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“ The land of Song within thee lies,
Watered by living springs;
Its clouds are angels' wings.
Not mountains capped with snow,
The bending heavens below.
Of iron branches sounds !
Sees not its depths, nor bounds.
Soft rays of sunshine pour ;
We can return no more!'
Yes, into Life's deep stream !
Be these henceforth thy theme.”
IIYMN TO THE NIGHT.
Sweep through her marble halls !
From the celestial walls!
Stoop o'er me from above;
As of the one I love.
The manifold, soft chimes,
Like some old poet's rhymes.
From the cool cisterns of the midnight air
My spirit drank repose;
From those deep cisterns flows.
What man has borne before !
And they complain no more.
Descend with broad-winged flight,
The best-beloved Night!
A PSALM OF LIFE.
WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST,
TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
“Life is but an empty dream !”
And things are not what they seem.
And the grave is not its goal;
Was not spoken of the soul.
Is our destined end or way;
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the bivouac of Life,
Be a hero in the strife!
Let the dead Past bury its dead !
Heart within, and God o’erhead!
We can make our lives sublime,
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother
Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.
THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS.
And, with his sickle keen,
And the flowers that grow between.
“Have nought but the bearded grain ? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,
I will give them all back again.”
He kissed their drooping leaves ;
He bound them in his sheaves. “My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,”
The Reaper said, and smiled; Dear tokens of the earth are they,
Where he was once a child.
Transplanted by my care,
These sacred blossoms wear."
The flowers she most did love;
In the fields of light above.
The Reaper came that day; 'Twas an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away.
There is no light in earth or heaven,
But the cold light of stars:
To the red planet Mars.
The star of love and dreams?
Á hero's armour gleams.
When I behold afar,
The shield of that red star.
And smile upon my pain ;
And I am strong again.
But the cold light of stars ;
To the red planet Mars.
and resolute, and still,
That readest this brief psalm,
Be resolute and calm.
And thou shalt know ere long,
To suffer and be strong.
FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. WHEN the hours of Day are numbered,
And the voices of the night
To a holy, calm delight;
And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Dance upon the parlour wall ;
Enter at the open door;
Come to visit me once more;
He, the young and strong, who cherished
Noble longings for the strife,
Weary with the march of life!
Who the cross of suffering bore,
Spake with us on earth no more!
Who unto my youth was given,
And is now a saint in heaven.
Comes that messenger divine,
Lays her gentle hand in mine.
With those deep and tender eyes,
Looking downward from the skies.
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,
Breathing from her lips of air.
All my fears are laid aside,
Such as these have lived and died !
FLOWERS. SPAKE full well, in language quaint and olden,
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers so blue and golden,
Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine ;Stars they are, wherein we read our history,
As astrologers and seers of eld;
Like the burning stars which they beheld. Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous,
God hath written in those stars above; But not less in the bright flowerets under us
Stands the revelation of his love. Bright and glorious is that revelation,
Written all over this great world of ours; Making evident our own creation,
In these stars of earth,—these golden flowers,