Father Ryan's Poems:
Electronic Edition.
Ryan, Abram Joseph, 1839-1886.
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University Library, UNC-Chapel Hill
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill,
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Source Description:
(title page) Father Ryan's Poems.
263 p., ill.
Mobile
Jno. L. Rapier & Co., Publishers
1879
Call number PS2745 .A2 1879 (Rare Book Collection, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill)
The electronic edition is a part of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill digital library, Documenting the American South.
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[Cover Image]
[Spine Image]
[Frontispiece Image]
[Signed Abram J. Ryan]
[Title Page Image]
[Title Page Verso Image]
FATHER RYAN'S
POEMS.
"All Rests with those who Read. A work or thought
Is what each makes it to himself, and may
Be full of great dark meanings, like the sea,
With shoals of life rushing; or like the air,
Benighted with the wing of the wild dove,
Sweeping miles broad o'er the far southern woods,
With mighty glimpses of the central light,--
Or may be nothing--bodiless, spiritless."
--FESTUS.
MOBILE:
JNO. L. RAPIER & CO., PUBLISHERS.
1879.
Page verso
COPYRIGHT
BY ABRAM J. RYAN,
1879.
Page 4
THESE
SIMPLE RHYMES
ARE LAID AS A GARLAND OF LOVE
AT THE FEET OF HIS MOTHER BY
HER CHILD, THE
AUTHOR.
Page 5
PREFACE.
THESE VERSES (which some friends call by the higher title of Poems--to which appellation the Author objects),--were written at random,--off and on,--here,--there,--anywhere,--just when the mood came, with little of study and less of art,--and always in a hurry.
Hence they are incomplete in finish, as the Author is;--tho' he thinks they are true in tone. His feet know more of the humble steps that lead up to the Altar and its Mysteries, than of the steeps that lead up to Parnassus and the Home of the Muses. And souls were always more to him than songs. But still somehow,--and he could not tell why,--he sometimes tried to sing. Here are his simple songs. He never dreamed of taking even lowest place in the rank of authors. But friends persisted; and finally a young lawyer friend, who has entire charge of his business in the book, forced him to front the world and its critics. There are verses connected with the war published in this volume not for harm-sake, nor for hate-sake, but simply because the Author wrote them. He would write again in the same tone and key under the same circumstances. No more need be said, except that these verses mirror the mind of
THE AUTHOR.
Page 6
CONTENTS.
- SONG OF THE MYSTIC, . . . . . 9
- LIFE, . . . . .11
- MARCH OF THE DEATHLESS DEAD, . . . . .13
- LAST OF MAY, . . . . . 15
- THE SWORD OF ROBERT LEE, . . . . . 18
- AT LAST, . . . . .20
- IN MEMORY OF VERY REV. J. B. ETIENNE, . . . . . 22
- A MEMORY, . . . . .23
- THE PRAYER OF THE SOUTH, . . . . . 24
- A MEMORY, . . . . .27
- RHYME, . . . . .33
- NOCTURNE, . . . . .37
- REVERIE, . . . . .40
- THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW, . . . . . 43
- A LAUGH AND A MOAN, . . . . . 45
- LINES, . . . . .47
- MEMORIES, . . . . .49
- "OUT OF THE DEPTHS," . . . . . 50
- FEAST OF THE SACRED HEART, . . . . . 52
- A LAND WITHOUT RUINS, . . . . . 54
- IN MEMORY OF MY BROTHER, . . . . . 55
