The game opened with the Wards playing the up-hill end of the pitch. The love, unchangeable, unselfish, strong,— That I have craved, with heart and soul, so long. It sells advertising for its free service. Thursday and had to ride out a fierce gale all night. Ah, keys invisible of happy doors Which long ago our own hands fastened tight! South Vancouver Lumber Co. In other words, it's much saltier than the more common silicate-rich lava.
But the angels descended, so says the story, rent the wheel, and bore her away through the air, far over the sea, to Mount Sinai, where her body was left to repose, and her soul ascended with them to heaven. The rack, the cross, life's weary wrench of woe, Th.
Ah brief the calm! And our unrestful souls reflect no longer That tender vision of the upper sky. Espoused Lord of the pure saints in glory. So the bright gates no more on us shall close; No more the cloud of angels fade away; And we shall walk, amid life's weary strife, In the calm light of thine eternal day.
And some had hearts like a drop of blood. And some like a drop of dew; Down by the mill, down by the mill. Through all the summer hours. My beautiful, beautiful flowers! O, to see them bloom and blush, Was the sweetest show of shows! The daisy under the lilac bush; And the violet by the rose!
But all as fair as fair can grow, Down by the water, bright and still, My beautiful, beautiful flowers! O, the little maid of the mill. That dazzles and deceives, With a head as'bright as the daffodil. And a hand like the lily-leaves, She it is that makes them grow Through all the summer hours; They with cloaks of speckled dyes, And they with hoods about their eyes, Meek and modest, and high and low; She can tell, if tell she will, Why they dazzle down by the mill.
Hast bowed before Rhodope's grace? Those grand lack-lustre eyes perchance Saw Helen, like a goddess move; And Alexander's fateful trance That ruined Ilion for her love ; Didst hear stern Proteus quick dismiss The guest who marred a. Thou hast seen 1 he conq'ring Mede, the crafty Jew, Greek sages, Antony's dark queen: Is t to their ghosts in yon soft haze Thou turnst that everlasting gaze?
Great Horus, answer—art thou mute? Let me weave My puny fancies, knowing well Man may not learn the Inscrutable. What though thy buried secret sleeps In far Ogygian asone? Still The daily sunshine o'er thee creeps, And so for unknown ages will; And men shall view thy massive brow, And marvel at its calm as now.
But just go on. Doing my work, nor change nor seek to alter Aught that is gone; But rise and move, and love and smile, and pray, For one more day. And, lying down at night for a last sleeping. Say in that ear Which hearkens ever: And when to-morrow brings thee nearer still, Do thou thy will," I might not sleep for aye; but peaceful, tender, My soul would lie All the night long; and when the morning splendor Flushed o'er the sky, I think that I could smile — could calmly say, "It is his day.
Step after step, teeling thee close beside me. Through thorns, through flowers, whether the tempest hide thee. Assured thy ikithfulness cannot betray, Thy love decay. I may not know; my God, no hand revealeth Thy counsels wise; Along the path a deepening shadow stealeth; No voice replies To all my questioning thought, the time to tell; And it is well I Let me keep on, abiding and unfearing Thy will always, Through a long century's ripening fruition Or a short day's; Thou canst not come too soon ; and I can wait If thou come late.
From out a gracious bosom, Our bud of beauty grew; It fed on smiles for sunshine And tears for daintier dew. Aye nestling warm and tenderly. Our leaves of love were curled So close and close about our wee White Rose of all the world. Two flowers of beauteous crimson Grew with our Rose of light ; Still kept the sweet heaven-grafted slip Her whiteness saintly white.
Gianna Nicole Unleashes Asshole While Masturbating During AnalI' the wind of life they danced with glee, And reddened as they whirled; While white and wondrous grew our wee White Rose of all the world.
We saw-though none like us might see- buch precious promise pearled Upon the petals of our wee White Rose of all the world. But evermore the halo Of Angel-light increased; Like the mystery of moonlight, That folds some fairy feet. Our Rose was but in blossom; Our life was but in spring; When down the solemn midnight We heard the Spirits sing: You scarce could think so small a thing Could leave a loss so large; Her little light such shadow fling, From dawn to sunset's marge.
