The Mistress of the Manse | Page 4

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 held the priceless dower
Of love and eloquence,
that reach
And move the hearts of men with power.
Ah poor the music of the choir
That voiced the Psalter after him!

And strong the prayer that, touched with fire,
Flamed upward, past
the seraphim,
And wrapped the throne of his desire!
She watched and heard as in a dream,
When, in the old, familiar
ground
Of sacred truth, he found his theme,
And led it forth, until it
wound
Through meadows broad--a swollen stream
That flashed and eddied in the light,
And fed the grasses at its edge,

Or thundered in its onward might
O'er interposing weir and ledge,

And left them hidden in the white;
While on it pressed, and, to the eye,
Grew broader, till its breadth
became
A solemn river, sweeping by,
That, quick with ships and
red with flame,
Reached far away and kissed the sky!
Strong men were moved as trees are bowed
Before a swift and

sounding wind;
And sighs were long and sobs were loud,
Of those
who loved and those who sinned,
Among the deeply listening crowd.
XII.
And Mildred, in the whelming tide
Of thought and feeling, quite
forgot
That he who thus had magnified
His office, held a common
lot
With her, and owned her as his bride.
But when, at length, the thought returned
That she was his in plighted
truth,
And she with humbled soul discerned
That, though her youth
was given to youth,
And love by love was fairly earned,
She could not match him wing-and-wing
Through all his broad and
lofty range,
And feared what passing years might bring
No change
for good, but only change
That would degrade her to a thing
Of homely use and household care,
And love by duty basely kept--

She bowed her head upon the bare
Cold rail that hid her face, and
wept,
And poured her passion in a prayer.
XIII.
"Oh Father, Father!" thus she prayed:
"Thou know'st the priceless
boon I seek!
Before my life, abashed, dismayed,
I stand, with
hopeless hands and weak,
Of him and of myself afraid!
"Teach me and lead me where to find,
Beyond the touch of hand and
lip,
That vital charm of heart, and mind
Which, in a true
companionship,
My feebler life to his shall bind!
"His ladder leans upon the sun:
I cannot climb it: give me wings!

Grant that my deeds, divinely done,
May be appraised divinest things,

Though they be little every one.

"His stride is strong; his steps are high
May not my deeds be little
stairs
That, counted swift, shall keep me nigh,
Till at the summit,
unawares,
We stand with equal foot and eye?
"If further down toward Nature's heart
His root is struck,
commanding springs
In whose deep life I have no part,
Send me, on
recompensing wings,
The rain that gathers where thou art!
"Oh give me vision to divine
What he with delving hand explores!

Feed me with flame that shall refine
To finest gold the rugged ores

His strong hands gather from the mine!
"O dearest Father! May no sloth,
Or weakness of my weaker soul,

Delay him in his kingly growth,
Or hold him meanly from the goal

That shines with guerdon for us both!"
XIV.
Then all arose as if a spell
Had been dissolved for their release,
The
while the benediction fell
Which breathed the gentle Master's peace

On all the souls that loved him well.
And Philip, coming from his place,
Like Moses from the mountain
pyre,
Bore on his brow the shining grace
Of one who, in the cloud
and fire,
Had met his Maker, face to face.
And men and women, young and old,
Pressed up to meet him as he
came,
And children, by their love made bold,
Grasped both his
hands and spoke his name,
And in their simple language told
Their joy to see his face once more;
While half in pleasure, half in
pain,
His bride stood waiting at her door
The passage of the
friendly train
That slowly swept the crowded floor.
Half-bows were tendered and returned;
And welcomes fell from lips

and eyes;
But in her heart she meekly spurned
The love that came
in love's disguise
Of sympathy--the love unearned.
XV.
Then out beneath the noon-day sun
Of the old Temple, cool and dim,

She walked beside her chosen one,
And lost her loneliness in him;

But hardly was her walk begun
When, straight before her in the street,
With tender shock her eye
descried
A little child, with naked feet
And scanty dress, that,
hollow-eyed,
Looked up and begged for bread to eat.
Nor pride of place nor dainty spleen
Felt with her heart