"Youth, love and beauty, all were hers,Why should she not be happy?"
"Youth, love and beauty, all were hers,Why should she not be happy?"
"Youth, love and beauty, all were hers,
Why should she not be happy?"
Where would you like to go now, reader? We are desirous to take you by the path that will lead through this story by the shortest cut, and, as we dare not doubt but that will be the course of all others most grateful to your tastes and feelings, we'll clear Texas at a bound, for there'll blow a whistling "Norther" there soon, we apprehend, and that would tangle our hair worse than it is tangled now, and we have not had time to comb it since this story commenced. So, imagine "Effie," dear reader, with her brown locks wisped up in the most unbecoming manner possible, a calico morning-gown wrapped loosely about her, and not over clean, her fingers grimmed with pencil-dust, and her nose too, perhaps—for she has a fashion of rubbing that useful organ, for ideas, or something else, we know not what.
Just imagine this, reader, and if you don't throw down the story in actual disgust, you'll be more anxious to get through it than we are even.
Now away with episode, and here are we in the fair "Crescent City" again, at the palace-like residence of Augustus Lester, Esq. The lord of the mansion is at home, reclining on a silken sofa, which is drawn before one of the deep, bloom-shaded windows of the elegant drawing-room. He is in genial, after-dinner mood, and that fairy-looking being, sitting by his side on a low ottoman, is our former friend, Winnie Morris. But she bears another name now, for she has been three months a wife—Augustus Lester's girl-bride!
Were that affectionate sister's misgivings of her bachelor brother's intentions toward that wild-cat girl altogether chimerical, then? Present appearances would indicate them not to have been altogether groundless; but really, when the fair Mary fled so precipitately, the idea of making Winnie Morris his bride had never entered her brother's cranium. He had regarded her as a pretty child, and delighted in her sunshiny, buoyant spirit, and felt he would like to keep her near to cheer and enliven his mansion; but from the moment he saw her presiding with so much quiet dignity and grace at his table, on that eventful morning, he resolved to win her heart if possible. The task was by no means difficult, for an object to which we look up with gratitude and reverence, 'tis next to impossible not to love. She forgot, in her devotion to the lofty, high-souled man, her childish fancy for the frivolous-minded boy, and when Wayland, on her bridal morning, asked mischievously, "Where was Jack Camford vanished?" she replied, "In a gold mine beyond the seas, I suppose, brother; but why mention his name to make discord on this happy hour?"
"It is strange Wayland does not return," remarked Augustus, at length, rousing from a light doze, and drawing his young wife close to his side.
"I thought you were fast asleep, Auguste," said she; "and here I have been fanning you so attentively, to keep the mosquitoes away. Well, it is time for Wayland to come, isn't it? He has been absent more than two months. You know how he chided me for breaking the promise I made to be mistress of that pretty cottage he proposed to build up in Tennessee. Perhaps he is erecting it, and intends to dwell there in proud, regretful solitude."
"Or, perhaps he is in search of some fair lady to be its mistress, who may prove less recreant to her promise," suggested Lester.
"May be so," returned Winnie, laughing.
"I look for a letter from him every day," remarked the husband; "there was a mail-boat in when I came up to dinner. I'll call at the post-office this evening; very possibly one has arrived."
"I hope so," answered Winnie.
The bell now rang, and company was announced. Leaving the young couple to entertain their guests, we have stolen away in search of the absent Wayland, and bring him once more on the tapis, to give some account of his protracted wanderings, and learn what are his hopes and prospects for the future. By what devious track we shall be pleased to pursue the rover, our next chapter will reveal.
CHAPTER XV.
"O, Charity, what art thou? Mystic thing!"
"O, Charity, what art thou? Mystic thing!"
"O, Charity, what art thou? Mystic thing!"
Being rather benevolently inclined ourselves, we feel a desire to look in once more upon the "Ladies Literary Benevolent Combination for Foreign Aid," which is to-day congregated at the residence of Mrs. Rachel Stebbins, president of this humane and Christian body. She is sitting in majestic presence on her throne of office, with her gold-bowed spectacles astride her stately nose, and her devoted subjects clustering around her, their tongues and fingers nimble as ever in the good cause of universal philanthropy. Prominent in the ranks is Mrs. Sykes, while ever following her, like a shadow, is her bosom friend, Miss Jerusha Sharpwell. Mrs. Fleetfoot also appears in the rear; a sort of shadow of a shade, or refrain to the song. Little Miss Gaddie composes and sings alone now; her sister, Miss Pamela, having accompanied her missionary husband to the shores of benighted Bengal, to aid in his labors for the conversion of the heathen world.
"Well," said Miss Jerusha, as she sank down in a soft-cushioned chair beside Mrs. Sykes, with a pair of checked muslin night-caps in her hand; "what's the good word with you, sister, these suffocating days?"
"La! nothing, sister Jerusha, as I know of. My girl, Hannah, has gone off and left me, so I have to keep close at home and slave myself with hard work all the time, and have no opportunity to learn what's going on about town," answered Mrs. Sykes, in a doleful voice.
"Why, where has your girl, Hannah, gone?" asked Miss Jerusha, sympathetically; "I never heard a word about her leaving your service."
"She didn't leave me of her own free will;—catch Hannah to go away from this roof, unless she was bejuggled by other folks. But she'll repent her rashness when 'tis too late, I'm afeard," said Mrs. Sykes.
"Why, didn't you know Hannah Smith had gone to work for the widow Orville?" inquired Mrs. Fleetfoot, looking up from the blue yarn sock she was knitting, which was destined, no doubt, to convert some half-naked Burman boy from the errors of paganism. "La, I heard of it a fortnight ago!"
"You did,—did you, Mrs. Fleetfoot?" exclaimed Mrs. Sykes, in rather a hasty tone; for a mild-hearted Christian; "well, she hasn't been gone from me a week yet."
"Do tell! Well, I heard she thought of going, then, or something like it, I can't exactly remember what," drawled Mrs. Feetfoot, not a whit disconcerted by the contradiction her words had received.
"So Mrs. Orville coaxed Hannah away from you?" said Miss Jerusha.
"Yes, just as the summer's work was coming on, too; but she'll have to suffer for it," said Mrs. Sykes, with a fearfully resigned expression of countenance.
"Of course she will," returned Miss Sharpwell; "but what could Mrs. Orville want with a hired girl,—nobody but herself and Alice in the family? It seems a selfish, malicious desire to inconvenience you, her coaxing Hannah off."
"La!" put in Mrs. Fleetwood, "didn't you know Mrs. Orville had got a whole houseful of company from the south? I knew it a month ago."
"She hasn't got anybody in the world but two cousins of Alice's, and a husband of one of them, and they haven't been there a week, till to-morrow evening," said Mrs. Sykes.
"O, is that all? Well, I heard something about it, I couldn't exactly recollect what it was," again drawled Mrs. Fleetfoot, closing the toe of her yarn sock, and holding it up to admire the proportions; no doubt breathing a silent prayer that it might be useful in saving some "soul from death."
"Well, Mrs. Fleetfoot," observed Mrs. Sykes, "did you know that Fred. Milder had come home from Texas to marry Alice Orville?"
"La, yes!" responded that Christian lady; "that's an old story, everybody knows."
"Why, I never heard of it before," said Miss Jerusha, pinning a little blue bow on the top of the muslin cap, to make it looktasty, as she observed.
"Neither did I," answered Mrs. Sykes, casting, as we thought, but it could not be, however, a glance of malicious triumph on Mrs. Fleetfoot; "but he travelled home in company with Mrs. Orville's visitors, and I often see him walking on the lake-shore with the young, unmarried lady, Miss Josephine, I believe, is her name; and I just thought in my own mind that would be a match."
"Very likely," said Miss Jerusha.
