And children coming home from school Look in at the open door;They love to see the flaming forge, And bear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church, And sits among his boys;He hears the parson pray and preach, He hears his daughter's voice, Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies;And with his haul, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing, Onward through life he goes;1
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought;Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought.
ENDYMION
The rising moon has hid the stars;
Her level rays, like golden bars, Lie on the landscape green, With shadows brown between.
And silver white the river gleams, As if Diana, in her dreams, Had dropt her silver bow Upon the meadows low.
On such a tranquil night as this, She woke Endymion with a kiss, When, sleeping in the grove, He dreamed not of her love.
Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, Love gives itself, but is not bought;Nor voice, nor sound betrays Its deep, impassioned gaze.
It comes,--the beautiful, the free, The crown of all humanity,--In silence and alone To seek the elected one.
It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep, And kisses the closed eyes Of him, who slumbering lies.
O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes!
O drooping souls, whose destinies Are fraught with fear and pain, Ye shall be loved again!
No one is so accursed by fate, No one so utterly desolate, But some heart, though unknown, Responds unto his own.
Responds,--as if with unseen wings, An angel touched its quivering strings;And whispers, in its song, "'Where hast thou stayed so long?"IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY
No hay pajaros en los nidos de antano.
Spanish ProverbThe sun is bright,--the air is clear, The darting swallows soar and sing.
And from the stately elms I hear The bluebird prophesying Spring.
So blue you winding river flows, It seems an outlet from the sky, Where waiting till the west-wind blows, The freighted clouds at anchor lie.
All things are new;--the buds, the leaves, That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest, And even the nest beneath the eaves;--There are no birds in last year's nest!
All things rejoice in youth and love, The fulness of their first delight!
And learn from the soft heavens above The melting tenderness of night.
Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme, Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay;Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, For oh, it is not always May!
Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, To some good angel leave the rest;For Time will teach thee soon the truth, There are no birds in last year's nest!
THE RAINY DAY
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary It rains, and the wind is never weary;The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, And the days are dark and dreary.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.
GOD'S-ACRE.
I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just;It consecrates each grave within its walls, And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust.
God's-Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown The seed that they had garnered in their hearts, Their bread of life, alas! no more their own.
Into its furrows shall we all be cast, In the sure faith, that we shall rise again At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.
Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, In the fair gardens of that second birth;And each bright blossom mingle its perfume With that of flowers, which never bloomed on earth.
With thy rude ploughahare, Death, turn up the sod, And spread the furrow for the seed we sow;This is the field and Acre of our God, This is the place where human harvests grow!
TO THE RIVER CHARLES.
River! that in silence windest Through the meadows, bright and free, Till at length thy rest thou findest In the bosom of the sea!
Four long years of mingled feeling, Half in rest, and half in strife, I have seen thy waters stealing Onward, like the stream of life.
Thou hast taught me, Silent River!
Many a lesson, deep and long;
Thou hast been a generous giver;
I can give thee but a song.
Oft in sadness and in illness, I have watched thy current glide, Till the beauty of its stillness Overflowed me, like a tide.
And in better hours and brighter, When I saw thy waters gleam, I have felt my heart beat lighter, And leap onward with thy stream.
Not for this alone I love thee, Nor because thy waves of blue From celestial seas above thee Take their own celestial hue.
Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee, And thy waters disappear, Friends I love have dwelt beside thee, And have made thy margin dear.
More than this;--thy name reminds me Of three friends, all true and tried;And that name, like magic, binds me Closer, closer to thy side.
Friends my soul with joy remembers!
How like quivering flames they start, When I fan the living embers On the hearth-stone of my heart!
'T is for this, thou Silent River!
That my spirit leans to thee;
Thou hast been a generous giver, Take this idle song from me.
BLIND BARTIMEUS
Blind Bartimeus at the gates Of Jericho in darkness waits;He hears the crowd;--he hears a breath Say, "It is Christ of Nazareth!"And calls, in tones of agony, <Greek here>
The thronging multitudes increase;
Blind Bartimeus, hold thy peace!
