We know how pain and woe, Sorrow and sin, make up the sum of life! How good and evil are at ceaseless strife, And how the soul doth err in choice, we know! Yet not for this droop we, nor are afraid; We know thy goodness, we behold thy might; We know thy truth can never be gainsaid, And what thou dost is right! We glorify thy name that thus it is;- Hymns and Fire-side Verses. TO CAROLINE BOWLES, AN HONOURED FELLOW-LABOURER, THIS LITTLE BOOK, THE DESIGN OF WHICH IS These have I given thee that thou may'st command For thus, young, generous spirits would be won; Go forth, and have thou neither fear nor shame; TO MAKE THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTIANITY And greet thou those who love thee in my name, AN ENDEARED AND FAMILIAR FIRE-SIDE GUEST, IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. L'ENVOI. I HAVE indited thee with care and love, Thou wast not meant for riot and for jest, Dear little book, all simple as thou art; But in sweet homes to be a loving guest; And find a place in many a guileless heart. Have not a fear! I know that thou wilt find Thy journey pleasant as a path of flowers, For pure and youthful hearts are ever kind, Glad to be pleased with labour such as ours. Sit down with little children by the way, And tell them of sweet Marien how she went Over the weary world from day to day, On christian works of love, like thee, intent. Tell them of Him who framed the sea, the sky; The glorious earth and all that dwell therein; And of that Holy One made strong to die, Sinless himself, to save the world from sin. And thou hast many a tale of wonder planned With various art to make thy spirit wise; Yea, greet them warmly! Little book, adieu! MARIEN'S PILGRIMAGE. A FIRE-SIDE STORY. CHRISTIANITY, like a child, goes wandering over the world. Fearless in its innocence, it is not abashed before princes, nor confounded by the wisdom of synods. Before it the blood-stained warrior sheathes his sword, and plucks the laurel from his brow;the midnight murderer turns from his purpose, and, like the heart-smitten disciple, goes out and weeps bitterly. It brings liberty to the captive, joy to the mourner, freedom to the slave, repentance and forgiveness to the sinner, hope to the faint-hearted, and assurance to the dying. It enters the huts of poor men, and sits down with them and their children; it makes them contented in the midst of privations, and leaves behind an everlasting blessing. It walks through great cities, amid all their pomp and splendour, their unimaginable pride, and their unutterable misery, a purifying, ennobling, correcting, and redeeming angel It is alike the beautiful companion of chi.dhood and the comfortable associate of age. It ennobles the noble; gives wisdom to the wise; and new grace to the lovely. The patriot, the priest, the poet, and the eloquent man, all derive their sublime power from its influence. Thanks be to the Eternal Father, who has made us one with Him through the benign Spirit of Christianity! PART I. THROUGH the wide world went Marien On a holy mission sent, And ever, as she went along, Sweet flowers sprang 'neath her feet; All flowers that were most beautiful, The desert beasts grew tame; And man, the savage, dyed with blood, The merciful became. Now, if you will attend to me, I will in order tell The history of this little child, No friend at all had Marien, And at the break of day, In a lonesome place within the world, The stars were lost in coming morn, With upturned eye lay Marien; And I am alone," said she, "Though the blackbird and the nightingale Sing in the forest-tree: "Though the weak woodland creatures Come to me when I call, And eat their food from out my hand; "Though sun, and moon, and stars come out, Alone both night and day! So I will forth into the world, And do what good I may: And I may do the injured right, May save the penitent! "Up, I will forth into the world!" And, thus as she did say, Sweet Marien from the ground rose up Through the wood went Marien, Under the green and leafy boughs Two ruffian brothers met. "Thou shalt not of our father's land, Then deep into the forest dark But no sign made the murdered man, Ere long, as she went wandering on, Pale was she as the marble stone, "What ails thee, mother?" Marien said, "What aileth thee, ny mother?" To the lone heart found their way. She quickly raised her head;- He is dead-I have none other; This is the day they bury him;— Who is it calls me mother?" ""T is I," said gentle Marien, But the woman only wrung her hands, And cried, "My son is dead!" Of the disciples' broken hearts And Christ arisen again. "Then sorrow not," she said, "as though Thou wert of all bereft; For still, though they beloved are not, "That when thy dream of life is o'er And "blessed be God," said she, "Who in my sorest need hath sent This comforter to me!" PART II. Now Marien in the woman's house Abode a little space, And comfort to the mother came; And a dear daughter's place Had Marien in the woman's heart, Doing the while a daughter's part. But now 't was time that she must go; For Marien's duty was not there, Now grief was past and woe was done; So, with the rising of the sun, She rose up forth to fare. Nay, bide with me," the woman said, "Or, if as thou dost say, Duty forbids that this may be, So forth the loving pair set out, And in the woman's arms she lay, That night within the forest hoar, And the next morn, with loving heart, They said farewell, as those who part To meet on earth no more. Upon her way went Marien, And the peace of God that passeth word, Upon her spirit lay, And oftentimes she sang aloud As she went on her way. The joyfulest song sang Marien That e'er left human tongue; The very birds were mute to hear The holy words she sung. But now the darksome night came on, On mosses green and brown. And in the deepest hush of night For with them was a feeble man, Stood 'mong the robbers rude. "Ye shall not take the life of man!" Out from the cave the robbers fled, Not aught of flesh and blood. And two from out the robber-band When from the cave the robber-band Rose from the floor where he was laid, And marvelling much, began. "Who art thou, child? and those few words Then Maria 'gan to tell him how, Thus wondrously had brought. PART III. THROUGH the wild wood went Marien, The wildern wood was skirted By moorlands dry and brown; At entrance of the little town A rude stone cross, and there she knelt Then on the stone-steps sate her down; And soon beside her crept, A pale child with a clasped book, And all the while she wept. "Why weep you, child," asked Marien, "What troubleth you so sore?" At these words spoken tenderly, The child wept more and more. "I have not heard," at length he said, "Kind words this many a year, My mother is dead and my father Is a hard man and severe. "I sit in corners of the house Where none can see me weep; And in the quiet of the day "Tis here I often creep. "The kid leaps by his mother's side, The singing birds are glad : But when I play me in the sun, My heart is ever sad. "They say this blessed book can heal I lay it 'neath my head at night, The child drooped down his head; Then Marien took the clasped book And of the Saviour read. She read of him the humble child How blessed angels came from heaven Then read she how, a growing youth, Then how he grew to man's estate And wandered up and down, Preaching upon the lone sea-side, And in the busy town. Of all his tenderness, his love, Page after page she read; How he made whole the sick, the maimed, And how he raised the dead. And how he loved the children small, Even of low degree; And how he blessed them o'er and o'er, When this the little child had heard He spoke in accents low, "Would that I had been one with them Thou shalt be blessèd, gentle one!" So conversed they of holy things As to the town they came, they passed So Marien and the little child Anon the voices died away, The pealing organ ceased, And through the church's ancient door And round his knees the children small Down dropped the child upon his knees, Cried "bless me also, poor and weak, Anon his little head dropped low, So died the child; -and Marien laid His meek arms on his breast, With the clasped book between his hands:Thus God had given him rest! And Marien, weeping holy tears, Sate down beside the dead, And slept that night within the church, Scarce from the church had Marien passed, As was his wont, though fierce and bad, Not seven paces had he gone, When, heart-struck, he surveyed The look of hopeless woe. PART IV. TEN long days' travel Marien went, Sometimes within the Baron's hall With shepherd people on the hills; With toiling peasant men, By wayside wells she sate her down, |