Perchance upon some bleak and stormy shore,
O doubting heart!

Far over purple seas,

They wait in sunny ease,

The balmy southern breeze,

To bring them to their northern homes once more.

II.

Why must the flowers die?

Prisoned they lie

In the cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain.

O doubting heart!

They only sleep below

The soft white ermine snow,

While winter winds shall blow,

To breathe and smile upon you soon again.

The sun has hid its rays
These many days;

Will dreary hours never leave the earth?
O doubting heart !

The stormy clouds on high

Veil the same sunny sky

That soon (for spring is nigh)

Shall wake the summer into golden mirth.

IV.

Fair hope is dead, and light

Is quenched in night,

What sound can break the silence of despair? O doubting heart!

Thy sky is overcast,

Yet stars shall rise at last,

Brighter for darkness past,

And angels' silver voices stir the air.

NOW.

ISE! for the day is passing,

RISE

And you lie dreaming on;

The others have buckled their armor,
And forth to the fight are gone:
A place in the ranks awaits you,
Each man has some part to play;
The Past and the Future are nothing,
In the face of the stern To-day.

Rise from your dreams of the Future, -
Of gaining some hard-fought field;
Of storming some airy fortress,

Or bidding some giant yield;
Your Future has deeds of glory,
Of honor (God grant it may !)
But your arm will never be stronger,
Or the need so great as To-day.

Rise! if the Past detains you,

Her sunshine and storms forget; No chains so unworthy to hold you As those of a vain regret; Sad or bright she is lifeless ever; Cast her phantom arms away, Nor look back, save to learn the lesson Of a nobler strife To-day.

Rise! for the day is passing;

The sound that you scarcely hear Is the enemy marching to battle; Arise! for the foe is here!

Stay not to sharpen your weapons,
Or the hour will strike at last,
When, from dreams of a coming battle,
You may wake to find it past.

OUR DEAD.

117

OUR DEAD.

NOTHING is our own: we hold our pleasures

Just a little while, ere they are fled;

One by one life robs us of our treasures;
Nothing is our own except our Dead.

They are ours, and hold in faithful keeping,
Safe forever all they took away.

Cruel life can never stir that sleeping,
Cruel time can never seize that prey.

How the Children leave us and no traces
Linger of that smiling angel band;
Gone, forever gone; and in their places
Weary men and anxious women stand.

Yet we have some little ones, still ours;
They have kept the baby smile we know,
Which we kissed one day, and hid with flowers,
On their dead white faces, long ago.

When our Joy is lost and life will take it
Then no memory of the past remains;

Save with some strange, cruel sting, to make it
Bitterness beyond all present pains.

Death, more tender-hearted, leaves to sorrow
Still the radiant shadow, fond regret:
We shall find, in some far, bright to-morrow,
Joy that he has taken, living yet.

Is Love ours, and do we dream we know it, Bound with all our heart-strings, all our own? Any cold and cruel dawn may show it, Shattered, desecrated, overthrown.

Only the dead Hearts forsake us never;
Death's last kiss has been the mystic sign
Consecrating Love our own forever,
Crowning it eternal and divine.

THE PILGRIMS.

THE way is long and dreary,
The path is bleak and bare;
Our feet are worn and weary,
But we will not despair.

More heavy was Thy burthen,
More desolate Thy way:

O Lamb of God who takest
The sin of the world away,
Have mercy on us.

Our hearts are faint with sorrow,
Heavy and hard to bear;

For we dread the bitter morrow,
But we will not despair;
Thou knowest all our anguish,
And Thou wilt bid it cease,
O Lamb of God who takest
The sin of the world away,
Give us Thy Peace!