Poems

El-í-she-ba , God's worshiper, Whose eyes are starlit wells Filled from the depths with constancy,— Blue violets of the dells,— With strength of tone and faithfulness Their look a sweetness tells. Thou standest at the gates of night Where pass the toilers by; Some have wrought well, and happy go; Some halt in step, and sigh; Some trail in dust a broken wing— A multitude goes by.

O may I bring a willing heart To every simple task; O may I pluck the thought of self From every boon I ask. May I preserve a simple faith Amid life's surge and stress, Nor entertain a single sense That shall not bless.

A prophet voice cried in the long past ages: "O comfort ye my people, saith your God;" And they who let the dead past seal his pages, Of comfort nigh at hand themselves defraud. God's people wander still in barren places, And hunger for the good that's undenied; They heavenward turn their sad and weary faces, And pray for what already is supplied.

To those awakening from the dream of earth, To us who have unbound the dungeon chain That held us in our heritage of pain, The days are big with blessings, at whose birth Our hearts with gratitude unfeigned well forth. Dark earthly dream! thy sunset hour is come, The powers of heaven are shaken, and the fruit Of wisdom falls full-ripe, whose vain pursuit Thy sons have urged o'er earth and ocean's foam, And found it not— and now it leads us home.

Wild roses of music well up in my soul That the toiling thoughts stand still to hear; Reverberant, rich as the organ's roll, Their theme is the dawn of a dominant cheer. Swift rhythms of rapture my musings control, Untangling all discords, while, jubilant, clear, Wild roses of music well up in my soul That the toiling thoughts stand still to hear.

I set my life-door open wide, Inviting all to come inside; But they who hurried past my door, Left me more lonely than before! I watched them to my neighbor go— Some thoughtfully, some fast, some slow; Some glanced at me with smiling eye, But came not in—I wondered why. And watching them, I saw, although They oft looked sad and sick, walked slow And haltingly, as they went in.

Suffer them to come, the Master said, The kingdom is of such; and laid his hand With lingering tenderness upon the head Of one, the nearest of the little band. Wide-eyed, they clustered there about his knees, Held by the love that trembled in that voice Whose accents vanquished sin, unloosed disease, And called a world to hearken and rejoice.

A mote of vagrant pollen went, breeze-borne, With fertile gospel unto barren corn; One teeming talent, missed by vine and leaf, Bore magical enrichment to a sheaf; Yet no man saw the miracle that morn. A wee brown-breasted singer, during rain, Released one wild wood-lyric, and again The miracle of speech, to one long mute.

Art thou a seeker for harmonious day? Pale pearls the twilight in the quiet skies, The clouds dissolve, and plainer grows the way, As Love's clear vision meets the longing eyes. Hast thou to meet the chastisement of scorn, Which seeks to injure through material sense? Arise betimes, as one who, heaven-born, Wieldeth the weapons of omnipotence.

" I am the light,"—so spake in days of old The God-crowned Jesus, meek as he was bold. He spoke the word, and lo! the light of Love Descended softly, like the nestling dove: The light of ever-present Truth and good Brought joy to mourners, to the hungry food.