THE ORGAN

It is no harmony of human making,

Though men have built those pipes of burnished

gold;

Their music, out of Nature's heart awaking,

Forever new, forever is of old.

Man makes not

only finds all earthly beauty,

Catching a thread of sunshine here and there, Some shining pebble in the path of duty,

Some echo of the songs that flood the air.

That prelude is a wind among the willows,
Rising until it meets the torrent's roar;
Now a wild ocean, beating his great billows
Among the hollow caverns of the shore.

It is the voice of some vast people, pleading
For justice from an ancient shame and wrong,
The tramp of God's avenging armies, treading
With shouted thunders of triumphant song.

O soul, that sittest chanting dreary dirges,
Couldst thou but rise on some divine desire,

128

THE ORGAN

As those deep chords upon their swelling surges

Bear up the wavering voices of the choir!

But ever lurking in the heart, there lingers
The trouble of a false and jarring tone,
As some great Organ which unskillful fingers.
Vex into discords when the Master's gone.

LOST LOVE

BURY it, and sift

Dust upon its light, Death must not be left, To offend the sight.

Cover the old love

Weep not on the mound

Grass shall grow above,
Lilies spring around.

Can we fight the law,

Can our natures change Half-way through withdrawOther lives exchange?

You and I must do

As the world has done,

There is nothing new
Underneath the sun.

Fill the grave up full
Put the dead love by
Not that men are dull,

Not that women lie,

130

LOST LOVE

But 't is well and right

Safest, you will findThat the Out of Sight

Should be Out of Mind

A MEMORY

UPON the barren, lonely hill

We sat to watch the sinking sun; Below, the land grew dim and still, Whose evening shadow had begun. Her finger parted the shut book,—

At "Aylmer's Field" the leaf was turned, Round her meek head and sainted look

The sunset like a halo burned.

She knew not that I watched her face
Her spirit through her eyes was gone
To some far-off and Sabbath place,
And left me gazing there alone.

Could she have known, that quiet hour,
What ghosts her presence raised in me,
What graves were opened by the power
Of that unconscious witchery,

She would not thus have sat and seen
The bird that balanced far below
On the blue air, and watched the sheen
Along his broad wings come and go.

For was she not another's bride?

And I what right had I to feast

Upon those eyes in revery wide,

With hungering gaze like famished beast?