O happy rose that bloometh upon her gentle breast!Of all thy joyous hours, this is, in truth, the best!Not sweeter is thy fragrance upon the balmy airThan her pure spirit sheddeth, so blithe and debonnaire!O happy rose that lieth upon that bosom white,To thee kind Fate hath granted a goal of pure delight!In vain I sigh and murmur, thy lot all envious view,And seek in vain to stifle this moment's pungent rue!O happy rose, as lying beneath her light caress,Now whisper to her softly, what I may not confess,And tell her she is fairer than bloom of earth, to-night,In that her soul exhaleth all virtues pure and bright!
O happy rose that bloometh upon her gentle breast!Of all thy joyous hours, this is, in truth, the best!Not sweeter is thy fragrance upon the balmy airThan her pure spirit sheddeth, so blithe and debonnaire!O happy rose that lieth upon that bosom white,To thee kind Fate hath granted a goal of pure delight!In vain I sigh and murmur, thy lot all envious view,And seek in vain to stifle this moment's pungent rue!O happy rose, as lying beneath her light caress,Now whisper to her softly, what I may not confess,And tell her she is fairer than bloom of earth, to-night,In that her soul exhaleth all virtues pure and bright!
O happy rose that bloometh upon her gentle breast!Of all thy joyous hours, this is, in truth, the best!Not sweeter is thy fragrance upon the balmy airThan her pure spirit sheddeth, so blithe and debonnaire!O happy rose that lieth upon that bosom white,To thee kind Fate hath granted a goal of pure delight!In vain I sigh and murmur, thy lot all envious view,And seek in vain to stifle this moment's pungent rue!O happy rose, as lying beneath her light caress,Now whisper to her softly, what I may not confess,And tell her she is fairer than bloom of earth, to-night,In that her soul exhaleth all virtues pure and bright!
O happy rose that bloometh upon her gentle breast!
Of all thy joyous hours, this is, in truth, the best!
Not sweeter is thy fragrance upon the balmy air
Than her pure spirit sheddeth, so blithe and debonnaire!
O happy rose that lieth upon that bosom white,
To thee kind Fate hath granted a goal of pure delight!
In vain I sigh and murmur, thy lot all envious view,
And seek in vain to stifle this moment's pungent rue!
O happy rose, as lying beneath her light caress,
Now whisper to her softly, what I may not confess,
And tell her she is fairer than bloom of earth, to-night,
In that her soul exhaleth all virtues pure and bright!
A Cloud scarce larger than a featherUprose in Love's bright sky one day,But, ah, it grew to stormy weatherAnd shrouded all the sun's bright ray!A little cloud! but ah, the sorrowThat springs from bitter words that jar;How deep the pain from which we borrow,—How strong the wall that forms the bar!We may in after-hours grow tenderAnd strive to read our lives aright,But if to Love its due we render,We know Life's thread, at best, is slight!What if the look, the word, but spoken,Had been "the last" we ever met?Ah! Life had been too short, too broken,Its pang forever to forget!
A Cloud scarce larger than a featherUprose in Love's bright sky one day,But, ah, it grew to stormy weatherAnd shrouded all the sun's bright ray!A little cloud! but ah, the sorrowThat springs from bitter words that jar;How deep the pain from which we borrow,—How strong the wall that forms the bar!We may in after-hours grow tenderAnd strive to read our lives aright,But if to Love its due we render,We know Life's thread, at best, is slight!What if the look, the word, but spoken,Had been "the last" we ever met?Ah! Life had been too short, too broken,Its pang forever to forget!
A Cloud scarce larger than a featherUprose in Love's bright sky one day,But, ah, it grew to stormy weatherAnd shrouded all the sun's bright ray!
A Cloud scarce larger than a feather
Uprose in Love's bright sky one day,
But, ah, it grew to stormy weather
And shrouded all the sun's bright ray!
A little cloud! but ah, the sorrowThat springs from bitter words that jar;How deep the pain from which we borrow,—How strong the wall that forms the bar!
A little cloud! but ah, the sorrow
That springs from bitter words that jar;
How deep the pain from which we borrow,—
How strong the wall that forms the bar!
We may in after-hours grow tenderAnd strive to read our lives aright,But if to Love its due we render,We know Life's thread, at best, is slight!
We may in after-hours grow tender
And strive to read our lives aright,
But if to Love its due we render,
We know Life's thread, at best, is slight!
What if the look, the word, but spoken,Had been "the last" we ever met?Ah! Life had been too short, too broken,Its pang forever to forget!
What if the look, the word, but spoken,
Had been "the last" we ever met?
Ah! Life had been too short, too broken,
Its pang forever to forget!
My heart grows faint with longing and with loveAs in the twilight comes thy well-loved face;And closer, closer drawn by threads that bindThee to me, all our tender joys I trace.In lines keen-cut, and lasting as the stoneWhen sculptor's art transforms it into life—That erst were soulless marble, still and poorTo mirror forth our hope or joy or strife!In lines keen-cut! Yea, on my living heart,(That slumbered 'neath its veil of seeming death),Thou tracest characters full bold and deep,And breathest now with life-inspiring breath!Thus was Love born! To me, who deemed it castBehind me!—with the shadows and the blightThat fell on trusting heart and life and home,And wrapped my soul in darkest tones of night!Nay, but thy Love has waked me, and I live!For love and life, twin-born, are guests of mine,Thine eyes have told me lover's sweetest tale,And tender lips have sealed me wholly thine!So, if within the hours apart we walkOfttimes in paths that take us from our nest—The nest we built with loving heart and hands—It takes not from us love nor trust nor rest!It takes them not—no hand but ours can robEach other of this gift surpassing all!No hand but ours can bind or break this bond,And from no other hand but ours can fallBlight or distrust, or grief or bitter pain;And so, my own, in this we builded wellIf through life's storm or sunshine there shall fallNo grief or loss our lips may ever tell!My heart grows faint with longing and with love,—And yet I know I must not keep thee e'erA tender bond-slave to my amorous will;—Such chain as that 'twere ill that thou shouldst wear!I would not have thee swayed, dear love, by aughtThy manhood would disclaim; nor would I holdThee prisoner to my clinging heart, howe'erIts pleading touch would seek to thee enfold!Love cannot live where faith and trust are not,—Love will not brook a gilded chain to wear;—And where the fetters bind, the bird's sweet songIs hushed—the skies above, no more, are fair!But I would hold thee in my heart of heartsSo little prisoner, that thou ne'er shouldst strayFrom Love's dear shrine,—but, through the waning yearsOur love-life should grow dearer day by day!
My heart grows faint with longing and with loveAs in the twilight comes thy well-loved face;And closer, closer drawn by threads that bindThee to me, all our tender joys I trace.In lines keen-cut, and lasting as the stoneWhen sculptor's art transforms it into life—That erst were soulless marble, still and poorTo mirror forth our hope or joy or strife!In lines keen-cut! Yea, on my living heart,(That slumbered 'neath its veil of seeming death),Thou tracest characters full bold and deep,And breathest now with life-inspiring breath!Thus was Love born! To me, who deemed it castBehind me!—with the shadows and the blightThat fell on trusting heart and life and home,And wrapped my soul in darkest tones of night!Nay, but thy Love has waked me, and I live!For love and life, twin-born, are guests of mine,Thine eyes have told me lover's sweetest tale,And tender lips have sealed me wholly thine!So, if within the hours apart we walkOfttimes in paths that take us from our nest—The nest we built with loving heart and hands—It takes not from us love nor trust nor rest!It takes them not—no hand but ours can robEach other of this gift surpassing all!No hand but ours can bind or break this bond,And from no other hand but ours can fallBlight or distrust, or grief or bitter pain;And so, my own, in this we builded wellIf through life's storm or sunshine there shall fallNo grief or loss our lips may ever tell!My heart grows faint with longing and with love,—And yet I know I must not keep thee e'erA tender bond-slave to my amorous will;—Such chain as that 'twere ill that thou shouldst wear!I would not have thee swayed, dear love, by aughtThy manhood would disclaim; nor would I holdThee prisoner to my clinging heart, howe'erIts pleading touch would seek to thee enfold!Love cannot live where faith and trust are not,—Love will not brook a gilded chain to wear;—And where the fetters bind, the bird's sweet songIs hushed—the skies above, no more, are fair!But I would hold thee in my heart of heartsSo little prisoner, that thou ne'er shouldst strayFrom Love's dear shrine,—but, through the waning yearsOur love-life should grow dearer day by day!
My heart grows faint with longing and with loveAs in the twilight comes thy well-loved face;And closer, closer drawn by threads that bindThee to me, all our tender joys I trace.
My heart grows faint with longing and with love
As in the twilight comes thy well-loved face;
And closer, closer drawn by threads that bind
Thee to me, all our tender joys I trace.
In lines keen-cut, and lasting as the stoneWhen sculptor's art transforms it into life—That erst were soulless marble, still and poorTo mirror forth our hope or joy or strife!
In lines keen-cut, and lasting as the stone
When sculptor's art transforms it into life—
That erst were soulless marble, still and poor
To mirror forth our hope or joy or strife!
In lines keen-cut! Yea, on my living heart,(That slumbered 'neath its veil of seeming death),Thou tracest characters full bold and deep,And breathest now with life-inspiring breath!
In lines keen-cut! Yea, on my living heart,
(That slumbered 'neath its veil of seeming death),
Thou tracest characters full bold and deep,
And breathest now with life-inspiring breath!
Thus was Love born! To me, who deemed it castBehind me!—with the shadows and the blightThat fell on trusting heart and life and home,And wrapped my soul in darkest tones of night!
Thus was Love born! To me, who deemed it cast
Behind me!—with the shadows and the blight
That fell on trusting heart and life and home,
And wrapped my soul in darkest tones of night!
Nay, but thy Love has waked me, and I live!For love and life, twin-born, are guests of mine,Thine eyes have told me lover's sweetest tale,And tender lips have sealed me wholly thine!
Nay, but thy Love has waked me, and I live!
For love and life, twin-born, are guests of mine,
Thine eyes have told me lover's sweetest tale,
And tender lips have sealed me wholly thine!
So, if within the hours apart we walkOfttimes in paths that take us from our nest—The nest we built with loving heart and hands—It takes not from us love nor trust nor rest!
So, if within the hours apart we walk
Ofttimes in paths that take us from our nest—
The nest we built with loving heart and hands—
It takes not from us love nor trust nor rest!
It takes them not—no hand but ours can robEach other of this gift surpassing all!No hand but ours can bind or break this bond,And from no other hand but ours can fall
It takes them not—no hand but ours can rob
Each other of this gift surpassing all!
No hand but ours can bind or break this bond,
And from no other hand but ours can fall
Blight or distrust, or grief or bitter pain;And so, my own, in this we builded wellIf through life's storm or sunshine there shall fallNo grief or loss our lips may ever tell!
