LINES SUGGESTED BY AN ALLUSION IN THE MEMOIR OF REV. O. W. B. PEABODY.
GOLDEN gleams of noonday fell
On the pavement of the cell,
And the monk still lingered there
In the ecstasy of prayer:
Fuller floods of glory streamed
Through the window, and it seemed
Like an answering glow of love,
From the countenance above.
On the silence of the cell
Break the faint tones of a bell.
'T is the hour when at the gate
Crowds of poor and hungry wait,
Wan and wistful, to be fed
With the friar of mercy's bread.
Hark! that chime of-heaven's far bells!
On the monk's rapt ear it swells.
No! fond, flattering dream, away!
Mercy calls; no longer stay!
Whom thou yearnest here to find
In the musings of thy mind,
God and Jesus, lo, they wait
Knocking at thy convent gate!
From his knees the monk arose ;
With full heart and hand he goes,
At his gate the poor relieves,
Gives a blessing, and receives;
To his cell returned, and there
Found the angel of his prayer,
Who with radiant features said,
"Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled."
"Not to myself alone,"
The little opening flower transported cries,-
"Not to myself alone I bud and bloom;
With fragrant breath the breezes I perfume,
And gladden all things with my rainbow dyes.
The bee comes sipping, every eventide,
His dainty fill;
The butterfly within my cup doth hide
From threatening ill."
The circling star with honest pride doth boast, -
"Not to myself alone, I rise and set;
I write upon night's coronal of jet
His power and skill who formed our myriad host;
A friendly beacon at heaven's open gate,
I gem the sky,
That man might ne'er forget, in every fate,
His home on high."
The heavy-laden bee doth murmuring hum,-
"Not to myself alone, from flower to flower,
I rove the wood, the garden, and the bower,
And to the hive at evening weary come:
For man, for man, the luscious food I pile,
With busy care,
Content if I repay my ceaseless toil
With scanty share."
"Not to myself alone,"
The soaring bird with lusty pinion sings, "Not to myself alone I raise my song;
I cheer the drooping with my warbling tongue,
And bear the mourner on my viewless wings;
I bid the hymnless churl my anthem learn,
And God adore;
I call the worldling from his dross to turn,
And sing and soar."
The streamlet whispers on its pebbly way,-
"Not to myself alone I sparkling glide;
I scatter health and life on every side,
And strew the fields with herb and floweret gay.
I sing unto the common, bleak and bare,
My gladsome tune;
I sweeten and refresh the languid air
In droughty June."
"Not to myself alone";
O man! forget not thou-earth's honored priest,
Its tongue, its soul, its life, its pulse, its heart-
In earth's great chorus to sustain thy part!
Chiefest of guests at love's ungrudging feast,
Play not the niggard; spurn thy native clod,
And self disown;
Live to thy neighbor; live unto thy God;
Not to thyself alone!
STILL, as of old, thy precious word
Is by the nations dimly heard;
The hearts its holiness hath stirred
Are weak and few.
Wise men the secret dare not tell;
Still in thy temple slumbers well
Good Eli: O, like Samuel,
Lord, here am I!
Few years, no wisdom, no renown,
Only my life can I lay down;
Only my heart, Lord! to thy throne
I bring; and pray,
That child of thine I may go forth,
And spread glad tidings through the earth, And teach sad hearts to know thy worth. Lord, here am I!
Thy messenger, all-loving One!
The errands of thy truth to run,
The wisdom of thy holy Son
To teach and live!
purse or scrip, no staff or sword; Be pure intent my wings, O Lord!
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