We know how pain and woe,

Sorrow and sin, make up the sum of life! How good and evil are at ceaseless strife, And how the soul doth err in choice, we know! Yet not for this droop we, nor are afraid;

We know thy goodness, we behold thy might; We know thy truth can never be gainsaid,

And what thou dost is right!

We glorify thy name that thus it is;-
We glorify thy name for more than this!
We know that out of darkness shines thy light;
That out of evil cometh forth thy good;
That none shall circumvent the Infinite,
Nor can Omnipotence be e'er subdued!

TO

CAROLINE BOWLES,

AN

HONOURED FELLOW-LABOURER,

THIS LITTLE BOOK,

THE DESIGN OF WHICH IS

These have I given thee that thou may'st command
Glad smiles at will and pitying tears and sighs.

For thus, young, generous spirits would be won;
And I have gifted thee to win them best;
Now go thou forth undaunted, gentle one,
And trust thy cause to every youthful breast.

Go forth, and have thou neither fear nor shame;
Many shall be thy friends, thy foes be few;

AN ENDEARED AND FAMILIAR

FIRE-SIDE GUEST,

IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.

L'ENVOI.

I HAVE indited thee with care and love,
My little book; and now I send thee forth
On a good mission like the gentle dove,
Bearing glad tidings with thee o'er the earth.

Thou wast not meant for riot and for jest,

Dear little book, all simple as thou art; But in sweet homes to be a loving guest;

And find a place in many a guileless heart. Have not a fear! I know that thou wilt find Thy journey pleasant as a path of flowers, For pure and youthful hearts are ever kind, Glad to be pleased with labour such as ours. Sit down with little children by the way,

And tell them of sweet Marien how she went Over the weary world from day to day,

On christian works of love, like thee, intent. Tell them of Him who framed the sea, the sky; The glorious earth and all that dwell therein; And of that Holy One made strong to die,

Sinless himself, to save the world from sin. And thou hast many a tale of wonder planned With various art to make thy spirit wise;

Yea, greet them warmly! Little book, adieu!

MARIEN'S PILGRIMAGE. A FIRE-SIDE STORY.

CHRISTIANITY, like a child, goes wandering over the world. Fearless in its innocence, it is not abashed before princes, nor confounded by the wisdom of synods. Before it the blood-stained warrior sheathes his sword, and plucks the laurel from his brow;the midnight murderer turns from his purpose, and, like the heart-smitten disciple, goes out and weeps bitterly. It brings liberty to the captive, joy to the mourner, freedom to the slave, repentance and forgiveness to the sinner, hope to the faint-hearted, and assurance to the dying.

It enters the huts of poor men, and sits down with them and their children; it makes them contented in the midst of privations, and leaves behind an everlasting blessing. It walks through great cities, amid all their pomp and splendour, their unimaginable pride, and their unutterable misery, a purifying, ennobling, correcting, and redeeming angel

It is alike the beautiful companion of chi.dhood and the comfortable associate of age. It ennobles the noble; gives wisdom to the wise; and new grace to the lovely. The patriot, the priest, the poet, and the eloquent man, all derive their sublime power from its influence.

Thanks be to the Eternal Father, who has made us one with Him through the benign Spirit of Christianity!

PART I.

THROUGH the wide world went Marien

On a holy mission sent,
A little child of tender years,
Throughout the world she went.

And ever, as she went along,

Sweet flowers sprang 'neath her feet;

All flowers that were most beautiful,
Of virtues strong and sweet.
And ever, as she went along,

The desert beasts grew tame;

And man, the savage, dyed with blood, The merciful became.

Now, if you will attend to me,

I will in order tell

The history of this little child,
And what to her befel.

No friend at all had Marien,

And at the break of day,

In a lonesome place within the world,
In quiet thought she lay.

The stars were lost in coming morn,
The moon was pale and dim,
And the golden sun was rising
Over the ocean's rim.

With upturned eye lay Marien;

And I am alone," said she,

"Though the blackbird and the nightingale Sing in the forest-tree:

"Though the weak woodland creatures

Come to me when I call,

And eat their food from out my hand;
And I am loved by all:

"Though sun, and moon, and stars come out,
And flowers of fairest grace,
And whate'er God made beautiful,
Are with me in this place:
"Yet I am all alone, alone,

Alone both night and day! So I will forth into the world, And do what good I may:

And I may do the injured right,

May save the penitent!

"Up, I will forth into the world!" And, thus as she did say,

Sweet Marien from the ground rose up
And went forth on her way.

Through the wood went Marien,
The thick wood and the green;
And not far had she travelled ere
A cruel sight was seen.

