FIRST-DAY THOUGHTS

In calm and cool and silence, once again I find my old accustomed place among My brethren, where, perchance, no human tongue

Shall utter words; where never hymn is sung,

Nor deep-toned organ blown, nor censer swung,

Nor dim light falling through the pictured pane!

There, syllabled by silence, let me hear The still small voice which reached the prophet's ear;

Read in my heart a still diviner law
Than Israel's leader on his tables saw! 10
There let me strive with each besetting
sin,

Recall my wandering fancies, and re-
strain

The sore disquiet of a restless brain; And, as the path of duty is made plain, May grace be given that I may walk therein,

Not like the hireling, for his selfish gain,

With backward glances and reluctant tread,

Making a merit of his coward dread,

But, cheerful, in the light around me thrown,

Walking as one to pleasant service led; 20 Doing God's will as if it were my own, Yet trusting not in mine, but in his strength alone!

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Shall hide behind yon rocky spines,
And the young archer, Morn, shall
break

His arrows on the mountain pines,
And, golden-sandalled, walk the lake!
Farewell! around this smiling bay

Gay-hearted Health, and Life in bloom, With lighter steps than mine, may stray In radiant summers yet to come.

But none shall more regretful leave
These waters and these hills than I:
Or, distant, fonder dream how eve

Ór dawn is painting wave and sky;

How rising moons shine sad and mild
On wooded isle and silvering bay;
Or setting suns beyond the piled

And purple mountains lead the day;

Nor laughing girl, nor bearding boy,
Nor full-pulsed manhood, lingering
here,
Shall add, to life's abounding joy,
The charmed repose to suffering dear.

Still waits kind Nature to impart
Her choicest gifts to such as gain
An entrance to her loving heart
Through the sharp discipline of pain.

Forever from the Hand that takes

One blessing from us others fall; And, soon or late, our Father makes His perfect recompense to all!

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1 The poem had no real foundation in fact, though a hint of it may have been found in recalling an incident, trivial in itself, of a journey on the picturesque Maine seaboard with my sister We had some years before it was written. stopped to rest our tired horse under the shade of an apple-tree, and refresh him with water from a little brook which rippled through the

stone wall across the road. A very beautiful young girl in scantest summer attire was at work in the hay-field, and as we talked with her we noticed that she strove to hide her bare feet by raking hay over them, blushing as she did so, through the tan of her cheek and neck. (Author's Note.)

In the shade of the apple-tree again She saw a rider draw his rein;

And, gazing down with timid grace,
She felt his pleased eyes read her face. 90

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls
Stretched away into stately halls;

The weary wheel to a spinnet turned,
The tallow candle an astral burned,

And for him who sat by the chimney lug, Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug,

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A manly form at her side she saw,
And joy was duty and love was law.
Then she took up her burden of life again,
Saying only, "It might have been."
Alas for maiden, alas for Judge,
For rich repiner and household drudge!
God pity them both! and pity us all,
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall.
For of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: "It might have
been!"

Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies
Deeply buried from human eyes;

And, in the hereafter, angels may
Roll the stone from its grave away!

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