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POEMS. 
 
riR. JOHN p. WILLIAMS 
 
JOHN P. WILLIAMS' 
 
 Lyric, 
 
 Domestic and Sacred 
 
 POEMS 
 
 MASHVILLB. TBNN.: 
 NATIONAL BAPTIST PUBLISHING BOARD. 
 1 1 • 
 
a; 
 
 .V 
 
 MAR 27 1916 
 
 2)C1,A428251 
 
Copyright 
 
 J. P. WILLIAMS 
 
 Mt. Pleasant, Texas. 
 
 January, 1916 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 It is not the aim of the author to exhibit any pre-emi- 
 nence whatever in this book of poems, nor to try to 
 transcend the wonderful flight of other bards. But 
 rather humiliate himself and sit thunder-struck under 
 the shadow of their broad lusty win©s. He does not 
 think that his verse flows in ecstatic harmony like that 
 of the other poets, nor dances in serenity like the glad 
 sunbeams. He muses that he has but a very little gift of 
 the God of song, and very much less literary attainment, 
 and for this reason, he comes as a menial penitent be- 
 fore the court of Apollo, begging revengeful censure to 
 have mercy and to spare his squeaking muse. He hopes 
 his brogue meter will find a lowly pew in the heart of 
 many regardless to criticism and imperfection. 
 
 John P. Williams. 
 
 O) 
 
MONODY ON THE DEATH OF HON. 
 JOHN L. SHEPPARD. 
 
 When the rosy twilight of evening dies 
 On the hills and along the skies, 
 Nature itself begins to sigh and weep; 
 And night shades the laud and deep. 
 
 The busy world sends up mournful cries, 
 As the gasping day, lingering, expires 
 With a faint glow that excites and awes. 
 When time seems to make a sudden pause. 
 
 Who hath not felt the solemnity of the hour 
 When departing day loses its vivid power; 
 And the tender emotion that it instills, 
 As the rolling sun declines along the hills? 
 
 Thus, it was with one who died 
 
 Full of excellence, dignity and pride; 
 
 One whose life was without a stain, 
 
 And lived without censure and died without pain. 
 
 With grief it fills our hearts and eyes, 
 When one of mental pre-eminence dies, 
 Leaving a wailing world behind. 
 And the everlasting issues of a peerless mind. 
 
 A mighty spirit hath forever gone down, 
 A destined child of virtue and renown; 
 Well might glory everywhere proclaim 
 The honors of his blessed name. 
 
 In his day, he was a source of light, 
 A divine focus of genius burning bright, 
 Whose beams were serene and mellow, 
 To light up the gloomy vales below. 
 
 (9) 
 
10 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 He was a mass of wit and intelligence; 
 Heavy charged with, burning eloquence, 
 Which at times did burst and fly; 
 And stubborn men were seen to cry. 
 
 In the council or at the bar; 
 
 In the time of peace, or in the time of war, 
 
 He thundered bold amidst the throng, 
 
 And poured vindicative wrath upon what was wrong. 
 
 He was a guardian angel for mankind; 
 Always just as, a plumb-line; 
 Plis heart was free from prejudice. 
 And his mind from burning malice. 
 
 All of him which is deigned to remain, 
 
 The everlasting products of a wonderous brain, 
 
 The electric blaze of an immortal mind 
 
 Still glows in the vanguard of mankind. 
 
 Ye proud jurists! emulate him hence, 
 
 For ho was a man of masterly wit and rare intelligence; 
 
 Therefore, ever deign him a worthy praise 
 
 Amidst august councils where flashes of eloquence blaze. 
 
 "What human heart cannot feel 
 
 And mourn the loss of such a mighty shield; 
 
 Or glorify the relics of such an infinite mind; 
 
 Not to bo desecrated by the hands of ruthl-^ss time? 
 
 He was born, indeed, for the council and the bar, 
 And was a just rival of Ingersoll and Lamar, 
 Two wonderous 1 -.^i oes who haO tou./i,' 
 In many wordy battles on the field of thought. 
 
 A powerful spirl- hath passed hence into endless rest. 
 
 Like the sunken sun on a cloudless West; 
 
 Its gol'i'^n teinis, reflecting still. 
 
 Give loveliness to the skies and every vale and hill. 
 
 Oh! noble personage, once only rebound, 
 For no one like unto thee have we found, 
 Though long have we sought but in vain, 
 And turn to thy memoirs which yet remain. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. , 11 
 
 Oh, most wortliy departed Sheppard! 
 
 Thou revered unparalleled lord; 
 
 We still emulate Ihee here, 
 
 And hold in fond reverence thy ashes, dear. 
 
 Oh! could human prayers provoke the dull ears of death 
 We would at once call back thy fleeting breath 
 And give unto thee as of yore, 
 Worthy praises forevermore. 
 
 We would cald thee in lovely vesture, 
 
 Such as time never did unroll; 
 And in whose subtile lattice texture 
 
 Every thread would be amaranthine gold. 
 
 THE SUNNY SOUTH. 
 
 The Sunny South, the balmy land; 
 
 It's as sweet as the rosy dawn, 
 With many blessings in her hand 
 
 To greet the coming morn. 
 
 A paradise it does appear, 
 An elysium in a sunny clime; 
 
 And it to me is ever dear, 
 For its wealth and bliss is mine. 
 
 I love the south with its birds and bees, 
 And its damsels with sunny hair; 
 
 I love its shady live oak trees 
 And its fragrant vital air. 
 
 I love the sunny brooks and rills 
 That through Dixie's Eden flow, 
 
 I love the supernal plains and hills 
 That in sunlight glow. 
 
 Lo! the smiles on her dimple cheeks 
 
 And lips strawberry red; 
 But even at times she wails and weeps. 
 
 To venerate her gallant dead . 
 
12 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 The blessed South, the Madonna of the chair. 
 
 Whose hues were born in heaven; 
 And like the angels bright and fair, 
 
 Thus, to her they are given. 
 
 She smells like a fragrant rose; 
 
 Her teeth are Ceylonian pearl; 
 In her face beauty glows, 
 
 And crowns her queen of the world. 
 
 She is an olive by a sunny stream, 
 And is decked with snowy florets fair; 
 
 Smiling eternal green 
 And playing to the balmy air. 
 
 Lo! the eleven stars in the crown 
 
 Upon her zealous head! 
 'Tis but a halo of glory burning round 
 
 The memories of her gallant dead. 
 
 Other lands rage and rave; 
 
 And rivers run red with blood; 
 Still she holds her standard above the waves 
 
 And stems the swelling flood. 
 
 She is thorough-bred. 
 
 From the Anglo-Saxon line; 
 And revers the course she took and led 
 
 In that peerless tragic time. 
 
 Gigantic wars may rise, 
 
 And wild destruction everywhere be proclaimed; 
 Still her standard will bear to the skies 
 
 Her triumphs and her name. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 13 
 
 GOD. 
 
 God must be awful in form; 
 
 He works in mysteries; 
 He rides in the vanguard of the storm 
 
 And sways the wind and seas. 
 
 His mighty throne is on high; 
 
 His domain is everywhere; 
 With lightning He blasts the tsky; 
 
 And shakes with thunder the air . 
 
 In darkness He hides His face 
 
 And shuts His glories in; 
 Still we trust in His grace 
 
 Beneath the cloud of sin. 
 
 He marshalled all the worlds above. 
 
 Around the centre sun; 
 He fixed the stars all in love, 
 
 And bade them when to run. 
 
 He spreaded out the sky as a sheet ^ 
 And painted it in rich blue; 
 
 He bade the spheres all to greet 
 The art of the wonderous view. 
 
 THE DEATH OF JESUS CHRIST. 
 
 Well did the sun hide his blushing face 
 
 In sack-cloth in the sky; 
 "When Jesus Christ, with mercy and grace, 
 Gave up the ghost and died. 
 
 His life and blood he gave 
 
 As a ransom for you and me; 
 And he roused the saints in the grave, 
 
 When he died on Calvary. 
 
 Dear dying lamb, I look to thee, 
 
 For no other help have I; 
 Oh! hadst thou not ransomed me, 
 
 My soul would forever die. 
 
14 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Jesus robbed death of bis sting, 
 And asunder burst the grave; 
 He bade the dead to rise and sing 
 His wondrous love to save. 
 
 Then full in the view of saints and foes. 
 
 Upward to glory he flies, 
 Bearing the grim visage of woes; 
 
 And in triumph rides to the skies. 
 
 Up to heaven's pearly gate 
 The Lamb of God is gone, 
 To enter there and advocate 
 My guilt before the throne. 
 
 I see him before his Father's face, 
 
 All stained with mortal blood; 
 And his bleeding wounds, full of grace, 
 Spout forth a cleansing flood. 
 
 Before the court of glory there. 
 
 He disclosed my wretched state; 
 How he found me in despair 
 At Hell's adamantine gate. 
 
 MAMA'S BABY. 
 
 The lips of mama's baby 
 Are sweet as sugar lump, 
 
 And its little dimple cheeks 
 Are soft, round and plump. 
 
 Go to sleep, little baby, 
 
 Hush! and don't cry; 
 Papa is coming home 
 
 To baby, by and by. 
 
 Close your laughing eyes. 
 And go away in a trance; 
 
 Bright and happy to wake again, 
 To see kitty leap and prance. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 15 
 
 Mama will hug baby, 
 
 It matters not where she goes; 
 And will keep the ugly flies 
 From tickling baby's nose. 
 
 Put your hands in mama's bosom 
 As she sings her lullaby, 
 
 She will wipe away all tears 
 From little baby's eyes. 
 
 Mama will pat baby's breast, 
 And kiss its fat hands and feet; 
 
 Mama's and papa's little darling, 
 Hush! and go to sleep. 
 
 Rock-a-by baby in mama's arms, 
 As a little birdie in a nest; 
 Mamma will ever hold you dear, 
 Close to her loving breast. 
 
 THE SINGING BIRD. 
 
 I heard a bird singing the other day, 
 And it seem'd to be singing to me; 
 
 And in its song it seemed to say. 
 "I'm poor but my heart's merry. 
 
 I sat and listened to the bird 
 
 Singing in the willow tree. 
 And using not a single word. 
 
 But 'twas sweet as it could be. 
 
 Such melody in song. 
 
 Pouring from the throat of a bird; 
 And harmonious and strong. 
 
 The sweetest I ever heard. 
 
 Amongst the weeping boughs of the tree 
 
 The lonely bird I descried; 
 Content to sit where none could see 
 But his nestlings and darling bride. 
 
16 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 I thought: had I such gift of song, 
 
 Doubtless, I would sing, 
 And as my years circle on 
 
 I'd make creation ring. 
 
 THE DREAMS OF OTHER DAYS. 
 
 At the friendly moon I gaze 
 
 As it rises from beyond the sea; 
 And all the dreams of other days 
 
 Come sadly back to me. 
 
 Deluding dreams of my young delight 
 
 That long ago had fled, 
 Now come back to me tonight 
 
 And crowd into my aching head. 
 
 My heart heaved and sighed; 
 
 And tears in wild deluges came, 
 As I sat sorrowful and cried 
 
 That my life had been so vain. 
 
 The scenes' of days long gone by, 
 
 And wanton in their flight; 
 Seemed like clouds, to scud and fly 
 Across my brain tonight. 
 
 Memory opens wide her gate; 
 
 And dreams of the past return; 
 Some for me to vindicate, 
 And some for me to spurn. 
 
 WHITE-HEAD CABBAGE. 
 
 White-head cabbage just cooked right. 
 
 And nice cool milk to swallow; 
 Then some egg bread, good and light, — 
 
 It's enough to make a fellow holler 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 17 
 
 After I'm through with the cabbage 
 
 Hand me down a little peach pie; 
 Then just see how I manage 
 To live, and not to die. 
 
 When I'm done with the cabbage and pie 
 
 And all other dainty stuff, 
 I pick my teeth and shut my eyes 
 And say, "I've got enough." 
 
 You talk about your ham and steak; 
 
 Your pork chops and your chicken; 
 But have some cabbage for my sake 
 
 Somewhere back in your kitchen. 
 
 A COVETOUS HEART. 
 
 If the world belonged to but one man, 
 
 His kingdom would bo from shore to shore; 
 Though his riches might be like Sahara's sand, 
 Still the man would want a little more. 
 
 Just a little more some men crave; 
 
 Although they are millionaires, 
 Nevertheless, they toil and save 
 
 To obtain earth's precious wares. 
 
 A little more, then a little more. 
 
 Is what a man craves all the time; 
 Though his dominion reaches from shore to shore, 
 
 And he has rubies and gold of all kind. 
 
 TAKE THE WORLD AS YOU FIND IT. 
 
 If you know not what to do. 
 
 Why, search the Holy Writ — 
 Never let heretics worry you; 
 
 But take the world as you find it. 
 
 Let orthodoxy's supernal glare 
 
 Drive skepticism into a fit; 
 But let this be your only care: 
 
 Take the world as vou find it. 
 
18 LYRIC, DOMESTIC 
 
 Let pagan fallacies, indignant, rise 
 
 In eloquence and wit, 
 Swelling from below to the skies; 
 
 But take the world as you find it. 
 
 Let others mock aiid try to tear 
 The fame of the Holy Spirit; 
 
 All this is hard for you to bear; 
 But take the world as you find it. 
 
 Don't worry, but keep still and cool 
 When staunch partisans fall out and split; 
 
 It matters not which party rules; 
 But take the world as you find it. 
 
 THE WIND AND LEAVES. 
 
 The wind played the fiddle 
 
 And the little leaves danced; 
 The tune was didlededidle; 
 
 And the boughs of the trees pranced. 
 
 The leaves did frisk and flirt 
 
 In two-step and clog dance; 
 Each one wore a brown skirt, 
 
 Or a pair of brown pants. 
 
 '^he music of his fiddle was sweet, 
 
 For a mighty fiddler was he; 
 He sang to his fiddle and patted his feet, 
 
 Thus, he filled the leaves with glee. 
 
 Overcome by the ecstasy of his song 
 Some of the leaves fell down to sleep 
 
 In hollows deep and long; 
 Never more to dance and weep. 
 
 A COLD DAY. 
 
 The clouds hang low and gray; 
 
 The wind blows mighty cold; 
 Water fowls are on the way 
 
 To the South Pole. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. 19 
 
 It's freezing cold, and soon will snow 
 
 To cover the hills and vales; 
 And around hearths where fires glow 
 
 We will tell our winter tales. 
 
 "Lo! it snows!" the children cry, 
 Who are just let loose from school; 
 
 And homeward they trip and fly 
 In the evening's gray and cold. 
 
 The snowflakes came flouncing down 
 
 All white as they could be. 
 And soon they mantled all the grouiid 
 
 So it you could not see. 
 
 The trees were robed in supernal white; 
 
 The fields and every cot; 
 And like the Alhambra in moonlight. 
 
 Gleamed things around the yard and lot. 
 
 The horses neigh; the cows low; 
 
 The sheep's bleat came o'er the way 
 Across the heaps of drifted f^now, 
 
 For a wisp of hay. 
 
 The landscape shone in a silvery sheen 
 
 Far as the eye could see; 
 And not a bird could be seen 
 
 There, flying o'er the lea. 
 
 Not a bird did sing 
 
 A sweet psalm to heaven above; 
 But tucked its head under its wing, 
 
 And sat dumb in the grove. 
 
 JENNY. 
 
 Jenny found a baby 
 
 Somehow, I do not know; 
 
 But everybody tells me 
 
 The baby was white as snow. 
 
20 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 It had blue eyes and kinky hair; 
 
 Its cheeks were round and fat, 
 But what it was, no one knew. 
 
 For its little nose was flat. 
 
 She gave it motherly care 
 
 And it grew fast and fat; 
 But when she carried it out to church 
 
 The people asked "What's that?" 
 
 Jenny loved the baby, you know, 
 And carried it everywhere; 
 
 Although it had deep blue eyes, 
 A flat nose and nappy hair. 
 
 Jenny's affection for the baby was great, 
 Simply because it was white; 
 
 Though others scoffed and scorned it, 
 And called it spurious outright. 
 
 Where, when, and how she found it. 
 My sad muse does not know; 
 
 But I'm sure, in the pious household 
 It caused a mighty uproar. 
 
 The baby was a hybrid, 
 
 And the family didn't want it there; 
 Because of it's peculiar looks. 
 
 Glaring in the household affairs. 
 
 The household to Jenny said, 
 "You must take that child from here;" 
 
 That was too sad for her to do. 
 So it roused her tender care. 
 
 Weeping, she took the baby 
 
 And wandered all about; 
 But everywhere poor Jenny went 
 
 The people drove her out. 
 
 Often at night she had to sleep 
 In some waste house or bam, 
 
 And sometimes in a cotton pen 
 Far out upon a farm. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. > 21 
 
 She never once forsook the child, 
 
 But gave it tender care; 
 And bravely nestled it in her arms 
 
 Before the people everywhere. 
 
 She was not ignorant of the fact 
 
 That sir wa.: forever dibgraced, 
 And so she bore the bisffs and scorns 
 
 Which were hurled into her shameful face. 
 
 She sank low down in despair 
 
 And dragged her life out in grief and pain; 
 And sad tears fell from her eyes, 
 
 Like heavy drops of rain. 
 
 One day, as 1 was dreaming— 
 But ah, it's too sad for me to tell; 
 
 I heard a mournful solemn tolling. 
 Coming from the old church bell. 
 
 It tolled the knell of a departed soul, 
 Who was well acquainted, with grief; 
 
 And travailing in birth and pain, 
 Had made her life sq brief. 
 
 It was proclaimed everywhere 
 
 That poor Jenny was dead ; 
 The laity heard the plaintive cry 
 
 And every heart moaned and bled. 
 
 Slow to the graveyard we saw her borne 
 By those whom she loved so well, 
 
 A funeral marching to the tomb 
 While the sexton tolled the bell. 
 
 Around the hallowed bier stood 
 
 Friend and malignant foe, 
 And in the cold , damp earth they buried one 
 
 Who died from baneful woe. 
 
22 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 THE LAMP. 
 
 My lamp is dimly burning 
 And is gradually going out, 
 
 Soon I must leave off and go 
 On that doleful endless route. 
 
 Mimic shadows are fading; 
 
 My room is growing dark: 
 Everything looks gloomy 
 
 Except one lingering spark. 
 
 After the last ray of light had faded, 
 
 I sank down to repose; 
 And I dreamed of sweet life, — 
 
 How it comes and swiftly goes. 
 
 AN UNKNOWN TRIBE. 
 
 I see an awful tribe rising, 
 
 "Who it is, I do not know; 
 But it is climbing up, surprising. 
 Out of the gloom and mire below. 
 
 With boldness it presses right on, 
 Ne/er musini. iiiee t ) btop 
 
 Until it gains that lofty throne 
 On the hill's puri)le top. 
 
 Hell inflamed with bitter spite 
 Can't stay time's onward pace; 
 
 So indignation with all it's might 
 Can't check a rising race. 
 
 Long it groped to find the way 
 Through the rayless gloom below. 
 
 Until at last one immortal day 
 It was bidden to rise and go. 
 
 It rose, and is rising still, 
 Though tyrants stand hard by; 
 
 Soon it will mount that rugged hill. 
 And pitch it's camp on high. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. . 23 
 
 It saw great heroes toil and drop, 
 Endeavoring to lead on the van, 
 
 And struggling to gain the mountain top 
 To view the Promised Land, 
 
 When it shall have overcome 
 
 Trials and great tribulations, 
 Grant it a happy home, 
 
 Not embroiled by cruel nations. 
 
 In the loom of art it shall weave a flag, 
 Whose threads shall be silk and gold; 
 
 And others shall see it wave and wag, 
 The true emblem of a nation's soul. 
 
 As ages grow old and hoary, 
 This tribe shall onward plod, 
 
 And loom at last into glory 
 At the very gate of God. 
 
 PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR. 
 
 Hush! The choirs are singing 
 
 Hard by and from afar; 
 They set the air a ringing 
 
 With the strains of Dunbar. 
 
 From every farmhouse and cottage; 
 
 Fom every hamlet and town; 
 From every city cultured visage 
 
 His mellow lays sound. 
 
 Let the linnet and oriole wail, 
 And in modesty coo the dove; 
 
 When they hear this nightingale 
 Thrilling his notes of love. 
 
 Above all birds of the grove, 
 Warbling in lyre and rhyme; 
 
 Devotion call him bird of Jove, 
 That sacred bird is mine. 
 
24 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Grant this bird supernal grace 
 
 Amidst tlie lyric throng, 
 And in the grove of poesy place 
 
 Him, a master bird of song. 
 
 When he pitches on lyrical wings, 
 
 Warbling in his flight, 
 The Muses listen as he wings 
 
 In raptures of delight. 
 
 Thou anointed bird of paradise, 
 A destined bird of rhyme; 
 
 Beyond the range of vulgar vice, 
 In the eyes of fancy shine. 
 
 Sweet neslling of the poetic grove. 
 Ever warbling ecstatic lays; 
 
 Struck by the hand of mighty Jove, 
 Ere the fullness of thy days. 
 
 THE GOLDEN AGE. 
 
 When every mortal deed is made pure 
 
 Eternal light shall shine; 
 The world shall be rendered new 
 
 And conform to God's design. 
 
 When the righteous conquer and rise 
 Then the blissful age will come, 
 
 And the redeemed now on high 
 
 Shall again make earth their homo. 
 
 When every wrong is made right 
 The Sun of Righteousness shall rise, 
 
 To gild the world with hallowed light 
 And renovate the earth and skies. 
 
 In that illustrious day and time 
 
 When God shall appear on a cloud, 
 Tlie dead in Christ sihall rise and shine 
 And shout "Hosanna" loud. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. 25 
 
 Jesus shall drive alone on high 
 Wherever ranged Noah's flood, 
 And his sword upon his puissant thigh 
 Shall be dripping with sinners' blood. 
 
 When Jesus shall have chased away , 
 
 All sin with his avenging rod; 
 The Church triumphant in that day, 
 
 Shall stoop to the ransomed Church of God. 
 
 In Palestine, the revered Holy L£«id, 
 The Church below shall meet that Church above, 
 
 And extend to each other the right hand 
 Of everlasting fellowship and love. 
 
 Here sorrowful on that storied field 
 
 Where Christ was crucified, 
 The deed to the Church shall be revealed 
 
 How Jesus groaned and died. 
 
 MACEO. 
 
 I'm going to sing a song 
 
 That other poets despise, 
 And deem it all unworthy 
 
 For poesy to recognize. 
 
 On poetic wings I mount the breeze 
 And fly to a moorish clime. 
 
 To pay the homage there I owe 
 To martyr of mankind. 
 
 I honor and love all great men; 
 
 This is a tribute that we all owe,- 
 Then why not grant a tithe of it 
 
 To the soldier — Maceo? 
 
 No braver captain ever led the van 
 In ancient or modern time. 
 
 Yet, Saxon bards loathe to sing 
 Of this noble hero of mine. 
 
 Sing and tell it in glory; 
 
 Write it in seraphic rhyme 
 So that Spain will always revere 
 
 This swarthy warrior of mine. 
 
26 LYRIC, DOMESTIC 
 
 CONSCIENCE. 
 
 Unerring conscience, a gift divine, 
 Ever leads the soul aright; 
 
 Amidst the gloom of sin and crime 
 It shines, a beacon light. 
 
 When passion comes to outrage 
 The spirit and make it sin; 
 
 Conscience sallies forth to engage, 
 And war is waged within. 
 
 FACTS. 
 
 Among men there are facts, 
 (And this is one, as a rule) 
 
 The man who talks most and acts 
 Is generally the biggest fool. 
 
 Some men think they know. 
 Though really they do not; 
 
 When duty summons them to show 
 They fall upon the spot. 
 
 He, who says, "I do not know 
 About thing® mystic and queer,** 
 
 Shall iit lingering time grow 
 In knowledge deep and clear. 
 
 WILD CHAOS. 
 
 :ut of nothing were created 
 The vast earth and the skies; 
 
 This is so thin it can't be seen 
 By the mind's searching eyes. 
 
 Fi'om black and wild chaos 
 The system of order sprang; 
 
 Young creation exclaimed "Hosatina!** 
 And heaven, rejoicing, sang. 
 
 At the uprising of form and order 
 Horrid confusion gave way; 
 
 Then loomed across the dark mass 
 The beacon light called "Day." 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 27 
 
 A WOMAN'S WEAPON. 
 
 A woman's weapon is a tear 
 
 That from her lovely eyes falls; 
 It can subdue more manly hearts 
 Than ten thousand shells and balls. 
 
 The sad tear-drops of a woman 
 
 Will conquer in their flow, 
 And she needs no other sword nor gun 
 
 To subdue her toughest foe. 
 
 Weeping woman's pious drops 
 
 That roll down from her eyes, 
 Will melt cruelty's iron heart 
 
 In their pure and hallowed fires. 
 
 Her tears are outlets of grief and love; 
 
 She sheds them for things divine, 
 And with a contrite heart she kneels 
 Before her country's shrine. 
 
 Down the vales of her lovely face 
 
 Her tears, like rivers flow. 
 When forlorn, abused or crazed with love 
 
 And tossed to and fro. 
 
 THE MAINE. 
 
 This man of-war with proud mast. 
 Rides the billowy sea no more 
 
 Heedless to the roaring bla.'=;t 
 That sweeps the ocean's shore. 
 
 No more her banner towers on high, 
 And gambols wild on the breeze, 
 
 Bearing the eagle through the skies, 
 O'er dark and stormy seas. 
 
 No more this grim monster of war 
 Shall brave the fleet of foes, 
 
 That come, belligerent, from afar 
 To disturb our peaceful shores. 
 
28 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Her deck no more is crimsoned red, 
 Made thus by heroes' blood, 
 
 The costly tribute of her dead, 
 As she fought upon the flood. 
 
 Lo! her hull was all consumed 
 By the flames of a frenzied foe; 
 
 Thus the sea might be her tomb 
 Far from her native shore. 
 
 Though the foe tore down her sails 
 And in flames wrapt her deck; 
 
 Still that eagle of the sea and gales 
 Shall tower above her wreck. 
 
 Her cannon no more in thunder roar 
 In battles upon the mighty sea, 
 
 To humble the pride of any stubborn foe, 
 Who insults the flag of the free. 
 
 Heedless to howling wind and rain, 
 And the blackest shroud of night; 
 
 On the deep rode the vessel Maine 
 Without pale dread or fright. 
 
 SWEET TALK. 
 
 Everyone who talks sweet — 
 
 Don't take him to be your friend, 
 
 For he may prove a snare to your feet, 
 In the long and tedious end. 
 
 Judge not a man by his looks, 
 
 Nor by the clothes he likes to wear; 
 
 For he may be a scholar in all books, 
 Or some great millionaire. 
 
 So, you cannot judge a man 
 
 By simply seeing his face; 
 You may try and do all you can, 
 
 But his mind you cannot trace. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 29 
 
 Truly man is all deceit 
 
 At his best and highest rate; 
 Then why not call him a cheat 
 
 In his purest and noblest state? 
 
 He's sneaky in all his ways. 
 
 And is treacherous all the time; 
 This is why he sings and prays: 
 
 He is so proned to crime. 
 
 Show me a good man, if you please — 
 
 (I have never seen one yet;) 
 I know 'tis sad for one to believe 
 
 That all were fraud® I met. 
 
 A STORM. 
 
 Dark and stormy was the night; 
 
 Dread alarm was everywhere, 
 And terrific loud thunder 
 
 Rolled heedless along the air. 
 
 Vivid sheets of lightning 
 
 Flashed through the angry skies; 
 And consternation filled the heart 
 
 With a spirit of deep surprise. 
 
 Onward swept the raging storm, 
 
 O'er the land and main; 
 And in mighty torrents 
 
 Fell the beating rain. 
 
 Man and beast stood astounded, 
 
 And wondered what to do, 
 As the enraged clouds rose 
 
 And the storm louder grew. 
 
 The birds ceased their songs of love 
 And groped to find the way In the grove, 
 
 For this was the vengeful hour 
 Of unrelenting Jove. 
 
30 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Not a star was seen 
 
 Burning along on high; 
 For a pitchy gloom had snatched all 
 
 From mortal eye. 
 
 While the storm was raging 
 
 Untimely death we tried to evade, 
 
 And bowed low in reverence, 
 And in sincerit> prayed. 
 
 Such is the condition of the elements 
 When Great Jehovah drives 
 
 His awful sounding chariot wheels 
 Along the stormy skies. 
 
 PARDON US, OH SAVIOR. 
 
 Forgive us for every idle word, 
 And for every evil thought; 
 
 All the misery v/e now possess, 
 We know we have justly bought. 
 
 Our sins are so many 
 
 And for them we cry, 
 Begging thee to ha.ve mercy 
 And pardon us ere we die. 
 
 Wash us in that cleansing tide, 
 That stream of blood divine; 
 
 Make us pure, white and clean. 
 And call us heirs of thine. 
 
 Write our names in bright glory 
 
 On pages clean and fair; 
 Then reveal to us, dear Savior, 
 
 That you have written them there. 
 
 Indeed, if we but knew 
 
 That thou heeds't ohr cry, 
 We fain would in an instant 
 
 Give up the ghost and die. 
 
 By faith we hope to conquer 
 In this war-fare, by and by; 
 
 Then to that bright mansion above, 
 On wings of love we'll fl^. 
 
/ 
 
 AND Sacred Poems. 31 
 
 THE TWO POLITICAL PARTIES. 
 
 For high tariff the Republicans fight, 
 While the Democrats battle for low; 
 Each one thinks its policy is right, 
 And this each tries to show. 
 
 Livelihood gave rise to these, 
 
 Each one in a different clime; 
 Divided by thirty-six degrees 
 North, parallel line. 
 
 Away back in the days of old 
 
 When party ism was dead, 
 Democracy was pure as' gold , 
 
 And was by patriotism fed. 
 
 Now, that patriotism is dead, 
 
 Partyism lordly rules. 
 And mugwumps wave the lash o'er the head 
 
 Of so many political mules. 
 
 WHAT'S THE DIFFERANCE? 
 
 Some may rejoice and shout; 
 
 Some may think it a shame and sin 
 That Col. Roosevelt is out, 
 
 And William Taft is in. 
 
 Their partyism is the same; 
 
 Each one is staunch, stalwart and true, 
 And each in lineage came 
 
 From those who wore the blue. 
 
 THE NATIONAL GOVERNMENT. 
 
 Sail on. Oh! thou ship of State*; 
 
 Great is thy engineer — 
 Posterity to thee relegates 
 
 The shores she loves so dear. 
 
32 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 A powerful nation bids thee sail, 
 And bear it in triumph o'er, — 
 
 It knows thou canst not fail 
 To reach that glorious shore. 
 
 The destiny of a mingled race 
 Great in spirit and name, 
 
 Is in thy powerful embrace 
 To row across the main. 
 
 Hoist every snow-white sail; 
 
 Give the nation's signal sound; 
 Fear not the lightning and the gale. 
 
 But joyfully onward bound. 
 
 Dread not perils of the sea , 
 Nor sanguinary wars on land; 
 
 That invincible spirit in thee 
 Will give force to thy riglht hand. 
 
 The nation stands on the hill, 
 Gazing with wishful eyes; 
 
 It longs to see thy flag still 
 Waving in the skies. 
 
 In thee is the common welfare 
 
 Of the land of the free; 
 And sweet woman with tenderest care 
 
 Is on the deck of thee. 
 
 Wherever thj spangled banner flies, 
 
 Thy foes bow to thee, 
 Whose bounds are but the skies, 
 
 And the mighty sea. 
 
 UP TO THE HILL HE IS GONE. 
 
 Up to the hill he's gone 
 To suffer and die for me; 
 
 The heavy cross he bore alone, 
 And let the ^'orld go free. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 33 
 
 Up Mount Calvary's rugged steep, 
 
 The cross they made him bear; 
 And the daughters of Zion did weep. 
 
 Making solemn the very air. 
 
 There a vast multitude assembled 
 
 To behold the awful sight; 
 The earth reeled and trembled, 
 
 And day turned into night. 
 
 They scourged and beat him without shame. 
 
 While the heavy tree he bore; 
 And until his fainting frame 
 
 Was crimsoned with his gore. 
 
 He languidly looked around and about, 
 
 But still up the hill he toiled; 
 His jeering persecutors did shout, 
 
 And think the deed was royal. 
 
 Upon Calvary's lofty head 
 
 He heaved the burden down; 
 And when it fell it woke the dead 
 
 In the dismal regions around. 
 
 His feet and hands they nailed 
 
 Fast to the rugged wood; 
 Then him they tauntingly hailed 
 
 As "King of the Jews" and good. 
 
 'Crucify him!" was the cry 
 
 Of the rabid crowd, 
 Who stood around hard by. 
 Blaspheming God aloud. 
 
 In sweat and blood, his life ebbed away,' 
 
 His frame grew faint and cold; 
 And to a disciple he did say, 
 
 Oh, the weeping woman behold!" 
 
 Mother was the sweetest and last dream 
 
 To forsake his dying breast; 
 Like day's last lingering beam, 
 
 Sadly fading on the West. 
 
34 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Around thronged friend and foe, 
 
 The Lord Jesus Christ to see; 
 Some cried in joy and some in woe, 
 
 When they nailed him to the tree. 
 
 Between two criminals he as crucified, 
 One on the left and one on the right; 
 
 And they in agony and pain eyed 
 The ruthless and shameless sight. 
 
 The Holy Writ, in characters red, 
 
 Now and forever say: 
 "'Among malefactors they made his hed. 
 
 And took his garments away." 
 
 With a loud voice he cried, 
 
 Saying, "Father, I commend my soul unt© thee;** 
 Then he gave up the ghost and died. 
 Fast nailed to the tree. 
 
 From the sixth to the ninth hour, 
 
 Darkness o'er the earth prevailed; 
 And men, you could not cower. 
 
 Beat their breasts and wailed. 
 
 The earth did shake and rocks rent; 
 
 The mountains around did nod. 
 The centurion and watchman did repent. 
 
 And said, "Surely, he was the Son of God." 
 
 Time furled his rushing wings, 
 
 And did forbear to fly, 
 When the mighty King of kings 
 
 Gave up His ghost to die. 
 
 The earth did heave and quake 
 
 With a dreadful sound; 
 And the dead in the vales did wake, 
 
 Rose up, and walked around. 
 
 Deep silence prevailed in heaven 
 
 Among the seraphic host; 
 When divine orders were given 
 
 For Christ to give up the ghost. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 35 
 
 A STILL TONGUE. 
 
 Shut your noisy mouth 
 
 And keep still and cool; 
 Then wise folks will never 
 
 Take you to be a fool. 
 
 Always bridle your tongue 
 
 In the presence of your superior. 
 
 And he is not apt to dream once 
 
 That you are his inferior. . ' 
 
 In the council of the wise 
 
 Be sedate and slow to speak. 
 Rather sit to listen and learn; 
 
 These render you apt to teaeh. 
 
 Speak and act with sense; 
 
 Be always apt and keen; 
 Never rise once to speak, ^ 
 
 Simply to be seen. 
 
 THE BLISSFUL AGE. 
 
 If all the world were mine 
 
 And under my control, 
 Still I would trust in things divine 
 
 More than I would in gold. 
 
 If the world was full of divine love 
 
 And man to man did right, 
 We would not long for that heaven above. 
 
 For we would have one just as bright. 
 
 When all wrongs are made right 
 Chill death shall be no more; 
 
 The benighted world shall blaze in light. 
 As white as new fallen snow. 
 
 The righteous shall, by and by, control. 
 When the old shall pass away ; 
 
 The new shall dawn in gold, 
 And let in one eternal day. 
 
 •tjs'??^ 
 
36 Lyric, Domestic 'Y^^ 
 
 Every vale and every hill 
 
 Shall in glory shine; 
 Every laughing brook and rill 
 
 Shall flow in love divine. 
 
 The sainted dead shall rise and sing 
 At the renovation of the earth and sky; 
 
 And the earth in praise shall ring, 
 With melody from on high. 
 
 The fruit of trees shall be mellow and sweet 
 
 And life everlasting to the soul, 
 Whose viands shall be ambrosial meat 
 
 And nectar from rivers of gold. 
 
 T'WTieii tTie New .Jerusalem shall come from above 
 With the redeemed host of myriad years; 
 
 iAnd in supernal piety moved by love. 
 iBt ^liall dance to the music of the spheres- 
 
 The earth shall be given to the good, 
 
 The purchase of blood divine; 
 And every earthly grove and wood 
 
 Shall be a sacred shrine. 
 
 Lo! the great church triumphant. 
 
 That presides in heaven above. 
 Shall meet on earth with the church militant. 
 
 In fellowship and love. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 TSTo one hears love when it comes, 
 Nor can we hear it when it goes; 
 
 For it always walks or runs 
 On its tiny tip-toes. 
 
 Love comes like the noiseless hours 
 
 That steal through the air; 
 That deals life to flowers 
 
 That look so sweet and fair. 
 
 Love chooses some heart for its shrine 
 
 Then begs to worship there; 
 When fired by passion all but divine. 
 
 It leap® o'er the bars of care. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 37 
 
 SOCATONCHEE. 
 
 Where sunlight first kissed my cheeks 
 And young ambition taught me how to dreanv 
 
 Hard by the Socatonchee Creek, 
 A wild and sunny stream. 
 
 In memory I love to roam 
 
 Along where Socatonchee flows, 
 
 Close by mj dear old home 
 It headlong onward rolls. 
 
 On its shady banks I lay 
 
 In other days gone by, 
 And heard the shrill note of the blue-jay. 
 
 And the hawk in the midsummer sky. 
 
 Oft times, I stemmed its rippling tide, 
 
 And on its bosom swam; 
 Like a swan I did glide 
 
 Down to old beaver dam. 
 
 There many a poplar tall 
 
 And lank sycamore — 
 Fit masts for some great admiral, 
 
 Grow along its reedy shores. 
 
 From Colonel Shackleford's mill, 
 
 I roamed its wilds for game, 
 Down to Ancient Kidd's still, 
 
 A distillery now dead to fame. 
 
 Here brood the wild beasts at night, 
 And the hunters of the swamp in the day; 
 
 For the last beam of civil light 
 From the place has faded away. 
 
 The moping owl's hideous voice 
 Gives tongues to the silent air; 
 
 And many owls hoot and rejoice 
 To meet in congress there. 
 
38 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 OLD AGE. 
 
 Getting old and childish — 
 Youths laugh, at me 
 Because I'm not so stylish 
 As I used to be. 
 
 Getting somewhat feeble, 
 Suffering with aching pains 
 
 That are mighty disagreeable 
 Just before it rains. 
 
 Back and limbs are aching, 
 Figure is stooping o'er; 
 
 Lusty prime is. fading, 
 Age is bending it low. 
 
 Getting so forgetful 
 
 Can't remember anything; 
 
 The mind is dull and fretful; 
 The tongue is slow to sing. 
 
 Leaning on a staff in hand; 
 
 Shaking with the palsy; 
 Twice a child and once a man, 
 
 Which is Nature's policy. 
 
 Busy smoking a pipe; 
 
 Sitting and dreaming alone; 
 This is ever old folk's delight 
 
 When life's prime is gone. 
 
 MOSES AND HIS SPOUSE. 
 
 The swarthy prince Jethro, 
 
 A meek and pious man — 
 He and the storied Zipporah 
 
 Were natives of Afric land. 
 
 He gave his daughter in wedlock 
 
 To Moses, an Israelite, 
 The shepherd of his bleating flock 
 
 On the plain and mountain height. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. . 39 
 
 Miriam and Aaron did despise 
 
 The Ethiopian spouse of their brother — 
 This caused a sedition to rise, 
 
 So God called the three out together. 
 
 God told them Moses was meek, 
 
 Above all men of the land; 
 And said it was godly for Moses to seek 
 
 And to wed the woman, an Ethiopian. 
 
 God sanctioned this marriage, 
 
 And gave unto it His hand 
 Then bade the peerles leader and sage 
 
 To march on to Canaan. 
 
 LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 Like a flower torn from its bed. 
 We are fast withering away; 
 
 Soon to all we shall be dead. 
 And lowered to rest in the clay. 
 
 We hope to leave a sweet perfume 
 
 Like some flowers gay, 
 To scent heaven's dressing room 
 
 And make it as fragrant as May. 
 
 Regardless to joy or remorse, 
 Ceaseless time cannot wait 
 
 For that impatient pale horse 
 Stands pawing at our gate. 
 
 We see gay scenes on the way 
 
 As our time goes sweeping by; 
 We fain would stop awhile to play, 
 If time would cease to fly. 
 
 But time and tide cannot wait, 
 For wretches like you and me; 
 
 But bears us on to the gate 
 Of vast eternity. 
 
40 LYRIC, DOMESTIC 
 
 LIFE IS A NARROW VALE. 
 
 Life is an intricate narrow vale 
 
 Between two vast eternities, 
 Though hard we strive, but yet we fail 
 
 To comprehend its mysteries. 
 
 Along the vale of life barriers rise 
 On the left and on the right — 
 
 Too awful for mortal eyes, 
 And inaccessible in height. 
 
 Narrow and short the vale of life extends, 
 And into wonderful eternity goes; 
 
 Like a tiny stream that ends. 
 And into the vast sea pours. 
 
 However anxious life may crave 
 
 To leap the headlong height 
 It cannot from eternity evade, 
 
 And visit the vale of light. \ 
 
 Wild eternity is on each side 
 
 Vastly above and below, 
 The wondrous somewhere of those who died 
 
 Countlesis ages ago. 
 
 A septillion of our years is but a day 
 By the chronometer of wondrous eternity; 
 
 And human longevity, the least to say. 
 Is naught in such a vast infinity. 
 
 THE WORLD ISN'T LIKE IT USED TO 
 
 BE. 
 
 The world isn't like it used to be 
 
 In ages long ago, 
 When men in social equality ' 
 
 Walked jovial to and fro. 
 
 Folks have made a powerful change 
 Prom their primitive pedigree; 
 
 Though, they are said to be the same, 
 But unlike them who used to be. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. 41 
 
 In that good olden time 
 
 When men used to be 
 All trustworthy and divine, 
 
 They had but one pedigree. 
 
 They dwelled close together 
 
 In love and fidelity, 
 And called each other brother, 
 
 In social charity. 
 
 Now, the time has become so strange. 
 
 From what it used to be; 
 And Ethnology seems to arrange 
 
 For each a different pedigree. 
 