Blight or distrust, or grief or bitter pain;
And so, my own, in this we builded well
If through life's storm or sunshine there shall fall
No grief or loss our lips may ever tell!
My heart grows faint with longing and with love,—And yet I know I must not keep thee e'erA tender bond-slave to my amorous will;—Such chain as that 'twere ill that thou shouldst wear!
My heart grows faint with longing and with love,—
And yet I know I must not keep thee e'er
A tender bond-slave to my amorous will;—
Such chain as that 'twere ill that thou shouldst wear!
I would not have thee swayed, dear love, by aughtThy manhood would disclaim; nor would I holdThee prisoner to my clinging heart, howe'erIts pleading touch would seek to thee enfold!
I would not have thee swayed, dear love, by aught
Thy manhood would disclaim; nor would I hold
Thee prisoner to my clinging heart, howe'er
Its pleading touch would seek to thee enfold!
Love cannot live where faith and trust are not,—Love will not brook a gilded chain to wear;—And where the fetters bind, the bird's sweet songIs hushed—the skies above, no more, are fair!
Love cannot live where faith and trust are not,—
Love will not brook a gilded chain to wear;—
And where the fetters bind, the bird's sweet song
Is hushed—the skies above, no more, are fair!
But I would hold thee in my heart of heartsSo little prisoner, that thou ne'er shouldst strayFrom Love's dear shrine,—but, through the waning yearsOur love-life should grow dearer day by day!
But I would hold thee in my heart of hearts
So little prisoner, that thou ne'er shouldst stray
From Love's dear shrine,—but, through the waning years
Our love-life should grow dearer day by day!
Yes, hold me closer, closer in thy arms,And closer to thy beating heart, that I,Secure in all that crowns a woman's lot,May now, with thee, the bitter past defy!Yet would I not call down an envious doomOn any of the future's sunny days;'Twere ill in me to tempt the Fates, I trow;But, rather, as one pleading, kneels and prays:—"Stay but thy hand, O Time! and pitying grantUs of thy sunny sheaves of Harvest Day;Hours brimmed with sweetness and all glad with love,—That, passing on, we scarce may heed the way"That erst was strewn with sharpest stones and weeds;So lead us gently, Time, we may not missAught of Life's joy or of its brilliant light,Or, missing, crave a fuller cup than this!"Yes, hold me closer, closer; let me restMy head, content, above thy throbbing heart.Struggle and bay of laurel are the world's;But this, my own dear Love, the better part!Fame and Ambition—lo! do not they burnWith all the lurid light and gleam of earth?Love, silent and benign, an influence sheds,And heralds forth in life a higher birth!Vain is ambition, yea, or conquered goal,To bind my heart or satisfy me here.Then hold me closer, closer to thee, Love;For this I give it all—hold thou me near!
Yes, hold me closer, closer in thy arms,And closer to thy beating heart, that I,Secure in all that crowns a woman's lot,May now, with thee, the bitter past defy!Yet would I not call down an envious doomOn any of the future's sunny days;'Twere ill in me to tempt the Fates, I trow;But, rather, as one pleading, kneels and prays:—"Stay but thy hand, O Time! and pitying grantUs of thy sunny sheaves of Harvest Day;Hours brimmed with sweetness and all glad with love,—That, passing on, we scarce may heed the way"That erst was strewn with sharpest stones and weeds;So lead us gently, Time, we may not missAught of Life's joy or of its brilliant light,Or, missing, crave a fuller cup than this!"Yes, hold me closer, closer; let me restMy head, content, above thy throbbing heart.Struggle and bay of laurel are the world's;But this, my own dear Love, the better part!Fame and Ambition—lo! do not they burnWith all the lurid light and gleam of earth?Love, silent and benign, an influence sheds,And heralds forth in life a higher birth!Vain is ambition, yea, or conquered goal,To bind my heart or satisfy me here.Then hold me closer, closer to thee, Love;For this I give it all—hold thou me near!
Yes, hold me closer, closer in thy arms,And closer to thy beating heart, that I,Secure in all that crowns a woman's lot,May now, with thee, the bitter past defy!
Yes, hold me closer, closer in thy arms,
And closer to thy beating heart, that I,
Secure in all that crowns a woman's lot,
May now, with thee, the bitter past defy!
Yet would I not call down an envious doomOn any of the future's sunny days;'Twere ill in me to tempt the Fates, I trow;But, rather, as one pleading, kneels and prays:—
Yet would I not call down an envious doom
On any of the future's sunny days;
'Twere ill in me to tempt the Fates, I trow;
But, rather, as one pleading, kneels and prays:—
"Stay but thy hand, O Time! and pitying grantUs of thy sunny sheaves of Harvest Day;Hours brimmed with sweetness and all glad with love,—That, passing on, we scarce may heed the way
"Stay but thy hand, O Time! and pitying grant
Us of thy sunny sheaves of Harvest Day;
Hours brimmed with sweetness and all glad with love,—
That, passing on, we scarce may heed the way
"That erst was strewn with sharpest stones and weeds;So lead us gently, Time, we may not missAught of Life's joy or of its brilliant light,Or, missing, crave a fuller cup than this!"
"That erst was strewn with sharpest stones and weeds;
So lead us gently, Time, we may not miss
Aught of Life's joy or of its brilliant light,
Or, missing, crave a fuller cup than this!"
Yes, hold me closer, closer; let me restMy head, content, above thy throbbing heart.Struggle and bay of laurel are the world's;But this, my own dear Love, the better part!
Yes, hold me closer, closer; let me rest
My head, content, above thy throbbing heart.
Struggle and bay of laurel are the world's;
But this, my own dear Love, the better part!
Fame and Ambition—lo! do not they burnWith all the lurid light and gleam of earth?Love, silent and benign, an influence sheds,And heralds forth in life a higher birth!
Fame and Ambition—lo! do not they burn
With all the lurid light and gleam of earth?
Love, silent and benign, an influence sheds,
And heralds forth in life a higher birth!
Vain is ambition, yea, or conquered goal,To bind my heart or satisfy me here.Then hold me closer, closer to thee, Love;For this I give it all—hold thou me near!
Vain is ambition, yea, or conquered goal,
To bind my heart or satisfy me here.
Then hold me closer, closer to thee, Love;
For this I give it all—hold thou me near!
(This legend, in prose, I found in a French collection, and have believed it would be acceptable rendered into verse. M. L.)
Back, in olden time when emperorsRuled the land where Tiber flows,Proud and stern dwelt Gondoforus,As the ancient legend shows.As he mused in hours of leisure,Came into his brain this thought:"Straight I'll build, for mine own gloryHere, a palace deftly wrought"Of the richest gold and silver;With the choicest gems bedecked;That shall on my house and lineageStill a greater light reflect."Shall outshine the Roman Emperor'sIn its beauty and its worth;Place fore'er his lordly structure'Mid the lesser of the earth."So he sent his message speedingTo the regions far and near,That some great and cunning builderMight at his command appear.When, one day, with mien all lowly,Wrapped about in garments gray,Stood the architect before him,His behest to now essay.Spoke his will—and GondoforusWent forth proudly unto war;Days and months sped on unheeded,Still no word came from afar.Yet the architect wrought, silent,Though he touched nor plan nor pen;For the palace he was buildingWas not seen by eyes of men.While unto the poor and wretchedFreely of the gold gave he;Precious stones were turned to healingNeeds of poor humanity!Back, returning flushed with victory,Gondoforus came apace;Sought, in vain, to view his palace—Bare and empty was its place!Then he sent, with sternest message,For the architect, and said—"Caitiff, what is now thy showing?Answer, by thy hoary head!"Thomas (he who, doubting, lingeredWhen his fellows pressed to claimAs their risen Lord, the Saviour)Spake: "Oh, thou of kingly name,"Lo! thy house is even builded!"But the warrior bade them castIn deep dungeon him who trifledWith his will—there bind him fast,While he planned the subtlest tormentFor the traitor's aged frame,While he doomed, with keenest vengeance,Him to torture, death and shame!But, as in his rage he pondered,Sleep o'ertook him, held him chained,And a vision hovered near him—Earthly sense grew dim and waned.Then the spirit of his brotherSwiftly to his side drew nigh;Said, in words that thrilled his being,"He whom thou hast doomed to die"Is the servant of the Mighty;Is an instrument of grace,For the angels now have shown me(Where no narrow walls have place"And where dwell the hosts eternal)Reared in all its beauty there,Lo! a House of precious jewelsAnd of ornament most fair."Fashioned of the precious metalsThou wouldst fain have builded here;Fashioned with a grace and gloryThat on Earth doth not appear.Thus, in Paradise there standethWaiting thee, a House divine,Which the Architect hath fashionedAll on Earth to now outshine!"Then the vision paled and vanished;Gondoforus straightway spedTo the captive, who awaiting,Bowed in prayer his aged head.Gondoforus knelt before him;Then the holy Thomas spoke,As he raised the humble warriorCrushed beneath the vision's stroke—"Knowest not, O King, the mansionsThat endure, are reared on high?Builded there, for us, in HeavenBy our faith and charity."
Back, in olden time when emperorsRuled the land where Tiber flows,Proud and stern dwelt Gondoforus,As the ancient legend shows.As he mused in hours of leisure,Came into his brain this thought:"Straight I'll build, for mine own gloryHere, a palace deftly wrought"Of the richest gold and silver;With the choicest gems bedecked;That shall on my house and lineageStill a greater light reflect."Shall outshine the Roman Emperor'sIn its beauty and its worth;Place fore'er his lordly structure'Mid the lesser of the earth."So he sent his message speedingTo the regions far and near,That some great and cunning builderMight at his command appear.When, one day, with mien all lowly,Wrapped about in garments gray,Stood the architect before him,His behest to now essay.Spoke his will—and GondoforusWent forth proudly unto war;Days and months sped on unheeded,Still no word came from afar.Yet the architect wrought, silent,Though he touched nor plan nor pen;For the palace he was buildingWas not seen by eyes of men.While unto the poor and wretchedFreely of the gold gave he;Precious stones were turned to healingNeeds of poor humanity!Back, returning flushed with victory,Gondoforus came apace;Sought, in vain, to view his palace—Bare and empty was its place!Then he sent, with sternest message,For the architect, and said—"Caitiff, what is now thy showing?Answer, by thy hoary head!"Thomas (he who, doubting, lingeredWhen his fellows pressed to claimAs their risen Lord, the Saviour)Spake: "Oh, thou of kingly name,"Lo! thy house is even builded!"But the warrior bade them castIn deep dungeon him who trifledWith his will—there bind him fast,While he planned the subtlest tormentFor the traitor's aged frame,While he doomed, with keenest vengeance,Him to torture, death and shame!But, as in his rage he pondered,Sleep o'ertook him, held him chained,And a vision hovered near him—Earthly sense grew dim and waned.Then the spirit of his brotherSwiftly to his side drew nigh;Said, in words that thrilled his being,"He whom thou hast doomed to die"Is the servant of the Mighty;Is an instrument of grace,For the angels now have shown me(Where no narrow walls have place"And where dwell the hosts eternal)Reared in all its beauty there,Lo! a House of precious jewelsAnd of ornament most fair."Fashioned of the precious metalsThou wouldst fain have builded here;Fashioned with a grace and gloryThat on Earth doth not appear.Thus, in Paradise there standethWaiting thee, a House divine,Which the Architect hath fashionedAll on Earth to now outshine!"Then the vision paled and vanished;Gondoforus straightway spedTo the captive, who awaiting,Bowed in prayer his aged head.Gondoforus knelt before him;Then the holy Thomas spoke,As he raised the humble warriorCrushed beneath the vision's stroke—"Knowest not, O King, the mansionsThat endure, are reared on high?Builded there, for us, in HeavenBy our faith and charity."
