Hass PS 5 5 1 
 Book uS£ 
 

A SOUTHERN WINTER-WREATH, 
 
 CULLED FOR THE MOTHERLESS. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE: 
 
 PRINTED AT THE RIVERSIDE PRESS. 
 
 1866. 
 
 e *n 
 
 a. 
 

 4 o 1 * 
 
I 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 Parentless and portionless ones ! Children 
 of our Orphan's Home ! For you we have gath- 
 ered together and bound in a garland a little 
 medley of Poesy and Rhyme, which has welled 
 out in some moment of agony from the stricken 
 heart of the sorrowing, or been cast forth in 
 some gladsome hour of mirth by the prosperous 
 and gay; in either case, the writers little dream- 
 ing that these waifs of the brain, scattered or lost, 
 would be made, by passing through the mill of 
 benevolence, into grain, to be garnered, as the 
 staff of life for a time, for those who, like lilies 
 of the valley and the grass of the field, toil not, 
 neither do they spin, and yet their Heavenly 
 Father careth for them, and heareth them when 
 they cry, supplying all their need. 
 
PEEFACE. 
 
 The following original pieces have been writ- 
 ten by some of the ladies and gentlemen of Sa- 
 vannah, and are published for the benefit of the 
 Episcopal Orphans' Home in that city. There 
 are also several pieces written by friends not of 
 the city, which have been kindly contributed. 
 
 Savaxnah, January, 1866. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 On the Birth of a Son ...... 1 
 
 Prayer to the pitying Saviour .... 3 
 
 Bid me come to Thee 5 
 
 The Passion-flower ...... 7 
 
 Musings 9 
 
 A Castle in the Air 11 
 
 To Caroline, on presenting a " Regard Ring" . 13 
 Lines suggested by a Yisit to Buona venture, 
 
 in 1834 14 
 
 Thou hast borne away my Beautiful ... 16 
 
 Lines addressed to a Night Jessamine . . 19 
 
 Lines addressed to the Rev. Mr. W — - . . 21 
 
 Hast ever looked for Morning-Star when fled? 22 
 
 The Mother and her Child .... 23 
 
 The Sabbath 25 
 
 Lines by the Rev. I. Loring Wo art ... 26 
 Lines on the Death of the Rev. Edward Neuf- 
 
 ville, D. D 29 
 
 Lines written on Christmas-Day ... 31 
 
 To 33 
 
 There 's a wee little Thing .... 35 
 Somebody's Darling . . . . . . .37 
 
 The Sabbath 40 
 
 To a " Little Face " 41 
 
 The Star and the Flower 44 
 
 On the Death of 46 
 
viii CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Village Church 49 
 
 To Our Imprisoned One 55 
 
 Lines sent with an Engagement-Ring . . 57 
 
 "Are you God's Wife?" 62 
 
 To a Soldier's Dog 65 
 
 The Lay of the Sunbeam 68 
 
 To A Friend, on her Marriage .... 71 
 
 Our Brother 74 
 
 The Present 76 
 
 Judge not . . 78 
 
 Such is Life 81 
 
 Our Pastor 83 
 
 The Guardian Angel 85 
 
 Lines on the Death of the Writer of the 
 
 " Vdllage Church " 88 
 
 Before the War ........... 90 
 
 After the War 92 
 
 Lines to a Yellow Jessamine .... 95 
 
 Lines by an Officer to Three Ladies ... 96 
 
 Lines on the Sensitive Plant .... 97 
 
 To the Old Year 99 
 
<0n tfjc 2$ittJ} of a £om 
 
 BY THE LATE PBESIDEXT DAYIES. 
 
 | HOU little wondrous miniature of man, 
 Formed by unerring Wisdom's perfect 
 plan; 
 
 Thou little stranger from eternal night, 
 
 Emerging into life's immortal light ; 
 
 Thou heir of worlds unknown, — thou candidate 
 
 For an important, everlasting state, 
 
 Where this young embryo shall its powers ex- 
 pand, 
 
 Enlarging, ripening still, and never stand. 
 
 This glimmering spark of being, just now struck 
 
 From nothing by the all-creating Rock, 
 
 To immortality shall flame and burn, 
 
 When suns and stars to native darkness turn ; 
 
 Thou shalt the ruins of the world survive, 
 
 And through the rounds of endless ages live. 
 
 Now thou art born into an anxious state 
 
 Of dubious trial for thy future fate ; 
 
2 ON THE BIRTH OF A SON. 
 
 Now thou art listed in the war of life, — 
 The prize immense, and oh, severe the strife ! 
 Another birth awaits thee, when the hour 
 Arrives that lands thee on the eternal shore ; 
 (And oh ! 't is near, with winged haste 't will 
 
 come, — 
 Thy cradle rocks toward the neighboring tomb ;) 
 Then shall immortals say, " A son is born," 
 While thee, as dead, mistaken mortals mourn ; 
 From glory then to glory thou shalt rise, 
 Or sink from deep to deeper miseries ; 
 Ascend perfection's everlasting scale, 
 Or still descend from gulf to gulf in hell. 
 
 Thou embryo angel, or thou infant fiend, 
 A being now begun, but ne'er to end, 
 What boding fears a father's heart torment, 
 Trembling and anxious for the grand event, 
 Lest thy young soul, so late by Heaven bestowed, 
 Forget her Father and forget her God ! — 
 Lest, while imprisoned in this house of clay, 
 To tyrant lusts she fall a helpless prey ! 
 And lest, descending still from bad to worse, 
 Her immortality should prove her curse ! 
 
 Maker of souls ! avert so dire a doom, 
 
 Or snatch her back to native nothing's gloom ! 
 
$rapet to tfyz gitping Jsataour* 
 
 RAYER to the pitying Saviour, 
 That I may bear my part 
 With meek, unmurmuring spirit, 
 Though it be with a broken heart. 
 Praise for the hand that led me, 
 
 Through my dark and weary way, 
 From the valley in the shadow 
 Up to the glorious day. 
 
 Prayer to the dear Redeemer, 
 
 An earthly Mother's child, 
 Yet gentle and pure and holy, 
 
 Unstained and undefiled. 
 Praise for that tie so tender, 
 
 Strengthened and sanctified 
 In the heart of each earthly mother 
 
 By the blood of the Crucified. 
 
 Father, good and gracious, 
 Who didst send down to me 
 
 An angel from Thy presence, 
 To lead me unto Thee : — 
 
PRAYER TO THE PITTING SAVIOUR. 
 
 A spirit white and saintly, 
 
 Loving and meek and mild, 
 Of this lone heart a comforter, 
 
 E'en from a little child. 
 
 And thou, O Christ the merciful, 
 
 Who rememberedst on Thy Cross 
 Thy Mother's bitter agony, 
 
 Fainting beneath Thy Cross, 
 Look on my desolation, 
 
 " Think on " my agony, 
 And send the angel by Thy side, 
 
 To " take me home " to Thee. 
 
23iti me tome to €J)ee* 
 
 H, bid me come to Thee ! Earth's flow- 
 ers are fading, — 
 Dying along my pathway, one by one : 
 Oh, bid me come to Thee ! The way is dreary, 
 And now the stars shine not, as once they 
 shone. 
 Oh, bid me come to Thee ! The tempests gather 
 
 Darkly and wild o'er my defenceless head ; 
 My slow steps falter, for they miss the guiding 
 Of that clasped hand by which they once were 
 led. 
 
 Oh, bid me come to Thee! Glad sounds no 
 longer 
 Spring with their sudden gush of melody ; 
 The low, sweet voice is mute, that, night and 
 morning, 
 Mingled with mine, in prayer and praise to 
 Thee! 
 
6 BID ME COME TO THEE. 
 
 Oh, bid me come to Thee ! My heart is yearning 
 For the blest mansions Thou hast made my 
 home ; 
 
 Sweet voices call me, and young angel-faces, 
 Upturned to Thee, implore that I may come. 
 
 A white-robed form, from my torn heart just 
 parted, 
 
 Bestrewn with lilies, wears an angel-crown ; 
 Close to thy breast, as late to mine enfolded, 
 
 With pleading eyes on me looks softly down. 
 Part us no longer, thou gracious Saviour, — 
 
 Mother and child, we lowly bend the knee ; 
 In Thy most precious blood made white and holy, 
 
 Divine Redeemer, bid me come to Thee ! 
 
€Jje $a£gion^fotocr. 
 
 WRITTEN IN SAVANNAH, AND PRESENTED TO A FRIEND* 
 
 ILD Superstition named the flower 
 In memory of that awful hour, 
 When He, whom Heaven and Earth 
 adore, 
 The death of shame and sorrow bore. 
 
 They called the purple circlet there, 
 The crown of thorns ? t was His to bear ; 
 And every leaf seemed to their eye 
 Memorial of His agony. 
 
 'T is fancy all ! yet do not scorn 
 The thought of adoration born ; 
 But let each flower that meets our sight 
 Recall the Lord of Life and Light ! 
 
 There 's not one flower that decks the vale, 
 And with its fragrance scents the gale, 
 
THE PASSION-FLOWER. 
 
 That does not bid our hearts arise 
 To Him who dwells beyond the skies. 
 
 In valley lone, on mountain height, 
 All in one common tale unite ; 
 All speak His love, who died, that we 
 Might live throughout eternity. 
 
 " That higher suffering which we dread 
 
 A higher joy discloses ; — 
 Men saw the thorns on Jesus' brow, 
 
 But angels saw the roses." 
 
[HILE musing by the fireside, — 
 The fireside of home ! 
 How many sad and happy thoughts 
 And tender memories come 
 
 Unbidden, as my heart recalls 
 
 The checkered years gone by ! 
 Poor heart ! now throbbing wild with joy, 
 
 Now bursting with a sigh ! 
 
 Bursting with a wearied sigh, 
 For the faded hopes that strew 
 
 Life's pathway, — like the fallen leaves 
 Of roses bright with dew : 
 
 For sad and holy memories 
 
 Of love, now lost to me ! 
 Ah ! what a blessing was that love ! 
 