 NATURE. 
 
 For you nature stands waiting 
 With exhaustless, lavish hoai'ds; 
 
 Then why not be contented, 
 And await her rich rewards. 
 
 It is charged with many blessings 
 
 For the rich and the poor; 
 And in its unknown airy flight. 
 
 It will stoop at every door. 
 
 Let nature have its destined course. 
 And you pursue its unerring way; 
 
 For beyond the sense of skilful art, 
 It wields a mighty sway. 
 
 Nature is a God-like friend, 
 
 And in life it ever abides; 
 It matters not how frail the physique, 
 
 Still in nature it confides. 
 
 It surpasses all man's cunning sense. 
 And works in harmonj divine; 
 
 It fills and embellishes immensity, 
 And rolls on yet sublime. 
 
42 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 It permeates the universe; 
 
 It has no limit or bounds; 
 It fills all measure and space 
 
 Where form and order are found. 
 
 THE GREAT SOON DIE. 
 
 Great geniuses soon die 
 
 And we don't know why is it 
 
 That men of common sense live longer 
 Than men of pre-eminent wit. 
 
 The life of the wise is short, 
 But that of a crank Is long; 
 
 The saying is now a proverb, 
 And is made a vulgar song. 
 
 I would rather be wise and do good. 
 
 And live but a short time; 
 Than to live a thousand years 
 
 And leave no good behind. 
 
 The man who speaks the longest 
 
 Isn't always the man who tells you most; 
 Neither can you tell the quality of a thing 
 
 Simply by its cost. 
 
 LAZY. 
 
 Lazy, Lord have mercy! 
 
 Too lazy to move your feet; 
 Ragged, hungry and dirty, 
 
 Still you're trying to beat. 
 
 So lazy, Lordy! Lordy! 
 
 You don't know what to do; 
 Naked and bare foot, 
 
 Hard up and down, too. 
 
 Standing on the corner 
 
 Or shuffling along the street; 
 Not a nickle in your pocket 
 
 To buy something to eat. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. . 43 
 
 Lazy, Lord have mercy! 
 
 Lazy without shame ; 
 Lagging around dram shops, 
 
 Waiting for a game. 
 
 HAPPY JACK. 
 
 Whistling a merry tune, 
 
 With a heart light as the breeze 
 In the genial month of June 
 
 When the wind sighs low in the trees. 
 
 If you want to hear, anon. 
 Some whistling from happy Jack, 
 
 Who is the only genuine eon 
 Of old man whistling Mack. 
 
 Just go afield in the day; 
 
 You need not make one whack — 
 But listen to the whistling lay 
 
 Of the buffoon, happy Jack. 
 
 Come all ye sluggish boys, 
 
 And each one bring a sack 
 To hold the lot of vulgar noise 
 
 Which is made by happy Jack. 
 
 He whistles and sings all the time , 
 
 More noisy than a jay; 
 This bespeaks a vacant mind 
 
 At any rate or way. 
 
 He is rude, loud and noisy 
 
 Wherever he moves about; 
 Stupid and drowsy. 
 
 Low-down and all out. 
 
 A BIG RAG. 
 
 A big rag was in town 
 
 On last Saturday night; 
 All the coons had come down 
 To frolic, dance and fight. 
 
44 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 Skunks and coons of all kind 
 Showed their faces there; 
 
 And lady coons dressed up fine, 
 With long artificial hair. 
 
 Some brought a fiddle and bow. 
 And bottles of cognac and wine; 
 
 One tuned the old banjo, 
 
 And picked: "That Girl is Mine.'* 
 
 Some coons did cut the highland fling. 
 Merely to make a show ; 
 
 Others cut the pigeon wing. 
 High up off the floor . 
 
 Old coons and young coons. 
 Let me tell you, were there; 
 
 And the chieftian of all coons, 
 Like a great big grizzly bear. 
 
 BIG MAN HAM. 
 
 Yon comes big man Ham, 
 
 Riding in a fine gig; 
 Right by the side of Uncle Sam, 
 
 Who makes him feel so big. 
 
 He drives right straight along. 
 
 And never looks aside; 
 He knows his physique is strong. 
 
 And is full of manly pride. 
 
 He sits like an immortal king. 
 
 Right by Uncle Sam's side; 
 It matters not what aversions bring, 
 
 They jovially onward ride. 
 
 He eyes the aversion of the land, 
 
 As he rides proudly along; 
 Uncle Sam is at his right hand, 
 
 To make it powerful and strong. 
 
 What soldierly bearing his physique shows 
 From head to the very feet, 
 
 And in hi® gig, like a Trojan he goes. 
 Trotting down the street. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 45 
 
 He stands right at Uncle Sam's side, 
 
 In the moments of great calamity; 
 And this is enough to make him ride, 
 
 Big in the land of liberty. 
 
 THE CIVIL WAR OF 1861. 
 
 In years ago, a cry was made, 
 
 It echoed the world around; 
 And men put aside the plow and spade, 
 
 To engage in a war renowned. 
 
 When civil secession was proclaimed, 
 At once a bloody rebellion began; 
 
 And swept like an angry flame, 
 O'er a quiet and plenteous land. 
 
 Men sallied into the ranks of war. 
 Each, his virtuous cause to sustain; 
 
 And the fervid entreaties of nations from afar 
 Couldn't invite them to refrain. 
 
 This fraternal war shall ever be 
 
 Unparalleled in storied lines; 
 And distant ages shall see 
 
 Its causes and designs. 
 
 Deep compassion will ever move 
 
 And manly hearts will feel, 
 To think 'twas the country's love 
 
 That drove them to the battle field. 
 
 No bloodier battles ever were fought, 
 
 No heroes ever more brave, 
 No sacred spot was ever bought 
 
 ^lore precious than each grave. 
 
 ODE TO THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER. 
 
 Roll on, thou niighty river, 
 
 The American wonderful Nile; 
 Flow along thy reedy shores, 
 
 To the ocean wide and wild. 
 
46 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 Oft times have I ridden thee 
 
 In placid peace and rest; 
 Borne! along by thy flood tide, 
 
 In the arms of happiness. 
 
 Thou mighty sire of waters, roll on! 
 
 Only nature can curb thy flow. 
 And hold thee with its giant hands 
 
 Until time is no more. 
 
 Regardless to wreck and time, 
 
 That sweeps o'er the breast of sorrow; 
 Thou rolleth on yet today, 
 
 And changeth not tomorrow. 
 
 Roll on, great Father of Water®, 
 
 By cities on thy shore, 
 And stop not to welcome them; 
 
 But steady onward flow. 
 
 When wintry deep snows dissolve 
 
 On the Northern mountains and plain; 
 
 Thou roll the languid burden on 
 Headlong, gurgling to the main. 
 
 As thou floweth, gathering volume 
 From branches on each side, 
 
 Until at last thou spreadeth out, 
 A sea, not deep, but wide. 
 
 Often thou delugeth thy banks, 
 And depopulates the fields below; 
 
 Then all the frantic beasts of thy swamp 
 At once to the highland soar. 
 
 TEXAS ALAMO. 
 
 When honor comes to crown 
 
 Martial deeds here below; 
 It will rear its throne on the spot of ground, 
 
 The site of the Alamo. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. 47 
 
 Few was the number of the brave 
 
 Who guarded the Alamo, 
 And fought and died to save 
 
 The fort from a Mexican foe. 
 
 As long as the river, San Antonio, 
 
 Rolls on to the mighty sea; 
 It will bear the story of the Alamo, 
 
 The Texas Thermopylae. 
 
 A name implying baptism of blood. 
 To the fortress was given long ago; 
 
 And it still renders sacred the wild flood 
 Of the River, San Antonio. 
 
 In obedience they fought and died 
 
 In defense of the Alamo; 
 And as the battle did ebb and tide , 
 
 The ground was crimsoned with gore. 
 
 Of the one hundred and eight-one 
 Who vied with the formidable foe, 
 
 And of them was left none 
 Alive in the Alamo. 
 
 The hot gate had its messenger of death, 
 
 But the Alamo had none; 
 For not one alive was left 
 
 Of the one hundred and eighty-one. 
 
 Write this garrison in a storied line 
 Deep in the volume of fame; 
 
 So that posterity in the orbit of time 
 Will know how it was slain. 
 
 Write ancient chivalry in ink divine, 
 Until the pages of annals glow; 
 
 But sing lye bards, in seraphic rhyme 
 Of this garrison of the Alamo. 
 
 Revolutionary wars may rise 
 
 And sweep the land o'er; 
 But pity, with tearful eyes, 
 
 Shall weep o'er the Alamo. 
 
48 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 HARDSHIP AND GRIEF. 
 
 If your life is toil and grief. 
 
 Do not sob and sigh; 
 You can make your woes brief, 
 If you will but try. 
 
 However intricate is the way 
 
 Leading o'er mountains high; 
 Its intricacy vanishes away 
 Before the phrase: *'to try." 
 
 Mighty deeds have been wrought 
 By the living o'er the dead and dying; 
 y And mighty battles have been fought 
 By men simply trying. 
 
 All ingenius arts came 
 
 From minds inspiring, 
 And leaped out from men's brain 
 By them patiently trying. 
 
 Toil on up the mountain pass, 
 
 Ever seeking and pi-ying; 
 Great may be the result at last, 
 
 By your patient trying. 
 
 1912. 
 
 This is the year for fighting, 
 It's nineteen hundred and twelve; 
 
 And news men are writing 
 Trying to enrich themselves. 
 
 Editorials are flying 
 
 Red-hot everywhere; 
 News boys are crying, 
 Taft, Wilson and Teddy-bear. 
 
 PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 Publications false and vain 
 
 Ride unbridled through the air; 
 To Infatuate men of little brain, 
 And to weaken their political care. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 49 
 
 All this is done to infatuate 
 
 The minds of sober men, 
 And in political debate 
 
 Show how his party will win. 
 
 They wave the mighty lash 
 
 O'er the head of so many BMiles; 
 And headlong, they dash 
 
 Like so many rustic fools. 
 
 CAMPAIGN SONG OP 1912. 
 
 Get your knapsack 
 
 And shoulder your gun. 
 Place your budget on your >ack 
 
 And begin to run. 
 
 Yonder comes Roosevelt, 
 
 Run! boys, run! 
 No heavier tread was ever felt 
 
 Beneath the shining sun. 
 
 Lo! the peerless patriotic God, 
 Lo! the plumes on his head; 
 
 Lo! how they dance and nod, 
 Adjusted to his royal tread. 
 
 Hurry! boys, and fall in line 
 
 With this noble hero, 
 Who waved our flag in a tsrange climt 
 
 In the face of a dusky foe. 
 
 There's no other man 
 
 Who stands so high; 
 Throughout this broad lan^. 
 
 Beneath the public's eye. 
 
 In tender mercy he looks down 
 When the poor and needy cry. 
 
 And scatters living bread around 
 When he's passing by. 
 
 Supreme power was his crown 
 Which he deigned to exercise; 
 
 And visited many a southern town. 
 That others did despise. 
 
50 LYRIC, DOMESTIC 
 
 This great and good man appeals to all 
 In great Jehovah's name, 
 
 To vote for him in the fall 
 From California to Maine. 
 
 Around the Colonel in days past, 
 We rallied frank and hold; 
 
 And when it comes our ballots to cast, 
 We'll vote for him, heart and soul. 
 
 Come all you hardy, jolly hoys, 
 * The Colonel is calling you; 
 
 Cast aside your trivial joys, 
 And hear him conqueror through. 
 
 POLITICAL CAMPAIGN. 
 
 Put on your peg-leg breeches, 
 
 And your great big coat; 
 Go and hear the speeches, 
 
 So you'll know which way to vote. 
 
 Democrats and Republicans speak 
 
 On the issues of today; 
 You had better go out right now. 
 
 And hear what they have to say. 
 
 Each one has an axe to grind. 
 And he wants you to turn the stone; 
 
 But if he is elected 
 You '^ come before him unknown. 
 
 After he gets in office, 
 
 And grown big bellied as a trog; 
 He'll never notice you. 
 
 No more than if you were a dog. 
 
 Little he'll care for a dog, 
 And a great deal less for you; 
 
 But go, and hear him speak 
 Upon today's issue. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. 51 
 
 THE HUSBANDMAN. 
 
 I like a man with liorny hands 
 And with cheeks sun-burnt brown, 
 
 One who never sits and stands 
 Idle in any town. 
 
 I like a man with ready hands, 
 
 One always willing to do 
 Just merely all the good he can, 
 
 With a heart manly and true. 
 
 . I don't like a man who lays around', 
 And strolls from place to place; 
 But I like one who gets right down. 
 And looks labor square in the face. 
 
 The man who follows the plow, 
 
 And wields the axe and hoe 
 Complies to the law in Eden's^ bower. 
 
 Given long time ago. 
 
 With the good old hoe and plow. 
 Cultivate the sod; 
 For man must live by the sweat of his brow, 
 Was so ordained by God. 
 
 Manual labor is king, 
 
 The source of human welfare; 
 From it many blessings spring, 
 
 And flow along everywhere. 
 
 Drive your team afield, 
 
 You hero with cheeks o^ tan; 
 And with ardent zeal, 
 
 Just do all you can. 
 
 THE SON OF MAN. 
 
 The saddest song I ever heard 
 'Twas about the son of man. 
 
 The light and the word 
 Of the benighted land. 
 
52 LYRIC, DOMESTIC 
 
 A spirit in human form. 
 
 Full of mercy and love 
 Came down his wonders to perform, 
 
 A spirit, heavenly dove. 
 
 Remote realms had heen searched around 
 And no one found worthy there; 
 
 Then redeeming love drove him down. 
 To a work in deep despair. 
 
 A world long lost in rayless gloom, 
 A world vexatious and base; 
 
 Destruction was the final doom 
 To it and the human race. 
 
 A world without a way, 
 
 All death and sin bound; 
 Until that glorious day 
 
 When a worthy lamb was found. 
 
 For many gloomy irksome years, 
 Ere the dawn of conquering grace, 
 
 Pity shedded many tearsi 
 For Adam's dying race. 
 
 For the crime that man had done, 
 
 H© intercession made; 
 For grace to man was unknown. 
 
 Who far away had strayed. 
 
 He stood on the mid throne, 
 As a lamb that had been slain; 
 
 The only worthy one, 
 
 And from whom David came. 
 
 ALWAYS THINK. 
 
 Always think before you speak, 
 
 It's a prudent way; 
 Thusv you may remember well 
 
 What you do or say. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. 53 
 
 Think deeply, think thrice, 
 
 Ete you go forth to say; 
 For to you it may be a blessing 
 
 Somehow, on some day. 
 
 Thinking always precedes expression 
 
 "When prudence is standing by; 
 And reason pictures the result 
 
 Before the inward eye. 
 
 ROBERT E. LEE. 
 
 O, if I had the gift of song, 
 
 And my rude tongue had been taught to sing; 
 I fain would chant a noble song, 
 
 That would through endless ages ring. 
 
 I would sing of that intrepid soldier, 
 The greatest of his day and time; 
 
 And still there's no braver 
 In this nor any other clime. 
 
 I would sing of that noble hero, 
 
 And let the world hate my lay; 
 My chorus would be generalissimo 
 
 Of the gallant gray. 
 
 Let years their shifting scenes bring 
 
 In the noble land of the free, 
 Still I would ever sing 
 
 Of General Robert B. Lee. 
 
 I'd sing of this martial personage, 
 The captain of the gallant gi-ay; 
 
 Though sectional spirit might rave and rage , 
 To black-guard and denounce my lay. 
 
 I would sing unto him a worthy praise, 
 Such as no mortal tongue sings; 
 
 Then, aloft myself I would raise 
 And soar away on eagle's wings. 
 
 Upon my harp I fain would play 
 
 And sing in seraphic rhyme, 
 Of this gallant captain of the gray 
 
 In that tragic time. 
 
54 LYRIC, DOMESTIC 
 
 MY MOTHER'S VOICE. 
 
 A precious tender voice I hear 
 
 Ever inviting me home; 
 And that voice to me is dear, 
 
 It matter® not where I roam. 
 
 'Tis my sweet mother's voice 
 
 That rings in my soul; 
 And it makes my sad heart rejoice, 
 
 And melt away in gold. 
 
 How sweet my mother's voice sounds, 
 
 Yet in my memory's ears; 
 It soothes my sorrows, heals my wounds 
 
 And stops my flowing tears. 
 
 What grief consoling sounds 
 Come from mother's breast' 
 
 They are balms to bleeding wounds 
 And to the weary rest. 
 
 My mother's voice is a balm 
 To all my pains and grief; 
 
 It assuages like a charm 
 And gives me quick relief. 
 
 It dispels sorrow from my breast. 
 
 And tells me not to fear; 
 It lulls my aching feelings to rest. 
 
 And rouses up tender care. 
 
 My fond mother's voice oft* times, 
 Rings within me like a golden bell; 
 
 And memory loves to hear its chimes, 
 Whoae sounds it loves so well. 
 
 DO NOT KICK. 
 
 If your back isn't sore, why, then don't flinch 
 And never kick before you are spurred; 
 
 But stand still old pony, 
 And be curried. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. ^ 55 
 
 Cast a stone into a gang of dogs 
 
 Where there's not a growl; 
 But the dog that the stone pelts 
 
 You must know, will surely howl. 
 
 Thus, we know what dog is struck, 
 
 From his hideous cries; 
 And the lame, wounded cur 
 
 Stands whining before our eyes. 
 
 So it is when the truth is spoken, 
 
 Some folks rejoice and shout; 
 But the one whom the truth condemns, 
 
 Is generally the first to pout. 
 
 It's no use to get mad at the truth. 
 
 And puff up and pout; 
 For in life's uneven way 
 
 Judge Time will find you out. 
 
 THERE'S DUTY FOR EVERY ONE, 
 
 There's duty for every one, 
 
 A little something to do; 
 To set in order everything, 
 
 To make the world bright and new. 
 
 If you cannot do one good deed. 
 
 You may do another. 
 In the way of sympathizing 
 
 With a needy brother. 
 
 There is ever work to do, 
 
 A work for everyone; 
 Whether he is peasant low. 
 
 Or king upon a throne. 
 
 The harvest is ripe and yellow, 
 It bends and nods in the breeze; 
 
 Then why not go forth 
 And gather its golden sheaves? 
 
 The yellow harvest is waiting. 
 And the Master is calling you; 
 
 Who will go and work today 
 For the laborers are but few? 
 
56 LYEic, Domestic 
 
 CEASELESS TIME. 
 
 Stop! O Time and tell me why 
 Thou art flying on so fast? 
 
 Ever swiftly moving hy, 
 And conquering as you pass. 
 
 Stop and wait a little while, 
 
 Here are riches in gold; 
 Do as you did at Gideon 
 
 In that sacred day of old. 
 
 Curb your rushing wings, 
 Don't hear mortals on so fast; 
 
 But grant them an ample chance 
 To he saved at last. 
 
 Lo! how mortals are wafted away 
 
 To some dolorous shore; 
 And home on your vast wings 
 
 To come back here no more. 
 
 Lo! the countless souls, O Time! 
 
 You have borne away; 
 And still boastful, you onward fly 
 
 With not a word to say. 
 
 Stoop from your stupendous career, 
 
 O Ceaseless, cruel Time! 
 And stop to hear we suppliants 
 
 In every land and clime. 
 
 relentless, impartial Time! 
 
 Whose breast knows no sorrow; 
 Why do you waft me from the bright today 
 
 Into the dark tomorrow? 
 
 THE MIND. 
 
 The mind is like the restless sea, 
 Which the waters do not fill; 
 
 But ever busy as it can be 
 And never once i» still. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. 57 
 
 When sleep seals the wakeful eyes, 
 
 The changeful mind stops still; 
 And deep into unconsciousness 
 
 Broods the voluntary will. 
 
 Sleep gives rest to the busy mind, 
 
 And deigns it power to dream; 
 So in the land of nod 
 
 We perceive things good or mean. 
 
 In sleep, the mind's involuntary, 
 
 And has no restrain; 
 Oft times it wafts me away 
 
 And brings me back again. 
 
 In the realm of visions the body pursues 
 
 Wherever the mind soars; 
 But how this mystery is done 
 
 No living mortal knows. 
 
 Visionary dreams rent me in twain, 
 
 And bear one part far away; 
 Then on electric wings of wakefulness 
 
 Bring me back ere the peep of day. 
 
 MONODY TO DR. S. M. TAYLOR. 
 
 Yon sun was fast declining, 
 
 To the coastal mountains of the West; 
 And he descried a revered sire dying. 
 
 Or hailing at the portal of rest. 
 
 For awhile the sun seemed to stop 
 
 And put on a raiment of red. 
 Then on he rolled behind the mountain top, 
 
 To weep sadly for the pious dead. 
 
 Ere he dipped his glowing head 
 
 Beneath the billows of the sea. 
 He kissed the lips of the hallowed dead, 
 
 And bade the soul where to flee. 
 
58 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 The wondrous milky way so vast, 
 
 That at night belts the sky, 
 Saluted the soul as it passed 
 
 On its way to God on high. 
 
 On life's highway he laid down 
 
 And took his burden as a pillow for his headj 
 Then died like a martyr without a frown 
 
 At leaving the living for the dead. 
 
 Lo! with fortitude and patience he ran his rac€; 
 
 Beneath his country's glowing eyes; 
 And fast in virtue's strong embrace, 
 
 And in veneration he died. 
 
 Now the pious gentleman and medicine is dead. 
 And left an angel spouse to weep; 
 
 May the world around her reverence spread. 
 To lull her grief to sleep. 
 
 His dear spouse, in grief and pain 
 
 Shall drag in widowhood on through life; 
 
 And in sad tears, like drops of rain. 
 Shall remain his zealous wife. 
 
 His household dear, with tearful eyes, 
 
 And vast number of friends too, 
 Sob deep in lamenting cries. 
 
 And shout "What shall we do?" 
 
 He was born all mellow sunshine. 
 
 All diamond dust and gold; 
 And a thoroughbred from the Aryan line, 
 The storied patrician of old. 
 
 No finer blood through veins ever ran, 
 
 No heart more kind and true; 
 Than the blood and heart of the gentleman, . 
 
 Of whom I sing to you. 
 
 Beneath a wildernes® of sweet flowers, 
 Then lay the revered doctor down 
 
 Where some oak majestic towers, 
 And spreads its shade around. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. . 59 
 
 There at his humble head please place 
 
 A costly slab of living stone; 
 So memory, failing, cannot misplace, 
 
 His sepulchre when we are gone. 
 
 He shall never be forgot 
 
 While affection lives and weeps; 
 And piety can point to the sacred spot 
 
 Where he in silence sleeps. 
 
 Oh! in many handfuls bring, 
 
 Gay flowers of sweet perfume; 
 In the sacred time of spring 
 
 To scatter o'er his tomb. 
 
 In placid peace O let him sleep, 
 
 Until that awful day 
 When sad mourners shall cease to weep. 
 
 And sorrows shall vanish away. 
 
 Then from the tomb, O let him rise. 
 
 And in supernal radiance shine; 
 When God shall appear on a cloud in the skies, 
 
 And the world is rendered refined. 
 
 THE PROGRESSIVE PARTY. 
 
 The Progressive party has a good name. 
 
 And styles itself new; 
 Prom the Republican party it came, 
 
 Which is stamped to be true. 
 
 Out from a political mass. 
 
 This recent faction grew; 
 Whose body is iron and brass, 
 
 With clay mingled too. 
 
 'Tis but a fractured portion 
 
 Torn loose from a zealous mass; 
 And now rising into existence. 
 
 Rampant and fast. 
 
60 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Territorial expansion and human progression 
 
 This new faction outlines; 
 And says that the common welfare 
 
 Is its prayerful designs. 
 
 Its ringleader is brainy, 
 
 At least, so said to be; 
 Here he is held in high esteem, 
 
 And far away across the sea. 
 
 It is straining every nerve 
 
 And there's but little doubt, 
 Of it rising rampant into powfer, 
 
 Driving all others out. 
 
 The adherents of such an irresolute mass' 
 That has triumphed for so many years, 
 
 Split asunder in nineteen hundred and twelve, 
 And left its par'>lemonium in tears. 
 
 THE WOUNDED DOVE. 
 
 A dove with pinions drooped down, 
 
 Stopped at my cot to rest; 
 It had a deep and ghastly wound, 
 
 In its little breast. 
 
 Drooped, it sat on my portico, 
 
 And half frightened looked at me; 
 
 Not once did it try to go. 
 Or from my hovel flee. 
 
 It was a hallowed modest dove, 
 Meekest bird of the feathery host; 
 
 It's an image of genuine love, 
 And the Holy Ghost. 
 
 Perchance, the dove had been shot 
 
 In its heaving breast; 
 And this is why it came to my cot, 
 
 Seeking ease and rest. 
 
 The harmless creature of the field and wood, 
 
 A bird generous and meek; 
 In my door came and stood, 
 
 Dispirited, wounded and weak. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. . 61 
 
 O'er many distant hills and woods 
 
 Perchance, this bird had soared: 
 And feasted wild in the fields of grain, 
 
 Which in sunlight glowed. 
 
 How often have I marked its flight, 
 
 Straight through the ethereal air; 
 Until its form died out of sight, 
 
 And left my vision bare. 
 
 Oft times have I heard, 
 
 In the young days of spring; 
 The sad voice of this cooing bird, 
 
 Which moans but cannot sing. 
 
 Sorrowful bird of the solitude, 
 
 The cooing turtle dove; 
 Why do you haunt where scenes are rude 
 
 Like one forlorn in love? 
 
 AT EACH THROB OF THE HEART. 
 
 At each throb of the heart 
 
 The number of days are less, 
 Until life's burning taper fades 
 
 And forsakes the heaving breast. 
 
 Every moment that comes and goes 
 
 In gloom or sunshine, 
 Finds us all a little further 
 
 Down the stream of Time. 
 
 Every momemnt, every hour 
 
 That in life comes; 
 Still bear the soul nearer / 
 
 To its eternal home. 
 
 Dimmer burns the taper of life 
 
 As each moment flies, 
 And so its lustre fainter grows 
 
 Till it finally expires. 
 
 Deep in an unconscious state 
 
 The once groveling body now lay. 
 
 Deprived of a magnanimous soul 
 
 And debarred from the light of day. 
 
62 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 FORTY YEARS AGO. 
 
 The premises to me looked strange, 
 
 Not an object did I know; 
 And the house looked not the same 
 
 That it was forty jears ago. 
 
 Its roof was warped and caving In, 
 Through its rooms jackals prowl; 
 
 And at night it's a pleasant inn 
 For the bat and moping owl. 
 
 The chimney has fallen down. 
 
 The building is leaning o'er; 
 And dissimilar look things around 
 
 From what they were forty years ago. 
 
 The lattice work of the spiders hang, 
 
 Veiling the ceiling above; 
 And the cricket there alone sang 
 
 Its dubious note of love. 
 
 A wonderful change had taken place, 
 
 And it astounded me so; 
 No likeness could I find or trace, 
 
 Which was there forty years ago. 
 
 Where the orchard used to be 
 And russet mellow apples grew. 
 
 But now there is not an apple tree 
 Standing in the hazy view. 
 
 The master and mistress are dead and gone, 
 
 Their issues are far away; 
 The house is delapidated and forlorn, 
 
 Fast tottering in decay. 
 
 Here at night in the days of old. 
 The festal bowl went round; 
 
 And many a stranger wet and cold, 
 A pleasant lodging found. 
 
 Here the good man and his guest 
 
 Talked the night away; 
 And did not think of the hour of rest. 
 
 Again until it was day: 
 
AND Sacred Poems. . 63 
 
 Here the traveler talked of Bull Run, 
 
 And many a bloody fray; 
 Then showed just how each battle was won. 
 
 By the gallant blue or gray. 
 
 Many war tales were told 
 
 Of feats heroic and gory; 
 And the pious sire and household 
 
 Heard each tragic story. 
 
 While slow hours did come and go, 
 
 And darkness mantled the deep; 
 The traveler talked till morning's glow 
 
 Woke the world up from sleep. 
 
 Breakfast there was served up, 
 
 The viands were rich as gold; 
 Nice coffee to fill the stranger's cup. 
 
 And nice porridge to fill his bowl. 
 
 ALEX AND JIM. 
 
 Of noble men let poets sing 
 
 In loud and cheering hymn — 
 As I'm too feeble to chant like them, 
 
 I'll sing of poor Alex and Jim. • 
 
 These were two sainted souls, 
 
 Who never did seem to grieve; 
 Because they were not burdened with cares, 
 
 They seemed to live at ease. 
 
 Everybody call them idiots, 
 
 So it's a vulgar whim; 
 But if there's any souls I love, 
 
 It is poor Alex and Jim. 
 
 They are all serene sympathy, 
 
 All harmless as a dove; 
 And desire to live ever in touch, 
 
 With mankind whom they love. 
 
 Whenever you see these simple souls, 
 
 Although they may look grim; 
 There you'll find a clean heart, 
 
 In the l)osom of Alex and Jim. 
 
64 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 They are not heirs of fortune and fame 
 
 And adherents of any faith; 
 Still perchance God in the end, 
 
 Will take them in His loving embrace. 
 
 When their life's race shall have heen run. 
 
 Beneath God's vigilant eyes; 
 Poor Alex and Jim will go hence. 
 
 To a home beyond the skies. 
 
 They are poor, ragged and destitute. 
 Please grant them their share of bread; 
 
 For by and by poor Alex and Jim 
 Will be numbered with the dead. 
 
 IDA. 
 
 Ida has got on her riggins, 
 All except her red shawl; 
 
 And a white head rag she wears, 
 When she goes on a call. 
 
 She sticks a pipe in her mouth, 
 
 And snuff in her lips; 
 She kimboes her arms. 
 
 With her hands on her hips. 
 
 I know she is going a visiting, 
 
 For I can surely tell; 
 As I know a thing or two, 
 
 Simply by their emell. 
 
 I bet you she's going a visiting, 
 To that what do you say? 
 
 To see her visiting, 'tisn't strange, 
 For she does this every day. 
 
 She likes to make frequent calls. 
 More so than to stay at home; 
 
 And with matronal sacred care. 
 Prepare for days to come. 
 
 She's out and gone in a minute, 
 And you know not where; 
 
 For she's slick as a greasy pig. 
 Without a bit of hair. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. .65 
 
 She has many a false chum, 
 Both great and small; 
 
 And I guess it's the reason why- 
 She makes these frequent calls. 
 
 'Tis just to go a visiting 
 
 In a very appropriate time; 
 Otherwise, it will engender. 
 
 The slimy germ of crime. 
 
 Short visits made seldom, 
 
 iMakes hearty friendship long; 
 But she thought often calls 
 
 Would render goodwill strong. 
 
 So she haunts every shanty in town 
 
 Where there is a tattling crowd, 
 Unclean and full of gossips, 
 
 Cordial wine for the proud. 
 
 MARRYING. 
 
 Marrying is but a leap in the dark, 
 What'll be the result, we don*t know, 
 
 Whether it will be all joyous love. 
 Or all vexation and woe. 
 
 When we take a leap in the dark. 
 We cannot see nor can we tell 
 
 What we are lighting down upon. 
 In any ambitious spell. 
 
 So 'tis with many who marry, 
 Let them be well breds or rakes:; 
 
 In that solemn conjugal hour. 
 Make a woeful sad mistake. 
 
 'Tis true, we do not know, 
 
 But are led by spiritual belief. 
 
 Which has often brought about 
 Much pain and endless grief. 
 
 When the nuptial sun dawns 
 The dense darknes passes away; 
 
 Only then individuals know. 
 And see each other now-a-day. 
 
66 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Oftimes there's virtue in marrying, 
 Sometimes there's shame and woe 
 
 That slumber and hide in the soul. 
 So that we do not know. 
 
 To marry is a divine act. 
 
 At least it is said to be; 
 But the grief It sometimes engenders, 
 
 I hope angels do not see. 
 
 With our much learning itself, 
 And all we can scrape and rake; 
 
 Still whenever we go to marry , 
 We are liable to make a mistake. 
 
 'Tis a leap in the dark across a chasm 
 To gain some delightful shore; 
 
 And should we erring miss. 
 We sink to the hell below. 
 
 It was designed for human welfare, 
 And not for grief and shame; 
 
 So, through a mistake of the parties 
 This most sacred union is vain. 
 
 A FAINT AND LONELY RAY. 
 
 Through the hazy gloom I see 
 
 A faint and lonely ray, 
 That gives life and joy to me 
 
 Of some coming sweet day. 
 
 In bitter griefs darkest night 
 
 I grope my way to find; 
 Until I see that ray of light 
 
 Piercing through the gloom of time. 
 
 Through the dense midnight shade 
 Hope sends a faint ray to me, 
 
 And bids me continue to w^de 
 Through life's dark stormy sea. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 67 
 
 No other guide can I find. 
 
 Except this little light, 
 To bouy up my sad mind 
 
 And lead me on aright. 
 
 I see it gleaming far away 
 
 Across the dark rolling tide; 
 'Tis but hope's lonely ray, 
 
 My staff and my guide. 
 
 It's the ray of hope that animates, 
 
 And urges me straight on. 
 Up to beatitudes' pearly gate 
 
 And burning jasper throne. 
 
 As everything fades before my sight. 
 Clouds muffle up the stars and moon; 
 
 Hope sends her flickering light 
 To dispel the horrid gloom. 
 
 WAR IN EUROPE. 
 
 Beyond the sea nations are fighting. 
 
 Like mad tigers over a prey; 
 And tacticians are dictating and writing 
 
 The details of the bloody fray. 
 
 Europe is in a state of convulsion, 
 
 From the mountains to the sea; 
 And the national great commotion 
 
 Reaches the land of the free. 
 
 Against a nation, nations are warring 
 
 For martial supremacy and fame; 
 And the din of its awful jarring 
 
 Is heard from the Ural to the Seine. 
 
 The day of the great Napoleon seems 
 
 To dawn in the east again; 
 And spread its red and fiery beams 
 
 From Russia down to Spain. 
 
 The belligerent spirit of long ago. 
 
 Of nations powerful in arms; 
 Now seems to have come once' more 
 
 With fierce and dread alarm. 
 
68 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 There is a great confederation 
 Of boasted European powers; 
 
 Who are fighting a lonely nation, 
 Who is just as powerful as ours. 
 
 IT'S NO USE TO WORRY. 
 
 It's no use to worry, 
 
 Let unerring conscience guide; 
 Wait for the wagon, 
 
 And we'll all take a ride. 
 
 Don't get in a hurry, 
 
 And at others fret and chide; 
 But wait for the wagon, 
 
 And we'll all take a ride. 
 
 In a state of scandal 
 
 Clothed in vain pride; 
 But wait for the wagon. 
 
 And we'll all take a ride. 
 
 It matters not where you are, 
 Or where you may abide; 
 
 You must wait for the wagon 
 And we'll all take a ride. 
 
 Though you've hosom friends. 
 Along the way you glide; 
 
 But you must wait for the wagon 
 And we'll all take a ride. 
 
 Notwithstanding your great riches, 
 And your vivid senses beside; 
 
 You must wait for the wagon 
 And we'll all take a ride. 
 
 THE U. S. FLAG. 
 
 Lo! the red, white and blue 
 That dances in yon sikies; 
 
 'Tis but a sign of what is true 
 With all its rich dyes. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. 69 
 
 Proudly it waves above / 
 
 The land and the sea; 
 And is a token of national love, 
 
 For the country of the free. 
 
 It is the gorgeous ensign 
 
 Of a nation proud and free; 
 And lordly it waves sublime 
 
 As the emblem of liberty. ' 
 
 See how it gambols in the gale 
 
 And unfurls itself on high? 
 The nation itself would weep and wail 
 
 To view it no more in the sky. 
 
 AUTUMN SCENE. 
 
 Mellow are the fields of grain 
 And yellow as the golden sun; 
 
 The harvesting time is here, 
 And the market is now begun. 
 
 Cotton fields are wide and white 
 
 All shining in the sun; 
 While everything around, 
 
 Looks seared, dead and dun. 
 
 Broad scenes of cotton, king 
 
 All just white as snow; 
 Lay waiting for gleaners. 
 
 As through the South we go. 
 
 Lo! our great king cotton. 
 
 The chief staple of Dixie land; 
 
 Most of it is sent away 
 To the shops of England. 
 
 Cotton fields are white and waiting, 
 
 For the gleaners' hand; 
 As wealthy hidden treasures 
 
 To be disclosed to man. 
 
70 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 IT'S NO USE TO PICK AND CHOOSE. 
 
 It's no use to pick and choose. 
 
 But just shut your eyes and grab; 
 
 For man now is all in booze, 
 And woman is playing queen mab. 
 
 Indeed, the old is very bad, 
 But the young is really worse; 
 
 And the devil is so glad 
 His heart is about to burst. 
 
 We don't know whom to trust 
 Any further than we can see; 
 
 For the world is full of wicked lust, 
 And fickle as it can be. 
 
 Since folks now are much alike. 
 And but few we really know; 
 
 We don't know whom to strike, 
 Nor which way we should go. 
 
 Why should we look and pry 
 
 With reason as a guide? 
 We often fail to descry 
 
 The hell that moves inside. 
 
 Woman is but a decoy duck, 
 
 And man is but the same; 
 So by good or bad luck. 
 
 We hit or miss our aim. 
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 As the glowing rays of departed day, 
 Still tinted the hilly West, 
 
 A sweet, fair maiden sat by the way 
 To meditate and to rest. 
 
 Pensively she sat alone 
 
 Under a magnolia tree; 
 And breathing not a sad groan. 
 
 She shyly looked at me. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. 71 
 
 The departing day's reflecting beams, 
 
 In the face of the maiden shone; 
 And she seemed as one lost in dreams, 
 
 And crazed with love forlorn. 
 
 Everything around was smiling 
 
 In the evening cool and still; 
 And her charms were not beguiling 
 
 To the gilted Western hills. 
 
 On an humble gate stone, 
 
 Sat this sweet young miss; 
 As an heiress of a jasper throne, 
 
 Somewhere in the realms of bliss 
 
 She was sweet and fair a® a lilly, 
 
 And modest as a turtle dove; 
 She dwelled with her sister, Willie, 
 
 In devout care and love. 
 
 As the reddend glow of the sunken gim 
 
 F^ded on the Western sky; 
 Everything around looked seared and dun 
 
 To the lovely maiden's eye. 
 
 The rosy twilight went down 
 
 To give space to the dusky shade; 
 
 And vesper, with her lucid crown. 
 Cheered the heart of the lonely maid. 
 
 A GREAT PANIC. 
 
 A great panic is now on, 
 
 And a famine seems just ahead; 
 
 Happy time© are past and gone. 
 And commodity shrinks back with dread. 
 
 The monetary stream has ceased to flow 
 
 To freshen the arid field; 
 That lay along its sunny shores, 
 
 And give them a spirit to yield. 
 
72 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 Money is hard to get and find, 
 
 Grim penury awaits us all; 
 And people now in every clime 
 
 On God begin to call. 
 
 An awful money dearth is here, 
 
 And is spreading wide through the land; 
 
 It has filled the heart of business with fear. 
 And paralyzed the willing hand. 
 
 BLISS. 
 
 Heaven is a mighty nice place, 
 So I guess good folks go there; 
 
 And not devils with an angel's face, 
 And inward, a grizzly bear. 
 
 Every soul shall not get to heaven. 
 
 And live foreverniore; 
 For that place of bliss shall be given 
 
 Only to the righteous here below. 
 
 No hypocrite shall see God's face, 
 And feast on His love divine; 
 
 Drink from the rivers of His grace, 
 In the land of corn and wine. 
 
 Heaven is not an impious place. 
 An abode of black-hearted souls; 
 
 Whose erroneous deeds and case 
 Hell punishes and controls. 
 
 Your vain loud noisy prayer, 
 
 And comical rustic songs, 
 About the shining bliss somewhere. 
 
 Will never expatiate your wrongs. 
 
 FALSE PRETENDER. 
 
 Lo! how the hypocrite prays and sings. 
 
 Simply to be seen and heard; 
 Until the Holy Ghost takes wings. 
 
 And flies away faint and wearied. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 73 
 
 Into the church of God he sneaks, 
 
 A wolf in sheep's clothes; 
 And when he prays and speaks, 
 
 High heaven shuts her doors. 
 
 From the hypocrite God turns His face. 
 
 And lends not a listening ear; 
 For in the hypocrite there is no grace. 
 
 The source of religious fear. 
 
 Into the church these hypocrites crowd, 
 
 Like so many wolves into a fold; 
 They are but adherents of the proud, 
 
 And detrimental to the Christian soul. 
 
 False pretenders may pray and sing. 
 
 Preach, moan and prophesy; 
 Still Jesus Christ, my Lord and King, 
 
 Shall know them not when they die. 
 
 Deep in the church hypocrisy hides 
 
 It's deceptive foul face; 
 And before the mirror of vain pride 
 
 It looks like a child of grace. 
 
 UNREAL HAIR. 
 
 Dress yourself up very fine 
 And put on many airs. 
 
 If you want to cut a big shine 
 In all foolish affairs. 
 
 First, get some artificial hair. 
 Then take pains to fix it on; 
 
 After which, muse you are fair. 
 As a queen upon a throne. 
 
 I admire one's own hair 
 More than what arts make. 
 
 To crown the head of the fair 
 For vanity's only sake. 
 
74 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 Ono'a -iiatiirsil hntr is tiivlne, 
 Lot It l>t> luul or KOiul: 
 
 It. rondi'i-s tho look gonuino, 
 Ami you soo It as you should. 
 
 Falao hair Is but a sham 
 Ti> iloUulo some monU oyo, 
 
 Ami it. isn't worth a damn 
 In a vain auii rough reply. 
 
 SOME SAY GO YONDER. 
 
 Son\o suvy po vondtT. 
 
 Others say eomo here: 
 But tho phvee where all's goad 
 
 U har<l to lind, 1 fear, 
 
 So shouhler life's burden. 
 
 Like tho Son of man: 
 And toil on with patiemv 
 
 To do a.11 the gixni you can. 
 
 \ou ntHHl not to worry 
 
 Alvut what ot hoi's do: 
 A nil It matters i\ot who errs. 
 
 Just s-incv It isn't you. 
 
 Attend to your own business. 
 
