The rosy dawn with its misty light,Shone fair on thy brow in the morning bright;And the glittering noon with its rays of goldImprisoned thy soul in its jeweled hold.
Oh, fair was the picture at early dawn,With the matchless beauty that Guido had drawn;And fair was the face in the noon of gold,Touched with a glory that never grew old.
But lovelier still in the shadowed eyesLay the burning sunset of Italy's skies;And the beautiful face with its voiceless woeGrew fair as a saint's in the crimson glow.No wonder the poets grew wild at the sight,And sung of thy beauty with mad delight,Till the fame of the picture spread over the land,Revealing the touch of its master-hand.
The fair Madonna with saint-like face,Creation of Raphael's exquisite grace,Is scarcely more famed than the child-like headOf thou to whom sorrow forever is wed.O beautiful woman, the world with its scornWill mock at the glory thou long hast worn,And rend aside in the name of the truthThe veil of mercy that hides thy youth.But the romance that clings to the wondrous faceWill fall on our hearts with a softened grace,And the fair young sinner on Italy's shoreWill be loved and pitied forevermore.
Under the Stars.
Under the stars, when the shadows fall,Under the stars of night;What is so fair as the jeweled crownOf the azure skies, when the sun is down,Beautiful stars of light!
Under the stars, where the daisies lieLifeless beneath the snow;Lovely and pure, they have lived a day,Silently passing forever away,Lying so meek and low.
Under the stars in the long-ago—Under the stars to-night;Life is the same, with its great unrestWearily throbbing within each breast,Searching for truth and light.
Under the stars as they drift along,Far in the azure seas;Beautiful treasures of light and song,Glad'ning the earth as they glide along,What is so fair as these?
Under the stars in the quiet night,Under the stars above;Sweet is the breath of the evening air,Spirits of heaven unseen are there,Weaving a web of love.
Under the stars in the shadowy eve,Glittering stars of truth;Beautiful sprays of eternal light,Laid on the brow of the dusky night,Blossoms of fadeless youth.
Catching the Sunbeams.
Catching the sunbeams, oh, wee dimpled child,Gleefully laughing because they are bright;Knowing, ah! never, my beautiful pet,Ne'er can our fingers imprison the light.
Beautiful sunshine, oh! fair is the lightFalling on earth from the heavens above;Beautiful childhood, oh! glad is the sightFilling the world with its measure of love.
Playing with sunbeams, oh, all of us, pet,Toy with the treasures, so shining and bright;Catching the sunshine we never may hold,Trying like you, to imprison the light.
Sunbeams that glitter and sparkle and shine—Life is so full of the beautiful light;Gilding the wings of each fleet-footed dayOnly to fade in the shadows of night.
Playing with sunbeams, oh! all of us, pet,Long for the treasures so shining and glad;Finding too late that they slip from our hands,Leaving us heart-sick and weary and sad.
Learning the lessons we never will heed—Life is so full of the things that we crave;Catching the sunshine oh, darling, each heartLongs for the sunbeams till it reaches the grave.
The Soldier's Grave.
[To the memory of Lieut. Wm. W. Wardell, of the First MassachusettsCavalry, killed May 28, 1864.]
Above his head the cypress wavesIts dark green drooping leaves;The sunlight through its branches wideWhere bright birds linger side by sideA golden net-work weaves.
Within the church-yard's silent gloomHe lies in quiet rest;And never more to cold, pale brow,Or proud lips mute with silence nowWill loving lips be pressed.
Perhaps even now in death's dark dreamHe sees the deadly strife;Where brothers fought with blinded eyes,Forgetting all the tender tiesThat bound them life to life.
Ah! nobly there he proudly rodeWith honest, warm, true heart;And shrank not from the carnage red,But bravely thee, among the dead,He took a soldier's part.
Yet soon his hands fell helplessly,Low at his trembling side;For on his brow the death drops rose,While in his heart the life-blood frozeAnd died his young life's pride.
The dark brown eyes, whose loving glanceGave happiness to all,Have closed their weary lids for ayeBeneath the sunset of life's day,Where dark'ning shadows fall.
