Shall then our path o"er life"s uncertain way Be led by a true heart, Acting pure love"s kind part, Or by fierce guidance of a beast of prey?
To what heroic heights mortals may climb, Humanity to serve, With loving heart and nerve, Are seen in Buddha, and in Florence Nightingale.
And to what depths of leonine l.u.s.t and crime A cruel man may go, Scattering fear, ruin, woe, Witness fierce Nero and Caligula!
In each these possible heights and depths betide, All, then, may freely choose, None can the choice refuse, Between the higher and the lower guide.
Where selfishness and unchecked pa.s.sions stray As ruling motives sole, To reach a tinselled goal, There crouches the ferocious beast of prey.
Shall life to us be crowned with blessings sure, As n.o.blest woman"s life, Harmonious "mid all strife, Or blurred with b.e.s.t.i.a.l appet.i.tes impure?
Surely the answer should be prompt and plain, That we, at any cost, Will not be so far lost As to permit the beast o"er love to reign.
The purport of the dual female form, Shrines the grand truth, that Might Should bravely nourish Right, Life"s checkered pathway sweetly to adorn.
"Tis said the Sphynx in ancient Afric" stood Upon the great highway, Beckoning all to stay, Who pa.s.sed, to guess life"s riddle if they could,
Which if they failed in, she devoured them there, As she believed that they Who would not learn life"s way, Were not ent.i.tled its best joys to share.
But Oedipus, a wiser man than most Pa.s.sing, the riddle guessed, That gave the Sphynx sweet rest, And forthwith she descended from her post.
Knowing her secret, once devined, would be Learned by all thinkers, then Proclaimed by them to men, Her mission o"er, she vanished "neath the sea.
The axiom of "Man, know thyself" is worth The pains it costs to learn, E"en through long labours stern, Since "tis the key that opes rich joys on earth.
Pure knowledge entereth through struggles fierce, And only to the few Who sternly seek the true, Is given to solve the mystery of the Sphynx.
UP, SISTERS, MORN IS BREAKING.
Up, sisters! morn is breaking Over the mountains grey, As, borne on silvered pinions, She ushers in the day.
She comes, and at her bidding The empress of the night, And starry hosts of heaven, Veil their supernal light.
Scarce has their empire ended, O"er the awakening earth, When morning, fresh and joyous, With dewdrops clad comes forth.
And now the great sun"s chariot, Led by the rosy hours, Sweeps through the heavens proudly, And o"er fond nature towers.
The grand, majestic sun-G.o.d, Pavilioned is on high, And throned in golden splendour He reigns o"er earth and sky.
Dispersing gloom and sadness, Giving to all new birth, Dispensing light and gladness, O"er the rejoicing earth.
Up, then, fair sisters, early His call from sleep obey, His first sweet healthful teachings Will sanctify the day.
Inhale his breath delicious, Its freshness health bestows; It tints the cheeks with colours Of Persia"s lovely rose.
Up, then, at nature"s bidding, Over the hills away, With freshened pulses glowing, To hail the King of Day.
OH! I LOVE THE FREE AIR OF THE GRAND MOUNTAIN HEIGHT.
Oh! I love the free air of the grand mountain height, In its freshness new vigour I find, It makes life"s warm pulses throb high with delight, And stimulates body and mind.
Its freedom inspires happy thought and desire, And the heart cannot fail to rejoice, As it makes the glad spirit receptive and quick To translate nature"s eloquent voice.
The sun-illumed firmament royally decked In pearly-tinged cloudlets of grey, Framed in exquisite clearness of deep tender blue, Fit throne for the Monarch of day!
The city below lies in tranquil repose, Betraying no symptom of life, Ah! who could suppose at this distance that it Could be moved by dissension and strife!
For it lies like an innocent, slumbering babe In the fold of a fond mother"s breast, Between the fair river that kisses its feet, And the mountain in well-guarded rest.
Then o"er the St. Lawrence and spanning its flow, Is Stephenson"s triumph of skill, The grand bridge that laughs at a kingdom of ice, Which essays its stern ramparts to kill.
And there like an emerald shrined in mid stream, Is St. Helen"s bright islet of grace, Whose trees on the river"s soft waters, delight To mirror their beautiful face.
Then hurrah! for the mountain, the islet and bridge, And fair Montreal in their midst, With her clear sun-lit skies, that bring blessing and health, For few pleasanter cities exist.
SUNRISE.
Behold a miracle! the eastern sky Is whispering of a new creation nigh, As the fair dawn, with love-born joy and pride, Is gently opening day"s grand portals wide.
And see her rosy sisters tripping o"er Land, sea and mountain, lake and pebbly sh.o.r.e, Spreading th" entrancing tidings, near and far, Of the sun"s advent in his golden car.
And now through l.u.s.trous, glad, effulgent sheen, G.o.d"s presence manifest to man is seen, As the majestic herald of his love Enthrones himself in matchless pomp above.
And see, each rippling streamlet, mount and sod Obeys the mandate sent to it from G.o.d, To do the work to each by Heaven a.s.signed, And in its due performance joy to find.