THE LIFE THAT IS.
Thou, who so long hast pressed the couch of pain,
Oh welcome, welcome back to life's free breath—
To life's free breath and day's sweet light again,
From the chill shadows of the gate of death!
For thou hadst reached the twilight bound between
The world of spirits and this grosser sphere;
Dimly by thee the things of earth were seen,
And faintly fell earth's voices on thine ear.
And now, how gladly we behold, at last,
The wonted smile returning to thy brow!
The very wind's low whisper, breathing past,
In the light leaves, is music to thee now.
Thou wert not weary of thy lot; the earth
Was ever good and pleasant in thy sight;
Still clung thy loves about the household hearth,
And sweet was every day's returning light.
Then welcome back to all thou wouldst not leave,
To this grand march of seasons, days, and hours;
The glory of the morn, the glow of eve,
The beauty of the streams, and stars, and flowers;
To eyes on which thine own delight to rest;
To voices which it is thy joy to hear;
To the kind toils that ever pleased thee best,
The willing tasks of love, that made life dear.
Welcome to grasp of friendly hands; to prayers
Offered where crowds in reverent worship come,
Or softly breathed amid the tender cares
And loving inmates of thy quiet home.
Thou bring'st no tidings of the better land,
Even from its verge; the mysteries opened there
Are what the faithful heart may understand
In its still depths, yet words may not declare.
And well I deem, that, from the brighter side
Of life's dim border, some o'erflowing rays
Streamed from the inner glory, shall abide
Upon thy spirit through the coming days.
Twice wert thou given me; once in thy fair prime,
Fresh from the fields of youth, when first we met,
And all the blossoms of that hopeful time
Clustered and glowed where'er thy steps were set.
And now, in thy ripe autumn, once again
Given back to fervent prayers and yearnings strong,
From the drear realm of sickness and of pain
When we had watched, and feared, and trembled long.
Now may we keep thee from the balmy air
And radiant walks of heaven a little space,
Where He, who went before thee to prepare
For His meek followers, shall assign thy place.
Castellamare, May, 1858.
SONG.
"THESE PRAIRIES GLOW WITH FLOWERS."
These prairies glow with flowers,
These groves are tall and fair,
The sweet lay of the mocking-bird
Rings in the morning air;
And yet I pine to see
My native hill once more,
And hear the sparrow's friendly chirp
Beside its cottage-door.
And he, for whom I left
My native hill and brook,
Alas, I sometimes think I trace
A coldness in his look!
If I have lost his love,
I know my heart will break;
And haply, they I left for him
Will sorrow for my sake.
A SICK-BED.
Long hast thou watched my bed,
And smoothed the pillow oft
For this poor, aching head,
With touches kind and soft.
Oh! smooth it yet again,
As softly as before;
Once—only once—and then
I need thy hand no more.
Yet here I may not stay,
Where I so long have lain,
Through many a restless day
And many a night of pain.
But bear me gently forth
Beneath the open sky,
Where, on the pleasant earth,
Till night the sunbeams lie.
There, through the coming days,
I shall not look to thee
My weary side to raise,
And shift it tenderly.
There sweetly shall I sleep;
Nor wilt thou need to bring
And put to my hot lip
Cool water from the spring;
Nor wet the kerchief laid
Upon my burning brow;
Nor from my eyeballs shade
The light that wounds them now;
Nor watch that none shall tread,
With noisy footstep, nigh;
Nor listen by my bed,
To hear my faintest sigh,
And feign a look of cheer,
And words of comfort speak,
Yet turn to hide the tear
That gathers on thy cheek.
Beside me, where I rest,
Thy loving hands will set
The flowers that please me best—
Moss-rose and violet.
Then to the sleep I crave
Resign me, till I see
The face of Him who gave
His life for thee and me.
Yet, with the setting sun,
Come, now and then, at eve,
And think of me as one
For whom thou shouldst not grieve;
Who, when the kind release
From sin and suffering came,
Passed to the appointed peace
In murmuring thy name.
Leave at my side a space,
Where thou shalt come, at last,
To find a resting-place,
When many years are past.