Oh, weary years that still creep onAdown the sands of Time,Give back the loving tones of yore,That haunt us here forever moreAs echoing church bell's chime.
And yet it cannot, cannot beThat hearts must ever grieve;Above his head the shadows fall,Yet still the sunbeams shine through allAnd mystic splendors weave.
And thus upon the grieving heartThat ever weeps for him,The dark clouds fall, yet God's sweet lightOf faith still onward takes its flight,Through shadows vast and grim.
Oh! faint heart, with thy clinging grief,Look upward to the sky;For there, beyond the weary strife,Where angels ever guard thy life,There's One who hears thy cry.
Within the "City of the Dead"He only lies asleep;And soon his hand will clasp once moreThine own as oft he did of your,With love's pure feeling deep.
Beyond the Sunset are the Hills of God.
Gleaming folds of read and gold linger in the western sky;Fleecy clouds of purest tint, mingle with the purple dye.
Faintly to the dreamy mind comes the sound of earthly life;Far beyond the shining banks, cometh rest from worldly strife.
Through the sunset's misty veil, now we look with longing eyes,To behold more beauteous sight than the evening's glor'ous skies.
Slowly now the red banks part, showing what is hidden there;Flushing hills of shadowy light, piercing through the dark'ning air.
Like the rainbow's promise clear, God has placed His emblem there,Giving life and trust to all, love unbounded, rich and rare.
Glimpses of a life beyond come to each faint, weary heart, And we long for that bright shore where the loved ones ne'er shall part.
Strange, that souls should still live on, hopeless with their hiddenpain;When, would they but read the skies, heaven and hope would come again.
Though the life be weary spent, evening brings the glory near;And beyond the sunset's glow, grand the hills of God appear.
Never.
Two dark-brown eyes looked into mineTwo eyes with restless quiver;A gentle hand crept in my ownBeside the gleaming river.
"Ah, sweet," I murmured, passing sad,You will forget me ever?"The dear, brown eyes their answer gave;"I will forget you NEVER."
Up in the leaves above our headsThe winds were softly dying;Down in the river at our feetThe lilies pale were lying.The winds their mournful murmur sent:You will forget me ever?The lilies raised their drooping heads:We will forget you never.
A spell hung o'er the numbered hoursThat chained each thought and feeling;My heart was filled with idle dreamsThat sent my sense reeling.Once more I murmured, "Well, I knowYou will forget me ever;"Yet still the same dear promise came,"I will forget you NEVER."
Ah, vain the words that we must speak,Though we are still believing;And subtle are the webs of fateThat love is ever weaving;The dark brown eyes meet mine no more,I am forgotten ever;And mocking memory echoes now,I will forget you NEVER.
Beside the idle stream I stand,Where flowers droop and shiverAnd cold and dark it seems to meThis dreary, restless river;For, sweet, your eyes are lost to me,I am forgotten ever;And only MEMORY echoes now,"I will forget you NEVER."
The Mississippi.
Where is the bard, O river grand and old,That has thy praises sung, thy beauties told,In measures lofty as the mighty prideThat lingers in thy deep and flowing tide?And where the echoing measures low and sweetThat should thine own faint rippling songs repeat?
The eyes of nature ever turned on theeWatch o'er thy restless wandering to the sea;The rosy morn awakes thee from thy sleep;Along thy dusky waves her glances creep,And o'er the weird dark shadows of the nightShe spreads her sunny robes of morning light.
The yellow noon comes too, with fiery eyes,And all unwept the dewy morning dies;Thy waters run in waves of rippling gold,And all the rivers sacred deemed of oldAre not so grand as thee, nor yet so fair.Amid the mists that fill the evening airThe sun droops low his golden head and dies,Yet in thy depths his last glance ling'ring liesand lights it with a royal purple glow;Anon into a splendor falling lowOf crimson stains and gleams of molten goldIt changes, like great waves of fire rolledAcross the sky.
The moon caresses theeWith rays of silver light as to the seaThy dark waves glide; and shadows long and wideReflect grim images within thy tide.Pale stars that wander through the trackless skiesAll night, glance in thy depths with glowing eyes,And like a stream of silver flecked with goldThy waters run.
