"Incline thy mighty ear Great Mother Earth, and hear How I, thy child, am sorely vexed and tossed; No one to heed my moan, I shudder here, alone With my destroyers, wind and snow, and frost.

Then low and unaware This answer cleaved the air, This tender answer, "Doubting one be still; Oh trust to me, and know The wind, the frost, the snow, Are but my servants sent to do my will.

"For the destroyer frost, His labor is not lost, Rid thee he shall of many noisome things; And thou shalt praise the snow When drinking far below Refreshment sweet from overflowing springs.

"My child thou'rt not alone, I love thee, hear thy moan, But winds that fret thee only causeth thee To more securely stand, More firmly clasp my hand, And soaring upward, closer cling to me."

Then from my burdened heart The shadows did depart, Then said I softly--"winds of sorrow blow So I but closer cling To thee, my Lord, my King, Who loves me, even me, so weak and low."

JENNY ALLEN.

I never shall hear your voice again, Your voice so gentle and low But the thought of you, Jenny Allen, Will go with me where I go.

Your sweet voice drowns the Atlantic wave And the rush of the Alpine snow.

You were very fair, Jenny Allen, Fair as a woodland rose; Your heart was pure as an angel's heart, Too good for earth and its woes, And I loved you, Jenny Allen, With a sorrowful love, G.o.d knows.

You loved me, Jenny Allen, My sorrow made me wise; And I read your heart, 'twas an easy task, For within your clear blue eyes, Your pure and innocent thoughts shone out Like stars from the summer skies.

He had riches and fame with his seventy years When he won you for his wife; You were but a child, and poor, and tired, Tired of toil and strife; And you only thought of rest, poor dove, When you sold your beautiful life.

Alas, for the hour I entered in Your halls of lordly mirth; For I lost there, Jenny Allen, All that gives life worth; You taught your teacher, Jenny, The saddest lesson of earth.

Ah, woe's the hour I ever stepped Your mansion walls within; For you loved me, Jenny Allen, But you never dreamed 'twas sin; Your heart was white as a lily's heart, When it drinks the sunshine in.

G.o.d pity me, Jenny Allen, That I ever loved you so, I would have died to give you peace, And I only gave you woe; For your eyes looked like a wounded dove's, When I told you I must go.

You were but a child, Jenny Allen, But that hour made you wise; A woman's grief and holy strength Sprang up in your mournful eyes; Ah, you were an angel, Jenny, An angel in woman's guise.

But a pitiful, pitiful look, Jenny, Your seraph features wore, As I left you that dark autumn morn, Left you forevermore; And heaven seemed shut against me As I blindly shut that door.

The years have rained on you golden gifts, You dwell in a queenly show; There are jewels of price in your silken hair, And upon your neck of snow.

Do you ever think of me, Jenny, And the dream of the long ago?

I have sat me down under foreign skies Afire with an Orient glow; I have seen the moon gild the desert sand, And silver the Arctic snow, But the thought of you Jenny Allen, Goes with me where I go.

THE UNSEEN CITY.

Not far away does that bright city stand, 'Tis but the mist o'er its dividing stream, That wraps the glory of its glitt'ring strand, Its radiant skies, and mountains silvery gleam; Oh, often in the blindness of our fate We wander very near the city's gate.

We love that unseen city, and we yearn Ever within our earthly homes to see Its golden towers, that in the sunset burn, Its white walls rising from the quiet sea; Its mansions gleaming with immortal glow, Filled with the treasure lost to us below.

Yes, dear ones that we loved and lost are there; Bright in that fair clime beam those sweet eyes now; Fanned by its soft breeze floats the shining hair, Hair we have smoothed back from the gentlest brow; Softest white hands we kissed and clasped in ours Slipped from our grasp, lured by its glowing flowers.

Fairer it seems, its velvet walks were sweet, Dearer its quiet streets, with gold paved o'er, Since o'er them lightly fall the little feet-- The light feet bounding through our homes no more; Oh, heart's dear music, tearfully missed, That city's filled with melody like this.

It is not far away; down from its arches roll Anthems too sacred for the outward ear, Pouring their haunting sweetness on the soul; Oh, how our waiting spirits thrill to hear, In listening to the low bewildering strain, Voices they said we should not hear again.

Oh, dear to us that city. He is there, He whom unseen we love; no need of light; His tender eyes illume the crystal air Where His beloved walk in vesture white, What though on earth they wandered, poor, distressed, And saw through tears His glory, now they rest.

