Then in the darkness came a voice which said, "As thy heart bleedeth, so my heart hath bled, As I have need of thee, Thou needest me." That night Van Elsen kissed the baby feet, Who conquered death. Frederick George Scott [1861 THE FLIGHT UPON a cloud among the stars we stood: Shall we make wing to?" The still solitude RIPE GRAIN O STILL, white face of perfect peace, O noble face! your beauty bears The glory that is wrung from pain,— The high, celestial beauty wears Of finished work, of ripened grain. Of human care you left no trace, No lightest trace of grief or pain,— "THE LAND WHICH NO ONE KNOWS" DARK, deep, and cold the current flows O'er its sad gloom still comes and goes Why shrieks for help yon wretch, who goes Unto the land which no one knows? Though myriads go with him who goes, For all must go where no wind blows, Yet why should he who shrieking goes Alone with God, where no wind blows, O shoreless Deep, where no wind blows! Ebenezer Elliott [1781-1849] THE HILLS OF REST BEYOND the last horizon's rim, Upon their sunlit slopes uplift The castles we have built in Spain- Sweet hours we did not live go by The songs we tried in vain to sing. They all are there: the days of dream The silent, sacred years we deem The might be, and the might have been. Some evening when the sky is gold The happy, happy Hills of Rest. Albert Bigelow Paine [1861 AT THE TOP OF THE ROAD "BUT, Lord," she said, "my shoulders still are strongI have been used to bear the load so long; "And see, the hill is passed, and smooth the road Gently he took it from her, and she stood Amid long, sunlit fields; around them sprang "My Lord," she said, "the land is very fair!" Smiling, he answered: "Was it not so there?" "There?" In her voice a wondering question lay: "Was I not always here, then, as to-day?" He turned to her with strange, deep eyes aflame: "Nay," she replied: "but this I understandThat thou art Lord of Life in this dear land!" "Yea, child," he murmured, scarce above his breath: "Lord of the Land! but men have named me Death." Charles Buxton Going [1863 SHEMUEL SHEMUEL, the Bethlehemite, Saw the angel host revealed; He nor caught the mystic story, Through the night they gazing stood, Back they came in wonder home, Eyes aflame and hearts elated; Works of mercy now, as then, So they thought, nor deemed from whence His celestial recompense. Shemuel, by the fever bed, Touched by beckoning hands that led, All his fellows lived, and waited. Edward Ernest Bowen [1836-1901] SHE AND HE "SHE is dead!" they said to him. "Come away; Kiss her and leave her!-thy love is clay!" They smoothed her tresses of dark brown hair; Over her eyes, that gazed too much, With a tender touch they closed up well About her brows, and her dear, pale face, And drew on her white feet her white silk shoes;Which were the whiter no eye could choose! And over her bosom they crossed her hands; And then there was Silence; and nothing there And jasmine, and roses, and rosemary; And they held their breath till they left the room, With a shudder to glance at its stillness and gloom. |