O river, proud and old,From snow-bound shores thy dark waves loosened runTo mingle with the waters of the sun;And lo! from North and South, from East and West,Companions come to aid thee in thy quest.
Along thy shores great cities stately stand,Sprung up beneath thy kindly welcoming hand;Proud commerce lives upon thy sweeping tideAnd palaces upon thy bosom glide.
O Mississippi, monarch of the West,What daring hand can quell thy proud unrest?What human pen can paint thee as thou art,The loved, the pride of every free-born heart?Thou symbol of a nation strong and free,Whose throne is on the land and on the sea!What power is thine, what might is unto thee!Though men shall die, thy waters still will be.
The Prince Imperial.
Under the cross in the Southern skies,Where the beautiful night like a shadow lies,A fair young life went out in the lightTo wake no more in the star-crowned night.
Beautiful visions of life were his,Visions of triumph and fame;Longing for glory that he might beWorthy to wear his name.
Brave was his heart as he sailed awayUnder the Northern sky;Leaving behind him all that he loved—Stilling his heart's wild cry.
Proudly his mother, with royal pride,Stifled her last regret;Steeling her heart—but her dream was in vainFor the star of his race was set.
Surely the moon as he slept at nightWhispered his doom on high;Surely the waves in their rocky bedsMourned as he passed them by.
For never again in the dusky nightWould the prince go sailing by;Weaving his dreams with a boyish prideUnder the shadowy sky.
Silent and cold in the morn he lay,Slain by a ruthless hand!Never to wake with his fearless eyes—Never again to command.
Imperial mother—too well we knowThe speechless depths of her awful woe;For the bright young life into Eternity hurledWas her only like to a sad, dark world.
But mothers kneel in the silent nightTo whisper a prayer to the Throne of Light,For the beautiful woman whose head lies low,Crushed 'neath the weight of its crown of woe.
From sun to shadow her life has swayedLike some wild rose in a mountain glade;But the storms have won, and the blossom liesForever broken—no more to rise.
On the Lake.
There's a beautiful lake where the sun lies low,And the skies are warm with their summer glow;And a beautiful picture there I seeWhere the winds are warm and the waves are free,And the waves lie still in the sunAs the flowers at night, when the day is done.
You may sing of your silvery seas by nightWhen the moon looks down with a dreamy light;And the stars shine out in the skies aboveLike the warm sweet gaze of the eyes of love;But the glow on the lake to-dayIs a glory that never will fade away.
The beautiful lake is a sea of goldAnd the beauty it wears will never grow old;The trees bend down in the sun's warm glowTill their branches meet in the waves below,And the clouds in the far-off skiesAre mirrored anew where the sunlight lies.
I love to float where the shadows lie'Neath the matchless glow of the summer sky;And I love to dream that these waves of lightWill never fade in the gloomy night:But I know that the things I loveAre as far from my reach as the clouds above.
Oh, the beautiful lake is a sea of goldAnd the beauty it wears will never grow old;The cloudlets of Heaven are mirrored thereIn a golden splendor so bright and fairThat the soul is dazzled for ayeBy the beautiful light of this summer's day.
Oh, I love to dream when this life is o'erWe shall moor our boats near the golden shore;And our sorrows shall drift from us far awayAs the leaves that float in their idle play,And the waves shall smile in the sunWhen the night is over and life is done.
Beyond.
Beyond yon dim old mountain's shadowy height,The restless sun droops low his grand old face;While downward sweeps the trembling veil of night,To hide the earth; the frost king's filmy laceRests on the mountain's hoary snow-crowned head,And adds to it a softened grace; the lightWhich dies afar in faint and fading redIn purple shadows circles near.
The flightOf birds across the vast and silent plainsAwakes the echoes of the sleeping earth;Of all the summer beauty naught remains,There come no tidings of the spring's glad birth.
Beyond the valley and far-off heightThe birds in wandering do take their way;Ah, whither is their strange and trackless flightAmid the dying embers of the day;Into the clouds that seek to veil the sunThey seem to float on strange bright wings of fire;Beyond the shades that tell us day is doneThey soar on spirit wings that never tire.
