Page:The Granite Monthly Volume 1.djvu/40

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��POETIC SELECTIONS.

��POETIC SELECTIONS.

��REST.

Beneath the western heaven's span

Has sunk the golden day ; The cloud's rich sunset hues and tints

Have died in shade away; The dim night comes from out the east

With gloom and vapor gray.

The stars far in the sky's blue depths

Their vigil 'gin to keep ; The moon above yon eastern hill

Climbs up the lofty steep ; The night winds steal with gentle wing

Above the flowers asleep.

The birds upon the tuneless spray Have folded close their wings ;

And to the silent night alone The winding river sings ;

Its song is of the woods and meads — A thousand happy things.

No voice is in the tranquil air,

No murmur save its own ; The earth is hushed as heaven above,

Where, girt with cloudy zone, The moon goes up among the stars

To take the ebon throne.

Sweet calm, and undisturbed repose,

O'er all the landscape rest; Yet is there in the breathless scene

A voice which thrills the breast, A something, which in thanks and love

May only be expressed.

HEREAFTER.

Not from the flowers of earth,

Not from the stars, Not from the voicing sea,

May we The secret wrest which bars Our knowledge here Of all we hope and all that we may fear Hereafter.

We watch beside our graves,

Yet meet no sign Of where our dear ones dwell,

Ah, well! Even now your dead and mine May long to speak Of raptures it were wiser we should seek Hereafter.

Oh, hearts we fondly love !

Oh, pallid lips That bore our farewell kiss

From this To yonder world's eclipse! Do ye, safe home, Smile at your earthly doubts of what would come Hereafter?

Grand birthright of the soul,

Naught may despoil ! Oh, precious, healing balm,

To calm Our lives in pain and toil! God's boon, that we Or soon or late shall know what is to be Hereafter.

��A BEAUTIFUL THOUGHT.

Chisel in hand stood a sculptor boy,

With his marble block before him, His face lit up with a smile of joy

As an angel dream passed o'er him ! He carved the dream on the shapeless stor *■ ,

With many a sharp incision; With heaven's own light the sculpture shone -

He had caught the angel's vision. Sculptors of life are we as we stand

With our souls unearved before us; Waiting the hour, when at God's command,

Our life dream passes o'er us. If we carve it then, on the yielding stone,

With many a sharp incision, Its heavenly beauty shall be our own,

Our lives that angel's vision.

��AN ARAB'S LOGIC.

��A skeptic, through the wilderness of Vin Was guided by a faithful Bedouin;

And evermore whene'er the fierce simoon Swept o'er the desert on its wings of gloom —

Or when the waters failed, and for their lack The weary camels faltered in their track —

The skeptic noted that, with outstretched hands, The Arab threw himself upon the sands,

And pressed his turbaned forehead to the ground, And hid his face in silence most profound.

"Oh! wherefore kneelest thou?" the skeptic cried At last in wonder. "Wherefore oh ! my guide,

Prostrate thyself in this lone desert place, And in thy b'ournous muffle up thy face?"

"I kneel to worship God," the Arab said ; "To worship God and beg His helping aid."

"A God! a God?" the scoffer laughed. "Poor fool ! 'Tis plain to see thou never went'st to school;

Thou seest not, thou hearest not, dull clod ! How dost thou know there ever was a God?"

"How do I know?"— the Bedouin upraised His stately head, and on the speaker gazed—

A native dignity, a grave surprise, Rounding the arches of his dusky eyes —

"How do I know that in the darkness went Last night a wandering camel past my tent,

And not a man? How know? you demand; Lo, by the prints he left upon the sand !

And now, behold! thou unbelieving one!" (And turning westward to the setting sun,

The Arab's finger pointed to the glow Of rosy radience on clouds of snow),

"How know I that there is a God on high? Lo! by His footprint in yon glorious sky!"

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