-«?*r^ ;|:^p;irwg THE Giro' of; .~3S<>3l'»«'4iSLSL_!^VjLjv>Xsaj9Lr3iJSkrti . /4..,5:f:6jnr^...::;Cr: Asl^l^l^^ tayg/ Cornell University Library PS 2359.M14SR4 Rhymes atween-times. / 3 1924 022 498 871 The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022498871 Rhymes Atween-Times. THE POE^T'S VENTURE. I SAT me down to build a boat And set it on the sea afloat : I wrought it with a loving will, Putting to task my utmost skill: I gave its form the highest grace My hand and eye knew how to trace. And beautified its every part According to my native art. I set the mast, and spread the sail To catch the softliest-breathing gale. And then I sent it forth to go Whichever way the wind might blow. Who knows ? It may be lost at sea. Or come with treasure back to me. ^K:^ij' Rhymes Ativeen-Times. By Thomas J^acKellar. PHILADELPHIA: ^ J. B. LrppiNCOTT & Co. i:6 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year i8q2, by Thomas MacKeiia r , in the Ojffice of the Librarian of Congress, at IVashin^on, D. C PREFACE. ^N the between-times of a busy life, I have c^ sent forth — among more practical writings —several small volumes of poems, which have been received not unkindly. Yielding to the suggestion of my long-known and large-hearted friend, Mr. George W. Childs, I venture on the present volume, consisting of pieces from my earlier books and of poems of recent com- position. Thomas MacKellar. WOODNEST. GERMANTOWN, PA. OCT. 10, 1872. CONTENTS. Tam's Fortnight Ramble. Canto I. " . Canto II. Canto III. . Canto IV. Canto V. Canto VI. PAGE 15 27 ■ 34 56 67 RHYMES OF Common Life. Lost, Somebody's Child Springtime ... . . My Daugliter .... Crazy Norah ... Brother ! Take my Arm John Maynard, the Pilot of Lake Erie A Peep into the Parlour Our Son ... The Newly Come The Sleeping Wife . Our Boy Forevermore . 'Tis Five-and-Twenty Years The Dead Wife . 79 84 87 89 91 92 100 lOI 102 104 106 CONTENTS. Rhymes of Common Life. Anna Maria Ross page log The Soldier to his Mother . . . . .no III ■• "3 114 "S 116 118 120 121 123 124 126 An Evening Storm at the Seaside Let me Kiss him for his Mother . A Morning Storm in the Adirondaclts The Taldng of the Child Elisha Kent Kane Our Little Garden Matrimony ... . . From my Pillow to the Editor of the Saturday Gazette . . . . After Tea .... A Day with the Influenza . . . , The Child is Lost , . Sister Louise ........ 127 Gentle Humanities 128 The Reaper's Return 129 A Revery in an Ancient Potter's-Field . . 135 The Desecrated Churchyard ..... 140 Our Autumn Weather Where is the Apple-Man? The Deaf The Dinner Hour . Henry Reed .... Remember the Poor The Human Waif . Let's Sit Down and Talk together The Doom of the Printer Winter's Phases Ellen . . The Deathless Smile My Father Blessed Me September Rain Lost and Saved The Two Processions The Bell in the Steeple Indian Summer The Girl and the Woman CONTENTS. Rhymes of Common Life. I've not the Heart to Cut them Down . PAGE 177 A Plea for Peace and Unity 178 The Presence in the Dwelling 180 To Bob . 181 The Sting of the Tongue . 182 Pity, Good Gentlefolks 183 The Dear One at Home 185 Why Delay the Violets 186 The City Bound . 186 The Angel in a Maiden's Eyes . 188 " He will not again Forget us" . i8g Obese Humanity 191 Good-Night Wishes 193 The Decaying Homestead 194 The Beautiful Days of Spring 196 The Home of the Hapless 197 A Country Sabbath. — Morning Scene . 198 Evening Scene . 199 Memories of Mother . 200 Autumnal Quiet 201 My Nephew Frank 202 The Latest Born 203 The Belle beside the Brook 204 To Carl Linley 206 Autumn Rhymes . 208 Fancies by the Sea 209 David Myerle 210 When I am Old and Gray 211 Hungary . 212 The FaUing House 214 The Wounded Bird 215 To the Comet 216 To a Troublesome Fly 217 A Colloquy with my Pen . "218 Lines to my Specs 220 The Ox and the Gnat 221 Ascent of St. Anthony's Nose . 222 New Year's Eve in a Fog on the Hudson 224 lO CONTENTS. Rhymes of Common Life. In Honour of a Gallant Troop . page 227 Celestial Frolics . 229 The House Lovo-haunted 230 Whistling . . . 232 To my Boot . . 233 The River of Rhyme . 234 '' The Good Die Early " 235 The Editor Sat in his Sanctum . 236 To Gentle Dolly . 239 Moving Day , . 240 The Boy and the Man 242 The War-Fiend . 245 To a Friend . . 246 Lilly . . 248 The Hymns my Mother Sung . . 250 Sonnet Rhymes. Rainy April . . 253 Noon in the Country . 254 Happy Childhood . . . 254 The Coming of Spring . . 255 Earth's Noblest Men . 255 "Thirty" . 256 " May I Come up ?" . 256 The Babe Asleep . 257 The Early Ice . , .' . 257 To Joseph R. Chandler, Esq. 258 The Public Park . 258 Horticultural Exhibition . . ' . 259 Father is Coming . 259 The Brotherhood of Man . . 260 The Poet's Mission . . . 260 Another Gone . . . 261 The Sick Babe . 261 The Printer 262 The Thoughts Dwell where the Heart is . . 262 Fanny Forester ... ... 263 CONTENTS. Sonnet Rhymes. Juvenile Reminiscence PAGE 263 September .... . 264 Drawyers Cliurch, Delaware 264 Snow-Storm Sonnet .... 265 The Wane of Life . . . 26s Our Babe ...... . 