The Angelus.
[For pianissimo musical accompaniment.]
Ring soft across the dying day,
Angelus!
Across the amber-tinted bay,
The meadow flushed with sunset ray,—
Ring out, and float, and melt away,
Angelus.
The day of toil seems long ago,
Angelus;
While through the deepening vesper glow,
Far up where holy lilies blow,
Thy beckoning bell-notes rise and flow,
Angelus.
Through dazzling curtains of the west,
Angelus!
We see a shrine in roses dressed,
And lifted high in vision blest,
Our very heart-throb is confessed,
Angelus.
Oh, has an angel touched the bell,
Angelus?
For now upon its parting swell
All sorrow seems to sing farewell,
There falls a peace no words can tell,
Angelus!
Hope’s Song.
The golden dreams of youth
Assume a guise of truth
Which age keeps never,
For Hope’s voice singeth ever,
“Oh, youth and strong endeavor,
Can win the highest good forever.”
Love’s subtle intuition
Divines life’s glad fruition,
Distrusting never;
And sweetly Hope sings ever,
“True love and sweet endeavor
Shall hold the highest good forever.”
Love’s sacred tryst is broken,
Heart-breaking words are spoken
Her bonds to sever;
But still Hope singeth ever,
“Brave heart and strong endeavor
Must find the highest good forever.”
Pale hands are crossed in death;
Gone is the quivering breath;
And still a low voice never
Stops echoing, echoing ever,
“Brave heart and strong endeavor
Have won the highest good forever.”
The Sunrise Never Failed us Yet.
Upon the sadness of the sea
The sunset broods regretfully;
From the far, lonely spaces, slow
Withdraws the wistful after-glow.
So out of life the splendor dies;
So darken all the happy skies;
So gathers twilight, cold and stern—
But overhead the planets burn.
And up the east another day
Shall chase the bitter dark away;
What though our eyes with tears be wet?
The sunrise never failed us yet!
The blush of dawn may yet restore
Our light, and hope, and joy, once more.
Sad soul, take comfort, nor forget
That sunrise never failed us yet!
A Winter Song.
[With light, running staccato and legato accompaniments.]
Oh, summer has the roses
And the laughing, light south wind,
And the merry meadows lined
With dewy, dancing posies;
But winter has the sprites
And the witching frosty nights.
Oh, summer has the splendor
Of the corn-fields wide and deep,
Where the scarlet poppies sleep
And wary shadows wander;
But winter fields are rare
With diamonds everywhere.
Oh, summer has the wild bees,
And the ringing, singing note
In the robin’s tuneful throat,
And the leaf-talk in the trees;
But winter has the chime
Of the merry Christmas time.
Oh, summer has the luster
Of the sunbeams warm and bright,
And rains that fall at night
Where reeds and lilies cluster;
But deep in winter’s snow
The fires of Christmas glow.
St. Nicholas.
The Concert Rehearsal.
Oh, it was a musical old Beetle!
And oh, it was a honey-throated Bee!
But the dandified young Hopper,
He couldn’t sing it proper,
And the Cricket—out of tune was he.
They sung and they sung,
And the harebells swung
A tinkling obligato in the breeze;
While the Beetle, singing-master,
Tried to make them sing it faster,
By patting off the tempo on his knees.
And oh! it was a Robin overheard them,
Who happened out a-walking in the glade,
And he laughed in every feather
When they tried to sing together
At the funny little noises that they made.
He listened and he listened,
And his eyes they fairly glistened
As the Bee so sweetly bumbled out the air;
But the Cricket struck another,
And the Robin thought he’d smother
Trying not to let them know that he was there.
Then oh, the Bee declared that “It was shameful!”
And angrily sipped honey from a comb;
“She was ruining her throat
And wouldn’t sing another note
Until the others studied it at home!”
The Cricket said that he
Never could keep in the key
When the wind was blowing that way from the south,
And young Hopper made excuses
In reply to these abuses,
That he had too much molasses in his mouth.
Then oh! the beetle-headed old conductor
Arose and made a few remarks in turn;
“The soprano is so vicious
And affairs so unpropitious,
The best thing we can do is to adjourn.
“Taking everything together,
The molasses and the weather,
And the fact that we can’t any of us sing,
There is quite sufficient reason
That we wait another season
And postpone our little concert till the spring!”
Rock of Ages.
[The quoted words can be either sung or recited. The melody should be played through once before the beginning of the recitation. The accompaniment, pianissimo, should run through the entire poem, being definite, and piano only on the quoted lines.]
“Rock of ages, cleft for me,”
Thoughtlessly the maiden sung,
Fell the words unconsciously
From her girlish, gleeful tongue;
Sang as little children sing;
Sang as sing the birds in June;
Fell the words like light leaves down
On the current of the tune—
“Rock of ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee.”
“Let me hide myself in Thee,”—
Felt her soul no need to hide;
Sweet the song as song could be,
And she had no thought beside.
All the words unheedingly
Fell from lips untouched by care,
Dreaming not that they might be
On some other lips a prayer—
“Rock of ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee.”
“Rock of ages, cleft for me,”
’Twas a woman sung them now,
Pleadingly and prayerfully;
Every word her heart did know.
Rose the song, as a storm-tossed bird
Beats with weary wings the air;
Every note with sorrow stirred—
Every syllable a prayer—
“Rock of ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee.”
“Rock of ages, cleft for me,”
Lips grown aged sung the hymn
Trustingly and tenderly—
Voice grown weak and eyes grown dim.
“Let me hide myself in Thee,”
Trembling though the voice and low,
Rose the sweet strain peacefully
Like a river in its flow.
Sang as only they can sing
Who life’s thorny paths have passed;
Sang as only they can sing
Who behold the promised rest—
“Rock of ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee.”
“Rock of ages, cleft for me,”
Sung above a coffin-lid;
Underneath all restfully
All life’s joys and sorrows hid.
Nevermore, O storm-tossed soul,
Nevermore, from wind or tide,
Nevermore from billows’ roll
Wilt thou need thyself to hide.
Could the sightless, sunken eyes,
Closed beneath the soft gray hair,
Could the mute and stiffened lips
Move again in pleading prayer—
Still, aye still, the words would be,
“Let me hide myself in Thee.”