Verses

A YEAR

  She has been just a year in Heaven.  Unmarked by white moon or gold sun,  By stroke of clock or clang of bell,  Or shadow lengthening on the way,  In the full noon and perfect day,  In Safety's very citadel,  The happy hours have sped, have run;  And, rapt in peace, all pain forgot,  She whom we love, her white soul shriven,  Smiles at the thought and wonders not.  We have been just a year alone,—  A year whose calendar is sighs,  And dull, perpetual wishfulness,  And smiles, each covert for a tear,  And wandering thoughts, half there, half here,  And weariful attempts to guess  The secret of the hiding skies,  The soft, inexorable blue,  With gleaming hints of glory sown,  And Heaven behind, just shining through.  So sweet, so sad, so swift, so slow,  So full of eager growth and light,  So full of pain which blindly grows,  So full of thoughts which either way  Have passed and crossed and touched each day,  To us a thorn, to her a rose;  The year so black, the year so white,  Like rivers twain their course have run;  The earthly stream we trace and know,  But who shall paint the heavenly one?  A year! We gather up our powers,  Our lamps we consecrate and trim;  Open all windows to the day,  And welcome every heavenly air.  We will press forward and will bear,  Having this word to cheer the way:  She, storm-tossed once, is safe with Him,  Healed, comforted, content, forgiven;  And while we count these heavy hours  Has been a year,—a year in Heaven.

TOKENS

  Each day upon the yellow Nile, 'tis said.  Joseph, the youthful ruler, cast forth wheat,  That haply, floating to his father's feet,—  The sad old father, who believed him dead,—  It might be sign in Egypt there was bread;  And thus the patriarch, past the desert sands  And scant oasis fringed with thirsty green,  Be lured toward the love that yearned unseen.  So, flung and scattered—ah! by what dear hands?—  On the swift-rushing and invisible tide,  Small tokens drift adown from far, fair lands,  And say to us, who in the desert bide,  "Are you athirst? Are there no sheaves to bind?  Beloved, here is fulness; follow on and find."

HER GOING

SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE  She stood in the open door,    She blessed them faint and low:    "I must go," she said, "must go      Away from the light of the sun,      Away from you, every one;  Must see your eyes no more,—    Your eyes, that love me so.  "I should not shudder thus,    Nor weep, nor be afraid.    Nor cling to you so dismayed,      Could I only pierce with ray eyes      Where the dark, dark shadow lies;  Where something hideous    Is hiding, perhaps," she said.  Then slowly she went from them,    Went down the staircase grim,    With trembling heart and limb;      Her footfalls echoed      In the silence vast and dead,  Like the notes of a requiem,    Not sung, but uttered.  For a little way and a black    She groped as grope the blind,    Then a sudden radiance shined,      And a vision her eyelids burned;      All joyfully she turned,  For a moment turned she back,    And smiled at those behind.  There in the shadows drear    An angel sat serene,    Of grave and tender mien,      With whitest roses crowned;      A scythe lay on the ground,  As reaping-time were near,—    A burnished scythe and a keen.  She did not start or pale    As the angel rose and laid    His hand on hers, nor said      A word, hut beckoned on;      For a glorious meaning shone  On the lips that told no tale,    And she followed him, unafraid.  Her friends wept for a space;    Then one said: "Be content;    Surely some good is meant      For her, our Beautiful,—      Some glorious good and full.  Did you not see her face,    Her dear smile, as she went?"

