ONLY A CURL.

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VI.

"God lent him and takes him," you sigh;

Nay, there let me break with your pain: God's generous in giving, say I,

And the thing which He gives, I deny
That He ever can take back again.

VII.

He gives what He gives.

To give,

Means with God not to tempt or deceive
With a cup thrust in Benjamin's sack.

VIII.

He gives what He gives.

Be content!

He resumes nothing given, be sure !

God lends?

Where the usurers lent

In His temple, indignant He went

And scourged away all those impure.

IX.

He lends not; but gives to the end,
As He loves to the end. If it seem
That He draws back a gift, comprehend
'Tis to add to it rather, — amend,

And finish it up to your dream,

Or keep,

-

X.

as a mother may toys

Too costly, though given by herself, Till the room shall be stiller from noise, And the children more fit for such joys, Kept over their heads on the shelf.

XI.

So look up, friends! you, who indeed

Have possessed in your house a sweet piece Of the Heaven which men strive for, must need Be more earnest than others are, speed

Where they loiter, persist where they cease.

XII.

You know how one angel smiles there.
Then courage. 'Tis easy for you

To be drawn by a single gold hair

Of that curl, from earth's storm and despair,
To the safe place above us.

Adieu.

A QUESTION.

"Do you think of me as I think of you?"
It seemed not much to ask as I of you?
We all do ask the same. No eyelids cover
Within the meekest eyes, that question over
And little, in the world, the loving do,

A FLOWER IN A LETTER.

But sit (among the rocks?) and listen for
The echo of their own love evermore.
"Do you think of me as I think of you?"

"Do you think of me as I think of you?”
O friends! O kindred! O dear brotherhood
Of all the world! What are we, that we should
For covenants of long affection sue?

4I

Why press so near each other, when the touch
Is barred by graves? Not much, and yet too much,
Is this "Think of me as I think of you."

But while on mortal lips I shape anew
A sigh to mortal issues, verily

Above the unshaken stars that see us die,
A vocal pathos rolls! and He who drew
All life from dust, and for all, tasted death,
By death and life and love, appealing, saith,
Do you think of Me as I think of you?

MY

A FLOWER IN A LETTER.

Y lonely chamber next the sea,
Is full of many flowers set free
By summer's earliest duty;
Dear friends upon the garden-walk
Might stop amid their fondest talk,

To pull the least in beauty.

A thousand flowers - each seeming one
That learnt, by gazing on the sun,

To counterfeit his shining

Within whose leaves the holy dew
That falls from heaven, hath won anew
A glory in declining.

Red roses used to praises long,
Contented with the poet's song,

The nightingale's being over;

And lilies white, prepared to touch
The whitest thought, nor soil it much,
Of dreamer turned to lover.

Deep violets you liken to

The kindest eyes that look on you,
Without a thought disloyal;
And cactuses a queen might don,
If weary of a golden crown,

And still appear as royal.

Pansies for ladies all! I wis

That none who wear such brooches, miss

A jewel in the mirror;

And tulips, children love to stretch

Their fingers down, to feel in each

Its beauty's secret nearer.

Love's language may be talked with these To work out choicest sentences,

No blossoms can be meeter,

CALLS OF THE HEART.

And, such being used in Eastern bowers,
Young maids may wonder if the flowers

Or meanings be the sweeter.

And such being strewn before a bride,
Her little foot may turn aside,

Their longer bloom decreeing;

Unless some voice's whispered sound
Should make her gaze upon the ground
Too earnestly — for seeing.

And such being scattered on a grave,
Whoever mourneth there may have
A type that seemeth worthy
Of a fair body hid below,

Which bloomed on earth a time ago,
Then perished as the earthy.

And such being wreathed for worldly feast,
Across the brimming cup some guest
Their rainbow colors viewing,

May feel them, — with a silent start, –

The covenant, his childish heart

With nature made, — renewing.

CALLS OF THE HEART.

I.

FREE Heart, that singest to-day

Like a bird on the first green spray;

Wilt thou go forth to the world,

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