"
SARAH KNOWLES BOLTON.
* * * * *
MY CREED.
I hold that Christian grace abounds
Where charity is seen; that when
We climb to heaven, 't is on the rounds
Of love to men.
I hold all else, named piety,
A selfish scheme, a vain pretence;
Where centre is not--can there be
Circumference?
This I moreover hold, and dare
Affirm where'er my rhyme may go,--
Whatever things be sweet or fair,
Love makes them so.
Whether it be the lullabies
That charm to rest the nursling bird,
Or the sweet confidence of sighs
And blushes, made without a word.
Whether the dazzling and the flush
Of softly sumptuous garden bowers,
Or by some cabin door, a bush
Of ragged flowers.
'Tis not the wide phylactery,
Nor stubborn fast, nor stated prayers,
That make us saints: we judge the tree
By what it bears.
And when a man can live apart
From works, on theologic trust,
I know the blood about his heart
Is dry as dust.
ALICE CAREY.
* * * * *
GIVE ME THY HEART.
With echoing steps the worshippers
Departed one by one;
The organ's pealing voice was stilled,
The vesper hymn was done;
The shadow fell from roof and arch,
Dim was the incensed air,
One lamp alone, with trembling ray,
Told of the Presence there!
In the dark church she knelt alone;
Her tears were falling fast;
"Help, Lord," she cried, "the shades of death
Upon my soul are cast!
Have I not shunned the path of sin,
And chose the better part? "--
What voice came through the sacred air?--
_"My child, give me thy heart!"_
"Have not I laid before thy shrine
My wealth, O Lord?" she cried;
"Have I kept aught of gems or gold,
To minister to pride?
Have I not bade youth's joys retire,
And vain delights depart?"--
But sad and tender was the voice,--
_"My child, give me thy heart!"_
"Have I not, Lord, gone day by day
Where thy poor children dwell;
And carried help, and gold, and food?
O Lord, thou know'st it well!
From many a house, from many a soul,
My hand bids care depart":--
More sad, more tender was the voice,--
_"My child, give me thy heart!"_
"Have I not worn my strength away
With fast and penance sore?
Have I not watched and wept?" she cried;
"Did thy dear saints do more?
Have I not gained thy grace, O Lord,
And won in heaven my part?"--
It echoed louder in her soul,--
"_My child, give me thy heart_!
"For I have loved thee with a love
No mortal heart can show;
A love so deep my saints in heaven
Its depths can never know:
When pierced and wounded on the cross,
Man's sin and doom were mine,
I loved thee with undying love,
Immortal and divine!
"I loved thee ere the skies were spread;
My soul bears all thy pains;
To gain thy love my sacred heart
In earthly shrines remains:
Vain are thy offerings, vain thy sighs,
Without one gift divine;
Give it, my child, thy heart to me,
And it shall rest in mine!"
In awe she listened, as the shade
Passed from her soul away;
In low and trembling voice she cried,--
"Lord, help me to obey!
Break thou the chains of earth, O Lord,
That bind and hold my heart;
Let it be thine and thine alone,
Let none with thee have part.
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