Religious Poems

TRIAL OF THE FAITH OF ABRAHAM.

Twas past the hour for sacrifice; and now The aged patriarch, leaning on his staff, Stood in the doorway of his tent, and watched The gayly painted clouds which here and there Were floating in the quiet evening sky, In strange fantastic forms, till, brushed away By the light breath of the cool zephyr’s wing, They melted into air, and left the moon Sole monarch of a train of radiant stars, The bright attendants of her mighty reign. And forth in brilliant majesty she came, Touched with her silvery wand the tiny flowers, And bade them fold their leaves, and lay their

heads Upon the bosom of their mother earth.

His boy came bounding quickly to his side, Like a young fawn, and caught his father’s hand, And drew him down, and kissed his furrowed

cheek — His boy, his darling, shall we say his pride, Of whom the King of all the world had said In him and in his seed, in after years,

Shall all the nations of the earth be blessed. And as the old man held him to his heart, And looked into the depth of his dark eyes, That seemed so like his mother’s in her youth, His thoughts went backward to the long ago, When, in his native country far away, He wooed the maiden who became his wife. And Sarah loved him yet; the lapse of years Had strengthened and renewed her early vows. They err who tell us love is all a dream, And warn the young to fly its dangerous power; Tis not a dream; but, constant, true, sublime, Where once its germ is planted in the soul, ‘Twill, like the evergreen, bloom on and on; For love is born of heaven, and cannot die.

“Isaac, my son,” the doting father said,

“Long since thy mother to her couch hath gone,

And thou, methinks, hast quite o’erstepped thy

bounds. Not thine the fault, but mine; and now, good

night.” How beautiful he was! how graceful he In every movement as he tripped away! His merry laugh rang out so cheerily, The birds awoke and started from their nests As if they feared a rival in their song. Still Abraham mused on the ways of God; He could not solve, nor was it his to know, Almighty wisdom, but to trust and live,

As he had done, by faith and not by sight.

The Lord had promised that from him should

spring A mighty nation, numerous as the stars, And numberless as sands upon the shore, And that the goodly land in which he dwelt They should possess; the promise he believed Implicitly; he knew ‘twould come to pass, For unto him the word of God was law.

And now he slept; and in a vision came

A voice that called him. “Abraham,” it said,

“Take now thine only son whom thou dost love,

The idol of thy heart, and offer him

As a burnt offering in Moriah’s land,

Upon a mountain I will tell thee of.”

Did love rebel? Did faith refuse to yield

In this sore trial, most severe of all,

Obedience to its author and its God?

Did Abraham question His supreme command,

Who has the right to govern as He will?

Morn oped her golden eye, tinged with her blush The eastern hills, and sent her dewy smile O’er groves of cedar, and the lovely vales Bathed in her light and sang aloud for joy. The patriarch rose; a secret on his mind, Which e’en to Sarah he might not betray; He had received a message from the Lord, And he must go; he dared not tell her more;

Then with the lad, and with his two young men As their attendants, Abraham left his home. For two long days they journeyed, and the third He lifted up his eyes and saw the place; Bade his young men abide and wait him there; He and the lad would yonder go, he said, And worship, and return to them again. Silent their walk, till Isaac wondering cried, u Behold the wood and fire, but where the

lamb? “To whom the father answered, “All is well, My son; God will provide Himself a lamb.” And so together to the mount they came; And Abraham built an altar to the Lord. And when the boy looked on with sudden fear, And turned those mournful, pleading eyes to his, He waited but to clasp him to his breast; Then firmly bound with cords those tender limbs, And on the altar laid the sacrifice. O what a moment! Will he stand the test? Behold the knife; its edge is keen and sure; See how it glitters as the sunlight falls; His arm is raised; but, ere the blade descends, His hand is stayed; God calls him out of heaven: “Touch not the lad; forbear to do him harm; For now indeed I know thou lovest me, Since thou hast not withheld thine only son, But wouldst have offered him at my command.”

THE MEETING OF JACOB AND JOSEPH.

All Egypt’s land was parched, the scorching

beams Fell with relentless heat upon the soil, And every herb was withered, and the leaves Dropped from the boughs that could no longer hold Their blighted forms, and sighing, let them go; The breeze that from the waters of the Nile Played with the reeds that grew along its banks Was listless now, and nature groaning saw On every plant and every blade of grass Dearth written, for the famine yet was sore. What stirred the heart of Egypt’s governor? Had that illumination of the soul, That gift of faith, which God alone transmits, Confirmed the startling truth so oft revealed, That he who most a doting father loved, And whom his envious brethren hated most, He whom they sold and dipped his coat in blood, And scrupled not to wring their parent’s heart With the dark falsehood of his Joseph’s death, That he. the victim of malicious wrong, The injured tenant of a prison cell, Wasting his years in solitude and grief, Then from a dungeon brought, and clothed in

power Till next to Egypt’s potentate he stood, Was working out the grand design of Heaven — Was thither sent by agency divine