- A THOUGHT, . . . . .56
- GONE, . . . . .57
- FEAST OF THE ASSUMPTION, . . . . . 58
- SURSUM CORDA, . . . . . 61
- PRESENTIMENT, . . . . . 63
- A CHILD'S WISH, . . . . . 64
- I OFTEN WONDER WHY 'TIS SO, . . . . . 65
Page 7 - WAKE ME A SONG, . . . . .66
- IN MEMORIAM, . . . . . 67
- REVERIE, . . . . .68
- TEARS, . . . . .71
- LINES, . . . . .72
- THE LAND WE LOVE, . . . . . 73
- A BLESSING, . . . . .74
- ERIN'S FLAG, . . . . . 76
- JULY NINTH, 1872, . . . . . 79
- A DEATH, . . . . .81
- IN MEMORIAM--DAVID J. RYAN, C. S. A., . . . . . 83
- WHAT? . . . . .87
- A THOUGHT-FLOWER, . . . . . 89
- THE MASTER'S VOICE, . . . . . 90
- DEATH, . . . . .92
- THE ROSARY OF MY TEARS, . . . . . 93
- A REVERIE, . . . . .95
- OLD TREES, . . . . .97
- A THOUGHT, . . . . .98
- IN ROME, . . . . .101
- AFTER SICKNESS, . . . . . 103
- AFTER SEEING PIUS IX, . . . . . 105
- SENTINEL SONGS, . . . . . 106
- FRAGMENTS FROM AN EPIC POEM, . . . . . 115
- LAKE COMO, . . . . .128
- "PEACE! BE STILL," . . . . . 133
- GOOD FRIDAY, . . . . . 134
- SUNLESS DAYS, . . . . . 135
- A REVERIE, . . . . .136
- MY BEADS, . . . . .137
- AT NIGHT, . . . . .138
- NOCTURNE, . . . . .140
- ST. MARY'S, . . . . .143
- DE PROFUNDIS, . . . . . 145
- WHEN? . . . . .148
- THE CONQUERED BANNER, . . . . . 150
- A CHRISTMAS CHAUNT, . . . . . 152
- "FAR AWAY," . . . . . 172
Page 8 - LISTEN, . . . . .174
- WRECKED, . . . . .175
- SORROW AND THE FLOWERS, . . . . . 176
- A THOUGHT, . . . . .181
- DREAMING, . . . . .182
- "YESTERDAYS," . . . . . 183
- "TO-DAYS," . . . . . 184
- "TO-MORROWS," . . . . . 185
- INEVITABLE, . . . . .187
- HOPE, . . . . .189
- FAREWELLS, . . . . . 190
- SONG OF THE RIVER, . . . . . 191
- DREAM LAND, . . . . . 193
- LINES, . . . . .194
- A SONG, . . . . . 195
- PARTING, . . . . .197
- ST. STEPHEN, . . . . .198
- A FLOWER'S SONG, . . . . . 201
- THE STAR'S SONG, . . . . . 202
- DEATH OF THE FLOWER, . . . . . 203
- NOW, . . . . .204
- SINGING BIRD, . . . . . 206
- GOD IN THE NIGHT, . . . . . 207
- M * * * . . . . .209
- REUNITED, . . . . . 211
- C. S. A., . . . . .213
- THE SEEN AND THE UNSEEN, . . . . . 215
- PASSING AWAY, . . . . . 217
- POETS, . . . . .219
- A LEGEND, . . . . .221
- WHAT AILS THE WORLD? . . . . . 223
- THOUGHTS, . . . . .225
- LINES, . . . . .226
- THE PILGRIM, . . . . . 227
- THEIR STORY RUNNETH THUS, . . . . . 235
- LINES, . . . . .259
- DEATH OF THE PRINCE IMPERIAL, . . . . . 260
- EPILOGUE, . . . . .263
Page 9
SONG OF THE MYSTIC.
I WALK down the Valley of Silence,--
Down the dim, voiceless valley alone!
And I hear not the fall of a footstep
Around me save God's and my own;
And the hush of my heart is as holy
As hovers where angels have flown!
Long ago--was I weary of voices
Whose music my heart could not win;
Long ago I was weary of noises
That fretted my soul with their din;
Long ago was I weary of places
Where I met but the human--and sin.
I walked in the world with the worldly;
I craved what the world never gave;
And I said: "In the world each Ideal,
That shines like a star on life's wave;
Is wrecked on the shores of the Real,
And sleeps like a dream in a grave."
And still did I pine for the Perfect,
And still found the False with the True;
I sought 'mid the Human for Heaven,
But caught a mere glimpse of its Blue:
And I wept when the clouds of the mortal
Veiled even that glimpse from my view.
