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BE YE ALSO READY

 
Let us be still before Him. Yet once more
That voice hath spoken to our startled souls
Which fell in solemn cadence on the ear
Of the hushed listeners on Mt. Olive's hill:
"At eventide, at midnight, or at morn,
The Son of Man shall come, shall surely come;
Be ready, for ye may not know the hour."
And if at eventide, when Nature folds
Her toil-spent hands and sinks into repose;
Or if at midnight hour of gloom Thou come,
Or when the morning spreads her wings of light,
Oh make us ready for the solemn call.
Supply our need, of knowledge, wisdom, grace,
Dear Lord, that with confiding joy our souls,
Made pure of sin and strong in faith, may go
To meet Thee at Thy coming. If the sound
Of sweet home-voices follow to the brink
Of death's dark river, as they fainter grow,
Then let us hear Thy still small voice of love;
Say to us, "It is I – be not afraid."
Or if the angel of the icy hand
Should find us when no human friend is near
And summon us away, then as we lose
Our hold of earth and fall away from life,
O wilt Thou grant our parting spirits may
Go out in silence and be found with Thee.
 

MIMOSA

 
A modest plant; soft shades of green
In leaflets poised on slender stem;
And all outspread to catch the glow
Of morning sun or dew-drop gem.
 
 
But, lo, what change! When finger-tips
But touch the leaflets' fringe, the charm
Of life is gone – Mimosa shrinks,
As conscious of some present harm.
 
 
So would I have my soul recoil
From touch of wrong or thought of sin;
So throw its portals wide again,
To let the dew and sunshine in.
 

AT THE CRISIS

I. – THE STEAMBOAT BELLS

When steamboats approach Mt. Vernon their bells begin to toll, and continue the mournful service until the sacred spot is again left in the distance.

 
Mt. Vernon's shade sweet vigil keeps
Where on her breast her hero sleeps;
O passing bells, soft be your tone,
Toll gently for our Washington.
 
 
Toll, the great Warrior's strife is o'er;
Toll, for the Statesman pleads no more;
Toll – for a Man is fallen – on,
Peal out your dirge for Washington.
 
 
Toll for a people's wounded heart,
Toll for a bleeding Nation's smart,
Toll for a World! – toll sadly on —
The world hath lost a Washington.
 
 
Ring out your wailing on the air,
And let it be a voice of prayer;
He whom we greatly need is gone; —
God give another Washington.
 

1863

 
Thus while she listened to the mournful knell
That woke sad echoes on Potomac's shore;
Saw how from Sumter's height her banner fell,
And heard, not distant far, loud battle's roar; —
 
 
Thus, while she heard the impatient bondman's moan,
Knew her own power defied, her trust betrayed;
While Treason rose to hurl her from her throne —
The Spirit of the Union mused and prayed.
 

II. – THE EMANCIPATOR

 
God gave another; while we stood
Aghast before the coming flood
Of war, and its attending woes,
The one for whom she prayed arose.
 
 
Blinded and deaf, we knew him not;
Yet saw him wipe out slavery's blot;
Heard him proclaim his people free,
From lake to gulf, from sea to sea.
 
 
Saw this and heard, but deaf and blind,
We failed to recognize the Mind,
Which, going on from strength to strength,
From grace to grace, had grown at length,
 
 
Thro the stern lessons of the hour,
Of danger, censure, praise and power,
To be the Man among us, one,
Whom now we hail, since he is gone,
Lincoln, our more than Washington.
 

1866

ON THE DEATH OF DR. JAMES E. RHOADS

 
Fallen? No; his part was finished
In the earthly toil and strife;
He hath but lain his armor by,
And entered into life.
 
 
Silent? No; tho' hushed forever
Tones that did like music thrill,
Through example, helpful, holy,
Lo, he speaketh still.
 
 
Vanished? Lost to those that loved him?
No; his spirit lingering near
Still doth woo them, onward, upward,
Whispering, "Be of cheer."
 
 
Crowned? Aye, crowned in earth and heaven;
Here with laurels fairly won;
There with star-lit diadem,
Inscribed "Well done! well done!"
 

ETERNAL YOUTH

 
Looking in thine eyes of azure,
Looking on thy hair of gold,
Once I wished, Evangelina,
That there were no growing old.
 
 
For I thought of how thy sweet eyes
Would grow dim with tears and care;
How the years would turn to silver
All thy wealth of golden hair.
 
 
How the lines of life would gather
O'er the face so placid now;
Traces of its toil and struggle
Touching lip and cheek and brow.
 
 
This I thought, and wished the shadows
Might not lengthen o'er thy way;
Wished there were no time but spring-time,
Were no evening of the day.
 
