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O, then what joy to walk at will,
They eat from gold and silver all luxuries wealth Upon the golden harvest-bill!
They sleep on beds of softest down, in chambers rich What joy in dreamy ease to lie
and high. Amid a field new-shorn, And see all round on sun-lit slopes
They dwell in lordly houses, with gardens round The piled-up sbocks of corn,
abont, And send the fancy wandering o'er
And servants to attend them if they go in or out. All pleasant harvest-fields of yore.
They have music for the hearing, and pictures for I feel the day; I see the field; The quivering of the leaves
And exquisite and costly things each sense to gratify. And good old Jacob and his house
No wonder they are beautiful! and if they chance Binding the yellow sheaves ;
to die, And at this very hour I seem
Among dead lords and ladies, in the chancel vault To be with Joseph in his dream.
they lie. I see the fields of Bethlehem,
With marble tablets on the wall inscribed, that all And reapers many a one,
may know, Bending onto their sickles' stroke,
The children of the rich man are mouldering below. And Boaz looking on; And Ruth, the Moabitess fair, Among the gleaners stooping there.
The children of the poor man, around the humblo
doors Again, I see a little child, His mother's sole delight;
They throng of city alleys and solitary moors. God's living gift of love unto
In hot and noisy factories they turn the ceaseless The kind, good Shunamite;
wheel, To mortal pangs I see him yield,
And eat with feeble appetite their coarse and joyless And the lad bear him from the field.
meal. The sun-bathed quiet of the hills;
They rise up in the morning, ne'er dreaming of deThe fields of Galilee,
light; That eighteen hundred years agone
And weary, spent, and heart-sore, they go to bed at Were full of corn, I see,
night. And the dear Saviour take his way
They have no brave apparel, with golden clasp and 'Mid ripe ears on the Sabbath-day.
gem; O golden fields of bending corn,
So their clothes keep out the weather they're good How beautiful they seem !
enough for them. The reaper-folk, the piled-up sheaves,
Their hands are broad and horny; they bunger, and To me are like a dream;
are cold; The sunshine and the very air
They learn what toil and sorrow mean ere they are Seem of old time, and take me there!
five years old. - The poor man's child must step aside if the rich
man's child go by; THE TWO ESTATES.
And scarcely aught may minister to his little vanity. The children of the rich old man no carking care And of what could he be vain ? — his most beautiful they know,
array Like lilies in the sunshine how beautiful they grow! Is what the rich man's children have worn and cast
away. And well may they be beautiful; in raiment of the best,
The finely spun, the many-hued, the new, are not for In velvet, gold, and ermine, their little forms are drest. him, With a hat and jaunty feather set lightly on their He must clothe himself, with thankfulness, in gar
ments soiled and dim. head, And golden hair, like angels' locks, over their shoul. He sees the children of the rich in chariots gay go by, ders spread.
And " what a heavenly life is their's," he sayeth with
a sigh. And well may they be beautiful; they toil not, neither spin,
Then straightway to his work he goeth, for feeble Nor dig, nor delve, nor do they aught their daily though he be, bread to win.
His daily toil must still be done to help the family.
LIFE'S MATINS. At that sweet hour of even,
When nightingales awake, Low-bending o'er her first-born son,
An anxious mother spake. “Thou child of prayer and blessing,
Would that my soul could know, What the unending future holds
For thee of joy or woe.
“Oh fond and anxious mother,
Look up with joyful eyes, For a boundless wealth of love and power
In that young spirit lies !
In one benign embrace ;
O'er all the human race!
Be thine a joyful heart;
With the Eternal part!
And as a parchèd scroll The earth shall fade, but ne'er shall fade
The undying human soul ! “Oh then rejoice fond mother,
That thou hast given birth To this immortal being,
To this fair child of earth!"
Thy life, will it be gladness,
A sunny path of flowers;-
Through weary, wintry hours? “Oh child of love and blessing,
Young blossom of life's tree – My spirit trembles but to think
What time may make of thee! “Yet of the unveiled future
Would knowledge might be given !" Then voices of the unseen ones
Made answer back from heaven.
“ Well may'st thou weep, fond mother;
For what can life bequeath, But tears and sighs unnumbered,
But watching, change, and death!"
How goodly is the earth!