"Well, I remember now, 'twas that strange lady I heard he was engaged to, and not Miss Alice," remarked Fleetfoot, with perfect equanimity; "and Alice, they say, has got a beau off south, and that's what makes her so mopish at times."
"Perhaps it is as sister Fleetfoot says," observed Jerusha; "for Alice is certainly changed from what she used to be. She never attends our circle now, and seldom goes to church. I wonder how she does pass her time?"
"'Tis more than I can tell," answered Mrs. Sykes; "there was always something mysterious about those Orvilles, to me. But I shall be obliged to go home, sister Jerusha, to attend to my work, as I've no servant," continued the wronged lady, rising, and depositing her work in the treasurer's box.
"I'm sorry you must go, sister Sykes," said Jerusha; "but be of good cheer, and I'll drop in and see you in the course of the week."
"Pray, do, sister Sharpwell; I need all the aid and sympathy of Christian hearts to sustain my soul," said Mrs. Sykes, with a ruefully pious countenance, as she took her departure.
The meeting progressed. Fast flew the nimble fingers of the devoted laborers in the good cause; and could the poor heathen have known what mighty exertions this band of benevolent, self-denying females, who basked in the noontide glory of the sun of righteousness, were making for their liberation from the thrall of pagan darkness and superstition, we doubt not that they would have prostrated themselves by millions before the shrine of their great idol, Juggernaut, and devoutly invoked him to pardon and forgive the poor, deluded victims of a false religion, and bring them all under his sublime sway and holy dominion.
At length, Miss Gaddie was called on to sing the parting hymn. The lady president delivered herself of a most eloquent and oratorical harangue, during which the benevolent rose to a tremendous pitch, which nothing could calm off but the call to supper.
This well-furnished meal dispensed, the "Ladies' Literary Benevolent Combination for Foreign Aid" adjourned to the next Wednesday, at the house of Mrs. Dorothy Sykes, Highflyer Street; which Christian lady was aghast with terror and dismay, when she learned this batch of benevolence was assigned over to her for its next meeting.
"O, mercy!" she feelingly exclaimed; "and I've no girl to assist me, and my house will be turned topsy-turvy, new parlor carpet ruined,—and, besides, they'll eat us out of house and home, and Mr. Sykes issoclose-fisted!"
"But I hope 'twill be a rainy day," she added, by way of consolation.
Truly, benevolence does cost a great deal!
CHAPTER XVI.
"My task is done; my song hath ceased; my themeHas died into an echo. It is fitThe spell should break of this protracted dream.The torch shall be extinguished which hath litMy midnight lamp,—and what is writ, is writ;Would it were worthier, but I am not nowThat which I have been, and my visions flitLess palpably before me—and the glowWhich in my spirit dwelt, is fluttering, faint and low."
"My task is done; my song hath ceased; my themeHas died into an echo. It is fitThe spell should break of this protracted dream.The torch shall be extinguished which hath litMy midnight lamp,—and what is writ, is writ;Would it were worthier, but I am not nowThat which I have been, and my visions flitLess palpably before me—and the glowWhich in my spirit dwelt, is fluttering, faint and low."
"My task is done; my song hath ceased; my theme
Has died into an echo. It is fit
The spell should break of this protracted dream.
The torch shall be extinguished which hath lit
My midnight lamp,—and what is writ, is writ;
Would it were worthier, but I am not now
That which I have been, and my visions flit
Less palpably before me—and the glow
Which in my spirit dwelt, is fluttering, faint and low."
The cousins, Alice Orville and Josephine Camford, sat together in a vine-clad arbor on the shore of Lake Erie.
"I cannot express the joy I feel at beholding you again, dear Pheny; learning of your welfare, and finding you so happy in the contemplation of the future," said Alice.
"None can tell what the future may bring," answered Josephine. "All is vague and uncertain. I never believe anything is to be mine till I really possess it."
"And so you won't believe Fred. Milder is yours till the nuptial knot is tied?" said Alice, smiling.
"No, not fully,—not without a shadow of doubt," returned Josephine, laughing in turn.
"But, Alice, when are you going to get married?"
"Never!" was the quick response.
"Nonsense! Where's that pale, intellectual young man, who used to call so frequently on you when you first arrived in New Orleans?"
"I have never seen or heard from him since I returned home," answered Alice, averting her face.
"That's nothing to the purpose, cous. I see you have not forgotten him."
"O, no!"
"And never will?"
"I can't say that."
"I can, though. Come, let's return to the house. I suspect Fred. is waiting for me to take my promised stroll on the lake shore. How do you like sister Susette's husband, Alice?"
"I think him a very accomplished gentleman," replied Alice, as they walked toward the house.
"So I think," said Josephine. "His superior could hardly be found in any of our large cities. Did you know poor Celestina had heard from her faithless husband? He pleads for forgiveness and promises to return if she will receive him. It appears he and brother Jack have amassed a large fortune in Australia."
"Indeed! I am rejoiced to hear so good tidings of the adventurers. Is Celestina still in the convent to which she retired?"
"She is; but proposes to leave it and accompany us to Texas on our return to that country. Whether she will receive her husband I cannot say, but will hazard an opinion that, should she one day behold him at her feet imploring pardon, love would overpower all remembrance of former wrongs. But there's Fred.," added the joyous-hearted girl. "I must away to meet him."
"Where?" asked Alice, gazing on all sides.
"There, walking down that avenue of poplars!" returned Josephine. "I saw him some moments since,"—love is so quick-sighted when its object is at hand, and so abstracted when it is at a distance,—and Josephine hurried away to meet her lover, leaving Alice to stroll onward by herself. Presently, Hannah, the servant-girl that Mrs. Sykes, the benevolent lady, averred had been "bejuggled" from her by Mrs. Orville, came through the garden at full speed, exclaiming, "Miss Alice, there be a gentleman in the parlor waitin' to see ye!"
On hearing this message, Alice accelerated her steps to reach the house, and retired to her room a few moments to adjust her dress before entering the presence of her visitor.
Reader! that truant-knight, for whom we went in search so long ago, is found at last.
Far down "la belle riviere" floated the fairy white steamboat on its winding-way to Louisville, while the joy-groups danced and sung by the clear moonlight over the airy decks.
And now once more adown the proud-rolling Mississippi, we see that "floating-palace," the Eclipse, cutting her way through the foamy waters. How, all day long, the verdure-clad shores smile up to the clear, cerulean heaven that arches above! And how the moonbeams pour their silvery light down on the sleeping earth! and all the while, by night and day, the boat sweeps proudly onward.
Among the hundreds of passengers that roam the decks and guards, we recognize two familiar faces; and our eyes love to linger on them, for they are redolent with happiness. One of them is that of the dreamy, abstracted girl we noticed years ago, leaning over the balustrades of this same queenly boat as she approached New Orleans. But she was alone then. Now; a manly form is bending over her, and whispering words we cannot hear; nor do we need to hear them to know they carry joy to the listening ear, for her dark eye glows with happiness, as she looks confidingly in the face of the speaker, and utters something which brings the same joy-light over his fine, intellectual features.
Now you do not wish us to tell you, reader, that Wayland Morris and Alice Orville are man and wife; and that they, in company with Fred. Milder and wife, and Susette and husband, are bound for New Orleans, to surprise Winnie Lester in her regal home. Your intuition has revealed all this to you e'er now, and you have pictured in your minds how blank with amazement young Mrs. Lester's pretty face will be when she beholds this "family-group" in her elegant drawing-room, all eager to welcome and be welcomed, and overflowing with exuberant life and gladness, as people ordinarily are when they get safely off one of those beautiful, but treacherous western steam-palaces.
All this your vivid imaginations will easily portray in far more glowing and picturesque colors than our poor pencil can paint. So we leave you to conjure up all the bright visions you choose with which to deck the futures of our young debutants in the great drama of wedded life. And some of you young writers, who thirst for fame's thorny laurels, may touch your inspired pens to paper, and give us a sequel to this hasty, ill-finished tale, a true production of our "fast" age.
