"Under the apple-boughs as I sit In May-time, when the robin's song Thrills the odorous winds along, The innermost heaven seems to ope; I think, though the old joys pass from sight, Still something is left for hearts' delight, For life is endless, and so is hope. "If the aloe waits an hundred years, And God's times are so long indeed For simple things, as flower and weed, That gather only the light and gloom, For what great treasures of joy and dole, Of life and death, perchance, must the soul, Ere it flower in heavenly peace, find room? "I see that all things wait in trust, As feeling afar God's distant ends, And unto every creature he sends That measure of good that fills its scope; The marmot enters the stiffening mould, And the worm its dark sepulchral fold, To hide there with its beautiful hope." Still Bertha waited on the cliff, To catch the gleam of a coming sail, And the distant whisper of the gale, Winging the unforgotten home; And hope at her yearning heart would knock, When a sunbeam on a far-off rock Married a wreath of wandering foam. Was it well? you ask-(nay, was it ili?)Who sat last year by the old man's hearth; The sun had passed below the earth, And the first star locked its western gate, When Bertha entered his darkening home, And smiling said, "He does not come, But, dearest father, we still can wait!" J. H. PERKINS. [U. S. A.] THE UPRIGHT SOUL. 269 LATE to our town there came a maid, A noble woman, true and pure, Who, in the little while she stayed, Wrought works that shall endure. It was not anything she said, It was not anything she did: It was the movement of her head, The lifting of her lid. Her little motions when she spoke, The presence of an upright soul, The living light that from her broke, It was the perfect whole : We saw it in her floating hair, We saw it in her laughing eye; For every look and feature there Wrought works that cannot die. For she to many spirits gave A reverence for the true, the pure, The perfect, that has power to save, And make the doubting sure. She passed, she went to other lands, The wondrous product of her hands She knew not of the work she did; From her is ever hid. Forever, did I say? O, no! The time must come when she will look Upon her pilgrimage below, And find it in God's book, That, as she trod her path aright, Power from her very garments stole; A deed, a word, our careless rest, Has from him powers of healing. Go, maiden, with thy golden tresses, Forget him he will not forget, But strive to live and testify But gin ye lo'ed me as I lo'e you, I wad ring my ain deid knell; Thy goodness, when earth's sun has set, Mysel' wad vanish, shot through and And Time itself rolled by. GEORGE MACDONALD. O LASSIE AYONT THE HILL! O LASSIE ayont the hill! Gin a body could be a thocht o' grace, And no a sel' ava! I'm sick o' my heid, and my han's and my face, An' my thochts and mysel' and a'; For thro' my een the sunbeams fa', O lassie ayont the hill! Come ower the tap o' the hill, For gin ance I saw yer bonnie heid, The ghaist o' mysel' wad fa' doun deid; I wad be mysel' nae mair. Slain by the arrows o' licht frae yer hair. O lassie ayont the hill, etc. But gin ye lo'ed me ever sae sma', I micht bide by mysel' the weary same; Till I turn frae the claes that cover my frame, As gin they war roun' the deid. O lassie ayont the hill, etc. through Wi' the shine o' yer sunny sel', By the licht aneath yer broo, O lassie ayont the hill! HYMN FOR THE MOTHER. My child is lying on my knees; The signs of heaven she reads; My face is all the heaven she sees, Is all the heaven she needs. And she is well, yea, bathed in bliss, And truthfulness and grace. I mean her well so earnestly, Unchanged in changing mood; My life would go without a sigh To bring her something good. I also am a child, and I I gaze upon the starry sky, For all behind the starry sky, Behind the world so broad, Behind men's hearts and souls doth lie The Infinite of God. Ay, true to her, though troubled sore, If I am low and sinful, bring More love where need is rife; Thou knowest what an awful thing It is to be a life. "Greeting!" "And may you speak, indeed?" All in the dark her sense grew clearer; She knew that she had, for company, All day an angel near her. "May you tell us of the life divine, To us unknown, to angels given?" "Count me your earthly joys, and I May teach you those of heaven." "They say the pleasures of earth are vain ; "And while he quickens the air with song, My breaths with scent, my fruits with flavor, Will he, dear angel, count as sin "See, at our feet the glow-worm shines, Lo! in the east a star arises; And thought may climb from worm to world Forever through fresh surprises: "And thought is joy. . . . And, hark! in the vale Music, and merry steps pursuing; They leap in the dance, -a soul in my blood Cries out, Awake, be doing! "Action is joy; or power at play, Or power at work in world or emprises: Action is life; part from the deed, More from the doing rises." "And are these all?" She flushed in the dark. "These are not all. I have a lover; At sound of his voice, at touch of his hand, The cup of my life runs over. "Once, unknowing, we looked and neared, And doubted, and neared, and rested never, Till life seized life, as flame meets flame, To escape no more forever. "Lover and husband; then was love The wine of my life, all life enhancing: Now 't is my bread, too needful and sweet To be kept for feast-day chancing. "I have a child." She seemed to change; The deep content of some brooding "O, sweet and creature Looked from her eyes. strange! Angel, be thou my teacher: "When He made us one in a babe, Was it for joy, or sorest proving? For now I fear no heaven could win Our hearts from earthly loving. "I have a friend. Howso I err, I see her uplifting love bend o'er me; Howso I climb to my best, I know Her foot will be there before me. VESPERS. ELIZABETH H. WHITTIER. WHEN I have said my quiet say, I thought beside the water's flow What matter now' for promise lost, Thou lovest still the poor; O, blest 273 ELIZABETH H. WHITTIER. [U. s. A., 1816-1848 ] CHARITY. THE pilgrim and stranger, who, through the day, Holds over the desert his trackless way, Where the terrible sands no shade have known, No sound of life save his camel's moan, Hears, at last, through the mercy of Allah to all, From his tent-door, at evening, the Bed ouin's call: "Whoever thou art, whose need is great, In the name of God, the Compassionate And Merciful One, for thee I wait!" ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN. WHEN THE GRASS SHALL COVER ME. WHEN the grass shall cover me, Head to foot where I am lying; When not any wind that blows, Summer bloom or winter snows, Shall awake me to your sighing: Close above me as you pass, You will say, "How kind she was," You will say, "How true she was," When the grass grows over me. When the grass shall cover me, Holden close to earth's warm bosom ; While I laugh, or weep, or sing, Nevermore for anything |