The ice that gathers round my heart May there be thawed; and sweetly, then, The joys of youth, that now depart, Will come to cheer my soul again.
Though far I roam, that thought shall be My hope, my comfort everywhere;While such a home remains to me, My heart shall never know despair.
THE NARROW WAY.
Believe not those who say The upward path is smooth, Lest thou shouldst stumble in the way, And faint before the truth.
It is the only road Unto the realms of joy;But he who seeks that blest abode Must all his powers employ.
Bright hopes and pure delight Upon his course may beam, And there, amid the sternest heights, The sweetest flowerets gleam.
On all her breezes borne, Earth yields no scents like those;But he that dares not gasp the thorn Should never crave the rose.
Arm--arm thee for the fight!
Cast useless loads away;Watch through the darkest hours of night;Toil through the hottest day.
Crush pride into the dust, Or thou must needs be slack;And trample down rebellious lust, Or it will hold thee back.
Seek not thy honour here;Waive pleasure and renown;The world's dread scoff undaunted bear, And face its deadliest frown.
To labour and to love, To pardon and endure, To lift thy heart to God above, And keep thy conscience pure;Be this thy constant aim, Thy hope, thy chief delight;What matter who should whisper blame Or who should scorn or slight?
What matter, if thy God approve, And if, within thy breast, Thou feel the comfort of His love, The earnest of His rest?
DOMESTIC PEACE.
Why should such gloomy silence reign, And why is all the house so drear, When neither danger, sickness, pain, Nor death, nor want, have entered here?
We are as many as we were That other night, when all were gay And full of hope, and free from care;Yet is there something gone away.
The moon without, as pure and calm, Is shining as that night she shone;But now, to us, she brings no balm, For something from our hearts is gone.
Something whose absence leaves a void--
A cheerless want in every heart;Each feels the bliss of all destroyed, And mourns the change--but each apart.
The fire is burning in the grate As redly as it used to burn;But still the hearth is desolate, Till mirth, and love, and PEACE return.
'Twas PEACE that flowed from heart to heart, With looks and smiles that spoke of heaven, And gave us language to impart The blissful thoughts itself had given.
Domestic peace! best joy of earth, When shall we all thy value learn?
White angel, to our sorrowing hearth, Return--oh, graciously return!
THE THREE GUIDES. [First published in FRASER'S MAGAZINE.]
Spirit of Earth! thy hand is chill:
I've felt its icy clasp;And, shuddering, I remember still That stony-hearted grasp.
Thine eye bids love and joy depart:
Oh, turn its gaze from me!
It presses down my shrinking heart;I will not walk with thee!
"Wisdom is mine," I've heard thee say:
"Beneath my searching eye All mist and darkness melt away, Phantoms and fables fly.
Before me truth can stand alone, The naked, solid truth;And man matured by worth will own, If I am shunned by youth.
"Firm is my tread, and sure though slow;My footsteps never slide;And he that follows me shall know I am the surest guide."
Thy boast is vain; but were it true That thou couldst safely steer Life's rough and devious pathway through, Such guidance I should fear.
How could I bear to walk for aye, With eyes to earthward prone, O'er trampled weeds and miry clay, And sand and flinty stone;Never the glorious view to greet Of hill and dale, and sky;To see that Nature's charms are sweet, Or feel that Heaven is nigh?
If in my heart arose a spring, A gush of thought divine, At once stagnation thou wouldst bring With that cold touch of thine.
If, glancing up, I sought to snatch But one glimpse of the sky, My baffled gaze would only catch Thy heartless, cold grey eye.
If to the breezes wandering near, I listened eagerly, And deemed an angel's tongue to hear That whispered hope to me, That heavenly music would be drowned In thy harsh, droning voice;Nor inward thought, nor sight, nor sound, Might my sad soul rejoice.
Dull is thine ear, unheard by thee The still, small voice of Heaven;Thine eyes are dim and cannot see The helps that God has given.
There is a bridge o'er every flood Which thou canst not perceive;A path through every tangled wood, But thou wilt not believe.
Striving to make thy way by force, Toil-spent and bramble-torn, Thou'lt fell the tree that checks thy course, And burst through brier and thorn:
And, pausing by the river's side, Poor reasoner! thou wilt deem, By casting pebbles in its tide, To cross the swelling stream.
Right through the flinty rock thou'lt try Thy toilsome way to bore, Regardless of the pathway nigh That would conduct thee o'er Not only art thou, then, unkind, And freezing cold to me, But unbelieving, deaf, and blind:
I will not walk with thee!
Spirit of Pride! thy wings are strong, Thine eyes like lightning shine;Ecstatic joys to thee belong, And powers almost divine.
But 'tis a false, destructive blaze Within those eyes I see;Turn hence their fascinating gaze;I will not follow thee.
"Coward and fool!" thou mayst reply, Walk on the common sod;Go, trace with timid foot and eye The steps by others trod.
