By the Sea, and Other Verses

BE YE ALSO READY

Let us be still before Him. Yet once moreThat voice hath spoken to our startled soulsWhich fell in solemn cadence on the earOf the hushed listeners on Mt. Olive's hill:"At eventide, at midnight, or at morn,The Son of Man shall come, shall surely come;Be ready, for ye may not know the hour."And if at eventide, when Nature foldsHer toil-spent hands and sinks into repose;Or if at midnight hour of gloom Thou come,Or when the morning spreads her wings of light,Oh make us ready for the solemn call.Supply our need, of knowledge, wisdom, grace,Dear Lord, that with confiding joy our souls,Made pure of sin and strong in faith, may goTo meet Thee at Thy coming. If the soundOf sweet home-voices follow to the brinkOf death's dark river, as they fainter grow,Then let us hear Thy still small voice of love;Say to us, "It is I – be not afraid."Or if the angel of the icy handShould find us when no human friend is nearAnd summon us away, then as we loseOur hold of earth and fall away from life,O wilt Thou grant our parting spirits mayGo out in silence and be found with Thee.

MIMOSA

A modest plant; soft shades of greenIn leaflets poised on slender stem;And all outspread to catch the glowOf morning sun or dew-drop gem.But, lo, what change! When finger-tipsBut touch the leaflets' fringe, the charmOf life is gone – Mimosa shrinks,As conscious of some present harm.So would I have my soul recoilFrom touch of wrong or thought of sin;So throw its portals wide again,To let the dew and sunshine in.

AT THE CRISIS

I. – THE STEAMBOAT BELLS

When steamboats approach Mt. Vernon their bells begin to toll, and continue the mournful service until the sacred spot is again left in the distance.

Mt. Vernon's shade sweet vigil keepsWhere on her breast her hero sleeps;O passing bells, soft be your tone,Toll gently for our Washington.Toll, the great Warrior's strife is o'er;Toll, for the Statesman pleads no more;Toll – for a Man is fallen – on,Peal out your dirge for Washington.Toll for a people's wounded heart,Toll for a bleeding Nation's smart,Toll for a World! – toll sadly on —The world hath lost a Washington.Ring out your wailing on the air,And let it be a voice of prayer;He whom we greatly need is gone; —God give another Washington.1863Thus while she listened to the mournful knellThat woke sad echoes on Potomac's shore;Saw how from Sumter's height her banner fell,And heard, not distant far, loud battle's roar; —Thus, while she heard the impatient bondman's moan,Knew her own power defied, her trust betrayed;While Treason rose to hurl her from her throne —The Spirit of the Union mused and prayed.II. – THE EMANCIPATORGod gave another; while we stoodAghast before the coming floodOf war, and its attending woes,The one for whom she prayed arose.Blinded and deaf, we knew him not;Yet saw him wipe out slavery's blot;Heard him proclaim his people free,From lake to gulf, from sea to sea.Saw this and heard, but deaf and blind,We failed to recognize the Mind,Which, going on from strength to strength,From grace to grace, had grown at length,Thro the stern lessons of the hour,Of danger, censure, praise and power,To be the Man among us, one,Whom now we hail, since he is gone,Lincoln, our more than Washington.1866

ON THE DEATH OF DR. JAMES E. RHOADS

Fallen? No; his part was finishedIn the earthly toil and strife;He hath but lain his armor by,And entered into life.Silent? No; tho' hushed foreverTones that did like music thrill,Through example, helpful, holy,Lo, he speaketh still.Vanished? Lost to those that loved him?No; his spirit lingering nearStill doth woo them, onward, upward,Whispering, "Be of cheer."Crowned? Aye, crowned in earth and heaven;Here with laurels fairly won;There with star-lit diadem,Inscribed "Well done! well done!"

ETERNAL YOUTH

Looking in thine eyes of azure,Looking on thy hair of gold,Once I wished, Evangelina,That there were no growing old.For I thought of how thy sweet eyesWould grow dim with tears and care;How the years would turn to silverAll thy wealth of golden hair.How the lines of life would gatherO'er the face so placid now;Traces of its toil and struggleTouching lip and cheek and brow.This I thought, and wished the shadowsMight not lengthen o'er thy way;Wished there were no time but spring-time,Were no evening of the day.Now I fear, Evangelina,That my wish was half a prayer,That the listening Father heard me,That thou liest, an answer, there.For thou liest in thy beauty, —Eyes of blue and hair of gold,Lip and cheek and brow of marble,Folded fingers, still and cold; —O my angel, God hath called theeWhere there is no growing old.

