For, in mere weeds, and stones, and springs, He found a healing power profuse. Men granted that his speech was wise, Of his slim grace and woman's eyes, They laughed, and called him good-for-naught. Yet after he was dead and gone, And e'en his memory dim, Earth seemed more sweet to live upon, More full of love, because of him. And day by day more holy grew Till after-poets only knew Their firstborn brother as a god. THE TOKEN. Ir is a mere wild rosebud, Quite sallow now, and dry, Yet there's something wondrous in it,— The fingerposts of memory, And stir my heart's blood far below Its short-lived waves of joy and woe. They only smile, and, murmuring "Thither!" Stay with us no more: And yet ofttimes a look or smile, Years after from the dark will start, And flash across the trembling heart. Thou hast given me many roses, Earth's stablest things are shadows, And, in the life to come, Haply some chance-saved trifle May tell of this old home : As now sometimes we seem to find, In a dark crevice of the mind, Some relic, which, long pondered o'er, Hints faintly at a life before. AN INCIDENT IN A RAILROAD CAR. He spoke of Burns: men rude and rough Pressed round to hear the praise of one Whose heart was made of manly, simple stuff, As homespun as their own. And, when he read, they forward leaned, His brook-like songs whom glory never weaned Slowly there grew a tender awe, Sun-like, o'er faces brown and hard, As if in him who read they felt and saw It was a sight for sin and wrong And slavish tyranny to see, A sight to make our faith more pure and strong In high humanity. I thought, these men will carry hence And something of a finer reverence God scatters love on every side, And always hearts are lying open wide, There is no wind but soweth seeds Of a more true and open life, Which burst, unlooked-for, into high-souled deeds, With wayside beauty rife. |