“He Shall Drink Of The Brook By The Way.”

THE way is hot, the way is long, ’Tis weary hours to even-song, And we must travel though we tire; But all the time beside the road Trickle the small, clear rills of God, At hand for our desire.

Quick mercies, small amenities, Brief moments of repose and ease,— We stoop, and drink, and so fare on, Unpausing, but re-nerved in strength From hour to hour, until at length Night falleth, and the day is done.

The birds sip of the wayside rill, And raise their heads in praises, still Upborne upon their flashing wings; So drinking thus along the way, Our little meed of thanks we pay To Him who fills the water-springs,

And deals with equal tenderness The larger mercies and the less: “O Lord, of good the fountain free, Close by our hard day’s journeying Be thou the all-sufficing spring, And hourly let us drink of thee.”

THREE PICTURES.

I.

LOVE AND DEATH.

UPON the threshold of his guarded home Stands Love the child. A thousand roses bloom above his head With rain of dewy petals white and red; All fair and joyous things themselves array To deck and soften for dear Love the way. He stands where often he has stood before; But now his face is pale, his eyes all wild, A strange and boding tread has caught his ear, An awful, hovering shape sweeps into view, And all his soul is rent with wrath and fear— What can Love do?

Poor Love! brave Love! he nerves his feeble arm, He grasps his bow; The dreadful guest has seized the rainbow wings. In vain Love strives with tears and shudderings, In vain he lifts appealing eyes of prayer; There is no pity or relenting there. No power has Love to deprecate or charm, Vain are his puny wiles against this foe; The roses wither in the icy breath Which eddies the defenceless portals through, And, brushing Love aside, in passes Death— What can Love do?

II.

LOVE AND LIFE.

THE way is steep, and hard to tread, and drear; Piercing and bleak the icy atmosphere. My feet are bruised and bleeding, and my eyes Can only with dim questionings seek the skies. How could I walk a step without thine aid? How face the awful silence unafraid? How bear the star-rays and the moon-glance cold? Loose not thine hold!

Earth and its kindly ways seem very far, And yet the shining skies no nearer are; Except for thee, dear Love, I could not go Over the hard rocks, the untrodden snow, But had sat down content with lower things, With scanty crumbs and waning water-springs,— A wingèd thing whose wings might not unfold: Loose not thine hold!

Loose not thine hold! let me feel all the while The quickening impulse of thy tender smile Luring me on, and catch, as if in trance, The lovely reverence of thy downward glance, The pity and the splendor of thy face, The recognition like a soft embrace: Until my feet shall tread the streets of gold, Loose not thy hold!

III.

PAOLO È FRANCESCA.

THE mighty blast which sweeps and girdles hell Drives us before it, whither none may tell. No pause, no goal, no time of respite,—well, We are together!

Circling forever in a dark abyss, Linked by a fate as wild as passionless, One only thing is left us,—it is this: We are together!

THE TWO SHORES.

UPON the river’s brink I stand Beside the rushing water’s flow, And look from off the shore I know, The safe and dear familiar land, Unto another shore, which lies Mist-veiled beneath the crimsoning skies. This is a shore, and that a shore. Does the earth cease, to rise once more Beyond the river’s span? Ah no! the shores are clasped in one; The same firm earth goes on, goes on, Though hidden for a little space From eye or tread of man.

Upon another shore we stand Beside a darker water’s flow, And catch beyond the earth we know Faint glimpses of another land Dreaming in sunshine, half descried Beyond the rushing river-tide. It is life here, and life is there: We look from fair things to most fair, The river rolls between; But held and bound and clasped in one, Immortal life goes on, goes on, Though only from the farther strand The union can be seen.