Ah me! in ages far away, The good, the heavenly land, Though unbeheld, quite near them lay, And men could understand. The dead yet find it, who, when here, Did love it more than this; They enter in, are filled with cheer, And pain expires in bliss. Oh, fairly shines the blessed land! Ah, God! I weep and pray-- The heart thou holdest in thy hand Loves more this sunny day. I see the hundred thousand wait Around the radiant throne: To me it is a dreary state, A crowd of beings lone. I do not care for singing psalms; I tire of good men's talk; To me there is no joy in palms, Or white-robed solemn walk. I love to hear the wild winds meet, The wild old winds at night; To watch the starlight throb and beat, To wait the thunder-light. I love all tales of valiant men, Of women good and fair; If I were rich and strong, ah then, I would do something rare. I see thy temple in the skies On pillars strong and white; I cannot love it, though I rise And try with all my might. Sometimes a joy lays hold on me, And I am speechless then; Almost a martyr I could be, And join the holy men. But soon my heart is like a clod, My spirit wrapt in doubt-- "_A pillar in the house of God, And never more go out!_" No more the sunny, breezy morn; No more the speechless moon; No more the ancient hills, forlorn, A vision, and a boon. Ah, God! my love will never burn, Nor shall I taste thy joy; And Jesus' face is calm and stern-- I am a hapless boy. THE CHILD-MOTHER. Heavily lay the warm sunlight Upon the green blades shining bright, An outspread grassy sea: She through the burnished yellow flowers Went walking in the golden hours That slept upon the lea. The bee went past her with a hum; The merry gnats did go and come In complicated dance; Like a blue angel, to and fro, The splendid dragon-fly did go, Shot like a seeking glance. She never followed them, but still Went forward with a quiet will, That got, but did not miss; With gentle step she passed along, And once a low, half-murmured song Uttered her share of bliss. It was a little maiden-child; You see, not frolicsome and wild, As such a child should be; For though she was just nine, no more, Another little child she bore, Almost as big as she. With tender care of straining arms, She kept it circled from all harms, With face turned from the sun; For in that perfect tiny heart, The mother, sister, nurse, had part, Her womanhood begun. At length they reach an ugly ditch, The slippery sloping bank of which Flowers and long grasses line; Some ragged-robins baby spied, And spread his little arms out wide, As he had found a mine. What baby wants, that baby has: A law unalterable as-- The poor shall serve the rich; She kneeleth down with eager eyes, And, reaching far out for the prize, Topples into the ditch.