ers it crackles and streams!
As if they would rend up the earth from its roots,
Rush the flames to the sky
Giant-high;
And at length,
Wearied out and despairing, man bows to their strength!
With an idle gaze sees their wrath consume,
And submits to his doom!
Desolate
The place, and dread
For storms the barren bed.
In the deserted gaps that casements were,
Looks forth despair;
And, where the roof hath been,
Peer the pale clouds within!

One look
Upon the grave
Of all that Fortune gave
The loiterer took--
Then grasps his staff. Whate'er the fire bereft,
One blessing, sweeter than all else, is left--
_The faces that he loves_! He counts them o'er--
And, see--not one dear look is missing from _that_ store!

* * * * *

Now clasp'd the bell within the clay--
The mould the mingled metals fill--
Oh, may it, sparkling into day,
Reward the labour and the skill!
Alas! should it fail,
For the mould may be frail--
And still with our hope must be mingled the fear--
And, even now, while we speak, the mishap may be near!

To the dark womb of sacred earth
This labour of our hands is given,
As seeds that wait the second birth,
And turn to blessings watch'd by heaven!
Ah seeds, how dearer far than they
We bury in the dismal tomb,
Where Hope and Sorrow bend to pray
That suns beyond the realm of day
May warm them into bloom!

From the steeple
Tolls the bell,
Deep and heavy,
The death-knell!
Measured and solemn, guiding up the road
A wearied wanderer to the last abode.
It is that worship'd wife--
It is that faithful mother![43]
Whom the dark Prince of Shadows leads benighted,
From that dear arm where oft she hung delighted.
Far from those blithe companions, born
Of her, and blooming in their morn;
On whom, when couch'd, her heart above
So often look'd the Mother-Love!

Ah! rent the sweet Home's union-band,
And never, never more to come--
She dwells within the shadowy land,
Who was the Mother of that Home!
How oft they miss that tender guide,
The care--the watch--the face--the MOTHER--
And where she sate the babes beside,