Poems by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper Part 9

What for my girl? That she should be The friend of the poor and desolate?

I do not ask they shall never tread With weary feet the paths of pain.

I ask that in the darkest hour They may faithful and true remain.

I only ask their lives may be Pure as gems in the gates of pearl, Lives to brighten and bless the world-- This I ask for my boy and girl.

58 THE REFINER'S GOLD.

I ask to clasp their hands again 'Mid the holy hosts of heaven, Enraptured say: "I am here, oh! G.o.d, "And the children Thou hast given."

THE REFINER'S GOLD.

He stood before my heart's closed door, And asked to enter in; But I had barred the pa.s.sage o'er By unbelief and sin.

He came with nail-prints in his hands, To set my spirit free; With wounded feet he trod a path To come and sup with me.

He found me poor and brought me gold, The fire of love had tried, And garments whitened by his blood, My wretchedness to hide.

The glare of life had dimmed my eyes, Its glamour was too bright.

He came with ointment in his hands To heal my darkened sight.

THE REFINER'S GOLD. 59

He knew my heart was tempest-tossed, By care and pain oppressed; He whispered to my burdened heart, Come unto me and rest.

He found me weary, faint and worn, On barren mountains cold; With love's constraint he drew me on, To shelter in his fold.

Oh! foolish heart, how slow wert thou To welcome thy dear guest, To change thy weariness and care For comfort, peace and rest.

Close to his side, oh! may I stay, Just to behold his face, Till I shall wear within my soul The image of his grace.

The grace that changes hearts of stone To tenderness and love, And bids us run with willing feet Unto his courts above.

60 A STORY OF THE REBELLION.

A STORY OF THE REBELLION.

The treacherous sands had caught our boat, And held it with a strong embrace And death at our imprisoned crew Was sternly looking face to face.

With anxious hearts, but failing strength, We strove to push the boat from sh.o.r.e; But all in vain, for there we lay With bated breath and useless oar.

Around us in a fearful storm The fiery hail fell thick and fast; And we engirded by the sand, Could not return the dreadful blast.

When one arose upon whose brow The ardent sun had left his trace, A n.o.ble purpose strong and high Uplighting all his dusky face.

Perchance within that fateful hour The wrongs of ages thronged apace; But with it came the glorious hope Of swift deliverance to his race.

Of galling chains asunder rent, Of severed hearts again made one,

A STORY OF THE REBELLION. 61

Of freedom crowning all the land Through battles gained and victories won.

"Some one," our hero firmly said, "Must die to get us out of this;"

Then leaped upon the strand and bared His bosom to the bullets' hiss.

"But ye are soldiers, and can fight, May win in battles yet unfought; I have no offering but my life, And if they kill me it is nought."

With steady hands he grasped the boat, And boldly pushed it from the sh.o.r.e; Then fell by rebel bullets pierced, His life work grandly, n.o.bly o'er.

Our boat was rescued from the sands And launched in safety on the tide; But he our comrade good and grand, In our defence had bravely died.

BURIAL OF SARAH.

He stood before the sons of Heth, And bowed his sorrowing head;

62 BURIAL OF SARAH.

"I've come," he said, "to buy a place Where I may lay my dead.

"I am a stranger in your land, My home has lost its light; Grant me a place where I may lay My dead away from sight."

Then tenderly the sons of Heth Gazed on the mourner's face, And said, "Oh, Prince, amid our dead, Choose thou her resting-place.

"The sepulchres of those we love, We place at thy command; Against the plea thy grief hath made We close not heart nor hand."

The patriarch rose and bowed his head, And said, "One place I crave; 'Tis at the end of Ephron's field, And called Machpelah's cave.

"Entreat him that he sell to me For her last sleep that cave; I do not ask for her I loved The freedom of a grave."

BURIAL OF SARAH. 63

The son of Zohar answered him, "Hearken, my lord, to me; Before our sons, the field and cave I freely give to thee."

"I will not take it as a gift,"

The grand old man then said; "I pray thee let me buy the place Where I may lay my dead."