A LONELY MOMENT

       I sit alone in the gray,         The snow falls thick and fast,       And never a sound have I heard all day         But the wailing of the blast,  And the hiss and click of the snow, whirling to and fro.       There seems no living thing         Left in the world but I;       My thoughts fly forth on restless wing,         And drift back wearily,  Storm-beaten, buffeted, hopeless, and almost dead.       No one there is to care;         Not one to even know       Of the lonely day and the dull despair         As the hours ebb and flow,  Slow lingering, as fain to lengthen out my pain.       And I think of the monks of old,         Each in his separate cell,       Hearing no sound, except when tolled         The stated convent bell.  How could they live and bear that silence everywhere?       And I think of tumbling seas,         'Neath cruel, lonely skies;       And shipwrecked sailors over these         Stretching their hungry eyes,—  Eyes dimmed with wasting tears for weary years on years,—       Pacing the hopeless sand,         Wistful and wan and pale,       Each foam-flash like a beckoning hand,         Each wave a glancing sail,  And so for days and days, and still the sail delays.       I hide my eyes in vain,         In vain I try to smile;       That urging vision comes again,         The sailor on his isle,  With none to hear his cry, to help him live—or die!       And with the pang a thought         Breaks o'er me like the sun,       Of the great listening Love which caught         Those accents every one,  Nor lost one faintest word, but always, always heard.       The monk his vigil pale         Could lighten with a smile,       The sailor's courage need not fail         Upon his lonely isle;  For there, as here, by sea or land, the pitying Lord stood            close at hand.       O coward heart of mine!         When storms shall beat again,       Hold firmly to this thought divine,         As anchorage in pain:  That, lonely though thou seemest to be, the Lord is near,            remembering thee.

COMMUNION

        What is it to commune?  It is when soul meets soul, and they embrace  As souls may, stooping from each separate sphere        For a brief moment's space.        What is it to commune?  It is to lay the veil of custom by,  To be all unafraid of truth to talk,        Face to face, eye to eye.        Not face to face, dear Lord;  That is the joy of brighter worlds to be;  And yet, Thy bidden guests about Thy board,        We do commune with Thee.        Behind the white-robed priest  Our eyes, anointed with a sudden grace,  Dare to conjecture of a mighty guest,        A dim beloved Face.        And is it Thou, indeed?  And dost Thou lay Thy glory all away  To visit us, and with Thy grace to feed        Our hungering hearts to-day?        And can a thing so sweet,  And can such heavenly condescension be?  Ah! wherefore tarry thus our lingering feet?        It can be none but Thee.        There is the gracious ear  That never yet was deaf to sinner's call;  We will not linger, and we dare not fear,        But kneel,—and tell Thee all.        We tell Thee of our sin  Only half loathed, only half wished away,  And those clear eyes of Love that look within        Rebuke us, seem to say,—        "O, bought with my own blood,  Mine own, for whom my precious life I gave,  Am I so little prized, remembered, loved,        By those I died to save?"        And under that deep gaze  Sorrow awakes; we kneel with eyelids wet,  And marvel, as with Peter at the gate,        That we could so forget,        We tell Thee of our care,  Of the sore burden, pressing day by day,  And in the light and pity of Thy face        The burden melts away.        We breathe our secret wish,  The importunate longing which no man may see;  We ask it humbly, or, more restful still,        We leave it all to Thee.        And last our amulet  Of precious names we thread, and soft and low  We crave for each beloved, or near or far,        A blessing ere we go.        The thorns are turned to flowers,  All dark perplexities seem light and fair,  A mist is lifted from the heavy hours,        And Thou art everywhere.

A FAREWELL

        Go, sun, since go you must,  The dusky evening lowers above our sky,    Our sky which was so blue and sweetly fair;  Night is not terrible that we should sigh.    A little darkness we can surely bear;  Will there not be more sunshine—by and by?        Go, rose, since go you must,  Flowerless and chill the winter draweth nigh;    Closed are the blithe and fragrant lips which made  All summer long perpetual melody.    Cheerless we take our way, but not afraid:  Will there not be more roses—by and by?        Go, love, since go you must,  Out of our pain we bless you as you fly;    The momentary heaven the rainbow lit  Was worth whole days of black and stormy sky;    Shall we not see, as by the waves we sit,  Your bright sail winging shoreward—by and by?        Go, life, since go you must,  Uncertain guest and whimsical ally!    All questionless you came, unquestioned go;  What does it mean to live, or what to die?    Smiling we watch you vanish, for we know  Somewhere is nobler living—by and by.

