Poems (Helen Jenkins)/Paul Deane
PAUL DEANE.
In a deep woodland far away,
The fabled realm of nymph and fay,
Stands a rude cottage, old and gray.
The fabled realm of nymph and fay,
Stands a rude cottage, old and gray.
Paul Deane had chosen this strange spot
In which to build his rustic cot.
Whate'er had been the charm he sought,
In which to build his rustic cot.
Whate'er had been the charm he sought,
I cannot tell; and yet, I know
The very bitterness of woe
Had made this man a cynic now.
The very bitterness of woe
Had made this man a cynic now.
His sister Mary, toiling there
To make their home look bright and fair,
Had the sweet look a saint might wear.
To make their home look bright and fair,
Had the sweet look a saint might wear.
Her trusting spirit had attained
The height of faith by martyrs gained,—
Hope's cheering beacon never waned.
The height of faith by martyrs gained,—
Hope's cheering beacon never waned.
She grieved in silence oft to hear
His cruel taunts, his logic drear,
His words of withering doubt and fear.%
His cruel taunts, his logic drear,
His words of withering doubt and fear.%
One wintry morn, in fretful mood,
Upon the hearthstone old and rude,
Before the glowing fire he stood.
Upon the hearthstone old and rude,
Before the glowing fire he stood.
His toil and hardship musing o'er,
He said, "You think God loves the poor!
Life is a mockery! nothing more!
He said, "You think God loves the poor!
Life is a mockery! nothing more!
"I have no faith! There is no God!
The Bible is, perchance, a fraud,
By some imposter sent abroad."
The Bible is, perchance, a fraud,
By some imposter sent abroad."
She turned with a low, weary sigh,
As if from a sad reverie,
Lifting her hands beseechingly;
As if from a sad reverie,
Lifting her hands beseechingly;
Like Jesus, "answering not a word,"
Though in her heart each sentence heard
The deepest fount of feeling stirred.
Though in her heart each sentence heard
The deepest fount of feeling stirred.
At length, he slowly walked away
To his hard toil, nor marked the day
In its resplendent majesty.
To his hard toil, nor marked the day
In its resplendent majesty.
Transformed, the forest met the sight,—
A crystal bower in frost-work dight,
Wrought by deft fingers in the night.
A crystal bower in frost-work dight,
Wrought by deft fingers in the night.
The moss-grown cabin bending low
Beneath its weight of drifted snow,
With icicles was all aglow.
Beneath its weight of drifted snow,
With icicles was all aglow.
The window-panes, in rare device,
Were broidered o'er with snowy lace,
Tasseled and looped with dainty grace.
Were broidered o'er with snowy lace,
Tasseled and looped with dainty grace.
The shrubs about the creaking door
With gleaming pearls were bending o'er,
Like coral reefs on some bright shore;
With gleaming pearls were bending o'er,
Like coral reefs on some bright shore;
And countless diamonds lustre shed
From the tall maples overhead,—
A glittering canopy outspread.
From the tall maples overhead,—
A glittering canopy outspread.
The silvery ferns so still and white,
Bathed in the soft, auroral light,
Were tinted like the rainbow bright.
Bathed in the soft, auroral light,
Were tinted like the rainbow bright.
A sea of glass the lakelet seemed,
Whence rays of radiant glory beamed,
As through the woodland path it gleamed.
Whence rays of radiant glory beamed,
As through the woodland path it gleamed.
And he could walk there dumb and blind,
Nor aught of joy or gladness find,
Doubting his God, hating mankind!
Nor aught of joy or gladness find,
Doubting his God, hating mankind!
Mary in wonder looked around,
And moved by reverence profound,
Knelt humbly on the shining ground.
And moved by reverence profound,
Knelt humbly on the shining ground.
Her soul with deep devotion thrilled,
And this one thought her glad heart filled,—
"Thou art my God! I am thy child!"
And this one thought her glad heart filled,—
"Thou art my God! I am thy child!"