There's a song in the air! There's a star in the sky! There's a mother's deep prayer, And a baby's low cry! In the light of that Star Lie the ages impearled ; And that song from afar Has swept over the world. Every heart is aflame, and the Beautiful sing, In the homes of the nations that Jesus is King. We rejoice in the light And we echo the song That comes down through the night From the heavenly throng.
And we greet in his cradle our Saviour and King. Beholdest thou, in re-apparent light, Thy lost Republics? They were visions, fled. Their ghosts in ruin'd cities walk by night- It is no resurrection of their dead. Bubyland nev er again will be thine, Land of all mystery, holy, divine — Motherland, Otherland, Wonderland, Underland, Land of a time ne'er again to be seen; Flowerland, Bowerl.
Rockaby baby, thy mother will keep Gentle watch over thy azure-eyed sleep; Baby can't feel what the mother he; rt knows Throbbing its fear o'er your quiet repose. Mother heart knows how baby must fight Wearily on through the fast-coming night; Battle unending, Honor defendinsr.
Baby roust wage with the powers unseen. Sleep now, oh baby dear! God and thy mother near! Rockaby baby, thy cradle is green. Rockaby baby, the days will grow long; Silent the voice of thy mother's love-song; Bowed with sore burdens the man-life must own Sorrows that baby must bear all alone. If she be small, slight-natured, miserable. How shall men grow? For woman is not undeveloped man.
But diverse; could we make her as the man, Sweet love were slain: She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care. Nor lose the childlike in the larger mindj Till at the last she set herself to man, Like perfect music unto noble words; And so these twain, upon the skirts of Time, Sit side by side, full-summed in all their powers, Dispensing harvest, sowing the to-be.
Self-reverent each, and reverencing each, Distinct in individualities, But like each other even as those who love. Then comes the statelier Eden back to men: Then reign the world's great bridals, chaste and calm: Then springs the crowning race of humankind, May these things be. He carved it then on the yielding stone, With many a sharp incision, n With heaven's own light the sculptor shone He had caught the angel vision.
What hath entered my loved woods And touched their ereen wifh Ta. What Is this last or nf:: Who blanched my thistle's blushing face AncI gave the winds her silver hair? Hath toned the sky to softer blue: Hath crept along the river-side, And trod the valleys through and through; Discolored every hazel copse, And stricken all the pasture lands; Flung veds across the mountain tops, ' And bound their feet with yellow bands.
Is, then, September come so soon? Full time doth summer ne'er abide? While yet it seems but summer's n-on We're floating down the autumn tide. UT o, the botum of the sea, I From dim, rich c lastf ye m. And still the sea, relentless, grim, Calls his wild truants back to him ; Recalls the liberty he gave Wave after wave, wave after wave.
All sad at heart and desolate They heed the call; they bow to fate; And outward swept, a baffled train. Each feels his efFori was in vain: But ed by impulse lent by each The gradual tide upon the beach Rises to full, and thunders brave. Wave after wave, wave after wave. The day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies W. LkJ yt V The roaring camp-fire, with rude humor, painted The ruddy tints of health On haggard face and form that drooped and fainted In the fierce race for wealth ; Till one arose, and from his pack's scant treasure A hoarded volume drew.
And cards were dropped from hands of listless leisure, To hear the tale anew ; And then, while round them shadows gathered faster, And as the firelight fell. Wandered, and lost their way. And so in mountain solitudes — o'ertaken As by some spell divine — Their cares dropped from them like the needles shaken From out the gusty pine. Was ever couch magnificent as mine?
Yet beautifpl r is. Washing out harms and grie' u Uwiaory. Anl, in my mathematic ebb and flow, Giving a hint of that which changes not. Eicn are the sea-gods: TJi'-y grope the sea for pearls, but more than pearls. They pluck Force thence, and give it to the wise, I' or every wave is wealth to Daedalus; Wealth to the cunning artist w ho can work This matchless strength.
Where shall we find, O waves! A load your Atlas shoulders cannot lift? Then I unbar the doors; my paths lead out The exodus of nations; T di. I too, have ai and borceries; Illusion dwells forever with the wave. I know wl 't spelli i. Planting strange fruits and. I hnve seen him in the watch-fires of i. How many thousand years agone! This worm-defying, uncorrupted lid, Beh 'd the young;, licroic face, round-eyed.
