O, then what joy to walk at will, What joy in dreamy ease to lie I feel the day; I see the field; The quivering of the leaves I see the fields of Bethlehem, And reapers many a one, Bending unto their sickles' stroke, And Boaz looking on; And Ruth, the Moabitess fair, Among the gleaners stooping there. Again, I see a little child, His mother's sole delight; God's living gift of love unto The kind, good Shunamite; To mortal pangs I see him yield, And the lad bear him from the field. The sun-bathed quiet of the hills; And the dear Saviour take his way O golden fields of bending corn, How beautiful they seem!The reaper-folk, the piled-up sheaves, To me are like a dream; The sunshine and the very air Seem of old time, and take me there! THE TWO ESTATES. They eat from gold and silver all luxuries wealth can buy ; They sleep on beds of softest down, in chambers rich and high. They dwell in lordly houses, with gardens round about, And servants to attend them if they go in or out. They have music for the hearing, and pictures for the eye, And exquisite and costly things each sense to gratify. No wonder they are beautiful! and if they chance to die, Among dead lords and ladies, in the chancel vault they lie. With marble tablets on the wall inscribed, that all may know, The children of the rich man are mouldering below. The children of the poor man, around the humble doors They throng of city alleys and solitary moors. In hot and noisy factories they turn the ceaseless wheel, And eat with feeble appetite their coarse and joyless meal. They rise up in the morning, ne'er dreaming of delight; And weary, spent, and heart-sore, they go to bed at night. They have no brave apparel, with golden clasp and gem; So their clothes keep out the weather they're good enough for them. Their hands are broad and horny; they hunger, and are cold; They learn what toil and sorrow mean ere they are five years old. -The poor man's child must step aside if the rich man's child go by; 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, Like lilies in the sunshine how beautiful they grow! Is what the rich man's children have worn and cast And well may they be beautiful; in raiment of the best, In velvet, gold, and ermine, their little forms are drest. array away. The finely spun, the many-hued, the new, are not for him, With a hat and jaunty feather set lightly on their He must clothe himself, with thankfulness, in gar head, ments soiled and dim. 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, Nor dig, nor delve, nor do they aught their daily bread to win. Thus live the poor man's children; and if they chance to die, In plain, uncostly coffins, 'mong common graves they lie; Nor monument nor head-stone their humble names declare : But thou, O God, wilt not forget the poor man's children there! 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. "Thy life, will it be gladness, A sunny path of flowers; Or strift, with sorrow dark as death, "Oh child of love and blessing, 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. FIRST VOICE. "Tears he must shed unnumbered; "Must learn that joy is mockery; That man doth mask his heart; Must prove the trusted faithless; And see the loved depart! "Must feel himself alone, alone; Must weep when none can see; Then lock his grief, like treasure up, For lack of sympathy. "Must prove all human knowledge "Well may'st thou weep, fond mother;-For what can life bequeath, But tears and sighs unnumbered, "Oh fond and anxious mother, Look up with joyful eyes, For a boundless wealth of love and power In that young spirit lies! "Love to enfold all natures In one benign embrace; "Bless God both night and morning; For the child of mortal parents hath "The stars shall dim their brightness; 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!" THIS WORLD AND THE NEXT. How goodly is the earth! Look round about and see The green and fertile field; The mighty branched tree; The little flowers out-spread In such variety! Is not of stinted measure; Its mountain-tops behold; Its wealth of flocks and herds; A LIFE'S SORROW. My life hath had its curse; and I will tell I had a brother. As a spring of joy I was the elder; and as years passed on His godlike form, and the fair lineament 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, Each with his hatred seemingly subdued And so we might have been; but there were those We were the victims of the arts we scorned; The courtly world: his wit and manners bland Into the East with pomp and power girt round. And so years past: the morn of life was spent, And manhood's noon advanced with splendour crowned; They said 'mid kingly luxury without bound, He dwelt in joy; and that his blessings ever Flowed like that land's unmeasured, bounteous river. And the world worshipped him, for he was great — Great in the council, greater in the field. And I too had my blessings, for I sate Amid my little ones: the fount unsealed Of my heart's wronged