Weep not, nor tremble; And be not dismayed; The Lord hath arisen! See where he was laid! The grave-clothes, behold them; The spices; the bier; The napkin that bound him;— But he is not here! Death could not hold him; The grave is a prison That keeps not the living; The Christ has arisen! HYMN III. THE LORD JESUS. Why are ye troubled? What the prophets have written "Tis I, be not doubtful! Why ponder ye so? The willing hath suffered; The chosen been slain; The end is accomplished! Behold me again! Death has been conquered Fearless in spirit, Yet meek as the dove, Go preach to the nations This gospel of love. For the night of the mighty Shall o'er you be cast; And I will be with you, My friends, to the last. I go to the father, There life never-ending; But the hour is accomplished! The Master is taken; The Master is taken; But the joy of his presence Our hearts burned within us To hear but the word Which he spake, ere our spirits The Lord hath ascended! We trusted not lightly;- The Lord hath ascended; CORN-FIELDS. In the young merry time of spring, But when the merry spring is past, But then as day and night succeed, The red-rose groweth wan, When on the breath of autumn breeze, O, then what joy to walk at will, What joy in dreamy ease to lie Amid a field new-shorn, And see all round on sun-lit slopes The piled-up shocks of corn, And send the fancy wandering o'er All pleasant harvest-fields of yore. I feel the day; I see the field; The quivering of the leaves And good old Jacob and his house Binding the yellow sheaves; And at this very hour I seem To be with Joseph in his dream. I see the fields of Bethlehem, And reapers many a one, Bending unto their sickles' stroke, And Boaz looking on; And Ruth, the Moabitess fair, Among the gleaners stooping there. Again, I see a little child, His mother's sole delight; God's living gift of love unto The kind, good Shunamite; To mortal pangs I see him yield, And the lad bear him from the field. The sun-bathed quiet of the hills; And the dear Saviour take his way O golden fields of bending corn, How beautiful they seem!The reaper-folk, the piled-up sheaves, To me are like a dream; The sunshine and the very air Seem of old time, and take me there! THE TWO ESTATES. They eat from gold and silver all luxuries wealth can buy ; They sleep on beds of softest down, in chambers rich and high. They dwell in lordly houses, with gardens round about, And servants to attend them if they go in or out. They have music for the hearing, and pictures for the eye, And exquisite and costly things each sense to gratify. No wonder they are beautiful! and if they chance to die, Among dead lords and ladies, in the chancel vault they lie. With marble tablets on the wall inscribed, that all may know, The children of the rich man are mouldering below. The children of the poor man, around the humble doors They throng of city alleys and solitary moors. In hot and noisy factories they turn the ceaseless wheel, And eat with feeble appetite their coarse and joyless meal. They rise up in the morning, ne'er dreaming of delight; And weary, spent, and heart-sore, they go to bed at night. They have no brave apparel, with golden clasp and gem; So their clothes keep out the weather they're good enough for them. Their hands are broad and horny; they hunger, and are cold; They learn what toil and sorrow mean ere they are five years old. -The poor man's child must step aside if the rich man's child go by; And scarcely aught may minister to his little vanity. The children of the rich old man no carking care And of what could he be vain? - his most beautiful they know, array Like lilies in the sunshine how beautiful they grow! Is what the rich man's children have worn and cast And well may they be beautiful; in raiment of the best, away. The finely spun, the many-hued, the new, are not for him, In velvet, gold, and ermine, their little forms are drest. head, ments soiled and dim. And golden hair, like angels' locks, over their shoul-He sees the children of the rich in chariots gay go by, ders spread. And "what a heavenly life is their's," he sayeth with a sigh. And well may they be beautiful; they toil not, neither spin, Nor dig, nor delve, nor do they aught their daily bread to win. Then straightway to his work he goeth, for feeble though he be, His daily toil must still be done to help the family. Thus live the poor man's children; and if they chance to die, In plain, uncostly coffins, 'mong common graves they lie; Nor monument nor head-stone their humble names declare : But thou, O God, wilt not forget the poor man's children there! LIFE'S MATINS. AT that sweet hour of even, When nightingales awake, Low-bending o'er her first-born son, An anxious mother spake. "Thou child of prayer and blessing, Would that my soul could know, What the unending future holds For thee of joy or woe. "Thy life, will it be gladness, A sunny path of flowers;- "Oh