Under the green and leafy boughs
Where singing birds were set;
At strife about their heritage,

Two ruffian brothers met.

"Thou shalt not of our father's land,
The elder said, "have part!"
The younger brother spoke no word,
But stabbed him to the heart.

Then deep into the forest dark
With desperate speed he ran,
And gentle Marien stood beside
The bleeding, murdered man.
With pitying tears that would not cease,
She washed his wounded side,
And prayed him to have faith in Him
Who for the sinner died.

But no sign made the murdered man,
There stiff in death he lay;-
And Marien through the forest wild
Went mourning on her way.

Ere long, as she went wandering on,
She came to where there sat,
With folded arms upon her breast,
A woman desolate.

Pale was she as the marble stone,
And steadfast was her eye;
She sat enchained, as in a trance,
By her great misery.

"What ails thee, mother?" Marien said,
In a gentle voice and sweet;
"What aileth thee, my mother?"
⚫ And knelt down at her feet.

"What aileth thee, ny mother?"
Kind Marien still did say;
And those two words, my mother,

To the lone heart found their way.
As one who wakeneth in amaze,

She quickly raised her head;-
And "Who is 't calls me mother?"
Said she, "my child is dead!"
"He was the last of seven sons-

He is dead-I have none other; This is the day they bury him;— Who is it calls me mother?"

""T is I," said gentle Marien,
"Dear soul, be comforted!"

But the woman only wrung her hands,

And cried, "My son is dead!"
"Be comforted," said Marien,
And then she sweetly spake
Of Jesus Christ, and how he came
The sting from death to take.
She told of all his life-long love,
His soul by suffering tried :
And how at last his mother stood
To see him crucified.

Of the disciples' broken hearts
She told, of pangs and pain;
Of Mary at the sepulchre,

And Christ arisen again.

"Then sorrow not," she said, "as though Thou wert of all bereft;

For still, though they beloved are not,
This blessed faith is left.

"That when thy dream of life is o'er
Thou shalt embrace thy seven,
More beautiful than earthly sons,
With our dear Lord in heaven!"
Down on her knees the woman fell,

And "blessed be God," said she, "Who in my sorest need hath sent This comforter to me!"

PART II.

Now Marien in the woman's house Abode a little space,

And comfort to the mother came; And a dear daughter's place

Had Marien in the woman's heart, Doing the while a daughter's part. But now 't was time that she must go; For Marien's duty was not there, Now grief was past and woe was done; So, with the rising of the sun,

She rose up forth to fare.

Nay, bide with me," the woman said, "Or, if as thou dost say,

Duty forbids that this may be,
I a day's journey go with thee,
To speed thee on the way."

So forth the loving pair set out,
The woman and the child;
And first they crossed the desert heath,
And then the mountains wild.

And in the woman's arms she lay,

That night within the forest hoar, And the next morn, with loving heart, They said farewell, as those who part To meet on earth no more.

Upon her way went Marien,
From morn till set of day,

And the peace of God that passeth word, Upon her spirit lay,

And oftentimes she sang aloud

As she went on her way.

The joyfulest song sang Marien That e'er left human tongue; The very birds were mute to hear The holy words she sung.

But now the darksome night came on,
And Marien lay her down
Within a little way-side cave,

On mosses green and brown.

And in the deepest hush of night
Rude robbers entered in;
And first they ate and drank, then rose
To do a deed of sin.

For with them was a feeble man,
Whom they had robbed, and they
Here came to foully murder him,
And hide him from the day.
Up from her bed sprang Marien,
With heavenly power endued;
And in her glorious innocence,

Stood 'mong the robbers rude.

"Ye shall not take the life of man!"
Spake Marien low and sweet;
"For this will God take strict account,
Before his judgment-seat!"

Out from the cave the robbers fled,
For they believed there stood,"
A spirit stern and beautiful,

Not aught of flesh and blood.

And two from out the robber-band
Thenceforward did repent,
And lived two humble Christian men,
On righteous deeds intent.

When from the cave the robber-band
Had fled, the aged man

Rose from the floor where he was laid, And marvelling much, began.

"Who art thou, child? and those few words
Of might which thou hast spoken,
What may they be? My foes have fled
And lo! my bonds are broken;
At thy few words my foes have fled,
My rigid bonds have broken!"

Then Maria 'gan to tell him how,
Through her God's power had wrought;
And him from peril, nigh to death,

Thus wondrously had brought.
She told him how holy Daniel's faith
The caged beasts disarmed;
How the three righteous children walked
Through raging fire unharmed.

PART III.

THROUGH the wild wood went Marien,
For many a weary day;
Her food the forest-fruits, and on
The forest-turf she lay.