In conclusion, let us say, that years after these events transpired, as the "Eclipse" passed up and down the Mississippi, on her trips to and from New Orleans, the jocular clerk was wont to call the attention of his passengers to a beautiful English cottage, surrounded by vines and shrubbery, which stood on the Tennessee shore, and exclaim, "The dwellers in that cottage learned their first lesson of love on the guards of the Eclipse."
Come to me when I'm dying;Gaze on my wasted form,Tired with so long defyingLife's ever-rushing storm.Come, come when I am dying,And stand beside my bed,Ere yet my soul is flying,And I am cold and dead.Bend low and lower o'er me,For I've a word to sayThough death is just before me,Ere I can go away.Now that my soul is hoveringUpon the verge of day,For thee I'll lift the coveringThat veils its quivering ray.O, ne'er had I thus spokenIn health's bright, rosy glow!But death my pride hath broken,And brought my spirit low.Though now this last revealingQuickens life's curdling springs,And a half-timid feelingFaint flushes o'er me flings.Bend lower yet above me,For I would have thee knowHow passing well I love thee,And joy to tell thee so.This love, so purely wellingUp in this heart of mine,O, hath it e'er found dwellingWithin thy spirit's shrine?I've prayed my God, in meekness,To give me some controlOver this earthly weaknessThat so enthralled my soul;And now my soul rejoicesWhile sweetly-thrilling strains,From low, harmonious voices,Soothe all my dying pains.They sing of the Eternal,Whose throne is far above,Where zephyrs softly vernalFloat over bowers of love;Of hopes and joys, earth-blighted,Blooming 'neath cloudless skies,Of hearts and souls unitedIn love that never dies.'Tis there, 'tis there I'll meet theeWhen life's brief day is o'er;O, with what joy to greet theeOn that eternal shore!Farewell! for death is chillingMy pulses swift and fast;And yet in God I'm willingThis hour should be my last.Sometimes, when day declineth,And all the gorgeous westIn gold and purple shineth,Go to my place of rest;And if thy voice in weeping,Is borne upon the air,Think not of me as sleeping;All cold and silent there:—But turn, with glances tender,Toward a shining star,Whose rays with chastened splendorFall on thee from afar.And know the blissful dwellingWhere I am waiting thee,When Jordan fiercely swellingShall set thy spirit free.
Come to me when I'm dying;Gaze on my wasted form,Tired with so long defyingLife's ever-rushing storm.Come, come when I am dying,And stand beside my bed,Ere yet my soul is flying,And I am cold and dead.
Come to me when I'm dying;
Gaze on my wasted form,
Tired with so long defying
Life's ever-rushing storm.
Come, come when I am dying,
And stand beside my bed,
Ere yet my soul is flying,
And I am cold and dead.
Bend low and lower o'er me,For I've a word to sayThough death is just before me,Ere I can go away.Now that my soul is hoveringUpon the verge of day,For thee I'll lift the coveringThat veils its quivering ray.
Bend low and lower o'er me,
For I've a word to say
Though death is just before me,
Ere I can go away.
Now that my soul is hovering
Upon the verge of day,
For thee I'll lift the covering
That veils its quivering ray.
O, ne'er had I thus spokenIn health's bright, rosy glow!But death my pride hath broken,And brought my spirit low.Though now this last revealingQuickens life's curdling springs,And a half-timid feelingFaint flushes o'er me flings.
O, ne'er had I thus spoken
In health's bright, rosy glow!
But death my pride hath broken,
And brought my spirit low.
Though now this last revealing
Quickens life's curdling springs,
And a half-timid feeling
Faint flushes o'er me flings.
Bend lower yet above me,For I would have thee knowHow passing well I love thee,And joy to tell thee so.This love, so purely wellingUp in this heart of mine,O, hath it e'er found dwellingWithin thy spirit's shrine?
Bend lower yet above me,
For I would have thee know
How passing well I love thee,
And joy to tell thee so.
This love, so purely welling
Up in this heart of mine,
O, hath it e'er found dwelling
Within thy spirit's shrine?
I've prayed my God, in meekness,To give me some controlOver this earthly weaknessThat so enthralled my soul;And now my soul rejoicesWhile sweetly-thrilling strains,From low, harmonious voices,Soothe all my dying pains.
I've prayed my God, in meekness,
To give me some control
Over this earthly weakness
That so enthralled my soul;
And now my soul rejoices
While sweetly-thrilling strains,
From low, harmonious voices,
Soothe all my dying pains.
They sing of the Eternal,Whose throne is far above,Where zephyrs softly vernalFloat over bowers of love;Of hopes and joys, earth-blighted,Blooming 'neath cloudless skies,Of hearts and souls unitedIn love that never dies.
They sing of the Eternal,
Whose throne is far above,
Where zephyrs softly vernal
Float over bowers of love;
Of hopes and joys, earth-blighted,
Blooming 'neath cloudless skies,
Of hearts and souls united
In love that never dies.
'Tis there, 'tis there I'll meet theeWhen life's brief day is o'er;O, with what joy to greet theeOn that eternal shore!Farewell! for death is chillingMy pulses swift and fast;And yet in God I'm willingThis hour should be my last.
'Tis there, 'tis there I'll meet thee
When life's brief day is o'er;
O, with what joy to greet thee
On that eternal shore!
Farewell! for death is chilling
My pulses swift and fast;
And yet in God I'm willing
This hour should be my last.
Sometimes, when day declineth,And all the gorgeous westIn gold and purple shineth,Go to my place of rest;And if thy voice in weeping,Is borne upon the air,Think not of me as sleeping;All cold and silent there:—
Sometimes, when day declineth,
And all the gorgeous west
In gold and purple shineth,
Go to my place of rest;
And if thy voice in weeping,
Is borne upon the air,
Think not of me as sleeping;
All cold and silent there:—
But turn, with glances tender,Toward a shining star,Whose rays with chastened splendorFall on thee from afar.And know the blissful dwellingWhere I am waiting thee,When Jordan fiercely swellingShall set thy spirit free.
But turn, with glances tender,
Toward a shining star,
Whose rays with chastened splendor
Fall on thee from afar.
And know the blissful dwelling
Where I am waiting thee,
When Jordan fiercely swelling
Shall set thy spirit free.
Sweet star, of seraph brightness,That for a transient dayShed o'er our souls such lightness,And then withdrew the ray!O, with immortal lustreThou 'rt sparkling brightly nowAmid the gems that clusterAround Jehovah's brow!Yet many hearts are keepingLone vigils o'er thy grave,Where all the hopes are sleepingWhich thy young promise gave.The sleep which knows no wakingHath closed thy sweet blue eyes,And while our hearts are breakingWe glance toward the skies.Ah! there a hope is givenThat bids us dry the tear;That bright star in the heaven,With beams so wondrous clear;—'Tis Ellen's "distant Aidenn,"Far in the realms above,And those clear rays are ladenWith her pure spirit's love.
Sweet star, of seraph brightness,That for a transient dayShed o'er our souls such lightness,And then withdrew the ray!O, with immortal lustreThou 'rt sparkling brightly nowAmid the gems that clusterAround Jehovah's brow!
Sweet star, of seraph brightness,
That for a transient day
Shed o'er our souls such lightness,
And then withdrew the ray!
O, with immortal lustre
Thou 'rt sparkling brightly now
Amid the gems that cluster
Around Jehovah's brow!
Yet many hearts are keepingLone vigils o'er thy grave,Where all the hopes are sleepingWhich thy young promise gave.The sleep which knows no wakingHath closed thy sweet blue eyes,And while our hearts are breakingWe glance toward the skies.
