A quiet heart, submissive, meek,
        Father, do thou bestow,
    Which more than granted, will not seek
        To have, or give, or know.

    Each little hill then holds its gift
        Forth to my joying eyes;
    Each mighty mountain then doth lift
        My spirit to the skies.

    Lo, then the running water sounds
        With gladsome, secret things!
    The silent water more abounds,
        And more the hidden springs.

    Live murmurs then the trees will blend
        With all the feathered song;
    The waving grass low tribute lend
        Earth's music to prolong.

    The sun will cast great crowns of light
        On waves that anthems roar;
    The dusky billows break at night
        In flashes on...

Buttercups and daisies growing everywhere,
In the field of clover, on the hillside fair,
And in lovely valley, tilled with greatest care.

Naught but weeds and rubbish, in the farmer's eyes,
Drawing off the nurture from the grain they prize,
And their great luxuriance sore their patience tries.

But the dews of heaven give them richest bloom,
And their smiling beauty drives away our gloom;
For such little beauties surely there is room.

In this world of sorrow flowers ne'er bloom in vain,
Though they in their blooming sap the golden grain,
And drink in the moisture of the latter rain;

For our Heavenly Father deemed it wise and good
To diffuse this beauty with the grain for food.
And this wise arrangement He has never rued.

Teaching us thi...

At the golden gate of song
Stood I, knocking all day long,
But the Angel, calm and cold,
Still refused and bade me, "Hold."

Then a breath of soft perfume,
Then a light within the gloom;
Thou, Love, camest to my side,
And the gates flew open wide.

Long I dwelt in this domain,
Knew no sorrow, grief, or pain;
Now you bid me forth and free,
Will you shut these gates on me?

Ah! be not sad, though adverse winds may blow,
Thy patience and thy fortitude to prove;
Thy Saviour wears no frown upon his brow,
"'Tis but the graver countenance of love."

Though clouds and darkness round about him roll,
In righteousness and truth He sits enthroned;
And precious in His sight the immortal soul,
For whose deep stain of guilt His love atoned.

He makes our dearest earthly comforts flee,
Or, e'en when clustering round us, bids them pall,
That thus the "altogether lovely," He,
"Chief of ten thousand," may be all in all.

And hast thou not some blissful moments known,
Even while bowed beneath the chast'ning rod,
When to thy humble spirit it was shown
That glorious is the "City of thy God?"

Hast thou not seen the King in beauty...

What thousands never knew the road!
What thousands hate it when ‘tis known!
None but the chosen tribes of God
Will seek or choose it for their own.


A thousand ways in ruin end,
One, only, leads to joys on high;
By that my willing steps ascend,
Pleased with a journey to the sky.


No more I ask, or hope to find,
Delight or happiness below;
Sorrow may well possess the mind
That feeds where thorns and thistles grow.


The joy that fades is not for me,
I seek immortal joys above;
There glory without end shall be
The bright reward of faith and love.


Cleave to the world, ye sordid worms,
Contented lick your native dust,
But God shall fight with all his storms
Against the idol of your trust.

All day the darkness and the cold
Upon my heart have lain,
Like shadows on the winter sky,
Like frost upon the pane;

But now my torpid fancy wakes,
And, on thy Eagle’s plume,
Rides forth, like Sindbad on his bird,
Or witch upon her broom!

Below me roar the rocking pines,
Before me spreads the lake
Whose long and solemn-sounding waves
Against the sunset break.

I hear the wild Rice-Eater thresh
The grain he has not sown;
I see, with flashing scythe of fire,
The prairie harvest mown!

I hear the far-off voyager’s horn;
I see the Yankee’s trail,
His foot on every mountain-pass,
On every stream his sail.

By forest, lake, and waterfall,
I see his pedler show;
The mighty mingling with the mean,
The lofty...

I

The church flings forth a battled shade
Over the moon-blanched sward;
The church; my gift; whereto I paid
My all in hand and hoard:
Lavished my gains
With stintless pains
To glorify the Lord.

II

I squared the broad foundations in
Of ashlared masonry;
I moulded mullions thick and thin,
Hewed fillet and ogee;
I circleted
Each sculptured head
With nimb and canopy.

III

I called in many a craftsmaster
To fix emblazoned glass,
To figure Cross and Sepulchre
On dossal, boss, and brass.
My gold all spent,
My jewels went
To gem the cups of Mass.

IV

I borrowed deep to carve the screen
And raise the ivoried Rood;
I parted with my small demesne
To make my owings good.

Be in earnest, Christian toilers,
    Life is not the summer, dream
Of the careless, child that gathers
    Daisies in the noontide beam!
It hath conflict, it hath danger,
    It hath sorrow, toil, and strife;
Yet the weak alone will falter
    In the battle-field of life.

There are burdens you may lighten,
    Toiling, struggling ones may cheer,
Tear-dimmed eyes that you may brighten,
    Thorny paths that you may clear; -
Erring ones, despised, neglected,
    You may lead to duty back, -
Beacon-lights to be erected,
    All along life's crowded track.

There are wrongs that must be righted,
    Sacred rights to be sustained,
Truths, though trampled long and slighted,
    'Mid the strife to be maintained; -
Heavy, brooding mists...

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...

A truth that has long lain buried
    At Superstition's door,
I see, in the dawn uprising
    In all its strength once more.