BUILDING TIME

The time of the singing of birds is come;'Tis the happiest time of the year:They are saying, "Let's build us our summer home,For the frost-king no longer we fear."The time of the singing of birds is come,And the time of their building, too;With a feather, a straw and a stray bit of gumThey will shew what bird-builders can do.The time of the singing of birds is come:I was eaves-dropping under the trees;And as I translated the twitter and hum,I thought the words sounded like these:"Twirr-a-whirr, twirr-a-whirr,The young leaves are astir;We will make us a nest snug and warmOn this apple-tree bough —We are at it e'en now —All secure from intruders and storm."'Tis for home, 'tis for love,'Tis for heaven above,And our roof is the clear azure sky;The foundations we layIn this rough straw and clay,But we'll line it with moss by and by."The time of the singing of birds is here,And if under the apple-tree boughOrlando and May would a domicile rear,Let them hear what the birds tell them now:"Build for home, build for love,Build for heaven above,Build with music and cheer like the birds;And if palace or cot,Built of marble or what,Line your nest with the moss of kind words,"

SUNRISE

The incident here narrated occurred some years ago at the Media Training School for Feeble-Minded Children, then in care of Dr. I. N. Kerlin.

A feeble, idiot boy, he stoodWhere Nature in her beauty grew,And over field and flowering woodHer summer mantle lightly threw.The scene had met his eye before;The pleasant path he oft had trod;And one who sought in simple loreTo teach him things of heaven and GodHad often wandered with him there,And pointed out each lovely spot, —The sunlit cloud – the floweret fair —But still he comprehended not.For all his soul was void and still,And darkness held his mind in thrall;He recognized no Sovereign Will,Nor saw the hand of God in all.In Nature's presence now aloneHe stood, and filled with silent awe,Beheld, before the coming sun,The curtained Night in haste withdraw.And gazing there with vacant eye,All motionless and mute he waits,When lo! the chariot of the skyRolls through the morning's crimson gates.The orient beams with beauteous light —Hath not his soul its radiance caught?His being grasps a new delight;A deep, mysterious change is wrought.A light is kindled in his breast;A temple-veil at length is riven;And in that hour of strange unrestA thought is born – of God in heaven.In haste he seeks his tutor's side,For he who "bore in grief a part"Will, in this happy hour of pride,Responsive hail his joy of heart.The glowing cheek, the flashing eye,The parted lips —not voiceless now—And, caught from that resplendent sky,The marvelous light upon his brow, —While these, ere yet he speaks, attestThe rapture which that thought has given;He lifts his finger toward the eastAnd softly whispers, "God, in Heaven!"O blessed hour! and happy heTo whom, thro patient love 'twas givenTo set a fettered spirit free,And wake a hope of God in Heaven

NEAL DOW

WRITTEN FOR A MEMORIAL DAY SERVICEA Soul was stirred as one thro' blinding tearsRehearsed a tale of want and cruel wrong;Keen indignation banished doubts and fears;The purpose of imperial youth grew strong.A Voice was heard: "Alas! that on the sideOf sin and mad oppression there is power,But we will change all this, if God so aid": —And Maine's new freedom dated from that hour.A Life was given; fraught with noble deeds; —Aflame with words of truth, and tireless zeal,And boldness for the right that gave no heedTo threatening hate, or sycophant's appeal.But men decried the fervor of that Soul,And would have hushed the Voice that pleaded stillAgainst the oppressors' power, and such controlAs brought them gain, all others loss and ill.And men denounced that Life; and where it cameOfttimes their scoffings tainted the sweet air,As with malicious scorn they hailed a nameThat calumny itself left clean and fair.And now that Soul hath entered into rest;That Voice is silent, and that peerless LifeHath crossed the threshold where the good and blestEnter, and cease from sorrow, toil and strife.O Life and Voice and Soul! O princely one!Our loyal hearts send greeting to thee now;Thy name has lighted near a century gone, —'Twill brighten ages yet to come, Neal Dow.

