The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1868-09-09

sewing and dying
What TO such life is day or two more?
God protect all of us
Cod shelter all of us
From the new days lease of woe to the poor.
Hasten we winds and yield her the mercy
Lying III sleep on your purified breath;
Yield her the mercy, entoldmg. a blessing,
Yield her the mercy, whose signet is death;
In her toll stopping,
See her work dropping,
Fate! thou art merciiull Life thou art done |!
God protect all OF US
God shelter all of us
From the heart breaking, and yet living on!
Winds that have smited her tell We the story
OF the young life of the needle that bled:
Making its bridge over deaths soundess waters
Out of a swaying and ul-cutting-thread.
Over 1t going,
All the world knowing,
Thousands have trod it, foot-bleeding, before;
God protect all OF us
God shelter all of us
Should she look back from the opposite shore I
MYSELF.
Where is the promise of my years.
Once written on my brow?
Ere errors, agonie5, and fears,
Brought with them all that speaks in tears,
Ere had sunk beneath my peers;
Where sleeps that promise now?
Nought fingers to redeem those hours,
Still, still TO memory sweet!
The flowers that bloomed IN sunny bowers
Are w1thered all; and Evil towers
Supreme above her sister powers
Of Sorrow and Deceit.
look along the columned years
And see Life's rlven fame,
Just where it fell, amid the jeers
OF scorniul lips, whose mockiug sneers
Forever hiss within mine ears
TO break the sleep of pain.
can but own my sleep is vain,
desert void of peace;
I missed the goal sought to gain,
/ missed the measure of the strain
That lulls Fame's fever in the brain,
And bids Earth's tumult cease.
Myself! alas for them so poor,
A theme but rich in fear;
! stand wreck on Errors shore,
spectre not within the door,
A houseless shadow evermore,
An exile lingering here.
MYSELF AGAIN.
Away down into the shadowy depths of the Real
! once lived.
thought that to seem was to be;
But the waters of Marah were beautiful, vet
they were bitter
waited, and hoped and prayed;
Counting the heart-throbs and the tears that
Through my earnest pleadings for the True,
learned that the mildest mercy of life was a
smiling sneer;
And that the business of the world was to lash
with vengeance all who dared to be what
their God had made them.
Smother back tears to the red blood of the
Crush out things called souls!
No room for them here
Now gloss my pale face with laughter, and sail
my voice on with the tide,
Decked in jewels and lace laugh beneath the
gaslight's glare, and quaf the purple wine,
But the minor-keyed soul is standing naked and
hungry upon one OF Heavens high hills of
light;
Standing and waiting for the blood Of the feast !
Starving for one poor word
Waiting God hpanOn nm
the boundess shores Of this night.
Shlvering for the uprising of some soft wing
under which 1t may creep, lizard-like, to
Waiting starving and shiveringl
Still trim my white bosom with crimson roses; !;
for none shall see the thOrns.
bind my aching brow with jeWelled crown;
that none shall see the iron one beneath.
My silver-sandaled feet keep impatient time to
the music, because i cannot be calm.
l laugh at eaIth's passion fever of love; yet !
know that God is near to the soul on the hill,
and hears the Ceaseless.ebb aud flow of hope
less love through all my laughter.
But ii can cheat my heart with the old COM
1oIt-that love can be forgotten--is it not
better?
After all, living is but to play part!
The poorest worm would be a jewel-headed
snake II she could!
All this grandeur of glare and glitter has its
night time.
The palld eyelids must shut out smiles and day.
Then fold my cold hands, aud look down at
the restlessrivers of love that rushes through
my life.
Unseen and unknown they ride on over black
rocks and chasms OF Death
Oh, Tor the sweet word to bridge their terrible
depths
Oh, jealous soul why wilt thou crave and yearn
for what thou canst not have?
And life is so long-so long.
With the daylight comes the business of living;
The prayers that 1 sent trembling up the golden
thread OF hope all come back to me,
lock them close in my bosom, far under the
velvet and roses of the world
For know that stronger than these torrents of
the hill. -'''@N -'''' w W
What care for his careless auehY
90 not SIGH; but know that God hears the
llte-bood dripping as /, TOO, laugh:
l would not be thought a foolish rose thot
haunts her red heart out to the sun.
Loving is not living!
Yet through all this know that night will roll
back from the still, gray PLAN OF heaven. and
that my triumph shall rise sweet with the
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