134

HOPE DEFERRED.

The morn shall come; nay He himself,
Brighter than morn's best ray,
Shall come to bid the night depart,
And bring at last the day.

Then shall the weary night-watch cease,
When, counting each lone hour,
She marked the shadows flitting by

The lattice of her tower.

"Twas not in vain she kept the watch
When all around her slept;

'Twas not in vain she waited thus,
And loved, and longed, and wept.

It dawns at last, the long-loved morn,
It comes, the meeting-day,
And in its joys shall be forgot

The sorrows of delay.

THE BLANK.

ONE flower may fill another's place,
With breath as sweet, with hues as glowing;
One ripple in yon ocean-space

Be lost amid another's flowing.

One star in yon bright azure dome
May vanish from its sparkling cluster,
Unmissed, unmourned, and in its room
Some rival orb eclipse its lustre.

But who shall fill a brother's room?

Or who shall soothe the bosom's grieving?

Who heal the heart around his tomb

Too faithfully, too fondly cleaving?

Can I supply youth's memories?

Or speak the words in childhood spoken? Can I re-knit the severed ties ?

Replace, retune the chord once broken?

136

THE SLEEP OF THE BELOVED.

It is not here, it is not now,

That hearts are knit no more to sever; Grief's wrinkles razed from cheek and brow, And life's long blanks filled up for ever.

THE SLEEP OF THE BELOVED.

"So he giveth his beloved sleep."-PSALM CXxvii. 2.

SUNLIGHT has vanished, and the weary earth

Lies resting from a long day's toil and pain, And, looking for a new dawn's early birth,

Seeks strength in slumber for its toil again.

We too would rest; but ere we close the eye Upon the consciousness of waking thought, Would calmly turn it to yon star-bright sky,

And lift the soul to Him who slumbers not.

Above us is thy hand with tender care,
Distilling over us the dew of sleep:

THE SLEEP OF THE BELOVED.

137

Darkness seems loaded with oblivious air,
In deep forgetfulness each sense to steep.

Thou hast provided midnight's hour of peace,
Thou stretchest over us the wing of rest;
With more than all a parent's tenderness,
Foldest us sleeping to thy gentle breast.

Grief flies away; care quits our easy couch,
Till wakened by thy hand, when breaks the day-
Like the lone prophet by the angel's touch,—
We rise to tread again our pilgrim-way.

God of our life! God of each day and night!
Oh, keep us still till life's short race is run!
Until there dawns the long, long day of light,
That knows no night, yet needs no star nor sun.

12*

THE LITTLE FLOCK.

A LITTLE flock! So calls He thee,
Who bought thee with his blood;
A little flock-disowned of meu,
But owned and loved of God.

A little flock! So calls He thee;
Church of the first-born, hear!
Be not ashamed to own the name;
It is no name of fear.

A little flock! Yes, even so;
A handful among men,
Such is the purpose of thy God;

So willeth He; Amen!

Not many rich or noble called,

Not many great or wise;

They whom God makes his kings and priests,

Are poor in human eyes.

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