To guard a mighty nation’s destiny? All this and more had moved him; he had seen His brethren; they had come to purchase food; For Juda’s fields were wasted by the scourge Of that dread famine, and her fruitless vales No more were lovely; all her groves of palm Bent their proud heads if haply they might catch One cooling drop from the capricious clouds That mocked their thirst and vanished like the dew. And Jacob’s sons arose; for he had said, “Why look ye on each other? 1 have heard That there is corn in Egypt; get ye down, And buy for us, our wives and little ones, That thus we may survive and perish not; Go, all of you but one; him I retain, The youngest born, left motherless at birth; My fair-haired Benjamin shall not go forth, Lest, like his brother, he return no more, And ye who robbed me of the son I loved Again bereave me, and your second wound Bring my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave.”

Before the imperious ruler, proudly stern, Whose quick perception noted every face, They stood appalled, and bowed them to the earth; Yea. bowed themselves as in his boyhood dreams He saw their sheaves obeisance make to his. Rude were his words, denouncing them as spies; And then, in softer tone and milder mood, He questioned of their parentage and home;

They knew him not, nor guessed by whose command Their sacks were laden and their gold replaced. Twice had they come; but now his eyes beheld His brother Benjamin, his mother’s son, The child he once had dandled on his knee, And every sleeping passion of his soul Roused in a moment, and his every nerve, Strained to its utmost tension, would have burst But for the tears that he made haste to shed. O Time, whose finger doth erase the bloom From beauty’s cheek, and with thy winter frost Sprinkle the locks of manhood till their hue Is changed to whiteness, and the eye grows dim, And the sweet sounds of merriment and joy Are heard but as the echoes of the past — Thank God! there yet is left untouched by thee One little spot, one shrine where feeling dwells, Immortal feeling, whose Promethean spark An infant’s breath might kindle to a flame.

But see! at Jacob’s tent the panting steeds That bring his sons, returned, and with good news; Who shall be first to break it? can their sire Bear the recital? Judah, go thou first; Thy plea, so masterly, hath done it all; Take Benjamin, to whom no harm has come, And tell thy father Joseph is alive; Tell him — but stay, be guarded of thy speech, Lest, if the heart too suddenly be filled

With unexpected joy, its cords may break. The old man heard as if believing not, Till One who stood upon the topmost round Of that great ladder reaching up to heaven, That he beheld at Bethel while he slept, Breathed on his soul, and all its strength revived, And in the fullness of his heart he cried, “Joseph, my son Joseph, is yet alive; I will go down and see him ere I die.”

The Nile flowed sluggishly, not as of yore When the glad waves caught the delicious breath Of fragrant winds that floated o’er the tide, And busy laborers reaped their harvest grain; All wore the gloom of desolation now, And five long years of famine yet remained. The day was sultry with its first gray dawn; Israel awoke, for they had stopped at night, And laid them down to rest upon the plains. And now once more the caravan moved on; And as the shadow of the sun at noon Fell on the dial, they neared the journey’s end. Who in his chariot doth so swiftly ride? And now he reins his coursers, now alights, Looks round him with a fond, expectant gaze, And steps aside for one short interval To calm his thoughts and still his heart ’s wild throb; Yonder his father comes; O Heaven! ’tis he! That waving beard white as the driven snow, Unshorn as when with soft, caressing hand

He stroked it, and went forth, nor came again

To bear the tidings he was sent to glean —

Let the famed artist on his canvas draw

That matchless scene and paint it to the world;

And thou, O bard, if words thou canst command,

Speak with impassioned eloquence, and tell

The hope, the joy, the ecstasy, that crowned

A meeting which no parallel can trace,

A meeting that dispelled a cloud of years,

And for a single moment lent to both

A vision of the heavenly Paradise.

See how he weeps upon his father’s neck,

And how that father clasps him to his heart

As if he feared that he again might lose

The treasure he believed the grave had won;

O that was pathos; that undying love

Who can recall, or from the inspired page,

God’s sacred word, can read that brief account,

So touching and so sweetly beautiful,

Nor feel one tender yearning of the soul

To reach for something purer than is found

Among the gewgaws of a flattering world?

Before the king was Joseph’s father brought, King Pharaoh, who rejoiced and gave him cheer, And, sitting down beside him, many things Did he relate of Joseph’s bright career, And how the land of Egypt he had saved By wisdom not his own but of the Lord; And then of Jacob asked, M How old art thou?”

To whom the noble patriarch replied,

“The days that mark my life of pilgrimage,

Evil and few as they indeed have been,

Nor have they to my fathers yet attained,

A hundred years and thirty number now;”

And Pharaoh blessed him, and a promise gave

Of an inheritance, a goodly place

That he and his might ever call their own,

To dwell therein, and rear their flocks and herds.

