Answered,-"We will not rivals be; Take thou the gold, leave love to me; Mine be the cottage small, And thine the rich man's hall. I know, indeed, that wealth is good; Hard by a farmer hale and young With windrows of ripe grain. And still, whene'er he paused to whet Be strong, young mower of the grain; The heart shall vindicate. In blouse of gray, with fishing-rod, Watching the group beyond. The supreme hours unnoted come; Nor knew the step was Destiny's Erelong by lake and rivulet side Through the long gold-hazed afternoon, Beneath the shadow of the ash Soft spread the carpets of the sod, The mellow light the lake aslant, The tender mystery owned. And through the dream the lovers dreamed Sweet sounds stole in and soft lights reamed; The sunshine seemed to bless, The air was a caress. Not she who lightly laughed is there, Her dark, disdainful eyes, And proud lip worldly-wise. Her haughty vow is still unsaid, With more than all her old-time pride Since love transfigures all. Rich beyond dreams, the vantage-ground That changes all to gold. While she who could for love dispense And trust her heart alone, Finds love and gold her own. What wealth can buy or art can build Even now unto the brim; Her world is love and him! Of the remaining poems in this volume, we instance, as expressive of a devotion the most self-abasing and the most deity-reposing, uttered in language of the purest poetic grace and melody, THE ETERNAL GOODNESS. O FRIENDS! with whom my feet have trod Glad witness to your zeal for God And love of man I bear. I trace your lines of argument; But still my human hands are weak Who fathoms the Eternal Thought? I walk with bare, hushed feet the ground I dare not fix with mete and bound The love and power of God. Ye praise His justice; even such Ye seek a king; I fain would touch Ye see the curse which overbroods And prayer upon the cross. More than your schoolmen teach, within Myself, alas! I know; Too dark ye cannot paint the sin, Too small the merit show. I bow my forehead to the dust, I see the wrong that round me lies, I hear, with groan and travail-cries, Yet, in the maddening maze of things, Not mine to look where cherubim But nothing can be good in Him The wrong that pains my soul below I know not of His hate,-I know I dimly guess from blessings known And, with the chastened Psalmist, own I long for household voices gone, But God hath led my dear ones on, I know not what the future hath Assured alone that life and death And if my heart and flesh are weak The bruised reed He will not break, No offering of my own I have, And so beside the Silent Sea No harm from Him can come to me I know not where His islands lift I only know I cannot drift O brothers! if my faith is vain, If hopes like these betray, Pray for me that my feet may gain The sure and safer way. And Thou, O Lord! by whom are seen Thy creatures as they be, Forgive me if too close I lean My human heart on Thee! The next of Whittier's works was Among the Hills, and other Poems. In the poem giving name to this work, a |