THE SPIRIT'S QUESTIONINGS. What of this? our blessèd 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 thy spirit's thought It is pure, and free From darkness and doubt 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; What of this? our blessed Lord Was of lowly birth, And poor, toiling fishermen We are ignorant and young; Simple children all; Gifted with but humble powers, And of learning small. A DREAM. HOAR with the lapse of ages seemed Upon my heart that I was then Had held the sons of men; And I was on a marvelling quest Of that small colony of the blest. How lone, how silent! not a sound 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: 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. 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; 98 It rested on the scene, More still and motionless than lie Beside it stood a hoary seer, And through my heart a whisper ran, Holds converse with this holy man." No glory on it seemed to dwell; Who listens to momentous things, But as I gazed, a little boat, Swift, without rudder, oars, or sail, Bore onward one who seemed to hail Lay with eternal joy. He touched that old man's snowy head, Since this, and perished as they came; This lives, and still remains the same. The beauty of that gliding car; The mystery of the cloud and sage; Those plains in arid drought so stern; That solenin hush, that seemed etern; — In memory's living page, Still stand in light, more real far Than thousands of our day-dreams are! THE BOY OF THE SOUTHERN ISLE. AN OLD SEAMAN'S STORY. PART I. I'LL tell ye, if ye hearken now, A thing that chanced to me It must be fifty years agone Upon the southern sea. First-mate was I of the Nancy, A tight ship and a sound; Full thirteen knots an hour. The sea was as a glassy lake, By a steady gale impressed; And yet the calm was wearisome; And dallying thus one afternoon, I saw a faintish speck. Whether 't was rock, or fish, or cloud, So I called unto a seaman, That he might look also. That it must be a boat; We called a third unto us then, That he the sight might see; "And it roweth with an oar!" But none of them could see it so, All differing as before. "It cometh on; I see it plain; And sure enough, a boat it was, Within it sate a little child, The fairest e'er was seen; His robes were like the amethyst, His mantle of sea-green. No covering wore he on his head, The rudest man on board our ship locks i There sat he in his pretty boat, The little oar slid from his hand; His little boat he neared, And smiled at all our friendly words, Nor seemed the least afeared. "Come hither a-board!" the captain said, And without fear of ill, He sprang into the lordly ship, He was no son of the merman; But a creature like the cherubim, From some unknown-of isle. And strange to tell, his pleasant speech Was English, every word; And yet such English, sweet and pure, As his I never heard. His father, he said, had made his boat "And what a wondrous tale," said he, His robes, he said, his mother had wove From roots of an Indian-tree; And he laughed at the clothes the seamen wore, With the merriest mockery. When the little child had stayed with us, He smiled farewell to all on board, And said that he would go. "For I must be back again," said he, "For me they all will wait; I must be back again," quoth he, "Or ever the day be late!" "He shall not go!" the captain said; The captain was a strong, stern man; "Haul up yon cockle-shell! And you, my boy, content you, In this good ship to dwell!" As one who gladly would believe So heard the child, with half a smile, But when he saw them seize his boat, And put his oar away, The smile was gone, and o'er his face And then a passion seized his frame, He stamped his little feet in rage, "Twas a wicked deed as e'er was done I longed to set him free; And the impotence of his great grief At length, when rage had spent itself, "Oh take me back again!" he cried, And honey rich and clear; "And fetch thee heavy pearl-stones If thou wilt let me go! "Or if I must abide with thee, In thy great ship to dwell, Let me but just go back again, To bid them all farewell!" And at the word "farewell" he wept, Sore sad my heart doth make. The captain's self was almost moved One man whose eyes were dry. When the captain saw the seamen's grief, And shut his heart against the child, Down from the deck he took him To his cabin all alone: PART II. It was a wicked deed, and Heaven As you will see. There something was, Whereon the captain stole the child, On board that was not right. Where they were all alone, And now and then cries sad enough The captain had a conscious look, Like one who doeth wrong, And yet who striveth all the time Against a conscience strong. With a good will or a free; Went slowly over the sea. I found him lying on his bed, Oppressed with fever-pain; - At length he woke from that dead woe, I clasped him close unto my breast, At length I did bethink me Of Jesus Christ; and spake To that poor lamb of all the woe He suffered for our sake. "For me and thee, dear child," I said, Like as the heavy clouds of night Oh happy hours of converse sweet;- That knowledge sweet and new. And ever by my side he kept, Loving, and meek, and still: But never more to him returned His bold and wayward will:He had been tried and purified From every taint of ill. PART III. THE eve whereon the captain died 44 We'll find the island out." So back unto the place we came, Where we the child had found; And two full days with anxious watch, We sailed it all around. And on the third, at break of day, And then the low-lands rose to view, Down on his knees the child he fell, When the mountains came in view, And tears ran streaming from his eyes,For his own isle he knew. And, with a wildly-piercing tone, "Oh give to me my boat!" he cried, And give to me mine oar!" Just then we saw another boat Pushed from the island-shore. A carved boat of sandal-wood, Its sail a silken mat, All richly wrought in rainbow-dyes, Down from the ship into the sea The little boy he sprung; Like some sea-creature beautiful Next moment in his mother's arms The happiest and the sweetest sight Was the coming back of this poor child -Now wot ye of his parentage? "T would make a pleasant history "T is not for my weak speech to tell Whate'er the island held they gave; But I might not stay; and that same day And, with the wind that changed then Went from the harbour out. -"Tis joy to do an upright deed; "Tis joy to do a kind; And the best reward of virtuous deeds Is the peace of one's own mind. But a blessing great went with the ship, But I someway lost my reckoning, And how the child became a man, As I never trod the island more, EASTER HYMNS. HYMN I. THE TWO MARYS. Oh dark day of sorrow, When the master no longer A refuge should prove; Oh dark day of sorrow, But the trust of our spirits At even they laid him There, there will we seek him Oh strangest of sorrow! HYMN II. THE ANGEL Women, why shrink ye |