Adelaide Anne Procter

“ But, through my sobbing, “It is best.”
Could stifle down the gnawing pain,
And say, “We still divide our life,
She has the rest, and I the strife,
And mine the loss, and hers the gain:
My ill with bliss for her is rife.”
Then turn, and the old duties take—
Alone now—yet with earnest will
Gathering sweet sacred traces still
To help me on, and, for thy sake,
My heart and life and soul to fill.
I think I could check vain weak tears,
And toil,—although the world’s great space
Held nothing but one vacant place,
And see the dark and weary years
Lit only by a vanished grace. ”

“ Have we not all, amid life’s petty strife,
Some pure ideal of a noble life
That once seemed possible? Did we not hear
The flutter of its wings, and feel it near,
And just within our reach? It was. And yet
We lost it in this daily jar and fret,
And now live idle in a vague regret.
But still our place is kept, and it will wait,
Ready for us to fill it, soon or late:
No star is ever lost we once have seen,
We always may be what we might have been.
Since Good, though only thought, has life and breath,
God’s life—can always be redeemed from death;
And evil, in its nature, is decay,
And any hour can blot it all away; ”

“ I can check these foolish tears.
Back, ye Phantoms; leave, oh leave me
To a new and happy lot;
Speak no more of things departed;
Leave me—for I know ye not.
Can it be that ’mid my gladness
I must ever hear you wail,
Of the grief that wrung my spirit,
And that made my cheek so pale?
Joy is mine; but your sad voices
Murmur ever in mine ear:
Vain is all the Future’s promise,
While the dreary Past is here.
Vain, oh worse than vain, the Visions
That my heart, my life would fill,
If the Past’s relentless phantoms
Call upon me still! ”

“ I cried, “oh radiant Time! thy power
Has nothing more to give; life is complete:
Let but the perfect Present, hour by hour,
Itself remember and itself repeat.
“And Love,—the future can but mar its splendour,
Change can but dim the glory of its youth;
Time has no star more faithful or more tender,
To crown its constancy or light its truth.”
But Time passed on in spite of prayer or pleading,
Through storm and peril; but that life might gain
A Peace through strife all other peace exceeding,
Fresh joy from sorrow, and new hope from pain. ”

“ Know she stands a smiling bride!
Forgetting thee, she turneth kindly
To the stranger at her side.
Yes, this day thou art forgotten,
Forgotten, too, thy last farewell,
All the vows that she has spoken,
And thy heart has kept so well.
Dream no more of a starry future,
In thy home beyond the seas!”
But he only heard the gentle sigh
Of the summer breeze,
So softly passing by
The acacia trees.
And vainly, too, the other, looking
Smiling up through hopeful tears,
Asked in his heart of hearts, “Where is she,
She I love these many years?” ”

“ No home, no love, no kindred, save their own.
An orphan, to their tender nursing given,
Child, plaything, pupil, now the Bride of Heaven.
And she it was who trimmed the lamp’s red light
That swung before the altar, day and night;
Her hands it was whose patient skill could trace
The finest broidery, weave the costliest lace;
But most of all, her first and dearest care,
The office she would never miss or share,
Was every day to weave fresh garlands sweet,
To place before the shrine at Mary’s feet.
Nature is bounteous in that region fair,
For even winter has her blossoms there. ”

“ The heart out of her breast for gold.
But, when she saw me frightened seem,
She smiled, and said it was a dream.
When I look back and think of her,
My very heart-strings seem to stir;
How kind, how fair she was, how good
I cannot tell you. If I could
You, too, would love her. The mere thought
Of her great love for me has brought
Tears in my eyes: though far away,
It seems as it were yesterday.
And just as when I look on high
Through the blue silence of the sky,
Fresh stars shine out, and more and more,
Where I could see so few before ”

“ In one reckless strife.
Do not venture all, child,
In one frail, weak heart;
So, through any shipwreck,
You may save a part.
Where your soul is tempted
Most to trust your fate,
There, with double caution,
Linger, fear, and wait.
Measure all you give—still
Counting what you take;
Love for love: so placing
Each an equal stake.
Treasure love; though ready
Still to live without.
In your fondest trust, keep
Just one thread of doubt.
Build on no to-morrow;
Love has but to-day:
If the links seem slackening,
Cut the bond away.
Trust no prayer nor promise;
Words are grains of sand ”

“ Time and hope and tears,
Chaining all the past, exacting
Bonds from future years;
Mind and heart, and joy and sorrow,
Claiming as its fee:
That was Love of Self, and never,
Never Love of me!
I have seen a love forgetting
All above, beyond,
Linking every dream and fancy
In a sweeter bond;
Counting every hour worthless,
Which was cold or free:-
That, perhaps, was—Love of Pleasure,
But not Love of me!
I have seen a love whose patience
Never turned aside,
Full of tender, fond devices;
Constant, even when tried ”

