EXTREME UNCTION. Go! leave me, Priest; my soul would be Far sadder eyes than thine will see This crumbling clay yield up its breath; These shrivelled hands have deeper stains Than holy oil can cleanse away, Hands that have plucked the world's coarse gains As erst they plucked the flowers of May. Call, if thou canst, to those gray eyes Some faith from youth's traditions wrung; This fruitless husk which dustward dries Has been a heart once, has been young; On this bowed head the awful Past Once laid its consecrating hands; The Future in its purpose vast Paused, waiting my supreme commands. But look! whose shadows block the door? God bends from out the deep and says,— Wast thou not called in many ways ? Are not my earth and braven at strife? I gave thee of my seed to sow, n And answer, "Father, here is gold?" I have been innocent; God knows bread: Christ still was wandering o'er the earth Upon the hour when I was born, And Heaven's rich instincts in me grew, As effortless as woodland nooks Send violets up and paint them blue. Yes, I who now, with angry tears, Have borne unquenched for fourscore years And to what end? How yield I back Men think it is an awful sight A helpless infant newly born, Mine held them once; I flung away But clutch the keys of darkness yet;— I hear the reapers singing go Into God's harvest; I, that might O glorious Youth, that once wast mine! Ye enter at this ruined shrine Whence worship ne'er shall rise again, The bat and owl inhabit here, The snake nests in the altar-stone, The sacred vessels moulder near, The image of the God is gone. THE OAK. WHAT gnarled stretch, what depth of shade, is his There needs no crown to mark the forest's king; How in his leaves outshines full summer's bliss! Sun, storm, rain, dew, to him their tribute bring, Which he with such benignant royalty Accepts, as overpayeth what is lent; How towers he, too, amid the billowed snows, Jewelled with sleet, like some cathedral front Where clinging snow-flakes with quaint art repair The dints and furrows of time's envious brunt. How doth his patient strength the rude March wind Persuade to seem glad breaths of summer breeze, And win the soil that fain would be unkind, To swell his revenues with proud increase! He is the gem; and all the landscape wide (So doth his grandeur isolate the sense) Seems but the setting, worthless all beside, An empty socket, were he fallen thence. So, from oft converse with life's wintry gales, Should man learn how to clasp with tougher roots The inspiring earth;-how otherwise avails So, from the pinched soil of a churlish fate, True hearts compel the sap of sturdier growth, So between earth and heaven stand simply great, That these shall seem but their attendants both; For nature's forces with obedient zeal Wait on the rooted faith and oaken will; As quickly the pretender's cheat they feel, And turn mad Pucks to flout and mock him still Lord! all thy works are lessons, each contains Cause me some message of thy truth to bring, Speak but a word through me, nor let thy love Among my boughs disdain to perch and sing. |