Page 10
And I toiled on heart-tired of the Human;
And I moaned 'mid the mazes of men;
Till I knelt long ago at an altar
And heard a voice call me:--since then
I walk down the Valley of Silence
That lies far beyond mortal ken.
Do you ask what I found in the Valley?
'Tis my Trysting Place with the Divine.
And I fell at the feet of the Holy,
And above me a voice said: "Be mine."
And there arose from the depths of my spirit
An echo--"My heart shall be thine."
Do you ask how I live in the Valley?
I weep--and I dream--and I pray.
But my tears are as sweet as the dewdrops
That fall on the roses in May;
And my prayer, like a perfume from Censers,
Ascendeth to God night and day.
In the hush of the Valley of Silence
I dream all the songs that I sing;
And the music floats down the dim Valley,
Till each finds a word for a wing,
That to hearts, like the Dove of the Deluge,
A message of Peace they may bring.
But far on the deep there are billows
That never shall break on the beach;
And I have heard songs in the Silence
That never shall float into speech;
And I have had dreams in the Valley
Too lofty for language to reach.
Page 11
And I have seen Thoughts in the Valley,--
Ah me! how my spirit was stirred!
And they wear holy veils on their faces,--
Their footsteps can scarcely be heard:
They pass through the Valley, like Virgins
Too pure for the touch of a word!
Do you ask me the place of the Valley?
Ye hearts that are harrowed by Care!
It lieth afar between mountains
And God and his angels are there:
And one is the dark mount of Sorrow,
And one,--the bright mountain of Prayer!
LIFE.
A BABY played with the surplice sleeve
Of a gentle priest; while in accents low
The sponsors murmured the grand "I believe."
And the priest bade the mystic waters flow.
In the name of the Father, and the Son,
And Holy Spirit--Three in One.
Spotless as a lily's leaf,
Whiter than the Christmas snow;
Not a sign of sin or grief,
And the babe laughed sweet and low.
Page 12
A smile flitted over the baby's face:
Or was it the gleam of its angel's wing
Just passing then, and leaving a trace
Of its presence, as it soared to sing?
A hymn when words and waters win
To Grace and life--a child of sin.
Not an outward sign or token,
That a child was saved from woe,
But the bonds of sin were broken;
And the babe laughed sweet and low.
A cloud rose up to the mother's eyes,--
And out of the cloud grief's rain fell fast,
Came the baby's smiles, and the mother's sighs,
Out of the future, or the past?--
Ah! gleam and gloom must ever meet,
And gall must mingle with the sweet.
Yea, upon the baby's laughter
Trickled tears: 'tis ever so--
Mothers dread the dark hereafter;
But the babe laughed sweet and low.
And the years like waves broke on the shore
Of the mother's heart, and her baby's life;
But her lone heart drifted away before
Her little boy knew an hour of strife;--
Drifted away on a Summer's eve,
Ere the orphaned child knew how to grieve.
Her humble grave was gently made,
Where roses bloomed in Summer's glow;
The wild birds sang where her heart was laid;
And her boy laughed sweet and low,
Page 13
He drifted away from his mother's grave
Like a fragile flower on a great stream's tide.
'Till he heard the moan of the mighty wave,
That welcomed the stream to the ocean wide.
Out from the shore and over the deep,--
He sailed away and learned to weep.
Furrowed grew the face once fair,
Under storms of human woe;--
Silvered grew the dark brown hair,
And he wailed so sad and low.
The years swept on as erst they swept,
Bright wavelets once--dark billows now.
Wherever he sailed--he ever wept,
A cloud hung over the darkened brow--
Over the deep and into the dark,
But no one knew where sank his bark.
Wild roses watched his mother's tomb,
The world still laughed, 'tis ever so,--
God only knows the baby's doom,
That laughed so sweet and low.
MARCH OF THE DEATHLESS DEAD.
GATHER the sacred dust
Of the warriors tried and true,
Who bore the flag of our People's trust
And fell in a cause, though lost still just
And died for me and you.
Page 14
Gather them one and all!
From the Private to the Chief,
Come they from hovel or princely hall,
They fell for us, and for them should fall
The tears of a Nation's grief.
