KINSMAN.
Died at the Island of Panay (Philippine group), aged nineteen years.
Where ceaseless Spring her garland twines, As sweetly shall the loved one rest, As if beneath the whispering pines And maple shadows of the West.
Ye mourn, O hearts of home! for him, But, haply, mourn ye not alone; For him shall far-off eyes be dim, And pity speak in tongues unknown.
There needs no graven line to give The story of his blameless youth; All hearts shall throb intuitive, And nature guess the simple truth.
The very meaning of his name Shall many a tender tribute win; The stranger own his sacred claim, And all the world shall be his kin.
And there, as here, on main and isle, The dews of holy peace shall fall, The same sweet heavens above him smile, And God's dear love be over all 1874.
THE GOLDEN WEDDING OF LONGWOOD.
Longwood, not far from Bayard Taylor's birthplace in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania, was the home of my esteemed friends John and Hannah Cox, whose golden wedding was celebrated in 1874.
With fifty years between you and your well-kept wedding vow, The Golden Age, old friends of mine, is not a fable now.
And, sweet as has life's vintage been through all your pleasant past, Still, as at Cana's marriage-feast, the best wine is the last!
Again before me, with your names, fair Chester's landscape comes, Its meadows, woods, and ample barns, and quaint, stone-builded homes.
The smooth-shorn vales, the wheaten slopes, the boscage green and soft, Of which their poet sings so well from towered Cedarcroft.
And lo! from all the country-side come neighbors, kith and kin; From city, hamlet, farm-house old, the wedding guests come in.
And they who, without scrip or purse, mob-hunted, travel-worn, In Freedom's age of martyrs came, as victors now return.
Older and slower, yet the same, files in the long array, And hearts are light and eyes are glad, though heads are badger-gray.
The fire-tried men of Thirty-eight who saw with me the fall, Midst roaring flames and shouting mob, of Pennsylvania Hall;
And they of Lancaster who turned the cheeks of tyrants pale, Singing of freedom through the grates of Moyamensing jail!
And haply with them, all unseen, old comrades, gone before, Pass, silently as shadows pass, within your open door,--
The eagle face of Lindley Coates, brave Garrett's daring zeal, Christian grace of Pennock, the steadfast heart of Neal.
Ah me! beyond all power to name, the worthies tried and true, Grave men, fair women, youth and maid, pass by in hushed review.
Of varying faiths, a common cause fused all their hearts in one.
God give them now, whate'er their names, the peace of duty done!
How gladly would I tread again the old-remembered places, Sit down beside your hearth once more and look in the dear old faces!
And thank you for the lessons your fifty years are teaching, For honest lives that louder speak than half our noisy preaching;
For your steady faith and courage in that dark and evil time, When the Golden Rule was treason, and to feed the hungry, crime;
For the poor slave's house of refuge when the hounds were on his track, And saint and sinner, church and state, joined hands to send him back.
Blessings upon you!--What you did for each sad, suffering one, So homeless, faint, and naked, unto our Lord was done!
Fair fall on Kennett's pleasant vales and Longwood's bowery ways The mellow sunset of your lives, friends of my early days.
May many more of quiet years be added to your sum, And, late at last, in tenderest love, the beckoning angel come.
Dear hearts are here, dear hearts are there, alike below, above; Our friends are now in either world, and love is sure of love.
1874.
HYMN FOR THE OPENING OF PLYMOUTH CHURCH, ST. PAUL, MINNESOTA.
All things are Thine: no gift have we, Lord of all gifts, to offer Thee; And hence with grateful hearts to-day, Thy own before Thy feet we lay.
Thy will was in the builders' thought; Thy hand unseen amidst us wrought; Through mortal motive, scheme and plan, Thy wise eternal purpose ran.
No lack Thy perfect fulness knew; For human needs and longings grew This house of prayer, this home of rest, In the fair garden of the West.
In weakness and in want we call On Thee for whom the heavens are small; Thy glory is Thy children's good, Thy joy Thy tender Fatherhood.
O Father! deign these walls to bless, Fill with Thy love their emptiness, And let their door a gateway be To lead us from ourselves to Thee!
1872.
LEXINGTON 1775.
No Berserk thirst of blood had they, No battle-joy was theirs, who set Against the alien bayonet Their homespun breasts in that old day.
Their feet had trodden peaceful, ways; They loved not strife, they dreaded pain; They saw not, what to us is plain, That God would make man's wrath his praise.
No seers were they, but simple men; Its vast results the future hid The meaning of the work they did Was strange and dark and doubtful then.