 So pure, so full, so free ! 
 
10 MUSINGS. 
 
 Be still, my heart, nor dare repine ! 
 
 Was 't not a Father's hand ? 
 Why ever seek thy springs of joy 
 
 Within Earth's barren land ? 
 
 Nay ! look to Heaven ; thy bud of love 
 
 Hath full fruition there ! 
 Where earth-stained grief nor change is known, 
 
 Nor sorrow's ceaseless tear. 
 
 Oh, passing sweet to the weary 
 
 Is the hope of Heaven's rest ! 
 To-night it seems so dreary ! 
 
 Oh, soothe my troubled breast ! 
 
 I long to end my lifeless dream, 
 
 And haste me to that shore, 
 To meet again — ah ! blissful thought ! — 
 
 The loved ones gone before ! 
 
 <£&$& 
 
31 €a£tfe in tfje Wit. 
 
 HEN fancy, warm with youthful fire, 
 Paints visions such as youth admire, 
 Methought my prospects bright and 
 fair : — 
 'T was all a castle in the air. 
 
 With wealth I sought to fill the mind, 
 Bribing all cares to stay behind ; 
 But wealth proved nothing but' a snare, — 
 'T was all a castle in the air. 
 
 With honors blushing all around, 
 I sought my warm desires to bound ; 
 But honors gained with toil and care 
 Were but as castles in the air. 
 
 From hope to hope my heart was driven, 
 Seeking, in vain, on Earth my Heaven ; 
 Nor could I yet to think forbear, 
 All were not castles in the air. 
 
12 A CASTLE IN TEE AIR. 
 
 But nature's gloom at length gave place 
 To light that beamed from Sovereign grace ; 
 My earthly castles bright and fair 
 All vanished into empty air. 
 
 The eye of faith was taught to soar 
 Beyond Time's narrow, wasting shore ; — 
 The Spirit showed a Temple there 
 That was no castle in the air. 
 
 A. C 
 
€o Caroline, 
 
 ON PRESENTING A " REGARD RING.'' 
 
 CCEPT, sweet girl, of my " Eegard : " 
 
 My aim J t will be to prove 
 No spell can closer bind our hearts, — 
 Aye, not e'en that of love ! 
 
 True love 's engendered by regard ; 
 
 Else valueless 't would be ; 
 'T is this regard, fair Caroline, 
 
 I offer now to thee. 
 
SUGGESTED BY A VISIT TO BUONAVENTURE, IN 1834: 
 
 BY A STRANGER. 
 
 HE air is balm, and scarce a breeze 
 Stirs the young foliage of the trees ; 
 While the gray moss, above, beneath, 
 
 In many a light, fantastic wreath, 
 
 A net of feathery drapery weaves, 
 
 And mingles with the glossy leaves. 
 
 Soft odors o'er the senses steal, 
 
 And many a hidden flower reveal. 
 
 Here, round the tall magnolia, twine 
 
 The rose and graceful jessamine, 
 
 With taper leaf and flow'ret fair, 
 
 Shedding its perfume on the air. 
 
 The waveless stream in silence flows, 
 
 No sound disturbs the sweet repose, 
 
 As if the world were lulled to rest, 
 
 And slept on gentle Nature's breast. 
 
LINES. 15 
 
 Here pause and contemplate the common doom : 
 Here Nature's arched Cathedral shades the tomb. 
 
 The obelisk here rises o'er the grave, — 
 Affection's tribute to and from the brave. 
 But now the air is stirred, — a breath divine 
 Sweeps through the woods, and o'er the distant 
 
 pine. 
 I hear the voice of God among the trees, 
 And in the murmur of the rising breeze ; 
 Deep and sublime the sound, like ocean's roar, 
 When rising waves steal on the distant shore ; 
 While earth, air, ocean, with united voice, 
 Utter His praises, — in His smile rejoice. 
 
 Shall man alone in silence seek repose ? — 
 Man ! for whose sake God suffered, died, and 
 
 rose? 
 Adoring, let him humbly bend the knee, 
 While his rapt soul ascends, Triune God, to 
 
 Thee! 
 
€f>ou fjagt Borne atoan nip 25cau^ 
 ttful. 
 
 HOU hast borne away my beautiful, 
 From her father's halls, O Death ! 
 Thou hast breathed upon my April 
 flower 
 With thy chill and withering breath. 
 From the yearning heart, and the clinging arm, 
 
 Where that young head loved to rest, 
 Thou hast borne away my cherished one 
 To the cold earth's quiet breast. 
 
 Thou hast paled the ruby lip, Death ! 
 
 Thou hast checked the merry tone, — 
 And I pause to hear the bounding foot 
 
 Of my little gladsome one ; 
 And those deep blue eyes, with their fringed lids, 
 
 So beautiful to me, — 
 I felt thy cruel hand, O Death, 
 
 As it closed them heavily. 
 
THOU HAST BORNE AWAY. 17 
 
 Thou hast crushed the tender flower, Death, 
 
 And spared the drooping tree ; 
 Thou hast flung thy shadow o'er my path, 
 
 And made earth dark to me. 
 My beautiful, my gentle one, 
 
 So guileless and so mild ; — 
 Could'st thou not spare to this poor heart 
 
 That little loving child'} 
 
 I feel her soft hand's gentle touch 
 
 By my weary couch of pain, 
 And the tiny fingers in my hair, 
 
 Where they ne'er may rest again, — 
 And that nightly prayer, with its nightly kiss, 
 
 Oh I hear, I feel them now, 
 As I look upon the folded hands 
 
 And meek uplifted brow. 
 
 I hear the gush of the merry song 
 
 She is singing at my feet ; 
 I see her start with a joyous shout 
 
 Her father's step to greet. 
 They cluster round him, — that little band, — 
 
 And he looks on his boys with pride, 
 But the heart's first love, and the fond " first kiss," 
 
 He can give to none beside. 
 2 
 
18 THOU EAST BORNE AWAY. 
 
 I thought to walk life's thorny path 
 
 With thy gentle hand to guide, 
 Nor feared to tread death's darkened vale, 
 
 If thou wert by my side. 
 But seraphs have called thee from me above, 
 
 To share in their blissful home ; 
 God ! thou hast taken the happy child, — 
 
 Let the weary mother come ! 
 
 I have looked my last on that angel-face 
 
 In its calm and dreamless sleep, 
 And my heart, in its tearless agony, 
 
 Was all too cold to weep ; 
 But night came down o'er my fainting soul, 
 
 As they bore thee away from me : 
 Oh, my beautiful, my treasured one, 
 
 Would I had died for thee ! 
 
%int$ 
 
 ADDRESSED TO A NIGHT JESSAMINE, THE GIFT OF A 
 FRIEND. 
 
 WEET child of Odor and of Night, 
 I Why shrink'st thou from the orb of 
 light,— 
 
 And only yield's t thy rich perfume 
 When evening spreads her shades of gloom ? 
 
 Can " Araby the Blest " dispense 
 A fragrance sweeter to the sense 
 Than thou canst shed, in thine own hour, 
 When music soothes with gentle power ? 
 
 The sunbeams of thy natal clime 
 Are warmer far than those of mine ; 
 Yet in her wilds you bloom unseen, 
 And here you reign a greenhouse Queen. 
 
 While sheltered from the wintry storm, 
 No gale thy branches can deform, 
 
20 TO A NIGHT JESSAMINE, 
 
 Nor crush thy snowy flow'rets fair 
 That throw their fragrance on the air. 
 
 I '11 nourish thee, sweet flower, with care, 
 And from thy branches others rear, 
 That when death's touch thy root assails, 
 Thou still shalt scent the evening gales. 
 

 %int$ 
 
 ADDRESSED TO THE REV. MR. W- 
 
 BY A FEMALE 
 FRIEND, ON READING A SERMON OF HIS ON THE TEXT, 
 "AND PETER WENT OUT, AND WEPT BITTERLY." 
 
 IFTED thou art ! yet oh, beware, 
 Lest human praise thy soul ensnare : 
 Keep upward fixed thine heavenward 
 eye, 
 Nor trust its gaze beneath the sky. 
 Like Peter firm, — now strong in love ; 
 Like Peter frail, thy heart may prove : 
 Thy work is here, — thy home above ; 
 Watch in untiring prayer and love. 
 
l$a$t efcet looMi for sft^orning^tar 
 to^en fleti ? 
 
 JI ast ever looked for morning-star when fled ? 
 r kissed the loved, and found the body dead ? 
 P assed your pale lips from brow to cheek or 
 
 hand, — 
 E ach moment thinking how you Ve hoped and 
 
 planned ? 
 L earning in portion of a dreary day, 
 E arth's emptiness, and cruel power to slay 
 S weet beings dearer to you far than life, 
 S paring not child, or fond and clinging wife. 
 
 / pause ! Why murmur that 't is so ? 
 L ife oft times is a scene of woe. 
 L inhering illness tries the soul, 
 N eeding lirm patience and control : 
 E nded, it brings heaven's joys to view, 
 S weeter for trials it has passed through, 
 S afer for thorns which its path did strew. 
 
€f>c Sportier an& J)er €J)ifi5. 
 
 Air — " Oh, my love is like the red, red rose." 
 
 H, ray babe is like the red, red rose, 
 Just budding on the tree ! 
 Oh, my babe is like the lily white, - 
 The Queen of all the sea ! 
 
 His eye is like the morning gleam, 
 
 To weary watchers given, — 
 So bright, so pure its gentle beam, 
 
 You 'd think it light from heaven ! 
 
 Oh, his cheek is like the downy fruit 
 
 Just plucked from off the tree ! 
 His lips are like the crimson glow 
 
 Of coral in the sea. 
 
 His voice is like the morning bird's, 
 That sings at Heaven's gate, — 
 
 Just like its wooing music-tone 
 When calling to its mate. 
 
