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RISEN

 
"He is risen; He is risen,
Here His empty tomb you see;
And He goeth as He told you
To the hills of Galilee."
Thus to loving, loyal women,
In the centuries agone,
Angel voices told the story
Of the resurrection morn.
 
 
He is risen! He is risen!
Years hand down the glad refrain;
Let the ages on to ages
Waft the tidings yet again.
He who near the Bethlehem manger
Lowly child of earth was born,
King of kings reigns all triumphant
Since the resurrection morn.
 
 
Christ is risen! Calvary's anguish
All a lost world's ransom paid;
Then, with tears, "the hope of Israel"
In the new-made tomb was laid.
 
 
Deep and dark the desolation
Falling with that night forlorn;
Radiant the dawn awakening
With the resurrection morn.
 
 
He has risen! By this token
We with Him shall rise again;
Faith shall vanquish doubt and terror,
Joy shall banish grief and pain.
No more fear of sin's temptation,
No more dread of hatred's scorn,
O the glory purchased for us
On the resurrection morn!
 
 
Christ is risen! Bow before Him,
To His courts an offering bring;
Suffering Lord and Lamb victorious,
Crown Him Conquerer, Priest and King.
Robe of light for robe of mocking,
Diadem for crown of thorn,
Wears He now, and in His likeness
Rise we, satisfied, immortal,
In the resurrection morn.
 

ELIZABETH CROWNED

Elizabeth of Hungary, a widow at the age of twenty, was sought in marriage by Frederick II., Emperor of Germany. She, having taken a vow never to marry again, declined his offer, and devoted her life to deeds of kindness and charity. She died at the age of twenty-four, and was canonized as a saint by Gregory IX. At this ceremony Frederick placed upon her head a golden crown, saying, "Since thou wouldst not be crowned as my Empress, I crown thee to-day as an immortal Queen in the kingdom of God."

 
When once I saw thee, fair, yet sad and lone, —
Tho wealth and beauty waited at thy hand —
I would have crowned thee, saintly one, mine own;
Glad would have had thee share with me my throne,
Bride of my heart, and Empress of my land!
 
 
But thou wert wedded to thy valiant dead,
And to the service of a Christ-like love;
So by thy hand the suffering poor were led,
And from thy bounty were the hungry fed,
Till came thy summons to the Court Above.
 
 
Now hast thou passed from tears and pain away,
Thine ear hath caught the heavenly melodies; —
So be it mine, with reverent touch, to-day,
On thy fair head this diadem to lay,
And crown thee Queen immortal for the skies!
 

WHO IS SUFFICIENT?

 
Six-and-thirty little mortals
Coming to be taught;
And mine that most "delightful task
To rear the tender thought."
Merry, mischief-loving children,
Thoughtless, glad and gay,
Loving lessons – "just a little,"
Dearly loving play.
 
 
Six-and-thirty souls immortal,
Coming to be fed;
Needing "food convenient for them,"
As their daily bread.
Bright and happy little children,
Innocent and free,
Coming here their life-long lessons
Now to learn of me.
 
 
Listen to the toilsome routine,
List, and answer them,
For these things who is sufficient
'Mong the sons of men?
Now they, at the well-known summons,
Cease their busy hum;
And, some with pleasure, some reluctant,
To the school-room come.
 
 
Comes a cunning little urchin
With defiant eye,
"Making music" with his marbles
As he passes by.
But, alas! the pretty toys are
Taken from him soon,
And the music-loving Willie
Strikes another tune!
 
 
Comes a lisping little beauty,
Scarce five summers old;
Baby voice and blue eyes pleading,
"Please, misth, I'm stho cold!"
Little one, the world is chilly,
All too cold for thee;
From its storms "Our Father" shield thee,
And thy refuge be.
 
 
While I turn to caution Johnny
Not to make such noise;
Mary parses: "Earth's an adverb,
In the passive voice."
Well, indeed, it must be passive,
Else it is not clear
How such open language-murder,
Goes unpunished here.
 
 
"Second Reader Class" reciting —
"Lesson verse or prose?"
None in all the class is certain;
Each one thinks he knows.
"Well," is queried then, "the difference
Who can now define?"
Answers Rob: "In verse they never
Finish out the line!"
 
 
Boy, thy thought doth strangely thrill me,
And as hours roll on,
Hears my heart a solemn query:
Is my day's work done?
Do I make of this my life-task
Prose or idle rhyme?
Do I in the sight of Heaven
Finish out the line?
 