Its mountain-tops behold; Its rivers broad and strong;
Its solemn forests old; Its wealth of flocks and herds ; Its precious stones and gold;
Behold the radiant isles
Strange was it, that a brother, thus my pride,
Grew to my friendship so estranged and cold;
Strange was it, that kind spirits erst allied
By kindred fellowship, so proved of old,
Were sundered and to separate interests sold!
I know not how it was; but pride was strong
In either breast, and did the other wrong.
There was another cause — we fiercely strove
In an ambitious race;- but worse than all,
We met, two rival combatants in love:
My brother was the victor, and my fall,
Maddening my jealous pride, turned love to gall.
There was no lingering kindness more. We parted, That is shall droop and fade;
Each on his separate way, the severed-hearted.
For years we met not; met not till we stood,
Silent and moody, by our father's bed,
Each with his hatred seemingly subdued
Whilst in the presence of that reverent hend:
Surely our steadfast rancour might have fled Where sin hath mastery ;
When that good father joined our hands and smiled,
And died believing we were reconciled!
And so we might have been ; but there were those
Who found advantage in our longer hale ;
Who stepped between our hearts and kept us foes,
And taught that hatred was inviolate :-
Fools to be duped by such! But ah, too late
I look in woe upon life's blighted track!
We were the victims of the arts we scorned ;
We were like clay within the potter's hand : AN OLD MAN'S NARRATIVE.
And so again we parted. He adorned
The courtly world : his wit and manners bland My life hath had its curse ; and I will tell
The hearts of men and women could command. To you its dark and troubled history.
I too ran folly's round, till tired of pleasure,
I sought repose in tranquil, rural leisure.
Ere long he left his native land, and went
Into the East with pomp and power girt round. All putting on their leaves, and withering all together. And so years past: the morn of life was spent,
And manhood's noon advanced with splendour I had a brother. As a spring of joy
crowned ; Was he unto the gladness of my youth ;
They said ʼmid kingly luxury without bound, And in our guileless confidence, each boy,
He dwelt in joy; and that his blessings ever Vowed a sweet vow of everlasting truth,
Flowed like that land's unmeasured, bounteous river. All sympathetic love, all generous ruth;
And the world worshipped him, for he was greatAlas! that years the noble heart should tame,
Great in the council, greater in the field. And the boy's virtue put the man to shame!
And I too had my blessings, for I sate I was the elder; and as years passed on
Amid my little ones : the fount unsealed Men paid invidious homage to the heir;
Of my heart's wronged affections seemed to yield And pride, which was the sin of angels, won
A tenfold current: and my babes, like light Our human hearts; their guilt I will not spare :
Unto the captive's gaze, rejoiced my sight. If I was proud, the boy began to wear
I dwelt within my home an altered man; A lip of scorn, and paid me back my pride,
Again all tenderness and love was sweet, With arrowy wit that wounded and defied.
'T was as if fresh existence had began,
Since pleasant welcomes were sent forth to greet Still he was dear to me, and I would gaze
My coming, and the sound of little feet With yearning heart upon him as he went
Was on my floor, and bright and loving eyes
Beamed on me without feigning a disguise.
As the chill snows of winter melt away
Before the genial spring, so from my heart Oh how its tones could soften and rejoice!
Passed hatred and revenge ; and I could pray
For pardon, pardoning all ; my soul was blessed " I will arise," I cried, like him of yore,
With answered love, and hopes whereon to rest The conscience-stricken prodigal, and lay
And, 'I have sinned, my brother! I will say — Alas! even then the brightness of my life
• Forgive, forgive! The clouds shall pass away, Again grew dim; my fount of joy was dried ;
And I will banquet on his love; and rest
My weary soul on his sustaining breast !"
I gathered up my strength ; I asked of none
Council or aid; I crossed the desert sea;
The purpose of my soul, to all unknown,
Was yet supporting energy to me.
Who walks exulting on, yet telleth not
The all-sufficing gladness of his lot. And saw the lovely and the loving near,
Then woke and knew my home so dim and drear! Through the great cities of the East I passed What marvel if I prayed that I might die,
Into the kingdom where he reigned supreme; In my soul's great, unchastened misery!
I came unto a gorgeous palace, vast I had known sorrow, and remorse, and shame, As the creation of a poet's dream : But never knew I misery till that time;
My strength gave way, how little did I seem' And in my soul sprang up the torturing blame, I felt like Joseph's brethren, mean and base,
That they had died for my unpardoned crime ! I turned aside and dared not meet his face.
