USCAN 
 
 .-BY 
 
 1LEANOR C.DONNELLY
 


 
 A 
 
 TUSCAN MAGDALEN, 
 
 AND OTHER 
 
 LEGENDS AND POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 ELEANOR C. DONNELLY, 
 
 Author of " Poems," " Children of the Golden Sheaf," " Hymns of 
 
 the Sacred Heart," " Petronilla and Other Stories," 
 
 " Our Birthday Bouquet," etc., etc. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 H. L. KlLNER & CO., 
 
 PUBLISHERS.
 
 154-5 
 
 -DS 
 
 r? 
 
 Copyright, 1896, by 
 ELEANOR C. DONNELLY.
 
 TO 
 
 MY SISTERS, 
 
 THOSE DEAREST OF ALL DEAR FRIENDS, 
 THE DEVOTED COMPANIONS OF MY LIFE AND UN 
 FAILING ENLIVENERS OF MY LABORS, 
 THESE PAGES ARE INSCRIBED.
 
 A TUSCAN MAGDALEN 7 
 
 THE INSPIRING OF (LEDMON . . . . 16 
 
 PEDRO VELHO S WARNING 23 
 
 THE MIRACLE OF THE LEPER .... 33 
 THE KING AND THE SLAVE . . . .37 
 
 ST. CHRISTOPHER S BURDEN .... 41 
 THE TEMPTATION OF L1FFARDUS . . . .44 
 ST. NICHOLAS AND THE DOVES ... 50 
 
 THE TRUE CHRISTMAS TREE . . . .55 
 
 ST. WULSTAN S CROZIER ..... 56 
 
 THE MASTER S CLOAK 58 
 
 FORTY MARTYRS OF SEBASTE .... 64 
 THE KEY OF HEAVEN ..... 67 
 
 ESTRADA S SPOUSE 70 
 
 THE SHEPHERD S FEAST . . . .76 
 
 THE TEMPTED NUN 81 
 
 SIR VERITAS AND THE KING . . . .84 
 OUR LADY OF THE LAMP .... 89 
 
 THE FRUIT OF OBEDIENCE . . . .91 
 
 AN EASTER LESSON 92 
 
 AN T ARAB S LOGIC .93 
 
 THE STAR OF THE KINGS 96 
 
 ST. JOSEPH S CHARGE 98 
 
 AN EASTER LILY . . . . . .102 
 
 A CHAPLET AT COVENTRY 103 
 
 THE SINGING LEPER .... . 105 
 
 THE BIRTH OF THE HOLLY . . . . .107 
 A MIDSUMMER MEMORY . 109 
 
 SO NEAR AND YET SO FAR . . . .112 
 THE THANKSGIVING OP THE CHASTENED . . 115 
 
 (5)
 
 6 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 CHRISTMAS IDYL 117 
 
 THE SPARROW S SERMON 119 
 
 SAN BOXIFA.ZIO 123 
 
 THE CHINESE LILY 127 
 
 DOING THE WILL OF GOD . ... 129 
 
 ST. ANTHONY S CLIENT 131 
 
 THE FIERY TONGUES 132 
 
 WHEX, WHERE AND HOW? .... 133 
 
 THE LIFTED HAT .135 
 
 FORGIVING AND FORGETTING .... 137 
 THE MOTHERLESS HOME . . . . .139 
 
 A TAPER AT LOURDES 142 
 
 THOSE OUTSTRETCHED ARMS . . . .145 
 
 THE HERMIT S VISION 147 
 
 CHRIST S DOVES . 14!) 
 
 THE QUEEN AND THE KINGS .... 151 
 THE GRAVES OF CHILDREN .... 153 
 
 " AS THE HEN GATHERETH HER CHICKENS " . . 159 
 FLOWERS OF THE NIGHT . . . . .101 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE LILY 163 
 
 MORNING-GLORIES 165 
 
 A SUNSET SYMBOL 167 
 
 THE NEW JERUSALEM 169 
 
 ABANDONED 171 
 
 A PRAYER AND ITS ANSWER . . . .173 
 
 THE BRIDGE OF LIGHT 174 
 
 THE WAY OF THE CROSS 175 
 
 THE APOSTLE WHO PROVED . . . . 177 
 
 THE DRAMA SPIRITUALIZED 178 
 
 SYMPATHY 185 
 
 THE ACADIANS IN PHILADELPHIA . . . .186 
 ASCENSION DAY . . . . . .190 
 
 THE CHAMBER OF CHRIST 193 
 
 SWEET PEACE. A PICTURE . . . .196 
 THE CHANGES OF THE YEARS . . . .198 
 GONE! 202
 
 A TUSCAN MAGDALEN. 
 
 MARGHERITA DI GORTON A. 
 
 ;ARGHERITA! Margherita!" 
 Through the warm and fragrant 
 
 noon 
 Of the flow ring Tuscan June, 
 
 " Margherita ! Margherita ! " 
 Came the eerie accents falling, 
 Of a weird voice calling, calling : 
 " From the castle rise and flee ! 
 I am waiting here for thee. 
 Wouldst thou meet me ? 
 Wonldst thou greet me ? 
 Late, alas ! but all too soon, 
 Ere the rising of the moon, 
 Margherita ! come to me ! " 
 
 In a robe of trailing silk, 
 
 Soft as down and white as milk,
 
 A TUSCAN MAGDALEN. 
 
 Roses bound about her hair, 
 Jewels on her bosom bare, 
 
 (From the spacious castle-hall) 
 Lo ! a woman tall and fail- 
 Answered to the airy call, 
 Tripping clown the marble stair 
 To the leafy garden-wall, 
 Where a fountain flaslfd and fell, 
 Tinkling like a silvern bell. 
 
 " Margherita ! Margherita ! " 
 
 (Once again the voice came sighing,) 
 " I am waiting, Margherita ! " 
 
 (Like a lost soul wailing, crying,) 
 " Margherita ! come to me I " 
 Right and left the woman gazed, 
 Put her white hand to her brow ; 
 Looked about her, all amazed, 
 Shudder d, turn d as pale as snow. 
 Not a creature could she see 
 In the baffling mystery 
 Of the sunny silence round ;
 
 A TUSCAN MAGDALEN. 
 
 Only to her slipper cl feet, 
 Rustling thro the grasses sweet, 
 Came her absent lover s hound. 
 
 " Faithful dog ! " she, stooping, said, 
 (Jewelled hand upon his head,) 
 
 " Bringest thou good news to me ? 
 Doth thy master follow thee ? " 
 
 Drops of blood upon his fur. 
 Pitiful he looked at her : 
 Whining, trembling, crouching down, 
 Pulled the fringes of her gown, 
 Grovel d like a smitten cur 
 As to say with gesture dumb, 
 " Lady, if thou wilt but come, 
 I will lead thee to my master." 
 Throbbed her pulses fast and faster, 
 
 Cheek and brow were white as death ; 
 
 White as sculptur d alabaster ; 
 
 Dreading some unknown disaster, 
 
 Gasping came her labored breath.
 
 10 A TUSCAN MAGDALEN. 
 
 Thro the gate, still looking back, 
 Sped the dog ; and on his track, 
 In her beauty, blighted, bent, 
 Margherita, tott ring, went. 
 
 Ho\v the sunlight, blazing, flung 
 
 Coals of fire on her head ! 
 
 Round her brow the roses hung, 
 
 In their freshness, wither d, dead. 
 Dusty trailed her robes of snow ; 
 Stains of blood began to show 
 Where her feet (in satin shod) 
 Up the rocky pathway trod. 
 
 Faint, yet fearing still to rest, 
 From that strange, mysterious quest ; 
 Though her heart burst in her breast, 
 She must follow, follow, follow ; 
 When the olive groves were near d, 
 Sudden paused the dog, distress d, 
 And, as sudden, disappear d 
 In a little woody hollow ;
 
 A TUSCAN MAGDALEN. 11 
 
 There, beneath a blasted tree, 
 
 Dumb with crushing agony, 
 Margherita, trembling, found 
 At her feet the faithful hound, 
 
 Turning up the bloody clay 
 
 From a crevice in the ground, 
 Where a corpse, disfigured, lay ! 
 
 Oh ! the vision of that face 
 In its awful putrefaction ! 
 Fetid limbs, devoid of grace, 
 With the mould ring silk and lace 
 
 Dropping from their foul inaction. 
 Purple, swollen, worm-defiled, 
 (Would the grass the sight might cover !) 
 On her knees, the woman wild 
 Glared upon her murthered lover. 
 
 Murthered, hurried out of life 
 In the fulness of his sin : 
 Hapless breast ! th assassin s knife, 
 Blood-incrusted, gleamed therein.
 
 12 A TUSCAN MAGDALEN. 
 
 And the grinning lips apart, 
 Seemed to whisper to her heart : 
 44 Look upon me (O Remorse!) 
 Woman, whom I loved too well, 
 Thou- art gazing on the corse 
 Of a soul whose home is hell ! 
 In thy beauty and thy bloom, 
 Thou hast helped to seal my doom ; 
 Hear me, I am calling thee, 
 Margherita ! come to me ! " 
 
 44 Ah ! reproach me as thou wilt, 
 Partner of my shame and guilt ! " 
 Cried the woman, shrinking back 
 From the ghastly sight before her. 
 (Wretched victim ! on the rack 
 Mem ry s furies scourged and tore her): 
 
 44 Vent thy scorn upon my head, 
 Do whate er thou wilt to me, 
 But oh ! call me not to thee, 
 Call, oh ! call me not to be 
 Fetter d to thy fiery bed 
 Through the long Eternity !
 
 A TUSCAN MAGDALEN. 13 
 
 "See ! " and with her trembling hands 
 From her throat, she tore the gems, 
 Wrench d the roses wither d stems 
 From her long hair s shining strands: 
 
 " See, great God ! I here lament 
 All my wanton days of crime; 
 Judge me not before my time ! 
 I repent repent repent ! " 
 (Thro the woods the echoes went: 
 
 " I repent repent repent ! ") 
 
 " Lo ! beside this fest ring clay, 
 (Broken idol of my sin ! ) 
 If thy pardon I may win, 
 Silks and gems I cast away, 
 And a nobler life begin. 
 Hear and help me, Love Divine ! 
 
 By Thy Blood and by Thy tears, 
 Wash me from the guilt of years, 
 Make my heart forever Thine I " 
 
 On her head, the dews were falling, 
 (Angel-tears of Paradise
 
 14 A TUSCAN MAGDALEN. 
 
 Falling thro the night of June I) 
 Rose on high the rounded mooii, 
 Like a silvery balloon, 
 Floating thro the quiet skies; 
 But another Voice was calling, 
 Sweet, a far-off Voice was calling 
 From the pure empyrean skies: 
 " Margherita ! Margherita ! 
 Listen to thy Lover true, 
 (Ever ancient, ever new,) 
 Who hath bled and died for thee 
 On the fatal Calvary-Tree. 
 
 " He hath loved thee, Margherita 
 With an everlasting love, 
 In the mighty strength whereof, 
 (Being merciful to thee) 
 He hath drawn thee, Margherita, 
 From thy life of misery ! 
 
 " Scandal of thine Alviano ! 
 Shame of Montepulciano !
 
 A TUSCAN MAGDALEN. 15 
 
 Thou shalt be renowned in story 
 For thy wondrous purity ; 
 Thou shalt be Cortona s glory, 
 
 Pearl of grateful Tuscany ! 
 
 I have claimed thee, 
 I have named thee, 
 Rise, repent, and follow Me ! " 
 
 * * * -x- $* 
 
 Ere the night had settled down 
 
 Over Montepulciano, 
 Thro the gates of that old town, 
 Winding forth to Alviano, 
 Went a woman clad in brown, 
 Ashes on her shrouded head, 
 Sobbing (whilst the child she led 
 Clung, affrighted, to her gown) : 
 "Farewell, home of sinful leisure, 
 Farewell, scenes of guilty pleasure, 
 Ye have fled mine eyes at last ! 
 Welcome, life of blessed losses ! 
 Welcome, penance ! Welcome, crosses ! 
 O my God ! forgive the past I "
 
 THE INSPIRING OF G^EDMON. 
 
 I. 
 
 S N the Abbey of Whitby vast and quaint, 
 Ruled by Hilda, Abbess and saint, 
 (Whose blood ran pure from the royal spring 
 
 Of her great-grandsire, Edwin the King), 
 
 Hundreds of learned nuns and friars 
 
 In separate cloisters kept the rules, 
 
 Toiled in the cells and sang in the choirs, 
 
 Studied and taught in the ancient schools; 
 
 Gentle and simple, all in their way, 
 
 Owning the Abbess Hilda s sway. 
 
 II. 
 
 Down in the servants hall outside, 
 
 Where the great logs blazed in the hearth-place 
 
 wide, 
 
 Many a poor retainer shared 
 The Minster s bounty; and, tender, cared
 
 THE INSPIRING OF GNOMON. 17 
 
 For the sick and the sore, who thronged the grate 
 
 Of the Abbess Hilda s convent-gate. 
 
 Many a rude, unletter d serf 
 
 Swung the scythe o er the abbey-turf, 
 
 Or ploughed its fields ; or the horses led 
 
 To the crystal brooks ; or the poultry fed ; 
 
 Or guided the kine and the browsing sheep 
 
 Through the clover-pastures, lush and deep ; 
 
 Harmless louts, of as little lore 
 
 As the beasts they fed at the stable-door. 
 
 III. 
 
 Dullest of all the dull souls there, 
 
 Who knew no secrets of book or prayer, 
 
 Who sang no song, and who spake no word, 
 
 Was Csedmon, the humble cattle-herd. 
 
 Csedmon, the homely, honest clown 
 
 Whose gray locks hung o er his temples brown ; 
 
 Whose stolid visage and sunken eyes 
 
 From the mists of the moorlands seemed to rise, 
 
 Like those of a phantom, gaunt and high, 
 
 Tracking the herds neath the autumn sky.
 
 18 THE INSPIRING OF C.EDMON. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Though many a rural minstrel woke 
 
 The harp, at night, in the halls of oak, 
 
 Ne er had the herdsman s hand been known 
 
 To rouse sweet Music s slumbering tone. 
 
 Whenever his comrades sat at board, 
 
 And the meats were passed or the malt was pour d, 
 
 If the song, in its turn, to Csedmon came, 
 
 (Half in sorrow and half in shame), 
 
 He rose from his seat in silent mood, 
 
 And toss d the harp to the nearest bard, 
 
 Then, wending his way to an out-house rude, 
 
 Where the kine were stalled in the stable-yard, 
 
 In cold and darkness cowered alone, 
 
 Couch d with the beasts on the floor of stone, 
 
 Murmuring ever the same sad thing : 
 
 " If I could but sing ! If I could but sing ! " 
 
 V. 
 
 There, on the straw, on one such night, 
 
 With a heavy heart, but a conscience light, 
 
 He cast him down (when his prayers were said,)
 
 THE 1NSPI1UNG OF (LEDMON. 19 
 
 Where the dumb brutes slumber d left and right, 
 And, watching the stars through the chinks o er- 
 
 head, 
 Fell fast asleep on his fragrant bed. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The moon rose up in the quiet West, 
 
 With a fleecy veil round her virgin breast ; 
 
 The night-wind sighed through the broken walls, 
 
 The cattle stirred in their blacken d stalls, 
 
 And, over beyond, in the convent choir, 
 
 Sounded the voice of a chanting friar. 
 
 But Csedmon lay with a smile on his face, 
 
 Nor heard nor saw these sounds or sights ; 
 
 He only marveled to see the place 
 
 Filled with splendor and strange delights ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Over him floated a golden cloud, 
 Rare as the mists of that last bright hour, 
 When the rainbow-tints of the sunset crowd 
 The western skies with their gorgeous dower ;
 
 20 THE INSPIRING OF (LEDMON. 
 
 And out of the cloud, an angel came, 
 With flower-like face and wings of flame, 
 Who cried in a voice, both sweet and strong : 
 " Csedmon ! sing me a blessed song ! " 
 
 VIII. 
 
 "Alas!" groaned the herdsman, hoarse and low, 
 
 " I cannot sing ! If tliou didst but know, 
 
 Twas because of the harp and the song, fair sprite, 
 
 I fled from the feast, this very night I " 
 
 "Yet, nevertheless," the angel said, 
 
 " A singer thou It be ! " And with bended head, 
 
 Csedmon questioned: "What shall I sing?" 
 
 The spirit answered : " The praise of the King ! " 
 
 Answered : " Thy theme shall CREATION be, 
 
 Sing thou of Time and Eternity ! " 
 
 IX. 
 
 And Csedmon lifted his voice and sang 
 (His thrilling tones to the rafters rang) 
 Verses in praise of the God Triune, 
 Father, Creator of sun and moon,
 
 THE INSPIRING OF C.EDMON. 21 
 
 Of earth, and of all the things thereof 
 
 That speak His wisdom, His might, His love ! 
 
 The stars in the sky, the winds that blow, 
 
 The rain and the dew, the frost and the snow, 
 
 The birds in the air, the fish in the sea, 
 
 The beasts that roam over hill and lea, 
 
 The flowers, the trees, and the silver streams, 
 
 The lakes land-lock d in their crystal dreams, 
 
 All, all the beautiful things of earth 
 
 In the pristine glow of their sinless birth, 
 
 Swelled through the strains of Csedmon s song, 
 
 A Benedicite, grand and strong ! 
 
 X. 
 
 "Praise God, ye creatures ! " the herdsman cried; 
 
 " Praise God I " the Angel soft replied ; 
 
 And the musical echoes swept abroad 
 
 Their mighty chorus : " Praise God ! praise God ! " 
 
 XI. 
 
 Lo ! in the morning, gaunt and thin, 
 The Abbess Hilda led him in
 
 22 THE INSPIRING OF C.EDMON. 
 
 To the learned men ; and bade him there 
 Sing the song he had learned in prayer, 
 The song of his dream, the psalm of might, 
 The Angel taught him in the night. 
 And when, from his grand, enlightened soul, 
 The strains majestic gan to roll, 
 When, from his bearded lips gushed out 
 A paean glad as a seraph s shout, 
 And all his dull, dark, stolid face 
 Transfigured grew, with light and grace, 
 The Abbess spake : k Our God in heaven 
 Hath wondrous gifts to the guileless given ! 
 Henceforth, O friars, this man shall be 
 The least of your gracious company ! " 
 And then she added, with bated breath : 
 44 Pure in thy life- pure in thy death, 
 O poet Csedmon ! O bard sublime ! 
 In soul and song to the saints allied, 
 The world shall hail thee throughout all time, 
 As Whitby s glory and Whitby s pride ! "
 
 PEDRO VELHCPS WARNING. 
 I. 
 
 the blue waves, sparkling, ran 
 Up the beach at old San Tchan,* 
 And in foaming eddies went, 
 
 o 
 Circling in and out again, 
 
 In a little Chinese tent 
 On the sands beside the main, 
 
 In a little Chinese tent, 
 With a friend from sunny Spain, 
 
 Pedro Velho sat at play, 
 
 On a long-gone Summer s day. 
 
 Gay and guileless cavalier, 
 Gallant Velho was most dear 
 
 To that Spanish saint, whose fame 
 Even then the Indies filled ; 
 
 And if Francis Xavier s name 
 Many a colder bosom thrilled, 
 
 * Sancian.
 
 24 PEDKO VELHO S WARNING. 
 
 It awoke a rapture blest 
 
 In the ardent Pedro s breast. 
 
