It entereth not his thoughts that God Is precious as his own. This moves him not. But let us now It was a solitary waste Of barren sand, which bore Yet to the scattered dwellers there They would take Christian thought. So in the churchyard by the sea. The senseless dead was laid: "And now what will become of us!" The weeping children said. "For who will give us bread to eat? The neighbours are so poor! And he, our kinsman in the town, Would drive us from his door. "For he is rich and pitiless, With heart as cold as stone! Who will be parents to us now That ours are dead and gone?" "Weep not," said faithful Marien, "Man's heart is not so hard, But it your friendless misery Will tenderly regard! "And I with you will still abide Your friendless souls to cheer, Be father and mother both to you; For this God sent me here. And to your kinsman in the town, I will convey you: God can change "And ye, like angels of sweet love, From earth his soul may win. They took their little worldly store; 'Mong sandy hills their way they wound; And thus for twice seven days they went A little loving band, Walking along their weary way; A place of ships, whose name was known A busy place of trade, where nought Thither they came, those children poor, And where dwelt he, their kinsman rich, After long asking, one they found, Unto the kinsman's door. But ever as he went along He to himself did say, "Their kinsman!-well-a-way!" All through a labyrinth of walls Blackened with cloudy smoke, And beneath lofty windows dim Still on the children, terrified, A little chamber hot and dim, There sate the kinsman, shrunk and lean, The moment that they entered in, That sudden thieves were near. "Rich man!" said Marien, "ope thy bags And of thy gold be free, Make gladsome cheer, for Heaven hath sent A blessing unto thee!" "What!" said the miser, "is there news Of my lost argosy ?" "Better than gold, or merchant-ships, Is that which thou shalt win," Said Marien," thine immortal soul From its black load of sin." "Look at these children, thine own blood," And then their name she told; "Open thine heart to do them good, To love them more than gold;And what thou givest will come back To thee, a thousand-fold!" "Ah," said the miser, "even these Some gainful work may do, My looms stand still; of youthful hands I shall have profit in their toil; Yes, child, thy words are true!" The Lord be judge 'twixt these and thee "These little ones are fatherless,- On thee he will requite!" "Gave I not alms upon a time?" Said he, with anger thrilled; "And when I die, give I not gold, A stately church to build? "What wouldst thou more? my flesh and blood I seek not to gainsay. But what I give, is it unmeet So saying, in an iron chest, He locked his bags of gold, And bade the children follow him, PART X. "OH leave us not sweet Marien!" She left them not-kind Marien! They laboured at the loom. The while they thought with longing souls Passed through each little hand. The while they thought with aching hearts, The growing web was watered, And the sweet memory of the past, The white sands stretching wide; Their father's boat wherein they played, Upon the rocking tide; The sandy shells; the sea-mew's scream; Wo-worth those children, hard bested, A weary life they knew; Their hands were thin; their cheeks were pale, That were of rosy hue. The miser kinsman in and out Passed ever and anon; Nor ever did he speak a word, Wo-worth those children, hard bested, A soothing word to say: - The long, the weary months passed on, Increased the hoard of gold; ""T is well!" said he, "let more be spun So passed the time; and with the toil But ere a year was come and gone, The spirit of the boy Was changed; with natures fierce and rudo The hardness of the kinsman's soul Wrought on him like a spell, Exciting in his outraged heart, Revenge and hatred fell; The will impatient to control; Hence was there warfare 'twixt the two, A hopeless, miserable strife That could not last for long: How can the young, the poor, contend The tender trouble of his eye, Was gone; his brow was cold; No more he kissed his sister's cheek; But they, the solitary pair, Like pitying angels poured Tears for the sinner; and with groans His evil life deplored. Man knew not of that secret grief, Which in their bosoms lay; And for the sinful brother's sin, Yet harder doom had they. But God, who trieth hearts; who knows Of mortal good and ill; He saw those poor despised ones, Yet bade him not return. In his good time that weak one's woe, Would seek the father's