affections seemed to yield A tenfold current: and my babes, like light Unto the captive's gaze, rejoiced my sight. I dwelt within my home an altered man ; Again all tenderness and love was sweet, "T was as if fresh existence had began, Since pleasant welcomes were sent forth to greet My coming, and the sound of little feet 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 Passed hatred and revenge; and I could pray For pardon, pardoning all; my soul was blessed With answered love, and hopes whereon to rest My joy in years to come; I asked no more, The cup of that rich blessedness ran o'er. Alas! even then the brightness of my life Again grew dim; my fount of joy was dried; My soul was doomed to bear a heavier strife Than it had borne!-my children at my side In their meek, loving beauty, drooped and died— First they, and then their mother! Did I weep? No, tears are not for griefs intense and deep! Ah me! those weary days, those painful nights, When voices from the dead were in mine ear, And I had visions of my lost delights, And saw the lovely and the loving near, "I will arise," I cried, like him of yore, The conscience-stricken prodigal, and lay Myself, as in the dust, his face before, And, I have sinned, my brother!' I will say - I gathered up my strength; I asked of none I was like one from cruel bonds set free, 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, In my soul's great, unchastened misery! I had known sorrow, and remorse, and shame, That they had died for my unpardoned crime ! Engulphed in deadness for a season's space. At length light beamed; a ray of heavenly grace Upon my bowed and darkened spirit lay, Healing its wounds and giving power to pray. I rose a sorrowing man, and yet renewed: Resigned, although abashed to the dust; I felt that God was righteous, true, and good, And though severe in awful judgment, just; Therefore in him I put undoubting trust, And walked once more among my fellow-men, Yet in their vain joys mingling not again. My home was still a solitude; none sought Nor found in me companion; yet I pined For something which might win my weary thought From its deep anguish ; some strong, generous mind. Round which my lorn affections might be twined: Some truthful heart on which mine own might lean, And still from life some scattered comfort glean. The dead, alas! I sorrowed for the dead, Until well-nigh my madness had returned; I seemed to hear his footsteps light and free Of his rich voice came back with sweeter might! Into the kingdom where he reigned supreme; I came unto a gorgeous palace, vast As the creation of a poet's dream : My strength gave way, how little did I seem I felt like Joseph's brethren, mean and base, I turned aside and dared not meet his face. Hard by there was a grove of cypress trees; A place, as if for mourning spirits made; Thither I sped, my burdened heart to ease, And weep unseen within the secret shade. A mighty woe that cypress grove displayed! Oh let me weep! you will not say that tears Wrung by that sorrow can be stanched by years. There was a tomb; a tomb as of a king; A gorgeous palace of the unconscious dead. My heart died in me, like the failing wing Of the struck bird, as on that wall I read I lay for hours; and when my sense returned It seemed each star was as a heavenly eye --- -For this I crossed the sea: in those far wilds, Through perils numberless, for this I went! What followed next I tell not: as a child's Again my soul was feeble; too much spent I came back to the scenes where life began, I murmur not; but with submissive will For ever! I could sit with him and crack many a joke, For my old friend would not have slighted me! Oh my fine new friend, he is smooth and bland, He hums the last new opera air. He takes not the children on his knee; For he snarls when my new friend draweth near, My rare old friend, he read the plays. That were written in Master Shakspeare's days; Because they were made when we were young; My good old friend, "he tirled at the pin," My new friend cometh in lordly state; But he knows not what in my heart lies deep; - For there is no bond between us twain; MABEL ON MIDSUMMER DAY. A STORY OF THE OLDEN TIME. "Arise, my maiden, Mabel," For thou must speed away, "And thou must carry with thee This wheaten cake so fine; This new-made pat of butter; This little flask of wine! "And tell the dear old body, This day I cannot come, For the good man went out yester-morn, And he is not come home. "And more than this, poor Amy Upon my knee doth lie; I fear me, with this fever-pain "And thou can'st help thy grandmother; The table thou can'st spread; Can'st feed the little dog and bird, And thou can't make her bed. "And thou can'st fetch the water, From the lady-well hard by ; "Can'st go down to the lonesome glen, "But listen now, my Mabel, This is Midsummer-day, When all the fairy people From elf-land come away. "And when thou art in lonesome glen, "But think not of the fairy folk, |