
 From world to world ; see ! the great souls that dwelt 
 Thereon, arise, and clap their flaming wings. 
 
60 "thine is the kingdom." 
 
 Shout o'er the sea of fire, spirits of light ! 
 It is the resurrection of the just, 
 Th' ascension of the glory-beams of God 
 To their primeval Fount ; the harvest home 
 Of heaven ; the gathering of the family 
 Of the One Father ; the long Sabbath day 
 Of creatures and Creator ; 'tis the full 
 Glorification of the Lamb. Oh ! shout. 
 Shout as ye soar, ye bless'd ! link your hands 
 Around the mountain of eternity, 
 And hail the new Bride-City. 
 
 "THINE IS THE KINGDOM." 
 
 Alas ! how blind the human soul, till Thou, 
 Oh, Teacher of our hearts ! enlighten her ; 
 Wand'ring and stumbling o'er the mountain-tops 
 Of her own greatness and immortal being, 
 She, like a motherless babe, with fretful cries 
 Stretcheth out her weak arms on every side. 
 
"thine is the kingdom." 61 
 
 Yet in her wilfulness most proudly spurneth 
 
 Thy guardian hand extended, and contemneth 
 
 Thy pure and perfect wisdom. When Thy peace 
 
 And truth, in robes of deep humility 
 
 And sweet self-sacrifice, stoop down to guide 
 
 The fallen, lost one to her Father God, 
 
 She blindly scorns them, and though ever stumbling, 
 
 Bruis'd, disappointed, and forlorn at heart. 
 
 Lonely in all her pride, she vainly boasts 
 
 Her independency and intellect. 
 
 *^ Behold," she boasting saith, ^^ behold ! I tread 
 
 The universe triumphant, yea, I feel 
 
 My wings borne on through waves of pathless sky 
 
 From star to star ; I read th' intricate grace 
 
 Of all their dances, and untir'd pursue 
 
 Their awful revolutions, and uncrush'd 
 
 Measure their mighty orbs, and count their years, 
 
 And know their times ; yea, I have combed out 
 
 The subtle light of heaven, and number'd all 
 
 Her ambient locks ; I fearlessly have snatch'd 
 
 The lightning arrow from the storm-spirit's quiver 
 
 Before its time ; I have div'd in the deep 
 
 And dangerous ocean, and from its seal'd stores 
 
 Taken a thousand jewels, and dug up 
 
62 ''thine is the kingdom." 
 
 My buried treasures ; I have ransack'd air, 
 
 And earth, and water ; I can bind them all 
 
 To my proud chariot ; every power they boast, 
 
 How dread or dire soever, bends its neck 
 
 To me, and gloriously becomes my steed. 
 
 No secret foileth me ; I play with might, 
 
 And mock at mystery ; I sit enthron'd 
 
 Upon creation's pinnacle ; all things 
 
 Are but my shrine ; they serve me and obey. 
 
 What though I form'd them not ? do I not mould 
 
 And fashion them as I will 1 Behold my works ! 
 
 Call ye not these creations 1 " 
 
 Thus she spake, 
 But suddenly the earthquake lifted up 
 Her tower'd city, and in solemn wrath 
 Hurl'd it into the depths. Amaz'd, she shrank 
 From the stupendous gulf, feeling her throne 
 Totter beneath her ; then the lightning grew 
 Rebellious to her will, and sternly smote 
 Her mighty masts as they did walk the seas. 
 And bum'd her golden harvests, and drank up 
 Her crystal rivers. Then she faint became 
 With fear and famine, and, amidst the roar 
 And rocking of her fancied kingdom, bow'd, 
 
^^ THINE IS THE KINGDOM." 63 
 
 And droop'd, and sigh'd. Then silently arose 
 
 Before her the full ocean of deep truth, 
 
 Glass'd in whose clear, unsullied purity. 
 
 She saw herself aright, and prostrate fell 
 
 Before her Maker as a little child, 
 
 And weeping said : 
 
 " Oh, my insulted Sovereign ! now I see. 
 
 Thine is the kingdom — heaven Thy throne, and earth 
 
 Thy footstool ; madly did I think to sit 
 
 Upon the throne of God, and make His true 
 
 And faithful worshippers, stars, sea, and earth, 
 
 My servants and my realm ; — I who am nought 
 
 In Thine omnipotent presence ; I, a breath, 
 
 A dust, an atom, on the hurricane pride 
 
 And passion, whirl'd into divinity. 
 
 How mad ! how false ! how justly thus abas'd ! 
 
 Lord, in the ocean of Thy Majesty 
 
 I dwindle to a drop ! amid the pomp 
 
 Of Thy star-lamps and boundless domes, I sink. 
 
 Tremble, and faint. The thunder's terrible voice 
 
 Sounds like the rolling of Thy royal wheels. 
 
 And makes me dumb ; the fetterless lightning blinds 
 
 And scorches me to dust ; the ocean's depth, 
 
 The heaven's height, the silence and the state, 
 
64 "thine is the kingdom." 
 
 The mystery, and majesty, and might 
 Of Thy all-perfect works, crush and oppress 
 My pulses, and annihilate my pride. 
 Yea, every flower upbraids me, every drop 
 Of dew, and every breath of air, reproach 
 And tell me I am nothing." 
 
 Thus brought low, 
 She lay before her God. Then Christ, the meek, 
 The matchless Teacher, bending from His true 
 And everlasting glory, rais'd her up 
 And said, " Since thou art now a little child, 
 Since thou art nothing, I will be thy All. 
 Since thou hast poured out thy spirit to me, 
 I will become thy soul, for thou art mine. 
 My ransom'd treasure. receive me, then, 
 For thy true self and sovereignty, and so 
 Thou shalt, indeed, reign royally, for I, 
 The Maker and the Monarch, am thine own. 
 Thou art my bride, thou on my throne shalt sit ; 
 Thy nothingness shall wed my boundless wealth, 
 Thy ignorance my wisdom, and thy death 
 My life eternal ; thy deep guilt my pure 
 And spotless righteousness, and thy heart's sin 
 Shall die in my heart's holiness, thy dark 
 
THE BELOVED STAR. 65 
 
 Deformity my beauty shall absorb. 
 Thus do I lift my lowly bride high o'er 
 StarS; skieSj and seraphim. Fear not, belov'd ! 
 Safely thou now may'st call the Infinite 
 Thy palace, and the storms thy ministers. 
 The stars thy pavement — all that I have made 
 Is our bright palace-home, for I am thine. 
 All, all thine own for ever. Thou art mine, 
 I have redeem'd thee.'' 
 
 Then the contrite heart, 
 The lowly and forgiven spirit, was caught 
 Up to the throne of Christ. 
 
 THE BELOVED SIAE. 
 
 Two angels on that holy mountain stood 
 Where rises daily heaven's metropolis. 
 The New Jerusalem ; there did they stand, 
 And thence down-gazing feasted their still eyes 
 On all the dazzling waves of firmament 
 I* 
 
66 THE BELOVED STAR. 
 
 And cluster'd constellationSj stretching out 
 
 In fathomless perspective, that an eye 
 
 Not infioite might compass. The great deep 
 
 Seem'd an unbounded ocean of broad space, 
 
 Pure ether, azure dark, without a shore. 
 
 Without a bed. Hung on the airy wave 
 
 Great firmaments, each with a miUion worlds 
 
 A thousand times thrice n umber' d, like bright sands 
 
 Shaken from God's gold sandals, and each one 
 
 Of the thick firmaments seem'd but a star 
 
 Set solitary on the clear profound, 
 
 And roll'd stupendous on its curving sweep 
 
 Around some far-off constellated point, 
 
 Itself a universe, yet shining lone 
 
 And little 'mid th' unfathomable stretch 
 
 Of space around, scarce trembling on the gaze, 
 
 Though blazing with vast hurricane flames of glory, 
 
 And suns colossal. 
 
 Calm shone the starry sea ; wave after wave 
 Koll'd by in mountain march ; the breath of God 
 Heav'd the long billows ; and the giant worlds, 
 Cluster'd like dewdrops, rose, and danc'd, and sank, 
 Aud circled in illimitable rounds 
 
THE BELOVED STAR. 67 
 
 The footstool of the Throne, washing with gold 
 
 The mountain of Eternity, which tower'd 
 
 Augustly from their foam, spiring aloft 
 
 Even to the feet of God. Deep unto deep 
 
 Utter'd stupendous voices ; every star 
 
 And system sang in concert, and the song 
 
 Swam on from wave to wave ; rose with the roll 
 
 Gigantic of the rocking palaces ; 
 
 Swell'd boundless with the gi-and and glorious motion 
 
 Of million firmaments, soaring to bliss. 
 
 All, all was dance and song, and discord none. 
 
 Scene lovely ! scene immense ! sound infinite ! 
 
 Yet sweet as mother's melody to babe 
 
 •Half waking, — perfect as the tiny chime 
 
 Of hare-bells ringing to the southern wind. 
 
 how the undulating anthem rose. 
 
 And fell, and rose again ! and bursting through 
 
 Far, far off echoes, dying cadences, 
 
 Gush'd highest hallelujah peals aloft 
 
 Like sudden thunder ; 
 
 And leaping on from every globe to space 
 
 Unutterably broad, and like the zone 
 
 Of omnipresent love, encircling all 
 
 The measureless creation, binding up 
 
68 THE BELOVED STAR. 
 
 Th' uncounted jewels of the heavenly deep 
 To the great crown of GrOD. 
 
 So look'd they down 
 From Eden's mountain o'er the bright domain 
 Spreading below. Oft had they look'd ere now, 
 But never so enrapt, for the high song 
 Had caught a richer key, the boundless dance 
 Statelier measure gain'd ; the kindling suns 
 Blaz'd into perfect light ; each star drew near 
 Her sister ; so in radiant grace they group'd, 
 All joyancy and love. 
 
 '* Say, what doth mood so rapturous portend ? 
 Some new display of Godhead, or th' approach 
 Of the grand consummation 1 w^hen this sea 
 Shall vanish in one flame, these mighty worlds 
 Wither, and leave nought but the souls they shrin'd." 
 
 " 'Tis even so. The hour of jubilee 
 Approaches. Dost thou see, far in the deep. 
 Yon speck of splendour, in a twinkling cloud 
 Of distant firmaments 1 and mark'st thou not 
 Amid that speck one system passing bright, 
 And through that glory finds thine eye its source — 
 
THE BELOVED STAR. 69 
 
 One blood-red spark ? It is for that one spark 
 
 This universe doth wait ; that single star 
 
 Chaineth creation's eyes ; God bendeth down 
 
 Even from the summit of Eternity, 
 
 To take that orb, whose measur'd motion seems 
 
 To regulate the mystic wheels of time, 
 
 And with whose pause they stop. 
 
 " These glitt'ring waves 
 From this fair mountain shall roll off and leave 
 Her adamantine base open and bare 
 To sunshine everlasting ; 'twas a stream 
 Which gush'd exulting from the crystal rock, 
 Touch'd by the voice of God, and hath wash'd down 
 Yon priceless, blood-bought jewel to His feet, 
 And now must be dried up. That only star 
 Broke the immortal harmony of heaven. 
 She only tarnish'd her first loveliness 
 And cloth'd herself in shame. Canst thou then think 
 Why she is nobler now than all the host 
 Of sinless worlds ? Oh, that dark, guilty spot. 
 That blot on heaven's broad beauty, doth enshrine 
 A bride unspotted — one with treasure bought, 
 To which compar'd, all these rich worlds are dust ; 
 A Bride to whom th' Eternal's Brightness holds 
 
70 THE GREATER BLISS. 
 
 Dearest relations ; one so lov'd and priz'd 
 That He, whose breath created all thou seest, 
 To ransom and redeem her, stoop'd to dwell 
 On yon polluted world, and make it red 
 With His owD blood, the rich redemption price 
 Of His beloved." 
 
 THE GEEATEK BLISS. 
 
 (TO ELLEN.) 
 
 It is blessed to receive from God with heart of thankful 
 
 love 
 Ten thousand gifts borne on the wings of peace, His 
 
 gentle dove ; 
 To drink the rivers of His grace, enjoy the feasts He 
 
 spreads. 
 And bask in the broad sunshine, which on all the earth 
 
 He sheds. 
 
THE GREATER BLISS. 71 
 
 But yet more blessed to impart His bounty kind and 
 free 
 
 To those who pine in lonely want, or who have less 
 than we ; 
 
 To pour out fruits and flowers of joy at orphans' bleed- 
 ing feet, 
 
 And let into the pris'ner's cell the open sunlight sweet. 
 
 'Tis blessed to receive from God the bounding pulse of 
 
 health, 
 To banquet on the breeze and beam, and all creation's 
 
 wealth ; 
 But sweeter still with pity's sighs to fan the brow of 
 
 fire, 
 And soothe the feverish bosom's throbs, where earthly 
 
 hopes expire. 
 
 'Tis blessed to receive from God compassion when we 
 
 fall, 
 And help from that Almighty hand, which offers aid to 
 
 all; 
 But sweeter still, with fondling hand, the bruised flower 
 
 to rear, 
 And heal by tenderness the faults of those that fail or 
 
 fear. 
 
72 THE GREATER BUSS. 
 
 "lis blessed to receive from God free comfort in our 
 
 woes, 
 And mercy's lily hand to dry each tear-drop as it flows ; 
 But sweeter yet to hush and soothe the wayward and 
 
 the weak, 
 And plant a rose, or raise a smile, on sorrow's pallid 
 
 cheek. 
 
 'Tis blessed to receive from God His truth and Spirit 
 
 free. 
 And feel the warmth of His bright presence wheresoe'er 
 
 we be; 
 And feast upon His heavenly love, descending hour by 
 
 hour, 
 Breathing in every balmy breeze, and every fragrant 
 
 flower : 
 
 But still more blest, with hearts dissolv'd beneath His 
 
 sunshine sweet. 
 To pour out all our living love in transport at His 
 
 feet. 
 To render back our joyous souls in sparkling childhood 
 
 free. 
 And flow into His bosom, like a stream into the sea. 
 
THE GREATER BLISS. 73 
 
 'Tis blessed to receive from those whose smiles we hold 
 
 most dear, 
 The smallest proof of tenderness, or pledge of love 
 
 sincere, 
 One word of cordial greeting — one tone fresh from the 
 
 heart, 
 The look of joy at meeting, or the tear-drop when we 
 
 part: 
 
 But sweeter and more blessed far, with self-devoted zeal. 
 In daily, hourly diHgence, t' express the love we feel ; 
 To pour out for their cherish'd sakes our being day by 
 
 day, 
 Kepeat their names in dreams by night, and breathe 
 
 them when we pray. 
 
 Father ! blessed above all ! who evermore dost give. 
 Grant us to live and love like Thee, since by Thy love 
 
 we live, 
 And as Thou givest all to us in bounty full and free, 
 Teach us to pour out heart and life in imitating Thee. 
 
(74) 
 
 TO LIVE. 
 
 In truth it were a glorious thing to live 
 
 As live the winds of heaven, sweeping immense 
 
 From land to land, wafting on loving wing 
 
 The prayer or hymn of praise from human lips ; 
 
 To live as yon mysterious stars of night, 
 
 Boiling with speed unutterably grand 
 
 Through the profound of heaven, a measureless arch, 
 
 And singing as they roll ! 'Twere sweet to live 
 
 Even with the frail and delicate life of flowers, 
 
 And blossoms, and first buds : for these rejoice 
 
 And flourish in delight ; but sweeter still 
 
 To live the life of heaven's gay minstrel bird, 
 
 Th' angelic lark, or dearer nightingale. 
 
 'Twere great 
 To live as the proud eagle. Oh what bliss 
 To scale on mighty pinions heaven's sublime ! 
 And see the lessening earth far, far below, 
 Th' increasing sun above. 
 
TO LIVK 75 
 
 It were a royal thing to live as thou, 
 sun magnificent ! so lighting up 
 And firing all creation ; or like thee, 
 Ocean, great ocean, many-realmed Mng, 
 Mighty in majesty, of freedom full. 
 And harmony, and strength. 
 
 All these things live, 
 Untouch'd by sorrow, undefil'd by sin, 
 And ignorant of shame ; these joyously 
 Exult in heaven's pure light, and feel no fear, 
 Nor bonds, nor pain, nor consciousness of guilt. 
 Yet would I rather be a living mind. 
 Possessing in that mind the conscious glow 
 Of immortality — if only pure — 
 Hostile to sin, at peace with Thee, my God, 
 Though tried by torture, perfected by pain, 
 Than roll aloft, a star among the stars, 
 Or shine alone, a sun in heaven's wide arch. 
 Or bloom in beauty with the innocent flowers, 
 Or rise a wave in the broad, joyous sea. 
 Or warble with the lark or nightingale, 
 Or soar with the proud eagle. For not one 
 Of these, my Saviour, can commune with Thee. 
 They cannot love, as doth this heart of mine ; 
 
7^ TO LIVE. 
 
 They cannot praise Thee, with the deep, full joy 
 Of perfect consecration, as I can. 
 They serve Thee but unconsciously, nor know 
 The bliss of choosing Thy sweet yoke, nor taste 
 The heaven of gratitude, that strives in vain 
 To thank Thee for Thy love on Calvary. 
 
 Yet if I had no Saviour, if no blood 
 
 Of Thine for me were shed, oh, I would long 
 
 To weep mine immortality away. 
 
 And quench in tears this fearful spark of splendour 
 
 Within me kindled. 1 would pray to be 
 
 The smallest crystal drop, or viewless atom, 
 
 Aught in the universe, so without sin, 
 
 Kather than what I am. Though mind is great, 
 
 And hath a beam more glorious than the sun — 
 
 More freedom (once set free) than loudest winds, 
 
 More speed than swiftest lightning — deeper depth, 
 
 Passion more strong, than ocean — aspirations 
 
 Far higher than the eagle's — destinies 
 
 Eclipsing yours, ye stars ! Yet sin hath power 
 
 To turn these all to torment. Rebel reason 
 
 Is only anguish ; is it not most just 1 
 
 Let the proud rebel suffer ; let the oak 
 
TO LIVE. 77 
 
 Wrestling, be rent, while the meek flower escapes, 
 
 When winds are loud. Yet the proud heart will say. 
 
 "0 how much rather would I be the oak. 
 
 With all its struggles and with all its storms, 
 
 Than the unnoticed grass ! A lofty lot 
 
 Be mine, though perilous, for oh ! it is 
 
 A glorious thing to live without a fetter. 
 
 Even though broken ; as the mountain-top 
 
 Though lightning-blasted ; never will I bend, 
 
 But self-sufficient stand, in torture proud. 
 
 And mighty to endure." 
 
 Yet, boasting dust ! 
 What art thou 1 lo ! the meanest worm that crawls 
 In passive service to its Maker's will, 
 Is nobler — infinitely — than the height 
 Of intellect, when warring with its God : 
 Then basest, meanest, vilest, of all things — 
 Traitor as foul, as favourite distinguished. 
 
 A rapture-life lives Genius, when he breathes 
 
 No rebel breath against his Maker ; he 
 
 Feels his strong wings and joys to stretch their plumes. 
 
 Fast fixing on the Sun of holiness 
 
 His pure, reflective eye. But, brighter yet 
 
78 TO DEE. 
 
 The life of angels, all in rapture given 
 To everlasting worship ; free as light, 
 Yet dutiful as love ; whose law their joy ; 
 Unwearied and unspotted, burning still 
 With equal praise and power, unsullied beams 
 Of the eternal glory. 
 
