OUR SAINTS. 403 Our Saints. FROM the eternal shadow rounding All unsure and starlight here, Voices of our lost ones sounding, Bid us be of heart and cheer, Through the silence, down the spaces, falling on the inward ear. Know we not our dead are looking All our strife of words rebuking With their mild and earnest eyes? Shall we grieve the holy angels, shall we cloud their blessed skies? Let us draw their mantles o'er us, Which have fallen in our way: Let us do the work before us Calmly, bravely, while we may, Ere the long night-silence cometh, and with us it is not day! JOHN G. WHITTIER. "Dum vivimus, vivamus." "LIVE while you live!" the epicure would say, "And seize the pleasures of the present day!" "Live while you live!" the sacred Preacher cries, "And give to God each moment as it flies !" Lord, in my view let both united be, I live in pleasure while I live to thee. PHILIP DODdridge. Sonnet. MARTHA, THY MAIDEN FOOT. MARTHA, thy maiden foot is still so light It leaves no legible trace on virgin snows: HARTLEY COLERIDGE. The Chambered Nautilus. THIS is the ship of pearl which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purple wings Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl: And every chambered cell Where its dim-dreaming life was wont to dwell, Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed. Year after year beheld the silent toil Still as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, 405 Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn! While on mine ear it rings, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings: Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll! Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea! OLIVER W. HOLMES. Haste Not! Rest Not. WITHOUT haste! without rest! Bind the motto to thy breast; Bear it with thee as a spell; Storm or sunshine, guard it well! Heed not flowers that round thee bloom, Bear it onward to the tomb! Haste not! Let no thoughtless deed Mar for aye the spirit's speed! Ponder well, and know the right, Rest not! Life is sweeping by, When these forms have passed away. Haste not! rest not! calmly wait; Meekly bear the storms of fate! Do the right, whate'er betide! Haste not! rest not! conflicts past, Anonymous Translation. JOHANN W. VON GOETHE BRINGING OUR SHEAVES WITH US. 407 Bringing our Sheaves with us. THE HE time for toil has passed, and night has come,- Last of the laborers, thy feet I gain, Lord of the harvest! and my spirit grieves Few, light, and worthless,-yet their trifling weight For long I struggled with my hopeless fate, Full well I know I have more tares than wheat Brambles and flowers, dry stalks and withered leaves: Wherefore I blush and weep, as at thy feet I kneel down reverently and repeat, I know these blossoms, clustering heavily, So do I gather strength and hope anew; ELIZABETH AKERS. |