J. H. PERKINS. "But the shore is dark, and the sea is wild, And, dearest father, we still must wait." She hastened to her inner room, And silently mused there alone; "Three springs have come, three winters gone, And still we wait from hour to hour; But earth waits long for her harvest-time, And the aloe, in the northern clime, Waits an hundred years for its flower. "Under the apple-boughs as I sit In May-time, when the robin's song Thrills the odorous winds along, The innermost heaven seems to ope; I think, though the old joys pass from sight, Still something is left for hearts' delight, For life is endless, and so is hope. "If the aloe waits an hundred years, And God's times are so long indeed For simple things, as flower and weed, That gather only the light and gloom, For what great treasures of joy and dole, Of life and death, perchance, must the soul, Ere it flower in heavenly peace, find J. H. PERKINS. [U. s. A.] THE UPRIGHT SOUL. 269 LATE to our town there came a maid, A noble woman, true and pure, Who, in the little while she stayed, Wrought works that shall endure. It was not anything she said, It was not anything she did: It was the movement of her head, The lifting of her lid. Her little motions when she spoke, The presence of an upright soul, The living light that from her broke, It was the perfect whole : We saw it in her floating hair, We saw it in her laughing eye; For every look and feature there Wrought works that cannot die. For she to many spirits gave A reverence for the true, the pure, The perfect, that has power to save, And make the doubting sure. She passed, she went to other lands, The wondrous product of her hands She knew not of the work she did; From her is ever hid. Forever, did I say? O, no! The time must come when she will look Upon her pilgrimage below, And find it in God's book, That, as she trod her path aright, A deed, a word, our careless rest, Has from him powers of healing. Go, maiden, with thy golden tresses, Forget him he will not forget, But strive to live and testify But gin ye lo'ed me as I lo'e you, I wad ring my ain deid knell; Thy goodness, when earth's sun has set, Mysel' wad vanish, shot through and And Time itself rolled by. Gin a body could be a thocht o' grace, And no a sel' ava! I'm sick o' my heid, and my han's and my face, An' my thochts and mysel' and a'; For gin ance I saw yer bonnie heid, The ghaist o' mysel' wad fa' doun deid; I wad be mysel' nae mair. Slain by the arrows o' licht frae yer hair. O lassie ayont the hill, etc. But gin ye lo'ed me ever sae sma', I micht bide by mysel' the weary same; Till I turn frae the claes that cover my frame, As gin they war roun' the deid. O lassie ayont the hill, etc. through Wi' the shine o' yer sunny sel', By the licht aneath yer broo, O lassie ayont the hill! HYMN FOR THE MOTHER. My child is lying on my knees; The signs of heaven she reads; My face is all the heaven she sees, Is all the heaven she needs. And she is well, yea, bathed in bliss, I mean her well so earnestly, Unchanged in changing mood; My life would go without a sigh To bring her something good. I also am a child, and I For all behind the starry sky, Behind the world so broad, Behind men's hearts and souls doth lie The Infinite of God. Ay, true to her, though troubled sore, If I am low and sinful, bring More love where need is rife; Thou knowest what an awful thing It is to be a life. "Greeting!" "And may you speak, indeed?" All in the dark her sense grew clearer; She knew that she had, for company, All day an angel near her. "May you tell us of the life divine, To us unknown, to angels given?" "Count me your earthly joys, and I May teach you those of heaven." "They say the pleasures of earth are vain ; "And while he quickens the air with song, My breaths with scent, my fruits with flavor, Will he, dear angel, count as sin My life in sound and savor? "See, at our feet the glow-worm shines, Lo! in the east a star arises; And thought may climb from worm to world Forever through fresh surprises: "And thought is joy. . . . And, hark! in the vale Music, and merry steps pursuing; They leap in the dance, a soul in my blood Cries out, Awake, be doing! "Action is joy; or power at play, Or power at work in world or emprises: Action is life; part from the deed, More from the doing rises." "And are these all?" She flushed in the dark. "These are not all. I have a lover; At sound of his voice, at touch of his hand, The cup of my life runs over. "Once, unknowing, we looked and neared, And doubted, and neared, and rested never, Till life seized life, as flame meets flame, To escape no more forever. "Lover and husband; then was love The wine of my life, all life enhancing: Now 't is my bread, too needful and sweet To be kept for feast-day chancing. "Howso parted, we must be nigh, Held by old years of every weather; The best new love would be less than ours Who have lived our lives together. "Now, lest forever I fail to see Right skies, through clouds so bright and tender, Show me true joy." The angel's smile Lit all the night with splendor. "Save that to Love and Learn and Do In wondrous measure to us is given; Save that we see the face of God, You have named the joys of heaven." CHRISTINA ROSSETTI AFTER DEATH. THE curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept And strewn with rushes; rosemary and may Lay thick upon the bed on which I lay, Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept. He leaned above me, thinking that I slept, And could not hear him; but I heard him say, "Poor child! poor child!" and as he turned away, Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept. He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold That hid my face, or take my hand in his, Orruffle the smooth pillows for my head. He did not love me living: but once dead He pitied me; and very sweet it is To know he still is warm, though I am cold. I track the shadow of his steps, I grow Most like to him I love Of all that shines below. VESPERS. ELIZABETH H. WHITTIER. WHEN I have said my quiet say, I thought beside the water's flow What matter now for promise lost, Thou lovest still the poor; O, blest 273 |