Gather the corpses strewn
O'er many a battle plain;
From many a grave that lies so lone,
Without a name and without a stone,
Gather the Southern slain.
We care not whence they came,
Dear in their lifeless clay!
Whether unknown, or known to fame,
Their cause and country still the same--
They died--and wore the Gray.
Wherever the brave have died,
They should not rest apart;
Living they struggled side by side--
Why should the hand of Death divide
A single heart from heart.
Gather their scattered clay,
Wherever it may rest;
Just as they marched to the bloody fray;
Just as they fell on the battle day;
Bury them breast to breast.
The foeman need not dread
This gathering of the brave;
Without sword or flag, and with soundless tread,
We muster once more our deathless dead;
Out of each lonely grave.
Page 15
The foeman need not frown,
They all are powerless now--
We gather them here and we lay them down,
And tears and prayers are the only crown
We bring to wreathe each brow.
And the dead thus meet the dead,
While the living o'er them weep;
And the men by Lee and Stonewall led,
And the hearts that once together bled,
Together still shall sleep.
LAST OF MAY.
TO THE CHILDREN OF MARY OF THE CATHEDRAL OF MOBILE.
IN the mystical Dim of the Temple,--
In the dream-haunted Dim of the Day,--
The Sunlight spoke soft to the Shadows,
And said: "With my gold and your gray,
Let us meet at the shrine of the Virgin,--
And ere her fair Feast pass away
Let us weave there a mantle of glory
To deck the Last Evening of May.["]
The tapers were lit on the altar
With garlands of lilies between;
And the steps leading up to the statue
Flashed bright with the roses' red sheen;
The sungleams came down from the Heavens
Like angels, to hallow the scene,
And they seemed to kneel down with the shadows
That crept to the shrine of the Queen.
Page 16
The singers,--their hearts in their voices,
Had chanted the anthems of old;
And the last trembling wave of the Vespers
On the far-shores of silence had rolled.
And there,--at the Queen-Virgin's altar
The Sun wove the mantle of gold
While the hands of the Twilight were weaving
A fringe for the flash of each fold.
And wavelessly, in the deep silence,
Three banners hung peaceful and low,--
They bore the bright Blue of the Heavens
They wore the pure White of the snow,--
And beneath them fair children were kneeling,
Whose faces, with graces aglow,
Seemed sinless,--in land that is sinful
And woeless,--in life full of woe.
Their heads wore the veil of the lily,--
Their brows wore the wreath of the rose,
And their hearts, like their flutterless banners,
Were stilled in a holy repose.
Their shadowless eyes were uplifted,
Whose glad gaze would never disclose
That from eyes that are most like the Heavens
The dark rain of tears soonest flows.
The Banners were borne to the railing
Beneath them--a group from each band,--
And they bent their bright folds for the Blessing
That fell from the Priest's lifted hand.
And he signed the three, fair, silken standards,
With a Sign never foe could withstand,--
What stirred them? The breeze of the Evening?
Or a breath from the far-Angel-land?
Page 17
Then came, two by two, to the altar,
The young and the pure and the fair,--
Their faces the mirror of Heaven,--
Their hands folded meekly in prayer,
They came for a simple blue ribbon
For love of Christ's mother to wear,--
And I believe, with the children of Mary
The Angels of Mary were there.
Ah! Faith! simple Faith of the children!
You still shame the Faith of the old!
Ah! love! simple love of the Little!
You still warm the love of the cold!
And the Beautiful God who is wandering
Far out in the world's dreary wold,
Finds a Home in the Hearts of the children
And a Rest with the Lambs of the Fold.
Swept a voice;--was it wafted from Heaven?
Heard you ever the Sea when its sings,
Where it sleeps on the shore in the Night-time?
Heard you ever the hymns the breeze brings,
From the hearts of a thousand bright summers?
Heard you ever the bird, when she springs
To the clouds, till she seems to be only
A song of a shadow on wings?
Came a voice,--and an "Ave Maria"
Rose out of a heart rapture-thrilled
And in the embrace of its music
The souls of a thousand lay stilled.
A voice with the tones of an angel,
Never flower such a sweetness distilled;
It faded away,--but the temple
With its perfume of worship was filled.
