Waiting. She waited for the summons; lengthening days We followed, gleaning: all the night We heard her voice thank God, in cheerful praise, Then there was silence, and we found at dawn The Old Man's Funeral. I saw an aged man upon his bier; His hair was thin and white, and on his brow A record of the cares of many a year, Cares that were ended and forgotten now. And there was sadness round, and faces bowed, Then rose another hoary man, and said, In faltering accents to that weeping train : "Ye sigh not when the sun, his course fulfilled, O'er the warm-colored heaven and ruddy mountain-head. 66 Why weep ye then for him, who, having won Life's blessings all enjoyed, life's labors done, While the soft memory of his virtues yet Lingers, like twilight hues when the bright sun is set. "His youth was innocent; his riper age Marked with some act of goodness every day; And watched by eyes that loved him, calm and sage, Faded his late declining years away : Meekly he gave his being up and went To share the holy rest that waits a life well spent. "That life was happy; every day he gave Thanks for the fair existence that was his; For a sick fancy made him not her slave, To mock him with her phantom miseries. No chronic tortures racked his aged limbs, For luxury and sloth had nourished none for him. "And I am glad that he has lived thus long, And glad that he has gone to his reward; Nor can I deem that Nature did him wrong, Softly to disengage the vital cord; For when his hand grew palsied, and his eye Dark with the mists of age, it was his time to die." The Home-Seeker. I. Twilight falls a tiny maiden Tired of wandering and of playing, Up the dim street see her come! II. See! again! a woman hasting Through the twilight soft and gray; Laughing children run to meet her III. Look once more! a pilgrim weary As she asks, with plaintive query, "Can you show the homeward way? Lead me homeward: I am weary." Then a Presence stood to guide her, "Home!" she breathed, with restful sigh, To the Presence that did guide her. IV. Homeward still, the tiny maiden, W. H. Savage. INDEX OF FIRST LINES. Poems marked thus (*) have been printed only in part. *All as God wills, who wisely heeds All that God wounds he constantly is healing Answer me, burning stars of night A snowflake falls from out the air above As tender mothers guiding baby steps. At eve it shall be light, the promise reads *A white dove out of heaven flew Beside a massive gateway built up in years gone by Blindfolded and alone I wait Brother, the angels say Buried to-day Father, before thy footstool kneeling Father, into thy loving hands *Fear death?-to feel the fog in my throat. . 149 . 174 . 130 He does well who does his best *I cannot, cannot say *I cannot make him dead I cannot think of them as dead *I do not come to weep above thy pall If one had watched a prisoner many a year *"If ye loved me," Jesus said I had a little daughter. I hear it singing, singing sweetly I lay me down to rest I like that ancient Saxon phrase In schools of wisdom all the day was spent *In the Baron's hall of pride Into the silent land I saw an aged man upon his bier. Is it so far from thee? I think if thou couldst know I think it is over, over It singeth low in every heart It was a tender hand that drew my boy away *I will not mock thee with the poor world's common I will not think the last farewell we hear Life and thought have gone away Life! I know not what thou art Life of our life, and light of all our seeing |