Mountain idylls, and Other Poems Part 7

_Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth acc.u.mulates and men decay.

--Goldsmith._

I fear the palace of the rich, I fear the hovel of the poor; Though fortified by moat and ditch, The castle strong could not endure; Nor can the squalid hovel be A source of strength, and those who cause This widening discrepancy Infringe on G.o.d's eternal laws.

The heritage of man, the earth, Was framed for homes, not vast estates; A lowering scale of human worth Each generation demonstrates, Which feels the landlord's iron hand, And hopeless, plod with effort brave; Who love no home can love no land; These own no home, until the grave.

The nation's strongest safeguards lie In free and unenc.u.mbered homes; Not in its hordes of vagrancy, Nor in its proud, palatial domes; Nor can the mercenary sword E'er cross with that the freeman draws.

Nor oil upon the waters poured Perpetuate an unjust cause.

Eternal Justice, still prevail And stay this menace ere too late!

Ere st.u.r.dy manhood droop and fail, The law, immutable, of fate; No foe can daunt the stalwart heart Of him who guards that sacred ground Where every hero owns a part, Where each an ample home has found.

No more shall battle's lurid gleam The cloudless sky of peace obscure; Nor blood becrimson field, or stream, Nor avarice grind down the poor; But onward let thy progress be A pageant, beautiful and grand; May He who e'er has guided thee Protect thee still, my native land!

Echoes from Galilee.

What means this gathering mult.i.tude, Upon thy sh.o.r.es, O, Galilee, As various as the billows rude That sweep thy ever restless sea?

Can but the mandate of a King So varied an a.s.semblage bring?

Behold the n.o.ble, rich, and great, From Levite, Pharisee and Priest, Down to the lowest dregs of fate, From mightiest even to the least; Yes, in this motley throng we find The palsied, sick, mute, halt, and blind.

Is this some grand affair of state, A coronation, or display, By some vainglorious potentate,-- Or can this concourse mark the day Of some victorious hero's march Homeward, through triumphal arch?

Or, have they come to celebrate Some sacred sacerdotal rite; By civic feast, to emulate Some deed, on history's pages bright?

Or can this grand occasion be Some battle's anniversary?

But wherefore come the halt and blind?

What comfort can the pain-distressed In such a tumult hope to find?

What is there here, to offer rest To those, whom adverse fate has hurled, Dismantled, on a hostile world?

Let us approach! A form we see, Fairest beyond comparison; For such an heavenly purity, From other eyes, hath never shown; Nor such a calm, majestic brow On earth hath ne'er appeared, till now.

Draw nearer. Lo! a voice we hear, Resonant, soft, pathetic, sweet; In ringing accents, calm and clear, He sways the thousands at his feet, With more than mortal eloquence, Or man's compa.s.sion, in his glance.

Ah! Strange, that such a form should stand In raiment soiled, and travel stained; Yes, mark the contour of that hand, A hand by menial toil profaned.

Can one from such a station reach All cla.s.ses by sheer force of speech?

Can eloquence from mortal tongue Break through the barriers, which divide The toiling and down-trodden throng From affluence, and official pride?

Then how can yonder speaker hold An audience so manifold?

He spake as never orator Before, or since, with burning thought, In parable, and metaphor; Each simple ill.u.s.tration taught Some sacred truth, some truth which could By sage, or fool, be understood.

With similes of common things, The lilies of the field, the salt Which lost its savour; gently brings A lesson, from the common fault Of self-admiring Pharisee, Of ostentatious piety.

And from the prostrate penitent, The Publican, who beat his breast, Remorsefully his garment rent, And thus, with tears, his sin confessed; "Lord, Lord, a sinner vile am I, Be merciful, and hear my cry!"

And from that man, beset by thieves, And left upon the road, to die; No aid or comfort he receives From Priest, or Levite, pa.s.sing by; How the despised Samaritan Proved the true neighbor to that man.

Yes, finished with such fervency Of gesture, and similitude; Such depths of love, and purity His hearers marvelled, as they stood; Nor through his discourse, was there heard, Abusive, vain, or idle word.

Who may this wondrous speaker be?

Is he some judge, or orator?

Some one in high authority?

Physician, prince, or conqueror?

Answer, thou ever restless sea, Who may this wondrous person be?

With echoes soft, the sea replies, This is a Judge, and Orator; A Judge, beyond all judges wise, And eloquent, as none before; A Judge, majestic, calm, serene; And yet, an humble Nazarene.

He is a Ruler, whose command The myriads of the skies obey, As in the hollow of His hand He holds all human destiny.

The tempest wild concedes his will, And calms before His "Peace, be still."

A great Physician, too, is He, Whose word, the leper purifies; The mute converse, the blind ones see; At his command, the dead arise; He cures the ravages of sin, And makes the foulest sinner clean.

He is a Prince, a Prince whose power Knows neither limit nor degree, Whose glory, not the pa.s.sing hour, Nor cycles of futurity, Can augment, alter, or decrease-- Prince is He, the Prince of Peace.

He is earth's greatest Conqueror, But conquers not with crimson sword; Love is the weapon of His war, Forgiveness, and gentle word; But, greatest of all victories, O'er the dark grave, His banner flies.

Go, And Sin No More.

When the poor, erring woman sought In tears the Master's feet, Her breast, with deep contrition fraught, Repentance, full, complete, Divine compa.s.sion filled His eyes, He spake, says Sacred Lore,-- "O, erring heart, forgiven, rise, Go, thou, and sin no more."

The tear of contrite sorrow, shed By penitence, cast down, Shall flash, when solar rays have fled, In an eternal crown; That tear shall scintillate, and s.h.i.+ne, When comets cease to soar; If thou would'st wear that gem divine, Go, thou, and sin no more!

Gently Lead Me, Star Divine.

Gently lead me, Star Divine, Lead with bright unchanging ray; O'er my lowly pathway s.h.i.+ne, I shall never lose my way; Though uncertain be my tread, Pitfalls deep, and mountains high, Safely shall my feet be led, By Thy beacon, in the sky.

Long ago, while journeying Westward, o'er the desert wild, Sages sought a promised King In the person of a child; By Thy bright illuminings, To that manger, in the fold, Thou did'st lead those shepherd kings; Lead me, as Thou lead'st of old.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Wherever I wander my ears hear the sound, Of thy waters which plunge with a turbulent sound."

BEAR CREEK FALLS, UNCOMPAHGRE CAnON, NEAR OURAY, COLORADO.]