24 THE MOTHER AND HER CHILD, 
 
 Oh, his smile is like the dewy eve, 
 When stars are shining gay ! 
 
 His laugh is like the running stream, 
 That warbles on its way. 
 
 Oh ! well I love my bonny child ! 
 
 Could you his graces see, 
 You 'd say he was an angel mild, 
 
 Sent down from heaven to me ! 
 
 Tallulah. 
 
€£e £afcfiatf)* 
 
 EL COME sweet day of sacred rest, 
 To earthly mortals given, — 
 HHam »phe gift divine, the rich bequest, 
 That links us strong to heaven ! 
 
 A Sabbath stillness fills the air, 
 
 And all is sweet repose : 
 The soul that 's freed from busy care 
 
 Can pious thoughts disclose. 
 
 Then let us lift our thoughts above, 
 And with the angels raise 
 
 Glad songs of holy joy and love 
 To our Immanuers praise. 
 
%inc$ 
 
 BY THE REV. I. LORING WOART, WHO WAS LOST IN 
 THE PULASKI. 
 
 Written while at the Theological Seminary in Alexandria, 
 under the following circumstances : — 
 
 Hearing, one evening, a lady sing a song, " Pescator," 
 which was a favorite with himself and others, the wish was 
 expressed that the air might be adapted to sacred words. In 
 a few days he presented the subjoined lines. The peculiar 
 measure in which they are written was required by the music. 
 Had the lamented author written them under a presentiment 
 of the mysterious providence -which awaited him, they could 
 not have been more touching and appropriate. The sentiments 
 were suggested by those memorable words of our Saviour to 
 his terrified disciples, " It is I." 
 
 N notes of comfort falling, 
 " It is I ; " 
 Mid the storm in mercy calling, 
 " It is I," 
 Our Saviour's voice once spoke, 
 When the tempest loudly swelling, 
 Fearful death to all foretelling, 
 In anger broke. 
 
u it is /." 27 
 
 Though raging billows toss thee, 
 
 "It is I;" 
 Though fearful lightnings cross thee, 
 "It is I" 
 Can calmness yet restore : 
 'Mid the billows' wild commotion, 
 'Mid the fury of the ocean, 
 Hope gleams once more. 
 
 O'er the troubled waves unmoved, — 
 
 " It is I." 
 In the toilsome journey proved, — 
 " It is I " 
 Can fearful doubts dispel : 
 Still the promise-bow shall cheer thee, 
 Still the Saviour's arm is near thee, — 
 All shall be well. 
 
 Thy spirit still upholding, — 
 
 " It is I." 
 The joys of heaven unfolding, — 
 " It is I " 
 Can endless bliss bestow : 
 Crowned with blessing death shall meet thee, 
 Messenger of peace, to greet thee 
 In love below. 
 
28 
 
 -IT IS I." 
 
 'Mid the glorious songs above, — 
 
 « It is L" 
 Praises of Redeeming love, — 
 "It is I" 
 "Will give thee peaceful rest : 
 In my court thy home shall be ; 
 'Mid happiness I '11 render thee 
 Forever blest. 
 
ON THE DEATH OF THE RET. ED WARD NEUEYILLE, D.D. 
 
 " Or ever the silver cord be loosed" etc. Eccl. xii. 6, 7. 
 
 j|IFE'S throbbing pulse hath ceased to 
 beat, 
 Life's fever now is o'er ; 
 No more shall we thy coming greet, 
 
 A3 we were wont of yore ; 
 The voice that told of joys above, — 
 
 That did glad tidings bear, — 
 No more will whisper peace and love 
 Unto our ravished ear. 
 
 No more the widow's heart will sing 
 
 With joy to see thee nigh ; 
 No more wilt thou the blessing bring 
 
 To dry the orphan's eye. 
 The sufferer on his couch of pain, 
 
 The household of the poor, 
 Will long for thee, but long in vain, 
 
 For thou wilt come no more. 
 
30 ON THE DEATH OF DR. NEUFVILLE. 
 
 But nobly hast thou run thy race, 
 
 O Brother, brave and true ; 
 Armed with the power of sovereign grace, 
 
 Thou didst thy foes subdue. 
 The world, the flesh, the deviFs snare, 
 
 Thou trampled'st underneath, 
 And thine shall be the bliss to wear 
 
 The victor's fadeless wreath. 
 
 Alas for those whom thou hast left 
 
 In this their deep distress ! 
 Oh, when of friend like thee bereft, 
 
 Earth has no charm to bless. 
 Oh may they from the tempter free 
 
 Remain till life is o'er ; 
 So shall they then commune with thee 
 
 In joy for evermore. 
 
 Hon. Robert M. Charlton. 
 
3Linc£ ionttctt on <^ri£taia^2Dap* 
 
 JiO sunbeams gild the joyous morn 
 
 On which our Heavenly King was born : 
 3j A Prophet, too, and King was He, 
 TVho groaned and died on Calvary. 
 
 The clouded sky and chilling air 
 
 Spread their deep gloom o'er scenes once fair ; 
 
 The moaning wind, like sorrow's sigh, 
 
 No record makes, but passes by. 
 
 It speaks of hopes that once were bright, — 
 Of joys, that, like the glow-worm's light, 
 Shed transient lustre round me here : 
 Then followed darkness and despair ! 
 
 And what are honors now to me ? 
 True happiness I nowhere see ; 
 In vain we seek it here below, — 
 At every step we meet a foe ! 
 
32 LINES WRITTEN ON CHRISTMAS-DAY. 
 
 Then look to Him who died to save 
 Poor sinners from a hopeless grave, — 
 To purchase pardon with the seal 
 Of what alone has power to heal, — 
 
 His precious blood so freely shed ; 
 The weary pilgrim now is led 
 Humbly to bow before that Cross, 
 And deem all else but empty dross. 
 
€o 
 
 ||EAR sister ! I have read thy heart 
 In these simple little flowers, 
 For sweetly does their gentle art 
 Reveal such love as ours : 
 The snow-drop and the heart's-ease tell 
 The tale of sympathy full well. 
 
 Pure snow-drop ! fitting emblem thou 
 Of childhood's sunny mirth ; 
 
 With crown of green upon thy brow, 
 Thou leadest Spring on earth. 
 
 Frail child of Winter and of May, 
 
 Too fair thou seem'st for earth's decay ! 
 
 " Clad in thy robe of spotless white " 
 Thou shalt not always be ! 
 
 On thee must come the heavy blight, 
 Child of mortality ! 
 
 Then must thou droop thy gentle head, 
 
 Thy tale of earthly beauty, said. 
 3 
 
34 TO . 
 
 Our cherished snow-drop, pure and fair, 
 Faded from earthly view : 
 Eternally it bloometh now, 
 God's seal immortal on its brow ! 
 
 Like thee, a boon of tender love, 
 
 Was our sweet blossom given, 
 To lure our souls to rest above, 
 
 Far from earth's storms, in heaven ! 
 Sweet heart's-ease ! dost thou truly tell, 
 " Where lives thy flow'ret, thou shalt dwell " ? 
 
€f)ere '£ a toee little Cfjtng* 
 
 HERE 'S a wee little thing in this world 
 of ours, 
 And it moveth and moveth the live- 
 long day, 
 And though the sun shines, and though the storm 
 lowers, 
 It clattereth on with its ceaseless lav. 
 Over peasant and king 
 
 Its spell it hath flung, 
 That dear little thing, — 
 A lady's tongue ! 
 
 There 's a wee little thing in this world of ours, 
 And it throbbeth and throbbeth the livelong 
 day, 
 And in palace halls, and in leafy bowers, 
 It holdeth alike its potent sway. 
 Bright joy it can bring, 
 
 Or deep sorrow impart, 
 That dear little thing, — 
 A woman's heart. 
 
36 THERE'S A WEE LITTLE THING. 
 
 There 's a wee little thing in this world of care, 
 And it sparkleth and sparklet h the livelong 
 day; 
 No dew-drop that hangs on the morning flowers 
 Is so beauteous and bright as its beaming 
 ray. 
 No shield can we bring 
 
 That its shaft can defy, 
 That dear little thing, — 
 A womarts eye 1 
 
 There are many charms in this world of ours, 
 That cluster and shine over life's long day ; 
 The wealth of the mine, and the statesman's 
 
 powers, 
 And the laurels won in the bloody fray : 
 No spell can they fling 
 
 That my bosom can move 
 Like that witching thing, — 
 
 A lady's love 1 
 
 Hon. Robert 31. Charlton. 
 
 ^zm 
 
£omefeolipV fading. 
 
 [The following are some lines written by a young lady of 
 Savannah. Several persons have asked me to place them 
 amidst our offerings ; and I have only hesitated because the 
 absenee of the young lady prevents my asking her permis- 
 sion. But as they were written and published during the 
 war I have allowed my desire to publish them to yield to my 
 determination to insert nothing without first asking the per- 
 mission of the writer. It is scarcely necessary to state that 
 the piece was written during the war which has just closed.] 
 
 ^NTO a ward of the whitewashed halls, 
 "Where the dead and the dying lay, 
 "Wounded by bayonets, shells, and balls, 
 Somebody's darling was borne one day ; — 
 Somebody's darling, so young and so brave ! 
 
 Wearing yet on his sweet, pale face, — 
 Soon to be hid in the dust of the grave, — 
 The lingering light of his boyhood's grace. 
 
 Matted and damp are the curls of gold 
 
 Kissing the snow of that fair young brow ; 
 
 Pale are the lips of delicate mould, — 
 Somebody's darling is dying now. 
 
38 SOMEBODY'S DARLING. 
 
 Back from his beautiful blue-veined brow 
 Brush his wandering waves of gold ; 
 
 Cross his hands on his bosom now, — 
 Somebody's darling is still and cold. 
 
