love poetry

Salem, peaceful city, blest,
Where the Ark of God did rest, —
Where the voice of prayer ascended,
With the silver trumpets blended, —
Where the incense, daily given,
Rose and reached the courts of Heaven, —
Peaceful city, home of love,
Type of better things above!

Here be peace, like that bestowed,
Salem, here from Israel's God!
Here the voice of daily prayer,
Sweetest music on the air,
From each angel hither come, —
Fill the chambers of our home;
Here be felt Jehovah's power,

I heard Love's footfall muffled, faltering —
Love of the friendly eyes —
All eagerly I bade him in
And made him room to bide,
My home to be his sheltering
I flung him wide the door,
And still Love of the friendly eyes
Asked more.

I spread my hoarded treasuries,
Poured music's mounting wine,
Nor spared the purple of my hills —
Great moons athwart my pines,
I filled his glass with suns and stars
All out of reach before —
And still Love of the hungry eyes
Craved more.

On verdant bank, 'neath beechen tree
I sit, and sing of love and thee,
To thee, and love attune the lay,
Soft warbling thro' the live-long day,
And when the evening shades prevail,
Unwearied I pursue the tale.

When night in slumbers seals my eyes
Thy love-inspiring beauties rise,
In fancy's vivid colorings drest,
The radiant semblance stands confest:
And when at dappled dawn of day
The gentle vision steals away —
I rise — and 'neath the beechen tree
Retune the lyre to love and thee.

The loving tie we feel,
No language can reveal —
'Tis seen in the sheen of a fond Brother's eye.
It trembles on the ear
When melting with a tear,
A Brother bids us cease to sigh.

Behold how good and how pleasant
For Brothers in unity to dwell!
As Heaven's dew are shed
On Sion's sacred head,
The blessings of the Lord we feel.

'Twas at the sufferer's bed
Now moldering with the dead,
This Bond , ah, so fond, was discovered first to me!
I saw his dying eye,

With open eyes that look on God,
My daily journey I pursue:
I do not dread His lifted rod;
Why should I fear what Love can do?
And, if I need that He chastise,
Is He not good as He is wise?

I know if I but follow Him
I shall be safe from harm and make —
Albeit all the way be dim —
Nor slip nor failure nor mistake;
Or, making such, He will ordain
What seems my loss shall prove my gain.

And, though I look, to careless eyes,
A waif on pathless waters cast,
His faithful promise shall suffice

When I have been long gone, if one I love,
And who loves me, shall chance upon a ring,
That I have worn, or any simple thing, —
A knot of ribbon, or a faded glove, —
I wonder if the sight of it will move
To fond remembrance, and if tears will spring,
And if the sudden memory will bring
A sudden sadness over field and grove.
Perhaps: and yet how quickly we forget!
And how new scenes, new faces that we meet,
Crowd out the old, — until the world grows gay
Above forgotten graves. Softest regret

UPON HER ATTEMPT TO SKETCH THE LIKENESS OF A DECEASED
FRIEND .

I FEAR in vain you hope to trace
The features of her lovely face.
Bright, blessed vision! it is gone,
And left us in this world alone.

But should fond memory be true,
And every line present to view,
Yet would it want the heavenly soul
Which graced and harmonized the whole.

So when the rose has lived its day,
And with the night wind dies away,
And sheds its sweetly perfumed leaves,

AT SIXTY YEARS OF AGE .

A T love my Helen 's an adept,
Yet calls my age a secret kept;
She tells me, with her speaking eyes,
That Love can still ensnare his prize;
Her lips, though mute, the tale repeat,
That Love 's the master of the seat;
The wrinkles fly at Helen's view,
Her folding arms the boy renew, —
With her alone my heart can prove
That mine 's at least the age for love.

Love is a halt across the desert sand —
One night of stars to drink,
Of dear earned rest
Beneath the tropic heaven of your breast.

Then on — unswerved by weariness
Of our slow moving caravan of sense,
To further parched adventuring unguessed

Open the tent! 'Tis dawn!
I hear, I understand —
God sounds the clarion.

I LOVE to see the blushing cheek
Of gay and joyous youth;
Its raptures, all too full to speak;
Its innocence and truth.

I grieve to think a blight may fall
Upon the lovely flower;
Its dewy perfumed leaves may all
Be scattered in an hour.

My heart, unbidden, heaves a sigh,
And breathes a silent prayer —
That storms may gently pass it by,
And time its glory spare.