I have killed him-but I loved him--my dear son!
May God forgive me!-I have been to blame.
The old man's neck, and kissed him many times.
And all the man was broken with remorse;
And all his love came back a hundred fold;
And for three hours he sobbed o'er William's child,
Thinking of William.
Within one house together; and as years
Went forward, Mary took another mate;
But Dora lived unmarried till her death.
The splendor falls on castle walls,
And snowy summits old in story;
The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying;
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Oh hark! oh hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going;
Oh sweet and far, from cliff and scar,
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing.
Blow! let us hear the purple glens replying;
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Oh love, they die in yon rich sky,
They faint on hill, on field, on river;
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow forever and forever.
Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying;
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.
Little Gretchen, little Gretchen wanders up and down the street;
The snow is on her yellow hair, the frost is at her feet.
The rows of long, dark houses without look cold and damp
By the struggling of the moonbeam, by the flicker of the lamp.
The clouds ride fast as horses, the wind is from the north,
But no one cares for Gretchen, and no one looketh forth.
Within those dark, damp houses are merry faces bright,
And happy hearts are watching out the old year's latest night.
With the little box of matches she could not sell all day,
And the thin, thin tattered mantle the wind blows every way,
She clingeth to the railing, she shivers in the gloom—
There are parents sitting snugly by firelight in the room;
And children with grave faces are whispering one another
Of presents for the new year, for father or for mother.
But no one talks to Gretchen, and no one hears her speak,
No breath of little whisperers comes warmly to her cheek.
No little arms are round her: ah me! that there should be,
With so much happiness on earth, so much of misery!
Sure they of many blessings should scatter blessings round,
As laden boughs in autumn fling their ripe fruits to the ground.
And the best love man can offer to the God of love, be sure,
Is kindness to his little ones, and bounty to his poor.
Little Gretchen, little Gretchen goes coldly on her way;
There's no one looketh out at her, there's no one bids her stay.
Her home is cold and desolate; no smile, no food, no fire,
But children clamorous for bread, and an impatient sire.
So she sits down in an angle where two great houses meet,
And she curleth up beneath her, for warmth, her little feet;
And she looketh on the cold wall, and on the colder sky,
And wonders if the little stars are bright fires up on high.
She hears a clock strike slowly, up in a far church tower,
With such a sad and solemn tone, telling the midnight hour.
And she remembered her of tales her mother used to tell,
And of the cradle-songs she sang, when summer's twilight fell;
Of good men and of angels, and of the Holy Child,
Who was cradled in a manger, when winter was most wild;
Who was poor, and cold, and hungry, and desolate and lone;
And she thought the song had told he was ever with his own;
And all the poor, and hungry, and forsaken ones are his—
"How good of Him to look on me in such a place as this!"
Colder it grows and colder, but she does not feel it now,
For the pressure at her heart, and the weight upon her brow;
But she struck one little match on the wall so cold and bare,
That she might look around her, and see if He were there.
The single match has kindled, and by the light it threw,
It seemed to little Gretchen the wall was rent in two;
And she could see folks seated at a table richly spread,
With heaps of goodly viands, red wine and pleasant bread.
She could smell the fragrant savor, she could hear what they did say,
Then all was darkness once again—the match had burned away.
She struck another hastily, and now she seemed to see.
Within the same warm chamber a glorious Christmas tree.
The branches were all laden with things that children prize,
Bright gifts for boy and maiden-she saw them with her eyes.
And she almost seemed to touch them, and to join the welcome shout,
When darkness fell around her, for the little match was out.
Another, yet another, she has tried-they will not light;
Till all her little store she took, and struck with all her might:
And the whole miserable place was lighted with the glare,
And she dreamed there stood a little child before her in the air.
There were blood-drops on his forehead, a spear-wound in his side,
And cruel nail-prints in his feet, and in his hands spread wide.
And he looked upon her gently, and she felt that he had known
Pain, hunger, cold, and sorrow-ay, equal to her own.
And he pointed to the laden board and to the Christmas tree,
Then up to the cold sky, and said, "Will Gretchen come with me?"
The poor child felt her pulses fail, she felt her eyeballs swim,
And a ringing sound was in her ears, like her dead mother's hymn:
And she folded both her thin white hands, and turned from that bright board,
And from the golden gifts, and said, "With thee, with thee, O Lord!”
The chilly winter morning breaks up in the dull skies
On the city wrapped in vapor, on the spot where Gretchen lies.
In her scant and tattered garment, with her back against the wall,
She sitteth cold and rigid, she answers to no call.