“ For, in that radiant home can shine alone the immortal and divine.
Earth’s lower things—her pride, her fame, her science, learning, wealth and power—
Slow growths that through long ages came, or fruits of some convulsive hour,
Whose very memory must decay—Heaven is too pure for such as they.
They are complete: their work is done. So let them sleep in endless rest.
Love’s life is only here begun, nor is, nor can be, fully blest;
It has no room to spread its wings, amid this crowd of meaner things. ”

“ He whom thou fearest will, to ease its pain,
Lay his cold hand upon thy aching heart:
Will soothe the terrors of thy troubled brain,
And bid the shadow of earth’s grief depart.
He will give back what neither time, nor might,
Nor passionate prayer, nor longing hope restore.
(Dear as to long blind eyes recovered sight,)
He will give back those who are gone before.
Oh, what were life, if life were all? Thine eyes
Are blinded by their tears, or thou wouldst see
Thy treasures wait thee in the far-off skies,
And Death, thy friend, will give them all to thee. ”

“ Takes joy as solace, not as aim,
And looks beyond, and looks above;
And sometimes through the bitterest strife first learns to live her highest life.
Earth forges joy into a chain
Till fettered Love forgets its strength,
Its purpose, and its end;—but Pain
Restores its heritage at length,
And bids Love rise again and be eternal, mighty, pure, and free.
If then your future life should need
A strength my Love can only gain
Through suffering, or my heart be freed
Only by sorrow, from some stain—
Then you shall give, and I will take, this Crown of fire for Love’s dear sake. ”

“ Raise up thine eyes—be strong,
Nor cast away
The crown, that God has given
Thy soul to-day!
VERSE: MURMURS
Why wilt thou make bright music
Give forth a sound of pain?
Why wilt thou weave fair flowers
Into a weary chain?
Why turn each cool grey shadow
Into a world of fears?
Why say the winds are wailing?
Why call the dewdrops tears?
The voices of happy nature,
And the Heaven’s sunny gleam,
Reprove thy sick heart’s fancies,
Upbraid thy foolish dream.
Listen, and I will tell thee
The song Creation sings,
From the humming of bees in the heather,
To the flutter of angels’ wings. ”

“ For humbler cottage strife or village brawl,
The Abbess listened, prayed, and settled all.
Young hearts that came, weighed down by love or wrong,
Left her kind presence comforted and strong.
Each passing pilgrim, and each beggar’s right
Was food, and rest, and shelter for the night.
But, more than this, the Nuns could well impart
The deepest mysteries of the healing art;
Their store of herbs and simples was renowned,
And held in wondering faith for miles around.
Thus strife, love, sorrow, good and evil fate,
Found help and blessing at the convent gate. ”

“ The gold is dim and tarnished,
And the faded leaves are torn.
The dust has gathered on it—
There are so few who care
To read what Time has written
Of joy and sorrow there.
Look at the first fair pages;
Yes—I remember all:
The joys now seem so trivial,
The griefs so poor and small.
Let us read the dreams of glory
That childish fancy made;
Turn to the next few pages,
And see how soon they fade.
Here, where still waiting, dreaming,
For some ideal Life,
The young heart all unconscious
Had entered on the strife.
See how this page is blotted:
What—could those tears be mine? ”

“ Or kindly human heart;
Voices of earth and heaven
Call, but they turn away,
And Love, through such black night,
Can see no hope of day;
And yet—our eyes are dim,
And thine are keener far—
Then gaze till thou canst see
The glimmer of some star.
The black stream flows along,
Whose waters we despise—
Show us reflected there
Some fragment of the skies;
’Neath tangled thorns and briars,
(The task is fit for thee,)
Seek for the hidden flowers,
We are too blind to see;
Then will I thy great gift
A crown and blessing call;
Angels look thus on men,
And God sees good in all! ”

“ He telleth of sorrow,
Regrets and fears,
And the few vain pleasures
We buy with tears;
And the bitter lesson
We learn from years.
The stars are gleaming
Upon her brow:
What is she dreaming
So calmly now?
By her side is the Angel
With folded wings;
She smiles in her slumber
The while he sings.
He sings of a Bridal,
Of Love divine;
Of a heart to be laid
On a sacred shrine;
Of a crown of glory,
Where seraphs shine;
Of the deep, long rapture
The chosen know
Who forsake for Heaven
Vain joys below,
Who desire no pleasure,
And fear no woe. ”

“ No shade has come between
Thee and the sun;
Like some long childish dream
Thy life has run:
But now the stream has reached
A dark, deep sea,
And Sorrow, dim and crowned,
Is waiting thee.
Each of God’s soldiers bears
A sword divine:
Stretch out thy trembling hands
To-day for thine!
To each anointed Priest
God’s summons came:
Oh, Soul, he speaks to-day
And calls thy name.
Then, with slow reverent step,
And beating heart,
From out thy joyous days,
Thou must depart. ”