Mountain idylls, and Other Poems Part 5

Mother.--Alpha and Omega.

Mother! Mother!

The startled cry of childish fright Rang through the silence of the night, As but the mother's fond caress Could soothe its infantile distress; And the mother answered, with loving stroke Of her gentle hand, as she softly spoke: "Hush, hush, my child, that troubled cry; What evil can harm thee, with mother nigh?"

Mother! Mother!

Long years have pa.s.sed, and the fevered brow Of a bearded man, she is stroking now, As through delirium and pain He cries as a little child, again.

And the mother answered, with loving stroke Of her careworn hand, as she softly spoke: "Hush, hush, my child, that troubled cry; What evil can harm thee, with mother nigh?"

Mother! Mother!

Still time rolls on, and an old man stands Trembling on life's declining sands; As memory bridges the flood of years He cries as a child, with childish tears; And memory answers, with loving stroke Of a vanished hand, and an echo spoke: "Hush, hush, my child, that troubled cry; What evil can harm thee, with mother nigh?"

Empty are the Mother's Arms.

Ah, empty are the mother's arms Which clasp a vanished form; A darling spared from life's alarms, And safe from earthly storm.

In absent reverie, she hears That voice, nor can forget; The fond illusion disappears,-- Her arms are empty, yet.

In Deo Fides.

Almighty G.o.d! Supreme! Most High!

Before Thy throne, in reverence, we kneel; We cannot realize Thine infinity; Beholding not, we can Thy presence feel; Though veiled impenetrably, Thou dost reveal Such evidence as clouds cannot conceal!

Acknowledged, though unseen, Almighty Power!

Within its secret depths, the bosom pays In pleasure's or affliction's calmer hour, The heart's sincerest offering of praise; Intuitive, unuttered prayers arise Without the outstretched arms, or reverently clos-ed eyes.

Down deep within the soul's mysterious seat, The voice of reason, and inherent sense, Admits Thy Sovereign Power, and doth entreat The guidance of a Just Omnipotence; Thus doth the human essence e'er depend On that Supreme. Eternal. Without End.

Supreme, Mysterious Power! Whate'er Thou be, Can e'er our mortal natures comprehend, This side the veil which shrouds futurity, Thy Wisdom, Power, and Love? The end Of all conclusions, reasoned o'er and o'er, We know Thou dost exist! Can we know more?

Shall Love, as the Bridal Wreath, Whither and Die?

Shall love as the bridal wreath, wither and die?

Or remain ever constant and sure, As the years of the future pa.s.s rapidly by, And the waves of adversity's tempest roll high, Ever changeless and fervent endure?

Mistake not the fancy, that lasts but a day, For the love which eternally thrives; That sentiment false, is as p.r.o.ne to decay As the wreath is to fade and to wither away; And like it, it never revives.

Shall Our Memories Live When the Sod Rolls Above Us?

Shall our memories live, when the sod rolls above us And marks our last home with a mouldering heap?

Shall the voices of those who profess that they love us E'er mention our names, as we dreamlessly sleep?

Will their eyes ever dim at some fond recollection, Or their hands ever plant a small flower o'er the breast, Or will they gaze with a sad circ.u.mspection At the tablets, which tell of our last solemn rest?

Ah! soon shall the hearts which our memories cherish Forget, as they strive with the cares of their own; And even the last dim remembrance shall perish As we peacefully slumber, unwept and unknown.

But if our lives, though of transient duration, Are filled with some work in humanity's name, Some uplifting effort, or self-immolation, Our memories shall live in the temples of Fame.

A Reverie.

O, tomb of the past Where buried hopes lie, In my visions I see Thy phantoms pa.s.s by!

A form, long departed, Before me appears; A sweet voice, long silent, Again greets my ears.

Fond memory dwells On the things that have been; And my eyes calmly gaze On a long vanished scene; A scene such as memory Stores deep in the breast, Which only appears In a season of rest.

Once more we wander, Her fair hand in mine; Once more her promise, "I'll ever be thine"; Once more the parting, The shroud, and the pall, The sods' hollow thump As they coffinward fall.

The reverie ends-- All the fancies have flown; And my sad, lonely heart, Now seems doubly alone; As the Ivy, whose tendrils Reach longingly out, Yet finds not an oak To entwine them about.

Love's Plea.

I love thee, my darling, both now and forever, My heart feels the thralldom of love's mystic spell, 'Tis fettered with shackles which nothing can sever, To the heart which responds to its pa.s.sionate swell.

I love thee, my darling, with love that is stronger, Than all the fond ties which the heart holds enshrined; Adversity, sorrow or pain can no longer Detract from this heart, if with thine intertwined.

I love thee, my darling, with sacred affection, Which death, nor the cycles of time shall efface; Nor from my heart's mirror, erase thy reflection, Nor tear thy fond heart from its fervent embrace.

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust.