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THE LIBRARY
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
V AAVAVlVi A ..*AV A 'aWaWYVA''?/ A' v./VAV
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POEMS
POEMS
BY
ETHEL MARGARET ROSHER
PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION ONLY
LONDON
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER, & CO. LIP
PATERNOSTER HOUSE, CHARING CROSS ROAD
1896
Printed by BALI.ANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
At tht Ballantynt Press
PR
size?
INTRODUCTION
This small book of Poems contains the initial
efforts of the Authoress, and is published at the
request of many friends. Its contents were mainly
written without an idea that they were destined to
appear in print, and may thus in a large degree
possess a personal rather than a general interest,
as in several cases the poems are simply an ex-
pression of sympathy, and a message of peace to
those in sorrow. With this slight introduction, the
Authoress submits to the public, with all diffidence,
her first book. Should any, into whose hands it
may come, find aught herein from which they
may derive comfort or pleasure, she will be amply
rewarded.
JxJ
- CONTENTS
> AGE
Twin Visions i
A Sigh 4
The Bereaved Mother 6
On the Death of an Infant .... 7
Epitaph 10
The Choice 11
My Jewel-Case 12
A Hospital Nurse's Dedication . . . . 15
On Death 17
In Memoriam : D. S. 21
The Bells 24
Dorothy's Answers 26
Primrose Day 27
In Memoriam : Rev. J. C. Harrison . . .28
The Tear 30
To the Sun 31
New Year 35
My Heart is Lost 3S
vii
viii CONTENTS
PAGE
To My Old Extract Book, after Ten Years . 39
To My New Extract Book 4c
The Sea 43
We Walk by Faith, not by Sight . . -44
In Memoriam : M. H. L 46
The Lark's Message 48
A Song 49
Let Her Rest 50
To H. G. R. on his Ordination . . . .51
Revival 53
In Memoriam : E. S 55
Dreamland 57
Reunion 60
Christmas 62
A Confession 63
TWIN VISIONS
In Fancy's gaze, I see twin visions
Which seem to me to breathe one atmosphere.
Gay Spring and rosy Morn come hand in hand,
Both in pale tints are decked.
One dazzling brightness lighteth up each form,
The same elastic step is seen in each,
And both are wayward —
Though e'en their waywardness is tinged with
mirth ;
Now frowns, now tears fleet swiftly o'er each brow,
Then all is calm and peace again ;
Yet deeper look —
For in their forms I see
Youth, in its love, its mirth, its purity.
The visions fade,
And in their place I find
Two other forms of equal loveliness,
A
2 TWIN VISIONS
Though of maturer growth.
Their names are Noon and Summer,
Their brows more set with purpose,
Though their garments blend in gayer hues
Than those of their young sisters, Morn and
Spring ;
They speak to us of man's full manhood,
Or woman's staider beauty,
Which is not ruffled by each passing wind,
But e'en through trials learns its evenness.
Again the picture changes, and again I see
Two forms with tott'ring step
Wind slowly up the path.
Their garments, gayer even than the rest,
Are of a fuller, richer, colouring ;
A fuller glory, too, shines o'er their brows,
A perfect ripeness hitherto unseen.
Autumn and Evening are they called,
And often as they breathe escapes a sigh,
For their great beauty soon, alas ! shall fade,
Leaving behind a wordless loneliness.
In them is pictured golden age,
Or any age, when souls are ripe
To meet their Maker.
TWIN VISIONS
Then all is still — so still, I scarce discern
Two shadowy forms come stealing up the path :
One is in white arrayed — the other purple,
Set with golden stars ;
And round their presence moonbeams linger,
Shedding their pure, cold light :
While Night and Winter speak in silent words,
Which by their very silence startle me ;
And human-like I shudd'ring cry —
"Where are gone Life and Light and Colour?
These mean only Death ! " But stay !
From Night grows Day ; from Winter, Spring ;
From Death, Eternal Life !
A SIGH
What's in a sigh ?
A hope, a fear,
A wonder, or a deep despair !
What's in a sigh ?
A hopelessness,
Deeper than anguish'd words express.
A broken prayer ?
Yes — but to God's great Heart most dear.
A stifled cry, '
Heard only by the Lord on High.
What's in a sigh ?
A tear suppress'd,
Which still to God is manifest ;
A SIGH
A yielded will,
Which, pois'd on Faith and Love, is still ;
Contented rest,
â–
As an infant's, on its Mother's breast.
What's in a sigh ?
A sympathy,
Which spoken might have wounded thee ;
A depth of thought,
Which to God means all — to man means nought.
