It entereth not his thoughts that God This moves him not. But let us now It was a solitary waste Of barren sand, which bore Yet to the scattered dwellers there They would take Christian thought. So in the churchyard by the sea. The senseless dead was laid: "And now what will become of us!" The weeping children said. "For who will give us bread to eat? The neighbours are so poor! And he, our kinsman in the town, Would drive us from his door. "For he is rich and pitiless, With heart as cold as stone! ?" Who will be parents to us now "And I with you will still abide Your friendless souls to cheer, Be father and mother both to you; for this God sent me here. I will convey you: God can change "And ye, like angels of sweet love, They took their little worldly store; 'Mong sandy hills their way they wound; And thus for twice seven days they went A little loving band, Walking along their weary way; And everywhere kind Christian folks And thus they pilgrimed, day by day, A busy town beside the sea, A place of ships, whose name was known A busy place of trade, where nought Thither they came, those children poor, And where dwelt he, their kinsman rich, After long asking, one they found, But ever as he went along Blackened with cloudy smoke, And beneath lofty windows dim In many a doleful row, Down to the courts below. Still on the children, terrified, There sate the kinsman, shrunk and lean, The moment that they entered in, That sudden thieves were near. "Rich man!" said Marien, "ope thy bags And of thy gold be free, Make gladsome cheer, for Heaven hath sent A blessing unto thee!" "What!" said the miser, "is there news Of my lost argosy ?" "Ah," said the miser, "even these Some gainful work may do, My looms stand still; of youthful hands I shall have profit in their toil; Yes, child, thy words are true!" "Thou fool!" said Marien, "still for gain, To cast thy soul away! The Lord be judge 'twixt these and thee Upon his reckoning day! "These little ones are fatherless,He sees them day and night; And as thou doest unto them, On thee he will requite!" "Gave I not alms upon a time?" Said he, with anger thrilled; "And when I die, give I not gold, A stately church to build? "What wouldst thou more? my flesh and blood I seek not to gainsay. But what I give, is it unmeet So saying, in an iron chest, He locked his bags of gold, And bade the children follow him, PART X. "Oн leave us not sweet Marien !" For if thou leave us here, alone, She left them not-kind Marien! They laboured at the loom. The while they thought with longing souls Passed through each little hand. The while they thought with aching hearts, The growing web was watered, And the sweet memory of the past, The white sands stretching wide; Their father's boat wherein they played, Upon the rocking tide; The sandy shells; the sea-mew's scream; Wo-worth those children, hard bested, A weary life they knew; Their hands were thin; their cheeks were pale, That were of rosy hue. The miser kinsman in and out Passed ever and anon; Nor ever did he speak a word, Wo-worth those children, hard bested, The long, the weary months passed on, Increased the hoard of gold; ""Tis well!" said he, "let more be spun That more may yet be sold!" So passed the time; and with the toil But ere a year was come and gone, Was changed; with natures fierce and rudo The hardness of the kinsman's soul Wrought on him like a spell, Exciting in his outraged heart, Revenge and hatred fell; The will impatient to control; Hence was there warfare 'twixt the two, A hopeless, miserable strife That could not last for long : The tender trouble of his eye, Was gone; his brow was cold; No more he kissed his sister's cheek; But they, the solitary pair, Like pitying angels poured Tears for the sinner; and with groans Man knew not of that secret grief, Which in their bosoms lay; And for the sinful brother's sin, Yet harder doom had they. But God, who trieth hearts; who knows He saw those poor despised ones, Yet bade him not return. In his good time that weak one's woe, The erring brother was away, And none could tell his fate; She mourned not for her parents dead, And now the weary, jangling loom Like one that worketh in a dream, Which on her spirit lay; And as she worked, and as she grieved And they who saw her come and go, Of aught so weak and young!" Alone the kinsman pitied not; He chid her, that no more The frame was strong, the hand was swift, As it had been before. -All for the child was dark on earth, When holy angels bright Unbarred the golden gates of heaven For her one winter's night. Within a chamber poor and low, Upon a pallet bed, She lay, and "hold my hand, sweet friend," "Oh hold my hand, sweet Marien," ""Tis darksome all-Oh, drearly dark! Down by her side knelt Marien, In low tones 'gan to speak. She told of Lazarus, how he lay, The angel-bands appear! "I go!-yet still, dear Marien, One last boon let me win!Seek out the poor lost prodigal, And bring him back from sin! "I go! I go!" and angels bright, -And now, upon that selfsame night, Lay the rich kinsman wrapped in lawn, Scheming deep schemes of gold, he lay Just then an awful form spake low, And when into that chamber fair - Beside his door stood solemn mutes; And chambers high and dim, Where hung was pall, and mourning lights Made show of grief for him. Full fifty muffled mourners stood, Around the scutcheoned bed, That held the corse, as if, indeed, A righteous man were dead. Now from the miser kinsman's house Dwelt Marien; and each day, For many an abject dweller there, Grief-bowed and labour-spent, Groaned forth, amid his little ones, To heaven his sad lament; And unto such, to raise, to cheer, The sent of God, she went. But she who, even as they, was poor, And warmed, and clothed, and fed. And when a sickness sore befel, And nigh to death she lay, And afterwards, when evil men Oh, blessed Christian hearts, who thus Did deeds of love; for as to Christ These righteous works were done! Thus dwelt sweet Marien in the town No tidings could she hear. She found him not; but yet she found Had gone astray and pined forlorn Unto the prodigal. He saw his little sister pine; He saw her silent woe; He saw her strength decline, yet still As this he saw, yet more and more And even to true Marien, He bare an altered mind; - But so it is! and when the twain In suffering, 'gainst the tempter's might He was their easy prey; their tool; Yet often to his soul came back Sweet memory of the time, And like a heavier, wearier woe, He thought of slighted Marien, Of the thin hands that plied the loom, The faithful and the weak! He heard his loving parent's voice Yet, for the hated kinsman's sake, And, because man was hard to him, Thus doing outrage to his soul, A sexton there at work he found; Replied he, "in this wide church-yard I know each separate mound; Yet unto me that little grave Alone seems holy ground." And then he told of Marien, And how she there had wept And turned from the place; - He left the town; and in a ship, Bound for a far-off strand, He took his voyage; but distress Pursued her from the land. At first disease was 'mong her men; Next mutiny brake forth; and then As if there were no port for her, Lay moveless on the deep. As Jonah, fleeing from the Lord, Anon a tempest rose, and drove The ship before the gale, On the fourth night dark land appeared, He was not missed among his kind, — His lonely misery came. God saw him; saw his broken heart, Saw how his human pride was gone, Saw him and loved him. Broken heart, - Now Marien from the trading town Amid the seas was driven; Where dwelt a gentle race at rest With them abode sweet Marien: As in a slender carvèd boat Upon the shore she lay, A strong wind came, and filled the sail, And bare her thence away. She had no fear, true Marien; That God was good, she knew, And even then had sent her forth Some work of love to do. The prodigal upon his rock Was kneeling, and his prayer For confidence in heaven, arose Upon the evening air, |