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A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only

As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,

Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And to-night I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,

Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction

That follows after prayer.

100

THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS.

Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music,

And the cares that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently, steal away.

THE ARROW AND THE SONG.

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.

THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS.

SOMEWHAT back from the village street
Stands the old-fashioned country-seat.
Across its antique portico
Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw.

THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS.

And from its station in the hall

An ancient timepiece says to all,

"Forever-never!

Never-forever!"

Halfway up the stairs it stands,

And points and beckons with its hands

From its case of massive oak,

Like a monk, who, under his cloak,
Crosses himself, and sighs, alas!

With sorrowful voice to all who pass,

"Forever-never!

Never-forever!"

By day its voice is low and light;
But in the silent dead of night,
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall,
It echoes along the vacant hall,
Along the ceiling, along the floor,
And seems to say, at each chamber-door,-

"Forever-never!

Never-forever!"

Through days of sorrow and of mirth,
Through days of death and days of birth,
Through every swift viscissitude

Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood,
And as if, like God, it all things saw,

It calmly repeats those words of awe,

"Forever-never!

Never-forever!"

In that mansion used to be

Free-hearted Hospitality;

His great fires up the chimney roared;
The stranger feasted at his board;

101 102

THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS.

But, like the skeleton at the feast,
That warning timepiece never ceased,-

"Forever-never!

Never-forever!”

There groups of merry children played,
There youths and maidens dreaming strayed;

O precious hours! O golden prime,

And affluence of love and time!

Even as a miser counts his gold,

Those hours the ancient timepiece told,

"Forever-never!

Never-forever!"

From that chamber, clothed in white,
The bride came forth on her wedding night;
There, in that silent room below,

The dead lay in his shroud of snow;

And in the hush that followed the prayer,
Was heard the old clock on the stair,-

"Forever-never!

Never-forever!"

All are scattered now and fled,
Some are married, some are dead;
And when I ask, with throbs of pain,
"Ah! when shall they all meet again?"
As in the days long since gone by,
The ancient timepiece makes reply,-

"Forever-never!

Never-forever!”

Never here, forever there,
Where all parting, pain, and care,
And death, and time shall disappear, -
Forever there, but never here!

The horologe of Eternity
Sayeth this incessantly, -
"Forever-never!
Never-forever!"

THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP.

"BUILD me straight, O worthy Master! Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel, That shall laugh at all disaster,

And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!"

The merchant's word

Delighted the Master heard;

For his heart was in his work, and the heart
Giveth grace unto every Art.

A quiet smile played round his lips,
As the eddies and dimples of the tide
Play round the bows of ships,
That steadily at anchor ride.

And with a voice that was full of glee,
He answered, "Ere long we will launch
A vessel as goodly, and strong, and staunch,
As ever weathered a wintry sea!"

And first with nicest skill and art,
Perfect and finished in every part,
A little model the Master wrought,
Which should be to the larger plan
What the child is to the man,
Its counterpart in miniature;
That with a hand more swift and sure
The greater labor might be brought
To answer to his inward thought.

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