104. A PSALM OF LIFE.
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 Find us further 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 solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait!
"ROOм for the leper! room!" And, as he came, The cry passed on-" Room for the leper! room!" And aside they stood
Matron, and child, and pitiless manhood-all Who met him on his way, and let him pass. And onward through the open gate he came, A leper, with the ashes on his brow, Sackcloth about his loins, and on his lip A covering,-stepping painfully and slow, And with a difficult utterance, like one Whose heart is with an iron nerve put down, Crying, "Unclean! unclean!"
Of the Judean autumn, and the leaves,
Whose shadows lay so still upon
Had put their beauty forth beneath the eye Of Judah's loftiest noble.
And eminently beautiful, and life
Mantled in eloquent fulness on his lip, And sparkled in his glance; and in his mien There was a gracious pride that every eye Followed with benisons-and this was he! With the soft airs of summer, there had come A torpor on his frame, which not the speed Of his best barb, nor music, nor the blast Of the bold huntsman's horn, nor aught that stirs The spirit to its bent, might drive away. The blood beat not as wont within his veins ; Dimness crept o'er his eye; a drowsy sloth Fettered his limbs like palsy, and his mien, With all its loftiness, seemed struck with eld. Even his voice was changed-a languid moan Taking the place of the clear silver key; And brain and sense grew faint, as if the light And very air were steeped in sluggishness. He strove with it a while, as manhood will, Ever too proud for weakness, till the rein Slackened within his grasp, and in its poise The arrowy jereed, like an aspen, shook. Day after day, he lay as if asleep :
His skin grew dry and bloodless, and white scales, Circled with livid purple, covered him,
-And Helon was a leper!
And Helon knelt beside a stagnant pool In the lone wilderness, and bathed his brow, Hot with the burning leprosy, and touched The loathsome water to his fevered lips, Praying that he might be so blest-to die! Footsteps approached, and, with no strength to flee, He drew the covering closer on his lip, Crying, "Unclean! unclean!" and in the folds Of the coarse sackcloth shrouding up his face, He fell upon the earth till they should pass. Nearer the Stranger came, and, bending o'er The leper's prostrate form, pronounced his name- "Helon!" The voice was like the master-tone Of a rich instrument-most strangely sweet; And the dull pulses of disease awoke, And for a moment beat beneath the hot And leprous scales with a restoring thrill. "Helon! arise!" and he forgot his curse, And rose and stood before Him.
He looked on Helon earnestly a while,
As if his heart were moved, and stooping down, He took a little water in his hand,
And laid it on his brow, and said, "Be clean!" And lo! the scales fell from him, and his blood Coursed with delicious coolness through his veins, And his dry palms grew moist, and on his brow The dewy softness of an infant's stole. His leprosy was cleansed, and he fell down Prostrate at Jesus' feet and worshipped him.
NATURE is man's best teacher. She unfolds Her treasures to his search, unseals his eye, Illumes his mind, and purifies his heart. Her influence breathes in all the sights and sounds Of her existence; she is Wisdom's self.
Rest yields she to the weary of the earth; Its heavy-laden she endows with strength. When sorrow presses on us, when the stings Of bitter disappointment pierce our soul, When our eye sickens at the sight of man, Our ear turns loathing from his jarring voice,- The shadowy forest and the quiet field Are then our comforters. A medicine Breathes in the wind that fans our fevered brow, The blessed sunshine yields a sweet delight, The bird's low warble thrills within our breast, The flower is eloquent with peace and joy, And better thoughts come o'er us. Lighter heart And purer feelings cheer our homeward way. We prize more deep the blessings that are ours, And rest a higher, holier trust in God.
And when the splendid summer moonlight bathes, Blinding the stars, night's purple sky, in rich, Transparent splendor, brightening all below, As though, at God's command, earth's angel-guard Had dropped his silver mantle from his form Upon her, to protect her helpless sleep, Nature speaks soothing music, stealing through Each avenue to the heart, till all is peace.
She teaches us of God,
Her Architect-her Master. At his feet She crouches, and in offering him her praise From myriad altars, and in myriad tones, She bids man praise him also. In the broad Magnificent ocean, surging in wild foam, Yet bounded in its madness; in the fierce, Shrieking, and howling tempest, crashing on In desolating wrath, yet curbed with reins,- She shows his awful power, yet tender care · In the wide sunlight, in the murmuring rains, And changes of the seasons, she proclaims His wide beneficence, exhaustless love.
FAST the white race spread,
And fast they scattered here rude clearings through The leafy desert. The tall blockhouse rose, Surrounded by its stooping cabin-roofs, And belted with its pointed palisades.
The axe rung always, and the echoes woke To the down-crashing woods.
From the wood-moss, and cattle lowed where rose The bleating of the deer, and where the wolf
Howled to the moon. The rifle brought quick death, In hard, strong hands, to the majestic moose And bounding deer. The eagle stooped to it. The darting salmon felt the barbed point Of the torch-lighted spear; the spotted trout Leapt at the butterfly, and found quick death. The beaver, paddling round his ancient stream, Felt the sharp talons of some hidden trap, And meekly died. The otter rose to breathe, And saw the red shot glancing from the bush- And gasped in blood. The winter snows fell deep; And the pale, starving Indian, lingering near The pale-face village, sought in vain the deer, For paths, broad-stamped around with snow-shoes, told The white man's rifle had been there before him. In vain he sought the drifts that choked so deep The laurels, for the partridge or the quail; In vain he searched the hollow tree, made mad With hunger, for the torpid bear, to wrestle E'en with that shaggy foeman for his flesh. Skill and strange knowledge also had been there, And, on the village green, with forehead bored With the swift bullet, stood the black square frame Of the dead monster, frozen stiff with cold. What wonder that he clutched his tomahawk And drew his knife, and swore, on bended knee, By Hah-wen-né-yo, he would be revenged! What wonder that the midnight sky blushed red! What wonder that the settler sank in death Beside his plough, or tinged the golden wheat With his own blood! What wonder that the child Saw the fierce eyeball gleaming from the thicket,
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