and high;
But before he won the guerdon
Came the message—he must die.
He must die when just before him
Lay the longed-for precious prize,
And the hopes that lit him onward
Faded out before his eyes.
For awhile a fearful madness
Rested on his weary brain,
And he thought the hateful tyrant
Had rebound his galling chain.
Then he cried in bitter anguish,
Take me where that good man dwells,
For a name to freedom precious
Lingered ’mid life’s shattered cells.
But as sunshine gently stealing
On the storm-cloud’s gloomy track,
Through the tempests of his bosom
Came the light of reason back.
And, without a sigh or murnur
For the friends he’d left behind,
Calmly yielded he his spirit
To the Father of mankind.
Thankful that so near to freedom
He with eager feet had trod,
Ere his ransom’d spirit rested
On the bosom of his God.
The Freedom Bell
Ring, aye, ring the freedom bell,
And let its tones be loud and clear;
With glad hosannas let it swell
Until it reach the Bondman’s ear.
Through pain that wrings the life apart,
And spasms full of deadly strife,
And throes that shake the nation’s heart,
The fainting land renews her life.
Where shrieks and groans distract the air,
And sods grow red with crimson rain,
The ransom’d slave shall kneel in prayer
And bury deep his rusty chain.
Where cheeks now pale with sickening dread,
And brows grow dark with cruel wrath,
Shall Freedom’s banner wide be spread
And Hope and Peace attend her path.
White-robed and pure her feet shall move
O’er rifts of ruin deep and wide;
Her hands shall span with lasting love
The chasms rent by hate and pride.
Where waters, blush’d with human gore,
Unsullied streams shall purl along;
Where crashed the battle’s awful roar
Shall rise the Freeman’s joyful song.
Then ring, aye, ring the freedom bell,
Proclaiming all the nation free;
Let earth with sweet thanksgiving swell
And heaven catch up the melody.
Mary at the Feet of Christ
She stood at Jesus’ feet,
And bathed them with her tears,
While o’er her spirit surg’d
The guilt and shame of years.
Though Simon saw the grief
Upon the fair young face,
The stern man coldly thought
For her this is no place.
Her feet have turned aside
From paths of truth and right,
If Christ a prophet be
He’ll spurn her from his sight.
And silently he watched
The child of sin and care,
Uncoil upon Christ’s feet
Her wealth of raven hair.
O Life! she sadly thought,
I know thy bane and blight,
And yet I fain would find
The path of peace and right.
I’ve seen the leper cleansed,
I’ve seen the sick made whole,
But mine’s a deeper wound—
It eats into the soul.
And men have trampled down
The beauty once their prize,
While women pass me by
With cold, averted eyes.
But now a hope of peace
Steals o’er my weary breast,
And from these lips of love
There comes a sense of rest.
The tender, loving Christ
Gazed on her tearful eyes,
Then saw on Simon’s face
A look of cold surprise.
“Simon,” the Saviour said,
“Thou wast to me remiss,
I came thy guest, but thou
Didst give no welcome kiss.
“Thou broughtest from thy fount
No water cool and sweet,
But she, with many tears,
Hath bent and kissed my feet.
“Thou pouredst on my head
No oil with kindly care,
But she anoints my feet,
And wipes them with her hair.
“I know her steps have strayed,
Her sins they many be,
But she with love hath bound
Her erring heart to me.”
How sweetly fell his words
Upon her bruised heart,
When, like a ghastly train,
She felt her sins depart.
What music heard on earth,
Or rapture moving heaven
Were like those precious words—
“Thy sins are all forgiven!”
The Mother’s Blessing
Oh, my soul had grown so weary
With its many cares opprest,
All my heart’s high aspirations
Languish’d in a prayer for rest.
I was like a lonely stranger
Pining in a distant land,
Bearing on her lips a language
None around her understand.
Longing for a close communion
With some kindred mind and heart,
But whose language is a jargon
Past her skill, and past her art.
God in mercy looked upon me,
Saw my fainting, pain and strife,
Sent to me a blest evangel,
Through the gates of light and life.
Then my desert leafed and blossom’d,
Beauty decked its deepest wild,
Hope and joy, peace and blessing,
Met me in my first-born child.
When the tiny hands, so feeble,
Brought me smiles and joyful tears,
Lifted from my life the shadows,
That had gathered there for years.
God, I thank thee for the blessing
That at last has crown’d my life,
Soothed its weary, lonely anguish,
Stay’d its fainting, calm’d its strife.
Gracious Parent! guard and shelter
In thine arms my darling child
Till she treads the streets of jasper,
Glorified and undefiled.
Vashti
She leaned her head upon her hand
And heard the king’s decree—
“My lords are feasting in my halls,
Bid Vashti come to me.
“I’ve shown the treasures of my house,
My costly jewels rare,
But with the glory of her eyes
No rubies can compare.
“Adorn’d and crown’d I’d have her come,
With all her queenly grace,
And, ’mid my lords and mighty men,
Unveil her lovely face.
“Each gem that sparkles in my crown,
Or glitters on my throne,
Grows poor and pale when she appears,
My beautiful, my own!”
All waiting stood the chamberlains
To hear the Queen’s reply,
They saw her cheek grow deathly pale,
But light flash’d to her eye:
“Go, tell the King,” she proudly said,
“That I am Persia’s Queen,
And by his crowds of merry men
I never will be seen.
“I’ll take the crown from off my head
And tread it ’neath my feet
Before their rude and careless gaze
My shrinking eyes shall meet.
“A queen unveil’d before the crowd!—
Upon each lip my name!—
Why, Persia’s women all would blush
And weep for Vashti’s shame!
“Go back!” she cried, and waived her hand,
And grief was in her eye:
“Go, tell the King,” she sadly said,
“That I would rather die.”
They brought her message to the King,
Dark flash’d his angry eye;
’Twas as the lightning ere the storm
Hath swept in fury by.
Then bitterly