 Kiss him once for somebody's sake, 
 
 Murmur a prayer both soft and low ; 
 One bright curl from its fair mates take, — 
 
 They were somebody's pride, you know. 
 Somebody's hand hath rested there ; 
 
 Was it a mother's, soft and white ? 
 Or have the lips of a sister fair 
 
 Been baptized in their waves of light ? 
 
 God knows best, — he was somebody's love ; 
 
 Somebody's heart enshrined him there, 
 Somebody wafted his name above, 
 
 Night and morn, on the wings of prayer. 
 Somebody wept when he marched away, 
 
 Looking so handsome, brave, and grand ! 
 Somebody's kiss on his forehead lay, 
 
 Somebody clung to his parting hand. 
 
 Somebody 's watching and waiting for him, 
 Yearning to hold him again to her heart ; 
 And there he lies, with his blue eyes dim, 
 And the smiling, childlike lips apart. 
 
SOMEBODY'S DARLING. 39 
 
 Tenderly bury the fair young dead, — 
 Pausing to drop on his grave a tear ; 
 Carve on the wooden slab o'er his head, — 
 " Somebody's darling slumbers here." 
 Savannah, Jan. 14, 1864. 
 
f^g^al IS the holy Sabbath morning ! 
 IH IP! Angel voices echo near, 
 %f%ilrm\ ^nd a swee t and pleasant murmur 
 
 Floats melodious through the air ! 
 Soft the plaintive winds are sighing, 
 
 And the breezes rustle by, 
 While the little birds replying, 
 
 Lift their voices to the sky : 
 So do L 
 
 Every little leaf is tossing 
 
 Like a gladsome child at play, 
 And the long-armed branches, crossing 
 
 Like a pious saint to pray ! 
 Earth her grassy bed discloses, 
 
 Washed with dew-drops from on high, 
 And the pure and white-leaved roses 
 
 Bare their bosoms to the sky : 
 So do I. 
 
€o a " %ittlt tfatt" 
 
 HAVE been asked in sweetest tone, 
 Cadenced by mother's voice alone, 
 To write some lines, in little space, 
 Upon a precious " Little Face." 
 I shrink ! for 't would be sad disgrace 
 If I should fail, or should efface 
 By lines, the charms my pen should trace ; 
 But I will try to interlace 
 The beauties of that " Little Face." 
 
 Oh, be not jealous ! little features, 
 
 For first I speak of little creature's 
 
 Broad, open, and unspotted brow, 
 
 Innocent and unclouded now. 
 
 In after-life, if God doth spare, 
 
 Her brow will show the signs of care ; 
 
 But now,, if anger or distress 
 
 Her heaving bosom doth oppress, 
 
 She screws her eyes, her nose, her lips, 
 
 Or clenches fingers to the tips. 
 
 God keep your sweet unclouded brow 
 
 E'en innocent and pure as now. 
 
42 TO A "LITTLE FACE." 
 
 Now shall we take the eyes in turn, 
 And strive their destiny to learn ? 
 What will those glistening orbs reveal 
 As they behind their fringes steal, 
 Closing their lids, as if to hide 
 What constitutes a mother's pride ? 
 Those eyes will turn, with love to beam, 
 Or else will droop, their thoughts to screen. 
 
 And then the nose, — a little puggy, — 
 But that belongs to faces chubby : 
 The bone its stiffness will attain, 
 When years upon it quickly gain. 
 But while the nose is wondrous feature, 
 'T is not romantic, Little Creature ! 
 So we will leave it to reform, 
 And beg that it will ne'er deform 
 The " Little Face " it rests upon, 
 And which it does so well become. 
 
 And now we call the mouth to speak, 
 And hope that 5 t will not in a freak 
 Pucker its cherry lips together, 
 Meditating in silence whether 
 It will disclose the pretty teeth 
 Which rest so quietly beneath 
 The gateway separated wide 
 
TO A "LITTLE FACE." 43 
 
 By dimples guarding on each side, 
 Resting amidst the peachy down 
 Wherein it seems its smiles to drown. 
 
 And now the chin will not disgrace 
 The end of sweetest " Little Face." 
 Set prettily, and in right place, 
 The line of beauty there we trace. 
 But after all, description whole 
 Leaves out the impress of the soul. 
 And clustering curls, and ears like shells, 
 And head where brain and intellect dwells, 
 And rounded limbs, from nature's mould, 
 
 And hands and feet, Oh, I 've not told 
 
 The half of beauty I could trace 
 If not confined to " Little Face." 
 Savannah, Dec. 18, 1865. 
 
€J>c £tat anb tije f lotoer* 
 
 HE flower beheld the star above, 
 And longed to reach her airy love ! 
 But longed in vain ! A dew-drop 
 fell 
 Into the soft and fragrant cell ; 
 And then the star was imaged there, 
 Pure as if dropped from upper air, 
 And gliding down from heaven had come. 
 To find on earth a kindred home ! 
 Blest was the little flower to bear 
 In its own breast a thing so fair ! 
 
 Ah, longing eye ! strain not thy gaze, 
 Till blinded by the golden rays 
 Of light, too strong for mortal's sight ! 
 Rest thee on earth ! here seek thy fill 
 Of beauty, in the pictured scene 
 Spread round, of woody hill 
 
TEE STAR AND THE FLOWER. 45 
 
 And verdant vale ; of Nature's mien 
 Swift changing with the passing shade 
 Of darkling cloud, and skies that fade 
 Too soon, from morning's promise fair ! 
 
 Drink in the beauty round thee lying ! 
 Take earth, with all its joys, — its sighing, 
 Its morning promise, vainly fair ! 
 And trust to find in heaven above 
 What fails thee here of light and love ! 
 Let faith and hope the dew-drops be 
 That mirror heaven's light to thee ! 
 
 May 14, 1861. 
 

 <®n tfje SDeatfj of 
 
 SAW her when a joyous thing, 
 With gladness ever on the wing ; 
 Her sparkling eyes forever flashing, 
 Her raven locks forever dashing, 
 Like darkness on the steps of morn, 
 Or clouds that varying sky adorn. 
 
 I saw her in the beauteous shade 
 Of sweet Montpelier's hill and glade ; 
 I saw her girlish beauty glide 
 Maturing into woman's pride, 
 And felt that gay and buoyant heart 
 Would surely make a shining mark. 
 
 I saw her in the glittering crowd, — 
 Of adulation she was proud, — 
 I thought how many hearts are glad, 
 I thought how many hearts are sad, 
 And I wondered often as I gazed, 
 And wondered as I smiled, and praised. 
 
ON THE DEATH OF 47 
 
 I saw her, when she wearied seemed, 
 And wondered if she ever dreamed 
 That she for nobler aims must strive, 
 Else her gay spirit would derive 
 Sadness from sources all unknown, — 
 Sadness from God, on Love's own throne. 
 
 Again I saw her as a bride, — 
 
 A father's and a household's pride ! 
 
 I saw her, and I wept to think 
 
 How many, on the very brink 
 
 Of desolation, stop to drink 
 
 Of Love's sweet fountain, but to shrink 
 
 "When Death the icy hand will lay, 
 
 And tell them here, thou may'st not stay. 
 
 I saw her when keen sorrow's shade 
 Upon her brow sad marks had laid ; 
 I looked ! 't was painful, but I knew 
 God's child must pass e'en sorrows through, 
 That earthly heart He might renew, 
 And make through earthly beauty shine 
 The rays of Image all divine. 
 
 I saw her in her lovely pride, 
 With joyous infants by her side ; 
 Now she was purified, I felt 
 
48 ON THE DEATH OF 
 
 How strangely God with her had dealt. 
 I looked for days of joy again 
 To wipe away the marks of pain. 
 
 But keener sorrow yet was laid 
 
 Upon her mother's heart ; 
 The lovely baby round her played, 
 
 Then clinging, had to part ! 
 She felt that she must follow too ; 
 But Christ alone could help him through. 
 
 Then father followed infants dead, 
 And o'er her soul an awe was spread : 
 The circle once so gay, so blest, 
 Seemed to be gathering to their rest. 
 She gave her heart to God, and plead, 
 As children plead for daily bread, 
 That He her little one would spare, 
 And let its life its mother's share ! 
 God took her little one above, 
 And called, " Come, share my heavenly love." 
 And when I saw them side by side, 
 I knew they lived, though they had died. 
 Savannah, Nov. 1865. 
 
€fje &iflage <S$utc$. 
 
 MEDITATIONS IN AN EARLY MORNLNG WALK. 
 
 j|HE morning-star, bright herald of the 
 day, 
 Now lifts her torch, and bares her 
 burning breast ; 
 Now sinks the moon, now fade the stars away, 
 Wrapped in the sable shadows of the west. 
 
 Not yet sweet morning's softened murmurs rise ; 
 
 Not yet the deer starts at the hunter's horn ; 
 Not yet the pathways of the eastern skies 
 
 Are printed with the rosy step of Morn. 
 
 Not yet the flowers their thousand odors fling ; 
 Not yet low-warbled notes the green woods 
 hear ; 
 Not yet the wild birds stretch the graceful wing, 
 And float their bosoms on the sweet-breathed 
 air. 
 
50 THE VILLAGE CHURCH. 
 
 Fresh-bursting beauties smile around unseen ; 
 
 Blue waters sweep their crescent shores un- 
 heard ; 
 No steps but mine now tread the village-green, 
 
 No tongue wakes echo with a careless word. 
 
 Unlistened to by other ears than these, 
 
 The matin clock chimes forth its mellow sound ; 
 
 Unheeded but by me, 'mid yon dark trees, 
 The village church breathes sanctity around. 
 
 Dim twilight sleeps upon its ancient eaves ; 
 
 Its moss-grown roof with dew-drops is im- 
 pearled ; 
 Its pure white sides peep through the gloomy 
 leaves, * 
 
 Like Hope amidst the sorrows of the world ! 
 
 Its humble spire points upward from the scene 
 Of crime and care, — black blots upon life's 
 page ; 
 Around its walls wreathe curling vines of green, 
 Like smiles spread on the wrinkled cheeks of 
 Age. 
 
