Victor Roy, A Masonic poem | Page 6

the medicine I took that makes me dream of the
past--
Oh, will they believe me up there, in the clear bright rays of the
sun, That shows all the by-gone years of a life, the crimes a man has
done? Will nobody 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