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The desolate and gone astray, The scattered of a cloudy day, And Zion's broken walls restore; And, through the travail and the toil Of true obedience, minister Beauty for ashes, and the oil Of joy for mourning, unto her! So shall her holy bounds increase With walls of praise and gates of peace: So shall the Vine, which martyr tears And blood sustained in other years, With fresher life be clothed upon; And to the world in beauty show Like the rose-plant of Jericho, And glorious as Lebanon! 1847. To Fredrika Bremer. It is proper to say that these lines are the joint impromptus of my sister and myself. They are inserted here as an expression of our admiration of the gifted stranger whom we have since learned to love as a friend. Seeress of the misty Norland, Daughter of the Vikings bold, Welcome to the sunny Vineland, Which thy fathers sought of old! Soft as flow of Silja's waters, When the moon of summer shines, Strong as Winter from his mountains Roaring through the sleet
ns bare Their foreheads to diviner air, Fit emblem of enduring fame, One lofty summit keeps thy name. For thee the cosmic forces did The rearing of that pyramid, The prescient ages shaping with Fire, flood, and frost thy monolith. Sunrise and sunset lay thereon With hands of light their benison, The stars of midnight pause to set Their jewels in its coronet. And evermore that mountain mass Seems climbing from the shadowy pass To light, as if to manifest Thy nobler self, thy life at best! 1880. Wordsworth. Written on a blank leaf of his Memoirs. dear friends, who read the world aright, And in its common forms discern A beauty and a harmony The many never learn! Kindred in soul of him who found In simple flower and leaf and stone The impulse of the sweetest lays Our Saxon tongue has known,— Accept this record of a life As sweet and pure, as calm and good, As a long day of blandest June In green field and in wood. How welcome to our ears, long pained By strife of sect and pa
ps, the horn Of Roland wound once more to rouse and warn, The old voice filled the air! His last brave word Not vainly France to all her boundaries stirred. Strong as in life, he still for Freedom wrought, As the dead Cid at red Toloso fought. 1877. Fitz-Greene Halleck. At the Unveiling of his Statue. among their graven shapes to whom Thy civic wreaths belong, O city of his love, make room For one whose gift was song. Not his the soldier's sword to wield, Nor his the helm of state, Norof praise must soon be dumb, Our grateful eyes be dim; O brothers of the days to come, Take tender charge of him! New hands the wires of song may sweep, New voices challenge fame; But let no moss of years o'ercreep The lines of Halleck's name. 1877. William Francis Bartlett. Oh, well may Essex sit forlorn Beside her sea-blown shore; Her well beloved, her noblest born, Is hers in life no more! No lapse of years can render less Her memory's sacred claim; No fountain of forgetfulness Can w
lemn and tender, The music rose and fell With a joy akin to sadness And a greeting like farewell. With a sense of awe he listened To the voices sweet and young; The last of earth and the first of heaven Seemed in the songs they sung. And waiting a little longer For the wonderful change to come, He heard the Summoning Angel, Who calls God's children home And to him in a holier welcome Was the mystical meaning given Of the words of the blessed Master: ‘Of such is the kingdom of heaven!’ 1882. A welcome to Lowell. take our hands, James Russell Lowell, Our hearts are all thy own; To-day we bid thee welcome Not for ourselves alone. In the long years of thy absence Some of us have grown old, And some have passed the portals Of the Mystery untold; For the hands that cannot clasp thee, For the voices that are dumb, For each and all I bid thee A grateful welcome home! For Cedarcroft's sweet singer To the nine-fold Muses dear; For the Seer the winding Concord Paused by his door to
hange and fall; But that which shares the life of God With Him surviveth all. 1851. To——. Lines written after a summer day's Excursion. fair Nature's priestesly walks to trace The outlines of incarnate grace, The hymns of gods to hear! 1851. In Peace. A track Of moonlight on a quiet lake, Whose small waves on a silvgetful of the tricks of art, With pencil dipped alone in colors of the heart. 1851. Benedicite. God's love and peace be with thee, where Soe'er this soft autumsweet day, As thou mayst hear and I may say, I greet thee, dearest, far away. 1851. Kossuth. It can scarcely be necessary to say that there are elements in the noblest guest The Old World's wrong has given the New World of the West! 1851. To my old Schoolmaster. An Epistle not after the manner of Horace. Thesmade stuff,— Wise and simple, rich and poor, Thou hast known them all before! 1851. The cross. Richard Dillingham, a young member of the Society of Friends,<
