Victor Roy, a Masonic Poem Part 7

They have no load of grief to bear, Of sin no dark, deep stain, And yet in patience take their share Of storm, and frost and rain.

Oh, can it be unknown to us, Without one human word, The universal Father soothes The death-bed of each bird; "The whole creation groaneth," yet These pure things of the sky, Are they not nearer to the gates Than mortals such as I?

Yet while I mused, it seemed some form, Ere yet I was aware, Bent o'er my pillow, dried my tears, And turned to sing my prayer; Some subtle presence unrevealed, Seemed to repeat the words, "Fear not, for you are dearer far, Than many little birds."

I do not ask what seemed to speak; Whether the angel blest, Who hath been my appointed guard In calm or wild unrest; Or whether some sweet voice I love, But hushed to me a while, Came down on gentle mission sent, To change for tears a smile.

It matters not; G.o.d knows faith's wings Droop sometimes in the dust, And hands grow weak and lose their hold On Hope's firm anchor trust; And so, while sending dew and rain, And glowing sunbeams bright.

G.o.d giveth unto those who hear, Songs in the darkest night.

In Memoriam.

They are gone away, No prayers could avail us to longer keep The ships called out on the unknown deep, We saw them sail off, some lingeringly, Some suddenly summoned put out to sea; They stepped aboard, and the planks were drawn in, But their sweet, pale faces were free from sin; As they turned to whisper one last good bye, We sent after each one a bitter cry; We knew on that track, They would never come back, By night or day.

Ah, we've closed dear eyes, But G.o.d be thanked that they, one and all, Had the heaven light touch them before the pall; They saw the fair land that we could not see, And one said, "Jesus is standing by me,"

And one, "The water of life I hear,"

And one, "There's no suffering nor sorrow here,"

One, "I have seen the city of countless charms,"

One, "'Neath me are the Everlasting Arms,"

So we know it is best, They should be at rest, In G.o.d's paradise.

Mary's Blessed Son, Thou wilt not chide if thou see'st that low Our harps are hanging on willow bough; We would not murmur, we know it is well, They are gone from the battle, the shot and sh.e.l.l, And in our anguish we're not alone; The Father knows all the grief we have known; Oh G.o.d, who once heard the Christ's bitter cry, Thou knowest what we feel when we see them die.

Our light, has been hid By the coffin lid, And dark our noon.

G.o.d hears our moan, He knows how a stricken heart had said, "Oh, number her not with the silent dead, For if she stays watching the golden sea, G.o.d help, for what will become of me?

The last rose out of my childhood's bower, From my English garden, the last sweet flower; Take me instead, for none call me mother."

The messenger said, "I take no other."

So she went the road The others have trod, And I am alone.

We shall meet again; I fancy sometimes how they talk together, Of the way they travelled, the stormy weather That beat so hard on their pilgrim road, Now changed for the city of their G.o.d; I wonder if in their special home, They keep choice rooms till their darlings come.

Saviour, who loves them, protect and guide me Where they are waiting 'neath life's fadeless tree, Father and mother, And elder brother, And sisters twain.

A Song of the Flowers.

"Why are you weeping, ye gentle flowers?

Are ye not blest in your sunny bowers?

Have you startling dreams that make ye weep, When waking up from your holy sleep?

"Ah, knowest thou not, we fold at night, The tears earth drops from her eyelids bright, Like a loving mother her griefs are born, Lest her tender nurslings should die ere morn, And the sweet dew falls in each open cup, Till the eyes of morn are lifted up; We unfold our leaves to the sun's bright face, And close them up at the night's embrace.

Dost thou ask if grief comes creeping across, From the poplar bough to the dark green moss?

No, round us the sunbeams smile and glow, Round us the streamlets dance and flow, And the zephyr comes with its gentle breeze, To sigh out its life in the young green trees, And then from the beds where the flowers grow, Rises a melody soft and low.

And the glorious rose with her flushing face, And the fuschia with her form of grace, The balsam bright, and the lupin's crest, That weaves a roof for the firefly's nest; The myrtle cl.u.s.ters, and dahlia tall, The jessamine fairest among them all; And the tremulous lips of the lily's bell, Join in the music we love so well."

"But startle ye not when the tempests blow?

Have you no dread of a wily foe?

Do you not tremble, when the serpents hiss Mid leaves that the zephyr alone should kiss?

Lady, the bells of the fainting flowers Close at the coming of thunder showers; The branches and tendrils merrily dance At the whirlwind's cry, and the lightning's glance.

We dread not to see the snake's back of gold?

Dart through the lilacs or marigold, For fears that dwell in the human breast, Find in the heart of flowers no rest.

We have no fears when we hear thee pa.s.s Over the fold of the tangled gra.s.s, We have no dread when we hear thee breathe Over the flowers we love to wreathe, Nor tremble when night falls from heaven above, And nature is stillness and earth is love; We steal from thy keeping when summer is o'er, And wait thee where flowers can die no more."

The Cities of Old.

Cities and men, and nations, have pa.s.sed by, Like leaves upon an autumn's dreary sky; Like chaff upon the ocean billow proud, Like drops of rain on summer's fleecy cloud; Like flowers of a wilderness, Vanished into forgetfulness.

O! Nineveh, thou city of young Ashur's pride, With thy strong towers, and thy bulwarks wide; Ah! while upon thee splashed the Tigris' waters, How little thought thy wealth-stored sons and daughters,

That Cyaxerses and his troops should wait Three long years before thy ma.s.sive gate; Then Medes and Persians, by the torches' light, Should ride triumphantly thy streets by night; And from creation banish thee, O! Nineveh. O! Nineveh.

And country of the pride of Mizriam's heart, With pyramids that speak thy wealth and art, Why is it that no minstrel comes, who sings Of all the glory of thy shepherd kings?

Tyre, why are thy walls in ruins thus?

Why is thy name so seldom spoke by us?

Sidon, among the nations thou art fled, Thy joy departed and thy glory dead; Far gone ere all thy generations, Fallen nations! Fallen nations!

And Babylon, with all thy thronging bands, The glory of Chaldea's ancient lands; Thy temple, where a numerous host was seen, Thy gardens hung to please the Midian queen; Where beauteous flowers smiled on their terrace beds, Proud kings have pa.s.sed through thee, and crowned heads; And grandeur and magnificence could view In thee a resting place--thy stores not few; Why is it thou art all alone?

O! Babylon. O! Babylon.

And Greece, who shone in literature and might, When Marathon's broad plains saw sword and fight; Thy monumental ruins stand alone, Decay has breathed upon thy sculptured stone And desolation walks thy princely halls, The green branch twines around thy olden walls; And ye who stood the ten years' siege of Troy, Time's fingers now your battlements annoy; Why is it that thy glories cease?

O! Cla.s.sic Greece. O! Cla.s.sic Greece!

And thou, best city of olden time, O! we might weep for thee, once chosen clime.

City, where Solomon his temple reared, City, where gold and silver stores appeared; City, where priest and prophet lowly knelt, City, where G.o.d in mortal flesh once dwelt.

t.i.tus, and Roman soldiers, laid thee low, The music in thy streets has ceased to flow; Yet wilt thou not return in joy once more, And Lebanon give up her cedar store?

And vines and olives smile as now they smile, Yet not upon the ruin of a holy pile; Wilt thou Destruction's flood not stem?

Jerusalem! Jerusalem!

Cities and men, and nations, have gone by, Like leaves upon an Autumn's dreary sky; Like chaff upon the ocean billow proud, Like drops upon the summer's pa.s.sing cloud; Like flowers of a wilderness, Vanished into forgetfulness.