POEMS BY MISS ELIZA JANE STEPHENS.
9
Till mercy's sweet angel at last interposed With piteous pleadings commingled with tears,"For what is a betterment worth," she would cry, That's wrought by chastisement and gloomiest fears?"
She plead, too, the frailty and weakness of all, By nature imperfect since formed from the dust; And if a sore punishment fell on the bad She prayed it should never descend on the just.
And when in due time her entreaties prevailed, And wrath from its scourgings forever must cease,How glad was the summons borne over the world For all to unite in promotion of peace.
And then were rejoicings that came from the heart, And surely their echoes re-sounded above, For mercy had proved the best government known Was ever the sacred commandment of love.
WANDERING.
Two lovely children wandered forth, As rosy us the morn,With beautiful and soul lit eyes, And lips where smiles were born.
They laughed and prattled gaily on, Sometimes a song would sing, Then gathered pebbles out the sand, And tossed them in the spring.
Plucked flowers and played in meadows green, Then sought the forest shade, In quest of cones beneath the pines, Or mosses in the glade.
They listened to the thrushes' song, The robins' simple lay, And tilled their hands with drooping ferns, That grew along the way.
Sometimes they trod on cruel thorns, The bitter cause of tears,Anon some harsh and weighty sound Awakened all their fears.
But when the sun bade earth adieu, And vanished in the west,The little ones together cried, Let us go homo and rest.
We laugh at childhood's simple joys, And e'en its gravest care,And yet our lives are much the same, In trifles still we share.
If disappointed we are sad, Successful we are blest,And when our day is done, we sigh— Let us go home and rest.
DOUBTING.
"I cannot pray in the dark, mamma, I am afraid God will not hear, Or if he does, can't see it is me," So said a little child sincere.
Ah, we that are older sometimes feel It is so dark we cannot pray, Wo sometimes fear that God will not hear, But has in anger turned away.
And yet wo know that His promises And sure to those who pray aright. No darkness ever beclouds His view, His grace affords us needed light.
EARTH'S TREASURES.
The dearest smile is that which greets The wanderer from his native land,Who, houseless, homeless, journeys on Where few his speech can understand; But if his call at plenty's door Is answered with a kindly smile,Though hungry, cold and lonely too, It brightens life a little while.
The sweetest lips are those that breathe In mercy's soft but meaning tone, Of peace and pardon, full and free, Awaiting the repentant one; That bring a message full of hope Where health and wealth have been denied, Or whisper tender sympathy To those overwhelmed by sorrow's tide.
The fairest hands are those that soothe The brow that's racked by feverish pain—That bind up wounds as with a balm Restoring them to health again; That feed the poor of every kind, In lowly hut or wildwood haunts, That give to age a friendly aid, And minister to childish wants.
The purest hearts may ne'er possess What most delights the vain and gay; They bow not to ambition's rule Nor yield to pride's delusive sway, But rich in justice, peace and truth They live earth's sordid things above,Contented well in duty's sphere, And happy in unselfish love.
THE OLD MAN'S MEDITATION
We're growing old, our eyes have not The perfect sight of early years; They're growing dim, we know it well, Thank God they are not dimmed by tears.
Our ears no longer catch the sound As once they did of lightest word,And yet the gentle tones of love Are even now distinctly heard.
Our cheeks have not that healthful glow Our hearts do not as wildly leap,But oh, we have a sense of joy As constant as 'tis calm and deep.
We know our tread is not as firm As when in youth of manhood's prime, But wo are keeping step full well With others in the march of time.
We're passing onward to a land Where age will never dim the sight And there, though lacking lustre now, Our eyes will beam with heavenly light.
And softer, sweeter sounds by far Will fall upon our quickened ear, Than e'er in brightest moments we Have heard or even fancied here.
There blooming cheeks will never fade, Our hearts will there beat light and free—There gloomy sorrow never comes. There sighs and tears will never be.
If trembling limbs and feeble steps Will only bear us to that shore, How joyfully we'll journey on To dwell in bliss tor evermore.
