"Then wherefore wait?" my mother gently said, "Let him come hither till I bless his name!" And Roderick turned, and forth the stranger led And once again, I looked on Hector Graem.
No welcome-glow lit up the old man's eye, Surprise or anger seemed to hold him dumb, My mother clasped his hand with sob and sigh, But to full hearts the fewest words will come
Then Hector kissed her hand with courtly grace,-- Bowed lowly to my father, half in scorn, "Old ills" he said "are hardest to erase From hearts where gratitude was never born"
But as he spoke the glistening tear drops fell From those old eyes, that seldom tear drops know. "You here" he said "love breaks hates baleful spell, And gratitude comes forth to yield her due!"
"Let feuds and errors perish with the Past,-- 'Tis thus I lay them in a deep dug-grave'" And, beckoning me beside him, there, at last, His blessing, once refused, he fondly gave!
Ah! life is very fair, and love is sweet! The dark sky cleared, the sun shone out again, Earth seemed a heaven, with perfect bliss replete, And new-born gladness healed the sting of pain
And standing by the window hand in hand, Hearing the storm howl o'er the wastes of snow. We were the happiest of the happy band That merry Christmas fifty years ago!
At dawn sweet flushes softly creep Along the brightening sky, Pale watchers whom lone vigils keep Perceive the sign, and cry, The night is gone, the bright day comes, And gladsome light the East illumes!
Bright blossoms on the branches burst, Then Autumn fruits grow there; So, dreams that sickly hope had burst Grown real, make life fair. And dreams we prize as holy things That haunt our path on mystic wings.
And so, across life's weary road, Made dark by many a woe, We hear the tender words of God, "Come, follow where I go!" And listening to that gentle voice Is fixed the best and earliest choice.
First, we must pray, and watch, and wait, And bear the daily cross, And, till we reach the Master's gate, Count earthly gain as lost, Then hear, "good servant, nobly done," By patience hath the crown been won.
It is the joyous time of June, And Nature glads the smiling land Arrayed in garments gay and green Bestowed by nature's lavish hand. Oh! soft the lullaby of streams 'Neath shadow of o'er arching trees, When all sweet, summer music seems To float around us on the breeze. It greets us in the greenwood glades-- By forest aisles and alleys lone, Where, wandering in the twilight shades The poet calls the hour his own. Perchance he dreams some minstrel hand, Wakes woodland harps to heavenly song, While spirits from the golden land On white wings bear the notes along.