Yet many hearts are keeping
Lone vigils o'er thy grave,
Where all the hopes are sleeping
Which thy young promise gave.
The sleep which knows no waking
Hath closed thy sweet blue eyes,
And while our hearts are breaking
We glance toward the skies.
Ah! there a hope is givenThat bids us dry the tear;That bright star in the heaven,With beams so wondrous clear;—'Tis Ellen's "distant Aidenn,"Far in the realms above,And those clear rays are ladenWith her pure spirit's love.
Ah! there a hope is given
That bids us dry the tear;
That bright star in the heaven,
With beams so wondrous clear;—
'Tis Ellen's "distant Aidenn,"
Far in the realms above,
And those clear rays are laden
With her pure spirit's love.
I'm tired, I'm tired of life, brother!Of all that meets my eye;And my weary spirit fain would passTo worlds beyond the sky.For there is naught on earth, brother,For which I'd wish to live;Not all the glittering gauds of wealthOne hour of peace can give.I'm weary,—sick at heart, brother,Of heartless pomp and show!And ever comes some cloud to dimThe little joy I know.This world is not the world, brother,It seemed in days agone,When I viewed it through the rainbow mistsOf childhood's rosy dawn.I would not pain your heart, brother—I know you love me well;And that love is laid upon my soul,E'en as a holy spell.But I'm weary of this world, brother,This world of sin and care;And my spirit fluttereth to be free,To mount the upper air!I know not of the world, brother,To which I wish to go;And perhaps my soul may there awakeTo know a deeper woe!They say the pure of earth, brother,Find there undying bliss;While all the wicked ones are castInto a dark abyss!I look upon the stars, brother,That gem the vault of blue;And when they tell me "God is love,"I feel it must be true;For I see on all around, brother,The impress of a handThat blendeth and uniteth allIn one harmonious band.I am that which I am, brother,As the Creator made;ToHim, all-holy and all-pure,No fault can e'er be laid.He knows my weakness well, brother,And I can trust his loveTo bear me safe through Jordan's streamTo brighter worlds above.
I'm tired, I'm tired of life, brother!Of all that meets my eye;And my weary spirit fain would passTo worlds beyond the sky.For there is naught on earth, brother,For which I'd wish to live;Not all the glittering gauds of wealthOne hour of peace can give.
I'm tired, I'm tired of life, brother!
Of all that meets my eye;
And my weary spirit fain would pass
To worlds beyond the sky.
For there is naught on earth, brother,
For which I'd wish to live;
Not all the glittering gauds of wealth
One hour of peace can give.
I'm weary,—sick at heart, brother,Of heartless pomp and show!And ever comes some cloud to dimThe little joy I know.This world is not the world, brother,It seemed in days agone,When I viewed it through the rainbow mistsOf childhood's rosy dawn.
I'm weary,—sick at heart, brother,
Of heartless pomp and show!
And ever comes some cloud to dim
The little joy I know.
This world is not the world, brother,
It seemed in days agone,
When I viewed it through the rainbow mists
Of childhood's rosy dawn.
I would not pain your heart, brother—I know you love me well;And that love is laid upon my soul,E'en as a holy spell.But I'm weary of this world, brother,This world of sin and care;And my spirit fluttereth to be free,To mount the upper air!
I would not pain your heart, brother—
I know you love me well;
And that love is laid upon my soul,
E'en as a holy spell.
But I'm weary of this world, brother,
This world of sin and care;
And my spirit fluttereth to be free,
To mount the upper air!
I know not of the world, brother,To which I wish to go;And perhaps my soul may there awakeTo know a deeper woe!They say the pure of earth, brother,Find there undying bliss;While all the wicked ones are castInto a dark abyss!
I know not of the world, brother,
To which I wish to go;
And perhaps my soul may there awake
To know a deeper woe!
They say the pure of earth, brother,
Find there undying bliss;
While all the wicked ones are cast
Into a dark abyss!
I look upon the stars, brother,That gem the vault of blue;And when they tell me "God is love,"I feel it must be true;For I see on all around, brother,The impress of a handThat blendeth and uniteth allIn one harmonious band.
I look upon the stars, brother,
That gem the vault of blue;
And when they tell me "God is love,"
I feel it must be true;
For I see on all around, brother,
The impress of a hand
That blendeth and uniteth all
In one harmonious band.
I am that which I am, brother,As the Creator made;ToHim, all-holy and all-pure,No fault can e'er be laid.He knows my weakness well, brother,And I can trust his loveTo bear me safe through Jordan's streamTo brighter worlds above.
I am that which I am, brother,
As the Creator made;
ToHim, all-holy and all-pure,
No fault can e'er be laid.
He knows my weakness well, brother,
And I can trust his love
To bear me safe through Jordan's stream
To brighter worlds above.
The golden rays of sunset fall on a snow-clad hill,As standing by my window I gaze there long and still.I see a roof and a chimney, and some tall elms standing near,While the winds that sway their branches bring voices to my ear.They tell of a darkened hearth-stone, that once shone bright and gay,And of old familiar faces that have sadly passed away;How a stranger on the threshold with careless aspect stands,And gazes on the acres that have passed into his hands.I shudder, as these voices, so fraught with mournful woe,Steal on my spirit's hearing, in cadence sad and low,And think I will not hear them—but, ah! who can controlThe gloomy thoughts that enter and brood upon the soul?So, turning from my window, while darkness deepens round,And the wailing winds sweep onward with yet more piteous sound,I feel within my bosom far wilder whirlwinds start,And sweep the cloudy heaven that bends above my heart.I have no power to quell them; so let them rage and roar,The sooner will their raging and fury all be o'er;I've seen Atlantic's billows 'neath tempests fiercely swell,But O, the calm succeeding, I have no words to tell!I think of you, and wonder if you are happy now;Floats there no shade of sorrow at times across your brow?When daily tasks are ended, and thought is free to roam,Doth it not bear you swiftly back to that dear old home?And then, with wizard fingers, doth Memory open fastA thrilling panorama of all the changeful past!Where blending light and shadow skip airy o'er the scene,Painting in vivid contrast what is and what has been.And say, does not your mother remember yet with tearsThe spot where calm and peaceful have lapsed so many years?O, would some kindly spirit might give us all to knowHow much a tender parent will for a child forego!We prized your worth while with us; but now you're gone from sight,We feel "how blessings brighten while they are taking flight."O, don't forget the homestead upon the pleasant hill;Nor yet the love-lit home you have in all our memories still!Come, often come to visit the haunts your childhood knew!We pledge you earnest welcome, unbought, unfeigned and true.And when before your vision new hopes and pleasure rise,Turn sometimes with a sunny thought toward your native skies!
The golden rays of sunset fall on a snow-clad hill,As standing by my window I gaze there long and still.I see a roof and a chimney, and some tall elms standing near,While the winds that sway their branches bring voices to my ear.
The golden rays of sunset fall on a snow-clad hill,
As standing by my window I gaze there long and still.
I see a roof and a chimney, and some tall elms standing near,
While the winds that sway their branches bring voices to my ear.
They tell of a darkened hearth-stone, that once shone bright and gay,And of old familiar faces that have sadly passed away;How a stranger on the threshold with careless aspect stands,And gazes on the acres that have passed into his hands.
They tell of a darkened hearth-stone, that once shone bright and gay,
And of old familiar faces that have sadly passed away;
How a stranger on the threshold with careless aspect stands,
And gazes on the acres that have passed into his hands.
I shudder, as these voices, so fraught with mournful woe,Steal on my spirit's hearing, in cadence sad and low,And think I will not hear them—but, ah! who can controlThe gloomy thoughts that enter and brood upon the soul?
I shudder, as these voices, so fraught with mournful woe,
Steal on my spirit's hearing, in cadence sad and low,
And think I will not hear them—but, ah! who can control
The gloomy thoughts that enter and brood upon the soul?
