What bright things, hid from star and foam,
Lay in her heart for thee!
The stormy billows heave and dip,
The wild winds veer and play;
But, regnant all, God’s stately ship
Is steering home this way!
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Suggested by a drawing of Thomas Moran, the American painter
This must be the very night!The moon knows it!-and the trees!They stand straight upright,Each a sentinel drawn up,As if they dared not knowWhich way the wind might blow!The very pool, with dead gray eye,Dully expectant, feels it nigh,And begins to curdle and freeze!And the dark night,With its fringe of light,Holds the secret in its cup!II….
Ah, holy midnight of the soul,
When winds are resting at their goal,And sea-waves only sigh!Ambition faints from out the will;Asleep sad longing lies;All hope of good, all fear of ill,All need of action dies;Because God is, and claims the lifeHe kindled in thy brain;And thou in him, rapt far from strife,Diest and liv’st again.
‘Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?’
Quo’ Death;‘No i’ the pyramids,No whaur the wormie rids‘Neth coffin-lids;I bidena whaur life has been,An’ whaur’s nae mair to be dune.’‘Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?’‘Wi’ the leevin, to dee ‘at are laith,’Quo’ Death;‘Wi’ the man an’ the wife‘At loo like life,Bot strife;Wi’ the bairns ‘at hing to their mither,Wi’ a’ ‘at loo ane…
O do not leave me, mother, lest I weep;
The mother’s presence leads her down to sleep-Leaves her contented there.O do not leave me, lover, brother, friends,Till I am dead, and resting in my place.Love-compassed thus, the girl in peace ascends,And leaves a raptured face.Leave me not, God, until-nay, until when?Not till I have with thee one heart, one mind;Not till the Life is…
Methought I floated sightless, nor did know
As of a mighty man in agony:‘How long, Lord, shall I lie thus foul and slow?The arrows of thy lightning through me go,And sting and torture me-yet here I lieA shapeless mass that scarce can mould a sigh!’The darkness thinned; I saw a thing belowLike sheeted corpse, a knot at head and feet.Slow clomb the…
Loosener of springs, he died by thee!
He loved thee-and thou mad’st him freeOf all the place thou comest from!