Poems of the Heart and Home

Excerpt

YES, THE WEARY EARTH SHALL BRIGHTEN.

Yes, the weary earth shall brighten—
  Brighten in the perfect day,
And the fields that now but whiten,
  Golden glow beneath the ray!
Slowly swelling in her bosom,
  Long the precious seed has lain,—
Soon shall come the perfect blossom,
  Soon, the rich, abundant grain!

Long has been the night of weeping,
  But the morning dawns at length,
And, the misty heights o'ersweeping,
  Lo, the sun comes forth in strength!
Down the slopes of ancient mountains,
  Over plain, and vale, and stream,
Flood, and field, and sparkling fountains,
  Speeds the warm rejoicing beam!

Think not God can fail His promise!
  Think not Christ can be denied!
He shall see His spirit's travail—
  He shall yet be satisfied!
Soon the "Harvest home" of angels
  Shall resound from shore to shore,
And amid Earth's glad evangels,
  Christ shall reign for evermore!

    What! only to stay
    For a single day?
Thou beautiful, bright hued on
    Just to open thine eyes
    To the blue of the skies
And the light of the glorious sun,
    Then, to fade away
    In the same rich ray,
And die ere the day is done?

    Bright thing of a day
    Thou hast caught a ray
From Morn's jewelled curtain fold
    On thy burning cheek,
    And the ruby streak
His dyed it with charms untold—
    And the gorgeous vest
    On thy queenly breast,
Is dashed with her choicest gold.

    A statelier queen
    Has never been seen,
A lovelier never will be!—
    Nay, Solomon, dressed
    In his kingliest best,
Was never a match for thee,
    O beautiful flower,
    O joy of an hour—
And only an hour—for me!

    An hour, did I say?
    Nay, loveliest, nay,
Not thus shall I part with thee,
    But with subtle skill
    I shall keep thee still,
Fadeless and fresh with me:—
    Through toil and duty,
    "A thing of beauty
Forever" my own to be'

    As with drooping head
    Amid thorns I tread,
I shall see thee unfold anew,
    In the desert's dust,
    Where journey I must,
Why beautiful form shall view,
    And visions of Home
    O'er my spirit will come,
As thro' tear-drops I gaze on you'

LIVING AND DYING.

Living for Christ, I die;—how strange, that I,
Thus dying, live,—and yet, thus living, die!
Living for Christ, I die;-yet wondrous thought,
In that same death a deathless life is wrought;—
Living, I die to Earth, to self, to sin;—
Oh, blessed death, in which such life I win!

Dying for Christ, I live!—death cannot be
A terror, then, to one from death set free'
Living for Christ, rich blessings I attain,
Yet, dying for Him, mine is greater gain
Life for my Lord, is death to sin and strife,
Yet death for Him is everlas'ing life!

Dying for Christ, I live!—and yet, not I,
But He lives in me, who did for me die.
I die to live,—He lives to die no more,
Who, in His death my own death-sentence bore
"To live is Christ," if Christ within me reign,
To die more blessed, since "to die is gain!"