Victor Roy, A Masonic poem | Page 6

stop that horrid wind? it creeps right into my heart, It seems to mutter, and groan and shriek: "Come, it is time to depart. There's a broad dark sea before me; help, Aimee, the waters are deep! I want a pilot--I cannot steer--I am sinking--let--me--sleep."
Bloweth the storm more cheerlessly still,?And the setting sun has a sickly hue,?As if he foresaw the falling tears,?As if all the sorrows of earth he knew.
Heavily stealeth an hour or two,?And mid the noise of the city's din,?No one noticed the tenement room?"As two passed out where but one went in."
For, lieth a dead man behind the door,?Closed between him and the outer strife,?And a weeping woman and clinging girl?Look upon death, and look out upon life.
Almost fainting with suffering and grief;?Alone, unknown, in a stranger land,?Mother and daughter have knelt to pray?As men pray wrecked on a rocky strand.
Churlishly gloweth the charcoal flame,?Mother and child with hearts almost broke,?Clasped in each other's embrace of love,?Checking her sorrow, sweet Ethel spoke:
"Mother, my mother dear,?Weep not so hopelessly, though all is dark?We have our loving Father yet in heaven,?His eyes must be upon our shattered bark;?Our sails are torn and we are tempest driven,
Yet _He_ can hear.
To whom has God sent aid??To the lone widow's home the prophet came,?For a few frightened men the wild sea slept,?For one poor servant flashed the glowing flame,?Where angels in their martial glory stepped
Out from the shade.
Not for proud Miriam's king?Rolled back the billows of the deep Red sea;?For helpless women, children, unarmed men,?The 'Fourth Man' walked to shield the flame-girt three;?For one, St. Michael, paced the lion's den,
God's help to bring.
Mother, is He not near,?Who had not where to rest His tired head??Who, in the dreary wilderness alone,?Hungry and faint, had none to give Him bread;?Listening t' the damp wind's low and sullen moan
O'er nature's bier."
"My child, my comforter, in this dark hour of love?Thy faith and trust in God is like the pole star's glow?To some benighted sailor; yes, e'en now a thought?Has come to me like light from dawning sunbeam brought.?My father, Ethel, was a Mason; ere he died?He called me to him, and kneeling at his side,?Gave me a jewel, charged me with his dying breath?Never to give it up except for life or death,?For when at last he died we were almost alone,?And stranger's ears were those which heard his dying moan,?The hands of strangers robed him for the grave,?The feet of strangers laid him where the cedars wave.?Weary, he had left England for the balmy breath?Of summer climes he found fierce pain and death.?I was his joy, his all on earth, for the dark hour?That gave me breath took home his purest flower.?And I have never known what means that place of rest,?The sweeetest home on earth, a living mother's breast.?All the night long, in which my father died,?He kept me close beside him, oft he vainly tried?To tell me about something, ever and anon?He'd speak about his brothers--I knew he had none--?Then in faint accents he would say, 'When I am cold?Tell them I left a lamb outside the fold.'?'Tell whom?' I cried. 'My brothers.' Then he'd fall asleep, And I supposed him wandering and would weep.?A year or so before we spent a happy time?On bonnie Scotland's hills of heather and wild thyme,?And oft we watched the shepherd tending flocks of sheep?In the soft grassy vales, or up the mountain steep,?And sweet were the life lessons that I often took?From that unsullied page of nature's open book.?There came to me through that fair, hallowed summer scene,?Bright glowing visions of the fadeless pastures green,?And clearer views of One I trust my soul will keep,?That sinless, Holy Shepherd of the helpless sheep.?And so I thought when father moaned amid his pain,?'I leave an orphan lamb;' he had gone back again?Through the fierce fevers, annihilating flight,?To valley of the blue bell, or the heath crowned height.?But, suddenly there came one quick and conscious gleam?Of light with its belongings; that transforming beam?Lit up the past a moment, then its God-sent light?Flashed up the path he travelled. No more tears, no night?Was there for him, he said, only love is shining day,?And calling on his young wife's name he passed away.?Ethel, I've been so hungry often, and so chill,?And what is ten times worse, have seen you faint and ill,?And never yet have I foresworn my pledge; but now?Our duty to the dead must plead my broken vow.?Ethel, if my loved Father is with us to-night,?Will he not stamp forgiveness on this dead as right??Perhaps in the morning light this howling storm will stay?Its fury, and God please to open up our way.?So we can lay our dead in quiet rest at last,?Then we, my child, go forth and dare the world's cold blast."
"Mother, oh let me