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MARTHA, THY MAIDEN FOOT.
MARTHA, thy maiden foot is still so light
It leaves no legible trace on virgin snows:
The Chambered Nautilus.
HIS is the ship of pearl which, poets feign,
The venturous bark that flings
On the sweet summer wind its purple wings
Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.
THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS.
Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl:
Where its dim-dreaming life was wont to dwell,
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed.
Year after year beheld the silent toil
Still as the spiral grew,
He left the past year's dwelling for the new,
Built up its idle door,
Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.
Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,
Child of the wandering sea,
Cast from her lap, forlorn!
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born
While on mine ear it rings,
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:
Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,
As the swift seasons roll!
Leave thy low-vaulted past!
Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
Till thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!
OLIVER W. HOLMES.
Haste Not! Rest Not.
Bind the motto to thy breast;
Bear it with thee as a spell;
Storm or sunshine, guard it well!
Heed not flowers that round thee bloom,
Bear it onward to the tomb!
Haste not! Let no thoughtless deed
Ponder well, and know the right,
Rest not! Life is sweeping by,
When these forms have passed away.
Haste not! rest not! calmly wait;
Meekly bear the storms of fate!
Haste not! rest not! conflicts past,
JOHANN W. VON GOETHE.
BRINGING OUR SHEAVES WITH US.
Bringing our Sheaves with us.
HE time for toil has passed, and night has come,-
Last of the laborers, thy feet I gain,
Lord of the harvest! and my spirit grieves
Few, light, and worthless,-yet their trifling weight
Full well I know I have more tares than wheat,
Brambles and flowers, dry stalks and withered leaves; Wherefore I blush and weep, as at thy feet I kneel down reverently and repeat,
"Master, behold my sheaves !"
I know these blossoms, clustering heavily,
Therefore shall fragrancy and beauty be
So do I gather strength and hope anew;
"It is more Blessed."
IVE! as the morning that flows out of heaven;
Give! as the waves when their channel is riven; Give! as the free air and sunshine are given; Lavishly, utterly, joyfully give:
Not the waste drops of thy cup overflowing,
Give, as He gave thee, who gave thee to live.
Pour out thy love, like the rush of a river,
Through the burnt sands that reward not the giver;
Scatter thy life, as the summer showers pouring!
Look to the life that was lavished for thee!
So the wild wind strews its perfumed caresses,
Never it ceaseth to whisper and sing.
Fairest the vines that on ruin will cling.
Almost the day of thy giving is over;
Ere from the grass dies the bee-haunted clover,
Thou shalt know God, and the gift that he gave.