face; Meantime man's judgment censured them, As abject, mean, and base. The erring brother was away, And none could tell his fate; She mourned not for her parents dead, And now the weary, jangling loom Like one that worketh in a dream, Which on her spirit lay; And as she worked, and as she grieved And they who saw her come and go, Of aught so weak and young!" Alone the kinsman pitied not; He chid her, that no more The frame was strong, the hand was swift, As it had been before. -All for the child was dark on earth, When holy angels bright Unbarred the golden gates of heaven Within a chamber poor and low, Upon a pallet bed, She lay, and "hold my hand, sweet friend," "Oh hold my hand, sweet Marien," ""Tis darksome all-Oh, drearly dark! In low tones 'gan to speak. She told of Lazarus, how he lay, "I go!-yet still, dear Marien, One last boon let me win!Seek out the poor lost prodigal, And bring him back from sin! "I go! I go!" and angels bright, -And now, upon that selfsame night, Lay the rich kinsman wrapped in lawn, Scheming deep schemes of gold, he lay Just then an awful form spake low, And when into that chamber fair A lifeless corpse, upon his bed, Within a tomb, which he had built, Of costly marble-stone, They buried him, and plates of brass His name and wealth made known. A coffin of the meanest wood, The little child received; And o'er her humble, nameless grave, No hooded mourner grieved. Only kind Marien wept such tears, As the dear Saviour shed, When in the house of Bethany He mourned for Lazarus dead. PART XI. Now from the miser kinsman's house Dwelt Marien; and each day, For many an abject dweller there, Grief-bowed and labour-spent, Groaned forth, amid his little ones, To heaven his sad lament; And unto such, to raise, to cheer, The sent of God, she went. But she who, even as they, was poor, And warmed, and clothed, and fed. And nigh to death she lay, Kind hearts there were who came to her, And afterwards, when evil men Oh, blessed Christian hearts, who thus Did deeds of love; for as to Christ These righteous works were done! Thus dwelt sweet Marien in the town She found him not; but yet she found Had gone astray and pined forlorn To these repentant, outcast ones, She spake kind words of grace, And led them back, with yearning hearts, To seek the Father's face; To find forgiveness in His heart, And love in His embrace. Oh blessed, blessèd Marien! He saw his little sister pine; He saw her silent woe; He saw her strength decline, yet still As this he saw, yet more and more He bare an altered mind; - In suffering, 'gainst the tempter's might He was their easy prey; their tool; Yet often to his soul came back Sweet memory of the time, And like a heavier, wearier woe, He thought of slighted Marien, The faithful and the weak! He heard his loving parent's voice Yet, for the hated kinsman's sake, And, because man was hard to him, 101 Thus doing outrage to his soul, A sexton there at work he found; Replied he, "in this wide church-yard Alone seems holy ground." And then he told of Marien, And how she there had wept Over the child, that 'neath the mould, In dreamless quiet slept. "A little, friendless pauper child, She lieth here," said he; "Yet not a grave in all the ground Like this affecteth me!" Saying this, he wiped a tear aside, And turned from the place; -He left the town; and in a ship, Pursued her from the land. At first disease was 'mong her men; Next mutiny brake forth; and then As if there were no port for her, Lay moveless on the deep. As Jonah, fleeing from the Lord, Anon a tempest rose, and drove The ship before the gale, Her rudder, mast, and sail. On the fourth night dark land appeared, At day-break only he remained Abject and desolate. -The world went on as it was wont; And in the busy market-place, Upon the hearths of poor men's homes Men might not dwell alone. He clomb the cliffs to look afar He hoisted signals high; — He was not missed among his kind, — His lonely misery came. God saw him; saw his broken heart, Saw how his human pride was gone, Saw him and loved him. Broken heart, And biddeth thee rejoice! Where dwelt a gentle race at rest As simple as a child's. With them abode sweet Marien: As in a slender carved boat Upon the shore she lay, A strong wind came, and filled the sail, And bare her thence away. She had no fear, true Marien; That God was good, she knew, And even then had sent her forth Some work of love to do. The prodigal upon his rock Was kneeling, and his prayer For confidence in heaven, arose Upon the evening air, |