Back, in olden time when emperorsRuled the land where Tiber flows,Proud and stern dwelt Gondoforus,As the ancient legend shows.
Back, in olden time when emperors
Ruled the land where Tiber flows,
Proud and stern dwelt Gondoforus,
As the ancient legend shows.
As he mused in hours of leisure,Came into his brain this thought:"Straight I'll build, for mine own gloryHere, a palace deftly wrought
As he mused in hours of leisure,
Came into his brain this thought:
"Straight I'll build, for mine own glory
Here, a palace deftly wrought
"Of the richest gold and silver;With the choicest gems bedecked;That shall on my house and lineageStill a greater light reflect.
"Of the richest gold and silver;
With the choicest gems bedecked;
That shall on my house and lineage
Still a greater light reflect.
"Shall outshine the Roman Emperor'sIn its beauty and its worth;Place fore'er his lordly structure'Mid the lesser of the earth."
"Shall outshine the Roman Emperor's
In its beauty and its worth;
Place fore'er his lordly structure
'Mid the lesser of the earth."
So he sent his message speedingTo the regions far and near,That some great and cunning builderMight at his command appear.
So he sent his message speeding
To the regions far and near,
That some great and cunning builder
Might at his command appear.
When, one day, with mien all lowly,Wrapped about in garments gray,Stood the architect before him,His behest to now essay.
When, one day, with mien all lowly,
Wrapped about in garments gray,
Stood the architect before him,
His behest to now essay.
Spoke his will—and GondoforusWent forth proudly unto war;Days and months sped on unheeded,Still no word came from afar.
Spoke his will—and Gondoforus
Went forth proudly unto war;
Days and months sped on unheeded,
Still no word came from afar.
Yet the architect wrought, silent,Though he touched nor plan nor pen;For the palace he was buildingWas not seen by eyes of men.
Yet the architect wrought, silent,
Though he touched nor plan nor pen;
For the palace he was building
Was not seen by eyes of men.
While unto the poor and wretchedFreely of the gold gave he;Precious stones were turned to healingNeeds of poor humanity!
While unto the poor and wretched
Freely of the gold gave he;
Precious stones were turned to healing
Needs of poor humanity!
Back, returning flushed with victory,Gondoforus came apace;Sought, in vain, to view his palace—Bare and empty was its place!
Back, returning flushed with victory,
Gondoforus came apace;
Sought, in vain, to view his palace—
Bare and empty was its place!
Then he sent, with sternest message,For the architect, and said—"Caitiff, what is now thy showing?Answer, by thy hoary head!"
Then he sent, with sternest message,
For the architect, and said—
"Caitiff, what is now thy showing?
Answer, by thy hoary head!"
Thomas (he who, doubting, lingeredWhen his fellows pressed to claimAs their risen Lord, the Saviour)Spake: "Oh, thou of kingly name,
Thomas (he who, doubting, lingered
When his fellows pressed to claim
As their risen Lord, the Saviour)
Spake: "Oh, thou of kingly name,
"Lo! thy house is even builded!"But the warrior bade them castIn deep dungeon him who trifledWith his will—there bind him fast,
"Lo! thy house is even builded!"
But the warrior bade them cast
In deep dungeon him who trifled
With his will—there bind him fast,
While he planned the subtlest tormentFor the traitor's aged frame,While he doomed, with keenest vengeance,Him to torture, death and shame!
While he planned the subtlest torment
For the traitor's aged frame,
While he doomed, with keenest vengeance,
Him to torture, death and shame!
But, as in his rage he pondered,Sleep o'ertook him, held him chained,And a vision hovered near him—Earthly sense grew dim and waned.
But, as in his rage he pondered,
Sleep o'ertook him, held him chained,
And a vision hovered near him—
Earthly sense grew dim and waned.
Then the spirit of his brotherSwiftly to his side drew nigh;Said, in words that thrilled his being,"He whom thou hast doomed to die
Then the spirit of his brother
Swiftly to his side drew nigh;
Said, in words that thrilled his being,
"He whom thou hast doomed to die
"Is the servant of the Mighty;Is an instrument of grace,For the angels now have shown me(Where no narrow walls have place
"Is the servant of the Mighty;
Is an instrument of grace,
For the angels now have shown me
(Where no narrow walls have place
"And where dwell the hosts eternal)Reared in all its beauty there,Lo! a House of precious jewelsAnd of ornament most fair.
"And where dwell the hosts eternal)
Reared in all its beauty there,
Lo! a House of precious jewels
And of ornament most fair.
"Fashioned of the precious metalsThou wouldst fain have builded here;Fashioned with a grace and gloryThat on Earth doth not appear.
"Fashioned of the precious metals
Thou wouldst fain have builded here;
Fashioned with a grace and glory
That on Earth doth not appear.
Thus, in Paradise there standethWaiting thee, a House divine,Which the Architect hath fashionedAll on Earth to now outshine!"
Thus, in Paradise there standeth
Waiting thee, a House divine,
Which the Architect hath fashioned
All on Earth to now outshine!"
Then the vision paled and vanished;Gondoforus straightway spedTo the captive, who awaiting,Bowed in prayer his aged head.
Then the vision paled and vanished;
Gondoforus straightway sped
To the captive, who awaiting,
Bowed in prayer his aged head.
Gondoforus knelt before him;Then the holy Thomas spoke,As he raised the humble warriorCrushed beneath the vision's stroke—
Gondoforus knelt before him;
Then the holy Thomas spoke,
As he raised the humble warrior
Crushed beneath the vision's stroke—
"Knowest not, O King, the mansionsThat endure, are reared on high?Builded there, for us, in HeavenBy our faith and charity."
"Knowest not, O King, the mansions
That endure, are reared on high?
Builded there, for us, in Heaven
By our faith and charity."
On fair Lake Como's sunny brink,An ancient monastery stoodClose to the mountain's steep ascent,As nestling 'neath its snowy hood.And there a pale young artisanHis cunning plied; a wondrous chimeHe sought to frame, that those who lovedThe beauty of that molten rhymeWithin the valley's breadth should hearPealing at morn and even clear.For years he toiled, content if heAt last might frame a chime so sweetThat pilgrims oft would silent pauseTo hear the music glad repeat.Borne o'er the tranquil waters' reachAnd bringing swift unto the heartIts tones of warning, praise, and love,That nevermore should then depart.Such was the thought he wove, and prayedThat his life's work be holy made.The day came when that perfect chimeWas placed aloft, its song to wingForth o'er the waters' silent reachAnd to the convent's roof to bringThe lost and wayworn traveller fromThe busy haunts of world and strife,Back, where the calm of prayer might proveThe guide-post to Eternal life!Then was the artisan as oneWhose dearest life-work, here, was done.Not so, howe'er! 'Twas yet to beA lifelong task—a path to leadThrough many a land, in futile searchO'er stony ways where feet should bleed.Not yet his soul's high guerdon find—The prize his hands had placed aloft.How rarely here on earth we seeLife's morning fill its promise soft.Not yet was he to find his restBeside Lake Como's lovely breast.A savage horde o'erran the landAnd bore away the prizéd chime;Afar from peaceful Como's side,To some unknown and distant clime.In vain the artisan complainedBeneath a fate unkind; he drewNo comfort from lament or prayer,For peace no more his hearthstone knew.Then, as one day he brooding musedAnd consolation sweet refused,He seemed to see before his eyesA land outspread, wherein his feetShould wander, seeking ever thereHis loved and lost—his chime so sweet,He rose at once; he sought no aid;But bowed his head in silent prayer;Then from his home he straightway passedThat no one might his purpose share.And leaving home and rest that dayWith breaking heart went on his way.Whene'er he heard, in foreign land,Some wondrous story of a chimeWhose tones were liquid notes of song,Whose bells rang out a gladsome rhyme,He journeyed to that storied place,Nor paused till he should reach the spot,—Only to find his quest in vain,While yet those bells were ne'er forgot.Each day his soul went up in prayerThat those clear chimes might pierce the air!Thus journeyed he for many a yearWhile locks of gold had turned to greyTill in a distant land he strayedAnd heard at close of summer dayThe old sweet song rung by his chimeHe long had listened for in vain!Quickly rose tears in lifted eyes,Quickly his heart renounced its pain!"O loved and lost! for many a dayYou've called me from my youth away!"For now on foreign strand he waitsAlone in age—alone in kin,Listening as listens one who bidesOutside of Heaven, to praise within.Not vain his search! not lost his love!He feels once more the old-time throbEre cruel foes his prize had ta'en;No more may they his treasure rob!His life went forth in one glad cryBeneath that far-off, alien sky!'Twas ended—all the tender search;The hours of pain and sleepless toil;There, where no loved his hand might clasp;There, on that wild and foreign soil.But deep within his heart was writHis purpose pure; his steadfast search.And lo! his chime still calls to prayer,And still peals forth from ivied church.The bells once blessed by saintly handsNow call, in Limerick, God's commands!My story's done—what need to sayHe sleeps as well and sweetly thereBeneath that arch of foreign skyAs in his native land so fair.He found, ere death had met his feetThe prize he sought with spirit brave,And finding was content to lieAfar from Como in his grave.Love was the goal that led his feetTo peace and deathless calm replete.The chimes? Ah, well, perhaps they pealNo less the sweetly that their noteIn alien lands the tidings bring;They still to God their praise devote,And though their maker no more hearsThe liquid music of each tone,They speak to those whose living needsMake of the chimes their very own.Though hand that made is turned to clay,His work—the chimes—lives on alway!