 Yet remains 
 One life more lofty still, more dear than all : 
 To live a little child at Thy lov'd feet. 
 My Saviour ! conscious of no life but Thee, 
 Until with Thee made one ; to all else dead ; 
 Having no breath but Thy sweet inspiration, 
 No language but the echo of Thy voice. 
 No wish but Thy dear will — such life be mine. 
 
 TO DIE. 
 
 The flowers die sweetly ; wept by evening dews 
 They sigh out their last fragrance ; their rich souls 
 Breathing away in balm, and one by one 
 
79 
 
 The delicate petals shrink and fold, and fall 
 Silently on the grass ; struggle is none ; 
 But even as if the very finger of peace, 
 With fond and tender touch, dissolv'd the flower. 
 So doth it die. How sweet to die like this ! 
 The soul outbreath'd as incense on the breast 
 Of its Eedeemer, softly, silently, 
 Love-melted in the heav'n-flood of His smile. 
 
 The summer day dies calmly ; over hill 
 And valley like a drooping bird she sinks. 
 While her tir'd purple pinions drop pale stars. 
 The firstborn stars of night. Ten thousand tears 
 Tell her departing ; all her children turn 
 Their weeping eyes to her fair, fading face. 
 Which smiles upon their tears ; such death is calm. 
 So parts the Christian mother from her babes. 
 And leaves them as they weep ; a thousand eyes 
 From heaven are watching over them. 
 
 The wave dies grandly on the rocky shore, 
 Self-sacrificed in thunder — shaking clifis — 
 Crushing proud argosies ; such death is dread 
 And fearful ; so expire world-conquering kings. 
 
80 TO DIE. 
 
 The river dies in rapture when she finds 
 Her ocean-mother's bosom ; full and deep, 
 But quiet is her joy ; so faith's still flood 
 Is lost in the pure waves of boundless bliss. 
 
 The stars shall die in glory ; highest song 
 
 Of resurrection rolling deepening on 
 
 From flaming orb to orb ; and they shall fall 
 
 To music measureless, in the vast blaze 
 
 Of their own burning splendours ; at the sweep 
 
 Of the Almighty Finger they shall drop 
 
 From heaven's high harp : so did the martyrs die, 
 
 In flame, and ecstasy, and seraph song. 
 
 In music melt the thunders, while dumb earth 
 
 Is yet in trembling silence bow'd to hear 
 
 Their billowy voices. Hark ! their souls expire 
 
 In far, far rolling melodies ; so dies 
 
 Th' immortal poet, he who, having shaken 
 
 Wide realms with music, breathes his childlike spirit 
 
 Into one triumph hymn. 
 
 The babe dies peacefully in the warm arms 
 Of its sweet mother, while the glowing life 
 
TO DIE. 81 
 
 Of the fond heart whereto she presses it 
 Half binds the fluttering dove to its white cage, 
 And keeps the pulse at play. O she would pour 
 Her own life into the cold babe with joy ! 
 Therefore she binds him so about her heart 
 To make him still live on, thinking to blend 
 Her being with the babe ; but lo ! the bud 
 Of immortality, nurs'd in her breast, 
 Hath blossom'd into heaven. So let me die 
 Where the warm life of Jesus shall inspire 
 My fainting spirit, and His heart shall beat 
 New pulses into mine. 
 
 Lovely dies spring in summer ; music swells 
 Around her, and with perfect bridal bliss 
 She loses her own beauty in the joy 
 Of union with her one belov'd, and thus 
 Dying she lives in him. So doth the bride 
 Of Jesus ; when His image she receives, 
 She hastes to perfect union with her Lord, 
 Losing herself in Him ; forsaking all 
 To live His life. 
 
(82) 
 
 HAEPS OF GOD." 
 
 REV. XV. 2. 
 
 Where are the harps of God ? 
 
 Down in the deep 
 Dark valleys, where the thunder echoes sleep ; 
 Which, to the sweepings of His lightning fingers, 
 Awake, and roar, and shout, and swell, and roll, 
 And circle round the spiry monuments, 
 And leap from hill to hill, and march along 
 Ravines unfathomable, with a sound 
 That makes the dumb rocks tremble. Hush ! it dies 
 In echoes measureless ; — sky, sea, and earth, 
 Repeat it ; hark ! and now it bursts again 
 In mighty hallelujah, for, behold. 
 His finger sweeps the clouds, and lo ! they sparkle 
 With joy's quick lightnings ! hush, it is God's harp. 
 Where are the harps of God 1 High in the heavens, 
 Among the summer clouds, their soft strings lie. 
 All made of silver drops, mercy's bright tears ; 
 And when His sunbeam finger toucheth them, 
 
^^ HARPS OF GOD." B^ 
 
 The rainbow riseth up, a silent song, 
 
 Weeping His praise. A harp of loftier tone 
 
 Is the high heaven, that glorious circle, strung 
 
 With countless stars ; they all have souls ; and each 
 
 Dissolves in harmony, touch'd by His breath, 
 
 And the stupendous hymn floats round and round 
 
 His broad creation's hills, a deluge of delight. 
 
 Where are the harps of God ? He hath a deep 
 
 And rich-ton'd lyre, sea, in thy high heads. 
 
 Which shake off" their white crowns in glorious sheets. 
 
 Swept by His swift storm-fingers. And He hath 
 
 A many-stringed harp in forests, where 
 
 No foot of man e'er trod, and in the streams 
 
 Of giant waterfalls. Hark, bend thy ear ! 
 
 The thousand harps of God are loud and clear 
 
 Through the glad universe ; His kingdom breathes 
 
 An everlasting hymn ; His palace all 
 
 Is paved and roof d with music ; every step 
 
 And look awakes an echo. Shall not then 
 
 That beauteous mystery which He hath rob'd 
 
 In His own nature, and ordain'd to share 
 
 His palace, even man's blood-ransom'd soul. 
 
 Shall not this be His lyre most exquisite. 
 
 Answering all the pulses of His Spirit 1 
 
84 THE FALLEN ANGEL. 
 
 Shall she, that bride redeemed, know no song 1 
 Hark ! from the New Jerusalem ascends 
 The perfect harmony ; " To Him that lov'd 
 And wash'd us in His blood, glory and praise ! " 
 
 THE FALLEN ANGEL. 
 
 There stood the hideous shape 
 Of open disobedience, like a tall 
 And perfect column, rearing its high head 
 To mock the Ughtning, and, as just reward, 
 Stamp'd visibly with the black, burning blast 
 Of the pure fire's contempt. He look'd most like 
 A night without a star, yet blazing bright 
 With blood-red conflagrations ; a dead sea 
 Without a breeze, yet heaving franticly 
 With earthquakes deep below ; a giant rock 
 Tottering from its base over a sea 
 Of fire unfathomable. There stood he, 
 
THE FALLEN ANGEL. 85 
 
 Still awful in his beauty ; the fair lip 
 Curl'd like an adder in the passionate sneer 
 Of pride unspeakable, and the high brow 
 Heavy as thund'rous midnight ; the vast form 
 Dilating with rebellion. Like a spark 
 Flying against the face of Him whose breath 
 Form'd it from nothing ; like a troubled drop 
 Leaping from ocean, swelling with vain scorn 
 Of such dependence, fighting with its weight, 
 Quivering alone a moment, struggling sore 
 With the omnipotent down-grasp of power 
 Resistless ; or like haughty rebel ray 
 Self-sever'd from the sun, thinking to shine 
 In solitary state — yea, to eclipse 
 Its sire magnificent ; even so stood he 
 When Michael turned. 
 
 Then met those angel eyes. 
 So lightning meets the sunbeam ; so he drops 
 His scorched eyelids under her pure gaze, 
 And flies the august confronting ; so fell down 
 The orbs of Satan, 'neath the radiant look 
 Of the erect archangel. 
 
(86) 
 
 TEMPEST SONGS. 
 
 SPIRIT OF THE WIND. 
 
 OCEAN. 
 
 BUTTERFLY. 
 
 THUNDERS. 
 
 LIGHTNING. 
 
 SUNBEAMS. 
 MOONBEAMS. 
 RAINBOW. 
 CLOUDS. 
 
 SCENE. — THE SEA-COAST. 
 TIME. — ^AN AUGUST EVENING. 
 
 CLOUDS. 
 
 Brothers, rejoice ! the winds are on the wing ; 
 
 See yonder, in the sullen south, the sign 
 
 Of the swift spirits' coming ; mark ye not 
 
 On the horizon scowl the crowded folds 
 
 Of their red, waving banners 1 Plume your wings 
 
 To give them chase till morn. 
 
 SUNBEAMS. 
 
 Stay, wanderer, stay, 
 Put not away your satin robes as yet ; 
 The Spirit of the Wind hath far to come ; 
 
TEMPEST SONGS. 87 
 
 See, we have brought some golden combs to smoothe 
 
 Your locks out on the sky with. Ah ! ye weep 
 
 For joy, and we each one of us will leap 
 
 Into your crystal tears, and throned there 
 
 Eide round the arched heavens ; our wealthy sire 
 
 Misses us not as yet. 
 
 I am the semi-ring that weds the tears • 
 
 And smiles of heaven ; the royal eagle looks. 
 
 And loves, and soars to reach me ; but I rise 
 
 Above him as he rises. I look down 
 
 And watch the summer world, and weeping say, 
 
 " Remember Him whose faithfulness I tell." 
 
 I glass myself in ocean, and the nymphs 
 
 And nereids play with my refulgent hair. 
 
 And paint the shells wherewith they deck their own 
 
 With pencils dipp'd in my fair shadow ; they 
 
 Rejoice beneath my smile of tears. I see 
 
 The storms far off, and with dissolving eyes 
 
 Beseech them to deal gently as they may 
 
 With my beloved earth ; then do I wait 
 
 And watch their coming till I dare no more ; 
 
88 TEMPEST SONGS. 
 
 Till with their solemn voices they forbid 
 My tarrying ; then with ling'ring love I tiirn 
 And gather up my robes and fold my wings, 
 And pale and lost in tears I pass away. 
 Tell me, dear Ocean, wherefore dost thou chide 
 Thy snowy walls so roughly 1 dost thou feel 
 Th' approaching of the storm, and canst not bind 
 Thy joyous passions down 1 wait, wait, oh wait ! 
 He Cometh but too soon. 
 
 OCEATr. 
 
 Oh Iris ! who dost crown thy circled brow 
 
 So daintily with the seven-colour'd hair 
 
 Of Phoebus, he, who now like Hannibal 
 
 Climbs the high-heaped Alps of sculptur'd clouds, 
 
 In whose deep caverns pillow'd thunders sleep 
 
 Till he has pass'd — oh ! take away thy robes, 
 
 I could not bear to rend them as they lie 
 
 So calmly on my bosom ; take them up, 
 
 And hide thy angel forehead, for I feel 
 
 The steps of the Storm-spirit on my waves 
 
 A thousand leagues away, and ere the sun 
 
 Hath set, he will be here, so linger not. 
 
 Thou chain'st me with thy tenderness — depart. 
 
 Rairibow fades. 
 
TEMPEST SONGS. 
 
 BUTTEBELT. 
 
 I have launcli'd forth from the cliff, oh, thou nionarch 
 
 strong and free ! 
 To dance above thy pavement blue, and glass my wings 
 
 in thee ; 
 Disporting with the sea-nymphs oft this way I gaily 
 
 ride. 
 And they cannot touch this fairy-wing, though often 
 
 they have tried. 
 
 OCEATS-. 
 
 Go, foolish flutterer, go : thou art too fair 
 To perish till thine hour — thy life too short 
 To be destroy'd in bud — ^go to thy nest 
 Empalac'd in some lady-lily's bower, 
 Or regal rose's court ; go thou and paint 
 Thy star-bejewell'd feathers with the blush 
 Of evening; go, and drink the melting pearls, 
 And taste the liquid flowers that even now 
 Flow from the bosom of the nightingale. 
 Depart — the storms are up — I could not hurt 
 Thee, oh resplendent creature ! nor despoil 
 
90 TEMPEST SONGS. 
 
 One ruby on thy plumes ; but if thou stay, 
 Soon must I snatch thee into death, and tear 
 Thy velvet pageantry. 
 
 CLOTJDS. 
 
 Prepare your harps, ye Thunders, and thou Sea, 
 
 Thy boundless echoes ; even now we hold 
 
 The Lightning struggling for escape, and when 
 
 Ye see him leaping forth, then lightly sweep 
 
 Your softest strings ; then, as we gather round 
 
 In thicker majesty our robed kings, 
 
 And ye behold the crowded Lightnings flash 
 
 From the conflicting gems of their fire-crowns. 
 
 As they in battle mingle, and the gleams 
 
 Of their red bumish'd helms, and the swift flames 
 
 Dropp'd from their lofty crests, and the fierce flashings 
 
 Of all their crossing spears — then lift ye up 
 
 The trumpets of your voices, then unite 
 
 Your boundless battle-shout, then march ye forth, 
 
 Livisible conquerors, till the scar'd earth shake 
 
 Under your iron feet. 
 
TEMPEST SONGS. 91 
 
 THE LIGHTNIKa. 
 THE THUNDEES. 
 
 Softly from the ocean swelling, 
 
 Softly will we tune our voices, 
 Till, in the full anthem pealing, 
 
 All the dome of heaven rejoices. 
 
 'Tis a vast and high cathedral. 
 
 Where we pay our homage fair ; 
 Heaven doth arch itj ocean pave it, . 
 
 Stars and lightnings worship there. 
 
 Gather, oh, ye clouds ! and darken ; 
 
 Sevenfold heap your robes of night ; 
 Oceans, shout, and mountains, hearken, 
 
 Hide thyself, thou trembling light. 
 
 List ! the earth is hush'd in terror. 
 
 Light is gone, the day is o'er, 
 [lightning]. 
 Pause ! now raise your hallelujah. 
 
 Shout and echo ! shout and roar. 
 
TEMPEST SONGS. 
 
 Now exalt the storm of battle, 
 Clarion high and trumpet loud ; 
 
 Shout and echo, roll and rattle, 
 Leap and dance from cloud to cloud. 
 
 Underneath the ocean's arches, 
 Underneath the solid ground. 
 
 There the stately thunder marches, 
 Swell it, swell it, round and round. 
 
 See how gloriously the lightning 
 Danceth on the mountain chains ; 
 
 Now 'tis black, and now 'tis bright'ning ; 
 Harps of thunder ! lift your strains. 
 
 Round the heaven, and round the ocean, 
 Down in earth, and up in sky. 
 
 Swell the storm's sublime devotion, 
 God doth hear, and stars reply. 
 
 Hallelujah ! hallelujah ! 
 
 March we o'er the sounding sea, 
 Man doth tremble, angels hearken, 
 
 Angels of the Lord are we. 
 
TEMPEST SONGS. 93 
 
 Lightnings, we our harps are stringing 
 
 With your shining locks of fire ; 
 Sparkle to our glorious singing, 
 
 Flash from every sweepen lyre. 
 
 Hallelujah ! hallelujah ! 
 
 Chariot-wheels of God we are ; 
 Lightnings ! own His gentle bridle, 
 
 You the steeds, and we the car. 
 
 Be your footsteps swifter, prouder, 
 Let His road be pav'd with flame ; 
 
 Eoll, ye wheels of thunder, louder 
 Peal the Lord Jehovah's name. 
 
 Hurl the song aloft to madness. 
 
 Poets of the Lord are we ; 
 Clouds ! exalt the mighty gladness, 
 
 Sing, thou earth, and swell, thou sea. 
 
 SPIKIT OE THE WIND. 
 
 I come, I come, with my sweeping wings, 
 
 I have lifted the waves, I have startled the clouds, 
 
 They fly, they fly, and the thunder-kings 
 Have died away in their mountain shrouds. 
 
94 TEMPEST SONGS. 
 
 I come, I come, and the foam leaps up 
 
 Like a thousand ghosts from a thousand graves, 
 
 'Tis the sparkle that gleams on my banquetting cup 
 When I press my light lip to the tops of the waves. 
 
 I come, I come, and the mountains roar, 
 And the forests surge, and the city groans ; 
 
 There's a glorious hymn on a thousand shores, 
 And the stars keep time on their far-away thrones. 
 
 I come, I come, and the shivering bark 
 Flies over the deep like a spirit in chase. 
 
 And the spray is splashing the heavens so dark. 
 And the lightning and I will contend in the race. 
 
 I come, I come, and I fill the sky 
 
 And the earth and the sea with a boundless lay ; 
 I dance as I shout, and I sing as I fly, 
 
 And music eternal encircles my way. 
 
 I come, I come, and the heavens shall ring 
 
 With a hymn to the Lord of the winds to-night, 
 
 For his step is abroad on my rapturous wing. 
 And he walketh sublime on my measureless flight. 
 
TEMPEST SONGS. 95 
 
 CLOUDS. 
 
 Peace, ruthless spirit ! thou hast chas'd us sore, 
 
 Our breath is gone and we will lay us down 
 
 Upon the edges of the ocean line, 
 
 And so depart, and thou shalt have the world 
 
 All to thine own loud presence and wild power. 
 
 But, lo ! the lovely lady of the night 
 
 Kiseth to share the empire of the hour. 
 
 MOOlf BEAMS. 
 
 Ocean, behold ! thy bride's half-veiled brow 
 Is beaming mildly on thy surges tall. 
 She spreadeth out her thousand melting locks 
 And jeweU'd tresses on thy charmed depths, 
 crowned crested king ! so be thou still, 
 Bound by the hair of thy belov'd, and lay 
 Thy white crowns by ; dost thou not feel her feet 
 Light on thy fury ? Honour thy young queen. 
 And pave her passage o'er thy pomp, with all 
 Thy woven jewels ; let us comb thy rough 
 And rent magnificence, giant wild ! 
 Put on thy silken robes, for thou must be 
 As gentle as thy bride. 
 
96 TEMPEST SONGS. 
 
 OCEAlf. 
 
 Aiise, my empress lady, not one hair 
 
 *0f thy smooth tresses shall be rent to-night ; 
 
 Arise, oh loveliest Luna ! for to meek 
 
 And heavenly gentleness still bendeth down 
 
 The pride of power and passion ; Love shall bind 
 
 The lion ocean with a chain of hair. 
 
 Arise young Luna ! rest thy placid face 
 
 On this as placid bosom ; fearless shine, 
 
 And I will be thy mirror ; storms are fled, 
 
 And peace returns with thee. 
 
 THE CHILDEEN OF THE YEAE. 
 
 (TO ANNA.) 
 
 JANUARY. 
 
 I AM the white-rob'd daughter of the blast, 
 I veil my face in storms, and weep so fast. 
 My tears in millions on the forest lie, 
 And in the myriad waves of ocean die. 
 
THE CHILDREN OP THE YEAR. 97 
 
 They, giant billows, on my whiteness gazing, 
 Mimic my purity, their foam-crests raising. 
 And list'ning to the music of my singing, 
 And how I sweep my harp of tempest stringing. 
 On their mad horses as o'er mountains flying. 
 Shout as I weep, and thunder to my sighing. 
 O'er the vast city all night long I'm weeping. 
 Where mirth is revelling and death is sleeping. 
 Then to the wilderness I glide to wail, 
 And meet my fairest child, my snowdrop pale ; 
 It is my tears that bleach her spotless head ; 
 A bridal veil o'er earth's green brow I spread, 
 Beneath my robe her cradled first-born rest. 
 Warm life extracting from my shiv'ring breast. 
 