 And let other folks' buslnes3 go; 
 
 Dont stroll tYv>m placv to ph*uv. 
 And the se<\i of dlsioni sow. 
 
 Poii't iHvp and moildle into other's aff.^lra, 
 
 That do not concern you. 
 But be mindt\il of your own 
 
 And ea.rxM\il in what you do. 
 
 A CEKTATN ZEALOUS SECT. 
 
 Th(N>? is a kvrtain stvt. 
 
 Multi-millions strong. 
 Who aro suptx^stHi to Iv doing right. 
 
 And not doing WTvng. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. . 75 
 
 Willi Hi)lrlliial i)ow<'r II'h moving 
 
 In <'V<Ty land and (tllnie; 
 And In the KuiHC of doing right, 
 
 II'h allcjwing all mankind. 
 
 Its divine lnt.<*nt Iw good 
 
 In uplifting fallen humanity; 
 But if wo loolc at It mh we Hhould, 
 
 It haa become? a reception for vanity. 
 
 The hand of folly has desecrated 
 
 And marred its i)rHl design; 
 Which it took and led 
 
 In the old aix^Hlolic time. 
 
 Its prestin<! purpose was to reform man, 
 And imbue bim with moralH Hublime; 
 
 So that ever> deed, word and thought 
 Would accord with the Heav<'nly mind. 
 
 In cerlain HcaHons of llu? y<*ar, 
 
 (I know not the <'xact dates;) 
 Then; eonvenen an asK<^)ciation, 
 
 Of renegades, raHcals and delegates. 
 
 We lind there Kome piouH souls, 
 
 Burning with hallowed fire; 
 And others big with luwt, 
 
 After vain and gaudy attire. 
 
 This pompous and vain synod 
 
 Of messengers of the revered Bky; 
 Acts a bitter foe to rectitude; 
 
 Life's deity to glorify. 
 
 Here the adulterer and the adultress Intrigue 
 
 In clandestine love affairs; 
 Here manj a pious moralist is inveigled, 
 
 And led into fornication's finare. 
 
 Sacred prudes and mundane rascala 
 Intercourse and mix here together; 
 
 So th(! depraved oi- the upright, 
 We can't tell one from the other. 
 
76 LYRIC, DOMESTIC 
 
 It gives evil doers a chance 
 To enjoy some illicit desire; 
 
 Until that unctuous feeling comes on, 
 And burns like hallowed lire. 
 
 Sacred unions, conventions and institutes, 
 And indeed a great many more, 
 
 Are now but august receptions 
 To give prudery a mortal blow. 
 
 ARTISTIC FINE DRESSING. 
 
 Immoral wenches may dress fine 
 
 And live at ease and rest; 
 But virgins in their common clothes, 
 
 To me, look far the best. 
 
 Fine raiments can never make character 
 
 What it really is not; 
 It can but excite the passion, 
 
 And make desires hot. 
 
 Fine dressing caimot hide 
 
 The morally debased from sight; 
 
 When the character is well known 
 To he as black as night. 
 
 Dressing up in fine apparel 
 And having a bewitching face, 
 
 Will never do for a screen 
 To hide moral disgrace. 
 
 Good repute is all and all, 
 
 It requires: no apparel fine; 
 To raise in estetmi the individual, 
 
 Who is virtuous to mankind. 
 
 Though in pompous array 
 
 The morally debased may glow, 
 
 Still virtue shall abhor them 
 Upon every pious shore. 
 
 Fine dressing and gold will not veil 
 
 Immorality's ugly face; 
 And with wily, gaudy charms 
 
 Make the wanton chaste. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. • 77 
 
 MORAL PURITY. 
 
 Ever admire chaste repute, 
 
 Which Is life's preserving god; 
 Who beyond this veil of tears 
 
 Shall grant a sure reward. 
 
 Preserving character divinely pure 
 
 Is more precious than gold; 
 It's everlasting water and bread 
 
 To the hungry, fainting soul. 
 
 WANTONS. 
 
 In this brazen, adverse age 
 
 The good and the bad do just alike; 
 So it takes but God to tell, 
 
 Who's wrong and who's right. 
 
 Reprobates of the deepest dye, 
 From which moral abuses spring; 
 
 Seem to come in gangs, 
 And crowd into the social ring. 
 
 Chastity goes all unnoticed, 
 
 Unworthy of any praise; 
 It seems that lewdness is boss, 
 
 And scoffs at virtue's ways. 
 
 Strumpets lost in vicious pleasures, 
 
 Ride from place to place; 
 Heavily charged with lust. 
 
 That's baneful to the human race. 
 
 They have hurled down moral purity 
 
 Prom its ancient throne; 
 And the world now broods in lewdness, 
 
 Since virtue is dead and gone. 
 
 O may brigh1>eyed virtue return. 
 With its chaste living powers; 
 
 And kindle a flame of moral integrity 
 In these cold hearts of ours. 
 
78 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 NEVER UPHOLD WHAT'S WRONG. 
 
 Never sanction what's wrong, 
 Though the passion be mighty strong; 
 Be ever a conscientious man, 
 For God leads conscience by tiie hand. 
 
 Forsake not a righteous law or thing, 
 To gain esteem of a social ring; 
 But grant to all due respect. 
 Heedless to race or pious sect. 
 
 Whatsoever may be your lot 
 Who you are, it matters not; 
 For the right take a stand. 
 Live and die a just man. 
 
 Work for the common welfare 
 Of mankind in God's care. 
 And with a generous helping hand 
 Try to uplift fallen man. 
 
 Be ever loyal to humanity, 
 
 And unto all show charity; 
 
 Be just and pious in what you do, 
 
 To render life pure as morning dew. 
 
 Have the heart clean of racial grudge. 
 When matters occur for you to judge; 
 And thus, without pain or resentment, 
 Grant reward or punishment. 
 
 A GIRL SIXTEEN. 
 
 When a girl is sweet sixteen 
 Just dress her up neat and clean, 
 In a robe of bombazine 
 Then she looks like a May queen.' 
 
 Place her on the ballroom floor 
 In the warm embrace of her beau; 
 Let her jelly-rose and tango, 
 Ball the jack, and many more. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. 79 
 
 Let her wiggle and waltz so 
 To make her cold feelings glow; 
 And the result you may know. 
 It's hello central, hello! 
 
 TAG-RAGS. 
 
 There are tag-rags here 
 And I guess tag-rags ai'e there, 
 
 So tag-rags, I fear 
 Are raging everywhere. 
 
 Now saddle up your old gray, 
 Come and go along with me; 
 
 And if you're a tag-rag riolence. 
 We'll ride across the sea. 
 
 If you admire ruthless butchery 
 And are a glutton for human blood. 
 
 Just saddle up your old gray, 
 And buff the swelling flood. 
 
 Pitiless tag-rag violence 
 
 Is raging like a storm. 
 Bearing brutal butchery 
 
 Into every commodious home. 
 
 Down with tag-rag violence, 
 Hurrah ! Hurrah ! ! Hurrah ! ! ! 
 
 And up with impartial minds. 
 That detest the tag-rag law. 
 
 EUROPE'S NATIONAL WAR. 
 
 What's the matter over yonder? 
 
 I hear a mighty din; 
 Is it low growling thunder, 
 
 Or wild ra^ng wind? 
 
 Seargulls come flocking home, 
 
 Mad clouds are swinging low; 
 Such omens forebode an approaching storm 
 
 Upon this sunny shore. 
 
80 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 Horrid monsters are rising, 
 Hideous from the sea below; 
 
 And all the fiiiny hoet 
 Are riding in fright to the shore. 
 
 The great commotion is felt 
 Throughout the earth and air, 
 
 And its inhuman sequents 
 Are heart-breaking everywhere. 
 
 Monstrous beasts rising up 
 
 All over the mighty sea, 
 As formidable and malignant foes 
 
 To liberty, love and peace. 
 
 Hark the deep growling din! 
 
 'Tis the roar of awful Mars, 
 Bellowing in his ocean cave. 
 
 O'er the blood of horrid wars. 
 
 Beasts' horrid forms are rising 
 From the sea's unfathomed caves; 
 
 And are exalting their awful heads 
 Like Titans above the waves. 
 
 O! for myriad tongues to sing. 
 And sue for tranquil peace; 
 
 To spread o'er the warring sea, 
 And bid disaster to cease. 
 
 When the goddess of peace shall come 
 With a rainbow upon her head, 
 
 The raging sea, weary of its troublings, 
 Shall subside into silence, dead. 
 
 The low angry war clouds shall scatter 
 And dissolve away like snow. 
 
 Then rosy peace with ringlets of gold 
 Shall spread from shore to shore. 
 
 The dusky hills shall gleam 
 
 And rejoice in the glare of peace. 
 
 From the Cimbrian hills 
 To the storied tales of Greece. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. . 81 
 
 O may the rivers no more run red, 
 Mingled and turbed with blood 
 
 Spouting fiom the stiquel 
 Of a maddened flood. 
 
 OLD UNCLE SAM. 
 
 Old Uncle Sam is powerful, 
 
 He is the nation's head; 
 But the European war scares him 
 
 So he can't give his children brea.d. 
 
 His subjects are all famishing 
 
 Solely for luxuries and bread, 
 And the manly courage of the nation 
 
 Is now in awe and dread. 
 
 For many years he had boasted 
 
 Of his vast treasures of gold, 
 But now it seems that he isn't able 
 
 To provide for his own household. 
 
 His children, starving, climb his knee. 
 
 And cry aloud for living bread; 
 This makes his long aquiline nose 
 
 And pale cheeks glow red. 
 
 He says, "hush children, do not cry. 
 The calamity will cease by and by; 
 Then I shall give thee milk and bread 
 And among you will blessings spread." 
 
 "When the bloody disastrous war stops, 
 Streams of blessings shall flow; 
 
 Rippling on in bounties, 
 Hard by every peasant's door." 
 
 The helpless and hungry no more shall cry. 
 And wee babes in their mother's arms; 
 
 When the propitious time comes 
 To calm and dispel all alarms." 
 
 "Then all my hungry starving souls, 
 Who are feasting upon the air; 
 
 Shall jovial live in that Saturian age, 
 Conditions now seem to declare." 
 
82 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 "My ample granaries are empty, 
 The market of my staples is low; 
 
 My loyal inferiors are all nude. 
 And beg at my pent up door." 
 
 THE DAWN. 
 
 Lo! day is now breaking, 
 
 And tints every orient hill; 
 Elegance everywhere is waking. 
 
 In the dawn roseate and still. 
 
 Lo! the day advances fast 
 
 Prom yon gorgeous dawn, 
 And its dazzling light to cast 
 
 Upon the murky morn. 
 
 The shade begins to run and hide 
 From the glare of dazzling lignt. 
 
 And crouch down to abide 
 Where reigns eternal night. 
 
 The stars all are darkling. 
 O'er shadowed by the rosy light; 
 
 And like a timid stripling. 
 
 They blush and hide from sight. 
 
 All the prismatic hues are seen 
 
 Adorning the orient sky; 
 Making it a picturesque scene, 
 
 More gorgeous than Tyrian dye. 
 
 Soon Phoebus showed his glowing face. 
 And flaming wondrous hair; 
 
 Then on rolled he in his race 
 Beyond the buxom air. 
 
 A LITTLE TATTERDEMALIAN. 
 
 A little tatterdemalian once sat 
 
 Hard by a public highway, 
 And being ragged and hungry, too, 
 
 He didn't have much to sa^. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. 83 
 
 He had no father and mother, 
 
 For both of them were dead; 
 He had no sister nor brother. 
 
 And nowhere to lay his head. 
 
 There was no crown in his hat, 
 His raiment was tattered and torn; 
 
 So in a wretched state he sat. 
 All destitute and forlorn. 
 
 He looked a pitiable sight. 
 
 And humble as any lamb; 
 But with his wee bit of might, 
 
 He served the great "I AM." 
 
 "Mama and papa, both are dead. 
 
 They died when I was a babe," 
 This is what the little boy said, 
 
 To the passerby. Uncle Gabe. 
 
 Grief filled his little mind. 
 
 Anger inflamed his eyes; 
 Then in a puerile whine 
 
 The little orphan sobbed and cried. 
 
 He had had no maternal care, 
 
 Nor any paternal providence; 
 But he had glutted on desponding fear 
 
 Without parental prudence. 
 
 He had no fond knee to clim1>, 
 
 And pucker up in arms to rest. 
 Then nurse on milk divine, 
 
 Issuing from a mother's breast. 
 
 No one to show his feet the way 
 
 Along which our Lord and Savior led ; 
 
 By teaching his little heart to pray 
 At night ere he goes to bed. 
 
 GERMAN CHIVALRY. 
 
 Rally on you Teutonic nation. 
 
 Great valor is your name; 
 When it comes to martial deeds. 
 
 You are well known to fame. 
 
84 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 You hitve borne a sacred name. 
 Storied in the deeds of war; 
 
 Though not rich with the spoils 
 Of sullen nations; afar. 
 
 You have rallied around your flag, 
 
 Now bravely rally again; 
 And let your sovereign glory spread 
 
 From the Ural and beyond the Seine. 
 
 Shout in the battle cry. 
 
 To meet your allied foes; 
 And fight like Thracian warriors, 
 
 Who had long fought before. 
 
 Rally round your banner. 
 
 And never give the battle o'er, 
 
 Until jou've humbled the boasted pride 
 Of every European foe. 
 
 When the bloody war is over, 
 
 And the victory is won; 
 Take off your knapsack, 
 
 And drop the heavy gun. 
 
 Turn your back to the field of battle, 
 And toward home your face; 
 
 For ye are hardened myrmidons 
 Of the German race. 
 
 For England, France and Russia, 
 Yea, other alliances combined; 
 
 They cannot foil ancJt subjugate. 
 That invincible spirit of thine. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF LONG AGO. 
 
 Dim in memory are seen 
 
 The days of long ago. 
 As I muse of childhood's scene 
 
 But little do I know. 
 
 Dim pictures of long ago 
 
 Come gay before my sight, 
 And flit spectral to and fr© 
 
 Athwart my mind tonight. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 85 
 
 other days of woe and delight 
 
 Come back with inaudible tread; 
 And as a phantom at night, 
 
 Haunts) mj wearied head. 
 
 In hazy memory I dream, — 
 
 I see days past and gone; 
 Away down tJtiat endless stream, 
 
 That rolls inaudibly along. 
 
 Dim on memory's wall I see 
 
 The scenes of my juvenile days, 
 That have come back to me 
 
 Since now I'm old and gray. 
 
 SOMETIMES I'M MERRY. 
 
 Sometimes I'm merry. 
 And very often I am morose; 
 
 When 'tis highly necessary, 
 For me to side with my foes. 
 
 But still I sing a song cheery, 
 
 And endeavor not to muse. 
 Or allow myself to worry 
 
 O'er the actions of a few. 
 
 O let me smile and sing! 
 
 Whilst my day comes and goes; 
 'Tis no matter what antipathies bring. 
 
 In favor of all my foes. 
 
 Singing makes my heart merry 
 By dislodging every doubt and fear. 
 
 So I have no chance to worry 
 O'er rumpuses far or near. 
 
 When my tribulations are hard, 
 
 My tongue begins to sing; 
 And call upon my Savior and Lord, 
 
 High Heaven's awful king. 
 
 Often I sing and pray 
 
 For blessings from on high, 
 And to drive the misty veil away 
 
 Which rolls before mine eyes. 
 
86 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 YESTERDAY AND TODAY. 
 
 Yesterday is dead and gone, 
 
 Never to come again; 
 And the infallible today 
 
 Reaps his golden grain. 
 
 She is the achiever of his endeavors. 
 
 And is rich with all his spoils; 
 In her hands she holds his harvest, 
 
 And on her brow she wears his laurels. 
 
 In dying he bequeathed to her 
 The land and mighty main; 
 
 And bade her honor please, 
 While living, conquer and reign. 
 
 He once stood triumphant, 
 But now he has passed away; 
 
 Let us no more serve him, 
 But serve the great today. 
 
 She is the heritage of his riches, 
 
 And heiress to all his fame; 
 The halo that blazes around her. 
 
 Is but his dazzling name. 
 
 Can she ever reign and triumph 
 
 Over foes sullen and grim; 
 If we are not loyal to her. 
 
 As our fathers were loyal to him? 
 
 God who sways the circling ages, 
 And drives on the wheels of time; 
 
 Bids us serve and obey her, 
 And live in love divine. 
 
 ARSON. 
 
 Arsons now seem to be many, 
 And in gangs they seem to go; 
 
 Making the earth and sky at night, 
 With horrid fires glow. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 87 
 
 The work of an incendiary is seen, 
 
 It matters not where I go; 
 But who is the real arson? 
 
 My sad muse does not know. 
 
 At night we see giant flames 
 
 Kissing the very sky; 
 Then we hear fire whistles blow, 
 
 And women scream and cry. 
 
 Fire! Fire! the populace shout, 
 
 And some shoot a horrid gun; 
 Then toward the awful conflagration 
 
 Men and boys im frenzy run. 
 
 The city Is burning down. 
 
 Sad mothers and children cry; 
 Distraction, wild, muffles up all 
 
 And brings tears in every eye. 
 
 Lurid flames make the sky burn red, 
 
 And set the night on fire; 
 The glories of night become astounded, 
 
 And seem to blush and expire. 
 
 Tongues of flames maddened by wind 
 
 Like Titans, reach on high, 
 Were too appalling to the night 
 
 And too dazzling for the eye. 
 
 Fine buildings and rich relics. 
 
 Melted down in the flames; 
 And a black charred molten ruin, 
 
 So the magnificent scene became. 
 
 ON THE MOSSY BANK OF A STREAM. 
 
 On the mossy bank of a stream. 
 
 Away down in Tennessee; 
 When the stars and moon in glory 
 
 Looked down upon you and me. 
 
88 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 I saw the soft bosom of the stream, 
 As it smilingly glided to sea; 
 
 And I dreamed that future bliss, 
 Waa but for you and me. 
 
 The fragrant myrtle was in bloom, 
 Mellow hung apple and berry; 
 
 The sward was soft and green, 
 And our wooing hearts were merry. 
 
 On the brink of the sunny stream, 
 
 There stood a poplar tree; 
 On it I carved your precious name, 
 
 And you did the same for me. 
 
 In my heart you planted a for-get-me-not 
 And I planted a sweet one in thine; 
 
 As we strolled along the sunny stream 
 With your soft hand in mine. 
 
 ODE TO GERMANY. 
 
 Never get up and skedaddle 
 
 But stand brave and proud; 
 Sally forth in the battle 
 
 And on to victory shout loud. 
 
 Hark! the shrill blast of the bugle. 
 Echoing loud along the Rhine; 
 
 The Germans are playing Yankee doodle, 
 And are thinning the enemy's line. 
 
 They are bearing their imperial sway 
 From the Ural to the Pyrenees; 
 
 Thence toward the setting sun 
 To the great isle beyond the seas. 
 
 Great Kaiser holds his foes at bay, 
 By baffling their martial skill; 
 
 And surely some triumphal day 
 
 He'll pitch camp on the Grampian Hill. 
 
 The German sons and daughters shall row 
 Down the Elbe and famous Rhine; 
 
 And chant their peans as they go 
 On to French and British climes. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. 89 
 
 That flaxen haired, blue-eyed nation, 
 Who is ancient in the annals of war; 
 
 Shall drive headlong into subjugation, 
 Boastful powers near and far. 
 
 It shall beard the lion in his den, 
 
 And rend from his jaws the prey; 
 Then break the wings of the eagle of Prance, 
 
 And take her supremacy away. 
 
 Her bitter foes shall bow at her feet, 
 
 And draw her imperial car; 
 For rising generations shall greet 
 
 Her great renown in war. 
 
 NO WORK TO DO. 
 
 The wheel of industry has stop'd still. 
 
 And it refuses to roll; 
 So there's not enough work to do, 
 
 To keep alive the body and soul. 
 
 Hardy laborers seek work. 
 
 But none do they find; 
 There's but little work to do, 
 
 So I see, of any kind. 
 
 Men's teeth are sharp 
 And their appetites are good; 
 
 Still they can't find much work to do 
 But chop a little wood. 
 
 Folks are very keen to work, 
 For they want raiment and food; 
 
 Which they must indeed have. 
 In an honest or dishonest mood. 
 
 Work is very scarce indeed, 
 Money is hard to get and hold; 
 
 The poor are deeply In need 
 Of food of all kind. 
 
90 LYRIC, DOMESTIC 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 Of all the sweets the sweetest is love, 
 
 That burnsi in the human breast; 
 
 'Tis a spiritual unction from above, 
 And itself it will manifest. 
 
 Love is a cloudless serene day 
 That is most lovely in the eve and morn; 
 . Hottest and steadiest when the sun's midway 
 Between the twilight and dawn. 
 
 There serene peace is seen 
 
 In every blessed heme; 
 Where the floweret of love is queen, 
 
 And mad broils can never come. 
 
 Love is the world's sacred shrine, 
 
 And around it cluster health and mirth; 
 
 It makes the star of hope to shine. 
 And sweetens the life on earth. 
 
 CUPID. 
 
 Cupid came to my bed 
 On wings wee and light; 
 
 He thought that my soul was dead 
 Because it was out of sight. 
 
 His noiseless wings I did not hear, 
 When he stoop'd from above; 
 
 And whispered softly into my ear 
 The first accent of love. 
 
 To the land of nod I had gone 
 To spend the dreary night; 
 
 So little Cupid found me alone, 
 And without a ray of light. 
 
 In drearaland'si downy bed 
 I had' couch'd myself to rest; 
 
 And seemingly all were dead. 
 Except my heaving breast. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 91 
 
 A NARROW VALE. 
 
 What is life but a narrow vale 
 
 Between two narrow heights of eternity? 
 Whose horrid peaks we cannot scale 
 
 To survey the wondrous immensity. 
 
 The vale is intricate and deep, 
 
 Betwixt barriers infinitely high; 
 Thus, we may wail and weep 
 
 Still from beyond we get no reply. 
 
 Down in the darkness of the vale, 
 
 We grope our way to find; 
 But only on fancy's wings can we sail, 
 
 O'er the heights into endless time. 
 
 In awe and wonder we look above, 
 
 And see the flaming sky, 
 Then long to scale the heights above, 
 
 And o'er vast eternity fly. 
 
 WHAT IS A MAN? 
 
 O divine muse, tell me if you can 
 
 Really, what is degraded man, *l 
 
 Who is so artful and alert, 
 
 And was made out of mean dirt? 
 
 Made out of a substance that is low — 
 (It's the lowest of all I know) 
 Is this the very reason why. 
 He is ever so prone to lie? 
 
 He's but a mystic mass of foul dust. 
 Charged heavy with burning lust; 
 And imbued wi^i slimy deceit, 
 To beguile everyone he may meet. 
 
 What's in him, good and evil? 
 A little of God, and a heap of devil; 
 So on account of his perfidy and grass. 
 It would be just to call him an ass. 
 
92 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 I mean the gentleman of the long-ear kind, 
 For that honorable gentleman is very fine; 
 Though he brays and raises much sand, 
 Still he is a great deal better than man. 
 
 LITTLE ZANY. 
 
 Little Zany is papa's man. 
 With eyes just like a mink; 
 
 He rolls in the dust and sand, 
 And is as black as ink. 
 
 His hair is full of sand and dust, 
 
 His nose is snotty, too; 
 And into laughter you will burst, 
 
 Whenever he looks at you. 
 
 With eyes white and big 
 
 And lips thick and red. 
 He is a dirty little pig 
 
 From his feet to his head. 
 
 Wallowing in the dusty road, 
 Making hillocks of sand; 
 
 He looks like a rusty toad. 
 And not a Zany man. 
 
 On his head is scanty hair. 
 Which naps up in kinks; 
 
 His face is anything but fair; 
 His eyes are like a mink's. 
 
 Though he has India rubber feet, 
 Black face and shiny eyes; 
 
 Still papa thinks he's sweet, 
 As anyone in the by and by. 
 
 He cares not to be nice and neat, 
 And to appear in jaunty grace; 
 
 Still papa thinks he's sweet. 
 With an ugly, dirty face. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 93 
 
 THE SEA. 
 
 The grey old sea is angry. 
 And his face is pale as the dead; 
 
 He defies all human injunctions, 
 And is never still in his bed. 
 
 He rolls from shore to shore, 
 
 And is restless as he can be; 
 So this is the reason why 
 
 He's called the restless sea. 
 
 Deep down in his dark cavern 
 
 There's serene peace and rest; 
 Quite different from the conditions 
 
 Upon his angry breast. 
 
 He bellows and growls, 
 
 And dashes against the sounding shore; 
 Then the remote distances around 
 
 Echo with a deafening roar. 
 
 His mad waves in mountains high, 
 
 Swell from his raging breast; 
 And roll impetuous onward. 
 
 With frothing and foaming crests. 
 
 He breathes defiance in the face of man, 
 And laughs at any human craftiness; 
 
 When devised to sway and calm 
 The raging billows on his breast. 
 
 When his agitating vast waves 
 Swell threatening on to the skies; 
 
 The heart shudders and trembles. 
 And the manly ambition dies. 
 
 A SECRET. 
 
 In the breast hides a secret, 
 A secret we will not tell; 
 
 Though it chimes within us, 
 Just like a ringing knell. 
 
94 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Housed up in the deepest care, 
 Let a secret forever dwell; 
 
 And may no fascination draw 
 It from the heart's cell. 
 
 Deep in the innermost recess, 
 Let a secret hide and dwell; 
 
 When it is so pertinent, 
 
 To those whom we love so well. 
 
 There's a secret in the heart, 
 The world does not know; 
 
 Which shall surely be disclosed 
 As soon as from earth we go. 
 
 A SACRED SONG. 
 
 A sacred song is a cheerful thing, 
 When the bosom is filled with grief; 
 
 Then don't forget to pray and sing, 
 To make long sorrows brief. 
 
 A song is a little thing, 
 
 But inspiring as it can be; 
 
 From it sorrows and woe will wing, 
 
 And turn into fragi-ant glee. 
 
 It is ever a healing balm. 
 To a sorrowful wounded soul; 
 
 And bring on a soft calm 
 To make the wounded whole. 
 
 It dispels sorrow from the breast, 
 And lifts up the droop'd head; 
 
 It imbues the weary with rest, 
 And drives away fear and dread. 
 
 A song is a thrilling fire. 
 
 And the feelings it will incite; 
 
 When mirth is about to expire, 
 In griefs rayless night. 
 
 What ravishing rapture is in a song, 
 When sweetness accords with the strain; 
 
 It enlivens the spirit and makes it strong. 
 And bids joy come back again. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 95 
 
 THE GOOD OLD TIMES ARE GONE. 
 
 The good old times are gone, 
 
 And the world looks jaded and worn; 
 
 Perhaps they will come again; 
 
 Like refreshing showers of rain. 
 
 The present times might be good, 
 
 If zealots and demigods would 
 
 But leads on in the van of fearless right, 
 
 And march on with shield and banner bright. 
 
 Good times have been, but are not now, 
 
 And the devil knows the reason why and how, 
 
 Men have become so obdurate, 
 
 So cruel, so begrudging, so profligate. 
 
 Good old times where have ye gone? 
 For thee we long and long. 
 To behold thee as of yore 
 With your face of shining gold. 
 
 Great men have been and are still. 
 
 We need little of mortals who try to kill 
 
 Oppress and abuse mankind. 
 
 And ride into glory on the nag of crime. 
 
 But verily penal woe is given, 
 To those who play their devices before heaven; 
 I do not know whether angels weep, but I 
 Have wept so much asi to weep again. 
 
 FICKLE MEN. 
 
 Let me go to some unknown clime, 
 
 Where I can't hear of gruff and crime; 
 
 And feel not the weight of the oppressor's rod, 
 
 The penal punishment of a demigod. 
 
 Old times were good but the present is bad, 
 Impoeters have made the world mad; 
 And everything seems going pell mell, 
 Plunging headlong into hell. 
 
96 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Indeed, when thou wert a lad, 
 Wild zeal of men made thee glad; 
 And thou mused then it was Pitt, 
 Old England's master in wit. 
 
 We've seen giants of wit and eloquence standi 
 Like Titans, face to face in this land; 
 We've heard their heart-stirring voices loud. 
 Like thunder in a roaring cloud. 
 
 Similar mortals have held in high esteem, 
 But now come before us as an idle dream; 
 Yea, vulgar phantoms by the wind driven, 
 And not propitious gifts from high heaven. 
 
 We've seen these intellectual prodigies rise. 
 And shout blazing up through the skies; 
 Stamping horror on our sight. 
 Like the glare of Etna at night. 
 
 We have seen false personages 
 Riding in the van as mighty sages; 
 Leading on a sottish nation. 
 Through blijid and wicked ambition. 
 
 An eager desire for mortal fame 
 Has rendered them wild and vain, 
 And even now they'll rob the graves 
 To get what their ambition craves. 
 
 Common welfare is no longer their aim; 
 
 Flint-hearted injustice is the game 
 
 That is practiced now a day. 
 
 As these flagrant heroes lead the way. 
 
 Let these mighty potentates move on 
 Through seas of blood to thrones; 
 And o'er many broken oaths. 
 And vast piles of human bones. 
 
 THE CREATION. 
 
 The vast universe is something, 
 But it from nothing came; 
 
 And don't you think sometimes 
 That this maxim is very strange? 
 
AND Sacred Poems. . 97 
 
 Verily! verily! it is very Strang*', 
 
 Still it can be really so; 
 And in the presence of rea^son, 
 
 Let us say we do not l<now. 
 
 All matter without form is nothing, 
 
 So please heaven let it be; 
 Aaid in the philosophy of reason, 
 
 This nothingni'&s may we see. 
 
 Out of non-existence He created the earth, 
 
 And gave it lovelinessi and form; 
 Then fixed the bounds of the deep, 
 
 And calm'd the chaotic storm. 
 
 A LITTLE CHILD. 
 
 A sweet little child 
 
 Is a flower in every home; 
 It's a sweet for-get-me-not, 
 
 Anywhere you chance to roam. 
 
 I love to hear its prattling tongue, 
 
 Its cheerful mellow voice; 
 Its childish dreams and plays, 
 
 Makes home's sad heart rejoice. 
 
 A child is the heart of home, 
 
 And parental love centers there; 
 
 And its smiles of mirth and joy, 
 Keep home sweet and fair. 
 
 A little child is an idol, 
 In the fond heart of home; 
 
 And it brings sunshine in, 
 When trials chance to come. 
 
 It's an innocent little being, 
 
 And is free from all guile; 
 Thus, in the home, it is a lamb. 
 
 So gentle, meek and mild. 
 
 It unites the bonds of parental love. 
 And f astern s the adherents together; 
 
 And keeps alive the love of home, 
 Ie the bosom of father and mother. 
 
98 LYRIC, DOMESTIC 
 
 NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 
 
 The man of destiny, Oh! where Is he? 
 
 Who wield'd the sceptre of God; 
 And potentates o'f land and sea, 
 
 Bowed at his sacred nod. 
 
 Did he once think that he was but a man? 
 
 Nay, rather thought he himself divine; 
 And the mightier far of all the land, 
 
 To wage war against mankind. 
 
 QHe deluged the vales with blood, 
 
 And made hills with the mangled dead; 
 
 Nations shedded tears like floods 
 Where'er he chanced to tread. 
 
 He made monarchs draw his car; 
 
 The vanquished, he made his slaves; 
 And everywhere he carried war, 
 
 He filled that region with graves. 
 
 The world bowed on trembling knees; 
 
 All Christendom fell prostrate; 
 And kingdoms fell like autumn leaves. 
 
 Under the sway of this potentate. 
 
 He was a man of a thousand thrones, 
 And a despot without shame; 
 
 He strewed the earth with hostile bones. 
 And rode right on to fame. 
 
 Chance and fate did combine 
 To destroy this formidable foe; 
 
 Who seemed to rule remorseless time. 
 And bear war to every shore. 
 
 Thisi peerless despot without restrain, 
 And victor of a thousand battle fields; 
 
 Though full of ambition, wild and vain. 
 Pet fate made him yield. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. , 99 
 
 STRANGE TIMES. 
 
 The times are so odd , 
 
 The folks are so tricky; 
 Who, fumbling, count their money. 
 
 With fingers long and sticky. 
 
 The time® are so hard, 
 
 Without a specious excuse; 
 And sorrowful, I alone, 
 
 Have got the weary blues. 
 
 Hard times are now here, 
 
 And I fear harder times are coming; 
 Sometimes I think I can hear 
 
 Their moving wheels humming. 
 
 The times are turned up topsy-turvy , 
 And the people are mighty funny; 
 
 Everybody has sticky fingers. 
 That will adhere to money. 
 
 There are hard times all around, 
 
 Hard times' are everywhere; 
 Hard times are all the go. 
 
 In both the earth and air. 
 
 Hard times are upon us now. 
 
 And still harder times may be on ahead; 
 Yet, Providence may provide, 
 
 And grant us all some bread. 
 
 FULL FEELINGS. 
 
 Though gloomy clouds o'ercast the sky. 
 Still the sun will shine some day; 
 
 And in resplendent glory, 
 
 Shall chase the darkness away. 
 
 Perchance the mist will vanish, 
 
 Before mine languid eyes; 
 And let embittered sorrow 
 
 Turn into lovely smiles. 
 
100 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Dissipate the gloomy cloud, 
 Which rises before my sight; 
 
 And may I behold once more, 
 ply heart's sole delight. 
 
 Drive this stormy cloud away,, 
 
 That rolls across my aching breast; 
 
 And let the sun shine in 
 
 Upon my grief and distress. 
 
 It's a cloud of sorrow, not rain 
 That o'erspreads my mind; 
 
 And renders me the most miserable 
 Of all beasts and mankind. 
 
 Then why should I sigh and fear. 
 When the cloud must scud away; 
 
 And leave me all forsiaken. 
 Awaiting a brighter day? 
 
 TO LADY L. B. 
 
 Now, since my grief's n© longer yours. 
 
 And yours no longer mine; 
 Though we be no longer one, 
 
 Let us plumb the Christian line. 
 
 My love is no longer yours. 
 
 For you didn't prove true to mine; 
 
 Btill I'll entreat high heaven. 
 To grant thee blessings divine. 
 
 My heart's no longer yours; 
 
 You wouldn't let yours be mine, 
 But tore it from my bosom. 
 
 Who gave it love's corn and wine. 
 
 When anything incited thy soul, 
 
 It also incited mine; 
 And when you were sweet to me, 
 
 Why, I to thee was kind. 
 
 The agonies which pierced thy soul. 
 Also pierced and tortured mine; 
 
 When chill penury and death claimed thee, 
 I held thee still as mine. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 101 
 
 Tliere is a mighty fault in us. 
 
 And I rather believe it's mine; 
 So I'll brook it all in sorrow. 
 
 Without a shriek or whine. 
 
 A WILLOW TREE. 
 
 A willow tree stood by a stream, 
 
 With long weeping hair; 
 Ind crowned with living green. 
 
 It danced to the gentle air. 
 
 It made welcome the beasts of the field. 
 Likewise, the birds of the air; 
 
 And the swain at noontide ate his meal. 
 Beneath its dense leafy hair. 
 
 For varied season it had stood. 
 Through storm and through sunshine; 
 
 Not as a monarch of the wood. 
 But as an humbler kind. 
 
 Panting herds hurried to the shade 
 
 Of this storied willow tree; 
 And the peasant with hoe and spade, 
 
 Came thither from o'er the lea. 
 
 There to couch in the waving locks, 
 And refreshing shade of the tree; 
 
 The birds from everywhere did flock, 
 So jocund and so free. 
 
 'Twas a safe retreat from the blaze 
 
 Of a red fiery sun; 
 And rustics from fields of maize 
 
 Would oftimes thither run. 
 
 THE RAIN. 
 
 The rain came sprinkling down, 
 Sporting in the golden light; 
 
 And each drop wore a silver crown, 
 A lovely little clear sight. 
 
102 Lyric^ Domestic 
 
 The rain sang a song to me, 
 As it came streaming down. 
 
 To gratify the earth and sea 
 And all things around. 
 
 He struclt the strings ©f his lyre. 
 And set the skies a ringing; 
 
 Not a bird did dare to stir. 
 When it heard him singing. 
 
 He softly sang his song, 
 To the lyre of the wind; 
 
 'Tis true, his strain wasn't strong 
 As it could have been. 
 
 The strings of his l>re were long, 
 But their note was sweet; 
 
 And by the solace of his song. 
 My soul was rocked to sleep. 
 
 What music is in drops of rain, 
 As they come pattering down; 
 
 And weary hearts love its strain — 
 That sleep producing sound. 
 
 AT MIDNIGHT. 
 
 I Stood' on my portico at midnight, 
 Gazing at the milky way; 
 
 And I heard the city clock striking, 
 In the tower dark and gray. 
 
 The moon rose beyond the city, 
 Casting her loveliness round; 
 
 And all the panorama of night 
 Seemed to be with glory crown'd. 
 
 The serene firmament above. 
 
 Did in refulgence glow; 
 And transmitted its lucid light, 
 
 To a somber world below. 
 
 I saw meteors shooting down 
 The starry spangled skies; 
 
 Dragging on a train of light. 
 And in a moment expired. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 103 
 
 The moon shone in her glory, 
 Tinting all with her silvery beams; 
 
 And all drowsy nature, except I, 
 Seemed to be in the land of dreams. 
 
 The cock's shrill clarion I heard, 
 
 Heralding the mfS-night of ours; 
 As time seemed to ease on, 
 
 Like dew along the flowers. 
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE NO MORE. 
 
 Some of my fi-iends are not yours. 
 And some of yours, not mine; 
 
 And for this reason, I fear, 
 Our love will never entwine. 
 
 A friend to you, but an enemy to me^ 
 Has engendered hate and strife; 
 
 And rent the most sacred union, 
 Silch as husband and wife. 
 
 Thou art too weak to bear the blame, 
 
 Then I must bear it alone; 
 And like a beast of burden, 
 
 I'll bear it as my own. 
 
 O let me bear the blame alone! 
 
 So that you may go free; 
 And may no fault be in you. 
 
 But let it all be in me. 
 
 So I'll shoulder the cross of blame, 
 And bear it up the hill of life; 
 
 And there myself a ransom give. 
 As an atonement for thee, my wife. 
 
 So wherever thou mayest be, 
 
 It surely matters not where; 
 O may the sun in glory. 
 
 Send rays of happiness there. 
 
 Whatsoever appeases thy soul. 
 
 Will it not appease mine? 
 Now, as we no more stand. 
 
 With hearts and hands entwined. 
 
104 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 But death soon shall level all, 
 The grave is but our goal; 
 
 And there's no redemption beyond, 
 And no pardon offered the soul. 
 
 Though we be as far apart 
 As the East is from the West; 
 
 Let our minds cease from troubling, 
 And our souls be at rest. 
 
 From your heart cast the malice, 
 Which you have now for me; 
 
 And bury it in forgetfulness. 
 Deep as the mighty sea. 
 
 Lo! my sun of life is declining, 
 And death is advancing fast; 
 
 I think I hear my solemn knell 
 Tolling on the evening blast. 
 
 The deep growls of life's sea 
 That fill the heart with fear; 
 
 Let them not frighten our manly souls. 
 And dispossess us here. 
 
 MT. PLEASANT. 
 
 There's a charming little city, 
 'Tisn't a chief city in size; 
 
 And its hospitable people 
 You cannot criticize. 
 
 In the balmy benign South 
 Stands the sunny little city; 
 
 Where the people and bird cheerful, 
 Sing but one common ditty. 
 
 Here the civility greets the stranger, 
 And grants him sweet gay posies; 
 
 Sweet scented flowers of magnolias. 
 And all kinds of roses. 
 
 Here butterflies and buzzing bees 
 Sip the dew from perennial flowers; 
 
 And zephyrs sofly come and go 
 Along with the Bilent hours. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 105 
 
 The fragrant wholesome breezes 
 
 Wake the birds to tlit and sing, 
 And all the little urban scenes 
 
 With warbling melodies ring. 
 
 The balmy smell of many flowers 
 Is scented in the morning breeze, 
 
 And sacred birds chirp and sing 
 Among the boughs of the trees. 
 
 Shady trees of varied kinds 
 
 Stand dressed in living green, 
 And they make the city handsome, 
 
 A grand and picturesque scene. 
 
 HOBBLE SKIRT. 
 
 Put on a nice little hobble skirt, 
 With a long slit on each side; 
 
 And saucy wiggle as you walk, 
 Then the coxcombs will want t» ride. 
 
 Put an a nice little hobble skirt. 
 Let your teeth be white in front; 
 
 Then now just grin a little, 
 And the coxcombs will grunt. 
 
 A lady with a hobble skirt on, 
 
 And it around her hips fitting tight; 
 All the dudes and fops will say, 
 Great I AM! she's right." 
 
 If yoxL want to have a rag-time, 
 Get a £ne little hobble skirt; 
 
 All trimm'd with blonde-lace, 
 Then you must begin to flirt. 
 
 This attracts all the bucks and beaus, 
 Who like a fashionable world; 
 
 That exposes the lovely form 
 Of every woman and girl. 
 
 But nevertheless, get a hobble skirt. 
 
 Be sure the splits run high; 
 So that the disclosure will extend 
 
 High up soft woman's tilgh. 
 
106 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Whon you go a heiiu luintinp;, 
 Ploaso put on n hobblo skirt; 
 
 And "wigKlo your reiu- part u iittle, 
 To sliow that you nro port. 
 
 Thus charm <»vory CiLrnul s<'ekor, 
 Whose moralsi arc depraved as dirt; 
 
 And who admires the conventional u«agc. 
 Known as a hobble Kklrt. 
 
 Now, to tantalize the lust in man 
 
 You Hhake, frisk and flirt; 
 With n big plummtnl hat on 
 
 And a fine hol)ble skirt. 
 
 TWO BAD COONS. 
 
 Two bad coons had a wrangle 
 
 About what one of tho coons had isaid; 
 
 So one of the Coons grabbed a gr«>at big clttb. 
 And laid the otlier coon out dead. 
 
 Now the she-coons were astonished, 
 And held fast by fear and drcwd; 
 
 They could but bawl and bellow 
 O'er the coon who was dead. 
 
 Their cry was, "Poor coon's deji<l, 
 And he was a mighty bad fellow; 
 
 Let all the other coons around. 
 Ijament, bawl and bellow." 
 