Page 18
Then back to the Queen-Virgin's altar
The white veils swept on two by two;--
And the holiest halo of heaven
Flashed out from the ribbons of Blue;--
And they laid down the wreaths of the roses
Whose hearts were as pure as their hue,--
Ah! they to the Christ are the truest,
Whose loves to the Mother are true!
And thus in the Dim of the Temple
In the dream-haunted Dim of the Day,--
The Angels and Children of Mary
Met ere their Queen's Feast passed away,
Where the Sungleams knelt down with the Shadows
And wove with their gold and their gray
A mantle of grace and of glory
For the Last, lovely Evening of May.
THE SWORD OF ROBERT LEE.
FORTH from its scabbard pure and bright,
Flashed the sword of Lee!
Far in the front of the deadly fight
High o'er the brave in the cause of Right
Its stainless sheen like a beacon light
Led us to Victory.
Page 19
Out of its scabbard where full long
It slumbered peacefully,--
Roused from its rest by the battle's song
Shielding the feeble, smiting the strong
Guarding the right, avenging the wrong
Gleamed the sword of Lee.
Forth from its scabbard high in air
Beneath Virginia's sky--
And they who saw it gleaming there
And knew who bore it knelt to swear,
That where that sword led, they would dare
To follow and to die.
Out of its scabbard!--never hand
Waved sword from stain as free,
Nor purer sword led braver band,
Nor braver bled for a brighter land,
Nor brighter land had a Cause so grand,
Nor cause a chief like Lee.
Forth from its scabbard! how we prayed,
That sword might victor be;--
And when our triumph was delayed,
And many a heart grew sore afraid,
We still hoped on while gleamed the blade
Of noble Robert Lee.
Forth from its scabbard! all in vain
Bright flashed the sword of Lee;--
'Tis shrouded now in its sheath again,
It sleeps the sleep of our noble slain;
Defeated yet without a stain,
Proudly and peacefully.
Page 20
AT LAST.
INTO a temple vast and dim,
Solemn and vast and dim,
Just when the last sweet Vesper Hymn
Was floating far away--
With eyes that tabernacled tears--
Her heart the home of tears--
And cheeks wan with the woes of years,
A woman went one day.
And, one by one, adown the aisles--
Adown the long, lone aisles--
Their faces bright with holy smiles
That follow after Prayer--
The worshipers in silence passed--
In silence slowly passed away;
The woman knelt until the last
Had left her lonely there.
A holy hush came o'er the place--
O'er the holy place--
The shadows kissed her woe-worn face,
Her forehead touched the floor;
The wreck that drifted thro' the years--
Sin-driven thro' the years--
Was floating o'er the tide of tears,
To mercy's golden shore.
Page 21
Her lips were sealed, they could not pray--
They sighed, but could not pray--
All words of Prayer had died away
From them long years ago;
But ah! from out her eyes there rose--
Sad from her eyes there rose--
The prayer of tears, which swiftest goes
To Heaven--winged with woe.
With weary tears, her weary eyes--
Her joyless, weary eyes--
Wailed forth a Rosary--and her sighs
And sobs strung all the Beads;
The while before her spirit's gaze--
Her contrite spirit's gaze--
Moved all the mysteries of her days
And histories of her deeds.
Still as a shadow, while she wept--
So desolately wept--
Up thro' the long, lone aisle she crept
Unto an altar fair;
Mother!"--her pale lips said no more--
Could say no more--
The wreck, at last, reached Mercy's shore--
For Mary's shrine was there.
Page 22
IN MEMORY OF VERY REV. J. B. ETIENNE,
SUPERIOR GENERAL OF THE CONGREGATION OF THE MISSION AND OF THE SISTERS OF CHARITY.
A SHADOW slept folded in vestments
The dream of a smile on its face,
Dim--soft as the gleam after sunset,
That hangs like a halo of grace,
Where the daylight hath died in the valley,
And the twilight hath taken its place,
A Shadow! but still on the mortal,
There rested the tremulous trace
Of the joy of a spirit immortal,
Passed up to its God in His grace.
A Shadow! hast seen in the summer
A cloud wear the smile of the sun?
