Canadian Wild Flowers Part 14

I cannot call thee dead: 'Tis true I do not see thy face Nor hear thy gentle tread; Yet in my heart of hearts, sweet friend, Thou never canst be dead.

When by the solemn stream of death We parted long ago, How little of the world we knew!

But I have lived to know How friendship fades, how love decays, How all things change below.

Time changes some, and absence some, And envy--oh, the shame!

Of those who played together once Some rise to wealth and fame, While in the vale of poverty The rest remain the same.

But nothing now can come between Thy heart and mine, sweet friend!

With every image of the past Thy memory will blend, And what thou wast in early life Thou wilt be to the end.

I love to think--oh, call it not A fancy wild and vain-- That thou hast seen and pitied me Through all these years of pain; But I shall know how that has been When we two meet again.

My bleeding feet have left their mark Wherever they have pa.s.sed; But now the sun is getting low, The shadows lengthen fast, And Emily, dear Emily, All will be well at last!

ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.

She sleeps the quiet sleep of death and I survive. But for what purpose? why was not I called first to explore the untried regions of eternity? 'Tis known only to Him whose mighty arm often spares the humble flower while the waving trees that stand around it are torn from their roots by the roaring tempest. She has gone before me, and yet how long may it be ere I shall follow her? O solemn thought!--well might it sink deeply into my heart, and taking root there spring forth yielding fruits of repentance. Soon may Death, the great enemy of mankind, add one more ghastly victim to the lifeless piles that lie heaped together in every clime and on every sh.o.r.e; and when my death- knell shall sound will it be the signal of a spirit wailing in the regions of the lost, or rejoicing in the bright realms of everlasting bliss? It is for me, and me alone to decide. Perhaps it is for this that my life has been spared--that I might make a firm and decided choice; and shall I still draw back? shall I still hesitate and remain inactive? No, _no_; for "now is the accepted time, and now is the day of salvation."

THE HEAVENLY HELPER.

What strange lessons I am every day learning! Thank G.o.d for them. They are very unpleasant to human nature, but they are leading me to place less confidence in earthly love and more in heavenly. I have leaned too much upon an arm of flesh, and it is right I should suffer for it.

Sweet Saviour, fold me in thine arms; comfort me with thy love; and as soon as thou seest best let me go and live with thee forever.

All earthly hopes have pa.s.sed away, Stay with me, O my Saviour, stay: Thy blessed smile is all the light That breaks upon my dismal night.

I cling to thee--thou must not go; Oh, let me tell thee every woe And whisper in thy ready ear What other friends would frown to hear.

Distressed in body and in mind, Diseased and wretched, poor and blind, I only care to see thy face,-- I only sigh for thy embrace.

I droop, I faint beneath the rod, It is so heavy, O my G.o.d!

Spare me, I cry, in mercy spare-- But thou refusest still the prayer!

Sometimes I murmur and repine, Prefer my stubborn will to thine, And doubt if love or anger deal The dreadful anguish that I feel.

Then suddenly before me stands,-- With bleeding side, and feet, and hands,-- The Lamb that groaned and died for me, That I might live eternally.

Such love o'erwhelms me, and with shame I call upon thy holy name; Forgive me, O thou blessed One, And let thy will, not mine, be done.

O my Redeemer, Friend and Guide, Take health, take what thou wilt beside, But let me see the lovely face That makes a heaven of every place.

Nay, turn not from my earnest prayer!

Thy smile can save me from despair; The shadows deepen round my way, Stay with me, O my Saviour, stay.

Who save thee, O G.o.d, knoweth the human heart? Pity me, for thy rod is heavy. My earthly hopes are all torn and crushed,--oh, may they turn heaven-ward and there find support and nourishment. This is Father's discipline, shall I murmur? Nay, but rather rejoice that he does not leave me to myself but deals with me as a child--chastening, rebuking, scourging and refining: preparing me by all these afflictions for the "rest that remaineth for the people of G.o.d." And sweet the rest will be after such a weary journey! How I shall fold my hands upon the bosom that shall never again be troubled, and say in all sincerity: I thank thee, O G.o.d, for the sweet that was mingled in my earthly cup, but more do I thank thee for the bitter.

THE PROMISE.

"In early life I'm called to part With all I hold so dear; Strong tendrils bind my yearning heart, But cannot keep me here.

"I am resigned; yet tears will fall, Sad thoughts steal over me; And dost thou know that with them all Are mingling thoughts of thee?

"We have been friends in hopes and fears In joys and griefs the same-- Since first we learned in childhood's years To lisp each other's name.

"In quiet grove, in lonely dell, In meadows green and fair, Beside the stream we loved so well, If one then both were there.

"Together we our plans have laid With hopeful brow and heart,-- When roving 'neath the summer shade, But never thought to part.

"The spring will come, the trees will wave As when we saw them last, But thou wilt linger by my grave, And muse upon the past.

"Beyond the portals of the tomb I look with joyful eye: A glorious light dispels the gloom, 'Tis not so hard to die.

"There is a home of rest divine-- A home prepared for me; But hours of darkness will be thine, For this I cling to thee.

"Hark! 'tis the angel choirs above; I've but one earthly care,-- Oh, promise me by all our love That thou wilt meet me there."

That earnest look--I see it still, That voice--I hear it yet; And death this aching heart shall chill Before it can forget.

The flowers have faded one by one, The summer birds are flown, And 'neath a cold autumnal sun I wander forth alone.

The yellow leaves are falling fast Along the river side,-- I watch them borne upon the blast, And on the swelling tide.

I think how all things earthly fade, Then wipe the tears that flow, As memory brings the promise made So many years ago.

THE DEAD CHRIST.

The last expiring groan was hushed; the beaming eye was closed--it wept no longer over the sins of a perverse race. Those gentle and lovely features were robed with the pallid hue of death, and the heart that melted at the sorrows of mankind beat no longer. The grave, the cold grave, rejoicingly closed its dreary portals upon his sacred form; and he, the lowly and despised Nazarene, who found no resting- place for his weary head, slept quietly in a borrowed sepulchre.

THE COMPLAINT.