 He had btu'n bad for a long time, 
 
 And had won in many a strife; 
 Till finally for a concubine 
 
 lie lost his romantic life. 
 
 He was a Mississippi bottom coon 
 Who had rambled Into Tjoulsiana, 
 
 Where his life found its crude end 
 In the false love of Sue Anna. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 107 
 
 LADY ISAAC WILLIAMS' RESIDENCE. 
 
 I Bat beneath the mantling Bhado 
 
 Of a young lank poplar tn'e, 
 And mused o'er tho impoHing scenes 
 
 Which wen; enchanting to me. 
 
 There stood a resplendent manfiion, 
 A pure shriine, the Lady Irene Williama' pride; 
 
 Though others in i)rou(i maj<vity whone, 
 Still it they couldn't chide. 
 
 Its porticoi's, ItH balcojii<'» and ample hall 
 
 Were to the eyes a pompous sight, 
 And many a pilgrim tarried here 
 
 To spend th<? bl(!ssed night. 
 
 It8 modern, proud majestic dome, 
 
 In th«', air tower'd high; 
 And was among th<' flTHt to catch 
 
 The traveler's gazing eye. 
 
 Hen; in this Elysian site 
 
 Tho sward \h soft and gn'On, 
 Amd floral beauty with sunny curls 
 
 Around the premisci* Is seen. 
 
 Here English sparrows chirp and sing 
 
 Among the bouglis of the trees, 
 And th(; Hwe<'t smril of perennial flowers 
 
 Comes along with the Southern breeze. 
 
 Here the late IsaJic Williams used to dwell, 
 
 Aid strove to help the poor; 
 And with a generous heart he bade them 
 
 To enter his hospitable door. 
 
 He lived a kind h<"arted, noble man 
 
 To all th<; people around; 
 And not a more practical one 
 
 Ever breathed in the little town. 
 
 'Twae here the aire laid his plan 
 
 To grapple with the foes of life?; 
 And reared this palac*' on the hill 
 
 As a refuge for himself and wife. 
 
108 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Here he scaled the hill of wealth 
 And left chill penury in the vale; 
 
 Then took his burden for a pillow 
 And died without a wail. 
 
 GOOD COMMON SENSE, 
 
 Some folks go to school 
 
 To get an education, 
 But it makes them a bigger fool 
 
 Than I'd like to mention. 
 
 They go to rural diistrict schools* 
 And then from there to college; 
 
 After all they remain fools 
 
 For the want of common knowledge. 
 
 They come back bookish as can be. 
 Without good common sense; 
 
 And even then they cannot see 
 Their fault and negligence. 
 
 Versed in books is a good thing, 
 But common sense is better; 
 
 Trickling down from reason's spring, 
 Without the skill of letters. 
 
 You may take all the book knowledge. 
 But give me good common sense; 
 
 That can't be gotten in college, 
 With all its training diligence. 
 
 A NIGHT SCENE. 
 
 *Twa,B on a cloudless serene night, 
 As I was homeward passing by; 
 
 I came to a celestial sight, 
 That would charm any mortal eye. 
 
 In a spell of joy I stopped to gaze 
 Under the glow of an electric light, 
 
 Though there were hq cloud and haze 
 To veil the »ky that night. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 109 
 
 There stood a pear tree amid the scene 
 
 Resembling some glorious tree. 
 And its foliage glistened' with silver beams, 
 
 Most pleasing to the guests and me. 
 
 The yard grass was soft and green, 
 
 And there prudes and lassies sat; 
 Also line gay beams were seen, 
 
 All having a merry chat. 
 
 It was a panorama of gaiety and joy, 
 
 Greeted by the starry welkin above; 
 So there was nothing to mar aiid decoy 
 
 The heart that beats to love. 
 
 The stars were .larlcllng in the light, 
 And sadly did shut their twinkling eyes; 
 
 To enhance the scenery- of the night, 
 While toiling industry dies. 
 
 Two maidens stood across the street. 
 
 With soft angelic hair; 
 Their voices were mellow and sweet; 
 
 Their faces were tender and fair. 
 
 A very cozy, fine house thei-e, 
 
 Did crown the picturesque site; 
 And the electric fuse did glare, 
 
 To dispel the shadow of night. 
 
 Here bashful lovers were palavering 
 
 And breathing words soft and low; 
 With sweet charms ever endeavoring 
 
 To make love's feeling glow. 
 
 DELWOOD PARK. 
 
 Lovely Delwood, with its ruddy springs, 
 Now of it Mt. Pleasant sings; 
 And shall my muse not swell the chorus, 
 To make the place more glorious. 
 
 The dense foliage of shady trees, 
 Were softly dancing to the breeze, 
 And veiling the soft verdue below, 
 From the sun's meridian glow. 
 
110 LYRIC, DOMESTIC 
 
 A vast multitude hung on the ledge of the hill, 
 Which rose gently from a lovely rlll 
 That ran on wild through the vale, 
 Murmuring its joyful tale. 
 
 There's a reservoir deep and wide, 
 With a diving apparatus on its east side, 
 'Tie here the young Ward diving, fell. 
 And urged his way to bliss or hell. 
 
 Here the trees are marshalled in grand array. 
 Along the park's winding way, 
 And their heads with laurels crowned, 
 Spread their gloomy shadfe around. 
 
 Here in such a graphic delphian vale 
 The beating heart cannot wail, 
 And cannot once employ 
 Anything beyond mirth and joy. 
 
 What a delectable scene is the dell! 
 Human tongue* can hardly tell; 
 Here nature sings a welcome song 
 In a harmonious strain soft and long. 
 
 Rapt delight spreads the hills and vale over, 
 Sweet solace is in the grass and clover; 
 Sereiie bliss is in the balmy air, 
 And the park looks picturesque and fair. 
 
 Here too, 'is a seminary of recent fame — 
 Speers' College is its revered name; 
 Here fair youths in life's higher purpose leam'd. 
 And their inward zeal was made to burn. 
 
 LOVELIEST PORTION OF SERENE 
 
 DAY. 
 
 The loveliest portion of serene day 
 
 Are the morn and falling eve; 
 Whenever day opes and shuts its eyes, 
 
 Then we inhale its salutary breeze. 
 
AND Sacred Pobms. Ill 
 
 The meadow with dew is wet, 
 
 The flowere sparkling shine; 
 And life and vigor is in the air, 
 
 That comes from some spicy clim*^. 
 
 A reddened glow fringes the sky, 
 
 And tints the ether above; 
 The hills and vales begin to smile, 
 
 And birds begin to sing in love. 
 
 Lovely is the hour of evening, 
 
 Refreshing is the breath of morn; 
 They flush red the face of nature, 
 
 Which looks so pale and worn. 
 
 'Tis then the vegetable world looks live, 
 
 And dances and plays to the air; 
 While flower* wet with sacred dew, 
 
 Sparkle sweet and fair. 
 
 A FOOLISH WOMAN WILL TALK. 
 
 A foolish woman will talk 
 
 In spite of all you do or say; 
 
 And you cannot stop her 
 In her headlong way. 
 
 This is all she can do. 
 
 So please leave her alone; 
 For you cannot change her 
 
 When she is once grown. 
 
 She'll break before she'll bend 
 
 Under instruction's pressure; 
 And you need not to admonish her 
 
 Against any dangerous adventure. 
 
 So give a lustful woman her way, 
 For that she is going to have; 
 
 And in her putrid eore complaint, 
 This is the only healing salve. 
 
112 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 WEE NELL. 
 
 Other bards may sing of Irene, 
 
 The fair Grecian belle; 
 But I'll sing of the infant queen, 
 
 The sweet Wee Lassie Nell. 
 
 Oh! what lovely smiles 
 Are in her dimple cheeks; 
 
 Though but a wee child, 
 
 She's mild, gentle and meek. 
 
 In person, she's a lamb of God, 
 
 In spirit, she's a dove; 
 And all exquisite graces accord. 
 
 To make her a cherub of love. 
 
 Her eyes like a sparkling gem »!iine. 
 Radiating fi'om irises of blue; 
 
 Under a lovely brow divine, 
 That charms all mortal view. 
 
 She's a blue blood baby miss 
 Of the Anglo-Saxon line; 
 
 Which is revered in high bliss, 
 To be a lineage of the purest kind. 
 
 Her aspect seems to be aglow, 
 Adjusted by a cute nose and face; 
 
 And her whole person goes to show. 
 That she's a perfect figure of grace 
 
 What joy fills her parents' heart 
 As she puckers in their arms, 
 
 A sweet place of solace and rest 
 And a safe retreat from harm. 
 
 Now sweet wee las.«!ie Nell, 
 
 May you ever in glory shine; 
 
 And may no ills and griief dwell 
 In that fair little bosom of thine. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 113 
 
 TO AN AGED APOSTLE. 
 
 Yon moves a reverent man. 
 
 Stooping o'er under the burden of age; 
 
 And admonishing a perverse world, 
 To pursue the ways of the sage. 
 
 Regardless to his faltering steps. 
 
 He moves with religious fear; 
 Very careful how he lives^ 
 
 For he thinks his end is near. 
 
 He's palsied by many years, 
 
 Sear'd and wither'd by timely blasts; 
 And now with dim vision he sees. 
 
 And knows his days are past. 
 
 No carnal desires haunt his spirit, 
 
 Whose ambition directs its way on high; 
 
 Up to God who shall receive it. 
 Beyond the starry skies. 
 
 See how he staggers and totters on; 
 
 Old age is bending him low; 
 Where there now is ashes in him, 
 
 A great fire used to glow. 
 
 BEAUVOIR, THE SOUTH'S MECCA. 
 
 Where the tidal waves ebb and flow, 
 And long grey moss of trees sweep the ground;- 
 
 There's a palace just white as snow 
 Not far from |Mississippi Sound. 
 
 Near to the sound is a memorable spot. 
 Which is my fond devotion's shrine; 
 
 Others may loathe it, I cannot, 
 For it's rich for prose and rhyme. 
 
 There are always spicy breezes. 
 Blowing soft from Southern isles; 
 
 The landscape around pleases. 
 And there is nothing vile. 
 
114 LYKic. Domestic 
 
 i 
 
 'Vhcw liumiuiuK Mnls hjhI Ihvs 
 Fly bu^zins; iViuu tUnvrr to tlower; 
 
 Antl x;a.v wftrbltMs amoui; tl\t> trt^^s. 
 Whioh form a sluniy lu>wor. 
 
 Thero i>iioo lived a noble ciiloftain. 
 
 Ho WAS a .soUllor, v^tatt^siuan ami sa)?*»; 
 A n\ii;hty rook howod out of tho uiouutain, 
 
 Ami a i\uilV<lorato intorit>ssi>r of tho a^^o. 
 
 For tho noblo South ho fought ami bled, 
 Thon swnm aoros^; tho bolll?;oront tlilo; 
 
 Ami in th<^ ilavii o( poaoo iwailo his lnvt 
 On tho altar of tho S<>uth tuul died. 
 
 Revero tht^ shov^honl of tho Southern flock. 
 Whom itoalots vworoii Nvtth blame; 
 
 Still firm ho t^tooil. an awful rook; 
 Point iui; the South to fjuuo. 
 
 Beyond lilloxi >*tunds his palace 
 
 Oollossal. piotuft^sQue aiui Ki'Jiud; 
 NVhixso h>fty tlomo is alnno the surfaee 
 
 Of ftll the neighboring huid. 
 
 Here Is tho M\vca of tho Confederacy. 
 
 A Southern blue blooiied Oeuioerafu «hrine; 
 And it neoiis no touch of poetic fivncy. 
 
 For it's ever memorial and divine. 
 
 Ruthless hands may t^tYaot* 
 
 And tear this t\litice doNNu; 
 Still myriad years shall honor the place. 
 
 And hail its hiUloweil ground. 
 
 lie was a Hampden with a dauntle?^^ brenst. 
 And for Southern seitx^sion stood; 
 
 For ko wait born of the btssit. 
 Of i>Ul Kentucky bhXHl 
 
 May Southern valour guard around. 
 
 And in memory bv^hl him dtv\r; 
 For no greater chietlain ciui bo found. 
 Thau the hero who onco lived here. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 115 
 
 Let the world in happy dajrs 
 
 Bemoan for the illustrious dead, 
 And pour the oil of worthy praise 
 
 Upon his peerless head. 
 
 Confederate daughters now would greet 
 
 Him with tenderest care; 
 Then in living water wash his feet, 
 
 And wipe them with their flowing hair. 
 
 They would robe him in a royal manner 
 
 Regardless to the cause or why, 
 And rejoice to see that spangled banner 
 
 Once more on the Southern sky. 
 
 Oh! if he would wake from everlasting sleep 
 
 And breathe and speak once more, 
 His beloved South would cease to weep 
 
 And her sad tears ceas<> to flow. 
 
 As a ransom he gave his life, 
 
 For the struggling South alone; 
 Then soared beyond the din of human strife. 
 
 Up to an amazing jasper throne. 
 
 THE APOSTLE. 
 
 Go ye, in all the world, 
 
 And the living gospel strew; 
 
 Lo! Jesus will be with you 
 It matters not where you go. 
 
 Go preach to saints and sinners. 
 Go spread the tidings around; 
 
 Through every clime and isle, 
 Wherever man is found. 
 
 Then blow the Gospel trumpet, 
 
 Blow ye apostles, blow! 
 Until its blissful sound, 
 
 Rolls from shore to shore. 
 
 Preach to every nation. 
 
 Preach in the hedges and highway; 
 Take no note of your s<'rmon, 
 
 For Jesus will tell you what to say. 
 
IIG Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Tho sacroil gospel must be preach'd 
 To sinful mortals who dio. 
 
 For it has cleansinsr power 
 To render souls fi( for the sky. 
 
 DON'T SEEK BLISS IN RICHES. 
 
 Do not seek bliss in riches, 
 Nor the living among the dead; 
 
 But seek your soul's salvation, 
 
 Which is liCe's everlasting broad. 
 
 Repent and believe 
 
 In Christ's redeeming love, 
 And heaven will open wide 
 
 Her poarly gatt^ above. 
 
 Let all tl.e world admire 
 
 Such nnexample love. 
 Till Messiah shall reign below, 
 
 As he reigns in glory above. 
 
 Ought not the world to blush with shame. 
 
 And bow its stubborn head. 
 T® a crucified j-avior. 
 
 The first ressurection of the dead? 
 
 IN THE HOUR OF GRIEF. 
 
 In the hour of grief be merry, 
 And try not to look morose; 
 
 Sing a roundelay cherry. 
 And follow where destiny goes. 
 
 There's sorrow for everyi)ne, 
 So you must accept a share; 
 
 The king on his royal throne 
 Must a portion bear, 
 
 When I'm in grief, I smile, 
 
 And never once look sad; 
 For sorrow is but for awhile 
 
 And it's no use to look mad. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 117 
 
 To bitter grief do not comply 
 Aiul sink down in despair, 
 
 For serene joy by and by 
 
 Will beam again bright and lair, 
 
 Laugh and be merry, 
 
 When you are buried in grief, 
 Sing a song very cheery 
 
 To make your sorrow brief. 
 
 VARIED LIKES. 
 
 Some folks want a hij^h yellow, 
 
 Some want a high brown; 
 And some want a charcoal color, 
 
 The darkest can be found. 
 
 Stick hard and fast to your own color. 
 
 And think it superfine; 
 Whether it be fair, dark or yellow, 
 
 Admire it all the time. 
 
 The man in black who wants to be yellow. 
 He would be white if he could, 
 
 By doffing off his smutty color; 
 Don't you think he would? 
 
 But I'm glad he can't do so, 
 
 And I'll tell you the reason why — 
 
 This and others go forth to show 
 That he's helpless in God's eye. 
 
 God made man in his own likeness 
 
 To suit His divine taste, 
 And I don't deem it prudent business 
 
 Trying God's work to efface. 
 
 SOON I SHALL GO AWAY. 
 
 Soon I shall go away, 
 
 But I shall return again; 
 
 If I do not go in the way 
 That leads to endless pain. 
 
118 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Oh! surely I must go 
 
 From this liouse of clay, 
 To where I do not know 
 
 Until Judgement Day. 
 
 Soon my trembling spirit in flight 
 Shall go into the great (somewhere, 
 
 An unknown world of delight, 
 Or a world of woe and despair. 
 
 Shall my soul from God be driven 
 
 Headlong down to hell; 
 Or shall It fly to heaven 
 
 And with Jesus dwell? 
 
 In palpable darknees I stand 
 With eyes, but I cannot see 
 
 That fair and happy land 
 Beyond the skies for me. 
 
 Where God and angels dwell, 
 
 Oh! let my soul fly; 
 And not lunge its way down to hell, 
 
 Aad there forever die. 
 
 O Holy Spirit, Heavenly Dove! 
 
 Please come when I die; 
 And bear me away on the wingB of love, 
 
 To that beautiful world on high. 
 
 CHRIST'S ASCENSION. 
 
 Co! the way which Jesus led 
 
 Up the stupendious skies, 
 With salvation's crown on his head 
 
 And triumph in his eyes. 
 
 Up through the starry welkin he goes. 
 
 While many there stood by; 
 The fervid saints and bitter foes, 
 
 Begin to weep and cry. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 119 
 
 Beyond the flying clouds 
 
 A fiery chariot awaits, 
 To bear the conqueror o'er the flood, 
 
 Straight up to heaven's gate. 
 
 4 
 
 The solar system begins to sing, 
 
 "Hosanna! to the Prince of Light;" 
 
 And worlds unknown begin to ring, 
 With music of delight. 
 
 Heaven's everlasting gate flew wide 
 
 To let the King come in; 
 And millions there rush forth in a tide 
 
 To hear of death and sin. 
 
 Far away in the mid air, 
 
 Beyond mortal sight; 
 He met his holy Father there, 
 
 On the wondrous height. 
 
 He chained death to his chariot wheel; 
 
 The powers of the grave to his thigh; 
 And vowed the world, power and zeal. 
 
 To follow him on high. 
 
 High on his blazing car, 
 
 Between worlds and worlds he drives 
 Straight up to God's awful bar, 
 
 Beyond the clouds and skies. 
 
 GOOD PRINCIPLES. 
 
 Good principle takes the lower seat 
 Since money has the stand; 
 
 Coward it sits under the feet 
 Of the cleons of the land. 
 
 Money now is the measure 
 
 Applied to everything; 
 And you must have a treasure 
 
 Or your name will not ring. 
 
120 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Moin'y is an awful king. 
 It governs in every affair; 
 
 Whei^ever art and industry ring, 
 You'll find that money is there. 
 
 Good character is fine; 
 
 It's finer than anything; 
 Still in this degenerate lime, 
 
 We see wealth is king. 
 
 Bad character with a million dollars 
 Now shines amazingly fair; 
 
 It defies good morals and scholai-s 
 Here and everywhere. 
 
 Lf»t man rob and cheat. 
 
 Then with riches sneak into fame; 
 The world can't see that he is a beat, 
 
 And it lauds him just the same. 
 
 Ahead of virtue wealth stands 
 
 Boastful now a day; 
 Ho holds the sceptre in his hands 
 
 And rules with relentless sway. 
 
 A GLOOMY HOUR. 
 
 Everything around me is gay, 
 
 And I, alone am sad; 
 All my sweet moments have passed away, 
 
 And therefore, I'm not glad. 
 
 Birds and bees are on the wing. 
 Zephyrs breathe sweet and low; 
 
 The woods with melody ring. 
 And all objects in sunshine glow. 
 
 The birds are singing loud; 
 
 Gay butterflies are seen; 
 And lambkins are frisking proud 
 
 O'er the meadow green. 
 
 Yon babbling little stream 
 
 Joyfully onward flow»; 
 Never having a sorrowful dream 
 
 Of what conK^ and goes. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 121 
 
 DESPONDENT. 
 
 if sorrow would go away 
 And not come back to me; 
 
 1 would se<' once more a happy day, 
 And shout a jubilee. 
 
 lu sorrow I eat and drink, 
 
 In woe I f^it and walk; 
 In grief I love and think. 
 
 And in misery I laugh and talk. 
 
 WHISKEY ELECTION. 
 
 The Lone Star State had an election, 
 
 A s;rave question to decide; 
 Whether the state should be prohibition, 
 
 Or anti in its pride. 
 
 The battle was fought in July, 
 In nineteen hundred and eleven; 
 
 And the_ pros went down forever to die. 
 While the antis rose to heaven. 
 
 The pros fought and fought well, 
 But the antis would not yield; 
 
 And many pros' ballots fell 
 And died on whiskey field. 
 
 The state now is wet, 
 
 Its not dry like a powder house: 
 And everything is smooth, you bet, 
 
 And quiet as a mouse. 
 
 SAINT PETER IN JAIL. 
 
 Saint Peter laying in a horrid jail, 
 
 Excluded from living light; 
 And the Church of Christ did pray and wall, 
 
 For his deliverance that night. 
 
122 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Sleep had seale<l Saint Petor'si eyes, 
 
 And he, in sletH> was dead; 
 An aiigel smote him on the side 
 
 And thus to Peter said. 
 
 "Arise at once! Do not liesitate: 
 Put your sandals on your feet; 
 
 And ril lead you through the iron gate. 
 The entrance of a street." 
 
 The angel led him from ward to ward; 
 
 While the keepers were fast asleep; 
 And the gate opened on its own accord, 
 
 To let them in the street. 
 
 Peter followeil the angel on. 
 
 Not knowing what was done, 'twas true; 
 Until the holy mesM^nger had gone. 
 
 Then it was God's Spirit he knew. 
 
 At first Poter thought it was a vision. 
 
 Or an empty dream 
 That came into the prison 
 
 Very softly and serene. 
 
 After the angel had gone, 
 Peter knew not where to go. 
 
 For he was left in the night alone, 
 To wander to and fro. 
 
 Now his doubts were faint and fleeting. 
 
 And his faith was strong; 
 When he came to prayer-meeting, 
 
 Where had gatheretl a pious throng. 
 
 When Saint Peter hailed at the gate, 
 
 A damsel, Rhoda, came; 
 But she did not wait 
 
 For the apostle to tell his name. 
 
 She rushetl back into the house, 
 
 Glad tidings to relate; 
 But timid as a little mouse. 
 
 She says, "Brother Peter is at the gate.' 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 123 
 
 "Nay! Nay!" the adherents cry; 
 
 •"Tis but his angel you see;" 
 Then Peter came in before their eyes 
 
 And tells how he was set free. 
 
 THE BLUE JAY. 
 
 The blue jay was trying to sing 
 Just like the mocking bird; 
 
 But his dubious voice would not sing, 
 Nor could his notes be heard. 
 
 He sat alone one day 
 
 Trying to sing to me, 
 And he thought his song was gay, 
 
 For his heart was merry and free. 
 
 There was no music in his song; 
 
 No melody in his voice; 
 No symphony sweet and strong 
 
 To make a dull heart rejoice. 
 
 He essayed to sing again and again, 
 And again and again he failed; 
 
 So being disgusted at his strain, 
 He stopped and away he sailed. 
 
 DIVERS FOLKS. 
 
 Black folks and white folks 
 
 Mixed up here together; 
 Red folks and yellow folks; 
 
 Yet they don't know each other. 
 
 White folks in the lead, 
 
 Black folks just behind; 
 Then come the yellow folks. 
 
 And the red folks fourth in line. 
 
 The white folks lead the van, 
 The black folks bravely follow; 
 
 The yellow folks scout around, 
 
 And the red folks whoop and holler. 
 
1214 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 White folks are enligbtened. 
 
 Black folks are trying to be the same; 
 Yellow folks are sitting in idleness; 
 
 And red folk* are hunting game. 
 
 BILLIE KERSANDS. 
 
 Billy boy, where have you been 
 
 Since I saw you last. 
 In thy rosy days of youth, 
 
 Which now seem to be past? 
 
 Where' ve you been so long? 
 
 Tell me if you please; 
 Yon far famed minstrel 
 
 "Over land and seas. 
 
 Even when I was an urchin, 
 
 Out on the village green; 
 Thou didst sail across the ocean 
 
 To look at England's queen. 
 
 Even there thy comic jests 
 Made laugh the sullen queen, 
 
 And she wildly declared thee 
 
 The funniest she had ever seen. 
 
 Since then the ploughshare of years 
 Has cut furrows in thy face; 
 
 Still thy manly form 
 Retains its jaunty grace. 
 
 Though encumber'd by many years. 
 Thy limbs are supple yet; 
 
 And thou on the minstrel stage, 
 We shall not soon forget. 
 
 TEN THOUSAND STARS. 
 
 Ten thousand stars are in the skies; 
 
 They look like jewels to me; 
 They stop the gaze of the eyes. 
 
 And no further can I see. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 12S 
 
 The welkin with its gorgeous dye 
 
 Surpasses all human art; 
 It brings elegance before my eye, 
 
 And emotion in niy heart. 
 
 Lo! the burning heroes at night 
 
 Marshalled along the sky 
 By the hand of eternal light 
 
 That shall never die. 
 
 Far above the sea and land 
 
 Rolls this celestial host, 
 Conforming to the right hand 
 
 Of some wondrous ghost. 
 
 There Wisdom fixed them long ago, 
 Ere appeared the everlasting hill; 
 
 And bade them all when to go; 
 Conforming to His will. 
 
 In wild mystery they move 
 
 Beyond comprehension's reach ; 
 Little about them can we prove. 
 
 And less can we teach. 
 
 What is this starry embellished work? 
 
 Is it to beautify the ski^? 
 Or is it for us to worship 
 
 And to ever idolize? 
 
 All I know it is a grand scheme, 
 
 Dancing along in grace; 
 And noiseless as a dream, 
 
 It moves in infinite space. 
 
 SIM DOBBS. 
 
 Sim wants to be a white man; 
 
 Something he cannot be; 
 And he is doing all he can. 
 
 To change his color, you see. 
 
 He wants his kinky hair made straight. 
 And his dusky skin made white 
 
 Then he thinks at any rate. 
 That he would be made just right. 
 
126 LYRIC, DOMESTIC 
 
 Sim is not contented to bo 
 
 Just as he was; made. 
 For no elegance can he see. 
 
 In such a smutty shade. 
 
 Lilly white powders he puts on his face, 
 And tries to straighti'u his hair; 
 
 He thinks it is a disgrace 
 
 For him not to be white and fair. 
 
 Sim is a black man. 
 
 But he does not want to be so; 
 
 And he is doing all he can 
 
 To change his color, you know. 
 
 He thinks that he is all right, 
 
 Except his color and hair; 
 And he had rather be white 
 
 Than black as a grizzly bear. 
 
 Sim thinks that hair and color 
 
 Make the mighty man; 
 He doesn't muse the intellect and dollar. 
 
 Will stamp him a hero in the land. 
 
 THE GOSPEL LIGHT. 
 
 The world is not like it usod to be 
 
 In the good olden days; 
 When Jesus walked upon the seai, 
 
 Over the rolling waves. 
 
 A benighteil world all in despair 
 Had never seen the Gospel Light; 
 
 Now sees it beaming bright and fair 
 Over the deep of rayless night. 
 
 Let all the earth rejoice, 
 For deliverance has come; 
 
 Let redeeming love be its choice 
 And shout salvation home. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 127 
 
 A light of redeeming love 
 
 Driving palpar^h' darkness away; 
 
 And radiating from above 
 Brighter than illustrious day. 
 
 The light of redwming love 
 Has roachefi the world at la«t; 
 
 It beams from a hidden source above, 
 And burns without full of gas. 
 
 From Zion's hill the light gleams 
 
 By night and by day; 
 And pours its radiant beams 
 
 Upon. the pilgrim's highway. 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 The best season I know: 
 It is yellow autumn time; 
 
 Whon money begins to flow 
 Along a business line. 
 
 When the corn is rich and yellow, 
 And the cotton fields are white; 
 
 These make the farmer a jolly fellow. 
 And he loudly laughs outright. 
 
 The farmer knows full well 
 This is mellow harvest time; 
 
 So he can buy and sell, 
 And quaff brimmers of wine. 
 
 Now he can stop every dun; 
 
 Knock honest debts in the head; 
 And after all this is done 
 
 He can walk off without dread. 
 
 Give me golden autumn time, 
 The best season of the year; 
 
 It makes my heart blithe as wine. 
 And dispels every fear. 
 
128 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Sing- of your gooti old summer time. 
 
 And all your flowery ^lays; 
 But Dono of these soothes this heart of mise^ 
 Like the yellow Autumn days. 
 
 PUT ON YOUR BUSTLE. 
 
 Put on your bustle 
 
 And go out and hustle 
 
 To see what you can find; 
 
 This, you must do, 
 
 Or you'll never get through — 
 
 I'll tell you now in time. 
 
 Just have a sweet smell 
 
 And name yourself Belle, 
 
 To see what you can find; 
 
 This you must do, 
 
 Or you will nevtT get through — 
 
 I will tell you now in time. 
 
 Put on your necklace 
 
 And powder your face; 
 
 Dress yourself up fine; 
 
 This, you must do, 
 
 Or you will never got through — 
 
 I will tell you now in time. 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 On the rock of hope, I stand, 
 And around me growls the sea; 
 
 I'm waiting for the life-boat 
 To come and deliver me. 
 
 Hope is a bright star to me 
 In my life stormy and dark. 
 
 Wandering over the deep, 
 In my little bark. 
 
 It is ever a beacon light 
 Towering o'er the sea of doom, 
 
 Guiding my little craft 
 
 Through the rayless gloom. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 129 
 
 When storms rule the sea 
 And horrid danger is nigh; 
 
 Hope brings the life-boat 
 From that shore on high. 
 
 THE SEA OF LIFE. 
 
 On life's rough and swelling tide, 
 
 My mimic bark sails 
 On to a distant port and wide 
 
 Where sweep no chilly galeB. 
 
 Across the dark and stormy waves. 
 
 In hope, the haven I see; 
 And my soul, anxious, craves 
 
 For the strand beyond that sea. 
 
 Though the mad billows roll high 
 And dash against my bark, 
 
 Still, in the gloom hope is nigli 
 To steer me through the dark. 
 
 Though the howling tempest rages, 
 And upturns with waves the deep; 
 
 Still the amazing strand engages 
 And bids me silent keep. 
 
 Hope is my unerring guide; 
 
 Faith is my sinewy arm; 
 On the billowy sea I ride, 
 
 And I brook no danger nor harm. 
 
 THE SETTING SUN. 
 
 When the reddened glow of sunset fade 
 
 On yon cloudless sky, 
 Everything that God has made 
 
 Seems to weep away and die. 
 
 The busy wheels of skill f-top, 
 While on the West he expires 
 
 And .sinks behind the mountain top. 
 To close his refulgent eyes. 
 
130 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 The gloomy shade muffles up all, 
 And snatches the globe from sight 
 
 By spreading around its awful pall. 
 The blackest robe of night. 
 
 The very heart of nature Bobs and awes 
 When day's hero is on the bridge of time; 
 
 When nature makes a sudden pause, 
 
 And night and day form an arch sublime. 
 
 Such emotions the setting sun instills 
 
 In genial summer days, 
 As it declines along the hills, 
 
 Reflecting its farewell rays. 
 
 MARCH BRAVELY ONWARD. 
 
 March bravely onward 
 
 If right is your way; 
 Never stop once to listen 
 
 At what wrong doers say. 
 
 One who is right need not fear 
 To attack wrong anywhere; 
 
 For in the vanguard of right 
 Proud victory moves there. 
 
 Right is a hardened soldier; 
 
 From wrong he will never run, 
 But fight him as he did at Gideon^ 
 
 When Joshua stopped the sun. 
 
 Right is ever invincible, 
 
 Though often cast down; 
 S/ till, in the end he rises, 
 
 Wearing a golden crown. 
 
 Right has ever conquered. 
 And will ever conquer still, 
 
 For its cause is just and holy. 
 Which is Jehovah's will. 
 
 Bold and preserving right, 
 
 Anointed vicegerent, king; 
 It matters not how wrong may rage; 
 
 I still of thee, will sing. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 131 
 
 Wrong may live and flourish for a tim» 
 And on gaudy wings shoot high; 
 
 But down to the feet of right 
 At last it must come and die. 
 
 A BENIGN LAND. 
 
 In her bosom sleep the blue, 
 Placid by the side of the gray, 
 
 Like sweet flowers wet with dew, 
 In the lovely month of May. 
 
 For the gray she has love and tears, 
 And sympathy for her foes, 
 
 In the raging storm of years. 
 That sweeps her sunny shores. 
 
 DOWN IN A DELL. 
 
 Down in a lonely silent dell 
 
 There the flowers were all in bloom, 
 
 I heard the chiming of a dinner bell, 
 Proclaiming the hour of noon. 
 
 The deep toned bell was ringing 
 In the tower dark and gray; 
 
 And a tolling swain was singing 
 Just across the sunny way. 
 
 The cricket was singing a dubious song, 
 As the hours went and came; 
 
 And the while a thirsty herd prest on 
 In a long extended train. 
 
 Away down the dell I could see 
 
 A dancing sunny stream; 
 And lambkins sporting o'er the lea 
 
 Whose robes were soft and green. 
 
 I saw the black raven, cawing, fly, 
 Slow beating o'er the mead; 
 
 And heard the bobolink chee, chee, cry- 
 As he flounced on the bending reed. 
 
133 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 That wild ¥ard of the field aaid grove, 
 The mimic mocking bird. 
 
 Was pouring out his notes of love. 
 The swiVttH^t I ever heaiil. 
 
 GREAT CIRCUMSTANCES. 
 
 Great circumstances seem to come 
 To manifest the genius in man; 
 
 And place him as the Rock of Ages, 
 On Time*s eternal strand. 
 
 Circumstanct^ make great men 
 
 And bid them all to rise; 
 From menial ranks here below 
 
 Up to where honor never dies. 
 
 Great events, like revolutions, 
 
 Sweep o'er time's misty sea; 
 And mighty personages from below 
 
 Are heaved to the surface of the sea. 
 
 Were it not for circumstances, 
 
 Man couldn't go on to fame; 
 But forever brood in oblivion. 
 
 Unknown without a name. 
 
 Circumstances give vent to genius 
 
 That's pent up in man; 
 Who craves to climb up higher. 
 
 And in glory stand. 
 
 EXHORTATION. 
 
 If you want to be a useful man, 
 Please bear this in mind. 
 
 Never waste precious life 
 In drinking liquor and wine. 
 
 Look not on the brimming bowl, 
 Where froths sparkling wine; 
 
 'Tis venom to the soul 
 And a viper to mankind. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 1S3 
 
 01(1 wine is ever mockery; 
 
 Strong drinks are raging; 
 And a brimming goblet o? cither 
 
 Will eet the soul a craving. 
 
 Be ever aware of foaming wine, 
 
 And for God's sake, any beverage; 
 For they have been a dagger 
 
 To the heart of every age. 
 
 He who tarries long at the dram Shop 
 
 And drinks wine to excess, 
 Weakens all his vitals 
 
 And makes his days less. 
 
 Utterly destroy the worm of the still, 
 
 And put down the maker of wine; 
 So that these veteran archfiends 
 
 Can't urge souls on to crime. 
 
 Cast out your port wine, 
 
 The juice of the purple grape; 
 And drink father Adam's ale. 
 
 Before it is too late. 
 
 There's health, vigor and life 
 
 In father Adam's ale; 
 He drank it long ago, 
 
 And his cheeks grew not pale. 
 
 Dash away your beverage, 
 
 And give me nature's wine; 
 Prest and made only 
 
 By hands truly divine. 
 
 IT'S GOING TO SNOW. 
 
 I see the wind is rising. 
 Gray clouds are hanging low; 
 
 The air is getting very cold, 
 I fear it's going to snow. 
 
134 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Bevies of wild birds I see. 
 
 On their airy way on high; 
 Above the humble vales below, 
 
 Southward on they fly. 
 
 Wild geese drive along, 
 
 Slow ploughing through the air; 
 
 Seeking some distant clime, 
 A clime they know not where. 
 
 The cattle are coming home to the shed; 
 
 Bossies are bleating loud; 
 The horses are playing and prancing, 
 
 With heads high and proud. 
 
 The fowls of the air and beasts of the field 
 
 Pear it's going to be cold; 
 And even lambkins cry, 
 
 And dams low in the fold. 
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF EVE AND ADAM. 
 
 The greatest nuptial that ever took place; 
 
 'Tis far back in the days of old; 
 In the origin of the human race, 
 
 Ere sin befouled the soul. 
 
 In sacred Eden's shade. 
 
 In the primitive days of old; 
 
 The wedlock institution was made 
 To solace the human soul. 
 
 God joined together their right hand 
 And announced their wedlock; 
 
 Then bade them united stand. 
 As adamantine rock. 
 
 A mighty host came down 
 
 Prom the shining courts above. 
 
 And gave the groom a glorious crown, 
 And the bride a fillet of love. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 135 
 
 The blissful air V/as all arife, 
 
 With a Bweet melodious strain; 
 "When she was made Adam's wife, 
 
 And given a revered name. 
 
 The marriage rite was proclaimed 
 
 By solely divine power; 
 And this wedlock is still famed, 
 
 Through the land and Eden's bower. 
 
 At that nuptial reception 
 
 God ruled and officiated there; 
 And angels in a long procession. 
 
 Came down on the fragrant air. 
 
 The heavenly guests were delighted 
 
 With Eden's transporting scene, 
 When God in marriage united 
 
 This earthly king and queen. 
 
 The conjugal rite by God was read, 
 Which declared them to be husband and wife; 
 
 Then He solemnized man aa the royal head, 
 And woman the mother of life. 
 
 Angels struck their harps of gold; 
 
 Then the birds of Eden sang 
 Voluptuous songs like an organ roll'd. 
 
 And the nuptial with melody rang. 
 
 The nuptial feast was of ambrosial moat; 
 
 The drink was saci'ed wine; 
 And ruddy fruit, mellow and swoet, 
 
 Served up in love divine. 
 
 After that marriage reception. 
 
 And the groom had saluted the bride; 
 
 The grand seraphic procession, 
 Back to heaven began to fly. 
 
 High bliss adorned the sacred pair, 
 
 Eden's mighty king and queen; 
 The transporting sights everywhere; 
 
 And fields robed in living green. 
 
136 LYRIC, DOMKSTIC 
 
 ADAM. 
 
 Whon Adam out of a sUimlh'i- ^voke, 
 
 llo hoard fair Kvo's voioo; 
 So inolKnv aiul soitnjo alio spoke, 
 
 It mailo Atiaju's hoart. ivji>lo©. 
 
 How lovoly illd Kvo apptar! 
 
 When tlrst A(h\ni saw lior faoo. 
 Aud bado hor to oomo iioar. 
 
 Witli hor auuolio U>vt* and i^raooT 
 
 Tlniid. Eve vollod hor hlu^^hinj;- face 
 With hor long- auburn hair. 
 
 Whioh huni; \vautt>n down to Ium- waist, 
 lu sunny rlns;l<^ts fair. 
 
 Tho sit;ht of Kvt- kindlod anitMit lovo 
 In A«lain'» woary hroast. 
 Ami loft him aUnio to rove. 
 Without a nioniont*s rest. 
 
 Her howltohin.n oharnis hold hiui fast. 
 Thus fiiun hor ho oouldn't part. 
 
 Till on a oortain day alas! 
 Mo i;altu\l hor tondor hoart. 
 
 lier oyos woro as a sparklin.n som; 
 
 Her tooth shouo .\iabian poarl. 
 Which annu.od and how it oh od him. 
 Tho lirst suitor in tho world. 
 
 All through VMon's loafy grovo 
 And its Holds of living gretni. 
 
 Kvo liktHi aii^no to rovo. 
 
 Over these enchanting scents. 
 
 Pluckitig figs anti tlowors. 
 
 Wius Kve's solo dolight: 
 In Ellon's shatly Iniwors. 
 
 FVom oarly min-n till night. 
 
 Often forwjird sho strayed awny 
 From Adam's woundtni side, 
 
 Until at last one awful day 
 Sho an artful serpent spied. 
 
AND SACKKI) POKMS. 137 
 
 Th^^n- th«- inw of knowl'dK'; 'li'l U)m Jind wave 
 
 ItH fruit of Koo<l ;infJ evil, 
 Which th<; wr|j*iiJt cuU'd and to Kvo gave 
 
 Th'? KCM-m of <'Vfjry 111, 
 
 The d<llcloiJK fruit Eva ate, 
 
 And Horrj<i Bho gave to her »pouBe; 
 IJroiJKht on tl»f:rn <'ternal faUt, 
 
 And in them did <'V)1 arouw. 
 
 CoTiKcious of their Kuilt and f-hame 
 
 To hide thfy Hneak'd away; 
 Then (i(>(\ flown from heaven came 
 
 And ealled them In the cool of the day. 
 
 At fifHt. Adam did refuse 
 
 To rcHpond t© Ofjd'H j-acred call, 
 For it hore the rlireful newK, 
 
 Of hlH dejith and Hhameful fall. 
 
 The Kerpent beguiled Eve, 
 
 And she the fruit nUr, 
 AIko Adam, to ple;i«e 
 
 Eve'H deceptive palate. 
 
 Their nakedness now they saw, 
 
 Which was more than they could Tjc»ar; 
 
 And the p<*nalty for breaking Oo^I'b law 
 Muffled them up In deep deHpair. 
 
 They hid themHclvcfl among the trees 
 
 Tliat grew in pamdiM*; 
 And made apronn of fig leavf«, 
 
 Their BhamenewK to diBguIw;. 
 
 To the serpent Ood charged the blame; 
 
 Then branded him with a curse, 
 And bade him grovel on In shame, 
 
 F'rom bad to end lews worse. 
 
 For this crime God mad*- him crawl, 
 
 And on his sler-k belly go; 
 From mans si^jameful f.-ill, 
 
 Into misery h<re belov/. 
 
138 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Bitter rancor did God place 
 
 Between the serpent and Eve; 
 Until comes the day of grace, 
 
 Their deep grudge to appease. 
 
 "Woman's heel shall bruise the serpent's head, 
 And the serpent's seed shall bruise his heel," 
 
 Thus the Lord God of Adam said. 
 
 When he drove them out of Eden's Held. 
 
 For the crime she had done. 
 
 Death was made to reign; 
 And as a penitent all unknown, 
 
 She suffers in parturition and pain. 
 
 God bade Eve in sorrow go 
 
 Travailing from day to day; 
 And that her helpmeet would show 
 
 Her misled feet the way. 
 