What's in a sigh ?
A flutt'ring breath,
Through which our Life is merg'd in Death.
Yet as it sinks beside Death's portal,
'Twill, rising, breathe to Life Immortal ;
With Him who all our need supplies,
With Him who can interpret sighs ;
At Home, where sighs no more shall be,
But praise and joy eternally.
THE BEREAVED MOTHER
Baby mine, softly sleeping,
Safely in Jesu's keeping,
Leaving my torn heart weeping,
Whilst thou art sleeping, sleeping.
Awake, thou, my babe, my own,
With smiles melt this heart of stone,
Come, come to the arms so lone ;
Awake, thou, my own, my own !
Hush ! thou art waking, waking, ,
Light on my heart is breaking,
Music and sunshine making,
For thou in Heaven art waking.
ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT
Bright was the dawn and glad the day
When the crown of motherhood
Was brought me by a baby's hand
From the Giver of all good.
In rapt'rous praise I thank'd my God
For this sweet gift, so fair ;
" May she ever draw my soul above "
Was the burden of my prayer.
As to fond Nature's loving call
Unfolds the rosebud fair,
So did my flow'ret's life expand
Amid Love's fost'ring care.
As sunbeams were her smiles to me,
And her tears like drops of dew,
Her dancing limbs and cries of glee
Brought me happiness so true.
ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT
One day she droop'd ; I watch'd her fade
With a heart by anguish rent ;
Oh ! was God calling away the gift
He had e'en so lately sent ?
Yes, with the falling shades of night
Came the fluttering of wings,
And an angel, softly knocking, said —
" I come from the King of kings.
The babe He you so lately gave
May on earth no longer stay ;
Yet ' God is Love ' — oh ! trust and believe,
You'll know why it was some day."
She ceas'd, and drew to her shining breast
My own little snow-white dove,
Then flew away through the starry skies
To the Father's Home above.
Worn-out with grief, I fell asleep,
And dreamt the clouds were riv'n,
That the purple hues of night gave place
To the golden plains of Heav'n.
ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT 9
There,. in the arms of the Saviour mild,
Lay my lovely little one ;
While as she look'd in His Face she smil'd,
And her form with glory shone.
Then as she turn'd she saw me there,
And her sweet face glow'd with love
As she said, " Oh mother ! your prayer is heard ;
I have drawn your soul above."
EPITAPH
Dear Lord, I come —
I have no choice
But to obey the voice
Which calls me Home.
But, to those who mourn
Through Sorrow's night,
Oh ! send my spirit bright,
Till the day dawn.
THE CHOICE
What wouldst thou be ?
The rose ? who, blooming in a garden fair,
By her sweet fragrance draweth all men near.
The stately lily ? whose white purity
Is gained by gazing always to the sky.
The snowdrop ? who, with shyly drooping head,
Whispers of resurrection from the dead.
What wouldst thou be ?
The heather ? who with life so gay and free,
Sports with the winds in joyous ecstasy.
The violet ? who, in quiet mossy dell,
Contented, sweet, and lone, is glad to dwell.
Lord, I would be
Whate'er Thou makest me.
MY JEWEL-CASE
I sought to value and to price my gems,
But found their value was of priceless worth.
No radiant jewels in some costly case
Are they, no dewy, sparkling diamonds,
Silken pearls, or flashing emeralds deep,
Whose setting is of finest chasten'd gold —
And yet, to me, no sum their worth could name.
Would you behold my gems ? then follow me.
Op'ning a door of plainest Wood, you see
A simply furnished room, all void of art :
Seated therein a woman in whose arms
A tiny babe slumbers in peace ; and then
The deaf 'ning shouts of children greet your ears,
And disappointed, from a dream, you wake.
But to me, th' vision into solid wealth
Is quickly changed ; — see here the gold that falls
MY JEWEL-CASE 13
From this small head ! while ivory arms
Wind in a loving chain about my neck,
And ruby lips drop tiny broken pearls.
Scan now the eyes there of my first-born child,
Brighter than diamonds, in their changing mirth.
Ah ! now, in anger with his sister fair,
Those orbs, like emeralds deep, flash fire,
Then droop in shame, till royal words are
said —
Words which to God more precious are than
gold,
Though utter'd only by a baby's lips.
Yet still my fairest gem is to be seen
Lulling with softest music to her breast
The little pearl whose life is wrapt in hers.
If aught should rob me of that dearest gift,
The lives of these fair children would appear
A setting with the central jewel gone !
