before, Deeming she needs must read aright The tongue that scarce had learned An entrance to a mother's heart His lips, the while, O, thoughts were brooding in those eyes, That would have soared like strong winged birds Far, far, into the skies, How peacefully they rest, Those small, white hands that ne'er were still before, But ever sported with his mother's hair, Or the plain cross that on her breast she wore ! Her heart no more will beat To feel the touch of that soft palm, That ever seemed a new surprise Sending glad thoughts up to her eyes To bless him with their holy calm, Sweet thoughts! they made her eyes as sweet. How quiet are the hands Alas! too deep, too deep Time scarce can number The years ere he will wake again. O, may we see his eyelids open then ! O stern word - Nevermore ! hill, And, to her heart so calm and deep, Murmurs over in her sleep, Doubtfully pausing and murmuring still "Evermore!" Thus, on Life's weary sea, Is it not better here to be, To see the still seals only Solemnly lift their faces gray, Making it yet more lonely? Is it not better, than to hear Into the cold depth of the sea ! Thus, on Life's lonely sea, Here all is pleasant as a dream; Into the ocean's blue; Here is a gush of many streams, At once with glowing fruit and flowers crowned; The sand is so smooth, the yellow sand, That thy keel will not grate as it touches the land; All around with a slumberous sound, The singing waves slide up the strand, 4 And, though herself not unacquaint with care, Hath in her heart wide room for all that be, Her heart that hath no secrets of its own, But open is as eglantine full blown. Welleth a noiseless spring of patience, vealing, Unto me bringeth blessing, and a feeling As when I read in God's own holy book. A graciousness in giving that doth make The small'st gift greatest, and a sense most meek Of worthiness, that doth not fear to take From others, but which always fears to speak Its thanks in utterance, for the giver's sake; The deep religion of a thankful heart, Which rests instinctively in Heaven's clear law With a full peace, that never can depart From its own steadfastness; - a holy awe In-seeing sympathy is hers, which chasteneth No less than loveth, scorning to be bound With fear of blame, and yet which ever hasteneth To pour the balm of kind looks on the wound, If they be wounds which such sweet teaching makes, Giving itself a pang for others' sakes; No want of faith, that chills with sidelong eye, Hath she; no jealousy, no Levite pride That passeth by upon the other side; For in her soul there never dwelt a lie. Right from the hand of God her spirit came Unstained, and she hath ne'er forgotten whence It came, nor wandered far from thence, But laboreth to keep her still the same, Near to her place of birth, that she may not Soil her white raiment with an earthly spot. Yet sets she not her soul so steadily Above, that she forgets her ties to earth, But her whole thought would almost seem to be How to make glad one lowly human hearth; For holy things, - not those which men call holy, For with a gentle courage she doth strive But such as are revealed to the eyes Of a true woman's soul bent down and lowly In thought and word and feeling so to live Before the face of daily mysteries; A love that blossoms soon, but ripens slowly As to make earth next heaven; and her heart Herein doth show its most exceeding worth, To the full goldenness of fruitful prime, Enduring with a firmness that defies All shallow tricks of circumstance and That, bearing in our frailty her just part, She hath not shrunk from evils of this life, But hath gone calmly forth into the strife, And all its sins and sorrows hath withstood |