"PARADISE WILL PAY FOR ALL"

LAST WORDS OF SAMUEL A. PURDIEFrom the charm of idle pleasure,From Ambition's siren song,From the rush for earthly treasureOf the busy, careless throng;In the dawn of life's fair morningHe had heard the Master's call;"Yea, I come," his heart made answer,"Paradise will pay for all."On through years of toil and struggleWalked he, faithful to his word;Blameless life and kind entreatyLeading many to the Lord.Meeting dangers, bearing burdensWell might stoutest heart appal;But to every doubt replying,"Paradise will pay for all."Now at eve, toil-spent and weary,Pierced with pain the pilgrim lay;Watching still with faith triumphantFor the dawn of brighter day.Then upon his ear there fallethOnce again the Master's call:"Come up higher." "Yea," he answers,"Paradise will pay for all."

FORGIVENESS

Father in Heaven, I thank Thee for this hour,This blessed hour wherein my contrite soulHumbled and happy bows itself to Thee,Pleading that all its error and its sinMay be forgiven – even as I forgive.The cruel wrong swept o'er me like a flood;And my hurt soul in fierce defiance rose,And all forgetful that itself could sinHeaped heavy hatred on the offender's head.There came a calmer hour in which I sawThe strong temptation that had moved him thusTo barter all his better life away —Love, honor, principle – to gain the world.And seeing this I learned to pity him.For well I knew the bauble he had wonWould only mock him with its faithless glare;And well I knew the golden fruit he graspedWould be but dust and ashes in his hand;And knowing this I learned to pity him.And as my pity grew it turned to prayer —That when the glitter of the gold was gone,And the sweet fruit was bitter to his taste;When the sad memory of the slighted pastCame, and made deeper still the present gloom,The darkness might be lifted, and the Soul,Self-robbed and famishing, might find its wayTo the green pastures and the springs of life,That in the heart whence love and joy had fled,Whence hope was exiled, there might yet be peace.But suddenly I queried in my heartWhat power had moved me that I should have prayedFor him I counted as my life-long foe.Greatly I marveled what it meant that thusI had called down such blessing upon him —The kindliest boon of heaven, the peace of God.Deep in my soul there came an answering voice:"O Child, it is but this – thou hast forgiven!"Then thanks, O Father, for this plessed hour,Wherein my soul, by Thine own Spirit taught,Prays with no mockery of words Thy prayer:"Forgive my trespasses, as I forgive."

A LOST SONG?

Horror of combat, and tumult and dread;Thunder of cannon and bursting of bomb;Moans of the wounded (who envy the dead)Lost in the clamor of trumpet and drum.O where is the song of the angels?O when shall we hear it again?"Peace on earth," rang the chorus seraphic,"And good will evermore among men."Here is fierce anger and hatred and death,Pitiless slaughter of pitiless foe;Blessings and curses poured forth in a breath;Brave self-forgetting, and measureless woe.But where is the song of the angels?O when shall we hear it again?"Peace on earth," rang the chorus seraphic,"And good will evermore among men."Blue waves of ocean are reddened with gore,Victor and victim earth holds to her breast;Hearts that will thrill with ambition no more;Heads that so lately fond mothers caressed.O where is the song of the angels?O when shall we hear it again?"Peace on earth," rang the chorus seraphic,"And good will evermore among men."Victory, purchased at infinite cost,Honors and titles so fearfully won,Fame, at the price of lives blighted and lost,Graves, all unnoted, unnumbered, unknown.O where is the song of the angels?Dear Christ, let us hear it again;"Peace on earth," send the chorus seraphic,"Peace on earth, and good will among men."

A NEW EARTH

I have dreamed a sweet dream; I have seen a fair vision;I have looked the wide universe o'er;And earth's nations arise in a glory elysian —They do not learn war any more.There are music and mirth; there are childhood's sweet voices,Winsome age lends its placid charm there;There are laughter and glee as when home-life rejoicesUnshadowed by sorrow or care.In all noble achievement, all worthy endeavor,Men in kindly ambition contend;But the valiant of heart may yet know he hath everIn his sturdiest foeman a friend.Nevermore the proud boast or the haughty defiance; —Without end shall His kingdom increase;'Tis the day of all nations in Holy Alliance,'Tis the reign of truth, justice, and peace.Nevermore shall a nation lift sword against nation,The dominion of Hatred is o'er;'Tis the triumph of Love, 'tis the dawn of Christ's kingdom,They shall not learn war any more.