So, turning from my window, while darkness deepens round,And the wailing winds sweep onward with yet more piteous sound,I feel within my bosom far wilder whirlwinds start,And sweep the cloudy heaven that bends above my heart.
So, turning from my window, while darkness deepens round,
And the wailing winds sweep onward with yet more piteous sound,
I feel within my bosom far wilder whirlwinds start,
And sweep the cloudy heaven that bends above my heart.
I have no power to quell them; so let them rage and roar,The sooner will their raging and fury all be o'er;I've seen Atlantic's billows 'neath tempests fiercely swell,But O, the calm succeeding, I have no words to tell!
I have no power to quell them; so let them rage and roar,
The sooner will their raging and fury all be o'er;
I've seen Atlantic's billows 'neath tempests fiercely swell,
But O, the calm succeeding, I have no words to tell!
I think of you, and wonder if you are happy now;Floats there no shade of sorrow at times across your brow?When daily tasks are ended, and thought is free to roam,Doth it not bear you swiftly back to that dear old home?
I think of you, and wonder if you are happy now;
Floats there no shade of sorrow at times across your brow?
When daily tasks are ended, and thought is free to roam,
Doth it not bear you swiftly back to that dear old home?
And then, with wizard fingers, doth Memory open fastA thrilling panorama of all the changeful past!Where blending light and shadow skip airy o'er the scene,Painting in vivid contrast what is and what has been.
And then, with wizard fingers, doth Memory open fast
A thrilling panorama of all the changeful past!
Where blending light and shadow skip airy o'er the scene,
Painting in vivid contrast what is and what has been.
And say, does not your mother remember yet with tearsThe spot where calm and peaceful have lapsed so many years?O, would some kindly spirit might give us all to knowHow much a tender parent will for a child forego!
And say, does not your mother remember yet with tears
The spot where calm and peaceful have lapsed so many years?
O, would some kindly spirit might give us all to know
How much a tender parent will for a child forego!
We prized your worth while with us; but now you're gone from sight,We feel "how blessings brighten while they are taking flight."O, don't forget the homestead upon the pleasant hill;Nor yet the love-lit home you have in all our memories still!
We prized your worth while with us; but now you're gone from sight,
We feel "how blessings brighten while they are taking flight."
O, don't forget the homestead upon the pleasant hill;
Nor yet the love-lit home you have in all our memories still!
Come, often come to visit the haunts your childhood knew!We pledge you earnest welcome, unbought, unfeigned and true.And when before your vision new hopes and pleasure rise,Turn sometimes with a sunny thought toward your native skies!
Come, often come to visit the haunts your childhood knew!
We pledge you earnest welcome, unbought, unfeigned and true.
And when before your vision new hopes and pleasure rise,
Turn sometimes with a sunny thought toward your native skies!
Rouse ye, Yankees, from your dreaming!See that vessel, strong and bold,On her banner proudly streaming,California for gold!See a crowd around her gather,Eager all to push from land!They will have all sorts o' weatherEre they reach the golden strand.Rouse to action,Fag and faction;Ho, for mines of wealth untold!Rally! Rally!All for Cali-Fornia in search of gold!Away, amid the rush and racket,Ho for the California packet!Wake ye! O'er the surging ocean,Loud above each coral cave,Comes a sound of wild commotionFrom the lands beyond the wave.Riches, riches, greater—rarer,Than Golconda's far-famed mines;Ho for California's shores!Where the gold so brightly shines.O'er the oceanAll's commotion;Ho for mines of wealth untold!Countless treasureWaits on pleasure;Ho for California's gold!Let us go the rush and racket,On the Californian packet.Hear the echo wildly ringingThrough our country far and wide!Thousands leaving home and springingInto the resistless tide.Now our nation's roused from sleeping,All alert and wide awake.O, there's no such thing as keepingFolks asleep when gold's the stake!Old OregonWe'll look not on;Ho, for mines of wealth untold!We'll take our way,Without delay,In search of gold—of glittering gold!Here we go, amid the racket,On the Californian packet!Yankees! all who have the fever,Go the rush without delay!Take a spade and don your beaver;Tell your friends you must away!You will get a sight o' money;Reap perhaps a hundred-fold!O, it would be precious funnyTo sit in a hall of gold!Let's be going,Gales are blowing,Ho, all hands for digging gold!Romance throwingColors glowingRound these mines of wealth untold!Ho, we go amid the racket,On the Californian packet!
Rouse ye, Yankees, from your dreaming!See that vessel, strong and bold,On her banner proudly streaming,California for gold!See a crowd around her gather,Eager all to push from land!They will have all sorts o' weatherEre they reach the golden strand.Rouse to action,Fag and faction;Ho, for mines of wealth untold!Rally! Rally!All for Cali-Fornia in search of gold!Away, amid the rush and racket,Ho for the California packet!
Rouse ye, Yankees, from your dreaming!
See that vessel, strong and bold,
On her banner proudly streaming,
California for gold!
See a crowd around her gather,
Eager all to push from land!
They will have all sorts o' weather
Ere they reach the golden strand.
Rouse to action,
Fag and faction;
Ho, for mines of wealth untold!
Rally! Rally!
All for Cali-
Fornia in search of gold!
Away, amid the rush and racket,
Ho for the California packet!
Wake ye! O'er the surging ocean,Loud above each coral cave,Comes a sound of wild commotionFrom the lands beyond the wave.Riches, riches, greater—rarer,Than Golconda's far-famed mines;Ho for California's shores!Where the gold so brightly shines.O'er the oceanAll's commotion;Ho for mines of wealth untold!Countless treasureWaits on pleasure;Ho for California's gold!Let us go the rush and racket,On the Californian packet.
Wake ye! O'er the surging ocean,
Loud above each coral cave,
Comes a sound of wild commotion
From the lands beyond the wave.
Riches, riches, greater—rarer,
Than Golconda's far-famed mines;
Ho for California's shores!
Where the gold so brightly shines.
O'er the ocean
All's commotion;
Ho for mines of wealth untold!
Countless treasure
Waits on pleasure;
Ho for California's gold!
Let us go the rush and racket,
On the Californian packet.
Hear the echo wildly ringingThrough our country far and wide!Thousands leaving home and springingInto the resistless tide.Now our nation's roused from sleeping,All alert and wide awake.O, there's no such thing as keepingFolks asleep when gold's the stake!Old OregonWe'll look not on;Ho, for mines of wealth untold!We'll take our way,Without delay,In search of gold—of glittering gold!Here we go, amid the racket,On the Californian packet!
Hear the echo wildly ringing
Through our country far and wide!
Thousands leaving home and springing
Into the resistless tide.
Now our nation's roused from sleeping,
All alert and wide awake.
O, there's no such thing as keeping
Folks asleep when gold's the stake!
Old Oregon
We'll look not on;
Ho, for mines of wealth untold!
We'll take our way,
Without delay,
In search of gold—of glittering gold!
Here we go, amid the racket,
On the Californian packet!
Yankees! all who have the fever,Go the rush without delay!Take a spade and don your beaver;Tell your friends you must away!You will get a sight o' money;Reap perhaps a hundred-fold!O, it would be precious funnyTo sit in a hall of gold!Let's be going,Gales are blowing,Ho, all hands for digging gold!Romance throwingColors glowingRound these mines of wealth untold!Ho, we go amid the racket,On the Californian packet!
Yankees! all who have the fever,
Go the rush without delay!
Take a spade and don your beaver;
Tell your friends you must away!
You will get a sight o' money;
Reap perhaps a hundred-fold!
O, it would be precious funny
To sit in a hall of gold!
Let's be going,
Gales are blowing,
Ho, all hands for digging gold!
Romance throwing
Colors glowing
Round these mines of wealth untold!
Ho, we go amid the racket,
On the Californian packet!