On fair Lake Como's sunny brink,An ancient monastery stoodClose to the mountain's steep ascent,As nestling 'neath its snowy hood.And there a pale young artisanHis cunning plied; a wondrous chimeHe sought to frame, that those who lovedThe beauty of that molten rhymeWithin the valley's breadth should hearPealing at morn and even clear.For years he toiled, content if heAt last might frame a chime so sweetThat pilgrims oft would silent pauseTo hear the music glad repeat.Borne o'er the tranquil waters' reachAnd bringing swift unto the heartIts tones of warning, praise, and love,That nevermore should then depart.Such was the thought he wove, and prayedThat his life's work be holy made.The day came when that perfect chimeWas placed aloft, its song to wingForth o'er the waters' silent reachAnd to the convent's roof to bringThe lost and wayworn traveller fromThe busy haunts of world and strife,Back, where the calm of prayer might proveThe guide-post to Eternal life!Then was the artisan as oneWhose dearest life-work, here, was done.Not so, howe'er! 'Twas yet to beA lifelong task—a path to leadThrough many a land, in futile searchO'er stony ways where feet should bleed.Not yet his soul's high guerdon find—The prize his hands had placed aloft.How rarely here on earth we seeLife's morning fill its promise soft.Not yet was he to find his restBeside Lake Como's lovely breast.A savage horde o'erran the landAnd bore away the prizéd chime;Afar from peaceful Como's side,To some unknown and distant clime.In vain the artisan complainedBeneath a fate unkind; he drewNo comfort from lament or prayer,For peace no more his hearthstone knew.Then, as one day he brooding musedAnd consolation sweet refused,He seemed to see before his eyesA land outspread, wherein his feetShould wander, seeking ever thereHis loved and lost—his chime so sweet,He rose at once; he sought no aid;But bowed his head in silent prayer;Then from his home he straightway passedThat no one might his purpose share.And leaving home and rest that dayWith breaking heart went on his way.Whene'er he heard, in foreign land,Some wondrous story of a chimeWhose tones were liquid notes of song,Whose bells rang out a gladsome rhyme,He journeyed to that storied place,Nor paused till he should reach the spot,—Only to find his quest in vain,While yet those bells were ne'er forgot.Each day his soul went up in prayerThat those clear chimes might pierce the air!Thus journeyed he for many a yearWhile locks of gold had turned to greyTill in a distant land he strayedAnd heard at close of summer dayThe old sweet song rung by his chimeHe long had listened for in vain!Quickly rose tears in lifted eyes,Quickly his heart renounced its pain!"O loved and lost! for many a dayYou've called me from my youth away!"For now on foreign strand he waitsAlone in age—alone in kin,Listening as listens one who bidesOutside of Heaven, to praise within.Not vain his search! not lost his love!He feels once more the old-time throbEre cruel foes his prize had ta'en;No more may they his treasure rob!His life went forth in one glad cryBeneath that far-off, alien sky!'Twas ended—all the tender search;The hours of pain and sleepless toil;There, where no loved his hand might clasp;There, on that wild and foreign soil.But deep within his heart was writHis purpose pure; his steadfast search.And lo! his chime still calls to prayer,And still peals forth from ivied church.The bells once blessed by saintly handsNow call, in Limerick, God's commands!My story's done—what need to sayHe sleeps as well and sweetly thereBeneath that arch of foreign skyAs in his native land so fair.He found, ere death had met his feetThe prize he sought with spirit brave,And finding was content to lieAfar from Como in his grave.Love was the goal that led his feetTo peace and deathless calm replete.The chimes? Ah, well, perhaps they pealNo less the sweetly that their noteIn alien lands the tidings bring;They still to God their praise devote,And though their maker no more hearsThe liquid music of each tone,They speak to those whose living needsMake of the chimes their very own.Though hand that made is turned to clay,His work—the chimes—lives on alway!
On fair Lake Como's sunny brink,An ancient monastery stoodClose to the mountain's steep ascent,As nestling 'neath its snowy hood.And there a pale young artisanHis cunning plied; a wondrous chimeHe sought to frame, that those who lovedThe beauty of that molten rhymeWithin the valley's breadth should hearPealing at morn and even clear.
On fair Lake Como's sunny brink,
An ancient monastery stood
Close to the mountain's steep ascent,
As nestling 'neath its snowy hood.
And there a pale young artisan
His cunning plied; a wondrous chime
He sought to frame, that those who loved
The beauty of that molten rhyme
Within the valley's breadth should hear
Pealing at morn and even clear.
For years he toiled, content if heAt last might frame a chime so sweetThat pilgrims oft would silent pauseTo hear the music glad repeat.Borne o'er the tranquil waters' reachAnd bringing swift unto the heartIts tones of warning, praise, and love,That nevermore should then depart.Such was the thought he wove, and prayedThat his life's work be holy made.
For years he toiled, content if he
At last might frame a chime so sweet
That pilgrims oft would silent pause
To hear the music glad repeat.
Borne o'er the tranquil waters' reach
And bringing swift unto the heart
Its tones of warning, praise, and love,
That nevermore should then depart.
Such was the thought he wove, and prayed
That his life's work be holy made.
The day came when that perfect chimeWas placed aloft, its song to wingForth o'er the waters' silent reachAnd to the convent's roof to bringThe lost and wayworn traveller fromThe busy haunts of world and strife,Back, where the calm of prayer might proveThe guide-post to Eternal life!Then was the artisan as oneWhose dearest life-work, here, was done.
The day came when that perfect chime
Was placed aloft, its song to wing
Forth o'er the waters' silent reach
And to the convent's roof to bring
The lost and wayworn traveller from
The busy haunts of world and strife,
Back, where the calm of prayer might prove
The guide-post to Eternal life!
Then was the artisan as one
Whose dearest life-work, here, was done.
Not so, howe'er! 'Twas yet to beA lifelong task—a path to leadThrough many a land, in futile searchO'er stony ways where feet should bleed.Not yet his soul's high guerdon find—The prize his hands had placed aloft.How rarely here on earth we seeLife's morning fill its promise soft.Not yet was he to find his restBeside Lake Como's lovely breast.
Not so, howe'er! 'Twas yet to be
A lifelong task—a path to lead
Through many a land, in futile search
O'er stony ways where feet should bleed.
Not yet his soul's high guerdon find—
The prize his hands had placed aloft.
How rarely here on earth we see
Life's morning fill its promise soft.
Not yet was he to find his rest
Beside Lake Como's lovely breast.
A savage horde o'erran the landAnd bore away the prizéd chime;Afar from peaceful Como's side,To some unknown and distant clime.In vain the artisan complainedBeneath a fate unkind; he drewNo comfort from lament or prayer,For peace no more his hearthstone knew.Then, as one day he brooding musedAnd consolation sweet refused,
A savage horde o'erran the land
And bore away the prizéd chime;
Afar from peaceful Como's side,
To some unknown and distant clime.
In vain the artisan complained
Beneath a fate unkind; he drew
No comfort from lament or prayer,
For peace no more his hearthstone knew.
Then, as one day he brooding mused
And consolation sweet refused,
He seemed to see before his eyesA land outspread, wherein his feetShould wander, seeking ever thereHis loved and lost—his chime so sweet,He rose at once; he sought no aid;But bowed his head in silent prayer;Then from his home he straightway passedThat no one might his purpose share.And leaving home and rest that dayWith breaking heart went on his way.
He seemed to see before his eyes
A land outspread, wherein his feet
Should wander, seeking ever there
His loved and lost—his chime so sweet,
He rose at once; he sought no aid;
But bowed his head in silent prayer;
Then from his home he straightway passed
That no one might his purpose share.
And leaving home and rest that day
With breaking heart went on his way.
Whene'er he heard, in foreign land,Some wondrous story of a chimeWhose tones were liquid notes of song,Whose bells rang out a gladsome rhyme,He journeyed to that storied place,Nor paused till he should reach the spot,—Only to find his quest in vain,While yet those bells were ne'er forgot.Each day his soul went up in prayerThat those clear chimes might pierce the air!
Whene'er he heard, in foreign land,
Some wondrous story of a chime
Whose tones were liquid notes of song,
Whose bells rang out a gladsome rhyme,
He journeyed to that storied place,
Nor paused till he should reach the spot,—
Only to find his quest in vain,
While yet those bells were ne'er forgot.
Each day his soul went up in prayer
That those clear chimes might pierce the air!
Thus journeyed he for many a yearWhile locks of gold had turned to greyTill in a distant land he strayedAnd heard at close of summer dayThe old sweet song rung by his chimeHe long had listened for in vain!Quickly rose tears in lifted eyes,Quickly his heart renounced its pain!"O loved and lost! for many a dayYou've called me from my youth away!"
Thus journeyed he for many a year
While locks of gold had turned to grey
Till in a distant land he strayed
And heard at close of summer day
The old sweet song rung by his chime
He long had listened for in vain!
Quickly rose tears in lifted eyes,
Quickly his heart renounced its pain!
"O loved and lost! for many a day
You've called me from my youth away!"
For now on foreign strand he waitsAlone in age—alone in kin,Listening as listens one who bidesOutside of Heaven, to praise within.Not vain his search! not lost his love!He feels once more the old-time throbEre cruel foes his prize had ta'en;No more may they his treasure rob!His life went forth in one glad cryBeneath that far-off, alien sky!
For now on foreign strand he waits
Alone in age—alone in kin,
Listening as listens one who bides
Outside of Heaven, to praise within.
Not vain his search! not lost his love!
He feels once more the old-time throb
Ere cruel foes his prize had ta'en;
No more may they his treasure rob!
His life went forth in one glad cry
Beneath that far-off, alien sky!
'Twas ended—all the tender search;The hours of pain and sleepless toil;There, where no loved his hand might clasp;There, on that wild and foreign soil.But deep within his heart was writHis purpose pure; his steadfast search.And lo! his chime still calls to prayer,And still peals forth from ivied church.The bells once blessed by saintly handsNow call, in Limerick, God's commands!
'Twas ended—all the tender search;
The hours of pain and sleepless toil;
There, where no loved his hand might clasp;
There, on that wild and foreign soil.
But deep within his heart was writ
His purpose pure; his steadfast search.
And lo! his chime still calls to prayer,
And still peals forth from ivied church.
The bells once blessed by saintly hands
Now call, in Limerick, God's commands!
My story's done—what need to sayHe sleeps as well and sweetly thereBeneath that arch of foreign skyAs in his native land so fair.He found, ere death had met his feetThe prize he sought with spirit brave,And finding was content to lieAfar from Como in his grave.Love was the goal that led his feetTo peace and deathless calm replete.
My story's done—what need to say
He sleeps as well and sweetly there
Beneath that arch of foreign sky
As in his native land so fair.
He found, ere death had met his feet
The prize he sought with spirit brave,
And finding was content to lie
Afar from Como in his grave.
Love was the goal that led his feet
To peace and deathless calm replete.
The chimes? Ah, well, perhaps they pealNo less the sweetly that their noteIn alien lands the tidings bring;They still to God their praise devote,And though their maker no more hearsThe liquid music of each tone,They speak to those whose living needsMake of the chimes their very own.Though hand that made is turned to clay,His work—the chimes—lives on alway!
The chimes? Ah, well, perhaps they peal
No less the sweetly that their note
In alien lands the tidings bring;
They still to God their praise devote,
And though their maker no more hears
The liquid music of each tone,
They speak to those whose living needs
Make of the chimes their very own.