 FEBEUABT. 
 
 I am far fairer than my sister past. 
 Yet I, too, am the daughter of the blast ; 
 My tears are mix'd with smiles, my clouds are broken, 
 I bind my storm-rent locks with Spring's first token ; 
 I call a thousand sleeping buds t' awake. 
 The songster's nest I build, and then I break. 
 I am a wild and wilful spirit, playing 
 With little ice-bound streams, and then delaying ; 
 H 
 
98 THE CHILDREN OF THE YEAR. 
 
 Now, like young May, I dance across the mead, 
 
 Now, like December, ride my tempest steed ; 
 
 Yes, I can ride old ocean's foaming horses, 
 
 And I can kiss the blue streams from their sources ; 
 
 Yes, 1 have voices like an infant's prattle. 
 
 And shouts like warriors' riding to the battle. 
 
 The yellow-hammer hears my step, and sings. 
 
 And the hedge-sparrow shakes his merry wings ; 
 
 The lilac-tree puts forth her dainty bloom, 
 
 And the thrush whistles "Spring is nearly come." 
 
 MARCH, 
 
 A rough and racing boy I am. 
 
 Yet in my arms I hold a lamb ; 
 
 Some think me as a lion bold, 
 
 My hair is rough, my breath is cold ; 
 
 And yet I am not always wild, 
 
 I have the nature of a child, 
 
 For sometimes I can sweetly play, 
 
 And trim my locks with blossoms gay, 
 
 And whistle to my pet birds' song, 
 
 And smile and frolic all day long ; 
 
 But if the stern north-east awake, 
 
 The forests feel my step, and shake ; 
 
THE CHILDREN OF THE YEAR. 
 
 Like the young lion to his prey, 
 I rush upon my whirlwind way ; 
 I stamp upon my flowers, and roar, 
 Dashing the foam from shore to shore ; 
 Till, from the southern deep, I hear 
 A voice of music, soft and clear ; 
 It is my sister April's voice, 
 I go, yet going, I rejoice. 
 She comes ! she comes ! I hear her sing- 
 See on her breast the new-born Spring ! 
 That lovely babe is waking now, 
 The rainbow is upon her brow ; 
 Among her curls, with sunbeams gilt. 
 The nightingale his nest has built ; 
 The rustle of the warbler's wing 
 Awoke the sleeping infant Spring. 
 She smiles — I hear her joyous cry, 
 Farewell ! to other lands I fly ! 
 
 APRIL. 
 
 Brother, farewell ! thy stormy blasts remove. 
 The Spring can only breathe the air of love ; 
 Her darling nightingale is pouring clear, 
 Kapturous music into midnight's ear. 
 
100 THE CHILDREN OF THE YEAR. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! 'tis Spring's first carol : from her throne, 
 My breast, she leaps to earth, and walks alone. 
 See, where her tiny foot touch'd greensward first, 
 A thousand daisies from earth's bosom burst ; 
 See, where she runs, what flowers her steps pursue. 
 And from her hands these violets she threw ; 
 Young butterflies around her tresses cling, 
 To meet her how the swallow tries his wing ! 
 My child, my lovely Spring, now needs no more 
 Her tender nurse, and April's reign is o'er. 
 
 MAT. 
 
 I am the merry child, the youthful Spring ! 
 
 The bright-hair'd maiden of the fairy wing ! 
 
 A thousand pearls among my ringlets play, 
 
 Young children pluck them out and call them May ; 
 
 A million emeralds my robes adorn, 
 
 The lowly IDy on my brow is borne ; 
 
 The purple orchis and the king-cup spread 
 
 Their carpet delicately where I tread ; 
 
 The soft, green com is my gay mantle now. 
 
 The swallow circles singing round my brow ; 
 
 But childhood's sparkling dew-drops vanish soon, 
 
 And I resign my bowers to lovelier June. 
 
THE CHILDREN OF THE YEAR. 101 
 
 JUNE. 
 
 I am a happy shepherdess, and by the placid stream, 
 I lead my flocks to bathe their wool and hide from 
 
 noon-day beam ! 
 And while the shepherds far and near take off the 
 
 cumbrous fleece, 
 I walk among my haymakers and sing of love and peace 
 The storm may cross my deep blue sky, the thunder's 
 
 peal may raise 
 A wild and solemn harmony, yet stiU its voice is praise. 
 Soon, soon, the storm is silent, the heavens again are 
 
 bright. 
 And, in the fresh green pastures, forth I lead my lambs 
 ^ so white. 
 Say, can ye count the flowers that bloom among my 
 
 golden hair 1 
 Behold my chosen, queenly rose, the rose I love to wear ! 
 But while I watch she fades away — my fairest roses die ; 
 For see, it is my sister comes — the lily-crown'd July. 
 
 jrLT. 
 
 Y"es, I am come with lilies tall and white. 
 
 And yellow robes with golden sunbeams bright ; 
 
102 THE CHILDREN OF THE TEAR. 
 
 Amid thick rustling groves of shady trees 
 I guide to mossy seats of softest ease, 
 Where dragon -flies may poise the quiv'ring wing, 
 And the gay grasshopper his transport sing ; 
 Where the soft odour of the hay-field breathes, 
 And blue convolvulus the thicket wreathes ; 
 Where countless-winged creatures dance and play, 
 And the rich bee goes murmuring on his way ; 
 Come to my bowers, and watch the reapers by. 
 They go to toil, for August now is nigh. 
 
 AUGrST. 
 
 I am a sturdy harvestman, my brow is hot and brown, ' 
 I labour from the early morn until the sun goes down ; 
 Look on my wide and waving fields, o'er continent and 
 
 isle. 
 The shining flood of plenty rolls, and makes the valleys 
 
 smile. 
 Lo ! to the dancing winds it heaves its glitt'ring fulness 
 
 free. 
 Then breaks into a thousand sheaves, like billows on 
 
 the sea, 
 
 ♦ 
 
THE CHILDREN OF THE YEAR. 103 
 
 Where stores of health and heaps of wealth, both rich 
 
 and poor may share, 
 And oh, that men would praise the Lord, who giveth 
 
 and to spare ! 
 
 SEPTEMBEE. 
 
 I am a thoughtful matron, grave, not like the youthful 
 
 May, 
 Mine is the tender, solemn time, when youth is passed 
 
 away; 
 A soft and silver shadow stealeth slowly o'er my 
 
 brow. 
 And quiet is my footstep, and my voice is mild and 
 
 low. 
 I am a mother fond and sad, and gaze with tearful 
 
 eye 
 Upon my fading children, for I feel they soon must 
 
 die; 
 Yet am I not unlovely quite, though from my fading 
 
 crown. 
 The dying roses droop their heads, the yellow leaves 
 
 fall down ; 
 
104 THE CHILDREN OF THE YEAR. 
 
 Come, search my sunny orchard-groves, rich, ripen'd 
 
 fruit they yield, 
 And broad and bright my harvest moon shines like a 
 
 silver shield. 
 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 Though wither'd leaves my wreath compose, 
 Though soon my hours of sunshine close, 
 Yet oft serene my nut-brown face. 
 And berries bright my hedges grace. 
 The Kedbreast has a song for me, 
 And nuts are on my forest-tree. 
 The Swallow will not stay, I know. 
 But mine, the hardy northern crow, 
 Mine the rich plum and juicy vine, 
 And Anna's birthday, too, is mine. 
 
 NOYEMBEE. 
 
 Ah, I am come ! and ye greet me not, 
 
 Fear and aversion are ever my lot ; 
 
 Ye shrink from the sound of my voice of storm, 
 
 And dread th' approach of my shadowy form ; 
 
 Ye know that my brow is heavy and dull, 
 
 And scarcely a blossom have I to cull ; 
 
THE CHILDREN OF THE YEAR. 105 
 
 Ye know that my forehead with mist is veil'd, 
 
 And the blast, at my coming, hath moan'd and wail'd ; 
 
 I have torn from the branches the leaves that stay'd, 
 
 And bid the shiv'ring chrysanthemum fade ; 
 
 I have strewn the foam o'er the ocean wide, 
 
 And the bee has gone to her nest to hide ; 
 
 I chase the butterflies all away. 
 
 And the dear little dormouse has finish'd her play ; 
 
 The Michaelmas daisy hides her head. 
 
 The birds of the summer are far away fled ; 
 
 Yet murmur ye not, I am doing my work, 
 
 And under my frowns future summer-beams lurk ; 
 
 But since ye so hate me, I'll hasten away, 
 
 Short is the reign of November's day. 
 
 DECEMBER. 
 
 I come, I come ! ye love me well ! a thousand hearts 
 
 are leaping 
 To hear my voice, my deep, bass voice, loud o'er the 
 
 city sweeping ; 
 The little schoolboy knows my call, my blasts he doth 
 
 not chide, 
 For my rough old arms will bear him to his gentle 
 
 mother's side ; 
 
106 THE CHILDREN OF THE YEAR. 
 
 He loves me, for I make the pond a merry playing- 
 
 place, 
 And he makes and takes my snowballs with a red^ 
 
 good-temper'd face ; 
 He knows I bring the festival, when sisters all are home, 
 And father is so happy that his girls and boys are come, 
 And mother spreads her largest board, her whitest 
 
 cloth displays. 
 And round the altar each records the Babe of Beth- 
 lehem's praise : 
 And looking back upon the year, in every month they 
 
 find 
 A theme for gratitude to Him who is for ever kind ; 
 Protection in the tempest hour His guardian mercy 
 
 gave. 
 It hid them from the pestilence or bore them o'er the 
 
 wave ; 
 The smiling flowers of early spring dropp'd from His 
 
 open hand ; 
 It gemm'd the butterfly's gay wing — it bless'd our 
 
 native land ; 
 It pour'd the fruits of Autumn forth, so sweet, so rich, 
 
 so free ; 
 It guards our shelter'd families — its shade be over thee. 
 
(107) 
 
 LOVELY SPEING. 
 
 In answer to the Poem entitled "Hateful SpmsG."— Chambers' Edin- 
 burgh Journal, No. 110, Feb., 1846.* 
 
 Thou say'st tliat Spring is hateful, because her blossoms 
 
 bright 
 Conceal the treasure of thy heart from thine adoring 
 
 sight, 
 But what is she to all the burst, and blush, and bloom, 
 
 of Spring 1 
 How dark the soul, at such a time, that thinks of mur- 
 
 munng 
 
 * "HATEFUL SPRING ! » 
 
 [from the 'chansons' op beranger.] 
 
 " All the Winter, from my window, 
 
 Have I watch'd a damsel fair ; 
 Loving, though we both were strangers, 
 
 Sending kisses through the air. 
 Gazing through her leafless lattice, 
 
 Every day did pleasure bring ; 
 Now green boughs the lattice shadow — 
 
 Why return' st thou, hateful Spring ? 
 
108 LOVELY SPRING. 
 
 Thy love has eyes of dewy blue ; but Spring's young 
 
 glowing sky 
 Reveals a charm thou canst not find in earthly maiden's 
 
 eye. 
 Her lip is not so fra^unt as the infant lily's bell ; 
 Her voice is not so tender as the voice of Philomel. 
 
 '* In that thick and verdant cover, 
 
 The sweet graceful form is lost 
 Which I daily saw there, throwing 
 
 Food to poor birds through the frost ; 
 Those dear warblers were the signal 
 
 Of our love's awakening ; 
 Snow of all things is most lovely — 
 
 Why retum'st thou, hateful Spring? 
 
 " But for thee, I still might see her 
 
 Rising fresh from sweet repose, 
 Rosy, as when young Aurora 
 
 Dawn's gray curtains does unclose ; 
 And I still might say at even, 
 
 When her lamp is vanishing, 
 'Now my star has set— she slumbers* — 
 
 Why retum'st thou, hateful Spring? 
 
 " How my fond heart prays for Winter ! 
 How I long to hear again 
 Sleet and hailstones Hghtly beating 
 
 Music on the window pane. 
 Flowers and zephyrs, summer evenings, 
 
 Unto me no joy can bring. 
 Since I see my love no longer- 
 Why retum'st thou, hateful Sprin-r ? 
 
 "D. M. 
 
LOVELY SPRING. 109 
 
 She hath a graceful form, thou say'st — go ! mark the 
 
 bow of Spring 
 That spans the gloomy arch of heaven, a broad and 
 
 bridal ring, 
 And tell me if that bridge of gems built o'er the waves 
 
 of storm. 
 Hath not more perfect symmetry than thy fair idol's 
 
 form. 
 
 Bright is her brow ? — the snow-drop's hath a brightness 
 purer far ; 
 
 Fair is her hand 1 — not half so fair as May's white blos- 
 soms are ; 
 
 The violets wake in every vale, dropp'd from the land 
 of love. 
 
 And tell of Spring and joy to come, hke the returning 
 dove. 
 
 They crowd around the humblest cot, they deck the 
 courtly bower. 
 
 The peasant has her primrose wreath, the queen her fa- 
 vourite flower, 
 
 They, sympathizing dear ones, come, their tearful heads 
 to wave 
 
 Over the dust of those we love, the low and lonely grave. 
 
110 LOVELY SPRING. 
 
 All ! gentle Spring, she ne'er forgets the tear-bedewed 
 tomb 
 
 She scatters there her daisy-drops, like stars on mid- 
 night gloom : 
 
 Why does she draw her curtain green betwixt thy love 
 and thee 1 
 
 Thy blinded eyes to open, and thy fetter'd heart to free. 
 
 Go forth and meet the soft, young Spring — the love, the 
 
 bride, of earth, 
 Daisies her crown, violets her breath, her essence hope 
 
 and mirth ; 
 Oh, I would have all hearts rejoice, aU lips in chorus sing, 
 "Father in heaven, we bless Thee, for Thy beauteous 
 
 angel, Spring ! " 
 
 We know the human bosom hath its depth of love to pour 
 On some dear, worshipped object, as the billows on the 
 
 shore ; 
 That tide of love, unebbing, strong, the feet of God 
 
 should kiss. 
 And mirror all the countless stars, that drink their 
 
 light from His. 
 
A mother's love. Ill 
 
 Give me the great, the glowing heart, unbounded, full 
 
 and free, 
 A temple for all loveliness, a heaven-reflecting sea, 
 In whose clear depths ten thousand pearls their clus- 
 
 ter'd rays may shed. 
 But on its mighty waves of love Christ's feet alone may 
 
 tread. 
 
 O why contract thy ample soul, one only gem t' enshrine, 
 And for a single star forget the infinite sunshine 1 
 Idolater ! ten thousand flowers are speaking love to thee, 
 Then bid thy soul flow forth in joy, on Spring's un- 
 bounded sea. 
 
 A MOTHEE'S LOVE. 
 
 The mother had undress'd her child 
 
 At close of summer day. 
 Then laid him in his frolic wild 
 
 Down at the door to play. 
 
112 A mother's love. 
 
 Awhile, on household task intent, 
 
 She left him to his joy, 
 List'ning the laughter innocent 
 
 Of her bright happy boy. 
 
 An eagle in the zenith hung, 
 And watch'd the babe's blue eyes. 
 
 Then, as the falling lightning, sprung 
 Upon the beauteous prize. 
 
 He seized him by a girdle tied 
 Around him loose and free ; 
 
 See, now they mount and now they ride 
 Aloft o'er land and sea. 
 
 High in the heavens the eagle proud 
 
 Poises the precious child, 
 Half lost amid the thunder cloud, 
 
 Borne on the breezes wild. 
 
 Awhile he hangs, then speeds his flight 
 Athwart the lightning's wing ; 
 
 And now upon the searrock's height 
 Stands the strong feather'd king. 
 
A mother's love. 113 
 
 There is his nest, no human eye 
 
 Hath found that secret spot ; 
 The billows toss their heads to spy, 
 
 The sea-birds know it not. 
 
 And here he drops th' astonish'd child. 
 
 Amid his own fierce brood ; 
 The rock is rough, the nest is wild. 
 
 With bones the crags are strew'd. 
 
 The little baby looks around. 
 
 And calls his mother dear. 
 But there is no sound through the gloom profound. 
 Save the thunder echoing round and round. 
 
 And the eaglets' screeching clear. 
 
 He stretches abroad his hands, and now 
 
 His cheeks with tears are wet ; 
 Oh, mother, mother ! where art thou ? 
 
 He hath not perish'd yet. 
 
 She comes, she comes ! the terrible steep 
 
 Cannot that heart deter ; 
 Oh, she flies, she flies ! for the angels keep, 
 
 And the road is smooth for her. 
 
 I 
 
laa A mother's love. 
 
 (A shepherd had mark'd the eagle's way, 
 
 And told the mother the spot : 
 " Oh kneel ! " he cried, " thou canst only pray, 
 
 For mortal can save him not." 
 
 But she never stay'd to wait for aid, 
 
 Nor kneel, nor think, nor weep. 
 Yet surely her soul within her pray'd 
 
 As she ran up the mountain steep). 
 
 Wing'd with love and fright, o'er precipice height, 
 And cavern, and crag, and hollow. 
 
 Like an angel she flew with a footstep true, 
 Where the bravest could not follow. 
 
 Up the perilous steep, o'er the thundering sea, 
 'Mid the gloom and the lightnings' glare. 
 
 Did her white robe stream like a spectral gleam, 
 Or a star on the stormy air. 
 
 Oh, love ! triumphant o'er death and dread ; 
 
 Conqueror of space and time I 
 What path so rough that thou canst not tread, 
 
 So steep that thou wilt not climb ? 
 
A mother's love. 115 
 
 On, on, she flies, and her beaming eyes 
 
 Are fix'd on the babe the while ; 
 Oh, he knoweth her well, and his heart doth swell, 
 
 And his lips begin to smile. 
 
 She is trembling now on the precipice brow, 
 
 She has come to the eagle's nest ; 
 The eagle screams and the lightning gleams, 
 
 But the baby is on her breast ! 
 
 Oh, her heart is broken with rapture unspoken, 
 
 She utters no word of bliss ; 
 But she presses her lip to his smiling cheek 
 
 In a long and rapturous kiss. 
 
 She is trembling now on the precipice brow 
 
 As she turns to her terrible road ; 
 But the angels meet and hold up her feet. 
 
 And the lightnings her pathway show'd. 
 
 She is safe, she is safe ! and her rescued dove 
 Will be dreaming sweet dreams ere long 
 
 Of a ride above and a mother's love — 
 That love so swift and strong. 
 
(116) 
 
 TO THE LITTLE CHILDKEN. 
 
 There is a Dove that from the glorious land 
 
 Flew on the wings of pity to this world, 
 
 To bring us a green branch from the fair Tree 
 
 Of everlasting life, and if ye pray 
 
 That He will come and touch you with His breath, 
 
 How shall your heart- strings echo to the song 
 
 I sing to you this day. 
 
 Listen then — your warm hearts are made to love. 
 
 All things are made to love us — we to love 
 
 All things. Is it not sweet 1 the little flowers 
 
 Are made to smile upon us, and the winds 
 
 To fan us, and the bright, hot sun, to paint 
 
 The flowers, the clouds, the rainbow, and to warm 
 
 The winds, and fill our hearts and eyes with joy. 
 
 The stars are made to shine, the birds to sing. 
 
 The moon to smile, the trees to shade and shake 
 
 Sweet music out — not for themselves, but us. 
 
