Though in the sacred place he stands,
Uplifting consecrated hands,
Unworthy are his lips to tell
Of Jesus' martyr-miracle,

Or name aright that dread embrace
Of suffering for a fallen race!

ASTRÆEA.

"Jove means to settle

Astræa in her seat again,
And let down from his golden chain
An age of better metal."
BEN JONSON, 1615.

O POET rare and old !
Thy words are prophecies;
Forward the age of gold,

The new Saturnian lies.

The universal prayer

And hope are not in vain ;
Rise, brothers! and prepare
The way for Saturn's reign.

Perish shall all which takes
From labor's board and can;
Perish shall all which makes
A spaniel of the man!

Free from its bonds the mind,
The body from the rod;
Broken all chains that bind
The image of our God.

Just men no longer pine

Behind their prison-bars; Through the rent dungeon shine The free sun and the stars.

Earth own, at last, untrod

By sect, or caste, or clan, The fatherhood of God,

The brotherhood of man! Fraud fail, craft perish, forth The money-changers driven, And God's will done on earth, As now in heaven!

INVOCATION.

THROUGH thy clear spaces, Lord, of old, Formless and void the dead earth rolled;

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How didst thou, in thy generous youth,
Bear witness to this blessed truth!

Thy cross of suffering and of shame
A staff within thy hands became,
In paths where faith alone could see
The Master's steps supporting thee.

Thine was the seed-time; God alone
Beholds the end of what is sown ;
Beyond our vision, weak and dim,
The harvest-time is hid with Him.

Yet, unforgotten where it lies,
That seed of generous sacrifice,
Though seeming on the desert cast,
Shall rise with bloom and fruit at last.

EVA.

DRY the tears for holy Eva,
With the blessed angels leave her;
Of the form so soft and fair
Give to earth the tender care.

For the golden locks of Eva
Let the sunny south-land give her
Flowery pillow of repose,-
Orange-bloom and budding rose.

In the better home of Eva

Let the shining ones receive her,
With the welcome-voicéd psalm,
Harp of gold and waving palm!

All is light and peace with Eva;
There the darkness cometh never;
Tears are wiped, and fetters fall,
And the Lord is all in all.

Weep no more for happy Eva,

Wrong and sin no more shall grieve her;
Care and pain and weariness
Lost in love so measureless.

TO FREDRIKA BREMER.5

SEERESS of the misty Norland,
Daughter of the Vikings bold,
Welcome to the sunny Vineland,
Which thy fathers sought of old!
Soft as flow of Silja's waters,

When the moon of summer shines
Strong as Winter from his mountains
Roaring through the sleeted pines.
Heart and ear, we long have listener!
To thy saga, rune, and song,
As a household joy and presence

We have known and loved thee lor

By the mansion's marble mantel, Round the log-walled cabin's heart!. Thy sweet thoughts andnorthern fancit Meet and mingle with our mirth. And o'er weary spirits keeping Sorrow's night-watch, long and chi Shine they like thy sun of summer Over midnight vale and hill.

We alone to thee are strangers,

Thou our friend and teacher art; Come, and know us as we know the Let us meet thee heart to heart! To our homes and household altars We, in turn, thy steps would lead, As thy loving hand has led us

O'er the threshold of the Swede.

'er the cold winter-beds of their latewaking roots

'he frosty flake eddies, the ice-crystal shoots;

And, longing for light, under winddriven heaps,

Kound the boles of the pine-wood the ground-laurel creeps,

Unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of showers,

With buds scarcely swelled, which should burst into flowers! We wait for thy coming, sweet wind of the south!

For the touch of thy light wings, the kiss of thy mouth;

or the yearly evangel thou bearest from God,

Iesurrection and life to the graves of the sod!

Vp our long river-valley, for days, have not ceased

The wail and the shriek of the bitter northeast,

aw and chill, as if winnowed through ices and snow,

All the way from the land of the wild Esquimau,

Jntil all our dreams of the land of the blest,

ike that red hunter's, turn to the sunny

southwest.

soul of the spring-time, its light and its breath,

Bring warmth to this coldness, bring life to this death;

Renew the great miracle; let us behoid

he stone from the mouth of the sepul

chre rolled,

And Nature, like Lazarus, rise, as of

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Than web of Persian loom most rare, Or soft divan,

Better the rough rock, bleak and bare, Or hollow tree, which man may share With suffering man.