Ah, strange, strange mysteries indeed are these;To watch the sunlight fade and die away,To hear the whispering of the dark pine trees,To see the deepening shadows 'round us play,And then to feel that all that 'round us liesIs e'en beyond the knowledge of the soul.We seek to grasp the truth, it quickly fliesAnd leaves us full of doubt.
Around us rollThe spheres that light the way to heaven's shore,And soon their lights will brighten all the sky;And yet we dare not read their mystic loreBut only stand and wait and wonder why,Beyond, beyond in deep mysterious spaceThey wander through the darkness all the night,Each one within its own allotted place.
The stars' dim course, the birds' lone dreamy flight,Will ever fill our souls with doubt and fear.We walk upon life's unknown shadowy shoreWith wandering steps, while through the heavens clearThe stars their music sing forevermore.
A Sonnet.
Sweet summer queen, with trailing robe of green,What spell has thou to bind the heart to thee?Thy throne is built upon the sun-lit sea,Where break the waves in clouds of silver sheenAnd oft at dawn like some resplendent queen,Thou sittest on the hills in majesty;And all the flowers wake at thy decree.But now farewell to all thy joys serene;The autumn comes with swift-winged, silent flight,And he will woo thee with his fiery breath;In crimson robes and hues of flashing goldHe'll clothe thee, and thy beauty in the nightWill take a richer glow. But wintry deathWill come and wrap thee in his fold.
Under the Sea.
Under the sea, the great wide seaThat sweeps the golden shore;What treasures lie beneath the wavesForevermore!
Ask of the winds, the sobbing windsThat toss the waves on high;And fling the burden of their songUnto the sky.
Ask of the stars, the jeweled starsThat sleep within the tide;Like golden lilies floating far,And swinging wide.
Ask of the clouds that drift at noonIn fadeless seas of blue,And looking down see skies beneathOf deeper hue.
Up in the sky, the golden cloudsWill never make reply;Deep in the sea, the jeweled starsIn silence lie.
Under the sea, the great wide seaThat sweeps the golden shore,Are secrets hidden from us nowAnd evermore.
The Old Year and the New.
Low at my feet there lies to-nightA crushed and withered rose;Within its heart of fading redNo crimson fire glows;For o'er its leaves the frost of deathSteals like an icy breath;And soon 't will vanish from my sight,A thing of gloom and death.
Ah! beauteous flower, once thou wertMy pleasure and my pride;And now when thou art old and wornI will not turn aside;But gently o'er thy faded leavesI'll shed one kindly tear;That thou wilt know, though dead and gone,To memory thou art dear.
Before my gaze there lies to-nightA rose-bud fresh and fair;And like the breath of dewy mornIts fragrance scents the air.This fragile flower I fain would pluckWith hand most kind yet bold;And watch its petals day by dayTheir shining wealth unfold.
And soon 'twill be my very ownTo keep forevermore:This flower that bloomed for me aloneUpon a heavenly shore.God grant my hands may guard it wellAnd keep it pure and fair;For angel hands have gathered itAnd placed it in my care.
Then fare thee well, thou dying year,Thou art my withered rose;And on the stem where once thou wert,Another flower grows;Yet fear thee not, when thou are dead,To thee I'll still be true;And 'mid the joys of other yearsI still will think of you.
Easter.
Let all the flowers wake to life;Let all the songsters sing;Let everything that lives on earthBecome a joyous thing.
Wake up, thou pansy, purple-eyed,And greet the dewy spring;Swell out, ye buds, and o'er the earthThy sweetest fragrance fling.
Why dost thou sleep, sweet violet?The earth has need of thee;Wake up and catch the melodyThat sounds from sea to sea.
Ye stars, that dwell in noonday skies,Shine on, though all unseen;The great White Throne lies just beyond,The stars are all between.
Ring out, ye bells, sweet Easter bells,And ring the glory in;Ring out the sorrow, born of earth—Ring out the stains of sin.
O banners wide, that sweep the sky,Unfurl ye to the sun;And gently wave about the gravesOf those whose lives are done.
