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Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
With measured beat and slow,
When the evening sun is low.
Look in at the open door;
And hear the bellows roar,
Like chaff from a threshing floor.
And sits among his boys;
He hears his daughter's voice,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise !
How in the grave she lies ;
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling, - rejoicing, - sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each evening sees it close;
Has earned a night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taaght!
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Each burning deed and thought !
LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls
The burial-ground God’s-Acre! It is just; It consecrates each grave within its walls,
And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust.
God's-Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts
Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown The seed, that they had garnered in their hearts,
Their bread of life, alas ! no more their own.
Into its furrows shall we all be cast,
In the sure faith, that we shall rise again
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.
Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom,
In the fair gardens of that second birth ; And each bright blossom, mingle its perfume
With that of flowers, which never bloomed on earth.
With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod,
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow; This is the field and Acre of our God,
This is the place where human harvests grow!
TO THE RIVER CHARLES.
IVER! that in silence windest
Through the meadows, bright and free, Till at length thy rest thou findest
In the bosom of the sea !
Four long years of mingled feeling,
Half in rest, and half in strife, I have seen thy waters stealing
Onward, like the stream of life.
Thou hast taught me, Silent River !
Many a lesson, deep and long ; Thou hast been a generous giver ;
I can give thee but a song.
Oft in sadness and in illness
I have watched thy current glide, Till the beauty of its stillness
Overflowed me, like a tide.
And in better hours and brighter,
When I saw thy waters gleam, I have felt my heart beat lighter,
And leap onward with thy stream.
Not for this alone I love thee,
Nor because thy waves of blue From celestial seas above thee
Take their own celestial hue.
THE GOBLET OF LIFE.
Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee,
And thy waters disappear,
And have made thy margin dear.
Of three friends, all true and tried ;
Closer, closer, to thy side.
How like quivering flames they start,
On the hearth-stone of my heart ! 'T is for this, thou Silent River !
That my spirit leans to thee; Thou hast been a generous giver,
Take this idle song from me.
THE GOBLET OF LIFE.
FILLED is Life's goblet to the brim;
I see its sparkling bubbles swim,
With solemn voice and slow.
Thick leaves of mistletoe.
This goblet, wrought with curious art,
Are running all to waste.
And as it mantling passes round,
And give a bitter taste.
Lost vision to restore.
A wreath of fennel wore.
New light and strength they give !
He has not learned to live.
The prayer of Ajax was for light;
To see his foeman's face.
Let our unceasing, earnest prayer
One half the human race.