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All the thrilling strange entrancement fluttering over cheek
Like the purple lightning playing with the stars in yon blue
sky; Things we love, because they tell us of the loving heart
within, Feelings of the inmost fountain far beyond the touch of
These, they say, are human frailties, frailties born of sense
and time, But will be no more remember'd when we reach our native
There, they say, we all are one, and none can love thee least
or best, But as brethren all are equal thro' the myriads of the blest.
It may be an idle question—be my wayward heart forgivenHow earth's love shall wear the gorgeous bright apparelling
of heaven. It may be we are too venturous, for the light is faint and
dim, And but little knows the pilgrim of the life of seraphim.
Yet I love to think, mine own one, I shall love thee there
as here, Best of all created beings, best of all that angel sphere. Read we not of earth the seed-time for the glorious world to
come? Faith receiving there her guerdon, sin her saddest dreariest
doom? Have not all the things of life-time issues infinite above? And shall love reap there no harvest of the scatter'd seeds
of love? What if now we steep affection oft in weeping, oft in sighs,They who sow in tears, beloved, reap the rapture of the
True that we can tell but little how the full flood-tide of
Swells from out a thousand rivulets in a thousand hearts
above; True we know not now the rapture, nor a thousandth thou
sandth part, Seeing Him we loved unseen, and face to face and heart to
Not a cloud to dim that sunshine, there no sorrow, no alarms, But around thee and beneath thee spread the Everlasting
There untravellid worlds of beauty slow unfolding on our
sight, Spann'd by heaven's eternal rainbow, interwoven love and
light. But those glories none may utter : how should I then tell it
thee? For how faint and far the glimmerings of the waves of
heaven's Light-sea! Yet, mine own one, tell me truly, think'st thou we shall love
the less ?
Will that ocean whelm the fountains of thine own true
Hark, thy beating heart makes answer in its old familiar
tone, “ All thine own on earth, beloved, and in glory all thine own.” Carte hue
TO MY SISTER, ON THE EVE OF HER
Thou art leaving the home of thy childhood,
Sweet sister mine:
Is the song of the bird of the wild wood
Faint and far as thine ?
Listless stray thy fingers through the chords,
What wilt thou for the young glad voices
A father's smile benign,
Sweet sister mine?
Lay thy hand upon thy mouth, brother,
Lay thy hand upon thy mouth ;
Were perhaps too much for truth.
Be when home is in our heart: Grieving-yes, 'tis grief, if grieving
Be for those who cannot part. We are one, brother, we are one, Since first the golden cord was spun: It may lengthen, but it cannot sever, For, brother, it was twined—and twined for ever.
Sister, touch again thy passionate lute
Chide no more chide no more: Sooner far
voice were ever mute,
But I grieve for hours gone by,