And if some friend we love is lying We could interpret all this doubt and low, Where human kisses cannot reach his face. Oh, do not blame the loving Father so, But wear your sorrow with obedient grace! And you shall shortly know that lengthened breath Is not the sweetest gift God sends And that, sometimes, the sable pall of death Conceals the fairest boon His love strife [key. And for each mystery could find a Then be content, But not to-day. poor heart; God's plans like lilies pure and white unfold; We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart, [gold. Time will reveal the calyxes of And if, through patient toil, we reach the land Where tired feet, with sandals loosed, may rest, When we shall clearly know and understand, I think that we shall say, "God knew the best!" CAROLINE BOWLES SOUTHEY. LAUNCH THY BARK, MARINER. LAUNCH thy bark, mariner! Christian, God speed thee; So let the vessel wear, There swept the blast. What of the night, watchman ? What of the night? "Cloudy, all quiet, No land yet, - all's right." Be wakeful, be vigilant, Danger may be At an hour when all seemeth Securest to thee. How! gains the leak so fast? Clear out the hold, Would wet her hand with tears, And, looking up to her fixed coun tenance, Sob out the name of mother! then she groaned. At length collecting, Zeinab turned her eyes To heaven, and praised the Lord: "Good, is he?" quoth the boy: 'Why are my brethren and my sisters slain ? Why is my father killed? Did ever stranger from our tent Then Zeinab beat her breast in From heaven it came, to heaven re- You are old, Father William, the turneth. THE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS, AND HOW HE GAINED THEM. You are old, Father William, the young man cried, The few locks that are left you are gray: You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man, Now tell me the reason, I pray. In the days of my youth, Father William replied, I remembered that youth would fly fast, And abused not my health and my vigor at first, That I never might need them at last. You are old, Father William, the young man cried, And pleasures with youth pass away, [From Joan of Arc.] THE MAID OF ORLEANS GIRDING FOR BATTLE. SCARCE had the earliest ray from Chinon's towers Made visible the mists that curled along The winding waves of Vienne, when from her couch Started the martial maid. She mailed her limbs; The white plumes nodded o'er her helmed head; She girt the sacred falchion by her side, And, like some youth that from his mother's arms, For his first field impatient, breaks away, Poising the lance went forth. Await her coming. Terrible in arms, Before them towered Dunois, his manly face Dark-shadowed by the helmet's iron cheeks. The assembled court gazed on the marshalled train, And at the gate the aged prelate stood To pour his blessing on the chosen host. And now a soft and solemn symphony Was heard, and chanting high the hallowed hymn, From the near convent came the vestal maids. A holy banner, woven by virgin hands, Snow-white, they bore. A mingled sentiment Of awe, and eager ardor for the fight, Thrilled through the troops, as he, the reverend man Took the white standard, and with heavenward eye Called on the God of Justice, bless-To ing it. The maid, her brows in reverence unhelmed, Her dark hair floating on the morning gale, Knelt to his prayer, and stretching forth her hand, appear Harsh and austere, those who on my leisure would in trude Reserved and rude; Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be, Like the high leaves upon the holly tree. Received the mystic ensign. From And should my youth, as youth is apt, the host I know. |