 So it chanced that, as he sat 
 
 In his plumed and drooping hat, 
 
 With the jewels of his sword 
 Glowing neath his silken cloak, 
 
 (While his friend, across the board, 
 In the soft Castilian spoke,)- 
 
 Pedro lifted up his eyes 
 
 With a start of glad surprise. 
 
 For the curtains of the tent 
 By a master-hand were rent, 
 
 And before them, grave and sweet, 
 Stood th Apostle of San Tchan ! 
 
 Pedro, springing to his feet, 
 Knelt before the holy man, 
 
 And, in reverential tone, 
 
 Humbly craved a benison. 
 
 Softly Xavier spake and smiled : 
 " God requite thee, dearest child,
 
 PEDKO VELHO S W All XING. 25 
 
 For thy gracious charity ! 
 
 Yesternoon, beside the sea, 
 When I asked of thee a dole 
 For a tried and tempted soul, 
 
 Thou didst answer, With this key, 
 Lo ! I give to thee control 
 
 Of my coffers ; go, and take 
 
 What tliou wilt for Christ s dear sake ! 
 
 " But, my Father," Pedro said, 
 Lifting up his handsome head, 
 
 " Was it right or just to scorn 
 The poor gift I tendered thee ? 
 
 Half my riches I had sworn 
 Should be thine but lo ! instead, 
 
 When I chanced, this very morn, 
 To inspect my treasury, 
 
 (God forgive Your Reverence !) 
 
 Not a coin ivas missiny thence ! " 
 
 Then St. Francis face grew bright 
 With a strange, prophetic light :
 
 26 PEDRO VELHO S WARNING. 
 
 " See ! " he murmured, " O my son ! 
 
 O my brave, unselfish one ! 
 See how wond rously the Lord, 
 Far from lessening thy hoard, 
 Or diminishing thy store 
 
 For each deed of mercy done 
 Doth increase it more and more ! 
 
 " Ah ! thy gold shall never fail, 
 Nor distress thy doors assail ; 
 For twill chance, as I foresee, 
 (Blessed meed of charity I ) 
 
 That thy little cares and woes 
 Shall dissolve in peace divine ; 
 
 And when life is near its close, 
 There shall come to thee a sign 
 
 Of that awful, final hour 
 Which precedes the soul s repose : 
 
 When the siveetness of the wine 
 In thy mouth, alone, shall sour, 
 
 Then, I say to thee, my friend, 
 
 MAKE THOU HEADY FOR THE END ! " 
 
 * #***#
 
 PEDKO VELHO S WARNING. 27 
 
 II. 
 
 At a banquet at Yeiichow, 
 With a calm, un wrinkled brow, 
 
 With a face still fresh and fair, 
 (Spite of many a silver thread 
 
 In the mass of ebon hair 
 Clust ring round his noble head), 
 
 Pedro Velho, mid the rest, 
 
 Sate a staid and honored guest. 
 
 Stately speech and sparkling song 
 Swept the polish d board along. 
 
 While it groaned beneath the load 
 Of the luscious fruits thereon ; 
 
 Rarest liquors foamed and flowed, 
 Or in glitt ring goblets shone, 
 
 As applauding knight and dame 
 
 Drank to Pedro Velho s name. 
 
 To his feet with grave repose 
 Pedro graciously arose,
 
 28 PEDRO VELHO S WARNING. 
 
 And with courtesy profound 
 Touched the goblet to his lips, 
 
 Touched, and took it from his lips, 
 Then, affrighted, gazed around ! 
 
 From his hand the beaker slips, 
 Crush d in atoms on the ground ! 
 
 For the sweet wine of the /South 
 
 Is as acid in Ids mouth ! 
 
 Like a whisper, fine and clear, 
 Long-forgotten, floating near, 
 
 Till his blood within him froze 
 And his tears ran down like brine, 
 
 Pedro Velho seemed to hear 
 
 In the porches of his ear: 
 "And when life is near its close, 
 
 There shall come to tliee a sign 
 Of that awful, final hour 
 
 Which precedes the soul s repose ; 
 When the sweetness of the wine 
 
 In thy mouth, alone, shall sour, 
 Then, I say to thee, my friend, 
 MAKE THOU READY FOR THE END ! "
 
 PEDRO VELHO S WARNING. 29 
 
 Right and left, he turned and bowed 
 To the silent, wondering crowd, 
 
 And a light shone thro his face, 
 Like a sunrise thro a cloud ; 
 And as one who looks his last 
 
 Round an old familiar place 
 (Tender-eyed and dreamy-brow d, 
 
 Doomed to linger but a space) 
 With his cloak about him cast, 
 Through the open door he pass d, 
 And along the starlit street 
 Sped with swift, unsandall d feet. 
 
 Soft ! a chapel by the road 
 Whence an altar-lamp outglowed, 
 
 And the portal standing wide 
 Wooed the weary wanderer in ! 
 
 " O my Master ! " Pedro cried, 
 (Looking strangely gaunt and thin), 
 " In this spot Thou dost abide, 
 Far from worldly pomp and pride ;
 
 30 PEDRO VELHO S WARNING. 
 
 And to-night, alone herein, 
 While the earth is all asleep, 
 
 (Shaking off the dust of sin), 
 I shall wake and I shall weep, 
 And my last, long vigil keep I " 
 
 At the altar rail alone, 
 
 On the marble pavement prone, 
 
 Pedro cast himself and prayed, 
 As the dying only pray. 
 
 Soft the lamp shone through the shade, 
 Wore the silent hours away, 
 
 Till the stars began to fade 
 In the rosy light of day ; 
 
 And a friar, entering, found 
 
 The lone watcher on the ground. 
 
 But he rose, and calmly said, 
 (Folded hands and bended head), 
 
 "Shrive me, Father, from my sins, 
 For my soul abhorreth them ; 
 
 And when once the Mass begins, 
 Let it be a Requiem ;
 
 PEDRO VELHO S WARNING. 31 
 
 And the server, let him bring, 
 Let him spread the funeral-pall ; 
 
 Clouds of incense o er me fling, 
 Drops of blessed rain let fall; 
 
 While recumbent, on this bier, 
 
 I shall lie and listen here." 
 
 Swift they placed the couch of death, 
 Draped the inky pall, beneath 
 
 Whose black folds, a sombre cloud, 
 Pedro Velho laid him down, 
 Wholly hidden in that shroud, 
 
 As in friar s cowl and gown. 
 And the altar-tapers flung 
 
 Tender light on book and bell, 
 And, below, the censer swung, 
 
 And the blessed raindrops fell, 
 As the solemn Mass was said 
 
 For the dear, departed Dead. 
 
 But when soft upon the air 
 Rose the last celestial prayer,
 
 32 PEDRO VELHO S WARNING. 
 
 And the acolyte s response 
 
 Echoed, like an angel s song, 
 In the central aisle, at once, 
 
 Gathered then an anxious throng; 
 And a chill crept over all, 
 
 Every cheek grew ashen-gray, 
 As the priest withdrew the pall 
 
 From the bier where Pedro lay ! 
 
 Lo ! a lustre, pure and faint, 
 
 Like the nimbus of a saint ! 
 Lo ! a delicate perfume 
 
 As of lilies ! and behold ! 
 Like a statue on a tomb, 
 
 Sculptured white, and still, and cold, 
 Like a marble effigy 
 
 Of a knight in dreamless rest, 
 With his sword across his knee, 
 
 And his hands upon his breast ; 
 Full of Christian purity, 
 
 Full of peace, supernal, blest, 
 In the midst (O vision dread ! ) 
 
 Lay the noble Velho, dead!
 
 THE MIRACLE OF THE LEPER. 
 A LEGEND OF ST. ELIZABETH OF HUNGARY. 
 
 |ACK from the chase return d (his knightly 
 suite 
 
 5) |jg; )) 
 
 <=?-^ Lagging behind from weariness and heat, 
 And in their sturdy silence, as they came, 
 Bending beneath the weight of hard-won game), 
 Dust on his doublet, languor in his tread, 
 The velvet cap doff d from his noble head, 
 Duke Louis crossed the threshold, first of all, 
 And met his mother in the outer hall. 
 
 A stately Duchess, dark and scornful-eyed, 
 
 She caught his hand, and hurried him aside. 
 
 And, with an angry lip and lowering brow, 
 
 " Listen ! " she cried ; " I ve that to tell thee now, 
 
 I ve that to show to thee, which shall arouse 
 
 Thy just and lawful ire against thy spouse ; 
 
 For thine Elizabeth this day hath done 
 
 A deed which doth disgrace us both, my son ! "
 
 34 THE MIRACLE OF THE LEPER. 
 
 Worn as he was, and wearied nigh to death, 
 
 And loving, as he did, Elizabeth, 
 
 Duke Louis, while his fair cheek scarlet burn d, 
 
 Scorning her words, withdrew his hand, and turn d 
 
 As though to go ; but she, too. flushing red, 
 
 " Dost doubt the tale ? Then come with me," 
 
 she said-; 
 " Come " (with a bitter smile), " and thou shalt 
 
 see 
 The one thy wife loves better far than thee." 
 
 So, by the hand, his tardy steps she led 
 
 Unto his room, unto his nuptial bed ; 
 
 And, pausing, whispered to the startled Duke : 
 
 " Now, look, my son ! by thy fair knighthood, 
 
 look ! 
 
 Whilst thou wert at the chase, thy childish bride, 
 (Whose saintly whims and lack of proper pride 
 Make her at once the scandal and the sport 
 Of all the lords and ladies of the court), 
 Whilst thou wert gone, I say, she and her maid 
 Hugo, the leper, to this room conveyed,
 
 THE MIRACLE OF THE LEPER. 35 
 
 Cleansed his foul sores, his loathsome palate fed, 
 Anointed him, and laid him on thy bed ! 
 Aha ! thou frownest ! Dost thou doubt me now ? " 
 The Duke was flush d with shame from throat to 
 
 brow. 
 
 Saint as he was, (for only Heaven knew 
 How pure his knightly soul, his faults how few), 
 And dearly as he loved his little wife 
 For her sweet charities and stainless life, 
 Yet did this deed of mercy she had done, 
 Seem to him then a most imprudent one. 
 
 Twas not in knighthood to repress the ire 
 Which knit his brow and lit his eye with fire, 
 As stepping back, by angry impulse led, 
 He quickly raised the curtains of the bed. 
 
 O Love divine ! the sight which there he view d 
 His flashing eyes with tenderest tears subdued ; 
 His cheek grew white, his heart, tumultuous, 
 
 throbb d, 
 And his proud mother hid her face and sobb d.
 
 36 THE MIRACLE OF THE LEPER. 
 
 No wretched Hugo slumbered, hideous, there, 
 
 No leper, foul with sores and matted hair 
 
 But, mild and meek, with fair arms open d wide, 
 
 And dim eyes lifted JESUS CRUCIFIED 
 
 Upon the silken couch, discovered, lay, 
 
 The fresh blood dropping from His wounds away ! 
 
 " O spouse ! " the young Duke said, (for at his 
 
 side 
 
 His wife was standing), " O my saintly bride ! 
 Oft to such guests, I pray thee, yield my bed, 
 And may our Lord rain blessings on thy head " ! 
 
 Then, while his Duchess-mother stood dismay d, 
 Down on his knees Duke Louis fell and prayed : 
 " O Lord, my God, whom earth and heaven praise, 
 Be merciful to one unfit to gaze 
 Upon the awful secrets of thy power 
 Made manifest in this tremendous hour I 
 Gracious, and good, and loving as Thou art, 
 Make me a man according to Thy heart; 
 And in her life, O Lord ! and in her death, 
 Bless Thou my spouse, my sweet Elizabeth " !
 
 THE KING AND THE SLA VE. 
 
 I. 
 
 IS told somewhere in an Eastern story, 
 The tale of a king, 
 
 & ll I ^ Y 
 
 ^] Who once, in the prime of his pomp and 
 
 glory, 
 Did a strange thing. 
 
 A thing so mad in its melancholy, 
 
 That many a sheik 
 Laughs as he tells his sons the folly 
 
 Of King Bal-zeek. 
 
 He called, one day, from his myriad minions, 
 
 A wretch of a slave, 
 
 And, in spite of the court s and the queen s 
 opinions, 
 
 To him he gave
 
 38 THE KIXG AND THE SLAVE. 
 
 Complete control of the royal realm, 
 
 An absolute power 
 To rule, as a king, at the nation s helm, 
 
 For one brief hour. 
 
 The crown, the robe, and the regal tunic 
 
 Were put upon him, 
 And the king himself, as the veriest eunuch, 
 
 Attended on him. 
 
 And silvery sweet from mosque and tower 
 The chimes did ring, 
 
 The king was slave for one short hour, 
 The slave was king ! 
 
 II. 
 
 But how did the crowned and jeweled actor 
 
 His liege repay? 
 Lo ! with his heel on his benefactor, 
 
 He cried : " To-day, 
 
 " /, as a monarch, deal destruction 
 To this vile th ing !
 
 THE KING AND THE SLAVE. 39 
 
 Seize on him, slaves ! " and without compunction, 
 They slew the king- ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Deep in the sea of the allegory 
 
 Lies the coral ; 
 Deep in the heart of this Eastern story 
 
 Lies a moral. 
 
 Slaves are we, by a gracious Sovereign 
 
 Called from naught, 
 Not for an hour alone to govern 
 
 A world of thought, 
 
 But crowned for a lifetime, crowned and sceptred, 
 
 To rule (vast scheme ! ) 
 O er the world and the flesh and the subtle tempter, 
 
 In power supreme. 
 
 With the precious oil of a sacred chrism 
 
 Our Liege anointed 
 The regal garb of a blest baptism 
 
 To us appointed ;
 
 40 THE KING AND THE SLAVE. 
 
 And leaving the heavenly court and castle, 
 
 The King who saves 
 Hatli made Himself the humblest vassal 
 
 Of us poor slaves. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And what return have we made our Master ? 
 
 Have heart and blood 
 Beat neath our borrowed robes the faster 
 
 With gratitude ? 
 
 Alas! alack! O base dishonor! 
 
 O outraged Throne ! 
 We have set our heel on the royal Donor 
 
 Of all we own ! 
 
 We have cried aloud to our passions: "Seize 
 Him! 
 
 And Sin shall reign ! " 
 Weep, till our tears of blood appease Him, 
 
 Our King is slain !
 
 ST. CHRISTOPHER S BURDEN. 
 
 VER the river, black with night, 
 
 And swollen with torrent and waterfall, 
 The giant, Offero, man of might, 
 Carried a Child, both fair and small. 
 
 Light as a feather, the Baby hung 
 
 By His slender hands, from the shoulders strong ; 
 It seemed, in truth, that a spirit clung 
 
 To the monster s neck, as he ploughed along. 
 
 But lo ! as the waters, rising, pour d 
 
 Their misty spray on that brawny breast, 
 
 In the deepest part of the darksome ford, 
 The Boy on his bearer firmer press d. 
 
 And little by little, the weight increased 
 Till the great feet faltered in their track ; 
 
 A mountain of lead, at the very least, 
 
 Seemed bending and crushing the stalwart back !
 
 42 ST. CHRISTOPHER S BURDEN. 
 
 " Tis the weight of the world ! " he groaned in 
 
 fear ; 
 But a sweet Voice murrnur d: "Be not 
 
 afraid ! " 
 
 Not the weight of the world thou earnest here, 
 But HIM by whose power the world was made ! " 
 
 " Who art Thou, Child ? "(as the sweatdrops 
 sprang 
 
 From his corded temples) the giant roared ; 
 And clear, thro the night, the answer rang, 
 
 Like a silver trump "I am Christ the Lord ! " 
 
 " And since thou hast borne Me from shore to 
 
 shore. 
 
 And thy rest and thy comfort sacrific d ; 
 Behold ! thou art Offer o, now, no more, 
 But brave Christofero bearer of Christ ! " 
 
 -:<- # * * -::- 
 
 Sweet legend ! cheering the weary soul, 
 As it fords the stream of a fate ill-starr d ;
 
 ST. CHRISTOPHER S BURDEN. 
 
 When the floods in their fury, fiercest, roll, 
 And the burden of Duty presses hard: 
 
 Xo need to envy the blessed load 
 
 The saint thro the raging waters bore ; 
 
 For, bearing a burden imposed by God, 
 
 We are all St. Christophers, brave and broad, 
 Carrying Christ to the heavenly shore !
 
 THE TEMPTATION OF LIFFARDUS. 
 
 I. 
 
 ||-EAR a little silent swamp, 
 
 Lying low and dark and damp 
 In the shadow of an abbey, 
 (Famed in annals mystical), 
 Of an old Cistercian abbey, 
 Far away in ancient Gaul, 
 In a hut among the kine 
 Monk Liffardus kept the swine. 
 
 II. 
 
 Dreary moss upon the gables, 
 
 Where the pens, the sties, the stables 
 Filled the atmosphere surrounding 
 
 With a foul and noisome scent 
 Dust and darkness all around him, 
 
 Monk Liffardus was content, 
 
 In humility divine, 
 
 Tending faithfully the swine.
 
 THE TEMPTATION OF LIFFARDUS. 45 
 
 III. 
 
 Gently born and gently bred, 
 
 It might seem a portion dread, 
 In the light of worldly reason, 
 
 To endure a yoke like this ; 
 But the ever-changing season 
 
 Brought a never-changing bliss 
 
 To the hut among the kine, 
 
 Where Liffardus kept the swine. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Never-changing till the day 
 
 (In those ages far away), 
 When the demon in his malice 
 
 Came to murmur in his ear : 
 " Didst forsake thy father s palace 
 
 For such works as wait thee here ? 
 
 Shall a prince, O brother mine, 
 
 Stoop to grovel with the swine ? " 
 
 V. 
 
 On his narrow bed, that night, 
 Full of anguish and affright,
 
 46 THE TEMPTATION OF LIFFARDUS. 
 
 Monk Liffardus lay, temptation 
 Brewing fever in his brain. 
 
 Had this life of abnegation, 
 After all, been lived in vain ? 
 Gentle birth and breeding fine 
 Cast, like pearls, before the swine ? 
 
 VI. 
 
 Should he rise and should he flee 
 From this den of miser}* ? 
 
 Rise and flee unto the castle 
 On his father s fair domains, 
 
 Where the merry guests make wassail 
 And the god of pleasure reigns? 
 Are not women, song and wine, 
 Better comrades than the swine ? 
 
 VII. 
 
 Musing thus upon his bed, 
 Lo ! a sudden light was shed 
 
 Through the darkness of the gable, 
 And he saw an angel s face 
 
 Filling all the wretched stable
 
 THE TEMPTATION OF L1FFAEDUS. 47 
 
 With its glory and its grace. 
 
 " Follow me ! " the sweet voice said, 
 
 And he followed where it led. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Through the cloister, through the j^ard, 
 Through the church (whose doors, un- 
 barr d 
 
 By the hands of viewless wardens, 
 Opened wide before the twain), 
 
 Lo ! the angel and Liffardus 
 Came at last to Death s domain, 
 To the graveyard grim and gray, 
 Where the dead Cistercians lay. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Down a starry vista looms 
 
 The long avenue of tombs, 
 And Liffardus shrinks with terror 
 
 From the view on ev ry side, 
 For the earth is cleft (O horror !) 
 
 And the graves are open wide !
 
 48 THE TEMPTATION OF LIFFAKDUS. 
 
 And he sees, mid mold and worms, 
 A thousand ghastly forms ! 
 
