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It was needful that I should learn the meaning of that text； 〃Whom
the Lord loveth he chasteneth。〃
Since I have been taught in the school of trial I have felt； as I
never could before； how precious an inheritance is the smallest
patrimony of faith。 When everything seemed gone from me； I found I
had still one possession。 The bruised reed that I had never leaned
on became my staff。 The smoking flax which had been a worry to my
eyes burst into flame； and I lighted the taper at it which has since
guided all my footsteps。 And I am but one of the thousands who have
had the same experience。 They have been through the depths of
affliction； and know the needs of the human soul。 It will find its
God in the unseen；Father； Saviour； Divine Spirit； Virgin Mother； it
must and will breathe its longings and its griefs into the heart of a
Being capable of understanding all its necessities and sympathizing
with all its woes。
I am jealous； yes； I own I am jealous of any word； spoken or written；
that would tend to impair that birthright of reverence which becomes
for so many in after years the basis of a deeper religious sentiment。
And yet； as I have said； I cannot and will not shut my eyes to the
problems which may seriously affect our modes of conceiving the
eternal truths on which； and by which； our souls must live。 What a
fearful time is this into which we poor sensitive and timid creatures
are born！ I suppose the life of every century has more or less
special resemblance to that of some particular Apostle。 I cannot
help thinking this century has Thomas for its model。 How do you
suppose the other Apostles felt when that experimental philosopher
explored the wounds of the Being who to them was divine with his
inquisitive forefinger？ In our time that finger has multiplied
itself into ten thousand thousand implements of research； challenging
all mysteries； weighing the world as in a balance； and sifting
through its prisms and spectroscopes the light that comes from the
throne of the Eternal。
Pity us； dear Lord； pity us！ The peace in believing which belonged
to other ages is not for us。 Again Thy wounds are opened that we may
know whether it is the blood of one like ourselves which flows from
them； or whether it is a Divinity that is bleeding for His creatures。
Wilt Thou not take the doubt of Thy children whom the time commands
to try all things in the place of the unquestioning faith of earlier
and simpler…hearted generations？ We too have need of Thee。 Thy
martyrs in other ages were cast into the flames； but no fire could
touch their immortal and indestructible faith。 We sit in safety and
in peace； so far as these poor bodies are concerned； but our
cherished beliefs； the hopes； the trust that stayed the hearts of
those we loved who have gone before us； are cast into the fiery
furnace of an age which is fast turning to dross the certainties and
the sanctities once prized as our most precious inheritance。
You will understand me； my dear sir； and all my solicitudes and
apprehensions。 Had I never been assailed by the questions that meet
all thinking persons in our time； I might not have thought so
anxiously about the risk of perplexing others。 I know as well as you
must that there are many articles of belief clinging to the skirts of
our time which are the bequests of the ages of ignorance that God
winked at。 But for all that I would train a child in the nurture and
admonition of the Lord； according to the simplest and best creed I
could disentangle from those barbarisms； and I would in every way try
to keep up in young persons that standard of reverence for all sacred
subjects which may； without any violent transition； grow and ripen
into the devotion of later years。 Believe me；
Very sincerely yours；
I have thought a good deal about this letter and the writer of it
lately。 She seemed at first removed to a distance from all of us；
but here I find myself in somewhat near relations with her。 What has
surprised me more than that； however； is to find that she is becoming
so much acquainted with the Register of Deeds。 Of all persons in the
world； I should least have thought of him as like to be interested in
her； and still less； if possible； of her fancying him。 I can only
say they have been in pretty close conversation several times of
late； and； if I dared to think it of so very calm and dignified a
personage； I should say that her color was a little heightened after
one or more of these interviews。 No！ that would be too absurd！ But
