Gleams of Sunshine Part 6

This lovely lily, so pure and white, Seems covered o'er with celestial light; As if it grew on the "Tree of Life,"

And not down here, in this world of strife; Too pure for earth it now seems to be; My queenly wife, it was meant for thee.

Its wax-like petals with graceful bend, Drink in the sunbeams as they descend; And lade with fragrance the heated air As it floats around us everywhere; And the world grows better by its advent, This lovely lily, so kindly sent.

It rested once on its crystal bed; Neither wind, nor wave, occasioned dread; Admired by all as they pa.s.sed it by, Though the contrast oft produced a sigh; In purer soil than affords this earth This lovely lily must have had its birth.

Dive down in search, where the root is found; In vain you look for the purer ground; The root is fixed in the foulest mud; And from it grows this pure lily bud; While speckled frogs, and the slimy eels, Around its roots find their daily meals.

As lilies fair from the foul mud grow, So oft it is with good men below; In daily life they absorb the pure, And the adverse elements endure; And rise, through grace, to a higher sphere, Their hearts in heaven, and their root down here.

Though foul the world where they have their growth, Unfit the soil, and the climate both, The blood of Christ does their stains remove; His power to keep they all daily prove; As lilies pure are these plants of grace, Though growing now in so foul a place.

"HE SHALL WIPE AWAY EVERY TEAR"

Every tear that dims the eye, Or bedews the careworn cheek, Will our G.o.d, who reigns on high, With a hand so kind and meek, Wipe away, nor leave a trace Of its stain on eye or face.

He alone life's ills can right.

Each His tender pity needs; None are hidden from His sight; "_Every tear_," the promise reads-- Every tear shall cease to flow, Cease, likewise, the cause of woe.

O may I in Him confide While I tread this vale of tears!

Walking closely by His side He will dissipate my fears, And when ends the weary strife, May I share the tearless life!

THE TAJ OF AGRA

The Shah Jehan sat with his much-loved wife, The Empress Mahal, one hot summer day, In a cool arbor far from courtly strife, Close by the Jumna, winding on its way.

In silence played they long their game of chess, But Jehan's eyes rose oft to Mahal's brow, His ardent love he could not well repress, Nor tried--she was his own rich jewel now.

He stayed the game to breathe some words of love And press her lips with lips that knew no guile, And felt the thrill, and peace like white-winged dove Flew down, and she repaid with loving smile.

Then said, "What would you do if I should die?"

He paused a moment, some bright thought to woo, And then, in solemn tone, made this reply: "This thing, by Allah's help, I'll surely do:

"I'll build upon the spot where we now sit The grandest tomb a woman ever had; All sombre tints I deem would be unfit; For never have such tints thy bosom clad.

"Of pure white marble shall its walls be built, Adorned with gold, and earth's most costly gems; Each minaret shall glow like jewelled hilt, Sarcophagus surpa.s.s kings' diadems.

"Then to the world it shall the truth proclaim That Moomtaza surpa.s.sed all woman kind, And I esteemed her more than gold or fame: Thus cycles vast will find our names combined."

The summer breeze now sighed among the flowers As they play on with solemn thoughts; and sweet As running brook pa.s.sed by the pleasant hours, And likewise pa.s.sed the burning summer heat.

And like the fading day, the Empress, too, For scarce a year had pa.s.sed ere set her sun, But Shah Jehan, to promise ever true, Thought of the tomb his loving wife had won.

No common architect would he engage; From far and near he sought with eager heart.

At last there came one Issa, gifted sage, Whose plan pleased the great shah in whole and part.

On the same spot where they that day had played The game of chess, and he the promise gave, The ma.s.sive stone foundation strong was laid, On which would rest a palace o'er her grave.

Then Issa disappeared, but where, none knew; Cast in the Jumna stream, by foes, some thought.

They dragged the stream, nor came the slightest clue, And on his fate the oracles were dumb.

The years rolled by, yet Jehan rested not, Tho' hope, so long delayed, engendered gloom, Content to live himself in any cot; But no inferior hand must touch her tomb.

Seven years had gone, when Issa came again, And offered this excuse for his delay, "The soil is spongy all along this glen-- To have it settle I have stayed away.

"I now can build on base that will not sink, Though pierced the clouds which bend so kindly down, 'Twere fit this long delay, dost thou not think?

So chide me not nor on thy servant frown."

Then on this base as firm as granite rock, He built its walls as fair as falling snow, And built them well, nor storm, nor earthquake shock Has moved, tho' built two hundred years ago.

For ten long years wrought twenty thousand men, While many thousand carts the marble drew; And proud Jehan told o'er his love again; To love so Jacob-like the years seemed few.

From every part of his domain they brought Rare gems and precious stones of every hue; Skilled hands, in form of birds and flowers inwrought In snow-white walls, these gems the building through,

The name of G.o.d, one hundred times save one, On the sarcophagus, by cunning hand, Then lined with gold ere they p.r.o.nounced it done; But then the grandest tomb in any land.

By t.i.tans built, it seems, as mountain high Of pure white marble, based on pink sandstone; In length it is a thousand feet well nigh, Its width three hundred feet by measure shown.

It seems a temple of the living _One_, Though tomb to hide the dust of Jehan's queen.

It serves each purpose well--her course was run, Returned to G.o.d, love must the dust ensheen.

To many hearts it speaks of G.o.d and rest, And lifts our thoughts above the things of earth; It teaches us that love will give its best, And then regard its gifts of little worth.

ENGLAND'S BRAVE SONS

The yeoman lays aside his soil-stained smock, And from his herd selects a trusty steed, And sallies forth to help in hour of need; Nor dreads the battle's shock.

The artisan from mine, or shop, or store, Responds at duty's call without delay, Nor stops to ask, "What will my nation pay?"

It calls--what needs he more?

The man of law--the herald of the cross-- The painter, skilled--he of the healing art-- The man of trade--come each with loyal heart, Nor calculates his loss.

But brave as these are those of n.o.ble birth; Genteel in manner, but with athlete frames, They do full honor to their ancient names, And prove by deeds their worth.

Palatial homes have they and wealth untold; Nor need to labor, and no cause for fret, But deeds of n.o.ble sires they ne'er forget; Deem honor more than gold.

Brave lads are these on whom we may rely.