How strange seems the quiet, how foreign to one
Who reveled in beauty, in pleasure, and fun;
As healthy and happy and merry as May,
School-books in hand, I would hasten away. 
But, listen!  What noises are those that I hear? 
In the silence strange fancies awaken my fear,
And terrible phantoms of lunatics try
To glare o’er my couch and stifle my cry.

Welcome, O!  Death, do not leave me alone,
The future’s unkind and hopes are all flown;
In pain and in anguish my sorrow untold;
In age most a child, yet in trouble grown old. 
But God in His mercy one bright hope has given—­
Saviour to love and rest in dear Heaven;
There beautiful music and many things fair,
While voices of loved ones with song fill the air.

Under the Rod.

Blind and helpless alone I wait;
The way seems dark and prayers too late,
My anguished soul sends forth the cry,
Father save me, ere I die;
Save me for my children small,
Leave them not to sin and fall,
Sending forth the saddened call,
      Mother, come back, mother!

Blind and helpless days wear by,
Sick and friendless, left to die;
The darkness deepens as I grope,
Afraid to live, afraid to hope;
They tell me of a better land,
Lord, I cannot see Thy hand,
Around me steals an icy band,
      Save me or I perish.

Waiting, Ever Waiting.

Waiting, dreaming, waiting, by some flowing mystic rill,
Waiting, hoping, waiting, strong desires my spirit fill;
    Waiting, restless waiting, Oh! could I join the busy throng,
    Waiting, patient waiting, for right to triumph over wrong.

Waiting, weary waiting, as the hours creep slowly by,
Waiting, sadly waiting, unnoticed by those passing nigh;
    Waiting, daily waiting, with fire alive in heart and brain,
    Waiting, yearly waiting, seeming but to wait for pain.

Waiting, striving, waiting, wisdom’s goal I feign would win,
Waiting, weeping, waiting, ever bearing Adam’s sin;
    Waiting, vainly waiting, the race is for the swift and strong;
    Waiting, sighing, waiting, pouring forth my grief in song.

Waiting, fearing, waiting, while the shadows gather deep,
Waiting, doubting, waiting, down the rocky cliffs they creep;
    Waiting, longing, waiting, for man’s promises not filled,
    Waiting, trusting, waiting, Jesus speaks and all is stilled.

To My Daughter.

Lines received from my mother.

My child, the cold dews of evening are ’round thee,
    Bereft of thy sight,
And dark lines of sorrow and trials surround thee
    By day and by night.

To-day I am sitting so dreary and lonely,
    Heart-sick and in pain,
And wishing ’twere Heaven’s will I could only
    Once see thee again.

If so, I could bear all the pain and the sorrow
    Of life and its cares,
And not fill the hours of the coming to-morrow
    With sighs and with tears.