I NEED a cleansing change within —
My life must once again begin;
New hope I need, and youth renewed,
And more than human fortitude,
New faith, new love, and strength to cast
Away the fetters of the past.
Ah! why did fabling Poets tell
That Lethe only flows in Hell ?
As if, in truth, there was no river
Whereby the leper may be clean
But that which flows, and flows forever,
And crawls along, unheard, unseen,
Whence brutish spirits, in contagious shoals,
Quaff the dull drench of apathetic souls!
Ah, no! but Lethé flows aloft
With lulling murmur, kind and soft,
As voice which sinners send to heaven
When first they feel their sins forgiven;
Its every drop as bright and clear
As if indeed it were a tear
Shed by the lovely Magdalen
For Him that was despised of men.
It is the only fount of bliss
In all the human wilderness
It is the true Bethesda - solely
Endued with healing might, and holy ;-
Not once a year, but evermore —
Not one, but ALL men to restore.
ERE thou wast born "into this breathing world,"
God wrote some characters upon thy heart.
Oh, let them not, like beads of dew impearled
On morning blades, before the noon depart!
But morning drops before the noon exhale,
And yet those drops appear again at even;
So childish innocence on earth must fail,
Yet may return to usher thee to heaven.
SUFFERING UNDER BEREAVEMENT.
SAD night for us, but better day for her!
Well may'st thou mourn, but mourn not without hope:
Thou art not one, I know, that can believe
A pausing pulse, an intermitted breath,
Or aught that can to mortal flesh befal,
Can turn to nothing any ray of God,
Or frustrate one good purpose of our Lord.
She was a purpose of her great Creator,
Begun on earth, and well on earth pursued,
Now in the heaven of heavens consummate,
Or only waiting the predestined day,
The flower and glory of her consummation.
YEA, we do differ, differ still we must,
For language is the type of thought, and thought
The slave of sense; and sense is only fraught
With cheques and tokens taken upon trust,
Not for their worth but promise. Earth is all
One mighty parable of Hell and Heaven.
The portion we can read at best is small;
'Tis little that we know; and if befal
That Faith do wander, like the restless raven
That rather chose without an aim to roam
O'er the blank world of waters, than to seek,
In the one sacred ark, a duteous home,
May good be with it!
Yes, we do differ when we most agree,
For words are not the same to you and me.
And it may be our several spiritual needs
Are best supplied by seeming different creeds.
And differing, we agree in one
Inseparable communion,
If the true life be in our hearts
Which not to want is death;
To want is penance; to desire
Is purgatorial fire;
To hope, is paradise; and to believe
Is all of Heaven that earth can e'er receive.
SAD doth it seem, but nought is really sad,
Or only sad that we may better be;
We should, in very gulfs of grief, be glad,
The great intents of God could we but see.
Think of the souls that he in heaven will meet,
Some that on earth he knew and loved most dearly;
And whose perfection at their Saviour's feet,
Without a stain of earth, will shine so clearly.
Think, too, of souls on earth unknown to him, Whom he will know as well as kin or neighbors Laborious saints, that now with seraphim
Expect the blesséd fruit of all their labors.
Think that he is what oft he wished to be
While yet he was a mortal man on earth;
Then weep, but know that grief's extremity
Contains a hope which never was in mirth.
IN holy books we read how God hath spoken
To holy men in many different ways;
But hath the present worked no sign or token?
Is God quite silent in these latter days?
And hath our heavenly Sire departed quite,
And left His poor babes in this world alone,
And only left for blind belief- not sight
Some quaint old riddles in a tongue unknown?
Oh! think it not, sweet maid! God comes to us
With every day, with every star that rises;
In every moment dwells the Righteous,
And starts upon the soul in sweet surprises.
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