Hidden away in the darkness,
    By Ignorance crucified,
Crushed under stones of dogmas -
    Yet lo! it has not died.

It stands in the light transfigured,
    It speaks from the heights above,
"EACH SOUL IS ITS OWN REDEEMER;
    THERE IS NO LAW BUT LOVE."

And the spirits of men are gladdened
    As they welcome this Truth re-born
With its feet on the grave of Error
    And its eyes to the Easter Morn.

I

A subtle chain of countless rings
The next unto the farthest brings;
The eye reads omens where it goes,
And speaks all languages the rose;
And, striving to be man, the worm
Mounts through all the spires of form.

II

The rounded world is fair to see,
Nine times folded in mystery:
Though baffled seers cannot impart
The secret of its laboring heart,
Throb thine with Nature's throbbing breast,
And all is clear from east to west.
Spirit that lurks each form within
Beckons to spirit of its kin;
Self-kindled every atom glows
And hints the future which it owes.

    He stood before the Sanhedrim;
The scowling rabbis gazed at him.
He recked not of their praise or blame;
There was no fear, there was no shame,
For one upon whose dazzled eyes
The whole world poured its vast surprise.
The open heaven was far too near,
His first day's light too sweet and clear,
To let him waste his new-gained ken
On the hate-clouded face of men.

    But still they questioned, "Who art thou?
What hast thou been? What art thou now?
Thou art not he who yesterday
Sat here and begged beside the way;
For he was blind."

- "And I am he;
For I was blind, but now I see."

    He told the story o'er and o'er;
It was his full heart's only lore:
A prophet on the Sabbath-day
Had touched his sightless eyes with clay,

Over the surging tides and the mountain kingdoms,
Over the pastoral valleys and the meadows,
Over the cities with their factory darkness,
Over the lands where peace is still a power,
Over all these and all this planet carries
A power broods, invisible monarch, a stranger
To some, but by many trusted. Man's a believer
Until corrupted. This huge trusted power
Is spirit. He moves in the muscle of the world,
In continual creation. He burns the tides, he shines
From the matchless skies. He is the day's surrender.
Recognize him in the eye of the angry tiger,
In the sign of a child stepping at last into sleep,
In whatever touches, graces and confesses,
In hopes fulfilled or forgotten, in promises

Kept, in the resignation of old men,
This spirit, this power, thi...

The olden golden stories of the world,
    That stirred the past,
And now are dim as dreams,
The lays and legends which the bards unfurled
    In lines that last,
All -- rhymed with glooms and gleams.
Fragments and fancies writ on many a page
    By deathless pen,
And names, and deeds that all along each age,
    Thrill hearts of men.
And pictures erstwhile framed in sun or shade
    Of many climes,
And life's great poems that can never fade
    Nor lose their chimes;
And acts and facts that must forever ring
    Like temple bells,
That sound or seem to sound where angels sing
    Vesper farewells;
And scenes where smiles are strangely touching tears,
    'Tis ever thus,
Strange Mystics! in the meeting of the years
    Ye bring to us

O! what a nameless feeling of delight
Stole o'er my wondering spirit, like a gleam
From opening heaven! dost thou, then, Fancy, deign
Once more to visit me? thou dost! thou dost!
That breath of extacy, that heavenly light,
Flow'd from the wafture of thy angel wings,
And from thy smiling eyes: divinest Power!
Welcome, thrice welcome! O vouchsafe to make
My breast thy temple, and my heart thy shrine!
Still will I worship thee, and thou shalt keep,
In peace, thy new abode, nor fear the approach
Of aught profane or hostile, to disturb
Thy holy mysteries; for I will chase
Far from the hallow'd precincts where thou dwell'st
Each worldly passion, every grovelling thought,
And all the train of Vice; striving to make
The shrine well-worthy its celestial guest.
Sti...

Of obedience, faith, adhesiveness;
As I stand aloof and look, there is to me something profoundly affecting in large masses of men, following the lead of those who do not believe in men.

Here is the height of land:
The watershed on either hand
Goes down to Hudson Bay
Or Lake Superior;
The stars are up, and far away
The wind sounds in the wood, wearier
Than the long Ojibway cadence
In which Potàn the Wise
Declares the ills of life
And Chees-que-ne-ne makes a mournful sound
Of acquiescence. The fires burn low
With just sufficient glow
To light the flakes of ash that play
At being moths, and flutter away
To fall in the dark and die as ashes:
Here there is peace in the lofty air,
And Something comes by flashes
Deeper than peace; -
The spruces have retired a little space
And left a field of sky in violet shadow
With stars like marigolds in a water-meadow.

Now the Indian guides are dead asleep;
There is no sound u...

A Pharaoh Speaks.



I said, "Why should a pyramid
Stand always dully on its base?
I'll change it! Let the top be hid,
The bottom take the apex-place!"
And as I bade they did.

The people flocked in, scores on scores,
To see it balance on its tip.
They praised me with the praise that bores,
My godlike mind on every lip.
-- Until it fell, of course.

And then they took my body out
From my crushed palace, mad with rage,
-- Well, half the town WAS wrecked, no doubt --
Their crazy anger to assuage
By dragging it about.

The end? Foul birds defile my skull.
The new king's praises fill the land.
He clings to precept, simple, dull;
HIS pyramids on bases stand.
But -- Lord, how usual!