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556 ALICE AND PHEBE CAREY. Some plumes in the dust are scatter'd, Where the eagles of Persia flew; And wisdom is reap'd from the furrows The plough of the Roman drew. From the white tents of the crusaders The phantoms of glory are gone, But the zeal of the barefooted hermit In humanity's heart lives on. Oh, sweet as the bell of the sabbath, In the tower of the village church, Or the fall of the yellow moonbeams In the tasselled willow and birch– Comes the thought of the blessed issues That shall follow our social strife, When the spirit of love maketh perfect The beautiful mission of life: For visions of light are gather'd In the sunshine of flowery nooks, Like the shades of the ghostly Fathers In their twilight cells of books! PHEBE. THE CHRISTIAN WOMAN OH! beautiful as morning, in those hours When, as her pathway lies along the hills, Her golden fingers wake the dewy flowers, And softly touch the waters of the rills, Was she who walk'd more faintly day by day, Till silently she perish'd by the way. ALICE AND PHEBE CAREY. 557 It was not hers to know that perfect heaven Of passionate love return'd by love as deep; Not hers to sing the cradle-song at even, Watching the beauty of her babe asleep; "Mother and brethren"–these she had not known, Save such as do the Father's will alone. Yet found she something still for which to live– Hearths desolate, where angel-like she came, And "little ones," to whom her hand could give A cup of water in her Master's name; And breaking hearts to bind away from death With the soft hand of pitying love and faith. She never won the voice of popular praise, But, counting earthly triumph as but dross, Seeking to keep her Saviour's perfect ways, Bearing in the still path his blessed cross, She made her life, while with us here she trod, A consecration to the will of God! And she hath lived and labour'd not in vain; Through the deep prison cells her accents thrill, And the sad slave leans idly on his chain, And hears the music of her singing still; While little children, with their innocent praise, Keep freshly in men's hearts her Christian ways. And what a beautiful lesson she made known, The whiteness of her soul sin could not dim; Ready to lay down on God's altar-stone The dearest treasure of her life for him. Her flame of sacrifice never, never waned, How could she live and die so self-sustain'd 47*
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Reopened for Editing 2023-06-28 15:35:23
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Reopened for Editing 2023-06-29 15:50:14
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Reopened for Editing 2023-06-29 21:50:16
earthy s/b earthly