Toward the great sea for many days;
And now she heard its roar;
Had sunlit glimpses of it now,
And now she trod the shore.

A rugged shore of broken cliffs,

And barren wave-washed sand,
Where only the dry sea-wheat grew
By patches on the strand.

A weary way walked Marien
Beside the booming sea,
Nor boat, nor hut, nor fisherman
Throughout the day saw she.

A weary, solitary way;

And as the day declined Over the dark and troubled sea Arose a stormy wind.

The heavy waves came roaring in

With the strong coming tide;

The rain poured down, aud deep dark night Closed in on every side.

There stood the homeless Marien

With bare, unsandaled feet;
And on her form, with pitiless force,
The raging tempest beat.

Clasping her hands, she stood forlorn,
"In tempest, and in night:"
She cried, "Oh Lord, I trust in thee,
And thou wilt lead me right!"
Now underneath a shelving bank
Of sea-driven sand, there stood
A miserable hut, the home

Of a poor fisher good,

Whose loving wife but yesternight
Died in his arms, and he,

Since that day's noon, alone had been
Casting his nets at sea.

At noon he kissed his little ones,

And would be back, he said,

Long ere night closed; but with the night
Arose that tempest dread.

It was an old and crazy boat,
Wherein the man was set,
And soon 't was laden heavily
With many a laden net.

"Oh sorrow, sorrow!" groaned he forth,
As rose the sudden squall,
Thinking upon the mother dead,
And on his children small.

Now all this while the children small

Kept in their dreary place, Troubled and sad, and half afear'd

Of their dead mother's face.

And when, to while the time, they played
With shells beside the door,

They found they had not hearts for mirth,
And so they played no more.
Yet keeping up with forced content
Their hearts as best they might,
Still wishing afternoon were gone,
And it was only night.

But when, hour after hour went on,
And the night tempest black
Raged o'er the stormy sea, and still
The father came not back;

It would have touched a heart of stone
To see their looks of fear-

So young and so forlorn; - their words
Of counsel small to hear.

And now they shouted through the storm;
And then with better wit,

As they had seen their mother do,

A fire of wood they lit,
That he might see the light afar

And steer his boat by it.

Unto this light came Marien;

And ere her weary feet

Had reached the floor, the children ran
With eager arms to meet
Their loving father, as they thought,

And give him welcome sweet.
Alas! the father even then

Had run his mortal race;
But God had sent his Comforter
To fill his earthly place.

PART IX.

WOE's me, what secret tears are shed,
What wounded spirits bleed;
What loving hearts are sundered,

And yet man takes no heed!

He goeth on his daily course,

Made fat with oil and wine,
And pitieth not the weary souls

That in his bondage pine;
That turn for him the mazy wheel;
That delve for him the mine.

And pitieth not the children small,
In noisy factories dim,

That all day long, lean, pale, and faint,
Do heavy tasks for him!

To him they are but as the stones
Beneath his feet that lie:

It entereth not his thoughts that they
From him claim sympathy.

It entereth not his thoughts that God
Heareth the sufferer's groan,
That in his righteous eye, their life

Is precious as his own.

This moves him not. But let us now
Unto the fisher's shed,

Where sat his weeping little ones
Three days beside the dead.

It was a solitary waste

Of barren sand, which bore
No sign of human dwelling-place
For miles along the shore.

Yet to the scattered dwellers there
Sped Marien, and besought
That of the living and the dead

They would take Christian thought.

So in the churchyard by the sea.

The senseless dead was laid: "And now what will become of us!" The weeping children said.

"For who will give us bread to eat?

The neighbours are so poor! And he, our kinsman in the town, Would drive us from his door.

"For he is rich and pitiless,

With heart as cold as stone!
Who will be parents to us now
That ours are dead and gone?"

"Weep not," said faithful Marien,
"Man's heart is not so hard,
But it your friendless misery
Will tenderly regard!

