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Into its furrows shall we all be cast,
In the sure faith that we shall rise again
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.
In the fair gardens of that second birth; And each bright blossom mingle its perfume
With that of flowers which never bloomed on earth. With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod,
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow; This is the field and acre of our God,
This is the place where human harvests grow.
TO THE RIVER CHARLES.
River! that in silence windest
Through the meadows bright and free,
In the bosom of the sea !
Four long years of mingled feeling,
Half in rest, and half in strife,
Onward, like the stream of life.
Many a lesson, deep and long;
I can give thee but a song.
I have watched thy current glide,
Overflowed me, like a tide.
And in better hours and brighter,
When I saw thy waters gleam, I have felt my heart beat lighter,
And leap onward with thy stream. Not for this alone I love thee,
Nor because thy waves of blue From celestial seas above thee
Take their own celestial hue.
And thy waters disappear,
And have made thy margin dear. More than this;—thy name reminds me
Of three friends, all true and tried;
Closer, closer to thy side.
How like quivering flames they start, When I fan the living embers
On the hearthstone of my heart ! 'Tis for this, thou Silent River!
That my spirit leans to thee; Thou hast been a generous giver, Take this idle
BLIND BARTIMEUS. BLIND Bartimeus at the gates Of Jericho in darkness waits; He hears the crowd ;—he hears a breath Say, “It is Christ of Nazareth!” And calls in tones of agony, 'Ιησού, ελέησόν με!
The thronging multitudes increase;
“He calleth thee!” θάρσει, έγειραι, φωνεί σε!
Then saith the Christ, as silent stands
Ye that have eyes, yet cannot see,
THE GOBLET OF LIFE.
Filled is Life's goblet to the brim;
With solemn voice and slow.
No purple flowers,—no garlands green,
Thick leaves of mistletoe.
This goblet, wrought with curious art,
Are running all to waste.
And as it mantling passes round,
And give a bitter taste.
Above the lowly plants it towers,
Lost vision to restore.
It gave new strength, and fearless mood;
A wreath of fennel wore.
Then in Life's goblet freely press
New light and strength they give!
And he who has not learned to know
He has not learned to live.
The prayer of Ajax was for light;
To see his foeman's face.
One half the human race.
Patient, though sorely tried !
Then sleep we side by side.
Standing, with reluctant feet,