"_Thou thoughtest that I was altogether such an one as thyself._" Would I, to save my dear child dutiful, Dare the white breakers on a storm-rent shore? Ay, truly, Thou all good, all beautiful, Truly I would,--then truly Thou would'st more. Would I for my poor son, who desolate After long sinning, sued without my door For pardon, open it? Ay, fortunate To hear such prayer, I would,--Lord, Thou would'st more. Would I for e'en the stranger's weariness And want divide, albeit 'twere scant, my store? Ay, and mine enemy, sick, shelterless, Dying, I would attend,--O, Lord, Thou more. In dust and ashes my long infamy Of unbelief I rue. My love before Thy love I set: my heart's discovery, Is sweet,--whate'er I would, Thou wouldest more. I was Thy shelterless, sick enemy, And Thou didst die for me, yet heretofore I have fear'd; now learn I love's supremacy,-- Whate'er is known of love, Thou lovest more. AT ONE AGAIN. I. NOONDAY. Two angry men--in heat they sever, And one goes home by a harvest field:-- "Hope's nought," quoth he, "and vain endeavor; I said and say it, I will not yield! "As for this wrong, no art can mend it, The bond is shiver'd that held us twain; Old friends we be, but law must end it, Whether for loss or whether for gain. "Yon stream is small--full slow its wending; But winning is sweet, but right is fine; And shoal of trout, or willowy bending-- Though Law be costly--I'll prove them mine. "His strawberry cow slipped loose her tether, And trod the best of my barley down; His little lasses at play together Pluck'd the poppies my boys had grown. "What then?--Why naught! _She_ lack'd of reason; And _they_--my little ones match them well:-- But _this_--Nay all things have their season, And 'tis my season to curb and quell." II. SUNSET. So saith he, when noontide fervors flout him, So thinks, when the West is amber and red, When he smells the hop-vines sweet about him, And the clouds are rosy overhead. While slender and tall the hop-poles going Straight to the West in their leafy lines, Portion it out into chambers, glowing, And bask in red day as the sun declines. Between the leaves in his latticed arbor He sees the sky, as they flutter and turn, While moor'd like boats in a golden harbor The fleets of feathery cloudlets burn. Withdrawn in shadow, he thinketh over Harsh thoughts, the fruit-laden trees among, Till pheasants call their young to cover, And cushats coo them a nursery song. And flocks of ducks forsake their sedges, Wending home to the wide barn-door, And loaded wains between the hedges Slowly creep to his threshing floor-- Slowly creep. And his tired senses, Float him over the magic stream, To a world where Fancy recompenses Vengeful thoughts, with a troubled dream! III. THE DREAM.