Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme
To the rolling of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells,
To the tolling of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-
Bells, bells, bells—
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
THE BUILDERS.
ROSA MULHOLLAND.
I SAW the builders laying
Stones on the grassy sod,
And people praised them, saying:
"A fane to the mighty God
Shall rise aloft in glory,
Pillars and arches wide,
Windows stained with the story
Of Christ the Crucified."
I saw the broken boulders
Lie in the waving grass,
Flung down from bending shoulders,
And said our lives must pass
Ere wide cathedral spreading
Can span this mossy field
Where kine are slowly treading
And flowers their honey yield.
"Oh, dreaming builders, tarry!
Unchain your souls from toil,
Leave the rock in the quarry,
The bloom upon the soil;
For life is short, my brothers,
And labour wastes it sore,
Why toil to gladden others
When you shall breathe no more?
"Oh! come with footsteps springing,
With empty hands and free,
And tread the green earth singing
'The world was made for me!'
Pray amid nature's sweetness
In pillared forest glade,
Content with the incompleteness
Of fanes that the Lord has made!"
The builders, never heeding,
Kept piling stone on stone,
Their hands with toil were bleeding →
I went my way alone.
Prayed in the forest temple
And ate the wild-bee's store;
My life was pure and simple-
What would the Lord have more?
The years, like one long morning,
They all flew swiftly by;
Old age with little warning
Came creeping softly nigh.
Now (be we all forgiven!)
I longed to see, alas!
What the builders had raised to heaven
Instead of the tender grass.
I heard a sweet bell ringing
Over the world so wide,
I heard the sound of singing
Across the even-tide.
What sight my soul bewilders
Beneath the sunset's glow?
The fane that the dreaming builders
Were building long ago!
'Tis not the sculptured portal,
Or windows jewelled wide,
With joys of the life immortal,
And woes of Him who died,
my
soul with wonder,
And drain my heart of tears,
And ask with voice of thunder,
"Where are thy wasted years?"
But a thousand thousand creatures
Kneel down where grew the sod,
And hear with glowing features
The words that breathe of God.
Alone and empty-handed,
I wait by the open door,
Such work hath the Lord commanded,
And I can work—no more!
The builders, never heeding,
They lie and take their rest,
And hands no longer bleeding
Are folded on each breast-
The grass waves o'er them sleeping
And flowerets red and white
Where I kneel above them weeping,
And whisper, "You were right."
THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS.
THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death,
And with his sickle keen
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.
"Shall I have nought that is fair ?" saith he; "Have nought but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet
I will give them all back again."
THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS.
He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,
He kissed their drooping leaves;
It was for the Lord of Paradise
He bound them in his sheaves.
"My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," The Reaper said, and smiled; "Dear tokens of the earth are they,
Where He was once a child.
"They shall all bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by my care,
And saints, upon their garments white,
These sacred blossoms wear."
And the mother gave in tears and pain,
The flowers she most did love;
She knew she should find them all again
In the fields of light above.
Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath,
The Reaper came that day:
'Twas an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away.
THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS.
FRIENDSHIP, like love, is but a name,
Unless to one you stint the flame.
The child whom many fathers share,
Hath seldom known a father's care.
'Tis thus in friendship: who depend
On many, rarely find a friend.
A Hare, who in a civil way
Complied with everything, like GAY,
Was known by all the bestial train,
Who haunt the wood or graze the plain.
Her care was never to offend,
And every creature was her friend.
As forth she went at early dawn,
To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn,
Behind she hears the hunter's cries,
And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies:
She starts, she stops, she pants for breath;
She hears the near advance of death;
She doubles, to mislead the hound,
And measures back her mazy round;
Till, fainting in the public way,
Half-dead with fear, she gasping lay.
What transport in her bosom grew,
When first the Horse appeared in view!
"Let me," says she, "your back ascend,
And owe my safety to a friend.
You know my feet betray my flight;
To friendship every burden's light."
The Horse replied: "Poor honest Puss,
It grieves my heart to see thee thus ;
Be comforted; relief is near,
For all your friends are in the rear."
She next the stately Bull implored,
And thus replied the mighty lord:
"Since every beast alive can tell
That I sincerely wish you well,
I may, without offence, pretend
To take the freedom of a friend.
Love calls me hence: a favourite cow
Expects me near yon barley-mow;
And when a lady's in the case,
You know, all other things give place.
To leave you thus might seem unkind;— But see, the Goat is just behind."
The Goat remarked her pulse was high, Her languid head, her heavy eye;
"My back," says he, “ may
do you harm; The Sheep's at hand, and wool is warm.' The Sheep was feeble, and complained His sides a load of wool sustained: Said he was slow, confessed his fears,
For hounds eat sheep as well as hares.
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