266 Heart Longings 266 The Comet ... . . . . 267 Love for Little Things 267 The Sick Man's Sonnet . 268 The Old Blind Voter of Pine Ward . 260 The Buttonwood Stump . . . 269 The Path of Life .... 269 Loneliness . . . . . 270 The Great Day .... 270 The Mother ... . . . 271 Penitential Prayer 271 A Spring Sonnet .... . 272 Human Porcupines .... 272 To a Friend . 273 A Child at a Window 273 The Tea-Table ■ 274 Joseph C. Neal .... 274 A Poet and his Song .... ., -275 On Seeing the Picture of a Child 275 The Spirit's Ailment .... . . 276 The Spirit's Remedy 276 Posthumous Fame .... • 277 The Poor Boy .... 277 Man's Stewardship .... . 278 My Sabbath Scholar .... 278 October's Coming .... . 279 To a Rat in the Printing Office . 279 The Poet's Visiter .... . 280 Unceasing Prayer .... 280 On Hearing a Sermon .... . 281 Oh ! Hide thy Face . 281 1 2 CONTENTS. RELIGIOUS Rhymes. The Beautiful Land and its Sentry Grim . page 285 " Of His own Good Pleasure " . . . 286 The Sycamore Bough .... . 287 The Howhng Storm and the Wondrous Calm . 288 Mission Hymn 290 "Why are ye Fearful?" . . . 291 A Simple Lot 293 Early Day 294 The Tempest Stilled . . . . 296 My Mother Knelt in Prayer . ' 297 Old Pine Street Church, Philadelphia . . .298 The People's Prayer 300 The Two Worshippers ... . 301 Waiting at the Door . . . . 302 Eternity 304 Lovest thou Jesus ? 305 Ninety-Seventh Psalm 307 One Hundred and Twenty-First Psalm . . 308 One Hundred and Forty-Fifth Psalm . . . 309 Jesus First and Jesus Last .... 312 Quietude 313 The Soul's Refuge 314 Sabbath Hymn . . .... 315 Trust in God 316 Prayer for Rain . 317 " He giveth His Beloved Sleep " . . 318 The Old Man's Hymn .... .319 Patient Continuance in Weil-Doing . . . 320 Juvenile Hymn 321 The Law of the Lips 322 Notes and Addenda 325 *W- Tam's Fortnight Ramble. 13 TAM INTRODUCED TO THE READER. Most gentle Reader ! Tarn's a friend of mine — A bosomfriend : I long have known him well: — I pray thy grace and courtesy benign While he in -words of verity shall tell The story of his travels. Sit with him An evening hour ; and should his strain bedim Thy tender eye, or cause thy heart to swell. It may be. Reader ! also thou shall find Refreshment in it for a thirsty mind. And joy with thee a frequent guest shall dwell. I stand aside, like one who bears the bowl Whereof his friends partake ; and if the draught Afford delight to those by whom 'tis quaff' d, A kindred pleasure shall pervade my soul. T. McK. 14 RHYMES ATWEEN-TIMES. TAM'S FORTNIGHT RAMBLE. CANTO I. ' ' I 'WAS Christmas time. From over-toil and thought -L My spirits droop'd like wheat-ears in the rain. And moody whimseys brooded in my brain As evening fogs brood in low meadows fraught With dew. " I'll go," in suddenness I said, "And see again the place where I was born, And where I had my schooling ; where I shed The early bitter tear of one forlorn, When Death appear'd before the accustom'd time, And smote my parents in their midlife prime. I'll stand again where once I stood of yore And gazed with wondering and asking eye Far out unto the dim, uncertain shore Of time to come, where boyhood's mysteries lie." 15 l6 RHYMES ATWEEN-TIMES. Still mine the memories of the boyish days When young delight went hand-in-hand with hope, And life to come was but a sunny slope, Where roses bloom'd and birds sang merry lays. What though the experience of my wiser years Has proved that heaven is not of earth, and he Who would inherit bliss that ever cheers Must work in love, and love unselfishly ; Yet, pleasing still the fantasies remain Of careless times, when trustfully I dream'd Of years with naught but pleasure in their train, And paradise in coming manhood seem'd. Those hours illusive long have pass'd away, 15ut, bright for aye, ye memories, with me stay. I took the cars, and went to New York city : 'Twas Sat'day night, and ere eleven o'clock The ferry-boat had brought us into dock Across the Hudson. ('Tis somewhat a pity The cars can't drop us in the town ; 'tis very Uncomfortable thus to cross the ferry On winter nights. It makes a mortal shiver To leave the cosey cars, and face the blast That whistles frozen notes in rushing past. Ugh ! how I hate that voyage o'er the river !) I went to bed, and got up rather late Next morn, for I had lain till nearly eight : I kiss'd my friends; my lips with love did quiver; And then I kept the Sabbath with becoming state. TAM-S FORTNIGHT RAMBLE. I7 IV. Were I to judge from every towering steeple That rises grandly o'er their city round, I'd say the Yorkers are as pious people As anywhere upon the earth are found. On Sabbath morn I went to Dr. Potts's, (He who had wordy jousts with Dr. Wainwright : Which one of these good men was in the main right, If I should say, I'd get as many shots as My literary vestment could contain : And so 'tis wise my dictum to refrain.) The doctor preach'd an apostolic sermon, As orthodox as plain folk wish to hear. Strong Scripture common sense ; and on mine ear It fell refreshingly as dews on Hermon. The