Heavily rolleth the wintry clouds,
And the ceaseless snow is falling, falling,
While the frost king's troops in their icy shrouds
Whistle and howl like lost spirits calling.

In a scantily furnished tenement room.
Through which the same frost troops are sighing,
Churlishly gloweth the charcoal flame,
While a man lies there in penury dying.

Nothing new on this beautiful earth,
Are hunger and nakedness, cold and pain,
Over God's sinless creation of love
The serpent glides with his poisonous train.

"Where is Aimee?" here I lie all alone in this wretched hole,
I who was reared as a gentleman's son, an aristocrat to the soul,
Could drink more wine at my father's board than the best man out of a score;
Rode with the hounds at ten years old, and played high in a few years more.
A man can live without love, but he can't get along without gold,
And a woman and child sadly hamper a fellow that's poor or old.
How can a gentleman work and toil year after year like a slave?
For when you've worked your life away you're asked, "Why did not you save?"
Not that I would reproach my wife, I daresay she has done her best;
But women can earn such a trifle, and grow weak if they lose their rest.
Not that Aimee has ever grumbled, and I am not to be blamed,
If she choose to work and stitch away from morn till the sunset flamed;
And just the course of my crooked luck, that if but one child we had,
The boy must go and the girl must stay; that boy was a likely lad,
Would have been nineteen if he'd lived, might be earning a good sum now,
For Willie was something like me, wide awake, had a sensible brow;
But Ethel, poor child, her mother again lives in a world of her own,
Sees faces in flowers, hears voices in winds, reads poems from chiselled stone.
I certainly havn't had the best of luck, I've tried in different lands,
And, as I said, it's a drag to have others upon your hands.
'Twas a most disappointing thing, of course, when that old aunt died at Ayr,
And only one hundred pounds was left to Aimee, her rightful heir;
Not that I married Aimee for wealth, but I thought it just as sure,
That grand estate, to think of it all, and I lying here so poor.
Ah, I want some brandy! I must have something to make me feel more strong.
Brandy! it is money, and life, and health; what makes Aimee stay so long?
Oh, here you are, make up more fire; I should think you're warm enough
Walking about, let me have that shawl, to-night will be wild and rough.
I must have some more spirit to keep me up, not that I heed the lie,
The doctor told you this morning that before very long I must die.
I expect, if I had some of the gold your old aunt used to keep,
He would manage to raise me up all right--you think I had better sleep,
You think me ungrateful, perhaps; reach some brandy and then you'll see
How more than grateful I am, what a pattern of patience I'll be.
No money, no means, the last thing's gone, and Ethel and you in need!
Well, you must have managed badly enough with only two mouths to feed,
For you can't count me as much, the little support I take,
A little stimulant now and then, swallowed only for your sake.
Aimee, I must have some now--nothing left? what is that glittering thing?
Aimee, you dear one, dispose of that; of what use is our wedding ring?
Don't be cross for the sake of the child, you say, why you angel dear,
Who would ever doubt you, so good, so true, you have nothing to fear.
And then you're always trusting in God, and surely he would approve
Of your selling your wedding ring for him that you've sworn to love?
I wish that wind would stop howling, it says such queer things to me,
Wake up, little Ethel, and send her before it's too dark to see
If that old fraud of a pawnbroker gives her the change all right.
Aimee, send quickly, I feel so strange; oh, I dread this coming night.
I never murdered that man out there, away on the western plains;
And yet there are spots of blood on the floor, they can't wash out the stains.
What is it the lawyers call it? "Accessory to the fact?"
Ha! ha! old boy, I was wide awake; they could not catch me in the act,
So we put that poor young fool of a lad, just out from the motherland,
Made him just drunk enough to fight when we needed a helping hand;
A helping hand with a bowie knife and a corpse to be stowed away,
We were sober enough not to be on hand when called upon next day.
Who's that? Who are you? Stop! stop! coming whispering into my ear,
"There are other judges, other law courts, and I have cause to fear."
How the ship struggles and reels--all right--is this the Australian shore?
No, sandbars and reefs; will they never stop those confounded breaker's roar?
Aimee, what is it? Take that stuff? I will if 'twill make me sleep.
I cannot rest; shall I never be quiet; hark how the wild winds sweep.
No, Victor, no; you got the money, and that was enough for you.
Did you think I was fool enough, man, to let you have Aimee too?
Aimee, come here and whisper to me; what does the judgment mean?
Judgment and conscience.--Look, look, there's Victor grinning behind the screen!
Victor in heaven this many a year? I tell you it is no such thing.
Aimee, you were dead once--were drowned--did you hear the mermaids sing?
I say you were drowned one night, when the pleasure boat struck the bar,
And before any help could come you had floated out deep and far.
Every available thing was done that sailor or landsman could try;
But you could not be found--I guess not--so of course you had to die.
Hav'nt I a remarkable memory? these were the words I wrote:
"Every available thing was done by sailor or landsman afloat."
So Victor knows all about it--there! there he is coming again;
No! no! we are'nt here, we're away on the southern Indian main.
Who calls me? Who wants me? I cannot go into that wild dark land.
Somebody, help! Is this death? Don't touch me with that cold hand.
Aimee, don't leave me; oh say, have the officers found me at last?
Tell me--I think it's the medicine I took that makes me dream of the past--
Oh, will they believe me up there, in the clear bright rays of the sun,
That shows all the by-gone years of a life, the crimes a man has done?
Will nobody stop that horrid wind? it creeps right into my heart,
It seems to mutter, and groan and shriek: "Come, it is time to depart."
There's a broad dark sea before me; help, Aimee, the waters are deep!
I want a pilot--I cannot steer--I am sinking--let--me--sleep."

