Just as the little boat approached The island bleak and bare. The boat ran up a creek, as if, "Twere steered by angels good; And ere the evening prayer was done Beside the youth she stood. The chiefest joy it hath not words And as if he had seen a sprite, His spirit died away. Then with clasped hands, and broken speech, And tears that ceaseless flowed; He poured forth from his full heart A fervent praise of God. PART XII. "BUT let us hence," said Marien; A light breeze from the desert shore Over the waters blew, And the little boat sailed on before, As friends long parted, met once more, And as they sailed, sweet Marien Be brought; the golden ring; As if to hail a king. "For this, my son," said he, " was dead, And is alive; is found, Who was long lost; 'tis meet, therefore, That stintless joy abound!" "Oh, child of woe," said Marien, "The meanest of thy creatures, low I bend before thy throne, And offer my poor self to make Thy loving-kindness known! "Oh father, give me words of power, The stony hearts to move; Give me prevailing eloquence, 66 To publish forth thy love! Thy love which wearieth not; which like Oh Father, let me worship Thee I love not life; I ask not wealth; So spake the youth; but now the boat Which, like a cloudland realm of bliss, Skyward rose sunny peaks, pale-hued, And crested palms, broad-leaved and tall, A lovely land of flowers, as fair And sorrow, that corrupting pair, A lovely land!" And even now," "For these, God kept thee in the wild, For these, his people, through distress And though the twain knew not their speech, Yet well they understood The looks of love that welcomed them, Their actions kind and good. With them for many a year abode The youth, and learned their tongue; And with the sound of Christian praise The hills and valleys rung. Oh beautiful beyond all lands That lay beneath the moon, A joyful people there they dwelt, And with them dwelt the holy youth, Like to some ancient church of Christ, From worldly taint kept free, Lay this delicious isle of love Amid its summer sea. But now the work he had to do Was done; and ere his day Approached its noon, his strength, his life, Was wearing fast away. They saw his cheek grow thin and pale; Old men, and youths, and women meek, Sad mourners knelt in prayer, And round about his feet they sat, Now all this while good Marien Had wandered far and wide, Through divers realms, for many a year, The hand of Heaven her guide. And now unto the glorious isle "T was Sabbath eve, and o'er the isle A stillness, how unlike the calm A hush, as of suspended breath, Through the still vales went Marien, Onward she went, not many steps, With heart of mournful ruth, Beside him knelt she on the turf, And spoke in accents low Words of strong love, which like new life He raised himself, and blessing God, Had sent his angel there; With low-toned voice, more musical Than softest lute could make, Looking upon his weeping friends With fervent love, he spake. "Oh friends, beloved friends! weep not, Nor be oppressed with woe; "Tis of His will, who doeth right, That I am called to go! "Fain would I tarry, but the cry Hath sounded in mine ear, "Even like the Master whom I serve, "I go, but leave you not forlorn, "Oh weep not, friends; a better home Awaits me, and I go, But to that home which is prepared For ye who love me so! The Sabbath sun went down amid And the freed spirit, cleansed from sin, Beneath the trees where he had died. Now he who knows old Christmas, He comes warm cloaked and coated, We know that he will not fail us, So we sweep the hearth up clean; We set him the old armed chair, And a cushion whereon to lean. We broach the strong ale barrel, That does one good to hear; He shakes one heartily by the hand, As he hath done many a year. And after the little children He asks in a cheerful tone, Jack, Kate, and little Annie,He remembers them every one! What a fine old fellow he is, With his faculties all as clear, And his heart as warm and light As a man's in his fortieth year! What a fine old fellow, in troth! Not one of your griping elves, Who, with plenty of money to spare, Think only about themselves! Not he! for he loveth the children; And singeth with might and main; Oh he is a kind old fellow, Oh, could you have seen those paupers, You would wish with them that Christmas He must be a rich old fellow,- Good luck unto old Christmas, THE TWELFTH HOUR. My friends, the spirit is at peace; Nor covet for me length of years, I know how strong are human ties; And words of power are in mine ear; "Thou human