music witchingly my cares beguiled. Echoes of heaven amid a world of sin ! Like mother's crooning to a sobbing child. It calm'd the tumult of my thoughts within. Nature ne'er meant that man should be a Quaker ; And though the Friends are students in her school, They follow not each clearly written rule, Nor in her full harmonic teachings take her. Life without music is night without a star. Day without sunshine, bud that never blows, Eye without lustre, cheek that never glows. Home without inmate with the door ajar. Music on earth for me, besides the promise given Of music and of hymns high in the courts of heaven ! RHYMES ATWEEN-TIMES. VI. I walk'd alone upon the Battery, And look'd upon the waters as they roU'd — A crystal sheet, with many a crumpled fold — Up through the Narrows from the distant sea. Vessels in multitude lay safe in port ; And some were outward bound with flowing sails, And others, stain'd and batter'd by the gales. Yet full of treasure, came to pay their court To the proud island city by the sea : While shell-like skiffs were skurrying everywhere. Skimming like sea-birds most capriciously, As if now on water, — then as if in air. The scene so varied, once so old to me, Like a rare master's picture, held me gazing there. Twice I received a wholesome castigation For stealing to the Battery to play Without parental leave and approbation ; I'll not forget it to my latest day. I told a rather hesitating story. Not quite in keeping with my course in youth ; It may have been a crooked allegory. And did not run in straight lines with the truth. I bless the rod, and bless the hand that wielded. Although it made my youthful shoulders tickle. 'Twas thus I learn'd a rod was in the pickle For me when I to wilful follies yielded. This was the moral I shall long remember — Prune in the early year for fruitage in September. TAM'S FORTAIGHT RAMBLE. ig Both long and brief beseem the varied years That have since then departed ;' joy or sorrow Coming to-day and vanishing to-morrow : All fitfully as April, hopes and fears Bore changeful sway. Now heavy care depress'd My sinking soul ; anon a sudden flow Of wondrous pleasure overran my breast Like sunlight after storm, till in a glow Of ecstasy I gazed upon a stone And loved my Maker more because He made it. But there's no brook that has no tree to shade it, And dim the dancing diamonds that shone Upon its sunlit waters. So, I ween, The experience of the most of men has been. There was a period of my young existence (Far in the misty past, while yet the haven Of manhood glimmer'd in the uncertain distance, — My cheek still dimpled, and my chin unshaven) When o'er my mind unwittingly came stealing A tide of deep and melancholy feeling. Up-bubbling fancies sparkled, and then broke And sank away, and were forever gone. Softly I breathed the while the spell was on, Nor moved my lip, nor audibly I spoke. I strove to catch each evanescent thought That, like a meteor in the August sky. With sudden brilliancy oppressed mine eye ; But long — oh ! long — my strivings were for naught. SBYMES ATWEEN-TIMES. Words may not tell how hopelessly I've lain Upon the floor, while seeking to give vent To fancies that, like molten lava pent. Surged madly in my wild, chaotic brain ; Till passionately I cast my pen from me. And, like an infant wearied with long weeping, Resign'd myself to thoughtless apathy. And lay supine as if in quiet sleeping. Then love stole slyly in ; and she was first To bid my fancy own a conqueror's sway : The barriers of the flood were swept away. And wild and rude the hurrying numbers burst. O'erwhelming and exuberant was the joy The rough-shod rhymes imparted to the boy. XI. Nor may I paint the years that foUow'd after, — The thoughtful hours — the hours of melancholy. Commingling with the days of joy and laughter, That led me oft to moralize on folly. From fame's illusion, in my sober view Unworth a struggle or a suffering pang, I turn'd aside, and, with earth's simple few, Life's simple themes in simple words I sang. Within my soul religion shed her grace. And cast her pure irradiance on the lyre ; The glow of peace illumed my pallid face. And kindled all my better passions' fire ; My haughty temper melted in the flame. And o'er rny chasten'd breast a meeker influence came. TAAfS FORTNIGHT RAMBLE. Idle it were to pile a pyramid, Or seek a place among the sons of fame, — To grave on rock the letters of a name. And tell the world of what one said or did. In poet's lore, and sentimental story. It seems as 'twere this life's supremest aim For heroes to achieve what men call glory, And die intoxicate with earth's acclaim. Ah me ! how little care the dead for breath Of vain applause that saved them not from death. Could fame immortalize the human frame. And fix undying bloom on beauty's cheek. And cancel guilt and memories of shame. Then were it well the precious boon to seek. True fame and dignity are born of toil : 'Tis so ordain'd by Him who saw it good That man by thought and