 
Now I fear, Evangelina,
That my wish was half a prayer,
That the listening Father heard me,
That thou liest, an answer, there.
 
 
For thou liest in thy beauty, —
Eyes of blue and hair of gold,
Lip and cheek and brow of marble,
Folded fingers, still and cold; —
O my angel, God hath called thee
Where there is no growing old.
 

BUILDING TIME

 
The time of the singing of birds is come;
'Tis the happiest time of the year:
They are saying, "Let's build us our summer home,
For the frost-king no longer we fear."
 
 
The time of the singing of birds is come,
And the time of their building, too;
With a feather, a straw and a stray bit of gum
They will shew what bird-builders can do.
 
 
The time of the singing of birds is come:
I was eaves-dropping under the trees;
And as I translated the twitter and hum,
I thought the words sounded like these:
 
 
"Twirr-a-whirr, twirr-a-whirr,
The young leaves are astir;
We will make us a nest snug and warm
On this apple-tree bough —
We are at it e'en now —
All secure from intruders and storm.
 
 
"'Tis for home, 'tis for love,
'Tis for heaven above,
And our roof is the clear azure sky;
The foundations we lay
In this rough straw and clay,
But we'll line it with moss by and by."
 
 
The time of the singing of birds is here,
And if under the apple-tree bough
Orlando and May would a domicile rear,
Let them hear what the birds tell them now:
 
 
"Build for home, build for love,
Build for heaven above,
Build with music and cheer like the birds;
And if palace or cot,
Built of marble or what,
Line your nest with the moss of kind words,"
 

SUNRISE

The incident here narrated occurred some years ago at the Media Training School for Feeble-Minded Children, then in care of Dr. I. N. Kerlin.

 
A feeble, idiot boy, he stood
Where Nature in her beauty grew,
And over field and flowering wood
Her summer mantle lightly threw.
 
 
The scene had met his eye before;
The pleasant path he oft had trod;
And one who sought in simple lore
To teach him things of heaven and God
 
 
Had often wandered with him there,
And pointed out each lovely spot, —
The sunlit cloud – the floweret fair —
But still he comprehended not.
 
 
For all his soul was void and still,
And darkness held his mind in thrall;
He recognized no Sovereign Will,
Nor saw the hand of God in all.
 
 
In Nature's presence now alone
He stood, and filled with silent awe,
Beheld, before the coming sun,
The curtained Night in haste withdraw.
 
 
And gazing there with vacant eye,
All motionless and mute he waits,
When lo! the chariot of the sky
Rolls through the morning's crimson gates.
 
 
The orient beams with beauteous light —
Hath not his soul its radiance caught?
His being grasps a new delight;
A deep, mysterious change is wrought.
 
 
A light is kindled in his breast;
A temple-veil at length is riven;
And in that hour of strange unrest
A thought is born – of God in heaven.
 
 
In haste he seeks his tutor's side,
For he who "bore in grief a part"
Will, in this happy hour of pride,
Responsive hail his joy of heart.
 
 
The glowing cheek, the flashing eye,
The parted lips —not voiceless now—
And, caught from that resplendent sky,
The marvelous light upon his brow, —
 
 
While these, ere yet he speaks, attest
The rapture which that thought has given;
He lifts his finger toward the east
And softly whispers, "God, in Heaven!"
 
 
O blessed hour! and happy he
To whom, thro patient love 'twas given
To set a fettered spirit free,
And wake a hope of God in Heaven
 

NEAL DOW

WRITTEN FOR A MEMORIAL DAY SERVICE

 
A Soul was stirred as one thro' blinding tears
Rehearsed a tale of want and cruel wrong;
Keen indignation banished doubts and fears;
The purpose of imperial youth grew strong.
 
 
A Voice was heard: "Alas! that on the side
Of sin and mad oppression there is power,
But we will change all this, if God so aid": —
And Maine's new freedom dated from that hour.
 
 
A Life was given; fraught with noble deeds; —
Aflame with words of truth, and tireless zeal,
And boldness for the right that gave no heed
To threatening hate, or sycophant's appeal.
 
 
But men decried the fervor of that Soul,
And would have hushed the Voice that pleaded still
Against the oppressors' power, and such control
As brought them gain, all others loss and ill.
 
 
And men denounced that Life; and where it came
Ofttimes their scoffings tainted the sweet air,
As with malicious scorn they hailed a name
That calumny itself left clean and fair.
 
 
And now that Soul hath entered into rest;
That Voice is silent, and that peerless Life
Hath crossed the threshold where the good and blest
Enter, and cease from sorrow, toil and strife.
 
 
O Life and Voice and Soul! O princely one!
Our loyal hearts send greeting to thee now;
Thy name has lighted near a century gone, —
'Twill brighten ages yet to come, Neal Dow.