And Joseph bade his brethren be content,

For all was past, and all had been forgiven;

And so he dwelt with them for many years,

Nourished his father till his latest hour,

And saw him laid within Machpelah’s tomb.

SAMSON WITH THE PHILISTINES.

“Down with the Hebrew!” From the infuriate

crowds That like a whirlwind madly urged their way Through Gaza’s streets, a deafening shout arose; “Down with the Hebrew, Samson! he is cursed; Dagon, our God, hath cursed him and his race.” “Hold!” cried a voice in loud, imperious tones, u Hold! I command you let this tumult cease Till I, your chief, Altharius, bid you speak; Then glut your vengeance to your heart’s content; Revile, insult, mock your defenseless foe, Till he shall learn how sweet it is to feel

The poisoned arrow of remorseless hate.

Behold the lion tamed and like a lamb;

No need of bonds but to prevent all harm

Against himself; I have secured him thus,

For from their sockets must his eyes be torn,

Lest peradventure other foxes come

With brands of fire and burn our harvest fields.

He like a pestilence hath scourged our land,

Laid waste our cities, robbed us of our homes,

And slain his thousands in a single day;

But where his prowess now? Where did it lie?

Fool to unlock a secret he had kept

Through all his life, and might have kept it still!

Fool to confide in her who, false as fair,

Sought only to betray his trust for gold!

But she had served our purpose, and ’tis well;

She was the fowler; we the prey have won,

Not, like the hungry vulture, to devour,

But save alive; death were a boon too great

For him to ask at a Philistine’s hand;

But let him, like the eagle from the sun

Hurled by a shaft that wounds no vital part,

Beat his proud wings against his prison bars,

Till hope’s last beam expires and all is dark.

Now to my task; such mercy will I show

As hath been shown by him to me and mine.

Ah, how he struggles! but he must not faint;

Quick! bathe his temples, bring him goodly wine,

Choice wine from Kisma, cooled in Caspian snow;

He shall not faint; far greater our revenge

To see him tortured to his utmost power,

Yet, nerved by stimulants and conscious still,

To see him writhe, half frantic with his pain,

Then laugh his misery to bitter scorn.

O say, what is it that doth o’er me creep,

So like a venom coiling in my veins?

Have I not from my boyhood looked on blood?

Was I not cradled in the arms of war?

But this — ah me! not that I pity him,

But ’tis a deed at which my soul revolts;

Would it were past; but half is yet to do;

Would it were past; but shall I falter? No;

I’ll finish, though my hands were paralyzed.

There, I have done; and shall I more inflict?

Fori am sated, sickened, horrified

With this dread scene. Stand back and let me

forth; Nay, touch him not; are ye men or fiends? Guards, bear him hence; and if perchance there

come A pitying friend, or one of nearer kin, Ye shall not hinder such, but let them pass And, as they will, relieve and succor him.”

The crowd had gone; their hateful, mocking

sounds Of rude and impious mirth were heard no more, And, save the measured tramp along the court Of sentinels whose dull monotony Broke ever and anon upon the ear,

Twas still. O what a boon from Israel’s God, E’en this to that poor, lonely, suffering one, Who, faint, exhausted by the sudden shock Of twofold anguish, prayed that death might

come, Kind, gentle death, and let his spirit forth Into the region of the vast unknown! Tossing he lay; none came to slake his thirst; His quivering eyelids burned and throbbed with

pain Till reason sometimes trembled on its throne; And she whose hand had shorn his wavy locks, And wove the network of deceit and guile In whose dark meshes he was caught at last — Where was she then? O when with victory

crowned He sought his home, rich with the spoils of war, Or in the twilight’s gloaming thither came, How was he wont with lighter step to move, And heart more buoyant, while her siren voice Poured out its music, and his soul drank in Its every tone as some delicious draught Too pure for earth and only made for heaven! Where was she then, whose lightest touch could

soothe His restless moanings, and whose softest word Could lull him to a sweet forgetfulness?

Delilah, false Delilah, what! asleep? Beneath the silken folds of thine own couch

Canst thou repose? dost think the dove would rest If aught of danger brooded o’er her mate? Or, robbed of him, would she not pine and die? She hath what thou hast not — a changeless love; Thou didst not love, else thou hadst loyal been; Was not thy husband’s fate in thine own hands? Not his, but thine, the falsehood that must be A skeleton through all thy after years. Thou didst not love, else thou hadst never played The craven part and bartered love for gold; Love hides its secret with a miser’s care; It wounds to heal, but never to betray.

And now awoke the morn; the playful winds Were toying with the leaves and jessamine stems, Curling the wavelets on the limpid streams, Or stealing nectar from the dewy cups Of the young virgin lilies as they passed. Time, and the hand that lifteth from the ground The trembling sparrow fallen from its bough, The balm of health to Samson had restored; Long days had intervened, and weary nights, Not lonely like the first, for friends were there; And tottering age, that nursed him when a babe, Its tender, sympathizing tears had shed So lovingly upon his wasted cheek, That half his burden seemed already gone; And waking from his sleep on that sweet morn, He rose, and leaning on a soldier’s arm, Stood in the outer court where he was led.