 Prom Eden having been driven, 
 And now being tossed to and fro, 
 
 By a decree of high heaven. 
 
 She must drag her life out in woe. 
 
 Sorrowful o'er the shameful act, 
 And by its revengeful ire driven; 
 
 She goes with her tearful eyes turn'd back, 
 Upon her lost heaven. 
 
 God a fiery malediction placed. 
 
 Upon the man Adam, too; 
 That he should eat bread in the sweat of his face. 
 
 As life he journeys through. 
 
 He cursed the ground for Adam's sake. 
 
 And sowed thistles and thorns everywhere; 
 And lest he put forth his hands and take 
 
 Of the tree of life and eat in Godly care. 
 
 Therefore, the Lord God drove him away 
 
 From the garden of paradise; 
 And all forlorn he wanders astray, 
 
 With his evil merchandise. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. 139 
 
 God placed ch^irubinis round and about 
 
 And a flaming sword divine; 
 To keep fallen man out 
 
 Of lost Eden's confine. 
 
 Down from blissful Eden he went 
 
 God's dire curse to fulfill, 
 And there a forlorn penitent, 
 
 Under God's inexorable will. 
 
 In the dense unbroken wild 
 
 He groped his way to find; 
 Still there only man was vile, 
 
 \ transgressor of the law divine. 
 
 RICHES. 
 
 Great wealt justly acquired 
 Is sanctioned by God on high, 
 
 Who is propitious to human welfare 
 Under His all surveying eye. 
 
 Be not like the Pharisee, 
 
 But justly acquire all you can; 
 
 Ever toil on and economize your means, 
 And thus become a wealthy man. 
 
 IMany of the sacred patriarchs were rich; 
 
 They had cattle on many a hill; 
 Then why not you and I 
 
 If it is God's holy will? 
 
 Jacob and Isaac were rich; 
 
 And yea! Solomon with swarthy sRin, 
 Then why should we now a day 
 
 Think riches a sin? 
 
 Great wealth honestly gotten, 
 
 Doesn't preclude the soul 
 From entering eternal bliss. 
 
 Whose riches are untold. 
 
140 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Emulate the rich and pious patriarchs, 
 And pray God's kingdom to come 
 
 On earth as 'tis in lieaven, 
 And make earth our eternal home. 
 
 DREAMING OF MARGIE, 
 
 Out in the sunshine and in the shade 
 
 I'm tossed now to and fro; 
 Rowing down the stream of life, 
 
 Lamenting as I go. 
 
 Watching the heaving crested water 
 
 Lash the distant shore; 
 Dreaming of that dear one, 
 
 Who died long ago. 
 
 Thinking she stands waiting 
 On the cloudless blessed shore; 
 
 Beckoning me to come, 
 And live with her forevermore. 
 
 Fancying I see her all alone 
 Weeping by the stream; 
 And the filmy fancy is so real, 
 I brook it's not a dream. 
 
 She's watching and waiting for me, 
 
 Just beyond the dark tide; 
 And for me to take my seat in glory, 
 
 Right at her precious side. 
 
 Just beyond the rayless gloom 
 She wails and weeps for me; 
 
 I know she muses I'm coming 
 Across life's dreadful sea. 
 
 I think she is looking in this way, 
 
 From that beautiful shore; 
 And I fancy she is as lovely. 
 
 As in the days of yore. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 141 
 
 NATIONAL PROHIBITION. 
 
 Prohibitionists are trying in every way 
 
 To destroy the liquor traffic now-a-day 
 
 A legendary depraved evil old, 
 
 Which harms both body and soul. 
 
 National prohibition is coming, 
 
 I hear its mighty wheels humming; 
 
 It's coming just around the curve, 
 
 And is straining every nerve. 
 
 The anti-prohibitionists need not frown, 
 
 For the liquor traffic is going down; 
 
 Yes! going down to the lowest hell. 
 
 Lower than any pro can tell. 
 
 The antis now growl and bark o'er their prey, 
 
 Which the pros are trying to tear away 
 
 Or drive it from the American shore. 
 
 To stop premature death and woe. 
 
 This wild traffic blights the nation's face, 
 
 And weakens the moral tone of the race 
 
 By dwarfing the physique of mankind. 
 
 And paralyzing the energetic mind. 
 
 It's a fuel to chill penury and woe 
 
 And spreads wide from shore to shore; 
 
 Thus maintaining bacchanal revelries, 
 
 Big with unlicensed miseries. 
 
 With reluctance it goes to other climes, 
 
 With its ej^s turn'd back upon the crimes 
 
 That it has unwillingly left behind, 
 
 Standing grim and colossal among mankind. 
 
 For it there's but little pity, 
 
 In the breast of the national city; 
 
 And the historic day of its defeat, 
 
 Let nation-wide prohibition greet. 
 
 When every grog shop and every distillery dies, 
 
 Every brothel and brewery likewise; 
 
 Moral purity and temperance shall reign 
 
 From the Gold( n gate to the bleak hills of Maine, 
 
 Then from St. Lawrence to the Rio Grande, 
 
 The region shall be a paradise for man; 
 
 And the sun of sobriety shall shine 
 
 Upon a land of corn and wine. 
 
142 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 THE SOUL. 
 
 All! soul, what art tluui? 
 
 Art thou not human conception; 
 Made immortal some how, 
 
 By some mysterious preternatural invention? 
 
 Thou art housed up in mortal, 
 
 That must soon decay; 
 "Wrought by a power supernatural, 
 
 In a miraculous, mystic way. 
 
 The unsoen soul is immortal. 
 
 Though it hides in vulirar clay; 
 It came from the Kternal. 
 
 Whose brightness darkens day. 
 
 It Is but an amazing wonder. 
 
 And it never has been seen; 
 Still we needn't try to ponder. 
 
 OVr it as we would an idle dream. 
 
 A CLEAR NIGHT. 
 
 Not a spot of cloud was seen 
 
 On- the face of the cerulean sky; 
 
 And thus the night was serene 
 As time went sweeping by. 
 
 All the checkered boauties on high 
 Ath^rning the wondrous expanse above. 
 
 Seemed all to my gazing eye, 
 To be a celestial field of love. 
 
 The starry blazonry God, 
 
 Marshalled all o'er the sky; 
 
 Thus a galaxy of stars about the sod, 
 Mov'd twinkling before my eye. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 143 
 
 Exquisite elegance of the richest dye 
 
 Adorn'd the w«'lkln f.-ir away 
 With glittering gems of lucid fire; 
 
 Span'd and spangled by the milky way. 
 
 RAG-TAG AND BOB-TAIL. 
 
 Rag-tag and Bob-tail 
 Don't live in peace tof^ether, 
 
 For Rag-tag don't really believe 
 That Bob-tail is his brother. 
 
 Bob-tail indeed, suspects he is; 
 
 But Rag-tag thinks he is not; 
 Thus, by reason of' noii affinity, 
 
 Each stays in his own cot. 
 
 Rag-tag is vei-y high strung ; 
 
 But Bob-tail is a little drowsy; 
 Rag-tag says Bob-tail's head 
 
 Is always somewhat lousy. 
 
 At times Bob-tail acts high-toned, 
 And vaunts and struts ciround; 
 
 Then Rag-tag eyes him 
 
 And scoins him with a frown. 
 
 Between Rag-tag and Bob-tail 
 
 Lurl<s ever bitter strife; 
 Each musing that the other 
 
 Wants each other's wife. 
 
 Rag-tag is in fine shape 
 
 To stand up like a man; 
 Though you see Bob-tail is not, 
 
 But he Is doing all he can. 
 
 Big Ragtag and Bob-tail, 
 
 By and ijy ))ulled off a big fight; 
 So big Rag-tag with great power, 
 Knocked little Bob-tail out of sight. 
 
144 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Thus little Bob-tail is now gone 
 To where I do not know; 
 
 But I suspect he's in a realm 
 Where milk and honev flow. 
 
 THE DYING SOLDIER. 
 
 A German soldier lay dying- 
 Far away on Russian soil; 
 
 No one to wipe his haggard brow, 
 And anoint his wounds with oil. 
 
 No one wiped the tears from his ghastly eyes, 
 Nor smoothed back his silken hair; 
 
 Nor breathed, in his dying ears, 
 A last and farewell prayer. 
 
 All bleeding, mangled and wounded, 
 
 And in the throes of death; 
 He gasping, whispered, "Tomorrow 
 
 I'll be out of pain; my soul will be at rest" 
 
 "Take my sword as a token 
 To some bosomeil friends of mine; 
 
 For I was a German soldier, 
 Who dreaded not mankind." 
 
 "Tell Germany not to weep for me, 
 
 Nor bow her imperial head, 
 When her soldiery comes marching home, 
 
 With wild triumphal tread. 
 
 "Hang my sword up in the imperial hall 
 As a token for the Gernian line. 
 
 For I gave to her as an offering, 
 This gallant life of mine. 
 
 "Tell my dear mother and sister, too, 
 Not to gi'ieve o'er the heroic dead; 
 
 When they see these troops come home again, 
 YN/'ith glad and steady tread. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 145 
 
 "In the last night of my life 
 
 I saw them in my dream; 
 Looking and waiting for me 
 
 On the bank of that far-famed stream. 
 
 "Tell Germany to take this ghastly corpse, 
 
 As a sacred offering of mine; 
 For my native home is in Strashurg, 
 
 Dear Strasburg on the Rhine!" 
 
 His pulse grew faint and few: 
 
 His voice grew low and weak; 
 His eyes put on a djing look; 
 
 The soldier ceased to speak. 
 
 In a moment the hero was dead; 
 
 His dauntless spirit had gone; 
 As' the last ray faded o'er all, 
 
 The stars from heaven shone. 
 
 COMICAL JOY. 
 
 I tickle you, you tickle me , 
 Just a little bit under the chin; 
 
 And the entrancing joy it gives 
 Will make an opossum grin. 
 
 Say, let me tickle you 
 
 And you may tickle me, 
 For some hasty joy 
 
 We may feel and see. 
 
 But hear, don't let us tickle too long, 
 
 I'll tell you ere we start, 
 For the thing you call tickling 
 
 Sometimes convulses the heart. 
 
 Now while I tickle you, please don't holler. 
 But let me see you swallow and grin; 
 
 When I touch that funny something 
 Just undi'r your dimpled chin. 
 
146 LYRIC, DOMESTIC 
 
 MISCHIEVOUS BRATS. 
 
 Full of little mischief 
 
 Around the house you go; 
 
 I can't tell to save my life, 
 What makes you so. 
 
 Romping and bawling in the house; 
 
 Slamminii; the open door; 
 Scattering old hooks and rubbish 
 
 All over the floor. 
 
 You playful little brats. 
 Mischievous as you can be; 
 
 Thoughtless as young goslings, 
 And as busy as a bee. 
 
 Scampering here and there, 
 As senseless little kids; 
 
 Yes! doing the very things 
 That your mother forbids. 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 Night's the time for prayer and rest, 
 And to note what we have done; 
 
 And though our deeds be good or bad, 
 We write them one by one. 
 
 Then we give thanks for blessings past, 
 And pray for blessings to come 
 
 Upon ourselves and household, 
 And every friendly home. 
 
 Night is for secrecy and rest, 
 And to lull pan hubbub to sleep; 
 
 'Tis then the anger soul prefers 
 To bow, pray and weep. 
 
 How sincerely can we pray 
 
 In the silent sable night, 
 Asking God to help us on 
 
 In the -way that is right. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 147 
 
 AN UNFORTUNATE FELLOW. 
 
 When the world goes ahead 
 
 And gets a fellow behind, 
 It'll give him anything 
 
 Except a good time. 
 
 The world's a touter, and is full of taffy, 
 
 This, a fellow needs not to doubt; 
 For if it once gets the start on him. 
 
 It will certainly put him out: 
 
 It will just grab a fellow's throat, 
 
 And choke him until he's dead; 
 Then fasten him in the seat of his breeches, 
 
 And pitch him out, heels over head. 
 
 It matters but little who's in the van, 
 
 And much less who's in the rear; 
 But in all your own affairs. 
 
 Try to be the chief engineer. 
 
 KEEP THE CENTER OF GRAVITY 
 UNDER YOU. 
 
 Keep the center of gravity under you. 
 
 If you want to sit or stand; 
 So live with charity in your heart. 
 
 For God' and fallen man. 
 
 Let the heart be a nucleus of good 
 
 From which rays of joy shine 
 And spread through all the universe, 
 
 Their beams among mankind. 
 
 Keep the heart washed white and clean, 
 With tears and the soap of prayer; 
 
 And the garment of eternal life 
 Will still be white and fair. 
 
 A cleansed heart and bridled tongue, 
 
 Make the robes clean and white; 
 And serve and fear no other God, 
 
 But the God of right. 
 
148 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 THE ONE WHO'S RIGHT. 
 
 One need not fear a thousand enemies 
 When battling for what's right, 
 
 Nor once become discouraged 
 
 Because the captain is out of sight. 
 
 But sally forth with courage 
 
 And "S'ie with manly might; 
 For a thousand enemies can't disarm 
 
 And foil one hero of right. 
 
 One right can chase a thousand wrongs, 
 Two can put them all to flight; 
 
 And victors they ride o'er the battlefield 
 In the chariot of golden light. 
 
 A LITTLE SUNBEAM. 
 
 A little beam of sunlight 
 From just across the way 
 
 Shone through my window pane 
 And played with me one day. 
 
 I was very ill in bed; 
 
 Pent in a dusky room; 
 And this kind-hearted little angel 
 
 Came to see me just at noon. 
 
 This little golden sunbeam. 
 Transfixing the realms above. 
 
 Was but a lost tiny sister 
 Of the Pleiades of love. 
 
 It kissed my sunken, wan cheeks. 
 
 Then softly crept away 
 To mix and mingle its tiny self 
 
 With the ebbing tide of day. 
 
 REPOSE. 
 
 My physique is getting weak; 
 
 My ambition is growing dull; 
 Soon my gift of song 
 
 Will be void and null. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 149 
 
 Somewhere on the mountain, 
 
 There's a lone and sacred spring; 
 
 And a solitude is long listening. 
 And waiting to hear me sing. 
 
 In some wild waste, 
 
 There's a lonely fertile spot; 
 And some generous hand has planted, 
 
 There, a sweet for-get-me-not. 
 
 Indeed, somewhere in a realm. 
 
 Where manly hearts are free 
 I hear a sad voice calling; 
 
 'Tis calling now for me. 
 
 Somewhere in a lonesome vale, 
 There are no dry human bones; 
 
 There souls have no afflictions, 
 And hear no dying groans. 
 
 INDEED, I'M BUT EMBERS. 
 
 Indeed, I'm but embers 
 
 Where I used to be fire; 
 ,My sprightly ambition is gone, 
 
 And I'm now looking to expire. 
 
 I used to be a green dainty leaf, 
 But now I'm a leaf withered and brown; 
 
 Soon winter's chilly breath shall come, 
 And hurl me headlong down. 
 
 For earthly gaudery I used to lu'^t, 
 
 And aspire for airy renown; 
 But these are only vanities, 
 
 My time-worn heart has found. 
 
 I try to do and think what's right, 
 Regardless to the pretense of mankind; 
 
 Since I do and speak what's just, 
 I'm serving God all the time. 
 
150 LYKIC, DOMESTIC 
 
 APHORISMS. 
 
 Hot tor the tire, 
 
 BrighttT tlio blaze; 
 
 Stouter tho man. 
 The more can he raise. 
 
 Older the woman. 
 
 Greater are the senses; 
 Younger tlu^ woman, 
 
 BiggiM- are the expenses. 
 
 Homelier the woman. 
 
 Tho tighter she sticks; 
 Fairer the wench. 
 
 Dirtier are the tricks. 
 
 Clearer the welkin. 
 
 Lovelier is the moonshine 
 Lonelier the night, 
 
 Fitter is the time. 
 
 Longer the wooing. 
 
 Less is the love; 
 Hotter the desire, 
 
 Thicker is the grove. 
 
 LIFE'S SUN. 
 
 My life's sun is sinking fast; 
 
 A sad soli^mn sound I hear 
 Tolling on the evening blast; 
 
 I know my doom is near. 
 
 I feel (he night's chilly wind, 
 I sei^ its black rolling cloud. 
 
 'Tis but a horrid veil of sin. 
 Trying to hide me from my God. 
 
 How fast it is going down! 
 
 My raci^ is nearly run; 
 It looks back without a frown, 
 
 Still my blushing, sinking sun. 
 
AND PATprp Poems. 151 
 
 The silent shade of eve is falling 
 
 Down you Orient sky; 
 The knell «)f night is tolling, calling 
 
 For my sinking sun to expire. 
 
 HARD TIMES. 
 
 Just think ahout the good times, 
 
 And all the dainties you've had; 
 
 But devils now have gotten the world down, 
 
 And are dragging it all to the bad. 
 
 Now as all are in hard luck, 
 
 Accept your portion In full; 
 For the bad has got all by the heels, 
 
 And is making a down hill pull. 
 
 Let all deride m.y harsh muse. 
 And o'er it grow raving mad; 
 
 It doesn't mutter a continental; 
 The world's gone to the bad. 
 
 Half of the world is in want and apathy, 
 And for supremacy, half is gone mad; 
 
 So the good old time's blooming cheeks, 
 Are now looking lurid and sad. 
 
 THE SOUTH. 
 
 O fair land in a sunny clime! 
 Sweet land of ambrosia, corn and wine; 
 Myriad tongues in praise proclaim, 
 Thy flowery scenes and celestial name — 
 To hail th(> welfare in Ihy eye. 
 Which glows as thine own sunny sky. 
 
 Thou astral clime of lovely grace, 
 The Elysian home of a noble race; 
 The lustrious diadem on th> head. 
 Tints thy dusty hills with red. 
 To the Stpicy breezes creep 
 And kiss thy blooming cheeks. 
 
152 LvKic, Domestic 
 
 Thy vspnrUllnj? lovely, a/uro «'yo, 
 Di-lj;ht n» thy sunlight wky; 
 And thy KoniM'oiis hoart bospeak. 
 Through tin* glow of thy red rliook - 
 And thy soil lips. rodcU'i" still: 
 Cuross'd by slrawlKU'i'les on tl>o hill. 
 
 Yea! rt\st in tlu* valor of thy sons, 
 Whoso nobl(» siroa nvim'(^ Washlnglons, 
 Who call'd down thy godiliMris from on high, 
 And lixtul thv colors in tlu^ sunny sky 
 So that tlioii n\lgli(»>s( bo 
 Now, and I'oiM'vor froo. 
 
 Stroams of wonlth through tlu>o flow. 
 
 And copious bliss sproad thy landscape o'er; 
 
 Thus as thy jaunt > joy and wiMdth. 
 
 So is thy lusty rt)sy ht>alth: 
 
 Those all tempt llu^ alien guost. 
 
 Who comes from the Kast and West. 
 
 Lo! the groves of oak and pln<\ 
 Crowning that fair brow of thine 
 And shutting out fiom full view, 
 Thy orbs that roll in glossy blue; 
 And giving niniantic l)e!iuty to Iheo, 
 The lUnilah land, the land of the free. 
 
 ILL BEHAVIOR IN CHURCH. 
 
 It's no use to wbee«iU^ and pout 
 
 And kick about what is said, 
 If you don't know what 'tis about, 
 
 The folks will call yt)U N<>d. 
 
 Take a seat njul nevi^r go out 
 
 I'ntil the lU'eachcr Is through: 
 Don't walk the aisle like one with the gout, 
 
 lUit sit right still in your pew. 
 
 Sit Still and don't go out : 
 
 Hear what (he apostU^s say: 
 Beyotui the sliadow of a doubt 
 
 It will do \o\\ giunl soin<> dav. 
 
AND Sacked Poems. 158 
 
 Don't turn around In your i>ow 
 
 JuHt to we who Ih coming In, 
 But wait till tho preuchcr Ih thiou^h, 
 
 For otljfjrwiHo It'H a Hin. 
 
 During Hacrcd nervican 
 Novor lauKh, glgKl«! and grin, 
 
 UnlesH moved by Hplrltual capiic^'H 
 Lc8B you commit a Bin. 
 
 You may have on a fancy hat 
 
 And a v<'ry Htyllnh Hult, 
 But If you don't Hit Htlll after that 
 
 The church lowera you to a brute. 
 
 If you have on ten dollar whooK 
 And a dreflH looking neat and pat, 
 
 You must Kit wtill in your pewH, 
 And listen to the i)reacher'H chat. 
 
 Don't go to church to Hhow out 
 
 And neither to make fun, 
 When ChrlHtlatiB begin to Bhout 
 
 And prjiiH«' the crucIlWMi one. 
 
 Joe gocH to church to Hhow his clothes; 
 
 Kallb* Bimf)ly to be Keen; 
 Joe thinks he Ih a roB<'; 
 
 And Salli" thInkK ehe Ih a queen. 
 
 AWAY DOWN THE MISSISSIPPI. 
 
 Away down the MIhhIhhIppI river, 
 
 Far far away; 
 Where blades of tall grass quiver, 
 
 And all tfie year Ih May. 
 
 Down where the tall Blender flag 
 
 And the wild bulrunh grow; 
 There In delight I used to lag, 
 
 On th<* winding river Hhore. 
 
 1 can hear the HwalnH Hinging, 
 
 Down on th(; river Khore; 
 And I hear the farm bcllK ringing, 
 
 In the mornlng'K ruddy glow. 
 
154 LYKIC, DOMESTIC 
 
 111 inomory »tlll I noo, 
 
 Tliouiih far. fur away. 
 Tlu> huuil>lo fj»bliis on (h(> lou, 
 
 W'M'd by tlif livtM' way. 
 
 I sO(» i\\c Wowcry moadowv* lair. 
 
 l-ottt'd wUh oraum^ (rocs; 
 1 snioll Iho swoot soiM\(<'(i air. 
 
 That romoH on (ho wliiKs of tho breeze. 
 
 1Uos8«m1 h(^ tlio balmy spot, 
 
 Hard by (ho rlvor aitli»; 
 \V«y down \vht>n» (ho sun shines hot, 
 
 Swaiilike, K ( nn* vslng umi die. 
 
 Take mo baoU to (he tihi i)hin(ation 
 
 \Vh<>ro oo(tou and ribbon cane grow- 
 Lot me se(^ tlnM'o n\y dear rolatlon 
 Once moro on tlio river shore. 
 
 Take n\e baok, O to my mothor'tj; 
 
 WhiM'o my dear father tiled. 
 Bemoaned by my sister and brothers, 
 
 Down on (ho river side. 
 
 A TRUE FRIEND. 
 
 Anions; all the human Innings, 
 
 It Is hard to t\ud a rrlond: 
 To wado with yon tlirougb thick and thin 
 
 And stiok io you to the end. 
 
 Always love a trno friend, 
 
 .\ frlond wlio falters not: 
 l>m' who'll stiok to you in the outl, 
 
 Whatever may be your \o(. 
 
 One who will wade with you 
 
 Throni\h thiol; and thin; 
 Mark him down your most true 
 
 And noble hearted friend. 
 
AND SACKKii Poems. 165 
 
 DIXIE. 
 
 Ob! how I lovd iJlxUt Land, 
 
 The Hunny cllmo where my faUi<;r died; 
 TlK-re I'll ev<T take my Ktan<l 
 
 And llKlit for Ith noble pride. 
 
 In lilxle mwy I live and Hln^ 
 
 In Dixie O let me die! 
 Whohe dime 1m <*v<r emerald spring, 
 
 Den^'ath a Southern «ky. 
 
 I love ItH tall UmySuK lAnm, 
 
 It'rf tlrifed vah'H and iilllH, 
 ItM co1Iohh;j1 teniplcH iii)t\ Hhrin'H, 
 
 ItH murmuring brookn and rlllH. 
 
 In Dixie I'll take my ftand, 
 
 An<I l;reathr; my life out th«-re; 
 Tlien \xt burled In the Houthi;rn land, 
 
 A land whow; Hkl«f« are fair. 
 
 I love ItH birdH and wweet JlowerH, 
 
 ItH b<'e« and ^ay l;utt<'rfli<-», 
 ItB denHe cool refreHhlng l>ower8, 
 
 And ItK ever Kummer Hkle«. 
 
 In lt(- dffeni-e I'll «taiid, 
 
 UiK/n ItH rampartB high. 
 Arid with manly h<*art and band 
 
 Hold ItH colon* to the ^ky. 
 
 I bavr- ralll<'<l one around ItH flag, 
 
 Anrl will rally once again; 
 When lt» juHt for me to wage, 
 
 War for itB rlghteouH name. 
 
 In th«' line of the gallant gray, 
 
 With ItK proud banner on high; 
 And In tli^r hotlcHt of the fray, 
 
 I'll fight until I die. 
 
 Then, aH a Holdi*T, paHH o'er the river. 
 
 To reHt In the ^iuuht of the tree; 
 And dr'-am of the land I'v- delivered, 
 
 In the nobh; country of the fre<?. 
 
156 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 This sweet beloved Southland 
 Of cotton, corn and wine, 
 Was destined to be my natal land, 
 
 Where glory i^ ever mine. 
 
 O sacred be the ground 
 
 Where her gallant graves spread; 
 And valor guard solemnly round 
 
 The ashes of her valiant dead. 
 
 SACRED CONSCIENCE. 
 
 There is a glowing light within me 
 That shines by night and by day; 
 
 However dark may be the sea, 
 It shows my feet the way. 
 
 It's a beaming beacon light 
 On my life's rock-bound coast; 
 
 And in my life's rayless night, 
 It is my guide post. 
 
 When I wander in black despair. 
 And through the gloom can't see far; 
 
 It dissipates the clouds there, 
 For it's Jesus, the morning star. 
 
 I'd have to grope the way to find, 
 
 Were it not for this light, 
 Shining from a source divine 
 
 Beyond my feeble sight. 
 
 It is like a beacon light. 
 
 An awful watch tower in the sea; 
 For frightened sailors at night, 
 
 Or lost shepherds on the lea. 
 
 THAT AWFUL GOD. 
 
 That awful God I love; 
 
 He rules everywhere ; 
 He drives His noiseless wheels along 
 
 The highway of the air. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 157 
 
 When He speaks the howling winds cease; 
 
 The swelling si>a subsides; 
 And that giim monster, the lightning, 
 
 Trembles with terror and hides. 
 
 He charges the clouds with thundery 
 
 And bids them where to roll 
 Along the vast firmament 
 
 They follow His control. 
 
 In the palm of His hand creation dances. 
 
 And conforms to His design; 
 It varies not the tithe of a hair, 
 
 From His predestined law and line. 
 
 DOWN IN THE MEADOW. 
 
 Down in the sunny meadow, 
 
 I love to loiter there, 
 With daisies sweet around me, 
 
 Smiling everywhere. 
 
 Where roses wild entwine, 
 
 And kiss the daffodils; 
 Where buttercups trig and tall, 
 
 Weep to the singing rills. 
 
 By the side of every daisy 
 
 There's a sweet blue bell, 
 Fairer to my fancy 
 
 Than the lily of the dell. 
 
 Kiss me sweet pinks and roses, 
 
 And darling daisies too; 
 For I must leave the meadow, 
 
 And bid you all adieu. 
 
 Sweet lovely daisies; 
 
 It grieves me to part; 
 But still I'll ever hold you 
 
 Precious to my heart. 
 
 Plucking pinks and daisies, 
 Buttercups and bluebells too, 
 
 Daffodils and roses 
 
 Wet with sparkling dew. 
 
158 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 Down in the sunny meadow, 
 Dreaming in tender care; 
 
 With daisies all around me, 
 Looking sweet and fair. 
 
 THE YOUNG MOON. 
 
 The crescent moon went out of sight 
 And left the stars to rule the night, 
 But darkness wouldn't be controlled 
 By these mimic little souls. 
 The little stars crawled to the West, 
 Where the moon had gone down to rest; 
 And each, in a little trundle bed. 
 Tucked his twinkling little head. 
 
 All the stars in a train 
 
 Did to the moon complain; 
 
 But darkness laughed with all his might, 
 
 For he was champion of the night. 
 
 JACK IN THE PULPIT. 
 
 Jack is in the pulpit, 
 
 Raising a mighty sand; 
 Everybody thinks its wit, 
 
 And says its mighty grand. 
 
 Some call him sin-killer Jack, 
 
 Some, that preaching dog; 
 Others say little did he lack 
 
 In being a big frog. 
 
 Parson Jack with a stolen bride, 
 The daughter of Deacon Gray; 
 
 Preaches by the roadside, 
 On each Sabbath day. 
 
 When the parson begins to holler, 
 
 The sisters begin to moan; 
 But when the parson calls for a dollar 
 The brethren begin to groan. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 159 
 
 MY HARP WILL NOT RING. 
 
 I hang my harp on the willow tree, 
 
 That you see weeping by the way; 
 And perhaps when my heart gets nierry and free, 
 
 I will play it again some day. 
 
 My harp strings will not sound; 
 
 My voice is faint and low; 
 My heart beai-s a ghastly wound, 
 
 Right through its very core. 
 
 This is the reason I cannot sing. 
 
 And my strain is vulgar, low; 
 My little harp will not ring. 
 
 Like the harp of Apollo. 
 
 WHO SHALL GET TO HEAVEN? 
 
 Who shall get to heaven 
 
 And dwell there after they go? 
 The Bible says, "Many shall be driven 
 
 From the bar of God," you know. 
 
 When the righteous shall barely escape; 
 
 Oh! where shall the ungodly stand: 
 When God's chariot wheels shall shake 
 
 The awful sky and land? 
 
 ROXANNA. 
 
 Have you ever seen Roxanua? 
 
 She is as lovely as the dawn; 
 Dancing in the orient gate, 
 
 Gilding the hazy mom. 
 
 She is a rose of Florida, 
 
 The sweetest flower of all the dell; 
 Well might the world call her: 
 
 "Roxanna, beauty's belle." 
 
 I forsook her at the river side. 
 
 Many sad years ago; 
 Thence I heedless fled 
 
 To whither I did not know. 
 
160 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 On the margin of the river, 
 
 I forsook her cozy home; 
 For my wayward fancy 
 
 Was then to sport and roam. 
 
 I left her melting down in tearts, 
 And weeping with sad woe; 
 
 Mantling her face in her apron, 
 And staying ' pieubc, don't go." 
 
 'Tis true we are far apart; 
 
 My wandering has been tedious and long; 
 Still I'll never venture forth 
 
 To do her one single wrong. 
 
 Oftimes at night when I'm asleep, 
 In spirit she seems to come; 
 
 And in a plaintive voice 
 Sings to me "Sweet Home." 
 
 Since the thorn in my flesh is dead, 
 And my wayward fancies sleep; 
 
 I love sweet Roxanna, 
 And she needs not to weep. 
 
 She is brave, lovely and true, 
 Virtue's only anointed child; 
 
 Made thus by holy design, 
 To be »weet, gentle and mild. 
 
 If I never more meet her 
 
 On that sunny shore; 
 I hope we'll strike glad hands 
 
 In that blissful forevermore. 
 
 JESUS LOVER OF MY SOUL. 
 
 Jesus lover of my soui 
 
 In agony and in woe; 
 Ransomed me, I am told, 
 
 And paid the debt T owe. 
 
 Jesus did shed his precious blood 
 
 On Mount Calvary, 
 As a sacred cleansing flood. 
 
 For you and for me. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. 161 
 
 Jesus heard my groans and cries 
 
 Pleading to be free; 
 He left his royal seat on high. 
 
 And came down to dwell with me. 
 
 The lamb of G^od came down 
 
 With salvation for the dead; 
 They made for him a thorny crown. 
 
 And placed it on his head 
 
 O lamb of Calvary! 
 
 I see the crimson tide. 
 Still ebbing down like a sea, 
 
 From thy wounded side. 
 
 Jesus' dying, looked at me 
 
 And did seem to say: 
 "Tell all that Salvation is free, 
 
 And that I am the Way." 
 
 Jesus lead me and let me stand 
 
 Near the cross until I die; 
 Then send down an angel band 
 
 To bear me to the sky. 
 
 TOUSSAINT. 
 
 There's an isle somewhere in the sea. 
 
 Not remote from earth's equal dividing line; 
 
 There sleeps the soldier and lives the free, 
 Whom burly vassalage could not confine. ' 
 
 Though warbling bards loathe to sing 
 Of the isle and its hero of might; 
 
 Still freeilom o'er it doth ring, 
 Its chime® of mellow delight. 
 
 Out of a mass of ruin we saw him rise 
 
 Encumbered with wieldy age; 
 With youth's sprightly flashing eyes, 
 
 And supernatural courage. 
 
162 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 The Spanish, the plucky, the French, the brave 
 Sallied forth to conquer this moor; 
 
 But found there au untimely grave 
 Among the despised poor. 
 
 From a mass totally despised 
 
 By nations in wars renowned; 
 In wonder saw the captain rise, 
 
 With martial glory crowned. 
 
 He was a soldier fashioned by nature's hand. 
 And not by the tactician's mimic skill; 
 
 He sought to liberate his native land 
 By his chivalry and iron will. 
 
 He had no wealthy arsenal of war. 
 Save hardy endurance by his side, 
 
 And an ignorant soldiery black as tar, 
 But by Jesus Christ inspired. 
 
 A thunderbolt amidst woes, 
 
 There out of slaves he planned; 
 
 Then hurled it at the horrid foes. 
 And drove them from the land. 
 
 Then scudded the foe from the sullen isle, 
 
 That gazed upon the sea; 
 That element shall ever smile, 
 
 How the islet was made free! 
 
 In his day he was the Achilles, 
 
 True valor's only son; 
 And on the greater Antilles, 
 
 His godly race did run. 
 
 Though the weight of the hero's dust 
 
 Is no more than vulgar clay. 
 Still the equipoise is just 
 
 In all who pass away. 
 
 Haste! impartial age and rise. 
 As one though long been dead; 
 
 And enthrone the warrior unparalleled high, 
 While his foes look on with dread. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 163 
 
 He was the greatest captain that ever buckled sword 
 
 The bravest martyr that ever died, 
 The grandest patriot that ever breathed a word, 
 
 And the ouly soldier worthy to be deified. 
 
 When the roll is called up yonder. 
 
 For the greatest soldier in fame. 
 The captains all shall gaze and wonder 
 
 When the Judge shall call his name. 
 
 Far in the rear of the veterans all, 
 
 This warrior without a frown 
 Shall rise responsive to the Judge's call. 
 
 And march to the throne of renown. 
 
 Black and poor and all despised 
 
 By men of a nobler birth; 
 Still honor shall bid him rise 
 
 Up higher than any from earth. 
 
 JESUS. 
 
 Jesus will hear and heed 
 
 My tender cry. 
 He knows exactly what I need; 
 
 And sends me a good supply. 
 
 Jesus, thou art an everlasting friend, 
 
 And no other have I; 
 Thou art my source and my end. 
 
 And thus I cannot die. 
 
 There's a stream of hallowed bloo'i 
 Ever flowing from thy veins; 
 
 And the atheist knows the purple flood 
 Will wash away sinful stains. 
 
 Thou art my all in all, 
 
 And art from everlastingness; 
 
 I'll hearken unto thy call. 
 And adore thy righteousness. 
 
164 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 What unexampled love 
 Thou hast for wretched me! 
 
 And came down from above 
 To set me, captive, free. 
 
 There's no friend like unto thee 
 In earth or heaven above, 
 
 That could come to ransom me 
 With such redeeming love. 
 
 THE CHURCH. 
 
 Daughter of Zioii, arise and sing! 
 
 I love to hear thy voice; 
 Thy sweet melodies ring. 
 
 And make my dull heart rejoice. 
 
 Live and sing daughter divine I 
 
 In the realm of eternity; 
 And in a greater lustre shine 
 
 To lead souls to liberty. 
 
 Were it not for thee, 
 
 ^ly soul would go astray 
 On this daik pathless sea. 
 
 And could not find the way. 
 
 What earthly force has greater might 
 Than that in thy right hand? 
 
 What soldiery can put thee to flight 
 Or once before thee stand? 
 
 On the eternal rock of faith 
 
 Amazing Zion stands; 
 The colossal Temple made by grace. 
 
 And not by mortal hands. 
 
 AN AGE OF WICKEDNESS. 
 
 The good in man is God; 
 
 The bad in him is the devil; 
 And you cannot, with an iron rod, 
 
 Thrash out of him all evil. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 165 
 
 To make matters better now a day; 
 
 Just do crime for crime; 
 For retaliation with restless sway, 
 
 Sweeps away the laws of time. 
 
 The way to make bad men better 
 
 In this highly enlightened time 
 Get a rabid rabble together, 
 
 And do crime for crime. 
 
 Lives now a lawless mob, 
 
 And with madness tries to refine, 
 
 The viciousness of an age, 
 
 By committing crime for crime. 
 
 Personal vengeance inflames the mind 
 
 And hurries this crowd along; 
 It shakes its fist in the face of right, 
 
 And beast-like does what is wrong. 
 
 Public justice stands neutral; 
 
 And the clergy and laity divine; 
 The world beholds this vile gang 
 
 Doing crime for crime. 
 
 Equity on drooped wings 
 
 Has flown to an unknown clime, 
 And left all the rabid passion 
 
 To do crime for crime. 
 
 BALD EAGLE. 
 
 This bird with a proud curved beak, 
 And dimples and fearless eyes; 
 
 Hif9 home is on the mountain peak; 
 His fields are the wild skies. 
 
 On wide spreading sweeping sails, 
 Right up to the stars he soars, 
 
 Above the low groveling vales, 
 And mountains mantled with snows. 
 
166 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 The noblest bird of the air; 
 
 Bald eagle is its name, 
 The emblem that mighty nations bear, 
 
 In the grand parade to fame. 
 
 On barren peaks she builds her nest, 
 Where suns eternal shine; 
 
 Then deep in the bed of brooding rest, 
 She dwells in peace sublime. 
 
 WASH CHOATE. 
 
 Yonder comes Wash Choate 
 
 With Miss Nannie Boon; 
 He's smelling like a billy goat, 
 
 And racking like a coon. 
 
 But don't he look slick? 
 
 Yes, you bet your life; 
 He thinks he's playing a trick 
 
 For her to be his wife. 
 
 See his stylish Stetson hat, 
 And tailor made pants and coat; 
 
 And I bet you after that 
 He smells like a billy goat. 
 
 Wash had on a silk cravat, 
 And celluloid standing collar; 
 
 These made him look pat, 
 But then he didn't have a dollar. 
 
 He's dauntless' when the thunder roars; 
 
 And the sun can't dim his gaze; 
 Bold amidst flashes of lightning he goes, 
 
 And is not once amazed. 
 
 He stoops to the howling storm below. 
 
 And ride^ upon its breast; 
 It matters not how the wind may blow, 
 
 He skims along at rest. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 167 
 
 Wash looked slick and slim, 
 
 At least, to Nan he did; 
 And she always calls him 
 
 "Wa'sh, my sporty kid." 
 
 Wash thinks he's mighty slick, 
 
 And dresses up mighty fine; 
 He walks with a hickory stick, 
 
 Trying his best to shine. 
 
 FALSE HAIR. 
 
 Paint your cheeks and powder your face white; 
 
 Hitch on some long straight hair; 
 Then muse yourself a pretty sight, 
 
 Looking gaudy and fair. 
 
 Though you have hair on your head. 
 
 Still you must buy some, 
 Or go and rob the silent dead; 
 
 They say 'tis better than none. 
 
 All women are gone wildish 
 
 About long false hair, 
 Which is now very stylish 
 
 Here and everywhere. 
 
 Fine raiment and long hair 
 
 Are all that woman needs; 
 Very little does she care 
 
 For higher or greater needs. 
 
 False hair is all the go, 
 
 And it suits women well; 
 She wants every one to know 
 
 That she longs to be a belle. 
 
 RACE RIOTS. 
 
 Race riots are current 
 And prevalent In this age; 
 
 It needs but littlo at present 
 To put them into rage. 
 
168 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 The fire of prejudice rages in the land. 
 And burns with fervent heat; 
 
 In the breast of nearly every man, 
 Whom you may chance to meet. 
 
 There are two races in this land, 
 And their interests are together; 
 
 Why not they walk hand in hand. 
 As good sons of one mother? 
 
 Why not be a stalwart brother 
 In the struggle for honor's crown? 
 
 And if 'tis placed on the head of another; 
 Let not hate tear it down. 
 
 If each race would but do right, 
 
 And sociably live together; 
 Men against men wouldn't fight 
 
 And hate and kill each other. 
 
 HEAVEN. 
 
 We pine and seek for heaven afar. 
 And not for a heaven nigh; 
 
 In life we wage continual war 
 To gain a bliss on high. 
 
 Wherever nature is found 
 The Spirit of God is there; 
 
 To scatter love and joy around; 
 And that is heaven fair. 
 
 In a heart full of divine grace 
 The Spirit of God loves to dwell. 
 
 Such a heart is a blissful place 
 And not a dark dungeon of hell. 
 
 THE EVIL SEED WE SOW. 
 
 The seed of evil you sow on your way 
 
 Will by and by germinate, 
 And indeed in some future day, 
 
 They'll come up sure as fate. 
 
AND SACRED POEMS. 169 
 
 The evil we do is virulent, 
 And is big with contagious matter; 
 
 It bites like a serpent, 
 And stings like an adder. 
 
 The evil we do lives oftimes 
 
 After we are dead and gone; 
 And into others its way finds. 
 
 From the very time it is bom'd. 
 
 He who sows evil seed, 
 
 In harvest shall garner the same; 
 And the fruitage of his wicked deed 
 
 Shall ever be his blame. 
 
 WHEN MY ANGEL MOTHER SINGS. 
 
 There's a sweet melody keeps ringing 
 
 And it chimes like a golden bell, 
 'Tis my angel mother singing, 
 
 But where I cannot tell. 
 
 Hark! her chanting voice I hear, 
 
 As she strikes her lyric strings; 
 And angels from heaven come near, 
 
 When my angel mother sings. 
 
 Apollo, the god of song for always, 
 And the warbling birds on wings, 
 
 All must cease their dull lays 
 When my angel mother sings. 
 
 There in the sacred choir, 
 
 Brusht by angels' wings; 
 You will feel a hallowed fire, 
 
 When my angel mother sings. 
 
 Seraphim cast away their lutes, 
 And mantle their heads with their wings; 
 
 The choir in glory stands amazed and mute, 
 When my angel mother sings. 
 