toil should earn his food. Ev'n the brown'd delver in the yielding soil. Who draws from earth the sustenance of life, Has more of nobleness than he who slays His fellow-man on fields of bloody strife. And bears a weapon stain'd in mortal frays. The world and Christ have different measurements : While He has said, that Blessed are the meek Who in forgiveness their avengement seek. The world applauds the coward who resents A scornful word — whose craven spirit fears His Maker's anger less than man's disdainful sneers. RHYMES ATWEEN-TIMES. A wrong avenged is doubly perpetrated ; Two sinners stand where first had stood but one : But wrong forgiven is wrong annihilated ; The sin is almost as 'twere never done. Oft, love and mercy and their gentle train Appeal to man's hard-heartedness in vain : Mercy and love, in holiest incarnation, Once dwelt upon the earth ; but hate arose And fired the fury of their deadly foes. And smote them in the Prince of our salvation. Yet He who felt the fiercest stroke of malice, And, 'spite its wrath, man's full redemption wrought, Ev'n He takes from our hand revenge's chalice. And bids us hold a cup with loving-kindness fraught. 'Vengeance is mine," Saith God ; "Not thine, Child of the sod. "I will repay The wrong. Though long My time delay.'' Ye wronged and crush'd. And weak, — Ye meek. Whose plaint is hush'd By fraud and power, — Hope on ! TAM'S FORTNIGHT RAMBLE. 23 The hour Will come anon; When Heaven shall strike Your foes, And like Untimely snows They'll melt away, And ye Shall be No more their prey. Who stings a heart. The sting Shall bring To him a smart. Ye who in heaven Would live. Forgive, To be forgiven. Who suffer loss — And take. For sake Of Christ, His cross, — Pray for your foes. Do good To those Who long have stood Across your path, And glared 24 RHYMES ATWEEN-TIMES. In wrath To see you snared : And when your time To die Is nigh, In strength sublime Your souls with hope Shall wait : The gate Of heaven shall ope, And voices sweet With love Shall greet Your flight above. The test of worth is wealth, it seems to me : Too often in this world a fearful ban Is on the poor. Nay, tell me not "a man, If honest, is respected, though he be A dweller in the vale of poverty." When he would rise, the meaner sort combine And lift a heavy heel to push him down ; And if the noble struggler do not drown, 'Tis not because they show no base design Or purposed negligence. At any rate, He rises in despite of Mammon's hate, And his own hand his hard-earn'd bays entwine. Were Heaven to add ability to will, Nature's man-children Pharaoh-like they'd kill. TAM'S FORTNIGHT RAMBLE. 25 XVI. When haply some more generous spirit lifts A child of promise from the vale obscure, Who else had died unknown among the poor, And cheers him with his sympathy and gifts, "A miracle !" the astonish'd public shout. And laud him loud and lavishly because The man obeys the Almighty Father's laws, And hke a brother throws his arms about His lowlier brother's neck. Oh, blessed lot To be possess'd of wealth and of a heart So heavenly made that it refuses not Of its abundance freely to impart ! Our Saviour says the blessedness of giving Is better than the pleasure of receiving. XVII. To waste this life in selfish pleasure-taking, To have it on the book of heaven printed, "He feasted and he died, nor ever stinted His revel-nights or days of merry-making To wipe the dews of grief from brows of sorrow. Or cheer the soul that sat in gloom of night, Nor bade it look with hope for a to-morrow When God should give it a supernal light" — To noble natures how contemptible ! For such a life the vial of scorn is full. Who gives a cup of water in God's name — The water of affection — to the lip Of some sad one who scarce has strength to sip. Shall have a vast reward, and heaven shall know his fame. 26 RHYMES ATWEEN-TIMES. XVIII. While impudence, like weeds, will thrive apace, Genius is child-like, and so sensitive It scarce can find a fit abiding-place ; And love must tend it, or it cannot live. Neglect and contumely have destroy'd Full many a man whose spirit long was buoy'd By the fond hope that yet would come a day That should repay him for the pain he bore : The world's unkindness, like a canker, wore Into his heart, and life escaped away. 'Tis sad that earth should lose so suddenly Her gentle ones, and few be left behind To temper the impetuous selfish mind, And pour affection's oil on passion's furious se?.. So let it be — it has been ever so ; For since the world's foundation-stone was laid, And sin brought "death and all our mortal wo," Suffering has been the ransom-money paid For man's redemption. Precious lesson taught By suffering Jesus!