The holy coat and nail of cross,
He left unvisited.
He sought the vale of Eltzbach
His burdened soul to free,
Where the foot-hills of the Eifel
Are glassed in Laachersee.
And, in his Order’s kloster,
He sat, in night-long parle,
With Tauler of the Friends of God,
And Nicolas of Basle.
And lo! the twain made answer:
“Yea, brother, even thus
The Voice above all voices
Hath spoken unto us.
“The world will have its idols,
And flesh and sense their sign:
But the blinded eyes shall open,
And the gross ear be fine.
“What if the vision tarry?
God’s time is always best;
The true Light shall be witnessed,
The Christ within confessed.
“In mercy or in judgment
He shall turn and overturn,
Till the heart shall be His temple
Where all of Him shall learn.”
INSCRIPTIONS
ON A SUN-DIAL
FOR DR. HENRY I. BOWDITCH
With warning hand I mark Time’s rapid flight
From life’s glad morning to its solemn night;
Yet, through the dear God’s love, I also show
There ’s Light above me by the Shade below.
ON A FOUNTAIN
FOR DOROTHEA L. DIX
Stranger and traveller,
Drink freely and bestow
A kindly thought on her
Who bade this fountain flow,
Yet hath no other claim
Than as the minister
Of blessing in God’s name.
Drink, and in His peace go!
THE MINISTER’S DAUGHTER
In the minister’s morning sermon
He had told of the primal fall,
And how thenceforth the wrath of God
Rested on each and all.
And how of His will and pleasure,
All souls, save a chosen few,
Were doomed to the quenchless burning,
And held in the way thereto.
Yet never by faith’s unreason
A saintlier soul was tried,
And never the harsh old lesson
A tenderer heart belied.
And, after the painful service
On that pleasant Sabbath day,
He walked with his little daughter
Through the apple-bloom of May.
Sweet in the fresh green meadows
Sparrow and blackbird sung;
Above him their tinted petals
The blossoming orchards hung.
Around on the wonderful glory
The minister looked and smiled;
“How good is the Lord who gives us
These gifts from His hand, my child!
“Behold in the bloom of apples
And the violets in the sward
A hint of the old, lost beauty
Of the Garden of the Lord!”
Then up spake the little maiden,
Treading on snow and pink:
“O father! these pretty blossoms
Are very wicked, I think.
“Had there been no Garden of Eden
There never had been a fall;
And if never a tree had blossomed
God would have loved us all.”
