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My eldest by a raging fever died,--
Two in the battle, two upon the sea,—

And last, my youngest hope, the forest bough
Droops o'er his grave, and I am childless now!

III.

'Stranger, repeat thy tidings, word by word,
Nor shall my sorrow interrupt thee more;
For well I see my daily prayers were heard,
And God with blessing made his cup run o'er!'
The stranger answered: Like a wounded bird
Which, tangled in the net, essays to soar,
Yet cannot leave its prison-bonds behind,
So fled I to the desert, from mankind.

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'Long had my soul been vexed with evil men; They whom I trusted had betrayed my faith Therefore far better seemed it, in the den

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Of the wild beast to hide my spirit's scathe, Than dwell with man, more cruel far, whose ken To love, and hope, and simple truth is death I sought the desert, but my soul's despair, Blasting my peace, went with me, even there.

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V.

'I dwelt among the hunters of the waste,

Seeking in their benighted natures, day.— Vain quest, amid the ignorant and debased! Then to the unpeopled wilds I fled away, Still hurrying onward in my bootless haste;

Or 'neath the o'er-arching forest trees I lay. Dubious of purpose, miserable and blind, Seeking for what on earth we may not find.

VI.

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Thus as I lay, in my unquiet mood,
One early morn, beneath a spicy tree,
I heard a low voice, tender and subdued,
Pour forth to God an earnest prayer for me!
I rose, and in a green nook of the wood

Beheld thy son upon his bended knee;—
Unseen I stood, and each word strong, yet calm,
Fell o'er my spirit like a healing balm.

VII.

He rose-" And who art thou?" amazed I cried, "How know'st thou my soul's darkness and distress?" "My brother," he with fervent voice replied, "I am a dweller in the wilderness, And oft in forest-wilds and caves abide;

And thus, one eve, o'erspent with weariness, I heard thy plaints-my native tongue I heard, And my heart burned within me at each word.

VIII.

"From that day, vainly have I sought for thee With yearning love, in many a lonely spot, Troubling my soul with fond anxiety,

Even as a mother-though thou know'st it not For in my heart I felt that thou wouldst be

A blessing to this desert,-and I sought To God in prayer for thee, each opening day, That as a cloud, thy grief might pass away.

IX.

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"For love of the poor children of the wild,
I left my father's house, and native strand,
From cultured minds, and home delights, exiled ;-
And God hath blessed my labours in this land;

Yet have I pined as a bereaved child

For kindred bonds,-and felt my heart expand
With an unbounded love for thee, whose face
Is as a brother's, in this lonely place!"

x.

"Twas thus we met, and strong our friendship grew: My heart was changed, we laboured side by side,His very tone was like refreshing dew

That sheds its mild and genial influence wide.
And his meek, joyful spirit, round him threw
Gladness like sunshine; yet at times a tide
Came o'er his heart, of troubling memory,
And his strong soul was bowed recalling thee.

XI.

'For thou wast unto him as light and life,

And, next to God, within his soul enshrined ;Yet thinking on thy strength, his eye grew bright, And his heart blessing thee, again resigned.For thou didst gird him for this holy fight,

And sent him forth, thy last one! nor repined. Oh blessed mother of a Son like him,

Let not thy heart droop, nor thy faith be dim!

XII.

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'Thy soul's desire was answered, when he stood,
Amid the swarthy people, 'neath a tree,
In some green opening of the ancient wood
When his strong spirit's fervent energy,
That foreign tongue with awful power imbued,
Softening each heart, and bending every knee:
God worked by him, the humble, pure, and mild,
Mighty in zeal, yet gentle as a child.

XIII.

Man's savage heart was changed where'er he went, And the bleak desert blossomed as a field; For, on their welfare evermore intent,

He taught them how the affluent soil would yield Abundant harvests; late and early bent

In wearying toil, and with them sowed and tilled,Ay, even when Death had stricken him,-when each day, Drooping and weak, I saw him waste away.

XIV.

Yet was he not untended,-day and night
I watched by him; and when dark human fear
Clouded his soul, his faith's sublimest light,
I gave him back: God sent me there to cheer
With watchful tenderness his dying sight!

And with a fervent faith, and truth sincere,
Our hearts were bound; and each unto the other
In those last days was dearer than a brother.

XV.

But when his earthly course was well nigh run,
The holy fervour of his soul shone out

Brighter than even it before had done;

And then he knew no shrinking fear, nor doubt. He saw the fight was o'er, the victory won,

And heard, in faith, the far triumphant shout! Whilst the poor dwellers of the desert sate Around him, weeping and disconsolate.

XVI.

Hundreds came down to gaze upon his face,
To hear once more the gracious words that fell

Like pleasant waters in a barren place,

Soothing that sorrow nought else could dispel.

Then o'er his solemn features beamed his grace,
Such as on human brow doth rarely dwell,
And from his lips fell many an awful word,

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Which ne'er shall leave the hearts of those who heard.

XVII.

Mothers brought down their children, from his hand
To have a blessing; old men by his side

Knelt in their silent grief; and many a band

Of mourners sought their streaming tears to hide
In the green thickets, others on the sand
Sate pale and mute, by sorrow stupified:
Many his holy life had taught the faith,
But loftier, mightier, was his power in death.

XVIII.

"They saw the strength in which his soul was strong, They felt the answer to his dying prayer; Amazed, they heard his joy o'erflowing tongue Of heaven and immortality declare : And he who was their light and hope so long, Meekly they sought to follow ;-from despair Confiding faith sprung up, and death was sent, To crown the work in which his life was spent.

XIX.

'He died-yet ere he died, he bade me take
The Holy Book, a token of his rest,
And bid thee not have sorrow for his sake

Who, with the righteous dead, is surely blest.
Then, childless Mother though thou art! awake
From darkling dreams, that have thy soul oppressed;
Awake: put on thy glorious robes, and raise
Unto thy God, and his, a song of praise !'

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