Puslapio vaizdai


It was the eve of Christmas, the snow lay deep and white,

I sat beside my window, and looked into the night; I heard the church bells ringing, I saw the bright

stars shine,

And childhood came again to me, with all its dreams divine.

Then, as I listened to the bells, and watched the

skies afar,

Out of the East majestical there rose one radiant star;

And ev'ry other star grew pale before that heav'nly glow,

It seemed to bid me follow, and I could not choose but go.

From street to street it led me, by many a mansion fair,

It shone thro' dingy casement on many a garret bare;

From highway on to highway, through alleys dark and cold,

And where it shone the darkness was flooded all with gold.

Sad hearts forgot their sorrow, rough hearts grew soft and mild,

And weary little children turned in their sleep and smiled;

While many a homeless wanderer uplifted patient eyes,

Seeming to see a home at last beyond those starry skies.

And then methought earth faded; I rose as borne on wings

Beyond the waste of ruined lives, the press of human things;

Above the toil and shadow, above the want and woe, My old self and its darkness seemed left on earth below.

And onward, upward shone the star, until it seemed to me

It flashed upon the golden gates and o'er the crys

tal sea;

And then the gates rolled backward, I stood where angels trod;

It was the star of Bethlehem, had led me up to God.


WHEN the eve is growing gray, and the tide is rolling in,

I sit and look across the bay to the bonny town of Lynn;

And the fisher-folks are near,
But I wis they never hear

The songs the far bells make for me, the bonny bells of Lynn.

The folks are chatting gay, and I hear their merry din,

But I look and look across the bay to the bonny town of Lynn;

He told me to wait here Upon the old brown pier,

To wait and watch him coming when the tide was rolling in.

O, I see him pulling strong, pulling o'er the bay to


And I hear his jovial song, and his merry face I


And now he's at the pier

My bonny love and dear! And he's coming up the sea-washed steps with hands outstretched to me.

O my love, your cheek is cold, and your hands are stark and thin!

O, hear you not the bells of old, the bonny bells of

O, have you naught to say
Upon our wedding-day?

Love, hear you not the wedding-bells across the bay of Lynn?

O my lover, speak to me! and hold me fast, mine own!

For I fear this rising sea, and these winds and waves that moan!

But never a word he said!
He is dead, my love is dead!

Ah me! ah me! I did but dream; and I am all alone,

Alone, and old and gray; and the tide is rolling in; But my heart's away, away, away, in the old grave-yard at Lynn!


ART thou thine own heart's conqueror?
Strive ever thus to be;

That is the fight that is most sore,
The noblest victory.

Art thou beloved by one true heart?
O prize it! it is rare;

There are so many in the mart,

So many false and fair.

[graphic][merged small][ocr errors]

Art thou alone? O say not so!

The world is full be sure; There is so much of want and woe, So much that thou cans't cure.

Art thou in poverty thyself?

Thou still cans't help a friend; Kind words are more than any pelf, Good deeds need never end.

Art thou content in youth or age?
Then let who will be great;
Thou hast the noblest heritage,
Thou hast the best estate.


ONCE in the days of old,

In the years of youth and mirth,
The Sea was a lover bright and bold,
And he loved the golden Earth.
The Sun, in his royal raiment clad,
Loved her and found her sweet,
But the Sea was content and glad
Only to be at her feet.

Ah! that the bards should sing,
And wail for the golden years!
Love was and is but an idle thing,
'Tis but a wind that veers.

And Earth in her beauty and pride,
Held her lips to the wooing Sun;
He said, "Thou art fair, O my bride,”
And she sang, "I am thine alone."
The faithful Sea at her faithless feet
Rolled with a broken moan;

"O Sun!" he cried, "but thy bride is sweet, And I am alone, alone!"

Ah! that the bards should sing,

And wail for the golden years! Love was and is but an idle thing, 'Tis but a wind that veers.

Oft would the Sun depart,

And his bride in her gloom made moan, And the Sea would cry that her loving heart Should be left to pine alone.