soul," they seem to say, "We are commissioned from above, Through the dark portal to convey Thee to the paradise of love; Thou need'st not shrink, thou need'st not fear; We, thy sure help, are gathered near! "Thy weakness on our strength confide; Thy doubt upon our steadfast trust; And rise up, pure and glorified, From thine infirm and sinful dust. Rise up, rise up! the eternal day Begins to dawn-why wilt thou stay? "Look forth-the day begins to dawn; The future openeth to thy view; The veil of mystery is undrawn; The old things are becoming new; The night of time is passing by: Poor trembler, do not fear to die! "Come, come! the gates of pearl unfold: The eternal glory shines on thee! Body, relax thy lingering hold, And set the struggling spirit free!" "Tis done, 'tis done! - before my sight Opens the awful infinite: I see, I hear, I live anew! Oh friends, dear friends, adieu, adieu! THE BLIND BOY AND HIS SISTER. "OH brother," said fair Annie, To the blind boy at her side; "Would thou could'st see the sunshine lie On hill and valley, and the sky Hung like a glorious canopy O'er all things far and wide! "Would thou could'st see the waters "Would thou could'st see my face, brother, As well as I see thine; For always what I cannot see Yet thou dost ne'er repine!" Said the blind boy with a smile; A clear light as of mid-day skies ; Beside our cottage door, And people say, ' that boy is blind,' A world of beauty in my mind, A never-ceasing store. "I hear you talk of mountains, The beautiful, the grand; Of splintered peaks so grey and tall; Of lake, and glen, and waterfall; Of flowers and trees;-I ken them all;Their difference understand. "The harebell and the gowan Are not alike to me, Are different as the herd and flock, "And oh, the heavenly music, That as I sit alone, Comes to mine inward sense as clear As if the angel voices were Before the mighty Throne! "It is not as of outward sound, Of breeze, or singing bird; But wondrous melody refined; A gift of God unto the blind; An inward harmony of mind, By inward senses heard! "And all the old-world stories That neighbours tell o' nights; Of fairies on the fairy mound, Of brownies dwelling under ground, Of elves careering round and round, Of fays and water-sprites; "All this to me is pleasantness, — I see the antic people play, — Yet where I seem to go. "But better far than this, Annie, "Oh, love is not of sight, Annie, Is not of outward things; For, in my inmost soul I know, His pity for all mortal woe; His words of love, spoke long ago, Unseal its deepest springs! "Then do not mourn for me, Annie, Because that I am blind;The beauty of all outward sight; The wondrous shows of day and night; All love, all faith, and all delight, Are strong in heart and mind!" THE SPIRIT'S QUESTIONINGS. What of this? our blessed Lord WHERE shall I meet thee, Thou beautiful one? Where shall I find thee, For aye who art gone? What is the shape To thy clear spirit given? Where is thy home In the infinite heaven? I see thee, but still As thou wert upon earth, In thy bodied delight, In thy wonder and mirth! But now thou art one Of the glorified band Who have touched the shore Of the far spirit-land! And thy shape is fair, And thy locks are bright, In the living stream Of the quenchless light. And from mystery! And thine ears have drunk The awful tone Of the First and Last, Of the Ancient One! And the dwellers old Thy steps have met, Where the lost is found, And the past is yet. Where shall I find thee, For aye who art gone? Where shall I meet thee, Thou beautiful one? THE POOR CHILD'S HYMN. We are poor and lowly born; Labour is our heritage, Care and want beside. What of this? our blessed Lord Was of lowly birth, Were his friends on earth! We are ignorant and young; Gifted with but humble powers, A DREAM. HOAR with the lapse of ages seemed Had held the sons of men; In earth or air, from wind or flood; But o'er the bare and barren ground Brooded an endless solitude. It was an awful thing to tread O'er grey and parched and mighty plains, Where never living thing was seen, Where the live heart had never been: The blood chilled in my veins, Yet still I felt in spirit led But lo! that deadness of the world, And I walked over fern and flower; Bounded that amplitude of plain; One I beheld who strongly toiled; And he clove wood for sacrifice. I listened for his sounding stroke, And he gazed on it with an air Less marked by pleasure than despair. But then a lovelier vision sprung Before me; and between the tall It mixed not with the ambient air; |