Our Profession and Other Poems Part 17

DRIFTING AWAY.

How softly, how still, are we drifting away, On the wide Sea of Life as it beckons us on, Though the sunshine allure us 'tis but for a day, Then darkness comes o'er us and hopes are all gone.

We are drifting away in a bark that is frail, On a sea sometimes rough and whose waves often moan, Yet when all is peaceful we think not of gale, But are drifting away in our bark all alone.

So softly we float on a smooth flowing sea, That our helm and our anchors are cast to the sh.o.r.e, We think them a burden and wish to be free, From every enc.u.mbrance that can serve us no more.

We are drifting away with our hopes and our fears, To an ocean of life unknown to us now; We see a bright vision--though veiled by our tears, It appears like refulgence to lighten the brow.

Too slowly our bark seems to drift toward the prize, We in ecstasy wish it to speed faster on; But while we are wishing, a mist dims our eyes, And lo! that bright vision has vanished and gone.

A gloom of thick darkness now spreads like a pall, The winds of the tempest arise in their force, And amid their wild shriekings for succor we call On Him who reigns o'er us, to mark out our course.

We plead for protection from ruin and pain, Repiningly think of our anchor and helm, And could we secure those lost prizes again, No tempest could shake us, no wave could o'erwhelm.

But swiftly we're drifting, we cannot tell where, The current moves onward regardless of gloom, We raise our weak voices and utter a prayer That G.o.d in His mercy is drifting us home.

The silver stream by the farmhouse door Flows on and on forever, But the feet that trod its oaken floor Have crossed the mystic river, And no wind kissed by a vernal sun Can return them e'er again; Their earthly pilgrimage is done, They dwell in a new domain.

KINDRED SPIRITS.

Oh, give me some heart of a kindred spirit That smiles when I smile, or that weeps when I weep, Whose solace is greater by far to inherit Than the wealth of the mines or the gems of the deep.

Some heart that will echo response to my feeling, That thrills with delight when I speak of my joy; That sorrows with sorrow too deep for concealing, When cankering griefs make my own heart's alloy.

Some heart that appreciates each little kindness, That knows all my feelings, tho' oft unexpressed, That sees not my faults with a pa.s.sionate blindness, But clings to my soul when 'tis sorely distressed.

Some heart whose affection can never be blighted, That beats all in concert with that of my own, That revels in pleasures with which I'm delighted, And grieves at the sorrows which cause me to moan.

Some heart that can never be swerved from its mooring, Though tempests may thunder and billows may roar, That espouses my fate in spite of such roaring, And when trials are sorest will trust even more.

My heart would exult to find such a treasure, And return ev'ry throb in fidelity's pride, Would suffer if need be, and call it but pleasure To live or to die for a heart so allied.

No frown of the world could e'er cause me to tremble While trusting my all in a heart such as this, Too fond to deceive me; too true to dissemble-- 'Twere a foretaste of Heaven, the acme of bliss.

Can it be, can it be, the world is so varied, Human hearts never beat on chords that are even!

Is versatile man so odd, or so seared That perfect accord is known but in Heaven!

My heart shall rejoice that some kindred vibrations Soothe the devious marge of the pathway of fate, And gathering strength through many privations Shall learn in contentment to patiently wait.

To sit an hour on lichened stone, Or mould'ring log by moss o'ergrown, And use our ears and eyes, Will teach us the effect and cause Of many of great Nature's laws That now are mysteries.

SCHOOL DAYS.

Can we e'er forget our boyhood, And the days we spent at school, With the jolly youths and maidens Who with pencil for a tool, Squared the area of a circle, And minutely did compute The interest and discount On a promissory note?

As we worked those "grazing" questions, We could see the cattle eat; See the gra.s.s grow up by inches Beneath their cloven feet; We could surely hear a lowing That distinctly called our names, Inviting us to pastures To enjoy our childish games.

If the day were warm and pleasant, The calling seemed more clear Than when chilly winds were sighing, And the clouds were dark and drear; It was no imagination, For a schoolboy's mind is real, Though we heard that calling often We answered it with zeal.

Then we worked like real bankers And claimed "three days of grace;"

Then we figured "hare and greyhound"

In their leaping, jaunty race; We desired an ill.u.s.tration Of the problems to be solved, As no concrete computation From the abstract e'er evolved.

We solved the size of fishes, When some fraction and a part Were all the given bases To test our "number" art, But we never were contented With the fishes in the book, So we strolled off to the lakeside, Or down the purling brook.

Then we had some given acres In the form of perfect square, And a fence around its border With a circle must compare, Which would cost the greater money To fence it in with rails, Or build with posts and stringers, Sawed lumber, and cut nails.

Then we worked upon that problem Which has never yet been solved, How to live and be contented In the scenes life has evolved, Though in every operation Much must be inferred, We will find this root's extraction Will often prove a surd.

As life's day of sunshine lingers, Ere the darkness draws apace, 'Tis a blessed satisfaction To look backward o'er the race, And feel that in the running, Our best was ever done, And know that at the ending, Some trophy must be won.

Though the eye may lose its clearness And the touch may lose its thrill, Though the senses fail to gather All the promptings of the will, May the mind retain its power To recall the days of yore, Till the spirit casts its anchor On that far-off unseen sh.o.r.e.

When on that sh.o.r.e safe landed, It seems to be quite plain That the greatest satisfaction Will be to think of youth again; There must be a great transition From this mundane sphere below, If the thoughts of early boyhood May not set all heaven aglow.

PERHAPS.

Perhaps had I chosen some other profession Than that of moulding the human mind, I might have secured a greater possession Of lucre and treasures and powers combined, Than all I may now of these truly own; But I have in my casket some jewels I treasure Far more than all stocks and houses and lands, In gold and silver their worth has no measure, For none may compute warm hearts and true hands, When the shadows of years are over us thrown.

There are two kinds of discontent-- Malignant, and progressive,-- The latter is the proper sort, Of it, be quite possessive.

The former, born of parentage Whose motive powers are evil, Serves but one purpose here below-- To aid its father--Devil.

IMPORTANT MOMENTS.

There are times when the fate of nations May hang on a moment's call; When spheres in their mute rotations May swing on a hinge so small, That the breath of a spirit's pinion Might unpoise a balanced world, And lost to law's dominion Through endless s.p.a.ce be hurled.