— Murmuring heart, be still! Enough for thee that 'tis thy Maker's will. Then let thy work in faithfulness be wrought: Thy weary toil shall fit thee for thy rest. Thy grave more welcome — quieter thy sleep — If round thy coffin many sigh and weep. Who but for thee had lived and died unblest. God grant to thee, my soul — God grant to all — Ripeness in faith and works before our time to fall. TAM'S FORTNIGHT RAMBLE. ^^ CANTO II. THE Utica was steaming up the Hudson; And we (some friends and I) took passage in her, And reach' d Peekskill in ample time for dinner. The mountain trees had neither leaves nor buds on. Yet beautiful the haughty Highlands stood. Oh blessed land of rivers, plains, and mountains ! Beyond all regions Heaven has made it good ! More precious than the golden-bedded fountains. Or diamond stones of India or Brazil, My country is my Holy Land. I love her ! The purest, brightest skies are spread above her, And heavenliest beauties cover vale and hill ; Her lakes are oceans, and her mountains hide More secret wealth than all the earth beside. 28 RHYMES ATWEEN-TIMES. (Reader ! forgive the muse's transient rapture — Thy heart is cold if thou forgivest not.) We gazed on Tarrytown, the famous spot Where three miUtia-meii made noble capture Of Andre, the adventurous English spy. The man was hang'd, and bravely did he die. Some years ago the British sought his bones And placed them 'mong their famous worthies. We Once lost a hero worthier than he ; And still he lies beneath the unnoted stones Where he was buried. I have ever kept A corner of my heart for Nathan Hale To live in ; and until my days shall fail, I'll honour him whose fate a lonely mother wept. He ask'd them for a Bible e'er he died : He had been taught to love it in his youth, And now he sought the solace of its truth In his last moments,— ^and he was denied ! The Britons swung him twixt the heavens and earth, As if he were a dog ; nor scarcely gave A shred of time to fit him for the grave. (Howe! noble merely by the chance of birth — Thine is the sin, and thine the ignoble fame ! I loathe to stain my verses with thy name. I hold thee forth as one of vermin-breed, That men may scorn thee as they scorn a lie !) Hale grieved — let freemen ponder as they read — "That for his country he but once could die.'' TAM'S FORTNIGHT RAMBLE. 29 The envious tell us, "We are base-begotten — A mongrel nation, born in Time's declension — Plebeian people — sellers of corn and cotton. Unworthy high and honourable mention.'' Well, be it so. The lusty strength of youth Is better far than proud decrepitude. With mind and might and fortitude endued, We stand erect, and fight for present truth. We're in the young delight of new existence ; The ardent blood leaps lively in our veins ; The dim traditions glimmering in the distance We scorn, for objects worthy manly pains. We tread a path our slanderers never trod. And as we choose, we serve and worship God. It ill becomes our brethren thus to mock. Their homesteads once were also ours ; and we Have well upheld the family dignity. Nor proved degenerate scions of the stock. Let all the earth produce a parallel To this good land wherein our people dwell. 'Tis ours to show what man, most free, can be: The mission is not given to us to pore O'er cobweb'd tomes of well-forgotten lore ; Progression is our law and destiny. We lead the van of battle, well begun By Sidney — Hampden, Cromwell, on the field, — And glorious Milton, who a pen did wield That glow'd with light from mind's unclouded sun. 30 RHYMES ATWEEN-TIMES. Oh, that the blind seer's mental mantle might (Like the rapt prophet's) fall upon this land. Which owes its freedom partly to his hand, That dared betimes the fearless truth to write. The man immortal of our father-isle. His fame is also ours. 'Twere well all men Should sit like children at his feet awhile And wisely learn of him. All nations then Would show their giants. I wish in vain, I fear. When he was old and blind, they gave him ten (They promised twenty) pounds for his great poem. And let him die. And 'twould be so again. Thus angels sometimes on the earth appear, But till they fly to heaven the world seems not to know 'em. VII. If I believed in canonizing men, I'd canonize John Bunyan. But, indeed. My faith is in a stern and simple creed. The "excellent way" Paul taught by tongue and pen. And so the tinker may content himself To take a place upon my mental shelf Beside John Milton. Twelve full years was he A guiltless prisoner held in Bedford jail; And, companied by his daughter, blind and pale. Manlike he bore the wrath of bigotry. "'Twas time to curb the hcense of his speech; They had not sent him," thus the prelates reason'd: "In their own tenets he had not been season'd. And strange 'twould be to let a tinker preach." TAM'S FORTNIGHT S AMBLE. 