Ah ! she is dearer, fairer than them all,
This wife — God's first and noblest gift to man.
Have I done wrong in valuing thus high
These, who must pass away ? It cannot be !
Because for them was given a Price
Greater than all the wealth this world contains,
And they are precious in the sight of Him,
14 MY JEWEL-CASE
Of whose Crown they at length shall form a
part.
In sacred trust I hold them till that day
When Christ shall claim them all, and me with
them,
To shine in purest lustre evermore.
A HOSPITAL NURSE'S DEDICATION
O Lord my God, this work I undertake
Alone in Thy great Name, and for Thy sake ;
In minist'ring to suff' ring I would learn
The sympathy that in Thy Heart did burn
For those who, toiling on Life's weary way,
Unto diseases divers were a prey.
Take then mine eyes, and teach them to perceive
The ablest way each poor one to relieve :
Guide Thou my hands, that e'en their touch may
prove
The gentleness and aptness born of Love.
Bless Thou my feet, and while they softly tread,
May faces smile from many a suff'rer's bed.
Take too my lips, O God ; guide Thou my tongue ;
Give me a word in season for each one ;
Clothe me with patient strength all tasks to bear ;
Crown me with Hope and Love, which know no
fear,
15
1 6 A HOSPITAL NURSES DEDICATION
And Faith, that, coming face to face with Death,
Shall e'en inspire with joy the dying breath.
All through the arduous day my actions guide,
Or 'mid the lone night-watch be by my side ;
And when, worn-out with toil, I go to rest,
Send sleep, and come in dreams to be my Guest ;
So shall I wake refresh'd with strength to pray ; —
Work in me, through me, with me, Lord, this day.
ON DEATH
Death, thou great mystery,
Who in thy varied forms appear'st to me.
Say, do I love or dread thee ?
Thy presence first, one childhood's happy day,
A vision came :
When told that still in death my mother lay,
I felt no pain.
A darken'd house, low whisperings, and tears
Filled me with awe ;
But soon the tears, the mysteries, and fears
I knew no more.
Again, while tripping lightly on youth's way,
My course was stay'd,
For on the friend who shared my work and play
Death's hand was laid.
J 7 B
18 ON DEATH
And she by him was through a valley led,
So dark and lone,
From out whose depths grim shadows, cold and
dread,
Were o'er me thrown,
Which fill'd me with despair, till the bright sun
Shone forth again,
And I, a child of nature, was soon won
Away from pain.
Once more, when cloth'd with motherhood, I
knew
Thy presence near,
By the feeble, flutt'ring breath my sweet one
drew.
" Oh, baby dear !
How can I give thee up to Death's cold hand ? "
I wildly cried ;
But when I saw the Christ as Reaper stand,
My tears were dried,
And on His Breast my child in peace I laid,
Then turn'd to cheer
Those for whom life lay ever in the shade,
Whose path loom'd drear.
ON DEATH 19
There, in an attic gloomy, bare, and chill,
A mother lay,
And in her arms she clasp'd a babe, so still,
Just born that day ;
While from the corner of the room there peer'd
The hungry eyes
Of children three, whose youthfulness was sear'd
By bitter cries.
Paler and paler grew the mother's face ;
I stoop'd to tell,
In gentle word, how Death stood in the place,
That all was welL
" Death is but rest, sweet rest; thank God for death,"
She faintly said :
Slower and slower came the feeble breath ;
Now — she was dead.
I next stood by the dying couch of one
Whose life had been
Like some great picture, where the colours tone
In beauteous scene ;
Where all the points are clear, yet intertwine
Harmoniously ;
Where mountain-tops, broad lakes, and deep ravine
In one agree.
20 ON DEATH
White as the snow-tipp'd mountain was her soul,
Yet she could stoop
Deep as the deep ravine, to help the foul,
And raise to hope.
But now the life was ebbing fast away ;
Would the bright light
That had illumined all her earthly way
Be turn'd to night ?
Nay, nay ; for see the light upon her brow,
Tis not of earth ;
She sees the King ! Such joy from Heav'n must
flow,
In Heav'n have birth.
Hark ! now her lips are moving ; what she says
We cannot hear,
Our ears are dull and earth-born, but her praise
In Heav'n rings clear.
Yet one word do I hear, which was the key
To her bright life ;
'Tis even " Jesus," whisper'd radiantly
Amid Death's strife.
With that she passes on exultingly
With Christ to be :
If this is Death, I say unflinchingly — 'Tis Victory !
IN MEMORIAM
D. S.
God sent a gift unto our wedded bliss,
To be a token of our unity,
A little daughter fair.
