Her story, sure, was fashioned out above,
Ere 't was enacted on the scene below!
For 't was a very miracle of love
When from the savage hawk's nest came the dove
With wings of peace to stay the ordered blow -
The hawk's plumes bloody, but the dove's as snow!

And here my heart oppressed by pleasant tears
Yields to a young girl's half angelic spell -
Yes, for that maiden like a Saint appears;
She needs no fresco, stone, nor shrine to tell
Her story to the people of this Land -
Saint of the Wilderness, enthroned amid
The wooded Minster where the Pagan hid!

    When God's own child came down to earth,
    High heaven was very glad;
    The angels sang for holy mirth;
    Not God himself was sad!

    Shall we, when ours goes homeward, fret?
    Come, Hope, and wait on Sorrow!
    The little one will not forget;
    It's only till to-morrow!

A Response to "Courage," by Celia Thaxter.


You have said that there is not a fear
Or a doubt that oppresses your soul,
    That your faith is so strong
    That it bears you along,
Ever holding you in its control.

'Tis a comfort to know there is one
Whose allegiance cannot be denied,
    But I fain would enquire,
    (For your faith is far high'r
Than is mine): Have you ever been tried?

Have you sought to aspire to a life
Higher far than the one that is past?
    Have you laboured through years,
    By your hopes crushing fears,
But to meet disappointment at last?

Have the friends who should love you the best,
In your absence forgotten that love,
    And refused to impart
    To your grief-stricken heart

The fields were bleak and sodden. Not a wing
Or note enlivened the depressing wood,
A soiled and sullen, stubborn snowdrift stood
Beside the roadway. Winds came muttering
Of storms to be, and brought the chilly sting
Of icebergs in their breath. Stalled cattle mooed
Forth plaintive pleadings for the earth's green food.
No gleam, no hint of hope in anything.

The sky was blank and ashen, like the face
Of some poor wretch who drains life's cup too fast.
Yet, swaying to and fro, as if to fling
About chilled Nature its lithe arms of grace,
Smiling with promise in the wintry blast,
The optimistic Willow spoke of spring.

Midnight, musical and splendid,
And the Old Year’s life is ended,
And the New, “born in the purple,” babe yet crowned, among us dwells;
While Creation’s welcome swells,
Starlight all the heavens pervading,
And the whole world serenading
Him, at birth, with all its bells!

Round the cradle of the tender
Flows the music, shines the splendor;
It is early yet for counsel, but bethink how Hermes gave,
(While the Myths were bright and brave),
Thwarted Phoebus no small battle,
Seeking back his lifted cattle,
Hour-old Hermes, in his cave!

New Year, if thy youth should blind us
Thy swift feet, perchance, may find us
Sleeping in the dark, unguarded, as the sun-god’s herds were found!
Lest, unready, on his round
We be hurried, World, take warning

Fifteen miles and then the harbour! Here we cannot choose but stand,
Faces thrust towards the day-break, listening for our native land!
Close-reefed topsails shuddering over, straining down the groaning mast;
For a tempest cleaves the darkness, hissing, howling, shrieking past!
Lo! the air is flecked with stormbirds, and their melancholy wail
Lends a tone of deeper pathos to the melancholy gale!
Whilst away they wheel to leeward, leaving in their rapid flight
Wind and water grappling wildly through the watches of the night.

Yesterday we both were happy; but my soul is filled with change,
And I’m sad, my gallant comrade, with foreshadowings vague and strange!
Dear old place, are we so near you? Like to one that speaks in sleep,
I’m talking, thinking wildly o’er this moaning, madd...

I ask not now for gold to gild
With mocking shine a weary frame;
The yearning of the mind is stilled,
I ask not now for Fame.

A rose-cloud, dimly seen above,
Melting in heaven's blue depths away;
Oh, sweet, fond dream of human Love
For thee I may not pray.

But, bowed in lowliness of mind,
I make my humble wishes known;
I only ask a will resigned,
O Father, to Thine own!

