She had died at yester-midnight, dying as the bell peal'd "one"! Heavy-hearted I return'd I could not bear her corse to see Whom I just had seen apparell'd like one of the far countree. Yes, I felt my heart was broken! though for years it did not die, But it must be with its treasure up in yon eternal sky, His home, Adeline, and she who bore me, harbor'd there, no more to roam. And my earthly path was clouded, all its lingering gleams had fled, Save the memories of communion with the living and the dead. Oh, they sicken'd not, nor faded into fond imaginings, For true joys, if only true, immortal are 'mid mortal things: Whilome they were golden lamps that o'er our pilgrim pathway shone, Whose dear light we fondly bless'd, and wended unrepining on: And when number'd with the past they sank not in the misty sea With the foul and base-born glimmer of the world's false hearted glee, But majestically rose, an apotheosis of light, Till they clomb the dark-blue heavens, stars for ever 'mid the night; And thence shining on our pathway from their glorious home afar, Tell us of the things that have been, that they shall be, and they are. Brother, I have told thee all my gloomy tale of fear and sin Ah, forgive me, for I could not die and keep it pent Since she went, this heart's beloved, thirteen dreary years have pass'd, Something tells me in my bosom, this-joy, joy!—shall be my last. Brother, I have lived and roam'd in tracking those I once beguiled, To essay with me sin's fearful dark interminable wild; Days and nights of supplication I have agonized for them, Till to all, 'mid storm and shipwreck, beam'd the Star of Bethlehem. Nothing now remains for lifetime take my last, my fond farewell; If a heart like mine can bless, Heaven bless thee more than heart can tell! Grant that all my dark experience may be imaged back in light, When reflected from the sunny waters of thy spirit bright; Till thy race on earth is finish'd, and ye hasten to complete Those our mother's vision saw, a blessed band at Jesus' feet. And when I am dead, dear brother, lay me by the sacred THE THINGS THAT ARE. Ο ἐστιν ἂν ὄντως. THE closing of a stormy night:- the wrecks Of Time's mysterious sea: - and yet no break, No far blue vista in the storm-tost drifts Of clouds, that gather blackness ever and aye With trembling light, and that the light of tears, Once more the eye looks up, as if in fear Of that which shall be, for the lightnings now Truths words might never utter, truths intense, And after them, dim thunder sounds far off, From the lone caverns of chill shadowy mountains, In fitful bursts upon the startled ear. All speak of woes and tempests past and coming... Is such the sky that stretches o'er the world? Fool, fool, it cannot be—just close thine eye And Will rise, in faëry pageantries of joy, Life-pictures diverse far: young pleasure's train, Dances, and revelries, and reckless smiles, None know it is but painted o'er their heads, And that the true dread heavens roll rife with storms. Tush, tush, bend down thine ear and list again: 1 |