Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/177

 1830-40.] JAMES H. PERKINS. 161 Then will the world be full of him ; the sky, Or in a wider sphere of good, "With all its placid myriads, to your eye Above some universe of strife, Will tell of him ; the wind will breathe Dove-like, it may be mine to brood, his tone ; And still the chaos into life. And slumbering in the midnight, they alone, 0, when I dwell on thoughts like these, Your father and your child, will hover nigh. My spirit seems to hear the cry. Believe in him, behold him every where, " Come up ! " — and, listening to the call, And sin will die within you, earthly care Earth's dearest pleasures quickly pall ; Fall to its earth, and heavenward, side by Tlie scales from off my vision fall, side, And I could pray to die. Ye shall go up beyond this realm of storms, Quick and more quick, till, welcomed there above, His voice shall bid you, in the might of love, MARQUETTE.* Lay down these weeds of earth, and wear your native forms. I. Sink to my heart, bright evening skies ! Y''e waves that round me roll. With all your golden, crimson dyes, MY FUTURE. Sink deep into my soul ! And ye, soft-footed stars, — that come Misfortune o'er the present day So silently at even. May govern with unquestioned sway ; To make this world awhile your home, But in that world which is to be. And bring us nearer heaven, — How poor, how powerless is she ! Speak to my spirit's listening ear Though pain and poverty their might, With your calm tones of beauty, With fearful death, should all unite And to my darkened mind make clear To crush me to the earth, My errors and my duty. Still would the elastic spirit rise, The suffering and the fear despise. II. And seek beyond the opening skies Speak to my soul of those who went Thfe country of its birth. Across this stormy lake, There unto me it may be given, On deeds of mercy ever bent Amid the countless hosts of heaven, For the poor Indian's sake. Amid the bright, seraphic band. They looked to all of you, and each Before my Father's throne to stand, Leant smiling from above, Before my Savior's face to bow, — And taught the Jesuit how to teach A seraph's scepter in my hand. The omnipotence of love. A seraph's crown upon my brow. Y^'ou gave the apostolic tone Then unto me the power may be. To Marquette's guileless soul, With kind and gentle ministry, Whose life and labors shall be known To bid the warring cease, — To cause the shades of sorrow flee, Long as these waters roll. And bring the mourner peace. quette (lied. 11
 * Composed on Lake Michigan, by the river where Mar-