With carven weapons wrought of bronze and gold. Accoutred like a warrior for the fray. We gaze in awe at these huge modeled limbs, Shrunk in death's narrow houst , but hinting yet Their ancient majesty; these sightless rims Whose living eyes the eyes oi Helen met; The speechless lips that ah!
Who dwarf our puny semblance, and who won The secret soul of Beauty for their own, While all our art but crudely apes their grace. We gather all the precious relics up, The golden buttons chased with wondrous craft. The sculptured trinkets and the crystal cup, The sheathed, bronae sword, the knife with brazen haft.
How of the Prince of Peace might he be told W. Of men degraded from a high estate. Where no sunlight ever rests, There we build our lonely nests; When the world is light as day. Hidden from the world we stay; When the world is all asleep, Darkness over land and deep. Then upon some ruined wall. Ancient kirk or pine-tree taH, All the lonely night time through We perch, and crone, " T'whit-t-whoo.
Ere the Sphinx his riddles told, Ere the pyramids were old, Egypt, ere a queen hadst thou, We were then as old as now. Countless ages are our own ; Crumbled empires are our throne. In league with Dust, and Change, and Fate, The world in ru: You little boys, who cares for you?
To keep the dreadful sound away. Flittmg by on joyful wing. Baby, m his own bird's-nelT bleeps, and dreams. Burdened with sin and guilt. By night and day — The Lord so great and high, So far away — I have no strength to bear My load to Him ; My feet are faint and worn; The way is dim; Then in my deep despair A star shines clear. Weaving in silver light, , "Jesus is near. JesuS — the Loving Heart, To soothe and heal: Jesus — Redeeming Heart, Open to all: Tell Him thy sin and want.
Saviour, with loving arms, Faithful and sure! Thou who hast known my grief, -f assion and pain. Aid me to follow Thee, Free from all stain. And at the Father's throne Ora pro me. Where grows the Christmas tree — The green, deep-rooted Christmas tree? By what brave bil, in what rich soil, Can spring the blooming Christmas tree? Is it fiom prairies broad and deep. Where future harvests softly sleep, And flocks of acres, far and free, Lie level as a waveless sea?
Or is it where a breeze-skein twines Between the lofty-plumaged pines? Or where sweet stealthy languor roves Among the Southland orange groves? Or blooms it best 'mid city homes. With wealth's unnumbered spires and domes? Or is it where, through changeful day, The mountain shadows creep and play, And swift a gleaming sun-flood rides Along the tall cliff's dappled sides?
What bears the Christmas tree — The bright, rich-fruited Christmas tree? And the Junes with the roses are staying. And this was the reason that long ago, In this kingdom by the sea. That her high-born kinsman came. And bore her away from me. To shut her up in a sepulchre. In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me.
That the wind came out of the cloud by night. Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. For the apparel oft proclaims the man: Neither a borrower, nor a lender be: It would seem As if God poured thee from hi- hollow hand. Deep calleth unto deep. And what are we. That hear the question of that voice sublime?
O what are all the notes that ever rung From war's vain trumpets, by thy thundering side? Yea, what is all the riot man can make In his short life, to thy unceasing roar? And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to Him Who drowned a world, and heaped the waters far Above its loftiest mountains?
IRD of he wilderness, Blithesome and cumbcrless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling, place, — O to abide in the desert with thee! ViUl is thy lay, and loud, Far in the downy cloud, Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. Where, on thy dewy wing,. Thy lay ,s in heaven, thy love is on earth. Over ihe rainbow's rim, Musical chenr,, soar, singing away I Then, when the gloaming comes.
Low in the heather blooms Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be 1 Lmblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling. I don't care if I do, My poor eld heart's in a hurry; I am anxious to get through. My soul outwalks my body ; my legs are far from strong: An It's mighty kind o' you, doctor, to help the old man along. I'm some'at full o' hustle; there's business to be done , I ve just been to the village to see my youngest son.
You used to know him, doctor, ere he his age did get. An' rf I ain't mistaken, yon sometimes see him yet We took him through his boyhood with never a ground for fears ; But somehow he stumbled over his early manhood's years. The landmarks that we showed him he seems to wander from. Though in his heart there never was a better boy than Tom He was quick o' mind and body in all he done and said; But a 1 the gold he reached for it seemed to turn to lead.