Oh, that fair city, shining o'er the tide, Thither we journey through the storm and night; But soon shall we adown its still bay glide, Soon will the city's gate gleam on our sight, There with our own forever shall we be, In that fair city rising from the sea.

THE WAGES OF SIN.

I am an outcast, sinful and vile I know, But what are you, my lady, so fair, and proud, and high?

The fringe of your robe just touched me, me so low-- Your feet defiled, I saw the scorn in your eye, And the jeweled hand, that drew back your garments fine.

What should you say if I told you to your face Your robes are dyed with as deep a stain as mine, The only difference is you are better paid for disgrace.

You loved a man, you promised to be his bride, Strong vows you gave, you were in the sight of Heaven his wife, And when you sold yourself for another's wealth, he died; And what is that but murder? To take a life That is a little beyond my guilt, I ween, To murder the one you love is a crime of deeper grade Than mine, yet in purple you walk on the earth a queen; I think the wages of sin are very unequally paid.

For what did you receive when you sold yourself for his gold, When with guilty loathing you plighted your white, false hand, A palace in town and country, his name long centuries old, A carriage with coachmen and footmen, wealth in broad tracts of land, Wealth in coffers and vaults, high station, the family gems, For these you stood at G.o.d's altar and swore to a lie; But smother your conscience to silence if it condemns, With this you are liberally paid for your life of infamy.

What wages did I receive when I gave myself for his love, So young, so weak, and loving him, loving him so-- What did I get for my sin, O merciful G.o.d above!

But the terrible, terrible wages--pain and want and woe; The world's scorn, and my own contempt and disdain, The hideous hue of guilt that stares in every eye.

Like you I cannot 'broider with gold my garments' stain, You see, my lady, you get far better wages than I.

In your constancy to sin you far exceed my power, Since that day marked with blackness from other days-- The day before your marriage--never since that hour Have I heard his voice, have I looked upon his face; For I threw his gold at his feet and stole away Anywhere--anywhere--only out of his sight, Longing to hide from the mocking glare of the day, Longing to cover my eyes forever away from the light.

And long I strove to hate him, for I thought I was so young, a friendless orphan left to his care, It was a terrible sin that he had wrought, And since I had the burden of guilt to bear It was enough without the wild despair of love, So I strove to reason my pa.s.sionate love to hate.

Can we kneel with tears and bid the strong sun move Away from the sky? It is vain to war with fate.

That a hard life I have lived since then, 'tis true, My hands are unblackened by sinful wages since that day, And my baby died, I was not fit, G.o.d knew To guide a sinless soul, so He took my bird away; And my heart was empty and lone as a robin's winter nest, With the trusting eyes that never looked scornfully, The head that nestled fearlessly on my guilty breast, And the little constant hands that clung to me, even me.

But I knew it were best for G.o.d to unclasp her hand From mine, while yet she clung to it in trust, Than for her to draw it from me, live to understand, Blush for her mother--had she lived she must.

And then she had her father's smile, and his soft, dark eyes, Maybe she would have had his fair, false ways--his heart.

It is well that she pa.s.sed through the starry gate of the skies Though it closed and bars us forever and ever apart.

For I am a sinful woman, well I know, And though by others' sins my own are not excused Things seem so strange to me in this strange world of woe, In a maze of doubt and wonder I get confused; Whether a sin of impulse, born of a fatal love, Is worse than deliberate bargain, a life of legal shame, Legal below, I think in the courts above The heavenly scribes will call a crime by its right name.

But we stand before the wise, wise judgment-seat Of the world, and it calls you pure, That in your pearl-gemmed breast all saintly virtues meet, Holier than other holy women, higher, truer, So sweet a creature an angel in woman's guise.

They would not wonder much, though much they might admire, Should you be caught again up to your native skies From an alien world in a chariot of fire.

So we stand before the tender judgment-seat Of the world, and it calls me vile, So low that it is a wonder G.o.d will let His joyous sunshine gild my guilty head with its smiles, An outcast barred beyond the pale of hope, Beyond the lamp of their mercy's flickering light, They would scarcely wonder if the earth should ope And swallow up the wretch from their vexed sight.

Before another judgment-seat one day we will stand You and I, my lady, and he by our side, He who won my heart, who held my life in his hand, He who bought you with gold to be his bride; Before an a.s.sembled world we shall stand, we three, To meet from the merciful Judge our doom of weal or woe, He holds His righteous balance true and evenly, And which is the vilest sinner we then shall know.

ISABELLE AND I.