Verses and Rhymes By the Way Part 8

I waited, watched for the blessing Promised, oh so long ago, I looked for the brilliant future The end of the long drawn woe, My hopes, with my years, Time the reaper, Hath laughingly laid them low.

Oh Erin! my mother Erin!

Will "to be" repeat what has been?

Will your sons ever "shoulder to shoulder"

Be strong and united seen?

Will ever the foreign lilies Blend with the nation's green?

For in other lands the peoples, Quite forgetting ancient wrong, Have blended and fused, becoming Because of their union strong, Leaving all old feuds and battles, As themes for romance and song

From party's Promethean vulture, When wilt thou get release?

When will the strife of races, The strife of religions cease?

And the hearts of thy loving children Mingle and be at peace?

BEREAVEMENT.

(Job iii. 26)

It was not that I lived a life of ease, Quiet, secure, apart from every care; For on the darkest of my anxious days I thought my burden more than I could bear.

The shadow of a coming trouble fell Across my pathway, drawing very near; I walked within it awestruck, felt the spell Trembled, not knowing what I had to fear.

The hand that held events I might not stay, But creeping to His footstool I could pray.

With sad forebodings I kept watch and ward Against the dreaded evil that must come; Of small avail, door locked or window barred, To keep the pestilence from hearth and home.

The dreadful pestilence that walks by night, Stepping o'er barriers, an unwelcome guest, Came, and with scorching touch to sear and blight, Drew my fair child into her loathsome breast; Nothing had ever parted us till then, O child! when shall I hold thee once again?

As if the plague's red cross upon my door, With "Lord have mercy!" scared the pa.s.sers by, So friends of mine that I had had before, Fled from the face of my calamity.

Shut in, and yet shut out, my days went on, Shut in with woe, shut out from human kind Within my boundaries, watching sad and lone, Hope with despair kept struggling in my mind.

It is not always human hearts can say To Him who smites, "I trust Thee though Thou slay."

They're taught of G.o.d who say "Thy will be done,"

When in the presence of the thing they fear, Both flesh and spirit fail when hope is gone, And what we dread the most is drawing near; I said, "an end comes to the darkest day, And the bright, sunshine follows after rain, This fearful pestilence will pa.s.s away, And I can comfort those she holds in pain; I'll take them to my heart, nor will I care, That her touch marred the faces I thought fair"

I clung to hope I would not let it go-- And praying thoughts went up with every breath, For when the sickness came I did not know That with her came the angel they call Death.

My child will be restored to me I said, Death took her hand-and almost unawares, She slipped away from me and joined the dead Back on my heart fell my unanswered prayers, Stunned I took up my child that was so sweet And wrapped her poor form in the winding-sheet

All desolate I bore her to her bier With unaccustomed hands I laid her down, With grief too hard and deep to shed a tear We stood beneath the heavens gathering frown, And then the storm burst on us in its might, The loosened winds rushed round to moan and rave, 'Twas fittest so--they bore her from my sight, Through the wild ram and laid her in her grave, Then conscious only of a dreadful loss, I sat with sorrow underneath my cross

The little ones whose mother's with the dead Came with their many wants around my knee And added, needless burden some one said, But ah! they were G.o.d's messengers to me, For here were duties that my hands must do, Although my wound might only bleed and smart, And so there came some solace to me through The helpless hands that touched my aching heart Ah! little children bringing everywhere G.o.d's blessed comfort mingled in with care

And so I do my task, my daily task, Working the work that's given me to do, Getting the daily strength for which I ask, The needed courage still to help me through; And my great sorrow pa.s.ses out of sight, I have not time to sit and make my moan; But in the solemn stillness of the night, My woe comes back to me with heavy groan.

And yet our Father weaves His golden thread Into the warp of duty's homespun web.

OUT OF THE DEPTHS.

Thou art, and, therefore, Thou art near, oh G.o.d!