 X. 
 
 In their winding-sheets laid bare 
 All the balmy midnight air 
 
 Is pregnant with the odor 
 Of their terrible decay. 
 
 And each corse (a dread foreboder) 
 Seems to murmur, " Yesterday, 
 Dearest brother, was for me, 
 But to-day may be for thee ! " 
 
 Then the angel grave and stern 
 On the trembling monk doth turn, 
 
 And in clarion -tones out crieth, 
 " O thou tempted one ! take heed. 
 
 When, erelong, thy corse low lieth, 
 And the worms upon it feed, 
 Will earth s pleasures, gold or station, 
 Profit then thy soul s salvation ? "
 
 THE TEMPTATION OF LIFFARDUS. 49 
 
 XII. 
 
 Was it all a midnight dream ? 
 
 Silver- white the moonrays stream 
 On the pallet poor and lowly 
 
 Where the lone LifFardus lies. 
 In a rapture deep and holy, 
 
 Doth the grateful monk arise, 
 
 And, with moist uplifted eyes, 
 Prayeth softly, prayeth slowly, 
 
 " Everlasting thanks to Thee, 
 
 Source of meek humility ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " Bearing part in Christ s dear shame, 
 
 Pride and pleasure, wealth and fame, 
 I renounce henceforth forever : 
 
 Living poor, despised, unknown, 
 It shall be my chief endeavor 
 
 Thee to serve, and Thee alone ! 
 
 For Thy sake, O Love divine ! 
 
 Twill be sweet to tend the swine ! "
 
 ST. NICHOLAS AND THE DOVES. 
 I. 
 
 I 
 
 IS a legend of the past, 
 
 (In old books and paintings seen), 
 
 Of the Augustinian hermit 
 
 t 
 
 Nicholas of Tolentine ; 
 
 How within his cell he lay 
 
 Once upon his pallet bare, 
 
 With a mortal sickness on him 
 
 Born of penance and of prayer ; 
 While the sunshine, like a flame, 
 Thro the western window came. 
 
 II. 
 
 How it lit his wasted cheek, 
 
 With the glory of the skies ! 
 
 Touched his pale, etherial temples, 
 
 And illumed his lifted eyes ; 
 And a halo seemed to shed 
 Round the tonsure on his head !
 
 ST. NICHOLAS AND THE DOVES. 51 
 
 III. 
 
 Till lie cried : " O brothers ! see, 
 What a glorious light it is ! 
 Jacob s ladder, thronged with angels, 
 Must have been, indeed, like this ! 
 For the blessed spirits go 
 Up and down, with constant wing, 
 With their tender voices calling 
 And their white hands beckoning ! 
 
 Ah ! if God should deem it best, 
 
 I would fain go up and rest ! " 
 
 IV. 
 
 But the Prior said : "Nay, nay," 
 
 (Bending o er his saintly son), 
 
 " Thou must not depart, Nicolo, 
 
 Till thy ministry is done. 
 And it is the Master s will 
 (Since thou art so faint and ill), 
 
 For a time thou shouldst relax 
 
 Those austerities of thine
 
 52 ST. NICHOLAS AND THE DOVES. 
 
 Which have worn thy feeble body, 
 
 To a shadow, son of mine ! 
 Therefore, thro obedience, 
 Thou must break thine abstinence." 
 
 V. 
 
 At a sign, a monk appeared, 
 
 Bearing on a wooden di^h 
 
 Two small doves (a feast prepared 
 
 Solely at the Prior s wish) : 
 And the good Superior 
 Turning to the saint once more, 
 
 Said : " O true and faithful son ! 
 
 Make thy victory complete ; 
 
 Scorning ev ry foolish scruple, 
 
 Take, and through obedience, eat ! " 
 
 VI. 
 
 Nicholas looked up and smiled, 
 Tranquil as a little child : 
 
 Took, with outstretch d hand, the doves
 
 ST. NICHOLAS AND THE DOVES. 53 
 
 (Roasted at the Prior s wish), 
 
 And serenely made the symbol 
 Of the cross above the dish. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Lo ! a miracle of faith ! 
 Ere the monks a word could utter, 
 They beheld the little creatures 
 On the dish begin to flutter, 
 
 Ope their eyes and stretch their wings, 
 
 Happy, shining, living things ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Thro the sunny window fell 
 
 Ivy shadows on the floor : 
 And a fragrance from the garden 
 
 Floated thro the open door. 
 It was spring-time in the land, 
 
 (Tender grass and golden mist), 
 As the little doves exulting 
 
 Settled on Nicole s wrist ; 
 Then, up-soaring thro the air,
 
 54 ST. NICHOLAS AND THE DOVES. 
 
 While the hermit smiling lay, 
 Round his bed went sailing, sailing, 
 In a graceful, grateful way, 
 Till, at last, (the window neared), 
 Thro the vines, they disappeared !
 
 THE TRUE CHRISTMAS TREE. 
 I. 
 
 HE Sagas tell in Norseland, 
 .^ Of mighty Ygdra Sel, 
 
 The sacred, three- prong d Ash- 
 tree, 
 
 Which heaven, earth and hell 
 Sustains and binds together ; 
 While, from its roots up-spring 
 Three fountains, whence the Virtues 
 Are ever issuing. 
 
 II. 
 
 Veiled in the Sagas story 
 
 Is Calvary s blest Tree 
 
 Earth, heaven, purgatory, 
 
 Its Rood-borne trinity. 
 
 While from its roots three fountains 
 
 Forever leap and shine 
 
 Well-springs of all God s graces, 
 
 Faith, Hope and Love divine !
 
 ST. WULSTAN 9 8 CROZIER. 
 HE Norman king and the Norman courtiers 
 
 ML 
 
 Spake of old to the Saxon saint, 
 Wulstan, bishop of ancient Worcester, 
 Last of the Saxon prelates quaint : 
 
 " Thy beard is long and thy Saxon jargon 
 
 Soundeth rude to our Norman ears, 
 Doff thy mitre, resign thy crozier! " 
 
 The eyes of Wulstan swam with tears, 
 
 As down he stepped from his grand old minster, 
 
 Down to the ancient abbey came, 
 Unto the tomb of sainted Edward, 
 
 King, Confessor, of deathless fame. 
 
 There, in the midst of the Norman courtiers, 
 Praying, he faced their eyes of gloom, 
 
 DorTd his mitre, and smote Ids crozier 
 
 Firm on the stone of the dead king s tomb.
 
 ST. WULSTAN S CROZIER. 57 
 
 Ope d the marble hand of the monarch, 
 
 (Hid below in its cavern cold,) 
 Caught the gilded staff of the bishop, 
 
 Clutched it fast in its rigid hold. 
 
 Bare of head, with his feet unsandaled, 
 Wulstan knelt at the royal shrine ; 
 
 Wrestled the while the proud invaders, 
 Seeking to free the staff divine. 
 
 Vainly their martial hands assailed it, 
 Vainly shook it with arms of might, 
 
 King, Confessor, the sainted Edward 
 Kept firm hold of the crozier bright. 
 
 Till, spent with struggle, and half- affrighted, 
 Cried to the Saint, the malcontents : 
 
 " Don thy mitre, -resume thy crozier 
 Be sure we meant thee no offence ! " 
 
 Sweet the smile of the brave old bishop 
 
 " See how God protects His own I 
 His the power, and His the crozier ! " 
 And lo ! with ease, with a calm composure, 
 
 He drew the staff from the yielding stone I
 
 THE MASTERS CLOAK. 
 
 the archway, carved and quaint, 
 (In th hush of the court yard, bleak, for- 
 
 lorn), 
 
 Zita, the wonderful servant-saint, 
 Stood at the dawn of a winter s morn 
 
 Zita, whose modest eyes now shine 
 From many a rich Italian shrine : 
 Zita, whose visage mild and brown, 
 (Under its gemm d and golden crown), 
 From many a splendid niche looks down ; 
 There, in the days of her poor estate, 
 Centuries gone, in Lucca town, 
 Stood in the dawn at her master s gate, 
 Lantern in hand, about to pass 
 Forth, in the gloom, to the blessed Mass. 
 
 Ah ! what a pitiless dawn it was ! 
 
 Keen and raw was the wind that blew :
 
 THE MASTER S CLOAK. 59 
 
 E en in the instant s fleeting pause, 
 
 It pierced the maiden through and through ; 
 And her scanty shawl and her raiment thin 
 Were drench d with the rain as it drifted in. 
 Angel-eyes thro the shadows bent 
 Their looks of love on the lonely girl ; 
 Over the portal, came and went 
 Beautiful shapes on their wings of pearl. 
 
 But other presence than angels fair 
 Followed the maid as she linger d there, 
 And a pair of eyes at the latticed pane, 
 Were moist with something that was not rain. 
 
 " Zita ! " she started, half afraid, 
 
 (The voice was full of a grave command. 
 
 And the circle of light her lantern made 
 
 Revealed her master close at hand) : 
 
 " Zita, poor child ! your shawl is old, 
 
 The rain falls fast, and the wind blows cold. 
 
 Take this, my daughter," and, while he spoke, 
 
 He folded about her his ermine cloak, 
 
 And, ere she could utter a word, had pass d 
 
 Through the court-yard gate, and lock d it fast.
 
 60 THE MASTER S CLOAK. 
 
 Merrily sweet, like a skylark singing, 
 A bell, high up thro the rain, was ringing, 
 And Zita followed the well-known sound 
 With feet that scarcely touched the ground ; 
 Her heart, like a chalice of precious wine, 
 Running over and over with faith divine. 
 
 Close to the church-porch dimly grand, 
 
 A beggar was kneeling with outstretch d hand, 
 
 Kneeling, unshorn, on the cold, wet flags, 
 
 A mass of ulcers, half-clothed with rags ; 
 
 Such hopeless want in his abject air, 
 
 That Zita paused with a murmured prayer. 
 
 Silver or gold she had none to give, 
 For the maiden s purse was a ceaseless sieve, 
 (Sifting Love s alms over shrine and street) ; 
 But, tender and true, in her breast arose 
 A marvellous balm for the beggar s woes ; 
 And her tears of sympathy, warm and sweet, 
 Fell with the rain on his naked feet. 
 
 Could she kneel to pray in a cloak of fur, 
 While the robe of her Lord was torn and scant?
 
 THE MASTER S CLOAK. 61 
 
 Would His gracious ear incline to her, 
 
 If she left Him to perish of cold and want? 
 
 With never a thought that the gift belonged 
 
 To one whom she would not, for worlds, have 
 
 wronged, 
 
 She saw but her Lord in the beggar s form, 
 And cast on his shoulders the mantle warm; 
 Then, hurrying in to a secret spot 
 In the grand old church, all else forgot, 
 She fell on her knees and knew no more 
 Till the night drew near. ... At the castle- 
 door, 
 
 She stood with her own poor garments on, 
 And the rich fur cloak of the master gone ! 
 
 Out of the portal looked a face 
 
 With serious eyes and flowing beard ; 
 Under the swinging lamp, appeared 
 A reverend presence, full of grace. 
 " Zita ! (how grave and stern he spoke !) 
 " What hast thou done with thy master s cloak ? "
 
 62 THE MASTER S CLOAK. 
 
 The maiden, fearing to move or speak, 
 Bowed to the dust with a blushing cheek, 
 While the penitent tears began to swim 
 In her lovely eyes, downcast and dim. 
 
 "Zita, I charge thee, speak the truth, 
 And thou shalt not suffer hurt or harm," 
 A pause, a rustle of wings, forsooth, 
 It filled the maid with a vague alarm, 
 Behold ! in the midst, a princely youth 
 Stood with t/te lost cloak on his arm ! 
 
 Brighter than diamonds were his eyes, 
 Richer than gold his sunny hair ; 
 The master kneeling, in grave surprise, 
 Knew that an angel had enter d there. 
 And he hid his face with awe, and prayed 
 As the stranger pass d to the servant-maid, 
 Pass d on to Zita, with pinions fleet, 
 And laid the cloak at her humble feet. 
 
 Then, there were bursts of seraph-singing, 
 And tinkle of harps, and cymbals ringing
 
 THE MASTER S CLOAK. 63 
 
 While heavenly light and odors rare 
 Filled with splendor the dusky air. 
 
 But over it all, supremely free, 
 One glorious Voice, thro the rise and fall 
 Of the angel -chorus, seemed to call ; 
 " O love ! O dove! I am debtor to thee, 
 And blessed forever shalt thon be ; 
 For inasmuch as thou didst this deed, 
 Unto the beggar in his need, 
 Zita, thou didst it unto Me ! "
 
 FORTY MARTYRS OF SEBASTE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Y souls, intrepid, pure, 
 Strong to suffer and endure, 
 Forty soldiers of Sebaste, 
 Christian soldiers, long ago, 
 For their faith were, naked, cast 
 In a pool of ice and snow. 
 
 II. 
 
 Close at hand, across the path, 
 Stood a warm, delicious bath, 
 Where, beneath the star-light dim, 
 Any coward, sin-entic d, 
 Might immerse each frozen limb, 
 And apostatize from Christ. 
 
 III. 
 
 Up and down the pathway cold 
 Strode the pagan-keeper bold;
 
 FORTY MARTYRS OF SEBASTE. 65 
 
 O er the victims keeping guard, 
 Watching till the fight was done, 
 Watching till the struggle hard, 
 With the martyr s crown, was won. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Martyr s crown ? The keeper raised 
 Wond ring eyes, which wildly gazed 
 On a vision in the air ! 
 O er the pool, thro star-light soft, 
 Angel-shapes were floating fair, 
 Bearing starry crowns aloft ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Crowns for all? Ah! no, ah ! no, 
 As the pagan reckon d slow, 
 Counting out the chaplets rare, 
 Floating in a mystic line, 
 
 Forty victims suffered there, 
 
 Crowns there were but thirty-nine !
 
 66 FOKTY MARTYRS OF SEBASTE. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Mused the keeper, full of awe, 
 On this sight, when lo ! he saw, 
 In a trice, from out the pond, 
 One apostate, weak and young, 
 Who, despairing, rush d beyond, 
 And into the warm bath sprung ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Rang aloft a piercing cry ! 
 On the instant doom d to die, 
 Faith, and life, and Heaven lost 
 Sank the poor, deluded fool ! 
 Swift uside his garments toss d, 
 Sprang the keeper in the pool ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 "Christ, my God ! I believe ! " he said, 
 " Let me suffer in his stead ! " 
 Then the long, cold hours pass d. . . 
 But when morning mastered night, 
 Forty martyrs of Sebaste 
 Wore in Heaven their crowns of light !
 
 THE KEY OF HE A YEN. 
 
 R N an old Franciscan cloister, 
 
 In the fair South-Germany, 
 Lay the convent-tailor dying, 
 Holy old lay-brother, he. 
 
 Holy Brother Bonaventure, 
 He had labored long and well : 
 
 On his bed, amid his brethren, 
 Lay he dying in his cell. 
 
 All the solemn prayers were uttered, 
 All the sacred rites were given, 
 
 Spake the dying from his pillo\v, 
 " Bring to me my Key of Heaven." 
 
 " Key of Heaven ? Call the Prior ! " 
 And the Prior softly came, 
 
 Bringing to the sinking friar 
 An old missal of that name.
 
 68 THE KEY OF HEAVEN". 
 
 Slow the dying head was shaken, 
 " Key of Heaven ? " Quick as thought, 
 
 Crucifix, and Rule, and Chaplet, 
 
 To the monk, in turn, were brought. 
 
 All in vain. The brethren marveled: 
 What could be the Key he craved ? 
 
 Surely such demand unusual 
 Was the plea of one who raved. 
 
 Last, uprose an aged friar, 
 
 Bowed obedience left and right, 
 
 From a nook beside the fire, 
 
 Brought a something small and bright ; 
 
 Brought it to the bed, and placed it 
 Where they saw it thro their tears, 
 
 Twas the needle of the tailor, 
 
 Wherewith he had wrought for years ! 
 
 Ah ! to see the dim eyes brighten ! 
 
 Ah ! to see the white lips smile ! 
 Round the tool the chill hands tightened, 
 
 Broken words he spake the while :
 
 THE KEY OF HEAVEST. 69 
 
 " Many years, old friend, we ve labored, 
 
 Ev ry stitch I made with thee 
 Was for God s dear glory taken 
 
 For the blest Eternity ! 
 
 " Now, when life s last cords are riven, 
 Blessed needle ! " (soft he cries), 
 
 " Thou shalt be my Key of Heaven, 
 Thou shalt ope my Paradise ! " 
 
 
 
 On the instant, fled the spirit, 
 
 Smiling in his waxen rest, 
 Lay the Brother Bona venture 
 
 With the needle on his breast. 
 
 All the monks around him kneeling, 
 
 (Startled at such swift release,) 
 Question with the deepest feeling, 
 
 " Doth he truly rest in peace ? " 
 
 " Brethren ! " prays the weeping Prior, 
 
 " May his end to all be given ! 
 May the life-work of each friar 
 
 Be, indeed, his Key to Heaven!"
 
 ESTRADAS SPOUSE. 
 
 THE LEGEND OF THE PERSIAN PRINCESS. 
 
 her palace, in the Hall of Mirrors, 
 One glorious clay in Spring 
 ^d a ^ tne glamour of the glittering 
 
 mirrors, 
 The daughter of the King, 
 
 A Princess, young and innocent and tender, 
 
 Sat silent and alone, 
 In satin robes, whose wealth of trailing splendor 
 
 Half-veiled her ivory throne. 
 
 Her lustrous eyes like liquid sapphires gleaming, 
 
 Her white hand neath her head 
 The noble maid was dreaming dreaming 
 dreaming 
 
 Of him she soon should wed.
 
 ESTRADA S SPOUSE. 71 
 
 Her Persian prince ; how grand his royal bearing! 
 
 How grave his manly face ! 
 His soul so full of chivalry and daring ! 
 
 His form so full of grace ! 
 
 Mid all the flower of her father s courtiers, 
 
 Was none as fair as Tie ! 
 
 " O prince of men ! " she sighed, and blushing 
 faltered, 
 
 " Who can compare with thee ? " 
 
 Lo ! on the instant, swift as though it lightened, 
 
 A glory filled the air ; 
 
 And all the lofty room was warmed and bright 
 ened 
 
 By one grand Presence there ! 
 
 No mortal eye had seen the Stranger enter, 
 
 No ear had heard His tread, 
 Yet there, resplendent, in the chamber s centre, 
 
 He stood unheralded.
 
 72 ESTRADA S SPOUSE. 
 
 A tall and stately shape, divinely niouldeu, 
 
 In regal vestments clad ; 
 His floating hair and beard, a halo golden, 
 
 Around a visage glad. 
 
 Deep, earnest eyes, supremely true and tender, 
 
 A brow majestic, mild, 
 Upon the startled maiden fair and tender, 
 
 The radiant Vision smiled. 
 
 " Behold ! " He sighed, and (strange to say) as 
 slowly 
 
 He raised His gracious Hand, 
 Across the velvet of its palm all holy, 
 
 She saw a Wound expand. 
 
 A deep red Wound, which, like a flaming jewel, 
 
 Shone with a ruddy light : 
 
 Ah ! who (she thought) had dared with weapon 
 cruel 
 
 That beauteous Hand to smite ?
 