 Let gentle thought her pensive powers assume, 
 Breathe inspiration from the scented breeze, 
 
THE VILLAGE CHURCH. 51 
 
 And cull a moral from each crumbling tomb 
 That fills the shadows of these church-yard 
 trees ! 
 
 Wave on, sweet shades! Life's passions come 
 not here ! 
 
 Ye list alone to heaven-aspiring hymns ! 
 E'en schoolboys passing by, neglect to tear 
 
 From you the nests that cradle in your limbs ! 
 
 Wave on in peace ! Your lot it is to see 
 
 Borne to their tombs the young, the gay, the 
 brave ; 
 
 Your lot to mark, beneath some neighboring tree, 
 The orphan weeping o'er her parent's grave. 
 
 Wave on! No herds beneath your branches 
 graze ; 
 Over no common ground your green limbs 
 spread ; 
 Ye screen from careless and unhallowed gaze 
 The sad, dull, turf-piled dwellings of the dead ! 
 
 Full many a loftier dome, a nobler aisle, 
 
 And walls more beautiful than these may rise ; 
 
 Full many a statelier roof, a grander pile, 
 
 May rear their splendid structure to the skies. 
 
52 THE VILLAGE CHURCH. 
 
 Temples there may be built with rarer art, 
 Perfumed with sweeter incense from the bowl 
 
 But thine, the richer temple of the heart, — 
 Thine is the purer incense from the soul ! 
 
 Can fluted shaft, or marble-column'd hall, 
 Or gilded galleries, and the arches smooth, 
 
 Answer to Him who reigns the Lord of all, 
 In place of worship, humbleness, and truth ? 
 
 Can He to whom globes are but grains of sand, 
 Who with one nod can crush the starry crowds, 
 
 Who holds the roaring oceans in his hand, 
 
 And robes his form in lightnings and in 
 clouds, — 
 
 Who dwells where seraphs and winged angels 
 hark 
 
 To the rich music of the planets' tones, 
 And whose breath lit the sun's red lamp, remark 
 
 On earth the difference of a few rude stones ? 
 
 The Indian's hut, who through the wild wood 
 roams, 
 
 Though it be built of reeds, if free from sin, 
 He far prefers to vast cathedral domes, 
 
 With pomp and pride and luxury within. 
 
THE VILLAGE CHURCH. 53 
 
 No pomp, no pride, no city's show is yours ! 
 No lisping priest here hurries through his 
 task! 
 No heedless crowds pass through these simple 
 doors, 
 To cheat their follies with a sacred mask. 
 
 No actress wearied from the midnight stage, 
 Here chants, for hire, the great Eternal's 
 praise ; 
 
 Choirs of young lips, as fresh in heart as age, 
 Swell here to Heaven their consecrated lays. 
 
 No listless audience lolls upon your seats ; 
 
 No courteous tongue wings prayers without a 
 thought ; 
 The hum and buzzing of the bustling streets 
 
 Break not the worship of this peaceful spot. 
 
 Farewell, sweet scene! Day's toils have come 
 again ; 
 The sky's red blush now tints the rippling 
 shore ; 
 I hear faint bleating on the far-off plain, 
 
 And catch the plashings of the boatman's oar. 
 
54 
 
 THE VILLAGE CHURCH. 
 
 Farewell ! be my last rest from life's alarm, 
 Not in the thundering surges of the seas ; 
 
 Not in the city's din, but midst the calm 
 And sacred silence of such shades as these. 
 
 IbQi 
 
|RT thou remembered, thou imprisoned 
 one ? 
 Art thou remembered, when earth's 
 work seems done ? 
 Thou art remembered in woman's true heart. 
 Sire and son to their children impart 
 The hopes and the fears that oft struggle within, 
 As they crush out the feelings that savor of sin. 
 
 Who, who can commune with his heart, and 
 be still ? — 
 
 And yet, to do this is our dear Father's will. 
 
 Who, who, in his strength, can forgive the harsh 
 plan, 
 
 That placed you where sympathy from fellow- 
 man 
 
 May never descend on your poor, aching heart, 
 
 May never tempt care for a time to depart. 
 
56 TO OUR IMPRISONED ONE. 
 
 But we will have courage ! we '11 never despair ! 
 While God is in heaven, He '11 hear earnest 
 
 prayer. 
 He has not forsaken His children, we know ; 
 He only has chastened us, that the sharp blow 
 May make us a people more nearly allied 
 To God, oft forgotten in seasons of pride ! 
 
 We remember thee often, thou imprisoned one ! 
 When the day is just closing, or dawn has begun. 
 We '11 remember thee often, whatever betide, 
 And wish that we only could steal to thy side, 
 To tell thee how many hot tears have been shed, 
 How many brave hearts for the 'prisoned have 
 bled! 
 
 And if God restores thee to country and home, 
 When Time on its pinions still further has flown, 
 The doubt of our sympathy will pass from your 
 
 heart, 
 And the fear of neglect will forever depart ; 
 For love, though unbidden, will flow like a tide, 
 Giving zest to proud truth and affectionate 
 
 pride ! 
 
 Oct. 12, 1865. 
 
%int$ 
 
 SENT WITH AN ENGAGEMENT-RING, IN ANSWER TO THE 
 QUESTION, "WHAT MADE YOU MAKE ME CHANGE MY 
 MIND ? " 
 
 T is a question asked with all the mirth- 
 fulness 
 Of a young heart, full of hope and fond 
 
 anticipations 
 Of the happiness of future years; asked with 
 
 that 
 Utter fearlessness of wrong which true love still 
 
 inspires. 
 For still, towards men, as towards God, 't is true, 
 That " perfect love casts out all fear," 
 And makes us lean with unsuspecting confidence 
 Upon its object. But in me, what sober thoughts 
 Thy question doth awaken ! — Thus to find thy 
 
 heart 
 Casting upon me its immeasurable wealth, 
 As freely as the ocean casts its wealth 
 Upon the embracing shore. What self-distrust 
 Arises, lest thou learn from me that anguish 
 
58 LINES. 
 
 Of ill-requited love, and tenderness misplaced, 
 
 Which many a noble woman before thee 
 
 Has found in man, in whom she dreamed to 
 
 find it 
 No more than thou dream'st now. " God keep 
 
 me 
 From such an evil day!" thou pray'st. And I 
 
 pray too, 
 " God shield thee from such pangs ! " for sooner 
 
 would I die 
 Than be the one to inflict them. Yet when I 
 
 think 
 What tenderness, what fond, unvarying love 
 A soul like thine doth long for, from the man 
 To whom, without reserve, it has surrendered 
 Its every hope of happiness on earth, — 
 How it doth ever afterward turn to him, 
 As plants turn to the sun, for light and warmth, 
 Gasping for kindness from him, as the thirsty 
 
 earth 
 Doth gasp to the o'ershadowing cloud ; 
 How one harsh word from him hath grating in it 
 More hoarse than thunder ; and a cold look 
 Doth cut her soul with anguish worse than 
 
 death ! 
 Meditating this, what fears oppress me ! — 
 Fears of future tears, in secret shed, 
 
LINES. 59 
 
 With shiverings of the heart, and bitter grief; 
 Eating, unrevealecl, tha 
 To cherish and protect. 
 
 Eating, unrevealed, that life which I was bound 
 
 Oh but that woman makes 
 Adventure desperate, whoe'er she be, that trusts 
 Her all of happiness thus to one man's truth ; 
 Embarking all her wealth in one ship yet un- 
 tried ! 
 Wreck if she make, thereafter naught remains 
 For her but hope of heaven; for from hence- 
 forth 
 Darkness and storms and suffering settle down 
 Upon her sea of life, extinguishing earth's stars. 
 Often when I am near thee, oft when thou 
 
 send'st 
 Some missive, fraught with unmistakable tokens 
 Of thy heart's true love ; or when my memory 
 Recurs, as constantly it does, to all the proofs 
 Which thou hast given of it, — still, amid the 
 
 That overspreads my soul, like flashes of summer 
 
 lightning, 
 There will come, thoughts of all that thou may'st 
 
 suffer. 
 Nor can I sit beside thy mother, and observe 
 
60 LINES. 
 
 The tearful tenderness steal to her eye, when 
 
 thou 
 Art barely mentioned, but I tremble in myself. 
 
 Yet God doth know what sorrow it awakens 
 Within my soul, — the thought of ever being 
 Cause of pain to thee ; and with what earnest- 
 ness 
 I pray, that never word or look of mine 
 May bring tears to thine eyes, or shadows to thy 
 
 brow. 
 And He who knoweth all things, knoweth 
 Likewise how much I love thee ; and that this 
 It is which makes me apprehensive. 
 
 Surely then thy God will bless thee ; 
 
 And, for thy sake, me. And " thou shalt be the 
 
 mirror 
 Whereat I will dress my soul." And thy clear 
 
 life, 
 Thy gentleness and many virtues seen, shall wean 
 The harshness from my nature ; and from Heaven 
 Thy constant prayers and constant piety 
 Shall gain such grace for me, as shall secure 
 Thy happiness, while God shall spare us for 
 
 each other. 
 
LINES. 61 
 
 Can'st thou hope this ? then, dovelike, go on 
 Building thy nest of love within my heart. 
 
 What can I do but promise thee, 
 With such solemnity, as if I stood already 
 Before God's altar, that if He will help me, 
 My heart shall shield thee till it cease to beak 
 Or thou be taken from me into heaven ? 
 
