Poems of the Heart and Home Part 22

I will lie down and sleep, From every terror free; Nor wake to tremble or to weep, Secure, O Lord, with thee!

DEATH

'Tis but to fold the arms in peace, To close the tear-dimmed, aching eye, From sin and suffering to cease, And wake to sinless life on high.

'Tis but to leave the dusty way Our pilgrim feet so long have pressed, And pa.s.son angel-wings away, Forever with the Lord to rest.

'Tis but with noiseless step to glide Behind the curtain's mystic screen That from our mortal gaze doth hide The glories of the world unseen.

Tis but to sleep a pa.s.sing hour, Serene as cradled infants sleep; Then wake in glory and in power, An endless Sabbath day to keep.

I SHALL BE SATISFIED

I shall be satisfied when I awaken In thy dear likeness, my King and my Lord,-- When the dark prison of death shall be shaken, And the freed spirit comes forth at thy word!-- I shall be satisfied, Saviour, be satisfied, Wearing thy likeness and near to thy side!

Sinless and sorrowless, robed in thy righteousness, What can I ask for in glory beside?

I shall be satisfied loving thee ever, Hearing thy accents and sharing thy joy, Fearing nor change nor estrangement to sever Me from my Lord and His blissful employ!-- Satisfied, satisfied, evermore satisfied, Wearing thy likeness and near to thy side!

Sinless and sorrowless, robed in thy righteousness, What can I ask for in glory beside?

I shall be satisfied when I behold thee, I shall be like thee, my Saviour and King!

And, in the radiance that will enfold thee, I shall enfolded be, too, while I sing-- Lo, I am satisfied, Saviour, am satisfied, Wearing thy likeness and near thy side!

Sinless and sorrowless, robed in thy righteousness, What can I ask for in glory beside!

AT THE GRAVE OF A YOUNG MOTHER

A transient day, A troubled night, The swift decay, The certain blight, And death and dust;--

And are these all?-- Nay: those are past; And she who sleeps Shall wake at last Among the just!

GO, DREAM NO MORE

Go, dream no more of a sun-bright sky With never a cloud to dim!-- Thou hast seen the storm in its robes of night, Them hast felt the rush of the whirlwind's might, Thou hast shrunk from the lightning's arrowy flight, When the Spirit of Storms went by!

Go, dream no more of a crystal sea Where never a tempest sweeps!-- For thy riven bark on a surf-beat sh.o.r.e, Where the wild winds shriek, and the billows roar, A shattered wreck to be launched no more, Will mock at thy dream and thee!

Go, dream no more of a fadeless flower With never a cankering blight'-- For the queenliest rose in thy garden bed, The pride of the morn, ere the noon is fled, With the worm at its heart, withers cold and dead In the Spoiler s fearful power!

Go, dream no more--for the cloud will rise, And the tempest will sweep the sea, Yet grieve not thou, for beyond the strife, The storm and the gloom with which Earth is rife, Gleam out the light of a calmer life, And the glow of serener skies!

COME HOME

Come home! come home! O loved and lost, we sigh Thus, ever, while the weary days go by, And bring thee not. We miss thy bright, young face, Thy bounding step, thy form of girlish grace, Thy pleasant, tuneful voice,-- We miss thee when the dewy evening hours Come with their coolness to our garden, bowers,-- We miss thee when the warbler's tuneful lay Welcomes the rising glories of the day And all glad things rejoice!

Come home!--the vine that climbs our cottage eaves, Hath a low murmur 'mid its glossy leaves When the south wind sweeps by, that seems to be Too deeply laden with sad thoughts of thee-- Of thee, our absent one!-- The roses blossom, and their beauties die, And the sweet violet opes its pensive eye By thee unseen; and from the old, beech tree Thy robin pours his song unheard by thee, Dally at set of sun!

Dearest, come home! Thy harp neglected lies, Breathing no more its wonted melodies; Thy favourite books, unopened, in their case, Just as thy hands arranged them, keep their place, And vacant is thy seat Beside the hearth. At the still hour of prayer Thou com'st no more with quiet, reverent air; And when, around the social board, each face Brings its warm welcome, there's one vacant place-- One smile we may not meet.

Come home!--_thy_ home was never wont to be A place where clouds might rest; yet, wanting thee, All pleasant scenes have dull and tasteless grown, And shadows lower-shadows, erewhile unknown Of ever-deepening gloom.

The halls where erst thy happy childhood played, The pleasant garden by thy fair hands made, The bower thy sunny presence made so fair, Are all unchanged,--yet grief is everywhere;-- Dear one, come home!

Come home?--come home?--alas, what have I said?

Beyond the stars, beloved, thy feet have sped!

No more to press these garden paths with mine, Or walk beside my own at day's decline-- No more--no more to come To these old summer haunts! But I shall stay A little while; and then, at fall of day, I, too, like thee, shall sleep, and wake to see Thy Lord and mine, and so shall ever be _With Him and thee at home!_

BE IN EARNEST

Be in earnest, Christian toilers, Life is not the summer, dream Of the careless, child that gathers Daisies in the noontide beam!

It hath conflict, it hath danger, It hath sorrow, toil, and strife; Yet the weak alone will falter In the battle-field of life.

There are burdens you may lighten, Toiling, struggling ones may cheer, Tear-dimmed eyes that you may brighten, Th.o.r.n.y paths that you may clear;-- Erring ones, despised, neglected, You may lead to duty back,-- Beacon-lights to be erected, All along life's crowded track.

There are wrongs that must be righted, Sacred rights to be sustained, Truths, though trampled long and slighted, 'Mid the strife to be maintained;-- Heavy, brooding mists to scatter-- Mists of ignorance and sin,-- Walls of adamant to shatter, Thus to let G.o.d's sunlight in.

Boundless is the field and fertile, Let the ploughshare deep be driven; So, at length, the plenteous harvest Shall look smiling up to heaven!

Sow the seed at early morning, Nor at evening stay thy hand; Precious fruits, the earth adorning, Shall at length around thee stand

Be in earnest, Christian toilers, Life is not the summer-dream Of the careless child that gathers Daisies in the noontide beam!

Life hath conflict, toil, and danger,-- It hath sorrow, pain, and strife,-- Yet the weak alone will falter In the battle-field of life!

CHLODINE