His hair had grown; he knew it; but, his eyes —

Would they return? would he again behold

Or sun or moon or stars or human face?

O Heaven! in all our catalogue of woes

Can there be one that so afflicts the mind

And rends the very fibers of the heart,

Like that which comes when in our riper years

We lose, and by a single stroke of Thine,

That sense which of all others most we prize,

That glorious avenue through which we range

The fields of science, poesy, and art,

And trace Thee in Thy excellence divine

Where Thou hast left Thy name in living light

On truth’s immortal page, Thy Holy Book?

O to be left at midday in the dark!

To wander on and on in moonless night!

To know the windows of the soul are closed,

And closed till opened in eternity!

They who have felt can tell how deep the gloom;

And only they who in their souls have learned

To walk by faith, and lean on God for help,

To such a lot can e’er be reconciled.

The chief, Altharius, had a feast proclaimed,

A royal feast to Qagon on that day,

In honor of his signal victory

In Samson’s capture. Gaza’s streets again

Were vocal with the shouts of revelry;

Upon the housetop where the feast was held,

Philistia’s sons were gathered; young and old,

In motley groups, were walking to and fro, Whiling the hours in thoughtless merriment. Loud peals of laughter rose, and then a call That Samson should be brought to make them

sport; The message came, he heard, and bowed his head, Then, with a look of triumph in his face, Was borne to where that reckless multitude Deemed his affliction but an idle jest; Scoffed at, he came, and then, with cruel taunt, Mocking, they bade him lead them in the dance. So passed the time; but Samson’s hour drew near; He leaned against the pillars; all his hopes Were clustering around a single thought; To one he said, u Put thou my hand on these, For I would know their size; and tell thou me, Are these the pillars where the building rests? “They left him to himself; he stood alone, And, lifting up his sightless orbs, he said,” O Thou who didst behold me at my birth, God of my fathers, hear my prayer this once; Lo, I am stricken down, helpless and blind; Thy mighty works are hidden from me now; The smiling meadow and the vineclad hill And spicy grove are now as things that were; I joy no more in that which charmed me once; Yet I have tried to serve Thee all my life; And now, O Lord, I pray Thee let my strength Tenfold return, that, in this last, last hour, I of mine enemies may be avenged

For this great wrong which they to me have

done; And let these heathen, who believe Thee not, Know for themselves this day that Thou art

God.”

He paused, his chest expanded, and again Firmly he held with superhuman power Those massive pillars in his giant grasp; A shout — the building to its center shook, And, in a moment, that vast multitude Mangled and crushed beneath its ruins lay, And he among them; thus was he avenged; For they, ’tis said, who perished at his death Were more than all that in his life he slew.

PRAYER.

God heareth prayer, — whether in secret place, Or in His sacred courts, it matters not; Where two or three are gathered in His Name, There will He deign to meet them and to bless. God heareth prayer, — O thou desponding one, When dark temptation’s cloud o’erspreads thy

soul, Turn from the busy and the giddy throng, Haste thou to nature’s solitude, commune With thy own heart, and humbly bend thy knee, For in that hour thy God will hear thy prayer.

IMMORTAL LOVE.

Immortal love! O theme of heavenly birth! How shall I dare to speak thy matchless worth? Source of unending life, celestial dove, Fountain of wisdom who thyself art love, Thee I invoke, who only canst inspire My languid soul, and tune my trembling lyre. Immortal love, who shall thy depths explore, Vast as eternity’s unbounded shore? Thou art the spark that lights th’ eternal flame On heaven’s high altars; thou the sacred name That fills those realms no mortal e’er has trod; Thou the pulsation of the heart of God, Which, to the Church, His body here below, Doth now.throughChristour great Redeemer, flow. Immortal love, how gentle and how mild Appear thy workings in a lisping child! Confiding, trusting, innocent, and kind, Thou art the first pure impulse of its mind; Thou art a breath from that untainted clime Where heavenly choirs their ceaseless anthems

chime; God’s law to man in thee we comprehend, Thou its beginning art, and thou its end. The noblest of the Christian virtues thou, The crown of grace that decks the Christian’s

brow, — Jehovah’s mighty arm that doth enfold A universe with tenderness untold.

Immortal love, O theme of heavenly birth,

No mortal tongue can speak thy matchless

worth; To ransomed ones such lofty strains belong; They, only they, can swell th’ enraptured song

HOPE ON, HOPE EVER.

Hope on, hope ever. Earth is not so drear, Nor life a comfortless and empty dream;

The darkest clouds that gather o’er us here Are not the harbingers we sometimes deem;

For lo! how brilliant the returning ray,

As one by one their shadows pass away!

