Not life, the vassal of the changeful hour, Nor burdened bliss, but Truth and Love attest The solemn splendor of immortal power,-- The ever Christ, and glorified behest, Poured on the sense which deems no suffering vain That wipes away the sting of death--sin, pain. Pleasant View, Concord, N. H., _April 18, 1900_. _RESOLUTIONS FOR THE DAY_ To rise in the morning and drink in the view-- The home where I dwell in the vale, The blossoms whose fragrance and charms ever new Are scattered o'er hillside and dale; To gaze on the sunbeams enkindling the sky-- A loftier life to invite-- A light that illumines my spiritual eye, And inspires my pen as I write; To form resolutions, with strength from on high, Such physical laws to obey, As reason with appetite, pleasures deny, That health may my efforts repay; To kneel at the altar of mercy and pray That pardon and grace, through His Son, May comfort my soul all the wearisome day, And cheer me with hope when 'tis done; To daily remember my blessings and charge, And make this my humble request: Increase Thou my faith and my vision enlarge, And bless me with Christ's promised rest; To hourly seek for deliverance strong From selfishness, sinfulness, dearth, From vanity, folly, and all that is wrong-- With ambition that binds us to earth; To kindly pass over a wound, or a foe (And mem'ry but part us awhile), To breathe forth a prayer that His love I may know, Whose mercies my sorrows beguile,-- If these resolutions are acted up to, And faith spreads her pinions abroad, 'Twill be sweet when I ponder the days may be few That waft me away to my God. Written in girlhood. _O FOR THY WINGS, SWEET BIRD!_ O for thy wings, sweet bird! And soul of melody by being blest-- Like thee, my voice had stirred Some dear remembrance in a weary breast. But whither wouldst thou rove, Bird of the airy wing, and fold thy plumes? In what dark leafy grove Wouldst chant thy vespers 'mid rich glooms? Or sing thy love-lorn note-- In deeper solitude, where nymph or saint Has wooed some mystic spot, Divinely desolate the shrine to paint? Yet wherefore ask thy doom? Blessed compared with me thou art-- Unto thy greenwood home Bearing no bitter memory at heart; Wearing no earthly chain, Thou canst in azure bright soar far above; Nor pinest thou in vain O'er joys departed, unforgotten love. O take me to thy bower! Beguile the lagging hours of weariness With strain which hath strange power To make me love thee as I love life less! From mortal consciousness Which binds to earth--infirmity of woe! Or pining tenderness-- Whose streams will never dry or cease to flow;