On the shadow of death there is flashing
The glory of noble deeds done;
On the face of the dead there is glowing
The light of a holy race run;
And the smile of the face is reflecting
The gleam of the crown he has won.
Still, Shadow! sleep on in the vestments
Unstained by the Priest who has gone.
And thro' all the nations, the children
Of Vincent de Paul wail his loss;
But the glory that crowns him in heaven
Illumines the gloom of their cross.
Page 23
They send to the Shadow the tribute
Of tears, from the fountains of love,
And they send from their altars sweet prayers
To the throne of their Father above.
Yea! sorrow weeps over the Shadow,
But Faith looks aloft to the skies;
And Hope, like a rainbow, is flashing
O'er the tears that rain down from their eyes.
They murmur on earth "De profundis,"
The low chant is mingled with sighs;
["]Laudate" rings out through the heavens,
The dead Priest hath won his faith's prize.
His children in sorrow will honor
His grave;--every tear is a gem,
And their prayers 'round his brow in the heavens
Will brighten his fair diadem,--
I kneel at his grave and remember
In love, I am still one of them.
A MEMORY.
ONE bright memory shines like a star
In the sky of my spirit forever;
And over my pathway it flashes afar
A radiance that perishes never.
One bright memory--only one;
And I walk by the light of its gleaming;
It brightens my days--and when days are done
It shines in the night o'er my dreaming.
Page 24
One bright memory--whose golden rays
Illumine the gloom of my sorrows,
And I know that its lustre will gladden my gaze
In the shadows of all my to-morrows.
One bright memory--when I am sad
I lift up my eyes to its shining,
And the clouds pass away; and my spirit grows glad
And my heart hushes all its repining.
One bright memory--others have passed
Back into the shadows forever;
But it, far and fair, bright and true to the last,
Sheds a light that will pass away never.
Shine on, shine always, Thou star of my days!
And when Death's starless Night gathers o'er me,
Beam brighter than ever adown on my gaze,
And light the dark valley before me.
THE PRAYER OF THE SOUTH.
MY BROW is bent beneath a heavy rod!
My face is wan and white with many woes,
But I will lift my poor chained hands to God,
And for my children pray, and for my foes.
Beside the graves where thousands lowly lie
I kneel, and weeping for each slaughtered son,
I turn my gaze to my own sunny sky,
And pray, oh! Father, Let Thy will be done!
Page 25
My heart is filled with anguish, deep and vast;
My hopes are buried with my children's dust;
My joys have fled, my tears are flowing fast--
In whom, save Thee, our Father, shall I trust?
Ah! I forgot Thee, Father, long and oft,
When I was happy, rich, and proud, and free;
But conquered now, and crushed, I look aloft,
And sorrow leads me, Father, back to thee.
Amid the wrecks that mark the foeman's path
I kneel, and wailing o'er my glories gone,
I still each thought of hate, each throb of wrath,
And whisper, Father, let thy will be done!
Pity me, Father of the Desolate!
Alas! my burdens are so hard to bear;
Look down in mercy on my wretched fate,
And keep me, guard me, with thy loving care.
Pity me, Father, for His holy sake,
Whose broken heart bled at the feet of grief,
That hearts of earth, wherever they shall break,
Might go to His and find a sure relief.
Ah, me, how dark! Is this a brief eclipse?
Or is it night with no morrow's sun?
Oh! Father! Father! with my pale, sad lips,
And sadder heart, I pray, Thy will be done.
My homes are joyless, and a million mourn
Where many met in joys forever flown;
Whose hearts were light, are burdened now and torn;
Where many smiled, but one is left to moan.
And, ah! the widow's wails, the orphan's cries,
Are morning hymn and vesper chant to me;
And groans of men and sounds of women's sighs
Commingle, Father, with my prayer to Thee.
Page 26
Beneath my feet ten thousand children dead--
Oh! how I loved each known and nameless one!
Above their dust I bow my crownless head,
And murmur--Father, still Thy will be done.
Ah! Father, Thou didst deck my own loved land
With all bright charms, and beautiful and fair;
But foemen came, and, with a ruthless hand,
Spread ruin, wreck and desolation there.
