Marian, a poem

Part I. Consecration

CONSECRATION.

r r*HE night was cold. The wintry winds swept o'er A The snow-clad fields, and down the ice-glazed street; The busy hum of active life was hushed, Contented with the gains that, day by day, Had swelled the massive heaps of hoarded wealth That greed and av'rice wrings from stricken hearts, And forced from sleepless eyes of poverty And squalid wretchedness and want, a tear. The dazzling chandelier that late had lit, With gorgeous show, the house of praise and prayer, Is darkened, and the voice of song has ceased. Within their homes of quiet, peace, and rest, Repose the souls whose pious prayers were heard Borne Heavenward for frail humanity, The care-worn widow in her solitude — The helpless orphan in its sore distress — The friendless beggar — the wretched outcast, And blessings on the human race invoked.

The stately pile, where wealth and fashion lent, With lavish hand, their aid to mirth and song, io MARIAN

Is hushed in dreams of luxury and ease, Unconscious of the suff'ring world without, And dreaming naught of poverty and want ; And heeding less the homeless, houseless waif, Who came to ask a pittance in the name Of Charity, as, shiv'ring in the storm, It stood without, turned penniless away, With but one step between the child of want, Sighs, destitution, beggary and tears, And that of comfort, luxury and ease. And as I placed within her icy hand A sum wherewith to meet her present need, With thanks a trifle gave she in return By way of recompense, whereon was wrought, In letters neat, the name of Marian ; And as she bowed and sadly turned away, My soul soliloquized in rythmic strains : Alas ! How much is humankind To Heaven false, to pity blind ! Though all the joys that earth could give, Or art employ or man receive, Though hope may swell the human heart, And fortune still her gifts impart — Though all that life could e'er bestow From Heaven above or earth below,

However pleasing, winsome, fair, Are but as bubbles blown in air, When no kind heart has sought to cheer The bruised heart, or dry a tear j But, mersed in selfish, sordid greed, Has spurned the helpless child in need. 'Tis but a useless, vain display, That tempts the visions of a day, Then quickly vanishes from sight, And shades the restless soul in night ; A pleasant dream, that steals along Amidst life's visionary throng, While hope and fortune, hand in hand, And sylph-like forms from fairy-land, Are flitting still before our eyes, When lo ! the spectral phantom flies, Then wakes the wistful soul from sleep, To look upon the past and weep.

The home of luxury and ease The sight may charm — the senses please, And lure us on, but what are these, With all their vain display,

Where gorgeous halls and marble floor Are hard-wrought earnings of the poor, And pleading still without the door The wretched lay?

Where yet the stream of plenty flows, How oft the hand of pleasure throws The gilded mantle of repose

O'er fortune's downy bed; And heirs to sumptuous bounty feed While chilling poverty and need, In wretchedness and hunger plead

For daily bread.

We view the world, and as we scan Each brilliant scheme — ambitious plan — In all the higher walks of man,

In peace or deadly strife, Alas ! How little do we know Of all the wretchedness and woe That living mortals undergo

In humble life.

When life's ambitious course has fled, Go where above the illustrious dead Yon marble column rears its head,

And o'er its surface trace A line from life's historic page, That tells of hero and of sage, With all the follies of an age

That curse our race.

And while imputed virtues smile

Upon that monumental pile,

Then cast one glance beyond, the while,

Where other visions rise ; There, yielding up his humble cot For some neglected, lonely spot, By rich and poor alike forgot,

The Christian lies.

No sculptured granite bears his name- No pen inscribes his guiltless fame, Nor wicked hands consigned to shame, His dust beneath the sod.

Yet when the spiritual minstrels swell The Heavenly chorus, "All is Well ! His virtues with his soul* will dwell In peace with God.

Hardby yon princely mansion stands The lonely cottage where the hands Of time have measured out its spans,

In death the beggar sleeps ; And, yielding all that life endears, A shattered wreck of other years, In woful poverty and tears,

The mother weeps.

No hand supports her drooping head — No tears of sympathy are shed — No hospitable board is spread

Within her gloomy cot.

By fate ordained to suffer, where No friendly gift — no voice of prayer, Or kind relief has entered there

To cheer her lot.

But when the pulse of life grows weak, The infant brow, the furrowed cheek, A prayerful, hopeful language speak

Of bliss in Heaven above ; When each the path of life has trod, And ceased to feel the chastening rod, They seek the bosom of their God

Where all is love.

Then why, when daily prayers ascend To God the rich and poor defend, And wealth and luxury attend

Each worldly enterprise, In pleading tones — with shivering form, With scarcely rags to keep it warm, Or shield it from the wintry storm

The orphan cries?

O, Thou, the God of truth and love, Who reigns supremely from above, And sits alone at Mercy's gate To guide the ruling hand of fate, Whose every look is but a glance Throughout creation's broad expanse; Who notes the destiny of all —

The crush of worlds — the sparrow's fall ; O if the hand of justice can Adjust the scales of man to man, And o'er the shadows of the heart The faintest ray of hope impart ; If there be Christian virture here To drop a sympathetic tear For all the agony and woe That torture mortals here below ; If there be purity of thought With honesty of purpose fraught, Unmingled with those selfish arts That poison honest human hearts, And moves the hand that opes the door To greet the rich and curse the poor, Then why this cruel, hapless lot, In life despised — in death forgot ? Why leave the bitter cup of grief To torture still without relief? O why no Christian hand to bless The poor and needy in distress, While poverty, neglect and hate Thus haunt the wretched child of fate? Alas ! man's vanity and pride, With all his greatness, must subside ;

The head shall bow, the knee shall bend To recognize one common end, And there to God resign his trust, " Earth to earth, and dust to dust."

Meditation ceased. The wintry blast Swept moaning through the leafless trees as if A mournful cadence to the dirge of time. Moved by the thought that bore upon my soul With pressing weight, I turned, resolved at once To seek the home of wretchedness and want, And solve the mystery that slumbered there. Groping in the deep shadows of the night, I followed in the wake of her whose sad Appeal fell like a pall upon my heart, And deeply shook all trusting confidence In Adam's race — in Christian Charity — Deeds of benevolence and love. Cast out, A little waif, tossed to and fro upon The chilling tide of poverty and want — Upon the threshold of God's temple spurned, And empty turned away from the abode Of princely splendor, luxury and pride, To wander on in agony and grief To the abode of squalid wretchedness,

Called by the sweetest name on earth, a Home.

With not a word to kindle dying hope —

No smile to lift the burden from the heart —

No sympathy to cheer the weary soul —

No hand of charity to give relief

Against the wintry storms that sweep without,

Or soothe the hearts of those who mourn within.

Directed by the pale and glimm'ring light That struggled through the shattered window panes, The lonely hut was reached. A voice within Was heard, in plaintive song, low, soft and sweet, Like angel voices far away in space, Lisping the words of a sweet lullaby :

Sleep, my little darling, sleep ; Angels guard thy soul, and keep Safely through the coming night — Watching till the morning light ;

Dreaming — sleeping,

In God's keeping, Free from toiling, striving, weeping — Pure and spotless — undefined. Rest, my little darling, rest On thy mother's loving breast ;

Softly press thy lips to mine ; Kiss — good-night — sweet dreams be thine. Eyelids closing — Sweetly dozing, In the arms of God reposing, Sweetly sleep, my darling child ; Good-night — good-night Till morning light, Sweet child, Good-night.

The song had ceased— her cherished idol slept, And all was still ; the song had died away, Like some sad echo in the mournful past, On angel's breath borne on the wings of night Before the throne of Heav'n. Softly rising, With lines of care upon her pallid brow, As grief still fed upon her faded cheek, Moved by a mother's love, she sadly bent Her wasted form above her sleeping child ; And as she gazed upon her only hope And tie that bound her weary soul to earth With all the passion of a mother's love, A tear-drop fell upon the placid face, And quivered in the pale and sickly light

Like trembling dew-drops in the morning sun.

O that some faithful gifted pen would trace The lone sad hist'ry of a widow's tear; Some Raphael, paint, as with a master's hand, The depths of sorrow borne upon the heart — The lines of care cut deeply on the brow — The dreary solitude that weighs upon The burthened soul : The agony that finds Respite alone in patient fortitude, Fed from the purest fountains of the heart; Outline her thoughts, as, wandering in the past, She sees her brightest hopes of early life Beset with shades of poverty and death, Misfortune, care and grief: For he, to whom, In lovely womanhood, she pledged her troth, Has passed away. The soul, on which she leaned In confidence, fraught with inspiring hope, Has passed beyond the tide of human tears, And with it all her sanguine dreams of life. Begirt with young, confiding innocence, She looks upon the cheerless world without, With all its cold and heartless selfishness, And there invokes the aid of Heaven to spare Her little ones from poverty and want,

Until the soul, relief can only find In bitterness and tears.

A widow's tear !

The concentrated spirit of a life Of love, of suffering and woe ; hallowed By patient toil — self-sacrificing deeds Of care, devotion and anxiety, And purified in helpless agonies Of woman's heart. Welled from the soul's pure

depths, 'Tis sanctified within the eye of Heaven, And consecrated, in the name of Him Who blessed the poor in spirit — pure in heart, To virtue's cause — to innocence and love ; Embodiment of sorrow and despair — Of blighted hopes deferred — unrealized, Of long suff'ring — of agony and grief — The heart's pure gem, that sparkles as it falls Upon the shrine of purity and love, A gift from Heaven to heal the bruised heart. Such was the tear that lay upon the face Of sleeping innocence ; Fit emblem of The pure and sinless heart for which 'twas shed, 'Twas purified from all of passion's dross, And in the crucible of love refined.

As yet it lay upon the placid cheek,

The mother bent with anxious, saddened heart,

And kneeling down, her parching lips impressed

A burning kiss upon the childish face ;

And, as she knelt beside the sleeping child,

Her fervent soul went up to Heaven in prayer :

" O merciful and everlasting God, Who does all things aright, in Heav'n and earth — Who marks the crush of worlds — the sparrows' fall- The Giver of each good and perfect gift — The Searcher of all hearts, both good and ill — Who counsels Peace on Earth — good will to men- The widow's lone support — the orphan's friend — Whose promise is to all who love and serve Thee, the meek and lowly, poor and humble, Thy Holy name be praised — Thy will be done On earth as it is done in Heav'n j look Thou In kind and tender Mercy from Thy throne, And blessings pour upon my darling child. Take her into Thy keeping through this night ; Shield her from the storms of adversity And misfortune ; direct her infant steps In paths of virtue, purity and love ; Mould Thou her gentle spirit to Thy will,

And lift her thoughts to Heaven and to Thee.

Spare her, O God, not for herself alone,

Or me, through selfish weakness or desire,

But for the noble work Thou hast assigned

Us in the ministrations of Thy grace,

The building of Thy holy church on earth,

And in the heart the Temple of Thy Love —

Of Peace and Joy, Ineffable — Divine.

For these, grant that her soul, her life, her all,

Be dedicated to Thy work on earth,

And consecrated to Thy holy name.

And so devote the strength that Thou hast given

To earnest Faith, Benevolence and Truth ;

That her young heart be tuned in unison

With all pure thoughts — all holy impulses —

All noble and self-sacrificing deeds,

And works of Christian Charity and Love.

Teach her, O Thou, to feel another's woe — To walk in sympathy with all mankind, And answer to the stern demands of want, Hunger, wretchedness, poverty and tears ; To heal the bruised heart — dry sorrow's tears — Comfort the afflicted — apply the balm Of Christian consolation to the soul In the sad hour of dire extremity,

And scatter seeds of kindness in the path

Of helpless innocence and struggling grief,

To reap, as the reward of pious toil,

The prayers and blessings voiced from Christian

hearts, And gain the kind approving smile of Heaven To crown the efforts of a well-spent life.

To Thee and these I dedicate my child ; Accept the gift — 'Tis all I have to give — And with Thy hand, just God, inscribe her name Upon the tablets of eternal truth ; In Mercy's name, O bless my darling child, And take her to thyself to rest at last For Jesus sake, who died that she might live, And Thine shall be the praise forevermore."

