Part 46 (2/2)
He is everywhere, and very well known In palace, in court, and cot; Though ages have crumbled, and centuries flown, He is youthful and strong, and is still on his throne, And his chains are spells of thought.
The maiden has murmured in 'plaint so low, While the tear trickled over a smile, That scarcely a wo could be uttered, till ”no,”
Was the heart's quick response, ”I would not have him go-- The 'Annoyer' may linger awhile.”
He shadows the pages of cla.s.sic lore In the student's loneliest hour, And wakes up a thought that had slept before-- An image is born that can die no more-- The student feels his power.
A voice on the hill-top, a voice in the river, A voice in the song of birds; It hangs on the zephyr, it comes from the quiver Of oak, beech and fir-leaf--it speaketh forever In thrilling, mysterious words;
'Tis the voice of the strong one! Know ye well, His presence you may not shun; For he thrones in the heart, and he rules with a spell, And poets may sing us and sages may tell That Love is a mighty one!
THE SURVIVING THOUGHT.
How long, ah me! this weary heart hath striven With vanity, and with a wild desire!
How long, and yet how long, must this frail bark be driven, While these unsteady, fitful hope-lights given, One after one expire?
These earthly visions prove, alas! unstable; And we are all too p.r.o.ne to clutch them fast, Though false, aye, falser than the veriest fable, To which a ”thread of gossamer is cable--”
They cannot--cannot last!
Our eye must soon behold the appalling writing-- The settlement of proud Belshazzar's doom!
These timely buds must early feel a blighting-- This earthly strife--ah, 'tis a sorry fighting!
The victory--the Tomb!
The dreams fond youth in years agone had cherished; The hopes that wove a rainbow tissue bright-- Are they all gone--forever gone, and perished-- Ev'n the last bud my silent tears had nourished-- Have all been Death's delight?
And will he come and mock me with his booty, And twirl my visions round his bony finger?
And will he tell my heart no other beauty Upon the earth is mine--no other duty, Than for his mandate linger?
Up, rise, thou vital spark! not yet extinguished, a.s.sert thy heritage--exert thy might; Though in the sloughs of sorrow thou hast languished, And pain and wrong's envenomed part out-anguished, One ray breaks through the night.
There is, there is one blessed thought surviving; The heart's sure fulcrum in the saddest strait-- An overture to this unequal striving-- A hope, a home, a last and blest arriving!
Bear up, my heart, and wait.
Bear up, poor heart! be patient, and be meekful; A calm must follow each untoward blast; With steady eye look forward to the sequel; The common road will then seem less unequal, That brings us home ”at last.”
Come trial, pain, and disappointment's s.h.i.+ver, Ye are my kindsmen--brothers of this clay; We must abide and I must bear the quiver A little while, and we shall part forever-- Beyond the surges of that sh.o.r.eless river Ye cannot ”come away.”
THE WORKING MAN'S SONG.
Toil, toil, toil, Ever, unceasingly; The sun gets up, and the sun goes down, Alike in the city, in field or town, He brings fresh toil to me, And I ply my hard, rough hands With a heart as light and free As the birds that greet my early plow, Or the wind that fans my sunburnt brow In gusts of song and glee.
Toil, toil, toil, Early, and on, and late: They may call it mean and of low degree, But I smile to know that I'm strong and free, And the good alone are great.
'Tis nature's great command, And a pleasing task to me, For true life is action and usefulness; And I know an approving G.o.d will bless The toiler abundantly.
Toil, toil, toil-- Glory awaits that word; My arm is strong and my heart is whole, And exult as I toil with manly soul That the voice of Truth is heard.
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