Read Ebook: Indian Legends and Other Poems by Horsford Mary Gardiner

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e soul.

SPRING LILIES.

'Neath their green and cool cathedrals, In the garden lilies bloom, Casting to the fresh Spring Zephyrs Peal on peal of sweet perfume. Often have I, pausing near them When the sunset flushed the sky, Seen the coral bells vibrating With their fragrant harmony.

And, within my quiet dwelling, I have now a Lily fair, Whose young spirit's sweet Spring budding Watch I with unfailing care: God, in placing her beside me, Made my being most complete, And my heart keeps time for ever With the music of her feet.

I remember not, while gazing In her earnest eyes of blue, That the earth has aught of sorrow Aught less innocent and true; And the restlessness and longing Wakened by the cares of day, With the burden and the tumult, In her presence fall away.

Shield my Lily, Holy Father! Shield her from the whirlwind's might, But protracted sunshine temper With a soft and starry night; 'Neath the burning suns of Summer, Withered, scorched, the spring-flower lies, Human hearts contract, when strangers Long to clouds and tearful eyes.

Give her purpose strong and holy, Faith and self-devotion high; These Life's common by-ways brighten Every hope intensify. Teach her all the brave endurance That the sons of earth require; May she, with a patient labor, To the great and good aspire.

Should some mighty grief oppress her, Heavier than she can bear, Oh! sustain her by Thy presence, Hear and answer Thou her prayer: And whene'er the storms of winter Round my precious Lily reign, To a fairer clime transplant her, There to live and bloom again.

LINES TO D. G. T., OF SHERWOOD.

Blessings on thee, noble boy! With thy sunny eyes of blue, Speaking in their cloudless depths Of a spirit pure and true.

In thy thoughtful look and calm, In thy forehead broad and high, We have seemed to meet again One whose home is in the sky.

Thou to Earth art still a stranger, To Life's tumult and unrest; Angel visitants alone Stir the fountains in thy breast.

Thou hast yet no Past to shadow With a fear the Future's light, And the Present spreads before thee Boundless as the Infinite.

But each passing hour must waken Energies that slumber now, Manhood with its fire and action Stamp that fair, unfurrowed brow.

Into Life's sublime arena, Opening through the world's broad mart, Bear thy Mother's gentle spirit, And her kind and loving heart.

With exalted hope and purpose, To the great and good aspire; Downward, in unsullied glory, Hand the honor of thy sire,--

With that love for Truth and Justice, Future annals shall declare Highest proof of moral greatness;-- Nobly live and bravely dare.

Cloudless pass thine infant days, Childhood bring thee naught but joy, Manhood, thought, and dignity; Blessings on thee, noble boy!

LITTLE KATE.

Beside me, in the golden light That slants upon the floor, She twines the many-colored silks Her dimpled fingers o'er; Uplifting now and then her eye, Or praise or blame in mine to spy.

For her sweet sake I've cast aside The books I've loved so well, And given up my being to Affection's mighty spell; Ambition's visions vanish all, Before the music of her call.

The fancy of the past, that lent To jewels bright and rare Ascendency at every birth In this our planet's air, Hath to October's children given The opal with its hues of Heaven.

The golden sunlight in the sky, The red leaf on the plain; Beneath the opal's changeful light Hope and Misfortune reign; And mid gay leaves of wondrous dyes, My darling first unclosed her eyes.

I cannot in the future look The augury to prove, But earthly joys and earthly woes Must human spirits move; And she, like all, must strive with care, Disasters meet, and suffering bear.

But I will teach her hopefully To meet what Fate betides, To live and labor earnestly, In narrow path or wide; And, with salt tears on paling cheek, A benediction still to speak.

And if in some sweet inner sphere, Some home of love apart, An angel's duty she fulfil With but a woman's heart, Haply the red leaf, in its advent, may Find Hope o'er sorrow dominant for aye.

A THOUGHT OF THE STARS.

I remember once, when a careless child, I played on the mossy lea; The stars looked forth in the shadowy west, And I stole to my mother's knee,

With a handful of stemless violets, wet With the drops of gathering dew, And asked of the wonderful points of light That shone in the distant blue.

She told me of numberless worlds, that rolled Through the measureless depths above, Created by infinite might and power, Supported by infinite love.

She told of a faith that she called divine, Of a fairer and happier home; Of hope unsullied by grief or fear, And a loftier life to come.

She told of seraphs, on wings of light, That floated from star to star, And were sometimes sent on a mission high To a blighted orb afar.

And with childish sense, I forgot the worlds, She had pointed out on high, And deemed each wonderful beam of light The glance of an angel's eye.

And when she knelt with her babes in prayer,-- I know each petition now,-- I saw the gleam of those wings of light Lie beautiful on her brow.

And when I turned from that silent room Where the latest word was spoken, The shadow of death o'er my spirit lay, And I thought that my heart was broken

I sought the hush of the midnight air, And wept till the founts were dry; The earth was clad in a wintry garb, But the star host filled the sky.

And then I remembered the faith divine And the loftier life to come, And felt the shadow of Death depart From my childhood's sacred home.

And often now when my heart is faint With earth and its wearying care, When my soul is sick with a feverish thirst And burdened with contrite prayer,

I hasten forth to the starry gems, That circle the brow of night, And track with them the eloquent depths Of the boundless Infinite.

They whisper low of a holier life And a faith sublime and high; And again I fancy each golden beam The glance of a seraph's eye,

As in days of yore, when a careless child, I stole to my mother's knee, And asked of the wonderful points of light That shone o'er the deep, blue sea.

A MOTHER'S PRAYER.

I knelt beside a little bed, The curtains drew away, And, 'mid the soft, white folds beheld, Two rosy sleepers lay; The one had seen three summers smile And lisped her evening prayer; The other,--only one year's shade Was on her flaxen hair.

No sense of duties ill performed Weighed on each heaving breast, No weariness of work-day care Disturbed their tranquil rest; The stars to them as yet were in The reach of baby hand, Temptation, trial, grief, were words They could not understand.

But in the coming years I saw The turbulence of life O'erwhelm this calm of innocence With melancholy strife; "From all the foes that lurk without, From feebleness within, What Sovereign guard from Heaven," I asked, "Will strong beseeching win?"

Then to my soul a vision came, Illuming, cheering all, Of him who stood with shining front On Dothan's ancient wall; And, while his servant's heart grew faint As he beheld with fear The Syrian bands encompassing The city far and near,

The servant's eyes bewildered gazed On chariots of fire, On seraphs clad in mails of light, Resistless in their ire; On ranks of angels marshalled close, Where roving comets run, On silver shields and rainbow wings, Outspread before the sun.

I saw the Syrian hosts, at noon, Led sightless through the land, And longed to grasp the Prophet's robe Within my feeble hand; While my whole soul went out in deep And passionate appeal, That faith like his might set within My babes' pure hearts its seal.

NOTES.

'T is said the radiant stars of night, When viewed through different air, Appear not all in golden robes, But various colors wear.

In Syria, where the atmosphere is less humid than ours, the whole heavens are said to sparkle at night, as with various-colored gems.

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