The devd of grog it caught h. An so when just tins mornin' these poor old eyes o' mine. Or else let go forever, an' sink in the sea of sin. If she had to crawl to Thomas upon her hands and knees. So set your mind at rest. I'm Tom's customer, an' said to be his best! HERE was an old woman who always was tired. She lived in a house where no help was hired ; Her last words on earth were: TJiey say that in his prime, Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him down, Not a better man was found By the crier on his round Through the town.
But now he walks the streets, A. Have been carved for ma. And a melancholy crack In his laugh. So the bells of memory's wonder-city Peal for me their old melodious chime- bo my heart pours forth a changeful ditty Sad and pleasant, from the bygone time. Domes and towers and castles, fancy-builded, 1 here lie lost to daylight's garish beams,- There he hidden till unveiled and gilded Glory-gilded by my nightly dreams!
I lbs and vi nes. Firmest cheer, and birdlike pleasure. Succory to match the sky. Columbine with horn of honey. Scented fern, and agrimony. Clover, catchfly, adder's tongue, And briar- roses, dwelt among: All beside was unknown waste, All was picture as he passed Wiser far than human seer.
Thou dost mock at fate and care, Leave the chaff, and take the wheat. When the fierce northwestern blast Cools sea and land so far and fast, Thou already slumberest deep; Woe and want thou canst outsleep; Want and woe, which torture us. Thy sleep makes ridiculous. Down on the shore, on the stormy shorel iieset by a growling sea.
Whose mad waves leap on the rocky steep 1-ike wolves up a traveler's tree Where the foam flies wide, and an'angry blast Blows the curlew off, with a screech ; Where the brown seawrack, torn up by the roots Is flung out of fishes' reach- ' Where the tall ship rolls on the hidden shoals And scatters her planks on the beach.
Where slate and straw through the village spin, And a cottage fronts the fiercest din. With a sailor's wife sitting sad within. Hearkening the wind and the water's roar Till at last her tears begin. And the Frenchman's fortunes were at their worst. An empire shattered, and an Emperor curs't, The spirit of Vaubanold von Moltke could not tame.
Nor siege, nor battle, though it sore oppres't Nor death that stalked at noonday throug'h the town, Nor mfants starving at their mother's breast Nor dreams of home that broke the soldier's rest. Could bow the mighty heart of rocky Belfort down. A fiery cordon round her Paris ran. The fleur-de-lis went down in shame at Metz- Orleans was worsted by a Von der Tann, And blanched the sacred lilies at Sedan But lordly Belfort still to dream of p'eace forgets.
And down she flung defiance at her foes, And free in heaven she let her eagles fly; W hde, m the fierceness of her mortal throes. Or ca ch, beCmes, with wakef. Or there, by some celestial stream as pure. AVES of the ocean that thunder and roar. Where is the ship that we sent from our shore? Tell, as ye dash on the shivering strand, Where is the crew that comes never to land?
Where are the hearts that, unfearing and gay, Broke from the clasp of affection away? Where are the faces that, smiling and bright. Sailed for the regions of death-darkened night? Waves of the ocean that thunder and roar, Where is the ship that we sent from our shore? Storms of the ocean that bellow and sweep, Where are our friends that went forth on the deep? Where are the cheeks that paled at your sneer?
Where are the hearts ye have frozen with fear? Where is the maiden so tender and fair? Where is the father of silvery hair? Where is the rich beauty of womanhood's time? Storms of the ocean that bellow and pour, Where is the ship that we sent from our shore? Birds of the ocean that scream through the gale. What have ye seen of a wind-shaken sail? What have ye seen in your revels of glee, Birds of the bitter and treacherous sea?
What of the heart-broken accents of prayer? What of the ravings of grief and despair? Beaten and shattered, nnd bent by the blast? Heard yc no message to carry away Home to the friends that arc yearninc. Birds of the ocean, that hover nnd 8oar, Where is the ship that we sent from our shore? Depths of the ocean that fathomless lie, What of the barqne that no morccometh nigh?
Cold is the couch they have helplessly won; Long ,s the night they have entered upon ; St. Il must f hey sleep, till the trumpet overhead Summons the sea to uncover its dead. Depths of the ocean, with treasure in store. God of the ocean, of mercy and power Look we to Thee in this heart-crushing hour. Cold was the greedy and merciless wave; Warm was Thy love and Thy goodness, to save; Dark were the tempests that thundered and flc w I Bnght was Thy smile, bursting happily through I 1 ake Thou the souls that followed Thine eye Home to the shores of the beautiful sky!
