Part 1 (2/2)
Bright thing of a day Thou hast caught a ray From Morn's jewelled curtain fold On thy burning cheek, And the ruby streak His dyed it with charms untold-- And the gorgeous vest On thy queenly breast, Is dashed with her choicest gold.
A statelier queen Has never been seen, A lovelier never will be!-- Nay, Solomon, dressed In his kingliest best, Was never a match for thee, O beautiful flower, O joy of an hour-- _And only an hour_--for me!
An hour, did I say?
Nay, loveliest, nay, Not thus shall I part with thee, But with subtle skill I shall keep thee still, Fadeless and fresh with me:-- Through toil and duty, ”A thing of beauty Forever” my own to be'
As with drooping head Amid thorns I tread, I shall see thee unfold anew, In the desert's dust, Where journey I must, Why beautiful form shall view, And visions of Home O'er my spirit will come, As thro' tear-drops I gaze on you'
LIVING AND DYING.
Living for Christ, I die;--how strange, that I, Thus dying, live,--and yet, thus living, die!
Living for Christ, I die;-yet wondrous thought, In that same death a deathless life is wrought;-- Living, I die to Earth, to self, to sin;-- Oh, blessed death, in which such life I win!
Dying for Christ, I live!--death cannot be A terror, then, to one from death set free'
Living for Christ, rich blessings I attain, Yet, dying for Him, mine is greater gain Life for my Lord, is death to sin and strife, Yet death for Him is everlas'ing life!
Dying for Christ, I live!--and yet, not I, But He lives in me, who did for me die.
I die to live,--He lives to die no more, Who, in His death my own death-sentence bore ”To live is Christ,” if Christ within me reign, To die more blessed, since ”to die is gain!”
UP THE NEPIGON.
How beautiful, how beautiful, Beneath the morning sky, In bridal veil of snowy mist, These dreamy headlands lie!
How beautiful, in soft repose, Upon the water's breast, Steeped in the sunlight's golden calm, These fairy islets rest!
A Sabbath hush enfolds the hills, And broods upon the deep Whose music every hollow fills, And climbs each rocky steep, Now low and soft like love's own sigh, Now faint and far away, Now plaining to the answering pines, With melancholy lay.
Like white-winged birds, through azure depths, Above the restless tide, With snowy plume and golden crest, The fleecy cloudlets glide; Their dancing shadows fleck the deep, Or flit above the green Of emerald islands fast asleep 'Neath tranquil skies serene.
I watch the suns.h.i.+ne and the shade, The sparkle and the gleam, Till past and present seem to fade, And life becomes a dream-- A fairy, fancy-tinted dream, A sun-bright; summer rest, In which I glide through shade and gleam Past islands of the blest
How beautiful! ”How beautiful!”
The quiet hills reply, And each responsive cliff gives back Its answer to the sky;-- ”How beautiful!” the waves repeat, And every cloudlet smiles, And writes its answer on the green Of countless summer isles.
'Tis past--this first, last, only look!-- And now, away, away, To bear alone in Memory's book The suns.h.i.+ne of to-day; Yet oft, 'neath other skies than these, With other scenes in view, O isles of beauty, sunny seas, I shall remember you!
LOOK UP
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