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RESOLUTIONS FOR THE DAY

 
To rise in the morning and drink in the view —
The home where I dwell in the vale,
The blossoms whose fragrance and charms ever new
Are scattered o'er hillside and dale;
 
 
To gaze on the sunbeams enkindling the sky —
A loftier life to invite —
A light that illumines my spiritual eye,
And inspires my pen as I write;
 
 
To form resolutions, with strength from on high,
Such physical laws to obey,
As reason with appetite, pleasures deny,
That health may my efforts repay;
 
 
To kneel at the altar of mercy and pray
That pardon and grace, through His Son,
May comfort my soul all the wearisome day,
And cheer me with hope when 'tis done;
 
 
To daily remember my blessings and charge,
And make this my humble request:
Increase Thou my faith and my vision enlarge,
And bless me with Christ's promised rest;
 
 
To hourly seek for deliverance strong
From selfishness, sinfulness, dearth,
From vanity, folly, and all that is wrong —
With ambition that binds us to earth;
 
 
To kindly pass over a wound, or a foe
(And mem'ry but part us awhile),
To breathe forth a prayer that His love I may know,
Whose mercies my sorrows beguile, —
 
 
If these resolutions are acted up to,
And faith spreads her pinions abroad,
'Twill be sweet when I ponder the days may be few
That waft me away to my God.
 

Written in girlhood.

O FOR THY WINGS, SWEET BIRD!

 
O for thy wings, sweet bird!
And soul of melody by being blest —
Like thee, my voice had stirred
Some dear remembrance in a weary breast.
 
 
But whither wouldst thou rove,
Bird of the airy wing, and fold thy plumes?
In what dark leafy grove
Wouldst chant thy vespers 'mid rich glooms?
 
 
Or sing thy love-lorn note —
In deeper solitude, where nymph or saint
Has wooed some mystic spot,
Divinely desolate the shrine to paint?
 
 
Yet wherefore ask thy doom?
Blessed compared with me thou art —
Unto thy greenwood home
Bearing no bitter memory at heart;
 
 
Wearing no earthly chain,
Thou canst in azure bright soar far above;
Nor pinest thou in vain
O'er joys departed, unforgotten love.
 
 
O take me to thy bower!
Beguile the lagging hours of weariness
With strain which hath strange power
To make me love thee as I love life less!
 
 
From mortal consciousness
Which binds to earth – infirmity of woe!
Or pining tenderness —
Whose streams will never dry or cease to flow;
 
 
An aching, voiceless void,
Hushed in the heart whereunto none reply,
And in the cringing crowd
Companionless! Bird, bear me through the sky!
 

Written more than sixty years ago for the New Hampshire Patriot.

COME THOU

 
Come, in the minstrel's lay;
When two hearts meet,
And true hearts greet,
And all is morn and May.
 
 
Come Thou! and now, anew,
To thought and deed
Give sober speed,
Thy will to know, and do.
 
 
Stay! till the storms are o'er —
The cold blasts done,
The reign of heaven begun,
And Love, the evermore.
 
 
Be patient, waiting heart:
Light, Love divine
Is here, and thine;
You therefore cannot part.
 
 
"The seasons come and go:
Love, like the sea,
Rolls on with thee, —
But knows no ebb and flow.
 
 
"Faith, hope, and tears, triune,
Above the sod
Find peace in God,
And one eternal noon."
 
 
Oh, Thou hast heard my prayer;
And I am blest!
This is Thy high behest:
Thou, here and everywhere.
 

WISH AND ITEM

To the editor of the Item, Lynn, Mass.

 
I hope the heart that's hungry
For things above the floor,
Will find within its portals
An item rich in store;
 
 
That melancholy mortals
Will count their mercies o'er,
And learn that Truth and wisdom
Have many items more;
 
 
That when a wrong is done us,
It stirs no thought of strife;
And Love becomes the substance,
As item, of our life;
 
 
That every ragged urchin,
With bare feet soiled or sore,
Share God's most tender mercies, —
Find items at our door.
 
 
Then if we've done to others
Some good ne'er told before,
When angels shall repeat it,
'Twill be an item more.
 

DEDICATION OF A TEMPERANCE HALL

 
Author of all divine
Gifts, lofty, pure, and free,
Temperance and truth in song sublime
An offering bring to Thee!
 
 
A temple, whose high dome
Rose from a water-cup;
And from its altar to Thy throne
May we press on and up!
 
 
And she – last at the cross,
First at the tomb, who waits —
Woman – will watch to cleanse from dross
The cause she elevates.
 
 
Sons of the old Bay State,
Work for our glorious cause!
And be your waiting hearts elate,
Since temperance makes your laws.
 
 
"Temples of Honor," all,
"Social," or grand, or great,
This blazoned, brilliant temperance hall
To Thee we dedicate.
 
 
"Good Templars" one and all,
Good "Sons," and daughters, too,
We dedicate this temperance hall
To God, to Truth, and you!
 

Lynn, Mass., August 4, 1866.

LINES

Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer. —Moore.

 
Was that fold for the lambkin soft virtue's repose,
Where the weary and earth-stricken lay down their woes, —
When the fountain and leaflet are frozen and sere,
And the mountains more friendless, – their home is not here?
 
 
When the herd had forsaken, and left them to stray
From the green sunny slopes of the woodland away;
Where the music of waters had fled to the sea,
And this life but one given to suffer and be?
 
 
Was it then thou didst call them to banish all pain,
And the harpstring, just breaking, reecho again
To a strain of enchantment that flowed as the wave,
Where they waited to welcome the murmur it gave?
 
 
Oh, there's never a shadow where sunshine is not,
And never the sunshine without a dark spot;
Yet there's one will be victor, for glory and fame,
Without heart to define them, were only a name!
 

Lynn, Mass., February 19, 1868.

TO THE SUNDAY SCHOOL CHILDREN

Who sent me the picture depictive of Isaiah xi

 
Jesus loves you! so does mother:
Glad thy Eastertide:
Loving God and one another,
You in Him abide.
Ours through Him who gave you to us, —
Gentle as the dove,
Fondling e'en the lion furious,
Leading kine with love.
 
 
Father, in Thy great heart hold them
Ever thus as Thine!
Shield and guide and guard them; and, when
At some siren shrine
They would lay their pure hearts' off'ring,
Light with wisdom's ray —
Beacon beams – athwart the weakly,
Rough or treacherous way.
 
 
Temper every trembling footfall,
Till they gain at last —
Safe in Science, bright with glory —
Just the way Thou hast:
Then, O tender Love and wisdom,
Crown the lives thus blest
With the guerdon of Thy bosom,
Whereon they may rest!
 

Pleasant View, Concord, N. H., April 3, 1899.