« ZurückWeiter »
Rough culture, -- but such trees large | And with the martyr's crown crownest a fruit may bear,
life If but their stocks be of right girth and With much to praise, little to be forgrain.
So he grew up, a destined work to do,
through, And then he heard the hisses change
HYMN TO CHRIST.
The taunts to tribute, the abuse to praise, Thou, who didst stoop below
Wearing the form of frail mortality, Till, as he came on light, from darkling Thy blessed labors done, days,
Thy crown of victory won, And seemed to touch the goal from Hast passed from earth, - passed to where he stood,
thy throne on high. A felon had, between the goal and him, Reached from behind his back, a trigger
Our eyes behold thee not,
Yet hast thou not forgot prest, And those perplexed and patient eyes
Those who have placed their hope, their
trust, in thee: were dim,
Before thy Father's face Those gaunt, long-la boring limbs were
Thou hast prepared a place, laid to rest!
That where thou art, there may they also
be. The words of mercy were upon his lips,
Forgiveness in his heart and on his pen, When this vile murderer brought swift It was no path of flowers, eclipse
Through this dark world of ours, To thoughts of peace on earth, good. Belovéd of the Father, thou didst tread; will to men.
And shall we in dismay
Shrink from the narrow way, The Old World and the New, from sea When clouds and darkness are around it
spread? Utter one voice of sympathy and shame!
O Thou who art our life, Sore heart, so stopped when it at last
Be with us through the strife; beat high;
Was not thy head by earth's fierce temSad life, cut short just as its triumph .
Raise thou our eyes above
To see a Father's love A deed accurst! Strokes have been struck Beam, like a bow of promise, through the before
cloud. By the assassin's hand, whereof men
doubt If more of horror or disgrace they bore; E’en through the awful gloom, But thy foul crime, like Cain's, stands Which hovers o'er the tomb, darkly out.
That light of love our guiding star shall
be; Vile hand, that brandest murder on a Our spirits shall not dread strife,
The shadowy way to tread, Whate'er its grounds, stoutly and nobly Friend ! Guardian ! Saviour! which doth striven;
lead to thee!
And he who, with the beauty in his heart, So with an equal splendor
Seeking in faultless work immortal The morning sun-rays fall,
youth, With a touch, impartially tender,
Would mould this statue with the finest On the blossoms blooming for all ;
art, Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day;
Making the wintry marble glow with
truth, 'Broidered with gold, the Blue;
Should gain the prize. Two sculptors Mellowed with gold, the Gray.
sought the fame;
The prize they craved was an enduring So, when the summer calleth, On forest and field of grain With an equal murmur falleth
Alcamenes soon carved his little best; The cooling drip of the rain;
But Phidias, beneath a a dazzling Under the sod and the dew,
thought Waiting the judgment day; Wet with the rain, the Blue;
That like a bright sun in a cloudless west
Lit up his wide, great soul, with pure Wet with the rain, the Gray.
A statue, and its face of changeless stone Sadly, but not with upbraiding,
With calm, far-sighted wisdom towered The generous deed was done;
and shone. In the storm of the years that are fading, No braver battle was won ;
Then to be judged the labors were unUnder the sod and the dew,
veiled; Waiting the judgment day;
But at the marble thought, that by Under the blossoms, the Blue;
degrees Under the garlands, the Gray.
Of hardship Phidias cut, the people railed.
“The lines are coarse; the form too No more shall the war-cry sever,
large,” said these; Or the winding rivers be red;
“And he who sends this rough result of They banish our anger forever
haste When they laurel the graves of our dead! | Sends scorn, and offers insult to our taste.“
Alcamenes' praised work was lifted high What matter if I stand alone?
Upon the capital where it might stand; I wait with joy the coming years; But there it seemed too small, and 'gainst | My heart shall reap where it has sown, , the sky
And garner up its fruit of tears. Had no proportion from the uplooking land;
The waters know their own and draw So it was lowered, and quickly put aside, The brook that springsin yonder height; And the scorned thought was mounted So flows the good with equal law to be tried.
Unto the soul of pure delight. Surprise swept o'er the faces of the crowd, The stars come nightly to the sky; And changed them as a sudden breeze Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high,
The tidal wave unto the sea; may change A field of fickle grass, and long and loud
Can keep my own away from me. Their mingled shouts to see a sight so
strange. The statue stood completed in its place, Each coarse line melted to a line of
SARAH WOOLSEY. grace.
[U. S. A.] So bold, great actions, that are seen too near,
IN THE MIST. Look rash and foolish to unthinking eyes;
SITTING all day in a silver mist, They need the past for distance to ap
In silver silence all the day, pear
Save for the low, soft hiss of In their true grandeur. Let us yet be And the lisp of sands by waters kissed,
As the tide draws up the bay. And not too soon our neighbor's deed malign,
Little I hear and nothing I see, For what seems coarse is often good and
Wrapped in that veil by fairies spun; fine.