 What blissful melody fills the ear 
 
 And thrilling raptures bring, 
 Bearing God and angels near, 
 
 When my angel mother sings. 
 
170 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 THINK AND THINK. 
 
 Think and think is the way, 
 And by others be not led astray; 
 For the world is full of cranks; 
 And men are playing many pranks. 
 
 Don't let a man take you by the nose 
 And lead you wherever he goes; 
 But rather stop for a moment and think 
 Ere you leap over the brink. 
 
 There's a heap of men in the world 
 
 With no more sense than a two year old girl; 
 
 They never think once for themselves, 
 
 But leave it for others on the upper shelves. 
 
 If man for himself would think once 
 
 And quit being a dupe or dunce; 
 
 Men would journey on hand in hand, 
 
 And happiness like river® would flow thru the land. 
 
 To think is a harbinger of right; 
 
 It leads the blind out of darkness Into the light, 
 
 And there firmly fixes him, 
 
 Not to be bribed by any political whim. 
 
 MY GRIEF. 
 
 Why does cruel grief mark me out, 
 
 And shoot direct at me, 
 While they who are with me shout 
 
 And laugh aloud in glee? 
 
 My life is all woe and distress: 
 
 Bliss I see nowhere; 
 My days bring me no redress, 
 
 But misery I must bear. 
 
 Clouds of grief ever rise 
 And roll across my breast; 
 
 Briney tears spout from my eyes, 
 And my soul cannot rest. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 171 
 
 A shroud of gi'ief hangs o'er my head. 
 
 And from me veils the sunshine; 
 So happiness can no longer spread 
 
 Around me her wings divine. 
 
 O! iron-hearted ruthless grief! 
 
 Why do you serve me so? 
 Please make your stay brief, 
 
 Then from me forever go. 
 
 RACE PROBLEM. 
 
 There is a great question on hand, 
 And it sets the sage at wonder; 
 
 Even the great statesmen of the land; 
 It they cannot ponder. 
 
 They have puU'd their long beard, 
 
 And thought long and deep 
 Over the sublimity of the race problem 
 
 Which is inexplicable and steep. 
 
 All the sages have failed to solve 
 This most momentous question, 
 
 And all the results they have advanced 
 Are but theoretic suggestion. 
 
 No solution has been given yet 
 
 To the problem so pertinent and grave 
 
 That courses through the universe, 
 Manifesting virtue in her ways. 
 
 Let sapient men rub their bald heads 
 And pull their long gray beard 
 
 Trying to solve an absurdity; 
 Of such we have never heard. 
 
 A CABIN SCENE. 
 
 Sweet potatoes in the oven, 
 Baking soft and brown; 
 
 Dirty face little children, 
 Squatting all around. 
 
172 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 Looking at each other, 
 Smiling without a frown; 
 
 Thinking of what's in the oven, 
 Baking soft and brown. 
 
 See them all squatting 
 
 Oh! how their hearts sound; 
 
 Beating for what's in the oven, 
 Baking soft and brown. 
 
 All are ragged and dirty, 
 Swarming like flies around; 
 
 Smelling what's in the oven, 
 Baking soft and brown. 
 
 It makes their mouths water; 
 
 Slobbers come driveling down; 
 Smelling what's in the oven. 
 
 Baking soft and brown. 
 
 There each sits waiting, 
 
 Hungry as a hound, 
 For what's in the oven 
 
 Baking soft and brown. 
 
 By and by the mammy comes; 
 
 She takes the lid off, 
 And hands to each little dirty scamp, 
 
 A potato sweet and soft. 
 
 A PERVERSE BOY. 
 
 A wayward boy once left home; 
 
 He thought himself a man; 
 And dream'd it was time to roam 
 
 O'er the sea and land. 
 
 He stroU'd o'er many a hill and vale, 
 
 Wherever his fancy led; 
 Until ill-fortune, like rain and hail, 
 
 Shower'd down upon his head. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 173 
 
 He spent all his scanty hoard 
 
 In pleasure and in sport. 
 And he had none left to pay his board, 
 
 So he pawn'd his only coat. 
 
 Now he fervidly wished for money; 
 
 He had nowhere to stay; 
 For he had not one loose penny 
 
 To pay his licentious way. 
 
 He became a stranger, 
 
 And was driven from door to door; 
 He slept at night in a manger. 
 
 And was hated by rich and poor. 
 
 He said, "Experience is a costly school. 
 But I wouldn't learn in any other; 
 
 Oh! I, a wretch'd heedless fool, 
 Why didn't I listen to mother?" 
 
 CHICKEN STEW. 
 
 'Possum baked with sweet potatoes, 
 
 And carved up to serve you; 
 But if you want to see me do some eating, 
 
 Give me good rich chicken stew. 
 
 Pound cake and pies are mighty good, 
 
 Tarts and puddings are too; 
 But if you want me to do some eating. 
 
 Give me good rich chicken stew. 
 
 Pork sausage is good indeed, 
 
 Tender beefsteak is too; 
 But if you want some chewing done. 
 
 Give me good rich chicken stew. 
 
 All the meats and dainties I like, 
 
 Except a very few; 
 But none of them are so nice to me, 
 
 As good rich chicken stew. 
 
174 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Fish served up in the nicest style; 
 
 Enough to make a cat mew, — 
 Doesn't satiate my taste so much, 
 
 As good rich chicken stew. 
 
 THE KEEPER OF THE WORLD. 
 
 While you are in the world, 
 
 Endeavor to be a good man, 
 By planning some virtuous deed. 
 
 And do it if you can. 
 
 The world is but a vast Eden, 
 And man is its warden for a time; 
 
 He is placed here to beautify it. 
 And leave his good works behind. 
 
 Building up and beautifying 
 Is but replenishing the garden, 
 
 And this is what God requires 
 From the hands of every warden. 
 
 All that one can justly acquire 
 Edifies the world for mankind, 
 
 And drives the old ship of Zion 
 Over the sea of ceaseless time. 
 
 When you die leave something behind 
 That is made by your brawny hands. 
 
 And undying glory will gather around it, 
 It matters not where it stands. 
 
 The world was created for a paradise. 
 
 And placed in man's care 
 That he might edify and adorn It, 
 
 And keep it holy and fair. 
 
 Toil on ye wardens; 
 
 For the gardener will surely come, 
 
 To adore the edification of your hands, 
 
 An emblem of His heavenly home. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 175 
 
 A MAN OF SORROW. 
 
 My mother and father in sorrow, 
 
 And I drag my life out in grief; 
 Perchance some kind-hearted tomorrow 
 
 Will bring to me relief. 
 
 My life is all sadness, 
 
 And journeys on so brief; 
 I have not one day of happiness, 
 
 But all my days are grief. 
 
 I eat sorrow for bread. 
 
 For water, grief I drink, 
 Until sleep drives me to bed, 
 
 And weeping, dares me to think. 
 
 In misery and, carroding pain. 
 
 Nameless in despair; 
 I roam o'er every hill and plain; 
 
 And joy I find nowhere. 
 
 Thorns are in my bed at night. 
 
 And thus I cannot sleep; 
 I, anxious, long for morning light. 
 
 So that I may not weep. 
 
 ADAM AND EVE. 
 
 There once lived a man and his wife; 
 
 Their names were Adam and Eve; 
 For a time they had no strife, 
 
 But lived in pleasure and ease. 
 
 This man and wife were free 
 
 To do just as they please; 
 Their viands were nectar and honey of the bee, 
 
 Hoarded from flowers and fruits of trees. 
 
 No death, no sickness, no pain 
 
 Lurked in that paradise, 
 But life and health reigned 
 
 Without the malaria of vice. 
 
176 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 Adam, you know, was holy made. 
 And I suppose Eve was too; 
 
 For a time they lived in Eden's shade; 
 If divine inspiration is true. 
 
 There were no living souls on earth 
 
 Except this God-like pair; 
 Until Eve brought forth by birth, 
 
 A man child fine and fair. 
 
 Strange is the story about Adam and Eve, 
 
 But I guess it is alright; 
 For the Holy Bible we must believe, 
 
 And love it with all our might. 
 
 Though the story is obscure and odd, 
 
 But still it can be true. 
 For it is said to be the word of God, 
 
 Which is life everlasting and pure. 
 
 God told Adam not to eat nor taste 
 The fruit of one certain tree, 
 
 So that he might remain holy and chaste. 
 And evil he could not see. 
 
 The forbidden fruit that Adam ate, 
 Grew upon a tree, it is said, 
 
 A tree of evil big with fate 
 Stood there morally dead. 
 
 What kind of fruit was it? 
 
 My muse would like to know; 
 Please tell me art and wit 
 
 If such fruit and trees will grow? 
 
 Tell me reason, the son of truth, 
 Was it really the fruit of a tree. 
 
 Or a myth to sheath a thing uncouth, 
 Not designed for us to know and see? 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 177 
 
 A COQUETTE. 
 
 I went out on a call the other night, 
 
 (You bet your boots, 1 thought I was right;) 
 
 A dusky cloud muffled up the moon 
 
 Which now and then peeped through the gloom. 
 
 I went to see a girl some might call neat; 
 
 She had soft dimple hands and little feet; 
 
 Rays of beauty stole across her face, 
 
 And tinted her cheeks with lively grace. 
 
 But ah! she was a girl of little wit; 
 
 She could read and write too a good bit. 
 
 Of course, what's that? Is it all 
 
 We need on this terrestrial ball? 
 
 Neatness zoned about her waist; 
 
 Beauty in sunlight lined her face; 
 
 Her raven tresses hung in curls. 
 
 Yet she was the most un witty of girls. 
 
 She was exquisitely pretty in the face, 
 
 And delicately neat in the waist; 
 
 These alone are but bait to catch fools. 
 
 Who would not learn in wisdom's schools. 
 
 In figure she was plantain tall, 
 
 In airs she seemed as one I met in the hall 
 
 Just a few nights before this; 
 
 When I ate cream with a charming miss. 
 
 In short, she was a lady of very little taste; 
 
 Her appetite craved for things base; 
 
 Her manners and words were all uncouth, 
 
 111 suited for such an image of Ruth. 
 
 She liked the slangs of the idle swains; 
 
 She adored fine raiment more than fine brains; 
 
 Oh! how these unlettered swains made her laugh. 
 
 My little muse can't tell you the half. 
 
 Oftimes she took a walk or ride 
 
 With isome dirty fellow of little pride; 
 
 These alone were her choice guests; 
 
 These pleased and tickled her all the best. 
 
 She went to school; she knew some books; 
 
 She judged inward things by outside looks, 
 
 Which charm the senses of absolute fools 
 
 Destitute of formulas, principles and rules. 
 
 This girl may have gone to college, too, 
 
 For little l^atin and less Greek she knew; 
 
 She could decline nouns, conjugate verbs 
 
 And define a few simple words. 
 
178 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 How this girl would giggle and grin 
 
 When some burly simpleton tickled her chin; 
 
 iHer limbs in wild emotions did move; 
 
 Bent on the hour her love to prove. 
 
 OKOLONA, MISS. 
 
 There's a charming little city, 
 
 And of it I love to dream; 
 For there I sang my first ditty 
 
 Out on the urban green. 
 
 There my young muse began to flow 
 
 On to the sea of rhyme; 
 And ideal schemes did come and go 
 
 On the wings of fleeting time. 
 
 Like a colt there I was trained and shod 
 
 For life's rough, rocky way; 
 And first learned the Word of God, 
 
 That I might not go astray. 
 
 There my heart fi.rst learn'd 
 
 Of Jesus and his love. 
 And my soul first did burn 
 
 With hallowed fire from above. 
 
 That sunny city is dear to me, 
 
 For it's my infancy's home; 
 Far out from the raging sea 
 
 Where storms seldom come. 
 
 There on its streets I used to walk 
 
 With some college fellow, 
 And being bookisk we used to talk 
 
 Of masters wise and mellow. 
 
 The balmy smell of many a rose 
 
 Perfumes the very air, 
 And the shining magnolia grows 
 
 And blooms perennial there. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 179 
 
 Sweet Okolona, my native home, 
 
 'Tis but of thee I sing; 
 'Tis not London nor ancient Rome, 
 
 That makes my lyre ring. 
 
 Charming little Okolona, 
 
 With its birds, butterflies and bees, 
 Is lovely as Aurora 
 
 Rising from beyond the seas. 
 
 It is fringed about with shady trees; 
 
 It is decked with flowers gay; 
 And is fanned by a scented breeze, 
 
 Waft'd from a Southern bay. 
 
 UNKNOWN BARD. 
 
 There's a sad bird in the wild, 
 He is singing but not free; 
 
 And everybody who hears his song 
 Says it is /as sweet as sweet can be. 
 
 In solitude he sits and sings 
 From morn till close of day, 
 
 And the rude woodland around 
 Echoes with his musical lay. 
 
 He loves to dwell in the wilderness, 
 Where sorrow, temptation and care 
 
 Never embroil his peaceful breast, 
 And break the solemnity there. 
 
 What thrilling notes of melody 
 
 He pours out on the air; 
 And country people passing by, 
 Stop still and listen there. 
 
 They look about everywhere 
 
 To descry the little bird, 
 Contented to sing in solitude, 
 
 The sweetest song they ever heard. 
 
180 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 MAN IS BUT A BUBBLE. 
 
 Man's but a bubble on the ocean of life, 
 
 And is far out from the shore; 
 In a moment he disappears, 
 
 And he is seen and heard no more. 
 
 He's but a faint shadow, 
 
 And he continues not; 
 So his few days here on earth 
 
 Shall soon be forgot. 
 
 O, how he pants to live! 
 
 Now and forevermore; 
 Still he sinks down in the sea, 
 
 Far out from the shore. 
 
 He comes into the world weak, 
 And is helpless when he comes to die; 
 
 A thousand voices may call him, 
 But sitill he cannot reply. 
 
 He is a degraded mass 
 
 Of selfishness craving for pelf; 
 He labors for the world, 
 
 But first for himself. 
 
 Fickle man is ever changeful, 
 
 All but his Immortal soul; 
 He drags righteousness to market. 
 
 And sells it for silver and gold. 
 
 What's man that God should be mindful of him? 
 
 A higher species of brute, a worm, a beast; 
 All except his immortal soul 
 
 Is nothing but a cheat. 
 
 A JOYFUL DAY. 
 
 That will be a joyful day 
 
 When an angel band shall come. 
 From beyond the milky way 
 
 To bear my spirit home. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 181 
 
 What raptures move in my breast 
 
 And how I long and pine! 
 To bathe my soul in the sea of rest, 
 
 And feast on love divine. 
 
 The thought of such a heavenly home 
 
 Produces constant joy in me; 
 And I dread not to wade and roam 
 
 Through death's gloomy sea. 
 
 I hope Jesus will show his smiling face 
 
 In the hour of death and fears; 
 And lead me to that throne of grace, 
 
 Beyond this vale of tears. 
 
 What mortal force can hold me fast, 
 
 If Jesus would but say: 
 "Come to me, fear not the blest. 
 
 For lo! I am the Way." 
 
 At these transported words I'd fly 
 From this sin cursed vale of tears, 
 
 And mount in triumph to the sky. 
 O'er horrid death and fears. 
 
 TRUTH AND A LIE. 
 
 Truth goes on in a steady pace; 
 
 A lie always swiftly flies; 
 But ere they reach the end of the race 
 
 Serene truth wins the prize. 
 
 A lie is an evil charm; 
 
 Truth is love divine; 
 A wilful lie produces harm, 
 
 But truth is the light for mankind. 
 
 A willful lie with all its power 
 At times may hurl truth down; 
 
 But in some vindicative hour 
 
 Truth will rise with a golden crown. 
 
182 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Bury the truth, it will not die, 
 But it will rise again some day, 
 
 And boastful in the face of a lie, 
 It will manifest itself some way. 
 
 Truth is slow to go; 
 
 Ready falsehood flies. 
 And a thousand miles it'll go, 
 
 Before truth can bat its eyes. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 Life is swiftly passing on. 
 
 Swift as fleeting light; 
 And soon hence it shall go 
 
 Into the prison house of night. 
 
 Helpless life pleads for mercy 
 At the approach of pitiless death 
 
 Still death scoffs at life's prayer. 
 And takes away the breath. 
 
 Circling days bear me on 
 Right up to the very gate; 
 
 Where life and death hold council 
 To judge my future fate. 
 
 My timid life, trembling, dreads 
 To encounter inevitable fate, 
 
 And to brood in solitude 
 In a dark oblivious state. 
 
 Can life elude the certain doom 
 That awaits it by and by? 
 
 Is it a maxim old and true. 
 That mortal man must die? 
 
 Sweet, blissful enchanting life, 
 I know you cannot stay, 
 
 For that terror, death is coming 
 To drag thee hence away. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 183 
 
 Life is a sunny vale 
 
 With flowers sweet and fair; 
 And would be a paradise 
 
 If death were not there. 
 
 GOD AND CHRIST. 
 
 God is just in all His ways, 
 
 And wise in all His plans; 
 He pours out blessings throughout the dayB 
 With stretched out open hands, 
 
 Hard by the flowing brook 
 
 A starving prophet He fed; 
 And according to his sacred book 
 He will give His children bread. 
 
 God Almighty is always near 
 Though at times it seems otherwise; 
 
 When doubt and danger appear 
 We think He's beyond the skies. 
 
 He's an arm of strong defense 
 
 When howling foe© are nigh; 
 And through his unerring providence 
 
 We triumph by and by. 
 
 Beyond all cunning art and sense 
 
 Works His invisible form 
 As guardian rules of providence 
 
 And rides in every storm. 
 
 Trust in the word of the Lord; 
 
 Live and die in the faith; 
 And great will be your reward 
 
 Handed down from a throne of grace. 
 
 The Son of God is mighty to save, 
 
 The saints in bliss behold; 
 Himself a ransom He gave, 
 
 For every contrite soul. 
 
184 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 In deep contrition His life He gave 
 To save a wretch like me; 
 
 And rose in triumph from the grave, 
 And bade his saints go free. 
 
 He left His royal mansion above 
 And came down clothed in clay. 
 
 A Holy Spirit, Heavenly Dove, 
 To show my feet the way. 
 
 He found me lost in a wretched state, 
 All helpless in black despair; 
 
 No one worthy to advocate. 
 And my guilty cause to bear. 
 
 GOD'S PROVIDENCE. 
 
 It's no use to grieve and fret, * 
 
 But be pious in all you do; 
 Trust in God and don't forget, 
 
 He'll bear you conqueror through. 
 
 Remember too He will not turn 
 
 His back upon His saints, 
 Nor will He deign once to spurn 
 
 Their songs and their complaints. 
 
 Be of good cheer; new courage take, 
 
 The Holy cross to bear; 
 And at the sacred fiat of fate 
 
 A crown of glory to wear. 
 
 All black clouds we see and dread 
 Are not big with indignant blasts; 
 
 Some are charged with blessings to spread 
 Along the way they pass. 
 
 MY SPIRIT. 
 
 My spirit lovesi to stray; 
 
 Its wings I can't confine; 
 In a moment it flies away, 
 
 And leaves me far behind. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 185 
 
 Oftimes unbridled it flits away, 
 
 Leaving me ail forlorn, 
 And with the dreams of some other day, 
 
 It seems to be at home. 
 
 It eeeks to roam at night, 
 
 When all nature is istill; 
 It prefers darkness to light, 
 
 Its mission to fulfill. 
 
 It's wonderful in its flight, 
 
 And can soar everywhere; 
 Swifter than solar light, 
 
 It goes through the subtile air. 
 
 ANCIENT NOAH. 
 
 Noah was a man of God, 
 He built the ark I'm told; 
 
 To hold the fauna of the world 
 In the dark days of old. 
 
 He and his household, too, 
 Were in this mighty boat; 
 
 It was the greatest vessel 
 That ever man did float. 
 
 He was the greatest seaman 
 That ever rode the main; 
 
 The most gifted pilot, 
 In darkness and in rain. 
 
 He was the grandest carpenter 
 That ever drove a nail, 
 
 And the bravest sailor 
 That ev€r hoisted sail. 
 
 NOAH, THE PREACHER. 
 
 Noah preached repentance 
 
 Before the awful flood. 
 And ere the coming Messiah, 
 
 That fount of hallowed blood. 
 
186 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 lie |)r(Nicho<l lo (ho aiit«MliluvianH, 
 
 Who wore in tlio bittoriiess of gall; 
 
 And tohi th(Mn (Jod Almighty 
 Would dewlroy thorn all. 
 
 Ilo preached night and «lay, 
 
 Tiling Ihcin to repent; 
 Still they called him a foolitih man, 
 
 Everywhere he went. 
 
 His l)our(^d out his very soul, 
 In prayers and sacred S(mgs, 
 
 Beseeching the Antediluvians 
 To repent of their wrongs. 
 
 They married and gave in marriages, 
 And danced to the very day 
 
 When (Jod sent His awful flood, 
 And swept them all away. 
 
 HEROINE. 
 
 The gravest buttle that is (^vor fought 
 rerclianc(» by valor on earth; 
 
 It is by fair woman wrought, 
 In the hour of human birth. 
 
 She has no heavy gun 
 
 To Ixvir ni)on her foes; 
 And with fortitude Nhe dares not run 
 
 From pain, death and woes. 
 
 A Spartan at the gate 
 
 In obodi(Mic«* to ordt^r dies; 
 So prone sh(> fails only to fate 
 
 And then .-it bis feel expires. 
 
 Fa-ir woman. godd<^K of the frc^e! 
 
 Hear on your noble part ; 
 For the greatest triumph «.n land or sea 
 
 Is charged to woman's heart. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 187 
 
 From woman spouts a living stream. 
 
 That replcnislK's the fiolda of life; 
 Sho, too, sheds forth the only beam, 
 
 In the nuptial sphere as wile. 
 
 When the spoils of the balth' are eiliaxed, 
 
 Grant woman the noblest part; 
 For no valor can be compared 
 
 With that in woman's heart. 
 
 THE MULE. 
 
 I once knew an old mule, 
 
 (He was about twelve hands high;) 
 
 And if you'll only keep still and cool, 
 I'll tell you about him by and by. 
 
 This little donkey can pace and rack, 
 
 Although he's slow as a snail; 
 (But stop right here, let me tell you a fact) 
 
 You must never monkey with his tall. 
 
 Stay from his heels and off his back, 
 
 These two are death in the pot; 
 And if you don't think it's a fact, 
 
 Why yonder he is in the lot. 
 
 About this mule, tricky Jack, 
 
 Let me tell you before^ you start; 
 Whenev(!r you mount upon his back, 
 
 You'll find he's a pitcher from his heart. 
 
 If you think you can ride this mule, 
 
 Why, I'll bring him «jut right now. 
 And others will see that you are a fool, 
 
 And you'll know not what nor how. 
 
 Indeed he looks shaggy and frail, 
 
 And clumsy as an old cow; 
 But pleaso don't monkey with his tail, 
 
 For he will put you out of business some how. 
 
188 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 When this old mule goes to kick 
 
 He backs his ears and nods his head, 
 
 Then like lightning such as quick, 
 He lays you straight out dead. 
 
 When he nods his head, his heels rise 
 Quicker than you can say Bcat; 
 
 And from your head the fire flies. 
 Then he trots away after that. 
 
 It's well to stay and stick 
 
 Common laity always say; 
 But when this mule begins to kick 
 
 You had better keep away. 
 
 When this old mule begins to motion 
 
 You may think it's fun; 
 But when he gets his heels in action, 
 
 I tell you, you had better run. 
 
 THE SUN'S FIRST APPEARANCE. 
 
 When the majestic and radiant sun 
 
 Beyond the desert air seems to run; 
 
 In wonder mysterious hides from sight, 
 
 And still floodsi other hills and vales with light, 
 
 Circumspect, we see him on the way. 
 
 Indeed he stands or moves we cannot say; 
 
 We behold him disappear and come again 
 
 In the vast heaven of God's domain. 
 
 Along his path are stars glittering bright. 
 
 Opaque by day but refulgent at night; 
 
 For some unknown cause they shoot down the sky, 
 
 Dragging on a flaming train and in an instant die. 
 
 His function is warmth, growth and light. 
 
 And with equipoise portions the day from night; 
 
 So that mortal man, inconstant on earth. 
 
 Might number his years or days from birth. 
 
 Ere the sun first rose earth was without form 
 
 Dark was the marl, and wild with storm; 
 
 Dense clouds in pitchy darkness hung and rolled. 
 
 Until the sun was teemed with rays of gold. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 189 
 
 When first he appeared on the orient sky, 
 Darkness from, the face of the earth began to fly; 
 Form and beauty at once sprang into sight, 
 And confusion fell dead astounded at his light. 
 When he drove first his blazing car across the sky, 
 The deep wandered in giddy surprise; 
 The heavens adorned then, began to shine, 
 And the spheres began their song divine. 
 As he charged up the stupenduous way so vast, 
 Worlds, like sentinels, saw him through Infinitude 
 
 pass, 
 And stood wonder struck, gazing at the sight 
 Of such a phenomena deluging immensity in light. 
 Dreadful alarm in his eclipse did he create, 
 Through mid Zodiac on his annual gait; 
 The Zodiacal synods fixed fast at rest, 
 Saw this ball of burning gas, which seemed to roll 
 
 to the West. 
 God ordered forth the sun ere He did the hills. 
 The dusky mountains, wide rivers and purling rills; 
 No forest or soft verdure saw his first glow; 
 For nothing without his agency could grow. 
 There were no fiowers to greet him on his way, 
 No bird warbling its plaintive note ere day; 
 And no living soul to hail him king. 
 In his circumscribed, spheriodal ring. 
 Upon the liquid void he first look'd down 
 Pacifie and serene, without a fi-own; 
 He lipped the cheeks of the wild deep. 
 And lulled disorder fast asleep. 
 When the waters and sky first saw hr* beams 
 Which burst forth in seven streams 
 An ethereal sea of gorgeous light. 
 Nature in hosanna laughed putright. 
 
 MT. VERNON CEMETERY. 
 EPITAPH TO MAJOR JACK PETTY. 
 
 Here may rest some pious soul. 
 
 Once filled with heavenly zeal; 
 It sought not treasures of vain gold. 
 
 Nor the rod of empire to wield. 
 
ISO LYRIC, DOMESTIC 
 
 Costly marble with the sculptor's art may shine 
 To tell of martial deeds, heroic and gory; 
 
 But not a stone raised nor a cai'ved line, 
 Can warrant that the dead's in glory. 
 
 Can the voice of sorrow with flowing tears 
 Provoke the dull cold ears of death 
 
 Will not the storm of rolling years 
 Bring back the fleeting breath? 
 
 Let epitaphs in glory blaze. 
 
 And heart® with serious emotion burn; 
 No tribute from the voice of praise 
 
 Can invoke the dead to return. 
 
 MY MARGIE IN GLORY. 
 
 When the hallowed star with refulgent ray 
 Had heralded the coming morn; 
 
 And driving years drove on the day. 
 When my Margie from my soul was torn. 
 
 O Margie! tender departed soul, 
 
 In thy sweet blissful rest. 
 Where seas of joy ceaseless roll; 
 
 Lend ears to the groans of my breast. 
 
 Can I forget the sad day 
 
 When thy soul took flight 
 Through the dark and perilous way, 
 
 Up to the world of light? 
 
 Ah! ever dear departed wife, 
 
 I, thy lovely image see still, 
 Moving on as once in life 
 
 To do thy Sovereign's will. 
 
 There is a dark and gloomy sea, 
 
 Charging with raging blast. 
 That intervenes you and me 
 
 Inaccessibly high and vast. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 191 
 
 Let not pitiless eternity ignore 
 
 Thy devoted spouse in life; 
 Little else where thou art or go, 
 
 Still be my devoted wife. 
 
 Dear Margie, our last embrace; 
 
 How can I ever forget! 
 And the sweet smiles on thy face 
 
 Dwell green in memory yet. 
 
 Through orbs of gushing tears, 
 
 I saw thee dying fast; 
 And low in grief and fears. 
 
 Knew I, 'twas our last. 
 
 Since thou, dearest of all, have fled 
 
 And left me to wail and weep; 
 Thy hallowed ghost comes to my bed, 
 
 And guards me when I sleep. 
 
 Sweet Margie, if I, too, had fled, 
 
 I would not weep for thee; 
 But I thought while by thy side 
 
 Thou could'st immortal be. 
 
 Still I'll brook what has past, 
 
 And in sorrow brook it o'er; 
 When on thee I looked my last, 
 
 And thou didst smile no more. 
 
 I often at thy image look, 
 
 And think thou shall live again; 
 Still other thoughts I shall not brook 
 
 That all my thinking is vain. 
 
 Let earth in gore run red. 
 And o'er the cruel waves float piles of dead; 
 Let mighty heroes ever rise and fall, 
 Still thou shall be my all and all. 
 
 If wars internecine in heaven arise, 
 To embroil thy home beyond the skies; 
 Be not astounded Oh I Margie dear, 
 And forget you left on my cheek a tear. 
 
192 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Let Hierarchs and Seraphim in grandeur ride, 
 And in whose air ever shone heavenly pride; 
 Woo not these mighty princes divine. 
 But be true and remain ever mine. 
 
 Thy form supernal and looks shy 
 Did ever enchant fair heaven's eye; 
 Struck, too, by thy virtue and love; 
 These kindled desires in those above. 
 
 In kindling desires let them pine, 
 
 For thee Oh! dear spouse of mine! 
 
 Regardless to high heaven's" decree, 
 
 Still be thou pious to me. 
 
 Infinite distance, remorseless doom. 
 
 And the stubborn decrees beyond the tomb; 
 
 Shall never baffle my eternal love 
 
 For thee who dwells now above. 
 
 A ROW WITH A COON. 
 
 I am going to see a lady coon tonight, 
 
 And I know full well we're going to have a fight; 
 
 I don't care for that I'll go anyway 
 
 Just to see what that lady coon has to say. 
 
 Once with that lady coon I stood mighty pat. 
 When she used to wear my Stetson hat; 
 But since a strange coon has intervened; 
 He has made my lady coon very mean. 
 
 That lady and I used to kiss and hug 
 Warm and content as two bugs in a rug; 
 Such delicious raptures I never felt before, 
 
 for Jesus' sake, let me hug her once more. 
 
 1 don't want to catch any old he-coon there, 
 For I know my lady coon is going to rear. 
 This she always does when he's about, 
 
 So he can nelp her to make me turn out. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 193 
 
 I went there once just to have a litle chat, 
 I thought of no harm in doing that; 
 Who do you reckon I found there, 
 A dressed^up he-coon in a rocking chair. 
 
 He was a white coon or almost so, 
 
 And this made my lady coon love Mm, you know, 
 
 Indeed you know this is the case. 
 
 That looks us every day square in the face. 
 
 As I walked in that coon looked around 
 And eyed me with an angry frown; 
 Then on a sudden he made a dash, 
 And soon I was that coon's hash. 
 
 My lady coon too then made a plunge. 
 And against me urged a giant lunge 
 Which brought me down to the floor; 
 Then how I scrambled for the door. 
 
 Ah! Lord they beat me from black to blue, 
 For you know I couldn't manage two; 
 And especially a coon six feet high, 
 Whom Trojan Hector wouldn't defy. 
 
 I begged them to turn me loose, 
 That I never more would be a goose; 
 And to fall in love too soon 
 With a fine looking lady coon. 
 
 That coon, let me tell you, was mighty stout; 
 He choked me till my tongue lalled out; 
 I felt my eyes pop out of my head. 
 And Lordy me! I thought I was dead. 
 
 In the seat of my breeches he grabbed me. 
 And fastened me baek of the neck you see; 
 Then raised me up without dread, 
 And pitched me out doors, heels over head. 
 
 I had no time to reckon my fate, 
 
 But wishfully looked at the gate; 
 
 In giddy struggles I tried to go. 
 
 For that coon had killed me, you ought to know. 
 
194 LYRIC, DOMESTIC 
 
 At last I got to the gate without my hat, 
 And of course you know I didn't think of that; 
 I'll tell you right now, it was a hell of a fray, 
 And jou bet your boots I was glad to get away. 
 
 I didn't take time to even look back 
 To see the old coon whose name was Mack; 
 But jumped in my running clothes right then, 
 And O! my Lord, how I burned the wind. 
 
 I didn't go to see my lady coon any more 
 For why, I guess you already know: 
 Old Mack was head knocker there, 
 And that was more than I could bear. 
 
 I thought it a shame to be in such a mob 
 In order to hold such a little job; 
 So I drove my ducks to another pool. 
 And left my lady coon with her fool. 
 
 He's a fighter, let me tell you, from his heart, 
 And if you don't think so, just make a start, 
 And you will see just as I did 
 That this Alabama coon is a fighting kid. 
 
 I have had many a sinewy twist. 
 
 But never before felt the effects of such a foot and fist. 
 
 That landed on me in thunder sound, 
 
 And drove me like lightning to the ground. 
 
 THE RIGHTEOUS. 
 
 Though man in death lay down, 
 
 But he again shall rise; 
 When the Judge comes to crown 
 
 With glory, the earth and skies. 
 
 Though flesh and bones in dust sleep. 
 And mingle themtselves with clay; 
 
 Still flesh and soul again shall meet 
 In that great rising day. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 195 
 
 The saiuts of God shall rise 
 In the storm of whirling years; 
 
 And God shall wipe from every eye 
 All sad and woeful tears. 
 
 AFTER FM DEAD. 
 
 Do this for me after I'm dead: 
 Just bury the evils I've done; 
 
 But suffer my good to live and spread 
 Everjrwhere as the light of the sun. 
 
 All my wayward deeds hide, 
 
 But let my virtuous ones shine; 
 
 So all wayfarers may confide 
 In what is all divine. 
 
 Treasure my good deeds as gold, 
 But my evil please cast away; 
 
 So they can't pollute any soul 
 Or lead it far astray. 
 
 With me all my evil bury. 
 
 But all my good save; 
 And you need not worry 
 
 And weep o'er my humble grave. 
 
 A ROSE. 
 
 A dainty flower stood by the way. 
 And in sunshine fair it grew; 
 
 I plucked it in the month of May, 
 And found it lovely and true. 
 
 I nestled it warm t6 my heart, 
 Then breathed its sweet smell; 
 
 But ill-fortune was my part. 
 Too sad for me to tell. 
 
196 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 A chijly wind with poisoned breath, 
 Breathed on my rose one day; 
 
 And my fond floret withered in death 
 With not a sad word to say. 
 
 Now my dried up flower stood, 
 
 Far from its genial bed; 
 Onoe the loveliest flower of the wood. 
 
 But now defaced and dead. 
 
 The flower fading in my hand, 
 
 But little dreamed I 
 Of moving it to a strange land. 
 
 Beneath a more genial sky. 
 
 Bleak and blasted my flower lay, 
 
 Torn from its parent stem; 
 It grew in beauty by the way, 
 
 A precious little gem. 
 
 Although my rose is faded and dead, 
 And its beauty and fragrance all gone; 
 
 Still I think its lustrous red 
 Decorates some airy throne. 
 
 No other rose can look 
 
 So fair and serene; 
 No other rose shall I brook 
 
 To be the floral queen. 
 
 GOD. 
 
 God is too great for mortal sight; 
 
 His face would dim their gaze, 
 And blast them with eternal fright 
 
 To see the dreadful blaze. 
 
 GOD IS ALWAYS NIGH. 
 
 God is always near 
 
 With blessings most profuse; 
 Though at times it may appear 
 
 Not so, to human views. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 197 
 
 He draws back the curtain of night; 
 
 He ushers in the day. 
 That floods the world in light, 
 
 And shows our feet the way. 
 
 He rains down blesisings in showers 
 
 To migitate fervid heat; 
 To drink and freshen flowers 
 
 That blossom at our feet. 
 
 HINDRANCE. 
 
 Never turn back to weep and cry 
 When obstacles are in your way; 
 
 But double your courage, go on and try, 
 For you may succeed some day. 
 
 Hindrance is but a shell 
 
 Around the kernel sweet; 
 And deep within its tiny cell 
 
 We find the precious meat. 
 
 Whoever to trials gives up his case. 
 And don't bravely and steadily march on; 
 
 Will never triumph in the race 
 That points to honor's throne. 
 
 Crosses come before glory's crown; 
 
 The clouds ere the rain; 
 A noble feat precedes renown, 
 
 A cauflie forgoes the pain. 
 
 Don't stop once to turn aside, 
 
 And frown at your task; 
 But be willing to provide 
 
 For what your soul may ask. 
 
 Nobly and bravely press on 
 
 In life's grand parade; 
 And mock every hindrance with scorn. 
 
 That stubborn odds have made. 
 
198 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Behind obstructions success hides 
 His ever blushing face; 
 
 And there justly he presides 
 In serene love and grace. 
 
 Whenever your crosses are hard 
 And many to overcome; 
 
 Remember you the sure reward, 
 That holy, blissful home. 
 
 Use obstacle for a stepping stone, 
 And walk with courage bold; 
 
 Press straight on to the throne 
 Where success waits in gold. 
 
 WILD GEESE. 
 
 Lo! in the crimson sky, 
 
 A V shaped quivering line 
 Of water fowls passing by, 
 
 From a diistant unknown clime. 
 
 Through the pathle&s' air they soar, 
 Long wandering but not lost; 
 
 Still gabbling, onward they go 
 With God their guiding post. 
 
 They are wild fowl® migrating where? 
 
 My muse does not know; 
 And heralding to the climes so fair. 
 
 Chilly wind and snow. 
 
 Through the rosy depth I cannot scan 
 Them in their distant flight; 
 
 And far above the sea and land, 
 
 They plough through day and night. 
 
 In obedience to some command, 
 They without trembling, fear, 
 
 Stoop not to the welcome land, 
 Though darksome night is near. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 199 
 
 On some bleak barren shore 
 
 Their downy nests are found; 
 Where drifts of perpetual snow 
 
 Lay mantling all around. 
 
 They never turn aside from approaching storm, 
 Though the skies with lightning blaze; 
 
 But still move on their darken forms, 
 Gabbling a quaint old praise. 
 
 Proud and! noble is their chieftain, 
 
 And his heart is irank and bold; 
 He leads unerring the gabbling train 
 
 To where regions are ever cold. 
 
 The leader ploughs like a plowshare, 
 
 And heaves the air aside; 
 So that others back in the rear 
 
 Can easily onward ride. 
 
 The captain'si voice is heard at times, 
 
 Bidding them to follow on; 
 Then lo! those erring, fall back in line. 
 
 And beat along in the throng. 
 
 THE CHURCH MILITANT. 
 
 The best and greatest of societies all. 
 Is the militant fane of God; 
 
 And it is destined never to fall 
 Without the will *of God. 
 
 The church is a fellowship I love 
 Beyond all the others I know; 
 
 It leads to a brighter world above, 
 Whose throne is white as snow. - 
 
 Firm on the rock of human faith, 
 Rising out of the sea of love; 
 
 Christ, His ransomed Church did place. 
 And flew back to his mansion above. 
 
200 Lyric^ Domestic 
 
 It's founded on love, faith and hope. 
 
 The Christian's great trinitj ; 
 And no other union can with it cope 
 
 Or stop its stream of leniency. 
 
 'Tis a sublime mansion, 
 Whose dome is in heaven above; 
 
 And 'tis called the daughter of Zion, 
 The spiritual temple of love. 
 
 Deep rooted in the rock of Emmanuel, 
 The Church's huge pillows stand; 
 
 Deeper than mortal tongues can tell 
 Or human minds can understand. 
 
 'Tis built of stones hewed out of the mountain. 
 Which was before creation took place; 
 
 And lo! it now is a cleansing fountain 
 For all the human race. 
 
 Oh! ransomed Church of God, sing! 
 
 The song of redeeming love; 
 For thy spouse is reigning king 
 
 Now in earth and heaven above. 
 
 Let all the world round 
 
 Sing this sacred song; 
 Till its awful solemn sound 
 
 Wake every heart and tongue. 
 
 How sweet its hallowed voice sounds 
 
 In the world's listening ears; 
 It alleviates pains, heals wounds, 
 
 And plants religious cares. 
 
 THE WIND. 
 
 The wind was high one day. 
 And I think too, he was mad; 
 
 But in a frolicsome way 
 The little leaves all seemed glad. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 201 
 
 He howled in the tops of the trees. 
 
 And "made a roaring sound; 
 Then the little yellow trembling leaves 
 
 Came frisking headlong down. 
 
 He whirled ' the fallen leaves all about. 
 And heaped them in the hollows of the groTe; 
 
 Then onward in a boastful shout 
 The seared fields o'er he drove. 
 
 He snatched up everything. 
 
 And drove it whirling in the air; 
 He made the upland roar and ring, 
 
 In his awful mad career. 
 
 He made the forest bow and moan. 
 
 And send forth a pitiable cry; 
 And nature herself seemed to groan 
 
 And sue for peace on high. 
 
 RISING AND FALLING. 
 
 I'm rising and falling on the way. 
 Trying my best to toddle on; 
 
 For I'm aged, wrinkled and gray, 
 And am scoffed at by the strong. 
 
 Still to stagger on I try, 
 
 Till I fail to rise no more; 
 Then all unknown give up and die, 
 
 Like others who are gone before. 
 
 The fire in my blood is dead and gone, 
 And leaves me sterile and cold; 
 
 And in my flesh there is no thorn 
 To spur up my drowsy soul. 
 
 My memory isn't like it used to be, 
 It doesn't retain half so well; 
 
 And things now I know and see 
 In a few days I don't know so well. 
 
202 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 When you see that your memory is failing; 
 
 Then know indeed that you are on the decline; 
 And that you are swiftly sailing 
 
 Down the awful stream of time. 
 
 MY COUSIN JULIUS AND I. 
 
 Dear to me is the sweet scene 
 Of other days gone by; 
 When we, in childhood, o'er the green. 
 Chased the bee and butterfly. 
 
 Away from home all day 
 Wading in the water of the brook, 
 
 Or playing leap-frog on the way. 
 Or dangling with the line and hook. 
 
 We drove the lowing herd o'er the lea, 
 And in whoops' yelled out our joys; 
 
 For our limbs were light and hearts were free; 
 In the time when we were boys. 
 
 The wealthy fold we drove ahead 
 
 Right up to the milker's pail; 
 Or pursued them wherever they led 
 
 Slow winding through the vale. 
 
 On the mossy banks of sunny streams, 
 
 Where waters living flow; 
 Our childish thoughts all like dreams. 
 
 Did seem to come and go. 
 
