THE ROBE. EACH naked branch, the yellow leaf or browng On sheltering roof, on man himself it falls; But him no robe, not spotless snow makes clean; From the quick spirit's heart-deep searching eye, Nor can one thought deformed the presence shun, But to the spirit's gaze stands bright as in the sun. LIFE. It is not life upon Thy gifts to live, But, to grow fixed with deeper roots in Thee; THE WAR. I saw a war, yet none the trumpet blew, The ravening wolf though drest in fleecy skin; - not that the world can give, Whose tongue proclaims the war its hands have ceased And bids us as each other's neighbor live, Ere haughty Self within us has deceased; They fought for him whose kingdom must increase, Good will to men, on earth forever peace. THE GRAVE YARD. My heart grows sick before the wide-spread death, The worm and rotten flesh hide not nor lie; THY BROTHER'S BLOOD. I HAVE no Brother, they who meet me now Go, all its hidden plunder quickly sell, Then shalt thou cleanse thee from thy brother's gore, Then will I take thy gift ;-that bloody stain. Shall not be seen upon thy hand again. |