"My lover; in dreams of the night you come,
Out of God's goodness sent from afar,
He arches the barriers for the best,
And Christ's love stands at each end of the bar.
"Some day that arch will widen its breadth,
There'll be room for two, you'll not come in vain,
And over the darkness of weeping and death,
We'll be always together, and happy again."
Why did I read these lines, was it only to mock my woe?
For less would the burden be and the sin would be less I know,
If I knew that my darling was safe and blest where the angels are.
Why do I murmur? for God's will stands at each end of the mystic bar.
Well, why do I stay here gazing hopelessly into the fire?
Watching the coals that glow and burn, then fall away and expire,
It seems that out of their flashing light my lost love appears to rise,
And another face that has haunted me all day with its wistful eyes
As we halted at church to-day; a face, a young girl's face, so sad,
Looked out among the crowd that gazed, and her dark eyes made me glad.
What strange, queer beings we are, a look, or a song, or a flower,
A scent on the air, a sound of the sea, they come with such power,
That the long years vanish away, and over death's murky tide
Spiritual bodies fearlessly walk, and stand with us side by side.
Gone is all distance and time, vanished far is the grave's eclipse.
Again sweet voices are in our ears, their breath upon our lips,
So, with that poor, strange child to-day, who has never heard Aimee's name,
Little she thought that her earnest eyes rekindled a smouldering flame.
There was an old familiar look of the happy days once fled,
An old familiar look of one that I love as we love the dead.
Love her? love Aimee? do I love her less, because since I kissed her last
Over my desolate heart the tides of twenty-five years have passed?
I am longing to-night to hear her hymn, her sweet "Abide with me,"
As she sang it, leaning upon my breast the night I put out to sea.
I know it was only she I loved, and thought of that eventide;
But now I can fully endorse the draft, "O Lord with me abide,"
And spite of the heavy clouds that hang o'er my life path near and far,
I own with Vera that "Christ's love stands at each end of the mystic bar,"
And so much of the desert life has been travelled by night and day,
That the shores of the summer land are not so very far away.
And although I know there is one dark sea where black waves heave and toss,
I know the Pilot who waits for me will carry me safely across.
My path down to that water's edge is one avenue of pines;
But though I walk amid shadows dim, o'erhead the bright sun shines.
Robert's Death
Heavily rolleth the wintry clouds,
And the ceaseless snow is falling, falling,
While the frost king's troops in their icy shrouds
Whistle and howl like lost spirits calling.
In a scantily furnished tenement room.
Through which the same frost troops are sighing,
Churlishly gloweth the charcoal flame,
While a man lies there in penury dying.
Nothing new on this beautiful earth,
Are hunger and nakedness, cold and pain,
Over God's sinless creation of love
The serpent glides with his poisonous train.
"Where is Aimee?" here I lie all alone in this wretched hole,
I who was reared as a gentleman's son, an aristocrat to the soul,
Could drink more wine at my father's board than the best man out of a score;
Rode with the hounds at ten years old, and played high in a few years more.
A man can live without love, but he can't get along without gold,
And a woman and child sadly hamper a fellow that's poor or old.
How can a gentleman work and toil year after year like a slave?
For when you've worked your life away you're asked, "Why did not you save?"
Not that I would reproach my wife, I daresay she has done her best;
But women can earn such a trifle, and grow weak if they lose their rest.
Not that Aimee has ever grumbled, and I am not to be blamed,
If she choose to work and stitch away from morn till the sunset flamed;
And just the course of my crooked luck, that if but one child we had,
The boy must go and the girl must stay; that boy was a likely lad,
Would have been nineteen if he'd lived, might be earning a good sum now,
For Willie was something like me, wide awake, had a sensible brow;
But Ethel, poor child, her mother again lives in a world of her own,
Sees faces in flowers, hears voices in winds, reads poems from chiselled stone.
I certainly havn't had the best of luck, I've tried in different lands,
And, as I said, it's a drag to have others upon your hands.
'Twas a most disappointing thing, of course, when that old aunt died at Ayr,
And only one hundred pounds was left to Aimee, her rightful heir;
Not that I married Aimee for wealth, but I thought it just as sure,
That grand estate, to think of it all, and I lying here so poor.
