No maiden at her task did ply,
Nor sportive child was seen :
The lonely dog barked wearily,
Where dwellers once had been.
Oh! beauteous were the palaces
Of Jordan wont to be;
And still they glimmered to the breeze,
Like stars beneath the sea;
But vultures held their Jubilee,
Where harp and cymbal rung;
And there, as if in mockery,
The baleful satyr sung.
But oh! that prophet's vision'd eye,
On Carmel that reclined!
It looked not on the times gone by,
But those that were behind :
His grey hair streamed upon the wind-
His hands were raised on high-
As mirror'd on his mystic mind,
Arose futurity.
He saw the feast at Bozrah spread,
Prepared in ancient day,
Eastward away the eagle sped,
And all the birds of prey;
'Who's this,' he cried, 'comes by the way Of Edom, all divine
Travelling in splendor, whose array
Is red, but not with wine?'
Blest be the herald of our King,
That comes to set us free!
The dwellers of the rocks shall sing,
And utter praise to thee!
Tabor and Hermon yet shall see
Their glories glow again,
And blossoms spring on field and tree,
That ever shall remain.
The happy child in dragon's way,
Shall frolic with delight;
The lamb shall round the leopard play,
And all in love unite!
The dove on Zion's hill shall light,
That all the world may see;
Hail to the Journeyer in his might,
That comes to set us free!'
'Tis the hour of even now,
And with meditative brow,
Seeking truths as yet unknown,
Bishop Hubert walks alone.
Fain would he with earnest thought
Nature's secret laws be taught,
Learn the destinies of man,
And creation's wonders scan.
And further yet from these would trace Hidden mysteries of grace,
Dive into the deepest theme,
Solve redemption's glorious scheme.
Far he has not roamed, before,
On the solitary shore,
He has found a little child,
By his seeming play beguiled.
In the drifted barren sand,
It has scooped with baby hand,
Small recess in which might float
Sportive fairy's tiny boat.
From a hollow shell the while,
See 'tis filling, with a smile,
Pool as shallow as may be
With the waters of the sea.
Hear the smiling bishop ask,
'What can mean such infant task?'
Mark that infant's answer plain-
"'Tis to hold yon mighty main.'
'Foolish infant,' Hubert cries,
'Open if thou canst, thy eyes;
Can a hollow scooped by thee
Hope to hold the boundless sea
Soon that child on ocean's brim,
Opes its eyes and turns to him;
Well does Hubert read its look,
Glance of innocent rebuke.
While a voice is heard to say,
If the pool thus scooped in play
Cannot hold the mighty sea,
What must thy researches be?
'Canst thou hope to make thine own,
Secrets known to God alone?
Can thy faculty confined,
Compass the Eternal Mind?"
Bishop Hubert turned away-
He has learnt enough to-day.
WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE
TELL me not in mournful numbers
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Finds us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still like muffled drums are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of life,
Be not like dumb driven cattle,
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act-act in the living Present
Heart within, and God o'erhead.
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime, And departing leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time.
Footprints, that perhaps another
Sailing o'er life's stormy main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
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