Poems by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper Part 4

"Thy house shall be bound with pinions To mansions of rest above, But grace shall forge all the fetters With the links and cords of love.

"Thou shalt be free in this mansion From sorrow and pain of heart, For the peace of G.o.d shall enter, And never again depart."

HOME, SWEET HOME.

Sharers of a common country, They had met in deadly strife; Men who should have been as brothers Madly sought each other's life.

In the silence of the even, When the cannon's lips were dumb,

HOME, SWEET HOME. 27

Thoughts of home and all its loved ones To the soldier's heart would come.

On the margin of a river, 'Mid the evening's dews and damps, Could be heard the sounds of music Rising from two hostile camps.

One was singing of its section Down in Dixie, Dixie's land, And the other of the banner Waved so long from strand to strand.

In the land where Dixie's ensign Floated o'er the hopeful slave, Rose the song that freedom's banner, Starry-lighted, long might wave.

From the fields of strife and carnage, Gentle thoughts began to roam, And a tender strain of music Rose with words of "Home, Sweet Home."

Then the hearts of strong men melted, For amid our grief and sin Still remains that "touch of nature,"

Telling us we all are kin.

28 THE PURE IN HEART SHALL SEE G.o.d.

In one grand but gentle chorus, Floating to the starry dome, Came the words that brought them nearer, Words that told of "Home, Sweet Home."

For awhile, all strife forgotten, They were only brothers then, Joining in the sweet old chorus, Not as soldiers, but as men.

Men whose hearts would flow together, Though apart their feet might roam, Found a tie they could not sever, In the mem'ry of each home.

Never may the steps of carnage Shake our land from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, But may mother, home and Heaven, Be our watchwords evermore.

THE PURE IN HEART SHALL SEE G.o.d.

They shall see Him in the crimson flush Of morning's early light, In the drapery of sunset, Around the couch of night.

THE PURE IN HEART SHALL SEE G.o.d. 29

When the clouds drop down their fatness, In late and early rain, They shall see His glorious footprints On valley, hill and plain.

They shall see Him when the cyclone Breathes terror through the land; They shall see Him 'mid the murmurs Of zephyrs soft and bland.

They shall see Him when the lips of health, Breath vigor through each nerve, When pestilence clasps hands with death, His purposes to serve.

They shall see Him when the trembling earth Is rocking to and fro; They shall see Him in the order The seasons come and go.

They shall see Him when the storms of war Sweep wildly through the land; When peace descends like gentle dew They still shall see His hand.

They shall see Him in the city Of gems and pearls of light,

30 NOWHERE TO LAY HIS HEAD.

They shall see Him in his beauty, And walk with Him in white.

To living founts their feet shall tend, And Christ shall be their guide, Beloved of G.o.d, their rest shall be In safety by His side.

HE "HAD NOT WHERE TO LAY HIS HEAD."

The conies had their hiding-place, The wily fox with stealthy tread A covert found, but Christ, the Lord, Had not a place to lay his head.

The eagle had an eyrie home, The blithesome bird its quiet rest, But not the humblest spot on earth Was by the Son of G.o.d possessed.

Princes and kings had palaces, With grandeur could adorn each tomb, For Him who came with love and life, They had no home, they gave no room.

GO WORK IN MY VINEYARD. 31

The hands whose touch sent thrills of joy Through nerves unstrung and palsied frame, The feet that travelled for our need, Were nailed unto the cross of shame.

How dare I murmur at my lot, Or talk of sorrow, pain and loss, When Christ was in a manger laid, And died in anguish on the cross.

That homeless one beheld beyond His lonely agonizing pain, A love outflowing from His heart, That all the wandering world would gain.

GO WORK IN MY VINEYARD.

Go work in my vineyard, said the Lord, And gather the bruised grain; But the reapers had left the stubble bare, And I trod the soil in pain.

32 GO WORK IN MY VINEYARD.

The fields of my Lord are wide and broad, He has pastures fair and green, And vineyards that drink the golden light Which flows from the sun's bright sheen.

I heard the joy of the reapers' song, As they gathered golden grain; Then wearily turned unto my task, With a lonely sense of pain.

Sadly I turned from the sun's fierce glare, And sought the quiet shade, And over my dim and weary eyes Sleep's peaceful fingers strayed.