The solid earth is vanished for me
A woof of shadow and sun.
An unknown bark, from an unknown | Those faces brighten from the years bay,
In rising suns long set in tears; By unknown waters lapped and kissed, Those hearts, — far in the Past they beat,
Shall near me through the spray. Unheard within the morning street.
No flap of sail, no scraping of keel,
A city of the world's gray prime, Shadowy, dim, with a banner dark,
Lost in some desert far from Time, It will hover, will pause, and I shall feel Where noiseless ages, gliding through, A hand which grasps me, and shivering Have only sifted sand and dew, steal
Yet a mysterious hand of man
Lying on all the haunted plan,
Quickening the marble breast of Art, Embark for that far, mysterious realm
Were not more strange to one who first Where the fathomless, trackless waters Upon its ghostly silence burst flow.
Than this vast quiet where the tide Shall I feel a Presence dim, and know of life, upheaved on either side, Thy dear hand, Lord, upon the helm,
Hangs trembling, ready soon to beat Nor be afraid to go?
With human waves the morning street. And through black waves and stormy Ay, soon the glowing morning flood
blast And out of the fog-wreaths, dense and This silent stone, to music won,
Breaks through the charméd solitude : dun,
Shall murmur to the rising sun; Guided by thee, shall the vessel run,
The busy place, in dust and heat,
The bridal throng, the funeral train,
Together, face to f?ce, shall meet
And pass within the morning street. (U. S. A.]
THE MORNING STREET.
ALONE I walk the morning street,
RICHARD W. GILDER.
[U. S. A.] As if unnumbered years had fled,
The night was dark, though sometimes The light wind walks with me alone
a faint star Where the hot day flame-like was blown, A little while a little space made bright. Where the wheels roared, the dust was The night was long and like an iron
bar The dew is in the morning street.
Lay heavy on the land : till o'er the sea
Slowly, within the East, there grew & Where are the restless throngs that pour light Along this mighty corridor
Which half was starlight, and half seemed While the noon shines ?-- the hurrying to be crowd
The herald of a greater.
The pale Whose footsteps make the city loud,
white The myriad faces, --hearts that beat Turned slowly to pale rose, and up the No more in the deserted street?
height Those footsteps in their dreaming maze Of heaven slowly climbed. The gray Cross thresholds of forgotten days;
Rose-colored like the sky. A white gull
flew Straight toward the utmost boundary of When next I went that way.
It was an autumn day the East, Where slowly the rose gathered and in- What was it that I heard ?
And what, think you, did I see? creased.
The song of a sweet-voiced bird ? It was as on the opening of a door By one that in his hand a lamp doth Thrilled through with praising prayer.
Nay,-- but the
songs of many, hold,
Of all those voices not any Whose flame is hidden by the garment's Were sad of memory:
fold, The still air moves, the wide room is less And a golden harvest glowed!
And a sea of sunlight flowed, dim.
On my face I fell down there;
I hid my weeping eyes, More bright the East became, the ocean I said: 0 God, thou art wise ! turned
And I thank thee, again and again, Dark and more dark against the bright- For the Sower whose name is Fain.
doth shino, Though white the outer branches of the WILLIAM BELL SCOTT,
tree. From rose to red the level heaven burned;
THE DANCE. Then sudden, as if a sword fell from on high,
(From "THE WITCH'S BALLAD.") A blade of gold flashed on the horizon's rim.
O, I HAE come from far away,
From a warm land far away,
With sailor lads about the mast
Merry and canny and kind to me.
And I hae been to yon town, A SOWER went forth to sow,
To try my luck in yon town: His eyes were wild with woe;
Nort, and Mysie, Elspie too, He crushed the flowers beneath his feet, Right braw we were to pass the gate Nor smelt the perfume, warın and sweet, Wi' gowden clasps on girdles blue. That prayed for pity everywhere. He came to a field that was harried Mysie smiled wi' miming mouth, By iron, and to heaven laid bare :
Innocent mouth, miming mouth;
My Castile comb was like a crown.
We walked abreast all up the street,
Our hair wi' marygolds was wound, Thus did that Sower sow;
Our bodices wi' love-knots laced,
Our merchandise wi' tansy bound.
Nort had chickens, I had cocks,
Gamesome cocks, loud-crowing cocks; There will be sobbing and sighing, Mysie ducks, and Elspie drakes. Weeping and wailing and crying, For a wee groat or a pound, And a woe that is worse than woe. We lost nae time wi' gives and takes.