Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns, We are not idle, but send her straight From each iron scale Of the monster's hide. "Strike your flag!" the rebel cries, In his arrogant old plantation strain. "Never!" our gallant Morris replies; "It is better to sink than to yield !" With the cheers of our men. Then, like a kraken huge and black, For her dying gasp. Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay, Still floated our flag at the mainmast head. Lord, how beautiful was Thy day! Every waft of the air Was a whisper of prayer, Ho! brave hearts that went down in the seas! And without a seam! SNOW-FLAKES. OUT of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments Over the woodlands brown and bare, Even as our cloudy fancies take Suddenly shape in some divine expression, Even as the troubled heart doth make In the white countenance confession, The troubled sky reveals The grief it feels. This is the poem of the air, Slowly in silent syllables recorded; This is the secret of despair, Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded, A DAY OF SUNSHINE. O GIFT of God! O perfect day : Not to be doing, but to be! Through every fibre of my brain, I hear the wind among the trees I see the branches downward bent, And over me unrolls on high Towards yonder cloud-land in the West, Its craggy summits white with drifts. Blow, winds! and waft through all the rooms The snow-flakes of the cherry-blooms! Blow, winds! and bend within my reach O Life and Love! O happy throng SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE. LABOR with what zeal we will, By the bedside, on the stair, Waits, and will not go away; By the cares of yesterday Each to-day is heavier made; Till at length the burden seems Greater than our strength can bear, Heavy as the weight of dreams, Pressing on us everywhere. And we stand from day to day, On their shoulders held the sky. WEARINESS. O LITTLE feet! that such long years Where toil shall cease and rest begin, O little hands! that, weak or strong, Have still so long to give or ask ; Am weary, thinking of your task. O little hearts! that throb and beat Such limitless and strong desires ; Now covers and conceals its fires. O little souls! as pure and white Direct from heaven, their source divine; How lurid looks this soul of mine! |