 The rain is made to fill the thirsty ground, 
 
TO THE LITTLE CHILDREN. 117 
 
 The rainbow tells God's beauty and His truth, 
 
 The storm His strength, the sea His majesty, 
 
 The grass His tenderness, who carpets thus 
 
 The earth, for little lambs, and flowers, and us. 
 
 AH things in this fair world for us are made 
 
 Except ourselves, and we are made for God, 
 
 To live and love like Him. Therefore, dear ones, 
 
 Learn what to love — not your own lovely selves, 
 
 Beautiful as ye be ; ye shall be lov'd. 
 
 Turn from your own fair beauty, and unfold 
 
 Your bosoms to the bliss of boundless love. 
 
 Like mirrors to the light, drops to the sun. 
 
 Look at the face of thy fond mother friend, 
 
 O darling child ! look, what is that which shines 
 
 Out of her eyes ] and what is that which lives 
 
 Upon her lips ] and what is that which makes 
 
 Her bosom such a warm nest for thy head 1 
 
 And what is that which folds and holds around thee 
 
 Her gentle arms so tight and tenderly 1 
 
 My darling, it is love. Then thou must try 
 
 To show her how it charms thee ; do thou smile 
 
 When she is smiling— kiss away her tears 
 
 When she is weeping — do thou clap thy hands 
 
 When she is singing to thee, and at night 
 
118 TO THE LITTLE CHILDREN. 
 
 Sleep on her bosom without tear or fear. 
 Love thou each soothing voice that circles thee, 
 Each kindly face that woos thee ; love thou all 
 And everything around thee ; love the flowers, 
 For they love thee ; love the bright sun so warm, 
 That shines upon thee ; love the rainbow fair. 
 The glorious ocean, and the drops of rain 
 Gladding the thirsty roses ; love the winds, 
 The storms, the lightnings, and the gorgeous clouds. 
 Stretch out thy baby-hands to the great things 
 Which God hath set to serve thee ; the broad skies. 
 The stars, the tempests — greet them with a kiss 
 And song of love ; fear thou not anything, 
 Kedeemed, GoD-beloved, deathless soul. 
 But love thou all, and let the robe of love 
 Enwrap thee as thou walkest through the world ; 
 Love thou the birds, the bees, the butterflies, 
 And all things that have life. 
 
 But One there is 
 Whom, though thou canst not see, yet thou must love 
 More than aught else. He gave thee this warm life 
 Which dances through thy senses, the young flame 
 Of immortality that fires thy breast ; 
 He gave thee thy sweet mother, father, sister ; 
 
TO THE LITTLE CHILDREN. 119 
 
 He gave thee the bright sun, the flowers, the trees, 
 
 The stars, the winds, the thunder, and the moon. 
 
 He holds thee in His arms ; He every night 
 
 Watches thee in thy slumbers ; He did once, 
 
 For love of thee, forsake the beauteous Land. 
 
 He was a Babe 
 
 As lowly as thyself ; He wept and died 
 
 That thou should'st love Him, and that He might be 
 
 Thy Saviour, and that thou should'st never die. 
 
 Oh, my fair darling ! if thou live to know 
 
 The friendship of the world, then thou wilt find 
 
 Thy love neglected, and thy aching heart 
 
 Pierc'd with a thousand arrows, left alone 
 
 To agonize to death. But ere that hour, 
 
 Seek refuge in the ark of God, sweet dove ! 
 
 Thou may'st pour out thy first fresh tears to Him ; 
 
 Thou may'st reveal thy every joy and grief 
 
 Before His gentle presence. He is here 
 
 And everywhere ; He sees thine every thought, 
 
 He hears thine every word, and His dear name 
 
 Is Love. Once did He come and lowly tread 
 
 This same green world of ours ; and then He bless'd 
 
 The little children, and His name was call'd 
 
 Our Saviour Jesus Christ. There is no one 
 
120 TO THE LTTTLE CHILDREN. 
 
 Loves you so much as He does ; He has wept 
 Tears for your tears ; has shed His own blood out 
 That you might live ; and now He ever looks 
 And loves you. He is very fair, and far 
 More beautiful than all ; more bright and clear 
 Than the great sun ; more mighty and more strong 
 Than sea, or wind, or thunder ; and more fair 
 Than lily of the valley ; sweeter far 
 Than June's first red rose ; and more high and pure 
 Than the bright stars ; more lovely than the light, 
 And kinder than thy mother ; and His name 
 Is Love. Oh, darling, darling little ones ! 
 I bring you unto Him, that He may lay 
 His pierced hands alike on you and me. 
 And breathe into our bosoms the same life 
 And love that fiU His own. 
 
(121) 
 
 THE SUNBEAM AND THE EIVEE. 
 
 TO MRS. B. S. W , ON HER MARRIAGE, JULY 20, 1854. 
 
 " Come, beam of beauty, come ! 
 Take my bosom for thy home ; 
 From thy heavenly region bend. 
 And with me thy brightness blend ; 
 Trust thee on my placid wave, 
 Lilies shall thy pathway pave ; 
 In these depths of lucid calm, 
 Come, imprint thine every charm ; 
 Tempest's breath and trouble's tide 
 Stir not where our path shall glide. 
 From the mountain's stormy rocks, 
 To the flowery vale of flocks, 
 See, with blessings fill'd, I flow, 
 Bliss difiusing where I go : 
 See ! I seek the lowly dell, 
 And her banks with mosses swell ; 
 And the lamb comes down to drink 
 
122 THE SUNBEAM AND THE RIVER. 
 
 Sweetly o'er my pearly brink. 
 There the wand'ring maiden Spring 
 Doth her freshest garland fling ; 
 In my willows, zephyr-thrill' d, 
 Philomel delights to build ; 
 Come, then, beam of virgin light ! 
 With the wave of love unite ; 
 Oh, how dark my course must be. 
 How unblest, depriv'd of thee ! 
 Cold and cheerless, lost in gloom, 
 O my bride ! my brightness ! come ! " 
 
 Thus a free-bom mountain stream 
 Woo'd a rose-embosomed beam ; 
 He, with pure and high ambition, 
 Hasted to his holy mission, 
 Strong and joyful, bom to bless, 
 Music in the wilderness, 
 Life, and joy, and beauty giving. 
 From the fountain, ever living, 
 Deep'ning, with unceasing motion, 
 To the blue and boundless ocean ; 
 Thus the pure, rejoicing river, 
 Woo'd and won the beam for ever. 
 
THE SUNBEAM AND THE RIVER. 123 
 
 She from heaven her brightness drew, 
 
 Holy, warm, and ever new ; 
 
 Not the lightnings' dazzling glare, 
 
 Not the gem in Iris' hair. 
 
 Was the beam the river won. 
 
 But thy child, thou changeless sun. 
 
 Oh, how tenderly, how still, 
 
 Did her light that river fill ! 
 
 On his crystal bosom resting. 
 
 With a thousand charms investing. 
 
 Spotless trust and truth revealing, 
 
 Trembling to his every feeling : 
 
 Not a ripple stirr'd the stream, 
 
 Unreflected in the beam ; 
 
 how perfect was their union ! 
 
 How intense their pure communion ! 
 
 Who could part 1 what power could sever 
 
 Heaven-united light and river 1 
 
 See, as om, they shining glide. 
 
 Bearing blessings far and wide. 
 
 Smiling back heaven's image, while 
 
 Vales of verdure round them smile ; 
 
 Purer, deeper, yet more bright, 
 
 Flowing to the sea of light. 
 
124 THE SUNBEAM AND THE RIVER 
 
 Till the living spring grow dry, 
 Or tlie sun in darkness die. 
 
 Cherish'd daughter ! precious bride ! 
 Minstrel lay thou wilt not chide ; 
 For thy gentle ear can deign 
 To the redbreast's little strain. 
 Art not thou the beam of day, 
 
 All thy light from heaven deriving. 
 Shining on love's holy way, 
 
 Given to bless, and blessing giving ? 
 What should be the fond request 
 Of the hearts that love thee best ; 
 When they see thy bridal brow 
 'Neath its crown of gladness bow. 
 But that thou, in Christ made one, 
 With love's never-setting sun, 
 May'st continual sunlight be 
 To a bosom worthy thee, 
 Both in heavenly beauty tending 
 
 Toward the depths of purer bliss, 
 In the love of Jesus blending, 
 
 Joy's unsearchable abyss ? 
 
(125) 
 
 TO MUSIC. 
 
 Oh, lov'd and felt unseen ! from reason's dawn 
 How dear to me thou hast been, and art still ! 
 
 How have thy charms this soul allur'd and drawn ; 
 How doth thy whisper yet my heart-strings thrill ! 
 
 I meet thee by the ocean's lonely shore. 
 Where, on the rock, th' uplifted billow breaks ; 
 
 I feel thee in the distant thunder's roar, 
 And when the midnight storm the city shakes. 
 
 Pacing the heaving deck at nightfall dim. 
 Thy presence have I felt on every gale ; 
 
 Or, lur'd by Philomel's dissolving hymn, 
 Have found thee wand'ring deep in starlit vale. 
 
 When, far in solitary wild, I rov'd. 
 
 And mourn'd thy absence, lo ! a living spring 
 Whispering, betray'd the step of my belov'd. 
 
 And the soft rocking palm confess'd thy wing. 
 
126 TO MUSIC. 
 
 Lost in the city's crowded solitude 
 
 For thee I listen'd, till, with Sabbath mom, 
 
 Thou earnest dove-like hovering o'er the flood 
 Of sound from temple on to temple borne. 
 
 Oh, I have lov'd thee when, from lips sweet-ton'd, 
 (As, rous'd by summer wind, the rose's soul,) 
 
 Thou the deep spell of poesie hast own'd, 
 And risen o'er me as an incense roll. 
 
 And I have lov'd thee when, in cherub form, 
 
 From childhood's lips thou shap'st thy heavenward 
 flight, 
 
 Blending their harp-like hearts in praises warm — 
 So Iris builds her arch with drops of light. 
 
 And yet more do I love thee when, at hour 
 
 Of sunset, dim cathedral's mighty pile 
 Doth thrill and tremble to thy seraph power. 
 
 Now reaching heaven, now lost in long-drawn aisle. 
 
 Oh, ancient, yet immortal in thy youth ; 
 
 First-bom of Joy, thy nurse is Innocence ; 
 Pure bride of love ; sister to Faith and Truth ! 
 
 Language of Eden ; rapture's eloquence ; 
 
TO MUSIC. 127 
 
 Only in hell unknown — the lowliest cot, 
 The scantiest meal, thy angel voice hath blest ; 
 
 Twin-born with gratitude in humblest lot. 
 Lifting the lark in transport from his nest. 
 
 Ah, meet me at the portal of the grave ! 
 
 Come with the echoes of my sister's lyre, 
 And teach me, as I pass the parted wave, 
 
 To wake with Jesus' name my harp of fire. 
 
 For thou that name eternally wilt sing ; 
 
 As, when He rear'd Creation's palace first, 
 Thy lightning finger swept each seraph string ; 
 
 So from the burning stars, thy song shall burst ; 
 
 When, with imperishable brightness crown'd. 
 The New Jerusalem shall rise and shine. 
 
 Thy hallelujahs through her courts shall sound ; 
 To lead the everlasting hymn be thine. 
 
(128) 
 
 TO THE WHITE EOSE. 
 
 Art thou created for a sinner's sight, 
 
 Form'd for these eyes to gaze upon ? say, 
 Could purity so exquisitely white, 
 Fragrance so soft, be only to delight 
 Ungrateful man, and strew a rebel's way ? 
 
 What hand hath moulded thy ethereal grace ? 
 
 Didst thou from this dark earth indeed arise ? 
 miracle of beauty ! in thy face 
 Pale holiness and glowing love embrace. 
 
 And in thy hidden heart perfection dies. 
 
 The softest, richest blush thy bosom hides. 
 The very breath of love thy sighs distil, 
 God's finger-mark on every leaf abides. 
 His tender touch in thee how mildly chides 
 Our harsh distrust and waywardness of wilL 
 
TO THE WHITE ROSE. 329 
 
 1 should have deem'd thee form'd for angels' eyes, 
 
 For angels' foreheads only — Eden's bowers — 
 How canst thou live beneath these changing skies, 
 And breathe this atmosphere of sins and sighs ? 
 Oh, perfect loveliness ! oh, flower of flowers ! 
 
 But I have leam'd, from thy mute eloquence. 
 
 That God hath love to man beyond our thought ; 
 For what but love unspeakable, intense. 
 Breathes from thy bosom on the ravish'd sense ? 
 Oh, with what love to sinners thou art fraught ! 
 
 It is as if heaven did our path beset, 
 
 Besieging us with omnipresent prayers ; 
 To melt these icy hearts so frozen yet, 
 Ears, eyes, assails, yea, stoops to kiss our feet. 
 Lays for our happiness ten thousand snares ; 
 
 Thinks nought too beautiful, too soft, too fine. 
 To shower on man, the rebel, the imclean ! 
 
 lavish goodness ! generousness divine ! 
 
 Written on every flower, in every line. 
 And on each glorious bird of beauty seen. 
 K 
 
130 TO THE WHITE ROSE. 
 
 All springing, like a million gushing streams, 
 
 From Calvary's dear hill — thither we trace 
 
 The tireless love, whose many-colour'd beams 
 
 Pursue our steps, and hover o'er our dreams, 
 
 And hold our struggling hearts in strong embrace. 
 
 flower ! beloved flower ! the Hand which bled, 
 
 Transfix'd in anguish to the Cross, for me — 
 That Hand so delicately shap'd thy head. 
 The ointment of His sweetness on it shed, 
 And taught the language of His love to thee. 
 
 Now I will tell thee, oh thou perfect flower ! 
 
 What thou art like. There was a fair, pale child, 
 Came, as thou comest, in our lowly bower, 
 To be my mother's joy for one brief hour, 
 
 And then she died ; but on death's bosom smil'd. 
 
 Thou art like her— that fading glow of thine 
 Resembles the last colour on her cheek ; 
 
 She was like thee ; a heart and hand divine 
 
 Made holy beauty o'er her spirit shine, 
 And perfected the praise she could not speaL 
 
TO THE SEA-BIRD. 131 
 
 Yes, sister, gather'd youug, a white moss-rose, 
 Born but to open on thy Saviour's breast ; 
 Purer and fairer than the whitest snows. 
 While in thy heart love's living colour glows, 
 And joy's rich fragrance on thy head doth rest. 
 
 TO THE SEA-BIED. 
 
 Oh that thou hadst but a soul. Sea-bird ! 
 
 As thou swimmest in heaven so high, 
 A spirit to know how thy white wings glow, 
 A spirit to feast on the scene below. 
 
 And the waves of the sparkling sky. 
 
 Oh that thou hadst but a soul to feel 
 
 How the sunbeams have rob'd and crown'd thee ; 
 How the earth to thee doth her beauty reveal. 
 How the ocean doth spread and the heavens unseal 
 
 Their secrets of glory around thee. 
 
132 TO THE SEA-BIRD. 
 
 Oh that there were but a heart to beat 
 
 To the sweep of those graceful pinions ! 
 A soul to ride in a chariot so fleet, 
 To float in the track of the sunbeams' feet, 
 And revel in light's dominions. 
 
 Oh that my soul for a moment might be 
 
 To thy beautiful wings up-caught ! 
 That I might on a midsummer morning flee 
 Through many bright forms over forest and sea, 
 
 As Pythagoras wildly taught. 
 
 I would borrow, king Eagle, thy loftiest wing, 
 And soar where no eye-beam could follow ; 
 A carol of praise I would joyously sing 
 In the breast of the beautiful bird of the spring, 
 In a lonely and moon-lighted hollow. 
 
 Then I would hide in the sky-lark's throat. 
 
 And descend on the rainbow's arch. 
 On the clouds of the storm I would fearlessly float, 
 And rock on the winds an invisible boat, 
 And foUow the thunder's march. 
 
TO THE SEA-BIKD. 133 
 
 Then would I change to a drop of the spray, 
 
 And dance on the wings of the gale, 
 Mad as the hurricane whirl on my way, 
 Over fathomless valleys and mountains at play, 
 
 And over the breakers pale. 
 
 Out in the ocean at wild midnight, 
 
 A thousand leagues from shore. 
 My spirit should dance round the arches of white, 
 When the steeds of the tempest are raving with fright. 
 
 When the heav'ns and the deep do roar. 
 
 I would then be transform'd to the wand'ring gale. 
 
 And chisel the broken waves, 
 Gloriously swelling the mission-bark's sail, 
 Flushing the cheek of the pining and pale. 
 
 And sighing o'er far-away graves. 
 
 I'd whisper of hope to some sorrowful ear. 
 
 And say to the slave, " Thou art free ! " 
 I would catch on my wing ev'ry sweet I came near, 
 And then fly away home, my own mother dear ! 
 
 To bring all my treasures to thee. 
 
(134) 
 
 LEAEN EEOM A FLOWEE. 
 
 A DEWDKOP and a sunbeam crept at once 
 
 Into a white flower's heart ; one would have thought 
 
 That in so small a chalice could not be 
 
 Space for them both to dwell, yet thus they liv'd ; 
 
 The dewdrop fiU'd the flower, and then the beam 
 
 Fill'd all the drop, and changed it to a gem 
 
 Pure as a diamond. So in the tear 
 
 Of penitence the light of ptirdon rests ; 
 
 And where is pearl so pure 1 There is a joy 
 
 In that sweet sorrow, when the new-born soul, 
 
 Forgiven and trembling with first life, expands 
 
 Like a white flower to the full sun of love 
 
 Who smiles upon her, as meek Mary, kneeling 
 
 To wash the feet of Jesus with her tears. 
 
 Yes, in such grief is joy — ^there is a bliss 
 
 In pardon'd penitence, so calm, so soft, 
 
 That one, even on the verge of glory, cried, 
 
 ** There must be tears in heaven." 
 
 But the warm ray 
 Grew brighter and more bright, and as the flower 
 
LEARN FROM A FLOWER. 135 
 
 Turn'd her meek head to the cerulean arch, 
 That ray wax'd warmer, brighter, more intense ; 
 And when the flower had wholly bared her heart 
 To the hot sun, the beam absorb'd the drop, 
 And all her spotless cup was fill'd with light. 
 And sparkled with gold glory. So when faith 
 Fully confides, then love is perfected : 
 Her tears are wiped away ; looking no more 
 On earth, heaven's shining image she becomes ; 
 Th' exulting soul stretches her wings for bliss, 
 Her essence yields to the attracting skies. 
 And, wing'd with rapture, to her Fountain flies. 
 But in that pure white flower the steady beam 
 Shone on untrembling ; not a cloud had touch'd 
 Its source, and as the day's decline drew on, 
 Still as the sunbeam slowly stole away, 
 The white flower foUow'd, turning on her stem. 
 Forgetful of the earth on which she grew. 
 Her heart absorb'd in heaven, until at last 
 The ray grew red, then sloping plaintively 
 Into her spotless bosom, pale became 
 And paler yet, and as he trembling died, 
 A large tear fell into the crystal cup 
 Of the bereaved flower, who straight for grief 
 
136 LEARN FROM A FLOWER. 
 
 Droop'd her white head, and on her delicate stem 
 Hung tremulous. Meanwhile the stormy air 
 Of chilling night arose, and ruthlessly 
 Shook the pale, pendent pearl, and she, forlorn. 
 Slowly and one by one clos'd her pure leaves 
 Around her glowing heart ; yet as she clos'd 
 She ever and anon glanced wistfully 
 Toward the still ruddy west, if yet perchance 
 She might see but the shadow of that beam 
 Which she had nurs'd all day. Ah ! as she gaz'd. 
 Another dewdrop, cold and heavy, fell 
 On her fair form, which when she felt so chill, 
 She wrapt her heart up in her shivering robe, 
 And wept the long night through. 
 
