AFTER long care and moil, I thirst for peace,
Yea, as the Psalmist long'd for wings t' escape;
Yea, for dove's wings, to fly and be at rest.
LONG, long be my heart with such memories filled,
Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled :
You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
So winning was his aspect and address,
His smile so rich in sad felicities,
Accordant to a voice which charmed no less,
That who but saw him once remembered long;
And some in whom such images are strong
Have hoarded the impression in their heart,
Fancy's fond dreams and memory's joys among;
Like some loved relic of romantic song,
Or cherished masterpiece of ancient art,
LOOK out, Salvini!-here's your man, your match!
WITH loving breath of all the winds, his name
Is blown about the world; but to his friends
A sweeter secret hides behind his fame,
And Love steals shyly through the loud acclaim,
To murmur a "God bless you!" and there ends,
BUT all in vain the enchanter's wand we wave;
No stroke of ours recalls his magic vision:
The incantation that its power gave,
Sleeps with the dead magician.
O, THEY love least that let men know their love,
HE worked, and bravely he fulfilled his trust,—
So long he wandered, sowing worthy seed,
Watering of wayside buds that were adust,
And touching for the common ear his reed;
So long to wear away the cankering rust
That dulls the gold of life,-so long to plead,
With sweetest music, for all souls oppress'd,
That he was old ere he had thought of rest.
A STARVED man Exceeds a fat beast: we 'll not barter, Sir, The beautiful for barley.
THOUGH inland far we be,
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea
FOLLOW with reverent steps the great example
Of Him whose holy work was doing good;
So shall the wide earth seem our Father's temple,
Each loving life a psalm of gratitude,
O LOVELY Woman! Nature made thee
To temper man—we had been brutes without you!
Angels are painted fair, to look like you;
There's in you all that we believe of Heaven,
Amazing brightness, purity, and truth,
Eternal joy and everlasting love.
He hath a daily beauty in his life,
February 11th.
How calm and firm and true,
Unspotted by its wrong and crime,
He walked the dark earth through!
The lust of power, the love of gain,
The thousand lures of sin
Around him, had no power to stain
The purity within.
WHERE is the man who has the power and skill
To stem the torrent of a woman's will?
For if she will, she will, you may depend on't,
And if she won't, she won't, so there's an end on't.
February 12th.
WHERE'S the eye, however blue,
Doth not weary? where the face
One would meet in every place?
Where's the voice, however soft,
One would hear so very oft?
At a touch sweet pleasure melteth,
Like to bubbles when rain pelteth.
UNLESS you can swear, "For life, for death!"
Oh, fear to call it loving!
February 13th.
WHO can tell how vast the plan
Which this day's incident began?
Too small, perhaps, the slight occasion,
For our dim-sighted observation,
And yet may prove, when understood,
A harbinger of endless good.
BEHIND earth's curtain of seen things
He hears a voice that ever sings,
And sees the flutter of glad wings,
Through darkest shadow gleaming.
|