The bird winging the evening sky
Flies onward without song;
The crowding years as they pass by
Flow on in mutest throng.
The fishes glide through liquid deep
And never speak a word;
The angels round about us sweep,
And yet no voice is heard.
The highest thoughts no utterance find,
The holiest hope is dumb,
In silence grows the immortal mind,
And speechless deep joys come.
Rapt adoration has no tongue,
No words has holiest prayer;
The loftiest mountain peaks among
Is stillness everywhere.
With sweetest music silence blends,
And silent praise is best;
In silence life begins and ends:
God cannot be expressed.
O WOMAN, let thy heart not cleave To any poet's soul;
For he the muse will never leave, But follow to life's goal.
Then trust him not, he is not thine,
Whate'er he seems to be;
Strong unseen tendrils round him twine,
And keep him still from thee.
His words with passion are athrill,
And bear contagious fire;
He knows the charmer's perfect skill
To wake the heart's desire.
But love him not, his love is woe;
The genius at his side
Would prove for thee a fatal foe
Wert thou his wedded bride.
FOR many bessings I to God upraise
A thankful heart; the life He gives is fair
And sweet and good, since He is every-
where,
Still with me even in the darkest ways.
But most I thank Him for my earliest days,
Passed in the fields and in the open air,
With flocks and birds and flowers, free
from all care,
And glad as brook that through a meadow strays.
O balmy air, O orchards white with bloom,
O waving fields of ever-varying green,
O deep, mysterious woods, whose leafy
gloom
Invites to pensive dreams of worlds unseen,
To thoughts as solemn as the silent tomb,
No power from you my heart can ever wean!
THE star must cease to burn with its own light
Before it can become the dwelling-place
Of hearts that love,-beings of godlike race,
Through its own death attaining to the
height
Of excellence, and sinking into night,
That it may glow with a more perfect grace, And bear a nobler life through boundless space,
Till time shall bring eternity in sight.
So man, if he would truly live, must die,
Descending through the grave that he may
rise
To higher worlds and dwell in purer sky;
Making of seeming life the sacrifice
To share the perfect life with God on high,
Where love divine is the infinite prize.
WHEN from the gloom of earth we see the sky,
The happy stars seem each to other near, And their low-whispered words we almost hear,
As in sweet company they smile or sigh.
Alas! infinite worlds between them lie,
And solitary each within its sphere
Rolls lonely ever onward without cheer,
Is born, and lives and dies with no one
And so men's souls seem close together bound,
But worlds immeasurable lie between,
And each is centre in a void profound,
Wherein he lonely lives sad or serene,
And, planet-like, moves higher centre round,
Whence light he draws as from the sun
night's Queen.
AT THE NINTH HOUR
ELI, Eli, lama sabacthani?
O sadder than the ocean's wailing moan, Sadder than homes whence life and joy have flown,
Than graves where those we love in darkness lie;
More full of anguish than all agony
Of broken hearts, forsaken of their own
And left in hopeless misery alone,
Is this, O sweet and loving Christ, Thy
cry!
For this, this only is infinite pain:
To feel that God Himself has turned away.
If He abide, all loss may still be gain,
And darkest night be beautiful as day.
But lacking Him the universe is vain,
And man's immortal soul is turned to
clay.
O love that will not be forgot!
O love that leaves alone!
O love that blinds and blesses not ! O love that turns to stone!
A SONG FOR LEXINGTON
THE spring came earlier on
Than usual that year;
The shadiest snow was gone,
The slowest brook was clear,
And warming in the sun
Shy flowers began to peer.
'T was more like middle May,
The earth so seemed to thrive,
That Nineteenth April day
Of Seventeen Seventy-Five;
Winter was well away,
New England was alive!
Alive and sternly glad!
Her doubts were with the snow;
Her courage, long forbade,
Ran full to overflow;
And every hope she had
Began to bud and grow.
She rose betimes that morn,
For there was work to do;
A planting, not of corn,
Of what she hardly knew, -
Blessings for men unborn;
And well she did it too!
With open hand she stood, And sowed for all the years,
And watered it with blood, And watered it with tears, The seed of quickening food For both the hemispheres.
This was the planting done
That April morn of fame;
Honor to every one
To that seed-field that came !
Honor to Lexington,
Our first immortal name!
O STEADFAST trees that know
Rain, hail, and sleet, and snow,
And all the winds that blow;
But when spring comes, can then
So freshly bud again
Forgetful of the wrong!
Waters that deep below
The stubborn ice can go
With quiet underflow,
Contented to be dumb
Till spring herself shall come
To listen to your song
g!
Stars that the clouds pass o'er
And stain not, but make more
Alluring than before:
How good it is for us
That your lives are not thus Prevented, but made strong!
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