 Like thee, poor flower. 
 Wept the young orphan Church, when on the cross 
 Her Sun went down, her Comforter expired. 
 Thou art like Mary at the sepulchre, 
 Weeping her Lord departed. Yet, flower ! 
 Such tears may for a night endure, but joy 
 With morning cometh. Then, though wet with dew. 
 Thou wilt awake to the first sunbeam's kiss, 
 As Mary tum'd, and saw through tears her Sun, 
 Her risen Life, with fear and mighty joy. 
 
(137) 
 
 TO ALICE, 
 
 For her first Birtliday Anniversary, Dec- 3, 1849. 
 
 Alice ! thy first year has flown ; 
 
 Underneath Love's golden wing, 
 Like a blossom thou hast grown, 
 
 Tender, helpless, tiny thing ! 
 And the little harp that rung 
 
 Whea thy spirit first arriv'd, 
 Shall to-day afresh be strung 
 
 By the thought of thee reviv'd. 
 Little pilgrim, newly come, 
 
 Lovely stranger-spirit dear ! 
 Now no longer art thou dumb, 
 
 Speech is giv'n to crown thy year. 
 Life and immortality 
 
 Warm within thee didst thou bring, 
 Even when thy first faint cry 
 
 Through thy mother's heart did ring ; 
 
138 TO ALICE. 
 
 But no word of love or song, 
 
 Could thy fetter'd tongue impart, — 
 None was needed — spokesman strong 
 
 Keady mov'd that yearning heart. 
 Melting like a fount first broken, 
 
 All her nature gush'd to bless ; 
 Mighty eloquence unspoken 
 
 Pleaded in thy dumb distress. 
 Ah ! what music then, and pleasure, 
 
 Feels she in those accents clear. 
 Bursting from her tiny treasure. 
 
 In her little life's first year ! 
 If so sweet the babe's first word 
 
 In the mother's ear of love. 
 Who can tell how prayer is heard 
 
 By that fonder Ear above, 
 Which hath bent so long in vain 
 
 O'er the harden'd prayerless breast ? 
 How it thrills to catch the strain 
 
 First by penitence express'd ! 
 When the spirit, dumb so long 
 
 In the death of self and sin, 
 Doth the everlasting song 
 
 Of her Saviour's love begin. 
 
TO ALICE. 139 
 
 Sweet, renew thy silver prattle ; 
 
 Every word is like a pearl ; 
 Music in life's stormy battle ; 
 
 Mother's little, talking girl ! 
 how beautiful thou seemest — 
 
 Instinct with immortal life ! 
 Nought of death or pain thou dreamest, 
 
 Nought of human sin or strife. 
 Bright things all around thee spreading, 
 
 Soft things all beneath thee press'd, 
 Love's first drops thy heart is shedding, 
 
 Like the rosebud in thy breast. 
 Yet thou art a cradled eaglet. 
 
 Yet thou art a kindling spark, 
 Born to burn — to strive — to struggle, 
 
 Built for ocean, fairy bark ! 
 Storms are howling round thy pillow, 
 
 Though love's feathers hold them out ; 
 Ah, I hear life's heaving billow 
 
 Threat'ning thee with thunder shout ! 
 Yet, soft, little, smiling blossom, 
 
 Jesus speaks in tones divine ; 
 " Hide thee in thy Shepherd's bosom, 
 
 Poor, lost lamb ! for thou art mine. 
 
140 COWPER'S wilderness at WESTON UNDERWOOD. 
 
 I will seek and I will save thee, 
 Every babe my love hath blest ; 
 
 And though foes desire to have thee, 
 Who can snatch thee from my breast ? " 
 
 COWPEE'S WILDERNESS AT WESTON 
 UNDEEWOOD. 
 
 Hail, sacred solitude ! where walk'd and sigh'd 
 
 The gentle Cowper, dear to man and God ; 
 The very air his breath hath sanctified. 
 
 And holier seem the flowers where he hath trod. 
 Nay, touch not one wild branch ! let each one grow 
 
 In beautiful disorder ; let them stray, 
 As seeking the dear bard who lov'd them so ; 
 
 Oh, let them flourish in their own wild way, 
 
 And in luxuriant loveliness decay. 
 Pale snow-drops ! bending fairy heads so lowly. 
 
 Here droop, and wither here ; memorials pure 
 
COWPER's wilderness at WESTON UNDERWOOD. 141 
 
 Of his tumility, his genius holy, 
 
 His tenderness which could no touch endure. 
 And ye, bright evergreens ! this soil shall cherish 
 
 Most tenderly your twining loveliness. 
 And ye shall speak his fame too pure to perish. 
 
 His lofty immortality express. 
 Weep for thy sweetest bard. Rose ! heavenly flower ! 
 
 Bloom in retiring fragrance, bloom and fade ; 
 Like him, go hide in lone sequester'd bower, 
 
 Like him, sigh forth thy sweets in secret shade. 
 Let no irreverent step, no voice of song 
 
 Profane these hallow'd glooms. If thou would'st 
 tread 
 This spot aright, come when spring days are long, 
 
 At eventide, when stars beam o'er thy head. 
 Come when 'tis steep'd in floods of moonlight pale ; 
 
 Come when its one dear chosen minstrel singeth, 
 (The solemn yet enraptur'd nightingale ;) 
 
 Come when the night-bud into blossom springeth ; 
 Come when the night-wind sighing through the trees 
 
 Wakes strange low music in each dim recess ; 
 Oh, choose such only tender hours as these. 
 
 To walk and weep in Cowper's Wilderness, 
 
(142) 
 
 SLEEPING BABES. 
 
 Helpless and holy slumbers ! 0, fair eyes ! 
 
 How softly are ye sleeping ! while sweet dew, 
 Dropping from white, warm, waving pinions, Hes 
 
 Upon your depths of calm, celestial blue. 
 
 Fair cheeks ! how lightly on your honey'd down 
 Hath heavenly sleep his airy pinion spread ! 
 
 Dream on : an angel's wing is round you thrown, 
 A mother's eye beams blessing^'er your bed. 
 
 Wake not ! she cometh softly as a fawn. 
 And gazeth with a seraph's tenderness ; 
 
 Wake not, until the young and tender dawn 
 Your lily -eyelids with her rose-lip press. 
 
 Wake not, delighted dreamers ! nought is here 
 But heaven and earth's pure love j the angels yet 
 
 Have some sweet secret for each spotless ear — 
 The watch is waiting still — the seal is set. 
 
THE GATHERED SNOWDROPS. 143 
 
 Wake not, then, cherub sisters ! few and fleet 
 Ai*e babyhood's fair dreams ; the links of gold, 
 
 That bind you to your native country sweet, 
 The world will sever with harsh fingers cold. 
 
 Yet blessed shall ye be if, when at length 
 
 Ye have pass'd through life's doubtful woe and bliss, 
 
 Cradled in arms of everlasting strength, 
 
 Ye side by side lie down in death like this, 
 
 Without one dread, one spot, one starting tear. 
 
 With such white robes within, and such a watcher near. 
 
 THE GATHEKED SKOWDEOPS. 
 
 (TO MRS. H .) 
 
 Mother ! whose favour'd breast 
 
 Heaven's nurslings held awhile. 
 Behold them in the bowers of rest. 
 
 And though thou weepest, smile. 
 See, side by side they grow, 
 
 And tenderly entwine 
 To crown thy head, when thou shalt go 
 
 Amidst thy flowers to shine. 
 
(144) 
 
 SUMMEK NIGHT. 
 
 SEE ! the holy moonlight is asleep on hill and dale, 
 And infant Summer slumbereth beneath a silver veil ; 
 He sleepeth in the gentle arms of his fair mother, 
 
 Spring, 
 Who waits to die till he shall grow a strong and crowned 
 
 king. 
 
 But now he is a glorious babe, and in the melting sky, 
 His tender nurse, the moon, has rais'd her lovely taper 
 
 high ; 
 And beckons for the whisp'ring stars to bend their 
 
 heads and see 
 How beauteous, on his mother's breast, that piUow'd 
 
 child may be ! 
 
( 145 ) 
 
 AN EASTEEN TWILIGHT. 
 
 The twilight of a summer day 
 
 On England's peaceful bowers, 
 What wreaths of beauty doth it lay 
 
 Around the slumbering flowers ! 
 How slowly doth it steal along 
 
 The bright and blooming vale, 
 How softly tune the silver song 
 
 Of the lone nightingale ! 
 Yet not so precious is the hush 
 
 Of England's summer night, 
 As Eastern sunset's mighty flush, 
 When heaven and earth and ocean blush 
 
 In luxury of light. 
 For then the weary pilgrim feels 
 
 The rising evening air ; 
 Delicious o'er his frame it steals. 
 And, melted into bliss, he kneels 
 
 To breathe his evening prayer. 
 
146 AN EASTERN TWILIGHT. 
 
 It was at such an hour as this, 
 
 Beneath a Grecian sky, 
 Two pilgrims mark'd with silent bliss. 
 
 The hour of rest draw nigh. 
 All day their toiling steeds had paced 
 
 The rocky mountain height, 
 All day the summer sun had blazed 
 
 In tyranny of light. 
 But now a glorious landscape spread, 
 
 Keposing at their feet, 
 And waving mountain myrtle shed 
 
 A shade and fragrance sweet. 
 And far away the ocean calm 
 
 Was rich with sunset splendour. 
 And thence arose the breeze of balm 
 
 Unutterably tender. 
 
 THE WIND. 
 
 WIND ! mysterious presence ! thou art sweeping on 
 thy way. 
 
 Thou art chasing the storm clouds on high and scatter- 
 ing the spray ; 
 
THE WIND. 147 
 
 Methinks it were a glorious sight to see old ocean 
 
 now, 
 When he rides in state with such a mate, O raging 
 
 wind ! as thou ; 
 When every drop of every wave runs wild with royal 
 
 glee, 
 And a thousand thunders roll and rave along the 
 
 madd'ning sea ; 
 When the scudding clouds like frighten'd ghosts 
 
 athwart the welkin fly, 
 Waking the sleeping lightnings as their black wings 
 
 hurry by ; 
 And lonely ocean raveth on beneath the nightfall 
 
 dim, 
 A glorious, ample space, oh storm ! for thy gigantic 
 
 hymn. 
 Oh, a solemn sight is gathering night upon the bound- 
 less sea, 
 When the shiv'ring bark is left alone with darkness and 
 
 with thee ! 
 
(148) 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 'TwAS eve : the summer moon had raised 
 
 Her lovely crescent white, 
 And round her brow in beauty blazed 
 The gems of night. 
 
 And through the wood and o'er the deep 
 
 The wind in whispers crept, 
 And wrapt as if in childhood's sleep, 
 Calm nature slept. 
 
 And like the angel of her dreams 
 
 The night-bird warbled clear. 
 E'en till the moon's enchanted beams 
 Stood still to hear. 
 
 Sweet silence o'er the landscape spread, 
 
 Peace o'er the fragrant air, 
 And every flower bow'd down her head 
 As if in prayer. 
 
THE YOUNG MOON. 149 
 
 So sinks the child of GoD to sleep, 
 
 Beneath his Saviour's eye, 
 Which, soft as Cynthia, wakes to keep 
 Its vigil nigh. 
 
 And like the stars in silence move 
 
 A thousand angels round. 
 While the calm Spirit breathes His love 
 Without a sound. 
 
 THE YOUNG MOON. 
 
 The sun was setting on the western deep, 
 
 A few soft clouds of gold around him lay ; 
 
 The winds were all asleep, the heavens most calm 
 
 And bright ; the ocean blue in hush'd repose ; 
 
 When lo ! all dewy from a southern cloud 
 
 Came forth the pale young moon, and silent stood 
 
 To watch the sinking fountain of her light, 
 
150 THE YOUNG MOON. 
 
 To see the sovereign of her love depart ; 
 
 And her pure silver radiancy dissolv'd 
 
 As in a thousand tears of. tender dew 
 
 On every blade and bud, while his mild rays 
 
 Touch'd them with parting kisses. Even so 
 
 The meek young maiden watcheth at the side 
 
 Of her departing father, when his race 
 
 Is run, and he must shine on earth no more. 
 
 She comes, and weeps away her very soul 
 
 In silent tears of love, but murmurs not. 
 
 Pale is her patient cheek ; but the soft eye 
 
 Is full of resignation, and beholds 
 
 The glory of a Christian's death more fair, 
 
 More heavenly, than the lustre of his life ; 
 
 While he, just sinking in the waves of bliss, 
 
 Th' immeasurable ocean-deep of hfe, 
 
 Looks back on his poor child with melting beams 
 
 Of exquisite compassion ; gilds her tears 
 
 With one calm parting smile of love and joy, 
 
 Bidding her shine when he is seen no more, 
 
 And then, by irresistible attraction drawn. 
 
 Sinks into his bright rest, and leaves her lone. 
 
 Yet though no mortal eye can him pursue. 
 
 She from her high and heavenly place still views 
 
THE RAINBOW. 151 
 
 His glory, and reflects it as she walks 
 
 In modest brightness o'er the dark, low earth, 
 
 That joys in her sweet light. • 
 
 THE EAINBOW. 
 
 Loud howl'd the tempest ; all the dark night long. 
 The thunders and the winds waged giant war 
 With lightning lances ; earth and ocean groan'd 
 Under their strife ; towers fell and cities shook. 
 Pale morning came at last, weeping to see 
 The mighty desolation, but her tears 
 Appeas'd not the mad warriors ; the wild winds 
 Rode on the white foam-horses of the deep, 
 Careering 'gainst the thunders ; lofty swell'd 
 The mountains of the waves, and on their crests 
 Flicker'd fierce lightnings. But at length the sun. 
 Rending away the angry clouds which fought 
 With his strong beams, arose, and flash'd full-faced 
 On the red battle-sky ; all the black West 
 
152 THE RAINBOW. 
 
 Was pouring down innumerable tears 
 
 On frighted, wounded earth ; the sun's first look 
 
 Created in a moment on those tears, 
 
 And in that blackness, a wide rainbow arch, 
 
 Sparkling with all the jewell'ry of heaven. 
 
 Spanning both earth and sea, encompassing 
 
 The storm with outstretch'd arms. Such sudden burst 
 
 Of beauty startled the rude combatants 
 
 Into short truce ; the thunders held their breath, 
 
 The lightnings paus'd to gaze, while silently 
 
 The rainbow wept and smil'd. 
 
 Thus did our Lord, 
 The Sun of Kighteousness, create His Church, 
 Like the fair bow of peace, o'er all the storms, 
 And clouds of our dark world. From lowest state 
 He rose, and shed His soft infantile beams 
 On human tears : then glitter'd smiles of joy 
 In eyes of angels and of penitents, 
 As when on Magdalene's meek weeping love 
 He look'd forgiveness. Thus His Church arose, 
 His own reflection — His creation new — 
 His many-colour'd and triumphant banner. 
 Where every tint of beauty melts and blends 
 In one unbroken whole, to show His love 
 
TO MY BRIDE. 153 
 
 Embracing in a boundless arch all lands, 
 Proclaiming peace, and never to depart 
 While its eternal origin shall shine. 
 
 TO MY BEIDE. 
 
 THOU, whom, as the fervent ray of noon. 
 From lily's heart its pearly gem extracteth, 
 
 1 from the soft shades of thy home have drawn 
 To be my radiance and my diadem, 
 
 Listen, and I will teach thee what thou art 
 Tome. 
 
 Behold our jessamine ! how still 
 And motionless, in maiden modesty, 
 She keeps her hidden fragrance ; each pale star 
 Holding its honey'd breath, lest the charm'd air 
 Betray her secret bower. A moment wait ; 
 And now behold how chang'd ! all her fair flowers 
 Are tremulous with joy, and not one leaf 
 Unmov'd. Ah ! feel'st thou not that flood of sweet 
 
154 TO MY BRIDE. 
 
 Drowning the golden air ? what spirit kiss 
 Unseal'd the odorous fountain 1 It was thine, 
 Soft Spirit of the Wind ! from parched waste 
 Or troubled city, faint, on drooping wing. 
 With weariness and thirst oppress'd, thou earnest 
 Searching our shadowy garden bower for her 
 Thou lov'st, and lo ! thy tenderest sighing wak'd 
 This silent stream of incense. 
 
 Thus, belov'd, 
 When from the world of toil to thee I come, 
 Thee, veiling under delicate purity 
 The richness of thy heart from every eye 
 But heaven's and mine — I feel, as 'asmine breath, 
 Thy hallowing presence round me, quietly 
 Flowing like balm into mine every wound, 
 Bathing this weary, thirsty soul, in waves 
 Of unseen tenderness, until my heart 
 Seems melting into thine, and blending thus, 
 Our chasten'd thoughts together rise to heaven 
 In evening worship. 
 
(155) 
 
 THE BEOKEN LILY. 
 
 TO MR. AND MRS. S , WHOSE BELOVED AND YOUNGEST 
 
 DAUGHTER DIED SUDDENLY, IN THE FOURTEENTH 
 YEAR OF HER AGE. 
 
 My garden was to me as paradise : 
 Thou, my son, the goodly cedar there, 
 Beneath whose shade I sat ; around thee twin'd ' 
 A fair transplanted myrtle scarce less dear. 
 In spring I had a bed of violets ; 
 The air was melted with their sweetness ; these 
 Died one by one. Then, with more anxious love, 
 I nurs'd my living flowers ; thee, eldest rose, 
 With thy babe mossy buds — thy sister pale, 
 Yet oh, how fragrant ! white, soft jessamine. 
 And thee, rich rose, half op'ning in my breast. 
 These were my joy ; but one, yet one I had. 
 That bloom'd the last of all, my summer flower. 
 My tall white lily. I could feel my cheek 
 Flush with proud joy, when passers-by admir'd 
 How on her stem she rose — rose day by day 
 
156 THE BROKEN LILT. 
 
 In modest grace, and rapidly put forth 
 
 Her rich white bud in early perfectness. 
 
 How quickly did it open ! and what floods 
 
 Of fragrance o'er me stole, as in the beams 
 
 Of the warm summer sun she waving bent 
 
 To the soft winds of love ! " This flower," methought, 
 
 " Shall flourish o'er my grave." 
 
 'Twas eve ; I walk'd 
 Rejoicing in mine Eden ; suddenly 
 I miss'd my lily ; lo ! the stem was snapp'd — 
 The white bell in the dust ; the dew of mom 
 Hung yet upon it, and the sunbeams scarce 
 Could leave the warm heart ; still the sighing wind 
 Came to drink sweetness from the stricken flower. 
 For me, my heart was broken with its treasure ; 
 Me, dewy tear refresh'd not — beam illum'd not, 
 Nor sigh of pity sooth'd. I spurn'd them all ; 
 The fever-thirst of love despoil'd, consum'd, 
 My dying spirit ; till I heard Thy voice, 
 
 Love, that smote me, now I know 'tis Thou, 
 
 1 yield my lily, yield my dl to Thee. 
 
(157) 
 
 "WHY DO THEY DIE?" 
 
