Ellsworth American., 1876-11-30
pOttrp.
Laborare Est Orare.

LdUOIdIc Gst SboiO
The cold, gray clouds are climbing from the
rivers.
The distant mountsin-tops are all aglow
With mornings early light. that, glancing. quiV'
Among the frs that crown the crsgs below
Give back agian my pilgrim staff, my father,
To guard my steps adown the dizzy height,
For long before the evening shadows gather
journey toward q country out oil sight.
oh. father. tempt Inc not! | well remember
When blind End safiled by the blasts OF fate.
And chilled with years that were one long
December,
staggered fainting, 10 thy convent gate.
Can forget thy ministry OF healing,
The cup OF wine. the sleep in spotless cell,
The hand OF benediction. the appealing
OF cross. and shrine, and saint and yesper
bell
The days OF calm, the nights OF solemn splen-
The heights Of silence where cen murmurs
cease,
The spirit, tender and serene surrender
To the incoming Of abiding tpeace'
oh. sweet indeed the rest upon the mountains
Thi, blessed strength from the eternal hills ,
This draught Of lite from purest upland foun-
tains
rhi. sight Of heaven that all my vision oils
But, Father. here l came through desert dan
Igrasped my breaking staff with bleeding
hands.
And left hehind so many stricken strangers,
Aihirst and fAinting on the shifting sands;
Tn desert wells Were dry my flask was brok-
en-;
Too irail for mine own weakness was my rod
The hot .kie- gave their lifted eyes no token.
No rain-cloud answered TO their cry 10 God.
They. pilgrims, too, alas! with none to love
them,
Their spent lives langui.hed while God
quickened mine;
Rain fell for me-their heavens were brass
above them:
l only reached the mountains, gained the
shrine.
Yet they were spared my long and weary
climbing,
M battling with the tempest and the cold.
But, O my Father, they have missed the chin
ing
Oi NV sweet bell,-my Shepherd and my fold
Zen here. on these cool sleeps, hot throbs OF
anguish
Repeat in mine own veins their pulse OF pain
too beneath the dcsert-feyer languish.
Their striving browns my peace. their loss
my gain.
Their hunger robs my daily bread Of sweet
Their moan- thread sadly my triumphant
psalm.
Let me 20 down to share in its completeness
90 a1,ar
O Idle rest. while dearer souls are straying.
o selfish 10y, while these are unforgiven.
o vanity Of vague and yoiceless pray ing.
II, but for this, our stained liyes were shriV-
en-,
Nay. let me dream upon the heights no longer
Round purer heart | wrap my pilgrim dress
In purer hands my trembling stan grows
stronger,
Nv face is set toward the wilderness.
To help the helpless, strengthen those who fal-
ter,
To lead to light the .orrowing and blind
To reach once more my sacred mountain al
But not to leave the wesker ones behind!
should such sweet grace 10 my rude hands be
given.
To bind up wounds, 10 lii the stricken up,
Each sufferer .hsll see the smile Of heaven
Outshining on him from the healing cup,
II should perish in the wsy another,
Will surely struggle up TO " here | rest
BY mantle. scrip, and stsf will know 4 brother,
And by this little cross upon my breast
VIII know my soul has dwelt in peace up high
er.
viii take nv precious store OF oil and wine,
And. kindled by the glow Of inward fire,
Mount cen TO heavenly heights beyond my
shrine.
But see. the mists are fleeing as lnger,
The distant hills have lost their rosy glow,
And underneath The touch Of days soft finger
Have wrapped themselves IN robes OF puresi
snow.
! bend my head, my Father for thy blessing;
go-nOt Ike the mOuntans-clad In white,
Yet falls on me, like mothers hand soft press
ing,
The silent benediction Of the light.
Mrs. NJ. l.. Dickinson, in The Galaxy for
December.