The Sinless Child Part 5

The loud winds rattled at the door—
The shutters creaked and shook,
While Eva, by the cottage hearth,
Sat with abstracted look.
With every gust, the big rain-drops
Upon the casement beat,
How doubly, on a night like this,
Are home and comfort sweet!

The maiden slowly raised her eyes,
And pressed her pallid brow:—
'Dear mother! I have been far hence:
My sight is absent now!
O mother! 't is a fearful thing,
A human heart to wrong,
To plant a sadness on the lip,
Where smiles and peace belong.

In selfishness or callous pride,
The sacred tear to start,
Or lightest finger dare to press
Upon the burdened heart.
And doubly fearful, when a child
Lifts its imploring eye,
And deprecates the cruel wrath
With childhood's pleading cry.

The child is made for smiles and joy,
Sweet emigrant from Heaven,
The sinless brow and trusting heart,
To lure us there, were given.
Then who shall dare the simple faith
And loving heart to chill,
Or its frank, upward, beaming eye
With sorrowing tears to fill!'

'T was thus young Eva silence broke,
While still the dame, intent
On household thrift, croned at her work—
Her sounding needles blent
With flapping of the eager flame,
Nor raised she once her eyes,
But to her daughter's musing thought,
In answering tale replies.



The Stepmother.
You speak of Hobert's second wife, a lofty dame and bold,
I like not her forbidding air and forehead high and cold,
The orphans have no cause for grief, she dare not give it now,
Though nothing but a ghostly fear, her heart of pride could bow.

One night the boy his mother called, they heard him weeping say,
'Sweet mother, kiss poor Eddy's cheek, and wipe his tears away.'
Red grew the lady's brow with rage, and yet she feels a strife
Of anger and of terror too, at thought of that dead wife.

Wild roars the wind, the lights burn blue, the watch-dog howls with fear,
Loud neighs the steed from out the stall: what form is gliding near?
No latch is raised, no step is heard, but a phantom fills the space—
A sheeted spectre from the dead, with cold and leaden face.

What boots it that no other eye beheld the shade appear!
The guilty lady's guilty soul beheld it plain and clear,
It slowly glides within the room, and sadly looks around—
And stooping, kissed her daughter's cheek with lips that gave no sound.

Then softly on the step-dame's arm she laid a death-cold hand,
Yet it hath scorched within the flesh like to a burning brand.
And gliding on with noiseless foot, o'er winding stair and hall,
She nears the chamber where is heard her infant's trembling call.

She smoothed the pillow where he lay, she warmly tucked the bed,
She wiped his tears, and stroked the curls that clustered round his head.
The child, caressed, unknowing fear, hath nestled him to rest;
The Mother folds her wings beside—the Mother from the Blest!*

'Fast by the eternal throne of God
Celestial beings stand,
Beings, who guide the little child
With kind and loving hand:
And wo to him who dares to turn
The infant foot aside,
Or shroud the light that ever should
Within his soul abide.

All evils of the outer world,
The strong heart learns to bear,
Bears proudly up the heavy weight,
Or makes it light by prayer;
But when it passes through the door,
To touch the life within,
God shield the soul that dared to give
An impulse unto sin.'

'T was thus the pair the hours beguiled,
In lowliness content,
For Eva to the humblest things,
A grace and beauty lent,
And half she wiled the thrifty dame
From toil and vapid thought,
To see how much of mystery
In common life is wrought;

And daily learning deeper truth,
She Eva ceased to chide;
Whose simple mission only sought
The lowly fireside;
To cleanse the heart from selfishness,
From coldness, pride, and hate;
That Love might be a dweller there,
And Peace his dove-eyed mate.

She saw that round her daughter grew,
In all her guileless youth,
The depth and grace of womanhood,
The nobleness of truth;
And coarser natures shrank away,
Awed by a strange rebuke,
That lived within the purity
Of every tone and look.

And something like instinctive light,
Broke feebly on her mind,
That Love, the love of common hearts,
Might not young Eva bind;
That she was made for ministry,
To lofty cheer impart,
And yet live on in tranquilness,
And maidenhood of heart.

And thence content around her grew,
Content, that placid grace
That clears the furrows of the cheek,
And smooths the matron face;
And now she laid her knitting by,
And quaint old legends told,
About a miser years agone,
A miser dull and old.

The Defrauded Heart.
For fifty years the old man's feet had crossed the oaken sill,
No human eye his own to greet—the room is damp and chill—
Silent he comes and silent goes, with cold and covert air,
Around a searching look he throws, then mounts the creaking stair.
He's a sallow man, with narrow heart, and feelings all of self—
His thoughts he may to none impart; they all are thoughts of pelf.
But now he enters not the door, he lingers on the stone,
What think you has come the old man o'er, that he loiters in the sun?

'Come hither, child,'—he stretched his hand and held a boy from play—
'The green old woods throughout the land—are they passing all away?
I remember now 'tis a bye-gone joy since birds were singing here—
'Twas a merry time, and I a boy to list their spring-time cheer.'
And then he loosed the wondering child, and fiercely closed the door,
For there was something new and wild, that come his nature o'er—
A crowding of unwonted thought, that might not be repressed,
An inward pang that aching sought a sympathizing breast.