 " The young and the beautiful, why do they die, 
 
 With the flower on their cheek and the beam in their 
 
 eye? 
 Fresh and unfaded, and Hfe-overflowing, 
 Hope, love, and strength, in the warm bosom glowing ! 
 Why is the aged and weary one left. 
 Like the old oak of winter, benumb'd and bereft ? 
 The infantine flowers round his feet that were playing 
 Lie smitten and dead, while he lives, though decaying ; 
 Lives on to languish, to struggle, forsaken, 
 While they, full of beauty and brightness, were taken." 
 " Murmur not, mortal ! nor dare to refuse 
 The loveliest lilies thy Father may choose ; 
 Say, would'st thou offer Him only the dying — 
 All that is budding in beauty denying 1 
 Must He not gather the fresh and the fair — 
 Only the fading and withering wear ? 
 Nay, let Him choose His own favourite blossom ; 
 Grudge not the lily He takes to His bosom." 
 
( 158 ) 
 
 THE HOUE OF PEAYEK. 
 
 My sister ! come and worsMp, for the western heavens 
 
 shine 
 And kindle up the lamps of God's cathedral like a 
 
 shrine ; 
 Lo ! one by one they glitter forth, high on its columns 
 
 tall, 
 And glory fills the house of prayer which He hath built 
 
 for all. 
 O come with me and listen, love I for at this holy 
 
 hour, 
 A thousand prayers are rising up from wood, and wave, 
 
 and bower ; 
 And every lily's soul ascends upon the wind's soft wing 
 To heaven, which stoopeth down to meet each upward 
 
 breathing thing ; 
 come with me, belov'd ! for ocean lone and dim 
 Is heaving towards the stars that bathe their locks to- 
 
 liight in him ; 
 
THE HOUR OF PRAYER. 159 
 
 See, see, their glitt'ring faces all his wildernesses pave. 
 And their angels walk in solemn watch melodious o'er 
 
 the wave. 
 come with me and worship ! earth's thoughts be 
 
 thrown away ; 
 The stars are singing, — we can sing a loftier song than 
 
 they; 
 For He who lit their countless fires, and fans their 
 
 lightning rays, 
 Bids thee and me burn evermore when they shall cease 
 
 to blaze. 
 
 TO MY CHILD IN HEAVEN. 
 
 (TO MRS. E .) 
 
 Deep in thy mother's breast thine image lies. 
 As morning's star in lonely mountain lake, 
 
 The strange refulgence of those glorious eyes. 
 Where dawn of sunny thought began to break. 
 
160 TO MY CHILD IN HEAVEN. 
 
 All flush'd with soft luxuriancy of love 
 The perfect outline of that cheek — ^that lip, 
 
 Where heavenly beauty, as a silver dove, 
 Came down in waves of purity to dip. 
 
 But ah ! th' unearthly purity o'erflow'd 
 And drown'd the fervent roses of thy face ; 
 
 While through the crystal flood intensely glow'd 
 The pearl-mind flashing from its secret place. 
 
 Whiter and whiter, as I daily gazed. 
 
 The spotless snowdrop in my bosom grew, 
 
 As, bathing in its Saviour's blood, it raised 
 Its tender head beneath His silent dew. 
 
 Silent and still His calm, soft Spirit came ; 
 
 Beneath His baptism my flower bent down ; 
 Then glory fell, and through th' ascending flame 
 
 I saw a pearl bom on my Saviour's crown. 
 
(161) 
 
 A TEAR. 
 
 A TEAR ! the soul's pure crystal word — 
 Truth's language — feeling's eloquence, 
 
 More potent than th' avenging sword, 
 To conquer hate and slay offence. 
 
 When melting from Compassion's eye, 
 (As vernal drops from heavens of May,) 
 
 Where fierce Remorse has shrunk to die, 
 Too vile for hope, too proud to pray. 
 
 The precious tears of Mercy fall 
 On the despairing heart of stone ; 
 
 New life, new feeling, thrill it all. 
 The deathless seed of love is sown. 
 
 The tender blade of sacred grief 
 
 Breaks through the now relenting soil. 
 
 And holiness, a golden sheaf. 
 Rewards at last the weeper's toil. 
 M 
 
162 A TEAR. 
 
 A tear ! the babe's first feeble prayer ; 
 
 Th' o'erflowing of its motber's joy ! 
 As the cold dew white snowdrops wear, 
 
 On thy wan cheek, poor orphan boy ! 
 
 But like the sparkling summer rain 
 On thy rose-face, glad child of wealth ! 
 
 A drop thy cup could not contain, 
 Fill'd to the brim with life and health. 
 
 A tear ! the pearl in Friendship's crown, 
 Which mines of jewels could not buy ; 
 
 The charm to chase a father's frown ; 
 The purest gem of Beauty's eye. 
 
 When o'er the death-cold form I bend. 
 Which throbb'd so warm with love to me, 
 
 Speak not, ah speak not, dearest friend, 
 But let thy soothing tears flow free. 
 
 And thou, penitent distress'd ! 
 
 Go to the Cross thy Lord to meet ; 
 A tear will tell thy meaning best — 
 
 Go, wash with tears those bleeding feet. 
 
EVENING WISH. 163 
 
 Thou who, salvation-girt, array'd 
 
 With truth, hope-helmeted, peace-shod, 
 
 Go'st forth to battle undismay'd — 
 The glorious battle of thy God : 
 
 To bruise the serpent, souls to win, 
 
 Go first to Olivet's sad steep. 
 And there, with Him who bore our sin, 
 
 Look on Jerusalem and weep ! 
 
 EVENINa WISH. 
 
 " My mother ! see, the evening star is shining o'er the 
 deep, 
 
 And the little waves in cradle blue have rock'd them- 
 selves to sleep ; 
 
 The task thou gavest me is done, the holy page is read, 
 
 I come for thy sweet kiss, I lay on thy dear breast my 
 head. 
 
164 EVENING WISH. 
 
 "And now I go to pray alone my happy evening prayer, 
 Then sink in dreams of paradise, unshadow'd by a 
 
 care; 
 While still I think one joyous thought — so sweet, but 
 
 for thy sake : 
 might I from my slumber bright only in heaven 
 
 awake ! 
 
 ** Nay, let me kiss away that tear, for if it thus should 
 
 be, 
 And I am softly stolen home even to-night from thee, 
 A little while and thou wilt come thy darhng to 
 
 regain. 
 For when the bud is gone the rose can never long 
 
 remain. 
 
 " I thirst for that pure river wave whereof I hear thee 
 
 sing, 
 Methinks I feel my Saviour's call, my heart is on the 
 
 wing; 
 Can I not draw thee with me by the power of strong 
 
 desire, 
 As the billows bear the gem to shore ere they in bhss 
 
 expire 1 '* 
 
mother's song to little bobby. 165 
 
 Night fell around the still repose ; at midnight from 
 
 her bed 
 The mother stole to watch her child with soft ethereal 
 
 tread ; 
 She bent to kiss the roseate lips — they smil'd, but they 
 
 were cold, 
 For the wave of life immortal to the shore of heaven 
 
 had roll'd. 
 
 MOTHEE'S SONG TO LITTLE BOBBY. 
 
 FOR HIS BIRTHDAY, OCTOBER 5, 1854. 
 
 Little Bobby ! drop of honey 
 
 In the rose of wedded love ! 
 Cunning fairy ! fond and funny ! 
 
 Mother's laughing, cooing dove ! 
 Heart emotion rich and simple 
 
 Stirs thy prattling tongue to speak ; 
 Graces dance in every dimple 
 
 Of thy round and roguish cheek. 
 
166 mother's song to little bobby. 
 
 From thy cot at morning early, 
 
 Peeps that archly-smiling face, 
 Like a dancing dewdrop pearly, 
 
 From her lily lurking-place. 
 Then I hear thee loudly prating ; 
 
 For thy tongue's a mountain rill, 
 Not for theme or audience waiting ; 
 
 How can such a stream stand still 1 
 O I love to deck and dress thee. 
 
 Smooth the brown waves of thy hair ! 
 my bosom bounds to bless thee. 
 
 When I hear thy lisping prayer ! 
 To thy father then I show thee. 
 
 As he hasteth to his toil ; 
 Heaven upon us did bestow thee, 
 
 All the wheels of work to oil. 
 Soon I hear of school-hours ending, 
 
 For thy little patt'ring feet. 
 Like the summer drops descending, 
 
 Hurrying trot along the street. 
 Then I watch thee, fingers folding. 
 
 Twinkling eyelids hardly shut, 
 Scarce till grace is said withholding 
 
 From the plate before thee put. 
 
mother's song to little bobby. 167 
 
 How my breast with joy is brimming 
 
 When beneath thy dainty hat, 
 (All of love's own tricksy trimming,) 
 
 Beams thy face so broad and fat ! 
 When along the park we're walking, 
 
 How my heart leaps up with joy, 
 If I hear the passers talking 
 
 Of the beauty of my boy ! 
 Yes, my Bobby ! tender treasure ! 
 
 Bird of love ! thou cam'st to bring 
 Tears and smiles, and pain and pleasure, 
 
 On thy wild and wayward wing. 
 Could I, sweet one ! now resign thee 1 
 
 Ah ! my poor heart dares not say ! 
 how tightly dost thou twine thee 
 
 Closer round it every day ! 
 Like convolvulus, love-guided 
 
 Over some frail lily's cup, 
 Can they ever be divided ? 
 
 Mine in thy life seems bound up. 
 Where, my love, shall hearts so blending, 
 
 Find beneath these changing skies 
 Place for union never-ending — 
 
 Love's perennial paradise ? 
 
168 LAMENT FOR THE " TIMES" COACH. 
 
 Ah ! not here ! but in the garden 
 
 Where death's blight hath never breath'd, 
 Where in sunny floods of pardon 
 
 Round the throne God's flowers are wreath'd. 
 There, my little son and daughter, 
 
 With your parents may ye grow, 
 By the crystal living water, 
 
 All whose waves with glory flow. 
 
 A LAMENT FOE THE "TIMES" COACH. 
 
 (A COACH WHICH, BEFORE THE OPENING OF THE RAILWAY 
 TO BEDFORD, RAN BETWEEN BEDFORD AND LONDON.) 
 
 Oh, monarch of coaches ! thy glory is past ; 
 Thou hast won thy laurels and run thy last. 
 
 How faithful thou wast to the sound of the chimes ! 
 But the noise of thy wheels, it has pass'd away ; 
 Thy beautiful chargers, ah ! where are they 1 
 The grass shall grow on thy well-known way. 
 
 Oh, lament for the royal old " Times ! " 
 
LAMENT FOR THE " TIMES " COACH. 169 
 
 Over the bridge thou would'st proudly sweep, 
 And the Ouse look'd up from his evening sleep, 
 
 And merrily sounded the soft old chimes ; 
 And the people of Bedford came out to gaze, 
 Thy contents to scan, and thy speed to praise : 
 AJas ! for the death of those happy old days : 
 
 Alas ! for the royal old " Times ! " 
 
 Lo ! where he cometh, the giant of steam ! 
 Sweeping along like the thunder-bolt's gleam, 
 
 Drowning the peal of the merry old chimes ; 
 Tearing the loves of our childhood away — 
 Yet bringing the dawn of a lovelier day ; 
 So we hail thee, oh giant ! but yet we say, 
 
 Alas ! for the good old " Times ! " 
 
 Yet why should Bedford be left behind 
 
 In the thunder of steam and the march of mind ? 
 
 Let her arise and renew her youth ! 
 Hail to the glorious giant, who brings 
 The friends that we love on his stormy wings, 
 And a thousand holy and beautiful things, 
 
 And hastens the coming of truth. 
 
170 THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH. 
 
 Bedford, rejoice ! for thy fame is old, 
 But ages to come must thy brightest unfold : 
 So loud be the peal of thy musical chimes ! 
 Lament not the past, but look forward and see 
 Life, light, and intelligence, coming and going ; 
 Intellect deep'ning, expanding, and glowing ; 
 Commerce unfetter'd, and happiness flowing ; 
 Friendship made happy, and feeling set free. 
 All hail to the briglit new times ! 
 
 THE ELECTKIC TELEGEAPH, 
 
 Come and try thy speed with me, 
 Winged Spirit of the "Wind ! 
 
 Choose thy course — the land — the sea- 
 Lo ! I leave thee far behind. 
 
 While, o'er ocean's lofty wave, 
 
 , Thou the monarch, man, dost bear, 
 I, beneath the sailor's grave, 
 Rush, his herald pioneer. 
 
THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH. 171 
 
 Sister lightnings ! as ye dart 
 
 Chainless round the mountain steeps, 
 
 I am tam'd, and taught by art 
 
 How to pierce the mountain's deeps. 
 
 In Creation's lyre I slept, 
 
 Ages brooded o'er my birth ; 
 Till the harp Heaven's finger swept. 
 
 Then I flash'd, and thrill'd the earth. 
 
 Mind ! in whose triumphant yoke, 
 
 Swiftest coursers sink and die— 
 From whose burning wheels I broke, 
 
 Lo ! thy fiery chariot, I ! 
 
 Haste thy lightning car to mount, 
 
 Bound the globe rejoicing ride ; 
 Moments shall our passage count. 
 
 Waves and whirlwinds, stand aside. 
 
 Justice ! from thy throne dispatch 
 
 Me, thine eagle, swift and strong ; 
 I the felon's flight will match — 
 
 I will mock the might of wrong. 
 
172 THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH. 
 
 Mercy ! heaven-born cherub ! thou 
 On my subtle wing wilt fly ; 
 
 Speak— I am thine echo now — 
 Whisper — and all realms reply. 
 
 Peace ! my threads of spirit light 
 Weave thy soft and seamless robe, 
 
 Soon to deck in spotless white, 
 As Heaven's bride, the ransom'd globe. 
 
 Truth ! I am thy living pen — 
 
 Golden plume from heavenly Dove ; 
 
 Write with me, on hearts of men, 
 " God is Light, and God is Love." 
 
 Freedom ! as I sparkling dance 
 
 Over earth and under sea ! 
 I am thine Ithuriel lance — 
 
 Chains are shiver'd — slaves are free. 
 
 Saviour ! Universal King ! 
 
 Waiting at Thy feet I stand, 
 Till Thou send upon my wing, 
 
 Joyful news to every land. 
 
(173) 
 
 MILTON'S DAUGHTEE TO HEE 
 EATHEE. 
 
 MIGHTY sire ! mute ecstasy and wonder 
 Exalt and yet o'erwhelm my trembling soul, 
 
 "While, as through echo's vale the midnight thunder, 
 Thy glorious hymnings through my being roll. 
 
 1 gaze upon thee, when thy pale lips quiver 
 
 With Inspiration's flood betwixt them pent. 
 As Israel gaz'd upon their veil'd lawgiver. 
 Till by the radiancy the veil seems rent. 
 
 I gaze, as on the sun the flower adoring, 
 Till the refulgence overflows my heart, 
 
 Till faint I sink beneath the bright outpouring, 
 Too mighty to repress — too great t' impart. 
 
 I gaze, as earth, when Cynthia's shade light-fringed 
 The splendour of her monarch strives t' eclipse. 
 
 By the outbursting zone of radiance tinged, 
 Glory triumphant leapeth from thy lips. 
 
174 milton's daughter to her father. 
 
 I listen, as without the closed portal 
 
 Of vast cathedral thrill'd by midnight psalm, 
 
 Till, caught on high by the wing'd notes immortal, 
 With them I soar in clear cerulean calm. 
 
 In thy soul's temple thou dost keep the bridal 
 
 Of virgin Poesy with Truth divine, 
 Not at Fame's altar, earth's wide-worshipp'd idol, 
 
 But where cherubic pinions shade the shrine. 
 
 There, on the bride's pure brow so deeply bended, 
 
 Lo ! Immortality hath set her wreath. 
 Where gems that with the dews of heav'n descended, 
 
 Hang sparkling on the flowers that know not death. 
 
 The bard of earth, for man alone who singeth. 
 Is but th' electric flash of sudden light ; 
 
 Only to dazzle or destroy he springeth 
 From clouds of storm into eternal night. 
 
 But he who draws from heaven, by deep communion, 
 His inspiration and exhaustless theme, 
 
 Shines with the Sun of Eighteousness in union, 
 A pure, beneficent, immortal beam. 
 
( 175 ) 
 
 TO MISS NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 OCTOBER, 1854. 
 
 With weeping and shouting we saw them depart, 
 There was light in their eye, there was fire in their 
 
 heart ; 
 Their last step on Britain was fearless and proud, 
 And the wooden walls shook with their thunder-shout 
 
 loud ; 
 And as wave after wave, like a stream of devotion, 
 They roU'd from our breast to the bosom of ocean. 
 The sunbeams of Spring on their helmets were glancing, 
 Their plumes to the music of triumph were dancing. 
 Their banners wav'd wide, on Hope's pinion dispread, 
 And victory flutter'd high over their head ; 
 But the eye of Victoria grew dim as it fell 
 On her bright legions shouting their thunder farewell : 
 And weeping we foUow'd their steps to the shore, 
 Well knowing full many must tread it no more. 
 They shone on our tears, as we hung on their march 
 A rainbow of triumph, a glitt'ring arch. 
 
176 TO MISS NIGHTINGALK 
 
 Where now the bright gems of that shining array, 
 That leap'd from our crown like Niagara's spray 1 
 Lo ! thousands are lying all scatter'd and pale 
 On the heights of the Alma, in Varna's dark vale ; 
 The men that went forth for their country to die. 
 Ah ! see them down-smitten in agony lie ; 
 To the mouth of the cannon like billows they roll'd. 
 To the depth of the furnace a torrent of gold ; 
 They clave the dark stream like a river of flame. 
 Then blazing, expir'd on the altar of Fame. 
 Alas ! 'mid the clarion, thrilling and clear. 
 The groans of our wounded, our lov'd ones, we hear ; 
 How low lies the forehead, unpillow'd, unfann'd. 
 That was rais'd like a rock for his love and his land ! 
 How feeble the pulse in that resolute wrist ! 
 How droops the white plume that Britannia kiss'd ! 
 As the foam that the storm over ocean has dash'd, 
 Lie the feathery snows that so loftily flash'd ; 
 But, lo ! o'er that ocean of torture and night, 
 A^ the maidenly moon in her tremulous light, 
 The Angel of Mercy has risen to shed 
 Heaven's dew from her wings on the dying and dead. 
 The eagle heart, pierc'd in his proudest career, 
 Sinks, sinks on the plain, but his mate is not here ; 
 
TO MISS NIGHTINGALE. 177 
 
 Alone he must bleed out his life and his love ; 
 
 But what is that flutter ? the wing of a Dove ! 
 
 O'er the deluge of war with her olive she flies, 
 
 The soldier looks upward, and smiles as he dies. 
 
 For she led him, blood-stain'd, to the Fountain which 
 
 flows 
 Salvation alike for himself and his foes. 
 O Florence ! the widow shall bless thee for this. 
 The lip of the orphan thy footprint shall kiss ; 
 And History's finger, in letters of light, 
 Thy name on the heart of thy country will write ; 
 But the loveliest gem of thy amaranth wreath 
 Is Gratitude's tear in the eyeball of death. 
 
(178) 
 
 HUBEET.* 
 
 As some fair beam of sunny sportive beauty, 
 Glancing among the changeful clouds of Spring, 
 So thou, delight of many eyes, didst shine. 
 To vanish ere thy noon ; not on the warm 
 Soft roses of thy native bower, alas ! 
 But the far-distant ice of Arctic climes 
 Clos'd o'er thy sorrowful fading. 
 
