Thus doing outrage to his soul, A sexton there at work he found; Replied he, "in this wide church-yard Alone seems holy ground." And then he told of Marien, And how she there had wept Over the child, that 'neath the mould, In dreamless quiet slept. "A little, friendless pauper child, She lieth here," said he; "Yet not a grave in all the ground Like this affecteth me!" Saying this, he wiped a tear aside, And turned from the place; - He left the town; and in a ship, Pursued her from the land. At first disease was 'mong her men; Next mutiny brake forth; and then As if there were no port for her, Lay moveless on the deep. Anon a tempest rose, and drove The ship before the gale, On the fourth night dark land appeared, At day-break only he remained To note the vessel's fate; The Crusoe of a desert isle, Abject and desolate. -The world went on as it was wont; And in the city street, And in the busy market-place, Upon the hearths of poor men's homes Men might not dwell alone. He clomb the cliffs to look afar A coming sail might be. He lit his beacon fires at night; He hoisted signals high;- He was not missed among his kind,- His lonely misery came. God saw him; saw his broken heart, Saw how his human pride was gone, Saw him and loved him. Broken heart, - Now Marien from the trading town Where dwelt a gentle race at rest As simple as a child's. With them abode sweet Marien: Upon the shore she lay, A strong wind came, and filled the sail, And bare her thence away. She had no fear, true Marien; That God was good, she knew, And even then had sent her forth Some work of love to do. The prodigal upon his rock Was kneeling, and his prayer For confidence in heaven, arose Upon the evening air, Just as the little boat approached The island bleak and bare. The boat ran up a creek, as if, "Twere steered by angels good; And ere the evening prayer was done Beside the youth she stood. The chiefest joy it hath not words And as if he had seen a sprite, His spirit died away. Then with clasped hands, and broken speech, He poured forth from his full heart PART XII. "BUT let us hence," said Marien; A light breeze from the desert shore And the little boat sailed on before, As friends long parted, met once more, And of the weary prodigal And how he bade the fairest robe "For this, my son," said he, "was dead, And is alive; is found, Who was long lost; 'tis meet, therefore, That stintless joy abound!" "Oh, child of woe," said Marien, And round about the Father's throne "Oh Lord, I bless thee," said the youth, "That of thy mercy great, Thou hast vouchsafed to rescue me And henceforth, to thy work of love "The meanest of thy creatures, low I bend before thy throne, And offer my poor self to make Thy loving-kindness known! "Oh father, give me words of power, The stony hearts to move; Give me prevailing eloquence, To publish forth thy love! Thy love which wearieth not; which like Oh Father, let me worship Thee I love not life; I ask not wealth; My heart and soul, my youth and health, So spake the youth; but now the boat Which, like a cloudland realm of bliss, Skyward rose sunny peaks, pale-hued, And crested palms, broad-leaved and tall, A lovely land of flowers, as fair And sorrow, that corrupting pair, A lovely land!" And even now," "For these, God kept thee in the wild, For these, his people, through distress "Thy work is here! Go forth, 'mid these Oh servant of the Lord, and tell Down to the shore the thousands came, To welcome Marien back, whom they "And welcome to thee, little child!" They sang forth sweet and clear; "And welcome to the stranger poor, Who cometh with thee here!" And then they brought him silken cloth, And ever as they served him, They sang forth sweet and low, "Would this repose might solace thee, These apples cure thy woe!" And though the twain knew not their speech, Yet well they understood The looks of love that welcomed them, With them for many a year abode The youth, and learned their tongue; And with the sound of Christian praise The hills and valleys rung. Oh beautiful beyond all lands That lay beneath the moon, Was that fair isle of Christian love A joyful people there they dwelt, And with them dwelt the holy youth, Willing himself to spend. Like to some ancient church of Christ, But now the work he had to do Was done; and ere his day They saw his cheek grow thin and pale; Old men, and youths, and women meek, In flowery thickets of the hills Sad mourners knelt in prayer, And round about his feet they sat, Now all this while good Marien Had wandered far and wide, And now unto the glorious isle "T was Sabbath eve, and o'er the isle A stil.ness, how unlike the calm A hush, as of suspended breath, Through the still vales went Marien, Onward