EBB AND FLOW

  How easily He turns the tides!    Just now the yellow beach was dry,  Just now the gaunt rocks all were bare,    The sun beat hot, and thirstily  Each sea-weed waved its long brown hair,    And bent and languished as in pain;  Then, in a flashing moment's space,    The white foam-feet which spurned the sand  Paused in their joyous outward race,    Wheeled, wavered, turned them to the land,  And, a swift legionary band,    Poured oil the waiting shores again.  How easily He turns the tides!    The fulness of my yesterday  Has vanished like a rapid dream,    And pitiless and far away  The cool, refreshing waters gleam:    Grim rocks of dread and doubt and pain  Rear their dark fronts where once was sea;    But I can smile and wait for Him  Who turns the tides so easily,    Fills the spent rock-pool to its brim,  And up from the horizon dim    Leads His bright morning waves again.

ANGELUS

  Softly drops the crimson sun:    Softly down from overhead,  Drop the bell-notes, one by one,    Melting in the melting red;  Sign to angel bands unsleeping,—    "Day is done, the dark is dread,  Take the world in care and keeping.  "Set the white-robed sentries close,    Wrap our want and weariness  In the surety of repose;    Let the shining presences,  Bearing fragrance on their wings,    Stand about our beds to bless,  Fright away all evil things.  "Rays of Him whose shadow pours    Through all lives a brimming glory,  Float o'er darksome woods and moors,    Float above the billows hoary;  Shine, through night and storm and sin,    Tangled fate and bitter story,  Guide the lost and wandering in!"  Now the last red ray is gone;    Now the twilight shadows hie;  Still the bell-notes, one by one,    Send their soft voice to the sky,  Praying, as with human lip,—    "Angels, hasten, night is nigh,  Take us to thy guardianship."

THE MORNING COMES BEFORE THE SUN

  Slow buds the pink dawn like a rose    From out night's gray and cloudy sheath;  Softly and still it grows and grows,    Petal by petal, leaf by leaf;  Each sleep-imprisoned creature breaks    Its dreamy fetters, one by one,  And love awakes, and labor wakes,—    The morning comes before the sun.  What is this message from the light    So fairer far than light can be?  Youth stands a-tiptoe, eager, bright,   In haste the risen sun to see;  Ah! check thy lunging, restless heart,   Count the charmed moments as they run,  It is life's best and fairest part,   This morning hour before the sun.  When once thy day shall burst to flower,    When once the sun shall climb the sky,  And busy hour by busy hour,    The urgent noontide draws anigh;  When the long shadows creep abreast,    To dim the happy task half done,  Thou wilt recall this pause of rest,   This morning hush before the sun.  To each, one dawning and one dew,    One fresh young hour is given by fate,  One rose flush on the early blue.    Be not impatient then, but wait!  Clasp the sweet peace on earth and sky,    By midnight angels woven and spun;  Better than day its prophecy,—    The morning comes before the sun.

LABORARE EST ORARE

"Although St. Franceses was unwearied in her devotions, yet if, during her prayers, she was called away by her husband or any domestic duty, she would close the book cheerfully, saying that a wife and a mother, when called upon, must quit her God at the alter to find Him in her domestic affairs."—Legends of the Monastic Orders.

  How infinite and sweet, Thou everywhere    And all abounding Love, Thy service is!  Thou liest an ocean round my world of care,  My petty every-day; and fresh and fair,    Pour Thy strong tides through all my crevices,  Until the silence ripples into prayer.  That Thy full glory may abound, increase,    And so Thy likeness shall be formed in me,  I pray; the answer is not rest or peace,  But charges, duties, wants, anxieties,    Till there seems room for everything but Thee,  And never time for anything but these.  And I should fear, but lo! amid the press,    The whirl and hum and pressure of my day,  I hear Thy garment's sweep, Thy seamless dress,  And close beside my work and weariness    Discern Thy gracious form, not far away,  But very near, O Lord, to help and bless.  The busy fingers fly, the eyes may see    Only the glancing needle which they hold,  But all my life it, blossoming inwardly,  And every breath is like a litany,    While through each labor, like a thread of gold,  Is woven the sweet consciousness of Thee.