 List ! from yon narrow berth — death-bed how cold ! 
 What sounds are heard ! is that low, feeble moan, 
 The last, last echo of those tones, which gush'd 
 So sparkling from his young heart's brimming fount 1 
 How faint ! yet, ah ! how sweet ! their richest accents. 
 In hour of brightest glee, ne'er reach'd a strain 
 So holy and so exquisite as these 
 Glad words with which he enter'd Death's dark vale — 
 "Blessed Redemption!" 
 
 * Henry Hubert Salosbury, late Lieutenant of H. M. S. Investigator. 
 
(179) 
 
 THAMSGIVING HAEVEST HYMK 
 
 FOR SUNDAY, OCTOBER 1, 1854. 
 
 "Tliou crownest the year with Thy goodness." — Ps. Ixv. 11. 
 *' Let the people praise Thee, God ; let all the people praise Thee." 
 -Ps. Ixvii. 5. 
 
 Sweet Sabbath ! Britain's treasure, 
 
 Her guardian angel dear ! 
 with what sacred pleasure 
 
 Wilt thou her anthem hear ! 
 When, 'neath thy wing extending. 
 
 Its shadow kind and sweet. 
 Thou seest Britannia bending 
 
 Before the Mercy Seat ! 
 
 The mother's bosom bringeth, 
 
 For its dear sire to bless. 
 The smiling babe, that springeth 
 
 Into his glad caress ; 
 So thou, on bosom fairest. 
 
 As with maternal bliss, 
 A thankful nation bearest 
 
 Her Father's feet to kiss. 
 
180 THANKSGIVING HARVEST HYMN. 
 
 Lo ! o'er her vales and mountains, 
 
 From every house of prayer, 
 As from ten thousand fountains. 
 
 Praise riseth on the air ; 
 Victoria gently leadeth 
 
 The millions of her flock, 
 To Him who Israel feedeth. 
 
 Our Shepherd and our Rock. 
 
 Poor widow ! cloth'd in sable — 
 
 Poor orphan ! hardly fed — 
 Come to your Father's table, 
 
 So bountifully spread ! 
 His family assembles. 
 
 The aged and the young, 
 And one thanksgiving trembles 
 
 On each rejoicing tongue. 
 
 Our Father bendeth o'er us, 
 "With open heart and hand ; 
 
 Lift, lift your voice in chorus, 
 Throughout our favoured land ; 
 
THANKSGIVING HAKVEST HYMN. 181 
 
 His feast, in ricli redundance, 
 
 He spreadeth far and near ; 
 He crowneth with abundance 
 
 The harvest of the year. 
 
 Ah ! had God's wrath forbidden 
 
 The precious drops to fall. 
 His awful justice hidden 
 
 The sun that shines on all ; 
 Had He withheld His mercies, 
 
 What fears had riven our breast ! 
 With dire domestic curses, 
 
 And mighty war distress'd. 
 
 But, lo ! like angels tender, 
 
 His melting clouds He sent. 
 They, crown'd with sunny splendour. 
 
 Over his garden went ; 
 Dropping on field and meadow, 
 
 Like waves of wealth they roU'd, 
 Till sunbeams chas'd the shadow. 
 
 And turn'd the green to gold. 
 
,182 THANKSGIVING HARVEST HYMN. 
 
 ye whose bams no longer 
 
 The blessing can contain, 
 Let Charity grow stronger, 
 
 Let Gratitude constrain ; 
 Open your hands, outpouring 
 
 The wealth they cannot hold, 
 Then Hft them up, adoring. 
 
 High o'er the gather'd gold. 
 
 Father ! Saviour holy ! 
 
 And Comforter divine ! 
 See, bow'd in worship lowly, 
 
 A favour'd flock of Thine ! 
 Long by Thine arm defended, 
 
 Long by Thy goodness fed. 
 Thy hand is still extended 
 
 In mercy o'er our head. 
 
 Meekly our sins confessing. 
 
 One family we meet ; 
 Fill'd with Thy mighty blessing. 
 
 Around our Father's feet ; 
 
THANKSGIVING HARVEST HYMN, 183 
 
 from what sore affliction 
 
 Hast Thou redeem'd our land ! 
 We own Thy benediction ; 
 
 We bless Thy saving hand ! 
 
 Lord, while Thy goodness leads us 
 
 Thus to observe Thy day, 
 Praising the Hand that feeds us, 
 
 Help us to love its sway ; 
 Perpetuate thanksgiving. 
 
 By self-devotion free, 
 And to Thy glory living, • 
 
 A people saved by Thee ; 
 
 Dispensing to each nation. 
 
 What Thou to us hast given — 
 The glad news of salvation, 
 
 The priceless Bread of Heaven ; 
 Till round the Cross embracing 
 
 All at Thy banquet bow ; 
 A world Thy bounty praising. 
 
 As doth a nation now. 
 
(184) 
 
 JOKDAN'S LAMENT. 
 
 An aged mourner, desolate and slow, 
 
 Weeping departed glories as I go. 
 
 Still by the graves of all my proud and fair 
 
 I moan and murmur, for the foe is there. 
 
 Ah, woe is me ! Where now those ancient days, 
 
 When all my viny banks were loud with praise ; 
 
 When countless flocks and herds my sweetness knew, 
 
 And glorious cedars o'er my birthplace grew ? 
 
 Around me rills of milk and honey gush'd ; 
 
 Where'er I came the vale with beauty blush'd ; 
 
 I gave the herds of Lot dehcious drink ; 
 
 Jacob and Kachel rested on my brink ; 
 
 And with obedient joy I open'd wide 
 
 An arch of triumph in my harvest tide, 
 
 T' admit the King of glory's conquering ranks, 
 
 While reverent rapture overflow'd my banks. 
 
 Then did I give His sheep abundant drink, 
 
 Then hallelujahs roll'd from brink to brink ; 
 
 Prophets could bind me with a silken thread, 
 
 And holy feet walk fearless o'er my bed ; 
 
Jordan's lament. 185 
 
 Then from my honour 'd wave foul, leprous flesh, 
 Arose at Heaven's decree as childhood's fresh ; 
 Then in the sanctuary's psalms divine. 
 Praising my Maker's name, they chanted mine. 
 Where, where, those years of joy ? Ah, chosen race, 
 Fair vine of Egypt, rooted from thy place ; 
 I saw my children, haughty Babel's slaves, 
 Driv'n weeping from their fathers' hallow'd graves, 
 I saw the tyrant foe exulting stride 
 O'er my lone valleys, now a desert wide. 
 And seventy years for Judah's sins I wept, 
 Till the glad promise of return was kept. 
 
 The voice that shook the wilderness, the cry 
 
 Which told Jerusalem her King drew nigh, 
 
 AU down my waves with solemn joy I bore 
 
 To crowds of penitents on either shore. 
 
 In me Elias stood, and I became 
 
 Type of th' approaching baptism of flame. 
 
 Even He Himself, the living water's Spring, 
 
 The spotless Lamb, and David's Son and King, 
 
 Disdain'd not in my meaner wave to tread. 
 
 While my glad tears baptiz'd His meek, but royal head. 
 
(186) 
 
 PEOVIDENCE. 
 
 Darkly we grope sometimes our weary way 
 As in deep caverns lost to light of day ; 
 Oft stumbling, ever doubting, still distress'd, 
 Fearing the worst, uncertain what is best. 
 But when eternity's correcting light 
 Shall flash reproving on our startled sight, 
 Then shall we find what now a cavern seems, 
 A grot of glory with a dome of gems, 
 A vast cathedral, perfect in design, 
 Whose walls with blazonry of beauty shine ; 
 Pebbles, that sore distress'd our feet when straying, 
 Change into diamonds around us playing ; 
 Those piercing points on which we blindly rush'd 
 Have into starry, soft stalactites blush'd ; 
 Those chilling drops we murmur'd so to feel. 
 Are pearls, and thousand rainbow rays reveal. 
 So, pilgrim ! tread in faith this mystic maze, 
 Contented to be led in all thy ways, 
 Unable yet to view the glories spread 
 In mystery and darkness o'er thy head ; 
 
THE EVE OF MARTYRDOM. 187 
 
 Unable yet to see the gems that lie 
 So thickly in thy pathway to the sky. 
 But trustfully await that flash of glory 
 Which soon shall kindle up thy life's dark story; 
 Then love's intricacies shall charm thy gaze, 
 And the perfection of His darkest ways ; 
 Then, ravish'd into rapture, shalt thou own 
 The clouds and darkness were in thee alone. 
 
 THE EVE OF MAETYEDOM. 
 
 As in the lonely Tower 
 She sat, she heard her brother's step, not light 
 And buoyant, as it had in childhood been, 
 But firmer, as if conscious that it trod 
 The verge of heaven, and soon should cross the flood 
 And tread the golden pavement. Pale his face. 
 But not with fear ; rather with inspiration ; 
 
188 THE EVE OP MARTYRDOM. 
 
 He had by faith look'd into heaven : that sight 
 
 Drove back the earth-born colour from his cheek, 
 
 And planted rapture's lily there. He took 
 
 His sister to his heart ; no whisper'd word 
 
 Awhile they utter'd ; theirs was love too great 
 
 For speech, sorrow too sad for tears, and faith 
 
 Too eloquent for song. 
 
 Ah, Faith it was came down, and laid her hand 
 
 On their communing eyes, and then they saw 
 
 The crown, the white robes, and the conqueror-palm 
 
 Prepar'd for them ; and then she touch'd their ears, 
 
 And oh ! they heard such floating melodies. 
 
 And choral hallelujahs, and sweet shouts 
 
 From lips of Bethlehem's babes ; and whispers wild, 
 
 Yet rich in dying softness, rise and roll 
 
 Around them, like the fragrance of the flowers 
 
 Of May's first morn, or voices from the leaves 
 
 Of that still waving tree, which grows for ever 
 
 By life's clear stream, whose cool translucent wave 
 
 Flows o'er the fever of the thirsty heart, 
 
 And bids it thirst no more. 
 
 Oh, the calm bliss 
 Of that delicious moment ! Earthly fears, 
 And agonies, and death, like hideous ghosts, 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 189 
 
 Vanished in the sweet dawn of heavenly day, 
 
 And the warm sunshine of the Lamb fell soft 
 
 And soothing on their souls, and every storm 
 
 Laid finger on its lip, and every wave 
 
 Of horror sank in level peace, and joy 
 
 Walk'd o'er the slumb'ring deep, and spread his wings 
 
 Radiant with thousand colours, open wide 
 
 To the pure sunshine, aiid white-mantled Hope 
 
 Wav'd her triumphant hand, and Love arose 
 
 And snatch'd a harp from heaven, and struck the note, 
 
 The key-note of her everlasting hymn. 
 
 WILLIAM PENN. 
 
 Though envy rage, and ignorance declaim. 
 Truth writes in adamant his honour'd name 
 High in the ranks of the triumphant band. 
 Pilgrims on earth, who seek the better land. 
 Who leave the world's proud diadems beneath. 
 And climb the cross to grasp a fadeless wreath. 
 
190 WILLIAM PENN. 
 
 O Cross of Jesus ! who the sweets can show 
 
 That from thy bitter root perennial grow, 
 
 Save those who bind thee to their bleeding breast, 
 
 In daily agony, yet constant rest 1 
 
 Yes ! take th' unsightly plant, the precious seed. 
 
 And bind it to thy heart, though that heart bleed ; 
 
 Nurse it with prayer — guard it to death's stern strife. 
 
 Then wiU it bear for thee a crown of life. 
 
 He, William Penn, did love it. His clear eye 
 
 Kose up to heaven, passing earth's jewels by ; 
 
 There he beheld a diadem of light 
 
 Which few aspir'd to win, though win all might ; 
 
 His spirit fir'd for the immortal prize. 
 
 And the world faded in his kindling eyes. 
 
 What is the world to a celestial crown 1 
 
 He clasp'd the Cross, and cried, " Set my name down ! " 
 
 With that self-slaying weapon, bold for truth. 
 
 The world he conquer'd, while but yet a youth : 
 
 A stripling David, see him seek the fight, 
 
 Hardy to suffer, stedfast for the right. 
 
 Mark how he braves the scoffs of worldlings gay. 
 
 And turns triumphant from their joys away ; 
 
 See how his heart bleeds anguish when his sire 
 
WILLIAM PENN. 191 
 
 Forbids him what the laws of truth require ; 
 
 See how he tears himself from home's repose, 
 
 And, for the sake of Christ, a pilgrim goes ; 
 
 Endures a mother's tears, a father's frown ; 
 
 For these are in his way to that bright crown. 
 
 Behold him as a stranger, poor, despis'd. 
 
 Leave all the wealth and fame by worldlings priz'd ; 
 
 And as th' aspiring eagle quits her nest 
 
 And lifts to the broad heavens her heaving breast, 
 
 So he, with swelling soul and burning eye, 
 
 Launch'd forth from all below, and sought the sky. 
 
 Storms struggled with his wings ; base Envy raised 
 
 Her smoke to blacken where such brightness blazed, 
 
 And Persecution bribed her slaves to swear 
 
 His guilt of virtues they refus'd to share. 
 
 Behold him now arraign'd, a prisoner free ! 
 
 His crime is truth — guilty, his noblest plea. 
 
 Behold him in the dungeon, pouring mind 
 
 And might from giant powers they could not bind ; 
 
 Shining in darkness, fetterless in chains. 
 
 Glorious in ignominy, strong through pains ; 
 
 A monarch in a prison, a bright flame 
 
 No floods could quench, no fraud nor fury tame ; 
 
192 WILLIAM PENN. 
 
 Heedless of agony, it upward flew, 
 
 Burning alike earth's pomps and prisons through. 
 
 Behold him now, meek messenger of grace. 
 Preaching the Cross he loves from place to place, 
 Uncheck'd by cruelty his conquering love. 
 He crosses ocean like the sent-forth dove ; 
 The thunder of the waves, the savage shore, 
 Do but exalt his rising soul the more ; 
 The fierce wild Indian throws away his dart. 
 Pointless rebounding from that crystal heart ; 
 The suiF'ring saints crowd to his fost'ring wing, 
 He reigns, the servant — and he serves, the king. 
 Childlike, he takes the power by heaven assigned 
 T' exert it as a hand to bless mankind. 
 Mildly he bears reproach — ^meekly, renown. 
 For all are in his path to that bright crown. 
 Behold him as a father ; hand in hand 
 With his lov'd wife, he leads a beauteous band ; 
 Keceives a cherish'd Isaac "^ from his Lord, 
 Restores the costly offering at His word ; 
 Conducts in virtue's paths his household train, 
 And points them to the crown he lived to gain. 
 
 * Bia son bpringett. 
 
WISDOM. 193 
 
 Thus having fought the well-contested field, 
 
 The Cross his banner red, and faith his shield, 
 
 At every point of duty proved and tried. 
 
 And victor over sin on every side, 
 
 His Saviour and his Strength approving smil'd 
 
 The long-sought crown to His true champion child. 
 
 WISDOM. 
 
 ' The Lord possessed me in the beginning of His way, before His works 
 of old."— Peg V. viii. 22. 
 
 1'rom everlasting, on His rightful throne. 
 To everlasting, sits the Lord alone. 
 Inhabiting eternity's vast shrine, 
 Ere mountains rose or stars began to shine ; 
 Ere the first angel's harp its music tried, 
 He, Source of being, was, and none beside. 
 But say, what numbers can those years record 
 When the Adorable dwelt unador'd ] 
 o 
 
i94 WISDOM. 
 
 What creature can approach that pristine light 
 
 Where shone the solitary Infinite 1 
 
 None but eternal Wisdom can declare 
 
 Th' eternity no finite mind could share. 
 
 Hark ! Wisdom's voice in awful accents cries, 
 
 *^ The Lord possess'd me ere He form'd the skies ; 
 
 When there were yet no depths to sound His praise, 
 
 I was brought forth and shone in all His ways ; 
 
 When yet no fountains play'd with waters bright, 
 
 He found in me unsearchable delight ; 
 
 And long ere ocean mirror'd back the sun, 
 
 My depths reflected the Almighty One. 
 
 I saw Him when He measur'd out the deep. 
 
 And taught the fountains of the clouds to weep ; 
 
 From His calm voice light as a river flow'd. 
 
 And the dark void with first-born morning glow'd. 
 
 Above the mountain-tops deep waters lay. 
 
 He spake — ^they hasted at the sound away ; 
 
 Lo ! in the hollow of His hand they roll. 
 
 And roar His lofty praise from pole to pole. 
 
 By me He laid the earth's foundations vast, 
 
 And o'er her nakedness bright clothing cast ; 
 
 Rais'd the tall cedar on the mountain's brow. 
 
 And bade the lily in the valley bow ; 
 
WISDOM. 195 
 
 Soft carpet for His unform'd offspring spread, 
 
 And green pavilions built to shade his head. 
 
 By nie the sun's fair orb was cut and set 
 
 To blaze upon creation's coronet ; 
 
 I taught the pale young moon her nightly road, 
 
 And to each star its destin'd orbit show'd. 
 
 Lift up thine eyes, behold the sparkling host, 
 
 Countless as sands upon the ocean coast ; 
 
 Who hath created them 1 who here presides ] 
 
 Whose voice hath named them, and whose finger guides 1 
 
 The Lord by wisdom made the heavens ; their fires 
 
 His breath enkindled first, and still inspires ; 
 
 And countless though to human eyes they be 
 
 As shining drops in the unmeasur'd sea. 
 
 Each one is named and number'd as a gem 
 
 Of light and glory in His diadem. 
 
 And when but one fell headlong from His crown. 
 
 To save it, how His Majesty stoop'd down ! 
 
 Amid His countless gems such loss seem'd small, 
 
 Yet, with a Treasure that outweigh'd them all. 
 
 He saved. He purchas'd back the one lost gem. 
 
 And placed it highest on His diadem. 
 
( 196) 
 
 FAITH. 
 
 Triumphant Faith ! 
 Who, from the distant earth, looks up to heaven, 
 Seeing invisibility, suspending 
 Eternity upon the breath of God. 
 She can pluck mountains from their rooted thrones. 
 And hurl them into ocean ; and from pain, 
 And prisons, and contempt, extort the palm 
 Of everlasting triumph. She doth tread 
 Upon the neck of pride, like the free wind 
 On angry ocean. Lo ! with step erect 
 She walks o'er whirlpool waves, and martyr fires. 
 And depths of darkness, and chaotic voids ; 
 Dissolving worlds, rent heavens, and dying suns ; 
 Yea, and o'er paradises of earth's bliss, 
 And oceans of earth's gold, and pyramids^ 
 And temples of earth's glory ; all these pave 
 Her conquering path to heaven — all these she spurns 
 With feet fire-shod — ^because her hand is placed 
 
"GRIEVE NOT THE HOLY SPIRIT." 197 
 
 Immoveably in God's ; her eye doth rest 
 Unchangeably on His ; nor will she stop 
 Till, having cross'd the stormy waves of pain 
 And fiery trial, she may lay her head 
 Upon her Father's breast, and take the crown 
 From love's rejoicing hand. 
 
 "GEIEVE NOT THE HOLY SPIEIT." 
 
 EPH. IV. 30. 
 