 ESTRADA S SPOUSE. 78 
 
 " Look round ! " He said : and then, the king s 
 fair daughter, 
 
 Turning, beheld it all ! 
 Like clearest stretch of calm, unruffled water, 
 
 The mirrors on the wall 
 
 Reflected back the beauty and the glory, 
 
 Of that Eternal King 
 Whose endless praise in sweetest song and story 
 
 The Bards of Heaven sing. 
 
 " Hear, and take heed, O child of My affection ! " 
 
 The dulcet Voice pursued, 
 " Each faithful mirror s pure and true reflection 
 
 Of Mine own pulchritude : 
 
 " Each curve, and tint, and line each shining 
 shimmer 
 
 Of robes reflected there , 
 The Brow, the Lip, the Eye the golden glimmer 
 
 Of every single hair,
 
 74 ESTRADA S SPOUSE. 
 
 " Are symbols, clear Estrada, of My creatures 
 
 In whom My beauties shine : 
 The human soul s celestial form and features, 
 
 Reflecting the Divine ! 
 
 " And wilt thou love the unsubstantial shadow 
 
 More than the substance true ? 
 O virgin Princess ! innocent Estrada, 
 
 Wilt thou, in vain, pursue 
 
 " An apparition fair, but falsely fleeting, 
 
 Which fades before tis won ; 
 A bright chimera evermore retreating 
 
 Before the changeless One ? 
 
 " Look on My Wounds, and tell me, young Estrada, 
 
 Shall phantoms claim thy vows? 
 Wilt thou, indeed, prefer this mortal shadow 
 
 To thine immortal Spouse ? " 
 
 The Persian princess heard, and, swift uprising, 
 
 Drew close her virgin zone ; 
 With burning love, with faith and hope surprising, 
 
 She stepp d from off her throne.
 
 ESTRADA S SPOUSE. 75 
 
 Her lovely face aglow with glad decision, 
 
 (O maid, supremely blest !) 
 Her arms, like lilies, twining round the Vision, 
 
 Her head upon His breast, 
 
 In ringing tones, she cries : " The dream is 
 over I 
 
 No bride of earth I ll be ! 
 O Lord, my God ! my first Eternal Lover ! 
 
 I leave all loves for Thee!"
 
 THE SHEPHERD S FEAST. 
 
 O-NIGHT in far-off, quaint Liguria, 
 
 This CHRISTMAS EVE, in Genoa the fair, 
 Fair, even thro the veil of dim despair 
 Which later lawless years have roughly spread 
 Over the glory of her classic head, 
 This sacred Eve, in ancient Genoa, 
 The silvern bells are swinging thro the hush 
 Of night s high noon ; and all the city swarms 
 
 Unto the Midnight Mass. Gay, motley forms, 
 Whose olive faces in the darkness flush 
 With tenderest emotions, lo ! they hold 
 To one devout tradition, still most dear, 
 (A Christian idyl), which, from year to year, 
 Renews itself in pastoral delight; 
 A relic of the ages primitive, a rite, 
 Sublimely grand, and touching to behold, 
 
 It glorifies the Christ-Child s natal night!
 
 THE SHEPHERD S FEAST. 77 
 
 When midnight frosts upon the mountains creep, 
 The shepherds from the Alps descend in pairs : 
 Fresh, stalwart youths, and men with silver hairs, 
 And little sturdy boys, (who lead the sheep 
 To grassy spots upon the pastures steep), 
 Like chamois, from the mountains springing down, 
 They march, in pairs, across the dusky town. 
 
 Erect and grave the troop with faces brown, 
 Their hair unshorn, their torn cloaks fluttering, 
 Hardy as oaks their native snow-drifts crown, 
 They from their vigils and their scanty sleep, 
 While flaring torch-flames o er them blaze and 
 
 leap, 
 Have snatched this hour to march, and, marching, 
 
 sing 
 The praises of the new-born Saviour-King ! 
 
 With many a Christmas carol, quaint and old, 
 Pealing in liquid sweetness from their throats, 
 On, thro through the crowded Strada, bright and 
 cold;
 
 78 THE SHEPHERD S FEAST. 
 
 Neath vi let skies, which many a star doth gem, 
 (So like the skies of ancient Bethlehem, 
 And they so like the ancient shepherds bold I) 
 The strange procession, as a vision, floats 
 Into the church, ablaze with pearls and gold, 
 Where all of Genoa seems waiting them. 
 
 A murmur, as from wind-blown forests, stirs 
 The mighty throng ; and thro them, marching 
 
 mute, 
 
 (Their cheeks like roseate, o er-ripen d fruit,) 
 These simple shepherds, these grave worshippers, 
 Poor as the Christ they hasten to adore, 
 Are swift assigned by sumptuous officers, 
 The post of honor on that sacred floor. 
 
 They kneel they kiss the dust, prostrated low; 
 O Gloria in excelsis ! from behind 
 A curtain, soar wild cloves as white as snow, 
 Released from jesses of the purest flax ; 
 Meek emblems of the Et in terra pax ! 
 The angel s song in their soft plaint doth find 
 Celestial echoes, musical and low.
 
 THE SHEPHERD S FEAST. 79 
 
 Tis well. The nobles and the knights make way, 
 And all the civic troops, with banners gay, 
 Follow in file ; (what time their armor bright 
 Flashes and sparkles in the torches light,) 
 The flow r of court and camp, alike, give way, 
 To form a background to that strange display, 
 And kneel amid the common herd, to-night. 
 
 Shepherds, alone, on this the SHEPHERDS FEAST, 
 Sons of the Alpine avalanche and storm, 
 Precursors of the Monarchs of the East, 
 Alone, to-night, must circle shrine and priest, 
 And with their glowing hearts a bulwark form 
 To keep the dear BAMBINO safe and warm ! 
 
 O, Blessed Babe ! now art thou born again 
 
 In." House of Bread" O, grave, adoring men ! 
 
 With streaming eyes, lift up your hardy hands, 
 
 And offer your ex-voto beautiful, 
 
 A little, fleecy lamb, with many bands 
 
 Of rainbow-ribbons, brightening its wool ; 
 
 * Bethlehem the House of Bread.
 
 80 THE SHEPHERD S FEAST. 
 
 Type of the Lamb of God ! His golden rule, 
 Well doth it image, creature meek and fair ; 
 And thus the old tradition, ripe with prayer, 
 And mellow with the harvest-heats of Time, 
 Repeats its tableau, simple yet sublime, 
 
 This CHRISTMAS EVE in Genoa, the rare.
 
 THE TEMPTED NUN. 
 
 j>JlNCE, it chanced for our instruction, full 
 
 three hundred years agone, 
 In an old Italian convent lived and toiled 
 a saintly nun. 
 
 Fast and prayer and bitter penance had her flesh 
 
 transparent made, 
 Till the grace of God shone thro her, as a lamp 
 
 thro crystal shade. 
 
 But, the while a saintly unction penetrated all she 
 
 did, 
 Like a serpent, in her bosom lay a cruel sorrow 
 
 hid. 
 
 Day and night that true heart panted with a 
 terror never calmed, 
 
 By a dread voice ever haunted : " Thou art des 
 tined to be damned !
 
 82 THE TEMPTED NUN. 
 
 " Do thy lest and strive thy strongest, Hell is thine 
 
 eternal lot ! " 
 So the wild temptation lasted, though her will 
 
 consented not. 
 
 But, at length, when life grew weary with the 
 
 anguish of her fate, 
 Led by God, Saint Philip Neri came to speak her 
 
 at the grate. 
 
 On her knees, the suff ring Sister poured her sor 
 rows in his ear, 
 
 Sobbing, broke the seal of silence ; spake in 
 words her secret fear. 
 
 Joyous smiled the blithe Saint Philip : " Christ 
 
 was slain for sinners. Now, 
 By that Blood that opened heaven, tell me, 
 
 daughter, what art thou ? " 
 
 " Ah ! a most unworthy sinner ! " and her tears 
 began to shine ; 
 
 "Then rejoice!" cried out Saint Philip, "Para 
 dise is thine is thine ! "
 
 THE TEMPTED NUN. 83 
 
 As the lightning cleaves and scatters noxious 
 
 vapors with its dart, 
 Hope, that hour, drove the darkness from the 
 
 poor nun s brain and heart. 
 
 Buoyant sped she to the choir, buoyant sped 
 
 she to the class, 
 Such a sunshine gushing from her, it was joy to 
 
 see her pass. 
 
 Never more the foul temptation made her saintly 
 
 soul its shrine ; 
 Till her death her heart kept singing : " Paradise 
 
 is mine is mine ! "
 
 SIR VERITAS AND THE KING. 
 
 ^ffHE courtiers gathered round the throne 
 
 ; I . ~- and plied the King with praises : 
 
 * I Ir / 
 ^L< u \Viser art thou than Solomon ! " cried 
 
 they in fulsome phrases : 
 
 " Greater than David in the prime of all his regal 
 
 glory ; 
 Braver than he of feudal time, renown d in song 
 
 and story : 
 
 " Thy manly beauty is the theme that thrills the 
 
 bards with pleasure ; 
 The wealth of Ind melts like a dream before thy 
 
 golden treasure! " 
 
 So, link by link, they forged a chain to bind their 
 
 royal master 
 Unto their ends. A cloud of pain, a foreshade of 
 
 disaster
 
 SIR VERITAS AND THE KING. 85 
 
 Loomed darkly on the monarch s front. He 
 
 turned in sudden anger 
 To one who, silent, bore the brunt of all that 
 
 courtly clangor : 
 
 Sir Veritas, his oldest knight, his bravest and his 
 
 wisest : 
 " We pray thee, sirrah, speak outright the scorn 
 
 thou ill disguisest ! 
 
 " Silent may fare that tongue of thine, but mute 
 
 are not these glances 
 Which smite our heart with force condign, like 
 
 stroke of poison d lances ! 
 
 " Speak, Veritas ! " The courtier old stood forth 
 before his fellows, 
 
 Witli brow as stern, with mien as bold, as daunt 
 less as Othello s: 
 
 " I cannot join these sycophants in lauding thee, 
 
 my sire ; 
 For indignation s burning lance hath smote me 
 
 with its fire.
 
 86 SIR VEtUTAS AND THE KING. 
 
 "If thou wert wise as Solomon, and greater far 
 
 than David, 
 Or hadst thou, lion-hearted one, our cause from 
 
 ruin save d, 
 
 " Right gladly would I add my meed to swell thy 
 
 tide of glory, 
 To bid thee live, in word and deed, renown d in 
 
 song and story ; 
 
 " But hear, O King! the bitter truth from tongue 
 
 that ne er deceived thee 
 Thou art a tyrant without ruth our wrongs have 
 
 never grieved thee I 
 
 " Thy people s miseries have ne er divorced thee 
 
 from thy treasures, 
 Their hunger and their gaunt despair have never 
 
 dash d thy pleasures ! 
 
 " They groaned beneath their weary load ; thine 
 
 ears have hearkened gaily. 
 The ocean of their tears hath flowed around thy 
 
 footstool daily ;
 
 SIR VERITAS AND THE KING. 87 
 
 " But tliou wert blind, as well as deaf ; on Self 
 
 thy thoughts were centred ; 
 Lo ! to thy closet, hope-bereft, Nemesis now hath 
 
 entered ! " 
 
 Out leaped the great soul of the King, from eyes 
 
 with wonder flaming ; 
 He glared around upon that ring of serfs, their 
 
 falsehood shaming ; 
 
 Glared fiercely on those parasites who spake him 
 
 but to flatter ; 
 " Come, Veritas reform these knights whose 
 
 coward teeth do chatter ! 
 
 " Reform them in thy valiant school, wherein are 
 
 fashioned heroes ; 
 Who speaks of fame (if knave or fool), confounds 
 
 our fame with Nero s ! 
 
 " O. Veritas ! " (pride at an end the strong 
 
 man s tears fast streaming) 
 " Praise God for one just, fearless friend, above 
 
 all venal scheming !
 
 88 SIR VERITAS AND THE KING. 
 
 " Our premier be thou, henceforth, with wisdom 
 
 crown d, and beauty, 
 Who dared to tell thy King the truth, and nerve 
 
 him to his duty."
 
 OUR LADY OF THE LAMP. 
 
 I. 
 
 ER maiden face, so grave and sweet 
 
 Is full of gentle majesty ; 
 From curl-crown d Head to dim 
 pled Feet, 
 
 The infant Christ is fair to see ; 
 And on the Mother s left, behold! 
 
 A lamp of bronze, antique and quaint, 
 Whose wind-blown flame of fiery gold, 
 Glows, like a gem, mid shadows faint. 
 
 II. 
 
 Her virgin hand that lamp hath trimm d ; 
 
 Beside its lustre, pure and mild, 
 Oft hath she wrought; with rays undimm d, 
 
 Oft held it o er her sleeping Child 
 Or, in the window of the room, 
 
 Hath set it, trembling like a star,
 
 90 OUR LADY OF THE LAMP. 
 
 To cheer St. Joseph thro the gloom, 
 And guide his footsteps from afar. 
 
 III. 
 
 O gracious Lady of the Lamp ! 
 
 We, too, like Joseph, need thy light ; 
 Our path is dim with shadows damp, 
 
 We grope towards thee thro the night. 
 The world s true Light is in thine arms; 
 
 Ah ! lift Plim high, and let Him shine 
 Upon our darkness ; naught alarms 
 
 The soul which hails that Lamp divine ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 And when along the vale of Death, 
 
 We journey slowly to our home, 
 The Home, sweet Home of Christian faith, 
 
 Which rears afar its azure dome : 
 Ah ! leaning from the window s height, 
 
 Swing forth thy lamp across the gloom, 
 And lead us, Lady of the Light ! 
 
 Safe thro the shadows of the tomb !
 
 THE FRUIT OF OBEDIENCE. 
 
 O," said the Abbot to hermit John, 
 " Take the staff thou leanest on, 
 
 Plant it deep in the desert s sand, 
 And water it daily with lavish hand, 
 
 Till it beareth fruit ! " 
 Humble of heart, and grave, and mute, 
 
 The hermit bowed, and the word obeyed. 
 The spring gushed clear in the distant glade, 
 And many a weary step he took 
 Ere the water was brought from the crystal 
 brook 
 
 To the planted staff, 
 
 Where plenty had come to nod and laugh 
 At the gray-hair d Brother s simplicity. 
 Lo ! at the wane of summers three, 
 The staff took root in the sand one day, 
 Blossomed and bloomed in a wondrous way,
 
 92 THE FRUIT OF OBEDIENCE. 
 
 And beauteous bore 
 Of luscious fruit, such a golden store ; 
 The aged hermit, full of glee, 
 Plucked it fast from the bending tree, 
 And, where the monks at the Abbot s feet, 
 Sat in the cloister s cool defence, 
 Cried to his brethren : *" Take and eat, 
 It is the fruit of obedience ! " 
 
 AN EAST3R LESSON. 
 
 ^s OW often o er departed joys we moan, 
 
 And, musing, sigh in accents of regret, 
 " Oh ! who will roll us back the heavy 
 
 stone 
 Which at the tomb of buried Hope is set ? " 
 
 But coming, lo ! we smile, for angels fair 
 Have been before us at the gloomy gates ; 
 
 The stone is rolled away ; and, radiant, there, 
 Brave Love, on risen Hope, exultant, waits !
 
 AN ARABS LOGIC. 
 
 SKEPTIC, through the wilderness of Zin, 
 Was guided by a faithful Bedouin ; 
 
 And evermore, whene er the fierce si 
 moom 
 Swept up the desert on its wing of gloom ; 
 
 Or when the waters failed, and (for their lack), 
 The weary camels faltered in their track, 
 
 The skeptic noticed that, with outstretch d hands, 
 The Arab flung himself upon the sands, 
 
 And pressed his turbaned forehead to the ground, 
 And hid his face in silence most profound. 
 
 " Now, wherefore kneelest thou ? " the skeptic 
 
 cried 
 At last, in wonder. " Wherefore, O, my guide,
 
 94 AN ARAB S LOGIC. 
 
 " Prostrate thyself in this lone desert place, 
 And in thy bournous muffle up thy face ? " 
 
 " I kneel to worship God," the Arab said, 
 
 " To worship God, and beg His helping aid ! " 
 
 " A God ? a God ? "the scoffer laughed, " Poor 
 
 fool! 
 Tis plain to see thou never went st to school! 
 
 " Thou seest naught, thou hearest naught, dull 
 
 clod! 
 How dost thou know there ever was a God ? " 
 
 " How do I know ? " the Bedouin upraised 
 His stately head, and on the speaker gazed : 
 
 A native dignity, a grave surprise, 
 Rounding the arches of his dusky eyes. 
 
 " How do I know that in the darkness, went 
 Last night, a wand ring camel past my tent, 
 
 " And not a man ? How know I ? you demand, 
 Lo ! by the prints he left upon the sand !
 
 AN ARAB S LOGIC. 95 
 
 "And now, behold ! thou unbelieving one ! " 
 And, turning westward to the setting sun, 
 
 The Arab s finger pointed to the glow 
 Of rosy radiance upon clouds of snow, 
 
 " How know I that there is a God on high ? 
 Lo ! by His footprints in yon glorious sky ! "
 
 - 
 
 THE STAR OF THE KINGS. 
 
 the roof of an Eastern palace afar, 
 Three Kings, in the midnight, sat of 
 
 yore : 
 Beautiful, bearded Baltazar, 
 
 And gray-hair d Gaspard, and Melchior. 
 
 Gravely they sat, and they spake no word, 
 Their hearts were full of an awe serene ; 
 
 And under their royal vestments stirred 
 The thrill of a Presence, sublime, unseen ; 
 
 For, clear in the zone of the sapphire skies, 
 A new, strange jewel, bright to see 
 
 They watched, thro the mist of their yearning 
 
 eyes, 
 The Star of an ancient Prophecy ! 
 
 Low, to the east, it, drooping, shined 
 With a roseate glow, as of coming morn,
 
 THE STAR OF THE KINGS. 97 
 
 Trailing a line of light behind, 
 
 Like a brilliant lamp by an angel borne. 
 
 Said Gaspard : u Brothers, our sign hath come ! " 
 Cried Melchior : " Tis a marvelous thing ! " 
 
 Breathed Baltazar : " Farewell, old home ! 
 We follow the Star of Judah s King ! " 
 
 Then, down thro the latticed halls below, 
 Past the grand saloons of their crown d con 
 sorts, 
 
 Past the bright-eyed children who come and go, 
 The Kings press on to the outer courts. 
 
 The camels are loosed from the royal tents, 
 Their bells ring sweet on the spicy air ; 
 
 The myrrh and the musky frankincense 
 
 Are mixed with the gold which the Arabs bear. 
 
 And, forth in the night, those men of lore 
 
 Follow, like children, the CHRIST-CHILD S Star. 
 
 God speed ye, Gaspard and Melchior! 
 God speed thee, beautiful Baltazar !
 
 ST. JOSEPH S CHARGE. 
 
 PAKE of old the shining Angel to St. Jo 
 seph, Mary s spouse, 
 . When the Magi had departed from his 
 lowly little house ; 
 
 While the midnight shadows floated, like a veil, 
 
 o er Bethlehem, 
 (Like a veil of dusk}* tissue, sprent with many a 
 
 starry gem !) 
 
 In his dreams, the great Archangel spake to Jo 
 seph warningly : 
 
 " Take the Infant and His Mother, rise, and into 
 Egypt flee!" 
 