Though hand that made is turned to clay,
His work—the chimes—lives on alway!
(I came across this legend, in prose, some time ago, to which was prefixed this note: "The following exquisite story was written by Anthony of Sienna, and translated from the Dominican records by Francis Coster, a famous preacher of the sixteenth century. Mr. Gould, author ofMysteries of the Middle Ages,has succeeded in rendering it into current English."
In rendering the story into verse, I have kept to the text as closely as possible. M. L.)
Once—I've read in olden story—Lived a holy man of God,And two children, 'neath his guidance,Through life's pitfalls safely trod.Every day's returning dutiesFound them docile at his side,There to draw from Wisdom's fountainAll his tender care supplied.But the day's first, freshest hourAt the altar found them prone,Gladly giving to their SaviorAll He claimeth as His own.There they served with purest offeringAt the sacrifice sublime,Knelt, responded, and with reverenceSounded oft the bell's clear chime.And this duty then completed,To the little chapel doorTurned their feet, and, entering, vanishedThere to eat their humble store.But one day their teacher seeking,Spake the elder one full clear,"Tell us, Father, what fair infantDoth so oft to us appear?"Then the priest replied in accentsFull of tender, loving care—"Son, I know not him you speak ofWho with thee thy task doth share."But they came again unto himDay by day, with urgent word,And it was with deepest wonderThat their simple tale he heard.And he asked—"Of what sort is he?"And they answered him again—"Father, he is clad in raimentSeamless and without a stain!""But whence cometh he?" replyingSpoke the priest in accents mild;And they answered, "From the altar,As it were, descends the child."And we asked him then to shareWith us of our milk and bread;And he doth, right willingly;"This is what the children said.And the priest was full of wonder;To the children then spake he—"Are there marks whereby to know himIf mine eyes the child should see?""Yes, my father, yes, he bearethIn his hands and in his feetWounds that pierce his tender body."These the words that they repeat."From his hands the crimson liquid,On the bread he taketh, flowsTill beneath his touch it blushethLike the deep heart of the rose!"Then with awe replied their master—"O my sons, list unto me!Know it is the sweet Child JesusThe Holy One, that you did see!"When again he cometh to you,With these words your greeting be:'Thou hast breakfasted with us,Grant we three may sup with Thee!'"Then the children did his bidding;Sweetly then the Child did say,"Be it so, on Thursday next;Be it on Ascension Day!"On that day they came rejoicing,But they brought nor milk nor bread;Served they at the Mass right gladly;"Pax Vobiscum," then was said—But they still knelt on, unheeding,Thus they fell in Christ asleep;Master, children, with their SaviorThen his marriage-feast did keep!
Once—I've read in olden story—Lived a holy man of God,And two children, 'neath his guidance,Through life's pitfalls safely trod.Every day's returning dutiesFound them docile at his side,There to draw from Wisdom's fountainAll his tender care supplied.But the day's first, freshest hourAt the altar found them prone,Gladly giving to their SaviorAll He claimeth as His own.There they served with purest offeringAt the sacrifice sublime,Knelt, responded, and with reverenceSounded oft the bell's clear chime.And this duty then completed,To the little chapel doorTurned their feet, and, entering, vanishedThere to eat their humble store.But one day their teacher seeking,Spake the elder one full clear,"Tell us, Father, what fair infantDoth so oft to us appear?"Then the priest replied in accentsFull of tender, loving care—"Son, I know not him you speak ofWho with thee thy task doth share."But they came again unto himDay by day, with urgent word,And it was with deepest wonderThat their simple tale he heard.And he asked—"Of what sort is he?"And they answered him again—"Father, he is clad in raimentSeamless and without a stain!""But whence cometh he?" replyingSpoke the priest in accents mild;And they answered, "From the altar,As it were, descends the child."And we asked him then to shareWith us of our milk and bread;And he doth, right willingly;"This is what the children said.And the priest was full of wonder;To the children then spake he—"Are there marks whereby to know himIf mine eyes the child should see?""Yes, my father, yes, he bearethIn his hands and in his feetWounds that pierce his tender body."These the words that they repeat."From his hands the crimson liquid,On the bread he taketh, flowsTill beneath his touch it blushethLike the deep heart of the rose!"Then with awe replied their master—"O my sons, list unto me!Know it is the sweet Child JesusThe Holy One, that you did see!"When again he cometh to you,With these words your greeting be:'Thou hast breakfasted with us,Grant we three may sup with Thee!'"Then the children did his bidding;Sweetly then the Child did say,"Be it so, on Thursday next;Be it on Ascension Day!"On that day they came rejoicing,But they brought nor milk nor bread;Served they at the Mass right gladly;"Pax Vobiscum," then was said—But they still knelt on, unheeding,Thus they fell in Christ asleep;Master, children, with their SaviorThen his marriage-feast did keep!
Once—I've read in olden story—Lived a holy man of God,And two children, 'neath his guidance,Through life's pitfalls safely trod.
Once—I've read in olden story—
Lived a holy man of God,
And two children, 'neath his guidance,
Through life's pitfalls safely trod.
Every day's returning dutiesFound them docile at his side,There to draw from Wisdom's fountainAll his tender care supplied.
Every day's returning duties
Found them docile at his side,
There to draw from Wisdom's fountain
All his tender care supplied.
But the day's first, freshest hourAt the altar found them prone,Gladly giving to their SaviorAll He claimeth as His own.
But the day's first, freshest hour
At the altar found them prone,
Gladly giving to their Savior
All He claimeth as His own.
There they served with purest offeringAt the sacrifice sublime,Knelt, responded, and with reverenceSounded oft the bell's clear chime.
There they served with purest offering
At the sacrifice sublime,
Knelt, responded, and with reverence
Sounded oft the bell's clear chime.
And this duty then completed,To the little chapel doorTurned their feet, and, entering, vanishedThere to eat their humble store.
And this duty then completed,
To the little chapel door
Turned their feet, and, entering, vanished
There to eat their humble store.
But one day their teacher seeking,Spake the elder one full clear,"Tell us, Father, what fair infantDoth so oft to us appear?"
But one day their teacher seeking,
Spake the elder one full clear,
"Tell us, Father, what fair infant
Doth so oft to us appear?"
Then the priest replied in accentsFull of tender, loving care—"Son, I know not him you speak ofWho with thee thy task doth share."
Then the priest replied in accents
Full of tender, loving care—
"Son, I know not him you speak of
Who with thee thy task doth share."
But they came again unto himDay by day, with urgent word,And it was with deepest wonderThat their simple tale he heard.
But they came again unto him
Day by day, with urgent word,
And it was with deepest wonder
That their simple tale he heard.
And he asked—"Of what sort is he?"And they answered him again—"Father, he is clad in raimentSeamless and without a stain!"
And he asked—"Of what sort is he?"
And they answered him again—
"Father, he is clad in raiment
Seamless and without a stain!"
"But whence cometh he?" replyingSpoke the priest in accents mild;And they answered, "From the altar,As it were, descends the child.
"But whence cometh he?" replying
Spoke the priest in accents mild;
And they answered, "From the altar,
As it were, descends the child.
"And we asked him then to shareWith us of our milk and bread;And he doth, right willingly;"This is what the children said.
"And we asked him then to share
With us of our milk and bread;
And he doth, right willingly;"
This is what the children said.
And the priest was full of wonder;To the children then spake he—"Are there marks whereby to know himIf mine eyes the child should see?"
And the priest was full of wonder;
To the children then spake he—
"Are there marks whereby to know him
If mine eyes the child should see?"
"Yes, my father, yes, he bearethIn his hands and in his feetWounds that pierce his tender body."These the words that they repeat.
"Yes, my father, yes, he beareth
In his hands and in his feet
Wounds that pierce his tender body."
These the words that they repeat.
"From his hands the crimson liquid,On the bread he taketh, flowsTill beneath his touch it blushethLike the deep heart of the rose!"
"From his hands the crimson liquid,
On the bread he taketh, flows
Till beneath his touch it blusheth
Like the deep heart of the rose!"
Then with awe replied their master—"O my sons, list unto me!Know it is the sweet Child JesusThe Holy One, that you did see!
Then with awe replied their master—
"O my sons, list unto me!
Know it is the sweet Child Jesus
The Holy One, that you did see!
"When again he cometh to you,With these words your greeting be:'Thou hast breakfasted with us,Grant we three may sup with Thee!'"
"When again he cometh to you,
With these words your greeting be:
'Thou hast breakfasted with us,
Grant we three may sup with Thee!'"
Then the children did his bidding;Sweetly then the Child did say,"Be it so, on Thursday next;Be it on Ascension Day!"
Then the children did his bidding;
Sweetly then the Child did say,
"Be it so, on Thursday next;
Be it on Ascension Day!"
On that day they came rejoicing,But they brought nor milk nor bread;Served they at the Mass right gladly;"Pax Vobiscum," then was said—
On that day they came rejoicing,
But they brought nor milk nor bread;
Served they at the Mass right gladly;
"Pax Vobiscum," then was said—
But they still knelt on, unheeding,Thus they fell in Christ asleep;Master, children, with their SaviorThen his marriage-feast did keep!
But they still knelt on, unheeding,
Thus they fell in Christ asleep;
Master, children, with their Savior
Then his marriage-feast did keep!
Lo! half way up the hill I pauseTo turn within the ancient gateAnd enter ground now hallowéd!The silent city where they waitIn perfect rest till He shall bidThem rise who now in sleep are laid;Whose life, and death, and waiting e'en,On Him in childlike faith is stayed!No sound is heard within the spotSave the soft wind among the trees,Or song of insect's busy hum,Or low of herd upon the breeze.I walk 'mid graves of those long dead,Who lived and suffered, strove and won,And now have entered into lifeE'en while we say their life is done!I fain would take when I returnInto the world's wild rush and roar,The peace of this fair autumn day,That it bide with me evermore!That I may learn from this blest spotWhere sleep the dead—who in the LordNow take their rest—that life is moreThan idle jest, than passing word,Than anxious effort for the breadThat perisheth! Yea, more!That life is as a vessel givenOf precious ointment, that we bearAnd fear that we its freight may wasteEre we may yield it to His care!
Lo! half way up the hill I pauseTo turn within the ancient gateAnd enter ground now hallowéd!The silent city where they waitIn perfect rest till He shall bidThem rise who now in sleep are laid;Whose life, and death, and waiting e'en,On Him in childlike faith is stayed!No sound is heard within the spotSave the soft wind among the trees,Or song of insect's busy hum,Or low of herd upon the breeze.I walk 'mid graves of those long dead,Who lived and suffered, strove and won,And now have entered into lifeE'en while we say their life is done!I fain would take when I returnInto the world's wild rush and roar,The peace of this fair autumn day,That it bide with me evermore!That I may learn from this blest spotWhere sleep the dead—who in the LordNow take their rest—that life is moreThan idle jest, than passing word,Than anxious effort for the breadThat perisheth! Yea, more!That life is as a vessel givenOf precious ointment, that we bearAnd fear that we its freight may wasteEre we may yield it to His care!