Safe in Thy mercy and love evermore Leave we the ship that we sent from our shore! Are you so glad you would eat me up? Ha, ha, old Gray I Do you get good feed when I am away? And a beauty too: And he pats old Bay, And he slaps old Gray— "Ah, this is the comfort of going a way!
I ve seen great sights-but would I give This spot and the peaceful Ufe I live These hills for the city's stifled a. Would you, old Bay? Would you, old Gray? Mortgage and stocks and ten per cent. Some land to till, and a few good friends Like you, old Bay, And you, old Gray! That's what I've learned by going , away. Your tired knee that has so mu'ch to bear; A child's dear eyes are looking lovingly From underneath a thatch of tangled hair; Perhaps you do not heed the velvet touch Of warm moist fingers holding yours so tight; You do not prize this blessing overmuch.
You are almost too tired to pray to-night. But it is blessedness. A year ago I did not see it as I see to-day We're all so dull and thankless, and too slow To catch the sunlight till it slips away. And if, some night, when, you sit down to rest, You miss this elbow from your tired knee- TI1.
There is no woman in God's world could say She was more blissfully content than I. But ah I the dainty pillow next my own Is never rumpled by a shining head; My singing birdling from its nest has flown; The little boy I used to kiss is dead. Like a herald in haste to the chieftain's door, The terrible grumble and rumble and roar, Telling the battle was on once more.
And Sheridan twenty miles away. And wider still those billows of war Thundered along the horizon's bar, And louder yet into Winchester soiled The roar of that red sea uncontrolled. Making the blood of the listener cold As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray. But there is a road from Winchester town, j ' A good, broad highway leading down; M And there, through the flash of the morning light- 4 A steed as black as the steeds of night, Was seen to pass as with eagle flight As if he knew the terrible need.
He stretched away with his utmost sjjeed: Hill rose and fell— but his heart was gay. With Sheridan fifteen miles away. Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thund'ring south. The dust like the smoke from the cannon's mouth, Or the trail of a comet sweeping faster and faster,' Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster; The heart of the steed and the heart of the'master Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, Impatient to be where the battle field calls: Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire ; But lol he is nearing his heart's desire- He ,s snuffing the smoke of the roaring fiay, With Sheridan only five miles away.
The first that the General saw was the groups Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops; TltuZ-l: He dashed down the line 'mid a storm of hLzas, 11 e sight of the master compelled it to pause. By the flash of his eye, and his red nostrils' play. He seemed to the whole great army to say: Thirty nobles saddled with speed; Hurryl Each one mounted a gallant steed Which he kept for battle, and days of need; 01 ride as though you were flying!
Spurs were struck in the foaming flank; Worn out chargers staggered and sank; Bridles were slackened, and girths were burst, But ride as they would the King rode first, For his Rose of the Isles lay dying. Where the Rose of the Isles lay dying. The King blew a blast on his bugle horn- Silence! No answer came, hut faint and forlorn A.
Like the breath of a spirit sighing. The castle portal stood grimly wide- None welcomed the King from that weary ride; For dead, m the 'ight of the dawning day, The pale, sweet form of his welcomer lay. Who had yearned for his voice while dying. The panting steed, with a drooping crest, Stood weary.
The King returned from her chamber of rest. Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain To the hall where my love lay dying. Her house is all of Echo made Where never dies the sound; And as her brows the clouds invade. Her feet do strike the ground. The hearth of home is beaming With rays of holy Hjjht, And loving- eyes are gleaming, As fall the shades of night; And while thy steps are leaving The circle pure and bright, A tender voice half grieving.
That a noble deed is a step toward God,— Lifting the soul from the common sod W To a purer air and a broader view. A We rise by the things that are under feet; By what we have mastered of good and gain; By the pride deposed, and the passion slain. And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet. We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust. When the morning calls us to life and Hght, But our hearts grow weary, and, ere the night.
Our lives are trailing in sordid dust. We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray, And we think that we mount the air on wings Beyond the recall of sensual things, While our feet still cling to the heavy clay. And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone. Heaven is not reached at a single bound; But we build the ladder by which we rise From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, And we mount to its summit round by round.