The prayer was done, and as she lisped, "Amen," She wiped the tear-drops from her weeping eyes, And bent her gaze upon the sleeping child ; The pearly drop, that laid upon its face, Was dried, and in its stead, as if inspired, A sweet, angelic smile played o'er the calm Features, and touched them up with Heavenly grace, Sweetness and beauty. A gleam of sunshine Rested upon the infant brow, and lit

The mild sweet features with a ray of light, That spoke of dreams in happy fields that reached, Far out beyond the swelling tide of tears. The wicked, harsh and cruel world was veiled From dreamland's verdant plains and sunny skies; The shadow that so oft extinguished hope That kindled in the young and tender breast, Was brushed away beyond the realm of dreams, Before the sunlight of a happier clime.

O land of dreams ! Sweet in thy mystic light Are the incessant views that flit across The vision, when shut out from earthly cares, To drain a foretaste of the world beyond. The soul that struggles with the cares of life, And daily bows beneath its weight of grief — Toiling, striving for those it fondly loves, Finds respite in thy bright Elysian fields. Our sweetest, dearest, happiest waking thoughts Are, in thy fairy visions reproduced, And live in shapes of stern reality — A sweet fruition of our sanguine hopes. The wayworn wand'rer, as he bends his steps To some oasis in the desert plains, Lies down beneath its cool and grateful shades,

And, lulled to sleep by gurgling waters near, His spirit wanders to thy realms ; Sweet home, That dearest spot on earth, he greets ; With joy He clasps his loved ones to his heart — imprints A fervent kiss upon each brow, invokes A blessing on each soul. The desert field — Its glaring, burning sands — its scorching sun, Through which his weary feet must travel still, Are far removed from thee, as thou shalt be In waking hours, except as memory clings To thee in fond embrace.

The mother gazed In silence on the quiet, gentle face, And watched with calm solicitude and love, The playful features, as the gleams of light, Beaming from heart of sleeping innocence, Gave silent utterance to joy intense, Felt only in the presence of God's love — An inspiration of the soul Divine, For great and noble ends to consummate In the advancement of life's pious work On earth. The light of Heav'n shone brightly o'er The calm, sweet face, as if it were to bless And sanctify the soul within. No cares

MAR/AN 27

Of life were outlined there ; But in God's care And keeping, shielded and protected from The storms of passion, wickedness and pride, That swept amain the busy world without, There sat upon the serene countenance The smile of Peace, Contentment and repose.

Brushing aside the tears that lately filled Her sleepless eyes, the mother heaved a sigh, And felt the weight that long upon her soul Had borne, removed ; and that the sacrifice She offered in the person of her child, Like that of Abraham, God's chosen one, Was worthy and acceptable to God, And truly pleasing in the sight of Heaven ; And so, with soul relieved, resumed her toil, And left the child to revel in its dreams.

Moved by intense desire to learn the true Sad history of this affecting scene, I gently tapped the door ; A voice within Bade me enter ; I asked what sad mischance Had cast upon her heart a grief so deep — A shade so far without the pale of hope ? In tones subdued, yet calm and sweet, she said :

" My home was once a happy one ; My soul Looked out upon the horoscope of life — The auguries of hope were fair and bright ; In place each star shone in the cloudless sky ; And he to whom, in wedlock's holy tie, I freely gave my hand, and pledged my troth, Endowed me with his ample means, with which I met my frugal wants and much to spare. ,

The homeless waif found welcome to our doors ; We sought the poor and helped them in their need; We sought the widow in her humble cot — The helpless orphan in its cheerless home, And comfort gave to all in their distress ; And many little hearts have leaped with joy In simple gifts we worthily bestowed, And all of this in Christian duty bound. That stately home, where first you met to-night That sleeping child, was ours. We knew no want, Save alone the crying wants of others. At length affliction laid a heavy hand , Upon the partner of my hopes aud joys, When death removed him hence, and we were left To battle with the cruel world alone. And, through the intricacies of the law, And selfish intrigues of designing men,

Who prey upon the widow's only means,

And doom her child to beggary and want,

We scarce knew how or why, that spacious home,

Entailed upon my only child, was lost.

The little pittance, hoarded as my own,

With this poor home and rarely simple gifts,

So grudgingly bestowed, was all I had

To shield us from the grasp of beggary.

