The Mistress of the Manse | Page 3

far blue of smiling skies,?We bless thee, Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth!
"For human love and love divine,?For love of ours and love of thine,?For heaven on earth and heaven above--?To thee and us twin homes of love--?We thank thee, Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth!
"Oh dove-like wings, so wide unfurled?In brooding calm above the world!?Waft us your holy peace, and raise?The incense of our morning praise?Up to our Father, Lord of Heaven and Earth!"
VII.
Full fleetly sped the morning hours;?Then, wide upon the country round?A tumult of melodious powers?In tumult of melodious sound?Burst forth from all the village towers.
With blow on blow, and tone on tone,?And echoes answering everywhere--?Like bugles from the mountains blown--?Each sought to whelm the burdened air,?And make the silence all its own.
In broad, sonorous, silver swells?The air was billowed like the sea;?And listening ears were listening shells?That caught the Sabbath minstrelsy,?And sang it with the singing bells.
The billows heaved, the billows broke,?The first wild burst went down amain;?The music fell to slower stroke,?And in a rhythmic, bold refrain?The great bells to each other spoke.
Oh bravely bronze gave forth his word,?And sharply silver made reply,?And every tower and turret stirred?With sounding breath and converse high,?Or paused with waiting ear, and heard.
And long they talked, as friend to friend;?Then faltered to their closing toll,?Whose long, monotonous repetend,?From every music-burdened bowl?Poured the last drop, and brought the end!
VIII.
The chapel's chime fell slow and soft,?And throngs slow-marching to its knoll?From village home and distant croft,?With careful feet and reverent soul?Pressed toward the open door, but oft
Turned curious and expectant eyes?Upon the Manse that stood apart.?There in her quiet, bridal guise?Fair Mildred sat with shrinking heart;?While Philip, bold and over wise,
And knowing naught of woman's ways,?Smiled at her fears, and could not guess?How one so armored in his praise,?And strong in native loveliness,?Could dread to meet his people's gaze.
He could not know her fine alarm?When at his manly side she stood,?And, leaning faintly on his arm--?A dainty slip of womanhood--?Walked forth where every girlish charm
Was scanned with prying gaze and glance,?Among the slowly moving crowd?That, greedy of the precious chance,?Read furtively, but half aloud,?The pages of their new romance.
"A child!" And Mildred caught the word.?"A plaything!" And, another voice:?"Fine feathers, and a Southern bird!"?And still one more; "A parson's choice!"?And trembling Mildred overheard.
These from the careless or the dull--?Gossips at best; at wisest, dolts;?And though her quickened ear might cull?From out their whispered thunderbolts?A "lovely!" and a "beautiful!"
And though sweet mother-faces smiled,?And bows were given with friendly grace,?And many a pleasant little child?Sought sympathy within her face,?Her aching heart was not beguiled.
She did not see--she only felt--?As up the staring aisle she walked--?The critic glances, coldly dealt,?By those who looked, and bent, and talked;?And, even, when at last she knelt
Alone within the pastor's pew,?And prayed for self-forgetfulness?With deep humility, she knew?She gave her figure and her dress?To careful eyes with closer view.
IX.
At length she raised her head, and tossed?A burden from her heart, and brain.?She would have love at any cost?Of weary toil and patient pain,?And rightful ease and pleasure lost!
They could not love her for his sake;?They would not, and her heart forgave.?Why should a woman stoop to take?The poor endowment of a slave,?And like a menial choose to make
Her master's mantle half her own??They loved her least who loved him most:?They envied her her little throne!?He who was cherished by a host?Was hers by gift, and hers alone,
And she would prove her woman's right?To hold the throne to which the king?Had called her, clothing her with white;?And never would she show her ring?To win a loving proselyte!
These were the thoughts and this the strife?That through her kindling spirit swept,?And wrought her purposes of life;?And powers that waked and powers that slept?Within the sweet and girlish wife.
Sprang into energy intense,?At touch of an inspiring chrism?That fell on her, she knew not whence,?And lifted her to heroism?Which wrapped her wholly, soul and sense.
X.
Meanwhile, through all the vaulted space?The organ sent its angels out;?And up and down the holy place?They fanned the cheeks of care and doubt,?And touched each worn and weary face
With beauty as their wings went by:?Then sailed afar with peaceful sweep,?And, calling heavenward every eye,?Evanished into silence deep--?The earth forgotten in the sky!
Then by the sunlight warmly kissed,?Far up, in rainbow glory set,?Rayed round with gold and amethyst,?She saw upon the great rosette?The Saviour's visage, pale and trist.
"Oh Crown of Thorns!" she softly breathed;?"Oh precious crown of love divine!?Oh brow with trickling life enwreathed!?Oh piercing thorns and crimson sign!?I hold you mine in love bequeathed.
"But not for sake of these or thee!?I must win love as thou hast won.?The thorns are mine, and all must see,?In sacrifice, and service done,?The loving Lord they love in me."
XI.
Then, through a large and golden hour?She listened to the golden speech?Of one who