RECALL

Put up thy sword, O Nation, grand and strong!Call in thy fleet-winged missiles from the sea;Art thou not great enough to suffer wrong,Land of the brave, the freest of the free?Put up thy sword. 'Tis nobler to endureThan to avenge thee at another's cost;And while thy claim and purpose are made sure,Behold that other's life and honor lost.Put up thy sword. It hath not hushed the cryThat called it all too rashly from its sheath;Still o'er the fated isle her children lieAnd find surcease from anguish but in death.Put up thy sword, O Country, strong and free,Let strife and avarice and oppression cease;So shall the world thy Star of Empire seeResplendent o'er the heaven-touched hills of Peace.

PHILISTIA'S TRIUMPH

1 Samuel 4: 10, 11; 7: 3(WRITTEN ON THE DEFEAT OF THE PROHIBITION AMENDMENT IN PENNSYLVANIA.)They fought with lances in that ancient day,With sword and spear and arrow deftly sped.At eventide the hosts of Israel layVanquished and spoiled, the dying with the dead;And the Ark of God was taken.They fought with ballots in our nearer day;From morn to eve the light-winged missiles flew;Again Philistia's triumph brought dismay,And Wrong, victorious, struggling Virtue slew,And the Ark of God was taken.O ye to whom the sacred trust was givenTo guard the altar and the ark of God,Have ye been recreant to the charge of heaven,That thus we fall before the avenging rod,And the Ark of God is taken?Rouse from your shameful slumbers. Put awayYour strange gods from among you. Turn again;That in the drawing of some nobler dayThe hosts of sin may be rebuked of men,And the Ark of God re-taken.

THE WHITE RIBBON ARMY

(Air: King Bibbler's Army.)FOR M. B. TIn the years, years ago, when the true-hearted women,Started forth on their errand of prayer,Many said, "'Tis the cry of the Home for protection";Many said, "'Tis delusion and snare."Some said, softly, "God bless you"; some murmured, "Mistaken";Some the swift shafts of calumny hurled;But they went bravely forward, a praying procession,Marching out, out, out in the world.ChorusHark! hark! a trembling chorus:No, no, no, no;We cannot have Rum ruling o'er us;No, no, no, no;And now to save our young men the White-Ribbon ArmyMarches on, on, on round the world.At the head of the host came the silver-haired mothers,Arm in arm with the daughters so fair;While the wives for their husbands, the girls for their brothers,Raise their voices to heaven in prayer.As their pleadings prevail, and "the worst foe" surrenders,The white banner of peace is unfurled;And we now may behold them, a joyful procession,Marching on, on, on round the world.ChorusHark! hark! a swelling chorus:No, no, no, no;We cannot have Rum ruling o'er us;No, no, no, no;And oh to save our country the White-Ribbon ArmyMarches on, on, on round the world.They have entered the gates of the Empire Celestial,They have compassed the Isles of the Sea,And they carry glad tidings of good to all people,From the land of the brave and the free.On the peeress of England, on Afric's dark daughter,Is the white-ribbon emblem now twirled;And the army moves onward, a dauntless procession,Marching on, on, on round the world.ChorusHark! hark! a ringing chorus:No, no, no, no;We cannot have Rum ruling o'er us;No, no, no, no;And lo! to save all nations the White-Ribbon ArmyMarches on, on, on round the world.

CHRISTMAS

Dawn of glory! radiant morn!To-day the Christ, our King, is born.Our King, our Saviour, Son of Man,And Son of God – all-wondrous plan!A Virgin's joy; a world's salvation;Humblest type of exaltation!Highest form of life despised;Visage marred, and beauty prized.By angels heralded on high;By men abhorred and doomed to die.Entombed secure 'neath seal and stone;Uprisen to the Eternal Throne!Hail, blessed light! Hail glorious morn!The Wonderful, the Christ is born!