The long-lost years of sullen life apart from human kind,
Long torpid powers awaked to strife are struggling in his mind:
The child still near the threshold stays and ponders o'er and o'er,
With a perplexed and dull amaze the words of him of yore.
A stealthy foot beneath the sill—a dry hand pale and thin—
And thus the old man hushed and still has drawn the boy within.
'How long is't, child, since that cross-road the greenwoods severed wide?
A pool there was—'twas dark and broad with black and sluggish tide.

It seems but yesterday that I was hunting bird's eggs there—
To-day it chanced to meet mine eye, a dusty thoroughfare.'
Breathed freely once again the child, 'That road was always so.'
And half in fear the urchin smiled, and made as he would go.
'Nay once a goodly wood was there—wild blossoms in the spring,
And darted thence the crouching hare and bird upon the wing,
But now a lengthened dusty way—a cross-road—mile-stone too—
Things that to you have been alway, to me are strange and new.'

'I have not slept these long blank years, for store of gold is here,
Apart from joy, apart from tears, with neither grief nor cheer,
And never on my conscience left the stain of any wrong,
Why should I feel as one berest, with yearnings new and strong?
Why hear a voice for ever cry, `Unfaithful steward thou!'
Come tell me, child, the sun is high—do chills oppress thee now?'
The boy glanced wistfully about the damp and lonely place,
Then at the warm bright sun without, then in the old man's face.

A moment shook his wasted frame as by a palsy touch,
The white hair thither went and came, the bony fingers clutch
Each other with an eager speed; and then his thin lips part—
'Come, child, canst thou the omen read? cheer up an old man's heart.'
The boy, half pitying, half in dread, looked in his pale cold face,
'My grandam says, when footsteps tread upon our burial-place,
Tread on the spot our grave to be, we feel a sudden cold;
She's often said the thing to me, and she is very old.'

'Now get thee hence,' the old man cried, 'thou bringest little cheer.'
And then he thrust the boy aside as with a deadly fear;
Who wondering cast his eyes about to drink in life and air,
And burst his lips in one wild shout, for both were buoyant there.
Three days from thence a mound of earth the cross road marked anew,
And children stayed their voice of mirth when they beside it drew—
Unhallowed though the old man's rest, where men pass to and fro,
The rudest foot aside is pressed from him who sleeps below.

The Sinless Child Part 2

Untiring all the weary day
The widow toiled with care,
And scarcely cleared her furrowed brow
When came the hour of prayer;
The voices, that on every side,
The prisoned soul call forth,
And bid it in its freedom walk,
Rejoicing in the earth;

Fall idly on a deafened ear,
A heart untaught to thrill
When music gusheth from the bird,
Or from the crystal rill;
She moves unheeding by the flower
With its ministry of love,
And feels no sweet companionship,
With silent stars above.

Alas! that round the human soul
The cords of earth should bind,
That they should bind in darkness down
The light—discerning mind—
That all its freshness, freedom, gone,
Its destiny forgot,
It should, in gloomy discontent,
Bewail its bitter lot.

But Eva, while she turned the wheel,
Or toiled in homely guise,
With buoyant life was all abroad,
Beneath the pleasant skies;
And sang all day from lightsome heart,
From joy that in her dwelt,
That evermore the soul is free,
To go where joy is felt.

All lowly and familiar things
In earth, or air, or sky,
A lesson brought to Eva's mind
Of import deep and high;
She learned, from blossom in the wild,
From bird upon the wing,
From silence and the midnight stars,
Truth dwells in everything.

The careless winds that round her played
Brought voices to her ear,
But Eva, pure in thought and soul,
Dreamed never once of fear—
The whispered words of angel lips
She heard in forest wild,
And many a holy spell they wrought,
About the Sinless Child.

And much she loved the forest walk,
Where round the shadows fell,
The solitude of mountain height,
Or green and lowly dell;
The brook dispensing verdure round,
And singing on its way,
Now coyly hid in fringe of green,
Now wild in sparkling play.

She early marked the butterfly,
That gay, mysterious thing,
That, bursting from its prison-house
Appeared on golden wing;
It had no voice to speak delight,
Yet on the floweret's breast,
She saw it mute and motionless,
In long, long rapture rest.

She said, that while the little shroud
Beneath the casement hung,
A kindly spirit lingered near,
As dimly there it swung;
That music sweet and low was heard
To hail the perfect life,
And Eva felt that insect strange
With wondrous truth was rife.

It crawled no more a sluggish thing
Upon the lowly earth;
A brief, brief sleep, and then she saw
A new and radiant birth;
And thus she learned without a doubt,
That man from death would rise,
As did the butterfly on wings,
To claim its native skies.

The rainbow, bending o'er the storm,
A beauteous language told;
For angels, twined with loving arms,
She plainly might behold,
And in their glorious robes they bent
To earth in wondrous love,
As they would lure the human soul
To brighter things above.