And his voice is strange and sad and sweet,

"O love, not mine! not mine!

I am content to lie at thy feet.
And love thee in storm and shine."

Ah! that the bards should sing,
And wail for the golden years!
Love was and is but an idle thing,
'Tis but a wind that veers.


ITH no distinction as a popular writer, Mr.

which are regarded by many thoughtful readers as possessed of remarkable originality and merit in the fields of fiction, poetry and speculative philosophy.

He was born at Agawam, Mass., in 1829, of old Puritan stock; a farmer's boy, spending his early years between the fields in summer and the district school in winter. Later he attended a classical school in Springfield for a number of winters, boarding at home, and crossing the river, often with great difficulty and peril from floating ice; yet never failing to be in his seat at the opening of school. Paying his way mainly by teaching, he entered Yale College in 1850, but was compelled, by serious illness, to abandon his studies for a year. He graduated from Union University in 1855, and in the following year was admitted to the bar at Springfield, Mass. After an active practice of three years, his health again failed, compelling him to seek a warmer latitude, where, after an interval of rest, at Washington, Ga., he taught an academy till the second year of the Civil War. Being unable for a time to pass the lines of the contending armies, a period of enforced seclusion followed, in which, having no other books at hand, he began, for the first time, a systematic study of the Bible, and became so impressed with its teachings that he determined to devote his life to the ministry. Returning north the following year, he taught the Brainerd Academy at Haddam, Conn., and subsequently the Yates Institute at Lancaster, Pa. In the summer of 1867 he was ordained, at Philadelphia, to the ministry of the Episcopal Church. In the following autumn he became rector of St. Paul's Church, Montrose, an ideal country parish located among the hills of Susquehanna County, Pa. Here, with the exception of two years, in which he was rector of Christ's Church ("Old Swedes") near Philadelphia, he has spent all the years of his ministry, having won enviable distinction for his literary attainments and pulpit ability; yet unwilling to accept a larger field-or, as he says, unable to separate himself from the surrounding forests and streams in which he has found health and inspiration for his literary and professional work.

With the exception of occasional poems written in his earlier years and published in current periodicals, his first literary production was "Victor La Tourette, a Novel by a Broad Churchman" (Boston, 1875). It made some stir in theological

[ocr errors]

circles, and may be regarded as the beginning of the broad church movement in America; yet its ideas being novel and regarded with distrust, it was received at the time with little popular favor. His next venture was "Kear" (Philadelphia, 1882). It was warmly received, and in some instances met with enthusiastic commendation as a "real and original poem," yet it was so filled with moral and speculative philosophies that it can not be regarded as a popular work.

In 1887 he published at Boston a small edition of his work-intended chiefly for distribution among his personal friends-entitled, "I Am That I Am." By the few who are interested in such studies, it is regarded as a very great and important production.

Mr. Warriner is slightly below middle height; and though slender is firmly knit and fond of all athletic sports, especially hunting and fishing, to which he devotes one day in seven. The likeness, printed with this sketch, though an excellent profile of his face, is yet untrue to its natural expression in which there is no trace of austerity. He is utterly without pretension, and though socially and professionally a successful man, is seemingly wholly indifferent to prominence and promotion, and though placing a high estimate upon the value of his books, he has not made the slightest effort to bring them to the public attention.


A TRINITY in all things there must be,

S. D. W.

For two straight lines can not inclose a space. All things are one, and one is all in Thee, Who doth all things within Himself embrace. Whether condition, matter, mind, or place, Triune must all things be, and all things one; And as the rainbow's colors interlace

And blend in white, so Father, Spirit, SonApart, Truth, Life, and Light-when joined, are God alone.

And as of every trinity each part

A substance is, each also is threefold And infinite. And so where'er we start, Or whatsoe'er direction move, behold

A limitless succession is unrolled:

In increase or decrease, in great or small, In time or space, changes, forms new or old, Unseen or seen, mental or physicalWithout a first or last, boundless, eternal all!

[blocks in formation]
« AnkstesnisTęsti »