MOST BELOVED.

And while I mourn, the anguish of my story

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Breaks, as the wave breaks on the hindering bar: Thou art but hidden in the deeps of glory, Even as the sunshine hides the lessening star, And with true love I love thee from afar.

I know our Father must be good, not evil,
And murmur not, for faith's sake, at my ill

Nor at the mystery of the working cavil,

;

That somehow bindeth all things in his will,
And, though He slay me, makes me trust Him still.

MOST BELOVED.

My heart thou makest void, and full ;
Thou giv'st, thou tak'st away my care;

O most beloved! most beautiful!

I miss, and find thee everywhere!

In the sweet water, as it flows;

The winds, that kiss me as they pass;
The starry shadow of the rose,
Sitting beside her on the grass;

The daffodilly, trying to bless

With better light the beauteous air;
The lily, wearing the white dress
Of sanctuary, to be more fair;

The lithe-armed, dainty-fingered brier,
That in the woods, so dim and drear,

Lights up betimes her tender fire
To soothe the homesick pioneer;

The moth, his brown sails balancing
Along the stubble, crisp and dry;
The ground-flower, with a blood-red ring
On either hand; the pewet's cry;

The friendly robin's gracious note;
The hills, with curious weeds o'errun;
The althea, in her crimson coat

Tricked out to please the wearied sun;

The dandelion, whose golden share

Is set before the rustic's plough;

The hum of insects in the air;

The blooming bush; the withered bough;

The coming on of eve; the springs
Of daybreak, soft and silver bright;
The frost, that with rough, rugged wings
Blows down the cankered buds; the white,

Long drifts of winter snow; the heat
Of August falling still and wide;
Broad cornfields; one chance stalk of wheat,
Standing with bright head hung aside:

All things, my darling, all things seem

In some strange way to speak of thee;

Nothing is half so much a dream,

Nothing so much reality.

MY DARLINGS.

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MY DARLINGS.

WHEN steps are hurrying homeward,
And night the world o'erspreads,
And I see at the open windows
The shining of little heads,
I think of you, my darlings,

In your low and lonesome beds.

And when the latch is lifted,
And I hear the voices glad,
I feel my arms more empty,

My heart more widely sad ;
For we measure dearth of blessings
By the blessings we have had.

But sometimes in sweet visions
My faith to sight expands,
And with my babes in his bosom,
My Lord before me stands,
And I feel on my head, bowed lowly,
The touches of little hands.

Then pain is lost in patience,
And tears no longer flow:
They are only dead to the sorrow
And sin of life, I know;

For if they were not immortal

My love would make them so.

IN DESPAIR.

-

I KNOW not what the world may be, —
For since I have nor hopes nor fears,
All things seem strange and far to me,
As though I had sailed on some sad sea,
For years and years, and years and

years!

Sailed through blind mists, you understand,
And leagues of bleak and bitter foam;
Seeing belts of rock and bars of sand,
But never a strip of flowery land,

And never the light of hearth or home.

All day and night, all night and day,
I sit in my darkened house alone;
Come thou, whose laughter sounds so gay,
Come hither, for charity come! and say

What flowers are faded, and what are blown.

Does the great, glad sun, as he used to, rise?
Or is it always a weary night?

A shadow has fallen across my eyes,

Come hither and tell me about the skies,

Are there drops of rain? are there drops of light?

Keep not, dear heart, so far away,

With thy laughter light and laughter low, But come to my darkened house, I pray, And tell me what of the fields to-day,

Or lilies, or snow? or lilies, or snow?

WAIT.

Do the hulls of the ripe nuts hang apart?

Do the leaves of the locust drop in the well? Or is it the time for the buds to start?

O gay little heart, O little gay heart,

Come hither and tell, come hither and tell!

The day of my hope is cold and dead,
The sun is down and the light is gone ;
Come hither thou of the roses red,

Of the gay, glad heart, and the golden head,

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And tell of the dawn, of the dew and the dawn.

WAIT.

Go not far in the land of light!

A little while by the golden gate,
Lest that I lose you out of sight,
Wait, my darling, wait.

Forever now from your happy eyes

Life's scenic picture has passed away;

You have entered into realities,

And I am yet at the play!

Thinking of you, and your high estate ;
A little while, and the curtain will fall
Wait, my darling, wait!

Mine is a dreary part to do

A mask of mirth on a mourning brow;