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SPREAD, spread thy silver wings, oh
And seek for rest by land and sea,
And bring the tidings back to me
For thee and me and those I love.

Look how my Dove soars far away;
Go with her, heart of mine, I pray;
Go where her fluttering silver pinions
Follow the track of the crimson day.

Is rest where cloudlets slowly creep, And sobbing winds forget to grieve, And quiet waters gently heave, As if they rocked the ship to sleep?

Ah no! that southern vapour white
Will bring a tempest ere the night,
And thunder through the quiet Heaven,
Lashing the sea in its angry might.

The battle-field lies still and cold,
While stars that watch in silent light
Gleam here and there on weapons bright,
In weary sleepers' slackened hold;

Nay, though they dream of no alarm,
One bugle sound will stir that calm,
And all the strength of two great nations,
Eager for battle, will rise and arm.

Pause where the Pilgrims' day is done,

Where scrip and staff aside are laid,

And, resting in the silent shade,

They watch the slowly sinking sun.
Ah no! that worn and weary band
Must journey long before they stand,
With bleeding feet, and hearts rejoicing,
Kissing the dust of the Holy Land.

Then find a soul who meets at last

A noble prize but hard to gain,

Or joy long pleaded for in vain,

Now sweeter for a bitter past.

Ah no! for Time can rob her yet,
And even should cruel Time forget,

Then Death will come, and, unrelenting,
Brand her with sorrowful long regret.

Seek farther, farther yet, oh Dove!

Beyond the Land, beyond the Sea,

There shall be rest for thee and me,

For thee and me and those I love.
I heard a promise gently fall,
I heard a far-off Shepherd call
The weary and the broken-hearted,
Promising rest unto each and all.

It is not marred by outward strife,

It is not lost in calm repose,

It heedeth neither joys nor woes,

Is not disturbed by death or life;

Through, and beyond them, lies our Best:
Then cease, oh Heart, thy longing quest!
And thou, my Dove, with silver pinions
Flutter again to thy quiet nest!



T was midnight when I listened,
And I heard two Voices speak;
One was harsh, and stern, and cruel,
And the other soft and weak:
Yet I saw no Vision enter,

And I heard no steps depart,
Of this Tyrant and his Captive, . . .
Fate it might be and a Heart.

Thus the stern Voice spake in triumph:—

"I have shut your life away From the radiant world of nature,

And the perfumed light of day. You, who loved to steep your spirit

In the charm of Earth's delight,
See no glory of the daytime,

And no sweetness of the night."

But the soft Voice answered calmly:

"Nay, for when the March winds bring Just a whisper to my window,

I can dream the rest of Spring; And to-day I saw a Swallow

Flitting past my prison bars, And my cell has just one corner

Whence at night I see the stars."

But its bitter taunt repeating,

Cried the harsh Voice:—" Where are theyAll the friends of former hours,

Who forget your name to-day? All the links of love are shattered,

Which you thought so strong before; And your very heart is lonely,

And alone since loved no more."

But the low Voice spoke still lower :—
"Nay, I know the golden chain

Of my love is purer, stronger,
For the cruel fire of pain:

They remember me no longer,
But I, grieving here alone,

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