Hope on, hope ever. Is thy heart bereft Of all that rendered life once dear to thee?

Amid the wreck the quenchless spark is left. Whose light, though feeble, shall thy beacon be;

Though death’s cold hand some kindred tie may sever,

Still let thy motto be, Hope on, hope ever.

Hope on, hope ever. Weary and oppressed, Care’s pallid seal stamped on thy sunken cheek,

There is a haven of eternal rest

Whose sacred joy no mortal tongue can speak;

Look upward in thine hour of dark despair — Hope points to heaven, and drops her anchor there.

REST.

Come, heavy laden one,

Where’er thou art,
Lay at the Master’s feet

Thy broken heait;
Cast thou on Him thy care;
Though hard thy cross to bear,
Jesus, who answers prayer,

Sweet rest will give.

Think of His tender love,

Boundless and free;
Think of His precious words

Spoken to thee;
What though thy faith be small?
What though thy tears may fall?
Jesus, who knows them all,

Sweet rest will give.

Long though the weary night,

Joy will be thine;
See through the rifting clouds

Hope brightly shine;
Rest from the tide of woes,
Rest and a calm repose,
Rest that shall never close,

Jesus will give.

NO TEARS IN HEAVEN.

With careworn heart and throbbing brow

I watched the orb of day, That set in tears behind the clouds

That veiled its golden ray;
And bending o’er the sacred page

Of truth divinely given, I heard a loving voice that said,

There’ll be no tears in Heaven.

My thoughts grew calm, and, in a dream,

Bright angels sang to me
A choral song of Eden land

Beyond the jasper sea; And though too soon its chords were lost,

Its tones afar were driven; One hallowed strain I yet recall:

There’ll be no tears in Heaven.

No tears, no pain, no dreary night

With starless gloom o’ercast, The joy our blessed Saviour gives

Will there forever last; O eyes that weep, O hearts that mourn,

By storm and tempest driven, Look up, look up; ‘twill soon be o’er;

There’ll be no tears in Heaven.

RETROSPECT.

Only a thought concealed

In the leaves of a withered flower, That came in its bloom from the giver’s hand,

And drooped in a single hour!
Only a whispered word,

In the ear of a trusting heart! But its memory clung to the trembling strings,

And it broke them all apart.

Only a fleeting dream!

‘Twas bright, but it came no more; Only a sigh, and a sob of pain,

A parting — and all was o’er!
Only a storm-tossed barque,

Alone on the restless deep!
Only the path of a dreary night,

And a tireless watch to keep!

O thought, O word, O dream,

Sad tales of the past ye tell; Your lesson of life, it was hard to learn,

But O it has served me well;
What matter if still my barque

On a restless sea be driven? Its anchor is firm, and I know ere long

‘Twill rest in the port of Heaven.

UNSEEN.

Thou great Supreme, whom angel choirs adore,

High over all exalted evermore,

No mortal eye hath seen at any time

The matchless glory of Thy throne sublime;

Yet unto us Thou dost Thyself reveal;

Within our souls Thy presence, Lord, we feel,

And know that we from death to life have passed,

That with Thy chosen ones our lot is cast.

Unseen, yet when in prayer we breathe Thy name, Our love inspired is kindled to a flame; Till, upward borne on eagle wings, we soar Beyond the clouds that veil the eternal shore, And view by faith Thy regal diadem, And in a vision touch Thy garment’s hem.

Unseen, Thou lead’st us by Thine own right hand; Thus saith Thy word, upon whose truth we stand; And still again we hear in tones divine, M Fear not; I have redeemed you; ye are mine.’

Unseen, but O how precious, Lord, Thou art! How sweet Thy voice to every trusting heart! We praise and bless Thee for the promise given Of endless joy and perfect rest in Heaven, Where, Thou hast said, through Thy abundant

grace, We shall in righteousness behold Thy face.

OCEAN GROVE.

We stepped upon the crowded car

That rapidly began to move, And ere we thought two hours had passed,

We found ourselves at Ocean Grove; And there we parted, said Good-bye,

My new-made friend his home to seek, And I their honored guest to be

Whose kindness words can never speak.

The camp ground, thronged with pious souls,

Was from their home not far away, Divided by a fairy lake —

So mirrorlike and still it lay That, as we rowed, and softly came

In measured tones the dipping oar, We heard the rustling of the leaves

Among the pines along the shore. O who could breathe the fragrant air

Of that cool lake, or lightly rove Among the avenues and shades

And winding paths of Ocean Grove, Without a realistic sense

Of holy blessedness that flows
When over nature and its works

Religion’s power an influence throws?

That night — the morrow — O what joy!

The very hills with gladness rang; We felt that we had almost reached

The M Beulah Land” of which we sang.