I hear a voice: "Thus saith the Law,
Let Love be dumb;

Clasping her liberal hands in awe,
Let sweet-lipped Charity withdraw
From hearth and home."

I hear another voice: "The poor
Are thine to feed;
Turn not the outcast from thy door,
Nor give to bonds and wrong once more
Whom God hath freed."

Dear Lord! between that law and thee

No choice remains ;

Yet not untrue to man's decree,
Though spurning its rewards, is he
Who bears its pains.

Not mine Sedition's trumpet-blast
And threatening word;

I read the lesson of the Past,
That firm endurance wins at last
More than the sword.

O clear-eyed Faith, and Patience, thou So calm and strong!

Lend strength to weakness, teach us how

The sleepless eyes of God look through This night of wrong!

A SABBATH SCENE.

SCARCE had the solemn Sabbath-bell
Ceased quivering in the steeple,
Scarce had the parson to his desk
Walked stately through his people,

When down the summer-shaded street
A wasted female figure,
With dusky brow and naked feet,

Came rushing wild and eager.

She saw the white spire through the trees,

She heard the sweet hymn swelling:
O pitying Christ! a refuge give
That poor one in thy dwelling!

Like a scared fawn before the hounds,
Right up the aisle she glided,
While close behind her, whip in hand,
A lank-haired hunter strided.

She raised a keen and bitter cry,

To Heaven and Earth appealing :Were manhood's generous pulses dead? Had woman's heart no feeling?

A score of stout hands rose between
The hunter and the flying:

Age clenched his staff, and maiden eyes
Flashed tearful, yet defying.

My brain took fire: "Is this," I cried,

The end of prayer and preaching? Then down with pulpit, down with priest,

And give us Nature's teaching !

"Foul shame and scorn be on ye all
Who turn the good to evil,
And steal the Bible from the Lord,
To give it to the Devil!

"Than garbled text or parchment law
I own a statute higher;
And God is true, though every book
And every man's a liar!"

Just then I felt the deacon's hand
In wrath my coat-tail seize on;
I heard the priest cry, "Infidel!"
The lawyer mutter, "Treason!

I started up,-where now were church,
Slave, master, priest, and people?
I only heard the supper-bell,
Instead of clanging steeple.

But, on the open window's sill,
O'er which the white blooms drifted,
The pages of a good old Book

The wind of summer lifted.

And flower and vine, like angel wings
Around the Holy Mother,
Waved softly there, as if God's truth
And Mercy kissed each other.

And freely from the cherry-bough Above the casement swinging, With golden bosom to the sun, The oriole was singing.

As bird and flower made plain of old
The lesson of the Teacher,
So now I heard the written Word
Interpreted by Nature!

For to my ear methought the breeze Bore Freedom's blessed word on; THUS SAITH THE LORD: BREAK EVERY YOKE,

UNDO THE HEAVY BURDEN!

REMEMBRANCE.

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WITH COPIES OF THE AUTHOR'S WRIT INGS.

FRIEND of mine! whose lot was cast
With me in the distant past, —
Where, like shadows flitting fast,

Fact and fancy, thought and theme,
Word and work, begin to seem
Like a half-remembered dream!
Touched by change have all things been,
Yet I think of thee as when
We had speech of lip and pen.

For the calm thy kindness lent
To a path of discontent,
Rough with trial and dissent;

Gentle words where such were few,
Softening blame where blame was true,
Praising where small praise was due;

For a waking dream made good,
For an ideal understood,
For thy Christian womanhood;

For thy marvellous gift to cull
From our common life and dull
Whatsoe'er is beautiful;

Thoughts and fancies, Hybla's bees
Dropping sweetness; true heart's-ease
Of congenial sympathies ;-

Still for these I own my debt;
Memory, with her eyelids wet,
Fain would thank thee even yet!

And as one who scatters flowers
Where the Queen of May's sweet hours
Sits, o'ertwined with blossomed bowers,

In superfluous zeal bestowing
Gifts where gifts are overflowing,
So I pay the debt I'n owing.

To thy full thoughts, gay or sad,
Sunny-hued or sober clad,
Something of my own I add ;

Well assured that thou wilt take
Even the offering which I make
Kindly for the giver's sake.