Thick darkness covers me, I cannot see; Is this the Shepherd's crook, or the correcting rod, And by Thy hand, O Father, laid on me?

I cry to Thee, and shall I cry in vain?

My soul looks up as if through prison bars, Up through the silent Heaven, ah, turn again Thy face to me, hide not behind the stars.

Thy presence hath been with me in the past, Where "heaps of witness" mark out all the way; Thy years change not, Thy love is still as vast, I look to Thee, I trust Thee though Thou slay.

My friends walk on the hills the sun hath kissed, Flowers at their feet, their sky is blue and fair; I'm prisoned in this vale of tearful mist, Shut in with sorrow, darkened by despair.

I, too, once walked with footsteps glad and free, Light round my head, and in my mouth a song; Manna fell round my dwelling-place for me.

For me the living waters flowed along.

Thy hand had set my feet upon a rock, That Rock stands fast, why then this loss and harm?

I cannot find the footsteps of the flock, I cannot feel the Well-Beloved's arm.

They hold me in derision, for they say, Where is the G.o.d in whom you seemed to trust!

Righteous art Thou O Lord! and if I may But find Thee I will lay me in the dust.

Saying, awake, arise my G.o.d, to me Turn in Thy love the mercy of Thy face; Then shall the day break, and the shadows flee, And I will sing of Thy sufficient grace.

ERIN, MAVOURNEEN.

A Prize Poem.

I know Canada is fair to see, and pleasant; it is well On the banks of its broad river 'neath the maple trees to dwell; But the heart is very wilful, and in sorrow or in mirth, Mine will turn with sore love-longing to the land that gave me birth; And I wish that, oh but once again! my longing eyes might see The green island that lies smiling on the bosom of the sea; That is fed with heaven's dew and the fatness of the earth, Fanned by wild Atlantic breezes that sweep over it in mirth.

Its green robe is starred with daisies; it is brilliant fresh and fair, With a verdure that no other spot of earth affords to wear.

It has banks of pale primroses that like bits of moonlight glow; There are hawthorn hedges blossomed out like drifts of perfumed snow, Bluebells swinging on their slender stems and cowslips on the lea.

I was better for the lessons they in childhood taught to me; And still sweet is every memory, and blessed each regret That twines round that dear island home, which our hearts cannot forget.

From where Antrim's giant columns at the north are piled on high, The sentinels of centuries tow'ring up against the sky, From mountain top and purple heath, from valleys fair to see, Where streams of flashing crystal bright are flowing merrily, To Kerry's lakes of loveliness that dimple in the sun.

'Tis fair as any spot of earth that heaven's light shines upon.

O Erin, my mother Erin, dear land more kind than wise, I think of thee till loving tears come thronging to my eyes.

Thou hast nourished on thy bosom many sons of deathless fame; Who, while the world will last, shall shed a l.u.s.tre on thy name.

While Foyle's proud swelling waters roll past Derry to the sea; While yet a single vestige of old Limerick's walls there be; Shall those who love thee well, fair land, lament that feuds divide The sons of those who for each cause stood fast on either side.

From every ruined castle grey, well may the banshee cry O'er bitter waters once let loose that have not yet run dry

O would the blessed time might come when, party feeling done, The n.o.ble deeds of both sides will be gathered into one!

On the battle-fields of Europe thy sons quit themselves like men, Till those who made them exiles longed for their good swords again, Wherever fields were fought and won, in thickest of the fray, Where steel bit steel, thy sons have fought and laurels bore away And thou hast bards in deathless song thy heroes' praise to sing, Or make hearts throb responsive when for love they touch the string

Thou hast lovely, white-armed daughters so tender and so true, As modest as the daisies, and as spotless as the dew, With flashes of sweet merriment, and virtue still and strong They fire the patriot's heart and charm the poet into song Thou hast nourished those right eloquent to plead with tongue and pen, For those eternal rights which men so oft deny to men, And land of saints in song like mine, but little can be said Of those who stand for G.o.d between the living and the dead