Part 8 (1/2)

Oh bells of Easter morn, oh solemn sounding bells, Which fill the hollow cells Of the blue April air with a most sweet refrain, Ye fill my heart with pain.

For when, as from a thousand holy altar-fires, A thousand resonant spires Sent up the offering--the glad thanksgiving strain-- ”The Lord is risen again!”

He went from us who shall return no more, no more!

I say the sad words o'er, And they are mixed and blent with your triumphant psalm, Like bitterness and balm,

We stood with him beside the black and silent river, Cold, cold and soundless ever; But there our feet were stayed--unloosed our clasping fond, And he has pa.s.sed beyond.

And still that solemn hymn, like smoke of sacrifice, Clomb the blue April skies, And on our anguish placed its sacramental chrism, ”Behold, the Lord is risen!”

Oh, bells of Easter morn! your mighty voices reach A deeper depth than speech; We heard, ”Because He liveth _they_ shall live with Him;”

This was our Easter hymn.

And while the slow vibrations swell, and sink, and cease, They bring divinest peace, For we commit our best beloved to the dust, In sure and certain trust.

IN THE SIERRA NEVADA

I lift my spirit to your cloudy thrones, And feel it broaden to your vast expanse, Oh! mountains, so immeasurably old, Crowned with bald rocks and everlasting cold, That melts not underneath the sun's fierce glance, Peak above peak, fixed, dazzling, ice and stones.

Down your steep sides quick torrents leap and roar, And disappear, in gloomy gorges sunk, Fringed with black pines on dizzy verges high-- Poised, trembling to the thunder and the cry Of the lost waters, through each giant trunk, And farthest twig and ta.s.sel evermore.

Behold far down the mountain herdsman's ranche, The rough road winding past his lonely door, And in his ears, by day and night, the sound Of mad waves plunging down the gulfs profound, The tempest's gathering cry, the dull deep roar.

And the long thunder of the avalanche!

Night broods along the vallies while your peaks Are pink and purple with the rays of morn, And filmy tints that swim the depths of s.p.a.ce, To reach, and kiss you first upon the face, Before the world awakes, and day is born, To flush with colder gleam your rugged cheeks.

And last, and longest lingering, the light Is on your mighty foreheads, when, the sun Sets in the sea, and makes a palace fair For his repose, of crystal wave and air,-- Ye seem to stoop, and smile to look upon The fallen monarch from your silent height.

Vallies are green about your rocky feet, And sweet with clambering vines, and waving corn, And breath of flowers, and gold of ripening fruit; Cities send up their smoke, and man and brute Beneath your wide embrazure have been born And died for ages, yet Ye hold your seat.

I lift my spirit up to you, and seem To feel your vastness penetrate my soul; And faintly see, far-off, and looming broad And dread, the grandeur of the world of G.o.d, And thrill to be a part of the great whole, Which towers above me, a stupendous dream.

SUMMER RAIN

O rain, Summer Rain! forever, Out of the crystal spheres, And cool from my brain the fever, And wash from my eyes the tears

Stir gently the blossoming clover, In the hollows dewy and deep,-- Somewhere they are blossoming over The spot where I shall sleep.

Asleep from this wearisome aching, With my arms crossed under my head, I shall hear without awaking, The rain that blesses the dead.