,ver4#jd4bi4ic99;,,end99 ,father ,ryan's ,poems ,by ,abram ,j4 ,ryan1 7,father ,ryan7 ,introduction3 ,in preparing this electronic text of ,father ,ryan's poems1 ,i was struck by the biased nature of the memoir included4 ,while ,i will not gainsay anyone's right to their beliefs1 ,i believe it is clearly evident from the poems themselves that ,father ,ryan believed strongly in the ,southern ,cause1 and ,i do not believe his reaction was entirely emotional1 as seems to be implied4 ,the ,memoir also makes mention of ,father ,ryan's poem ,reunited1 as evidence of his support for the reunification of the ,states4 ,to be fair to ,ryan1 ,i would note that such stanzas as ,the ,northern heart and the ,southern heart ,may beat in peace again2 ,but still till time's last day1 ,whatever lips may plight1 ,the blue is blue1 but the gray is gray1 ,wrong never accords with ,right4 in ,sentinel ,songs'1 are much more common in his poems4 ,i believe it important to notice this1 as it demonstrates that while ,ryan loved ,peace1 he never forsook the ,cause4 ,regarding his possible dates of birth1 ,i can do no better than the ,memoir included1 but ,i can at least match places with dates1 to wit3 ,hagerstown1 ,md41 on #e ,february #ahch2 or ,norfolk1 ,virginia1 sometime in #ahch or #ae ,august #ahci4 ,his full name was ,abram ,joseph ,ryan1 and he was the son of ,matthew and ,mary 7,coughlin7 ,ryan4 ,he was ordained in #ahef and he taught at ,niagara1 ,n4,y4 and ,cape ,girardeau1 ,missouri1 before he became a chaplain in the ,confederate ,army in #ahfb4 ,he edited several publications1 including the ,pacificator1 the ,catholic weekly ,the ,star 7,new ,orleans71 and ,the ,banner of the ,south in ,augusta1 ,georgia4 ,he was the pastor of ,st4 ,mary's ,church in ,mobile1 ,alabama from #ahgj to #ahhc4 ,he died at a ,franciscan ,monastery at ,louisville1 ,kentucky1 on #bb ,april #ahhf4 ,he is buried in ,mobile4 ,his most famous poem is ,the ,conquered ,banner1 which had its measure inspired by a ,gregorian hymn4 ,alan ,r4 ,light1 ,may1 #aiif1 ,birmingham1 ,alabama4 ,note on text3 ,italicized words or phrases are marked by tildes 774 ,some obvious errors have been corrected4 ,poems3 ,patriotic1 ,religious1 ,miscellaneous4 ,by ,abram ,j4 ,ryan1 7,father ,ryan74 ,containing his posthumous poems4 ,all ,rests with those who ,read4 ,a work or thought ,is what each makes it to himself1 and may ,be full of great dark meanings1 like the sea1 ,with shoals of life rushing2 or like the air1 ,benighted with the wing of the wild dove1 ,sweeping miles broad o'er the far southwestern woods ,with mighty glimpses of the central light -- ,or may be nothing -- bodiless1 spiritless4 -- ,festus4 ,based on the #ahhj edition1 the #ahif edition 7,new ,york7 from which this was transcribed also includes ,ryan's posthumous poems4 ,,these ,,simple ,,rhymes ,,are ,,laid ,,as ,a ,,garland ,,of ,,love ,,at ,,the ,,feet ,,of ,,his ,,mother ,,by ,,her ,,child ,,the ,,author ,preface ,these verses 7which some friends call by the higher title of ,poems1 to which appellation the author objects7 were written at random -- off and on1 here1 there1 anywhere -- just when the mood came1 with little of study and less of art1 and always in a hurry4 ,hence they are incomplete in finish1 as the author is2 tho' he thinks they are true in tone4 ,his feet know more of the humble steps that lead up to the ,altar and its ,mysteries than of the steeps that lead up to ,parnassus and the ,home of the ,muses4 ,and souls were always more to him than songs4 ,but still1 somehow -- and he could not tell why -- he sometimes tried to sing4 ,here are his simple songs4 ,he never dreamed of taking even lowest place in the rank of authors4 ,but friends persisted2 and1 finally1 a young lawyer friend1 who has entire charge of his business in the book1 forced him to front the world and its critics4 ,there are verses connected with the war published in this volume1 not for harm-sake1 nor for hate-sake1 but simply because the author wrote them4 ,he could write again in the same tone and key1 under the same circumstances4 ,no more need be said1 except that these verses mirror the mind of ,,the ,,author4 ,contents ,memoir of ,father ,ryan ,song of the ,mystic ,reverie ,only a few more years6 ,lines -- #ahge ,a ,memory ,rhyme ,nocturne ,i sit to-night by the firelight1 ,the ,old ,year and the ,new ,erin's ,flag ,the ,sword of ,robert ,lee ,life ,a ,laugh -- and ,a ,moan ,in ,memory of ,my ,brother ,out of the ,depths ,a ,thought ,march of the ,deathless ,dead ,reunited ,a ,memory ,at ,last ,a ,land without ,ruins ,memories ,the ,prayer of the ,south ,feast of the ,assumption ,sursum ,corda ,a ,child's ,wish ,presentiment ,last of ,may ,gone ,feast of the ,sacred ,heart ,in ,memory of ,very ,rev4 ,j4 ,b4 ,etienne ,tears ,lines 7,two ,loves7 ,the ,land ,we ,love ,in ,memoriam ,reverie ,we laugh when our souls are the saddest1 ,i ,often ,wonder ,why ',tis ,so ,a ,blessing ,july #ith1 #ahgb ,wake ,me a ,song ,in ,memoriam 7,david ,j4 ,ryan1 ,c4,s4,a47 ,what8 7,to ,ethel7 ,the ,master's ,voice ,a ,thought-,flower ,a ,death ,the ,rosary of ,my ,tears ,death ,what ,ails the ,world8 ,a ,thought ,in ,rome ,after ,sickness ,old ,trees ,after ,seeing ,pius ,,ix ,sentinel ,songs ,fragments from an ,epic ,poem ,lake ,como ,peace6 ,be ,still ,good ,friday ,my ,beads ,at ,night ,nocturne ,betimes1 ,i seem to see in dreams ,sunless ,days ,a ,reverie ,did ,i dream of a song8 or sing in a dream8 ,st4 ,mary's ,de ,profundis ,when8 7,death7 ,the ,conquered ,banner ,a ,christmas ,chant ,far ,away ,listen ,wrecked ,dreaming ,a ,thought ,yesterdays ,to-,days ,to-,morrows ,inevitable ,sorrow and the ,flowers ,hope ,farewells ,song of the ,river ,dreamland ,lines ,sometimes1 from the far-away1 ,a ,song ,parting ,st4 ,stephen ,a ,flower's ,song ,the ,star's ,song ,death of the ,flower ,singing-,bird ,now ,m 99 99 99 ,god in the ,night ,poets ,a ,legend ,thoughts ,lines ,the world is sweet1 and fair1 and bright1 ,c4,s4,a4 ,the ,seen and ,the ,unseen ,passing ,away ,the ,pilgrim 7,a ,christmas ,legend for ,children7 ,a ,reverie ,those hearts of ours -- how strange6 how strange6 ---- ,their ,story ,runneth ,thus ,night ,after the ,picnic ,lines ,the death of men is not the death ,death of the ,prince ,imperial ,in ,memoriam 7,father ,keeler7 ,mobile ,mystic ,societies ,rest ,follow ,me ,the ,poet's ,child ,mother's ,way ,feast of the ,presentation of ,mary in the ,temple ,st4 ,bridget ,new ,year ,zeila 7,a ,story from a ,star7 ,better than ,gold ,sea ,dreamings ,sea ,rest ,sea ,reverie ,the ,immaculate ,conception ,fifty ,years at the ,altar ,song of the ,deathless ,voice ,to ,mr4 and ,mrs4 ,a4 ,m4 ,t4 ,to ,virginia 7on ,her ,birthday7 ,epilogue ,posthumous ,poems ,in ,remembrance ,a ,reverie ,o ,songs6 ,i said3' ,only a ,dream ,the ,poet ,the ,child of the ,poet ,the ,poet ,priest ,wilt ,pray for ,me8 ,memoir of ,father ,ryan ,by ,john ,moran ,it is regretted that the materials at hand at this writing are not sufficient to warrant as extended a notice as the publishers of the present enlarged volume of ,father ,ryan's poems would wish1 and as the many friends and admirers of the dead priest and poet desire4 ,so distinguished a character and so brilliant a man cannot be passed over lightly1 or dealt with sparingly1 if the demand of his friends and the public generally would be satisfied even in a moderate degree2 for ,father ,ryan's fame is the inheritance of a great and enlightened nation1 and his writings have passed into history to emblazon its pages and enrich the literature of the present and succeeding ages1 since it is confidently believed that1 with the lapse of time1 his fame and his merits will grow brighter and more enduring4 ,with this appreciation of his merits1 and a realizing sense of what is due to his memory1 and with an equal consciousness of his own want of ability to do justice to the subject1 the writer bespeaks the indulgent criticism of those who may read the following remarks -- admittedly far short of what are due to the illustrious dead4 ,the exact date and place of ,father ,ryan's birth are not yet definitely settled4 ,some assert that he was born at ,norfolk1 ,va42 others claim ,hagerstown1 ,md41 as the place of his birth2 whilst there is some ground to believe that in ,limerick1 ,ireland1 he first saw the light4 ,the same uncertainty exists as to time4 ,some claim to know that he was born in #ahcd1 whilst others fix with equal certainty1 the year #ahcf as the time4 ,in the midst of these conflicting statements1 the writer prefers to leave the questions at issue for future determination1 when it is hoped that final and conclusive proof will be obtained to place them outside the realms of dispute4 ,meanwhile1 he will present what may be regarded as of primary importance in forming a correct estimate of the character of the deceased1 and the value of his life-work1 which1 after all1 are the chief ends sought to be accomplished4 ,from the most reliable information that can be obtained1 it is learned that ,father ,ryan went to ,st4 ,louis with his parents when a lad of some seven or eight years4 ,there he received his early training under the ,brothers of the ,christian ,schools4 ,even at that early date young ,ryan showed signs of mental activity which gave promise of one day producing substantial and lasting results4 ,he evinced rare aptitude for knowledge1 and made rapid progress in its attainment4 ,his thoughtful mien and modest look soon won for him the respect and friendship of his teachers and the esteem and affection of his companions4 ,it was noticed that he had an instinctive reverence for sacred things and places1 and a rich and ardent nature which bespoke deep spirituality4 ,discerning eyes soon recognized in the mild youth the germs of a future vocation to the priesthood4 ,it was1 therefore1 prudently resolved to throw around him every possible safeguard in order to protect and cherish so rare and precious a gift4 ,the youth himself corresponded to this design1 and bent all his energies towards acquiring the necessary education to fit him for entering upon the still higher and more extended studies required for the exalted vocation to which he aspired4 ,in due time he had made the necessary preparatory studies1 and was deemed fitted to enter the ecclesiastical seminary at ,niagara1 ,n4,y41 whither he went1 having bid an affectionate farewell to his relatives and numerous friends1 who fervently invoked heaven's blessing upon the pious youth who1 they hoped1 would return one day to their midst to offer up the ,clean ,oblation which is offered up from the rising of the sun until the going down thereof4 ,the heart of the youth as he started for his future home was all aglow with the fervor that animated him in the pursuit of his high and holy purpose4 ,he entered the seminary1 leaving no regrets or attachments behind him4 ,one thing only did he appear to regret -- separation from home and the loved ones to whom he had bid so affectionate an adieu4 ,home and parents are ever dear to the pure of heart2 for around them cluster memories too precious and associations too endearing for utterance4 ,father -- mother -- home1 trinity of joys1 whose completion and perfection are to be found only in the ,trinity in ,heaven -- these must ever remain bright recollections in the lives of all who cherish ennobling sentiments which do reverence to ,god and honor to humanity4 ,but if such be the effect of these sentiments upon the hearts of men in general1 they have a still deeper and more tender effect upon those who1 in response to the call of the ,master1 ,follow thou ,me1 have abandoned all things for ,his sweet sake1 that they may find a home hereafter in heaven1 after having spent themselves in dispensing ,his riches and benefits to men4 ,like nearly all great men1 ,father ,ryan owed much to the early training and example of his truly ,christian mother4 ,hence the deep affection he ever manifested towards her4 ,after the lapse of long years1 we find his heart still fresh and loving1 pouring out upon the grave of his mother all the wealth of his rich mind and the affection of his chaste heart4 ,he tells us that he had placed his poems upon her grave as a garland of affection4 ,oh6 what a beautiful offering on the part of a gifted son to a devoted mother6 ,nature's richest and best gifts consecrated to nature's purest and holiest sentiments6 ,may we not suppose that the endearing affection which he cherished for his mother was the source of the inspiration which drew forth the splendid brightness of his songs8 ,this filial reverence and tender affection1 could nothing more be said in his favor1 would speak volumes in his praise4 ,but how much more can be said1 and said truly1 were there pen and lips eloquent enough to proclaim his praises6 ,mine are unworthy of the task2 yet mine be the duty of recalling some1 at least1 of the virtues and qualities that marked him during life2 for virtues and estimable qualities he had1 and they were many and conspicuous4 ,heaven doth know1 earth doth witness1 angels have recorded1 that he is worthy of praise4 ,therefore1 in no cold and measured terms shall the writer speak of the dear and venerated dead1 ,abram ,j4 ,ryan1 priest and poet -- once magic name1 still revered and possessed of talismanic power4 ,if we cannot crown thee1 ,o child of genius1 with a wreath of justice1 let us1 at least1 endeavor to crown thee with a garland of love1 composed of thy own glorious deeds and achievements4 ,having passed through the usual course of studies in an ecclesiastical seminary with distinction1 ,father ,ryan was duly ordained priest1 and soon afterwards entered upon the active duties of missionary life4 ,but little was heard of him until the breaking out of the late civil war1 when he entered the ,confederate army as a chaplain1 and served in that capacity up to the close of the civil war4 ,he was then stationed at ,nashville1 afterwards at ,clarksville1 ,tenn41 and still later at ,augusta1 ,ga41 where he founded the ,banner of the ,south1 which exercised great influence over the people of that section1 and continued about five years1 when ,father ,ryan was obliged to suspend its publication4 ,he then removed to ,mobile1 ,ala41 where he was appointed pastor of ,st4 ,mary's ,church in #ahgj1 and continued in that position until #ahhc1 when he obtained leave of absence from ,bishop ,quinlan to make an extended lecture tour of the country to further a praiseworthy and charitable undertaking of great interest to the ,south4 ,bishop ,quinlan having died soon afterwards1 ,father ,ryan's leave was extended by his successor1 ,bishop ,manucy4 ,it was whilst engaged in this mission that ,father ,ryan received his death summons4 ,during all these changes and journeyings1 the busy brain of ,father ,ryan was incessantly employed1 expending itself in composing those immortal poems which have won their way to all hearts and elicited widespread and unmeasured praise from critics of the highest repute4 ,like all true poets1 ,father ,ryan touched the tenderest chords of the human heart1 and made them respond to his own lofty feelings and sublime inspirations4 ,of his priestly character but little need be said4 ,his superiors and those whom he served know best how well and faithfully he discharged the sometimes severe and always onerous and responsible duties of his sacred calling4 ,the merit of his life-work is now the measure of his reward4 ,as he had in view only ,god's honor and glory1 and the good of his fellow-men1 and directed his labors and employed his talents to promote these ends1 may we not hope that a merciful ,judge has given him a recompense in excess of his deserts1 since1 in the bountifulness of ,his liberality1 ,he is wont to bestow a reward exceeding our merits8 ,but it is not claimed that ,father ,ryan was without fault4 ,this would be attributing to him angelic nature or equivalent perfection1 against which1 were he living1 he would be the first to protest4 ,he needs no such fulsome or exaggerated praise4 ,he was a man1 though not cast in the common mould1 and as such let us view him4 ,doubtless he had his faults1 and perhaps not a few2 for the best of men are only the least sinful4 ,but as far as is known1 he had no serious defects or blemishes that would mar the beauty or disturb the harmonious grandeur of his character in its entirety4 ,had his heart been cold and selfish1 or his thoughts defiled with the sordid cares of earth1 he never could have sung so sweetly or soared so sublimely into those serene and heavenly regions whither his chaste fancy led him4 ,he delighted to roam in those far-off regions beyond the skies1 whose spheres are ruled and whose realms are governed by those mysterious laws which have their fountain source in ,god1 and whose operations are controlled by the exercise of ,his infinite power and love4 ,his defects1 then1 did not seriously impair the integrity of his virtues1 which were many and solid4 ,chief amongst his virtues may be named his zeal for the honor and glory of ,god1 and devotion to the ,mother of ,god -- the latter the necessary outgrowth of the former4 ,the deep and earnest piety of ,father ,ryan towards his ,queen and ,patroness1 as he loved to call her1 bespeaks much in his praise2 for1 like all truly great men of the ,catholic ,church1 he saw that it was not only eminently proper1 but also a sublime act of ,christian duty1 to pay filial reverence and honor to the ,mother of ,god4 ,hence ,father ,ryan crowned ,mary with many gems of rare beauty4 ,amongst them may be named his beautiful poem ,last of ,may1 dedicated to the ,children of ,mary1 of the ,cathedral of ,mobile1 ,ala4 ,few ,catholics will read these lines without experiencing feelings of deep and tender devotion towards their ,queen and ,mother4 ,father ,ryan's was an open1 manly character1 in which there was no dissimulation4 ,his generous nature and warm heart were ever moved by kind impulses and influenced by charitable feelings1 as became his priestly calling4 ,we may readily believe him when he tells us that he never wrote a line for hate's sake4 ,he shrank instinctively from all that was mean and sordid4 ,generosity was a marked trait of his character1 an ennobling principle of his nature1 the motive power of his actions1 and the mainspring of his life4 ,friendship was likewise congenial to his taste1 if not a necessity of his nature2 and with him it meant more than a name4 ,it was a sacred union formed between kindred spirits -- a chain of affection whose binding link was fidelity4 ,never was he false to its claims1 nor known to have violated its obligations4 ,hence he was highly esteemed during life by numerous persons of all classes and denominations2 for his sympathies were as broad as humanity1 and as far-reaching as its wants and its miseries4 ,yet he was a man of deep conviction and a strict adherent to principle1 or what he conceived to be principle2 for we find him long after the war still clinging to its memories1 and slow to accept its results1 which he believed were fraught with disaster to the people of his section4 ,a ,southerner of the most pronounced kind1 he was unwilling to make any concession to his victorious opponents of the ,north which could be withheld from them4 ,perhaps1 upon reflection1 it may not appear wholly strange or inexplicable that he should have so acted4 ,there was1 at least1 some foundation for his fears with regard to the ill fate of those of his section4 ,though peace had been proclaimed1 the rainbow of hope did not encircle the heavens or cast its peaceful shadow over the ,south4 ,dark clouds loomed up over that fair and sunny land1 portentous of evil2 for they were surcharged with the lightning of passion4 ,the chariot wheel of the conqueror had laid waste and desolate the land4 ,no one knew precisely what would follow2 for passion's dark spirit was abroad and ruling in high places4 ,to make matters worse and intensify the sufferings of the people still more1 they were debarred from participating in the political affairs of their own ,states4 ,non-residents1 and aliens in sympathy and common interest1 were appointed to rule over them1 if not to oppress them4 ,is it to be wondered at if some refused to bow and kiss the hands that were uplifted against them8 ,among such was ,father ,ryan4 ,all honor to the man and those who stood by him6 ,instead of attempting to cast obloquy upon their memory1 we should do them honor for having maintained in its integrity the dignity of the manhood with which heaven had blessed them1 when earth had deprived them of all else that was dear and sacred to brave and honorable men6 ,but how differently ,father ,ryan acted when the oppressed people of the ,south were restored to their rights1 and when the great heart of the ,north went out in sympathy towards them in their dire affliction during the awful visitation of the yellow fever1 when death reaped a rich harvest in ,memphis and elsewhere1 and a sorrow-stricken land was once more buried in ruin and desolation6 ,it was then1 indeed1 that ,father ,ryan and all good men beheld the grand spectacle of the whole ,north coming to the rescue of the afflicted ,south with intense and sublime admiration4 ,he then saw for certain the rainbow of peace span the heavens2 and though his section was wailing under the hand of affliction1 he yet took down his harp1 which for years had hung on the weeping willows of his much-loved ,south1 and1 with renewed vigor and strength of heart1 again touched its chords and drew forth in rich tones and glorious melodies his grand poem1 ,reunited4 ,then it was that the star of peace shone out in the heavens1 resplendent with the brightness and purity of love1 and dispelled the dark and foul spirit of hate which had poisoned the air and polluted the soil of free ,columbia4 ,then1 too1 the angel of affliction and the angel of charity joined hands together and pronounced the benediction over a restored ,union and a reunited people4 ,before proceeding to speak of ,father ,ryan's poems1 a few observations upon poets and poetry in general may not be deemed inappropriate4 ,to speak of poets and their merits is by no means an easy matter1 even where one is in every respect fitted to pronounce critical judgment4 ,it requires rare qualifications for such a task2 a wide range of information2 extensive knowledge of the various authors2 a keen sense of justice2 a fine sense of appreciation of the merits and demerits of each1 and a rare power of discrimination4 ,these are qualifications seldom combined in a single person4 ,hence so few competent critics are to be found4 ,the writer does not claim to possess all or any one of these powers in as eminent degree as would fit him for the work of passing judicious criticism upon the various authors and their works -- or1 indeed1 any single one of them4 ,what he will venture to say1 therefore1 is by way of preface to the remarks which he is called upon to offer upon the merits of the particular poet whose productions he is specially called upon to consider4 ,of poets it may be said1 that they are not like other men1 though invested with similar qualities and characteristics4 ,they differ in this3 ,that they are not cold and calculating in their speech2 they do not analyze and weigh their words with the same precision2 nor are they always master of their feelings4 ,possessed of the subtle power of genius1 which no mortal can describe1 though all may experience its potent influence1 they cannot be confined within the narrow limits assigned to others less gifted1 nor subjected to fixed methods or unvarying processes of mental action4 ,no2 poets must roam in broader fields1 amidst brighter prospects and more elevated surroundings4 ,they must be left to themselves1 to go where they choose1 and evolve their thoughts according to their own ways and fancies2 for ways and fancies they have which are peculiar to themselves and must be indulged4 ,genius is ever wont to be odd1 in the sense that it does not and cannot be made to move in common ruts and channels4 ,this is especially true of poetic genius1 whose life may be said to depend upon the purity of its inspirations and the breadth and character of its surroundings4 ,much has been said1 and deservedly1 in favor of the great poets of antiquity4 ,unmeasured praise has been bestowed upon the epic grandeur of ,homer and the classical purity of ,virgil4 ,they have ever been considered as foremost amongst the best models of poetic excellence4 ,yet there was wanting to them the true sources of poetic inspiration1 whence flow the loftiest conceptions and sublimest emanations of genius4 ,homer never rose above the summit of ,olympus1 nor ,virgil above the level of pagan subjects and surroundings4 ,therefore they cannot be properly regarded as the highest and best models1 certainly not the safest for ,christians1 who can feast their eyes and fill their minds and hearts with more perfect models and more sublime subjects4 ,the sight of ,sinai1 where ,jehovah1 the ,god of ,israel1 is veiled in the awful splendor of ,his ,majesty1 whilst his voice is heard in the loud war and fierce thunderings amongst the clouds1 as the lightnings crown its summit1 is far more grand and imposing1 more sublime and inspiring1 than are those subjects presented to us by pagan authors1 however refined and elegant may be the language employed to convey their thoughts and depict their scenes4 ,wherefore1 the ,biblical narratives furnish the highest and best models and the richest sources of poetic inspiration2 and all great poets have had recourse to those ever-living fountains to learn the secret of elevating our hearts1 ennobling our affections1 and finding subjects worthy of their genius4 ,the writer would not care to assert that ,father ,ryan's poems possess the majestic grandeur and elaborate finish of the great masters1 whose productions have withstood the severe criticism of ages1 and still stand as the highest models of poetic excellence4 ,his style is not that of ,milton1 who soared aloft into the eternal mansions and opened their portals to our astonished and admiring gaze1 picturing to us ,god in ,his first frown and man in his first prevarication4 ,nor is it that of ,shakespeare1 whose deep and subtle mind fathomed the dark abysses of the human heart1 and laid bare and naked the varied doings of mankind6 ,nor is it1 least of all1 that of ,dante1 who1 with even greater boldness than ,milton1 plunged into the impenetrable depths of the infernal regions1 whose appalling misery and never-ending woe he has described in words of fearful and awe-inspiring grandeur4 ,neither is his style like unto that of any one of the several leading ,american poets1 so far as their works are known to the writer1 though some have said that his style resembles that of the highly gifted and lamented ,poe4 ,the writer will not undertake to say what place ,father ,ryan will occupy in the ,temple of ,fame1 though he believes that an enlightened public sentiment would accord to him a high position4 ,the chief merits of his poems would seem to be the simple sublimity of his verses2 the rare and chaste beauty of his conceptions2 the richness and grandeur of his thoughts1 and their easy1 natural flow2 the refined elegance and captivating force of the terms he employs as the medium through which he communicates those thoughts and the weird fancy which throws around them charms peculiarly their own4 ,these1 and perhaps other merits1 will win for their author enduring fame4 ,for the future of ,father ,ryan's poems we need have no fears4 ,they will pass down through the ages bearing the stamp of genius1 impressed with the majesty of truth1 replete with the power and grandeur of love2 these are the purest sources of poetic inspiration2 for both are attributes of the ,divinity4 ,strip poetry of these1 and nothing remains but its mutilated relics and soulless body2 it becomes robbed of its highest glory and its most enduring qualities4 ,though the ,south may claim ,father ,ryan as her son of genius1 whose heart beat in sympathy with her hopes and her aspirations and of whose productions she may well feel proud1 yet no section owns him1 since he belongs to our common country1 and in a certain sense to mankind1 for the fame of genius is not controlled by sections or circumscribed within limits2 it extends beyond the confines of earth -- yea1 unto eternity itself6 ,it is proper to regard him in this light as the heritage of the nation1 for in the nation's keeping his fame will be secure and appropriately perpetuated4 ,all sections will unite in doing honor to his memory1 which is associated with grand intellectual triumphs1 won by the union of the highest gifts of the ,creator -- the union of religion and poetic genius2 the former the source and inspiration of the latter4 ,father ,ryan also wrote several works of prose1 chief amongst which is that entitled1 ,a ,crown for ,our ,queen4 ,like his poem1 ,last of ,may1 this book was intended as a loving tribute to ,mary1 the ,mother of ,god1 whom he wished to honor as the highest type and grandest embodiment of womanhood4 ,if ,father ,ryan failed to make this work worthy of the exalted subject -- an opinion by no means expressed -- it was not from any lack of good-will and earnest purpose on his part4 ,with him tender affection for the ,queen of ,heaven was a pure and holy sentiment1 a sublime1 and ennobling act of piety4 ,he saw in her lofty and immaculate beauty the true ideal of woman2 and this explains the deep reverence and delicate sentiment of respect and sympathy which he exhibited towards all women4 ,poetical sentiment and religious feeling he thus happily blended1 as they should ever be1 directing and influencing man's action in his relations and intercourse with woman4 ,three essentially poetical sentiments exist in man1 says a distinguished writer3 ,the love of ,god1 the love of woman1 and the love of country -- the religious1 the human1 and the political sentiment4 ,for this reason1 continues the same writer1 wherever the knowledge of ,god is darkened1 wherever the face of woman is veiled1 wherever the people are captive or enslaved1 there poetry is like a flame which1 for want of fuel1 exhausts itself and dies out4 ,on the contrary1 wherever ,god reigns upon ,his throne in all the majesty of ,his glory1 wherever woman rules by the irresistible power of her enchantments1 wherever the people are free1 there poetry has modest roses for the woman1 glorious palms for the people1 and splendid wings with which to mount up to the loftiest regions of heaven4 ,father ,ryan also won distinction as an orator1 a lecturer1 and an essayist1 having contributed to several of the leading journals and magazines of the country4 ,his oratory was not of the cold and unimpassioned kind which falls upon the ears but fails to make an impression on the heart4 ,he did not lose sight of the fact that the chief end and aim of oratory is to arouse men to a sense of duty1 deter them from the commission of evil1 and inspire them with high and holy purposes and noble1 generous resolves1 the accomplishment of which demands that the living1 breathing spirit or soul should be infused into the words4 ,though the unction of divine charity can alone give efficacy to man's words1 yet man must not appear to be devoid of those qualities and attributes which contribute towards making a lasting impression upon the minds and hearts of those whose interests are presumed to be dear to him4 ,this was the spirit that animated ,father ,ryan1 and all his efforts were directed towards the accomplishment of the objects stated4 ,it is not claimed that all his discourses were up to the highest standard of literary excellence1 or above the test of exact criticism4 ,some of his efforts did not bear evidence of deep thought or careful and exhaustive preparation1 but all exhibited warmth of soul and earnestness of purpose4 ,it may be well to remark in connection with this1 that ,father ,ryan's health for many years was such that it would not permit of his engaging in laborious mental work4 ,and yet he labored much and spoke often2 for his zeal and mental activity were greatly in excess of his strength4 ,had his physical powers corresponded to his rare mental endowments1 the value of his productions -- great as it now is -- would have been enhanced4 ,the marvel is that he was able to sustain those powers of mind which marked him up to the time of his death4 ,though he had been ailing for years1 as has been stated1 yet his wonderful energy of mind made it appear to many that there was no immediate danger of his life4 ,when the end came it was a surprise to all1 even himself4 ,to him let us hope that it was not unprovided for4 ,we have the gratifying assurance that it was not so2 for we are told that he had retired into a ,franciscan monastery in ,louisville1 ,ky41 to make a retreat1 intending1 at its close1 to finish a ,life of ,christ1 on which he was engaged1 or purposed to undertake4 ,little did he think1 apparently at least1 that the ,angel of ,death pursued him and would soon deliver the final message to him4 ,he did not fear the end4 ,why should he8 ,death has no terrors for the truly ,christian soul4 ,it is not the end1 but the beginning of life2 not the destroyer1 but the restorer of our rights -- that which puts us in possession of our eternal home in heaven4 ,therefore he was not gloomy nor despondent at the sight of the grave4 ,he saw beyond it the glorious sunshine of ,god's presence and the cheering prospect of his love4 ,the final moment at last came and found him prepared4 ,on the #bc;d of ,april1 #ahhf1 the soul of ,abram ,j4 ,ryan1 priest and poet1 beloved of all who knew him1 passed quietly away1 let us hope1 from earth to heaven1 there to sing the glorious songs whose melodies are attuned to the harps of angels1 and whose mysterious harmonies ravish with delight the pure souls of the just4 ,as the setting sun on a calm eve sinks beneath the horizon1 gilding the heavens with its mild yet gorgeous splendor1 so did the grand soul of ,father ,ryan pass into eternity1 leaving behind the bright light of his genius and virtues -- the one to illumine the firmament of literature1 and the other to serve as a shining example to men4 ,here the writer would end this imperfect tribute to a truly great character1 did he not wish to remind the reader that he must not regard it as an entire portrait of the illustrious dead1 though he has tried to present him clothed with some1 at least1 of the attributes and qualities which marked him during life4 ,the failure1 if such it be1 must be ascribed to his own want of skill and ability rather than to any lack of merit in the subject4 ,if he has not invested him with the panoply of his greatness1 he has endeavored to strew some flowers over his grave2 and these are love's purest and best offering1 which1 were he living1 would be most acceptable to the heart of the poet2 for love it was that inspired its tenderest promptings and holiest feelings and consecrated them to its ennobling influence4 ,another thought1 and the writer will bring his remarks to a close4 ,this thought will be borrowed from the dead priest's poem1 ,reunited1 to suggest a sentiment in response to his prayer for a union of all sections -- a sentiment which cannot fail to meet a ready and generous acceptance on the part of all true lovers of liberty4 ,the thought is embodied in the following words1 which take the form of an appeal3 ,let all hearts join in the wish that the valor displayed and the sacrifices endured on both sides during the late civil war may henceforth unite all sections of our common country more closely in the bonds of fraternal affection1 and cement more firmly the foundations of our political superstructure1 now so vast and imposing1 thus serving as a guaranty for the stability1 permanence1 and enduring greatness of the ,republic6 ,thus will we respond to the prayer of the dead priest1 whose poem1 the ,lost ,cause1 and song of ,the ,conquered ,banner1 will mingle harmoniously with the soft1 earnest words and sweet1 placid tones of his peaceful ,reunited4 ,so the songs of the dead poet will be music to the living until time shall be no more6 ,washington1 ,d4,c4 ,poems3 ,patriotic1 ,religious1 ,miscellaneous4 ,song of the ,mystic ,i walk down the ,valley of ,silence -- ,down the dim1 voiceless valley -- alone6 ,and ,i hear not the fall of a footstep ,around me1 save ,god's and my own2 ,and the hush of my heart is as holy ,as hovers where angels have flown6 ,long ago was ,i weary of voices ,whose music my heart could not win2 ,long ago was ,i weary of noises ,that fretted my soul with their din2 ,long ago was ,i weary of places ,where ,i met but the human -- and sin4 ,i walked in the world with the worldly2 ,i craved what the world never gave2 ,and ,i said3 ,in the world each ,ideal1 ,that shines like a star on life's wave1 ,is wrecked on the shores of the ,real1 ,and sleeps like a dream in a grave4 ,and still did ,i pine for the ,perfect1 ,and still found the ,false with the ,true2 ,i sought 'mid the ,human for ,heaven1 ,but caught a mere glimpse of its ,blue3 ,and ,i wept when the clouds of the ,mortal ,veiled even that glimpse from my view4 ,and ,i toiled on1 heart-tired1 of the ,human1 ,and ,i moaned 'mid the mazes of men1 ,till ,i knelt1 long ago1 at an altar ,and ,i heard a voice call me4 ,since then ,i walk down the ,valley of ,silence ,that lies far beyond mortal ken4 ,do you ask what ,i found in the ,valley8 ',tis my ,trysting ,place with the ,divine4 ,and ,i fell at the feet of the ,holy1 ,and above me a voice said3 ,be mine4 ,and there arose from the depths of my spirit ,an echo -- ,my heart shall be ,thine4 ,do you ask how ,i live in the ,valley8 ,i weep -- and ,i dream -- and ,i pray4 ,but my tears are as sweet as the dewdrops ,that fall on the roses in ,may2 ,and my prayer1 like a perfume from censers1 ,ascendeth to ,god night and day4 ,in the hush of the ,valley of ,silence ,i dream all the songs that ,i sing2 ,and the music floats down the dim ,valley1 ,till each finds a word for a wing1 ,that to hearts1 like the ,dove of the ,deluge1 ,a message of ,peace they may bring4 ,but far on the deep there are billows ,that never shall break on the beach2 ,and ,i have heard songs in the ,silence ,that never shall float into speech2 ,and ,i have had dreams in the ,valley ,too lofty for language to reach4 ,and ,i have seen ,thoughts in the ,valley -- ,ah6 me1 how my spirit was stirred6 ,and they wear holy veils on their faces1 ,their footsteps can scarcely be heard2 ,they pass through the ,valley like virgins1 ,too pure for the touch of a word6 ,do you ask me the place of the ,valley1 ,ye hearts that are harrowed by ,care8 ,it lieth afar between mountains1 ,and ,god and ,his angels are there3 ,and one is the dark mount of ,sorrow1 ,and one the bright mountain of ,prayer4 ,reverie ,only a few more years6 ,only a few more years6 ,weary years6 ,only a few more tears6 ,bitter tears6 ,and then -- and then -- like other men1 ,i cease to wander1 cease to weep1 ,dim shadows o'er my way shall creep2 ,and out of the day and into the night1 ,into the dark and out of the bright ,i go1 and ,death shall veil my face1 ,the feet of the years shall fast efface ,my very name1 and every trace ,i leave on earth2 for the stern years tread -- ,tread out the names of the gone and dead6 ,and then1 ah6 then1 like other men1 ,i close my eyes and go to sleep1 ,only a few1 one hour1 shall weep3 ,ah6 me1 the grave is dark and deep6 ,alas6 ,alas6 ,how soon we pass6 ,and ah6 we go ,so far away2 ,when go we must1 ,from the light of ,life1 and the heat of strife1 ,to the peace of ,death1 and the cold1 still dust1 ,we go -- we go -- we may not stay1 ,we travel the lone1 dark1 dreary way2 ,out of the day and into the night1 ,into the darkness1 out of the bright4 ,and then1 ah6 then1 like other men1 ,we close our eyes and go to sleep2 ,we hush our hearts and go to sleep2 ,only a few1 one hour1 shall weep3 ,ah6 me1 the grave is lone and deep6 ,i saw a flower1 at morn1 so fair2 ,i passed at eve1 it was not there4 ,i saw a sunbeam1 golden bright1 ,i saw a cloud the sunbeam's shroud1 ,and ,i saw night ,digging the grave of day2 ,and day took off her golden crown1 ,and flung it sorrowfully down4 ,ah6 day1 the ,sun's fair bride6 ,at twilight moaned and died4 ,and so1 alas6 like day we pass3 ,at morn we smile1 ,at eve we weep1 ,at morn we wake1 ,in night we sleep4 ,we close our eyes and go to sleep3 ,ah6 me1 the grave is still and deep6 ,but ,god is sweet4 ,my mother told me so1 ,when ,i knelt at her feet ,long -- so long -- ago2 ,she clasped my hands in hers4 ,ah6 me1 that memory stirs ,my soul's profoundest deep -- ,no wonder that ,i weep4 ,she clasped my hands and smiled1 ,ah6 then ,i was a child -- ,i knew not harm -- ,my mother's arm ,was flung around me2 and ,i felt ,that when ,i knelt ,to listen to my mother's prayer1 ,god was with my mother there4 ,yea6 ,god is sweet6 ,she told me so2 ,she never told me wrong2 ,and through my years of woe ,her whispers soft1 and sad1 and low1 ,and sweet as ,angel's song1 ,have floated like a dream4 ,and1 ah6 to-night ,i seem ,a very child in my old1 old place1 ,beneath my mother's blessed face1 ,and through each sweet remembered word1 ,this sweetest undertone is heard3 ,my child6 my child6 our ,god is sweet1 ,in ,life -- in ,death -- kneel at his feet -- ,sweet in gladness1 sweet in gloom1 ,sweeter still beside the tomb4 ,why should ,i wail8 ,why ought ,i weep8 ,the grave -- it is not dark and deep2 ,why should ,i sigh8 ,why ought ,i moan8 ,the grave -- it is not still and lone2 ,our ,god is sweet1 our grave is sweet1 ,we lie there sleeping at ,his feet1 ,where the wicked shall from troubling cease1 ,and weary hearts shall rest in peace6 ,lines -- #ahge ,go down where the wavelets are kissing the shore1 ,and ask of them why do they sigh8 ,the poets have asked them a thousand times o'er1 ,but they're kissing the shore as they kissed it before1 ,and they're sighing to-day1 and they'll sigh evermore4 ,ask them what ails them3 they will not reply2 ,but they'll sigh on forever and never tell why6 ,why does your poetry sound like a sigh8 ,the waves will not answer you2 neither shall ,i4 ,go stand on the beach of the blue boundless deep1 ,when the night stars are gleaming on high1 ,and hear how the billows are moaning in sleep1 ,on the low lying strand by the surge-beaten steep4 ,they're moaning forever wherever they sweep4 ,ask them what ails them3 they never reply2 ,they moan1 and so sadly1 but will not tell why ,why does your poetry sound like a sigh8 ,the waves will not answer you2 neither shall ,i4 ,go list to the breeze at the waning of day1 ,when it passes and murmurs ,good-bye4 ,the dear little breeze -- how it wishes to stay ,where the flowers are in bloom1 where the singing birds play2 ,how it sighs when it flies on its wearisome way4 ,ask it what ails it3 it will not reply2 ,its voice is a sad one1 it never told why4 ,why does your poetry sound like a sigh8 ,the breeze will not answer you2 neither shall ,i4 ,go watch the wild blasts as they spring from their lair1 ,when the shout of the storm rends the sky2 ,they rush o'er the earth and they ride thro' the air ,and they blight with their breath all the lovely and fair1 ,and they groan like the ghosts in the land of despair4 ,ask them what ails them3 they never reply2 ,their voices are mournful1 they will not tell why4 ,why does your poetry sound like a sigh8 ,the blasts will not answer you2 neither shall ,i4 ,go stand on the rivulet's lily-fringed side1 ,or list where the rivers rush by2 ,the streamlets which forest trees shadow and hide1 ,and the rivers that roll in their oceanward tide1 ,are moaning forever wherever they glide2 ,ask them what ails them3 they will not reply4 ,on -- sad voiced -- they flow1 but they never tell why4 ,why does your poetry sound like a sigh8 ,earth's streams will not answer you2 neither shall ,i4 ,go list to the voices of air1 earth and sea1 ,and the voices that sound in the sky2 ,their songs may be joyful to some1 but to me ,there's a sigh in each chord and a sigh in each key1 ,and thousands of sighs swell their grand melody4 ,ask them what ails them3 they will not reply4 ,they sigh -- sigh forever -- but never tell why4 ,why does your poetry sound like a sigh8 ,their lips will not answer you2 neither shall ,i4 ,a ,memory ,one bright memory shines like a star ,in the sky of my spirit forever2 ,and over my pathway it flashes afar ,a radiance that perishes never4 ,one bright memory -- only one2 ,and ,i walk by the light of its gleaming2 ,it brightens my days1 and when days are done ,it shines in the night o'er my dreaming4 ,one bright memory1 whose golden rays ,illumine the gloom of my sorrows1 ,and ,i know that its lustre will gladden my gaze ,in the shadows of all my to-morrows4 ,one bright memory2 when ,i am sad ,i lift up my eyes to its shining1 ,and the clouds pass away1 and my spirit grows glad1 ,and my heart hushes all its repining4 ,one bright memory2 others have passed ,back into the shadows forever2 ,but it1 far and fair1 bright and true to the last1 ,sheds a light that will pass away never4 ,shine on1 shine always1 thou star of my days6 ,and when ,death's starless night gathers o'er me1 ,beam brighter than ever adown on my gaze1 ,and light the dark valley before me4 ,rhyme ,one idle day -- ,a mile or so of sunlit waves off shore -- ,in a breezeless bay1 ,we listless lay -- ,our boat a dream of rest on the still sea -- ,and -- we were four4 ,the wind had died ,that all day long sang songs unto the deep2 ,it was eventide1 ,and far and wide ,sweet silence crept thro' the rifts of sound ,with spells of sleep4 ,our gray sail cast ,the only cloud that flecked the foamless sea2 ,and weary at last ,beside the mast ,one fell to slumber with a dreamy face1 ,and -- we were three4 ,no ebb6 no flow6 ,no sound6 no stir in the wide1 wondrous calm2 ,in the sunset's glow ,the shore shelved low ,and snow-white1 from far ridges screened with shade ,of drooping palm4 ,our hearts were hushed2 ,all light seemed melting into boundless blue2 ,but the west was flushed ,where sunset blushed1 ,thro' clouds of roses1 when another slept ,and -- we were two4 ,how still the air6 ,not e'en a sea-bird o'er us waveward flew2 ,peace rested there6 ,light everywhere6 ,nay6 ,light6 some shadows fell on that fair scene1 ,and -- we are two4 ,some shadows6 ,where8 ,no matter where6 all shadows are not seen2 ,for clouds of care ,to skies all fair ,will sudden rise as tears to shining eyes1 ,and dim their sheen4 ,we spake no word1 ,tho' each ,i ween did hear the other's soul4 ,not a wavelet stirred1 ,and yet we heard ,the loneliest music of the weariest waves ,that ever roll4 ,yea6 ,peace1 you swayed ,your sceptre jeweled with the evening light2 ,and then you said3 ,here falls no shade1 ,here floats no sound1 and all the seas and skies ,sleep calm and bright4 ,nay6 ,peace1 not so6 ,the wildest waves may feel thy sceptre's spell ,and fear to flow1 ,but to and fro -- ,beyond their reach lone waves on troubled seas ,will sink and swell4 ,no word e'en yet2 ,were our eyes speaking while they watched the sky8 ,and in the sunset ,infinite regret ,swept sighing from the skies into our souls -- ,i wonder why8 ,a half hour passed -- ',twas more than half an age2 'tis ever thus4 ,words came at last1 ,fluttering and fast ,as shadows veiling sunsets in the souls ,of each of us4 ,the noiseless night ,sped flitting like a ghost where waves of blue ,lost all their light1 ,as lips once bright ,whence smiles have fled2 we or the wavelets sighed1 ,and -- we were two4 ,the day had gone3 ,and on the dim1 high altar of the dark1 ,stars1 one by one1 ,far1 faintly shone2 ,the moonlight trembled1 like a mother's smile1 ,upon our bark4 ,we softly spoke3 ,the waves seemed listening on the lonely sea1 ,the winds awoke2 ,our whispers broke ,the spell of silence2 and two eyes unclosed1 ,and -- we were three4 ,the breeze blows fair1 ,he said2 the waking waves set towards the shore4 ,the long brown hair ,of the other there1 ,who slumbered near the mast with dreamy face ,stirred -- we were four4 ,that starry night1 ,a mile or so of shadows from the shore1 ,two faces bright ,with laughter light ,shone on two souls like stars that shine on shrines2 ,and -- we were four4 ,over the reach ,of dazzling waves our boat like wild bird flew2 ,we reached the beach1 ,nor song1 nor speech ,shall ever tell our sacramental thought ,when -- we were two4 ,nocturne ,i sit to-night by the firelight1 ,i sit to-night by the firelight1 ,and ,i look at the glowing flame1 ,and ,i see in the bright red flashes ,a ,heart1 a ,face1 and a ,name4 ,how often have ,i seen pictures ,framed in the firelight's blaze1 ,of hearts1 of names1 and of faces1 ,and scenes of remembered days6 ,how often have ,i found poems ,in the crimson of the coals1 ,and the swaying flames of the firelight ,unrolled such golden scrolls4 ,and my eyes1 they were proud to read them1 ,in letters of living flame1 ,but to-night1 in the fire1 ,i see only ,one ,heart1 one ,face1 and one ,name4 ,but where are the olden pictures8 ,and where are the olden dreams8 ,has a change come over my vision8 ,or over the fire's bright gleams8 ,not over my vision1 surely2 ,my eyes -- they are still the same1 ,that used to find in the firelight ,so many a face and name4 ,not over the firelight1 either1 ,no change in the coals or blaze ,that flicker and flash1 as ruddy ,to-night as in other days4 ,but there must be a change -- ,i feel it4 ,to-night not an old picture came2 ,the fire's bright flames only painted ,one ,heart1 one ,face1 and one ,name4 ,three pictures8 ,no6 only one picture2 ,the ,face belongs to the ,name1 ,and the ,name names the ,heart that is throbbing ,just back of the beautiful flame4 ,who said it1 ,i wonder3 ,all faces ,must fade in the light of but one2 ,the soul1 like the earth1 may have many ,horizons1 but only one sun8 ,who dreamt it8 ,did ,i8 ,if ,i dreamt it ',tis true -- every name passes by ,save one2 the sun wears many cloudlets ,of gold1 but has only one sky4 ,and out of the flames have they faded1 ,the hearts and the faces of yore8 ,have they sunk 'neath the gray of the ashes ,to rise to my vision no more8 ,yes1 surely1 or else ,i would see them ,to-night1 just as bright as of old1 ,in the white of the coal's silver flashes1 ,in the red of the restless flames' gold4 ,do you say ,i am fickle and faithless8 ,else why are the old pictures gone8 ,and why should the visions of many ,melt into the vision of one8 ,nay6 list to the voice of the ,heavens1 ,one ,eternal alone reigns above4 ,is it true8 and all else are but idols1 ,so the heart can have only one love8 ,only one1 all the rest are but idols1 ,that fall from their shrines soon or late1 ,when the ,love that is ,lord of the temple1 ,comes with sceptre and crown to the gate4 ,to be faithless oft means to be faithful1 ,to be false often means to be true2 ,the vale that loves clouds that are golden ,forgets them for skies that are blue4 ,to forget often means to remember ,what we had forgotten too long2 ,the fragrance is not the bright flower1 ,the echo is not the sweet song4 ,am ,i dreaming8 ,no1 there is the firelight1 ,gaze ,i ever so long1 all the same ,i only can see in its glowing ,a ,heart1 a ,face1 and a ,name4 ,farewell6 all ye hearts1 names1 and faces6 ,only ashes now under the blaze1 ,ye never again will smile on me1 ,for ,i'm touching the end of my days4 ,and the beautiful fading firelight ,paints1 now1 with a pencil of flame1 ,three pictures -- yet only one picture -- ,a ,heart1 a ,face1 and a ,name4 ,the ,old ,year and the ,new ,how swift they go1 ,life's many years1 ,with their winds of woe ,and their storms of tears1 ,and their darkest of nights whose shadowy slopes ,are lit with the flashes of starriest hopes1 ,and their sunshiny days in whose calm heavens loom ,the clouds of the tempest -- the shadows of the gloom6 ,and ah6 we pray ,with a grief so drear1 ,that the years may stay ,when their graves are near2 ,tho' the brows of ,to-morrows be radiant and bright1 ,with love and with beauty1 with life and with light1 ,the dead hearts of ,yesterdays1 cold on the bier1 ,to the hearts that survive them1 are evermore dear4 ,for the hearts so true ,to each ,old ,year cleaves2 ,tho' the hand of the ,new ,flowery garlands weaves4 ,but the flowers of the future1 tho' fragrant and fair1 ,with the past's withered leaflets may never compare2 ,for dear is each dead leaf -- and dearer each thorn -- ,in the wreaths which the brows of our past years have worn4 ,yea6 men will cling ,with a love to the last1 ,and wildly fling ,their arms round their past6 ,as the vine that clings to the oak that falls2 ,as the ivy twines round the crumbled walls2 ,for the dust of the past some hearts higher prize ,than the stars that flash out from the future's bright skies4 ,and why not so8 ,the old1 ,old ,years1 ,they knew and they know ,all our hopes and fears2 ,we walked by their side1 and we told them each grief1 ,and they kissed off our tears while they whispered relief2 ,and the stories of hearts that may not be revealed ,in the hearts of the dead years are buried and sealed4 ,let the ,new ,year sing ,at the ,old ,year's grave3 ,will the ,new ,year bring ,what the ,old ,year gave8 ,ah6 the ,stranger-,year trips over the snows1 ,and his brow is wreathed with many a rose3 ,but how many thorns do the roses conceal ,which the roses1 when withered1 shall so soon reveal8 ,let the ,new ,year smile ,when the ,old ,year dies2 ,in how short a while ,shall the smiles be sighs8 ,yea6 ,stranger-,year1 thou hast many a charm1 ,and thy face is fair and thy greeting warm1 ,but1 dearer than thou -- in his shroud of snows -- ,is the furrowed face of the ,year that goes4 ,yea6 bright ,new ,year1 ,o'er all the earth1 ,with song and cheer1 ,they will hail thy birth2 ,they will trust thy words in a single hour1 ,they will love thy face1 they will laud thy power2 ,for the ,new has charms which the ,old has not1 ,and the ,stranger's face makes the ,friend's forgot4 ,erin's ,flag ,unroll ,erin's flag6 fling its folds to the breeze6 ,let it float o'er the land1 let it flash o'er the seas6 ,lift it out of the dust -- let it wave as of yore1 ,when its chiefs with their clans stood around it and swore ,that never6 no1 never6 while ,god gave them life1 ,and they had an arm and a sword for the strife1 ,that never6 no1 never6 that banner should yield ,as long as the heart of a ,celt was its shield3 ,while the hand of a ,celt had a weapon to wield ,and his last drop of blood was unshed on the field4 ,lift it up6 wave it high6 'tis as bright as of old6 ,not a stain on its green1 not a blot on its gold1 ,tho' the woes and the wrongs of three hundred long years ,have drenched ,erin's sunburst with blood and with tears6 ,though the clouds of oppression enshroud it in gloom1 ,and around it the thunders of ,tyranny boom4 ,look aloft6 look aloft6 lo6 the clouds drifting by1 ,there's a gleam through the gloom1 there's a light in the sky1 ',tis the sunburst resplendent -- far1 flashing on high6 ,erin's dark night is waning1 her day-dawn is nigh6 ,lift it up6 lift it up6 the old ,banner of ,green6 ,the blood of its sons has but brightened its sheen2 ,what though the tyrant has trampled it down1 ,are its folds not emblazoned with deeds of renown8 ,what though for ages it droops in the dust1 ,shall it droop thus forever8 ,no1 no6 ,god is just6 ,take it up6 take it up6 from the tyrant's foul tread1 ,let him tear the ,green ,flag -- we will snatch its last shred1 ,and beneath it we'll bleed as our forefathers bled1 ,and we'll vow by the dust in the graves of our dead1 ,and we'll swear by the blood which the ,briton has shed1 ,and we'll vow by the wrecks which through ,erin he spread1 ,and we'll swear by the thousands who1 famished1 unfed1 ,died down in the ditches1 wild-howling for bread2 ,and we'll vow by our heroes1 whose spirits have fled1 ,and we'll swear by the bones in each coffinless bed1 ,that we'll battle the ,briton through danger and dread2 ,that we'll cling to the cause which we glory to wed1 ',til the gleam of our steel and the shock of our lead ,shall prove to our foe that we meant what we said -- ,that we'll lift up the green1 and we'll tear down the red6 ,lift up the ,green ,flag6 oh6 it wants to go home1 ,full long has its lot been to wander and roam1 ,it has followed the fate of its sons o'er the world1 ,but its folds1 like their hopes1 are not faded nor furled2 ,like a weary-winged bird1 to the ,east and the ,west1 ,it has flitted and fled -- but it never shall rest1 ',til1 pluming its pinions1 it sweeps o'er the main1 ,and speeds to the shores of its old home again1 ,where its fetterless folds o'er each mountain and plain ,shall wave with a glory that never shall wane4 ,take it up6 take it up6 bear it back from afar6 ,that banner must blaze 'mid the lightnings of war2 ,lay your hands on its folds1 lift your gaze to the sky1 ,and swear that you'll bear it triumphant or die1 ,and shout to the clans scattered far o'er the earth ,to join in the march to the land of their birth2 ,and wherever the ,exiles1 'neath heaven's broad dome1 ,have been fated to suffer1 to sorrow and roam1 ,they'll bound on the sea1 and away o'er the foam1 ,they'll sail to the music of ,home1 ,sweet ,home6 ,the ,sword of ,robert ,lee ,forth from its scabbard1 pure and bright1 ,flashed the sword of ,lee6 ,far in the front of the deadly fight1 ,high o'er the brave in the cause of ,right1 ,its stainless sheen1 like a beacon light1 ,led us to ,victory6 ,out of its scabbard1 where1 full long1 ,it slumbered peacefully1 ,roused from its rest by the battle's song1 ,shielding the feeble1 smiting the strong1 ,guarding the right1 avenging the wrong1 ,gleamed the sword of ,lee6 ,forth from its scabbard1 high in air ,beneath ,virginia's sky -- ,and they who saw it gleaming there1 ,and knew who bore it1 knelt to swear ,that where that sword led they would dare ,to follow -- and to die6 ,out of its scabbard6 ,never hand ,waved sword from stain as free1 ,nor purer sword led braver band1 ,nor braver bled for a brighter land1 ,nor brighter land had a cause so grand1 ,nor cause a chief like ,lee6 ,forth from its scabbard6 ,how we prayed ,that sword might victor be2 ,and when our triumph was delayed1 ,and many a heart grew sore afraid1 ,we still hoped on while gleamed the blade ,of noble ,robert ,lee6 ,forth from its scabbard all in vain ,bright flashed the sword of ,lee2 ',tis shrouded now in its sheath again1 ,it sleeps the sleep of our noble slain1 ,defeated1 yet without a stain1 ,proudly and peacefully6 ,life ,a baby played with the surplice sleeve ,of a gentle priest2 while in accents low1 ,the sponsors murmured the grand ,i believe1 ,and the priest bade the mystic waters to flow ,in the name of the ,father1 and the ,son1 ,and ,holy ,spirit -- ,three in ,one4 ,spotless as a lily's leaf1 ,whiter than the ,christmas snow2 ,not a sign of sin or grief1 ,and the babe laughed1 sweet and low4 ,a smile flitted over the baby's face3 ,or was it the gleam of its angel's wing ,just passing then1 and leaving a trace ,of its presence as it soared to sing8 ,a hymn when words and waters win ,to grace and life a child of sin4 ,not an outward sign or token1 ,that a child was saved from woe2 ,but the bonds of sin were broken1 ,and the babe laughed1 sweet and low4 ,a cloud rose up to the mother's eyes1 ,and out of the cloud grief's rain fell fast2 ,came the baby's smiles1 and the mother's sighs1 ,out of the future1 or the past8 ,ah6 gleam and gloom must ever meet1 ,and gall must mingle with the sweet4 ,yea1 upon the baby's laughter ,trickled tears3 'tis ever so -- ,mothers dread the dark hereafter2 ,but the babe laughed sweet and low4 ,and the years like waves broke on the shore ,of the mother's heart1 and her baby's life2 ,but her lone heart drifted away before ,her little boy knew an hour of strife2 ,drifted away on a ,summer's eve1 ,ere the orphaned child knew how to grieve ,her humble grave was gently made ,where roses bloomed in ,summer's glow2 ,the wild birds sang where her heart was laid1 ,and her boy laughed sweet and low4 ,he drifted away from his mother's grave1 ,like a fragile flower on a great stream's tide1 ,till he heard the moan of the mighty wave1 ,that welcomed the stream to the ocean wide4 ,out from the shore and over the deep1 ,he sailed away and learned to weep4 ,furrowed grew the face once fair1 ,under storms of human woe2 ,silvered grew the dark brown hair1 ,and he wailed so sad and low4 ,the years swept on as erst they swept1 ,bright wavelets once1 dark billows now2 ,wherever he sailed he ever wept1 ,a cloud hung over the darkened brow -- ,over the deep and into the dark1 ,but no one knew where sank his bark4 ,wild roses watched his mother's tomb1 ,the world still laughed1 'tis ever so -- ,god only knows the baby's doom1 ,that laughed so sweet and low4 ,a ,laugh -- and ,a ,moan ,the brook that down the valley ,so musically drips1 ,flowed never half so brightly ,as the light laugh from her lips4 ,her face was like the lily1 ,her heart was like the rose1 ,her eyes were like a heaven ,where the sunlight always glows4 ,she trod the earth so lightly ,her feet touched not a thorn2 ,her words wore all the brightness ,of a young life's happy morn4 ,along her laughter rippled ,the melody of joy2 ,she drank from every chalice1 ,and tasted no alloy4 ,her life was all a laughter1 ,her days were all a smile1 ,her heart was pure and happy1 ,she knew not gloom nor guile4 ,she rested on the bosom ,of her mother1 like a flower ,that blooms far in a valley ,where no storm-clouds ever lower4 ,and -- ,merry1 merry1 merry6 ,rang the bells of every hour1 ,and -- ,happy1 happy1 happy6 ,in her valley laughed the flower4 ,there was not a sign of shadow1 ,there was not a tear nor thorn1 ,and the sweet voice of her laughter ,filled with melody the morn4 99 99 99 99 99 ,years passed -- 'twas long1 long after1 ,and ,i saw a face at prayer2 ,there was not a sign of laughter1 ,there was every sign of care4 ,for the sunshine all had faded ,from the valley and the flower1 ,and the once fair face was shaded ,in life's lonely evening hour4 ,and the lips that smiled with laughter ,in the valley of the morn1 ,in the valley of the evening ,they were pale and sorrow-worn4 ,and ,i read the old1 old lesson ,in her face and in her tears1 ,while she sighed amid the shadows ,of the sunset of her years4 ,all the rippling streams of laughter ,from our hearts and lips that flow1 ,shall be frozen1 cold years after1 ,into icicles of woe4 ,in ,memory of ,my ,brother ,young as the youngest who donned the ,gray1 ,true as the truest that wore it1 ,brave as the bravest he marched away1 7,hot tears on the cheeks of his mother lay7 ,triumphant waved our flag one day -- ,he fell in the front before it4 ,firm as the firmest1 where duty led1 ,he hurried without a falter2 ,bold as the boldest he fought and bled1 ,and the day was won -- but the field was red -- ,and the blood of his fresh young heart was shed ,on his country's hallowed altar4 ,on the trampled breast of the battle plain ,where the foremost ranks had wrestled1 ,on his pale1 pure face not a mark of pain1 7,his mother dreams they will meet again7 ,the fairest form amid all the slain1 ,like a child asleep he nestled4 ,in the solemn shades of the wood that swept ,the field where his comrades found him1 ,they buried him there -- and the big tears crept ,into strong men's eyes that had seldom wept4 7,his mother -- ,god pity her -- smiled and slept1 ,dreaming her arms were around him47 ,a grave in the woods with the grass o'ergrown1 ,a grave in the heart of his mother -- ,his clay in the one lies lifeless and lone2 ,there is not a name1 there is not a stone1 ,and only the voice of the winds maketh moan ,o'er the grave where never a flower is strewn ,but -- his memory lives in the other4 ,out of the ,depths ,lost6 ,lost6 ,lost6 ,the cry went up from a sea -- ,the waves were wild with an awful wrath1 ,not a light shone down on the lone ship's path2 ,the clouds hung low3 ,lost6 ,lost6 ,lost6 ,rose wild from the hearts of the tempest-tossed4 ,lost6 ,lost6 ,lost6 ,the cry floated over the waves -- ,far over the pitiless waves2 ,it smote on the dark and it rended the clouds2 ,the billows below them were weaving white shrouds ,out of the foam of the surge1 ,and the wind-voices chanted a dirge3 ,lost6 ,lost6 ,lost6 ,wailed wilder the lips of the tempest-tossed4 ,lost6 ,lost6 ,lost6 ,not the sign of a hope was nigh1 ,in the sea1 in the air1 or the sky2 ,and the lifted faces were wan and white1 ,there was nothing without them but storm and night ,and nothing within but fear4 ,but far to a ,father's ear3 ,lost6 ,lost6 ,lost6 ,floated the wail of the tempest-tossed4 ,lost6 ,lost6 ,lost6 ,out of the depths of the sea -- ,out of the night and the sea2 ,and the waves and the winds of the storm were hushed1 ,and the sky with the gleams of the stars was flushed4 ,saved6 ,saved6 ,saved6 ,and a calm and a joyous cry ,floated up through the starry sky1 ,in the dark -- in the storm -- ,our ,father is nigh4 ,a ,thought ,the summer rose the sun has flushed ,with crimson glory may be sweet2 ',tis sweeter when its leaves are crushed ,beneath the wind's and tempest's feet4 ,the rose that waves upon its tree1 ,in life sheds perfume all around2 ,more sweet the perfume floats to me ,of roses trampled on the ground4 ,the waving rose with every breath ,scents carelessly the summer air2 ,the wounded rose bleeds forth in death ,a sweetness far more rich and rare4 ,it is a truth beyond our ken -- ,and yet a truth that all may read -- ,it is with roses as with men1 ,the sweetest hearts are those that bleed4 ,the flower which ,bethlehem saw bloom ,out of a heart all full of grace1 ,gave never forth its full perfume ,until the cross became its vase4 ,march of the ,deathless ,dead ,gather the sacred dust ,of the warriors tried and true1 ,who bore the flag of a ,nation's trust ,and fell in a cause1 though lost1 still just1 ,and died for me and you4 ,gather them one and all1 ,from the private to the chief2 ,come they from hovel or princely hall1 ,they fell for us1 and for them should fall ,the tears of a ,nation's grief4 ,gather the corpses strewn ,o'er many a battle plain2 ,from many a grave that lies so lone1 ,without a name and without a stone1 ,gather the ,southern slain4 ,we care not whence they came1 ,dear in their lifeless clay6 ,whether unknown1 or known to fame1 ,their cause and country still the same2 ,they died -- and wore the ,gray4 ,wherever the brave have died1 ,they should not rest apart2 ,living1 they struggled side by side1 ,why should the hand of ,death divide ,a single heart from heart8 ,gather their scattered clay1 ,wherever it may rest2 ,just as they marched to the bloody fray1 ,just as they fell on the battle day1 ,bury them1 breast to breast4 ,the foeman need not dread ,this gathering of the brave2 ,without sword or flag1 and with soundless tread1 ,we muster once more our deathless dead1 ,out of each lonely grave4 ,the foeman need not frown1 ,they all are powerless now2 ,we gather them here and we lay them down1 ,and tears and prayers are the only crown ,we bring to wreathe each brow4 ,and the dead thus meet the dead1 ,while the living o'er them weep2 ,and the men by ,lee and ,stonewall led1 ,and the hearts that once together bled1 ,together still shall sleep4 ,reunited ,written after the yellow fever epidemic of #ahgh4 ,purer than thy own white snow1 ,nobler than thy mountains' height2 ,deeper than the ocean's flow1 ,stronger than thy own proud might2 ,o ,northland6 to thy sister land1 ,was late thy mercy's generous deed and grand4 ,nigh twice ten years the sword was sheathed3 ,its mist of green o'er battle plain ,for nigh two decades ,spring had breathed2 ,and yet the crimson life-blood stain ,from passive swards had never paled1 ,nor fields1 where all were brave and some had failed4 ,between the ,northland1 bride of snow1 ,and ,southland1 brightest sun's fair bride1 ,swept1 deepening ever in its flow1 ,the stormy wake1 in war's dark tide3 ,no hand might clasp across the tears ,and blood and anguish of four deathless years4 ,when ,summer1 like a rose in bloom1 ,had blossomed from the bud of ,spring1 ,oh6 who could deem the dews of doom ,upon the blushing lips could cling8 ,and who could believe its fragrant light ,would e'er be freighted with the breath of blight8 ,yet o'er the ,southland crept the spell1 ,that e'en from out its brightness spread1 ,and prostrate1 powerless1 she fell1 ,rachel-like1 amid her dead4 ,her bravest1 fairest1 purest1 best1 ,the waiting grave would welcome as its guest4 ,the ,northland1 strong in love1 and great1 ,forgot the stormy days of strife2 ,forgot that souls with dreams of hate ,or unforgiveness e'er were rife4 ,forgotten was each thought and hushed2 ,save -- she was generous and her foe was crushed4 ,no hand might clasp1 from land to land2 ,yea6 there was one to bridge the tide6 ,for at the touch of ,mercy's hand ,the ,north and ,south stood side by side3 ,the ,bride of ,snow1 the ,bride of ,sun1 ,in ,charity's espousals are made one4 ,thou givest back my sons again1 ,the ,southland to the ,northland cries2 ,for all my dead1 on battle plain1 ,thou biddest my dying now uprise3 ,i still my sobs1 ,i cease my tears1 ,and thou hast recompensed my anguished years4 ,blessings on thine every wave1 ,blessings on thine every shore1 ,blessings that from sorrow save1 ,blessings giving more and more1 ,for all thou gavest thy sister land1 ,o ,northland1 in thy generous deed and grand4 ,a ,memory ,adown the valley dripped a stream1 ,white lilies drooped on either side2 ,our hearts1 in spite of us1 will dream ,in such a place at eventide4 ,bright wavelets wove the scarf of blue ,that well became the valley fair1 ,and grassy fringe of greenest hue ,hung round its borders everywhere4 ,and where the stream1 in wayward whirls1 ,went winding in and winding out1 ,lay shells1 that wore the look of pearls ,without their pride1 all strewn about4 ,and here and there along the strand1 ,where some ambitious wave had strayed1 ,rose little monuments of sand ,as frail as those by mortals made4 ,and many a flower was blooming there ,in beauty1 yet without a name1 ,like humble hearts that often bear ,the gifts1 but not the palm of fame4 ,the rainbow's tints could never vie ,with all the colors that they wore2 ,while bluer than the bluest sky ,the stream flowed on 'tween shore and shore4 ,and on the height1 and down the side ,of either hill that hid the place1 ,rose elms in all the stately pride ,of youthful strength and ancient race4 ,while here and there the trees between -- ,bearing the scars of battle-shocks1 ,and frowning wrathful -- might be seen ,the moss-veiled faces of the rocks4 ,and round the rocks crept flowered vines1 ,and clomb the trees that towered high -- ,the type of a lofty thought that twines ,around a truth -- to touch the sky4 ,and to that vale1 from first of ,may ,until the last of ,august went1 ,beauty1 the exile1 came each day ,in all her charms1 to cast her tent4 ',twas there1 one long-gone ,august day1 ,i wandered down the valley fair3 ,the spell has never passed away ,that fell upon my spirit there4 ,the summer sunset glorified ,the clouded face of dying day1 ,which flung a smile upon the tide ,and lilies1 ere he passed away4 ,and o'er the valley's grassy slopes ,there fell an evanescent sheen1 ,that flashed and faded1 like the hopes ,that haunt us of what might have been4 ,and rock and tree flung back the light ,of all the sunset's golden gems1 ,as if it were beneath their right ,to wear such borrowed diadems4 ,low in the west gleam after gleam ,glowed faint and fainter1 till the last ,made the dying day a living dream1 ,to last as long as life shall last4 ,and in the arches of the trees ,the wild birds slept with folded wing2 ,and e'en the lips of the summer breeze ,that sang all day1 had ceased to sing4 ,and all was silent1 save the rill ,that rippled round the lilies' feet1 ,and sang1 while stillness grew more still ,to listen to the murmur sweet4 ,and now and then it surely seemed ,the little stream was laughing low1 ,as if its sleepy wavelets dreamed ,such dreams as only children know4 ,so still that not the faintest breath ,did stir the shadows in the air2 ,it would have seemed the home of ,death1 ,had ,i not felt ,life sleeping there4 ,and slow and soft1 and soft and slow1 ,from darkling earth and darkened sky ,wide wings of gloom waved to and fro1 ,and spectral shadows flitted by4 ,and then1 methought1 upon the sward ,i saw -- or was it starlight's ray8 ,or angels come to watch and guard ,the valley till the dawn of day8 ,is every lower life the ward ,of spirits more divinely wrought8 ',tis sweet to believe 'tis ,god's1 and hard ,to think 'tis but a poet's thought4 ,but ,god's or poet's thought1 ,i ween1 ,my senses did not fail me when ,i saw veiled angels watch that scene ,and guard its sleep1 as they guard men4 ,sweet sang the stream as on it pressed1 ,as sorrow sings a heart to sleep2 ,as a mother sings one child to rest1 ,and for the dead one still will weep4 ,i walked adown the singing stream1 ,the lilies slept on either side2 ,my heart -- it could not help but dream ,at eve1 and after eventide4 ,ah6 dreams of such a lofty reach ,with more than earthly fancies fraught1 ,that not the strongest wings of speech ,could ever touch their lowest thought4 ,dreams of the ,bright1 the ,fair1 the ,far -- ,heart-fancies flashing ,heaven's hue -- ,that swept around1 as sweeps a star ,the boundless orbit of the ,true4 ,yea6 dreams all free from earthly taint1 ,where human passion played no part1 ,as pure as thoughts that thrill a saint1 ,or hunt an archangelic heart4 ,ah6 dreams that did not rise from sense1 ,and rose too high to stoop to it1 ,and framed aloft like frankincense ,in censers round the infinite4 ,yea6 dreams that vied with angels' flight6 ,and1 soaring1 bore my heart away ,beyond the far star-bounds of night1 ,unto the everlasting day4 ,how long ,i strolled beside the stream ,i do not know1 nor may ,i say2 ,but when the poet ceased to dream ,the priest went on his knees to pray4 ,i felt as sure a seraph feels ,when in some golden hour of grace ,god smiles1 and suddenly reveals ,a new1 strange glory in ,his face4 ,ah6 starlit valley6 ,lilies white6 ,the poet dreamed -- ye slumbered deep6 ,but when the priest knelt down that night ,and prayed1 why woke ye from your sleep8 99 99 99 99 99 ,the stream sang down the valley fair1 ,i saw the wakened lilies nod1 ,i knew they heard me whisper there1 ,how beautiful art ,thou1 my ,god6 ,at ,last ,into a temple vast and dim1 ,solemn and vast and dim1 ,just when the last sweet ,vesper ,hymn ,was floating far away1 ,with eyes that tabernacled tears -- ,her heart the home of tears -- ,and cheeks wan with the woes of years1 ,a woman went one day4 ,and1 one by one1 adown the aisles1 ,adown the long1 lone aisles1 ,their faces bright with holy smiles ,that follow after prayer1 ,the worshipers in silence passed1 ,in silence slowly passed away2 ,the woman knelt until the last ,had left her lonely there4 ,a holy hush came o'er the place1 ,o'er the holy place1 ,the shadows kissed her woe-worn face1 ,her forehead touched the floor2 ,the wreck that drifted thro' the years -- ,sin-driven thro' the years -- ,was floating o'er the tide of tears1 ,to ,mercy's golden shore4 ,her lips were sealed1 they could not pray1 ,they sighed1 but could not pray1 ,all words of prayer had died away ,from them long years ago2 ,but ah6 from out her eyes there rose -- ,sad from her eyes there rose -- ,the prayer of tears1 which swiftest goes ,to ,heaven -- winged with woe4 ,with weary tears1 her weary eyes1 ,her joyless1 weary eyes1 ,wailed forth a rosary2 and her sighs ,and sobs strung all the beads2 ,the while before her spirit's gaze -- ,her contrite spirit's gaze -- ,moved all the mysteries of her days1 ,and histories of her deeds4 ,still as a shadow1 while she wept1 ,so desolately wept1 ,up thro' the long1 lone aisle she crept ,unto an altar fair2 ,mother6 -- her pale lips said no more -- ,could say no more -- ,the wreck1 at last1 reached ,mercy's shore1 ,for ,mary's shrine was there4 ,a ,land without ,ruins ,a land without ruins is a land without memories -- a land without memories is a land without history4 ,a land that wears a laurel crown may be fair to see2 but twine a few sad cypress leaves around the brow of any land1 and be that land barren1 beautiless and bleak1 it becomes lovely in its consecrated coronet of sorrow1 and it wins the sympathy of the heart and of history4 ,crowns of roses fade -- crowns of thorns endure4 ,calvaries and crucifixions take deepest hold of humanity -- the triumphs of might are transient -- they pass and are forgotten -- the sufferings of right are graven deepest on the chronicle of nations4 ,yes give me the land where the ruins are spread1 ,and the living tread light on the hearts of the dead2 ,yes1 give me a land that is blest by the dust1 ,and bright with the deeds of the down-trodden just4 ,yes1 give me the land where the battle's red blast ,has flashed to the future the fame of the past2 ,yes1 give me the land that hath legends and lays ,that tell of the memories of long vanished days2 ,yes1 give me a land that hath story and song6 ,enshrine the strife of the right with the wrong6 ,yes1 give me a land with a grave in each spot1 ,and names in the graves that shall not be forgot2 ,yes1 give me the land of the wreck and the tomb2 ,there is grandeur in graves -- there is glory in gloom2 ,for out of the gloom future brightness is born1 ,as after the night comes the sunrise of morn2 ,and the graves of the dead with the grass overgrown ,may yet form the footstool of liberty's throne1 ,and each single wreck in the war path of might ,shall yet be a rock in the temple of right4 ,memories ,they come1 as the breeze comes over the foam1 ,waking the waves that are sinking to sleep -- ,the fairest of memories from far-away home1 ,the dim dreams of faces beyond the dark deep4 ,they come as the stars come out in the sky1 ,that shimmer wherever the shadows may sweep1 ,and their steps are as soft as the sound of a sigh ,and ,i welcome them all while ,i wearily weep4 ,they come as a song comes out of the past ,a loved mother murmured in days that are dead1 ,whose tones spirit-thrilling live on to the last1 ,when the gloom of the heart wraps its gray o'er the head4 ,they come like the ghosts from the grass shrouded graves1 ,and they follow our footsteps on life's winding way2 ,and they murmur around us as murmur the waves ,that sigh on the shore at the dying of day4 ,they come1 sad as tears to the eyes that are bright2 ,they come1 sweet as smiles to the lips that are pale2 ,they come1 dim as dreams in the depths of the night2 ,they come1 fair as flowers to the summerless vale4 ,there is not a heart that is not haunted so1 ,though far we may stray from the scenes of the past1 ,its memories will follow wherever we go1 ,and the days that were first sway the days that are last4 ,the ,prayer of the ,south ,my brow is bent beneath a heavy rod6 ,my face is wan and white with many woes6 ,but ,i will lift my poor chained hands to ,god1 ,and for my children pray1 and for my foes4 ,beside the graves where thousands lowly lie ,i kneel1 and weeping for each slaughtered son1 ,i turn my gaze to my own sunny sky1 ,and pray1 ,o ,father1 let ,thy will be done6 ,my heart is filled with anguish1 deep and vast6 ,my hopes are buried with my children's dust6 ,my joys have fled1 my tears are flowing fast6 ,in whom1 save ,thee1 our ,father1 shall ,i trust8 ,ah6 ,i forgot ,thee1 ,father1 long and oft1 ,when ,i was happy1 rich1 and proud1 and free2 ,but conquered now1 and crushed1 ,i look aloft1 ,and sorrow leads me1 ,father1 back to ,thee4 ,amid the wrecks that mark the foeman's path ,i kneel1 and wailing o'er my glories gone1 ,i still each thought of hate1 each throb of wrath1 ,and whisper1 ,father1 let ,thy will be done6 ,pity me1 ,father of the desolate6 ,alas6 my burdens are so hard to bear2 ,look down in mercy on my wretched fate1 ,and keep me1 guard me1 with ,thy loving care4 ,pity me1 ,father1 for ,his holy sake1 ,whose broken heart bled at the feet of grief1 ,that hearts of earth1 whenever they shall break1 ,might go to ,his and find a sure relief4 ,ah1 me1 how dark6 ,is this a brief eclipse8 ,or is it night with no to-morrow's sun8 ,o ,father6 ,father6 with my pale1 sad lips1 ,and sadder heart1 ,i pray ,thy will be done4 ,my homes are joyless1 and a million mourn ,where many met in joys forever flown2 ,whose hearts were light1 are burdened now and torn1 ,where many smiled1 but one is left to moan4 ,and ah6 the widow's wails1 the orphan's cries1 ,are morning hymn and vesper chant to me2 ,and groans of men and sounds of women's sighs ,commingle1 ,father1 with my prayer to ,thee4 ,beneath my feet ten thousand children dead -- ,oh6 how ,i loved each known and nameless one6 ,above their dust ,i bow my crownless head ,and murmur3 ,father1 still ,thy will be done4 ,ah6 ,father1 ,thou didst deck my own loved land ,with all bright charms1 and beautiful and fair2 ,but foeman came1 and with a ruthless hand1 ,spread ruin1 wreck1 and desolation there4 ,girdled with gloom1 of all my brightness shorn1 ,and garmented with grief1 ,i kiss ,thy rod1 ,and turn my face1 with tears all wet and worn1 ,to catch one smile of pity from my ,god4 ,around me blight1 where all before was bloom1 ,and so much lost1 alas6 and nothing won ,save this -- that ,i can lean on wreck and tomb ,and weep1 and weeping1 pray ,thy will be done4 ,and oh6 'tis hard to say1 but said1 'tis sweet2 ,the words are bitter1 but they hold a balm -- ,a balm that heals the wounds of my defeat1 ,and lulls my sorrow into holy calm4 ,it is the prayer of prayers1 and how it brings1 ,when heard in heaven1 peace and hope to me6 ,when ,jesus prayed it did not angels' wings ,gleam 'mid the darkness of ,gethsemane8 ,my children1 ,father1 ,thy forgiveness need2 ,alas6 their hearts have only place for tears6 ,forgive them1 ,father1 ev'ry wrongful deed1 ,and every sin of those four bloody years2 ,and give them strength to bear their boundless loss1 ,and from their hearts take every thought of hate2 ,and while they climb their ,calvary with their cross1 ,oh6 help them1 ,father1 to endure its weight4 ,and for my dead1 my ,father1 may ,i pray8 ,ah6 sighs may soothe1 but prayer shall soothe me more6 ,i keep eternal watch above their clay2 ,oh6 rest their souls1 my ,father1 ,i implore2 ,forgive my foes -- they know not what they do -- ,forgive them all the tears they made me shed2 ,forgive them1 though my noblest sons they slew1 ,and bless them1 though they curse my poor1 dear dead4 ,oh6 may my woes be each a carrier dove1 ,with swift1 white wings1 that1 bathing in my tears1 ,will bear ,thee1 ,father1 all my prayers of love1 ,and bring me peace in all my doubts and fears4 ,father1 ,i kneel1 'mid ruin1 wreck1 and grave -- ,a desert waste1 where all was erst so fair -- ,and for my children and my foes ,i crave ,pity and pardon4 ,father1 hear my prayer6 ,feast of the ,assumption ,a ,night ,prayer ,dark6 ,dark6 ,dark6 ,the sun is set2 the day is dead3 ,thy ,feast has fled2 ,my eyes are wet with tears unshed2 ,i bow my head2 ,where the star-fringed shadows softly sway ,i bend my knee1 ,and1 like a homesick child1 ,i pray1 ,mary1 to thee4 ,dark6 ,dark6 ,dark6 ,and1 all the day -- since white-robed priest ,in farthest ,east1 ,in dawn's first ray -- began the ,feast1 ,i -- ,i the least -- ,thy least1 and last1 and lowest child1 ,i called on thee6 ,virgin6 didst hear8 my words were wild2 ,didst think of me8 ,dark6 ,dark6 ,dark6 ,alas6 and no6 ,the angels bright1 ,with wings as white ,as a dream of snow in love and light1 ,flashed on thy sight2 ,they shone like stars around thee1 ,queen6 ,i knelt afar -- ,a shadow only dims the scene ,where shines a star6 ,dark6 ,dark6 ,dark6 ,and all day long1 beyond the sky1 ,sweet1 pure1 and high1 ,the angel's song swept sounding by ,triumphantly2 ,and when such music filled thy ear1 ,rose round thy throne1 ,how could ,i hope that thou wouldst hear ,my far1 faint moan8 ,dark6 ,dark6 ,dark6 ,and all day long1 where altars stand1 ,or poor or grand1 ,a countless throng from every land1 ,with lifted hand1 ,winged hymns to thee from sorrow's vale ,in glad acclaim2 ,how couldst thou hear my lone lips wail ,thy sweet1 pure name8 ,dark6 ,dark6 ,dark6 ,alas6 and no6 ,thou didst not hear ,nor bend thy ear1 ,to prayer of woe as mine so drear2 ,for hearts more dear ,hid me from hearing and from sight ,this bright ,feast-day2 ,wilt hear me1 ,mother1 if in its night ,i kneel and pray8 ,dark6 ,dark6 ,dark6 ,the sun is set1 the day is dead2 ,thy ,feast hath fled2 ,my eyes are wet with the tears ,i shed2 ,i bow my head2 ,angels and altars hailed thee1 ,queen1 ,all day2 ah6 be ,to-night what thou hast ever been -- ,a mother to me6 ,dark6 ,dark6 ,dark6 ,thy queenly crown in angels' sight ,is fair and bright2 ,ah6 lay it down2 for1 oh6 to-night ,its jeweled light ,shines not as the tender love-light shines1 ,o ,mary6 mild1 ,in the mother's eyes1 whose pure heart pines ,for poor1 lost child6 ,dark6 ,dark6 ,dark6 ,sceptre in hand1 thou dost hold sway ,fore'er and aye ,in angel-land2 but1 fair ,queen6 pray ,lay it away4 ,let thy sceptre wave in the realms above ,where angels are2 ,but1 ,mother6 fold in thine arms of love ,thy child afar6 ,dark6 ,dark6 ,dark6 ,mary1 ,i call6 ,wilt hear the prayer ,my poor lips dare8 ,yea6 be to all a ,queen most fair1 ,crown1 sceptre1 bear6 ,but look on me with a mother's eyes ,from heaven's bliss2 ,and waft to me from the starry skies ,a mother's kiss6 ,dark6 ,dark6 ,dark6 ,the sun is set2 the day is dead2 ,her ,feast has fled2 ,can she forget the sweet blood shed1 ,the last words said ,that evening -- ,woman6 behold thy ,son6 ,oh6 priceless right1 ,of all ,his children6 ,the last1 least one1 ,is heard to-night4 ,sursum ,corda ,weary hearts6 weary hearts6 by the cares of life oppressed1 ,ye are wand'ring in the shadows -- ye are sighing for a rest3 ,there is darkness in the heavens1 and the earth is bleak below1 ,and the joys we taste to-day may to-morrow turn to woe4 ,weary hearts6 ,god is ,rest4 ,lonely hearts6 lonely hearts6 this is but a land of grief2 ,ye are pining for repose -- ye are longing for relief3 ,what the world hath never given1 kneel and ask of ,god above1 ,and your grief shall turn to gladness1 if you lean upon ,his love4 ,lonely hearts6 ,god is ,love4 ,restless hearts6 restless hearts6 ye are toiling night and day1 ,and the flowers of life1 all withered1 leave but thorns along your way3 ,ye are waiting1 ye are waiting1 till your toilings all shall cease1 ,and your ev'ry restless beating is a sad1 sad prayer for peace4 ,restless hearts6 ,god is ,peace4 ,breaking hearts6 broken hearts6 ye are desolate and lone1 ,and low voices from the past o'er your present ruins moan6 ,in the sweetest of your pleasures there was bitterest alloy1 ,and a starless night hath followed on the sunset of your joy4 ,broken hearts6 ,god is ,joy4 ,homeless hearts6 homeless hearts6 through the dreary1 dreary years1 ,ye are lonely1 lonely wand'rers1 and your way is wet with tears2 ,in bright or blighted places1 wheresoever ye may roam1 ,ye look away from earth-land1 and ye murmur1 ,where is home8 ,homeless hearts6 ,god is ,home4 ,a ,child's ,wish ,before an ,altar ,i wish ,i were the little key ,that locks ,love's ,captive in1 ,and lets ,him out to go and free ,a sinful heart from sin4 ,i wish ,i were the little bell ,that tinkles for the ,host1 ,when ,god comes down each day to dwell ,with hearts ,he loves the most4 ,i wish ,i were the chalice fair1 ,that holds the ,blood of ,love1 ,when every flash lights holy prayer ,upon its way above4 ,i wish ,i were the little flower ,so near the ,host's sweet face1 ,or like the light that half an hour ,burns on the shrine of grace4 ,i wish ,i were the altar where1 ,as on ,his mother's breast1 ,christ nestles1 like a child1 fore'er ,in ,eucharistic rest4 ,but1 oh6 my ,god1 ,i wish the most ,that my poor heart may be ,a home all holy for each ,host ,that comes in love to me4 ,presentiment ,my ,sister ,cometh a voice from a far-land6 ,beautiful1 sad1 and low2 ,shineth a light from the star-land6 ,down on the night of my woe2 ,and a white hand1 with a garland1 ,biddeth my spirit to go4 ,away and afar from the night-land1 ,where sorrow o'ershadows my way1 ,to the splendors and skies of the light-land1 ,where reigneth eternity's day2 ,to the cloudless and shadowless bright-land1 ,whose sun never passeth away4 ,and ,i knew the voice2 not a sweeter ,on earth or in ,heaven can be2 ,and never did shadow pass fleeter ,than it and its strange melody2 ,and ,i know ,i must hasten to meet her1 ,yea1 ,sister6 thou callest to me6 ,and ,i saw the light2 'twas not seeming1 ,it flashed from the crown that she wore1 ,and the brow1 that with jewels was gleaming1 ,my lips had kissed often of yore6 ,and the eyes1 that with rapture were beaming1 ,had smiled on me sweetly before4 ,and ,i saw the hand with the garland1 ,ethel's hand -- holy and fair2 ,who went long ago to the far-land ,to weave me the wreath ,i shall wear2 ,and to-night ,i look up to the star-land1 ,and pray that ,i soon may be there4 ,last of ,may ,to the ,children of ,mary of the ,cathedral of ,mobile ,in the mystical dim of the temple1 ,in the dream-haunted dim of the day1 ,the sunlight spoke soft to the shadows1 ,and said3 ,with my gold and your gray1 ,let us meet at the shrine of the ,virgin1 ,and ere her fair feast pass away1 ,let us weave there a mantle of glory1 ,to deck the last evening of ,may4 ,the tapers were lit on the altar1 ,with garlands of lilies between2 ,and the steps leading up to the statue ,flashed bright with the roses' red sheen2 ,the sun-gleams came down from the heavens ,like angels1 to hallow the scene1 ,and they seemed to kneel down with the shadows ,that crept to the shrine of the ,queen4 ,the singers1 their hearts in their voices1 ,had chanted the anthems of old1 ,and the last trembling wave of the ,vespers ,on the far shores of silence had rolled4 ,and there -- at the ,queen-,virgin's altar -- ,the sun wove the mantle of gold ,while the hands of the twilight were weaving ,a fringe for the flash of each fold4 ,and wavelessly1 in the deep silence1 ,three banners hung peaceful and low -- ,they bore the bright blue of the heavens1 ,they wore the pure white of the snow ,and beneath them fair children were kneeling1 ,whose faces1 with graces aglow1 ,seemed sinless1 in land that is sinful1 ,and woeless1 in life full of woe4 ,their heads wore the veil of the lily1 ,their brows wore the wreath of the rose1 ,and their hearts like their flutterless banners1 ,were stilled in a holy repose4 ,their shadowless eyes were uplifted1 ,whose glad gaze would never disclose ,that from eyes that are most like the heavens ,the dark rain of tears soonest flows4 ,the banners were borne to the railing1 ,beneath them1 a group from each band2 ,and they bent their bright folds for the blessing ,that fell from the priest's lifted hand4 ,and he signed the three fair1 silken standards1 ,with a sign never foe could withstand4 ,what stirred them8 ,the breeze of the evening8 ,or a breath from the far angel-land8 ,then came1 two by two1 to the altar1 ,the young1 and the pure1 and the fair1 ,their faces the mirror of ,heaven1 ,their hands folded meekly in prayer2 ,they came for a simple blue ribbon1 ,for love of ,christ's ,mother to wear2 ,and ,i believe1 with the ,children of ,mary1 ,the ,angels of ,mary were there4 ,ah1 faith6 simple faith of the children6 ,you still shame the faith of the old6 ,ah1 love6 simple love of the little1 ,you still warm the love of the cold6 ,and the beautiful ,god who is wandering ,far out in the world's dreary wold1 ,finds a home in the hearts of the children ,and a rest with the lambs of the fold4 ,swept a voice3 was it wafted from ,heaven8 ,heard you ever the sea when it sings ,where it sleeps on the shore in the night time8 ,heard you ever the hymns the breeze brings ,from the hearts of a thousand bright summers8 ,heard you ever the bird1 when she springs ,to the clouds1 till she seems to be only ,a song of a shadow on wings8 ,came a voice3 and an ,ave ,maria ,rose out of a heart rapture-thrilled2 ,and in the embrace of its music ,the souls of a thousand lay stilled4 ,a voice with the tones of an angel1 ,never flower such a sweetness distilled2 ,it faded away -- but the temple ,with its perfume of worship was filled4 ,then back to the ,queen-,virgin's altar ,the white veils swept on1 two by two2 ,and the holiest halo of heaven ,flashed out from the ribbons of blue2 ,and they laid down the wreaths of the roses ,whose hearts were as pure as their hue2 ,ah6 they to the ,christ are the truest1 ,whose loves to the ,mother are true6 ,and thus1 in the dim of the temple1 ,in the dream-haunted dim of the day1 ,the ,angels and ,children of ,mary ,met ere their ,queen's ,feast passed away1 ,where the sun-gleams knelt down with the shadows ,and wove with their gold and their gray ,a mantle of grace and of glory ,for the last lovely evening of ,may4 ,gone ,s4 ,m4 ,a4 ,gone6 and there's not a gleam of you1 ,faces that float into far away2 ,gone6 and we can only dream of you ,each as you fade like a star away4 ,fade as a star in the sky from us1 ,vainly we look for your light again2 ,hear ye the sound of a sigh from us8 ,come6 and our hearts will be bright again4 ,come6 and gaze on our face once more1 ,bring us the smiles of the olden days2 ,come6 and shine in your place once more1 ,and change the dark into golden days4 ,gone6 gone6 gone6 ,joy is fled for us2 ,gone into the night of the nevermore1 ,and darkness rests where you shed for us ,a light we will miss forevermore4 ,faces6 ye come in the night to us2 ,shadows6 ye float in the sky of sleep2 ,shadows6 ye bring nothing bright to us2 ,faces6 ye are but the sigh of sleep4 ,gone6 and there's not a gleam of you1 ,faces that float into the far away2 ,gone6 and we only can dream of you ,till we sink like you and the stars away4 ,feast of the ,sacred ,heart ,two lights on a lowly altar2 ,two snowy cloths for a ,feast2 ,two vases of dying roses2 ,the morning comes from the east1 ,with a gleam for the folds of the vestments ,and a grace for the face of the priest4 ,the sound of a low1 sweet whisper ,floats over a little bread1 ,and trembles around a chalice1 ,and the priest bows down his head6 ,o'er a sign of white on the altar -- ,in the cup -- o'er a sign of red4 ,as red as the red of roses1 ,as white as the white of snows6 ,but the red is a red of a surface ,beneath which a ,god's blood flows2 ,and the white is the white of a sunlight ,within which a ,god's flesh glows4 ,ah6 words of the olden ,thursday6 ,ye come from the far-away6 ,ye bring us the ,friday's victim ,in ,his own love's olden way2 ,in the hand of the priest at the altar ,his ,heart finds a home each day4 ,the sight of a ,host uplifted6 ,the silver-sound of a bell6 ,the gleam of a golden chalice4 ,be glad1 sad heart6 'tis well2 ,he made1 and ,he keeps love's promise1 ,with thee all days to dwell4 ,from his hand to his lips that tremble1 ,from his lips to his heart a-thrill1 ,goes the little ,host on its love-path1 ,still doing the ,father's will2 ,and over the rim of the chalice ,the blood flows forth to fill ,the heart of the man anointed ,with the waves of a wondrous grace2 ,a silence falls on the altar -- ,an awe on each bended face -- ,for the ,heart that bled on ,calvary ,still beats in the holy place4 ,the priest comes down to the railing ,where brows are bowed in prayer2 ,in the tender clasp of his fingers ,a ,host lies pure and fair1 ,and the hearts of ,christ and the ,christian ,meet there -- and only there6 ,oh6 love that is deep and deathless6 ,oh6 faith that is strong and grand6 ,oh6 hope that will shine forever1 ,o'er the wastes of a weary land6 ,christ's ,heart finds an earthly heaven ,in the palm of the priest's pure hand4 ,in ,memory of ,very ,rev4 ,j4 ,b4 ,etienne ,superior ,general of the ,congregation of the ,mission and of the ,sisters of ,charity4 ,a shadow slept folded in vestments1 ,the dream of a smile on its face1 ,dim1 soft as the gleam after sunset ,that hangs like a halo of grace ,where the daylight hath died in the valley1 ,and the twilight hath taken its place4 ,a shadow6 but still on the mortal ,there rested the tremulous trace ,of the joy of a spirit immortal1 ,passed up to its ,god in ,his grace4 ,a shadow6 hast seen in the summer ,a cloud wear the smile of the sun8 ,on the shadow of death there is flashing ,the glory of noble deeds done2 ,on the face of the dead there is glowing ,the light of a holy race run2 ,and the smile of the face is reflecting ,the gleam of the crown he has won4 ,still1 shadow6 sleep on in the vestments ,unstained by the priest who has gone4 ,and thro' all the nations the children ,of ,vincent de ,paul wail his loss2 ,but the glory that crowns him in heaven ,illumines the gloom of their cross4 ,they send to the shadow the tribute ,of tears1 from the fountains of love1 ,and they send from their altars sweet prayers ,to the throne of their ,father above4 ,yea6 sorrow weeps over the shadow1 ,but faith looks aloft to the skies2 ,and hope1 like a rainbow1 is flashing ,o'er the tears that rain down from their eyes4 ,they murmur on earth ,de ,profundis1 ,the low chant is mingled with sighs2 ,laudate rings out through the heavens -- ,the dead priest hath won his faith's prize4 ,his children in sorrow will honor ,his grave2 every tear is a gem1 ,and their prayers round his brow in the heavens ,will brighten his fair diadem4 ,i kneel at his grave and remember1 ,in love1 ,i am still one of them4 ,tears ,the tears that trickled down our eyes1 ,they do not touch the earth to-day2 ,but soar like angels to the skies1 ,and1 like the angels1 may not die2 ,for ah6 our immortality ,flows thro' each tear -- sounds in each sigh4 ,what waves of tears surge o'er the deep ,of sorrow in our restless souls6 ,and they are strong1 not weak1 who weep ,those drops from out the sea that rolls ,within their hearts forevermore1 ,without a depth -- without a shore4 ,but ah6 the tears that are not wept1 ,the tears that never outward fall2 ,the tears that grief for years has kept ,within us -- they are best of all2 ,the tears our eyes shall never know1 ,are dearer than the tears that flow4 ,each night upon earth's flowers below1 ,the dew comes down from darkest skies1 ,and every night our tears of woe ,go up like dews to ,paradise1 ,to keep in bloom1 and make more fair1 ,the flowers of crowns we yet shall wear4 ,for ah6 the surest way to ,god ,is up the lonely streams of tears1 ,that flow when bending 'neath ,his rod1 ,and fill the tide of earthly years4 ,on laughter's billows hearts are tossed1 ,on waves of tears no heart is lost4 ,flow on1 ye tears6 and bear me home2 ,flow not6 ye tears of deeper woe2 ,flow on1 ye tears6 that are but foam ,of deeper waves that will not flow4 ,a little while -- ,i reach the shore ,where tears flow not forevermore6 ,lines 7,two ,loves7 ,two loves came up a long1 wide aisle1 ,and knelt at a low1 white gate2 ,one -- tender and true1 with the shyest smile1 ,one -- strong1 true1 and elate4 ,two lips spoke in a firm1 true way1 ,and two lips answered soft and low2 ,in one true hand such a little hand lay ,fluttering1 frail as a flake of snow4 ,one stately head bent humbly there1 ,stilled were the throbbings of human love2 ,one head drooped down like a lily fair1 ,two prayers went1 wing to wing1 above4 ,god blest them both in the holy place1 ,a long1 brief moment the rite was done2 ,on the human love fell the heavenly grace1 ,making two hearts forever one4 ,between two lengthening rows of smiles1 ,one sweetly shy1 one proud1 elate1 ,two loves passed down the long1 wide aisles1 ,will they ever forget the low1 white gate8 ,the ,land ,we ,love ,land of the gentle and brave6 ,our love is as wide as thy woe2 ,it deepens beside every grave ,where the heart of a hero lies low4 ,land of the sunniest skies6 ,our love glows the more for thy gloom2 ,our hearts1 by the saddest of ties1 ,cling closest to thee in thy doom4 ,land where the desolate weep ,in a sorrow no voice may console6 ,our tears are but streams1 making deep ,the ocean of love in our soul4 ,land where the victor's flag waves1 ,where only the dead are free6 ,each link of the chain that enslaves ,but binds us to them and to thee4 ,land where the ,sign of the ,cross ,its shadow hath everywhere shed6 ,we measure our love by thy loss1 ,thy loss by the graves of our dead6 ,in ,memoriam ,go6 heart of mine6 the way is long -- ,the night is dark -- the place is far2 ,go6 kneel and pray1 or chant a song1 ,beside two graves where ,mary's star ,shines o'er two children's hearts at rest1 ,with ,mary's medals on their breast4 ,go6 heart6 those children loved you so1 ,their little lips prayed oft for you6 ,but ah6 those necks are lying low ,round which you twined the badge of blue4 ,go to their graves1 this ,virgin's feast1 ,with poet's song and prayer of priest4 ,go6 like a pilgrim to a shrine1 ,for that is holy ground where sleep ,children of ,mary and of thine2 ,go6 kneel1 and pray and sing and weep2 ,last summer how their faces smiled ,when each was blessed as ,mary's child4 99 99 99 99 99 ,my heart is gone6 ,i cannot sing6 ,beside those children's grave1 song dies2 ,hush6 ,poet6 -- ,priest6 ,prayer hath a wing ,to pass the stars and reach the skies2 ,sweet children6 from the land of light ,look down and bless my heart to-night4 ,reverie ,we laugh when our souls are the saddest1 ,we laugh when our souls are the saddest1 ,we shroud all our griefs in a smile2 ,our voices may warble their gladdest1 ,and our souls mourn in anguish the while4 ,and our eyes wear a summer's bright glory1 ,when winter is wailing beneath2 ,and we tell not the world the sad story ,of the thorn hidden back of the wreath4 ,ah6 fast flow the moments of laughter1 ,and bright as the brook to the sea ,but ah6 the dark hours that come after ,of moaning for you and for me4 ,yea1 swift as the sunshine1 and fleeting ,as birds1 fly the moments of glee6 ,and we smile1 and mayhap grief is sleeting ,its ice upon you and on me4 ,and the clouds of the tempest are shifting ,o'er the heart1 tho' the face may be bright2 ,and the snows of woe's winter are drifting ,our souls2 and each day hides a night4 ,for ah6 when our souls are enjoying ,the mirth which our faces reveal1 ,there is something -- a something -- alloying ,the sweetness of joy that we feel4 ,life's loveliest sky hides the thunder ,whose bolt in a moment may fall2 ,and our path may be flowery1 but under ,the flowers there are thorns for us all4 ,ah6 'tis hard when our beautiful dreamings ,that flash down the valley of night1 ,wave their wing when the gloom hides their gleaming1 ,and leave us1 like eagles in flight2 ,and fly far away unreturning1 ,and leave us in terror and tears1 ,while vain is the spirit's wild yearning ,that they may come back in the years4 ,come back6 did ,i say it8 but never ,do eagles come back to the cage3 ,they have gone -- they have gone -- and forever -- ,does youth come back ever to age8 ,no6 a joy that has left us in sorrow ,smiles never again on our way1 ,but we meet in the farthest to-morrow ,the face of the grief of to-day4 ,the brightness whose tremulous glimmer ,has faded we cannot recall2 ,and the light that grows dimmer and dimmer -- ,when gone -- 'tis forever and all4 ,not a ray of it anywhere lingers1 ,not a gleam of it gilds the vast gloom2 ,youth's roses perfume not the fingers ,of age groping nigh to the tomb4 ,for the memory of joy is a sadness -- ,the dim twilight after the day2 ,and the grave where we bury a gladness ,sends a grief like a ghost1 on our way4 ,no day shall return that has faded1 ,the dead come not back from the tomb2 ,the vale of each life must be shaded1 ,that we may see best from the gloom4 ,the height of the homes of our glory1 ,all radiant with splendors of light2 ,that we may read clearly life's story -- ,the dark is the dawn of the bright4 ,i ,often ,wonder ,why ',tis ,so ,some find work where some find rest1 ,and so the weary world goes on3 ,i sometimes wonder which is best2 ,the answer comes when life is gone4 ,some eyes sleep when some eyes wake1 ,and so the dreary night-hours go2 ,some hearts beat where some hearts break2 ,i often wonder why 'tis so4 ,some wills faint where some wills fight1 ,some love the tent1 and some the field2 ,i often wonder who are right -- ,the ones who strive1 or those who yield8 ,some hands fold where other hands ,are lifted bravely in the strife2 ,and so thro' ages and thro' lands ,move on the two extremes of life4 ,some feet halt where some feet tread1 ,in tireless march1 a thorny way2 ,some struggle on where some have fled2 ,some seek when others shun the fray4 ,some swords rust where others clash1 ,some fall back where some move on2 ,some flags furl where others flash ,until the battle has been won4 ,some sleep on while others keep ,the vigils of the true and brave3 ,they will not rest till roses creep ,around their name above a grave4 ,a ,blessing ,be you near1 or be you far1 ,let my blessing1 like a star1 ,shine upon you everywhere6 ,and in each lone evening hour1 ,when the twilight folds the flower1 ,i will fold thy name in prayer4 ,in the dark and in the day1 ,to my heart you know the way1 ,sorrow's pale hand keeps the key2 ,in your sorrow or your sin ,you may always enter in2 ,i will keep a place for thee4 ,if ,god's blessing pass away ,from your spirit2 if you stray ,from his presence1 do not wait4 ,come to my heart1 for ,i keep ,for the hearts that wail and weep1 ,ever opened wide -- a gate4 ,in your joys to others go1 ,when your feet walk ways of woe ,only then come back to me2 ,i will give you tear for tear1 ,and our tears shall more endear ,thee to me and me to thee4 ,for ,i make my heart the home ,of all hearts in grief that come ,seeking refuge and a rest4 ,do not fear me1 for you know1 ,be your footsteps e'er so low1 ,i know yours1 of all1 the best4 ,once you came2 and you brought sin2 ,did not my hand lead you in -- ,into ,god's heart1 thro' my own8 ,did not my voice speak a word ,you1 for years1 had never heard -- ,mystic word in ,mercy's tone8 ,and a grace fell on your brow1 ,and ,i heard your murmured vow1 ,when ,i whispered3 ,go in peace4 ,go in peace1 and sin no more1 ,did you not touch ,mercy's shore1 ,did not sin's wild tempest cease8 ,go6 then3 thou art good and pure6 ,if thou e'er shouldst fall1 be sure1 ,back to me thy footsteps trace6 ,in my heart for year and year1 ,be thou far away or near1 ,i shall keep for thee a place4 ,yes6 ,i bless you -- near or far -- ,and my blessing1 like a star1 ,shall shine on you everywhere2 ,and in many a holy hour1 ,as the sunshine folds the flower1 ,i will fold thy heart in prayer4 ,july #ith1 #ahgb ,between two pillared clouds of gold ,the beautiful gates of evening swung -- ,and far and wide from flashing fold ,the half-furled banners of light1 that hung ,o'er green of wood and gray of wold ,and over the blue where the river rolled1 ,the fading gleams of their glory flung4 ,the sky wore not a frown all day ,to mar the smile of the morning tide2 ,the soft-voiced winds sang joyous lay -- ,you never would think they had ever sighed2 ,the stream went on its sunlit way ,in ripples of laughter2 happy they ,as the hearts that met at ,riverside4 ,no cloudlet in the sky serene6 ,not a silver speck in the golden hue6 ,but where the woods waved low and green1 ,and seldom would let the sunlight through1 ,sweet shadows fell1 and in their screen1 ,the faces of children might be seen1 ,and the flash of ribbons of blue4 ,it was a children's simple feast1 ,yet many were there whose faces told ,how far they are from childhood's ,east ,who have reached the evening of the old6 ,and father -- mother -- sister -- priest -- ,they seemed all day like the very least ,of the little children of the fold4 ,the old forgot they were not young1 ,the young forgot they would e'er be old1 ,and all day long the trees among1 ,where'er their footsteps stayed or strolled1 ,came wittiest word from tireless tongue1 ,and the merriest peals of laughter rung ,where the woods drooped low and the river rolled4 ,no cloud upon the faces there1 ,not a sorrow came from its hiding place ,to cast the shadow of a care ,on the fair1 sweet brows in that fairest place ,for in the sky and in the air1 ,and in their spirits1 and everywhere1 ,joy reigned in the fullness of her grace4 ,the day was long1 but ah6 too brief6 ,swift to the ,west bright-winged she fled2 ,too soon on ev'ry look and leaf ,the last rays flushed which her plumage shed ,from an evening cloud -- was it a sign of grief8 ,and the bright day passed -- is there much relief ,that its dream dies not when its gleam is dead8 ,great sky1 thou art a prophet still6 ,and by thy shadows and by thy rays ,we read the future if we will1 ,and all the fates of our future ways2 ,to-morrows meet us in vale and hill1 ,and under the trees1 and by the rill1 ,thou givest the sign of our coming days4 ,that evening cloud was a sign1 ,i ween -- ,for the sister of that summer day ,shall come next year to the selfsame scene2 ,the winds will sing the selfsame lay2 ,the selfsame woods will wave as green1 ,and ,riverside1 thy skies serene ,shall robe thee again in a golden sheen2 ,yet though thy shadows may weave a screen ,where the children's faces may be seen1 ,thou ne'er shall be as thou hast been1 ,for a face they loved has passed away4 ,wake ,me a ,song ,out of the silences wake me a song1 ,beautiful1 sad1 and soft1 and low2 ,let the loveliest music sound along1 ,and wing each note with a wail of woe3 ,dim and drear ,as hope's last tear2 ,out of the silences wake me a hymn1 ,whose sounds are like shadows soft and dim4 ,out of the stillness in your heart -- ,a thousand songs are sleeping there -- ,wake me a song1 thou child of art6 ,the song of a hope in a last despair3 ,dark and low1 ,a chant of woe2 ,out of the stillness1 tone by tone1 ,cold as a snowflake1 low as a moan4 ,out of the darkness flash me a song1 ,brightly dark and darkly bright2 ,let it sweep as a lone star sweeps along ,the mystical shadows of the night3 ,sing it sweet2 ,where nothing is drear1 or dark1 or dim1 ,and earth-song soars into heavenly hymn4 ,in ,memoriam 7,david ,j4 ,ryan1 ,c4,s4,a47 ,thou art sleeping1 brother1 sleeping ,in thy lonely battle grave2 ,shadows o'er the past are creeping1 ,death1 the reaper1 still is reaping1 ,years have swept1 and years are sweeping ,many a memory from my keeping1 ,but ,i'm waiting still1 and weeping ,for my beautiful and brave4 ,when the battle songs were chanted1 ,and war's stirring tocsin pealed1 ,by those songs thy heart was haunted1 ,and thy spirit1 proud1 undaunted1 ,clamored wildly -- wildly panted3 ,mother6 let my wish be granted2 ,i will ne'er be mocked and taunted ,that ,i fear to meet our vaunted ,foemen on the bloody field4 ,they are thronging1 mother6 thronging1 ,to a thousand fields of fame2 ,let me go -- 'tis wrong1 and wronging ,god and thee to crush this longing2 ,on the muster-roll of glory1 ,in my country's future story1 ,on the field of battle gory ,i must consecrate my name4 ,mother6 gird my sword around me1 ,kiss thy soldier-boy good-bye4' ,in her arms she wildly wound thee1 ,to thy birth-land's cause she bound thee1 ,with fond prayers and blessings crowned thee1 ,and she sobbed3 ,when foes surround thee1 ,if you fall1 ,i'll know they found thee ,where the bravest love to die4 ,at the altar of their nation1 ,stood that mother and her son1 ,he1 the victim of oblation1 ,panting for his immolation2 ,she1 in priestess' holy station1 ,weeping words of consecration1 ,while ,god smiled his approbation1 ,blessed the boy's self-abnegation1 ,cheered the mother's desolation1 ,when the sacrifice was done4 ,forth1 like many a noble other1 ,went he1 whispering soft and low3 ,good-bye -- pray for me1 my mother2 ,sister6 kiss me -- farewell1 brother2 ,and he strove his grief to smother4 ,forth1 with footsteps firm and fearless1 ,and his parting gaze was tearless ,though his heart was lone and cheerless1 ,thus from all he loved to go4 ,lo6 yon flag of freedom flashing ,in the sunny ,southern sky3 ,on1 to death and glory dashing1 ,on1 where swords are clanging1 clashing1 ,on1 where balls are crushing1 crashing1 ,on1 'mid perils dread1 appalling1 ,on1 they're falling1 falling1 falling4 ,on1 they're growing fewer1 fewer1 ,on1 their hearts beat all the truer1 ,on1 on1 on1 no fear1 no falter1 ,on1 though round the battle-altar ,there were wounded victims moaning1 ,there were dying soldiers groaning2 ,on1 right on1 death's danger braving1 ,warring where their flag was waving1 ,while ,baptismal blood was laving ,all that field of death and slaughter2 ,on1 still on2 that bloody lava ,made them braver and made them braver1 ,on1 with never a halt or waver1 ,on in battle -- bleeding -- bounding1 ,while the glorious shout swept sounding1 ,we will win the day or die6 ,and they won it2 routed -- riven -- ,reeled the foemen's proud array3 ,they had struggled hard1 and striven1 ,blood in torrents they had given1 ,but their ranks1 dispersed and driven1 ,fled1 in sullenness1 away4 ,many a heart was lonely lying ,that would never throb again2 ,some were dead1 and some were dying2 ,those were silent1 these were sighing2 ,thus to die alone1 unattended1 ,unbewept and unbefriended1 ,on that bloody battle-plain4 ,when the twilight sadly1 slowly ,wrapped its mantle o'er them all1 ,thousands1 thousands lying lowly1 ,hushed in silence deep and holy1 ,there was one1 his blood was flowing ,and his last of life was going1 ,and his pulse faint1 fainter beating ,told his hours were few and fleeting2 ,and his brow grew white and whiter1 ,while his eyes grew strangely brighter2 ,there he lay -- like infant dreaming1 ,with his sword beside him gleaming1 ,for the hand in life that grasped it1 ,true in death still fondly clasped it2 ,there his comrades found him lying ',mid the heaps of dead and dying1 ,and the sternest bent down weeping ,o'er the lonely sleeper sleeping3 ',twas the midnight2 stars shone round him1 ,and they told us how they found him ,where the bravest love to fall4 ,where the woods1 like banners bending1 ,drooped in starlight and in gloom1 ,there1 when that sad night was ending1 ,and the faint1 far dawn was blending ,with the stars now fast descending2 ,there they mute and mournful bore him1 ,with the stars and shadows o'er him1 ,and they laid him down -- so tender -- ,and the next day's sun1 in splendor1 ,flashed above my brother's tomb4 ,what8 7,to ,ethel7 ,at the golden gates of the visions ,i knelt me adown one day2 ,but sudden my prayer was a silence1 ,for ,i heard from the ,far away ,the murmur of many voices ,and a silvery censer's sway4 ,i bowed in awe1 and ,i listened -- ,the deeps of my soul were stirred1 ,but deepest of all was the meaning ,of the far-off music ,i heard1 ,and yet it was stiller than silence1 ,its notes were the ,dream of a ,word4 ,a word that is whispered in heaven1 ,but cannot be heard below2 ,it lives on the lips of the angels ,where'er their pure wings glow2 ,yet only the ,dream of its ,echo ,ever reaches this valley of woe4 ,but ,i know the word and its meaning2 ,i reached to its height that day1 ,when prayer sank into a silence ,and my heart was so far away2 ,but ,i may not murmur the music1 ,nor the word may my lips yet say4 ,but some day far in the future1 ,and up from the dust of the dead1 ,and out of my lips when speechless ,the mystical word shall be said1 ',twill come to thee1 still as a spirit1 ,when the soul of the bard has fled4 ,the ,master's ,voice ,the waves were weary1 and they went to sleep2 ,the winds were hushed2 ,the starlight flushed ,the furrowed face of all the mighty deep4 ,the billows yester eve so dark and wild1 ,wore strangely now ,a calm upon their brow1 ,like that which rests upon a cradled child4 ,the sky was bright1 and every single star1 ,with gleaming face1 ,was in its place1 ,and looked upon the sea -- so fair and far4 ,and all was still -- still as a temple dim1 ,when low and faint1 ,as murmurs plaint1 ,dies the last note of the ,vesper hymn4 ,a bark slept on the sea1 and in the bark ,slept ,mary's ,son -- ,the only ,one ,whose face is light6 where all1 all else1 is dark4 ,his brow was heavenward turned1 ,his face was fair ,he dreamed of me ,on that still sea -- ,the stars ,he made were gleaming through ,his hair4 ,and lo6 a moan moved o'er the mighty deep2 ,the sky grew dark3 ,the little bark ,felt all the waves awaking from their sleep4 ,the winds wailed wild1 and wilder billows beat2 ,the bark was tossed3 ,shall all be lost8 ,but ,mary's ,son slept on1 serene and sweet4 ,the tempest raged in all its mighty wrath1 ,the winds howled on1 ,all hope seemed gone1 ,and darker waves surged round the bark's lone path4 ,the sleeper woke6 ,he gazed upon the deep2 ,he whispered3 ,peace6 ,winds -- wild waves1 cease6 ,be still6 ,the tempest fled -- the ocean fell asleep4 ,and ah6 when human hearts by storms are tossed1 ,when life's lone bark ,drifts through the dark ,and 'mid the wildest waves where all seems lost1 ,he now1 as then1 with words of power and peace1 ,murmurs3 ,stormy deep1 ,be still -- still -- and sleep6 ,and lo6 a great calm comes -- the tempest's perils cease4 ,a ,thought-,flower ,silently -- shadowly -- some lives go1 ,and the sound of their voices is all unheard2 ,or1 if heard at all1 'tis as faint as the flow ,of beautiful waves which no storm hath stirred4 ,deep lives these ,as the pearl-strewn seas4 ,softly and noiselessly some feet tread ,lone ways on earth1 without leaving a mark2 ,they move 'mid the living1 they pass to the dead1 ,as still as the gleam of a star thro' the dark4 ,sweet lives those ,in their strange repose4 ,calmly and lowly some hearts beat1 ,and none may know that they beat at all2 ,they muffle their music whenever they meet ,a few in a hut or a crowd in a hall4 ,great hearts those -- ,god only knows6 ,soundlessly -- shadowly -- such move on1 ,dim as the dream of a child asleep2 ,and no one knoweth 'till they are gone ,how lofty their souls -- their hearts how deep4 ,bright souls these -- ,god only sees4 ,lonely and hiddenly in the world -- ,tho' in the world 'tis their lot to stay -- ,the tremulous wings of their hearts are furled ,until they fly from the world away1 ,and find their rest ,on ,our ,father's breast1 ,where earth's unknown shall be known the best1 ,and the hidden hearts shall be brightest blest4 ,a ,death ,crushed with a burden of woe1 ,wrecked in the tempest of sin3 ,death came1 and two lips murmured low1 ,ah6 once ,i was white as the snow1 ,in the happy and pure long ago2 ,but they say ,god is sweet -- is it so8 ,will ,he let a poor wayward one in -- ,in where the innocent are8 ,ah6 justice stands guard at the gate2 ,does it mock at a poor sinner's fate8 ,alas6 ,i have fallen so far6 ,oh1 ,god6 ,oh1 my ,god6 'tis too late6 ,i have fallen as falls a lost star3 ,the sky does not miss the gone gleam1 ,but my heart1 like the lost star1 can dream ,of the sky it has fall'n from4 ,nay6 ,i have wandered too far -- far away4 ,oh6 would that my mother were here2 ,is ,god like a mother8 ,has ,he ,any love for a sinner like me8 ,her face wore the wildness of woe -- ,her words1 the wild tones of despair2 ,ah6 how can a heart sink so low8 ,how a face that was once bright and so fair1 ,can be furrowed and darkened with care8 ,wild rushed the hot tears from her eyes1 ,from her lips rushed the wildest of sighs1 ,her poor heart was broken2 but then ,her ,god was far gentler than men4 ,a voice whispered low at her side1 ,child6 ,god is more gentle than men1 ,he watches by passion's dark tide1 ,he sees a wreck drifting -- and then ,he beckons with hand and with voice1 ,and he sees the poor wreck floating in ,to the haven on ,mercy's bright shore2 ,and ,he whispers the whisper of yore3 ,the angels of heaven rejoice ,o'er the sinner repenting of sin4' 99 99 99 99 99 ,and a silence came down for a while1 ,and her lips they were moving in prayer1 ,and her face it wore just such a smile ,as1 perhaps1 it was oft wont to wear1 ,ere the heart of the girl knew a guile1 ,ere the soul of the girl knew the wile1 ,that had led her to passion's despair4 ,death's shadows crept over her face1 ,and softened the hard marks of care2 ,repentance had won a last grace1 ,and the ,angel of ,mercy stood there4 ,the ,rosary of ,my ,tears ,some reckon their age by years1 ,some measure their life by art2 ,but some tell their days by the flow of their tears1 ,and their lives by the moans of their heart4 ,the dials of earth may show ,the length1 not the depth1 of years1 ,few or many they come1 few or many they go1 ,but time is best measured by tears4 ,ah6 not by the silver gray ,that creeps thro' the sunny hair1 ,and not by the scenes that we pass on our way1 ,and not by the furrows the fingers of care ,on forehead and face have made4 ,not so do we count our years2 ,not by the sun of the earth1 but the shade ,of our souls1 and the fall of our tears4 ,for the young are ofttimes old1 ,though their brows be bright and fair2 ,while their blood beats warm1 their hearts are cold -- ,o'er them the spring -- but winter is there4 ,and the old are ofttimes young1 ,when their hair is thin and white2 ,and they sing in age1 as in youth they sung1 ,and they laugh1 for their cross was light4 ,but bead1 by bead1 ,i tell ,the rosary of my years2 ,from a cross to a cross they lead2 'tis well1 ,and they're blest with a blessing of tears4 ,better a day of strife ,than a century of sleep2 ,give me instead of a long stream of life ,the tempests and tears of the deep4 ,a thousand joys may foam ,on the billows of all the years2 ,but never the foam brings the lone back home -- ,it reaches the haven through tears4 ,death ,out of the shadows of sadness1 ,into the sunshine of gladness1 ,into the light of the blest2 ,out of a land very dreary1 ,out of a world very weary1 ,into the rapture of rest4 ,out of to-day's sin and sorrow1 ,into a blissful to-morrow1 ,into a day without gloom2 ,out of a land filled with sighing1 ,land of the dead and the dying1 ,into a land without tomb4 ,out of a life of commotion1 ,tempest-swept oft as the ocean1 ,dark with the wrecks drifting o'er2 ,into a land calm and quiet1 ,never a storm cometh nigh it1 ,never a wreck on its shore4 ,out of a land in whose bowers ,perish and fade all the flowers3 ,out of the land of decay1 ,into the ,eden where fairest ,of flowerets1 and sweetest and rarest1 ,never shall wither away4 ,out of the world of the wailing ,thronged with the anguished and ailing2 ,out of the world of the sad1 ,into the world that rejoices -- ,world of bright visions and voices -- ,into the world of the glad4 ,out of a life ever mournful1 ,out of a land very lornful1 ,where in bleak exile we roam1 ,into a joy-land above us1 ,where there's a ,father to love us -- ,into our home -- ,sweet ,home4 ,what ,ails the ,world8 ,what ails the world8 the poet cried2 ,and why does death walk everywhere8 ,and why do tears fall anywhere8 ,and skies have clouds1 and souls have care8 ,thus the poet sang1 and sighed4 ,for he would fain have all things glad1 ,all lives happy1 all hearts bright2 ,not a day would end in night1 ,not a wrong would vex a right -- ,and so he sang -- and he was sad4 ,thro' his very grandest rhymes ,moved a mournful monotone -- ,like a shadow eastward thrown ,from a sunset -- like a moan ,tangled in a joy-bell's chimes4 ,what ails the world8 he sang and asked -- ,and asked and sang -- but all in vain2 ,no answer came to any strain1 ,and no reply to his refrain -- ,the mystery moved 'round him masked4 ,what ails the world8 ,an echo came -- ,ails the world8 ,the minstrel bands1 ,with famous or forgotten hands1 ,lift up their lyres in all the lands1 ,and chant alike1 and ask the same ,from him whose soul first soared in song1 ,a thousand1 thousand years away1 ,to him who sang but yesterday1 ,in dying or in deathless lay -- ,what ails the world8 comes from the throng4 ,they fain would sing the world to rest2 ,and so they chant in countless keys1 ,as many as the waves of seas1 ,and as the breathings of the breeze1 ,yet even when they sing their best -- ,when o'er the list'ning world there floats ,such melody as 'raptures men -- ,when all look up entranced -- and when ,the song of fame floats forth1 e'en then ,a discord creepeth through the notes -- ,their sweetest harps have broken strings1 ,their grandest accords have their jars1 ,like shadows on the light of stars1 ,and somehow1 something ever mars ,the songs the greatest minstrel sings4 ,and so each song is incomplete1 ,and not a rhyme can ever round ,into the chords of perfect sound ,the tones of thought that e'er surround ,the ways walked by the poet's feet4 ,what ails the world8 he sings and sighs2 ,no answer cometh to his cry4 ,he asks the earth and asks the sky -- ,the echoes of his song pass by ,unanswered -- and the poet dies4 ,a ,thought ,there never was a valley without a faded flower1 ,there never was a heaven without some little cloud2 ,the face of day may flash with light in any morning hour1 ,but evening soon shall come with her shadow-woven shroud4 ,there never was a river without its mists of gray1 ,there never was a forest without its fallen leaf2 ,and joy may walk beside us down the windings of our way1 ,when1 lo6 there sounds a footstep1 and we meet the face of grief4 ,there never was a seashore without its drifting wreck1 ,there never was an ocean without its moaning wave2 ,and the golden gleams of glory the summer sky that fleck1 ,shine where dead stars are sleeping in their azure-mantled grave4 ,there never was a streamlet1 however crystal clear1 ,without a shadow resting in the ripples of its tide2 ,hope's brightest robes are 'broidered with the sable fringe of fear1 ,and she lures us1 but abysses girt her path on either side4 ,the shadow of the mountain falls athwart the lowly plain1 ,and the shadow of the cloudlet hangs above the mountain's head1 ,and the highest hearts and lowest wear the shadow of some pain1 ,and the smile has scarcely flitted ere the anguish'd tear is shed4 ,for no eyes have there been ever without a weary tear1 ,and those lips cannot be human which have never heaved a sigh2 ,for without the dreary winter there has never been a year1 ,and the tempests hide their terrors in the calmest summer sky4 ,the cradle means the coffin1 and the coffin means the grave2 ,the mother's song scarce hides the ,de ,profundis of the priest2 ,you may cull the fairest roses any ,may-day ever gave1 ,but they wither while you wear them ere the ending of your feast4 ,so this dreary life is passing -- and we move amid its maze1 ,and we grope along together1 half in darkness1 half in light2 ,and our hearts are often burdened by the mysteries of our ways1 ,which are never all in shadow and are never wholly bright4 ,and our dim eyes ask a beacon1 and our weary feet a guide1 ,and our hearts of all life's mysteries seek the meaning and the key2 ,and a cross gleams o'er our pathway -- on it hangs the ,crucified1 ,and ,he answers all our yearnings by the whisper1 ,follow ,me4 ,life is a burden2 bear it2 ,life is a duty2 dare it2 ,life is a thorn-crown2 wear it1 ,though it break your heart in twain2 ,though the burden crush you down2 ,close your lips1 and hide your pain1 ,first the ,cross1 and then1 the ,crown4 ,in ,rome ,at last the dream of youth ,stands fair and bright before me1 ,the sunshine of the home of truth ,falls tremulously o'er me4 ,and tower1 and spire1 and lofty dome ,in brightest skies are gleaming2 ,walk ,i1 to-day1 the ways of ,rome1 ,or am ,i only dreaming8 ,no1 'tis no dream2 my very eyes ,gaze on the hill-tops seven2 ,where crosses rise and kiss the skies1 ,and grandly point to ,heaven4 ,gray ruins loom on ev'ry side1 ,each stone an age's story2 ,they seem the very ghosts of pride ,that watch the grave of glory4 ,there senates sat1 whose sceptre sought ,an empire without limit2 ,there grandeur dreamed its dream and thought ,that death would never dim it4 ,there rulers reigned2 yon heap of stones ,was once their gorgeous palace2 ,beside them now1 on altar-thrones1 ,the priests lift up the chalice4 ,there legions marched with bucklers bright1 ,and lances lifted o'er them2 ,while flags1 like eagles plumed for flight1 ,unfurled their wings before them4 ,there poets sang1 whose deathless name ,is linked to deathless verses2 ,there heroes hushed with shouts of fame ,their trampled victim's curses4 ,there marched the warriors back to home1 ,beneath yon crumbling portal1 ,and placed upon the brow of ,rome ,the proud crown of immortal4 ,there soldiers stood with armor on1 ,in steel-clad ranks and serried1 ,the while their red swords flashed upon ,the slaves whose rights they buried4 ,here pagan pride1 with sceptre1 stood1 ,and fame would not forsake it1 ,until a simple cross of wood ,came from the ,east to break it4 ,that ,rome is dead -- here is the grave -- ,dead glory rises never2 ,and countless crosses o'er it wave1 ,and will wave on forever4 ,beyond the ,tiber gleams a dome ,above the hill-tops seven2 ,it arches o'er the world from ,rome1 ,and leads the world to ,heaven4 ,december #f1 #ahgb4 ,after ,sickness ,i nearly died1 ,i almost touched the door ,that swings between forever and no more2 ,i think ,i heard the awful hinges grate1 ,hour after hour1 while ,i did weary wait ,death's coming2 but alas6 'twas all in vain3 ,the door half-opened and then closed again4 ,what were my thoughts8 ,i had but one regret -- ,that ,i was doomed to live and linger yet ,in this dark valley where the stream of tears ,flows1 and1 in flowing1 deepens thro' the years4 ,my lips spake not -- my eyes were dull and dim1 ,but thro' my heart there moved a soundless hymn -- ,a triumph song of many chords and keys1 ,transcending language -- as the summer breeze1 ,which1 through the forest mystically floats1 ,transcends the reach of mortal music's notes4 ,a song of victory -- a chant of bliss3 ,wedded to words1 it might have been like this3 ,come1 death6 but ,i am fearless1 ,i shrink not from your frown2 ,the eyes you close are tearless2 ,haste6 strike this frail form down4 ,come6 there is no dissembling ,in this last1 solemn hour1 ,but you'll find my heart untrembling ,before your awful power4 ,my lips grow pale and paler1 ,my eyes are strangely dim1 ,i wail not as a wailer1 ,i sing a victor's hymn4 ,my limbs grow cold and colder1 ,my room is all in gloom2 ,bold death6 -- but ,i am bolder -- ,come6 lead me to my tomb6 ',tis cold1 and damp1 and dreary1 ',tis still1 and lone1 and deep2 ,haste1 death6 my eyes are weary1 ,i want to fall asleep4 ,strike quick6 ,why dost thou tarry8 ,of time why such a loss8 ,dost fear the sign ,i carry8 ',tis but a simple cross4 ,thou wilt not strike8 ,then hear me3 ,come6 strike in any hour1 ,my heart shall never fear thee ,nor flinch before thy power4 ,i'll meet thee -- time's dread lictor -- ,and my wasted lips shall sing3 ,dread death6 ,i am the victor6 ,strong death6 where is thy sting8' ,milan1 ,january1 #ahgc4 ,old ,trees ,old trees1 old trees6 in your mystic gloom ,there's many a warrior laid1 ,and many a nameless and lonely tomb ,is sheltered beneath your shade4 ,old trees1 old trees6 without pomp or prayer ,we buried the brave and the true1 ,we fired a volley and left them there ,to rest1 old trees1 with you4 ,old trees1 old trees6 keep watch and ward ,over each grass-grown bed2 ',tis a glory1 old trees1 to stand as guard ,over the ,southern dead2 ,old trees1 old trees6 we shall pass away ,like the leaves you yearly shed1 ,but ye1 lone sentinels1 still must stay1 ,old trees1 to guard our dead4 ,after ,seeing ,pius ,,ix ,i saw his face to-day2 he looks a chief ,who fears not human rage1 nor human guile2 ,upon his cheeks the twilight of a grief1 ,but in that grief the starlight of a smile4 ,deep1 gentle eyes1 with drooping lids that tell ,they are the homes where tears of sorrow dwell2 ,a low voice -- strangely sweet -- whose very tone ,tells how these lips speak oft with ,god alone4 ,i kissed his hand1 ,i fain would kiss his feet2 ,no1 no1 he said2 and then1 in accents sweet1 ,his blessing fell upon my bended head4 ,he bade me rise2 a few more words he said1 ,then took me by the hand -- the while he smiled -- ,and1 going1 whispered3 ,pray for me1 my child4 ,sentinel ,songs ,when falls the soldier brave1 ,dead at the feet of wrong1 ,the poet sings and guards his grave ,with sentinels of song4 ,songs1 march6 he gives command1 ,keep faithful watch and true2 ,the living and dead of the conquered land ,have now no guards save you4 ,gray ballads6 mark ye well6 ,thrice holy is your trust6 ,go6 halt by the fields where warriors fell2 ,rest arms6 and guard their dust4 ,list1 songs6 your watch is long1 ,the soldiers' guard was brief2 ,whilst right is right1 and wrong is wrong1 ,ye may not seek relief4 ,go6 wearing the gray of grief6 ,go6 watch o'er the dead in gray6 ,go6 guard the private and guard the chief1 ,and sentinel their clay6 ,and the songs1 in stately rhyme ,and with softly sounding tread1 ,go forth1 to watch for a time -- a time -- ,where sleep the ,deathless ,dead4 ,and the songs1 like funeral dirge1 ,in music soft and low1 ,sing round the graves1 whilst hot tears surge ,from hearts that are homes of woe4 ,what tho' no sculptured shaft ,immortalize each brave8 ,what tho' no monument epitaphed ,be built above each grave8 ,when marble wears away ,and monuments are dust1 ,the songs that guard our soldiers' clay ,will still fulfil their trust4 ,with lifted head and stately tread1 ,like stars that guard the skies1 ,go watch each bed where rest the dead1 ,brave songs1 with sleepless eyes4 99 99 99 99 99 ,when falls the cause of ,right1 ,the poet grasps his pen1 ,and in gleaming letters of living light ,transmits the truth to men4 ,go1 songs6 he says who sings2 ,go6 tell the world this tale2 ,bear it afar on your tireless wings3 ,the ,right will yet prevail4 ,songs6 sound like the thunder's breath6 ,boom o'er the world and say3 ,brave men may die -- ,right has no death6 ,truth never shall pass away6 ,go6 sing thro' a nation's sighs6 ,go6 sob thro' a people's tears6 ,sweep the horizons of all the skies1 ,and throb through a thousand years6 99 99 99 99 99 ,and the songs1 with brave1 sad face1 ,go proudly down their way1 ,wailing the loss of a conquered race ,and waiting an ,easter-day4 ,away6 away6 like the birds1 ,they soar in their flight sublime2 ,and the waving wings of the poet's words ,flash down to the end of time4 ,when the flag of justice fails1 ,ere its folds have yet been furled1 ,the poet waves its folds in wails ,that flutter o'er the world4 ,songs1 march6 and in rank by rank ,the low1 wild verses go1 ,to watch the graves where the grass is dank1 ,and the martyrs sleep below4 ,songs6 halt where there is no name6 ,songs6 stay where there is no stone6 ,and wait till you hear the feet of ,fame ,coming to where ye moan4 ,and the songs1 with lips that mourn1 ,and with hearts that break in twain ,at the beck of the bard -- a hope forlorn -- ,watch the plain where sleep the slain4 99 99 99 99 99 ,when the warrior's sword is lowered ,ere its stainless sheen grows dim1 ,the bard flings forth its dying gleam ,on the wings of a deathless hymn4 ,songs1 fly far o'er the world ,and adown to the end of time3 ,let the sword still flash1 tho' its flag be furled1 ,thro' the sheen of the poet's rhyme4 ,songs6 fly as the eagles fly6 ,the bard unbars the cage2 ,go1 soar away1 and afar and high ,wave your wings o'er every age4 ,shriek shrilly o'er each day1 ,as futureward ye fly1 ,that the men were right who wore the gray1 ,and ,right can never die4 ,and the songs1 with waving wing1 ,fly far1 float far away ,from the ages' crest2 o'er the world they fling ,the shade of the stainless gray4 ,might6 sing your triumph-songs6 ,each song but sounds a shame2 ,go down the world1 in loud-voiced throngs1 ,to win1 from the future1 fame4 ,our ballads1 born of tears1 ,will track you on your way1 ,and win the hearts of the future years ,for the men who wore the gray4 ,and so -- say what you will -- ,in the heart of ,god's own laws ,i have a faith1 and my heart believes still ,in the triumph of our cause4 ,such hope may all be vain1 ,and futile be such trust2 ,but the weary eyes that weep the slain1 ,and watch above such dust1 ,they cannot help but lift ,their visions to the skies2 ,they watch the clouds1 but wait the rift ,through which their hope shall rise4 ,the victor wields the sword3 ,its blade may broken be ,by a thought that sleeps in a deathless word1 ,to wake in the years to be4 ,we wait a grand-voiced bard1 ,who1 when he sings1 will send ,immortal songs' ,imperial ,guard ,the ,lost ,cause to defend4 ,he has not come2 he will4 ,but when he chants1 his song ,will stir the world to its depths and thrill ,the earth with its tale of wrong4 ,the fallen cause still waits -- ,its bard has not come yet4 ,his sun through one of to-morrow's gates ,shall shine1 but never set4 ,but when he comes he'll sweep ,a harp with tears all stringed1 ,and the very notes he strikes will weep ,as they come from his hand woe-winged4 ,ah6 grand shall be his strain1 ,and his songs shall fill all climes1 ,and the rebels shall rise and march again ,down the lines of his glorious rhymes4 ,and through his verse shall gleam ,the swords that flashed in vain1 ,and the men who wore the gray shall seem ,to be marshaling again4 ,but hush6 between his words ,peer faces sad and pale1 ,and you hear the sound of broken chords ,beat through the poet's wail4 ,through his verse the orphans cry -- ,the terrible undertone -- ,and the father's curse and the mother's sigh1 ,and the desolate young wife's moan4 99 99 99 99 99 ,but harps are in every land ,that await a voice that sings1 ,and a master-hand -- but the humblest hand ,may gently touch its strings4 ,i sing with a voice too low ,to be heard beyond to-day1 ,in minor keys of my people's woe1 ,but my songs pass away4 ,to-morrow hears them not -- ,to-morrow belongs to ,fame -- ,my songs1 like the birds'1 will be forgot1 ,and forgotten shall be my name4 ,and yet who knows8 ,betimes ,the grandest songs depart1 ,while the gentle1 humble1 and low-toned rhymes ,will echo from heart to heart4 ,but1 oh6 if in song or speech1 ,in major or minor key1 ,my voice could over the ages reach1 ,i would whisper the name of ,lee4 ,in the night of our defeat ,star after star had gone1 ,but the way was bright to our soldiers' feet ,where the star of ,lee led on4 ,but sudden there came a cloud1 ,out rung a nation's knell2 ,our cause was wrapped in its winding shroud1 ,all fell when the great ,lee fell4 ,from his men1 with scarce a word1 ,silence when great hearts part6 ,but we know he sheathed his stainless sword ,in the wound of a broken heart4 ,he fled from ,fame2 but ,fame ,sought him in his retreat1 ,demanding for the world one name ,made deathless by defeat4 ,nay1 ,fame6 success is best6 ,all lost6 and nothing won3 ,north1 keep the clouds that flush the ,west1 ,we have the sinking sun4 ,all lost6 but by the graves ,where martyred heroes rest1 ,he wins the most who honor saves -- ,success is not the test4 ,all lost6 a nation weeps2 ,by all the tears that fall1 ,he loses naught who conscience keeps1 ,lee's honor saves us all4 ,all lost6 but e'en defeat ,hath triumphs of her own1 ,wrong's paean hath no note so sweet ,as trampled ,right's proud moan4 ,the world shall yet decide1 ,in truth's clear1 far-off light1 ,that the soldiers who wore the gray1 and died ,with ,lee1 were in the right4 ,and men1 by time made wise1 ,shall in the future see ,no name hath risen1 or ever shall rise1 ,like the name of ,robert ,lee4 ,ah1 me6 my words are weak1 ,this task surpasses me2 ,dead soldiers6 rise from your graves and speak1 ,and tell how you loved ,lee4 ,the banner you bore is furled1 ,and the gray is faded1 too6 ,but in all the colors that deck the world ,your gray blends not with blue4 ,the colors are far apart1 ,graves sever them in twain2 ,the ,northern heart and the ,southern heart ,may beat in peace again2 ,but still till time's last day1 ,whatever lips may plight1 ,the blue is blue1 but the gray is gray1 ,wrong never accords with ,right4 ,go1 ,glory6 and forever guard ,our chieftain's hallowed dust2 ,and ,honor6 keep eternal ward6 ,and ,fame6 be this thy trust6 ,go6 with your bright emblazoned scroll ,and tell the years to be1 ,the first of names that flash your roll ,is ours -- great ,robert ,lee4 ,lee wore the gray6 since then ',tis ,right's and ,honor's hue6 ,he honored it1 that man of men1 ,and wrapped it round the true4 ,dead6 but his spirit breathes6 ,dead6 but his heart is ours6 ,dead6 but his sunny and sad land wreathes ,his crown with tears for flowers4 ,a statue for his tomb6 ,mould it of marble white6 ,for ,wrong1 a spectre of death and doom2 ,an angel of hope for ,right4 ,but ,lee has a thousand graves ,in a thousand hearts1 ,i ween2 ,and teardrops fall from our eyes in waves ,that will keep his memory green4 ,ah6 ,muse1 you dare not claim ,a nobler man than he1 ,nor nobler man hath less of blame1 ,nor blameless man hath purer name1 ,nor purer name hath grander fame1 ,nor fame -- another ,lee4 ,fragments from an ,epic ,poem ,a ,mystery ,his face was sad2 some shadow must have hung ,above his soul2 its folds1 now falling dark1 ,now almost bright2 but dark or not so dark1 ,like cloud upon a mount1 'twas always there -- ,a shadow2 and his face was always sad4 ,his eyes were changeful2 for the gloom of gray ,within them met and blended with the blue1 ,and when they gazed they seemed almost to dream ,they looked beyond you into far-away1 ,and often drooped2 his face was always sad4 ,his eyes were deep2 ,i often saw them dim1 ,as if the edges of a cloud of tears ,had gathered there1 and only left a mist ,that made them moist and kept them ever moist4 ,he never wept2 his face was always sad4 ,i mean1 not many saw him ever weep1 ,and yet he seemed as one who often wept1 ,or always1 tears that were too proud to flow ,in outer streams1 but shrunk within and froze -- ,froze down into himself2 his face was sad4 ,and yet sometimes he smiled -- a sudden smile1 ,as if some far-gone joy came back again1 ,surprised his heart1 and flashed across his face ,a moment like a light through rifts in clouds1 ,which falls upon an unforgotten grave2 ,he rarely laughed2 his face was ever sad4 ,and when he spoke his words were sad as wails1 ,and strange as stories of an unknown land1 ,and full of meanings as the sea of moans4 ,at times he was so still that silence seemed ,to sentinel his lips2 and not a word ,would leave his heart2 his face was strangely sad4 ,but then at times his speech flowed like a stream -- ,a deep and dreamy stream through lonely dells ,of lofty mountain-thoughts1 and o'er its waves ,hung mysteries of gloom2 and in its flow ,it rippled on lone shores fair-fringed with flowers1 ,and deepened as it flowed2 his face was sad4 ,he had his moods of silence and of speech4 ,i asked him once the reason1 and he said3 ,when ,i speak much1 my words are only words1 ,when ,i speak least1 my words are more than words1 ,when ,i speak not1 ,i then reveal myself6 ,it was his way of saying things -- he spoke ,in quaintest riddles2 and his face was sad4 ,and1 when he wished1 he wove around his words ,a nameless spell that marvelously thrilled ,the dullest ear4 ',twas strange that he so cold ,could warm the coldest heart2 that he so hard ,could soften hardest soul2 that he so still ,could rouse the stillest mind3 his face was sad4 ,he spoke of death as if it were a toy ,for thought to play with2 and of life he spoke ,as of a toy not worth the play of thought2 ,and of this world he spoke as captives speak ,of prisons where they pine2 he spoke of men ,as one who found pure gold in each of them4 ,he spoke of women just as if he dreamed ,about his mother2 and he spoke of ,god ,as if he walked with ,him and knew ,his heart -- ,but he was weary1 and his face was sad4 ,he had a weary way in all he did1 ,as if he dragged a chain1 or bore a cross2 ,and yet the weary went to him for rest4 ,his heart seemed scarce to know an earthly joy1 ,and yet the joyless were rejoiced by him4 ,he seemed to have two selves -- his outer self ,was free to any passer-by1 and kind to all1 ,and gentle as a child's2 that outer self ,kept open all its gates1 that who so wished ,might enter them and find therein a place2 ,and many entered2 but his face was sad4 ,the inner self he guarded from approach1 ,he kept it sealed and sacred as a shrine2 ,he guarded it with silence and reserve2 ,its gates were locked and watched1 and none might pass ,beyond the portals2 and his face was sad4 ,but whoso entered there -- and few were they -- ,so very few -- so very1 very few1 ,they never did forget2 they said3 ,how strange6 ,they murmured still3 ,how strange6 how strangely strange6 ,they went their ways1 but wore a lifted look1 ,and higher meanings came to common words1 ,and lowly thoughts took on the grandest tones2 ,and1 near or far1 they never did forget ,the ,shadow and the ,shrine2 his face was sad4 ,he was not young nor old -- yet he was both2 ,nor both by turns1 but always both at once2 ,for youth and age commingled in his ways1 ,his words1 his feelings1 and his thoughts and acts4 ,at times the old man tottered in his thoughts1 ,the child played thro' his words2 his face was sad4 ,i one day asked his age2 he smiled and said3 ,the rose that sleeps upon yon valley's breast1 ,just born to-day1 is not as young as ,i2 ,the moss-robed oak of twice a thousand storms -- ,an acorn cradled ages long ago -- ,is old1 in sooth1 but not as old as ,i4 ,it was his way -- he always answered thus1 ,but when he did his face was very sad4 99 99 99 99 99 ,spirit ,song ,thou wert once the purest wave ,where the tempests roar2 ,thou art now a golden wave ,on the golden shore -- ,ever -- ever -- evermore6 ,thou wert once the bluest wave ,shadows e'er hung o'er2 ,thou art now the brightest wave ,on the brightest shore -- ,ever -- ever -- evermore6 ,thou wert once the gentlest wave ,ocean ever bore2 ,thou art now the fairest wave ,on the fairest shore -- ,ever -- ever -- evermore6 ,whiter foam than thine1 ,o wave1 ,wavelet never wore1 ,stainless wave2 and now you lave ,the far and stormless shore -- ,ever -- ever -- evermore6 ,who bade thee go1 ,o bluest wave1 ,beyond the tempest's roar8 ,who bade thee flow1 ,o fairest wave1 ,unto the golden shore1 ,ever -- ever -- evermore8 ,who waved a hand1 ,o purest wave8 ,a hand that blessings bore1 ,and wafted thee1 ,o whitest wave1 ,unto the fairest shore1 ,ever -- ever -- evermore8 ,who winged thy way1 ,o holy wave1 ,in days and days of yore8 ,and wept the words3 ,o winsome wave1 ,this earth is not thy shore6 ,ever -- ever -- evermore8 ,who gave thee strength1 ,o snowy wave -- ,the strength a great soul wore -- ,and said3 ,float up to ,god6 my wave1 ,his heart shall be thy shore6 ,ever -- ever -- evermore8 ,who said to thee1 ,o poor1 weak wave3 ,thy wail shall soon be o'er1 ,float on to ,god1 and leave me1 wave1 ,upon this rugged shore6 ,ever -- ever -- evermore8 ,and thou hast reached ,his feet6 ,glad wave1 ,dost dream of days of yore8 ,dost yearn that we shall meet1 pure wave1 ,upon the golden shore1 ,ever -- ever -- evermore8 ,thou sleepest in the calm1 calm wave1 ,beyond the wild storm's roar6 ,i watch amid the storm1 bright wave1 ,like rock upon the shore2 ,ever -- ever -- evermore6 ,sing at the feet of ,god1 white wave1 ,song sweet as one of yore6 ,i would not bring thee back1 heart wave1 ,to break upon this shore1 ,ever -- ever -- evermore6 99 99 99 99 99 ,no1 no1 he gently spoke3 ,you know me not2 ,my mind is like a temple1 dim1 vast1 lone2 ,just like a temple when the priest has gone1 ,and all the hymns that rolled along the vaults ,are buried deep in silence2 when the lights ,that flashed on altars died away in dark1 ,and when the flowers1 with all their perfumed breath ,and beauteous bloom1 lie withered on the shrine4 ,my mind is like a temple1 solemn1 still1 ,untenanted save by the ghosts of gloom ,which seem to linger in the holy place -- ,the shadows of the sinners who passed there1 ,and wept1 and spirit-shriven left upon ,the marble floor memorials of their tears4 ,and while he spake1 his words sank low and low1 ,until they hid themselves in some still depth ,he would not open2 and his face was sad4 ,when he spoke thus1 his very gentleness ,passed slowly from him1 and his look1 so mild1 ,grew marble cold2 a pallor as of death ,whitened his lips1 and clouds rose to his eyes1 ,dry1 rainless clouds1 where lightnings seemed to sleep4 ,his words1 as tender as a rose's smile1 ,slow-hardened into thorns1 but seemed to sting ,himself the most2 his brow1 at such times1 bent ,most lowly down1 and wore such look of pain ,as though it bore an unseen crown of thorns4 ,who knows8 perhaps it did6 ,but he would pass ,his hand upon his brow1 or touch his eyes1 ,and then the olden gentleness1 like light ,which seems transfigured by the touch of dark1 ,would tremble on his face1 and he would look ,more gentle then than ever1 and his tone ,would sweeten1 like the winds when storms have passed4 ,i saw him1 one day1 thus most deeply moved ,and darkened2 ah6 his face was like a tomb ,that hid the dust of dead and buried smiles1 ,but1 suddenly1 his face flashed like a throne1 ,and all the smiles arose as from the dead1 ,and wore the glory of an ,easter morn2 ,and passed beneath the sceptre of a hope ,which came from some far region of his heart1 ,came up into his eyes1 and reigned a queen4 ,i marveled much2 he answered to my look ,with all his own1 and wafted me these words3 ,there are transitions in the lives of all4 ,there are transcendent moments when we stand ,in ,thabor's glory with the chosen three1 ,and weak with very strength of human love ,we fain would build our tabernacles there2 ,and1 ,peter-like1 for very human joy ,we cry aloud3 ',tis good that we are here2' ,swift are these moments1 like the smile of ,god1 ,which glorifies a shadow and is gone4 ,and then we stand upon another mount -- ,dark1 rugged ,calvary2 and ,god keeps us there ,for awful hours1 to make us there ,his own ,in ,crucifixion's tortures2 'tis ,his way4 ,we wish to cling to ,thabor2 ,he says3 ,no4' ,and what ,he says is best because most true4 ,we fain would fly from ,calvary2 ,he says3 ,no4' ,and it is true because it is the best4 ,and yet1 my friend1 these two mounts are the same4 ,they lie apart1 distinct and separate1 ,and yet -- strange mystery6 -- they are the same4 ,for ,calvary is a ,thabor in the dark1 ,and ,thabor is a ,calvary in the light4 ,it is the mystery of ,holy ,christ6 ,it is the mystery of you and me6 ,earth's shadows move1 as moves far-heaven's sun1 ,and1 like the shadows of a dial1 we ,tell1 darkly1 in the vale the very hours ,the sun tells brightly in the sinless skies4 ,dost understand8 ,i did not understand -- ,or only half2 his face was very sad4 ,dost thou not understand me8 ,then your life ,is shallow as a brook that brawls along ,between two narrow shores2 you never wept -- ,you never wore great clouds upon your brow ,as mountains wear them2 and you never wore ,strange glories in your eyes1 as sunset skies ,oft wear them2 and your lips -- they never sighed ,grand sighs which bear the weight of all the soul2 ,you never reached your arms a-broad -- a-high -- ,to grasp far-worlds1 or to enclasp the sky4 ,life1 only life1 can understand a life2 ,depth1 only depth1 can understand the deep4 ,the dewdrop glist'ning on the lily's face ,can never learn the story of the sea4 99 99 99 99 99 ,one day we strolled together to the sea4 ,gray evening and the night had almost met1 ,we walked between them1 silent1 to the shore4 ,the feet of weird faced waves ran up the beach ,like children in mad play1 then back again ,as if the spirit of the land pursued2 ,then up again -- and farther -- and they flung ,white1 foamy arms around each other's neck2 ,then back again with sudden rush and shout1 ,as if the sea1 their mother1 called them home2 ,then leaned upon her breast1 as if so tired1 ,but swiftly tore themselves away and rushed ,away1 and farther up the beach1 and fell ,for utter weariness2 and loudly sobbed ,for strength to rise and flow back to the deep4 ,but all in vain1 for other waves swept on ,and trampled them2 the sea cried out in grief1 ,the gray beach laughed and clasped them to the sands4 ,it was the flood-tide and the even-tide -- ,between the evening and the night we walked -- ,we walked between the billows and the beach1 ,we walked between the future and the past1 ,down to the sea we twain had strolled -- to part4 ,the shore was low1 with just the faintest rise ,of many-colored sands and shreds of shells1 ,until about a stone's far throw they met ,a fringe of faded grass1 with here and there ,a pale-green shrub2 and farther into land -- ,another stone's throw farther -- there were trees -- ,tall1 dark1 wild trees1 with intertwining arms1 ,each almost touching each1 as if they feared ,to stand alone and look upon the sea4 ,the night was in the trees -- the evening on the shore4 ,we walked between the evening and the night -- ,between the trees and tide we silent strolled4 ,there lies between man's silence and his speech ,a shadowy valley1 where thro' those who pass ,are never silent1 tho' they may not speak2 ,and yet they more than breathe4 ,it is the vale ,of wordless sighs1 half uttered and half-heard4 ,it is the vale of the unutterable4 ,we walked between our silence and our speech1 ,and sighed between the sunset and the stars1 ,one hour beside the sea4 ,there was a cloud ,far o'er the reach of waters1 hanging low ',tween sea and sky -- the banner of the storm1 ,its edges faintly bright1 as if the rays ,that fled far down the ,west had rested there ,and slumbered1 and had left a dream of light4 ,its inner folds were dark -- its central1 more4 ,it did not flutter2 there it hung1 as calm ,as banner in a temple o'er a shrine4 ,its shadow only fell upon the sea1 ,above the shore the heavens bended blue4 ,we walked between the cloudless and the cloud1 ,that hour1 beside the sea4 ,but1 quick as thought1 ,there gleamed a sword of wild1 terrific light -- ,its hilt in heaven1 its point hissed in the sea1 ,its scabbard in the darkness -- and it tore ,the bannered cloud into a thousand shreds1 ,then quivered far away1 and bent and broke ,in flashing fragments2 ,and there came a peal ,that shook the mighty sea from shore to shore1 ,but did not stir a sand-grain on the beach2 ,then silence fell1 and where the low cloud hung ,clouds darker gathered -- and they proudly waved ,like flags before a battle4 ,we twain walked -- ,we walked between the lightning's parted gleams1 ,we walked between the thunders of the skies1 ,we walked between the wavings of the clouds1 ,we walked between the tremblings of the sea1 ,we walked between the stillnesses and roars ,of frightened billows2 and we walked between ,the coming tempest and the dying calm -- ,between the tranquil and the terrible -- ,that hour beside the sea4 ,there was a rock ,far up the winding beach that jutted in ,the sea1 and broke the heart of every wave ,that struck its breast2 not steep enough nor high ,to be a cliff1 nor yet sufficient rough ,to be a crag2 a simple1 low1 lone rock2 ,yet not so low as that its brow was laved ,by highest tide1 yet not sufficient high ,to rise beyond the reach of silver spray ,that rained up from the waves -- their tears that fell ,upon its face1 when they died at its feet4 ,around its sides damp seaweed hung in long1 ,sad tresses1 dripping down into the sea4 ,a tuft or two of grass did green the rock1 ,a patch or so of moss2 the rest was bare4 ,adown the shore we walked 'tween eve and night2 ,but when we reached the rock the eve and night ,had met2 light died2 we sat down in the dark ,upon the rock4 ,meantime a thousand clouds ,careered and clashed in air -- a thousand waves ,whirled wildly on in wrath -- a thousand winds ,howled hoarsely on the main1 and down the skies ,into the hollow seas the fierce rain rushed1 ,as if its ev'ry drop were hot with wrath2 ,and1 like a thousand serpents intercoiled1 ,the lightnings glared and hissed1 and hissed and glared1 ,and all the horror shrank in horror back ,before the maddest peals that ever leaped ,out from the thunder's throat4 ,within the dark ,we silent sat4 ,no rain fell on the rock1 ,nor in on land1 nor shore2 only on sea ,the upper and the lower waters met ,in wild delirium1 like a thousand hearts ,far parted -- parted long -- which meet to break1 ,which rush into each other's arms and break ,in terror and in tempests wild of tears4 ,no rain fell on the rock2 but flakes of foam ,swept cold against our faces1 where we sat ,between the hush and howling of the winds1 ,between the swells and sinking of the waves1 ,between the stormy sea and stilly shore1 ,between the rushings of the maddened rains1 ,between the dark beneath and dark above4 ,we sat within the dread heart of the night3 ,one1 pale with terror2 one1 as calm and still ,and stern and moveless as the lone1 low rock4 99 99 99 99 99 ,lake ,como ,winter on the mountains ,summer on the shore1 ,the robes of sun-gleams woven1 ,the lake's blue wavelets wore4 ,cold1 white1 against the heavens1 ,flashed winter's crown of snow1 ,and the blossoms of the spring-tide ,waved brightly far below4 ,the mountain's head was dreary1 ,the cold and cloud were there1 ,but the mountain's feet were sandaled ,with flowers of beauty rare4 ,and winding thro' the mountains ,the lake's calm wavelets rolled1 ,and a cloudless sun was gilding ,their ripples with its gold4 ,adown the lake we glided ,thro' all the sunlit day2 ,the cold snows gleamed above us1 ,but fair flowers fringed our way ,the snows crept down the mountain1 ,the flowers crept up the slope1 ,till they seemed to meet and mingle1 ,like human fear and hope4 ,but the same rich1 golden sunlight ,fell on the flowers and snow1 ,like the smile of ,god that flashes ,on hearts in joy or woe4 ,and on the lake's low margin ,the trees wore stoles of green1 ,while here and there1 amid them1 ,a convent cross was seen4 ,anon a ruined castle1 ,moss-mantled1 loomed in view1 ,and cast its solemn shadow ,across the water's blue4 ,and chapel1 cot1 and villa1 ,met here and there our gaze1 ,and many a crumbling tower ,that told of other days4 ,and scattered o'er the waters ,the fishing boats lay still1 ,and sound of song so softly ,came echoed from the hill4 ,at times the mountain's shadow ,fell dark across the scene1 ,and veiled with veil of purple ,the wavelets' silver sheen4 ,but for a moment only ,the lake would wind1 and lo6 ,the waves would near the glory ,of the sunlight's brightest glow4 ,at times there fell a silence ,unbroken by a tone1 ,as if no sound of voices ,had ever there been known4 ,through strange and lonely places ,we glided thus for hours2 ,we saw no other faces ,but the faces of the flowers4 ,the shores were sad and lonely ,as hearts without a love1 ,while darker and more dreary ,the mountains rose above4 ,but sudden round a headland ,the lake would sweep again1 ,and voices from a village ,would meet us with their strain4 ,thus all the day we glided1 ,until the ,vesper bell ,gave to the day1 at sunset1 ,its sweet and soft farewell4 ,then back again we glided ,upon our homeward way1 ,when twilight wrapped the waters ,and the mountains with its gray4 ,but brief the reign of twilight1 ,the night came quickly on2 ,the dark brow o'er the mountains1 ,star-wreathed1 brightly shone4 ,and down thro' all the shadows ,the star-gleams softly crept1 ,and kissed1 with lips all shining1 ,the wavelets ere they slept4 ,the lake lay in a slumber1 ,the shadows for its screen1 ,while silence waved her sceptre ,above the sleeping scene4 ,the spirit of the darkness ,moved1 ghost-like1 everywhere2 ,wherever starlight glimmered1 ,its shadow1 sure1 fell there4 ,the lone place grew more lonely1 ,and all along our way ,the mysteries of the night-time ,held undisputed sway4 ,thro' silence and thro' darkness ,we glided down the tide ,that wound around the mountains ,that rose on either side4 ,no eyes would close in slumber ,within our little bark2 ,what charmed us so in daylight ,so awed us in the dark4 ,upon the deck we lingered1 ,a whisper scarce was heard2 ,when hearts are stirred profoundest1 ,lips are without a word4 ,let's say the ,chaplet1 softly ,a voice beside me spake4 ,christ walked once in the darkness ,across an ,eastern lake1 ,and to-night we know the secret ,that will charm ,him to our side3 ,if we call upon ,his ,mother1 ,he will meet us on the tide4 ,so we said the beads together1 ,up and down the little bark2 ,and ,i believe that ,jesus met us1 ,with ,his ,mother1 in the dark4 ,and our prayers were scarcely ended ,when1 on mountain-top afar1 ,we beheld the morning meeting ,with the night's last fading star4 ,and ,i left the lake2 but never ,shall the years to come efface ,from my heart the dream and vision ,of that strange and lonely place4 ,february #a1 #ahgc4 ,peace6 ,be ,still ,sometimes the ,saviour sleeps1 and it is dark2 ,for1 oh6 ,his eyes are this world's only light1 ,and when they close wild waves rush on ,his bark1 ,and toss it through the dead hours of the night4 ,so ,he slept once upon an eastern lake1 ,in ,peter's bark1 while wild waves raved at will2 ,a cry smote on ,him1 and when ,he did wake1 ,he softly whispered1 and the sea grew still4 ,it is a mystery3 but ,he seems to sleep ,as erst he slept in ,peter's waved-rocked bark2 ,a storm is sweeping all across the deep1 ,while ,pius prays1 like ,peter1 in the dark4 ,the sky is darkened1 and the shore is far1 ,the tempest's strength grows fiercer every hour3 ,upon the howling deep there shines no star -- ,why sleeps ,he still8 ,why does ,he hide ,his power8 ,fear not6 a holy hand is on the helm ,that guides the bark thro' all the tempest's wrath2 ,quail not6 the wildest waves can never whelm ,the ship of faith upon its homeward path4 ,the ,master sleeps -- ,his pilot guards the bark2 ,he soon will wake1 and at ,his mighty will ,the light will shine where all before was dark -- ,the wild waves still remember3 ,peace6 be still4 ,rome1 #ahgc4 ,good ,friday ,o ,heart of ,three-in-the evening1 ,you nestled the thorn-crowned head2 ,he leaned on you in ,his sorrow1 ,and rested on you when dead4 ,ah6 ,holy ,three-in-the evening ,he gave you ,his richest dower2 ,he met you afar on ,calvary1 ,and made you ,his own last hour4 ,o ,brow of ,three-in-the evening1 ,thou wearest a crimson crown2 ,thou art ,priest of the hours forever1 ,and thy voice1 as thou goest down ,the cycles of time1 still murmurs ,the story of love each day3 ,i held in death the ,eternal1 ,in the long and the far-away4 ,o ,heart of ,three-in-the evening1 ,mine beats with thine to-day2 ,thou tellest the olden story1 ,i kneel -- and ,i weep and pray4 ,boulogne1 sur mer4 ,my ,beads ,sweet1 blessed beads6 ,i would not part ,with one of you for richest gem ,that gleams in kingly diadem2 ,ye know the history of my heart4 ,for ,i have told you every grief ,in all the days of twenty years1 ,and ,i have moistened you with tears1 ,and in your decades found relief4 ,ah6 time has fled1 and friends have failed ,and joys have died2 but in my needs ,ye were my friends1 my blessed beads6 ,and ye consoled me when ,i wailed4 ,for many and many a time1 in grief1 ,my weary fingers wandered round ,thy circled chain1 and always found ,in some ,hail ,mary sweet relief4 ,how many a story you might tell ,of inner life1 to all unknown2 ,i trusted you and you alone1 ,but ah6 ye keep my secrets well4 ,ye are the only chain ,i wear -- ,a sign that ,i am but the slave1 ,in life1 in death1 beyond the grave1 ,of ,jesus and ,his ,mother fair4 ,at ,night ,dreary6 weary6 ,weary6 dreary6 ,sighs my soul this lonely night4 ,farewell gladness6 ,welcome sadness6 ,vanished are my visions bright4 ,stars are shining6 ,winds are pining6 ,in the sky and o'er the sea2 ,shine forever ,stars6 but never ,can the starlight gladden me4 ,stars6 you nightly ,sparkle brightly1 ,scattered o'er your azure dome2 ,while earth's turning1 ,there you're burning1 ,beacons of a better home4 ,stars6 you brighten ,and you lighten ,many a heart-grief here below2 ,but your gleaming ,and your beaming ,cannot chase away my woe4 ,stars6 you're shining1 ,i am pining -- ,i am dark1 but you are bright2 ,hanging o'er me ,and before me ,is a night you cannot light4 ,night of sorrow1 ,whose to-morrow ,i may never1 never see1 ,till upon me ,and around me ,dawns a bright eternity4 ,winds6 you're sighing1 ,and you're crying1 ,like a mourner o'er a tomb2 ,whither go ye1 ,whither blow ye1 ,wailing through the midnight gloom8 ,chanting lowly1 ,softly1 lowly1 ,like the voice of one in woe2 ,winds so lonely1 ,why thus moan ye8 ,say1 what makes you sorrow so8 ,are you grieving ,for your leaving ,scenes where all is fair and gay8 ,for the flowers ,in their bowers1 ,you have met with on your way8 ,for fond faces1 ,for dear places1 ,that you've seen as on you swept8 ,are you sighing1 ,are you crying1 ,o'er the memories they have left8 ,earth is sleeping ,while you're sweeping ,through night's solemn silence by2 ,on forever1 ,pausing never -- ,how ,i love to hear you sigh6 ,men are dreaming1 ,stars are gleaming ,in the far-off heaven's blue2 ,bosom aching1 ,musing1 waking1 ,midnight winds1 ,i sigh with you6 ,nocturne ,betimes1 ,i seem to see in dreams ,betimes1 ,i seem to see in dreams ,what when awake ,i may not see2 ,can night be ,god's more than the day8 ,do stars1 not suns1 best light his way8 ,who knoweth8 ,blended lights and shades ,arch aisles down which ,he walks to me4 ,i hear him coming in the night ,afar1 and yet ,i know not how2 ,his steps make music low and sweet2 ,sometimes the nails are in his feet2 ,does darkness give ,god better light ,than day1 to find a weary brow8 ,does darkness give man brighter rays ,to find the ,god1 in sunshine lost8 ,must shadows wrap the trysting-place ,where ,god meets hearts with gentlest grace8 ,who knoweth it8 ,god hath ,his ways ,for every soul here sorrow-tossed4 ,the hours of day are like the waves ,that fret against the shores of sin3 ,they touch the human everywhere1 ,the ,bright-,divine fades in their glare2 ,and ,god's sweet voice the spirit craves ,is heard too faintly in the din4 ,when all the senses are awake1 ,the mortal presses overmuch ,upon the great immortal part -- ,and ,god seems further from the heart4 ,must souls1 like skies1 when day-dawns break1 ,lose star by star at sunlight's touch8 ,but when the sun kneels in the west1 ,and grandly sinks as great hearts sink2 ,and in his sinking flings adown ,bright blessings from his fading crown1 ,the stars begin their song of rest1 ,and shadows make the thoughtless think4 ,the human seems to fade away2 ,and down the starred and shadowed skies ,the heavenly comes -- as memories come ,of home to hearts afar from home2 ,and thro' the darkness after day ,many a winged angel flies4 ,and somehow1 tho' the eyes see less1 ,our spirits seem to see the more2 ,when we look thro' night's shadow-bars ,the soul sees more than shining stars1 ,yea -- sees the very loveliness ,that rests upon the ,golden ,shore4 ,strange reveries steal o'er us then1 ,like keyless chords of instruments1 ,with music's soul without the notes2 ,and subtle1 sad1 and sweet there floats ,a melody not made by men1 ,nor ever heard by outer sense4 ,and what has been1 and what will be1 ,and what is not1 but might have been1 ,the dim to be1 the mournful gone1 ,the little things life rested on ,in ,long-ago's1 give tone1 not key1 ,to reveries beyond our ken4 ,sunless ,days ,they come to ev'ry life -- sad1 sunless days1 ,with not a light all o'er their clouded skies2 ,and thro' the dark we grope along our ways ,with hearts fear-filled1 and lips low-breathing sighs4 ,what is the dark8 ,why cometh it8 and whence8 ,why does it banish all the bright away8 ,how does it weave a spell o'er soul and sense8 ,why falls the shadow where'er gleams the ray8 ,hast felt it8 ,i have felt it1 and ,i know ,how oft and suddenly the shadows roll ,from out the depths of some dim realm of woe1 ,to wrap their darkness round the human soul4 ,those days are darker than the very night2 ,for nights have stars1 and sleep1 and happy dreams2 ,but these days bring unto the spirit-sight ,the mysteries of gloom1 until it seems ,the light is gone forever1 and the dark ,hangs like a pall of death above the soul1 ,which rocks amid the gloom like storm-swept bark1 ,and sinks beneath a sea where tempests roll4 ,winter on the ,atlantic4 ,a ,reverie ,did ,i dream of a song8 or sing in a dream8 ,did ,i dream of a song8 or sing in a dream8 ,why ask when the night only knoweth8 ,the night -- and the angel of sleep6 ,but ever since then a music deep1 ,like a stream thro' a shadow-land1 floweth ,under each thought of my spirit that groweth ,into the blossom and bloom of speech -- ,under each fancy that cometh and goeth -- ,wayward1 as waves when evening breeze bloweth ,out of the sunset and into the beach4 ,and is it a wonder ,i wept to-day8 ,for ,i mused and thought1 but ,i cannot say ,if ,i dreamed of a song1 or sang in a dream4 ,in the silence of sleep1 and the noon of night2 ,and now -- even now -- 'neath the words ,i write1 ,the flush of the dream or the flow of the song -- ,i cannot tell which -- moves strangely along4 ,but why write more8 ,i am puzzled sore3 ,did ,i dream of a song8 or sing in a dream8 ,ah6 hush1 heart6 hush6 'tis of no avail2 ,the words of earth are a darksome veil1 ,the poet weaves it with artful grace2 ,lifts it off from his thoughts at times1 ,lets it rustle along his rhymes1 ,but gathers it close1 covering the face ,of ev'ry thought that must not part ,from out the keeping of his heart4 ,st4 ,mary's ,back to where the roses rest ,round a shrine of holy name1 7,yes -- they knew me when ,i came7 ,more of peace and less of fame ,suit my restless heart the best4 ,back to where long quiets brood1 ,where the calm is never stirred ,by the harshness of a word1 ,but instead the singing bird ,sweetens all my solitude4 ,with the birds and with the flowers ,songs and silences unite1 ,from the morning unto night2 ,and somehow a clearer light ,shines along the quiet hours4 ,god comes closer to me here -- ,back of ev'ry rose leaf there ,he is hiding -- and the air ,thrills with calls to holy prayer2 ,earth grows far1 and heaven near4 ,every single flower is fraught ,with the very sweetest dreams1 ,under clouds or under gleams ,changeful ever -- yet meseems ,on each leaf ,i read ,god's thought4 ,still1 at times1 as place of death1 ,not a sound to vex the ear1 ,yet withal it is not drear2 ,better for the heart to hear1 ,far from men -- ,god's gentle breath4 ,where men clash1 ,god always clings3 ,when the human passes by1 ,like a cloud from summer sky1 ,god so gently draweth nigh1 ,and the brightest blessings brings4 ,list6 e'en now a wild bird sings1 ,and the roses seem to hear ,every note that thrills my ear1 ,rising to the heavens clear1 ,and my soul soars on its wings ,up into the silent skies ,where the sunbeams veil the star1 ,up -- beyond the clouds afar1 ,where no discords ever mar1 ,where rests peace that never dies4 ,so ,i live within the calm1 ,and the birds and roses know ,that the days that come and go ,are as peaceful as the flow ,of a prayer beneath a psalm4 ,de ,profundis ,ah6 days so dark with death's eclipse6 ,woe are we6 woe are we6 ,and the nights are ages long6 ,from breaking hearts1 thro' pallid lips ,o my ,god6 woe are we6 ,trembleth the mourner's song2 ,a blight is falling on the fair1 ,and hope is dying in despair1 ,and terror walketh everywhere4 ,all the hours are full of tears -- ,o my ,god6 woe are we6 ,grief keeps watch in brightest eyes -- ,every heart is strung with fears1 ,woe are we6 woe are we6 ,all the light hath left the skies1 ,and the living awe struck crowds ,see above them only clouds1 ,and around them only shrouds4 ,ah6 the terrible farewells6 ,woe are they6 woe are they6 ,when last words sink into moans1 ,while life's trembling vesper bells -- ,o my ,god6 woe are we6 ,ring the awful undertones6 ,not a sun in any day6 ,in the night-time not a ray1 ,and the dying pass away6 ,dark6 so dark6 above -- below -- ,o my ,god6 woe are we6 ,cowereth every human life4 ,wild the wailing2 to and fro6 ,woe are all6 woe are we6 ,death is victor in the strife3 ,in the hut and in the hall ,he is writing on the wall ,dooms for many -- fears for all4 ,thro' the cities burns a breath1 ,woe are they6 woe are we6 ,hot with dread and deadly wrath2 ,life and love lock arms in death1 ,woe are they6 woe are all6 ,victims strew the spectre's path2 ,shy-eyed children softly creep ,where their mothers wail and weep -- ,in the grave their fathers sleep4 ,mothers waft their prayers on high1 ,o my ,god6 woe are we6 ,with their dead child on their breast4 ,and the altars ask the sky -- ,o my ,christ6 woe are we6 ,give the dead1 ,o ,father1 rest6 ,spare thy people6 mercy6 spare6 ,answer will not come to prayer -- ,horror moveth everywhere4 ,and the temples miss the priest -- ,o my ,god6 woe are we6 ,and the cradle mourns the child4 ,husband at your bridal feast -- ,woe are you6 woe are you6 ,think how those poor dead eyes smiled2 ,they will never smile again -- ,every tie is cut in twain1 ,all the strength of love is vain4 ,weep8 but tears are weak as foam -- ,woe are ye6 woe are we6 ,they but break upon the shore ,winding between here and home -- ,woe are ye6 woe are we6 ,wailing never6 nevermore6 ,ah6 the dead6 they are so lone1 ,just a grave1 and just a stone1 ,and the memory of a moan4 ,pray6 yes1 pray6 for ,god is sweet -- ,o my ,god6 woe are we6 ,tears will trickle into prayers ,when we kneel down at ,his feet -- ,woe are we6 woe are we6 ,with our crosses and our cares4 ,he will calm the tortured breast1 ,he will give the troubled rest -- ,and the dead ,he watcheth best4 ,when8 7,death7 ,some day in ,spring1 ,when earth is fair and glad1 ,and sweet birds sing1 ,and fewest hearts are sad -- ,shall ,i die then8 ,ah6 me1 no matter when2 ,i know it will be sweet ,to leave the homes of men ,and rest beneath the sod1 ,to kneel and kiss ,thy feet ,in ,thy home1 ,o my ,god6 ,some ,summer morn ,of splendors and of songs1 ,when roses hide the thorn ,and smile -- the spirit's wrongs -- ,shall ,i die then8 ,ah6 me1 no matter when2 ,i know ,i will rejoice ,to leave the haunts of men ,and lie beneath the sod1 ,to hear ,thy tender voice ,in ,thy home1 ,o my ,god6 ,some ,autumn eve1 ,when chill clouds drape the sky1 ,when bright things grieve ,because all fair things die -- ,shall ,i die then8 ,ah6 me1 no matter when1 ,i know ,i shall be glad1 ,away from the homes of men1 ,adown beneath the sod1 ,my heart will not be sad ,in ,thy home1 ,o my ,god6 ,some ,wintry day1 ,when all skies wear a gloom1 ,and beauteous ,may ,sleeps in ,december's tomb1 ,shall ,i die then8 ,ah6 me1 no matter when2 ,my soul shall throb with joy ,to leave the haunts of men ,and sleep beneath the sod4 ,ah6 there is no alloy ,in ,thy joys1 ,o my ,god6 ,haste1 death6 be fleet2 ,i know it will be sweet ,to rest beneath the sod1 ,to kneel and kiss ,thy feet ,in heaven1 ,o my ,god6 ,the ,conquered ,banner ,furl that ,banner1 for 'tis weary2 ,round its staff 'tis drooping dreary2 ,furl it1 fold it1 it is best2 ,for there's not a man to wave it1 ,and there's not a sword to save it1 ,and there's not one left to lave it ,in the blood which heroes gave it2 ,and its foes now scorn and brave it2 ,furl it1 hide it -- let it rest6 ,take that ,banner down6 'tis tattered2 ,broken is its staff and shattered2 ,and the valiant hosts are scattered ,over whom it floated high4 ,oh6 'tis hard for us to fold it2 ,hard to think there's none to hold it2 ,hard that those who once unrolled it ,now must furl it with a sigh4 ,furl that ,banner6 furl it sadly6 ,once ten thousands hailed it gladly1 ,and ten thousands wildly1 madly1 ,swore it should forever wave2 ,swore that foeman's sword should never ,hearts like theirs entwined dissever1 ,till that flag should float forever ,o'er their freedom or their grave6 ,furl it6 for the hands that grasped it1 ,and the hearts that fondly clasped it1 ,cold and dead are lying low2 ,and that ,banner -- it is trailing6 ,while around it sounds the wailing ,of its people in their woe4 ,for1 though conquered1 they adore it6 ,love the cold1 dead hands that bore it6 ,weep for those who fell before it6 ,pardon those who trailed and tore it6 ,but1 oh6 wildly they deplore it1 ,now who furl and fold it so4 ,furl that ,banner6 ,true1 'tis gory1 ,yet 'tis wreathed around with glory1 ,and 'twill live in song and story1 ,though its folds are in the dust3 ,for its fame on brightest pages1 ,penned by poets and by sages1 ,shall go sounding down the ages -- ,furl its folds though now we must4 ,furl that ,banner1 softly1 slowly6 ,treat it gently -- it is holy -- ,for it droops above the dead4 ,touch it not -- unfold it never1 ,let it droop there1 furled forever1 ,for its people's hopes are dead6 ,a ,christmas ,chant ,they ask me to sing them a ,christmas song ,that with musical mirth shall ring2 ,how know ,i that the world's great throng ,will care for the words ,i sing8 ,let the young and the gay chant the ,christmas lay1 ,their voices and hearts are glad2 ,but ,i -- ,i am old1 and my locks are gray1 ,and they tell me my voice is sad4 ,ah6 once ,i could sing1 when my heart beat warm ,with hopes1 bright as life's first spring2 ,but the spring hath fled1 and the golden charm ,hath gone from the songs ,i sing4 ,i have lost the spell that my verse could weave ,o'er the souls of the old and young1 ,and never again -- how it makes me grieve -- ,shall ,i sing as once ,i sung4 ,why ask a song8 ah6 perchance you believe1 ,since my days are so nearly past1 ,that the song you'll hear on this ,christmas eve ,is the old man's best and last4 ,do you want the jingle of rhythm and rhyme8 ,art's sweet but meaningless notes8 ,or the music of thought1 that1 like the chime ,of a grand cathedral1 floats ,out of each word1 and along each line1 ,into the spirit's ear1 ,lifting it up and making it pine ,for a something far from here2 ,bearing the wings of the soul aloft ,from earth and its shadows dim2 ,soothing the breast with a sound as soft ,as a dream1 or a seraph's hymn2 ,evoking the solemnest hopes and fears ,from our being's higher part2 ,dimming the eyes with radiant tears ,that flow from a spell bound heart8 ,do they want a song that is only a song1 ,with no mystical meanings rife8 ,or a music that solemnly moves along -- ,the undertone of a life6 ,well1 then1 ,i'll sing1 though ,i know no art1 ,nor the poet's rhymes nor rules -- ,a melody moves through my aged heart ,not learned from the books or schools3 ,a music ,i learned in the days long gone -- ,i cannot tell where or how -- ,but no matter where1 it still sounds on ,back of this wrinkled brow4 ,and down in my heart ,i hear it still1 ,like the echoes of far-off bells2 ,like the dreamy sound of a summer rill ,flowing through fairy dells4 ,but what shall ,i sing for the world's gay throng1 ,and what the words of the old man's song8 ,the world they tell me1 is so giddy grown ,that thought is rare2 ,and thoughtless minds and shallow hearts alone ,hold empire there2 ,that fools have prestige1 place and power and fame2 ,can it be true ,that wisdom is a scorn1 a hissing shame1 ,and wise are few8 ,they tell me1 too1 that all is venal1 vain1 ,with high and low2 ,that truth and honor are the slaves of gain2 ,can it be so8 ,that lofty principle hath long been dead ,and in a shroud2 ,that virtue walks ashamed1 with downcast head1 ,amid the crowd4 ,they tell me1 too1 that few they are who own ,god's law and love2 ,that thousands1 living for this earth alone1 ,look not above2 ,that daily1 hourly1 from the bad to worse1 ,men tread the path1 ,blaspheming ,god1 and careless of the curse ,of his dead wrath4 ,and must ,i sing for slaves of sordid gain1 ,or to the few ,shall ,i not dedicate this ,christmas strain ,who still are true8 ,no2 not for the false shall ,i strike the strings ,of the lyre that was mute so long2 ,if ,i sing at all1 the gray bard sings ,for the few and the true his song4 ,and ah6 there is many a changeful mood ,that over my spirit steals2 ,beneath their spell1 and in verses rude1 ,whatever he dreams or feels4 ,whatever the fancies this ,christmas eve ,are haunting the lonely man1 ,whether they gladden1 or whether they grieve1 ,he'll sing them as best he can4 ,though some of the strings of his lyre are broke ,this holiest night of the year1 ,who knows how its melody may wake ,a ,christmas smile or a tear8 ,so on with the mystic song1 ,with its meaning manifold -- ,two tones in every word1 ,two thoughts in every tone2 ,in the measured words that move along ,one meaning shall be heard1 ,one thought to all be told2 ,but under it all1 to be alone -- ,and under it all1 to all unknown -- ,as safe as under a coffin-lid1 ,deep meanings shall be hid4 ,find them out who can6 ,the thoughts concealed and unrevealed ,in the song of the lonely man4 99 99 99 99 99 ,i'm sitting alone in my silent room ,this long ,december night1 ,watching the fire-flame fill the gloom ,with many a picture bright4 ,ah6 how the fire can paint6 ,its magic skill1 how strange6 ,how every spark ,on the canvas dark ,draws figures and forms so quaint6 ,and how the pictures change6 ,one moment how they smile6 ,and in less than a little while1 ,in the twinkling of an eye1 ,like the gleam of a summer sky1 ,the beaming smiles all die4 ,from gay to grave -- from grave to gay -- ,the faces change in the shadows gray2 ,and just as ,i wonder who they are1 ,over them all1 ,like a funeral pall1 ,the folds of the shadows droop and fall1 ,and the charm is gone1 ,and every one ,of the pictures fade away4 ,ah6 the fire within my grate ,hath more than ,raphael's power1 ,is more than ,raphael's peer2 ,it paints for me in a little hour ,more than he in a year2 ,and the pictures hanging 'round me here ,this holy ,christmas eve ,no artist's pencil could create -- ,no painter's art conceive2 ,ah6 those cheerful faces1 ,wearing youthful graces6 ,i gaze on them until ,i seem ,half awake and half in dream4 ,there are brows without a mark1 ,features bright without a shade2 ,there are eyes without a tear2 ,there are lips unused to sigh4 ,ah6 never mind -- you soon shall die6 ,all those faces soon shall fade1 ,fade into the dreary dark ,like their pictures hanging here4 -- ,lo6 those tearful faces1 ,bearing age's traces6 ,i gaze on them1 and they on me1 ,until ,i feel a sorrow steal ,through my heart so drearily2 ,there are faces furrowed deep2 ,there are eyes that used to weep2 ,there are brows beneath a cloud2 ,there are hearts that want to sleep2 ,never mind6 the shadows creep ,from the death-land2 and a shroud1 ,tenderly as mother's arm1 ,soon shall shield the old from harm1 ,soon shall wrap its robe of rest ,round each sorrow-haunted breast ,ah6 that face of mother's1 ,sister's1 too1 and brother's -- ,and so many others1 ,dear is every name -- ,and ,ethel6 ,thou art there1 ,with thy child-face sweet and fair1 ,and thy heart so bright ,in its shroud so white2 ,just as ,i saw you last ,in the golden1 happy past2 ,and you seem to wear ,upon your hair -- ,your waving1 golden hair -- ,the smile of the setting sun4 ,ah6 me1 how years will run6 ,but all the years cannot efface ,your purest name1 your sweetest grace1 ,from the heart that still is true ,of all the world to you2 ,the other faces shine1 ,but none so fair as thine2 ,and wherever they are to-night1 ,i know ,they look the very same ,as in their pictures hanging here ,this night1 to memory dear1 ,and painted by the flames1 ,with tombstones in the background1 ,and shadows for their frames4 ,and thus with my pictures only1 ,and the fancies they unweave1 ,alone1 and yet not lonely1 ,i keep my ,christmas eve4 ,i'm sitting alone in my pictured room -- ,but1 no6 they have vanished all -- ,i'm watching the fire-glow fade into gloom1 ,i'm watching the ashes fall4 ,and far away back of the cheerful blaze ,the beautiful visions of by-gone days ,are rising before my raptured gaze4 ,ah6 ,christmas fire1 so bright and warm1 ,hast thou a wizard's magic charm ,to bring those far-off scenes so near ,and make my past days meet me here8 ,tell me -- tell me -- how is it8 ,the past is past1 and here ,i sit1 ,and there1 lo6 there before me rise1 ,beyond yon glowing flame1 ,the summer suns of childhood's skies1 ,yes -- yes -- the very same6 ,i saw them rise long1 long ago2 ,i played beneath their golden glow2 ,and ,i remember yet1 ,i often cried with strange regret ,when in the west ,i saw them set ,and there they are again2 ,the suns1 the skies1 the very days ,of childhood1 just beyond that blaze6 ,but1 ah6 such visions almost craze ,the old man's puzzled brain6 ,i thought the past was past6 ,but1 no6 it cannot be2 ',tis here to-night with me6 ,how is it1 then8 the past of men ,is part of one eternity -- ,the days of yore we so deplore1 ,they are not dead -- they are not fled1 ,they live and live for evermore4 ,and thus my past comes back to me ,with all its visions fair4 ,o past6 could ,i go back to thee1 ,and live forever there6 ,but1 no6 there's frost upon my hair2 ,my feet have trod a path of care2 ,and worn and wearied here ,i sit ,i am too tired to go to it4 ,and thus with visions only1 ,and the fancies they unweave1 ,alone1 and yet not lonely1 ,i keep my ,christmas eve4 ,i am sitting alone in my fire-lit room2 ,but1 no6 the fire is dying1 ,and the weary-voiced winds1 in the outer gloom1 ,are sad1 and ,i hear them sighing4 ,the wind hath a voice to pine -- ,plaintive1 and pensive and low2 ,hath it a heart like mine or thine8 ,knoweth it weal or woe8 ,how it wails in a ghost-like strain1 ,just against that window pane6 ,as if it were tired of its long1 cold flight1 ,and wanted to rest with me to-night4 ,cease6 night-winds1 cease6 ,why should you be sad8 ,this is a night of joy and peace1 ,and heaven and earth are glad6 ,but still the wind's voice grieves6 ,perchance o'er the fallen leaves1 ,which1 in their summer bloom1 ,danced to the music of bird and breeze1 ,but1 torn from the arms of their parent trees1 ,lie now in their wintry tomb -- ,mute types of man's own doom4 ,and thus with the night winds only1 ,and the fancies they unweave1 ,alone1 and yet not lonely1 ,i keep my ,christmas eve4 ,how long have ,i been dreaming here8 ,or have ,i dreamed at all8 ,my fire is dead -- my pictures fled -- ,there's nothing left but shadows drear -- ,shadows on the wall3 ,shifting1 flitting1 ,round me sitting ,in my old arm chair -- ,rising1 sinking ,round me1 thinking1 ,till1 in the maze of many a dream1 ,i'm not myself2 and ,i almost seem ,like one of the shadows there4 ,well1 let the shadows stay6 ,i wonder who are they8 ,i cannot say2 but ,i almost believe ,they know to-night is ,christmas eve1 ,and to-morrow ,christmas day4 ,ah6 there's nothing like a ,christmas eve ,to change life's bitter gall to sweet1 ,and change the sweet to gall again2 ,to take the thorns from out our feet -- ,the thorns and all their dreary pain1 ,only to put them back again4 ,to take old stings from out our heart -- ,old stings that made them bleed and smart -- ,only to sharpen them the more1 ,and press them back to the heart's own core4 ,ah6 no eve is like the ,christmas eve6 ,fears and hopes1 and hopes and fears1 ,tears and smiles1 and smiles and tears1 ,cheers and sighs1 and sighs and cheers1 ,sweet and bitter1 bitter1 sweet1 ,bright and dark1 and dark and bright4 ,all these mingle1 all these meet1 ,in this great and solemn night4 ,ah6 there's nothing like a ,christmas eve ,to melt1 with kindly glowing heat1 ,from off our souls the snow and sleet1 ,the dreary drift of wintry years1 ,only to make the cold winds blow1 ,only to make a colder snow2 ,and make it drift1 and drift1 and drift1 ,in flakes so icy-cold and swift1 ,until the heart that lies below ,is cold and colder than the snow4 ,and thus with the shadows only1 ,and the dreamings they unweave1 ,alone1 and yet not lonely1 ,i keep my ,christmas eve4 ',tis passing fast6 ,my fireless1 lampless room ,is a mass of moveless gloom2 ,and without -- a darkness vast1 ,solemn -- starless -- still6 ,heaven and earth doth fill4 ,but list6 there soundeth a bell1 ,with a mystical ding1 dong1 dell6 ,is it1 say1 is it a funeral knell8 ,solemn and slow1 ,now loud -- now low2 ,pealing the notes of human woe ,over the graves lying under the snow6 ,ah6 that pitiless ding1 dong1 dell6 ,trembling along the gale1 ,under the stars and over the snow4 ,why is it8 whence is it sounding so8 ,is it a toll of a burial bell8 ,or is it a spirit's wail8 ,solemnly1 mournfully1 ,sad -- and how lornfully6 ,ding1 dong1 dell6 ,whence is it8 who can tell8 ,and the marvelous notes they sink and swell1 ,sadder1 and sadder1 and sadder still6 ,how the sounds tremble6 how they thrill6 ,every tone ,so like a moan2 ,as if the strange bell's stranger clang ,throbbed with a terrible human pang4 ,ding1 dong1 dell6 ,dismally1 drearily1 ,ever so wearily4 ,far off and faint as a requiem plaint ,floats the deep-toned voice of the mystic bell ,piercingly -- thrillingly1 ,icily -- chillingly1 ,near -- and more near1 ,drearer -- and more drear1 ,soundeth the wild1 weird1 ding1 dong1 dell6 ,now sinking lower1 ,it tolleth slower6 ,i list1 and ,i hear its sound no more4 ,and now1 methinks1 ,i know that bell1 ,know it well -- know its knell -- ,for ,i often heard it sound before4 ,it is a bell -- yet not a bell ,whose sound may reach the ear6 ,it tolls a knell -- yet not a knell ,which earthly sense may hear4 ,in every soul a bell of dole ,hangs ready to be tolled2 ,and from that bell a funeral knell ,is often outward rolled2 ,and memory is the sexton gray ,who tolls the dreary knell2 ,and nights like this he loves to sway ,and swing his mystic bell4 ',twas that ,i heard and nothing more1 ,this lonely ,christmas eve2 ,then1 for the dead ,i'll meet no more1 ,at ,christmas let me grieve4 ,night1 be a priest6 put your star-stole on ,and murmur a holy prayer ,over each grave1 and for every one ,lying down lifeless there6 ,and over the dead stands the high priest1 ,night1 ,robed in his shadowy stole2 ,and beside him ,i kneel as his acolyte1 ,to respond to his prayer of dole4 ,and list6 he begins ,that psalm for sins1 ,the first of the mournful seven2 ,plaintive and soft ,it rises aloft1 ,begging the mercy of ,heaven ,to pity and forgive1 ,for the sake of those who live1 ,the dead who have died unshriven4 ,miserere6 ,miserere6 ,still your heart and hush your breath6 ,the voices of despair and death ,are shuddering through the psalm6 ,miserere6 ,miserere6 ,lift your hearts6 the terror dies6 ,up in yonder sinless skies ,the psalms sound sweet and calm6 ,miserere6 ,miserere6 ,very low1 in tender tones1 ,the music pleads1 the music moans1 ,i forgive and have forgiven1 ,the dead whose hearts were shriven4 ,de profundis6 ,de profundis6 ,psalm of the dead and disconsolate6 ,thou hast sounded through a thousand years1 ,and pealed above ten thousand biers2 ,and still1 sad psalm1 you mourn the fate ,of sinners and of just1 ,when their souls are going up to ,god1 ,their bodies down to dust4 ,dread hymn6 you wring the saddest tears ,from mortal eyes that fall1 ,and your notes evoke the darkest fears ,that human hearts appall6 ,you sound o'er the good1 you sound o'er the bad1 ,and ever your music is sad1 so sad1 ,we seem to hear murmured in every tone1 ,for the saintly a blessing2 for sinners a curse4 ,psalm1 sad psalm6 you must pray and grieve ,over our dead on this ,christmas eve4 ,de profundis6 ,de profundis6 ,and the night chants the psalm o'er the mortal clay1 ,and the spirits immortal from far away1 ,to the music of hope sing this sweet-toned lay4 ,you think of the dead on ,christmas eve1 ,wherever the dead are sleeping1 ,and we from a land where we may not grieve ,look tenderly down on your weeping4 ,you think us far1 we are very near1 ,from you and the earth1 though parted2 ,we sing to-night to console and cheer ,the hearts of the broken-hearted4 ,the earth watches over the lifeless clay ,of each of its countless sleepers1 ,and the sleepless spirits that passed away ,watch over all earth's weepers4 ,we shall meet again in a brighter land1 ,where farewell is never spoken2 ,we shall clasp each other in hand1 ,and the clasp shall not be broken2 ,we shall meet again1 in a bright1 calm clime1 ,where we'll never know a sadness1 ,and our lives shall be filled1 like a ,christmas chime1 ,with rapture and with gladness4 ,the snows shall pass from our graves away1 ,and you from the earth1 remember2 ,and the flowers of a bright1 eternal ,may1 ,shall follow earth's ,december4 ,when you think of us think not of the tomb ,where you laid us down in sorrow2 ,but look aloft1 and beyond earth's gloom1 ,and wait for the great to-morrow4 ,and the pontiff1 ,night1 with his star-stole on1 ,whispereth soft and low3 ,requiescat6 ,requiescat6 ,peace6 ,peace6 to every one ,for whom we grieve this ,christmas eve1 ,in their graves beneath the snow4 ,the stars in the far-off heaven ,have long since struck eleven6 ,and hark6 from temple and from tower1 ,soundeth time's grandest midnight hour1 ,blessed by the ,saviour's birth1 ,and night putteth off the sable stole1 ,symbol of sorrow and sign of dole1 ,for one with many a starry gem1 ,to honor the ,babe of ,bethlehem1 ,who comes to men the ,king of them1 ,yet comes without robe or diadem1 ,and all turn towards the holy east1 ,to hear the song of the ,christmas feast4 ,four thousand years earth waited1 ,four thousand years men prayed1 ,four thousand years the nations sighed1 ,that their ,king so long delayed4 ,the prophets told ,his coming1 ,the saintly for ,him sighed1 ,and the star of the ,babe of ,bethlehem ,shone o'er them when they died4 ,their faces towards the future1 ,they longed to hail the light ,that in the after centuries ,would rise on ,christmas night4 ,but still the ,saviour tarried1 ,within ,his father's home ,and the nations wept and wondered why ,the promised had not come4 ,at last earth's hope was granted1 ,and ,god was a child of earth2 ,and a thousand angels chanted ,the lowly midnight birth4 ,ah6 ,bethlehem was grander ,that hour than ,paradise2 ,and the light of earth that night eclipsed ,the splendors of the skies4 ,then let us sing the anthem ,the angels once did sing2 ,until the music of love and praise1 ,o'er whole wide world will ring4 ,gloria in excelsis6 ,sound the thrilling song2 ,in excelsis ,deo6 ,roll the hymn along4 ,gloria in excelsis6 ,let the heavens ring2 ,in excelsis ,deo6 ,welcome1 new-born ,king ,gloria in excelsis6 ,over the sea and land1 ,in excelsis ,deo6 ,chant the anthem grand4 ,gloria in excelsis6 ,let us all rejoice2 ,in excelsis ,deo6 ,lift each heart and voice4 ,gloria in excelsis6 ,swell the hymn on high2 ,in excelsis ,deo6 ,sound it to the sky4 ,gloria in excelsis6 ,sing it1 sinful earth1 ,in excelsis ,deo6 ,for the ,saviour's birth4 ,thus joyfully and victoriously1 ,glad and ever so gloriously1 ,high as the heavens1 wide as the earth1 ,swelleth the hymn of the ,saviour's birth4 ,lo6 the day is waking ,in the east afar2 ,dawn is faintly breaking1 ,sunk in every star4 ,christmas eve has vanished ,with its shadows gray2 ,all its griefs are banished ,by bright ,christmas day4 ,joyful chimes are ringing ,o'er the land and seas1 ,and there comes glad singing1 ,borne on every breeze4 ,little ones so merry ,bed-clothes coyly lift1 ,and1 in such a hurry1 ,prattle ,christmas gift6 ,little heads so curly1 ,knowing ,christmas laws1 ,peep out very early ,for old ,santa ,claus4 ,little eyes are laughing ,o'er their ,christmas toys1 ,older ones are quaffing ,cups of ,christmas joys4 ,hearts are joyous1 cheerful1 ,faces all are gay2 ,none are sad and tearful ,on bright ,christmas day4 ,hearts are light and bounding1 ,all from care are free2 ,homes are all resounding ,with the sounds of glee4 ,feet with feet are meeting1 ,bent on pleasure's way2 ,souls to souls give greeting ,warm on ,christmas day4 ,gifts are kept a-going ,fast from hand to hand2 ,blessings are a-flowing ,over every land4 ,one vast wave of gladness ,sweeps its world-wide way1 ,drowning every sadness ,on this ,christmas day4 ,merry1 merry ,christmas1 ,haste around the earth2 ,merry1 merry ,christmas1 ,scatter smiles and mirth4 ,merry1 merry ,christmas1 ,be to one and all6 ,merry1 merry ,christmas1 ,enter hut and hall4 ,merry1 merry ,christmas1 ,be to rich and poor6 ,merry1 merry ,christmas ,stop at every door4 ,merry1 merry ,christmas1 ,fill each heart with joy6 ,merry1 merry ,christmas ,to each girl and boy4 ,merry1 merry ,christmas1 ,better gifts than gold2 ,merry1 merry ,christmas ,to the young and old4 ,merry1 merry ,christmas1 ,may the coming year ,bring as merry a ,christmas ,and as bright a cheer4 ,far ,away ,far ,away6 what does it mean8 ,a change of heart with a change of place8 ,when footsteps pass from scene to scene1 ,fades soul from soul with face from face8 ,are hearts the slaves or lords of space8 ,far ,away6 what does it mean8 ,does distance sever there from here8 ,can leagues of land part hearts8 -- ,i ween ,they cannot2 for the trickling tear ,says ,far ,away means ,far ,more ,near4 ,far ,away6 -- the mournful miles ,are but the mystery of space ,that blends our sighs1 but parts our smiles1 ,for love will find a meeting place ,when face is farthest off from face4 ,far ,away6 we meet in dreams1 ,as 'round the altar of the night ,far-parted stars send down their gleams ,to meet in one embrace of light ,and make the brow of darkness bright4 ,far ,away6 we meet in tears1 ,that tell the path of weary feet2 ,and all the good-byes of the years ,but make the wanderer's welcome sweet1 ,the rains of parted clouds thus meet4 ,far ,away6 we meet in prayer1 ,you know the temple and the shrine2 ,before it bows the brow of care1 ,upon it tapers dimly shine2 ',tis mercy's home1 and yours and mine4 ,far ,away6 it falls between ,what is to-day and what has been2 ,but ah6 what is meet1 what is not1 ,in every hour and every spot1 ,where lips breathe on ,i have forgot4 ,far ,away6 there is no far6 ,nor days nor distance e'er can bar ,my spirit from your spirits -- nay1 ,farewell may waft a face away1 ,but still with you my heart will stay4 ,far ,away6 ,i sing its song1 ,but while the music moves along1 ,from out each word an echo clear ,falls trembling on my spirit's ear1 ,far ,away means ,far ,more ,near4 ,listen ,we borrow1 ,in our sorrow1 ,from the sun of some to-morrow ,half the light that gilds to-day2 ,and the splendor ,flashes tender ,o'er hope's footsteps to defend her ,from the fears that haunt the way4 ,we never ,here can sever ,any now from the forever ,interclasping near and far6 ,for each minute ,holds within it ,all the hours of the infinite1 ,as one sky holds every star4 ,wrecked ,the winds are singing a death-knell ,out on the main to-night2 ,the sky droops low -- and many a bark ,that sailed from harbors bright1 ,like many an one before1 ,shall enter port no more3 ,and a wreck shall drift to some unknown shore ,before to-morrow's light4 ,the clouds are hanging a death-pall ,over the sea to-night2 ,the stars are veiled -- and the hearts that sailed ,away from harbors bright1 ,shall sob their last for their quiet home -- ,and1 sobbing1 sink 'neath the whirling foam ,before the morning's light4 ,the waves are weaving a death-shroud ,out on the main to-night2 ,alas6 the last prayer whispered there ,by lips with terror white6 ,over the ridge of gloom1 ,not a star will loom6 ,god help the souls that will meet their doom ,before the dawn of light6 99 99 99 99 99 ,the breeze is singing a joy song ,over the sea to-day2 ,the storm is dead and the waves are red ,with the flush of the morning's ray2 ,and the sleepers sleep1 but beyond the deep ,the eyes that watch for the ships shall weep ,for the hearts they bore away4 ,dreaming ,the moan of a wintry soul ,melted into a summer song1 ,and the words1 like the wavelet's roll1 ,moved murmuringly along4 ,and the song flowed far and away1 ,like the voice of a half-sleeping rill -- ,each wave of it lit by a ray -- ,but the sound was so soft and so still1 ,and the tone was so gentle and low1 ,none heard the song till it had passed2 ,till the echo that followed its flow ,came dreamingly back from the past4 ',twas too late6 -- a song never returns ,that passes our pathway unheard2 ,as dust lying dreaming in urns ,is the song lying dead in a word4 ,for the birds of the skies have a nest1 ,and the winds have a home where they sleep1 ,and songs1 like our souls1 need a rest1 ,where they murmur the while we may weep4 99 99 99 99 99 ,but songs -- like the birds o'er the foam1 ,where the storm wind is beating their breast1 ,fly shoreward -- and oft find a home ,in the shelter of words where they rest4 ,a ,thought ,hearts that are great beat never loud1 ,they muffle their music when they come2 ,they hurry away from the thronging crowd ,with bended brows and lips half dumb1 ,and the world looks on and mutters -- ,proud4 ,but when great hearts have passed away ,men gather in awe and kiss their shroud1 ,and in love they kneel around their clay4 ,hearts that are great are always lone1 ,they never will manifest their best2 ,their greatest greatness is unknown -- ,earth knows a little -- ,god1 the rest4 ,yesterdays ,gone6 and they return no more1 ,but they leave a light in the heart2 ,the murmur of waves that kiss a shore ,will never1 ,i know1 depart4 ,gone6 yet with us still they stay1 ,and their memories throb through life2 ,the music that hushes or stirs to-day1 ,is toned by their calm or strife4 ,gone6 and yet they never go6 ,we kneel at the shrine of time3 ',tis a mystery no man may know1 ,nor tell in a poet's rhyme4 ,to-,days ,brief while they last1 ,long when they are gone2 ,they catch from the past ,a light to still live on4 ,brief6 yet ,i ween ,a day may be an age1 ,the poet's pen may screen ,heart-stories on one page4 ,brief6 but in them1 ,from eve back to morn1 ,some find the gem1 ,many find the thorn4 ,brief6 minutes pass ,soft as flakes of snow1 ,shadows o'er the grass ,could not swifter go4 ,brief6 but along ,all the after-years ,to-day will be a song ,of smiles or of tears4 ,to-,morrows ,god knows all things -- but we ,in darkness walk our ways2 ,we wonder what will be1 ,we ask the nights and days4 ,their lips are sealed2 at times ,the bards1 like prophets1 see1 ,and rays rush o'er their rhymes ,from suns of days to be4 ,they see ,to-morrow's heart1 ,they read ,to-morrow's face1 ,they grasp -- is it by art -- ,the far ,to-morrow's trace8 ,they see what is unseen1 ,and hear what is unheard1 ,and ,to-morrow's shade or sheen ,rests on the poet's word4 ,as seers see a star ,beyond the brow of night1 ,so poets scan the far ,prophetic when they write4 ,they read a human face1 ,as readers read their page1 ,the while their thought will trace ,a life from youth to age4 ,they have a mournful gift1 ,their verses oft are tears2 ,and sleepless eyes they lift ,to look adown the years4 ,to-morrows are to-days6 ,is it not more than art8 ,when all life's winding ways ,meet in the poet's heart8 ,the present meets the past1 ,the future1 too1 is there2 ,the first enclasps the last ,and never folds fore'er4 ,it is not all a dream2 ,a poet's thought is truth2 ,the things that are -- and seem ,from age far back to youth -- ,he holds the tangled threads1 ,his hands unravel them2 ,he knows the hearts and heads ,for thorns1 or diadem4 ,ask him1 and he will see ,what your ,to-morrows are2 ,he'll sing ,what is to be ,beneath each sun and star4 ,to-morrows6 ,dread unknown6 ,what fates may they not bring8 ,what is the chord8 the tone8 ,the key in which they sing8 ,i see a thousand throngs1 ,to-morrows for them wait2 ,i hear a thousand songs ,intoning each one's fate4 ,and yours8 ,what will it be8 ,hush6 song1 and let me pray6 ,god sees it all -- ,i see ,a long1 lone1 winding way2 ,and more6 no matter what6 ,crosses and crowns you wear3 ,my song may be forgot1 ,but ,thou shalt not1 in prayer4 ,inevitable ,what has been will be1 ',tis the under law of life2 ',tis the song of sky and sea1 ,to the key of calm and strife4 ,for guard we as we may1 ,what is to be will be1 ,the dark must fold each day -- ,the shore must gird each sea4 ,all things are ruled by law2 ',tis only in man's will ,you meet a feeble flaw2 ,but fate is weaving still ,the web and woof of life1 ,with hands that have no hearts1 ,thro' calmness and thro' strife1 ,despite all human arts4 ,for fate is master here1 ,he laughs at human wiles2 ,he sceptres every tear1 ,and fetters any smiles4 ,what is to be will be1 ,we cannot help ourselves2 ,the waves ask not the sea ,where lies the shore that shelves4 ,the law is coldest steel1 ,we live beneath its sway1 ,it cares not what we feel1 ,and so pass night and day4 ,and sometimes we may think ,this cannot -- will not -- be3 ,some waves must rise -- some sink1 ,out on the midnight sea4 ,and we are weak as waves ,that sink upon the shore2 ,we go down into graves -- ,fate chants the nevermore2 ,cometh a voice6 ,kneel down6 ',tis ,god's -- there is no fate -- ,he giveth the ,cross and ,crown1 ,he opens the jeweled gate4 ,he watcheth with such eyes ,as only mothers own -- ,sweet ,father in the skies6 ,ye call us to a throne4 ,there is no fate -- ,god's love ,is law beneath each law1 ,and law all laws above ,fore'er1 without a flaw4 ,sorrow and the ,flowers ,a ,memorial ,wreath to ,c4 ,f4 ,sorrow3 ,a garland for a grave6 ,fair flowers that bloom1 ,and only bloom to fade as fast away1 ,we twine your leaflets 'round our ,claudia's tomb1 ,and with your dying beauty crown her clay4 ,ye are the tender types of life's decay2 ,your beauty1 and your love-enfragranced breath1 ,from out the hand of ,june1 or heart of ,may1 ,fair flowers6 tell less of life and more of death4 ,my name is ,sorrow4 ,i have knelt at graves1 ,all o'er the weary world for weary years2 ,i kneel there still1 and still my anguish laves ,the sleeping dust with moaning streams of tears4 ,and yet1 the while ,i garland graves as now1 ,i bring fair wreaths to deck the place of woe2 ,whilst joy is crowning many a living brow1 ,i crown the poor1 frail dust that sleeps below4 ,she was a flower -- fresh1 fair and pure1 and frail2 ,a lily in life's morning4 ,god is sweet2 ,he reached ,his hand1 there rose a mother's wail2 ,her lily drooped3 'tis blooming at ,his feet4 ,where are the flowers to crown the faded flower8 ,i want a garland for another grave2 ,and who will bring them from the dell and bower1 ,to crown what ,god hath taken1 with what heaven gave8 ,as though ye heard my voice1 ye heed my will2 ,ye come with fairest flowers3 give them to me1 ,to crown our ,claudia4 ,love leads memory still1 ,to prove at graves love's immortality4 ,white ,rose3 ,her grave is not a grave2 it is a shrine1 ,where innocence reposes1 ,bright over which ,god's stars must love to shine1 ,and where1 when ,winter closes1 ,fair ,spring shall come1 and in her garland twine1 ,just like this hand of mine1 ,the whitest of white roses4 ,laurel3 ,i found it on a mountain slope1 ,the sunlight on its face2 ,it caught from clouds a smile of hope ,that brightened all the place4 ,they wreathe with it the warrior's brow1 ,and crown the chieftain's head2 ,but the laurel's leaves love best to grace ,the garland of the dead4 ,wild ,flower3 ,i would not live in a garden1 ,but far from the haunts of men2 ,nature herself was my warden1 ,i lived in a lone little glen4 ,a wild flower out of the wildwood1 ,too wild for even a name2 ,as strange and as simple as childhood1 ,and wayward1 yet sweet all the same4 ,willow ,branch3 ,to sorrow's own sweet crown1 ,with simple grace1 ,the weeping-willow bends her branches down ,just like a mother's arm1 ,to shield from harm1 ,the dead within their resting place4 ,lily3 ,the angel flower of all the flowers3 ,its sister flowers1 ,in all the bowers ,worship the lily1 for it brings1 ,wherever it blooms1 ,on shrines or tombs1 ,a dream surpassing earthly sense ,of heaven's own stainless innocence4 ,violet ,leaves3 ,it is too late for violets1 ,i only bring their leaves1 ,i looked in vain for mignonettes ,to grace the crown grief weaves2 ,for queenly ,may1 upon her way1 ,robs half the bowers ,of all their flowers1 ,and leaves but leaves to ,june4 ,ah6 beauty fades so soon2 ,and the valley grows lonely in spite of the sun1 ,for flowerets are fading fast1 one by one4 ,leaves for a grave1 leaves for a garland1 ,leaves for a little flower1 gone to the far-land4 ,forget-,me-,not3 ,forget-me-not6 ,the sad words strangely quiver ,on lips1 like shadows falling on a river1 ,flowing away1 ,by night1 by day1 ,flowing away forever4 ,the mountain whence the river springs ,murmurs to it1 forget me not2 ,the little stream runs on and sings ,on to the sea1 and every spot ,it passes by ,breathes forth a sigh1 ,forget me not6 forget me not6 ,a ,garland3 ,i bring this for her mother2 ah1 who knows ,the lonely deeps within a mother's heart8 ,beneath the wildest wave of woe that flows ,above1 around her1 when her children part1 ,there is a sorrow1 silent1 dark1 and lone2 ,it sheds no tears1 it never maketh moan4 ,whene'er a child dies from a mother's arms1 ,a grave is dug within the mother's heart3 ,she watches it alone2 no words of art ,can tell the story of her vigils there4 ,this garland fading even while 'tis fair1 ,it is a mother's memory of a grave1 ,when ,god hath taken her whom heaven gave4 ,sorrow3 ,farewell6 ,i go to crown the dead2 ,yet ye have crowned yourselves to-day1 ,for they whose hearts so faithful love ,the lonely grave -- the very clay2 ,they crown themselves with richer gems ,than flash in royal diadems4 ,hope ,thine eyes are dim3 ,a mist hath gathered there2 ,around their rim ,float many clouds of care1 ,and there is sorrow every -- everywhere4 ,but there is ,god1 ,every -- everywhere2 ,beneath ,his rod ,kneel thou adown in prayer4 ,for grief is ,god's own kiss ,upon a soul4 ,look up6 the sun of bliss ,will shine where storm-clouds roll4 ,yes1 weeper1 weep6 ',twill not be evermore2 ,i know the darkest deep ,hath e'en the brightest shore4 ,so tired6 so tired6 ,a cry of half despair2 ,look6 at your side -- ,and see ,who standeth there6 ,your ,father6 ,hush6 ,a heart beats in ,his breast2 ,now rise and rush ,into ,his arms -- and rest4 ,farewells ,they are so sad to say3 no poem tells ,the agony of hearts that dwells ,in lone and last farewells4 ,they are like deaths3 they bring a wintry chill ,to summer's roses1 and to summer's rill2 ,and yet we breathe them still4 ,for pure as altar-lights hearts pass away2 ,hearts6 we said to them1 ,stay with us6 stay6 ,and they said1 sighing as they said it1 ,nay4 ,the sunniest days are shortest2 darkness tells ,the starless story of the night that dwells ,in lone and last farewells4 ,two faces meet here1 there1 or anywhere3 ,each wears the thoughts the other face may wear2 ,their hearts may break1 breathing1 ,farewell fore'er4 ,song of the ,river ,a river went singing adown to the sea1 ,a-singing -- low -- singing -- ,and the dim rippling river said softly to me1 ,i'm bringing1 a-bringing -- ,while floating along -- ,a beautiful song ,to the shores that are white where the waves are so weary1 ,to the beach that is burdened with wrecks that are dreary4 ,a song sweet and calm ,as the peacefulest psalm2 ,and the shore that was sad ,will be grateful and glad1 ,and the weariest wave from its dreariest dream ,will wake to the sound of the song of the stream2 ,and the tempests shall cease ,and there shall be peace4 ,from the fairest of fountains1 ,and farthest of mountains1 ,from the stillness of snow ,came the stream in its flow4 ,down the slopes where the rocks are gray1 ,thro' the vales where the flowers are fair -- ,where the sunlight flashed -- where the shadows lay ,like stories that cloud a face of care1 ,the river ran on -- and on -- and on -- ,day and night1 and night and day2 ,going and going1 and never gone1 ,longing to flow to the far away1 ,staying and staying1 and never still2 ,going and staying1 as if one will ,said1 ,beautiful river1 go to the sea2 ,and another will whispered1 ,stay with me3 ,and the river made answer1 soft and low -- ,i go and stay -- ,i stay and go4 ,but what is the song1 ,i said1 at last8 ,to the passing river that never passed2 ,and a white1 white wave whispered1 ,list to me1 ,i'm a note in the song for the beautiful sea1 -- ,a song whose grand accents no earth-din may sever1 ,and the river flows on in the same mystic key ,that blends in one chord the forever and never'4 ,december #ae1 #ahgh4 ,dreamland ,over the silent sea of sleep1 ,far away6 far away6 ,over a strange and starlit deep ,where the beautiful shadows sway2 ,dim in the dark1 ,glideth a bark1 ,where never the waves of a tempest roll -- ,bearing the very soul of a soul1 ,alone1 all alone -- ,far away -- far away ,to shores all unknown ,in the wakings of the day2 ,to the lovely land of dreams1 ,where what is meets with what seems ,brightly dim1 dimly bright2 ,where the suns meet stars at night1 ,where the darkness meets the light ,heart to heart1 face to face1 ,in an infinite embrace4 99 99 99 99 99 ,mornings break1 ,and we wake1 ,and we wonder where we went ,in the bark ,thro' the dark1 ,but our wonder is misspent2 ,for no day can cast a light ,on the dreamings of the night4 ,lines ,sometimes1 from the far-away1 ,sometimes1 from the far-away1 ,wing a little thought to me2 ,in the night or in the day1 ,it will give a rest to me4 ,i have praise of many here1 ,and the world gives me renown2 ,let it go -- give me one tear1 ',twill be a jewel in my crown4 ,what care ,i for earthly fame8 ,how ,i shrink from all its glare6 ,i would rather that my name ,would be shrined in some one's prayer4 ,many hearts are all too much1 ,or too little in their praise2 ,i would rather feel the touch ,of one prayer that thrills all days4 ,a ,song ,written in an ,album4 ,pure faced page6 waiting so long ,to welcome my muse and me2 ,fold to thy breast1 like a mother1 the song ,that floats from my spirit to thee4 ,and song6 sound soft as the streamlet sings1 ,and sweet as the ,summer's birds1 ,and pure and bright and white be the wings ,that will waft thee into words4 ,yea6 fly as the sea-birds fly over the sea ,to rest on the far-off beach1 ,and breathe forth the message ,i trust to thee1 ,tear toned on the shores of speech4 ,but ere you go1 dip your snowy wing ,in a wave of my spirit's deep -- ,in a wave that is purest -- then haste and bring ,a song to the hearts that weep4 ,oh6 bring it1 and sing it -- its notes are tears2 ,its octaves1 the octaves of grief2 ,who knows but its tones in the far-off years ,may bring to the lone heart relief8 ,yea6 bring it1 and sing it -- a worded moan ,that sweeps thro' the minors of woe1 ,with mystical meanings in every tone1 ,and sounds like the sea's lone flow4 99 99 99 99 99 ,and the thoughts take the wings of words1 and float ,out of my spirit to thee2 ,but the song dies away into only one note1 ,and sounds but in only one key4 ,and the note6 'tis the wail of the weariest wave ,that sobs on the loneliest shore2 ,and the key6 never mind1 it comes out of a grave2 ,and the chord6 -- 'tis a sad nevermore4 ,and just like the wavelet that moans on the beach1 ,and1 sighing1 sinks back to the sea1 ,so my song -- it just touches the rude shores of speech1 ,and its music melts back into me4 ,yea1 song6 shrink back to my spirit's lone deep1 ,let others hear only thy moan -- ,but ,i -- ,i forever shall hear the grand sweep ,of thy mighty and tear-burdened tone4 ,sweep on1 mighty song6 -- sound down in my heart ,as a storm sounding under a sea2 ,not a sound of thy music shall pass into art1 ,nor a note of it float out from me4 ,parting ,farewell6 that word has broken hearts ,and blinded eyes with tears2 ,farewell6 one stays1 and one departs2 ,between them roll the years4 ,no wonder why who say it think -- ,farewell6 he may fare ill ,no wonder that their spirits sink ,and all their hopes grow chill4 ,good-bye6 that word makes faces pale ,and fills the soul with fears2 ,good-bye6 two words that wing a wail ,which flutters down the years4 ,no wonder they who say it feel ,such pangs for those who go2 ,good-bye they wish the parted weal1 ,but ah6 they may meet woe4 ,adieu6 such is the word for us1 ',tis more than word -- 'tis prayer2 ,they do not part1 who do part thus1 ,for ,god is everywhere4 ,st4 ,stephen ,first champion of the ,crucified6 ,who1 when the fight began ,between the ,church and worldly pride ,so nobly fought1 so nobly died1 ,the foremost in the van2 ,while rallied to your valiant side ,the red-robed martyr-band2 ,to-night with glad and high acclaim ,we venerate thy saintly name2 ,accept1 ,saint ,stephen1 to thy praise ,and glory1 these our lowly lays4 ,the chosen twelve with chrismed hand ,and burning zeal within1 ,led forth their small yet fearless band ,on ,pentecost1 and took their stand ,against the world and sin -- ,while rang aloud the battle-cry3 ,the hated ,christians all must die6 ,as died the ,nazarene before1 ,the ,god they believe in and adore4 ,yet ,stephen's heart quailed not with fear ,at persecution's cry2 ,but loving1 as he did1 the cause ,of ,jesus and ,his faith and laws1 ,prepared himself to die4 ,he faced his foes with burning zeal1 ,such zeal as only saints can feel2 ,he told them how the ,lord had stood ,within their midst1 so great and good1 ,how he had through ,judea trod1 ,how wonders marked his way -- the ,god1 ,how he had cured the blind1 the lame1 ,the deaf1 the palsied1 and the maimed1 ,and how1 with awful1 wondrous might1 ,he raised the dead to life and light2 ,and how his people knew ,him not -- ,had eyes and still had seen ,him not1 ,had ears and still had heard ,him not1 ,had hearts and comprehended not4 ,then said he1 pointing to the right1 ,where darkly rose ,golgotha's height3 ,there have ye slain the ,holy ,one1 ,your ,saviour and ,god's only ,son4 ,they gnashed their teeth in raging ire1 ,those dark and cruel men2 ,they vowed a vengeance deep and dire ,against ,saint ,stephen then4 ,yet he was calm2 a radiant light ,around his forehead gleamed2 ,he raised his eyes1 a wondrous sight ,he saw1 so grand it was and bright1 ,his soul was filled with such delight ,that he an angel seemed4 ,then spoke the ,saint3 ,a vision grand ,bursts on me from above3 ,the doors of heaven open stand1 ,and at the ,father's own right hand ,i see the ,lord ,i love4 ,away with him1 the rabble cry1 ,with swelling rage and hate1 ,but ,stephen still gazed on the sky1 ,his heart was with his ,lord on high1 ,he heeded not his fate4 ,the gathering crowd in fury wild ,rush on the 'raptured ,saint1 ,and seize their victim1 mute and mild1 ,who1 like his master1 though reviled1 ,still uttered no complaint4 ,with angry shouts they rend the air2 ,they drag him to the city gate2 ,they bind his hands and feet and there1 ,while whispered he for them a prayer1 ,the martyr meets his fate4 ,first fearless witness to his belief ,in ,jesus ,crucified1 ,the red-robed martyrs' noble chief1 ,thus for his ,master died4 ,and to the end of time his name ,our ,holy ,church shall e'er proclaim1 ,and with a mother's pride shall tell ,how her great proto-martyr fell4 ,a ,flower's ,song ,star6 ,star1 why dost thou shine ,each night upon my brow8 ,why dost thou make me dream the dreams ,that ,i am dreaming now8 ,star6 ,star1 thy home is high -- ,i am of humble birth2 ,thy feet walk shining o'er the sky1 ,mine1 only on the earth4 ,star6 ,star1 why make me dream8 ,my dreams are all untrue2 ,and why is sorrow dark for me ,and heaven bright for you8 ,star6 ,star1 oh1 hide thy ray1 ,and take it off my face2 ,within my lowly home ,i stay1 ,thou1 in thy lofty place4 ,star6 ,star1 and still ,i dream1 ,along thy light afar ,i seem to soar until ,i seem ,to be1 like you1 a star4 ,the ,star's ,song ,flower6 ,flower1 why repine8 ,god knows each creature's place2 ,he hides within me when ,i shine1 ,and your leaves hide ,his face4 ,and you are near as ,i to ,him1 ,and you reveal as much ,of that eternal soundless hymn ,man's words may never touch4 ,god sings to man through all