Rogers, will not future storyTell thy glorious fame?And in hues of living gloryRobe thy spotless name?There was more than mortal seemingIn thy wondrous eye,—Like a silv'ry star-ray gleamingThrough a liquidsky.Of that angel spirit telling,Noble, clear and bright,In thy "inner temple" dwelling,Veiled from mortal sight!Of that spirit meek and lowly,Yet so bold and free,In its all-absorbing, holy,Love of Liberty.Thou didst leave us, gentle brother,In thy manhood's pride;And we vainly seek anotherHeart so true and tried!Thou art dwelling with the angelsIn the spirit land!Chanting low and sweet evangels,'Mid a seraph band.But when Freedom's champions rally'Gainst the despot's sway,Then they mourn the friend and allyThat has passed away.And when Liberty's bright bannerWaves o'er land and sea,And is heard the loud hosannaOf the ransomed free,—On its silken folds, in lettersTraced with diamond bright,Shall thy name, the foe of fetters,Blaze in hues of light!
Rogers, will not future storyTell thy glorious fame?And in hues of living gloryRobe thy spotless name?
Rogers, will not future story
Tell thy glorious fame?
And in hues of living glory
Robe thy spotless name?
There was more than mortal seemingIn thy wondrous eye,—Like a silv'ry star-ray gleamingThrough a liquidsky.
There was more than mortal seeming
In thy wondrous eye,—
Like a silv'ry star-ray gleaming
Through a liquidsky.
Of that angel spirit telling,Noble, clear and bright,In thy "inner temple" dwelling,Veiled from mortal sight!
Of that angel spirit telling,
Noble, clear and bright,
In thy "inner temple" dwelling,
Veiled from mortal sight!
Of that spirit meek and lowly,Yet so bold and free,In its all-absorbing, holy,Love of Liberty.
Of that spirit meek and lowly,
Yet so bold and free,
In its all-absorbing, holy,
Love of Liberty.
Thou didst leave us, gentle brother,In thy manhood's pride;And we vainly seek anotherHeart so true and tried!
Thou didst leave us, gentle brother,
In thy manhood's pride;
And we vainly seek another
Heart so true and tried!
Thou art dwelling with the angelsIn the spirit land!Chanting low and sweet evangels,'Mid a seraph band.
Thou art dwelling with the angels
In the spirit land!
Chanting low and sweet evangels,
'Mid a seraph band.
But when Freedom's champions rally'Gainst the despot's sway,Then they mourn the friend and allyThat has passed away.
But when Freedom's champions rally
'Gainst the despot's sway,
Then they mourn the friend and ally
That has passed away.
And when Liberty's bright bannerWaves o'er land and sea,And is heard the loud hosannaOf the ransomed free,—
And when Liberty's bright banner
Waves o'er land and sea,
And is heard the loud hosanna
Of the ransomed free,—
On its silken folds, in lettersTraced with diamond bright,Shall thy name, the foe of fetters,Blaze in hues of light!
On its silken folds, in letters
Traced with diamond bright,
Shall thy name, the foe of fetters,
Blaze in hues of light!
I hied me to the ocean-side;Its waves rolled bright and high;Upon its waters, spreading wide,I gazed with beaming eye.At last, at last, I said, is foundA charm to banish pain,—Here, where the sprightly billows boundAthwart the heaving main.The pebbly beach I wandered o'erAt morn and evening's hour,Or listening to the breakers' roar,Or wondering at their power.Beneath their din I madly sought,With ev'ry nerve bestirred,To drown for aye the demon, thought,—But, ah! hewould be heard.He found a voice my ear to reach,To pierce my aching breast,In every wave that swept the beachWith proud, defiant crest.And when the moon, with silver light,Smiled o'er the waters blue,It seemed to say "There's nothing brightO'er all this earth for you."Scarce half a moon have I been here,Beside the sounding sea,In hope its echoings in my earMight drown out memory;Or might instil some vital lifeInto this feeble frame,Long spent and wasted by the strifeWide-wrought against my name.In vain, in vain!—nor sea, nor shore,Nor any mortal thing,Can to my cheek health's bloom restore,Or clear my life's well-spring.And yet there is a sea whose wavesWill roll above us all,—Within its vasty depths are gravesBeyond all mortal call.With what an awful note of dirgeThis shoreless ocean rolls—Bearing on its tremendous surgeThe wealth of human souls!——The Ocean of Eternity,—O, let its billows sweepO'er one that longeth to be free,And sleep the dreamless sleep!
I hied me to the ocean-side;Its waves rolled bright and high;Upon its waters, spreading wide,I gazed with beaming eye.At last, at last, I said, is foundA charm to banish pain,—Here, where the sprightly billows boundAthwart the heaving main.
I hied me to the ocean-side;
Its waves rolled bright and high;
Upon its waters, spreading wide,
I gazed with beaming eye.
At last, at last, I said, is found
A charm to banish pain,—
Here, where the sprightly billows bound
Athwart the heaving main.
The pebbly beach I wandered o'erAt morn and evening's hour,Or listening to the breakers' roar,Or wondering at their power.Beneath their din I madly sought,With ev'ry nerve bestirred,To drown for aye the demon, thought,—But, ah! hewould be heard.
The pebbly beach I wandered o'er
At morn and evening's hour,
Or listening to the breakers' roar,
Or wondering at their power.
Beneath their din I madly sought,
With ev'ry nerve bestirred,
To drown for aye the demon, thought,—
But, ah! hewould be heard.
He found a voice my ear to reach,To pierce my aching breast,In every wave that swept the beachWith proud, defiant crest.And when the moon, with silver light,Smiled o'er the waters blue,It seemed to say "There's nothing brightO'er all this earth for you."
He found a voice my ear to reach,
To pierce my aching breast,
In every wave that swept the beach
With proud, defiant crest.
And when the moon, with silver light,
Smiled o'er the waters blue,
It seemed to say "There's nothing bright
O'er all this earth for you."
Scarce half a moon have I been here,Beside the sounding sea,In hope its echoings in my earMight drown out memory;Or might instil some vital lifeInto this feeble frame,Long spent and wasted by the strifeWide-wrought against my name.
Scarce half a moon have I been here,
Beside the sounding sea,
In hope its echoings in my ear
Might drown out memory;
Or might instil some vital life
Into this feeble frame,
Long spent and wasted by the strife
Wide-wrought against my name.
In vain, in vain!—nor sea, nor shore,Nor any mortal thing,Can to my cheek health's bloom restore,Or clear my life's well-spring.And yet there is a sea whose wavesWill roll above us all,—Within its vasty depths are gravesBeyond all mortal call.
In vain, in vain!—nor sea, nor shore,
Nor any mortal thing,
Can to my cheek health's bloom restore,
Or clear my life's well-spring.
And yet there is a sea whose waves
Will roll above us all,—
Within its vasty depths are graves
Beyond all mortal call.
With what an awful note of dirgeThis shoreless ocean rolls—Bearing on its tremendous surgeThe wealth of human souls!——The Ocean of Eternity,—O, let its billows sweepO'er one that longeth to be free,And sleep the dreamless sleep!
With what an awful note of dirge
This shoreless ocean rolls—
Bearing on its tremendous surge
The wealth of human souls!
——The Ocean of Eternity,—
O, let its billows sweep
O'er one that longeth to be free,
And sleep the dreamless sleep!