A lady who was one day walking in one of the streets of a 
 large city, saw a little girl looking eagerly into a large glass 
 window, in which were displayed delightful pastry and fruits. 
 Unobserved by the child, she went into the store, and pur- 
 chased a basket, which she filled with nice things. She then 
 went to the child, and told her to slip the basket on her arm. 
 In amazement, the child looked up for an explanation. 
 " Take the basket," she said; " it is for you." " And all that 
 is in it? " asked the astonished child. " Yes, and all that is 
 in it," the lady replied. The child raised her eyes search- 
 ingly to the lady's, and asked, "Are you God's wife? " 
 
 jjTAXDDsG before a crystal screen, 
 With plate-glass richly set between, 
 A little child, with eager eyes, 
 Beheld grapes, fruits, and dainty pies, 
 And wondered why some never knew 
 The pains of hunger, as hours flew, 
 While many a child, with weary tread, 
 Begged vainly for its daily bread. 
 
 A lady entered, 'midst the crowd 
 Composed of hearts, some good, some proud. 
 She saw the eager, hungry look, 
 And from her purse she quickly took 
 
" ARE YOU GOD'S WIFEV 63 
 
 Of glittering pieces not a few ; 
 Placing in basket, fresh and new, 
 The nicest things that could be seen 
 Within dividing glassy screen. 
 It kept e'en luscious smell away 
 From passers, who might only stray, 
 To take a look, but never taste 
 What often went to sinful waste. 
 
 A touch withdraws the child's fixed gaze ; 
 
 A few sweet words fill with amaze 
 
 The little heart that scarcely knew 
 
 The thoughts that, quickly passing through, 
 
 Have formed the subject of my verse, 
 
 And opened wide the lady's purse. 
 
 The bright, full eyes gaze in the face 
 
 That looks so full of gentle grace : 
 
 " The basket is for you, my child ! " — 
 
 " And all that in it I see piled ? " 
 
 u Yes, all for you, poor little one ; 
 
 Slip it your little arm upon." 
 
 The wondering eyes were full of life : 
 
 " Oh, tell me ! are you God's i own ' wife ? " 
 
 Lady, I never saw thy face ; 
 Lifted, no doubt, to dwelling-place 
 
64 "ARE YOU GOD'S WIFEt" 
 
 Of the Blest Holy One above, — 
 The Giver of blest Christian love ; 
 But surely thou dost daily seek 
 Homes the resort of poor and meek. 
 Forever must those words resound, 
 As you are daily going round, 
 And you must see the wondrous light, 
 And hear the words, " Are you God's wife ? " 
 Oct. 12, 1865. 
 
!«*• 
 
 €o a £ofiJiet'£ SDog, 
 
 AITHFUL creature, draw thee near me, 
 Do not pass me idly by ; 
 I would stroke thy shining beauty, — 
 I would see thee eye to eye ! 
 I would lay my hand upon thee, 
 . As I've seen another hand, 
 Lifted proud, or drooping o'er thee, 
 For caressing or command ! 
 
 Faithful creature, draw thee near me, 
 
 Let me touch thy shaggy cheek ; 
 How I wish, my poor dumb pointer, — 
 
 How I wish that thou couldst speak ! 
 There is soul and there is sorrow 
 
 Beaming in that radiant eye. 
 Thou hast loved, and thou hast suffered, — 
 
 Draw thee near me, — so have I. 
 
 Thou hast missed the hand that fed thee, 
 And the eye that ever shone, 
 5 
 
66 TO A SOLDIER'S DOG. 
 
 With a brave and manly beauty, 
 Kindly, gently on thine own ! 
 
 Thou hast missed the merry whistle, 
 And the hunter's blithesome call, 
 
 And the gay, glad, sportive footstep, 
 Dearer, dearer than them all ! 
 
 Draw thee near me ; I am weary, — 
 
 Empty places day by day : — 
 Look into my face, poor pointer ; 
 
 What is it that thou wouldst say ? 
 Thou must know the hand that fed thee 
 
 Grasps the sabre and the sword; 
 And the eye that shone upon thee 
 
 Beams to battle's martial word ! 
 
 Thou must know, thy master's footsteps 
 
 High in danger's bulwarks stand, 
 And the voice, the voice that called thee, 
 
 Gives the soldier's loud command ! 
 Thou must know, — for something holy, 
 
 Sad and beautiful I see, 
 In the look of love and pity 
 
 Thou art lifting up to me ! 
 
 Just as if by wondrous instinct, 
 
 Thou would'st read this heart of mine, 
 
TO A SOLDIER'S DOG. 67 
 
 All the pathos in thy nature 
 
 Kindling in that glance of thine ! 
 
 Draw thee near me, — many sorrows 
 
 In this vale of tears I Ve known ; 
 But to-night, beneath the moonlight, 
 
 If I weep, 't is not alone. 
 There is soul and there is sorrow 
 
 Beaming in that radiant eye ; 
 Thou hast loved, and thou hast suffered, — 
 
 Draw thee near me, — So have I! 
 
€J)e Eap of t$z Jnutfieam* 
 
 Iplpl^ LIE on the mountain as fair and as 
 
 iKv^ftffall j± s a rose on ^ e b rea st of an innocent 
 
 child, 
 And I hie me, way down to the valley below, 
 As noiseless and fleet as a spirit could go ! 
 I pierce through the window all darkened by 
 
 pain, 
 To bring back the dreamings of gladness again ; 
 And I lay me down softly the cradle beside, 
 Like a promise of joy to the pathway untried ! 
 I 'm in the lone attic, where never a song 
 Of music or pleasure would seem to belong; 
 Yet I throw o'er its darkness a glimmer of light 
 So pensive in beauty, we cling to the sight. 
 My being is varied : I'raup with the day, 
 But long before evening .1 'm passing away ; 
 Yet, changeful and transient, I 'm bright to the 
 
 last, 
 As a hope in the heart, or a dream in the past ! 
 
THE LAY OF THE SUNBEAM. 69 
 
 I am lovely and loved, for I come from the sky, 
 
 Yet dearer to earth than to heaven am I ; 
 
 For I cast the sweet mantle of peace o'er the 
 
 mind, 
 And leave not a token of sorrow behind ! 
 
 With my silvery pencil I stroke the blue sea, 
 And gem the bright waves as they float over me ; 
 On the white beach I make me a pillow to sleep, 
 But the gate of the morn 'tis my province to 
 
 keep ; 
 With the gentlest of blushes I garnish its bars, 
 And dimmed is the light of the glorious stars ; 
 Then away down the slope of the hill to the 
 
 plain, 
 I am off on my mission of beauty again ! 
 I stay not a moment, for sweet is my play 
 With the dew on the grass at the opening of day ; 
 And the shadow I leave in my beautiful path, 
 Like the fading of autumn, its radiance hath ! 
 
 I am sent to the heart-stricken mourner below, 
 Yet a stranger am I to the anguish of woe ; 
 No grief have I tasted, no loss have I known, 
 For I live in the sunshine, — the sunshine alone ;" 
 Vet the track of my footstep falls soft 'mid the 
 gloom, 
 
70 THE LAY OF THE SUNBEAM, 
 
 As a smile to a tear, so am I to the tomb ; 
 
 And aloft through the shade of the cypress I 
 
 plant 
 My beautiful banner all shining aslant ! 
 
 I fear not the dark-winged angel of Death, 
 
 Yet I fly from the storm with its pitiless breath ; 
 
 E'en the glow of the lightning grows faint on the 
 
 mind, 
 As I bear my light form on the wings of the 
 
 wind, 
 And speed like a spirit whose mission is done, 
 To the " Crown of my Glory," the beautiful Sun ! 
 
€o a jfrientr, on t)et Carriage* 
 
 Si 1 
 
 'VE read, that in a distant land there is 
 
 a cherished stone ; 
 It tells if weal or woe befalls the loved 
 and absent one ; 
 And as it dims or brightens, the owner's heart 
 
 will be 
 With fear and hope alternate striving for mastery. 
 
 The thought of thee, my friend, with it most 
 
 strangely blends ; 
 Fondly loved, and guarded by parents and by 
 
 friends ; 
 Like it, they would protect thee from all life's 
 
 hurtful things, 
 And blessing, at the thought of thee, in many a 
 
 bosom springs. 
 
 But soon thou wilt be leaving the home of child- 
 hood dear, 
 
 Another's heart will claim thee, another's home 
 thou 'It cheer ; 
 
72 TO A FRIEND, ON HER MARRIAGE. 
 
 Then blessings on thee, dear one, — I fain from 
 
 Heaven would crave, 
 And a Father's hand to guide thee, as life's rude 
 
 storms thou 'It brave. 
 
 Thou hast secured, my gentle girl, that Heavenly 
 
 Father's love, 
 And I know that thy young heart has found a 
 
 place in world above ; 
 Then let not life's endearing charms allure thee 
 
 from that troth, 
 Which solemnly, in angels' view, thou 'st plighted 
 
 in thy youth. 
 
 In looking through Time's telescope, I can afar 
 
 perceive 
 That many joys and sorrows a chain full strong 
 
 will weave ; 
 And did I not believe thy heart is fixed on joys 
 
 above, 
 I 'd fear that they might lure thee from thy first, 
 
 thy plighted love. 
 
 But now I would not sadden a single hour of joy, 
 Or at this happy season, Love, impart Fear'-s dark 
 alloy. 
 
TO A FRIEND ON HER MARRIAGE, 73 
 
 That you may both be happy, my earnest prayer 
 
 shall rise, 
 And after life's long journey 's o ? er, be welcomed 
 
 to the skies. 
 
<®uz 25roti)er* 
 
 A HOME-OFFERING OF LOVE TO THE FIRST-BORN. 
 
 E have woven a wreath for thee, Brother, 
 A chaplet of warm, true love, 
 'Grcled with the benison of thy Mother, 
 
 And a blessing from Heaven above ! 
 
 'T is not composed of bay, Brother, 
 
 The evergreen of Fame ; 
 Nor of the glistening laurel, Brother, 
 
 They bind on Glory's name ! 
 
 But 'tis inwoven with flowers, Brother, ■ 
 The sweet, the bright, the fair ; 
 
 And mingled in its round, Brother, 
 The gems of love appear. 
 
 There are lilies of fairy tint, Brother, 
 Breathing a perfume rare ; 
 
 And violets of deepest blue, Brother, 
 Shed their rich fragrance there. 
 
