Front matter (continued 2)

TO ESTHER.

As Night, before the dawn, In starry splendor, seems to brood Above the world, which waits the morn, Yet worships Night in melancholy mood, As Night, in whom a solemn passion lies, So brood and beam my Esther's midnight eyes. As sunlight on a rose In flashing radiance seems to glow, Warming the tender heart within, To life and love; as early beams bestow Upon that rose a soul which can beguile A hundred hearts, so beams my Esther's smile. As love-birds, in the Spring, Sing on the sylvan boughs at noon, And mating-calls in echoes ring, Or oft at night they whisper to the moon; As stream responds to stream with tender art, So, to mine own, replieth Esther's heart. As sea to distant sea, In grand response to Passion's cry, Declares its own vast mystery, And answers wild entreaties with a sigh; As waves to waves melodiously roll, So sings to me forever—Esther's soul.

THE THRUSH.

It was the Thrush,—it was the joyous Thrush, Who, with his beauteous voice, the woods addressed! He sank from heavens unseen, and in the hush Of floating fragrance and soft-slumbering flowers, Dozing beneath the spell of sun-bright hours, His summer shower of song the glade's deep heart caressed. Bright, speckle-breasted, angel-throated bird! He tilted on the hedge, and piped and wooed; Now here a note, now there, so low 'twas heard, Ofttimes, by one deep listening ear, one only, The ear of Silence; he, her minstrel lonely. Was it for her divine mute blessing that he sued? How often I have watched him in the grass, Familiar, small, erect, and bravely dressed In spotted golden-brown; have seen him pass Alertly to and fro, all blithely springing, With elfin bounds; no longer wildly winging; Content with Mother Earth, as though he loved her breast. Earth born, sky destined, living harp of song, Beloved Thrush, pour forth your notes divine! Whether to earth or heaven you most belong, What the vast purpose of your melody, Your mystic glory, your bright ecstasy, I know not,—only this, your soul is sweet to mine.

THE LIGHT OF THE STAR.

Dank were the grewsome alleys of the town, Dingy the houses of the dreary street; The very dogs reflected degradation, Gaunt, wolfish; while God's flowers of creation, Young children, lacking all that makes life sweet, Through the foul-smelling night ran up and down. Under a dull street light I watched them play, Shrilling in high-pitched and unchildlike tones, Daring the perils of the tainted city. Then, in my heart, the horror and the pity For human kind that in such blackness groans Rose, and I could not drive the pall away. Amid such concrete evils, inbred sin, I, groping, questioned, could Christ's kingdom come, By any means? How could he ever enter At wealthy portals strong, where self is center, Or at the darkened doors of spirits dumb, Dulled by the ancient slums' unceasing din? But, glancing upward, in my deep distress— Myself so small an atom of my race— I saw, above the dreadful hovels shining, A single star. It seemed, my pain divining, To answer from illimitable space, And with its rays to sanctify and bless. Witness it bore of Law by which worlds move, Light of the Soul, the Everlasting Mind, Which—in its compass Earth and Heaven holding— Is ever like some shining scroll unfolding, And will unfold with Time, till all mankind Shall read Life's one solution, perfect Love.

THE MESSAGE OF THE PINES.

Tall Southern pines, with hearts of mystic throbbing, Stretch your restless, weary boughs across the sunset sky, Dark Southern pines, whose souls are ever sobbing, I would roam through these dim aisles and learn the music of your sigh. Hark! the wail of hearts that can not weep! Hush! the sigh of souls that long to sleep! Tall Southern pines, I seek these silent places Only in my memory—a memory beside me moves. Dark Southern pines, I love your solemn spaces, And there in spirit walk, and with her spirit seek the quiet groves. Hark! the moan of human hearts that yearn! Hush! the plaint of dreams that would return! Tall Southern pines, I wrong you in my sorrow. Harps divine, you chant a dream not passed, but yet to come! Our two souls shall walk together, on some perfect morrow, And through the years remain together, when your voices all are dumb. Hark! her spirit whispers in the grove! Hush! I feel the presence of my Love!

THE LOST SUNBEAM.

Through fairy green of willows old, Aslant the stately, virgin, cold Form of the sycamore, Where poplars laugh, where beeches pray, Where breezes sigh, where streamlets sing, And birds are ever caroling, One morn, I saw a sunbeam stray; This single, holy, radiant ray On the wide earth had lost its way, Escaped through Heaven's half-open door. "Where will the sunbeam find its home?" I idly wondered. "Will it roam Until it makes its nest Perhaps in some dear baby's hair?" But no! a baby's tresses shine With their own radiance divine— The sun of Heaven is always there. Or would it find a secret lair In flowery heart? Nay, in that rare, Deep cell, God's sun long found its rest. So the lone sunbeam strays at will, And longs for Heaven and rest, until Into the silent grove, An old man, crippled by disease, Creeps down the path, with weary eyes. That are too worn to seek the skies, With palsied limbs and shaking knees, And fixed, dull stare, that only sees The stony ground. Oh! stately trees! Shade this drear form with arms of love! As he pursues his lonely way Through the green wood, the shining ray Straightway appears to dart To that bent form, and seems to light A glory in the thin white hair; Then, restless still, it makes its lair In the sad eyes, so dim of sight, And, smiling through the sombre night, It deeper sinks, a radiance bright, And nestles in the old man's heart.

HERITAGE.

(To my Mother.)

Everything beautiful centered in you! All that is fair, in your spirit, my Sweet, From the depths of the sea to the height of the blue, Lies now at my feet. They are gems, they are gems you have scattered so free, From your zenith of thought they have fallen like rain, From the height of your love they descended to me, In the midst of my pain! Thoughts like the ocean and dreams like the morn, Pure and unsullied, most holy and true; Dear Love, in my being there shines a new dawn, Whose light is from you!