The bird would leave the rocking branch
Upon her hand to sing,
And upward turn its fearless eye
And plume its glossy wing,
And Eva listened to the song,
Till all the sense concealed
In that deep gushing forth of joy,
Became to her revealed.

And when the bird a nest would build,
A spirit from above
Directed all the pretty work,
And filled its heart with love.
And she within the nest would peep
The colored eggs to see,
But never touch the dainty things,
For a thoughtful child was she.

Much Eva loved the twilight hour,
When shadows gather round,
And softer sings the little bird,
And insect from the ground;
She felt that this within the heart
Must be the hour of prayer,
For even earth in quietude
Did own its Maker there.

The still moon in the saffron sky
Hung out her silver thread,
And the bannered clouds in gorgeous folds
A mantle round her spread.
The gentle stars came smiling down
Upon the brilliant sky,
That looked a meet and glorious dome,
For worship pure and high;

And Eva lingered, though the gloom
Had deepened into shade;
And many thought that spirits came
To teach the Sinless Maid,
For oft her mother sought the child
Amid the forest glade,
And marvelled that in darksome glen,
So tranquilly she stayed.

For every jagged limb to her
A shadowy semblance hath,
Of spectres and distorted shapes,
That frown upon her path,
And mock her with their hideous eyes;
For when the soul is blind
To freedom, truth, and inward light,
Vague fears debase the mind:

But Eva like a dreamer waked,
Looked off upon the hill,
And murmured words of strange, sweet sound,
As if there lingered still
Ethereal forms with whom she talked,
Unseen by all beside;
And she with earnest looks, besought
The vision to abide.

'Oh Mother! Mother! do not speak,
Or all will pass away,
The spirits leave the green-hill side,
Where light the breezes play;
They sport no more by ringing brook,
With daisy dreaming by;
Nor float upon the fleecy cloud
That steals along the sky.

It grieves me much they never will
A human look abide,
But veil themselves in silver mist
By vale or mountain side.
I feel their presence round me still,
Though none to sight appear;
I feel the motion of their wings,
Their whispered language hear.

With silvery robe, and wings outspread,
They passed me even now;
And gems and starry diadem
Decked every radiant brow.
Intent were each on some kind work
Of pity or of love,
Dispensing from their healing wings
The blessings from above.

With downy pinion they enfold
The heart surcharged with wo,
And fan with balmy wing the eye
Whence floods of sorrow flow;
They bear, in golden censers up,
That sacred gift, a tear;
By which is registered the griefs,
Hearts may have suffered here.

No inward pang, no yearning love
Is lost to human hearts,
No anguish that the spirit feels,
When bright-winged hope departs;
Though in the mystery of life
Discordant powers prevail;
That life itself be weariness,
And sympathy may fail:

Yet all becomes a discipline,
To lure us to the sky;
And angels bear the good it brings
With fostering care on high,
Though human hearts may weary grow,
And sink to toil-spent sleep,
And we are left in solitude,
And agony to weep:

Yet they with ministering zeal,
The cup of healing bring,
And bear our love and gratitude
Away, on heavenward wing;
And thus the inner life is wrought,
The blending earth and heaven;
The love more earnest in its glow,
Where much has been forgiven!

I would, dear Mother, thou couldst see
Within this darksome veil,
That hides the spirit-land from thee,
And makes our sunshine pale;
The toil of earth, its doubt and care,
Would trifles seem to thee;
Repose would rest upon thy soul.
And holy mystery.

Thou wouldst behold protecting care
To shield thee on thy way,
And ministers to guard thy feet,
Lest erring, they should stray;
And order, sympathy, and love,
Would open to thine eye,
From simplest creature of the earth
To seraph throned on high.

E'en now I marked a radiant throng,
On soft wing sailing by,
To sooth with hope the trembling heart,
And cheer the dying eye;
They smiling passed the lesser sprites,
Each on his work intent;
And love and holy joy I saw
In every face were blent.

The tender violets bent in smiles
To elves that sported nigh,
Tossing the drops of fragrant dew
To scent the evening sky.
They kissed the rose in love and mirth,
And its petals fairer grew,
A shower of pearly dust they brought,
And o'er the lily threw.

A host flew round the mowing field,
And they were showering down
The cooling spray on the early grass,
Like diamonds o'er it thrown;
They gemmed each leaf and quivering spear
With pearls of liquid dew,
And bathed the stately forest tree,
Till his robe was fresh and new.

I saw a meek-eyed creature curve
The tulip's painted cup,
And bless with one soft kiss the urn,
Then fold the petals up.
A finger rocked the young bird's nest,
As high on a branch it hung.
And the gleaming night-dew rattled down,
Where the old dry leaf was flung.

Each and all, as its task is done,
Soars up with a joyous eye,
Bearing aloft some treasured gift—
An offering ON HIGH.
They bear the breath of the odorous flower,
The sound of the bright-sea shell;
And thus they add to the holy joys
Of the home where spirits dwell.