OUR BROTHER. 75 
 
 The woodbine and the jessamine, Brother, 
 
 Myrtle and holly too, 
 Combine to form this love-wreath, Brother, 
 
 So bright-hued in its glow. 
 
 Thou hast been the blessing of our home, 
 Brother, 
 
 "With thy warm and loving heart, — 
 "With thy winsome, winning ways, Brother, 
 
 Thy cheerily acted part. 
 
 Thou hast gladdened the heart of thy mother, 
 Thou hast brightened thy father's brow, 
 
 In many a moment of care, Brother, 
 In many an hour of woe ! 
 
 In the home of thy love and cheer, Brother, 
 
 Thy cherished, worshipped home, 
 Thou hast been the dispenser of joy, Brother, 
 
 The banisher of gloom. 
 
 We pray that thy brow may ever, Brother, 
 Be crowned with a chaplet of love ; 
 
 On earth, truth, beauty, and peace be thine, 
 And meet thee in heaven above ! 
 
 April btk, 1858. 
 
&*M LIVE in the Present The Past as a 
 H t$M\ dream 
 
 ~*£*w Is sweet to remember, but yet 
 The Present, with joys that are real and serene, 
 Is sweeter, without a regret. 
 
 The Past was my song in the days of my youth, 
 
 When fancy is ever so rife, 
 That the least little care that o'ercloudeth the sun 
 
 Seems to darken the whole of the life. 
 
 The Past had its friendships, but where are they 
 now, — 
 
 The hearts that so earnestly loved ? 
 Like a bud that is nipped, a vision that 9 s gone, 
 
 Like a tale that is told, they have proved. 
 
 Yet the Past I recur to with pleasure and pride ; 
 
 I 'm grateful e'en where she deceived ; 
 She enlivened my life in the days that are gone, 
 
 And her sorrows are more than retrieved. 
 
THE PRESENT. 77 
 
 For the Present hath joys which she promised 
 me not, 
 
 Whose halo around me is cast, 
 Too brightly to yield to a shade of regret 
 
 In view of the treacherous Past. 
 
3|utige not. 
 
 UDGE not ! for you may say a word, 
 That you scarce deem one soul has 
 heard ; 
 
 Judge not 1 a loving heart may bleed, 
 Because your words, like lightning speed, 
 May as electric shock be brought, 
 To agonize by wounded thought 
 Some heart, all innocent and pure, 
 Leaving it innocent no more. 
 
 For that poor heart may curse the tongue 
 That sent its poisoned dart upon 
 A victim that ne'er dreamed of wrong, 
 Or could to such a class belong, — 
 Whose vilest judgment makes appear 
 The injured one foul wrong to share. 
 Then judge no one by heart, by tongue : 
 Truth is not judgment ; and upon 
 A fact becoming known as true, 
 Do to that neighbor e'en what you 
 
JUDGE NOT. 79 
 
 Would wish in your own case might be 
 Done to your loved, or else to thee. 
 
 If we the golden rule would keep, 
 How rich a harvest we would reap 
 Of grateful words, of smiles, of love, 
 And what is precious far above 
 All pleasures which our senses know, — 
 And which we never could forego, 
 If once we tasted the rich pleasure 
 Of gaining from our Lord the treasure 
 Of a pure heart, all free from guile, 
 Gladdened by its Creator's smile. 
 
 Who, who can gently look above, 
 
 And say, God, my life is love ? 
 
 Who can unblushingly behold 
 
 All men in thought stand near enrolled, 
 
 And feel no bitter, taunting word 
 
 Has ever from the lips been heard ; 
 
 No gentle spirit wounds has felt, 
 
 No tears from burning lids did melt, 
 
 Because harsh, thoughtless words have sped 
 
 To homes where innocence has fled, 
 
 To hide the burning cheek from scorn, 
 
 And wish for night, and then for morn ? 
 
80 JUDGE NOT. 
 
 Let us remember that to judge 
 
 Is 'gainst the will of Heaven ! 
 That to be judged we must expect, 
 
 Unless we firm have striven 
 Against the sin so prone to all, — 
 To think that those who seem to fall, 
 Must for peculiar sin be tried, 
 That thus they may be sanctified. 
 Oct. 13th, 1865. 
 
|]HE stood beside me in the hour 
 When plighted vows were made, 
 And seemed like a transplanted flower 
 From Eden's sunny glade ; 
 So bright she was ! her brow without 
 The shadow of a shade. 
 
 Love was the watchword of her soul ; 
 
 And one was by her side, 
 Who hoped ere long to claim her as 
 
 His cherished, chosen bride. 
 No cloud above their happiness ; 
 
 But oh ! he could not see 
 The darkness that was gathering, 
 
 Alas ! so fearfully. 
 
 These loving hearts so pure, so true, 
 
 Were destined to be riven ; 
 The summons was upon its way, 
 The charge already given, 
 6 
 
82 SUCH IS LIFE. 
 
 "Which was to bear his soul from earth, 
 I fondly trust, to heaven. 
 
 And thus he left her ; one short year 
 
 Of wedded bliss was theirs ; 
 It opened bright with smiles of hope, 
 
 It closed with bitter tears. 
 But oh, amidst this night of gloom, 
 
 One ray of joy appears : 
 How precious was that baby smile, 
 
 How sweet his cooing tone ! 
 And soon his little voice would learn 
 
 To call the absent one ; 
 But no, another message came, — 
 
 The mother was alone. 
 
 Alone ? Oh, no ! her trust is there, 
 Where both her loved ones dwell ; 
 
 She hears them in the Better Land 
 The angel chorus swell ; 
 
 And while she weeps, she ever says, 
 God " doeth all things well." 
 
EATH has often been amongst us, 
 Bringing sadness to the heart ; 
 Often have our souls in anguish 
 Bowed beneath his cruel dart. 
 
 But oh, never, never, never 
 Such a visit as the last ! 
 
 Never hath his presence o'er us 
 Such a midnight sorrow cast. 
 
 Now his summons has deprived us 
 Of our pastor and our friend, — 
 
 Brought the sweetest earthly union 
 To a sudden, dreadful end. 
 
 Oh ! what shall we do without thee ? 
 
 Who can ever fill thy place ? 
 "Who, in strength of mind and learning, 
 
 Who, in spiritual grace ? 
 
84 OUR PASTOR. 
 
 Who, in tenderness of manner ? 
 
 Who, in sympathy of soul ? 
 We may chance to find a portion, 
 
 But we never can the whole. 
 
 Who in love shall stand beside us, 
 To bestow the bread of life ? 
 
 Who shall comfort and console us 
 In its sorrow and its strife ? 
 
 God hath done it, and in wisdom 
 He may choose another head ; 
 
 But our hearts can never love him 
 As they loved the precious dead. 
 
Lines suggested by hearing of the protection granted to a 
 house and family, when, on the soldiery entering the 
 house to plunder, the young mother pointed to the beau- 
 tiful corpse of her child, and exclaimed, " Let this be our 
 protection!" 
 
 |OME desolate ! the bright, bright eyes 
 Are closed, to open in the skies. 
 The cherub lips are firmly pressed, 
 Each little hand is on the breast ; 
 The little feet, that wandered o'er 
 Fields, woods, and home, must never more 
 Be pressed on early falling dew, 
 Nor paths bright scattered, through and through, 
 With flowers and petals of gayest hue. 
 
 There lies the angel of the dwelling ; 
 Hidden are hearts with anguish swelling ; 
 Tears like the purest crystal dew 
 Fall on the marble form anew ; 
 
86 THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. 
 
 They take oppression from the breast, 
 They teach the weary brain to rest. 
 
 Silence is broken ; rude, strong hand 
 Throws wide the door to soldier band ; 
 Fierce eyes flash on the tear-stained faces, 
 Then feet seem rooted to their places ; 
 For firm, firm voice commands their ear, 
 And steady eyes evince no fear. 
 A mother's voice will touch the heart, 
 And make those cruel foes depart. 
 
 Stop ! she exclaims, in voice decisive, 
 And looks returned are not derisive. 
 Stop ! — and the voice breathes forth affec- 
 tion, — 
 Look there ! Let that be our protection ! 
 
 Those men, who came to burn and sack, 
 Looked pityingly, and then turned back. 
 " Protect this house," was the command. 
 ft Let guards be stationed, that no band 
 May enter, to disturb by tread 
 This home made sacred by the dead." 
 
 And though the sounds of war were near, 
 Silence was broken there by prayer. 
 
TEE GUARDIAN ANGEL. 
 
 And ever in those loving hearts, 
 As, year by year Old Time departs, 
 Will that pure, lovely child be known 
 As Guardian Angel of its Home. 
 Oct. 1865. 
 
 87 
 
%mt$ 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE WHITER OF THE " VILLAGE 
 CHURCH," 
 
 Who died at his home in Savannah, just after his return 
 from Harvard University, aged twenty years. 
 
 EARTH, how many bright ones 
 
 Are in thy bosom laid ! 
 
 How many kindred spirits 
 Now seek their home in thy dark caverns ! 
 Death ! thou dost find thy victims 
 Amongst earth's rarest and most gifted children, 
 And now thou hast taken One, 
 Who blossomed forth so fair, so beautiful, 
 So full of taste and talent, gentleness and love, 
 That every heart sinks at the sudden, awful 
 
 change, 
 And every eye grows dim with sickening tears ! 
 
 But who can tell a father's woe, a father's an- 
 guish, 
 
 In this dreary, dark, and dreaded hour ? 
 
 Who can feel the crush of all the hopes of gath- 
 ering years, 
 
LINES. 89 
 
 WTio caii tell the sickening woe that reigns, 
 
 "Where lived, in all the pride of youth, 
 
 And all the promise of his early years, 
 
 The gifted son ? 
 
 O most tried parent ! all other grief sinks before 
 
 thine. 
 So mightily it presses on thy heart, 
 That, should the spring of life itself give way, 
 We would not wonder. 
 