I begin to think nothing is absurd in the matter of the relations of
the two sexes； and if this high…bred woman fancies the attentions of
a piece of human machinery like this elderly individual； it is none
of my business。
I have been at work on some more of the Young Astronomer's lines。 I
find less occasion for meddling with them as he grows more used to
versification。 I think I could analyze the processes going on in his
mind； and the conflict of instincts which he cannot in the nature of
things understand。 But it is as well to give the reader a chance to
find out for himself what is going on in the young man's heart and
intellect。
WIND…CLOUDS AND STAR…DRIFTS。
III
The snows that glittered on the disk of Mars
Have melted； and the planet's fiery orb
Rolls in the crimson summer of its year；
But what to me the summer or the snow
Of worlds that throb with life in forms unknown；
If life indeed be theirs； I heed not these。
My heart is simply human； all my care
For them whose dust is fashioned like mine own；
These ache with cold and hunger； live in pain；
And shake with fear of worlds more full of woe；
There may be others worthier of my love；
But such I know not save through these I know。
There are two veils of language； hid beneath
Whose sheltering folds； we dare to be ourselves；
And not that other self which nods and smiles
And babbles in our name； the one is Prayer；
Lending its licensed freedom to the tongue
That tells our sorrows and our sins to Heaven；
The other； Verse； that throws its spangled web
Around our naked speech and makes it bold。
I； whose best prayer is silence； sitting dumb
In the great temple where I nightly serve
Him who is throned in light； have dared to claim
The poet's franchise； though I may not hope
To wear his garland； hear me while I tell
My story in such form as poets use；
But breathed in fitful whispers； as the wind
Sighs and then slumbers； wakes and sighs again。
Thou Vision； floating in the breathless air
Between me and the fairest of the stars；
I tell my lonely thoughts as unto thee。
Look not for marvels of the scholar's pen
In my rude measure； I can only show
A slender…margined； unillumined page；
And trust its meaning to the flattering eye
That reads it in the gracious light of love。
Ah； wouldst thou clothe thyself in breathing shape
And nestle at my side； my voice should lend
Whate'er my verse may lack of tender rhythm
To make thee listen。
I have stood entranced
When； with her fingers wandering o'er the keys；
The white enchantress with the golden hair
Breathed all her soul through some unvalued rhyme；
Some flower of song that long had lost its bloom；
Lo！ its dead summer kindled as she sang！
The sweet contralto； like the ringdove's coo；
Thrilled it with brooding； fond； caressing tones；
And the pale minstrel's passion lived again；
Tearful and trembling as a dewy rose
The wind has shaken till it fills the air
With light and fragrance。 Such the wondrous charm
A song can borrow when the bosom throbs
That lends it breath。
So from the poet's lips
His verse sounds doubly sweet； for none like him
Feels every cadence of its wave…like flow；
He lives the passion over； while he reads；
That shook him as he sang his lofty strain；
And pours his life through each resounding line；
As ocean； when the stormy winds are hushed；
Still rolls and thunders through his billowy caves。
Let me retrace the record of the years
That made me what I am。 A man most wise；
But overworn with toil and bent with age；
Sought me to be his scholar；me； run wild
》From books and teachers；kindled in my soul
The love of knowledge； led me to his tower；
Showed me the wonders of the midnight realm
His hollow sceptre ruled； or seemed to rule；
Taught me the mighty secrets of the spheres；
Trained me to find the glimmering specks of light
Beyond the unaided sense； and on my chart
To string them one by one； in order due；
As on a rosary a saint his beads。
I was his only scholar； I became
The echo to his thought； whate'er he knew
Was mine for asking； so from year to year
We wrought together； till there came a time
When I； the learner； was the master half
Of the twinned being in the dome…crowned tower。
Minds roll in paths like planets； they revolve
This in a larger； that a narrower ring；
But round they come at last to that same phase；
That self…same light and shade they showed before。
I learned his annual and his monthly tale；
His weekly axiom and his daily phrase；
I felt them coming in the laden air；
And watched them laboring up to vocal breath；
Even as the first…born at his