 In front of my father's sunny cot, 
 
 Stood there an old elm tree; 
 Its leafy boughs made a pleasant spot 
 
 For my cousin Julius, and me. 
 
 Beneath its overhanging shade 
 With a bubbling spring hard by; 
 
 Many a sport and prank we played, 
 My cousin Julius, and I. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 203 
 
 In memory I see the old Bwing, 
 
 In the shade of the old elm tree; 
 And still of it I love to sing, 
 
 For it was dear to Julius and me. 
 
 Mirth and joy crown'd us there 
 
 While swinging up and down. 
 Dipping our souls in cooler air, 
 
 Then descending back nigh the ground. 
 
 Tired of the sportful moil 
 We leaped from the jolly old swing; 
 
 Now free from amusing toil. 
 We listen to the merry birds sing. 
 
 Oftimes contortions were our games, 
 
 Far away in the sable sands; 
 By tossing high our supple frames, 
 
 And light on feet or hands. 
 
 No other one there to shout and praise 
 
 When one the other excelled; 
 No other one there to stoop down and raise 
 
 One when he erring fell. 
 
 In memory I see the shady spot. 
 
 Away down the sunny dell; 
 Where stands my father's humble cot, 
 
 A hovel I love so well. 
 
 Under that consecrated tree 
 
 Dig our graves with a silver spade; 
 
 Then side by side enter Julius and me. 
 In the elm tree's silent shade. 
 
 Magic rhyme cannot tell — 
 
 Nor any florid line from thee; 
 How I long once more to dwell 
 
 In the shade of the old elm tree. 
 
 UNCLE SAM. 
 
 I'm going to tell you something 
 That is good as eggs and ham; 
 
 When you want to monkey, 
 
 Don't monkey with Uncle Sam. 
 
 ( t « 
 
204 LYRIC- Domestic 
 
 Uncle Sam is a mighty man, 
 He puts life in all the banks; 
 
 He is witty and watchful. 
 And is up to all your pranks. 
 
 When he summons forth all his power 
 
 What mortal soul can stand 
 Before this awful giant, 
 
 The mightiest of the land? 
 
 He's the Polyphemus of the land 
 And is unbiased, just and true; 
 
 He wears a stove pipe hat. 
 And a suit of navy blue. 
 
 He controls the navy, 
 
 And receives legates from afar; 
 He leads the army to battle 
 
 In the time of dreadful war. 
 
 When he speaks proud nations tremble 
 
 And hide themselves in awe; 
 They know that he is mighty. 
 
 And invincible in war. 
 
 On his puissant thigh is his sword, 
 
 And the thunderbolt of power in his hand; 
 
 He wields the affairs of the nation. 
 And is the bulwark of the land. 
 
 What myrmidons or hardened force 
 
 Can before him stand 
 Whenever he deigns once to raise 
 
 His avenging right hand? 
 
 He wields the sceptre of power 
 
 Over the ship of states, 
 And steers this mighty vessel 
 
 Safe over the deep of fates. 
 
 Never tamper with Uncle Sam, 
 
 I'm telling you a fact; 
 For he coins the specie of the land. 
 
 And the bills of green back. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 205 
 
 stand right in with Uncle Sam, 
 
 For he's not very hard to please; 
 If you want a grand time, 
 
 And move along with ease. 
 
 I'M BASKING IN THE SUNSHINE. 
 
 I'm basking in the sunshine 
 
 Resting my limb© and soul, 
 And looking o'er the landscape 
 
 That beams now in gold. 
 
 Precious sunbeams are shining 
 
 Above and all around me; 
 And my soul is sailing in ease, 
 
 Over the ethereal sea. 
 
 Sweet blessed sunlight 
 
 Shines in my heart today; 
 It gilds the hill® and vales, 
 
 And yon mountain gray. 
 
 A flood of sunlight is in my heart, 
 The birds and rills chant praises; 
 
 The tinted hills all rejoice. 
 And vales of darling daisies. 
 
 Everything smiles in the ambient air; 
 
 It charms my wanton eyes; 
 And through the flood of golden light 
 
 Flit bees and butterflies. 
 
 Sunny brooks dancing run, 
 
 And sweetly laugh outright; 
 Singing praises to the sun, 
 
 For these rays of light. 
 
 THE FUGITIVE STRANGER. 
 
 I'm an animal without a friend, 
 
 A creature without a home; 
 (Surely some land will receive me in the end, 
 
 And bid me no more to roam. 
 
206 LYRIC, DOMESTIC 
 
 I am tossed and driven. 
 
 And have nowhere to go; 
 Is it a decree of high heaven, 
 
 That man should treat me so? 
 
 I'm scorn'd everywhere 
 
 And look'd on as a castout; 
 Far from human pity and care. 
 
 All forlorn, I wander about. 
 
 Oh! humanity what have I done? 
 
 What crime has my ancestry committed; 
 In years dead and long gone, 
 
 That I can't once be pitied, , 
 
 My head is water at times, 
 And my eyesi spout a briny sea; 
 
 To think there's no propitious climes, 
 That welcome wandering me. 
 
 I dream that God created the earth. 
 And granted it to man as a home; 
 
 (He didn't brand me with a curse. 
 Compelling me to ever roam. 
 
 Still I'll brave it to the end, 
 And will never, never once cower; 
 
 Though disdained by wretched man, 
 Whose appetite is for absolute power. 
 
 Portion to me a godly place, 
 
 And deed it as my home; 
 Where my long detested race, 
 
 And I, may cease to roam. 
 
 For ages I have been tossed and driven, 
 
 By a blind faction's hate; 
 And I, a« one in contrition even 
 
 Still plead at mercy's gate. 
 
 The world turns from me its face. 
 
 And lends my cry no ears; 
 It scoffs at my rejected race. 
 
 And slights my sad tears. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 207 
 
 Long have the billows of the sea 
 
 Hurled me to and fro; 
 FV)r there's no land to pity me, 
 
 And invite my fleet ashore. 
 
 There is an Isle far, far away, 
 
 Somewhere in the siea; 
 And sacred common legends say 
 
 Its ports are open for me. 
 
 INVOCATION". 
 
 Thou serene father of the deep. 
 
 Up to thee I direct mine eyes; 
 Under thy trident I bow and weep; 
 
 And unto thee I dispatch my cries. 
 
 Helpless I bow before thee. 
 Oid, worn and sore; 
 Struggling on this mad sea, 
 To reach the retreating shore. 
 
 With my weather beaten fleet, 
 
 I, the long wanderer have come; 
 And have fallen prostrate at thy feet, 
 
 Beseeching thee to grant us a home. 
 
 Thou who gave the winds force. 
 
 To upturn the azure sea; 
 Will thou not curb them in their course. 
 
 And save my tribe and me? 
 
 Lo! me thou awful sea-god, 
 
 Down on my trembling knees; 
 Beneath thy chastening rod. 
 
 And vengeance of the seas. 
 
 Lo; my ships scattered here and there, 
 
 O'er the waves far and wide, 
 And many a corpse everywhere. 
 
 On the heaving tide. 
 
*>08 LYRIC, DOMESTIC 
 
 My divine relics all lay 
 Scattered over the face of the sea; 
 
 Aind thou relenting Grod, I (pray, 
 
 Preserve them for my race and me. 
 
 Bring on a mild day 
 
 To lull the mad winds to sleep; 
 Then the waves without sway, 
 
 Will recede from the deep. 
 
 O spare the remnant of my detested race! 
 
 And at least pity persecuted me; 
 If 'tis no corroding disgrace, 
 
 Lo, thy realm and thee. 
 
 O bring our long voyage to an end 
 
 And drive us here and there no more; 
 But allow us to live as generous men 
 On some far delightful shore. 
 
 Wliere loyalty to country gets a tribute of praise, 
 Hardihood and piety a precious crown; 
 
 And virtue pure in all her ways, 
 Receives her just renown. 
 
 An impartial land where political franchise 
 Against its citizens bolts not its door; 
 
 And boastful ride on to despise 
 And to disfranchise its poor. 
 
 WINCHESTER GUN. 
 
 The day has come, don't you know, 
 That the world is in a strife; 
 
 And you should have a forty-four 
 To protect yourself and wife. 
 
 Don't forget as you go 
 
 Down the road of life; 
 To take along your forty-four, 
 
 To protect yourself and wife. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 209 
 
 Kemember all this Is so 
 
 And trust not in a knife, 
 Rather than in a forty-four, 
 
 To protect yourself and wife. 
 
 That forty-four is a mighty gun, 
 
 And it always whistles so loud; 
 A man will jump right up and run, 
 
 And not think he is too proud. 
 
 Before that Winchester gun, 
 
 Whose calibre is forty-four; • 
 
 It's no use to start to run. 
 
 But at once get ready to go. 
 
 In a dream take a view 
 
 Of all the things you know; 
 But there is something you can't do; 
 
 You can't dodge a forty-four. 
 
 If you have a Winchester gun. 
 
 Whose calibre is forty-four; 
 Stand right still and do not run 
 
 From any rabid foe. 
 
 Just do whatever is right, 
 
 That the world may see and know; 
 And when you are assailed at night, 
 Just grab your forty-four. 
 
 You need not to open your door 
 
 To descry who is about; 
 But stand and work your forty-four. 
 And never once go out. 
 
 THE GREAT AND LOVELINESS. 
 
 Every fine courser isn't on the race track, 
 
 Every regal brow Isn't honor'd with a crown; 
 
 And so you'll find this to be a fact, 
 As ages come tumbling down. 
 
210 Lyric, _ Domestic 
 
 Sometimes you'll find a sweet flower, 
 Not in a beautiful yard or garden; 
 
 But deep in some secret bower, 
 As if biding from its warden. 
 
 Here contented it loves to dwell 
 In lavishing beauty wild; 
 
 Unconscious of its sweet smell. 
 Aind its looks gracious and mild. 
 
 The violet seeks to hide 
 
 Its purple blushing face; 
 And never muses to confide 
 
 In its modesty and grace. 
 
 THE FARMER. 
 
 Prepare your land well 
 Before you sow your seed; 
 In harvest you'll have some to sell, 
 After keeping all you need. 
 
 Keep the weeds and thistles cut down 
 
 In days that are sunny; 
 So when autumn comes with a golden crown, 
 
 You may have something to barter for money. 
 
 In winter plough up your field. 
 
 And sleet and snow never mind; 
 If you want an abundant yield 
 In yellow harvest time. 
 
 COLORED GIRLS SINGING. 
 
 I hear a sweet anthem ringing, 
 
 That sounds a jubilee; 
 'Tis the swarthy daughters ainging, 
 
 In the vales of the land of the free. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 211 
 
 Just listen now for Jesus' sake, 
 
 At their melodious voices; 
 Chanting at the evening gate, 
 
 And everything rejoices. 
 
 O how their mellifluent voices ring 
 
 In (pathetic symphony divine; , 
 
 And no other daughters can sing 
 
 Like these lovely daughters of mine. 
 
 < 
 When all the sky is clear. 
 
 And the winds sigh low to the trees; 
 In the silent evening I hear 
 
 Them singing in the open hreeze. 
 
 i 
 When the ruddy glows of sunset fade 
 
 From the vale and the hills; 
 They love to sing in the evening shade, 
 Because it's cool and still. 
 
 When my brunette daughters sing, 
 
 "Nearer my God to Thee;" 
 The welkin around is made to ring 
 
 With fiallowed jubilee. 
 
 When they sing Zion's praise, 
 
 The Holy Ghost comes down; 
 And birds just stop singing and gaze; 
 
 Transported by the heavenly sound. 
 
 ETERNAL DEATH. 
 
 No sound or voice is heard 
 
 After eternal death; 
 No waiting or no sad word 
 
 Can call back the fleeting breath. 
 
 The florid lips, the precious breath, 
 
 And all that in beauty shines; 
 Fades away in the hour of death, 
 And leaves a pale corpse behind. 
 
212 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Wliere rolls oblivion's awful deep, 
 lAnd solemn silence spreads; 
 
 There the pallid corpses sleep 
 In the voiceless region of the dead. 
 
 No sad mourners' fervent prayer. 
 
 Nor parents' wailing cries; 
 Can enter the dull ears there, 
 
 And bid the dead once to rise. 
 
 The haggard brow, the languid eyes, 
 The dying hands entwine; 
 
 The last beam over all expires 
 lOn the midnight sky of time. 
 
 The dreadful din of war, 
 
 The armies' lusty tread; 
 The peal of cannon near and far 
 
 Can't wake the drowsy dead. 
 
 A SQUARE DEAL AND FAIR PLAY. 
 
 Grant him a square deal. 
 
 And a fair play; 
 Then mark his manly zeal 
 
 All along the way. 
 
 Admit him in the game, 
 
 And let bigots kick and puff; 
 iLet every youth and dame 
 See that he is no bluff. 
 
 He asks for but and honest deal, 
 
 And a decent place 
 On life's great battlefield, 
 
 Which tests every race. 
 
 Stand aside, give him fair play 
 
 Is all he demands of you; 
 And never mind what bigots say 
 
 About what he cannot do. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 213 
 
 He's all oak and steel, 
 
 And has a god-like will; 
 He wants but an honest deaV 
 
 And cranks to keep still. 
 
 Just act fair when you deal 
 
 The cards of life to him; 
 And never smuggle, swindle and steal 
 
 The winning cards of him. 
 
 All he wants is fair play, 
 
 And a square cut and deal; 
 And unbiased tongues to judge and say 
 
 And not tongues of blood and zeal. 
 
 Let him in the game, 
 
 And don't squabble and pout; 
 If he wins a little fame 
 
 Don't work to put him out. 
 
 MOSES. 
 
 Yon comes Moses with a derby hat 
 Stuck on the side of his head. 
 
 And in his hands he has a ball and bat 
 And struts like he isn't afraid. 
 
 Moses struts along the street 
 
 Airy as Judge Todd; 
 And slings his arms, hands and feet 
 
 Just like he's the city god. 
 
 In his suspenders he puts his hands 
 And moves like a peacock gay; 
 
 He widens out when he stands 
 And blockades the gangway. 
 
 He possesses excellent ways, 
 And to everybody he is polite; 
 
 Look at him and you'll see him raise 
 His hat to black and white. 
 
214 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Moses dresses up neat and fine, 
 And walks like he owns the town; 
 
 This is the reason all the time, 
 Wiry some folks run him down^ 
 
 RACE PREJUDICE. 
 
 The storm of prejudice is ragging high, 
 
 And the meek must keep still; 
 And on duty hold the eye 
 
 And move at heaven's will. 
 
 Now is a squally time, 
 
 And I want my folks to know 
 That they had better mind 
 
 How they talk and go. 
 
 Race prejudice is swelling high, 
 And everywhere spreads around; 
 
 It gathers on the peaceful skies. 
 And bursts with thunder's sound. 
 
 Keep fixed in your place, 
 
 Assigned to you by law; 
 Press forward with a steady pace 
 
 In life's gigantic war. 
 
 » 
 
 When the clouds of prejudice roll away 
 
 The social sun shall appear; 
 And the goddess of love in that illustrious day. 
 
 Shall wipe from the eyes every tear. 
 
 Bear persecuton like a god, 
 And keep the tenor of a pious way; 
 
 Racial hate with an iron rod 
 Will cease to rule some day. 
 
 When socialism from the dead shall rise, 
 And prevailing look in this way; 
 
 Then ere begrudging factious eyes 
 Shall dawn that social day. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 215 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 (Me'rry Christmas is here, 
 Just listen at that noise; 
 
 6anta Claus is comig 
 To see the little girls and boys. 
 
 I 
 Haste to bed little children, 
 
 And sleep good and sound; 
 
 Santa Claus is going to bring you 
 Something when he comes around. 
 
 He has pretty dolls for little girls; 
 
 French harps and horns for the boys; 
 Apples, candies and oranges, 
 
 And thousands of other toys. 
 
 iHang your little stockings up 
 
 Close by the fireplace; 
 Then Jump in your little bed 
 
 And cover up head and face. 
 
 (First, kiss dear mother and father, 
 
 And say to all goodnight;' 
 Asik angels to guard and keep you 
 
 Safe, until miorning light. 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE NIGHT. 
 
 Merry Christmas now is here, 
 And the world's heart beats glad; 
 
 It tolls the knell of the dying year, 
 But yet no one feels sad. 
 
 Hosanua to cheerful Christmas day! 
 
 It's here with laughing joy; 
 It hails the youth, the old and gray. 
 
 And every little girl and boy. 
 
 Balls of fire are everywhere, 
 
 Flaming the skies tonight; 
 And upward to the stars they bear 
 
 A train of gorgeous light. 
 
216 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Big guns are shooting all around. 
 But not witli awfiil noise; 
 
 While old Santa Glaus like a clown, 
 Tickles the little girls and boys. 
 
 Jolly swains are hooting 
 
 Here and everywihere; 
 Christmas guns are shooting, 
 
 And shaking the silent air. 
 
 Gaiety now is prancing 
 Because 'tis Christmas Eve; 
 
 Genuine love is dancing 
 Softly as the breeze. 
 
 FRED DOUGLASS. 
 
 A great day is coming on 
 
 When the judgement shall take place; 
 And around one awful throne. 
 
 Shall gather the human race. 
 
 The great aJid small will be there, 
 
 The noble and the ignoble; 
 And that righteous judge with golden hair 
 
 Shall weigh the deeds of people. 
 
 Every soul shall rise 
 
 Responsive to his name, 
 Full in view of the Judgement's eyes 
 
 To receive reward or shame. 
 
 Every famed revered head 
 Shall come forth in that hour; 
 
 And every tremendous army shall tread 
 Around the judgement tower. 
 
 Deep in the rear of the people all 
 This mighty personage shall rise; 
 
 And wild cheers from the judgement hall 
 Shall rend the sacred skies. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 217 
 
 Up to the amazing throne of grace 
 
 Where preside the three God-heads, 
 This champion orator of the human race 
 
 Beneath rousing cheers shall tread. 
 
 i 
 The nations there shall wonder and gaze 
 
 As he mounts the battlements of fame; 
 And that ancient sire af circling days 
 
 Shall announce and honor his name. 
 
 Upon that dazzling ornate throne 
 This orator and statesman shall stand; 
 
 As one who tread the winepress alone; 
 And is now at Jehovah's right hand. 
 
 His woolly hair white as snow 
 
 Still shall adorn his head, 
 And in supernal radiance glow 
 
 Above all the rhetoricians dead. 
 
 His ornate oratory may inflame. 
 
 And astonish the human mind; 
 Still the sacred trinity shall proclaim, 
 
 Him the orator of mankind. 
 
 Ah! champion Douglass live on 
 Forever in the volume of fame; 
 
 When myriad years shall have flown. 
 Still illustrious shall be thy name. 
 
 Thy burning eloquencte and wit 
 
 Thy fluent language divine. 
 Will ever equal William Pitt 
 
 And Sheridan of the Saxon line. 
 
 TO MARY. 
 
 My years may come and go, 
 Laden with grief and pains; 
 
 My hair may whiten like snow, 
 Upon Siberian plains. 
 
218 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 My soul shall ever ebb and sigh 
 
 When thee, it cannot see; 
 My heart throbs to never die, 
 
 And live alone for thee. 
 
 I gasp for living streams 
 
 To yoke me to thy side; 
 And lull away in dreams, 
 
 On its ebbing tide. 
 
 Let the avenging God of the ocean 
 Enraged, plough up the sea; 
 
 Let mountain billow excite emotion; 
 They cannot drive me from thee. 
 
 Ere the rock of thy life was shivered, 
 And numbered with the countless dead; 
 
 You wept that she might be delivered, 
 As she gasped for life in bed. 
 
 And after death had chill'd her frame, 
 And stilled her heaving breast; 
 
 Thy love for me proved just the same 
 To ease my soul to rest. 
 
 Thus in the darkest hour of life. 
 When lurid hope had not a ray; 
 
 Thou wert to me as a tender wife, 
 And sweet as a rose in May. 
 
 Let foes envy thy sacred soul, 
 And thy womanly virtues disapprove; 
 
 My fondness shall ever be as gold, 
 My heart from thee will never move. 
 
 TO CHAS. BROACHE. 
 
 When some rude bud begins to swell, 
 Along the pathway through the dell; 
 Ere long in loveliness it blooms, 
 A choice floweret with sweet perfume. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 219 
 
 In peerless beauty it weeps and pines away, 
 Under the glowing sunshine of noonday; 
 Now it's a flower all withered and seared, 
 And not a snowy floweret to be endeared. 
 
 Thus, faded the flower sweet and fair, 
 And wasted its fragrance on the jejune air; 
 Once smiled to adorn the wild scene, 
 And enchanted the eye with living green. 
 
 But now it nods its drooped head, 
 A dainty flower, all defaced and dead; 
 So 'twas with one who lately died, 
 And ebbed away from our side. 
 
 A bosom friend and kindred dear 
 
 To the needy both far and near, 
 
 He toiled on up the hill of life. 
 
 Through clashing ages of peace and strife. 
 
 And saw from its hoary height 
 
 The vale beyond wrapt'd in wondrous' light; 
 
 After surmounting the horrors of below, 
 
 He took his burden for a pillow; 
 
 And down he laid his wearied head 
 
 To be numbered with the silent dead. 
 
 He was a man of honesty, piety and pride, 
 And thus in the path of rectitude he died; 
 His manly heart was' in his hand, 
 Liberal toward every man. 
 
 He always exhibited' a willing mind. 
 To provide for the welfare of mankind; 
 Though but a husband man of the soil, 
 And his livelihood was in daily toil. 
 
 To no higher sphere in life did he aspire. 
 For virtue was his only desire; 
 And to see the world with glory crown'd 
 Wherever human hearts are found. 
 
 No title of honor did he attain, 
 Save that of one poor wretched swain; 
 Whose kingly head wears no crown. 
 Though it's just to man the world around. 
 
220 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Oft has his hospitable door 
 
 Opened wide to invite the poor; 
 
 And the wearied traveler, seeking rest. 
 
 Was received and entertained as a royal gueBt. 
 
 So he had no ambition for royal power. 
 He deemed his life to be just as ours, 
 But look'd he up the shining way, 
 Where glows but one eternal day. 
 
 Universal love was his guide, 
 
 And he stalk'd with fortitude side hy side; 
 
 Until on life's rugged brow at last. 
 
 He felt the chilly wind and fell In the blast. 
 
 Moral integrity is always shown 
 In one who dies without a groan; 
 Crosses the hands upon the peaceful breast, 
 And sleeps away to the paradise of rest. 
 
 So it was with the pious dead, 
 
 Ere his gracious spirit fled 
 
 Up to the gate of everlasting life; 
 
 Far from the groans of his bereaved wife, 
 
 Who shall linger on in widowhood, 
 
 And remain his bosom wife. 
 
 IKE AND WADE. 
 
 Lazy Ike and Wade 
 
 Having a little fun; 
 Sitting in the shade. 
 
 Hiding from the sun. 
 
 The sun is beaming down. 
 Red hot from the sky; 
 
 And all the earth around 
 Set^ms to be a bed of fire. 
 
 Sitting on the portico, 
 Dodging the sun's heat; 
 
 Chewing and smoking to'bacco, 
 And always ready to eat. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 221 
 
 Tattling and giggling, 
 Whiling the time away; 
 
 Dancing and fiddling, 
 On a hot summer day. 
 
 Cooling in the shade, 
 Fanning the flies away; 
 
 Trying their best to evade 
 The fiery heat of the day. 
 
 A BULLY AMONG BULLIES. 
 
 He is a bully among bullies 
 
 And will not dare to run, 
 Unless hie's caught in a fray 
 
 Without a great big gun. 
 
 In petty fights and quarrels 
 
 He must have his big gun; 
 And without it dear sir, 
 
 You'll surely see him run. 
 
 When he has a great big gun 
 
 This enables him to fight; 
 He'll knock fire out of your head, 
 
 Let it be wrong or right. 
 
 With a great big gun on his side, 
 He fancies he's Marshal Ney; 
 
 Full cock'd and primed 
 To quell any rabid fray. 
 
 Give some fellow little authority, 
 
 And a great big horrid gun; 
 Then he muses himself more mighty 
 
 Than God's anointed son. 
 
 Rob him of legal power. 
 
 And take from him his gun; 
 
 Then bring him right down to fight. 
 And you'll see the coward run. 
 
222 LYRIC, DOMESTIC 
 
 True valor is in the heart of man 
 
 Who will fight without a gun; 
 And in the riot come out victor, 
 True valor's mighty son. 
 
 Lay aside your arras 
 
 When your opponent has none; 
 And vie with each other 
 
 Without a gi-eat big gun. 
 
 To arrest a disarmed villian, 
 For what he has done; 
 
 Don't first blow him up side his head 
 With the muzzle of your gun. 
 
 Although vested in authority 
 
 And abetted by a great big gun; 
 
 Still your culprit is human 
 And is somebody's son. 
 
 Don't vaunt and bully o'er men, 
 Though your gold weighs a ton; 
 
 Remember manly fortitude 
 Is never found in a gun. 
 
 THE DEWY MORN. 
 
 The birds all are singing, 
 The air is pure and sweet, 
 
 The woods with music axe ringing 
 The golden morn to greet. 
 
 Buzzing bees are flying, 
 Laden with honey dew; 
 
 Lambkins are crying, 
 For their mother ewe. 
 
 Nothing seems to be dying 
 
 Under the sun's glare; 
 Butterflies are flying 
 
 Among the flowers fair. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 223 
 
 All nature is smiling 
 Without a blot or blight; 
 
 The sunbeams are gilding 
 The landscape in delight. 
 
 The soft breath of the morning 
 Is cooling summer's hot veins; 
 
 And nature is not groaning 
 And parching up in pains. 
 
 HE WHO CAN'T FAIL. 
 
 A fall one needs not fear 
 
 When he's already down; 
 Though pride may at him jeer. 
 
 And lordly o'er him frown. 
 
 He who's up is liable to fall; 
 
 He who's down to rise; 
 Falling and rising are common to all. 
 
 In nature's prudent eyes. 
 
 When one's poor and down, 
 
 Exposed to disgrace, 
 Eye him not with a frown, 
 
 For this is man's primitive place. 
 
 From lowness we rise 
 
 Up to higher ground; 
 Then never deign to despise 
 
 A fellow when he's down. 
 
 Lowness is the fist round 
 
 In life's gradual rise; 
 BYom which the climber who's down 
 
 First upward casts his eyes. 
 
 Wherever human intelligence flies, 
 The wheels of industry resound; 
 
 And men seem to fall and rise 
 Where manly prudence is found. 
 
224 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 OLD FOLKS AND YOUNG FOLKS. 
 
 When some old folks are waKe, 
 Some young folks are mad; 
 
 But when some old folks go to bed. 
 Some young folks are glad. 
 
 Some old folks like to peep and pry. 
 Deep into young folk's affairs, 
 
 To see if they can descry 
 Some immoral intent there. 
 
 Oftimes old folks are right 
 And young folks are wrong; 
 
 Old folks know it is night, 
 A good time to do wrong. 
 
 Old folks are ever on the lookout 
 Vigilant sentries at the gate; 
 
 Trying to descry what's about 
 Before it is too late. 
 
 When the old folks say "bed time" 
 Take your hat from the wall and go; 
 
 It's no use to grumble and whine, 
 For these old folks certainly know. 
 
 A SORROWFUL HOUR. 
 
 Who can sing in such an hour 
 
 When sorrow and grief rain down; 
 
 And beat with almighty power 
 To crush him to the ground? 
 
 Black clouds, the harbinger of a storm 
 
 Ever rising all around; 
 And lightning of horrid form 
 
 Precede® the thunder sound. 
 
 Tribulations like big drops of rain. 
 Shower down upon my head; 
 
 My enemies in a long extended train, 
 Press on with lusty tread. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 225 
 
 However my foe is strong, 
 
 Its gruff voice I hear; 
 But it I'm not in the wrong 
 
 What need I to fear? 
 
 Let calumny and error burn, 
 And infamy cover me o'er; 
 Still my innocence they cannot spurn 
 While tinithful fires glow. 
 
 Human lions around me howl, 
 
 And mad-dogs *at me bay; 
 All of them around me prowl. 
 
 And mark me as their prey. 
 
 BROKEN CONFIDENCE. 
 
 Broken confidence is hard to mend, 
 
 When once broken between lovers and friends; 
 
 Its strong cohesion is no more. 
 
 And never can be, as it was before. 
 
 When once lost it can't be found 
 Any more in life'si dizzy round; 
 Though we seek it and seek again, 
 Yet all our seeking is in vain. 
 
 When it's lost it's gone forever. 
 And we can confide never 
 In the virtue of that soul 
 Which we thought was pure as gold. 
 
 Wherever lives strong confidence 
 In regard to moral excellence; 
 It'll not hearken to any hearsay. 
 Surmised to slander one now a day. 
 
 It's hard to have confidence in one 
 Who has deceived you once before; 
 Though your affection she ha« won. 
 Still in her you confide no more. 
 
226 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 TITULARY APOSTLES. 
 
 Preachers cut a mighty clash. 
 
 And feel themselves made new 
 When they eat pork chops and hash 
 
 And a nice right chicken stew. 
 
 Some strong hot coffee then, 
 
 And sugar to' sweeten it next; 
 Then only one in every ten 
 
 Can preach a decent text. 
 
 On superstitious things they dwell. 
 And dreadful phantoms present; 
 
 They make us think the captain in hell. 
 Is turned loose for the present. 
 
 How to live right they never preach, 
 But in a slang and hateful way; 
 
 Fanaticism is all they teach 
 In the sanctuaries of today. 
 
 In great emotions they whoop and rear 
 Whenever they preach and pray; 
 
 This is done solely to scare 
 The populace of now a day. 
 
 They preach the earth's going to melt and run 
 
 Before the flames like lead; 
 And God's going to hlow out the sun, 
 
 And wild destruction spread. 
 
 PROVERBS. 
 
 The tongue's like a race horse. 
 
 The lighter the burden the faster it goes; 
 So deeper the stream, 
 
 The swifter it flows. 
 
 We know nearer the bone 
 
 Sweeter the meat; 
 Nearer the fire; 
 
 Greater the heat. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 227 
 
 Plainer the evidence. 
 
 Stronger is the speech; 
 Deeper the ocean, 
 
 Higher is the beach. 
 
 Older the cow, 
 
 vJMore wrinkletl the horn; 
 Older the world. 
 
 More habies are born. 
 
 Older the man, 
 
 Weaker the sight; 
 Older the maid; 
 Cooler the night. 
 
 Stronger the manhood, 
 
 Warmer the desire; 
 Younger the maiden. 
 
 Hotter the fire. 
 
 HOW TO GET ALONG. 
 
 stay in your place,. 
 
 Bridle your unruly tongue; 
 Tend to your own business. 
 
 If you want to get along. 
 
 Don't go around here all dressed up, 
 Putting on your gaudy airs, 
 
 Raising so much sand and dust 
 Meddling with other folks affairs. 
 
 Just mind your own business. 
 And let other folks alone 
 
 Then they can't grieve and fret 
 Over what you've said and done. 
 
 Don't tattle about other folks. 
 When they are not there; 
 
 Nor allow yourself once to butt 
 Into their own affairs. 
 
228 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 other folk's business is not yours, 
 And you need not to interfere; 
 
 Let them do what they will, 
 
 But your own boat try to steer. 
 
 You can't suit everybody 
 
 And every person can't suit you; 
 So attend to your own business, 
 
 And try your best to get through. 
 
 TIME'S FAST FLYING. 
 
 Time is fast flying 
 
 Bearing us on to the tomb; 
 So we are gradually dying. 
 
 And hence will go soon. 
 
 Within us rings a direful sound, 
 And it makes pious hearts cry 
 
 To dream of the spot of ground 
 Where we must surely lie. 
 
 We are walking down to the tomb. 
 
 Though unaware we go. 
 Leaving behind the dressing room 
 
 Granted to usi here below. 
 
 Onward, we march night and day 
 With nimble and noiseless tread. 
 
 On that irremediable way 
 
 To the land of the silent dead. 
 
 Our lives are ever fleeting; 
 
 Disasters rage and rave; 
 Our hearts like drums are beating. 
 
 Sadly marching us to the grava 
 
 THE VIOLET. 
 
 Blushing modest violets. 
 
 From among the leaves are peeping; 
 They hear the light tread of gentle Bpring 
 
 Come creeping! creeping! creeping! 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 229 
 
 They are crown'd with purple hoods, 
 Whose heads are blushing and weeping; 
 
 They see hard by the verdant spring 
 Come creeping! creeping! creeping. 
 
 The host of blushing violets. 
 
 All in a pinky dye 
 Are seen here and there 
 
 Bright as a deep blue eye. 
 
 Sweet blushing, bashful violets, 
 
 The eager children are seeking; 
 For they think 'tis time for spring 
 
 To come creeping! creeping! creeping! 
 
 How dainty and modest is the violet! 
 
 Who in loveliness is weeping; 
 When blithesome flowery spring 
 
 Comes cieeping! creeping! creeping! 
 
 SPIRITUAL BLESSINGS. 
 
 After every sincere act of devotion, 
 Spiritual blessings will surely, come 
 
 To kindle in us sacred emotion. 
 For our blessed home. 
 
 Fear not when thunder beginsi to roll and spread 
 
 Deep horror on the midnight air; 
 The God of the living and not the dead, 
 
 Is always present there. 
 
 Then why should we tremble and dread 
 
 To encounter a howling blast; 
 When God protects every hair of our head. 
 
 And preserves us in the last? 
 
 Fear not, fear not, ye saints! 
 
 For there's in heaven an eye 
 That looks down o'er all restraints. 
 
 Whenever ye pray and cry. 
 
230 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 God turns down a listening ear 
 Whenever His children cry; 
 
 Then why should we fear, 
 And doubt His patient reply? 
 
 SORRY NEGROES. 
 
 You want to he white? 
 
 So indeed, I see; 
 Why don't you know 
 
 That you cannot be? 
 
 Don't crave for something 
 
 Which you cannot be, 
 But rather for something 
 
 You surely can. be. 
 
 So many sorry Negroes 
 Are craving to be white, 
 
 Knowing at the same time 
 That they are black as night. 
 
 Buying all kind of powders 
 
 That come into sight, 
 Trying to do all they can 
 
 To make themselves white. 
 
 Ever tattling and dreaming 
 How to hold each other down; 
 
 Who'd rather be a white man 
 Than to be a brown. 
 
 Walking around dressed up fine, 
 A pretty good looking eight; 
 
 Yet he grieves all the time 
 Because he isn't white. 
 
 Educated most highly 
 He a personage of might, 
 
 With a vast bank account, 
 
 But still he wants to be white. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 231 
 
 He prays and seeks not for fame, , 
 
 Nor w*orthy pleasure in sight; 
 He only wants his color changed 
 
 Into lilly white. 
 
 i 
 
 *He scoffs at his own hair and color, 
 And loves that of the lilly whites; 
 
 He thinks his hair and color 
 Debar him from social rights. 
 
 'Tis not ihls hair and color, 
 
 That the world despises so; 
 'Tis but his wretched condition. 
 
 That bolts the social door. 
 
 He sees but little glory in himself. 
 For this reason in him God sees leas; 
 
 And spurns all his prayers, songs and complaint* 
 In the dark hour of distress. 
 
 OLD HOME. 
 
 Wherever you may chance to roam 
 Or deign yourself once to stay; 
 
 Never forget your dear old home 
 In life's undulating way. 
 
 It's the sweetest place we know; 
 
 'Tis pure affection's shrine; 
 And wlierever we should go 
 
 Let us hold it precious in mind. 
 
 There mirth and blithe gather around, 
 
 Fed by undying love, 
 A sacred stream flowing down 
 
 Out of some fount above. 
 
 There's love pure as gold 
 
 In dear old home's breast; 
 And balm for your bleeding soul. 
 
 And to you the weary rest. 
 
232 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 At home there's a constant flame, 
 Serene as celestial fire; 
 
 It burns on in snow or rain, 
 And will not once expire. 
 
 It matters not where you roam, 
 Or what may be your lot; 
 
 Don't forget your dear old home, 
 Be it a mansion or a cot. 
 
 CHARACTER AND REPUTATION. 
 
 Character is one thing, 
 
 Reputation is another; 
 Though at times 
 
 We find them right together. 
 
 The former is the kernel within. 
 
 The latter is the tiny shell; 
 The former is the flower, 
 
 So the latter is the smell. 
 
 Character is one's real self. 
 
 Reputation's what one's said to be; 
 And sometimes when brought together, 
 
 We find them to disagree. 
 
 Character is acquired. 
 
 Reputation can be the same; 
 But you'll find that they differ 
 As life you go qh through. 
 
 Character is either good or bad, 
 
 Reputation can be the same; 
 Character is one's real soul; 
 
 Reputation is but the fame. 
 
 Character is the first cause, 
 
 Reputation is an effect; 
 Though very close related. 
 
 Still at times they don't connect. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 233 
 
 MARCH ONWARD. 
 
 Onward! is the watchword, 
 
 Rally around the banner; 
 Toil on up the hill, 
 
 And shout a loud hosanna. 
 
 Onward march ye soldiers. 
 
 With shield and banner bright; 
 Sally forth with courage bold 
 
 Into the hottest of the fight. 
 
 Don't lay your armour down 
 
 Until the victory you've won; 
 And taken from your enemy 
 
 Every sword and every gun. 
 
 Onward, forward, shout aloud 
 
 Ye valiant hearted band; 
 Never mind fiery aversions. 
 
 But like a hero stand. 
 
 Though the enemy crown the hill, 
 
 And deals death to you below; 
 Fight on and you shall rout 
 
 This grim and malignant foe. 
 
 JOHN KIDD. 
 
 His gray beard hung dowm on his breast, 
 
 He wore his hair long; 
 His mind seemed always to be at rest, 
 
 His muscles were hard and strong. 
 
 His hair was reddish brown, 
 His eyes were dark but bright; 
 
 On his brow was not a frown, 
 To dispel any one with fright. 
 
 A kind hearted man was he 
 
 To all his neighbors around; 
 No better man could we see; 
 
 No better could be found. 
 
234 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 In peace he lived with all mankind, 
 With no malice in his breast; 
 
 No other merit sought he to find 
 Save a place of rest. 
 
 His heart was serene as the day; 
 
 Kind deeds he did for all; 
 And, ofttimes he kneeled to pray 
 
 For both the great and small. 
 
 He had no covetous design, 
 
 His feelings were sacred and true; 
 He was of the Anglo-Saxon line, 
 
 Whose blood is divinely pure. 
 
 Unharm'd he ran his race 
 And passed safely o'er; 
 
 With sunny smiles upon his face, 
 He landed on the other shore. 
 
 What he knew he kept it hid 
 And walked in the rear of mankind; 
 
 Everybody called him Uncle John Kidd, 
 For he had no malice in his mind. 
 
 Indeed riches he had none. 
 Regardless to good chances; 
 
 But lived as the prodigal son. 
 In adverse circumstances. 
 
 So without eager cares. 
 His destined course he ran; 
 
 And every one who dares 
 Will say he's a gentleman. 
 
 But John Kidd is now at rest. 
 Beyond misfortune's frown ; 
 
 And glory o'er his peaceful breast, 
 Guards solemnly around. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 235 
 
 ZAMBO. 
 
 Zambo looks like he's right; 
 Going to see his gal tonight; 
 All dressed up mighty fine, 
 Sa he'll be there tonight at nine. 
 
 When the big dog begins to bark, 
 Just sneak out in the dark; 
 And you'll surely find 
 Zambo there juist at nme. 
 
 Get up out of your feather bed, 
 Stick your hat on your head; 
 Dress yourself up and go out, 
 Zambo is somewhere about. 
 
 When he comes you can tell 
 From his awful rancid smell; 
 Get up at once and go out 
 For Zambo is somewhere about. 
 
 WOMAN WANTS THE RIGHT OF SUF- 
 FRAGE. 
 
 Woman wants to be man 
 
 To wear man's breeches and coat; 
 And be a legal subject of the land 
 
 With full rights to vote. 
 
 Give woman man's breeches, 
 
 And man's great big coat; 
 Let her go out and make speeches, 
 
 And bleat like a wild goat. 
 
 Grant her the right of suffrage. 
 
 And to dabble in all affairs; 
 These will increase her politic courage, 
 
 And weaken her maternal cares. 
 
236 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Indoors was woman's divine place 
 When she dwell'd in Eden's bower; 
 
 With her virtue, love and grace, 
 She craved for no other power. 
 
 Her sphere was inclosed there. 
 Where grow mellow fruit and flowers; 
 
 And undefiled by political sin 
 She adored Eden's holy bower. 
 
 Privacy is modest woman's fort 
 Sweet affection is her shrine; 
 
 And she needs no right to vote 
 To make her province shine. 
 
 EARTHLY GLORY. 
 
 Heraldic stones piled to the skies 
 Must crumble beneath the stroke of time; 
 
 All mortality, too, soon dies, 
 
 And leaves an immortal world behind. 
 
 All sublunary grandeurs we know 
 In corroding time must decay; 
 
 And the world shall brighter glow 
 When the old shall vanish away. 
 
 Every earthly tower menacing the sky 
 
 To exalt some titulary god, 
 Shall tumble down to expire 
 
 Beneath time's beating rod. 
 
 The greatest wonders we know 
 
 Reared by the skill of man. 
 In time shall be no more 
 
 Seen towering above the land. 
 
 Every antique mosque and palace, 
 
 It matters not how sublime; 
 Must disappear from their place 
 
 In the stormy years of time. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 237 
 
 Yon tall mountain must bow 
 
 Its awful head to the plain; 
 And fiery isles by divine power 
 
 {Must spring blazing from the main. 
 
 CITIES OF THE PLAIN. 
 
 Surely the age of the cities of the plain 
 To the world has come back again; 
 When storied Sodom and Gomorrah 
 Were utterly destroyed by Jehovah. 
 
 All the cities and people therein 
 Were demolished for their sins; 
 For idolatry was their king 
 And hosanna they didn't sing. 
 
 From Sodom to Zoar Lot fled 
 
 In the way his angel securely led; 
 
 For Lot was a godly man, 
 
 The most righteous in the land. 
 
 Lot found grace in God's sight, 
 And angels guarded him in his flight • 
 From doomed Sodom to the mountain 
 That looked down on the plain. 
 
