louder and nearer then did the preacher turn once more to the Lord of Hosts, lifting up his voice in praise and prayer, and faith unquenchable; Crying to God with a loud voice and saying:-"Lead me, Thou Jehovah! in the right way, "For now hath come the great day of the Lord; now, Lord, save Thy people and bless Thy heritage, 66 Thou who wert, and art, and ever shalt be! Show now Thy Almightiness, send Thy miracle as lightning from on high." Nearer and nearer came the curses and shrieks and the wailing lamentations; and men and women fled, wounded, before the infamous and infuriate avengers; Then the crash of guns and the terror of carnage and rapine unspeakable; And, in the midst, the voice of an old man crying to heaven, and falling smitten and dead before the shrine of the God of Israel. And, listening, I heard not only the sounds of the mimic drama-but, louder and more dreadful, the panting of miserable women who welcomed death, the deliverer; And from Kishineff and Odessa I heard, once more crying to heaven, the outpoured blood of the Jew. II And still as I listened and dreamed, the crimson flood widened to a great and lustrous pool, And looking therein I saw reflected the faces of many known well to my heart and to the hearts of all the world, For there were the features of mighty warriors and makers of laws and leaders of men; of poets inspired and of painters and musicians; and of famed philosophers, and of men and women who loved, and labored for, their kind; THE OLD HOUSE 409 And the faces of preachers and prophets; of those who fervently cursed the unrighteous, and who to a world in darkness brought light everlasting; And chief of all I saw in that crimson mirror the face of him whose spirit was bowed beneath the agonies of all mankind. THE OLD HOUSE I HOME of my forebears, home of my dreaming childhood, From the shadowy chimney-places, and haunted nooks; II Five are the generations this place have humaned, Carvings strange that some wanderer here enharbored, Bibles and books of devotion, where names are enrolled In letters that fade like the image of souls long dead. Not without tears may I ponder the yellowing leaves Where record was made of secretest dreams and prayers Records of love accomplished, or unfulfilled. Were the agèd faces I knew, the timorous maidens III The old house speaks, and low, in the glimmering twilight, It murmurs of days that are gone, and spirits lamented; A girlish face with a smile all radiant, loving THE OLD HOUSE 4II Sweet cousin mine! where, in the land of shadows, Remembered and cherished by each,— the love of the old For the old, now, the love of the old for lost youth And comrades long gone, and loved and remembered together. And she with the heart of a queen, and the soul of a martyr; In young days serene, and blithe and undaunted in age, Who loved the old house, even as I,- her birthplace, her refuge,— She in a vision comes near; and quick I remember Silent he stood, and we knew the message unspoken! IV But of childhood the old house whispers and murmurs to-night, Of the twilight hour in the arms of her the beloved To the revels and routs in the taverns of long ago; When the dancing would last till dawn, and the dancers flew From village to village, and tavern to tavern, all night; Turning the snow-lit dark to rollicking day. O days and nights of a far and happy world! Of childhood the old house whispers, of wintry sports Of boyhood the old house whispers, of moonlit voyages VI And now, in the twilight hour, dear, living voices, delight As I, in my youth, heard the tales of the ancient days; Then good-night, and to bed! But the teller of ancient tales Stays by the dying fire and listens, again, To the thronging voices that murmur to him alone. "THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE THE OLD PLACE!" I BACK to the old place I've come home again, |