How sacred was that first parental kiss,
Which pledged her one with all humanity,
Their joys and griefs to share !
We called her Dorothy, and unto God
We offered her again, and on her brow
Was marked a sign — the Cross,
Which pointeth to the way her Saviour trod —
A blessed way, though crown'd by suff'ring now,
By strife, and pain, and loss.
On flowed our darling's life, a little stream
Of joy to her and us, sparkling with mirth,
Kept purer by the tears
22 IN MEMORIAM
Which sometimes bathed her face; nor did we dream
That there, among the shadows cast o'er earth,
One should call forth our fears.
Yet onward moved a shadow, till it stay'd
Close to our child ; in form a cross it took,
And laid her low in pain :
Our parent love knew, too, how much it weigh'd :
Could we not feel her pain, each suff 'ring look,
When all relief was vain ?
A second gift God's bounteous Hand sent forth,
A little son to cheer the mother's soul.
But Dorothy, with eyes
By suff'ring veil'd, look'd up to Heav'n from
earth ;
She saw the little children there made whole,
And smiled in glad surprise.
She saw not all the grief her father wore,
Nor all the anguish in her mother's face —
Her gaze on Christ was set :
And as she look'd she longed yet more and more
For wings to carry her to yon bright place,
All sorrows to forget.
IN ME MORI AM 23
And God loved tenderly the little one,
So broke the chains which held her fetter'd here ;
Then on and up she flew
To that bright window, brighter than the sun,
From which the baby brother pure and fair
By God had been sent through.
The window closed — and those who weep below
See only clouds, — and little Dorothy
Laid like a snowdrop there.
May they by faith now to that region go,
And there behold her joyous ecstasy,
In growing still more fair ;
While yet on earth the cross's shadows fall,
Leaving on us their sacred marks ; but still,
Dear Lord, we know 'tis best.
Those whom Thou lovest would obey Thy call
They would be daily subject to Thy Will,
And in that Will find rest.
V
THE BELLS
Ringing, ringing, ringing,
How they ring !
Proclaiming the birthday of Christ our
King,
While angels on High His praises sing —
Those joyous bells !
Chiming, chiming, chiming,
How they chime !
Steadily marked, as some measured rhyme,
Pointing mankind to the flight of Time —
Those warning bells !
Pealing, pealing, pealing,
How they peal !
While two loving hearts at the altar kneel,
Wedded for ever, through woe or weal —
Those hopeful bells !
*4
THE BELLS 25
Tolling, tolling, tolling,
How they toll !
Telling the flight of the unfettered soul,
Saying a heart has reached its goal —
Those solemn bells !
DOROTHY'S ANSWERS
Little maiden, aged three,
Was by father asked one day,
" Who loves little Dorothy ? "
She replied without delay —
" Father loves me." Full of pride
At these words the father grew,
And another question tried,
Thinking he the answer knew.
" And who does little Dolly love ? "
The eyes looked up unflinchingly
(He knew, but still he liked to prove),
" I loves myself," quoth she.
26
PRIMROSE DAY
vJlose nestling by mother's side in church,
Turning the leaves of her book of prayer,
Sits the vicar's wee daughter in deep research,
Her little face puzzled and full of care.
Casting a glance around, we see
On many a coat a primrose gay ;
Which sight calls forth to our memory
Lord Beaconsfield — for 'tis " Primrose Day."
Again to the little maid we turn,
For her eager face attracts the eye,
And two tiny cheeks with excitement burn,
As she scans o'er each page — then a sigh
Of despair from the child in her nook,
While a small, sad voice is heard to say,
" Oh mother ! I've hunted all through the book,
But can't find the collect for 'Primrose Day.'"
27
IN MEMORIAM
Rev. J. C. Harrison
Peace, peace, great heart,
Now beating on Christ's breast,
Faithful thou didst thy part,
Now cometh peace and rest.
Peace, peace, great mind,
Rich stored with God's thoughts here,
Adoring now thou'lt find
Still greater treasures there.
Peace, peace, great voice,
Sweet channel of God's Word,
Now may thine ears rejoice
In list'ning to thy Lord.
28
IN MEMORIAM 29
Peace, peace, great soul,
So pure, so grand, so bright :
Now thou hast reached thy goal,
And art clothed with Heav'n's Light.
THE TEAR
It rose,
It glist'ned one brief moment in the eye,
Then slowly trickled down the pale, pale face,
And dropt in space,
Falling on earth to die.