"And I with you will still abide

Your friendless souls to cheer, Be father and mother both to you;

For this God sent me here.
"And to your kinsman in the town,
Who hath such store of gold,

I will convey you: God can change
His spirit stern and cold.

“And ye, like angels of sweet love,
From earth his soul may win.
Fear not; and we with morning light
The journey will begin."

They took their little worldly store;
And at the break of day,

Leaving the lonesome sea-side shed,
Set out upon their way.

'Mong sandy hills their way they wound;
O'er sea-grass dusk and harsh ;
By many a land-mark lone and still;
Through many a salt sea-marsh.

And thus for twice seven days they went

A little loving band,

Walking along their weary way;
Like angels, hand in hand.

A place of ships, whose name was known
Far off, beyond the main;

A busy place of trade, where nought
Was in repute but gain.

Thither they came, those children poor,
About the eventide;

And where dwelt he, their kinsman rich,
They asked on every side.

After long asking, one they found,
An old man and a poor,
Who undertook to lead them straight

Unto the kinsman's door.

But ever as he went along
He to himself did say,
Low broken sentences, as thus,

“Their kinsman!-well-a-way!" All through a labyrinth of walls

Blackened with cloudy smoke,
He led them, where was heard the forge
And the strong hammer's stroke.

And beneath lofty windows dim
In many a doleful row,
Whence came the jangle of quick looms,

Down to the courts below.

Still on the children, terrified,

With wildered spirits passed;
Until of these great mammon halls,
They reached the heart at last,-
A little chamber hot and dim,
With iron bars made fast.

There sate the kinsman, shrunk and lean,
And leaden-eyed and old,
Busied before a lighted lamp
In sealing bags of gold.

The moment that they entered in,
He clutched with pallid fear
His heavy bags, as if he thought

That sudden thieves were near.

"Rich man!" said Marien, "ope thy bags

And of thy gold be free,

Make gladsome cheer, for Heaven hath sent A blessing unto thee!"

"What!" said the miser, "is there news

Of my lost argosy ?"

"Better than gold, or merchant-ships,

Is that which thou shalt win," Said Marien, "thine immortal soul

From its black load of sin."

"Look at these children, thine own blood,"
And then their name she told;
"Open thine heart to do them good,

To love them more than gold; -
And what thou givest will come back

To thee, a thousand-fold!"

"Ah," said the miser, "even these

Some gainful work may do,

My looms stand still; of youthful hands
I have not half enow;

I shall have profit in their toil;

Yes, child, thy words are true!"

"Thou fool!" said Marien, "still for gain, To cast thy soul away!

The Lord be judge 'twixt these and thee

Upon his reckoning day!

"These little ones are fatherless,He sees them day and night; And as thou doest unto them,

On thee he will requite!" "Gave I not alms upon a time?" Said he, with anger thrilled; "And when I die, give I not gold, A stately church to build?

"What wouldst thou more? my flesh and blood I seek not to gainsay.

But what I give, is it unmeet
Their labour should repay!"

So saying, in an iron chest,

He locked his bags of gold,

And bade the children follow him,
In accents harsh and cold.

PART X.

Oн leave us not sweet Marien!"
The little children spake;
For if thou leave us here, alone,

Our wretched hearts will break."

She left them not - kind Marien!
And in a noisome room,

Day after day, week after week,

They laboured at the loom.

The while they thought with longing souls
Upon the breezy strand,
The flying shuttles, to and fro,

Passed through each little hand.

The while they thought with aching hearts,
Upon their parents dear,

The growing web was watered,
With many a bitter tear.

And the sweet memory of the past, —
The white sands stretching wide;
Their father's boat wherein they played,
Upon the rocking tide;

The sandy shells; the sea-mew's scream;
The ocean's ceaseless boom;
Came to them like a troubling dream,
Within the noisy loom.

