Care and pain and weariness Lost in love so measureless.
Gentle Eva, loving Eva, Child confessor, true believer, Listener at the Master's knee, "Suffer such to come to me.'
O, for faith like thine, sweet Eva, Lighting all the solemn river, And the blessings of the poor Wafting to the heavenly shore!
SEERESS of the misty Norland, Daughter of the Vikings bold, Welcome to the sunny Vineland, Which thy fathers sought of old !
Soft as flow of Silja's waters,
When the moon of summer shines, Strong as Winter from his mountains Roaring through the sleeted pines.
Heart and ear, we long have listened To thy saga, rune and song, As a household joy and presence
We have known and loved thee long
By the mansion's marble mantel,
Round the log-walled cabin's hearth, Thy sweet thoughts and northern fancies Meet and mingle with our mirth.
And, o'er weary spirits keeping
Sorrow's night-watch, long and chill,
Shine they like thy sun of summer Over midnight vale and hill.
We alone to thee are strangers, Thou our friend and teacher art; Come, and know us as we know thee; Let us meet thee heart to heart!
To our homes and household altars We, in turn, thy steps would lead, As thy loving hand has led us
O'er the threshold of the Swede.
"The spring comes slowly up this way."
"Tis the noon of the spring-time, yet never a bird In the wind-shaken elm or the maple is heard; For green meadow-grasses wide levels of snow, And blowing of drifts where the crocus should
Where wind-flower and violet, amber and white, On south-sloping brook-sides should smile in the
O'er the cold winter-beds of their late-waking roots The frosty flake eddies, the ice-crystal shoots; And, longing for light, under wind-driven heaps, Round the boles of the pine-wood the ground-laurel
Unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of showers, With buds scarcely swelled, which should burst
We wait for thy coming, sweet wind of the south! For the touch of thy light wings, the kiss of thy
For the yearly evangel thou bearest from God, Resurrection and life to the graves of the sod! Up our long river-valley, for days, have not ceased The wail and the shriek of the bitter northeast, - Raw and chill, as if winnowed through ices and
All the way from the land of the wild Esquimau,- Until all our dreams of the land of the blest, Like that red hunter's, turn to the sunny southwest. O, soul of the spring-time, its light and its breath, Bring warmth to this coldness, bring life to this
Renew the great miracle; let us behold The stone from the mouth of the sepulchre rolled, And Nature, like Lazarus, rise, as of old ! Let our faith, which in darkness and coldness has
Revive with the warmth and the brightness again, And in blooming of flower and budding of tree The symbols and types of our destiny see; The life of the spring-time, the life of the whole, And as sun to the sleeping earth love to the soul!
STANZAS FOR THE TIMES-1850.
THE evil days have come, -the poor
Are made a prey; Bar up the hospitable door,
Put out the fire-lights, point no more The wanderer's way.
For Pity now is crime; the chain Which binds our States
Is melted at her hearth in twain, Is rusted by her tears' soft rain : Close up her gates.
Our Union, like a glacier stirred
By voice below,
Or bell of kine, or wing of bird, A beggar's crust, a kindly word kindl
May overthrow!
Poor, whispering tremblers!-yet we boast Our blood and name;
Bursting its century-bolted frost, Each gray cairn on the Northman's coast
O for the open firmament, The prairie free,
The desert hillside, cavern-rent, The Pawnee's lodge, the Arab's tent, The Bushman's tree !
Than web of Persian loom most rare, Or soft divan, Better the rough rock, bleak and bare, Or hollow tree, which man may share With suffering man.
I hear a voice: "Thus saith the Law, Let Love be dumb; Clasping her liberal hands in awe, Let sweet-lipped Charity withdraw From hearth and home."
I hear another voice: "The poor Are thine to feed; Turn not the outcast from thy door, Nor give to bonds and wrong once more Whom God hath freed."
Dear Lord! between that law and thee No choice remains;
Yet not untrue to man's decree,
Though spurning its rewards, is he Who bears its pains.
Not mine Sedition's trumpet-blast And threatening word; I read the lesson of the Past, That firm endurance wins at last More than the sword.
O, clear-eyed Faith, and Patience, thou So calm and strong! Lend strength to weakness, teach us how The sleepless eyes of God look through This night of wrong!
SCARCE had the solemn Sabbath-bell Ceased quivering in the steeple, Scarce had the parson to his desk Walked stately through his people,
When down the summer shaded street A wasted female figure, With dusky brow and naked feet, Came rushing wild and eager.
She saw the white spire through the trees. She heard the sweet hymn swelling;
O, pitying Christ! a refuge give That poor one in thy dwelling!
Like a scared fawn before the hounds, Right up the aisle she glided, While close behind her, whip in hand, A lank-haired hunter strided.
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