Into its furrows shall we all be cast, In the sure faith, that we shall rise again Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, With that of flowers, which never bloomed on earth. With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, This is the field and Acre of our God, This is the place, where human harvests grow! TO THE RIVER CHARLES. RIVER! that in silence windest Through the meadows, bright and free, Till at length thy rest thou findest Four long years of mingled feeling, I have seen thy waters stealing Onward, like the stream of life. TO THE RIVER CHARLES. Thou hast taught me, Silent River! Many a lesson, deep and long; Thou hast been a generous giver; I can give thee but a song. Oft in sadness and in illness, I have watched thy current glide, Till the beauty of its stillness Overflowed me, like a tide. And in better hours and brighter, Not for this alone I love thee, Nor because, thy waves of blue From celestial seas above thee Take their own celestial hue. 171 Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee, Friends I love have dwelt beside thee, More than this;-thy name reminds me Of three friends, all true and tried ; And that name, like magic, binds me Closer, closer to thy side. Friends my soul with joy remembers! How like quivering flames they start, When I fan the living embers On the hearth-stone of my heart! "T is for this, thou Silent River! That my spirit leans to thee; Thou hast been a generous giver, BLIND BARTIMEUS. BLIND Bartimeus at the gates Of Jericho in darkness waits; He hears the crowd; -he hears a breath The thronging multitudes increase; The beggar's cry is shrill and loud; Until they say, Θάρσει, ἔγειραι φωνεῖ σε ! Then saith the Christ, as silent stands The crowd, "What wilt thou at my hands?" And he replies, "O give me light! Η πίστις σου σέσωκέ σε ! Ye that have eyes, yet cannot see, Recall those mighty Voices Three, Ἰησοῦ, ἐλέησόν με ! Θάρσει, ἔγειραι, ὕπαγε ! Ἡ πίστις σου σέσωκέ σε ! THE GOBLET OF LIFE. FILLED is Life's goblet to the brim; No purple flowers,—no garlands green, This goblet, wrought with curious art, When the deep fountains of the heart, And as it mantling passes round, Above the lowly plants it towers, And in an earlier age than ours Was gifted with the wondrous powers, It gave new strength, and fearless mood; Then in Life's goblet freely press New light and strength they give! And he who has not learned to know |