Strive; yet I do not promise The prize you dream of to-day Will not fade when you think to grasp it, And melt in your hand away; But another and holier treasure, You would now perchance disdain, Will come when your toil is over, And pay you for all your pain.

Wait; yet I do not tell you The hour you long for now, Will not come with its radiance vanished, And a shadow upon its brow; Yet far through the misty future, With a crown of starry light, An hour of joy you know not Is winging her silent flight.

Pray; though the gift you ask for May never comfort your fears, May never repay your pleading, Yet pray, and with hopeful tears; An answer, not that you long for, But diviner, will come one day, Your eyes are too dim to see it, Yet strive, and wait, and pray.

VERSE: A LAMENT FOR THE SUMMER

Moan, oh ye Autumn Winds!

Summer has fled, The flowers have closed their tender leaves and die; The Lily's gracious head All low must lie, Because the gentle Summer now is dead.

Grieve, oh ye Autumn Winds!

Summer lies low; The rose's trembling leaves will soon be shed, For she that loved her so, Alas, is dead!

And one by one her loving children go.

Wail, oh ye Autumn Winds!

She lives no more, The gentle Summer, with her balmy breath, Still sweeter than before When nearer death, And brighter every day the smile she wore!

Mourn, mourn, oh Autumn Winds, Lament and mourn; How many half-blown buds must close and die; Hopes with the Summer born All faded lie, And leave us desolate and Earth forlorn!

VERSE: THE UNKNOWN GRAVE

No name to bid us know Who rests below, No word of death or birth, Only the gra.s.s's wave, Over a mound of earth, Over a nameless grave.

Did this poor wandering heart In pain depart?

Longing, but all too late, For the calm home again, Where patient watchers wait, And still will wait in vain.

Did mourners come in scorn, And thus forlorn, Leave him, with grief and shame.

To silence and decay, And hide the tarnished name Of the unconscious clay?

It may be from his side His loved ones died, And last of some bright band, (Together now once more,) He sought his home, the land Where they had gone before.

No matter--limes have made As cool a shade, And lingering breezes pa.s.s As tenderly and slow, As if beneath the gra.s.s A monarch slept below.

No grief, though loud and deep, Could stir that sleep; And earth and heaven tell Of rest that shall not cease, Where the cold world's farewell Fades into endless peace.

VERSE: GIVE ME THY HEART

With echoing steps the worshippers Departed one by one; The organ's pealing voice was stilled, The vesper hymn was done; The shadows fell from roof and arch, Dim was the incensed air, One lamp alone with trembling ray, Told of the Presence there!

In the dark church she knelt alone; Her tears were falling fast; "Help, Lord," she cried, "the shades of death Upon my soul are cast!

Have I not shunned the path of sin, And chosen the better part?"

What voice came through the sacred air?-- "My child, give me thy Heart!"

"Have I not laid before Thy shrine My wealth, oh Lord?" she cried; "Have I kept aught of gems or gold, To minister to pride?

Have I not bade youth's joys retire, And vain delights depart?"-- But sad and tender was the voice-- "My child, give me thy Heart!"

"Have I not, Lord, gone day by day Where Thy poor children dwell; And carried help, and gold, and food?

Oh Lord, Thou knowest it well!

From many a house, from many a soul, My hand bids care depart:"-- More sad, more tender, was the voice-- "My child, give me thy Heart!"

"Have I not worn my strength away With fast and penance sore?

Have I not watched and wept?" she cried; "Did Thy dear Saints do more?

Have I not gained Thy grace, oh Lord, And won in Heaven my part?"-- It echoed louder in her soul-- "My child, give me thy Heart!"

"For I have loved thee with a love No mortal heart can show; A love so deep, my Saints in heaven Its depths can never know: When pierced and wounded on the Cross, Man's sin and doom were mine, I loved thee with undying love, Immortal and divine!

"I love thee ere the skies were spread; My soul bears all thy pains; To gain thy love my sacred Heart In earthly shrines remains: Vain are thy offerings, vain thy sighs, Without one gift divine, Give it, my child, thy Heart to me, And it shall rest in mine!"

In awe she listened, and the shade Pa.s.sed from her soul away; In low and trembling voice she cried-- "Lord, help me to obey!

Break Thou the chains of earth, oh Lord, That bind and hold my heart; Let it be Thine, and Thine alone, Let none with Thee have part.

"Send down, oh Lord, Thy sacred fire!

Consume and cleanse the sin That lingers still within its depths: Let heavenly love begin.

That sacred flame Thy Saints have known, Kindle, oh Lord, in me, Thou above all the rest for ever, And all the rest in Thee."

The blessing fell upon her soul; Her angel by her side Knew that the hour of peace was come; Her soul was purified: The shadows fell from roof and arch, Dim was the incensed air-- But Peace went with her as she left The sacred Presence there!

VERSE: THE WAYSIDE INN

A little past the village The Inn stood, low and white; Green shady trees behind it, And an orchard on the right; Where over the green paling The red-cheeked apples hung, As if to watch how wearily The sign-board creaked and swung.

The heavy-laden branches, Over the road hung low, Reflected fruit or blossom From the wayside well below; Where children, drawing water, Looked up and paused to see, Amid the apple-branches, A purple Judas Tree.

The road stretched winding onward For many a weary mile-- So dusty foot-sore wanderers Would pause and rest awhile; And panting horses halted, And travellers loved to tell The quiet of the wayside inn, The orchard, and the well.

Here Maurice dwelt; and often The sunburnt boy would stand Gazing upon the distance, And shading with his hand His eyes, while watching vainly For travellers, who might need His aid to loose the bridle, And tend the weary steed.

And once (the boy remembered That morning, many a day-- The dew lay on the hawthorn, The bird sang on the spray) A train of hors.e.m.e.n, n.o.bler Than he had seen before, Up from the distance galloped, And halted at the door.

Upon a milk-white pony, Fit for a faery queen, Was the loveliest little damsel His eyes had ever seen: A serving-man was holding The leading rein, to guide The pony and its mistress, Who cantered by his side.

Her sunny ringlets round her A golden cloud had made, While her large hat was keeping Her calm blue eyes in shade; One hand held fast the silken reins To keep her steed in check, The other pulled his tangled mane, Or stroked his glossy neck.