Poems

March comes, but Winter lingers      Safe in the lap of Spring; Grasp crystal-jewelled fingers,      Her lengthening apron-string.

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests: in all time, Calm or convulsed, in breeze or gale or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime, Dark-heaving, boundless, endless, and sublime— The image of eternity, the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made: each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. Byron.

Love threatens, that it may not strike; and, still Unheeded, strikes, that so it may not kill. Love set me up on high.

We wove a web of doubt and fear,— Not faith and hope and love,— Because we looked at our work, and not At our pattern, up above! Phoebe Cary.

The Sacred Tree midst the fair orchard grew; The Phænix Truth did on it rest, And built his perfumed nest,— That right Porphyrian tree, which did true logic shew. Each leaf did learned notions give, And the apples were demonstrative.

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Awake, for the voice of Jesus calls: "Arm for the rights of Soul, And rise with me from the error of thought That bellef of sin and death has brought, For I lead to the heavenly goal! "Have I not opened and shown the way? Then why do ye stand and wait, When the Angel of Truth—whose shining wings Are laden with Life,—which always sings, Gives freely to all at the gate? "I am the fountain that never fails! Then come ye thirsty and drink; For my cup, Resurrection engraven all o'er, Is filled with Life from the heavenly shore, My arm outstretched to the brink. " Oh loving words, oh tender and true, How ye tell to all the world, His upraised Life is the beacon-light, Displaying the banner of Truth and Right, The grandest ever unfurled; For it floats Redemption on every breeze, Redemption and Love for all; And the angels chant it to every ear, For those who will understanding hear, The loving Christ and his call.

The church-bells were ringing; the Devil sat singing, On the stump of a rotting old tree: "Oh, faith, it grows cold, and the creeds, they grow old, And the world is nigh ready for me. " The bells went on ringing; a spirit came singing, And smiled as he crumbled the tree: "Your wood does but perish, new seedlings to cherish, And the world is to live yet, for thee.

Father of Life Divine, Grant us the power sublime, To bless our race; Let Wisdom from on high Cheer every drooping eye, And comfort every sigh With God's rich grace. Truth comes alike to all, Who on her name dare call, With motives pure; Then let us all unite, With Freedom's star in sight, Press onward in the right, Which shall endure.

" There is a story told In Eastern tents, when autumn nights grow cold, And round the fire the Mongol shepherds sit, With grave responses listening unto it: Once, on the errands of his mercy bent, Buddha, the holy and benevolent, Met a fell monster, huge and fierce of look, Whose awful voice the hills and forests shook. 'O son of peace!' the giant cried, 'thy fate Is sealed at last, and love shall yield to hate.