Wail, winds of summer, as ye sweepThe arching skies;O, let your echoes swell with deep,Woe-piercing cries!Old ocean, with a heavy surge,Cold, black and drear,Roll thou the solemn note of dirgeOn Europe's ear!Sweet stars, that calmly, purely bright,Look down below,O, pity with your eyes of lightA Nation's woe!Thou source of day, that rollest onThough tempests frown,Thou mind'st us of another sunThat has gone down!Gone down,—no more may mortal eyeIts face behold!Gone down,—yet leaving on the skyA tinge of gold!Ah, yes! Columbia, pause to hearThe note of dread;'Twill smite like iron on the ear;—Our Clay is dead!Our Clay; the patriot, statesman, sage,The Nation's pride,With giant minds of every ageIdentified!That form of manliness and strengthIn Senate hall,Is lying at a fearful lengthBeneath the pall!That voice of eloquence no moreSuspends the breath;Its matchless power to charm is o'er—'Tis hushed in death!Thrice noble spirit! can we bow,And kiss the rod?With resignation yield thee nowBack to thy God?And where, where shall we turn to findNow thou 'rt at rest,A soul so lofty, just and kind,As warmed thy breast?We bear thee, with a flood of tears,Unto thy tomb;There thou must sleep till rolling yearsHave met their doom!But thy bright fame and memoryShall send a chimeFrom circling ages down to theRemotest time!O, may thy mantle fall on someOf this our day,And shed upon the years to comeA happy ray!
Wail, winds of summer, as ye sweepThe arching skies;O, let your echoes swell with deep,Woe-piercing cries!
Wail, winds of summer, as ye sweep
The arching skies;
O, let your echoes swell with deep,
Woe-piercing cries!
Old ocean, with a heavy surge,Cold, black and drear,Roll thou the solemn note of dirgeOn Europe's ear!
Old ocean, with a heavy surge,
Cold, black and drear,
Roll thou the solemn note of dirge
On Europe's ear!
Sweet stars, that calmly, purely bright,Look down below,O, pity with your eyes of lightA Nation's woe!
Sweet stars, that calmly, purely bright,
Look down below,
O, pity with your eyes of light
A Nation's woe!
Thou source of day, that rollest onThough tempests frown,Thou mind'st us of another sunThat has gone down!
Thou source of day, that rollest on
Though tempests frown,
Thou mind'st us of another sun
That has gone down!
Gone down,—no more may mortal eyeIts face behold!Gone down,—yet leaving on the skyA tinge of gold!
Gone down,—no more may mortal eye
Its face behold!
Gone down,—yet leaving on the sky
A tinge of gold!
Ah, yes! Columbia, pause to hearThe note of dread;'Twill smite like iron on the ear;—Our Clay is dead!
Ah, yes! Columbia, pause to hear
The note of dread;
'Twill smite like iron on the ear;—
Our Clay is dead!
Our Clay; the patriot, statesman, sage,The Nation's pride,With giant minds of every ageIdentified!
Our Clay; the patriot, statesman, sage,
The Nation's pride,
With giant minds of every age
Identified!
That form of manliness and strengthIn Senate hall,Is lying at a fearful lengthBeneath the pall!
That form of manliness and strength
In Senate hall,
Is lying at a fearful length
Beneath the pall!
That voice of eloquence no moreSuspends the breath;Its matchless power to charm is o'er—'Tis hushed in death!
That voice of eloquence no more
Suspends the breath;
Its matchless power to charm is o'er—
'Tis hushed in death!
Thrice noble spirit! can we bow,And kiss the rod?With resignation yield thee nowBack to thy God?
Thrice noble spirit! can we bow,
And kiss the rod?
With resignation yield thee now
Back to thy God?
And where, where shall we turn to findNow thou 'rt at rest,A soul so lofty, just and kind,As warmed thy breast?
And where, where shall we turn to find
Now thou 'rt at rest,
A soul so lofty, just and kind,
As warmed thy breast?
We bear thee, with a flood of tears,Unto thy tomb;There thou must sleep till rolling yearsHave met their doom!
We bear thee, with a flood of tears,
Unto thy tomb;
There thou must sleep till rolling years
Have met their doom!
But thy bright fame and memoryShall send a chimeFrom circling ages down to theRemotest time!
But thy bright fame and memory
Shall send a chime
From circling ages down to the
Remotest time!
O, may thy mantle fall on someOf this our day,And shed upon the years to comeA happy ray!
O, may thy mantle fall on some
Of this our day,
And shed upon the years to come
A happy ray!
In the liquid vault of ether hung the starry gems of light,Blazing with unwonted splendor on the ebon brow of night;Far across the arching concave like a train of silver lay,Nebulous, and white, and dreamy, heaven's star-wrought Milky Way.I was gazing, gazing upward, all my senses captive fraught,From the earnest contemplation of celestial glories caught,When the thought arose within me, as the ages onward rollWhat may be th' eternal portion of the vast, th' immortal soul?When the crimson tide of Nature ceases from its ruddy flow,And these decaying bodies mouldering are so cold and low,And the loathsome grave-worm feeding on the still and pulseless heart,Where may be the immortal spirit, what may be its deathless part?Deep and far within the ether stretched my eyes their anxious gaze,While the swelling thoughts within me grew a wild and wildered maze,Then came floating on the distance, softly to my listening ears,Low, thrilling harmonies of worlds whirling in their bright spheres.From the sparkling orb of Venus, sweetest star that gems the blue,Soon a form of seraph beauty burst upon my raptured view;Wavy robes were floating round her, and her richly-clustering hairLay like golden-wreathed moonbeams round her forehead young and fair.Then a company of seraphs gathered round this form so bright,And unfurled their snowy pinions in those realms of crystal light,Sweeping swiftly onward, onward with their music-breathing wings,Till they passed the distant orbit where the mighty Neptune swings.Then from stormy, wild Orion, to the dragon's fiery roll,And the sturdy Ursa Major tramping round the Boreal pole,On to stately Argo Navis rearing diamond spars on high,Starry bands of seraph wanderers clove the azure of the sky.Lofty awe and adoration all my throbbing bosom filled,Every pulse and nerve in nature with ecstatic wonder thrilled.O, were these bright, shining millions disembodied human souls,That casting off earth's fettering bonds had gained immortal goals!On each face there beamed a brightness mortal words can ne'er rehearse,Seemed it the concentred glory of the boundless universe.O, 'twas light, 'twas love, 'twas wisdom, science, knowledge, all combined,'Twas the ultimate perfection of the God-like human mind!One by one the constellations sank below the horizon's rim,And with grief I found my starry vision growing earthly dim;While all the thrilling harmonies, that filled the air around,Died off in far, sweet echoings, within the dark profound.Bowing then with lowly seeming on the damp and dewy sod,All my soul in adoration floated up to Nature's God,While the struggling thoughts within me found voice in earnest prayer;"Almighty Father, let my soul one day those glories share!"
In the liquid vault of ether hung the starry gems of light,Blazing with unwonted splendor on the ebon brow of night;Far across the arching concave like a train of silver lay,Nebulous, and white, and dreamy, heaven's star-wrought Milky Way.
In the liquid vault of ether hung the starry gems of light,
Blazing with unwonted splendor on the ebon brow of night;
Far across the arching concave like a train of silver lay,
Nebulous, and white, and dreamy, heaven's star-wrought Milky Way.
I was gazing, gazing upward, all my senses captive fraught,From the earnest contemplation of celestial glories caught,When the thought arose within me, as the ages onward rollWhat may be th' eternal portion of the vast, th' immortal soul?
I was gazing, gazing upward, all my senses captive fraught,
From the earnest contemplation of celestial glories caught,
When the thought arose within me, as the ages onward roll
What may be th' eternal portion of the vast, th' immortal soul?
When the crimson tide of Nature ceases from its ruddy flow,And these decaying bodies mouldering are so cold and low,And the loathsome grave-worm feeding on the still and pulseless heart,Where may be the immortal spirit, what may be its deathless part?
When the crimson tide of Nature ceases from its ruddy flow,
And these decaying bodies mouldering are so cold and low,
And the loathsome grave-worm feeding on the still and pulseless heart,
Where may be the immortal spirit, what may be its deathless part?