EIGHTEEN

  Ah! grown a dim and fairy shade,    Dear child, who, fifteen years ago,      Out of our arms escaped and fled  With swift white feet, as if afraid,    To hide beneath the grass, the snow,      that sunny little head.  This is your birthday! Fair, so fair,    And grown to gracious maiden-height,      And versed in heavenly lore and ways;  White-vested as the angels are,    In very light of very light,      Somehow, somewhere, you keep the day  With those new friends, whom "new" we call,    But who are dearer now than we,      And better known by fate and name:  And do they smile and say, "How tall    The child becomes, how radiant, she      Who was so little when she came!"  Darling, we count your eighteen years,—    Fifteen in Heaven, on earth but three,—      And try to frame you grown and wise:  But all in vain; there still appears    Only the child you used to be,      Our baby with the violet eyes.

OUTWARD BOUND,

  A grievous day of wrathful winds,    Of low-hung clouds, which scud and fly,  And drop cold rains, then lift and show    A sullen realm of upper sky.  The sea is black as night; it roars    From lips afoam with cruel spray,  Like some fierce, many-throated pack    Of wolves, which scents and chases prey.  Crouched in my little wind-swept nook,    I hear the menacing voices call,  And shudder, as above the deck    Topples and swings the weltering wall.  It seems a vast and restless grave,    Insatiate, hungry, beckoning  With dreadful gesture of command    To every free and living thing.  "O Lord," I cry, "Thou makest life    And hope and all sweet things to be;  Rebuke this hovering, following Death,—    This horror never born of Thee."  A sudden gleam, the waves light up    With radiant momentary hues,—  Amber and shadowy pearl and gold,    Opal and green and unknown blues,—  And, rising on the tossing walls,    Within the foaming valleys swung,  Soft shapes of sea-birds, dimly seen,    Flutter and float and call their young,  A moment; then the lowering clouds    Settle anew above the main,  The colors die, the waves rise higher,    And night and terror rule again.  No more I see the small, dim shapes,    So unafraid of wind and wave,  Nestling beneath the tempest's roar,    Cradled in what I deemed a grave.  But all night long I lay and smiled    At thought of those soft folded wings,  And trusting, with the trustful birds,    In Him who cares for smallest things.

FROM EAST TO WEST

  The boat cast loose her moorings;    "Good-by" was all we said.  "Good-by, Old World," we said with a smile,    And never looked back as we sped,  A shining wake of foam behind,    To the heart of the sunset red.  Heavily drove our plunging keel    The warring waves between;  Heavily strove we night and day,    Against the west-wind keen,  Bent, like a foe, to bar our path,—    A foe with an awful mien.  Never a token met our eyes    From the dear land far away;  No storm-swept bird, no drifting branch,    To tell us where it lay.  Wearily searched we, hour by hour,    Through the mist and the driving spray,  Till, all in a flashing moment,    The fog-veils rent and flew,  And a blithesome south-wind caught the sails    And whistled the cordage through,  And the stars swung low their silver lamps    In a dome of airy blue,  And, breathed from unseen distances,    A new and joyous air  Caressed our senses suddenly    With a rapture fresh and rare.  "It is the breath of home!" we cried;    "We feel that we are there."  O Land whose tent-roof is the dome    Of Heaven's, purest sky,  Whose mighty heart inspires the wind    Of glad, strong liberty,  Standing upon thy sunset shore,    Beside the waters high,  Long may thy rosy smile be bright;    Above the ocean din  Thy young, undaunted voice be heard,    Calling the whole world kin;  And ever be thy arms held out    To take the storm-tossed in!