my rays ,that wreathe the brow of night1 ,and walks with me thro' all my ways -- ,the everlasting light4 ,flower6 ,flower1 why repine8 ,he chose on lowly earth1 ,and not in heaven where ,i shine1 ,his ,bethlehem and birth4 ,flower6 ,flower1 ,i see ,him pass ,each hour of night and day1 ,down to an altar and a ,mass ,go thou6 and fade away4 ,fade away upon ,his shrine6 ,thy light is brighter far ,than all the light wherewith ,i shine ,in heaven1 as a star4 ,death of the ,flower ,i love my mother1 the wildwood1 ,i sleep upon her breast2 ,a day or two of childhood1 ,and then ,i sink to rest4 ,i had once a lovely sister -- ,she was cradled by my side2 ,but one ,summer day ,i missed her -- ,she had gone to deck a bride4 ,and ,i had another sister1 ,with cheeks all bright with bloom2 ,and another morn ,i missed her -- ,she had gone to wreathe a tomb4 ,and they told me they had withered1 ,on the bride's brow and the grave2 ,half an hour1 and all their fragrance ,died away1 which heaven gave4 ,two sweet-faced girls came walking ,thro' my lonely home one day1 ,and ,i overheard them talking ,of an altar on their way4 ,they were culling flowers around me1 ,and ,i said a little prayer ,to go with them -- and they found me -- ,and upon an altar fair1 ,where the ,eucharist was lying ,on its mystical death-bed1 ,i felt myself a-dying1 ,while the ,mass was being said4 ,but ,i lived a little longer1 ,and ,i prayed there all the day1 ,till the evening ,benediction1 ,when my poor life passed away4 ,singing-,bird ,in the valley of my life ,sings a ,singing-,bird1 ,and its voice thro' calm and strife ,is sweetly heard4 ,in the day and thro' the night ,sound the notes1 ,and its song thro' dark and bright ,ever floats4 ,other warblers cease to sing1 ,and their voices rest1 ,and they fold their weary wing ,in their quiet nest4 ,but my ,singing-,bird still sings ,without a cease2 ,and each song it murmurs brings ,my spirit peace4 ,singing-,bird6 ,o ,singing-,bird6 ,no one knows1 ,when your holy songs are heard1 ,what repose ,fills my life and soothes my heart2 ,but ,i fear ,the day -- thy songs1 if we must part1 ,i'll never hear4 ,but ,singing-,bird6 ah6 ,singing-,bird6 ,should this e'er be1 ,the dreams of all thy songs ,i heard ,shall sing for me4 ,now ,sometimes a single hour ,rings thro' a long life-time1 ,as from a temple tower ,there often falls a chime ,from blessed bells1 that seems ,to fold in ,heaven's dreams ,our spirits round a shrine2 ,hath such an hour been thine8 ,sometimes -- who knoweth why8 ,one minute holds a power ,that shadows every hour1 ,dialed in life's sky4 ,a cloud that is a speck ,when seen from far away ,may be a storm1 and wreck ,the joys of every day4 ,sometimes -- it seems not much1 ',tis scarcely felt at all -- ,grace gives a gentle touch ,to hearts for once and all1 ,which in the spirit's strife ,may all unnoticed be4 ,and yet it rules a life2 ,hath this e'er come to thee8 ,sometimes one little word1 ,whispered sweet and fleet1 ,that scarcely can be heard1 ,our ears will sudden meet4 ,and all life's hours along ,that whisper may vibrate1 ,and1 like a wizard's song1 ,decide our ev'ry fate4 ,sometimes a sudden look1 ,that falleth from some face1 ,will steal into each nook ,of life1 and leave its trace2 ,to haunt us to the last1 ,and sway our ev'ry will ,thro' all the days to be1 ,for goodness or for ill2 ,hath this e'er come to thee8 ,sometimes one minute folds ,the hearts of all the years1 ,just like the heart that holds ,the ,infinite in tears2 ,there be such thing as this -- ,who knoweth why1 or how8 ,a life of woe or bliss ,hangs on some little ,now4 ,m 99 99 99 ,when ,i am dead1 and all will soon forget ,my words1 and face1 and ways -- ,i1 somehow1 think ,i'll walk beside thee yet ,adown thy after days4 ,i die first1 and you will see my grave2 ,but child6 you must not cry2 ,for my dead hand will brightest blessings wave ,o'er you from yonder sky4 ,you must not weep2 ,i believe ,i'd hear your tears ,tho' sleeping in a tomb3 ,my rest would not be rest1 if in your years ,there floated clouds of gloom4 ,for -- from the first -- your soul was dear to mine1 ,and dearer it became1 ,until my soul1 in every prayer1 would twine ,thy name -- my child6 thy name4 ,you came to me in girlhood pure and fair1 ,and in your soul -- and face -- ,i saw a likeness to another there ,in every trace and grace4 ,you came to me in girlhood -- and you brought ,an image back to me2 ,no matter what -- or whose -- ,i often sought ,another's soul in thee4 ,didst ever mark how1 sometimes1 ,i became -- ,gentle though ,i be -- ,gentler than ever when ,i called thy name1 ,gentlest to thee8 ,you came to me in girlhood2 as your guide ,i watched your spirit's ways2 ,we walked ,god's holy valleys side by side1 ,and so went on the days4 ,and so went on the years -- 'tis five and more2 ,your soul is fairer now2 ,a light as of a sunset on a shore ,is falling on my brow -- ,is falling1 soon to fade2 when ,i am dead ,think this1 my child1 of me3 ,i never said -- ,i never could have said -- ,ungentle words to thee4 ,i treated you as ,i would treat a flower1 ,i watched you with such care2 ,and from my lips ,god heard in many an hour ,your name in many a prayer4 ,i watched the flower's growth2 so fair it grew1 ,on not a leaf a stain2 ,your soul to purest thoughts so sweetly true2 ,i did not watch in vain4 ,i guide you still -- in my steps you tread still2 ,towards ,god these ways are set2 ',twill soon be over3 child6 when ,i am dead ,i'll watch and guide you yet4 ',tis better far that ,i should go before1 ,and you awhile should stay2 ,but ,i will wait upon the golden shore ,to meet my child some day4 ,when ,i am dead2 in some lone after time1 ,if crosses come to thee1 ,you'll think -- remembering this simple rhyme -- ,he holds a crown for me4 ,i guide you here -- ,i go before you there2 ,but here or there -- ,i know -- ,whether the roses1 or the thorny crown you wear ,i'll watch where'er you go1 ,and wait until you come2 when ,i am dead ,think1 sometimes1 child1 of this3 ,you must not weep -- follow where ,i led1 ,i wait for you in bliss4 ,god in the ,night ,deep in the dark ,i hear the feet of ,god3 ,he walks the world2 ,he puts ,his holy hand ,on every sleeper -- only puts ,his hand -- ,within it benedictions for each one -- ,then passes on2 but ah6 whene'er ,he meets ,a watcher waiting for ,him1 ,he is glad4 7,does ,god1 like man1 feel lonely in the dark87 ,he rests ,his hand upon the watcher's brow -- ,but more than that1 ,he leaves ,his very breath ,upon the watcher's soul2 and more than this1 ,he stays for holy hours where watchers pray2 ,and more than that1 ,he ofttimes lifts the veils ,that hide the visions of the world unseen4 ,the brightest sanctities of highest souls ,have blossomed into beauty in the dark4 ,how extremes meet6 the very darkest crimes ,that blight the souls of men are strangely born ,beneath the shadows of the holy night4 ,deep in the dark ,i hear his holy feet -- ,around ,him rustle archangelic wings2 ,he lingers by the temple where ,his ,christ ,is watching in ,his ,eucharistic sleep2 ,and where poor hearts in sorrow cannot rest1 ,he lingers there to soothe their weariness4 ,where mothers weep above the dying child1 ,he stays to bless the mother's bitter tears1 ,and consecrates the cradle of her child1 ,which is to her her spirit's awful cross4 ,he shudders past the haunts of sin -- yet leaves ,e'er there a mercy for the wayward hearts4 ,still as a shadow through the night ,he moves1 ,with hands all full of blessings1 and with heart ,all full of everlasting love2 ah1 me6 ,how ,god does love this poor and sinful world6 ,the stars behold ,him as ,he passes on1 ,and arch ,his path of mercy with their rays2 ,the stars are grateful -- ,he gave them their light1 ,and now they give ,him back the light ,he gave4 ,the shadows tremble in adoring awe2 ,they feel ,his presence1 and they know ,his face4 ,the shadows1 too1 are grateful -- could they pray1 ,how they would flower all ,his way with prayers6 ,the sleeping trees wake up from all their dreams -- ,were their leaves lips1 ah1 me6 how they would sing ,a grand ,magnificat1 as ,his ,mary sang4 ,the lowly grasses and the fair-faced flowers ,watch their ,creator as ,he passes on1 ,and mourn they have no hearts to love their ,god1 ,and sigh they have no souls to be beloved4 ,man -- only man -- the image of his ,god -- ,lets ,god pass by when ,he walks forth at night4 ,poets ,poets are strange -- not always understood ,by many is their gift1 ,which is for evil or for mighty good -- ,to lower or to lift4 ,upon their spirits there hath come a breath2 ,who reads their verse ,will rise to higher life1 or taste of death ,in blessing or in curse4 ,the ,poet is great ,nature's own high priest1 ,ordained from very birth ,to keep for hearts an everlasting feast -- ,to bless or curse the earth4 ,they cannot help but sing2 they know not why ,their thoughts rush into song1 ,and float above the world1 beneath the sky1 ,for right or for the wrong4 ,they are like angels -- but some angels fell1 ,while some did keep their place2 ,their poems are the gates of heav'n or hell1 ,and ,god's or ,satan's face ,looks thro' their ev'ry word into your face1 ,in blessing or in blight1 ,and leaves upon your soul a grace or trace ,of sunlight or of night4 ,they move along life's uttermost extremes1 ,unlike all other men2 ,and in their spirit's depths sleep strangest dreams1 ,like shadows in a glen4 ,they all are dreamers2 in the day and night ,ever across their souls ,the wondrous mystery of the dark or bright ,in mystic rhythm rolls4 ,they live within themselves -- they may not tell ,what lieth deepest there2 ,within their breast a heaven or a hell1 ,joy or tormenting care4 ,they are the loneliest men that walk men's ways1 ,no matter what they seem2 ,the stars and sunlight of their nights and days ,move over them in dream4 ,they breathe it forth -- their very spirit's breath -- ,to bless the world or blight2 ,to bring to men a higher life or death2 ,to give them light or night4 ,the words of some command the world's acclaim1 ,and never pass away1 ,while others' words receive no palm from fame1 ,and live but for a day4 ,but1 live or die1 their words leave their impress ,fore'er or for an hour1 ,and mark men's souls -- some more and some the less -- ,with good's or evil's power4 ,a ,legend ,he walked alone beside the lonely sea1 ,the slanting sunbeams fell upon his face1 ,his shadow fluttered on the pure white sands ,like the weary wing of a soundless prayer4 ,and ,he was1 oh6 so beautiful and fair6 ,brown sandals on ,his feet -- ,his face downcast1 ,as if ,he loved the earth more than the heav'ns4 ,his face looked like ,his ,mother's -- only hers ,had not those strange serenities and stirs ,that paled or flushed ,his olive cheeks and brow4 ,he wore the seamless robe ,his ,mother made -- ,and as ,he gathered it about ,his breast1 ,the wavelets heard a sweet and gentle voice ,murmur1 ,oh6 ,my ,mother -- the white sands felt ,the touch of tender tears ,he wept the while4 ,he walked beside the sea2 ,he took ,his sandals off ,to bathe ,his weary feet in the pure cool wave -- ,for ,he had walked across the desert sands ,all day long -- and as ,he bathed ,his feet ,he murmured to ,himself1 ,three years6 three years6 ,and then1 poor feet1 the cruel nails will come ,and make you bleed2 but1 ah6 that blood shall lave ,all weary feet on all their thorny ways4 ,three years6 three years6 ,he murmured still again1 ,ah6 would it were to-morrow1 but a will -- ,my ,father's will -- biddeth ,me bide that time4 ,a little fisher-boy came up the shore ,and saw ,him -- and1 nor bold1 nor shy1 ,approached1 but when he saw the weary face1 ,said mournfully to ,him3 ,you look a-tired4 ,he placed ,his hand upon the boy's brown brow ,caressingly and blessingly -- and said3 ,i am so tired to wait4 ,the boy spake not4 ,sudden1 a sea-bird1 driven by a storm ,that had been sweeping on the farther shore1 ,came fluttering towards ,him1 and1 panting1 fell ,at ,his feet and died2 and then the boy said3 ,poor little bird1 in such a piteous tone2 ,he took the bird and laid it in ,his hand1 ,and breathed on it -- when to his amaze ,the little fisher-boy beheld the bird ,flutter a moment and then fly aloft -- ,its little life returned2 and then he gazed ,with look intensest on the wondrous face 7,ah6 it was beautiful and fair7 -- and said3 ,thou art so sweet ,i wish ,thou wert my ,god4 ,he leaned down towards the boy and softly said3 ,i am thy ,christ4 ,the day they followed ,him1 ,with cross upon ,his shoulders1 to ,his death1 ,within the shadow of a shelt'ring rock ,that little boy knelt down1 and there adored1 ,while others cursed1 the thorn-crowned ,crucified4 ,thoughts ,by sound of name1 and touch of hand1 ,thro' ears that hear1 and eyes that see1 ,we know each other in this land1 ,how little must that knowledge be8 ,how souls are all the time alone1 ,no spirit can another reach2 ,they hide away in realms unknown1 ,like waves that never touch a beach4 ,we never know each other here1 ,no soul can here another see -- ,to know1 we need a light as clear ,as that which fills eternity4 ,for here we walk by human light1 ,but there the light of ,god is ours1 ,each day1 on earth1 is but a night2 ,heaven alone hath clear-faced hours4 ,i call you thus -- you call me thus -- ,our mortal is the very bar ,that parts forever each of us1 ,as skies1 on high1 part star from star4 ,a name is nothing but a name ,for that which1 else1 would nameless be2 ,until our souls1 in rapture1 claim ,full knowledge in eternity4 ,lines ,the world is sweet1 and fair1 and bright1 ,the world is sweet1 and fair1 and bright1 ,and joy aboundeth everywhere1 ,the glorious stars crown every night1 ,and thro' the dark of ev'ry care ,above us shineth heaven's light4 ,if from the cradle to the grave ,we reckon all our days and hours ,we sure will find they give and gave ,much less of thorns and more of flowers2 ,and tho' some tears must ever lave ,the path we tread1 upon them all ,the light of smiles forever lies1 ,as o'er the rains1 from clouds that fall1 ,the sun shines sweeter in the skies4 ,life holdeth more of sweet than gall ,for ev'ry one3 no matter who -- ,or what their lot -- or high or low2 ,all hearts have clouds -- but heaven's blue ,wraps robes of bright around each woe2 ,and this is truest of the true3 ,that joy is stronger here than grief1 ,fills more of life1 far more of years1 ,and makes the reign of sorrow brief2 ,gives more of smiles for less of tears4 ,joy is life's tree -- grief but its leaf4 ,c4,s4,a4 ,do we weep for the heroes who died for us1 ,who living were true and tried for us1 ,and dying sleep side by side for us2 ,the ,martyr-band ,that hallowed our land ,with the blood they shed in a tide for us8 ,ah6 fearless on many a day for us ,they stood in front of the fray for us1 ,and held the foeman at bay for us2 ,and tears should fall ,fore'er o'er all ,who fell while wearing the gray for us4 ,how many a glorious name for us1 ,how many a story of fame for us ,they left3 ,would it not be a blame for us ,if their memories part ,from our land and heart1 ,and a wrong to them1 and shame for us8 ,no1 no1 no1 they were brave for us1 ,and bright were the lives they gave for us2 ,the land they struggled to save for us ,will not forget ,its warriors yet ,who sleep in so many a grave for us4 ,on many and many a plain for us ,their blood poured down all in vain for us1 ,red1 rich1 and pure1 like a rain for us2 ,they bleed -- we weep1 ,we live -- they sleep1 ,all lost1 the only refrain for us4 ,but their memories e'er shall remain for us1 ,and their names1 bright names1 without stain for us3 ,the glory they won shall not wane for us1 ,in legend and lay ,our heroes in ,gray ,shall forever live over again for us4 ,the ,seen and ,the ,unseen ,nature is but the outward vestibule ,which ,god has placed before an unseen shrine1 ,the ,visible is but a fair1 bright vale ,that winds around the great ,invisible2 ,the ,finite -- it is nothing but a smile ,that flashes from the face of ,infinite2 ,a smile with shadows on it -- and 'tis sad ,men bask beneath the smile1 but oft forget ,the loving ,face that very smile conceals4 ,the ,changeable is but the broidered robe ,enwrapped about the great ,unchangeable2 ,the ,audible is but an echo1 faint1 ,low whispered from the far ,inaudible2 ,this earth is but an humble acolyte ,a-kneeling on the lowest altar-step ,of this creation's temple1 at the ,mass ,of ,supernature1 just to ring the bell ,at ,sanctus6 ,sanctus6 ,sanctus6 while the world ,prepares its heart for consecration's hour4 ,nature is but the ever-rustling veil ,which ,god is wearing1 like the ,carmelite ,who hides her face behind her virgin veil ,to keep it all unseen from mortal eyes1 ,yet by her vigils and her holy prayers1 ,and ceaseless sacrifices night and day1 ,shields souls from sin -- and many hearts from harm4 ,god hides in nature as a thought doth hide ,in humbly-sounding words2 and as the thought ,beats through the lowly word like pulse of heart ,that giveth life and keepeth life alive1 ,so ,god1 thro' nature1 works on ev'ry soul2 ,for nature is ,his word so strangely writ ,in heav'n1 in all the letters of the stars1 ,beneath the stars in alphabets of clouds1 ,and on the seas in syllables of waves1 ,and in the earth1 on all the leaves of flowers1 ,and on the grasses and the stately trees1 ,and on the rivers and the mournful rocks ,the word is clearly written2 blest are they ,who read the word aright -- and understand4 ,for ,god is everywhere -- and ,he doth find ,in every atom which ,his hand hath made ,a shrine to hide ,his presence1 and reveal ,his name1 love1 power1 to those who kneel ,in holy faith upon this bright below ,and lift their eyes1 thro' all this mystery1 ,to catch the vision of the great beyond4 ,yea6 nature is ,his shadow1 and how bright ,must that face be which such a shadow casts8 ,we walk within it1 for we live and move ,and have our being in ,his ev'rywhere4 ,why is ,god shy8 ,why doth ,he hide ,himself8 ,the tiniest grain of sand on ocean's shore ,entemples ,him2 the fragrance of the rose ,folds ,him around as blessed incense folds ,the altars of ,his ,christ3 yet some will walk ,along the temple's wondrous vestibule ,and look on and admire -- yet enter not ,to find within the ,presence1 and the ,light ,which sheds its rays on all that is without4 ,and nature is ,his voice2 who list may hear ,his name low-murmured every -- everywhere4 ,in songs of birds1 in rustle of the flowers1 ,in swaying of the trees1 and on the seas ,the blue lips of the wavelets tell the ships ,that come and go1 ,his holy1 holy name4 ,the winds1 or still or stormy1 breathe the same2 ,and some have ears and yet they will not hear ,the soundless voice re-echoed everywhere2 ,and some have hearts that never are enthrilled ,by all the grand ,hosannahs nature sings4 ,list6 ,sanctus6 ,sanctus6 ,sanctus6 without pause ,sounds sweetly out of all creation's heart1 ,that hearts with power to love may echo back ,their ,sanctus6 ,sanctus6 ,sanctus6 to the hymn4 ,passing ,away ,life's ,vesper-bells are ringing ,in the temple of my heart1 ,and yon sunset1 sure1 is singing ,nunc dimittis -- ,now depart6 ,ah6 the eve is golden-clouded1 ,but to-morrow's sun shall shine ,on this weary body shrouded2 ,but my soul doth not repine4 ,let me see the sun descending1 ,i will see his light no more1 ,for my life1 this eve1 is ending2 ,and to-morrow on the shore ,that is fair1 and white1 and golden1 ,i will meet my ,god2 and ye ,will forget not all the olden1 ,happy hours ye spent with me4 ,i am glad that ,i am going2 ,what a strange and sweet delight ,is thro' all my being flowing ,when ,i know that1 sure1 to-night ,i will pass from earth and meet ,him ,whom ,i loved thro' all the years1 ,who will crown me when ,i greet ,him1 ,and will kiss away my tears4 ,my last sun6 haste6 hurry westward6 ,in the dark of this to-night ,my poor soul that hastens rest-ward ,with the ,lamb' will find the light2 ,death is coming -- and ,i hear him1 ,soft and stealthy cometh he2 ,but ,i do not believe ,i fear him1 ,god is now so close to me4 99 99 99 99 99 ,fell the daylight's fading glimmer ,on a face so wan and white2 ,brighter was his soul1 while dimmer ,grew the shadows of the night2 ,and he died -- and ,god was near him2 ,i knelt by him to forgive2 ,and ,i sometimes seem to hear him ,whisper -- ,live as ,i did live4 ,the ,pilgrim 7,a ,christmas ,legend for ,children7 ,the shades of night were brooding ,o'er the sea1 the earth1 the sky2 ,the passing winds were wailing ,in a low1 unearthly sigh2 ,the darkness gathered deeper1 ,for no starry light was shed1 ,and silence reigned unbroken1 ,as the silence of the dead4 ,the wintry clouds were hanging ,from the starless sky so low1 ,while 'neath them earth lay folded ,in a winding shroud of snow4 ',twas cold1 'twas dark1 'twas dreary1 ,and the blast that swept along ,the mountains hoarsely murmured ,a fierce1 discordant song4 ,and mortal men were resting ,from the turmoil of the day1 ,and broken hearts were dreaming ,of the friends long passed away2 ,and saintly men were keeping ,their vigils through the night1 ,while angel spirits hovered near ,around their lonely light4 ,and wicked men were sinning ,in the midnight banquet halls1 ,forgetful of that sentence traced ,on proud ,belshazzar's walls4 ,on that night1 so dark and dismal1 ,unillumed by faintest ray1 ,might be seen the lonely pilgrim ,wending on his darksome way4 ,slow his steps1 for he was weary1 ,and betimes he paused to rest2 ,then he rose1 and1 pressing onward1 ,murmured lowly3 ,i must haste4 ,in his hand he held a chaplet1 ,and his lips were moved in prayer1 ,for the darkness and the silence ,seemed to whisper ,god was there4 ,on the lonely pilgrim journeyed1 ,nought disturbed him on his way1 ,and his prayers he softly murmured ,as the midnight stole away4 ,hark6 amid the stillness rises ,on his ears a distant strain ,softly sounding -- now it ceases -- ,sweetly now it comes again4 ,in his path he paused to wonder ,while he listened to the sound3 ,on it came1 so sweet1 so pensive1 ',mid the blast that howled around2 ,and the restless winds seemed soothed ,by that music1 gentle1 mild1 ,and they slept1 as when a mother ,rocks to rest her cradled child4 ,strange and sweet the calm that followed1 ,stealing through the midnight air2 ,strange and sweet the sounds that floated ,like an angel breathing there4 ,from the sky the clouds were drifting ,swiftly one by one away1 ,and the sinless stars were shedding ,here and there a silver ray4 ,why this change8 the pilgrim whispered -- ,whence that music8 whence its power8 ,earthly sounds are not so lovely6 ,angels love the midnight hour6 ,bending o'er his staff1 he wondered1 ,loath to leave that sacred place3 ,i must hasten1 said he1 sadly -- ,on he pressed with quickened pace4 ,just before him rose a mountain1 ,dark its outline1 steep its side -- ,down its slopes that midnight music ,seemed so soothingly to glide4 ,i will find it1 said the pilgrim1 ,though this mountain ,i must scale -- ,scarcely said1 when on his vision ,shone a distant light1 and pale4 ,glad he was2 and now he hastened -- ,brighter1 brighter grew the ray -- ,stronger1 stronger swelled the music ,as he struggled on his way4 ,soon he gained the mountain summit1 ,lo6 a church bursts on his view3 ,from the church that light was flowing1 ,and that gentle music1 too4 ,near he came -- its door stood open -- ,still he stood in awe and fear2 ,shall ,i enter spot so holy8 ,am ,i unforbidden here8 ,i will enter -- something bids me -- ,saintly men are praying here2 ,vigils sacred they are keeping1 ',tis their ,matin song ,i hear4 ,softly1 noiselessly1 he glided ,through the portal2 on his sight ,shone a vision1 bright1 strange1 thrilling2 ,down he knelt -- 'twas ,christmas night -- ,down1 in deepest adoration1 ,knelt the lonely pilgrim there2 ,joy unearthly1 rapture holy1 ,blended with his whispered prayer4 ,wrapped his senses were in wonder1 ,on his soul an awe profound1 ,as the vision burst upon him1 ',mid sweet light and sweeter sound4 ,is it real8 is it earthly8 ,is it all a fleeting dream8 ,hark6 those choral voices ringing1 ,lo6 those forms like angels seem4 ,on his view there rose an altar1 ,glittering 'mid a thousand beams1 ,flowing from the burning tapers ,in bright1 sparkling1 silver streams4 ,from unnumbered crystal vases1 ,rose and bloomed the fairest flowers1 ,shedding 'round their balmy fragrance ',mid the lights in sweetest showers4 ,rich and gorgeous was the altar1 ,decked it was in purest white4 ,mortal hands had not arrayed it ,thus1 upon that ,christmas night4 ,amid its lights and lovely flowers1 ,the little tabernacle stood2 ,around it all was rich and golden1 ,it alone was poor and rude4 ,hark6 ,venite ,adoremus6 ,round the golden altar sounds -- ,see that band of angels kneeling ,prostrate1 with their sparkling crowns6 ,and the pilgrim looked and listened1 ,and he saw the angels there1 ,and their snow-white wings were folded1 ,as they bent in silent prayer4 ,twelve they were2 bright rays of glory ,round their brows effulgent shone2 ,but a wreath of nobler beauty ,seemed to grace and circle one2 ,and he1 beauteous1 rose and opened ,wide the tabernacle door3 ,hark6 ,venite ,adoremus ,rises -- bending1 they adore4 ,lo6 a sound of censers swinging6 ,clouds of incense weave around ,the altar rich a silver mantle1 ,as the angels' hymns resound4 ,list6 ,venite ,adoremus ,swells aloud in stronger strain1 ,and the angels swing the censers1 ,and they prostrate bend again4 ,rising now1 with voice of rapture1 ,bursts aloud1 in thrilling tone1 ,gloria in ,excelsis ,deo ,round the sacramental throne4 ,oh6 'twas sweet1 'twas sweet and charming ,as the notes triumphant flowed6 ,oh6 'twas sweet1 while wreathes of incense ,curled1 and countless tapers glowed4 ,oh6 'twas grand6 that hymn of glory ,earthly sounds cannot compare2 ,oh6 'twas grand6 it breath'd of heaven1 ,as the angels sung it there4 ,ravished by the strains ecstatic1 ,raptured by the vision grand1 ,gazed the pilgrim on the altar1 ,gazed upon the angel band4 ,all was hushed6 the floating echoes ,of the hymn had died away2 ,vanished were the clouds of incense1 ,and the censers ceased to sway4 ,lo6 their wings are gently waving1 ,and the angels softly rise1 ,bending towards the tabernacle1 ,worship beaming from their eyes4 ,one last1 lowly genuflection6 ,from their brows love burning shone -- ,ah6 they're going1 they've departed1 ,all but one1 the brightest one4 ,why remains he8 thought the pilgrim1 ,ah6 he rises beauteously -- ,listen6 and the angel murmured ,sweetly3 ,pilgrim1 hail to thee6 ,come unto the golden altar1 ,i'm an angel -- banish fear -- ,come1 unite in adoration ,with me1 for our ,god is here4 ,come thy ,jesus here reposes1 ,come6 ,he'll bless thy mortal sight -- ,come6 adore the ,infant ,saviour ,with me -- for 'tis ,christmas night4 ,now approached the pilgrim1 trembling1 ,now beside the angel bent1 ,and the deepest1 blissful gladness1 ,with his fervent worship blent4 ,pilgrim1 said the spirit1 softly1 ,thou hast seen bright angels here1 ,and hast heard our sacred anthems1 ,filled with rapture1 filled with fear4 ,we are twelve -- 'twas we who chanted ,first the ,saviour's lowly birth1 ,we who brought the joyful tidings ,of ,his coming1 to the earth2 ,we who sung unto the shepherds1 ,watching on the mountain height1 ,that the ,word was made ,incarnate ,for them on that blessed night4 ,and since then we love to linger ,on that festal night on earth2 ,and we leave our thrones of glory ,here to keep the ,saviour's birth4 ,happy mortals6 happy mortals6 ,to-night the angels would be men2 ,and they leave their thrones in heaven1 ,for the ,crib of ,bethlehem4 ,and the angel led the pilgrim ,to the tabernacle door2 ,lo6 an ,infant there was sleeping1 ,and the angel said3 ,adore6 ,he is sleeping1 yet he watches1 ,see that beam of love divine2 ,pilgrim6 pay your worship holy ,to your ,infant ,god and mine4 ,and the spirit slowly1 slowly1 ,closed the tabernacle door1 ,while the pilgrim lowly1 lowly1 ,bent in rapture to adore4 ,pilgrim1 spoke the angel sweetly1 ,i must bid thee my adieu2 ,love6 oh6 love the ,infant ,jesus6 -- ,and he vanished from his view4 99 99 99 99 99 ,all was silent -- silent -- silent -- ,faded was the vision bright -- ,but the pilgrim long remembered ,in his heart that ,christmas night4 ,a ,reverie ,those hearts of ours -- how strange6 how strange6 ,those hearts of ours -- how strange6 how strange6 ,how they yearn to ramble and love to range ,down through the vales of the years long gone1 ,up through the future that fast rolls on4 ,to-days are dull -- so they wend their ways ,back to their beautiful yesterdays2 ,the present is blank -- so they wing their flight ,to future to-morrows where all seems bright4 ,build them a bright and beautiful home1 ,they'll soon grow weary and want to roam2 ,find them a spot without sorrow or pain1 ,they may stay a day1 but they're off again4 ,those hearts of ours -- how wild6 how wild6 ,they're as hard to tame as an ,indian child2 ,they're as restless as waves on the sounding sea1 ,like the breeze and the bird are they fickle and free4 ,those hearts of ours -- how lone6 how lone6 ,ever1 forever1 they mourn and moan2 ,let them revel in joy1 let them riot in cheer2 ,the revelry o'er1 they're all the more drear4 ,those hearts of ours -- how warm6 how warm6 ,like the sun's bright rays1 like the ,summer's charm2 ,how they beam and burn6 how they gleam and glow ,their flash and flame hide but ashes below4 ,those hearts of ours -- how cold6 how cold6 ,like ,december's snow on the waste or wold2 ,and though our ,decembers melt soon into ,may1 ,hearts know ,decembers that pass not away4 ,those hearts of ours -- how deep6 how deep6 ,you may sound the sea where the corals sleep1 ,where never a billow hath rumbled or rolled -- ,depths still the deeper our hearts hide and hold4 ,where the wild storm's tramp hath ne'er been known ,the wrecks of the sea lie low and lone2 ,thus the heart's surface may sparkle and glow1 ,there are wrecks far down -- there are graves below4 ,those hearts of ours -- but1 after all1 ,how shallow and narrow1 how tiny and small2 ,like scantiest streamlet or ,summer's least rill1 ,they're as easy to empty -- as easy to fill4 ,one hour of storm and how the streams pour6 ,one hour of sun and the streams are no more2 ,one little grief -- how the tears gush and glide6 ,one smile -- flow they ever so fast1 they are dried4 ,those hearts of ours -- how wise6 how wise6 ,they can lift their thoughts till they touch the skies2 ,they can sink their shafts1 like a miner bold1 ,where wisdom's mines hide their pearls and gold4 ,aloft they soar with undazzled gaze1 ,where the halls of the ,day-,king burn and blaze2 ,or they fly with a wing that will never fail1 ,o'er the sky's dark sea where the star-ships sail4 ,those hearts of ours -- what fools6 what fools6 ,how they laugh at wisdom1 her cant and rules6 ,how they waste their powers1 and1 when wasted1 grieve ,for what they have squandered1 but cannot retrieve4 ,those hearts of ours -- how strong6 how strong6 ,let a thousand sorrows around them throng1 ,they can bear them all1 and a thousand more1 ,and they're stronger then than they were before4 ,those hearts of ours -- how weak6 how weak6 ,but a single word of unkindness speak1 ,like a poisoned shaft1 like a viper's fang1 ,that one slight word leaves a life-long pang4 ,those hearts of ours -- but ,i've said enough1 ,as ,i find that my rhyme grows rude and rough2 ,i'll rest me now1 but ,i'll come again ,some other day1 to resume my strain4 ---- ,their ,story ,runneth ,thus ,two little children played among the flowers1 ,their mothers were of kin1 tho' far apart2 ,the children's ages were the very same ,e'en to an hour -- and ,ethel was her name1 ,a fair1 sweet girl1 with great1 brown1 wond'ring eyes ,that seemed to listen just as if they held ,the gift of hearing with the power of sight4 ,six summers slept upon her low white brow1 ,and dreamed amid the roses of her cheeks4 ,her voice was sweetly low2 and when she spoke ,her words were music2 and her laughter rang ,so like an altar-bell that1 had you heard ,its silvery sound a-ringing1 you would think ,of kneeling down and worshiping the pure4 ,they played among the roses -- it was ,may -- ,and hide and seek1 and seek and hide1 all eve ,they played together till the sun went down4 ,earth held no happier hearts than theirs that day3 ,and tired at last she plucked a crimson rose ,and gave to him1 her playmate1 cousin-kin2 ,and he went thro' the garden till he found ,the whitest rose of all the roses there1 ,and placed it in her long1 brown1 waving hair4 ,i give you red -- and you -- you give me white3 ,what is the meaning8 said she1 while a smile1 ,as radiant as the light of angels' wings1 ,swept bright across her face2 the while her eyes ,seemed infinite purities half asleep ,in sweetest pearls2 and he did make reply3 ,sweet ,ethel6 white dies first2 you know1 the snow1 7,and it is not as white as thy pure face7 ,melts soon away2 but roses red as mine ,will bloom when all the snow hath passed away4 ,she sighed a little sigh1 then laughed again1 ,and hand in hand they walked the winding ways ,of that fair garden till they reached her home4 ,a good-bye and a kiss -- and he was gone4 ,she leaned her head upon her mother's breast1 ,and ere she fell asleep she1 sighing1 called3 ,does white die first8 my mother6 and does red ,live longer8 ,and her mother wondered much ,at such strange speech4 ,she fell asleep ,with murmurs on her lips of red and white4 ,those children loved as only children can -- ,with nothing in their love save their whole selves4 ,when in their cradles they had been betroth'd2 ,they knew it in a manner vague and dim -- ,unconscious yet of what betrothal meant4 ,the boy -- she called him ,merlin -- a love name -- 7,and he -- he called her always ,ullainee1 ,no matter why72 the boy was full of moods4 ,upon his soul and face the dark and bright ,were strangely intermingled4 ,hours would pass ,rippling with his bright prattle2 and then1 hours ,would come and go1 and never hear a word ,fall from his lips1 and never see a smile ,upon his face4 ,he was so like a cloud ,with ever-changeful hues1 as she was like ,a golden sunbeam shining on its face4 99 99 99 99 99 ,ten years passed on4 ,they parted and they met ,not often in each year2 yet as they grew ,in years1 a consciousness unto them came ,of human love4 ,but it was sweet and pure4 ,there was no passion in it4 ,reverence1 ,like ,guardian-,angel1 watched o'er ,innocence4 ,one night in mid of ,may their faces met ,as pure as all the stars that gazed on them4 ,they met to part from themselves and the world2 ,their hearts just touched to separate and bleed2 ,their eyes were linked in look1 while saddest tears ,fell down1 like rain1 upon the cheeks of each3 ,they were to meet no more4 ,their hands were clasped ,to tear the clasp in twain2 and all the stars ,looked proudly down on them1 while shadows knelt1 ,or seemed to kneel1 around them with the awe ,evoked from any heart by sacrifice4 ,and in the heart of that last parting hour ,eternity was beating4 ,and he said3 ,we part to go to ,calvary and to ,god -- ,this is our garden of ,gethsemane2 ,and here we bow our heads and breathe ,his prayer ,whose heart was bleeding1 while the angels heard3 ,not my will1 ,father6 but ,thine own be done4 ,raptures meet agonies in such heart-hours2 ,gladness doth often fling her bright1 warm arms ,around the cold1 white neck of grief -- and thus ,the while they parted -- sorrow swept their hearts ,like a great1 dark stormy sea -- but sudden ,a joy1 like sunshine -- did it come from ,god8 -- ,flung over every wave that swept o'er them ,a more than golden glory4 ,merlin said3 ,our loves must soar aloft to spheres divine2 ,the human satisfies nor you nor me1 7,no human love shall ever satisfy -- ,or ever did -- the hearts that lean on it72 ,you sigh for something higher as do ,i1 ,so let our spirits be espoused in ,god1 ,and let our wedlock be as soul to soul2 ,and prayer shall be the golden marriage ring1 ,and ,god will bless us both4 ,she sweetly said3 ,your words are echoes of my own soul's thoughts2 ,let ,god's own heart be our own holy home ,and let us live as only angels live2 ,and let us love as our own angels love4 ',tis hard to part -- but it is better so -- ,god's will is ours1 and -- ,merlin6 let us go4 ,and then she sobbed as if her heart would break -- ,perhaps it did2 an awful minute passed1 ,long as an age and briefer than a flash ,of lightning in the skies4 ,no word was said -- ,only a look which never was forgot4 ,between them fell the shadows of the night4 ,their faces went away into the dark1 ,and never met again2 and yet their souls ,were twined together in the heart of ,christ4 ,and ,ethel went from earthland long ago2 ,but ,merlin stays still hanging on his cross4 ,he would not move a nail that nails him there1 ,he would not pluck a thorn that crowns him there4 ,he hung himself upon the blessed cross ,with ,ethel2 she has gone to wear the crown ,that wreathes the brows of virgins who have kept ,their bodies with their souls from earthly taint4 ,and years and years1 and weary years1 passed on ,into the past4 ,one ,autumn afternoon1 ,when flowers were in their agony of death1 ,and winds sang ,de ,profundis over them1 ,and skies were sad with shadows1 he did walk ,where1 in a resting place as calm as sweet1 ,the dead were lying down2 the ,autumn sun ,was half way down the west2 the hour was three -- ,the holiest hour of all the twenty-four1 ,for ,jesus leaned ,his head on it1 and died4 ,he walked alone amid the virgin's graves ,where virgins slept2 a convent stood near by1 ,and from the solitary cells of nuns ,unto the cells of death the way was short4 ,low1 simple stones and white watched o'er each grave1 ,while in the hollows 'tween them sweet flowers grew1 ,entwining grave and grave4 ,he read the names ,engraven on the stones1 and ,rest in peace ,was written 'neath them all1 and o'er each name ,a cross was graven on the lowly stone4 ,he passed each grave with reverential awe1 ,as if he passed an altar1 where the ,host ,had left a memory of its sacrifice4 ,and o'er the buried virgins' virgin dust ,he walked as prayerfully as tho' he trod ,the holy floor of fair ,loretta's shrine4 ,he passed from grave to grave1 and read the names ,of those whose own pure lips had changed the names ,by which this world had known them into names ,of sacrifice known only to their ,god2 ,veiling their faces they had veiled their names2 ,the very ones who played with them as girls1 ,had they passed there1 would know no more than he ,or any stranger where their playmates slept2 ,and then he wondered all about their lives1 their hearts1 ,their thoughts1 their feelings1 and their dreams1 ,their joys and sorrows1 and their smiles and tears4 ,he wondered at the stories that were hid ,forever down within those simple graves4 ,in a lone corner of that resting-place ,uprose a low white slab that marked a grave ,apart from all the others2 long1 sad grass ,drooped o'er the little mound1 and mantled it ,with veil of purest green2 around the slab ,the whitest of white roses 'twined their arms -- ,roses cold as the snows and pure as songs ,of angels -- and the pale leaflets and thorns ,hid e'en the very name of her who slept ,beneath4 ,he walked on to the grave1 but when ,he reached its side a spell fell on his heart ,so suddenly -- he knew not why -- and tears ,went up into his eyes and trickled down ,upon the grass2 he was so strangely moved ,as if he met a long-gone face he loved4 ,i believe he prayed4 ,he lifted then the leaves ,that hid the name2 but as he did1 the thorns ,did pierce his hand1 and lo6 amazed1 he read ,the very word -- the very1 very name ,he gave the girl in golden days before -- ,,ullainee4 ,he sat beside that lonely grave for long1 ,he took its grasses in his trembling hand1 ,he toyed with them and wet them with his tears1 ,he read the name again1 and still again1 ,he thought a thousand thoughts1 and then he thought ,it all might be a dream -- then rubbed his eyes ,and read the name again to be more sure2 ,then wondered and then wept -- then asked himself3 ,what means it all8 ,can this be ,ethel's grave8 ,i dreamed her soul had fled4 ,was she the white dove that ,i saw in dream ,fly o'er the sleeping sea so long ago8 ,the convent bell ,rang sweet upon the breeze1 and answered him ,his question4 ,and he rose and went his way ,unto the convent gate2 long shadows marked ,one hour before the sunset1 and the birds ,were singing ,vespers in the convent trees4 ,as silent as a star-gleam came a nun ,in answer to his summons at the gate2 ,her face was like the picture of a saint1 ,or like an angel's smile2 her downcast eyes ,were like a half-closed tabernacle1 where ,god's presence glowed2 her lips were pale and worn ,by ceaseless prayer2 and when she sweetly spoke1 ,and bade him enter1 'twas in such a tone ,as only voices own which day and night ,sing hymns to ,god4 ,she locked the massive gate4 ,he followed her along a flower-fringed walk ,that1 gently rising1 led up to the home ,of virgin hearts4 ,the very flowers that bloomed ,within the place1 in beds of sacred shapes1 7,for they had fashioned them with holy care1 ,into all holy forms -- a chalice1 a cross1 ,and sacred hearts -- and many saintly names1 ,that1 when their eyes would fall upon the flowers1 ,their souls might feast upon some mystic sign71 ,were fairer far within the convent walls1 ,and purer in their fragrance and their bloom ,than all their sisters in the outer world4 ,he went into a wide and humble room -- ,the floor was painted1 and upon the walls1 ,in humble frames1 most holy paintings hung2 ,jesus and ,mary and many an olden saint ,were there4 ,and she1 the veil-clad ,sister1 spoke3 ,i'll call the mother1 and she bowed and went4 ,he waited in the wide and humble room1 ,the only room in that unworldly place ,this world could enter2 and the pictures looked ,upon his face and down into his soul1 ,and strangely stirred him4 ,on the mantle stood ,a crucifix1 the figured ,christ of which ,did seem to suffer2 and he rose to look ,more nearly on to it2 but he shrank in awe ,when he beheld a something in its face ,like his own face4 ,but more amazed he grew1 when1 at the foot ,of that strange crucifix he read the name -- ,,ullainee4 ,a whirl of thought swept o'er his startled soul -- ,when to the door he heard a footstep come1 ,and then a voice -- the ,mother of the nuns ,had entered -- and in calmest tone began3 ,forgive1 kind sir1 my stay2 our ,matin song ,had not yet ended when you came2 our rule ,forbids our leaving choir2 this my excuse4 ,she bent her head -- the rustle of her veil ,was like the trembling of an angel's wing1 ,her voice's tone as sweet4 ,she turned to him ,and seemed to ask him with her still1 calm look ,what brought him there1 and waited his reply4 ,i am a stranger1 ,sister1 hither come1 ,he said1 upon an errand still more strange2 ,but thou wilt pardon me and bid me go ,if what ,i crave you cannot rightly grant2 ,i would not dare intrude1 nor claim your time1 ,save that a friendship1 deep as death1 and strong ,as life1 has brought me to this holy place4 ,he paused4 ,she looked at him an instant1 bent ,her lustrous eyes upon the floor1 but gave ,him no reply1 save that her very look ,encouraged him to speak1 and he went on3 ,he told her ,ethel's story from the first1 ,he told her of the day amid the flowers1 ,when they were only six sweet summers old2 ,he told her of the night when all the flowers1 ,a-list'ning1 heard the words of sacrifice -- ,he told her all2 then said3 ,i saw a stone ,in yonder graveyard where your ,sisters sleep1 ,and writ on it1 all hid by roses white1 ,i saw a name ,i never ought forget4 ,she wore a startled look1 but soon repressed ,the wonder that had come into her face4 ,whose name8 she calmly spoke4 ,but when he said ,,ullainee1 ,she forward bent her face and pierced his own ,with look intensest2 and he thought he heard ,the trembling of her veil1 as if the brow ,it mantled throbbed with many thrilling thoughts ,but quickly rose she1 and1 in hurried tone1 ,spoke thus3 ',tis hour of sunset1 'tis our rule ,to close the gates to all till to-morrow's morn4 ,return to-morrow2 then1 if so ,god wills1 ,i'll see you4 ,he gave many thanks1 passed out ,from that unworldly place into the world4 ,straight to the lonely graveyard went his steps -- ,swift to the ,white-,rose-,grave1 his heart3 he knelt ,upon its grass and prayed that ,god might will ,the mystery's solution2 then he took1 ,where it was drooping on the slab1 a rose1 ,the whiteness of whose leaves was like the foam ,of summer waves upon a summer sea4 ,then thro' the night he went ,and reached his room1 where1 weary of his thoughts1 ,sleep came1 and coming found the dew of tears ,undried within his eyes1 and flung her veil ,around him4 ,then he dreamt a strange1 weird dream4 ,a rock1 dark waves1 white roses and a grave1 ,and cloistered flowers1 and cloistered nuns1 and tears ,that shone like jewels on a diadem1 ,and two great angels with such shining wings -- ,all these and more were in most curious way ,blended in one dream or many dreams4 ,then ,he woke wearier in his mind4 ,then slept ,again and had another dream4 ,his dream ran thus -- 7,he told me all of it many years ago1 ,but ,i forgot the most4 ,i remember this73 ,a dove1 whiter than whiteness' very self1 ,fluttered thro' his sleep in vision or dream1 ,bearing in its flight a spotless rose4 ,it ,flew away across great1 long distances1 ,thro' forests where the trees were all in dream1 ,and over wastes where silences held reign1 ,and down pure valleys1 till it reached a shore ,by which blushed a sea in the ev'ning sun2 ,the dove rested there awhile1 rose again ,and flew across the sea into the sun2 ,and then from near or far 7he could not say7 ,came sound as faint as echo's own echo -- ,a low sweet hymn it seemed -- and now ,and then he heard1 or else he thought he heard1 ,as if it were the hymn's refrain1 the words3 ,white dies first6 ,white dies first4 ,the sun had passed his noon and westward sloped2 ,he hurried to the cloister and was told ,the ,mother waited him4 ,he entered in1 ,into the wide and pictured room1 and there ,the ,mother sat and gave him welcome twice4 ,i prayed last night1 she spoke1 to know ,god's will2 ,i prayed to ,holy ,mary and the saints ,that they might pray for me1 and ,i might know ,my conduct in the matter4 ,now1 kind sir1 ,what wouldst thou8 ,tell thy errand4 ,he replied3 ,it was not idle curiosity ,that brought me hither or that prompts my lips ,to ask the story of the ,white-,rose-,grave'1 ,to seek the story of the sleeper there ,whose name ,i knew so long and far away4 ,who was she1 pray8 ,dost deem it right to tell8 ,there was a pause before the answer came1 ,as if there was a comfort in her heart1 ,there was a tremor in her voice when she ,unclosed two palest lips1 and spoke in tone ,of whisper more than word3 ,she was a child ,of lofty gift and grace who fills that grave1 ,and who has filled it long -- and yet it seems ,to me but one short hour ago we laid ,her body there4 ,her mem'ry clings around ,our hearts1 our cloisters1 fresh1 and fair1 and sweet4 ,we often look for her in places where ,her face was wont to be3 among the flowers1 ,in chapel1 underneath those trees4 ,long years ,have passed and mouldered her pure face1 and yet ,it seems to hover here and haunt us all4 ,i cannot tell you all4 ,it is enough ,to see one ray of light for us to judge ,the glory of the sun2 it is enough ,to catch one glimpse of heaven's blue ,for us to know the beauty of the sky4 ,it is enough to tell a little part ,of her most holy life1 that you may know ,the hidden grace and splendor of the whole4 ,nay1 nay1 he interrupted her2 all6 all6 ,thou'lt tell me all1 kind ,mother4 ,she went on1 ,unheeding his abruptness3 ,one sweet day -- ,a feast of ,holy ,virgin1 in the month ,of ,may1 at early morn1 ere yet the dew ,had passed from off the flowers and grass -- ere yet ,our nuns had come from holy ,mass -- there came1 ,with summons quick1 unto our convent gate ,a fair young girl4 ,her feet were wet with dew -- ,another dew was moist within her eyes -- ,her large1 brown1 wond'ring eyes4 ,she asked for me ,and as ,i went she rushed into my arms -- ,like weary bird into the leaf-roofed branch ,that sheltered it from storm4 ,she sobbed and sobbed ,until ,i thought her very soul would rush ,from her frail body1 in a sob1 to ,god4 ,i let her sob her sorrow all away4 ,my words were waiting for a calm4 ,her sobs ,sank into sighs -- and they too sank and died ,in faintest breath4 ,i bore her to a seat ,in this same room -- and gently spoke to her1 ,and held her hand in mine -- and soothed her ,with words of sympathy1 until she seemed ,as tranquil as myself4 ,and then ,i asked3 ,what brought thee hither1 child8 and what wilt thou8' ,mother6' she said1 wilt let me wear the veil8 ,wilt let me serve my ,god as e'en you serve ,him in this cloistered place8 ,i pray to be -- ,unworthy tho' ,i be -- to be ,his spouse4 ,nay1 ,mother -- say not nay -- 'twill break a heart ,already broken2' and she looked on me ,with those brown1 wond'ring eyes1 which pleaded more1 ,more strongly and more sadly than her lips ,that ,i might grant her sudden1 strange request4 ,hast thou a mother8' questioned ,i4 ,i had1' ,she said1 but heaven has her now2 and thou ,wilt be my mother -- and the orphan girl ,will make her life her thanks4' ,thy father1 child8' ,ere ,i was cradled he was in his grave4' ,and hast nor sister nor brother8' ,no1' she said1 ,god gave my mother only me2 one year ,this very day ,he parted us4' ,poor child1' ,i murmured4 ,nay1 kind ,sister1' she replied1 ,i have much wealth -- they left me ample means -- ,i have true friends who love me and protect4 ,i was a minor until yesterday2 ,but yesterday all guardianship did cease1 ,and ,i am mistress of myself and all ,my worldly means -- and1 ,sister1 they are thine ,if thou but take myself -- nay -- don't refuse4' ,nay -- nay -- my child6' ,i said2 the only wealth ,we wish for is the wealth of soul -- of grace4 ,not all your gold could unlock yonder gate1 ,or buy a single thread of ,virgin's veil4 ,not all the coins in coffers of a king ,could bribe an entrance here for any one4 ,god's voice alone can claim a cell -- a veil1 ,for any one ,he sends4 ,who sent you here1 ,my child8 ,thyself8 ,or did some holy one ,direct thy steps8 ,or else some sudden grief8 ,or1 mayhap1 disappointment8 ,or1 perhaps1 ,a sickly weariness of that bright world ,hath cloyed thy spirit8 ,tell me1 which is it4' ,neither1' she quickly1 almost proudly spoke4 ,who sent you1 then8' ,a youthful ,christ1' she said1 ,who1 had he lived in those far days of ,christ1 ,would have been ,his belov'd ,disciple1 sure -- ,would have been ,his own gentle ,john2 and would ,have leaned on ,thursday night upon ,his breast1 ,and stood on ,friday eve beneath ,his cross ,to take ,his ,mother from ,him when ,he died4 ,he sent me here -- he said the word last night ,in my own garden2 this the word he said -- ,oh6 had you heard him whisper3 ,ethel1 dear6 ,your heart was born with veil of virgin on2 ,i hear it rustle every time we meet1 ,in all your words and smiles2 and when you weep ,i hear it rustle more4 ,go -- wear your veil -- ,and outward be what inwardly thou art1 ,and hast been from the first4 ,and1 ,ethel1 list3 ,my heart was born with priestly vestments on1 ,and at ,dream-,altars ,i have ofttimes stood1 ,and said such sweet ,dream-,masses in my sleep -- ,and when ,i lifted up a white ,dream-,host1 ,a silver ,dream-,bell rang -- and angels knelt1 ,or seemed to kneel1 in worship4 ,ethel say -- ,thou wouldst not take the vestments from my heart ,nor more than ,i would tear the veil from thine4 ,my vested and thy veiled heart part to-night ,to climb our ,calvary and to meet in ,god2 ,and this1 fair ,ethel1 is ,gethsemane -- ,and ,he is here1 who1 in that other1 bled2 ,and they are here who came to comfort ,him -- ,his angels and our own2 and ,his great prayer1 ,ethel1 is ours to-night -- let's say it1 then3 ,father6 ,thy will be done6 ,go find your veil ,and ,i my vestments4 ,he did send me here4' ,she paused -- a few stray tears had dropped upon ,her closing words and softened them to sighs4 ,i listened1 inward moved1 but outward calm and cold ,to the girl's strange story4 ,then1 smiling1 said3 ,i see it is a love-tale after all1 ,with much of folly and some of fact in it2 ,it is a heart affair1 and in such things ,there's little logic1 and there's less of sense4 ,you brought your heart1 dear child1 but left your head ,outside the gates2 nay1 go1 and find the head ,you lost last night -- and then1 ,i am quite sure1 ,you'll not be anxious to confine your heart ,within this cloistered place4' ,she seemed to wince ,beneath my words one moment -- then replied3 ,if e'en a wounded heart did bring me here1 ,dost thou do well1 ,sister1 to wound it more8 ,if merely warmth of feelings urged me here1 ,dost thou do well to chill them into ice8 ,and were ,i disappointed in yon world1 ,should that debar me from a purer place8 ,you say it is a love-tale -- so it is2 ,the vase was human -- but the flower divine2 ,and if ,i break the vase with my own hands1 ,will you forbid that ,i should humbly ask ,the heart of ,god to be my lily's vase8 ,i'd trust my lily to no heart on earth ,save his who yesternight did send me here ,to dip it in the very blood of ,christ1 ,and plant it here4' ,and then she sobbed outright ,a long1 deep sob4 ,i gently said to her3 ,nay1 child1 ,i spoke to test thee -- do not weep4 ,if thou art called of ,god1 thou yet shalt come ,and find e'en here a home4 ,but ,god is slow ,in all ,his works and ways1 and slower still ,when ,he would deck a bride to grace ,his court4 ,go1 now1 and in one year -- if thou dost come ,thy veil and cell shall be prepared for thee2 ,nay -- urge me not -- it is our holy rule -- ,a year of trial6 ,i must to choir1 and thou ,into the world to watch and wait and pray ,until the ,bridegroom comes4' ,she rose and went ,without a word4 ,and twelvemonth after came1 ,true to the very day and hour1 and said3 ,wilt keep thy promise made one year ago8 ,where is my cell -- and where my virgin's veil8 ,wilt try me more8 ,wilt send me back again8 ,i came once with my wealth and was refused3 ,and now ,i come as poor as ,holy ,christ ,who had no place to rest ,his weary head -- ,my wealth is gone2 ,i offered it to him ,who sent me here2 he sent me speedy word ,give all unto the poor in quiet way -- ,and hide the giving -- ere you give yourself ,to ,god6 ,wilt take me now for my own sake8 ,i bring my soul -- 'tis little worth ,i ween1 ,and yet it cost sweet ,christ a priceless price4' ,my child1' ,i said1 thrice welcome -- enter here2 ,a few short days of silence and of prayer1 ,and thou shalt be the ,holy ,bridegroom's bride4' ,her novice days went on2 much sickness fell ,upon her4 ,oft she lay for weary weeks ,in awful agonies1 and no one heard ,a murmur from her lips4 ,she oft would smile ,a sunny1 playful smile1 that she might hide ,her sufferings from us all4 ,when she was well ,she was the first to meet the hour of prayer -- ,the last to leave it -- and they named her well3 ,the ,angel of the ,cloister'4 ,once ,i heard ,the ,father of our souls say when she passed ,beneath that veil of sacrificial black ,she wears the white robe of her innocence4' ,and we -- we believed it4 ,there are sisters here ,of three-score years of service who would say3 ,within our memory never moved a veil ,that hid so saintly and so pure a heart4' ,and we -- we felt it1 and we loved her so1 ,we treated her as angel and as child4 ,i never heard her speak about the past1 ,i never heard her mention e'en a name ,of any in the world4 ,she little spake2 ,she seemed to have rapt moments -- then she grew ,absent-minded1 and would come and ask me ,to walk alone and say her ,rosary ,beneath the trees4 ,she had a voice divine2 ,and when she sang for us1 in truth it seemed ,the very heart of song was breaking on her lips4 ,the dower of her mind as of her heart1 ,was of the richest1 and she mastered art ,by instinct more than study4 ,her weak hands ,moved ceaselessly amid the beautiful4 ,there is a picture hanging in our choir ,she painted4 ,i remember well the morn ,she came to me and told me she had dreamt ,a dream2 then asked me would ,i let her paint ,her dream4 ,i gave permission4 ,weeks and weeks ,went by1 and ev'ry spare hour of the day ,she kept her cell all busy with her work4 ,at last 'twas finished1 and she brought it forth -- ,a picture my poor words may not portray4 ,but you must gaze on it with your own eyes1 ,and drink its magic and its meanings in2 ,i'll show it thee1 kind sir1 before you go4 ,in every ,may for two whole days she kept ,her cell4 ,we humored her in that2 but when ,the days had passed1 and she came forth again1 ,her face was tender as a lily's leaf1 ,with ,god's smile on it2 and for days and days ,thereafter1 she would scarcely ope her lips ,save when in prayer1 and then her every look ,was rapt1 as if her soul did hold with ,god ,strange converse4 ,and1 who knows8 mayhap she did4 ,i half forgot -- on yonder mantlepiece ,you see that wondrous crucifix2 one year ,she spent on it1 and begged to put beneath ,that most mysterious word -- ,ullainee'4 ,at last the cloister's angel disappeared2 ,her face was missed at choir1 her voice was missed -- ,her words were missed where every day we met ,in recreation's hour4 ,and those who passed ,the angel's cell would lightly tread1 and breathe ,a prayer that death might pass the angel by ,and let her longer stay1 for she lay ill -- ,her frail1 pure life was ebbing fast away4 ,ah6 many were the orisons that rose ,from all our hearts that ,god might spare her still2 ,at ,benediction and at holy ,mass ,our hands were lifted1 and strong pleadings went ,to heaven for her2 we did love her so -- ,perhaps too much we loved her1 and perhaps ,our love was far too human4 ,slow and slow ,she faded like a flower4 ,and slow and slow ,her pale cheeks whitened more4 ,and slow and slow ,her large1 brown1 wondering eyes sank deep and dim4 ,hope died on all our faces2 but on her's ,another and a different hope did shine1 ,and from her wasted lips sweet prayers arose ,that made her watchers weep4 ,fast came the end4 ,never such silence o'er the cloister hung -- ,we walked more softly1 and1 whene'er we spoke1 ,our voices fell to whispers1 lest a sound ,might jar upon her ear4 ,the sisters watched ,in turns beside her couch2 to each she gave ,a gentle word1 a smile1 a thankful look4 ,at times her mind did wander2 no wild words ,escaped her lips -- she seemed to float away ,to far-gone days1 and live again in scenes ,whose hours were bright and happy4 ,in her sleep ,she ofttimes spoke low1 gentle1 holy words ,about her mother2 and sometimes she sang ,the fragments of sweet olden songs -- and when ,she woke again1 she timidly would ask ,if she had spoken in her sleep1 and what ,she said1 as if1 indeed1 her heart did fear ,that sleep might open there some long-closed gate ,she would keep locked4 ,and softly as a cloud1 ,a golden cloud upon a summer's day1 ,floats from the heart of land out o'er the sea1 ,so her sweet life was passing4 ,one bright eve1 ,the fourteenth day of ,august1 when the sun ,was wrapping1 like a king1 a purple cloud ,around him on descending day's bright throne1 ,she sent for me and bade me come in haste4 ,i went into her cell4 ,there was a light ,upon her face1 unearthly2 and it shone ,like gleam of star upon a dying rose4 ,i sat beside her couch1 and took her hand ,in mine -- a fair1 frail hand that scarcely seem'd ,of flesh -- so wasted1 white and wan it was4 ,her great1 brown1 wond'ring eyes had sunk away ,deep in their sockets -- and their light shone dim ,as tapers dying on an altar4 ,soft ,as a dream of beauty on me fell low1 ,last words4 ,mother1 the tide is ebbing fast2 ,but ere it leaves this shore to cross the deep ,and seek another1 calmer1 ,i would say ,a few last words -- and1 ,mother1 ,i would ask ,one favor more1 which thou wilt not refuse4 ,thou wert a mother to the orphan girl1 ,thou gav'st her heart a home1 her love a vase1 ,her weariness a rest1 her sacrifice a shrine -- ,and thou didst love me1 ,mother1 as she loved ,whom ,i shall meet to-morrow1 far away -- ,but no1 it is not far -- that other heaven ,touches this1 ,mother2 ,i have felt its touch1 ,and now ,i feel its clasp upon my soul4 ,i'm going from this heaven into that1 ,to-morrow1 ,mother4 ,yes1 ,i dreamt it all4 ,it was the sunset of ,our ,lady's feast4 ,my soul passed upwards thro' the golden clouds ,to sing the second ,vespers of the day ,with all the angels4 ,mother1 ere ,i go1 ,thou'lt listen1 ,mother sweet1 to my last words1 ,which1 like all last words1 tell whate'er was first ,in life or tenderest in heart4 ,i came ,unto my convent cell and virgin veil1 ,sent by a spirit that had touched my own ,as wings of angels touch -- to fly apart ,upon their missions -- till they meet again ,in heaven1 heart to heart1 wing to wing4 ,the ,angel of the ,cloister you called me -- ,unworthy sure of such a beauteous name -- ,my mission's over -- and your angel goes ,to-morrow home4 ,this earthly part which stays ,you'll lay away within a simple grave -- ,but1 ,mother1 on its slab thou'lt grave this name1 ,ullainee6 7she spelt the letters out71 ,nor ask me why -- tho' if thou wilt ,i'll tell2 ,it is my soul name1 given long ago ,by one who found it in some ,eastern book1 ,or dreamt it in a dream1 and gave it me -- ,nor ever told the meaning of the name2 ,and1 ,mother1 should he ever come and read ,that name upon my grave1 and come to thee ,and ask the tidings of ,ullainee1 ,thou'lt tell him all -- and watch him if he weeps1 ,show him the crucifix my poor hands carved -- ,show him the picture in the chapel choir -- ,and watch him if he weeps2 and then ,there are three humble scrolls in yonder drawer2' 7,she pointed to the table in her room72 ,some words of mine and words of his are there4 ,and keep these simple scrolls until he comes1 ,and put them in his hands2 and1 ,mother1 watch -- ,watch him if he weeps2 and tell him this3 ,i tasted all the sweets of sacrifice1 ,i kissed my cross a thousand times a day1 ,i hung and bled upon it in my dreams1 ,i lived on it -- ,i loved it to the last4' ,and then ,a low1 soft sigh crept thro' the virgin's cell2 ,i looked upon her face1 and death was there4 ,there was a pause -- and in the pause one wave ,of shining tears swept thro' the ,mother's eyes4 ,and thus1 she said1 our angel passed away4 ,we buried her1 and at her last request ,we wrote upon the slab1 ,ullainee'4 ,and ,i -- 7for she asked me one day thus1 ,the day she hung her picture in the choir7 -- ,i planted o'er her grave a white rose tree4 ,the roses crept around the slab and hid ,the graven name -- and still we sometimes cull ,her sweet1 white roses1 and we place them on ,our ,chapel-,altar4 ,then the ,mother rose1 ,without another word1 and led him thro' ,a long1 vast hall1 then up a flight of stairs ,unto an oaken door1 which turned upon its hinge ,noiselessly -- then into a ,chapel dim1 ,on gospel side of which there was a gate ,from ceiling down to floor1 and back of that ,a long and narrow choir1 with many stalls1 ,brown-oaken2 all along the walls were hung ,saint-pictures1 whose sweet faces looked upon ,the faces of the ,sisters in their prayers4 ,beside a ,mater ,dolorosa hung ,the picture of the ,angel of the ,choir4 ,he sees it now thro' vista of the years1 ,which stretch between him and that long-gone day1 ,it hangs within his memory as fresh ,in tint and touch and look as long ago4 ,there was a power in it1 as if the soul ,of her who painted it had shrined in it ,its very self2 there was a spell in it ,that fell upon his spirit thro' his eyes1 ,and made him dream of ,god's own holy heart4 ,the shadow of the picture1 in weak words1 ,was this1 or something very like to this3 ---- ,a wild1 weird wold1 ,just like the desolation of a heart1 ,stretched far away into infinity2 ,above it low1 gray skies drooped sadly down1 ,as if they fain would weep1 and all was bare ,as bleakness' own bleak self2 a mountain stood ,all mantled with the glory of a light ,that flashed from out the heavens1 and a cross ,with such a pale ,christ hanging in its arms ,did crown the mount2 and either side the cross ,there were two crosses lying on the rocks -- ,one of the whitest roses -- ,,ullainee ,was woven into it with buds of ,red2 ,and one of reddest roses -- ,merlin's name ,was woven into it with buds of white4 ,below the cross and crosses and the mount ,the earth-place lay so dark and bleak and drear2 ,above1 a golden glory seemed to hang ,like ,god's own benediction o'er the names4 ,i saw the picture once2 it moved me so ,i ne'er forgot its beauty or its truth2 ,but words as weak as mine can never paint ,that ,crucifixion's picture4 ,merlin said to me3 ,some day -- some far-off day -- when ,i am dead1 ,you have the simple rhymings of two hearts1 ,and if you think it best1 the world may know ,a love-tale crowned by purest ,,sacrifice4 ,night ,after the ,picnic ,and ,happy6 ,happy6 ,happy6 ,rang the bells of all the hours2 ,shyly6 ,shyly6 ,shyly6 ,looked and listened all the flowers2 ,they were wakened from their slumbers1 ,by the footsteps of the fair2 ,and they smiled in their awaking ,on the faces gathered there4 ,brightly6 ,brightly6 ,brightly6 ,looked the overhanging trees1 ,for beneath their bending branches ,floated tresses in the breeze4 ,and they wondered who had wandered ,with such voices and so gay2 ,and their leaflets seemed to whisper ,to each other3 ,who are they8 ,they were just like little children1 ,not a sorrow's shade was there2 ,and ,merry6 ,merry6 ,merry6 ,rang their laughter thro' the air4 ,there was not a brow grief-darkened1 ,was there there a heart in pain8 ,but ,happy6 ,happy6 ,happy6 ,came the happy bells' refrain4 ,when the stately trees were bending ,o'er a simple1 quiet home1 ,that looked humble as an altar1 ,nestling 'neath a lofty dome2 ,thither went they gaily6 gaily6 ,where their coming was a joy1 ,just to pass away together ,one long day without alloy4 ,slowly6 ,slowly6 ,slowly6 ,melted morning's mist away1 ,till the sun1 in all its splendor1 ,lit the borders of the bay4 ,gladly6 ,gladly6 ,gladly6 ,glanced the waters that were gray1 ,while the wavelets whispered ,welcome6 ,to us all that happy day4 ,and ,happy6 ,happy6 ,happy6 ,rang the bell in every heart1 ,and it chimed1 ,all day let no one ,think that ye shall ever part4 ,go and sip from every moment ,sweets to perfume many years2 ,keep your feast1 and be too happy ,to have thought of any tears4 ,there was song with one's soul in it1 ,and the happy hearts grew still ,while they leaned upon the music ,like fair lilies o'er the rill2 ,till the notes had softly floated ,into silent seas away ,o'er the wavelets1 where they listened ,while they rocked upon the bay4 ,and ---- ,dreamy6 ,dreamy6 ,dreamy6 ,when the song's sweet life was o'er1 ,drooped the eyes that will remember ,all its echoes evermore4 ,and ,stilly6 ,stilly6 ,stilly6 ,beat the hearts of some1 ,i ween1 ,that can see the unseen mystery ,which a song may strive to screen4 ,then ,gaily6 ,gaily6 ,gaily6 ,rang the laughter everywhere1 ,from the lips that seemed too lightsome ,for the sigh of any care4 ,and the dance went ,merry6 ,merry6 ,whilst the feet that tripped along1 ,bore the hearts that were as happy ,as a wild bird's happy song4 ,and sweet words with smiles upon them1 ,joy-winged1 flitted to and fro1 ,flushing every face they met with ,with the glory of their glow4 ,not a brow with cloud upon it -- ,not an eye that seemed to know ,what a tear is2 not a bosom ,that had ever nursed a woe4 ,and how ,swiftly6 ,swiftly6 ,swiftly6 ,like the ripples of a stream1 ,did the bright hours chase each other1 ,till it all seemed like a dream2 ,till it seemed as if no ,never ,ever in this world had been1 ,to o'ercloud the brief ,forever1 ,shining o'er the happy scene4 ,dimly6 dimly fell the shadows ,of the tranquil eventide2 ,but the sound of dance and laughter ,would not die1 and had not died2 ,and still ,happy6 ,happy6 ,happy6 ,rang the voiceless vesper bells ,o'er the hearts that were too happy ,to remember earth's farewells4 ,came the night hours -- faster6 faster6 ,rose the laughter and the dance1 ,and the eyes that should look weary ,shone the brighter in their glance3 ,and they stole from every minute ,what no other day could lend -- ,they were happy6 happy6 happy6 ,but the feast must have an end4 ,children1 come6 the words were cruel -- ',twas the death sigh of the feast2 ,and they came1 still merry6 merry6 ,at the bidding of the priest1 ,who had heard the joy-bells ringing ,round him all the summer day4 ,happy6 ,happy6 ,happy6 ,happy6 ,did he hear an angel say8 ,happy6 happy6 still more happy6 ,yea1 the happiest are they4 ,i was moving 'mid the children ,by the borders of the bay1 ,and ,i bring to ,god no record ,of a single sin this day4 ,happy6 ,happy6 ,happy6 ,when your life seems lone and long1 ,you will hear that feast's bells ringing ,far and faintly thro' my song4 ,lines ,the death of men is not the death ,the death of men is not the death ,of rights that urged them to the fray2 ,for men may yield ,on battle-field ,a noble life with stainless shield1 ,and swords may rust ,above their dust1 ,but still1 and still ,the touch and thrill ,of freedom's vivifying breath ,will nerve a heart and rouse a will ,in some hour1 in the days to be1 ,to win back triumphs from defeat2 ,and those who blame us then will greet ,right's glorious eternity4 ,for right lives in a thousand things2 ,its cradle is its martyr's grave1 ,wherein it rests awhile until ,the life that heroisms gave ,will rise again1 at ,god's own will1 ,and right the wrong1 ,which long and long ,did reign above the true and just2 ,and thro' the songs the poet sings1 ,right's vivifying spirit rings2 ,each simple rhyme ,keeps step and time ,with those who marched away and fell1 ,and all his lines ,are humble shrines ,where love of right will love to dwell4 ,death of the ,prince ,imperial ,waileth a woman1 ,o my ,god6 ,a breaking heart in a broken breath1 ,a hopeless cry o'er her heart-hope's death6 ,can words catch the chords of the winds that wail1 ,when love's last lily lies dead in the vale6 ,let her alone1 ,under the rod ,with the infinite moan ,of her soul for ,god4 ,ah6 song6 you may echo the sound of pain1 ,but you never may shrine1 ,in verse or line1 ,the pang of the heart that breaks in twain4 ,waileth a woman1 ,o my ,god6 ,wind-driven waves with no hearts that ache1 ,why do your passionate pulses throb8 ,no lips that speak -- have ye souls that sob8 ,we carry the cross -- ye wear the crest1 ,we have our ,god -- and ye1 your shore1 ,whither ye rush in the storm to rest2 ,we have the havens of holy prayer -- ,and we have a hope -- have ye despair8 ,for storm-rocked waves ye break evermore1 ,adown the shores and along the years1 ,in the whitest foam of the saddest tears1 ,and we1 as ye1 ,o waves1 gray waves6 ,drift over a sea more deep and wide1 ,for we have sorrow and we have death2 ,and ye have only the tempest's breath2 ,but we have ,god when heart-oppressed1 ,as a calm and beautiful shore of rest4 ,o waves6 sad waves6 how you flowed between ,the crownless ,prince and the exiled ,queen6 ,waileth a woman1 ,o my ,god6 ,her hopes are withered1 her heart is crushed1 ,for the love of her love is cold and dead1 ,the joy of her joy hath forever fled2 ,a starless and pitiless night hath rushed ,on the light of her life -- and far away ,in ,afric wild lies her poor dead child1 ,lies the heart of her heart -- let her alone ,under the rod ,with her infinite moan1 ,o my ,god6 ,he was beautiful1 pure1 and brave1 ,the brightest grace ,of a royal race2 ,only his throne is but a grave2 ,is there fate in fame8 ,is there doom in names8 ,ah6 what did the cruel ,zulu spears ,care for the prince or his mother's tears8 ,what did the ,zulu's ruthless lance ,care for the hope of the future ,france8 ,crieth the ,empress1 ,o my son6 ,he was her own and her only one1 ,she had nothing to give him but her love4 ',twas kingdom enough on earth -- above ,she gave him an infinite faith in ,god2 ,let her cry her cry ,over her own and only one1 ,all the glory is gone -- is gone1 ,into her broken-hearted sigh4 ,moaneth a mother1 ,o my child6 ,and who can sound that depth of woe8 ,homeless1 throneless1 crownless -- now ,she bows her sorrow-wreathed brow -- 7,so fame and all its grandeurs go7 ,let her alone ,beneath the rod ,with her infinite moan1 ,o my ,god6 ,in ,memoriam 7,father ,keeler7 ,father ,keeler died ,february #bh1 #ahhj1 in ,mobile1 ,ala4 ,inscribed to his sister4 ,sweet ,christ6 let him live1 ah6 we need his life1 ,and woe to us if he goes6 ,oh6 his life is beautiful1 sweet1 and fair1 ,like a holy hymn1 and the stillest prayer2 ,let him linger to help us in the strife ,on earth1 with our sins and woes4 ',twas the cry of thousands who loved him so1 ,the ,angel of ,death said3 ,no6 oh6 no6 ,he was passing away -- and none might save ,the virgin priest from a spotless grave4 ,o ,god6 spare his life1 we plead and pray1 ,he taught us to love ,you so -- ,so1 so much -- his life is so sweet and fair -- ,a still1 still song -- and a holy prayer2 ,he is our ,father2 oh6 let him stay -- ,he gone1 to whom shall we go8 ',twas the wail of thousands who loved him so1 ,but the ,angel of ,death murmured low3 ,no1 no2 ,and the voice of his angel from far away1 ,sang to ,christ in heav'n3 ,he must not stay4 ,o ,mary6 kneel at the great white throne1 ,and pray with your children there -- ,our hearts need his heart -- 'tis sweet and fair1 ,like the sound of hymns and the breath of prayer1 ,goeth he now -- we are lone -- so lone1 ,and who is there left to care8 ',twas the cry of the souls who loved him so -- ,but the ,angel of ,death sang3 ,children1 no6 ,and a voice like ,christ's from the far away1 ,sounded sweet and low3 ,he may not stay4 ,from his sister's heart swept the wildest moan3 ,o ,god let my brother stay -- ,i need him the most -- oh6 me6 how lone1 ,if he passes from earth away -- ,o beautiful ,christ1 for my poor sake ,let him live for me1 else my heart will break4 ,but the ,angel of ,death wept3 ,poor child6 no1 ,and ,christ sang3 ,child1 ,i will soothe thy woe4 ,o ,christ6 let his sister's prayer be heard1 ,let her look on his face once more6 ,ah6 that prayer was a wail -- without a word -- ,she will look on him nevermore6 ,the long gray distances unmoved swept ',tween the dying eyes and the eyes that wept4 ,he was dying fast1 and the hours went by1 ,ah6 desolate hours were they6 ,his mind had hidden away somewhere ,back of a fretted and wearied brow1 ,ere he passed from life away4 ,and one who loved him 7at dead of night71 ,crept up to an altar1 where the light ,that guards ,christ's ,eucharistic sleep1 ,shone strangely down on his vow3 ,spare him6 ,o ,god6 -- ,o ,god6 for me1 ,take me1 beautiful ,christ1 instead2 ,let me taste of death and come to ,thee1 ,i will sleep for him with the dead4 ,the ,angel of ,death said3 ,no6 ,priest6 ,no6 ,you must suffer and live1 but he must go4 ,and a voice like ,christ's sang far away3 ,he will come to me1 but you must stay4 ,we leaned on hope that was all in vain1 ',till the terrible word at last ,told our stricken hearts he was out of pain1 ,and his beautiful life had passed4 ,oh6 take him away from where he died2 ,put him not with the common dead 7,for he was so pure and fair72 ,and the city was stirred1 and thousands cried ,whose tears were a very prayer4 ,no1 no1 no1 take him home again1 ,for his bishop's heart beats there2 ,cast him not with the common dead1 ,let him go home and rest his head1 ,ah6 his weary and grief-worn head1 ,on the heart of his father -- he is mild ,for he loved him as his own child4 ,and they brought him home to the home he blest1 ,with his life so sweet and fair1 ,he blessed it more in his deathly rest -- ,his face was a chiseled prayer1 ,white as the snow1 pure as the foam ,of a weary wave on the sea1 ,he drifted back -- and they placed him where ,he would love at last to be4 ,his ,father in ,god thought over the years ,of the beautiful happy past2 ,ah6 me6 we were happy then2 but now1 ,the sorrow has come1 and saddest tears ,kiss the dead priest's virgin brow4 ,who will watch o'er the dead young priest1 ,people and priests and all8 ,no1 no1 no1 'tis his spirit's feast2 ,when the evening shadows fall1 ,let him rest alone -- unwatched1 alone1 ,just beneath the altar's light1 ,the holy hosts on their humble throne ,will watch him all thro' the night4 ,the doors were closed -- he was still and fair1 ,what sound moved up the aisles8 ,the dead priests come with soundless prayer1 ,their faces wearing smiles4 ,and this was the soundless hymn they sung3 ,we watch o'er you to-night1 ,your life was beautiful1 fair1 and young1 ,not a cloud upon its light4 ,to-morrow -- to-morrow you will rest ,with the virgin priests whom ,christ has blest4 ,kyrie ,eleison6 the stricken crowd ,bowed down their heads in tears ,o'er the sweet young priest in his vestment shroud 7,ah6 the happy1 happy years67 ,they are dead and gone1 and the ,requiem ,mass ,went slowly1 mournfully on1 ,the ,pontiff's singing was all a wail1 ,the altars cried1 and the people wept1 ,the fairest flower in the church's vale 7,ah6 me6 how soon we pass67 ,in the vase of his coffin slept4 ,we bore him out to his resting place1 ,children1 priests1 and all2 ,there was sorrow on almost ev'ry face -- ,and ah6 what tears did fall6 ,tears from hearts1 for a heart asleep1 ,tears from sorrow's deepest deep4 ,dust to dust1 he was lowered down2 ,children6 kneel and pray -- ,give the white rose priest a flower and crown1 ,for the white rose passed away4 ,and we wept our tears and left him there4 ,and brought his memory home -- ,ah6 he was beautiful1 sweet1 and fair1 ,a heavenly hymn -- a sweet1 still prayer1 ,pure as the snow1 white as the foam1 ,that seeks a lone1 far shore4 ,dead ,priest6 bless from amid the blest1 ,the hearts that will guard thy place of rest1 ,forever1 forever1 forever more4 ,mobile ,mystic ,societies ,the olden golden stories of the world1 ,that stirred the past1 ,and now are dim as dreams1 ,the lays and legends which the bards unfurled ,in lines that last1 ,all -- rhymed with glooms and gleams4 ,fragments and fancies writ on many a page ,by deathless pen1 ,and names1 and deeds that all along each age1 ,thrill hearts of men4 ,and pictures erstwhile framed in sun or shade ,of many climes1 ,and life's great poems that can never fade ,nor lose their chimes2 ,and acts and facts that must forever ring ,like temple bells1 ,that sound or seem to sound where angels sing ,vesper farewells2 ,and scenes where smiles are strangely touching tears1 ',tis ever thus1 ,strange ,mystics6 in the meeting of the years ,ye bring to us ,all these1 and more2 ye make us smile and sigh1 ,strange power ye hold6 ,when ,new ,year kneels low in the star-aisled sky ,and asks the ,old ,to bless us all with love1 and life1 and light1 ,and when they fold ,each other in their arms1 ye stir the sight1 ,we look1 and lo6 ,the past is passing1 and the present seems ,to wish to go4 ,ye pass between them on your mystic way ,thro' scene and scene1 ,the ,old ,year marches through your ranks1 away ,to what has been1 ,the while the pageant moves1 it scarcely seems ,apart of earth2 ,the ,old ,year dies -- and heaven crowns with gleams ,the ,new ,year's birth4 ,and you -- you crown yourselves with heaven's grace ,to enter here2 ,a prayer -- ascending from an orphan face1 ,or just one tear ,may meet you in the years that are to be ,a blessing rare4 ,ye pass beneath the arch of charity1 ,who passeth there ,is blest in heaven1 and is blest on earth1 ,and ,god will care1 ,beyond the ,old ,year's death and ,new ,year's birth1 ,for each of you1 ye ,mystics6 everywhere4 ,rest ,my feet are wearied1 and my hands are tired1 ,my soul oppressed -- ,and ,i desire1 what ,i have long desired -- ,rest -- only rest4 ',tis hard to toil -- when toil is almost vain1 ,in barren ways2 ',tis hard to sow -- and never garner grain1 ,in harvest days4 ,the burden of my days is hard to bear1 ,but ,god knows best2 ,and ,i have prayed -- but vain has been my prayer ,for rest -- sweet rest4 ',tis hard to plant in ,spring and never reap ,the ,autumn yield2 ',tis hard to till1 and 'tis tilled to weep ,o'er fruitless field4 ,and so ,i cry a weak and human cry1 ,so heart oppressed2 ,and so ,i sigh a weak and human sigh1 ,for rest -- for rest4 ,my way has wound across the desert years1 ,and cares infest ,my path1 and through the flowing of hot tears1 ,i pine -- for rest4 ',twas always so2 when but a child ,i laid ,on mother's breast ,my wearied little head2 e'en then ,i prayed ,as now -- for rest4 ,and ,i am restless still2 'twill soon be o'er2 ,for down the ,west ,life's sun is setting1 and ,i see the shore ,where ,i shall rest4 ,follow ,me ,the ,master's voice was sweet3 ,i gave ,my life for thee2 ,bear thou this cross thro' pain and loss1 ,arise and follow ,me4 ,i clasped it in my hand -- ,o ,thou6 who diedst for me1 ,the day is bright1 my step is light1 ',tis sweet to follow ,thee6 ,through the long ,summer days ,i followed lovingly2 ',twas bliss to hear ,his voice so near1 ,his glorious face to see4 ,down where the lilies pale ,fringed the bright river's brim1 ,in pastures green ,his steps were seen -- ',twas sweet to follow ,him6 ,oh1 sweet to follow ,him6 ,lord1 let me here abide4 ,the flowers were fair2 ,i lingered there2 ,i laid ,his cross aside -- ,i saw ,his face no more ,by the bright river's brim2 ,before me lay the desert way -- ',twas hard to follow ,him6 ,yes6 hard to follow ,him ,into that dreary land6 ,i was alone2 ,his cross had grown ,too heavy for my hand4 ,i heard ,his voice afar ,sound thro' the night air chill2 ,my weary feet refused to meet ,his coming o'er the hill4 ,the ,master's voice was sad3 ,i gave ,my life for thee2 ,i bore the cross thro' pain and loss1 ,thou hast not followed ,me4 ,so fair the lilies' banks1 ,so bleak the desert way3 ,the night was dark1 ,i could not mark ,where ,his blessed footsteps lay4 ,fairer the lilied banks ,softer the grassy lea2 ,the endless bliss of those who best ,have learned to follow ,me6 ,canst thou not follow ,me8 ,hath patient love a power no more ,to move thy faithless heart8 ,wilt thou not follow ,me8 ,these weary feet of ,mine ,have stained1 and red the pathway dread ,in search of thee and thine4 ,o ,lord6 ,o ,love divine6 ,once more ,i follow ,thee6 ,let me abide so near ,thy side ,that ,i ,thy face may see4 ,i clasp ,thy pierced hand1 ,o ,thou who diedst for me6 ,i'll bear ,thy cross thro' pain and loss1 ,so let me cling to ,thee4 ,the ,poet's ,child ,lines addressed to the daughter of ,richard ,dalton ,williams4 ,child of the heart of a child of sweetest song6 ,the poet's blood flows through thy fresh pure veins2 ,dost ever hear faint echoes float along ,thy days and dreams of thy dead father's strains8 ,dost ever hear1 ,in mournful times1 ,with inner ear1 ,the strange sweet cadences of thy father's rhymes8 ,child of a child of art1 which ,heaven doth give ,to few1 to very few as unto him6 ,his songs are wandering o'er the world1 but live ,in his child's heart1 in some place lone and dim2 ,and nights and days ,with vestal's eyes ,and soundless sighs ,thou keepest watch above thy father's lays4 ,child of a dreamer of dreams all unfulfilled -- 7,and thou art1 child1 a living dream of him7 -- ,dost ever feel thy spirit all enthrilled ,with his lost dreams when summer days wane dim8 ,when suns go down1 ,thou1 song of the dead singer1 ,dost sigh at eve and grieve ,o'er the brow that paled before it won the crown8 ,child of the patriot6 ,oh1 how he loved his land6 ,and how he moaned o'er ,erin's ev'ry wrong6 ,child of the singer6 he swept with purest hand ,the octaves of all agonies1 until his song ,sobbed o'er the sea2 ,and now through thee ,it cometh to me1 ,like a shadow song from some ,gethsemane4 ,child of the wanderer6 and his heart the shrine ,where three loves blended into only one -- ,his ,god's1 thy mother's1 and his country's2 and 'tis thine ,to be the living ray of such a glorious sun4 ,his genius gleams1 ,my child1 within thee1 ,and dim thy dreams ,as stars on the midnight sea4 ,child of thy father1 ,i have read his songs -- ,thou art the sweetest song he ever sung -- ,peaceful as ,psalms1 but when his country's wrongs ,swept o'er his heart he stormed4 ,and he was young2 ,he died too soon -- ,so men will say -- ,before he reached ,fame's noon2 ,his songs are letters in a book -- thou art their ray4 ,mother's ,way ,oft within our little cottage1 ,as the shadows gently fall1 ,while the sunlight touches softly ,one sweet face upon the wall1 ,do we gather close together1 ,and in hushed and tender tone ,ask each other's full forgiveness ,for the wrong that each has done4 ,should you wonder why this custom ,at the ending of the day1 ,eye and voice would quickly answer3 ,it was once our mother's way4 ,if our home be bright and cheery1 ,if it holds a welcome true1 ,opening wide its door of greeting ,to the many -- not the few2 ,if we share our father's bounty ,with the needy day by day1 ',tis because our hearts remember ,this was ever mother's way4 ,sometimes when our hands grow weary1 ,or our tasks seem very long2 ,when our burdens look too heavy1 ,and we deem the right all wrong2 ,then we gain a new1 fresh courage1 ,and we rise to proudly say3 ,let us do our duty bravely -- ,this was our dear mother's way4 ,then we keep her memory precious1 ,while we never cease to pray ,that at last1 when lengthening shadows ,mark the evening of our day1 ,they may find us waiting calmly ,to go home our mother's way4 ,feast of the ,presentation of ,mary in the ,temple ,the priests stood waiting in the holy place1 ,impatient of delay 7,isaiah had been read71 ,when sudden up the aisle there came a face ,like a lost sun's ray2 ,and the child was led ,by ,joachim and ,anna4 ,rays of grace ,shone all about the child2 ,simeon looked on1 and bowed his aged head -- ,looked on the child1 and smiled4 ,low were the words of ,joachim4 ,he spake ,in a tremulous way1 ,as if he were afraid1 ,or as if his heart were just about to break1 ,and knew not what to say2 ,and low he bowed his head -- ,while ,anna wept the while -- he1 sobbing1 said3 ,priests of the holy temple1 will you take ,into your care our child8 ,and ,simeon1 listening1 prayed1 and strangely smiled4 ,a silence for a moment fell on all2 ,they gazed in mute surprise1 ,not knowing what to say1 ,till ,simeon spake3 ,child1 hast thou heaven's call8 ,and the child's wondrous eyes 7,each look a lost sun's ray7 ,turned toward the far mysterious wall4 7,did the veil of the temple sway87 ,they looked from the curtain to the little child -- ,simeon seemed to pray1 and strangely smiled4 ,yes2 heaven sent me here4 ,priests1 let me in6 7,and the voice was sweet and low47 ,was it a dream by night8 ,a voice did call me from this world of sin -- ,a spirit-voice ,i know1 ,an angel pure and bright4 ,leave father1 mother1' said the voice1 and win'2 7,i see my angel now7 ,the crown of a virgin's vow4' ,i am three summers old -- a little child4 ,and ,simeon seemed to pray the while he smiled4 ,yes1 holy priests1 our father's ,god is great1 ,and all ,his mercies sweet6 ,his angel bade me come -- ,come thro' the temple's beautiful gate2 ,he led my heart and feet ,to this1 my holy home4 ,he said to me3 ,three years your ,god will wait ,your heart to greet and meet4' ,i am three summers old -- ,i see my angel now -- ,brighter his wings than gold -- ,he knoweth of my vow4 ,the priests1 in awe1 came closer to the child -- ,she wore an angel's look -- and ,simeon smiled4 ,as if she were the very holy ark1 ,simeon placed his hand ,on the fair1 pure head4 ,the sun had set1 and it was growing dark2 ,the robed priests did stand ,around the child4 ,he