Deep and far within the ether stretched my eyes their anxious gaze,While the swelling thoughts within me grew a wild and wildered maze,Then came floating on the distance, softly to my listening ears,Low, thrilling harmonies of worlds whirling in their bright spheres.
Deep and far within the ether stretched my eyes their anxious gaze,
While the swelling thoughts within me grew a wild and wildered maze,
Then came floating on the distance, softly to my listening ears,
Low, thrilling harmonies of worlds whirling in their bright spheres.
From the sparkling orb of Venus, sweetest star that gems the blue,Soon a form of seraph beauty burst upon my raptured view;Wavy robes were floating round her, and her richly-clustering hairLay like golden-wreathed moonbeams round her forehead young and fair.
From the sparkling orb of Venus, sweetest star that gems the blue,
Soon a form of seraph beauty burst upon my raptured view;
Wavy robes were floating round her, and her richly-clustering hair
Lay like golden-wreathed moonbeams round her forehead young and fair.
Then a company of seraphs gathered round this form so bright,And unfurled their snowy pinions in those realms of crystal light,Sweeping swiftly onward, onward with their music-breathing wings,Till they passed the distant orbit where the mighty Neptune swings.
Then a company of seraphs gathered round this form so bright,
And unfurled their snowy pinions in those realms of crystal light,
Sweeping swiftly onward, onward with their music-breathing wings,
Till they passed the distant orbit where the mighty Neptune swings.
Then from stormy, wild Orion, to the dragon's fiery roll,And the sturdy Ursa Major tramping round the Boreal pole,On to stately Argo Navis rearing diamond spars on high,Starry bands of seraph wanderers clove the azure of the sky.
Then from stormy, wild Orion, to the dragon's fiery roll,
And the sturdy Ursa Major tramping round the Boreal pole,
On to stately Argo Navis rearing diamond spars on high,
Starry bands of seraph wanderers clove the azure of the sky.
Lofty awe and adoration all my throbbing bosom filled,Every pulse and nerve in nature with ecstatic wonder thrilled.O, were these bright, shining millions disembodied human souls,That casting off earth's fettering bonds had gained immortal goals!
Lofty awe and adoration all my throbbing bosom filled,
Every pulse and nerve in nature with ecstatic wonder thrilled.
O, were these bright, shining millions disembodied human souls,
That casting off earth's fettering bonds had gained immortal goals!
On each face there beamed a brightness mortal words can ne'er rehearse,Seemed it the concentred glory of the boundless universe.O, 'twas light, 'twas love, 'twas wisdom, science, knowledge, all combined,'Twas the ultimate perfection of the God-like human mind!
On each face there beamed a brightness mortal words can ne'er rehearse,
Seemed it the concentred glory of the boundless universe.
O, 'twas light, 'twas love, 'twas wisdom, science, knowledge, all combined,
'Twas the ultimate perfection of the God-like human mind!
One by one the constellations sank below the horizon's rim,And with grief I found my starry vision growing earthly dim;While all the thrilling harmonies, that filled the air around,Died off in far, sweet echoings, within the dark profound.
One by one the constellations sank below the horizon's rim,
And with grief I found my starry vision growing earthly dim;
While all the thrilling harmonies, that filled the air around,
Died off in far, sweet echoings, within the dark profound.
Bowing then with lowly seeming on the damp and dewy sod,All my soul in adoration floated up to Nature's God,While the struggling thoughts within me found voice in earnest prayer;"Almighty Father, let my soul one day those glories share!"
Bowing then with lowly seeming on the damp and dewy sod,
All my soul in adoration floated up to Nature's God,
While the struggling thoughts within me found voice in earnest prayer;
"Almighty Father, let my soul one day those glories share!"
There are flowers that never wither,There are skies that never fade,There are trees that cast foreverCooling bowers of leafy shade.There are silver wavelets flowing,With a lulling sound of rest,Where the west wind softly blowingFans the far lands of the blest.Thitherward our steps are tending,Oft through dim, oppressive fears,More of grief than pleasure blendingIn the darkening woof of years.Often would our footsteps wearySink upon the winding way,But that, when all looks most dreary,O'er us beams a cheering ray.Thus the Father who hath made usTenants of this world of care,Knoweth how to kindly aid us,With the burdens we must bear.Knoweth how to cause the spiritHopefully to raise its eyesToward the home it doth inheritFar beyond the azure skies.There's a voice that whispers lowly,Down within this heart of mine,Where emotions the most holyEver make their sacred shrine;And it tells a thrilling storyOf the Great Redeemer's love,And the all-bewildering gloryOf the better land above.O, this life, with all its sorrows,Hasteth onward to a close!In a few more brief to-morrowsWill have ended all our woes.Then o'er death the part immortalShall sublimely rise and soarO'er the star-resplendent portal,There to dwell for evermore.May we meet, no more to sever,Where the weary are at rest,Far beyond dark Jordan's river,In the Canaan of the blest.Guard the treasures God hath givenTo thy tenderest nurturing care,And upon the fields of heavenThou shalt see them blooming fair.
There are flowers that never wither,There are skies that never fade,There are trees that cast foreverCooling bowers of leafy shade.There are silver wavelets flowing,With a lulling sound of rest,Where the west wind softly blowingFans the far lands of the blest.
There are flowers that never wither,
There are skies that never fade,
There are trees that cast forever
Cooling bowers of leafy shade.
There are silver wavelets flowing,
With a lulling sound of rest,
Where the west wind softly blowing
Fans the far lands of the blest.
Thitherward our steps are tending,Oft through dim, oppressive fears,More of grief than pleasure blendingIn the darkening woof of years.Often would our footsteps wearySink upon the winding way,But that, when all looks most dreary,O'er us beams a cheering ray.
Thitherward our steps are tending,
Oft through dim, oppressive fears,
More of grief than pleasure blending
In the darkening woof of years.
Often would our footsteps weary
Sink upon the winding way,
But that, when all looks most dreary,
O'er us beams a cheering ray.
Thus the Father who hath made usTenants of this world of care,Knoweth how to kindly aid us,With the burdens we must bear.Knoweth how to cause the spiritHopefully to raise its eyesToward the home it doth inheritFar beyond the azure skies.
Thus the Father who hath made us
Tenants of this world of care,
Knoweth how to kindly aid us,
With the burdens we must bear.
Knoweth how to cause the spirit
Hopefully to raise its eyes
Toward the home it doth inherit
Far beyond the azure skies.
There's a voice that whispers lowly,Down within this heart of mine,Where emotions the most holyEver make their sacred shrine;And it tells a thrilling storyOf the Great Redeemer's love,And the all-bewildering gloryOf the better land above.
There's a voice that whispers lowly,
Down within this heart of mine,
Where emotions the most holy
Ever make their sacred shrine;
And it tells a thrilling story
Of the Great Redeemer's love,
And the all-bewildering glory
Of the better land above.
O, this life, with all its sorrows,Hasteth onward to a close!In a few more brief to-morrowsWill have ended all our woes.Then o'er death the part immortalShall sublimely rise and soarO'er the star-resplendent portal,There to dwell for evermore.
O, this life, with all its sorrows,
Hasteth onward to a close!
In a few more brief to-morrows
Will have ended all our woes.
Then o'er death the part immortal
Shall sublimely rise and soar
O'er the star-resplendent portal,
There to dwell for evermore.
May we meet, no more to sever,Where the weary are at rest,Far beyond dark Jordan's river,In the Canaan of the blest.Guard the treasures God hath givenTo thy tenderest nurturing care,And upon the fields of heavenThou shalt see them blooming fair.
May we meet, no more to sever,
Where the weary are at rest,
Far beyond dark Jordan's river,
In the Canaan of the blest.
Guard the treasures God hath given
To thy tenderest nurturing care,
And upon the fields of heaven
Thou shalt see them blooming fair.