But the past is still in God's keeping, The future His mercy shall clear, For perhaps the dreaded future Or if Marah must be Marah, He will stand beside its brink. It may be he keeps waiting, Oh! restful, blissful ignorance, "Tis blessed not to know, It holds me in those mighty arms, Which will not let me go; And hushes my soul to rest On the bosom which loves me so. So I go on not knowing, I would not if I might, I would rather walk in the dark with God Than go alone in the light; I would rather walk with Him by faith Than walk alone by sight. My heart shrinks back from trials. But what the dear Lord chose; MY LEGACY FROM PARNASSUS. They told me I was heir; I turned in haste and run to seek my treasure, and wondered as I ran how it was placed; if I should find a measure of gold, or if the title of fair lands and houses would be laid within my hands. I journeyed many roads, I knocked at gates, I spoke to each wayfarer I met, and said: A heritage awaits me, art not thou the bearer of news, some message sent to me whereby I learn which way my new possessions lie? Some asked me in, nought lay beyond their door; some smiled and would not tarry, but said that men were just behind who bore more gold than I could carry. And the morn, the noon, the day were spent, while empty-handed up and down I went. At last one cried, whose face I could not see, as through the mists he hasted: "Poor child! what evil ones have hindered thee till this whole day is wasted? Hath no man told thee that thou art joint heir with one named Christ, who waits thy goods to share ?" The one named Christ I had sought for many days, in many places vainly. I heard men name his name in many ways; I saw his temples plainly. But they who named him most gave me no sign to find him by, or prove the heirship mine. And when at last I stood before his face I knew him by no token, save subtle air of joy, which filled the place. Our greeting was not spoken. In solemn silence I received my share. My share! No deed of house or spreading lands, as I had dreamed; no measure. heaped up with gold. My elder Brother's hands have never held such treasure. Foxes have holes, and birds in nests are fed; my Brother hath not where to lay his head. My share! the right like Him to know all pain which hearts are made for knowing. The right to find in loss the surest gain; to reap my joy from sowing in bitter tears; the right with Him to keep a watch by day and night with all who weep. My share! To-day men call it grief and death, I see the joy and life to-morrow; I thank my Father with my every breath for this sweet legacy of sorrow; and through my tears, I call to each joint-heir with Christ, make haste to ask Him for thy share. THE CITY OF THE DEAD. In a long vanished age, whose varied story So long ago expressed its grief and glory, There flourished far away H. H. In a broad realm, whose beauty passed all measure, A city fair and wide, Wherein the dwellers lived in peace and pleasure, Disease, and pain and death, those stern marauders, Which mar our world's fair face, Never encroached upon the pleasant borders No fear of parting, and no dread of dying Could ever enter there; No mourning for the lost, no anguished crying, Without the city's walls death reigned as ever, Within, the dwellers laughed at his endeavor, Oh, happiest of all earth's favored places! To live in the sweet light of living faces, To feel no death damp gathering cold and colder, Disputing life's warm breath; To live on, never lovelier or older, Radiant in deathless youth; And hurrying from the world's remotest parts, Across broad plains, and over mighty waters, To find that blest abode. Where never death should come between, and sever Them from their loved apart, Where they might work and win, and live forever, Still holding heart to heart. And thus they lived in happiness and pleasure, And did great deeds, and laid up stores of treasure, Yet listen, hapless soul, whom angels pity, Mark how the dwellers in the wondrous city And many years rolled on, And saw them striving with unbated breath, One and another who had borne The pain of concealing life's long thrall, Forsook their pleasant places, And came stealing outside the city wall; Craving with wish that brooked no more delay, (So long had it been crossed) The blessed possibility of dying, The treasure they had lost. Daily the current of rest seeking mortals, Swelled to a broader tide, 'Till none were left within the city's portals, Would it be worth the having or the giving, Oh! for the weariness that comes of living, |