Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/408

S92 LUELLA J. B. CASE. [1840-50. And the thundering fire-canoe Sweeps then- placid waters through. Science rules where Nature smiled ; Art is toiling in the wild ; And their mouldering cairns alone Tell the tale of races gone. Thus o'er Time's mysterious sea Being moves perpetually ; Crowds of swift, advancing waves Roll o'er vanished nations' graves ; But immortal treasures sweep Still unharmed that solemn deep ; — Progress holds a tireless way — Mind asserts her deathless sway. ENERGY IN ADVERSITY. Onward ! Hath earth's ceaseless change Trampled on thy heart ? Faint not, for that restless range Soon will heal the smart. Trust the future ; time will prove Earth hath stronger, truer love. Bless thy God — the heart is not An abandoned urn, Where all lonely and forgot, Dust and ashes mourn ; Bless him that his mercy brings Joy from out its withered things. Onward, for the truths of God — Onward, for the right ! Firmly let the field be trod In life's coming fight ; Heaven's own hand will lead thee on. Guard thee till thy task is done ! Then will brighter, sweeter flowers Blossom round thy way, Than e'er sprung in Hope's glad bowers, In thine early day ; And the rolling years shall bring Strena;th and healing on their wing. DEATH LEADING AGE TO REPOSE. Lead him gently — he is weary, Spirit of the placid brow ! Life is long, and age is dreary, And he seeks to slumber now. Lead him gently — he is weeping, For the friends he cannot see ; Gently — for he shrinks from sleeping On the couch he asks of thee ! Thou, with mien of solemn gladness. With the thought-illumined eye, Pity thou the mortal's sadness — Teach him it is well to die. Time has vailed his eye with blindness, On thy face it may not dwell, Or its sweet, majestic kindness Would each mournful doubt dispel. Passionless thine every feature. Moveless is thy being's calm, Wliile poor suffering human nature Knows but few brief hours of balm. Yet when life's long strife is closing, And the grave is drawing near. How it shrinks from that reposing Where there comes nor hope, nor fear. Open thou the visioned portal. That reveals the life sublime. That within the land immortal Waits the weary child of Time. Open thou the land of beauty. Where the Ideal is no dream. And the child of patient Duty Walks in joy's unclouded beam. Thou, with brow that owns no sorrow, With the eye that may not weep, Point him to heaven's coming morrow — Show him it is well to sleep !