Ripe Grain

Then in the darkness came a voice which said, "As thy heart bleedeth, so my heart hath bled, As I have need of thee,

Thou needest me."

That night Van Elsen kissed the baby feet,
And, kneeling by the narrow winding-sheet,
Praised Him with fervent breath

Who conquered death.

Frederick George Scott [1861

3347

THE FLIGHT

UPON a cloud among the stars we stood:
The angel raised his hand, and looked, and said,
"Which world, of all yon starry myriad

Shall we make wing to?" The still solitude
Became a harp whereon his voice and mood
Made spheral music round his haloed head.
I spake for then I had not long been dead-
"Let me look round upon the vasts, and brood
A moment on these orbs ere I decide. . .
What is yon lower star that beauteous shines
And with soft splendor now incarnadines
Our wings? There would I go and there abide."
Then he, as one who some child's thought divines:
"That is the world where yesternight you died."
Lloyd Mifflin [1846-

RIPE GRAIN

O STILL, white face of perfect peace,
Untouched by passion, freed from pain,—
He who ordained that work should cease
Took to Himself the ripened grain.

O noble face! your beauty bears

The glory that is wrung from pain,— The high, celestial beauty wears

Of finished work, of ripened grain.

Of human care you left no trace,
No lightest trace of grief or pain,-
On earth an empty form and face-
In Heaven stands the ripened grain.
Dora Reed Goodale [1866-

"THE LAND WHICH NO ONE KNOWS"

DARK, deep, and cold the current flows
Unto the sea where no wind blows,

Seeking the land which no one knows.

O'er its sad gloom still comes and goes
The mingled wail of friends and foes,
Borne to the land which no one knows.

Why shrieks for help yon wretch, who goes
With millions, from a world of woes,

Unto the land which no one knows?

Though myriads go with him who goes,
Alone he goes where no wind blows,
Unto the land which no one knows.

For all must go where no wind blows,
And none can go for him who goes;
None, none return whence no one knows.

Yet why should he who shrieking goes
With millions, from a world of woes,
Reunion seek with it or those?

Alone with God, where no wind blows,
And Death, his shadow-doomed, he goes:
That God is there the shadow shows.

O shoreless Deep, where no wind blows!
And thou, O Land, which no one knows!
That God is all, His shadow shows.

Ebenezer Elliott [1781-1849]

At the Top of the Road

3349

THE HILLS OF REST

BEYOND the last horizon's rim,

Beyond adventure's farthest quest,
Somewhere they rise, serene and dim,
The happy, happy Hills of Rest.

Upon their sunlit slopes uplift

The castles we have built in Spain-
While fair amid the summer drift
Our faded gardens flower again.

Sweet hours we did not live go by
To soothing note, on scented wing;
In golden-lettered volumes lie

The songs we tried in vain to sing.

They all are there: the days of dream
That build the inner lives of men;

The silent, sacred years we deem

The might be, and the might have been.

Some evening when the sky is gold
I'll follow day into the west;

Nor pause, nor heed, till I behold

The happy, happy Hills of Rest.

Albert Bigelow Paine [1861

AT THE TOP OF THE ROAD

"BUT, Lord," she said, "my shoulders still are strongI have been used to bear the load so long;

"And see, the hill is passed, and smooth the road
"Yet," said the Stranger, "yield me now thy load."

Gently he took it from her, and she stood

Straight-limbed and lithe, in new-found maidenhood,

Amid long, sunlit fields; around them sprang
A tender breeze, and birds and rivers sang.

"My Lord," she said, "the land is very fair!" Smiling, he answered: "Was it not so there?”

"There?" In her voice a wondering question lay: "Was I not always here, then, as to-day?"

He turned to her with strange, deep eyes aflame: "Knowest thou not this kingdom, nor my name?"

"Nay," she replied: "but this I understandThat thou art Lord of Life in this dear land!"

"Yea, child," he murmured, scarce above his breath: "Lord of the Land! but men have named me Death." Charles Buxton Going [1863

SHEMUEL

SHEMUEL, the Bethlehemite,
Watched a fevered guest at night;
All his fellows fared afield

Saw the angel host revealed;

He nor caught the mystic story,
Heard the song, nor saw the glory.

Through the night they gazing stood,
Heard the holy multitude;

Back they came in wonder home,
Knew the Christmas kingdom come,

Eyes aflame and hearts elated;
Shemuel sat alone, and waited.

Works of mercy now, as then,
Hide the angel host from men;
Hearts attuned to earthly love
Miss the angel notes above;
Deeds at which the world rejoices,
Quench the sound of angel voices.

She and He

So they thought, nor deemed from whence

His celestial recompense.

Shemuel, by the fever bed,

Touched by beckoning hands that led,
Died, and saw the Uncreated;

All his fellows lived, and waited.

3351

Edward Ernest Bowen [1836–1901]

SHE AND HE

"SHE is dead!" they said to him.

"Come away;

Kiss her and leave her!-thy love is clay!"

They smoothed her tresses of dark brown hair;
On her forehead of marble they laid it fair;

Over her eyes, that gazed too much,
They drew the lids with a gentle touch;

With a tender touch they closed up well
The sweet thin lips that had secrets to tell:

About her brows, and her dear, pale face,
They tied her veil and her marriage-lace:

And drew on her white feet her white silk shoes;-
Which were the whiter no eye could choose!

And over her bosom they crossed her hands;
"Come away," they said,-"God understands!"

And then there was Silence;-and nothing there
But the Silence-and scents of eglantere,

And jasmine, and roses, and rosemary;
And they said, "As a lady should lie, lies she!"

And they held their breath till they left the room,
With a shudder to glance at its stillness and gloom.