Groaned inly while he taught you peace, And died while ye were smiling. And now, what time ye all may read And darkness on the glory, And how, when one by one, sweet sounds And wandering lights departed, He wore no less a loving face Because so broken-hearted; He shall be strong to sanctify In meeker adoration; Nor ever shall he be, in praise, Named softly, as the household name With quiet sadness and no gloom, But gently led the blind along Where breath and bird could find him; And wrought within his shattered brain, As hills have language for, and stars, The pulse of dew upon the grass Kept his within its number; And silent shadows from the trees Refreshed him like a slumber. Wild timid hares were drawn from woods To share his home-caresses, Uplooking to his human eyes With sylvan tendernesses: The very world, by God's constraint, Its women and its men became But while in blindness he remained And things provided came without Like a sick child that knoweth not And drops upon his burning brow The coolness of her kisses, That turns his fevered eyes around 66 My mother! where's my mother?" As if such tender words and looks Could come from any other! The fever gone, with leaps of heart, Which closed in death, to save him! Thus? oh, not thus! no type of earth Could image that awaking, Wherein he scarcely heard the chant Of seraphs, round him breaking, Or felt the new immortal throb Of soul from body parted; But felt those eyes alone, and knew Deserted! who hath dreamt that when The Cross in darkness rested, Upon the Victim's hidden face, No love was manifested? What frantic hands outstretched have e'er The atoning drops averted, What tears have washed them from the soul, That one should be deserted? Deserted! God could separate From His own essence rather: It went up from the Holy's lips. Amid His lost creation, That, of the lost, no son should use Those words of desolation; That earth's worst frenzies, marring hope, CHEERFULNESS. I THINK We are too ready with complaint Of yon gray blank of sky, we might be fain Round our aspirant souls. But since the scope Must widen early, is it well to droop For a few days consumed in loss and faint? O pusillanimous Heart, be comforted; And like a cheerful traveller, take the road, Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod To meet the flints? At least it may be said, "Because the way is short, I thank Thee, God!" |