As one lamp lights another, nor grows less,
So nobleness enkindleth nobleness.
That inward light the stranger's face made grand,
Which shines from all self-conquest; kneeling low,
He bow'd his forehead upon Yussouf's hand,
Sobbing "O Sheik, I cannot leave thee so;
I will repay thee; all this thou hast done
Unto that Ibrahim who slew thy son!"
Take thrice the gold!" said Yussouf-" for with thee 'Into the desert, never to return,
My one black thought shall ride away from me.
First-born! for whom by day and night I yearn,—
Balanced and just are all of God's decrees.
Thou art avenged, my first-born! sleep in peace!"
SHE CAME AND WENT.
As a twig trembles which a bird
Lights on to sing, then leaves unbent,
So is my memory thrill'd and stirr'd:
I only know She came and went.
As clasps some lake, by gusts unriven,
The blue dome's measureless content,
So my soul held that moment's heaven:
I only know She came and went.
As, at one bound, our swift spring heaps
The orchards full of bloom and scent,
So clove her May my wintry sleeps;
I only know She came and went.
An angel stood and met my gaze,
Through the low doorway of my tent;
The tent is struck, the vision stays;
I only know She came and went.
When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips,
Huldy sot pale ez ashes,
All kin' o' smily roun' the lips
An' teary roun' the lashes.
For she was jes' the quiet kind
Whose naturs never vary,
Like streams that keep a summer mind
Snow-hid in Jenooary.
The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued
Too tight for all expressin',
Tell mother see how metters stood,
And gin 'em both her blessin'.
Then her red come back like the tide
Down to the Bay o' Fundy;
An' all I know is they was cried
In meetin' come nex' Sunday.
A STRANGER came one night to Yussouf's tent,
Saying "Behold one outcast and in dread,
Against whose life the bow of power is bent,
Who flies, and hath not where to lay his head;
I come to thee for shelter and for food,
To Yussouf, call'd through all our tribes The Good."
"This tent is mine "-said Yussouf-" but no more
Than it is God's; come in, and be at peace;
Freely shalt thou partake of all my store
As I of His who buildeth over these
Our tents His glorious roof of night and day,
And at whose door none ever yet heard Nay."
So Yussouf entertain'd his guest that night,
And, waking him ere day, said-" Here is gold;
My swiftest horse is saddled for thy flight:
Depart before the prying day grow bold!"
As one lamp lights another, nor grows less,
So nobleness enkindleth nobleness.
That inward light the stranger's face made grand,
Which shines from all self-conquest; kneeling low,
He bow'd his forehead upon Yussouf's hand,
Sobbing "O Sheik, I cannot leave thee so;
I will repay thee; all this thou hast done
Unto that Ibrahim who slew thy son!"
"Take thrice the gold!" said Yussouf-" for with thee 'Into the desert, never to return,
My one black thought shall ride away from me.
First-born! for whom by day and night I yearn,—
Balanced and just are all of God's decrees.
Thou art avenged, my first-born! sleep in peace!"
SHE CAME AND WENT.
As a twig trembles which a bird
Lights on to sing, then leaves unbent,
So is my memory thrill'd and stirr'd:
I only know She came and went.
As clasps some lake, by gusts unriven,
The blue dome's measureless content,
So my soul held that moment's heaven:
I only know She came and went.
As, at one bound, our swift spring heaps
The orchards full of bloom and scent,
So clove her May my wintry sleeps;
I only know She came and went.
An angel stood and met my gaze,
Through the low doorway of my tent;
The tent is struck, the vision stays;
I only know She came and went.
O, when the room grows slowly dim,
And life's last oil is nearly spent,
One gush of light these eyes will brim,
Only to think She came and went.
THE FIRST SNOW-FALL.
THE snow had begun in the gloaming,
And busily all the night
Had been heaping field and highway
With a silence deep and white.
Every pine and fir and hemlock
Wore ermine too dear for an earl,
And the poorest twig on the elm-tree
Was ridged inch deep with pearl.
From sheds new-roof'd with Carrara
Came Chanticleer's muffled crow;
The stiff rails were soften'd to swan's-down,
And still flutter'd down the snow.
I stood and watch'd by the window
The noiseless work of the sky,
And the sudden flurries of snow-birds,
Like brown leaves whirling by.
I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
Where a little headstone stood;
How the flakes were folding it gently,
As did robins the babes in the wood.
Up spoke our own little Mabel,
Saying " "Father! who makes it snow?" And I told of the good All-Father
Who cares for us here below.
Again I look'd at the snow-fall,
And thought of the leaden sky
That arch'd o'er our first great sorrow,
When that mound was heap'd so high.
I remember'd the gradual patience
That fell from that cloud like snow,
Flake by flake, healing and hiding
The scar of our deep-plunged woe.
And again to the child I whisper'd,
"The snow that husheth all,
Darling the merciful Father
Alone can make it fall!"
Then, with eyes that saw not, I kiss'd her;
And she, kissing back, could not know
kiss was given to her sister,
Folded close under deepening snow.
MARIA WHITE LOWELL.*
Born at Watertown, Mass: 1821-died 1853.
THE MORNING-GLORY.
WE wreath'd about our darling's head
The morning glory bright;
Her little face look'd out beneath,
So full of life and light,
So lit as with a sunrise,
That we could only say,
"She is the morning glory true,
And her poor types are they."
So always, from that happy time,
We call'd her by their name;
And very fitting did it seem,
For sure as morning came,
Behind her cradle bars she smiled
To catch the first faint ray,
As from the trellis smiles the flower
And opens to the day.
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