Gleams of Sunshine Part 15

The current swept the slippery raft, the maiden is not there!

An angel band descended, her lover led the way, And now she joins her loved and lost in realms of endless day!

Look down, ye Alleghenies, from your colossal heights, And witness an heroic deed, bright gleam 'midst horrid sights.

See, _Periton_ has mounted his famous large bay steed, And flies, not to the mountains, but at his greatest speed He gallops down the valley, to warn of pending fate, And cries aloud, "Flee for your lives! flee, ere it be too late!

The Conemaugh dam is broken, destruction comes apace!

Leave all and to the mountains flee; leave all and win the race!"

Each creek becomes a river, each pool a little sea, The tidal wave comes rushing on, men know not where to flee, But on he rides, still shouting, as angels did of old, "Flee! Flee ye to the mountain! Flee! forsake your homes and gold!"

His horse now shares his spirit, and leaps each swollen stream.

With panting flanks and nostrils wide, and breath like scalding steam, He dashes down the roadway, and fairly seems to fly, Obedient to his rider's rein, resolved to do or die.

Some heed our hero's warning. See, toward the hills they fly!

Will _Periton_ now turn aside, or like a hero die?

Straight on he goes, brave fellow; to turn aside he scorned, His life he deems of little worth if other men be warned.

We honor those brave soldiers, who scaled the rampart height, To plant the standard of their queen in the defence of right, The fire was hot before them, and bursting sh.e.l.ls o'erhead, Yet on they pressed, till bullet-pierced they fell--our honored dead; But he, I hold, was braver, who ran his race alone, No comrade's cheer to urge him on, no bugle blast was blown, Nor grand review to follow if he should win the day; But thoughts of self were all too weak his onward course to stay.

Spur up your steed, brave fellow--the flood is at his heels!

Too late! the waves now gird him round; the gallant rider reels; Entombed beneath the debris his warning voice is stilled, But he, I trust, ran not in vain; his mission is fulfilled.

Like Jesus, he saved others, yet _would_ not save himself; The plaudits of the world sought not, but scorned its praise and pelf.

He still sat in the saddle, and held the guiding rein, Yet wind and wave awoke him not, and thunders roared in vain.

His spirit had ascended, death set the hero free, And G.o.d shall say in His great day, "_Thou didst it unto Me!_"

Look down, ye Alleghenies, with ever-darkening frown, Upon the selfishness which caused the ruin of Johnstown.

A reservoir was fashioned, of full three miles in length, An inland lake, kept back by dam of insufficient strength; No mills were driven by it; no water-works supplied; A few rich men, for selfish sport, claimed all these waters wide.

They rode upon its surface in skiff, and bark canoe, Shot grouse and duck, caught fish and eel, and held their t.i.tle true; For other people's safety took not a single thought-- Ten thousand lives were less to them than fish thus daily caught.

The dam revealed its weakness by frequent leaks, but they Turned not aside to strengthen it till came the fateful day; But G.o.d, who rules the nations, to whom all bow the knee, Will say to them on judgment day, "_Ye did it not to Me._"

EYE HATH NOT SEEN

Somewhere in the realms supernal Is a home prepared for me, Where my joys shall be eternal, And my spirit ever free; Mortal vision helps not here, G.o.d conceals it from my sight, By effulgent beams of light; Oh that He would bring it near!

But I hear a voice say, softly, "Be content to leave it so, For G.o.d's thoughts are far too lofty For a man like thee to know; Human spirits must be free From their tenements of clay, Ere they bear that full-orbed day, Bide thy time and thou shalt see."

I cannot draw back the curtain That conceals the glory land, Yet my hope is sure and certain, For the tracings of G.o.d's hand On the outside do appear, Like the cherubim of old, Wrought in needle-work and gold, Bringing all the glory near.

He who made the lovely flowers Which adorn both shrub and tree, Climbing vine, and shady bowers, In this beauty speaks to me: 'Tis the curtain of His tent, Hiding much, yet much reveals, Type of the Elysian fields; Glory streams thro' woof and rent.