Wo-worth those children, hard bested,

A weary life they knew;

Their hands were thin; their cheeks were pale That were of rosy hue.

The miser kinsman in and out

Passed ever and anon;

Nor ever did he speak a word,
Except to urge them on.

Wo-worth those children, hard bested,
They worked the livelong day;
Nor was there one, save Marien,

A soothing word to say: -
So, amid toil and pain of heart,

The long months wore away.

The long, the weary months passed on,
And the hard kinsman told
Over his profits; every loom

Increased the hoard of gold;

""Tis well!" said he, "let more be spun

That more may yet be sold!"

So passed the time; and with the toil
Of children weak and poor,
The sordid kinsman's treasure-hoards
Increased more and more.

But ere a year was come and gone,

The spirit of the boy

Was changed; with natures fierce and rudo
He found his chiefest joy.

The hardness of the kinsman's soul

Wrought on him like a spell, Exciting in his outraged heart,

Revenge and hatred fell;

The will impatient to control;
The spirit to rebel.

Hence was there warfare 'twixt the two,
The weak against the strong;-

A hopeless, miserable strife

That could not last for long :
How can the young, the poor, contend
Against the rich man's wrong!

The tender trouble of his eye,
Was gone; his brow was cold;
His speech, like that of desperate men
Was reckless, fierce, and bold.

No more he kissed his sister's cheek;
Nor soothed her as she wept;
No more he said at Marien's knee
His prayers before he slept.

But they, the solitary pair,

Like pitying angels poured

Tears for the sinner; and with groans His evil life deplored.

Man knew not of that secret grief,

Which in their bosoms lay; And for the sinful brother's sin,

Yet harder doom had they.

But God, who trieth hearts; who knows
The springs of human will;
Who is a juster judge than man,

Of mortal good and ill;

He saw those poor despised ones,
And willed them still to mourn:
He saw the wandering prodigal,

Yet bade him not return.

In his good time that weak one's woe,
Would do its work of grace;
And the poor prodigal, himself,

Would seek the father's face ; Meantime man's judgment censured them, As abject, mean, and base.

The erring brother was away,

And none could tell his fate;
And the young sister at the loom
Sate drooping, desolate.

She mourned not for her parents dead,
Nor for the breezy shore:

And now the weary, jangling loom
Distracted her no more.

Like one that worketh in a dream,
So worked she day by day,
Intent upon the loving grief,

Which on her spirit lay;

And as she worked, and as she grieved
Her young life wore away.

And they who saw her come and go,
Oft said, with pitying tongue,

" Alas, that labour is the doom
Of aught so weak and young!"

Alone the kinsman pitied not;

He chid her, that no more

The frame was strong, the hand was swift, As it had been before.

- All for the child was dark on earth,

When holy angels bright

Unbarred the golden gates of heaven

For her one winter's night.

Within a chamber poor and low,

Upon a pallet bed,

She lay, and "hold my hand, sweet friend,"
With feeble voice she said.

* Oh hold my hand, sweet Marien,"
The dying child spake low;
"And let me hear thy blessed voice,
To cheer me as I go!

""Tis darksome all-Oh, drearly dark'
When will this gloom pass by?
Is there no comfort for the poor,
And for the young who die!"

Down by her side knelt Marien,
And kissed her fading cheek,
Then of the loving Saviour,
In low tones 'gan to speak.

She told of Lazarus, how he lay,
A beggar mean and poor,
And died, in misery and want,

Beside the rich man's door.
Yet how the blessèd angels came,
To bear his soul on high,
Within the glorious courts of heaven,
On Abraham's breast to lie.
She told how children, when they die,
Yet higher glory win,
And see the Father face to face,
Unsoiled by tainting sin.
"Blessed be God!" the child began,
"I doubt not, neither fear,
All round about the bed, behold,
The angel-bands appear!

"I go!-yet still, dear Marien,

One last boon let me win!Seek out the poor lost prodigal,

And bring him back from sin!

