We walked, O Master, in a maze of doubt, Misgiving, grief, and great perplexity, Knowing not where to turn, what to believe, Then, through the tumult did we hear Thee say, ‘All Hail!’ O, words of cheer! O, greeting, glad!
These words shall be a song--a song of joy For a sad world to sing, a glorious song Of triumph, and immortality, The glad notes shall ring clearly up to heaven, And echo down through hell. All Hail! The Son of God Hath left the grave and given us Life, All Hail!
Someone had told her that a sea-nymph dwelt Within a murmuring shell, she called her own, And she did love to hold it to her ear, And always she could catch the meaning of Its song.
When she was gay the nymph she thought Sang joyously, when she was sad at heart The murmuring voice seemed full of plaint and tears. One day, when longings softly stirred her breast, She took the shell down to the shore and sat Listening to all the things it had to tell, Till, by-and-by, so homesick grew the voice That called back to the waves when they did call, A pity for its loneliness did make Her suddenly resolve to set it free, So with a stone she brake the shell in twain, _’Twas empty as the air._
Who was it told Her such a fair untruth--a pretty lie? A mist fell down upon the wooded hills, And crept from thence out over all the sea, Her soft eyes caught it in their depth and held It prisoner, till presently it grew Too strong and subtle for the wide white lids Which made but timid trembling sentinels, And let it slip to liberty unchallenged. The light unfeeling waves about her feet Laughed at her grieving over such a thing-- Laughed, calling to her as they rushed and ran, “O pretty little one! That one bright day Didst think thyself so wise--didst count thyself So rich? O foolish, foolish child, to weep And break thy little heart o’er something that Is not--has never been, save, in thy thought!”
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Dear one, who crossed the border land Into a world of love and song, One of the tender white-robed band To whom eternal joys belong! Thy memory lives within my heart, Will live until thy face I see; The two worlds lie not far apart, I soon will be at home with thee.
Gracious the sceptre that He wields, Heart! do you understand? All, all is His--His great arm shields That which is bare, and that which yields, Lord is He of the harvest fields, And of the barren land.