echoes answering everywhere—
  Like bugles from the mountains blown—
  Each sought to whelm the burdened air,
  And make the silence all its own.

  In broad, sonorous, silver swells
  The air was billowed like the sea;
  And listening ears were listening shells
  That caught the Sabbath minstrelsy,
  And sang it with the singing bells.

  The billows heaved, the billows broke,
  The first wild burst went down amain;
  The music fell to slower stroke,
  And in a rhythmic, bold refrain
  The great bells to each other spoke.

  Oh bravely bronze gave forth his word,
  And sharply silver made reply,
  And every tower and turret stirred
  With sounding breath and converse high,
  Or paused with waiting ear, and heard.

  And long they talked, as friend to friend;
  Then faltered to their closing toll,
  Whose long, monotonous repetend,
  From every music-burdened bowl
  Poured the last drop, and brought the end!

VIII.

  The chapel's chime fell slow and soft,
  And throngs slow-marching to its knoll
  From village home and distant croft,
  With careful feet and reverent soul
  Pressed toward the open door, but oft

  Turned curious and expectant eyes
  Upon the Manse that stood apart.
  There in her quiet, bridal guise
  Fair Mildred sat with shrinking heart;
  While Philip, bold and over wise,

  And knowing naught of woman's ways,
  Smiled at her fears, and could not guess
  How one so armored in his praise,
  And strong in native loveliness,
  Could dread to meet his people's gaze.

  He could not know her fine alarm
  When at his manly side she stood,
  And, leaning faintly on his arm—
  A dainty slip of womanhood—
  Walked forth where every girlish charm

  Was scanned with prying gaze and glance,
  Among the slowly moving crowd
  That, greedy of the precious chance,
  Read furtively, but half aloud,
  The pages of their new romance.

  "A child!" And Mildred caught the word.
  "A plaything!" And, another voice:
  "Fine feathers, and a Southern bird!"
  And still one more; "A parson's choice!"
  And trembling Mildred overheard.

  These from the careless or the dull—
  Gossips at best; at wisest, dolts;
  And though her quickened ear might cull
  From out their whispered thunderbolts
  A "lovely!" and a "beautiful!"

  And though sweet mother-faces smiled,
  And bows were given with friendly grace,
  And many a pleasant little child
  Sought sympathy within her face,
  Her aching heart was not beguiled.

  She did not see—she only felt—
  As up the staring aisle she walked—
  The critic glances, coldly dealt,
  By those who looked, and bent, and talked;
  And, even, when at last she knelt

  Alone within the pastor's pew,
  And prayed for self-forgetfulness
  With deep humility, she knew
  She gave her figure and her dress
  To careful eyes with closer view.

IX.

  At length she raised her head, and tossed
  A burden from her heart, and brain.
  She would have love at any cost
  Of weary toil and patient pain,
  And rightful ease and pleasure lost!

  They could not love her for his sake;
  They would not, and her heart forgave.
  Why should a woman stoop to take
  The poor endowment of a slave,
  And like a menial choose to make

  Her master's mantle half her own?
  They loved her least who loved him most:
  They envied her her little throne!
  He who was cherished by a host
  Was hers by gift, and hers alone,

  And she would prove her woman's right
  To hold the throne to which the king
  Had called her, clothing her with white;
  And never would she show her ring
  To win a loving proselyte!

  These were the thoughts and this the strife
  That through her kindling spirit swept,
  And wrought her purposes of life;
  And powers that waked and powers that slept
  Within the sweet and girlish wife.

  Sprang into energy intense,
  At touch of an inspiring chrism
  That fell on her, she knew not whence,
  And lifted her to heroism
  Which wrapped her wholly, soul and sense.

X.

  Meanwhile, through all the vaulted space
  The organ sent its angels out;
  And up and down the holy place
  They fanned the cheeks of care and doubt,
  And touched each worn and weary face

  With beauty as their wings went by:
  Then sailed afar with peaceful sweep,
  And, calling heavenward every eye,
  Evanished into silence deep—
  The earth forgotten in the sky!

  Then by the sunlight warmly kissed,
  Far up, in rainbow glory set,
  Rayed round with gold and amethyst,
  She saw upon the great rosette
  The Saviour's visage, pale and trist.

  "Oh Crown of Thorns!" she softly breathed;
  "Oh precious crown of love divine!
  Oh brow with trickling life enwreathed!
  Oh piercing thorns and crimson sign!
  I hold you mine in love bequeathed.

  "But not for sake of these or thee!
  I must win love as thou hast won.
  The thorns are mine, and all must see,
  In sacrifice, and service done,
  The loving Lord they love in me."

XI.

  Then, through a large and golden hour
  She listened to the golden speech
  Of one who held the priceless dower
  Of love and eloquence, that reach
  And move the hearts of men with power.

  Ah poor the music of the choir
  That voiced the Psalter after him!
  And strong the prayer that, touched with fire,
  Flamed upward, past the seraphim,
  And wrapped the throne of his desire!

  She watched and heard as in a dream,
  When, in the old, familiar ground
  Of sacred truth, he found his theme,
  And led it forth, until it wound
  Through meadows broad—a swollen stream

  That flashed and eddied in the light,
  And fed the grasses at its edge,
  Or thundered in its onward might
  O'er interposing weir and ledge,
  And left them hidden in the white;

  While on it pressed, and, to the eye,
  Grew broader, till its breadth became
  A solemn river, sweeping by,
  That, quick with ships and red with flame,
  Reached far away and kissed the sky!

  Strong men were moved as trees are bowed
  Before a swift and sounding wind;
  And sighs were long and sobs were loud,
  Of those who loved and those who sinned,
  Among the deeply listening crowd.