I shall not feel, in that deep laid rest, The sheeted light fall over my breast; Nor ever note in those hidde: Sooner or later the stainless snows Shall add their hush to my mute repose; Sooner or later shall slant and shift, And heap my bed with their dazzling drift. Chill though that frozen pall shall seem, Its touch no colder can make the dream That recks not the sweet and sacred dread, Sh.
Sooner or later the bee shall come And hll the noon with its golden hum: Sooner or later, on half-poised wing, The blue-bird's warble about me ring. Sooner or later, far out in the night. The stars shall over me wing their flight; Sooner or later the darkling dews Catch the white sparks in their silent ooze.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; He watches from his mountain walls. And like a thunderbolt he falls. And wouldn't it be pleasantcr To treat it as a joke ; And say you're glad 'twas dolb 's And not your head that brole? Suppose you're dreised for walking, And the rain ccmes pouring down, Will it clear off any sooner Because yo - scoiu una frown?
And woulan't it be nicer For you to smile than pout. And so make sunshine in the house When there is none without? Suppose your task, my little man, Is very hard to get. Will it make it any easier. For you to sit and fret? And wouldn't it be wiser. Than waiting like a dunce, To get to work in earnest.
And learn the thing at once? Suppose that some boys have a horse, And some a coach and pair, Will it tire you less while walking To say "It isn't fair"? Suppose the world don't please you, Nor the way some people do, Do you think the whole creation Will be altered just for you?
And isn't it, my boy or girl. Don't crowd the good from out your heart. The swift thread follows the fingers' play, As she holds it aloft in the German way, And the needles glitter, as if to say, " We're working for little Barbara. The smiles are constant on her lips, As the weaving thread at her finger-tips. And I know, as she follows loop and seam.
In her girlish brain some tender theme Runs, stitch by stitch, into a dream That pleases little Barbara. What is it, little Barbara? The knitting dream, sweet Barbara? I half surmise that you believe When comes the blessed Christmas Eve, That a step across the hearth will flit, And the very stocking that now you knit.
Will be left with a wonderful gift in it — Kriss Krlngle's gift — ah, Barbara! And you know he has a large warm heart- bo knit away, little Barbara. Then lose the spell that all that wonder wrought. Like her own prairies by some chance seed sown. Like her own pranies in one brief day grown L. T lies around us like a cloud, A world we do not see ; Yet the sweet closing of an eye J?
Sweet hearts around us throb and beat, Sweet helping hands are stirred, Ana palpitates the veil between With breathings almbst heard. The silence — awful, sweet, and calm — They have no power to break; For mortal words are not for them To utter or partake. So thin, so soft, so sweet they glide. So near to press they seem, — They seem to lull us to our rest, And melt into our dream.
And in the hush of rest they bring 'Tiseasy now to see How lovely and how sweet a pass The hour of death may be. To close the eye, and close the ear, Rapt in a trance of bliss, And gently dream in loving arms To swoon to that — from this. Sweet souls around usl watch us still Press nearer to our side, Into our thoughts, into our prayers.
Let death between us be as naught, A dried and vanished stream: Yourjoy be the reality. Our suffering life the dream. Or follows the brooks to the sea! Sweet is her voice, as the robin's, In a lull of the wind. While the huge stone face forgets to frown And the hare peeps out of the brake.
Than goddess e'er won from the Greek. She welcomes the fervid summer, And flies to the sounding shore Where bleak Boar's Head looks seaward. Set in the billows' roar. And dreams of her sailors and fishers Till cool days come once more. Then how fair is the Maiden, Crowned with the scarlet leaves. And wrapped in the tender, misty veil That the Indian Summer weaves!
She loves the song of the reapers. The ring of the woodman's steel, The whirr of the glancing shuttle, The rush of the tireless wheel. But, if war befalls, her sons she calls From mill and forge and lea. Languidly the autumn wind Stirs the withered leaves; On the field the reapers sing, Binding up the sheaves; And a proverb to my mind, As a spell is cast: Truly speaks the proverb old, With a meaning vast; " The mill will never grind With the water that is past.
O the good we might have done I Gone! ZX x; Thoughts conceived, but ne'er expressed Perishing, unpenn'd, unheard I Take the proverb to thy soul— Take and clasp it fast: Learn to make the most of life, Lose no happy day; Time will ne'er return sweet joys Neglected, thrown away. Leave no tender word unsaid, But love while love shall last— " The mill will never grind With the water that is past.
