Tell me, O friends, if anywhere, In all your circles, far or near, You've found a firmer, truer friend O mothers, who with love and pride, O husbands, wives, in all the earth, One who was purer in his love, Or more devoted to his home? O country, in your hour of need, When swords were crossed in bitter strife, If "trees are by their fruitage known," But what can this avail me now? But God forgive me!—though I bear The memory of his noble life Shall still inspire me; and some day I know he'd have me hopeful still: To find him in the happier years. M 1.S. F. F. T. I LOVED him, friends; and in the mourner's place But now his lips are still, and I must speak; A true and sincere man! With open mind No ear he stopped, although the voice divine Stern was he in the battle for the right, With foot that faltered not, though hard the path. The fire of love for man that warmed his soul Against all wrong could flame with virtuous wrath. Yet gentle was he as a little child; And, in his tender, sympathetic heart, Weakness and sorrow found a hiding-place: No pang of others, but he felt the smart. He loved his home. As needle to the pole Yet from this home, as from a central sun, No earnest cause appealed to him in vain, A noble man lies here asleep to-day. After long weeks of weariness and pain, Death drew her restful curtains round his bed; And, though we call, he will not wake again. Nor would we wish to wake him if we might; For he has seen the Unseen face to face. His work on earth is finished. Who would dare And yet, O friends! it is such men as he That make the earth seem empty when they leave. That he was noble is our comfort now, And yet 'tis for this very cause we grieve. To you, whose broken home will seem so still, I feign would speak some word of hope and cheer; None doubts 'tis well with him. But you will long The sting of death remains when all is said; We want them happy, but we want them here. When all is said and done, we come to this : Though clouds be round us and tears dim our way, We'll hide his loving memory in our hearts; We'll make each day another step upon The Heart's Spring-Time. THE earth lay shrouded white in snow; All nature was in chains: the brooks M. J. S. The sun shone feebly, and the night Then from the south the glad spring came, And breathed through all the chilly air, And wheresoe'er her warm feet trod Sprang life and beauty everywhere. The fields and meadows all put on Their spangled dress of grass and flowers, Brooks babbled, and ecstatic birds Made shake with joy their leafy towers. Such is the spring-time of the year! Is there no spring-time of the heart? Our loved ones, shrouded white, have lain The sad-voiced winds above them go, Their shadowy memories visit us, For dreams at least can leave that shore,Mother's gray hairs and gentle eyes, As light she steps across the floor; Or comes the brother of our youth, The laughing child, whose sunny hair It bleeds afresh when we recall The hour that tore our lives apart. 'Tis winter in our lives! Snows fall, I catch the fragrance of that clime Where summer blooms the whole round year, The lost ones hidden by the snow, Mother and brother, wife and child,- With deathless youth can find no places. And, best of all, it looks like home, Clothed all in mellow sunlight sweet. The heart's long prayer is answered thus: As babes born into waiting arms, They die into some higher home. And 'neath the sunshine of this hope My life, where joy had ceased to sing, M. J. S. |