Out of a life ever mournful,
Out of a land very lornful,

Where in bleak exile we roam,2
Into a joy-land above us,

Where there's a Father to love us
Into our home "Sweet Home."

COMETH a voice from a far-land,
Beautiful, sad, and low;

Shineth a light from the star-land
Down on the night of my woe;
And a white hand, with a garland,
Biddeth my spirit to go.

Away and afar from the night-land,
Where sorrow o'ershadows my way,
To the splendors and skies of the light-land,
Where reigneth eternity's day, -
To the cloudless and shadowless bright-land,
Whose sun never passeth away.

And I knew the voice; not a sweeter
On earth or in Heaven can be ;
And never did shadow pass fleeter
Than it, and its strange melody;

And I know I must hasten to meet her,
"Yea, Sister! Thou callest to me!"

And I saw the light; 'twas not seeming,

It flashed from the crown that she wore, And the brow, that with jewels was gleaming, My lips had kissed often of yore!

And the eyes, that with rapture were beaming, Had smiled on me sweetly before.

And I saw the hand with the garland,
Ethel's hand holy and fair;
Who went long ago to the far-land

To weave me the wreath I shall wear;
And to-night I look up to the star-land
And pray that I soon may be there. 2

NIGHT THOUGHTS

SOME reckon their age by years,

Some measure their life by art,

But some tell their days by the flow of their tears, And their life, by the moans of their heart.

The dials of earth may show

The length not the depth of years;

Few or many they come, few or many they go,
But our time is best measured by tears.

Ah! not by the silver gray

That creeps through the sunny hair,

And not by the scenes that we pass on our way, And not by the furrows the fingers of care,

On forehead and face, have made:

Not so do we count our years;

Not by the sun of the earth, but the shade
Of our souls, and the fall of our tears.

For the young are oft-times old,

Though their brow be bright and fair;

While their blood beats warm, their heart lies coldO'er them the springtime, but winter is there.

And the old are oft-times young,

When their hair is thin and white;

And they sing in age, as in youth they sung,
And they laugh, for their cross was light.

But bead by bead I tell

The rosary of my years;

From a cross to a cross they lead, 'tis well!

And they're blest with a blessing of tears.

Better a day of strife

Than a century of sleep;

Give me instead of a long stream of life,
The tempests and tears of the deep.

A thousand joys may foam

On the billows of all the years;

But never the foam brings the brave 2 heart home It reaches the haven through tears.

NOTES TO SELECTIONS

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER

I. For a brief statement of the circumstances that gave rise to the poem, see sketch of Key, page 12.

2. Fort McHenry, on the north bank of the Patapsco, below Baltimore, was attacked by the British fleet, September 13, 1814.

3. The attack being unsuccessful, the British became disheartened and withdrew.

4. Before the attack upon Baltimore, the British had taken Washington and burned the capitol and other public buildings.

With this poem may be compared other martial lyrics, such as Hopkinson's Hail Columbia, Mrs. Howe's Battle Hymn of the Republic, Campbell's Ye Mariners of England and Battle of the Baltic, Tennyson's Charge of the Light Brigade, etc.

STANZAS

1. See sketch of Wilde, page 13. This song was translated into Greek by Anthony Barclay and announced as a newly discovered ode by Alcæus. The trick, however, was soon detected by scholars, and the author of the poem received a due meed of praise.

2. The brevity of life has been a favorite theme of poets ever since Job (vii. 6) declared, “Our days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle."

3. The reference seems to be to the shore about the Bay of Tampa on the west coast of Florida.

POETS OF THE SOUTH-14 209