Ah, I want some brandy! I must have something to make me feel more strong.
Brandy! it is money, and life, and health; what makes Aimee stay so long?
Oh, here you are, make up more fire; I should think you're warm enough
Walking about, let me have that shawl, to-night will be wild and rough.
I must have some more spirit to keep me up, not that I heed the lie,
The doctor told you this morning that before very long I must die.
I expect, if I had some of the gold your old aunt used to keep,
He would manage to raise me up all right--you think I had better sleep,
You think me ungrateful, perhaps; reach some brandy and then you'll see
How more than grateful I am, what a pattern of patience I'll be.
No money, no means, the last thing's gone, and Ethel and you in need!
Well, you must have managed badly enough with only two mouths to feed,
For you can't count me as much, the little support I take,
A little stimulant now and then, swallowed only for your sake.
Aimee, I must have some now--nothing left? what is that glittering thing?
Aimee, you dear one, dispose of that; of what use is our wedding ring?
Don't be cross for the sake of the child, you say, why you angel dear,
Who would ever doubt you, so good, so true, you have nothing to fear.
And then you're always trusting in God, and surely he would approve
Of your selling your wedding ring for him that you've sworn to love?
I wish that wind would stop howling, it says such queer things to me,
Wake up, little Ethel, and send her before it's too dark to see
If that old fraud of a pawnbroker gives her the change all right.
Aimee, send quickly, I feel so strange; oh, I dread this coming night.
I never murdered that man out there, away on the western plains;
And yet there are spots of blood on the floor, they can't wash out the stains.
What is it the lawyers call it? "Accessory to the fact?"
Ha! ha! old boy, I was wide awake; they could not catch me in the act,
So we put that poor young fool of a lad, just out from the motherland,
Made him just drunk enough to fight when we needed a helping hand;
A helping hand with a bowie knife and a corpse to be stowed away,
We were sober enough not to be on hand when called upon next day.
Who's that? Who are you? Stop! stop! coming whispering into my ear,
"There are other judges, other law courts, and I have cause to fear."
How the ship struggles and reels--all right--is this the Australian shore?
No, sandbars and reefs; will they never stop those confounded breaker's roar?
Aimee, what is it? Take that stuff? I will if 'twill make me sleep.
I cannot rest; shall I never be quiet; hark how the wild winds sweep.
No, Victor, no; you got the money, and that was enough for you.
Did you think I was fool enough, man, to let you have Aimee too?
Aimee, come here and whisper to me; what does the judgment mean?
Judgment and conscience.--Look, look, there's Victor grinning behind the screen!
Victor in heaven this many a year? I tell you it is no such thing.
Aimee, you were dead once--were drowned--did you hear the mermaids sing?
I say you were drowned one night, when the pleasure boat struck the bar,
And before any help could come you had floated out deep and far.
Every available thing was done that sailor or landsman could try;
But you could not be found--I guess not--so of course you had to die.
Hav'nt I a remarkable memory? these were the words I wrote:
"Every available thing was done by sailor or landsman afloat."
So Victor knows all about it--there! there he is coming again;
No! no! we are'nt here, we're away on the southern Indian main.
Who calls me? Who wants me? I cannot go into that wild dark land.
Somebody, help! Is this death? Don't touch me with that cold hand.
Aimee, don't leave me; oh say, have the officers found me at last?
Tell me--I think it's the medicine I took that makes me dream of the past--
Oh, will they believe me up there, in the clear bright rays of the sun,
That shows all the by-gone years of a life, the crimes a man has done?
Will nobody stop that horrid wind? it creeps right into my heart,
It seems to mutter, and groan and shriek: "Come, it is time to depart."
There's a broad dark sea before me; help, Aimee, the waters are deep!
I want a pilot--I cannot steer--I am sinking--let--me--sleep."
Bloweth the storm more cheerlessly still,
And the setting sun has a sickly hue,
As if he foresaw the falling tears,
As if all the sorrows of earth he knew.
Heavily stealeth an hour or two,
And mid the noise of the city's din,
No one noticed the tenement room
"As two passed out where but one went in."