3 1 'Tis hard to hinder bitter thoughts from rising — To keep the word of scorn unspoken — when I read the cruelties of these mitred men Who seem t' have thought that man-anath'matizing Was a far hoHer work than man-redeeming. But Bunyan was beyond their power : nor cords Nor bars could bind the immortal thoughts and words His genius hid beneath the guise of dreaming. He stands alone in his peculiar glory, Sole sovereign of the realm of allegory. Two hundred years have pass'd; yet brightly beams (Such fascination in his necromancy) On us the radiance of his brilliant fancy. What wondrous sleep was his that had such glorious dreams ! IX. Thou, too, stand up, Noll Cromwell ! Take thy place Among thy country's mightiest; for thou wert The sturdy champion of thy suffering race ; And thou didst battle, ev'n to thine own hurt. For man and truth and God. They slander'd thee. The minions of the second Charles. The dirt Of slander now is dried, and, verily. Like good old Bunyan's pilgrim, thou art girt With brighter glory. Godless cavaliers Made merry of thy manly spirit's heaving; Thy sighs and groans, thy prayers and flowing tears Were mocking mysteries to the unbelieving And scoffing followers of the bigot-king, Whose velvet fingers hid the accursed sting. 32 RHYMES ATWEEN-TIMES. The first and faithless Charles (since falsely named The M-artyr) sat on England's throne, and sought To set aside the precepts wisely framed To guard the freedom of man's word and thought. He maim'd the men who spoke the unwelcome truth, Imprison'd some, and some the tyrant fined ; In pillories stood stern martyrs of the mind, Yet all the people show'd them kindly ruth. A reckoning-day was coming. Cromwell ! thou And thy true cousin Hampden scorn'd to bow Before the pride of monarch, priests, and lords. Humanity arose in arms ; and dire And awful were the mortal hate and ire When tyranny and freedom measured swords. The Arm divine o'erthrew the foes of men : The death of Charles a small atonement made ; And tyranny sneak'd to its murky den. And tiger-like lay watching in the shade. 'Neath thy protectorate, old England's fame Qrew great and glorious. Thy simple name Sufficed to keep a turbulent world in awe ; And people great and small securely dwelt Beneath the shelter of the equal law ; And at their wont the high and lowly knelt And worshipp'd GoD. When death to thee came near. Still trustedst thou in Him who died to save. Thou hadst thy faults ; but who, alas ! is clear ? Immortal memories sanctify thy grave. TAM'S FORTNIGHT RAMBLE. 33 Short time it was that thou hadst been entomb'd When tyranny came howling for its prey ; Thy sacred corpse was savagely exhumed, And on a gibbet swung in open day. They cast thee in a pit : thy mother dear And thy sweet daughter too : and many more Of pure and holy ones. The atmosphere Shook nightly with the bacchanalian roar And horrid riot of the royal court; And freedom's wail afforded royal sport. I can no more. Let future writers tell The faithful story of those murderous times, The merry monarch's shameless tricks and crimes. Whose merriment provoked the laugh of hell. XIII. Old Europe bends beneath her load of crime: Her catalogue of guilt is written down, And Justice waits, with ever-deepening frown, To smite for sins of past and present time. The lordly few eat up the land ; the poor. Vilely earth-trodden, sullenly endure The hunger-pang ; and foundling infancy, Unfather'd and unsponsor'd, marks the shame Of unwed mothers — babes without a name. The cry of man uprises to the Lord — Of man oppress'd, and moaning helplessly ; And shall not He fit recompense award To those who spurn Almighty God's decree That man in very deed a man should be ? 34 RHYMES ATWEEN-TIMES. CANTO III. THE rugged head of Winter on the lap Of Autumn lies. His snowy locks he flings Upon her bosom. His chill arms enwrap Her shivering form, until her quiverings Subside in death. His voice breaks forth in wild And piteous howls, as if he mourn'd the death Of the meek one who perish'd at his breath. On his stern brow the angry clouds are piled, And bitter are his rage and vengeful spite ; And seamen on the rocky coast at night Fall victims to his ire. At times he seems To put away his wrath, and melting tears Run down his icy cheeks in copious streams ; But soon anew they freeze, and all his rage appears. TAM'S FORTNlGHr RAMBLE. 35 Yet nature in her barrenness has charms ; And men of cheerful hearts may even see Some beauty in a brown and leafless tree, While silently it stands, with naked arms Appealingly uplifted tow'rd the skies. The man has dim and uninstructed eyes Who never finds the precious gems that lie Beneath his feet wherever he may tread ; And he who bears a high and haughty head Will pass unseen God's works of wonder by. The flowers may all have gone, the birds departed, And babbling brooks be changed to speechless ice, Still nature's winter aspect may suffice To fill with tender thought the pure and earnest- hearted. The man who looks around him as he walks Sees objects strange and wonderful and new ; And he who thinks while his companion talks In time may grow the wiser of the two. An open eye — a quick, attentive ear Will lead the mind into the ways of knowledge ; For all the world's a universal college. And every one may be a learner here. Experience is the teacher : dear, indeed. Her charges are to thoughtless folk and fools; But all who follow carefully her rules The various tongues of nature learn to