How fair and facile seems the upland road,
Surely the mountain air is fresh and sweet,
And briskly shall I bear this mortal load
With well-braced sinews and unweary feet;
How dear my fellow-pilgrims oft to meet
O'ertaken, as to reach yon blest abode
We strive together, in glad hope to greet,
With angel friends and our approving God,
All that in life we once have loved so well,
So that we loved be worthy: her bright wings
My willing spirit plumes, and upward springs
Rejoicing, over crag, and fen, and fell,

When Thou, in patient ministry,
Didst pass a stranger through Thy land,
Two costly gifts were offered Thee,
And each was from a woman's hand.

To Thee, who madest all things fair,
Twice fair and precious things they bring; —
Pure sculptured alabaster clear,
Perfumes for earth's anointed King.

Man's hasty lips would both reprove, —
One for the stain of too much sin,
One for the waste of too much love;
Yet both availed Thy smile to win.

The saint who listened at Thy feet,
The sinner sinners scorned to touch,

He clothes thy soul in spotless dress,
In bridal raiment white and clean,
The spirit's bridal robe of peace,
Sign of the inward grace unseen.

The love that sweeps thy spirit o'er,
Effacing every stain of sin,
Flows through thy spirit evermore,
A well of heavenly life within.

Thus, hallowed names, forgotten long,
Familiar names which once were thine,
With all the old attraction strong,
Embrace thy soul from lips Divine.

Soft from a Father's house above
Floats down on thee the name of child,

F ORGIVENESS may then yet be mine,
The sinless lips have said " Forgiven; "
Pardon is then a right Divine,
And love indeed the law of heaven.

" But can the sullied snow grow white?
What spell can seal the memory fast?
What has been ever must have been ,
The Almighty cannot change the past.

" His eyes, though piercing as the light,
In pity may refuse to see;
But what can make my memory white?

He prized her love, He held it dear,
He felt each ministering touch,
He marked each gift she offered there,
He cared that she should love Him " much . "

His pity was no careless alms
The happy to the wretched fling;
He prized her love, her tears, her balms,
Then life was yet a precious thing;

Precious the love He held of price,
Precious each moment which might bring
Some privilege of sacrifice,

The very stars will rise and swing,
More radiant censors in the air,
No shadow fall on anything,
The red rose paint itself more fair,
So brief the hours, divine their sum,
When love is come, when love is come.

Beauty will fail from earth and sky,
Fragrance and song will lose their dower,
The world in dark eclipse will lie,
And all things wither in that hour
When still the heart beats on and on,
And love is gone, and love is gone.

When the spring-time came, I said,
“Spring, I love you—love you best.”
Columbines were gold and red,
Winds flowers hung each timid head;
By warm rains and sunshine fed
Every root was comforted,
Every slumbering leaf was guessed
“Spring,” I vowed, “I love you best!”

When the summer came, I said,
“Summer, dear, I love you most.”
Butterflies their wide wings spread;
Crowds of starry daisies sped
Where their wandering seeds were led;
Shining planets overhead
Through the heavenly spaces fled.
Spring was but a lovely ghost—

Waken, birds, for the day is waking,
And the sky is a sea of light;
Waken, blossom, thy dreams forsaking,
Now 'tis no longer night.

Waken, heart, and sing to His praise
Who decrees that thou shouldst guess,
From the sacred blessing love brings always,
Of heaven's deep blessedness!

The grasses all were lifeless, sere, and dry;
Barren the boughs, where leaves had lent their shade;
In every empty nest the snow heaped high
And water-courses in their flight were stayed;
And all the dumb and stricken solitude
Was like some undiscovered arctic zone,
Where no flower grew, where no bird reared her brood;
When presently, in silvery monotone,
The frozen streams began to sing their chimes;
As by some bold and swift enchantment wrought,
Such as we read of, in far fairy climes,
The fields and trees with green were overshot;

Tell it, O wind, from morning till night,
Whisper it, warble it, sound its delight,
And you, O roses, beneath your blushes,
Breathe it soon to the listening thrushes,
And thrushes, be sure you carol it sweet,
Till the echoes, themselves, are fain to repeat!

Oh, wandering tide, with your silver fret,
Float it wherever your feet are set;
And you, O sea, with your thunder tone,
Pass it onward, from zone to zone,—
And to all the earth the secret tell,
That my lover, he loves me, he loves me well!