To-day, beneath Thy chastening eye
I crave alone for peace and rest,
Submissive in Thy hand to lie,
And feel that it is best.

A marvel seems the Universe,
A miracle our Life and Death;
A mystery which I cannot pierce,
Around, above, beneath.

In vain I task my aching brain,
In vain the sage's thought I scan,
I only feel how weak and vai...

I

Hail, orient Conqueror of gloomy Night!
Thou that canst shed the bliss of gratitude
On hearts howe'er insensible or rude;
Whether thy punctual visitations smite
The haughty towers where monarchs dwell;
Or thou, impartial Sun, with presence bright
Cheer'st the low threshold of the peasant's cell!
Not unrejoiced I see thee climb the sky
In naked splendour, clear from mist or haze,
Or cloud approaching to divert the rays,
Which even in deepest winter testify
Thy power and majesty,
Dazzling the vision that presumes to gaze.
Well does thine aspect usher in this Day;
As aptly suits therewith that modest pace
Submitted to the chains
That bind thee to the path which God ordains
That thou shalt trace,
Till, with the heavens and earth, thou pass a...

Heart, you are restless as a paper scrap
That's tossed down dusty pavements by the wind;
Saying, "She is most wise, patient and kind.
Between the small hands folded in her lap
Surely a shamed head may bow down at length,
And find forgiveness where the shadows stir
About her lips, and wisdom in her strength,
Peace in her peace. Come to her, come to her!" . . .

She will not care. She'll smile to see me come,
So that I think all Heaven in flower to fold me.
She'll give me all I ask, kiss me and hold me,
And open wide upon that holy air
The gates of peace, and take my tiredness home,
Kinder than God. But, heart, she will not care.

    What dost thou here, O soul,
Beyond thy own control,
Under the strange wild sky?
0 stars, reach down your hands,
And clasp me in your silver bands,
I tremble with this mystery!--
Flung hither by a chance
Of restless circumstance,
Thou art but here, and wast not sent;
Yet once more mayest thou draw
By thy own mystic law
To the centre of thy wonderment.

    Why wilt thou stop and start?
Draw nearer, oh my heart,
And I will question thee most wistfully;
Gather thy last clear resolution
To look upon thy dissolution.

    The great God's life throbs far and free,
And thou art but a spark
Known only in thy dark,
Or a foam-fleck upon the awful ocean,
Thyself thy slender dignity,
Thy own thy vexing mystery,
In the vast...

Over the waves of the Western sea,
    Led by the hand of Hope she came -
The beautiful Angel of Liberty -
    When the sky was red with the sunset's flame, -
Came to a rocky and surf-beat shore,
    Lone, and wintry, and stern, and wild,
The waves behind her, and wastes before,
    And the Angel of Liberty, pausing, smiled.

"Here, O Sister, shall be our rest!"
    Softly she sang, and the waters shone
While a mellower radiance flushed the west,
    Lingering mountain and vale upon; -
Sweetly the murmurous melody blent
    With flow of rivers and woodland song,
And wandering breezes that singing went,
    Joyously wafted the notes along.

Acadia lifted her mist-wreathed brow,
    Westerly gazing with eager eye,
And lakes that sat in the su...

Glitt'ring balls and thoughtless revels
    Fill up now each misspent night -
'Tis the reign of pride and folly,
    The Carnival is at its height.
Every thought for siren pleasure,
    And its sinful, feverish mirth;
Who can find one moment's leisure
    For aught else save things of earth?

But, see, sudden stillness falling
    O'er those revels, late so loud,
And a hush comes quickly over
    All the maddened giddy crowd,
For a voice from out our churches
    Has proclaimed in words that burn:
"Only dust art thou, proud mortal,
    And to dust shall thou return!"

And, behold, Religion scatters
    Dust and ashes on each brow;
Thus replacing gem and flower
    With that lowly symbol now:
On the forehead fair of beauty,
  ...

"My Sister"



Cometh a voice from a far-land!
Beautiful, sad, and low;
Shineth a light from the star-land!
Down on the night of my woe;
And a white hand, with a garland,
Biddeth my spirit to go.

