"Fly downward to that under world, and on its souls of pain Let Love drop smiles like sunshine, and Pity tears like rain!"
Two faces bowed before the Throne, veiled in their golden hair; Four white wings lessened swiftly down the dark abyss of air.
The way was strange, the flight was long; at last the angels came Where swung the lost and nether world, red-wrapped in rayless flame.
There Pity, shuddering, wept; but Love, with faith too strong for fear, Took heart from God's almightiness and smiled a smile of cheer.
And lo! that tear of Pity quenched the flame whereon it fell, And, with the sunshine of that smile, hope entered into hell!
Two unveiled faces full of joy looked upward to the Throne, Four white wings folded at the feet of Him who sat thereon!
And deeper than the sound of seas, more soft than falling flake, Amidst the hush of wing and song the Voice Eternal spake:
"Welcome, my angels! ye have brought a holier joy to heaven; Henceforth its sweetest song shall be the song of sin forgiven!"
1875.
OVERRULED.
The threads our hands in blindness spin No self-determined plan weaves in; The shuttle of the unseen powers Works out a pattern not as ours.
Ah! small the choice of him who sings What sound shall leave the smitten strings; Fate holds and guides the hand of art; The singer's is the servant's part.
The wind-harp chooses not the tone That through its trembling threads is blown; The patient organ cannot guess What hand its passive keys shall press.
Through wish, resolve, and act, our will Is moved by undreamed forces still; And no man measures in advance His strength with untried circumstance.
As streams take hue from shade and sun, As runs the life the song must run; But, glad or sad, to His good end God grant the varying notes may tend!
1877.
HYMN OF THE DUNKERS
KLOSTER KEDAR, EPHRATA, PENNSYLVANIA (1738)
SISTER MARIA CHRISTINA sings
Wake, sisters, wake! the day-star shines; Above Ephrata's eastern pines The dawn is breaking, cool and calm.
Wake, sisters, wake to prayer and psalm!
Praised be the Lord for shade and light, For toil by day, for rest by night!
Praised be His name who deigns to bless Our Kedar of the wilderness!
Our refuge when the spoiler's hand Was heavy on our native land; And freedom, to her children due, The wolf and vulture only knew.
We praised Him when to prison led, We owned Him when the stake blazed red; We knew, whatever might befall, His love and power were over all.
He heard our prayers; with outstretched arm He led us forth from cruel harm; Still, wheresoe'er our steps were bent, His cloud and fire before us went!
The watch of faith and prayer He set, We kept it then, we keep it yet.
At midnight, crow of cock, or noon, He cometh sure, He cometh soon.
He comes to chasten, not destroy, To purge the earth from sin's alloy.
At last, at last shall all confess His mercy as His righteousness.
The dead shall live, the sick be whole, The scarlet sin be white as wool; No discord mar below, above, The music of eternal love!
Sound, welcome trump, the last alarm!
Lord God of hosts, make bare thine arm, Fulfil this day our long desire, Make sweet and clean the world with fire!
Sweep, flaming besom, sweep from sight The lies of time; be swift to smite, Sharp sword of God, all idols down, Genevan creed and Roman crown.
Quake, earth, through all thy zones, till all The fanes of pride and priesteraft fall; And lift thou up in place of them Thy gates of pearl, Jerusalem!
Lo! rising from baptismal flame, Transfigured, glorious, yet the same, Within the heavenly city's bound Our Kloster Kedar shall be found.
He cometh soon! at dawn or noon Or set of sun, He cometh soon.
Our prayers shall meet Him on His way; Wake, sisters, wake! arise and pray!
1877.
GIVING AND TAKING.
I have attempted to put in English verse a prose translation of a poem by Tinnevaluva, a Hindoo poet of the third century of our era.
Who gives and hides the giving hand, Nor counts on favor, fame, or praise, Shall find his smallest gift outweighs The burden of the sea and land.
Who gives to whom hath naught been given, His gift in need, though small indeed As is the grass-blade's wind-blown seed, Is large as earth and rich as heaven.
Forget it not, O man, to whom A gift shall fall, while yet on earth; Yea, even to thy seven-fold birth Recall it in the lives to come.
Who broods above a wrong in thought Sins much; but greater sin is his Who, fed and clothed with kindnesses, Shall count the holy alms as nought.
Who dares to curse the hands that bless Shall know of sin the deadliest cost; The patience of the heavens is lost Beholding man's unthankfulness.
For he who breaks all laws may still In Sivam's mercy be forgiven; But none can save, in earth or heaven, The wretch who answers good with ill.
1877.