 
Oh, it is "too fine a knowledge"
For our mortal sight,
All these restless little creatures
How to lead aright.
He who prayeth while he worketh,
Taking lessons still
Of the Friend of little children,
Learning all His will;
 
 
He alone can walk before them
Worthily and well;
He alone of life's strange language
Can the meaning tell.
May I then with heart as tender
As a little child
Lead my flock; and Father, keep them
Pure and undefiled.
 

PEACE

 
O blessed peace, that floweth like a river,
Unstayed, unwearied, ever on and on;
That hath its fount and spring in Christ the giver,
And finds its ocean round the great white Throne.
 
 
O peace of God, that passeth understanding,
Thou art the answer to my soul's long quest;
Doubts, fears and sins, their serried hosts disbanding,
I leave, launch on thy wave, and anchored, rest.
 

BOYS AND GIRLS

 
We were "seven in all," as the dear rustic maid
To the poet so sweetly protested;
And together we rambled and studied and played,
Each imbibing a share of the sunshine and shade
Wherewith our young life was invested.
 
 
And black eyes and blue eyes and brown eyes and gray
Looked up to the face of our mother,
As she led us in study in labor or play,
Or told of "Our Father," and taught us to pray,
And to cherish and love one another.
 
 
O, the rapture of being when life is a-tune
With the song-life and beauty of morning;
When the roseate dawn brightens into the noon,
And the year hastens on to the splendor of June,
In her fragrance and matchless adorning.
 
 
So our years flitted by and the youngest of all —
Our dark-eyed and fun-loving brother —
Was grown to be manly and lithesome and tall,
And to couteous titles we answered the call,
But were still "boys" and "girls" to each other.
 
 
O, the joy of endeavor, endurance and toil
On thro' summer-time vigor and sweetness,
Of triumph o'er that which would hinder or foil,
Of the patience of hope after tears and turmoil,
In the glory of autumn's completeness.
 
 
And the toil and the turmoil and tears have been ours —
From our ranks we have missed a loved brother
We've encountered the thorns, but we've cherished the flowers;
We've passed under the clouds on to sunnier hours,
And we're still "boys" and "girls" to each other.
 

A SMILE

 
The gliding of a fairy form
And rosy lips that knew no guile,
With wonder parted, came to ask,
"Papa, what is a smile?"
 
 
A smile, whate'er it is, then stole
That gentle parent's features o'er;
For ne'er to him had been proposed
Query so strange before.
 
 
But while he pondered in his heart
How he should to his child reply,
A new, triumphant joy lit up
Her loving, lustrous eye; —
 
 
And with this gladsome, new-found thought,
She answered in her own behalf:
"Oh, now, I know; a smile must be
The whisper to a laugh!"
 

"A SPARROW ALONE ON THE HOUSETOP"

 
Sing, little sparrow, sing thy song.
No peril neareth thee;
Tho night be dark or day be long,
Or clouds hang low, sing on, sing on,
The dear God heareth thee.
 
 
Sing, little bird, whate'er befall —
Trill out thine utmost need;
Thou canst not soar, thou canst not fall
But He will note who knoweth all,
And He thy plaint will heed.
 
 
O little sparrow, far and high
Thy soft notes God-ward go,
And I with thee send up my cry,
And both shall somewhere find reply,
God careth for us so.
 

TO MOTHER

 
O mother, from thy home beyond the stars
Hast thou not known the yearning of thy child
For thy sweet love? Hast thou not heard her wild
And piteous moaning for thy soft caress?
Felt her heart's aching for the tenderness
And the low patience of thy loving voice?
Hast thou not seen her 'mid life's toils and jars,
Pant as a bird behind its prison bars,
For freedom to fly forth and be with thee?
And canst thou not, sweet mother, send reply?
Oh, thro' the depths of glory, thro' the sky,
Look for one moment down and say to me
That all of loss on earth thou findest to be
Great gain in heaven; that thou dost rejoice
In all that was, and is, and shall betide
At last to all; and that, in Him who died,
Yet liveth evermore, I, too, shall see
All discord blended into harmony;
And that I, too, shall be, as thou art, satisfied.
 

PSALM CXXI

INSCRIBED TO MY SISTER, R. S. B

 
Lift up thine eyes unto the hills;
A pure and fragrant breath
Is wafted from their purple tops, —
The Heaven-sent breath of Faith.
 
 
Lift up thine eyes unto the hills;
Beyond their shadowy slope
The Sun of Righteousness doth rise
In roseate dawn of Hope.
 
 
Lift up thine eyes unto the hills;
Around, below, above,
The holy sky is all aglow
With the warm light of Love.
 
 
Lift up thine eyes unto the hills; —
Faith, Hope and Love are given
To point from fading joys of earth,
To endless joy of Heaven.