Away and afar from the night-land,
Where sorrow o'ershadows my way,
To the splendors and skies of the light-land,
Where reigneth eternity's day;
To the cloudless and shadowless bright-land,
Whose sun never passeth away.

And I knew the voice; not a sweeter
On earth or in Heaven can be;
And never did shadow pass fleeter
Than it and its strange melody;
And I know I must hasten to meet her,
"Yea, ~Sister!~ thou callest to me!"

And I saw the light; 'twas not seeming,
It flashed from the crown that she wore,
And the ...

    You will be what you will to be;
Let failure find its false content
In that poor word "environment,"
    But spirit scorns it, and is free,

    It masters time, it conquers space,
It cows that boastful trickster Chance,
And bids the tyrant Circumstance
    Uncrown and fill a servant's place.

    The human Will, that force unseen,
The offspring of a deathless Soul,
Can hew the way to any goal,
    Though walls of granite intervene.

    Be not impatient in delay,
But wait as one who understands;
When spirit rises and commands,
    The gods are ready to obey.

    The river seeking for the sea
Confronts the dam and precipice,
Yet knows it cannot fail or miss;
    You will be what you will to be!

Her younger sister, that Speranza hight.

England puts on her purple, and pale, pale
    With too much light, the primrose doth but wait
To meet the hyacinth; then bower and dale
    Shall lose her and each fairy woodland mate.
April forgets them, for their utmost sum
Of gift was silent, and the birds are come.

The world is stirring, many voices blend,
    The English are at work in field and way;
All the good finches on their wives attend,
    And emmets their new towns lay out in clay;
Only the cuckoo-bird only doth say
Her beautiful name, and float at large all day.

Everywhere ring sweet clamours, chirrupping,
    Chirping, that comes before the grasshopper;
The wide woods, flurried with the pulse of spring,
    Shake out their wrink...

I.

O’er the bare woods, whose outstretched hands
Plead with the leaden heavens in vain,
I see, beyond the valley lands,
The sea’s long level dim with rain.
Around me all things, stark and dumb,
Seem praying for the snows to come,
And, for the summer bloom and greenness gone,
With winter’s sunset lights and dazzling morn atone.

II.

Along the river’s summer walk,
The withered tufts of asters nod;
And trembles on its arid stalk
The boar plume of the golden-rod.
And on a ground of sombre fir,
And azure-studded juniper,
The silver birch its buds of purple shows,
And scarlet berries tell where bloomed the sweet wild-rose!

III.

With mingled sound of horns and bells,
A far-heard clang, the wild geese fly,
Storm-se...

‘And thou shalt make a candlestick of pure gold: of beaten work shall the candlestick be made: his shaft, and his branches, his bowls, his knops, and his flowers, shall be of the same . . . .

‘And there shall be a knop under two branches of the same, and a knop under two branches of the same, and a knop under two branches of the same, according to the six ranches that proceed out of the candlestick . . . . Their knops and their branches shall be of the same.’ - Exodus.


‘Know this, my brethren, Heaven! clear
And all the clouds are gone,
The Proper Sort shall flourish now,
Good times are coming on’,
The evil that was threatened late
To all of our degree,
Hath passed in discord and debate,
And, Hey then up go we!

A common people strove in vain
To shame us unto toi...

I will not despair while thou rulest the storm,
    Though the red lightning stream o'er the cloud's sable-breast,
For I catch through the darkness bright gleams of thy form,
    And I know 'tis thy voice lulls the tempest to rest -
                The wild tempest to rest:
Nor yet, though the shadows of deepening night,
    Hang over my path like the pall of despair;
For one star through the gloom sends its hallowed light,
    And I know 'tis thy love smiling tenderly there,
                - Ah! tenderly there.

I will not despair, though the fountain that burst
    For me in life's desert be wasted and dry;
For thy love was the fountain that cheered me at first,
    And again to its life-giving waters I fly -
                O Holiest, fly!
No; I will not d...