While with strange distorted choice, Still disdaining to rejoice, Thou wilt hear a wailing voice;

If a simple, humble heart, Seem to thee a meaner part, Than thy n.o.blest aim and art;

If he bid thee bow before Crowned Mind and nothing more, The great idol men adore;

And with starry veil enfold Sin, the trailing serpent old, Till his scales shine out like gold;

Though his words seem true and wise, Soul, I say to thee--Arise.

He is a Demon in disguise!

VERSE: MY PICTURE

Stand this way--more near the window-- By my desk--you see the light Falling on my picture better-- Thus I see it while I write!

Who the head may be I know not, But it has a student air; With a look half sad, half stately, Grave sweet eyes and flowing hair.

Little care I who the painter, How obscure a name he bore; Nor, when some have named Velasquez, Did I value it the more.

As it is, I would not give it For the rarest piece of art; It has dwelt with me, and listened To the secrets of my heart.

Many a time, when to my garret, Weary, I returned at night, It has seemed to look a welcome That has made my poor room bright.

Many a time, when ill and sleepless, I have watched the quivering gleam Of my lamp upon that picture, Till it faded in my dream.

When dark days have come, and friendship Worthless seemed, and life in vain, That bright friendly smile has sent me Boldly to my task again.

Sometimes when hard need has pressed me To bow down where I despise, I have read stern words of counsel In those sad reproachful eyes.

Nothing that my brain imagined, Or my weary hand has wrought, But it watched the dim Idea Spring forth into armed Thought.

It has smiled on my successes, Raised me when my hopes were low, And by turns has looked upon me With all the loving eyes I know.

Do you wonder that my picture Has become so like a friend?-- It has seen my life's beginnings, It shall stay and cheer the end!

VERSE: JUDGE NOT

Judge not; the workings of his brain And of his heart thou canst not see; What looks to thy dim eyes a stain, In G.o.d's pure light may only be A scar, brought from some well-won field, Where thou wouldst only faint and yield.

The look, the air, that frets thy sight, May be a token, that below The soul has closed in deadly fight With some infernal fiery foe, Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace, And cast thee shuddering on thy face!

The fall thou darest to despise-- May be the angel's slackened hand Has suffered it, that he may rise And take a firmer, surer stand; Or, trusting less to earthly things, May henceforth learn to use his wings.

And judge none lost; but wait, and see, With hopeful pity, not disdain; The depth of the abyss may be The measure of the height of pain And love and glory that may raise This soul to G.o.d in after days!

VERSE: FRIEND SORROW

Do not cheat thy Heart and tell her, "Grief will pa.s.s away, Hope for fairer times in future, And forget to-day."-- Tell her, if you will, that sorrow Need not come in vain; Tell her that the lesson taught her Far outweighs the pain.

Cheat her not with the old comfort, "Soon she will forget"-- Bitter truth, alas--but matter Rather for regret; Bid her not "Seek other pleasures, Turn to other things:"-- Rather nurse her caged sorrow 'Till the captive sings.

Rather bid her go forth bravely.

And the stranger greet; Not as foe, with spear and buckler, But as dear friends meet; Bid her with a strong clasp hold her, By her dusky wings-- Listening for the murmured blessing Sorrow always brings.

VERSE: ONE BY ONE

One by one the sands are flowing, One by one the moments fall; Some are coming, some are going; Do not strive to grasp them all.

One by one thy duties wait thee, Let thy whole strength go to each, Let no future dreams elate thee, Learn thou first what these can teach.

One by one (bright gifts from Heaven) Joys are sent thee here below; Take them readily when given, Ready too to let them go.

One by one thy griefs shall meet thee, Do not fear an armed band; One will fade as others greet thee; Shadows pa.s.sing through the land.

Do not look at life's long sorrow; See how small each moment's pain; G.o.d will help thee for to-morrow, So each day begin again.

Every hour that fleets so slowly Has its task to do or bear; Luminous the crown, and holy, When each gem is set with care.

Do not linger with regretting, Or for pa.s.sing hours despond; Nor, the daily toil forgetting, Look too eagerly beyond.

Hours are golden links, G.o.d's token, Reaching Heaven; but one by one Take them, lest the chain be broken Ere the pilgrimage be done.

VERSE: TRUE HONOURS

Is my darling tired already, Tired of her day of play?

Draw your little stool beside me, Smooth this tangled hair away.

Can she put the logs together, Till they make a cheerful blaze?

Shall her blind old Uncle tell her Something of his youthful days?