Girdled with gloom, of all my brightness shorn,
And garmented with grief, I kiss Thy rod,
And turn my face, with tears all wet and worn,
To catch one smile of pity from my God.
Around me blight, where all before was bloom,
And so much lost, alas! and nothing won!
Save this--that I can lean on wreck and tomb,
And weep, and weeping, pray, Thy will be done.
And oh! 'tis hard to say, but said, 'tis sweet;
The words are bitter, but they hold a balm--
A balm that heals the wounds of my defeat,
And lulls my sorrows into holy calm.
It is the prayer of prayers, and how it brings,
When heard in Heaven, peace and hope to me!
When Jesus prayed it, did not angels' wings
Gleam 'mid the darkness of Gethsemane?
My children, Father, Thy forgiveness need;
Alas! their hearts have only place for tears!
Forgive them, Father, ev'ry wrongful deed
And ev'ry sin of those four bloody years,
And give them strength to bear their boundless loss,
And from their hearts take every thought of hate;
And while they climb their Calvary with their Cross,
Oh! help them, Father, to endure its weight.
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And for my dead, my Father, may I pray?
Ah! sighs may soothe, but prayer shall soothe me more!
I keep eternal watch above their clay;
Oh! rest their souls, my Father, I implore!
Forgive my foes--they know not what they do--
Forgive them all the tears they made me shed;
Forgive them, though my noblest sons they slew,
And bless them, though they curse my poor, dear dead.
Oh! may my woes be each a carrier-dove,
With swift, white wings, that, bathing in my tears,
Will bear Thee, Father, all my prayers of love,
And bring me peace in all my doubts and fears.
Father, I kneel, 'mid ruin, wreck and grave--
A desert waste, where all was erst so fair--
And for my children and my foes I crave
Pity and Pardon--Father, hear my prayer!
A MEMORY.
ADOWN the valley dripped a stream,
White lilies drooped on either side;
Our hearts, in spite of us, will dream
In such a place, at Eventide.
Bright wavelets wove the scarf of Blue
That well became the valley fair,--
And grassy fringe of greenest hue
Hung round its borders everywhere.
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And where the stream, in wayward whirls
Went winding in and winding out,
Lay shells that wore the look of pearls
Without their pride, all strewn about
And here and there along the strand,
Where some ambitious wave had strayed,
Rose little monuments of sand
As frail as those by mortals made.
And many a flower was blooming there
In beauty, yet without a name,
Like humble hearts that often bear
The gifts,--but not the palm of fame.
The rainbow's tints could never vie
With all the colors that they wore;
While bluer than the bluest sky,
The stream flowed on 'tween shore and shore.
And on the height, and down the side,
Of either hill that hid the place,
Rose elms in all the stately pride
Of youthful strength and ancient race.
While here and there the trees between,--
Bearing the scars of battle-shocks,
And frowning wrathful, might be seen
The moss-veiled faces of the rocks.
And round the rocks crept flowered vines
And clomb the trees that towered high,--
The type of a lofty thought that twines
Around a Truth, to touch the sky.
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And to that vale from first of May
Until the last of August went;--
Beauty, the exile, came each day
In all her charms, to cast her tent.
'Twas there, one long-gone August day
I wandered down the valley fair,--
The spell has never passed away
That fell upon my spirit there.
The summer sunset glorified
The clouded face of dying day
Which flung a smile upon the tide
And lilies, ere he passed away.
And o'er the valley's grassy slopes
There fell an evanescent sheen,
That flashed and faded like the hopes
That haunt us, of what might have been.
And rock and tree flung back the light
Of all the sunset's golden gems,
As if it were beneath their right
To wear such borrowed diadems.
Low in the west gleam after gleam,
Glowed faint and fainter,--till the last
Made the dying Day a living Dream
To last as long as life shall last.
And in the arches of the trees
The wild birds slept with folded wing,
And e'en the lips of the summer-breeze,
That sang all day, had ceased to sing,
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And all was silent,--save the rill
That rippled round the lilies' feet,--
And sang,--while stillness grew more still
To listen to the murmur sweet.