Lo! half way up the hill I pauseTo turn within the ancient gateAnd enter ground now hallowéd!The silent city where they waitIn perfect rest till He shall bidThem rise who now in sleep are laid;Whose life, and death, and waiting e'en,On Him in childlike faith is stayed!No sound is heard within the spotSave the soft wind among the trees,Or song of insect's busy hum,Or low of herd upon the breeze.I walk 'mid graves of those long dead,Who lived and suffered, strove and won,And now have entered into lifeE'en while we say their life is done!I fain would take when I returnInto the world's wild rush and roar,The peace of this fair autumn day,That it bide with me evermore!That I may learn from this blest spotWhere sleep the dead—who in the LordNow take their rest—that life is moreThan idle jest, than passing word,Than anxious effort for the breadThat perisheth! Yea, more!That life is as a vessel givenOf precious ointment, that we bearAnd fear that we its freight may wasteEre we may yield it to His care!
Lo! half way up the hill I pause
To turn within the ancient gate
And enter ground now hallowéd!
The silent city where they wait
In perfect rest till He shall bid
Them rise who now in sleep are laid;
Whose life, and death, and waiting e'en,
On Him in childlike faith is stayed!
No sound is heard within the spot
Save the soft wind among the trees,
Or song of insect's busy hum,
Or low of herd upon the breeze.
I walk 'mid graves of those long dead,
Who lived and suffered, strove and won,
And now have entered into life
E'en while we say their life is done!
I fain would take when I return
Into the world's wild rush and roar,
The peace of this fair autumn day,
That it bide with me evermore!
That I may learn from this blest spot
Where sleep the dead—who in the Lord
Now take their rest—that life is more
Than idle jest, than passing word,
Than anxious effort for the bread
That perisheth! Yea, more!
That life is as a vessel given
Of precious ointment, that we bear
And fear that we its freight may waste
Ere we may yield it to His care!
Poor trembling soul within this frame of clay,That vainly questioneth, wouldst fain essayThe problem that nor time nor man may solve,Around which cycles evermore revolve!Not till the light upon thy quest is born,That only beams in an immortal morn,Shalt thou be satisfied, thy fears allayed,And, freed from earth, a new creation made!
Poor trembling soul within this frame of clay,That vainly questioneth, wouldst fain essayThe problem that nor time nor man may solve,Around which cycles evermore revolve!Not till the light upon thy quest is born,That only beams in an immortal morn,Shalt thou be satisfied, thy fears allayed,And, freed from earth, a new creation made!
Poor trembling soul within this frame of clay,That vainly questioneth, wouldst fain essayThe problem that nor time nor man may solve,Around which cycles evermore revolve!
Poor trembling soul within this frame of clay,
That vainly questioneth, wouldst fain essay
The problem that nor time nor man may solve,
Around which cycles evermore revolve!
Not till the light upon thy quest is born,That only beams in an immortal morn,Shalt thou be satisfied, thy fears allayed,And, freed from earth, a new creation made!
Not till the light upon thy quest is born,
That only beams in an immortal morn,
Shalt thou be satisfied, thy fears allayed,
And, freed from earth, a new creation made!
I dreamed, and lo! upon the silent earth(That ever swings, as from its misty birth),I kinless stood! and all the streams that erstIn joyous measure sang me forth their taleSank to a murmur; even while there burstUpon mine eyes that straightway turned me pale!I looked and wondered, and I grew as chillAs though their fated touch had froze my blood;As far beyond that living, green-clad hill,In breathless awe, mine eyes were turned, I stoodAppalled! Forth from the bosom of the deepThere rose a wondrous chain of towering cliffs,Clear as the lake upon whose mirror sleepLight-poised, all tenderly the skiffs;While rays of light played o'er their polished sides,As slowly rose and sank they on the tides.Kissed by the sun they grew; their colors' sheenOf rose and emerald-touched tips; betweenThe amethyst deepened to a royal toneOf purple, and I stood and gazed, alone!I knew that naught of earth was left save meTo look upon that strange and glorious sea!And, as I gazed, wild flames leapt up to seizeThe iceberg's glow and melt it to their will:Naught could their hungry rage of greed appease,While luridly and sullen burned they still,What, then, does it portray—this onslaught fierceOf flames upon these sunlit cliffs of ice,If it be not that Evil seeks to pierceThe armor thrown about the soul's device;The powers that wage unceasing war,And ever seek to gain what lies afarAbove them! "Souls of just men perfect made,""Yield not," I cried, "for here a mortal stands"Alone and helpless in these alien lands;"And yet on mortal lips, I know, is laid"The burden of a knowledge far above"All thought of human gain or human love!"And crying thus, I woke, nor ever knewIf to fruition my bright vision grew.
I dreamed, and lo! upon the silent earth(That ever swings, as from its misty birth),I kinless stood! and all the streams that erstIn joyous measure sang me forth their taleSank to a murmur; even while there burstUpon mine eyes that straightway turned me pale!I looked and wondered, and I grew as chillAs though their fated touch had froze my blood;As far beyond that living, green-clad hill,In breathless awe, mine eyes were turned, I stoodAppalled! Forth from the bosom of the deepThere rose a wondrous chain of towering cliffs,Clear as the lake upon whose mirror sleepLight-poised, all tenderly the skiffs;While rays of light played o'er their polished sides,As slowly rose and sank they on the tides.Kissed by the sun they grew; their colors' sheenOf rose and emerald-touched tips; betweenThe amethyst deepened to a royal toneOf purple, and I stood and gazed, alone!I knew that naught of earth was left save meTo look upon that strange and glorious sea!And, as I gazed, wild flames leapt up to seizeThe iceberg's glow and melt it to their will:Naught could their hungry rage of greed appease,While luridly and sullen burned they still,What, then, does it portray—this onslaught fierceOf flames upon these sunlit cliffs of ice,If it be not that Evil seeks to pierceThe armor thrown about the soul's device;The powers that wage unceasing war,And ever seek to gain what lies afarAbove them! "Souls of just men perfect made,""Yield not," I cried, "for here a mortal stands"Alone and helpless in these alien lands;"And yet on mortal lips, I know, is laid"The burden of a knowledge far above"All thought of human gain or human love!"And crying thus, I woke, nor ever knewIf to fruition my bright vision grew.
I dreamed, and lo! upon the silent earth(That ever swings, as from its misty birth),I kinless stood! and all the streams that erstIn joyous measure sang me forth their taleSank to a murmur; even while there burstUpon mine eyes that straightway turned me pale!I looked and wondered, and I grew as chillAs though their fated touch had froze my blood;As far beyond that living, green-clad hill,In breathless awe, mine eyes were turned, I stoodAppalled! Forth from the bosom of the deepThere rose a wondrous chain of towering cliffs,Clear as the lake upon whose mirror sleepLight-poised, all tenderly the skiffs;While rays of light played o'er their polished sides,As slowly rose and sank they on the tides.Kissed by the sun they grew; their colors' sheenOf rose and emerald-touched tips; betweenThe amethyst deepened to a royal toneOf purple, and I stood and gazed, alone!I knew that naught of earth was left save meTo look upon that strange and glorious sea!And, as I gazed, wild flames leapt up to seizeThe iceberg's glow and melt it to their will:Naught could their hungry rage of greed appease,While luridly and sullen burned they still,What, then, does it portray—this onslaught fierceOf flames upon these sunlit cliffs of ice,If it be not that Evil seeks to pierceThe armor thrown about the soul's device;The powers that wage unceasing war,And ever seek to gain what lies afarAbove them! "Souls of just men perfect made,""Yield not," I cried, "for here a mortal stands"Alone and helpless in these alien lands;"And yet on mortal lips, I know, is laid"The burden of a knowledge far above"All thought of human gain or human love!"And crying thus, I woke, nor ever knewIf to fruition my bright vision grew.
I dreamed, and lo! upon the silent earth
(That ever swings, as from its misty birth),
I kinless stood! and all the streams that erst
In joyous measure sang me forth their tale
Sank to a murmur; even while there burst
Upon mine eyes that straightway turned me pale!
I looked and wondered, and I grew as chill
As though their fated touch had froze my blood;
As far beyond that living, green-clad hill,
In breathless awe, mine eyes were turned, I stood
Appalled! Forth from the bosom of the deep
There rose a wondrous chain of towering cliffs,
Clear as the lake upon whose mirror sleep
Light-poised, all tenderly the skiffs;
While rays of light played o'er their polished sides,
As slowly rose and sank they on the tides.
Kissed by the sun they grew; their colors' sheen
Of rose and emerald-touched tips; between
The amethyst deepened to a royal tone
Of purple, and I stood and gazed, alone!
I knew that naught of earth was left save me
To look upon that strange and glorious sea!
And, as I gazed, wild flames leapt up to seize
The iceberg's glow and melt it to their will:
Naught could their hungry rage of greed appease,
While luridly and sullen burned they still,
What, then, does it portray—this onslaught fierce
Of flames upon these sunlit cliffs of ice,
If it be not that Evil seeks to pierce
The armor thrown about the soul's device;
The powers that wage unceasing war,
And ever seek to gain what lies afar
Above them! "Souls of just men perfect made,"
"Yield not," I cried, "for here a mortal stands
"Alone and helpless in these alien lands;
"And yet on mortal lips, I know, is laid
"The burden of a knowledge far above
"All thought of human gain or human love!"
And crying thus, I woke, nor ever knew
If to fruition my bright vision grew.
(Read at Hardman Hall, New York City, before the International League of Press Clubs, June 3, 1897.)
I stood on empyrean heights and saw,Outlined in figures bold, a vision there;Loud were the shouts of strife and deadly war,While Peace, remote, shone in her beauty fair.I heard the clash of arms; the martial tread;While nation warred with nation in their lustOf pride and power, until there lay the dead—The heroes of a decade—in the dust!I saw, in ranks that spread to either pole,Heroic deeds of great men and of true;The highest aspirations of the soul;The work wrought, through the many, by the few!I sped from rising sun unto the west;I read the stars that mirrored in the sky;And some in a resplendent light were dressed,And some through shadow I could scarce descry.I saw a Nation's rise and saw its fall;I learned a people's passing glory there;I heard the strident voice of Justice call,And answering cheer and joy were in the air.I passed through touching scenes of humble life,Where hearts were beating in their full content;Where far from peaceful hearth and home lay strife,And days of joy and gaiety were spent.I passed 'mid scenes of dark and dull despair,On, on, where bitter want and hunger raged;Where naught of holiness was pictured there,But man 'gainst man his cruel warfare waged!I heard the wail of childhood in its need,And saw the fearful shadow of Death's wingPass swiftly on and through the darkness speed,And heard the joyous song the angels sing!I heard the deeds of woe—saw sins of ill;I knew Life's tragedy was played the while;That greed of gain—that selfish, restless willWas crushing out the tender youth's sweet smile.I also read of good and saw its scopeOf radiance on a troubled world's dark web;And saw that trust and love and buoyant hopeOutrode the spring-time tide ere it could ebb.Nay, tell me, then, whence came each passing scene,And why such widespread power vouchsafed to me,That time nor space held aught of bar betweenThe shifting lights of land and distant sea?How could I realize the utmost spanOf life and love, nay more, of silent deathAs meted out within the time of man,And passing o'er the wide world's pulsing breath?O puissant Press! what need have I to tellThe power of thy great sceptre wielded here?When those, beneath whose brilliant, magic spellWe've sat entranced, now in our midst appear!Each face familiar warms the brother's heart;Each hand extended meets an earnest clasp;Each friend is here, a living sentient partOf Brotherhood and seeks an honest grasp!O mighty power for good or yet for ill;For saving grace; mayhap for withering blight!Thy brimming cup of service should be stillThe draught to lift a weary world to light.Thy arm should raiséd be in noble strife;Thy steady hand still wield the trenchant pen;Thus all of light and grace and noble lifeShall call thee forth from hearts of fellowmen!
