The New Age

Frederick Lawrence Knowles writes this optimistic outlook for the future:

When memory of battles.
At last is strange and old,
When nations have one banner
And creeds have found one fold, 

 
When the Hand that sprinkles midnight
With its powdered drift of suns
Has hushed this tiny tumult
Of sects and swords and guns;  

 
Then Hate's last note of discord
In all God's worlds shall cease,
In the conquest which is service,
In the victory which is peace!

Up Hill

Up Hill

by Christiana Rossetti

Does the road wind up hill all the way?

Yes, to the very end.

Will the day's journey take the whole long day?

From morn till night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?

A roof for me when the slow, dark hours begin?

May not the darkness hide it from my face?

You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night ?

Those who have gone before.

Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?

They will not keep you standing at the door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?

Of labor you shall find the sum.

Will there be beds for me and all who seek?

Yea, beds for all who come.

A Prayer by Phoebe Cary

Prayer

by Phoebe Cary

Father! thou didst hear my prayer.

When I plead with thee to spare,

When I asked for length of years,

Thou didst pitying see my tears,

And thy words in answer were,

"Respite from the sepulchre!"

Lo! no more the prayer I raise:

Life hath waned to evil days;

Veiling in the dust my woes,

I would bless the grave's repose;

Sweeter, sweeter would it be,

Than a lover's dream to me.

Long enough thy child hath been

Struggling in a world of sin,

Long enough have doubts assailed,

Long enough the flesh prevailed,

Long enough hath sorrow tried

One it hath not purified.

In life's hours of rosy dawn,

Hope with white hand let me on,

Showing gorgeous imagery

Of a happier time to be;

But, in noonday's clearer flame,

Blest fruition never came.

Hastening now towards its close

Is the day that brightly rose,

And the hope that fled its prime

Comes not at evening time,

Hear me, pity, and recall,

Ere the midnight shadows fall!

Willing, eager to depart,

Old in years and old in heart,

Waiting but the messanger

To unseal the sepulchre,

Lo! again to Thee I come-

Take me, Father, take me home!

The Sabbath Morning

The Sabbath Morning

by John Leyden

With silent awe I hail the sacred morn,

That slowly wakes while all the fields are still!

A soothing calm on every breeze is borne;

A graver murmur gurgles from the rill;

And echo answers softer from the hill;

And softer sings the linnet from the thorn:

The skylark warbles in a tone less shrill.

Hail, light serene! hail, sacred Sabbath morn!

The rooks float silent by in airy drove;

The sun a placid yellow lustre throws;

The gales that lately sighed along the grove,

Have hushed their downy wings in dead repose;

The hovering rack of clouds forgets to move--

So smiled the day when the first morn arose!

Before His Throne by C. Huntington

Before His Throne 

by C.Huntington 

If I may stand before His throne,
And look upon His face,
What shall I care that oft, alone,
Like Him, I ran my race.
 

Safe on thy ever blissful plains,
My heart’s own treasure gathered there;
Farewell, forever, sins and pains,
Farewell, bereavement, sorrow, care!