"A DAY IN JUNE"

The Early Dawn looked out upon the worldAnd cried, "How beautiful a world to be!"The Dawn herself was beautiful to see;Her hair of glowing golden light uncurledAbout a face of clear serenity,Whereon rose-tinted smiles played daintily and free."Aye, fair the earth," she said, "most fair – and yetHow can I for one briefest space forgetHow dark a stain its loveliness doth mar;A stain, a scourge, the cruel curse of war!Even now I dimly see and faintly hearThe clang of drum, the clash of sword and spear."And pale with pity, swift she shrank away,Leaving the world and war to broader day.The Sun at noon looked down upon the world;From depths of vast ethereal blue looked down,And mused, "You far, fair Earth, sure we must crownQueen of the Universe. Great flags unfurledO'er her bright waters witness high renownWon by her creature, Man; aye, bring for Earth a crown!Yet stay – there riseth over Afric plainsA cloud of battle-smoke; with crimson stainsHer rivers run; her hills and meadows fair,Trampled by hostile hordes, lie waste and bare.And yonder, in the islands of the sea,A people struggle vainly to be free;And everywhere the banners of fair fameTrail in the dust of hatred, greed and shame.No crown for Earth; I mourn so bright a starLost in the chaos of consuming war."And veiled in robe of woe, he went his way,Borne by the passing hours to close of day.The twilight lingered, and the Evening StarLooked back upon the world and whispered low:"These who have spoken surely could not know: —Earth is a great, pure pearl, and seems from farSet with fair homes, like gems; in amber glow,Or emerald green, or gold or roseate snow.But hush! In palace hall a bitter cry;A mangled hero is borne in to die;And in yon lowly cot, a widow's moan; —A mother's heart-break o'er her only son.Alas! 'tis true. Earth's battle-fields destroyHer noblest manhood; rob her homes of joy."And sad the Star of Evening sank from sight,While Earth lay shrouded in the gloom of night.But from afar – beyond the Morning's birth,Beyond the depths whence Sun looked down on earth,Beyond the dreamy distance of the Star, —A voice proclaimed: "They shall no more learn war."

TO-DAY

Light on my pathway, blessed Lord,The light of life, I pray;O, let the glory of Thy wordShine o'er my life to-day.I cry to Thee for present help,Turn not my prayer away;O Strength and Refuge of Thine own,Keep Thou my soul to-day.My willing but uncertain feetGuide in Thy chosen way;And let Thy grace sufficient beFor all my need to-day.

LOSING VICTORIES

My 'Infant Class' one summer morn,Was gathered in the maple shadeNear the church door, and there we talkedOf the fair world our Lord had made —The swaying trees upon the hill,The waving grain, the shadowy grove —Till every little heart seemed filledWith the sweet sense of Jesus' love.A query came: Dear little ones,As days go by what shall we do —Since Jesus has so loved us all —To show him that we love him too?"I'll mind mama," said wilful Tim;And Ben, "I'll carry in the wood;"Said Mary, "I will lessons learn;"While Dimple lisped, "I will be dood."And how will Helen show her love?She, with a wistful glance at Rose —A sweet, but pale and timid child —Replied, "By giving up, I 'spose."Dear girl! To fragile sister RoseShe oft must yield her will and way;But now this duty shall discloseHer love for Jesus, day by day.Oh oft, were we but wise, we'd findOur triumph in another's gain;On glowing altar – coals of love —Would joy to see self-idols slain.In simplest ways the soul may drinkWith Christ the sacrificial cup,And many a victory is won,And nobly won, by 'giving up.'

NOT MINE

Thy will, Thy way, not mine, O blessed Lord;My will would choose the smooth and pleasant way,And that might lead from duty's path astray;Nay, I would walk "according to Thy word,"Choosing Thy way, not mine.Thy peace, my gracious Saviour, would I choose,My peace might lead me man, not God, to please,Might lure my soul to take its selfish ease,And, gaining all the world, itself to lose,Give me Thy peace, not mine.Thy will, Thy way, Thy peace, Thou knowest best;Let me but see the guiding of Thine eye,Let me but know Thy voice, and swift replyMy soul shall make to every know behest,Doing Thy will, not mine.

