Poems

One hundred years, aflame with Love,
Again shall bid old earth good-by —
And, lo, the light! far heaven is nigh!
New themes seraphic, Life divine,
And bliss that wipes the tears of time
Away, will enter, when they may,
And bask in one eternal day.

'Tis writ on earth, on leaf and flower:
Love hath one race, one realm, one power.
Dear God! how great, how good Thou art
To heal humanity's sore heart;
To probe the wound, then pour the balm —
A life perfected, strong and calm.
The dark domain of pain and sin
Surrenders – Love doth enter in,
And peace is won, and lost is vice:
Right reigns, and blood was not its price.

    Pleasant View, Concord, N. H., January, 1901.

TO MY ABSENT BROTHER

Dwells there a shadow on thy brow —
A look that years impart?
Does there a thought of vanished hours
Come ever o'er thy heart?

Or give those earnest eyes yet back
An image of the soul,
Mirrored in truth, in light and joy,
Above the world's control?

So may their gaze be ever fraught
With utterance deep and strong,
Yielding a holy strength to right,
A stern rebuke to wrong!

Thy soul, upborne on wisdom's wings,
In brighter morn will find
Life hath a higher recompense
Than just to please mankind.

Supreme and omnipresent God,
Guide him in wisdom's way!
Give peaceful triumph to the truth,
Bid error melt away!

    Lynn, Mass., November 8, 1866.

SIGNS OF THE HEART

Come to me, joys of heaven!
Breathe through the summer air
A balm – the long-lost leaven
Dissolving death, despair!
O little heart,
To me thou art
A sign that never can depart.

Come to me, peace on earth!
From out life's billowy sea, —
A wave of welcome birth, —
The Life that lives in Thee!
O Love divine,
This heart of Thine
Is all I need to comfort mine.

Come when the shadows fall,
And night grows deeply dark;
The barren brood, O call
With song of morning lark;
And from above,
Dear heart of Love,
Send us thy white-winged dove.

    Pleasant View, Concord, N. H., 1899.

FLOWERS

Mirrors of morn
Whence the dewdrop is born,
Soft tints of the rainbow and skies —
Sisters of song,
What a shadowy throng
Around you in memory rise!

Far do ye flee,
From your green bowers free,
Fair floral apostles of love,
Sweetly to shed
Fragrance fresh round the dead,
And breath of the living above.

Flowers for the brave —
Be he monarch or slave,
Whose heart bore its grief and is still!
Flowers for the kind —
Aye, the Christians who wind
Wreaths for the triumphs o'er ill!