WHAT LASTS?

The words we speak on the empty air, Are never lost, but recorded there; The process we may not comprehend, Nor how the words with the air may blend, But science shows what results may be; Accept the fact, is enough for me.

The waves of sound may have died away As ripples faint on a sheltered bay; But though now faint will be heard again, By G.o.d, ourselves, and the sons of men.

As sound e'en now may be multiplied; The faintest moan like the roaring tide; The housefly's tread with its tiny feet Like tramp of horse on the stone-paved street.

So, though now faint, will those voices be, When Christ shall come in His majesty; Our quicken'd sense will the echo hear, Like blast of horn to the timid deer.

In pleasant tones will the echoes be, Of words of love and of happy glee, Which we address to the friends we love, Or offer up to our Lord above.

But, unlike those, all the echoes heard, Of angry tones, and each sword-like word; As we here mete to our fellow men, The Judge shall mete in full measure then.

The thoughts we think may be lasting, too, Though not inscribed on the azure blue; On the tissued walls of the soul's great dome, May be found those thoughts ne'er more to roam.

And like our thoughts, may we not become The thought we think, be ourselves the sum?

May thoughts of G.o.d on my heart be graved, And I be known as a _sinner saved_.

IS THERE A BRIGHTER WORLD?

Beneath the surface of a shallow lake, Where gra.s.ses rank and mammoth rushes grow, And playful fish their bright fins nimbly shake, Or madly chase each other to and fro, The larva of the dragon-fly submerged, In family large, had taken their abode, And tho' the waves around them daily surged, Upon the bending gra.s.s they safely rode.

Content were they with life as there enjoyed; To brighter world they never had aspired, Had they not felt unfilled an aching void, And heard a whisper of a life attired In sapphire robes, 'midst gleams of golden light, Above their present world, so dank and chill, Where all day long they wing their happy flight From roses sweet to lovely daffodil.

But some essayed to doubt if it were so.

Who ever had returned to make it known?

One volunteered that he would upward go, To bring report; but he was not full grown, And fainted when he reached the surface air, And falling, round a reed his form he curled, Then cried, "Delusion! I have been up there.

And could not find a trace of brighter world."

Yet others could not still the voice within, Nor disregard tradition's hopeful tale.

They called a council; but it caused some din, And all their efforts seemed at first to fail, Till one wise head suggested this compact, Expressed, no doubt, in dragon larva lore; That if that brighter life were actual fact, And all who rose in golden sunshine soar,

Each must return to tell the joyful tale, And o'er the waters shake his sapphire wings, So all may see, and their bright comrade hail, And talk about the tidings which he brings.

Now each returns, clad in his bright array; Skims o'er the gra.s.sy lake with gauze-like wings, Attracts their notice by his plumage gay, And they collect to hear the news he brings.

Then, holding fast, he buzzes out his song, And seeks to woo them to a brighter world.

And he succeeds; for see, the larva strong Climb up the gra.s.s, and soon in light enfurled, They wait the growth of wings, then burst their sh.e.l.ls, Shake loose the gauzy folds, and soar away; But soon come back again their joy to tell, And help their brothers to a brighter day.

Perhaps our loved ones do not always stay In far-off heaven, and leave their comrades lone; Tho' yet unseen, may hover round our way, And see our toil, and hear our daily moan; And tho' we cannot see their lovely forms, Nor hear full well the whispers of their voice, May shield us oft in life's tempestuous storms, And when we victories gain, with us rejoice.

They whisper _thoughts_, perhaps, if not word sounds, And help to waken longings for our rest; And thus allure our hearts beyond earth's bounds To joy and home, upon our Saviour's breast.

O may I heed the whispers which they bring, And seek the grace which will my heart prepare To climb from earth and take on angel wing, Then soar aloft, to find my home up _there_!