IN THE DESERT

Ah me! what life since hers in age agoneHath not known Hagar's hour in desert wild;Outcast from sheltering home, adrift, alone,Bereft of love's sweet ministry, her child —Her heart's one treasure – late so fond and fair,Become a burden more than she could bear;All earth and sky a strange enfolding scrollWrit o'er with nameless pain and sense of needTo which nor pitying eye nor ear gave heedTill came the thought of God. Even so the soul,Consumed with vain regret and doubt and dread —As she upon the barren sand her boy —Lays all it once had counted hope and joyUpon the desolate waste itself had spread;Self-abnegating, tho with bitter cry —"I yield thee, but I cannot see thee die."But, passing thence, the agonizing pleaFaith transforms into tuneful harmony,Glad to remember "Thou, God, seest me."

A PHANTOM IN THE "CIRCLE"

Written for a literary club, to which the author had formerly belonged, in Waterford, Va.

Start not, good friends; there was a timeWhen I, whom fate, in kindly mood,Made brief sojourner in your clime,Was glad partaker of the goodThat from your "Circle" emanated;And as the seven days went 'roundThe appointed "Fourth-day evening" foundMe with its members congregated.And also now I recognizeThe smiling lips and beaming eyesOf some, who, cordial, kind and free,Had smiles and loving words for me.Who, when I entered rose to greet,And welcome gave, sincere and sweet.But that was years ago, and nowThere may be wrinkles on my brow;There may have fled from form and faceThe transient charms of youth and grace,And time and sadness may have thrownA shadow o'er the "chestnut brown"Of locks that once – well, let that pass; —These are but sorrowful reflections,And, like those of my looking-glass,Do but discover imperfections;So let us leave this train of thoughtAnd start in happier directions.But first I think it may be dueAlike unto myself and you,Lest some should think I may have broughtMy ghostly presence here unsought,To make this note of explanation: —That not for pride, or praise, or gloom,Or curious motive am I come;Nor yet for want of occupation;Far from intruding thus, I wouldHave it distinctly understoodI'm here by "special invitation."Here! and my phantom pulses quicken!Pale memories gather round me fast,And now they grow, and gleam, and thicken,And fan me with their wings of light,And bear me to a realm more brightThan fairy land or elfin home,Or that sweet world whence dreams do comeThe heaven of a happy Past!* * * * *Familiar faces on me smile,Remembered voices greet my ear,And social converse gives the while,The old-time wisdom and good cheer.But while we're all engaged in chat,Of work, of weather, and all that,And voices rise and smiles grow broader,Presiding dignity comes forthWith modest but "amazing" worthAnd calls the whole concern to order.Then "minutes" penned by snow-white hand,Approved without dissension stand;And hushed is all the talk and noiseThe while some soft or manly voiceFrom gifted author doth unfoldBefore us treasures new and old.We grant them rare, yet lay them byOur intellectual strength to tryIn essay, speech, or declamation;We reverence the might of mind,But here our home-spun thoughts still findA kindlier appreciation.With hushed breath and eyes that glisten,To some fine argument we listen,From one with head so full of loreThat to prevent its brimming o'erHe must impart his information.The which he does "by book and rule,"Achieving in the village schoolA never-ceasing reformation.With rapt attention now we hearA discourse upon Sound and Ear,Wherein is beautifully blended,The Science and the History,The Knowledge and the MysterySo fair, when fairly comprehended.Then some poetic brain is fired,Some secret spring unlocked, forA brother brings, with love inspired,Kind thoughts in glowing words attired,And prays at once with heart and pen —And all the people say Amen —"God bless the Country Doctor."And "lesser lights" send out a gleamOf intellectual glory;And many a grave or playful theme,Or fact profound, or doubtful dream,Or song, or allegoryBeguiles the gloom of winter night,And makes the slow hours swift and light;To social pleasure adds a charm,Makes young hearts wise and old hearts warm,And Life a pleasant story.* * * * *O friends, I live it o'er again!I cross the gulf 'twixt Now and Then,And live that happy time again;Its varied joy and brightness, all —The crowded room, the lighted hall,The merry laugh, the friendly nod —And bless the Fate that brought – but no,Let us not read these chances so —Fate is the Sovereign will of God;He marks the paths by mortals trod;And He appoints our joy and woe.Then bless we God, whose gracious handHath led us gently on our way;By whose good will to-day we standRejoicing that we live to-day.By whose sweet mercy yet we trustThat all of us which is not dust,From time and toils of earth shall riseTo nobler life beyond the skies.