UNA

  My darling once lived by my side,    She scarcely ever went away;    We shared our studies and our play,  Nor did she care to walk or ride    Unless I did the same that day.  Now she is gone to some far place;    I never see her any more,    The pleasant play-times all are o'er;  I come from school, there is no face    To greet me at the open door.  At first I cried all day, all night;    I could not bear to eat or smile,    I missed her, missed her, all the while  The brightest day did not look bright,    The shortest walk was like a mile.  Then some one came and told me this:    "Your playmate is but gone from view,    Close by your side she stands, and you  Can almost hear her breathe, and kiss    Her soft cheek as you used to do.  "Only a little veil between,—    A slight, thin veil; if you could see    Past its gray folds, there she would be,  Smiling and sweet, and she would lean    And stretch her hands out joyfully.  "All the day long, and year by year,    She will go forward as you go;    As you grow older, she will grow;  As you grow good, she with her clear    And angel eyes, will mark and know.  "Think, when you wake up every day,    That she is standing by your bed,    Close to the pillow where her head,  Her little curly head, once lay,    With a 'Good-morning' smiled, not said.  "Think, when the hooks seem dull and tame,    The sports no longer what they were,    That there she sits, a shape of air,  And turns the leaf or joins the game    With the same smile she used to wear.  "So, moving on still, hand in hand,    One of these days your eyes will clear,    The hiding veil will disappear,  And you will know and understand    Just why your playmate left you here."  This made me happier, and I try    To think each day that it may be.    Sometimes I do so easily;  But then again I have to cry,    Because I want so much to SEE!

TWO WAYS TO LOVE

"Entre deux amants il y a toujours l'an qui baise et l'autre qui tend la joue."

  I says he loves me well, and I    Believe it; in my hands, to make  Or mar, his life lies utterly,  Nor can I the strong plea deny.    Which claims my love for his love's sake.  He says there is no face so fair    As mine; when I draw near, his eyes  Light up; each ripple of my hair  He loves; the very clunk I wear    He touches fondly where it lies.  And roses, roses all the way,    Upon my path fall, strewed by him;  His tenderness by night, by day,  Keeps faithful watch to heap alway    My cup of pleasure to the brim.  The other women, full of spite,    Count me the happiest woman born  To be so worshipped; I delight  To flaunt his homage in their sight,—    For me the rose, for them its thorn.  I love him—or I think I do;    Sure one MUST love what is so sweet.  He is all tender and all true,  All eloquent to plead and sue,    All strength—though kneeling at my feet.  Yet I had visions once of yore,    Girlish imaginings of a zest,  A possible thrill,—but why run o'er  These fancies?—idle dreams, no more;    I will forget them, this is best.  So let him take,—the past is past;    The future, with its golden key,  Into his outstretched hands I cast.  I shall love him—perhaps—at last,    As now I love his love for me.II  Nor as all other women may,    Love I my Love; he is so great,  So beautiful, I dare essay  No nearness but in silence lay    My heart upon his path,—and wait.  Poor heart! its healings are so low    He does not heed them passing by,  Save as one heeds, where violets grow,  A fragrance, caring not to know    Where the veiled purple buds may lie.  I sometimes think that it is dead,    It lies so still. I bend and lean,  Like mother over cradle-head,  Wondering if still faint breaths are shed    Like sighs the parted lips between.  And then, with vivid pulse and thrill,    It quickens into sudden bliss  At sound of step or voice, nor will  Be hushed, although, regardless still,    He knows not, cares not, it is his.  I would not lift it if I could;    The little flame, though faint and dim  As glow-worm spark in lonely wood,  Shining where no man calls it good,    May one day light the path for him,—  May guide his way, or soon or late,    Through blinding mist or wintry rain;  And, so content, I watch and wait.  Let others share his happier fate,    I only ask to share his pain!  And if some day, when passing by,    My dear Love should his steps arrest,  Should mark the poor heart waiting nigh,  Should know it his, should lift it,—why,    Patience is good, but joy is best!

