And so 'twill be till life's last lay is written,
And twilight's portals close:
When tottering Time with Death's sharp scythe is smitten, My heart is with the rose.
LD Frankey sat in his elbow-chair:
His visage was pale and marked with care. His wife and he had both grown old,
And their son had left them in search of gold.
Old Frankey's wife, with a look of dread,
Told how the cupboard contained no bread;
And, “What shall we do?" with a sigh began :
"O, trust in God!" said the dear old man.
Then he climbed the stairs with his locks so grey,
And calmly knelt by his bed to pray.
He was ill and weak and decrepit too,
And this was all the old man could do.
And as he pleaded the Saviour's Word,
A double knock on the door was heard,
And his wife cried out by the old crock's rim :
"A letter, Frankey, from our boy Tim!"
Then they broke the seal with the greatest care,
And an English five-pound note was there.
Said Frankey, brushing away the tear,
"God's children never starve, my dear."
True to his post the captain stood
Amid the wild uproar,
And cried, as with a trumpet voice,
"Who takes this line ashore?"
None answered. The loud-roaring winds
Rushed fiercely from their caves,
And fearful monsters, lightning-winged,
Rode on the seething waves.
Well might the stoutest spirit quail
Before the blinding glare,
The strife of struggling elements,
And bronzed tars tremble there.
None answered, though the splintered mast
Fell in the doleful deep,
And some brave seaman lost his hold
At every billow's sweep.
Then spoke the pious cabin-boy,
Who by the stern did stand:
"With God's help, Sir, if you'll allow,
I'll take the line to land.
"My brothers taught me how to swim When I was very small;
And once I saved a passenger
Who from the deck did fall :
Out of the shrouds I quickly dropped,
And caught him by the hand.
With God's help, Sir, if you'll allow,
I'll take the line to land."
"Go," cried the captain, "quickly go :
My feelings none can tell.
Our lives are hanging on thy worth :
May kind Heaven speed thee well!"
The waters roared, and every board
Seemed by a thread to hang,
When o'er the ship's side gallantly
The youthful hero sprang.
The cord was fastened to his waist:
He struggles in the sea :
They see him now, and now he's lost;
Now up, now down is he.
And now the line is standing still,
Which does their hopes destroy :
They strain their eyes, but cannot see
The faithful cabin-boy.
O noble lad! Where is he? where?
Within the deep profound,
Asleep beneath the moaning waves,
With bright shells shining round?
O, no! O, no! Lift up your eyes,
And see his waving hand,
And hear his shout of thankfulness,
Now standing on the land.
And soon a rope was drawn ashore,
And many a tar has crossed,
The captain and his grateful crew,
For not a soul was lost.
And as they stood around him there,
They shouted loud for joy,
That God would bless for evermore
The noble cabin-boy!
HE log blazed bright on the chimney-stone, Where an old man sat in his chair alone : No, not alone; for strange phantoms came And danced awhile in the flickering flame; And looks of love from faces bland
Gleamed forth from the cells of the burning brand.
He saw his brothers and sisters blest
Where the daisies smiled by the skylark's nest :
His playmates came, with their cheeks of joy,
With hoop and marbles, as when a boy;
And the carol-chanters adown the moor
Were singing beside the rectory door.
And one he had loved when his youth was green
Stood out from the embers the flames between,
With a smile like spring when the sunshine glows
On the emerald slopes and the opening rose;
And the old man drew his chair still nigher,
While a tear fell down on the Christmas fire.
And then his daughters across the sea
And his sons came back to their father's knee;
And he heard their laughter among the trees,
When summer was fanning the fragrant leas;
And their prayers returned when the day was spent,
And the traveller's feet were homeward bent.
Then a vision arose in the clear fire-gleams
Of a coming age of meads and streams,
When war should die on a desert shore,
And man shoot down his man no more;
When love should hold in a silken band
The peaceful dwellers of every land.
And he looked again in the embers red,
Where Merit walked with an unbowed head,
And Worth was honoured among the isles,
And Truth had earned its country's smiles,
And Peace reclined in her pastoral bower
With a crown of green corn half in flower.
Still blazed the log on the chimney-stone,
Where the old man sat in his chair alone :
And he heard an echo from shore to shore
That might should trample on right no more;
That the true should live, and the false expire :
And he thanked his God by the Christmas fire.
MY FATHER'S HAND.
HE throng was great, the train moved on
With many a serf and squire :
But one fair boy was shedding tears,
For he had lost his sire.
Around him men and women sat
With features strangely dim; But not a single face he knew,
They all were strange to him.
On, on! puff, puff! the rail-horse rushed, Yet still the fair boy sighed,
Till he was gently asked to scan
A window at his side.
A smile passed o'er his tear-washed face,
While he in accents bland
Exclaimed with earnest beaming eyes,
"It is my father's hand!"
So he at once was satisfied,
Nor shed another tear,
Convinced by what he then beheld
His father must be near.
And soon they reached their journey's end,
And trod the station floor;
And the glad boy had tightly grasped
His father's hand once more.
Thus there are times and seasons too
Along the Christian race,
When faith is dim, and cannot see
Our loving Father's face.
But, O, behind the gathering clouds
That darken half the land,
We hear His voice, and see again
The glory of His hand.
The flowers along the brooklet's banks,
The blossoms on the tree,
The ferns within the forest shade,
The daisy of the lea,
The clouds around the gate of Eve,
When silence fills the strand,
And voices flow among the hills,
Reveal our Father's hand.
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