Page images
PDF
EPUB

“Sleep!
As a weary child might creep
In some dim, cool nook, away
From his comrades' noisy play,
So she, weary of earth's din,
Touched the gate and entered in
Where, by waters cool and deep,
• He giveth His beloved sleep.'”

Julia Mills Dunn.

Uwait.

My friend in the spirit land,
With whom hand in hand,
Have walked so oft on earth,
And till thy great new birth;
With whom, as we sat or walked,
Of deepest things I talked,
And of the mysteries vast
That we should know at last,
Awful and vaguely told,
We should one day behold, -
Thou hast beheld them now,
Their light is on thy brow;
No longer a veil between
Thine eyes and the once unseen;
No longer from thee concealed,
The awful and unrevealed.
In the shadow still I stand,
But thou in the sunlit land.
Oh, tell to my longing ear
Of thy life in that new sphere.
Oh, tell to my longing heart
Where, near or far, thou art.
What are seeing those eyes of thine
That so lately looked in mine?
What is hearing thy ravished ear
That so lately listened here?
O, lips that so lovingly spake,
Can ye not the silence break?
Cannot the immortal breath
Whisper the secret of death?
Thou knowest my hunger and thirst,
How I could almost burst

Into that unknown land,
Nor wait the Lord's command.
Thou knowest how here our breath
Seems but a lingering death,
And how my sad heart ponders
Ever upon those wonders -
Ever on the end of earth
And the wondrous spirit birth.
Oh, wondrous birth and life!
Calmness succeeding strife;
Joy in the place of sorrow
And forebodings of the morrow.
There, the Eternal Presence,
Here, constant evanescence;
There, rest in full assurance,
Here, pain and mere endurance;
There, the exultant shouting,
Here, the fearing and the doubting;
There, sure and blest abodes,
Here, wandering on rough roads;
There, mighty organ swells,
Here, constant tolling bells.
Oh, rest of that land of bliss !
Oh, weariness of this !
And canst thou not, my friend,
Some of thy new light lend
To one who loves thee so,
Yet waits and longs below?
Canst thou not feed his yearning
With something thou art learning,
Some hint of the life divine,
Some unmistaken sign?
I watch with my every sense,
I listen with soul intense ;
But not a whisper comes,
And a chill my soul benumbs.
But out of the sky at last,
A word on the void is cast, -
On the void a single word,
But it comes as that of the Lord.
As I hearken, my breath I bate;
But that word is only—“Wait.”

John Hooker

Good Bye.
O BLESSED life of service and of love,

Full of such duties as God's angels know!
His servants serve Him day and night above,

Thou servedst day and night, we thought, below. O faithful heart, that recked not care or pain

When Duty called thee, or when Love did lead, Thou gavest freely, asking not again,

The word of comfort or the costly deed. O gentle hands, so busy evermore

With healing touch or helpful tenderness ! 'Twas yours to lift the burdens others bore,

Your sole reward the joy of usefulness. O tireless feet, still walking till the last

Your patient round, as noiseless as the sun ! Your toilsome journey now is overpast,

Your years of pilgrimage at length are done. We know not how to say the word “Good bye.”

We know not how to leave thee at the gate That opens for thee toward that city high

Where other hands with loving welcome wait. We long shall miss thee as we go our ways.

The home will miss thee from its broken band. Full many a tear will tell thy sober praise,

And all good works will miss thy helping hand. And yet, Good bye! good byel thou faithful soul!

From toil and trouble thou hast earned release. Thy weary feet are resting at the goal,

The pain of living ended in God's peace.

Child with the Snowy Cheek.
Child with the snowy cheek,
Child with the stainless brow,

Thy white-robed form and look so meek
Are as an angel's now.

Death's mystery hath cast
Its strangeness o'er thy face,

But the angel marred not as he passed
One line of its tender grace.

He but folded the waxen hands, Sent sleep on the gladsome eyes,

And wrapped thee round with the viewless band Of death's great, still surprise.

Now into the upper life, Into realms of infinite peace,

Thou hast entered at once, untouched by the str That comes with our life's increase.

Into the infinite love, Into the cloudless light,

Into the welcome that waited above, Below thee, the storm and night.

Saved from the toilsome way We travel with weary feet,

From the bitterness hid in the cup alway, Whose first taste is so sweet.

The base and the unkind, The cruel and the untrue,

Soiling and stain of the deathless mind, Fair child, are not for you.

For

you there is gladness and rest Where the white-robed singers stand,

Where pain is forgotten and sorrow is blest, In the soul's own fatherland;

Where the little ones of earth, In gardens and meadows broad,

Wandering and playing, make musical mirth By the soft-flowing river of God.

But we! In a world of pain, We linger and weep and wait;

And we strive in vain any glimpse to gain Of thee and the Beautiful Gate.

For the gate that is gold to thee, Golden and jewelled and bright,

Is wrapped in a gloom on the side we see, Its sentinels, Fear and Night.

But the gate of gloom and of gold Will open to us some day,

On hinges of silence backward rolled ; And Fear will vanish away.

And Night into Morning will change, As the light of the Land comes out,

And a rapture, sudden and sweet and strange, Succeed to our trouble and doubt.

Oh, blessed and strong and sweet The hope of that coming time,

When thy welcoming hands our hands shall meet In the gate of the Life Sublime;

In the gate of the City of God; In the gate of the Infinite Peace;

In the sweet dawn-light that shall shine abroad O'er the fields of our love's increase.

W.H. Savage.

The Home-Seeker.

I.

Twilight falls: a tiny maiden Cometh up the village street;

Vagrant locks, all dewy-laden, Eager eyes and tired feet

Hath the shadowy little maiden.

Tired of wandering and of playing, Up the dim street see her come:

Hurrying now, and now delaying, Toward the rest and love of home,

Comes the maiden from her playing.

II.

Seel again! a woman hasting Down a shadowy, sunset way,

Loving, anxious glances casting Through the twilight soft and gray;

Homeward, loveward she is hasting.

« PreviousContinue »