To all I now submit — His will be done ;

With faith and hope I seek new life beyond,

And consecrate my all — my child to God."

Oh ! What feeling is more to Heaven akin Than a calm and Godlike resignation Of the soul to the holy sacrifice And consecration of an only one To a life of toil and self-denial, And deeds of pure benevolence and love ? Enduring all things — suffering all things For Him, who gave His only Son to die That we might live ; True test of faith in God, As in the off ring made on Mount Moriah — The evidence of love of God for man, As witnessed in the holy sacrifice, The piercing groans and dying agonies

3 o MARIAN

Endured upon the Cross of Calvary. So, thus resigned to God in holy trust And confidence in His parental care, They rest in peace.

Moved by this pious scene Of Christian faith and virtue, far removed From every comfort life could give or share, And veiled from every eye save God's alone, How vast the multitude of thoughts that crowd Upon the mind and soul in spectral shapes, Where conscience, void of ill toward God and man, Sleeps sweetly 'neath the roof of poverty; And angel forms flit ever and anon, About the couch where age and childhood lie Reposing in the light of Heaven's smile, Like resignation pillowed on the lap Of Peace. Swift thought, as with a painter's hand, Sweeps o'er the canvass of our daily lives, And paints in livid hues the lights and shades That follow in the wake of human tread. Here, in the halls of luxury and ease, Lie those who, in their zeal of selfish greed, Despoiled the poor of all they had, and heaped On high their sordid gains, extorted from

The sweat and tears of poor but honest toil, Then closed their ears to cries of poverty, To Charity and Christian brotherhood. Here sensual pleasures strew, with lavish hand, Abroad the ample means that God ordained For higher, purer, nobler, better ends ; And bloated forms of Avarice and Pride, Sail calmly o'er the sea of human tears, And ride upon the whirlwind of fortune, Unmindful of the scattered wrecks of Peace And Plenty, Happiness and Ease that lie Strewn widely o'er their desert path below, Condemning sorrow, penury and want To writhe in helpless agony and grief.

'Tis thus we learn, by quiet, stealthy steps To the abode of wretchedness and want, The true, sad hist'ry of the widow's tear, The orphan's cry, and agonies that steal, With leaden weight upon the homeless waif; 'Tis thus the lessons taught in humble life, Are traced upon the human heart and soul In all their living colors. Drawn from life's Realities, with stern and pressing weight, They bear upon the pious Christian soul With force that naught, save by the gentle hand

Of sincere love and Christian Charity,

Can e'er remove. No form of words or prayers

From sacred desk, or silken pew, to which

The poor and humble have no part or lot —

No off rings 'neath the roof of stately homes,

Through doors of which no child of want can pass,

Can reach the throne of grace, unsanctified

By acts of kindness — tears of sympathy,

And deeds of Christian Charity and Love.

One half the world scarce knows the agony Of fortune's stings the other half endures, Where no kind step invades the humble home, No cheer revives the brooding heart of care, No hand of Christian Charity and Love Is lain upon their lean and scanty board, Or shields the shiv'ring form from wintry storms, Or soothes the stricken heart in sore distress.

Sadly and quietly I went my way, Resolved that no untimely stay of mine Should e'er disturb their sweet and quiet rest; And as I homeward bent, with saddened heart, My silent way, through drifting snow and sleet, My soul gave vent to grave and earnest thought :

Here rests two lives, whose history is that Of thousands, written in the ink of tears,

And stereotyped in agony and woe,

Which few would see, and fewer care to know.

The lonely, sad and struggling life of those

Whose hopes lie far beyond the tide of tears ;

Whose only joy rests in the life to come,

And happy consciousness of doing right ;

Those lives, within whose doors no shadows pass,

Save those of sorrow, wretchedness and want.

'Tis here the bright-winged messengers of God

Find lodgment in the soul, and Faith and Hope

Look far beyond the weary cares of earth,

And refuge seek in everlasting life.

'Tis here the heart would seek, in earnest prayer,

Communion with the Prince of Peace, who blessed

The pure in heart — whose promise is to all

The faithful followers of God. And yet,

To them the world is dark ; Dim shadows creep,

Like spectres o'er the rugged path of care,

And ghostly phantoms press upon the soul

A cruel weight of poverty and want.