But there
A sunbeam caught it in his warm embrace,
And passing swiftly up his ray on high,
On through the sky,
Laid it before God's Face.
God took,
And in His Bosom gently laid the tear,
Where, wrapt safe in His warm love, it melted,
And unveiled
And lo ! there lay a prayer !
30
TO THE SUN
Great lord of art, t'wards thee we bow and gaze ;
Though thy pure brilliancy forbids us raise
Our eyes to thy bright face,
Yet do we know instinctive when thine eyes
Smile on us here, pouring down sweet supplies
Of love, and warmth, and grace.
Nature doth own thee lord, for without thee
Her work, though vast, were all monotony,
With drapery, sad grey ; —
She, the fair sculptor ; thou, the painter grand,
Wielding thy rays as brush within thine hand,
Working the livelong day.
Silent we watch thee, as each morn ye rise
To paint again with master-stroke the skies,
Dyed black by mournful night.
31
32 TO THE SUN
Now from the heavens to the earth ye bend,
And e'en to each meek flower your art ye lend,
Giving it colour bright.
Then to the mighty ocean dost thou turn,
Painting it shades uneasy to discern,
Mingling so strangely fair ;
While to the sailor tossing o'er the deep
Rich, ruddy brown into his cheeks ye steep,
Defying storm and care.
Now near some city dense thou passest by,
Saying, " What shall it profit me to ply
My art o'er this dark place ?
For enemies I have, who prowl each street-
Sickness and Care, whose aim is to defeat
My work on many a face.
" Sickness to gloomy homes doth backward draw
Both young and old, closing with stealth the
door
Lest I should enter in.
TO THE SUN 33
Then with her clammy hand, she'll blanch the
cheeks,
Whose tinting may have been the work of weeks,
Making them pale and thin.
" Dark too the course pursued by Sin and Care,
Who pinch and line the faces once so fair,
Then paint them coarse and sad.
Shall I pass on and leave these to their fate,
Pouring my hues on Nature's works, who wait
In silence to be clad ? "
Nay, nay, great Sun, more merciful art thou ;
Thou turnest not from those whom Care doth bow,
Or Sin doth blot and smear ;
Thou smilest still on many a darken'd home,
Illuminating hearts by Care made lone,
Chasing away their fear.
Then on the blackened sinner dost thou shine,
While to his sin your scorching rays define
The blackness of the sin.
He shrinks and shudders at such glory bright,
Then penitent he falls before the light,
Praying thy grace to win.
34 TO THE SUN
O glorious Sun ! thy Maker we would praise,
For He it is who wisely guides thy rays
To fall on good and ill.
May goodness flourish in thy light divine,
May evil vanish as on it ye shine,
Thus shall ye serve God's will.
NEW YEAR
Welcome thou young New Year,
Standing so bright and fair,
Shy, on the threshold there.
Thy form I cannot see,
For thou dost seem to be
Veiled in mystery.
Folded each snowy wing,
Over the hidden thing
Thou to each one dotk brinsr.
Say, is it joy or woe
Thou wilt on me bestow ?
My heart doth long to know.
35
3 6 NEW YEAR
Wilt not thou speak to me,
Unfold the mystery
Which closely shroudeth thee ?
New Year
Listen, my friend, I pray,
Meekly as well ye may,
Heed thou the words I say.
First seek not then to know
Things that I may not show ;
Knowledge would bring thee woe.
But with each passing day,
My veil shall fall away,
And in the past shall lay.
What joys to thee unfold,
Thou shouldest lightly hold,
For they may melt as gold.
Sorrow hold tenderly,
Let it not harden thee,
Soon it will let thee free.
NEW YEAR 37
Then, ere from thee I go,
My full form thou shalt know,
Which now I may not show.
Then will I cast o'er thee
The veil which shroudeth me,
Calling it " Memory."
MY HEART IS LOST
My heart is lost, my own,
Where who shall say ?
But one to seek it may —
'Tis thou alone.
Where wilt thou look, my sweet ?
It is not far —
No briar thy search shall mar,
'Tis at thy feet.
Raise it, and lay it, love,
Within thy breast,
There one with thine to rest,
With one throb move.
For ever one — to part
No more, my love,
While here, and then above,
Thou hast my heart.
38
TO MY OLD EXTRACT BOOK
AFTER TEN YEARS
Close I thy pages with a ling'ring touch
Of tenderness and loving reverence ;
E'en as a mother on the natal day
Scans deep the features of her well-loved son,
Tracing in mem'ry each development,
So look I on thee, my ten-year'd child,
And note on every page a wondrous growth,