 Lo ! behold, the saint arising, woke the Mother 
 from her sleep, 
 
 Roused the Babe upon her bosom from His slum 
 bers calm and deep,
 
 ST. JOSEPH S CHARGE. 99 
 
 And beneath the friendly cover of the night, with 
 out delay, 
 
 Swift across the arid desert unto Egypt sped 
 away ! 
 
 In that hour of worldless terror, dread of Herod s 
 
 cruel sword, 
 When upon the weary journey, Mary bore her Son 
 
 and Lord, 
 
 Think you, that her face was clouded, that her 
 
 brow was dark with care ? 
 That the anguish of the exile marked her virgin 
 
 features fair ? 
 
 Think you, that her soul was riven with a wild, 
 
 o ermastering fright ? 
 That her thoughts were tempest driven, as the 
 
 leaves by storm- wind s might? 
 
 No ! ah, no ! beneath her mantle, to her bosom 
 
 closely press d, 
 Lay the Holy Infant Jesus, sleeping sweetly on- 
 
 her breast.
 
 100 ST. JOSEPH S CHARGE. 
 
 Calm her brow, serene and peaceful as a drift of 
 
 moonlit snow : 
 Like to mountain lakes, all tranquil, shone her 
 
 placid eyes below ; 
 
 Tokens of a soul untroubled, of a heart whose vir 
 gin zone 
 
 Shrined the Sacred Heart of Jesus, as a treasure 
 all its own ! 
 
 How could anguish rend her spirit, sorrow cloud 
 her visage blest, 
 
 While that holy Heart was beating, burning, glow 
 ing, on her breast ? 
 
 Joy of angels, bliss of heaven, light and bloom of 
 
 earth below ! 
 Heart of Jesus ! only Mary all Thy joy and bliss 
 
 could know ! 
 
 And the while, across the desert, thro the wood 
 land and the wild, 
 
 To the darksome land of Egypt fled the Mother 
 with her Child ;
 
 ST. JOSEPH S CHARGE. 101 
 
 All the strength and all the sweetness of the 
 
 Sacred Heart divine 
 Flowed into her stainless bosom, like a draught of 
 
 golden wine, 
 
 Filling all her soul with courage, nerving all her 
 
 maiden heart, 
 With a noble, deathless vigor, none save Jesus 
 
 can impart! 
 
 Clients of that Heart celestial to It bound by 
 
 tend rest ties, 
 Finding in Its sparkling fountain all the goods of 
 
 Paradise, 
 
 Let us follow thro the desert sainted Joseph, 
 
 Mary blest, 
 Holding fast the Heart of Jesus like a buckler on 
 
 the breast ! 
 
 Sure that naught of sin or sorrow, naught of 
 
 doubt or wild despair, 
 E er assail the happy bosom which that golden 
 
 shield doth bear ;
 
 102 ST. JOSEPH S CHARGE. 
 
 Sure that in the land of Egypt, when that Heart 
 
 asserts its sway, 
 All the idols of the Gentiles, tottering, shall fall 
 
 away ! 
 
 AN EASTER LILY. 
 
 ATHED in the glory of the Easter morn, 
 
 I 
 
 ^V A Steeped in its gladness and its fresh delight, 
 
 llB J 
 
 The lily lifts its head a symbol-white 
 
 Of Christ, the Risen One . . . This day newborn 
 He is issues from the sepulchre forlorn, 
 
 His raiment whiter than the lily s snow, 
 His bright hair flung (like tassels of the corn), 
 
 From radiant brow and blessed eyes aglow ! " 
 
 In the dark earth, the lily s seed was sown ; 
 
 In the black grave, the Crucified was laid ; 
 From dusky mold, the fairest flower hath grown, 
 
 And Christ has risen from the tomb s dark shade ! 
 
 Of Easter. lilies let His crown be made ! 
 Let Easter lilies in His path be strewn !
 
 CHAP LET AT COVENTRY. 
 
 A. D. 1040. 
 
 p HE gentle child of a noble house, 
 i Lady Godiva was fair to see ; 
 The dove-eyed dame of a cruel spouse, 
 She dwelt with her lord at Coventry. 
 
 What time the weight of the nuptial cross 
 
 Pressed on her spirit heavil} , 
 She knelt in the minster, wreathed with moss, 
 
 And told the beads of her Rosary. 
 
 Jewels were they, on a chain of gold, 
 Diamonds, rubies, and pearls all three ; 
 
 Amethysts, opals, and garnets old, 
 Emeralds, green as the sunlit sea. 
 
 They slipped through her ringers, day by day ; 
 
 And oft, in the nights, when her tears flowed free, 
 They calmed and cheered in a heav nly way, 
 
 The care-crowned Lady of Coventry !
 
 104 A CHAPLET AT COVENTRY. 
 
 Till, prone, one noon, in her nun-like cell, 
 (White and cold as the snow on the lea), 
 
 They found the lady they loved so well, 
 Clasping her priceless Rosary! 
 
 Sorrow was over, and tears, and pain ; 
 
 The suffring spirit, at last, set free ; 
 They loosed from her fingers the shining chain, 
 
 And bore it away right tenderly, 
 
 Bore it unto the house of prayer, 
 
 To the shrine of Our Lady of Purity, 
 
 Around the neck of her image fair, 
 Entwined the jewels reverently. 
 
 And there they glow to this very day, 
 
 The holy Chaplet of Coventry; 
 " Praise to our Queen ! " the pilgrims pray, 
 
 And, - Lady Godiva, peace to thee ! "
 
 THE SINGING LEPER. 
 
 <! |jlBl|EEP is the heart of a solitude, 
 A huntsman, straying, found 
 A dying leper in a wood, 
 Stretched, singing, on the ground. 
 
 Yea, singing on a bed of ferns, 
 
 In strains so sweet and strong, 
 That never had the huntsman heard 
 
 So ravishing a song : 
 
 " I see a glory in the air, 
 
 And in the midst thereof, 
 A radiant Face. O grave and fair ! 
 
 How full of pitying love ! " 
 
 So ran the words. The strong man stooped 
 
 Above the leprous thing ; 
 " God save thee, brother of the worms, 
 
 How canst, forsaken, sing ? "
 
 106 THE SINGING LEPER. 
 
 Out of the pallid lips, the sweet 
 
 Unearthly whisper stole : 
 " There s nothing save this wall of flesh 
 
 Twixt heaven and my soul ; 
 
 " This foul, corrupted wall of flesh 
 
 Behold ! it drops away. 
 Should not the ransomed captive sing ? 
 
 /shall be free to-day ! " 
 
 And even as the huntsman gazed, 
 Loosed was the singer s soul ; 
 
 A shower of lilies hid the corse, 
 The leper was made whole.
 
 THE BIRTH OF THE HOLLY. 
 
 the Shepherds came to the holy 
 
 Cave 
 (Their lambs, like snowdrifts, bring 
 
 While, under the stars, the Angels brave 
 Their songs of praise were singing, 
 
 They found with awe at the Stable-door, 
 Where the Christmas-snows lay whitest, 
 
 With awe and fear, at the Stable-door, 
 
 Where the Christmas-stars shone brightest, 
 
 A shrub, round which sweet fancy weaves 
 
 Her spell ; at Yuletide showing 
 Its jagged, emerald, glossy leaves 
 
 With blood-red berries glowing. 
 
 Amazed, the Shepherds softly said : 
 
 "Who, mid the snows, hath set it?" 
 
 An Angel drifting overhead 
 Replied: "Ah! ne er forget it !
 
 1U8 THE BIRTH OF THE HOLLY. 
 
 " The symbol tis of days to be, 
 Foreseen by prophet-dreamer, 
 
 The future s spinous misery 
 Awaiting earth s Redeemer. 
 
 "Behold, in each sharp-pointed leaf, 
 
 The knife of Circumcision, 
 The thorns, the nails, which Love and Grief 
 
 Salute with tear-dimm d vision. 
 
 44 And in each scarlet berry view 
 The Blood-drops, pure and holy, 
 
 Of Him Who here is born for you, 
 A Saviour meek and lowly ! " 
 
 The Shepherds heard. Their wisdom poor 
 This world may scorn as folly, 
 
 But, kneeling at the Stable -door, 
 They hailed the Christmas Holly .
 
 . 
 I and my gentle friend, Sceur Amadce ; 
 
 A MIDSUMMER MEMORY. 
 I. 
 
 sat among the graves that summer 
 
 Lf 
 Beyond the fence with honeysuckle blooming, 
 
 The convent-garden in the twilight lay, 
 Its dewy blossoms filling all the air 
 With incense, like the memory of prayer. 
 
 A few fair stars the pleasant skies were sprinkling, 
 And over ev ry grassy mound and tomb 
 
 Unnumbered fire-flies were twinkling, twinkling 
 Their tiny splendors thro the deep ning gloom ; 
 
 The Sister laid her slender hand on mine 
 
 And said, "How wondrously they float and shine ! 
 
 " How pure, yet how pathetic, is the glory 
 These little creatures bear beneath their wings ! 
 Methinks the precious souls from Purgatory 
 Are mimicked in the fiery, floating things.
 
 110 A MIDSUMMER MEMORY. 
 
 Oh ! had we angel-eyes, we might discern 
 How tranquilly those spirits float and burn ! 
 
 "See!" and she raised the chaplet from her 
 
 girdle, 
 
 " One little bead may win a soul s release 
 Let us not loiter here, serene and idle, 
 
 While suffering spirits call to us for peace ! " 
 And to and fro we paced, and pacing said 
 The holy chaplet for the waiting dead. 
 
 II. 
 
 Twilight again ; and here again I ponder 
 The mystery that curtains nameless tombs: 
 
 A few faint stars are out, and over yonder 
 The convent-garden in the dimness blooms 
 
 Its well-re member d odors o er me cast, 
 
 As in that quiet gloaming of the past, 
 
 I sit alone, no figure veiled and saintly 
 Leans thro the purple silence as to speak, 
 
 The clear eyes raised, the wild-rose tinging faintly 
 The white, transparent oval of her cheek.
 
 A MIDSUMMER MEMORY. Ill 
 
 Between that face and mine, there sways a screen 
 Of churchyard grass and periwinkle green. 
 
 Wet, whisp ring grass, low, waving periwinkle, 
 Beneath the dewy roots she lieth, fair 
 
 In sleeping loveliness ; and lo ! the twinkle 
 Of floating fire flies is in the air : 
 
 So pure, yet so pathetic, in their glory, 
 
 Like little glowing souls from Purgatory ! 
 
 O dear departed spirit ! art thou near me ? 
 
 Dost come in gentle flames, lost Amadee, 
 To hover round thy grieving friend? Ah ! hear 
 me, 
 
 Thou shalt not go un comforted away ; 
 For love shall build a bridge of Aves blest 
 Whereby thy soul shall enter into rest.
 
 SO NEAR AND YET SO FAR. 
 
 I. 
 
 SOOTHING strain of solemn harmony 
 My footsteps stayed upon an unknown 
 
 street ; 
 
 Methought I caught melodious Latin words, 
 And chanting of young voices fresh and sweet ; 
 And close at hand, thro studded doors ajar, 
 A taper glimmered like a distant star. 
 
 II. 
 
 A golden cross on high a golden cross 
 
 Sunk, like a jewel, in the polished wall : 
 To pass the threshold was to see the font 
 Of blessed water in the outer hall ; 
 
 And pra} erful statues gleaming thro a mist 
 Of incense, by the fading sunlight kissed.
 
 SO NEAR AND YET SO FAR. 113 
 
 III. 
 
 Gothic the little chapel, pure and quaint, 
 
 Its altar decked with lilies freshly blown ; 
 The frescoed ceiling fair with floating saints 
 A sculptured Christ upon a cross of stone. 
 " Here will I rest ! " and on the plushy 
 
 floor 
 I knelt with many others to adore. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But lo ! a vested man who was no priest 
 
 A sacramental cup bore to and fro : 
 And unto that which was no wedding feast, 
 With folded hands, I saw the people go; 
 And round the altar-railing knelt and fed 
 On that which was not the Angelic Bread. 
 
 V. 
 
 Oh ! then I rose up trembling and in tears, 
 My heart with pity melting in my breast ! 
 
 So fair a fraud, a counterfeit so rare 
 
 Might well bewilder and betray the best.
 
 114 SO NEAR AND YET SO FAR. 
 
 Phantoms of statue, sacrament, and shrine 
 Blank shadows of a substance all divine ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 " Domine Jesu ! " sang the children s choir, 
 " Bone Pastor ! " sang they overhead : 
 The tender invocation, rising higher, 
 Followed me thro the portals as I fled; 
 
 Till up the twilight streets I seemed to hear 
 The answer stealing musical and clear : 
 
 VII. 
 
 " And other sheep I have not of this fold : 
 Them also must I bring, that there may be 
 One Fold and one True Shepherd" Dearest 
 
 Lord! 
 
 Make haste and draw these lost ones speedily ; 
 Lest, having been so near and yet so far, 
 Their doom reveal how stern Thy judgments 
 are.
 
 THE THANKSGIVING OF THE CHAS 
 TENED. 
 
 I. 
 
 ,,_, fW OR the pain, as well as the pleasure, 
 
 mlkml 
 
 For the woe, as well as the weal; 
 
 For the loss of the dearest treasure, 
 And the wound no balm can heal ; 
 
 For the bloom, and the blight that kill d it, 
 Scant sun, and the shadow broad 
 
 Since Thy love hath, in wisdom, willed it 
 We thank Thee, Lord, our God ! 
 
 II. 
 
 For the tears that the heart-strings rusted, 
 For the gold half-dimm d with dross ; 
 
 For the change in the friend long trusted, 
 For the scourge, the thorns, and the cross;
 
 116 THE THANKSGIVING OF THE CHASTENED. 
 
 Because they have shown us clearer 
 
 The path Thy feet once trod ; 
 Have drawn us nearer and nearer 
 
 To Thee we thank Thee, God ! 
 
 III. 
 
 For the sad mistake that was blameless 
 
 For the sinless dark disgrace, 
 For the sorrow, hidden and nameless, 
 
 That won us Thy close embrace ! 
 For the dead, as well as the living, 
 
 For the stricken under the rod 
 With a joy, not of earth s thanksgiving, 
 
 We thank Thee, Lord, our God!
 
 CHRISTMAS IDYL. 
 
 Christmas Eve, and my heart must go 
 Over to Bethlehem, thro the snow, 
 
 Its flight with the angels winging ; 
 Along the slopes where the shepherds lie, 
 The starlight falls from the dark, blue sky, 
 And I hear the sheep-bells ringing. 
 
 The fleecy clouds are folded like sheep, 
 On their azure meadows, fast asleep, 
 
 In a slumber pure and tender ; 
 While the shepherdess Moon, with a pensive look, 
 Touches their wool with her silver crook, 
 And tips their horns with splendor. 
 
 Low on the wold, the drifts lie deep, 
 Like other beautiful, snow-white sheep, 
 Too chill for "baa "-ing or bleating; 
 And the trees, like shepherds with hoary heads, 
 Bend over the lambkins, in their beds, 
 A lullaby soft repeating.
 
 118 CHEISTMAS IDYL. 
 
 O sheep of the clouds I O sheep of the wold ! 
 O living, bleating sheep of the fold ! 
 
 Come over the hills with a stranger ! 
 Come, shepherds, and guide these affections of 
 
 mine, 
 
 With the rest of your flock, to the Lamb Divine ! 
 His glittering tears on their fleece may shine, 
 But He ll fold my sheep in His manger!
 
 THE SPARROWS SERMON. 
 
 HEAVY cross was mine, one cruel day, 
 
 7 \ I 
 
 \^,\L A disappointment sore, a giving way 
 
 Of all the golden props whereon, secure, 
 My heart had leaned, and thought its trust most 
 sure. 
 
 Into a convent-garden strayed my feet, 
 A rustic chair in that serene retreat 
 Yielding me rest ; the sunshine lay around, 
 A hissing fountain broke the hush profound, 
 And, neath the blossoms of the woodbine sweet, 
 I sat me down amid the flow rs and birds, 
 And mused and mused, in grief too deep for 
 words. 
 
 Before me, on a mound of em rald moss, 
 A Calvary was raised ; (the precious tryst 
 Of many a virgin heart), for, from the cross, 
 A pure, colossal image of the Christ
 
 120 THE SPARROW S SERMON. 
 
 Looked sadly down : the wounded Hands spread 
 
 wide, 
 And a great fissure in the blessed Side. 
 
 Across the pierced Feet, the sunbeams fair 
 Fell, like the threads of Magdalen s bright hair; 
 And, like her tears, the fountain s flashing spray 
 Upon those sacred members, sparkling, lay. 
 The while, with dreaming eyes, I noted how 
 The rosy radiance bathed the royal Brow, 
 Sharp thro the silence, near my nook, I heard 
 The piercing outcries of a suffring bird, 
 And (just beyond the maple s silver bough) 
 Behold! a hand in wantonness or wrath, 
 From out the crevice of a neighboring wall, 
 Had hurl d a sparrow s nest, the cruel fall 
 Crushing the speckled eggs upon the path. 
 
 Around about her broken treasures flew 
 
 The little mother, ah ! too well I knew 
 
 The bitter anguish of her feathered breast. 
 
 " Unhappy me ! " I moaned, with heart oppress d, 
 
 "I, also, mourn", like thee, a ruined nest; 
 
 What shall we do, poor bird, what shall we do ? "
 
 THE SPARROW S SERMON. 121 
 
 But, even as I spake, (to ray surprise), 
 The little creature ceased its piteous cries ; 
 With russet head upturn d, bright eye askance, 
 Surveyed the ruin of its life s romance : 
 Stretch tl out its glossy beak, and bravely tried 
 To touch the hopeless wreck on ev ry side, 
 Then, stroked its ruffled plumes, and taking 
 
 heart, 
 Began to tear the shattered nest apart. 
 
 Fragments of straw, dried leaves, and fragrant 
 
 grass, 
 
 Feathers and wool, a dusky, downy mass, 
 Remorseless rent, lay scattered on the ground: 
 When lo ! the sparrow with the soft debris, 
 Spreading its pinions (smooth as polish d glass), 
 Flew to the green, exalted Calvary, 
 Flew to the Christ, with rosy splendors crown d, 
 And, in His open Side, a refuge found ! 
 
 There, with a twitt ring song of tend rest rest. 
 The tiny bird began to build her nest ;
 
 122 THE SPARROW S SERMON. 
 
 While, on my knees, with streaming tears, I cried : 
 "Sweet sparrow! sheltered in a Saviour s breast, 
 Thanks for thy gentle lesson ! 
 
 Wounded pride 
 
 May brood above the failures of its past, 
 And make its sullen moan; but Hope divine 
 Springs from the wreck of joys, too frail to last, 
 To seek on Calvary its changeless shrine; 
 And from the ruins of Time s shattered nest, 
 Builds in the Heart of Christ a refuge blest ! "
 
 SAN BONIFAZIO. 
 AN UNKNOWN MARTYR. 
 
 (Under the Altar of a Philadelphia Church.) 
 
 thro the old church-shadows, the 
 lamp of the altar glows, 
 The echo of feet departing is hush d in a 
 deep repose. 
 
 And the smell of the fragrant incense still lingers, 
 
 full of heaven, 
 To tell that the Benediction was here at twilight 
 
 given. 
 
 Close to the altar-railing, steep d in the odor sweet, 
 I feast mine eyes on the martyr who lies at his 
 Master s feet. 
 
 The Roman soldier-martyr, San Bonifazio, 
 
 Who gave his life for Jesus a thousand years ago.
 
