me, cheer me, keep the days from seeming long:
All the blossoms, all the ballads, touched by you, to you belong—
You, my flower; you, my song!
“Rappelle-Toi”
Remember, when the timid light
Through the enchanted hall of dawn is gleaming;
Remember, when the pensive night
Beneath her silver-sprinkled veil walks dreaming;
When pleasure calls thee and thy heart beats high,
When tender joys through evening shades draw nigh,
Hark, from the woodland deeps
A gentle whisper creeps,
Remember!
Remember, when the hand of fate
My life from thine forevermore has parted;
When sorrow, exile, and the weight
Of lonely years have made me heavy-hearted;
Think of my loyal love, my last adieu;
Absence and time are naught, if we are true;
Long as my heart shall beat,
To thine it will repeat,
Remember!
Remember, when the cool, dark tomb
Receives my heart into its quiet keeping,
And some sweet flower begins to bloom
Above the grassy mound where I am sleeping;
Ah then, my face thou nevermore shalt see,
But still my soul will linger close to thee,
And in the holy place of night,
The litany of love recite—
Remember!
Two Songs of Heine
A fir-tree standeth lonely
On a barren northern height,
Asleep, while winter covers
His rest with robes of white.
In dreams, he sees a palm-tree
In the golden morning-land;
She droops alone and silent
In burning wastes of sand.
II
“Du Bist Wie Eine Blume”
Fair art thou as a flower
And innocent and shy:
I look on thee and sorrow;
I grieve, I know not why.
I long to lay, in blessing,
My hand upon thy brow,
And pray that God may keep thee
As fair and pure as now.
“In Memoriam”
The record of a faith sublime,
And hope, through clouds, far-off discerned;
The incense of a love that burned
Through pain and doubt defying Time:
The story of a soul at strife
That learned at last to kiss the rod,
And passed through sorrow up to God,
From living to a higher life:
A light that gleams across the wave
Of darkness, down the rolling years,
Piercing the heavy mist of tears—
A rainbow shining o’er a grave.
For Katrina’s Window
This is the window’s message,
In silence, to the Queen:
“Thou hast a double kingdom
And I am set between:
Look out and see the glory,
On hill and plain and sky:
Look in and see the light of love
That nevermore shall die!”
Window in the Queen’s high tower,
This shall be thy magic power!
Shut the darkness and the doubt,
Shut the storm and conflict, out;
Wind and hail and snow and rain
Dash against thee all in vain.
Let in nothing from the night—
Let in every ray of light!
The Prison and the Angel
Self is the only prison that can ever bind the soul;
Love is the only angel who can bid the gates unroll;
And when he comes to call thee, arise and follow fast;
His way may lie through darkness, but it leads to light at last.
Santa Christina
Saints are God’s flowers, fragrant souls
That His own hand hath planted,
Not in some far-off heavenly place,
Or solitude enchanted,
But here and there and everywhere—
In lonely field, or crowded town,
God sees a flower when He looks down.
Some wear the lily’s stainless white,
And some the rose of passion,
And some the violet’s heavenly blue,
But each in its own fashion,
With silent bloom and soft perfume,
Is praising Him who from above
Beholds each lifted face of love.
One such I knew—and had the grace
To thank my God for knowing:
The beauty of her quiet life
Was like a rose in blowing,
So fair and sweet, so all-complete
And all unconscious, as a flower,
That light and fragrance were her dower.
No convent-garden held this rose,
Concealed like secret treasure;
No royal terrace guarded her
For some sole monarch’s pleasure.
She made her shrine, this saint of mine,
In a bright home where children played;
And there she wrought and there she prayed.
In sunshine, when the days were glad,
She had the art of keeping
The clearest rays, to give again
In days of rain and weeping;
Her blessed heart could still impart
Some portion of its secret grace,
And charity shone in her face.
In joy she grew from year to year;
And sorrow made her sweeter;
And every comfort, still more kind;
And every loss, completer.
Her children came to love her name—
“Christina,”—’twas a lip’s caress;
And when they called, they seemed to bless.
No more they call, for she is gone
Too far away to hear them;
And yet they often breathe her name
As if she lingered near them;
They cannot reach her with love’s speech,
But when they say “Christina” now
’Tis like a prayer or like a vow:
A vow to keep her life alive
In deeds of pure affection,
So that her love shall find in them
A daily resurrection;
A constant prayer that they may wear
Some touch of that supernal light
With which she blossoms in God’s sight.
Joy and Duty
“Joy is a Duty,”—so with golden lore
The Hebrew rabbis taught in days of yore,
And happy human hearts heard in their speech
Almost the highest wisdom man can reach.
But one bright peak still rises far above,
And there the Master stands whose name is Love,
Saying to those whom weary tasks employ:
“Life is divine when Duty is a Joy.”
Love and Light
There are many kinds of love, as many kinds of light,
And every kind of love makes a glory in the night.
There is love that stirs the heart, and love that gives it rest,
But the love that leads life upward is the noblest and the best.
Peace
With eager heart and will on fire,
I strove to win my great desire.
“Peace shall be mine,” I said; but life
Grew bitter in the barren strife.
My soul was weary, and my pride
Was wounded deep; to Heaven I cried,
“God grant me peace or I must
