Back at my side she took her place, And looking at her, I could trace An added sweetness in her face.
We came into the dusk and gloom, Out of the glowing fragrant room, Walled in and carpeted with bloom.
Did the angel pluck thee, my blossom fair, Ere the morning sun had spent its glow, While the dew of heaven lay bright and clear In each folded leaf? Ah, the angels know, They gather our sweetest, our heart’s delight To bloom where there cometh not frost nor blight.
[Illustration: Decorative image unavailable.]
When Satan sends--to vex the mind of man And urge him on to meanness and to wrong-- His satellites, there is not one that can Acquit itself like Envy. Not so strong As lust, so quick as fear, so big as hate-- A pigmy thing, the twin of sordid greed-- Its work, all noble things to under-rate, Decry fair face, fair form, fair thought, fair deed, A sneer it has for what is highest, best, For love’s soft voice, and virtue’s robe of white; Truth is not true, and pity is not kind, A great task done is but a pastime light. Tormented, and tormenting is the mind That grants to Envy room to make its nest.
If some day in your heart is born the thought That one held dear is careless of the gift Of tenderness, so fully, freely given, I pray you, friend, to strangle it at birth.
There are no losses half so real to us, As losses which are not--have never been-- A friendship gone! we say, and drop a tear For wasted faith, and love, and loyalty.
When, if we did but know the simple truth, The gladness in these foolish hearts of ours-- The gladness and the full content would leave No room for sadness, and no place for doubt.
How close will Jesus come to thee? So close thine eyes can trace The wondrous love He has for thee, Upon His shining face.
How close will Jesus come to thee? So close, that thou cans’t feel The sense of safety that He brings O’er all thy being steal.
How close will Jesus come to thee? So close that thou canst hear The whisper of His tender voice Ring softly on thine ear.
How close will Jesus come to thee? So close that doubts will cease-- Thy soul with sorrow weighed, and sin, Find healing--joy--and peace.
To me, there comes a time in leafy June When nature calls from wood, and stream, and field, Calls low at dawn, calls loud and clear at noon, Calls most persuasively when stars come out Up in the blue, and other voices hush, And _Come_! I hear her say, _come out with me_, Come leave the low cramped rooms, the weary task, Come take the path through meadow, and through wood, Climb up the breezy hills and look abroad, Climb down into the valleys deep and wide And rest a space! There is no rest so full As that which I will give you as you lie On grassy knoll; I’ll give for lullaby The rustle of the leaves tossed by the wind, For covering the sunbeams meshed and snared By waving boughs; I’ll fill your lungs with air Made fragrant in the bowers I call my own. Come! Come! I’ll keep you company, I have A potion brewed, a wondrous healing thing, Which brings forgetfulness of lurking care, And rubs out from the mind the memory Of loss, of striving and defeat--Come! Come!