 124 SAN BOX1FAZIO. 
 
 A fair recumbent figure, a lovely blooming face, 
 Stretch d on a couch of satin, in grave repose 
 ful grace, 
 
 The rich and shining raiment is brilliant to be 
 
 seen 
 Whene er the lamp s soft lustre silvers the crystal 
 
 screen. 
 
 Methinks the sparkling armor, the sleeping loveli 
 ness 
 Of that fair silent figure, withal, allure me less 
 
 Than the green of the sacred palm-branch where 
 
 martyr-fingers meet, 
 And the gleam of the glass ampulla beside the 
 
 sandal d feet. 
 
 For unto the victor only belongs the victor s 
 palm, 
 
 And, after the fight, the soldier may rest in slum 
 ber calm ;
 
 SAN BONIFAZIO. 125 
 
 And dark and red on the vial, for centuries con 
 gealed, 
 
 I see the blood of the martyr most wondrously 
 revealed. 
 
 I ask myself in the twilight, u O martyr head ! at 
 
 rest, 
 What were the thoughts and fancies which once 
 
 thy brain possess d ? 
 
 " What were the loves and likirgs, O heart of 
 
 martyr mine ! 
 That thrill d thy bounding pulses when life and 
 
 love were thine ? 
 
 " And wert thou young or aged ? Wert prosper 
 ous or poor ? 
 
 A neophyte in manhood ? or in thy childhood 
 pure ? 
 
 "And had st thou many kindred, a mother and a 
 home 
 
 When thy blest bones were gathered into the Cat 
 acomb? "
 
 126 SAX BONIFAZIO. 
 
 No answer to my queries : but, from the wounded 
 
 throat, 
 A thin, aerial whisper above me seems to float : 
 
 " The cycles melt, like vapor, before the Eternal 
 
 Truth, 
 What matter want or riches? What matter 
 
 age or youth ? 
 
 " What matter home or kindred to him whom God 
 
 suffic d? 
 One glory hath the Christian, to live and die for 
 
 Christ ! "
 
 THE CHINESE LILY A SYMBOL. 
 
 I. 
 
 (A Month ago.} 
 
 ^N ivory table, carved and chaste, 
 
 Whereon a jewel d hand hath plac d 
 t=jj^jk A brazen bowl, with pebbles filled, 
 Brimming with water thrice distill d, 
 Where floats a bulb, unsightly, brown, 
 Brought from a far-off Chinese tow r n. 
 
 The wintry twilight clouds the room, 
 And, on her couch, amid the gloom, 
 A small, distorted figure lies 
 Beside the fire. With dreaming eyes, 
 Watching the bulb, she murmurs low : 
 "Dear Master, bid Thy lily blow ! "
 
 12S THE CHINESE LILY A SYMBOL. 
 
 II. 
 
 The room is rosed with vernal light. 
 Like lances stack d by fairy knight, 
 The serried blades of living green 
 Rise from the blub in brilliance keen, 
 Each emerald glory lifting np 
 A lily shrining a golden cup I 
 
 The couch stands vacant near the door, 
 The little dwarf dreams there no more ! 
 Out of suff ring s stony bed, 
 Out of the tears in patience shed, 
 Her bulb of warped life hath given 
 The gold of its lily-bloom to Heaven !
 
 DOING TEE WILL OF GOD, 
 
 are ye doing, ye bright-wing d 
 
 birds, 
 
 Out in the world of sun-touch d trees, 
 Winging, and singing your songs without words, 
 
 Trilling your full-throated melodies? 
 Sweet is the answering roundelay: 
 " We are doing the Will of God! " sing they. 
 
 And what are ye doing, sweet flowers a-bloom, 
 In garden and mead, in wood and vale ? 
 
 Brilliant with beauty, rich with perfume, 
 What are ye doing on hill and dale ? 
 
 The blossoms tremble their petals gay : 
 
 " We are doing the Will of God ! " breathe they. 
 
 And ye, O rivers, that run to the sea, 
 Flashing your waters in shade or sun, 
 
 Streamlet and brooklet from over the lea, 
 What are ye doing the while ye run ?
 
 130 DOING THE WILL OF GOD. 
 
 Bright and swift, as they win their way : 
 " We are doing the Will of God ! " cry they. 
 
 Brave winds, that wander far and near, 
 
 Like errant knights careering by, 
 Blowing your trumpets, high and clear, 
 
 Or crooning soft as a baby s sigh ; 
 What are ye doing by night and day? 
 "Doing the Will of God ! " laugh they. 
 
 Once more O stars in the azure sky, 
 
 moon, arrayed in your silver sheen ! 
 Majestic sun, enthroned on high, 
 
 Flooding with light all things terrene, 
 What are ye doing ? Tell me, pray, 
 "Doing the Will of God ! " chant they. 
 
 Then, to my soul in its selfish dreams, 
 
 1 thunder : " List to the birds and flowers ! 
 Listen, and learn from the winds and streams, 
 
 From the sun, and the moon, and the starry powers, 
 To follow them all in their high endeavor, 
 And do the Will of thy God forever."
 
 SAINT ANTONY S CLIENT. 
 
 many times, O sweet Saint Antony! 
 When precious little things were lost, mis 
 laid, 
 
 How many trusting times, I ve turned to thee, 
 And tenderly besought thy potent aid. 
 
 And never yet in vain a glove a ring 
 
 A book a rdiquaire a rosary 
 Each trifling trinket yea, each treasur d thing, 
 
 Thy gracious care hath given back to me. 
 
 Thanks, gentle saint. Ah ! yet, once more, extend 
 Thy loving aid ; for I have lost to-day 
 
 That treasure of all treasured things a friend, 
 Whom some perverse misdoubt hath led astray. 
 
 Dearer than book, or ring, or perfum d glove ! 
 
 Rarer than rosary or reliquaire 
 Of all earth s missing things, shall missing love 
 
 Alone, alas ! be lost beyond repair ?
 
 132 SAINT ANTONY S CLIENT. 
 
 Must malice wound, or misconstruction sour 
 The sweetest of all spirits to the end? 
 
 Ah ! no, Saint Antony ! exert thy power, 
 
 And give, oh ! give me back my dear lost friend! 
 
 THE FIERY TONGUES. 
 
 SAGE hath said : In the first Pentecost 
 When th Apostles and Our Mother 
 
 sweet 
 
 Received from Heav n the promised Paraclete 
 Gravely they noted that the Holy Ghost 
 Came not in shape of fiery quill or pen, 
 Whereby as scribes unto the sons of men, 
 The sons of God might write His Gospel. . . Lost 
 In wondering awe, they see, instead, descend 
 The Spirit of all Light (their hearts desire), 
 Disguised in flaming symbols Tongues of Fire, 
 Which, to each head a golden glory lend. 
 Thus by the Tongue their mission was assign d ; 
 Go forth and preach the Gospel to mankind, 
 And teach (not write) its message to the end!
 
 WHEN, WHERE, AND HOW? 
 
 -EAR Lord ! in some dim future year, 
 
 In some dim future month and day, 
 
 Hi Wil 
 
 Abides the hour, the solemn hour, 
 
 When Thou shalt call my soul away, 
 That year, that month, that day of days, 
 
 Come soon? come late? I know not when. 
 O Thou, who rulest all my ways ! 
 
 Master of life, whom Death obeys, 
 Be with me then, be with me then ! 
 
 Somewhere upon this globe of ours 
 
 Is hid the spot where I must die, 
 Where mid the snows, or mid the flowers, 
 
 My shrouded form shall coffin d lie. 
 If north or south ? If east or west? 
 
 At home ? abroad ? I know not where. 
 O tender Father, Lord of grace ! 
 
 Whose presence fills the realms of space, 
 Be with me there, be with me there !
 
 134 WHEN, WHERE, AND HOW? 
 
 By fire? by flood? by famine sore? 
 
 By sudden stroke? by slow decay? 
 When Death s dark angel opes my door, 
 
 How shall it call my soul away? 
 God only knows ; HE bends the bow, 
 
 And He alone can fix the dart. 
 Yet care I not when, where, or how 
 
 The end may come, sweet Lord ! if Thou 
 Wilt then but shield ine in Thy Heart !
 
 THE LIFTED HAT. 
 
 dawn, along a lonely street, 
 mm 
 
 Thro winds and whirling snow, 
 I* 
 
 Unto his toil, with hurrying feet, 
 
 I watched a poor man go. 
 
 His thread-bare garments, gainst the cold, 
 
 Were sad defence, I fear : 
 But, bravely pressing on behold ! 
 
 Our Lady s Church stood near. 
 
 And, as he pass d where Jesus sat 
 
 Upon His altar throne, 
 The poor man raised his rusty hat, 
 
 And hailed the Hidden One. 
 
 What secret prayer was on his tongue, 
 
 What rev rence in his heart, 
 (While his rapt soul its incense flung 
 
 To Him who dwells apart,)
 
 136 THE LIFTED HAT. 
 
 No man can say, God only knows 
 The prayers conceived or said ; 
 
 Few, save the angels, saw him pause 
 With meek, uncover d head. 
 
 Yet, did his act more faith declare 
 Than schoolmen s tomes profound ; 
 
 A speaking Faith and Love were there, 
 Tho lips gave forth no sound ; 
 
 And heaven s court with splendor blazed, 
 
 And angels gan to sing, 
 When, his torn hat, the poor man raised, 
 
 To hail his hidden King ! 
 # # # * * * 
 
 O tender Heart of Christ, our Lord ! 
 
 Perchance, that gesture mute 
 More glory on Thine altar poured 
 
 Than might a King s salute ! 
 
 Perchance, the guileless piety 
 
 Of Thine unlettered poor 
 Is sweeter, dearer, far to Thee 
 
 Than angel s worship pure !
 
 FORGIVING AND FORGETTING. 
 
 FORGIVE, but I never forget I " she said, 
 Witli a frown on her dark, forbidding 
 
 When one she had wounded humbly pled 
 For peace and pardon now. 
 
 " My foes, my footstool! cried David the king; 
 
 A Christian (you say) forgives the debt ! 
 All ! yes, but forgetting s another thing 
 
 /never can forget ! " 
 
 And then, ignoring the proffer d hand, 
 Blind to the love in the wistful eyes, 
 
 She went her way to the woful land 
 That knows no Paradise ; 
 
 Went her way to the black eclipse 
 Shadowing all that from Love depart, 
 
 The rose of forgiveness on her lips, 
 The thorns of hate in her heart.
 
 138 FORGIVING AND FORGETTING. 
 
 For, after her trod a shadowy Shape 
 
 Thorn-crown d cross-laden wounded sore 
 
 The crimson Blood, like the juice of the grape, 
 Dropping behind, before ! 
 
 And ever and aye in her ears shall live 
 His piercing cry ; " What of tliy debt? 
 
 How shalt thou fare if /forgive, 
 Yet never, never forget ? "
 
 THE MOTHERLESS HOME, 
 
 that sad day when the Angel of 
 
 Death 
 fiix/D 
 
 Swept over our hearth on his pinions of 
 
 sorrow, 
 And the mother we prized as the breath of our 
 
 breath, 
 Lay lifeless and cold on the morrow; 
 
 Before that dark day, did I wander afar 
 
 At Duty s behest, or the promptings of Pleas 
 ure? 
 
 My heart, like the needle that turns to the star, 
 Turned ever to Home, as its treasure. 
 
 And I wearied of joys, I grew sick of delights, 
 Mid scenes new and charming, I pined for an 
 other, 
 
 Mine own quiet ingle, where Home s cheery lights 
 Were the face and the smile of my mother!
 
 140 THE MOTHERLESS HOME. 
 
 But since, from our midst, from the arms of our 
 
 love, 
 
 The shade of our dearest pass d outward for 
 ever, 
 Let me flee where I will (like the wind-beaten 
 
 dove), 
 My heart s never home-sick, no, never ! 
 
 Indifferent, tho weary, where er I may roam 
 (With sighs, that the bravest of wills cannot 
 
 smother), 
 I have learn d, in Love s language, that Mother is 
 
 ffome, 
 And Home but a weak word for Mother ! 
 
 O Friend ! as you sit at your desolate hearth, 
 And gaze thro your tears at the one vacant 
 
 corner, 
 Whence the shadow of Death seems to spread o er 
 
 the earth 
 And veil every joy, like a mourner ;
 
 THE MOTHERLESS HOME. 141 
 
 Iii the long, lonesome days that are certain to 
 
 come, 
 Let this comforting balm to your sore heart be 
 
 given : 
 That, if Home is but Mother, and Mother is 
 
 Home, 
 Both Mother and Home are in heaven 1
 
 A TAPER AT LOURDES. 
 
 OWN in the Grotto of Lourdes, 
 
 Over the wide blue sea, 
 A taper fine, at our Lady s shrine, 
 Was lighted and burned for me ; 
 
 Lighted and burned for me, 
 
 By a loved and loving friend, 
 Whose constant soul no chances control, 
 
 No changes or doubts attend. 
 
 On the purest feast of our Queen, 
 A-blaze at her rose-deck d feet. 
 
 That taper of grace to her beautiful face 
 Lifted its lustre sweet. 
 
 Wasting and waning there, 
 
 Running in drops to the ground, 
 
 The incense thick from its sparkling wick, 
 Scenting the air around,
 
 A TAPER AT LOURDES. 143 
 
 Like a star of the night it shone, 
 Like a flower of flame it bloomed, 
 
 As tho twere a joy without alloy 
 To be at Her feet consumed. 
 
 beautiful, trembling light! 
 O candle aglow in the Grot ! 
 
 In the midst of the moil of my daily toil, 
 My spirit forgets thee not. 
 
 And ever across the gloom 
 
 Of the clouds that come and go, 
 
 1 seem to behold thy flicker of gold, 
 And thy wax like sunlit snow. 
 
 I bless the bees in their hive. 
 
 That wrought so gracious a comb, 
 
 And the myriad flowers of Pyrenese bowers 
 Whose honey enticed them to roam. 
 
 I bless the friend of my soul 
 
 Whose love remembered me there, 
 
 Where the Virgin white, with her rosary bright, 
 Shineth, a Vision of prayer !
 
 144 A TAPER AT LOURDES. 
 
 And, taking my heart in my hands, 
 
 I offer it up to the Queen ; 
 And cry : " Blest Maid, in glory arrayed, 
 
 Behold, my taper terrene ! 
 
 " Ah ! set it aglow with thy love, 
 
 Let purity kindle its blaze, 
 Till here on thy shrine, heart and taper of mine 
 
 Be burned and consumed in thy praise ! "
 
 THOSE OUTSTRETCHED ARMS. 
 
 TOUCHING old tradition sweetly saith 
 That when the dead Christ neath the 
 
 Cross reposed, 
 His open Eyes, all glazed and dim with death, 
 By Mary s tender hand, were meekly closed. 
 
 But when the bruised and swollen Arms she strove 
 To gently fold upon His bleeding breast 
 
 O might and mystery of deathless Love ! 
 
 She could not close or bend those Members blest ! 
 
 Covered with wounds, He lay upon her knee, 
 His blesseM mangled Hands spread wide apart, 
 
 As though to say : " Poor sinners! come to Me, 
 And, even yet, I ll clasp you to My Heart ! " 
 
 As though to say : " O suff ring saints, who yearn 
 
 To hide your sorrows in a faithful breast, 
 Come, cast yourselves into these Arms, and learn 
 That in My Bosom ye may safely rest ! "
 
 146 THOSE OUTSTRETCHED ARMS. 
 
 Dear Arms, where thus, both saint and sinner find 
 Repose from pain, release from sin and woe ; 
 
 (Within whose sanctuary close-enshrined 
 
 The coldest heart with rapturous love must 
 glow ;) 
 
 Dear outstretched Arms ! so full of mute appeal, 
 Tho oft I ve spurned your fond embrace of 
 yore, 
 
 Ah ! let me now unto your shelter steal, 
 
 And nestle there, sweet Love ! forever more !
 
 THE HERMITS VISION. 
 
 saw the land before him, dark ning, lie, 
 Spread with unnumbered snares and pit 
 falls deep. 
 Gazing with fixed and slow-distending eye, 
 
 (As one who wakes from nightmare in his 
 
 sleep,) 
 
 " O, who," he cried, "shall be of safety sure? 
 Who, mid these many toils, shall pass secure ? " 
 
 Around, about, and midways, unaware, 
 
 And yet aware, (their passions for their guide), 
 
 Like game entrapp d, or birds in fowler s snare, 
 The souls of men were caught. The hermit 
 sighed : 
 
 " O, Christ, my Saviour, who shall scape the lure? 
 
 Who, mid these wiles, shall pass to Thee, secure?"
 
 148 THE HERMIT S visiox. 
 
 Clear from the heavens (in whose azure arc, 
 The stars, like jewels, glowed), the answer fell; 
 
 O er ambush d land, and pitfalls deep and dark, 
 The message rang, like some blest golden bell : 
 
 " Lowly of heart, and of a spirit poor, 
 
 Humility alone can pass secure! "
 
 CHE1SFS DOVES. 
 
 (On seeing a Community of Nuns enter their Chapel for prayer.) 
 
 I. 
 
 >VER the sea, in Venice fair, 
 
 At the old Cathedral of St Mark, 
 When the silvery chimes on the noon 
 tide air, 
 
 Float o er the waters cool and dark 
 From airy turret, from spire and dome, 
 
 (A murmuring throng at the portal grand), 
 The doves of St. Mark in legions come 
 To be fed, each day, by a loving hand. 
 
 II. 
 
 Why do I dream of the doves this hour? 
 
 A fluttering sound, as of wings, I hear; 
 The bell hath chimed in the convent tower, 
 
 The nuns at the chapel door appear.
 
 150 CHRIST S DOVES. 
 
 Slender figures in raiment dark, 
 
 (Flowing wimple and snowy band) : 
 
 The doves of Christ, like the doves of St. Mark, 
 Have come to feed from a loving Hand ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Murmuring low the whispered words 
 
 Of a tender prayer, the virgins kneel ; 
 Lo ! like the meek Venetian birds, 
 
 They gather here for their mystic meal ; 
 And the Master keepeth the noonday tryst, 
 
 And manna sweet from His golden ark 
 Abundant giveth, O doves of Christ ! 
 
 Ye are better fed than the doves of St. Mark!
 
 THE QUEEN AND THE KINGS. 
 I. 
 
 IXKLING bells and camels brave, 
 
 Jf5 Spices, gold, and precious stones, 
 7 
 .} Glittering train of dusky slaves, 
 
 Silken-clad, with jewel d zones ; 
 
 From Arabia Felix rare, 
 
 (Honey-breath d and bright of sun), 
 Comes the Queen of Saba fair 
 
 To the ancient Solomon. 
 
 II. 
 
 Camels brave and tinkling bells, 
 Myrrh, and frankincense, and gold ; 
 
 Lo ! the sparkling cortege swells 
 With the dark-skin n d slaves of old ! 
 
 Epha, Madian, Saba sweet, 
 
 Send their Kings. O Queen, long gone I 
 Greet they at the CHRIST-CHILD S feet, 
 
 Greater King than Solomon !
 
 THE GRA VES OF CHILDREN. 
 I. 
 
 ;HEN in the west hangs low 
 
 The autumn sun, 
 And gentle breezes blow 
 Among the trees, till slow 
 
 Fall, one by one, 
 
 The withered leaves and brown, 
 It is a quiet fancy then to wander 
 Into the little village churchyard yonder, 
 And there to sit me down. 
 
