It had never been given him to see
So shining a face, and the good man thought
"Twere pity he should not believe as he ought.
So he set himself by the young man's side,
And the state of his soul with questions tried ;
But the heart of the stranger was hardened indeed,
Nor received the stamp of the one true creed,
And the spirit of Ambrose waxed sore to find
Such face the porch of so narrow a mind.

“ As each beholds in cloud and fire
The shape that answers his own desire,
So each,” said the youth, “ in the Law shall find
The figure and features of his mind;
And to each in his mercy hath God allowed
His several pillar of fire and cloud.”

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The soul of Ambrose burned with zeal
And holy wrath for the young man's weal:
- Believest thou then, most wretched youth,"
Cried he, “ a dividual essence in Truth ?
I fear me thy heart is too cramped with sin
To take the Lord in his glory in.”
Now there bubbled beside them where they stood,
A fountain of waters sweet and good;
The youth to the streamlet's brink drew near
Saying, “ Ambrose, thou maker of creeds, look

Six vases of crystal then he took,
And set them along the edge of the brook.

“ As into these vessels the water I pour,
There shall one hold less, another more,
And the water unchanged, in every case,
Shall put on the figure of the vase ;

O thou, who wouldst unity make through strife,
Canst thou fit this sign to the Water of Life ?
When Ambrose looked up, he stood alone,
The youth and the stream and the vases were

But he knew, by a sense of humbled grace,
He had talked with an angel face to face,
And felt his heart change inwardly,
As he fell on his knees beneath the tree.



O DWELLERS in the valley-land,

Who in deep twilight grope and cower, Till the slow mountain's dial-hand

Shortens to noon's triumphal hour,While ye sit idle, do ye think

The Lord's great work sits idle too ? That light dare not o'erleap the brink Of morn, because 'tis dark with


? Though yet your valleys skulk in night,

In God's ripe fields the day is cried, And reapers with their sickles bright,

Troop, singing, down the mountain side : Come up, and feel what health there is

In the frank Dawn's delighted eyes, As, bending with a pitying kiss,

The night-shed tears of Earth she dries ! The Lord wants reapers : 0, mount

up, Before night comes, and says,—“ Too late!” Stay not for taking scrip or cup,

The Master hungers while ye wait ; 'Tis from these heights alone your eyes

The advancing spears of day can see, Which o'er the eastern hill-tops rise,

To break your long captivity.


Lone watcher on the mountain-height!

It is right precious to behold

The first long surf of climbing light

Flood all the thirsty east with gold; But we, who in the shadow sit,

Know also when the day is nigh,
Seeing thy shining forehead lit

With his inspiring prophecy.
Thou hast thine office; we have ours;

God lacks not early service here,
But what are thine eleventh hours

He counts with us for morning cheer ; Our day, for Him, is long enough,

And when he giveth work to do, The bruised reed is amply tough

To pierce the shield of error through. But not the less do thou aspire

Light's earlier messages to preach; Keep back no syllable of fire,

Plunge deep the rowels of thy speech. Yet God deems not thine aëried sight

More worthy than our twilight dim,For meek Obedience, too, is Light,

And following that is finding Him.



It was past the hour of trysting,

But she lingered for him still ; Like a child, the eager streamlet

Leaped and laughed adown the hill, Happy to be free at twilight

From its toiling at the mill.

Then the great moon on a sudden

Ominous, and red as blood, Startling as a new creation,

O’er the eastern hill-top stood, Casting deep and deeper shadows

Through the mystery of the wood.

Dread closed huge and vague about her,

And her thoughts turned fearfully To her heart, if there some shelter

From the silence there might be, Like bare cedars leaning inland

From the blighting of the sea. Yet he came not, and the stillness

Dampened round her like a tomb; She could feel cold eyes of spirits

Looking on her through the gloom, She could hear the groping footsteps

Of some blind, gigantic doom.
Suddenly the silence wavered

Like a light mist in the wind,
For a voice broke gently through it,

Felt like sunshine by the blind,

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