AFTER MANY YEARS.
If e'er from holier heights there sped
One attribute divine, To rest upon a mortal head,—
That head, dear love! was thine.
True worth beyond expression towers;
Excess in language mars;— What artist e'er inspired the flowers,
Or lighted up the stars?
[TENNYSON.]
ANSWER TO "CROSSING THE BAR."
Clear-shining, evening star!
We make no moan for thee Who sightest, 'yond the bar, Blest immortality!
Yet, at thy farewell tone,
Thou glorious poet-king! The tears unbidden spring From peoples of each zone.
So long, from loftier sphere,
Thy pure and lustrous rays Have lit earth's sombre ways:— No sky may own thy peer.
Oh, never-dying song!
Oh, princely legacy! Till life shall living be Thou'lt thrill, the years along.
Mist wreathe, or ocean foam;
The beacon shineth clear, The joy-bells sound anear, Beyond the bar is—Home!
Clear-shining, evening star!
We make no moan for thee Who sightest 'yond the bar, Blest immortality.
[SPURGEON.]
"NOTHING BUT FAITH."
Thine was no faith of pulseless form,
Of actor, acting well his role; Or deeming, through mere solemn rites,
To nourish the immortal soul, Nor thine that bare and stunted growth,
To limits of a sect confined; Expanding not in broader realm
Than atmosphere by man defined.
Nor thine that crude philosophy
Whose meteor-flash hath oft beguiled The traveller from clear mountain heights,
To perish on the misty wild. No gloomy cypress wreath for thee!
Oh brow unkenned of bigot frown! Fair coronet of laurel leaves;
Meet emblem of thy fadeless crown.
Bright as the pure, cerulean arch,
Thy faith all creeds and rites doth span And sees, through Love's refining lens,
The Deity in brother man. With active, humanizing power,
Uplifts the soul, low sunk in sin; Till, yielding to its tender touch,
The chains unbar—God enters in.
[BEECHER.]
THE LAST TIME IN PLYMOUTH CHURCH.
The organ grandly pealed;
Still rose the peaceful hymn; The lights, though waxing dim, A beauteous sight revealed.
From off the busy street
Into the sacred pile, Adown the shadowy aisle Came little wandering feet.
Secure from fear of harm,
With eager, upturned face, The lone ones rest a space; Joy-filled of music's charm.
Forgot their hapless fate;
Forgot cold, worlding scorn; Unseen the life forlorn; Seems nigh heaven's golden gate.
Upriseth from his seat
He of a world-wide fame; He of the lustrous name, Those nameless ones to greet.
The mightiest orb on high
Doth kiss the meanest flower; True love, in bounteous shower, Doth rift earth's formal sky.
Stoops low the silvered head
To kiss the smooth young brow, To seal the sacred vow Which life-long fragrance shed.
And tenderly his arms
Those boyish forms enfold; As if, o'er life's drear wold, He'd shield from rude alarms.
Thus pass they from the sight,
From out the vaulted door;— He walks the pearly floor, They grope through dismal night.
Oh scene surpassing fair!
Soul-filling, all sublime; Undimmed of dark'ning time, Unlit of earthly glare.
Fair soul of tenderness!
Unselfish, meek and mild, The waif, the outcast child Thou deignest to caress.
Sweet, humanizing love!
Beyond choice gifts of mind, 'Yond culture most refined; Bright essence from above!
Columbia! brave young land!
Long is thy scroll of fame; Full many a deathless name Hath led thee by the hand.
High on that scroll of fame,
Whilst hero echoes ring, Whilst votaries pause to sing, Shall glow thy Beecher's name.