 But oh ! remember, in this trying hour, 
 That He ivho gave, has taken away ! 
 That He has claimed His own, 
 Which, but for a little time, He lent to thee ! 
 
 Bless thou His name ! 
 And while thy heart, in deepest woe, 
 Feels the full agony of this His act, 
 Bend it, though it should break, 
 To His most mighty will : 
 Then will the light burst forth ; 
 Then will the darkness disappear ; 
 And He who while on earth did raise the dead, 
 Shall, in the resurrection, 
 
 Eaise thy son ! 
 
before tfje Wat. 
 
 Written on " seeing" a mother fall asleep, after talking over 
 anxieties about her sons, who, together with their father, 
 were in the Confederate service. Only two were together. 
 
 |LEEP on, dear troubled one ! 
 
 Sleep on ! in sweet unconsciousness ; 
 Dream dreams, that bring your little 
 
 ones back to your side. 
 See their bright eyes, glancing and dancing 
 Midst bright beds of curls. 
 Look at their coral lips ; smile as you hear them 
 
 speak of deeds of daring, 
 Which they '11 accomplish when they shall be men. 
 Laugh to behold them, with stern soldier air, 
 Making of broom a gun, of wood a spear. 
 See how they brandish, with an innate grace, 
 
 their little swords, 
 As they through exercises go. 
 See their eyes flash, hear tones of triumph. 
 Now they flush, for they have buried glittering 
 
 blade in heart of foe, 
 Or stricken from his hated trunk his head by 
 
 well-aimed blow. 
 
BEFORE THE WAR. 91 
 
 All ! little did you think that every dash 
 
 Made by your darling boys was fitting them for 
 
 war, — 
 Little dream, that, when you sent them shoeless 
 
 on sweet 's sands, 
 
 It was to teach them to endure toils in store, — 
 Obedience to commands. 
 
 Sleep on ! Heaven guard your treasures ; 
 Heaven grant that sweet, sweet pleasures 
 Are laid in keeping, for your absent ones. 
 Sleep on ! Dry off, ye tears scarce shed for hus- 
 bands, sons. 
 Sleep on ! sleep on ! sleep on ! 
 
mut m mat. 
 
 PAKE up ! wake up ! we must not sleep ! 
 
 We must scarce take the time to weep. 
 
 We must look ills of life in face, 
 And keep our energies apace. 
 For we must a new life begin, 
 And try to live, to crush out sin. 
 
 Wake, mother ! wake ! and smile anew ! 
 All the loved band are safely through ; 
 Life, limbs, and brain, all, all are saved, 
 And eyes may open without grave 
 And silent darkness staring through, 
 
 O 3 7 
 
 On objects that the earth still strew, 
 Never to be beheld again, 
 With wonder, love, or even pain. 
 
 Wake, mother ! to the toils of life ; 
 Wake to endure the daily strife 
 Which poverty will bring to those 
 
AFTER THE WAR. 93 
 
 Whose paling cheek with crimson glows, 
 As they are learning lesson sad, 
 That even comforts must be had 
 By struggling daily, nightly too, 
 To get the plainest fare anew. 
 
 Wake, mother, wake ! your faith is firm, — 
 You have not now blest faith to learn ; 
 You can with patience struggle on, 
 And bid your heart in God be strong. 
 For sons are called, as manhood's cares 
 Cluster around with hopes and fears, 
 To dedicate themselves anew 
 To Father, who, all through and through, 
 Has gently placed restraining hand 
 Upon that mother's little band, 
 Taking the wounded in His care, 
 Giving the sick a goodly share 
 Of kind attention and of love, 
 From all below, and from above. 
 
 Mother, awake ! you 're blessed of God ; 
 The darkest path ere this is trod. 
 What can we dread when He is ours ? 
 Ne'er Death, or Hell, or earthly powers. 
 Tired, you '11 think of rest forever ; 
 Rested, you '11 think of time when never 
 
94 
 
 AFTER TEE WAR. 
 
 Shall anxious weariness be felt, 
 For all in love combined shall melt, 
 Forming a contrast passing strange, 
 Which none but God can e'er arrange. 
 Oct. Uth, 1865. 
 
%int$ 
 
 TO A YELLOW JESSAMINE PRESSED FOR A FRIEND 
 
 1WEET vine ! that lov'st in graceful 
 folds to twine 
 Around the stately oak or lofty pine, 
 To fling thy garlands gay from tree to tree, 
 In sportive forms, so wild, so sweet, so free. 
 
 Thy golden flowers in massive richness seen, 
 Mingling with moss and various tints of green, 
 Shedding sweet fragrance on each vernal gale 
 Which gently wafts it through the woody vale. 
 
 Though torn from parent stem, and rudely 
 
 pressed, 
 Thy lifeless form will still in beauty rest ; 
 And bring to sleeping memory the clime 
 Where jessamines grow wild, and warm suns 
 
 shine. 
 
Stilted 
 
 ADDRESSED BY AN OFFICER, TO THREE LADIES, ON RE- 
 CEIVING FROM THEM A PRESENT OF A PAIR OF 
 
 CUFFS. 
 
 j H, sweet memento, but perplexing sight ! 
 Behold the sorrows of a luckless wight ! 
 Cuffed by fierce foes, and cuffed by 
 smiling friends, 
 His sorrows deepen, and his gloom extends. 
 The prison chill but late bedamped his brow, 
 And friendly wishes rest upon it now ; 
 Behold a quandary in which to stand, — 
 A suffering soldier, cuffed on either hand. 
 
 But like the Christian, who, with patience meek, 
 Presents the smiter with alternate cheek, 
 So will the soldier, humble still, though rough, 
 His " arms present " for every graceful cuff, — 
 Will wield those arms for Southern homes and 
 
 rights, 
 Receive the cuffs, and bless the hand that smites. 
 
 Augusta, Ga., 1862. 
 
ON THE SENSITIVE PLANT. 
 
 [HERE is an unobtrusive flower, 
 
 Filling with fragrance tree and bower ; 
 Its modest, blushing color lies 
 In pale, pale pink, and deepest dyes 
 Of the same shade, till o'er is spread 
 Its brightest tint of rosy red. 
 
 Methinks no passing one could tread 
 
 Regardless by, when perfume shed 
 
 Like luscious, tempting fruit is brought 
 
 By gentle breeze, which tree has sought ; 
 
 A look would wander overhead, 
 
 And search for source whence fragrance fled. 
 
 But you must quietly regard 
 That delicate tree. Do not retard 
 By hasty touch the flowing sap ; 
 For unaware you thus, mayhap, 
 May make the exquisite leaves of green 
 Wither, 'neath touch almost unseen. 
 7 
 
98 LINES. 
 
 So with the sensitive flowers of life ; 
 They wither 'neath e'en words of strife ; 
 They shrink as if the heart is dead ; 
 Paleness o'er delicate tints is spread, 
 Often by unreflecting word, 
 Or murmur that is scarcely heard. 
 
 Look gently, and let no rude touch 
 Descend upon e'en natures such. 
 Defend them from the careless word, 
 Defend them from keen sarcasm heard, 
 Defend them from the ills of life, 
 Defend them from harsh words of strife. 
 
 For many a trembling nature shrinks 
 Into itself, and, trembling, thinks 
 That it is useless to pretend 
 To struggle, or try to defend 
 A heart that shrinks, and shrinks again, 
 When felt is own and others' pain. 
 Oct. Ibth, 1865. 
 
€o tfje <0fti f ear* 
 
 AEEWELL, Old Year ! We look with 
 sadness back, 
 And see thy dark and dreary blood- 
 stained track. 
 We seem to think of thee when thou art o'er, 
 As shipwrecked ones regard the distant shore. 
 We hope, and yet we hope as blind ones may 
 Hope for the beams of bright and gladdening 
 
 day. 
 We trust, for we ere this dark paths have trod, 
 Which led us, strangely, to our Father, God. 
 We bless, for blessed is that Father's hand, 
 Guiding us from the cheats, — the smooth auick- 
 
 sand. 
 We ask forgiveness, for full well we know 
 We 've well deserved a fiercer, heavier blow. 
 
 Farewell, Old Year ! Hide deep within your 
 
 breast 
 All of our anguish and our dread unrest ; 
 
 Lore. 
 
100 TO THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 Let us remember our blest noble brave, 
 And drop with laurels tears upon each grave. 
 Let us remember that the days draw nigh, 
 When we shall speak of them with smile, not 
 
 sigh. 
 Forever shall the sad, the blighted past 
 Be sacred to us, — as the shadows cast 
 Their pall upon the things gone quickly by, 
 Covering each tear-drop, and each heart's deep 
 
 sigh. 
 
 Farewell, Old Year ! and welcome to the New ! 
 Sadly we 've borne the past, but it is through. 
 Brighter the day, when blackest clouds have 
 
 sped, 
 Like winged messengers, bearing off their dead, — 
 Leaving the sky from gloomy shadows freed, 
 Hasting to earth with gladness and with speed ! 
 Frowning upon us first with clouded face, 
 Then kissing flowers and greens, in whose em- 
 brace 
 We see our Father s tender, pitying love 
 In glimpses of the joys in store above. 
 
 Welcome, New Year ! Bring peace on softest 
 
 wing; 
 Oh, cry not Peace, and leave the latent sting ! 
 
TO THE OLD TEAR. 101 
 
 Come to us with a sweet, a smiling face : 
 Smiles, if sincere, true heart can ne'er disgrace. 
 Come ! gently woo us from depression's weights ; 
 Come ! take oppression from our homes, — our 
 
 States ; 
 Then, though we sadly bid thee welcome now, 
 We '11 in the end kiss warmly thy fair brow. 
 Savannah, Dec. 11th, 1865. 
 
JUN 14 1906 
 
 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
 Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 
 
 PreservationTechnologies 
 
 A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 
 
 111 Thomson Park Drive 
 Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
 (724)779-2111