Let us remain as living signs, Where they that run may read Yet what no chance could then re-Pain and disgrace in many lines, veal, And neither would be first to own, Let fate and courage now conceal, When truth could bring remorse alone. As of a loss indeed; May tremble at the thought to do ALL THINGS ONCE ARE THINGS ALL things once are things for ever; Once betrayed from childly faith, JULIA WARD HOWE. BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC. | As he died to make men holy, let us MINE eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord; He is trampling out the vintage where die to make men free, While God is marching on! [From Thoughts in Père la Chaise.] IMAGINED REPLY OF ELOISA TO THE POET'S QUESTIONING. 1 have seen him in the watch-fires of His day is marching on. I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel: "As ye deal with my contemners, so He has sounded forth the trumpet that fore his judgment-seat; Our God is marching on. In the beauty of the lilies Christ was WHAT was I cannot tell thou know'st our story, Know'st how we stole God's treasure from on high; Without heaven's virtue we had heaven's glory, Too justly our delights were doomed to die. "Intense as were our blisses, e'en so painful The keen privation it was ours to All states, all places barren proved "Till, to the cloister's solitude repairing, Our feet the way of holier sorrows trod, Hid from each other, yet together sharing The labor of the Providence of God "O thou who call'st on me! if that This was a maiden, light of foot, thou bearest Whose bloom and laughter, fresh and She ranged my hair with gem or flower, Careful, the festal draperies hung, My highest joy she could not share, “And she shall live with me," I said, Or else, methought, some farmer bold Should woo and win my gentle Lizzie, And I should stock her house fourfold, Be with her wedding blithely busy. But lo! Consumption's spectral form Sucks from her lips the flickering breath; In these pale flowers, these tear-drops warm, Without is tender yearning, And tender love is within; ONCE on my mother's breast, a child, They can hear each other's heart I crept, Holding my breath; There, safe and sad, lay shuddering, and wept At the dark mystery of Death. Weary and weak, and worn with all unrest, Spent with the strife. O mother, let me weep upon thy breast At the sad mystery of Life! THANKSGIVING. LORD, for the erring thought For ignorant hopes that were CONVENTION. HE falters on the threshold, beats, But a wooden door is between. THE POET'S FRIENDS. THE robin sings in the elm; The cattle stand beneath Sedate and grave with great brown eyes And fragrant meadow-breath. They listen to the flattered bird, The wise-looking, stupid things; And they never understand a word Of all the robin sings. THE MULBERRIES. On the Rialto Bridge we stand; The street ebbs under and makes no sound; But, with bargains shrieked on every hand, The noisy market rings around. "Mulberries, fine mulberries, here! A tuneful voice, - and light, light measure; Though I hardly should count these mulberries dear, If I paid three times the price for my pleasure. |