Bloweth the storm more cheerlessly still,
And the setting sun has a sickly hue,
As if he foresaw the falling tears,
As if all the sorrows of earth he knew.

Heavily stealeth an hour or two,
And mid the noise of the city's din,
No one noticed the tenement room
"As two passed out where but one went in."

For, lieth a dead man behind the door,
Closed between him and the outer strife,
And a weeping woman and clinging girl
Look upon death, and look out upon life.

Almost fainting with suffering and grief;
Alone, unknown, in a stranger land,
Mother and daughter have knelt to pray
As men pray wrecked on a rocky strand.

Churlishly gloweth the charcoal flame,
Mother and child with hearts almost broke,
Clasped in each other's embrace of love,
Checking her sorrow, sweet Ethel spoke:

"Mother, my mother dear,
Weep not so hopelessly, though all is dark
We have our loving Father yet in heaven,
His eyes must be upon our shattered bark;
Our sails are torn and we are tempest driven,
Yet He can hear.

To whom has God sent aid?
To the lone widow's home the prophet came,
For a few frightened men the wild sea slept,
For one poor servant flashed the glowing flame,
Where angels in their martial glory stepped
Out from the shade.

Not for proud Miriam's king
Rolled back the billows of the deep Red sea;
For helpless women, children, unarmed men,
The 'Fourth Man' walked to shield the flame-girt three;
For one, St. Michael, paced the lion's den,
God's help to bring.

Mother, is He not near,
Who had not where to rest His tired head?
Who, in the dreary wilderness alone,
Hungry and faint, had none to give Him bread;
Listening t' the damp wind's low and sullen moan
O'er nature's bier."

"My child, my comforter, in this dark hour of love
Thy faith and trust in God is like the pole star's glow
To some benighted sailor; yes, e'en now a thought
Has come to me like light from dawning sunbeam brought.
My father, Ethel, was a Mason; ere he died
He called me to him, and kneeling at his side,
Gave me a jewel, charged me with his dying breath
Never to give it up except for life or death,
For when at last he died we were almost alone,
And stranger's ears were those which heard his dying moan,
The hands of strangers robed him for the grave,
The feet of strangers laid him where the cedars wave.
Weary, he had left England for the balmy breath
Of summer climes he found fierce pain and death.
I was his joy, his all on earth, for the dark hour
That gave me breath took home his purest flower.
And I have never known what means that place of rest,
The sweeetest home on earth, a living mother's breast.
All the night long, in which my father died,
He kept me close beside him, oft he vainly tried
To tell me about something, ever and anon
He'd speak about his brothers--I knew he had none--
Then in faint accents he would say, 'When I am cold
Tell them I left a lamb outside the fold.'
'Tell whom?' I cried. 'My brothers.' Then he'd fall asleep,
And I supposed him wandering and would weep.
A year or so before we spent a happy time
On bonnie Scotland's hills of heather and wild thyme,
And oft we watched the shepherd tending flocks of sheep
In the soft grassy vales, or up the mountain steep,
And sweet were the life lessons that I often took
From that unsullied page of nature's open book.
There came to me through that fair, hallowed summer scene,
Bright glowing visions of the fadeless pastures green,
And clearer views of One I trust my soul will keep,
That sinless, Holy Shepherd of the helpless sheep.
And so I thought when father moaned amid his pain,
'I leave an orphan lamb;' he had gone back again
Through the fierce fevers, annihilating flight,
To valley of the blue bell, or the heath crowned height.
But, suddenly there came one quick and conscious gleam
Of light with its belongings; that transforming beam
Lit up the past a moment, then its God-sent light
Flashed up the path he travelled. No more tears, no night
Was there for him, he said, only love is shining day,
And calling on his young wife's name he passed away.
Ethel, I've been so hungry often, and so chill,
And what is ten times worse, have seen you faint and ill,
And never yet have I foresworn my pledge; but now
Our duty to the dead must plead my broken vow.
Ethel, if my loved Father is with us to-night,
Will he not stamp forgiveness on this dead as right?
Perhaps in the morning light this howling storm will stay
Its fury, and God please to open up our way.
So we can lay our dead in quiet rest at last,
Then we, my child, go forth and dare the world's cold blast."

"Mother, oh let me tell
Something I saw to-day: I went for bread;
But when I came to pass the church, my way
Was stopped by a procession, a neighbor said
It was St. John's loved Festival, a day
Masons keep well.

And while we were delayed
She spoke of one who had kind words for all,
She said his name was Roy, told me his home;
He could'nt have heard her, yet he looked at me
So strangely, yet so kindly, that my thoughts will roam
To him for aid.

Yes, mother; yes, to-night,
Trust me with that Masonic jewel, I
Will keep it safe; perhaps this very man
May know of some one who would like to buy,
At least he'll let me know its worth, I can
But do the right.

Mother, deny me not,
I'll go as "Esther went unto the king,
God will protect me if the night is wild;
Perhaps some bright ray of sunshine I may bring,
Pray that good angels may surround your child,
And guard her lot."