Part 9 (1/2)

”WILT THOU HARa.s.s A DRIVEN LEAF?”

O hara.s.s not a driven leaf, Nor stubble dry in wrath pursue; A life so brief load not with grief, Nor with thine arrow pierce me through.

The fragile leaf, by tempest tost, Is scarcely worth a pa.s.sing thought; The brook is crossed, and then is lost; There let it lie, a thing of naught.

The stubble dry ne'er grows again; To golden grain it gave its sap.

It died, and then 'twas left by men To rot betimes, or some mishap.

Am I not like the stubble dry And fragile leaf by tempest strewed?

Must I not die, then tell me why A thing so frail is thus pursued?

A voice replies: ”Thy life is frail, Much like the leaf and stubble dry; Thy strength must fail, and as the gale Bears them away, so must thou die;

”But live again, in bliss, or pain; For death to man does not end all; Life is not vain, if thou but gain A _home in heaven_, when I shall call!

”To fit thy soul for endless rest, I hara.s.s now the driven leaf, But though sore pressed and grief distressed, The life of sorrow will be brief.

”And when released from suffering clay, Thy blood-bought spirit shall arise To endless day. Then thou shalt say, _The ways of G.o.d are good and wise._”

A GEM

The gem is not this ode itself; Hardly can it aspire so high.

Earth has its gems; but all its wealth,

Increased by thousands, cannot buy Man's _soul_, the gem of priceless worth, Made in G.o.d's image at its birth; Ordained to live for evermore; Redeemed by blood from sin and h.e.l.l; Transformed by grace, G.o.d's love to tell; And at His feet its homage pour.

Lordly are its endowments, too;

Superb its destiny, if true; Only below, said one who knew, Unfallen angels round G.o.d's throne.

Lord, may this gem be Thine alone.

THE CLOUDS

A grand stairway do these clouds appear As they heavenward rise, tier upon tier, With clearly-marked s.p.a.ce of blue between, Compared with which human art looks mean.

Do the angels tread this grand staircase, When they come to earth to bless our race, And lend their aid to each struggling soul As he ascends toward the heavenly goal?

Was this the ladder by Jacob seen, That reached from heaven to the mattress green On which he lay all the lonely night Till G.o.d afforded the blessed sight,

And made him feel, tho' an exile here, His father's G.o.d would be ever near-- The servant's cry would to heaven arise, And blessings fall from the bending skies?