Verses and Rhymes By the Way Part 17

Come forth, O rain! from thy cool, distant hall, And lave the parched brow of the feverish earth, The little drooping flow'rets on thee call, Come, with thy cool touch wake them up to mirth They will lift up glad faces to the sky, Drinking in gladness from the warm moist air, Now, thirsty, hot, and faint they droop and die, Thou only canst revive these fainting fair The grain has shrivelled, pining after thee, And waves light-headed from a sickly stalk, There's no green herbage on the sunburned lea, The glaring sun through glowing skies doth walk, Looking down hotly on sweet Allumette, Thinking to dry it with his ardent gaze, Each day a strip of sand left bare and wet, Tells how she shrinks from his pursuing rays

1870

DIVIDED

We came to the dividing line, Then he pa.s.sed over and I am here, Sad and sore is this heart of mine That has no power to shed a tear, For, like one who rises and walks in sleep, I am lost in a dream--I cannot weep.

Yet he was good and fair to see I know in my heart he loved me well, What separated him from me, I cannot tell, oh! I cannot tell, For the blow came sudden, and sharp, and sore, And I am alone now for evermore.

I thought to walk through all our time Together, linked to a lofty aim; With sudden wrench I'm left behind-- My heart is slain! oh, my heart is slain!

And the ghost of my heart within me cries, Why, alas! was I made a sacrifice?

My royal eagle ordained to soar-- Breast to the storm, and eyes to the sun-- Up be thy flight! and think no more Of one the life of whose life is done; While I, stunned and sick with a dumb despair, Still mourn by the grave of a hope so fair.

TO MARY.

It is not very long since first we met, Thy path and mine lay very far apart; We are not of one nation, dear one, yet Thou hast awakened love within my heart.

It is a love that sorrow never tried, And yet, like tested love, it is as true As love that stood in dark hours by your side, If hours were ever dark or sad to you.

Not for your beauty, though I think you fair, Not for the kind heart or the tender word; But for the kindredship,--because you were One who both knew and loved my gracious Lord.

One who had often met with Him alone; One over whom His garment had been laid; Clothed on with beauty that was not your own, Bought with a price no other could have paid,

Divided by the ridge of time are we, Yet we are near akin at heart my friend, Our prayers and praises will together be Blended and fused in one as they ascend

For I, too, heard the Well-Beloved's voice, Calling the new life in the soul to wake, Drawing us after Him in loving choice, Making us love His loved ones for His sake

TO FRANCES

Dear love, life has dewy mornings, And the shadeless blaze of noon, Flowers, that we stop to gather, That fade from our hands so soon

Dear love, there are meetings, partings, We have sunshine, we have shade, There's no continuing city That our human hands have made

We go onward, joy and sorrow Checkers all the path we tread, But our Father loves His children And with loving care they're led.

Dear love, His great wisdom chooseth The path that we both have trod, And through storm, and calm, and sunshine, We rest in the hand of G.o.d

A NEW YEAR'S ADDRESS, 1870.

With noiseless footstep, like the white-robed snow, The old year with closed record steals away; Record of gladness, suffering, joy, and woe, Of all that goes to make life's little day.

Here, in this bright and pleasant little town, As everywhere, a noiseless scythe hath swept; The bright, the green, the flow'ret all cut down, For heart ties severed loving hearts have wept.

And some are gone we very ill can spare, And some we gladly would have died to save, And the young blossom of the hearth, so fair; But all alike have pa.s.sed thy gates, oh, grave!

We see so many sable signs of woe, Each, with mute voice, _memento mori_ saith; As if our town that erst has sparkled so Were pa.s.sing through the vale and shade of death.

But louder rumours from a far-off world Come to our valley, where secure and free, With the sword sheathed, the flag of battle furled, We sit in peace beneath our emblem tree.

At peace, because the madly-wicked men Who sought to kindle flames of border war Have in confusion failed yet, once again, Their braggart plans dissolved in empty air.

In the Nor' West threat'nings of strife arose, The muttered thunders all have died away; Unstained by blood may sleep their mantling snows; Unmarred by civil strife their wintry day.

War clouds seemed o'er the hapless land to brood, The warning bugle sounded far abroad; Red River might have ran with kindred blood, But Manitoba heard the speaking G.o.d.

Our summer skies were clouded dark and low; 'Twas not the blessed rain that bowed them down, But smoke wreaths rolling heavy, huge, and slow, And thick as rising from a conquered town.

And where rich crops, and wealthy orchards fair, Spread to the sun, rustled in breeze of morn, The fire pa.s.sed through, and left them black and bare, Rushing like Samson's foxes through the corn.

Then, like a giant roused, it onward came, With red arm reaching to the trees on high; Till the whole landscape in one sheet of flame, Glowed like a furnace 'neath a brazen sky.

O'er many a hearth red, burning ruin swept, Till people fancied 'twas a flaming world; All labour gained, and prudent care had kept, And precious life were in one ruin hurled.

But as the fire fast spread, 'tis sweet to know, So loving kindness and sweet pity ran; This wide spread wail of human want and woe, Served to bring out the brotherhood of man.

Here, on the lovely pine-fringed Allumette, We hear the distant echoes of the jar, Where Galile pluck and Teuton drill have met In the long shock of cruel murderous war.

We only read of fields heaped high with slain, Of vineyards flooded red, but not with wine, Of writhing heaps of groaning anguished pain, Of wounded carted off in endless line.

We read of all the stern eyed pomp of war, The list of wounded and the number slain, But know not what war's desolations are, How much one battle costs of human pain.

All the sweet homes beneath the chestnut trees Blackened and waste, the hearth light quenched in gore; What hecatombs of human agonies Are laid war's demon-chariot wheels before

When a few deaths so shadow a whole place, Let us but think of that beleaguered town Where famine's blackness sits in every face, War cutting thousands, want ten thousands down.

And France is one great grave, her native clay Top dressed with human flesh and steeped in blood; Hushed are the sounds of little ones at play, And blackened wastes where pleasant hamlets stood.

In spots the grain will yet grow rank and strong, Over brave hearts that conquered as they fell; Falling, left hearts to sorrow for them long, By the swift Rhine, or by the blue Moselle.

When will the nations learn to war no more, Nor with red hands adore the G.o.d of peace?

O Thou, most merciful, whom we adore, Bid this unnecessary war to cease!