Occasional Poems | Page 8

all thy debtor,--?That holy life is more than rite,?And spirit more than letter;
That they who differ pole-wide serve?Perchance the common Master,?And other sheep He hath than they?Who graze one narrow pasture!
For truth's worst foe is he who claims?To act as God's avenger,?And deems, beyond his sentry-beat,?The crystal walls in danger!
Who sets for heresy his traps?Of verbal quirk and quibble,?And weeds the garden of the Lord?With Satan's borrowed dibble.
To-day our hearts like organ keys?One Master's touch are feeling;?The branches of a common Vine?Have only leaves of healing.
Co-workers, yet from varied fields,?We share this restful nooning;?The Quaker with the Baptist here?Believes in close communing.
Forgive, dear saint, the playful tone,?Too light for thy deserving;?Thanks for thy generous faith in man,?Thy trust in God unswerving.
Still echo in the hearts of men?The words that thou hast spoken;?No forge of hell can weld again?The fetters thou hast broken.
The pilgrim needs a pass no more?From Roman or Genevan;?Thought-free, no ghostly tollman keeps?Henceforth the road to Heaven!
CHICAGO
The great fire at Chicago was on 8-10 October, 1871.
Men said at vespers: "All is well!"?In one wild night the city fell;?Fell shrines of prayer and marts of gain?Before the fiery hurricane.
On threescore spires had sunset shone,?Where ghastly sunrise looked on none.?Men clasped each other's hands, and said?"The City of the West is dead!"
Brave hearts who fought, in slow retreat,?The fiends of fire from street to street,?Turned, powerless, to the blinding glare,?The dumb defiance of despair.
A sudden impulse thrilled each wire?That signalled round that sea of fire;?Swift words of cheer, warm heart-throbs came;?In tears of pity died the flame!
From East, from West, from South and North,?The messages of hope shot forth,?And, underneath the severing wave,?The world, full-handed, reached to save.
Fair seemed the old; but fairer still?The new, the dreary void shall fill?With dearer homes than those o'erthrown,?For love shall lay each corner-stone.
Rise, stricken city! from thee throw?The ashen sackcloth of thy woe;?And build, as to Amphion's strain,?To songs of cheer thy walls again!
How shrivelled in thy hot distress?The primal sin of selfishness!?How instant rose, to take thy part,?The angel in the human heart!
Ah! not in vain the flames that tossed?Above thy dreadful holocaust;?The Christ again has preached through thee?The Gospel of Humanity!
Then lift once more thy towers on high,?And fret with spires the western sky,?To tell that God is yet with us,?And love is still miraculous!?1871.
KINSMAN.
Died at the Island of Panay (Philippine group),?aged nineteen years.
Where ceaseless Spring her garland twines,?As sweetly shall the loved one rest,?As if beneath the whispering pines?And maple shadows of the West.
Ye mourn, O hearts of home! for him,?But, haply, mourn ye not alone;?For him shall far-off eyes be dim,?And pity speak in tongues unknown.
There needs no graven line to give?The story of his blameless youth;?All hearts shall throb intuitive,?And nature guess the simple truth.
The very meaning of his name?Shall many a tender tribute win;?The stranger own his sacred claim,?And all the world shall be his kin.
And there, as here, on main and isle,?The dews of holy peace shall fall,?The same sweet heavens above him smile,?And God's dear love be over all?1874.
THE GOLDEN WEDDING OF LONGWOOD.
Longwood, not far from Bayard Taylor's birthplace in Kennett
Square, Pennsylvania, was the home of my esteemed friends John and Hannah Cox, whose golden wedding was celebrated in 1874.
With fifty years between you and your well-kept wedding vow, The Golden Age, old friends of mine, is not a fable now.
And, sweet as has life's vintage been through all your pleasant past, Still, as at Cana's marriage-feast, the best wine is the last!
Again before me, with your names, fair Chester's landscape comes, Its meadows, woods, and ample barns, and quaint, stone-builded homes.
The smooth-shorn vales, the wheaten slopes, the boscage green and soft, Of which their poet sings so well from towered Cedarcroft.
And lo! from all the country-side come neighbors, kith and kin; From city, hamlet, farm-house old, the wedding guests come in.
And they who, without scrip or purse, mob-hunted, travel-worn, In Freedom's age of martyrs came, as victors now return.
Older and slower, yet the same, files in the long array,?And hearts are light and eyes are glad, though heads are badger-gray.
The fire-tried men of Thirty-eight who saw with me the fall, Midst roaring flames and shouting mob, of Pennsylvania Hall;
And they of Lancaster who turned the cheeks of tyrants pale, Singing of freedom through the grates of Moyamensing jail!
And haply with them, all unseen, old comrades, gone before, Pass, silently as shadows pass, within your open door,--
The eagle face of Lindley Coates, brave Garrett's daring zeal, Christian grace of Pennock, the steadfast heart of Neal.
Ah me! beyond all power to name, the worthies tried and true, Grave men, fair women, youth and maid, pass by in hushed review.
Of varying faiths, a common cause fused all their hearts in one. God give them now, whate'er their names, the peace of duty done!
How gladly would I tread