HE comet is speeding- on its way; From stately heights in the sun's bright ray. And cloud-land piles of gold and grav. Where many a bright orb softly whirls, Its glorious bannered train unfurls. When the comet strikes this dark earth's ci'own, With holy fire from the sun brought down ; The giant systems of wrong shall fly, To avoid the bore of its nuclei, And the bittern of evil shall spread swift-sail, For fear of the rasp of its harrowing tail.
By the thousand-fold scourge of its nebula. When the comet strikes, the bolt shall fall On the treason that shams and betrays us all. On the lust of power enthroned in state, And the fashion of making a virtue of hate; On human tigers that hide their claws, And masquerade under forms of 'laws' On the planted heresy of poison seeds!
And the hatefuler crop of hateful deeds. Athwart the hills that grandly lie, Dipping their bare feet in the sea, The sails, like white clouds floating by, Cast quaint, quick shadows as they flee. Those motes that glisten in the sun Are happy vessels bounding home. And here, amid the city whirled By toil and strife and. How pure and lovely each appears! What storms and perils hardly passed— What days of doubt and nights of fear- Have strained the hearts that now, at last Draw nearer home, and still more near!
This is a type of all our days: For ever holding up the glass To gaze far off through golden rays On things whereto we may not pass. For ever thinking joys that are, Are sodden, dull and full of pain; And those that glisten from afar Hold all the gloss and all the gain! Many a mark did her body bear; ft. Many ana many a well-aimed stone, Many a brickbat of goodly size, And many judgel, swiftly thrown, Had brought the tears to her bovine eyes; Or had bounded off from her bony back, With a noise like the sound of a rifle crack.
Many a day had she passed in the pound For helping herself to her neighbor's com; Many a cowardly cur and hound Had been transfixed on her crumpled horn; Many a teapot and old tin pail Had the farmer boys tied to her time-worn tail. Old Deacon Gray was a pious man, Though sometimes tempted to be profane, When many a weary mile he ran To drive her out of his growing grain.
And drive along in his "one-hoss shay! His human passions were quick to rise. And stndmg forth with a savage crJ WuhAiry blazing from both his'eyeT As hghtnmgs flash in a summer sky. Overturning his hives of bees; Leavmg him angry and badly stung, Wishmg the old cow's neck was wLg.
The mosses grew on the garden wall: Bubbles we earn with a whole soul's taking: And what is so rare as a day in June? There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair J The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead! The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted!
Let us be patient! These severe afflictions Not from the ground arise. But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly through the mists and vapors; Amid these earthly damps What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps. There is no Death! What seems so is transition: This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death.
She is not dead, — the child of our afTection, But gone unto that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection. And Christ himself doth rule. Thus do we walk with her, and keen nnK.. Clothed with celestial grace- And beautiful with all the soul's expansion. Shall we behold her face. And though at limes, impetuous with emotion And anguish long suppressed, The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean -That cannot be at rest,—.
And something shadowed the sunny face. But afier the evening work was done, And the frogs were loud in the meadow- swamp. Over his shoulder he slung his gun. And stealthily followed the foot-path damp — Across the clover, and through the wheat, With resolute heart and purpose grim. Though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet, And the blind bats' flitting startled him.
Thrice since then had the lanes been white. And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom ; And now, when the cows come back at night, The feeble father drove them home. The summer day grew cool and late; He went for the cows when the work was done ; But down the lane, as he opened the gate.
He saw them coming, one by one,— Bnndle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess, Sshakmg their horns in the evening wind. Cropping the buttercups out of the grass — But who was it following close behind? Loosely swung in the idle air The empty sleeve of army blue, And worn and pale, from the crisp ing hair.
Looked out a face that the fither knew: For though in the quiet evening You may give us the kiss of peace, Yet It might be That never for me The pain of the heart should cease. How mrny go forth in the morning That never come home at night! And hearts have broken For harsh words spoken That sorrow can ne'er set right.
We have careful thoughts for the stranger. And smiles for the sometime guest; But oft for " our own" The bitter tone, Though we love "our own" the best. But not beneath a graven stone. To plead for tears with alien eyes; A slender cross of wood alone Shall say that here a maiden lies In peace beneath the peaceful skies. And gray old trees of hugest limb Shall wheel their circling shadows round.