I stood on empyrean heights and saw,Outlined in figures bold, a vision there;Loud were the shouts of strife and deadly war,While Peace, remote, shone in her beauty fair.I heard the clash of arms; the martial tread;While nation warred with nation in their lustOf pride and power, until there lay the dead—The heroes of a decade—in the dust!I saw, in ranks that spread to either pole,Heroic deeds of great men and of true;The highest aspirations of the soul;The work wrought, through the many, by the few!I sped from rising sun unto the west;I read the stars that mirrored in the sky;And some in a resplendent light were dressed,And some through shadow I could scarce descry.I saw a Nation's rise and saw its fall;I learned a people's passing glory there;I heard the strident voice of Justice call,And answering cheer and joy were in the air.I passed through touching scenes of humble life,Where hearts were beating in their full content;Where far from peaceful hearth and home lay strife,And days of joy and gaiety were spent.I passed 'mid scenes of dark and dull despair,On, on, where bitter want and hunger raged;Where naught of holiness was pictured there,But man 'gainst man his cruel warfare waged!I heard the wail of childhood in its need,And saw the fearful shadow of Death's wingPass swiftly on and through the darkness speed,And heard the joyous song the angels sing!I heard the deeds of woe—saw sins of ill;I knew Life's tragedy was played the while;That greed of gain—that selfish, restless willWas crushing out the tender youth's sweet smile.I also read of good and saw its scopeOf radiance on a troubled world's dark web;And saw that trust and love and buoyant hopeOutrode the spring-time tide ere it could ebb.Nay, tell me, then, whence came each passing scene,And why such widespread power vouchsafed to me,That time nor space held aught of bar betweenThe shifting lights of land and distant sea?How could I realize the utmost spanOf life and love, nay more, of silent deathAs meted out within the time of man,And passing o'er the wide world's pulsing breath?O puissant Press! what need have I to tellThe power of thy great sceptre wielded here?When those, beneath whose brilliant, magic spellWe've sat entranced, now in our midst appear!Each face familiar warms the brother's heart;Each hand extended meets an earnest clasp;Each friend is here, a living sentient partOf Brotherhood and seeks an honest grasp!O mighty power for good or yet for ill;For saving grace; mayhap for withering blight!Thy brimming cup of service should be stillThe draught to lift a weary world to light.Thy arm should raiséd be in noble strife;Thy steady hand still wield the trenchant pen;Thus all of light and grace and noble lifeShall call thee forth from hearts of fellowmen!
I stood on empyrean heights and saw,Outlined in figures bold, a vision there;Loud were the shouts of strife and deadly war,While Peace, remote, shone in her beauty fair.I heard the clash of arms; the martial tread;While nation warred with nation in their lustOf pride and power, until there lay the dead—The heroes of a decade—in the dust!
I stood on empyrean heights and saw,
Outlined in figures bold, a vision there;
Loud were the shouts of strife and deadly war,
While Peace, remote, shone in her beauty fair.
I heard the clash of arms; the martial tread;
While nation warred with nation in their lust
Of pride and power, until there lay the dead—
The heroes of a decade—in the dust!
I saw, in ranks that spread to either pole,Heroic deeds of great men and of true;The highest aspirations of the soul;The work wrought, through the many, by the few!I sped from rising sun unto the west;I read the stars that mirrored in the sky;And some in a resplendent light were dressed,And some through shadow I could scarce descry.
I saw, in ranks that spread to either pole,
Heroic deeds of great men and of true;
The highest aspirations of the soul;
The work wrought, through the many, by the few!
I sped from rising sun unto the west;
I read the stars that mirrored in the sky;
And some in a resplendent light were dressed,
And some through shadow I could scarce descry.
I saw a Nation's rise and saw its fall;I learned a people's passing glory there;I heard the strident voice of Justice call,And answering cheer and joy were in the air.I passed through touching scenes of humble life,Where hearts were beating in their full content;Where far from peaceful hearth and home lay strife,And days of joy and gaiety were spent.
I saw a Nation's rise and saw its fall;
I learned a people's passing glory there;
I heard the strident voice of Justice call,
And answering cheer and joy were in the air.
I passed through touching scenes of humble life,
Where hearts were beating in their full content;
Where far from peaceful hearth and home lay strife,
And days of joy and gaiety were spent.
I passed 'mid scenes of dark and dull despair,On, on, where bitter want and hunger raged;Where naught of holiness was pictured there,But man 'gainst man his cruel warfare waged!I heard the wail of childhood in its need,And saw the fearful shadow of Death's wingPass swiftly on and through the darkness speed,And heard the joyous song the angels sing!
I passed 'mid scenes of dark and dull despair,
On, on, where bitter want and hunger raged;
Where naught of holiness was pictured there,
But man 'gainst man his cruel warfare waged!
I heard the wail of childhood in its need,
And saw the fearful shadow of Death's wing
Pass swiftly on and through the darkness speed,
And heard the joyous song the angels sing!
I heard the deeds of woe—saw sins of ill;I knew Life's tragedy was played the while;That greed of gain—that selfish, restless willWas crushing out the tender youth's sweet smile.I also read of good and saw its scopeOf radiance on a troubled world's dark web;And saw that trust and love and buoyant hopeOutrode the spring-time tide ere it could ebb.
I heard the deeds of woe—saw sins of ill;
I knew Life's tragedy was played the while;
That greed of gain—that selfish, restless will
Was crushing out the tender youth's sweet smile.
I also read of good and saw its scope
Of radiance on a troubled world's dark web;
And saw that trust and love and buoyant hope
Outrode the spring-time tide ere it could ebb.
Nay, tell me, then, whence came each passing scene,And why such widespread power vouchsafed to me,That time nor space held aught of bar betweenThe shifting lights of land and distant sea?How could I realize the utmost spanOf life and love, nay more, of silent deathAs meted out within the time of man,And passing o'er the wide world's pulsing breath?
Nay, tell me, then, whence came each passing scene,
And why such widespread power vouchsafed to me,
That time nor space held aught of bar between
The shifting lights of land and distant sea?
How could I realize the utmost span
Of life and love, nay more, of silent death
As meted out within the time of man,
And passing o'er the wide world's pulsing breath?
O puissant Press! what need have I to tellThe power of thy great sceptre wielded here?When those, beneath whose brilliant, magic spellWe've sat entranced, now in our midst appear!Each face familiar warms the brother's heart;Each hand extended meets an earnest clasp;Each friend is here, a living sentient partOf Brotherhood and seeks an honest grasp!
O puissant Press! what need have I to tell
The power of thy great sceptre wielded here?
When those, beneath whose brilliant, magic spell
We've sat entranced, now in our midst appear!
Each face familiar warms the brother's heart;
Each hand extended meets an earnest clasp;
Each friend is here, a living sentient part
Of Brotherhood and seeks an honest grasp!
O mighty power for good or yet for ill;For saving grace; mayhap for withering blight!Thy brimming cup of service should be stillThe draught to lift a weary world to light.Thy arm should raiséd be in noble strife;Thy steady hand still wield the trenchant pen;Thus all of light and grace and noble lifeShall call thee forth from hearts of fellowmen!
O mighty power for good or yet for ill;
For saving grace; mayhap for withering blight!
Thy brimming cup of service should be still
The draught to lift a weary world to light.
Thy arm should raiséd be in noble strife;
Thy steady hand still wield the trenchant pen;
Thus all of light and grace and noble life
Shall call thee forth from hearts of fellowmen!
(March 14, 1889.)
A little while, my friends, and I am lyingBeneath the sod that tells us Spring is nigh;And I, who've found this life no rest supplying,Shall lay my task aside without a sigh.A little while, and friends who kindly greet meShall seek my place—in tears shall seek in vain;And those whose love and tender thought now meet me,Shall say—"She comes, our friend, no more again!"A little while—and oh, how great the yearningTo lay the burden down, to be as freeAs bird that hails its nest, on wing returning;So do I think, beloved, of rest and thee!The rest my weary heart and soul have waitedThrough all these years of sorrow and of doubt;As traveller on his homeward way, belated,Impatient seeks and can not bide without.And thee! Oh loved one gone, this year, before me,Unto a world of light and rapture pure;The thought of thee doth, smiling, now allure meTo draw more close and yet to more endure!
A little while, my friends, and I am lyingBeneath the sod that tells us Spring is nigh;And I, who've found this life no rest supplying,Shall lay my task aside without a sigh.A little while, and friends who kindly greet meShall seek my place—in tears shall seek in vain;And those whose love and tender thought now meet me,Shall say—"She comes, our friend, no more again!"A little while—and oh, how great the yearningTo lay the burden down, to be as freeAs bird that hails its nest, on wing returning;So do I think, beloved, of rest and thee!The rest my weary heart and soul have waitedThrough all these years of sorrow and of doubt;As traveller on his homeward way, belated,Impatient seeks and can not bide without.And thee! Oh loved one gone, this year, before me,Unto a world of light and rapture pure;The thought of thee doth, smiling, now allure meTo draw more close and yet to more endure!
A little while, my friends, and I am lyingBeneath the sod that tells us Spring is nigh;And I, who've found this life no rest supplying,Shall lay my task aside without a sigh.
A little while, my friends, and I am lying
Beneath the sod that tells us Spring is nigh;
And I, who've found this life no rest supplying,
Shall lay my task aside without a sigh.
A little while, and friends who kindly greet meShall seek my place—in tears shall seek in vain;And those whose love and tender thought now meet me,Shall say—"She comes, our friend, no more again!"
A little while, and friends who kindly greet me
Shall seek my place—in tears shall seek in vain;
And those whose love and tender thought now meet me,
Shall say—"She comes, our friend, no more again!"
A little while—and oh, how great the yearningTo lay the burden down, to be as freeAs bird that hails its nest, on wing returning;So do I think, beloved, of rest and thee!
