Thus, as I muse, I hear my little child
Sob in its sleep within the cottage near—
My own dear child! Gone is that mortal doubt!
The Power that drew our lives forth from the wild
Our Father is; we shall to Him be dear,
Nor from His universe be blotted out!
"BEYOND THE BRANCHES OF THE PINE"
Beyond the branches of the pine
The golden sun no more doth shine,
But still the solemn afterglow
Floods the deep heavens with light divine.
The night-wind stirs the corn-field near,
The gray moon turns to silver clear,
And one by one the glimmering stars
In the blue dome of heaven appear.
Now do the mighty hosts of light
Across the darkness take their flight;
They rise above the eastern hill
And silent journey through the night.
And there beneath the starry zone,
In the deep, narrow grave, alone,
Rests all that mortal was of her,
The purest spirit I have known.
AN AUTUMN MEDITATION
As the long day of cloud and storm and sun
Declines into the dark and silent night,
So past the old man s life from human gaze;
