And, thinking of ourselves as others think,
We so are gainers in Humility :—

Or the harsh judgments are a gloomy screen,
Fencing our altered lives from praise and glare,
As plants that grow in shades retain their
green,

While unmeet sternness kindly chills the air.

FABER.

VII. THE LIFE SHORE.

ALONE by my fireside dreaming,
Counting life's golden sands;
Counting the years on my fingers
Since my youth and I shook hands—
Since I stood weak and weary,

On the shore of a troubled sea,

And my youth and its hopes went drifting Down the ebb-tide dark and dreeCounting the years on my fingers

And looking along the shore,

Back to the spot where we parted,—

Parted for evermore.

Many a precious footprint

Trace I upon the sands,

Hence to the shadowed waters

Where my youth and I shook hands.
Wavering and slow at their outstart,
Oft halting and turning back,
Alone in the mournful journey,
Are the first steps on the track;
Looking away through the sea-mists-
Not at the stumbling feet,

Are the tear-blind eyes of the wanderer
When she and pale Sorrow meet.

Her passion is mute in this presence,
And low with her face on her hands,

Keeps she a vigil of silence

'Midst the wreck on the storm-beat sands; Till comes through the moonless darkness Wraithlike, unheard, and slow,

With trailing garments of mourning,
Patience, with Heavenward brow.

She rises up from her weeping
And looks o'er the sea again;

But night is low on the waters

And her eyes may watch in vain. Onward by Patience guided,

Onward along the shore,

Leaving the wrecks unburied,

Unburied for evermore.

Peace comes in the morning twilight, Strength comes in the later day, And all these four together

Press forward upon the way. Not without bitter struggle

Passes the noontide heat; Turned back, and check'd, and baffled, Oft are her wandering feet— Could she but sit, and rest her,

One hour by the whitening wave, And gather old dreams around her, 'Tis all that her heart would crave. But no! she must work and suffer

While the day is daylight still; There is time for rest and idlesse In the grave beyond the hill. Quicksand, and ghastly breakers Are there on the forward track;

"Go on," moans the tide, advancing, "No lingering, no looking back!" Swifter, and ever swifter

Comes the roar of the mighty flood, And the waves of dark time sweep over The spot where once she stood. A wide, black waste of waters

Strewn o'er with spar and mast, The wrecks that the currents carry To the Present from the Past. Across that heaving whirlpool She may look, and look again, There is only mist and foaming, Thick cloud and driving rain. Dead Hopes, lost Love, lost Happiness Lie pale on the tempest sea,— Seed sown in youth for a harvest That shall never gather'd be. Forward, and ever forward,

Skirting the haggard rocks,

Where no glimmer of golden sunshineThe dull grey silence mocks.

Footsore, and lagging often,

Weary both heart and brain-
Courage, faint heart, and forward!
Such travail is not in vain."

The heat of the day is over,
Twilight enshrouds the sky;
Gone back are the sullen waters,
Leaving the footprints dry.-

Some faint, on the deep-ribbed sea-sand,
In all their wandering maze,
When she and her heart went blindly
Through long, long aching days;
Some clear, as if cut in marble,

Straight on the beaten sand,
Steady and true to their purpose,
Guided by Angel hand.—

Sitting alone by my fireside,
Alone this October night,

Tracing a backward journey

By memory's pale moonlight; Looking through Life's long vista, To its hours of golden sands, And counting the years on my fingers Since my youth and I shook hands,