read. Thought adds to thought ; and soon the mental pile Uprises heavenward, like a coral isle. 36 RH YMES A T WEEN- TIMES. Who seldom sows his mind shall reap but little ; Weeds quickly overspread the fallow soil ; The toiler may be wearied by his toil, But it shall yield sufficiency of victual, Enough for his own use, and much to spare. To him who hath, abundance shall be given ; From him who squanders wastefully his share. All that he has shall righteously be riven : The world shall make a proverb of his name, And he shall fill a sepulchre of shame. Work waits for every man ; and he who fills The measure of a working Christian here. Shall little heed life's ordinary ills. And calm content his life and death shall cheer. In our humanity the Lord has hidden Things richer and more beautiful than lie In Colorado's mines ; and we are bidden To seek and find. We live below the sky. Yet we may lay up treasure even there ; . Yea, life immortal to the pure in heart — Similitude to God, in that we bear Our Saviour's image in our better part — The taste and thirst for knowledge failing never, But strengthening in us ever and for ever. While depths of love and goodness we explore, And wondrous mysteries of His working learn In the grand worlds that in the distance burn, And find new cause to praise Him evermore. TAM'S FORTNIGHT RAMBLE. 37 VI. This present life seems full of mysteries; The vulgar mind, to superstition prone, In nature's movements fearful omens sees, And shrinks aghast from terrors of its own Imagining. Despotic is the power Of ignorance ; and thousands live in fear And die unnumber'd times before the hour That Heaven has set to end their strivings here. The trustful, quiet, mighty thinker seeks. In loving faith, the unknown orderings Of the Great Former of created things. And God to him in guiding accents speaks. Still, in the dealings of the Lord with men, Are mysteries far beyond our human ken. Some dwell in palaces, and some abide In huts; some languish from the lack of toil, And others wait the hour when they may hide Their over-weary bodies 'neath the soil. Some men go hungry all the day ; and some Do turn away with loathing from their food. For Heaven has given them multifarious good Until satiety has overcome The natural craving. Some have friends to spare ; And some, the prey of loneliness and grief. Have none to bring them comfort and relief. Some sink in trouble, some have naught to bear; Some soar to power, and some are trod in dust ; — Can lots so various 'mong equal men be just? 38 RHYMES ATWEEN-TIMES. Were death annihilation — ^were this life A lamp extinguish' d, never to be relit, — Then words of deep despondency were fit; Then iiian perchance might lift his arm in strife Against his LORD. Were blessedness of mind Dependent on the vastness of the heap Of gold and gems the schemers 'mong mankind Could gather, then 'twere virtuous tp weep. But 'tis not so. Infinity of time Is yet to be. Beyond our vision lie Eternal realms ineffably sublime And beautiful. Nor heart, nor ear, nor eye Of man has known what things are laid up there For all who love Him and His spirit share. The mourners of the earth there mourn no more ; The sigh, the tear in heaven is unknown : They walk as children round the Father's throne Who in their mortal life were spurn'd the door Where Sin and Mammon reign'd within the dwelling. Unselfish bliss their raptured breasts is swelling, And all are brothers there. None rolls himself In dust of gold, and lifts his head above His fellow worms because the glittering pelf Sticks to his slimier coat. The law of love Is perfectly obey'd. The innumerable throng Have separate themes of thankful joy; yet all Unite in hallelujah and in song, And God's benignant smiles on all the brethren fall. TAM'S FORTNIGHT RAMBLE. 39 And there is rest, — ^the full and perfect rest Of unfatigued activity : not such As lulls awhile the languid mortal's breast -When he has thought or labour' d over-much Not such : but more, immeasurably more, That needs eternity to tell it o'er: A ceasing from infirmity and sin, From envy, lust, and hate, a banded crew. That, through its oft-unguarded doors, let in Upoh the soul a cursed retinue Of evil spirits : — rest in the love of God, The garment of His grace His people covering, Their feet with sandals of his goodness shod, And clouds of blessing ever o'er them hovering. XI. And has this various life a change so fair And glorious ? May man, his death-sleep o'er, Awake angelic ? Then who would not bear And suffer long, and wait in patience for Deliverance ? — O weeper on the way ! Do many sorrows on thy bosom prey ? Dost feel thy burden heavy ? Lift thine eye To Christ thy strengthener. If from thee He take No burden, still He helps thee at thy cry : Who bear His yoke, their back shall never break. And oh, ye poor ! contemn not God's decree : If poverty, a bitter medicine, cure The soul's distempers, blessed are the poor; Yea, if ye are Christ's poor, thrice blessed men are ye. 