Volume Vi Part 24 (2/2)
Oh, all is music there-- 'Tis the language of the sky-- Sweet hallelujahs there resound Eternal harmony.
Then sing, sing, sing, For music breathes in everything.
ISABELLA CRAIG.
Isabella Craig is a native of Edinburgh, where she has continued to reside. Her educational advantages were limited. To the columns of the _Scotsman_ newspaper she has for several years contributed verses. In 1856 she published a collection of her poetical compositions, in a duodecimo volume, with the t.i.tle, ”Poems by Isa.” She contributes to the periodicals.
OUR HELEN.
Is our Helen very fair?
If you only knew her You would doubt it not, howe'er Stranger eyes may view her.
We who see her day by day Through our household moving, Whether she be fair or nay Cannot see for loving.
O'er our gentle Helen's face No rich hues are bright'ning, And no smiles of feigned grace From her lips are light'ning; She hath quiet, smiling eyes, Fair hair simply braided, All as mild as evening skies Ere sunlight hath faded.
Our kind, thoughtful Helen loves Our approving praises, But her eye that never roves Shrinks from other gazes.
She, so late within her home But a child caressing, Now a woman hath become, Ministering, blessing.
All her duty, all her bliss, In her home she findeth, Nor too narrow deemeth this-- Lowly things she mindeth; Yet when deeper cares distress, She is our adviser; Reason's rules she needeth less, For her heart is wiser.
For the sorrows of the poor Her kind spirit bleedeth, And, because so good and pure, For the erring pleadeth.
Is our Helen very fair?
If you only knew her You would doubt it not, howe'er Stranger eyes may view her.
GOING OUT AND COMING IN.
In that home was joy and sorrow Where an infant first drew breath, While an aged sire was drawing Near unto the gate of death.
His feeble pulse was failing, And his eye was growing dim; He was standing on the threshold When they brought the babe to him.
While to murmur forth a blessing On the little one he tried, In his trembling arms he raised it, Press'd it to his lips and died.
An awful darkness resteth On the path they both begin, Who thus met upon the threshold, Going out and coming in.
Going out unto the triumph, Coming in unto the fight-- Coming in unto the darkness, Going out unto the light; Although the shadow deepen'd In the moment of eclipse, When he pa.s.s'd through the dread portal With the blessing on his lips.
And to him who bravely conquers, As he conquer'd in the strife, Life is but the way of dying-- Death is but the gate of life; Yet awful darkness resteth On the path we all begin, Where we meet upon the threshold, Going out and coming in.
MY MARY AN' ME.
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