Verses | Page 7

yellow Nile, 'tis said.
Joseph, the youthful ruler,
cast forth wheat,
That haply, floating to his father's feet,--
The sad
old father, who believed him dead,--
It might be sign in Egypt there
was bread;
And thus the patriarch, past the desert sands
And scant
oasis fringed with thirsty green,
Be lured toward the love that yearned
unseen.
So, flung and scattered--ah! by what dear hands?--
On the
swift-rushing and invisible tide,
Small tokens drift adown from far,
fair lands,
And say to us, who in the desert bide,
"Are you athirst?
Are there no sheaves to bind?
Beloved, here is fulness; follow on and
find."
HER GOING.
SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE.
She stood in the open door,
She blessed them faint and low:
"I must
go," she said, "must go
Away from the light of the sun,
Away from
you, every one;
Must see your eyes no more,--
Your eyes, that love
me so.
"I should not shudder thus,
Nor weep, nor be afraid.
Nor cling to
you so dismayed,
Could I only pierce with ray eyes
Where the dark,
dark shadow lies;
Where something hideous
Is hiding, perhaps,"
she said.
Then slowly she went from them,
Went down the staircase grim,

With trembling heart and limb;
Her footfalls echoed
In the silence
vast and dead,
Like the notes of a requiem,
Not sung, but uttered.
For a little way and a black
She groped as grope the blind,
Then a
sudden radiance shined,
And a vision her eyelids burned;
All
joyfully she turned,
For a moment turned she back,
And smiled at
those behind.
There in the shadows drear
An angel sat serene,
Of grave and

tender mien,
With whitest roses crowned;
A scythe lay on the
ground,
As reaping-time were near,--
A burnished scythe and a
keen.
She did not start or pale
As the angel rose and laid
His hand on hers,
nor said
A word, hut beckoned on;
For a glorious meaning shone

On the lips that told no tale,
And she followed him, unafraid.
Her friends wept for a space;
Then one said: "Be content;
Surely
some good is meant
For her, our Beautiful,--
Some glorious good
and full.
Did you not see her face,
Her dear smile, as she went?"
A LONELY MOMENT.
I sit alone in the gray,
The snow falls thick and fast,
And never a
sound have I heard all day
But the wailing of the blast,
And the hiss
and click of the snow, whirling to and fro.
There seems no living thing
Left in the world but I;
My thoughts fly
forth on restless wing,
And drift back wearily,
Storm-beaten,
buffeted, hopeless, and almost dead.
No one there is to care;
Not one to even know
Of the lonely day and
the dull despair
As the hours ebb and flow,
Slow lingering, as fain
to lengthen out my pain.
And I think of the monks of old,
Each in his separate cell,
Hearing
no sound, except when tolled
The stated convent bell.
How could
they live and bear that silence everywhere?
And I think of tumbling seas,
'Neath cruel, lonely skies;
And
shipwrecked sailors over these
Stretching their hungry eyes,--
Eyes
dimmed with wasting tears for weary years on years,--
Pacing the hopeless sand,
Wistful and wan and pale,

Each
foam-flash like a beckoning hand,
Each wave a glancing sail,
And

so for days and days, and still the sail delays.
I hide my eyes in vain,
In vain I try to smile;
That urging vision
comes again,
The sailor on his isle,
With none to hear his cry, to
help him live--or die!
And with the pang a thought
Breaks o'er me like the sun,
Of the
great listening Love which caught
Those accents every one,
Nor
lost one faintest word, but always, always heard.
The monk his vigil pale
Could lighten with a smile,
The sailor's
courage need not fail
Upon his lonely isle;
For there, as here, by sea
or land, the pitying Lord stood
close at hand.
O coward heart of mine!
When storms shall beat again,
Hold firmly
to this thought divine,
As anchorage in pain:
That, lonely though
thou seemest to be, the Lord is near,
remembering thee.
COMMUNION.
What is it to commune?
It is when soul meets soul, and they embrace

As souls may, stooping from each separate sphere
For a brief moment's space.
What is it to commune?
It is to lay the veil of custom by,
To be all
unafraid of truth to talk,
Face to face, eye to eye.
Not face to face, dear Lord;
That is the joy of brighter worlds to be;

And yet, Thy bidden guests about Thy board,

We do commune with Thee.
Behind the white-robed priest
Our eyes, anointed with a sudden grace,

Dare to conjecture of a mighty guest,
A dim beloved Face.
And is it Thou, indeed?
And dost Thou lay Thy glory all away
To
visit us, and with Thy grace to feed
Our hungering hearts to-day?
And can a thing so sweet,
And can such heavenly condescension be?

Ah! wherefore tarry thus our lingering feet?
It can be none but Thee.
There is the gracious ear
That never yet was deaf to sinner's call;

We will not linger, and we dare not fear,
But kneel,--and tell Thee all.
We tell Thee of our sin
Only half loathed, only half wished away,

And those clear eyes of Love that look within
Rebuke us,