 II. 
 
 It is a pleasant place 
 
 Of peace and prayer ; 
 And with a rev rent pace 
 And thoughtful grace, 
 Grief covers up her face 
 
 In silence there;
 
 THE GRAVES OB" CHILDKEN. 153 
 
 Fierce wail and bitter moan, 
 Above these couches, mossy in their chillness, 
 Waver and die, and in the placid stillness, 
 
 God s patience walks alone. 
 
 III. 
 
 Here do the aged lie, 
 
 Like garnered grain, 
 Beneath the quiet sky, 
 With darkly-shadowed eye 
 And dreamless brain, 
 Pale hands and pulseless breast. 
 After the years of life, (a weary number,) 
 God to their tired frames hath given slumber, 
 And everlasting rest. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Not there I care to go. 
 
 Nor pause to weep ; 
 But where I know 
 There falls the purest snow,
 
 154 THE GRAVES OF CHILDREN. 
 
 And wild vines creep, 
 O er little ones asleep 
 In peace below. 
 
 "Pis there the quiet woos 
 
 To steal apart from all the world s rude bustle, 
 
 And in this solitude, where dead leaves rustle, 
 
 To linger long and muse. 
 
 V. 
 
 Muse on the blessed lot 
 Which gathered here 
 On flower -sprinkl d bier, 
 (Earth s sorrow knowing not), 
 Into this sacred spot, 
 
 And silence drear, 
 These little tender lambs 
 
 With tiny frames unused to life s fierce wrest 
 ling 
 
 And folded hands with fairy blossoms nestling 
 Within the snowy palms.
 
 THE GRAVES OF CHILDREN. 155 
 
 VI. 
 
 Soft is their endless rest ; 
 
 Above them now 
 There come no visions blest 
 Of floating hair caressed, 
 
 Or aching brow 
 On Mother s bosom press d. 
 There lie neglected toys, 
 By many a hearth but tiny form and finger 
 In twilight memories of loved ones linger, 
 Like buried household joys! 
 
 VII. 
 
 O angel hands ! which hold 
 
 Death s bitter draught, 
 We grieve not when by old 
 And weary lips a -cold, 
 
 Your cup is quaffed ; 
 But when its droplets shine 
 On blushing lips of those in childhood taken, 
 O God ! how hope and loving faith are shaken 
 By that dread blow of Thine !
 
 156 THE GRAVES OF CHILDREN, 
 
 VIII. 
 
 To find amid the dead 
 A mossy nest, 
 Wherein must rest 
 The little pet whose head 
 Was in the twilight laid ; 
 
 -Upon thy breast; 
 Whose dreamy eyes were raised 
 And searching thine, while soft reply was given 
 Unto the earnest question of that Heaven, 
 Where now it stands amazed! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Tis hard, and yet we know 
 
 We should not mourn 
 When children pure as snow, 
 (The loved of long ago), 
 Are to the churchyard slow 
 
 And sadly borne ; 
 (Life s fairest buds but blow 
 
 To deck the urn ;)
 
 THE GRAVES OF CHILDREN. 157 
 
 And dying early thus, 
 
 They have been spared the bitter, biting sorrow 
 Which sad to-day, or sadder still to-morrow 
 Shall ever bring to us. 
 
 X. 
 Here in their slumber they 
 
 May rest as sweet 
 As when from eager play, 
 They, tired, turned away, 
 
 And at their mother s feet 
 Reposeful lay ; 
 
 With pretty shining hair 
 Thrown back to wave upon the fair young 
 
 shoulder, 
 
 And thought-touch d brow, which, ne er might 
 know the older 
 
 And deeper lines of care. 
 
 XL 
 
 Peace to their rest beneath 
 
 The rustling trees ! 
 As falls the leaf, 
 Or blossom from the wreath,
 
 158 THE GRAVES OF CHILDREN. 
 
 As sword flashed from its sheath, 
 
 The lot of these 
 Hath brilliant been, but brief; 
 And though we weep, 
 
 Room, angels, room within yon happy Heaven, 
 And rare rejoicing that our God hath given 
 His little children sleep !
 
 "AS THE HEN GATHERETH HER 
 CHICKENS} 
 
 N her wicker nest by the old barn-door, 
 
 The hen in the sunlight broods, 
 
 It 
 
 Shielding a dozen chickens or more, 
 
 In fondest of mother-moods. 
 
 Some, in the amber fringe at her neck, 
 Some, in the down of her breast : 
 
 While others under her pinions peck, 
 The warm plumes hiding the rest. 
 
 O lovely, fluffy, feather d things! 
 
 Wee brown and golden birds ! 
 As ye nestle under your mother s wings, 
 
 I think of the blessdd words, 
 
 The words that came, like the wail of death, 
 
 From a Heart Divinely true : 
 " As the hen her chickens gathereth, 
 
 So had I gathered you,
 
 160 "AS THE HEN GATHERETH HEE CHICKENS." 
 
 Bid ye would not / "... Master ! never again 
 Shall Thy Love lament its plea 
 
 As the birds cling close to yon brooding heii, 
 So cling we close to Thee !
 
 FLOWERS OF THE NIGHT. 
 MARVELOUS tree is the Sorrowful 
 
 Tree, 
 
 4=^=^ The growth of a bosky defile, 
 Away, far away, near the coast of Bombay, 
 On Goa s luxuriant isle. 
 
 Whilst the forest is bright with the sun s golden 
 
 light, 
 
 On its boughs not a blossom appears ; 
 But when day sinks to rest in the rose-tinted 
 
 west, 
 And the night-dews fall softly, like tears, 
 
 Thro the long night of gloom, in their tropical 
 bloom, 
 
 From the emerald branches outshine 
 Rich masses of flowers whose petals, in showers, 
 
 Fall ruddy and fragrant as wine.
 
 162 FLOWERS OF THE NIGHT. 
 
 Behold ! at the dawn, ev ry blossom is gone, 
 No sunbeam those buds may illume; 
 
 Yet, all the year through, in the dusk and the 
 
 dew, 
 The Sorrowful Tree is in bloom. 
 
 O comforting thought ! when the bosom is fraught 
 
 With some inexpressible \voe, 
 When the sunlight is gone, and the night draweth 
 on, 
 
 And Hope hath no blossoms to show ; 
 
 Thro the dew of our tears, like a vision, appears 
 The night-blooming tree of the East, 
 
 In the darkest of hours displaying its flowers, 
 A mourner arrayed for the feast. 
 
 Ah ! the breath of delight from those buds of the 
 night, 
 
 Shall Affliction s dark forest perfume : 
 And all the year round, by their radiance crown d, 
 
 The tree of our sorrows shall bloom !
 
 THE DEATH OF THE LILT, 
 I. 
 
 HE lily died last night ! 
 JL 
 
 I heard a whisper tremble from the mere, 
 
 I marked the crescent of the rounding 
 & 
 
 year, 
 Pale from the mellow lustre of its light. 
 
 I saw the lily dead : 
 
 Her floating bier of reeds and woven grass ; 
 Her shroud a moonbeam, and her requiem Mass 
 The hollow music from the willows shed. 
 
 II. 
 
 While all the rushy things 
 
 That grow and green beside a summer mere, 
 Wailed thro the glamour of the atmosphere 
 An anthem, as on airy cither-strings 
 
 The lily slowly rocked 
 In the dim light upon the grassy pool, 
 Fragile and pure, funereal and cool, 
 
 Her waxen lids in deadly slumber lock d.
 
 164 THE DEATH OF THE LILY, 
 
 III. 
 
 Oh, grieving heart of mine ! 
 
 (I said, with tears), Oh, friends that mourn 
 
 with me ! 
 
 The legend of the soul s lost purity 
 Is written in the lily s swift decline. 
 
 Take ye the idle pen, 
 And let me weep until the purple dawn ; 
 A something pure from out my life has gone, 
 And it can never, never come again !
 
 MORNING- GLORIES. 
 
 the trellis, up to the eaves, 
 The vine s strong tendrils creep : 
 Out of the glistening, heart-shaped leaves 
 The morning-glories peep. 
 
 Tiny chalices, purple, pink, 
 
 And clear, translucent white, 
 Into their depths the dewdrops sink, 
 
 Warm with the autumn light. 
 
 And round the vine, (with the fair sunshine 
 A-glow on its heart-shaped leaves), 
 
 Some tender dreams of the Heart Divine, 
 My reverent fancy weaves. 
 
 The purple chalices seem a type 
 
 Of the Sorrows of that Heart; 
 The radiant pink of the blossoms ripe, 
 
 Of Its Glories seem a part.
 
 166 MORNING-GLORIES. 
 
 And the silvery grail yon spray lifts up, 
 
 All stainless, seems to be 
 A type of the Eueharistie cup 
 
 And the Host s white purity ! 
 
 O heart-shaped leaves ! ye may decay, 
 Ye flow rets, withered lie, 
 
 But the Heart ye image lives for aye, 
 ITS Glories never die 1
 
 A SUNSET SYMBOL. 
 
 BEYOND yon screen of spectral trees, 
 
 The rosy Sunset Land arises; 
 Its opal gates swing in the breeze, 
 Its paths are rich with glad surprises. 
 
 The ruddy glow above the blue, 
 
 Is like a torch, rose-red and tender; 
 
 Each crystal pane it sparkles through, 
 
 And fills my chamber with its splendor! 
 
 O Sunset Land, so close at hand, 
 
 Thine open portals twined with roses, 
 The Sacred Heart s dominions grand, 
 
 In thee, I hail, as twilight closes ! 
 
 What time, methiriks, the Precious Blood 
 Dyes crimson all thine airy vapors, 
 
 Thy qniv ring flames a fiery flood 
 
 Blaze forth, as from a thousand tapers.
 
 168 A SUNSET SYMBOL. 
 
 And when thine inner cloudlets part, 
 I see within their glowing centre, 
 
 A thorn-encircled, cross-crown d Heart, 
 Inviting all Its depths to enter ! 
 
 Fling wide Thy gates, O Heart Divine, 
 So full of tenderness and pity ! 
 
 Within this Sunset Land of Thine, 
 Reveal to me Thy Golden City ! 
 
 Receive me to those depths so dear, 
 
 Ere Death s dim twilight round me closes, 
 
 There to repose, devoid of fear, 
 
 Love s victim, crowned with deathless roses !
 
 THE NEW JERUSALEM. 
 
 of peace Jerusalem ! 
 1 How gentl} 7 to the heart s unrest, 
 
 aii 
 
 Those words, like angel-accents, seem 
 Thy glories to suggest ! 
 
 A holy calm is on thy streets, 
 
 The river floweth noiselessly ; 
 And tranquil float through fair retreats 
 
 A gracious company. 
 
 For, tho they sing and strike their lyres, 
 
 A hush is on each happy sense ; 
 The brightest flame of their desires 
 
 Burns quiet, if intense. 
 
 And all their song is full of peace, 
 And all their peace is full of God 
 
 The soul s eternal sin-release, 
 A rapture deep and broad.
 
 170 THE NEW JERUSALEM. 
 
 The wearing fret, the hurrying rush 
 Of earth, stir not that life of love, 
 
 For over all a sacred hush 
 Broods, like a nestling dove. 
 
 Nor doubt, nor fear, (nor shattered hopes, 
 That scourged the soul to Death s abyss,) 
 
 Are there ; they form but golden ropes 
 Whereby it mounts to bliss ! 
 
 O peaceful Home ! how deep, how strong 
 Our yearning for thy mansions cool! 
 
 How long, my fevered heart, how long, 
 Must strife and discord rule ? 
 
 How long, ere sorrow, care and pain, 
 Jerusalem I in thee shall cease ? 
 
 Hasten the coming of thy reign, 
 Vision of endless Peace !
 
 ABANDONED. 
 
 Then His rliscijiles leaving Him, all fled away. 
 
 (ST. MAKK, xiv, 50.) 
 
 ifHY seamless robe is redder than the rose, 
 
 ML 
 
 Thy beauteous Face is blanch d with 
 
 agony; 
 The brutal soldiery around Thee close, 
 
 While, left and right, the poor disciples flee. 
 
 Mid howling wolves (meek Lamb !) Thou stand st 
 alone, 
 
 Thy bosom heaves ; Thy tears, unheeded, start ; 
 Tho cruel hands assault Thee, hard as stone, 
 
 It is not tliey, alas ! that wound Thy Heart ! 
 
 The ring of coin still echoes in Thine ears, 
 (Whereby betrayed Thee the Iscariot,) 
 
 And outrag d Love now shudders, as it hears 
 The cherished Simon s loud "I know Him 
 not ! "
 
 172 ABANDONED. 
 
 Ingratitude hath dealt its deadliest blow ; 
 O faithful Heart I forsaken at the end, 
 
 Far better are the insults of a foe, 
 
 Than the false kisses of a treach rous friend ! 
 
 Lo ! to Thy feet we bring (with souls oppressed), 
 Our wreck of broken joys, of hopes o er- 
 thrown ; 
 
 The secret, silent anguish of a breast 
 
 Which claps its cross, abandoned and alone. 
 
 When friends prove false, and loving hearts grow 
 
 cold, 
 O constant Friend ! true Love ! we turn to 
 
 Thee, 
 
 And to Thy dear, deserted Heart make bold 
 To breathe our plaint of lonely misery. 
 
 And oh ! the while we tenderly unite 
 Our tiny sorrows to Thy mighty woes, 
 
 How sweet to find (tho all earth s joys take 
 
 flight,) 
 In Thee, alone, firm peace and fix d repose !
 
 A PRAYER AND ITS ANSWER. 
 
 RUSTY shield prayed to the sun: 
 
 " O Sun ! illuminate my face 
 S With the glad glory of thy rays, 
 
 I* 
 
 That I may shine, resplendent one ! 
 As once I shone in ancient days ! " 
 
 Replied the sun : 
 
 "First cleanse thyself from rust and then 
 My Face in thee shall shine again ! " 
 
 A guilty soul prayed to its Lord : 
 " O Christ ! illuminate my face, 
 
 And let Thy lustrous flood of grace 
 Upon my darkened eyes be pour d ! 
 
 Their radiant vision once restored, 
 Thy glory shall the gloom displace ! " 
 Replied the Lord : 
 
 "First cleanse thyself from sin and then 
 
 My Face in thee shall shine again ! "
 
 THE BRIDGE OF LIFE. 
 
 line of light across the sea, 
 That twixt the em raid shadows lies, 
 A bridge of silver seems to be, 
 Let down from rifts in cloudy skies. 
 
 Outstretching to the crystal rim, 
 
 Where meet and part the sails of snow, 
 
 It sparkles through the distance dim, 
 A pier where angels come and go. 
 
 Ah ! thus, my soul, across Life s sea, 
 Mid dark ning shades of grief and care, 
 
 Outstretches to Eternity 
 
 The pure, resplendent Bridge of Prayer. 
 
 Time s airy ships advance, retreat 
 This firm bridge leadeth to the skies 
 
 For, following fast on angels feet, 
 We pass from Prayer to Paradise !
 
 THE WAY OF THE CROSS. 
 
 r OPENED the Blessed Book 
 
 In the hush of a sylvan spot, 
 And I read : "Whoever followth Me, 
 In darkness walketh not." 
 
 Cried my soul : " When shadows flee, 
 
 Lover, more than friend ! 
 
 In the glow of the light I will follow Thee, 
 Rejoicing to the end ! " 
 
 But a wind the woodland fann d, 
 And the leaves of the forest shook, 
 
 Turning, as if witli a viewless hand, 
 The leaves of that precious Book. 
 
 And lo ! on another page, 
 
 1 read again, with a sigh : 
 
 " If any man will come after Me, 
 Let him, himself, deny.
 
 176 THE WAY OF THE CROSS. 
 
 " Let him, himself, deny " it said, 
 (And I trembled shudderingly) 
 
 "And take up his cross "it sternly read, 
 "And follow, follow Me!" 
 
 O truth of truths ! On the moss, 
 I knelt in the greenwood lone, 
 
 And pondered the secret of the Cross, 
 In the living Word made known. 
 
 Who wills to walk in the light 
 That flows from a Source divine, 
 
 Lord ! in the path to Calv ry s height, 
 Must plant his steps in Thine! 
 
 For none that path can tread, 
 
 Can walk that royal road, 
 Save those that suffer, toil, and sweat, 
 
 And carry the cross of God ! 
 
 The way is narrow and rough, 
 Sharp stones the footpath strew, 
 
 And after the bleeding, burden d Christ, 
 The suff ring Christians go.
 
 THE WAY OF THE CROSS. 177 
 
 But a glow and a glory bright 
 
 On those pilgrims ever beam ; 
 For the way of the Cross is the way of light, 
 
 Of light and love supreme ! 
 
 THE APOSTLE WHO PROVED. 
 
 BSENT when came the Risen Christ to 
 cheer 
 ^-^ The trembling Ten, SAINT THOMAS by 
 
 his doubt, 
 
 The Resurrection proved, and every fear 
 By his bold testimony, put to rout. 
 
 Absent, when Mary died, and was interr d 
 Beside her tomb, it was to Thomas given, 
 
 To view its lilied void. It was his word 
 
 That proved our Queen s Assumption into 
 heaven !
 
 THE DRAMA SPIRITUALIZED. 
 
 Read by request before the Convention in the Women s 
 Building of the Cotton States and International Exposition, 
 Atlanta, Georgia, November 26, 1895. 
 
 HEY tell in ancient mythologic story 
 
 Of young Eurydice, once beauteous bride 
 g3 Of Orpheus, the prince of lyric glory, 
 (The bard by pagans to the gods allied) 
 
 Fated Eurydice ! from out the chaos 
 Of Grecian lore, we see her rise and flee 
 
 Across the meads, pursued by Aristaeus, 
 Inflamed with Bacchanalian revelry ! 
 
 Lo ! as with wind-blown robes, in flight she 
 passes 
 
 (Hearing afar her spouse s silv ry flute) 
 A jeweled serpent darting from the grasses 
 
 Stings unto death her slender, roseate foot !
 
 THE DRAMA SPIRITUALIZED. 179 
 
 And down she sinks into the gloomy region 
 Where Pluto holds his court, and Proserpine 
 
 Ringed by the Harpies and the Fates, (foul 
 
 legion !) 
 Reigneth a queen, infernally divine ! 
 
 What time Enrydice in mortal sorrow 
 
 Doth languish in that place of torturing shame, 
 
 Her spouse her Orpheus, the fatal morrow, 
 Comes seeking her within the realms of flame. 
 
 He sees the Parcse with wild eyes a-kindle, 
 He sees the serpent-crown d Eumenides : 
 
 The first display the Distaff, Shears and Spindle, 
 The latter guard the Trident and the Keys. 
 
 Pressing his way to Pluto s throne of fire, 
 
 (Past the dog Cerberus and the streams that 
 burn), 
 
 The mighty minstrel strikes his golden lyre, 
 And singing, pleads for his lost bride s return.
 
 180 THE DRAMA SPIRITUALIZED. 
 
 O matchless music ! Pluto s heart dissolving, 
 Acknowledges the singer s magic sway ; 
 
 The wheel of Ixion is no more revolving 
 The stone of Sisyphus is stilled to-day ! 
 
