Their graves who won the martyr's crown

And safe in God repose;

The saints of many a warring creed
Who now in heaven have learned
That all paths to the Father lead
Where Self the feet have spurned.

And, as the mystic aisles I pace,
By aureoled workmen built,
Lives ending at the Cross I trace

Alike through grace and guilt;
One Mary bathes the blessed feet
With ointment from her eyes,

With spikenard one, and both are sweet,
For both are sacrifice.

Moravian hymn and Roman chant

In one devotion blend,

To speak the soul's eternal want

Of Him, the inmost friend ;

One prayer soars cleansed with martyr fire, One choked with sinner's tears,

In heaven both meet in one desire,

And God one music hears.

Whilst thus I dream, the bells clash out

Upon the Sabbath air,

Each seems a hostile faith to shout,

A selfish form of prayer;

My dream is shattered, yet who knows
But in that heaven so near

These discords find harmonious close
In God's atoning ear?

O chime of sweet Saint Charity,
Peal soon that Easter morn
When Christ for all shall risen be,
And in all hearts new-born!
That Pentecost when utterance clear
To all men shall be given,
When all shall say My Brother here,
And hear My Son in heaven!

AUF WIEDERSEHEN!

SUMMER.

HE little gate was reached at last,
Half hid in lilacs down the lane;
She pushed it wide, and, as she past,

A wistful look she backward cast,
And said," Auf Wiedersehen!"

With hand on latch, a vision white
Lingered reluctant, and again
Half doubting if she did aright,
Soft as the dews that fell that night,

She said,

“Auf Wiedersehen!”

The lamp's clear gleam flits up the stair;
I linger in delicious pain ;

Ah, in that chamber, whose rich air
To breathe in thought I scarcely dare,
Thinks she,

"Auf Wiedersehen!"

"T is thirteen years; once more I press The turf that silences the lane ;

I hear the rustle of her dress,

I smell the lilacs, and — ah, yes,

66

I hear “ Auf Wiedersehen!”

Sweet piece of bashful maiden art!

The English words had seemed too fain, But these they drew us heart to heart, Yet held us tenderly apart;

She said, "Auf Wiedersehen!"

PALINODE.

WINTER.

TILL thirteen years: 't is autumn

now

On field and hill, in heart and

brain;

The naked trees at evening sough;

The leaf to the forsaken bough

Two watched yon oriole's pendent dome,
That now is void, and dank with rain,
O, hope more frail than foam!

And one,

The bird to his deserted home

Sings not, "We meet again!"

The loath gate swings with rusty creak;
Once, parting there, we played at pain ;
There came a parting, when the weak
And fading lips essayed to speak
Vainly, "We meet again!"

Somewhere is comfort, somewhere faith,

Though thou in outer dark remain ;

One sweet sad voice ennobles death,
And still, for eighteen centuries saith
Softly, "Ye meet again!

وو

If earth another grave must bear,

Yet heaven hath won a sweeter strain, And something whispers my despair, That, from an orient chamber there, Floats down, "We meet again!"

AFTER THE BURIAL.

ES, faith is a goodly anchor; When skies are sweet as a psalm, At the bows it lolls so stalwart, In bluff, broad-shouldered calm.

And when over breakers to leeward
The tattered surges are hurled,
It may keep our head to the tempest,
With its grip on the base of the world.

But, after the shipwreck, tell me
What help in its iron thews,