Gnost-like I paced round the haunts of my child- O Father of eternal life, and all hood, Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse, Secking to find the old familiar faces. Created glories under thee! Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall Into true liberty. THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE. To weary hearts, to mourning homes, There's quiet in that Angel's glance, Angel of Patience! sent to calm Our feverish brows with cooling palm; 66 THE FIRST SNOW-FALL. THE Snow had begun in the gloaming, And busily all the night Had been heaping field and highway With a silence deep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock Wore ermine too dear for an earl, And the poorest twig on the elm-tree Was ridged inch deep with pearl. From sheds new-roofed with Carrara Came Chanticleer's muffled crow, The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down, And still fluttered down the snow. I stood and watched by the window I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn Up spoke our own little Mabel, Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?" And I told of the good All-father Who cares for us here below. Again I looked at the snow-fall, And thought of the leaden sky That arched o'er our first great sorrow, When that mound was heaped so high. I remembered the gradual patience That fell from that cloud like snow, Flake by flake, healing and hiding The scar of our deep-plunged woe. And again to the child I whispered, Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her; THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. THERE is a Reaper whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between. "Shall I have naught that is fair?" saith he ; "Have naught but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. "My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,' The Reaper said, and smiled; "Dear tokens of the earth are they, Where he was once a child. "They shall all bloom in fields of light, Transplanted by my care, And saints, upon their garments white, These sacred blossoms wear." And the mother gave, in tears and pain, O, not in cruelty, not in wrath, T was an angel visited the green earth, HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. OVER THE RIVER. OVER the river they beckon to me, Loved ones who 've crossed to the farther side, The gleam of their snowy robes I see, But their voices are lost in the dashing tide. There's one with ringlets of sunny gold, And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue; He crossed in the twilight gray and cold, And the pale mist hid him from mortal view. We saw not the angels who met him there, The gates of the city we could not sce: Over the river, over the river, My brother stands waiting to welcome me. Over the river the boatman pale Carried another, the household pet ; Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale, Darling Minnie! I see her yet. She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands, And fearlessly entered the phantom bark; We felt it glide from the silver sands, And all our sunshine grew strangely dark; We know she is safe on the farther side, Where all the ransomed and angels be: Over the river, the mystic river, My childhood's idol is waiting for me. For none return from those quiet shores, And catch a gleam of the snowy sail; And lo they have passed from our yearning hearts, They cross the stream and are gone for aye. We may not sunder the veil apart That hides from our vision the gates of day: We only know that their barks no more May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea; And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold Is flushing river and hill and shore, I shall one day stand by the water cold, And list for the sound of the boatman's oar; I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail, I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand, I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale To the better shore of the spirit land I shall know the loved who have gone before, And joyfully sweet will the meeting be, When over the river, the peaceful river, The angel of death shall carry me. NANCY WOODBURY PRIEST. THE TWO WAITINGS. I. DEAR hearts, you were waiting a year ago You were wondering deeply, with bated breath, O, would it be this, or would it be that? Would it be girl or boy? Would it look like father or mother most? And what should you do for joy? And then, one day, when the time was full, Was it or not what you had dreamed? It was, and yet it was not; But O, it was better a thousand times Than ever you wished or thought. II. And now, dear hearts, you are waiting again, For the baby that was a future dream A dream of sunshine, and all that 's sweet; Of all that is pure and bright; Of eyes that were blue as the sky by day, And as soft as the stars by night. You are waiting again for the fulness of time, And the glory to be revealed; You are wondering deeply with aching hearts What treasure is now concealed. O, will she be this, or will she be that? That will tell you sure that she is your own, As it was before, it will be again, When the veil is rent, and the glory is seen, will more than your hope fulfil. JOHN WHITE CHADWICK. For Charlie's sake I will arise; I will anoint me where he lies, The bond the angel Death did sign, |