Echoes of Life Or, Beautiful Gems of Poetry and Song: A Choice Collection of ...

And dark, and still darker, and darker grew

Each newly woven thread,

And some were of a death mocking hue,

And some of a bloody red.

And things all strange were woven in,

Sighs, down-crushed hopes and fears,

And the web was broken, and poor and thin, And it dripped with living tears.

And the weaver fain would have flung it aside, But he knew it would be a sin;

So in light and in gloom the shuttle he plied,
A-weaving those life-cords in.

And as he wove, and weeping still wove,
A tempter stole him nigh;

And with glowing words he to win him strove,
But the weaver turned his eye-

He upward turned his eye to heaven,
And still wove on-on-on!

Till the last, last cord from his heart was riven,
And the tissue strange was done.

Then he threw it about his shoulders bowed,
And about his grizzled head,

And gathering close the folds of his shroud,
Laid him down among the dead.

And after, I saw, in a robe of light,

The weaver in the sky;

The angels' wings were not more bright,
And the stars grew pale, it nigh.

And I saw 'mid the folds all the iris-hued flowers
That beneath his touch had sprung,

More beautiful far than these stray ones of ours,
Which the angels have to us flung.

And wherever a tear had fallen down
Gleamed out a diamond rare,

And jewels befitting a monarch's crown
Were footprints left by care.

And wherever had swept the breath of a sigh
Was left a rich perfume,

And with light from the fountain of bliss in the sky
Shone the labor of sorrow and gloom.

The Song of Steam.

ARNESS me down with your iron bands,
Be sure of your curb and rein,

For I scorn the strength of your puny hands
As a tempest scorns a chain.

How I laughed, as I lay concealed from sight,
For many a countless hour,

At the childish boasts of human might,
And the pride of human power!

When I saw an army upon the land,
A navy upon the seas,
Creeping along, a snail-like band,

Or waiting the wayward breeze;

When I marked the peasant faintly reel
With the toil that he daily bore,

As he feebly turned the tardy wheel,
Or tugged at the weary oar;

When I measured the panting courser's speed,
The flight of the carrier dove,

As they bore the law a king decreed,

Or the lines of impatient love,

I could but think how the world would feel,
As these were outstripped afar,

When I should be bound to the rushing keel,
Or chained to the flying car.

Ha! ha ha! they found me at last,

They invited me forth at length,

And I rushed to my throne with a thunder blast,
And laughed in my iron strength!

O, then ye saw a wondrous change
On the earth and ocean wide,
Where now my fiery armies range
Nor wait for wind or tide!

Hurrah! hurrah! the waters o'er,

The mountain's steep decline;
Time-space-have yielded to my power;
The world, the world is mine!

The rivers the sun hath earliest blest,
Or those where his beams decline,
The giant streams of the queenly West,'
Or the Orient floods divine.

The ocean pales wherever I sweep
To hear my strength rejoice,
And monsters of the briny deep
Cower trembling at my voice.

I carry the wealth of the lord of earth,
The thoughts of his godlike mind;
The wind lags after my going forth,

The lightning is left behind.

In the darksome depths of the fathomless mine My tireless arm doth play,

Where the rocks never saw the sun's decline,
Or the dawn of the glorious day;

I bring earth's glittering jewels up
From the hidden caves below,
And I make the fountain's granite cup
With a crystal gush o'erflow.

I blow the bellows, I forge the steel,
In all the shops of trade;

I hammer the ore and turn the wheel
Where my arms of strength are made;

I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint,
I carry, I spin, I weave,

And all my doings I put into print

On every Saturday eve.

I've no muscles to weary, no brains to decay,
No bones to be laid on the shelf,

And soon I intend you may go and play,
While I manage the world myself!
But harness me down with your iron bands,
Be sure of your curb and rein,

For I scorn the strength of your puny hands
As the tempest scorns the chain.