Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul Part 145

At end of love, at end of life, At end of hope, at end of strife, At end of all we cling to so, The sun is setting--must we go?

At dawn of love, at dawn of life, At dawn of peace that follows strife, At dawn of all we long for so, The sun is rising--let us go!

--Louise Chandler Moulton.

WHAT IS DEATH

It is not death to die-- To leave this weary road, And, 'mid the brotherhood on high, To be at home with G.o.d.

It is not death to close The eye long dimmed by tears, And wake in glorious repose To spend eternal years.

It is not death to bear The wrench that sets us free From dungeon chain, to breathe the air Of boundless liberty.

It is not death to fling Aside this sinful dust, And rise on strong exulting wing To live among the just.

Jesus, thou Prince of life, Thy chosen cannot die!

Like thee they conquer in the strife To reign with thee on high.

--Abraham H. C. Malan, tr. by George Was.h.i.+ngton Bethune.

UPHILL

Does the road wind uphill all the way?

_Yes, to the very end._ Will the day's journey take the whole long day?

_From morn to night, my friend._

But is there for the night a resting-place?

_A roof for when the slow dark hours begin._ May not the darkness hide it from my face?

_You cannot miss the inn._

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?

_Those who have gone before._ Then must I knock or call when just in sight?

_They will not keep you standing at the door._

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?

_Of labor you shall find the sum._ Will there be beds for me and all who seek?

_Yes, beds for all who come._

--Christina G. Rossetti.

ON SECOND THOUGHT

The end's so near, It is all one What track I steer, What work's begun, It is all one If _nothing's_ done, The end's so near!

The end's so near, It is all one _What_ track thou steer, _What_ work's begun-- _Some_ deed, _some_ plan, As thou'rt a man!

The end's so near!

--Edward Rowland Sill.

THE VOICE CALLING

In the hush of April weather, With the bees in budding heather, And the white clouds floating, floating, and the suns.h.i.+ne falling broad; While my children down the hill Run and leap, and I sit still, Through the silence, through the silence art thou calling, O my G.o.d?

Through my husband's voice that prayeth, Though he knows not what he sayeth, Is it thou who, in thy holy word, hast solemn words for me?

And when he clasps me fast, And smiles fondly o'er the past, And talks hopeful of the future, Lord, do I hear only thee?

Not in terror nor in thunder Comes thy voice, although it sunder Flesh from spirit, soul from body, human bliss from human pain; All the work that was to do, All the joys so sweet and new, Which thou shew'dst me in a vision, Moses-like, and hid'st again.

From this Pisgah, lying humbled, The long desert where I stumbled And the fair plains I shall never reach seem equal, clear, and far: On this mountain-top of ease Thou wilt bury me in peace; While my tribes march onward, onward unto Canaan and to war.

In my boy's loud laughter ringing, In the sigh, more soft than singing, Of my baby girl that nestles up unto this mortal breast, After every voice most dear, Comes a whisper, "Rest not here."

And the rest thou art preparing, is it best, Lord, is it best?

Lord, a little, little longer!

Sobs the earth love, growing stronger; He will miss me, and go mourning through his solitary days, And heaven were scarcely heaven If these lambs that thou hast given Were to slip out of our keeping and be lost in the world's ways.

Lord, it is not fear of dying, Nor an impious denying Of thy will--which evermore on earth, in heaven, be done; But a love that, desperate, clings Unto these, my precious things, In the beauty of the daylight, and glory of the sun.

Ah! thou still art calling, calling, With a soft voice unappalling; And it vibrates in far circles through the everlasting years; When thou knockest, even so!

I will arise and go: What, my little ones, more violets? nay, be patient; mother hears!

--Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.

THE "SILVER CORD IS LOOSED"

In the June twilight, in the soft, gray twilight, The yellow sun-glow trembling through the rainy eve, As my love lay quiet, came the solemn fiat, "All these things for ever, for ever thou must leave."

My love she sank down quivering like a pine in tempest s.h.i.+vering, "I have had so little happiness as yet beneath the sun; I have called the shadow suns.h.i.+ne, and the merest frosty moons.h.i.+ne I have, weeping, blessed the Lord for as if daylight had begun.

"Till he sent a sudden angel, with a glorious sweet evangel, Who turned all my tears to pearl-gems, and crowned _me_--so little worth; _Me!_ and through the rainy even changed my poor earth into heaven Or, by wondrous revelation, brought the heavens down to earth.

"O the strangeness of the feeling!--O the infinite revealing,-- To think how G.o.d must love me to have made me so content!

Though I would have served him humbly, and patiently, and dumbly, Without any angel standing in the pathway that I went."

In the June twilight, in the lessening twilight, My love cried from my bosom an exceeding bitter cry: "Lord, wait a little longer, until my soul is stronger!

O wait till thou hast taught me to be content to die!"

Then the tender face, all woman, took a glory superhuman, And she seemed to watch for something, or see some I could not see: From my arms she rose full-statured, all transfigured, queenly-featured,-- "As thy will is done in heaven, so on earth still let it be!"

I go lonely, I go lonely, and I feel that earth is only The vestibule of places whose courts we never win; Yet I see my palace s.h.i.+ning, where my love sits amaranths twining, And I know the gates stand open, and I shall enter in!

--Dinah Maria Mulock Craik.