Then madness followed ; and my manhood's prime Passed like a dark and hideous dream away,
Hard by there was a grove of cypress trees; Without a memory left of night or day.
A place, as if for mourning spirits made;
Thither I sped, my burdened heart to ease, I dwelt within my childhood's home, and yet
And weep unseen within the secret shade.I wist not of each dear familiar place;
A mighty woe that cypress grove displayed! My soul was in a gloomy darkness set,
Oh let me weep! you will not say that tears Engulphed in deadness for a season's space.
Wrung by that sorrow can be stanched by years. At length light beamed ; a ray of heavenly grace Upon my bowed and darkened spirit lay,
There was a tomb; a tomb as of a king; Healing its wounds and giving power to pray. A gorgeous palace of the unconscious dead. I rose a sorrowing man, and yet renewed :
My heart died in me, like the failing wing Resigned, although abashed to the dust;
or the struck bird, as on that wall I read I felt that God was righteous, true, and good,
My brother's name! Feeling and memory fled; And though severe in awful judgment, just ;
The flood-gates of my misery gave way,
I lay for hours; and when my sense returned
The day was o'er; no moon was in the sky, My home was still a solitude ; none sought
But the thick-strewn, eternal planets burned Nor found in me companion; yet I pined
In their celestial beauty steadfastly ; — For something which might win my weary thought It seemed each star was as a heavenly eye
From its deep anguish ; some strong. generous mind. Looking upon my sorrow; thus 1 deemed,
Round which my lorn affections might be twined: And sale within the tomb till morning beamed. Some truthful heart on which mine own might lean, And still from life some scattered comfort glean.
- For this I crossed the sea : in those far wilds, The dead, alas ! I sorrowed for the dead,
Through perils numberless, for this I went! Until well-nigh my madness had returned ; What followed next I tell not: as a child's Till memory of them grew a thing of dread,
Again my soul was feeble ; too much spent And therefore towards a living friend I yearned. To suffer as of old, or to lament.
My brother! then my soul unto thee turned ; I came back to the scenes where life began, Then pined I for thy spirit's buoyant play,
By griefs, not years, a bowed and aged man. Like the chained captive for the light of day!
I murmur not; but with submissive will The kindness of his youth came back to me; Resign to woe the evening of my day; I saw his form in visions of the night;
On the great morrow love will have its fill; I seemed to hear his footsteps light and free
God will forgive our poor repentant clay, Upon my floors; the memoried delight
Nor thrust us from his paradise away! of his rich voice came back with sweeter might! But brethren, be ye warned! Oh do not sever Perchance 'twas madness - 80 I often thought, Your kindred hearts, which should be linked For with insatiate zeal in me it wrought.
THE OLD FRIEND AND THE NEW.
For there is no bond between us twain ;
MABEL ON MIDSUMMER DAY.
A STORY OF THE OLDEN TIME.
“ Arise, my maiden, Mabel,”
The mother said, "arise, For the golden sun of Midsummer
Is shining in the skies. “ Arise, my little maiden,
For thou must speed away, To wait upon thy grandmother
This livelong summer day. "And thou must carry with thee
This wheaten cake so fine ; This new-made pat of butter;
This little flask of wine!
My old friend, he was a good old friend,
“ And tell the dear old body,
This day I cannot come, For the good man went out yester-mom,
And he is not come home.
“ And more than this, poor Amy
Upon my knee doth lie;
That little child will die!
“And thou can'st help thy grandmother;
The table thou can'st spread; Can'st feed the little dog and bird,
And thou can'st make her bed.
" And thou can'st fetch the water,
From the lady-well hard by ; And thou can'st gather from the wood
The fagots brown and dry. “Can'st go down to the lonesome glen,
To milk the mother-ewe; This is the work, my Mabel,
That thou wilt have to do.
“ But listen now, my Mabel,
This is Midsummer-day, When all the fairy people
From elf-land come away. " And when thou art lonesome glen,
Keep by the running burn, And do not pluck the strawberry flower,
Nor break the lady-fern.
My new friend cometh in lordly state ;
“ But think not of the fairy folk,
Lest mischief should befall; Think only of poor Amy, And how thou lov'st us all.