His shadow shows upon the wall,
Like spectres in the gloom,
And dismal as a funeral pall
Within that wretched room.

He counts until the golden hills
Reveal the coming morn,
Then with his gold the coffers fills,
With toil and watching worn.

Then on a wretched pallet sleeps
Till eve again comes round,
Dreaming of robbers, wails, and weeps,
And starts at every sound.

Man, waken to a nobler aim,
Disclaim this cursed lust,

A wretch, the meaning of thy name,
Thou groveller in the dust.

December 22, 1859.

TO LORD SHAFTESBURY.

High is the standard which thy conscience willeth, The standard's high, but well thy life fulfilleth, Thy moral sense unto the highest reacheth,

Thy life its practice eminently teacheth.

G

Lessons of love, O whilst thy heart is learning,
Like beacon on a hill thy life is burning,
Jesus thy Lord and Master imitating,
Thy life His life is sweetly illustrating.

In every work of good thy hand is sharing;
O not the coronet thy brow is wearing,

O not the ermine which thy robe's adorning,
(These for themselves alone thy heart is scorning.)

Not the baronial hall where thou art dwelling,
Not the broad meadows into distance swelling,
Through thy demesne not the fair river flowing
Upon its banks where ancient oaks are growing.

Not noble blood which through thy veins is running,
Not star, or garter, intellect, wit, cunning;
Not manly beauty (though this too possessing)
And not thy children's love and fond caressing;

O not in this or these is thy deserving,
But in thy fellow-creatures' love and serving,
The poor man's rights and privileges pleading,
Unto thy country for them interceding.

This is thy merit, Ashley, and high guerdon,
Failure in this thy greatest grief and burden,

But thou shalt win, though not at once succeeding For God with thee unto our hearts is pleading.

December 23, 1859.

TO GEORGINA,

ON HER NINETEENTH BIRTHDAY, DEC. 30, 1859.

The river from its native hill,
Soon wanders far away,
Meandering through the vale at will,

Unto the distant bay.

As on it flows each little rill,

Which floweth at its side,
Since first it left its native hill,
Contributes to its tide.

Until within its banks at last,

It flows a mighty tide,

With current strong and free and fast
On which the vessels glide.

Thus has your spring-time run its way
As fair, as free, as fast;

Bright as a golden summer's day,
So has your childhood passed.

Of the past years the added sum
Leaves you, love, just nineteen,
The first morn of another's come,
With breath so cold and keen;

The herald of another year,
Which counteth into time,

As sounds the bell of midnight clear
From the spire's distant chime.

A prayer to God, love, I address,
Who made the world and thee,
That He would all thy journey bless,
Thy guide and guardian be

Until thou reach the distant sea

Which boundeth life and time,

The ocean of eternity,

Deep, fathomless, sublime.

December, 1859.

THE WILL FREE.

To take or leave, free is my will,
To leave or take my God allows;

To choose the good, to choose the ill,
The truth to speak, or break my vows.

And if I serve beneath a law,

It is a service self-imposed,

My own free will my mind doth draw,
Unto constraint it is opposed.

Twixt God and Satan I can choose,
The power to do so proves me free;
The object which my will pursues,
Or good or evil it must be.

If under Satan I enrol,

And in my hands his banner hold, God gave that freedom to my soul, Leaving my will quite uncontrolled.

But if on God I lean, and write
My name upon His muster-roll,
I exercise a freeman's right,

The right of an unfettered soul.

Free in my will to Christ I pray
The better part that I may choose,
Lest I be on the Judgment Day

Condemned when Satan shall accuse..

December 28, 1859.