 And wretched Tantalus, his thirst forgetting, 
 Listens entranced to that rare melody ; 
 
 The Furies hear, while tears their eyes are wetting: 
 " Oh, give me back my lost Eurydice ! " 
 
 " She shall be thine !" Pluto at last replieth ; 
 
 " Thy song hath conquered e en our cruel spell. 
 Take her but look not back! The mortal dieth 
 
 Who turns one backward glance on us and 
 hell ! " 
 
 Oh, joy ! the lost one to her lover rushes ! 
 
 They clasp they weep they sob aloud their 
 
 bliss ! 
 Already doth the sun illume her blushes, 
 
 The winds of heav n her shining tresses kiss !
 
 THE DRAMA SPIRITUALIZED. 181 
 
 When "Hasten, love!" her happy spouse ex 
 claiming, 
 
 Turns with a backward glance to speed her 
 
 flight- 
 Alas ! alas ! the pit of Pluto flaming 
 
 Hath swallowed her forever from his sight ! 
 
 My gentle friends, methinks you are well able 
 
 To solve this riddle of antiquity, 
 To read the moral of this Grecian fable 
 
 Of hapless, lovely, lost Eurydice. 
 
 Behold ! the drama in its chaste transcendence, 
 
 The glory of its pristine loveliness, 
 Pursued, in all its classical resplendence, 
 
 By lustful suitors to hell s dread abyss ! 
 
 From out the green of treacherous morasses, 
 See, where the serpent of a Sensual art 
 
 Springs on the trembling Genius as she passes, 
 And wounds her to the death with poison d 
 dart !
 
 182 THE DRAMA SPIRITUALIZED. 
 
 Alas ! she sinks, down down she sinks despair 
 ing 
 
 Into the dark domain of sin and hell, 
 The stigma of the Damned forever sharing, 
 
 Eternal slave of Death s black citadel ! 
 
 Corruption hath assailed her incorruption, 
 The Sensual her spirit hath defiled, 
 
 For Art lascivious hath wrought destruction 
 Upon the Drama s pure and lovely child. 
 
 Oh ! who shall free the captive from her fetters ? 
 
 Who lead her, radiant, from hell s gloomy 
 
 door ? 
 Who shall release her from that den of debtors, 
 
 And lift her to a higher life once more ? 
 
 When shall there come some selfless, brave re 
 former 
 
 Far better, wiser than Apollo s son, 
 (Whose music dies in meanest, tuneless murmur 
 
 Before the measures of this mighty one !)
 
 THE DRAMA SPIRITUALIZED. 183 
 
 To cleanse the age in its polluted fountains, 
 To tame the savage beasts of Passions wild, 
 
 Uproot Impurity s gigantic mountains, 
 
 And flood the stage with beauty undefiled ? 
 
 All this must be the work of some grand creature 
 In true, regen rate Art s Millennium, 
 
 When Grace shall rule triumphant over Nature, 
 And heav nly cohorts smite the demons dumb ! 
 
 Arise, O Christian Orpheus ! bring hither 
 Thy golden lyre filled with heaven s song ! 
 
 Make music with the viol and the zither 
 That shall beguile the cruel and the strong ! 
 
 Sing, till the very courts of Satan tremble, 
 Till Fate and Fury, melting, yield to thee ! 
 
 Cry where the princes of the Dead assemble : 
 " Oh, give us back our Drama s purity ! " 
 
 And when she comes, the Genius fair and gifted, 
 In all her blushing beauty s smiles and tears, 
 
 When to thy bosom she is, rapturous, lifted, 
 And borne aloft to higher, purer spheres
 
 184 THE DRAMA SPIRITUALIZED. 
 
 O Christian Orpheus ! look not back, I pray thee, 
 Let not thy glances seek a sensual past ; 
 
 No lure should tempt no obstacle delay thee 
 From speeding to thine eyrie, free and fast ! 
 
 Onward and upward ! Death and hell behind 
 
 thee 
 
 May clamor for their prey. Albeit baptized 
 With fire, thou shalt fear naught no chain shall 
 
 bind thee, 
 
 No hounding demon ever track or find thee ; 
 Heav n s victor thou shalt be, since tis assigned 
 
 thee, 
 To hail the Drama pure and spiritualized !
 
 SYMPATHY. 
 
 GOLDEN oil upon Life s creaking wheels, 
 Bidding the noisy cycles soundless turn ; 
 
 M 
 
 Love s unguent on each smarting seam 
 
 and burn, 
 
 Blessing the wounds its gracious balsam heals; 
 A perfect strain of harmony which steals 
 Into the jarring discords of our earth, 
 Till ev ry soul its soothing sweetness feels, 
 And melancholy brightens into mirth. 
 
 Sans sympathy a man can never prove 
 A true apostle of the One whose tread 
 Broke not the bruised reed, nor (in His love) 
 The smoking flax crush d or extinguished. 
 He who would image Christ must ever be 
 Filled with a Christlike genial sympathy.
 
 TEE ACADIANS IN PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 " Those of the Acadiaus (or French Neutrals) who came to 
 Philadelphia were provided with quarters in a long range of 
 one-story wooden houses built ou the north side of Pine street, 
 and extending from Fifth to Sixth street." (Watson s Annals, 
 Vol. I.) 
 
 SIT alone at my window ; 
 
 The twilight lowers its veil, 
 
 And soft thro the violet shadow, 
 
 The stars peep far and pale. 
 
 Just over the way, the houses 
 Melt from sight, like the snow, 
 
 And in their stead arises 
 A vision of long ago ; 
 
 A dream of the days departed, 
 When (near the pine trees belt), 
 
 The simple-soul d, meek-hearted 
 Acadian exiles dwelt.
 
 THE ACADIANS IN PHILADELPHIA. 187 
 
 Dissolved are bricks and mortar 
 
 The children of Grand-Pre 
 Fill all that ancient quarter 
 
 With huts, long past away ! 
 
 The low huts of the brethren 
 
 Of sweet Evangeline, 
 Flow r of the poor French Neutrals, 
 
 In meadows still and green ! 
 
 Near by, the Quaker Almshouse 
 Stretched long and low and red, 
 
 Where Gabriel, the lost one, 
 Lay dying on his bed, 
 
 When thro its doors, heart-broken, 
 His sweetheart passed one day, 
 
 Leaving her love-dream s golden rose 
 A heap of ashes gray. 
 
 Up yonder square, dear reader, 
 
 If wand ring thoughtfully, 
 You ll find the little graveyard 
 
 Of HOLY TRINITY ;
 
 188 THE ACADIANS IN PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 And there, amid their brethren, 
 Tis said, they slumber sweet,* 
 
 Evangeline, the faithful, 
 With Gabriel at her feet. 
 
 The moss creeps o er the marble, 
 The rank grass wilts or waves ; 
 
 The wild birds come to warble 
 Where ivy clothes the graves ; 
 
 And o er them floats the singing 
 Of the old German choir, 
 
 The church-bells mellow ringing 
 From realms purer, higher. 
 
 The busy streets around them 
 Are full of change and stir; 
 
 No sound of strife can reach his life, 
 And all is peace for her ! 
 
 In their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping; 
 Under the humble walls of the little Catholic churchyard, 
 lu the heart of the city they lie." 
 
 LONGFELLOW S Ecangeline. 
 
 There has been much contention as to the exact spot where 
 the Acadians lie buried.
 
 THE ACADIANS IN PHILADELPHIA. 189 
 
 The Past (outside my window) 
 
 The Present blurs and blots ; 
 I see naught in the shadow 
 
 Of white Acadian cots, 
 
 Save two fair phantom models 
 
 Of pure devotedness 
 Evangeline Bellefontaine 
 
 And Gabriel Lajeunesse !
 
 ASCENSION DAY. 
 
 WEARY time was that, to mortals given, 
 
 When (all abyssed in misery profound), 
 ^x^ Throughout the vast bright courts of 
 
 beauteous heaven 
 No human soul was found. 
 
 No creature of our race in flesh or spirit 
 
 Abode within God s holy Paradise, 
 No child of earth was suffered to inherit 
 
 That kingdom of the skies. 
 
 Angels, archangels, thrones and dominations, 
 Powers and virtues, shining cherubim, 
 
 Glad principalities, in jubilation, 
 
 Made music with the glowing seraphim ; 
 
 But in that chorus of exultant sweetness, 
 
 While golden harp-strings with delight were 
 stirr d, 
 
 The ear of God perceived an incompleteness, 
 No human voice ivas heard!
 
 ASCENSION DAY. 191 
 
 At last, there came a Day when all those mansions 
 Thrilled thro their rapturous void of Self s 
 alloy, 
 
 The jasper walls upon their jewel d stanchions 
 Trembled with strangest joy ! 
 
 For from the outer space, there came a thunder 
 Of many voices chanting, as in choir, 
 
 A psalm so sweet, the angels gazed in wonder, 
 And hush d was every lyre. 
 
 Wide on their hinges, rolled the pearly portals, 
 Forth swept the spirits by sweet urgence 
 driven, 
 
 Thrice welcome was that band of blessed mortals 
 Who came to share their heaven ! 
 
 Foremost and fairest, shone their Captain glori 
 ous, 
 
 The Risen Christ. He led that shining throng, 
 That white -robed throng, who bore their palms 
 
 victorious 
 And sang their triumph-song !
 
 ASCENSION DAY. 
 
 Out from the Limbo of the buried ages, 
 
 They came, those ransomed souls of long ago, 
 
 Prophets and patriarchs, saints, heroes, sages, 
 And virgins chaste as snow. 
 
 They came to claim their heritage supernal, 
 
 Purchased by Jesus Blood * * * With rare 
 delight, 
 
 To see, where all was peerlessly eternal, 
 
 Their flesh uplifted to the Godhead s height ! 
 
 " Roll back your gates ! " they sang : " the night 
 
 is over, 
 
 The long night of our waiting! (Cleansed from 
 sin,) 
 
 With Christ, our King of glory, man s best Lover, 
 We come to reign oh ! let us enter in ! 
 
 " Ye mighty doors give way, (as clouds auroral 
 Melt rosy-hued before the rising sun ! ) 
 
 Hail ! Land of Rest! Welcome, celestial choral ! 
 The goal of Paradise at last is won ! "
 
 THE CHAMBER OF CHRIST. 
 
 I. 
 
 the homes of the early Christians, 
 (Those shrines of peace and prayer,) 
 Of all the goodly chambers, 
 The one beyond compare, 
 The fairest and the brightest, 
 
 Where Faith and Love held tryst, 
 Was the tranquil little chamber 
 They called the ROOM OF CHRIST. 
 
 n. 
 
 For there, the brave believers, 
 
 Across the threshold pure, 
 Led in the weary wand rers, 
 
 The sick, the sad, the poor; 
 And there, the homely banquet 
 
 For hungry ones was spread ; 
 And pilgrim limbs were rested 
 
 Upon the peaceful bed.
 
 194 THE CHAMBER OF CHRIST. 
 
 III. 
 
 O Faith and Love! that worshipp d 
 
 With fond adoring eyes, 
 Behind each veil of suff ring, 
 
 Your Lord in lowly guise : 
 Twas JESUS whom ye welcomed, 
 
 And wooed to food and rest, 
 In ev ry wand ring pilgrim, 
 
 In ev ry sorrowing guest ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 And thus that hallowed chamber, 
 
 (To strangers sacrificed,) 
 Was known, throughout the mansion, 
 
 As the little ROOM or CHRIST ; 
 And who shall say what blessings 
 
 A bounteous heaven pour d 
 Upon each happy household 
 
 That there received its Lord ? 
 
 V. 
 
 Dear Christians, gentle readers, 
 When ye your homes adorn,
 
 THE CHAMBER OF CHRIST. 195 
 
 Do ye reserve a chamber 
 
 For pilgrim-guests forlorn ? 
 A spot where woes may slumber, 
 
 And withered hopes may bloom ? 
 Ah ! then, within your households, 
 
 Christ hath His favorite Room !
 
 SWEET PEACE. A PICTURE. 
 
 the wall 
 
 The autumn light, like golden wine, is 
 pour d ; 
 
 Upon the wall 
 There hangeth high a soldier s belt and sword. 
 
 Thro lattice low, 
 The winds of Indian summer steal and melt ; 
 
 And to and fro, 
 The} 7 gently blow the soldier s sword and belt. 
 
 Oh, slumb riug sword ! 
 Swing lightly on the wall ; shine bright and blue ! 
 
 Oh, idle sword ! 
 There s no more bloody work for thee to do. 
 
 No more for thee, 
 Oh, belt content to dangle in the sun ! 
 
 War, anarchy, 
 And girded strife for thee are surely done.
 
 SWEET PEACE. A PICTURE. 
 
 For thee no more 
 Ah ! best of all no more, no more for thee, 
 
 Oh, soldier ! Sick of war, 
 Here rest, and take thy baby on thy knee ! 
 
 Here calmly sit, 
 And watch the orchards ripen in the sun ; 
 
 Thy pipe is lit, 
 And gaily prate thy wife and little one. 
 
 Oh ! golden Peace ! 
 Oh, happy calm, which follows after storm ! 
 
 When clamors cease, 
 How sweet to rest in haven still and warm ! 
 
 Good sword ! the rust 
 May creep and creep along thy polishM blade ; 
 
 And moth-flies must 
 Make havoc, belt, among thy tinsel d braid, 
 
 But (happy wight !) 
 Your master tastes the bliss of your release. 
 
 Oh, God of might ! 
 
 Who blessed our fight, bless now our welcome 
 peace !
 
 THE CHANGES OF THE YEARS. 
 
 HERE is naught so sad, (save Sin), 
 
 j viS In this sad old world of ours, 
 /<4 V} 3 
 |0] (Where the light is shadow s kin, 
 
 And the thorns outlive the flowers); 
 There is naught so rends the heart, 
 
 Or so melts the soul in tears, 
 As the pain which forms a part 
 
 Of the changes of the years. 
 
 Earth and all the things thereof 
 
 Find their fate in Death s decree ; 
 Hearts once linked in fondest love 
 
 Drift apart, like ships at sea. 
 Through the roses on the wall, 
 
 Lo ! the imp of Ruin leers ; 
 And the fairest fabrics fall 
 
 With the changes of the years.
 
 THE CHANGES OF THE YEAKS. 199 
 
 Now, tis absence, now, deceit, 
 
 Now, some foolish words, half-play, 
 Yet a friendship strong and sweet 
 
 Hath forever passed away. 
 There are sadder things than death 
 
 In the vision of the seers, 
 Love s a dream, and Joy s a breath 
 
 In the changes of the years. 
 
 In the fane, and at the feast, 
 
 There is many a stranger-guest: 
 At the shrine, a stranger-priest 
 
 Offers up the Victim blest; 
 While the vacant seats are filled, 
 
 We must mount to purer spheres, 
 If we seek the balm distilled 
 
 From the changes of the years. 
 
 One by one, the dear ones go, 
 One by one, old friends depart, 
 
 Strangely still old homesteads grow j 
 Death is busy with his dart.
 
 200 THE CHANGES OF THE YEARS. 
 
 Like a ghost beside the hearth, 
 Mocking Memory appears, 
 
 Ah ! there s naught so sad on earth 
 As the changes of the years ! 
 
 Here, we miss a friendly face, 
 
 There, a form we prized hath fled : 
 Beams no more a tender grace 
 
 From beloved eyes long-dead. 
 Marriage-bells ring funeral-chimes, 
 
 Bridal beds have turned to biers, 
 Thro all places, thro all times, 
 
 Roll the changes of the years. 
 
 Ah ! the heart grows faint witli dread, 
 
 Ah ! the eyes grow dim with \voe ; 
 O er unnumber d tombs we tread, 
 
 Stumbling blindly on below; 
 Tracking ever thro the dark 
 
 Some lov d shape which disappears,- 
 Leaving naught, save grief to mark 
 
 The sad changes of the years.
 
 THE CHANGES OF THE YEARS. 201 
 
 O Thou fair and faithful One ! 
 
 Ever old, yet ever new, 
 O Thou Father, Spirit, Son ! 
 
 Who, alone, art firm and true : 
 Thou hast nothing sad or strange 
 
 That can freeze our hopes to fears, 
 Thou dost alter not nor change 
 
 With the changes of the years. 
 
 Then, to Thee, ray God ! I ll cling, 
 
 On Thy Rock my soul is stayed ; 
 Neath the shadow of Thy wing, 
 
 I shall nestle undismayed : 
 Hold me fast thro Death s dark night, 
 
 Till Thy day-star bright appears, 
 Lo ! Eternity shall right 
 
 All the changes of the years !
 
 GONE! 
 
 A CAROL FOR XEW YEAR S EVE. 
 I. 
 
 , bells, within your airy heights ; wail, 
 winds, o er moor and mere, 
 
 On this, the saddest of all nights, the 
 
 s 
 
 last night of the year ; 
 The last, long night when lamps are lit, like tapers 
 
 round a bier, 
 When quiet folk at still hearths sit, and God 
 
 seems very near. 
 
 II. 
 
 Tho vainly o er his nameless woes, full many a 
 mortal weeps, 
 
 Tho folded in the silent snows, full many a dar 
 ling sleeps ; 
 
 Tho pleasant eyes that saw it come, can never see 
 it go, 
 
 Still, kindly hath this Old Year done its mission 
 here below.
 
 GONE ! 203 
 
 III. 
 
 For ev ry cloud within its breast, a golden sun 
 beam bore, 
 
 And ev ry joy was doubly bless d by sorrows gone 
 before ; 
 
 And ev ry sinless soul that laid mortality aside, 
 
 Departing, left us in its stead an angel holy-eyed ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 And on this last night of the year, this quiet, 
 dreamy night, 
 
 The angel-messengers are here, a goodly, gracious 
 sight ! 
 
 With white robes shining thro the gloom, with 
 fair, immortal faces, 
 
 They flit around the home-like room, and fill fa 
 miliar places. 
 
 V. 
 
 Their hands are felt, where other hands were felt 
 
 in days before, 
 Their heads are laid where other heads shall 
 
 never nestle more !
 
 204 GONE ! 
 
 Their rustling footsteps seem to mock the patt ring 
 
 feet, now clay, 
 And mingling with the ticking clock, their voices 
 
 breathe alwaj 
 
 VI. 
 
 Of myriad blessings to be born within the com 
 ing year ; 
 
 Of love and peace for those that mourn, and hope 
 for those that fear ; 
 
 Of darksome records cleansed for aye, from sorrow 
 and from sin, 
 
 Of good seed sown, and (in their day), rich har 
 vests gathered in. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Of ships that shall go down to sea, and leave a 
 
 shining track, 
 And after cruising merrily, shall bring their 
 
 treasures back ; 
 And of those ships of rarer sort, Man s noblest 
 
 argosy, 
 Which back shall bring to safest port, the wealth 
 
 of Faith s fair Sea !
 
 GONE ! 205 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The old clock strikes upon the stair ; Time s 
 
 tide is at the turn ; 
 And here, and there, and everywhere, the New 
 
 
 
 Year tapers burn. 
 The mimes and masquers fill the street ; the bells 
 
 clang o er the river ; 
 The horns are blown, the drums are beat, the 
 
 Old Year s gone forever ! 
 
 NOTE. "The conversion of St. Margaret of Cortona," 
 "The Master s Cloak," "The Star of the Kings," and "The 
 Sparrow s Lesson" were first printed in the Ave Maria; "A 
 Sunset Symbol " in the Messenger of the Sacred Heart; in " The 
 Birth of the Holly" in the Little Pilgrim; "Sympathy in 
 Donahoc s Magazine; and " The Acadians" in the American 
 Catholic Historical Records,
 
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