To see those cottages and tents,

Where praise ascended to the sky, Was bliss; ah, more; ’twas heaven below;

In such a scene how sweet to die! We heard the Word of Life proclaimed,

We heard the deep and fervent prayer, We heard with hearts so filled with love

They scarce another drop could bear. God bless the Church that keeps alive,

From year to year, that custom old Of tenting in some rural wood,

And gathering wanderers to the fold.

We stood at eve on ocean’s beach,

And heard the waves like thunder roll; And as we knelt upon the sand,

God came and spoke to every soul; The sky was radiant; varied tints

Of crimson, gold, and blue it wore; O never seemed the glowing West

More bright and beautiful before. And should we never meet again

As then we met at sunset hour,
We’ll talk it over by and by

In some delightful shady bower Of Eden’s land; ah, yes; and there,

While rapture tunes our souls to love, We’ll praise the Lord in higher strains

For those bright days at Ocean Grove.

GRANDPA’S BLESSING.

We were sitting after supper,

On a cold and frosty night,
In our cozy little parlor,

O so cheerful, warm, and bright! And our grandpa said,” My children,

Have you all been good to-day?” Then each little voice grew silent

As we knelt with him to pray.
I shall ne’er forget the burden

Of that simple, fervent prayer:” Lord, I thank thee for Thy mercy,

And Thy ever watchful care;
I shall soon lay down my armor,

For my days are well-nigh told, But I long to see these dear ones

Gathered safely in Thy fold; Keep us through the night, our Father;

May we all in safety wake; Guide us to Thy heavenly mansions;

This we ask for Jesus’ sake.”

Then he kissed us all so fondly,

Laid his hands on every head,
Gave us each a parting blessing

As we tripped away to bed;
But an angel came at midnight,

And his wings were white as snow; Grandpa knew the voice that called him,

And his soul was glad to go;

But he bade our mother tell us

He had only gone before, And, if faithful, we should meet him

On the happy golden shore.

THE CHILD AND THE ANGEL.

A mother sat musing at close of day By the cradle bed where her firstborn lay; On the dimpled cheek of that cherub fair Had fallen a ringlet of golden hair; And thither a truant sunbeam strayed, And long with that beautiful tress it played, Till it faded away in the crimson west, And sank like the innocent child to rest.

Why trembled a tear in that mother’s eye

As she warbled her simple lullaby,

And her soulfelt prayer on the breath of even

Went up to the throne of her God in heaven?

Can ye fathom the ocean, dark and deep,

Where the mighty waves in their grandeur sweep?

Or number the radiant orbs above?

Ah, then may ye fathom a mother’s love;

That pearly tear was a gem more fair

Than the ruby bright or the diamond rare,

For it told what language could ne’er reveal,

A love which a mother alone can feel.

From the fount of life and the source of light, From the sacred fields of Elysium bright, Through the cloudless depths of ethereal blue, Quickly the form of an angel flew; O soft was the breath of the balmy air As it felt the touch of his pinions fair Diffusing aromas sweet from flowers Of amaranth cradled in Eden’s bowers.

A tear was still in that mother’s eye

As she warbled her simple lullaby,

For she looked on the angel form that smiled

On the cherub face of her sleeping child;

And she heard low music of heavenly joy

Wooing the soul of her darling boy.

There were anxious thoughts in her throbbing

breast As his pallid lips to her own were pressed; A moment his eye grew strangely bright, Then closed in a long and last good night; The angel of mercy, the child of love, Together had flown to the realms above.

A RHAPSODY.

[Written while standing by a fountain in one of our city parks.]

Playing away, playing away,

Cooling my brow with thy silvery spray,

Beautiful fountain, pure and bright,

Throwing thy drops like jets of light,

There’s a voice that comes from thy depths so clear,

A strange, wild voice that I love to hear.

Playing away, playing away,

Telling thy story by night and day,

While a rainbow hangs on thy sparkling crest,

Pointing the soul to a home of rest —

Not here, not here, but in yonder clime

That needs no dial to mark its time;

The years are ages, and days are years;

There is neither sorrow nor night nor tears;

And the Fountain of Life with its crystal spray

Forever and ever is playing away.

OUR LORD AT THE GRAVE OF
LAZARUS.

M Where have ye laid him?” Once that Godlike voice Rebuked the winds and bade them seek their

caves; Commanded, and the wild, tempestuous sea, Whose wrathful billows lashed the vessel’s side As if to plunge her ‘neath their foaming surge,

Was in a moment calm and motionless;

The thunder heard His mandate, and was mute;

The parting clouds let forth the prisoned light

To sparkle on the bosom of the deep.

But now that voice was tremulous and sad;

His very soul was rent, convulsed with grief;

His human nature felt and suffered, too,

With those who, crushed beneath affliction’s rod,

Looked up to Him for hope in their despair.