"I go! I go!" and angels bright,
The spirit bare away:-
On earth 'twas darksome, dreary night,
In heaven 'twas endless day!

-And now, upon that selfsame night,
Within a carvèd bed,

Lay the rich kinsman wrapped in lawn,
With pillows 'neath his head.

Scheming deep schemes of gold, he lay
All in that lordly room;
Blessing himself that he had stores
For many years to come.

Just then an awful form spake low,
A form that none might see:

“ Thou fool, this very night, thy soul
Shall be required of thee!"

And when into that chamber fair
Stole in the morning-ray,

A lifeless corpse, upon his bed,
The miser kinsman lay.

Within a tomb, which he had built,

Of costly marble-stone,

They buried him, and plates of brass His name and wealth made known.

A coffin of the meanest wood,

The little child received; And o'er her humble, nameless grave, No hooded mourner grieved.

Only kind Marien wept such tears,

As the dear Saviour shed, When in the house of Bethany He mourned for Lazarus dead.

PART XI.

Now from the miser kinsman's house
Came many a jovial sound;
And lavish heirs had spent his gold,
Ere twelve months had gone round.
That while within the busy town

Dwelt Marien; and each day,
In some good deed of Christian love
And mercy, passed away.

For many an abject dweller there,

Grief-bowed and labour-spent, Groaned forth, amid his little ones,

To heaven his sad lament; And unto such, to raise, to cheer,

The sent of God, she went.

But she who, even as they, was poor,
Failed not of daily bread;
A stranger, many took her in,

And warmed, and clothed, and fed.
And when a sickness sore befel,

And nigh to death she lay,

Kind hearts there were who came to her,
And watched her night and day.

And afterwards, when evil men
Doomed her in bonds to lie,
Many a true, noble friend arose,
Willing for her to die.

Oh, blessed Christian hearts, who thus
Unto this little one

Did deeds of love; for as to Christ

These righteous works were done!
And they who blessed her, for themselves
A tenfold blessing won!

Thus dwelt sweet Marien in the town
For many a passing year;
Yet of the poor, lost prodigal,
No tidings could she hear.

She found him not; but yet she found
Others who, even as he,

Had gone astray and pined forlorn
In hopeless misery.

To these repentant, outcast ones,

She spake kind words of grace, And led them back, with yearning hearts, To seek the Father's face; To find forgiveness in His heart, And love in His embrace.

Oh blessed, blessèd Marien!

-

But let us now recall Whate'er had happed of change and woe Unto the prodigal.

He saw his little sister pine;

He saw her silent woe;

He saw her strength decline, yet still
Her weary labour grow.

As this he saw, yet more and more
He hated that hard man,
With whom their cheerless misery,
Their daily tasks began.
And even to true Marien,

He bare an altered mind; -
Alas, that injuries should make
Else loving hearts unkind!

But so it is! and when the twain
To cheer his spirit strove,
His wrath arose, and he repelled
Their patient deeds of love.
Then evil men assailed his youth;
And he who was so frail

In suffering, 'gainst the tempter's might
Was feeble to prevail.

He was their easy prey; their tool;
And bravely clothed and fed,
In desperate scenes, 'mid desperate men,
A lawless life he led.

Yet often to his soul came back

Sweet memory of the time,
When he, a happy, thoughtless child,
Had knowledge of no crime.
And like a heavier, wearier woe,
Than labour night and day,
The consciousness of evil deeds
Upon his spirit lay.

He thought of slighted Marien,
And of the sister meek;
Of the thin hands that plied the loom,
And of the fading cheek;
Yet how he had deserted them,

The faithful and the weak!

He heard his loving parent's voice
Reproach him in his sleep;
And conscience, that stern bosom-guest,
Ceaseless upbraidings keep.

Yet, for the hated kinsman's sake,
Neither would he regard;
And, because man was hard to him,
Made his own nature hard.