40 RHYMES A T WEEN- TIMES. If plenty pall the palate of the rich, — If appetite be lacking at the feast, — If honours lose their magic power to 'witch. And when obtain'd, are lovedand worshipp'd least,- It is that man should heavenward aspire. And seize the substance, while the shadows pass. Dim images reflected in the glass, — Should warm his spirit with the sacred fire Of love to God and man, and day by day Work in the good Lord's field as well as pray, — A follower in the path of Providence, Cheering the halting on life's rougher way. The orphan's helper and the widow's stay, Till God shall call his willing servant hence. XIII. Uprightly stand, then, brothers of my race ! And manly meet the troubles of the way : A trustful hope in our Redeemer place. And lovingly and kindly as ye may Assist some weaker ones who meekly bear A weight of which your arm should take a share. Whate'er your station, ye are call'd of Heaven To do a generous work among your kind : Into your trust a talent has been given; It may be wealth of gold or wealth of mind, — It may be large, it may be very small ; But use it well, and ye shall surely hear The Master's voice in gracious accents call Your souls to dwell in an immortal sphere. TAM'S FORTNIGHT RAMBLE. 4I There are some bosoms, all the wide world over, That flow with what is call'd the milk of kindness; And though I've not been an extensive rover. Yet I were chargeable with moral blindness Did I not see and own the winsome grace That Heaven has given to many of our race. The image of the Highest may be seen Borne brightly in His children on the earth. No claim make they to a patrician birth, Yet in their loving tone, their peaceful mien, Their faith and works, and self-denying spirit. They give us strong assurance they inherit The temper of their Lord, who, on the Mount, In matchless words man's duty did recount. The heart of kindness seldom sours or curdles ; The cream of love is in it pure and sweet : With every charm that human nature girdles, And every grace of gentleness replete. The man who has a kindly heart is most In pattern like his Lord ; for where the law Of kindness rules the heart, the virtues draw Together in companionship, and post Themselves around that citadel of love. The kindly man doth always kindly prove : He has a word of sweetness for the child — Of pity for the poor — of sympathy For all who mourn ; and truly glad is he When through his generous care some sorrowing face has smiled. 4* 42 RHYMES ATWEEN-TIMES. XVI. There's music always in the kindly soul, For every deed of goodness done awakes Its chords of pleasure, till the harmonies roll (Sweeter than man's most cunning finger makes) In waves of joyance o'er the happy breast. Like the blest home whose gleeful daughter's singing Sets bells of gladness through its halls a-ringing. How foolish they who seek in biting jest Amusement at a weaker brother's cost! The wanton anguish man inflicts on man Is written down — it never shall be lost; Some coming day 'twill meet God's righteous ban. Be ours the grace to breathe our daily breath In kindliness, and die the good man's death. XVII. Old Peekskill village has a goodly share Of kindly men and women. ("Women! I pray! Use softer term, Sir Poet! Ladies, say." The proudest name the gentler sex can bear Is WOMAN, simply woman — bosom-mate Of hardier man, and sharer of his state. And 'tis, besides, the name bestow'd by Heaven : I'll use it till a better word be given.) How big the human heart! How much 'twill hold Of love ! In it the blissful stream may pour Continually, and yet there's room for more. Should I be spared till I am gray and old, I'll not forget the freshet of affection That met me there and drown'd my mind's dejection. TAM'S FORTNIGHT RAMBLE. 43 Brother and I together took a ride To Shrub Oak Plains. There cousin John alone Is lying — friend nor kinsman by his side. His resting-place is noted by a stone Of whitest marble : truthful words are those Inscribed thereon. The scene of his repose Befits his life : 'twas beautiful and calm. In meekness and in love he went his way, Uprightly walking — filling up the day With useful deeds. He often pour'd the balm Of healing into wounded breasts ; nor sought The praise of men in doing good, — for he Had been a learner at Gethsemane, And he remember'd well what his loved Master taught. XIX. Dear John ! 'Twas but a little while ago When he beside me, pensively and still, Wander'd among the mounds at Laurel Hill, And sought the grave of one he loved. The snow Had melted from the fields, and spring was coming ; And southern winds blew with a gentle humming. He left me for his northern home. The flowers Of summer bloom'd and faded; autumn came. With setting sun that gleam'd like golden flame. Then winter brought long nights and stormy hours. But John the autumn or the winter days Saw not; for, call'd of God in summer time, He pass'd away in his and nature's prime. A nobler pen than mine might worthily write his praise. 44 RHYMES ATWEEJ