And see those acts which prompt hate to the last.
Sons of the Pilgrims, who to-day do boast
Of Freedom's favors, ye whose wealth doth lie
From the Atlantic to the Pacific coast!
Let not the race you have supplanted die;
Perish like forest-leaves from off their lands,
Without a just requital at your hands.
O, give them homes which they can call their own,
Let Knowledge light its torch and lead the way;
And meek Religion, from the eternal throne,
Be there to usher in a better day;
Then shall the past be blotted from life's scroll,
And all the good ye may do crown the whole.
SUNLIGHT ON THE SOUL.
O, THAT some spirit form would come,
From the fair realms of heaven above,
And take my outstretched hand in hers,
To bathe me in angelic love!
O that these longing, peering eyes,
Might pierce the shadowy curtain's fold,
And see in radiant robes arrayed,
The friends whose memory I do hold
Close, close within my soul's deep cell!
O, that were well! O, that were well!
I've often thought, at midnight's hour,
That round my couch I could discern
A shadowy being, from whose eye
I could not, ah! I would not turn.
It seemed so sisterly to me,
So radiant with looks of love,
That ever since I've strove to be
More like the angel hosts above.
The hopes, the joys were like a spell,
And it was well! Yes, it was well!
And every hour of day and night
I feel an influence o'er me steal,
So soothing, pure, so holy, bright,
I would each human heart could feel
A fraction of the mighty tide
Of living joy it sends along.
Then why should I complain, and ask
Why none of heaven's angelic throng
Come to this earth with me to dwell,
For all is well,—all, all is well!
A SONG FROM THE ABSENT.
TO THE LOVED ONE AT HOME.
AWAY from home, how slow the hours
Pass wearily along!
I feel alone, though many forms
Around my pathway throng.
There's none that look on me in love,
Wherever I do roam;
I'm longing for thy gentle smile,
My dearest one, at home.
I walk around; strange things I see,
Much that is fair to view;
Man's art and Nature's handiwork,
And all to me is new.
But, ah! I feel my joy were more,
If, while 'mid these I roam,
It could be shared with thee I love,
My dearest one, at home.
Blow, blow ye winds, and bear me on
My long and arduous way!
Move on, slow hours, more swiftly move,
And bring to life the day
When, journey done, and absence o'er,
No more I distant roam;
When I again shall be with thee,
My dearest one, at home.