The stem where it flourished, And fed it with sunshine and dew

"O Man! will it always be thus?-- Will you take the rich gifts that are given By the tireless workers of earth, By the bountiful Father in heaven, And, intent on the worth of the gift, Never think of the maker, the giver?-- Of the long patient effort,--the thought That secretly grew in the brain Of the Poet to measure and strain, Till it burst on your ear, richly fraught With the rapturous sweetness of song?--

What availeth it, then, that ye toil, You, thought's patient producers, to be Unloved and unprized, Trodden down and despised By those whom you toil for, like me-- Forgotten and trampled like me?--"

Then my heart made indignant reply, In spite of my fast falling tears-- In spite of the wearisome years Of toil unrequited that lay In the track of the past, and the way Thorn-girded I'd trod in those years--

"So be it, if so it _must_ be!-- May I know that the thing I so patiently bring From the depths of the heart and the brain, A creature of _beauty_ goes forth, Midst the hideous phantoms that press And crowd the lone paths of this work-weary life, Midst the labor and care, the temptation and strife, To gladden and comfort and bless!

"So be it, if so it _must_ be!-- May I know that the thing I so patiently bring From the depths of the heart and the brain, Goes forth with a conquerors might, Through the gloom of this turbulent world, Potent for truth and for right, Where truth has so often been hurled 'Neath the feet of the throng-- The hurrying, passionate throng!--

"What matter though I _be_ forgot, Since toil is itself a delight?-- Since the _power_ to do, To the soul that is true, Is the uttered command of the Lord To labor and faint not, but still To pursue and achieve, And ever believe. That ACHIEVEMENT ALONE IS REWARD!"

BEYOND THE SHADOWS.

Thou hast entered the land without shadows, Thou who, 'neath the shadow, so long Hast sat with thy white hands close-folded, And lips that could utter no song; Through a rift in the cloud, for an instant, Thine eyes caught a glimpse of that shore, And Earth with its gloom was forgotten, And Heaven is thine own evermore!

We see not the glorious vision, Nor the welcoming melodies hear, That, from bowers of beauty Elysian, Float tenderly sweet to thine ear; Round us, lie Earth's desolate midnight, Her winter-plains bare and untrod,-- Round thee, is the glad, morning sunlight That beams from the City of God!

Our eyes have grown heavy with weeping,-- Thine, "the King in his beauty" behold And thou leanest thy head on His bosom, Like him, the beloved, of old; The days of thy weeping are ended, Thy sorrow and suffering done, And angels thy flight have attended To the side of the Crucified One.

On thy hearth-stone the ashes are fireless, In thy dark home the lights never burn, In thy garden the sweet flowers have perished, To thy bower no song-birds return! Yet a mansion of bliss glory-lighted, Where anguish and death are unknown, Where beauty and bloom are unblighted, Henceforth is forever thine own!

Oh! joy for thee, glorified spirit! With Jesus forever to be, And with sinless and sainted companions The bliss of His Paradise see! Joy, joy!--for thy warfare is finished, Thy perilous journeying o'er, And, above the deep gloom of Earth's shadows, Thou art dwelling in Light evermore!

AUTUMN AND WINTER.

I.

Beautiful Autumn is dead and gone-- Weep for her! Calm, and gracious, and very fair, With sunny robe and with shining hair, And a tender light in her dreamy eye, She came to earth but to smile and die-- Weep for her!

Nay, nay, I will not weep! She came with a smile, And tarried awhile, Quieting Nature to sleep;-- Then went on her way O'er the hill-tops grey, And yet--and yet, _she is dead_, you say! Nay!--she brought us blessings, and left us cheer, And alive and well shell return next year!-- Why should I weep?

II.

Desolate Winter has come again-- Frown on him! He comes with a withering breath, With a gloomy scowl, With a shriek and a howl, Freezing Nature to death! He stamps on the hills, He fetters the rills, And every hollow with snow he fills! Frown on the monster grim and old, With snowy robes and with fingers cold, And a gusty breath!

Nay, nay! I shall give him a smile!-- For I know by the sleet, And the snow in the street, He has come to tarry awhile. Ho, for the sleigh-bells merrily ringing! Ho, for the skaters joyously singing-- Over the ice-fields gliding, swinging!-- So let the Winter-king whiten the plain! Fetter the fountains and frost the pane, His greeting shall be-- Not a frown from me, But a smile--a smile!

TILL TO-MORROW.

Good night! good night!--the golden day Has veiled its sunset beam, And twilight's star its beauteous ray Has mirrored in the stream;-- Low voices come from vale and height, And murmur soft, good night! good night!

Good night!--the bee with folded wings Sleeps sweet in honeyed flowers, And far away the night-bird sings In dreamy forest bowers, And slowly fades the western light In deepening shade,--good night! good night!

Good night! good night!--in whispers low The ling'ring zephyr sighs, And softly, in its dreamy flow, The murm'ring brook replies; And, where yon casement still is bright, A softer voice has breathed good-night!

Good night!--as steals the cooling dew Where the young violet lies, E'en so may slumber steal anew To weary human eyes, And softly steep the aching sight In dewy rest--good night! good night!