 When pious Lot into Zoar came, 
 
 The sun had gone forth upon the plain 
 
 To proclaim destruction to all 
 
 Who were in the bitterness of gall. 
 
 Now far from peril and harm, 
 Lot heard a soul-stirring alarm; 
 His wife looked back all in fault 
 And there she became a pillar of salt. 
 
 Brimstone and fire down from heaven came, 
 And beat upon the cities like heavy drops of rain; 
 This was done to consume and confound 
 The perverse heathens in the earth around. 
 
238 LYRIC, DOMESTIC 
 
 Their wickedness had gone up to God, 
 
 He poured upon them the wrath of His burning rod; 
 
 And left not a stone to mark the place, 
 
 Once the habitation of an ungodly race. 
 
 Black desolation, spreading wide, 
 Veil'd the plain from side to side; 
 And wreathing pitchy smoke on high. 
 Shaded the sun and the golden sky. 
 
 Utter demolition was God's aim 
 To the cities and perverse people of the plain, 
 And to bury them in oblivion deep. 
 Nameless there to howl and weep. 
 
 Ten righteous souls could not be found 
 Within the cities' vast bound; 
 And for this cause all had to die, 
 God's word to justify. 
 
 Terms of salvation to the cities had been given 
 Before God rained down fire out of heaven, 
 To annihilate an iniquitous race, 
 Breathing immorality in His face. 
 
 He wrapt'd up the cities in a vast flame, 
 
 And depopulated all the plain; 
 
 Thus under God's ireful might, 
 
 Sodom and Gomorrah vanished out of sight. 
 
 An adulterous generation was dethroned. 
 And its stronghold was overthrown; 
 And left a charred smoking waste, 
 The relics of an ungodly race. 
 
 Hillocks of cinders and ashes lay here and there; 
 Sulphuric odors filled all the air; 
 Black chaos shrouded all the plain, 
 From the placid sea to the mountain. 
 
AND Sacked Poems. 239 
 
 NECESSARIES. 
 
 Grant me necessary wares: 
 
 Salutary food and health; 
 Little else should we crave and care, 
 
 For miser's countless wealth. 
 
 Just enough money to buy what I need 
 And pay for it right then; 
 
 Always leaving some for seed 
 And a little to lend. 
 
 My means are just like my hair, 
 
 Which is very short indeed; 
 Little else do I care, 
 
 Just since I get what I need. 
 
 The great aristocratic class, 
 
 The multi-millionaire; 
 Must all come down at last 
 
 And take mortal's common fare. 
 
 The aristocrat is but a man, 
 
 Well verily so am I; 
 Though in wealth unequal we stand. 
 
 Nevertheless, we're equal when we die. 
 
 The millionaire can't eat his gold, 
 Nor in death carry it with him; 
 
 Riches can't ransom the dying soul, 
 When the eyes in death grow dim. 
 
 Aristocrats in gaudy array 
 
 Over death have no power, 
 They must make their bed in the clay. 
 
 Just as low as ours. 
 
 Drive consuming aristocracy away; 
 
 Put the world in the hands of hardy men; 
 Then all shall behold a brighter day. 
 
 And have more money to spend. 
 
240 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 UNTRUE LOVE. 
 
 The very heart I thought was pure 
 And loved no one but me, 
 
 I find it now all untrue, 
 And fickle as it can be. 
 
 My love had made this heart its shrine. 
 
 For unknown years to come; 
 In storm or sunshine, 
 
 I took it to be my home. 
 
 No throbbing heart was dearer to me 
 Than the one I chant of here; 
 
 Whether on land or sea, 
 I always held it dear. 
 
 I braved the storm of years to come, 
 
 By trusting in its love; 
 And securely deem'd it my home. 
 
 In the bosom of a turtle dove. 
 
 At night I have heard it throb and beat 
 
 Close to my listening ear; 
 And in days serene and sweet 
 
 My love brook'd no fear. 
 
 I dreamed my love had found a home 
 In a heart that seemed to love me, 
 
 And in the shifting years to come. 
 Would never from me flee. 
 
 But alas! one sorrowful day, 
 In wonder and great surprise; 
 
 That heart cast my love away 
 Disappointed forever to die. 
 
 Ever since that day and time 
 Sad grief has fill'd my heart; 
 
 And tormenting dreams weary my mind 
 So that I cannot rest. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 241 
 
 Though thy heart hath deceived me. 
 
 Still my love is not dead; 
 But it lives only for thee, 
 
 Wherever thou mayest tread. 
 
 Let thine heart in mirth remain 
 
 Though mine must bleeding beat; 
 And the aching grief which paineth, 
 
 Is that no more we may meet. 
 
 Though disunited are you and I, 
 
 And I know not where thou art; 
 Will not thou grant one lovely sigh. 
 
 To heal my wounded heart? 
 
 Every impulse hath been shaken; 
 
 The dignity which a world couldn't bow, 
 Kneels before thee all forsaken, 
 
 And by thee, too, forsaken now. 
 
 I'm weltering down in deep despair, 
 
 Whilst thou art on the hill; 
 Wilt thou not hearken to my prayer, 
 
 Which is high heaven's will? 
 
 Fare thee well, now and forever, 
 
 We cannot mend the broken tie; 
 And should we meet never, never! 
 
 May we like a widow and widower die. 
 
 LOST HOPE. 
 
 My last spark of hope is dead. 
 And there's not a single ray; 
 
 While from me happiness has fled 
 And misery lay athwart my way. 
 
 When the last beam of hope dies. 
 Within an anxious breast; 
 
 The soul turns its wishful eyes 
 Elsewhere for happiness. 
 
242 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 Deep in the abyss of despair 
 
 Where horrors obstruct the way; 
 
 Beyond the reach of revered care, 
 Lost hopes in misery lay. 
 
 PRESIDENT WILSON. 
 
 President Wilson has taken his seat, 
 And has crossed his mighty legs; 
 
 Everybody has plenty to eat. 
 And there's no need to beg. 
 
 The old Ship of State is sailing 
 
 Now o'er a peaceful sea; 
 And there's no hideous wailing 
 
 To annoy the land of the free. 
 
 Over the calm waters she glides, 
 Bound for that evergreen shore; 
 
 That stands beyond the rising tides 
 Of life forevermore. 
 
 In pious peace and rest, 
 
 She now sails along the strand, 
 
 Where rivers laden with happiness 
 Flow bounteous through the land. 
 
 Captain Wilson is now on board 
 To row the states o'er the main; 
 
 He has cruised along every road, 
 And sea-faring is not strange. 
 
 Let all the Federal union around 
 Sing, "The Comforter has Come," 
 
 Until every yeoman listens to the sound, 
 And shouts in the harvest home. 
 
 ROCK OF AGES. 
 
 The Rock of Ages is higher than I; 
 
 It rises from the vale of eternity; 
 Then towering midway leaves the sKy, 
 
 And hides in the realm of infinity. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 243 
 
 Oh! Rock of Ages, hide me 
 
 Till the storm of life is past; 
 And when death comes to set me free. 
 
 Then receive my soul at last. 
 
 In tliy cliffs O let me dwell 
 
 Safe from storms below, 
 Where woes, like seas, rage ana swell, 
 
 And death like rivers flow. 
 
 Thou art a well of water in an arid land, 
 
 A watch tower and guide post; 
 The royal way to bright Canaan, 
 
 And guardian son of the Holy Ghost. 
 
 The Rock of everlasting Ages, 
 
 Standing bejond this veil of tears; 
 
 Where the Jordan never rages, 
 And the soul never fears. 
 
 TO REBECCA GILMER. 
 
 Love has pierced my heart to the core 
 And from the incision floods the purple gore; 
 In deathly pangs I bear the wound; 
 No balm save in thee have I found. 
 
 Come fond pet Oh! will you go 
 Where fiery lovers cease to glow? 
 Beneath a wedded sunny sky, 
 There siren-like let us die. 
 
 In that ever sacred nuptial lea, 
 We shall sip nectar like the bee 
 From lover's gay and perennial flower. 
 That hides and blushes in a secret bough. 
 
 THE COUNTRY SIDE IN JUNE. 
 
 In the genial month of June 
 
 To the country side we go; 
 Where the air is all perfume 
 
 And balmy zephyrs blow. 
 
244 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Where merry birds are singing, 
 And flit blithely around; 
 
 The graves and vales are ringing, 
 With a joyful sound. 
 
 How imposing is the scene 
 Of meadows spreading wide! 
 
 All robed in living green, 
 Where gamboling brooklets glide. 
 
 Sweet pinks and daisies everywhere, 
 As far as the eye can see, 
 
 And crocuses wth golden hair 
 In beauty dot the lea. 
 
 In summer sweet are the hours 
 When cooled by a gentle breeze 
 
 That kisses the lips of flowers, 
 And tangles the hair of trees. 
 
 Here solitude grants us charms, 
 And fleeting hopes return. 
 
 Far from the moil of alarms; 
 With manly desires we bura. 
 
 CONFEDERATE REUNION. 
 
 There's going to be a big time 
 
 In a Southern city far away; 
 It's a re-union of the gallant soldiers. 
 
 The soldiers who wore the gray. 
 
 Veterans of a noble but ill-planned cause 
 Are to meet again ere they die. 
 
 And see once more the Confederate banner 
 Bravely ride the breezes on high. 
 
 There again in martial honor 
 
 Each will tell his sad story, 
 How they routed federal valor, 
 
 In battles grim and gory. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 245 
 
 The bugle horn, the drum and fife, 
 That from the heart drives dread; 
 
 They kindle emotion in the old soldiers, 
 But they cannot awake the silent dead. 
 
 In this grizzly grand array, 
 
 True Southern chivalry is seen; 
 Heroes upward of three score years, 
 
 Are spry as lads eighteen. 
 
 But the saddest scene of all. 
 
 That is their chieftain is dead; 
 And still glory defends the noble South, 
 
 Pointing to where Davis led. 
 
 These veterans are sons of blue-blooded heroes 
 
 Who from yeoman gentry came, 
 And fought their way through seas of blood, 
 
 To the throne of freedom and fame. 
 
 When old age and death calls this soldiery home, 
 The Confederate reunion shall be no more; 
 
 But that famous lost cause, 
 The world will forever know. 
 
 In that Lost Cause, 'tis just to say 
 That the gray were gallant and true. 
 
 And in many bloody engagements, 
 They routed the lines of blue. 
 
 TO A LADY AT WACO, TEXAS. 
 
 I have striven but all in vain 
 To forget thy sweet lovely face. 
 
 And never to muse of thee again, 
 As my future sole resting place. 
 
 Could'st thou be here as thou hads-t been 
 Could I behold that fond breast; 
 
 Could I see thee as I have seen. 
 It would grant my weary desires rest. 
 
246 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 I'm a poor bird without a mate, 
 Doom'd by cruel fate to roam, 
 
 Witb a heart sad and desolate, 
 I seek thee for my home. 
 
 could I fly and know where to go! 
 To seek some heart that weeps for me; 
 
 1 fain would leave this desolate shore, 
 And fly at once straight unto thee. 
 
 My deepest affection is written here. 
 And when by thee these stanzas are read; 
 
 Please let flow tender affection's tear, 
 O'er them, as o'er the silent dead. 
 
 Moisten them with crescent drops of dew. 
 Distilled by true affection's eyes. 
 
 Who falters not, but are ever true 
 In scenes of bliss or misery. 
 
 THIRTY-NINE. 
 
 Nine and thirty is now my age, 
 A little bard and a much less sage; 
 For thirty-nine years I've dragged along 
 Through unvaried right and shifting wrong. 
 
 Nothing have I to offer at nine and thirty, 
 But a memorandum black and dirty. 
 Which awaits me in some final day 
 When life's last beam shall fade away. 
 
 My life's sun has crossed its middle line, 
 In the Zenith full high of thirty-nine; 
 Slow sinks now onward to the grave. 
 Home of the timid and the brave. 
 
 This vain race I soon shall have run, 
 When hides itself my life's setting sun; 
 And low sinks to silence and rest, 
 As Sol behind the hills of the West. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 247 
 
 No worth Ihave I — but little love; 
 
 No true friends on earth; but few above 
 
 Would lend an ear to a scribbler's rhyme, 
 
 Especially a little bard whose age is thirty-nine. 
 
 'Tis time this soul of mine should think, 
 
 Not of claret or port wine to drink; 
 
 Since vessels huge in sailing life's sea, 
 
 It has prematurely wrecked, then why not me? 
 
 Consuming years have quaffed up my love. 
 My manly passion no longer seems to move; 
 Warm desires no longer kindle in me a' blaze, 
 And seek the sweetest charms for preys. 
 
 My imagination once glowed like fire, 
 A lofty flight in verse it once did admire; 
 But now it lies in my bosom dead, 
 In s wattling clothes hoary as my head. 
 
 Let masters of verse raise the strain. 
 To sing what I essayed to chant in vain; 
 And in skill'd flight shoot beyond the line, 
 Of other bards and one that's thirty-nine. 
 
 Although my temples are growing hoary. 
 
 The cherished memories of youth are now my glory; 
 
 Oh! muse I seek not thy undying praise 
 
 That causes the fire in human hearts to blaze. 
 
 For any seat with Milton, Lamb or Scott, 
 Shakespeare, Byron or Goldsmith, I ask not; 
 Neither with Poe, Dryden or Johnson before thy 
 
 shrine. 
 But grant an humbler seat to me who's thirty-nine. 
 
 Low in the West hangs my declining sun 
 Whose reflected beams herald my race is run; 
 And on the orient vesper leads on sable night, 
 To bury me soon beneath human sight. 
 
248 LYRIC, DOMESTIC 
 
 THERE'S A REALM SOMEWHERE. 
 
 There's a realm somewhere, 
 If my muse serves me right, 
 
 A realm whose sky is fair, 
 A land of pure delight. 
 
 Its ancient honor and dark name 
 Through the wreck and storm of years; 
 
 And its majestic wonders remain 
 Yet amidst its haunty peers. 
 
 Though dim on storied pages, 
 
 Its mighty wonders and people stand. 
 
 Smitten by the blast of ages 
 That have swept o'er the ancient land. 
 
 However oppressed and despised 
 
 By its mighty haunty peers; 
 Still in glory it shall rise 
 
 And conquer in coming years. 
 
 DOWN IN THE SHADY GROVE. 
 
 Down in the shady grove, 
 
 Where the sward is soft and green; 
 Young fancy loves to rove, 
 
 And loiter o'er the scene. 
 
 There we hear the katy-did's voice. 
 And frogs croaking in the stream; 
 
 These make sad hearts rejoice, 
 Forgetful of sorrowful dreams. 
 
 Sweet flowers of varied kind 
 
 Weep blooming all around; 
 And a crystal rill dances in rhyme. 
 
 Murmuring in a sweet low sound. 
 
 The crested noisy blue jay. 
 Chattering loud in the grove; 
 
 And many another bird in lay, 
 Chants to its lovely cove. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 249 
 
 The gray hawk's shrill cry 
 
 Echoing loud I hear, 
 As he skims along in mid sky, 
 
 Without a single fear. 
 
 Mimic mocking birds are caroling, 
 In melodies transporting and free; 
 
 And modest partridges are calling, 
 "Bob White," and not "Bob Lee." 
 
 A herd is grazing in the sun; 
 
 Butterflies are on painted wings; 
 And swains their melodies have begun; 
 
 The grove with music rings. 
 
 TO HON. MORRIS SHEPPARD. 
 
 Were your last rock of hope shivered. 
 And you sinking down deep in the sea; 
 
 I' fain would help t© deliver. 
 And preserve thee to the land of the free. 
 
 O may thy glory never wane, 
 But burn on in refulgent day, 
 
 Gilding every vale, hill and plain. 
 And driving the gloom away. 
 
 God-like in the senate of the land 
 Where wit and eloquence shoot fast. 
 
 Be there a mighty hero to stand 
 And fight error to the very last. 
 
 In peerless majesty move on. 
 Like some burning hero at night; 
 
 Blazing from some aerial throne. 
 Wondrous o'er the wreck of night. 
 
 Thou art Leonidas at the gate; 
 
 And in the council Sheridan or Pitt; 
 Yea! Pericles in the senate; 
 
 And So Socrates in wit. 
 
250 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Bright as heaven's revolving light. 
 
 Live now and forevermore; 
 And before a mighty nation's sight 
 
 In undying glory glow. 
 
 BALL GAME ON SUNDAY. 
 
 On Sunday the laity don't care for devotion, 
 But rather have a big ball game; 
 
 So this licentious polished tolerance, 
 Must make fair Christendom shame. 
 
 The laity wont go a hundred yards to church, 
 But will go twenty miles to a ball game; 
 
 Where peasantry and gentry meet, 
 And all do and look the same. 
 
 There's a big game in the city park, 
 
 Or out on some village green; 
 And people on Sunday from far and near 
 
 Come to the irreligious scene. 
 
 The Sabbath is Christendom's day of rest, 
 
 And so by God was designed; 
 That low humanity might hallow. 
 
 And revere it in every clinae. 
 
 'Tisn't a day for festal sport. 
 
 And should be kept ever sinless 
 By carrying on devotional services, 
 
 That God sanctified to he rest. 
 
 Now they have secularized the Sabbath, 
 And rendered it irreverent in God's sight; 
 
 So many vile adherents go forth to say 
 Ball playing on Sunday is right. 
 
 Indeed they scoff at God's decree. 
 To keep the Sabbath from disgrace; 
 
 Now lo! perversed defiled gang. 
 Hawks and spits in the clergy's face. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 251 
 
 Horrid unbelief big with infamy, 
 
 Ignores and defames the Sabbath day, 
 
 And Orthodox Churches everywhere 
 Have not a word to say. 
 
 Sunday is the Lord's day. 
 
 An shouldn't be profaned 
 For the sake of lewd pleasure, 
 
 Nor to deal in any game. 
 
 The Almighty hallowed this day 
 And solemnized it with prayer and song, 
 
 So that we might mimic Him, 
 In the storm of years to come. 
 
 He wrought six irksome days, 
 
 Then spent the seventh in rest; 
 And in blissful tranquil peace 
 
 Entertained His celestial guest. 
 
 Thus after His rigorous labour, 
 
 Creation moved off with ease; 
 And on the throne of rest He inhaled cool zephyrs 
 
 In the shade of celestial trees. 
 
 AN AMERICAN AIR. 
 
 There's a national air I love to hear. 
 It matters not where I go; 
 
 Its melody drives away every fear, 
 And makes patriotism glow. 
 
 The broken hearted it animates. 
 And makes the wounded whole; 
 
 Its strain always corroborates. 
 And cheers up a loyal soul. 
 
 The sacred anthem is Dixie Land, 
 A clime where our fathers died, 
 
 A fearless, noble-hearted band, 
 Full of great austral pride. 
 
252 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 What tickling joy is brought about 
 Whenever this melody we sing! 
 
 And in emotional mirth we shout, 
 To make fair freedom ring. 
 
 How melodious to my listening ears! 
 
 Is this seraphic teasing song; 
 And in the storm of coming years 
 
 Keep Southern hearts loyal and strong. 
 
 Let a well trained musical band 
 And a choir from the heavenly South, 
 
 Just play and sing Dixie Land, 
 A land in the balmy south. 
 
 Whenever they play and sing 
 
 This American sacred air, 
 The soul will thrill and ring 
 
 With raptures it cannot bear. 
 
 Angels unfurl their golden wings 
 And down the skies come near, 
 
 When the sunny South sings 
 This song, which they love to hear. 
 
 GOD IS NO RESPECTER OF PERSONS. 
 
 God is no respecter of persons; 
 
 To Him all His saints look alike; 
 In His precise, impartial judgement, 
 
 He rules them all aright. 
 
 He's merciful unto all, 
 And sends the Comforter down; 
 
 From His Holy sanctuary 
 To wherever His saints are found. 
 
 He houses them all in His bosom, 
 To keep them safe from all harm; 
 
 And for them to lean securely, 
 On His everlasting arm. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 253 
 
 In Christ Jesus the saints all abide. 
 
 In spiritual body and love; 
 And thus like him, toil and suffer, 
 
 To reign in glory above. 
 
 BE EXACT. 
 
 Be exact and economic in all affairs, 
 
 And not go crazy about fine wares; 
 
 But move along contented and slow, 
 
 Observing all things as you go. 
 
 Toil on with all godly might 
 
 To bring hidden aim full in sight; 
 
 Never mind the labor particular, 
 
 But keep the mind on the dollar. 
 
 Irksome labor isn't hard a bit. 
 
 If we'd but think of what's in it; 
 
 Though fanciful ideas rise and set 
 
 Still think of hire we get. 
 
 All labor is hard when wages are low» 
 
 For there's nothing to make imagination glow. 
 
 MAMA'S WEE MAN. 
 
 'Mama's sweet little baby 
 With dimple cheeks of tan, 
 
 Tries to stand alone 
 Just like a little man. 
 
 Crawls all o'er the floor; 
 
 Pulls up by the chair; 
 Blithe as a sunbeam. 
 
 He plays here and there. 
 
 Mama's precious little angel 
 With eyes of violet blue. 
 
 That glitter in sunlight, 
 Like sparkling sacred dew. 
 
 The florid lips of Mama's baby, 
 Drip nectar like a honey comb; 
 
 And papa will surely lip them 
 Soon as he comes home. 
 
254 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 PRESENT CONDITION. 
 
 Let man against his brother fight, 
 And strive to press him down; 
 
 Till wrong is dethroned by right, 
 And hurled into depths profound. 
 
 Demagogues may rule with an iron rod. 
 Their greed is but absolute power; 
 
 They cannot avert the plan of God, 
 And make error one single vow. 
 
 A WISE WOMAN. 
 
 A wise woman is queen in her kingdom. 
 
 Though it may be great or small; 
 She governs it with love and prudence. 
 So that it may not fall. 
 
 She buildeth up her home 
 
 With virtue, piety and love; 
 And keeps it a chaste reception house 
 
 For the indwelling of God above. 
 
 There she's ruling queen, 
 
 The goddess o'er all she surveys. 
 
 And in the garb of rectitude 
 She walks in virtue's ways. 
 
 She always builds up her house. 
 
 And never tears it down; 
 She acts there a healing salve 
 
 To every domestic wound. 
 
 She is never vain and termagant. 
 Airy, dissolute and headstrong; 
 
 But is always willing and ready 
 To pluck the woolly head of wrong. 
 
 She is heaven's revolving light, 
 Moving around in her domestic sphere; 
 
 And giving smiles and loveliness. 
 Through the rays of her tender care. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 255 
 
 She's apt to teach what's right, 
 And quick to see what's wrong; 
 
 Thus in her household circle 
 She moves a power strong. 
 
 To the cross she ever points, 
 
 And shows her family the way 
 That Jesus Christ himself led, 
 Up to more illustrious day. 
 
 INTOXICATING LIQUOR. 
 
 Take away all spirituous liquors, 
 And let pan temperance reign; 
 
 Coursing on with life and peace 
 Through every moral vein. 
 
 Put down the worm of the still. 
 
 Life's most virulent foe; 
 For with its unsheathed dagger, 
 
 It stabs life to the very core. 
 
 Pale penury and woe are found. 
 
 And the moral status is low 
 In every land and home 
 
 Where spirituous liquors flow. 
 
 It's a venomous hydra with many hands, 
 Dehilitating the physique of man; 
 
 And with its quirering forked tongues 
 Moves crested through the land. 
 
 FLIRTS. 
 
 Yon come Sue Liz and Dollie, 
 Black Birdie and Caroline; 
 
 Great I'm please tell me 
 What makes them dress so fine 
 
 They are drest in costly silk, 
 And the finest of bombazeen; 
 
 They wiggle, flirt and flounce about 
 Like girls of sweet sixteen. 
 
256 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 Far thirty years, more or less, 
 They have had all kinds of fun; 
 
 Now still they're rowdy women, 
 In the glare of virtue's sun. 
 
 Robed in richest apparels, 
 Their sluttish morals to hide; 
 
 Tthen incensed hy sensuality 
 From city to city they ride. 
 
 All drest up and without a home, 
 
 They ride screened from place to place; 
 
 Giving ever a mortal blow 
 To the virtue of the female race. 
 
 Each one rather haunt some brothel. 
 To indulge in illicit pleasures of life, 
 
 Than to plumb the line of rectitude 
 And live a prudish devoted wife. 
 
 They're well-bred ladies in attire. 
 But are not in spirit and truth; 
 
 And thus, for want of moral integrity. 
 Each is unlike saint Ruth. 
 
 For sport and pleasure they crave, 
 These make them dress so fine; 
 
 Forgetting they are Sue Liz and Dollie, 
 Black Birdie and Caroline. 
 
 THE TITANIC. 
 
 The greatest vessel afloat went down. 
 
 Far out in mid sea; 
 And all her grandeur and brief renown. 
 
 No more the world shall see. 
 
 Fair and serene was the day, 
 
 "When this newly crowned empress of the sea 
 Steamed majestically from the quay. 
 
 Bound for the noble land of the free. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 257 
 
 Marvelous and majestic Titanic, 
 
 Made queen regent of the deeps; 
 Ill-fated sister of the Olympic, 
 
 T^ow on the bottom of the ocean sleeps. 
 
 Just before this colossal queen steamed out, 
 
 A deep sad silence prevailed; 
 Then were heard a farewell shout, 
 
 From the passengers around the rail. 
 
 Waving handkerchiefs and shouting bye, bye, 
 
 To those whom they left on shore; 
 Mirth sparkled in everyone's eye, 
 
 And each face flushed with glow. 
 
 A colossal and picturesque sight. 
 
 The victor of every sea and wave; 
 Steamed on with herculean might, 
 
 And made mid-ocean her grave. 
 
 Heedless to the perils of the passage 
 
 That lurked in the Northern sea; 
 The Titanic went down on her maiden voyage, 
 
 To the glorious shore of the free. 
 
 Full many fathoms down 
 
 In the ocean's dark unfathomed cave; 
 The ill-fated queen of brief renown 
 
 Made her untimely grave. 
 
 There were 2340 souls on board. 
 
 And 1635 of them went down; 
 Some were returning home; some going abroad 
 
 O'er a Northern sea, dark and profound. 
 
 A huge iceberg like a mountain high 
 
 Loomed up in the leviathan's way; 
 And upreared its awful head to the sky 
 
 To confound this sea monster's sway. 
 
 This awful goddess of the deep 
 
 Rush't against her icy foe; 
 Thence she was made to creep. 
 
 And wish for some friendly shore. 
 
258 Lyric, Domestic 
 
 "Collided with a giant foe, 
 
 In tlie North Atlantic Sea," 
 Was the wireless message sent to the shore 
 
 Of England and the noble free. 
 
 In her the berg tore a horrid wound, 
 
 Which disabled her to go; 
 And there was no vessel near round 
 
 To tow her to the shore. 
 
 This sea-goddess gaping with a mortal wound 
 
 Languishing in death and pain; 
 In woeful grief soon went down 
 
 In the abyss of an icy main. 
 
 Her iron clad bow bore many wounds, 
 
 She struggled hard not to die; 
 Yet in dying she made such awful sounds 
 
 That broke the silence on the deep and sky. 
 
 Ill-fated Titanic, the White Star liner, 
 
 All who with her went down; 
 Obeying: Smith, Astor, Butt and Weidner, 
 
 Shall ever wear a golden crown. 
 
 Deep down in the sea are their graves. 
 Where broods placidness and rest; 
 
 For there are no maddened waves 
 To roll across a peaceful breast. 
 
 The destitute, the learned, the millionaire. 
 
 Who together sadly went down; 
 With the noble captain with golden hair 
 
 Shall shine on the scroll of renown. 
 
 O ye true hearted and brave! 
 
 Beyond disasters sleep; 
 In a deep, dark oceanic grave 
 
 With water for thy winding sheet. 
 
 Long as the hills shall stand. 
 
 And the rolling awful deep; 
 Mourners shall walk the golden strand. 
 
 And o'er thy doom weep. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 259 
 
 At the bottom of the sea, O let them lie 
 
 Until that illustrious day comes 
 When the dead in the sea shall rise, 
 
 And shout in triumph home. 
 
 Then sorrowful survivors no more'll weep; 
 
 Sad tears no more will flow, 
 When the heroes of the Titanic rise from the deep. 
 
 And promenade the pebbly shore. 
 
 The dead and the living some day 
 
 Will strike glad hands again; 
 When the mighty sea shall pass away, 
 
 And every mountain and plain. 
 
 When that dreadful trumpet shall sound. 
 
 Through the earth and down to hell; 
 All the sainted dead in the sea profound 
 
 Shall rise and come back to dwell. 
 
 What amazing wonders shall we behold 
 
 In the great resurrection of the dead! 
 When diadems of supernal gold 
 
 Shall adorn each drowned head. 
 
 Then we shall grieve no more. 
 
 About them we love so dear; 
 But walk jovially the golden shore, 
 
 And shed not a sorrowful tear. 
 
 Remember the spot where they went down. 
 
 And forever hold them dear; 
 O! may they wear a precious crown. 
 
 Beyond horrid death and fear. 
 
 In a rolling angry sea, 
 
 Not conscious of danger near, 
 A ship and her manly crew 
 
 Went down without a fear. 
 
 The gray old ocean is wild, 
 
 *Tis vast and profound, 
 It pities not the noble men, 
 
 Who beneath its waves went down. 
 
2G0 LYRIC, Domestic 
 
 Those men who met their doom 
 
 Without an angry frown; 
 Stood upon the deck of the sinking ship. 
 
 And all like gods went down. 
 
 Those brave hearts beneath the waves. 
 Where the North Atlantic flows, 
 
 Are braver hearts than ever beat, 
 In the bosom of other souls. 
 
 Costly marble with the sculptor's art 
 
 Marks many honored graves; 
 But there no blazing stones are seen 
 
 Towering above the waves. 
 
 A sad dirge o'er the waves, 
 To the dead a tribute of respect, 
 
 Will never wake the heroic dead, 
 From out that awful wreck. 
 
 - LITTLE ORA. 
 
 Let the epic bard sing of his hero; 
 
 The poet laureate his queen; 
 But I'll sing of a fair wee Miss, 
 
 Who is clever, neat and clean. 
 
 Little I know about fairy land, 
 And less about the fairies there; 
 
 But I dream no nymph or fay 
 Can ever look half so fair. 
 
 Of all wee lassies she is the belle, 
 And is sweeter than any rose of spring; 
 
 All she lacks in being a cherub 
 Is a pair of little wings. 
 
 Her eyes are glittering gems, 
 
 Sparkling in violet blue; 
 Her cheeks flush in beauty, 
 
 And are bewitching, too. 
 
AND Sacred Poems. 261 
 
 Her lips are strawberry red, 
 Disclosing her teeth of pearl; 
 
 To me she looks a goddess, 
 The wee belle of the world. 
 
 She is a lily of modesty, 
 
 Shining serenely sweet, 
 From her raven black hair, 
 
 Down to her dainty little feet. 
 
 Now wee lassie, let me bow. 
 And for thee make a fervent prayer, 
 
 That God may house you in glory. 
 With the angels white and fair. 
 
 May you ever be happy and successful. 
 
 In the grand parade of life; 
 And wear a diadem of glory. 
 
 Beyond this world of strife. 
 
 High heaven's Sire please hear my cry, 
 
 Ever pleading at thy bar; 
 For one, sacred little Ora, 
 
 Bright as the morning star. 
 
 Write her name with diamond pen, 
 
 Dipped in blood divine; 
 Seal it with seven seals. 
 
 And call little Ora thine. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Monody on the Death of Hon. John L. Sheppard 9 
 
 The Sunny South ^1 
 
 God J^ 
 
 The Death of Jesus Christ 13 
 
 Mama's Baby 1* 
 
 The Singing Bird 15 
 
 The Dreams of Other Days 16 
 
 White Head Cabbage 16 
 
 A Covetous Heart 1*7 
 
 Take the World as you Find It 17 
 
 The Wind and* Leaves 18 
 
 A Cold Day 18 
 
 Jenny 1^ 
 
 The Lamp 22 
 
 An Unknown Tribe 22 
 
 Paul Laurence Dunbar 23 
 
 The Golden lAge 24 
 
 Maceo 25 
 
 Conscience 26 
 
 Facts 26 
 
 Wild Chaos 26 
 
 A Woman's Weapon 27 
 
 The Maine 27 
 
 Sweet Talk 28 
 
 A Storm 29 
 
 Pardon IJis Oh Savior 30 
 
 The Two Political Parties 31 
 
 What's The Difference? 31 
 
 The National Government 31 
 
 Up' to the Hill He is Gone 32 
 
 A Still Tongue 35 
 
 The Blissful Age 35 
 
 Love 36 
 
 Socatonchee 37 
 
 Old Age 38 
 
 (Moses and His Spouse 38 
 
 Life and Death 39 
 
 The World Isn't Like It Used To Be 40 
 
 Nature ,,, 4^ 
 
INDEX. 
 
 The Great Soon Die 42 
 
 Lazy 42 
 
 Happy Jack 43 
 
 A Big Rag 43 
 
 Big Man Ham 44 
 
 The Civil War of 1861 45 
 
 Ode to the Mississippi 45 
 
 Texas Alamo 46 
 
 Hardship and Grief 48 
 
 191^ 48 
 
 Publications 48 
 
 Campaign Song of 1912 49 
 
 Political Campaign 50 
 
 The Husbandman 51 
 
 The Son of Man 51 
 
 Always Think 52 
 
 Robert E. Lee 53 
 
 My Mother's Voice 54 
 
 Do Not Kick 54 
 
 There's Duty for Every One 55 
 
 Ceaseless Time 56 
 
 The Mind 56 
 
 Monody To Dr. S. M. Taylor 57 
 
 The Progressive Party 59 
 
 The Wounded Dove 60 
 
 At Each Throb of the Heart 61 
 
 Forty Years Ago 62 
 
 Alex and Jim 63 
 
 Ida 64 
 
 Marrying 65 
 
 A Faint and Lonely Ray 66 
 
 War In Europe' 67 
 
 It's No Use To Worry 68 
 
 The U. S. Flag 68 
 
 Autumn Scene 69 
 
 It's No Use To Pick and Choose 70 
 
 To a Young Lady 70 
 
 A Great Panic 71 
 
 Bliss 72 
 
 False Pretender 72 
 
 Unreal Hair 73 
 
 Some Say Go Yonder 74 
 
 A Certain Zealous Sect 74 
 
 Artistic Fine Dressing 76 
 
 Moral Purity ,,, ,,,,. ,,,..,,...,. ,,...77 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Wantons 31 
 
 Never Uphold What's Wrong 78 
 
 A Girl Sixteen ^8 
 
 Tag Rags "J^ 
 
 Europe's National War • ^ 
 
 Old Uncle Sam • 81 
 
 The Dawn 82 
 
 A Little Tatterdemalian 82 
 
 German Chivalry 83 
 
 Recollections of Long Ago 84 
 
 Sometimes I'm Merry 8o 
 
 Yesterday and To-day 86 
 
 Arson 86 
 
 Oin The Mossy Banks of a Stream 87 
 
 Ode To Germany 88 
 
 No Work To Do 89 
 
 Love 90 
 
 Cupid 90 
 
 A Narrow Vale 91 
 
 What is Man 91 
 
 Little Zany 92 
 
 The Sea 93 
 
 A Secret 93 
 
 A Sacred Song 94 
 
 The Good Old Times Are Gone 95 
 
 Fickle Men • 95 
 
 The Creation 96 
 
 A Little Child ' 97 
 
 Napoleon Bonaparte 98 
 
 Strange Times- 99 
 
 Full, Feelings 99 
 
 To Lady L. B 100 
 
 A, Willow Tree 101 
 
 The Rain 101 
 
 At Midnight 102 
 
 Husband and Wife No More 103 
 
 Mt. Pleasant 104 
 
 Hobble Skirt 105 
 
 Two Bad Coons 106 
 
 Lady Isaac Williams' Residence 107 
 
 Good Common Sense 108 
 
 A Night Scene 108 
 
 Delwood Park 109 
 
 Loveliest Portion of Serene Day 110 
 
 A Foolish Woman Will Talk Ill 
 
INDEX. 
 
 WIee Niell 112 
 
 To An Aged Apostle 113 
 
 Beauvior, Th0 South's Mecca 113 
 
 ThQ Apostle 115 
 
 Don't SeeK Bliss in Riches 116 
 
 IiV The Hour of Grief 116 
 
 Varied Likes 117 
 
 Soon I Shall Gci Away 117 
 
 Christ's Ascension 118 
 
 Good Principles 119 
 
 A Gloomy Hour 120 
 
 Despondent 121 
 
 Whistey Election 121 
 
 Saint Peter In Jail 121 
 
 The Blue Jay 123 
 
 Divers Folks 123 
 
 Billie Kersands 124 
 
 Ten Thousand Stars 124 
 
 Sim Dobbs 125 
 
 The Gospel Light 126 
 
 Autumn 127 
 
 Put On Your Bustle : ... 128 
 
 Hope 128 
 
 The Sea of Life 129 
 
 The Setting Sun 129 
 
 March Bravely Onward 130 
 
 A Benign Land 131 
 
 Down In a Dell 131 
 
 Great CircumBtances 132 
 
 Exhortation 132 
 
 •Its Going To Snow 133 
 
 The Marriage of Eve and Adam 134 
 
 Adam 136 
 
 Riches .139 
 
 Dreaming, of Margie* 140 
 
 National Prohibition 141 
 
 The Soul 142 
 
 A Clear Night 142 
 
 Rag-Tag and Bob-Tail 143 
 
 Comical Joy 145 
 
 Mischievous Brats 146 
 
 Night !.......... !!l46 
 
 An Unfortunate Fellow 147 
 
 Keep The Center of Gravity Under You J...... HI 
 
INDEX. 
 
 The One Who's Right 148 
 
 A Little Sunbeam 148 
 
 Repose 148 
 
 Indeed, I'm But Embers 149 
 
 Aphorismsf 150 
 
 Life's Sun 150 
 
 Hard Times 151 
 
 The* South 151 
 
 111 Behavior in Church 152 
 
 Away Down The Mississippi 153 
 
 A True Friend 154 
 
 Dixie 155 
 
 Sacred Conscience 156 
 
 That Awful God 156 
 
 Down in The Meadow 157 
 
 The Young Moon 158 
 
 Jack In The Pulpit 158 
 
 My iHarp Will Not Ring 159 
 
 Who Shall get to Heaven 159 
 
 Roxanna "". 159 
 
 Jesus Lover of iMy Soul 160 
 
 Toussainti 161 
 
 Jesus ^ 163 
 
 The Church 164 
 
 An Age of Wickedness 164 
 
 Bald Eagle 165 
 
 Wash Choate 186 
 
 False Hair 167 
 
 Race Riots 167 
 
 Heaven 168 
 
 The Evil Seed We Sow 168 
 
 When My Angel Mother Sings 169 
 
 Think and Think 170 
 
 'My Grief 170 
 
 Race Problem 171 
 
 A Cabin Scene 171 
 
 A Perverse Boy 172 
 
 Chicken Stew 173 
 
 The Keeper of The World 174 
 
 A CMan of Sorrow 176 
 
 Adam and Ere 175 
 
 A Coquette 177 
 
 Okolona, Miss 178 
 
 Unknown Bard 179 
 
 Man is But a Bubble 180 
 
INDEX. 
 
 A Joyful Day 180 
 
 Truth and a Lie 181 
 
 Life 182 
 
 God and Christ 183 
 
 Grod's Providence 184 
 
 My Spirit 184 
 
 Ancient Noah 185 
 
 Noah, the Preacher 185 
 
 Heroine 186 
 
 The Mule 187 
 
 The Sun's First Appearance 188 
 
 Mt. Vieirnon Cemetery. Epitaph to Major Jack Petty 189 
 
 My IMargie In Glory 190 
 
 A Row With a Coon 192 
 
 Thei Righteouisi t- • 194 
 
 After I'm Dead 195 
 
 A Rose 195 
 
 God , 196 
 
 God is Always Nigh 196 
 
 Hindrance « 197 
 
 Wild Geese , 198 
 
 The Church Militant 199 
 
 The WUnd 200 
 
 Rising and Falling 201 
 
 My Cousin Julius and I 202 
 
 Uncle Sam 203 
 
 I'm Basking In the' Sunshine 205 
 
 The Fugitive Strang'er 205 
 
 Invocation 207 
 
 Winchester Gun 208 
 
 The Great and Loveliness ' 209 
 
 The Farmer 210 
 
 Colored Girts Singing 210 
 
 Eternal Death 211 
 
 A Square Deal and Fair Play 212 
 
 Moses 213 
 
 Race Prejudice 214 
 
 Christmas 215 
 
 Christmas! Eve Night 215 
 
 Fred Douglass 216 
 
 To IMary 217 
 
 To Chas. Broache 218 
 
 Ike and Wade 220 
 
 A Bully Among Bullies 221 
 
 The Dewy Morn 222 
 
INDEX. 
 
 He Who Can't Fail 223 
 
 Old Folks and. Young Folks 224 
 
 A Sorrowful Hour 224 
 
 Broken Confidence 225 
 
 Titulary Apbstles 226 
 
 Proverbs 226 
 
 Kow to Get Along 227 
 
 Time's Fast Flying 228 
 
 The Violet ... 228 
 
 Spiritual Blessings 229 
 
 Sorry Negroes 230 
 
 Old Home 231 
 
 Character and Reputation 232 
 
 March Onward 233 
 
 John Kidd 233 
 
 Zambo 235 
 
 Woman Wants The Right of Suffrage 235 
 
 Earthly Glory 236 
 
 Cities of the Plain 237 
 
 Niecesisaries" 239 
 
 Untrue Love 240 
 
 Lost Hope 241 
 
 President Wilson 242 
 
 Rock of Ages 242 
 
 To Rebecca Gilmer 243 
 
 The Country Side in June 243 
 
 Confederate Reunion' • 244 
 
 To a Lady at Waco, Texas 245 
 
 Thirty-Nine 246 
 
 There's a Realm Somewhere 248 
 
 Down in The Shady GrovQ 248 
 
 To Hon. Morris Sheppard 249 
 
 Ball Game on Sunday 250 
 
 An American Air > • • • . 251 
 
 God is no Respecter of Persons 252 
 
 Be Exact 253 
 
 Mama's Wee Man 253 
 
 Present Condition 254 
 
 A Wise Woman 254 
 
 Intoxicating Liquor 255 
 
 Flirts 255 
 
 The Titanic ) 256 
 
 Little Ora 260