she went, not many steps, With heart of mournful ruth, Beside him knelt she on the turf, And spoke in accents low Words of strong love, which like new life He raised himself, and blessing God, Had sent his angel there; With low-toned voice, more musical Than softest lute could make, Looking upon his weeping friends With fervent love, he spake. "Oh friends, beloved friends! weep not, Nor be oppressed with woe; 'Tis of His will, who doeth right, That I am called to go! "Fain would I tarry, but the cry Hath sounded in mine ear, "I go, but leave you not forlorn, "Oh weep not, friends; a better home Awaits me, and I go, But to that home which is prepared For ye who love me so! The Sabbath sun went down amid A golden, cloudless sky; And the freed spirit, cleansed from sin, Beneath the trees where he had died. Long time with them dwelt Marien, Until she was sent forth, New service on the earth. Good speed to thee, thou blessed child, Good speed to thee, thou blessed child - OLD CHRISTMAS. Now he who knows old Christmas, He comes warm cloaked and coated, We know that he will not fail us, So we sweep the hearth up clean; We set him the old armed chair, And a cushion whereon to lean. And with sprigs of holly and ivy We broach the strong ale barrel, That does one good to hear; He shakes one heartily by the hand, As he hath done many a year. And after the little children He asks in a cheerful tone, Jack, Kate, and little Annie,He remembers them every one! What a fine old fellow he is, With his faculties all as clear, And his heart as warm and light As a man's in his fortieth year! What a fine old fellow, in troth! Not one of your griping elves, Who, with plenty of money to spare, Think only about themselves! Not he! for he loveth the children, And comes with his pockets full of gifts, With a present for every servant ; For in giving he doth not tire ;From the red-faced, jovial butler, To the girl by the kitchen-fire. And he tells us witty old stories; And singeth with might and main; And we talk of the old man's visit Till the day that he comes again! Oh he is a kind old fellow, For though that beef be dear, He giveth the parish paupers A good dinner once a year! Oh, could you have seen those paupers, You would wish with them that Christmas He must be a rich old fellow, What money he gives away! There is not a lord in England Could equal him any day! Good luck unto old Christmas, THE TWELFTH HOUR. My friends, the spirit is at peace; Nor covet for me length of years, I know how strong are human ties; And words of power are in mine ear; "Thou human soul," they seem to say, "We are commissioned from above, Through the dark portal to convey Thee to the paradise of love; Thou need'st not shrink, thou need'st not fear; We, thy sure help, are gathered near! "Thy weakness on our strength confide; "Come, come! the gates of pearl unfold: And set the struggling spirit free!" "Tis done, 'tis done! - before my sight Opens the awful infinite: "OH brother," said fair Annie, To the blind boy at her side; "Would thou could'st see the sunshine lie On hill and valley, and the sky Hung like a glorious canopy O'er all things far and wide! "Would thou could'st see the waters In many a distant glen; "Would thou could'st see my face, brother, As well as I see thine; For always what I cannot see Yet thou dost ne'er repine!" Beside our cottage door, And people say, 'that boy is blind,' A world of beauty in my mind, A never-ceasing store. "I hear you talk of mountains, The beautiful, the grand; Of splintered peaks so grey and tall; Of lake, and glen, and waterfall; Of flowers and trees;-I ken them all;Their difference understand. "The harebell and the gowan Are not alike to me, Are different as the herd and flock, The blasted pine-tree of the rock, The waving birch, the broad, green oak, The river and the sea. "And oh, the heavenly music, That as I sit alone, Comes to mine inward sense as clear As if the angel voices were Before the mighty Throne! "It is not as of outward sound, Of breeze, or singing bird; But wondrous melody refined; A gift of God unto the blind; An inward harmony of mind, By inward senses heard! "And all the old-world stories That neighbours tell o' nights; I see the antic people play, - Yet where I seem to go. "But better far than this, Annie, His blessed form I see! "Oh, love is not of sight, Annie, Is not of outward things; For, in my inmost soul I know, His pity for all mortal woe; His words of love, spoke long ago, Unseal its deepest springs! "Then do not mourn for me, Annie, Because that I am blind;The beauty of all outward sight; The wondrous shows of day and night; All love, all faith, and all delight, Are strong in heart and mind!" |