A little while—and oh, how great the yearning
To lay the burden down, to be as free
As bird that hails its nest, on wing returning;
So do I think, beloved, of rest and thee!
The rest my weary heart and soul have waitedThrough all these years of sorrow and of doubt;As traveller on his homeward way, belated,Impatient seeks and can not bide without.
The rest my weary heart and soul have waited
Through all these years of sorrow and of doubt;
As traveller on his homeward way, belated,
Impatient seeks and can not bide without.
And thee! Oh loved one gone, this year, before me,Unto a world of light and rapture pure;The thought of thee doth, smiling, now allure meTo draw more close and yet to more endure!
And thee! Oh loved one gone, this year, before me,
Unto a world of light and rapture pure;
The thought of thee doth, smiling, now allure me
To draw more close and yet to more endure!
O'er the long reach of water comesThe plash of dipping oar,And faintly, borne upon the wind,Far voices gain the shore.I hear their low, faint murmur asThe boat glides on its way,And with the glance of flashing oarFall silver drops of spray!I lie with half-closed eyes and dreamOf days that long are fled;While fancy brings unto my sideThe forms of those now dead.When life and love were as a songFrom vibrant chords of youth!When every heart that greeted meSpoke but of trust and truth!Thus half-adream I hold communeWith mine own heart, and askWere youth and joy the greater gain,Or life's more finished task?Quick comes the answer to my lips—Quick to the question craved—"The noblest deeds of life are thoseIn later years engraved"On tablets of the living mind,In characters full bold;Not happiness, nor yet content,Can here life's measure hold!"Not to glide on in summer dreams,Nor yet to love, is best;But in thy noble strength to growAnd earn the longed-for rest!"So not with envious eyes I watchThe boat whose living freightIs youth and all youth's sunny dreams—I, who have learned to wait!
O'er the long reach of water comesThe plash of dipping oar,And faintly, borne upon the wind,Far voices gain the shore.I hear their low, faint murmur asThe boat glides on its way,And with the glance of flashing oarFall silver drops of spray!I lie with half-closed eyes and dreamOf days that long are fled;While fancy brings unto my sideThe forms of those now dead.When life and love were as a songFrom vibrant chords of youth!When every heart that greeted meSpoke but of trust and truth!Thus half-adream I hold communeWith mine own heart, and askWere youth and joy the greater gain,Or life's more finished task?Quick comes the answer to my lips—Quick to the question craved—"The noblest deeds of life are thoseIn later years engraved"On tablets of the living mind,In characters full bold;Not happiness, nor yet content,Can here life's measure hold!"Not to glide on in summer dreams,Nor yet to love, is best;But in thy noble strength to growAnd earn the longed-for rest!"So not with envious eyes I watchThe boat whose living freightIs youth and all youth's sunny dreams—I, who have learned to wait!
O'er the long reach of water comesThe plash of dipping oar,And faintly, borne upon the wind,Far voices gain the shore.
O'er the long reach of water comes
The plash of dipping oar,
And faintly, borne upon the wind,
Far voices gain the shore.
I hear their low, faint murmur asThe boat glides on its way,And with the glance of flashing oarFall silver drops of spray!
I hear their low, faint murmur as
The boat glides on its way,
And with the glance of flashing oar
Fall silver drops of spray!
I lie with half-closed eyes and dreamOf days that long are fled;While fancy brings unto my sideThe forms of those now dead.
I lie with half-closed eyes and dream
Of days that long are fled;
While fancy brings unto my side
The forms of those now dead.
When life and love were as a songFrom vibrant chords of youth!When every heart that greeted meSpoke but of trust and truth!
When life and love were as a song
From vibrant chords of youth!
When every heart that greeted me
Spoke but of trust and truth!
Thus half-adream I hold communeWith mine own heart, and askWere youth and joy the greater gain,Or life's more finished task?
Thus half-adream I hold commune
With mine own heart, and ask
Were youth and joy the greater gain,
Or life's more finished task?
Quick comes the answer to my lips—Quick to the question craved—"The noblest deeds of life are thoseIn later years engraved
Quick comes the answer to my lips—
Quick to the question craved—
"The noblest deeds of life are those
In later years engraved
"On tablets of the living mind,In characters full bold;Not happiness, nor yet content,Can here life's measure hold!
"On tablets of the living mind,
In characters full bold;
Not happiness, nor yet content,
Can here life's measure hold!
"Not to glide on in summer dreams,Nor yet to love, is best;But in thy noble strength to growAnd earn the longed-for rest!"
"Not to glide on in summer dreams,
Nor yet to love, is best;
But in thy noble strength to grow
And earn the longed-for rest!"
So not with envious eyes I watchThe boat whose living freightIs youth and all youth's sunny dreams—I, who have learned to wait!
So not with envious eyes I watch
The boat whose living freight
Is youth and all youth's sunny dreams—
I, who have learned to wait!
O heart of mine, why sighestFor joys thou may'st not taste?O eyes, why turn in longingAcross the weary waste?And lips that falter sadlyOf home and love and peace,Now all thy vain repiningAnd doubt and grief, oh, cease!Home! Nay, thy home is distant;Will longing bring it near,And heart, will thy complainingPoint out the way more clear?O heart of mine, thou sighestIn vain, thy home's afar;It shineth as a beaconTo exile—as a starUnto the lonely sailorWho dreams of land and love,But as he dreams looks everUnto his star above!Then, heart, bind to thy longingThe gaze that turns aloftBeyond the raging tempestTo seek love's guidance oft.Heimweh! O homesick sailor,Across life's stormy mainReturn unto thy haven,No more to roam again!
O heart of mine, why sighestFor joys thou may'st not taste?O eyes, why turn in longingAcross the weary waste?And lips that falter sadlyOf home and love and peace,Now all thy vain repiningAnd doubt and grief, oh, cease!Home! Nay, thy home is distant;Will longing bring it near,And heart, will thy complainingPoint out the way more clear?O heart of mine, thou sighestIn vain, thy home's afar;It shineth as a beaconTo exile—as a starUnto the lonely sailorWho dreams of land and love,But as he dreams looks everUnto his star above!Then, heart, bind to thy longingThe gaze that turns aloftBeyond the raging tempestTo seek love's guidance oft.Heimweh! O homesick sailor,Across life's stormy mainReturn unto thy haven,No more to roam again!
O heart of mine, why sighestFor joys thou may'st not taste?O eyes, why turn in longingAcross the weary waste?And lips that falter sadlyOf home and love and peace,Now all thy vain repiningAnd doubt and grief, oh, cease!Home! Nay, thy home is distant;Will longing bring it near,And heart, will thy complainingPoint out the way more clear?O heart of mine, thou sighestIn vain, thy home's afar;It shineth as a beaconTo exile—as a starUnto the lonely sailorWho dreams of land and love,But as he dreams looks everUnto his star above!Then, heart, bind to thy longingThe gaze that turns aloftBeyond the raging tempestTo seek love's guidance oft.Heimweh! O homesick sailor,Across life's stormy mainReturn unto thy haven,No more to roam again!
O heart of mine, why sighest
For joys thou may'st not taste?
O eyes, why turn in longing
Across the weary waste?
And lips that falter sadly
Of home and love and peace,
Now all thy vain repining
And doubt and grief, oh, cease!
Home! Nay, thy home is distant;
Will longing bring it near,
And heart, will thy complaining
Point out the way more clear?
O heart of mine, thou sighest
In vain, thy home's afar;
It shineth as a beacon
To exile—as a star
Unto the lonely sailor
Who dreams of land and love,
But as he dreams looks ever
Unto his star above!
Then, heart, bind to thy longing
The gaze that turns aloft
Beyond the raging tempest
To seek love's guidance oft.
Heimweh! O homesick sailor,
Across life's stormy main
Return unto thy haven,
No more to roam again!
(1886)
O'er the wild reach of wave afarThy cliffs arise; once moreI turn mine eyes upon thy hillsAnd purple-tinted shore.All silent in majestic state,Monarch of mighty realm,Thy front is raised to meet the storm,When fierce gales overwhelm.Yet on this lovely autumn day,In soft enchantment's chain,Outlined fore'er on distant skyThy memory shall remain.My feet must tread in other pathsThan this belovéd land,And other footprints in their turnShall press this shining sand.Sea, air and sky are filled alikeWith beauty and delight;The sea is shimmering at my feetWith all of life and light.So let me bear to other scenesThis picture; it shall stayAs memory and as joy to meThrough many a weary day.And oft shall rise before my sightWhen distance, time and careHave touched my life with graver thought,This vision passing fair!
O'er the wild reach of wave afarThy cliffs arise; once moreI turn mine eyes upon thy hillsAnd purple-tinted shore.All silent in majestic state,Monarch of mighty realm,Thy front is raised to meet the storm,When fierce gales overwhelm.Yet on this lovely autumn day,In soft enchantment's chain,Outlined fore'er on distant skyThy memory shall remain.My feet must tread in other pathsThan this belovéd land,And other footprints in their turnShall press this shining sand.Sea, air and sky are filled alikeWith beauty and delight;The sea is shimmering at my feetWith all of life and light.So let me bear to other scenesThis picture; it shall stayAs memory and as joy to meThrough many a weary day.And oft shall rise before my sightWhen distance, time and careHave touched my life with graver thought,This vision passing fair!
O'er the wild reach of wave afarThy cliffs arise; once moreI turn mine eyes upon thy hillsAnd purple-tinted shore.
O'er the wild reach of wave afar
Thy cliffs arise; once more
I turn mine eyes upon thy hills
And purple-tinted shore.
All silent in majestic state,Monarch of mighty realm,Thy front is raised to meet the storm,When fierce gales overwhelm.
All silent in majestic state,
Monarch of mighty realm,
Thy front is raised to meet the storm,
When fierce gales overwhelm.
Yet on this lovely autumn day,In soft enchantment's chain,Outlined fore'er on distant skyThy memory shall remain.
Yet on this lovely autumn day,
In soft enchantment's chain,
Outlined fore'er on distant sky
Thy memory shall remain.
My feet must tread in other pathsThan this belovéd land,And other footprints in their turnShall press this shining sand.
My feet must tread in other paths
Than this belovéd land,
And other footprints in their turn
Shall press this shining sand.
Sea, air and sky are filled alikeWith beauty and delight;The sea is shimmering at my feetWith all of life and light.
Sea, air and sky are filled alike
With beauty and delight;
The sea is shimmering at my feet
With all of life and light.
So let me bear to other scenesThis picture; it shall stayAs memory and as joy to meThrough many a weary day.
So let me bear to other scenes
This picture; it shall stay
As memory and as joy to me
Through many a weary day.
And oft shall rise before my sightWhen distance, time and careHave touched my life with graver thought,This vision passing fair!
And oft shall rise before my sight
When distance, time and care
Have touched my life with graver thought,
This vision passing fair!
(1891)