They have lifted her up fearfully, they shuddered as they said,
"It was a bitter, bitter night! the child is frozen dead."
The angels sang their greeting for one more redeemed from sin;
Men said, "It was a bitter night; would no one let her in ?"
And they shivered as they spoke of her, and sighed. They could not see
How much of happiness there was after that misery.
THERE'S BUT ONE PAIR OF STOCKINGS TO MEND
TO-NIGHT.
An old wife sat by her bright fireside,
Swaying thoughtfully to and fro,
In an ancient chair whose creaky craw
Told a tale of long ago;
While down by her side on the kitchen floor
Stood a basket of worsted balls-a score.
The good man dozed o'er the latest news
Till the fire of his pipe went out;
And, unheeded, the kitten, with .cunning paws,
Rolled out and tangled the balls about;
Yet still sat the wife in the ancient chair,
Swaying to and fro in the firelight glare.
But anon a misty tear-drop came
In her eye of faded blue,
Then trickled down in a furrow deep,
Like a single drop of dew;
So deep was the channel, so silent the stream,
The good man saw naught but the dimmed eye-beam.
Yet marveled he much that the cheerful light
Of her eye had weary grown,
And marveled he more at the tangled balls:
So he said, in a gentle tone,
"I have shared thy joys since our marriage vow,
Conceal not from me thy sorrows now."
Then she spoke of the time when the basket there
Was filled to the very brim,
And now there remained of the goodly pile
But a single pair—for him;
Then wonder not at the dimmed eye-light:
There's but one pair of stockings to mend to-night.
I can not but think of the busy feet
Whose wrappings were wont to lay
In the basket, awaiting the needle's time-
Now wandered so far away;
How the sprightly steps, to a mother dear,
Unheeded fall on the careless ear.
For each empty nook in the basket old,
By the hearth there's an empty seat: And I miss the shadows from off the wall,
And the patter of many feet:
"Tis for this that a tear gathered over my sight, At the one pair of stockings to mend to-night.
'Twas said that far through the forest wild,
And over the mountains bold,
Was a land whose rivers and darkening caves
Were gemmed with the fairest gold;
Then my first-born turned from the oaken door,
And I knew the shadows were only four.
Another went forth on the foaming wave,
And diminished the basket's store;
But his feet grew cold-so weary and cold
They'll never be warm any more;
And this nook, in its emptiness, seemeth to me
To give back no voice but the moan of the sea.
Two others have gone toward the setting sun,
And made them a home in its light,
And fairy fingers have taken their share,
To mend by the fireside bright;
Some other baskets their garments fill
But mine! oh! mine is emptier still.
Another-the dearest-the fairest-the best-
Was taken by angels away,
And clad in a garment that waxeth not old,
In a land of continual day.
Oh, wonder no more at the dimmed eye-light,
While I mend the one pair of stockings to-night.
"They that turn many to righteousness shall shine as the stars forever and ever."-Dan. xii., 3.
Wearied and worn with earthly cares, I yielded to repose,
And soon before my raptured sight a glorious vision rose:
I thought, while slumbering on my couch in midnight's solemn gloom,
I heard an angel's silvery voice, and radiance filled my room.
A gentle touch awakened me; a gentle whisper said,
Arise, oh sleeper; follow me;" and through the air we fled.
We left the earth so far away that like a speck it seemed,
And heavenly glory, calm and pure, across our pathway streamed.
Still on we went; my soul was rapt in silent ecstasy:
I wondered what the end would be, what next should meet mine eye.
I knew not how we journeyed through the pathless field of light,
When suddenly a change was wrought, and I was clothed in white.
We stood before a city's walls most glorious to behold;
We passed through gates of glistening pearl, o'er streets of purest gold;
It needed not the sun by day, the silver moon by night;
The glory of the Lord was there, the Lamb himself its light.
Bright angels paced the shining streets, sweet music filled the air,
And white-robed saints, with glittering crowns, from every clime were there
And some that I had loved on earth stood with them round the throne,
"All worthy is the Lamb," they sang, "the glory his alone."
But fairer far than all besides, I saw my Savior's face;
And as I gazed he smiled on me with wondrous love and grace.
Lowly I bowed before his throne, o'erjoyed that I at last
Had gained the object of my hopes; that earth at length was past.
And then in solemn tones he said, "Where is the diadem
That ought to sparkle on thy brow-adorned with many a gem?
I know thou hast believed on me, and life through me is thine;
But where are all those radiant stars that in thy crown should shine?
* Published by the American Tract Society.
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