And there take up the golden store
Of life and love so weighty grown—
I hold thy heart against mine own,
And thus will hold forever more.
The Hoar Frost on the Wood
LOOK through the glistening stubble-fields to where
Last night, in sullen and complaining mood,
Over the fate that left them grim and bare,
The trees in yonder dear old forest stood.
“The spring,” they moaned, “Ah, it will be a while
Ere she can reach us with her magic wand!”
Who was it heard? To-day, mile upon mile,—
There stretches out a white enchanted land,
Each tall tree hath a weight of gems that shine—
Mark how the sun can draw its beauties out—
On every soft white thing its kisses fall,
Till in the air we see a dazzling line
Of sparkling gems—it is a glorious rout
Of nature’s children holding Carnival.
Two Creeds
THE Priest was earnest and sincere—
He deemed that this stout cavalier,
This stranger unto Christ’s dear grace,
Who rested with him for a space,
Should hear the truth, what saith the creed?
“To every man that stands in need.”
Though weary miles of pilgrimage
Has tried his strength, yet would he wage,
Stout war of argument to-night,
With heathen ignorance of right,
With faltering tongue he then began
To picture to this fellow-man—
In error born, on error nursed,
By pride and passion doubly cursed—
The glories of a city fair,
To which men climb on narrow stair
Of self-denial, prayer and fast,
And zeal unflagging to the last.
“Its gates that flash the sunlight back,
What touch of splendor do they lack?
I see them lift themselves upright—
Of pearl, unblemished, pure and white—
Its streets gleam yellow in the sun,
Through fields of green its waters run,
And o’er it all no shadow flies,
The sun sets not in Paradise.