Let peace be in the hearts that mourn—Let "Rest" be in the grave;The Hand that swept these lives awayHath power alone to save.
Ring out, ye bells, sweet Easter bells,And ring the glory in;Ring out the sorrow, born of earth—Ring out the stains of sin.
May.
The world is full of gems to-day,The world is full of love;The earth is strewn with star-gemmed flowersThat fall from skies above.
The sunshine is a stream of goldThat flows from flower to flower;The shadows are but passing thoughtsThat mark each shining hour.
The pansy nods her purple head,And sings a silent song;Her life is full of sunny hours—The days are never long.
The rose uplifts her sun-crowned head;She is the queen of love;Her eyes behold the hidden starsThat glow in skies above.
There is a fragrance in the air,A glory in the sky;Oh, who would sigh for other days,Or grieve for things gone by?
Summer Rain.
Oh, what is so pure as the glad summer rain,That falls on the grass where the sunlight has lain?And what is so fair as the flowers that lieAll bathed in the tears of the soft summer sky?
The blue of the heavens is dimmed by the rainThat wears away sorrow and washes out pain;But we know that the flowers we cherish would dieWere it not for the tears of the cloud-laden sky.
The rose is the sweeter when kissed by the rain,And hearts are the dearer where sorrow has lain;The sky is the fairer that rain-clouds have swept,And no eyes are so bright as the eyes that have wept.
Oh, they are so happy, these flowers that die,They laugh in the sunshine, oh, why cannot I?They droop in the shadow, they smile in the sun,Yet they die in the winter when summer is done.
The lily is lovely, and fragrant her breath,But the beauty she wears is the emblem of death;The rain is so fair as it falls on the flowers,But the clouds are the shadows of sunnier hours.
Why laugh in the sunshine, why smile in the rain?The world is a shadow and life is a pain;Why live in the summer, why dream in the sun,To die in the winter, when summer is done?
Oh, there is the truth that each life underlies,That baffles the poets and sages so wise;Ah! there is the bitter that lies in the sweetAs we gather the roses that bloom at our feet.
Oh, flowers forgive me, I'm willful to-day,Oh, take back the lesson you gave me I pray;For I slept in the sunshine, I woke in the rainAnd it banished forever my sorrow and pain.
September.
Oh, soon the forests all will boastA crown of red and gold;A purple haze will circle roundThe mountains dim and old;Afar the hills, now green and fair,Their sombre robes will wear;A mist-like veil will dim the sunAnd linger on the air.
Already seems the earth half sadThe summer-child is dead;And who can tell the dreams gone by,The tales of life unsaid?September is a glowing time;A month of happy hours;Yet in its crimson heart lies hidThe frost that kills the flowers.
Life, too, may feel the glory nearAnd wear its crown of gold;Yet are the snows not nearest then?Are hearts not growing old?September is the prime of life,The glory of the year;Yet when the leaves begin to fallThe winter must be near.
October.
I would not ask thee back, fair May,With all your bright-eyed flowers;Nor would I welcome April daysWith all their laughing showers;For each bright season of the yearCan claim its own sweet pleasures;And we must take them as they come—These gladly-given treasures.
There's music in the rain that fallsIn bright October weather;And we must learn to love them both—The sun and rain together.A mist is 'round the mountain-topsOf gold-encircled splendor;A dreamy spell is in the airOf beauty sad and tender.
The winter hath not wooed her yet,This fair October maiden;And she is free to wander stillWith fruits and flowers laden.She shakes the dew-drops from her hairIn one swift, golden shower;And all the woods are filled with lightThat gilds each autumn flower.
But soon the frost-king's icy breathWill chill her laughing beauty;And she will waken in the duskUnto a sterner duty.Ah! life is full of days like these,Of days too bright to perish;Yet death, like winter, claims too oftThe things we most would cherish.
Falling Leaves.
There was a sound of music low—An undertone of laughter;The song was done, and can't you guessThe words that followed after?
Like autumn leaves sometimes they fall—The words that burn and falter;And is it true they too must fadeUpon Love's sacred alter?
