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To kindle my cold love.
Dear, beauteous death, — the jewel of the just, THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES.
Shining nowhere but in the dark !
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,
He that hath found some flerged bird's nest may All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
At first sight, if the bird be flown ; I have been laughing, I have been carousing,
But what fair dell or grove he sings in now, Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cro.
That is to him unknown. nies; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams
Call to the soul when man doth sleep,
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted I loved a Love once, fairest among women :
themes, ('losed are her doors on me, I must not see her,
And into glory peep. All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
If a star were confined into a tomb, I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man
Her captive flames must needs burn there, Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly ; But when the hand that locked her up gives room, Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces.
She 'll shine through all the sphere. Gnost-like I paced round the haunts of my child- O Father of eternal life, and all hood,
Created glories under thee ! Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse, Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall Seeking to find the old familiar faces.
Into trve liberty.
THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE.
A FREE PARAPHRASE OF THE GERMAN.
To weary hearts, to mourning homes,
There's quiet in that Angel's glance,
Angel of Patience ! sent to calm
O thou who mournest on thy way,
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER
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 Auttered down the snow.
I stool and watched by the window
The noiseless work of the sky, And the sudden furries of snow-birds,
Like brown leaves whirling by.
I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
Where a little headstone stood ; How the Aakes were folding it gently,
As did robins the babes in the wood.
Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill
My perspective still as they pass ;
Where I shall need no glass.
THE FUTURE LIFE.
How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps
The disembodied spirits of the dead, When all of thee that time could wither sleeps
And perishes among the dust we tread ?
For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain
If there I meet thy gentle presence not ; Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again
In thy serenest eyes the tender thought.
Will not thy own meek heart demand me there? That heart whose fondest throbs to me were
given; My name on earth was ever in thy prayer,
And wilt thou never utter it in heaven?
In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing
wind, In the resplendence of that glorious sphere, And larger movements of the unfettered mind,
Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here?
The love that lived through all the stormy past,
And meekly with my harsher nature bore, And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last,
Shall it expire with life, and be no more?
A happier lot than mine, and larger light,
Await thee there; for thou hast bowed thy will In cheerful homage to the rule of right,
And lovest all, and renderest good for ill.
For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell, Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the
scroll; And wrath has left its scar that fire of hell
Has left its frightful scar upon my soul.
Yet though thou wear'st the glory of the sky,
Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye, Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the
Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home,
The wisdom that I learned so ill in this The wisdom which is love - till I become
Thy fit companion in that land of bliss ?
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
“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.
For none return from those quiet shores,
Who cross with the boatman cold and pale ; We hear the dip of the golden oars,
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 hiiles from our visiou the gates of day : We only know that their barks no more
May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea; Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore,
They watch, and beckon, and wait for me.
“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,
Tliese sacred blossoms wear."
And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold
Is flushing river and hill and shore,
And list for the sound of the bontman'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 boatmani pale
To the better shore of the spirit land.
And the mother gave, in tears and pain,
The flowers she most did love; She knew she should find them all again
In the fields of light above.
And then, one day, when the time was full,
And the spring was coming fast,
And you saw your baby at last.
Was it or not what you had dreamed ?
It was, and yet it was not ; But 0, it was better a thousand times
Than ever you wished or thought.
For Charlie's sake I will arise ;
And now, dear hearts, you are waiting again,
While the spring is coming fast ; For the baby that was a future dream
Is now a dream of the past :
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.
I'm very poor
this slender stone Marks all the narrow field I own; Yet, patient husbandman, I till With faith and prayers, that precious hill, Sow it with penitential pains, And, hopeful, wait the latter rains ; Content is, after all, the spot Yield barely one forget-ine-not Whether or figs or thistles make My crop, content for Charlie's sake.
0, will she be this, or will she be that?
And what will there be in her face That will tell you sure that she is your own,
When you meet in the heavenly place ?
Is it was before, it will be again,
Fashion your dream as you will ;
JOHN WHITE CHADWICK.
I have no houses, builded well —