said3 ,unto me1 priests1 and all ye ,levites1 hark6 ,this child is ,god's own gift -- ,let us our voices lift ,in holy praise4 ,they gazed upon the child ,in wonderment -- and ,simeon prayed and smiled4 ,and ,joachim and ,anna went their way -- ,the little child1 she shed ,the tenderest human tears4 ,the priests and ,levites lingered still to pray2 ,and ,simeon said3 ,we teach the latter years ,the night is passing 'fore the coming day 7,isaiah had been read7 ,of our redemption -- and some way the child ,won all their hearts4 ,simeon prayed and smiled4 ,that night the temple's child knelt down to pray ,in the shadows of the aisle -- ,she prayed for you and me4 ,why did the temple's mystic curtain sway8 ,why did the shadows smile8 ,the child of ,love's decree ,had come at last2 and 'neath the night-stars' gleam ,the aged ,simeon did see in dream ,the mystery of the child1 ,and in his sleep he murmured prayer -- and smiled4 ,and twelve years after1 up the very aisle ,where ,simeon had smiled ,upon her fair1 pure face1 ,she came again1 with a mother's smile1 ,and in her arms a ,child1 ,the very ,god of grace4 ,and ,simeon took the ,infant from her breast1 ,and1 in glad tones and strong1 ,he sang his glorious song ,of faith1 and hope1 and everlasting rest4 ,st4 ,bridget ,sweet heaven's smile ,gleamed o'er the isle1 ,that gems the dreamy sea4 ,one far gone day1 ,and flash'd its ray1 ,more than a thousand years away1 ,pure ,bridget1 over thee4 ,white as the snow1 ,that falls below ,to earth on ,christmas night1 ,thy pure face shone ,on every one2 ,for ,christ's sweet grace thy heart had won ,to make thy birth-land bright4 ,a cloud hangs o'er ,thy ,erin's shore -- ,ah6 ,god1 'twas always so4 ,ah6 virgin fair ,thy heaven pray'r ,will help thy people in their care1 ,and save them from their woe4 ,thou art in light -- ,they are in light2 ,thou hast a crown -- they a chain4 ,the very sod1 ,made theirs by ,god1 ,is still by tyrants' footsteps trod2 ,they pray -- but all in vain4 ,thou6 near ,christ's throne1 ,dost hear the moan ,of all their hearts that grieve2 ,ah6 virgin sweet1 ,kneel at ,his feet1 ,where angels' hymns thy prayer shall greet1 ,and pray for them this eve4 ,new ,year ,each year cometh with all his days1 ,some are shadowed and some are bright2 ,he beckons us on until he stays ,kneeling with us 'neath ,christmas night4 ,kneeling under the stars that gem ,the holy sky1 o'er the humble place1 ,when the world's sweet ,child of ,bethlehem ,rested on ,mary1 full of grace4 ,not only the ,bethlehem in the ,east1 ,but altar ,bethlehem everywhere1 ,when the ,gloria of the first great feast ,rings forth its gladness on the air4 ,each year seemeth loath to go1 ,and leave the joys of ,christmas day2 ,in lands of sun and in lands of snow1 ,the year still longs awhile to stay4 ,a little while1 'tis hard to part ,from this ,christ blessed here below1 ,old year6 and in thy aged heart ,i hear thee sing so sweet and low4 ,a song like this1 but sweeter far1 ,and yet as if with a human tone1 ,under the blessed ,christmas star1 ,and thou descendest from thy throne4 ,a few more days and ,i am gone1 ,the hours move swift and sure along2 ,yet still ,i fain would linger on ,in hearing of the ,christmas song4 ,i bow to ,him who rules all years2 ,thrice blessed is ,his high behest2 ,nor will ,he blame me if1 with tears1 ,i pass to my eternal rest4 ,ah1 me6 to altars every day ,i brought the sun and the holy ,mass2 ,the people came by my light to pray1 ,while countless priests did onward pass4 ,the words of the ,holy ,thursday night ,to one another from east to west2 ,and the holy ,host on the altar white ,would take its little half-hour's rest4 ,and every minute of every hour ,the ,mass bell rang with its sound so sweet1 ,while from shrine to shrine1 with tireless power1 ,and heaven's love1 walked the nailed feet4 ,i brought the hours for ,angelus bells1 ,and from a thousand temple towers ,they wound their sweet and blessed spell ,around the hearts of all the hours4 ,every day has a day of grace ,for those who fain would make them so2 ,i saw o'er the world in every place ,the wings of guardian angels glow4 ,men6 could you hear the song ,i sing -- ,but no1 alas6 it cannot be so6 ,my heir that comes would only bring ,blessings to bless you here below4 99 99 99 99 99 ,seven days passed2 the gray1 old year ,calls to his throne the coming heir2 ,falls from his eyes the last1 sad tear1 ,and lo6 there is gladness everywhere4 ,singing1 ,i hear the whole world sing1 ,afar1 anear1 aloud1 alow3 ,what to us will the ,new ,year bring6 ,ah6 would that each of us might know6 ,is it not truth8 as old as true8 ,list ye1 singers1 the while ye sing6 ,each year bringeth to each of you ,what each of you will have him bring4 ,the year that cometh is a king1 ,with better gifts than the old year gave2 ,if you place on his fingers the holy ring ,of prayer1 the king becomes your slave4 ,zeila 7,a ,story from a ,star7 ,from the mystic sidereal spaces1 ,in the noon of a night 'mid of ,may1 ,came a spirit that murmured to me -- ,or was it the dream of a dream8 ,no6 no6 from the purest of places1 ,where liveth the highest of races1 ,in an unfallen sphere far away 7,and it wore ,immortality's gleam7 ,came a ,being4 ,hath seen on the sea ,the sheen of some silver star shimmer ',thwart shadows that fall dim and dimmer ,o'er a wave half in dream on the deep8 ,it shone on me thus in my sleep4 ,was ,i sleeping8 ,is sleep but the closing1 ,in the night1 of our eyes from the light8 ,doth the spirit of man e'en then rest8 ,or doth it not toil all the more8 ,when the earth-wearied frame is reposing1 ,is the vision then veiled the less bright8 ,when the earth from our sight hath been taken1 ,the fetters of senses off shaken1 ,the soul1 doth it not then awaken ,to the light on ,infinity's shore8 ,and is not its vision then best1 ,and truest1 and farthest1 and clearest8 ,in night1 is not heaven the nearest8 ,ah1 me6 let the day have his schemers1 ,let them work on their ways as they will1 ,and their workings1 ,i trow1 have their worth4 ,but the unsleeping spirits of dreamers1 ,in hours when the world-voice is still1 ,are building1 with faith without falter1 ,bright steps up to heaven's high altar1 ,where lead all the aisles of the earth4 ,was ,i sleeping8 ,i know not -- or waking8 ,the body was resting1 ,i ween2 ,meseems it was o'ermuch tired ,with the toils of the day that had gone2 ,when sudden there came the bright breaking ,of light thro' a shadowy screen2 ,and with the brightness there blended ,the voice of the ,being descended ,from a star ever pure of all sin1 ,in music too sweet to be lyred ,by the lips of the sinful and mortal4 ,and1 oh6 how the pure brightness shone6 ,as shines thro' the summer morn's portal ,rays golden and white as the snow1 ,as white as the flakes -- ah1 no6 whiter2 ,only angelic wings may be brighter ,when they flash o'er the brow of some woe ,that walketh this shadowed below4 ,the soul loseth never its seeing1 ,in the goings of night and of day ,it graspeth the ,infinite ,far4 ,no wonder there may come some ,being1 ,as if it had wandered astray ,at times down the wonder-filled way -- ,as to me in the midnight of ,may -- ,from its home in some glory-crowned star1 ,where evil hath never left traces2 ,where dwelleth the highest of races1 ,save the angels that circle the throne1 ,in a grace far beyond all our graces1 ,whose ,christ is the same as our own4 ,yea6 ,i ween the star spaces are teeming ,with the gladness of life and of love4 ,no6 no6 ,i am not at all dreaming -- ,the ,below's hands enclasp the ,above4 ',tis a truth that is more than a seeming -- ,creation is many1 tho' one1 ,and we are the last of its creatures4 ,this earth bears the sign of our sin 7,from the highest the evil came in72 ,yet ours are the same human features ,that veiled long agone the ,divine4 ,how comes it1 ,o holy ,creator6 ,that we1 not the first1 but the latter ,of varied and numberless beings ,springing forth in ,thy loving decreeings1 ,that we are1 of all1 the most ,thine8 ,yea6 we are the least and the lowly1 ,the half of our history gone1 ,we look up the ,infinite slope ,in faith1 and we walk on in hope2 ,but think ye from here to the ,holy ,of ,holies beyond yon still sky1 ,o'er the stars that forever move on1 ,i' the heavens beyond the bright ,third1 ,in glory's ineffable light2 ,where the ,father1 and ,spirit1 and ,word ,reign circled by angels all bright -- ,ah6 think you 'tween ,here and that ,yonder ,there is naught but the silence of death8 ,there's naught of love's wish or life's wonder1 ,and naught but an infinite night8 ,no6 no6 the great ,father is fonder ,of breathing ,his life-giving breath ,into beings of numberless races4 ,and from here on and up to ,his throne ,the ,trinity's beautiful faces1 ,in countlessly various traces1 ,are seen in more stars than our own4 ,this earth telleth not half the story ,of the infinite heart of our ,god -- ,the heavens proclaim of ,his glory ,the least little part1 and ,his power ,broke not its sceptre when earth ,was beckoned by ,him into birth4 ,is ,he resting1 ,i wonder1 to-night8 ,can ,he rest when ,his love sways ,his will8 ,will ,he rest ere ,his glory shall fill ,all spaces below and above ,with beings to know and to love8 ,creation -- when was it begun8 ,who knows its first day8 ,nay1 none4 ,and then1 what ken among men ,can tell when the last work is done8 ,is ,he resting1 ,i wonder1 to-night8 ,doth ,he ever grow weary of giving ,to ,darknesses rays of ,his light8 ,doth ,he ever grow weary of giving ,to ,nothings the rapture of living ,and waiting awhile for ,his sight8 ,if ,his will rules ,his glorious power1 ,and if love sways ,his beautiful will1 ,is ,he not1 e'en in this very hour1 ,going on with love's wonder-work still8 99 99 99 99 99 ,let me pray just awhile1 for betimes ,my spirit is clouded2 and then ,strange darknesses creep o'er my rhymes1 ,till prayer lendeth light to my pen4 ,and then shall ,i better unfold ,the story to me that was told1 ,of the unfallen star far away1 ,in the noon of the night 'mid of ,may1 ,by the beautiful ,being who came1 ,with the pure and the beautiful name4 ,call me ,zeila1 the bright spirit said1 ,and passed from my vision afar4 ,with rapture ,i bowed down my head1 ,and dreamed of that unfallen star4 ,better than ,gold ,better than grandeur1 better than gold1 ,than rank and titles a thousand fold1 ,is a healthy body and a mind at ease1 ,and simple pleasures that always please ,a heart that can feel for another's woe1 ,with sympathies large enough to enfold ,all men as brothers1 is better than gold4 ,better than gold is a conscience clear1 ,though toiling for bread in an humble sphere1 ,doubly blessed with content and health1 ,untried by the lusts and cares of wealth1 ,lowly living and lofty thought ,adorn and ennoble a poor man's cot2 ,for mind and morals in nature's plan ,are the genuine tests of a gentleman4 ,better than gold is the sweet repose ,of the sons of toil when the labors close2 ,better than gold is the poor man's sleep1 ,and the balm that drops on his slumbers deep4 ,bring sleeping draughts on the downy bed1 ,where luxury pillows its aching head1 ,the toiler simple opiate deems ,a shorter route to the land of dreams4 ,better than gold is a thinking mind1 ,that in the realm of books can find ,a treasure surpassing ,australian ore1 ,and live with the great and good of yore4 ,the sage's lore and the poet's lay1 ,the glories of empires passed away2 ,the world's great dream will thus unfold ,and yield a pleasure better than gold4 ,better than gold is a peaceful home ,where all the fireside characters come1 ,the shrine of love1 the heaven of life1 ,hallowed by mother1 or sister1 or wife4 ,however humble the home may be1 ,or tried with sorrow by heaven's decree1 ,the blessings that never were bought or sold1 ,and centre there1 are better than gold4 ,sea ,dreamings ,to-day a bird on wings as white as foam ,that crests the blue-gray wave1 ,with the vesper light upon its breast1 flew home ,seaward4 ,the ,god who gave ,to the birds the virgin-wings of snow ,somehow telleth them the ways they go4 ,unto the ,evening went the white-winged bird -- ,gray clouds hung round the ,west -- ,and far away the tempest's tramp was heard4 ,the bird flew for a rest ,away from the grove1 out to the sea -- ,is it only a bird's mystery8 ,nay6 nay6 lone bird6 ,i watched thy wings of white ,that cleft thy waveward way -- ,past the evening and swift into the night1 ,out of the calm1 bright day -- ,and thou didst teach me1 bird of the sea1 ,more than one human heart's history4 ,only men's hearts -- tho' ,god shows each its way ,that leadeth hence to home -- ,unlike the wild sea-birds1 somehow go astray1 ,seeking in the far foam ,of this strange world's tempest-trampled main ,a resting place -- but they seek in vain4 ,only the bird can rest upon the deep1 ,and sleep upon the wave1 ,and dream its peaceful dreams where wild winds sweep4 ,and sweet the ,god who gave ,the birds a rest place on the restless sea -- ,but this1 my heart1 is not ,his way with thee4 ,over the world1 ah6 passion's tempests roll1 ,and every fleck of foam ,whitens the place where sank some sin-wrecked soul ,that never shall reach home4 ,ah6 the tranquil shore of ,god's sweet1 calm grace1 ,my heart1 is thy only resting place4 ,sea ,rest ,far from where the roses rest1 ,round the altar and the aisle1 ,which ,i loved1 of all1 the best -- ,i have come to rest awhile ,by the ever-restless sea -- ,will its waves give rest to me8 ,but it is so hard to part ,with my roses4 ,do they know 7,who knows but each has a heart87 ,how it grieves my heart to go8 ,roses6 will the restless sea ,bring1 as ye1 a rest for me8 ,ye were sweet and still and calm1 ,roses red and roses white2 ,and ye sang a soundless psalm ,for me in the day and night4 ,roses6 will the restless sea ,sing as sweet as ye for me8 ,just a hundred feet away1 ,seaward1 flows and ebbs the tide2 ,and the wavelets1 blue and gray1 ,moan1 and white sails windward glide ,o'er the ever restless sea ,from me1 far and peacefully4 ,and as many feet away1 ,landward1 rise the moss-veiled trees2 ,and they wail1 the while they sway ,in the sad ,november breeze1 ,echoes in the sighing sea ,to me1 near and mournfully4 ,and beside me sleep the dead1 ,in the consecrated ground2 ,blessed crosses o'er each head4 ,o'er them all the ,requiem sound1 ,chanted by the moaning sea1 ,echoed by each moss-veiled tree4 ,roses6 will you miss my face8 ,do you know that ,i have gone ,from your fair and restful place1 ,far away where moveth on ,night and day the restless sea8 ,but ,i saw eternity ,in your faces4 ,roses sweet6 ,ye were but the virgin veils1 ,hiding ,him whose holy feet ,walked the waves1 whose very wails ,bring to me from ,galilee ,rest across the restless sea4 ,and who knows8 mayhap some wave1 ,from ,his footstep long ago1 ,with the blessing which ,he gave ,after ages ebb and flow1 ,cometh in from yonder sea1 ,with a blessing sweet for me4 ,just last night ,i watched the deep1 ,and it shone as shines a shrine1 7,vigils such ,i often keep7 ,and the stars did sweetly shine ,o'er the altar of the sea2 ,so they shone in ,galilee4 ,roses6 round the shrine and aisle6 ,which of all ,i loved the best1 ,i have gone to rest awhile ,where the wavelets never rest -- ,ye are dearer far to me ,than the ever restless sea4 ,i will come to you in dreams1 ,in the day and in the night1 ,when the sun's or starlight's gleams ,robe you in your red or white2 ,roses6 will you dream of me ,by the ever restless sea8 ,biloxi1 ,miss4 ,sea ,reverie ,strange ,sea6 why is it that you never rest8 ,and tell me why you never go to sleep8 ,thou art like one so sad and sin-oppressed -- 7,and the waves are the tears you weep7 -- ,and thou didst never sin -- what ails the sinless deep8 ,to-night ,i hear you crying on the beach1 ,like a weary child on its mother's breast -- ,a cry with an infinite and lonesome reach ,of unutterably deep unrest2 ,and thou didst never sin -- why art thou so distressed8 ,but1 ah1 sad ,sea6 the mother's breast is warm1 ,where crieth the lone and the wearied child2 ,and soft the arms that shield her own from harm2 ,and her look is unutterably mild -- ,but to-night1 ,o ,sea6 thy cry is wild1 so wild6 ,what ails thee1 ,sea8 ,the midnight stars are bright -- ,how safe they lean on heaven's sinless breast6 ,o ,sea6 is the beach too hard1 tho' e'er so white1 ,to give thy utter weariness a rest8 7,and to-night the winds are a-coming from the ,west74 99 99 99 99 99 ,where the shadows moan o'er the day's life done1 ,and the darkness is waiting for the light1 ,ah1 me6 how the shadows ever seek and shun ,the sacred1 radiant faces of the bright -- 7,and the stars are the vestal virgins of the night72 ,or am ,i dreaming8 ,do ,i see and hear ,without me what ,i feel within8 ,is there an inner eye and an inner ear ,thro' which the sounds and silences float in ,in reflex of the spirit's calm or troublous din8 ,i know not4 ,after all1 what do ,i know8 ,save only this -- and that is mystery -- ,like the sea1 my spirit hath its ebb and flow ,in unison1 and the tides of the sea ,ever reflect the ceaseless tides of thoughts in me4 ,waves1 are ye priests in surplices of gray1 ,fringed by the fingers of the breeze with white8 ,is the beach your altar where ye come to pray1 ,with the sea's ritual1 every day and night8 ,and the suns and stars your only altar light8 ,great ,sea6 the very rhythm of my song 7,and the winds are a-coming from the ,west71 ,like thy waves1 moveth uncertainly along2 ,and my thoughts1 like thy tide with a snow-white crest1 ,flow and ebb1 ebb and flow with thy own unrest4 ,biloxi1 ,miss4 ,the ,immaculate ,conception ,fell the snow on the festival's vigil ,and surpliced the city in white2 ,i wonder who wove the pure flakelets8 ,ask the ,virgin1 or ,god1 or the night4 ,it fitted the ,feast3 'twas a symbol1 ,and earth wore the surplice at morn1 ,as pure as the vale's stainless lily ,for ,mary1 the sinlessly born2 ,for ,mary1 conceived in all sinlessness2 ,and the sun1 thro' the clouds of the ,east1 ,with the brightest and fairest of flashes1 ,fringed the surplice of white for the ,feast4 ,and round the horizon hung cloudlets1 ,pure stoles to be worn by the ,feast2 ,while the earth and the heavens were waiting ,for the beautiful ,mass of the priest4 ,i opened my window1 half dreaming2 ,my soul went away from my eyes1 ,and my heart began saying ,hail ,marys ,somewhere up in the beautiful skies1 ,where the shadows of sin never rested2 ,and the angels were waiting to hear ,the prayer that ascends with ,our ,father1 ,and keeps hearts and the heavens so near4 ,and all the day long -- can you blame me8 ,hail ,mary1 ,our ,father1 ,i said2 ,and ,i think that the ,christ and ,his ,mother ,were glad of the way that ,i prayed4 ,and ,i think that the great1 bright ,archangel ,was listening all the day long ,for the echo of every ,hail ,mary ,that soared thro' the skies like a song1 ,from the hearts of the true and the faithful1 ,in accents of joy or of woe1 ,who kissed in their faith and their fervor ,the ,festival's surplice of snow4 ,i listened1 and each passing minute1 ,i heard in the lands far away ,hail ,mary1 ,our ,father1 and near me ,i heard all who knelt down to pray4 ,pray the same as ,i prayed1 and the angel1 ,and the same as the ,christ of our love -- ,our ,father1 ,hail ,mary1 ,our ,father -- ,winging just the same sweet flight above4 ,passed the morning1 the noon3 came the even -- ,the temple of ,christ was aflame ,with the halo of lights on three altars1 ,and one wore ,his own ,mother's name4 ,her statue stood there1 and around it ,shone the symbolic stars4 ,was their gleam1 ,and the flowerets that fragranced her altar1 ,were they only the dream of a dream8 ,or were they sweet signs to my vision ,of a truth far beyond mortal ken1 ,that the ,mother had rights in the temple ,of ,him she had given to men8 ,was it wronging her ,christ-,son1 ,i wonder1 ,for the ,christian to honor her so8 ,ought her statue pass out of ,his temple8 ,ask the ,feast in its surplice of snow4 ,ah1 me6 had the pure flakelets voices1 ,i know what their white lips would say2 ,and ,i know that the lights on her altar ,would pray with me if they could pray4 ,methinks that the flowers that were fading -- ,sweet virgins that die with the ,feast1 ,like martyrs1 upon her fair altar -- ,if they could1 they would pray with the priest2 ,and would murmur ,our ,father1 ,hail ,mary1 ,till they drooped on the altar in death1 ,and be glad in their dying for giving ,to ,mary their last sweetest breath4 ,passed the day as a poem that passes ,through the poet's heart's sweetest of strings2 ,moved the minutes from ,masses to ,masses -- ,did ,i hear a faint sound as of wings ,rustling over the aisles and the altars8 ,did they go to her altar and pray8 ,or was my heart only a-dreaming ,at the close of the ,festival day8 ,quiet throngs came into the temple1 ,as still as the flowers at her feet1 ,and wherever they knelt1 they were gazing ,where the statue looked smiling and sweet4 ,our ,fathers1 ,hail ,marys were blended ,in a pure and a perfect accord1 ,and passed by the beautiful ,mother ,to fall at the feet of our ,lord4 ,low toned from the hearts of a thousand ,our ,fathers1 ,hail ,marys swept on ,to the star-wreathed statue4 ,i wonder ,did they wrong the great name of her ,son4 ,her ,son and our ,saviour -- ,i wonder ,how ,he heard our ,hail ,marys that night8 ,were the words to ,him sweet as the music ,they once were1 and did we pray right8 ,or was it all wrong8 ,will he punish ,our lips if we make them the home ,of the words of the great1 high ,archangel ,that won ,him to sinners to come4 ,ah1 me6 does ,he blame my own mother1 ,who taught me1 a child1 at her knee1 ,to say1 with ,our ,father1 ,hail ,mary8 ,if 'tis wrong1 my ,christ6 punish but me4 ,let my mother1 ,o ,jesus6 be blameless2 ,let me suffer for her if ,you blame4 ,her pure mother's heart knew no better ,when she taught me to love the pure name4 ,o ,christ6 of ,thy beautiful ,mother ,must ,i hide her name down in my heart8 ,but1 ah6 even there you will see it -- ,with ,thy ,mother's name how can ,i part8 ,on ,thy name all divine have ,i rested ,in the days when my heart-trials came2 ,sweet ,christ1 like to ,thee ,i am human1 ,and ,i need ,mary's pure human name4 ,did ,i hear a voice8 or was ,i dreaming8 ,i heard -- or ,i sure seemed to hear -- ,who blames you for loving ,my ,mother ,is wronging my heart -- do not fear4 ,i am human1 e'en here in ,my heavens1 ,what ,i was ,i am still all the same2 ,and ,i still love ,my beautiful ,mother -- ,and thou1 priest of ,mine1 do the same4 ,i was happy -- because ,i am human -- ,and ,christ in the silences heard ,our ,father1 ,hail ,mary1 ,our ,father1 ,murmured faithfully word after word4 99 99 99 99 99 ,swept the beautiful ,o ,salutaris ,down the aisles -- did the starred statue stir8 ,or was my heart only a-dreaming ,when it turned from her statue and her8 ,the door of a white tabernacle ,felt the touch of the hand of the priest -- ,did he waken the ,host from its slumbers ,to come forth and crown the high ,feast8 ,to come forth so strangely and silent1 ,and just for a sweet little while1 ,and then to go back to its prison4 ,thro' the stars -- did the sweet statue smile8 ,i knew not2 but ,mary1 the ,mother1 ,i think1 almost envied the priest -- ,he was taking her place at the altar -- ,did she dream of the days in the ,east8 ,when her hands1 and hers only1 held ,him1 ,her ,child1 in ,his waking and rest1 ,who had strayed in a love that seemed wayward ,this eve to shrine in the ,west4 ,did she dream of the straw of the manger ,when she gazed on the altar's pure white8 ,did she fear for her ,son any danger ,in the little ,host1 helpless1 that night8 ,no6 no6 she is trustful as ,he is -- ,what a terrible trust in our race6 ,the ,divine has still faith in the human -- ,what a story of infinite grace6 ,tantum ,ergo1 high hymn of the altar ,that came from the heart of a saint1 ,swept triumph-toned all through the temple -- ,did my ears hear the sound of a plaint8 ',neath the glorious roll of the singing ,to the temple had sorrow crept in8 ,or was it the moan of a sinner8 ,o beautiful ,host6 wilt ,thou win ,in the little half-hour's ,benediction ,the heart of a sinner again8 ,and1 merciful ,christ1 ,thou wilt comfort ,the sorrow that brings ,thee its pain4 ,came a hush1 and the ,host was uplifted1 ,and ,it made just the sign of the cross ,o'er the low-bended brows of the people4 ,o ,host of the ,holy6 ,thy loss ,to the altar1 and temple1 and people ,would make this world darkest of night2 ,and our hearts would grope blindly on through it1 ,for our love would have lost all its light4 ,laudate1 what thrilling of triumph6 ,our souls soared to ,god on each tone2 ,and the ,host went again to ,its prison1 ,for our ,christ fears to leave us alone4 ,blessed priest6 strange thou art ,his jailor6 ,thy hand holds the beautiful key ,that locks in ,his prison love's ,captive1 ,and keeps ,him in fetters for me4 99 99 99 99 99 ',twas over -- ,i gazed on the statue -- ,our ,father1 ,hail ,mary still came2 ,and to-night faith and love cannot help it1 ,i must still pray the same -- still the same4 ,written at ,loyola ,college1 ,baltimore1 on the ,night of ,december #h1 #ahhj4 ,fifty ,years at the ,altar ,to ,rev4 ,father ,e4 ,sourin1 ,s4,j41 from ,a4 ,j4 ,ryan2 first1 in memory of some happy hours passed in his company at ,loyola ,college1 ,baltimore2 next1 in appreciation of a character of strange beautifulness1 known of ,god1 but hidden from men2 and last1 but by no means least1 to test and tempt his humility in the 7to him7 proud hour of the fiftieth anniversary of his ordination4 ,to-day -- fifty years at the altar -- ,thou art1 as of old1 at thy post6 ,tell us1 ,o chasubled soldier6 ,art weary of watching the ,host8 ,fifty years -- ,christ's sacred sentry1 ,to-day thy feet faithful are found ,when the cross on the altar is blessing ,thy heart in its sentinel-round4 ,the beautiful story of ,thabor ,fifty years agone thrilled thy young heart1 ,when wearing white vestments of glory1 ,and up the high mountain apart4 ,in the fresh1 glowing grace of thy priesthood1 ,thou didst climb to the summit alone1 ,while the ,feast of ,christ's ,transfiguration ,was a sweet outward sign of thy own4 ,old priest6 on the slope of the summit ,did float down and fall on thine ear ,the strong words of weak-hearted ,peter4 ,o ,lord1 it is good to be here6 ,thy heart was stronger than ,peter's1 ,and sweeter the tone of thy prayer2 ',twas ,calvary thy young feet were climbing1 ,and old -- thou art still standing there4 ,for you1 as for him1 on bright ,thabor1 ,forever to stay were not hard2 ,but when ,calvary girdles the altar1 ,and garments the ,eucharist's guard ,with sacrifice and with its shadows -- ,to keep there forever a feast ,is the glory and grace of the human -- ,the altar1 the cross1 and the priest4 ,the crucifix's wardens and watchers1 ,like ,him1 must be heart sacrificed -- ,the ,christ on the crucifix lifeless ,for guard needs a brave human ,christ4 ,to guard ,him three hours -- what a glory6 ,with sacrifice splendors aflame6 ,three hours -- and ,he died on ,his ,calvary -- ,how long hast thou lived for ,his name8 ,half a century1 cries out thy crucifix1 ,binding together thy beads2 ,his look1 like thy life1 lingers in it1 ,a light for men's souls in their needs4 ,old priest6 is thy life not a rosary8 ,five decades and more have been said1 ,in thy heart the warm splendors of ,thabor ,beneath the white snows of thy head6 ,fifty years lifting the chalice -- ,ah1 'tis ,life in this death-darkened land6 ,thy clasp may be weak1 but the chrism1 ,old priest6 that anointed thy hand ,is as fresh and as strong in its virtue ,as in the five decades agone ,thy young hands were touched with its unction1 ,and thy vestments of white were put on4 ,fifty years6 ,every day passes ,a part of one great1 endless feast1 ,that moves round its orbit of ,masses1 ,and hath nor a ,west nor an ,east2 ,but everywhere hath its pure altars1 ,at each of its altars a priest ,to lift up a ,host with a chalice ,till the story of grace shall have ceased4 ,fifty years in the feast's orbit1 ,nearly two thousand of days2 ,fifty years priest in the priesthood1 ,fifty years lit with its rays -- ,lit them but to reflect them ,when the adorers' throngs pass ,out of thy life and its glory ,shining each day from thy ,mass4 ,half of a century's service6 ,wearing thy cassock of black ,o'er thy camps1 and thy battles1 and triumphs6 ,old soldier of ,jesus6 look back ,to the day when thou kissed thy first altar ,in love with youth's fervor athrill4 ,from the day when we meet and we greet thee1 ,so true to the old altar still4 ,fifty long years6 what if trials ,did oftentimes darken thy way -- ,they marked1 like the shadows on dials1 ,thy soul's brightest hour every day4 ,the sun in the height of his splendor1 ,by the mystical law of his light1 ,o'er his glories flings vestments of shadows1 ,and1 sinking1 leaves stars to the night4 ,old priest6 with the heart of a poet ,thou hast written sweet stanzas for men2 ,thy life1 many versed1 is a poem ,that puzzles the art of the pen2 ,the crucifix wrote it and writes it -- ,a scripture too deep for my ken2 ,a record of deeds more than sayings -- ,only ,god reads it rightly2 and then ,my stanzas are just like the shadows ,that follow the sun and his sheen1 ,to tell to the eye that will read them ,where the purest of sunshine has been4 ,thy life moves in mystical eclipse1 ,all hidden from men and their sight2 ,we look1 but we see but its surface1 ,but ,god sees the depth of its light4 ,twenty-five years6 highest honors ,were thine -- high deserved in the world3 ,dawned a day with a grace in its flashing ,o'er thy heart from a standard unfurled1 ,whose folds bore the mystical motto3 ,to the greater glory of ,god6 ,and somehow there opened before thee ,a way thou hadst never yet trod4 ,twenty-five years -- still a private ,in files where the humblest and last ,stands higher in rank than the highest ,of those who are passing or passed2 ,twenty-five years in the vanguard1 ,whose name is a spell of their strength1 ,the light of the folds of whose standard ,lengthens along all the length ,of the march of the ,crucified ,jesus4 ,loyola was wiser than most ,in claiming for him and his soldiers ,the name of the ,chief of the host2 ,his name1 and his motto1 and colors ,that never shall know a defeat1 ,whose banner1 when others are folded1 ,shall never float over retreat4 ,to-day when the wind wafts the wavelets ,to the gray altar steps of yon shore1 ,each wearing an alb foam-embroidered1 ,and kneeling1 like priests1 to adore ,the ,god of the land -- ,i will mingle ,my prayers1 aged priest6 with the sea1 ,while ,god1 for thy fifty years' priesthood1 ,will hear thy prayers whispered for me4 ,song of the ,deathless ,voice ',twas the dusky ,hallowe'en -- ,hour of fairy and of wraith1 ,when in many a dim-lit green1 ',neath the stars' prophetic sheen1 ,as the olden legend saith1 ,all the future may be seen1 ,and when -- an older story hath -- ,whate'er in life hath ever been ,loveful1 hopeful1 or of wrath1 ,cometh back upon our path4 ,i was dreaming in my room1 ',mid the shadows1 still as they2 ,night1 in veil of woven gloom1 ,wept and trailed her tresses gray ,o'er her fair1 dead sister -- ,day4 ,to me from some far-away ,crept a voice -- or seemed to creep -- ,as a wave-child of the deep1 ,frightened by the wild storm's roar ,creeps low-sighing to the shore ,very low and very lone ,came the voice with song of moan1 ,this1 weak-sung in weaker word1 ,is the song that night ,i heard3 ,how long6 ,alas1 how long6 ,how long shall the ,celt chant the sad song of hope1 ,that a sunrise may break on the long starless night of our past8 ,how long shall we wander and wait on the desolate slope ,of ,thabors that promise our ,transfiguration at last8 ,how long1 ,o ,lord6 ,how long6 ,how long1 ,o ,fate6 ,how long6 ,how long shall our sunburst reflect but the sunset of ,right1 ,when gloaming still lights the dim immemorial years8 ,how long shall our harp's strings1 like winds that are wearied of night1 ,sound sadder than moanings in tones all a-trembling with tears8 ,how long1 ,o ,lord6 ,how long6 ,how long1 ,o ,right6 ,how long6 ,how long shall our banner1 the brightest that ever did flame ,in battle with wrong1 droop furled like a flag o'er a grave8 ,how long shall we be but a nation with only a name1 ,whose history clanks with the sounds of the chains that enslave8 ,how long1 ,o ,lord6 ,how long6 ,how long6 ,alas1 how long6 ,how long shall our isle be a ,golgotha1 out in the sea1 ,with a cross in the dark8 ,oh1 when shall our ,good ,friday close8 ,how long shall thy sea that beats round thee bring only to thee ,the wailings1 ,o ,erin6 that float down the waves of thy woes8 ,how long1 ,o ,lord6 ,how long6 ,how long6 ,alas1 how long6 ,how long shall the cry of the wronged1 ,o ,freedom6 for thee ,ascend all in vain from the valleys of sorrow below8 ,how long ere the dawn of the day in the ages to be1 ,when the ,celt will forgive1 or else tread on the heart of his foe8 ,how long1 ,o ,lord6 ,how long6 ,whence came the voice8 ,around me gray silence fall2 ,and without in the gloom not a sound is astir 'neath the sky2 ,and who is the singer8 ,or hear ,i a singer at all8 ,or1 hush6 ,is't my heart athrill with some deathless old cry8 ,ah6 blood forgets not in its flowing its forefathers' wrongs -- ,they are the heart's trust1 from which we may ne'er be released2 ,blood keeps in its throbs the echoes of all the old songs ,and sings them the best when it flows thro' the heart of a priest4 ,am ,i not in my blood as old as the race whence ,i sprung8 ,in the cells of my heart feel ,i not all its ebb and its flow8 ,and old as our race is1 is it not still forever as young1 ,as the youngest of ,celts in whose breast ,erin's love is aglow8 ,the blood of a race that is wronged beats the longest of all1 ,for long as the wrong lasts1 each drop of it quivers with wrath2 ,and sure as the race lives1 no matter what fates may befall1 ,there's a ,voice with a ,song that forever is haunting its path4 ,aye1 this very hand that trembles thro' this very line1 ,lay hid1 ages gone1 in the hand of some forefather ,celt1 ,with a sword in its grasp1 if stronger1 not truer than mine1 ,and ,i feel1 with my pen1 what the old hero's sworded hand felt -- ,the heat of the hate that flashed into flames against wrong1 ,the thrill of the hope that rushed like a storm on the foe2 ,and the sheen of that sword is hid in the sheath of the song ,as sure as ,i feel thro' my veins the pure ,celtic blood flow4 ,the ties of our blood have been strained o'er thousands of years1 ,and still are not severed1 how mighty soever the strain2 ,the chalice of time o'erflows with the streams of our tears1 ,yet just as the shamrocks1 to bloom1 need the clouds and their rain1 ,the ,faith of our fathers1 our hopes1 and the love of our isle ,need the rain of our hearts that falls from our grief-clouded eyes1 ,to keep them in bloom1 while for ages we wait for the smile ,of ,freedom1 that some day -- ah6 some day6 shall light ,erin's skies4 ,our dead are not dead who have gone1 long ago1 to their rest2 ,they are living in us whose glorious race will not die -- ,their brave buried hearts are still beating on in each breast ,of the child of each ,celt in each clime 'neath the infinite sky4 ,many days yet to come may be dark as the days that are past1 ,many voices may hush while the great years sweep patiently by2 ,but the voice of our race shall live sounding down to the last1 ,and our blood is the bard of the song that never shall die4 ,to ,mr4 and ,mrs4 ,a4 ,m4 ,t4 ,just when the gentle hand of spring ,came fringing the trees with bud and leaf1 ,and when the blades the warm suns bring ,were given glad promise of golden sheaf2 ,just when the birds began to sing ,joy hymns after their winter's grief1 ,i wandered weary to a place2 ,tired of toil1 ,i sought for rest1 ,where ,nature wore her mildest grace -- ,i went where ,i was more than guest4 ,strange1 tall trees rose as if they fain ,would wear as crowns the clouds of skies2 ,the sad winds swept with low refrain ,through branches breathing softest sighs2 ,and o'er the field and down the lane ,sweet flowers1 the dreams of ,paradise1 ,bloomed up into this world of pain1 ,where all that's fairest soonest dies2 ,and 'neath the trees a little stream ,went winding slowly round and round1 ,just like a poet's mystic dream1 ,with here a silence1 there a sound4 ,the lowly ground1 beneath the sheen ,of ,march day suns1 now dim1 now bright1 ,now emeralds of golden green ,in flashing or in fading light2 ,and here and there throughout the scene ,the timid wild flowers met the sight1 ,while over all the sun and shade ,swept like a strangely woven veil1 ,folding the flowers that else might fade1 ,guarding young rosebuds from the gale4 ,and blossoms of most varied hue ,bedecked the forest everywhere1 ,while valleys wore the robes of blue1 ,bright woven by the violets fair2 ,and there was gladness all around2 ,it was a place so fair to see1 ,and yet so simple -- there ,i found ,how sweet a quiet home may be4 ,four children -- and thro' all the day ,they flung their laughter o'er the place2 ,bright as the flowers in happy ,may1 ,the children shed a sweet pure grace ,around this quiet home1 and they ,to father and to mother brought ,the smiles of purest love unsought2 ,it was a happy1 happy spot1 ,too dear to be fore'er forgot4 ,farewell1 sweet place6 ,i came as guest2 ,from toil1 in thee ,i found relief1 ,i found in thee a home and rest -- ,but1 ah6 the days are far too brief4 ,farewell6 ,i go1 but with me come ,sweet memories that long will last2 ,i'll think of thee as of a home ,that stands forever in my past4 ,to ,virginia 7on ,her ,birthday7 ,your past is past and never to return1 ,the long bright yesterday of life's first years1 ,its days are dead -- cold ashes in an urn4 ,some held for you a chalice for your tears1 ,and other days strewed flowers upon your way4 ,they all are gone beyond your reach1 ,and thus they are beyond my speech4 ,i know them not1 so that your first gone times ,to me unknown1 lie far beyond my rhymes4 ,but ,i can bless your soul and aims to-day1 ,and ,i can ask your future to be sweet1 ,and ,i can pray that you may never meet ,with any cross1 you are too weak to bear4 ,virginia1 ,virgin name1 and may you wear ,its virtues and its beauties1 fore'er and fore'er4 ,i breathe this blessing1 and ,i pray this prayer4 ,epilogue ,go1 words of mine6 and if you live ,only for one brief1 little day2 ,if peace1 or joy1 or calm you give ,to any soul2 or if you bring ,a something higher to some heart1 ,i may come back again and sing ,songs free from all the arts of ,art4 -- ,abram ,j4 ,ryan4 ,posthumous ,poems ,in ,remembrance ,in the eclipses of your soul1 and when you cry ,o ,god6 give more of rest and less of night1 ,my words may rest you2 and mayhap a light ,shall flash from them bright o'er thy spirit's sky2 ,then think of me as one who passes by4 ,a few brief hours -- a golden ,august day1 ,we met1 we spake -- ,i pass fore'er away4 ,let ev'ry word of mine be golden ray ,to brighten thy eclipses2 and then wilt pray ,that he who passes thee shall meet thee yet ,in the ,beyond where souls may ne'er forget4 ,a ,reverie ,o ,songs6 ,i said3' ,o ,songs6 ,i said3 ,stop sounding in my soul ,just for a little while and let me sleep1 ,resting my head on the breast ,of ,silence2 but the rhythmic roll ,of a thousand songs swept on and on1 ,and a far ,voice said3 ,when thou art dead ,thy restless heart shall rest4 ,and the songs will never let me sleep4 ,i plead with them2 but o'er the deep ,they still will roll ,on1 and on1 and on1 ,their music never gone4 ,ah6 world-tired soul6 ,just for a little while1 ,just like a poor1 tired child ,beneath its ,mother's smile -- ,only to fall asleep6 ,silence6 be mother to me6 ,but -- ,no6 ,no6 ,no6 ,the waves will ebb and flow4 ,i wonder is it best ,to never1 never rest ,down on the shores of this strange ,below8 ,only a ,dream ,only a ,dream6 ,it floated thro' ,the sky of a lonely sleep ,as floats a gleam ,athwart the ,blue ,of a golden clouded ,deep4 ,only a ,dream6 ,i calmly slept4 ,meseems ,i called a name2 ,i woke2 and1 waking1 ,i think ,i wept ,and called -- and called the same4 ,only a ,dream6 ,graves have no ears2 ,they give not back the dead2 ,they will not listen to the saddest tears ,that ever may be shed4 ,only a ,dream6 ,graves keep their own2 ,they have no hearts to hear2 ,but the loved will come ,from their ,heaven-,home ,to smile on the sleeper's tear4 ,the ,poet ,the ,poet is the loneliest man that lives2 ,ah me6 ,god makes him so -- ,the sea hath its ebb and flow1 ,he sings his songs -- but yet he only gives ,in the waves of the words of his art ,only the foam of his heart4 ,its sea rolls on forever1 evermore1 ,beautiful1 vast1 and deep2 ,only his shallowest thoughts touch the shore ,of ,speech2 his deepest sleep4 ,the foam that crests the wave is pure and white2 ,the foam is not the wave2 ,the wave is not the sea -- it rolls forever on2 ,the winding shores will crave ,a kiss from ev'ry wavelet on the deep2 ,some come2 some always sleep4 ,the ,child of the ,poet ,the sunshine of thy ,father's fame ,sleeps in the shadows of thy eyes1 ,and flashes sometimes when his name ,like a lost star seeks its skies4 ,in the horizons of thy heart ,his memory shines for aye1 ,a light that never shall depart ,nor lose a single ray4 ,thou passest thro' the crowds unknown1 ,so gentle1 so sweet1 and so shy2 ,thy heart throbs fast and sometimes may grow low2 ,then alone ,art the star in thy ,father's sky4 ',tis fame enough for thee to bear his name -- ,thou couldst not ask for more2 ,thou art the jewel of thy ,father's fame1 ,he waiteth on the bright and golden shore2 ,he prayeth in the great ,eternity ,beside ,god's throne for thee4 ,the ,poet ,priest ,not as of one whom multitudes admire1 ,i believe they call him great2 ,they throng to hear him with a strange desire2 ,they1 silent1 come and wait1 ,and wonder when he opens wide the gate ,of some strange1 inner temple1 where the fire ,is lit on many altars of many dreams -- ,they wait to catch the gleams -- ,and then they say1 ,in praiseful words3 ',tis beautiful and grand4 ,and so his way ,is strewn with many flowers1 sweet and fair2 ,and people say3 ,how happy he must be to win and wear ,praise ev'ry day6 ,and all the while he stands far out the crowd1 ,strangely alone4 ,is it a ,stole he wears8 -- or mayhap a shroud -- ,no matter which1 his spirit maketh moan2 ,and all the while a lonely1 lonesome sense ,creeps thro' his days -- all fame's incense ,hath not the fragrance of his altar2 and ,he seemeth rather to kneel in lowly prayer ,than lift his head aloft amid the ,grand3 ,if all the world would kneel down at his feet ,and give acclaim -- ,he fain would say3 ,oh6 ,no6 ,no6 ,no6 ,the breath of fame is sweet -- but far more sweet ,is the breath of ,him who lives within my heart2 ,god's breath1 which e'en1 despite of me1 will creep ,along the words of merely human art2 ,it cometh from some far-off hidden ,deep1 ,far-off and from so far away -- ,it filleth night and day4 ,not as of one who ever1 ever cares ,for earthly praises1 not as of such think thou of me1 ,and in the nights and days -- ,i'll meet with thee ,in ,prayers -- and thou shalt meet with me4 ,wilt ,pray for ,me8 ,wilt pray for me8 ,they tell me ,i have ,fame2 ,i plead with thee1 ,sometimes just fold my name ,in beautiful ,hail ,marys6 ,and you give me more ,than all the world besides4 ,it praises ,poets for the well-sung lay2 ,but ah6 it hath forgotten how to pray4 ,it brings to brows of ,poets crowns of ,pride2 ,some win such crowns and wear2 ,give me1 instead1 a simple little ,prayer4 --- ,the living child of a dead ,poet is like a faintly glowing ,sanctuary lamp1 which sheds its rays in the beautiful ,temple whence the great ,presence hath departed4 -- ,abram ,j4 ,ryan