He knew and loved those stricken ones, who came

In their bereavement, and were kneeling there,

And who in turn had said amid their tears,

u Lord, if Thou hadst been here this bitter cup

Thou wouldst have stayed; our brother had not

died; “And He who spake as man could never speak, To one of them had answered, “Fear thou not; Behold, thy brother from the dead shall rise; I am the Resurrection and the Life; He that on me believeth, know thou this, Though he were dead, yet shall he live again, And whosoever living doth believe And trust in me, shall never, never die.” Then as the wound of sorrow flowed afresh From those lone hearts, he looked around, and saw The weeping Jews, whom sympathy had moved To follow Mary as she quickly rose, Believing that she sought her brother’s grave. He in the spirit groaned, and, troubled, said, “Where have ye laid him?” Sadly they replied,

M Lord, come and see;” and lo, Messiah wept.

O consecrated tears! shall one be lost?

No; in an urn held by a cherub hand,

An infant cherub He had blessed on earth,

Each hallowed drop preserved was borne to

heaven, And on the glorious battlements of light, From whence the angel hosts our world survey, They stood in wonder, bowed their reverent

heads, Hushed every harp, and silently adored His love who thus could pity mortal woe. Slowly He followed where the mourners led; And some there were who questioned,” Could not

He Who oped the sightless eyes and gave them light Have caused that e’en this man should not have

died?” Again the Saviour, groaning in Himself, Oppressed and careworn, cometh to the grave. No verdant mound laved with the falling spray Of silvery fountain or transparent lake Received the dust of the departed one, Nor bud nor blossom marked his resting place; It was a cave on which a stone was laid; They rolled it back, and then each heart was still, For Jesus lifted up His eyes and said, “Father,” thank Thee that my prayer is heard; And while I know Thou alway hearest me, Yet for their sake, the people gathered here,

I thus invoke Thee, thus Thy throne address, That they may know that I am sent by Thee.” A moment’s pause, and then He cried aloud, “Lazarus, come forth!” and through each quivering vein The lifeblood coursed, the warm pulse throbbed

anew, And, starting to his feet, perfect and sound, The dead was raised and Jesus glorified.

EVENING.

A REMINISCENCE.

Go, busy care, awhile depart;

These moments have no place for thee; Go, take thy burden from my heart,

And leave this hallowed hour to me; The sun has gone, his farewell ray

Has kissed the rosy-tinted west; The swallow twittering hies away,

And gathers all her brood to rest.

Go, busy care, and let me feel

The touch of evening’s grateful breeze, And hear its whisper lightly steal

Among these long familiar trees; I love to sit beneath their shade

That overlook yon ruined dome, And count the years when first I played

Beside its porch and called it home.

I had no care, no sorrow, then;

My life was like a summer day, My world this lovely sylvan glen,

Nor had I thought or wish to stray, But tarry with its birds and flowers,

Its autumn leaves and winter snow; They brought their merry, laughing hours,

And bade my heart with pleasure glow.

And then, that lake whose glossy wave

So like a burnished mirror seems, Where swans their graceful beauty lave —

And. in my happy childhood dreams, How oft I’ve rowed my tiny boat

Along its bosom calm and still,
And caroled to the silver note

Of echo from the distant hill.

Sweet native wild, to me so dear,

How changed, how sadly changed, thou art! But love hath still its altar here,

And thou art sacred to my heart; Yes, sacred; for alone I weep

O’er broken ties and moss-grown graves, Where daisies come their watch to keep,

And memory’s drooping cypress waves.

One mound is left; I mind it well;

And oft the sod my feet have pressed, Where, by and by, the old church bell

Will toll me softly to my rest;

And when I close these weary eyes, May He, who knows my every care,

From His great temple in the skies Stoop down and take my spirit there —

Where purer joys than ever thrilled

My bosom here shall come to me, And every throbbing pulse be stilled

In that sweet immortality — That world of song, from whose bright shore

All gloom and cloud and storm are driven, And love keeps vigil evermore,

Nor weeps o’er broken ties in Heaven.

MOTHER, PRAY FOR ME.

Mother, mother, I am waiting

For your blessing ere I go; But your head is bowed in sorrow;

Can I leave you weeping so?
Wipe away your tears, my mother,

I must brave a stormy sea;
But my heart will fear no danger

While my mother prays for me.

You have taught me to remember

My Creator in my youth; You have taught me words of comfort

From the page of life and truth;

And those blessed words, repeated Morn and eve beside your knee,

Will be sweeter now; but, mother, Don’t forget to pray for me.

When you watch the sky at evening,

Dark with threatening clouds o’ercast, And you hear the restless moaning

Of the cold, foreboding blast; When you think your boy is tossing

On a wild and angry sea,
I shall know at such a moment

That my mother prays for me.

PEACE; BE STILL.

When, o’er the billows wild and dark, Was rudely tossed the Saviour’s barque, He calmed them by His sovereign will, And bade the angry storm be still.

The wild winds cease — the billows sleep

In silence on the mighty deep;

For God, omnipotent to save,

Can calm the wind and rule the wave.