AFTER-GLOW

  My morn was all dewy rose and pearl,    Peace brimmed the skies, a cool and fragrant air    Caressed my going forth, and everywhere  The radiant webs, by hope and fancy spun,        Stretched shining in the sun.  Then came a noon, hot, breathless, still,—    No wind to visit the dew-thirsty flowers,    Only the dust, the road, the urging hours;  And, pressing on, I never guessed or knew        That day was half-way through.  And when the pomp of purple lit the sky,    And sheaves of golden lances tipped with red    Danced in the west, wondering I gazed, and said,  "Lo, a new morning comes, my hopes to crown!"        Sudden the sun dropped down  Like a great golden ball into the sea,    Which made room, laughing, and the serried rank    Of yellow lances flashed, and, turning, sank  After their chieftain, as he led the way,        And all the heaven was gray.  Startled and pale, I stood to see them go;    Then a long, stealing shadow to me crept,    And laid his cold hand on me, and I wept  And hid my eyes, and shivered with affright        At thought of coming night.  But as I wept and shuddered, a warm thrill    Smote on my sense. I raised my eyes, and lo!    The skies, so dim but now, were all aglow  With a new flush of tender rose and gold,        Opening fold on fold.  Higher and higher soared the gracious beam,    Deeper and deeper glowed the heavenly hues,    Nor any cowering shadow could refuse  The beautiful embrace which clasped and kissed        Its dun to amethyst.  A little longer, and the lovely light,    Draining the last drops from its wondrous urn,    Departed, and the swart shades in their turn,  Impatient of the momentary mirth,        Crowded to seize the earth.  No longer do I shudder. With calm eye    I front the night, nor wish its hours away;    For in that message from my banished day  I read his pledge of dawn, and soon or late        I can endure to wait.

HOPE AND I

  Hope stood one morning by the way,      And stretched her fair right hand to me,    And softly whispered, "For this day  I'll company with thee."  "Ah, no, dear Hope," I sighing said;    "Oft have you joined me in the morn,  But when the evening came, you fled    And left me all forlorn.  "'Tis better I should walk alone    Than have your company awhile,  And then to lose it, and go on    For weary mile on mile,"  She turned, rebuked. I went my way,    But sad the sunshine seemed, and chill;  I missed her, missed her all the day,    And O, I miss her still.

LEFT BEHIND

  We started in the morning, a morning full of glee,    All in the early morning, a goodly company;  And some were full of merriment, and all were kind and dear:    But the others have pursued their way, and left me sitting here.  My feet were not so fleet as theirs, my courage soon was gone,    And so I lagged and fell behind, although they cried "Come on!"  They cheered me and they pitied me, but one by one went by,    For the stronger must outstrip the weak; there is no remedy.  Some never looked behind, but smiled, and swiftly, hand in hand,    Departed with, a strange sweet joy I could not understand;  I know not by what silver streams their roses bud and blow,    Rut I am glad—O very glad—they should be happy so.  And some they went companionless, yet not alone, it seemed;    For there were sounds of rustling wings, and songs,—or else we    dreamed;  And a glow from lights invisible to us lit up the place,    And tinged, as if with glory, each dear and parting face.  So happy, happy did they look, as one by one they went,    That we, who missed them sorely, were fain to be content;  And I, who sit the last of all, left far behind, alone,    Cannot be sorry for their sakes, but only for my own.  My eyes seek out the different paths by which they went away,    And oft I wish to follow, but oftener wish to stay;  For fair as may the new things be, the farther things they know,    This is a pleasant resting-place, a pleasant place also.  There are flowers for the gathering, which grow my path anear,    The skies are fair, and everywhere the sun is warm and clear:  I may have missed the wine of life, the strong wine and the new,    But I have my wells of water, my sips of honey-dew.  So when I turn my thoughts from those who shared my dawn of day,    My fresh and joyous morning prune, and now are passed away,  I can see just how sweet all is, how good, and be resigned    To sit thus in the afternoon, alone and left behind.