From memory each one of usCan cull some sweetest treasure;Yet golden days, like golden leaves,Give pain as well as pleasure.
There was a sound of music low—An undertone of laughter:The sun was gone—yet heaven knewThe stars that followed after.
Autumn Flowers.
O crimson-tined flowersThat live when others die,What thoughtless hand unlovingCould ever pass you by?
You are the last bright blossoms,The summer's after-glow,When all her early childrenHave faded long ago.
Sweet golden-rod and xeniaAnd crimson marigold,What dreams of autumn splendorYour velvet leaves unfold.
Long, long ago the violetsHave closed their sweet blue eyes,And lain with pale, dead facesBeneath the summer skies.
And on their graves you blossomWith leaves of gold and red,And yet—how soon foreverYour beauty will be fled.
The frost will come to kill youThe snows will wrap you round;And you will sleep forgottenUpon the frozen ground.
Your tints are like the beautyThe sunlight leaves behind,And deep and full of sadnessThe thoughts you bring to mind.
Dear memories of the summer!Sweet tokens of the past!You are the fairest flowersBecause you are the last.
Remembrance.
Why should we dream of days gone by?Why should we wait and wonder?Sweet summer days have come and gone,The leaves are falling yonder.
The wee sweet flowers we loved the best,The king of frost has chosen;And now the sun looks sadly downUpon his darlings frozen.
Ah! summer sun and autumn frost,You are at war forever;For all the ties that one would makeThe other fain would sever.
With autumn days remembrance comesOf golden glories fleeting;Of pleasures gone and sorrows come—Of parting and of meeting.
Oh! summer days, why haunt us still?Remembrance is a sorrow;And all the dreams we dream to-dayWill fade upon the morrow.
Each life has some sweet summer-time,Some perfect day of beauty;When flowers of love and leaves of hopeAre twined around each duty.
But oh! the autumn-time will come,Which fades each golden glory;And life, when we are old and gray,Seems but a sad, old story.
Winter Flowers.
The summer queen has many flowersTo deck her sunny hair,And trailing grasses, pure and sweet,To scent the heavy air;And upward through the misty skyThere is a glory too,Of floating clouds and rifts of goldAnd depths of smiling blue.
Yet winter, too, can boast a wealthOf flowers pure and white;A kingly crown of frosted gems—A wreath of sparkling light;So bright and beautiful, indeed,It were a wondrous sightTo see a world of fragile flowersSprung up within a night.
And sometimes there are cast'es, too,Of glittering ice and snow,Piled high upon our window-panes'Neath curtains hanging low;And they are like the castles fairOur day-dreams build for aye;A frozen mist that one warm breathMay quickly drive away.
And yet, how beautiful they are,These flowers of our breath;That bloom when not a leaf is leftTo mourn the summer's death.And oh! how wondrous are the thingsThat God has given the earth;The day that brings to one a deathSmiles on another's birth.
Snow-Flakes.
I wonder what they are,These pretty, wayward things,That o'er the gloomy earthThe wind of heaven flings.
Each one a tiny star,And each a perfect gem;What magic in the artThat thus has fashioned them.
What beauty in the flakeThat falls upon my hand;And yet this tiny thingMy will cannot command.
No two are just alike,And yet they are the same;I wonder if my thoughtCould give to each a name.
Unlike the fragile flowersThat love the sun's warm rays,These snow-flakes love the cold,And die on sunny days!
So dainty and so pure,How beautiful they are;And yet the slightest touchTheir purity may mar.
They must be gazed upon,Not handled or caressed;And thus we hold afarThe things we love the best.
Sunset on the Mississippi.
O beautiful hills in the purple light,That shadow the western sky,I dream of you oft in the silent night,As the golden days go by.
The river that flows at my longing feetIs tinged with a deeper glow;But the song that it sings is as sad to-dayAs it was in the long ago.
The far-off clouds in the far-off skyAre tinted with gold and red;But the lesson they tell to the hearts of menIs a lesson that never is said.
The star-crowned night in her sable plumesIs veiling the eastern sky,And she trails her robes in the dying firesThat far in the west do lie.
