The Home Circle by Mabel S. Emery

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Mar 2, 1882

The Home Circle.

By Mabel S. Emery

MOODS.

This morning the clouds were cold and gray; They shadowed the hills by the sun unkissed; The mountain was hid in a vail of mist, And the earth awoke with a sigh to-day. The river rippled with murmur fine, Fretting at pebbles that cumber its course; Far away, on a hillside pine, A crow was calling in accents hoarse.

Down the road, in the grimy dust, Toiled the form of a way-worn man. Little showed he of a God-like plan— Shunned or spurned as he asked for a crust; Brutal nature, with passions dyed, Handed down by a race that's blind, "The laws of our being are hard," I cried, And Life is cruel, and Death is kind."

The sun set fair in the shining west, With glory of crimson, and rose, and gold; The tale of a weary day was told, And a breeze in the maple breathed of rest. The far-off mountain, robed in haze, Transfigured stood, and towered alone Beyond low hills in greenwood maze, A great, deep-tinted jasper stone.

Down by the meadow, from bower of green, Rising in silvery, sweetest note, I heard the song of the wood-thrush float— A hermit singer that trills unseen. Softly he caroled in numbers low, Slowly I felt what the sweet notes meant:— "The world is fair, and the glad winds blow; God cares, and remembers; so rest content."

—Mabel S. Emery.