And now and then it surely seemed
The little stream was laughing low,--
As if its sleepy wavelets dreamed
Such dreams as only children know.
So still,--that not the faintest breath
Did stir the shadows in the air;--
It would have seemed the home of Death
Had I not felt Life sleeping there.
And slow and soft,--and soft and slow
From darkling earth and darkened sky,
Wide wings of Gloom waved to and fro
And spectral shadows flitted by.
And then methought upon the sward
I saw,--or was it starlight's ray?
Or Angels come to watch and guard
The valley,--till the dawn of day?
Is every lower life the ward
Of spirits more divinely wrought?
'Tis sweet to believe 'tis God's,--and hard
To think 'tis but a Poet's thought.
But God's or Poet's thought,--I ween
My senses did not fail me when
I saw veiled angels watch that scene
And guard its sleep,--as they guard men.
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Sweet sang the stream as on it pressed
As sorrow sings a heart to sleep,--
As a Mother sings one child to rest
And for the dead one still will weep.
I walked adown the singing stream,
The lilies slept on either side;--
My heart,--it could not help but dream
At Eve, and after Eventide,
Ah! dreams of such a lofty reach
With more than earthly fancies fraught,--
That not the strongest wings of speech
Could ever touch their lowest thought.
Dreams of the Bright--the Fair,--the Far,
Heart-fancies flashing Heaven's hue,--
That swept around,--as sweeps a star
The boundless orbit of the True.
Yea! dreams all free from earthly taint--
Where human Passion played no part,--
As pure as thoughts that thrill a Saint
Or haunt an Archangelic heart.
Ah! dreams that did not rise from Sense
And rose too high to stoop to it,--
And flamed aloft like frankincense
In censers round the Infinite.
Yea! dreams that vied with Angel's flight
And soaring,--bore my heart away,--
Beyond the far Star-bounds of Night
Unto the Everlasting Day.
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How long I strolled beside the stream
I do not know, nor may I say;
But when the Poet ceased to dream
The Priest went on his knees to pray.
I felt,--as sure a seraph feels,
When in some golden hour of grace
God smiles,--and suddenly reveals
A new, strange Glory in His Face.
Ah! star-lit valley! Lilies white!
The Poet dreamed,--ye slumbered deep!
But when the Priest knelt down that Night
And prayed,--why woke ye from your sleep?
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
The stream sang down the valley fair--
I saw the wakened lilies nod,--
I knew they heard me whisper there
"How beautiful! art thou, my God!"
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RHYME.
ONE idle day
A mile or so of sunlit waves off shore,
In a breezeless bay,--
We listless lay
Our boat a "dream of rest" on the still sea--
And--we were four.
The wind had died
That all day long sang songs unto the deep;
It was eventide--
And far and wide
Sweet silence crept thro' the rifts of sound
With spells of sleep.
Our gray sail cast
The only cloud that flecked the foamless sea,
And weary at last
Beside the mast
One fell to slumber, with a dreamy face
And--we were three.
No ebb! no flow!
No sound! no stir,--in the wide-wondrous calm
In the sunset's glow
The shore shelved low
And snow-white,--from far ridges screened with shade
Of drooping palm.
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Our hearts were hushed;--
All light seemed melting into boundless blue;
But the west was flushed
Where sunset blushed,
Thro' clouds of roses, when another slept
And,--we were two.
How still the air!
Not e'en a sea-bird o'er us waveward flew
Peace rested there!
Light! everywhere!
Nay! Light! some shadows fell on that fair scene,
And,--we are two;
Some shadows! Where!
No matter where! all shadows are not seen
For clouds of care,
To skies all fair
Will sudden rise as tears to shining eyes
And dim their sheen.
We spake no word
Tho' each I ween did hear the other's soul.
Not a wavelet stirred
And yet we heard,
The loneliest music of the weariest waves
That ever roll.
Yea! Peace! you swayed
Your sceptre jeweled with the evening light,
And then you said
"Here falls no shade,--
Here floats no sound, and all the seas and skies
Sleep calm and bright."
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Nay, Peace! Not so!
The wildest waves may feel thy sceptre's spell,
And fear to flow,
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