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FRANCES LOCKE.
[1850-60.
TO TILL.
There's room for hosts of angels
In this desert of a heart;
The grounds he all in ruins,
Where scarce a flower can start.
Then ho! for emigration!
Sweet spirits up above,
Come down and help him plant it
With all the fruits of Love.
In this desert of a heart;
The grounds he all in ruins,
Where scarce a flower can start.
Then ho! for emigration!
Sweet spirits up above,
Come down and help him plant it
With all the fruits of Love.
Long time he has been groping
Among the swamps of sin;
Long time they have been luring
His doubtful footsteps in;
But one, a man and brother,
Went to the wanderer's aid.
And on the shore of safety
His trembling burden laid.
Among the swamps of sin;
Long time they have been luring
His doubtful footsteps in;
But one, a man and brother,
Went to the wanderer's aid.
And on the shore of safety
His trembling burden laid.
A wreck of fallen greatness,
God's image all defaced—
Help, brother! help to raise him
To where he should be placed.
His soul is choked with brambles,
His brain is dull and wild;
Yet once his life was guileless—
He was a happy child.
God's image all defaced—
Help, brother! help to raise him
To where he should be placed.
His soul is choked with brambles,
His brain is dull and wild;
Yet once his life was guileless—
He was a happy child.
And then a loving mother
Bent o'er his cradle bed,
Oft kissed her precious sleeper,
And pillowed soft his head.
Oh! friend and brother, help him,
He lieth in your way;
Uplift the wronged and wretched,
And teach him how to pray.
Bent o'er his cradle bed,
Oft kissed her precious sleeper,
And pillowed soft his head.
Oh! friend and brother, help him,
He lieth in your way;
Uplift the wronged and wretched,
And teach him how to pray.
There's land in each one's bosom,
Tremblingly begin to pray.
Why should we leave it barren,
This desert of the heart ."
Tremblingly begin to pray.
Why should we leave it barren,
This desert of the heart ."
'Twill bring the sweetest flowers,
If Love the seed will strew;
'Twill flush with blooms of beauty.
Beneath affection's dew.
If Love the seed will strew;
'Twill flush with blooms of beauty.
Beneath affection's dew.
Then ho! for emigration!
Sweet spirits up above,
Come down and help us till it
With instruments of Love.
Sweet spirits up above,
Come down and help us till it
With instruments of Love.
THE DAY'S BURIAL.
Up the zenith floats a cloud.
White and bound with gold —
Like a giant monarch's shroud
O'er the sky unrolled.
Ready for the royal dead—
Ready to enfold.
White and bound with gold —
Like a giant monarch's shroud
O'er the sky unrolled.
Ready for the royal dead—
Ready to enfold.
Slowly from the sloping west.
On their silver steeds.
Ride the mourners, darkly dress'd—
Widows in their weeds—
While from out each wounded breast
Crimson anguish bleeds.
On their silver steeds.
Ride the mourners, darkly dress'd—
Widows in their weeds—
While from out each wounded breast
Crimson anguish bleeds.
Grander greatness never wept
In the vales terrestrial;
Prouder pageant never swept
O'er the heights celestial;
But the funeral glare grows dim,
Twilight chants the closing hymn.
In the vales terrestrial;
Prouder pageant never swept
O'er the heights celestial;
But the funeral glare grows dim,
Twilight chants the closing hymn.
In the silent, solemn gray.
All the host of saintly stars.
Launched in the ethereal wave.
That lieth waste apart;
As they guard the new-made grave
Of the brilliant, buried Day.
All the host of saintly stars.
Launched in the ethereal wave.
That lieth waste apart;
As they guard the new-made grave
Of the brilliant, buried Day.
