TAKE me, Mother Earth, to thy cold breast,
And fold me there in everlasting rest!
The long day is o'er,
But deep, deep,
Never to waken more!
I have had joy and sorrow, I have proved
What life could give, have loved, and been beloved;
I am sick, and heart sore,
And weary; let me sleep;
But deep, deep,
Never to waken more!
To thy dark chamber, Mother Earth, I come,
Prepare thy dreamless bed in my last home;
Shut down the marble door
And leave me! Let me sleep;
But deep, deep,
Never to waken more!
WHOм first we love, you know, we seldom wed.
Time rules us all. And life, indeed, is not
The thing we planned it out ere hope was dead.
And then, we women cannot choose our lot.
Much must be borne which it is hard to bear:
Much given away which it were sweet to keep.
God help us all! who need, indeed, His care,
And yet, I know, the shepherd loves his sheep.
My little boy begins to babble now
Upon my knee his earliest infant prayer.
He has his father's eager eyes, I know;
And, they say too, his mother's sunny hair.
But when he sleeps and smiles upon my knee,
And I can feel his light breath come and go,
I think of one (Heaven help and pity me!)
Who loved me, and whom I loved, long ago.
Who might have been-ah, what I dare not think!
We all are changed. God judges for us best.
God help us do our duty, and not shrink,
And trust in heaven humbly for the rest.
But blame us women not, if some appear
Too cold at times; and some too gay and light. Some griefs gnaw deep. Some woes are hard to bear. Who knows the past? and who can judge us right?
Ah, were we judged by what we might have been,
And not by what we are, too apt too fall!
My little child-he sleeps and smiles between
These thoughts and me. In heaven we shall know all !
I CRIED to God, in trouble for
sin;
To the great God who dwelleth in the deeps.
The deeps return not any voice or sign.
But with my soul I know thee, O Great God;
The soul thou givest knoweth thee, Great God;
And with my soul I sorrow for my sin.
Full sure I am there is no joy in sin,
Joy-scented peace is trampled under foot,
Like a white growing blossom into mud.
Sin is establish'd subtly in the heart
As a disease; like a magician foul
Ruleth the better thoughts against their will.
Only the rays of God can cure the heart,
Purge it of evil: there's no other way
Except to turn with the whole heart to God.
In heavenly sunlight live no shades of fear
The soul there, busy or at rest, hath peace;
And music floweth from the various world.
The Lord is great and good, and is our God.
There needeth not a word but only these;
Our God is good, our God is great. 'Tis well.
All things are ever God's; the shows of things
Are of men's fantasy, and warp'd with sin;
God, and the things of God, immutable.
O thou great God, my pray'r is to neglect
The shows of fantasy, and turn myself
To thy unfenced, unbounded warmth and light!
Then were all shows of things a part of truth :
Then were my soul, if busy or at rest,
Residing in the house of perfect peace.
My Love is as fresh as the morning sky,
My Love is as soft as the suminer air,
My Love is as true as the saints on high,
And never was saint so fair;
Oh, glad is my heart when I name her name,
For it sounds like a song to me-
I'll love you, it sings, nor heed their blame,
For you love me, Astor Machree!
Sweet Sibyl! Sweet Sibyl! my heart is wild
With the fairy spell that her eyes have lit;
I sit in a dream where my love has smiled—
I kiss where her name is writ!
Oh, darling, I fly, like a dreamy boy,
The toil that is joy to the strong and true;
The life that the brave for their land employ,
I squander in dreams of you.
The face of my Love has the changeful light
That gladdens the sparkling sky of spring:
The voice of my Love is a strange delight,
As when birds in the May-time sing.
Oh, hope of my heart! oh, light of my life!
Oh, come to me, darling, with peace and rest!
Oh, come like the Summer, my own sweet wife,
To your home in my longing breast!
Be blessed with the home sweet Sibyl will sway
With the glance of her soft and queenly eyes;
Oh! happy the love young Sibyl will pay
With the breath of her tender sighs.
That home is the hope of my waking dreams—
That love fills my eyes
with pride-
There's light in their glance, there's joy in their
From that torpor deep
Wherein we lie asleep,
Heavy as death, cold as the grave;
Save, oh save.
When the Soul, growing clearer,
Sees God no nearer;
When the Soul, mounting higher,
To God comes no higher,
But the arch-fiend Pride,
Mounts at her side,
Foiling her high emprize,
Sealing her eagle eyes,
And, when she fain would soar,
Makes idols to adore;
Changing the pure emotion
Of her high devotion
To a skindeep sense
Of her own eloquence;
Strong to deceive, strong to enslave—
Save, oh, save.
From the ingrain'd fashion
Of this earthly nature
That mars thy creature.
From grief, that is but passion;
From mirth, that is but feigning;
From tears, that bring no healing
From wild and weak complaining;
Thine old strength revealing,
Where comfort turns to trouble;
Where just men suffer wrong.
Where sorrow treads on joy;
Where sweet things soonest cloy;
Where faiths are built on dust;
Where love is half mistrust,
Hungry, and barren, sharp as the sea:
Oh, set us free.
O let the false dream fly
Where our sick souls do lie
Tossing continually.
|