World-voices east, world-voices west, They call thee, Heart, from thine early rest, 'Come hither, come hither and be our guest.' Heart, wilt thou go? —'No, no! 'Good hearts are calmer so.' III. Who calleth thee, Heart? World's Strife, World's Gain, with a brow knit down; Which rustles most as the leaves turn brown: —‘No, no! 'Calm hearts are wiser so IV. Hast heard that Proserpina To think how the sun shone yesterday? From her lap when the wild car drave to hell. Wise hearts are warmer so.' V. And what is this place not seen, Where Hearts may hide serene ? 'Tis a fair still house well-kept, 6 'Which humble thoughts have swept, Singing sweeter songs than are guessed by one.' —'No, no! 'Warm hearts are fuller so.' VI. O Heart, O Love,—I fear That Love may be kept too near. To a Heart once holden dear? -"But this true Love of mine Clings fast as the clinging vine, 'And mingles pure as the grapes in wine.' Heart, wilt thou go? —‘No, no! 'Full hearts beat higher so.' VII. O Heart, O Love, beware! Look up, and boast not there, For who has twirled at the pin ? 'Tis the World, between Death and Sin,The World and the world's Despair! And Death has quickened his pace To the hearth, with a mocking face, Familiar as Love, in Love's own place. Heart, wilt thou go? The house is waste to-day,— The leaf has dropt from the spray, The thorn, prickt through to the song: If summer doeth no wrong The winter will, they say Sing, Heart! what heart replies ? In vain we were calm and wise, If the tears unkissed stand on in our eyes. Heart, wilt thou go? -'Ah, no! 'Grieved hearts must break even so.' IX. Howbeit all is not lost. The warm noon ends in frost, And worldly tongues of promise, On the desert hills cloud-crossed: Yet through the silence shall And Come up hither,' recover all. -'I go! 'Broken hearts triumph so.' WISDOM UNAPPLIED. I. IF I were thou, O butterfly, And poised my purple wing to spy The sweetest flowers that live and die, II. I would not waste my strength on those, III. If I were thou, O working bee, IV. I would not hive it at man's door, As thou, that heirdom of my store - Should make him rich and leave me poor. |