Underwoods | Page 9

breeze,
And the bright face of day, thy dalliance
hadst;
Where to thine ear first sang the enraptured birds;
Where
love and thou that lasting bargain made.
The ship rides trimmed, and
from the eternal shore
Thou hearest airy voices; but not yet
Depart,
my soul, not yet awhile depart.
Freedom is far, rest far. Thou art with life
Too closely woven, nerve
with nerve intwined;
Service still craving service, love for love,

Love for dear love, still suppliant with tears.
Alas, not yet thy human
task is done!
A bond at birth is forged; a debt doth lie
Immortal on
mortality. It grows -
By vast rebound it grows, unceasing growth;

Gift upon gift, alms upon alms, upreared,
From man, from God, from
nature, till the soul
At that so huge indulgence stands amazed.
Leave not, my soul, the unfoughten field, nor leave
Thy debts
dishonoured, nor thy place desert
Without due service rendered. For
thy life,
Up, spirit, and defend that fort of clay,
Thy body, now
beleaguered; whether soon
Or late she fall; whether to-day thy friends


Bewail thee dead, or, after years, a man
Grown old in honour and
the friend of peace.
Contend, my soul, for moments and for hours;

Each is with service pregnant; each reclaimed
Is as a kingdom
conquered, where to reign.
As when a captain rallies to the fight
His scattered legions, and beats
ruin back,
He, on the field, encamps, well pleased in mind.
Yet
surely him shall fortune overtake,
Him smite in turn, headlong his
ensigns drive;
And that dear land, now safe, to-morrow fall.
But he,
unthinking, in the present good
Solely delights, and all the camps
rejoice.
XXV
It is not yours, O mother, to complain,
Not, mother, yours to weep,

Though nevermore your son again
Shall to your bosom creep,

Though nevermore again you watch your baby sleep.
Though in the greener paths of earth,
Mother and child, no more

We wander; and no more the birth
Of me whom once you bore,

Seems still the brave reward that once it seemed of yore;
Though as all passes, day and night,
The seasons and the years,

From you, O mother, this delight,
This also disappears -
Some
profit yet survives of all your pangs and tears.
The child, the seed, the grain of corn,
The acorn on the hill,
Each
for some separate end is born
In season fit, and still
Each must in
strength arise to work the almighty will.
So from the hearth the children flee,
By that almighty hand

Austerely led; so one by sea
Goes forth, and one by land;
Nor aught
of all man's sons escapes from that command
So from the sally each obeys
The unseen almighty nod;
So till the
ending all their ways
Blindfolded loth have trod:
Nor knew their

task at all, but were the tools of God.
And as the fervent smith of yore
Beat out the glowing blade,
Nor
wielded in the front of war
The weapons that he made,
But in the
tower at home still plied his ringing trade;
So like a sword the son shall roam
On nobler missions sent;
And as
the smith remained at home
In peaceful turret pent,
So sits the
while at home the mother well content.
XXVI - THE SICK CHILD
CHILD.
O Mother, lay your hand on my brow!
O mother, mother,
where am I now?
Why is the room so gaunt and great?
Why am I
lying awake so late?
MOTHER.
Fear not at all: the night is still.
Nothing is here that
means you ill -
Nothing but lamps the whole town through,
And
never a child awake but you.
CHILD.
Mother, mother, speak low in my ear,
Some of the things
are so great and near,
Some are so small and far away,
I have a fear
that I cannot say,
What have I done, and what do I fear,
And why
are you crying, mother dear?
MOTHER.
Out in the city, sounds begin
Thank the kind God, the
carts come in!
An hour or two more, and God is so kind,
The day
shall be blue in the window-blind,
Then shall my child go sweetly
asleep,
And dream of the birds and the hills of sheep.
XXVII - IN MEMORIAM F. A. S.
Yet, O stricken heart, remember, O remember
How of human days he
lived the better part.
April came to bloom and never dim December

Breathed its killing chills upon the head or heart.

Doomed to know not Winter, only Spring, a being
Trod the flowery
April blithely for a while,
Took his fill of music, joy of thought and
seeing,
Came and stayed and went, nor ever ceased to smile.
Came and stayed and went, and now when all is finished,
You alone
have crossed the melancholy stream,
Yours the pang, but his, O his,
the undiminished
Undecaying gladness, undeparted dream.
All that life contains of torture, toil, and treason,
Shame, dishonour,
death, to him were but a name.
Here, a boy, he dwelt through all the
singing season
And ere the day of sorrow departed as he came.
DAVOS, 1881.
XXVIII - TO MY FATHER
Peace and her huge invasion to these shores
Puts daily home;
innumerable sails
Dawn on the far horizon and draw near;

Innumerable loves, uncounted hopes
To our wild coasts, not darkling
now, approach:
Not now obscure, since