ow didst thou, in thy generous youth, Bear witness to this blessed truth! Thy cross of suffering and of shame A staff within thy hands became, In paths where faith alone could see The Master's steps supporting thee. Thine was the seed-time; God alone Beholds the end of what is sown; Beyond our vision, weak and dim, The harvest-time is hid with Him. Yet, unforgotten where it lies, That seed of generous sacrifice, Though seeming on the desert cast, Shall rise with bloom and fruit at last. 1852. The hero. The hero of the incident related in this poem was Dr. Samuel Gridley Howe, the well-known philanthropist, who when a young man volunteered his aid in the Greek struggle for independence. “Oh for a knight like Bayard, Without reproach or fear; My light glove on his casque of steel, My love-knot on his spear! Oh for the white plume floating Sad Zutphen's field above,— The lion heart in battle, The woman's heart in love! Oh that man once more were manly, Woman's pride, an
ill glides on, And we who mourn thee with it glide. On all thou lookest we shall look, And to our gaze erelong shall turn That page of God's mysterious book We so much wish yet dread to learn. With Him, before whose awful power Thy spirit bent its trembling knee; Who, in the silent greeting flower, And forest leaf, looked out on thee, We leave thee, with a trust serene, Which Time, nor Change, nor Death can move, While with thy childlike faith we lean On Him whose dearest name is Love! 1842. To J. P. John Pierpont, the eloquent preacher and poet of Boston. not as a poor requital of the joy With which my childhood heard that lay of thine, Which, like an echo of the song divine At Bethlehem breathed above the Holy Boy, Bore to my ear the Airs of Palestine,— Not to the poet, but the man I bring In friendship's fearless trust my offering: How much it lacks I feel, and thou wilt see, Yet well I know that thou hast deemed with me Life all too earnest, and its time too short Fo
n Earth, as if on evil dreams, Looks back upon her wars, And the white light of Christ outstreams From the red disk of Mars, His fame who led the stormy van Of battle well may cease, But never that which crowns the man Whose victory was Peace. Mourn, Essex, on thy sea-blown shore Thy beautiful and brave, Whose failing hand the olive bore, Whose dying lips forgave! Let age lament the youthful chief, And tender eyes be dim; The tears are more of joy than grief That fall for one like him! 1878. Bayard Taylor. I ‘and where now, Bayard, will thy footsteps tend?’ My sister asked our guest one winter's day. Smiling he answered in the Friends' sweet way Common to both: “Wherever thou shalt send! What wouldst thou have me see for thee?” She laughed, Her dark eyes dancing in the wood-fire's glow: “Loffoden isles, the Kilpis, and the low, Unsetting sun on Finmark's fishing-craft.” ‘All these and more I soon shall see for thee!’ He answered cheerily: and he kept his pled
t eyelids ever rise? O friend! no proof beyond this yearning, This outreach of our hearts, we need; God will not mock the hope He giveth, No love He prompts shall vainly plead. Then let us stretch our hands in darkness, And call our loved ones o'er and o'er; Some day their arms shall close about us, And the old voices speak once more. No dreary splendors wait our coming Where rapt ghost sits from ghost apart; Homeward we go to Heaven's thanksgiving. The harvest-gathering of the heart. 1870. The singer. This poem was written on the death of Alice Cary. Her sister Phoebe, heart-broken by her loss, followed soon after. Noble and richly gifted, lovely in person and character, they left behind them only friends and admirers. years since (but names to me before), Two sisters sought at eve my door; Two song-birds wandering from their nest, A gray old farm-house in the West. How fresh of life the younger one, Half smiles, half tears, like rain in sun! Her gravest mood could
ramped limbs to the sun again. Oh, joy for all, who hear her call From gray Camaldoli's convent-wall And Elmo's towers to freedom's carnival! A new life breathes among her vines And olives, like the breath of pines Blown downward from the breezy Apennines. Lean, O my friend, to meet that breath, Rejoice as one who witnesseth Beauty from ashes rise, and life from death! Thy sorrow shall no more be pain, Its tears shall fall in sunlit rain, Writing the grave with flowers: ‘Arisen again!’ 1860. A Memorial. Moses Austin Cartland, a dear friend and relation, who led a faithful life as a teacher and died in the summer of 1863. Oh, thicker, deeper, darker growing, The solemn vista to the tomb Must know henceforth another shadow, And give another cypress room. In love surpassing that of brothers, We walked, O friend, from childhood's day; And, looking back o'er fifty summers, Our footprints track a common way. One in our faith, and one our longing To make the world within ou
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