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That I, in life, may never die to thee;
For there the fear is most. Thou art too full
Of love's sweet essences for death to take;
And so I rest without the fear of loss.
But I am prone as ether to be lost
And disappear out of most loving hearts.
Let us maintain the integrity of love By being true to ourselves. A leal whole heart Is as abiding in love's firmament As any star in heaven. Let us give Clear vantage to the light that burns within, And like the stars be clear unto ourselves. They are not self polluted—see they shine No dimlier for all the murky nights. And this should be great joy—that we, each one, Might be a world of beauty in ourselves, Unstain'd by circumstance as stars by cloud: For though they seem torn out of their high spheres, Trampled beneath the plashy feet of storms, Yet when the storm has fretted past, we see They have been lying in unthought-of peace.
Give me thy little hand. How heavenly soft ! It has no feel of this world's hardening work, And emblems thy young soul, which bears not yet The hards of earth upon it.— Wherefore should Our innocents put off the charmed life Which manhood does but struggle to regain ? We cast off child-content, and then begin A life-long struggle for a child's content.Soft as it is, in this small hand I read Lines prophesying burdens and earth-strifes. The azure innocence drops from thine eye. Thou reck'st not of my augur. But my past Gives me thy future now-and would, my love, I might fore-bear the burden of thy griefs And leave thee all the joys. Yet God forbid That thou should'st be robb'd of thy jewell'd sorrows ! I could not wish my past one grief the less, But would my griefs had been more wisely borne And yielded more soul treasure. I have found My richest jewels in the hardest rock,
But spoil'd them oft in breaking it; lost more
Through leaving much unbroken. Like a bee
I've ever tried to avoid the stony road,
And sought the lanes to nestle among flowers.
But took not duty with me like the bee :
My task sat like a beggar in the dust,
Neglected, and a busy world pass'd on.
But, ah, sweet Ignorance, thou canst not take
The meaning from my lips : thy soft brows lift,
Thine eyes give out a recognising glance
Only at certain words, as bee and flowers,
Which fall like gleams of sunshine on thy brain,
Chased by immediate shade.-Yet is it known
The spirit has a deeper speech than words,
A hearing that receives unspoken thought.
Some presences are felt like a sweet air
Blowing upon our souls, some like hell's breath.
If either come amongst us we take on
The good or evil odour. Therefore thou
May'st thus take on the nature of my thought:
And inasmuch as these pangs of regret
Make strong my future self, so may they thee.
Doubt not the unspoken precept; it doth pass
From soul to soul as dawn upon the earth-
Not with forced light, but gently leads in day,
Which soon is all in all, and we can trace
No footmark of a struggle with the night.
But strength of me or precept thou need'st none : They could but help to give that which thou hastThy rich inheritance of child-content.I do but speak my overflow of love. It does not wait my time : tide-like it comes. It ebbs and flows between us, and each wave Throws up its thousand pearls upon our heartsThe world doth hold us poor, and we ourselves Oft join the world in feeling we are poorPoor! and with all this treasure in our heartsWealth richlier possess'd than gold could be ! To have is but to love; and he whose heart Is fullest of the love of godliest things Is still the richest man what else he lack.
This is the very alchymy of truth :
God keep it aye within us.—There now, love,
Go play thyself, and leave me here alone,
To open up the coffers of my heart
And count how rich I am in loving thee.
This appeared anonymnonsly in Chambers's Journal.
What spirit is't that does pervade
The silence of this empty room?
And as I lift my eyes, what shade
Glides off, and vanishes in gloom ?
I could believe, this moment past,
A known form fillid that vacant chair,
That, here, kind looks were on me cast
I never shall see anywhere!
The living are so far away!
But thou-thou seemest strangely near: Know'st all my silent heart would say,
Its peace, its pains, its hope, its fear.
And from thy calm supernal height,
And wondrous wisdom newly won,
Smilest on all our poor delight
And petty woe beneath the sun.
From all this coil thou hast slipp'd away
As softly as the cloud departs
Along the hillside purple-gray-
Into the heaven of patient hearts:
Nothing here suffer'd, nothing miss'd
Will ever stir from its repose
The death-smile on her lips unkiss'd,
Who all things loves and all things knows.
And I who, ignorant and weak,
Helpless in love and quick in pain,
Do evermore still restless, seek
The unattainable in vain
Find it strange comfort thus to sit
While the loud world unheeded rolls,
And clasp, ere yet the fancy flit,
A friend's hand from the Land of Souls.
From Hours with the Mases, by J. C. PRINCE.
My child of love! I look for thee
When night hath chased the day:
Thy sister seeks her father's knee,
But thou !-thou art away.-J. B. ROGERSON.
A DREAMY stillness in the calm air slept:
The moon was cloudless, and serenely wept
Her tears of radiance in my lonely room,
Giving a silvery softness to tbe gloom ;
When Death-that mighty and mysterious shade
Beneath my roof his first dread visit paid,-
His shadowy banner o'er my hearth unfurl'd,
And broke the spell that bound me to the world.
Oh! mournful task! at that subduing hour
I watched the withering of a cherished flower;
I bent in silence o'er a dying child,
And felt that grief which cannot be beguiled;
Held on my trembling knee his wasted frame,
As the last shadow o'er bis features came;
Saw the dull film that veil'd his lovely eyes,-
Receiv'd upon my lips his latest sighs;
And as the spirit calmly, softly pass'd,
I knew that I was desolate at last!
A few brief hours, and he was borne away,
And laid, soft sleeping, on his couch of clay.
Fond hearts that loved, and lips that blessed, were there,
That swell’d with grief, and breath'd the parting prayer.
The pastor gave his treasure unto God;
I only heard the booming of the clod
That closed for ever on my darling son,
And told that love's last obsequies were done;
Then looking, lingering still- I turn'd again,
To quell my grief amid the haunts of men.
Yes, thou art gone, my beautiful-my boy!
Thy father's solace, and thy mother's joy!
Gone to a far, far world, where sin and strife
Can never stain the purity of life;-
A young bright worshipper at mercy's throne,
While I am prison'd here, unbless'd and lone,
Lone as a shatter'd bark upon the deep,
When unrelenting storms around her sweep;
Lone as a tree beneath an angry heaven,
Its foliage scatter'd, and its branches riven;
Lone as a broken harp, whose wonted strain
Can never wake to melody again!
Thus have I felt for thee, child, since we parted,
Weary and sad, and all but broken-hearted,
I mourn in secret; for thy mother now,
With settled sorrow gather'd on her brow,
Looks unto me for comfort in her tears,
While the soul's anguish in her face appears.
We sit together by our evening fire,
And talk of thee with tongues that cannot tire;
Recall thy buoyant form—thy winning ways,-
Thy healthful cheek that promis'd many days,-
Each pleasant word, each gentle look and tone
That touch'd the heart, and made it all thine own;
Gaze on the treasures which pertained to thee,
The constant sources of thy boyish glee,
Things which are kept with more than miser care-
The empty garment and the vacant chair;
Till, having eased the burden of the breast,
A tranquil sadness soothes us into rest.
'Twas sweet to kiss thy sleeping eyes at morn,
And press thy lips that welcomed my return:
'Twas sweet to hear thy cheerful voice at play,
And watch thy steps the live-long Sabbath day;
'Twas sweet to take thee on my knee, and hear
Thine artless narrative of joy and fear, -