An open book was in her hand,
From which she read and sang,
I was too young to understand,
And yet I thought it was most grand,
A music from a better land
Which through her singing rang.
This is the book, or part thereof,
An aged, thumbworn tome,
Quaint hymns of penitence and love,
By one whom heaven did endow
With glory fit for Sapho’s brow,
Far in her northern home.
I look upon each yellow page,
Each stain and finger-mark,
And see in them my heritage,—
My Great Grandmother’s heritage,
Which did her pious soul engage,
In times remote and dark.
PEARLS AND PALACES
I wandered down a dusty road,
And spent myself to sheer fatigue,
Until I fell beneath a load
Of misery and man’s intrigue,
When all at once I saw a string
Of lustrous pearls, close by the way,
It seemed such strange a hap and thing,
That I believed my sense astray.
But as I dared to touch the gems,
And as I felt their soft delight,
And saw the coloring, which hems
The robe of dawn o’er snowcapped height,
Play in their orbs, I felt a thrill
Of pleasure surging through my soul,
And then a peace, so rare and still,
Upon my restless heart to fall.
At length I rose to journey on,
But with a new-born strength and zest,
The burden gone, I saw the sun,
I felt that life is heaven-blest,
The string of pearls I treasured most,
And guarded it with fondest care,
Lest such a fount of joy be lost,
Lest doubt again should me ensnare.
I travelled long, at last I came
Into a place of Palaces,
Such as in heaven have highest fame,
But which the earthbound covet less;
The saints of old did know them well,
And gave their all that they might win
Admittance to the humblest cell,
And God’s forgiveness for their sin.
Each pearl became within my hand
A key wherewith the doors to ope,
And angel guides did ready stand
To point to each sincerest hope;
And dazzling glory filled the halls,
To archéd roof the music rose,
And master’s art adorned the walls,
And o’er it all hung sweet repose.
The first and nearest door, I tried,
Was one a singer, long ago,
Found when distressed with pain he cried
For healing streams to him to flow,
Then sang his praise alone to Him,
“Who healeth all thy sicknesses,”
And there I found a truth, now dim,
That God with health the sick can bless.