Town and Country; Or, Life at Home and Abroad Part 36

Go to the sick man's chamber; low and soft Falls on the listening ear a sweet-toned voice; A hand as gentle as the summer breeze, Ever inclined to offices of good, Smooths o'er the sick man's pillow, and then turns To trim the midnight lamp, moisten the lips, And, pa.s.sing over, soothe the fevered brow.

Thus charity finds place in woman's heart; And woman kind, and beautiful, and good, Doth thus administer to every want, Nor wearies in her task, but labors on, And finds her joy in that which she imparts.

Go to the prisoner's cell; to-morrow's light Shall be the last on earth he e'er shall see.

He mutters hate 'gainst all, and threatens ill To every semblance of the human form.

Deep in his soul remorse, despair and hate, Dwell unillumined by one ray of light, And sway his spirit as the waves are swayed By wind and storm. He may have cause to hold His fellow-men as foes; for, at the first Of his departure from an upright course, They scorned and shunned and cursed him.

They sinnd thus, and he, in spite for them, Kept on his sullen way from wrong to wrong.

Which is the greatest sinner? He shall say Who of the hearts of men alone is judge.

Now, in his cell condemned, he waits the hour, The last sad hour of mortal life to him.

His oaths and blasphemies he sudden stays!

He thinks he hears upon his prison door A gentle tap. O, to his hardened heart That gentle sound a sweet remembrance brings Of better days-two-score of years gone by, Days when his mother, rapping softly thus, Called him to morning prayer. Again 't is heard.

Is it a dream? Asleep! He cannot sleep With chains around and shameful death before him!

Is it the false allurement of some foe Who would with such enticement draw him forth To meet destruction ere the appointed time?

Softened and calmed, each angry pa.s.sion lulled, By a soft voice, "Come in," he trembling calls.

Slow on its hinges turns the ponderous door, And "Friend," the word that falls from stranger lips.

As dew on flowers, as rain on parchd ground, So came the word unto the prisoner's ear.

He speaks not-moves not. O, his heart is full, Too full for utterance; and, as floods of tears Flow from his eyes so all unused to weep, He bows down low, e'en at the stranger's feet.

He had not known what 't was to have a friend.

The word came to him like a voice from heaven, A voice of love to one who'd heard but hate.

"Friend!" Mysterious word to him who'd known no friend.

O, what a power that simple word hath o'er him!

As now he holds the stranger's hand in his, And bows his head upon it, he doth seem Gentle and kind, and docile as a child.

Repentance comes with kindness, goodness rears Its cross on Calvary's height, inspiring hope Which triumphs over evil and its guilt.

O, how much changed! and all by simple words Spoken in love and kindness from the heart.

O, love and kindness! matchless power have ye To mould the human heart; where'er ye dwell There is no sorrow, but a living joy.

There is no man whom G.o.d hath placed on earth That hath not some humanity within, And is not moved with kindness joined with love.

The wildest savage, from whose firelit eye Flashes the lightning pa.s.sions of his soul, Who stands, and feeling that he hath been wronged, That he hath trusted and been basely used, And that to him revenge were doubly sweet, Dares all the world to combat and to death,-- Even he hath dwelling in his inmost heart A chord that quick will vibrate to kind words.

Go unto such with kindness, not with wrath; Let your eye look love, and 't will disarm him Of all the evil pa.s.sions with which he Hath mailed his soul in terrible array.

Think not to tame the wild by brutal force.

As well attempt to stay devouring flames By heaping f.a.gots on the blazing pile.

Go, do man good, and the deep-hidden spark Of true divinity concealed within Will brighten up, and thou shalt see its glow, And feel its cheering warmth. O, we lose much By calling pa.s.sion's aid to vanquish wrong.

We should stand within love's holy temple, And with persuasive kindness call men in, Rather than, leaving it, use other means, Unblest of G.o.d, and therefore weak and vain, To force them on before us into bliss.

There is a luxury in doing good Which none but by experience e'er can know.

He's blest who doeth good. Sleep comes to him On wings of sweetest peace; and angels meet In joyous convoys ever round his couch; They watch and guard, protect and pray for him.

All mothers bend the knee, and children too Clasp their fair hands and raise their undimmed eyes, As if to pierce the shadowy veil that hangs Between themselves and G.o.d-then pray that he Will bless with Heaven's best gifts the friend of man.

A PLEA FOR THE FALLEN.

PITY her, pity her! Once she was fair, Once breathed she sweetly the innocent's prayer; Parents stood by in pride o'er their daughter; Sin had not tempted, Vice had not caught her; Hoping and trusting, believing all true, Nothing but happiness rose to her view.

She, as were spoken words lovers might tell, Listened, confided, consented, and fell!

Now she's forsaken; nursing in sorrow, Hate for the night, despair for the morrow!

She'd have the world think she's happy and gay,-- A b.u.t.terfly, roving wherever it may; Sipping delight from each rose-bud and flower, The charmed and the charmer of every hour.

She will not betray to the world all her grief; She knows it is false, and will give no relief.

She knows that its friendship is heartless and cold; That it loves but for gain, and pities for gold; That when in their woe the fallen do cry, It turns, it forsakes, and it leaves them to die!

But after the hour of the world's bright show, When hence from her presence flatterers go; When none are near to praise or caress her, No one stands by with fondness to bless her; Alone with her thoughts, in moments like this, She thinks of her days of innocent bliss, And she weeps!-yes, she weeps penitent tears O'er the shame of a life and the sorrow of years: She turns for a friend; yet, alas! none is there; She sinks, once again, in the deepest despair!

Blame her not! O blame not, ye fathers who hold Daughters you value more dearly than gold!

But pity, O, pity her! take by the hand One who, though fallen, yet n.o.bly may stand.

Turn not away from her plea and her cries; Pity and help, and the fallen may rise!

Crush not to earth the reed that is broken, Bind up her wounds-let soft words be spoken; Though she be low, though worldlings reject her, Let not Humanity ever neglect her.

JOY BEYOND.

BEYOND the dark, deep grave, whose lowly portal Must yet be pa.s.sed by every living mortal,

There gleams a light; 'T is not of earth. It wavers not; it gloweth With a clear radiance which no changing knoweth,

Constant and bright.

We love to gaze at it; we love to cherish The cheering thought, that, when this earth shall perish,

And naught remain Of all these temples,--things we now inherit, Each unimprisoned, no more fettered spirit

Shall life retain.

And ever, through eternity unending, It shall unto that changeless light be tending,

Till perfect day Shall be its great reward; and all of mystery That hath made up its earthly life, its history,

Be pa.s.sed away!

O, joyous hour! O, day most good and glorious!

When from the earth the ransomed rise victorious,

Its conflict o'er; When joy henceforth each grateful soul engages, Joy unalloyed through never-ending ages, Joy evermore!

THE SUMMER DAYS ARE COMING.