Legends and Lyrics, Pt 2 | Page 8

one day at the Organ,?I was weary and ill at ease,?And my fingers wandered idly?Over the noisy keys.
I do not know what I was playing,?Or what I was dreaming then;?But I struck one chord of music,?Like the sound of a great Amen.
It flooded the crimson twilight?Like the close of an Angel's Psalm,?And it lay on my fevered spirit?With a touch of infinite calm.
It quieted pain and sorrow,?Like love overcoming strife;?It seemed the harmonious echo?From our discordant life.
It linked all perplexed meanings?Into one perfect peace,?And trembled away into silence?As if it were loth to cease.
I have sought, but I seek it vainly,?That one lost chord divine,?Which came from the soul of the Organ,?And entered into mine.
It may be that Death's bright angel?Will speak in that chord again, -?It may be that only in Heaven?I shall hear that grand Amen.
VERSE: TOO LATE
Hush! speak low; tread softly;?Draw the sheet aside; -?Yes, she does look peaceful;?With that smile she died.
Yet stern want and sorrow?Even now you trace?On the wan, worn features?Of the still white face.
Restless, helpless, hopeless,?Was her bitter part; -?Now--how still the Violets?Lie upon her Heart!
She who toiled and laboured?For her daily bread;?See the velvet hangings?Of this stately bed.
Yes, they did forgive her;?Brought her home at last;?Strove to cover over?Their relentless past.
Ah, they would have given?Wealth, and home, and pride,?To see her just look happy?Once before she died!
They strove hard to please her,?But, when death is near?All you know is deadened,?Hope, and joy, and fear.
And besides, one sorrow?Deeper still--one pain?Was beyond them: healing?Came to-day--in vain!
If she had but lingered?Just a few hours more;?Or had this letter reached her?Just one day before!
I can almost pity?Even him to-day;?Though he let this anguish?Eat her heart away.
Yet she never blamed him:-?One day you shall know?How this sorrow happened;?It was long ago.
I have read the letter:?Many a weary year,?For one word she hungered -?There are thousands here.
If she could but hear it,?Could but understand;?See--I put the letter?In her cold white hand.
Even these words, so longed for,?Do not stir her rest;?Well--I should not murmur,?For God judges best.
She needs no more pity, -?But I mourn his fate,?When he hears his letter?Came a day too late.
VERSE: THE REQUITAL
Loud roared the Tempest,?Fast fell the sleet;?A little Child Angel?Passed down the street,?With trailing pinions,?And weary feet.
The moon was hidden;?No stars were bright;?So she could not shelter?In heaven that night,?For the Angels' ladders?Are rays of light.
She beat her wings?At each window pane,?And pleaded for shelter,?But all in vain: -?"Listen," they said,?"To the pelting rain!"
She sobbed, as the laughter?And mirth grew higher,?"Give me rest and shelter?Beside your fire,?And I will give you?Your heart's desire."
The dreamer sat watching?His embers gleam,?While his heart was floating?Down hope's bright stream;?. . . So he wove her wailing?Into his dream.
The worker toiled on,?For his time was brief;?The mourner was nursing?Her own pale grief:?They heard not the promise?That brought relief.
But fiercer the Tempest?Rose than before,?When the Angel paused?At a humble door,?And asked for shelter?And help once more.
A weary woman,?Pale, worn, and thin,?With the brand upon her?Of want and sin,?Heard the Child Angel?And took her in.
Took her in gently,?And did her best?To dry her pinions;?And made her rest?With tender pity?Upon her breast.
When the eastern morning?Grew bright and red,?Up the first sunbeam?The Angel fled;?Having kissed the woman?And left her--dead.
VERSE: RETURNED--"MISSING" (FIVE YEARS AFTER)
Yes, I was sad and anxious,?But now, dear, I am gay;?I know that it is wisest?To put all hope away:-?Thank God that I have done so?And can be calm to-day.
For hope deferred--you know it,?Once made my heart so sick:?Now, I expect no longer;?It is but the old trick?Of hope, that makes me tremble,?And makes my heart beat quick.
All day I sit here calmly;?Not as I did before,?Watching for one whose footstep?Comes never, never more . . .?Hush! was that someone passing,?Who paused beside the door?
For years I hung on chances,?Longing for just one word;?At last I feel it:- silence?Will never more be stirred . . .?Tell me once more that rumour,?You fancied you had heard.
Life has more things to dwell on?Than just one useless pain,?Useless and past for ever;?But noble things remain,?And wait us all: . . . you too, dear,?Do you think hope quite vain?
All others have forgotten,?'Tis right I should forget,?Nor live on a keen longing?Which shadows forth regret: . . .?Are not the letters coming??The sun is almost set.
Now that my restless legion?Of hopes and fears is fled,?Reading is joy and comfort . . .?. . .This very day I read,?Oh, such a strange returning?Of one whom all thought dead!
Not that _I_ dream or fancy,?You know all that is past;?Earth has no hope to give me,?And yet:- Time flies so fast?That all but the impossible?Might be brought back at last.
VERSE: IN THE WOOD
In the wood where shadows are deepest?From the branches overhead,?Where the wild wood-strawberries cluster?And the softest moss is spread,?I met to-day with a fairy,?And I followed