O that the world could boast of hearts as pure

And stainless in the sight of God, as those

Who thrive upon the very tears they shed,

And ripen in the soil of humble life.

No wily schemes to nip the bud of Hope —

34 MARIA M

No steel-clad soul to blunt the edge of Faith — No stream of wealth to quench the fires of Love — No pride to stay the hand of Charity, But, martyr-like, the flames of torture serve To light the path that leads the soul to Heaven. So, with these sad and melancholy thoughts Graved on my heart, I laid me down to rest, Resolved to trace these humble souls through life, Whose only heritage on earth is tears, And only hope, immortal life beyond.

The morning broke, bleak, cold and comfortless, And with it broke the quiet, peaceful sleep Of those who dwelt within that squalid home. Another day of anxious, ceaseless toil, Called them to meet the stern realities That daily faced a cold and heartless world. Yet each besought the duties of the hour — The one intent upon her scanty meal, The other busy with her morning task. The meal dispatched, the mother calmly sat, And gazed upon the features of her child, Who looked upon the saddened face and said, With smiles of pleasure beaming in her eyes :

" O mamma, dear mamma, I'm happy to-day,

Though dreary the morning and chill ; Though snow-drifts are heaping and choke up the

way, Though winds through our cottage now whistle and

play, And clouds are still threat'ning, dark, gloomy and

gray, My heart throbs in happiness still.

" Then mamma, dear mamma, come listen to me,

A beautiful story I'll tell, As softly you fondle my head on your knee, I'll tell of the wonderful beauties that be In regions my eyes have been longing to see

Where virtue and purity dwell.

" Last night, dear mamma, when you sang me to sleep,

And tenderly kissed me good-night,

With soft, loving eyes, so accustomed to weep

O'er the pathway of life so rugged and steep,

You sang the sweet angels my spirit to keep,

And guard till the dawning of light.

" While listening, dear mamma, my spirit it seems

Was charmed with sweet music above ; Then I wandered away in beautiful dreams To lands where the sunlight of happiness beams O'er meadows and flowers, and murmuring streams, And sweet crystal fountains of Love.

" Where never, dear mamma, is darkness or night —

No sickness or sorrow, they say, But ever 'midst sunshine, transcendently bright, Sweet visions of beauty, and scenes of delight, 'Neath halos of glory that ravish the sight,

Peace dwells in the presence of day.

" My soul was entranced with the beautiful scene — My heart gathered strength as it flew

On pathways of light over meadows of green,

Enclosed all about with a silvery sheen,

As sweet-scented flowers lie scattered between, Late freshened with glittering dew.

" Borne onward by patience, submissive and tame,

I saw the sweet home of the blest Aglow with the brilliance of Heavenly flame, Where voices of angels, in chorus, proclaim A welcome to spirits, in God's Holy name,

To mansions of glory and rest.

" The angel-recorder sat thoughtfully near,

And opened his record to me ; Then spoke in kind accents, 'Come, give me thine ear; Thy mother's last prayer in the flow of her tear That fell on thy cheek, is registered here,

And granted in Heaven for thee.

" ' These guardian angels whose presence you see,

Will strengthen the spirit within ; Their presence, their counsel and prayers will be A solace, a guide, and a comfort to thee — Thy strength and support o'er the turbulent sea

Of evil, temptation and sin.

" 'First, Faith, Holy minist'ring angel of light, Whose feet with the gospel is shod,

With God's Holy Word, she will guide thee aright ;

Give heed to her counsel, submit to her might,

Whose eye alone brings to the regions of sight The beautiful mansions of God.

" 'Next Hope, with her light ever shining before,

To quiet the spirit's unrest, Though wildly the pillows of passion may roar With Faith for her compass she'll pilot thee o'er Life's tempest-tossed bosom, thy vessel to moor

Secure in the harbor of rest.

" l Next, Charity, modest, kind, gentle and meek-

The beautiful handmaid of Love, Who carries no mantle of shame on her cheek — Who succors the needy and strengthens the weak, The greatest of minist'ring angels who seek

To treasure their harvests above.' "

" O mamma, so lovely and handsome was she,