To make the scorching sunlight dim, That drinks the greenness from the ground, And drop their dead leaves on her mound. The acorns and the chestnuts fall, Doubt not that she will heed them all. For her the morning choir shall sin. When, turning round their dial track.
At last, the rootlets of the trees Shall find the prison where she lies. And bear the buried dust they seize In leaves and blossoms to the skies, So may the soul that warmed it rise! If any, born of kindlier blood, Should ask what maiden lies oelow. That tried to blossom in the snow.
Lies withered where the violets blow. H, saw ye not Fair Inez? She took our daylight with her, The smiles that we love best. With morning blushes on her cheek,. And pearls upon her breast. Oh, turn again, fair Inez, Before the fall of night. For fear the moon should shine alone. And stars unrivaled bright: And blessed will the lover be , That walks beneath their light, And breathes the love against thy cheek I dare not even write I 1 — , , m 4.
Would I had been, fair Inez, That gallant cavalier Who rode so gaily by thy side, And whispered thee so near I Were there no bonny dames at home, Ur no true lovers here. That he should cross the seas to win The dearest of the deai? I saw thee, lovely Inez, Descend along the shore, With a band of noble gentlemen, And banners wav'd before; And gentle youth and maidens gay.
And snowy plumes they wore- It would have been a beauteous dream, " It had been no more! She went away with song. And shoutings of the throng; But some were sad, and felt no mirth, But only music's wrong. In sounds that sang farewell, farewell, To her youVe loved so Ions, Farewell, farewell, fair Inez, That vessel never bore So tair a lady on its deck.
Nor danced so light before. Alas, for pleasure on the sea And sorrow on the shore I The smile that blest one lover's heart Has broken many more. Over the river under the hill. Another village lieth still. There I see in the cloudy night, Twinkling stars of household light; Fires that gleam from the smithy's door, Mists that curl on the river's shore, And in the road no grasses grow.
For wheels are hast'ning to and fro. Silent and idle, and low they lie. In that village under the hill. When the night is starry and still. Longs to sleep in the forest wild, Wh. And praying, hears this answer fall. Patience, that village will hold you all. No rest in the arms I long for— Rest, and refuge, and home: Grieved and lonely and weary, Unto the Book I come.
One of the sweet old chapters— The love that blossoms through His care of the birds and lilies, , Out in the nieadow-dew. His evening lies soft around them; Their faith is simply to be, O hushed by the tender lesson, My God! Under the walls Where swells and falls The Bay's deep breast at in- tervals; At peace I lie, Blown softly by, A cloud upon this liquid sky.
The day, so mild. Yon deep bark goes Where Traffic blow8, From lands of sun to lands of snows; This happier one, Its course is run, From lands of snow to lands of sun. To rise and dip. With the blue crystal at your lip I O happy crew. My heart with you Sails, and sails, and sings anew! Or place my hand in thine, Before I let thy future give Color and form to mine, Before I peril all for thee.
Question thy soul to-night for me. I break all slighter bonds, nor feel A shadow of regret: Is there one link within the past That holds thy spirit yet? Or is thy faith as clear and free As that which I can pledge to thee? Does there within thy dimmest dreams A possible future shine, Wherein thy hTo could henceforth breathe, Untouched, unshared by mine?
Oiie chord that any other hand Could better wake or still? Speak now, lest at some future day My whole life wither and decay. Lives there within thy nature hid The demon spirit, change. Shedding a passing glory still On all things new and strange? W soothe their conscience thus; but thou Wilt surely warn and save me now.
Whatever on my heart may fall. Remember, I would risk it all! Ch, fit and few! The words we said, the songs vvc sung, Ljke-unhke—evermore. For ghosts unseen crept in between. And when our songs flowed free. At break o' day let down the bars. D'ye know the road to Sunday's rest? On Saturdays it's not fur off.
And brings a basketful o' cheer — A roast, and lots o' garden-stuff. And, like as not, a jug o' beer! D' ye know the road to poverty? Turn in at any tavern-sign: Turn in — it's temptin' as can be: There's bran' -new cards and liquor fine. And, when the cash y'r pocket quits. D'ye know what rosd to honor leads, And good old age?
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