How shall I pray to Thee, my God;
No beacon-light I see;
And I am far, so far, from home—
How shall I pray to Thee?
* * * * * * *
My life, nor wind, nor wave, can harm
Wherever I may be;
For here, or there, I am Thy child,
Through all eternity.
Still, I must pray to Thee, my God,
Whate’er Thy plan may be;
Till thought of Thee shall calm for me
The raging of the sea!
ANNIVERSARY ODE
Thoughts Suggested by the Anniversary of the Death of Longfellow.
A year ago to-day and the “Old Bells
Of Boston” told to waiting, anxious hearts,
That all was over. Hushed was human speech—
The busy town forgot its need of toil,
And rich and poor donned holiday attire
And wept together. He did sing for all,
And all did weep for him. E’en children’s tears,
Fell for him, for they loved him and his song.
O, noble King of Song! thy reign ends not
With death.
Thy kingdom is the human heart;
And just so long as sympathy can soothe,
Or words of hope encourage struggling souls,
So long thy kingdom will abide with men.
And as the clouds shed dewdrops on the flowers,
Or violets breathe their fragrance on the air,
E’en so thy poems, on our common lives,
Shed sweet refreshment, and we love thy name.
Surely “There is no death!” Such souls as thine
Make all life seem immortal. The sunshine,
From thy verse, dispels the clouds of doubt
With an effulgent glory. Hid with God
Is all the future; yet enough is shown
To stimulate our trust for all the rest.
And, as the raindrop, tracing back its source,
Finds it in mist of brook or ocean’s spray,
So, from the depth of the Eternal Love,
Springs individual being. Passing time
Is but as links in the unending chain,
Which binds the whole together. Overhead,
Some stars shine brighter than the rest, yet each
Adds glory to the whole; beneath our feet
The spring flowers bloom again, the breath of some
Comes laden with a fragrance, which delights,
Some void of beauty, or of sweet perfume,
Yet in God’s fields no mean weed blooms in vain.
From filthiest pool as pure a drop of rain
May be distilled, as from the crystal river,
And must we not believe that darkened lives
Will, somehow, in God’s time, be glorified?
OUR HEROES
(Written for, and sung at G. A. R. Memorial Celebration.)
What fitter tribute could we bring,
Our Father and our God,
Than spring-time flowers with fragrance sweet,
To deck our heroes’ sod!
With magic word each open’ng flower
Proclaims, that all must die,
And dew drops glisten in each bud,
Like tear drops in the eye.
O, noble patriots! naught of ours,
Is meet for you, our braves,
But rarest gifts of God we bring,
And cast them on your graves.