The Poetical Works | Page 7

hour?Of dark passion or of pride,?Evil thoughts, with serpent power?To my inmost bosom glide--?Ah! while I from bonds unholy,?Vainly seek myself to free--?Mary, pure and meek and lowly,?Pray, oh! Mary, pray for me!
When with Heaven high communing?In the solemn hour of prayer--?To its strains my soul attuning,?I forget all worldly care;?When earth's voices for a season?My vex'd spirit have left free--?Still, dear Mother, near me hover!?Still, sweet Mary, pray for me!
And in that supremest hour,?When life's end is drawing nigh--?When earth's scenes and pomps and power?Fade before my tear-dimmed eye--?When I on the shore am lying?Of eternity's wide sea--?Then, O Refuge of the dying,?Tender Mother, pray for me!
THE MAGDALEN AT THE MADONNA'S SHRINE.
O Madonna, pure and holy,?From sin's dark stain ever free,?Refuge of the sinner lowly,?I come--I come to thee!?Now with wreaths of sinful pleasure?Yet my tresses twined among;?From the dance's giddy measure,?From the idle jest and song.
See! I tear away the flowers?From my perfumed golden hair,?Closely tended in past hours?With such jealous, sinful care;?Never more for me they blossom,?Not for me those jewels vain:?On my arms or brow or bosom,?They shall never shine again.
Dost thou wonder at my daring?Thus to seek thy sacred shrine,?When the sinner's lot despairing,?Wretched--hopeless--should be mine??To the instincts high of woman?Most unfaithful and untrue;?Yet Madonna, hope inspires me,?For thou wast a woman too.
Evil promptings, dark-despairing,?Whisper: "Leave this sacred spot;?Back to sinful joys, repairing,?In them live and struggle not!"?But a bright hope tells that heaven?May by me e'en yet be won,?That I yet may be forgiven,?Mary, by thy spotless Son!
Yes! I look on thy mild features,?Full of dove-like, tender love--?Once the humblest of God's creatures,?Now with Him enthroned above!?Every trait angelic breathing?Sweetest promises of peace;?And the smile thy soft lips wreathing?Tell me that my griefs shall cease.
Soft the evening shadows gather?But no longer shall I wait,?I will rise and seek the Father,?For it is not yet too late;?And when earthly cares oppress me,?When life's paths my bruised feet pain;?Hither shall I come to rest me,?And new strength and courage gain!
THE VESPER HOUR.
Soft and holy Vesper Hour--?Precursor of the night--?How I love thy soothing power,?The hush, the fading light;?Raising those vain thoughts of ours?To higher, holier things--?Mingling gleams from Eden's bowers?With earth's imaginings!
How thrilling in some grand old fane?To hear the Vesper prayer?Rise, with the organ's solemn strain,?On incense-laden air;?While the last dying smiles of day?Athwart the stained glass pour--?Flooding with red and golden ray?The shrine and chancel floor.
Who, at such moment, has not felt?Those yearnings, vague, yet sweet,?For Heaven's joys at last to melt,?Into fruition meet;?And wished, as with rapt soul he viewed?That glorious Home above,?That earth's vain thoughts would ne'er intrude?On visions of God's love?
To this calm hour belongs a sway?The bright day cannot wield--?Sweet as the evening star's first ray,?Transforming wood and field;?Soft'ing gay flowers else too bright?And silvering hill and dell;?And clothing earth in that mild light?The sad heart loves so well.
THE PARTING SOUL AND HER GUARDIAN ANGEL.
(Written during sickness).
Soul--?Oh! say must I leave this world of light?With its sparkling streams and sunshine bright,?Its budding flowers, its glorious sky??Vain 'tis to ask me--I cannot die!
Angel--?But, sister, list! in the realms above,?That happy home of eternal love,?Are flowers more fair, and skies more clear?Than those thou dost cling to so fondly here.
Soul--?Ah! yes, but to reach that home of light?I must pass through the fearful vale of night;?And my soul with alarm doth shuddering cry--?O angel, I tell thee, I dare not die!
Angel--?Ah! mortal beloved, in that path untried?Will I be, as ever, still at thy side,?Through gloom to guide till, death's shadows passed,?Thou nearest, unharmed, God's throne at last.
Soul--?Alas! too many close ties of love?Around my wavering heart are wove!?Fond, tender voices, press me to stay--?Think'st thou from them I would pass away??Daily my mother, with anguish wild,?Bends o'er the couch of her dying child,?And one, nearer still, with silent tears,?Betrays his anguish, his gloomy fears--?Yes, even now, while to thee I speak,?Are hot drops falling upon my cheek;?Think you I'd break from so close a tie??No, my guardian angel, I cannot die!
Angel--?Poor child of earth! how closely clings?Thy heart to earth and to earthly things!?Wilt thou still revolt if I whisper low?That thy Father in Heaven wills it so--?Wills that with Him thou should'st henceforth dwell,?To pray for those whom thou lovest so well,?Till a time shall come when you'll meet again,?To forget for ever life's grief and pain?
Soul--?Spirit, thy words have a potent power?O'er my sinking heart in this awful hour,?And thy soft-breathed hopes, with magic might.?Have chased from my soul the shades of night.?Console the dear ones I part from now,?Who hang o'er my couch with pallid brow,?Tell them we'll meet in yon shining sky--?And, Saviour tender, now let me die!
ASH-WEDNESDAY.
Glitt'ring balls and thoughtless revels?Fill up now each misspent night--?'Tis the reign of pride and folly,?The Carnival is at its