The wildern wood was skirted

By moorlands dry and brown;
And after them came Marien
Into a little town.

At entrance of the little town
A cross stood by the way,

A rude stone cross, and there she knelt
A little prayer to say.

Then on the stone-steps sate her down; And soon beside her crept,

A pale child with a clasped book, And all the while she wept. "Why weep you, child," asked Marien, "What troubleth you so sore?" At these words spoken tenderly, The child wept more and more.

"I have not heard," at length he said, "Kind words this many a year, My mother is dead and my father

Is a hard man and severe.

"I sit in corners of the house

Where none can see me weep; And in the quiet of the day

"Tis here I often creep.

"The kid leaps by his mother's side, The singing birds are glad : But when I play me in the sun,

My heart is ever sad.

"They say this blessed book can heal
All trouble, and therefore
All day I keep it in my sight;

I lay it 'neath my head at night,
But it doth bring no cure to me: —
I know not what the cause may be,
For I of learning have no store!"
Thereat, like to a broken flower

The child drooped down his head; Then Marien took the clasped book And of the Saviour read.

She read of him the humble child
Of poverty and scorn;
How holy angels sang for him
The night that he was born.

How blessed angels came from heaven
To hail that Christmas night,
And shepherd people with their flocks
Beheld the glorious sight.

Then read she how, a growing youth,
His parents he obeyed,
And served with unrepining will
St. Joseph at his trade.

Then how he grew to man's estate

And wandered up and down, Preaching upon the lone sea-side, And in the busy town.

Of all his tenderness, his love,

Page after page she read;

How he made whole the sick, the maimed, And how he raised the dead.

And how he loved the children small,

Even of low degree;

And how he blessed them o'er and o'er,
And set them on his knee.

When this the little child had heard

He spoke in accents low,

"Would that I had been one with them
To have been blessed so!"

Thou shalt be blessèd, gentle one!"
Said Marien kind and mild,
"Christ, the Great Comforter, doth bless
Thee, even now, poor child!"

So conversed they of holy things
Until the closing day,
Then Marien and the little child
Rose up to go their way.

As to the town they came, they passed
An ancient church, and "here
Let us go in!" the pale child said,
"For the organ pealeth over head,
And that sweet strain of holy sound
Like a heavenly vesture wraps me round,
And my heavy heart doth cheer."

So Marien and the little child
Into the church they stole;
And many voices rich and soft
Rose upward from the organ loft,
And the majestic instrument
Pealed to an anthem that was sent
To soothe a troubled soul.

Anon the voices died away,

The pealing organ ceased,

And through the church's ancient door
Passed chorister and priest.
And Marien and the little child
Went forward hand in hand
Adown the chancel aisle, and then
At once they made a stand.
Over the altar hung a piece
With holy influence fraught,
A work divine of wondrous kill
By some old painter wrought.
The gracious Saviour breathing love,
Was there like life expressed,

And round his knees the children small
Were thronging to be blessed.

Down dropped the child upon his knees,
And weeping, tenderly

Cried "bless me also, poor and weak,
Or let me go to thee!"

Anon his little head dropped low,
And his white lips 'gan to say,
"Oh kiss me gentle one, for now
Even I am called away-
The blessed mother's voice I hear,
It calleth me away!"

So died the child; -and Marien laid

His meek arms on his breast,

With the clasped book between his hands:Thus God had given him rest!

And Marien, weeping holy tears,

Sate down beside the dead,

And slept that night within the church,
As in a kingly bed.

Scarce from the church had Marien passed,
When came the father there,

As was his wont, though fierce and bad,
To say a morning prayer.

Not seven paces had he gone,

When, heart-struck, he surveyed
Before his feet, that little child
In his dead beauty laid.
At once as by a lightning stroke
His softened soul was torn
With a deep sense of all the wrong
That little child had borne.
And then came back the timid voice
The footstep faint and low,
The many little arts to please,

The look of hopeless woe.
And many a shuddering memory
Of harsh rebuke and blow.
No prayer of self-approving words,
As was his wont, he said,
But humbled, weeping, self-condemned,
He stood before the dead.

PART IV.

TEN long days' travel Marien went,
O'er woodland and o'er wold,
Teaching and preaching by the way,
Like Jesus Christ of old.

Sometimes within the Baron's hall
A lodging she would find,
And never went she from the door
But blessings staid behind;
Proud foes forgiven, revenge withheld,
And plenteous peace of mind.

With shepherd people on the hills;

With toiling peasant men,
She sate; with women dwelling lone,
On mountain or in glen.

By wayside wells she sate her down,
With pilgrims old and bent;
Or, hand in hand, with children small,
To the village school she went.