Then while her face grew brighter As with a heavenly glow, In tenderness unspeakable, She kissed my lips and brow; Then I lost her--then she left me, As at the set of day The snowy clouds float outward, And melt in light away. I heard low strains of melody No earthly choir could sing, A light breath floated past me, As from a gliding wing; And on my darkened spirit There fell so bright a gleam, I knew the blessed vision Was not in truth a dream; Though death had won from my embrace, My beautiful, my bride, I had won a richer treasure, An angel by my side. The Father careth for us all In pity, and I know My love is not forever gone From him who loved her so; When a few more days have drifted Their shadows over me, When the golden gates are lifted, My angel I shall see; Her veiled face in its glory Upon my gaze will rise, And Heaven will shine upon me Through the sweetness of her eyes. GRIEF. What though the Eden morns were sweet with song Passing all sweetness that our thought can reach; Crushing its flowers noon's chariot moved along In brightness far transcending mortal speech; Yet in the twilight shades did God appear, Oh welcome shadows so that He draw near. Prosperity is flushed with Papal ease And grants indulgences to pride of word, Robing our soul in pomp and vanities, Ah! no fit dwelling for our gentle Lord; Grief rends those draperies of pride and sin, And so our Lord will deign to enter in. Then carefully we curb each thought of wrong, We walk more softly, with more reverent feet-- As in His presence chamber, hush our tongue, And in the holy quiet, solemn, sweet, We feel His smile, we hear His voice so low, So we can bless Him that He gave us woe. What cares the sailor in the sheltered cove For the past peril of the stormy sea; Dear from grief's storm the haven of His love, And so He bringeth us where we would be; We trust in Him, we lean upon His breast, Who shall make trouble when He giveth rest? WILD OATS. Oh gay young husbandmen would you be sure of a crop Upspringing rankly, an abundant and bountiful yield? Go forth in the morning, and sow on your life's broad field This pleasantly odorous seed, then smooth the ground on top, Or leave it rough, with the utmost undeceit, Never you fear, it will thriftily thrive and grow, Loading the harvest plain beneath your feet, With the ripened sheaves of shame, remorse, and woe. You have but to sow the seed, no care will it want, For he who soweth tares while the husbandman sleeps Taketh unwearied pains, a vigilant guard he keeps Tirelessly watching, and tending each evil plant. These are his pleasure gardens, leased to him through time Where he walketh to and fro, chanting a demon song; Tending with ghastly fingers, the scarlet buds of wrong, And drinking greedily in the sweet perfume of crime.