Let winds that blow from heaven refresh, The morning twilight of the race Dear Lord, the languid air; And let the weakness of the flesh And, if the eye must fail of light, Sends down these matin psalms; And still with wondering eyes we trace The simple prayers to Soma's grace, That Vedic verse embalms. othe us in our rightful mind, Imple trust like theirs who heard bbath rest by Galilee ! calm of hills above, re Jesus knelt to share with thee that deep hush subduing all othy still dews of quietness, ll all our strivings cease; from our souls the strain and stress, the through the heats of our desire still, small voice of calm! A WOMAN. With grave responses listening unto it : WARFED and wronged, and stained Met a fell monster, huge and fierce of ld thou art a woman still! by that sacred name and dear, spite of change and loss, makes birthright-claim of womanhood; emed and white before the Lord! look, n sweetly sang the | The rush of wind, the ramp and roar arm for love," so ran poned conquers every ROBIN. hbor over the way in the sun of spring, rs the locks of gray, hear the robin sing. laying at marbles, ort as boys will be, he bird, who hopped ugh in the apple-tree. grandmother; "have d, y of the fiery pit, drop, this merciful that quenches it? ew in his little bill, n the souls of sin : ark on his red breast ch as he drops it in. huddyn ! my breast y from limb to limb, art of Our Lord the lost like Him!" O the beautiful myth ; God, in my heart as is a drop wherewith n the fires of hell. ke rain-drops fall, cooling dew, rt of Our Lord are all Him in the good they ISTERS. sisters twain, to the sound of main "Hush, and hearken!" she cried in fear, "Hearest thou nothing, sister dear?” "I hear the sea, and the plash of rain, And roar of the northeast hurricane. "Get thee back to the bed so warm, No good comes of watching a storm. "What is it to thee, I fain would know, That waves are roaring and wild winds blow ? "No lover of thine 's afloat to miss The harbor-lights on a night like this." "But I heard a voice cry out my name, Up from the sea on the wind it came ! "Twice and thrice have I heard it call, And the voice is the voice of Estwick Hall!" On her pillow the sister tossed her head. "Hall of the Heron is safe," she said. "In the tautest schooner that ever swam He rides at anchor in Anisquam. “And, if in peril from swamping sea Or lee shore rocks, would he call on thee?" But the girl heard only the wind and tide, And wringing her small white hands she cried : "O sister Rhoda, there's something wrong; I hear it again, so loud and long. 66 6 'Annie! Annie !' I hear it call, And the voice is the voice of Estwick Hall!" Then out of the sea blew a dreadful blast; | Through the dusty window, curtained Like the cry of a dying man it passed. by the spider's warp and woof, On the loose-laid floor of hemlock, on oaken ribs of roof. The young girl hushed on her lips a groan, But through her tears a strange light shone, The solemn joy of her heart's release "Dearest!" she whispered, under breath, "Life was a lie, but true is death. "The love I hid from myself away Shall crown me now in the light of day. "My ears shall never to wooer list, Never by lover my lips be kissed. "Sacred to thee am I henceforth, Thou in heaven and I on earth!" But her soul went back to its child-time; she saw the sun o'erflow With gold the basin of Minas, and set over Gasperau; She came and stood by her sister's bed: "Hall of the Heron is dead!" she said. The low, bare flats at ebb-tide, the rush of the sea at flood, "The wind and the waves their work Through inlet and creek and river, from have done, Weshall see him no more beneath the sun. "Little will reck that heart of thine, It loved him not with a love like mine. "I, for his sake, were he but here, Could hem and 'broider thy bridal gear, "Though hands should tremble and eyes be wet, And stitch for stitch in my heart be set. "But now my soul with his soul I wed; Thine the living, and mine the dead !” MARGUERITE. MASSACHUSETTS BAY, 1760. THE robins sang in the orchard, the buds into blossoms grew; Little of human sorrow the buds and the robins knew! Sick, in an alien household, the poor dike to upland wood; The gulls in the red of morning, the fish-hawk's rise and fall, The drift of the fog in moonshine, over the dark coast-wall. She saw the face of her mother, she heard the song she sang; And far off, faintly, slowly, the bell for vespers rang! By her bed the hard-faced mistress sat, smoothing the wrinkled sheet, Peering into the face, so helpless, and feeling the ice-cold feet. With a vague remorse atoning for her greed and long abuse, By care no longer heeded and pity too late for use. Up the stairs of the garret softly the son of the mistress stepped, Leaned over the head-board, covering his face with his hands, and wept. Outspake the mother, who watched him sharply, with brow a-frown: "What! love you the Papist, the beg gar, the charge of the town?" |