A single gem from her circlet oldIs lost as she wanders by,And the beautiful star with its golden lightShines out in the lonely sky.
O beautiful star in the misty sky,My soul would take wings with tee;But you sail away in your golden seasWith never a thought for me.
O sun-crowned hills in the purple light.I could sit at your feet forever;But you fade away in the shadowy nightAnd I'll see you again, ah, never.
Dark river that flows at my longing feet,I list to your music low;But the song that you sing brings me thoughts to-nightOf the beautiful long ago;
And my soul grows sad as I think of the day—That radiant day of light—When the sun went down in a glory of gold'Neath the pitiless shadows of night.
Farewell, ye hills in the purple light;Farewell to your glory forever;You fade away in the silent night,And I'll see you again, ah, never!
Not Dead, but Sleeping.
[To the memory of Edwin B. Foster, a member of the Howards, who nobly sacrificed his own life for others, and in remembrance of those unknown to fame or friends who have silently followed in the steps of our Saviour.]
The shadow of death is around us all,And life is a sorrowful thing;For the winds sweep by with a mournful sigh,And sad are the tidings they bring.
He is dead—and the strong, brave life that he gaveSeemed offered to God in vain;Yet he died, Christ-like, in a labor of love,'Mid sorrow and death and pain.
And why should we sorrow—the crown is hisAnd the glory of life is won;Though he died when his labor was just begun,Yet the work of his life is done.
The beautiful South is a land of death,Where the shadows darken the sun;And the moans of the dying are heard in the nightWhen the deeds of the day are done.
The sunlight falls with a dreary gleamOn the cities where ruin is spread,And the rain beats down with a mournful soundOn the graves of the silent dead.
Yet high in the heavens a Hand is stretched,That treasures the deeds of love;And the lives gone out in the darkness belowAre wrapped in the glory above.
The North bends down in her icy prideAnd kisses the land of the sun;Love joins them both in a flood of tears,And the glory of peace is won.
The hand that was dyed in a brother's bloodNow eases that brother's pain;And the hearts that in life were driven apart,In death are united again.
Then why should we sorrow—our God is love,And lives are not lived in vain;Bright hope still shines like a star of nightIn the shadow of death and pain.
A Sunbeam.
The sun was hid all day by clouds,The rain fell softly down;A cold gray mist hung o'er the earth,And veiled the silent town.
Behind the clouds a sunbeam creptWith restless wings of gold;The skies above were bright and warm,The earth below was cold.
It glanced along the heavy clouds,Then sought to glide between;But ah! they gathered closer still,With fierce and angry mien.
The dancing ray grew strangely still,Just like some weary bird,That droops upon a lonely shore,And sings its song unheard.
For on the earth the drooping flowersWere longing for the light;And children with their watching eyesCould trace no sunbeam's flight.
At last an angel, wand'ring by,With snowy wings outspread,Beheld the sunbeam sad at heart,And passing by she said:
"Why wait you here above the clouds,The earth has need of you;Spread out your wings, speed quickly onAnd pierce the vapor through."
But still the sunbeam mournfullyGazed on the gloom below;Then looked up in the spirit's faceWith softened, anxious glow.
The angel smiled, the clouds gave wayAnd drifted far apart;And lo! the glory of that smileFell on each earthly heart.
Then quickly through the widening riftThe sunbeam drifted down;A ray of gold fell through the mistUpon the silent town.
Two weary eyes beheld its light,Then closed forevermore;A soul passed through the rift of blueAnd reached the farther shore.
One moment o'er the wan, white faceA ray of glory fell;Then shadows came, the sunbeam fled;Its future who can tell?
Once more the clouds enwrapped the earth,The rain fell softly down;A cold, gray mist hung o'er the hillsAnd veiled the silent town.
The Phantom of Love.
She stood by my side with a queenly air,Her face it was young and proud and fair;She held my rose in her hands of snow;It crimsoned her face with a deeper glow;The sunlight drooped in her eyes of fireAnd quickened my heart to a wild desire;I envied the rose in her hands so fair,I envied the flowers that gleamed in her hair.