 Oh, calm must be the heart wherein the Dove of God 
 
 can build, 
 Each breath of pride depart, each passion-wave be 
 
 still'd ; 
 He passeth o'er the deluge dark, in every soul seeks rest. 
 But thou must go into the Ark, if thou would'st be His 
 
 nest. 
 
 Oh, smooth and clear must be the lake Heaven's rain- 
 bow to reflect ; 
 
 A pebble that bright arch can break, a breath its 
 charms affect ; 
 
198 "grieve not the holy spirit." 
 
 The sounding waterfall may leap in thunder from its 
 
 place, 
 But still and silent is the deep that mirrors Jesus' face. 
 
 Then let thy voice be low and sweet, lest thou that 
 
 Dove should'st scare, 
 And soft the echoes of thy feet, holy and calm thy 
 
 prayer ; 
 Thought hold her breath, and feeling, as a waveless 
 
 lake, repose. 
 Self sink in blissful death, for thus life's deepest river 
 
 flows. 
 
 The valley must be still, when Echo's voice is heard. 
 And should the harp-string thrill, till by its master 
 
 stirr'd 1 
 How quiet is the bud, expanding hour by hour ! 
 How calm the dayspring's flood, soft stealing into power ! 
 
 Then tender be thy watchfulness, and delicate thine ear, 
 The small still voice to echo in music pure and clear ; 
 Thy spirit be a heaven-tuned harp, and every chord 
 
 stand still 
 And silent, till the Master's hand thy soul with rapture 
 
 fill. 
 
(199) 
 
 THE DESIEE OF ALL NATIONS." 
 
 HAGGAI II. 7. 
 
 There was a shaking in the rolling world, 
 
 A shouting in the nations ; they did swell 
 
 And surge like ocean frenzied, and great kings 
 
 Eose like the crowned waves, and then sank down, 
 
 And mightier roU'd above them ; empires heav'd, 
 
 Mingled and rent, and the loud hurricane blast 
 
 Of war swept o'er them all. Then the Most High 
 
 Spoke " Peace " to the wild world, and suddenly 
 
 The monster billows melted ; thund'ring War 
 
 Gather'd up all his robes, and scowling fled ; 
 
 The fair Peace came, and with her heavenly feet 
 
 Walk'd o'er the quiet nations, whisp'ring soft, 
 
 '^ Hail, the Desire of all ! He comes ! He comes ! " 
 
 Silence and calm crept o'er the world, and dumb 
 
 Judea listen'd for the thunder step 
 
 Of the Messiah, and the lifted shout 
 
 Of His proud thousands — watch'd the heavens to catch 
 
200 **THE DESIRE OF ALL NATIONS." 
 
 The lightning of His lance ; when, lo ! a star 
 
 Sprang into the creation, pointing earth 
 
 And heaven to a poor stable. Oh, proud world ! 
 
 This Babe is thy Redeemer, God, and King. 
 
 What call'st thou beautiful 1 Hast thou e'er seen 
 
 The eyes of young Humility 1 Thou hast not ; 
 
 They are down-cast too deeply. Hast thou mark'd 
 
 The pale, pure brow of Patience turn'd to heaven ? 
 
 No : Beauty hath not yet reveal'd her face 
 
 To thy dim eyes ; she veils it in pure Truth. 
 
 Power is thine idol ; Genius is thy god ; 
 
 A god with serpents at his heart, consum'd 
 
 By his own lightnings. Follow Bethlehem's star. 
 
 There is a Lily in a lowly vale. 
 
 Thou, world, hast never known — a flower that grows 
 
 And flourishes for God, for whose dear sake 
 
 He spares thy pomp awhile. It is the Blossom 
 
 Of Bethlehem's despised Root ; yet ground 
 
 So dry beareth life's Ti'ee, touch'd by whose shade, 
 
 Long-buried nations from the dust awake 
 
 And sing, as new-born Freedom cuts their bonds 
 
 By Truth's triumphant sword. Ye slaves, go free ! 
 
 Rome ! thy far-floating banners do but pave 
 
 Thy Conqueror's silent march. The babe that slept 
 
"1:0 HIM GIVE ALL THE PROPHETS WITNESS." 201 
 
 On Tiber, founded not so broad a realm 
 
 As will this mountain child : the Stone no hand 
 
 Hath fashion'd. On this base the world shall build. 
 
 Scythia, rejoice ! dark Ind ! wild Araby ! 
 
 And savage Britain ! isolated child 
 
 Of freedom ! sing from thy white rocks ; exult 
 
 Even in the chains of Kome ; they serve to bind 
 
 Thee to the feet of thy Deliverer King. 
 
 He will proclaim thee free, and thou shalt swear 
 
 Free loyalty to Him ; His messengers 
 
 On thy dove wings o'er every wave shall float, 
 
 Till every clime His reign of love confess. 
 
 "TO HIM GIVE ALL THE PEOPHETS 
 
 WITMSS." 
 
 ACTS X. 43. 
 
 Oh Prophecy, thou marvellous spirit from God ! 
 Who, standing on eternity's lone tower, 
 Didst see the coming of the Christ from far. 
 Thou takest up the promises that drop 
 
202 "to him give all the prophets witness." 
 
 Like stars from Truth's unalterable lips, 
 And sett'st them one by one upon the night 
 Of this dark world's obscurity ! At first 
 GrOD made earth's moral firmament as clear 
 And bright as summer heaven at cloudless noon ; 
 The night of disobedience clos'd the scene ; 
 The sun went down. Then on the gloom immense 
 The star-shine of the promises broke forth 
 As from a thousand founts, not all at once, 
 But one by one. Bending o'er Paradise, 
 White-finger'd Mercy hung the first pale lamp 
 On Hope's immortal chain, to guide the feet 
 And cheer the heart of penitence and faith. 
 And then she lit another ; then a third ; 
 And thus, as darker grew the gloom of sin, 
 Brighter became the promises, thick set 
 For multitude ; and each to each sang loud 
 Across the sphere of time, entwin'd and link'd 
 In harmony unbroken, tracing out 
 The name of Christ in all their mystic lines. 
 And as glad Time impatient urged his wings 
 To bring the young Messiah's hour, they kept 
 Swift measure to his footstep, while the Church 
 Gazed — rapt, expectant ; and the solemn seers, 
 
"to him give all the prophets witness." 203 
 
 stem majesties of mind, Trutli's Spartan sons, 
 
 Crown'd monarchs of futurity, did grasp 
 
 And pluck them from their height, and hold them forth 
 
 As sceptres, by whose potence the strong waves 
 
 Of warring empires were constrain'd to part ; 
 
 So, like the rod of Moses o'er thy sea, 
 
 Idumea ! did the holy seers stretch forth, 
 
 O'er the dark ocean of the vast to he, 
 
 The promise-power of God ; and lo ! His path 
 
 Shines in the mighty waters, and the waves 
 
 Submissive roll asunder, that His sheep. 
 
 His ransom'd, may pass over. 
 
 Through long night 
 Of sin and superstition shone the stars 
 Of promise, till the Star of Bethlehem rose. 
 Then dawn'd the second day, then in the east 
 Outsmil'd the Infant Sun, and, save that earth 
 Was blind, all heaven was light. 
 
( 204 ) 
 
 "AS THY DAYS, SO SHALL THY 
 STEENGTH BE/' 
 
 DEUTERONOMY XXXIII. 25. 
 (TO JANET.) 
 
 A TENDER sapling on a mountain grew, 
 
 'Twas spring, and softest zephyrs round it blew ; 
 
 Dissolving clouds in silver tear-drops warm 
 
 Nourish'd the plant ; there was no sound of storm. 
 
 The sun revived it with resplendence sweet, 
 
 And veil'd in tenderness his noon-tide heat. 
 
 So the weak nursling flourish'd ; o'er its head 
 
 The parent oak her guardian branches spread. 
 
 Years pass'd, and each beheld the sapling rise 
 
 As deeper rooted, nearer to the skies ; 
 
 No longer leaning on the parent tree. 
 
 Each strong, outstretching arm said, "Lean on me." 
 
 The pilgrim sought the shadow of her boughs. 
 
 And there the turtle-dove sigh'd forth his vows. 
 
 Again I gazed : her lofty head was crown'd 
 
 With fullest height ; her shade spread wide around ; 
 
 But on her thousand leaves hung tears undried, — 
 
 The parent oak lay stricken at her side. 
 
"AS THY DAYS, SO SHALL THY STKEN^TH BE." 205 
 
 Lo, as she weeps, loud tempests burst on high ; 
 On every hand the vivid lightnings fly. 
 See how she rocks, toss'd on the airy wave ! 
 The whirlwind eddies and the thunders rave ! 
 Quivers each fibre — strain'd is every root — 
 Far o'er the desert flies her wasted fruit ; 
 Yet, louder as the storm, more wild the blast, 
 Greater becomes her power, her hold more fast ; 
 And lo ! th' exhausted tempest yields at length. 
 And leaves her in her calm, triumphant strength. 
 Prepared with firmer energy t' engage 
 Her mighty foes when next such war they wage. 
 So thou who in thy Saviour's love and truth 
 Art set, a tender plant grown up in youth, 
 Beneath the soft paternal shade, awhile 
 Didst grow in vernal shower and solar smile. 
 Spared till thy infant strength should equal grow 
 To bear the first rough blast, bereavement's blow ; 
 And fear not, while thy hold is firm and fast 
 On the Eternal Rock, t' abide the blast ; 
 Rooted and grounded in His truth and love. 
 Though foes may gather round and clouds above, 
 Though hurricanes assail and lightnings fly, 
 Thy root shall stand, thy leaf shall never die. 
 
( 206 ) 
 
 ELIZABETH FEY'S FAEEWELL VISIT 
 TO THE "MAEIA" FEMALE CONVICT 
 SHIP, OFF DEPTFOED. 
 
 *' She stood at the door of the cabin, attended by her friends and the 
 captain ; the women on the quarter-deck facing them. The sailors, 
 anxious to see what was going on, clambered into the capstan, or min- 
 gled in the outskirts of the group. The silence was profound, when 
 Mrs. Fry opened her Bible, and in a clear, audible voice, read a portion 
 from it. The crews of the other vessels in the tiers, attracted by the 
 novelty of the scene, leant over the ships on either side, and listened 
 apparently with great attention ; she closed the Bible, and, after a 
 short pause, knelt down on the deck and implored a blessing on this 
 work of Christian charity. 
 
 "Many of the women wept bitterly ; all seemed touched. When she 
 left the ship they followed her with their eyes and their blessings; 
 imtil, her boat having passed within another tier of vessels, they could 
 see her no more." — Life of Mrs. Fry, p. 321. 
 
 Hark ! it is the voice of prayer 
 
 From a bark of sin and woe ; 
 Who is she that kneeleth there 1 
 Who is she so meek and fair ? 
 
 Ah ! yon weeping women know. 
 
THE CONVICT SHIP. 207 
 
 They, a dark, degraded band, 
 
 Yielding to the tempter, fell ; 
 They are stamp'd with felon's brand, 
 Outcasts from their fatherland, 
 
 Dwellers long in convict cell. 
 
 Man despis'd, but Jesus bent 
 
 Fearning o'er the prisoners' groan ; 
 
 Mercy to their aid He sent. 
 
 At His word His servant went. 
 
 Breathing love on hearts of stone. 
 
 Delicate, refin'd, and fair. 
 
 From her lovely home she fled, 
 Dying souls' distress to share. 
 And the dwelling of despair 
 
 Thrill'd as at an angel's tread. 
 
 Yet it was no angel form. 
 
 But a mother-hearted soul 
 As a living fountain warm ; 
 There dwelt He who hush'd the storm. 
 
 Strong to calm and to control 
 
208 ELIZABETH FRY's VISIT TO 
 
 He whose heart is purest love 
 Thus in human temple came, 
 
 Sin and suffering to remove ; 
 
 She was mercy's mission-dove, 
 And her olive-leaf His name. 
 
 This was all her mystic might, 
 
 Key of nature's hardest lock, 
 Star of sorrow's deepest night. 
 Prisoners' freedom, blind ones' sight, 
 Rod to melt the stony rock. 
 
 Lo ! they weep — those smitten stones — 
 
 Angels smile such tears to see : 
 Listen to her tender tones. 
 Preaching to the prison'd ones 
 That their spirits may go free. 
 
 'Tis deliverance from the chains 
 
 Of the soul she smiling tells ; 
 Healing for its direst pains. 
 Fountain for its blackest stains, 
 
 Hope and heaven for darkest cells. 
 
THE CONVICT SHIP. 209 
 
 Now the solemn hour is nigh : 
 
 Cast on ocean's restless waves, 
 They must far from Britain fly ; 
 All must labour, some must die, 
 
 Far from their own household graves. 
 
 Yet that form of mercy still 
 
 Lingers o'er the exile host ; 
 Ah, what cares her bosom thrill ! 
 Ah, what prayers her spirit fill ! 
 
 " Shall these wandering sheep be lost 1 " 
 
 So much pitied, so long moum'd ; 
 
 Orphans now, of her bereft, 
 Thus the Hebrew mother yearn'd, 
 When from Nile she slowly tum'd 
 
 Where her treasur'd ark was left. 
 
 Hark ! she reads the precious word. 
 Silence holds the trembling air ; 
 
 Scarce a breeze the river stirr'd, 
 
 Only Mercy's voice is heard ; 
 what need of mercy there ! 
 P 
 
210 ELIZABETH FRY'S VISIT Tb 
 
 Climbing in the rigging high, 
 
 Charm'd, from many a stately ship, 
 
 Sailors bend their ears and try 
 
 To receive the melody 
 
 Flowing from that tuneful lip. 
 
 Stormy sons of ocean bend 
 
 Quiet as the babe at rest ; 
 So the desert flowers expand 
 When the drops of heaven descend 
 
 Softly on the soil distressed. 
 
 Now the melting music stops ; 
 
 "Wherefore pause, thou sweetest strain ? 
 ' Sharon's odours — ^balmy drops — 
 Dew from Zion's mountain tops — 
 Shower of mercy, weep again ! 
 
 See, before a thousand eyes, 
 
 Smiling angels, weeping men, 
 
 Kneeling 'neath the open skies, 
 
 To the Lord of all she cries : 
 
 Was not Jesus present then ? 
 
THE CONVICT SHIP. 211 
 
 Many a heavy eye is wet, 
 
 Many a harden'd heart is mov'd ; 
 Powerful pleader, plead thou yet, 
 Hold them, hold them at the feet 
 
 Of thy Master well-belov'd. 
 
 WiU they ever hear again 
 
 Sounds so beautiful as these ? 
 Will the echo haunt the main, 
 Calling up a holy pain, 
 
 Bowing the now bended knees ? 
 
 But the precious moment flies, 
 
 And the farewell word is o'er ; 
 Now her boat eludes their eyes. 
 And the convict's bosom sighs, 
 
 " I shall never see her more." 
 
(212) 
 
 TO THE WIND. 
 
 Oh Wind ! Free Wind ! like a spirit subHme 
 Thou sweepest o'er valley and mountainous clime ; 
 God walks on thy wings, and the forests repeat, 
 In hoarse hallelujahs, the sound of His feet. 
 
 Swift o'er the Ocean thou speedest thy way ; 
 Thou sing'st to the music of billow and spray ; 
 The tall ship bows as thou hastenest by. 
 And the light-winged clouds in thy footsteps fly. 
 
 The thunder cloud meets thee with fury and frown. 
 The lightning gems leap from his fire blasting crown. 
 Thou rejoicest in strength, and thou laughest aloud. 
 And springest afresh on some wandering cloud. 
 
 'Tis solemn at midnight when all things are still. 
 
 To hear thee abroad at thine own wild will ; 
 
 It is grand, it is fearftd, to hear thee speak ! 
 
 Oh say, thou Night- Wauderer, what dost thou seek ? 
 
TO THE WIND. 213 
 
 Whence dost thou come, thou mighty unknown ? 
 
 Whither art rushing, so late and alone 1 
 
 Say, art thou flying in fury or fear 1 
 
 Is there rapture or wrath in the music I hear 1 
 
 Art thou a rebel from prison outbreaking ? 
 Art thou a warrior the citadel shaking ? 
 Is't hatred or love that impelleth thy flight ? 
 Terror or transport ? to bless or to blight 1 
 
 Tell me, fierce spirit of passion and power. 
 Heaving the ocean, and storming the tower. 
 Mocking man's pride, and deriding his prayer, 
 What hand can tame thee, proud bird of the air ? 
 
 " Children of Earth ! though the mightiest kings 
 Cannot hold for a moment these measureless wings. 
 My pinions the eagle's — my heart is the dove— 
 My freedom is worship — my liberty, love. 
 
 "One night I was singing o'er Galilee's deep. 
 Where rode a frail bark with my Master asleep ; 
 I knew Him not yet, but He uttered His will. 
 And my spirit of storm in a moment was still. 
 
214 TO THE WIND. 
 
 " And He holdeth me now with His finger of power, 
 When I lift up the ocean, or play with the flower ; 
 And, free as the courser on Araby's sand, 
 I am yok'd to His chariot and turn'd by His hand. 
 
 " I fan, at His bidding, the region of gems, 
 And the wave-loving lilies I bend on their stems ; 
 Then I carry sweet scents to the shivering North, 
 And the dormouse awakes, and the crocus peeps forth. 
 
 ^* I turn to the South, and the swallow will ride 
 To the land of the sun on my wafture wide ; 
 I breathe fresh Hfe on the feverish brow, 
 And make melody drop from the tremulous bough. 
 
 " Thy lilies, Nile, 1 have shaken to-night, 
 I tore the hot sands in my wilderness flight, 
 I saw the proud cedar convuls'd in my blast. 
 The Mediterranean foam'd white as I pass'd. 
 
 " I am speeding away to the forests sublime, 
 That darken the depths of America's clime ; 
 I'll shout o'er the plume of the Indian till dawn, 
 And startle my kindred, the eagle and fawn. 
 
TO THE WIND. 215 
 
 " And then I must haste to the isles of the deep, 
 Where they He on his bosom Hke infants asleep, 
 And when I have laden my wings with their sighs, 
 I will shake them abroad in the soft summer skies. 
 
 " All perfum'd I come to Britannia's vales, 
 
 And breathe o'er her meadows my balm-laden gales ; 
 
 Her beautiful rose is my favourite rest, 
 
 And I drink on my way from her violet's breast. 
 
 " I love to soar where the church spire climbs, 
 And to play by night with the solemn old ' Chimes,^ 
 And to fan the brows and to shake the curls 
 Of England's beautiful cottager-girls. 
 
 " Euffian and rude as I sometimes appear, 
 Ye may sing for joy when my voice ye hear ; 
 Though I oft have been track'd by the shadow of death, 
 Health's roseate cherub is born on my breath. 
 
 *' The pestilence flies from my fury and might. 
 The mists are scar'd and the heavens blush bright ; 
 The ships fly home to the haven they seek. 
 And the reaper looks up with a smile on his cheek. 
 
216 TO THE WIND. 
 
 '* I sing of my Maker from pole to pole, 
 1 whisper His mercy, — ^His majesty roll : 
 Loud in the whirlwind His wrath I proclaim ; 
 Soft in the zephyr I murmur His name. 
 
 " Hark ! I am call'd to the western sea ; 
 
 The sleeping Atlantic is waiting for me ; 
 
 I must wake her blue billows and bid them swell ; 
 
 I can tarry no longer — ^farewell ! farewell ! " 
 
 THE ElO). 
 
 BATH : PRINTED BY BINNS AND GOODWIN. 
 
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