Thus when tempestuous passions swell, And we against His law rebel, O, may our hearts His Spirit fill, And bid the angry storm be still.

And O, in sorrow’s gloomy hour Still may we own His sovereign power; Bow meekly to His gracious will, And bid the throbbing heart be still.

THE BAPTISM OF OUR LORD.

High in his zenith rode the King of day, And, from his flaming chariot as it passed, Let down his glory like a flood of gold On Jordan’s waters, famed on history’s page, Where Israel’s mighty host whom Joshua led To their inheritance, fair Canaan’s land, Beheld the river parted in the midst; The waters, like a wall on either side, Moved not till every footstep died away And all were safe; and then Jehovah’s voice Bade them return to their own place again, — The Jordan on whose brink Elijah stood, And with his mantle smote the turbid waves, And they divided; he on solid ground Trod fearless, for he knew God’s hand was tin r

How beautiful that ancient river now, Its waters placid, while the idle breeze Slept on its bosom, and the noontide sun Kissed every wave, chased every cloud away, Lest they should break that sweet tranquillity! And he whose raiment was of camel’s hair, Whose meat was locusts and the honey wild,

Who in Judea’s wilderness had cried, M Repent ye, for God’s kingdom is at hand,” Stood on those lovely banks amid the throng That from the region round about had come To hear his words, and, penitent for sin, With due confession, meekly to receive The holy sign, the one baptismal rite, — To whom in tones prophetic thus he spoke: u Now at the root the sharpened ax is laid, And every tree that bears not goodly fruit Shall have no more a place amid the soil, But, severed branch by branch, shall fuel be To feed the flames that must forever burn. With water to repentance I baptize; But lo, among you shall another come, Greater than I, the latchet of whose shoes, Behold, I am not worthy to unloose, — He shall baptize you with the Holy Ghost, Yea, and with tire; of Him I witness bear.”

See now the Baptist; what hath moved his soul? Why fixed his gaze upon that stranger form, Mild, eloquent, serene, majestic, pure? Who would not love that more than earthly face, Those gentle looks with tender sadness twined, Those olive eyes to whose expression deep His soul benignant lent a heavenly beam That found its way to many a grief-worn heart, And left a smile of peace and comfort there? And this was He whose birth the angels sang.

And o’er whose cradle shone His natal star So brightly when the Orient wise men came, And laid their costly treasures at His feet; This, too, was He whom Simeon in his arms Took up, and blessed, and said,” Lord, now 1

may Depart in peace, for lo, these aged eyes In this fair Child have Thy salvation seen.”

Then cometh Jesus, saith the inspired page,

From Galilee to Jordan, unto John,

To be baptized of him; but John refused;

“No, I have need to be baptized of Thee,”

His meek reply, “and comest Thou to me?”

But Jesus answered,” Let it be so now,

For thus it doth become us to fulfill

All righteousness.” The Baptist urged no more.

They bent their steps down toward the river’s

brink; The waves adoring murmured as His form Plunged ‘neath their depths, and sparkled when

He rose. Out of the water upward as He came, Harps rang in chorus by the Tree of Life, And angels sang hosannas round the throne; The heavens were opened with ecstatic joy; The Spirit thence descending like a dove Abode upon Him, and the Father’s voice Proclaimed to all, “This is My Beloved Son In whom I am well pleased; believe in Him.”

WE KNOW NOT WHAT THOU DOEST.

Lord, we know not what Thou doest,

But Thy ways are kind and just; And Thy word of life has taught us

To believe, obey, and trust; Lord, we know not what Thou doest;

But, in yonder morning land,
When our spirit eyes are opened,

We shall know and understand.

Thou wilt show us why ’twas needful

Our request should be denied; Why our dearest hopes were blighted,

And our faith so oft was tried;
Yes, beyond the vale of shadows,

In the golden reaping land, Why our hearts were bowed in sorrow

We shall know and understand.

Though we know not what Thou doest,

We will trust Thee to the end; Thou hast veiled from us in wisdom

What we could not comprehend;
Yet, beyond the silent river,

When our souls with joy expand, Then Thy dealings, blessed Saviour,

We shall know and understand.

THE DYING BOY.

Say, why are you weeping, dear mother?

Sit down; I have something to tell; I heard a sweet voice, and it told me

That all with my spirit was well; It came to my heart, and that moment

I felt not a struggle or pain; It whispered I soon should be happy,

And never know sorrow again.

Say, why are you weeping, dear mother?

How grateful to God you should be That He in His love has provided

A home of such beauty for me — A home on the banks of a river

Whose waters are crystal and fair; There hunger and cold cannot reach me;

And, mother, the Saviour is there.

Say, why are you weeping, dear mother?

How hard you have toiled for my sake! But now you can sleep, and so calmly

You need not so early awake; Come nearer; one kiss, gentle mother;

I’m going, I’m speeding my flight; Not long will you tarry behind me;

I’ll come for you, mother. Good night.