child of love and blessing, What time may make of thee! "Yet of the unveiled future Would knowledge might be given!" Then voices of the unseen ones Made answer back from heaven. FIRST VOICE. "Tears he must shed unnumbered; "Must learn that joy is mockery; That man doth mask his heart; Must prove the trusted faithless; And see the loved depart! "Must feel himself alone, alone; Must weep when none can see; Then lock his grief, like treasure up, For lack of sympathy. "Must prove all human knowledge "Well may'st thou weep, fond mother;For what can life bequeath, But tears and sighs unnumbered, "Oh fond and anxious mother, Look up with joyful eyes, For a boundless wealth of love and power In that young spirit lies! "Love to enfold all natures In one benign embrace; "Bless God both night and morning; For the child of mortal parents hath "The stars shall dim their brightness; The earth shall fade, but ne'er shall fade The undying human soul! "Oh then rejoice fond mother, That thou hast given birth To this immortal being, To this fair child of earth!” THIS WORLD AND THE NEXT. How goodly is the earth! Look round about and see The green and fertile field; The mighty branched tree; The little flowers out-spread In such variety! Is not of stinted measure; Its mountain-tops behold; Its wealth of flocks and herds; Behold the radiant isles With which old ocean smiles; The gracious showers descend; How goodly is the earth! Yet if this earth be made That is shall droop and fade; Hath still its fellow, shade; - A LIFE'S SORROW. My life hath had its curse; and I will tell I had a brother. As a spring of joy I was the elder; and as years passed on Still he was dear to me, and I would gaze His godlike form, and the fair lineament Strange was it, that a brother, thus my pride, By kindred fellowship, so proved of old, There was another cause we fiercely strove My brother was the victor, and my fall, Whilst in the presence of that reverent head: And so we might have been; but there were those We were the victims of the arts we scorned; The courtly world: his wit and manners bland Ere long he left his native land, and went Into the East with pomp and power girt round. They said 'mid kingly luxury without bound, Amid my little ones: the fount unsealed Of my heart's wronged affections seemed to yield I dwelt within my home an altered man ; Since pleasant welcomes were sent forth to greet As the chill snows of winter melt away For pardon, pardoning all; my soul was blessed With answered love, and hopes whereon to rest My joy in years to come; I asked no more, The cup of that rich blessedness ran o'er. Alas! even then the brightness of my life Again grew dim; my fount of joy was dried; My soul was doomed to bear a heavier strife Than it had borne!-my children at my side In their meek, loving beauty, drooped and died— First they, and then their mother! Did I weep? No, tears are not for griefs intense and deep! Ah me! those weary days, those painful nights, When voices from the dead were in mine ear, And I had visions of my lost delights, And saw the lovely and the loving near, "I will arise," I cried, like him of yore, The conscience-stricken prodigal, and lay Myself, as in the dust, his face before, And, I have sinned, my brother!' I will say - I gathered up my strength; I asked of none I was like one from cruel bonds set free, Then woke and knew my home so dim and drear! Through the great cities of the East I passed What marvel if I prayed that I might die, In my soul's great, unchastened misery! I had known sorrow, and remorse, and shame, That they had died for my unpardoned crime! Engulphed in deadness for a season's space. At length light beamed; a ray of heavenly grace Upon my bowed and darkened spirit lay, Healing its wounds and giving power to pray. I rose a sorrowing man, and yet renewed: Resigned, although abashed to the dust; Until well-nigh my madness had returned; I seemed to hear his footsteps light and free Of his rich voice came back with sweeter might! Into the kingdom where he reigned supreme; I came unto a gorgeous palace, vast As the creation of a poet's dream: My strength gave way, how little did I seem I felt like Joseph's brethren, mean and base, I turned aside and dared not meet his face. Hard by there was a grove of cypress trees; A place, as if for mourning spirits made; Thither I sped, my burdened heart to ease, And weep unseen within the secret shade. A mighty woe that cypress grove displayed! Oh let me weep! you will not say that tears Wrung by that sorrow can be stanched by years. There was a tomb; a tomb as of a king; A gorgeous palace of the unconscious dead I lay for hours; and when my sense returned Looking upon my sorrow; - thus I deemed, For this I crossed the sea: in those far wilds, Again my soul was feeble; too much spent I came back to the scenes where life began, I murmur not; but with subraissive will For ever! |