Ah! many a suitor I knew beforeHad knelt at her feet in the days of yore;And many a lover as foolish as I,Had proudly boasted to win or die.She had scorned them all with a careless graceAnd a woman's scorn on her beautiful face.Yet now in the summer I knelt at her feet,And dreamed a dream that was fair and sweet.
The roses drooped in her gold-brown hair,And quivered and glowed in the sun-lit air;The jewels gleamed on her hands of snowAnd dazzled my eyes with their fitful glow.A river of gold ran low at our feet,And echoed the words I cannot repeat.Oh! life was fair that I loved the sun!And love was so sweet when the day was done!
The sun in her velvety eyes looked downAnd deepened their glow to a warmer brown.I loved this woman, this woman so fair,With her sun-lit eyes and her gleaming hair;I drank in her beauty as men drink wine,—It filled my soul with a love divine.The touch of her hand was madness to me;Oh, my love was as great as love could be!
I kissed the roses that drooped in her hair,I pressed the dews from her lips so fair;I held her hands in my own once more;Oh, never was woman so loved before!And what did we care that the sun was low,And the hills were bright with the sunset glow?The purple that glowed in the skies above,Was the royal banner of hope and love.
One perfumed breath from her lips so fair,One sacred kiss on her sun-lit hair,And then we parted as lovers meet—I gathered the roses that lay at her feet,And fastened them in, with a lover's prayer,Where she loved them best, in her silken hair;For the things she loved were as dear to meAs the shining stars to the watching sea.
On lake and river, the sun lay lowWhere we parted that night in the summer glowAnd the hanging clouds were steeped in red,That rivaled the gold of her sun-crowned head.And I loved her best as I saw her last.With the beautiful colors floating past,And the soft warm light in her velvety eyes,Reflecting the glow of the sun-kissed skies.* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *I stood on the shore when the moon hung lowAnd shone on the clouds like the sun on snow;And a midnight silence filled the airAs I gazed on the river, calm and fair.I stood alone where the dark reeds quiver,And the lilies pale in the night-winds shiver.I dreamed of my love that was fair as the day,Oh, the beautiful love that would last for aye!
Oh! what is that—in the river there—Is it the gleam of the lilies tall and fair,Or only the branch of some fallen tree,By the constant wash of the waves set free?Oh, see! how strange it looks and how white.How it glistens and gleams in the shining light!It dazzles my eyes—Oh, what can it be?It is nearing the shore—it is coming to me!
My God! that my eyes could be blind to-nightTo shut out forever that dreadful sight!Oh, God! am I mad—or can it beThat the woman I loved is thus coming to me?That bright thing drifting down with the tide,Is all that is left of my beautiful bride!
Oh, pitiless moon with your pale cold light,Grow dark for one instant and shut out that sight,Till my eyes, grown dim with the tears unshedShall look no more on the face of my dead.
The pale lilies circle around her headAnd whisper slowly—my love is dead.The dark weeds lie in her tangled hair,Where I last saw the roses gleaming there.The cold winds shiver and moan in the nightAs they sweep 'round her brow in the shining light.Oh, God! is it I who am standing aloneWhere the night-winds shiver and creep and moan,Filling my soul with a grief so madThat I hate the things that are living and glad?
Fear not, my love, you shall welcome be,For even in death you have come to me.The dead and the living shall lie to-night.'Neath the pitiless waves of that river bright.I grasp her robe as it sweeps me by—We have lived together, together we die;Her face is so white—is it a woman I see,Or only a phantom drifting past me?Her hand is so near—it touches my own—My God! it is gone—I am standing alone.
Oh, why did I love when the sun was high,And the clouds lay piled in the glittering sky!Oh, why did I love when the sun lay lowAnd the heavens were red with the blood-red glow!And why do I live when the purple lightIs faded forever from out of my sight.
Oh, beautiful demon, that men call love,As fair as the angels that smile above!'T were better that men should never be bornThan see thy face in the dewy morn.'T were better that women should stand afar,And worship in vain some cold, proud star;Than drink in thy beauty with passionate breathThat brings to them only sorrow and death.